A Visitor From Hades
By:  Paul Robison
May 2005

A Battlestar Galactica/Lost In Space Crossover

Battlestar Galactica is the property of Universal Studios & Glen A.
Larson Productions, (c) 1979.     Lost In Space is the property of Irwin
Allen, Space Productions and 20th Century Fox Studios (c) 1965.     
(Caution:  This is a prequel to my Galactica Fanfic Greetings From Space
Family Robinson.  The Robinsons and the Jupiter 2 will not make an
appearance in this story.  However, Morbus, from "A Visit to Hades" (Lost
in Space, Season 2) is the villain of this story)
Both are used without permission but with no intent or anticipation of
monetary gain.  This is solely for my amusement as well as the amusement
of whoever else may read it. 
SPOILERS: "War of the Gods" (Battlestar Galactica)
     "A Visit to Hades" (Lost In Space, Season 2)
     War of the Gods (Adaptation) by Eric Paddon
     War of the Gods (Novelization) by Glen A. Larson and Nicholas
Yermakov
********************
From the Adama Journals:
     There was a once a time when the human race looked forward with
great eagerness to its first contact with non-human races.  No one truly
believed that we were all alone.  Somewhere out among the stars were
other intelligent beings, possibly like us, possibly very different. 
What could we learn from them?  How much could we share?  When the Twelve
Colonies were first established, the descendants of the Lords of Kobol
were all alone, but did not remain so for long.  We found other races,
other beings.  Some more advanced than we were, some more primitive.  We
welcomed contact with them all, envisioning a great universal brotherhood
of species, a coming together of all life forms.  Perhaps we were naive. 
Perhaps we were simply unrealistic.  The Cylons changed all that.
     It was almost a thousand yahrens before the date of my birth that
the Twelve Colonies and the Cylon empire first made contact, a day that
will live in infamy so long as one human remains alive.  We put out the
hand of friendship, and the Cylons attacked with a savage, unrelenting
fury.  It was a long time before we were even able to discern the reason
for their actions.  By that time, the Twelve Colonies and the Cylon
Empire were already engaged in a brutal war, one that would prove to be
the longest and bloodiest in our history, and one that was to end,
perhaps for all time, the glory that had sprung from the seeds planted by
the Lords of Kobol eons ago.  I have vowed that it will not happen, but
only time will tell.  I am, after all, one man and my enemies are legion. 
   
     The reason for the war is so simple as to be incomprenhensible.  The
Cylons had judged us unfit to engage in interstellar travel.  Through
some twisted sort of logic, they believed themselves the rightful
guardians of the aesthetic order of the universe.  Fate had chosen them
to rule the stars, to regulate all inferior species---and to Cylons, all
species were inferior---and to eliminate any threat to what they
perceived as the established order.  The Colonies, of course, posed such
a threat.
     By the time that I was born, the war was already many yahrens old. 
It had become a fact of life to each and ever man, woman and child in the
Colonies.  It is to the credit of the human race that we did not become a
completely xenophobic people, but the word "alien" had taken on a whole
new meaning.  It was inextricably linked with certain base
emotions---suspicion and distrust chief among them.  We were never again
to encounter a new form of life without being on our guard.  Sur-vival
was our prime consid-eration.  True, we did not shoot first and ask
ques-tions later, but we had our guns out.
     Unfortunately, when dealing with the unknown, it is not enough to
have one's laser drawn.
********************
Chapter One:  Ghost Riders In The Night
     "Core Command to Silver Spar leader.  All launch systems transferred
and you are cleared to launch."
     As the canopy of Bojay's viper fell into place with a click, he felt
a weird and wonderful bristle of contentment go through him as he
delighted in the title that Rigel had addressed him by.  It felt just
like old times again.
     "Affirmative core command, we're ready to lead Advance Probe out."
     That said, he started up the controls and within microns his viper
had roared off down the launch tube and into the starlit blackness. 
Three additional vipers that were assignmed to his new squadron
immediately followed leading to a total of four Viper fighters streaking
across the trackless void.
     "Silver Spar group report," he commanded gently as he took his viper
into the lead position.  The affirming replies from Lieutenant Jolly,
Sergeant Cree and Cadet Danning were dutifully prompt.
     "All-righty," Bojay sounded thoroughly relaxed and injected a note
of dryness, "Since this marks the first official Advance Probe of the
Galactica's brand new Silver Spar Squadron, may I say that it will be an
honor to be leading all of you on the first of many such long, boring
recon probes."
     "When we get back, you should memorialize the event by buying us all
a round of ambrosa at the Officer's Club, Bojay," Jolly chimed in.
     "Is there anything you won't do for free food and drink, Jolly?"
Bojay replied with good-natured dryness to the fat lieutenant's quip,
"Tell you what...I'll take it under advisement."
     For the next two centars, the four vipers continued on their course
far ahead of the trajectory that the Galactica and her fleet of 220 ships
presently lay on.  Their pilots stayed vibrantly alert for any sign of a
threat to the fleet and their eyes seldom left their scanners as they
scouted for any presence of the enemy.  There was no margin for error
because thousands upon thousands of lives depended on them.  They each
felt a keen responsibility that was theirs alone each time they went out
on patrol.  The welfare of the last surviving inhabitants of the twelve
colony worlds was in their hands.
     With nothing to attract their attention, Bojay found himself
thinking how good it felt to be leading a group with the name of Silver
Spar Squadron again, just as he had done for more than three yahrens
aboard the Battlestar Pegasus.  The decision to form a new Silver Spar
group for the Galactica had been Adama's idea.  The Commander had decided
that a flyer of Bojay's experience needed to command his own group, even
if for now it could only be four vipers.  But as soon as the Fleet
developed the capacity to build replacement vipers, that would change and
Bojay knew that in as little as a yahren's time from now, he'd be leading
a group almost as large as the one he'd led during his Pegasus heyday.
     Since the Pegasus's disap-pearance a secton ago, he'd idly thought
on many occasions about who'd taken his place and Sheba's in the
leadership of his old squadron.  He and Sheba had always intimidated the
rest of the Peg-sus's flyers with their sheer brilliance, and he wondered
if any one of them would be up to fulfilling the respon-sibilities of
whatever Cain was doing now.
     Bojay could never let himself think for one micron that the Pegasus
was anything other than alive and well.  There'd been Lieutenant Acurol,
Flight Sergeant Pusmear, Ensign Rimes and Lieutenant Haesymu.  All of
them capable flyers, but all of them conditioned more for following
orders than giving them.  Which one would Cain have chosen?  Probably
Haesymu, he thought.  If the choice had been left to Bojay, that's who he
would have picked.
     Right now though, Bojay knew he couldn't think too much about the
past or the future because the people of the Fleet had to live with the
constant reminder that they were a hunted people, and even though nearly
a secton had passed since the last Cylon attack, the time for feeling
secure had by no means come yet.  And so, he returned his attention to
the scanner, looking for any sign that the enemy's presence was somewhere
nearby.
     As the scanner continued to show the blank reading they all
preferred it to show, Silver Spar Leader finally broke the monotonous
silence that had permeated for most of the last two centars.   "Flight
Leader to Advance Probe," said Bojay, speaking into the helmet mike that
he could turn on and off with a quick flick of his tongue.  "I think
everything looks okay for the Fleet in this sector.  Let's start thinking
about a last wide sweep and then heading for the barn.  Copy?"
     "Loud and clear," said Lieu-tenant Jolly.  He was the "top gun" in
the Viper formation, taking an advance scouting position well ahead of
the other streamlined craft and slightly in back of where Bojay was
flying the lead position, "I'm making one final scanner sweep
of-----the---GODDAMN IT!"
     And then, the words of Silver Spar group's deputy leader were cut
off as a shining white light, brighter than several supernovas, suddenly
streaked in front of his cockpit, causing him to throw up his hands as a
shield from its searing glare. 
     "Bojayyyyy!" he shouted.
     It had also passed in front of Silver Spar Leader's cockpit, and
also those of Cree and Danning.  They too, experienced a similar reaction
of abrupt surprise mixed with a slight edge of alarm.  They all spoke at
once over the comcircuit.  
     "Captain, I'm seeing spots in front of my eyes," Cadet Danning
hastily rubbed his sockets to alleviate the pain, "I can't even make
anything out on the scanner."
     "What in the name of Kobol was that?" Cree blurted.
     "All right, all right, put a lid on it,"  Bojay injected a note of
stern authority for the first time, even as he too, rubbed his eyes in an
effort to alleviate the sting the flash had caused, "Take it easy, you
guys. Whatever it was is gone now.  Just hold steady on course till you
can see straight again."   
     "Nothing I've ever seen anything like before," Cree slowly regained
his bearings as a flashback to a time above an ice planet called Arcta
went through his mind, "If that's some kind of new Cylon weapon, we're
really in trouble."
     "Don't jump to conclusions, Cree," Bojay grew slightly more stern,
"If we're all okay, let's check it out.  We'll just ease over in..."
Rather than use his computer, Bojay relied on dead reckoning in an
attempt to determine the origin point of strange lights.  Upon reaching a
conclusion, he indicated the desired direction with his pointer finger. 
"...that direction."
     "I think we'd better alert the fleet first, skipper," said Jolly.
     "There's plenty of time for that," Bojay retorted.  On his first
patrol as a Galactica squadron leader, the last thing he was going to do
was allow any kind of panic.  "First we've got to be sure what we're
alerting them about."
     Suddenly, another flash of light streaked over the four Colonial
vipers, with the same intensity as the first one.  Bojay heard Jolly's
exclamation of pain and shock.
     "Unnnh!  I not only saw that, I felt it!  What in the name of all
that's holy could produce a flash like that?"
     Before Silver Spar Leader could reply, he heard Danning's nervous
voice cut in again, "Captain, there's more of them!  Left center!"
     Bojay's mouth fell open slightly in amazement as he saw a whole
column of the white round streaks of light come towards them.
     Bojay shook himself out of his brief stupor.  "Actuating automatic
fleet alert," he said.  As determined as he was not to panic hastily, he
knew it would be prudent to send a signal back to the Galactica just in
case whatever it was they would encounter would result in their failure
to return.  Now was not the time to start acting with the reckless daring
of his former commander.  "Switching to long range scanners."  
     "Captain," said Cree, "left center relative..."
     Bojay looked.
     A swarm of bright pinpoint lights was approaching from the distance,
moving with shocking speed.  It was impossible to even estimate their
number.   They seemed to expand before their eyes as they hurtled toward
them.
     "I got 'em sighted," Bojay said. "Whatever they are, they're coming
right at us and fast," Jolly stressed the last word as heavily as he
could.
     "Actuate attack computers," the squadron leader's voice regained
some of its firm edge. 
     The pilots switched in their attack and defense systems.  The
scanners automatically locked onto their target...except the scanners
said there was no target.  The turrets swept the area ahead of them,
seeking a target to lock onto.  The pilots had visual contact with
whatever it was, but the scanners didn't seem able to pick them up. 
"Stand by to intercept." 
     As Jolly consulted his target readout, he shook his head in further
disbelief, "I'm not picking them up on my scanner."  Jolly's voice came
back to Bojay over the comcircuit speakers built into his helmet.  "Frack
Almighty, I'm not getting anything at all!"
     "Well they're there by God," said Bojay, setting his teeth.  "And
they're not slowing down." An edge of exasperation entered Bojay's tone,
"Stay with them."
     "It looks more like they're staying with us, sir," Danning jumped
in.
     The swarm of white lights grew rapidly.  Each pilot found himself
squinting, despite the polarization in both the shields of their helmets
and the canopies of their Viper fighters.  The glare was blindingly
bright.
     "Captain, I'm ready to take some pot shots at these things, whatever
they are," Cree spoke.     
     "Negative.  Not yet," Bojay said, His hands tightly gripped the
controls of his ship but he felt as if he were losing control of them
already. "Right now, we can't determine whether it's hostile, or if it's
just some kind of harmless astral phenomenon.  " I want all of you to
stay calm right now!"   
     Cree resisted the urge to speak-up that he knew from personal
exper-ience that waiting too long to figure out whether it was hostile or
not, could make all the difference in survival.  He only had to remember
two cadets he'd trained with named Bo and Shields to be reminded of that.
     "By the time we find that out..." Jolly did not complete the
thought.  Bojay knew exactly what was on the pointman's mind. With the
speed of the lights approaching them, it was doubtful if they would be
able to fire with any degree of accuracy.  Without the benefit of their
scanners computing the rate of speed at which the eerie light swarm was
traveling, it was impossible to lead them with their lasers.
     Then there was no time to think.  The lights were upon them,
streaking past the Vipers and crisscrossing, making a wide sweep around
the fighter craft.
     "Kobol, they're fast," Bojay look-ed over his shoulder as another
one zoo-med overhead, "Anybody get a good look at them?"
     "No," Jolly said, "But I'll tell you this, whatever they're flying
can outrun us, and could probably outrun the Galactica's top speed."
     Cree was on the edge of panic.  Bojay heard it in his voice.  "Let's
get the frak outta here and warn the fleet!" 
     "As you were, Cree," Bojay said sternly, trying to keep his voice
calm.  He could not afford to have any of his men lose their nerve.  "I
sent out an automatic distress beacon already, just as a pre-caution. 
Besides, so far we don't know if there's anything to warn them about.  I
repeat, hold your positions and your fire until we can figure out a way
to get a fix on whatever that was.  Anybody see anything?"
     "No," said Jolly.  "They just seem to have completely disappeared. 
I---no, wait.  They're moving up behind us!"
     Again, Bojay looked back.  This time, the lights streaked past the
Viper formation once again with such speed as to make the fighters appear
to be motion-less in space.
     "Whoever the hellfire it is doesn't seem too interested in us," said
Jolly.  "Otherwise they would've probably blown us out of the stars by
now," the fat lieutenant continued, "Let's turn around and get our
astrums out of here."
     As Bojay saw the clusters move away from them, he decided that this
was not the time to be getting too inquisitive about whatever these
things were.
     "Jolly, you speak the wisdom of the Lords.  There doesn't seem to be
anything more that we can do right now.  Okay warriors, let's turn around
and----"
     Before Bojay could finish, some-thing caught his attention from
behind in the corner of his eye.  He looked back and this time, his mouth
fell open in a level of shock far greater than anything he'd ever
experienced in more than ten yahrens of service as a warrior.
     "Captain?" a note of fear had crept into Danning's voice, "Captain?"
     Bojay was so frozen with shock he couldn't even whisper a reply. He
stared up at the gargantuan white ship that had appeared out of nowhere,
coming up behind them. It was bigger, much bigger, than anything his eyes
had ever beheld in his life.  Its bulk would have dwarfed any battlestar
or Cylon baseship that had ever been constructed.
     "Bojay, what in Hades is that?" Jolly's panicked voice filled his
helmet.
     "I see it," he barely managed to get his words out, "Holy Frack, I
have no idea."
     "Captain, my instruments are gone.  I can't read a damn thing!  What
the hellfire is it?" Danning was finding it impossible to hold back the
terror he now felt as he looked at his directional gauge and saw it
acting in a manner he hadn't even seen in his training days.
     "Mine are spinning like crazy!" Jolly's said.  "I'm caught in some
sort of field, I can't control my ship!"  His glance alternated between
his malfunctioning gauge and the sight of what lay behind them, as a new
element that added to the tension was suddenly injected; a loud,
high-pitched hum, steadily rising in intensity. "What's that noise...I
can't stand it...feels like my head is going to burst... I can't stand
it... the pres-sure..."
     "Sir, what do we do?" Cree had placed a hand on his helmet as he
felt the intensity of the noise increase inside his cockpit.
     "Divide and run!" Bojay shook his head and tried to get some of his
bear-ings back, "I want a four point peel-off on three!"
     "Bojay, I just lost power on all my turbos!"  Jolly said, his voice
filled with fear. "I'm losing speed!" Jolly shouted as the increased roar
of the sound forced him to raise his voice.
     "Me too, Captain, ship won't respond!"  Danning felt the pressure
increase on his head and felt as though it was about to explode.  "I
can't do a thing!"
     "No good!" Both of Cree's hands were clutching his helmet. "Can't
stand the sound!"
     Bojay took another look at the ship that now dwarfed his field of
vision.  What was this thing?  What did it mean?
     "I think we've just run up against something worse than Cylons,"
Bojay said, gritting his teeth against the pain.  "We've had it, Jolly."
     The pressure of the noise finally  became unbearable.  Silver Spar
Leader stiffened in his seat, holding onto his head, fighting to maintain
conscious-ness.  He couldn't do it.  His eyes rolled slightly and he
slumped back in his seat as unconsciousness overtook him at last.

********************
     
     On the lowermost level of the Rising Star, a crowd of more than 500
exuberant spectators had crammed the galleries overlooking the Triad
court below.  Beneath them, they were witnessing the most intense
athletic competition that any of those present could remember seeing
since before the Holocaust; a tight, even, furious match between the Gold
Team of Apollo and Starbuck and the Blue Team of Boomer and Sergeant
Castor. 
     The Triad games were always very well attended. The fleet had
precious few creature comforts, but refused to give up recreation.  In a
stress survival con-ditions as demanding as theirs, in which attack from
Cylons could come at any moment, in which the dull routine of daily life
could be interrupted, perhaps forever, by a searing blast of laser fire,
it was necessary for there to be some way for people to unwind.  One such
mechanism could be found aboard the Rising Star, once an intercolonial
starliner, now a ship that did double duty as a home for several thousand
refugees and a gaming center, complete with gambling chanceries,
entertainment lounges and sporting arenas.  Here, people could forget, at
least temporarily, the rigors of their existence and spend a few precious
centons gambling, enjoying a show put on by their fellow fleet members or
playing any one of several sports that did not require a large amount of
room.  The most popular of these was the game called Triad.
     People had their favorite teams and their favorite players, whom
they supported with great enthusiasm.  Those who did or could not, for
one reason or another, play themselves could easily experience the
vicarious thrills of the sporting fan, cheering for their favorites and
wagering on the outcome of the games.  It was one of those activities in
the fleet, which had a great effect on the morale of the refugees. 
     The game was played by teams of two, one defending, and one
attacking and it was determined by the flick of a cubit which team would
start off defending and which attacking at the start of each period.  A
member of each team stood confronting each other in the center of the
court.  In the rear of the defending team, against one of the walls,
would be a ball approximately the size of a human head.  It was made of
titan-ferrium, a hard, polymesh steel com-pound, which gave it peculiar
bouncing properties and at the same time added an element of danger to
the game, since being hit by the ball could result in serious injury.  To
minimize the chances of being hurt, the players all wore light
titanferrium helmets and polymesh gloves.  Other protective gear, which
was optional, consisted of a polymesh vest that covered the chest area
and dropped down to protect the groin, leaving the hips exposed, and
flexible boots that protected the shins and knees.  The soles of the
boots were molded from impact resistant astalanthalotex, a material which
had strong adhesive properties, enabling the players to "climb the walls"
of the Triad court, al-though they could not, in the strictest sense,
cling to the smooth surfaces for more than a fraction of a micron.
     The two forward team members of each team who stood at center court
at the start of each period had a line between them.  When the claxon
sounded to announce the start of the period, the offensive player had to
physically move past the forward defender to get the ball.  The defending
player could not cross the line in front of him, nor could he move behind
a line that was several feet behind him, between him and the ball.  In
effect, he had to prevent the offensive player from crossing a narrow
corridor he was protecting.  However, there were few rules specifying
what the defending player could or could not do to prevent the offensive
player from getting past him.  This frequently gave the start of each
period of play an aspect of a full contact sport.  In this sense, it was
much more than simple competition.  It gave the players, most of whom
were warriors in the championship league, a way of keeping in top
fighting trim.  There was no limit of time to determine how long the
offensive player had to get by the defender to put the ball in play,
although there was a definite time limit to each period.  Theoretically,
it was possible for entire periods to be devoted entirely to sporting
combat between two forwards only since the two remaining players could
not get into the game until the ball was in play.
     Once the ball was in play, however, the Triad game began in earnest
and it was played at a fast and furious pace.  Once the offensive player
had the ball in hand, he could aim it at any of three lighted circles
that appeared on any and all three walls.  These circles flashed on and
off at random, the succession regulated by a computer, and a circle had
to be struck while it was lighted to result in a score.  The circles,
when lit, bore numbers, which also were control-led in random sequence,
each number carrying a point value from one to ten.  The higher the
number, the more difficult the target, since the higher numbered circles
were illuminated for a shorter length of time than those which had lower
point values.
     The defending players had to attempt to anticipate the play of the
offensive team, so that they could cover a target circle and either
deflect the ball or regain control of it, in which case they became the
offensive team.  Passing was permitted in the game, but only if the ball
was rebounded off one of the walls.  An interception gave a defender
offensive status and the next scoring opportunity.
     On eight previous occasions, these two teams had faced-off and the
results had always been fairly easy victories for the Gold Team.  But on
this occasion, the outcome was less certain than it had been before.  For
the first time, Boomer and Castor were on the verge of defeating the Gold
Team.  They had just scored to take a 14-13 lead with barely a full
centon remaining in the final period.
     "This is it," Boomer muttered under his breath as the four players
gathered together in the circle formation at the center of the court to
wait for the Triad ball to drop into play again.  "Get control of this,
and it's finally it."
     Ever since the Galactica warriors had begun playing organized
Triad matches several sectars ago, Boomer had felt a sense of frustration
inside over never being able to beat Apollo and Starbuck.  As much as he
loved them as the two best friends he'd ever known, he had always
secretly wished that there could be just one thing in life that he could
say he excelled at better than them.  Long ago, he had resigned himself
to the knowledge that as warriors they were the best, and that he would
have to content himself with being in their shadow.  But Boomer had
always taken pride in his skill as a Triad player ever since he'd first
played the game on the backstreets of Caprica City, and long believed
that there were few who'd mastered the game better than him.  Losing to
Apollo and Starbuck once had been ego- bruising enough for Boomer. 
Losing to them again and again, and seeing them emerge as the team the
fans regarded as the best, was almost aggravating beyond belief for
Boomer's mind.  It had now reached the point where defeating them just
once would be enough for him.
     The four players clasped hands and began dancing around the center
of the court in their circle formation again as the claxon sounded and
rubber Triad ball dropped from the ceiling into the space between them.
     It caromed off the right side wall, leaving it open for either
Starbuck or Castor.
     As Boomer and Apollo moved back toward the other side into the
rebound positions, the dark-skinned warrior felt his heart rise with
excitement when he saw his muscular partner get to it first.
     As soon as his hands were on the ball, Castor spun around and then
launched it toward the corner where Boomer was in perfect position to
receive it on the first bounce off the wall.
     His hands clasped the ball and he felt the surge of excitement
inside him increase.  If he made this shot and scored another point for
his team that would put it out of reach.  There'd be no time left for
Apollo and Starbuck to win.  He'd finally beat them for the first time.
     The opening of the scoring circle loomed like an inviting beacon,
waiting for him to put his shot through for the score that would clinch
the vic-tory.  He decided that he would make that score emphatically, for
the benefit of everyone who'd come to watch expecting to see another
triumph for Apollo and Starbuck.
     Boomer began to move on a run around Apollo's blocking motions,
determined to leap high and slam the ball right into the opening with
authority.  It was a movement he'd patented to per-fection as a child,
and had earned him awed admiration from all of his childhood friends. 
Now the people watching would learn just who the real Triad player was!
     Boomer's timing was perfect.  His jump was right on the mark. His
out-stretched arm with the ball clasped in his hand rose high into the
air toward the opening until it was perfectly aligned with it.  And then,
as his body started to come back down, his arm began the sweeping
downward motion to the opening and released the ball.
     But instead of going in, the ball grazed the side of the opening,
which was just enough to cause it bounce all the way back out to the
center of the court.
     What the frack?  Boomer was so stunned that the ball had not gone
in, that he hesitated for a brief instant in getting back to his feet
after he'd come down on the floor.  That couldn't have missed.  It
couldn't have.
     The miss, and Boomer's hesitation in getting back into the play gave
new life for the Gold Team.  Starbuck fielded the ball after it had
ricocheted out and got off a perfect sweeping carom bounce to Apollo, who
was all alone in perfect position thanks to Boomer's brief delay.  As a
result, Apollo had a clean shot at the opening, which because of his
positioning was worth two points, instead of one.
     Just as Boomer thrust himself into a blocking motion, Apollo got off
his shot.  It landed in the center of the open-ing, resulting in two
points, and a 15-14 Gold lead just as the buzzer sounded indicating that
time had expired. 
     Apollo and Starbuck had won again by a narrow margin of ten points.
The two victors threw their arms up in the air in a sign of triumph, and
ack-nowledged the frenzied cheers of the crowd.  Starbuck was still
pumping his fists in the air with excitement as he and Apollo exited the
court first.
     Boomer was still in a state of near-shock when he felt a tap on the
shoulder from his partner. "Come on Boomer," Castor said dejectedly,
"Let's get moving.
     The dark-skinned warrior felt as if he were in the middle of a bad
dream as he finally walked off at a slow pace.  When they emerged in the
corridor outside, they could see Apollo talking with a jubilant Sheba. 
Starbuck was further down, slightly obscured by the security personnel
that had gathered there to keep the mob of fans from thron-ging around
their favorites, in spite of their efforts to hold them back.
     "Off the court, off the court," the head security guard kept
shouting, but to no avail.  "Come on, people, this is stric-tly
forbidden.  Let's get these guys out of here."
     "I'm heading for the turbowash, Boomer," Castor said as he started
to make a beeline for the corridor that led in the other direction.  The
burly Colonial Security Guard wasn't in the mood to talk to either of his
opponents at that moment, "Talk to you later."
     "Yeah," Boomer mumbled as he stumbled forward, just in time to hear
the end of Apollo's conversation with Sheba.
     "You were incredible tonight, incredible," Athena said, grinning
wildly. 
     "We just got lucky, that's all," Apollo said, his modesty showing.
     Starbuck laughed.  "Luck had nothing to do with it, partner.  I was
brilliant too."
     "I'll second that," Athena said.  "I think your excellence deserves
a re-ward."  The look she gave Starbuck was absolutely flirtatious. 
"What'll it be, warrior?"
     "Give me a few centons to change," he said.  "I'm sure I'll be able
to think of something."
     They linked arms and moved off the court together as the security
guards tried to make a path for them.  Hands kept reaching out and
slapping Apollo on the back.  
     "I don't know if I'd go so far as to say you were incredible," Sheba
was saying as she smiled and patted Apollo on the back, "But I might be
able to grant that you were reasonably proficient and buy you a drink."
     "My, my, my.  How generous of you," Apollo chuckled, "You've got a
deal. I'll meet you in the Officers Club on the Galactica later." 
     "Just be sure you wash down thoroughly," Sheba threw him a coy
glance as she turned away just in time to see Boomer approaching. 
     She patted him on the back in consolation before she headed back
toward the spectators tunnel.
     She had only moved ten feet toward the exit when she saw a
grim-faced Colonel Tigh approaching.  She promptly stopped in her tracks
as she realized that the Galactica's executive officer was not coming to
simply con-gratulate the winners and console the losers.  This could only
mean something serious.
     " Damn good game, Boomer!" Apollo put his arm around his friend, as
Starbuck moved back toward the both of them.
     "Damn good game, yeah." Boo-mer was all smiles outward, but he
didn't bother concealing the frustration he felt, "Just once, before I
grow too old for this felgercarb, I'd like to beat you two.  Just once."
     "Hey, don't sweat it, Boomer.  We all have our talents and
abilities. Maybe Triad isn't one of yours." Starbuck nee-dled. "Anyway,
what'd you expect from a natural-born athlete?"
     Boomer gave his friend a good-natured rap in the stomach with his
headgear. "Natural-born athlete my ass," he managed to grin.  "It wasn't
even your shot that won the game.  Just for that, you're buying."
     As the security guards struggled to keep the crowd under control,
Tigh broke through the press, a concerned Sheba trailing him.
     "I'm sorry but nobody's buying tonight," the executive officer said
blun-tly.  "An emergency meeting has just been called in the War Room,
imm-ediately."
     "Aw, give us a break, Tigh," said Apollo.
     "Yeah, have a heart, Colonel," Boomer added. "We're not even on
standby alert."
     Starbuck let out a groan, "For sagan's sake Colonel, we just ran
our-selves ragged in this game.  And I don't just want a drink, I need
one."
     "You'll need two drinks when you find out what's happened," Tigh
said. "Don't waste a micron in the turbowash.  I've had the Canaris
personally comman-deered to rush all of you back."
     "Well, Colonel could you at least give us a little preview?" 
Starbuck demanded.
     "Later," Tigh said curtly as he turned and disappeared back down the
tunnel.  Leaving Apollo, Starbuck, Boo-mer and Sheba alone to ponder what
this could possibly mean.

********************

     Thirty centons later, the four war-riors were on the upper deck of
the Galactica's bridge, staring intently at the giant Navigation Board
that Adama stood in front of.  From the micron Tigh had explained the
situation to them on the shuttle trip back from the Rising Star, the mood
on each of their faces had been downcast.
     "According to our telemetry, they disappeared here," Adama said as
he moved his hand across the lower left-side of the board and moved back
to the other side of the railing, "in this sector."
     "And there's been no trans-missions of any kind?" Apollo asked.
     Tigh and Adama exchanged looks.
     "We received one automatic distress signal from Bojay's viper just
before it happened," Tigh said as he kept his hands clamped on the rail
of the topmost level, next to Omega's console.
     "Other than that, nothing," Adama finished, "The four of them have
just...vanished."
     Apollo licked his lips and took a brief glance back at the board,
"What kind of land mass is indicated in the area?" he asked with a
nervous edge. "Planets?  Asteroids?  Anything at all they could have
landed on?"
     Adama moved to the scanner, checking computer readings and
information tapes. "I don't know," he con-fessed as he shook his head
slightly and tugged at his left ear, "But our sei-smic readings indicate
that something has happened there within a time-frame that could have a
bearing on our missing ships."
     "Huh?" Starbuck frowned, "I think you just lost me, Commander.
What's the connection?"
     "We don't know if it is a con-nection," Adama said, "All we know is
that there are readings of some kind of massive space explosion or
disruption of some kind that happened relatively recently in or near this
same sectar.  We're still too far out though, to tell if the disruption
took place before or after they disappeared."
     "Then just about anything could have happened to them," Boomer said
glumly, and then stopped short of rattling off a list of potential
possibilities.
     "Yes," the commander nodded.
     At that point, Sheba, who'd been quietly standing off to one side
with a stiff-lipped expression, finally spoke up,
     "Commander," her voice cracked slightly, "Bojay's like my family to
me.  He's all that I've got left from..." and then she trailed off,
unable to go any further. Not that she had to.  They all knew what she
was talking about, what must now be coming to mind.  Bojay was the only
other person aboard the Galactica who served with Sheba on the Pegasus,
the scarred but well-oiled battlestar com-manded by her father, Cain. 
The Jug-gernaut.  No one knew if he was dead or alive.  Bojay was her
only link to the past. They had flown together in the same squadron.  The
Silver Spar squadron now made its base aboard the Battlestar Galactica,
but none of the original members were left.
     "I know," Adama said in under-standing as he touched her arm. "I
know.  Get your gear and report to the launch bay."
     "Thank you, sir," she smiled weakly and then walked off the bridge
at a determined pace.  Apollo watched her leave and then slowly made his
way over to his father.
     "Father," he said quietly, "I don't think we should send her."
     "Oh?" Adama glanced at him, noting that there was a strange,
pro-tective note in his son's voice.  It took him a micron to realize
that the last time he'd heard that kind of tone had been almost a yahren
ago, when Apollo had asked him not to send out a squadron of
inexperienced pilots on a mission that had included Serina.
     "There's been no trace of her father or the Pegasus since they
disappeared a sectar ago," Apollo went on.  "And now with Bojay
missing..."
     Starbuck moved in to join the conversation and shook his head.  "If
she's guilty of being too emotional about finding those four pilots, then
I'm guilty too," he said.  "We're all equally affected and motivated. 
Jolly is like a kinsman to me.  And after what happened at Arcta, I also
feel responsible for anything that happens to Cree."
     "Well, then I guess we've got the right team for the job then,"
Apollo decided to admit the obvious.
     "And you can count me in, too," Boomer added.
     "Wait a micron," Adama held up a hand, "Boomer, you have to stay
be-cause I need at least one senior pilot on standby in case this turns
out to be a Cylon ambush of some kind.  For now, I'm going to just let
the three of you do it."
     "Very well sir," Boomer said, feeling that his ego had just taken
another bruising, "I'll have the other squadron pilots come down to
Oper-ations for a full briefing and let them know how things stand for
now."
     "Do that," Adama nodded, "It's best we not keep any of them in the
dark."
     As Boomer left the bridge, the commander turned back to his son.
"Apollo, I urge you to take no risks," he said firmly. "If they're not on
any of the planets in the area--"
     "I know," Apollo quietly inter-rupted, "They wouldn't have fuel
enough to be in continuous flight since they left.  If we don't find
them, we'll come right back."
     "All right," Adama nodded, "Good luck."
     They both pivoted smart about-faces and left the room together. 
Adama watched Starbuck and Apollo as they left, thinking how much they
both reminded him of the way he'd been during his youth.  He hoped
fervently that they would both have a chance to feel that way about their
sons when they became fathers.
     No sooner had Apollo and Starbuck both left, when Tigh came down
from the topmost level. "Com-mander," he said, "That seismic report.  I
don't like the implications of it.  It was much too sudden and abortive. 
It doesn't fit the profile for anything natural to be a core tremor.  If
it were an explosion, it...well it would have to be something else.  And
if I were to make a preliminary guess, I'd say that something massive
crashed with full force into one of the planets in that sector."
     Adama frowned slightly, "Well if there's a connection with Silver
Spar's disappearance, it's hardly likely that four Vipers would just
crash simultaneously," said Adama.
     "That's true," Tigh nodded, "And at any rate, that wouldn't begin to
acc-ount for the level of this kind of reading.  But there's the
possibility that they could have been on the ground when whatever it was
hit."
     "I suppose anything is possible," Adama turned back to the board,
taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. 
     "Let's withhold speculation for the time being. Hopefully we should
know soon enough."

********************

Chapter Two:  A Stranger In Scarlet

     Starbuck, Apollo and Sheba suited up and entered the cockpits of
their Viper fighters, went through the usual pre-flight checks and waited
for the signal to launch.  It came from Tigh over their helmet
comcircuits.
     They kicked in their tubos and hurtled down the launch tubes.  As
al-ways, there was that sudden pressure against their torsos as they were
slam-med back against their seats, as if held there by a giant hand. 
Then, there was the magical sensation that no one ever rally got over,
the wonder of that first moment in which the fighter ship cleared the
launch tube and hurtled into the deep velvet darkness of outer space.
     They shaped into triangle formation as they set their course to
match that taken by the lost recon patrol.  Each of them was alone with
their own thoughts.  It could have been any one of them.  Anything could
have happened.  They could have run into some freak meteor storm or
blundered into a Cylon patrol.  The possibilities were endless.
     Thirty centons into the mission,  a large measure of tension-filled
silence descended over them.
     Each of the warrior's had so much of a personal interest in the
outcome of what they would discover on this mission that none of them
felt in the mood for the normal kind of cockpit small-talk they would
have engaged in.
     With Starbuck, he kept thinking how ironic it was that once again,
he was on a mission to find out what had happened to Cree, and if he was
still alive, just as he'd done at Arcta nearly a yahren ago, when
Starbuck had been on the verge of sacrificing the good of the mission so
he could get a chance to rescue the young cadet from a Cylon prison cell. 
In the time since, he'd been pleased to see Cree mature considerably as a
warrior to the point where he'd been promoted to sergeant and he wasn't
about to accept the prospect that this time, the young warrior's career
had come to a permanent end.
     He also found himself thinking of Jolly.  He might have regarded
Apollo and Boomer as the two warriors he was personally closest to, but
Jolly was the only one he'd known since his childhood.  He and Jolly
shared the bond of being victims of the Umbra disaster, more than twenty
yahrens ago when a surprise Cylon attack had totally levelled and
destroyed Caprica's fifth largest city and left hundreds of young
children or-phaned, including Starbuck and Jolly.  The two had first met
in the orphanage for Umbra Victims, and when their paths had crossed
again many yahrens later at the Colonial Military Academy.
     Starbuck's memory of the fat child from the orphanage he'd enjoyed
playing games with, remained strong enough for him to make Jolly one of
the few people in his inner circle of friends.
     Jolly had told him at the Academy that he'd been able to track down
his real family over time.  Starbuck always envied his friend for that. 
So many victims of the Umbra disaster had been too young to remember
their families, and never know for certain if their parents had survived
the disaster or not.  Starbuck fell into that unfortunate category.  In
all the yahrens since, he'd never gotten any closer to knowing who his
real parents had been, thus making him a man with-out a past or heritage. 
It was the one part of his life that he would have gladly traded in an
instant.
     "We're approaching Quartus seven quadrant," Apollo suddenly broke
the silence, "Indications are of one planet only in the system.  If they
had to make a landing, this is the only place they could have ended up. 
ETA to scanning range in one centon."
     Starbuck slowly returned to his awareness of the blackness of space
sur-rounding him.  He shook his head and seemed to shudder slightly. "You
know," he said, "I don't why, but this part of space makes me nervous for
some reason."
     "That's because since we left Gomoray behind us, we've reached a
point of space that was never mapped by Colonial star navigation," Apollo
said, "From this point on, every star system, every planet we come across
has no name in Colonial records. It's all virgin territory for us until
we find Earth."
     "Kind of makes the whole enor-mity of the journey more apparent,"
Starbuck grunted.
     "There it is," Sheba quietly spoke up, "Planet dead ahead."
     They could see the reddish-gray planet looming up ahead of growing
steadily bigger and bigger.
     "Activating scanners," Apollo sucked in his breath as he hit the
switch on his main console. In a matter of microns, the important data
was flashing on his tiny monitor in bold, block letters: LIFE FORMS: 
0...LIFE FORMS:  0...LIFE FORMS:  0.
     "Zero life forms," he repeated dejectedly.  "You got all that?" said
Apollo.
     "Wish I could say no, but I gotta say yes," said Starbuck, seeing
the same reading flash across his own ship's scan-ner.  He sounded
suddenly weary.
     "I wonder why?" for the first time since they'd left, Sheba's
professional instincts seemed to kick in, "The atmo-spheric conditions
seem right.  There's no reason why the planet should be devoid of life."
     "I doubt that any explorers or travelers from the colonies ever made
it out this far," Apollo said, "Not unless they had a visitor leaving
Gomoray who's ship went a hundred-eighty-degrees in the wrong direction. 
This whole area of space is on the outermost periphery of what we
considered the Delphians' territorial domain, even though they never
bothered to explore it for them-selves.  That's why we don't have any
records starting with here."
     "Aren't you forgetting some-thing?" Sheba said, "Finding no trace of
any kind of human life doesn't bode well for the direction the Fleet is
traveling in to find the lost thirteenth tribe.  If they really did
traverse across the stars to this planet called Earth, then there have to
be some inevitable signs of human life somewhere along the way that have
no connections to the colonies at all."
     Apollo craned his head toward her viper in half-amusement.  In only
a sectar's time since she'd been thrust into the new experience of life
aboard the Galactica, Sheba had gone out of her way to learn as much as
she possibly could about the saga of the Thirteenth Tribe.  On all the
occasions he'd spoken with her since, he was amazed at how she'd embraced
the belief in Earth's existence with as much fervor as his father
pur-sued it with.
     But then again, he mused further, since being parted from the man
who'd been the center of her life; Sheba had been in desperate need of
having something to believe in, in order for her life to have any new
kind of meaning.  Embracing the belief in Earth as a hope for humanity
was the least she could have done under the circumstances.
     There I go again analyzing her, Apollo suddenly chided himself.  Why
in the name of Kobol do I keep doing that?  It seems like ever since she
came here I've been doing nothing but wanting to probe her feelings on
everything.  What is it about her that makes me want to do that so much?
     Before he allowed his mind to ponder that question, he abruptly,
deliberately, shut his mind off from those thoughts and returned to the
matter at hand.
     "One problem at a time, Sheba," he said, "Our first concern is
finding traces of Silver Spar patrol.  Let's head on in for a first
look."
     The three Vipers angled down toward the pale red planet and entered
its atmosphere, their engines roaring like angry beasts.  As soon as the
cloud cover dissipated around them, they were greeted to a strange sight
in the sky around them and the landscape beneath them.
     "Apollo...Starbuck...look at the color of the vegetation," Sheba
said in amazement. "It's all red."
     "Red...and probably dead too," quipped Starbuck.
     "Yeah," the same tone was in Apollo's voice, "I've never seen
anything like this before.  Try to find a place to set down and we'll do
some investigating on foot."
     "Hey just over that rise ahead," Starbuck quickly interjected with a
note of excitement, "Look at that."
     As the vipers streaked over the landscape, they were surprised to
first see the sky around them return to a normal color, and then beneath
them, a blackened scarred gully filled with massive pieces of some kind
of wreckage that Apollo didn't recognize.
     "Looks like something big hit this area," the flight leader said,
"So big it destroyed and burned out all the vegetation.
     That's why the sky's now a normal color again."
     "I got it on visual," said Starbuck.  "Just to the left of center. 
Some kind of wreckage.  Kobol, whatever it was must've been huge."
     "Let's swing around and go in," a determined edge entered Apollo's
voice as the three of them banked their vipers and came back into the red
areas beyond the gully where an open field came in to view.  Less than a
centon later, like giant birds sweeping in for a landing, the three of
them set down on the spongy red grass just beyond the crest of the
crater.
     Sheba was the first to pop up her canopy and drop to the ground. 
She quickly surveyed the area and sprinted across the field to where
Apollo and Starbuck had just gotten out of theirs, gathering together
beside Apollo's ship.  The red glow of the sky cast its strange tint not
only on the surroundings, but on each other as well.
     "This is the strangest light I've ever seen," Apollo shook his head
in disbelief at what seemed like something out of an old fairy-tale story
to him.
     "You two should see yourselves," Starbuck grinned at Apollo and
Sheba, "You both look like a bad contrast pic-ture on a hovermobile
operator's license come to life."
     "So do you Starbuck," Sheba smirked back at him, "And in your case,
you never looked better."
     The brash warrior chuckled as he realized that he'd been topped. 
After the way she had so expertly cut him down to size when he'd made his
subtle prop-osition attempt before the Gomoray commando mission, he
realized he should have known better.
     "Well at least the atmosphere readings check out," Apollo's eyes
wandered about the field and the nearby forests.
     "Comfortable to breathe in every sense."
     "And yet everything's so creepy," the smirk faded from Sheba's them
in their field of vision, expression as she stopped to take in the
surroundings.
     "But alive," Starbuck tried to reassert an optimistic note.
     "The wreckage is about five hundred metrones that way," Apollo
pointed to an area where the red glow's dissipation became apparent,
"Let's check it out."
     Several centons later, they had emerged in the more reassuring glow
of a normal-tinged sky.  But once they looked beneath them at what lay in
the gully far below, that reassurance promptly vanished.
     "Would you look at the size of that crater," Apollo said in
near-awe, "Whatever hit this place must have been as big as a
battlestar."
     "And that," Starbuck pointed, "looks like the remains of a very big
ship."
     They stared at the twisted, blackened remains of the massive craft
beneath them, trying to see if it registered any sense of familiarity
with them.
     "About the only reassuring thing I can say, is that that's obviously
not a viper, let alone four of them," Apollo said.
     "I wonder," Starbuck mused, "Are there any records of battlestars
disappearing without a trace since the war began?"
     "Yes," Sheba said as she looked at the wreckage with the same
transfixed amazement, "The Battlestar Callisto disappeared five hundred
yah-rens ago with no explanation while on a deep space intelligence
probe, but as big as that thing is, I doubt that it's a battlestar or
anything else Colonial for that matter."
     "Let's get a closer look," Apollo said as they started down the
sloping hillside.
     They had only gone twenty feet, when the three of them were suddenly
startled by a sound from behind them.
     "Hey, you three!" cried a deep baritone voice from the lip of the
crater.  "Stay away from there!  It's dangerous!"
     The three warriors all grabbed for their laser pistols as they spun
around, startled.
     An incredible vision confronted them.  Standing on the crest of the
crater, where they had stood only microns ago, was a man of slightly
above average height and he appeared to be human.  His face was oval
shaped, with sleepy-looking brown eyes and dark, but slightly graying
hair that topped his high fore-head.  A moustache and a goatee topped off
his facial features.   He had a regal bearing, all the more accentuated
by his amazing apparel.  He wore striking red boots, pants, and a jacket,
all of which were made of a metallic, satin-like material that sparkled
in the sunlight, making him seem more like someone who belonged in a
royal hall than amidst the squalid emptiness of a deserted planet. 
Despite the man's warning, he made no initial move toward them, and
remained standing still and composed on top of the ridge.
     "Where did he come from?" Sheba whispered in bafflement, "The
scanners said no life forms."
     And then, as the three warriors watched in total incredulity, he
slowly made his way down the slope to where the three warriors were
standing.
     By the time he reached to within five feet of them, he added,
"Proteon radiation. The crater is saturated with it."
     Apollo stared at the goateed man in the metallic-red jumpsuit, one
hand on his laser pistol, Starbuck and Sheba following his example.  "Who
in Kobol are you?" he said.
     The man noticed their actions.  "Don't be afraid. I'm not going to
hurt you," he said, raising his bushy eye-brows.
     The three warriors exchanged uncertain looks.
     Starbuck was the only one who still had his pistol out, and he kept
it cautiously trained on him.  "What is this place?" he said.  "And where
did you come from?"
     "You mean originally or just now?" the man countered again in a
gentle retort. "Really, young man, if you're going to ask me questions
you need to be more specific."
     "Look," said Apollo, "this word game isn't getting us anywhere."
     "The trouble is, my friend," said the man, a slightly mocking in his
voice, "I was here first.  You're the strangers."
     "We mean you no harm," Apollo said, adopting a diplomatic tone. 
     "You needn't worry," the man said again.  "I'm not a monster.  Look,
I have five fingers, two arms, one head, and, I assure you, no webbing
between the toes.  I'm as human as you are."
     "Who are you? Apollo repeated his first question.
     "Who are you?" the man coun-tered, this time with a slightly more
hostile edge in his voice.
     "I asked you first," said Apollo, slightly beginning to lose
patience with the stranger.
     "Uh, Apollo," Starbuck whisp-ered, "why don't we...er...humor him?"
     Apollo nodded, catching Star-buck's drift.  "I'm Captain Apollo, of
the battlestar Galactica, and these are my friends, Starbuck and Sheba. 
How long have you been watching us?"
     The man looked at Sheba, smiling.  "Sorry about that.  I couldn't
help but notice your attractive com-panion there.  Do you gents see
anything wrong with a man watching a beautiful girl?"
     Sheba found herself blushing, feeling just a little bit flattered.
"You still haven't told us who you are or where you came from?" she said.
     "Ah, I seem to have forgotten my manners." The man turned to Apollo
and bowed slightly. "My name is Morbus," he said finally. "Late of the
planet Lyre."
     "How did you get here?" Apollo said.
     "How does anybody get any-where?" Morbus answered sarcastically.
     Apollo quietly motioned Starbuck to lower his pistol.  As his friend
put it back in his holster, Sheba cautiously spoke for the first time
since they'd seen him. "That must've been your ship," Sheba said,
pointing to the wreck down in the gully without taking her eyes off the
stranger.
     The man's eyes gazed down and the grave aura of his expression only
increased. "It used to be." 
     "You're obviously human.  Do you need our help?" Apollo said.
     From where I stand, it looks like you're the one needing help," the
man said.  "My help."
     "Your help?" Starbuck refused to lower his pistol, "Are there others
like you?"
     The man's face suddenly took on a grave expression. "Not on this
rock-ball, I'm sorry to say."
     "But on this planet Lyre you claim to come from?" 
     "Thousands, friend.  Thousands."
     Apollo and Starbuck glanced at each other and saw each of them
thinking that the man could very well be unbalanced.
     "Your ship..." said Sheba, pointing at the burned hulk that dwarfed
them all.
     "Hmmm---what about it?"
     "How did it crash?"
     "It didn't crash," he said. "It was destroyed," 
     "By whom?" Apollo asked.
     "Destroyed by my enemies," he said simply, and then left it at that.
     "Do you mean the Cylon Em-pire?" Sheba gently prodded.
     "No, I don't," he replied flatly, and once again refused to go
further.
     Despite putting his pistol away, Starbuck refused to be as
diplomatic in his tone, " And just who are your enemies?"
     "You don't want to hear about them, believe me," the stranger said. 
"Can we move away from here?  I'd rather not be reminded of what happened
to my people." 
     Even before he had finished though, the man had already started to
move off back up the slop toward the path that led back to the top of the
ridge.
     Cautiously, the three warriors began to follow him.  Apollo pulled
out the portable scanner from his belt pack and quickly activated it.  As
he trained it on the man ahead, he frowned in dis-belief, tapping it
slightly with his hand.
     "Something wrong?" said Starbuck.
     "I---I don't get it.  I see him stan-ding there, but he doesn't give
off a re-ading," Apollo said.  "No brain waves, no pulse, nothing."
     Starbuck gave Apollo a wry look, then unstrapped his own scanner and
aimed it at the departing man.  The stranger was almost out of sight
behind the ridge.  He stopped in his tracks and spoke to them without
looking back.
     "Uh, excuse me," he said.  "I couldn't help but notice you gents
trying to use your scanners on me.  Well, don't bother.  The proteon
field here from the crash is much too strong.  It causes interference."
     He resumed walking, and again the three Galactica warriors followed,
leaving the massive wreckage of the ship behind them alone and forgotten
for now.
     They moved back into the reddish tinted area, and for a brief micron
Apollo felt a sense of unease go through him when he saw the mysterious
man bathed in the red glow.  He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but
the sight alone see-med like a warning flag that he should be wary of.
     He watched as the man came to a stop in front of a small pond on the
other side of the meadow where the three vipers were parked.  His
shoulders seemed to sag in weariness, causing Sheba to come over to him
and offer an arm in support.
     "I don't understand it," Starbuck mused quietly to Apollo out of the
corner of his mouth. "Who is this guy?" 
     Apollo didn't respond imm-diately.  His attention was still on the
man, and on Sheba.
     "Apollo?" Starbuck gently nud-ged him.
     "Sorry," Apollo shook his head, "I was just thinking."
     "And?"
     His friend took a breath, "I don't know.  I've got a very strange
feeling about him."
     "Tell me about it," the brash lieutenant grunted.
     "I don't know," said Apollo.  "But I somehow have the feeling that
we've stumbled onto something that could change our lives."
     Starbuck looked at his friend with amazement.
     "Change our lives?  Him?"
     "Him," Apollo nodded.  "He gives off an incredibly commanding aura."
     "What I don't understand is how he could survive that fiery crash
without a scratch on him. Especially if that ship crashing is the tie-in
to what the Commander was telling us about the massive seismic
disturbance the Galactica's scanners picked up," Star-buck said.
     "Which could connect somehow with Silver Spar Squadron's
disappear-ance." Apollo added. "I think I'd better do some delicate
probing of him."
     The two of them made their way over to the edge of the pond.
     "I'm feeling very weary," the man was saying to Sheba. "Like I'm
drained of all my energy."
     Sheba knelt down beside him.  She dipped her hand into the water and
bathed his forehead.
     "We have some emergency rations with us," Sheba's tone was gentle
and friendly, as she continued to hold him up by the arm. "We'll be happy
to share them with you."
     The stranger turned and smiled warmly at her, " Thank you, that's
very kind," his voice matched the grateful benevolence of his smile. "But
no thank you, it's not food I need."
     "Look," Apollo entered the con-versation, keeping his tone cautious
and diplomatic, "Mr, Morbus, how did you survive the crash?"
     The stranger did not look at him.  His eyes were focused on
something in the distance, a blank frown coming over his face. "I've been
wondering about that myself." He sounded apologetic. "I don't know why
but I simply can't remember."
     "You spoke of your people," Star-buck said.  "Some of them were
traveling with you on that ship?"
     The stranger nodded.  "Yes.  But, alas, my shipmates are now gone
from this dimension.  Gone on to other things..." His voice trailed off
as he turned away and looked off into the distance.
     Before any of the warriors could say anything else, he abruptly
turned around and started to cautiously pace in front of them, "But what
about you?  You must have people.  Will you be returning to them soon?"
     "Yes," Apollo nodded.
     The caution suddenly faded from Morbus's face and was replaced by an
expression of politeness.  "Could I...Could I please come with you?" 
     "We'd have to know a little more about you and this world you come
from, Lyre," Apollo said, as he tried to be firm without being
antagonistic.
     "I don't see why I shoulds share that information with you." Morbus
walked several steps away from them.  "They're light-yahrens ahead of you
and I doubt very seriously our peoples have ever contacted each other."
     "Yes, but if they are human, maybe there's some connection,"
Starbuck said hopefully, moving toward him.  "I mean---it's possible."
     "Anything's possible," said the stranger.  " In fact, it's possible
I could help you with your quest."
     "Oh?" Apollo raised an eyebrow, "What quest is that?"
     "Whatever it is you're looking for," the man in metallic scarlet
said simply and then looked off into the distance.  "I have infinite
knowledge of the universe.  If you desire my help, I think we had best be
going immediately."
     And then, the mysterious man called Morbus walked off in the
direction of the three vipers.
     "Well," Apollo said aloud to Sheba and Starbuck, "What's your
preliminary assessment?"
     "He's likeable," said Starbuck, "but he's also," he tapped his head
with his pointer finger, "crazy."
     "He might be," Apollo agreed.  "Then again, he might not be.  Why
the frak won't he tell me more about himself?"
     "Maybe he doesn't want to," said Sheba.  "What difference does it
make?  He's human.  And he's all alone."
     Apollo looked at Sheba and frowned. "I just wish I knew where the
frack he came from," Apollo kept his eye on Morbus's retreating form.
     "You keep asking that," Sheba seemed amazed by the level of
suspicion in his voice, "What does it matter?"
     Apollo looked back at her, equally amazed by her lack of suspicion,
"It should matter a lot, Sheba.  Especially since he's here for no
apparent reason, and we're still left with an unanswered question about
what happened to our missing pilots."
     "I don't even think you bothered to put the question to him," she
retorted mildly. "Not that he'd probably know a thing about it anyway. 
At least we know he's human.  And he's all alone."
     "Sheba, why are you suddenly so protective of him?" Apollo's
amazement deepened, "So far, he's been nothing but evasive with us."
     "He's probably just confused and disoriented," she held her ground.
"I think he's in shock from the explosion."
     "She's got a point, Apollo," Star-buck conceded.  "If he ejected
from that ship, the fall may have hurt him."
     "I don't buy it," Apollo shook his head, "He doesn't look any too
tattered to me.  His suit is neatly immac-ulate, and there's not a hair
out of place on his head. There has to be more to it."
     "Well," said Starbuck, shrugging his shoulders, "we can't very well
leave him behind."
     "Have you considered that he might be some sort of spy?" Apollo
sug-gested. "Someone who was planted here and knew we'd be coming.  Done
after whatever it was that caused Bojay and the others to disappear."
     As soon as he mentioned the name of her only friend left from the
Pegasus, Sheba looked back at where Morbus was standing, as though she
were inwardly reproaching herself for not being cautious enough.
     Starbuck considered it. "He's only one man," he said.  "If we keep
our guard up, I just don't see what he could do."
     Apollo cast another glance at the mysterious Mr. Morbus and finally
nod-ded. "Okay," he agreed.  "But let's make sure he isn't carrying any
kind of homing device."
     "Good idea," Sheba said, her voice more cautious than it had been
before, "If this is one of Baltar's little tricks, maybe it'll backfire."
     "Starbuck, get yourself into orbit and radio the Galactica that we
need a shuttle.  And see if there's any further word from Silver Spar. 
If we're lucky, maybe they've turned up while we've been away."
     "Right," Starbuck nodded and headed off to where his viper was
parked.  At the same time, Apollo and Sheba went over to the other side
of the meadow where Morbus remained trans-fixed, looking up at the sky
from time to time.
     They reached the mysterious man just as Starbuck's viper powered up
and took off into the atmosphere to begin its return trip.
     "We're ready to leave now," said Apollo.  "Are you absolutely
certain you want to come back with us?"
     The stranger only smiled, nodded in the affirmative, and then moved
off into the center of the meadow.
     Apollo gave Sheba a sarcastic glance, "Overwhelmed with gratitude,
isn't he?"
     "Apollo," she gently chided, "That's enough.  We've taken all the
precautions we need to for now.  Let's not make things difficult."
     Apollo kept looking at her for a long micron as though he wanted to
say something else.  But before he could do that, Sheba had moved off in
Morbus's direction.
     As soon as they came to where Morbus was, Apollo and Sheba were both
startled by an entirely new sight.  There was the sudden sound of several
explosions in the distance and the red sky washed out to white on the
horizon.  White balls of light, impossibly bright, streaked across the
sky toward them at astonishing speeds.  It did not seem possible to the
warriors that anything could move that fast, yet the white balls of eye
searing light hurtled across the sky so quickly that they almost hurt
their necks trying to follow their progress.  They emitted a piercing
high-pitched sound that became deafening, the closer they came and as
they passed by overhead, both warriors doubled over and clutched at their
heads, covering their ears in an effort to block out the nerve-shattering
noise.
     The stranger, however, remained perfectly erect and didn't even
flinch in response to the sound.  There was a look of cold fury in his
eyes, which now seemed to blaze with an unholy light.
     "What is it?" Sheba moaned in near agony from the noise. "What's
happening?"
     As soon as she'd finished, the noise level slackened off and the
lights began to fade from view.
     "I don't know," Apollo took his hands down and looked at Mr. Morbus
in amazement. "But it didn't even faze him."
     "Behold, the enemies of my people," said the stranger, still looking
suspiciously at the now empty sky. "They whose intent it was to enslave
us until the end of time.  They're after me, and they won't stop until
I'm in their clutches again."
     "They're after you, Mr. Morbus?" Apollo took a step toward him. 
"What are you talking about?  How can some lights in the sky be after
you?"
     Morbus turned back and the warm smile returned to his face, "Oh,
Great Mother of the Egg, what am I saying?  The lonely dreariness of this
place must have caused my imagination to run amok.  Thank you, once
again, for taking me back to your people."
     "You're most welcome." Apollo straightened his jacket as he shook
off the rest of the unnerving noise's effect from his head.  "Lieutenant
Starbuck is signalling our ship to send over a shut-tlecraft that will
take you back to our ship.  It should be here in a matter of time."
     He moved away from them toward their vipers and seemed to cast an
admiring glance at the machinery.
     Apollo shook his head in amaze-ment, "He must be as mad as a
Scorpian hermit."
     Sheba suddenly threw him a disapproving glance, "For Sagan's sake
Apollo, do you have to be so rude?"
     "I'm not being rude," he kept his attention on Morbus, "That's just
the way he seems to me.  If he isn't a prime candidate for the Nuthouse,
he's holding something back."
     "Is your first instinct always to be unfriendly to people you don't
completely recognize?" she retorted in a cold tone that caused Apollo to
look at her.
     "What do you mean by that?" he asked gently.
     She drew herself up and defiantly shook her head, "Nothing," she
said, "Never mind."
     "No come on," he took her by the arm, "I want to know what you meant
by that, Sheba."
     Sheba took a breath, "If you must know, I'm reminded of how you were
ready to think that my father was a madman just because he pursued a
different line of strategic thinking from the one you preferred."
     Apollo rolled his eyes in disgust, "Oh for the love of... Sheba, are
you try-ing to tell me that after a whole secton of trying to..." he
broke off and suddenly walked away, too angry and hurt to say anything
else.
     It only took a micron for Sheba to catch up with him, "Apollo wait,"
she took him by the shoulder, "Apollo, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean..."
     He turned around and calmly exhaled, "Okay," he said gently.  "Okay,
let's forget that whole thing.  Let's both agree for now to just be on
our guard about this Morbus person and jump to no more conclusions until
the facts warrant it."
     "Agreed," Sheba nodded and extended her hand, "Truce?"
     He smiled and took it, "Truce."
     They came up to Morbus, and when Apollo spoke, his tone was more
polite than it had been at any other point.
     "Mr. Morbus, there's one question I neglected to ask you. Have you
seen any other people like us, or any ships like ours before or after you
came to be here?"
     "Other Colonial warriors?" Morbus thoughtfully mused, "No, I can't
say that I have.  I certainly don't think I'd be in this lonely
predicament of mine if I had seen anyone else."
     Apollo didn't bat an eyelash or lessen the politeness of his tone,
"Excuse me Mr. Morbus, but do you mean you know what kind of people we
are?  I don't think I mentioned the term Colonial warriors."
     The stranger broke into a disarming smile, "Yes, I understand what
you mean, Captain.  But the Twelve Colonies of Mankind are known to me. 
Remember,  I said my knowledge of the universe is infinite---including
the knowledge of your people, and of your quest."
     "And you say you can help us in that?" Apollo folded his arms.
     "It's not out of the question." He turned away from them, "I feel so
tired from my ordeal.  Is it asking too much if these questions---yes, I
know they're legitimate ones--- wait until I'm aboard your ship and have
had a chance to recover myself more?"
     "Certainly," Apollo said, "We'll let things go until then."
     As Morbus moved off again back toward the middle of the meadow,
Apollo shot a glance at Sheba and felt a tinge of unease at the look of
fascination on her face, as she kept her eyes trained on the stranger.
     He found himself dearly hoping that it didn't mean anything
significant.

********************

     The shuttle arrived twenty cen-tons later and came to a stop in the
mid-dle of the meadow.  Morbus wasted little time in boarding it.  As
soon as it was away, Apollo and Sheba took off in their vipers, and as
soon as they reached escape velocity from the planet, ren-dezvoused with
Starbuck's viper, which had been staying in a holding pattern during the
entire time.  The three fighters then assumed a protective flank around
the shuttle to begin escorting it back to the Galactica.
     "Dotha?" Apollo radioed the shuttle pilot, "How's our guest acting?"
     The voice of the young female shuttle pilot came back through his
headset, "He's acting perfectly normal Captain.  Just sitting  in the
back relaxing.  He hasn't said a word since he said hello to me, but he
does seem grateful that he's off that rock."
     "Okay thanks.  Let me know if he says anything, or if something
funny happens."
     "Are you expecting something to happen, sir?" Dotha inquired.
     "I'm not sure, Dotha," Apollo said, "I'm not sure."
     The flight leader then switched frequencies, "Starbuck, did you get
any word from the Galactica on Silver Spar group?"
     "The word was---that there's still no word, Apollo," Starbuck
sounded de-jected, "I hate to say this, but barring a miracle, I don't
know if I have much hope for them at this point."
     "So much for your vaunted optimism, Starbuck," Sheba suddenly
snapped, "I don't want to hear you say that."
     "Look Sheba, I'm only repeating facts."
     "I refuse to believe Bojay's gone," she said, "Somehow, I think
things will turn out all right."
     "How?" Starbuck demanded, "Do you feel like telling me?"
     "I don't know," her voice trailed off, "Something I felt, when I was
talking to Mr. Morbus on the planet."
     "I didn't hear him say anything to inspire confidence on that point,
Sheba," Apollo said, choosing his words very carefully.
     "Maybe not," she said with slight awe, "And yet at one point, I
could feel it.  Being with him somehow makes me think that something
important and good for all of us is going to happen."
     Apollo promptly choked off the retort he was thinking of and kept
silent.  Starbuck was too incredulous to say anything himself at this
point.
     What's got into you, Sheba?  Apollo thought.  Is there any reason
why you want to trust him so willingly?
     The reassuring sight of the Galactica finally came into their field
of vision.  As each ship contacted the in-visible force field of the
landing bay, the black, box wired into its guidance system cancelled out
the field so that the craft could pass through the atmospheric shield as
though it were nothing more than a semi-permeable membrane.  There was a
pop-ping sound that accompanied the pas-sage of each ship through the
field as some of the atmosphere inside the ship escaped into space, but
the amount lost was infinitesimal and did not threaten the lives of the
ground crews who worked in the landing bay. 
     The ships lined up on their landing points and settled slowly to the
deck of the landing bay.  The ground crews rushed forward to secure the
craft and to being their maintenance tasks.
     As Apollo got out of his viper and dropped to the tarmac, he felt
his stom-ach knot slightly when he saw Sheba in-stinctively  head toward
the shuttle as soon as she was out of her viper.
     At that point, Apollo saw Colonel Tigh step off the turbo lift and
enter the landing bay, with Athena trailing him.  A look of concern lined
the executive off-icer's face.
     "Starbuck said you needed a shuttle, but there was no sign of the
others," Tigh said, "Would you tell me exactly what happened there?"
     "We didn't find Silver Spar, but we didn't exactly come up empty
Col-onel," Apollo said. "We found some-body."
     Before Apollo could go on, Sheba escorted the mysterious stranger in
the sparkling scarlet jumpsuit up to where they were standing, "May I
introduce our guest?" she smiled and motioned to Iblis, "Mr. Morbus, this
is Colonel Tigh, and Lieutenant Athena."
     "It's a pleasure to meet you, Colonel," said Morbus, bowing slightly
as he'd done before when he'd intro-duced himself on the planet, "An
honor, Colonel."
     The executive officer said nothing, and appeared to look him over
with a dubious expression.
     "I know your mind is full of questions," Morbus went on, "But as I
explained to Captain Apollo, I'm hoping to find somewhere to rest after
my ordeal."
     "I'll be glad to give you and my father a quick debriefing," Apollo
said to Tigh, "But I'm sure he'll want to talk to Mr. Morbus at length."
     Tigh slowly nodded, "Of course.  Sheba, once you and Mr. Morbus
finish de-con, proceed to the Life Station.  I'm sure Dr. Salik will help
you find suitable quar-ters for our guest."
     Sheba was still beaming as she motioned Morbus to follow her out of
the landing bay toward the decontamination chamber.
     Standard procedure dictated using it whenever a warrior came back
from a mission that had required him to land on an unknown planet.
     "As soon as you finish decon, report directly to the Commander's
quarters," Tigh said to Apollo, who was still staring at where Sheba and
Iblis had disappeared, "He'll have to fill me in later.  I'm only here
because I'm on my way over to the agro-ship to see if the crop levels are
at a point where some of the food shortages can be taken care of."
     "Trouble acting up again on that front?" Starbuck asked.
     "You better believe it," Tigh said, "Council Security reported there
was a near-riot aboard the Ranger last night over food supply shortages. 
We've had to double the detail on all of the passenger freighters."
     "Those dumb crasodies couldn't put down a riot of one school child
throwing a tantrum over no mushies for dessert," Starbuck snorted, "One
Colonial Security man like Castor is worth a hundred men like Reese."
     "Be that as it may, they're all we've got to handle the situation. 
You know what kind of an uproar would happen with the Council if we had
to send in Colonial Security men to handle a situation like that," Tigh
said as he started to move away, "I know I'll be interested in hearing
the report when I get back.
     Our guest seems...very interesting." Apollo mumbled a half-hearted
acknowledgment and then moved off to the decontamination center, leaving
Starbuck and Athena alone together for the moment.  Immediately, Starbuck
felt a wave of discomfort hit him.  Ever since his relationship with
Athena had fizzled out many sectars ago, he'd gotten the distinct
impression that Athena had been developing a cold hostility toward him.
     But to his amazement, when Athena spoke, her tone was anything but
antagonistic.
     "There's something bothering him," her eyes were still trained on
her brother, who had finally disappeared from view down the corridor, "I
know that look on his face."
     Starbuck decided it was safe to talk, "Well, I don't think Mr.
Morbus ex-actly inspires confidence in him---or me, for that matter."
     "But he seems to with Sheba," Athena noted, "And that appears to be
bothering Apollo already."     Starbuck chose his next words carefully,
"Athena," he said, "Have you ever gotten the impression that maybe
Apollo..."
     "Has some kind of interest in Sheba?" Athena finished without
looking at her one-time boyfriend, "I certainly have.  And what's sad
about it, is that he feels that if he ever admitted that to him-self, let
alone anyone else, he'd feel like he was violating Serina's memory. 
That's why he's been keeping it bottled up in-side him as much as he
possibly can."
     "You ever plan on telling him that?"
     Athena looked at him and her expression took on that cold aura
Star-buck had been expecting sooner or later, "I will not, and if he
means anything to you as a friend, you won't either.  If Ap-ollo's gone
soft on Sheba, then he has to either admit that to himself, or else
She-ba has to get the hint that he really does care and drag it out of
him someday on her terms.  The best thing I can do as his sister is just
steer clear of the whole thing."
     "The best thing?" Starbuck raised an eyebrow, "Are you really sure
of that?"
     "I am," her cold expression deepened, "I have known him longer than
you, Starbuck."
     Starbuck was on the verge of making another retort, but then decided
that he'd only be making things worse.  If it had been anyone but him,
Athena might not have been so hostile.  But the relative ease in which he
had gone over to Cassiopeia after their break-up had seemingly produced a
bitterness in Athena that wasn't apt to heal for a long time.  Which
Starbuck regretted, because he still cared deeply for Athena in a
non-romantic way.
     "I've got to do decon myself," Starbuck said calmly, "Can't keep
Apollo and the Commander waiting."
     He felt an intense sense of relief as he went through the
compartment door and heard it close behind him.
     Ten centons later, with their decontamination procedure finished,
Apollo and Starbuck were both in Adama's quarters giving him their report
on what had happened.
     "All right," he said.  "I want to hear about this man who calls
himself Morbus."  The commander was incred-ulous as he paced about the
room.  You said he was all alone on this planet."
     "As far as we could tell," his son said, "Along with the wreckage of
an immense ship of unfamiliar design."
     Adama stopped in front of his desk and looked directly at the both
of them, "What's your report on the wrec-kage?"
     "Well it was giving off except-ionally high proteon levels," Apollo
ex-plained. "We couldn't move into the area without returning to the
Galactica for special gear," Starbuck added.
     "Too bad," Adama mused in disappointment, "And yet he survived
despite the proteon levels?"
     "I can only speculate he ejected from the ship before she was
struck," Apollo said, wishing he could come up with a better possibility
than that.
     His father lifted an eyebrow, "Struck by the Cylons?"
     "Not according to him," Starbuck said.
     "Then what?" Adama prodded, "Did he elaborate?"
     "He wasn't making much sense about that," the blonde lieutenant went
on, "Who knows what condition his mind was in after going through the
encounter he'd been through."
     "Yet he specifically ruled out the Cylons?"
     "He did."
     "Father," a pointed, urgent edge entered Apollo's voice, "He seemed
to be very evasive.  I don't trust him."
     Adama paused to reflect for a moment before responding. "Very well,
then," he said as he sat behind his desk, "I want a complete report on
him from the Life Station.  Thought module, neuro lights, everything up
to and including ele-ctron thought regeneration."
     "Don't you think that some sort of, well, formal greeting might be
in order before we compel him to submit to all that?" Apollo said.
     "All right, all right," said Adama.  "Bring him up to my quarters as
soon as possible.  Give him as much time as he needs to rest and as soon
as he feels like talking I need to see him."
     The two warriors nodded and left Adama alone to his paperwork.

********************

     After finishing with the decon-tamination procedure, Sheba led
Morbus down the corridor in the direction of the Galactica's Life
Station.
     "We can stop here for some ultranutrients and a quick
lumination-regeneration treatment," Sheba said.  "They'll help you get
your strength up and get you through the debriefing."
     Morbus , who'd been seemingly paying little attention to her,
abruptly stopped in his tracks and said in a flat monotone, "No, no.  I
can't do that!"
     Sheba turned around and looked at him with surprise.  "Hey, it's not
that I don't appreciate your concerns," he smiled as the air of charming
warmth returned to his voice, "But I've got my own concerns."
     "We only want to help you," she said reassuringly.
     "Aw, I know that," said Morbus.
     "But you don't understand," a distant quality entered his voice. 
"What might be beneficial for your people could prove destructive to me."
     "They're the very latest----"
     "For your time," Morbus interrupted and then looked her in the eye,
"For your time perhaps.  But...as you sensed back on the planet...by the
pond, when you held me by the arm...I'm...quite...different."
     For almost a centon Sheba's gaze was locked on his smiling visage. 
Finding herself thoroughly captivated by his expression and the soft,
gentelness of his words.
     "How about showing me more of this ship?" said Morbus. "If it
wouldn't be too much trouble for you, of course."
     "I really should be getting you to..." Sheba stopped.  Morbus was
looking at her and smiling.  And she couldn't tear her eyes away from
his.  She seemed to be falling into them.  Falling into eyes whose pupils
seemed to blaze red hot like the fires of Hell.  Nodding affirmatively,
she said, "This way."
     With that, she moved away from the door to the Life Station corridor
and began leading him in the other direction toward the turbo lift that
led to the Bridge.

********************

     Damn, Athena kept saying to herself over and over again, ever since
her chilly tˆte-…-tˆte with Starbuck in the landing bay had ended, and
she'd returned to her station on the Bridge.  Just once, can't I get
through a con-versation with that man without treating him like a Piscean
plague?"
     And yet, whenever Athena tried to put the whole matter of Starbuck
into some kind of perspective, she found that it was impossible to be
anything other than angry at the man she'd once been on the verge of
marrying before the Holocaust.  It was true that she'd rebuffed his
awkward request to go ahead with those plans when he'd confrontedher in
the warrior's locker room, but to her way of thinking, she should have
expected that.  Coming so soon after the tragic loss of her brother Zac,
and her mother Ila, she found it impossible to think that Starbuck
wouldn't understand her reluctance to formally commit herself in
something as sacred as getting sealed.  At least not yet.
     What still rankled Athena, and what she could never in her heart
forgive Starbuck for, was his refusal to be patient with her. 
Inevitably, over time, she might have been able to overcome her
reluctance.  Surely he could have recognized that, and just waited her
out for a while, when the time would become right to move forward again. 
If he truly loved her, as he said he did on more than one occasion to
her, then he would have waited.
     Instead, it seemed s though he'd been ready to drop her in a micron
and move on to the next woman that crossed his path.  Which turned out to
be a young socialator-turned-med tech named Cassiopeia.  In doing that,
she felt a sense of betrayal that was impossible to forgive or forget,
even though she had nothing against Cassiopeia as a person.  To her way
of thinking, Starbuck hadn't given her a fair chance.
     She'd resigned herself to the fact that Cassiopeia had stolen
Starbuck's heart away forever.  As of yet though, she hadn't been able to
overcome her inner devotion to the man she'd once loved, to the point
where she might feel comfortable seeking someone else out.
     Damn you for making my life a fracking mess, Starbuck, she said to
herself as she went to the main communications bank on the far side of
the Bridge wall.
     "Omega?" she motioned to the young bridge officer, "could you come
over here?"
     "Just a micron," Omega adjusted his headset, "Colonel Tigh, your
shuttle is cleared to land in Alpha Bay.  Commander Adama wants you to
report to his quarters as soon as you're back aboard."
     The bridge officer then came down from his console on the upper
level of the bridge and joined Athena at the communications banks.
     "Run down the checklist for all of the communications systems," she
said.  "They're due for a full inspection now."
     For the next several centons, the two of them went over each
monitor, and each piece of communications circuitry, making sure that
each was in proper working order.
     "Looks to be running smoothly," Athena said.
     All of a sudden, the images on several of the monitors in back of
them were filled with snow and static.
     "What in the---?" Athena was caught off guard and then pulled her
earpiece out as she heard the annoying sizzle of static.  "Omega, what
the frack happened?"
     "Can't tell," the bridge officer looked befuddled.  "It doesn't seem
possible."
     At that moment, they were both distracted by the sight of Sheba
entering the bridge.  Behind her, Morbus followed her steps, looking
about the bridge with considerable interest.
     "This is our communications center, where we can maintain a constant
monitor on all the ships in the Fleet," Sheba was saying to the man, and
hten motioned toward the banks.  "Lieutenant Athena, whom you met
earlier, is in charge of this station."
     Athena looked up in surprise at the sight of the two people who had
provoked her hostile conversation with Starbuck earlier.
     "Nice to see you again, Lieu-tenant," Morbus smiled and bowed.
     "Yes," she dimly nodded.  "I'm,a ah, sorry our hands are a bit tied
right now.  We seem to be receiving some unexpected geomagnetic
interference.  The whole system was fine a centon ago."
     "Sorry to see that," Sheba said and then looked back at Morbus. 
"She's experiencing one of the many problems of space travel," explained
Sheba.  "Geo-magnetic fields, equipment failures. But I'm sure you
understand all that, don't you?"
     "Quite well, Morbus kept smiling. "Quite well."
     As Sheba led him away from the banks, Athena found herself thinking
about the potential ramifications.  She was so lost in thought that she
didn't initially feel Omega tugging at her sleeve.
     "Look at this," the bridge officer said in amazement.  "Now it's all
cleared up again."
     Athena looked back and her eyes widened in amazement at the sight of
the clear images on the monitors.
     Strange, she thought.  When he was here, they were all crazy.  And
now that he's gone, they're back to normal.  And why is Sheba just
leading him about in an area like this?
     "Omega," Athena said quietly, "get hold of the landing bay and see
if Tigh's landed.  I think he has to tell the Commander about this."

********************

     Adama was still absorbed in administrative paperwork when he saw his
door slide open and a concerned Tigh enter.
     "Ah, I'm glad you're back, Tigh," Adama said.  "What's the situation
on the agro-ship?"
     "Adama, I think something more serious just came up," the executive
officer said.  "As soon as I  was aboard, I got an urgent message from
Athena.  Our strange visitor just left the bridge with Sheba.  I've got a
Security team tracking them down now."
     Adama suddenly dropped his papers onto his desk.
     "Just left the bridge?" his voice was equal parts angry and stunned. 
"Good Lord, Colonel, what sort of ship are we running here?  A perfect
stranger comes aboard the Galactica and he's being shown sensitive
military control centers without so much as a hello, who are you?"
     Tigh stiffened in embarrassment.  At the moment, he was kicking
himself inwardly for not having stayed aboard and keeping an eye on
Morbus himself, instead of shuttling over to the agro-ship as he'd done.
     "It...does seem a bit out of the ordinary."
     "Out of the ordinary?"
     Tigh winced.  When Adama grew angry, heads rolled.
     "Sheba's the type of warrior who should know better. Why would she
do this?"
     "I don't know," Tigh said.
     The commander went over to the inercom and pressed the switch that
tied him into the communications network throughout the entire ship. 
"Attention, Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Starbuck.  Report back to my
quarters imm-ediately."
     Adama looked back at his old friend and seemed on the verge of
seething.  "I want some answers about that man, Tigh.  And I want them
now!"

********************

     "Down this way is the Rejuven-ation Center," Sheba motioned as she
and Iblis got off the turbo lift and began walking down the corridor. 
"The place where we spend much of our spare time relaxing.  It's not
much, but that's bec-ause the one we use now is a rather makeshift kind
of setup.  Our main Rejuvenation Center is one level up on Alpha Deck,
but that entire area was destroyed in a suicide attack a sectar ago.  We
still haven't finished all of the renovations on that level."
     Morbus stopped.  His eyes see-med to unfocus for a moment.  "It's
been fun to be with you, Sheba," he said.  "But I think it's time I had
that debriefing you mentioned with Commander Adama."
     "Oh," she almost seemed disap-pointed.  "Well, I'm sure if you feel
like waiting a while longer, they wouldn't object."
     "Maybe not," he said as his gaze into her face grew more piercing. 
"But take me to Commander Adama anyway."
     Again, Sheba found herself looking at his face with transfixed awe
for nearly a centon before she once again nodded and led him in the
direction he desired to go in.

********************

     As soon as Apollo and Starbuck heard Adama's less than pleasant
voice pipe through the Galactica demanding their presence, the two
warriors were decidedly uneasy about twhat they'd be hearing from the
Commander.  As soon as they arrived, and he told them what Tigh had
reported, their discomfort only increased.
     "Now where in the name of Hades is he, and how did he get free run
of the ship?" Adama demanded.
     Apollo was in a state of incredulous disbelief.   As concerned as
he'd been by Sheba's overpoliteness toward Morbus, he hadn't counted on
something like this happening.
     "Father, he started awkwardly, "I left him with----"
     But before his son could go any further, the door to Adama's
quarters abruptly slid open and Sheba entered, with Morbus right behind. 
The three men were so surprised by his entrance that they didn't notice
the burst of static that erupted briefly from the monitor outside the
door, and which quicly faded as soon as the goateed stranger entered the
room.
     "Commander Adama, I presume," Morbus was full of respect as he bowed
slightly.  "Morbus of Lyre, at your ser-vice."
     Apollo was a little stunned.  This was the first time Morbus had
made any kind of allusion to his world of origin.
     Adama's angry expression softened so he could show some cour-tesy to
Iblis' greeting, "Thank you."  He then turned back to the three warriors,
"I want to see each one of you, later.  Make sure you're in one place so
we don't have to look all over the ship for you."
     The pilots stiffened.
     "Is the Officer's Club accep-table?" said Starbuck.
     "Predictable would be a better choice of words," Adama said
sarcas-tically, "but yes, it's acceptable.  I know you won't leave there. 
Dismissed."
     One-by-one, Sheba, Starbuck and Apollo filed out of the room,
leaving Adama and Morbus alone.
     As soon as they were in the corridor, Starbuck heaved a sigh of
relief, "Man, I don't think I've ever seen the old man so...unsettled."
     "Yes, what is his problem?" Sheba said.  She had left with them. 
Adama had said nothing to her, but the look that he had given her spoke
volumes.  "Did we desert him or something?"
     Apollo decided not to be nonchalant with her.
     "Actually, I don't think you can blame him, considering that you
just escorted a perfect stranger into a classified area.  That's not the
sort of thing a good commander, whether it's him or your father, would
understand."
     Sheba stopped and stiffened at the harshness of his remark, "He
wanted me to---"
     "Do you always do everything somebody wants you to do?"
     "Apollo!"
     "You know what I mean," Apollo calmed down slightly.  "Look, we
agreed no prejudging of him before we had more information, but I don't
think giving him free rein aboard the Galactica amounts to playing things
by the book.
     "Look," Sheba said, trying to make him understand, "I know it's a
little hard to explain, but...it wasn't so much what he said as what I
felt."
     "Felt?" there was a mixture of concern and dubiousness in Apollo's
response.
     "He needed to feel that there was order and security," she wnet on,
"so I took him where I thought the environment would help to settle him
down.  And it worked.  He's feeling much better now."
     Apollo stared at her for a moment.  Something simply did not make
sense.  He felt that he was missing something.
     "You've been acting like this ever since we found Morbus," he said. 
"Or he found us," the level of concern in Apo-llo's voice increased,
which Starbuck found hard not to notice in light of his earlier talk with
Athena.  "All that stuff on the planet, and while we were flying back to
the Galactica.  What makes him so important to you?  You don't even know
who he is!  None of us do!"
     Sheba's eyes then blazed at him with a defiant fury reminiscent of
her father, Commander Cain.   "I know the most important thing about him;
he cares."
     "Cares? About who?  About what?" the question seemed to impu-lsively
come out of Apollo's mouth.
     "About me.  About you.  About all of us.  And if I have to explain
that to you, then I guess I've been misjudging you for the last sectar. 
Maybe you're not as sensitive as I thought you were."
     She walked away from them, obviously annoyed.  Apollo shook his head
in bewilderment.
     "She thinks I'm insensitive," he said, trying to run through it
again and make some sort of sense out of it.  He wasn't succeeding.
     "She thinks you're insensity?" Starbuck mused aloud as he watched
her disappear down the corridor, "Where the frack does that leave me,
then?"
     He then turned around and saw the look on Apollo's face.  Feeling
concerned, Starbuck cautiously came over to his friend and put a hand on
his friend's shoulder.  "Apollo--"
     Abruptly, Apollo pushed him away.  "I don't want to talk about it,
Starbuck," he said quietly.  "Not now.  Maybe my father will find out
something better to tell us when he gets through with him."
     An uneasy silence filled the air as the two of them resumed walking
toward the Officer's Club.

********************

     As soon as they'd been left alone, Adama had summoned all of the
training in diplomacy he'd received over the yahrens to the forefront,
acting with cautious courtesy, as he offered Mr. Morbus an ambrosa.  The
stranger gratefully accepted it.
     "As you probably realize, we are in a constant state of emergency,"
Adama said, "However, I trust you will find your quarters here to be
suitably comfortable."
     "Thank you, Commander, for your kind hospitality," Morbus smiled as
the two of them raised their glasses and drank.  Once they had finished,
Morbus set his glass down, "And for giving me sanctuary from my enemies."
     Adama carefully set his glass down and moved back toward his desk. 
"I'd like to know all about these... enemies," he said.
     An almost mystic, dark expres-sion came over Mr. Morbus' face as he
suddenly shifted his gaze toward the stars shining through the porthole.
"I can describe them in three words:  infinite, everywhere and
relentless." 
     Adama nodded.  "I know a little about that kind of enemy myself," he
said.  "But their name...What are they called?  Where are they from?"
     Morbus looked back at him, and the charming smile abruptly returned
to his face as if it had been switched on.     "I'm sorry, Adama.  My
passion seems to have gotten the better of me," he said.  "I feel as
though I can't really communicate with you.  Unfortunately, those are
things which you might not understand."
     "Mr. Morbus," the commander said patiently, "I've been told that I'm
a fairly bright chap when given a chance."
     Morbus smiled.
     "Yes, yes.  Of course you are.  A generous chap, too, to stop for
one more survivor.  That's why I wouldn't feel right about burdening  you
good people with my war."
     "I don't mean to infer that we can take on any more enemies than we
have now," Adama said, "but perhaps we're already fighting a common foe."
     "If you mean the Cylons..."
     "If not them, who?"
     The stranger's expression darkened and grew pointedly cold. "Agents
of a greater and more infinitely dangerous power than the Cylons and all
their allies combined."
     Adama refused to be impressed.  "Then you do know of the Cylon
Empire and our plight."
     "I've got infinite knowledge in matters like this," Morbus said.  
"So let me use that to bring you a more optim-istic epistle."
     "For instance?"
     Morbus looked him in the eye.  "You're searching for a planet called
Earth."
     The commander didn't bat an eyelash.  "Did my son tell you that?" 
     "No, he didn't," Morbus replied.  "But I know all about you Adama. 
I know that you're of the House of Kobol.  Your tribes are scattered. 
The thirteenth jou-rneyed to Earth several millenniums ago."
     For the first time, Adama seemed impressed with Morbus.  "Am I to
under-stand that you know what became of them when they settled?"
     "I do indeed," Morbus said.
     Adama felt a cautious air of optimism fill him.  He was hearing
things he had not been prepared to hear.  Had it not been for Morbus' use
of terminology regarding Kobol and the 13th Tribe, he might have been
more inclined to write the stranger off as a madman.  But now he was
determined to hear him out completely.
     "Can you tell me about their civilization?"
     "Over the course of the centuries, great empires have risen and
fallen there," he replied cryptically.
     It still seemed impossible to Adama that one man alone could know so
much about the things he had placed the survival of the human race on. 
"Who are you?"  the commander demanded calmly.  "How can you know such
things?"
     Morbus's silence indicated he wasn't going to get an immediate
answer to that question.
     Adama decided to change tactics again.  "Is their civilization
strong enough to help us defeat the Cylons?"
     "Under my leadership, your people will be safe," Morbus said.
     Once again, Adama found his mind racing as he tried to come to terms
with the enigma of this man and the things he was saying.
     "Mr. Morbus," he decided to retain the initiative, "I don't believe
that's answering the question I put to you.  My question was, is the
civilization of Earth, which you claim to know about, strong enough to
help us defeat the Cylons?"
     "Adama, unless you're willing to  place yourself under my protection
and leadership, I won't be able to answer your question," said Morbus. 
"I've been having a lot of trouble figuring out why I'm here, what role
I'm supposed to play in your life.  And the answer has just now come to
me----I'm here to prepare your way to Earth!"

********************

From the Adama Journals:     

     Three days have passed since the arrival of the mysterious stranger
called Mr. Morbus.  Despite the magnitude of his revela-tions to me, I
have chosen to remain caution in imple-menting my next moves.  I have
only shared the full details of my conversation with Morbus only with
Tigh,and then Apollo and Starbuck, while keeping the details to a bare
minimum with the members of the Council of Twelve.  At the moment, I
don't dare run the risk of what one of my political opponents like Sire
Domra, or the young Sire Antipas might do if the full level of what
Morbus has said were made public.
     Yet, despite my attempts to keep word of Mr. Morbus kept to a
minimum, I have failed to prevent rumors from starting throughout every
corner of the Fleet.  Whether it has come from a Council security guard
listening in on one of my conversations, or an enthusiastic remark from
Sheba to another warrior who in turn has told another person, the word
has managed to get around that a remarkable man has arrived who
conceivably could help us solve all of our major problems.
     For the most part, Mr. Morbus seems to have acce-pted my reluctance
to press too far ahead in trusting him completely.  No sooner had Morbus
finished his revelation about preparing our way to Earth, when he had
also commented on how past experiences were dictating my desire for
caution, and I can appreciate that.
     "I can see you've been betrayed before by a charl-atan who promised
you hope and delived only death and destruction," Morbus had said to me. 
"You don't have to worry about such a repetition by placing your trust in
me.  If that's not clear to you now, I promise it soon will be."
     Despite this dialogue, I'm left with grave doubts about the
integrity of his mind or his ability to deliver on his promises.  
     One more heartbreak n the lives of our poor, beleaguered survivors
might spell the end of our journey, or my ability to maintain law and
order.  Still, we can't dismiss the possibility of hope so lightly.
     Many questions still remain.  Who is Morbus, if that is truly his
name?  What is he?  He seems, to all external appearances, to be human,
as human as you and I, yet how is it possible for one human being to
possess infinite knowledge of the universe, as he claims to have?  What
is this place called Lyre and where is it?  What is the nature of the
enemy that pursues him?  Who are they?  What is the basis of their
conflict?  Morbus remains a puzzle, a strange enigma.
     On the one hand, it would seem a fairly simple matter to insist that
my questions be answered.  I could demand that he submit to examination,
that he cease giving evasive, enigmatic answers to all my queries.  I
could force him.  Yet that possibility brings up yet another question.
     What if he can do all that he claims he can?  What if he actually
delivers what he promises?
     If Morbus can, indeed, bring us to Earth, it would be the answer to
all our prayers.  We've been searching, blindly, following an ancient
trail, not even sure that our path is the correct one.  Must I risk the
future of every man, woman and child in the fleet simply because I have
my doubts about Morbus?  Have all these yahrens of fighting and running
made me overly distrustful and suspicious?
     And then there's the possibility that Morbus could be suspicious of
us.  He claims to be from Lyre, another world in another time.  From his
words, it would seem that he is from a culture more advanced than ours. 
Would not such a culture suspect barbarian primitives, as we would seem
to them?  He has told me that the fleet would be safe under his
leadership.  Part of me regards that as an arrogant threat, yet another
part of me admits another, much more astonishing possibility.
     Mr. Morbus says that he knows where Earth is.  Suppose, just
suppose, that the world he calls "Lyre" is actually another word for
Earth.  Could it not be possible, if their culture is far ahead of ours,
that they would have some means of probing across vast distances of
space, of learning of our presence?  Could they not possess ships vastly
superior to our own?
     What if they sent Morbus ahead as an advance scout, to feel us out,
to find out what our intent-ions are, what kind of people we are?  We
never did find any trace of the recon patrol commanded by Bojay.  There
is, of course, the sad possibility that they've met their fate.  There is
an even more incredible possibility that a ship from Earth captured them,
that they are being studied at this very moment.
     What am I saying?  I'm becoming carried away by wild flights of
fancy.  But it could be possible.  I cannot dismiss even the wildest
speculation in this case.
     If Morbus were to be examined, it would prove conclusively if he
were our kind.  But Morbus will not allow it.  And I cannot insist.  At
this point, I don't dare.  Never before has the weight of my
responsibility lain as heavily upon my shoulders.  For the present, I
feel helpless.  I think that I am helpless!  All I can do is watch and
wait.  But I can't help but wonder---
     Who is he?  And what are his intentions?

********************

Chapter Three:  Weird, Weirder, And Weirdest

     At this point, three days later, the one piece of information Adama
wanted most was a full medical scan of Mr. Morbus.  After another meeting
with Apollo and Starbuck, he had literally order them to do what they
could to insure that such a scan be taken.
     Apollo and Starbuck entered the Life Station, to see if the latest
attempt to get that important information had finally paid off.  As soon
as he saw the two warriors arrive, Dr. Salik let out a dismal groan and
started to walk away from them.
     "Doctor, wait," Apollo called after him.
     "I know what you want, Apollo," the chief medical officer refused to
turn around, "And I'm sorry, but I still don't have it."
     "Come on," Apollo finally caught up to him.  "Even if he still
refuses to come in himself for a full testing, there are all kinds of
portable scanners.  Surely you can get close enough to him to get a
simple respiratory probe."
     Salik spun around.  "I tried that, Apollo.  I sent two of my best
technicians to get close to him.  They both came back with broken
scanners."
     "You've got to be kidding," Apollo shook his head in disbelief.
     "I'm not," the middle-aged doctor said.  "I even sent Cassiopeia. 
If you want to see how she failed----"
     "We're interested," Starbuck spoke up.
     "Very well," Salik said and led them over to the other side of the
Life Station where Cassiopeia was busy with the scanning equipment. 
"Cassiopeia, suppose you explain how your attempt with Mr. Morbus went."
     The blonde med-tech looked up at them and smiled faintly.  "When all
of our latest technology fails, we still resort to blatant feminine
wiles."
     "Hmmm," Starbuck injected a note of mock jealousy into his tone,
"And what happened?"
     "For one thing, I feel like I've just met the most charming man in
the universe," she said.
     "The most charming?" Starbuck smirked at his girlfriend.  "You mean
I've been displaced?"
     "Starbuck," Apollo impatiently jabbed his friend in the side, "leave
the small talk for later."
     "The charming part was all on the outside," Cassopiea resumed.  "But
I can't tell a thing about what's going on behind that beautiful
mustache."
     "Probably because you weren't  close enough to get a good scan on
him," Apollo offered.
     Cassiopeia chuckled.  "Apollo, do you mind if we discuss his without
Starbuck around?  Not unless you want to hear more inevitable side
remarks."
     "Aw, c'mon!' said Starbuck, "it was all in the line of duty, wasn't
it?"
     She then let out another chuckle.  "I'd be lying if I told you that
I wasn't impressed by him.  There's something unbelievably compelling
about Mr. Morbus.  I was absolutely charmed.  But the bottom line is that
I still came back with an empty tape.  Let me show you."
     The med-tech placed a thin silver strip into one of the machines on
the table and activated it..
     "Empty my foot!" Starbuck glared slightly at the rhythmic dancing
line on the bottom of the screen.  "That heart rate is dancing around
like a Cylon scanner!"
     "You're looking at the wrong line," Cassiopeia said, "That's my
pulse rate, she said.  "This is his."  She used a thin silver stylus to
indicate the appro-priate track, which was a continuous straight line
with no indication of any movement.
     "Flatline!" Starbuck smirked at her.  "Guess you've lost your touch,
Cass, to have that kind of effect on him.  Of course, that would tend to
make Morbus less advanced if he can't have any reaction to you."
     "It's not Cassiopeia's fault, gentlemen," Salik re-entered the
conversation, "It's the equipment.  Now, either it's defective, or he's
operating on some other wave-length.  I don't know. I've never seen
anything like it."
     "Or he has some way of deliberately jamming us," Apollo said with a
slightly ominous air.  This latest piece of information about Mr. Morbus
only made him feel even more nervous about he man.
     "It's possible," Salik conceded, "Although I've yet to see any kind
of of species, human or otherwise, with that kind of capability."
     "Doctor," Apollo ventured, "Is it possible that this man...however
suave and debonair," he added with an arch glance at Cassiopeia, "is
there any chance that he could be a droid?"
     "A droid?" the chief medical officer rubbed his chin, "A droid
designed to look in every way like a man and programmed for certain
response mechanisms?"
     "Exactly," Apollo nodded.
     "Conceivably programmed as a special project by some other
mach-ines?" Starbuck inquired casually, to see if he understood where
Apollo was going.  "Is that what you're thinking, Apollo?  That Morbus
may be a Cylon underneath that exterior?"
     "Let's just say it's a possibility that urgently needs
consideration," Apollo said.
     "Our bio-robotics institutes were well advanced in that science
before the Holocaust," Salike said. "But I'm not the one you should be
talking to.  Doctor Wilker would be your best expert on that subject.  He
might know if the Cylons had developed the same capacity.  I think he's
back here on the Galactica now."
     "Then I guess a trip to Droid-Mant-4 is in order," said Apollo. 
"Thanks for the help, Dr. Salik."
     "I'm with you," Starbuck said.  "Let's go."

********************

     Sheba felt relieved to finally shed her uniform for the first time
in many days.  Since she had been unable to bring over any personal
effects from the Pegasus, Cassiopeia and Athena had helped her select a
complete civilian wardrobe from some of the new shops that had been set
up aboard one of the recreational ships in the Fleet, but she had had
little opportunity to omake use of them.  Now, she had received a
twenty-four centar furlong, and had decided to spend it in the one place
she'd been frequenting most often since her arrival aboard the Galactica
one sectar ago, whenever she decided she needed to be alone and collect
her thoughts.
     As she left her quarters, she was pleasantly surprised to see the
smiling form of Mr. Morbus standing in the corridor, as though he'd been
waiting for her.
     "Hello Sheba," he said.  "You look absolutely ravishing, my dear."
     Instantly, she felt herself blushing.  She had selected a
sophisticated gown made of plain maroon silk, worn with a orange shawl
and a trailing skirt.  
     "Thank you," she managed to say.
     "Are you going somewhere?"
     "Yes," she kept her gaze on him.  "I was planning a visit to the
agro-ship.  It's one of the few lovely spots in the Fleet."
     "I'd be honored if you'd show it to me," Morbus kept smiling.  "That
is, if it wouldn't be too much trouble."
     As she continued to look at him, she knew right away that only one
answer was possible.
     "It wouldn't be," Sheba said.  "Come with me."
     They rode a shuttle out to the nearby ship that served the critical
function of growing and supplying all agricultural foodstuffs to the
Fleet and served as  avast greenhouse for all known species of Colonial
plant life that had been salvaged from the wreckage of the colonies.  In
reality, the Agro Ship was an old supply tanker so decrepit that no one
even remembered its name.  When it had been commandeered during the
exodus from Caprica, the refugees were in no situation to pick and
choose.  No one had been able to read either its name or numerical
designation, so worn was its hull.  Its logbook was gone and the spacers
who refitted it en-route as best they could from whatever parts they
could find and from whatever they could cobble together, as many of their
breed, superstitious about renaming a ship, hence the descriptive name.
     In some sections of the ship, there were trees that towered high
towards the tops of the clear glass domes that dotted the length of the
ship, which to many a visitor, created the illusion of walking through a
vast forest.
     That very daydream was why Sheba enjoyed coming to the agro ship. 
She could still remember how as a child, she had enjoyed taking long
walks through the great Forest of Hope on  Caprica, where her mind always
felt at its freest, and where her sense of imagin-ation could run wild. 
Coming here to ease her mind from the trauma of losing everything that
had been dear to her had done a lot to help her adjust to her new life
aboard the Galactica.
     Not that the people aboard the Galactica  hadn't been doing their
share to help as well.  She had appreciated it from the very outset that
Adama had promised to make her part of his extended family, and she had
seen plenty of kindness from people like Cassiopeia, Athena,
Starbuck....and Apollo.
     As the shuttle drew closer to the agro ship, she found herself
thinking of Apollo.  The more she thought of him, the more she felt that
he was more of an enigma to her than Mr. Morbus was.  After a sectar, she
had received too many signals from him that only seemed confusing.  There
were many occasions when she wondered if he was expressing some kind of
special interest in her.  But if that were true, it seemed much too
tentative and restrained to be anything other than ordinary warrior's
camaraderie.  He could be sensitive and gentle on one occasion, yet on
other occasions he struck her as being too arrogantly sure of himself. 
That he alone, was the only person capable of doing any kind of difficult
job, or that his instincts alone about people were all that mattered, and
that anyone else's opinion paled before his.
     "Ah, we've arrived," Mr. Morbus' voice snapped her chain of thought
in two.
     "So we have," Sheba smiled.  "Let me show you.  It's really quite
beautiful."
     Several centons later, she was leading him through the forest
underneath the first dome of the ship. All around them was a wide variety
of plant life from each of the twelve worlds.  Tall Caprican oaks, mixed
with fragrant Sagitarian spruces, and dotted along the bottom by the
exotic colored flowers from Scorpia and Aeries.  A first-time visitor
always took note of the somewhat diametrically opposed biodiversity, but
once he or she began to walk through the area, they inevitably found
themselves overwhelmed by the beauty of the scenery.
     "Was I right?" she asked.  "Isn't it lovely here?"
     "Lovely?  It's absolutely stunning," Morbus noted.
     "We brought a few of everything from the Colonies that was possible
in the time there was before this whole journey across the stars began,"
Sheba said.  "After all, we have no idea what we can expect to find on
Earth."
     Morbus moved up to a tree and leaned against it, staring up at the
dome, through which the stars were visible.
     "What can we expect to find on Earth?" said Sheba, looking at him
with total trust.
     "That's up to you," said Morbus, smiling.  "What do you want to
find?"
     "The thing all of us desire the most," she said.  "A mighty
civilization with the power to fight back and defeat the Cylons," she
said.
     "Actually, what I meant was ...." he looked her in the eye again and
faintly shook his head, "what do you want to find?"
     "I just told you," she said protesting.  "I want what everyone else
in the fleet wants.  What makes you think I'm different?"
     "I don't think you're different," his voice suddenly grew softer and
his gaze grew more intense and piercing,  "I know you're different.  I
can feel the desires that truly burn closest to your heart.  At this
moment, I'm closer to your soul than any man you've known has ever been." 
His eyes took on that strange red-hot color as he gazed at her. 
Something deep within them seemed to burn.  "Apollo's in your thoughts,"
he said, "but there's something...no...someone else even more important
to you."
     He reached out and took Sheba's hands, pulling her gently closer to
him.  She looked confused.
     "You're not like anyone I've ever met," she said.
     "Quiet, Sheba," said Morbus.  "Be quiet and---think. Think with your
soul and I'll tell you your heart's desire."
     There was a mixture of confusion and awe on Sheba's face.  Still,
she kept her gaze locked on him.  She found that even if she'd wanted to
turn away from him, she wouldn't have the strength to do so.
     "You've got so many thoughts going through you right now," Morbus
said.  "You're concerned for your friend Bojay, and, and whether he's
still alive and well.  But..." Morbus's eyes seemed to narrow in
understanding.  "Oh yes.  Yes.  It should've have occurred to me before." 

     And then, Morbus suddenly smiled reassuringly, "Don't worry, Sheba. 
You'll be seeing him again very soon."
     "Uh, I don't know who you know mean."
     "Yes you do.  Your father, Commander Cain, the living legend, the
Juggernaut who roams the stars in his mighty battlestar Pegasus." His
wide smile seemed to deepen.  "You'll be seeing him again very soon.  The
Battle of Gomoray isn't his first battle and it won't be his last."
     "How could you possibly know what I'm feeling?" Sheba said, her
voice little more than a whisper.
     His eyes blazed.  With the moustache and goatee, the effect was
almost demonic.
     "All people are capable of feeling one another's thoughts," he said. 
"It only takes a little time and practice.  Trust in me."  He grabbed
Sheba's shoulders tightly, almost as if he wanted to hurt her.  She
wanted to scream but the power he held over her wiped her fear away. 
"Trust only in me and anything you want to happen will.  I promise you."
     He suddenly pulled her close to him and gently kissed her on the
lips.  Sheba didn't even bother trying to resist.  She only felt a
sensation of awe that for the first time, someone was offering everything
she'd always desired.  A promise of hope for the future. And a promise to
see her father again.  For the first time after a long month of
loneliness since being parted from the Pegasus, it seemed as if all the
things she'd only been able to think of dreams could become a reality.
All because of this one man.
     You are so wrong Apollo, her mind blissfully whispered to herself. 
So wrong.
     Too numb to respond herself to Morbus's touch, though she felt
herself dearly wishing that she could, she simply allowed herself to go
limp as she relaxed in his embrace.
     An old farmer who worked the Agro Ship entered the small clearing
where they stood.  They didn't notice him.  He watched them for a moment,
smiled, thought briefly about his youth, then disappeared once again into
the trees, not wishing to intrude upon the couple.

********************

     Droid Mant-4, Dr. Wilker's main computer lab aboard the Galactica,
was cluttered with a large amount of disassembled machinery when Apollo
and Starbuck entered.  Once they explained their reasons for coming
through, the scientist was all too happy to put his work aside to talk
with them.  Long ago, Apollo had come to realize that one of Wilker's
most distinctive traits was that he seemed to enjoy talking about his
work even more than actually doing it.
     "Ah yes, droid technology," Wilker's eyes seemed to light up. 
"There were so many projects that we were on the verge of unveiling at
the time of the Holocaust.  It's such a pity that we were unable to
salvage the blueprints for any of them, or else I might have been able to
resume them here aboard the Galactica."
     "For what purposes?" Starbuck casually inquired.  The way Wilker
talked so lovingly about them made him feel a trifle uneasy.  But then
again, Starbuck always felt that Wilker was a trifle odd in his devotion
to technology.
     "More than I could name right now," Wilker said.  "Factory drone
workers for one.  And the military even commissioned a feasibility study
on the use of droids to replace viper pilots---"
     "Wait a micron, Doc," Starbuck suddenly interrupted.  "Now there are
some things that I'd definitely draw the line at, and giving up my job to
a robot---
     "If you let me finish, Lieutenant, I was about to say to replace
viper pilots for missions that carried the risk of being one-way in
nature."
     "Care to amend yourself, Starbuck?" Apollo grinned.
     "I guess I should," the brash lieutenant blushed slightly in
embarrassment.  "Doc, that's the most brilliant idea I ever heard of, and
I'll gladly contribute two sectars pay to help you restart that project."
     "The day you contribute two sectars' pay to anything but yourself is
the day I see Baltar waltz over from his baseship and meekly surrender to
the Council," Apollo turned back to Wilker.  "Did Colonial Intelligence
every give you any briefings on how far the Cylons had advanced in
artificial human technology?"
     "We never had any indications that they were trying such an
experiment at all, Captain," Wilker said.  "The whole idea of the Cylon
robot as we know it is to emulate human form only in terms of general
bipedal structure, certainly not to emulate human appearance in any
specific sense.  The hatred they possess of humans is so great, that the
best guess from Intelligence was that they were too racially predjudiced
to even think of such a project, even though it would have been an
ingenious way of carrying out covert intelligence projects of their own."
     "Essentially, what you're saying is that even though you don't know
of any specific projects, it's still theoretically possible to construct
a human droid that can blend in among real humans without being
detected?"
     "Absolutley," the scientist nodded.  "It is possible.  But there are
subtle ways for an expert to tell the difference.  For instance----"
     Before Wilker could go any further, the Red Alert klaxon began to
sound.
     "Not now, Doc," said Apollo.  He started running for the door. 
"We'll be right back," he called over his shoulder.
     "At least we hope so," Starbuck added, as he and Apollo dashed out
of the lab.

********************

     Adama was already on his way to the bridge for a routine inspection
when he heard the klaxon.  He promptly picked up his pace and arrived
somewhat out of breath, expecting to see columns of attacking Cylon
fighters on the main viewing screen.
     When he arrived, though, his mouth fell open in amazement when he
saw the alert was not the result of Cylons, but by something else
entirely.
     Strange, mysterious flashes of white light zoomed past the main
viewing port.  They raced past the ship in multiple waves, then around
it, swirling like a tornado of supernovas.
     "What is it?" Adama demanded.
     A bewildered Tigh turned around. "We can't identify them, sir," he
said.  "According to our scanners, they aren't even there."
     "Nothing at all?"
     "Not a blessed thing!"
     "That's not entirely accurate, Colonel," Athena called up from her
station.  "They're here, but they're just not here long enough for us to
get a reading."
     "They must be traveling at speeds beyond...beyond..."  Tigh looked
back out at the scene in amazement.
     "I believe what you're trying to say is..." Adama said, staring out
the massive observation port at the white objects flashing across space
and curling back around the Galactica, "...they're traveling at speeds
beyond our comprehension."
     "Commander," Omega said with alarm, "we're recieiving distress calls
from every ship in the Fleet. People are panicking."
     "Put me on Unicom," Adam gritted his teeth slightly.  Omega
activated the switch and the commander's voice was now able to fill every
corridor of each ship throughout the Fleet.
     "People of the Fleet," Adama summoned all the reassurance he