Apollo was exhausted. The escape from the shattered Colonies had been a nightmare, and the fleet survey was a disaster. Trying to make sense of it, and find one person hidden somewhere among those two-hundred-twenty vessels, quite likely present under an assumed identity - possibly more than one identity, perhaps even among their own crew - was impossible. Nonetheless, the captain followed the commander's orders, and continued the search. "Anything, Boomer?" he called across the chamber. "Nothing, Apollo. If the information is correct, the crassidie should be aboard the -Rising Star- - probably another of Ortega's 'friends' that we didn't root out the first time. But is there any chance this'll work? If this spy is there, we've got no way to identify him or her...." "We've got to." Apollo's expression was grim. "The Cylons have a spy in the fleet. It's the only explanation for the way they keep finding us. If we'd monitored that communication frequency, we've have found the spy a long time ago. As it is...." He closed his eyes and sighed. To think of how long there'd been another traitor in the fleet was to remember all the brave warriors who'd fought and died every time the Cylons located the refugees. So many of his friends, so many from his squadron - and worse, his own family.... And only his own work with the equipment in the celestial observation dome had accidentally picked up a transmission when he'd been listening for signals from Earth. "We've got to find him, Boomer, and soon. Might be our only chance...." "Yeah...." * * * * * It distressed the crew of the -Galactica- that they had to keep half their scanners turned inward to monitor their own people. It had been a shock the first time they accidentally picked up a location beacon. Now they suspected everybody, every signal. Jamming their own vessels was distasteful, but not one of them refused. Their very survival was at stake. On the bridge, weary officers took double shifts, their eyes glued to screens and scanners covering the entire range of frequencies and fleet communications. In space, long patrols flew extra wide patterns, searching for any little clue that might mean the Cylons were closing again, that they would once more have to fight their way out of a trap, that some other danger threatened. "Commander, autodistress just kicked in from Patrol Four, Bojay and Jolly." Omega delivered the ominous report in a voice cracked with stress and exhaustion. "Scramble the squadrons, standard defensive positions," was the fatigued response. Tigh stared blearily at the fore port, scarcely seeing it. He didn't have the energy to be furious. "Any transmissions?" The flight officer glanced at the communication panel, then shook his head. "Nothing on any channel." *They found us again - and with no transmissions. By Kobol, how? We're running out of space to hide. What will it cost to survive this time? Adama, my friend, what I wouldn't give to have you here now. *Baltar, that goll-monging daggit waste, why did he have to take you with him? Why did you have to die then? I would so gladly have taken your place, I should have insisted, I should never have let you try that mad plan. But you thought you could save the others.... *Almost better if I hadn't seen what has become of us. If you were alive, maybe you could have found the miracle to keep our people alive....* "Patrol Four just went silent," Omega reported dully. His eyes were fixed on the empty scan screen. The commander sighed softly. Bojay and Jolly, to be added to the litany of the dead, if any of their friends survived to memorialize them. "Let me know when the Cylons appear on our scanners, then launch intercept." "Yes, sir." No one questioned that it might be other than Cylons. It had been nothing but Cylons for sectons, since Baltar's attempted escape, and the deliberate explosion that had set Alpha Bay irreparably aflame and cost Adama's life. Nothing but Cylons and death. * * * * * The red alert klaxons drew the warriors from one grim duty to another. Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Boomer joined the general rush to Beta Bay and another launch, leaving a comp tech to close the files and prepare the chamber for attack. Intercept was already in space when Apollo and what was left of Blue Squadron reached their ships. They settled in to await further orders. Someone was crying in a nearby Viper. "What is it, Sheba?" Apollo asked softly, opening a private frequency. "We ... lost another patrol...." the woman whispered back hoarsely. "It ... was Bojay ... Bojay's gone...." Bojay. And if Bojay, then Jolly too. They'd been up together for today. Apollo felt grief settle like lead in his stomach. Jolly had been a friend for more yahrens than the captain cared to remember at the moment. Bojay had been with them since the loss of the -Pegasus- at Gamorah. "Cylon attack phalanx, at least four squadrons' worth. Decimating Intercept. Launch all remaining Vipers to defend the fleet," came a somber order in his ear. Apollo caught his breath as his Viper was thrown out into hostile space. Had they run out of time? It was doubtful if his battered, depleted squadrons could survive an attack of that magnitude. He hoped Commander Tigh was giving the scatter command to their civilian fleet. He tried to ignore the certainty that this time, they would lose. He had to try and think positively, convince himself it was worth fighting one more battle, or he would die too easily, mentally paralyzed and useless. Bright flashes lit the stars around the fleet as he banked up and around the battlestar to meet the attackers. The flare of laser fire contacting targets, the explosions of those targets dying. Targets. Cylon Raiders and Colonial Vipers. Far too many of the latter, when there were far too few of them to start with. Humans dying with their ships. The traitor in the fleet had done his job too well, he concluded bitterly. "Heads up, Captain, we're in it now!" Instinct pulled the ship out of the line of fire; Boomer took out the attacker; then they were fighting in earnest. Bracketed by enemy fire, forced to concentrate on every move and make every shot count, surrounded by growing amounts of drifting debris that made the battle ever more dangerous, it took several centons for the cries of his companions to sink into Apollo's consciousness. "The -Rising Star-! Lords of Kobol, they got the-" The voice ended abruptly, but the captain glanced out his cockpit and saw what was meant. The starliner had become an eerily glowing fireball that disintegrated into nothingness as he watched. He abruptly became aware that there were other such explosions among the ships of the fleet. His stomach tightened, and he nearly threw up. There were Raiders among the fleet, and ships were dying. Too many Cylon ships, from the wrong directions. A second Cylon attack wave? Why hadn't the bridge warned them? "-Galactica-, what's happening?" he called. "Where are they coming from?" There was no response. "Do you hear me, -Galactica-?" Still nothing. "Where's our base ship?" he asked desperately. "Apollo, I can't see them; what do we do?" a panicked voice called. "Defend the fleet!" he ordered. "Drive those Raiders off." He followed his command by veering toward the fleet, now quite obviously under attack from at least two sides. Where in hades was the -Galactica-? X-UIDL: iLa"!`)]!!N8_!!46V"! * * * * * Multi-colored smoke drifted in lazy patterns through the large, closed space, making breathing difficult, stingingly painful; the air circulation units no longer functioned. Flames danced across the left side of the bridge; several techs worked futilely with small boroton mist containers, trying to control the fires before they reached anything more vital. On various consoles, sparks were the only illumination left. The surviving crew stayed fatalistically at their posts, having nowhere else to go that was in any way safe. Two basestars had been confirmed somewhere around them; Raiders were devastating the fleet. The Cylons were also making ramming runs on the battlestar, and each was doubling the damage of previous strikes. On the command deck, two officers struggled to throw aside the fallen girder and free themselves. After a moment, the woman fell into a choking spasm, then convulsed once and lay still. "Athena?" the other breathed. No response. "Omega?" the commander called hopelessly, giving up for the moment. "Any report?" "Most of our communications and scanners are out," the flight officer reported through his coughing. "Other parts of the ship are on fire. Still can't get through to Life Center or the bay. Last report from our Vipers is another basestar moving in...." He halted for a moment to clear smoke from his lungs, then continued hollowly. "Several ships in the fleet reporting heavy attack, begging for assistance...." *Doomed,* he thought. "Can we launch missiles?" "No response from missile bays gamma through zeta; alpha and beta are exhausted, out of firepower; iota on fire. With our main energizer out, we can't power up most of the lasers...." The ship shuddered under another ramming run. Something gave somewhere, and took its dying revenge on the command deck. Omega's board flared and exploded. The flight officer screamed. Small lightnings ran over his suddenly rigid body. Then he fell, smelling of charred skin, hair, and fabric. His body was in reach. Tigh discovered he could just reach out and touch the dead man's face. He felt tears; for all that he hadn't been able to cry for the fleet's death around them, for his own imminent death when the girder fell and pinned him, he now mourned the death of the young officer he'd worked with for these past few yahrens. Then another Cylon impacted against their fore port. Explosions reached the second energizer and the solium storage compartments at the same time. The -Galactica- tore herself apart. * * * * * "Oh ... my ... God...." Boomer had been following the Raider, trying to get a clear shot or drive it off from its target. He had failed. As close to his base ship as he was, he couldn't veer away in time. As the battlestar died, her fireball reached out to capture a dozen of her finest warriors, and took them as honor guard into hades. * * * * * "No! No, no, no...." The -Galactica- was gone. Her friends were dying fast, the fleet even faster. Sheba cried, and didn't care. She couldn't see what was going on around her. She never noticed the Raider closing on her. The collision made a small explosion, barely discernible and insignificant in the star-fury battle. * * * * * Apollo heard the cries of his pilots. Through their shocked voices, he made out his base ship's fate. The Galactica was dead. All those people, friends and fellow warriors, all gone. And the fleet would soon be gone as well; the ships were breaking formation and trying to run, but the Cylons were now concentrating on the civilian vessels. They knew the few surviving pilots were no longer a threat. The Cylon goal now was the destruction of what was left of humanity. The Colonies' lingering death would soon be over. Including the death of what was left of his family. His sister, Athena, undoubtedly on the bridge and fighting to the end, probably with no more than a micron to realize they had lost. Had there been time for her to scream? Had she wanted to? Had she felt anger at their ... at _his_ failure to protect her? His son, Boxey, somewhere in that firestorm. Had the boy felt fear and pain as the end came for him? Had he cried out for his father, or merely hugged his daggit closer and accepted it? The boy had been through so much, maybe he'd just been glad it was over. "Sagan...." the captain groaned in emotional agony. Fire. They were gone in fire, like so many others. He didn't want to die in fire.... Apollo would never know what hit him at that point, what rocked his ship and knocked out a dozen systems, what threw him to one side, unprepared, and stole his consciousness. * * * * * The universe merely winked out, then reappeared around them in a single micron. If anything had changed, the difference was too minuscule to tell from their current location. The bridge crew of the -Starwind- glanced around at each other, some disappointed, some anticipatory. As if a command had been given, each then turned from the fore screen to his or her own console. Commander Tigh drew a deep breath and glanced at the man to his right. "Well, Dr. Ravashol?" The elderly man glowed beatifically, leaning forward on his cane to catch a better view of the stars on the screen, stroking his beard with his free hand. He focused on one star, then another. "Yes, yes...." "Yes, what?" the black officer demanded more crisply, unable to keep the rage and scorn from his voice. "Is your experiment a success? Have we crossed dimensions on this insane odyssey you and your mutineers have concocted?" He directed an acid glance at Major Akilles, standing beside Omega at the main console. Their uniforms might carry the same star-and-spiral insignia, but Tigh felt a great distance between his blue and their tan. Their mutiny left a bitter taste in his mouth and a lurking fear and anger in his mind. "We have at the very least crossed a tremendous distance. I would estimate more than thirty lightyahrens." "More like forty-seven," Omega commented, glancing up from the helm reports. "And if Starbuck's 'hunches' can be believed we're going in the right direction." Tigh stared at the captain for a moment, then forced his gaze back to Ravashol. "So you've invented a way to cross tremendous distances almost instantaneously," he forced out, still unwilling to concede the battle - or his own growing fascination with it. "How do you know if we've crossed ... dimensions, as you put it, if that's even possible? Which, I will repeat, I have my doubts about." "Commander, you are too much the skeptic!" Ravashol returned gleefully. "I, on the other hand, have faith-" "In your own vanity!" "Now, now, Tigh. Captain, are any other reports available? Spacial distortion? Ship integrity?" "All systems showing green," reported one of the husky Ser- Five Thetas. "Excellent, excellent. But now, my friends, I have a great many things to check out, systems to test, you understand. Tigh, Akilles, the next steps are for you to decide so I will get on with my work." He limped his way off the bridge, muttering briskly, trailing several of his worshipful clones. Major Akilles leaned over Captain Omega's shoulder, conferring quietly. Tigh snorted once at them, then stalked forward to stand beside Athena at the scan station. The others remained at their various posts, studiously avoiding the difficult situation of being in mutiny against their commander. It was not a pleasant feeling. One warrior stood apart from the rest, at the rear of the bridge where no one could see him without turning. Starbuck stared blankly forward, feeling something _wrong_, but unsure what it could be. "Well, Starbuck?" He chewed his lip nervously, and shook his head. "What do you mean?" "I don't know." Akilles frowned. "Explain, Lieutenant. What's wrong?" he demanded more crisply. "The evidence says we've crossed dimensions exactly as we planned. If you think something's wrong, tell me what it is." "If I knew I"d tell you ... but it feels like ... fear? Death? Something is wrong, but ... I don't know what...." The major stared at him searchingly for a long centon, but Starbuck could only shake his head. "We're picking up something." Everyone turned at Athena's call. "What is it?" Akilles crossed the deck eagerly. The expression on her face slowly turned wary, then bleakly horrified. "Debris. A lot of it, as though ... as though a number of ships.... Radiation from ship explosions, heatstressed rubble. As though a fleet...." Cold fear swept over them all; even Tigh was ashen. "Any identification?" the major asked after a few numb centons. "Who built the ships, can you tell? Who or what destroyed them? Is the enemy still in the vicinity?" "The ships appear to have been primarily Colonial, with a few recognizably Cylon vessels as well. If I didn't know better...." She had to stop to take a deep breath and control her quavering voice. "If I didn't know better, I'd say the -Galactus- was among them.... There's nothing else, it looks like we're the only live ship in the quadrant...." "Keep scanning, tell me if anything shows up...." "No...." Only Akilles heard Starbuck's whisper. "Is this what was wrong? Did we arrive just in time for his death?" he demanded accusingly, as if the warrior could somehow be blamed for all this. Starbuck's eyes were closed, but tears ran down his cheeks, and he seemed to be fighting for breath. "Is this what was wrong?" "No ... I don't know what's wrong, but this ... this feels empty, not right...." "It's empty because he's dead, you're dead, they're both dead, we're too late. Apollo's gone and so are his people." Starbuck refused to open his eyes. Somewhere inside, he knew that was wrong, but he had no idea how he knew, or what was right. He kept looking for the thread to lead him forward, but he couldn't find it. * * * * * *I don't want to die in fire!* The words were a scream echoing in his brain as Apollo slowly regained consciousness. He had no memory of where the thought had come from, only felt the agony of it in his mind. Death by fire.... He blinked back to true alertness, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head, the burning in his hands, the stabbing in his chest with every breath, the cold that seemed to be creeping into his fingers and toes. There was nothing around him. He stared through the shattered windows of his breached canopy and wondered for a moment why he was still alive; belatedly he recalled the small force screen of his helmet and flightsuit, and the built-in life support vapors and pressurization that could keep a pilot alive for several centars in an emergency. But where was the rescue team that should have picked him up by now? He glanced at his control panels. Nothing glowed; all was lifeless and dark - scanners, com, everything. That explained it; his automatic distress beacon must be out, along with everything else. Everything else. Space around him began to make an impact. It looked ... wrong. Memory slowly filtered back, and he knew. "No...." he whispered. The fleet was gone, gone, battlestar and all. He had seen his friends dying, seen his base ship explode, seen the fires consume other ships before ... before his own world went dark and he thought he was dead. "No ... no...." But he was alive, trapped in a drifting, dead ship in the middle of the rubble of a dead fleet, with no hope of rescue or future. Already dead, they just hadn't killed his body yet; that would take a little time, until his support vapors ran out and he asphyxiated, or the heating in his suit died and he froze, or he hit some of that debris and exploded or ruptured his tenuous bond with life, or he found a way to speed the inevitable. "No ... no ... no...." Already dead. Inevitable. He hadn't wanted to die in fire. Some unholy creature had mockingly answered that plea. He would die in cold. "No...." X-UIDL: il-"!3pc"!"/5"!">P"! * * * * * "I think we're picking up a life form." Athena was steady now, as was the rest of the crew. "One Viper, badly damaged and powered down, but her pilot's still alive." "Launch rescue," Tigh commanded briskly. The bridge crew responded promptly. Even as he hopped into the lift that would take him to the launch bay, Starbuck beside him, Akilles realized how easily Tigh had stepped in, and how easy it had been to obey. They might have to be careful, he thought, frowning. Wound as tightly as a spring, the thought haunted the edge of his mind as they launched a tow shuttle and escort. * * * * * They brought it in, more wreck than ship. Their medic, a doctor named Cassandra, was standing by as Ser-Five techs tore off the fractured canopy and unwedged the pilot. They couldn't tell, through the frost on his clothes, gear, hair and face, who the man was - and there was no guarantee they would know him anyway. The Thetas gently settled the pilot on a gurney and stood aside for the doctor to do her work. "Frostbite, shock, some internal injuries, concussion," Cassandra announced in her soft, professional voice. "Get him to the life bay." Akilles pushed his way past the Thetas and grabbed the woman's arm. "Just a micron, please. Can he talk? Can we ask him questions?" he demanded urgently. "No, Major, I think it would be better if you wait until later...." The face. Akilles stared, no longer hearing. It was a face he knew so very, very well, had seen behind him most of his life, but only in dreams and holos for the past two yahrens. Cheeks too pale, but with color slowly returning; dark hair matted with melting rime and clotted blood; mouth champed from frustration or grief and skin chapped from cold. The face looked older than it should have, older than Akilles did, but he recognized it. The uniform was different from theirs, of a similar tan but with red or dark brown on the sleeves, no flight jacket, and a large insignia at the left shoulder. That was inconsequential. "Apollo," he whispered, dropping to his knees beside the gurney. He grabbed one cold hand. "Apollo?" Green eyes opened listlessly, staring at nothing. "Apollo? Is it you?" A heavy sigh that ended in a pained sound. "You're safe, little brother. You're safe, we're here. What happened? Can you tell me?" "Major, please!" the doctor interjected in aggravation. "Let him rest, it may hurt him now to have to remember what happened-" "Cassie?" The injured man started at the voice. His mouth twitched into what might have been meant for a smile. Akilles grabbed her arm and pulled her down beside him. "You recognize Dr. Cassandra?" Confusion replaced the blankness on his face. "Cassie? Castalia? Where's...." "The name difference, almost the same people, but different names, other little things," Akilles said rapidly. He glanced around. The others were already there. His brother Ares, cousin Artemis, friend Starbuck, and sister-in-law Ostara knelt to join the small cluster around the gurney. "Apollo, do you recognize us?" There was wonder in Apollo's face now as he focused on them all. "Alive....? Artemis? Ares? How...? Akilles, how...? The Cylons ... the fleet ... our people...." His voice caught in pain; gasped sobs racked his injured body; tears appeared in his eyes. Akilles rose and stepped back numbly. "We're too late," he said woodenly. "The Cylons got to the fleet. There's nothing left." "Apollo's left." Ostara stared uncertainly down at the man on the gurney, torn between hope and fear. "But does he know you?" Akilles demanded. "What does he remember about you? If anything?" "Major!" the doctor entreated. As Ostara took the injured man's hand, Akilles had to admit that Apollo was left. That was why they'd come - but what a bitter thing to find, that in this universe their people had not only lost the war but met the final destruction the Cylons had planned.... "Ostara...." He saw Apollo grope for the woman with his half-frozen fingers. The twitching half-smile again. Ostara took his hand between hers, rubbing it gently, smiling tremulously. Akilles saw tears in her eyes as well. It was the first time he remembered seeing her cry since the memorial.... Apollo didn't even look at Starbuck. "Apollo, what happened to Starbuck?" Akilles asked, pointing at the lieutenant. When Apollo didn't respond, he deliberately turned the man's face toward Starbuck, despite Cassandra's repeated protests. "What about Starbuck?" No recognition showed in his eyes. Starbuck felt empty as Apollo stared through him. "Who...?" The pieces fell into place, and he understood. "He doesn't know me," Starbuck announced with certainty in the eerily silent bay. "He doesn't know me. I never existed here - not long enough to have grown up, at least, or become a pilot, or met him. We crossed dimensions, but we're in the wrong one. We haven't found the man we're looking for. This Apollo doesn't know me, he never did. There's more than one reality out here, and we aren't in the one we're looking for." He took a deep breath. "And we may never be." The thought was a relief to him. He hadn't realized how tense he was, with so much at stake, and so much of it hanging on him. The shock of knowing their people had lost and died in this universe made the thought of going back very tempting. No more burden on him, no more fear of what they might find. "We could look forever and not find the right world. The man we want may not be alive any more. We're wasting our time and spending ourselves for nothing. We might as well go home." * * * * * Athena made the report to her ostensible commander and the flight commander. "We analyzed the data in his computer banks and in the material we recovered from the battle scene. The history of these Colonials is similar to ours, but they were definitely losing the war. The Cylons devastated everything in their version of the False Peace." "And this?" Commander Tigh asked, seeing Akilles still staring out the viewport, barely listening. "They just lost the final battle. The fleet of survivors is destroyed...." Athena seemed to be having difficulty keeping a steady voice. "From some of the Cylon computers, they set a trap here, based on information from a spy in the fleet. They were waiting, they've been waiting all along." "A trap?" Akilles spoke for the first time. He didn't turn; he watched his reflection in the viewport. His sister nodded. He sighed. "The wrong place. And too late." "Yes." Athena glanced at the third man in their meeting and added, "We were able to extract their personnel information almost intact. No evidence of anybody named Starbuck in the Service within the last twenty yahrens. If Starbuck even existed here, he died before he could join the service, and he and Apollo never met." Starbuck continued to stare at the table, contributing nothing to the discussion. Tigh took a deep breath. "Might I suggest we visit our guest again, Major?" "What good will it do?" "What harm?" Akilles followed him, gesturing to Starbuck to join them as well. With some reluctance, he did so. * * * * * Tigh stared down at his old friend's middle son - or the image of him, in the youth from another dimension. In pain, tortured worst by his own memories, perhaps over the edge of sanity.... Go home, and do nothing more? Go home, and grieve for the rest of his life for what could have been, should have been, might have been? Not knowing that it could have happened again? When the means to prevent it was here, at his command? "No, we're not going home," he muttered harshly. Akilles stared grimly at him, still half in shock. He'd never thought beyond finding Apollo and his refugee people. He hadn't considered they might wind up in the wrong place, or maybe in the right place, but too late. "Our mission stands, Major," the commander grated out. "We will find your Apollo and your Starbuck. We will find them and warn them. That is our mission as warriors, to protect our people. We will find them; we will warn them and protect them as best we can, if we have to spend the rest of our lives hopping between universes. We can't do nothing and let this happen to our people again, in any world." Tigh glanced at Dr. Ravashol. "Get back to your formulas, Ravashol. Starbuck, help him. Set new coordinates, find a way to take us to the right dimension." "Yes, sir." "I have duties to tend to also," Akilles said, admiration and determination creeping through his tone. The three left the medical chamber, leaving Tigh and the doctor watching over the wounded soul. After a few centons, Tigh announced, "I'm going to the bridge, Cassanda. Call me if I'm needed, if Apollo has anything to say." "Yes, Commander," the doctor replied respectfully. Tigh returned to the bridge, for the first time feeling truly in command of the -Starwind-. The reaction of the crew when he arrived confirmed it; Akilles had already been there, and Tigh realized this was now his ship. "Prepare for another dimension hop," he announced, moving to his command dais. "We'll be leaving this graveyard soon. And Lords willing, we won't see it happen again."