Battlestar Galactica: Adventures Of A Space Casanova
                       by Eric Paddon and Seanchaidh

Based on the episodes "The Man With Nine Lives", written by
Donald Bellisario and "Murder On The Rising Star", written
by Terence McDonnell and Jim Carlson
            
                Battlestar Galactica: The Man With Nine Lives

                           From The Adama Journals

     Twelve sectans have now passed since the remarkable chain of
events that began with a missing patrol of vipers and an encounter with
an enigmatic figure who called himself Count Iblis.  In only a matter
of days we were witness to such incredible sights as the capture of
Baltar, the disappearance of the Cylon pursuit force, and the
intervention of those mysterious beings of light traveling faster than
the eye could comprehend. 
     Who in their boundless mercy gave us both deliverance from Count
Iblis and his evil plans, and coordinates that presumably will guide us
to the planet Earth.     
     No reference of time seems apparent in the curious directions. 
Quadrant Alpha, nineteen million sectars by Epsilon Vector 22 on a
circular reckoning course of 000.9. They are so general and ambiguous. 
I'm reminded of how when I was a young boy of eighteen, I traveled by
hovermobile from Caprica City to Laodicea on the other side of the
continent and got lost at one point.  When I stopped to ask for
directions, a local tavern owner told me to keep following Continental
Pathway #1, and eventually I'd get there.  He wouldn't tell me if it
would be in another five centars or five centons, but I'd know sooner
or later.  I somehow sense that same ambiguity in these coordinates. 
They tell us that the direction we are traveling is correct, but it is
impossible to know if we can expect to find Earth tomorrow, or many
yahrens from now.  Or even in this present generation.
      General surveys of the various planets we have passed have
provided some promising reassurances that this heading is indeed
correct, and that the coordinates that Apollo, Starbuck and Sheba
revealed to us were not the result of some space hallucination
following their mysterious last encounter with Count Iblis.  Our
archeological teams have discovered artifacts that date back more than
7000 yahrens and are clearly Kobollian in origin.  They are telltale
signs that the space ark that carried the Thirteenth Tribe to Earth
followed this same path long ago, and that we can be reassured that we
are getting closer.
     There has been no trace of our enemy since that day when Count
Iblis caused the pursuit force that had dogged us from the very
beginning of our flight from the Colonies, to disappear in the blink of
an eye.  It seems clear to me that the good grace of the Lords has not
allowed that task that Iblis performed with an ultimate evil purpose in
mind to be undone, and that we in all likelihood have reached that
important phase of our journey across the stars where the danger from
the Cylons has passed for good.  Because of this, an air of optimism
has taken hold of the Fleet.  Our people's expectations grow with each
passing day.  It has now reached a point where I feel comfortable
giving extended furlons to our weary combat pilots.  
     I noted with disappointment that Apollo seemed reluctant to take
advantage of this extra leisure time that his fellow pilots are
enjoying.  There seems to be something deep within Apollo's soul that
keeps him from loosening up and enjoying the few pleasures of living
that remain to us.  Perhaps what Athena once told me is true and that
the memory of Serina's death continues to haunt him.
     This morning, I decided to prod him in the right direction.   I
all but gave him a direct order to go with Blue Squadron to the Rising
Star and leave me and Athena to look after Boxey.  Hopefully his time
over there will lead to some new, more promising developments.  About
the only thing that worries me is whether or not Starbuck plans on
taking advantage of Apollo's lack of enthusiasm to win some high stakes
at the chancery tables.

Chapter One     

     It was like the days of old, when the warriors used to shuttle off
the Galactica to whichever port she was at, and have a few days' furlon
on the surface.  In those days, Starbuck used to live for those
furlons, anticipating the sights he'd see, whether they were the new
sights of a brand-new locale, or the familiar scenery of a favorite
getaway.  He would always have his friends in tow, looking for
adventure and amusement wherever they went, knowing that they'd have to
be back at their ship at certain point in the future.
     So much had changed since those fondly remembered days of
independence. Now, the old familiar furlon hunting grounds were gone,
long destroyed by the Cylons in their quest to destroy the human race. 
Any new planets the Galactica visited were more often than not for
missions, not furlons, though the odd one might occur here and there.
And even the furlons were few and far between, with the Cylons being a
threat that always loomed over the humans' shoulder, poising to strike
even if they hadn't made an appearance for sectons.
     It was with immense relief and joy that Starbuck received the news
that at long last, Commander Adama was putting the squadrons on furlon. 
They'd been on alert for too long, and everyone aboard the battlestar
knew it.  Tempers were growing short, and attention spans weren't as
good as they once were.  It was getting to the point where the warriors
needed to get away from their responsibilities and enjoy themselves
without needing to worry about alerts and combat.
     And so here they were, on a shuttle packed with warriors, headed
for the Rising Star.  Starbuck grinned as he pulled out one of his
fumarellos, his precious habit that was being threatened with the lack
of real tobaccon in the fleet.  Like many other things, tobaccon was a
commodity that didn't add to the well-being of the fleet, and the space
where it might be grown was better off being used to grow food. 
Knowing that, Starbuck didn't bother lighting it, especially since it
was forbidden aboard the shuttle.  It was more of a reflex action that
allowed him to relax, and remind him of the old days.  Besides, it was
the sign of confidence.
     He had a new system for Pyramid planned.
     And Apollo knew it, too.  It wasn't anything that had to be said;
it was more an observation gleaned from his friend's body language. 
Yahrens of being Starbuck's closest friend and wingmate enabled Apollo
to know things about Starbuck that took others some time to figure out. 
Starbuck and his enthusiasm for wagering were one of those things that
Apollo knew all too well.
     It was also one of the reasons why Apollo had been so reluctant to
join the rest of the squadron on the Star.  He knew his father
suspected that he had other reasons for evading the furlon's escapade
to the gaming ship, preferring to stay in his quarters and simply rest,
maybe spending time with Boxey.  Anything but be a hapless victim to
Starbuck's ploys.
     For a few microns, Apollo wondered how he might have his vengeance
on Adama, because if it weren't for his father's direct order, he
wouldn't be there on the shuttle.  He remembered a few pranks he had
pulled on his father as a child, and how little Adama had appreciated
them.  Apollo's personal favorite had been one winter evening at the
age of nine, when he had gone outside with a protective bag to scoop
snow into it.  He'd then snuck upstairs to his parents' bedroom, where
he had quietly slipped the bag underneath the covers next to Adama's
feet.  It had been worth the grounding he'd received to see his father
jump out of bed with a great screech, but after the stern lecture he'd
received, coupled with the threat of the strap, it was the last one
he'd ever played on his father.
     Glancing over at his friend, Apollo spotted the grin on Starbuck's
face, and quickly looked away.  He knew that Starbuck had something up
his sleeve, and it would involve a Pyramid table.  With a great sigh,
he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of his seat. 
He would need his strength to put up with whatever it was.
     "I wonder how much longer this shuttle ride's going to take?"
Starbuck wondered idly, hearing Apollo give another sigh as he tried to
get comfortable.  He looked about the shuttle's cabin, seeing the
familiar faces that surrounded them.  Lately, they'd been pinched with
fatigue, but now they were bright again with cheer and energy.  He
spotted Jolly and Boomer on the other side, both engaged in an animated
conversation.  The four of them would have been sitting together, but
by arriving late with the reluctant Apollo, they were forced to sit in
the only two vacant seats.
     "It takes about fifteen centons to get over," Apollo muttered,
finally in a comfortable position.  He folded his hands neatly in front
of him and forced himself to relax.  It felt good, though it was going
to make him feel sleepy, shown by the yawn that suddenly developed.  He
wondered if anyone would mind if he simply disappeared into one of the
suites available through the Rising Star's dining lounge to sleep. 
Boxey would be jealous, he thought as he smiled slightly, because he
would never wake up to a sitting dish of mushies in front of him.  "We
launched three centons ago."
     "Oh."  Starbuck twirled the fumarello in his fingers, then crossed
his arms before uncrossing them to rest on the armrests.  They were
what he liked to think of as his prechancery jitters.  "You know,
Apollo, I just can't wait to get to that gambling deck."
     Apollo gave an inward groan, but decided not to answer.
     "It's been so long since I last came to a chancery for more than a
few centars at time, you know," Starbuck continued.  "Not since
Carillon, and I've had all this time to mull over some ideas on what I
might do.  I think I've finally got a system that can't lose."
     This time, Apollo did respond.  He opened his eyes to give
Starbuck a sidelong glance, otherwise not moving.  "Can't lose?"
     "Nope."  Starbuck finally decided on holding onto his fumarello
with one hand, while his other arm stayed on the rest.
     "You'll have to excuse me if I get a sense of deja vu, but,"
Apollo paused, "those were the exact words you used at the gaming
chancery on Pineus."
     He closed his eyes again, knowing that he was missing out on a
great expression on Starbuck's face.  "That's not fair!"
     "It's funny that you should mention that, but I didn't think so,
either."  He gave Starbuck another hard look, remembering the evening
of their return to the Galactica as two very downtrodden warriors. 
"Especially since I lost a secton's pay betting on your last system."
     Starbuck shrugged, remembering the furlon as well.  It had been a
system he'd heard about from a warrior in Green Squadron, and after a
little bit of adapting and fine-tuning, Starbuck had been positive that
the system was fit for a trial at Pineus.  The planet was one of the
most famous leisure worlds known in the Colonies, and had been for
nearly two hundred yahrens.  It was also a world where many a traveler
had departed without his or her cubits.
     "I know what went wrong," he defended himself.  How was he
supposed to know that the system failed if the round in particular went
over three turns?
     "So do I!" Apollo shot back, as he pointed to himself.  "I lost a
secton's pay!"
     "It could have been worse," Starbuck replied truthfully.  "You
could have lost a sectar's pay, or even a yahren's."
     "If I had, I'd be incarcerated right now for terminating you,"
came Apollo's sweet comeback.  "It'll be a cold day in Hades when I
find myself back in a chancery with you at my side."
     Starbuck watched as his friend settled back into his seat, a
determined expression coming onto his face.  He hated it when Apollo
threw those little tantrums, because he knew that in the end, he never
succeeded in what he swore he wouldn't do.  All it took was a little
firm convincing from Starbuck to get him to follow.
     Besides, where would he be without Apollo's financial support?


     Coming toward the Rising Star in the opposite direction was the
civilian shuttle Canaris.  Although she really wasn't a shuttle, having
actually started her career as a private transport on the
Aquaria-Canceria-Caprica tourist route, she'd been one of the few ships
to be able to take an overcrowded load of people following the
Destruction.  Her status as a small ship that easily fit in the large
landing bays of several ships in the fleet immediately classified her
as a shuttle.
     Kerby had served aboard the Canaris in the two yahrens before the
Annihilation, and he knew every part of her better than anything else. 
The pilot who flew the ship had only been aboard her for a few sectars,
at the most, and Kerby had actually shown her most of the ropes.  She
had been a typical assignee from the Cancerian branch of the Star
Travels Agency, but her attitude changed as the pilot began to respect
the ship with Kerby's influence.
     The only problem with being assigned as a shuttle meant that the
ship was about tenth on the list when it came to spare parts.  Most of
the pieces that became available went to ships that really needed it,
like the actual ships that carried the remnants of humanity across the
stars.  Then came the bigger transports, then finally the smaller ships
like the Canaris.  Kerby made it his business to find the bigger parts
to keep the ship running.  It could be difficult, but so far, he'd come
up with enough to keep the Canaris in fair condition.
     Along with his ongoing quest to find good parts for the ship,
Kerby had a lot of other responsibilities, including acting as a kind
of steward on-board the ship while they were doing their runs between
ships.  He'd see how the passengers were doing, and he'd collect their
ducats.  It wasn't like the old days, when passengers had to pay for
their voyages from Colony to Colony.  Now they were used to make sure
that the person coming aboard the ship had the proper authorization to
voyage.
     That's what Kerby was doing at the centon.  The Canaris was on one
of her most popular routes, to the Rising Star, and most of the
passengers were from the Seniors ship, and two other passenger liners. 
He studied their faces as he walked down the aisle between the rows of
seats, pushing his ducat collector in front of them with his
near-mantra line of, "Ducats, please.  Your ducats, please."
     Most people followed without a second thought.  Others would
engage him a bit of small talk as he gathered the ducats, but mostly no
one could give the time of day. Today, the on-ship display was
featuring the InterFleet Broadcast, the network that had sprung up no
more than a sectar before, in an attempt to unify the
two-hundred-andtwenty ships into some form of civilization.  Unlike the
networks that had flourished on the Twelve Worlds, with the programs
available in the Colony's native language, the IFB's selection was
meager at best.
     At that micron, the tail end of the centarly news broadcast was
finishing.  There really wasn't much news in the fleet, and most of
what the two anchors, Zara and Zed, had to say dealt with boosting the
morale of the people in the fleet.  Kerby barely gave Zed, a
middle-aged man with graying brown hair that was stylishly coifed and a
fake smile, a second look as he continued with his duty.
     "The fact that the Cylons haven't been seen in nearly a five
sectars shows us that we seem to have evaded them for good," the anchor
was saying, finishing off each sentence with one of those dramatic
pauses that seemed too artificial for most people's taste.  "Word from
that Galactica that most of her squadrons are going on furlon seems to
support that observation.  Good news for a change.
     "Those are the top stories for the IFB news.  After this brief
message, we'll go to Zara's closing feature, the 'Warrior of the
Centar.'"
     The image changed to a shot of the Galactica's bridge, with the
facial shot of a bridge officer directly in the middle of the monitor. 
Behind him, other officers could be seen going about their duties. 
This, Kerby thought, was the epitome of propaganda, because that's what
it was.  Propaganda to encourage people to enlist into the Colonial
military.  He listened to it with half an ear as he went about
collecting more ducats.
     "The survival of our fleet depends on the dedication and quality
of our warriors, but we still need a few good men and women," the
officer was saying, and out of the corner of his eye, Kerby could see
the monitor showing images of Vipers both on patrol and in battle. 
They certainly made a romantic image to warm the hearts of the
adventurous, he noted.  "If you're between the ages of 16 and 46
yahrens, and not already serving in a highly critical civilian
position, you should consider becoming a Colonial Warrior.  If you want
to be become part of the team that's defending the fleet, request an
open channel to the Galactica's recruitment.  We need you."
     Kerby let out a sigh as he advanced to the next row of passenger
seats.  Maybe if he were a few yahrens younger, he'd consider it, even
with his position here on the Canaris.  Others could do this job as
well as he could.  Then again, ducats were one thing. Taking care of
the old Canaris was another.  No, there wasn't anyone else who could
take care of her like he could.
     The scene changed one more time back to the original studio, where
a younger woman with the same artificial look as Zed was sitting with
the huge letters "IFB" were displayed.  Kobol know where the IFB had
drudged up their anchors, but during the Canaris' travels, Kerby had
seen plenty who by far outclassed those two.  Orban had been the star
reporter for the TNV on Virgon, while Serina of Caprica's BNC had won
awards from across the Colonies for her stories.
     "Welcome!" she began, smiling at the monitor.  "Please join me in
welcoming Lieutenant Starbuck."
     The scene widened to include Zara's guest, a warrior that Kerby
had seen many times on the IFB during the semi-regular Triad games. 
Unlike the usually brash exterior the lieutenant displayed, Starbuck
was now visibly nervous at being interview up close, something
completely different from the Triad games.
     "Hello!" Zara greeted him, and was rewarded by a wan smile.
     "Uh, hi..."
     "Why don't we start with some background information?" she
suggested.  "How about your age?  How old are you, Lieutenant."
     Starbuck shrugged.  "I don't know."
     A trilling laugh came from Zara.  "I realize that you must be very
nervous at being interviewed, but surely you can remember how old you
are!"
     "That's the problem.  I don't know how old I am."  Starbuck leaned
back in his chair, the fingers of his right hand dancing slightly on
the armrest as he spoke.  "You see, I was orphaned back in 7322, when
the Cylons attacked the little agron community of Umbra on Caprica.  I
was found wandering in the Thorn Forest after the attack by some
Colonial Warriors, and they never could find out who my parents were. 
Almost all the records that were there were obliterated.  So I really
don't know how old I am, but to answer your question, I'm probably
about thirty-two yahrens old."
     Zara was leaning forward in her seat, her eyes wide with interest. 
To Kerby, she looked like she was anticipating something, as though
something had been placed before her, and she was about to pounce on
it.  "I'm sorry to hear that."
     "Actually, it's been good in some ways.  When the Cylons
annihilated the Colonies, almost everybody I know lost one or more
loved ones.  Not having a family to lose, I guess that I was just
lucky."
     There were only a few more rows to go, and Kerby glanced at his
wrist chrono. Only fifteen more centons before the Canaris was due to
dock at the Rising Star, so he was running a little behind.  He came
upon a row where an older man and woman were sitting, and with his
polite, "Your ducats, please," placed the collector in front of them.
The woman, an elegant siress with an ornate dress and tidily
pulled-back hair, placed her ducat in the slot, but the man held up his
hand to tell him to wait as he listened to Starbuck finish his
sentence.
     Glancing at the uncollected seats, Kerby ventured, "Sire, your
ducat, please."
     With a determined flick, the man turned the monitor off, and
turned to face him. Kerby found himself looking into two very
intelligent and bright blue eyes.  The man himself was dressed in a
neat suit, and he appeared to be at least ten yahrens older than his
companion.  With a shake of his head, the man said, "We're making a
mistake with that program."
     "Your ducat, please, sir.  We're only fifteen centons from
docking, and I still have to --"
     "Just look at the way Zara goes after the story, egging the poor
warrior on as he's petrified with nervousness," the man interrupted
him, disgust in his voice.  "I'm going to have to do something about it
the micron I return to the comtel ship."
     His companion looked at him with wide, admiring brown eyes that
told Kerby that they hadn't been together for very long.  "You run the
IFB, Chameleon?"
     He gave her smile, "No, my dear, not the entire IFB.  I just
direct the news and interviews.  We've seen too much of the warriors,
wouldn't you agree?  They're on the Triad games, and practically
everything else.  What we need is to see life from elsewhere in the
fleet, about people who do more than just fly ships and fight battles. 
We need more human interest stories."
     "Oh, I agree completely," the siress told him.
     "There are people in the fleet who have occupations who are at
least as interesting, even more so, than the warriors."  Chameleon's
blue eyes looked at the ducat collector to Kerby's face.  "How about
you, for example?  I'm sure that you have many more responsibilities
other than coming around here and asking for our ducats.  Am I right?"
     Kerby stood up straight and put on a smile.  "Oh, of course!  I'm
responsible for the Canaris's maintenance.  Finding enough hand-me-down
parts to keep her flying is a full-time job in itself!"
     Chameleon turned to his companion.  "See, Blassie?  Those are the
stories we should be hearing about on the IFB!  Stories about
determination and innovation and the will to fight against misfortune
and bad times.  People who serve without glory."
     Blassie nodded her agreement, and Chameleon, completely consumed
by his enthusiasm, turned to Kerby.  "By the Villium moons!  I just had
an idea!  Zara should interview you on the IFB!"
     "Me?"  Kerby was stunned.  "Well, I suppose..."
     "It could be called the 'Unsung Heroes of the Centar.'  I'm sure
people would find that a lot more interesting than about the same old
stories that warriors could tell." Chameleon scrutinized him carefully. 
"Would you be interested?"
     Kerby was just about beaming with pride at the turn in
conversation.  "Of course!"
     "Excellent!  As soon as you're off duty, report to the comtel
ship.  I want Zara to interview you for the first broadcast.  I'll
notify her once I get aboard the Rising Star."
     "Thank you, sir!"  Kerby could help smiling.  "I will, as soon as
I can.  Please excuse me, but I have to collect the rest of the ducats
before we dock."
     "Of course."  Chameleon's smile mirrored Kerby's.  "And thank
you."
     Still stunned but elated that he was going to be interviewed on
the IFB, even if by Zara, Kerby was about to ask the next row for their
ducats when he remembered that he hadn't gathered Chameleon's.  He
hurried back and placed the collector in front of the older sire.
     "Your ducat, sire?" he asked.
     He received a sympathetic smile.  "I gave you my ducat, remember?"
     He felt his cheeks redden, even though he could vaguely remember
it.  That's right, he thought.  The conversation with Chameleon must
have distracted him.  "Of course you did.  I'm sorry, sir."
     Kerby left the two alone to continue with the other rows, and
Chameleon settled back in his seat.  He exchanged a smile with Blassie,
who was giving him another one of those wide-eyed looks.  Reaching out,
he turned the IFB back on, where Starbuck was finishing a sentence
before Zara asked him another question.
     "Do you remember anything about your life before the attack?" Zara
asked, looking immensely interested.
     "Not really.  I was only a toddler when Umbra was destroyed, and
my parents both perished in the attack.  At least I think that's what
happened.  I mean, with the thousands of children who were orphaned,
lots of us probably got lost in the shuffle of bureauticians. Caprica
didn't exactly have the greatest social services system before Umbra,
and the extra burden placed on them bogged them down for yahrens to
come."
     Chameleon stared at the monitor for a few microns, his eyes losing
their focus as he looked, but didn't see, the images on the monitor. 
Memories of his own, of a wife and child lost for thirty yahrens, came
back to him, and he felt the feeling of loss that he had been sure he'd
never feel again return.  His journey into the past faded when Blassie
touched his arm.
     "Are you all right?"  Her brown eyes were looking at him in
concern.
     "Yes," he smiled.  "Yes, I'm fine.  Just looking forward to the
Rising Star.  It's been a while since I've been to any kind of leisure
ship, especially in the company of a lady such as yourself."
     She smiled, and Chameleon didn't return to the memory of his lost
family again. He had happier and more current things to think about.


     The Galactica's shuttle was the second ship to dock with the
Rising Star.  As soon as the pilots powered down the engines, the
warriors began to unfasten themselves from their seats.  Starbuck and
Apollo remained where they were until most of their fellow warriors had
exited, then they made their way out the hatch.  Boomer and Jolly were
already waiting for them in the brightly lit lounge at the entrance of
the bays.
     "So!" Jolly said in greeting.  "How was the ride over?  I thought
I heard the beginning of an argument between you two."
     "Argument, what argument?" Starbuck asked, playing innocent.  "We
were only having a discussion."
     "Sure," Boomer said, looking at Apollo.  "Let me guess.  He has a
new system to try out for Pyramid?"
     "How'd you guess?" the captain replied with a mirthless grin. 
"Now, I suggest that we make our way to the Astral Lounge.  I heard
that there's supposed to be some interesting entertainment lined up for
the duration of our furlon.  I thought that we could check that out
first.  We do have two days to play with, after all."
     "Sounds good to me!" Boomer chimed in.
           "Oh, the cultured sires," Starbuck teased.
     "Just because you're uneducated in the finer aspects of life
doesn't mean it's too late to learn," Apollo shot back, motioning to
the exit.  "Onwards."
     Putting his fumarello back into his mouth, Starbuck started to
follow his friends' lead when he happened to look up and see the
monitors placed next to the walls in the lounge.  To his embarrassment,
it was the interview with him and Zara.  He groaned as he heard his own
voice, tinny over the speakers, responding to something about the life
of a warrior.
     "I wish they'd turn that fracking thing off!" Starbuck groaned. 
"It's horrible.  I thought Zara was never going to ask an intelligent
question!  And I'm not even photogenic!"
     "You're more photogenic than the rest of us put together, Bucko,"
Boomer told him.  "And that's saying a lot."
     "Besides, you're in the wrong profession.  You should have picked
the designation of an actor," Jolly told him.  "You're great at playing
to the monitors."
     "Sure I am.  Just wait," he threatened good-naturedly.  "You're
going to get a communiqu‚ from Zara one of these days, requesting your
presence on the comtel ship for a mandatory interview, signed by the
Commander in the name of relations with the public."
     "You'll never find me on the IFB," Apollo said, shaking his head.
      "Oh?"
     "There are some benefits to being the squadron commander, after
all," he grinned. "After all, who do you think suggested you to the
IFB?"
     He headed out of the lounge with Jolly and Boomer, leaving
Starbuck to trail behind.  With his fumarello in his hand, he pointed
the unlit tip of it at Apollo's retreating back.  "Watch it, buddy,
those be fighting words!"
     He exited just as the Canaris finally docked, and her passengers
entered the lounge directly behind the warriors.  Chameleon and Blassie
were mixed in with them, and they walked toward the Astral Lounge.  The
ship had an atmosphere unlike any other in the fleet, that of fun and
of reminiscings.  This was a place where one could forget about the
fact that they were simply one more human running from the Cylons, and
that they only had a fraction of the life they once lived back at the
Colonies.  Here, on the Rising Star, everyone was someone new, and this
wasn't the place for worries or grief.
     In the hallway outside the Lounge, Chameleon suddenly stopped as
he checked his pockets, a worried look on his face.  Blassie looked at
him in concern.
     "Oh, dear..." he muttered.
     "What is it?" Blassie asked, pulling the two of them aside so the
others could pass by without any problems.  "Is there something wrong?"
     "I seem to have misplaced my wallet on the Canaris," he explained,
looking up at her.  "If you don't mind, I'll go back and fetch it.  If
it's not a bother, you can go in and reserve us a table.  Don't worry
about me, I'll be fine."
     "I'll do no such thing!" she informed him.  "The Canaris has
probably already left, and besides, you can always ask them later if
they've found it.  I'm sure they're very good about keeping lost items
in storage.  In the meantime, I have plenty of cubits, even some marks
and Orion cheques.  You can use some of them, if you wish."
     He shook his head firmly.  "I'm afraid that I can't possibly
accept money from a lady, especially a siress like yourself."
     "I insist."
     He blinked at her for a micron, then smiled slightly.  "If you
insist, because it's even ruder to deny a lady's wishes.  However, I
must insist that when the evening is finished, we return to my billet
this very night so that I may repay you."
     "It would be my pleasure to have the Director of  the IFB's news
and interviews join me for an evening of amusement."  Blassie's eyes
were sparkling as she looked Chameleon in the eye.  "And if you feel
that strongly about it, naturally I shall accept.  So you can... repay
me?"
     Chameleon gave her a large smile and offered his arm to her.  "Of
course.  Thank you, Blassie.  Now, shall we go in?"
     With a smile of her own, Blassie put her hand on her companion's
arm, and together, they entered the lounge.  She was positive that
there wasn't another couple on the entire ship who could match them.

Chapter Two

     "I've been looking forward to this day for the last six sectars." 
Jolly was bursting with the enthusiasm of a six-yahren-old child as he
and Boomer reached the entrance to the Astral Lounge ahead of Apollo
and Starbuck, who were still locked into their conversation over both
the IFB and gambling.  "At long last, the chance for some food other
than that Mess Hall slop on the Galactica."
     "Lucky for you, you've had to wait six sectars, Jolly," Boomer
said dryly.  "You'd never be able to fit into your viper cockpit
again."
     "And you wouldn't either.  Admit it," the corpulent lieutenant
retorted good-naturedly.   
     "Maybe," he conceded with a half-smile as the doors to the Lounge
slid open.
     Inside, the Lounge was almost packed to its maximum capacity of
two hundred people.  Most of the two dozen tables strategically placed
about the performing stage were occupied, leaving only standing room at
the back of the lounge.  The music was loud, the decorations were
bright, and the room was permeated with abandonment.
     Most of the warriors in the room had their eyes fixated on the
stage, were a group of dancers were performing something that Boomer
could vaguely identify as coming from Piscon.  The performers were
dressed in tight-fitting costumes that left no details to the
imagination, and their bodies were completely covered except for their
faces.  They looked almost spectral, in that the area around their eyes
were painted with bright makeup that gave them the edge of
otherworldliness that seemed to be desired.
     "What have we here?" Jolly asked, stopping dead in his tracks as
his brown eyes widened to take in the sight.  A grin appeared on his
face as he watched the lead dancer, a lithe woman who danced around her
fellow performers, twirled and twisted and kicked her legs.  The
expression on her face was of pure concentration.  "It looks like
heaven taken form."
     "I wouldn't really call it that," Boomer replied, but he could
tell that his words weren't being heeded.  Jolly's eyes remained locked
on the dancers, and by the way he started moving forward with
determination, told Boomer that his friend's thoughts of dinner had
evaporated completely.
     "Stay clear of my ion trail, Boomer," Jolly announced, the
giddiness in his voice apparent as he hooked his hand on the back of a
chair at the only vacant table.  "I'm locked on target!"
     "Hey, hold it, Jolly," Boomer teased as he tapped him on the
shoulder.  "I thought we were going to get some food.  Remember? 
Roasted Piscean fowl.  Broiled Libran calf with crisp vegetables.  All
those delicacies you said you've been drooling over for the last six
sectars?"
     "Boomer, I see all the food I need!"  Jolly shook himself loose
and made his way down to the front.  "Besides, haven't you guys always
said that it's better to feed the mind than the mouth?"
     The dark-skinned warrior let out a hearty laugh.  The Book of the
Word's right, he said to himself as he followed him.  Man definitely
does not live by bread alone.


     "Just watch me for the first hand," Starbuck was saying as he and
Apollo entered the Lounge thirty microns after their two friends had
gone in.  He had finally lit his fumarello which he waved about him
non-chalantly, and more than once, Apollo had fanned an errant strand
of pungent smoke away from his face.  "If you see me win once, will
that ease all your anxieties?"
     "Not in a million yahrens," Apollo shook his head as the two of
them flashed their furlon passes to the Rising Star's Chief Steward,
who stood on duty at the entrance. "Your so-called run of good luck
will be what is known as a fluke."
     "Ah, Lieutenant Starbuck," the gray-haired, mustachioed Chief
Steward said as soon as he saw the blonde lieutenant.  "How nice to see
you aboard the Rising Star again."
     Starbuck looked up and smiled. "Oh, yes.  Zeibert, isn't it?"
     "I'm glad you remembered," Zeibert said with more than a trace of
admiration in his voice.  "The last time I saw you was a most memorable
experience for me."
     Yeah, all I did was give you over eight hundred cubits for extra
private rooms when I was trying to juggle both Athena and Cassiopeia
showing up unexpectedly, Starbuck thought as he recalled the incident. 
No wonder you remember me.
     "If by any chance the two young ladies are accompanying you this
time, Lieutenant," Zeibert said, "I should have little trouble
arranging private accommodations for you to handle the both of --"
     "Ah, thank you, Zeibert."  An edge of curtness entered Starbuck's
voice as he interrupted the Chief Steward.  "I'm afraid that this time,
I'm not in the mood for 'pre-war' behavior.  I'll just stick to the
Chancery and try my luck there."
     "A pity," Zeibert said as he realized that he wouldn't be
receiving a windfall of extra cubits this time, "Enjoy your stay,
Lieutenant."
     "I intend to," Starbuck said with emphasis as he followed Apollo
in.  His friend was staring at him somewhat dubiously.
     "Pre-war behavior?"  Apollo raised an eyebrow.  "What was he
talking about, Starbuck?"
     "Ancient history, Apollo," he said firmly.  Which was true to a
large extent ever since his relationship to Athena had fizzled out
completely, and his devotion to Cassiopeia had steadily increased. 
"It's nothing important."
     Trying to avoid the subject that he knew Apollo wanted an answer
to, Starbuck looked about the lounge until he noticed Boomer and Jolly
settling in at a table right in the front row.  Their spot was a scant
three metrons from where the three dancers continued to perform.
     "Where did they disappear to?" Apollo asked, not seeing the duo in
their enraptured position.  By his tone, Starbuck knew that Apollo had
another item to hold against him in his quest to avoid the chancery.
     "Over there.  I guess they're occupied for the rest of the furlon,
huh?"  Starbuck motioned to their friends with his fumarello, and once
he saw Apollo nod, he let his voice resume its brash edge.  "Now, old
buddy, let's say I show you how misplaced your lack of faith in me
really is?"
     "Starbuck, I meant what I said.  I am not losing another secton's
pay."  The harsh edge returned to Apollo's voice, and he fixed his
friend with a stern look.  "I don't care if the Lords of Kobol
themselves revealed this new system to you."
     Starbuck grinned slyly at his friend and took a long puff on his
fumarello, "Come on, Apollo, how would you like to win an extra
secton's pay?  Think of all the extra dividends that would come from
another two hundred cubits.  Maybe even something special for Boxey's
next birthday.  Besides," his grin widened, "you owe me one after
forcing me into that painful session with Zara."
     "No, I don't."
     "Yes, you do."  Starbuck started to drag him by the shoulder out
of the Astral Lounge toward the door that led to the Main Chancery.
     "Starbuck, wait!" Apollo protested, feeling as though those doors
were going to spell his doom, as though beyond them lay the worst
torture imaginable.  "What makes you think I don't want to watch those
dancers, too?"
     "You'll have time for that later," Starbuck said as they reached
the exit, watching as Apollo feebly reached to grab onto the edge of
the doorway.  He smiled slightly, thinking about how much Apollo
reminded him of a poulon on its way to the slaughter, not that he had
anything like that in mind for the evening.  "Besides, if it's good
dancing you want to watch, I suggest you wait for the Skorpian troupe
that performs later tonight. Now they have some pretty girls in
costumes that would really boggle the mind."
     "Look, Starbuck," Apollo snapped, shaking himself loose from his
friend as soon as they were out in the short passageway that connected
the Lounge with the Chancery, "I really--"
     Before Apollo could say anything else, the doors to the Chancery
opened and a sour-faced warrior with curly blonde hair emerged.  He was
so busy counting from a large bag of cubits that he held in his left
hand, a grotesque number to begin with, that he didn't notice either
Apollo or Starbuck until he bumped right into them.
     "Hey, watch where you're going!" Starbuck angrily protested.
     The curly-haired warrior looked up and as soon as he saw Apollo
and Starbuck, a taunting sneer came over his face.
     "Well, well," he said, "If it isn't the self-appointed kings of
the triad court themselves."
     Starbuck's face twisted in disgust when he realized who it was. 
"Oh great," he groaned.  "What rock did you crawl out from under this
morning, Ortega?"
     "Starbuck," Apollo clenched his teeth and grabbed his friend by
the arm.
     Sergeant Ortega, an ex-Colonial Security Guard who had transferred
to Flight Duty during the difficult period when so many pilots had been
stricken with illness before the Battle of Kobol, folded his arms and
grinned menacingly at Starbuck.  "What's the matter, Starbuck?  Just
one secton before the big match and already you're feeling scared?"
     "Ortega, the day I'm scared of you on the triad court is the day I
defect to the Cylons.  You and Barton don't stand a chance against us."
     "Frack, I wouldn't even need Barton," Ortega continued to taunt. 
"I could take on the both of you all by myself and still win the
match."
     "I'd like to see you try!" Starbuck shot back and shook Apollo
off.  "Maybe we could settle this whole thing right here and now!"
     "That's enough!" Apollo suddenly stepped in between the two. 
"Enough!  If either of you so much as lay a finger on each other,
you're both on report and I'll see to it that you both spend the rest
of your furlons in the brig!  Is that clear?"
     "Clear," Starbuck muttered as he continued to stare at Ortega with
pure venom.
     "I guess so, Captain," Ortega deliberately placed some heavy
sarcasm on the title. "Until next secton, on the triad court then?"  He
flashed a malevolent smirk at the two of them as he went back to
counting his large wad of currency and disappeared into the Lounge.
     "Lousy Sagitarian snake," Starbuck seethed.
     "Enough," Apollo said firmly.  "You should have known better,
Starbuck.  He deliberately provoked you because he thinks it'll have
you too riled up, come the match next secton.  You'll be so on edge
that before you know it, you'll do something you'll regret on the
court, earn yourself a disqualification and all but guarantee victory
for him."
     "Who can control their temper around him?" Starbuck spat, "That
guy should have been jettisoned with all the excess refuse the day we
fled the Colonies.  All he ever does is go out of his way to be a pain
in the astrum.   He's been that way since the day I met him at the
Academy."
     "And got him expelled.  I know that," Apollo nodded, recalling as
well how an exasperated Bojay had come to him two sectars ago demanding
that Ortega be transferred out of Silver Spar Squadron because the
curly-haired sergeant was being too much of a disruptive influence.  It
marked the third time in a yahren that Apollo had been forced to move
Ortega from one squadron to another because virtually no one liked to
be around him.  "But Starbuck, if you want to prove how better you are
than him as a human being, and not just as a triad player, then you've
got to stop letting him goad you.  Before you know it, you'd only end
up hurting yourself."
     "I'll take it under advisement," Starbuck said, clearly having
difficulty shaking his anger and inner rage off.  "Now in the meantime,
I'd like to get back to the Chancery."
     Apollo wasted little time following him in.  After what had just
happened, all of his reluctance about accompanying Starbuck had
evaporated.  He had to make absolutely certain that the run-in with
Ortega wouldn't rattle Starbuck to the point where he'd self-destruct
at the gaming tables.


     In stark contrast to the crowded, noisy activity taking place in
the Astral Lounge, the Empyreal Lounge, located on the starboard side
of the Rising Star was a haven for those who desired a more quiet
atmosphere.  The Lounge itself took up two deck levels and featured
over forty plush, comfortable chairs and couches scattered about the
vast room.  From each chair on both levels, a visitor could enjoy a
drink while taking in the spectacular, unobstructed view of the stars
that came courtesy of the massive, two-story transparent porthole that
lined this area of the ship.
     This was the place on the luxury ship where people in the mood for
quiet talk and introspection would come to.  Where they could be free
of the raucous din of the Astral Lounge's loud music, or the frenzied,
cheering crowds of the spectators at the Triad Court, three levels
below.  A closed-circuit videocom might on occasion carry the live feed
of a triad match in progress, but always with the sound off so as not
to disturb the Lounge's other patrons.  Any music that was heard in the
Empyreal Lounge was always of the soft, tranquil variety, usually
performed on the large spinet situated on the top level next to the
bar.
     Quiet and introspection, though, was the furthest thing from the
minds of the many Galactica warriors who had come over to the Rising
Star for their furlons.  As a result, the Empyreal Lounge was not
enjoying any major increase in business that the Astral Lounge, the
Chancery or the Main Dining Hall was receiving this day.  It suited the
staff of the Empyreal Lounge just fine.  Since all members of the
Rising Star's crew were designated as Level Three employees on the
Fleet Treasury's pay scale, then all of them would receive any pay
raises stemming from the increased business caused by the warriors on
furlon, regardless of whether or not their own section had enjoyed any
increased business.
     Not a bad system, the Lounge's Assistant Chief Bartender, a tall
man in his late thirties with salt and pepper hair thought, as he
brought over two glasses of Sagitarian brandy to a table on the second
level.  The Astral Lounge staff has to do all the extra work, and we
all get paid the same.
     "Will there be anything else?" he said politely to the middle-aged
couple seated at the table.  These were regular customers at the
Empyreal Lounge, who showed up every day to spend a centar taking in
the view.
     "Thank you, Pallan.  That'll be all," the man smiled back.  After
many sectars of coming to the Lounge, he and his wife both knew the
Assistant Chief Bartender well enough to be on a name basis with him. 
The same was true of many other regular customers.  All of them,
without hesitation, knew the Assistant Chief Bartender as a genial man
who was always quick to serve the patrons with honest, friendly
service.  So much did they like him, that the regulars virtually made a
point of coming whenever the man called Pallan was on duty.  And all of
them were always quick to leave him with an extra ten cubits gratuity
to express their appreciation.
     None of the Empyreal Lounge's regular customers though, would ever
have guessed that the man called Pallan carried a dark secret deep
inside him.  A secret that would have shocked the people who liked him
so much, beyond all measure.
     It never would have been gleaned from a look at his personnel file
in the Fleet Computer.  According to the Fleet Records, the man called
Pallan was a native of Piscera who had been a bartender his entire
adult life.  Single, and without family, he had survived the Holocaust
while working in the fashionable Solaria Restaurant in Piscera's
capital city and had hooked up with a band of Pisceans that had been
able to rendezvous with the Galactica and the rag-tag fleet of 220
ships that had left the Colonies behind forever.
     It was true that there had once been a bartender named Pallan who
had worked in the Solaria Restaurant on Piscera.  But the man who now
worked aboard the Rising Star was not the same man.  He had merely
assumed that identity after stumbling across the dead body of the real
Pallan in the shattered remains of the restaurant and stealing the dead
bartender's identification cards.  Ever since, he had lived the life of
a total lie.  It was a lie that had to be maintained for the rest of
his life, since the truth would only result in a punishment too severe
for his mind to comprehend.
     Each passing day, though, always carried the risk that the lie
would be undone and the truth of "Pallan's" real past would come to
light.  From the very beginning, Pallan knew that there was one man in
the Fleet who had the power to expose him.  Someone who knew his real
identity as the result of a chance encounter on the eve of the
Holocaust at the Caprica City Aerodrome.
     "Good morning, Pallan," a voice from behind him suddenly spoke up.
     Instantly, Pallan felt his skin crawl.  The one man who held his
fate in the palm of his hand had decided to show up.
     Showing no outward emotion except for the pleasant expression of a
genial bartender, Pallan made his way over to the table alongside the
railing that overlooked the main level, where the man had seated
himself.
     "Good morning, Sergeant Ortega," he said, "The usual for you?"
     "Actually, I think it's time we have a nice little talk," Ortega
said as he kept one hand buried inside his sack of cubits.  "Suppose
you join me."
     Pallan tensed slightly and smiled thinly.  "Very well."
     After going over to the Chief Bartender to tell him he was taking
a ten centon break, Pallan came back to Ortega's table and calmly sat
down.
     "Okay," the bartender kept his voice low and confidential, in
keeping with the kind of conversation that the Empyreal Lounge was
noted for.  "What is it this time?"
     Ortega, still feeling malevolently satisfied in the wake of his
run-in with Starbuck, smirked at him.  "What do you think?"
     "If you're asking for more cubits, forget it," Pallan said coolly
but forcefully.  "I've been as generous with you as I possibly can. 
Twenty-five percent of my salary plus all the cubits I had left over
from the stash I won on Carillon.  What more could I possibly give
you?"
     "Plenty."  Ortega leaned forward.  "You see, my dear Pallan, I
have a very nice set-up in place aboard the Rising Star.  And it's
enabled me to enjoy considerably more success in the Chancery than the
average warrior ever experiences."
     Pallan eyed the bag of cubits that the blonde sergeant still had
his hand in.  It seemed heavy enough to number in the low thousands.
     "You cheat?"  He decided to be blunt.
     "I wouldn't exactly call it that."  Ortega leaned back in his
chair.  "Let's just say that the dealer at Table number three, a
certain Chella, owes me some favors, and because of that he's made
things a lot easier for me."
     "That's very interesting."  Pallan found himself struggling to
keep his composure. "What does that have to do with me?"
     Ortega smirked.  "If I tell Chella to do me a favor, he does it. 
And if I tell him that I'm not the only person who needs to go on a
winning streak at Table 3, he'll listen."
     Light suddenly dawned on Pallan, "I see," he nodded.  "I go on a
winning streak, and then I turn all of the winnings over to you.  Is
that the idea?"
     "You go to the head of the class," Ortega grinned wickedly and
patted the bartender on the arm.  "This way, I get to make a double
killing so to speak."
     "Supposing I can't come up with extra winnings?" Pallan retorted
softly.  "Suppose your friend Chella isn't anxious to reciprocate?  A
dealer who loses too much money is bound to attract attention sooner or
later."
     "That isn't my problem," Ortega shook his head.  "From my
standpoint, you only have to be concerned with coming up with those
extra winnings."
     "And if I can't?"
     Ortega grinned.  "Don't worry."  his voiced was dripping with the
sense of holding total power over the bartender.  "I can always come up
with an alternate way that will help you meet my demands."
     Pallan felt on the verge of exploding with fury.  "And next secton
brings more demands and more cubits?  When is it all going to end?"
     "Never," the curly-haired sergeant's words were blunt and sharp. 
"Because when it comes to you, my dear Pallan, I have you over the
proverbial barrel."
     "Don't be too sure."  For the first time, the bartender matched
the malevolent tone the sergeant had been using with them.  "There's
always another way out for me."
     Ortega grinned again.  "Yes, I haven't forgotten what you said to
me that night on Carillon when you first gave me 5000 cubits to keep my
mouth shut.  You said I could prosper from my silence or die.  But one
thing I know you aren't, Pallan, is stupid.  Capital offenses are a
thing of the past, especially in a Fleet as small as this.  No one who
commits murder has a place to hide.  You'd only be asking for trouble
even bigger than the kind you're in now."
     "Don't bet on it," Pallan raised the low venom in his tone a
notch.  "The worst thing you can ever do is get too overconfident. If I
were you, I'd lay off for now."
     "Don't think I wouldn't be prepared."  the blonde sergeant patted
the holster of his uniform.  "In the meantime, my dear Pallan, I
suggest you pay Chella a visit and get a head start for when we next
meet.  And I expect nothing less than a thousand cubits."
     Before Pallan could say anything, Ortega rose from his seat and
reached the stairway that led to the main level.
     Pallan took a deep breath to keep the fury he felt inside from
exploding and made his way over to the railing that overlooked the main
level.  He could see the warrior walking at a carefree pace toward the
exit that led to the luxury ship's main corridor.
     The only thing he was certain of, was that he had no intention of
letting his situation with Ortega remain status quo for much longer.


     "Passenger shuttle Callisto is now docking.  Please wait for all
arriving passengers to depart before beginning general boarding."
     Ortega sat down on one of the cushioned benches lining the docking
lounge and began to idly count some of his large sum of money.  If the
Fleet's second largest passenger shuttle was carrying a full load of
people, it would be at least five centons before he'd be able to board
for his return trip to the Galactica.
     "Someday you're going to have to tell me the secret of your
success."
     The curly-haired sergeant looked up and saw that his Red Squadron
wingmate and Triad court partner, Sergeant Barton, had arrived and
settled next to him.  He barely acknowledged him with a half nod and
said nothing.
     Typical, Barton thought with a trace of disgust.  He'd heard all
kinds of stories about Ortega's surly demeanor from a whole host of
pilots during conversations in the Galactica Officer's Club.  As a
result, when he'd been paired with Ortega six sectars earlier, he'd
acted as cautiously as he possibly could, refusing to let himself be
goaded by any of Ortega's insults or attempts to start a fistfight. 
Even though there were many occasions during that first secton together
when Barton felt like shoving the curly-haired sergeant into an
airlock, he'd held his tongue and waited for Ortega to back off.  His
silent approach had proved successful, especially when Ortega
discovered how good a triad player Barton was, and how his wingmate was
the only warrior willing to partner with him in the athletic contests. 
In the six sectars since, they were by no means friends or even cordial
to each other.  They had however, settled into a stable situation of
mutual tolerance, in which they could at least work without any fear of
ugliness or violence erupting.  And since they had become one of the
top-ranked triad teams, they both knew underneath that it was in their
best interest not to antagonize each other.
     And so on this occasion, Barton didn't bother reacting harshly to
his wingmate's snub.  He was long past the point where he could be
affected by it.
     "By the way," his tone grew more business-like, "I got a telecom
last night concerning the duty roster.  Our deep-patrol's been moved
back to four days from now."
     For the first time, Ortega responded to him with a half-smirk,
"You suppose Apollo pulled some strings so that we'd have to fly so
close to the match?"
     Barton hesitated for a brief instant, knowing that one wrong word
might set Ortega off into one of his patented rages.  "I....don't think
so," he chose his words carefully.
     "Why not?" Ortega kept staring ahead at the crowds of passengers
that were now getting off the shuttle, "Boomer's our squadron
commander.  Boomer's best buddies with Apollo and Starbuck.  And the
winner of the match goes on to play Boomer and Castor. Boomer'd feel
insulted if he didn't get another crack at Apollo and Starbuck."
     There he goes again with one of his paranoiac rants, Barton
thought.  All typical of a man who saw the universe divided neatly into
two parts.  Himself on one side, and his enemies on the other.
     "I don't think Boomer's that devious."  Barton said gently, which
brought a guffaw from his wingmate.
     They exchanged no more words for the next two centons as they
waited for the light to turn green above the docking ring that
connected the Callisto to the Rising Star, indicating that it was time
for them to board the shuttle.  The steady stream of departing
passengers had trickled down to only a few, indicating that it wouldn't
be much longer. Already, Ortega and Barton had both gotten up from the
bench in anticipation of the light turning from red to green. 
     The last three passengers finally emerged and as soon as the two
warriors saw who they were, expressions of disbelief and amazement came
over them.
     "Now there's something you don't see every day," for one of the
few times in his life, Ortega was awed, "Borellian Nomen."
     The three men who'd emerged gave the impression of towering
giants, as each was at least six feet, seven inches in height.  Heavy
brown robes covered them from head to foot, but still failed to obscure
their incredibly broad shoulders and powerful physiques. The faces of
two of the men were concealed by massively thick beards that blended
perfectly with their equally thick eyebrows.  Only the third one was
beardless, indicating that he was at least twenty yahrens younger than
his companions.
     The three men were Borellian Nomen.  They were natives of the
planet Borallus, a harsh desert world located outside the main star
system of the twelve colonies.  Though considered human in the general
sense, they were totally unlike any of the other ethnic tribes that
were native to the twelve worlds.  The exact origins of the Nomen race
had always been shrouded in mystery, but it was generally believed that
they were the descendants of an expedition of early space travelers
who'd set out from the Colonies four thousand yahrens ago and crashed
on the distant world of Boarallus.  There, the survivors had
encountered the native population, and the cross-mating between the
Colonists and the native Borellians had resulted in the Nomen species. 
Human in a general sense, but with features and characteristics that
always managed to put Colonists ill at ease.
     The suspicion and hostility between Colonists and Borellians had
always been mutual, ever since the first modern contacts between the
two races twelve-hundred yahrens before.  It was because of that
underlying hostility that the Borellian government had been reluctant
to enter into any kind of alliance with the Colonies after the war with
the Cylon Empire had begun.  Only when the Cylons had scored a
devastating raid on Borallus did the Borellian government finally feel
compelled to ask the Colonies for protection.  In the thousand yahrens
since, the relations between the Borellian Nomen and the Colonies had
never been better than that of a grudging tolerance in which they both
realized that a common enemy could destroy them all.
     Of the Fleet's population of 70,000 survivors of the Holocaust,
there were more than 150 Nomen who had been living in the Colonies as
official emissaries of the Borellian government or as expatriate
settlers who found that they could often find profitable employment as
private bodyguards for prominent Colonists.  Now, they were largely
confined by choice to living quarters on one passenger freighter that
few people ever liked to visit.  Ever since the beginning of the
Exodus, the hostility between Colonists and Borellians had only
deepened.  Many Borellians expected Adama to return them to their home
planet after the journey had begun, but it wasn't until much later that
they realized that they would never see Borallus again.  Adama had
refused to consider stopping at Borallus for supplies since he already
knew that a Cylon task force would be lying in wait for the Galactica.
     Few Borellians had learned to accept Adama's decision. 
Practicality would have told them that the Cylons had likely taken
advantage of their destruction of the Colonies to destroy Borallus as
well.  Instead, the Borellian Nomen saw Adama's decision as a further
example of Colonial prejudice against Borellians in general.
     Given the hatred and contempt Borellian Nomen held for Colonials,
the Rising Star was the last place anyone might have expected to see
them.
     "What do you suppose they're here for?" so great was Ortega's
surprise that it had completely pierced his anti-social exterior.
     "Don't know," Barton shook his head, "But I don't think I want to
stick around to find out."
     His triad partner nodded, "I'm with you."
     The two warriors wasted little time boarding the shuttle.  They
didn't even cast a second glance at the three Nomen, who were headed in
the direction of the Astral Lounge. 

Chapter Three     

     The music was slow and melodic, and it suited Chameleon just fine. 
The noise that the youth these days called music was a little too
artificial for his tastes, but every once in a while, there was a song
that was perfectly suited to slow dancing.  And now, he was dancing
with Blassie in his arms, without a care in the world as they slowly
circled the dance floor.
     Around them, other couples were dancing, and Chameleon knew
without looking that many were casting appreciative glances in their
direction.  He smiled to himself.  He hadn't felt this comfortable with
a woman dancing in his arms in yahrens, not since...
     He blinked his eyes slightly as his eyes threatened to mist over. 
Even now, more than twenty yahrens -- now nearing thirty -- after
Umbra, he still couldn't think of his wife without his eyes blurring. 
At least it was improving with time, but there had been no one like
Gabriella.  His poor beloved Gabriella.
     The day he met her, it was just like it happened a few sectons
ago.  He had run into the younger woman when he was during one of his
more tame periods.  He hadn't been to a chancery in sectars, and he was
starting to make a name for himself in the designation that he'd chosen
for himself.  And he was miserable.
     Gabriella was ten yahrens younger than him, but with a feisty
maturity that immediately attracted Chameleon.  Her parents, of course,
didn't approve of him, but Gabriella didn't care.  After seeing each
other for a few sectars, he proposed to her, and she accepted.  He had
been so surprised, because the relationship was moving at a speed that
he'd never experienced before, but with every fiber in his being, he
knew that this was the woman he was meant to be with.
     He still wasn't sure why they'd picked Umbra for their new home,
but the small community had everything they wanted.  Chameleon
remembered when he had brought his wife to their dwelling, carrying her
the old-fashioned way, and how Gabriella had laughed as he twirled her
around so she could see the entire room.
     The birth of their first child, a beautiful baby boy, two yahrens
into their marriage only increased their happiness.  As Chameleon
watched his wife and son, he knew that he was light yahrens from the
man he'd once been, and Kobol willing, he'd never go back to that life
again.
     Lady Fortune was the patrol deity of gambling, and she never
forgot her own.  Nor did she let them go.  Like the unsteady odds she
influenced in wagering, she pulled strange things on her unsuspecting
victims.
     It was a morning that would destroy everything Chameleon held
dear.  Late in the fall, Chameleon was helping some local agron
producers calculate the insurance they'd need to cover that yahren's
crops, and to estimate the following yahren's, as well.  If he didn't
use his math for odds, then percentages were just as good.  They were
located at a five centon's drive from Umbra, and the village could be
seen in the distance.
     One of the farmers' wives had started screaming.  In the blue sky
that one micron had been completely empty, Cylons ships could be seen. 
In the blink of an eye, they descended on the defenseless village,
strafing the buildings and streets.
     All Chameleon could think about was Gabriella and their son. 
Without any thought, he ran from the shocked farmers for his
hovermobile, heading straight for Umbra. With his heart beating as
though it would burst in his chest, he drove straight into the heart of
the attack.  By some miracle, he made it to their neighborhood, and he
was nearly physically sick when he saw that their house was almost
completely destroyed.
     He could see the Thorn Forest a few dozen metrons from their area,
but he paid it no attention as he ran for the dwelling.  Half of the
house was on fire, but he ignored the panic that the sight inspired as
he made his way inside.  He wasn't able to find anything, though.  The
laser blasts had weakened the foundation, and the floor gave way
underneath his weight.
     He didn't remember anything until he heard someone calling to him,
using a gentle voice.  "Mathias, Mathias...  Can you hear me? 
Mathias?"
     The name meant nothing to him, but the voice, soft and feminine,
made him remember that he hadn't been able to find Gabriella.  Opening
his eyes, he sat up, crying out his wife's name.
     But the woman who spoke to him wasn't Gabriella, and as he looked
around, he didn't recognize where he was.  Feeling his heart beginning
to sink, he asked her was going on.  When she explained, it felt like
he was listening to one of the daily dramas on the Caprican network.
     The attack had occurred nearly five yahrens ago, and Chameleon
gasped at the news.  Five yahrens!  Had he been in a coma for that
long?  The woman, a psychtech named Safia, told him that ever since he
came here, to a psychward outside of Caprica City, he was suffering
from traumatic amnesia, and the only name he had for recording purposes
was Mathias.  This was the first time he had remembered who he was, and
if things continued to improve, he could be released.
     Feeling his whole body shaking, Chameleon asked about his wife and
son.  Safia smiled at him gently, telling him that she could provide
him a list the Caprican government had put out, listing who had
survived the disaster.
     When he finally got to see the list, he felt his life crumble even
more than it already had.  Gabriella's name was plainly listed under
the deceased list, but as Chameleon examined both the list for
survivors and for the dead, his son's name was nowhere to be found.
     Explaining that to the psychtech, Chameleon told her that his son
wasn't listed. Safia calmly explained that several thousand children
had been orphaned at Umbra and the surrounding area; by now, they were
scattered about the planet in foster homes and orphanages, others
probably were adopted by now.  Many children had been too young to know
their own names, and were supplied with new ones by the Caprican social
services.
     Feeling like he had a new purpose in life, Chameleon was overjoyed
when he was released a few days after first "waking" up.  Almost
immediately, he started searching for his son, and he prayed that
Gabriella could give him some help.
     But now, more than twenty yahrens later, his son still hadn't been
found, and Chameleon had never found another woman like Gabriella.  He
had been with several women since then, but none gave him the true
happiness that only Gabriella could provide.
     Blassie was different, though.  She possessed some of the
qualities that he loved in Gabriella, but she still wasn't what he
wanted.  Even so, he could still enjoy the evening in her company.


     At the main entrance to the Astral Lounge, Zeibert was totally
oblivious to the music on the dance floor as he busily consulted the
day's admission ledger.
     Over four hundred today, he smiled slightly with satisfaction. 
It's been so many yahrens since we had numbers like that dancing and
having a good time.
     Abruptly, the Chief Steward was distracted when he noticed a large
shadow gliding over his ledger book.  When he looked up, he was
startled to see the sight of three Borellian Nomen towering over him.  
In the more than forty yahrens that Zeibert had worked aboard the
Rising Star, this was the first time he could ever recall seeing Nomen
aboard the luxury ship.
     "Your um....your passes please?" he managed to force his words
out.
     One of the two older Nomen cast an indifferent glance at Zeibert
and held up three gold admission passes that entitled them to access in
all sections of the Rising Star.  The Chief Steward hastily nodded his
head and backed up against the wall, trying to keep his distance as
much as he possibly could.
     Side-by-side, the three Nomen walked into the Lounge's main
entryway.  And as every spectator gathered in the Lounge spotted them,
it seemed as if a giant off switch had been activated.  Conversation,
music, dancing and eating all came to a stop as every pair of eyes
locked on in amazement at the sight of the three giants.  For many, it
was the first time any of them had ever seen a Nomen in their lifetime.
     On the dance floor, Blassie found herself totally transfixed that
she didn't notice the uneasy look on Chameleon's face.
     "Ohhh..." he moaned slightly under his breath as he instantly
positioned himself directly behind Blassie, hoping that he might be
blocked from view on the other side of the Lounge.  He alone, among all
the people in the Astral Lounge knew why the Nomen had come, and what
they planned to do.
     It was time for him to do some very quick thinking.


     At a table close to the dance floor, Boomer set his tankard down
while Jolly's eyes darted away from the dancers.  The dark-skinned
warrior seemed merely amazed, while the corpulent sergeant took on an
expression of deep concern.
     "Borellian Nomen?" Boomer said in disbelief. "I know there's a
shipload full of them in the Fleet but I didn't know any of them mixed
with the Colonists."
     "They don't," Jolly's voice had the same deathly serious edge it
only assumed during a heavy combat engagement.  "Unless they're on a
blood trail."
     "Blood trail?"  Boomer shot a quick glance at his friend and he
almost went ashen in spite of his complexion.
     "Yeah."
     The Nomen in the center of the column, who was clearly the oldest
stepped forward with hands on hips and looked out as if he were
surveying the Lounge in an effort to find something he would recognize. 
An air of nervous tension began to fill the room as those who
understood the meaning of the words "blood trail" began to whisper
their concerns to their friends and companions.
     Boomer decided that the time had come to take some badly needed
initiative.  He got up from his chair and walked up to where the lead
Nomen was standing.  His bearing was firm, erect and one of calm,
collected authority, though inside he was a mass of nervous tension.
     "Relax folks," he said aloud for the benefit of everyone in the
room.  "There's nothing to be concerned about here.  These fellow
voyagers are only here to enjoy themselves, just like the rest of us."
     Boomer came to a stop in front of the lead Nomen, who showed all
indications of being the leader of the group.  The warrior looked at
him dead-in-the-eye and put the most delicate edge possible into his
next word, "Right?"
     The lead Nomen's menacingly indifferent expression did not change. 
He simply looked at Boomer for what seemed like an eternity before he
moved off toward a nearby table.  The other two Nomen followed and they
settled down.  From their position, they had a nearly complete
panoramic view of the entire Lounge.
     Slowly, some of the tension in the room seemed to dissipate as
normal conversation began to resume.  Boomer went back to his table
near the dance floor, where he noticed that Jolly was clutching his
tankard so tight, he almost expected it to shatter from his grasp.
     "Looks like things are under control."  Boomer tried to break the
ice.  "What's say we finally order that dinner?"
     Jolly kept his eyes locked on the Nomen and shook his head.  "I
just lost my appetite."
     Boomer settled down and felt too amazed to even think of using the
comeback he'd been waiting to use for yahrens if he ever heard Jolly
utter that phrase.


     Chameleon almost felt on the verge of breaking out in a cold sweat
as he kept himself positioned behind Blassie in the hopes that the
siress could keep him blocked from view.  He knew right away though,
that it wouldn't be long before one of the Nomen would have a clear
view of the entire room and that would no longer be a viable option.
     It was time to act.
     "Uh....Siress," he said apologetically, "I wonder if you would be
so kind as to excuse me for a centon.  I did shuttle here on business,
as you recall.  But it won't take long."
     The attractive middle-aged siress seemed slightly dejected.  "Oh,
I do hope it's not interviewing those young female warriors."
     He let out a reassuring chuckle.  "Let me assure you, I find a
woman who has experienced life, much more attractive than mere youth.
     Siress Blassie blushed slightly and absently adjusted her left
earring.
     "I won't be long," Chameleon smiled as he started to amble in the
direction of the exit that led to the Chancery.  "Promise."
     As soon as he was away from Blassie, he felt the sweat finally
break out on his forehead, knowing that he had only mere microns to get
out of the Lounge before he'd be spotted.


     Boomer didn't even bother finishing his tankard of Gemonese ale
once he'd resumed his seat.  For now, he felt it was more important to
keep his attention focused solely on the Borellian Nomen.  If trouble
was going to happen, he wanted to be able to act quickly.
     "You ever had to deal with a Nomen before?" Jolly asked, the
tension still thick in his voice.
     "Never," Boomer admitted.
     "I have."  Jolly forced himself to take a sip of ale.  "Nine
yahrens ago, I was spending a long furlon at home on Caprica with my
family.  Next thing I knew, District Headquarters called me up in the
dead of night asking me to report for an emergency assignment. 
Protecting the Borellian Ambassador."
     Boomer shot a quick glance at his friend.  "Let me guess.  His
life was threatened by some renegade Nomen?"
     "Exactly," Jolly nodded.  "The Ambassador was seen as too
pro-Colonial by some of the Fundamentalist Nomen who favored a posture
of total neutrality in the war.  One of the hardline groups publicly
vowed to go on a blood trail against the Ambassador.  It got so bad
that the Caprican Government didn't think it was safe enough to let
Caprican Security or even Colonial Security handle protecting him. 
They wanted warriors to do it."
     "And you ended up confronting the would-be assassins?"
     "Yep," Jolly nodded.  "The worst experience of my life apart from
a combat engagement."
     "Tell me about it sometime," Boomer grunted as he kept his eyes
focused on the Nomen at the other end.  "Right now, I need to keep
concentrating on them."
     Just then, Boomer saw the one beardless Nomen shift his attention
to the far side of the Lounge.  His expression seemed to grow more
menacing.
     The Galactica warrior shot a glance at the far side where it
seemed like the Nomen had focused his attention on.  Boomer caught a
quick glimpse of an elderly, but limber white-haired man glancing back
before the door to the Chancery corridor opened.
     Suddenly, a high-pitched whine erupted drowning out all other
sounds in the Lounge.  Many people in the crowd abruptly pulled back
and let out gasps of horror.
     "Holy Frack!"  Jolly got to his feet. "One of them just activated
their laser boles!"
     Boomer bolted out of his chair and quickly made his way up to the
table where the Nomen were seated.  The beardless one was holding the
two, glowing white orbs that he had yanked off his cloak, and which
grew louder with each micron.
     "What's going on here?" Boomer demanded.
     "He is young."  The lead Nomen who had refused to speak to him
earlier spoke up and held out his arm to keep Boomer and Jolly from
getting closer.  "He activated them by accident."
     "Then have him de-activate it!" Boomer angrily shot back.
     "He can't," Jolly said as he felt his heart pounding faster. 
"Once drawn they have to be used or they reach critical mass and
explode."
     "Great." Boomer preferred to let anger rather than tension or fear
control him. "How long until they go off?"
     "Fifty microns," the lead Nomen looked over at the beardless one
and seemed displeased.
     There was no sound other than the increasing whine of the laser
boles as the spectators began filing back toward the Main Exit and the
Chancery Entry Corridor.
     Finally, Boomer snapped his fingers and motioned to one of the
vertical support columns located next to a group of now-empty tables
and chairs.
     "You," he pointed at the young Nomen.  "Over there.  Throw it over
there and let's get this thing done with so no one gets hurt."
     The beardless one looked back at the lead Nomen.  He firmly nodded
his head.
     After seemingly taking his time, the young Nomen got to his feet
and hurled the twin laser boles at the support column.  As soon as it
impacted, it let out a medium-sized explosion and left a blackened scar
at the base.
     With the danger past, Boomer let out a quick exhale of relief and
then drew himself up to the most angry, authoritative posture he could
summon.
     "You've got some serious explaining to do," he said.  "Borellian
Nomen don't draw laser boles by accident."
     The lead Nomen finally got to his feet.  He towered over Boomer by
almost a full foot.
     "I said he is young."  There was no air of apology or regret in
his low, menacing tone of voice.  "The drink and the music have excited
him.  That is all.  It will not happen again."
     "Oh that's a fact sir," Boomer nodded with a dry air.  "Because if
you're staying here, or on this ship for that matter, then these
weapons are coming off."
     "It is against our Code to be unarmed!" the beardless one suddenly
protested.
     "You should have thought of that before you got excited!" the
Galactica warrior retorted.
     The lead Nomen's glare at Boomer seemed to intensify.
     "And we should have known better than to mix with Colonials," he
said darkly. "We will await transportation back to our ship in the
Docking Lounge."
     He motioned the beardless one to retrieve the laser boles that lay
at the base of the column they had exploded against.  The young Nomen
picked them up and clicked them together, indicating that they were
active and ready for reuse.  Once he reattached them to his cloak, he
rejoined the other two Nomen and they exited the Lounge through the
Main Entrance.
     As soon as they were gone, a collective sigh of relief went out
through the room. Slowly, the guests began to return to their tables.
     "What do you suppose that was about?" Jolly asked as he and Boomer
lingered by the table the Nomen had now vacated.  "Who'd be on board
here for them to be conducting a blood trail?"
     "I don't know," Boomer said.  "The people who usually gather on
the Rising Star aren't the types who would ever come across a Nomen for
any reason, let alone incur their wrath."
     Now that he knew the danger had passed, Jolly felt safe letting
some humor rise to the occasion.  "I've got it," he said, "One of
Starbuck's old girlfriends hired them."
     Boomer allowed himself a thin smile as they returned to their
table by the dance floor.  "Could be.  Or better still, maybe it's Sire
Uri they're after."
     "If that's the case I'd have stepped aside and let them do their
job," Jolly quipped as he went back to his ale.
     "You and me both."  Boomer didn't join in the gallows humor as
much as he wanted to.  He was still struck by the elderly man he had 
glimpsed before the Nomen had pulled out his boles, and he wondered if
the chain of events had been more than coincidental.


     Ten centons later, the three Nomen were all occupying the same
bench in the Docking Lounge that Ortega and Barton had been using
earlier.  The other passengers awaiting the arrival of the Canaris were
visibly keeping their distance from the Borellians, passing time by
watching the IFB monitors in the antechamber, which were now devoted to
a preview of the next sectan's triad match.
     ".....And it's reported that ducats for next sectan's match
between the number one ranked team of Apollo and Starbuck against
number three ranked Barton and Ortega have become so scarce that some
fans are willing to pay as high as five hundred cubits on the Black
Market just to get in.  Of course, since we at the IFB plan on bringing
you full live coverage of the match, we hope that all of you watching
will choose discretion instead, and save yourselves a small
fortune....."
     "I go to the matches just to get away from your lousy commentary,
Zed," one of the waiting passengers talked back to the monitor.
     The Nomen were all oblivious to the sounds of the videocom and the
other passengers waiting.  To them, it was all idle chatter of
Colonists absorbed in their foolish pleasure pursuits. Only one of the
reasons why Nomen, with their rigid behavioral codes, despised
Colonials in general.
     A feminine voice suddenly filled the Docking Lounge to announce
the arrival of the Canaris.  Five centons went by as two dozen
passengers got off to enter the Rising Star.  When the last of them
were gone, the red light above the entryway went on.
     "Shuttle Canaris is now ready for boarding," the feminine voice
spoke again as the passengers in the antechamber made their way over. 
"Passengers holding ducats for the Antares, Pathmain, Agro Ship,
Electronics Ship, Freighter Gemon and Freighter Borallus may enter at
this time."
     Despite the fact that their ship had been announced, none of the
Nomen moved from their positions on the main bench.  As the last of the
passengers made their way aboard, the lead Nomen, who sat on the right
side finally broke the silence among them.
     "This fool is of your blood."  He directed his words to the second
older Nomen though he kept his gaze forward.  "I hold you responsible,
Bora."
     "I accept the burden for my nephew Taba's actions," the Nomen
called Bora said with deference as he too kept looking forward.  "And I
vow that we will bring the prey down."
     The lead Nomen let out a grunt indicating his displeasure.
     "Tell me something I do not know, Bora."  his voice dripped with
contempt.  "Like how a Borellian Nomen could break the Code by drawing
his weapon without thinking?"
     The young Nomen called Taba turned his head toward the leader with
an almost pleading expression.
     "Maga," he said, "I saw that jackal Captain Dimitri at----"
     The lead Nomen called Maga ignored his plea.
     "Your lack of discipline is disgusting," he said as he kept
looking forward.  "You are a warrior of the Code.  A Nomen.  You have a
name that strikes like a poison skorpious at the heart of others.  For
we alone among Borellians knew the trauma of surviving the land of the
Maga sun and the endless sands.  The qualities that made us superior to
the infidels who ruled our planet.  The qualities which make us
superior to those who presume to lead us now."
     Maga then wheeled his head towards Taba and his voice rose with
defiant, determined menace.  "And because we have those qualities, we
alone shall survive this trek through the stars forced upon us by the
Colonial jackals.  But only if we keep the Code."
     The young Nomen seemed shamed into total humiliation.  "I'm
sorry," he managed to force his words out.
     The contempt refused to lessen from Maga's tone.  "If you wish to
apologize Taba, do it after you've been punished."  He then looked away
from him again as he added, "If you survive."
     "Shuttle Canaris now departing," the overhead voice sounded
through the Docking Lounge.
     The Nomen remained seated on the bench as Kerby stuck his head
through the docking ring that led inside to the shuttle.  He frowned
slightly when he saw the three giants remaining where they were and
decided to take a chance speaking up.
     "Uh....gentlemen, the Canaris is leaving now.  There won't be
another shuttle for your freighter for another two centars."
     None of the Nomen acknowledged his words or his presence. 
     "If you want to get back to your ship, it has to be now," the
shuttle steward tried one last time.
     "We have unfinished matters to conduct here," Maga finally spoke
cryptically without looking at him.  "Do not bother waiting for us."
     Kerby's frown deepened but he knew better not to argue with a
Nomen.  He stepped back inside the docking ring and punched the buttons
that sealed the companionway shut.


     Chameleon could hear the sounds of commotion going on inside the
Astral Lounge as soon as he was safely inside the corridor that led to
the Chancery.  He could only hope and pray for now that it hadn't been
caused by one of the Nomen spotting him.
     That's the last time I ever let myself get mixed up with those
people, he vowed as he reached the Chancery door and waited for it to
slide open.  Of all the stupid things to do, forgetting all about their
Code and their blood trails.  You can't treat Borellian Nomen the way
you would other people.
     If he had been spotted, then Chameleon already knew that his
safety was only temporary for now.  He knew that if he were the hunter
instead of the hunted, and had an inkling that his prey was somewhere
on board the Rising Star, then the most prudent course of action would
be to return to the Docking Lounge and wait.  Sooner or later, the
hunted would have to leave the luxury ship and there was only one way
to go.
     The doors slid open and Chameleon stepped inside the Chancery. 
The gambling den was filled to above-average capacity with dealers
positioned at more than twenty gaming tables.  The only sounds in the
room were the occasional laughter of winning customers and the
intermittent groans of the losers.  No music was ever played inside the
Chancery, and conversation usually stayed at a minimum.  The Rising
Star Chancery, throughout it's heyday in the pre-Holocaust period had
always been known as a place where intense concentration came first. 
That remained true even today.
     Chameleon looked about and saw numerous warriors, some in dress
uniforms, some in regular battle dress hunched around the tables trying
to see if they could beat the House at games like High-Low, Temptation,
Any Number and Pyramid.  From the general tone of the room, there were
more occasional groans than bursts of laughter which indicated that the
House was doing very well.
     His eyes wandered about and then narrowed in amazement when he saw
a face he had seen barely a centar ago on the IFB seated at a Pyramid
table, puffing heavily on a fumarello.  It was undoubtedly Lieutenant
Starbuck.  The warrior who had moved him inside with his story of being
orphaned as a child so many yahrens ago in the Umbra disaster. 
Especially because there was so much that Chameleon could personally
identify with when it came to his own life.
     As soon as that realization went through his head, another one
entered.  One that he had to admit almost made him feel ashamed.  But
as he cast a glance back over his shoulder at the door he had come
through, he realized that he just might not have any other choice.
     If the Nomen were waiting for him in the Docking Lounge, then he
had to find a way of getting off the Rising Star so they wouldn't be
able to make a move on him.  That meant finding a way to get off in the
unwitting protective custody of some warriors.
     As his eyes focused again on Starbuck, Chameleon knew that he had
the perfect opportunity to get exactly that.  All because of that
chance listening to the IFB broadcast on the way over.
     The Lords forgive me, he thought, that I would have to exploit the
worst experience of my life to save myself now.
     He straightened his tunic and nonchalantly made his way over to
the Pyramid table.

Chapter Four

     One successful play of the cards was all Starbuck needed to make
the sting of his run-in with Ortega fade away completely.  It had come
right on the first try.  When Starbuck saw that his new system had paid
off instantly, Apollo almost felt himself groaning inside.  Not because
he was having second thoughts about what Starbuck had said about the
success of his system, but because he knew that it would only whet his
friend's appetite for more.  If he'd failed on the first try, then just
maybe it would have made the brash lieutenant act with a hint of
caution.  Just enough to keep him from having second thoughts about
going too far with it, and keep him from pushing Apollo into making a
bet of his own.
     About the only solace Apollo took was the fact that the Rising
Star's Chancery was noted for quiet and concentration.  If there'd been
music and raucous noise present, the scene would have reminded him too
much of what the chancery on Carillon had been like.  Where he and
Serina had first opened up to each other.
     "Well, Lieutenant?" the dealer, a heavyset middle-aged man, with
curly brown hair that looked in need of a good styling, inquired. 
"Another go?"
     Starbuck grinned and took a satisfied puff on his fumarello brand
cigar, "You'd better believe it."
     The man then dealt four cards, first in a row of three, followed
by a single card above the middle card in the first row.  In Pyramid, a
perfect hand meant all of the same color with all four cards
representing the different building phases of a pyramid.  The next most
valuable hand was a full Pyramid, which meant all four building
sections but not necessarily all of the same color.  From then on down,
the hands were ranked according to phases of three-quarters, half and
quarter with ties broken according to the value of the odd cards in the
hand. 
     The rules dictated that Starbuck examine his two cards on the
bottom row first. He lifted each one up and his eyes widened in almost
childlike glee when he saw that he had the necessary card for the first
quarter, along with an upper level phase of the same color.
     "I'll hover with these." he grinned at the dealer and then shoved
a medium-sized pile of cubits across the table, causing Apollo to
impulsively grab him by the arm.
     "Starbuck, have you lost your mind?  You just opened with two
hundred cubits."
     "Naturally," Starbuck grinned, "Since I know this system can't
lose, there's no point probing delicately.  Better to make a preemptive
strike right away."
     The warrior then looked at his next card without revealing it to
the dealer. Without changing his expression, he looked the dealer in
the eye and said simply, "Build me." 
     The dealer then dropped another card on top of the one Starbuck
had rejected. The warrior then moved another pile of one hundred cubits
across the table and looked at his final card in the pile.
     "I," he gave the dealer a satisfied smirk, "will hover with
these."
     "The House raises the pot by an additional one hundred cubits,"
the heavyset dealer said.  "Do you wish to match?"
     "Absolutely."  Starbuck didn't bat an eye as he pushed another
pile across.
     At that point the dealer now exposed the first portion of his
hand.
     "Your last chance to build, Lieutenant."  the dealer said,
stone-faced.  "At this point, the House has at least a perfect
half-Pyramid."
     Starbuck looked at his own cards.  He already knew that all of his
cards added up to three-quarters, though not of the same color, and he
had already rejected another card that would have helped the House
extend to three-quarters.
     I am home free, he thought.
     "No build," he said, "I am definitely going to hover with these
and I raise the pot by one hundred cubits."
     Next to him, Apollo had placed both his hands on his chin in
amazement at how far Starbuck was going.  
     "What'd I tell you, Apollo," Starbuck gave him a playful nudge,
"This system can't lose.  I am about to make the biggest legitimate
killing of my life."
     Apollo remained non-plussed, "The evening is still young,
Starbuck."
     "The trouble with you is a lack of faith."
     "No, just an overabundance of experience with your 'systems',
Starbuck. Especially on a place called Pineus." he added a touch of
frost to the last word.
     "Ah, stop being so bitter.  I was dealing with one of those Pinean
dealers, and you know how crooked they can be."
     "Then how come you're not using the old system?"
     "Because this one is foolproof."
     "Another fifty cubits, Lieutenant?" the dealer inquired in the
same neutral tone. Once the building phase was over on both sides, the
pot could go up as high as either side wanted until the customer
called.
     Starbuck casually pulled out his pocket computron to recalculate
the odds he'd factored in to his system.  When the readout reconfirmed
everything he'd planned in advance he grinned and pushed another small
pile over.
     As soon as he was done and had placed his computron back in his
jacket pocket, he heard the sound of a voice clearing itself.  Glancing
to his right, he discovered that the seat next to him was now occupied
by a handsome, elderly man with silver hair.
     "Pardon me," Chameleon leaned over and said in a confidential
tone, "I realize this is no concern of mine, but I couldn't help but
notice your calculations.   If you're playing the system that I think
you're playing, then it has one flaw."
     Starbuck looked at the elderly man with faint incredulity, "Flaw?"
     "Mmmm hmmm," Chameleon nodded, "The odds are three to one in your
favor, which are quite good.    But if the dealer is holding the
capstone of the same color to go with his perfect half-Pyramid, then
that automatically beats your regular three-quarters Pyramid with no
capstone.  Have you factored in that probability?"
     The brash lieutenant seemed at a loss for words to hear a kindly
looking old man giving him pointers about something he regarded as his
specialty.  But there was an air of familiarity in the way the man
spoke that made Starbuck feel uneasy.  He got the distinct sense that
whoever this man was, he knew what he was talking about, and was
speaking from experience.
     "Anyway," Chameleon went on, "I thought you'd at least want to
know that."
     It took Starbuck nearly a half-centon before he smiled faintly and
muttered, "Thanks." Feeling slightly rattled inside, he looked at the
pile of three hundred and fifty cubits he had placed in front of the
dealer in long contemplation.
     "Do you plan to exercise a withdraw option, Lieutenant?" the
dealer inquired.  The withdraw option entitled a customer to pull back
half of his accumulated wager if he suddenly felt that the odds against
him of winning were too great.
     "Uhhhhh......" Starbuck hesitated slightly and cast another glance
at the old man, and then at Apollo, who almost seemed to be enjoying
the predicament his friend was now in.
     Then, without saying a word, Starbuck casually pulled back half of
his accumulated pile.  The old man was firmly nodding his head in
approval.
     The dealer then turned up his last card.
     "Red capstone on top of perfect red half-Pyramid." he said, "The
House wins."
     Apollo gave Starbuck a deadpan glance, "Can't lose, huh?"
     "Of all the......" Starbuck was shaking his head in amazement.  Of
course he should have thought of that possibility, but it had seemed so
negligible in his mind, until someone else had pointed it out to him
with such authority as the old man had.  "Well, like the man said it
has one little flaw, but I can work it out." he then turned back to the
man and shook his hand, "I should thank you for saving me a hundred
seventy-five cubits at least,  ah----" 
     "Chameleon," he returned the handshake and smiled.
     "Chameleon.  Well, I'm Starbuck and," he pointed next to him,
"This is my conscience, Apollo."  He always hated it when circumstances
humbled him into using that line, but this was one occasion where he
knew it was all too appropriate.
     Apollo reached over and shook the old man's hand, "And I've got to
thank you too, Chameleon.  You just saved me an early shuttle home
listening to all the reasons why his system should have worked."
     "Think nothing of it." Chameleon said nonchalantly, "Perhaps I can
show some further hospitality by purchasing you both a drink?"
     "You know," Starbuck said thoughtfully, "Maybe this time if I
tried----"
     "That would be a wonderful idea."  Apollo interrupted with a grin
as he instinctively grabbed Starbuck by the arm and pulled him out of
his chair at the gaming table.  "Come on Starbuck.  Your benefactor's
not through with you yet."
     "Uh, but_" Starbuck protested faintly and then decided not to
belabor the point as he gave in and started the walk toward the rear of
the Chancery.


      As soon as Chameleon got up from his seat and followed the two
warriors, the gambling table was empty and alone, except for the
heavyset dealer, who shook his head in amusement as he cleared up the
cards and cubits from the table.
     They never learn, he thought.  Always thinking there's a foolproof
way of beating the House.  But the dealer had worked long enough on the
Rising Star to realize that there was only one foolproof way of making
money off the House.
     And unfortunately for him, he knew all about that one foolproof
way from personal experience.
     "Excuse me, is this Table Number Three?"
     The dealer looked up and found himself staring into the face of a
tall, thin man with salt-and-pepper hair.
     "Yes," he said, "You want to place a bet?"
     "Is your name Chella?"
     The dealer's friendly expression hardened into one of neutrality,
"What of it?"
     "I need to talk to you, in private," the man said.  "My name is
Pallan.  I work in the Empyreal Lounge."
     "Lucky you," Chella's tone was indifferent as he reorganized the
decks of cards into neat stacks.  "I hear you guys aren't getting any
overflow from all these warriors on furlon.  But you'll all end up
getting just as much of a raise from the overall net profit."
     "This is important, Chella," a note of urgency entered Pallan's
voice, "Sergeant Ortega referred you to me."
     Abruptly, the dealer stopped his sorting of the decks and slowly
looked Pallan in the eye. His neutral expression had now taken on a
distinct air of hostility.
     "All right then," he said, "Not here though.  In the Astral Lounge
in five centons. I'll get my relief to take over."
     The assistant chief bartender nodded, "I'll be waiting."
     As Pallan turned and departed, the dealer named Chella had to
exercise all the self-control he could muster to keep from tearing a
deck of Pyramid cards in half.

     
     Since the departure of the Canaris, the only sound that filled the
Docking Lounge was the noise of the IFB monitors airing a replay of the
previous evening's triad match. The three remaining beings in the
Lounge took no notice of it though, as the Borellian Nomen  continued
to sit across the cushioned bench with the air of sentries on duty. 
Each of them, watching and waiting for their prey.
     From the corner of his eye, Maga saw Bora cast a glance over at
the monitor which indicated only one thing to him.  A mounting sense of
inner impatience.
     "Patience, Bora," the lead Nomen continued to stare straight ahead
as he broke the long silence that had set in, "He can't stay in there
forever.  Soon, he must appear.  And then, he will be ours and the Code
shall be honored in full."


     "I couldn't believe it when you indicated that you knew all about
the system, Chameleon," Starbuck said admiringly as he drink remained
untouched.  "I thought I was the first person to dream it up."
     The old man took a sip of his drink and said with an almost
gentle, paternal air, "Lieutenant, I'm afraid I was using that system
on Caprica while you were probably still in swaddling.  Maybe even
before you were born." he then smiled wryly, "Although I must say, I
never met anyone else who played it."
     "If it exists, then Starbuck will play it at least once in his
lifetime," Apollo quipped, which brought good-natured chuckles from all
of them.  "Are you a professional wagerer, Chameleon?"
     "I was," Chameleon sighed as he looked Apollo in the eye, "Long
ago.  But being a wagerer isn't a proper way to make a living nowadays,
especially when the sacrifice of everyone in the Fleet is required. 
I'm a genetic tracer now."
     "Genetic tracer?" Apollo frowned.  "I've never heard of that
profession."
     "Few people have," Chameleon took a sip of his drink, "It's rather
a new science."
     "How new?"
     The old man took another long swallow from his glass and then kept
his expression on Apollo, and away from Starbuck.  "It's what you'd
call a post-Holocaust occupation, Captain.  You see, there were so many
frightened young children herded aboard the ships in the Fleet during
the evacuation of the colonies, that a lot of them didn't have a scrap
of identification on them.  No records whatsoever, and many of them too
young to offer anything definite about their parents.  In short, poor
orphans with no knowledge at all of who they are, and where they came
from.  My task is to help unite those orphans with blood relatives who
might have survived."
     Starbuck, whose attention had started to wander back toward the
gaming table, suddenly darted his head around and stared at Chameleon
with a large measure of disbelief.
     "You've got to be kidding," the blonde lieutenant said, "That's
got to be an impossible task."
     Chameleon set his tankard down and looked directly at Starbuck for
the first time, "It's difficult, but not impossible, Starbuck.  If I
have reason to believe such a relationship exists, there are genetic
tests that can confirm or deny it."
     "You mean you can test everyone in the Fleet and tell who's
related to who?" Apollo's interest was clearly piqued.
     Chameleon shrugged, "Theoretically, yes.  But with over 70,000
people in the Fleet and then running cross-checks, it would literally
take hundreds of yahrens.  These tests are very extensive in nature. 
They require taking neurological cell samples from both subjects, and
all other kinds of technical tests that it....well, you can see the
challenge it poses.  Especially when our facilities are so limited as
they are aboard the Orphans Ship. That's where the main base of
operations under Dr. Pia is set up.  She's a fine scientist. Former
deputy Chief of the Taurean Science Ministry as I recall."
     "It sounds fascinating," Apollo shook his head in near-awe, "And
you gave up being a professional wagerer for that?  Those jobs seem
light-yahrens apart."
     "Well there's a personal reason why I chose genetic tracing,
Captain," Chameleon drew his shoulders up and then silently said to
himself, Forgive me Gabriella.  "I have much in common with those
orphans.  You see, I was badly injured in one of the first Cylon raids
on Caprica.  For five yahrens, I was a traumatic amnesiac.  And upon
recovering, I learned that my wife had been killed in that raid.  But
my baby son may have escaped." he let out a forlorn, sad sigh and
stared off into space, "I tried so hard to find him."
     Starbuck felt as if he'd wandered into some kind of surrealistic
dream.  Trying not to let any false alarms of hope enter his mind, he
quickly asked, "And did you find him?"
     Chameleon gazed at him and smiled weakly, "No, Starbuck.  I never
did.  There were just too many babies and children rounded up by the
Caprican government and dispersed to local orphanages."
     The brash warrior felt his heart start to pound with the same kind
of trepidation he hadn't felt since he'd first strapped himself inside
a viper simulator at the Academy.  "This ah, this raid on Caprica.  
Where and when did it take place?"
     As soon as the question was out of Starbuck's mouth, Apollo felt
his eyes widen in amazement as he realized right away what his friend
was getting at.  A subject so deep and personal to Starbuck that he
could only recall his friend talking about it once to him in all the
yahrens he'd known him.
     "Oh, you've probably never heard of it," Chameleon nonchalantly
waved his hand. "It was on the edge of the Thorn forest.  A little agro
community called Umbra."
     Apollo felt his hand freeze on his tankard, while Starbuck took
his cigar out of his mouth and began to absently mash it out inside one
of the ashtrays.
     "Lieutenant?" Chameleon frowned, "Is something wrong?"
     Starbuck felt himself taking several deep breaths trying to come
to terms with what he'd just heard.  From nowhere, out of the blue,
this strange old man who was more savvy about gambling than he was, had
walked right in and shared something else that he had in common with
the brash warrior.  Something that conceivably held the answer that
Starbuck had wanted to answer for his entire life.  Ever since he'd
first experienced conscious memories in an impersonal Caprican
orphanage.
     Could it really be?   He tried so hard not to raise any false
hopes inside himself. Could it really be that this man holds the key to
the one thing I want to know about more than anything else?
     "Uh, Chameleon," he finally forced his words out.  "Chameleon, I
was orphaned in the raid on Umbra."
     The old man's eyes widened in apparent amazement, "Were you?"
     "Yes," Starbuck nodded, "I was only, oh they said I was probably
anywhere between eighteen sectars and three yahrens old.  I was in an
orphanage my whole life until I entered the Colonial Academy."
     Chameleon let out an incredulous chuckle, "Well now to say the
least, this is an incredible coincidence."
     "You know Chameleon----" Starbuck leaned forward and started.
     "Oh well now, wait a centon, Starbuck," he held up a cautious
hand.  "I know all about the exact statistics of the devastation at
Umbra, because I must have memorized them a thousand times during my
search efforts.  There were over three thousand children orphaned in
that raid.  I mean, the chances that you could be my...." he hesitated
for a brief instant, "Well that you could be my son, are astronomically
low to begin with."
     "Yeah, that's true, that's true," Starbuck then nodded vigorously,
as though he wanted an air of practicality to remain in his tome,
"But....well Chameleon, there is a legit chance, nonetheless."
     "About the same as you ever getting two perfect Pyramid hands in a
row, Starbuck," Chameleon smiled wryly.
     "Hey, those are chances I've always lived for," the warrior
matched it, trying to break some of the apprehension he felt inside.
     "This is wonderful, Starbuck," Apollo found himself grinning, and
then feeling a sense of dread caution kick in, "But hey, the man's
right.  Don't get too over-enthused at this point."
     "Apollo," Starbuck's voice dropped to a low whisper, "Don't you
realize that for the first time, I've met someone who might be my
father?"
     "The key word is might, buddy."
     "Look," Starbuck held up a hand.  "I know the odds are against it. 
But we'd have ways of confirming that, wouldn't we?  At the very least
I can eliminate one possibility from my mind, which is more than I've
ever been able to do in my whole life."
     "That would sound reasonable," Chameleon nodded.  "I haven't been
able to pursue one solid lead for so many yahrens, and now that we're
all in this horrible situation, cut off from the Colonies forever where
there aren't any other means of properly investigating...." his voice
trailed off.
     "So what you're saying, is maybe you should set up an appointment
for Starbuck to come over to the Orphans ship and go through one of
these genetic tracer tests?" Apollo inquired.
     Chameleon finished off his drink and set the empty tankard down.  
"Well, it's not quite that easy, Captain.  I'm not in any position of
authority on the staff, and there's so much advance paperwork that has
to be done on an individual case study before Dr. Pia would ever
approve a new tracer comparison.   And I'm afraid that she'd be far
less receptive toward letting an adult like Starbuck get priority ahead
of a poor young child who has a lot more at stake.  I mean that would
be....well it would just be ethically wrong to ask for that kind of
favored treatment."
     Starbuck felt his shoulders sag slightly in disappointment, "Yeah,
I guess it would."
     "However," Chameleon leaned forward and a note of optimism
returned to his voice, "There is a way of cutting through all of the
felgercarb, so to speak, at least in terms of making a beginning.  A
simple hemo-type and iris-cone count.  It's very crude, and would match
hundreds, even thousands of people who have common ancestry within five
hundred yahrens or so, but at least it would be a start."
     "But how would you arrange that?" Apollo frowned.  "Aren't the
facilities on the Orphans ship overloaded for even that?"
     The old man looked at him with an almost sheepish expression,
"Actually, Captain, the facilities for a simple test of the kind I'm
talking about may very well be on the Galactica in your Life Center
Operations."
     "Great!" Starbuck grinned and got to his feet, "Let's get going
then."
     For just a faint instant, Apollo found himself hesitating.  That
last remark from Chameleon about facilities on the Galactica had the
aura of a too-pat quality that made him wonder if there was more than
met the eye to what the old man was after.
      Abruptly, he dismissed the concern as a foolish consideration
from his mind
and got to his feet.  "Okay," he said, "I'll have the shuttle readied
for us to go.  You two finish your drinks and be in the Docking Lounge
in ten centons."
     As soon as he was gone, Starbuck and Chameleon found themselves
smiling awkwardly at each other.
     "So," the warrior broke the ice, "Where should we begin?"
     "What's say we start with you telling me everything you know about
yourself, Starbuck," Chameleon said.
     As the warrior began, the old man felt a pang of guilt inside him. 
Guilt that a desperate moment of his life had now forced him to exploit
the trauma of his past and the memory of the only things he had ever
cherished in the name of survival.
     But was it really so wrong, he tried to rationalize, as he
listened to Starbuck talk about his experience growing up in the
Caprican orphanage.  If this was so wrong, then why had the Almighty
dictated that he see that IFB broadcast on the way over to the Rising
Star, where he'd heard Starbuck tell his story about being orphaned in
the Umbra disaster?  Surely the hand of Providence had been at work in
providing this opportunity he could take advantage of to save himself
from the ones he knew were waiting for him. Waiting for the opportunity
to kill him.  
     No, he thought.  He couldn't let his mind be troubled too much by
this.  Starbuck had provided him with an opportunity, and he needed to
take advantage of it for as long as he possibly could.  And in the
process, he'd try his best not to hurt him too much.


     Apollo made his way back into the Astral Lounge, where he found
Boomer waiting by the entryway, next to Zeibert's station.
     "Say Boomer," Apollo said, "Some business just came up and
Starbuck and I are going back to the Galactica.  Just wanted you to
know in case you felt like leaving now."
     "I'm tempted to go," Boomer grunted, "This furlon didn't turn out
to be all I expected."
     "What do you mean?" Apollo raised an eyebrow.
     "After you and Starbuck left for the Chancery, Jolly and I had a
run-in with some Borellian Nomen."
     The captain's incredulity deepened, "You're kidding."
     Boomer nodded, "One of them accidentally plugged one of those
laser boles they carry.  We had to expend the energy by using it
against that column back there."  he motioned toward the column in the
middle of the Lounge, where the blackish scar was still evident.
     "Did you call Security after that happened?"
     "I didn't need to.  They said it was accidental.  And they agreed
to leave on the next shuttle."
     Just as Boomer finished his sentence, Jolly came through the Main
Entrance and walked up to the two warriors.
     "Guess what," the fat warrior said, "Those Nomen still haven't
left."
     "What?" Boomer's face twisted, "They left the Lounge a half-centar
ago."
     "And the Canaris has come and gone," Jolly's tone was grim.  "But
the three of them are all sitting by themselves on their astrums in the
Docking Lounge just staring off into space."
     "Why would they do that?" Apollo wasn't too familiar with the
habits of Nomen. Like most Colonials, he had a lingering suspicion of
them that had always made him avoid them at all costs.
     "I think it means only one thing," Jolly said as the memory of
past run-ins with Nomen filled his mind.  "They're on a blood trail. 
And I don't think what happened in the Lounge was an accident."
     Apollo took a breath, "Jolly, you round up some men from Council
Security. Boomer, come with me."


     After five minutes of preliminary conversation about their
backgrounds, Starbuck and Chameleon had finished their second drinks
and decided it was time to leave.
     "We might as well get going," the warrior rose from his chair. 
"Apollo should have the shuttle all ready by now."
     "I can hardly wait," Chameleon smiled, and then added as an
afterthought.  "By the way, Lieutenant, I think we should go back
through the Astral Lounge instead of the Main Exit."
     Starbuck frowned, "What for?  The Main Exit's a quicker walk back
to the Docking Lounge."
     "There's just one thing I need to take care of.  A personal
matter."
     The warrior shrugged.  "Okay, Chameleon.  Let's get moving."
     They went back through the rear exit of the Chancery and down the
short corridor that led to the Astral Lounge's rear door.  When they
entered, Chameleon was relieved to see that the Nomen had long since
left the room and an air of normalcy had returned to the place.
     A micron later, he spotted Blassie sitting alone at their table. 
Her jeweled hand touching her chin with an air of forlorn, lonely
impatience.
     "Lieutenant, if you could wait just here for a micron," Chameleon
said, feeling guilty inside about how he'd been forced to treat the
first woman who's company he'd genuinely enjoyed in a long time.  "This
won't take long."
     "Need me for any help?"
     "No, no.  Not at all."  the last thing Chameleon needed was
Starbuck by his side at this point.  The only way he could stay in
Blassie's good graces was to perpetuate his earlier lie.  "Just wait
here.  I'll be back."
     Chameleon made his way down the steps that led to the main floor
where all the tables were set up.  As soon as Blassie saw him, her eyes
lit up in delight and a smile crossed her pleasantly attractive face.
     "Chameleon!  I thought I'd been abandoned."
     He smiled warmly as he took her hand and kissed it.  "The thought
of abandoning a lovely creature like you would be a terrible sin,
Siress.  But I'm afraid that my business affairs with the IFB have now
reached a point where I have to end our time together much sooner than
I wanted to."
     Her mouth drooped in disappointment.  "What now?"
     Chameleon pointed over to where Starbuck was waiting along the
back wall perimeter of the Lounge.  "That's Lieutenant Starbuck, the
subject of that interview we saw on the way over."
     "Yes, I remember," Blassie nodded.  "You were saying how it was a
mistake to be interviewing warriors like him on the IFB news."
     "And my fears have been borne out," his voice dropped to a
confidential level. "No sooner was I on my way back to you then did I
run into him.  And he was in a most foul mood over the way he felt Zara
had treated him in the interview.  Naturally, since I as head of the
News and Interviews Division arranged the interview in the first place,
he was taking all of his anger out on me."
     "That was very inconsiderate of him," the attractive siress said
with a touch of disdain.
     "Well, perhaps.  But I think good politics dictated that I try and
make the Lieutenant happy, and so I've spent the last half-centar
making amends to him.  But I'm afraid settling all of his complaints
will take much longer than I anticipated.  So I think it best, dear
Blassie, that you not ruin your time aboard the Rising Star by waiting
for me any longer."
     "Such a pity," Blassie sighed.  "I was so looking forward to your
kind offer of repayment later this evening."
     Chameleon kissed her hand again.  "And I remain in your debt,
Siress.  You shall be repaid by me in due time.  I will not hesitate to
get in touch with you when my schedule is free."
     "You know where to reach me?" 
     "Your location and telecom number are ingrained in me." he smiled. 
"Until next time, Blassie?"
     "Until next time," she returned the smile and raised her
half-filled glass of ambrosia.  "Goodbye, Chameleon."
     "Goodbye."
     As soon as Chameleon had rejoined Starbuck at the other side of
the Lounge, he saw the warrior staring at him quizzically.
     "What was that all about with the attractive woman there?"
Starbuck asked.  "Did you stand her up or something?"
     "In a way, I guess I did," Chameleon resumed walking toward the
Main Entrance. He made certain Starbuck didn't put a hand over his
shoulder as he'd done in the corridor, because that would surely raise
eyebrows from Blassie if she were still watching.  "Siress Blassie----"
     "Wait a centon buddy.  Siress Blassie?" a sly edge entered
Starbuck's tone.  "How did a professional wagerer turned genetic tracer
get to hook up with a woman like that?"
     Chameleon shrugged and smiled humbly.  "I guess there's something
about me that....has a way with beautiful women.  Anyway I was just
expressing my apologies to her.  But once I explained the
circumstances, she was most understanding."
     "And you just met this Siress today and got that far with her?"
Starbuck's amazement increased as they went by Zeibert's station and
exited into the Main Corridor.
     "Yes," Chameleon admitted.
     "We have to be related then," Starbuck grinned as he clapped his
hand around Chameleon's shoulder as the Main Door to the Lounge closed
behind them.  "That kind of success with the ladies is only acquired by
genetic instinct."
     

     Elsewhere in the Astral Lounge, as many of the male customers
eagerly awaited the start of the dance number by the Skorpian troupe of
exotically garbed female dancers, two men seated at a table off to the
side were totally oblivious to all of the entertainment activities.
     "So what's this about Sergeant Ortega referring you to me?" the
Chancery dealer named Chella eyed Pallan with suspicion.
     "Sergeant Ortega said you were the man who could help me with
a.....problem I have."
     "Oh he did, did he?" a large amount of acid and venom entered the
dealer's voice. "Well if you think you can get me to give you what that
slimy snitrod Ortega has been getting out of me, you can forget it. 
I'll go so far when it comes to him, but I'm damned if I'm going to
give the same generosity to one of his friends."
     "Ortega is not my friend," Pallan said through clenched teeth,
"He's an evil dreg and he unfortunately has me boxed into a situation
where he has title to half of what I earn and then some."
     A humorless smile came over Chella's lips.  "You too, huh? 
Welcome to the club."
     "Look, what he's got on you isn't my business, anymore than what
he's got on me is your business," Pallan tried to stay patient.  "But
it's really important that you let me come up with a thousand cubits so
I can get him off my back for now."
     "Not a chance," Chella's tone grew blunt.  "If Ortega comes to me
personally, then maybe I'll have reason to reconsider.  But not from
you, pal.  You've got my sympathy, but there isn't a snowball's chance
in Hades that I'm going to start rigging results at my table for two
people.  I can barely keep the books in good order as it is palming off
winnings for Ortega.  If someone else at my table goes on a big winning
streak, that's going to attract all kinds of attention from my Chief
Supervisor that I can do without."
     Pallan grabbed him by the arm.  "Look," an edge of desperation
entered his voice, "I'm not saying you've got to do this on a regular
basis.  Just let me win one big hand at the table, and maybe I can use
that to help me raise funds elsewhere.  I just need to get the
miserable boray off my back."
     "Take it from one who's in the same boat you are, pal.  It's not
going to work. Now my advice to you is to just wait the slimy leech
out.  Because sooner or later, he's going to go too far and realize
that he can't keep raising the ante on any of us.  It'll soon reach a
point where even if he does go ahead and turn us in for what he's got
on us, he'll only be cooking his own goose as far as a charge of
blackmail and conduct unbecoming a warrior puts him at risk of being
thrown in the Prison Barge too."
     "I can't take that risk," Pallan whispered cryptically.  "You've
got to help me, Chella."
     "I can't." the dealer said with the same mixture of sympathy and
bluntness.  "And if it's any consolation to you, you're not the first
person Ortega's sent to me as a way of getting extra money for
himself."
     The bartender's eyebrows went up.  "Who else?"
     "Assistant Maintenance Chief of the Aquacade.  Name's Elias,
though I don't think that's his real name any more than my real name is
Chella, or your name is Pallan."
     Pallan's lips tightened, "That is my real name." he said.
     "Okay, maybe so.  But you can see why I'm in no position to do
favors for you, when I've already turned another of Ortega's victims
down.  But the fact that he's trying to get all he can out of three of
us means that he's going to some day find that his hands are too full. 
He's either going to have to lay off or run the risk of something
really serious."
     Something very serious, Pallan idly thought to himself.  Something
I probably should have arranged back on Carillon when I saw him in the
Chancery down there.  I should have set things up for him to become an
Ovion dinner.
     "Very well," the bartender finally sighed.  "If you can't do it,
then fine.  But if I happen to mention that to Ortega, and he comes to
you personally about it, don't blame me.  I have to look out for me
first."
     "We all do," Chella nodded.  "It's a rotten position to be in. 
But then again, isn't that the price we paid because of our desperate
desire to live?"
     Pallan found himself wondering what it was that Chella was
referring to. Whatever it was that Ortega had on the dealer, and the
maintenance worker named Elias, he was sure that it was bad.  But
nowhere near as bad as what the sergeant had on him.
     "Perhaps," he finally answered.  "And living beats dying any day,
doesn't it?"  He rose from the table.  "Sorry I bothered you."
     As Pallan left the Astral Lounge, his mind was already certain of
one thing. Sergeant Ortega's winning streak was about to come to an
end.  All that remained was a question of how and when it was going to
be pulled off.

Chapter Five

     "The key is to not let them intimidate you," Boomer was saying to
Apollo as they approached the Docking Lounge.  "According to Jolly,
most Nomen who have a blood trail planned are sticklers for making sure
they don't get themselves into trouble before they've carried out their
objective.  That means they're apt to back down in the face of
authority."
     "You take charge then, Boomer," Apollo said as they rounded the
corner that led to the main waiting area.
     When they entered, they saw the three Nomen seated on the bench,
none of them taking any notice of the two warriors.
     "Okay gentlemen," Boomer said with the same level of authority
he'd displayed earlier in the Astral Lounge.  "Suppose you explain
yourselves.  A half-centar ago, you said you were leaving.  So why are
you still here?"
     Maga's head moved only a fraction of an inch, so he could see the
two warriors in his peripheral vision.
     "By what authority do you question us, Lieutenant?" there was an
air of gentility in his monotonic voice for the first time.  "Are we
not humans?   Are we not members of this Fleet with equal rights and
privileges, according to the precepts of Colonial law?"
     "Of course you are," Boomer was unimpressed by Maga's appeal to
the sense of latent prejudice that existed among most Colonials toward
Nomen.  From his standpoint, the only reason why Borellian Nomen were
regarded with suspicion and fear by Colonials was because of the
Nomen's own deeds and actions down through the millennia, and not
because of any instinctive racial prejudice.  "But none of us, whether
we're Borellian or Colonial have the right to abuse those laws."
     Apollo decided to step in.  "And Colonial law clearly states that
it's illegal to carry weaponry aboard a civilian ship unless you're
attached to the military or Council Security. The fact that you're
Borellian Nomen has nothing to do with it.   This officer did his duty,
and now it's clear that you've lied to him about what you planned to do
next."
     Abruptly, the beardless Nomen named Taba bolted from his seat and
made a motion for his laser boles.   In the space of two microns, both
Apollo and Boomer had responded by whipping out their laser pistols,
while Maga had raised his arm to block Taba from detaching his weapon.
     There was an implacable silence for nearly a centon as the two
warriors kept their pistols trained on the Nomen, while Maga kept his
hand locked on Taba's to keep him frozen in mid-motion.
     Finally, the beardless Nomen broke the silence with clear
indignation, "He insulted you."
     Maga continued to stare straight ahead.  "If he insulted me, he
would be dead." He then rose from his seat and lifted the young Nomen
to his feet, glaring at him with contempt.  "It is you who have
insulted me, Taba.  Twice!  You must answer to the Code."
     The lead Nomen then forcefully ripped off the young Nomen's
weapons belt containing each of his laser boles and handed them to
Bora.  "For disgracing the Code, your name will be stricken from the
ranks of Nomen.  Forever."
     Maga then turned back to the two warriors.  "You may do with him
as you wish. To me, he no longer exists."
     The two lead Nomen resumed their seats on the bench, while Taba
stood frozen. His lack of a beard made it easier for Apollo and Boomer
to see the air of humiliation and anger lining the young Noman's face.
     "What's the situation, Captain?"
     The two warriors turned around and saw that Jolly had arrived with
two black uniformed guards from Council Security.
     Apollo motioned to the two guards and pointed at Taba, "This man
is to be detained on charges of reckless endangerment and attempted
assault, pending a full tribunal hearing.  I'll personally file the
complaint later."
     The guards nodded and took hold of Taba, guiding him out of the
Docking Lounge and leaving the three warriors alone with the two
remaining Nomen.
     "I suppose we should thank you for acknowledging the trouble your
friend caused," Boomer decided he at least owed Maga that much.  "But
I'm afraid you still haven't answered the question I asked.  Why didn't
you leave the Rising Star when you said you would?"
     "We did not leave because the Canaris was full.  We are waiting
for the next shuttle.  It is simple as that."  Maga's voice had the
faintest edge of deference, which was the most that any Noman was
capable of summoning.
     "Then you're not on a blood trail?" Jolly's previous experience
with Nomen made him decide to come to the point.
     "We would not be returning to our ship if we were," the lead Noman
said matterof-factly as he resumed his posture of staring straight
ahead.  "If you Colonials would abandon your racial prejudice, you
would find that there is much we could learn about each other.  Not the
least of which is trust."
     The almost humble nature of his words seemed to catch the warriors
off-guard. Jolly was almost on the verge of trying to suppress an
incredulous laugh from inside, since he could never recall seeing a
Noman act this way before.
     "Prejudice is not the hallmark of Colonial society," Apollo
finally said.  "So long as you're willing to live under the same rules
and infrastructure that the rest of us do, even you Nomen are always
welcome to enjoy what the Fleet has to offer.  Just try to keep your
young hotheads under control the next time you come out here."
     "His like shall never contaminate our ranks again, Captain."
     The unseen feminine voice that announced all the departures and
arrivals then filled the room.  "Galactica shuttle Delta Two, now
arrived and ready for boarding."
     "Wonder what's holding Starbuck up?" Apollo idly glanced at the
doorway.  No sooner were his words out then he saw Starbuck enter the
Docking Lounge with his arm around Chameleon.  It was clear to Apollo
that Starbuck and the old man had really hit it off.  They almost
seemed like lifelong comrades.
     "Ever tried fumarellos?" Starbuck was asking.
     "Oh no," Chameleon shook his head, without casting the slightest
glance at the two Nomen as they moved past the bench.  "I gave up
smoking a long time ago.  Totally wretched habit.  You really should
think of doing the same."
     "Boy if that's your attitude toward one of the greatest things the
Almighty ever permitted man to invent, we can't possibly be related."
Starbuck quipped as they entered the docking ring that would take them
inside the shuttle.
     Neither of the Nomen made a sound as the two of them passed.  But
Boomer noticed how Maga's eyes suddenly deviated from their perpetual
straight-on positioning and strayed ever so faintly to the right as
both Starbuck and Chameleon disappeared.  He wondered if he should have
asked a question about that, and then decided it would make him seem
too paranoid.
     "Jolly, you coming with us?" Apollo inquired.
     The fat warrior was still eyeing the Nomen with suspicion, "No, I
think I'll try to get back to my furlon, if that's okay."
     Apollo nodded, "Boomer?"
     "I've kind of lost my enthusiasm for partying," the dark-skinned
warrior said as he stepped toward the docking ring, "Enjoy your dinner,
Jolly."
     "I guess that's that," Apollo smiled thinly at Maga, "Perhaps what
you say about trust will be borne out some day."  The captain then
followed Boomer through the docking ring, which closed shut thirty
microns later.
     "Galactica shuttle Delta Two now departing." the overhead voice
intoned.
     Jolly found himself lingering in the Docking Lounge, still unable
to stop viewing Maga and Bora with an air of suspicion.  The memory of
his mission nine yahrens before, when he'd been recruited to help
thwart a Nomen assassination plot against Borallus's Chief Ambassador
to the Colonies was playing as clearly in his mind as an IFB broadcast.
In particular, the violent ending of the mission that had forced him to
shoot down two of the henchmen from the operation.
     Finally, the remaining warrior turned and departed, leaving the
two Nomen alone. As soon as the sound of his footsteps had faded away,
Bora finally broke the silence.
     "I do not question, Maga," he said, "I only ask for
enlightenment."
     "Speak." Maga tilted his head toward him.
     "Taba broke our Code and must be punished.  But why must it be at
the hands of Colonial justice?"
     "Had I not stopped him, he would have killed two Colonial
warriors."  the lead Noman grunted, "Kill them and more will take their
place.  They would even feel compelled to descend on our ship."
     "If that ever happened, we would all as Nomen fight them to the
death."
     "They are weak," Maga conceded.  "But they are many.  And we also
suffer from the fact that our so-called leader, the infidel Hassan, is
a lackey who serves Colonial interests. His philosophy of goodwill
towards these inferiors afflicts too many of our own ranks at present. 
That is why for now, we must have the patience of the skorpius." he
tilted his head toward Bora, "I have not forgotten that we are on the
blood trail.  But patience is what we need to fulfill our objective."
     Bora nodded, "You speak wisely, as always Maga.  But now, we
discover that our prey has received protection from the warrior called
Starbuck.  What if he speaks of the little he knows?"
     "He can't, without incriminating himself." Maga was emphatic. 
"For now, he feels safe and so he will remain silent.  And that will
mean his death."
     "But only if we can get aboard the Galactica."  Bora noted.
     "We will get aboard the Galactica."
     "How?"
     There was silence from Maga, indicating that the lead Noman had
not yet arrived at a solution to that problem.  He turned away from his
comrade and resumed his posture of staring straight ahead in silent
contemplation.  With Bora resuming the same posture, the only sound
that now filled the Docking Lounge was the IFB monitor on the other
side of the antechamber.
     ".....You are watching the IFB's rebroadcast of last evening's
triad match between the number four ranked squadron of Greenbean and
Ares versus number seven ranked squadron of Vickers and Cree.  We will
be back with further coverage and a preview of next sectan's match
between the number one and number three ranked teams after these public
service messages."
     The image of lead newscaster Zed was then replaced by that of
Galactica Bridge Officer Omega, delivering the same pre-recorded pitch
for warrior recruitment that the IFB was obligated to play twelve times
over the course of each broadcast cycle.   The two Nomen took no notice
of the first part of the announcement, but as Omega continued, Maga's
head suddenly tilted up and fastened on the monitor..
     "....between the ages of 16 and 46 yahrens, and not already
serving in a highly critical civilian position, you should consider
becoming a Colonial Warrior.  If you want to become part of the team
that's defending the Fleet, request an open channel to Galactica
recruitment.  We need you ."
     As Omega's smiling visage winked off the screen and was replaced
by a Medical Corps announcement, Bora glanced over at his leader, whose
eyes had narrowed in deep contemplation.  It was clear to Bora that the
lead Noman had just been presented with the germ of an idea and would
soon inform him of how it would be implemented.


     When Apollo entered the shuttle, he felt his spirits rise a bit
when he saw that Sheba was co-piloting with Sergeant Mackin.  For
reasons that he could never bring himself to admit, even to himself, he
found that he enjoyed any opportunity to be around her.  There was
little question in Apollo's mind that all of the underlying tension and
hostility that had existed when they'd first met five sectars ago was
gone now.  Especially after the experience they had shared on that
strange planet where amidst the wreckage of a mysterious ship, there
had been that encounter with the man in white called Count Iblis.
     Even now, twelve sectans later, Apollo's memory was still blank in
many spots about just what had happened to him, Sheba and Starbuck
during both the final encounter with Iblis, and the trip back to the
Galactica.  Only once, had he ever asked the two of them about what
they remembered and their recollections had been equally vague and
jumbled.  But whatever had happened, they knew it had to have been
extraordinary.  For when they had returned, they had found themselves
suddenly speaking aloud the general coordinates that would ultimately
lead the Fleet to Earth in either the near or distant future.
     If Apollo was unwilling to admit the obvious facts to himself
about Sheba, he could at least acknowledge that he regarded her as a
very close friend.  Equally close as he viewed Starbuck, Boomer and
Cassiopeia.  And he wasn't about to consider avoiding her for any
reason any longer.
     By contrast, Sheba had emerged from the Iblis experience with no
doubts in her mind about how she felt about Apollo.  She saw herself a
much chastened and more mature person than she had been before.  She
had come to accept the Galactica as her new home now, and no longer
spent idle centars grieving for her lost father, Commander Cain, who
had not been heard from since he'd taken the Battlestar Pegasus off to
engage two Cylon basestars head-on.  She had learned to open herself up
to a new circle of friends who'd come to accept her as part of their
extended family, just as Adama had promised to her after her father had
disappeared.
     Sheba also knew that she was in love with Apollo.  That was one
fact that remained clear in her mind in the wake of the whole Iblis
experience and the blackouts that had happened in the last encounter
and the journey back.  With it, was the realization that Apollo
potentially felt the same about her, but was too traumatized by the
memory of his dead wife Serina to think about acting on those impulses.
     She had vowed not to push Apollo or forcibly drag anything out of
him.  At the very least, she felt that she needed to be patient with
Apollo and wait for him to sort out things in his mind and heart before
she ever dared confronting him about her own feelings toward him.  And
so long as Apollo was treating her as a good friend and not trying to
avoid her, then she was content to let things remain status quo.  For
now at least.
     "That was a short furlon." Sheba smiled wryly when she saw Apollo
and Boomer enter.  "Did Starbuck's system bankrupt you that fast?"
     "I got lucky," Apollo returned it.  "Starbuck found something else
to distract him. Something more important than gambling or women."
     "I never knew Starbuck regarded anything more important than
either of those." Sergeant Mackin, an attractive black-haired woman who
had dated Starbuck once, noted dryly.
     "Well, in Starbuck's case there is one thing more important."
     "Which is?" Sheba flicked the switch that detached the shuttle
from the Rising Star's docking ring and brought it into position for
main engine firing that would take them on a course back to the
Galactica.
     "Learning something about his past."  Apollo glanced back at the
rear compartment where Starbuck and Chameleon were still caught up in
an intense conversation.  "That old man with him.  His name's Chameleon
and it turns out he's a survivor of the Umbra disaster that left
Starbuck orphaned.  There's a possibility he could be Starbuck's
father."
     Sheba's eyes lit up in amazement.  "That's incredible!  Mackin and
I both saw that IFB interview he did and we were both talking about how
sad that whole thing was."
     "I know, it is ironic that he'd get a break like that just after
it was on.  I know from personal experience that Starbuck never likes
talking about it.  Until now, that is."
     "I take back what I said," Mackin said with faint regret as she
took hold of the controls.
      Boomer was the only one not to react with any overt enthusiasm. 
Instead, the dark-skinned warrior found himself staring back at
Starbuck and Chameleon, trying to pinpoint the itch inside his brain
that was telling him there was something unusual about the whole thing.
     Apollo noticed his friend's subdued reaction.  "Something wrong,
Boomer?"
     "I'm not sure," Boomer put a finger to his chin and kept his gaze
on the rear compartment.
     "What's there to be concerned about?" Sheba seemed bursting with
happiness over what she regarded as wonderful news.  In her case, the
idea of being reunited with a lost parent was something that touched
close to home for her.  Especially since she still held out hope that
she would know that same joy someday when her father returned. "I think
it's wonderful that after all these yahrens, Starbuck may have found
his father.  It's nothing short of a miracle if it's true."
     "Maybe," Boomer kept tapping his finger against his chin.
     Apollo decided he needed to drag out whatever Boomer was thinking. 
"Come on Boomer, out with it.  What's on your mind?"
     Boomer took a breath.  "I didn't make the connection until just
now.  But I have this funny feeling I've seen Chameleon before.  In the
Astral Lounge when that Noman pulled his laser boles.  I could have
sworn I saw an old man headed for the exit just a micron before, and
that was what caused him to act."
     "The Noman that did what?" Mackin's expression suddenly became one
of utter befuddlement.  Next to her, Sheba craned her head around and
her smile faded.
     "Later, Sergeant," Apollo waved his hand and returned his
attention to Boomer. "What are you saying Boomer?  That those Nomen
were on a blood trail after all, and that Chameleon was their intended
target?"
     "I'm not saying anything, Apollo.  I think if Chameleon was the
man I saw in the Lounge, then it's definitely a possibility."  Already,
Boomer was starting to feel slightly embarrassed that he'd said
anything at all.  It made him feel like a man who'd just summoned a
rain storm on a festive outdoor parade. 
     Sheba was determined to not let anything ruin the wonderful
feeling inside her. "Look, even if what you're saying is true, what
does that have to do with whether or not Chameleon is Starbuck's
father?  At least he's safe from them now."
     Light was slowly dawning inside Apollo's head.  "I'm beginning to
see what you mean, Boomer," he said.  "If the Nomen were after
Chameleon, then he'd need protection."
     "Which we just gave him by escorting him off the Rising Star right
in front of their noses."
     "Oh come on," Sheba said.  "If the Nomen are resorting to
something illegal like a blood trail, then why wouldn't Chameleon just
ask for our protection and asylum and leave it at that?  Why bother
with something about Starbuck that could be exposed in an instant if it
turns out to be false?"
     "Maybe because Chameleon's got some troubles of his own?" Boomer
speculated.
     "Could the two of you save your speculating for later?" Sheba felt
an edge of impatience creeping inside her.  "Think of Starbuck first. 
There'll be plenty of time to run a full background check on Chameleon
once we're aboard the Galactica."
     "Sounds agreeable to me." Apollo conceded.  "Mackin, as soon as
we're aboard, stop by Fleet Personnel records and get whatever's in the
Main Computer Banks on him. Drop it off in Commander Adama's office
when you're through.  As soon as we get done with the preliminary stuff
in the Life Center, we'll be heading over there."
     "No problem," the black-haired copilot nodded.


     In the back of the shuttle, Starbuck found himself thoroughly
enraptured by the stories Chameleon was telling.
     "What's the highest pot you ever had in any game?"
     "Oh.....I'd have to say, twenty-three thousand cubits."
     "Twenty-three thousand?" Starbuck's eyes widened for the third
time since he'd begun conversing with the old man.  "And what
happened?"
     There was a faint twinkle in Chameleon's eye.  "I won.  My
opponent was totally bluffed out of his wits by my level three red and
level two green."
     The warrior's jaw fell open.  "You won that big a pot with
nothing!  Not even a quarter-Pyramid!"
     "The greatest bluff of my life," Chameleon sighed.  "And it paid
the most important dividend of my life.  That one little hand in a
backwoods chancery on Sagitarra was what enabled me to give up gambling
at a most critical time.  With those winnings, I was able to come home
to Caprica with a sufficient reserve account to try and make a break
with the whole thing.  Start an honest living as an agro worker.  And
more importantly, make myself respectable for a lovely young lady named
Gabriella."
     "I see.  Ah, I take it that was my......I mean," he caught himself
in time.  "Your wife?"
     "Yes," there was a wistful quality in his voice, betraying the
sadness he still felt inside over losing her.  "Quite a remarkable
woman, Starbuck.  I....well there's much I could tell about her, but I
think it had best wait until after these tests."
     "Oh sure," Starbuck said hastily.  "Sure, Chameleon I understand. 
I mean, I know it's a one-in-three thousand shot, so I shouldn't get
ahead of things." he then leaned forward, "Ah, there is one thing
though, should it turn out that you are my father."
     "Yes?"
     "Well, obviously if I'm your son, that would mean my real name
isn't Starbuck."
     "Yes," Chameleon nodded.
     "Do me one favor," Starbuck put an arm around him.  "Don't tell me
what it is.  I think no matter what happens I'll just stick to
Starbuck.  I'm.....kind of fond of the name."
     "It's a good name," Chameleon said.  "Held by a very good warrior. 
Besides," he shrugged, "If you are my son, I couldn't see myself using
your original name anyway.  Not with...well not with the way you are
now."
     "Oh," Starbuck nodded faintly in understanding.  "Thanks."


     Ever since the danger of constant Cylon attack had slackened off
twelve sectans earlier, Cassiopeia had found herself enjoying the
positive things in her work for the first time.  With no constant
danger of treating injured warriors any longer, she could now turn her
attention to areas like medical research and scientific studies that
she found fascinating.  And with her increased fascination came more
than one subtle hint from her mentor Dr. Salik that she ought to
consider becoming a full-fledged doctor in her own right.
     Dr. Cassiopeia, she idly mused as she went over a research file
dealing with a potential vaccination against a strain of Sagitarrian
flu.  It has a nice ring to it.  Maybe I should take Salik's offer up. 
Some day at least.
     "Cassiopeia?"
     She looked up from her reading and was surprised to see every
single close friend of hers enter the Life Station.  Apollo, Boomer,
Sheba, and then Starbuck, who still had his arm around Chameleon.
     "This is a surprise," the med-tech got to her feet.  "What brings
you all here?"
     Her boyfriend stepped forward with a wide grin and pointed to
Chameleon, "Cass, this is Chameleon.  Wait 'till you hear the things we
just found out about each other."
     Five centons later, after Cassiopeia and Chameleon had exchanged
pleasantries and Starbuck had summarized the situation, there was a
look of amazement and wonder on Cassiopeia's face.
     "That is good news.  Yes, I know the kind of test you were talking
about, Chameleon.  If you two step this way, I can have it done in just
five centons."
     "Excellent," Chameleon smiled.  "This way we can at least see if
there's a legitimate basis for going any further."
     "We won't be long," Cassiopeia said as she led Starbuck and
Chameleon into the next room, leaving the others to wait in the main
chamber of the Life Station.
     "He seems anxious to get it done," Sheba noted.  "That doesn't do
much for your theory that he was only interested in getting protection. 
Because he has to know that the instant it's all over, he goes back to
his own ship, and if the Nomen are after him, he's right back to square
one."
     "True," Boomer conceded.  "But I'd feel better if we had more
details about him."
     The main door slid open and Apollo saw his sister enter, holding
two sheets of paper.
     "Apollo, this message just came in from Jolly aboard the Rising
Star," Athena handed them to her.  "He thought you'd find it useful."
     "Thanks," Apollo said and skimmed them briefly.
     "What's brought you all down here anyway?" Athena frowned slightly
as she took note of Boomer's and Sheba's presence.
     "It's wonderful news, Athena," Sheba's bubbly enthusiasm
resurfaced. "Starbuck's met a man who might actually be his father!"
     Athena raised an eyebrow and Apollo instantly saw how his sister
seemed to regard it with utter indifference.
     "That's.....interesting," she finally spoke, with nary a trace of
emotion.  "Well, if that's true, give him my congratulations.  I think
I'd better get back to the Bridge."
     She then turned and was gone as quickly as she'd come in.  Both
Sheba and Boomer seemed taken aback by how Athena had reacted.
     "Boy, you'd think we were talking about Baltar, the way she
acted," Boomer noted.
     "I'm not surprised," Apollo said aloud.  "It seems like every day,
she gets more and more bitter about breaking up with Starbuck."
     Sheba, whose arrival on the Galactica came after the break-up
between Starbuck and Athena, shook her head sadly.  "I never realized
it had been so serious between the two of them."
     "Remind me to tell you about it sometime," Apollo sighed and went
back to the report he'd been given.
     "So what does Jolly's report say?" Boomer inquired, anxious to
change the subject.
     "Not much," the captain said as he handed the papers to him.  "The
two Nomen did leave on the next shuttle.  The one that's been detained
is still insisting it was an accident that he pulled out his laser
boles in the Astral Lounge.  If they are on a blood trail, they're not
talking or offering any hints for now."
     "And that means not enough evidence to justify having Council
Security monitor those other two."
     "Show me one Council Security goon who'd have the guts for an
assignment like that," Sheba observed dryly. 
     Her remark released some of the tension that had set in and the
three of them laughed.
     "Okay," Apollo chuckled.  "Okay, I guess there's nothing else that
can be done for now until Mackin delivers that background report on
Chameleon to the Commander. When we tell him about this story, we give
him all the details."
     "And in the meantime, let's not needlessly dampen Starbuck's
enthusiasm," Sheba said.  "Let's go inside and see how that preliminary
test is coming."


     Aboard the freighter Borallus, the home for the entire Borellian
population in the Fleet, another meeting was taking place.  A meeting
of the twenty senior members of the Nomen class.  At the head of the
table sat Maga, who was unofficially regarded as the titular leader of
all Nomen.  To his left sat Bora, while the rest consisted of the only
ones on the ship who already knew about what they had been seeking
aboard the Rising Star and why.
     "What news have you to report of the blood trail against the
jackal Captain Dimitri?" a middle-aged Noman named Mammar asked.
     "The early news is not promising," Maga said.  "The inexcusable
violations of the Code by the untrustworthy Taba have placed us in a
difficult position for now.  One that has enabled Captain Dimitri to
receive safe haven aboard the Galactica."
     "So we are now faced with the shame of an unfulfilled blood
trail," this from another Noman named Suddam.  "How do you plan to
answer for this, Maga?"
     "The blood trail shall be fulfilled," Maga's tone grew defiant. 
"A change in tactics is all that is required."
     "And how do you plan to obtain access to the Galactica?" this from
Mammar.
     "We have an opportunity," Bora said.  "It has been decided by Maga
that the way to gaining access aboard the Galactica is to do so under
the cover of enlistment in the Colonial Warrior Corps."
     If any of the other Nomen in the room had been capable of
laughing, all of them would have done so upon hearing Maga's words.
     "My dear Maga," Suddam said.  "My respect for you is boundless. 
But surely you can not be serious that you could enlist in the Colonial
military without attracting suspicion and attention from those onboard
the Galactica."
     "Undoubtedly we shall attract suspicion and attention," Maga said. 
"But it will take the slow-witted Colonials too much time to act on
their suspicions.  All that is required of us is to locate first, the
warrior Starbuck, who will lead us to the jackal, and then the
fulfillment of our Code.  And we shall die in the effort if it must be
so, in order to succeed."
     At this point, another Noman named Fassel, much younger and with
only the beginnings of a beard lining his face, got to his feet which
was an uncharacteristic posture during a meeting of the Nomen class.
     "Regrettably, I must question your judgment, Maga," he looked the
Nomen leader in the eye.  "Either way, whether you are successful or
not in tracking down Captain Dimitri aboard the Galactica, you risk
greater damage to what all of us have managed to accomplish over the
past twelve sectans.  During that time, we have all put aside our
hatred for the Colonials and ventured out in the name of achieving a
greater good.  The goal of self-sufficiency and independence from both
the Colonials and our infidel masters aboard this ship which we desire
above all other things.  But if that goal is placed in jeopardy because
of our obsessive desire to fulfill one blood trail, I fear that you
will bring us all to ruin."
     "You speak sacrilege, Fassal." Bora interjected and would have
thundered in indignation if he were capable of doing so.  "What you
call for is to shirk the Code, which must be upheld in all
circumstances no matter what the costs are."
     "It is not the individual cost that concerns me, Bora, it is the
cost to what our long-term objective is," Fassal held his ground.
"Whether you are successful or not, the death of Captain Dimitri would
immediately result in an investigation by the Colonial Warriors into
the practices of all Nomen aboard this ship.  And the infidel Hassan
would not hesitate to grant that permission since he yearns for any
pretext that would result in our destruction as a class.  Such an
investigation, would inevitably uncover everything that we have
accomplished in twelve sectans.  Our supplies of spare parts, fuel
cells, weapons, food.  All that we have gathered to achieve our goal of
self-sufficiency and separation from Colonial and infidel rule."
     Maga got to his feet and fixed a withering, angry stare at the
younger Noman.
     "You disgrace yourself," his voice dripped with contempt.  "Not
only do you promote sacrilege by suggesting that there are
circumstances when the Code must be declared meaningless, you also
shame me by accusing me of treason.  For the only way our objective
could be discovered would be to learn that from my lips, which you
assume I would give them in the event of capture."
     "I deny the charge," Fassal said.
     "I do not withdraw it," Maga said.  "You talk of your desire to
see our objective of self-sufficiency fulfilled, yet you mock and shame
the Code that our society is to be governed under once self-sufficiency
is achieved. Consider yourself challenged."
     "I accept your challenge, and I demand the privilege of settlement
now." the young Noman's voice grew cold.
     "Granted."
     Maga stood up and moved alongside the table while Fassal moved
away from his seat, so that the two Nomen were now face-to-face, ten
feet apart on a straight line.  All of the other Nomen in the room
promptly got up from the table and moved to the other side of the room
to watch an ancient Noman ritual be performed.
     Both Maga and Fassal bowed slightly and then closed their eyes in
intense concentration.  Each was beginning a mental count inside.  When
the count ended, it would be a matter of who was faster and more
accurate with their laser boles.
     The count reached twenty, and abruptly Maga opened his eyes,
detached his boles and flung them at Fassal with a speed and intensity
that the young Noman had badly underestimated.  Before Fassal had time
to detach his own boles, Maga's had slammed directly into his chest and
exploded.
     Not a sound was uttered by any of the others in the room as
Fassal's lifeless body collapsed to the floor in a bloody,
unrecognizable mess.  Maga calmly came up to the corpse, reached down
and picked up the boles from Fassal's shredded tunic and reattached
them to his belt.
     "His likes shall no longer contaminate our ranks," Maga spoke with
the faint air of triumph.  "Bora will accompany me on this task.  And
when we next meet, we shall return in fulfillment of the Code."
     The rest of the Nomen solemnly bowed as Maga left the room.

Chapter Six

     There was an air of silent, anxious anticipation inside the Life
Station as Cassiopeia sat in front of the monitor attached to the
apparatus that had conducted both the hemotype blood test, and the
iris-cone eye test that would give them the preliminary results on
whether Starbuck and Chameleon could theoretically be related.  The two
of them were on the other side of the apparatus, where they'd been
subjected to the tests.  Behind them, Apollo, Sheba and Boomer stood
with arms folded, each of them wondering what the news would bring and
how it might affect the other matters associated with Chameleon that
they'd been discussing.
     "Okay," Cassiopeia said.  "The results of your samples have been
computated and I should be getting a read-out any micron now."
     Inside, Starbuck felt his heart skip a beat.  For him, this was
potentially the fulfillment of a dream he'd carried since childhood. 
To finally have some idea of who he was, and where he'd come from.  To
understand how and why he'd inherited the instincts that had made him
the kind of man he was.
     For Chameleon, his inner thoughts were a mixture of both
anticipation, apprehension and regret.  Anticipation because he knew
there was a very remote chance that this lead he had grasped at in the
name of survival could actually produce an unexpected result that would
solve a mystery he had long ago given up hope of finding the answer to. 
Apprehension, because if he didn't get past this first test, he'd be
turned loose from the Galactica and be right back where he started,
forced to keep one eye over his shoulder in fear over when the Nomen
might appear again.  And regret, because if his deceptions were exposed
it would mean losing the friendship of someone he was already feeling
close to after only a couple of centars.
     Dear Lord, he thought to himself.  Whatever happens, let it all
work out for the best.
     Cassiopeia squinted at the monitor on her side of the apparatus
and began to make several notations.
     "Well?" a note of impatience entered Starbuck's voice.  "What do
you see, Cass?"
     The blonde med-tech took a breath.  "Well.....so far, so good. 
The iris-cone type is both characteristic of native Capricans.   And it
also indicates that you're both of southern Caprican tribal stock. 
We're not dealing with something utterly impossible like a pure
Caprican and a pure Sagitarian or something like that----"
     "Cass, save us all the technical felgercarb.  What else?"
Starbuck's impatience mounted.
     "Well this is where the hemo-type results are important to
establish general DNA similarities.  And.....okay, I think....." she
paused as she double-checked the results in her mind to be sure.  Once
she was, she broke into a smile.  "There's no question but that you're
related to each other within ten generations."
     Starbuck let out an exhilarated whoop, "Yeeee-haaa!" he raised his
arms triumphantly and then clasped one around an amazed Chameleon.
     "Now Starbuck," his girlfriend got to her feet and injected a note
of caution.  "This just proves common ancestry within the last four
hundred yahrens.  There are a lot of people who can have that in common
with you."
     "Including me," Apollo couldn't help but quip.
     "And for that far back, even me," Boomer slyly added
     Sheba shook her head in faint exasperation and came over to
Starbuck. "I'm happy for both of you," she gave him a quick hug and
then looked at Cassiopeia.  "Is there any way you could take those
genetic tracer tests here on the Galactica?"
     The med-tech hesitated slightly.  "Well....theoretically, yes.  We
do have the same facilities that the Orphans Ship has for those tests,
but I'd have to get Dr. Salik's approval before we could start."
     "That shouldn't be a problem, should it?" Chameleon inquired with
an anxious edge.  
     "Not a bit.  Once he approves, then it's just a question of
whether or not you're up to taking them."
     "I am," Chameleon's tone grew more emphatic.  "The sooner the
better, Cassiopeia."
     "Well Dr. Salik won't be back from the main Fleet Hospital ship
for another two centars, so maybe you and Starbuck could just rest up a
bit until then."
     "A cold one in the Officers Club on me then," Starbuck's smile
widened as he kept his arm around Chameleon's shoulder.  "Hey why don't
all of you join us in the celebration?"
     Before Apollo could answer, an announcement over the Galactica's
unicom system filled the room.  "Attention.  Captain Apollo and
Lieutenant Boomer are to report to Commander Adama's quarters
immediately."
     "I guess we're going to have to pass on that drink, Starbuck,"
Apollo said feeling relieved.  "Sheba, I think Boomer and I will be
needing you there too."
     "Of course." she nodded in understanding.  "Starbuck, you and
Chameleon enjoy yourselves."
     "I'm sure we will," Starbuck grinned as he and Chameleon headed
for the exit. The old man seemed just as relaxed as he returned the
warrior's grin.
     Cassiopeia let out an exhilarated sigh.  "This is so wonderful.  I
don't think I've ever seen Starbuck this happy before."
     Apollo exchanged a glance with Boomer, and already he could tell
that they both felt there was no point dampening Cassiopeia's
enthusiasm with their suspicions about Chameleon.
     "Let's hope he ultimately has reason to stay happy, Cassiopeia,"
Apollo said as he moved toward the door.  "Boomer, Sheba, let's not
keep the Commander waiting."


     When the three warriors arrived in Adama's office, they found the
Galactica commander seated at his desk, frowning over a sheaf of papers
that he'd been consulting.
     "Flight Sergeant Mackin delivered this to me," he said.  "She said
you'd explain what was significant about this Central Computer readout
on someone named Chameleon."
     It took Apollo five centons to recapitulate the details of what
had happened aboard the Rising Star, with Boomer adding information
about his initial confrontation with the Nomen in the Astral Lounge.
     "Okay," Adama said when they had finished.  "That clears up that
matter. Naturally, the thought that he could be Starbuck's father is
intriguing, but certainly much too premature to consider at this
stage."
     "Does the file say anything, Commander?" Sheba inquired.
     "Not much," the commander said.  "According to Central Fleet
Records, Chameleon was taken aboard the Rising Star during the Exodus
from Caprica.  He was officially logged in among the survivors by Wing
Sergeant Ortega, when Ortega was still attached to Colonial Security."
     "Ortega," Apollo muttered under his breath, thinking it ironic
that the unruly flight sergeant had to be indirectly connected with
these events as well.  Especially in light of the upcoming triad match
and the near brawl that had erupted between him and Starbuck just
before meeting Chameleon.
     "Any background information?" Boomer asked.
     "None.  Just planet of origin.  No designation given at the time."
     "That's interesting," Apollo said. "Chameleon says he's been
working on Dr. Pia's staff on the Orphans Ship with their genetic
tracer project.  Does that check?"
     "Not according to the file."  Adama said as he indicated the
papers.  "Mackin's search of the G-2 and G-3  employees attached to the
Orphans Ship turned up nothing. She then ran it for the entire Fleet. 
There's no Chameleon attached to any full-time designation anywhere."
     "Looks like Chameleon has one strike against him already," Apollo
grunted.
     Sheba glared at him.  "Did it occur to you Apollo, that maybe
Chameleon isn't a full-time employee?  That wouldn't show up in the
Central File."
     "There's one way to confirm that," the Commander activated his
videocom. "Athena, this is Commander Adama.  Put me through on a tie-in
to Dr. Pia aboard the Orphans Ship."
     "Yes sir.  I'll notify you when it's ready," his daughter's voice
replied from the Bridge.
     "I don't think Chameleon would have been fool enough to lie about
something like this when he knows that we could check that in an
instant," Sheba was not inclined to believe the worst about Chameleon. 
Especially when so much was riding on it for Starbuck.
     "We'll find out about that soon enough," Adama decided to change
the subject. "In the meantime, let's get back to this matter of the
Borellian Nomen.  Because if some of them are conducting blood trails,
that's a very disconcerting development.  Ambassador Hassan has assured
me that he's done his best to keep them under control."
     "Do you trust Hassan that much, Commander?"  Boomer asked
skeptically.
     Adama smiled thinly. "Hassan is the best among all the Borellians
in the Fleet, Boomer.  He was always a friend to the Colonial
government when he was the Borellian Ambassador to Caprica.  And that's
why the Nomen have always hated him.  If the Nomen get out of control,
then he knows that means he's ultimately in danger too."
     "Have you considered having a Colonial Security detachment posted
on their freighter to help Hassan out?"
     "Out of the question," Adama said.  "Not just because to do so
would be a serious breach of Colonial jurisprudence, but also the fact
that Hassan doesn't want any outsiders stationed there.  It would only
sway the non-militants in the Borellian population into thinking that
what the Nomen say about Hassan being a Colonial lackey is true. 
Hassan wants to be our friend, but he wants to run things with his
people his way, according to Borellian methods.  Which is only fair
since the Borellians are really the one group of people in this Fleet
that have been brought along as reluctant guests."
     "More fool them for not realizing that the Cylons had just as many
designs on Borallus as they did the Colonies," Boomer snorted.
     "I should probably have a talk with Hassan about it as soon as I'm
done with all of you."  Adama sighed.  "I know there's a lot about the
Borellians that makes it hard for the average Colonial to think of
getting along with them, but for better or worse, they are part of this
Fleet and if our ideas and our values of equality and justice have any
meaning, we have to apply them to the Borellians as well."
     "Point taken, Commander," Sheba acknowledged.
     The video-com then chimed and Athena's voice came through,
"Commander, I have Dr. Pia on direct tie-in."
     "Thank you, Athena."  Adama flicked the switch.  "Dr. Pia, this is
Commander Adama."
     "Yes Commander, it's an honor to talk to you again." a mature,
feminine voice answered.  "We haven't spoken since you signed the
proclamation establishing my project."
     "My apologies for not paying your clinic a visit, Doctor.  Your
project is of interest to me, and I wish it all the success.  However,
that's not why I've called you.  I'm calling in regard to a member of
your staff."
     "Oh?" there was a faint edge of surprise in Pia's voice.  "Who?"
     "This is about an elderly gentleman named Chameleon.  About
seventy-five yahrens old, silver hair, somewhat agile."
     "Chameleon," she mused and then let out an exclamation, "Oh yes, I
think I know who you mean.  But he's not a member of the staff,
Commander."
     "Who is he then?"
     "Well I don't know anything personally about the man.  He's very
charming and the people enjoy him when he comes by.  He spends about a
centar or two each sectan helping us out when things get a bit
overloaded.  Nothing strenuous on his part, but he lends a kind of
presence that brightens things up a bit when we need it."
     "I see," Adama nodded, "That's all you know about him?"
     "There might be some regular staff members who know him better
than I do, Commander.  But I think if you've got questions about him,
he seems completely harmless from our standpoint."
     "Thank you Dr. Pia, you've been most helpful.  I'll repay you in
the next sectar by visiting your clinic."
     "You're most welcome, Commander.  I look forward to your visit."
     Adama switched off the videocom and glanced at the three warriors. 
"Well?"
     "So much for your theory that Chameleon lied about his work,"
Sheba directed herself to Apollo.  "It may not be a full-time
designation, but he certainly has worked there."
     "Which accounts for only two centars in an entire sectan," Apollo
replied gently. Every instinct inside him wanted to avoid any kind of
tone that would lead to hostile words with Sheba.  "That's plenty of
time for him to be caught up in something that's got the Nomen after
him."
     "Okay," Sheba kept her tone reasonable, for she too didn't want to
start an argument with Apollo.  "Suppose the Nomen are after him.  Why
doesn't he just come out and tell us the reason why?"
     "I don't know," Apollo shrugged.  "Maybe he can't.  Because if he
told us, it would get him into trouble with Colonial jurisprudence."
     She let out a mildly exasperated sigh.  "And if it is a con on
Chameleon's part, then why is he so anxious to take the genetic tests
right away?  I'd think he'd want to delay it as long as possible so he
could remain aboard the Galactica.  He would have at least taken up
Cassiopeia's offer of rest for as long as he needed before beginning."
     Apollo felt a wave of embarrassment come over him as the logic of
her argument sunk in.  "You know," he sighed, "I'm beginning to feel
like an equinian astrum in the worst way."
     "That makes two of us," Boomer nodded his head.  "Maybe we're just
too paranoid.  Maybe what that Noman said about Colonial prejudice
really is guiding our thinking.  We fear the Nomen too much because
they're not like us, so that means we assume the worst about them.  We
assume they're on a blood trail and if we didn't, we have no reason to
suspect Chameleon on this."
     "There is another way you could settle your doubts about
Chameleon," Adama gently spoke up.  "The Central File check is the most
basic examination.  General information available to anyone in the
population who wants to punch in a name at the nearest data base.  But
we do have the ability to use Colonial Security to conduct more
extensive background investigations of people if circumstances warrant
it.  If you think Security should conduct a deeper background check of
Chameleon and his story about being an Umbra survivor, you can always
go to Colonel Tigh and he'll see to it." he then raised a cautious
hand.  "With discretion of course.  In Starbuck's enthused state of
mind, he might not take kindly to the idea."
     "So you don't share my concern, or Boomer's, Father?" Apollo
asked.
     "I wasn't there, Apollo," Adama kept his tone neutral.  "But if
you do think there's a chance that this Chameleon is using Starbuck,
then you must take some kind of action. For Starbuck's sake at least."
     Boomer slowly nodded.  "I suppose a Colonial Security check is the
least we could do.  Nothing too extensive.  No browbeating.  Guys like
Castor never resort to those kinds of tactics."
     "Is that really necessary?" Sheba was disappointed that the impact
of her earlier point had begun to fade.  In her own mind though, she
didn't want to think of the disappointment and hurt Starbuck would go
through if his hopes had been raised by a lie. It put her in mind too
much of an experience she had gone through a mere twelve sectans
earlier when she had experienced that same disappointment and hurt
because of some lies told to her by a charming gentleman.
     "The alternative would be to confront Chameleon with your
concerns, Apollo," Adama said.  "Would you prefer it that way?  A
simple man-to-man talk?"
     His son slowly exhaled, "That would be worse, Father, because then
I'd be practically calling the man a liar."
     "Not practically," Sheba retorted mildly.  Events were reaching a
point where even she found it difficult to maintain her patience with
Apollo.  
     Adama shifted his glance to her with an air of gentle reproach. 
"If the man is telling the truth, Sheba, then he'll understand.  And if
he's not telling the truth, then I wouldn't worry too much about
hurting his feelings."
     "Don't look at me, Commander," she said.  "I know I learned a
painful lesson about not letting appearances be the guide to judging a
man, but I believe Chameleon thinks there is a chance that Starbuck is
his son.  If there wasn't any kind of genuine belief inside him about
that, then he would have ended the game much sooner and asked for
sanctuary."
     Boomer awkwardly shuffled his feet.  "You know, I wish I was on
patrol right now so I didn't have to deal with these things.  Because
right now, I'm almost wondering if it might be possible that we're both
right."
     "Both right?" Adama lifted an eyebrow.  "That Chameleon could be
Starbuck's father in spite of the fact that the Nomen could be after
him?"
     "Who knows?" Boomer smirked.  "Stranger coincidences have happened
before."
     "That would be the ultimate coincidence of all time," Apollo said
and then turned to Sheba.  Right away, she could tell that his body
language was silently communicating the desire for a quick truce. 
"Sheba, could you see Colonel Tigh about the security check?"
     She slowly nodded.  "All right.  But I still think you're going to
be proved wrong."
     "I hope you're right," Apollo said.  "I hope you're right."


     "I have to be honest, it's hard to picture you as an agro worker,"
Starbuck said as he and Chameleon sat at a table in the Officers Club.
     Chameleon shrugged and sipped at his tankard of ale.  "I suppose
what I was looking for was something that would keep me away from the
cities and all the temptations of chanceries at the time.  And your
mo_, I'm sorry Gabriella," he caught himself. "She was an outdoor kind
of woman.  I was so smitten with her, that I wanted to do something
that would cater to her tastes."
     "She had to have been a remarkable woman," Starbuck said with
fascination.
     "Yes," the old man sighed, as the memories filled his mind.  Not
wanting to get emotional, he changed the subject.  "What about you,
Starbuck?  Has there ever been anyone you considered getting sealed
to?"
     "Oh," the warrior absently waved his cigar as he hesitated
answering.  "I suppose you could say I've had three women in my life
that made me think about it at one time or another."
     "Really," Chameleon put his finger on his chin.
     "Yeah," Starbuck took a breath.  This was the first time he could
ever recall opening up about this subject to anyone.  Not even to close
friends like Apollo or Boomer.  But his feeling about Chameleon being
his father was so intense that he saw no reason not to tell him.  "The
first girl I knew on Caprica.  Her name was Aurora.  We went out quite
a bit before I went to the Academy, but it kind of fizzled out after
awhile. She really wasn't interested in marriage, so she never
encouraged the thought too much."
     "What happened to her?"
     Starbuck sighed.  "I'm afraid she's dead.  I hadn't seen much of
her in awhile, but the night the Cylons destroyed the Colonies, I made
one trip down to Caprica to help in the evacuation.  I flew right over
where her house was and it took a direct hit."
     "I'm sorry," Chameleon's tone grew empathetic.  "That must have
been rough."
     "Not too much," Starbuck said.  "After Aurora there was another
girl.  Kind of like her in a lot of ways."
     "And was she killed in the Holocaust too?"
     "Oh no," Starbuck shook his head.  "No, she's still alive.  As a
matter of fact, she's Apollo's sister.  Her name's Athena.  Works on
the Galactica's bridge crew."
     "Now that's interesting," Chameleon said.  "Was that how you met
Apollo?"
     "No, I knew Apollo first.  That led to meeting Athena.  I
was....well I was more serious with her than I was with Aurora.  I
almost thought we had....." he then trailed off.
     Chameleon slowly nodded.  "Didn't work out?"
     "Yeah," the warrior sighed.  "She....well she took it a little
harder than I did.  I'd still like to be friends with her, but....she's
not exactly willing right now."
     "I know the feeling," Chameleon confessed.  "In all
honesty.....I've been there myself as well."
     "You must have passed off a lot of interesting things to me,"
Starbuck grinned.
     "Well....." Chameleon blushed slightly and sheepishly lowered his
head.
     Before they could go any further there was a commotion from the
other side of the Officers Club, as a boisterous, slurred voice
suddenly exclaimed for all to hear.  "Listen up, everybody!  Listen up! 
I hereby proclaim that I am about to buy a round of drinks for all
those present!"
     As the majority of patrons suddenly let out murmurings of approval
and gratitude, Starbuck felt his stomach turn when he saw that the
source of the voice was Sergeant Ortega.
     "One exception though," Ortega rose from his barstool seat and
pointed to the back.  "No free drink for Lieutenant Starbuck.  Not
today.  Lieutenant Starbuck doesn't get a free drink from me until
after the big match next sectan.  Because after what he and his buddy
Apollo are gonna go through on that there triad court when I got
through with them, they're going to be crying their hearts out in so
many drinks, that I plan on picking up their tab then!"
     Already, those who were sitting close to Ortega began backing away
from him in mild disgust.  Starbuck was staring intently at the drunken
warrior with an indifferent expression.  But Chameleon could see the
muscles throbbing visibly in the warrior's neck, indicating his inner
rage.
     "Starbuck_" Chameleon started as he grabbed his hand.  But the
warrior pulled away and flashed him a very disarming smile.
     "Excuse me," he said as he rose from his seat.  "I'll only need a
centon."
     "Starbuck, don't do anything foolish_" the old man protested.  But
the warrior paid no attention as he slowly made his way up to the bar
where the inebriated Ortega sat with a taunting sneer.
     "Well?" Ortega didn't let up, as Starbuck drew to within two feet
of him. Throughout the rest of the Officers Club, all other
conversation had come to a stop, with every pair of eyes focused on the
two warriors who seemed ready to come to some serious blows.
     "You won't be needing to waste cubits on drinks for me, Ortega,"
Starbuck kept his voice low but venomous. "Because I can guarantee you
this.  After the match, you won't be in any condition to go near a
bar."
     "Oh?" the sergeant refused to let up.  "Your little boy trap
strategy's going to injure me on the court?"
     "I may come up with a new strategy," Starbuck acidly retorted. 
"One that'll wipe that smirk off your face forever."
     "How's about a sneak preview, Bucko?" his voice dripped with
sarcasm.
     "Why you_" Starbuck had begun raising his arm when the door slid
open and Apollo and Boomer entered.  As soon as they saw the two
warriors, they immediately dashed up to them.
     "What the frack's going on here?" Apollo thundered as he grabbed
Starbuck by the shoulders and pulled him away from Ortega.  At the same
time, Boomer had pulled the blonde sergeant off his stool and had both
his arms locked behind his back.
     "Nothing, Apollo.  Just Sergeant Ortega being his usual gregarious
self!" Starbuck said acidly as he shook himself loose from Apollo's
grasp.
     "And Lieutenant Starbuck compensating for the fury that will not
be present on the triad court!" Ortega fired back in half-slurred
words.
     Boomer, who was Ortega's squadron commander, turned him around so
he was glaring at the sergeant jaw-to-jaw.
     "You get this straight, Sergeant!" Boomer barked.  "I will not
allow one of my men to disgrace himself like you're doing now.  You're
going to sober up by taking your deep patrol right now!"  He then
stared over at Barton, who'd been watching the proceedings from the
other side of the Club.  "Barton, you keep your eye on him and make
sure he does his job!"
     Ortega's wingmate and triad partner got to his feet and glared at
the blonde sergeant with distaste.  He came over, grabbed him by the
arm and dragged him out of the club.  
     "Lousy gallmonging snit, you've got to drag me into your troubles
now----" the door then closed, terminating the rest of Barton's
berating of Ortega.
     Slowly, the rest of the patrons began resuming their
conversations, as Boomer came up to Apollo and Starbuck.
     "Nice going, Boomer," Starbuck grinned.  "That's putting the dreg
in his place."
     "Wipe that smile off your face, Lieutenant!" Apollo's voice was
cold and unsympathetic.  "I told you on the Rising Star to ignore him,
no matter what he said."
     "Hey, Captain, I didn't throw any punches.  I was just letting him
know that come the match next sectan, he's not going to be so cocky any
longer."
     "Don't let him know anything more, Starbuck."  Apollo jabbed his
finger to within an inch of Starbuck's face. "If you'd laid one finger
on him, I'd have thrown you in the brig.  Consider that your last
warning."
     The blonde lieutenant shrugged his shoulders and slowly exhaled. 
"Yes sir."
     "Excuse me," a voice chimed in.  The three warriors turned around
and saw that Chameleon had joined them.  "Excuse me, I don't know what
you've decided to do about Starbuck, but I can assure you that the
whole thing was entirely provoked by that other warrior."
     "We know that, Chameleon," Apollo nodded.  "That's the guy
Starbuck and I are playing triad against next sectan.  He's been
playing a psychological game ever since the match was scheduled."
     "Ah," Chameleon nodded in understanding.  "I see.  Starbuck, the
trick to that is ignoring him just like you'd ignore a man who's
boasting about having a full perfect pyramid on his first deal of the
cards.  It's all talk designed to mask the fact that there's nothing
underneath."
     Starbuck slowly smiled.  "Are you giving that advice to me as one
gambler to another, or do I detect a paternal undertone as well?"
     Chameleon returned the smile and shrugged with the same meek,
humble air. "Perhaps.  Long ago, I tried my hand at triad and a person
just like that rude warrior was the key to ending whatever potential I
had there."
     "You could have fooled me," Starbuck put his hand on his shoulder. 
"You have the kind of agility that makes me think you'd have been a
great triad player."
     "I guess I never had the discipline to master a hidden natural
talent."
     "Uh....gentlemen?" Apollo coyly interrupted, amazed at how
Chameleon's words had completely gotten Starbuck's mind away from
Ortega.  That said much about the kind of effect the old man was having
on his friend.  "I hate to interrupt the chat, but the reason why
Boomer and I stopped by here, was to tell you that Dr. Salik is back
from the Hospital Ship and has approved your genetic testings.  Report
to the Life Station immediately."
     "Hey that's great!" Starbuck grinned. "We're one step closer to
getting everything confirmed.  Come on Chameleon, let's go."
     As soon as the two were gone, Apollo and Boomer stared at each
other in mutual disbelief.
     "I'll tell you something," Apollo finally said.  "The way he
reacts to what Chameleon tells him, I'm really hoping our hunch is
wrong.  A father-figure could be just what Starbuck needs to cure his
worst habits."
     "I know what you mean," Boomer said as he and Apollo sat down at
the bar.  When they received their drinks, the black warrior held up
his glass thoughtfully.  "Did you know that Jolly was an Umbra survivor
too and grew up in the same orphanage with Starbuck?"
     "Yeah," the dark-haired captain nodded as he sipped his drink. 
"But didn't Jolly end up finding his family?"
     "Only after six yahrens," Boomer said.  "He had a chance to see
what it was all like.  Since Starbuck never talks about it, I asked
Jolly what it was like.  He said the orphanage was a nice sheltered
place, manned by nice dedicated people who did their best, but that
none of them had any concept of how to communicate one-on-one with any
child who lived there."
     "A staff comprised of wonderful teachers and authority figures,
but no one who could provide the extra dimension that only a parent
can," Apollo agreed.  "I see what you mean.  And I guess that's why
Starbuck's never latched on completely to my fath_the Commander," he
quickly corrected himself, "as someone who could fill that role.  The
bottom line is that the Commander has to be an authority figure and a
teacher first, just like all the social workers at the orphanage were."
     Boomer nodded.  "I was luckier.  My parents died when I wasn't
even five yet, but at least I had an aunt who raised my brother and me
as if we were her sons.  And Lord knows that wasn't easy with two kids
of her own who always resented us."  He paused to reflect a bit.  "My
brother ended up dead in a street brawl.  He never realized what a good
thing he had in our aunt as a parental figure.   If I hadn't recognized
how good she was, and looked up to her that way and leaned on every
word she told me, I'm convinced I'd have ended up the same as him."
     Apollo gently patted his friend's shoulder.  He knew it couldn't
have been easy for Boomer to talk about the family he'd lost in the
Holocaust.  His aunt and two cousins were still living in the same back
streets apartment house Boomer had grown up in, and when the black
warrior had returned to Caprica during the evacuation, he'd barely had
time to go off and see that the apartment had taken a direct hit. 
There had been no survivors.
     "Sheba should be making that background check request to Colonel
Tigh, by now," Apollo sighed.  "I hope it's all for nothing.  I think I
want Starbuck to have this as much as he does."
     "You and me both," Boomer said as he finished his drink.


     "Red Squadron deep patrol now ready to launch, Colonel."  Rigel
reported from her station.
     "Excellent," the Galactica's executive officer nodded.  "Tell them
they're cleared."
     Tigh went back to the navigational board on the bridge's upper
level and plotted out the trajectory where the deep patrol would
search.  If all went well, they'd have a full readout on everything
that lay ahead for the next sectar's worth of flight time by the
Fleet's standards, since the Galactica was forced to go no faster than
the slowest ship in the convoy of 220.
     It seemed like an eternity to Tigh since the Galactica had last
gone hyperdrive at her top speed.  Not since long before the Holocaust. 
 It sometimes made the executive officer think that the great
battlestar had become like an old woman that had been slowed down by
age.  It wasn't a fair comparison, he knew, but until he felt the
Galactica moving again at her top speed some day, it was an impression
he'd be unable to shake from his mind.
     "Colonel Tigh?"
     He turned around and saw that Sheba had arrived on the upper
level.
     "Yes Sheba?"
     "Colonel, something's come up that requires a Colonial Security
background check."
     "Well that does fall under my jurisdiction," the executive officer
said.  "Who's the background check for?"
     "It's for a man named Chameleon," she said.  She then took five
centons explaining the basic situation.  When she was done, it was
clear that Tigh's interest was piqued.
     "Starbuck's father," he was impressed.  "That would be good news
if it turned out to be true."
     "It would," Sheba nodded.  "I really wish this security check
wasn't necessary, but Apollo and Boomer think there are too many
lingering questions about where Chameleon came from that can't be
ignored.  If you can do this as discreetly as possible though, I think
it would make things a lot easier."
     Tigh nodded.  "I'll put Sergeant Castor in charge.  He's the best
man we have in the whole Security division and knows how to handle
things that way."
     "That's good," she said.  "When he's done, make sure the report
gets to Apollo. He'll know what to do with it."
     "I will.  Anything else?"
     "No," Sheba smiled.  "But if the genetic tests come back with a
positive result before the check is finished, I'll let you know and you
can then cancel the whole thing."
     "That would be an order I'd give with pleasure," Tigh returned it.
     As soon as Sheba had gone, the executive officer went over to the
railing and motioned Omega to join him on the upper level.
     "Omega," he said as soon as the bridge officer arrived.  "Have
Sergeant Castor report here as soon as possible."
     "Yes sir," Omega then handed him a clipboard.  "Before I do that,
I thought you should know that a shuttle of the new warrior recruits
for this sectan will be arriving in twenty centons.  You and I have to
be there for the usual welcome and introduction speech."
     "Great," Tigh grimaced.  "You know Omega, ever since you started
doing that IFB spot, all the recruits keep expecting me to make a
welcome speech with the same felgercarb rhetoric with all the
we-need-you slogans.  It's gotten to the point where I dread it every
sectan."
     The Bridge Officer smiled, "Don't blame me, Colonel, I didn't
write the script for that spot.   I do admit, it even makes me cringe
whenever I see it on the videocom."
     "Unfortunately Omega, you're the only warrior on the bridge with
photogenic presence.  That means you keep doing the spots."  Tigh said
lightheartedly.  "Okay, we'll handle the recruits first and then take
care of Sergeant Castor and this background check on Mr. Chameleon."


     No sooner were the two vipers away on their long deep patrol, then
did Barton resume his browbeating of Ortega.
     "I just hope you realize this, Ortega."  Barton was saying.  "My
whole evening's been shot to Hades thanks to you.  Flying a deep patrol
three days ahead of schedule was not what I planned on doing.  But
because the fracking rulebook says I'm assigned to you, I've got to
share in your punishment.  You keep this up, and I just might throw the
fracking triad game to Starbuck and Apollo.  It'd serve you right!"
     "Blow it out your astrum," the sergeant mumbled, feeling the
effects of a hangover kick in.
     "I'm not letting up, Ortega," Barton retorted.  "If I have to fly
alongside you for twelve centars you're going to get an earful from me. 
 If you want me to give my all on that triad court, you'll take it like
a fracking man!"
     Ortega muttered something short and indecipherable.  He was in the
halfway state between lingering drunkenness and the nasty pain of
returning sobriety.  The condition most people never felt because they
were usually sleeping it off at that stage.
     "Did anyone ever tell you that you're not a nice guy, Ortega?"
Barton decided that this would be the occasion he would let his partner
have it.  "I wouldn't be surprised if all of your friends in this
universe could hold a meeting inside Jolly's viper, with him already
occupying it!"
     "I don't need any fracking friends," Ortega mumbled.  "I got all I
need in this world.  Perfect set-up."
     "That's another thing about you I've never figured out," Barton
went on.  "Most of us never had enough accumulated pay to make one trip
to the Rising Star's Chancery until now.  But you've made probably
twenty jaunts over there ever since the Battle of Kobol.  Where'd you
get the money to do that?"
     "None of your fracking business, Barton," Ortega spluttered his
words out.
     "Okay, maybe it isn't.  But it is my business if I have a wingman,
and a triad partner who can't keep his astrum out of trouble."
     "You don't have to worry about anything I do that isn't on the
triad court or out here in my viper, Barton," Ortega reached inside his
helmet and rubbed his throbbing temple.  "I never let you down there,
did I?"
     "No," Barton conceded.  "You haven't.  I'll give you credit for
that.  But mark my words Ortega, if you keep acting the way you do away
from the court and away from your viper, then someone is going to snap
and kill you someday.   Hell, the way Starbuck was looking you in the
eye, I wouldn't be a bit surprised if it were him."
     Ortega began to let out a half-drunken giggle.  "No, no my dear
Barton.  Starbuck doesn't have the guts to kill me.  None of my
so-called 'enemies' have the guts to do it. All except," his chuckling
increased.  "All except one."
     "Who's the brave soul?" Barton inquired sarcastically.
     Ortega's laugh now became an annoying cackle of ironic delight. 
"Oh....someone who hates me for a reason Starbuck couldn't begin to
approach.   Good old Charybdis."
     Barton frowned slightly.  The name meant absolutely nothing to
him.  "Who's Charybdis?"
     "A man of mystery, Barton." Ortega was clearly enjoying himself. 
"A man of great mystery.  Who made the mistake one day of letting a
sharp observer like me discover why he's such a man of mystery."
     "Translate that into common Colonial Standard if you please.  You
sound like an Aquarian philosopher."
     Ortega suddenly blinked twice as sobriety took further hold of
him.  He felt a cold sweat break out on his body as he realized the
danger he was putting himself in.
     "I mean just what I said, Barton," he chose his words
methodically, knowing that he needed to get off the subject as fast as
he possibly could.  "There's nothing to translate. Nothing you'd ever
understand anyway."
     "Knowing you, he couldn't be a jealous husband or lover mad at you
over a woman," Barton decided to stick the pin inside Ortega further
than he'd ever dared before.
     The curly haired sergeant cocked his helmet toward his wingmate's
viper with a cold, angry expression.
     "All right," Ortega seethed.  "That's enough.  You've extracted
your pound of flesh, now that's enough."
     "Okay," Barton smiled thinly with the satisfaction that he'd
finally given Ortega a taste of his own medicine of aggravation and
left the dislikable sergeant unable to top him. "To business then,
Sergeant.  Hit those scan beams to full-forward max and let's see if
our little path that the Commander says is going to take us to Earth
someday is all-clear like we want it to be."

Chapter Seven

     When Tigh and Omega arrived in the landing bay to meet the recruit
shuttle, they saw several members of the Galactica's Fire Control team
moving several large tanks of boraton foam across the tarmac.
     "Hello Jorda," Tigh smiled at the Chief Fireman who was directing
the workers. "How's it coming?"
     The gray-haired fire chief smiled back with an edge of pride. 
"After sixteen sectans since the Cylon fighter rammed this landing bay,
Colonel, the Main Boraton Mist Control Center is finally ready for
business, better than ever."
     "Excellent," Tigh noted.  "And I take it that all of the new
shielding features Wilker and Shadrach designed are all in place now?"
     "They finished installing the last components a few centars ago,
Colonel.  The Control Center is now a fireproof zone.  No matter how
bad a hit we take in the landing bay, even from a solonite packed
fighter, we won't lose main pressure for our boraton hoses throughout
the ship."
     As the Chief Fireman moved off to continue directing the placement
of the boraton tanks, Tigh turned to Omega and said in a low voice. 
"If the Lords are with us, we'll never have to find out how effective
the new shielding is."
     "Agreed," the Bridge Officer nodded as they watched the recruit
shuttle arrive and come to a stop thirty feet away from them.  The door
opened and a diverse cross-section of twenty men and women emerged. 
Right away, Tigh knew that this was a group with no inherent instinct
for military discipline, since they all stood in a disorganized
cluster, as opposed to a straight line formation.  Too many of them
swayed by the silly IFB spot, the executive officer thought idly as he
stepped forward and assumed an authoritative posture.
     "As executive officer, I'd like to welcome all of you new recruits
aboard the Galactica," he began.  "Most of you have probably never set
foot on a battlestar before, and it's normal to find it a bit
overwhelming, especially since we're more than three times the size of
the second largest ship in the Fleet." he paused as he prepared himself
for the tough part of the speech.  The part that always made the naive
recruits have their first second thoughts about signing up.  "I know
that Commander Adama appreciates the sense of duty and self-sacrifice
that's led all of you to consider a new career as part of the team
responsible for defending the Fleet.  But make no mistake that the life
of a warrior, even in seemingly idle times such as these, is no less
than hazardous than it is in a constant crisis situation.  And you will
all be expected to live according to a disciplined schedule that is not
for the faint of heart, or for anyone who thinks that the life of a
warrior is much easier now that we no longer face constant Cylon
harassment."
     As Tigh expected, he saw two to three of the recruits awkwardly
shuffling their feet.  "Bridge Officer Omega will escort you to the
recruit quarters and will answer all preliminary questions once you
arrive.  Omega?"
     The bridge officer nodded and said with authority to the recruits. 
"Okay, let's fall out!  This way to the main turbo lift."
     As the recruits moved past him, Tigh felt satisfied that Omega had
stopped using the word "please" as he had been apt to do in previous
recruit gatherings and had taken on a more tough posture that went
against the image they'd seen of him in the IFB spot. More than once
he'd told the Bridge Officer that he couldn't act too polite to them,
or it would only give them the wrong idea about what they were
ultimately in for.
     The executive officer's thoughts were distracted when the last two
recruits from the rear of the group moved past him.  Because of the
disorganized cluster the group had been in, Tigh hadn't even noticed
them until now.  But there was no mistaking the fact that they were
Borellian Nomen.
     Borellian Nomen?  the executive officer frowned as he saw them
follow the group toward the turbo lift.  Now that's a strange
coincidence.  Sheba said this Chameleon person might have been mixed up
with some Nomen out to kill him.
     But then again, he thought.  Maybe it wasn't a coincidence.
     He went over to the intercom switch that connected him to the
Bridge.  "Athena, this is Tigh.  Has Sergeant Castor arrived on the
Bridge?"
     "He's here, sir."
     "Do me a favor.  Have Apollo and Boomer report to the Bridge too."
     "Yes sir."


     When Tigh returned to the Bridge ten centons later, he saw that
the two pilots were waiting along with the muscular Colonial Security
Guard, who was also Boomer's triad partner.
     "I'm glad you're all here," Tigh said.  "Castor, I'll be needing
you to handle a deep background check on someone we don't know much
about.  An elderly gentleman named Chameleon who has done some work on
the Orphans Ship in the genetic tracer project. I'm afraid there's not
much else to go on, other than the fact that he claims to be from
Caprica, and says that he was once a professional wagerer who survived
the Umbra disaster thirty yahrens ago while working as an agro worker."
     Castor rubbed his chin.  "Sounds like a tall order, Colonel. 
Anything else I can go on?"
     "Yes," the executive officer said.  "He was on the Rising Star
earlier today.  I'd question the crew of the Canaris to see if they
remember who he was traveling with when he came aboard and if there's
anything known about who he mingles with."
     "You might want to check out someone named Siress Blassie," Apollo
spoke up. "When we were in the shuttle coming back to the Galactica, I
think I overheard Chameleon mentioning that name to Starbuck, or him
mentioning it to Chameleon.  I can't remember which."
     "Okay," Castor nodded.  "That gives me enough to keep me occupied
for tonight and tomorrow at least.  But I could use a holo picture or
something to circulate among those I talk to."
     "No problem," Apollo said.  "Play back the security video com from
the Life Station from just two centars ago.  You can print out a
holo-still from there."
     The Security Guard nodded and went down to Athena's station where
the necessary equipment was.
     "Was there another reason why you wanted us here, Colonel?" Boomer
inquired.
     "There is," Tigh nodded.  "I just got back from welcoming aboard
the newest recruits, and for the first time in forty yahrens of service
as a warrior, I see two Borellian Nomen among the lot."
     Apollo and Boomer exchanged uneasy glances.
     "Legally, I didn't have the right to stop them and ask who they
were and what they were doing aboard the Galactica.  But in light of
what Sheba said to me about how you two are concerned that this
Chameleon is pulling a hoax to elude some Nomen, I can't dismiss it as
a mere coincidence."
     "Maybe I ought to go down to the recruit quarters and see if
they're the ones we talked to aboard the Rising Star," Boomer offered.
     "Out of the question," Tigh shook his head.  "You haven't got any
legal basis for questioning them either, and even if they are the ones
you talked to, you still haven't proved that they're linked to
Chameleon.  The only thing we'd invite would be a nasty protest that
could hurt Ambassador Hassan's goodwill strategy, and I don't think
that would help our overall diplomatic position as far as the
Borellians are concerned."
     "So what are you suggesting we do, Colonel, if we can't go down
and question the Nomen?" Apollo folded his arms.
     "I think a few discreet questions to Chameleon are in order," Tigh
said.  "Since Castor needs to handle the background material, he can't
do it.  But you've already made his acquaintance, so you should be able
to do it without arousing too much suspicion."
     "I guess we could," Boomer shrugged.  "But let's not hammer him
about it, or Starbuck might blow as big a fuse with us as he did with
Ortega."
     "Ortega?" Tigh lifted an eyebrow.  "What happened there?"
     "Nothing important right now, Colonel," Apollo said hastily, not
wanting to complicate matters any further.  "Just some psychological
games before the triad match next sectan."  He turned to Boomer, "Let's
see if Starbuck and Chameleon are back in the Life Station now."


     "Okay, Cass," Starbuck's voice had the enthusiasm of a schoolboy
as he and Chameleon entered the Life Station.  "We're ready for those
tests."
     The blonde med-tech smiled brightly.  "Follow me," she motioned. 
"The equipment's located in the auxiliary lab."
     As they entered the room next to the main Operations Center of the
Life Station, Chameleon shook his head in amazement.  "I honestly had
no idea the Galactica had the same facilities to conduct the full-scale
tests we do on the Orphans Ship."
      "Standard operating procedure requires the Galactica to have
their own version of 
every piece of medical equipment you can find in the Fleet," she said
as she pointed to two chairs, both of which had some kind of light
fixture positioned overhead.  "If each of you will sit down there, I
can get started."
     Starbuck and Chameleon both sat down in the chairs that were
spaced five feet apart.  The warrior's eyes went up to the overhead
fixture and he felt a wave of discomfort go through him when he saw a
laser tip at the end of the fixture.
     "Uh, Cassie?" he asked delicately as the med-tech strapped him in
place.  "This uh, this isn't going to hurt is it?"
     She threw him a look that combined both playful teasing with
sarcasm.  "My hero."
     "Hey look, I ah, I just want to know what you're going to do. 
That's all."
     Cassiopeia sat on the edge of his chair and looked him in the eye. 
"I'm just going to extract a neuro-cell from you and Chameleon."
     "A brain cell?" his voice crept up with alarm.  "From my head?"
     Cassiopeia couldn't resist.  "Well, unless your brain's moved to
the spot your enemies think it usually is."
     "That's real cute, Cass," he smiled sarcastically with a
that's-not-funny aura. "Now just tell me if it's dangerous or not."
     "Only if there's nothing in there to extract." she refused to let
up.
     Starbuck grimaced again and saw Chameleon chuckling, clearly
enjoying her quips. "Hey come on, Chameleon.  Don't encourage her any
more!"
     "Look Starbuck," Cassiopeia's voice took on a soothing tone.  "You
won't feel a thing.  This is a finite laser extractor and it can
withdraw the image of a single neuro-cell without even breaking the
epidermis of your head."
     He sighed.  "Still sounds dangerous."
     "Some day, I should have Salik give you a discourse about how this
kind of procedure was done five hundred yahrens ago, Starbuck.  In
those days, the patient's head needed to be shaved before direct
surgical extraction could take place."
     "Ouch!" Starbuck protectively ran his hand through his thickly
styled hair that always looked in need of a little more trimming.
     She smiled and kissed him on the cheek.  "Be brave, Warrior of the
Centar." she said as she went into the next room, leaving Starbuck and
Chameleon alone.
     The old man was staring at Starbuck with only the faintest trace
of awkwardness. Over the last few centars, he'd found his guilt over
the tactics he'd employed to get aboard the Galactica fading away
completely.  Replaced by a hope and desire that this desperate
situation he'd been thrust into would lead to the greatest answered
prayer he'd ever asked the Almighty for.
     The more he talked with Starbuck, the more convinced he was that
the warrior represented the best hope he'd ever had of finding his lost
son.  There was so much in Starbuck that reminded Chameleon of himself,
during his younger, undisciplined days before he'd met Gabriella. 
About the only real difference he saw between himself and Starbuck was
that the warrior had a sense of underlying devotion to duty that
Chameleon knew he'd never possessed in his life.  That was why Starbuck
had become a warrior and confined his recklessness to his leisure time. 
Deep down, Starbuck's concern over doing his part in the war against
the Cylons had been far stronger than Chameleon's ever had.
     Maybe growing up in that orphanage, scarred by the knowledge of
what the Cylons had done to disrupt his life put that in him, he mused. 
Maybe if I'd been younger and had some definite answers about what
happened to my son, I'd have found the nerve to enlist myself.  Instead
of going back to the life of a con-man wagerer, getting myself into
trouble all the time.  But Chameleon had always known that he could
never try to be an agro-worker again.  Not when he no longer had a
family.  Doing farm work would only serve as a painful reminder to him
of what he had once had, and had so tragically lost forever in the
blink of an eye.
     He had to reflect on how miraculous it was that he'd even survived
the Holocaust in the first place.  Like all Capricans, Chameleon had
planned on the night of the supposed end-of-the-war as a night for
celebration.  He had dressed in his finest suit and escorted an elegant
lady from the noble class that he'd met a sectan before at a theater
opening, down to the Piscean restaurant.  Where a massive, festive
celebration was planned for the moment the Peace Treaty between humans
and Cylons became final.  While his reason for charming the woman had
been purely self-centered, designed to find a way of ultimately conning
her out of a thousand cubits of her money, he had vowed to be on his
best behavior that night, and engage in no schemes.  This was supposed
to be a time when every person in all the Colonies had reason to
celebrate, and he had no intention of ruining it for anyone.
     He could still remember when the Cylon attack began.  A giant
monitor featuring the BNC's coverage of the festivities that were to
take place at the Caprican Presidium was at the back end of the
restaurant, and he could see their lead anchor Serina delivering her
report when the sounds of loud explosions brought all of the festive
conversation in the restaurant to a halt.  Chameleon and his escort had
promptly gone out to the restaurant's terrace with it's panoramic view
of Caprica City and watched in stunned horror as they saw the first
wave of Cylon fighters making their strafing runs on the city.
     It was enough to produce a wave of flashbacks inside Chameleon to
what had happened at Umbra thirty yahrens earlier.  Seeing the fighters
in the sky headed for Umbra to begin their strafing runs.  The mad,
frantic dash in his hovermobile to get back. Arriving too late at his
house and then being thrust into a long coma when the floor of his
destroyed house gave way beneath his feet.
     But this time, he knew, like everyone else in the restaurant knew,
that what was happening now represented something far worse than any of
them could ever have imagined.
     Chameleon's memory of the next several centars was hazy and still
imprecise to him.  He could recall moving with a whole panicked throng,
upturning tables and clawing their way out of the building to get to
the nearest bomb shelter two blocks away. Becoming separated from his
dining companion as the crowd pushed its way through the downtown
streets and screamed in panic as several Cylon fighters flew overhead
on more than one occasion.  The last precise image Chameleon could
recall was seeing a laser streak from a Cylon fighter crashing into the
ornate glass dome of the restaurant's top, that had made it one of
Caprica's architectural gems.  Then he'd felt himself being shoved down
the steps into the shelter and could remember nothing more for the next
eight centars until he heard the voice of Commander Adama playing on
someone's portable audio-com in the shelter.  Then, the cold reality of
what had happened sunk in as he and the other stunned survivors
listened to Adama's message that the Colonies were being abandoned, and
that all survivors were to get to the nearest aerodrome to take part in
a mass evacuation.
     He'd been among the lucky who'd made it to the aerodrome in time
before the crowds became too massive and all kinds of chaos had broken
out with people clawing each other, assaulting each other, and in some
cases even murdering each other to get to a place at the front of the
line.  They'd herded him with the other refugees into the Rising Star's
Aquacade and it had taken Chameleon many sectans to come to terms with
his new surroundings, and to wait out the panic that had set in from
the constant Cylon pursuit before he'd finally felt secure enough to
settle down and resume his practice of making a living through his
time-honored tactics of wagering and conning.
     Already though, Chameleon was certain of one thing.  If Starbuck
turned out to be the miracle he'd hoped for, he was certain in his mind
that he'd have to change his ways again.  For the first time since
Umbra, he'd have a sense of responsibility in his life.


     Cassiopeia had just settled herself in front of the console that
controlled the neurotesting equipment when she heard the doors open and
saw Apollo and Boomer enter. "Hi." she smiled brightly at the two
warriors.
     Apollo didn't return it.  "How're the tests coming?"
     "I'm just about ready to start," she said as she activated the
main power switch.
     "Cassiopeia," Apollo said awkwardly. "When you're done, could you
hold Starbuck here for awhile?  Boomer and I want a few centons alone
with Chameleon."
     "What for?" her smile turned into a frown.  "What's going on,
Apollo?"
     "Just routine questions, that's all."
     She flicked the switches that would bring the rest of the system's
instruments to full power and looked him in the eye.  "Apollo, my
interest in whether or not Chameleon is Starbuck's father goes beyond
mere medical reasons."
     "I'm aware of that, Cassiopeia."
     "Then what is it?"
     Boomer decided to let Apollo off the hook.  "Cassiopeia, there's a
chance that Chameleon is pulling a hoax."
     "A hoax?" her expression grew dumbfounded.  "What do you mean?"
     "That Chameleon has another reason for trying to make Starbuck
think he's his father." Boomer said.
     "It's just a chance, but it's one we've got to check out for his
sake." Apollo said. "Sergeant Castor's running a deep background check
on the man, but we'd rather ask him any questions face-to-face."
     Cassiopeia looked through the glass where she could see Starbuck
and Chameleon sitting next to each other, both smiling and exchanging
glances at each other, indicating that they were in another intimate
conversation.
     "Oh God, I hope you're wrong," she sighed.  "Look at them.  They
seem like such a natural fit together.  Just like...." she trailed off
and looked back at Apollo.  "Well, just like you and the Commander."
     "I know," Apollo admitted.  "But too many strange things are going
on, Cassiopeia.  If we don't resolve them, Starbuck's going to be hurt
a lot worse than he could ever be hurt."
     The med-tech nodded.  "I'll keep him occupied when the tests are
done."


     "Cassiopeia's a lovely woman, Starbuck." Chameleon said as they
waited for the machines to spring to life.  "She reminds me of your
moth----" he stop and let out an embarrassed chuckle.  "I'm sorry,
there I go again jumping the gun and letting my emotions take over.   I
mean she reminds me of my wife.  Gabriella."
     "Tell me about her."  Starbuck asked, intrigued by his comparison.
     "Oh," Chameleon mused.  "The same eyes.  The same hair.  The same
gentle, but cutting sense-of-humor.  Gabriella always knew how to put
me in place with put-downs just like what Cassiopeia gave you a micron
ago."
     Starbuck felt a sensation come over him that almost made him feel
uncomfortable. "She's a lot like her?"
     "I'm only judging from a first impression, Starbuck, but I'd say
yes." he said. "Why do you ask?"
     "Well," Starbuck slowly exhaled.  "It's just that....well ever
since my relationship with Athena went bad, Cassiopeia's been the only
one I've felt serious about.  The only one I've.....well the only one I
think I could ever consider getting....." he hesitated for an instant,
because this was something he'd never spoken aloud to anyone before,
not even to Apollo.  "Well, getting sealed to."
     "Really," Chameleon lifted an eyebrow.
     "I mean not now." Starbuck added hastily.  "Not with.... all the
craziness that's gone on ever since we fled the Colonies.  But...well
maybe when we find Earth." he then smiled to cover his embarrassment. 
"You know what I mean?"
     "Yes," Chameleon grinned.  "I know what you mean."
     Starbuck rested his head against the top of his chair and stared
at the finite laser that was slowly springing to life.
     "Keep your head steady, Starbuck," Cassiopeia's voice came through
on an overhead speaker. "I'll be doing the extraction on you, first."
     "I almost get the feeling that something I said about Cassiopeia
being like Gabriella, bothered you, Starbuck," Chameleon said.
     Starbuck kept his head immobile.  "Well.....if it turned out that
you were my father, and that Gabriella was my mother, and if Cassiopeia
were just like her, it'd......well it'd almost make me think that I was
in love with her for the wrong reasons."
     The old man slowly nodded. "I....see what you mean.  Well
Starbuck, let me just say this.  That's nothing to be ashamed about. 
There's nothing.....unnatural about it, if that's what you're worried
about.  In fact, I think there's an old Gemonese song about how the
ideal woman to get sealed to, is someone just like the one one's father
chose.  It's just another....genetic instinct about who the right kind
of woman is."
     "Thanks for putting it that way," Starbuck smiled, glad that
Chameleon had broken the tension on that point.  It made him wonder for
the first time if his reluctance to go ahead with first Aurora, and
then Athena had been because they were the antithesis of the kind of
woman Cassiopeia was.  The antithesis of what he'd really been looking
for in a woman all these yahrens.
     Definitely more food for thought, he realized as he heard the
laser spring to life.


     "These are the recruit quarters," Omega motioned as he led the
group of recruits inside the medium-sized bunk room, one of more than
sixty such room on the Galactica that accommodated most of her enlisted
personnel.  "You'll all be staying here throughout your basic training. 
Find yourselves a bunk and then report your number to Corporal Lomas,
who's in charge of security operations for this section of the ship."
     He watched the recruits disperse throughout the room and then
frowned slightly when he saw two Borellian Nomen move past and claim a
bunk at the far end of the room. Their towering presence was so
intimidating, that it immediately caused two other recruits who'd
selected a bunk across from them to move to another empty one on the
other side of the room.
     Nomen?  Among the recruits?  That's a first.
     "Uniforms will be issued after standard mental and physical tests
are taken, first thing tomorrow morning." he went on.  "You'll all be
having a busy day then, so your sleep cycle officially begins now.  In
the meantime, I'll be turning things over to Corporal Lomas, who's in
charge of Colonial Security for this section of the Galactica.  Any
questions you have, direct them to him."  He motioned the young
uniformed guard over and patted him on the shoulder.  "They're all
yours, Lomas." 
     As soon as Omega had gone, Lomas began to move about the room,
making an idle inspection of each of the recruits.  By the time he
reached the end of the room and saw the two Nomen for the first time,
he stopped in his tracks at the unexpected sight. The Nomen stared at
him with their piercing expressions for nearly a half-centon, which
caused Lomas to slowly back away with a nonchalant air.  He had only
gone two steps, when he felt one of their massive hands tap him on the
shoulder.
     Without batting an eyebrow, Lomas turned around and looked them in
the eye. "Something I can do for you?" he politely inquired.
     "There is," Maga said in his low, impersonal tone of voice that
was typical of all Borellians.  "We have a friend stationed aboard the
Galactica.  Someone who helped us in the escape from the Colonies. 
Would his quarters be near here?"
     Lomas kept his expression polite.  "What's his name?"
     "Starbuck," Bora spoke. "Lieutenant Starbuck, I believe?  Or has
he received higher rank of late?"
     "No, it's still Lieutenant Starbuck," Lomas said.  "He's quartered
with Blue Squadron on Beta Deck.   They're all on furlon right now, so
he wouldn't be there at this time."
     "How soon until his furlon ends?" Maga inquired.
     "I'm afraid that you wouldn't be able to see him until after
you've undergone the first stages of basic training and received proper
security clearances, gentlemen." the guard said.  "Until that phase is
complete, all recruits are confined to this section of the Galactica
and only leave under supervision for their training exercises." 
Suddenly mindful of the suspicion and hostility that plagued relations
between Colonials and Borellians, he then added.  "That procedure
applies to all recruits, you understand."
     "Of course," Maga nodded.
     "However, if you would like a message delivered to Lieutenant
Starbuck, I could arrange that."
     "No," Maga then shook his head.  "We would rather surprise him."
     The two Nomen then turned back to their bunk, leaving Lomas alone
and a trifle puzzled..
     You see something new every day, he shook his head in disbelief as
he moved back to the work table that served as his duty station.


     "Well, that's the end of the tests," Cassiopeia smiled as she
entered the lab and undid the straps holding Starbuck and Chameleon in
their chairs.  "Perfect neuro-cell samples, along with DNA sampling and
blood cell sampling, and we can start the process comparison check in
the computer."
     "How long will it take?" Starbuck anxiously inquired.
     "Twelve centars minimum.  No more than twenty-four," the med-tech
said. "Looks like you two will have something to sleep on as far as the
results go."
     Chameleon rose from his chair and stretched himself out.  After
sitting for more than a centar feeling a battery of tests administered
to him, he was feeling the longness of the day catching up with him."
     "Oh Starbuck," Cassiopeia said.  "I need you to come with me and
fill out some of the forms that go with this test.  It'll take a few
centons, but it has to be done to keep things official.  Dr. Salik's a
stickler for that kind of thing."
     "Sure Cass, no problem."  Starbuck said and flashed a grin at
Chameleon.  "See you in a bit."
     The old man nodded and made his way out of the lab room where he
saw that Apollo and Boomer were waiting.
     "Ah, Chameleon," Apollo chose his words carefully.  "We were
wondering if you'd join us in the Officers Club.  It's closed now, but
we can get in and talk without anyone else to disturb us."
     "Starbuck's not going to be ready for a bit."
     "Actually Chameleon, we wanted to talk to you alone about a couple
of things." Boomer said.  "Do you mind?"
     Chameleon shook his head disarmingly, "No, I can't say I mind.  Is
there anything troubling you?"
     "We'll explain later," Apollo said.  "If you'll follow us please?"
     "Lead the way, Captain."


     When Tigh arrived in Adama's quarters, he found the Galactica
commander in a slightly annoyed state of mind.
     "Glad you came Colonel," the commander held up a report.  "Have
you seen this latest memorandum from Commander Kronus on the Celestra?"
     "No, I can't say I have," Tigh said. "Is it about that spare parts
inventory business?"
     "It is," Adama nodded.  "For the fifth straight sectan, he says
the inventory doesn't check.  Once again, a slight discrepancy in the
inventory of total spare parts kept aboard the Celestra for viper
maintenance.  Not enough that would cause concern if it happened just
once, but for five sectans in a row, that adds up to something
potentially serious. Someone in this Fleet has been pilfering spare
parts and may very well be selling them illegally as part of a Black
Market."
     Tigh's brow knotted in concern.  "That is potentially serious.  If
this trend continues it could really hamper our ability to keep our
vipers in working order."
     "Not only that," Adama said.  "Suppose one person or one group of
people is doing all the stockpiling of what's being taken?" he let his
words hang in the air.  "We could be looking at a potential terrorist
or mutineer within this Fleet.  That's the last thing we need at a time
when some semblance of normalcy is finally settling in."
     "Any leads for Colonial Security to work on?"
     "None," Adama shook his head.  "Kronus says he's going to launch
an internal investigation of his own to see who might be selling the
parts, and he'll get back to me when that's done.  If he stalls on it
though, I probably will have Colonial Security take over."
     "Kronus isn't the kind of person apt to stall on things," Tigh
smiled crookedly.
     "Don't I know it," Adama returned it, thinking of the five yahrens
he'd spent as Kronus's chief aide aboard the Battlestar Ricon many
yahrens ago.  "Anyway, what brings you here?"
     The smile faded from the executive officer's face.  "A bit of
disconcerting news surrounding that man Chameleon."
     "Oh?" the commander lifted an eyebrow.
     "Sergeant Castor telecommed a preliminary report.  It seems that
the ducat collector aboard the Canaris remembered Chameleon this
morning and went into a fit when Castor showed him the holopic of him. 
Apparently, Chameleon smooth-talked his way into making the trip to the
Rising Star without ever giving him a ducat.  Charmed him to death with
a story about being the News Director for the IFB and how he might be
able to arrange an interview with Zara for the man.  Naturally, when
the collector showed up at the IFB headquarters on the Electronics Ship
to see what the status was of his interview prospects, he was in for a
major embarrassment.  And a bigger one when his ducat cross-check came
up one short at the end of the day."
     "Very interesting," Adama leaned back in his chair. "That shows
that Chameleon has a definite con-man's streak inside him, but to be
perfectly honest Tigh, that's the kind of stunt I'd almost expect from
a man who was Starbuck's father.  I mean.....you do see the
similarity."
     Tigh chuckled, "Yes Commander, I suppose you're right about that. 
Anyway, Castor's now checking out the woman who was with Chameleon on
the trip over.  A Siress Blassie."
     "Blassie," Adama mused.  "I think I know her.  Or at least of her. 
One of Siress Bellaby's old friends from Caprican society circles."
     "Not the same personality, I hope," Tigh smirked.
     "If she is, then Chameleon may have had a reason for getting off
the Rising Star that I could understand," Adama returned it, still
thinking of how the woman who had once been Ila's rival for his
affections many yahrens ago had come back to haunt him recently during
the whole messy business of getting new agro-seed from the Serenity
Colony.  "Anything else to report?"
     "One other thing that may have a bearing on Chameleon," Tigh's
tone grew serious.  "There are two Borellian Nomen aboard this ship as
part of the new group of recruits that came aboard a couple of centars
ago."
     Adama frowned in disbelief.  "What?"
     "Two Nomen.  It did strike me as odd, given the whole issue of
whether Chameleon is connected to a Nomen blood trail, but I didn't
have a legitimate basis for questioning them ahead of the normal
security clearances all the recruits end up going through.  And I
wouldn't let Boomer and Apollo go down to see if they're the ones from
the Rising Star because the political risk of a protest to Ambassador
Hassan would be too great."
     The Commander nodded, "Yes, you did the right thing there.  An
unwarranted questioning of Nomen would be just the sort of thing
hardliners could use to undercut Hassan.  But still, it's hard to
fathom two Nomen going so far as to sign up as recruits."
     "Maybe you should talk to Hassan about it."
     "I will," Adama leaned forward and hit his telecom to the bridge. 
"This is Commander Adama.  Put me through to Ambassador Hassan aboard
the freighter Borallus."
     Two centons later, the face of the Borellians unofficial leader
was on the screen. Ambassador Hassan had been the official emissary of
the Borellian government to the Colonies at the time of the Holocaust
and had long prided himself as a friend of Colonial interests, even
though it had long since earned him the hatred of militants in the
Nomen class.  As a ruling class Borellian, he possessed the same
towering build and physical presence of the Nomen, but unlike the Nomen
maintained a clean-shaven appearance and wore Colonial dress, as
opposed to the traditional robes and hood.
     "Greetings, Commander Adama," his voice was the same neutral
monotone typical of all Borellians, but possessed a hint of affection
and warmth that long-time acquaintances could always sense.  "It is
always an honor to speak with you."
     "The feeling is mutual, Mr. Ambassador," Adama's tone was
completely cordial. "I have long valued your friendship."
     "Is there a matter of concern to you, Commander?"
     "At the moment, I'm not sure," Adama chose his words carefully. 
"Mr. Ambassador, I'm well aware of the fact that you believe the Nomen
should be entitled to as much free rein as possible aboard your ship,
in order to maintain their customs and their culture, and I have never
questioned your judgment on that matter."
     "And I have long appreciated that, Commander.  Free rein with the
Nomen is the key to making them lasting friends of the Colonial people
like the rest of us Borellians are."
     "However, there is a matter of concern that has come up in the
last day.  Are you familiar with the Noman charged with reckless
endangerment and attempted assault aboard the Rising Star this
morning?"
     "Yes, the Nomen Council brought that to my attention earlier this
evening.  A young insolent named Taba, I believe.  They have already
voted to strip him of all class privileges and honors so that when he
is eventually released, he will be an outcast among his tribe.  They
are well-aware of the fact that antagonizing Colonial interests does
them no credit."
     "Understood," Adama said.  "But Mr. Ambassador, does this newfound
respect for Colonial procedure among the Nomen also extend to
volunteering for service in the Colonial military?"
     The formation of lines on the Ambassador's forehead was the
Borellian indication of a frown, even as the rest of his face remained
unchanged.
     "No, I would scarcely think that Nomen would be motivated to go
that far, Commander.  I have preached a doctrine of tolerance and the
benefits of cooperative interaction, but even I would not consider the
idea of stressing the benefits of serving in the Colonial military."
     "You are unaware then, that two Nomen are among the newest group
of recruits that came aboard the Galactica this evening?"
     "I was not aware," Hassan said.  "That is news to me.  But you do
realize that it is not my place to keep them under constant
surveillance, anymore than it is your place to do so for your own
people, Commander."
     "Granted," Adama conceded.  "But there is a possibility, not yet
proven I admit, that as many as three Nomen could be engaged in a blood
trail.  If that is true, then I would be required to ask you to
exercise greater control over the Nomen since such a practice can not
be tolerated whatsoever in this fleet."
     "I quite understand, Commander," Hassan said in agreement.  "It is
a barbaric practice borne of a Code that most Borellians thankfully
came to see as outmoded and useless long ago in our planet's history.  
No Borellian who is ever found to have engaged in such a practice is
welcome aboard my ship."
     "If you could at least ascertain for us who the two recruits are,
and discreetly notify us about what you know about them, that would be
most appreciated."
     "I shall work on that tomorrow, Commander.  As you are undoubtedly
aware, most of us begin our sleep cycles considerably earlier in the
evening than Colonials are apt to."
     "Of course.  Thank your for your courtesy, Mr. Ambassador."
     Hassan bowed his head slightly in respect. "As the savior of all
that is undoubtedly left of Borellian civilization, Commander Adama,
you are entitled to nothing less.  Good night, my friend."
     "Good night, Mr. Ambassador," Adama shut off the telecom and
looked up at Tigh.  "It would seem that this matter is now on hold
until tomorrow.  We'll resume work on it then.  If Castor contacts you
about his interview with Siress Blassie, do let me know about that."
     "I will," the executive officer nodded.  "Good evening,
Commander."
     "Good evening, Tigh," Adama said as he went back to the strange
report from Commander Kronus about missing spare parts.

Chapter Eight

     The Officers Club was empty when Apollo, Boomer and Chameleon
arrived. Because Apollo had higher security clearance as a Squadron
Commander, he was provided with a special pass-card to all sections of
the battlestar.  It was a privilege he seldom took advantage of.  On
this occasion though, he felt that an exception was warranted.
     As soon as the three had settled down to drinks, Boomer had
explained the nature of their concerns as delicately as possible to
Chameleon.  As Boomer spoke, the old man's expression took on a bemused
air.  At no time did he ever seem surprised or rattled.
     "Let me see if I understand you correctly," Chameleon said as soon
as Boomer had finished.  "You thought I concocted a story about losing
a son just so I could get off the Rising Star with a warrior?"
     "Chameleon," already Boomer felt embarrassed.  The old man's
demeanor and inherent charm made it difficult to accuse him of any
unethical conduct.  "I was in the Astral Lounge when the Nomen plucked
a pair of laser boles.  And it looked like just before he did, a man
resembling you left the Lounge at the rear exit.  Now were you in the
Lounge at the time?"
     Chameleon skipped a beat for only a micron.  "Yes, I was there. 
And to be candid with you Lieutenant, I will concede that it's possible
the Nomen could be after me."
     The admission caught both Apollo and Boomer off-guard.
     "Really," Apollo could scarcely believe that Chameleon would
volunteer information like that.  "Why would they be after you?"
     "Well you see, Captain, those particular Nomen had a child that
they said was their nephew.  That is, the young one you said was the
one who pulled the boles.  I ran the test for them as a favor, totally
on my own time and without Dr. Pia's knowledge, and it came back
negative.  I'm afraid they didn't take kindly to that."
     "But would that be enough for them to carry out a blood trail
against you?" Apollo tried to digest that information.
     Chameleon took a sip of his drink and shrugged.  "Nomen are a
strange class of people, Captain.  They're so.....volatile with their
devotion to that Code of theirs.  If I'm not mistaken, I think they've
fought duels to the death over matters more trivial than the one I may
have been caught up with."
     "Perhaps," Boomer said.  "But if you suspected they were after
you, you could have notified Council Security, or even Colonial
Security.  And if a protest were made to Ambassador Hassan about
out-of-control Nomen, he'd be the first to crack down on them."
     "What would I have to report, Lieutenant?" Chameleon's tone became
matter-offact. "They haven't harmed me.  I'd only have some paranoiac
suspicions that I couldn't prove.  Besides, I wouldn't want Dr. Pia to
know that I've spent some evenings conducting unauthorized tests.  She
might never let me anywhere near her lab again, and that would break my
heart to not be able to help anymore in the tracer project."
     Apollo looked him in the eye.  "So you don't feel the need for
warrior protection."
     "I admit it would give me some peace of mind about the Nomen, if
my suspicions are correct," the old man conceded. "But compared to what
the stakes are with Starbuck, I see it only as a secondary matter,
Captain.  If the tests turn out negative and I have no further business
to keep me here on the Galactica, then I simply return to my quarters
aboard the Seniors Ship, and my occasional duties aboard the Orphans
Ship."
     Apollo was on the verge of letting out a sigh of embarrassment. 
Even so, he knew there was one more card he needed to play.  "Then it
wouldn't bother you, Chameleon, to know that two Nomen just arrived on
the Galactica as warrior recruits today?"
     Chameleon shrugged again.  "No.  I wouldn't use any grudge a
couple of Nomen might have against me as grounds to be suspicious of
any Noman.  Besides, aren't warrior recruits confined to one section
only of this ship?"
     "True," Apollo conceded.  "I just thought you should know."
     "I appreciate that, Captain, but I don't think that amounts to
much."
     The embarrassment finally kicked inside Apollo.  The aura
Chameleon had projected was so convincing and so sincere, it was hard
for him to not believe the old man.
     "Look.....um, Chameleon," his voice grew apologetic.  "We were
just concerned about Starbuck being used.  His being an orphan is the
most sensitive subject of his entire life.  It's something he doesn't
even talk about with us."
     "I gathered that," Chameleon smiled.  "But he has to be a fine
young man to have such wonderful friends like the two of you."
     His words managed to break through the embarrassment both warriors
were feeling.  Apollo returned the smile and raised his tankard in a
toast.  "To a positive match."
     "To a positive match," Chameleon clinked his tankard against
Apollo's and then Boomer's.


     The sound of the new warrior recruits snoring away in their bunks
ordinarily would have unnerved any outside observer.  For Corporal
Lomas, seated at his work station table near the door to the recruit
quarters, it was a sound he'd long ago gotten used to.  If anything, he
regarded it as part of the natural rhythm of things that enabled him to
stay on top of all the paperwork he needed to do once the new recruits
came aboard.
     Even so, Lomas despised his current assignment.  When he'd signed
on as a Colonial Security Guard prior to the Holocaust, it had been
with the mindset that he'd get to see more of the universe than anyone
possibly could.  During the days of the cease fire leading up to the
peace that never was, expectation of deep space exploration was at a
high.  That would mean Colonial Security Guards would be needed more
than ever to serve on landing parties to new, previously unexplored
planets.
     Not so in this post-Holocaust journey across the stars to a
distant planet called Earth.  Very seldom did the Galactica stop to
study unknown planets, and when they did, regular warrior-pilots
handled the responsibilities of exploring in the interests of
efficiency. In the changed environment, Colonial Security Guards had
been reduced to the function of a police force that only acted whenever
matters of military security were involved.  And even there, they often
found themselves limited since the civilian police force represented by
Council Security insisted on handling all security matters away from
the Galactica.
     Maybe those black-shirted goons have it better, Lomas idly thought
as he wrote down the names of the recruits that had been given to him
and prepared them for the official security clearance forms that would
be processed the next day.   At least they lead more exciting lives.
     He noticed a shadow come across his desk.  When Lomas looked up,
he saw the two Nomen recruits standing in front of him.  From his
seated position, Lomas had the impression of ten feet giants hovering
over him.
     "Yes?" he inquired gently, not betraying any inner feelings of
unease.
     "We need a room to pray in," Maga said in the familiar neutral
monotone.
     Lomas frowned, "I beg your pardon?"
     "Our Code requires that we pray in private," Bora said.  "Away
from those who do not share our beliefs.  It is intended as much a
courtesy to them, as it is to us."
     Lomas set his pen down.  "Look, I'm sorry but that's out of the
question for tonight.  Warrior recruits are confined to this area only. 
No exceptions."
     "Are you denying us our religious freedom?" a hint of coldness
entered Maga's voice.
     The security guard flushed slightly.  "No, but I think you should
have consulted the manual for warrior training procedure before you
came aboard.  No privileges regarding cultural practices are granted to
warriors until routine security checks and clearances are made.  When
that process is done, you can put in a request and I'm sure we'll be
glad to accommodate you on that matter."
     "That will not suffice," Bora said.  "To miss one day of private
prayer in accordance with our Code, is regarded in Borellian culture as
an unpardonable sin.  If we are to live up to the code of honor we
intend to swear to as new Colonial Warriors, then how can we
simultaneously betray a Code that we honor no less?"
     Oh great, Lomas suddenly found himself yearning for a night of
quiet paperwork for the first time.  If I keep this up, it's only going
to mean trouble.
     "Look," he said.  "I can't let you out of this area, but if I let
you have the supply compartment next door for however long you need,
would that do?"
     "Any room will do, so long as it is private," Maga said.
     "Follow me then," Lomas got up from his desk and went over to the
door on the other side of the room that led to the adjacent compartment
where surplus uniforms and boots were kept.  He inserted his access
card that opened it, and stepped inside.
     "No offense gentlemen," Lomas said as he started to clear away
some of the uniforms in order to make room for them to squeeze in. 
"But I really don't know if you're going to make good warriors."
     Abruptly, Maga brought his fist down squarely on Lomas's back. 
The security guard was unconscious even before his body began it's
descent to the floor.
     The Nomen leader stood over his body with contempt as he grabbed a
uniform off the hangar.  "We are warriors.  Far greater warriors than
any of you could ever hope to be."
     He handed a uniform to Bora and then took out another one for
himself.  With total stealth, so as not to disturb any of the sleeping
recruits, they began to remove their hoods and robes.


     "Well?" Boomer inquired as he and Apollo walked down the corridor
after leaving Chameleon in the Officers Club.  "Is that the end of it
then?"
     "I guess," Apollo sighed.  "I should probably spend what little
time is left in this day with Boxey.  If he's back from all the
indulgences the Rejuvenation Center has to offer."
     "He's undoubtedly having a more fun time in the Rejuvenation
Center than the last time I saw him there," Boomer said in joking
reference to the terrifying experience he and Boxey and Athena had gone
through after the Cylon suicide attacks sixteen sectans ago. "When you
see him, tell him I still want to get around to that compartment
bulwarks match we never started."
     "I think he's lost his zeal for bulwarks," Apollo said.  "He's
graduated to three-dimensional triad now."
     "Better game anyway," Boomer admitted.
     "Apollo, Boomer," they looked up and saw Tigh emerge from the next
compartment.  "I'm glad I caught you.  Sergeant Castor just telecommed
in some more details on the security check on this Chameleon."
     "What'd he say?" Apollo asked with interest.
     "What security check are you talking about?"
     The three men turned around and were startled to see an angry
Starbuck walking toward them from the opposite direction.
     "Uh....Starbuck.  Didn't know you were....." Apollo started
haltingly.
     "I was on my way to find my father," he said defiantly and with
throbbing muscles in his neck.  "Unless in your paranoia you've decided
to toss him in the brig!"
      "Now wait a centon, Starbuck, all we did was conduct a normal
security check. That's all."  Apollo held up a hand.
     "By sending out Sergeant Castor to dig up dirt?" Starbuck
spluttered.  "If you wanted to run a check, that's what the Fleet
Computer's for!  It's only when you've got paranoia do you send out
Colonial Security to run the kind of checks that are usually reserved
for potential murderers or saboteurs!"
     "Starbuck, there were good reasons for carrying out a security
check," Boomer protested.  "All kinds of crazy things were happening on
the Rising Star that didn't add up.  For sagan's sake, we already
talked to Chameleon and he understood completely why we asked him about
them.  You can talk to him yourself in the Officers Club and he'll
confirm that!"
     "My father is clearly a greater man of tact and dignity," Starbuck
refused to let up. "If he were my age, he'd have probably given you
both a sock in the jaw for questioning his integrity!"
     "Oh come on!" Apollo protested.  Starbuck's reaction to the whole
thing was starting to get on his nerves.  "When we met Chameleon on the
Rising Star-----"
     "Yeah, I remember," Starbuck coldly interrupted.  "You were
anxious to throw ice water on the idea that he was my father!"
     "No I wasn't!" Apollo fired back.  "I just wanted to run things by
the book!"
     "You want to know what the trouble with you is?" Starbuck was now
going jawto-jaw with him.  "You don't have any faith in anyone, or
anything except yourself!  The whole universe revolves around Apollo's
instincts, and Apollo's judgments!  I'll bet you see yourself as some
Mr. Perfect-Know-It-All who never thinks he's been wrong a day in his
life!"
     Apollo had now had enough.  "And you want to know something
Starbuck?"  He refused to back away from the jaw-to-jaw position.  "I
hope that test comes back negative, because after this little
two-yahren old child stunt of yours, I think it's probably clear that
Chameleon's too good a man to be your father!"
     "Oh is that a fact!" Starbuck roared.  "Well, we'll see about
that.  And I can't wait for you to beg for forgiveness and kiss my
astrum when those tests prove you wrong, and it'll give me pleasure to
not let you have it."
     "That's ENOUGH!" Tigh roared.  "Enough!  Both of you!"
     Starbuck was still seething as he glared at the executive officer. 
"My apologies, Colonel that you had to witness the end of a
friendship." he then jabbed a finger in Apollo's stomach.  "I'll be
with my father, if you want to count the Mess Hall silverware.
Otherwise," his voice raised to it's highest level of cold contempt. 
"You stay clear of me. And that goes for you too, Boomer.  My wonderful
ex- friends."
     He then turned and stormed off down the corridor that led back to
the Officers Club.  Apollo was still shaking in rage.
     "Unbelievable," he whispered.  "I know Chameleon's a charming man,
but to cast that kind of spell over Starbuck....."
     "Apollo," Boomer said quietly.  "You said it yourself.  This
concerns the one thing in Starbuck's life that's bothered him more than
anything else.  He wouldn't act that way toward you, or to me, if he
didn't want so much to settle that one thing in his life.  You should
have taken his words more on the chin."
     "How can you take words like that on the chin?" the bitterness was
obvious in Apollo's voice.  "After all we've been through for all these
yahrens, he's willing to throw it away just on a whim about someone we
barely know much about."
     "Because what's at stake means that much to him, Apollo," Boomer
patted him on the shoulder.  "That's why."
     "I guess," Apollo slowly exhaled and forced himself to look back
at Tigh.  "I apologize, Colonel, I_"
     "Never mind," Tigh said.  "Getting back to what Castor had to
report....."
     "Oh yes," Apollo straightened himself out.  "What did he find?"
     "More mysteries.  Siress Blassie confirmed what he already learned
from the Canaris ducat collector that Chameleon has a penchant for
telling some tall tales about himself.  Then, by a lucky coincidence he
found some staff members from the Orphans Ship who confirmed that the
only thing Chameleon does for the genetic tracer project is provide
some cheerful words and a smile a couple centars every sectan."
     "One question."  Apollo held up a hand.  "Those workers on the
tracer project. Did they say whether or not Chameleon's capable of
running that equipment himself?"
     Tigh consulted his notes.  "Yes, they did.  They say Chameleon
wouldn't know how to operate a single piece of equipment there.  His
computer skills are non-existent by their reckoning."
     Apollo and Boomer exchanged troubled glances.
     "Then that means his story about why the Nomen could be after him
is total felgercarb," Boomer said.  "Colonel, I think we'd better throw
diplomatic caution to the wind and find out just who those Nomen
recruits are.  Because if they are the ones from the Rising Star, then
I think we're looking at a blood trail for sure."
     "We can drop by the Recruit Quarters and check it out ourselves,"
Tigh said. "Let's get going."


     "Chameleon!" Starbuck said brightly as he entered the Club and
found the old man still sitting at the table, finishing off the last
part of his drink.  "Glad I found you."
     "I figured you'd arrive."  Chameleon set his tankard down. 
"Anything on the testing front?"
     "Nah, nothing like that," Starbuck came up to him and awkwardly
lowered his head.  "Look....ah, Chameleon, there are some things I'd
like to talk to you about.  In some place a little more.....private."
     Chameleon looked about the empty surroundings of the Club.  "Won't
this do?"
     "No, not here," Starbuck said.  "This place is too.....well, the
setting's not right for the kind of things I'd like to say to you.  I'd
rather go someplace a little more personal to me.  Like.....well like
in my viper down in Alpha Launch Bay.  It's deserted at this time of
night."
     "Okay," Chameleon rose.  "I'd love to see one of those things up
close.  You know if it weren't for my eyesight, I might have qualified
for flight status in my youth."
     "Tell me all about it," Starbuck clapped his hand around his
shoulder as they left the Officers Club.


     "We need uniforms that will best conceal our appearance, Maga,"
Bora said as he tossed away the warrior's tunic Maga had first handed
him.  "We must take advantage of the night working conditions so that
our presence is not noticed by too many warriors."
     "Agreed." Maga nodded and found an orange coverall and matching
helmet from the launch crew division that he realized would be far
better for the task.  "Once we have honored the Code, we commandeer a
shuttle and return to the Borallus.  Since we never gave our true names
to the imbecile guard, they will never be able to conclusively prove
our involvement.  We benefit from the Colonial prejudice that all Nomen
look alike to them."
     He handed the helmet to Bora who placed it over his head.  It
managed to fit, barely, but did the trick of concealing it's oversized
quality, so long as he remained in the shadows.
     "We must hurry," Maga said as he slipped into the orange coverall. 
"Time is of the essence."


     "Never even tried a viper simulator?" Starbuck asked as he and
Chameleon walked toward the turbo lift.  "I always thought those
pleasure palace Chanceries had one or two of those who really wanted to
be daring."
     "I guess I never had the nerve," Chameleon said.
     They turned the corner and stopped as they came within an inch of
colliding with a male and female warrior who were both locked in a
passionate kiss and embrace.
     "Oh.  Sorry Giles, did we interrupt something?"  Starbuck
sheepishly inquired.
     The two of them let go of each other in embarrassment and stood at
rigid attention.  To Starbuck's amazement, he saw that the woman wasn't
Brie, who he always thought of as the only woman Giles was interested
in, but Mackin.
     "Starbuck," the one-time member of his squadron was blushing red. 
"What are you doing up this late?"
     "Just showing a friend of mine my viper down in the launch bay,
Giles.  Oh and Mackin," he eyed the female shuttle pilot wryly who was
also blushing a deep red.  "Be careful of this guy.  He has the worst
hand and foot coordination of any would-be triad player."
     Mackin swallowed uneasily and said nothing.
     "Come on Chameleon," Starbuck put his arm around the old man's
shoulder again and they resumed walking.  "I've got a real beaut to
show you down there.  I'll even let you try out the cockpit."


     It took ten centons for Apollo, Boomer and Tigh to negotiate the
various deck levels and corridors to reach the entrance to the Recruit
Quarters.  When the door opened and they entered, they were stunned to
see that Lomas wasn't at his work station.
     "He's not there," Tigh said, trying to recover from the sinking
rush of horror that was coming over him.  "If he's not on duty, then
those two Nomen----."
     "Oh Lord," Apollo felt a sick feeling enter his stomach.  "They're
making their move now."
     The executive officer dashed over to an intercom.  "Executive
officer to bridge! Priority alert!"
     "What's the emergency, Colonel?" the puzzlement in Athena's voice
was obvious.
     "Send out all available security guards to fan the areas around
Recruit Quarters. They are to look for two Borellian Nomen who are
likely on a blood trail.  Also, locate Lieutenant Starbuck and a
civilian named Chameleon and have both of them placed in immediate
protective custody.  On the double!"
     As soon as he mentioned the name of her one-time boyfriend,
Athena's voice took on a concerned edge.  "Is Starbuck in danger?"
     "He may well be.  Just carry out that order, now Athena!"
     Tigh turned back to Apollo and Boomer.  "Let's see if they're
still in the Officers Club."
     "Agreed," Apollo nodded.  The three of them began sprinting for
the nearest turbo-lift.


     "I'm telling you Mackin, it was a mistake," Giles was saying as he
and Mackin finally summoned the nerve to start walking.  "I let myself
get carried away over my spat with Brie.  I should have known better."
     The shuttle pilot stared at him with a hurt look.  She'd enjoyed
her evening with Giles, and found him to be the most interesting man
she'd ever spent a date with.  Far more interesting than her one
occasion with Starbuck.  "Giles, please."
     "No, Mackin.  I'm sorry," the viper pilot held up a hand.  "I
think Starbuck's running into us was one of those little signals from
the Almighty you just can't ignore."
     "Excuse me." a deep male voice spoke.
     Giles and Mackin looked up, and in the dimly lit corridor saw two
tall crewmen wearing the orange coveralls of launch crew personnel.
     "Something we can do for you, Crewman?" Giles inquired, wondering
how many more people he'd run into unexpectedly.
     "We were looking for Lieutenant Starbuck.  Have either of you seen
him?"
     "Try Alpha Launch Bay," Mackin motioned behind her.  "He and a
civilian were headed that way a few centons ago."
     "Thank you," the lead crewman nodded as he and the other moved
past quickly. The two warriors didn't have time to catch a glimpse of
either of their faces.
     "I guess old Bucko's losing his touch with the ladies if he's only
mixing with men on his furlon," Giles observed dryly as they moved on.


     "You won't find a better flying machine ever designed by an
intelligent species in the universe," Starbuck said as he sat on top of
his viper and pointed out the various controls to an awed Chameleon,
who was sitting inside the cockpit.  "Over here on the control stick is
the main engine turbos, followed by the laser generator fire button. 
You press that red dot and a million voltons of firepower emerges
that's blasted many a Cylon fighter into spacedust down through the
yahrens."
     "Incredible," Chameleon said.  "What about this third button
marked 'IM'? What does that stand for?"
     "You know something," Starbuck chuckled.  "They never did tell us
what those initials stand for.  But what it does is control our reverse
thrusters.  The feature that enables us to be a lot more unpredictable
than the average Cylon fighter is."
     "But flying one of these things must produce a lot more
satisfaction than just the ability to shoot at Cylons," Chameleon said. 
"I couldn't begin to imagine what it feels like to just streak through
the stars in total control of your own fate.  It must be exhilarating."
     "It is," Starbuck admitted as he drew up his shoulders.  "There's
nothing quite like it in the whole universe.  Which is why_" he sucked
in his breath.  "Which is why I'll miss it."
     Chameleon looked up at him and frowned.  "What do you mean?"
     "Chameleon," Starbuck leaned closer to him.  "Let's be honest.  We
know those test results are going to be positive.  We already confirmed
a common ancestry pool and that profile can't match many other
inhabitants from Umbra.  We think alike.  We share the same interests. 
The same tastes in just about everything except smoking.  None of that
can be a coincidence.  I know in my heart the results are positive."
     "Well, yes, there's a good chance of that, but what does that have
to do with----"
     "Chameleon," Starbuck gently cut in.  "I want to make up for all
the lost yahrens."
     An uneasy look came over the old man's face.  "Starbuck, if anyone
should be saying that, it's me."
     "Uh, uh," he smiled.  "You spent your whole life looking for me."
     Chameleon licked his lips which were fast becoming dry.  "My boy,"
he took his hand.  "You really don't know the first thing about me."
     "Maybe," Starbuck shrugged and then gathered all his strength. 
"That's why tomorrow I'm resigning from the Service."
     "Resigning?" Chameleon's jaw opened in disbelief.  "Starbuck, what
are you saying?"
     "Something I've wanted to say my entire conscious life, since I
realized what Fate had dealt me, growing up in that miserable Caprican
orphanage," Starbuck said with all the genuine feeling he could summon. 
"That someday, I'd get a chance to meet at least one of my parents, if
not both of them, and just spend all the time I could getting to know
them, and to know myself at long last.  All about where I come from,
about my ancestors. All the answers to things I could only dream about
night-after-night before I cried myself to sleep in that orphanage.  To
finally reach out to someone who was part of my own flesh-and-blood and
embrace them."
     "That's all well and good, Starbuck," Chameleon had the distinct
sense inside him that events had spiraled far out of control, and that
he was now reaping a path of destruction that he had not wanted to sow. 
"But that doesn't mean you have to give up being the thing you're best
at!"
     "Chameleon," Starbuck looked him in the eye.  "All the furlons in
the world wouldn't give me enough time to spend with you, even if we
never see another Cylon attack again.  That time is the one thing I
want more than anything else, and if resigning my commission will give
it to me, I'm going to do it."
     "You're needed here, Starbuck," a faint edge of pleading entered
the old man's voice. "The Fleet needs you to be a warrior."
     "Ah, they've got a lot of hotshot pilots who can handle the load,"
Starbuck waved his hand.  "I've thought of myself as too indispensable
for a long time, Chameleon.  It's time I realize that I'm not,
especially when there are more important things in life to grab hold
of."
     "What can be more important than defending the Fleet?"
     "Your work," Starbuck said simply.  "Reuniting babies and children
with their parents.  Making sure that what happened to us doesn't have
to happen to others.  That's the kind of work that really means
something.  You deal in life, not death."
     "You deal in the preservation of life, Starbuck," Chameleon gently
countered. "The preservation of a civilization and a species so a new
generation of parents and babies need not ever go through the horror of
an Umbra or a Holocaust again.  Think about that."
     "I have," Starbuck's voice became a forlorn whisper.  "And as God
as my witness Chameleon, this is what I want.  The ability to do
something positive in my life for a change.  Especially with the one
thing I've always wanted in my life.  A family."
     "That's not being kind to the ones who have loved you as family
all these yahrens, Starbuck," Chameleon said.  "People like Apollo and
Boomer and Sheba and," he took a breath, "Cassiopeia."
     He let out a mild snort.  "Well lately, Chameleon, I've discovered
that maybe I don't know them as well as I think I know them.  Apollo
and Boomer that is.  I'm seeing a lot of traits in them that.....well
that make me realize that I've misjudged them over the yahrens." he
looked him in the eye.  "Can you believe they had the nerve to have
Colonial Security run a full-blown check on you?"
     Chameleon felt his inner anguish deepen.  "Is that what put you in
this frame of mind about resigning?"
     "No," he shook his head.  "No, not completely.  Maybe I did fly
off the handle with them a bit.  Maybe they did act from good
intentions but----" he took a breath.  "But when it comes to choosing
between what they've offered me all these yahrens, and what I have a
chance for with you, Chameleon, it's just no comparison as to what I
really want.  I'd have come to that conclusion anyway, even if they
hadn't run a check."
     "And Cassiopeia?" Chameleon asked pointedly.  "What about her,
Starbuck? Could you ever find room for her in this little world you
want with just you and me?"
     "Well," Starbuck absently mused.  "I still feel the same about
her.  I....think I could fit her into my life still."
     "How?" Chameleon refused to let up.  "Her duties are here.  You
can't ask her to give that up in an instant so she can conform to your
world."
     "That's a bridge I can cross later, Chameleon," Starbuck regained
the firm edge in his voice.
     "You might not be able to cross it," Chameleon took his hand. 
"Look....son," the pleading edge in his voice increased.  "You make me
feel very proud.  You really do.  But also....well," he choked up
slightly and Starbuck wondered if there were tears forming in his eyes. 
"Well.....insignificant."
     Starbuck frowned.  "Insignificant?"
     "Look....." Chameleon seemed to struggle getting his words out,
but inside he knew that he'd been left with no other choice.  He
finally needed to make a clean breast about everything to Starbuck. 
About the real reasons why he'd sought him out.
     I'm sorry Gabriella, his heart cried out.  I'm so sorry I used
your precious memory and legacy of what you gave me for such a selfish
reason.
     "Look," Chameleon started over.  "The truth of the matter is-----"
     Before he could go any further, they were both distracted by the
noisy sound of the turbo lift descending.  Ordinarily it wouldn't have
attracted any attention but in the deserted setting, the noise was
practically deafening.
     Starbuck glanced over and frowned when he saw the orange coveralls
and helmets of launch crew personnel.  "What are launch crew personnel
doing down here when everyone's on furlon?"
     Chameleon instantly saw a mane of long brown hair and thick beards
on the men that he knew right away could only mean one thing.  "It
doesn't look like the launch crew to me," an edge of panic entered his
voice as he abruptly slouched himself low in the cockpit and out of
their line of sight.
     Starbuck dropped to the tarmac and came up to them.  His frown
deepened when he saw them step out of the shadows and he could see the
thickly bearded faces of Borellians.
     "What's going on?" he kept his voice polite, but also made sure
his arm was parallel to his laser pistol.  "Neither of you are from
Jenny's crew."
     "Where is he?" Maga inquired with heavy contempt.
     "Where's who?" his frown deepened.
     "The jackal," Bora chimed in.  "Captain Dimitri."
     "There's no....Captain Dimitri here," his bewilderment increased. 
"Just me."
     "You lie, Lieutenant." Maga almost spat.
     Starbuck felt his patience evaporating. "Look, I'm only going to
ask you nicely one more time.  Just what the frack is going on here?"
     "A blood hunt, Lieutenant!" Maga raised his voice and whipped out
his boles.  As soon as he heard the high-pitched whine, Starbuck pulled
out his laser pistol and backed away behind one of the support columns. 
He took a micron to glance back and see where the Nomen had retreated
to, and saw the blue orbs of the boles whoosh within inches of his
head.  It slammed against the column and exploded in a shower of
sparks.
     Starbuck fired back at the Nomen and just had time to see his shot
miss as they backed away behind another column.  But when the warrior
heard the high-pitched whine again, he realized that the Nomen had
heavily armed themselves with more than just one boles.
     He decided to make a move into the open and hope that would give
him one clear shot at them.  But as soon as he moved away from the
safety of the column, he saw the boles streak over his head and crash
against the beam four inches above.  The concussion knocked Starbuck
off balance and made him drop his laser pistol.  He heard it clatter
away in a direction he couldn't begin to pinpoint.
     "Frack, felgercarb and shit!" he muttered angrily to himself.  He
got back to his feet and saw the Nomen slowly approach him.  He knew
that any hope of exit from the launch bay was cut off for now.
     Instinctively, he made for the launch tube that his viper was
lined up on.  As he dashed down the darkened tunnel that ultimately
exited from the battlestar itself, he head the whine of yet another
boles unfurled.  Starbuck glanced back over his shoulder and saw the
blue streak again.  This time, he had to jump to the side of the tube
to avoid getting hit.
     From inside the viper, Chameleon slowly brought himself back up to
a sitting position as he saw Maga and Bora step in front of the viper
and slowly make their way down the launch tube.  To his relief, they
never bothered to turn around and look back where he would have been a
clear, defenseless target.  But his relief was overshadowed by his
terror at how Starbuck was hopelessly trapped inside the darkened
launch tube with no apparent way out.
     Overhead, he heard the urgent voice of Athena fill the launch bay
over the unicom. "Attention.  Attention all Security personnel. 
Converge immediately on Alpha Launch Bay.  I repeat.  Converge
immediately on Alpha Launch Bay."
     That told Chameleon that help would arrive soon, but as he saw the
Nomen slowly walk with ominous steps down the launch tube, he also knew
that they might not arrive in time.
     I've got to do something, he thought with mounting panic. 
Anything.  He found his eyes glancing down at the control panel
Starbuck had pointed out just centons ago and realized that the answer
lay there.
     "Laser, laser," he whispered as he searched for the power button
and then found it. As he activated the main power button for the viper,
he looked up and saw Starbuck making his way back out.  He had clearly
hidden in one of the side vents inside the launch tube, waited for the
Nomen to move past, and was now bidding a quick retreat.
     "Son, hit the deck!" Chameleon shouted as the power-up sequence
completed itself.  He just had time to see Starbuck jump out of the
launch tube opening and collapse to the tarmac as the Nomen turned
around and pulled out their boles.
     But before they could release them, Chameleon's finger came down
on the red button and the streaks of laser fire erupted down the launch
tube, each of them grazing the Nomen and knocking them to the ground
where they lay motionless.  Because laser fire from a viper was never
intended for this setting, a backlash of intense smoke erupted and
flooded the launch bay.
     Chameleon coughed several times as he waved the smoke out of his
face and got out of the cockpit.  He dropped to the tarmac and saw
Starbuck lying there, writhing slightly after his tumble out.
     "Starbuck?" Chameleon came up to him, and helped him to a sitting
position. "Starbuck, are you all right?"
     Starbuck coughed and looked up at him in both bewilderment and
admiration. "Only my father would be crazy enough to fire a laser in a
launch tube!"
     "It'll be okay, son." Chameleon helped him to his feet.  "It'll be
okay.  It's all over, thank the Lords."
     They heard the sound of the turbo lift descending again and
microns later saw Apollo and Boomer dash up to them, with two Colonial
Security Guards trailing them.
     "They're in the launch tube," Chameleon pointed.  Boomer and the
guards dashed down the still smoldering tunnel while Apollo remained
with Starbuck and Chameleon.
     "What happened?"
     Starbuck was still in a dazed state.  "Some Nomen dressed as
launch crew came down here after me."
     "Apollo!" Boomer called back from inside the tube.  "Get some
med-techs down here.  Don't ask me how, but they're both alive."
     "Pity," Starbuck shook his head in disappointment and turned back
to Apollo. "They're on a blood trail for some Captain Dimitri," he
shook his head in anger and bewilderment.  "I don't know any Dimitri on
the Galactica, do you?"
     Apollo didn't say anything.  His eyes had focused squarely on
Chameleon, who was awkwardly biting his lip and blushing in
embarrassment.   Starbuck looked at him and saw the his embarrassment
deepen, and at the same time the warrior felt his heart begin to sink.
     "Um," Chameleon forced his words out.  "I'm Captain
Dimitri.......Sort of."
     "Sort of," Apollo said, feeling the sense of disappointment mount
inside him that he knew couldn't begin to approach what Starbuck was
feeling now.
     "Chameleon," Apollo came up to him and put his arm confidentially
around him. "Suppose we have another talk."

Chapter Nine

     The next morning, a chastened Starbuck stood in front of Adama as
he and Apollo gave  the Commander, Boomer and Sheba a summary of what
Chameleon had told them in the Launch Bay.
     "Apparently, the whole thing started three sectans ago, when
Chameleon, in one of his many part-time occupations throughout the
Fleet, discovered that a technician on the Celestra named Wadleigh was
selling spare parts on the Black Market to the Nomen." Starbuck was
saying.  "They were just hoarding the stuff, evidently with the
intention of building a weapon or something that would enable them to
stage a revolt against Ambassador Hassan,  seize control of the
Borallus, leave the Fleet and settle somewhere on their own. 
Preferably on a planet where they could establish a perfect society
according to their Code system."
     "And when Wadleigh mentioned that the Nomen were in the market for
large quantities of livestock that are essential to their diet, that's
when Chameleon decided to get a piece of the action by approaching Maga
as Captain Dimitri."  Apollo added.
     "The commanding officer of the Livestock Ship," Adama noted.
     "Exactly," Starbuck nodded.  "Maga paid Chameleon enough money
that would have theoretically bought them enough livestock to start an
unlimited supply once they arrived on the new planet.  But when
Chameleon conned them and disappeared into the night with the money,
the Nomen Council vowed a blood hunt against the man they thought was
Captain Dimitri." 
     "That twisted Code of theirs," Boomer said with dry contempt. 
"And all this time, they pretended to go along with Hassan's
cooperation strategy just so they could find a way of overthrowing him
in the long-term."
     Starbuck then looked at Apollo and Boomer with deep embarrassment
and shame. "And, while Chameleon insists that he is a legitimate Umbra
survivor, he admits that his primary reason for approaching me was to
use me just to get off the Rising Star.  He said then when he saw my
interview with Zara on the IFB, he realized that information, in
conjunction with his part-time work on the Orphans Ship, presented an
opportunity that was too much to pass up when his survival was as
stake.  It was just a.....freakish coincidence that the preliminary
test for common ancestry was positive." he let out a sigh, "I was just
another victim of his impeccable charm."
     "Starbuck," Apollo said with deep sympathy.  "We're sorry.  We all
are.  And I_" he bit his lip.  "I want to apologize for some things I
said earlier....."
     "Hey," Starbuck flashed one of his characteristic smirks as he
came between the two warriors and clapped his hands on their shoulders. 
"I'm the one who owes both of you an apology.  I mean.....you know all
my life, I've always wished I could find a family to call my own, and I
guess I've never fully appreciated the fact that I've got one right
here among all of you."
     Apollo tried to keep the tide of emotion inside him in check.  "I
wish he had been your father," he said.
     "We all do," Sheba stepped forward.  "I was hoping it so much for
you Starbuck, because well...." she lowered her head slightly.  "Well,
because I know what it feels like to want to find someone close to you
again."
     Starbuck nodded in understanding and took on a philosophical
expression.  "I know one thing for certain," he said.  "I'm not going
to let the fact that I'm an orphan trouble my conscience any longer. 
Besides, " he smirked, "I'm kind of old to break in a new father
anyway."
     "There remains the question of what to do with Chameleon," Adama
said aloud.
     Starbuck took a breath. "Commander, I know I've probably got
reason to hate him more than any man in the universe, but....well I can
sort of understand his predicament. I hope you won't be harsh on him."
     The Commander smiled thinly, "I may have a solution on how to
handle Chameleon."


     For several centars, Chameleon had sat in a holding area of the
Galactica's brig where he'd been placed in protective custody by
Colonial Security.  The room had no bars or locked doors to keep him
confined, but as far as Chameleon was concerned that made little
difference.  His sense of guilt over what he had put Starbuck through
had left him with an exceptionally bad taste in his mouth.
     I guess I deserved it, he thought sadly.
     "Chameleon!" 
     He looked up and saw Cassiopeia making her way past the two
security guards with a look of total joy on her face and in her
sprightly walk.
     "Chameleon, listen to me," she entered the holding area as she
squeezed his arm and knelt by him.  "The test results are positive! 
They're positive!"
     Chameleon was totally thunderstruck.  It took him a half centon
before he dared repeat the word.  "Positive?"
     "Yes," she nodded vigorously.  "Positive.  Right down to the last
detail!"
     "Positive," Chameleon repeated as he stared at the floor in numb
shock.  After all that had happened, this was the last piece of news
he'd expected to hear.  "It's.....but I hadn't really....I mean...."
     "In spite of all that happened, with the Nomen and all that?"
Cassiopeia smiled. "Look at it as a miracle, Chameleon.  The Almighty
created a situation where you could finally be led to your son at last. 
We've got to go to the Commander's office and tell Starbuck.  And tell
everyone for that matter!"
     "No," Chameleon impulsively grabbed the med-tech's arm and looked
her in the eye.  "No.  Cassiopeia.....you've, well you've made a
mistake.  It has to be negative."
     "What?" she tried to keep smiling in spite of her disbelief over
what she'd just heard.  "No Chameleon, there's no mistake!  The results
are positive.  You are Starbuck's father!"
     "Cassiopeia," a pleading edge entered Chameleon's voice.  "For
Starbuck's sake, those results have to be negative."
     "For Starbuck's sake?" her smile had turned into a frown. 
"Chameleon, what are you talking about?"
     The old man sat down on the bench.  "Cassiopeia, if you'd come to
me with those results after you took the test, I wouldn't be saying
this.  But not now.  Not after the talk I had with Starbuck.  If those
results aren't negative, then Starbuck will give up everything he
loves.  His career, his friends, even you."
     "Chameleon_" Cassiopeia protested.  "You can't mean that----"
     "You didn't see him, Cassiopeia," he went on forcefully.  "This
whole business about being an orphan's consumed him all his life.  It's
made him lose sight of what he's good at, and even worse, it's made him
lose sight of how much his friends care about him. Eventually, he'd
even give up you if he thought you were an obstacle to spending time
with a lost father.  And what would he be doing it for?   To try and
recapture something with an old fool who except for two yahrens in
Umbra, never did an honest thing in his life?   Cassie, I've grieved
for yahrens about what I lost at Umbra, but only now am I finally
realizing that I can never have any of that back.  It's too late for me
to make up for wasted yahrens, especially when they'd come at too high
a cost to....." he paused and forced out his next words, "At too high a
cost to someone I love so dear."
     "Chameleon," Cassiopeia looked him in the eye with a neutral
expression.  "What you're asking is to perpetuate another lie again. 
Maybe Starbuck said something in a rash moment, but he can learn to
adjust in a way that could find room for all of us."
     "Cassiopeia, I don't want to take that risk," Chameleon said. 
"Not when I've seen firsthand the love and friendship people like
Apollo and Boomer and Sheba, and Commander Adama have for him, and also
the relationship you and he have.   If I did anything to disrupt what
he has here aboard the Galactica, that's something I couldn't live with
on my conscience."
     Cassiopeia let out a sad sigh, "You're his father, Chameleon."
     "I know," he nodded, "And I am grateful that the one question in
my heart that's always troubled me over the yahrens has finally been
answered.  Just knowing at least that the son I lost at Umbra is alive
and well, and above all has had a good life is more than I could ask
for."
     "But what about Starbuck's peace of mind?" she retorted gently. 
"He's wanted to know who and what he is all these yahrens.  Doesn't he
have the same right to have those questions answered?"
     "Someday, yes," Chameleon conceded.  "But not now.  Not when
he's.....well when he's clearly not mature enough to handle the
responsibility of what having a real father means." he smiled weakly,
"I don't mean that as a criticism, Cassie.  It's just that....well I
guess my paternal instinct knows all about lack of maturity."
     She sighed again.  "Chameleon, if Starbuck ever finds out someday
that I've withheld this information, he may end up hating me and you."
     "I don't think so," Chameleon shook his head.  "If Starbuck
doesn't know that I'm his father, then I could at least try and be his
friend.  I can be a very good friend. Someone he wouldn't mind having
some nice, casual contact with from time-to-time.  At the very least,
we could begin to build some kind of meaningful foundation between us.
Something that could....well that could better prepare him for the
truth when that time is right."
     "Will that time ever be right, Chameleon?" Cassiopeia smiled
thinly.  "Will you at least tell him yourself.....someday, and not make
me do it after you're dead?"
     "Someday," he tried to smile reassuringly.  "Someday.  Maybe..."
he skipped a beat as he looked her over and saw the shadow of his own
wife looking back at him.  "Maybe on the day he gets sealed."
     She let out a light laugh.  "Starbuck?  Sealed?" she shook her
head.  "You're playing with a fixed deck of cards, Chameleon.  That'll
never happen.  Not the way he is."
     "Oh, I'm not so sure," a sly edge entered the old man's voice.  "I
do know something of my son's taste in women.  The results may surprise
even you, Cassiopeia."
     She looked at him with an incredulous air.  "You mean....." she
was unable to go any further.
     "Yes," Chameleon nodded.  "You've shared something precious with
me, now let me do likewise.  What Starbuck has with you isn't like what
he's had with anyone else. Remember that always.  And just....be
patient and wait until he's able to admit that directly to you."
     "Just like he has to be patient for you," Cassiopeia sighed.  "You
two really are alike."
     She impulsively hugged him and as Chameleon held her, he found
himself hoping that Starbuck never let a woman as precious as
Cassiopeia ever get away from him.


     A centar later, Cassiopeia had escorted Chameleon to Adama's
quarters where Apollo, Boomer, Sheba and an awkward Starbuck remained. 
As Chameleon stood in front of the Commander, Starbuck found himself
looking at the floor, unable to focus on the man he'd placed so much
hopes in.
     "Thank you for coming, Chameleon." Adama's voice was courteous but
had the firm edge of a judge about to pass sentence.  "You will be
interested to know that all matters relating to this incident have been
dealt with.  Thanks to your statement, Commander Kronus has placed
Wadleigh under arrest for theft and sale of spare parts. Even more
important, Ambassador Hassan has initiated a total crackdown on the
Nomen Council.  Their conspiracy to overthrow him is shattered, the
three Nomen who were after you will be charged with attempted murder,
and the spare parts the Nomen were hoarding have been returned.  
Hassan's now going to run things on the Borallus in a way that won't
infringe on the Nomen's basic rights, but will at least insure that
they could never launch another conspiracy as odious as this right
under his nose, let alone conduct another blood trail." he paused. 
"There still remains the matter of you, however."
     Chameleon took a breath, as he kept his hands behind his back.  "I
suppose that could be a problem."
     "On the one hand, your statement, as well as the security check
conducted by Sergeant Castor, implicates your guilt on potential
charges of illegal profiteering, failure to report a conspiracy, and
even fraud."
     The old man lowered his head and bit his lip.  Cassiopeia felt her
body trembling and then glanced at Starbuck.  She could see a pained
expression on the warrior's face.
     "But on the other hand," Adama went on.  "Thanks to you, we've
succeeded in solving the two biggest internal problems the Fleet has
been facing.  I think those factors mitigate on the whole against
having any formal charges filed against you."
     Chameleon seemed to relax as sighs of relief went up from the
other people in the room.  Even from Starbuck.
     "But as to what you do from here on," Adama cautioned gravely.
     "Yes," Chameleon shuffled his feet.  "Well, I suppose I could go
back to what I was doing."
     "If you mean your part-time work on the Orphans Ship, that's no
problem.  Dr. Pia says you're always welcome there," Adama said firmly. 
"As to what you do in the rest of your spare time however?"
     "Well, I suppose I could always go back to that as----" Chameleon
stopped when he saw the slight glare on Adama's face.  "Ah no, I guess
I couldn't do any of that." he added hastily.
     A thin smile came over the Commander's face.  "Tell me Chameleon,"
he then stopped and looked him in the eye.  "Is that your real name, by
the way?"
     "Well.....ah, to tell the truth Commander.....ah," he then decided
that playing the con game had gone far enough, even for comic effect. 
"Well yes.  Yes it is.  In fact, I think it's probably high time that I
give some real background material on where I came from for the benefit
of your Fleet Computer Records.  All you need to know about Chameleon,
son of Matthias and Adele, born in Caprica City, 7286."
     "That's good," Adama leaned forward and smiled.  "And it may
interest you to know Chameleon, that when Sergeant Castor was making
his rounds about you, he was bombarded with some urgent questions about
what had happened to you from a certain Siress Blassie aboard the
Seniors Ship."
     Chameleon blushed slightly in embarrassment.  He already had an
inkling of what Adama was about to say, and knowing Blassie as he did,
he wasn't sure the results would be something he'd enjoy.
     "Now I've taken the liberty of explaining things to the Siress,"
Adama went on. "And once the circumstances became clear to her, she was
most willing to personally take charge of your rehabilitation."
     Boomer, Apollo and Sheba all found themselves suppressing smiles
and chuckles as they saw an uneasy look come over Chameleon's face. 
Even Starbuck couldn't help but smile because he could empathize with
how Chameleon felt at the moment.  All of his freedom and easy way of
living gone and replaced by servitude to a woman who would be playing
constant nurse-maid to him.   Not a prospect that any man who felt like
Chameleon, or himself for that matter, would find enjoyable.
     "Um....Commander," Chameleon fumbled slightly.  "If I may. 
Ah----"
     "It is so ordered Chameleon." Adama's tone was of gentle finality.
      Chameleon felt his shoulders sag a bit.  The last thing he'd ever
wanted to face was the prospect of someone constantly watching him and
attending to him.  He'd always thrived on his freedom of movement.  His
ability to appear and disappear in places at virtual will.  Now that
part of his life was irrevocably over.  He might as well have been
sentenced to the Prison Barge for all that it mattered.
     But then again, he mused, it need not be too bad.  He had enjoyed
Blassie's company.  She was a charming, attractive woman.  Perhaps
there could be some positive benefits from the whole thing after all.
     At the very least, he'd give it a chance.
     "Chameleon," Starbuck rose from his seat next to Cassiopeia and
came up to him. The old man looked him in the eye and for the first
time tried to see if there was some hint of himself in the eyes or
anywhere else.  In all the time he'd spent with Starbuck, he'd never
tried to look for signs but now that he knew the truth, he found that
he couldn't help himself.
     "Hey Chameleon," Starbuck smiled and extended his hand.  "I
realize you were in a tight spot and you did what you had to do in
order to survive." he warmly shook his hand.  "No hard feelings, as far
as I'm concerned."
     As Chameleon felt the grasp of his handshake, he finally saw the
shadow of his younger self in Starbuck's face.  It took him a micron to
recover himself inside and reciprocate the handshake.
     "Thank you," he whispered.  "That does mean a lot to me, Starbuck. 
A lot more than you could ever realize." he glanced faintly over his
shoulder at Cassiopeia, who gave him a faint nod of recognition that no
one else in the room but Chameleon noticed.
     "Well, in a ways I feel kind of attached to you after all we
talked about and all we went through," Starbuck said.  "And hey, the
computer did say we are distant relatives at the very least.  I may not
have learned everything I wanted to know, but you are the first person
I know who does have at least some connection with me."
     "That's true," Chameleon smiled.
     "We could always.....well, see each other from time-to-time, now
and then, when you're not busy and I've got time to kill on my furlon."
     "I'd enjoy that," Chameleon said.  "I really would."
     "Why not at the triad match next sectan?" Cassiopeia spoke up. 
"Starbuck and Apollo are taking on Ortega and Barton in the biggest
match in a long time.  The whole Fleet's been talking about it."
     "Yeah," Starbuck smiled brightly.  "I can use my connections to
get you ducats for the best possible seats."
     "Yes, I would like to see that." Chameleon's tone brightened. 
"I've heard all kinds of stories about how you're a master on the triad
court."
     "Out of curiosity Starbuck, what do you mean by 'your connections'
when it comes to five hundred cubit ducats?" Apollo couldn't resist.
     "Oh....well ah," Starbuck began sheepishly as he shot a glace at
Adama who was still a fixture of total bemusement.
     Boomer got to his feet, "What he means is that Chameleon can have
my ducat. Zed's been on my back to provide player analysis during the
broadcast.  I might as well do it.  You can pick it up in my quarters."

     "Thank you, Boomer," Chameleon smiled.  "I appreciate that.  It'll
be an honor to attend."
     "In the meantime, Commander, would it be okay if I shuttle
Chameleon back to the Seniors Ship?" 
     "You're still on furlon, Starbuck."  Adama smiled.  "Go right
ahead."
      "Thank you sir," Starbuck felt relieved.  As he kept his gaze
focused on the Commander, he didn't notice Chameleon glance quickly at
Cassiopeia, and silently mouth the words "Thank you" to her.
     "Starbuck," Chameleon quickly turned back to him just as the
warrior shifted his gaze away from Adama.  "And all of you.  Thank you,
and again I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused."
     "It's okay," Starbuck then leaned closer to him and said in a low,
sly tone.  "Now about that betting system.  Are you sure there's no way
of beating it?"
     "Positive," Chameleon said as he warmly wrapped his arm around him
and then added in an equally sly, mischievous tone..  "Unless of course
you decide to cheat."
     Adama closed his eyes and groaned slightly as he leaned back in
his chair.  Apollo, Sheba and Boomer all found themselves chuckling at
the sight of how when it came to the subjects that were always
Starbuck's vices, he and Chameleon seemed practically inseparable.
     Cassiopeia felt her jaw open slightly in shock at how Chameleon
already seemed determined to revert to form.  But then, her reaction
gave way to one of amusement and the med-tech found herself thinking a
thought she wished she could express aloud.
     Like father, like son.
     "Now I had a system that was really foolproof for pyramid,"
Chameleon said as he and Starbuck headed for the door.  "But there was
this three-handed dealer on Pineus that figured out how to beat it."
     As the door opened, Starbuck's eyes widened in fascination and he
turned back to Apollo with a wicked grin.  "You hear that Apollo?  
That system on Pineus wasn't so bad after all!  I'll make you try it
out next time we go to the Chancery!"
     "Oh boy." Apollo rolled his eyes slightly as the doors closed. 
"There goes my next sectar's pay!"
     It would take nearly five centons for every one else in the room
to stop laughing before any of them could finally leave.


     The Galactica's lone agro-ship,  responsible for growing all the
crops necessary to feed the people of the Fleet, was regarded by many
as the ideal haven for getting away from the crowds and hectic activity
one saw on most of the ships in the Fleet.  That was especially true of
the lush Botanical Gardens that dotted the length of the ship and were
sheltered underneath clear glass domes that offered a breathtaking
panorama of the stars above.  Inside each garden was a specimen of
almost every plant, crop and tree that was salvaged from the Colonies
prior to the Exodus.  Carefully tended under the general supervision of
Operations Chief Carmichael, each garden had blossomed into jungle-like
proportions.  It was all too easy for a visitor to the Gardens to get
lost and not find his way out for centars.
     Pallan calmly strolled along the walkways lining the path of the
Gardens, occasionally glancing at some of the posted signs denoting the
various plant specimens. The wide cross-section of plant life from all
the twelve planets couldn't help but make him admire how Carmichael and
his team of agro-workers had put all of this together on such short
notice and been able to maintain it all this time.
     But then again, he thought ruefully, he always knew he had to bear
some measure of responsibility for the fact that this task had been
undertaken in the first place.
     He turned off from the main walkway that ran the length of the
room and detoured to the right, where the path went deeper inside some
of the fuller, Skorpian pine trees that towered so high, they came
within fifteen feet of brushing the top of the glass dome. Pallan knew
that of all the spots on the agro ship, this was the one that was by
far the most isolated and secluded.  All a person had to do was step
off the walkway and into the cluster of trees and within ten feet, he
would immediately think he was lost in a forest back on Skorpia.
     The bartender stepped over the walkway railing and went ten feet
into the artificial forest.  As he leaned against the base of a tree,
he felt something poke against his back.
     The end of a laser pistol.
     Pallan didn't bat an eyebrow as he felt the metal snout of the
lethal weapon against him.  He had half expected it.  And he already
knew that in the long-run of things, he had no cause for concern.
     "Come out, Sergeant Ortega," he said calmly.
     The blonde, curly-haired warrior stepped out from behind the tree,
pointing his pistol at Pallan with a menacing look.  His eyes were red
and bloodshot, the effects of his long deep patrol with Barton still
lingering, as well as the aggravation he'd been forced to endure from
his wingmate's taunts.
     "Okay Pallan," Ortega kept his pistol pointed at the bartender's
chest. "Anything positive to report?"
     "In a way," Pallan stared at the warrior's weapon with distaste. 
"Are you paranoid about something, Ortega?"
     "You are one person I would never trust for a centon."
     Pallan laughed.  "Come on Ortega.  You said it yourself yesterday. 
No one can commit a capital offense in this Fleet and hide forever."
     "With you, I'm not so sure," Ortega glared at him.  "You're the
only person I know who'd even think of trying it some day."
     "As opposed to Chella and Elias?" he gently retorted.  "What did
you manage to pin on them?"
     The sergeant laughed.  "Total felgercarb in comparison to you."
     "You still made a mistake letting me find out about them, Ortega,"
Pallan folded his arms.  "All these sectars, you've made me afraid of
you and you've used that fear to extort plenty out of me.  But now that
I know you're pulling this same stunt with two other men, I don't have
to be quite so fearful."
     "And what's that supposed to mean?"
     "It means that as of next sectan, you get nothing more from me,"
Pallan said.  "I'm willing to let you have 20,000 as a final payment,
and then that's it."
     Ortega started to laugh ruthlessly.  "And what puts you in the
position to say that?"
      "The fact that it's now too dangerous for you to ever say a
word," Pallan's tone was pointed.  "Exposing me, means you'd have to
answer a lot of questions yourself that in the end, may not net you as
long a sentence as I'd get, but it would still put you in the Prison
Barge for a long time to come."
     The warrior flushed.  "For what?"
     "Try extortion, bribery, not to mention dereliction of duty."
Pallan said.  "If it were me alone, maybe you could avoid that.  But
not when you've also got your fingers in Chella and Elias.  If you
expose me Ortega, then I'm going to at least give myself the
satisfaction of taking you down with me by leading any investigation
straight to them as well.  In the end, your little stash of cubits
won't mean a thing for you anymore." he flashed a malevolent smirk at
the warrior.  "You overreached yourself Ortega.  And because of that,
you're about to lose one of your sources."
     He raised his pistol so it was aligned with Pallan's face.  "Maybe
I am."
     "I kind of expected you'd try a stunt like that," Pallan smirked. 
"That's why I insisted we meet here.  Because in case you've forgotten,
gaining access to the Gardens meant signing in at Carmichael's station. 
When I arrived, I made certain that no one else has signed in since you
did thirty centons ago.  If you kill me, then you become the primary
suspect once they look at the register and see my name below yours."
     It took a centon for the words to sink in, and then Ortega finally
lowered his pistol.
     "You see," Pallan smiled.  "You can't kill me, and you can't
expose me without exposing yourself to prison.  That's all there is to
it.  You can either take 20,000 from me as a final payment, or nothing
more."
     Ortega put his pistol back in his holster.  "When do I get it?"
     "There's a catch to that."
     His head darted back up.  "What catch?"
     "You get it on one condition," Pallan said.  "You're going to
throw the triad game to Apollo and Starbuck."
     The blonde warrior's face twisted and darkened in rage.  "I'm
what?"
     "You heard me," the bartender's voice grew more firm.  "The only
way you're going to get 20,000 from me is if you throw the match to
Apollo and Starbuck. Specifically, you let yourself get thrown out of
the game in the last round."
     "You're crazy," Ortega trembled.  "This game's been on my mind for
a sectar now. I've been waiting for a chance to finally put that
gallmonging snit Starbuck in place."
     "So I gathered from all those IFB reports.  But I think I know you
well enough to realize that given a choice between money and stroking
your ego on the triad court, you'll pick the former any day of the
sectan." his smirk intensified.  "Just once, I want to see you do
something I tell you to do, Ortega.   I'll gladly pay 20,000 cubits to
you if it means I have the satisfaction of knowing I forced you to do
things my way."
     Ortega bit his lip in an effort to hold back his anger and rage. 
"And if I don't throw the match?"
     "Then my policy of never paying you another cubit goes into effect
right now."  He paused.  "What's it going to be Ortega?  One last
payday or nothing?"
     The sergeant looked at him for more than a centon without moving,
all the time breathing heavily and swallowing repeatedly to keep his
emotions in check.  Finally, he extended his hand reluctantly.
     "I guess it has to be that way," he tried to sound philosophical. 
"I suppose I can look back and say it was a great run while it lasted."
     "Indeed," Pallan took the offered hand.  The handshake lasted no
more than a half-micron before they both withdrew their hands in mutual
disgust.
     "So when do I get the big payoff, if I do as you say?"
     "In the locker area," Pallan said.  "I get off duty at 2200. 
That's why your ejection must be timed to a late phase of the game. 
I'll go down to the training room and give you the payoff as soon as
you're out of the turbowash.  Nobody else will be there then, so it's
the ideal time."
     Ortega nodded.  "Very well then," his voice then took on a
cautious, menacing air. "But if you double-cross me Pallan, I'll find
other ways of making you suffer."
     Pallan said nothing as the blonde sergeant moved away through the
trees and back onto the walkway that led out of the Gardens.
     Once Ortega was gone, the bartender named Pallan found himself
smiling in satisfaction for the first time in many sectars.  The
critical phase of his plan had been a smashing success and there was
now no doubt of what the real outcome of the meeting was going to be.
     Sergeant Ortega had just signed his death warrant.


               Battlestar Galactica: Murder On The Rising Star

                        From The Adama Journals     

     Today brings another hopeful report from our deep patrol scouts,
who have discovered another planet along these coordinates given to us
by the super race of the mysterious Ship Of Lights who spared us from
the evil plans of the even more mysterious Count Iblis.  More and more
often, the planets we come across bear signs of what has to be the lost
Thirteenth Tribe.   Signs of camp settlements made by scouting parties
during the long journey from Kobol to Earth when no doubt, the space
ark needed to make periodic stops for supplies.  Leaving behind
remnants that more than seven thousand yahrens later, the descendants
of their brother tribes could find and use as a sign of hope that we
are on the right path.  We are getting closer.  But still, nothing
definite as to whether the day of discovery could be in the lifetimes
of our present generation, or much further in a distant future no one
alive today will ever see.
     We must be prepared though to handle any possibility that might
face us on that day when Earth is discovered.  I have commissioned
Colonel Tigh and other senior personnel to draw up contingency plans
that will be implemented according to what kind of civilization exists
on Earth when we find it.  The only common thread in each of these
contingency plans is the need for great discretion upon our arrival.  A
time of careful watching and analysis in which our people can learn and
sample everything about her culture.  Too sudden an appearance from
their brothers and sisters in space could send the people of Earth into
a traumatic culture shock that they might not ever fully recover from.
Our contingency plans must take into account the sad prospect that
after all these yahrens, the very origins of the Thirteenth Tribe, and
the memory of the brother nations they chose to separate from, could
very well be forgotten to the people of Earth by now.  Separated from
us after seven thousand yahrens, Earth has had time to build a unique
civilization all its own and to chart a path totally unlike that which
the Twelve Colonies did.
     And what were the results of that path?   I can still recall the
cryptic words of Count Iblis that Earth "has known great rises and
great failures."  Words that could apply even to our own civilization. 
At the very least, that would indicate that Earth is anything but a
Utopia where mankind has not succeeded in eliminating the flaws in his
nature that forever keep him one step below the angels.  What it
doesn't answer is whether Earth is now a civilization far in advance of
us at this point in their development......or a society of primitive
animals, fallen from a greater time.  That will only be known on the
day that Earth is found.  And I pray to the Lords that I will be part
of that generation fortunate to know the answer and see if my decision
to begin this long journey will have been truly worth the effort.
     Our internal situation is thankfully more stable than it has been
at any time since the journey began.  The danger of the Cylons has
after thirteen sectans of no sign of them, become more and more like
that of a nightmare that fades from memory upon waking up. And the
recent affair surrounding the elderly gentleman Chameleon, while
providing much personal disappointment to Starbuck,  has produced two
important dividends in breaking the conspiracy attempt by the Nomen
against Ambassador Hassan, and the return of all the spare parts for
viper maintenance stolen from the Celestra.  Commander Kronus, my one
time superior aboard the Ricon so many yahrens ago, assures me that he
will be running an even tighter operation than ever before on the
maintenance ship to see to it that nothing like this ever happens
again.   With Kronus, I know I can always count on a vigorous effort
when it comes to enforcing regulations and military discipline in any
operation where he is in command.  He might have a penchant for
carrying it too far at times, but in the wake of these thefts, a
vigorous course of discipline is exactly what's needed.
     And so, with no internal crises confronting us at this centon, and
with the Council of Twelve remaining quiet for now, I find myself in
the enviable position of being able to relax this evening.  A time to
watch the much heralded triad match that takes place this evening on
the Rising Star.  So many people are anxious to get ducats for it
though, that I've decided it wouldn't be right for me to take up a seat
in the spectator's gallery, especially since my only instinct would be
to openly cheer my son on to victory.  Instead, I intend to watch the
match with Tigh in the quiet calm of the Empyreal Lounge, which is apt
to be deserted anyway.

Chapter One 

     "Good afternoon.  Through your videocoms, you are looking at the
triad court and spectators gallery here on the Rising Star.  They are
empty now, but in only four centars they will be packed to capacity
with the sounds of cheering spectators watching the most anticipated
triad match of the last sectar between the number one ranked team of
Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Starbuck, against the number three ranked
team of Sergeants Barton and Ortega.  For the winner, one step closer
to the Championship Finals match. For the loser, almost certain
elimination and the hope that the next round of tournament play will
bring greater rewards.  With such high stakes involved, we can expect
to see nothing less than the art of triad in it's purest form.  The
form that makes it more than just a game, but a contest bordering on
warfare."
     The IFB camera then panned back from its view of the empty triad
court to a shot of the broadcasting stand, where lead anchor Zed turned
to the man seated on his right.
     "Joining me here is a man who is deeply interested in the outcome
of tonight's match and who will be with me tonight providing expert
player analysis for the viewers, bringing a dimension and understanding
that none of the people present here tonight will be able to receive."
     Boomer tried not to roll his eyes in disgust.  He could remember
listening to Zed's commentary of triad matches as far back as his
childhood days on Caprica when Zed had been lead sports anchor for the
BNC.  Even then, there had been an air of pomposity in Zed's broadcasts
that had rubbed him the wrong way and it had persisted all throughout
Zed's career first on the BNC and then when he moved to Gemon to become
a news anchor for the GBS.  Sports had become a trifle to a man who saw
himself worthy of covering only far more significant events in the News
Division.  But he'd been blocked out of news on Caprica because of his
bad relationship with the technical operations chief Heller who sought
only "hard journalists" to become lead news anchors and commentators
such as the renowned Daly, and later Daly's successor Serina.   And one
thing Zed could never be accused of being was a hard journalist.  He
simply had an overbearing voice that overindulged in rhetorical
flourishes and frequently got away from simply calling the action in a
straightforward manner.
     Now, as the most prominent videocom anchor to survive the
Holocaust, along with Zara of Cancera's CCS, he'd been given
responsibility for calling all of the triad matches, much to his
distaste that he was now back to doing the kind of events that he'd
always regarded as beneath his dignity.  
     "I refer of course to Lieutenant Boomer of the number two ranked
team of Boomer and Castor, who will be facing the winner of tonight's
game in next sectan's Championship Match.  And Lieutenant, would you
not agree that tonight we can expect to see a no holds barred,
knockdown fight to the death between these two great teams?"
     "Well Zed," Boomer said pleasantly, knowing that sitting next to
the anchor's blatherings at least entitled him to an extra two hundred
cubits for services rendered. "I expect nothing less than good, solid
competition from two teams that have earned their way into this
position.  I can say honestly that there aren't two better teams in the
entire triad league that I've faced than the ones who'll be playing
tonight.   They should give us a match worth remembering."
     "Now there have been stories, Lieutenant, as I'm sure you're well
aware, that Sergeant Ortega's reputation off the court is not very high
amongst his fellow warriors.  Is there any sense that Sergeant Ortega's
intensity on the triad court is tied in to that combative behavior he
displays off the court?"
     Boomer felt like he'd just been served a plate of moldy protein
chunks for dinner. This was the last sort of thing he expected to talk
about and he risked causing more trouble in the ranks of his squadron
if he found himself forced to comment on the personal life of one of
his pilots, especially one he disliked as intensely as Ortega.  But
where Zed was concerned, he should have expected it.  Zed's desire to
be taken seriously as a "journalist" had always led him to indulge in
digressions about the personal lives of athletes and how their skills
were affected by their off-court activities.  More than once in his
life, Boomer could remember listening to his audio-com in the family
living room of his aunt's apartment and shouting, "Just stick to the
fracking game!" whenever Zed went off on one of his tangents.
     The warrior flashed one of the fake smiles that Zara and Zed were
renowned for on their news broadcasts.  "Well Zed," he said in the same
pleasant tone.  "I really think that the bottom line for any triad
player, whether he's a viper pilot like Captain Apollo, Lieutenant
Starbuck or myself, or a security guard like Sergeant Castor, is that
we see triad as a wonderful outlet for our competitive energy and
nothing more.  All of the triad players I know are professionals in
their jobs off the court, and as the commander of Red Squadron group
which includes Sergeants Barton and Ortega, I can say categorically
that they've never been anything less than professional under my
command.  So I don't think what happens off the court ever enters into
matters at all, and vice versa.  I mean, you take me for instance. 
Apollo and Starbuck are probably the closest friends I've ever had in
eight yahrens service in the Warrior Corps.  Off the court, they're my
brothers.  On the court, I want to beat them with the same intensity
I'd reserve for the Cylons.  Whatever difficulties you've heard about
as far as off the court matters go, I think it'll play no part in
tonight's game."
     Lords of Kobol, are they going to give it to me for all that
double-talking felgercarb I just said, Boomer thought as he finished. 
Starbuck'll see it as payback for all that needling I gave him after
his interview with Zara.
     "Well, Lieutenant Boomer I think we'll see if your assessment is
borne out when the centon arrives.  A reminder to all of you, our
pre-match coverage will begin one-half centar before the first ball is
dropped at 2000.  Until then, this is Zed sending it back to you Zara,
in our IFB studio."


     Pallan had one eye on the IFB monitor inside the Empyreal Lounge
as he cleared away the empty glasses on some recently vacated tables. 
Ordinarily, the sound on the monitors was always kept turned off so as
not to disturb the quiet atmosphere the Empyreal Lounge was noted for. 
Tonight would be a rare exception however.  With interest in the
outcome of the triad match at an all-time high, the Rising Star's
Assistant Chief Steward, who had jurisdiction over the Empyreal Lounge, 
had already decided that the volume would be turned up to one-half for
the first time, as a courtesy to patrons who wanted to watch the action
within the Lounge's relaxed setting.  By contrast, customers in the
nearby Astral Lounge, where Chief Steward Zeibert handled all matters,
would be watching the match on a giant six foot high monitor where the
commentary would be blotted out for the most part by both raucous music
and cheering crowds.
     Pallan felt relieved that Assistant Chief Steward Lange had
already decided to keep the sound up on the Empyreal Lounge's monitors. 
If he'd been forced to ask Lange himself, it'd have seemed too
suspicious.  But if his plan had any chance of succeeding, he needed to
keep one ear on the commentary and know exactly what was happening with
the game.
     With that contingency element taken care of, there now remained
just one more thing and everything that needed to be done prior to the
match would be in place.
     "Lange," he came over to his boss, "I need five centons for a
personal matter.  Can you cover me until I get back?"
     "No problem, Pallan," he said.  He regarded the assistant chief
bartender as a loyal, dependable employee who was entitled to more
slack than the average employee usually received.
     "Thanks," Pallan nodded and walked down the steps that led to the
exit on the lower level.  Once he was out in the Main Corridor, he
picked up his walking pace, casting glances in every direction to see
if anyone else was headed toward the same area.  To his relief, there
was no one in sight.
     He finally reached the public telecom located just off the Docking
Lounge, calmly picked it up and punched in the code for the place he
wanted to reach.
     "Chancery," a voice at the other end answered.
     Pallan put his hand over his mouth and spoke in a tone totally
different from his normal speaking voice. "I need to speak to Chella. 
It's very urgent."
     "Just a centon, I'll get him." there was a brief shuffle as the
Chancery's Operations Chief went off to summon the dealer from Table
Number Three over.  As Pallan waited, he felt the sweat break out on
his forehead, as he kept glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone
might approach and overhear what he was about to say.  If someone did,
then he'd be forced to abort a major element of his plan that very well
could force him to abort the entire operation altogether.
     Fracking moron, just had to be off-duty for three days until now,
he thought with disgust as he kept waiting.
     Finally, he heard the low voice of the heavyset dealer he had
spoken to a sectan ago.  "This is Chella."
     "Hello Chella, it's Ortega," he whispered into the telecom in a
dead accurate imitation of the sergeant's voice that he'd practiced
almost non-stop in his spare time for the last two days.  "I haven't
got much time before the match.  There's an important matter concerning
our arrangement we need to talk about."
     There was a brief silence on the other end.  "What do you want?"
     "Meet me in the training room at 2210 and you'll find out."
     "2210?" he could picture the dealer frowning in disbelief.  "The
match won't be over by then."
     "Don't worry about the match, you just be there at that time or
else Security's going to get some information you'd rather they not
see." he tried to inject the right level of low, threatening menace
without losing the precision of the imitation.
     "Don't worry," the dealer kept his voice calm for the benefit of
those standing near him in the Chancery.  "I'm off duty before then. 
I'll be there."
     "You'd better," Pallan closed and then quickly hung the telecom
up.  The bartender let out a sigh of relief as he calmly walked back to
the Empyreal Lounge.
     Everything was now set.  He had the time, the place and the means
to carry it out. And now, he'd just been handed a perfect fall guy
who'd insure that no suspicion ever touched him.  All that remained,
was the final implementation.


     The triad ball fell into play and the four players from the two
teams broke out of the face-off circle and moved into respective
offense and defense positions.  The lead player on the gold team got to
the ball first and prepared to fight his way forward and get into
position for a pass to his partner, who would then send the sphere into
the scoring circle.  But before he could move, the defender from the
blue team had suddenly boxed him into one of the three triangular
corners of the court, never once threatening to knock the ball away,
but keeping his opponent moving backward, unable to get any meaningful
shot off.  Finally, in desperation the trapped gold player was forced
to make a weak shot off the sidewall in the hope that his partner could
get at the rebound.
     "You see Boxey?" Starbuck grinned as he maneuvered his control
stick of the three-dimensional triad computer game.  "That's how the
trap strategy works.  Don't make the obvious move for the ball.  Always
play it carefully and you put yourself in perfect position to keep him
from scoring."
     The little boy shook his head in amazed awe at how Starbuck had
guided his players with such flawless precision.  "Is that what makes
your team the best?"
     "Well it has a lot to do with it.  Of course if your father here
weren't such a great partner who always knows where those weak rebounds
are going to come from, the whole point of the trap strategy would be
worthless."
     "Nice of you to remember me, Starbuck," Apollo slapped his friend
on the shoulder good-naturedly.
     "Hey, hey careful, you'll make me lose control of the stick and
the game, buddy." Starbuck mockingly chided.
     "Come on Starbuck, when it comes to a match on this computer
against Boxey, I'm on his side!"  Apollo returned it.  "You save your
best stuff for the real thing. Besides, we haven't got time to finish
this I'm afraid.  Our shuttle for the Rising Star leaves in twenty
centons."
     The brash warrior sighed with regret as he set his stick down. 
"Guess that's it for tonight, Boxey.  Tomorrow though, I promise you
another session where I'll recreate exactly how we won tonight on this
machine."
     "Great!" Boxey's eyes lit up.  "And then a best of three match?"
     "That depends on whether or not all your assignments are done,
right Captain?" Starbuck threw Apollo a sly glance.
     "Right," Apollo smiled with the air of gentle paternalism as he
knelt down by his son.  "Your Aunt Athena's going to watch the match
with you in your quarters on the IFB tonight, and then she'll be
putting you to bed.   You remember to do everything she says."
     "Can I watch your postmatch interview?" Boxey asked with the edge
of anxious pleading that was typical of any six-yahren old child who
wanted to get an extra centar of time to stay up, and then hope for an
extra centar of sleep the next morning when it was time for Primary
Classes.
     "If the match doesn't go into sudden death, there should be time
for that." he said as he put his hands on his son's shoulders. "But if
it does, you don't give Aunt Athena trouble if she says no.  Okay?"
     "Okay." he nodded and then threw his arms around his father, "Beat
those guys good, Dad!"
     Apollo felt only contentment as he embraced his son to him. 
"We're not going to let you down, son."
     By the time Apollo and Starbuck had left the Rejuvenation Center
and begun their walk to the landing bay, the brash warrior was smiling
at his friend with envy.
     "That's beautiful, you and him," Starbuck said.  "Apollo, you're a
lucky man."
     "I know," Apollo said simply not wanting to elaborate any further
on how important his relationship with his son was to him.  Especially
not after the disappointment Starbuck had gone through during the whole
Chameleon business when it seemed like for one brief centon, Starbuck
had been on the verge of finding a similar relationship for himself.
     As though Starbuck had read his mind, he said.  "Um.....Apollo, I
know that whole business about Chameleon is ancient history now, but I
think I ought to say this. Watching you and Boxey all the time,
it.....well I think the reason why I flew off the handle with you like
I did was because I thought I was losing a chance at the same thing. It
was....rank jealousy at its worst.  I want you to know how bad I feel
about that."
     Apollo clapped his hand on Starbuck's shoulder.  "Like you said,
it's ancient history buddy.  Don't ever mention it again.  Besides, the
only friends who never have spats from time-to-time are the distant
ones who treat each other like company instead of family."
     As they reached the Life Station, they saw Cassiopeia and Sheba
waiting for them.
     "About time you two showed up," Sheba smirked.  "We were beginning
to think the pressure had gotten to the two of you and you were going
to default the match."
     "Against Ortega?" Starbuck snorted in disgust.  "Running from him
would be the only crime greater than treason!"
     "That's it," Cassiopeia smiled.  "Show some of that competitive
fire.  Do you know how many people have wagers on you tonight?"
     "I wish the rules didn't prohibit me from betting on myself,"
Starbuck said as they resumed walking.  After a centon, both he and
Apollo suddenly stopped and eyed Cassiopeia with puzzled frowns.
     "Cass, is it my imagination or is there something different about
you?" Starbuck asked.
     "Like what?" she coyly smiled as she ran a hand through her hair.
     Apollo snapped his fingers.  "You cut it!"
     "That's right," Sheba said.  "This afternoon, she went over to the
Pathmain where they've got this  beautifier who used to run a shop on
Taura.  She's been talking my ear off all about it ever since she got
back to the Galactica."
     "So what do you think, Starbuck?" his girlfriend continued to run
her hand through her blonde hair, which had always been long and flowed
two inches past her shoulders. Now it was styled in a thick,  short cut
that didn't even reach the top of her shoulders.
     "Well......" Starbuck looked her over, not quite sure what to say. 
"It's.....different. That's for sure."
     "I know," Cassiopeia nodded as they resumed walking.  "I decided
it was time to stop wearing my hair like a socialator.  It just....well
it just didn't seem right anymore." she looked at Starbuck.  "Does it
bother you?"
     "Oh no, no," Starbuck said hastily.  Deep down, he was
disappointed that she'd cut it since he'd always found himself
attracted to women with long hair, ever since he was a child.  But
after all that he'd been through with Cassiopeia, he wasn't about to
make an issue of it.  "Cass, so long as you never do what that
Sagitarian sect does and shave it all off, anyway you do it is fine
with me.  It's just....well I just need to get used to it."
     "Of course," she smiled and nodded.
     "She hasn't done it full justice yet," Sheba put in.  "The next
time she wears one of her formal gowns, that should show it off to its
full effect, right?  Or so the beautifier said."
     "It should," the med-tech admitted.
     "Well if shorter hair's becoming vogue all of a sudden, does that
mean you'll be paying a trip to the beautifier soon, Sheba?" Apollo
grinned.
     "Not a chance!" Sheba retorted with emphasis as she protectively
touched her brown hair that flowed well past her shoulders.  "Not since
the time my mother cut her hair for a play she was doing so she could
look twenty yahrens older for her part.  She got so self-conscious
about the whole thing that she wore a wig for the next three sectars
until it grew back.  I'm not about to risk the same reaction."
     Apollo kept smiling and found himself suppressing the urge to
voice his approval. He still wasn't willing to admit to himself the
feelings locked inside him about Sheba, but he'd long ago reached the
conclusion that her long hair made her a very attractive woman. He
didn't want to draw a picture of her any other way.
     "When it comes to haircuts though," Cassiopeia playfully touched
Starbuck's thick hair that completely covered his ears, "You look as
though you're overdue by at least a sectar."
     "Aw, c'mon Cass.  You want me to go back to one of those buzz cuts
they used to make all male cadets wear at the Academy?"
     "Hmmmm, that would be interesting."
     "You'll never get a chance to find out," Starbuck vowed as they
entered the turbo lift that would take them down to the landing bay. 
When they arrived, the air of jovial camaraderie among them came to an
abrupt halt when they saw Barton and Ortega waiting for the same
shuttle.  An awkward silence set in as the two rival teams eyed each
other with attitudes ranging from cool indifference to outright
hostility.
     Finally, Apollo decided to break the tension as he came up to
Barton and extended his hand.  "Good luck.  No matter what happens,
let's make it a match for the ages."
     "I can agree with that," Barton smiled thinly as he accepted the
offered handshake. "Good luck to you too, Captain.  Let the Lords
dictate the outcome."
     The two of them noticed that Starbuck and Ortega weren't even
making a pretense of pre-match civility.  They both were glaring at
each other with angry expressions indicating their mutual contempt. 
Before anything else could be said, Apollo quickly stepped back
alongside his partner and gently tugged his arm.
     "Look," Barton said, trying to keep the civil air intact.  "What's
say we ride in different compartments of the shuttle?  That way, we can
both discuss game strategy in peace."
     "Fine by me, Barton," Apollo nodded. "You two take the front. 
We'll ride in the back."
     "See you on the court," Barton said as he and the implacably
silent Ortega boarded the shuttle first.
     Five centons later, as the shuttle began its journey from the
Galactica to the Rising Star, Cassiopeia finally decided not to hold
her tongue any longer on a matter that had been bothering her for a
long while.
     "Starbuck," she said, "I know that Ortega is probably the least
likable warrior in the entire Fleet, but why do you always look as
though you're ready to fight him whenever you see him?"
     "Because he keeps asking for it!" Starbuck snapped.  "Tonight he's
finally going to get put in his place."
     "Starbuck," Sheba chided.  "Take it easy."
     "She's right," Apollo was concerned to see Starbuck's temper
rising once again. "For sagan's sake Starbuck, don't let him get to
you."
     The brash warrior waved a hand.  "Ahhh....it's impossible to not
let a guy like him get to you.  He's been a pain in the astrum ever
since the Academy."
     "You knew him at the Academy?" Cassiopeia raised an eyebrow.  "How
could you have known him there when he isn't an officer?"
     "I knew him in cadet orientation," Starbuck said.  "He got thrown
out after three sectans and then enlisted in the Corps."
     "Were you part of the reason why he got thrown out?" Sheba was
amazed by the information.
     "Only a small part," Starbuck said with a wary eye on the
compartment door that led to where Ortega and Barton were sitting.  "On
the first night, Ortega went out of his way to start at least three
fistfights.  Then two sectans later we discovered that he'd been
stealing cubits from the lockers of several cadets to try and cover his
gambling debts in every Caprica City Chancery in sight.  That made
fifteen of us sign a petition for the Commandant demanding he get
kicked out of our group and fast.  Fortunately, he obliged our request. 
Unfortunately, the expulsion didn't prohibit Ortega from joining the
Corps as a regular enlistee."
     "And Ortega gets on your nerves because he still carries a grudge
from that?" Apollo was slightly incredulous.
     Starbuck shrugged, "I dunno.  As far as I know, I'm the only one
who signed that petition who's still alive or on active duty."
     "Don't encourage him by reacting," Apollo's tone grew emphatic. 
"Play him as hard as you can on the triad court and then afterwards,
ignore him.  That is an order, Lieutenant."
     "Right, right," Starbuck waved a hand.  "After tonight, no more
trouble from him. That's a guarantee."


     "Commander Adama and Colonel Tigh!" Assistant Chief Steward Lange
grinned broadly as the commander and executive officer entered the
Empyreal Lounge.  "An honor that you should come here tonight."
     Adama shook hands with Lange and looked up at the Lounge's second
level where it was clear that all the tables were filled.  "It appears
though, that the Colonel and I didn't anticipate the size of the crowd
you'd be having tonight."
     "Not to worry about that, Commander," Lange said as he led the two
up the steps to the second level.   "When you informed me of your
desire to watch the match from here, I made certain that our only
private lounge would be reserved for you."
     They walked past several tables, where each customer stopped to
watch in silent respect as their commander moved past, and then came to
an opening that led into a wellstocked private lounge.  The darkly
paneled room featured a plush, leather couch positioned in front of an
elegant glass table and a medium-sized videocom on the back wall.
     "Although this private lounge doesn't feature our normal vista, it
is most ideal for those who require more private conversation," Lange
motioned them in. "It should serve your purpose quite well, Commander."
     "Thank you, Lange," Adama smiled as he took a seat on the left
side of the couch.
     "I'll have one attendant personally assigned to you until his
shift ends at 2200," Lange then turned around, "Pallan, could you
please come here?"
     As Tigh sat down on the opposite side of the couch, he and Adama
looked back and saw the assistant chief bartender enter.
     "Good evening sirs," he stood at attention.  "It's an honor to be
serving you this evening.  I'll be happy to bring you anything you
need.  Just press the button on the right side of the couch and that'll
turn on the red light over the doorway and bring me in here in a
micron."
     "Thank you, Pallan, " Adama continued to smile.  "You don't need
to stand at attention."
     The bartender smiled and relaxed somewhat. "Would you care for a
drink to start?"
     "Yes, if you have any white Caprican ambrosia from within the last
ten yahrens, that would be most appreciated."
     "Of course.  Colonel?"
     "Ahh......" Tigh took a centon to think about that.  "I think I'll
have some Gemonese ale.  And if it's possible, I'd love a tray of some
of those Skorpian sweetnuts I noticed out there."
     "We've doubled  our supply just for tonight.  I'll have everything
here in two centons."  Pallan bowed again and departed with Lange
trailing him..
     "Well Adama," Tigh said as he settled back in the couch.  "This
should be an enjoyable evening."
     "Indeed," the commander nodded.  "After that whole mess of the
last sectan involving the Nomen and the spare parts theft it's about
time I finally let rank have its privileges for just one evening."
     Tigh nodded.  "And the beauty of it is that we don't seem to have
any new domestic crises looming on the horizon.  The food shortages are
down, industrial production is starting to rise at a steady pace.
Overall morale starting to rise."
     "Yes," Adama admitted.  "All made possible by the fact that the
amount of time since we last saw the Cylons has now reached thirteen
sectans."
     "The one positive legacy of Count Iblis's time here."
     The commander shook his head, "I prefer not to think of it that
way.  If anyone's ultimately responsible for why the Cylons have been
made to stay away, I prefer to think the beings of that Ship of Lights
were responsible."
     "Maybe so," Tigh conceded.  "Tell me Adama, what do you think
those beings really were?"
     Adama smiled.  "Probably the closest thing to God Himself that
mankind is capable of seeing in his present state."
     The executive officer said nothing as Pallan returned with the
drinks.  Tigh had been a religious skeptic for much of his life before
the Holocaust, and had only started moving away from those long-held
beliefs over the last few sectars.  But Adama knew that Tigh was still
a long ways from embracing the principles of the Book of the Word with
the same fervor and conviction that he had known all his adult life. 
And so, the commander tried his best to gently prod his friend in what
he felt was the right direction without coming across as overbearing.
     "Looks like the pre-match coverage is starting," Tigh changed the
subject as he sipped his drink and pointed to the videocom.  "I don't
know how much Apollo has told you about Barton and Ortega, but they're
the only triad team next to Boomer and Castor capable of giving them
some serious competition."
     Adama kept his lips curled up in a faint smile as he settled back
to watch the proceedings begin.


     As soon as the Galactica shuttle had docked with the Rising Star,
Apollo and Starbuck decided to wait several centons for Barton and
Ortega to get off first before they left as well.  When they emerged
through the Docking Ring into the Docking Lounge with Sheba and
Cassiopeia, they saw a familiar face waiting on one of the benches.
     "Chameleon!" Starbuck grinned as he came over with an extended
hand.  "Nice to see you again."
     "It's good to see you too, Starbuck," the elderly man returned it
as he shook hands with the man that only he and Cassiopeia now knew was
his son.  "There's so much talk going on about this match, I can hardly
wait to see the outcome."
     "I hope you made a good wager on us Chameleon, because that would
be the biggest sure thing in the history of wagering."
     Chameleon sighed, "Quite true, I'm sure.  But alas, wagering is
one thing I can no longer engage in, by the edict of my, ahem,
rehabilitator."
     "Ah yes," Apollo had a sly expression on his face.  "And how does
Siress Blassie rank as far as rehabilitators go, Chameleon?"
     He let out a chuckle.   "Well Apollo.....I suppose I am fortunate
that unlike the poor souls on the Prison Barge, my guard does provide
some pleasant distractions from time to time."  
     "Of course," Starbuck grinned.  "Where is the good siress this
evening?"
     "Among Blassie's more redeeming features is her sense of
understanding.  Since I had but one ducat courtesy of Lieutenant
Boomer, she recognized that is was impossible to accompany me." he then
nodded his head toward Cassiopeia and Sheba who were smiling
mischievously.  "And when both Cassiopeia and Sheba mentioned that they
were willing to act as my chaperones for the occasion, that removed all
doubt from her mind."
     "Really," Starbuck eyed the two women with another sly look. 
"Siress Blassie's not worried that you um......" he coyly trailed off.
     "Starbuck," Cassiopeia chided while Sheba suppressed a giggle.
     Chameleon smiled.  "Siress Blassie is also aware of what happens
when one gets to be as advanced in yahrens as I am."
     "Come on partner," Apollo motioned to Starbuck, "Let's get down
and get ready."
     "Make sure your triad uniform's securely fastened," Sheba teased
as they moved off.


     The training room for triad players was a spacious facility filled
with various pieces of exercise equipment, in addition to lockers and
turbowashes for the players.   Because tensions often ran high among
the opposing players before a triad match, the changing and turbowash
areas for each team were kept on different sides of the complex.  As a
result, when Apollo and Starbuck arrived, Ortega and Barton were
completely out of sight on the other side of the room, hidden by a
dividing wall and doorway.
     "I might try something different tonight," Starbuck said as he
removed his uniform tunic and pulled out his triad uniform from his
designated locker.  "Those guys are the only ones who might know how to
figure out the trap strategy."
     "Give it a try at the start, at least," Apollo said as he changed. 
"Except for that one time when Boomer acted like a madman on the court,
no one's ever effectively gotten around it."
     Starbuck nodded, not wanting to comment on that incident when
Boomer's team had won, largely because of the outside role played by
Count Iblis.  "Who've we got as stand-bys for tonight?"
     "Vickers for us, Greenbean for them," Apollo said as he snapped
the shoulder pads into place.  Under the rules of triad, each team was
required to have one player from a lower-ranked triad team act as a
stand-by in the event one was ejected from the match or suffered
serious injury.  It was a rule that in all the sixteen sectans of
organized triad play, had never once been invoked, and usually provoked
more ill-feeling and grumbling from those who were forced to dress in
their triad uniforms and wait for an opportunity that never came.  "But
there's so much riding on this match for them, that I don't think even
Ortega would be dumb enough to risk that."
     His partner's face darkened.  "With him, I'm never sure.  I'd
watch your back, if I were you Apollo.  Barton, I trust.  Him, I
don't."
     "Just remember this," Apollo put a hand on his friend's shoulder. 
"Don't give in to any cheap stunts he might pull.  And don't let him
having some grudge over what happened at the Academy keep getting to
you either."
     "I just wish someone would tell that to him," an edge of
bitterness entered Starbuck's voice.
     "You can't help that," Apollo gently admonished.  "What you can do
is keep making yourself a better person than he'll ever be." he smiled. 
"And that's going to be the key to our winning tonight."
     Starbuck finally allowed himself a smile as he fraternally clapped
his friend's shoulder and they walked out of the training room,
side-by-side, headed for the triad court and the beginning of the
contest.

Chapter Two

     At 2000, the match that thousands of people had eagerly awaited
for a sectan finally started.  Apollo had felt somewhat tense when he
saw Starbuck and Ortega exchange cold glances when their eyes first
met, but it seemed to pass and for the first part of the game, the
match proceeded at a tight, competitive pace.  The Gold Team of Apollo
and Starbuck took an early 2-0 lead, but the Blue Team tightened things
up with a score toward the end of the first period.
     In the IFB booth, Boomer found himself wishing he could have kept
his seat and watched the match without having to hear Zed's pompous
commentary ruining the event for him.
     ".......what a match this is turning out to be!  The intensity,
the passion, the majesty of triad playing in it's purest form has
probably never been seen by any of these spectators before!  And for
this reporter it brings back such fond memories of twenty yahrens ago,
at Caprica City's Maximus Arena when the legendary team of Cassius and
Conn defended their championship title against the spirited challenge
of Frizell and Halefeld!"
     Lords of Kobol have mercy on those forced to watch their
videocoms, Boomer thought.
     "Lieutenant Boomer, at this point as we near the end of the first
half of the match, who do you feel has the momentum at this stage?"
     "Well Zed," Boomer said, "Barton and Ortega have done a brilliant
job of hanging in after they fell behind early.  They've kept the score
low, they've stayed confident and that's what's kept them in a good
position to win.  Most teams when they go against Apollo and Starbuck
usually panic when they fall behind by one or two points early, and as
a result they start pressing too much to even things up again and
before you know it they end up getting routed.  But Barton and Ortega
have the savvy to treat an early one or two point deficit like an even
game, and that could help them in the second half."
     "Apollo has the ball, being guarded against by Barton.  He tries
to put himself into position for a carom shot to Starbuck, who is right
now literally being smothered by Ortega.  And the shot is, tipped and
missed by Starbuck.  Barton recovers, and now Apollo blocks him off! 
That was an effective display of blocking by Ortega."
     The sound of the cheering increased as the buzzer sounded
indicating the end of the first half of play.


     "You okay, Starbuck?" Apollo came over to his partner and managed
to ask over the roar of the crowd.
     The brash warrior was clutching at his side with a look of anger. 
"That fracking snitrod threw a rib block on me on that last play! 
Doesn't that officiator have eyes?"
     "I didn't see a rib block, Starbuck," Apollo said.  "Just keep
playing tough and if he really does pull that stunt again, he won't get
away with it."
     "I'm not so sure," Starbuck retorted acidly as they moved over to
the players exit to drink water and gather their strength during the
three centon rest period between halves.
     "You have to give them credit," Apollo said as he took a long
swallow from his plastic container and looked over at Barton and Ortega
who were getting refreshment further down the corridor that led back to
the Training Room.  "They're giving us a run for the money tonight. 
The way they play, I don't think Boomer and Castor are entitled to be
ranked number two."
     "Boomer and Castor know how to play an honest game."
     Apollo decided not to press the point any longer, especially if it
was only going to make Starbuck more angry than he was.  They finished
their rest period in silence and then waited for the first buzzer
signaling a return to the court.


     "The second half is now underway," Zed lowered his voice so that
it sounded full of tension.  "Two to one, in favor of Apollo and
Starbuck.  The ball drops into play and it's grabbed by Barton.  He
gets the pass off to Ortega, who is instantly smothered by Starbuck. 
It's that trap strategy again that he's noted for!  And, oh what a
beautiful carom shot to Barton who's all alone and it's in for the
score!  The game is tied!  Ortega knew the trap strategy was coming and
got his shot off to his teammate before Starbuck had a chance to put it
into full effect."
     "Very smart playing there, Zed," Boomer was impressed.  "Clearly
Barton and Ortega talked this over during the interlude and finally
seized on the only way I think the trap strategy can be negated.  And
that is with a dead accurate carom shot that only a skilled player has
a chance of receiving."
     For the first part of the second half, the early score remained
the only one, and as the last round began, the game remained
deadlocked.  By this point, almost everyone in the spectator's
galleries were on the edge of their seats, not wanting to miss the
instant when one of the two teams would finally break the tie game. 
All of them sensing that they were getting their money's worth from the
action below. 
     Away from the spectator's gallery, in the quiet surroundings of
the Empyreal Lounge, Adama noticed with amusement how the same air of
tension and excitement was visible on the executive officer's face and
in his hunched posture, as his eyes remained locked on the videocom
monitor.
     The second half was now entering it's final third, and the noise
level from the spectators had reached deafening proportions, as they
watched a ferocious defensive contest unfold below them.  Finally, it
was Starbuck who managed to briefly elude Ortega's guarding and take a
three bounce shot from Apollo that neatly slammed off two walls before
it ended in Starbuck's hands, and he put it into the scoring circle.
     The crowd erupted in a wild roar that would have taxed the
squeamish.  So loud and deafening that it completely obscured the wild
grunt of pain Starbuck let out as he staggered away from the scoring
circle, mere microns after putting the shot in, as he felt the blow of
Ortega's elbow impact viciously against his ribs..
     "Starbuck's shot puts the Gold up three to two!"  Zed exclaimed. 
"The tie is at last broken, and ladies and gentlemen above this
frenzied roar, I don't know if you caught on your monitors what
appeared to happen just after the shot went in.  But it would appear to
this commentator that Ortega clearly rib blocked Starbuck after the
score and the officiator either missed it above the noise of the crowd
reaction, or just didn't see it! Boomer, how would you have called
that?"
     For the first time all evening, Boomer felt impressed by Zed's
power of observation since he had noticed the illegal block as well,
and knew right away that the dislikable Ortega had decided to extract a
personal revenge.
     "Well Zed," he said, knowing that if he came down too hard on
Ortega it could cause complications for keeping him in line during
squadron duty, "I wouldn't like to second guess an officiator, but
Sergeant Ortega is one triad player who likes to play to the limit of
the rules.   Sometimes that can be an asset in making you an aggressive
triad player, but in this case I think he let some frustration set in
over the fact that they've lost the tie game now and he decided to let
some of that frustration out, knowing that he probably could get away
with it."
     As the players gathered in the circle to wait for the ball to drop
into play again, Cassiopeia, Sheba and Chameleon all had their eyes
locked on Starbuck.  They too had seen the rib block and could also see
a furious look on the lieutenant's face as he glared at Ortega with
contempt.
     "I guess it was too good to last," Cassiopeia said with an edge of
concern.  "It looks like they're at it again."
     "Is it always like that when they play each other?" Chameleon
asked, as he recalled the near-brawl that had erupted between the two
of them in the Officers Club.
     "Every time Starbuck plays against Ortega his body ends up looking
like a black and blue Orion Hasher the next morning," the blonde
med-tech looked on as the ball dropped and play resumed.
     "Oh?" Chameleon casually put a hand to his chin in amusement while
Sheba glanced over with a dry, half-smirk.
     Cassiopeia rolled her eyes slightly and didn't bother looking back
at either of them. "As a med-tech, I usually end up having to patch him
up, just like all others who get hurt on the court."
     "Of course," Sheba said with a dry tone to match her expression.
     "Sheba!" she finally looked over and chuckled as she realized the
joke the two of them were having at her expense.
     "Sorry," Sheba grinned, "But from the way things are going, I
guess Starbuck can take care of himself."
     "Maybe," the concerned expression returned to Cassiopeia's face as
she returned her gaze to the triad court, "But if those two keep at it,
they're going to end up killing each other."
     Chameleon found himself uneasily nodding, "You may be right."


     "Some more Gemonese ale, Colonel, and more Caprican white
ambrosia, Commander," Pallan said as he sat two more drinks on the
table in front of Adama and Tigh.  The executive officer was so wrapped
up in the action unfolding on the videocom that he didn't even
acknowledge the bartender.
     Adama glanced at his friend in amusement and then picked up his
glass, "Thank you, Pallan." he smiled, "Your service this evening has
been outstanding."
     "It's been an honor sir," Pallan said.  "Commander, I'm due to go
off duty in five centons, so if there's anything else you and the
colonel need...."
     "No, that'll be all." Adama waved his hand.  "You might as well
relax and enjoy the rest of the match, Pallan.  It seems to be getting
very interested."
     The bartender smiled and bowed deferentially, "Thank you, sir." he
said and left the private room.
     "What did I tell you, Adama?" Tigh's voice had the eagerness of a
child about to devour a plate full of mushies.  "This game's everything
they said it would be!"
     "Indeed," Adama noted dryly as he sipped his drink, feeling slight
distaste over the rib-blocking that hadn't been called, "This Ortega,
does he always play this way?"
     "He's a very aggressive type," the executive officer was shaking
his fist in excitement as he watched the action resume, "Hates to
lose."
     "Hmmm," Adama pursed his lips slightly, "An attitude like that is
supposed to be an asset in a viper.  Yet if memory serves me right,
Ortega's bounced around from one squadron to another over the last few
sectars."
     "Not because of anything that happens in battle or on patrol,"
Tigh kept watching the videocom, "From what I hear, it has more to do
with how he behaves off-duty."
     "Ah," the commander nodded as he understood.  He then glanced back
at Tigh, who seemed on the verge of rising from his seat and pacing up
and down in front of the video-com as he had done just before the first
half had ended.  Adama wondered if Tigh wasn't taking the game a little
too seriously.  While he had always enjoyed watching triad matches on
occasion, especially when it was his son who was playing, Adama never
could understand the passion some people had for watching and following
the game.  To Adama, triad was to be watched with clinical detachment,
and seen as an interesting test of how trained warriors could show off
their physical and judgmental skills.  The actual competition between
teams was purely secondary in the final analysis to him.  It certainly
wasn't worth expending the kind of emotional energy similar to going
through a catharsis treatment, as far as Adama was concerned.  Yet he
knew all too well that he was probably the only person in the Fleet
watching at this very micron who felt that way.
     "Do you wish you'd watched things from the gallery?" he inquired
with a half-smile.
     "What?" Tigh abruptly turned toward him and then blushed slightly. 
"Oh.  No, not at all Adama.  This was the perfect set-up.  No crowds in
our faces.  Comfortable seats."
     "Good ambrosia," he held up his glass and lightly rolled the
contents back and forth.
     "Good conversation and company too, Adama," Tigh said, feeling
slightly guilty that he hadn't shown enough appreciation to his friend
for arranging the set-up, earlier in the evening.  "Thank you."
     Adama smiled and the two friends clinked their glasses together.  


     "The commander says he doesn't need anything else," Pallan said as
he set his empty tray down.
     "Okay," Lange said, "As of now, you're off-duty Pallan.  Thanks
for stepping in."
     "Always a pleasure," the assistant chief bartender smiled and took
an empty seat closest to one of the Empyreal Lounge's video-com
monitors, where Zed's commentary was playing at the half-volume level.
     "What's happening?" Pallan idly inquired of a middle-aged male
customer in a gray tunic.
     "Apollo and Starbuck just got the lead back.  I'm telling you,
that Ortega is really living dangerously."
     "Is he?" Pallan idly glanced at his chronometer.  It read 2156. 
If Ortega was going to deliver on what he'd promised to do, there
wasn't much time left.  The window of opportunity had just begun.
     "Look at that!" another patron suddenly bolted up, "Ortega's in
the open!  It's gonna be tied up again!"
     Their eyes went back to the monitor and saw Starbuck scrambling
alongside Ortega just as the curly-haired sergeant deposited the ball
in the scoring circle.  Two male customers in the Lounge that had
wagers on Ortega and Barton let out happy whoops that the game was tied
again.  And then, the happy sounds stuck in their throats just one
micron later when they saw what happened next.
     "What the frack!" one of the customers shouted.  "He socked him
right between the eyes after the score!  What is that guy thinking?"
     "He just gave them a free shot!" another customer who'd been
excited by the score now sounded glum as well, "Talk about snatching
defeat from the jaws of victory."
     "Quiet!" another patron said brusquely as everyone leaned forward
to hear what Zed was saying. 
     "....what a disgraceful display by Ortega,"  the commentator
didn't bother hiding his disdain and disgust.  "At the most critical
centon of the match, he ties the game up and then that illegal blow to
Starbuck all but negates it. Let's now listen to the officiator's
ruling."
     A micron later the voice of the officiator, who watched the
proceedings from an enclosed area above the center section of the
gallery filled the air.
     "Ortega.  Unnecessary blocking after the score. Starbuck, free
shot."
     "As we wait for the free shot, which almost certainly will give
the lead back to Apollo and Starbuck, I should note Boomer that that
time, Ortega clearly didn't try to hide the infraction, as he seemed to
do last time."
     "Very unusual, Zed," even Boomer was baffled that Ortega could
have done something that foolish.  "I've never seen anything like that
before.  That is not the mark of a smart triad player.  But I guarantee
you that one more penalty like that is going to put him out of the
game."
     Pallan put a hand up to his chin to hid the smirk that had come
over his face.  All the tension inside him was gone now.  Things were
definitely proceeding according to plan.


     As Apollo lined up alongside Barton to wait for Starbuck's free
throw at the scoring circle, he gave the sergeant a cold stare, "Your
friend's really asking for it, you know that?"
     "What friend?" Barton didn't conceal the disgust in his voice.  "I
fly with him because we're assigned together, and I play with him
because he likes to win.  At least until now, I thought he liked to
win."
     They watched as Starbuck made the easy, unobstructed toss into the
scoring circle that gave the lead back to the Gold team.  Starbuck
grinned and pumped his fists into the air, wishing he could have made
an obscene gesture at Ortega.
     The two teams gathered in the circle again as the ball dropped
into play.  The four players found themselves in a mad scramble in one
of the arena's three corners before Apollo finally got to the ball.  He
allowed Barton to cover him for a centon while he waited for Starbuck
to get into position.  With the game now in its late stages and their
team up by only one, Apollo and Starbuck's game plan called for a quick
score to take advantage of the desperation that would undoubtedly start
to set in with their opponents. It was a psychological reading of the
opposition that had always helped them put a close game out of reach at
the very end.
     Apollo saw Starbuck all alone and he almost frowned when he saw
Ortega hanging so far away from him, which was anything but normal
defensive strategy.  He fired the ball over and Starbuck had time to
make another quick, easy score.
     As Starbuck jumped up to slam the ball into the circle, Apollo
then saw Ortega charging at his teammate and he realized right away
what the curly-haired sergeant had in mind.  Sure enough, an instant
after the ball went in for the score, Ortega crashed into Starbuck's
mid-section like an out-of-control beast.  Since Starbuck's back was to
Ortega at the time, the lieutenant had no warning whatsoever and he
staggered visibly in pain, almost collapsing to the floor.
     Right away, Apollo knew that for a man of Starbuck's temperament
this would be the final straw.  He alertly dashed over to his friend,
helped him to his feet and tried to shout a warning in his ear above
the roar and boos of the crowd.  But Starbuck seemed totally oblivious
to Apollo as a look of pure hate came over his face.  He shook himself
loose from Apollo and charged after Ortega, delivering a body blow to
him from behind that knocked the curly-haired sergeant off his legs and
sent him crashing to the floor.
     In the gallery, Cassiopeia, Sheba and Chameleon all felt their
jaws open in horror as they saw that Starbuck wasn't through.  He
dropped his knee down on Ortega's chest and grabbed him by the throat
with one hand while using the other to punch him across the face.
     Apollo scrambled over to pull Starbuck away, while Barton grabbed
Ortega's shoulders to try and pull him out from under Starbuck's knee. 
Starbuck managed to punch Ortega once again in the face while the
sergeant struck a blow on the side of Starbuck's head before Apollo
finally managed to pull him away.
     "Get your head out of your astrum, Starbuck!" Apollo shouted as he
got him to his feet and kept his arms locked around his seething
friend.  At the other end, Barton had helped Ortega to his feet and
gave him a look that all but indicated a desire to punch him as well.
     Finally, the sound of the officiator's buzzer rang through the
gallery.
     "Ortega.  Rib blocking after the score.  Out of the game." the
officiator's voice was firm and totally dispassionate.
     "Serves you right, you lousy Sagitarian snake!" Starbuck spat as
Ortega somewhat passively moved toward the exit, while a chorus of boos
went up from the gallery, from both those who were disgusted by the
sergeant's dirty playing and those who'd bet on the Blue Team and now
realized that their money was as good as gone now.
     The officiator's buzzer then sounded again, indicating that he had
another ruling to make.  Starbuck looked up at the enclosed booth where
the gray-tuniced officiator sat and wondered why he would need to say
anything else at this point.
     "Starbuck.  Fighting.  Out of the game."
     "What?!" Starbuck whipped off his helmet and seemed ready to throw
it at the officiator's booth, when he felt Apollo grab his wrist.
     "Don't act so shocked!" he jabbed a finger toward his face, "You
know what the rules say about that kind of felgercarb.  I warned you,
Starbuck.  I warned you, and you let him get to you anyway!  Now you
take a turbowash and cool off!"
     Starbuck barely acknowledged him as he started moving toward the
exit.  He was still seething with more venom than Apollo could remember
at any time in all the yahrens he'd known Starbuck.
     The last thing Apollo heard as Starbuck moved away, was one low,
angry sentence.
     "I'll kill him.  I'll kill that lousy snitrod!"


     As Starbuck disappeared from view, Cassiopeia promptly got up from
her seat, "I've got to talk him now.  I've seen that look before on his
face, and it only means more trouble if I don't get there fast."
     "Cassie, do you want me to go and help?" the concerned look on
Chameleon's face had intensified.
     "No," she shook her head, "I think I'd better handle this myself
Chameleon, but..." she knelt down and squeezed his hand, "But I'm glad
you're concerned.  Really glad."
     Chameleon slowly nodded in silent understanding.  "Take care of
him, Cassie."
     As she left the gallery, Chameleon leaned back in his chair and
marveled again at how Cassiopeia reminded him so much of Gabriella. 
Only this time, Cassiopeia had demonstrated that side of her that could
rein Starbuck in from his worst behavior, just like Gabriella had done
with him when she'd given him the happiest yahrens of his life.
     Son, he thought to himself, if there's one part of me I hope
you've inherited above all others, I hope it's the part that knows how
to listen to the advice of the woman who's right for you.
     "Chameleon?" Sheba tapped his shoulder.
     "Oh!  Yes?" he looked over, slightly startled.
     "Are you okay?  You seemed like a million light yahrens away just
now."
     "Oh.....just thinking about Starbuck.  I....well I don't want him
to make matters worse."
     "You still feel attached to him, don't you?" she smiled faintly.
     In more ways then you'll probably ever know, he thought.  "I
suppose so."
     "He could probably use some fatherly advice for next time," she
leaned back and watched as the two designated substitutes entered the
triad court.  Sergeant Vickers to replace Starbuck, and Lieutenant
Greenbean to replace Ortega.  As soon as they entered, half of the
disgusted spectators got up and made their way for the exits.  Watching
a game with substitutes didn't amount to getting one's money's worth in
most people's eyes.
     "Well, I may try to slip in a word or two to him before the night
is out," Chameleon said as the buzzer sounded to indicate a resumption
of play.  "As fascinating as this game is, it's not worth paying a
steep price over."



     When Chella got off-duty from his work in the Chancery at 2130, he
had gone next door to the Astral Lounge to watch the match on the giant
video-com screen that had been set up.  Trying to figure out the reason
behind Ortega's enigmatic telecom message earlier in the day that told
him to be in the training room at a time when the match clearly
wouldn't be over.
     When he and the rest of the unruly crowd saw the first illegal rib
block, he finally realized that Ortega was setting himself up to get
thrown out of the game.   And that meant that whatever it was Ortega
wanted to talk to him about, it could only be about something very
serious to him, if he was willing to throw away his reputation as a
triad player to do it.
     For a brief instant, he wondered if he ought to not show up.  He
didn't know at this point if he could handle more blackmail demands
from the curly-haired sergeant who'd had him in his hip pocket ever
since their paths had first crossed long ago on that terrible night
when the Colonies were evacuated.   Maybe the time had finally come to
tell Ortega to take his demands and stuff them up his astrum.  Even if
it meant exposure of his own sin, he wasn't sure it would mean as harsh
a punishment for him as he'd always feared it might.  Maybe he could
find a sympathetic opposer who would understand the situation he'd been
in as Caprica crumbled around him in a sea of Cylon fire, and why he
had acted as he had in the name of survival.  Even if it meant the
Prison Barge for him, a part of Chella wondered if that would
ultimately be a small price to pay in the name of emotional catharsis.
     When he saw the double ejection of Ortega and Starbuck, he
remained the only person in the Astral Lounge who wasn't shouting
profane epithets or throwing snack objects at the video screen. 
Instead, he calmly glanced at his chronometer and saw that his
appointment was now ten centons away.
     He decided that he would show up on-time.  And no matter what
Ortega asked of him, Chella already knew what the answer was going to
be.


     "This commentator has covered triad matches for the better part of
thirty yahrens now, ladies and gentlemen, and I can say quite candidly
that I have never seen a more disgraceful scene than what just
transpired.  What had been up to a few centons ago the most exciting
match any of us had seen in yahrens has now degenerated into a total
farce. What Sergeant Ortega and Lieutenant Starbuck have done this
evening does not represent what the game of triad  is supposed to be
about, and I sincerely hope that some action among the organizers of
this league is taken to see to it that nothing remotely resembling this
disgraceful scene ever takes place again."
     "Ah, shut up Zed!" one of the patrons in the Empyreal Lounge got
up and headed for the staircase that led down to the first level exit.
     For almost a centon, Pallan sat in his seat totally frozen with
his hand under his chin.  His master plan that had been proceeding so
smoothly had now been disrupted by a factor that he had foolishly
failed to consider beforehand.  That Starbuck would react to Ortega's
illegal blocks and get thrown out of the game as well.
     That meant that when he went down to the training room to do what
needed to be done, Starbuck was either going to be in the next training
room or leaving the area.  Either way, Starbuck was going to be in a
position to place Pallan at the scene of the crime and make him a prime
suspect.
     Damn, he pounded his fist against the side of his chair.  It had
all been meticulously conceived down to the last detail.  Ortega would
be alone in the training room waiting for him.  He would kill Ortega. 
And then, Chella would arrive at 2210 for the appointment he thought
was with Ortega, only to become Pallan's second victim of the night. 
Killed and then left in a position so that when the bodies were
discovered it would look as if Ortega and Chella had killed each other
in a struggle.
     Now, that plan was out the window completely thanks to Starbuck's
presence. But he also knew that he could not call off the killing of
Ortega.  Events had moved too far ahead now.  And with Chella due to
arrive at 2210, he could not run the risk of what would happen to him
if Chella got to talk to Ortega.
     He needed to formulate a new plan, and fast.  He had to start
moving for the training room now and have it in place by the time he
arrived.
     "Hey Pallan, going to stick around for the finish?"  Lange asked
as he saw the assistant chief bartender reach the exit. 
     "No," Pallan shook his head, "Doesn't look like much of a game
anyway now that they're both out.  See you tomorrow, Lange."
     "Good night, Pallan."


     "I want a word with you!" Starbuck shouted as he entered the
corridor that led to the training rooms.
     Ortega, who was halfway down the corridor stopped and turned
around with a contemptuous look.  The last thing he was in the mood for
was conversation with Starbuck, especially since the warrior's presence
undoubtedly would cause complications when Pallan arrived.
     "You want something?" he inquired coldly.
     "You're fracking right I do!" Starbuck marched up to him so that
the two were only inches apart.  "Just let me have one centon alone
with you and let's settle ten yahrens worth of felgercarb right here
and now!"
     Ortega suddenly raised both of his arms with clenched fists, "Well
if that's the way you want it, you lousy piece of daggit waste, I'm
more than happy to oblige!"
     The two of them had begun to swing at each other when Cassiopeia
entered the corridor and dashed up to them.
     "Stop it!" the med-tech shouted with more authority than she'd
ever summoned at any time in her life, "Both of you!"
     "Stay out of this!" Starbuck glared angrily at her.
     "Why?  So you two can bash each other's heads in?" she held her
ground.
     "I said stay out of this!!" the level of his shout rose.
     "Starbuck, if either of you lay a hand on each other, I'll
personally put you both on report!"
     "You don't carry any authority over warriors!" Ortega jumped in.
     Cassiopeia spun around and gave the curly-haired sergeant an
equally cold stare, "You ought to read the manual again, Sergeant. 
Med-techs have the authority to file reports with the superior officer
of any warrior with regard to their conduct.   I can have you both
grounded for at least a sectan."
     "You wouldn't do that," Starbuck was still breathing heavily,
keeping his hate-filled gaze on Ortega.
     "Try me!" Cassiopeia retorted.
     Ortega suddenly started to laugh malevolently, "Looks like you got
your woman to bail you out just when you needed her, Starbuck.  We'll
finish this another time when you haven't got her around to lead you by
the hand."
     He then turned and disappeared into the training room for the blue
team.  For a centon, Starbuck stood there, trembling with rage.
     "You only delayed the inevitable," he finally forced his words
out.
     "Starbuck, will you act your age?" for the first time, she felt
totally disgusted with her boyfriend, "Just stay away from him!"
     "You're asking a lot," he took another heavy breath.
     "Yeah, and that's not all I'm asking," her voice grew colder, "The
Canaris leaves in ten centons for the Galactica.  I'm going to wait for
you in the Docking Lounge and I expect you to be on time to catch it. 
Because if you're not there, then don't try and see me later, or even
for the next sectan for that matter."
     "Come on Cass!" he protested as she started to walk away, "That's
hardly enough time to turbowash and dress!"
     "Or fight!" she shot back as she rounded the corner and
disappeared.
     Starbuck let out another exasperated breath and finally moved down
the corridor toward the door that led to the gold team's training room.


     As soon as he heard the sound of the door close, Pallan finally
stuck his head around the corridor and looked.  There was no one else
there.  To his relief, Cassiopeia had made her exit by going in the
opposite direction from where he'd been lying in wait.
     In the three centons that it had taken for him to walk from the
Empyreal Lounge to the lower levels of the Rising Star, he had formed a
new plan that would factor in Starbuck's presence.  But it all hinged
on just one lucky break that he would need if it had any chance of
succeeding. 
     He hurriedly sprinted down the empty corridor and entered the door
to the gold team's training room.  When he was inside, he could hear
Starbuck cursing aloud and he felt an edge of panic enter his body.  If
Starbuck saw him, then it would all be over.
     But when he heard the sound of loud jets of water turning on, the
panic faded as he realized that the warrior was already inside the
adjacent turbowash facility.  That meant he still had a chance.
     Now, he needed to see if he would get the lucky break that he
desperately needed. He stealthily made his way over to the lockers
where he could see Starbuck's uniform already laid out on the bench and
his discarded triad uniform lying in a pile on the floor. Starbuck's
locker was wide open.   And hanging inside on the hook was his weapons
pack and laser pistol.
     Pallan broke into a relieved grin.  The lucky break he needed to
make this hastily improvised plan work had happened.  Starbuck had left
his pistol out in the open and had just insured that he, instead of
Chella, would become the perfect fall-guy.
     The bartender gingerly lifted the pistol off the hook and deftly
clicked it to the kill setting.  Holding it by his side, he made his
exit from the training room by walking on the tips of his boots.
     For a centon, he stood in front of the door to the Blue Team's
training room with the pistol in a raised position.  Ready to step
inside the instant he heard any approaching footsteps.  But he knew
that his best chance to achieve the element of surprise was to kill
Ortega the instant the door opened so he could then return the pistol
and get out of the area more quickly.  He would give himself that
chance so long as the corridor remained deserted.
     Finally, he heard the whoosh of the door as it began to slide
open.  Instantly, Pallan raised the pistol and cocked his finger on the
trigger.  When the door opened, a fully-dressed Ortega found himself
staring right into the barrel.
     The sergeant stared at Pallan for an instant and then smirked
faintly, "I always knew it would come to this."
     Ortega started to whip out his pistol, but Pallan already knew
that the sergeant never would have enough time to get off a shot.  The
bartender didn't bat an eyelash as he calmly pulled the trigger.     
Instantly, Ortega crumpled to the floor, his body protruding halfway
out the door, his hand still grasping his pistol.  
     "Sorry Sergeant," Pallan said with a taunting smirk, "I decided
you were entitled to something other than a last payment."
     He then dashed down and entered the Gold Team's training room
where he could still hear the sounds of the turbo wash jets at full
speed.  That meant that Starbuck was obliging him in every way right
down to the last detail.  He hurried over to Starbuck's locker,
carefully wiped the laser pistol and set it back in the weapons pack on
the inside locker hook.   As soon as it was in place, he heard the
turbo wash shut off and the sound of footsteps hitting the wet floor
inside.  He knew that he had less than ten microns to get out of the
room before Starbuck would enter and see him. 
     When Starbuck entered the room, he had no way of knowing that the
door to the corridor had closed shut a fraction of an instant before.


     In the Docking Lounge, Cassiopeia sat on the bench, idly glancing
at her chronometer and at the monitor that showed the closing microns
of the match.  Already, a crowd of disgruntled spectators who had left
at the time of the double ejection had gathered, anxious to catch the
Canaris as well when it left in five centons.
     ".....And there goes the final buzzer, and this game that for so
long this evening represented everything it promised to be and then
degenerated into an absolute farce,  is finally over.  The Gold Team
wins by a final score of six to four.   Lieutenant Boomer, since this
is the first time a triad game has finished with designated substitutes
on both teams, could you please explain for the audience how the league
scoring is affected?"
     "Well Zed, ordinarily this would mean four points in the standings
for the winning team, in this case Apollo and Starbuck.  However,
because one of the two was ejected for a rules infraction, as opposed
to leaving for an injury, two of the winning points are deducted, and
the balance is awarded to the team which the designated substitute
plays for.  If anyone's the real winner tonight, it's Sergeant Vickers
of the number seven ranked team, since as Lieutenant Starbuck's
substitute, he gets to pick up two free winning points for his own
team, which has played poorly in the last few games.  In addition, one
point is awarded to Lieutenant Greenbean's team because he came on for
Sergeant Ortega."
     "And because the substitutes and their teams are the only
beneficiaries of an ejection, that's one reason why up until tonight,
the players in this league have always been so careful not to let
anything like what happened tonight take place.  Again, we just can't
understate how unfortunate it is to the spectators, to the viewers
watching, and to the organizers of the league itself how absolutely
disgraceful the performances of both Starbuck and Ortega were this
evening."
     Cassiopeia rolled her eyes slightly and glanced at her chronometer
again.  He only had four centons, and if he didn't make it she was
determined to leave without him.
     "Attention.  Attention," the feminine voice that made all
announcements about arrivals and departures filled the Docking Lounge. 
"The shuttle Canaris reports they will be delayed ten centons in their
arrival.  We apologize for the delay."
     For only a brief instant, Cassiopeia felt disappointed to realize
that Starbuck was going to make it no matter what.  She almost felt it
would have served his ego right to go through the sting of seeing her
leave him behind after what he had pulled on the triad court.  Gambling
and carousing were vices she could be tolerant of to an extent.  The
way he'd behaved tonight represented a side of Starbuck that she'd
never been exposed to before and had no intention of tolerating ever,
if they were going to continue in a meaningful relationship.
     He still has a lot to learn, she sighed as she got up from the
bench and began to idly pace.


     Chella felt his heart pumping slightly as he left the Astral
Lounge and took the lift down to the lower decks that led to the
training rooms.  Inside, he felt he had summoned the nerve to tell
Ortega to go to Hades if the sergeant planned on making more demands.
What he wasn't sure about, was how Ortega would react and what the
curly-haired sergeant might do, especially since he was bound to be in
a bad frame of mind already for making a fool of himself on the triad
court.
     He stepped out of the lift and had walked five steps down the
corridor when he saw a slightly disheveled Starbuck dashing wildly from
around the corner, heading in the direction of the lift.  The warrior
clearly didn't see the rotund dealer at first as he collided with him.
     "Hey watch it, Starbuck!" a surprised Chella exclaimed.
     Starbuck said nothing as he pushed him aside and made a mad sprint
for the empty turbo lift.  Totally befuddled, Chella watched him make
it inside just as the doors closed shut.
     That's two crazy triad players, the dealer shook his head as he
resumed walking.  When he rounded the corner, he frowned again when he
saw the door to the Blue Team training room half-opening and
half-closing as though there were some kind of obstruction in the
doorway.  But as far as he could tell at first glance, there was
nothing to be seen.
     Chella came to a stop in front of the door and looked down. His
jaw then fell open in stunned disbelief as he saw the lifeless eyes of
Ortega staring up at him, his had still forlornly clasping his laser
pistol.
     "Holy Frack."
     

     Pallan stepped off the turbo lift that had taken him back to the
Main Deck of the Rising Star, and nonchalantly wandered over to the
Astral Lounge entrance, where Zeibert stood at his station. 
     "Your pass sir?" the white-haired, mustachioed Chief Steward
inquired in that smooth, polite tone of voice.
     Pallan flashed his special badge.  As a Rising Star employee, he
was entitled to free access to all leisure areas of the ship.
     "Ah, my apologies Pallan," Zeibert blushed slightly, since he knew
the bartender from his regular visits to the Empyreal Lounge.  "It's
been such a busy evening, I didn't recognize you at first."
     "Lot of business?" he casually inquired.
     "Much," the Chief Steward sighed, "But when that ejection took
place, it put them all in a very unpleasant mood.  The sanitation
detail crews will need an extra centar cleaning up the mess they made."
     "Fortunately, the Empyreal Lounge patrons are better behaved,"
Pallan chuckled lightly.
     "Indeed," Zeibert nodded.  "I may tell Lange some day that we
ought to switch oversight responsibilities for a few sectans as an
experiment."
     "I won't tell him you said that," Pallan laughed as he entered the
Lounge.  "Talk to you later."
     Pallan went over to the bar area, ordered his favorite brand of
Piscean ale, and as soon as it arrived he half-raised his glass in a
mocking toast to the memory of Ortega.
     Rest in peace, Sergeant Ortega, he said to himself and smirked. 
May everything you know be scattered out into space along with your
ashes.
     Then, he raised it high and gave a silent toast to himself for his
ingenuity and drank.  

Chapter Three

     "Not a very auspicious ending," Adama dryly noted as he and Tigh
rose from their seats in the Empyreal Lounge private suite.
     "You're right," much of Tigh's earlier enthusiasm was gone as he
went over and shut the monitor off.  "Watching a game as good as that
was, end with a double ejection and substitutes is like discovering the
sweetcake you've been eating has gone stale."
     Adama decided not to comment on his friend's distasteful analogy.
"We might as well see if there's time to catch the next shuttle."
     They stepped outside back into the main lounge, just in time to
see Lange and two black uniformed guards from Council Security come up
to them.
     "Commander, something very serious has just happened.  You'd
better accompany us," one of the guards said gravely.
     "What's happened?" Adama frowned.
     "Sergeant Ortega has been found dead, sir."
     "Dead?" both Adama's and Tigh's eyes widened in shock.
     "Yes sir," the lead guard nodded, "And from the looks of it, he
appears to have been murdered."
     "Murdered," Tigh could barely force the word out.   Throughout the
long history of the thousand yahren war between human and Cylon, no
concept had come to be regarded as more distasteful and repulsive in
Colonial society than the taking of another human life.  So ingrained
was the concept that it had even led to the controversial decision by
the Council of the Twelve to formally suspend all forms of capital
punishment in each of the twelve worlds one hundred yahrens before
(initially, the idea was to permanently outlaw it, but when the idea
ran into stiff opposition, it was then agreed that the Council could
vote in special circumstances to restore it some time in the future and
that no decision would ever be made to permanently outlaw it).
     "Where is he?" Adama inquired, trying to assume a stoic
expression.
     "Down by the training room, sir."
     The commander and executive officer then left the lounge at a
brisk walking pace.


     Cassiopeia was still pacing in front of the Docking Lounge bench
when she saw Starbuck enter the area, his head wet and his uniform
showing signs of being hastily thrown on.
     "You're on time," she came up to him, "The Canaris isn't.  They
just announced it would be delayed a few centons."
     Starbuck impatiently checked his chronometer, "I hope it won't be
long.  The sooner I get out of here, the better." he then glanced back
over his shoulder.
     She frowned slightly, "Are you worrying about something?"
     "I guess so," he sighed, "The sooner I get off this ship, the less
chance I have of running into Ortega again.   At least for tonight. 
And the way I feel right now---" he clenched his fist angrily and
trailed off.
     She grabbed his fist and gently pried it open, "Don't," she said
firmly, "You know you're better than he is, and the thing that usually
keeps you that way is that you never play to his level.  If you don't
keep remembering that, then it's just going to get worse."
     Starbuck absently turned around and looked back again, "The only
way it'll ever get better is when he just disappears forever."


     When Adama and Tigh arrived in the corridor outside the training
rooms, they saw the four players,  Apollo, Barton, Greenbean and
Vickers still in their triad uniforms standing in front of the body in
stunned shock.  Sheba had also arrived and was standing off to one
side, equally stunned.  On the other side of the group, Chella had his
arms folded as he tried not to let any emotion line his face.
     Adama turned to the guards, "Seal off the corridor and don't let
anyone else in until I've left the area."
     The guards nodded and disappeared around the corner.  Adama and
Tigh moved up to the group of four, each of them staring down at the
lifeless corpse on the floor.
     "I came down here when the game was over to meet Apollo," Sheba
said.  "And I got here_" she trailed off and shook her head.
     "Let's have a look," Tigh knelt beside the corpse and made a
preliminary examination. He gently raised the folds of Ortega's uniform
jacket at the collar and stared underneath.  The blackened scar across
his tunic was all he needed to see.
     The executive officer then carefully pried the laser pistol out of
the dead sergeant's hand, which was still warm.  "One laser blast to
the heart," he said simply.
     "He must have been dead before he started to fall," Adama noted.
     Tigh carefully inspected the laser, "Ortega's laser hasn't been
fired.  He must have been taken by surprise when the door opened.  The
killer was probably waiting outside for him and fired right away."
     "I'd agree with that analysis," Adama then looked over the group
of seven people gathered in the corridor, "Who discovered the body?"
     "I did," Chella stepped forward, his arms still folded.
     "What's your name?"
     "Chella," he said, his tone completely neutral.
     "What were you doing here?" Adama inquired.
     "I work in the Chancery," he said.  "When I got off shift and saw
what happened on the monitors with the ejections and saw all the people
leaving, I thought I might get a chance to see the last few centons of
the game from a vacant seat in the galleries."  He had carefully
rehearsed that lie in his mind for the last five centons, and hoped it
sounded as convincing as he'd led himself to believe.
     "Did you see anyone else down here?"
     "Yes sir," Chella nodded, "Starbuck."
     "Starbuck?" Apollo suddenly interjected as he and Sheba went
ashen.
     "Yes," the dealer went on. "When I got off the lift, he came from
this corridor and practically knocked me over.  Didn't say a word to me
and just got on the turbo lift.  I couldn't figure out why he was in
such a hurry_" he then purposefully trailed off.
     Adama didn't change his expression as he glanced over at Tigh,
"Colonel, find Starbuck and run a routine check on his laser."
     "Father," a stunned Apollo came over to him, "You can't possibly
believe that Starbuck did this?"
     Adama knew all too well what his son was feeling.  He could even
feel the same emotions running inside himself as well.  But his
position as Commander dictated running things exactly by-the-book with
no hint of any personal feelings or considerations visible at any time.
     "Apollo," he said in the same neutral tone of voice, "What I think
isn't important. Everyone who watched that game saw what was going on
between Starbuck and Ortega, and Starbuck was seen running away from
here.  Under those circumstances, the sooner Starbuck's laser is
checked, the sooner he can be cleared."
     His son swallowed uneasily and nodded, "You're right.  But let me
look for him. I'll run the check."
     Adama nodded and turned to Tigh, "Colonel, Captain Apollo will
find Starbuck."
     "Count me in, sir," Sheba spoke up.
     "Permission granted."
     Apollo moved off down the corridor, while Sheba stepped through
the group of onlookers to follow him.  She ended up bumping into Chella
as she reached the end of the group.
     "Sorry," the dealer said apologetically.
     "It's okay," she said and then looked into his face for the first
time.  She had been so stunned seeing Ortega's body that she hadn't
given the dealer much notice before.  For an instant, she frowned
slightly before moving on to catch up with Apollo, who was waiting in
front of the turbo lift doors.
     "Thank the Lords, I told Chameleon to wait for us in the Empyreal
Lounge after the game," she said, "To think that something like this
could happen." she shuddered.
     "I know," Apollo grimly nodded.  "Boy, will I feel better when we
get this check over and get Starbuck's name crossed off the list of
suspects."
     "That goes for me too," she said and glanced back down the
corridor where she could see Chella standing with his back to her.
     "Something else bothering you?" he inquired.
     "No," Sheba shook her head, "That man who found the body.  He's
got a face that looks familiar to me but I can't place it."
     "That happens with a lot of people," he impatiently glanced at the
closed doors, "Come on, you fracking piece of felgercarb, open up!"
     A centon later, the doors opened and the two warriors stepped
inside and rode it up to the Main Deck.  They first went over to the
Empyreal Lounge entrance, where Sheba stepped inside for a word with
Lange.  As Apollo waited outside in the corridor, he started to tap his
foot over and over.
     Finally, Sheba emerged and shook her head, "Not here," she said,
"And I noticed that Chameleon is still waiting for us.  I'm not about
to tell him a word about this until we get this business with Starbuck
done with."
     "Agreed," Apollo nodded, "Where do we go next?"
     Before Sheba answered, the overhead feminine voice filled the
corridor, "Attention.  Shuttle Canaris now ready for general boarding
in the Docking Lounge."
     "Let's try there," Apollo said as they moved on.


     "You're being awfully quiet," Cassiopeia noted as the crowds that
had gathered in the Docking Lounge began to move toward the ring,
waiting for the light to go from red to green.
     "Sorry," Starbuck sighed, "I guess my mind is still back in the
game.  Getting thrown out cost our team at least two points."
     "Your team is still number one, and way ahead of everyone else, so
why worry about it?" she decided to change her approach and cheer him
up instead. "Maybe I can take your mind off all that when we get back
to the Galactica." her voice grew coy and suggestive as she kissed him
on the cheek.
     The lights turned green and the crowd started to move through the
docking ring. Starbuck and Cassiopeia joined the throng as well when
they suddenly heard Apollo's voice calling out from the other side of
the room, "Starbuck!"
     Starbuck and Cassiopeia turned around and saw Apollo push his way
through the crowd toward him.  Sheba was right behind him.
     Starbuck stepped out of the line and smiled wryly when he saw his
friend still wearing his triad uniform.  "Don't tell me," he said, "We
won.  Or at least you and Vickers did and earned all the points."
     Apollo decided to come straight to the point, "Ortega's been
killed," he said gravely.
     The blonde warrior's face twisted slightly, "What?"
     "How did it happen?" Cassiopeia's eyes widened in shock.
     "A laser," Sheba said, equally grave.
     "Starbuck, someone saw you running from the scene," Apollo was
determined not to mince words with his friend.
     "Well yeah, I was running to get up here and catch the shuttle_"
he trailed off as it finally sunk in, "Oh come on, you don't actually
think I had anything to do with it!" he indignantly raised his voice.
     "Of course not, Starbuck, but the Commander's ordered that your
laser be checked as a precaution or else it's going to look like he's
playing favorites.  This is strictly by-the-book!" Apollo emphasized.
     "It'd be the same for me or Apollo or anyone else," Sheba added. 
"Starbuck, let Apollo check it and we can keep a lot of felgercarb
speculation from breaking out."
     "Oh, come on!" Starbuck still seemed indignant.
     "Starbuck, they're right," Cassiopeia nudged him, finding it hard
to come to terms with what was happening.  "Give it to him and get it
over with."
     Starbuck rolled his eyes and gazed skywards as he detached his
laser and handed it to Apollo, "I don't believe this!"
     Apollo looked at the setting and the indicator and almost felt his
heart stop when he saw what he saw.  He stared at it for a micron,
unable to move.
     "Apollo?" Sheba frowned.
     "Neither do I ," Apollo could barely bring himself to look at his
friend, "It's been fired."
     The weight of Apollo's words kept the others from saying anything
else.



     Chameleon absently toyed with his third drink since arriving in
the Empyreal Lounge to wait for Apollo and Sheba.   He didn't want to
end up drinking one too many, because he knew right away that would
mean some gentle discipline from Blassie the micron he was back aboard
the Seniors Ship to submit to her "rehabilitation."
     At the very least, he had to feel fortunate that Blassie never
went beyond gentle methods of discipline.  It was all too clear that
one reason why the siress had been so anxious to take responsibility
for him was because she was smitten with him and would grab at any
opportunity to be in his company.  That meant that he could always
count on Blassie to not do anything that would get him angry or demand
that Commander Adama assign a new "rehabilitator" to his case.
     In the past sectan, he'd gotten to know more about her and now
understood why she had pursued him with such determination.  Blassie
had married young and lost her husband after only five yahrens of
marriage, and she in her grief had never entered another relationship
since.  But the tragedy of the Holocaust had been a sobering experience
for her that made her regret not having remarried and enjoyed life more
during the last twenty five yahrens before the Colonies were destroyed. 
It was because of that new outlook on life that she had decided to test
the waters and latch on to the first man she felt attracted to, which
turned out to be Chameleon.  
     He finally finished off his third drink and let out a sigh of
resignation.  As much as he half-resented Blassie's constant hovering
presence, and the fact that she tended to treat him more like a mother
would treat a wayward son, he also had to admit that the other half of
himself enjoyed it.  From his standpoint, he could never love her, but
he could enjoy her company and also appreciate the fact that she was
giving him a reasonable amount of stability that would keep him from
ever getting into another scary predicament like he'd just been through
with the Nomen.
     "Another refill?" the bartender inquired.
     "No," Chameleon sighed as he pushed his empty glass aside, "That's
all for tonight."
     He decided that he'd waited long enough for Sheba and Apollo and
that it was time he leave and catch the next shuttle for the Seniors
Ship.  He'd just gotten out of his chair when he saw a tight-lipped
Cassiopeia enter.
     "Ah, Cassie!" he smiled as he came up to her, "Glad you stopped
by.  If you see Apollo and Sheba, tell them I'm sorry but I needed to
get back before Blassie sends the watch daggits out to retrieve me."
     "Chameleon," she spoke in a low tone of voice, "I need to talk to
you about something."
     "Yes?" he frowned.
     Before the blonde med-tech could say anything, a heavyset bar
patron who was watching the IFB's post-match coverage suddenly bolted
out of his seat, "Holy frack, he's dead!"
     "What?" several heads from all over darted toward him.
     "Ortega!  Somebody killed him!"
     Chameleon turned toward the monitor in disbelief and saw that the
sound had been turned up to normal volume.  Inside, Cassiopeia wished
she could crawl under a rock, since she had wanted to break the news to
Chameleon herself.
     "....the alarming report appears to be confirmed now.  Sergeant
Ortega, who was ejected from the match in the latter stages along with
Lieutenant Starbuck during that brawl you saw, was apparently shot to
death by an unknown assassin while leaving the training room
facility...."
     Chameleon glanced over at Cassiopeia, "Cassie you're not trying to
tell me that, that Starbuck....." he trailed off, too shocked to
consider the prospect.
     "Right now, he just became the number one suspect," Cassiopeia
felt like she was in a living nightmare, "His laser pistol was fired. 
They're taking him back to the Galactica to run tests to see if his
laser is the murder weapon."
     "And do they really think it is?"
     "It's all they've got to go on," she said, "I wanted you to know
before the IFB said anything.  I_" she shook her head, unable to go on.
     Inside, Chameleon felt a sick feeling spread throughout his entire
body.  Not just a sick feeling about Starbuck, but also a sick feeling
that he might have been partly responsible.  Would he have to face the
prospect that if he'd only told Starbuck the truth about being his
father, he might not have been so reckless as to think about doing such
a heinous thing?
     He then shook his head and chided himself for thinking the worst. 
Starbuck was his son.  He wasn't capable of murder.  It was horrible to
not believe in him right away. That was what he had to do right now, if
he felt any regard for him.
     "Cassie," he finally managed to speak, "Is there anything I can do
to help?"
     "Not right now," she shook her head and let out a heavy sigh,
"God, I hope that test straightens this out once and for all and
that'll be the end of it."
     "Let's hope so too," he gave her a quick hug, "We know him better
than anyone else does, don't we?"
     She looked up and smiled weakly, "I guess so."
     "You go back to the Galactica and give him all the support you
can," he said, "If you need me for anything, you know where to reach me
on the Seniors Ship."
     "I'll be in touch," Cassiopeia nodded and left.


     One centar later, Apollo, Sheba, Boomer, Adama and a testy
Starbuck were all in Dr. Wilker's lab aboard the Galactica.  The chief
scientist had placed Starbuck's laser on a lab table for careful
analysis.
     "You do admit you fired it during the last twenty four centars?"
Adama inquired in the same dispassionate tone of voice he'd kept since
hearing about Ortega's murder.
     "Yes, I fired it!" Starbuck was too angry to care about potential
insubordination, "I was on the laser range this morning.  So were
Jolly, Bojay and Greenbean and no one's accusing them of killing
Ortega!"
     "Jolly and Bojay weren't on the Rising Star, and Greenbean was on
the triad court taking Ortega's place, Starbuck," Adama said
matter-of-factly, "The sooner you appreciate the facts that we're
dealing with at this particular centon, the sooner you'll realize that
no one's accusing you of anything yet.  We're running these tests to
make sure you can be cleared before it comes to that."
     Wilker carefully extracted the charger section of Starbuck's
laser, where all the energy was stored, and then emptied the contents
into a sample slide.  He then turned back to Starbuck and asked, "Did
you recharge your laser to full power after you left the range?"
     "Of course I did!" Starbuck waved his arm in exasperation, "That's
standard procedure."
     Wilker moved over to a table across the lab carrying the container
just as the main door opened and tall, dark-skinned man in his early
fifties entered the room, wearing the formal robes of the judicial
class.
     "Commander," he smiled and extended his hand, which Adama took.
     "Glad you came," the commander said and then looked over at
Starbuck, "I'm sure you all know Sire Solon, our chief opposer?"
     "Only socially," Starbuck said coldly, "And no offense, Sire, but
I'd like to keep it that way."
     "So would I, Lieutenant," Solon kept his tone sympathetic.  "But
my position may dictate otherwise, especially since this is the first
instance of a capital offense since the Exodus began and must be
treated with the utmost importance." he turned back to Adama, "I was
told that Dr. Wilker was conducting a laseronics ergon test on the
suspected termination weapon?"
     "It's not the termination weapon!" Starbuck bristled, "It's my
weapon!"
     "Starbuck_" Boomer jumped in to try and get his friend to shut his
mouth, but the Chief Opposer held up a hand.
     "No, no," Solon said, "He's quite right.  It was not a tactful way
of stating it.  My apologies, Lieutenant."
     At the other end of the lab, Wilker had loaded the container into
a computer bank and then called over to the next room. "Fairfax, is the
Ortega sample ready?"
     "The Life Station took awhile extracting it from his body but I've
got it now," the voice of Wilker's assistant Fairfax, nephew and
namesake of the late Commander Fairfax of the Battlestar Columbia,
replied as he entered the room carrying another container slide.  He
handed it to the Chief Scientist who inserted it into the slot next to
where he'd placed the first slide.
     "I'm ready," Wilker called to the others, who promptly gathered
round him, "One slot has a laseronic ergon scan taken from Ortega's
body.  It shows the amount of laser energy absorbed when he was shot."
     He flicked a switch and a series of numbers came up on the
computer terminal. 683.947182.
     "Now this slide contains the amount of remaining ergons in
Starbuck's laser. Recalibrating from the other direction, if the amount
of ergons missing from Starbuck's laser matches the amount in Ortega's
body----"
     "I think we get the picture, Doc, so knock off with the technical
felgercarb and run the test!" the last thing Starbuck wanted to listen
to was another one of Wilker's longwinded technical lectures, which he
always felt the Chief Scientist was overly fond of boring people to
death about.
     Wilker ignored the remark and calmly pressed the button.  It took
only ten microns for the new number to come up. 
     A number that matched the one on the other monitor precisely,
right to the last digit.
     Starbuck's eyes widened in shock.  Apollo, Boomer and Sheba each
looked as though someone had swung a club and brought it down right on
their heads.  Adama had his finger on his lip, not wanting to show any
reaction at all.
     "That's impossible," Starbuck whispered.
     Wilker was slightly taken aback, not having expected a precise
match.  "Um, I ah, wish the test weren't as precise as it is, so there
could be some doubt, but um..." he awkwardly cleared his throat.  "But
I'm afraid there's no other possible conclusion.  Your weapon
terminated Ortega."
     Apollo, Sheba and Boomer were all looking at Starbuck, waiting to
hear an explanation.  This wasn't something any of them had planned on
seeing.  And now, they needed to hear an answer, especially in light of
all that they had seen happen earlier in the evening.
     "Someone set me up!" Starbuck looked at the results, thinking a
sick joke was being played on him.  "That has to be it!"
     "Lieutenant Starbuck," Solon turned to him and lowered his voice
to a formal tone, "It is my duty as chief opposer to charge you with
the murder of Wing Sergeant Ortega of the Colonial Fleet."
     "No!" Starbuck blurted, "In the turbowash!  That has to be it! 
Someone lifted my laser while I was in the turbowash, used it to kill
Ortega and returned it before I got out!  I remember, my locker was
wide open, anyone could have taken it and I wouldn't have noticed!"
     "That's the only logical explanation," Boomer jumped in.
     Adama sadly shook his head, "There's no report of anyone else down
in the corridor or the training room at that time except for Starbuck. 
The chief opposer can only proceed with the evidence presently
available.  Unless you find a witness who saw someone else down there,
there is presently no room for reasonable doubt on the matter of filing
charges."
     "Commander," Apollo protested, "You know Starbuck as well as you
know me. You can't believe he could kill anyone in cold blood."
     "Commander," Solon cut in, trying to smooth things over, "I
watched the game too, and taking into account what happened, along with
the fact that Ortega's weapon was drawn, I'd be willing to accept a
plea of self-defense and move to suspend all potential prison time."
      "Forget it!" Starbuck's nostrils flared as he stepped forward, "I
didn't kill Ortega! Not in self-defense or any other way!"
     "Lieutenant," Solon's voice grew grave, "Don't answer so quickly. 
If you plead self-defense, the harshest penalty you can receive would
be a dishonorable discharge from the Colonial Service.  But I can give
you my word that you would receive a suspended sentence as far as
prison time goes.  But if you are convicted of a premeditated murder
charge, then I can also give you my word that you'll spend the rest of
your life in the Prison Barge."
     "I'm not going to plead self-defense for something I didn't do!"
Starbuck emphasized harshly.
     "As you wish," Sire Solon sighed, "I must now ask you to enter a
plea, which I assume is not guilty."
     "That's right!" Starbuck snarled.
     For the first time, Adama's stoic expression cracked slightly as
he drew up his shoulders and took a breath, "Security."
     From the back of the room, two guards from Colonial Security, the
military police, stepped forward.
     "You will escort Lieutenant Starbuck to the Galactica brig to
await Tribunal."
     "The brig?" Starbuck's face twisted.
     "It's the law, Starbuck.  I'm sorry." Adama said with equal parts
empathy and firmness.
     "Commander," Apollo stepped forward, "I want to defend him."
     "That goes for me too," Boomer added.
     "This is most unusual, Captain," Solon gave them a quizzical look,
"You can't possibly have enough experience as a protector to handle
this matter, especially when the evidence against Starbuck is
particularly overwhelming."
     "He's right," Adama was equally perplexed, "Like all of us did at
the Academy, you studied the judiciary codes, but you graduated as a
warrior, not a protector."
     "I believe him," Apollo retorted firmly.
     "You may find that's not enough to defend a man's life," Solon
stressed.
     Starbuck looked at the middle-aged opposer with a defiant
expression, "It's good enough for me."
     An uneasy silence filled the air, as Adama bit his lip slightly,
while Sheba was staring at Apollo with a dubious expression.
     "Very well," the commander said, "Request granted.  But I must
remind you, Captain Apollo, that the codes governing Tribunal for
capital offenses are entirely different from the norm, as part of the
concessions that were made for having the death penalty suspended from
Colonial jurisprudence.  Tribunal must take place no later than
forty-eight centars from now with all available evidence presented. 
Failure to produce exculpatory evidence by the time Tribunal is
convened can only be interpreted as an admission of guilt. You'd better
get started now."
     Adama and Solon turned and departed, followed a micron later by an
uneasy Sheba.  Apollo and Boomer both came over to Starbuck and patted
him on the shoulder.
     "We'll do all we can," Boomer said, "We've been in tighter spots
before."
     For the first time, Starbuck decided to allow some of his caustic
humor to emerge, "We have?"
     "Sure we have," Apollo said reassuringly, "And we're going to get
out of this one too.  That's a promise."
     It took nearly a centon for Starbuck to relax slightly and nod his
head in agreement.  When he did, the three friends clasped their hands
together in a show of solidarity and strength.


     As soon as Apollo and Boomer were out in the corridor, the
magnitude of what lay ahead for them seemed to set in, "So where do we
start?"
     "I thought you'd have an idea," Apollo said, "Ortega was in your
squadron."
     "I made it a point to know as little as I possibly could about
him," Boomer emphasized and then rubbed his chin, "Still, I suppose the
best person to start with would be Barton."
     "We'd better find him."
     "Apollo!"
     The two of them turned around and saw that Sheba had been waiting
outside in the corridor.
     "Yes?"
     "Can I talk to you alone?" her arms were folded.
     "Uh, Sheba, Boomer and I really need to_" but the dark-skinned
warrior grabbed his arm and shook his head.
     "I'll find Barton and meet you in the Officers Club." he turned
and disappeared. As soon as he was gone, Apollo looked back at Sheba,
"Yes?"
     "Why in Kobol did you suddenly volunteer to become Starbuck's
protector?" Sheba was still baffled.  "There are plenty of
professionals in this Fleet with yahrens of experience.  People who
know the codes right down to the last detail.  You should have tried to
get him one of them."
     "Sheba, I really don't have time to talk about this," Apollo felt
slightly exasperated.  Occasions like this were the only time he didn't
enjoy being around Sheba, when the shadow of their early confrontations
seemed to hang over them.  "We've only got forty eight centars before
the Tribunal begins.  It'd probably take me all that time just to find
one with enough experience, and then it would be too late for him to
get familiar with the case.  Boomer and I did Starbuck a favor by
volunteering for this."
     She seemed indifferent to his words, "You'd better be right," she
finally said, "But it seems like whenever there's an impossible crisis
to deal with, you just always have to put yourself in the middle of it
and solve it yourself.  Sooner or later, that kind of attitude is
really going to backfire on you."
     She then turned and walked away from him, leaving Apollo more than
a bit confused.


     Ten centons later, Apollo entered the largely empty Officers Club
where Boomer was already waiting at a table with Barton, who looked as
though he were anxious to get some sleep.
     "Can we finally get started?" Barton stifled a yawn as Apollo
seated himself.
     "This is really important, Barton," Apollo said, "Starbuck's been
charged with murdering Ortega.  The only chance we have of clearing him
is to find out if anyone else had a reason for killing Ortega too."
     "Anyone who ever had the misfortune to come into contact with him,
Captain," Barton said as he rubbed his eyes.
     "Look Barton," Boomer leaned forward, "You were his partner on and
off the triad court.  You had to have known some of his friends or at
least the people he mingled with."
     "He didn't have any friends, Boomer, as you well know.  He was a
loner.  I got the feeling that the only people who knew him well were
the workers on the Rising Star since he seemed to spend more spare time
there than anyone else I know.  Most of us warriors need to save a
sectan's pay to get a gold pass for maybe a day or two aboard there. 
But it seemed like he always had enough money to be there any time he
wanted."
     "So he probably spent a lot of time in the Chancery."
     "I imagine," Barton shrugged, "Me, I avoid the Chancery like a
Piscean Plague, just like I always avoided him when we weren't flying
together or playing triad."
     "Okay, so you don't know anyone specific who had a reason for
wanting to kill Ortega."
     "No," he shook his head.
     "Did Ortega ever say anything about people who might want to kill
him?" Apollo felt an edge of desperation entering his voice.
     "Ortega and I always had a silent understanding that whenever we
weren't working together, we'd keep our mouths shut and stay out of
each other's way, Captain. We never indulged in idle conversation."
     Boomer felt deflated, "I guess that's it, then," he sighed.
     "Can I go now?" Barton tried to hid the impatience in his voice.
     "I guess so." Apollo waved his hand and looked down at the floor.
     The warrior was halfway out of his chair when he suddenly snapped
his fingers and resumed his seat, "Captain, I'm sorry, I just
remembered something."
     "Yes?" Apollo tried not to let his hopes rise too far as he and
Boomer leaned forward.
     "It was last sectan, when you assigned me to run that deep patrol
with Ortega after the near-brawl he had with Starbuck here in the club,
Boomer." Barton leaned back in his chair as the memory returned to him,
"I was really mad at him for how he'd wrecked my evening by forcing me
to share his punishment and I must have spent the first centar of the
patrol letting him have it.  I remember, I said something about how if
he didn't learn to control himself, someone would snap some day and
kill him.  I even said that the way Starbuck looked, I wouldn't be
surprised if it was him."
     "And?" Boomer prodded.
     "He was still kind of half-drunk, and he started to chuckle and
said that Starbuck didn't have the guts to kill him, and that none of
his so-called enemies had them either except for one man."
     "Did he mention a name?"
     "Yeah, he did. It was a funny sounding name.  He said it was good
old, um...." he snapped his fingers, trying to remember, "Charybdis.
That was it."
     "Cha-ryb-dis," Apollo repeated.  "Did he say who he was?"
     "Sorry," Barton shrugged, "After that, he suddenly shut up like a
Canceran clam.  I think he started to realize that he was shooting off
more than he usually did because he was still recovering from a
hangover.  I remember asking who this Charybdis was, but all he said
was that he was a man of mystery, who once made the mistake of letting
him find out why he was a man of mystery.  After that, I got nothing
else out of him."
     Apollo nodded.  It wasn't enough, but at least it was a promising
start.  "And that's all."
     "That's all," Barton nodded.
     "Okay," Apollo said, "Barton, I want you to be ready to repeat
that at Starbuck's Tribunal in forty eight centars.  At the very least,
I might have an alternate scenario constructed that will buy us some
time."
     "I'll be there," the warrior let out another tired yawn as he rose
and departed.
     "Char-yb-dis," Apollo repeated the name, "Well, there's a name we
ought to check out right away.  Are you up for a trip to Fleet
Personnel Records?"
     "You'd better believe it," Boomer said as he rose from his chair.


     Corporal Komma, the Colonial Security guard in charge of the
Galactica's Main Computer Control Center glanced at his chronometer for
the tenth time in the last several centons, as though he were trying to
will it to get closer and closer to the top of the centar.  His duty
shift had lasted two centars longer than he would have liked, and the
sooner he got off-duty and got some sleep, the better he'd feel.     
     When he heard the door open, he rose from his chair, hoping that
his relief had decided to show up a few centons early.  When he saw
that it was Apollo and Boomer, a crestfallen expression came over him
for a brief instant.  That meant he'd have to perform some actual work
before he finally got back to the warmth of his bunk.
     "Hello Captain, Lieutenant," he tried not to let any of it show,
"What brings you both here at this time of night?"
     "Something important," Apollo said, "We need to access Fleet
Personnel Records from the Main Computer."
     "Sure," Komma felt relieved that it was nothing strenuous that
would require him to do a search.  "Just log in and take a place at
Station One," he motioned to the security screener that did a voice and
handprint check on all those who wanted to use the system.
As soon as Apollo and Boomer had gone through the normal preliminaries,
a green light went on the machine indicating it was okay for them to
proceed.
     As Apollo took a seat at the station, Boomer shook his head in
awed admiration at the row of computer terminals lining the facility. 
"I'll tell you, these things get more elaborate all the time, yet
somehow at the same time they're simpler to use than anything we ever
had at the Academy."
     Apollo half-chuckled, "The way you talk about electronic
equipment, I sometimes get the feeling that if you weren't a warrior,
you would have entered Wilker's line of work."
     "You may be right," the dark-skinned warrior admitted.
     Apollo switched on the terminal and then heard a pleasant female
voice ask, "Yes?"
     "Request complete file on Char-yb-dis.  K-A-R-I-B-D-I-S.  Current
status and location within the Fleet."
     The faint noise of the computer mechanism sounded, followed an
instant later by a reply from the programmed voice.
     "There is no profile on anyone named Karibdis.  K-A-R-I-B-D-I-S."
     Apollo lifted an eyebrow and frowned slightly.
     "Apollo, try it with a c instead of a k," Boomer suggested.  But
before Apollo could repeat the request, the computer voice was speaking
again.
     "Or anyone who's name is phonetically spelled like Charybdis."
     Apollo's frown deepened and he turned to Boomer, "You think Barton
lied?"
     "I can not answer that question without further input," the
computer suddenly spoke again.  "I would need to know what Barton----"
     "I wasn't talking to you!" Apollo turned back to the terminal and
said with exasperation.
     "Sorry."
     "That's all right," and then shook his head when he realized the
absurdity of it all, "I mean that's all.  Disconnect."
     "Disconnecting." the lights on the terminal went dark, as Boomer
suppressed the desire to laugh.
     "Female computer voices," Komma sighed as he looked on, "I
sometimes think they were designed by a programmer who never had a
meaningful social life.  They'll drive you crazy after awhile."
     "Strictly a keyboard and printout man, eh Komma?" Boomer grinned.
     "You'd better believe it," the security guard resumed his station. 
"Will that be all for you two?"
     "Yeah, I guess so," Apollo rose from the terminal and he and
Boomer left the complex.  Once they were alone in the corridor, he
repeated the earlier question, "So do you think Barton lied?"
     "Barton had no reason to lie," Boomer shook his head, "He must
have just gotten the name wrong."
     "No.  He sounded pretty sure of the name.  Maybe it's not with a
k, but I'm sure that's the one he meant."
     Boomer snapped his fingers, "Didn't Barton say that Ortega
referred to this Charybdis as a man of mystery?"
     Apollo nodded, "That's right, I should have realized that might
mean that Charybdis could be the real name of someone who's using
another name."
     "I think I'm beginning to sense the outline of a motive here,"
Boomer noted. "Let's assume the name is correct.  That might mean that
whoever this Charybdis really is, Ortega knew something about him and
had to be quietly eliminated."
     "Makes sense.  But that's not enough to present a good alternate
scenario that will buy us time during the Tribunal.  We need a lot more
than that."
     "So what's our next move?"
     "We get some sleep and start anew at 0600 tomorrow," Apollo said,
"And when we do, our next move's going to have to be on the Rising
Star."
     Boomer groaned, "Apollo, it could probably take days just to
interview every worker there who might have known Ortega.  We don't
have that much time."
     "I think we can narrow down the list of places to check.  And I
know someone who can help us do that.  Chameleon."
     "Chameleon?" he lifted an eyebrow.  "How can he help?"
     "Who else knows all the trade secrets about what goes on inside
the Rising Star Chancery?" Apollo asked rhetorically, "If he did a lot
of wagering himself there, he's bound to have noticed Ortega at one
time or another, and what places he was apt to frequent.  It's worth a
check."
     "You may be right."
     "Let's hope it pays off," Apollo patted his friend on the
shoulder, "Get some sleep and have a hearty breakfast tomorrow morning,
Boomer.  We're both going to need it for what we have to do in just one
day."


     When Apollo returned to his quarters, he was mildly surprised to
find a weary looking Athena sitting in the outer area that separated
Apollo's room from Boxey's.  She still had the videocom on, it's sound
muted.
     "Athena, what----"
     His sister rose from her chair, "I've been waiting all night for
you," she said and pointed at the monitor, "It's already all over the
IFB.   Starbuck's been charged with killing Ortega."
     Apollo glanced at the monitor and shook his head in mild disgust,
"Sire Solon sure didn't waste any time going public."
     "Apollo is it really true?" her voice was filled with disbelief.
     "You mean did he really do it?" he gave her a cold stare, "Athena,
I know you and Starbuck have been on the outs for a while now, but has
your opinion of him stooped that low?"
     "Of course not!" she snapped and then winced slightly, "Damn you,"
she lowered her voice, "Do you want me to wake up Boxey?"
           "Sorry," Apollo sighed and sat down on the large couch. 
"It's just been one long, fracking evening," he glanced up with a look
of concern, "Did Boxey find out about Ortega being killed?"
     "No," she said more calmly, "He went to bed right after the double
ejection.  Said it wasn't worth staying up just to watch the game end
with substitutes."
     "That means I've got to tell him about the whole thing when he
gets up tomorrow," Apollo sighed, "And that I'm defending Starbuck, and
will make sure he's cleared."
     "Solon said you and Boomer were handling that," Athena shook her
head in disbelief, "Apollo, aren't you out of your element?"
     "When it comes to finding out the truth, no one is ever out of his
element."
     "That's a nice sounding platitude, but absolutely worthless for
when you and Boomer stumble over every procedure in the book during
Tribunal," Athena retorted, "You ought to be getting him an experienced
protector to handle that."
     Apollo didn't feel like going through a repetition of his
conversation with Sheba. "Look Athena, all I need to do is gather
enough information to present a reasonable alternate scenario that will
insure a long enough hearing for the truth to come out.  And so far, I
think there's a good chance we can do that.  Trust me."
     His sister decided not to press the matter any longer, "You'd
better be right," she folded her arms, "Because a lot's riding on this,
Apollo.  And you'd..." she suddenly cleared her throat as though she
were trying to choke something back, "You'd better be right."
     Then, without saying anything else, she left his quarters.  As
soon as she was gone, Apollo found himself wondering if Athena was
trying hard not to let any emotion slip out that would reveal how she
still felt deep down about Starbuck.     Whatever the case, that was
something he couldn't concern himself with until after it was all over.
     Assuming it ended with a positive outcome.

Chapter Four

     After being escorted to his holding cell in the Galactica brig,
Starbuck spent a restless night, totally unable to sleep.  His mind
wasn't willing to cope with the possibility of dreaming about life as
it always had been for him, and then waking up to discover that he was
still going through what he regarded as the biggest nightmare of his
life. Something that he regarded as worse than anything he'd gone
through in a combat situation, and even worse than the two occasions
when he'd been taken prisoner by the Cylons.  Those were situations his
warrior's mind had always been trained to accept the possibility of. 
Not this scenario.  Being arrested and facing imprisonment for
something he knew he did not commit was enough to make him wonder for
the first time if the reason why he'd become a warrior was nothing more
than a giant fraud.  Like all others who'd been motivated to join the
Service, he'd believed that he was fighting for a system that was
decent, right and fair.  Now, that system he had risked his life for so
many times had conspired against him in the worst way possible.  And if
events continued to conspire against him, he faced the prospect of
spending the rest of his life in a cell more lonely and isolated than
this one.  With no purpose left at all in life except to waste away for
decades until his body finally gave out.  And no doubt, long before
that his mind would have ceased to function anyway.
     It was enough to make him spend the better part of a centar during
the night railing inside against all the so-called humanitarians who
had lobbied for the suspension of the Death Penalty a hundred yahrens
earlier.  "Cruel and unusual punishment" they'd called it.  As far as
Starbuck was concerned, what he now faced was something far more cruel.
At the very least, if an innocent man was executed, he could right away
be transported to the life beyond and receive the reassurance of
Absolution from his Maker.  Not so the man forced to wallow in the
never-ending injustice of it all in a prison cell, with no hope or
faith that somehow the injustice would someday be corrected.  If the
System couldn't safeguard against making a mistake the first time, how
could he ever have any faith that System would recognize the injustice
and free him?
     The words of reassurance Apollo and Boomer had tried to give him
earlier now rang hollow in his ears.  Not because of any lack of faith
that they could rise to the challenge of being Protectors, but because
of his own lack of faith in the System that he'd given his entire adult
life to, and which he felt had let him down at the most critical time
of his life.
     He didn't know how many centars he'd spent sitting on the bench of
his cell just staring off into space, letting bitterness and anger
control every one of his thoughts, before he heard a familiar voice.
     "Starbuck?"
     It took him a centon before he forced himself to raise his head
and saw Cassiopeia standing outside his cell.
     "Why are you here?" he felt ashamed that she would have to see him
in this position.
     "Because you need me," she looked him straight in the eye, "And I
want to do all I can to help you when you need me most."
     She then turned back to where Sergeant Castor was standing guard
ten feet away, "Sergeant, could I please go in and talk to him alone?"
     The muscular security guard, regarded as the best in the Colonial
Security detail, nodded in understanding as he came up and pushed the
buttons that unlocked the door to Starbuck's cell.  It slid open and
Cassiopeia stepped inside.
     "Did you get any sleep?" she didn't want to lose her composure in
front of him, and found a silly question the only way to keep herself
from doing so.
     "No," his tone was quieter, as he looked back at the floor.  "I
didn't want to."
     She took a breath, "Look, you ought to know that Apollo and Boomer
are doing all they can.  I tried to get in touch with them after I woke
up, but I found out they were already out working on the case."
     "It's not going to do any good," Starbuck's tone suddenly grew
forlorn as he kept staring at the floor.
     "Starbuck, you can't say that!" Cassiopeia protested.  "You need
to have faith in them, just like you had to have faith in them when
they came back for you at Atilla!"
     "Flying through a Cylon task force is one thing that can be
handled," he still didn't look up, "Getting this thing fixed, when it's
been stacked so much against me...." he then shook his head and trailed
off.
     Cassiopeia found herself unable to say anything else.  Worried
that her composure was going to crack, she impulsively went over to the
video-com monitor located on the far wall of the cell and switched it
on.
     An instant later, the sight of IFB's lead co-anchor Zara filled
the screen.  For once, she wasn't flashing one of her customary fake
smiles that had threatened to drive Starbuck out of his mind during the
interview he'd been subjected to ten days earlier.
     "Good morning," her tone was somber, but already Cassiopeia could
sense the artificial, theatrical quality to it. "Today there is only
one subject of discussion throughout the entire Fleet.  Namely, the
stunning murder of Wing Sergeant Ortega in the wake of last night's
triad match, and the arrest of his bitter triad rival Lieutenant
Starbuck, whose laser pistol we are now told has been conclusively
identified as the murder weapon."
     Starbuck looked up at the screen in disgust as he slowly got to
his feet.
     "Joining me now in our IFB Studio is Sire Solon, Chief Opposer of
the Fleet, who last night formally charged Lieutenant Starbuck with
pre-meditated murder, and who will personally represent the Colonial
Nation during Tribunal, which is scheduled to convene forty centars
from now.  Sire Solon, thank you for joining us."
     The camera cut to a shot of the Chief Opposer sitting in a chair
next to the IFB anchor.  "Thank you Zara.  I can not say that it is a
pleasure for me to be here talking to you over a matter as grave as
this, and especially when it concerns a warrior as beloved throughout
the Fleet as Lieutenant Starbuck is."
     "Oh, why don't you take your tears of sympathy and shove them!"
Starbuck let some anger out as he came up in front of the screen,
wanting to punch his hand through it.
     "Starbuck!" Cassiopeia grabbed his arm and felt a tinge of anger
go through her, "Be quiet and listen to what he says!  It might be
important!"
     "Sire Solon, we've been told that Lieutenant Starbuck rejected the
opportunity to seek experienced counsel and instead accepted the offers
of Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Boomer to act as his Chief Protectors. 
Can you explain what might have compelled him to take this extremely
unorthodox step?"
     "How many writers did you need to come up with a question like
that, Zara?" Starbuck shot back at her image, and again felt
Cassiopeia's hold on his arm tighten as a signal to be quiet.
     "Well Zara, given Lieutenant Starbuck's adamant refusal to
consider any plea of self-defense, I can only assume that he was quick
to accept the offers of Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Boomer because he
knew right away he could count on them agreeing completely with his
strategy.  An experienced Protector would have argued for Starbuck to
plead self-defense, but ah," the Chief Opposer shrugged his shoulders
slightly, "This is the first case for both Apollo and Boomer and they
are placing a great deal of faith in their friend's word.  It is an
admirable trait and speaks well of them as friends, but ah," again
Solon shrugged his shoulders, "But very foolish in light of the
overwhelming evidence against the defendant."
     "Then would it be fair to say, Sire Solon, that you do not believe
Lieutenant Starbuck has a chance for acquittal?"
     "He has a slim one," Solon conceded, "At the very least, if his
Protectors can provide enough mitigating evidence to point to a
plausible alternate scenario during the first phase of Tribunal, he at
least guarantees an extended process where all of the evidence must be
carefully considered.  Absent that, he has another avenue of hope."
     Zara leaned forward with interest, "And could you tell us what
that is?"
     "Commander Adama," Solon said without hesitation.  "As you know,
he will be one of the three overseers of the Tribunal.   Most of us are
aware that Starbuck is like a son to him.  And some might question his
impartiality."
     "Is that what you're doing, Sire?" Zara interrupted, which seemed
to catch the Chief Opposer off-guard.  For an instant, Starbuck
marveled at how she'd found the gumption to cut in with a tough
question.
     "Oh no, not at all," Solon said with just a trace of hastiness,
"Quite frankly, since I have brought the subject up in this interview,
I think even with Adama on the Tribunal, the case will have to be
decided on the evidence alone." he paused and his tone grew grave, "And
I'm sure that even Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Boomer would both
agree that under those conditions, Lieutenant Starbuck will be found
guilty."
     "That's it!" Starbuck suddenly shouted as he reached out and
slammed his fist against the knob that shut the video-com off.  "That
snitrod's got me convicted before I even get a chance to be heard!"
     "Starbuck!" Cassiopeia trailed him as he stormed off back toward
the bench on the other side of his cell, "That's just typical Opposer
rhetoric and you know it.  What did you expect him to say?"
     Starbuck ignored the question and spun round, "Why the frack isn't
Apollo or Boomer being interviewed?  Why aren't they defending me
before the Fleet?"     
     "Because they're doing something more important than wasting time
in front of Zara and her stupid questions and that's gathering evidence
for the Tribunal, where it counts more!" she raised her voice.
     "No!" Starbuck interrupted and pointed at the blank video-com,
"They're not there because they don't have a defense." he then moved
away from her again and his posture slackened visibly, "They're not
going to have one for the Tribunal.  Oh sure, they'll try their best,
but they won't find felgercarb.  I know it." 
     He warily moved back to the bench and sat down.  Cassiopeia saw
right away how the anger in Starbuck had vanished and been replaced by
something that seemed to border on fear.
     "Cass," he struggled to look up at her, "They're going to convict
me."
     She swallowed uneasily and sat down beside him.
     "Starbuck," she whispered as she squeezed his arm, "It's still not
too late to change your plea to self-defense."
     Starbuck looked at her and felt like he'd been kicked in the head,
hearing that suggestion come from her, "Cass, I didn't do it," he felt
too hurt to protest loudly.
     "I know, I know," the blonde med-tech said hastily, "But if you're
convicted you're going to spend the rest of your life on the Prison
Barge.  If you can avoid that, you_" she broke off.
     He looked away from her, "You're not....you're not sure I didn't
do it." he shook his head, "God Almighty Cass, I hated that guy but I
learned a long time ago you don't wish something like that even for
those like him."
     "Starbuck," she knew right away that she needed to restore his
confidence, "I love you.  If you say you didn't do it, I believe you,"
her voice cracked slightly.
     Starbuck let out a mirthless chuckle, "You, Apollo, Boomer, even
the Commander.  You all want to believe me, but you all have
your.....doubts."
     He then got up from the bench and began pacing in front of the
door, "Since all of my friends have doubts, it doesn't make things look
better when I face a Tribunal that isn't composed of my friends."
     Cassiopeia bit her lip as she rose from the bench and came up to
him.  This time, she didn't hesitate to put her arms around him.
     "Starbuck," she said with an almost pleading tone,  "Will you
change your plea even if you didn't do it?" she then decided it was
time to play her strongest card, "At the very least, you'd get your
life back.  You'd..." she then paused and corrected herself, "We'd
still have a future.  There'd be nothing to stop you from making your
case afterwards that your plea was just a legal technicality to avoid
maximum punishment for something you didn't do."  She put her hands on
his head, "Can you at least consider that?"
     For the first time she could remember, Starbuck seemed totally
lost, "I don't know," he sighed, "I just don't know."
     She then kissed him tenderly on the lips.  It continued for nearly
a centon as Starbuck relaxed slightly and reciprocated.
     "No matter what happens," Cassiopeia said when they finally,
reluctantly let go of each other, "I love you."
     Starbuck allowed himself a brief smile, "I love you too," he said. 
And he meant it. There was little doubt in his mind that what he'd said
to Chameleon in private a sectan ago about Cassiopeia was the most
sincere thing he'd ever said about any woman he'd been involved with. 
He knew that he had said similar things in the past about Aurora, and
then Athena, but he'd come to feel with hindsight that when he'd said
those words to them, it was less from the heart, and more from the
standpoint of looking for a crutch to justify continuing those
relationships when the natural course of events would have meant seeing
them both fizzle out sooner than they did.  All of which only ended up
making things worse further down the road when the end finally came.
     "Look," he sighed, "I ah, I just need some time alone to think. 
Okay?"
     "Okay," she nodded as she kissed him on the cheek again and made
her way over to the door.  A micron later, it slid open and she stepped
out.
     Starbuck went back to the bench and sat down with his fingertips
folded together, trying to let himself think calmly about the only
other option that he felt was open to him. Pleading self-defense and
avoiding the Prison Barge with a dishonorable discharge from the
Service.   On the surface, it almost seemed tempting, given his total
lack of faith in the System to make things right and let the truth come
out.  He would have, as Cassiopeia had put it, a future back.
     But a future to do what?  Spend the rest of his life saying it was
only a technicality and he didn't really mean it when he pled guilty? 
That would be his first instinct after the Tribunal passed down it's
sentence.  And how would Sire Solon treat that?  Already, he had a
vision of Solon filing a new charge of perjury to Tribunal, in effect
forcing a retrial of the murder issue.  And then, he could envision
Solon moving in for the full sentence of life imprisonment once again.
     And even if, by a miracle, he was able to keep quiet after
pleading self-defense, how could he ever really hope to have a normal
life again?  His career at the thing he loved best would be over. 
Everywhere he walked, he'd be looked at and instantly branded as a
killer. Would there ever be a centon's peace for him in a life like
that?  And what would happen to Cassie if she tried to brave things out
with him?
     It didn't look good to Starbuck either way.  If he took what he
regarded as the coward's way out and pleaded self-defense to something
he knew he was innocent of, then he was only putting off the inevitable
or condemning the people he loved to eternal harassment and outcast
status just because they wanted to stand by him.  He didn't see honor
in either solution.
     But at the same time, he had no intention of going to the Prison
Barge either.
     A third option was now entering his mind.  One that however
painful it might seem at first, very likely represented the only way
out for him.  As he sat and continued to brood over his plight, he
found himself coming up with fewer reasons to think of not doing it.
     He absently went back over to the video-com, wondering forlornly
if he might see something that could give him some ray of hope that
would get his mind off the difficult third option.  When he flicked it
on, he saw that the interview with Sire Solon was over, and Zara was
delivering her commentary.
     "With the Tribunal only forty centars away, it would appear to
this reporter that barring a miracle, the brilliant career of
Lieutenant Starbuck will tragically pass into history."
     Starbuck felt all his inner rage boiling up against Zara, who had
put him through one hell a sectan earlier in her interview, and was now
only adding to the greater one he was going now.  He slammed his open
palm against the monitor, which suddenly caused the picture to
disappear in a burst of static.
     As soon as Zara's image disappeared, he realized that he suddenly
had the opportunity to put the third option into effect.  Probably the
only opportunity he would ever get.  Now, he had to make the quickest
decision of his life.  One that he found more difficult than any
situation he'd been in during seven yahrens of service as a combat
warrior.
     He decided that he would do it.
     Starbuck absently straightened himself, and then slowly exhaled so
he could summon the calmest possible demeanor.  He went over to the
cell door and called over to where Castor was standing guard with
Corporal Ares.
     "Hey Castor," he said calmly, "There's something wrong with my
video-com.  I need it fixed."
     "I'll call for a vid-tech as soon as I can, Starbuck," the
muscular sergeant said.
     "Castor, I need it fixed now," an edge of urgency entered
Starbuck's voice, "They're talking about my case on the IFB.  I have to
know what they're saying."
     Castor turned to his fellow guard, "Ares, do you know how those
things work?"
     "A bit," Ares nodded, "Want me to take a look?"
     "Go ahead," Castor leaned forward and unlocked the door.  It slid
open and the young corporal stepped in.
     "Can't figure out why it fracked out on me," Starbuck motioned
toward the screen, "It just-"
     Before he finished his sentence, Starbuck abruptly grabbed Ares in
a hammerlock position around the neck.  The guard gasped for breath as
Starbuck quickly stripped away his laser pistol and then pointed it at
Castor.
     "Drop it Castor!" Starbuck snarled, "Drop it or he's dead."
     "Starbuck don't do this," Castor had pulled out his own laser
pistol and had it trained on the warrior, "I'm one of those who
believes you for sagan's sake.  This isn't going to help you at all."
     "I don't give felgercarb what you think, Castor.  Drop it!"
Starbuck raised his voice.
     Castor's eyes burned with anger on the warrior, not wanting to
give in.  But as he heard the sound of Ares choking violently under
Starbuck's tight hold around the guard's neck, Castor reluctantly
decided that he couldn't live with the death of one of his men on his
conscience.  He slowly dropped his laser pistol and it clattered to the
floor.
     "Get inside!" Starbuck waved the pistol at Castor.  "Inside now
and give me the Security access key."
     "You're not going to get anywhere even with that, Starbuck,"
Castor said with contempt as he stepped inside and handed the key that
would give Starbuck free access to all areas of the battlestar.
     "We'll see about that," Starbuck snarled as he grabbed it and then
shoved Ares toward the bench.  As soon as Castor went over to attend to
his fellow guard, the warrior bolted out the cell door and quickly
locked it, leaving the two guards trapped inside. Then, they heard the
sound of Starbuck's feet as the warrior rapidly dashed out of the Brig
area.


     Apollo had awoke early and discovered to his shame that he still
couldn't think of what he could say to Boxey to explain what had
happened with Starbuck, and what he was doing to try and help.  For
nearly five centons, he tried scribbling a note to leave for his son,
but soon discovered that he couldn't think of the best way to explain
it on paper either.
     Realizing that he had too little time to work with, he reluctantly
decided that he would have to put off explaining the situation to his
son until much later in the day.  He knew it wouldn't be easy for Boxey
to go off to his classes and here all kinds of secondhand stories about
what had happened, but at the very least, by the time Apollo returned,
he would have found some information that would help clear Starbuck and
allow him to speak with greater optimism and confidence to his son.
     Now, a centar later, he was speaking to someone he desperately
hoped could provide him with the first bit of information that could
lead to Starbuck's exoneration.
     "I'm glad you came over, Chameleon," Apollo was saying as he and
the old man sat in the Warriors Mess Hall over a largely unappetizing
breakfast that neither had bothered to touch.
     "As soon as Blassie told me about your telecom, I caught the first
shuttle over from the Seniors Ship," Chameleon's eyes were slightly
red, mostly from lack of sleep, but also because he had allowed himself
a centon alone in his turbowash to cry over his son's plight. 
Wondering if he had made a horrible mistake in asking Cassiopeia to
keep the test results a secret.  "She said I might be able to help
Starbuck's defense."
     "That's true," Apollo nodded, "Chameleon, in all the time you've
been in the Rising Star's Chancery, did you ever happen to notice
Ortega?"
     Chameleon leaned back in his chair and frowned slightly, "Apollo,
I'm not sure what you're getting at."
     "This is important, Chameleon," an edge of pleading entered
Apollo's voice, "Ortega was a habitual visitor to the Chancery.  Now
that's not typical for most warriors. You had to have seen him there
sometime."
     Chameleon shrugged, "Well, I always did notice one warrior who
seemed permanently welded to Table Number Three, but----" he trailed
off and suddenly snapped his fingers, "Of course, that was Ortega!  I
don't know why I didn't make the connection when I saw him in the
Officers Club last sectan and he and Starbuck nearly had that brawl.
But I never took much notice of him, because usually when I saw him in
the Chancery he had his back to me.   Always seemed very devoted to
that table."
     "Table Three," Apollo said, "You're sure of that location."
     "I ought to Captain," Chameleon said pointedly, "That's the same
table you and Starbuck were playing at when I first approached you."
     Apollo slowly nodded, "I see.  And that was the only location you
ever saw him at?"
     "Whenever I'd leave the Chancery after a centar or two, that
warrior was always either still at Table Three or gone altogether.  It
was as if he had no enthusiasm for any game other than Pyramid."
     Apollo got to his feet and patted Chameleon on the shoulder,
"Chameleon, thanks. This is a big help for Boomer and me because it
lets us narrow down who to approach on the Rising Star."
     "Is there anything more I can do to help?" Chameleon wished he
could have provided more than he had, because he was convinced that it
wasn't enough to exonerate Starbuck just yet.
     "No, but believe me Chameleon, it's a big start.  I've got to get
in touch with Boomer and he and I are going to pay a little visit to
the Rising Star."
     Before Apollo could move away from the table, he saw a grim-faced
Colonel Tigh approach.  Already, Apollo felt the sick sensation that
the executive officer was about to deliver some bad news.
     "Apollo," Tigh said quietly.  "We have a very grave situation on
our hands.  You'd better come with me."
     "What's happened?" Apollo braced himself.
     "Not here," Tigh said as he glanced over at Chameleon.  "Out in
the corridor, where it's more private."
     "Okay," the black-haired captain nodded and turned back to
Chameleon, "Thanks again, Chameleon.  We'll be in touch if we need you
again."
     "Of course," already Chameleon had the sinking feeling that what
Tigh was going to tell Apollo was not good news about Starbuck. 
Inside, he decided that he was going to find that information out no
matter what.
     And if circumstances dictated it, he was now prepared inside to
abandon the lie and tell the truth.


     As soon as Apollo and Tigh were out in the corridor, the executive
officer wasted no time.  "Starbuck's escaped from the Brig."
     "He what?" Apollo's face flushed in shock.  This wasn't something
he'd counted on at all.
     "He overpowered his guard, pulled a laser pistol on Castor and
escaped.  And to put it bluntly Apollo, Adama is furious.  We've
already put out a full Security Alert and had the Galactica sealed off
as quietly as we can, but with a security key to all sections, he can
elude us pretty damn well."
     "Frack," Apollo whispered, "Has this been broadcast?"
     "Not yet, but if Starbuck doesn't turn himself in in the next
twenty centons, it's going to be made public and I can guarantee you
that that's going to all but finish his chances before the Tribunal."
     "Attention Colonel Tigh," an overhead voice sounded over the
Galactica's unicom system.  "Please contact Commander Adama on Beta
Channel immediately."
     "Maybe something's happened," Apollo said as he and the executive
officer went over to a security telecom.  Tigh picked it up, punched in
the security code for Beta Channel and spoke into the mouthpiece, "This
is Tigh."
     "Colonel, we've tracked Starbuck down to Alpha Launch Bay on the
security monitors," Adama's voice was stern and revealed more than a
hint of displeasure.  "He's evidently planning on making a run for it. 
Did you locate Apollo?"
     "I did.  I'll let you talk to him."
     As soon as Apollo had the telecom, he spoke frantically, "Father,
what's happening?"
     "Apollo, you have just three centons to get down to Alpha Bay and
stop Starbuck from launching.  Because the micron he leaves, I'm going
to have no choice but to launch a pursuit force of vipers after him,
with orders to shoot to disable and even kill if it becomes necessary."
     Apollo didn't bother to say anything as he dropped the telecom and
sprinted down the corridor towards the nearest turbo lift.


     When the turbo lift came to a stop at the bottom of Alpha Launch
Bay, Apollo immediately noticed one viper with the canopy up.  And the
unmistakable form of Starbuck locking his helmet into place.
     "Starbuck!" he shouted as he stepped off the lift and began to
dash toward the viper.  Almost immediately, the blond-haired lieutenant
whipped around and pointed his laser pistol at him.
     "Starbuck, it's me!  For sagan's sake don't...."
     "Don't come any closer!" Starbuck snarled, wondering why Fate now
had to deal him this difficult hand as well.
     "Come on!" Apollo retorted as he drew closer to the side of the
viper.  "Is that anyway to talk to your Protector?"
     "I mean it buddy," his voice dropped to a whisper, but was still
full of angry rage.  "I don't want to hurt you, but I will if you try
to stop me."
     It was clear to Apollo that Starbuck meant it.  He decided that
for now, he'd have to play along on that point.
     "I'm not going to stop you," he said calmly, with all the
reassurance he could summon.  "I just want to talk."
     It took Starbuck nearly ten microns before he slowly lowered his
laser.  Apollo came up and mounted the side that led to the cockpit.
     "That's close enough!" Starbuck abruptly raised the pistol as he
saw Apollo draw to within three feet.  "Now talk!"
     "Starbuck, why are you doing this?" Apollo kept his voice calm and
gentle.
     "Because I've got no other choice," he retorted.
     "You think this is going to help?  Where are you going to go?"
     "I don't know!" Starbuck threw his head back against the cushion
of his seat.  "I'll worry about that after I get away from the Fleet. 
There has to be a planet somewhere I can find.  Someplace I can just
disappear to forever.  I don't care if it's empty and abandoned, if
it's livable I'll go there.  Just anyplace but the Prison Barge!"
     "You don't have to go the Prison Barge," Apollo kept trying to
sound reassuring, "I know you didn't do it."
     "That's not much consolation to me," Starbuck said bitterly, "You
and Boomer aren't on that Tribunal."
     For the first time, Apollo let some anger creep in, "You don't
have much faith in us, do you?"
     "In you and Boomer, yes.  In the Tribunal and Colonial
jurisprudence, no.  I don't have any faith in a system I've risked my
life for, for the last seven yahrens, and then chose to treat me like
this!" the angry snarl returned to his voice, "Now get off.  I'm
launching."
     "Starbuck, if you launch, Adama's going to send Blue and Red
Squadrons after you, if that's what it takes to get you back!"
     "I'll deal with that when the time comes." Starbuck looked away
from him and began going over the pre-flight checklist.
     "And then what are you going to do?" the anger increased in the
captain's voice, "Fire on Sheba, or Boomer, or Jolly or me?"
     "If I have to, yes!" Starbuck shouted.  "Now get the frack off!"
     Apollo decided that playing the part of a friend was no longer
possible.  Now it was time to try a new tact.
     "I don't think you have the guts to do that," Apollo snarled with
as much ferocity as Starbuck had, "Just like you don't have the guts to
stand on your own two feet like a man and face that Tribunal!"
     "I didn't kill Ortega!" Starbuck suddenly flailed in exasperation. 
But right away, Apollo could tell that the sudden change in tone from
anger to defensive exasperation meant that he'd struck a nerve.
     "Then trust me, damn it!"  Apollo bore in, "Give Boomer and me the
chance to prove that!  Because if you go down that launch tube, you're
going to have a lot more on your conscience to bother you for the rest
of your life than the bum rap the system's giving you.  If you make it
to some little planet to stay safe and comfortable on for the rest of
your life, then you can spend your nights wondering about the shame
every person who thought of you as a friend has to bear for the rest of
their lives!" he then paused, "Not to mention what someone like
Cassiopeia would have to go through."
     Starbuck suddenly glared at him, his nostrils flaring and his
temples throbbing intensely.  In an instant, Apollo knew that playing
that card had made an impact on him as well.
     "Get off," Starbuck's voice cracked, "I don't want to take you
down that launch tube."
     "That's exactly what you're going to have to do, Starbuck," Apollo
said defiantly. "And if I have to meet the Almighty and explain to Him,
and to my mother and Zac and Serina why I let that happen to me, the
only answer I'll give is that I had more faith in Starbuck than he ever
deserved from me or anyone else."
     This time, he could see Starbuck's expression crack just a bit. 
He could see Starbuck's finger poised above the button that would lock
the canopy into place.  His finger seemed to hover above it for a near
eternity.
     Finally, Starbuck lowered his hand and suddenly threw his helmet
off, where it clattered across the tarmac.  He buried his head in his
arms and seemed on the verge of breaking down.
     "I can't," he whispered, "I couldn't live with something like
that.  I_"
     "It's okay," Apollo patted his shoulder, "It's okay Starbuck."
     Starbuck forced himself to look at Apollo.  A fragmented memory of
a time when he had said aloud that he would gladly give his life for
Apollo had flashed into his mind when his finger had been above the
button.  And with that, memories of so many other experiences they had
shared together.  The weight of them was enough to make him realize
that leaving would have condemned himself to an insanity greater than
that of the Prison Barge.  The perpetual insanity of eternal guilt and
shame.
     "I'm sorry," he whispered, trying not to let himself break down. 
"I'm sorry, Apollo.  I trust you.  I trust you both."
     "Good," his tone grew reassuring, "Boomer and I are going to clear
you if it's the last thing we do."
     As Apollo slowly helped Starbuck out of his viper, neither of them
noticed the figure hidden behind one of the pillars across the Launch
Bay suddenly dart towards the compartment door that led to the
Decontamination Center.  By the time Starbuck's feet hit the tarmac and
he and Apollo started the walk toward the turbo lift, the compartment
door at the other end had sealed shut.
     On the other side of that door, Chameleon felt like dropping to
his knees in thankful prayer to the Almighty.  As soon as he'd seen
Apollo leave him in the Mess Hall, he had decided to follow the captain
and find out where he was going.  Using the skills that had enabled him
for yahrens to make him come and go anywhere he pleased, he realized
that Apollo was headed for the Launch Bay.  And so, he had taken an
alternate route down that would enable him to stay hidden from view
once he arrived, while hearing everything that went on.  He needed
desperately to know what was happening, and if the man he now knew was
his son was in danger of doing something very foolish.
     He had listened in horror as he heard Starbuck on the verge of
leaving, perhaps even on the verge of killing Apollo if it would give
him a chance at getting away.  And at that point, Chameleon had vowed
that if he heard the canopy lock into place, he would dash out into the
open to get Starbuck's attention.  And tell him the truth at long last. 
If Apollo couldn't convince Starbuck why he had to stay and fight, then
perhaps at long last the voice of a father was what was needed more
than ever.
     But to his relief, his faith in how much friends like Apollo meant
to Starbuck had been vindicated.  Apollo had been able to get through
to him.
     And there was no doubt in Chameleon's mind that the love and
support of the people he knew meant more to Starbuck than anything he
could ever give him, was going to make the difference in letting him
beat the terrible hand that had been dealt him.


     When Adama entered his office, the first thing everyone noticed
how angry he seemed. To Apollo, who stood off to one side with Boomer
alongside, it reminded him of the look he'd seen as a child when Adama
had decided to discipline him or Zac with the leather strap.
     Adama sat down behind his desk and then glared at both Starbuck
and Sire Solon, who were seated in chairs alongside each other,
directly across from Adama.
     "I regard the function of Tribunal to be a solemn one," he began
coldly, "Especially when it becomes my responsibility to act as Chief
Overseer during such an occasion.  And if there is one thing that I am
not going to stand for, it is to see that process demeaned before it
even begins."
     He then focused his attention on Starbuck, "Lieutenant Starbuck,
your decision to choose escape as an option does you no credit
whatsoever.  It is an affront to the entire process of Tribunal, and an
affront to the principles of Colonial Justice that we have all taken
sworn oaths to uphold."
     "Commander, I wish the record to note that Lieutenant Starbuck
turned himself in voluntarily after recognizing his error," Apollo
jumped in.
     "I do not need to hear excuses for the accused from you at this
time, Captain Apollo," Adama raised his voice, not letting a hint of
familiarity pass between them. "Lieutenant Starbuck, until Tribunal
convenes, you are to be held in a state of maximum isolation in the
Brig.  You are only permitted visits from either of your two designated
protectors during that time with all other privileges accorded
prisoners revoked until further notice. Do you understand this
completely?"
     "Yes, Commander," Starbuck's tone was uncharacteristically meek
and totally compliant.  "And on the Book of the Word, I swear my full
apology for my indefensible action."
     Adama nodded and then turned his attention to Sire Solon.  Apollo
and Boomer were both surprised to see that the anger hadn't faded from
the Commander's face, "I have this to say to you, Sire Solon.  I like
to think of myself as a patient man, and a fair man, who regards the
oaths I have taken as a warrior and as a member of the Council of
Twelve to uphold the principles of the Colonial nation as the most
sacred I have ever taken.  But if there is one thing that puts my
patience to the test, it is an opposer who goes on the IFB and openly
questions my ability to uphold those oaths, as you did this morning.
Especially since I had taken no actions toward Lieutenant Starbuck that
would have given you just cause to raise such a question."
     The Chief Opposer stiffened somewhat, totally caught off-guard by
the harshness of Adama's tone.
     "Commander_" he opened his mouth in protest, but the Adama quickly
cut him off.
     "Nor do I also have patience for an opposer who decides to shape
the court of public opinion on the nature of the evidence when the
process is still ongoing, and will not become fully clear until
Tribunal convenes.   I believe that if I chose to have your conduct
investigated further, Sire Solon, charges of reckless opposer conduct
and your removal as the Colonial nation's representative in this case
might very well be in order."
     In spite of Solon's dark complexion, he almost turned red from
embarrassment, "Commander, I assure you, I meant no disrespect of you_"
     "Perhaps not," Adama refused to relinquish the upper hand, "But
since I have chosen to take punitive actions against Lieutenant
Starbuck for his conduct, I think in the interests of maintaining the
impartiality of the Tribunal process, I must also officially warn you
Sire Solon to give out no more interviews to the IFB until this process
is concluded.  Also-" he paused for effect, "If you choose to introduce
Lieutenant Starbuck's actions of this morning as part of the evidence
against him, I will immediately have it disallowed.  So I suggest that
from this centon forward, you regard this and all other unfortunate
incidents of this day as closed and not relevant to the matters that
lie before us when Tribunal convenes."
     Solon bowed his head slightly, trying to shake off the sting of
Adama's words, "Of course, Commander.  You have my assurance of that."
     "That's all then," Adama leaned back in his chair and rang the
intercom for the two security guards waiting to escort Starbuck back to
the brig.  After they had led him away, Solon then rose from his chair
and departed, leaving Adama alone with Apollo and Boomer.
     "You two should be fortunate that Sire Solon got himself into
trouble with that interview this morning, or else I would have had no
legitimate basis to block Starbuck's foolish stunt from being
introduced as evidence against him." Adama said.
     "Frankly Commander, if it hadn't been for that interview, I don't
think Starbuck would have done it." Boomer said.
     "Perhaps," Adama conceded, "Perhaps not.  Since I am committed to
impartiality in this matter, I'm not about to pass judgment on what's
really going on inside his head until Tribunal begins." he paused, "Do
you anticipate having an alternate scenario to present?"
     "We're looking into that, Father," Apollo said, "We might need
more time to come up with what we need though."
     "Out of the question," Adama said flatly, "The law is explicit on
Tribunal for capital crimes that proceedings begin no more than 48
centars after charges are filed.  And as of now, you have only 36
left."
     "I'm just not sure that's going to be easy.  Boomer and I are on
our way to the Rising Star to pursue the only lead we've got so far,
but it might not lead us to the source of what we're looking for."
     "What are you looking for?" Adama leaned forward with curiosity.
     "Someone called Charybdis."
     Adama suddenly froze.  "Did you say Charybdis?"
     "Yes," Apollo suddenly frowned, "You know that name?"
     "I certainly do," the commander's voice became a mixture of
surprise and grave seriousness, "And the two of you should be familiar
with it as well.  It was at the top of a circular that was distributed
to all warriors during the cross-checking of survivors following the
Holocaust."
     Boomer suddenly snapped his fingers, "Wait a centon, I think I
remember that. Wasn't that the list with all the names of the men who
were in Baltar's inner circle?"
     "Exactly," Adama nodded, "Charybdis was Baltar's personal pilot
and electronics expert."
     Light suddenly dawned on Apollo, "The one who helped Baltar get
off the Atlantia before the Cylon attack on the Fleet began!"
     "Yes.  But Charybdis did more than just that.  He was also
conclusively identified as the one who sabotaged the entire Colonial
Defense Network.  He was the reason why Colonial Ground Forces weren't
able to get a single fighter off when the baseships rained their
destruction on all the Colonies."
     "And why nothing ever showed up on the scanners until they were
flying overhead." Apollo was shocked by the sudden turn of events.
     "I'm confused though as to what the connection is between
Charybdis and Ortega's murder," Adama rubbed his chin.
     "Barton is prepared to testify before the Tribunal that the only
person that Ortega ever said had the guts to kill him was someone he
called good old Charybdis," Boomer said.
     "Not only that," Apollo interjected, "He also said that Ortega
called Charybdis a man of mystery who once made the mistake of letting
Ortega find out why he was a man of mystery."
     Adama found himself nodding fervently, "If that's true, then it
looks as though you have a strong alternate scenario as far as motive
goes.  We never learned just what happened to Charybdis after the
attacks ended.  When there was no sign of him among the survivors in
the Fleet, the assumption was that he and the rest of Baltar's inner
circle got left behind to the mercies of the Cylon occupation forces."
     "So it's entirely possible that Charybdis is living in the Fleet
under a new identity, and Ortega, because he knew who he really was,
had to be silenced."  
     "It's possible," the commander admitted but then added a note of
caution, "But just because you can present an alternate scenario with
regards to who had reason to kill Ortega still puts you a long ways
from getting Starbuck off the hook.  You have to prove that someone
else had the means and opportunity to steal Starbuck's laser pistol and
use it during that short interval of time."
     "He's right, Apollo," Boomer conceded.
     "Okay," Apollo held up a hand as he tried to sort things out,
"Okay, let's operate under the assumption that Charybdis is the one who
killed Ortega-"
     "If he is alive and in this Fleet, I know I'd love to get my hands
on him," Adama cut in with an edge of bitterness, "His treachery ranked
second only to Baltar's that night. Sabotaging the Colonial Defense
Network guaranteed a death toll of at least five to ten billion."
     Apollo nodded and resumed, "If Charybdis is our killer, then it's
safe to assume that he has to be someone from the Rising Star.  That's
the only place Ortega could develop any acquaintances, and only a
Rising Star employee could have gotten easy access to the training room
areas without attracting attention.  If we ran a check of Rising Star
employees against a complete description of Charybdis_"
     "That's out of the question," Adama interrupted again, "The
circular had no picture of Charybdis and there never was much of a
description to go on.  He was the one member of Baltar's group who was
always in the background.  That made him the perfect candidate to carry
out that assignment of sabotaging the system."
     "But there has to be someone who knows what he looks like," Boomer
frowned, "Who identified him as the man who sabotaged the system? 
Didn't someone see him then?"
     "Someone heard him," Adama said, "You'll find it in the full
investigative report I commissioned after the Holocaust.  One of the
survivors was the security guard on duty at the main complex for the
Defense Network in Caprica City, which as you recall was the central
agency that controlled the systems for all of the twelve planets."
     Apollo and Boomer both nodded.
     "It seems so hard to fathom how this scenario developed, but I
suppose you have to remember the euphoria everyone was going through at
the time over the peace treaty that we all thought was at hand, and
caused us to let our guard down.  That night, with everyone on Caprica
getting ready to celebrate, there was only one guard on duty at the
complex.  He told us later that during the afternoon, there was one
visitor to the Complex, who got in using a special Council ID pass. 
That visitor specifically identified himself over the unicom as
Charybdis, personal pilot of Count Baltar, the Council's delegate from
Piscera."
     "I think I can guess the rest," Apollo decided to finish, "When
the guard let him in, he was knocked out, and Charybdis went to work."
     "Exactly," Adama nodded.
     "So we have to look for the guard then, and see if he can identify
him.  Even if he never saw his face, he'd at least recognize a voice,
or have some idea of his build, height, or something that could help us
narrow things down."
     "Would you have his name in the file?" Boomer felt his hopes
starting to rise.
     "I should have it," Adama got up and went over to a large wall
cabinet on the other side of his office.  When he opened it, large
quantities of both paper and computer disc files could be seen inside. 
"We put it together on such short notice, and in the haste of
everything, I don't think it was ever transferred to a computer file."
he then pulled out several folders, "Here it is.  The final report on
the cause of the sabotage.  This was also used when the Council tried
and convicted Baltar in absentia."
     He handed the folders to Apollo, who quickly opened them and began
flipping through the pages.  After studying them for more than a
centon, his expression grew crestfallen and he almost dropped the file
to the floor.
     "What is it?" Boomer asked with concern.
     "The guard can't help us now," Apollo sighed, "I recognize his
name.  Shields.  He transferred to viper duty after the Battle of Kobol
and got fried by the Ravashol pulsar at Arcta."
     A somber silence came over the room, as they realized what it
meant.
     "That puts us in deep felgercarb," Boomer said.  "If no one can
identify Charybdis from among the Rising Star employees, then our
alternate scenario's no good."
     "So it would seem," Adama sat down again, "But I think the two of
you have forgotten that there is another source you can consult."
     "Who?" Boomer frowned.
     Apollo was staring at his father, and saw him slowly nodding his
head with a mirthless half-smile.
     "Father," he said, "You don't mean who I think you mean?"
     "I do," Adama's tone was matter-of-fact, "And at this stage, do
you really have any other choice?"

Chapter Five

     For thirteen sectans, Baltar had only known the emptiness of his
nondescript cell aboard the Prison Barge.  Unable to do anything except
eat the three meals slipped through the cell door each day, sleep, pace
about or lie down on the uncomfortable bed. Where too often, he simply
brooded and wondered whether or not he was going through the last day
of his sanity.
     He still could not come to terms with how he had arrived at this
ignoble end. Thirteen sectans ago, he was at the height of his power. 
In command of a Cylon basestar, personally entrusted by the Imperious
Leader to seek out the last remnants of the race he had betrayed and
destroy them.  Granted, he had been through some brutal setbacks of
late.  The loss of two basestars at the hands of Commander Cain at the
Battle of Gomorrah had still lingered heavily, but Baltar still had the
means to pursue the Galactica and her rag-tag Fleet with his own ship. 
At some point, a new opportunity would arise.
     And then, the lights had come.  Mysterious white lights traveling
faster than the eye could comprehend that had compelled him to leave
the safety of his baseship and seek out the Galactica under a sign of
truce.  He had literally expected his fellow humans to honor the rules
of truce and treat him with respect while he presented the case for a
temporary alliance.  But instead, he had been greeted with cold
contempt as the Council of Twelve carried out a sentence they had
agreed on long ago when he had been tried in absentia.  The rules of
truce would not be honored, and Baltar, now that he was in the hands of
Colonial authority would be sent to the Prison Barge for the rest of
his life in total isolation.
     He had tried to protest.  But someone, no something had stopped
him and caused him to drop to his knees in weak horror.  Some being
calling himself Count Iblis.
     And then, days later, that same bizarre figure had appeared in his
cell.  Speaking in the familiar tongue of the Cylon Imperious Leader. 
Further deepening the air of mystery about him.  And then, one last
parting word of what had sounded like reassurance.  He had actually
felt Iblis's hand touching his shoulder which he knew was impossible,
since the enigmatic Count had been outside his locked cell.  Telling
him not to give up hope. That his imprisonment had only been a
temporary necessity.
     But since that day, there had been nothing.  Nothing but endless
isolation.  He had been granted none of the privileges normally
accorded to prisoners.  Never allowed out of his cell even for meals or
to just stretch his legs in the corridor.  And very little conversation
with anyone, since the guards who patrolled outside his cell never
could stand the sight of him.
     He'd long ago given up any hope that he would wake up one morning
and see the fighters from his baseship launching an assault on the
Fleet in a bid to rescue him.  One benefit of his imprisonment was to
spend his lonely centars realizing how dangerously unreliable Lucifer
had been to him as a second-in-command.  The streak of ambition that
had guided him nearly all his life rested within the IL Cylon as surely
as it did within himself.  No doubt, Lucifer had command of his
baseship now and reveled in it so much that the idea of risking the
loss of that command by rescuing Baltar would only seem anathema to the
IL.
     Once that reality had set in he'd wondered how long it would be
before he'd go mad for the rest of his life.  Instead, he found that
the easiest way to fight off insanity was to keep his hate directed at
the ones he felt most responsible for his plight.  And from Baltar's
standpoint, no one was more responsible for his predicament than Adama. 
When Adama had rejected his offer in the tomb of the Ninth Lord of
Kobol to set a trap that would turn the tables on the Cylons, Baltar
knew that his status as an outcast from his race had been cemented for
eternity.  With no chance to ever achieve what he'd really wanted,
which was revenge against the Cylons for double-crossing him and
destroying his own colony of Piscera and everything that had meaning to
him.
     After thirteen sectans of isolation, he'd found that his instincts
had been proved right.  His hate, coupled with a determination to stay
alive long enough to one day act on that hate, had kept him sane.  But
whether he could make that last forever, in a universe where there was
no hope of ever being able to act on that hate, remained an unanswered
question that terrified him each day.
     "You got visitors, Baltar."
     Baltar looked up from his bench at the door where Sergeant Reese
of Council Security stood outside.   There was an aura about Reese that
always managed to keep Baltar convinced that his treason against
humanity had been the correct decision.  To him, the whole of human
society was fast becoming a society of Reeses' in the yahrens leading
before the Holocaust.  Unimaginative.  Dim-witted for the most part.  
Incapable of summoning the strength to win the war against the Cylons. 
With humanity on a fast track in that direction, little wonder that he
had concluded that humanity as a whole was doomed unless someone took
the initiative of approaching the Cylons to preserve one enclave.
     Reese was one person he could always feel superior around. 
"Visitors?" he inquired sarcastically, "I'm relieved.  The company will
exceed anything I've had from your kind."
     The guard felt his muscles tense, but found that he didn't have an
effective retort to use.  Instead, he opened the cell door and motioned
his hand.  "Go right in."
     A micron later, Baltar lifted an eyebrow when he saw Apollo enter,
followed by Boomer.  Baltar didn't know the dark-skinned warrior, but
he was already well-acquainted with Adama's son from that fateful
encounter in the Ninth Lord of Kobol's tomb.   For one brief micron,
Baltar had sensed that Apollo might have been receptive to Baltar's
proposal for striking back against the Cylons.  But the cold, stern
rejection by his father had seemingly intimidated Apollo, keeping him
from challenging Adama on that point. And that was something that made
Baltar hate Apollo with as much vigor as he hated Adama.  Apollo could
have been his instrument to salvation, and Apollo had failed to do what
he should have done.
     "Well, well, Captain Apollo," Baltar increased the sarcasm in his
voice, "How nice to see you again.  It's been a long time since Kobol,
no?"
     Apollo flinched for only a brief instant as the unpleasant memory
of seeing Serina shot down by one of Baltar's centurions outside the
tomb of the Ninth Lord flashed through his mind.  "Baltar, we've come
because we need some information."
     Right away, Baltar sensed the faintest trace of desperation in the
warrior's voice. In an instant, he knew he had reason to feel good
inside and that he could maintain the upper hand throughout the entire
conversation.
     "Information?" Baltar inquired dubiously, "Why Captain, what
information could I possibly provide that would be of use to you?"
     "This concerns an old friend of yours," Apollo folded his arms. 
"A man named Charybdis."
     The sarcasm and taunting suddenly disappeared from Baltar's face
as he heard a name from his past that he had long ago tried to blot out
from his memory.  The memory of a man who had piloted his shuttle off
the Atlantia microns before the Cylon attack began and waited with him
in the safe zone while the destruction of the Fleet and the Colonies
took place.  And then, they had flown to Piscera and been the first to
realize that the Cylons had double-crossed them both.   They had landed
in Piscera's gutted capital where Baltar had insisted they wait for the
occupation force to arrive, since Baltar was determined to raise havoc
with the Imperious Leader over the planet's destruction.  But Charybdis
had found a pretext to leave the shuttle, and once he left, Baltar had
never seen him again.  At the very micron when Baltar had needed his
best lieutenant the most, he had been abandoned again.
     "Charybdis?" he took on a quizzical aura.
     "Baltar, cut the felgercarb.  You know who we're talking about." 
Apollo raised his voice. 
     Again, Baltar sensed the desperate edge in Apollo's voice, and
wasted no time in reassuming the upper hand.
     "Perhaps," he said, "The name is familiar.  But what is it to
you?"
     Right away, Apollo went into a five centon summary of Ortega's
murder, Starbuck's arrest and the belief that Charybdis was
responsible.  As Apollo talked, Boomer found himself wishing he had the
strength to cut him off.  Judging from the expression on Baltar's face,
Boomer had the distinct impression that Apollo was making a tactical
error in laying everything out.  But Boomer also knew that if he spoke
up and undercut Apollo in front of Baltar, it might cause even more
problems.
     Frack, Boomer thought.  I guess this is the kind of scenario where
our lack of protector training really starts to show.
     "Let me get this straight, Captain," Baltar now seemed amused,
"You're saying that you believe Charybdis is alive, murdered this
Ortega and framed Starbuck?"
     "That's exactly what I'm saying," Apollo said bluntly.
     The human traitor didn't bother to conceal his smirk.  If Starbuck
was in trouble, that was perfectly fine with him.  Starbuck was yet
another object of Baltar's hate, since the blonde warrior had been a
key component to his failed dream at Kobol of uniting with Adama to
take revenge on the Cylons.  And how ironic that a man so close to
Baltar would have been responsible for that.
     "I'm beginning to understand, Captain," Baltar kept smirking,
"You're trying to locate Charybdis.  You don't know what he looks like. 
And that means you need my help. You need me to describe him so you can
ultimately identify him."
     "That's it."
     For the first time since his imprisonment, Baltar began to laugh
in that smug tone that he had always reserved for Lucifer.  "You
actually need me.  How ironic.  How pathetic it must seem to you.  Your
friend's life hangs in the balance and I alone am his potential
savior."
     Boomer's disgust had reached the point where he wanted to turn
around and walk out.  But Apollo was the one calling the shots, and he
was certain that the captain was determined to try this avenue for as
long as he possibly could.
     "Baltar," Apollo tried to conceal any hint of the desperation he
was feeling inside, "Are you willing to tell us what he looks like? 
Are you also willing to identify him once he's found?"
     The human traitor turned away from the warriors and walked to the
other side of his cell.  His back was still turned to them when he
said, "I'm willing to do it, Captain."
     For the first time, Apollo felt a sense of relief feel his heart. 
But an instant later, it stopped when Baltar turned back to face them
and grinned malevolently at them.  Right away, Apollo knew exactly what
the traitor was going to say.
     "For the right price," Baltar finished his sentence.
     Apollo's shoulders sagged.  "I suppose I don't have to guess what
that is, do I?"
     "Bright lad," Baltar grinned, "You'll go far."
     "I don't have the authority to promise you a pardon or a release
from the Prison Barge," anger now replaced the desperation, "If you
cooperate with us and Charybdis is convicted, then I'm sure the
Commander will see to it that some of the restrictions you live under
be lifted."
     "I'm not interested in the right to eat my meals with all the
other borays who inhabit this dung heap, Captain," Baltar gently
retorted, "There is only one price I am interested in, and that is the
rectitude of the injustice done to me when I was apprehended in
violation of the rules of truce.   Convicted and sentenced without any
opportunity to state my defense for the record.  Shall I go on?"
     "Yeah, you can go on," Apollo felt the contempt rising in his
tone, "But you can do it to an empty room.  Reese!" he called out,
"Open up and let us out of here!"
     As the guard's footsteps approached, Baltar remained unaffected by
Apollo's defiance, "I've a feeling you'll be back, Captain," the
traitor said, "Because if you've come to me, that can only tell me how
desperate you are to save your pathetic friend. Inevitably, you will do
anything you can to save him, even if that means paying the price of
setting me free."
     Reese arrived outside the cell and pushed the button that opened
the door.  Apollo and Boomer wasted no time leaving.  Once the door had
closed again, Baltar went up and looked out down the corridor where he
could see the two warriors walking away.
     "Until next time, gentlemen!" he called out cheerily as he began
to laugh again.


     Five centons later, Apollo and Boomer were flying their shuttle
away from the Prison Barge.
     "I almost felt like I was going to throw up, back there," Apollo
was still shaking as he guided the controls.  "Lords of Kobol, why was
I dumb enough to think we could play that card?  Baltar's never going
to help us." he then idly glanced at his chronometer, "Twenty four
centars before Tribunal convenes."
     Boomer decided it was time to stop deferring to Apollo.
     "So what are we going to do?" the dark-skinned warrior said
angrily, "Pack up and forget it, and let them start preparing
Starbuck's cell?"
     Apollo glanced sharply at him, "Of course not, damn it!  We move
on!  But our options are now down to almost nothing."
     "No they're not," Boomer retorted, "We've still got what Chameleon
told you. Table number three in the Rising Star's Chancery.   Let's
swing over there now and see if that leads to something."
     "Where did you think I was flying this piece of felgercarb, you
dumb----" Apollo shouted and then stopped to take a breath.
     "I'm sorry Boomer," Apollo sighed, "I'm sorry.  It's just that my
nerves are all shot to Hades."
     "Forget it," Boomer waved his hand, "I know how you feel.  I guess
we're both at the breaking point now.   So far, every lead that ought
to have helped Starbuck out has blown up in our faces."
     "Maybe Sheba and Athena were right," Apollo said aloud, "Maybe the
first thing we should have done was line up an experienced protector
and then done the snooping around."
     "Too late for that now," the dark-skinned warrior grunted,
"Starbuck's stuck with the both of us and we have to deliver."
     Silence took over the shuttle for the next few centons as they
assumed a heading toward the Rising Star.  When Apollo broke it, there
was an edge of trepidation in his voice.
     "Boomer," he said, "Level with me about something.  For the
tiniest fraction of a micron, have you ever thought it was possible
that...." he trailed off, unable to say what he was thinking.
     "That Starbuck's really guilty after all, and it's just a
coincidence that Ortega was in trouble with Charybdis?" Boomer decided
to finish for him.  He leaned back in his seat, "I didn't get a wink of
sleep last night because I was afraid I might start considering that
possibility.  Everything I know about Starbuck tells me I can never
consider it for even a billionth of a micron.  And yet, does my own
peace of mind dictate that I have to prepare myself for the possibility
that it is true when all is said and done?"
     "That's exactly what I was thinking," Apollo admitted, "And I had
to come to the conclusion that I couldn't let myself believe it or
prepare for it, even if the cost would be my sanity." he sighed again,
"It's now reached the point where my own fate is all but tied to
Starbuck's."
     "You and me both," Boomer said emphatically, "You and me both." 
He then tried to change the subject, "Starbuck never had any luck on
the Rising Star gambling.  Maybe this time the ship will be luckier for
him another way."
     "Yeah," Apollo sighed as the luxury ship came into view, "At this
micron, Starbuck's fate may very well rest with a dealer at a pyramid
table."


     Ten centons later, Apollo and Boomer were inside the Chancery just
off the Astral Lounge.  Even though it had only been a sectan since
Apollo had last been here, on the day when he and Starbuck had met
Chameleon, it seemed like a lifetime ago.
     "Table three's that way," Apollo pointed.
     "I hope this isn't another dead end," Boomer sighed as they
started walking toward it.
     Apollo abruptly stopped in his tracks and grabbed his friend's
arm.
     "I don't think it is," the black-haired captain whispered, "Take a
look at the dealer there."
     Boomer frowned as he saw a curly-haired, heavyset man dealing out
pyramid cards to several customers.  "You know who that is?"
     "I sure do," Apollo felt as if a light had suddenly been turned on
in a darkened room, "That's Chella.."
     Boomer glanced back at Apollo, "The one who found Ortega's body!"
     "Exactly," Apollo nodded, "I think things are finally starting to
fall into place."  a satisfied smile then came over his face, "And I
think we've got our alternate scenario for Tribunal."
     Boomer felt slightly uneasy, "Aren't you jumping the gun just a
bit there?  Maybe we should go over there and probe him with a few
questions first."
     "And tip him off?" Apollo gently shot back and shook his head,
"Uh-uh. Tomorrow, we call him as a witness and then we spring our
surprise on him.  In the meantime, let's get prepared with some
background data we'll be needing."
     "Like what?"
     "You go talk to the head of operations for the Chancery and see to
it that all records pertaining to Table Three winnings be impounded as
evidence.  We'll need them to substantiate that Ortega's earnings came
specifically from there.  I'll be heading back to the Galactica and
another trip to Komma and his computers to do a check on Chella.  I
have a feeling that I won't be finding very much personal background
data.  If both of those points check out, then we're all set for
tomorrow."
     Boomer stared at the dealer and slowly took a breath.  "Okay," he
said, "I'll get on that.  And let's hope we've bought Starbuck the time
he needs."


     That evening, Apollo and Boomer were in the empty chamber where
the Council of Twelve normally met, using the conference table to go
over all the material for the Tribunal.
     "We've got it," Apollo said with satisfaction, "An alternate
scenario that meets all the required steps to guarantee a lengthy
continuance.  Chella has opportunity, means, and from the looks of
these Chancery records, has been paying off Ortega rather handsomely."
     "I'm not sure we should press ahead though and try to peg Chella
as Charybdis." Boomer cautioned, "I mean, the Charybdis angle doesn't
have to be true if Chella's guilty."
     Apollo vigorously shook his head, "I don't buy that.  Barton's
statement about Charybdis being the only one with the guts to kill
Ortega is critical for motive establishment.  If we find another guy
with means and opportunity, then it can only lead ultimately to
Charybdis, or else Barton's testimony becomes worthless.   The only we
can impress the Tribunal overseers is to keep our scenario narrowly
focused on Charybdis."
     "All right then," Boomer leaned back in his chair and sighed, "So
tomorrow morning, Solon starts things off by entering all the physical
evidence into the record that points to Starbuck's guilt.  Then the
overseers ask us if we intend to present an alternate scenario.  You
make the opening statement and then the witnesses start from our side.
How many do we call before we get to Chella and spring our surprises on
him?"
     "Only two," Apollo said, "Barton and another old acquaintance of
Ortega's who helps further cement the connection with Charybdis."
     "I don't feel as secure as I think you do, Apollo," Boomer
confessed, "Chella opens up a lot of interesting possibilities but I
can't help but think that he's not the end result of all this."
     "What else can he end up with?" the captain retorted, "Doesn't it
strike you as odd that with all his connections to Ortega he just
happened to be down in that area?"
     "Of course it does," Boomer said, "Still....."
     "We've got more than enough to present an alternate scenario that
points to Chella," Apollo went on with determination.  "And the longer
we drag out the process, the greater the odds that Starbuck will end up
getting acquitted.  We have to go full blast with this, or Starbuck's
finished."
     "I hope you're right," Boomer said quietly as he leaned back in
his chair, "By all the Lords I hope you're right." 


     When Apollo returned to his quarters a centar later, he felt
exhausted.  The most difficult day of his life now lay ahead and the
one thing he wanted more than anything else was rest.
     "Dad?"
     He looked up and was surprised to see Boxey standing in front of
the door that led to his own room, with his beloved Muffit alongside
him.
     "Boxey," Apollo came up to his son and gave him a quick hug, "How
come you're up so late?"
     "I wanted you to tell me that Starbuck's going to be okay," there
was a sullen, depressed tone in the little boy's voice, "They keep
saying he's guilty and that he's going to go the Prison Barge."
     "Hey don't believe everything you hear, Boxey," Apollo said gently
as he inwardly cursed at himself for having put off that talk he'd
meant to have with his son.  "Boomer and I have been busting our tails
off looking for the things that are going to prove he's innocent.   And
you know something?" he looked him in the eye, "It's all going to work
out."
     "Will it?" Boxey seemed unconvinced.
     "Hey," he kept looking him in the eye, "You got to learn to keep
trusting me, son. Don't I always keep my promise when I tell you I'm
going to come back from a difficult mission?"
     "Yeah."
     "Then just think of this as another difficult mission that I'm
going to come back from and Starbuck's going to come back from.  It's
just that we're fighting something different than the Cylons this
time."
     "What are you fighting?"
     Apollo sighed.  How do you explain to a child that the system of
justice designed to protect the rights of each individual had in this
instance, let Starbuck down?   
     "Well Boxey, let me put it like this.  Some people have made a big
mistake, and Boomer and I have to point out to them why they've made a
mistake and why it's not possible for Starbuck to be guilty."
     "What if they don't realize they've made a mistake?"
     His father took a breath, "They won't Boxey.  That's because the
truth is stronger than any mistake someone makes.  Even a mistake as
big as the one they've made against Starbuck." he smiled, "Now you go
to bed and don't worry a thing about it."
     Boxey returned the smile and kissed him on the cheek, "Good night
Dad," he said as he went back into his room with Muffit trailing.
     When the door closed, Apollo realized again that the peace of mind
of so many people was resting on the outcome of what happened tomorrow. 
It had now moved beyond even the impact on Starbuck's life.
     
     
     The next morning, the special chamber aboard the Galactica where
formal Tribunal sessions took place was crowded with spectators who had
come to see the fate of Lieutenant Starbuck decided.  In one cluster,
Athena, Cassiopeia, Sheba and a stoic Chameleon sat together.  Behind
them sat Jolly, Greenbean, Giles and Bojay.
     Two tables lay in front of the spectators gallery.  Sire Solon sat
at the table to the spectators right.  At the table to the left sat
Apollo, Boomer and Starbuck.  Ahead of them, sitting up on a raised
platform overlooking the gallery were the three Overseers. Adama sat on
the far left, in the position of Chief Overseer.  Next to him sat the
military's representative, Commander Kronus, one-time commander of the
Battlestar Ricon and the Colonial Fourth Fleet, while on the far right
sat the civilian representative, the genial-faced Sire Anton.  Had
Starbuck been a civilian then the Tribunal would have been comprised
solely of three civilian overseers.  In this instance, trial of a
member of the Colonial Service meant two military and one civilian
overseer, with the Fleet Commander acting as Chief Overseer.
     The ringing of a ceremonial bell indicated that the Tribunal was
ready to begin.  All conversation in the galleries came to an end and
every pair of eyes now locked on Adama.
     "This Tribunal of the Colonial Nation against Lieutenant Starbuck
will now come to order," Adama said in his most solemn tone, "At this
time, will the Chief Opposer for the state please submit the bill of
indictment against the accused to this Tribunal?"
     Solon rose from his seat and began to read from a parchment. 
Always, the tradition of Tribunal dictated that bills of indictment be
transcribed to the ancient form of written communication for their
formal reading.
     "It is charged that on the 211th day of the yahren 7352,  the
accused, Lieutenant Starbuck of the Colonial Service did with total
premeditation cause the termination of Wing Sergeant Ortega through a
single laser shot.   Said charge made on the indisputable fact that the
accused's weapon was discovered through indisputable scientific testing
to be the weapon of termination.  That the accused was also seen by an
eyewitness fleeing the scene of the murder only mere centons after he
and the victim had engaged in a fight during the course of a triad
match, and nearly came to blows again just afterwards.  That the
accused was known to have had long-standing hatred of the victim and on
more than one occasion was heard by others to have made statements
implying the threat of physical violence against the victim.  And that
the accused alone had the means, opportunity and motive to perform said
termination of the victim, Wing Sergeant Ortega."
     Solon then resumed his seat.  Starbuck felt the urge to whisper a
sarcastic remark in Apollo's ear, but had already been warned in
advance not to do so.
     "Thank you, Sire Solon," Adama said, "The members of this
tribunal, Commander Kronus, Sire Anton and myself, have all had the
opportunity to review the evidence presented by the state at the time
of Lieutenant Starbuck's indictment forty-eight centars ago.  As this
is a capital offense, subject to the codes established by the Colonial
Council of Twelve in relation to the suspension of the death penalty in
7204, the protectors for the accused are now asked if they intend to
present any evidence to this Tribunal that would suggest an alternate
scenario to that presented by the state in the bill of indictment."
     Apollo rose from his seat and stood at his most erect bearing, "We
are prepared to do so."
     A low murmur went up from the spectators, for the most part a
murmur of relief. It meant that for them, their worst fear would not be
borne out.  A quick conviction and sentence for Starbuck.
     "Very well," Adama motioned, "Please state your alternate scenario
for the record. And I would remind the chief protector that in order
for this Tribunal to give consideration to any alternate scenario, it
must take into account and provide explanations for all of the relevant
evidence introduced by the State, and must also be prepared to provide
further evidence that lends credence to the alternate scenario."
     For an instant, Apollo realized that his father had found a quiet,
subtle way of reminding him what the exact wording of the codes were on
this point.  He faintly nodded his head and moved out in front of his
table.
     "Sire Solon," he nodded to the Chief Opposer and then turned to
the table in front of him, "Esteemed members of the Tribunal." Apollo
took a breath.  This was it.  "The circumstances that led to Sergeant
Ortega's termination have their origins during the tragedy that led to
our flight across the stars.   They begin during a critical time prior
to the Holocaust when Sergeant Ortega, through a set of fortuitous
circumstances, found himself privy to the identity of a man whose
treachery was greater than any other's that night, with the singular
exception of the infamous Baltar.
     "For the past yahren, Sergeant Ortega, alone among our entire
population, knew that this traitor to the Colonial Nation was in our
midst, living in the Fleet under a new identity.  But instead of using
his knowledge to perform his duties as a warrior in the Colonial
Service, and have this traitor placed under arrest, he instead used it
for the sake of personal profit.   Through a long-standing campaign of
blackmail that insured that Ortega would enjoy a lifestyle far more
comfortable than that of the average warrior.
     "When Sergeant Ortega was murdered, it was not at the hand of
Lieutenant Starbuck, one of the finest warriors of record.  While the
defense concedes that there was genuine long-standing hatred between
the accused and the victim, at no time did Lieutenant Starbuck ever
contemplate the horrible crime of which he is now accused." he then
turned to face Starbuck, "For more than seven yahrens, Lieutenant
Starbuck has been among the finest warriors ever to serve the Colonial
nation.   Putting his life on the line countless times to defend the
principles that have made our fight against the Cylon Empire a just
cause." he turned back to the Tribunal, "And Lieutenant Starbuck, like
any other warrior who has risked his life, is well aware that among the
most powerful of our codes is that no crime is greater than that of a
human taking the life of another."
     He paused briefly and stepped closer to the rise where the
overseers stared down at him, "Murder.  Termination.  The only kind of
person capable of committing the greatest mockery to our codes is
someone who has demonstrated in the past that he has no regard for
those codes to begin with.  Lieutenant Starbuck does not fit that
profile. But the real killer of Sergeant Ortega does."
     "Captain Apollo," the cold voice of Commander Kronus suddenly
interrupted, "I have been sitting here patiently waiting for you to
give us a name according to the alternate scenario and instead you've
been dragging things out in a very irregular, almost theatrical manner. 
Now I don't know how many times you've taken part in a Capital Tribunal
proceeding, but having sat on more than I care to remember over the
yahrens, one thing I was always relieved by was the punctuality and
succinctness of an alternate scenario when it's presented for the first
time!"
     Apollo flushed slightly.  He had been following the standard
format of what a protector said at the outset of Tribunal, and hadn't
realized that things were different in a capital case such as this.
     "My apologies, Commander," Apollo said, slightly shaken.  Adama
almost winced, knowing that his son had just let his inexperience be
compounded by letting the stern words of an overseer intimidate him. 
"The real killer of Sergeant Ortega, is a man called Charybdis."
     There was a slight stirring from the spectators since most of them
were familiar with the name.
     "The man who was singlehandedly responsible for the deaths of
billions of people when he sabotaged the Colonial Defense Network prior
to the Cylon Holocaust is alive in this Fleet, and terminated Ortega
because Ortega knew who he was, and was blackmailing him." Apollo took
a breath, hoping that his confidence was now back, "We intend to
demonstrate to this Tribunal that Charybdis had access to the Training
Room areas because he is in fact in this Fleet as an employee on the
Rising Star.  And that while Lieutenant Starbuck was in the turbowash,
Charybdis took his laser pistol, terminated Sergeant Ortega and then
returned it to Lieutenant Starbuck's locker."
     Apollo returned to his table and resumed his seat.  Both Boomer
and Starbuck could see that he was sweating nervously, as though he
feared that his inexperience had shown up badly.  It was enough to make
Starbuck absently gaze down at the floor and bite his lip.
     "Thank you Captain Apollo," Adama said evenly, "Are you prepared
to introduce evidence to this Tribunal to validate your alternate
scenario?"
     Apollo rose again, this time holding several parchments, "We are
sir.  As a preliminary, we wish to place before the Tribunal, the
report of the Council of Twelve concerning the sabotage of the Colonial
Defense Network at the time of the Holocaust, and the identification of
Charybdis as the saboteur."
     "Any protest from the state?" Adama inquired of Solon, as the
parchments were handed to the Tribunal Officer and placed on the rise.
     "No protest," Solon said, "The state will stipulate for the
record, the accuracy of the Council's report."
     "Proceed, Captain."
     Apollo nodded, "At this time, we wish to call witnesses who will
establish that the victim was indeed acquainted with Charybdis."
     "Do either of my fellow overseers protest at this point, or do
they find sufficient grounds to continue exploration of the alternate
scenario?"  Adama turned to both Kronus and Anton.
     "No protest," Kronus said.
     "No protest," Anton shook his head.
     "Sire Solon?"
     "No protest."
     "Call your first witness, Captain Apollo."
     "We call Flight Sergeant Barton."
     At the far end, a Colonial Security Guard and Barton entered from
his waiting position.  Under the rules of Tribunal, all witnesses were
not permitted to be in the chamber during the proceedings until they
were called.
     As soon as Barton reached the witness platform located directly in
between Sire Anton's position on the far right and Sire Solon's table,
the Tribunal Officer held up a copy of the Book of the Word.
     "Do you solemnly pledge upon the Book of the Word and the Lords of
Kobol that what you are about to report to this Tribunal shall be true
and accurate to the fullest?"
     "I do swear," Barton said and sat down in the chair behind the
platform, hoping this wouldn't take up too much of his day.
     "Would you please state for the record your name and current
designation?" Adama inquired.
     "Flight Sergeant Barton, presently assigned to viper duty in Red
Squadron."
     "Proceed with the witness," Adama motioned to Apollo.
     "Thank you," Apollo moved in front of the table.  "Sergeant
Barton, were you acquainted with the victim?"
     "I was."
     "How did you know him?"
     "Sergeant Ortega was my wingmate in Red Squadron for the past four
sectars.  He was also my partner in the triad league."
     Apollo then guided him through another set of rudimentary
questions establishing how well Barton and Ortega knew each other, with
the sergeant injecting a clarification about how he held no affection
whatsoever for his late partner.
     "Sergeant Barton," Apollo finally focused in, "Did Sergeant Ortega
ever think that the accused, Lieutenant Starbuck, might kill him?"
     "I protest!" Solon got to his feet, "The Chief Protector is trying
to make the witness assume state of mind for someone else."
     "Upheld," Adama said gently and leaned forward, "Restate your
question, Captain Apollo.  The witness can make no assumptions about
everything that went through Sergeant Ortega's mind."
     "Uh.....yes," Apollo nodded, his train of thought momentarily
disrupted. "Ah...Sergeant Barton, did Ortega ever say to you personally
at any time that he feared an attempt on his life from Lieutenant
Starbuck?"
     "No sir, he didn't," Barton said.
     "Did he ever express the thought that anyone might kill him?"
     "Yes sir, he did."
     "Please tell the Tribunal who he said might kill him."
     "I protest!" Solon was on his feet again, "This is secondhand
information, and totally useless in terms of establishing the truth."
     "Disallowed," Adama's tone was firmer, "Sergeant Barton is
providing an eyewitness account of what he heard.   Perfectly
admissible under the codes.   You may answer the question, Sergeant."
     Barton then repeated the story he had told Apollo and Boomer about
Ortega saying that only 'good old Charybdis' had the guts to kill him.
     "At the time did the name Charybdis mean anything to you?"
     "No sir," Barton shook his head with regret, "The flyer listing
all the names from Baltar's operation totally escaped my memory.  I
wish it hadn't, because had I remembered the name I certainly would
have reported what Ortega said to my superior, Lieutenant Boomer."
     "Did Ortega say anything else about Charybdis?"
     "He did.  When I asked who Charybdis was, he just laughed and said
he was a man of mystery who once made the mistake of letting him find
out why he was a man of mystery."
     "A man of mystery," Apollo said with great interest as he walked
away from the witness platform and looked first Sire Solon in the eye,
and then turned back and faced the Tribunal members again, "A man of
mystery.  That's a very interesting comment."
     "Captain Apollo, you are once again engaging in theatrics.  Let
your evidence speak for itself and kindly move on!" Commander Kronus
interjected sternly.
     "My dear Commander Kronus," Sire Anton cut in coolly, "I think it
would do the dignity of these proceedings much better if you refrain
from badgering the Chief Protector. I think we all recognize that as
this is his first case, his is not apt to grasp every nicety or
mannerism with which a professional protector conducts himself.   You
only suggest a prejudiced attitude otherwise."
     "My fellow overseer is out of line," the one-time battlestar
commander retorted.  "I am only insisting on regular order and proper
decorum to these proceedings and I resent the implication that I am
being biased toward the Protector."
     The sound of the ceremonial bell rang in three rapid bursts.
     "My fellow overseers will refrain from any further distractions to
these proceedings," Adama said coldly, "This exchange is irrelevant and
a waste of time.   But it is the opinion of the Chief Overseer that
Captain Apollo should be permitted to present his evidence in any way
that maintains the spirit, if not the precise letter of the codes
governing these proceedings.  You may now continue, Captain Apollo."
     "Thank you Commander," Apollo bowed slightly, grateful that his
father had found a way of coming down in his favor without making it
look like that he was playing favorites.  "I have no further questions
at this time."
     "Sire Solon, do you wish to question the witness?"
     "I do," the Chief Opposer rose and made his way up to where Barton
was seated, while Apollo resumed his seat at the defense table between
Starbuck and Boomer.  The blonde warrior was trying to keep his
expression totally neutral, but the manner in which he was constantly
fidgeting his thumbs revealed what he was feeling inside.
     "Sergeant Barton," Solon began, "You have testified that when
Sergeant Ortega mentioned this Charybdis person, it was prompted by a
comment you made to him while you were both on deep patrol."
     "Yes."
     "Would you repeat again your exact words that you said?"
     Barton shifted slightly in his chair, "I believe I said something
to the effect that if Ortega kept acting the way he did away from his
viper and away from the triad court, someone might snap and kill him
someday."
     "That wasn't all you mentioned, was it Sergeant?" Solon zeroed in. 
"Did you mention any names?"
     At the defense table, Boomer winced slightly as he realized what
Barton was about to say.  So did Apollo.
     Barton took a breath, "I said that the way Starbuck was looking
him in the eye, I wouldn't be a bit surprised if it were him."
     "Really," Sire Solon said with mock amazement, "Now why would you
think that Starbuck, a whole sectan before the triad match took place,
would have reason to snap someday and kill Sergeant Ortega?"
     "Now wait a centon!" Apollo suddenly got to his feet, and then
realizing his blunder tried to calm himself down, "Uh, I mean, I
protest.  The, ah...."
     In the spectator's gallery, Athena visibly cringed while Sheba was
biting her lower lip and slowly shaking her head.  You just had to take
on this responsibility all by yourself, didn't you, Apollo?
     "...the ah, Chief Opposer is bringing in matters completely
irrelevant to these, ah...."
     "Disallowed," Adama said sharply, wanting to move on as quickly as
possible before Apollo embarrassed himself any further.  "You may
answer the question, Sergeant."
     As Apollo resumed his seat, Starbuck glared at him for an instant
and whispered angrily, "Try to think before you get on your feet, will
you?"
     "Sorry," Apollo whispered back.
     "Well, the only reason I mentioned Starbuck was because of what
had happened earlier, before Ortega and I got put on deep patrol." 
Barton resumed.
     "And what happened?" Solon asked with sharp emphasis.
     "Ortega and Starbuck almost had a brawl in the Officers Club,"
Barton felt uneasy, "Ortega was giving Starbuck a lot of trash talk
about the upcoming match and Starbuck got up from his table and said a
few words.  They might have come to blows if Captain Apollo and
Lieutenant Boomer hadn't arrived to break it up.
     Chameleon closed his eyes and lowered his head slightly.  He had
been there, and he now remembered exactly what Starbuck had said when
he'd gotten up from the table they'd been sharing.
     "What did Lieutenant Starbuck say?"
     Again, Barton took a breath, "He said that after the match, Ortega
wouldn't be in any condition to go near a bar.   And that he had a new
strategy that would wipe the smirk off his face forever."
     "I see," the opposer nodded with satisfaction as he moved back to
his table, "I have no further questions."
     "Not what I would call a flying start," Cassiopeia whispered to
Chameleon as she tried not to grind her teeth from inner anxiety.  What
she feared more than anything else was the thought that if Starbuck
were convicted, she might end up blaming herself for not trying to talk
him into a self-defense plea with more fervor.  Not because she
believed the charge, but because she couldn't imagine her own psyche
dealing with the thought of him locked away in the Prison Barge
forever.
     "No," Chameleon admitted as he whispered back, "Hopefully Apollo's
got a lot more than that."
     "Your next witness?" Adama looked over at the Defense Table.
     Apollo got to his feet, "We call Chief Danzig."
     The Tribunal Officer opened the door again at the far side and a
man in his midforties with graying hair entered the room and took his
place behind the witness platform after repeating the oath to tell the
truth.
     "Please state your name and designation for the record."
     The man leaned forward, "Danzig.  Presently attached as Class G-1
employee aboard the passenger ship Antares as Chief of Operations."
     "Chief Danzig," Apollo moved in front of the table, "What was your
designation prior to the Antares?"
     "Twenty-three yahrens attached to the Colonial Service, honorably
retired five sectars ago with the rank of Chief Master Sergeant."
     "What area of the Service were you attached to?"
     "Colonial Security.  I spent five yahrens aboard the Battlestar
Acropolis, and the next eighteen attached to District Headquarters on
Caprica."
     "Did you know the victim, Sergeant Ortega?"
     "I did," Danzig said stoically, "For more than a yahren, he was my
partner in the Colonial Security unit assigned to the Caprica City
Aerodrome."
     "This was the yahren leading up to the Holocaust?"
     "It was."
     "Were you and Sergeant Ortega in fact, on duty together on the
afternoon and evening prior to the Holocaust?"
     "We were."
     "What was your impression of Sergeant Ortega?"
     "I didn't like him one bit," Danzig was blunt, "He was difficult
to work with and was constantly getting himself into trouble."
     "Were you aware of his gambling habits?"
     "I protest!" Solon got to his feet, "This is completely
irrelevant."
     "Relevancy will be established soon," Apollo said, "It is our
contention that Sergeant Ortega's gambling skills at this point in time
have a bearing in proving our contention that Charybdis was his true
killer."
     "I'll let you proceed for now, Captain Apollo," Adama said with an
air of caution, "But if it becomes clear to a majority of the Overseers
that you are not demonstrating relevance, we will not hesitate to have
the testimony stricken from the record."
     "Thank you," Apollo nodded, "Were you aware of his gambling habits
in the yahren you worked with him on Caprica?"
     "I was," Danzig nodded, "In the time I knew him, Ortega ran up a
debt well into five figures of cubits.  He had to pay off his creditors
by pulling double shifts in order to earn extra pay vouchers."
     "So he was, to put it mildly, an unsuccessful gambler with no
apparent proficiency at any of the games."
     "That is a mild way of putting it, but it is true."
     "And on the night of the Holocaust, was Sergeant Ortega planning
to pull a double shift again?"
     "Yes, on the night when every single warrior in the service was
anxious to be home celebrating the so-called 'Peace Conference,'" he
injected a note of sarcasm on the last two words, "Ortega was pulling
double duty again."
     "Meaning that he had yet to correct his problem by that point."
     "That's correct."
     Apollo began to pace back and forth in front of the witness
platform, "Could you briefly explain what your duties were at the
Caprica City Aerodrome with Sergeant Ortega?"
     "Our job was to man the checkpoint for entry to the military
section of the Aerodrome.  Any hovermobile or person who wanted access
had to be cleared officially by us first before they could proceed.  No
exceptions permitted."
     "In all that time that you and Sergeant Ortega spent on that last
shift before the Holocaust took place, how heavy was the traffic that
day?"
     "Non-existent," Danzig was again blunt, "No one wanted to fly out
that night. They all wanted to stay on Caprica for the celebrations
that were supposed to take place."
     "So in all that time, no one came by trying to get access to the
military side of the Aerodrome?"
     "No sir," Danzig shook his head, "One person did come by in a
hovermobile at about 1700 that afternoon."
     "One person," Apollo stopped and looked at him, "Who was that?"
     "I'm afraid I don't know, sir.  I had gone inside to the
guardhouse for a cup of java.  I only heard the hovermobile pull up to
the Checkpoint.  I can tell you it was going very fast and for a micron
I almost thought it was going to crash into the force barrier and cause
a big mess."
     "But it didn't."
     "No."
     "And Sergeant Ortega handled that one person who gained access to
the military zone?"
     "He did.  When I came out and I asked him about it, he just kind
of laughed and said that the man had shown him everything he needed to
see, and then Ortega shut up and never said another word about it."
     Apollo wished he could have asked Danzig to explain his suspicions
about what had happened, because when he had first contacted the
ex-Colonial Security Guard and heard his story Danzig had said that he
was convinced Ortega had taken bribe money to let the person go through
the checkpoint without going through normal clearance procedures. But
Apollo had read enough of the codes to know that kind of speculation
would never be permitted.
     He moved back to the Defense Table and picked up his copy of the
Council report, "I call the Tribunal's attention to section two, page
two of the Council report on the sabotage of the Colonial Defense
Network that was earlier admitted to the record and stipulated to by
the State.  If I may be permitted to read the relevant section?"
     "Any protest?" Adama inquired of Solon.
     "No protest." the dark-skinned opposer said.
     Apollo cleared his throat and began to read, "'At 1219 that day,
the Caprica City Aerodrome Operations Center gave permission to a
shuttle bearing Count Baltar of Piscera to land on the military side of
the Aerodrome.  The Operations Center contacted the shuttle and asked
how long they planned to stay or if they needed to bring their shuttle
to a nearby hangar.  Count Baltar stated that his personal pilot was
conducting a personal errand in Caprica City and would return within
several centars to take him on to the Peace Conference aboard the
Battlestar Atlantia.   At 1704, two centars after the incident in which
Security Officer Shields stated he was knocked out while on duty at the
Colonial Defense Network Complex, Count Baltar's shuttle finally left
the Aerodrome.  No one at the Operations Center can recall though if
his pilot was ever permitted back in or if Colonial Security had
contacted the Operations Center to ask for clearance for his returning
pilot, Charybdis.'"
     Apollo put the papers down at the table and moved back in front of
the witness platform, "That would be exactly four centons after this
one person driving the fast hovermobile was allowed to pass by Sergeant
Ortega, would it not?"
     "It would." Danzig nodded.
     "When had your shift began?"
     "At 1400."
     "And no one had come by at all during that time except for that
one man at 1700?"
     "No one."
     "Now Chief Danzig," Apollo began to pace, "Is it logical to assume
that Sergeant Ortega would have seen the face of whoever it was that
went through at that point?"
     "He had to have seen it, and he had to have seen what his name
was."
     "Thank you," Apollo smiled, "I have no further questions."
     "Sire Solon?"
     Solon only half-rose from his seat, "No questions."
     "You are dismissed Chief Danzig.  Thank you for your
participation." Adama said politely.
     As the gray-haired man left, Starbuck leaned over to Boomer and
inquired, "What good did that guy do?"
     "Plenty," Boomer whispered back, "He established that Ortega had
to have known who Charybdis was from the start, and he also established
that Ortega was a lousy gambler."
     "Okay, I get the first point, but what does the second point
prove?"
     "You're about to find out, Starbuck.  And this is where we're
going for broke."

Chapter Six

     All morning, ever since he had been notified that he was going to
be called before the Tribunal, Chella had felt a persistent sensation
of being sick to his stomach.  Going into more details about Ortega's
death was the last thing he wanted to do.  He'd already felt he'd
caught the luckiest break of his life when he saw Starbuck running from
the scene and then stumbled upon the curly-haired sergeant's body
microns later.  The thought that his relief and sense of safety at long
last would be pulled out from under him was something he found too
cruel to consider.
     Now, he'd spent the last twenty centons in the outer chamber with
Barton and Danzig, unable to speak to either one under the codes,
forced to wait in silence until the door was opened and he was called
in to the chamber.
     He sat and watched as Barton was called in first, and then Danzig. 
Now, he was all alone in the outer chamber and could feel his inner
tension forcing its way out. A nervous tapping of his right foot.  The
perspiration breaking out on his forehead.
     When the door swung open, he felt his heart nearly go into his
throat.  The moment had come, and he hoped it would pass quickly and he
could leave the Tribunal with his sense of security restored.  He got
up, straightened his tunic and walked into the chamber at a steady,
even pace, stopping in front of the Tribunal Officer to take the
appropriate oath before taking his seat on the witness platform.
     In the spectators gallery, Cassiopeia found herself holding her
breath, hoping that this witness would lead to more promising results. 
She could feel Chameleon taking her hand and squeezing it.  She noticed
right away how his hand was shaking, indicating how much inner anguish
he was going through.
     Next to them, Sheba was frowning slightly as she watched the
witness take the oath and then his seat.  That undefinable chord of
recognition that she'd felt when she'd seen Chella the night of the
murder was coming back to her again.  But still, she couldn't figure
out why the Chancery employee looked so familiar to her.
     "Please state your name and designation for the record," Adama
said.
     "Chella," he looked straight ahead, "G-4 employee attached to the
Rising Star, working in the Main Chancery."
     "Proceed, Captain Apollo."
     Apollo rose and came up to him, determined not to start off
aggressively.
     "Now Chella," he said, "I don't want to waste time rehashing most
of what you said in your deposition the night of the murder and which
has been entered previously by Sire Solon.  However, I was wondering if
you could at least restate for the record, why you happened to be down
in that area at that particular time?"
     Chella tried not to tense.   This was by far the one weak link of
his entire story, and he knew he had to make the lie more convincing
than ever.
     "As I said before, I got off-duty at 2130 and went down to the
Astral Lounge to watch the match.  When the ejection took place and I
saw that a lot of people were leaving, I figured that this was my
chance to watch some of the game from one of the choice seats.  That's
one of the benefits of being a Rising Star employee."
     "I see," Apollo said, "In other words, you just wanted to enjoy
watching a triad match from a seat that ordinarily you could never have
paid full price for."
     "Yeah, that's it."
     "And even though there really wasn't much of a game left to watch
after the double ejection, you figured it was worth getting there
anyway?"
     "Just figured it was something worth doing."
     "Okay," Apollo nodded and then looked down at some documents on
the table, "So you left the Astral Lounge and were going to the triad
court when you ran into Lieutenant Starbuck in the corridor outside the
training rooms."
     "That's correct."
     Apollo still avoided looking at him as he absently picked up
several sheets of paper, "Is that the most direct way to get from the
Astral Lounge to the Spectators Gallery?"
     The heavy-set dealer frowned slightly, "I'm sorry?"
     Apollo now looked at him, "The route you took from the Astral
Lounge to the Spectators Gallery.   Is the most direct way there by way
of the training room areas?"
     For the first time, Chella seemed slightly rattled, "Uh....well
no, but----"
     "As a matter of fact, the quickest way from the Astral Lounge is
to use the main corridor and the main turbo lift down to level three,
isn't it?"  Apollo picked up the tempo of his questions.
     "I suppose so."
     "You suppose?" an edge of incredulity entered his voice, "As a
Rising Star employee, you're trained to know the layout of that ship
inside out, aren't you?"
     "Yes, but....well you see with all those crowds leaving the game,
I would have probably run into too many of them and not gotten to the
Gallery in time before the game was over."
     "I see," Apollo nodded, "So you were down by the training rooms at
that particular time because you wanted to avoid the crowds and find an
easy way to get to a choice seat for the rest of the game."
     "That's it," he nodded fervently.
     Apollo almost chuckled lightly and then looked down at the
parchments he was holding, "Tell me Chella, had you ever met Sergeant
Ortega before?"
     "I protest!" Solon rose, "Irrelevant."
     "Disallowed," Adama said, feeling his interest piqued, "Proceed."
     "Thank you," Apollo nodded and looked back to Chella, "Had you
ever met Sergeant Ortega before?"
     "I knew who he was." Chella said, with a touch of defensiveness.
     "That's not what I asked, Chella," Apollo took a step towards him,
"Practically everyone in the Fleet who follows triad knew who Ortega
was.  But were you acquainted with him personally?"
     Chella folded his arms and looked Apollo in the eye, "No."
     "That's interesting," Apollo said as he came to the Overseers
Bench, "According to your Fleet Personnel File, which at this time I
would like to enter into the record, when you were logged in among the
survivors of the Fleet, it was by Sergeant Ortega, who was attached to
Colonial Security at the time."
     The pyramid dealer flushed slightly, "How am I supposed to
remember someone from one chance meeting during one of the worst days
of my life, and anyone else's life?"
     "All right, we'll concede that for argument's sake, Chella,"
Apollo said and moved back to the table.  "But are you then saying to
this Tribunal that there are no other occasions when you've ever met
Sergeant Ortega?"
     "I didn't say that, I just said I wasn't acquainted with him."
Chella pointed out.
     "Oh then that means you have met him before?"
     "I'm sure I've seen him around the Rising Star on occasion."
     "Like maybe at your Pyramid table?" Apollo drew closer and decided
to zero in.
     "I wouldn't know." an edge of defiance crept into his voice. 
Already, most of the spectators had begun to realize where Apollo was
going and were now leaning forward in their seats, hanging on every
word he and the witness was saying. "I don't remember him playing at my
table.  He might have, but I wouldn't remember if he did."
     "Well now that's interesting," Apollo said dubiously, "For a
Pyramid dealer who has to keep track of all the cards on the table, you
have one very poor memory."
     "I protest!" Solon bolted from his chair, "The Chief Protector is
harassing the witness."
     "Captain Apollo," Adama leaned forward, "Rephrase your last
statement in the form of a direct question to the witness, and do not
make any speeches."
     "Of course," Apollo nodded, "Are you then saying Chella, that in
spite of the fact that as a Pyramid dealer who has to always know what
cards are on the table and who he's dealing them too, you have no
recollection of Ortega ever playing at your table?"
     "Yeah that's what I'm saying," his nostrils flared slightly, "I'm
only paid to remember the cards.  I go through more than a hundred
customers a day so how can I remember every one after a while?"
     "Okay, we'll concede that," Apollo said, "But there are always
bound to be customers that stick out more than others, aren't there?"
     "Calls for a conclusion!" Solon chimed in.
     "Disallowed, considering that the witness should be an expert on
the subject." Adama said.  "Proceed."
     "I ah_" Chella fumbled slightly, "Well yes, some can be more
memorable than others."
     "Especially if they're a big winner, right?"  Apollo drew closer. 
"I mean, we might as well admit it, Pyramid is not an easy game to
master, and the vast majority of your customers are losers, aren't
they?"
     "Yeah," he shifted in his chair.
     "And if someone went on a winning streak at Pyramid, that would be
one customer worth remembering, wouldn't it?"
     "I suppose."
     "You suppose," Apollo then handed a parchment sheet to Chella,
"Chella, I want you to take a look at this.  It's the records for your
Pyramid table in terms of net earnings and losses for the last six
sectars.  If there are no objections may I enter this into the record?"
     "Any protests?" Adama looked down at Kronus and Anton who both
shook their heads.
     "Now that's an interesting list, isn't it Chella?" Apollo noted
with a touch of sarcasm, "Compared to all other tables in the Chancery,
yours has a surprisingly lower net take.  In fact, there is a clear
pattern of heavy losses incurred on a number of occasions."
     "We've had some smart customers," Chella felt the sweat breaking
out on his forehead again.
     "Oh really?" Apollo increased the sarcasm, "Since by your own
admission, a winning customer is the kind you never forget, why don't
we find out who they are?  And let me remind you Chella, that any name
you give us can be checked out in an instant."
     Chella bit his lip and lowered his head slightly.
     "The witness will answer the question," Adama said as the silence
lasted nearly a centon. "And I will remind the witness that the penalty
for lying to this Tribunal is quite severe."
     Chella kept his head down.  He had to admit the obvious to
himself.  There was no way he could keep his dirty little secret of the
past, secret anymore.  Events had now forced him to be open about it.
     "Okay," he raised his head and seemed to relax, as though he knew
that some needed catharsis was about to be performed.  "Okay, I won't
deny it any longer.  I did know Ortega.  He was a frequent winner at my
table.  And on the night he was killed, I was down by the training
rooms because I was on my way to meet him."
     An excited murmur went up among the spectators.  For the first
time, Starbuck began to feel some hope since his ordeal had begun.
     Apollo felt as though his efforts were finally paying off.  Now he
was determined to keep pressing, "You were on your way to meet him?"
     "Yes," Chella felt like the burden was off his shoulders now. 
"Earlier that afternoon, I received a telecom from Ortega.  He told me
to meet him down in the training room at exactly 2210."
     "At exactly 2210?" Apollo found that intriguing, "Now Chella, you
had to know that there was no way that Ortega was going to be finished
with the match at that time, didn't you?"
     "Yes, I knew that, which was why I found the whole thing odd."
Chella said, "But when I saw him get thrown out of the game, I figured
he was probably planning on having that happen all along."
     "I protest!" Solon rose, "That is pure speculation."
     "Upheld," Adama said, "The last portion of the answer will be
stricken."
     "Okay Chella," Apollo drew to within three feet of the dealer,
"Why would you be meeting with Ortega to begin with?"
     Chella took a breath, "Ortega was blackmailing me." he said
simply, "He'd been blackmailing me ever since we met during the Exodus,
and my letting him win at Pyramid was my way of paying him off."
     Another gasp went up from the galleries, prompting Adama to ring
the ceremonial bell twice.  "The galleries will be silent, now!" he
said firmly.
     As soon as the silence returned, Apollo looked him in the eye,
"What was he blackmailing you about?"
     Chella glanced down at the floor, "Because he saw me do something
that under Colonial law would mean a penalty of ten yahrens
imprisonment at least," he looked up, "My name isn't Chella.  It's
really Riftis.  I was the chief administrative officer for the Solius
Corporation of Caprica.  We were a major conglomerate, with oversight
over more than one hundred different private businesses throughout the
planet."
     From the gallery, a sudden dawning of recognition came over
Sheba's face.
     "The night the Cylons attacked, I was on my way to a party at the
main Solius Complex for the Peace Ceremony.  I took refuge in a
downtown Caprica City shelter and that was where I heard Commander
Adama's announcement about the evacuation of the Colonies and how
everyone had to get to the nearest available ships.
     "I knew that the Solius Corporation maintained a private shuttle
of their own at the Caprica City Aerodrome, and I figured that was my
only chance to get off Caprica before the Cylon occupation forces
arrived.   But by the time I made it to the Aerodrome, the Solius
shuttle had long since left Caprica, and there were mobs upon mobs of
people fighting for spots on all the remaining ships that were there. 
That's when...." he rubbed his eyes slightly, "That's when I did a very
terrible thing to save my life.  I managed to force my way into the
line where the Rising Star was waiting to take off.  By this point, a
lot of people were beginning to realize that there weren't enough ships
at the Aerodrome to handle the load, and this was causing some panic to
set in.  The Rising Star was by this point the last ship left, and once
it left all of us who didn't get aboard would be fending for ourselves
before the Cylons arrived again.
     "An announcement went out on the loudspeaker that women and
children only would be among the final groups taken aboard, and a large
number of Colonial Security guards were sent out to clear the crowds
and make room for women and children.  Their orders were to shoot to
kill anyone who defied the order.
     "I knew at that point, I had just one chance left.  I forced my
way through a throng of women and managed to hide myself behind one of
the pillars inside the Rising Star's hangar.  By this point they
managed to seal the main hangar doors and only several processions of
women and children were getting through now."
     He took a breath and found himself unable to look at anyone in the
room, so he kept his eyes on the floor.  "I saw one woman. 
Middle-aged, slightly overweight.  She was kind of hanging back from
the group that was making its way toward the Rising Star.  But what
made me realize I had an opportunity was that she was wearing a kind of
large cloak with a hood.
     "I had over eight thousand cubits in my pocket and I motioned to
her from behind the pillar waving this large bag of currency at her. 
She stopped and came behind the pillar, and once she was there I
knocked her out, removed her cloak and put it on as fast as I could,
making sure it was draped over my head and kept my face hidden in the
shadows.  I knew this disguise wouldn't hold up for long, but if it
lasted long enough for me to get aboard the Rising Star, that would
suffice.
     "I'd only gone a few steps, when I heard this voice telling me to
halt.  I turned around and saw that it was Sergeant Ortega, pointing
his pistol at me.   He told me to get out of the hangar in ten microns
or he'd shoot to kill.  I was so scared, I was almost on the verge of
getting down on my knees and begging him to just let me aboard.  He
said he had his orders, and that I had to take off the cloak and start
moving right away.
     "Finally, I shoved the bag of cubits at him and said, 'There's
more than eight thousand here.  Won't that be enough to just let me get
aboard?'  And then I told him that I could even get him more later on,
which was a lie, but at that point I was so desperate I'd say anything
that would give me a hope of getting aboard.  He then nodded faintly at
me and said, 'All right, Mr._' and I told him my name and who I was. 
He then said I could go.  I put the hood back on and just dashed up the
entryway into the Rising Star as fast as I could.  Once I was aboard, I
made my way to the nearest storage compartment and got rid of the cloak
fast, and just wandered about for the next couple of centars until the
Rising Star took off.  By that time, another guard ran into me and I
just said I'd gotten lost, so he took me back to the main refugee
center in the Aquacade, which was where all the earlier survivors, male
and female had been sent to.
     "Ortega was logging the names of survivors when I saw him again. 
I gave a false name, Chella, and he just kind of chuckled and I knew
right away that I had a new problem on my hands.  Although I hadn't hit
that woman hard enough to kill her, I had for all intents and purposes
killed her once the Rising Star left.   And I had to face the fact that
under Colonial law, I could be found guilty of involuntary
manslaughter, or even premeditated termination.  One word from Ortega
would be all it would take before I could be facing charges for what I
did.  And to keep him quiet, I had to find a way to supply him with
more cubits.  That's how I came to take a job on the Rising Star as a
Pyramid dealer.  I figured that a few lucky hands for Ortega would be
enough.  But I found out the hard way, that once Ortega realized he had
me, he wasn't going to stop.  He started increasing the amounts he
wanted, and it was getting to a point where it was too much for me to
handle.  So_" he took a breath again, "So when I got Ortega's telecom
that afternoon, I figured he was going to increase the amounts again. 
I went down there that night, determined to tell him that it was all
over.  I couldn't take the fear of getting exposed any longer, and I
figured that maybe if it all came out, I'd get a fair shake given the
circumstances of how it happened.  Besides, I knew that Ortega couldn't
exactly take much of a risk exposing me since he'd have a lot to answer
himself for potential charges of blackmail.  So that's why I was down
there that night.  But then I ran into Starbuck leaving the scene and
found Ortega dead."
     Chella finally forced himself to look up at Apollo, who was
staring at him with the satisfied expression of a hunter who felt he
had his animal trapped.  "I figured I'd caught a lucky break with
Ortega dead, and that there was no reason for my secret to come out, so
I lied.  And I also had to fear the possibility of being accused of the
murder myself if I told the reason why I was down there at that time. 
So I acted from self-preservation, and I'm sorry I withheld that
evidence.  And," he took another breath, "In a way I'm kind of glad
I've had to open up about this.  The memory of that woman on Caprica
has haunted me all these sectars, and it's going to keep haunting me
for as long as I live.  But at least I don't have to worry about
getting caught any longer."
     As soon as he finished, another anxious silence came over the
chamber, as everyone waited to see where Apollo was going to go next. 
The captain smiled thinly and faintly shook his head.  As soon as he
did, Sheba felt a sense of horror come over her, as she got up from her
seat and made her way down to the front of the gallery.
     "Sheba, where_" Cassiopeia whispered, but she was gone before she
could finish.
     "Chella," Apollo said, "You've already confessed to perjury once. 
And now you expect this Tribunal to believe that with your fear of
Ortega exposing you on a potential termination charge, and the fact
that you were going to meet him that night and stop paying him
blackmail money, we should still believe you when you say you didn't
kill Ortega?"
     "Well that's the truth!" Chella's nostrils flared.  "Why would I
kill Ortega and risk a bigger charge?"
     "Because that little sob story you just told us is as true as the
one you started out with at the beginning of your testimony!" Apollo
raised his voice, "You killed Ortega because he knew who you really
were, and for a reason far worse than the one you've just described!"
     "Huh?" the dealer's face twisted in disbelief.
     "I protest!" Solon was on his feet.  "The Chief Protector goes too
far!"
     Apollo ignored him, "You got down there, you took Starbuck's
pistol, killed Ortega and then ----"
     "No!" Chella bolted up and shouted, "I didn't!"
     Adama began ringing the bell several times, but found that the
situation had degenerated too far for it to have any immediate effect.
     "There will be order!" he finally raised his voice, "There will be
immediate order in this chamber!"
     Finally, the silence returned.  Adama let it linger for thirty
microns, before he finally spoke again.
     "Captain Apollo," he warned, "If you are going to proceed any
further with this witness, you will act in a restrained manner
befitting the dignity of these proceedings.  The protest by the Chief
Opposer is upheld."
     "Very well," Apollo nodded and turned around and started walking
back toward the defense table.  He noticed that another Tribunal
Officer had entered the room and come up to the table, where he handed
a slip of paper to Boomer.
     "Okay Chella, or Riftis, or whatever," Apollo said coldly, "Do you
have any evidence that can prove you were once the chief administrative
officer of the Solius Corporation?"
     "No," Chella said calmly.  "I found out later that the Solius
Corporation shuttle never made it to the rendezvous point with the
Galactica.  I guess she didn't have an experienced pilot who could
handle the task of rendezvousing that far out in space.  And I do know
for a fact that no one I worked with at Solius is presently among the
survivors in the Fleet.  I had to check that detail after I established
my new identity, because I had to know if there was anyone else in the
Fleet who would recognize me."
     "So in point of fact Chella," Apollo moved toward him again, "This
story you just told us about what you did on the night of the
Holocaust, and who you were, can only be accepted on your word alone."
     "That might be, but it's the truth."
     "The truth," Apollo almost chuckled and then turned around so he
was facing the defense table again.  "What_"
     The captain suddenly stopped when he noticed that Boomer had a
panicked look on his face, and was frantically making numerous silent
gestures at him.
     "Uh, excuse me for just a centon," Apollo said as he came over to
the table and leaned toward Boomer.
     "Apollo," Boomer whispered frantically, "Drop it.  He's telling
the truth.  He's not Charybdis.  Drop it, or you're going to sink all
of Starbuck's chances."
     "Huh?" Apollo's face twisted, "What do you mean?"
     "He means drop it!" Starbuck angrily hissed.  "Drop it!  Now!"
     "Captain Apollo----" Adama warned.
     Apollo got to his feet, "Um...with the Tribunal's permission, I
request a recess of five centons for some important consultations with
my fellow protector and the accused."
     "I'm not inclined to see it granted, Captain Apollo," Commander
Kronus spoke up with anger, "You have so far shown very little regard
for the niceties of our procedures that I'm not all that certain that
you've earned the right to any special favors."
     "The overseers will put the matter to a vote," Adama said coldly,
"Commander Kronus, how say you?"
     "I vote no."
     "Sire Anton?"
     "Frankly, I think we could all do with some temporary relief from
these proceedings," the genial faced councilman said, "I vote yes."
     "My sentiments precisely," Adama said rapidly, "This Tribunal
stands in recess for five centons." he rang the bell and they rose from
their seats.  Instantly, all kinds of intense conversation erupted
throughout the chamber among the spectators.
     At the defense table, Apollo was still in a state of bewilderment,
"Boomer, what are you talking about?  How do you know that_"
     "I got this, just a centon ago," he shoved the note at him, "It's
from Sheba.  As soon as he mentioned his name and who he used to work
for, she finally recognized him."
     Apollo looked at the note.  It was written in a frantic scrawl. 
RECOGNIZE RIFTIS AS SOLIUS ADMINISTRATOR.  DON'T TRY TO PROVE HIM
CHARYBDIS!!
     The captain felt sick to his stomach.  All of his meticulous
planning and deduction had just collapsed like a house of cards.  If
Chella wasn't Charybdis, then the case for alternate scenario was
seriously weakened.
     "Where is she?" he whispered, still trying not to believe it.
     "Outside I guess," Boomer said, "Apollo_"
     He didn't wait for him to finish as he headed for the door.
     "Great!" Starbuck threw up his arms in disgust, "Now I'm finding
out the hard way how good a protector he really is."
     "Easy, Starbuck, easy," Boomer patted him on the shoulder.  "Just
because Chella isn't Charybdis doesn't mean he's not guilty."
     "Apollo played the Charybdis factor too fracking much," Starbuck
didn't look at him, "I might as well size up my cell."
     "Take it easy buddy," Boomer said, "If I have to, I'll take charge
of this and get ourselves focused again."


     As soon as Apollo entered the outer chamber, he saw Sheba standing
there with her arms folded, her expression taut.
     "Are you absolutely sure about this?" Apollo waved the note at
her.
     "Yes I am," she said coldly, "I knew I'd met him someplace before,
but I needed the name Riftis and the Solius Corporation to make the
connection."
     "Sheba, couldn't you be mistaken about_"
     "Oh for sagan's sake, Apollo why in the name of Hades can't you
admit you goofed?" Sheba retorted sharply.  "I remember him well,
because I met him seven yahrens ago at the opening night party of the
last play my mother ever acted in.  Solius was the big corporate
underwriter for the production and he acted as their official
representative."
     Apollo felt his shoulders sag, "Damn," he whispered.
     "It shouldn't be the end of it," Sheba didn't let up, "Maybe he's
not Charybdis, but you've one good alternate scenario that points to
him as the killer.  Now stop wallowing over the fact that you're not
perfect and just get back to saving Starbuck!"
     He didn't look at her as he turned around and went back into the
chamber.
     Alone, Sheba shook her head in amazement.  Why does he have to
think he's always got everything figured out just right?


     "Well?" Boomer sourly inquired as Apollo sat down at the table,
"Do we proceed with Chella or not?"
     Apollo let out a sigh, "We proceed.  I guess we can still pin this
on him anyway."
     "I warned you about this," Boomer felt he finally had to speak his
mind, "I told you it wasn't necessary to pin Chella and Charybdis but
you just had to wrap it up tight and neat.  Now all we can do is hope
that that doesn't affect their final judgment if we end up going with
an alternate scenario that doesn't match the one we planned on."
     The captain turned to look at Starbuck.  He saw that his friend
wasn't looking at him, instead keeping his arms folded and staring
ahead.  That told Apollo right away how much Starbuck was fast losing
confidence in him.
     Finally, the overseers entered again and took their seats.  Adama
rang the bell and the chamber became quiet.
     "The Tribunal is now in session again," he said, "Captain Apollo,
do you have more questions of the witness?"
     "Yes," Apollo rose and came up to Chella, who was staring at him
with anger. "Now Chella, let's stipulate for the record that what you
say about your unfortunate past is true."
     "I'm glad you're admitting that," the dealer said caustically.
     "The witness will refrain from arguing with the Chief Protector
and will only respond when questions are put to him." Adama said
coldly.
     "Sorry, Commander," Chella said, still feeling shaken.
     "But Chella," Apollo drew closer, "That means that by your
admission, you had a bigger reason for wanting Ortega dead than
Lieutenant Starbuck did."
     Chella frowned, "What do you mean?"
     "Oh well come now, Chella.  Lieutenant Starbuck wasn't being
blackmailed by Sergeant Ortega.  They just hated each other on the
triad court.  But you, on the other hand, devoted your entire life to
keeping him quiet.  Ortega was a constant presence in your life.   And
you've mentioned how when Ortega was dead, you felt relief that your
dirty secret didn't have to come out."
     "So what?" Chella said haughtily, "I wasn't the only one Ortega
was blackmailing."
     Another gasp went up from the crowd, and even Apollo was clearly
caught off guard.
     "Wait a centon," Apollo said, trying to catch his bearings,
"You're saying then to this Tribunal, that you know of other people
Sergeant Ortega was blackmailing?"
     "Yes," Chella's haughty air increased, "Pallan and Elias.  They
were in the exact same fix I was in.  Ortega knew some dirty secrets
about us, so he relied on us as his conduit for all the cubits he could
get his dirty hands on.  And he even tried to extort more from me by
sending those two to me and asking if I could let them go on winning
streaks at the Pyramid table so they'd have more money to pay off
Ortega."
     "I see," Apollo said, "And just who are Pallan and Elias?"
     "Elias is maintenance chief of the Rising Star's Aquacade.  Pallan
is a bartender in the Empyreal Lounge.   And they both told me
personally that Ortega was blackmailing them too."
     "Were they both working in the Rising Star that night?"  Apollo
asked, not knowing what were the best questions he could improvise
quickly.
     "I wouldn't know."
     Apollo took a breath and said nothing for a half centon.  He then
approached the Overseers bench.
     "If it please the Tribunal," he said, "I request another recess,
so that both Elias and Pallan be summoned to testify before this
Tribunal."
     "Is there a protest?" Adama inquired.
     "I protest," Solon rose, "Captain Apollo specifically presented
one alternate scenario pointing to Ortega's killer as a man called
Charybdis.  He's now going off in all kinds of different tangents and
that indicates that his alternate scenario for letting his friend the
accused off the hook is non-existent."
     "The matter must now be voted upon by the Overseers," Adama said,
"Sire Anton?"
     "Our first concern must be with the truth," Anton said, "My vote
is to disallow the protest."
     "Commander Kronus?"
     "I vote to uphold," the onetime Ricon commander said coldly, "I
agree with the Chief Opposer that Captain Apollo demonstrates a lack of
preparedness with regard to his alternate scenario that indicates that
the truth more than likely rests with the Chief Opposer's scenario."
     Adama felt a sense of unease at having to decide a difficult vote. 
But he knew that from Kronus, he couldn't have expected anything else. 
In the four yahrens that Captain Adama had spent as Commander Kronus's
chief aide, the one thing he'd come away with was how Kronus was the
greatest stickler for regulations in the history of the Colonial
Service.
     "Very well," he said, "The Chief Overseer must cast the deciding
vote.  And my vote is to disallow," another loud murmur went up, "We
now stand in recess for exactly one centar.  We will reconvene not a
micron before or later."
     The bell rang and the three Overseers rose and disappeared.
     "Okay," Starbuck sourly rose and looked at them, "What now?"
     "I think it's finally fallen into place," Apollo said, "Boomer,
you come with me. We've got a trip to the Rising Star to make."
     "Oh great," Starbuck groaned, "You've got another brilliant idea."
     "Starbuck," Apollo put his hand on his shoulder, "I haven't
conducted this case the way you thought I could, and that's my fault
for thinking we didn't need an experienced protector to handle this. 
But this time, you can trust me.  You're going to walk out of here at
the end of this day free and clear."
     Starbuck wanted to say something nasty to him but when he looked
into Apollo's green eyes, he could see the sincerity and confidence
emitting from someone he'd already entrusted his life to so many times
before in the past.
     "Okay buddy," he said calmly and then smiled, "Do it."

Chapter Seven

     For two days, Pallan had felt nothing but a sense of bliss.  He
had at long last succeeded in disposing of the only problem in his life
and he'd been able to do it without anyone suspecting a thing.  With
very little time to prepare, he'd found a perfect fall guy and events
had broken his way so that the evidence pointing to his fall guy's
guilt was beyond any possible dispute.
     He'd purposefully avoided watching all IFB coverage relating to
the case.  Better to not act conspicuous and pay unwarranted attention
to it.  Besides, there were no conceivable flaws in how he'd carried
out.  There was no possible way he could be found out in the short time
before Starbuck's conviction and imprisonment would happen and end the
matter forever.
     "Pallan?"
     Pallan looked up from the drinks he was mixing and saw the face of
Boomer looking at him.  Behind the dark-skinned warrior, Apollo stood
next to a nervous, fidgety-looking man with a receding hairline.
     "Yes," the bartender nodded, "Can I help you?"
     "You've been summoned to testify before Lieutenant Starbuck's
tribunal," Boomer said firmly, "If you'll please accompany us?"
     Pallan looked at them with amazement, "Me?  Whatever for?"
     "You'll find out soon enough," Boomer said, "Please come with us."
     Without batting an eyelash, Pallan put his drinks down and came
out from behind the bar table.
     Inside, he felt his heart pounding rapidly wondering what could
have possibly happened that would lead to this.


     Five centons later, Pallan found himself seated in the rear
compartment of a shuttle, next to the man who'd been identified as
Elias.
     "Seems that Chella got too panicked and spilled all about how
Ortega was blackmailing us," the balding maintenance worker said with
an edge of nervous tension, "Now those two are going to see if they can
pin Ortega's murder on either of us."
     "We shouldn't be surprised that Chella talked," Pallan had his
arms folded and was keeping his tone absolutely calm.  He'd already
reasoned that if Elias was going to act so nervous, then a display of
total calm on his part would keep suspicion deflected from him. "We
both made the mistake of going to him for help, so he knew all about
our plights. They would have found out sooner or later."
     He then looked him in the eye, "But the important thing, Elias, is
that neither of us get trapped into getting accused of something we
didn't do." he paused, "I am assuming though that you didn't kill
Ortega."
     "I didn't!" Elias's nostrils flared.  "I wanted to, but I didn't."
     "Neither did I," Pallan said emphatically, "And I'll bet even
money that they have nothing conclusive to link Chella to this, so that
means that if we all agree to stick together on this, Apollo won't be
able to prove a thing.  He has to be getting very desperate at this
point."
     "You may be right," Elias tried to catch his breath.  "Okay, we
just tell the truth about where we were, and leave it at that."


     In the front of the shuttle, Boomer looked uneasily at Apollo,
"Okay, so now we've got Elias and Pallan.  What are you going to do
when you put them on the stand?"
     "I won't have to put them on the stand," Apollo said, "One of them
killed Ortega, and I know how to get the killer to expose himself."
     "Apollo, after what you just went through with Chella, I don't
think it's a good idea to resort to any new stunts."
     "But this time I know how to do it," Apollo said firmly.
     "Okay then," Boomer tried not to look exasperated, "Which of those
two killed Ortega?"
     "Charybdis."
     "Oh come on, Apollo!" Boomer snorted in disgust, "Don't try that
angle anymore. You've got three guys with motive, and frankly I don't
think either of these two are as strong as Chella is in the opportunity
and means department."
     "Chella's off the hook," Apollo said, "The killer had to be
Charybdis.  Barton said that Charybdis was the only one with the guts
to kill Ortega, so that means Ortega wasn't afraid of anything from
Chella.  And Chella's secret wasn't anywhere close to what Charybdis
was responsible for."
     "But you have to show that one of those two guys had means and
opportunity!" Boomer retorted, "We know Chella was down there, but you
can't prove anything about where those two were."
     "I have a feeling that Chella was supposed to be the real fall guy
that night.  I'll bet anything that Charybdis pretended to be Ortega
when he made that telecom to Chella so he could have him in the area at
the time.  But Starbuck's getting ejected forced a change in plans and
that's why Starbuck became the fall guy." he paused, "The key is to
expose Charybdis and once that's done, find a way to make him admit
that he killed Ortega."
     "Oh great," Boomer rolled his eyes, "And how are you going to pull
that off?"
     Apollo looked back and saw the animated conversation taking place
between Pallan and Elias.
     "Take the controls and listen in to what I say," he rose from his
seat, "You'll find out."
     Apollo went to the back of the shuttle and stood in front of Elias
and Pallan.
     "Ah, gentlemen," he said apologetically, "I owe you both an
apology.  We just got word from the Galactica that Ortega's killer has
been identified.  Sire Solon is going to be dismissing all charges
against Starbuck."
     "Who's the killer?" Elias asked anxiously.
     "A man called Charybdis," Apollo said and looked at both of them,
to see the hint of a reaction from either.  He saw none.
     "Charybdis?" Pallan frowned, "I've never heard that name before."
     "A traitor responsible for the deaths of billions in the
Holocaust," Apollo said, "Apparently Ortega knew he was alive and was
blackmailing him too.  But Charybdis had a lot more to lose than either
of you or Chella if he was caught."
     "Then you've found him," Pallan noted.
     "No, but we're close to finding him.  His old commander, Baltar
himself, knows what he looks like and can help lead us straight to him. 
 As soon as we dock on the Galactica, I'm taking this shuttle to the
Prison Barge to bring him back so he can give us the information we
need.  He's already agreed to it, since Adama will likely reduce part
of his sentence."
     "I see," Elias said, feeling more relieved, "Then we're free to go
back to the Rising Star?"
     "Yes, you two can take the next shuttle after we reach the
Galactica." Apollo said, "Again, my apologies for the inconvenience. 
In light of what Chella has testified about, I can't promise that Sire
Solon won't launch an investigation into the circumstances of how you
came to be aboard the Rising Star, but I'm sure that he'll let you off
with only light sentences if it comes to that."
     "Captain," Pallan said, "Thank you."
     "And I'm glad your friend Starbuck is innocent," Elias added.
     "Yeah," Apollo nodded, "So am I."
     As soon as the captain had returned to the front of the shuttle
and resumed his seat alongside Boomer, the dark-skinned warrior was
still looking at him dubiously.
     "Okay, I'm still confused."
     "I'm making myself a target," Apollo said.  "As soon as we land,
you head straight for the Tribunal.  And pass the word to the launch
crew not to move on either of them. They're to leave them alone."
     "Apollo, what are you getting at?" Boomer was still baffled, "We
ought to be putting them both on the stand and see if either will
crack."
     "I don't think that's going to work," Apollo shook his head, "I've
spent enough time in front of that Tribunal to realize I don't have the
savvy to force the truth out on this matter like a good protector
would.  That means it requires something totally unorthodox. Something
I wouldn't be able to get away with in the normal proceeding."
     "And what's all this felgercarb about making yourself a target?"
     "Charybdis is going to think he's trapped at this point, and needs
to kill Baltar to keep him from identifying him.  The only way he's
going to get the opportunity is by sneaking back on this shuttle and
waiting for me to get him aboard."
     "And if that's true, then he'll have to kill you too!" Boomer
finally added things up, "Apollo, you're crazy!"
     "It's a risk I have to take or Starbuck's finished," Apollo said,
"He'll make his attempt on the way back to the Galactica.   It'll be
imperative that you have Alpha Channel keyed open so the entire
Tribunal can hear what's being said on this shuttle.  I can probably
get him to confess once he shows himself."
     "Before he then kills you," Boomer could still scarcely believe
it.
     "Look," Apollo said gravely, "I don't care what you have to do,
but just make sure the Tribunal is listening to that channel."
     "And how am I going to get that past any of them when that means
throwing out all the codes on normal procedure?" Boomer retorted,
"Solon and Kronus will jump on my throat so fast that I don't think
even Adama will agree.  He cut you so much slack already that I don't
think he'll go that far."
     "It's a chance I have to take," Apollo repeated.
     "And how are you going to take on both Charybdis and Baltar?"
     "I won't have to," the captain chuckled, "Baltar's going to be on
my side."


     As soon as the shuttle landed on the Galactica, Boomer had left
and gone over to the several launch crew personnel gathered nearby. 
Once he had explained everything, they nodded and moved away from the
shuttle.
     Aboard, Apollo kept his eye fastened on the indicator that
measured the craft's total weight.   When Boomer stepped out, the
reading had dropped from 2755 to 2585. Then, there was a pause of
several microns as the reading dropped to 2425, and an instant later to
2250.  That meant both Elias and Pallan had stepped off.
     Apollo calmly adjusted his headset, "Alpha shuttle requesting
clearance for launch to Prison Barge.   Tribunal business."
     "Alpha shuttle, you are cleared to launch," he heard Rigel's voice
answer.
     The captain didn't activate the controls though.  His eyes
remained focused on the weight indicator.  It still read 2250.
     Come on, he thought.  I can't be proved wrong now.
     For a split second, he felt the sense of panic over what he might
have to do if his hunch had proved wrong.  But it was only there for a
split instant as he suddenly saw the number on the indicator change.
     It now read 2425.
     Apollo almost smiled as he activated the switch that closed the
shuttle door.  Then, taking a careful breath, he powered the vehicle up
and it was soon away from the Galactica.


     When Boomer entered the Tribunal Chamber, he found the spectators
all buzzing with excitement over what would happen next.  It was a
different story at the defense table, where Starbuck was visibly
nervous and on edge.  When he saw only Boomer enter the room, he was
anything but relieved.
     "Where's Apollo?" he asked with faint bewilderment.
     "I'll fill you in when I can," Boomer said as he sat down and
pulled out a copy of the Tribunal Codebook and began to frantically
thumb through the pages.
     "Huh?" Starbuck's face twisted.
     "Shut up, Starbuck," Boomer waved his hand impatiently as he kept
thumbing through the codebook, "Right now, I have to find the one thing
in the book that will keep things going for now."
     "You've got to be kidding," the blonde warrior wondered how it
could get any worse than it already seemed to him.
     The door at the other end opened and the three overseers emerged. 
Everyone in the Chamber got to their feet.  Everyone except Boomer, who
was still immersed in the codebook.
     When Adama took his seat and reached for the ceremonial bell, he
noticed right away that Boomer was the only one in the room who had not
taken note of their entrance. With an impatient air, he rang the bell
loudly, which prompted Boomer to bolt up from his chair to attention as
if he'd been fired out of a launch tube.   He seemed so embarrassed
that he might have turned red if he could.
     "The Tribunal is now in session again," Adama said and then
realized for the first time that Apollo was not present.  "Lieutenant
Boomer, where is the Chief Protector?"
     "Detained, sir," Boomer cleared his throat, "I will be handling
all matters until he returns."
     "Very well," Adama eyed him suspiciously, as did all of the
spectators like Cassiopeia, Chameleon, Sheba and Athena, who couldn't
understand why Apollo would be detained at such a critical juncture. 
"You may call your next witness, Lieutenant."
     "Ah..." Boomer reached down for the codebook and kept flipping
through the pages, "Ah....at this time Commander, the defense wishes to
delay the next portion of our alternate scenario presentation and defer
matters to the Chief Opposer to handle any, ah.....supplementary
matters he has.....ah," he stopped as he felt the pages stick and he
frantically pulled to get them unstuck, "To ah....present at this time,
so that we might be able to factor um......"
     In the gallery, Cassiopeia felt herself sink two inches lower into
her chair.  What's gone wrong now? she felt like crying out.
     "....any new information that has a bearing in our presentation."
he finished.
     "Lieutenant Boomer," Adama leaned forward with a cold expression,
"It was the understanding of this Tribunal when we granted a recess
that two specific witnesses would be called by the Defense.  Needless
to say, what you are suggesting is highly irregular and suggests that
the request we granted you was made in bad faith."
     "No sir, not at all!" Boomer vigorously shook his head as he felt
a surge of relief pass through him when he found the page he was
looking for, "I call to the attention of the Overseers, section four,
paragraph eight of the capital procedure code which states that the
defense during their presentation of alternate scenario, does have the
right to defer to the prosecution for the presentation of supplementary
evidence that the defense might be required to explain as well.  I so
move to defer to Sire Solon for now."
     Adama blinked as he remembered the procedure.  One so obscure
because it was so seldom invoked.  "Very well," he sighed, "Seeing as
how your request is made within the parameters of the code, I see no
reason to disallow it.   Sire Solon, do you have any supplementary
evidence to present at this time?"
     The Chief Opposer got to his feet, still frowning over the turn of
events, "I do, Commander.   I had not....anticipated presentation at
this time though."
     "If you have it, then you must present it as the deference has
been granted to you by the defense." Adama pointed out, "Proceed
immediately, Sire Solon."
     Solon straightened his robes, "In that case, at this time we call
as a supplementary witness, Med-Tech Cassiopeia."
     Cassiopeia flushed slightly as she heard her name called. 
Starbuck darted to Boomer and seemed on the verge of exploding, "This
is Apollo's idea of helping me? Ducking out and making Solon humiliate
Cassie?" he hissed.
     "I didn't know he was going to call her," Boomer said through
clenched teeth, "But I had to invoke the procedure, Starbuck or else
Apollo wouldn't get a chance to do what he's doing now," he adjusted
his headset, which he'd kept on ever since leaving the shuttle.  It was
still tuned to Alpha Channel.  Right now, there was only silence.
     "And what is he doing now?" Starbuck acidly retorted.
     "Saving your life," Boomer looked straight ahead.  At the moment
he had so many doubts in his own mind about what Apollo was doing that
he wasn't certain that he could look Starbuck in the eye while offering
words of reassurance.


     In the rear compartment of the shuttle, Pallan calmly made his way
over to the storage compartment that housed the spare lasers and
without making a sound, removed one from the top of the chamber.  He
set the laser to kill and moved back to the far end of the rear
compartment.
     His greatest fear had come to pass.  Something had happened that
had caused the name Charybdis to be linked to Ortega.  How that had
happened, he couldn't begin to fathom.   But whatever had caused it,
events had now forced him to take another drastic step.  One that would
mean the end of two lives in addition to Ortega.
     Already, his mind was trying to plot out how he would emerge from
this incident. He already had the unpleasant fact that Elias would
testify that he never saw him return to the Rising Star.  By far, that
would be so difficult to explain, that even Pallan's ordinarily
inventive mind couldn't think of a way around that at the moment.
     But that was a problem he couldn't worry about yet.  Not when he
had another, more immediate problem facing him.  One that had to be
eliminated promptly or else all other matters would become irrelevant.
     It had taken all his self-control to keep from breaking out in a
sweat when Apollo had first mentioned the name of a man he had
symbolically killed long ago when he had stolen the identification
cards of a dead Piscean bartender named Pallan and thrown away his own
cards down the sewer of a devastated street in Piscera's capital city. 
Now that he was alone, the sweat was finally poring out of his
forehead, and he felt a genuine fear for his own safety for the first
time.   A fear of his past finally catching up with him at long last. 
And with that, he was reminded of how he'd felt when he'd quietly
abandoned Baltar after returning to Piscera, and cursed himself
repeatedly for having deluded himself into thinking that cooperating
with the Cylons would have led to wonderful opportunities of wealth and
power.
     It's not going to come to this, he thought defiantly as he drew
the pistol to his side and waited in the shadows of the rear
compartment.  It is not going to come to this.
     He felt the shuttle come to a halt as it docked with the Prison
Barge.  It wouldn't be long now and he'd finally do what had to be
done.


     As Apollo maneuvered the shuttle towards the Prison Barge's
landing bay, he glanced at his chronometer and realized that speed was
of the essence since he had no way of knowing if Boomer could keep the
Tribunal stalled forever.  The sooner he could get things in place the
better.
     "Prison Barge this is Galactica shuttle, Captain Apollo," he
radioed.  "Urgent Tribunal business requires the immediate presence of
prisoner Baltar. Please have him waiting in the landing bay upon my
arrival."
     Apollo heard no response and realized immediately that it was the
awkward silence of the communications officer, not sure if he'd heard
the captain right.
     A centon went by before Apollo finally heard a voice reply. 
"Uh....Captain, this is Superintendent Jenks.  You did say Baltar, did
you?"
     "Yes, Superintendent, I did," Apollo said patiently.  "Make
certain that he's shackled of course."
     "How much guard escort do you require?"
     "None," Apollo said firmly.  "Just have your men put Baltar aboard
the shuttle and leave.  Colonial Security will take charge at the other
end."
     There was another awkward silence that lasted a half centon.
     "Captain, um....I know I'm not in any position to question you on
these matters but...."
     "Then don't," Apollo cut in curtly, "Just see to it,
Superintendent."
     Five centons later, the shuttle was inside the Prison Barge
landing bay.  Apollo's wait lasted only an additional two centons
before he heard footsteps come up the ramp and into the craft.
     "Got him here as requested, Apollo," he heard Reese's voice, "Are
you sure you don't need an escort?"
     "I'm sure, Reese," Apollo didn't turn around.   "Just have him
take the co-pilot seat and you can go."
     Reese let out an incredulous sigh as he motioned Baltar toward the
seat, "I sure hope you know what you're doing."
     Apollo resisted the temptation to think of a stinging comeback as
he went over the pre-flight checklist again.
     "Well, Captain?"
     He finally forced himself to look at Baltar.  The traitor had a
thoroughly bemused expression on his face, as though he knew he was
going to enjoy whatever happened.
     "I'll explain as soon as we're away," Apollo said as he took note
of the weight indicator.  When Baltar and Reese had come aboard the
reading had gone up from 2425 to 2815.  Now that the Council Security
guard was gone, the indicator had gone back to 2635.  That was enough
to tell him again that his hunch was right.
     "Galactica shuttle preparing to depart," he radioed.
     "Affirmative Galactica shuttle, you are cleared to depart."
     As Apollo fired up the craft and it streaked away from the Prison
Barge, he hoped and prayed that Boomer had a plan in place to get the
Tribunal to listen to Alpha Channel.


     "Please state your name and designation."
     Cassiopeia was finding it a struggle to maintain an even
composure.  "Cassiopeia. G-2, assigned as med-tech based aboard the
Galactica."
     "Proceed, Sire Solon."
     "Thank you," the Chief Opposer moved toward her, "Cassiopeia, you
are acquainted with the accused, Lieutenant Starbuck?"
      "Yes."
     "Would it be a fair assumption that you are quite close to the
accused?"
     She shifted in her chair slightly, "Yes."
     "On the night of Sergeant Ortega's murder, did you have any
opportunity to talk to Lieutenant Starbuck beforehand?"
     "I did."
     "In fact, you even encountered both Starbuck and Ortega in the
corridor leading to the training rooms after the ejection had taken
place, did you not?"
     Cassiopeia took a breath, feeling the struggle to maintain her
composure intensifying, "Yes."
     At the defense table, Starbuck felt the tide of anguish rising
inside him.  He wished that he could bolt up and punch Solon right in
the mouth for what he was putting her through.  Feeling helpless, he
glanced over at Boomer, who seemed oblivious to what was going on, as
he continued to hold the earpiece of his headset tightly.
     "Boomer," Starbuck nudged him slightly and hissed, "Pay attention
for sagan's sake!"
     "Sorry," Boomer glanced over and realized he needed to listen in
until he heard some meaningful conversation aboard the shuttle begin. 
So far, there was nothing.
     "A couple of fine friends you've turned out to be." the edge of
bitterness was evident in his whisper, "Maybe I should have taken my
chances by leaving."
     "Shut up and wait," Boomer shot back under his breath.  "It won't
be long now."
     "Could you tell me what Lieutenant Starbuck said to Ortega during
the brawl?" Solon pressed on.
     Cassiopeia lowered her head slightly, "I.....don't remember."
     "You don't remember?" the Chief Opposer lifted an eyebrow, "Even
though you have a relationship with Starbuck, you can't remember what
he said?"
     Boomer suddenly bolted to his feet, "Now just a centon!" and then
nearly flushed as he realized he'd repeated an earlier one of Apollo's
mistakes, "Ah...I mean the Opposer ah....has no proof that ah.....such
a relationship exists."
     Adama grimaced slightly and took an extra micron before
responding, "Not....properly protested, but upheld nevertheless. 
Restate your question, Sire Solon."
     "Very well," Solon shrugged and moved back to Cassiopeia,
"Cassiopeia, do you have a relationship with the accused?"
     The blonde med-tech bit her lip slightly as she looked over at
Starbuck.  Over his shoulder she could also see Athena sitting in the
audience with a slightly pained expression which only made Cassiopeia
feel more embarrassed.
     "We're......friends," she decided not to say more than she felt
she had to.
     "How close?"
     "Very close." she said carefully.
     "Then in that case, can you tell this Tribunal what your very
close friend said during the encounter with Ortega in the corridor and
after he left?" Solon bore in.
     Cassiopeia looked down at the floor and remained silent.
     Adama leaned forward and spoke in the gentlest tone he could
permit himself, "The witness will answer the question."
     She felt like breaking down and crying at that point.  What she
had to say wasn't going to help Starbuck at all, and if it turned out
that her words would be the key to ruining his chances, she wasn't sure
if she could ever live with that burden.
     "Cassiopeia," Solon decided not to be overbearing, "You have been
instructed by the Chief Overseer to answer the question."
     Cassiopeia kept her gaze on the floor as she let out a reluctant
sigh, knowing that silence didn't help Starbuck's cause either.  "He
um.....said after Ortega left, that I was only delaying the
inevitable."
     A low murmur went up among the crowd, prompting another ringing of
the bell from Adama.  From his seat, Chameleon had his hand on his
chin, wondering why his son and the woman who loved his son had to be
put through this kind of anguish.
     Maybe I shouldn't have been silent, he couldn't help but think.  I
should have told the truth and given my son some comfort during this
sick ordeal.
     At this point though, Chameleon already knew that it was too late
for him to act now and be forthright.  In Starbuck's present state of
mind, he couldn't even be sure that he'd believe him anyway.  He'd had
his opportunity and he'd let it pass, and now it would have to wait
again for a very long period of time, if in fact the miracle happened
and Starbuck was acquitted.
     "And when Starbuck finally met you in the Docking Lounge, did he
seem anxious to get off the Rising Star?"
     "I didn't give him much time!" she protested.  "He had just ten
centons to turbowash, dress and get to the Lounge.  Anyone would have
been anxious."
     "Cassiopeia," Adama leaned forward, "You can not make assumptions
about the state of mind of the accused.  Simply answer the question yes
or no."
     She closed her eyes and when she finally answered, it was barely a
whisper, "Yes."
     "Thank you." Solon seemed satisfied, "No further questions."
     "Cross-examination?" Adama inquired of Boomer.  But when he looked
over at the table he saw that Boomer seemed oblivious to what was going
on, as he still had his headset pressed to his ear.
     "Lieutenant Boomer!" Adama raised his voice, which prompted the
warrior to bolt up, "I will say again, do you wish to cross-examine the
witness?"
     "Ah...yes, Commander.  Just one or two questions."  He slowly made
his way up, taking his steps methodically as though he was trying to
stall matters.
     "Now, um....." he cleared his throat, "Ah.....Cassiopeia you never
at any time.....ah no, wait a centon." he cleared his throat again.
     "Lieutenant Boomer," Commander Kronus leaned forward, "I'm getting
the distinct impression that you're stalling for time, and that
impresses me not one iota.  Ask your questions or move on."
     "My apologies, sir," Boomer bowed meekly and readjusted his
headset again, hearing only the sound of Apollo asking for clearance to
leave the Prison Barge, and telling Baltar that he'd explain everything
later.  The time had not yet arrived for him to make his move.  "Now
Cassiopeia, did you have any opinion at the time of what Starbuck meant
by 'the inevitable.'?"
     "I protest," Solon was on his feet, "Totally speculative and
immaterial."
     "Disallowed," Adama glared slightly at the Chief Opposer.  "The
witness is entitled to describe what she thought as well as what she
witnessed."
     Cassiopeia tried to regain her composure, "I certainly didn't
think it meant he was thinking of killing Ortega!" she said forcefully.
     "And that's because the accused had never given you, a very close
friend, any reason to think that he could be capable of committing the
greatest offense in our laws, one that would run the risk of
imprisonment in the Prison Barge for the rest of his life?"
     "He hadn't," she nodded.
     "Did he ever explain why there was bad blood between him and
Ortega down through the yahrens?"
     "Yes, he did.  On the shuttle ride over to the match that evening
in fact."
     "Perhaps you could tell us what Starbuck said then," Boomer said,
feeling relieved that he'd found a way for her to talk without
interruption so he could keep listening to what was happening on Alpha
Channel.


     "Well, Captain Apollo," there was a smug aura in Baltar's tone as
the shuttle moved away from the Prison Barge on its journey back to the
Galactica.  "I knew it was a matter of time before you'd reconsider and
realize that you need my help bad enough to have me freed."
     "There's no pardon awaiting you, Baltar," Apollo didn't look at
him.  "I can't speak for what my father will do, but at the moment
there's none."
     "In that case, Captain you have taken me out of my cell all for
nothing.  If it is cooperation you want about what Charybdis looks
like, I will not give it without my permanent release from the Prison
Barge."
     "Baltar, right now you should feel grateful that I'm giving you a
chance to live."
     "Live?" the traitor raised an eyebrow, "If I recall correctly, the
suspension of the death penalty made that possible long ago, Captain."
     Apollo finally looked at him, "I'm talking about saving you from
Charybdis."
     He frowned slightly.
     "There are only two people who could positively identify
Charybdis," Apollo went on, "Ortega and you.  He's killed Ortega and
that means he'll do it to you if given the chance."
     Baltar slowly began to laugh, "You are a wonder, Captain.  Instead
of offering me freedom to identify Charybdis, you offer me my life. 
How touching of you."
     "It's your only chance," he looked him in the eye.
     "You mean Lieutenant Starbuck's only chance," Baltar countered
gently.
     "That may be true but I'm betting that your instinct for survival
is greater than wanting to see Starbuck convicted of a crime he didn't
commit." Apollo raised his tone a notch.
     The traitor let out another taunting laugh, "You must think me a
fool, Captain.  If I refuse to cooperate with you, then I merely go
back to a very secure isolation cell on the Prison Barge, where my life
can hardly be in any danger.  So therefore, I have no reason to fear
for my life."
     "What if I told you that Charybdis is aboard this shuttle, right
now?" Apollo decided to zero in.  He could tell right away that his
comment had caught Baltar offguard.  The traitor actually glanced back
toward the rear of the shuttle for a brief instant before looking back
at Apollo.  He slowly tried to regain the initiative by letting out
another one of his irritating chuckles, though Apollo could tell that
it didn't sound as secure as it had before.
     "I don't believe you," Baltar said.
     "It's the truth."
     "Even if I did believe you, I would note that the affection
Charybdis felt for me was like that of a son for a father," Baltar
pressed on.  "I gave him more opportunities than I did anyone else in
my inner circle, and he was grateful for them all.  If he is aboard
this shuttle, then it can only be because he plans to kill you and
destroy whatever evidence you have that implicates him in the murder of
this Ortega."
     "Yeah, he'll kill me first," Apollo nodded, "And then he'll kill
you with my laser and make it look like you jumped me and we both
killed each other in the struggle."
     Baltar sighed with the air of a teacher lecturing a child, "And
how would he explain that I did such a thing while wearing shackles?"
he raised his manacled wrists to emphasize his point.
     "He'll just remove them after you're dead."  Apollo decided to
take on an intimidating tone of his own.  "Face facts, Baltar, he's
here to kill us both."
     "You're wrong, Apollo," he said, "We'll be aboard the Galactica in
barely five centons and he hasn't shown himself yet."
     Apollo noted how Baltar had stopped addressing him by title, which
told him a lot. "Then why are you sweating?" he almost taunted him,
thinking that Baltar could use a taste of his own medicine.
     The traitor turned away from him, unable to come up with a
stinging comeback.  It was clear that Baltar's psyche had been rattled
and he no longer had the ability to show off his customary arrogance.
     Amidst the silence, the two men could suddenly hear the sounds of
footsteps from behind them, drawing closer.
     Baltar could feel the hair on his scalp standing on edge as he
slowly turned around and saw standing ten feet away, an
all-too-familiar figure.
     "Charybdis!" he whispered in disbelief.
     Apollo turned around as well and saw that it was the Rising Star
bartender, Pallan, holding a laser pistol pointed toward him.  His
inner hunch had been vindicated.  A casual observer might have thought
that if it had come down to Pallan or Elias, the more hysterical
reaction of Elias to being questioned would have been an indication of
guilt. But Apollo had sensed that Pallan was acting too calm and
collected during the journey from the Rising Star.  And he had long ago
become convinced that the real killer had to be cold, calm and
professional in every sense to get away with what he'd been able to get
away with up to now.
     "Count Baltar," Pallan's voice was firm, showing only the faintest
trace of deference for his one-time leader, "It is good to see you
again."
     Baltar seemed to relax as he looked at Apollo and flashed another
taunting smile at him, as though he felt his instincts about Charybdis
had been vindicated.
     The only thought going through Apollo's mind was if Boomer had
succeeded in getting Alpha Channel turned on in the Tribunal chamber
for all to hear.


     It took Cassiopeia five centons to recap the story of how Starbuck
and Ortega had been rivals since their time together at the Academy. 
When she finished, Boomer knew that he'd run out of ways to keep her on
the stand any longer, so he nodded and resumed his seat at the table.
     "The witness is excused," Adama said and then looked back at
Solon, "Does the prosecution have any more supplementary witnesses?"
     "We have none, Commander," Solon rose.  "Our case is essentially
closed."
     "Very well," Adama turned back to Boomer, "Lieutenant Boomer, at
this time you will resume the case for the defense.  Call your next
witness."
     "Um....." Boomer, fumbled slightly as he tried to keep one ear on
the unfolding conversation between Apollo and Baltar, "Commander, at
this time the defense requests that the Tribunal listen in to Alpha
Channel, um at this time....."
     "I protest!" Solon bolted to his feet.
     "Lieutenant Boomer," Adama glared at him, "If you are not willing
to proceed with the defense according to the prerequisites of our
codes, then you leave us no choice but to declare all proceedings at an
end, and to begin consideration of our verdict."
     As soon as Adama finished, Boomer suddenly heard in his right ear,
the clear voice of Baltar uttering the name, "Charybdis."  He felt his
body tense up as he moved in front of the table, "Commander, please!"
events had reached a stage where he no longer cared about following
diplomatic niceties, "You must hear me out.  The key to proving
Lieutenant Starbuck's innocence is on Alpha Channel!  The Tribunal must
listen to what's happening."
     "Lieutenant Boomer," Commander Kronus leaned forward, his
customary scowl magnified to the fullest, "Both you and Captain Apollo,
throughout these proceedings have offered a textbook example of how a
good protector should never conduct himself, especially in something as
serious as a capital case.   But if you have means of proving
Lieutenant Starbuck's innocence, then you owe it to a system that has
served our people well for millennia to present it according to the
proper standards!"
     "What matters more?" Boomer's tone grew angry, "Following the
codes to the letter or a man's life?  A man who's put himself on the
line to save the lives of our entire population so many times.   We owe
a lot more to a man like that than to a code system that is in serious
need of revision!"
     "That's enough!" Adama barked and rang the bell.  "The Opposer and
the Protector will now approach the bench for private consultation with
the Overseers."
     Boomer felt his heart pounding as he could hear more of the
conversation on the shuttle taking place, all of it establishing that
Charybdis had exposed himself.  He knew that he was running out of
time.
     When he reached the bench and looked up at the glaring
countenances of Adama, Kronus and Anton, he felt on the verge of
collapsing.
     "Lieutenant Boomer," Adama said under his breath, "My patience is
at this point, totally exhausted.  Now where has Captain Apollo gone
off to?"
     "Captain Apollo is on Alpha Channel sir, and what he's doing right
now will end these proceedings in an instant if you'll just listen!"
     "I still protest, Commander," Solon said firmly, "There is
absolutely no precedent for this.  It is an affront to Colonial
jurisprudence in every sense."
     "And it'll be a bigger affront to Colonial jurisprudence if the
truth isn't allowed to come out!" Boomer retorted.  "Okay, this isn't
exactly according to the rulebook, I admit that.  But by the Lords of
Kobol, what's going to be more damaging to Colonial jurisprudence if
the one thing that can keep an innocent man from paying for a crime he
didn't commit is squelched?"
     Adama glanced over at his fellow Overseers, "Sire Anton, how do
you vote?"
     The council member sighed with resignation, "Reluctantly, and I
emphasize the word reluctantly, I vote to disallow."
     "Commander Kronus?"
     "Uphold." the former battlestar commander was unyielding.
     Adama took a breath.  The decision was now his.  A decision that
presented only terrible options from his standpoint.  Uphold the
protest and he'd be forever haunted by the thought that he'd denied
Starbuck the one means of clearing himself.  Disallow it, and he ran
the risk of being accused of playing favorites.   The very ammunition
that Council opponents like Sires Geller, Domra and Antipas would use
to undercut his authority in an instant.  What Adama needed was a
middle ground solution, and fast.
     The Commander leaned forward, his expression unsympathetic, his
words angry, "Lieutenant Boomer," he said, "I am going to give your
Alpha Channel demonstration exactly one centon, and not a micron
longer.  If I don't hear anything bearing on this case in the next
centon, the protest is upheld and this farce will come to an end.  Do I
make myself clear?"
     "Yes sir, thank you sir," Boomer felt only temporary relief,
because he had no way of knowing what might transpire in the next
centon.
     Adama reached down and carefully pressed the button on the
communications panel in front of him marked Alpha Channel.  An instant
later, the sounds of voices filled the Tribunal chamber.
     "You're looking well, Charybdis," the chamber could hear Baltar's
unmistakable voice.
     "Thank you, Count Baltar," another voice replied calmly.  As soon
as he heard the voice, Adama's eyeballs bulged in disbelief as he
recognized the voice of the bartender who had attended to Tigh and
himself in the Empyreal Lounge on the night of the triad match.   And
who had left to go off duty just before the ejections had taken
place.......
     It suddenly came together now.
     "Charybdis," Baltar spoke again, "Remove my shackles.  Together,
we can commandeer this shuttle and make good our escape from the
Fleet."
     "In a centon, sir," Charybdis said calmly, "First, activate the
automatic pilot.  It's that green button between the throttles."
     "I can do that a lot easier if you remove the shackles first,
Charybdis."
     "That can wait until Captain Apollo is disposed of."
     A sudden gasp went up from all the spectators.   Sheba's hand flew
up to her mouth and she almost bit down on her clenched fingers.  On
the Overseers Bench, Adama's jaw had fallen open in horror at the
startling turn of events.
     "Just like you disposed of Ortega?"  Apollo's voice suddenly
filled the room.
     There was a wry laugh, "Killing you won't be anywhere near as
difficult as killing Ortega was, Captain.   But I must say, I do
compliment you on a brilliant job of figuring the whole thing out.  
And that's what's made you a very dangerous opponent for me."
     Now it was Solon's turn to feel a shockwave hit him.  And even
Commander Kronus found himself so amazed that his customary scowl was
gone.
     In the gallery, Chameleon almost wanted to let out an excited
burst that his belief in his son's innocence had been vindicated.  And
then, he managed to catch himself as he realized that the man who'd
made it possible was now in grave danger and there couldn't possibly be
any cheering at this point.
     At the defense table, Starbuck didn't know whether to laugh or
cry.  It was too much for his psyche to keep up with.  On the one hand,
there was relief that he was going to walk away a free man.  And yet at
the same time, there was also the realization that Apollo had
conceivably put his life on the line, and was prepared to sacrifice
himself as well to bring that about.  
     The blonde warrior had few religious impulses, but now his hands
had come together in the most vigorous silent prayer he had ever
performed in his life. 
     "Can you at least satisfy my curiosity about a few things,
Charybdis?" Apollo's voice sounded incredibly nonchalant, "Just how did
you decide to set up Starbuck?"
     Another laugh filled the chamber, "If Starbuck hadn't been such a
bad sport and gotten himself ejected, he never would have had a thing
to worry about.  It was all set up for Chella to take the fall.  I
telecommed him pretending to be Ortega, and when Chella arrived, he'd
be disposed of and the bodies set up to make it look as if he and
Ortega had killed each other."
     "Ingenious," Apollo said, "And you certainly thought quick on your
feet to change those plans when you had to.   You went down to the
training room, stole Starbuck's pistol, killed Ortega and returned it
before he got out of the turbowash."
     "Made it out of there with a half micron to spare," there was an
edge of satisfaction in Charybdis's voice, "But I see little reason to
humor you any longer, Captain Apollo.  Drop your laser pistol to the
floor, now."
     There was a pause and then the sound of an object clattering to
the floor.
     "Baltar, activate the automatic pilot so I can see to it that
Captain Apollo's illustrious career comes to an end."
     "Charybdis," Baltar was fast losing his patience.  "I'm giving you
an order to remove my shackles first, before I do anything else!"
     "After you activate the automatic pilot, sir," Charybdis said
gently.
     A death-like silence filled the chamber as nothing else was said
on the Channel for nearly a full centon.  Every person in the gallery
had hunched forward in their seats, waiting and wondering about what
might happen next.  Athena was visibly trembling at the thought that
she might have to go through the horror of listening to the last words
of her brother before he died, just as she'd done with Zac not so long
ago.  Cassiopeia had reached out instinctively to Chameleon's hand,
wanting something to hold onto for support.  And with Sheba, she could
feel the dim recollections of a terrible time thirteen sectans ago when
she thought she had lost Apollo forever, filling her mind.
     Suddenly, there was the sound of a thud, and a gasp.   Followed by
the sounds of a scuffle.
     For more than a centon, the sounds persisted, punctuated by the
sounds of grunting and blows being hurled at each other.  By now, every
spectator in the gallery had risen to his or her feet, unable to be
still any longer.
     And then, the single sound of a laser shot.    Followed by
silence.
     "My God," Sheba whispered faintly under her breath.
     Then, the silence was broken by the pattering of feet, followed by
the fumbling sound of a headset being put on.
     "Boomer?" Apollo's voice filled the room, "Did the Tribunal hear
all that?"
     The instant they heard his voice, the spectators all let out
either cheers or enormous sighs of relief.
     "That answer your question?" Boomer grinned.
     "I guess it does," the relief entered the captain's voice.  "I'll
be docking in a few centons.  Make sure there's a med-tech standing by
to attend to Pallan.  Or rather Charybdis.    He took one shot to the
shoulder during the scuffle and then I had to knock him out."
     "Boomer," Starbuck nudged his friend, "Let me talk to him."
     "Sure buddy," Boomer nodded and handed the headset to the blonde
warrior who was so overcome with emotion that he had trouble putting it
on.
     "Apollo?" he spoke as soon as it was finally in place.
     "Yeah, Starbuck.  Glad to hear you sounding in better spirits
now."
     "You don't know the half of it," Starbuck forced himself to keep
from breaking down, "Apollo, thanks.  I owe you my life."
     "Don't thank me," Apollo chuckled, "You can thank Baltar.  He
knocked Charybdis off guard with a blow between the eyes and that gave
me a chance to jump him. He saved us both."
     Another amazed murmur went through the galleries.
     "You got to be kidding," Starbuck felt the amazement supplant his
own emotional feelings. 
     "Nope, he really did it," Apollo chuckled again, "But judging from
the look on his face right now, I don't think he's very thrilled about
it."
     This time, some tension relieving laughter went up.
     "Signing off for now," Apollo said, "I'll buy you a round later at
the Club."
     "I'll look forward to it," Starbuck grinned and took the headset
off.  As he and Boomer resumed their seats at the defense table, every
spectator was now engaged in eager conversation with one another,
prompting a ringing of the bell from Adama.
     "The Tribunal will be in order again," Adama said with stoic
dignity and looked over at Solon, "Sire Solon, do you wish to make a
motion at this time?"
     "Yes, Commander," Sire Solon said without skipping a beat, "The
Colonial nation moves to dismiss all charges against Lieutenant
Starbuck, and to declare these proceedings at an end."
     "So ordered.  This Tribunal is now dissolved."


     The sound of a groan from the back of the shuttle made Apollo
promptly activate the autopilot again, and leave his seat.   Holding
both laser pistols, he pointed them both at the writhing Pallan, who
had come to and was struggling to a sitting position.
     "Okay, take it easy," Apollo said coldly, "A med-tech will attend
to you as soon as we're aboard the Galactica.  In the meantime, you
don't make a single move."
     Pallan managed to focus his eyes on the warrior and then abruptly
spat at him.
     "Not going to do you much good at this point," Apollo said with
dry contempt as he stepped aside to avoid the spittle.  "We'll be
aboard in a centon."
     As Apollo went back and resumed his seat at the controls, he could
hear the bartender speak with low venomous words, but not directed at
him.
     "You fool Baltar!" he managed to shout.  "You fool!  I won't
forget!"
     And then, there was nothing else as the bartender passed out
again.
     All the while, Baltar avoided turning around.  His face unchanged
from the sour, disgruntled expression Apollo had noticed as soon as he
had subdued the killer.
     "So tell me, Baltar," Apollo said, "Why didn't you trust him?"
     The traitor ignored him.  He wasn't in the mood to give Apollo the
satisfaction of an answer.   Especially not the true answer.  During
that long centon when Charybdis had been telling him to activate the
autopilot, his mind had flashed back to the conversation he and
Charybdis had shared just after his pilot had safely gotten their
shuttle away from the Battlestar Atlantia before the Cylon fighters had
unleashed their attack.  He had forced Charybdis to wait for his
arrival, because Baltar had not told Charybdis the coordinates for the
safe zone, where they would wait out the attack.   When Charybdis had
asked him why he hadn't given him the coordinates beforehand, Baltar
had chuckled and said,  "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 had replied, "Perhaps one day,
Count Baltar, I will be more worthy of your trust."
     You hadn't, Charybdis, Baltar thought as his mind came back to the
present.  Not after you abandoned me when we returned to Piscera.  You
still think too much like I would.  You would have killed me just like
I would have killed you if I'd been in the same position.
     "Well, if you don't want to talk, that's your prerogative," Apollo
sighed, "For what it's worth, I'll see to it that Adama has your
sentence reduced."
     A reduced sentence, Baltar thought with disgust.  How nice.  That
means I get to move about the Prison Barge with the rest of those
worthless borays doing all their menial chores.  And maybe that means I
get a chance at a hearing for parole in eight yahrens at the earliest,
which they would no doubt turn down anyway.
     He felt a sense of humiliation that he'd been forced to do
Apollo's bidding for essentially nothing meaningful.  And that only
made him hate the captain and his infernal friend Starbuck with as much
hatred as he felt for Adama.
     Somehow, he would find a way someday to exact his revenge on the
both of them as well.


     As Commander Kronus stepped off the turbolift into the Galactica's
landing bay, he could see the excited throng gathered around Apollo's
shuttle.   Two med-techs had taken the unconscious Charybdis off in a
stretcher, with Sergeant Castor acting as the Security escort.  
Starbuck meanwhile, had promptly embraced Apollo in gratitude as soon
as the captain had stepped off.
     The onetime Commander of the Battlestar Ricon shook his head
faintly as he moved away from the throng to where his own shuttle
waited, which would fly him back to his regular duties as commander of
the maintenance ship the Celestra.    He still found it amazing that
things had turned out as they had.   Every instinct had told him that
the evidence had pointed to Starbuck's guilt and his two protectors had
shown no inclination that they could prove his innocence the way he
always felt a defense should be made.  By a rigid devotion to the
letter of the procedural codes.   The codes existed for a reason, as
far as he was concerned, and it wasn't theoretically possible for an
innocent man to be convicted if his protectors knew how to follow the
codes right.    If an injustice had almost been committed during the
proceedings, then to Kronus that would have been Starbuck's fault for
not having the right protectors handling his case.
     He stepped aboard the shuttle and settled into the passenger
chair, already planning ahead to the resumption of his regular duties.
     "Back to the Celestra, sir?" his pilot inquired.
     "Yes, Aurora," he faintly nodded as he relaxed in his chair, "And
radio Chaka that I'm resuming full command.   The Tribunal is over."
     His pilot, an attractive woman with an olive complexion and
shoulder length dark hair turned around slightly, "It's over, sir?"
     "Yes," there was an edge of disinterest in his voice.  "Lieutenant
Starbuck was acquitted.  The real killer was discovered."
     "I.....see," the pilot tried not to show any emotion.   "That's
good to hear."
     "The most outrageous spectacle I've ever taken part in, in all my
yahrens in the Service," Kronus rubbed his temple, and then glared
slightly at her, "There's no time to waste, Aurora.   Launch."
     "Yes sir, sorry sir," she blushed and went back to the controls.  
As she moved the shuttle out into position, Apollo's parked shuttle now
came into view on her right.   She quickly shot a glance over and could
see the blonde lieutenant still embracing the black-haired captain.
     I'm glad for you, Starbuck, she said silently.   And then, she
quickly turned her head away and resumed going over the launch
checklist.

                             Epilogue

     "Grateful as I am for all that you did," Starbuck said as he
snapped on the helmet of his triad uniform, "I sincerely hope that
neither you nor Boomer ever decide to take another case again."
     Apollo grinned as he finished adjusting his uniform and took the
helmet out of his locker, "That would be the surest bet of your entire
life.   Once was enough for me."
     "The legal profession is grateful," Starbuck gave him a playful
nudge, and then closed his locker door, turning the lock, "One thing I
did learn from this whole ordeal. Always keep your locker door locked
whenever you take a quick trip into the turbowash. You never know who
might be sneaking in to filch something."
     "You sure didn't waste anytime regaining your sense of humor,"
Apollo noted wryly.
     "As far as I'm concerned, the old Starbuck is back and better than
ever.   And that includes the burning desire to beat Boomer and Castor
and guarantee another championship for us."     
     "Boomer will tell you that you owe him something after all the
work he put in too," Apollo quipped.
     "I'll repay him with something more meaningful than letting him
win," Starbuck said.   As they reached the doorway leading into the
corridor, the blonde lieutenant stopped and then said with a dead
serious expression, "Apollo," he started.
     "Yeah?"
     Starbuck took a breath, wanting to say how grateful he was for
Apollo's friendship and everything else Apollo had done for him during
the terrible ordeal.  But such openness had never come easy to
Starbuck, even when he wanted to be open.
     "Thanks," he finally whispered.  Unable to say anything else.
     Apollo nodded in understanding and clasped his hand on his
shoulder, "Let's go out there and make that crowd think it's getting
it's money's worth tonight."
     When they reached the end of the corridor, leading to the triad
court, they saw Boomer and Castor waiting.   They also saw that Sheba
and Cassiopeia, both looking stylish and attractive in their formal
evening gowns, were there with Adama and Chameleon.
     "Hey, what is this, a send-off committee?" Starbuck asked wryly.
     Adama smiled, "We all wanted to wish you good luck, Starbuck." he
then glanced over at Boomer and Castor, "Of course, with the caveat
that the Lords will ultimately decree the final outcome of the match
itself."
     "Thank you for maintaining some semblance of neutrality, sir,"
Boomer grinned good-naturedly.
     "Well what are we waiting for?" Starbuck returned it, "Let's get
started."
     "Aren't you forgetting that we're not supposed to enter the court
until the officiator gives us the signal?" Apollo noted.
     "You're right, I forgot," Starbuck sighed, "I guess I've got all
this excess energy I want to let off, after being locked up all that
time."
     "Maybe that's the real key to beating you," Boomer said dryly,
"Lock you up in your quarters before every match, and you'll be too
nervous to concentrate."
     "I guess that means I've got to watch my back for sinister Blue
Team players bearing ropes to tie me up before every match," Starbuck
said as everyone else laughed.
     "Starbuck," Cassiopeia came up to him and gave him a quick kiss,
"It's okay.  You're going to be wonderful."
     "You think so?" Starbuck asked, noticing for the first time that
her short hairstyle made her more attractive than he could remember.
     "I think so."
     "She's right," Adama came up to him, "And while as the commander,
I am formally neutral, as a spectator and a triad fan, I took the
liberty of placing a small wager on you for this evening as an added
incentive."
     "Well thank you, sir," Starbuck said, "So what do you think of
that, Boomer?"
     "I'm not worried," Boomer shrugged and motioned to Chameleon, "The
expert wagerer thinks this might not be your night tonight."
     The blonde warrior lifted an eyebrow as he faced Chameleon, who
had an impish expression.
     "My experience always taught me that lack of adequate preparation
before a match, as you've gone through this past sectan, tilts the odds
heavily in the favor of the other team."  
     "Really?" Starbuck returned Chameleon's expression, "Chameleon,
after tonight you're going to have to tear up that handbook."
     "While my wagering instincts say no, Starbuck, I do hope in all
sincerity that you prove me wrong," Chameleon smiled back.  "Take care
of yourself."
     They heard the buzzer sound, indicating that it was time for the
teams to enter the court.  Starbuck gave Cassiopeia one last quick kiss
before moving out.   At the same time, Apollo made brief eye contact
with Sheba, not saying anything but taking a long micron to note how
beautiful she looked.
     When the four players stepped out onto the court, they were all
greeted to a thunderous standing ovation from the packed galleries of
spectators.   Some of them in awed admiration of the two best teams in
the league, but Apollo, Boomer and Castor also knew that much of it was
directed toward Starbuck, to demonstrate their support for him after
the ordeal he had gone through.
     "I guess we should get to our seats now," Adama said, "Sheba?"
     "Of course," she nodded, "Cassie?  Chameleon?"
     "We'll be up in a centon," Cassiopeia said, "You hold our seats
for us."
     As soon as Adama and Sheba were gone, the med-tech drew up
alongside the elderly man, who was staring intently at Starbuck out on
the court.   Cassiopeia only had to look at Chameleon's eyes to realize
what he was thinking.
     "I came close to telling him during his trial," he said in a low
whisper, as he continued to look out, "But....." he trailed off.
     "Chameleon," Cassiopeia took his hand, "It wouldn't have been the
right time for that.  You....well, so long as I know that you'll do it
someday, I'm not going to hold that over your head."
     Starbuck's father turned and looked her in the eye, "Cassie," he
said, "He will know the truth someday.  I promise."
     She smiled in understanding, "Come on," she said, "Let's go watch
your son win at triad."

The End