the impossible was standing not two metrons from him. Then he saw the signet on its chain, so long missing from Raamasa, hanging from the young man's neck. "My lord Count," the old man, Sothis, said quietly, "I have brought you your brother's son." "You must try to understand, Baltar," Velden said later that evening, turning to watch the younger man as he paced about the room. A quick search through the household had provided his nephew with clothing more suitable for his rank, and he had had his hair cut to a more appropriate length. Baltar whirled around to face him. "Understand?" he all but shouted. "I understand that I have waited all this time, and now I can expect no help from you!" He strode away, stopped, turned back. He shut his eyes for a moment, then went on in a calmer voice. "I know it would have done no good to come to you earlier. The Akharate would never have given the title to a child, not without some provision for a regency, and who was there besides Andro been ambitious, had always been envious. He hated his sister; and he loathed her husband and her brats. "Your niece seems rather taken with the young saar Kiros," a smooth voice said at his shoulder. Andros turned. "Indeed, Count Rethan. But I hardly think my sister would consider the match to be advantageous to the heir of our house. Besides," he added, "I believe she has an eye on one of the Kiroan daughters for her son." "I should think Adria would wait, to see how fortunes rise and fall in the next few yahren," Rethan remarked. "The boy is rather young, isn't he?" "Yes," Andros began, when a voice came from directly behind him. "I am eleven yahrens, Count Rethan." Andros turned again, barely concealing his annoyance and distaste. He hated the way his nephew had of slipping up silently behind him. He was sure the brat enjoyed doing it, but there was no hint of amusement in the somber face of the boy. There was something wrong with that child, he thought; he never sees? I know the Dariani are a small house, and I can't say I trust any of them now. And I know that, if I'd stayed here, there would be questions of your involvement in Raamasan affairs, of my autonomy as a Count. But now I am old enough to govern in my own right, I have clear precedence to the title," his voice was rising again, "so why am I receiving no support from my own kin in ousting Andros? Half the Akharate would as soon see him dead without a clear succession!" Velden took a deep breath. "You're right. You have a clear claim to the Darian title. And you're right, there's no love lost for Andros in the Akharate. But Raamasa is in dire straits..." "Due to Andros' mismanagement!" "And the Akharate cannot and will not support any further upheaval in the province. Not even to restore Adria's rightful heir," Velden finished, ignoring the interruption. "I say this as your kinsman, and Andros' enemy, Baltar. You won't find greater support among the other Counts." Baltar stareFortune's Wheel by Leah McCreery Andros saar Darius sipped at his glass of ambrosa, the best to be had from the late Count Dorian's cellars, but to him it tasted bitter, as bitter as his mood. Adria was the center of attention, of course, a glittering presence at the heart of the gathering. The Countess was approaching middle age, but she had lost nothing of her beauty and had only gained in presence. Beside her, her daughter Brianna was more reserved, a reflection of her mother. A false perception, Andros thought. One day Brianna would take her mother's place, as one of most powerful individuals on Scorpia. While his line could only go down, he thought bitterly. He was the Countess' brother, and the chief administrator of her holdings, as was customary. A word he had grown to hate in his lifetime. One day his young nephew would replace him, lording it over his children as he did over his cousins. His grandchildren would not even bear the bloodline name, being rather maar Amed to smile. "Certainly old enough to do my duty to my family, as the Countess sees fit," he continued. Andros smiled tightly. "Your tutors have taught you well, of course. You echo them flawlessly." His nephew regarded him blandly, revealing nothing in his expression, or his voice. "Thank you, uncle." "And it troubles you not at all that you are simply your mother's pawn?" Andros' tone was acid. "Not at all," the boy replied, then glanced sidelong at Andros, "Why, uncle? Does it trouble you?" Abruptly, Andros found he'd had his fill of his nephew. "Go somewhere else, Baltar," he snapped, and turned his back. Rethan saw a slight smile quirk up one corner of the boy's mouth. So he had been deliberately baiting Andros. Rethan suppressed his own smile, and merely raised an eyebrow. Only eleven, he thought, and quite quick-witted. Far better at verbal fencing than his uncle, far more self-control. He nodded toward Rethan. "Count saar Rendel," he said, and slipped d at his uncle a moment longer, then looked away. "So your advice is that I give up my claim?" Velden heard the resentment in his nephew's voice. "My advice is that you wait. Stay here. I can provide for the rest of your education, for a position in my house. When you're older, have the experience necessary..." "Wait?" Baltar's tone was incredulous. "If I wait any longer, than Andros will be even more firmly entrenched, the Akharate even less inclined to act! And that's if he's able to maintain any of my province in a state to..." he broke off, his expression intense. He walked away from his uncle, paused, turned back. "He's already having problems, isn't he? Are any of the Akharate supporting him against dissidents, giving him aid?" Velden wondered what thought had occurred to his nephew. "You know he hasn't. He wouldn't dare. His position is weak enough as it is, to ask for aid would be..." "...asking another House to as good as take over Raamasa, wouldn't it?" He fell sindros. That the same fate would befall his nephew's descendants a generation later did nothing to appease him. A few of his line might cling to some status, marrying into the lower echelons of minor families or finding employment in the middling ranks of the peer-owned industries, but the larger number would slowly slip into the ranks of the poor and near-impoverished commoners, their past, tenuous connections to greatness lost forever. What he found most distasteful, however, was the idea that the same fate had been avoided by Alden, Adria's husband. Alden was his opposite number in the Zahrin line, Count Velden's next-eldest brother, in charge of the vast orbiting shipyards. He had managed, somehow, to catch Adria's eye, and by marriage to the old Count's heir to improve his own standing and assure that of his descendants. Adria had insisted on him, and Dorian would deny her nothing; while the best he had managed to find his son was a younger daughter of a minor house. Andros had alwaysoff in the direction of his mother. Countess Adria felt hard-pressed to conceal her impatience. Her daughter had spent the evening politely and graciously conversing with every young man of sufficient rank to hope for a match with her, and just as graciously rejecting them all. If she didn't indicate some preference soon, Adria thought, she was going to arrange her daughter's marriage to the best advantage of the province. And she had so hoped Brianna might find a husband she would be comfortable with, as she had. Not that she would have needed to be, she admitted. Alden was kept busy with his brother's holdings. He seldom found the time to join his family, even for important occasions. "Oh, really, Brianna," she sighed, as she realized her daughter had just sent off another suitor. "And what, pray tell, is wrong with Jeron?" "Mother," Brianna protested, "He couldn't carry on a decent conversation for ten centons at a stretch." "And why is that so important?" Adrialent again, thinking furiously. Velden waited, but Baltar seemed disinclined to continue explaining his train of thought. Whatever the boy had in mind, Velden was certain it was dangerous and useless. There was no possible way he could take his title back, especially without the support of the council. He had to make Baltar see that, but his nephew was obsessed. He laid a hand on Baltar's shoulder. The boy looked up, startled. "Listen to me," Velden said quietly. "I'm thinking of what is best for you, and for Scorpia." It was not entirely the truth, he knew, and he was sure Baltar knew it too. The boy had always been intelligent and shrewd, and while Adria had no doubt imparted some of her cynicism to him, Velden thought he could see much of Alden in his nephew. He would be a welcome addition to the Zahrin house. But he couldn't convince Baltar to settle for a lesser position, not while he still held any hope of regaining Raamasa. "It's late," he continued. "Get some sleep. Th been ambitious, had always been envious. He hated his sister; and he loathed her husband and her brats. "Your niece seems rather taken with the young saar Kiros," a smooth voice said at his shoulder. Andros turned. "Indeed, Count Rethan. But I hardly think my sister would consider the match to be advantageous to the heir of our house. Besides," he added, "I believe she has an eye on one of the Kiroan daughters for her son." "I should think Adria would wait, to see how fortunes rise and fall in the next few yahren," Rethan remarked. "The boy is rather young, isn't he?" "Yes," Andros began, when a voice came from directly behind him. "I am eleven yahrens, Count Rethan." Andros turned again, barely concealing his annoyance and distaste. He hated the way his nephew had of slipping up silently behind him. He was sure the brat enjoyed doing it, but there was no hint of amusement in the somber face of the boy. There was something wrong with that child, he thought; he never see asked. "You're not on Cancera, Brianna. After tonight, you likely wouldn't have to converse with him at all." "Mother," Brianna said again, "If I have to marry, I'd rather it be to someone I can at least tolerate." "And so would I, Brianna, but I really don't see what the problem is. The sons of the best houses on Scorpia are here, just pick one!" "I don't see what you dislike so much about Patrin. I think he's rather charming." Adria sighed again. "Patrin saar Kiros. Really, Brianna, have a little pride in your bloodline. You will be Countess one day. You can do so much better than a minor house with no influence to speak of." "Besides, she'd rather I marry Pallas saar Kiros. Since I can't do much better than that." Adria barely spared a glance at her younger child. "Straighten your tunic, Baltar. You look rumpled. Brianna, I don't intend to be put off on this matter." Brianna ignored her. "Shouldn't you be in bed?" she asked her brother. "It's late." Baltaink about what I've told you. We can discuss the matter further in the morning." Baltar looked as though he was about to argue the point, then apparently thought better of it. He nodded. "In the morning, then," he agreed. Haidar looked up from his desk as Velden entered the office. "Akhansar Arlen wishes to speak with you about the Taurani trade delegation again," he announced, his voice carefully neutral. Velden stopped short, his annoyance obvious. "Arlen? What has he done now?" Haidar maintained his professional demeanor only from long experience. "He didn't say, my lord. And your nephew regrets he will be unable to meet with you this morning. He has... gone out." Velden's irritation was growing. "Did he say where?" Haidar's tone conveyed far more information than his brief answer. "No. He didn't." Velden's momentary puzzlement turned to anger. "Thank you, Haidar," he said stiffly, and went into his office. Once behind his closed door, Velden tried to bring himed to smile. "Certainly old enough to do my duty to my family, as the Countess sees fit," he continued. Andros smiled tightly. "Your tutors have taught you well, of course. You echo them flawlessly." His nephew regarded him blandly, revealing nothing in his expression, or his voice. "Thank you, uncle." "And it troubles you not at all that you are simply your mother's pawn?" Andros' tone was acid. "Not at all," the boy replied, then glanced sidelong at Andros, "Why, uncle? Does it trouble you?" Abruptly, Andros found he'd had his fill of his nephew. "Go somewhere else, Baltar," he snapped, and turned his back. Rethan saw a slight smile quirk up one corner of the boy's mouth. So he had been deliberately baiting Andros. Rethan suppressed his own smile, and merely raised an eyebrow. Only eleven, he thought, and quite quick-witted. Far better at verbal fencing than his uncle, far more self-control. He nodded toward Rethan. "Count saar Rendel," he said, and slipped r's look of mild annoyance was identical to their mother's Brianna noticed. "It's not that late." He turned to Adria. "Andros is talking to Count Rethan." Adria glanced around the room, but didn't see her brother. She felt uneasy about Rethan's presence here tonight. He had no eligible sons to present to Brianna, and while he was certainly of an important line, and currently unmarried, he was more than twice Brianna's age. Certainly he couldn't expect her to approve such a match, especially as he held title to Rendasa province. Marrying the Darian heir to an invested count could cause all sorts of disputes to the succession of both provinces. Even if she considered it, the match would never be allowed by the Akharate. And what, pray tell, did he want with Andros? She didn't trust Rethan, not at all. For that matter, she wasn't all too sure she trusted Andros. A dust storm was blowing off the steppes, dulling the orange sun to a small red disk. The light gave the ancients anger under control. Damn the boy! The situation was volatile enough without Baltar's interference. There was no hope he could oust Andros; the headstrong little fool would certainly get himself killed this time. And that, Velden had to admit, might very possibly be one of the better outcomes. The sooner Raamasa regained some semblance of stability, the better for them all. Just outside the city lay the huge complex of Zahransi stockyards. Kefren leaned against the wall of the pen, looking down on the shaggy backs of the bos his tribe was selling. "I see you sold the Meridas," said a voice beside him. "Get a good price?" Kefren looked around in surprise. "Not bad, more than I expected," he answered. "What are you doing down here, Tseros? Come to say goodbye?" Baltar shook his head. "I've changed my plans. I'm coming with you. For a while, at least." Fortune's Wheel, Part 8 The bos calf bawled, bucked, and shook off the three nomad children holding onto itsoff in the direction of his mother. Countess Adria felt hard-pressed to conceal her impatience. Her daughter had spent the evening politely and graciously conversing with every young man of sufficient rank to hope for a match with her, and just as graciously rejecting them all. If she didn't indicate some preference soon, Adria thought, she was going to arrange her daughter's marriage to the best advantage of the province. And she had so hoped Brianna might find a husband she would be comfortable with, as she had. Not that she would have needed to be, she admitted. Alden was kept busy with his brother's holdings. He seldom found the time to join his family, even for important occasions. "Oh, really, Brianna," she sighed, as she realized her daughter had just sent off another suitor. "And what, pray tell, is wrong with Jeron?" "Mother," Brianna protested, "He couldn't carry on a decent conversation for ten centons at a stretch." "And why is that so important?" Adria stone of the courtyard a deep bronze cast. The howling of the wind, even muted by the static shield overhead that kept out the dust, threatened to overpower the soft sound of the fountain. Brianna loved the fountain, and not just because it bespoke the power and wealth of her family to maintain it. Scorpia was dry, dry and cold, and what water there was, was not wasted. But Raamasa Province had water. The province was the major agricultural center of Scorpia, its fields of crops ringing the sea on every bit of arable land. The sea. If, she thought, it could be called that. The body of slightly bitter water, with its low wind-driven ripples, would be merely a large lake on another world. Other Colonies had oceans which spanned entire hemispheres, oceans which covered entire worlds, alive with life and tides pulled by the moons. Scorpia had no moon. She tried to turn her mind back to the legal treatise she was studying. When Raamasa, with its sea and crops, were hers, she would shaggy hair. They ran after the calf, laughing. Kefren watched them, smiling. He glanced around, the hillside giving him a wide view across the steppe. It had rained a few days before; briefly, it was true, but already the steppe had turned from gold to green, and small flowers were appearing among the grasses as the brief growing season began. The herds were spread out around the camp, grazing on the new grass. "So are you still going through with this?" he asked. Baltar didn't look up, kept running the rope through his fingers, looking for fraying or weak spots. "Yes," he answered, then a moment later added, "I don't know." "You should talk to Grandfather." Baltar ran a few more lengths of cord through his fingers. Then the got up, handed the coil of rope to Kefren and walked toward the tents. The fire in the brazier flared up as Sothis poured oil onto the coals. He had chanted the daily prayers for so many yahrens they came to his lips almost without thought, an asked. "You're not on Cancera, Brianna. After tonight, you likely wouldn't have to converse with him at all." "Mother," Brianna said again, "If I have to marry, I'd rather it be to someone I can at least tolerate." "And so would I, Brianna, but I really don't see what the problem is. The sons of the best houses on Scorpia are here, just pick one!" "I don't see what you dislike so much about Patrin. I think he's rather charming." Adria sighed again. "Patrin saar Kiros. Really, Brianna, have a little pride in your bloodline. You will be Countess one day. You can do so much better than a minor house with no influence to speak of." "Besides, she'd rather I marry Pallas saar Kiros. Since I can't do much better than that." Adria barely spared a glance at her younger child. "Straighten your tunic, Baltar. You look rumpled. Brianna, I don't intend to be put off on this matter." Brianna ignored her. "Shouldn't you be in bed?" she asked her brother. "It's late." Balta need to know this. The fountain bubbled on, distracting her. It was no distraction to her brother, she saw. To him, the fountain was all one with the high walls with their bas-reliefs of their ancestors' accomplishments, with the history he was reading. To him, the Dariani line was everything. It was no use, she couldn't concentrate. She dropped the datapad to the bench with a loud sigh. Her brother glanced up at her, curious. "I feel like I'm being … herded like a kavrine," she explained. "Like I have no say in my own life." "You don't," Baltar replied, unhelpfully. "Is it so much to ask, that I choose who I want to marry?" "Yes. This isn't Caprica…" She cut him off with a glare. "I don't need you to tell me what planet I'm not on. You sound just like Mother!" She saw a quick flash of … something in his dark eyes. Good. She'd always worried that her brother had no mind of his own, that he was nothing more than what their mother and tutors had made of him. "And he had to make an effort to focus his mind on the holy words. Outside he could hear the faint lows and bleats of the herds, and the wind through the grass, and the rippling of the tents. He heard the flap of his own tent open quietly, and the soft steps as his visitor moved to one side and sat and waited. He gave no sign, but he had been expecting this visit. He would have known who it was by the step alone, he thought; or perhaps only by the sense of anger and confusion surrounding the boy. He suppressed a sigh and continued his prayer. After they had found the boy, starving and near death, Sothis had raised him as one of his own kin. He had tried to help the boy find some peace in the wake of his family's deaths, had tried to impart to him a sense of asha, the universal harmony. He had never understood, Sothis thought sadly. He had always clung to the past, and to his anger and desire for vengeance. He finished his devotions, turned to face his visitor, and waited for him to sr's look of mild annoyance was identical to their mother's Brianna noticed. "It's not that late." He turned to Adria. "Andros is talking to Count Rethan." Adria glanced around the room, but didn't see her brother. She felt uneasy about Rethan's presence here tonight. He had no eligible sons to present to Brianna, and while he was certainly of an important line, and currently unmarried, he was more than twice Brianna's age. Certainly he couldn't expect her to approve such a match, especially as he held title to Rendasa province. Marrying the Darian heir to an invested count could cause all sorts of disputes to the succession of both provinces. Even if she considered it, the match would never be allowed by the Akharate. And what, pray tell, did he want with Andros? She didn't trust Rethan, not at all. For that matter, she wasn't all too sure she trusted Andros. A dust storm was blowing off the steppes, dulling the orange sun to a small red disk. The light gave the ancientd what is this problem you have with Capricans, anyway?" "Father doesn't like them." She sighed, frustrated. "Father deals with people from all the other Colonies, and he doesn't like any of them. You," she emphasized the word, "have never met a Caprican. You have no basis for comparison." "Father says they're trying to force their culture on us. They look down on Scorpiani." "They do not!" "How do you know? You've never met one. You have no basis for comparison," he smirked. "You," Brianna said through her teeth, "are beginning to irritate me!" "Good." Brianna decided on strategic withdrawal from the war of words, before it escalated. "Father's coming in tonight," she remarked. Baltar surprised her by frowning. "I wish he wouldn't. Not with Andros here." Caught off-balance, Brianna turned to him, perplexed. "What do you mean?" "I…don't know. Andros doesn't like him." "He never has." "Andros has…been different. Since the reception." He looked peak. Baltar hesitated a moment longer. When he began speaking, it was with a great deal of uncertainty. "Harbeth," he started, "it has been more than seven yahren since I came to live with your people, and I know that you are respected, and gifted with great wisdom and foresight..." He stopped. He wasn't sure he believed in the powers imputed to his foster father. He had not been raised in the Meijian faith, he had not been raised with any religious beliefs at all. Adria had thought such notions a foolish waste of time, and certainly not proper to the instruction of future rulers of a Scorpiani province. He had gained some notion of his father's beliefs when he was at home, despite his mother's disapproval, and one of his tutors had begun to teach the Kailakan philosophy to him and Brianna. Adria had dismissed the man when she found out. The philosophy had merit, in his opinion; that the power which moved the universe was so vast and eternal as to have no concern for its individua stone of the courtyard a deep bronze cast. The howling of the wind, even muted by the static shield overhead that kept out the dust, threatened to overpower the soft sound of the fountain. Brianna loved the fountain, and not just because it bespoke the power and wealth of her family to maintain it. Scorpia was dry, dry and cold, and what water there was, was not wasted. But Raamasa Province had water. The province was the major agricultural center of Scorpia, its fields of crops ringing the sea on every bit of arable land. The sea. If, she thought, it could be called that. The body of slightly bitter water, with its low wind-driven ripples, would be merely a large lake on another world. Other Colonies had oceans which spanned entire hemispheres, oceans which covered entire worlds, alive with life and tides pulled by the moons. Scorpia had no moon. She tried to turn her mind back to the legal treatise she was studying. When Raamasa, with its sea and crops, were hers, she wouldup at her, and she could see he was really troubled. "Haven't you noticed?" "Honestly, I try to avoid him. He always sneers." "It's worse when he thinks no one's looking at him." "You sneak around too much." "It's the only way to find out anything. No one tells me anything, or says anything interesting when they know I'm there." "Stop chewing on your lip. You'll make it bleed." What a stupid thing to say, she thought, as soon as the words left her mouth. Now I sound like Mother. He gave her a pained look, very like one of Adria's. "I can't believe you said that. You sound like Mother." She stared a moment, then laughed aloud. Her brother knew her too well. Adria worried about the two of them, she knew, worried that the situation between herself and Andros would be mirrored in her children. She had always had to deal with Andros' jealousy of her, his frustration with the limits his society placed on his ambition. But Brianna wasn't concerned about Baltar. No, shl creatures, and that one had to make one's own way as best as one could through the greater movements of time and events. The beliefs of the Meijiani in a God of pure light, interested in the lives of individuals and bestowing boons to the faithful, seemed too much like wishful thinking to him; or perhaps a better term would be self-delusion. On the other hand, Sothis did seem to have insight that others didn't. Perhaps there was something to the old man's teachings after all. "...I would... ask you..." he wasn't sure how to continue. "You have decided to return to your home?" Sothis asked. The answer was apparent; he continued. "I thought that you would. I have considered this, and meditated upon it." Baltar took a deep breath before he asked. "And what... have you seen?" Sothis regarded him a long moment before he answered. "Death." Baltar's eyes widened. It was not the answer he had expected, and yet... "I know what I plan is dangerous. But I know my cause is worth need to know this. The fountain bubbled on, distracting her. It was no distraction to her brother, she saw. To him, the fountain was all one with the high walls with their bas-reliefs of their ancestors' accomplishments, with the history he was reading. To him, the Dariani line was everything. It was no use, she couldn't concentrate. She dropped the datapad to the bench with a loud sigh. Her brother glanced up at her, curious. "I feel like I'm being … herded like a kavrine," she explained. "Like I have no say in my own life." "You don't," Baltar replied, unhelpfully. "Is it so much to ask, that I choose who I want to marry?" "Yes. This isn't Caprica…" She cut him off with a glare. "I don't need you to tell me what planet I'm not on. You sound just like Mother!" She saw a quick flash of … something in his dark eyes. Good. She'd always worried that her brother had no mind of his own, that he was nothing more than what their mother and tutors had made of him. "Ane thought, her mother had drummed into him his duty to his line and province, when she deigned to notice him at all. She kept most of her attention for Brianna, her heir. She was the focus of her brother's attention, too, she knew. He seemed eager to take on his appointed role as her administrator. That was the problem, she realized. Sometimes he seemed all role, no person. For her part, Brianna cared about her brother. She tried to give him the attention their parents didn't. And he seemed to be fond of her. A far better basis for her brother's loyalty, she thought, then felt disgusted with herself. Did everything have to come down to enlightened self-interest? The sound of the main gates opening filtered into the courtyard. "Father's here," Baltar remarked. He didn't look happy about it. Brianna studied him, a little unnerved. "What are you so worried about?" "I don't know." Baltar slipped out into the hall, then paused, undecided. His mother didn't like him slithe risk, and I'm prepared to die for it if I must." He wasn't sure if that was true. He hoped it was, but even more he hoped it would never actually come to that. Sothis' next words shocked him out of that thought. "Not your death," the old man said. "Never yours." Baltar had no idea what to make of the pronouncement. He wouldn't die... but there had been an edge of bitterness in Sothis' words, he couldn't possibly construe them as approval. "Are you telling me not to go?" he asked hesitantly. The old man's gaze was direct and hard. "Would it change anything if I did?" Baltar stared back at him, his thoughts spinning, unsure of anything at that moment. There was something more to this, to the harbeth's words, he felt it, he was sure of it, but he couldn't quite believe... "I... don't know... I...," he stammered, then leaned forward. "Tell me, what do you see? What will come of this, if I return?" Sothis bowed his head for long moments, deep in concentration. Then he lookd what is this problem you have with Capricans, anyway?" "Father doesn't like them." She sighed, frustrated. "Father deals with people from all the other Colonies, and he doesn't like any of them. You," she emphasized the word, "have never met a Caprican. You have no basis for comparison." "Father says they're trying to force their culture on us. They look down on Scorpiani." "They do not!" "How do you know? You've never met one. You have no basis for comparison," he smirked. "You," Brianna said through her teeth, "are beginning to irritate me!" "Good." Brianna decided on strategic withdrawal from the war of words, before it escalated. "Father's coming in tonight," she remarked. Baltar surprised her by frowning. "I wish he wouldn't. Not with Andros here." Caught off-balance, Brianna turned to him, perplexed. "What do you mean?" "I…don't know. Andros doesn't like him." "He never has." "Andros has…been different. Since the reception." He looked pping off to the kitchen like this, but Jos was usually there with his mother, and Jos was the closest thing he had to a friend. He should take the back stairs, he knew, if he wanted to be sure no one saw him. But his parents would be busy, discussing business with province officials. He frowned slightly. Alden was a good man, a responsible administrator; and he was warmer toward his son than Adria. But he wasn't saar Darius, he really had no place in family business. No one would notice if he went down through the main entry hall, and he really preferred to do so. In the hall was what he considered the most important item in the house, the famous portrait of Darius. Count Darius, who restored the family to power after a coup by a rival line, whose name had become the name of his descendants. Admiral Darius, hero of the war with the Cylons; the portrait was, he understood, reproduced in innumerable prints and textbooks throughout the Colonies. This was the original, and to Baltar it ed up. Baltar rocked back. The look in the old man's eyes had struck him like an almost physical force. He wondered what the holy man was seeing, and he was equally certain he didn't want to know. There was something very terrible in that look. He opened his mouth, but no words came, he had no idea how to answer that look. Sothis said nothing. Baltar rose slowly, shaken to the core. "I... this is... something I must do..," he tried to explain. He moved toward the entrance to the tent. "Please understand... I _must_." He lifted the flap and waited a moment, but Sothis said nothing more. He turned and left. As he let the flap fall, he heard the old man's voice once more. It had an eerie tone, as if it came from a far distance. "You will regain what is your right, saar Raama..." He turned, but the flap had already closed. He felt a chill run down his spine. His head was spinning. And then he wondered why Sothis had used the older, nearly forgotten name of the Darian line. He leup at her, and she could see he was really troubled. "Haven't you noticed?" "Honestly, I try to avoid him. He always sneers." "It's worse when he thinks no one's looking at him." "You sneak around too much." "It's the only way to find out anything. No one tells me anything, or says anything interesting when they know I'm there." "Stop chewing on your lip. You'll make it bleed." What a stupid thing to say, she thought, as soon as the words left her mouth. Now I sound like Mother. He gave her a pained look, very like one of Adria's. "I can't believe you said that. You sound like Mother." She stared a moment, then laughed aloud. Her brother knew her too well. Adria worried about the two of them, she knew, worried that the situation between herself and Andros would be mirrored in her children. She had always had to deal with Andros' jealousy of her, his frustration with the limits his society placed on his ambition. But Brianna wasn't concerned about Baltar. No, shsummed up the entire reason for his existence. The family line, running unbroken from Darius through four hundred yahren to his mother and sister, a legacy he was proud to be a part of. On the landing above the hall he stopped. Andros should have been in conference with the Countess, but instead he was standing in the hall, gazing up at the venerable portrait. There was something in his stance, an intensity in his expression, that made Baltar think better of disturbing him. He moved quietly back up the stairs, and took the back way down. Fortune's Wheel, Part2 Even this late in the evening, the large kitchen area was bustling with activity. There were the dinner dishes and cookware to be cleaned, a late meal made for the night guards, and preparations made for next morning's breakfast. Mara ran her kitchen staff with an iron hand, as she had for many yahren. Everything was done as she said it should be, and if any of her staff had questions about her bringing her son ae thought, her mother had drummed into him his duty to his line and province, when she deigned to notice him at all. She kept most of her attention for Brianna, her heir. She was the focus of her brother's attention, too, she knew. He seemed eager to take on his appointed role as her administrator. That was the problem, she realized. Sometimes he seemed all role, no person. For her part, Brianna cared about her brother. She tried to give him the attention their parents didn't. And he seemed to be fond of her. A far better basis for her brother's loyalty, she thought, then felt disgusted with herself. Did everything have to come down to enlightened self-interest? The sound of the main gates opening filtered into the courtyard. "Father's here," Baltar remarked. He didn't look happy about it. Brianna studied him, a little unnerved. "What are you so worried about?" "I don't know." Baltar slipped out into the hall, then paused, undecided. His mother didn't like him slift three days later. He told Kefren nothing of what Sothis had said, though his friend had looked questioningly at him when he left the tent. He packed up his few possessions; clothing, his knives, the pouch of cubits. He still had most of what he'd taken from his mother's safe, as well as his share of the proceeds from the stock sold in Zahransi. He found his old handlight, almost left it, then smiled and packed it too. He rolled his blanket, put in some packets of food and the all-important water bottles, and stepped out of the tent. He'd said most of his goodbyes already, and wanted to leave without many more. They all thought he was going to his death, and they could well be right. If his goal had been anything less than his mother's title, he'd be content to stay here, or take the position Velden offered. But he was the Count saar Darius; he had his duty to his province and bloodline. He couldn't accept less. He'd spent seven years living with that thought - and with the knowles she did every evening, they kept it to themselves. This evening as most evenings he was watching the small vid screen on a corner counter, and, as on most evenings, he had been joined by the Countess' young son. Any questions the staff had about that were kept to themselves, as well. The historical drama on the vid was a popular one, and Jos and Baltar had seen it several times before. They were only half watching the vid, talking between their favorite parts. "I'm going to be a Warrior some day," Jos told his friend with conviction. "Mother wants me to go to university, but I want to be a pilot." Twelve yahrens old, thin-faced with lank dark blond hair, Jos looked more like a poet than a warrior. He glanced at the screen, where miniature ships were firing on each other. He wanted nothing more than to be a warrior, to be out there fighting the Cylons for the glory of Scorpia, as his father had. He dreamed of being a hero, like Count Darius, though he had never dared voice this ambpping off to the kitchen like this, but Jos was usually there with his mother, and Jos was the closest thing he had to a friend. He should take the back stairs, he knew, if he wanted to be sure no one saw him. But his parents would be busy, discussing business with province officials. He frowned slightly. Alden was a good man, a responsible administrator; and he was warmer toward his son than Adria. But he wasn't saar Darius, he really had no place in family business. No one would notice if he went down through the main entry hall, and he really preferred to do so. In the hall was what he considered the most important item in the house, the famous portrait of Darius. Count Darius, who restored the family to power after a coup by a rival line, whose name had become the name of his descendants. Admiral Darius, hero of the war with the Cylons; the portrait was, he understood, reproduced in innumerable prints and textbooks throughout the Colonies. This was the original, and to Baltar it dge that Andros, his family's murderer, was even now ruling in his place. That alone ate at his soul, and he could stand it no longer. But he still had one last farewell to make. He had avoided Sothis since the old man's strange foretelling, but he couldn't leave without one last effort to make his foster father see that he was right, that he had no choice but to go. Sothis wasn't in his tent, but when Baltar, momentarily at a loss, looked around, he spotted the old man at the edge of the camp, looking out over the herds. After a moment's hesitation, he walked over to him. "I'm going now," he began, as Sothis turned. "I just wanted to..." "No," Sothis stopped him. "Do not try to explain. I only ask that you try to remember what I have taught you." Baltar nodded. He'd never understood one thing that Sothis had thought so important anyway. The old man smiled at him, but there was a look of sadness in his eyes. He stiffened as Sothis embraced him; he'd never become accustomedition to Darius' descendant. Baltar nodded, staring at the screen and pretending interest in the battle being depicted. You won't get into university anyway, he thought, not on what your mother earns. Perhaps he should talk to the Countess about sponsoring Jos. Perhaps not. Adria would see no point in wasting money on a useless dreamer like Jos. Perhaps his father was a better choice. Alden might be more willing to consider the idea. "I talked to my teachers about getting a grant," Jos went on. "If my grades are good enough --" "You need to study more, and not just watch vids all the time," Baltar interrupted. "They're not real anyway. Life's not really like that." Jos stared at him blankly. "Of course it is," he said. "You just see the worst of it." "I have to. I have to deal with the problems of the province," Baltar countered, then added, " Or I will." Jos sighed. "It's too bad you can't come with me, to the Academy. But still," he went on, "you know you'll be ablsummed up the entire reason for his existence. The family line, running unbroken from Darius through four hundred yahren to his mother and sister, a legacy he was proud to be a part of. On the landing above the hall he stopped. Andros should have been in conference with the Countess, but instead he was standing in the hall, gazing up at the venerable portrait. There was something in his stance, an intensity in his expression, that made Baltar think better of disturbing him. He moved quietly back up the stairs, and took the back way down. Fortune's Wheel, Part2 Even this late in the evening, the large kitchen area was bustling with activity. There were the dinner dishes and cookware to be cleaned, a late meal made for the night guards, and preparations made for next morning's breakfast. Mara ran her kitchen staff with an iron hand, as she had for many yahren. Everything was done as she said it should be, and if any of her staff had questions about her bringing her son a to people touching him so familiarly. "May the Lord of Light watch over you," Sothis said, a catch in his voice, "and keep you from harm." He didn't know what to say. He mumbled something in return, then turned and walked away. The trip back was much easier than his flight across the steppe as a terrified child. He had learned a great deal in seven yahren. He'd waited until the sparse rains came, and the food was easier to find. He dug for roots, and snared lapines and other small animals. At night he'd set up moisture traps, to catch the slight condensation of dew and channel it into his water bottles. A day outside of Sakara he found a camp of Borrellians, and traded careful courtesies and his second-best knife for food, water and news of the south. In Bel, he paid a transport driver to let him ride along as far as Raamasa. As the man, more than a little drunk, wove in and out among the huge robotic haulers on the narrow mountain road, Baltar wondered if he'd live long enoue to help the province. To do your duty, to your Count and Scorpia." There was patriotic pride in his tone as he spoke the well-known slogan, and it was mirrored in his friend's expression. That duty had been drilled into both of them, at a young age. They watched the vid for a while, before Jos spoke again. "We were studying survival today," he commented, as the vid took its hero into a passionate reunion with his long-absent love interest. "Like, what to do if you ever get caught out in the wilderness or something." "We covered that. You have to make sure you don't run out of water." "We should practice, you know. So we know what to do. Go out on the steppe, for a couple days, see if we can do it." Baltar rolled his eyes. "My mother never lets me get out of this house," he said, exaggerating only slightly. Jos looked past his shoulder, frowning slightly. "Who's that?" he asked. Baltar turned to look, and frowned also. A man he'd never seen before was walking across ths she did every evening, they kept it to themselves. This evening as most evenings he was watching the small vid screen on a corner counter, and, as on most evenings, he had been joined by the Countess' young son. Any questions the staff had about that were kept to themselves, as well. The historical drama on the vid was a popular one, and Jos and Baltar had seen it several times before. They were only half watching the vid, talking between their favorite parts. "I'm going to be a Warrior some day," Jos told his friend with conviction. "Mother wants me to go to university, but I want to be a pilot." Twelve yahrens old, thin-faced with lank dark blond hair, Jos looked more like a poet than a warrior. He glanced at the screen, where miniature ships were firing on each other. He wanted nothing more than to be a warrior, to be out there fighting the Cylons for the glory of Scorpia, as his father had. He dreamed of being a hero, like Count Darius, though he had never dared voice this ambgh to see his home again. At last the man stopped at a fuel station, to fill up the transport, and, no doubt, himself, as he headed for the display of liquor inside. Baltar left the transport while he was still in one piece, and went the rest of the way on foot. He was making his way through the steep rocky hills that were the north border of the province. It was getting dark, and he was about to stop for the night and make camp, but he knew he was getting close to the crest of the ridge. He continued on in the deepening twilight, and as he topped the ridge, he was able to see the basin below. Lights were already shining in the narrow band between hills and sea, the Count's residence standing apart on its hill to the west. He stood looking down at his home until the last reflections of day had faded from the water below. Fortune's Wheel, Part 9 "The people maintain the nobles, and in return they ensure equitable distribution of resources," Sidra said acidly. "So tell us, ae room towards them, activity in the kitchen stopping as others turned to look. He stopped in front of the boys. "Which of you is the Countess' son?" he asked, his tone and expression carefully neutral. Usually naïve, viewing life through the romanticized lens of his historical vids, Jos caught on to what was happening a moment before Baltar. He took a step forward. "I am." Baltar opened his mouth but nothing came out. Without a flicker of emotion the man pulled out a small laser pistol and shot Jos. Baltar stared stupidly as his friend's body slipped to the floor. Dimly, he heard Mara start screaming, saw the man turn towards her, raising the gun. Baltar took a step back, bumped into the counter and reached back to steady himself. His hand fell on the handle of the kitchen knife just as the initial shock passed and his mind exploded into action again. Mara was screaming her son's name. The man was realizing his mistake. But he couldn't turn his back on Mara and the othersition to Darius' descendant. Baltar nodded, staring at the screen and pretending interest in the battle being depicted. You won't get into university anyway, he thought, not on what your mother earns. Perhaps he should talk to the Countess about sponsoring Jos. Perhaps not. Adria would see no point in wasting money on a useless dreamer like Jos. Perhaps his father was a better choice. Alden might be more willing to consider the idea. "I talked to my teachers about getting a grant," Jos went on. "If my grades are good enough --" "You need to study more, and not just watch vids all the time," Baltar interrupted. "They're not real anyway. Life's not really like that." Jos stared at him blankly. "Of course it is," he said. "You just see the worst of it." "I have to. I have to deal with the problems of the province," Baltar countered, then added, " Or I will." Jos sighed. "It's too bad you can't come with me, to the Academy. But still," he went on, "you know you'll be abl, not without first scaring them out of the idea of rushing him. Unfortunately, he had already turned his back on Baltar. With a sudden burst of rage, he grabbed the knife, swung his arm with all the strength he had. By pure chance, the blade missed bone and slipped easily between the man's ribs. The assassin gasped, then made a sound that was more choke than scream. As his knees buckled, one of the kitchen assistants, a young man, dashed forward and snatched the dropped laser from the floor. Face twisting in anger, he shot the downed man, then fired again to be sure. For a moment Baltar hesitated, still stunned by the carnage of the last centon. Then he bolted out of the room, down the corridor to the main house. His mind was racing. Someone had tried to kill him, someone had gotten into the family compound, and that should have been impossible. They had guards, they had codes, no one could have gotten in. And to attack him, the Countess' son, a scion of noble blood, was unthkhansar, did you have such fine meals as this at your manor?" Baltar stared at the thin vegetable soup he was stirring in his bowl, Not finding it particularly appealing. He considered an answer, and wondered if it was worth the trouble, with the mood Sidra was in. There were shortages now, of course, due to Andros' mismanagement. But had things been any better while his mother was alive? He didn't think they had; he remembered the children stealing produce from the fields when he was young. He prodded at a chunk of tharon root, and decided not to answer her after all. "Leave him alone, Sidra," Kelse said, "he's one of us now. Baltar, don't pay any attention to her, she's looking for a fight." "I know," he said. He shook some pepper sauce into the soup, hoping it would impart some flavor. He doubted it would improve matters. To his left, Shen shuddered and pulled his collar closer to his neck. "Damn," he muttered, taking a swig from his grog bottle, "it's getting cold inhere.e to help the province. To do your duty, to your Count and Scorpia." There was patriotic pride in his tone as he spoke the well-known slogan, and it was mirrored in his friend's expression. That duty had been drilled into both of them, at a young age. They watched the vid for a while, before Jos spoke again. "We were studying survival today," he commented, as the vid took its hero into a passionate reunion with his long-absent love interest. "Like, what to do if you ever get caught out in the wilderness or something." "We covered that. You have to make sure you don't run out of water." "We should practice, you know. So we know what to do. Go out on the steppe, for a couple days, see if we can do it." Baltar rolled his eyes. "My mother never lets me get out of this house," he said, exaggerating only slightly. Jos looked past his shoulder, frowning slightly. "Who's that?" he asked. Baltar turned to look, and frowned also. A man he'd never seen before was walking across thinkable. He had heard about incidents like this, from long ago, on Jos' vids and in his history books. It would not be just an attack on his life, he knew. By himself, he was unimportant. It would be much worse than that. He burst into the main dining room before he considered the danger of running blindly around the house. The room was empty, the lights dim. He slowed to his usual, intentionally noiseless walk, moved around the long table and intricately carved chairs of imported Gemon hardwood, moving toward the central hall. As he neared the far door, he realized that the room wasn't completely empty. Near the door lay a man, one of the house guards, unmoving and clutching a laser pistol. He hesitated a long time, then, listening by the door for any sound in the hall outside. He didn't want to go out there. He didn't want to face what was going on in the house, the home that had been so safe until this night. He didn't want to be shot. Like Jos. He remembered what Jos had bee There's a draft" He turned in his chair to look toward the entry. "Auriga!" he yelled, "Close the door, you're freezing us!" The door slammed and the new arrival scanned the table, looking for a Place to sit. At the other end of the table Tano pushed a long strand of hair out of his face and squinted at him. "'Riga, you get paid today? I need t'borrow a couple cubits, if y'got 'em" Auriga ignored him as he pulled off his coat. He stood holding it, still glancing around the table. Everyone was looking at him, but no one had yet made a move to give him a place to sit. "You're late," Sidra accused. "Where's Evan?" he asked. It was going to be one of those evenings, he could see it already. "Did you get paid or not?" she continued, ignoring his question in turn. "Yes, I got paid," he answered impatiently. "Owner's son decided to join up and go to war. Had to reorganize the whole schedule, cover his deliveries. Took about two centars. Is there another chair in here?" hee room towards them, activity in the kitchen stopping as others turned to look. He stopped in front of the boys. "Which of you is the Countess' son?" he asked, his tone and expression carefully neutral. Usually naïve, viewing life through the romanticized lens of his historical vids, Jos caught on to what was happening a moment before Baltar. He took a step forward. "I am." Baltar opened his mouth but nothing came out. Without a flicker of emotion the man pulled out a small laser pistol and shot Jos. Baltar stared stupidly as his friend's body slipped to the floor. Dimly, he heard Mara start screaming, saw the man turn towards her, raising the gun. Baltar took a step back, bumped into the counter and reached back to steady himself. His hand fell on the handle of the kitchen knife just as the initial shock passed and his mind exploded into action again. Mara was screaming her son's name. The man was realizing his mistake. But he couldn't turn his back on Mara and the othersn saying, right before he… survival. Survival was everything, he'd been told that all his life. It was the reason for his family's prominence, to insure the survival of the province. It was the most important goal in any Scorpiani's life, to survive, to do whatever was necessary to that end; it was what had allowed the first settlers to endure the planet's bleak environment, to hold their ground and eventually prosper. But then there were other priorities, nearly as important. Jos had said it, but he was only one among many to repeat the words. Duty, to Count and Colony. It was not to be questioned. He had to find his mother. He had to warn her, before it was too late, he had to get her away. He had no idea how he could do that. Perhaps his father would. He cautiously opened the door and stepped into the hall. He saw at once that he was too late to gain his father's help. Alden was in the hall, along with the rest of the house guards. All were dead. Baltar didn't understand, asked pointedly. "You'd think with all his money he'd crack his pouch open and send his son to the Academy," Sidra announced to the room at large. "With all the patricians' sons, not let him associate with the rabble like us. Isn't that the elitist ideal?" Her diatribe was cut short by a chorus of protest from the rest of the table. Tem's deep voice carried over the others. "Good Lord, Sidra, will you give it a rest for one centon?" They glared at each other for a moment. Sidra stood up abruptly and walked away from the table. Not questioning his sudden good fortune, Auriga dropped his coat to the floor and took her vacated chair. He looked around for a bowl, not willing to leave his seat to get one from the cupboard. "Got another bowl?" he ventured. Baltar pushed his untouched soup across the table. "You can have mine .I'm not hungry." "Good enough for us, but not for you?" Sidra shot from across the room . Baltar looked up from the table, mouth taut and eyes bl, not without first scaring them out of the idea of rushing him. Unfortunately, he had already turned his back on Baltar. With a sudden burst of rage, he grabbed the knife, swung his arm with all the strength he had. By pure chance, the blade missed bone and slipped easily between the man's ribs. The assassin gasped, then made a sound that was more choke than scream. As his knees buckled, one of the kitchen assistants, a young man, dashed forward and snatched the dropped laser from the floor. Face twisting in anger, he shot the downed man, then fired again to be sure. For a moment Baltar hesitated, still stunned by the carnage of the last centon. Then he bolted out of the room, down the corridor to the main house. His mind was racing. Someone had tried to kill him, someone had gotten into the family compound, and that should have been impossible. They had guards, they had codes, no one could have gotten in. And to attack him, the Countess' son, a scion of noble blood, was unthbeyond the fact of his father's death. Alden was saar Zahrin. He had no reason to defend the Darian house. He should have gotten out, saved himself, not deprived Count Velden of a capable administrator by some useless gesture for a foreign bloodline. Baltar felt grief, more for the pointlessness of his father's death than for the fact of it, but his fear for his own life and for his mother was far stronger. Carefully he picked his way through the hall, toward the door of his mother's office. He could hear voices coming from the slightly opened door. He glanced up as he passed the spot where Andros had stood earlier. The portrait of Darius stared gravely out over the room, unmoved by the destruction being wreaked on his house. Baltar got close enough to the door to hear clearly what was being said inside, but he couldn't see anything from his position against the wall but an empty chair and the edge of a framed painting, a landscape of Raamasa's fields and shore. There seemed to bazing. He kicked back his chair and stalked out of the room. The entry door banged shut again. Tem slammed his spoon down on the table. "Curse it, Sidra! Do you ever think before you open your mouth?" He headed for the entry and slammed the door for the third time. For a moment Auriga considered going after them, but he was only starting to get warm, and he was still hungry. He swallowed a spoonful of soup, and found there was too much pepper sauce in it. After a moment he glanced around and found that Sidra was gone too, probably back into one of the other rooms to sulk. He turned to Shen. "So," he asked, "where is Evan?" "Wake up, fat man," Evan hissed. "You owe me money. I've come to collect it." Gethin the merchant started up out of bed, then dropped back to the pillow when he felt the sharp edge of metal at his fleshy neck. He gaped up at the man leaning over him. The eyes staring at him from under a fringe of fair hair were hard and uncompromising. Beside himinkable. He had heard about incidents like this, from long ago, on Jos' vids and in his history books. It would not be just an attack on his life, he knew. By himself, he was unimportant. It would be much worse than that. He burst into the main dining room before he considered the danger of running blindly around the house. The room was empty, the lights dim. He slowed to his usual, intentionally noiseless walk, moved around the long table and intricately carved chairs of imported Gemon hardwood, moving toward the central hall. As he neared the far door, he realized that the room wasn't completely empty. Near the door lay a man, one of the house guards, unmoving and clutching a laser pistol. He hesitated a long time, then, listening by the door for any sound in the hall outside. He didn't want to go out there. He didn't want to face what was going on in the house, the home that had been so safe until this night. He didn't want to be shot. Like Jos. He remembered what Jos had beee several people in the room from the sounds, though only one was speaking. He recognized the voice as that of his uncle, but his relief at hearing the man still obviously alive was cut short by his words. "…since I am now your only living heir. You wouldn't want the succession of the province to be in doubt." "What do you mean?" Adria's voice cut him off sharply. "By now your precious Brianna is dead," Andros' voice was deceptively mild, "the boy too, if it means anything to you." Baltar barely heard his mother screaming curses at her brother. His mind was reeling. Brianna? Dead? And Andros… He began to back away from the door, torn between trying to help his mother and looking for his sister. She couldn't be dead. Andros had said that he was dead, too, but he wasn't, maybe Brianna had managed to escape… "Why should I make it easy for you?" his mother was saying, her voice shrill. He had never heard her sound frightened before. "You plan to kill me anyway." He coul his wife opened her eyes, took in the scene, and sat up with a cry that was quickly muffled as the man beside her slapped a hand over her mouth and pushed her back down. "What are you doing here?" Gethin sputtered, caught between fear and outrage. "How dare you come into my house?" "Told you, I've come for my money," Evan smirked. "And I'll be collecting interest on that, too. Next time you'll see I have it on time." "Business hasn't been good," Gethin said weakly, fear winning out. "Your concern, Gethin, not mine. Business will be bad permanently for you, if I don't get what I came for." Gethin glanced over at his wife, staring sidelong at him with wide eyes. He thought of his children down the hall, thankful he'd heard no sound from their rooms. He waved a hand toward the doorway. "It' sit's in my office. Downstairs." Evan hauled him to his feet by the front of his sleep shirt, no small feat. Gethin was a man of considerable bulk. He shoved the merchant toward thn saying, right before he… survival. Survival was everything, he'd been told that all his life. It was the reason for his family's prominence, to insure the survival of the province. It was the most important goal in any Scorpiani's life, to survive, to do whatever was necessary to that end; it was what had allowed the first settlers to endure the planet's bleak environment, to hold their ground and eventually prosper. But then there were other priorities, nearly as important. Jos had said it, but he was only one among many to repeat the words. Duty, to Count and Colony. It was not to be questioned. He had to find his mother. He had to warn her, before it was too late, he had to get her away. He had no idea how he could do that. Perhaps his father would. He cautiously opened the door and stepped into the hall. He saw at once that he was too late to gain his father's help. Alden was in the hall, along with the rest of the house guards. All were dead. Baltar didn't understand, d all but hear Andros shrug. "Of course. I can hardly be Count while you're still alive." Baltar raced for the staircase. He knew there was nothing he could do for his mother now. His only hope was to find Brianna. He was at the turn of the landing when he heard the shot in the office behind him. He kept going. He found his sister in her room. He was already too late. She had been at her desk, probably still studying. She had risen, doubtless as a stranger had dared to enter her room. And she had gotten no further. She'd been shot, once, like Jos. It had probably been the same assassin, the man he'd stabbed. He hoped so. At least he'd have had a measure of revenge. The door quietly swung shut behind him. He didn't notice. He took a few more steps into the room, then slowly sank down on the floor beside his sister's body, dry-eyed. The grief and shock were too great. He didn't know what to do now. He didn't care. Nothing mattered to him now. It wasn't fair. Le door of the bedroom, leaving Lensar to keep an eye on the wife. In the hall, Narain nodded an all-clear. Gethin looked over his shoulder toward the bedrooms in concern as he headed for his office. At his desk, his hand shook so badly he had trouble entering the combination into the keypad, but Evan's impatient look hurried him along. He got the drawer open, and pulled out a pouchful of cubits. He started to open the top, to count out the money, but Evan snatched the entire pouch from his hand. "That's far more than I owe you," Gethin protested, reaching for the pouch. Evan moved the pouch out of his reach and pushed him down into his chair. "I told you I was collecting interest." "I'll call the Watch! This is robbery!" Evan turned back, his smile malicious. "Yes, fat merchant, it is," he said softly. "And you won't be calling the Watch, or doing anything tocause me and my people trouble, or we'll cause you trouble, more than you can stomach. You understand me?" Gebeyond the fact of his father's death. Alden was saar Zahrin. He had no reason to defend the Darian house. He should have gotten out, saved himself, not deprived Count Velden of a capable administrator by some useless gesture for a foreign bloodline. Baltar felt grief, more for the pointlessness of his father's death than for the fact of it, but his fear for his own life and for his mother was far stronger. Carefully he picked his way through the hall, toward the door of his mother's office. He could hear voices coming from the slightly opened door. He glanced up as he passed the spot where Andros had stood earlier. The portrait of Darius stared gravely out over the room, unmoved by the destruction being wreaked on his house. Baltar got close enough to the door to hear clearly what was being said inside, but he couldn't see anything from his position against the wall but an empty chair and the edge of a framed painting, a landscape of Raamasa's fields and shore. There seemed to bife had always given him so much, and had always asked so little in return. His career, his status, wealth, a wife, had all been guaranteed, had all been arranged in advance. All he had to do was what his society expected. Work for the benefit of his house and province. Do his duty by his Count. He had never questioned those expectations, never wanted anything more. He'd tried to do what he was supposed to. And he'd failed. In one night, he'd failed twice. No, he realized slowly, not twice. The assassin had come here first, no doubt expecting to find him in the family quarters as well. Adria probably had no idea how many evenings he spent in the kitchen, and Andros might be completely unaware of his visits. The man had killed Brianna, but then he'd had to look for Baltar. And this had been before the shooting started in the hall; Andros, he was sure, had let his men into the compound, and they'd likely waited while the assassin did his work, before the alarm was raised. Adria had bthin slumped back in the chair, nodding. He wished heartily he'd never heard of the Aeriannan and his "people". He was lucky to get out of this alive and unhurt, he knew, but to have his home invaded and his money taken was very nearly intolerable. He'd gotten himself in far over his head, he knew, and he could think of no way out. Evan snapped the pouch shut, gave the merchant one last smirk, and strode out of the room. His two companions passed the office door, and then there was the sound of the front door opening and closing. Gethin sat still for several centons, trying to compose himself. He reached for the comm button on he desk, and keyed in a code. After two pulses there was an answer. "Raamasa Watch," came a woman's pleasant voice. "How can I help you?" Gethin stared at the comm for a moment. Then without a word he broke the connection. Menkari waited under the window a moment longer, until he heard no sound inside. He took the audient from the sill, removed the e several people in the room from the sounds, though only one was speaking. He recognized the voice as that of his uncle, but his relief at hearing the man still obviously alive was cut short by his words. "…since I am now your only living heir. You wouldn't want the succession of the province to be in doubt." "What do you mean?" Adria's voice cut him off sharply. "By now your precious Brianna is dead," Andros' voice was deceptively mild, "the boy too, if it means anything to you." Baltar barely heard his mother screaming curses at her brother. His mind was reeling. Brianna? Dead? And Andros… He began to back away from the door, torn between trying to help his mother and looking for his sister. She couldn't be dead. Andros had said that he was dead, too, but he wasn't, maybe Brianna had managed to escape… "Why should I make it easy for you?" his mother was saying, her voice shrill. He had never heard her sound frightened before. "You plan to kill me anyway." He couleen alive after her daughter died. Brianna had never succeeded her mother. He had. The realization was slow in coming, but its implications weren't. He caught his breath as stark terror broke through his despair. The whole plan was becoming clear. Andros had sent the assassin to kill Brianna and himself. If they were dead when Andros confronted his sister, he would be her sole heir, as he'd said. He must have felt there was a chance that, to preserve the succession from any dispute, she would pass the title to him. But Adria would never give Andros that validation. And there was a hole in his plans that neither he nor Adria knew about. Baltar hadn't been in the family apartments. The assassin had had to come looking for him. Jos' vid-inspired act of self-sacrifice had enabled Baltar to survive, as Adria's heir. He was the Count. And if Andros found out, he was dead. He had to get out. He stood up, trying to bring his whirling thoughts into some sort of order. What splug from his ear, and started carefully across the forecourt of the house. Moving around the carefully placed stones and sparse foliage, he reached the wall and scrambled over. Once on the street he moved at a quick but casual pace, cutting through alleys until he reached a commercial district and the people waiting for him. "He started to call the Watch," he said as a he came up, "but he cut off when they answered." "Good for him," said Evan. "If he'd completed that call, we'd have to pay him another visit." He pulled out the pouch of cubits and weighed it in his hand. "Not too bad for a night's work, friends," he grinned. "And I know just the place to spend it." The building had once housed a block of mid-level apartments, on a canyon side overlooking the main western drainage channel. That was before a Cylon attack run had damaged the building and its neighbors past the point of livability and required the evacuation of its surviving tenants. The owners of the ruined sed all but hear Andros shrug. "Of course. I can hardly be Count while you're still alive." Baltar raced for the staircase. He knew there was nothing he could do for his mother now. His only hope was to find Brianna. He was at the turn of the landing when he heard the shot in the office behind him. He kept going. He found his sister in her room. He was already too late. She had been at her desk, probably still studying. She had risen, doubtless as a stranger had dared to enter her room. And she had gotten no further. She'd been shot, once, like Jos. It had probably been the same assassin, the man he'd stabbed. He hoped so. At least he'd have had a measure of revenge. The door quietly swung shut behind him. He didn't notice. He took a few more steps into the room, then slowly sank down on the floor beside his sister's body, dry-eyed. The grief and shock were too great. He didn't know what to do now. He didn't care. Nothing mattered to him now. It wasn't fair. Lhould he do now? How long had he been here, in his sister's room? Had anyone noticed that the assassin hadn't reported back in? Andros hadn't seemed aware of it earlier, when he demanded the title, Baltar realized. He'd assumed his plan had gone off smoothly, had acted before he was assured of success. Typical. The contempt he felt for his uncle was familiar, and it went a long way toward calming his nerves. He knew he was still in danger, but the danger came from Andros, so he knew he had a chance. Just how long had he been in here? And how long before someone realized he was alive and came looking for him? He had to think. He had to get out, and go…where? No, that could wait. Get out, that came first. No, second. What did he need? He couldn't run off with nothing, that would kill him faster than Andros' lackeys. He moved to the door, listened for any sound outside. Silence. He cautiously opened the door and stepped out into the empty hall, listened again. Distant voices, actor had collected their insurance payouts, cleared the rubble, razed the structures damaged beyond repair, and restored some minimal services to the others, renting any space retaining four walls and a ceiling at a greatly reduced rate. The area had quickly become a slum. Tem moved past the point where the roof stopped and continued down the hall, stepping past a hole in the floor. He passed several rooms now open to the sky and headed for the corner of the building. The area he entered had once been a large apartment, but now it was little more than a platform with the ragged remnants of walls reaching no higher than his chest and the floor choked with debris. The family who had lived here had died in the attack, he'd heard. Baltar was sitting by the ruins of a wall, shielded from the biting wind. He picked up a flake of masonry and skipped it across the floor, raising puffs of dust. He looked up as Tem approached. "I should have brought my coat," he said. "It's cold out here." ife had always given him so much, and had always asked so little in return. His career, his status, wealth, a wife, had all been guaranteed, had all been arranged in advance. All he had to do was what his society expected. Work for the benefit of his house and province. Do his duty by his Count. He had never questioned those expectations, never wanted anything more. He'd tried to do what he was supposed to. And he'd failed. In one night, he'd failed twice. No, he realized slowly, not twice. The assassin had come here first, no doubt expecting to find him in the family quarters as well. Adria probably had no idea how many evenings he spent in the kitchen, and Andros might be completely unaware of his visits. The man had killed Brianna, but then he'd had to look for Baltar. And this had been before the shooting started in the hall; Andros, he was sure, had let his men into the compound, and they'd likely waited while the assassin did his work, before the alarm was raised. Adria had bnd they had the tones of normal conversation. He wondered if the kitchen staff had hidden the bodies, bought him some time. Best to make use of it. He headed for his own door, then paused and turned instead toward his mother's room. The thick carpeting muffled his steps as he trotted around the corner, and let himself in. He went to the wall safe, which was in plain sight because it would have been foolish to try to disguise what anyone would know was there and no one could get into. He rapidly entered the combination into the keypad. He wasn't supposed to know it, but he had a talent for making himself unobtrusive when there was something he wanted to find out. He pulled out a small but heavy pouch of high-marked cubits, and thought about the jewelry but rejected the idea. He would have no use for it, and the pieces were distinctive. His best bet was anonymity. But there was one more thing he should take, he realized, and smiled tightly. He opened the velvet box, and slipped the fami "Well, you left in a hurry," Tem said, moving up beside him. "Sidra's gone off to mope about life's unfairness to her. You should come back in." "I guess I should." He made no move to get up. Tem settled in beside him, out of the wind. "You have to understand her. Sidra came from a very poor family, struggling for the simplest things in life. She has a lot of anger for anyone who's better off, and unfortunately, you're the closest target." "But I have nothing she doesn't!" he protested. "I have nothing she could resent. My family's dead, I've lost everything." "Ah," said Tem, "but you do have something Sidra doesn't. You have a hope of bettering your position." "Do I?" he asked bitterly. "How am I supposed to do that? We've been listening to Evan and Menkari make all these grand plans, but we never do anything!" "Yeah, well," Tem said, staring at his hands, "that's going to change Evan's taking care of some business tonight. When he gets back we'll see what heeen alive after her daughter died. Brianna had never succeeded her mother. He had. The realization was slow in coming, but its implications weren't. He caught his breath as stark terror broke through his despair. The whole plan was becoming clear. Andros had sent the assassin to kill Brianna and himself. If they were dead when Andros confronted his sister, he would be her sole heir, as he'd said. He must have felt there was a chance that, to preserve the succession from any dispute, she would pass the title to him. But Adria would never give Andros that validation. And there was a hole in his plans that neither he nor Adria knew about. Baltar hadn't been in the family apartments. The assassin had had to come looking for him. Jos' vid-inspired act of self-sacrifice had enabled Baltar to survive, as Adria's heir. He was the Count. And if Andros found out, he was dead. He had to get out. He stood up, trying to bring his whirling thoughts into some sort of order. What s's got in mind." He got up and brushed dust off his trousers. "Come on back inside. It's cold out here." Baltar picked at a frayed spot along the edge of his sleeve. "I feel helpless," he said in a low monotone. "I feel like I'm not doing anything, I'm just hiding back here in this hole." "Come inside," Tem repeated, holding out a hand to help him up. "Evan should be back soon. Let's go back, I'm cold." Baltar sat where he was a moment longer, then sighed and pushed himself up, without the offered help. Evan took the stairs two at a time - the lift had never been repaired - and rounded the corner of the hall. He frowned when he saw Tem coming down the corridor with Baltar. As they neared, he plastered a smile on his face and waved the carry bag he held toward them. He burst into the apartment, startling those inside, and dropped the bag onto the table without even bothering to see that the door closed behind him. He heard the rustling of people moving in closer, and then tly signet on its chain over his neck, tucking it beneath his tunic. It was his, after all; he was the Count. And let Andros say what he would, let him forge any document claiming Adria had ceded him the title. Without the signet there would be doubt. He shut the box and carefully placed it back where it had been. He started to close the safe, then on impulse he reached in again, grabbed a small pouch and shoved it deep in his pocket. He closed the safe and scrambled the keypad. It was still quiet in the hall when he rounded the corner again, and he couldn't believe his good fortune. He knew it couldn't last. He entered his room, closed the door, and looked around. He'd need…what? He rummaged in the closet, came up with a shoulder pack and small water bottle that he had for day trips onto the steppes, on the rare occasions his tutors focussed on something other than politics and business. He kicked off his shoes, pulled off tunic and pants, and put on warmer, sturdier clothes. Theyhould he do now? How long had he been here, in his sister's room? Had anyone noticed that the assassin hadn't reported back in? Andros hadn't seemed aware of it earlier, when he demanded the title, Baltar realized. He'd assumed his plan had gone off smoothly, had acted before he was assured of success. Typical. The contempt he felt for his uncle was familiar, and it went a long way toward calming his nerves. He knew he was still in danger, but the danger came from Andros, so he knew he had a chance. Just how long had he been in here? And how long before someone realized he was alive and came looking for him? He had to think. He had to get out, and go…where? No, that could wait. Get out, that came first. No, second. What did he need? He couldn't run off with nothing, that would kill him faster than Andros' lackeys. He moved to the door, listened for any sound outside. Silence. He cautiously opened the door and stepped out into the empty hall, listened again. Distant voices, ahe latch engaging as someone finally shut the door. He didn't care. He was riding a wave of elation as he began pulling military-issue lasers out of the bag. "Carden was asking less for them than before," he said breathlessly. "Has a friend at the armory, I gather." It was only a guess, Carden never gave him any real information about his operation, but he made it sound like a fact. "So I picked up a little something extra, for celebration." He set twobottles on the table, both large, both expensive. He looked up at the groupand grinned. "I suppose you have an idea just how illegal these are," Vanda remarked, handling on of the lasers, then looked up with a grin. Evan basked in her obvious admiration, ignoring the glare Sidra directed at the other woman. "I think they should get our point across," he replied nonchalantly. Vanda was a good-looking woman; he let his eyes roam a little. "So who are we planning to kill?" Evan could almost feel the attention shift past him. were of a less expensive fabric, and that might be important to. No point letting everyone know his status at a glance. He tugged on boots, kicked his discarded clothes into the back of the closet, then fished out the pants and transferred the small pouch into his pocket again. Scarf, gloves, and his heaviest coat were next. A blanket would be good, but the only ones in the room were on his bed. He couldn't take the time to strip the bed, roll a blanket, and remake the bed, and if he left it stripped they might realize where he'd gone… He grabbed another tunic from the closet, wrapped it around the pouch of cubits to muffle the jingling of the currency, and stuffed the bundle into the pack along with the bottle. He slipped a pouch with some smaller value cubits of his own onto his belt. He knew he had a knife around here somewhere, and he tried not to think about stabbing the man in the kitchen. I hope he was the one who shot Brianna, he thought bitterly. I bet he would have died from thnd they had the tones of normal conversation. He wondered if the kitchen staff had hidden the bodies, bought him some time. Best to make use of it. He headed for his own door, then paused and turned instead toward his mother's room. The thick carpeting muffled his steps as he trotted around the corner, and let himself in. He went to the wall safe, which was in plain sight because it would have been foolish to try to disguise what anyone would know was there and no one could get into. He rapidly entered the combination into the keypad. He wasn't supposed to know it, but he had a talent for making himself unobtrusive when there was something he wanted to find out. He pulled out a small but heavy pouch of high-marked cubits, and thought about the jewelry but rejected the idea. He would have no use for it, and the pieces were distinctive. His best bet was anonymity. But there was one more thing he should take, he realized, and smiled tightly. He opened the velvet box, and slipped the famiat stab even if Terrel hadn't shot him. He found his knife and slipped that on his belt too. He knew he couldn't get any food, and there was no way to fill his water bottle either, not without going back into the hall and he'd chanced that too many times this evening. He hesitated, wondering if there was anything else he should take, but nothing came to mind. He cracked his door open and listened. The voices were still distant, but they sounded louder, angrier. He was almost out of time. He shut the door, crossed the room, opened the window - another luxury, like the fountain, afforded by the static shield that kept the environment of Scorpia at bay. It was usually too cold to open a window, but the point was, they could be opened. He belted the coat tightly around his waist, pulled up the hood, and slipped over the sill. There was only a narrow ledge to stand on, and it was there only because of the bas-reliefs carved into the wall. In fact, he knew he was using a First Settler's He turned to look at Baltar. The tone of the question had been mild, almost flat. But he had an avid look in his eyes that Evan hadn't seen before. He could guess who it was Baltar wanted to kill. So could everyone else. Auriga shifted uneasily, and glanced at Kelse, who looked away. Vanda inhaled sharply, and Narain frowned. In the corner, Tano looked up blearily, muttered, "Oh, wow" and lapsed into silence again. Evan seethed inwardly. Damn these Scorpiani! They would do almost anything for the cause, except turn on the source of their problems. The only crack in their cold-blooded pragmatism was the unreasoning reverence they held for their Counts. He glanced sidelong at Menkari. The Virgon looked back impassively; but Evan knew he was thinking the same. "Well, now, I didn't say we were going to be killing anyone," he said, trying to sound casual, and working up an expression he hoped looked confident. "We need some things before we can really strike a blow for the causely signet on its chain over his neck, tucking it beneath his tunic. It was his, after all; he was the Count. And let Andros say what he would, let him forge any document claiming Adria had ceded him the title. Without the signet there would be doubt. He shut the box and carefully placed it back where it had been. He started to close the safe, then on impulse he reached in again, grabbed a small pouch and shoved it deep in his pocket. He closed the safe and scrambled the keypad. It was still quiet in the hall when he rounded the corner again, and he couldn't believe his good fortune. He knew it couldn't last. He entered his room, closed the door, and looked around. He'd need…what? He rummaged in the closet, came up with a shoulder pack and small water bottle that he had for day trips onto the steppes, on the rare occasions his tutors focussed on something other than politics and business. He kicked off his shoes, pulled off tunic and pants, and put on warmer, sturdier clothes. They, and for that we need money, more than we've got now." "Well, the ambrosa's a good start," Baltar said blandly, nodding at the bottles on the table. "Just how are those going to help us?" Evan glared at him. He wanted to grab one of the bottles and break it on the little snit's head. "You'd be depriving your comrades of a few well-earned pleasures?" he returned in the same bland tone. "Earned how? We've done precisely nothing!" "Leave it," Tem warned him. Evan's glare shifted to Tem for a moment, then he forced himself to relax. He smiled again, but it didn't reach his eyes. "We will earn it. Soon. I have a plan." He could feel the attention shifting back to him. He'd caught their interest, and he meant to keep it. "Okay, Menkari's been watching the docks, and he's spotted a possible target for us. Every secton there's a disbursement that goes up to Raamasa Station on the supply shuttle. The casque from the epository loads the cubits on a barge for transport to the lhead for a toehold. He edged sideways, reached over and closed the window. He hated this climb, but had used it before when there was no other way to slip out. He got a hold on the next window ledge, pulled himself over, and dropped onto the top of a wide stone wall separating two courtyards. He moved carefully along the top, turned right where it joined the outside wall of the compound, and passed the workroom roof he usually used to descend to the ground. Instead he kept going to a spot Jos had told him about, where the wind had piled blowing sand in a small dune beside the wall. It couldn't be used to climb up, but it provided a soft landing for anyone descending the wall. It was hard to see, with all the lights of the compound behind him and only the darkness of Scorpia's night outside, but he thought he'd found the spot. He would have liked to be sure, but he couldn't stay on top of the wall, an obvious and easy target. He suddenly wondered if Andros had had the sense to post guar were of a less expensive fabric, and that might be important to. No point letting everyone know his status at a glance. He tugged on boots, kicked his discarded clothes into the back of the closet, then fished out the pants and transferred the small pouch into his pocket again. Scarf, gloves, and his heaviest coat were next. A blanket would be good, but the only ones in the room were on his bed. He couldn't take the time to strip the bed, roll a blanket, and remake the bed, and if he left it stripped they might realize where he'd gone… He grabbed another tunic from the closet, wrapped it around the pouch of cubits to muffle the jingling of the currency, and stuffed the bundle into the pack along with the bottle. He slipped a pouch with some smaller value cubits of his own onto his belt. He knew he had a knife around here somewhere, and he tried not to think about stabbing the man in the kitchen. I hope he was the one who shot Brianna, he thought bitterly. I bet he would have died from thanding fields. When they're at the dock, they're most vulnerable." He glanced around the group. Menkari was expressionless as always; Lensar looked somewhat bewildered, but he probably hadn't figured out what the casque had to do with them yet. Evan hadn't recruited him for his brains. Tano stared blankly from his corner. Baltar looked thoughtful. The others looked worried. They weren't ready for this, he thought, they would talk all day but they weren't ready to take action. But by God they were going to be! "Look," he said, "I've done this before, on Aerianna. We can pull it off, but I need everyone to keep their nerve and do their part. Can I count on you? Because if I can't --" "Of course you can!" Sidra said hotly. "We're all loyal Scorpiani, we'll do whatever it takes to make the Akharate see they have to end our involvement in this war! It's their duty to their people --" "If the disbursement goes missing," Baltar mused, "Andros will have to makeup the shortfall"ds outside, or to have someone manning the security cameras. He rather thought not, but it might occur to his uncle at any micron. He sat, swung his legs over the wall, feeling the tingling as they passed through the shield. It was unpleasant but not dangerous. He lowered himself as far as he could, then dropped to the ground. Fortune's Wheel, Part 3 His feet sank in sand to the ankle, and he toppled backwards. He flung out a hand to break his fall, and discovered a nasty patch of thorns as he slid to a stop at the bottom of the dune. He sat up, and felt sand slide down his neck and into the tops of his boots as he tugged off a glove. One thorn had made it through to his finger, but it was too dark to see if it was bleeding. He stuck his finger in his mouth as he listened for any sounds from the other side of the wall. Nothing. His face and bare hand were getting cold. He stood up and replaced the glove, and tried to decide where to go from here. His first impulse was to heaat stab even if Terrel hadn't shot him. He found his knife and slipped that on his belt too. He knew he couldn't get any food, and there was no way to fill his water bottle either, not without going back into the hall and he'd chanced that too many times this evening. He hesitated, wondering if there was anything else he should take, but nothing came to mind. He cracked his door open and listened. The voices were still distant, but they sounded louder, angrier. He was almost out of time. He shut the door, crossed the room, opened the window - another luxury, like the fountain, afforded by the static shield that kept the environment of Scorpia at bay. It was usually too cold to open a window, but the point was, they could be opened. He belted the coat tightly around his waist, pulled up the hood, and slipped over the sill. There was only a narrow ledge to stand on, and it was there only because of the bas-reliefs carved into the wall. In fact, he knew he was using a First Settler's This obviously appealed to him. He looked up at Evan. "What do you need me to do?" Evan laid a hand on his shoulder, and felt him stiffen at the unexpected contact. "Nothing. You stay here." He saw the younger man's frown. "Think about it. This is dangerous, I won't say it isn't. You're more valuable to us alive. And it wouldn't do to have someone see you, maybe, and wonder what one of the Count's relatives is doing on the docks." "I'm the Count." "Which is why you stay here. We may need to move out in a hurry, so," he glanced around, "you, Auriga and Tano stay here, make sure there's no one waiting for us, have things ready to go. Narain, you know a place we could stay for awhile?" "I could find something." "Okay. I need you, Lensar and Menkari on the dock with me, Tem, you roundup some transport out of there. Shen and Sidra, you'll need to be lookouts." "Where? Where do you want us?" "Ah I'll know when I get a look at the place," he fumbled. "They movd west, into the hills and over into the desert. No, that was stupid. He'd be easy to spot, if anyone looked. And he still had no food or water. If no one found him, it wouldn't be long before there was nothing left to find. He looked up at the ridge a moment longer, its outline barely visible against the night sky, then down at the lights of Raamasa spreading in a vast arc north and east between the mountains and shore, until they faded out of sight in the distance. He started downhill. He stayed close to the wall, and tried to move as quietly as he could, but he was no longer on the thick carpets and smooth floors of the manor. Tough plants caught at his pants leg, and dry soil cracked and slid under his boots. He rounded the corner of the wall and into the wind. Grit blew in his eyes, and he squinted, pulled the scarf over his nose and mouth, and tugged the hood of his coat closer around his face. He stopped, and looked around again. He was in shadow, pressed into a niche in the head for a toehold. He edged sideways, reached over and closed the window. He hated this climb, but had used it before when there was no other way to slip out. He got a hold on the next window ledge, pulled himself over, and dropped onto the top of a wide stone wall separating two courtyards. He moved carefully along the top, turned right where it joined the outside wall of the compound, and passed the workroom roof he usually used to descend to the ground. Instead he kept going to a spot Jos had told him about, where the wind had piled blowing sand in a small dune beside the wall. It couldn't be used to climb up, but it provided a soft landing for anyone descending the wall. It was hard to see, with all the lights of the compound behind him and only the darkness of Scorpia's night outside, but he thought he'd found the spot. He would have liked to be sure, but he couldn't stay on top of the wall, an obvious and easy target. He suddenly wondered if Andros had had the sense to post guare things around, so we'll have to get down there and see what we have to work with. Where's Kostis and Risa?" Glances were passed around the room. "Off somewhere together," Shen finally said. "Find them and get them in here. This is important." Shen left the room. "If it's that important," Baltar asked, "shouldn't you plan it a little better? Wait until next secton, look over the situation --" "You shut up," Evan snapped, then at Baltar's indignant expression added, "I know what I'm doing. We have to hit them fast, before they can get suspect anything. If we start sneaking around down there, they'll know something's going on." Baltar looked at him skeptically, but said nothing further. "Okay, now, ah, Tem, give me something to write on. I'll sketch out what I know about the dock. Kelse, I want you to position yourself by the depository, you can let us know when the casque leaves. Vanda, you take Kostis and Risa, come up with some sort of distraction if we nenortheast corner of the wall, but thirty metrons away the main gate was well lit and open. Below him was a steep slope to the roadbed where it bent north in the first of a series of switchbacks. The slope had some patches of grass clinging to it, but nothing else, nothing to provide any cover. He was reluctant to move toward it. A quick scramble down the bank, across the road, and on down to the next switchback, that was the only reasonable course of action. He couldn't stay here, and he couldn't risk being spotted carefully picking his way down the hill. He'd been extraordinarily lucky so far. But what if there was someone at the gate? Or on the wall above him? He didn't want to leave the safety of the wall. If he stayed, he'd die before morning. But if he took that one first step away from his home, he was afraid he'd never return. He glanced toward the gate again, but at this angle he could see nothing. He looked up toward the top of the wall, which was equally useless. Somds outside, or to have someone manning the security cameras. He rather thought not, but it might occur to his uncle at any micron. He sat, swung his legs over the wall, feeling the tingling as they passed through the shield. It was unpleasant but not dangerous. He lowered himself as far as he could, then dropped to the ground. Fortune's Wheel, Part 3 His feet sank in sand to the ankle, and he toppled backwards. He flung out a hand to break his fall, and discovered a nasty patch of thorns as he slid to a stop at the bottom of the dune. He sat up, and felt sand slide down his neck and into the tops of his boots as he tugged off a glove. One thorn had made it through to his finger, but it was too dark to see if it was bleeding. He stuck his finger in his mouth as he listened for any sounds from the other side of the wall. Nothing. His face and bare hand were getting cold. He stood up and replaced the glove, and tried to decide where to go from here. His first impulse was to heaed it." While Evan refined his plan at the table, Baltar worked his way around the room to Auriga and pulled him aside. "You say your schedule was changed. Do you still run supplies up to the manor?" "Yes, but" "Good. I'm taking you delivery up there tomorrow." "Are you crazy --" Auriga started, too loudly. "Shh!" Baltar hissed, darting a look at Evan, but he was deep in discussion with the others. "I know what I'm doing! I've planned this, and it's the only way I can get in. This'll help us, even more than Evan's money." He smiled. "Trust me." A cloud of fine dust rose around Evan when he shifted position, and he tried not to sneeze. The edge of the crate still dug painfully into his hip, but he couldn't seem to avoid it and it was too late to find better concealment. It was already getting light, and moving now would risk being spotted. He was farther from the barge's landing slip than he would have liked. So were the others, but he'd counted on more clutter oneone could be directly above him, and he'd never know unless they were leaning out over the edge. He took a deep breath, then stepped away from the wall. He stopped and listened. Another step. Another pause. He looked around again. Another step. When he'd gone ten steps he was at the beginning of the slope down to the road. He took one last glance, at the gate, at the wall. Then he looked straight ahead and walked away. He didn't run. He didn't want to draw attention to himself by moving too fast, by looking like someone trying to escape. No shots came from the wall behind him. He made it to the road and kept going, across it and down the next slope, toward the next switchback. He was speeding up now. He couldn't help it. His pulse was hammering in his ears, and despite the warmth of his coat he was shaking all over. He didn't look back, he couldn't. It was all he could do to keep from breaking out in a panicked run. It was all he could do not to let himself hope he'd actualld west, into the hills and over into the desert. No, that was stupid. He'd be easy to spot, if anyone looked. And he still had no food or water. If no one found him, it wouldn't be long before there was nothing left to find. He looked up at the ridge a moment longer, its outline barely visible against the night sky, then down at the lights of Raamasa spreading in a vast arc north and east between the mountains and shore, until they faded out of sight in the distance. He started downhill. He stayed close to the wall, and tried to move as quietly as he could, but he was no longer on the thick carpets and smooth floors of the manor. Tough plants caught at his pants leg, and dry soil cracked and slid under his boots. He rounded the corner of the wall and into the wind. Grit blew in his eyes, and he squinted, pulled the scarf over his nose and mouth, and tugged the hood of his coat closer around his face. He stopped, and looked around again. He was in shadow, pressed into a niche in the the dock. They'd have to move fast, and he still wasn't sure they could pull it off. It was galling to admit that little patrician rodent Baltar had been right; he should have taken the time to plan it better. But he'd had to come up with something, he couldn't let the challenge that he was doing nothing stand. He had to act, and quickly. And he had done this before, on Aerianna; at least, he'd been lookout on a few of his father's operations, even if he hadn't been in on the planning. Back before it all went to the shades and he'd wound up on Scorpia… No matter. He'd pull it off, he knew he would. Then Carden would see that his people were serious, not just amateurs, not just a bunch of loose cannons. He'd be back with the Keraila, not grubbing around with whatever he could dredge out of the slums, living in tenements, scrounging up money for food. He could live decently, maybe even make his way back to Aerianna someday - or perhaps not, but he could be comfortable here, or on Gemini. He'd bringy made it. He crossed the road again, as it swung back south, and went on. Now there were voices in the distance behind him, shouting, calling to each other. His breath came shallower. He glanced back. He could see the small glowing spheres of handlights bobbing around the walls. He was out of time. They knew he was alive, and they knew he'd gotten out of the compound. Now it was a race, and he was sure he wasn't going to win. He half-ran, half-slid down a steep section of bare slope, and came unexpectedly upon a hard-packed ledge. It paralleled the road for a way, and he followed it; it gave him better footing and more speed. It ended in the opening of a drainage culvert; rain was rare on Scorpia, but when it came, it came in a deluge. He looked down into the culvert, past bars meant to keep uprooted brush from clogging the pipe. It was utterly black inside. He considered it momentarily, then rejected the idea. He didn't know what was in there. He didn't know where it led. northeast corner of the wall, but thirty metrons away the main gate was well lit and open. Below him was a steep slope to the roadbed where it bent north in the first of a series of switchbacks. The slope had some patches of grass clinging to it, but nothing else, nothing to provide any cover. He was reluctant to move toward it. A quick scramble down the bank, across the road, and on down to the next switchback, that was the only reasonable course of action. He couldn't stay here, and he couldn't risk being spotted carefully picking his way down the hill. He'd been extraordinarily lucky so far. But what if there was someone at the gate? Or on the wall above him? He didn't want to leave the safety of the wall. If he stayed, he'd die before morning. But if he took that one first step away from his home, he was afraid he'd never return. He glanced toward the gate again, but at this angle he could see nothing. He looked up toward the top of the wall, which was equally useless. SomHe didn't want to be trapped. He passed it and headed down to the next course of the road. Above him there were shouts and the sudden roar of engines. For a moment he couldn't breathe, but he didn't stop. He dashed across the road and over the far side, breaking through the curb of dry soil at the edge as he scrambled down the lower bank. Cursing himself for leaving such an obvious trail, he turned north, moving across the slope, away from the damage. A hovercar careened around the bend to the south and bore down on the turn to his right, almost directly above him, lights blazing. He threw himself flat in the scant cover of a low outcrop of rock. The car screamed by above, blowing a cloud of dust over his hiding place. At the point where he'd left the road it seemed to slow, then sped up again, even faster, heading toward the next switchback. He was momentarily puzzled. Hadn't they seen? But of course they had; they were trying to cut him off. He struggled back up the slope, sand Sidra along with him, and Narain and Menkari, they'd proven themselves to him, and leave the others to rot. They'd be no use to him, then. Useless, the lot of them. If he could get rid of that nursemaid Tem, with his caution and nagging, he might keep Baltar. That one had a scheming mind, he might be some good to Evan. But likely not. He was nobility, after all, he thought only of regaining his title, he was loyal to the elite and their agendas despite Sidra's attempts to educate him. If he ever got back into power, he'd turn on his former friends in a heartbeat, and Evan didn't like the thought of a Count knowing him by name. No, Baltar could be a problem, and he'd rather Tem had never found him, and believed his story and brought him into the group. But he was too valuable a commodity to simply throw away. He'd come in handy one way or another. He shifted again, trying to see between the crates. He could see only a narrow strip of the loading area, and neither the dock nor the access from eone could be directly above him, and he'd never know unless they were leaning out over the edge. He took a deep breath, then stepped away from the wall. He stopped and listened. Another step. Another pause. He looked around again. Another step. When he'd gone ten steps he was at the beginning of the slope down to the road. He took one last glance, at the gate, at the wall. Then he looked straight ahead and walked away. He didn't run. He didn't want to draw attention to himself by moving too fast, by looking like someone trying to escape. No shots came from the wall behind him. He made it to the road and kept going, across it and down the next slope, toward the next switchback. He was speeding up now. He couldn't help it. His pulse was hammering in his ears, and despite the warmth of his coat he was shaking all over. He didn't look back, he couldn't. It was all he could do to keep from breaking out in a panicked run. It was all he could do not to let himself hope he'd actualland gravel sliding beneath his boot soles. Below, the car stopped, its occupants shining handlights up the hillside behind him. He made it to the road and angled across it, and scrambled back to the culvert. The uninviting pipe was beginning to look like his best option. He dropped into the catch-basin in front of the grate, and with a bit of straining he worked his way through the bars and into the darkness. He ran down the first short stretch in total darkness; then the culvert took an unseen turn to the right and he slammed hard into the plascrete wall. He stopped for a moment, gasping for breath and rubbing his shoulder. Stupid, he thought, that was stupid. He turned back toward the upper end of the culvert, but the opening was invisible. He could think of half a dozen things he should have brought along now, and a handlight was at the top of the list. He pushed back his hood and pulled his scarf away from his face. He took off his gloves and shoved them into his pocket. Feethe street above. He thought he could see the loader with the busted repulsor that Lensar was using for cover, but he wasn't sure if it was the same one. By the Mighty, he'd picked a lousy spot! He ducked further back into the crates as he saw several men in uniforms move across his line of sight. Faintly he could hear orders being given, hear footsteps moving off in several directions. Almost time, then. Couldn't move now. Couldn't get his people out. He had to go through with this, and it had to work. He gripped the laser tightly and waited for the signal from Sidra. Baltar had been awake since Evan had shaken his shoulder and asked if he knew what he was supposed to do. He had mumbled something affirmative, and rolled back over, but once awake his thoughts wouldn't let him drift back into sleep. Unloading supplies should get him into the kitchens, he thought, and then….There should be someone there who would remember him. Remember him, yes; no doubt about that. But help him? And not jy made it. He crossed the road again, as it swung back south, and went on. Now there were voices in the distance behind him, shouting, calling to each other. His breath came shallower. He glanced back. He could see the small glowing spheres of handlights bobbing around the walls. He was out of time. They knew he was alive, and they knew he'd gotten out of the compound. Now it was a race, and he was sure he wasn't going to win. He half-ran, half-slid down a steep section of bare slope, and came unexpectedly upon a hard-packed ledge. It paralleled the road for a way, and he followed it; it gave him better footing and more speed. It ended in the opening of a drainage culvert; rain was rare on Scorpia, but when it came, it came in a deluge. He looked down into the culvert, past bars meant to keep uprooted brush from clogging the pipe. It was utterly black inside. He considered it momentarily, then rejected the idea. He didn't know what was in there. He didn't know where it led. ling along the wall to his left, he moved as fast as he dared down the culvert. The floor of the drainage pipe was covered in sand, but some fairly large rocks had washed in and he stubbed his toes several times in the dark. After a time he felt an opening to the side, and explored a short way up it, but he quickly returned to the main tunnel. The side passage had led back uphill, and his only hope was to make it into the city. He knew this channel would eventually end somewhere in the irrigation system of Raamasa's precious cropland. He knew his pursuers must know where he'd gone when he disappeared from the hillside, but he also knew that a grown man wasn't going to fit through those bars, and he doubted they'd have any great desire to cut through and follow him into the drainage system. In the sort of vids Jos had loved the villain would have flooded the channels with the hero inside, and necessitated a daring escape, but as Baltar had told him, the vids weren't real. There was no waust turn him over to Andros? Proving himself was the least of his problems. He had the Darian looks, he knew. In fact, as he got older, he found he looked uncomfortably like Andros. The staff should know the close family by sight, and that would work to his advantage, but it would also make this so much more dangerous… He shifted position, irritated. He hated the thought of having to sneak back into his own home. By all rights, he should march in through the front doors and demand what was his. He sighed and rolled back over. That would gain him nothing but a laser blast and a quick cremation. Dressed in his threadbare clothes and acting the part of a lower class deliveryman awed by his surroundings would get him past the guards, he'd be as good as invisible to them; someone with a reason for being there, but no one of any consequence. But once he was in, and dealing with people who knew Auriga by sight if not by name…and then to find just one who was sympathetic to his cause without giving himselHe didn't want to be trapped. He passed it and headed down to the next course of the road. Above him there were shouts and the sudden roar of engines. For a moment he couldn't breathe, but he didn't stop. He dashed across the road and over the far side, breaking through the curb of dry soil at the edge as he scrambled down the lower bank. Cursing himself for leaving such an obvious trail, he turned north, moving across the slope, away from the damage. A hovercar careened around the bend to the south and bore down on the turn to his right, almost directly above him, lights blazing. He threw himself flat in the scant cover of a low outcrop of rock. The car screamed by above, blowing a cloud of dust over his hiding place. At the point where he'd left the road it seemed to slow, then sped up again, even faster, heading toward the next switchback. He was momentarily puzzled. Hadn't they seen? But of course they had; they were trying to cut him off. He struggled back up the slope, sand y to send a cascade of water down the duct, he knew perfectly well, and he wished his imagination wasn't so good. As he went on, more unpleasant thoughts began to surface, and he wished Jos had been as scared by the alien killer monster vids as he had always been. After a while, he began to slow down, and finally he stopped and sat down beside the wall. He'd never walked so far in his life, and fear and exhaustion were wearing him down. He pulled his knees up and huddled against the wall, miserable. He sat up with a jerk, and shook his head. His heart was pounding. Had he fallen asleep? How long had he been sitting here? Was it day outside? He wondered if it wouldn't be better if it was. He could get lost in crowds…but someone might recognize him. He wondered how many people in the province knew him by sight. Not many, he guessed. But Andros could well have the provincial Watch out looking for him; that was well within his uncle's authority. He stood up, and dusted sand off his tf away… He was thinking of giving up his plan as the sky outside the window began to grow lighter. It was crazy. He'd be dead by noon. He'd never pull this off. It was far, far too dangerous and he couldn't risk himself this way… And suddenly a feeling had come over him, a feeling he couldn't explain. Somehow, it seemed, he knew he would succeed. He knew he couldn't fail. His destiny was assured. Ridiculous. He didn't believe in any of that prophetic nonsense, it was for gullible fools who needed to be led through life by the hand. He remembered asking Sothis his future, and the old man's disquieting words, and impatiently pushed the thought aside. A moment of weakness, nothing more. He'd lived among the nomads so long he'd begun to believe their credulous superstitions, but he was over it. He would deal with hard, cold reality. But he couldn't shake the feeling. He could do this. It would work. He knew it. He got up and dressed, and walked out into the common room. Tano was on and gravel sliding beneath his boot soles. Below, the car stopped, its occupants shining handlights up the hillside behind him. He made it to the road and angled across it, and scrambled back to the culvert. The uninviting pipe was beginning to look like his best option. He dropped into the catch-basin in front of the grate, and with a bit of straining he worked his way through the bars and into the darkness. He ran down the first short stretch in total darkness; then the culvert took an unseen turn to the right and he slammed hard into the plascrete wall. He stopped for a moment, gasping for breath and rubbing his shoulder. Stupid, he thought, that was stupid. He turned back toward the upper end of the culvert, but the opening was invisible. He could think of half a dozen things he should have brought along now, and a handlight was at the top of the list. He pushed back his hood and pulled his scarf away from his face. He took off his gloves and shoved them into his pocket. Feerousers. It took a moment to get his bearings in the utter blackness of the tunnel, but he knew he'd been following the left wall. He continued on, carefully. He was hungry, and very thirsty. He thought of the empty bottle in his pack, wishing he'd taken time to fill it. But if he'd done that, he'd never have gotten out of the manor. Now he was out, but where would he go? He thought about people he knew in Raamasa. Relatives he could rule out right away - after Andros' betrayal, he had no faith in his own family. And he didn't feel safe with any of the household staff, either. Even if he could find them, surely that's what Andros would expect of him, that would be the first place they'd look for him. He realized that there was no place in Raamasa that was safe. He considered this. Who outside of the province would help him? He thought about the other noble houses. Who could he trust to hide him? More than that, who could he trust to help him regain his title? Count Velden. Ahis pile of cushions in the corner, and Baltar wondered if he'd been there all night. Scrawny and lank-haired, he was carefully cracking a small brown capsule open and pouring its contents into the film of liquid in the bottom of a jar. Vapor swirled in the jar, and Tano inhaled deeply. Baltar looked at him disgustedly, walked over and yanked his coat from under one of the cushions. Tano yelped and juggled his jar, trying not to spill its contents. He looked up, eyes glazed. "I'm going out," Baltar told him. Tano stared up, his brow knitted in concentration as he tried to call to mind an objection. There was some reason they were supposed to stay here… The door closed before he could remember it. Terrel reported to Mara that the clean-up from the morning meal was finished, and that preparations were almost done on the noon meal for the guards and staff. The delivery truck had arrived, with a new driver, and it was clear from Terrel's tone that he didn't think highly of the replacement.ling along the wall to his left, he moved as fast as he dared down the culvert. The floor of the drainage pipe was covered in sand, but some fairly large rocks had washed in and he stubbed his toes several times in the dark. After a time he felt an opening to the side, and explored a short way up it, but he quickly returned to the main tunnel. The side passage had led back uphill, and his only hope was to make it into the city. He knew this channel would eventually end somewhere in the irrigation system of Raamasa's precious cropland. He knew his pursuers must know where he'd gone when he disappeared from the hillside, but he also knew that a grown man wasn't going to fit through those bars, and he doubted they'd have any great desire to cut through and follow him into the drainage system. In the sort of vids Jos had loved the villain would have flooded the channels with the hero inside, and necessitated a daring escape, but as Baltar had told him, the vids weren't real. There was no walden's brother was the only one he could turn to. Velden was the single most powerful man on Scorpia, he controlled the space traffic that was as much the planet's lifeblood as Raamasa's crops. He would be outraged by the murder of his brother; he would be no supporter of Andros. He would welcome his nephew, his own blood, the true heir to the title that Andros claimed… His right foot came down on nothing, and he threw himself backward to keep from falling down the unseen drop. He stared wide-eyed into the darkness. He'd been so absorbed in his thoughts that he'd almost stepped over… He got up on hands and knees, and moved back to the brink. He lay flat and reached over the edge. He felt nothing. He fumbled in the light sifting of sand on the floor of the duct and found a pebble. He dropped it. It hit bottom quickly. Not too far, then, but if he'd stepped over the edge in the dark…he didn't want to think about it. He turned around, and edged over the drop feet-first. As he had o Mara sighed. She would have to look over the man, no doubt, and if he was unacceptable to be allowed in the manor she would make a complaint to the supply company. Really, some people had no sense of propriety. Even if the man was simply a temporary replacement, some thought should be given the matter. But she would deal with that later. These days it seemed so hard to work up any enthusiasm for the job. She'd been at this too long, she thought. Eight yahrens too long. But what else could she do? She would never find a position nearly as good as this one, not at her age and standing. It was enough to keep her here, working for the man whom she knew was, at least indirectly, responsible for her son's death. Those first days had passed in a blur. Andros had acted suitably sympathetic, expressing regret for Jos' death, seeing that arrangements were made for his funeral and a not inconsiderable compensation paid to her. And that was the last of it, for the new Count. She did remember the funery to send a cascade of water down the duct, he knew perfectly well, and he wished his imagination wasn't so good. As he went on, more unpleasant thoughts began to surface, and he wished Jos had been as scared by the alien killer monster vids as he had always been. After a while, he began to slow down, and finally he stopped and sat down beside the wall. He'd never walked so far in his life, and fear and exhaustion were wearing him down. He pulled his knees up and huddled against the wall, miserable. He sat up with a jerk, and shook his head. His heart was pounding. Had he fallen asleep? How long had he been sitting here? Was it day outside? He wondered if it wouldn't be better if it was. He could get lost in crowds…but someone might recognize him. He wondered how many people in the province knew him by sight. Not many, he guessed. But Andros could well have the provincial Watch out looking for him; that was well within his uncle's authority. He stood up, and dusted sand off his tn the manor wall, he carefully lowered himself until he was over the edge, with his elbows on the rim. He still didn't feel ground. Hoping for the best, he let himself drop farther, until he hung by his fingertips. He stretched as far as he could, but felt nothing. He didn't have any options. He couldn't pull himself back up, and he could feel sand slipping under his fingers. He let go. The ground was right underneath him. He grinned with relief as he turned back down the tunnel. He took a few cautious steps, felt firm plascrete beneath his boots, and became more confident. He set out at a faster pace, and almost immediately was jarred to the bone by a sudden step down. His foot hit something slick, and he flailed for balance. Dampness seeped into his boot. He fell to his knees and felt for the water. It was little more than a patch of wetness on the floor, coated with slime. He wiped his hand on his pants, and continued down the tunnel, feeling thirstier than ever. He slowal for the Countess and her daughter, and the placing of their ashes among those of their ancestors, with all due pomp and ceremony. It was the first religious rite Mara had seen on the grounds since the funeral of old Count Dorian, when she had just come to work here. She had been relieved that the rite was for two, and not three. In those days she still held some slim hope that Baltar had in fact escaped, that Jos' last foolish action hadn't been in vain. And she'd heard, with satisfaction and a sort of grim humor, carefully concealed, the rumors of the stolen signet. But hope had faded over time. She remembered Velden, attending Adria's funeral with barely controlled fury, exchanging quiet but angry words with Andros away from the hearing of others. But there was no sign his nephew was with him, or that he knew his whereabouts. Andros had been too complacent, as he would not have been if he had thought Baltar was still alive. No doubt he had been killed that first night. Or, since no body was rousers. It took a moment to get his bearings in the utter blackness of the tunnel, but he knew he'd been following the left wall. He continued on, carefully. He was hungry, and very thirsty. He thought of the empty bottle in his pack, wishing he'd taken time to fill it. But if he'd done that, he'd never have gotten out of the manor. Now he was out, but where would he go? He thought about people he knew in Raamasa. Relatives he could rule out right away - after Andros' betrayal, he had no faith in his own family. And he didn't feel safe with any of the household staff, either. Even if he could find them, surely that's what Andros would expect of him, that would be the first place they'd look for him. He realized that there was no place in Raamasa that was safe. He considered this. Who outside of the province would help him? He thought about the other noble houses. Who could he trust to hide him? More than that, who could he trust to help him regain his title? Count Velden. Aly realized that there was a spot ahead of him less dark than the rest of the tunnel. It got larger as he neared, a square opening nearly twice his height. He reached it. It let out into a large plascrete drainage channel, its floor dry, its top open to the sky. He could see the faint distortion of a static shield above. The floor was less than a metron below where he stood. It was still night. Lights blazed yellow-orange from a manufacturing plant across the channel. He could see an access ladder on the opposite wall, a series of metal rungs sunk into the plascrete. He dropped down into the channel, crossed it, and climbed. His skin prickled as he passed through the shield. He came out on a maintenance road, and followed it until it ended in a gate. It was intended to block access to vehicles, not people; he ducked beneath it, and headed into the city. Fortune's Wheel, Part 4 Raamasa was an ancient city. It seemed not so much to have been built, as to simply have occurrinterred as final proof of Andros' claim to legitimacy, he had made it out to the wilderness and died there. Mara didn't like to think of that poor child dying of hunger and thirst on the steppe. She had liked the boy. Strange little thing, but he would have made a far better Count than his uncle. But there it was; she had to deal with reality, and the reality was that Andros was Count and would remain Count. She looked around. The kitchens seemed to be running smoothly. Sometimes, these days, she felt that all would get along just as well without her direction. If there was anything else she could do… She supposed she should see about this delivery driver. It would at the least make a short break in the morning, a few centons' diversion. She could see the man, pushing a load of crates on a carrier into a storeroom. She saw what Terrel had objected to. He was a thin, long-haired thing, dressed in threadbare and ill-fitting trousers and coat. Even more, he had a furtive look to him, glancing qulden's brother was the only one he could turn to. Velden was the single most powerful man on Scorpia, he controlled the space traffic that was as much the planet's lifeblood as Raamasa's crops. He would be outraged by the murder of his brother; he would be no supporter of Andros. He would welcome his nephew, his own blood, the true heir to the title that Andros claimed… His right foot came down on nothing, and he threw himself backward to keep from falling down the unseen drop. He stared wide-eyed into the darkness. He'd been so absorbed in his thoughts that he'd almost stepped over… He got up on hands and knees, and moved back to the brink. He lay flat and reached over the edge. He felt nothing. He fumbled in the light sifting of sand on the floor of the duct and found a pebble. He dropped it. It hit bottom quickly. Not too far, then, but if he'd stepped over the edge in the dark…he didn't want to think about it. He turned around, and edged over the drop feet-first. As he had oed. The older quarters, especially, were a warren of narrow twisting streets and alleys. At intervals they opened out on small plazas, or widened to accommodate market stalls, the ever-present, sifting dust kept out by cloth awnings rather than the more expensive static shields. Baltar wandered down the bewildering streets, trying to come up with a coherent plan. He needed food, he needed water, and he needed a way out of Raamasa. He'd been out of the storm drains for a centar, and so far he'd accomplished nothing more than determining the time, from a wall chrono visible through a shop window. The night had seemed to last an eternity, and he was surprised to learn that it was only two centars past midnight. He glanced into an alley. It was short, and the street at the other end looked larger than the one he was on. He cut across. A hovercar passed slowly by, and there were a few hurrying pedestrians, muffled as he was against the cold and dust. None took notice of him. He headed ickly around with his head down and shoulders hunched. Oh, no, she thought, this wouldn't do at all. She'd have his name, and inform the company that if they wished to keep their contract they would never send such a driver again. And then she'd have him out of her kitchens, and the compound, before he stole something. Really, she had no idea what those gate guards were thinking of. Next thing, they'd be letting bomb-throwing anarchists walk in the front door. She started purposefully toward the storeroom. The deliveryman was unloading the carrier at the rear of the room. There was no one else in sight. Hadn't Terrel kept an eye on this one? She'd have to have a word with him, too. The man turned quickly as he heard her enter and cross the room, and she felt sure she'd caught him about to pocket something. But as she approached, she noticed the abrupt change in his bearing. He straightened up fully, calmly, looking directly at her. There was something so familiar about this one…and then she n the manor wall, he carefully lowered himself until he was over the edge, with his elbows on the rim. He still didn't feel ground. Hoping for the best, he let himself drop farther, until he hung by his fingertips. He stretched as far as he could, but felt nothing. He didn't have any options. He couldn't pull himself back up, and he could feel sand slipping under his fingers. He let go. The ground was right underneath him. He grinned with relief as he turned back down the tunnel. He took a few cautious steps, felt firm plascrete beneath his boots, and became more confident. He set out at a faster pace, and almost immediately was jarred to the bone by a sudden step down. His foot hit something slick, and he flailed for balance. Dampness seeped into his boot. He fell to his knees and felt for the water. It was little more than a patch of wetness on the floor, coated with slime. He wiped his hand on his pants, and continued down the tunnel, feeling thirstier than ever. He slowdownhill, past businesses closed for the night, and found one of the things he was looking for. An alcove in the wall of a small market contained a water fountain. He deposited a coin from his belt pouch in the slot, and the spigot dispensed a narrow stream of water. He drank as much as he could, not realizing just how thirsty he was until the first gulp. He drank until the stream shut off, and by then he was almost satisfied. Two more coins filled the small bottle in his pack, and he continued down the street. The water had helped his thirst, but now he was more aware of his hunger. A short search in the market plaza discovered a well-lit lobby full of vending machines. He looked over the selections. Nothing looked particularly appetizing. He was accustomed to meals of much better quality than the pre- packaged food in the dispensers. After some thought, he bought several packages of dried fruit, nuts, and an assortment of sweets. He knew he shouldn't waste his money on the candysaw past the ragged clothing, and recognized the features. And something more than that. She stopped abruptly, and her hand flew to her mouth. He started to speak, swallowed, tried again. "Mara? I don't…do you remember me?" "S'akhan?" she managed to whisper. "Baltar?" He smiled, in surprise and relief. Then it faded. "I'm sorry…." He began. "No, no," she protested. The first amazement was giving way to fear. She moved closer. "What are you doing here?" she asked urgently. "The danger…" "I know. I don't have much time. But I had to talk to you…" He'd shown her the signet before he left, so she could tell whoever she felt was trustworthy that she had proof of his survival. Afterward, he began to worry. Too many people, too close to Andros, were beginning to find out about him. It wouldn't even take a deliberate betrayal. One wrong word, one wrong move…. But it had worked! He had forced back the fear and elation as he left, forced himself to slink out of his own home, past thely realized that there was a spot ahead of him less dark than the rest of the tunnel. It got larger as he neared, a square opening nearly twice his height. He reached it. It let out into a large plascrete drainage channel, its floor dry, its top open to the sky. He could see the faint distortion of a static shield above. The floor was less than a metron below where he stood. It was still night. Lights blazed yellow-orange from a manufacturing plant across the channel. He could see an access ladder on the opposite wall, a series of metal rungs sunk into the plascrete. He dropped down into the channel, crossed it, and climbed. His skin prickled as he passed through the shield. He came out on a maintenance road, and followed it until it ended in a gate. It was intended to block access to vehicles, not people; he ducked beneath it, and headed into the city. Fortune's Wheel, Part 4 Raamasa was an ancient city. It seemed not so much to have been built, as to simply have occurr, but he'd never been allowed so much at one time. The Countess had considered gorging on sweets to be low class. He stuffed the packets into his backpack. From another machine he got perishables: a piece of meat-and-cheese stuffed bread and a chilled bottle of poma juice. He put them in his coat pocket and left the lobby, trying to solve his remaining problem. He crossed through a mid-level residential neighborhood, and emerged in a small park located on a slope too steep for housing. Paths and stairs wound between low tufts of pale grass springing from the hard soil. He sat on a bench, looking over the rooftops of the buildings below, ignoring the chill wind as he ate his bread and juice. Beyond the tiled roofs of the city was a silvery, rippling surface; not the sea, which was a dark glimmer with few reflections from the city lights, but the billowing fabric of the moisture traps above the fields. The city stretched in an arc to the east, and at the far edge of sight it curved sout oblivious guards, and back to where Auriga was waiting nervously for his truck. "Well?" he asked as he climbed behind the controls. "Did you do it? Did it work?" Baltar didn't think he was shaking visibly. He didn't think he was grinning like an idiot. He tried to keep a nonchalant tone in his voice as he answered. "Of course. I knew it would work all along." They walked back into to total pandemonium. "And where in the name of death and damnation have you been?" Even yelled as they walked in the door. Around him the others were jostling around each other as they stuffed cushions, clothing and personal effects into cases and carrybags. "What happened?" Baltar asked, moving past him into the room. "Where's the money?" "What happened - well, you wouldn't know, would you, since you couldn't stay here on lookout like I told you! It's a marvel we didn't have the Watch waiting here for us when we got back!" "I had business to take care of. What went wrong? You didn't get it, died. The older quarters, especially, were a warren of narrow twisting streets and alleys. At intervals they opened out on small plazas, or widened to accommodate market stalls, the ever-present, sifting dust kept out by cloth awnings rather than the more expensive static shields. Baltar wandered down the bewildering streets, trying to come up with a coherent plan. He needed food, he needed water, and he needed a way out of Raamasa. He'd been out of the storm drains for a centar, and so far he'd accomplished nothing more than determining the time, from a wall chrono visible through a shop window. The night had seemed to last an eternity, and he was surprised to learn that it was only two centars past midnight. He glanced into an alley. It was short, and the street at the other end looked larger than the one he was on. He cut across. A hovercar passed slowly by, and there were a few hurrying pedestrians, muffled as he was against the cold and dust. None took notice of him. He headed h. He followed the line of the water back west, seeing a few lights of transport vessels moving across the calm surface. They were the only traffic on the water; Scorpia had no fish. Far to the south, beyond the sea, he could make out even smaller lights, rising and descending on the great expanse of the landing fields. Atmospheric traffic, he knew, and cargo and passenger shuttles from ships or transfer stations in orbit high above. He knew by heart what they'd be carrying, how often they would arrive and depart from the province. He knew what the fields were producing at this moment, how much was being harvested and processed and sent onto the transports across the water. All the knowledge that his tutors had drilled into him, and none of it was of any use to him now. Or was it? He stood up as the beginnings of a plan began to form in his mind. He dropped his empty bottle and the remains of the bread in a waste can, and started down the hill, turning the idea over in his mind. Hed you?" 'No we didn't get it," Evan seethed. "They changed the setup, had more security." Others had stopped to watch the confrontation, and he looked around their faces, daring anyone to contradict him. "We need to clear out of here before they come down on us. We'd be out of here now, if you'd done your part. Where were you?" It had all gone so wrong, he'd been lucky to get out without someone being killed. To make it back and find that Baltar had wandered off on his own, then to have him questioning Evan's actions with that dismissive tone, was more than he could bear. Baltar still had his back to him. "I went up to the manor," he said casually. "Made contact with some people I could trust." He turned back. "Considering what you've accomplished today, I suppose it's just as well I had some success." His tone and expression were still mild, but the sarcasm cut like a blade. Evan's fist caught him across the side of the face and knocked him off his feet. He landed on the rickety table and crashdownhill, past businesses closed for the night, and found one of the things he was looking for. An alcove in the wall of a small market contained a water fountain. He deposited a coin from his belt pouch in the slot, and the spigot dispensed a narrow stream of water. He drank as much as he could, not realizing just how thirsty he was until the first gulp. He drank until the stream shut off, and by then he was almost satisfied. Two more coins filled the small bottle in his pack, and he continued down the street. The water had helped his thirst, but now he was more aware of his hunger. A short search in the market plaza discovered a well-lit lobby full of vending machines. He looked over the selections. Nothing looked particularly appetizing. He was accustomed to meals of much better quality than the pre- packaged food in the dispensers. After some thought, he bought several packages of dried fruit, nuts, and an assortment of sweets. He knew he shouldn't waste his money on the candy became more excited as he went on. It might work; it just might work. He headed back into the maze of streets, looking for a way down to the fields. The high walls that lined the streets cut most of the wind, but they couldn't keep out the cold. Raamasa was far into Scorpia's southern hemisphere, and though it was the middle of the growing season the dim orange sun provided scant heat. The warmth that had been absorbed by the stone walls had long ago been lost to the night air, and a deep cold had settled on the city. He had worked his way into a poorer quarter of the city, the sort of place he'd normally never have seen in his life. There was more activity here than in the well-to-do neighborhoods in the hills. Sirens and alarms wailed, and arguments drifted down to the street from apartment windows. He'd seen vagrants, and drunks staggering home, and two young men coming out of a broken window with a piece of equipment. They'd run off down an alley. Having heard about places led to the floor as it broke beneath him. There was a moment of stunned shock. Then the din was louder than before. Tano stood in the corner, eyes wide, muttering to himself. Tem and Auriga were on the floor beside Baltar, asking if he was all right. Evan, still furious, was starting for him again, but he found Sidra hanging onto his arm, yelling at him, trying to pull him back. He glared at her for a moment; then he looked up and his eyes met Menkari's. The other man was leaning against the wall, aloof from the tumult in the room. Evan forced himself to relax. Things were falling apart; he couldn't let his anger get the better of him now, not if he wanted to keep his group in one piece. And he needed to keep them together, he couldn't bear to have them desert him. He looked down at Baltar, still picking himself up from the broken table, and saw he had his right hand to his left wrist. He'd hurt himself in the fall, Evan thought, then remembered the knife he carried beneath his left sleeve. The , but he'd never been allowed so much at one time. The Countess had considered gorging on sweets to be low class. He stuffed the packets into his backpack. From another machine he got perishables: a piece of meat-and-cheese stuffed bread and a chilled bottle of poma juice. He put them in his coat pocket and left the lobby, trying to solve his remaining problem. He crossed through a mid-level residential neighborhood, and emerged in a small park located on a slope too steep for housing. Paths and stairs wound between low tufts of pale grass springing from the hard soil. He sat on a bench, looking over the rooftops of the buildings below, ignoring the chill wind as he ate his bread and juice. Beyond the tiled roofs of the city was a silvery, rippling surface; not the sea, which was a dark glimmer with few reflections from the city lights, but the billowing fabric of the moisture traps above the fields. The city stretched in an arc to the east, and at the far edge of sight it curved soutike this, he avoided the alleys. In the distance, he'd heard what sounded like an explosion, and down a long cross street he'd seen a column of smoke, lit from beneath by yellow flames. That had set off a whole cascade of sirens, as firefighters and the Watch had converged on the spot. He stared at the smoke for a moment, then shrugged and moved on. Dissident groups were a fact of life on Scorpia, and he'd long ago been taught not to take the problem personally. Some people would never be happy with the realities of life, his tutors had said. Food shortages and water rationing were a fact of life on Scorpia, they always had been. Administration by the aristocracy was a fact of life. Contact with other, more prosperous Colonies had caused dissatisfaction. But grubby anarchists blowing up buildings would change nothing, they only made a hard life harder still for honest people. Baltar considered that a joke. He doubted there were really that many honest people on Scorpia to be inconvenienlittle slime was actually going to draw on him? he thought. In the other's eyes he saw a fury to match his own, but quiet, cold, calculating. He forced a smile, and reached down to help him up. No, now was most certainly not the time. Later, later he'd deal with this problem. "Sorry," he grinned in a voice that didn't even sound sincere to himself. "I lost my temper, I shouldn't have. But you have to understand. You can't just go off when we're depending on you. We're all a team, right? And we all have to depend on each other to do their part, or it all falls apart. And you could have been caught. You could have been questioned, and then all of us would have been picked up. My own parents are in an Aeriannan prison because someone informed on them. You don't want that to happen to your friends, now, do you?" It was working; he could see the doubt beginning to creep into Baltar's eyes. "I knew I could do it," he said, defensively. "I knew it would work." "I knew this job today would work, h. He followed the line of the water back west, seeing a few lights of transport vessels moving across the calm surface. They were the only traffic on the water; Scorpia had no fish. Far to the south, beyond the sea, he could make out even smaller lights, rising and descending on the great expanse of the landing fields. Atmospheric traffic, he knew, and cargo and passenger shuttles from ships or transfer stations in orbit high above. He knew by heart what they'd be carrying, how often they would arrive and depart from the province. He knew what the fields were producing at this moment, how much was being harvested and processed and sent onto the transports across the water. All the knowledge that his tutors had drilled into him, and none of it was of any use to him now. Or was it? He stood up as the beginnings of a plan began to form in his mind. He dropped his empty bottle and the remains of the bread in a waste can, and started down the hill, turning the idea over in his mind. Heced. On the other hand, their activities tonight would occupy the Watch, which gave him a better chance of reaching his destination. He had one bad moment, as he rounded a corner and found a Watch vehicle parked not two metrons away. He edged back around the corner and was about to backtrack a block, but he heard voices. Cautiously he glanced back around the corner. All his practice at eavesdropping had suddenly become a tool for survival. He was startled to realize that he actually recognized one of the officers, a Watch captain named Jaspar, a distant cousin of some sort, long out of the aristocratic class but closely connected enough to expect a decent career. He and his partner had apparently stopped at a shop that was still open, or more likely at another vending lobby, for cups of hot spiced kaffe. They were aware of the fire, reports of which were still dimly crackling over the hovercar's comm, but they seemed in no hurry to end their break. He couldn't catch everything but things had changed, it didn't come out that way. It's better we all work as a unit. Now, we have to move out of here. So get your things." He watched as the others went back to packing, then went over to where Menkari was still standing. Lensar and Narain joined him a few moments later in a quiet, tense conversation. Much later, when they had ditched the stolen hovercar and settled into the old mining cabins that Narain had found tucked away in a side canyon, Evan was still turning the day's events over in his mind. "So that's how it is then, is it?" he asked, turning to Sidra. "You want to do away with the elite, see 'em all wiped out, but no one dare raise a hand to his little lordship?" She had punched him in the chest and gotten out of their bed, and stormed out of the room. He had wondered for a moment where she was going, then decided he didn't care. He wanted to be alone to think anyway. Several possible answers to his problems were presenting themselves, and he had to weigh t became more excited as he went on. It might work; it just might work. He headed back into the maze of streets, looking for a way down to the fields. The high walls that lined the streets cut most of the wind, but they couldn't keep out the cold. Raamasa was far into Scorpia's southern hemisphere, and though it was the middle of the growing season the dim orange sun provided scant heat. The warmth that had been absorbed by the stone walls had long ago been lost to the night air, and a deep cold had settled on the city. He had worked his way into a poorer quarter of the city, the sort of place he'd normally never have seen in his life. There was more activity here than in the well-to-do neighborhoods in the hills. Sirens and alarms wailed, and arguments drifted down to the street from apartment windows. He'd seen vagrants, and drunks staggering home, and two young men coming out of a broken window with a piece of equipment. They'd run off down an alley. Having heard about places lthey said, but he heard enough to realize that if they were looking for him, he wasn't a high priority. The fire and its causes were, and he heard Jaspar's derisive tone, and caught the word "Keraila". Ah, Baltar thought, the Keraila. Anti-war demonstrators, and causing more damage on Scorpia than the Cylons themselves. Oh, yes, this would certainly help their cause. The movement was an outgrowth of some Aerianni faction, brought to Scorpia by immigrants, or more likely fugitives, from that Colony. They seemed to hold the opinion that if they dissociated Aerianna from the other Colonies, they'd be able to make peace with the Cylons, or some such nonsense. Still, their numbers seemed to be growing, on Scorpia and Gemoni as well as Aerianna. The outer Colonies took the brunt of Cylon raids, and anything that promised an end to the war had its appeal. The two officers finished their kaffe and finally got back in the hovercar, driving off in the direction of the still-wailing sirens. he risks and benefits of each very carefully. Baltar saw Sidra storm out of Evan's cabin and go into one of the others, but he didn't pay much attention. He wrapped his coat more tightly around him and tried to get more of his legs into the niche in the canyon wall, out of the wind. He was used to cold, from all his years on the steppe with Sothis' people, but the wind always seemed to cut through all the layers of clothing to his skin. Evan, he thought, was rapidly becoming less useful than he'd imagined. He'd felt respect for him at first, and a little awe, but now he saw that despite his bragging he really wasn't capable of the things Baltar needed done. He'd been so sure this would be the right way. Andros was having problems, and he could make those problems even worse, until the Akharate would have to see that any alternative was preferable to keeping Andros in power. The terrorist factions seemed the best way. He hadn't even been too disappointed when he learned that Evan was an independike this, he avoided the alleys. In the distance, he'd heard what sounded like an explosion, and down a long cross street he'd seen a column of smoke, lit from beneath by yellow flames. That had set off a whole cascade of sirens, as firefighters and the Watch had converged on the spot. He stared at the smoke for a moment, then shrugged and moved on. Dissident groups were a fact of life on Scorpia, and he'd long ago been taught not to take the problem personally. Some people would never be happy with the realities of life, his tutors had said. Food shortages and water rationing were a fact of life on Scorpia, they always had been. Administration by the aristocracy was a fact of life. Contact with other, more prosperous Colonies had caused dissatisfaction. But grubby anarchists blowing up buildings would change nothing, they only made a hard life harder still for honest people. Baltar considered that a joke. He doubted there were really that many honest people on Scorpia to be inconvenienWhen they were gone, Baltar turned the corner and continued downhill. He got lost in the twisting and turning streets on the level ground closer to the shore. It was one of the oldest parts of the city, and most of the streets were too narrow for two hovercars to pass; signs directed a bewildering pattern of one-way traffic through the maze, crowded even more during the day by crowds of pedestrians. It was too cold and far too late for much traffic of any kind now, and the streets were quiet except for gusts of wind whistling along the rooftops far above. Little eddies of dust moved along the base of walls. Baltar paused, trying once more, unsuccessfully, to get his bearings. He looked up at the narrow strip of night sky visible between the high walls of the street. It didn't help. The dust in the air reflected the glow of the city's lights, and only one star was visible. He thought it was a star. It might have been a planet, one of the gas giants further out in the systement, not even connected to the larger, more organized groups. He could handle him better, he wouldn't have so many people controlling his options. But Evan was too insecure, too self-centered, to allow anyone else to take the attention away from him, even for a moment. That had gotten them into this stupid idea of a raid, and it would get them into worse trouble as Evan felt his control threatened. Ah, well. He'd stay with them as long as they were useful, which should be a while yet. But he wouldn't let Evan or anyone else turn him from his real goal. Seeing his home again, after all these yahren, had only served to remind him of what he'd lost, and to make him even more determined to somehow get it back. He would get it back, someday, he knew. He was sure of it. The rain on the cabin's flat roof rose to a crescendo, drowning out Sidra's voice across the long single room. The pounding died down as she measured dried lathyrs into the well-used stock pot. "Do you know just how much food theced. On the other hand, their activities tonight would occupy the Watch, which gave him a better chance of reaching his destination. He had one bad moment, as he rounded a corner and found a Watch vehicle parked not two metrons away. He edged back around the corner and was about to backtrack a block, but he heard voices. Cautiously he glanced back around the corner. All his practice at eavesdropping had suddenly become a tool for survival. He was startled to realize that he actually recognized one of the officers, a Watch captain named Jaspar, a distant cousin of some sort, long out of the aristocratic class but closely connected enough to expect a decent career. He and his partner had apparently stopped at a shop that was still open, or more likely at another vending lobby, for cups of hot spiced kaffe. They were aware of the fire, reports of which were still dimly crackling over the hovercar's comm, but they seemed in no hurry to end their break. He couldn't catch everything , or one of the larger orbital stations. At any rate, it was no help. He sighed, took a few more steps, then paused. He was hearing something, off to his right. Music? He shrugged, then took the next turn in that direction. Following something was better than wandering aimlessly. The street he was on widened to allow turning between two warehouses, then continued on as an alley too narrow for any hovercar. He became aware of the delicious smell of something cooking. He continued down the alley, and discovered that it opened up again, this time into a small stone-paved square. Two buildings on opposite walls housed taverns, their glowing signs providing more light than the small wall lamps, one of which had apparently burned out. Beneath one that was still working, three young men in the loose coats and trousers of steppe nomads were playing a drum, pipe and eight-stringed kura in an intricate tune. A girl, only a few years older than himself, and lightly dressed in spite of the cold, typical Caprican family wastes in a yahren?" she was asking Shen, who seemed less than interested - which was just as well, as she continued on without waiting for an answer. Whatever her ranting moved on to, it was drowned out by another loud drumming of rain. The table in the middle of the room was long and sturdy, and still in the cabin not so much because its legs were bolted to the floor as because the cabin was in such a remote spot that thoroughly scavenging it was impractical. At the end farthest from Sidra's diatribe, Baltar was carefully threading a small wire into a piece of plastic housing. "And then it's connected to the timer, right?" he asked. "Right," Menkari affirmed, "then it's just set it and go. You got it." "If we had any actual explosive, that is," Tem added wryly. "You think Evan's going to get any?" "If he can come up with the right price," Menkari murmured, then conceded, "maybe. Carden's careful with his supplies, but a fairly heavy pouch of cubitthey said, but he heard enough to realize that if they were looking for him, he wasn't a high priority. The fire and its causes were, and he heard Jaspar's derisive tone, and caught the word "Keraila". Ah, Baltar thought, the Keraila. Anti-war demonstrators, and causing more damage on Scorpia than the Cylons themselves. Oh, yes, this would certainly help their cause. The movement was an outgrowth of some Aerianni faction, brought to Scorpia by immigrants, or more likely fugitives, from that Colony. They seemed to hold the opinion that if they dissociated Aerianna from the other Colonies, they'd be able to make peace with the Cylons, or some such nonsense. Still, their numbers seemed to be growing, on Scorpia and Gemoni as well as Aerianna. The outer Colonies took the brunt of Cylon raids, and anything that promised an end to the war had its appeal. The two officers finished their kaffe and finally got back in the hovercar, driving off in the direction of the still-wailing sirens. was dancing to the music, to the apparent appreciation of several men and a woman with the gold fringe of a highly ranked socialator adorning her dark cloak and skirt. The delicious smell was coming from the near side of the square, from a brazier cart set up in front of one of the taverns and tended by a fat man with a sour expression on his face. A large metal carafe of spiced kaffe was warming on the edge of the brazier, its side greasy from the skewers of meat sizzling over the coals. Nearby, close to the heat of the brazier, stood a trio of prostitutes, sipping cups of kaffe and making catty remarks about the socialator, and the young dancer. He edged over by the brazier, appreciating the warmth. He pulled off his gloves and stuffed them in a pocket, then noticed the brazier's proprietor glaring at him. He fished a coin out of his pouch and bought a cup of kaffe, more as a hand warmer than a beverage. The man seemed mollified by the purchase. As he sipped the warm drink, Baltas can usually make him less cautious." He picked up another short length of wire and examined it critically. "What's the matter with him?" Auriga seethed. "From what Evan says, Carden's not just an arms dealer, he's one of us." "But we're not one of him, the way he sees it," Tem answered. "We're just a bunch of talented amateurs, and Carden doesn't like amateurs." "That's part of it," Menkari said, trimming a bit more of the wire's casing away. "I know he doesn't like Evan," Baltar said. "I can gather that much." "There's a few problems there," Menkari said shortly. "Why am I not surprised?" Tem remarked sourly. "I know you have a few differences," Menkari said in such a mild tone that Baltar looked at him sharply. "When his mind's on business, he's good. I'll admit that readily," Tem answered. "But lately, he's - I don't know - he's not thinking about us, about our goals. Everything's setting him off." "He's getting as tired as we are of hiding up here," AurigaWhen they were gone, Baltar turned the corner and continued downhill. He got lost in the twisting and turning streets on the level ground closer to the shore. It was one of the oldest parts of the city, and most of the streets were too narrow for two hovercars to pass; signs directed a bewildering pattern of one-way traffic through the maze, crowded even more during the day by crowds of pedestrians. It was too cold and far too late for much traffic of any kind now, and the streets were quiet except for gusts of wind whistling along the rooftops far above. Little eddies of dust moved along the base of walls. Baltar paused, trying once more, unsuccessfully, to get his bearings. He looked up at the narrow strip of night sky visible between the high walls of the street. It didn't help. The dust in the air reflected the glow of the city's lights, and only one star was visible. He thought it was a star. It might have been a planet, one of the gas giants further out in the systemr watched the dancer across the square, fascinated. Her movements were graceful, at times almost acrobatic. His mother would be shocked, he thought. These were certainly not the serene, stylized classical dance forms she had preferred. And whatever the women next to him had to say about it, the men coming in and out of the taverns seemed to appreciate her skill, to judge from the pile of coins accumulating in a bowl in front of the musicians. Something changed. He didn't know what, but suddenly the men filtered back into taverns, and the prostitutes disappeared into the doorway behind them. When he looked back, the nomads, with their instruments and coin-filled bowl, had vanished without a trace. The only people left in the square were the unsmiling grill tender, the socialator gliding on her way past him and into the alley, and himself. He didn't know what was happening, but he didn't care to stay and find out. He hurried across the square and into the alley opposite, losing himself b suggested. "It's been almost a yahren." "And now he's got this idea of blowing something up. Ever since Kostis and Risa left -- " The names apparently carried to the far side of the room. "They think this is some kind of game, they can just take off when it's not fun anymore," can Sidra's caustic reply. "They have no loyalty to Evan or what he's trying to do for Scorpia - " "Damn it, Sidra!" Tem roared back. "Risa was pregnant! What the hell were we supposed to do with a pregnant woman up here? Try thinking about someone else, just once in your life!" Sidra stalked across the room. "I do think about other people! I think about them all the time, Tem! Why do you think I'm here? I want a better future for my people, I don't want them freezing and starving and working 'til they drop to put more cubits in some rich man's pocket! I don't want them going off to die in some useless war, or living every day of their lives expecting to be killed by some soulless alien! So tell me, h, or one of the larger orbital stations. At any rate, it was no help. He sighed, took a few more steps, then paused. He was hearing something, off to his right. Music? He shrugged, then took the next turn in that direction. Following something was better than wandering aimlessly. The street he was on widened to allow turning between two warehouses, then continued on as an alley too narrow for any hovercar. He became aware of the delicious smell of something cooking. He continued down the alley, and discovered that it opened up again, this time into a small stone-paved square. Two buildings on opposite walls housed taverns, their glowing signs providing more light than the small wall lamps, one of which had apparently burned out. Beneath one that was still working, three young men in the loose coats and trousers of steppe nomads were playing a drum, pipe and eight-stringed kura in an intricate tune. A girl, only a few years older than himself, and lightly dressed in spite of the cold, ack into the maze of streets. When the sun rose, a dim red ball in the blowing dust, Baltar was making his way along the fences separating the fields from the city. For his plan to work, he needed to find a way in, not an easy proposition. The province's primary resource was too valuable to leave open to the populace. The fence was high, and electrified, and topped with lasers that would set off alarms even if they didn't kill an intruder outright. The gates were closely monitored. But he had to find a weakness. In the end, he followed those more knowledgeable than he was. A trio of raggedly dressed children, a few yahren younger than himself, slipped down an alley ahead of him, and he quietly followed. He turned the corner just in time to see them disappear into a broken window in the alley wall. He waited a moment, then climbed onto the same crate they had used and dropped through the window. He looked around. The warehouse was almost empty, and very dusty, obviously seldom ow do you want me to think about other people?" "I'm not questioning your politics," Tem tried to rally, "but if you'd just -" The door opened, letting in a gust of cold but deliciously damp air. "Am I interrupting something?" Evan asked pleasantly. "We could hear you outside over the rain." "Could hear Sidra, he means," Auriga muttered, nudging Baltar with an elbow. Baltar snorted, trying not to laugh and draw Sidra's vehemence onto himself. But she was still focussed Tem. "He thinks," she turned to Evan for support, "that Risa and Kostis have every right to just think about themselves and their own little life, and leave us hanging out here -" The expected support didn't appear. Evan grinned. He seemed a good deal more relaxed than he had in a long time. "No, it's alright," he said. "In fact, I'm glad they left. It was the right thing for them, and I think it'll work to our advantage." Sidra stared at him, her expression changing from surprise to anger to disgust. was dancing to the music, to the apparent appreciation of several men and a woman with the gold fringe of a highly ranked socialator adorning her dark cloak and skirt. The delicious smell was coming from the near side of the square, from a brazier cart set up in front of one of the taverns and tended by a fat man with a sour expression on his face. A large metal carafe of spiced kaffe was warming on the edge of the brazier, its side greasy from the skewers of meat sizzling over the coals. Nearby, close to the heat of the brazier, stood a trio of prostitutes, sipping cups of kaffe and making catty remarks about the socialator, and the young dancer. He edged over by the brazier, appreciating the warmth. He pulled off his gloves and stuffed them in a pocket, then noticed the brazier's proprietor glaring at him. He fished a coin out of his pouch and bought a cup of kaffe, more as a hand warmer than a beverage. The man seemed mollified by the purchase. As he sipped the warm drink, Baltaused, at least by its owners. After a bit of searching he found a hole in the back wall, and ducked through it. He found himself standing on dark, damp soil between rows of legumes growing on trellises. The air had a strange, moist feel. The moisture traps rippled and snapped overhead, and the light was oddly softened, filtered through green leaves fluttering in the wind. It was a world apart from the life he knew. He'd been to the fields before, as part of his education, but his visits had consisted of drives in covered cars down access roads and tours through processing plants, accompanied by boring lectures by middle managers, and excessive courtesy meant to impress his tutors and chaperones. He had never stood alone in the fields. And he couldn't stand here now. He could hear the children in the next row, whispering and picking legume pods. He felt a touch of annoyance. These grubby urchins were stealing from him. But there was nothing he could do about it, and at any rate, f "Oh that's just fine," she said finally. "Why don't we all just go on home, then? What are we even doing here, wasting our time? We can just sit back and complain and never try to change…" Evan held out his hands in a quieting motion. "Just a centon, just a centon. I didn't say it was alright to give up now, did I? I got a message from Kostis, one of his cousins passed it on. Do you know where he is?" "I thought they were going up around Sakara, to look for work," Auriga said. "And Kostis got a job in the mines there," Evan went on. "Made the acquaintance of some like-minded people up there. He says that he thinks they can, ah, liberate some of the mining supplies for a more patriotic use." He smirked. Sidra brightened. "Explosives?" She threw herself at Evan and planted a hard kiss on his mouth. "And we can trust this cousin?" Tem asked after a moment. "He's one of us," Evan said, disentangling himself from Sidra. "I need someone to go up and get the stuff, thor watched the dancer across the square, fascinated. Her movements were graceful, at times almost acrobatic. His mother would be shocked, he thought. These were certainly not the serene, stylized classical dance forms she had preferred. And whatever the women next to him had to say about it, the men coming in and out of the taverns seemed to appreciate her skill, to judge from the pile of coins accumulating in a bowl in front of the musicians. Something changed. He didn't know what, but suddenly the men filtered back into taverns, and the prostitutes disappeared into the doorway behind them. When he looked back, the nomads, with their instruments and coin-filled bowl, had vanished without a trace. The only people left in the square were the unsmiling grill tender, the socialator gliding on her way past him and into the alley, and himself. He didn't know what was happening, but he didn't care to stay and find out. He hurried across the square and into the alley opposite, losing himself bor the moment they were hurting Andros and not himself. He started down the row. He found an access road, and paralleled it until he could follow the sounds of machinery to one of the processing plants. He hid among the trellises for a while, observing. It seemed he'd had another stroke of luck. The plant was one that was primarily automated. Using all his skill at sneaking around, he found a service entrance and entered the plant. This was the easiest part of his plan, but also the most dangerous. The machinery was automated, but there were still people here, technicians and quality control personnel. He had to make sure none of them saw him. His biggest advantage was that no one would expect him here. Thieves and vagrants might slip into the fields, but they would never enter an occupied building. He kept to the shadows and narrow spaces between crates and machines until he saw what he wanted. A cargo container was being loaded with crates by a robotic arm. As he'd seen happenugh. Auriga, you and Baltar go up there and meet him. Leave tomorrow, the sooner we see what he can give us, the sooner we're back in business." "Not Baltar," Tem said firmly. "What?" "Baltar stays here. I'll go." "And why is that?" Evan asked, irritation showing in his tone. "He's the Count," Sidra said. "We can't risk him, if it's a trap or something goes wrong." Evan glared at her. "If he's one of us, he takes the same risks any of us would. If he sits back here, safe, lets us face all the danger, he's no better than his uncle. Am I right?" he asked, looking directly at Baltar. "I'll go," he said. "I'm not asking you to do anything for me, Evan." "You're staying here," Tem said. "I can take care of myself!" he shot back. "How do you think I survived before I met you? I know that area, I can lay low if I have to, I know some of the tribes out there. I'll be fine!" "You can't take that kind of chance," Tem's voice was low and intense. "I can and I willack into the maze of streets. When the sun rose, a dim red ball in the blowing dust, Baltar was making his way along the fences separating the fields from the city. For his plan to work, he needed to find a way in, not an easy proposition. The province's primary resource was too valuable to leave open to the populace. The fence was high, and electrified, and topped with lasers that would set off alarms even if they didn't kill an intruder outright. The gates were closely monitored. But he had to find a weakness. In the end, he followed those more knowledgeable than he was. A trio of raggedly dressed children, a few yahren younger than himself, slipped down an alley ahead of him, and he quietly followed. He turned the corner just in time to see them disappear into a broken window in the alley wall. He waited a moment, then climbed onto the same crate they had used and dropped through the window. He looked around. The warehouse was almost empty, and very dusty, obviously seldom on his tours, a space had occurred in the conveyor line, and the arm, empty, ridiculously went through the motions of locking a non-existent crate into its place in the container. He glanced around and saw no one. He dashed across the short space of open floor and clambered over the side of the container and into the vacant space. Above him the arm returned, bearing a crate, which it locked into the next space. Two crates later, another arm closed the container, then he felt the entire unit lifted into the air, moved across the plant floor, and locked, in its turn, into a robotic cargo hauler. The hauler was still for a time, then it rumbled into motion. As the ponderous vehicle headed away from the fields and onto the highway out of Raamasa, Baltar wished once more that he had a handlight. Fortune's Wheel, Part 5 The space he'd hidden in wasn't particularly large. He couldn't quite stretch his legs all the way out, but at the moment he was grateful for that. The cargo ha," he answered just as quietly. "I won't be made to look like a fool, Tem!" "You won't have to, if something goes wrong!" "Nothing is going to go wrong! Do you think I can't handle a simple pick- up run?" "I am trying to help you, curse it! I'm trying to save your life!" "I said I'm going and that's the end of it!" Tem sat back and looked at him a long moment. "God, you're an idiot," he said finally, then got up and left the room. Baltar watched him go. As Tem walked out the door, Baltar saw the smirk on Evan's face, and wondered if he'd made such a wise decision after all. "We were going to name him Karybdis, after my father," Risa was saying, "but he turned out to be a she, so we had to come up with a girl's name." "I think Chandra's a pretty name; and she's adorable," Baltar said. With no warning, the toothless smile on the baby's face became a howl. "Ah…Risa…," he handed the baby back to her mother. "She's not going to break, you know," Risa smiled, quietingused, at least by its owners. After a bit of searching he found a hole in the back wall, and ducked through it. He found himself standing on dark, damp soil between rows of legumes growing on trellises. The air had a strange, moist feel. The moisture traps rippled and snapped overhead, and the light was oddly softened, filtered through green leaves fluttering in the wind. It was a world apart from the life he knew. He'd been to the fields before, as part of his education, but his visits had consisted of drives in covered cars down access roads and tours through processing plants, accompanied by boring lectures by middle managers, and excessive courtesy meant to impress his tutors and chaperones. He had never stood alone in the fields. And he couldn't stand here now. He could hear the children in the next row, whispering and picking legume pods. He felt a touch of annoyance. These grubby urchins were stealing from him. But there was nothing he could do about it, and at any rate, fuler bumped and rattled its way up into the mountains, and if he'd had more room he would have bounced around like a pebble in a can. He wedged himself against the side of a crate, his feet pressed to the wall of the container, and went over his plans again. Velden would welcome him, he told himself firmly. Velden would blame Andros for Alden's death, he would do anything he could to oppose the usurper, and what he could do was considerable. He would want his brother's son to be the Count of Raamasa, he would help Baltar regain his title. The Akharate would have to support his claim, if Velden insisted on it. Then Andros would pay for his betrayal of the family. But what if Velden didn't support him? What if he blamed all the Dariani for Alden's death, not just Andros? Alden had chosen his wife and children over his duty to his own house. What would Velden feel about one of those children coming to him, still alive, asking his help? He shook his head sharply. No, he could tell Vel her baby with rocking and pats. "I'm not good with babies." "Well, you were the youngest," Auriga grinned. "I have four little brothers and sisters. Let me see her, Risa." The apartment was small, but warm and bright and comfortable. Not like the places he'd lived in for the last yahren, Baltar thought. The normality of it made the contrast suddenly sharp. "You seem to be doing pretty well here," he said to Kostis. "It's not bad. We're doing good, the job pays well enough." Kostis shrugged. "I feel guilty about it, though." "Kostis," Risa began, "You know we've talked about this, and if we're going to raise a family -" "I know, I know," he answered. "It's no life for a child, I know. But still -" "I think he feels he left Evan in the lurch," Risa explained. "Don't worry about that," Baltar said. "When I left, he was glad you two were up here, and able to help us." He decided against bringing up the preceding sectons of Evan's furious tirades about their disloyor the moment they were hurting Andros and not himself. He started down the row. He found an access road, and paralleled it until he could follow the sounds of machinery to one of the processing plants. He hid among the trellises for a while, observing. It seemed he'd had another stroke of luck. The plant was one that was primarily automated. Using all his skill at sneaking around, he found a service entrance and entered the plant. This was the easiest part of his plan, but also the most dangerous. The machinery was automated, but there were still people here, technicians and quality control personnel. He had to make sure none of them saw him. His biggest advantage was that no one would expect him here. Thieves and vagrants might slip into the fields, but they would never enter an occupied building. He kept to the shadows and narrow spaces between crates and machines until he saw what he wanted. A cargo container was being loaded with crates by a robotic arm. As he'd seen happenden that Andros had intended to kill his brother, that he had deliberately waited for Alden to arrive before he called in his men. Something was bothering Baltar, but he couldn't quite pin it down. After all these yahrens, why had Andros suddenly taken such extreme action? What was different? Had he been planning this for a long time and was finally ready to make his move? Or had something changed, something that made him decide that now was the time to seize the province for himself? Andros had always envied his sister her position, but she had never feared violence from him. He was neither imaginative nor brave enough to risk everything on a coup, not when losing would cost him all he already had and quite possibly his life. And yet he had taken the risk. Now. Why? Try as he might, he couldn't answer that question. He didn't have all the information, he knew. His mother might have known more, but perhaps not. If she had truly thought her brother presented a danger to the linealty, and determinedly avoided meeting Auriga's eyes. "I don't care what Evan thinks about us," Kostis said with sudden vehemence. "Kostis," Risa began, then turned toward the others. "He does. Really." "I care about Scorpia. I care about our cause. I don't care about Evan, Risa, he's… I don't know. I felt like it was becoming all a matter of his ego. What we were fighting for secondary, to him." "He doesn't mean it," Risa told them. "You don't have to worry about it getting back to him from us," Baltar said. "Tem says the same thing, you know." "And there's others," Auriga put in unexpectedly. "There are?" Baltar turned to him, surprised. "Menkari, for one." "Menkari?" Kostis burst out. "I thought he and Evan were thick. I never thought -" "And he told you?" Baltar asked Auriga. Auriga nodded. "I'm surprised. I thought you supported Evan, no matter what he did." "I'm in this for you," Auriga said. Baltar just stared at him. "You should be on his tours, a space had occurred in the conveyor line, and the arm, empty, ridiculously went through the motions of locking a non-existent crate into its place in the container. He glanced around and saw no one. He dashed across the short space of open floor and clambered over the side of the container and into the vacant space. Above him the arm returned, bearing a crate, which it locked into the next space. Two crates later, another arm closed the container, then he felt the entire unit lifted into the air, moved across the plant floor, and locked, in its turn, into a robotic cargo hauler. The hauler was still for a time, then it rumbled into motion. As the ponderous vehicle headed away from the fields and onto the highway out of Raamasa, Baltar wished once more that he had a handlight. Fortune's Wheel, Part 5 The space he'd hidden in wasn't particularly large. He couldn't quite stretch his legs all the way out, but at the moment he was grateful for that. The cargo ha, she wouldn't have hesitated to deal with the problem. He wasn't sure how, but then, he wasn't supposed to know how. It was one of those matters from which someone of his station distanced oneself. It was becoming harder to hold back the emotions that were building up, that he'd had to ignore all night if he wanted to survive. He'd kept running on hate and adrenaline, had tried to keep fear from becoming panic. But now he was exhausted, and there was nothing to do now but wait, until the hauler reached its destination. He had too much time to think. Why hadn't Adria seen what was coming? He had always imagined his mother knew everything that happened in her province, that she would deal with any problem that could arise. How could she not have known what her brother was plotting, have allowed him to breach the defenses of the House of Darius, allowed... He gulped a deep breath, and huddled up against the side of the crate, not caring how he was bounced around by the hauler's r Count," Auriga said with an unexpected intensity. "You care about your people. Not like Andros. I can see what Terrel and Mara are risking for you, I can see their loyalty to you. To get rid of Andros, and put you back where you belong, that's more important than giving Evan something to brag about." Baltar stared at him in amazement. Auriga had been his friend for over a yahren, closer to his age than Tem and the others, but he had no idea his friend felt so strongly about his own, personal cause. He had hoped only to cause Andros enough trouble, by the dissidents' activities, to destabilize his hold on Raamasa and step in at the right moment. That they might truly support him, and his goal to reclaim the title, had never occurred to him. To add to his surprise, Kostis and Risa were nodding, too. "He's right," Kostis said. "Your uncle's a fool, you know that, he has no control of the province. It helps us do what we can for the cause, but it also leaves Raamasa wide open for some ouler bumped and rattled its way up into the mountains, and if he'd had more room he would have bounced around like a pebble in a can. He wedged himself against the side of a crate, his feet pressed to the wall of the container, and went over his plans again. Velden would welcome him, he told himself firmly. Velden would blame Andros for Alden's death, he would do anything he could to oppose the usurper, and what he could do was considerable. He would want his brother's son to be the Count of Raamasa, he would help Baltar regain his title. The Akharate would have to support his claim, if Velden insisted on it. Then Andros would pay for his betrayal of the family. But what if Velden didn't support him? What if he blamed all the Dariani for Alden's death, not just Andros? Alden had chosen his wife and children over his duty to his own house. What would Velden feel about one of those children coming to him, still alive, asking his help? He shook his head sharply. No, he could tell Velough ride. How could he be so alone? He'd never been alone in his life. His father was seldom home and his mother had never had much time for him, but there had always been someone he could turn to. Often he'd wished for a moment alone, a moment away from tutors and retainers and all the various petty officials he had needed to somehow learn to deal with. But then, when he did have a moment, he hadn't known what to do. He had never learned how to deal with being alone, hardly knew what to do with himself without someone telling him what was expected, needed, customary. And so he'd always gone looking for someone, for company or entertainment. He'd wander into receptions and social functions long after he was supposed to be asleep, keeping quiet and unobtrusive and picking up all kinds of information and rumors that he'd never hear otherwise. He'd slip out with Jos, and watch old vids or sneak around in the compound, and almost have enough fun to feel like he had a normal life. He'd findther ambitious noble to step in; and then where would we be? What if saar Rendal, or saar Kiros, took over? The Akharate might be glad of it, to be rid of Andros, but then where would we Raamasani be? No, we need you in as Count. Like Auriga said, you care about your people; and you believe in our cause. That's what Scorpia needs, a voice on the Akharate that isn't just talking power and wealth." Baltar was stunned. But his early training provided the proper words and gestures without conscious thought. He stood and nodded gravely. "I thank you, my friends, for your support. You have my deep gratitude, and, when I am able, I will demonstrate it properly." The shipment of explosives that was destined to reach the mines lighter than it reached the docks was due in a little over a secton. Auriga went back to Raamasa in the interim. To lose his delivery job would mean losing the group's one steady means of support - and Baltar's contact with Mara. Baltar stayed with Kostis and Risa,den that Andros had intended to kill his brother, that he had deliberately waited for Alden to arrive before he called in his men. Something was bothering Baltar, but he couldn't quite pin it down. After all these yahrens, why had Andros suddenly taken such extreme action? What was different? Had he been planning this for a long time and was finally ready to make his move? Or had something changed, something that made him decide that now was the time to seize the province for himself? Andros had always envied his sister her position, but she had never feared violence from him. He was neither imaginative nor brave enough to risk everything on a coup, not when losing would cost him all he already had and quite possibly his life. And yet he had taken the risk. Now. Why? Try as he might, he couldn't answer that question. He didn't have all the information, he knew. His mother might have known more, but perhaps not. If she had truly thought her brother presented a danger to the line Brianna, but he couldn't think about Brianna. After a centar of bumping over the mountain road, the hauler slowed to a stop. The cargo container was still for a time, then it lifted into the air, moved sideways, descended. There was a clank as it locked into place. Baltar came out of his despairing thoughts long enough to work out what had happened. Cargo depot, he thought. The container had been loaded onto a freight transport. It would head north; cargo heading east or west would have been sent across the sea, to the depots near the airfields. Only a northbound freight would make the trip over the mountains practical. Just as well. He needed to head north. He wondered how far north this particular container was bound. Not as far as Zahransi, he hoped. Even on a high-speed line, that would take days, crossing far into Scorpia's northern hemisphere. He couldn't survive in this container that long, could he? He couldn't get out. He was stuck in here until the container reached and helped them work out the means of transporting the stolen crates to their chosen hiding place; as well as helping them calm the fears of the sympathetic but timid old miner who owned the property. At last the crates were obtained and hidden, and two days later, in the middle of a cold and windy night, they were loaded into the back of a hovervan whose ID probably wouldn't pass a computer search by the Watch. "We have to hurry," Auriga said when Baltar finally climbed into the cab. "We need to ditch this van. If it hasn't been reported already, they'll miss it soon." Baltar said nothing. He was still shivering from the cold. He nodded understanding, then reached over and turned the van's cab heater to maximum as they started to move. A while later, when they'd warmed up, Auriga said, "There's been some trouble." "What kind?" "Evan killed someone. A merchant who owed him money." Baltar's expression invited him to elaborate. "I guess he told Evan he wouldn't pay him, she wouldn't have hesitated to deal with the problem. He wasn't sure how, but then, he wasn't supposed to know how. It was one of those matters from which someone of his station distanced oneself. It was becoming harder to hold back the emotions that were building up, that he'd had to ignore all night if he wanted to survive. He'd kept running on hate and adrenaline, had tried to keep fear from becoming panic. But now he was exhausted, and there was nothing to do now but wait, until the hauler reached its destination. He had too much time to think. Why hadn't Adria seen what was coming? He had always imagined his mother knew everything that happened in her province, that she would deal with any problem that could arise. How could she not have known what her brother was plotting, have allowed him to breach the defenses of the House of Darius, allowed... He gulped a deep breath, and huddled up against the side of the crate, not caring how he was bounced around by the hauler's r its destination. He was appalled that he'd missed such an obvious flaw in his plan. But he hadn't had any choice, had he? He needed to get out of Raamasa, he needed to get far away from his uncle. This was the only way. He began to feel claustrophobic. He felt for the knife on his belt. It was only a small utility blade, but he knew it was sharp. He'd cut himself with it the first day he'd owned it, sticking the point into his thumb rather than the sheath. Jos had laughed at him, ignoring his glare, and he'd felt so foolish... He worked the point into the crack at the top of the container. There was enough room to fit the blade through, and air and a little light came in through the crevice, but there was no way to pry the lid up. He tried the crate beside him next, and with some effort managed to cut a small hole in the side. He stuck a finger through the hole, and felt the rough texture of a melon rind. Considerably more interested than he had been a moment before - he'd assum anymore. And he hired some guards, and I got the impression that Evan thought he was working out a deal to pay someone else to protect him, and his business - you know, from us. I've never seen Evan so mad, and you know what a temper he has." "Go on. I want to hear this." "So he and Narain went to the man's office, and I guess they killed him there. Set the place on fire to cover it up. No one's traced it back to us, I don't think…but I was afraid to ask Terrel if he'd heard anything or could find out. I didn't want to let him know we had anything to do with it." Baltar let out a long breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "What does that fool think he's doing? He's going to drag us all down." "Tem's been arguing with him about it for days. It's getting pretty bad. I just wanted to warn you." "And just where do you think you're going?" Baltar woke up abruptly at Evan's shout outside the smaller cabin he shared with Auriga and Tem. He looked around, trying to get hough ride. How could he be so alone? He'd never been alone in his life. His father was seldom home and his mother had never had much time for him, but there had always been someone he could turn to. Often he'd wished for a moment alone, a moment away from tutors and retainers and all the various petty officials he had needed to somehow learn to deal with. But then, when he did have a moment, he hadn't known what to do. He had never learned how to deal with being alone, hardly knew what to do with himself without someone telling him what was expected, needed, customary. And so he'd always gone looking for someone, for company or entertainment. He'd wander into receptions and social functions long after he was supposed to be asleep, keeping quiet and unobtrusive and picking up all kinds of information and rumors that he'd never hear otherwise. He'd slip out with Jos, and watch old vids or sneak around in the compound, and almost have enough fun to feel like he had a normal life. He'd finded the crate would contain legumes - he worked on enlarging the hole until he was able to pull out one of the fruits. He carved out a chunk of the sweet flesh and relaxed a little. At least he wouldn't starve. After he ate the melon, his thoughts turned back to his desperate situation, and the fear and misery began to absorb him again. But he was too tired to deal with it. The freight transport, in contrast to the hauler, glided smoothly on its rail, and the motion was lulling. Shortly after he'd stuffed the melon rinds back into the damaged crate, he fell asleep. Some time later he awoke, stiff. He tried to stretch, but no matter how he turned there was just not enough room. The melon rind he'd shoved back in the crate smelled a lot less appealing than it had centars earlier, making the air in the small space seem even closer and stuffier than before. He felt rested, but now that his mind was clearer he couldn't avoid his thoughts. He couldn't deal with the future. He had nis bearings. Auriga was still asleep, but Tem's place was empty - completely empty. His blankets and clothes were gone. Baltar sat up and pulled on his boots. He opened the door carefully, and peered out into the morning sunlight. Tem was standing in the open area between the cabins and the road, his pack over one shoulder. Evan was closer, facing him; beside him were Narain and Lensar, backing him up. "I'm leaving," Tem said shortly, and turned his back on the other men. "Coward!" Evan yelled at his back. Tem pulled up short. "Coward? You're calling me a coward, Evan? I don't hide behind other people, Evan. I don't terrorize the innocent, I don't steal from people. You're not the 'great revolutionary' you like to think. You're just a common street thug, Evan, and that's all you'll ever be. And I don't want any part of it. I've had enough of you." He turned again, and started walking. "You get back here!" Evan screamed. Tem didn't even turn this time. "No o Brianna, but he couldn't think about Brianna. After a centar of bumping over the mountain road, the hauler slowed to a stop. The cargo container was still for a time, then it lifted into the air, moved sideways, descended. There was a clank as it locked into place. Baltar came out of his despairing thoughts long enough to work out what had happened. Cargo depot, he thought. The container had been loaded onto a freight transport. It would head north; cargo heading east or west would have been sent across the sea, to the depots near the airfields. Only a northbound freight would make the trip over the mountains practical. Just as well. He needed to head north. He wondered how far north this particular container was bound. Not as far as Zahransi, he hoped. Even on a high-speed line, that would take days, crossing far into Scorpia's northern hemisphere. He couldn't survive in this container that long, could he? He couldn't get out. He was stuck in here until the container reachedo idea what would happen to him. There were too many possibilities, and so few of them seemed to work to his best interest. Instead, he thought about the past, about his family and the few friends he'd had. Mostly, he thought about his sister. Just before he fell asleep again, it occurred to him to wonder why he hadn't seemed able to cry. He was awakened by light and a blast of cold air - but not as cold as it had been in Raamasa. He sat up and looked around. The lid of the container had been lifted off by another automated arm, and he could see it being moved away among the machinery overhead. Carefully he looked over the side of the container. He was in a cargo depot of some sort. As he glanced around, he heard a sudden whirring sound behind him. He jumped, startled, and turned, but it was only another arm reaching into the container for a crate. He looked back onto the floor of the depot and saw no one. He dropped down out of the container and ducked behind a piece of mane walks out on me, Tem! Do you hear me?! You're not going anywhere!" Tem said, over his shoulder, "Watch me." Evan reached into his coat, and when he pulled out his hand there was a laser in it. Without any hesitation he fired at Tem's retreating back. In the silence that followed, Evan turned to Lensar. "Find somewhere to get rid of him. Bury him good - I don't want a bunch of carrion birds giving away our position." And then Narain made a slight coughing sound and nodded toward the smaller cabin. There was a stone a few metrons from the door, small, grayish, not much more than a pebble. On one side its shadow stretched out across the dusty ground; on the other, the ever-present wind had piled up a miniature dune of dust. He could see it in stark, incredible clarity. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Tem sprawled in the road, could see Narain and Lensar moving toward the body, could see Evan walking closer. But he couldn't make himself look up, away from the pe its destination. He was appalled that he'd missed such an obvious flaw in his plan. But he hadn't had any choice, had he? He needed to get out of Raamasa, he needed to get far away from his uncle. This was the only way. He began to feel claustrophobic. He felt for the knife on his belt. It was only a small utility blade, but he knew it was sharp. He'd cut himself with it the first day he'd owned it, sticking the point into his thumb rather than the sheath. Jos had laughed at him, ignoring his glare, and he'd felt so foolish... He worked the point into the crack at the top of the container. There was enough room to fit the blade through, and air and a little light came in through the crevice, but there was no way to pry the lid up. He tried the crate beside him next, and with some effort managed to cut a small hole in the side. He stuck a finger through the hole, and felt the rough texture of a melon rind. Considerably more interested than he had been a moment before - he'd assumchinery. Moving carefully, he worked his way under cover toward one of the walls. He had almost reached the wall of the building, and had just stepped out from between two crates taller than himself. His attention was on a promising-looking opening further down the wall, through which he could see daylight. He didn't notice the depot foreman step out from the other side of the crate, until the man spotted him and yelled. "Hey! You!" He whirled, for a moment as startled at being addressed in such a manner as he was at the loud voice. Then fear crowded out all other thoughts and he simply reacted. He'd been running too long to think of anything else. He ducked under the man's arm as the foreman reached to grab him, and ran for the door. He heard the footsteps pounding behind him and ran faster. He made the door and burst outside into the wind. He was on a loading dock, facing a row of haulers with their rear doors open. He had no intention of being trapped in one. He ran dobble in front of him. Evan would kill him. Of course. The words he could dimly hear above the roaring of blood in his ears were only meant to keep him from running, or attacking, before Evan was ready to shoot him, too. He couldn't afford a witness. He couldn't afford anyone who would challenge him over his actions. It was all over, right here, right now. Unless he could think, unless he could do something to turn aside the inevitable. Tem had been his friend, and his supporter. But Tem was dead, and he was not. Not quite yet. With an effort, he made himself look up, made himself focus on what Evan was saying. He realized the laser wasn't pointed at him, at least not yet. " - couldn't let him walk out on us. He knew too much, he could have hurt us, if he wanted to. We have to stay together, especially now, you see that, don't you?" Evan was saying, an urgency in his tone. Baltar looked Evan in the eyes and could still see his own death there. But not yet. Not yet. Throed the crate would contain legumes - he worked on enlarging the hole until he was able to pull out one of the fruits. He carved out a chunk of the sweet flesh and relaxed a little. At least he wouldn't starve. After he ate the melon, his thoughts turned back to his desperate situation, and the fear and misery began to absorb him again. But he was too tired to deal with it. The freight transport, in contrast to the hauler, glided smoothly on its rail, and the motion was lulling. Shortly after he'd stuffed the melon rinds back into the damaged crate, he fell asleep. Some time later he awoke, stiff. He tried to stretch, but no matter how he turned there was just not enough room. The melon rind he'd shoved back in the crate smelled a lot less appealing than it had centars earlier, making the air in the small space seem even closer and stuffier than before. He felt rested, but now that his mind was clearer he couldn't avoid his thoughts. He couldn't deal with the future. He had nwn the dock, and finally realized he had nowhere to go. The end of the dock was high, and though there was sand on the ground below it looked to far to jump. Desperately he looked for a way down. His search was ended by the foreman's boot in the seat of his pants. He found himself sailing off the end of the pier to land sprawling in a heap on the sand below. He pushed himself up, gasping for the breath that had been knocked out of him, and heard the foreman cursing him from the dock above. "Y'damn sandblooded little vagrant! Go steal from someone else, you thief!" He scrambled to his feet, running toward the buildings ahead. He paused in a doorway, trying to catch his breath. He thought he'd had it, he thought he'd finally been caught - then he'd been kicked out, literally, of the depot and sent on his way. The adrenaline rush turned from fear to elation and he started laughing out loud. He gulped for air between spasms of laughter, and dabbed at his eyes with his scarf, laughino idea what would happen to him. There were too many possibilities, and so few of them seemed to work to his best interest. Instead, he thought about the past, about his family and the few friends he'd had. Mostly, he thought about his sister. Just before he fell asleep again, it occurred to him to wonder why he hadn't seemed able to cry. He was awakened by light and a blast of cold air - but not as cold as it had been in Raamasa. He sat up and looked around. The lid of the container had been lifted off by another automated arm, and he could see it being moved away among the machinery overhead. Carefully he looked over the side of the container. He was in a cargo depot of some sort. As he glanced around, he heard a sudden whirring sound behind him. He jumped, startled, and turned, but it was only another arm reaching into the container for a crate. He looked back onto the floor of the depot and saw no one. He dropped down out of the container and ducked behind a piece of maugh his shock, he heard his own voice, the tone deadly calm and reasonable. "Of course. I see that. You did the right thing." Part 12 "That's insane!" Kelse was shouting. "There's barely enough food now, they're shipping it in, no one can afford it! And you want to make sure there's even less?" "It's the only way!" Evan yelled back. "No it isn't!" Sidra joined the fray. Evan stared, amazed at her disagreement. "We have to attack the source of the problem. One bomb placed in the right office…" Baltar wished they'd stop screaming at each other. There was something he was trying to remember, something that stayed right on the edge of consciousness. He knew there was a way to do this, if he could just remember… "An office? Who cares? It'll be up and running again the next day…" …serves the western sectors of Raamasa… "Well, what do you expect to accomplish by starving everyone?" …over 27,000 cubic litrons per… "If you kill off a few bureaucrats there's a hundred mog so hard he was crying. All the tension of the last two cycles was draining away. He'd done it. He'd gotten away. He'd actually done it. After several centons he gained control of himself again, and started down the street with only an occasional chuckle. Sand had blown across the road in such quantity that its bonded surface could barely be seen. He left tracks in the sand as he headed into town, and almost immediately the strong wind blew them away again. Fortune's Wheel, Part 6 By the time the sun had set, he was settled under a stand of brush, studying a map by the glow of a newly-purchased handlight. He had spent the day in the small town, buying food and water and various supplies, until at last he felt he had everything he needed and his fears for survival were eased. He had considered both the lodging and the transport station in town, and had rejected them both. The town was too small, and far too close to Raamasa, to make either seem worth the risk. A young bchinery. Moving carefully, he worked his way under cover toward one of the walls. He had almost reached the wall of the building, and had just stepped out from between two crates taller than himself. His attention was on a promising-looking opening further down the wall, through which he could see daylight. He didn't notice the depot foreman step out from the other side of the crate, until the man spotted him and yelled. "Hey! You!" He whirled, for a moment as startled at being addressed in such a manner as he was at the loud voice. Then fear crowded out all other thoughts and he simply reacted. He'd been running too long to think of anything else. He ducked under the man's arm as the foreman reached to grab him, and ran for the door. He heard the footsteps pounding behind him and ran faster. He made the door and burst outside into the wind. He was on a loading dock, facing a row of haulers with their rear doors open. He had no intention of being trapped in one. He ran dore waiting to take their places!" …the plant manager droning on… "Aren't I right?" He realized the question was addressed to him, and nodded. He almost had it… …Brianna yawning and trying to hide it… "What about the spaceport?" Vanda asked. "We can't get to the spaceport," Narain answered derisively. …and he tried to ignore her because their tutor was glaring and he was afraid he'd start yawning, too… "All you're worried about is making the news reports, you don't care about our people!" Sidra was shrieking at Evan. …processing forty-seven percent agricultural… "I said, where's my brother?" Shen yelled from the doorway. "Where do you think?" Lensar yelled back. "He's off getting knocked somewhere, what else?" …and sixty-two percent of the residential uses for the sector… "Damn it, Sidra, it's for the cause-" "You're crazy! What difference does it make, if the Cylons kill them or we do? Because that's just what you'll do, Evan, if you try to burn the fields…oy alone, but well supplied with money, would attract too much attention. Word would get back to his uncle. He was sure of it. He peered at the map in the fading light, measuring distances against his finger. He was just outside of Bel, which was marked on the map, and nearby was a point labeled Mt. Akaf. He could still make out the shape of the peak against the darkening sky. If he headed toward the mountain, and passed by on the west, it wasn't that far to Sakara. That was a city with a large and shifting population, he knew. With great seasonal variation in water supplies, there was only a short agricultural season to attract laborers from Raamasa and Kirosa. The mines and foundries employed vast numbers of unskilled workers; there was a steady flow of people from the outlands coming in for a fast cubit and then moving on. And there were always tribes of nomads bringing their flocks in, for shearing or sale. It would be the perfect place to get lost in for a while, until he could wn the dock, and finally realized he had nowhere to go. The end of the dock was high, and though there was sand on the ground below it looked to far to jump. Desperately he looked for a way down. His search was ended by the foreman's boot in the seat of his pants. He found himself sailing off the end of the pier to land sprawling in a heap on the sand below. He pushed himself up, gasping for the breath that had been knocked out of him, and heard the foreman cursing him from the dock above. "Y'damn sandblooded little vagrant! Go steal from someone else, you thief!" He scrambled to his feet, running toward the buildings ahead. He paused in a doorway, trying to catch his breath. He thought he'd had it, he thought he'd finally been caught - then he'd been kicked out, literally, of the depot and sent on his way. The adrenaline rush turned from fear to elation and he started laughing out loud. He gulped for air between spasms of laughter, and dabbed at his eyes with his scarf, laughin" Baltar winced at the idea, and lost his train of thought, but it didn't matter. He had it now. "Not the fields." Evan turned on him. "Oh yes, your precious fields that you'll need when you're Count…" he sneered. "No. Sidra's right, the food supply's too short now, if you damage it more than my dear uncle has done you'll only alienate the people, you won't gain any support," the words were falling over themselves as he tried to finish before someone interrupted him. "And a government office is no good, either, they have too many backups, you can't do enough damage to really matter…" "I suppose you have a better idea," Narain asked. He nodded. "Desalinization plant number 3." They stared. "No, it'll work. Damage the plant, you cut off the fresh water supply to the western side of the valley," he rushed on. "They'll have to transfer water from the other plants to cover the shortfall in irrigation. The fields won't be hurt, so there won't be a food shortage. But it'larrange transport north. Perhaps he could even contact Velden, have him send someone... but no. It would be so much better for his case if he arrived in Zahransi without help. It didn't look that far to Sakara. A few days, maybe five but probably less. He sorted through his supplies, and decided he had enough food and water. He could make it. It was getting darker, and cold. He shut off the handlight, stuffed it back into his pack along with the map, and pulled his hood tight around his head. He spread out his bedroll and crawled in, shifting a bit to create a hollow in the sand beneath. Despite the cold and the unfamiliar experience of sleeping outdoors, he fell asleep quickly. He woke the next morning before dawn, too cold to sleep any more. He rolled up his bedroll and took a packet of nuts and a piece of jerky out of his pack, washing them down with a few sips from his water bottle. He was still cold, so much so that his muscles were cramping up with shivering. He consg so hard he was crying. All the tension of the last two cycles was draining away. He'd done it. He'd gotten away. He'd actually done it. After several centons he gained control of himself again, and started down the street with only an occasional chuckle. Sand had blown across the road in such quantity that its bonded surface could barely be seen. He left tracks in the sand as he headed into town, and almost immediately the strong wind blew them away again. Fortune's Wheel, Part 6 By the time the sun had set, he was settled under a stand of brush, studying a map by the glow of a newly-purchased handlight. He had spent the day in the small town, buying food and water and various supplies, until at last he felt he had everything he needed and his fears for survival were eased. He had considered both the lodging and the transport station in town, and had rejected them both. The town was too small, and far too close to Raamasa, to make either seem worth the risk. A young bl come out of the residential supply. The rationing will be worse, not to the point of killing anyone, you see, but just making them…uncomfortable. Mad at us, sure, but even more so at Andros for letting this sort of thing happen…" "The plants are pretty heavily guarded," Menkari said quietly. "I know. But if someone could slip in, just one person, he could let the others in. Not everyone, just one or two." He looked from Menkari to Evan, and back. "How many would it take?" "To set the charges and get out?" Evan asked Menkari. "I'd say two, if we know what we're doing. How do we get in?" "As maintenance?" Menkari mused. "If just one of us had a forged pass…" "I can get that out of Carden. It'd have to be on the third shift, though, the least people around…" "Even so, there'll be a lot of employees, it'd be hard to get into the right area…" "No, no, wait," Kelse put in. "Think a moment. What's next secton?" Faces brightened. "Armament Day!" Narain said. "Eveidered going back into Bel and finding a cup of hot kaffe, or broth, or maybe a complete breakfast. But he didn't want to take the time, or the risk. If he went back into town, he'd have to walk this far out again before he covered new ground. Instead, he started walking across country, toward the barely visible peak ahead. The sun rose a centar later, and by that time he was glad to stop wading through brush, briars and stands of shortgrass and follow the unpaved road he'd come to. It headed in generally the right direction. By midmorning the exercise and pale sunlight had finally warmed him up enough to push back his hood and loosen the sash on his coat. He stopped for a rest and food, then continued on. By midday, the road was rapidly fading into the steppe, its track barely visible. He was surrounded on all sides by a plain of shortgrass and taller coppergrass, rippling in the wind. He looked back, wondering how far he'd come, but the town had fallen into the distance behind himoy alone, but well supplied with money, would attract too much attention. Word would get back to his uncle. He was sure of it. He peered at the map in the fading light, measuring distances against his finger. He was just outside of Bel, which was marked on the map, and nearby was a point labeled Mt. Akaf. He could still make out the shape of the peak against the darkening sky. If he headed toward the mountain, and passed by on the west, it wasn't that far to Sakara. That was a city with a large and shifting population, he knew. With great seasonal variation in water supplies, there was only a short agricultural season to attract laborers from Raamasa and Kirosa. The mines and foundries employed vast numbers of unskilled workers; there was a steady flow of people from the outlands coming in for a fast cubit and then moving on. And there were always tribes of nomads bringing their flocks in, for shearing or sale. It would be the perfect place to get lost in for a while, until he could ryone that can will take off, especially third shift if there's pyrotechnics…" Auriga continued. "And even a few who can't," Baltar added. "They were always complaining of the absentee figures after a holiday…" "Armament Day," Sidra smirked. "The big military celebration, and that's the day we hit 'em. Oh, that is just too good! That's beautiful!" "You know Evan thinks it was all his idea now," Auriga said. "Oh, let him. It's probably better if he does." "What's wrong?" Baltar didn't answer at first. He picked up a flat stone, and skipped it across the dusty road. "I don't know," he said, finally. "It's just that…I don't know. All my life, all my life before, I mean, I was taught how to preserve the resources of the province. And now I'm using everything I learned to destroy them. I feel like…I just…I don't know." "It's not like that," Auriga began. "Sure it is, Riga. But I have to get rid of Andros somehow. I'll set it all right…afterward." The bar was , invisible over the horizon. The horizon seemed very close. On the west, the hills rose, dark and indistinct, with the higher peak he was using for a landmark; it didn't seem any closer than it had when he started. In every other direction he could see nothing but grass. The deep blue-violet of the sky was dulled by a high layer of dust, blown by the constant wind. Except for one hovercar heading toward town early that morning, he'd seen no other human beings, but the steppe wasn't empty of life. Lizards and small rodents scuttled through the grass. A falcon hovered for a moment, wings beating rapidly, then dropped to the ground, soaring up a moment later with something in its talons. Snakes sunned themselves on rocks, and slithered away at his approach. By evening his interest in the wilderness had waned considerably. He was tired, and dusty, and though the wind had dropped to almost nothing the air was growing cold. He was sure he hadn't traveled as far as he'd hoped. Whaarrange transport north. Perhaps he could even contact Velden, have him send someone... but no. It would be so much better for his case if he arrived in Zahransi without help. It didn't look that far to Sakara. A few days, maybe five but probably less. He sorted through his supplies, and decided he had enough food and water. He could make it. It was getting darker, and cold. He shut off the handlight, stuffed it back into his pack along with the map, and pulled his hood tight around his head. He spread out his bedroll and crawled in, shifting a bit to create a hollow in the sand beneath. Despite the cold and the unfamiliar experience of sleeping outdoors, he fell asleep quickly. He woke the next morning before dawn, too cold to sleep any more. He rolled up his bedroll and took a packet of nuts and a piece of jerky out of his pack, washing them down with a few sips from his water bottle. He was still cold, so much so that his muscles were cramping up with shivering. He consdark; combined with the low ceiling and smoky atmosphere, it was almost claustrophobic. The musicians, who were slightly better lit than the rest of the room, were too loud for normal conversation to be heard. Baltar wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not. The more he tried to avoid glancing at the heavy drape to the back room, the harder it became not to. Menkari set down his glass and leaned toward him. "Calm down," he said, just loudly enough to be heard. "I am calm." "No, you're not. You can't look nervous." Baltar stopped biting his lip. "Sorry. Old habit." Menkari picked up his drink again. "Better lose it," he said, leaning back. Baltar glanced over at Narain, who was staring fixedly at the back drape. Under the table, he felt Menkari's boot move past his foot as it connected with Narain's shin. Narain blinked and glared across the table. The drape was flung back abruptly, and Evan stalked out. He crossed to the table and leaned in close so he could t had been a road on the outskirts of Bel was barely a kavrine track now. He moved into the shelter of a stand of brush, sat down, and rummaged in his pack for a water bottle and something to eat. The bottle was less than half full. He pulled out the others. Two full, one a little less. He put them back, ate, and stood up again, looking toward the hills. He sighed and sat down again. It was late, and this was as good a place to camp as any. He woke up suddenly in the middle of the night. Something was missing. He listened, and after a moment he realized that the ever-present wind had... stopped. It was very cold. He turned over and curled up, but sleep eluded him. Awake, and without the activity of the day or the novelty of the steppe to distract him, he couldn't escape his thoughts. Shivering , he went over the whole miserable sequence of events again and again, trying to remember everything that had happened during the last few days, trying to put it all together in somidered going back into Bel and finding a cup of hot kaffe, or broth, or maybe a complete breakfast. But he didn't want to take the time, or the risk. If he went back into town, he'd have to walk this far out again before he covered new ground. Instead, he started walking across country, toward the barely visible peak ahead. The sun rose a centar later, and by that time he was glad to stop wading through brush, briars and stands of shortgrass and follow the unpaved road he'd come to. It headed in generally the right direction. By midmorning the exercise and pale sunlight had finally warmed him up enough to push back his hood and loosen the sash on his coat. He stopped for a rest and food, then continued on. By midday, the road was rapidly fading into the steppe, its track barely visible. He was surrounded on all sides by a plain of shortgrass and taller coppergrass, rippling in the wind. He looked back, wondering how far he'd come, but the town had fallen into the distance behind himbe heard. "We're leaving," he said through clenched teeth. "You didn't -" Baltar started, then cut off the rest. This wasn't the time or place, and he already knew the answer. He started to rise. Narain was already standing. Menkari looked around at the three of them, then settled further back in his chair and took another sip of his drink. Evan slapped the glass out of his hand. It shattered on the floor. Several glances turned their way, but none of them lingered. "I said, we're going!" He turned on his heel and started for the door, Narain following. Baltar hesitated, looking from Evan's back to Menkari, whose expression was unreadable. Then the Virgon slowly rose and started after the others. That was it? Baltar wondered. Evan was giving up on the plan so easily? After going through with that stupid robbery attempt that nearly got them all killed or caught…But then, this wasn't Evan's plan, was it? It was his. And so much easier for Evan to get out, to decide it would neve way that made sense. He was missing something. If only he'd been told more, if only he'd been older, been his mother's heir instead of Brianna... It was no good. He was missing some key piece of information, and what he did know wouldn't form a coherent picture without it. He sat up. The frustration was almost too much to bear. He looked up, not expecting any inspiration. He didn't find any. But the view was distracting, turning his mind away from his painful thoughts. This far outside of any town there were no lights to obscure the night sky, and without the wind, the blowing dust had settled. There was still dust, beyond the reach of any wind. The space around Scorpia was far from empty. Most distant stars were obscured by dust and gas, but nearer ones shone clear. One, large and golden, he recognized, knowing that the single point of light was actually a binary star, the suns of the planet Gemini. To the north, there were no stars visible. There the sky was ablaze with the , invisible over the horizon. The horizon seemed very close. On the west, the hills rose, dark and indistinct, with the higher peak he was using for a landmark; it didn't seem any closer than it had when he started. In every other direction he could see nothing but grass. The deep blue-violet of the sky was dulled by a high layer of dust, blown by the constant wind. Except for one hovercar heading toward town early that morning, he'd seen no other human beings, but the steppe wasn't empty of life. Lizards and small rodents scuttled through the grass. A falcon hovered for a moment, wings beating rapidly, then dropped to the ground, soaring up a moment later with something in its talons. Snakes sunned themselves on rocks, and slithered away at his approach. By evening his interest in the wilderness had waned considerably. He was tired, and dusty, and though the wind had dropped to almost nothing the air was growing cold. He was sure he hadn't traveled as far as he'd hoped. Whaer have worked…And what would he do with all those explosives now? Whatever it was, it would be twice as destructive and not even half as effective… "Oh, this is ludicrous!" he muttered. The hell with Evan, he'd do this himself. He headed for the back room and pushed aside the drape impatiently, letting it fall behind him. It only took a few microns for his eyes to adjust to the even dimmer light. At a long table five men had been seated, though four were now rising to their feet. The two nearest him were obviously reaching into their coats for weapons. Oh Lord, he thought, what did I just walk into? "Have a seat," said the heavyset man at the back, who must have been Carden. Baltar thought of saying he preferred to stand, then thought better of it. He pulled out the unoccupied chair in front of him, sat, thought about the doorway behind him, and decided he couldn't worry about it. The two men who'd risen also sat, more slowly and still watching him. "I'm -" he begawhite, reds and golds of the Fire Nebula. He stared at it for a long time. He'd known it was there, of course. It was spectacular, one of the marvels of the quadrant. Travelers came from distant worlds to see it. It might well have been one of the reasons the First Settlers had colonized this forbidding world. He couldn't recall ever having seen it before. He opened his eyes to the red light of early morning filtering through the swaying grass and glinting off the shiny black carapace of a large scorpius exploring the ground near his hand. Hardly daring to breathe, he watched the venomous creature unhurriedly clamber onto his sleeve and pause, the stinger tip of its tail bobbing slightly. After a moment, it carefully descended on the other side of his arm and disappeared into the grass. Baltar didn't move until he was sure it was gone; then he sat up, with a shudder of fear and disgust. He brushed at his sleeve as though to dispel the danger's lingering presence. He tot had been a road on the outskirts of Bel was barely a kavrine track now. He moved into the shelter of a stand of brush, sat down, and rummaged in his pack for a water bottle and something to eat. The bottle was less than half full. He pulled out the others. Two full, one a little less. He put them back, ate, and stood up again, looking toward the hills. He sighed and sat down again. It was late, and this was as good a place to camp as any. He woke up suddenly in the middle of the night. Something was missing. He listened, and after a moment he realized that the ever-present wind had... stopped. It was very cold. He turned over and curled up, but sleep eluded him. Awake, and without the activity of the day or the novelty of the steppe to distract him, he couldn't escape his thoughts. Shivering , he went over the whole miserable sequence of events again and again, trying to remember everything that had happened during the last few days, trying to put it all together in somn. "I know who you are," Carden interrupted, in the same deep, soft voice, " - akhansar. I've heard about you." Baltar couldn't tell from his tone if what he'd heard was good or bad. Carden smiled. The expression did nothing to reassure Baltar. "I understand you won't supply the … merchandise … Evan was interested in," he began, feeling out of his depth. He wondered if he should have said "can't supply", then wondered if that would have been insulting, then decided it was said and he couldn't worry about it. "You understand correctly," Carden said. "Is there any way we can change your mind?" No, no, he thought, that was wrong, he was going about it the wrong way. "No, I don't believe there is." Baltar emended his previous statement. "Is there any way I can change your mind?" Carden settled back, a slight smile playing across his face. It still held no warmth. "Well. And what could you offer that Evan couldn't?" That was the problem, of course. He might be ablok a long drink from a water bottle, then looked through his supplies for something that looked vaguely appealing for his breakfast. He was getting tired of cold food, and none of it any too good. He pulled the pack around to get a better look inside, and knocked over the water bottle. He scrambled to right it, but not before half its contents had spilled out. He watched the precious liquid soak rapidly into the dry ground, and said a word his mother would never have approved of. He stood up and looked around. The peak he was using as a landmark seemed closer. The air was cold and still, the sky a deep lapis blue, the sun a red sphere near the horizon. Over the hills, remarkably, hung a large white cloud. He started out. He made even less progress the second day. He was tired, and his muscles ached from the unaccustomed exertion. He'd never walked as much as he had in the past two days. His pack, despite the supplies he'd used, seemed to be getting heavier. The hills were nearee way that made sense. He was missing something. If only he'd been told more, if only he'd been older, been his mother's heir instead of Brianna... It was no good. He was missing some key piece of information, and what he did know wouldn't form a coherent picture without it. He sat up. The frustration was almost too much to bear. He looked up, not expecting any inspiration. He didn't find any. But the view was distracting, turning his mind away from his painful thoughts. This far outside of any town there were no lights to obscure the night sky, and without the wind, the blowing dust had settled. There was still dust, beyond the reach of any wind. The space around Scorpia was far from empty. Most distant stars were obscured by dust and gas, but nearer ones shone clear. One, large and golden, he recognized, knowing that the single point of light was actually a binary star, the suns of the planet Gemini. To the north, there were no stars visible. There the sky was ablaze with the e to get a few more cubits, but he didn't think cubits were the problem. "What's the asking price?" "I'm not sure there is one." Don't make me guess, Baltar thought desperately, give me some clue here. What do you want? "I can't believe the problem is obtaining the merchandise," he started carefully, watching Carden's face. The man remained impassive. "So the difficulty would come in later, when the item is in our hands." Still no response. Lacking any negative reaction, he continued. "You think that our men will be killed or captured, and some … awkward evidence will point back to you?" "What Evan proposes is dangerous. He's given me no reason to believe he could adequately plan such an operation. His previous actions were somewhat disorganized." Baltar couldn't hide a flash of annoyance. "He didn't plan this, I did," he snapped. "I know this province's weak points." He stopped, unable to believe the words that he'd just spoken. "Yes, I imagine you would," Cr, and the level of the land was rising. He stopped to rest more often. By midday the wind picked up again, and by the time he stopped for the night it was blowing strongly. By the third day he knew he was in trouble. All morning the wind had grown stronger, carrying an ever-increasing load of dust and sand. He wrapped his scarf over his mouth and nose, and squinted through the grit blowing into his eyes. When he found a dry streambed coming out of the hills, he followed it, grateful for any shelter from the wind. At midday, or as close to it as he could tell with the sun obscured by dust, he crawled under an overhanging shelf of rock to eat. Despite his best efforts he got a mouthful of grit when the wind suddenly shifted, and he used more water than he had planned to wash it out. He put the bottle back in his pack and left the overhang, and almost immediately ducked back in. He wasn't going anywhere in this storm. He huddled under the rock shelf for the rest of the day, all thawhite, reds and golds of the Fire Nebula. He stared at it for a long time. He'd known it was there, of course. It was spectacular, one of the marvels of the quadrant. Travelers came from distant worlds to see it. It might well have been one of the reasons the First Settlers had colonized this forbidding world. He couldn't recall ever having seen it before. He opened his eyes to the red light of early morning filtering through the swaying grass and glinting off the shiny black carapace of a large scorpius exploring the ground near his hand. Hardly daring to breathe, he watched the venomous creature unhurriedly clamber onto his sleeve and pause, the stinger tip of its tail bobbing slightly. After a moment, it carefully descended on the other side of his arm and disappeared into the grass. Baltar didn't move until he was sure it was gone; then he sat up, with a shudder of fear and disgust. He brushed at his sleeve as though to dispel the danger's lingering presence. He toarden mused. He leaned forward. "But it's still Evan's operation, isn't it? He'll be going in, won't he?" "Then the problem is Evan?" He could believe it. The Aeriannan was losing what little control he'd had, over his people and himself. "Well," Carden settled back in his chair again, watching Baltar as intently as the younger man watched him. "Evan's always been the problem, hasn't he?" Baltar relaxed, and smiled, and sat back in his own seat. "Well. I believe we've found your asking price." "What did you say?" Evan grated, his voice intense but quiet. Not that anyone passing the alley would have gotten involved in the altercation. "I said, Carden agreed to get us what we wanted," Baltar said, as calmly as he could, still trying to pry Evan's hands off the front of his coat. He didn't like people touching him, he didn't like them that close. Especially Evan. Evan jerked him forward a step, then slammed him back against the wall again. "What did you give him for t night, and most of he following morning. He tried to look at his map, to determine where he was, but the gusts that found their way into his shelter nearly tore it out of his hands. He tried to sleep, but the howling of the wind made it nearly impossible. Eventually, he just curled up and tried not to think about anything. The past brought him close to despair, and the likely future close to panic. When the wind died down, he continued up the wash. He tried to ignore the sense of desperation that was growing in his mind. He would make it. He had to make it. He trudged on doggedly. He was a son of the House of Darius. He didn't care what others said of his bloodline. He knew what was said, that the Dariani were weak, degenerated, corrupt. Jealousy, sheer jealousy. The oldest, the greatest noble line of Scorpia, and he'd show everyone that none of that greatness had been lost. He'd make it across the desert, he'd make it to Zahransi if he had to walk the entire way. He'd gain ok a long drink from a water bottle, then looked through his supplies for something that looked vaguely appealing for his breakfast. He was getting tired of cold food, and none of it any too good. He pulled the pack around to get a better look inside, and knocked over the water bottle. He scrambled to right it, but not before half its contents had spilled out. He watched the precious liquid soak rapidly into the dry ground, and said a word his mother would never have approved of. He stood up and looked around. The peak he was using as a landmark seemed closer. The air was cold and still, the sky a deep lapis blue, the sun a red sphere near the horizon. Over the hills, remarkably, hung a large white cloud. He started out. He made even less progress the second day. He was tired, and his muscles ached from the unaccustomed exertion. He'd never walked as much as he had in the past two days. His pack, despite the supplies he'd used, seemed to be getting heavier. The hills were neareit?" he hissed. "Do that again, and I'll kill you right now," Baltar said, in a tone that was almost conversational. He was surprised, himself, at how it sounded. He was angry, a cold, hateful anger, and he wouldn't shed a tear for Evan's death, if it came to that. But the thought of killing him didn't evoke any emotional response at all, and at some depth that disturbed him. "Frak," Narain said. "Kill him now, Evan. Just do it.' "Don't be stupid," Menkari told him. Evan started to jerk Baltar forward again, then thought better of it. "What did you give him, damn you?" he repeated, his fury barely contained. Baltar stared at him a moment, then his shoulders slumped a little. "Another two hundred," he admitted. "We don't have another two hundred!" Evan growled, but his suspicion was abating. "I can get it," Baltar said. He was pleased with how steady his voice sounded, how easily he held Evan's gaze, considering that he was lying through his teeth. He finally manathe support of Velden, and of the Akharate, and then he'd go back to Raamasa and settle with Andros. He'd be such a Count as Scorpia hadn't seen since Darius. All he had to do was keep walking. He took a deep breath, gritted his teeth and forced himself to move a little faster. On the fifth day out of Bel, his food ran out. He was tired. He was cold. He was parched, and hungrier than he'd ever been in his life. He had no idea where he was, only a vague feeling that he was no longer heading in the right direction. He kept moving only because he couldn't, finally, make the decision to give up. He was going to die out here in the wilderness, he knew that. He'd never be found, and that was his only small source of comfort, that Andros would never find the signet he'd taken, that last shred of legitimacy his uncle would want. He could keep it from him. That would be his only triumph. He'd been so stupid, he thought. What had made him believe he could walk across the steppe, ar, and the level of the land was rising. He stopped to rest more often. By midday the wind picked up again, and by the time he stopped for the night it was blowing strongly. By the third day he knew he was in trouble. All morning the wind had grown stronger, carrying an ever-increasing load of dust and sand. He wrapped his scarf over his mouth and nose, and squinted through the grit blowing into his eyes. When he found a dry streambed coming out of the hills, he followed it, grateful for any shelter from the wind. At midday, or as close to it as he could tell with the sun obscured by dust, he crawled under an overhanging shelf of rock to eat. Despite his best efforts he got a mouthful of grit when the wind suddenly shifted, and he used more water than he had planned to wash it out. He put the bottle back in his pack and left the overhang, and almost immediately ducked back in. He wasn't going anywhere in this storm. He huddled under the rock shelf for the rest of the day, all thaged to wrench free of Evan's grip, and moved away from him. He turned back. "Are you satisfied? Can we go home now?" Shen had located his brother, and was trying to sober Tano up. Tano was less than interested in the process, and feebly tried to fend off the strong kaffe Shen was trying to pour down his throat. Most of it spilled down the man's shirt. Kelse, watching the performance with a bored expression, handed Shen a towel. "I hope you know that's the last of the kaffe you're pouring on him," Sidra grumbled. "We need to get some food up here." "After Armament Day, we're moving down to that old warehouse," Shen answered. "It'll be easier to bring in supplies." "We can't afford supplies," Kelse said. "You seen how prices have gone up?" "Didn't notice," he said, having more success in getting the kaffe into his brother. "Lemme 'lone," Tano mumbled. "Wreckin' a good knock…" "Just shut up and drink this," Shen sighed. "Don't know what we'll do," Kelse continueds though it were a day trip arranged by his tutors, a leisurely stroll with food and bed waiting at the end? When he first started, he'd even had visions of walking all the way to Zahransi, stopping for supplies along the way. It would be a heroic deed, it would show how determined he was, how strong-willed, how much more competent and capable he was than Andros. They would give him the title on the strength of his obvious abilities... His mother, in one of her more interested moments, had told him that mistakes should always be learned from. He wondered how it was possible to learn from the cause of your own death. He trudged forward, uphill, leaning into the wind. He was slowing down. He wasn't sure if the slope was getting steeper, or if his final bit of strength was at last giving out. He took a few more steps, then his foot caught in a tangle of coppergrass and he fell forward onto his face, not making an effort to catch himself. He lay still, without the energy to move or evet night, and most of he following morning. He tried to look at his map, to determine where he was, but the gusts that found their way into his shelter nearly tore it out of his hands. He tried to sleep, but the howling of the wind made it nearly impossible. Eventually, he just curled up and tried not to think about anything. The past brought him close to despair, and the likely future close to panic. When the wind died down, he continued up the wash. He tried to ignore the sense of desperation that was growing in his mind. He would make it. He had to make it. He trudged on doggedly. He was a son of the House of Darius. He didn't care what others said of his bloodline. He knew what was said, that the Dariani were weak, degenerated, corrupt. Jealousy, sheer jealousy. The oldest, the greatest noble line of Scorpia, and he'd show everyone that none of that greatness had been lost. He'd make it across the desert, he'd make it to Zahransi if he had to walk the entire way. He'd gain . "Auriga doesn't get paid for another secton…" "Evan's going to get some money tonight," Sidra said. "If he doesn't kill off our meal ticket instead," Shen muttered. "That wasn't his fault," Sidra began hotly. Outside, Baltar heard her voice rising, and decided against going in. Instead, he headed for one of the other cabins. Inside, Menkari was putting together a timer with a jeweler's precision. Not for practice, this time; this was the real thing. Baltar watched him for several centons before speaking. "So why are you here tonight, instead of with Evan and Narain?" he finally asked. "Had to work on these," the Virgon murmured, not looking up from his work. "Not to keep an eye on me?" "That's part of it. You shouldn't have threatened him last night." "I shouldn't have ---,"he began, then decided there was no point in provoking Menkari. "You're right. It was stupid, I was just angry." "He's already suspicious of what you may have said to Carden," Menkari n open his eyes. The wind whistled overhead, rustling the grass all around him. There seemed to be a faint vibration in the ground, or in his body, he wasn't sure which. He had been shaking from cold and weakness for so long now... There was another noise, a low moaning sound punctuated by an occasional clanking. He couldn't make sense of what he was hearing. For a long time he lay there, listening. Something was important, he knew it, something about the sounds he was hearing, if he could only think clearly... His eyes flew open. With the last effort he could force from his exhausted body, he pushed himself up to his hands and knees and crawled the last short distance to the crest of the rise. He reached the summit, and collapsed again, and slid a short way down the far side. He lay for a moment, then dragged himself into a sitting position and once more opened his eyes. He could see nothing but the grass in front of him, and above it, a veritable wall of coarse russet hair. A mthe support of Velden, and of the Akharate, and then he'd go back to Raamasa and settle with Andros. He'd be such a Count as Scorpia hadn't seen since Darius. All he had to do was keep walking. He took a deep breath, gritted his teeth and forced himself to move a little faster. On the fifth day out of Bel, his food ran out. He was tired. He was cold. He was parched, and hungrier than he'd ever been in his life. He had no idea where he was, only a vague feeling that he was no longer heading in the right direction. He kept moving only because he couldn't, finally, make the decision to give up. He was going to die out here in the wilderness, he knew that. He'd never be found, and that was his only small source of comfort, that Andros would never find the signet he'd taken, that last shred of legitimacy his uncle would want. He could keep it from him. That would be his only triumph. He'd been so stupid, he thought. What had made him believe he could walk across the steppe, a went on, after a moment. "Whatever Evan may choose to believe, you don't have another two hundred cubits." Baltar felt his throat closing up. Auriga had said Menkari supported him, but… "Of course I do. I can get it…" Menkari set the timer down and looked straight at him. "You don't have another two hundred," he stated flatly. "You should probably tell me what the problem between Evan and Carden is," Baltar evaded the issue. Menkari looked at him for a long moment, seeming to consider. Then he picked up the timer again. Just when Baltar began to think he didn't intend to answer, he spoke. "You know that Evan's parents are in prison on Aerianna," he said. "He said they were betrayed to the authorities." "Evan was … a lot like he is now. He believed in our cause, he was brought up to it. But he went outside the bounds, often. He used the cause for his own gain, used it as an excuse. To do what he does now, robbery, extortion. You know how he operates. He wasn't as assive head swiveled around, short horns and a brown slab of nose protruding from the pelt, a shaggy fringe hiding the eyes of the creature. It regarded him passively, chewing. He grabbed at a handful of hair, tying to pull himself up. The animal put up with his grasp for a moment, then slowly turned and ambled off. Now he could see down into the valley ahead of him. There was an entire herd of animals on the hillside, bos like the one he'd encountered as well as small black-and- brown-striped kavrines. At the bottom of the hill were several large dome- shaped tents, with smoke rising into the air and people moving around them. Just as the world began to spin around him, he realized they'd seen him. Fortune's Wheel, Part 7 Count Velden saar Zahrin kept a pleasant, businesslike expression on his face and resisted rubbing his temples by sheer force of will. The headache had been building all morning, and in the last half-centar it had expanded to monumental proportions. One has though it were a day trip arranged by his tutors, a leisurely stroll with food and bed waiting at the end? When he first started, he'd even had visions of walking all the way to Zahransi, stopping for supplies along the way. It would be a heroic deed, it would show how determined he was, how strong-willed, how much more competent and capable he was than Andros. They would give him the title on the strength of his obvious abilities... His mother, in one of her more interested moments, had told him that mistakes should always be learned from. He wondered how it was possible to learn from the cause of your own death. He trudged forward, uphill, leaning into the wind. He was slowing down. He wasn't sure if the slope was getting steeper, or if his final bit of strength was at last giving out. He took a few more steps, then his foot caught in a tangle of coppergrass and he fell forward onto his face, not making an effort to catch himself. He lay still, without the energy to move or evegood at it then. He got caught, one night, robbing a business with two others. His two friends went to prison. The next night, a meeting at his father's house, a meeting that was supposed to be secret, just a few top people, was raided. His parents went to prison, too. And the next day, Evan was on a ship for Scorpia." Baltar took a moment to digest this. "He sold out his own parents? To get out of the charge?" Menkari shrugged. "Looks that way, doesn't it?" He examined the timer, seemed satisfied, put it aside. He looked up. "Have you got our statement memorized?" Baltar was still thinking about what he'd been told - it fit in with hints in his conversation with Carden. It made sense, and gave the situation a certain irony. Belatedly, he realized Menkari had asked him a question. He nodded. "I know they'll trace the call, but it's a public comm. I'll be off and lost in the crowd before they can get there." "And before they get your voiceprint recorded?" "They'll havelf of the screen on his desk showed him the angry face of the Tauran trade delegate; the other half held the image of his brother Arlen. He had had more than enough of both of them. "I trust this matter has been resolved to your satisfaction," he said to the Tauran, trying to keep the weariness and exasperation from his tone, "and you and my brother will be able to resume negotiations." The resolution was obviously not to the Tauran's satisfaction, to judge by his expression, but it was the best he would get and he knew it. "Thank you, Count Velden," the delegate said shortly, and with a curt nod his image abruptly vanished from the screen. Arlen's image enlarged to cover the screen. Velden let his pleasant expression slip from his face like a mask. He regarded his brother balefully. "Is this your typical lack of ability, Arlen," he snapped, "or are you deliberately trying to alienate the Taurani?" Arlen's momentary shock turned to a glare. "I am looking out for the well-n open his eyes. The wind whistled overhead, rustling the grass all around him. There seemed to be a faint vibration in the ground, or in his body, he wasn't sure which. He had been shaking from cold and weakness for so long now... There was another noise, a low moaning sound punctuated by an occasional clanking. He couldn't make sense of what he was hearing. For a long time he lay there, listening. Something was important, he knew it, something about the sounds he was hearing, if he could only think clearly... His eyes flew open. With the last effort he could force from his exhausted body, he pushed himself up to his hands and knees and crawled the last short distance to the crest of the rise. He reached the summit, and collapsed again, and slid a short way down the far side. He lay for a moment, then dragged himself into a sitting position and once more opened his eyes. He could see nothing but the grass in front of him, and above it, a veritable wall of coarse russet hair. A m nothing to match it to --" he began, then realized. "-unless I'm caught … or turned in." He was furious. Evan was plotting against him? Turn him in, before he could… "Something like that," Menkari said, with a small, wintry smile. "That son of a - " But anger was already turning into fear, and a search for a way to escape. "I've become too much of a problem to him, I think," he said bitterly. Menkari said softly, "Evan has enough problems, of his own making." Baltar stared at him, considering. He was waiting, Baltar realized. He wouldn't make the offer, but he might take the suggestion. And there was his offer to Carden to consider. "Perhaps," he began, "We can find a way to solve all of our problems…" "Perhaps there is." Baltar hesitated a moment, then rose. "Then I shall leave the matter in your… capable… hands," he said, almost too formally. His meaning was clear in his expression if not in the words. Menkari watched as he left, his mouth twisting up in an i being of our house, brother," he said. "You're looking out for our short-term profits," Velden corrected. "Has it somehow escaped your notice that we need inworld trade? We're on the verge of a crisis." "The problems in the south are not my concern," Arlen stubbornly maintained. "They will be your concern when we have riots throughout the province." Velden's head was pounding worse than before. "Arlen, I will not argue with you. Deal with the Taurani as though we want their business." The comm on his desk chimed. "Velden --" "That is all, Arlen." Velden cut off the communication and rested his aching head in his hands. He had long ago lost count of the number of times, in the past seven yahren, he'd cursed the fortune that had gotten Alden killed in that sordid mess in Raamasa. He needed his brother to handle the off-world trade, now more than ever. Raamasa, the largest agricultural region of Scorpia, was not flourishing under Andros' management. Velden didn't knassive head swiveled around, short horns and a brown slab of nose protruding from the pelt, a shaggy fringe hiding the eyes of the creature. It regarded him passively, chewing. He grabbed at a handful of hair, tying to pull himself up. The animal put up with his grasp for a moment, then slowly turned and ambled off. Now he could see down into the valley ahead of him. There was an entire herd of animals on the hillside, bos like the one he'd encountered as well as small black-and- brown-striped kavrines. At the bottom of the hill were several large dome- shaped tents, with smoke rising into the air and people moving around them. Just as the world began to spin around him, he realized they'd seen him. Fortune's Wheel, Part 7 Count Velden saar Zahrin kept a pleasant, businesslike expression on his face and resisted rubbing his temples by sheer force of will. The headache had been building all morning, and in the last half-centar it had expanded to monumental proportions. One haronic smile as he went to work on the next timer. Part 13 Baltar slept well into the morning. When he finally woke up, Auriga had already left the cabin. He lay on his back for a while, watching dust motes drifting through the faint light from the dingy window. Like the thoughts drifting in his head; he was aware of them, but he couldn't put them into any sort of coherent pattern. Or else he didn't want to examine them too closely. It would all work. It had to work. It all had to go the way he planned. He worried at that thought. He couldn't be sure, with others involved, he couldn't be sure they'd do what he wanted. He knew they were on his side, or said they were, or implied they were, but could he count on them? He had no hold on them besides their own good will, and that concerned him. What if it worked, and he couldn't get out from under what he was going to do? The blame had to go on the right heads, not his; he had to take the credit for the action, but not the resow if the problems were due to resistance to the new Count's rule, or the man's own incompetence. He had seemed an able administrator under Adria, but since her death, his control of the province had been slipping. The undercurrent of discontent was dangerously near the surface. It was spreading to other, nearby provinces, and even here, in Zahransi, there were rumblings. The disruptions in agriculture and shipping in the south had resulted in shortages all over the planet, when there was little to spare even in good times. He had tried to forestall the inevitable explosion by increasing food imports from the inner worlds, even taking a loss in his own profits to make up for the Raamasan shortfall. And if all went well, it would work. But with Arlen as his liaison to the inworld traders, all would not go well. Alden had had his biases, but he had a natural flair for diplomacy that had served the bloodline well in the past. Like Velden, he had been able to see the larger picture, to aclf of the screen on his desk showed him the angry face of the Tauran trade delegate; the other half held the image of his brother Arlen. He had had more than enough of both of them. "I trust this matter has been resolved to your satisfaction," he said to the Tauran, trying to keep the weariness and exasperation from his tone, "and you and my brother will be able to resume negotiations." The resolution was obviously not to the Tauran's satisfaction, to judge by his expression, but it was the best he would get and he knew it. "Thank you, Count Velden," the delegate said shortly, and with a curt nod his image abruptly vanished from the screen. Arlen's image enlarged to cover the screen. Velden let his pleasant expression slip from his face like a mask. He regarded his brother balefully. "Is this your typical lack of ability, Arlen," he snapped, "or are you deliberately trying to alienate the Taurani?" Arlen's momentary shock turned to a glare. "I am looking out for the well-ponsibility for the consequences. And what if it didn't work at all? What if someone turned on him? What if Evan came back at him, knowing … he'd be as dead as Tem was. He glanced at the empty spot across the room. That depressed him. He rolled over and got up. There was a wash basin in one corner of the room. It had been in a separate room once, but the walls had been torn out some time before. The tap didn't work, and an arachnid had spun a web in one corner. Half of a broken mirror, as grimy as the window, hung over the basin. He took the bottle of water off the shelf, swallowed a mouthful, then carefully poured a bit more on a corner of a not-too-dirty cloth and washed his face. He combed his hair, which he'd let grow too long again, and tied it back. He looked at his reflection. He needed to shave, but put it off; he had a certain image he wanted to project tonight, if he was going out in public. He was too thin, he thought, but that could be attributed to Sidra's cooking t in the interests of the future, not just the moment. Arlen couldn't see past the day's profits, and he let his contempt for offworlders interfere even with that. Velden was spending far too much of his precious time intervening in the quarrels Arlen started, just to keep business running smoothly; but there was no one else to whom he could entrust the administration. His sisters were nearly as useless as Arlen, as was his youngest brother, and his sole living uncle was indispensable on the orbital drydock operations. None of his children were old enough, experienced enough, to handle the space trade. His cousins were needed as officers on the trade fleet. His family was large, but he still had no viable alternatives to Arlen. There were times he wished he could side with the offworlders against his brother's porcine-headed stupidity, but he didn't dare provoke Arlen's hostility. Not after the coup in Raamasa. He knew others in the Akharate were viewing their kinsmen with more suspicion being of our house, brother," he said. "You're looking out for our short-term profits," Velden corrected. "Has it somehow escaped your notice that we need inworld trade? We're on the verge of a crisis." "The problems in the south are not my concern," Arlen stubbornly maintained. "They will be your concern when we have riots throughout the province." Velden's head was pounding worse than before. "Arlen, I will not argue with you. Deal with the Taurani as though we want their business." The comm on his desk chimed. "Velden --" "That is all, Arlen." Velden cut off the communication and rested his aching head in his hands. He had long ago lost count of the number of times, in the past seven yahren, he'd cursed the fortune that had gotten Alden killed in that sordid mess in Raamasa. He needed his brother to handle the off-world trade, now more than ever. Raamasa, the largest agricultural region of Scorpia, was not flourishing under Andros' management. Velden didn't knskills, or lack thereof. He smiled wryly. The expression looked desperate. He looked like hell. His clothes were ragged, threadbare, and fit badly, hanging on him. They needed a good cleaning. His eyes were the worst, though. He could hardly look at them. He was making too many compromises, taking too many actions he should never have to. Suddenly disgusted, he turned away from his reflection and left the building. It was the waiting that was always the hardest, Evan thought. The plant was built on a rocky point that projected from the shoreline. He'd found a hiding place in an outcrop of brownish stone, at the far end of the back parking area. The slope down to the building was steep - he could cross it quickly, he thought, but the distance bothered him, and he worried that anyone looking out the upper story windows might see him. He wouldn't run, he decided, though that would leave Menkari at the door longer than he'd like. He'd cross at a fast walk, as though he had b than usual. Arlen was a fool, but a loyal fool, however ill-considered his actions, and Velden had every intention of keeping his loyalty. He wondered if he could reasonably get out of the rest of the day's meetings. The chime sounded again. He sighed and rubbed at his forehead. Apparently not; the rest of his schedule wanted in. He tapped the button. "Who's out there, Haidar?" he asked wearily. "A harbeth Sothis, my lord Count. He says it is an urgent matter." There was an odd tone in his secretary's voice, but then, Haidar was not given to religion and gave little credence to the desert holy men who came to Scorpia's aristocracy with their visions. Velden did not consider himself credulous, but he did hold to the tenets of the Meijian faith; and at any rate, he was willing to at least listen to any proposed solution to his current problems. "Send him in, Haidar," he answered, hoping as he did so that the man would be clean, not some overripe, dust-encrusted hermit. ow if the problems were due to resistance to the new Count's rule, or the man's own incompetence. He had seemed an able administrator under Adria, but since her death, his control of the province had been slipping. The undercurrent of discontent was dangerously near the surface. It was spreading to other, nearby provinces, and even here, in Zahransi, there were rumblings. The disruptions in agriculture and shipping in the south had resulted in shortages all over the planet, when there was little to spare even in good times. He had tried to forestall the inevitable explosion by increasing food imports from the inner worlds, even taking a loss in his own profits to make up for the Raamasan shortfall. And if all went well, it would work. But with Arlen as his liaison to the inworld traders, all would not go well. Alden had had his biases, but he had a natural flair for diplomacy that had served the bloodline well in the past. Like Velden, he had been able to see the larger picture, to acusiness he was in a hurry to get done. That would make sense, tonight. Everyone would be rushing to get off work, leaving early if they could, or grumbling if they couldn't. No one would be paying close attention to anything that didn't concern them directly, he was sure. Which just left the waiting. He hated waiting. It gave him too much time to think. Something was going on, or at least he thought something was going on. Baltar was up to something. He didn't think that Carden would give up the forged ID for nothing more than a few more cubits, but what else did Baltar have to bargain with? He didn't have any more than the rest of them. Not true, he thought. He had a few people who had some delusions about putting him in power. That little jaunt up to the manor house last yahren had given him some contacts on the Count's staff. They might have given him something to offer Carden; someone's cousin married to some minor official who could help him some way … it still didn't The door opened. Three figures walked in, all dressed in the sturdy boots, loose pants and wrapped coats of nomads. The first of the trio was an old man, with long gray hair and a face like leather. Now that he saw the man's face, Velden recalled meeting him before. The old harbeth was respected among the Meiji, not simply a charlatan or crackskull wandering in off the steppe. Despite the best efforts of Velden's staff, such people occasionally made it through to waste his time. One of the younger men behind him bore a striking resemblance to the old holy man; likely a son or grandson, studying to follow in his footsteps. The other... Velden stared a moment, hardly believing what he saw. Slowly, he rose from behind his desk. The second young man was no nomad. The features were unmistakable. He was of the Darian blood, Velden was certain of it; he looked enough like Andros to be his son, but this was not one of Andros' sons. There was only one impossible answer, and Velden knewt in the interests of the future, not just the moment. Arlen couldn't see past the day's profits, and he let his contempt for offworlders interfere even with that. Velden was spending far too much of his precious time intervening in the quarrels Arlen started, just to keep business running smoothly; but there was no one else to whom he could entrust the administration. His sisters were nearly as useless as Arlen, as was his youngest brother, and his sole living uncle was indispensable on the orbital drydock operations. None of his children were old enough, experienced enough, to handle the space trade. His cousins were needed as officers on the trade fleet. His family was large, but he still had no viable alternatives to Arlen. There were times he wished he could side with the offworlders against his brother's porcine-headed stupidity, but he didn't dare provoke Arlen's hostility. Not after the coup in Raamasa. He knew others in the Akharate were viewing their kinsmen with more suspicionsound like Carden, though. Something was going on, and he couldn't figure it out. It wouldn't matter, though. He'd have Baltar call the Watch and take credit for the blast. If they didn't pick him up when he stepped out of the comm kiosk, they'd still have his voice print on file. Then it would just require the right opportunity, the chance to leave him exposed while the others were safe, and he'd be rid of him. Let Andros have him, and he and the others - or at least those he wanted - could quietly disappear, over the border into Rendasa, perhaps. Lay low for a while; start making some trouble over there. Their Count was supposed to have a tighter rein on his province, though. He'd have to think about it, when he had time. A cold gust whipped up the dust around him. There was just a hint of moisture, from the water nearby. When it died down, he could hear little ripples slapping at the rock. He sighed. This was such a pit of a world. He missed Aerianna. He missed trees. He mis the impossible was standing not two metrons from him. Then he saw the signet on its chain, so long missing from Raamasa, hanging from the young man's neck. "My lord Count," the old man, Sothis, said quietly, "I have brought you your brother's son." "You must try to understand, Baltar," Velden said later that evening, turning to watch the younger man as he paced about the room. A quick search through the household had provided his nephew with clothing more suitable for his rank, and he had had his hair cut to a more appropriate length. Baltar whirled around to face him. "Understand?" he all but shouted. "I understand that I have waited all this time, and now I can expect no help from you!" He strode away, stopped, turned back. He shut his eyes for a moment, then went on in a calmer voice. "I know it would have done no good to come to you earlier. The Akharate would never have given the title to a child, not without some provision for a regency, and who was there besides Andro than usual. Arlen was a fool, but a loyal fool, however ill-considered his actions, and Velden had every intention of keeping his loyalty. He wondered if he could reasonably get out of the rest of the day's meetings. The chime sounded again. He sighed and rubbed at his forehead. Apparently not; the rest of his schedule wanted in. He tapped the button. "Who's out there, Haidar?" he asked wearily. "A harbeth Sothis, my lord Count. He says it is an urgent matter." There was an odd tone in his secretary's voice, but then, Haidar was not given to religion and gave little credence to the desert holy men who came to Scorpia's aristocracy with their visions. Velden did not consider himself credulous, but he did hold to the tenets of the Meijian faith; and at any rate, he was willing to at least listen to any proposed solution to his current problems. "Send him in, Haidar," he answered, hoping as he did so that the man would be clean, not some overripe, dust-encrusted hermit. sed the ocean. He missed hot summer days - here, it was always cold. He'd gone up to the equatorial regions once, chasing after some guns that never materialized, and it hadn't been much warmer. Maybe, if he could prove that he was valuable, that he could plan and carry out a truly effective action, he could manage, someday, to get off this dustball. Not back to Aerianna, there would be too many bad feelings there, no understanding that he'd been trapped and had done what he had to. He couldn't have gone to prison, he just couldn't, not when there was any other option. But they wouldn't see that. Maybe Gemini. Gemini was nice, he'd heard. All sorts of splinter groups, that would make moving around easier. He could make it on Gemini. And it would sure beat anything Scorpia had to offer. He saw Menkari's signal from the door, stood, dusted off his coveralls, and headed across the parking area. This was it. The plazas were packed with people. Later, when the pyrotechnics starts? I know the Dariani are a small house, and I can't say I trust any of them now. And I know that, if I'd stayed here, there would be questions of your involvement in Raamasan affairs, of my autonomy as a Count. But now I am old enough to govern in my own right, I have clear precedence to the title," his voice was rising again, "so why am I receiving no support from my own kin in ousting Andros? Half the Akharate would as soon see him dead without a clear succession!" Velden took a deep breath. "You're right. You have a clear claim to the Darian title. And you're right, there's no love lost for Andros in the Akharate. But Raamasa is in dire straits..." "Due to Andros' mismanagement!" "And the Akharate cannot and will not support any further upheaval in the province. Not even to restore Adria's rightful heir," Velden finished, ignoring the interruption. "I say this as your kinsman, and Andros' enemy, Baltar. You won't find greater support among the other Counts." Baltar stareThe door opened. Three figures walked in, all dressed in the sturdy boots, loose pants and wrapped coats of nomads. The first of the trio was an old man, with long gray hair and a face like leather. Now that he saw the man's face, Velden recalled meeting him before. The old harbeth was respected among the Meiji, not simply a charlatan or crackskull wandering in off the steppe. Despite the best efforts of Velden's staff, such people occasionally made it through to waste his time. One of the younger men behind him bore a striking resemblance to the old holy man; likely a son or grandson, studying to follow in his footsteps. The other... Velden stared a moment, hardly believing what he saw. Slowly, he rose from behind his desk. The second young man was no nomad. The features were unmistakable. He was of the Darian blood, Velden was certain of it; he looked enough like Andros to be his son, but this was not one of Andros' sons. There was only one impossible answer, and Velden knewed over the water, the crowds would move to the shore or rooftops, anywhere with an unobstructed view. But now they were in the streets, celebrating. Vanda was dancing, twirling and swaying, her face impassive. She was a marvelous dancer, Baltar thought, but he knew she hated performing for the crowds. She didn't like the way they looked at her, as though she was an object, not a real person. Most of the people in the small plaza were solidly middle class; they would naturally look down their noses at the obviously low-class entertainers. He had taken a turn playing for her, on a Shen's old kura. He wasn't a particularly inspired musician, but he'd learned enough to play traditional tunes without mistakes and even with a little skill. Shen had a new instrument, and had Tano on a drum, which he was playing creditably enough. He seemed to lose himself in the rhythm, his eyes unfocused. A cousin of theirs had come along, and had produced a double pipe, on which he played a compd at his uncle a moment longer, then looked away. "So your advice is that I give up my claim?" Velden heard the resentment in his nephew's voice. "My advice is that you wait. Stay here. I can provide for the rest of your education, for a position in my house. When you're older, have the experience necessary..." "Wait?" Baltar's tone was incredulous. "If I wait any longer, than Andros will be even more firmly entrenched, the Akharate even less inclined to act! And that's if he's able to maintain any of my province in a state to..." he broke off, his expression intense. He walked away from his uncle, paused, turned back. "He's already having problems, isn't he? Are any of the Akharate supporting him against dissidents, giving him aid?" Velden wondered what thought had occurred to his nephew. "You know he hasn't. He wouldn't dare. His position is weak enough as it is, to ask for aid would be..." "...asking another House to as good as take over Raamasa, wouldn't it?" He fell si the impossible was standing not two metrons from him. Then he saw the signet on its chain, so long missing from Raamasa, hanging from the young man's neck. "My lord Count," the old man, Sothis, said quietly, "I have brought you your brother's son." "You must try to understand, Baltar," Velden said later that evening, turning to watch the younger man as he paced about the room. A quick search through the household had provided his nephew with clothing more suitable for his rank, and he had had his hair cut to a more appropriate length. Baltar whirled around to face him. "Understand?" he all but shouted. "I understand that I have waited all this time, and now I can expect no help from you!" He strode away, stopped, turned back. He shut his eyes for a moment, then went on in a calmer voice. "I know it would have done no good to come to you earlier. The Akharate would never have given the title to a child, not without some provision for a regency, and who was there besides Androlicated descant to the music. It was that which was attracting and holding their audience, that and Vanda's dancing. She might not like it, but she was bringing in enough to feed them for the next secton or two, he thought. They had set up on a small plaza, in front of a travelator's shop closed for the holiday. It had the advantage of being situated between two larger plazas and a major street, with only short connecting alleys between. There was a lot of traffic through the area, and three possible escape routes into crowded areas if that proved necessary. There was also another advantage - the chronometer on the travelator's office wall was visible. Baltar was keeping his eye on it. He would have to time this just right. There was one bad moment when a clerk hurried out into the hall just in front of them. She looked at them with a sort of harried curiosity, but before she could ask Menkari muttered something about bad gaskets and headed for the lifts. She went on her way,lent again, thinking furiously. Velden waited, but Baltar seemed disinclined to continue explaining his train of thought. Whatever the boy had in mind, Velden was certain it was dangerous and useless. There was no possible way he could take his title back, especially without the support of the council. He had to make Baltar see that, but his nephew was obsessed. He laid a hand on Baltar's shoulder. The boy looked up, startled. "Listen to me," Velden said quietly. "I'm thinking of what is best for you, and for Scorpia." It was not entirely the truth, he knew, and he was sure Baltar knew it too. The boy had always been intelligent and shrewd, and while Adria had no doubt imparted some of her cynicism to him, Velden thought he could see much of Alden in his nephew. He would be a welcome addition to the Zahrin house. But he couldn't convince Baltar to settle for a lesser position, not while he still held any hope of regaining Raamasa. "It's late," he continued. "Get some sleep. Ths? I know the Dariani are a small house, and I can't say I trust any of them now. And I know that, if I'd stayed here, there would be questions of your involvement in Raamasan affairs, of my autonomy as a Count. But now I am old enough to govern in my own right, I have clear precedence to the title," his voice was rising again, "so why am I receiving no support from my own kin in ousting Andros? Half the Akharate would as soon see him dead without a clear succession!" Velden took a deep breath. "You're right. You have a clear claim to the Darian title. And you're right, there's no love lost for Andros in the Akharate. But Raamasa is in dire straits..." "Due to Andros' mismanagement!" "And the Akharate cannot and will not support any further upheaval in the province. Not even to restore Adria's rightful heir," Velden finished, ignoring the interruption. "I say this as your kinsman, and Andros' enemy, Baltar. You won't find greater support among the other Counts." Baltar stare anxious to finish her work and join the celebrations in the city, and not about to interfere with the repair of gaskets that might fail and waste valuable water. Then they were down in the bottom level, among the machinery, and there seemed to be no one else around in the huge, dimly lit, crowded room. The place smelled of metal, and lubricants, and the ever-present dust of Scorpia. Evan looked up at the huge pipes entering from the sea-side wall. There was more water in one of those than he'd probably used in his whole stay on Scorpia, he thought. And most of going to the rich, and to Baltar's precious fields… "C'mon," Menkari said quietly. "Let's get this done and get out of here." Evan looked down at the room of machines, and wondered where the best place would be to put the explosives. Why did it always seem like he was tripping over the details? The plans always sounded so good when he thought of them, but when he actually went to carry them out, things kept coming up ink about what I've told you. We can discuss the matter further in the morning." Baltar looked as though he was about to argue the point, then apparently thought better of it. He nodded. "In the morning, then," he agreed. Haidar looked up from his desk as Velden entered the office. "Akhansar Arlen wishes to speak with you about the Taurani trade delegation again," he announced, his voice carefully neutral. Velden stopped short, his annoyance obvious. "Arlen? What has he done now?" Haidar maintained his professional demeanor only from long experience. "He didn't say, my lord. And your nephew regrets he will be unable to meet with you this morning. He has... gone out." Velden's irritation was growing. "Did he say where?" Haidar's tone conveyed far more information than his brief answer. "No. He didn't." Velden's momentary puzzlement turned to anger. "Thank you, Haidar," he said stiffly, and went into his office. Once behind his closed door, Velden tried to bring hid at his uncle a moment longer, then looked away. "So your advice is that I give up my claim?" Velden heard the resentment in his nephew's voice. "My advice is that you wait. Stay here. I can provide for the rest of your education, for a position in my house. When you're older, have the experience necessary..." "Wait?" Baltar's tone was incredulous. "If I wait any longer, than Andros will be even more firmly entrenched, the Akharate even less inclined to act! And that's if he's able to maintain any of my province in a state to..." he broke off, his expression intense. He walked away from his uncle, paused, turned back. "He's already having problems, isn't he? Are any of the Akharate supporting him against dissidents, giving him aid?" Velden wondered what thought had occurred to his nephew. "You know he hasn't. He wouldn't dare. His position is weak enough as it is, to ask for aid would be..." "...asking another House to as good as take over Raamasa, wouldn't it?" He fell si that he hadn't thought of. "Over there," Menkari said. "The main pumps. I'll get started over here." Evan went where Menkari had pointed, and chose a stout, loudly chugging cylinder as his first target. He reached around and placed the pack as far back as he could reach, and activated it. There were thirty centons on the timer, enough time for them to place all the explosives and get safely out. He looked around for a likely spot to place the second. Baltar kept his eyes on the chrono. Five more centons, he decided. Then he'd do it. If he was wrong about Menkari, he was dead. If Evan figured it out, he was dead. But if he did nothing, he was dead, so what did it matter? It was all or nothing, and so it might as well be all. He had never asked anything from Life, and Life had treated him badly. Well, now Baltar saar Darius was going to get some of his own back. He watched the chrono click over, feeling the tension build up. He had to appear calm, at least. One more cs anger under control. Damn the boy! The situation was volatile enough without Baltar's interference. There was no hope he could oust Andros; the headstrong little fool would certainly get himself killed this time. And that, Velden had to admit, might very possibly be one of the better outcomes. The sooner Raamasa regained some semblance of stability, the better for them all. Just outside the city lay the huge complex of Zahransi stockyards. Kefren leaned against the wall of the pen, looking down on the shaggy backs of the bos his tribe was selling. "I see you sold the Meridas," said a voice beside him. "Get a good price?" Kefren looked around in surprise. "Not bad, more than I expected," he answered. "What are you doing down here, Tseros? Come to say goodbye?" Baltar shook his head. "I've changed my plans. I'm coming with you. For a while, at least." Fortune's Wheel, Part 8 The bos calf bawled, bucked, and shook off the three nomad children holding onto itslent again, thinking furiously. Velden waited, but Baltar seemed disinclined to continue explaining his train of thought. Whatever the boy had in mind, Velden was certain it was dangerous and useless. There was no possible way he could take his title back, especially without the support of the council. He had to make Baltar see that, but his nephew was obsessed. He laid a hand on Baltar's shoulder. The boy looked up, startled. "Listen to me," Velden said quietly. "I'm thinking of what is best for you, and for Scorpia." It was not entirely the truth, he knew, and he was sure Baltar knew it too. The boy had always been intelligent and shrewd, and while Adria had no doubt imparted some of her cynicism to him, Velden thought he could see much of Alden in his nephew. He would be a welcome addition to the Zahrin house. But he couldn't convince Baltar to settle for a lesser position, not while he still held any hope of regaining Raamasa. "It's late," he continued. "Get some sleep. Thenton. Evan set the last charge and moved back toward the lifts. There was no sign of Menkari. Where had he gone? Back up? Was he still working down here? Evan wasn't sure which way to go, over where Menkari had indicated he'd be or back up and out of the building. He took a chance and called the other man's name softly, then more loudly. No answer. He moved further into the room. He saw one of Menkari's charges, and then another. He frowned. Were they too visible, would someone notice? He hadn't seen anyone down here…. He decided that in a few centons it wouldn't matter anyway. He turned back toward the lifts, deciding that Menkari must have gone back up. He'd catch up outside. And after he finished business here, and got a little money together, it was off to Gemini. He was through with Scorpia. It was nothing but a useless rock, and he'd be glad to see the last of it. He spotted another of Menkari's charges as he headed back toward the lifts. He glanced at the timer shaggy hair. They ran after the calf, laughing. Kefren watched them, smiling. He glanced around, the hillside giving him a wide view across the steppe. It had rained a few days before; briefly, it was true, but already the steppe had turned from gold to green, and small flowers were appearing among the grasses as the brief growing season began. The herds were spread out around the camp, grazing on the new grass. "So are you still going through with this?" he asked. Baltar didn't look up, kept running the rope through his fingers, looking for fraying or weak spots. "Yes," he answered, then a moment later added, "I don't know." "You should talk to Grandfather." Baltar ran a few more lengths of cord through his fingers. Then the got up, handed the coil of rope to Kefren and walked toward the tents. The fire in the brazier flared up as Sothis poured oil onto the coals. He had chanted the daily prayers for so many yahrens they came to his lips almost without thought, anink about what I've told you. We can discuss the matter further in the morning." Baltar looked as though he was about to argue the point, then apparently thought better of it. He nodded. "In the morning, then," he agreed. Haidar looked up from his desk as Velden entered the office. "Akhansar Arlen wishes to speak with you about the Taurani trade delegation again," he announced, his voice carefully neutral. Velden stopped short, his annoyance obvious. "Arlen? What has he done now?" Haidar maintained his professional demeanor only from long experience. "He didn't say, my lord. And your nephew regrets he will be unable to meet with you this morning. He has... gone out." Velden's irritation was growing. "Did he say where?" Haidar's tone conveyed far more information than his brief answer. "No. He didn't." Velden's momentary puzzlement turned to anger. "Thank you, Haidar," he said stiffly, and went into his office. Once behind his closed door, Velden tried to bring hi. Ten centons. Plenty of time, he thought. He took three more steps, and then the world went bright, and then it went away. Baltar crossed the short alley to the large plaza on the north, but he didn't head for the comm kiosk. Instead, he found Auriga leaning against a wall outside a tavern, juggling a meat roll and a plastic cup, which seemed to contain mostly foam. As he headed over, he could hear the conversations around him, at odds with the holiday atmosphere. Prices were too high, lines too long, there were shortages, not enough meat in the markets and the vegetables could be better….Part of the problem, he thought, was that many merchants had hoarded supplies in preparation for the festivities - and the crowds with their money - tonight. But it was worse than usual. And going down from there after tonight. But at least he wasn't the one who'd be blamed for poor security in the province's needed utilities. He smiled at that thought, and moved beside Auriga. They didnd he had to make an effort to focus his mind on the holy words. Outside he could hear the faint lows and bleats of the herds, and the wind through the grass, and the rippling of the tents. He heard the flap of his own tent open quietly, and the soft steps as his visitor moved to one side and sat and waited. He gave no sign, but he had been expecting this visit. He would have known who it was by the step alone, he thought; or perhaps only by the sense of anger and confusion surrounding the boy. He suppressed a sigh and continued his prayer. After they had found the boy, starving and near death, Sothis had raised him as one of his own kin. He had tried to help the boy find some peace in the wake of his family's deaths, had tried to impart to him a sense of asha, the universal harmony. He had never understood, Sothis thought sadly. He had always clung to the past, and to his anger and desire for vengeance. He finished his devotions, turned to face his visitor, and waited for him to ss anger under control. Damn the boy! The situation was volatile enough without Baltar's interference. There was no hope he could oust Andros; the headstrong little fool would certainly get himself killed this time. And that, Velden had to admit, might very possibly be one of the better outcomes. The sooner Raamasa regained some semblance of stability, the better for them all. Just outside the city lay the huge complex of Zahransi stockyards. Kefren leaned against the wall of the pen, looking down on the shaggy backs of the bos his tribe was selling. "I see you sold the Meridas," said a voice beside him. "Get a good price?" Kefren looked around in surprise. "Not bad, more than I expected," he answered. "What are you doing down here, Tseros? Come to say goodbye?" Baltar shook his head. "I've changed my plans. I'm coming with you. For a while, at least." Fortune's Wheel, Part 8 The bos calf bawled, bucked, and shook off the three nomad children holding onto its't say anything, but Auriga finished the last of his meat roll, washed it down with the liquid in his cup, and threw away the wrapper and the cup with its foam. He moved to the comm kiosk, and punched in the code, keeping an eye turned in Baltar's direction. Baltar watched the plaza, for any sign of the Watch. As Auriga finished speaking and broke the connection, there was a terrific explosion. Baltar felt the wall behind him vibrate. After the echoes died, there was a long silence, and then a milling confusion as the crowds began to run, some away from the explosion, some toward it, some with no apparent destination but simply gripped by panic. Baltar stayed where he was, watching. If the plan hadn't worked, he was as good as dead. If it had, then Andros was in trouble and Carden owed him big time. The thought made him smile. Part 14 If they could just get through Armament Day without trouble, Jaspar thought, he'd be happy. It wasn't too much to ask. Last yahren he'd nearpeak. Baltar hesitated a moment longer. When he began speaking, it was with a great deal of uncertainty. "Harbeth," he started, "it has been more than seven yahren since I came to live with your people, and I know that you are respected, and gifted with great wisdom and foresight..." He stopped. He wasn't sure he believed in the powers imputed to his foster father. He had not been raised in the Meijian faith, he had not been raised with any religious beliefs at all. Adria had thought such notions a foolish waste of time, and certainly not proper to the instruction of future rulers of a Scorpiani province. He had gained some notion of his father's beliefs when he was at home, despite his mother's disapproval, and one of his tutors had begun to teach the Kailakan philosophy to him and Brianna. Adria had dismissed the man when she found out. The philosophy had merit, in his opinion; that the power which moved the universe was so vast and eternal as to have no concern for its individua shaggy hair. They ran after the calf, laughing. Kefren watched them, smiling. He glanced around, the hillside giving him a wide view across the steppe. It had rained a few days before; briefly, it was true, but already the steppe had turned from gold to green, and small flowers were appearing among the grasses as the brief growing season began. The herds were spread out around the camp, grazing on the new grass. "So are you still going through with this?" he asked. Baltar didn't look up, kept running the rope through his fingers, looking for fraying or weak spots. "Yes," he answered, then a moment later added, "I don't know." "You should talk to Grandfather." Baltar ran a few more lengths of cord through his fingers. Then the got up, handed the coil of rope to Kefren and walked toward the tents. The fire in the brazier flared up as Sothis poured oil onto the coals. He had chanted the daily prayers for so many yahrens they came to his lips almost without thought, anly had a riot on his hands. He'd managed to restrict it to the docksides, and had never gotten a good explanation for what had started it. Drunks, he was told. A fight. How the drunkenness and belligerence had spread to five hundred people had never come to light. It didn't matter. It was the usual - life on Scorpia. Organized or not, it didn't take much to start trouble. He'd put extra men on the street this yahren, and hoped it was enough. The yahren before, it was a fire. Illegal pyrotechnics, an old neighborhood, inadequate fire suppression measures, and two residential blocks had gone up. That was the fire crews' problem, though. His men had only been needed for crowd control. If something had to happen, he could always hope for another fire. He'd been here since morning. It was night now, late, but the fun was only beginning, he mused. The celebrations were really rolling now. Out the window he could see the beginnings of the pyrotechnic displays, out over the water. Tl creatures, and that one had to make one's own way as best as one could through the greater movements of time and events. The beliefs of the Meijiani in a God of pure light, interested in the lives of individuals and bestowing boons to the faithful, seemed too much like wishful thinking to him; or perhaps a better term would be self-delusion. On the other hand, Sothis did seem to have insight that others didn't. Perhaps there was something to the old man's teachings after all. "...I would... ask you..." he wasn't sure how to continue. "You have decided to return to your home?" Sothis asked. The answer was apparent; he continued. "I thought that you would. I have considered this, and meditated upon it." Baltar took a deep breath before he asked. "And what... have you seen?" Sothis regarded him a long moment before he answered. "Death." Baltar's eyes widened. It was not the answer he had expected, and yet... "I know what I plan is dangerous. But I know my cause is worth d he had to make an effort to focus his mind on the holy words. Outside he could hear the faint lows and bleats of the herds, and the wind through the grass, and the rippling of the tents. He heard the flap of his own tent open quietly, and the soft steps as his visitor moved to one side and sat and waited. He gave no sign, but he had been expecting this visit. He would have known who it was by the step alone, he thought; or perhaps only by the sense of anger and confusion surrounding the boy. He suppressed a sigh and continued his prayer. After they had found the boy, starving and near death, Sothis had raised him as one of his own kin. He had tried to help the boy find some peace in the wake of his family's deaths, had tried to impart to him a sense of asha, the universal harmony. He had never understood, Sothis thought sadly. He had always clung to the past, and to his anger and desire for vengeance. He finished his devotions, turned to face his visitor, and waited for him to she streets would be a mass of people, it would be nearly impossible to move out there, especially in the narrower streets, except by foot. If anything was going to happen, it would be in the next few centars. Just a few more, he hoped, and the night would be over, and he could go home. He yawned, stretched, and scrolled through the cases on his screen. The usual robberies and murders. That arson fire, the shop set ablaze to destroy that body - that one bothered him. It wasn't usual for that neighborhood. There was a chance they'd solve that one, but he didn't hold out much hope. And there were those crates of industrial explosive missing from that mine up at Sakara. He really wanted to know who had that. His informants were sure the local Keraila cells didn't have it, and there weren't rumors about any of the smaller groups, either. No threats, no boasts. He hoped it wasn't some single lunatic they'd never track down. Those were the cases he hated, the ones with no discernable motthe risk, and I'm prepared to die for it if I must." He wasn't sure if that was true. He hoped it was, but even more he hoped it would never actually come to that. Sothis' next words shocked him out of that thought. "Not your death," the old man said. "Never yours." Baltar had no idea what to make of the pronouncement. He wouldn't die... but there had been an edge of bitterness in Sothis' words, he couldn't possibly construe them as approval. "Are you telling me not to go?" he asked hesitantly. The old man's gaze was direct and hard. "Would it change anything if I did?" Baltar stared back at him, his thoughts spinning, unsure of anything at that moment. There was something more to this, to the harbeth's words, he felt it, he was sure of it, but he couldn't quite believe... "I... don't know... I...," he stammered, then leaned forward. "Tell me, what do you see? What will come of this, if I return?" Sothis bowed his head for long moments, deep in concentration. Then he lookpeak. Baltar hesitated a moment longer. When he began speaking, it was with a great deal of uncertainty. "Harbeth," he started, "it has been more than seven yahren since I came to live with your people, and I know that you are respected, and gifted with great wisdom and foresight..." He stopped. He wasn't sure he believed in the powers imputed to his foster father. He had not been raised in the Meijian faith, he had not been raised with any religious beliefs at all. Adria had thought such notions a foolish waste of time, and certainly not proper to the instruction of future rulers of a Scorpiani province. He had gained some notion of his father's beliefs when he was at home, despite his mother's disapproval, and one of his tutors had begun to teach the Kailakan philosophy to him and Brianna. Adria had dismissed the man when she found out. The philosophy had merit, in his opinion; that the power which moved the universe was so vast and eternal as to have no concern for its individuaive beyond frustration and sheer insanity. He stared out the window, watching the colorful flares reflected in the water. The Watch Headquarters was built on a hillside, and Jaspar's office had a good view over Raamasa. He took a sip of his kaffe, discovered it had gone cold, and considered getting a fresh cup. He turned in his chair, facing the door, and as he stood up there was a flash. Just as his mind registered that it was too bright for the pyrotechnics, the muffled boom reached his ears, and he heard the glass in the window shake. A vibration ran through the floor under his feet. Jaspar whirled back, crossing to the window in three steps. He scanned the view, looking toward the waterfront … and saw the column of smoke, flame-lit beneath, rising on the rocky promontory. What was down there? he thought. Not docks; warehouses maybe … no, he realized, that was a desal plant on that rock. Good God. He grasped for an explanation that might not involve him or his men, soed up. Baltar rocked back. The look in the old man's eyes had struck him like an almost physical force. He wondered what the holy man was seeing, and he was equally certain he didn't want to know. There was something very terrible in that look. He opened his mouth, but no words came, he had no idea how to answer that look. Sothis said nothing. Baltar rose slowly, shaken to the core. "I... this is... something I must do..," he tried to explain. He moved toward the entrance to the tent. "Please understand... I _must_." He lifted the flap and waited a moment, but Sothis said nothing more. He turned and left. As he let the flap fall, he heard the old man's voice once more. It had an eerie tone, as if it came from a far distance. "You will regain what is your right, saar Raama..." He turned, but the flap had already closed. He felt a chill run down his spine. His head was spinning. And then he wondered why Sothis had used the older, nearly forgotten name of the Darian line. He lel creatures, and that one had to make one's own way as best as one could through the greater movements of time and events. The beliefs of the Meijiani in a God of pure light, interested in the lives of individuals and bestowing boons to the faithful, seemed too much like wishful thinking to him; or perhaps a better term would be self-delusion. On the other hand, Sothis did seem to have insight that others didn't. Perhaps there was something to the old man's teachings after all. "...I would... ask you..." he wasn't sure how to continue. "You have decided to return to your home?" Sothis asked. The answer was apparent; he continued. "I thought that you would. I have considered this, and meditated upon it." Baltar took a deep breath before he asked. "And what... have you seen?" Sothis regarded him a long moment before he answered. "Death." Baltar's eyes widened. It was not the answer he had expected, and yet... "I know what I plan is dangerous. But I know my cause is worth me accident, but he had a sinking feeling he'd found where the stolen explosives had gone. He turned for the door, dropped the cup on his desk, then grabbed for it with a curse as it tipped and spilled cold kaffe on the desktop. He looked for something to wipe it up, decided it didn't matter, brushed the worst of the liquid onto the floor. He started for the door again, got a step toward it, then turned back to the desk and the comm unit. He punched up the number for the field post in the city center, and didn't look up as the door burst open and Lt. Fisk leaned in, a printout in his hand. "Captain," Fisk started. Jaspar waved him off. "Maslin? What the hell is happening down there?" "Don't know." The reply was harried. "We've had an explosion, sounds like, by the waterfront. Got the fire crews and medics on their way, but it's getting a little crazy down here. Look, I'll get back to you when I have something definite to report -" Jaspar cut the connection. Who did he ft three days later. He told Kefren nothing of what Sothis had said, though his friend had looked questioningly at him when he left the tent. He packed up his few possessions; clothing, his knives, the pouch of cubits. He still had most of what he'd taken from his mother's safe, as well as his share of the proceeds from the stock sold in Zahransi. He found his old handlight, almost left it, then smiled and packed it too. He rolled his blanket, put in some packets of food and the all-important water bottles, and stepped out of the tent. He'd said most of his goodbyes already, and wanted to leave without many more. They all thought he was going to his death, and they could well be right. If his goal had been anything less than his mother's title, he'd be content to stay here, or take the position Velden offered. But he was the Count saar Darius; he had his duty to his province and bloodline. He couldn't accept less. He'd spent seven years living with that thought - and with the knowlethe risk, and I'm prepared to die for it if I must." He wasn't sure if that was true. He hoped it was, but even more he hoped it would never actually come to that. Sothis' next words shocked him out of that thought. "Not your death," the old man said. "Never yours." Baltar had no idea what to make of the pronouncement. He wouldn't die... but there had been an edge of bitterness in Sothis' words, he couldn't possibly construe them as approval. "Are you telling me not to go?" he asked hesitantly. The old man's gaze was direct and hard. "Would it change anything if I did?" Baltar stared back at him, his thoughts spinning, unsure of anything at that moment. There was something more to this, to the harbeth's words, he felt it, he was sure of it, but he couldn't quite believe... "I... don't know... I...," he stammered, then leaned forward. "Tell me, what do you see? What will come of this, if I return?" Sothis bowed his head for long moments, deep in concentration. Then he lookhave stationed closer to the plant? "Captain," Fisk said again, an odd note in his voice, "I really think you should have a look at this, right now." Jaspar turned toward him, suddenly interested. "What is it?" He reached for the printout. "It's about that explosion," Fisk started. Jaspar was already scanning the page. Halfway through he stopped, reread the text, realized the implications of what he was seeing. He looked up at Fisk. "Has anyone else seen this, heard the call?" he asked, his tone deadly serious. "Just the responsor, and maybe a couple other -" "Keep it that way. No one else hears about this, am I clear? I'm heading up to the manor, I have to report this to the Count." "COUNT BALTAR?!" Andros exploded. Jaspar decided that saying nothing was probably his best option. "How dare…who is …of all the arrogant, presumptuous…," Andros sputtered. He slammed the crumpled transcript of the call onto his desk. "Captain, I want this …this imposter! I wandge that Andros, his family's murderer, was even now ruling in his place. That alone ate at his soul, and he could stand it no longer. But he still had one last farewell to make. He had avoided Sothis since the old man's strange foretelling, but he couldn't leave without one last effort to make his foster father see that he was right, that he had no choice but to go. Sothis wasn't in his tent, but when Baltar, momentarily at a loss, looked around, he spotted the old man at the edge of the camp, looking out over the herds. After a moment's hesitation, he walked over to him. "I'm going now," he began, as Sothis turned. "I just wanted to..." "No," Sothis stopped him. "Do not try to explain. I only ask that you try to remember what I have taught you." Baltar nodded. He'd never understood one thing that Sothis had thought so important anyway. The old man smiled at him, but there was a look of sadness in his eyes. He stiffened as Sothis embraced him; he'd never become accustomeded up. Baltar rocked back. The look in the old man's eyes had struck him like an almost physical force. He wondered what the holy man was seeing, and he was equally certain he didn't want to know. There was something very terrible in that look. He opened his mouth, but no words came, he had no idea how to answer that look. Sothis said nothing. Baltar rose slowly, shaken to the core. "I... this is... something I must do..," he tried to explain. He moved toward the entrance to the tent. "Please understand... I _must_." He lifted the flap and waited a moment, but Sothis said nothing more. He turned and left. As he let the flap fall, he heard the old man's voice once more. It had an eerie tone, as if it came from a far distance. "You will regain what is your right, saar Raama..." He turned, but the flap had already closed. He felt a chill run down his spine. His head was spinning. And then he wondered why Sothis had used the older, nearly forgotten name of the Darian line. He let him caught. I want him dead! Do you hear me?" "Certainly, s'akhan," Jaspar said, "I'll put it on top priority." Andros started to speak, then stopped with a frown. Slowly, he sank into the chair behind the desk, his fist clenching even tighter on the paper. "No. Wait. How many people know about this?" "Only a few at the moment. Myself, my lieutenant, perhaps three or four officers." "I think … perhaps it would be better to keep it that way. You know the situation in the city, Captain. This sort of … wild rumor … could cause further unrest." He looked up at Jaspar. "I think we should pursue this quietly, Captain. And deal with it quietly. Before this gets out of hand." After Jaspar had gone, Andros considered this turn of events. He glanced at the paper wadded under his hand, smoothed it out on the desktop, and reread the offending phrase. Count Baltar, indeed. As if the boy could be alive after all these yahrens. He was dead, as dead as Adria and her daughter; if he' to people touching him so familiarly. "May the Lord of Light watch over you," Sothis said, a catch in his voice, "and keep you from harm." He didn't know what to say. He mumbled something in return, then turned and walked away. The trip back was much easier than his flight across the steppe as a terrified child. He had learned a great deal in seven yahren. He'd waited until the sparse rains came, and the food was easier to find. He dug for roots, and snared lapines and other small animals. At night he'd set up moisture traps, to catch the slight condensation of dew and channel it into his water bottles. A day outside of Sakara he found a camp of Borrellians, and traded careful courtesies and his second-best knife for food, water and news of the south. In Bel, he paid a transport driver to let him ride along as far as Raamasa. As the man, more than a little drunk, wove in and out among the huge robotic haulers on the narrow mountain road, Baltar wondered if he'd live long enouft three days later. He told Kefren nothing of what Sothis had said, though his friend had looked questioningly at him when he left the tent. He packed up his few possessions; clothing, his knives, the pouch of cubits. He still had most of what he'd taken from his mother's safe, as well as his share of the proceeds from the stock sold in Zahransi. He found his old handlight, almost left it, then smiled and packed it too. He rolled his blanket, put in some packets of food and the all-important water bottles, and stepped out of the tent. He'd said most of his goodbyes already, and wanted to leave without many more. They all thought he was going to his death, and they could well be right. If his goal had been anything less than his mother's title, he'd be content to stay here, or take the position Velden offered. But he was the Count saar Darius; he had his duty to his province and bloodline. He couldn't accept less. He'd spent seven years living with that thought - and with the knowled survived, surely Andros would have discovered it before now. Some group of malcontents, using his nephew's name to lend themselves an air of legitimacy. Trying to make him a martyr, no doubt; or setting up an imposter, trying to recreate a modern-day Darius. The story was well-known, how Darius had regained his title; Andros himself knew every detail as well as Baltar ever had….No, he thought. The boy's dead, that's the end of it. It can't be him. And yet….he thought of the Count's signet, missing from Adria's safe; who would she have shared the combination with? He knew his sister - he doubted even her precious heir would have known the sequence. But the boy, with his sneaking, prying ways… he might have known. And he'd never been found. He'd gotten down into the city, that much was fairly certain, through the drainage system, but he'd had the Watch guard the roads, the transit stations, the docks, the airfields - he'd had surveillance on the homes of relatives and the householgh to see his home again. At last the man stopped at a fuel station, to fill up the transport, and, no doubt, himself, as he headed for the display of liquor inside. Baltar left the transport while he was still in one piece, and went the rest of the way on foot. He was making his way through the steep rocky hills that were the north border of the province. It was getting dark, and he was about to stop for the night and make camp, but he knew he was getting close to the crest of the ridge. He continued on in the deepening twilight, and as he topped the ridge, he was able to see the basin below. Lights were already shining in the narrow band between hills and sea, the Count's residence standing apart on its hill to the west. He stood looking down at his home until the last reflections of day had faded from the water below. Fortune's Wheel, Part 9 "The people maintain the nobles, and in return they ensure equitable distribution of resources," Sidra said acidly. "So tell us, adge that Andros, his family's murderer, was even now ruling in his place. That alone ate at his soul, and he could stand it no longer. But he still had one last farewell to make. He had avoided Sothis since the old man's strange foretelling, but he couldn't leave without one last effort to make his foster father see that he was right, that he had no choice but to go. Sothis wasn't in his tent, but when Baltar, momentarily at a loss, looked around, he spotted the old man at the edge of the camp, looking out over the herds. After a moment's hesitation, he walked over to him. "I'm going now," he began, as Sothis turned. "I just wanted to..." "No," Sothis stopped him. "Do not try to explain. I only ask that you try to remember what I have taught you." Baltar nodded. He'd never understood one thing that Sothis had thought so important anyway. The old man smiled at him, but there was a look of sadness in his eyes. He stiffened as Sothis embraced him; he'd never become accustomedd staff, anyone the boy might have run to. And he'd simply disappeared. The only answer was that he'd fled on foot, into the mountains or the desert. And so he must be dead. Inexperienced and with no supplies, he couldn't have survived. Or could he? Andros shook his head. No, Baltar could not, must not be alive. This was some ploy. Perhaps… one of his enemies? There were other bloodlines, with their own ambitious younger scions, who would love to see him fail. Saar Zahrin wanted revenge for his brother, he knew. Perhaps he was fronting this imposter. No matter. Whether this was an attempt on his position by a rival, or purely an internal matter, it would be dealt with, and swiftly. He could count on Jaspar, ambitious as he was, to settle this and gain Andros' favor and patronage. And it would take care of any rumors of Baltar's survival once and for all. Yes, he thought, this could work to his advantage. If only it didn't feel so very much like Adria striking a last blow at himkhansar, did you have such fine meals as this at your manor?" Baltar stared at the thin vegetable soup he was stirring in his bowl, Not finding it particularly appealing. He considered an answer, and wondered if it was worth the trouble, with the mood Sidra was in. There were shortages now, of course, due to Andros' mismanagement. But had things been any better while his mother was alive? He didn't think they had; he remembered the children stealing produce from the fields when he was young. He prodded at a chunk of tharon root, and decided not to answer her after all. "Leave him alone, Sidra," Kelse said, "he's one of us now. Baltar, don't pay any attention to her, she's looking for a fight." "I know," he said. He shook some pepper sauce into the soup, hoping it would impart some flavor. He doubted it would improve matters. To his left, Shen shuddered and pulled his collar closer to his neck. "Damn," he muttered, taking a swig from his grog bottle, "it's getting cold inhere. to people touching him so familiarly. "May the Lord of Light watch over you," Sothis said, a catch in his voice, "and keep you from harm." He didn't know what to say. He mumbled something in return, then turned and walked away. The trip back was much easier than his flight across the steppe as a terrified child. He had learned a great deal in seven yahren. He'd waited until the sparse rains came, and the food was easier to find. He dug for roots, and snared lapines and other small animals. At night he'd set up moisture traps, to catch the slight condensation of dew and channel it into his water bottles. A day outside of Sakara he found a camp of Borrellians, and traded careful courtesies and his second-best knife for food, water and news of the south. In Bel, he paid a transport driver to let him ride along as far as Raamasa. As the man, more than a little drunk, wove in and out among the huge robotic haulers on the narrow mountain road, Baltar wondered if he'd live long enou from her grave. "There were fifteen centons on the timer when I left," Menkari said, his soft voice infuriating Sidra even more. "He should have had ample time to get out. I don't know why -" She jerked away from his hands on her shoulders. "I don't believe you for a micron, Menkari," she hissed, her tone more menacing than her shrillness had ever been. She turned on Baltar. "You two planned this, didn't you? You bastards. You killed Evan, you knew he'd die, that's why you had Auriga call and take the credit, for you, not the cause -" her voice caught in a sob, and Baltar took advantage of the opening. "Sidra - think about this a moment. Yes, I took the credit. You know as well as I do that the only way to get anything done is to get me back in power." He was trying his best to sound reasonable. "When I'm Count -" Sidra angrily brushed at a tear running down her face. "When you're Count," she spat, her voice rising. "When you're Count, you'll be as bad as the rest of There's a draft" He turned in his chair to look toward the entry. "Auriga!" he yelled, "Close the door, you're freezing us!" The door slammed and the new arrival scanned the table, looking for a Place to sit. At the other end of the table Tano pushed a long strand of hair out of his face and squinted at him. "'Riga, you get paid today? I need t'borrow a couple cubits, if y'got 'em" Auriga ignored him as he pulled off his coat. He stood holding it, still glancing around the table. Everyone was looking at him, but no one had yet made a move to give him a place to sit. "You're late," Sidra accused. "Where's Evan?" he asked. It was going to be one of those evenings, he could see it already. "Did you get paid or not?" she continued, ignoring his question in turn. "Yes, I got paid," he answered impatiently. "Owner's son decided to join up and go to war. Had to reorganize the whole schedule, cover his deliveries. Took about two centars. Is there another chair in here?" hegh to see his home again. At last the man stopped at a fuel station, to fill up the transport, and, no doubt, himself, as he headed for the display of liquor inside. Baltar left the transport while he was still in one piece, and went the rest of the way on foot. He was making his way through the steep rocky hills that were the north border of the province. It was getting dark, and he was about to stop for the night and make camp, but he knew he was getting close to the crest of the ridge. He continued on in the deepening twilight, and as he topped the ridge, he was able to see the basin below. Lights were already shining in the narrow band between hills and sea, the Count's residence standing apart on its hill to the west. He stood looking down at his home until the last reflections of day had faded from the water below. Fortune's Wheel, Part 9 "The people maintain the nobles, and in return they ensure equitable distribution of resources," Sidra said acidly. "So tell us, a them! You expect us to believe that you'll be any different, that you'll care about anything but staying in power? You're no different than the rest of them. But we won't be your pawns!" "Listen to me," he started. "You're not thinking straight. Do you think I could forget how things have been for us, even if I was Count? Do you think I would just use you - my friends - as pawns for my own goals?" "Yes," she said bitterly. "You knew Evan was going to kill you," Narain said unexpectedly. Baltar glanced at him, but he couldn't read anything in the other man's face beyond a hard hostility. He thought about how he could best answer, but he didn't know what Narain was thinking. He decided his best course was to play it through. Carefully. "Yes, I guessed that," he said levelly. And left it to Narain to continue. "What did you give Carden for the ID?" he finally asked. "You told him you'd get rid of Evan, didn't you?" Baltar glanced around the room. Lensar, by the door, lo asked pointedly. "You'd think with all his money he'd crack his pouch open and send his son to the Academy," Sidra announced to the room at large. "With all the patricians' sons, not let him associate with the rabble like us. Isn't that the elitist ideal?" Her diatribe was cut short by a chorus of protest from the rest of the table. Tem's deep voice carried over the others. "Good Lord, Sidra, will you give it a rest for one centon?" They glared at each other for a moment. Sidra stood up abruptly and walked away from the table. Not questioning his sudden good fortune, Auriga dropped his coat to the floor and took her vacated chair. He looked around for a bowl, not willing to leave his seat to get one from the cupboard. "Got another bowl?" he ventured. Baltar pushed his untouched soup across the table. "You can have mine .I'm not hungry." "Good enough for us, but not for you?" Sidra shot from across the room . Baltar looked up from the table, mouth taut and eyes blkhansar, did you have such fine meals as this at your manor?" Baltar stared at the thin vegetable soup he was stirring in his bowl, Not finding it particularly appealing. He considered an answer, and wondered if it was worth the trouble, with the mood Sidra was in. There were shortages now, of course, due to Andros' mismanagement. But had things been any better while his mother was alive? He didn't think they had; he remembered the children stealing produce from the fields when he was young. He prodded at a chunk of tharon root, and decided not to answer her after all. "Leave him alone, Sidra," Kelse said, "he's one of us now. Baltar, don't pay any attention to her, she's looking for a fight." "I know," he said. He shook some pepper sauce into the soup, hoping it would impart some flavor. He doubted it would improve matters. To his left, Shen shuddered and pulled his collar closer to his neck. "Damn," he muttered, taking a swig from his grog bottle, "it's getting cold inhere.oked grim. Sidra glared at him with pure hatred. Shen and Vanda were expressionless, waiting to see how things would go. Auriga and Kelse were close, close enough to interfere if Narain went for him, and so was Menkari, who would likely be more effective. "We discussed turning him in," Baltar answered, trying to keep his voice steady. "You can ask Menkari about the reasons. But I never said I wanted him dead," he continued, with the assurance that he spoke the absolute, if only technical, truth. "I never asked Menkari to kill him." Narain stepped forward, Menkari tensed, Baltar's hand jerked toward the sheath under his left sleeve and then back, and he stood his ground only because the table was directly behind him. "Listen to me," he said, heard the shakiness in his voice, and tried again. "Listen to me!" he said, louder and steadier, looking around at the others. "I'm sorry Evan died. I feel as badly as the rest of you. But it was an accident. Didn't he say we had to takeazing. He kicked back his chair and stalked out of the room. The entry door banged shut again. Tem slammed his spoon down on the table. "Curse it, Sidra! Do you ever think before you open your mouth?" He headed for the entry and slammed the door for the third time. For a moment Auriga considered going after them, but he was only starting to get warm, and he was still hungry. He swallowed a spoonful of soup, and found there was too much pepper sauce in it. After a moment he glanced around and found that Sidra was gone too, probably back into one of the other rooms to sulk. He turned to Shen. "So," he asked, "where is Evan?" "Wake up, fat man," Evan hissed. "You owe me money. I've come to collect it." Gethin the merchant started up out of bed, then dropped back to the pillow when he felt the sharp edge of metal at his fleshy neck. He gaped up at the man leaning over him. The eyes staring at him from under a fringe of fair hair were hard and uncompromising. Beside him There's a draft" He turned in his chair to look toward the entry. "Auriga!" he yelled, "Close the door, you're freezing us!" The door slammed and the new arrival scanned the table, looking for a Place to sit. At the other end of the table Tano pushed a long strand of hair out of his face and squinted at him. "'Riga, you get paid today? I need t'borrow a couple cubits, if y'got 'em" Auriga ignored him as he pulled off his coat. He stood holding it, still glancing around the table. Everyone was looking at him, but no one had yet made a move to give him a place to sit. "You're late," Sidra accused. "Where's Evan?" he asked. It was going to be one of those evenings, he could see it already. "Did you get paid or not?" she continued, ignoring his question in turn. "Yes, I got paid," he answered impatiently. "Owner's son decided to join up and go to war. Had to reorganize the whole schedule, cover his deliveries. Took about two centars. Is there another chair in here?" he our chances? We all knew this could happen one day. "But now we have to go on from here," he continued, finding his stride. "What are we going to do? Go home, forget everything we've fought for? Stay here, hiding in the hills like vermin? Or do you want to be a part of something bigger, something that will change Scorpia? Because that's what I'm offering you." He had their attention, he saw. "Evan was our leader, and he was a good leader," he said, not letting the incongruity of the statement deter him. "But he lacked the vision we need to truly bring change to our world. All he could offer you was a chance to be…"he searched for the right word, "…little more than a nuisance in one province on Scorpia. But I have a chance to get into power, real power, and to bring our ideals to where they can truly help our people. I need your help to get there. I took the first step last night, but I need your support, and the support of my people, to accomplish this. "We made a good s his wife opened her eyes, took in the scene, and sat up with a cry that was quickly muffled as the man beside her slapped a hand over her mouth and pushed her back down. "What are you doing here?" Gethin sputtered, caught between fear and outrage. "How dare you come into my house?" "Told you, I've come for my money," Evan smirked. "And I'll be collecting interest on that, too. Next time you'll see I have it on time." "Business hasn't been good," Gethin said weakly, fear winning out. "Your concern, Gethin, not mine. Business will be bad permanently for you, if I don't get what I came for." Gethin glanced over at his wife, staring sidelong at him with wide eyes. He thought of his children down the hall, thankful he'd heard no sound from their rooms. He waved a hand toward the doorway. "It' sit's in my office. Downstairs." Evan hauled him to his feet by the front of his sleep shirt, no small feat. Gethin was a man of considerable bulk. He shoved the merchant toward th asked pointedly. "You'd think with all his money he'd crack his pouch open and send his son to the Academy," Sidra announced to the room at large. "With all the patricians' sons, not let him associate with the rabble like us. Isn't that the elitist ideal?" Her diatribe was cut short by a chorus of protest from the rest of the table. Tem's deep voice carried over the others. "Good Lord, Sidra, will you give it a rest for one centon?" They glared at each other for a moment. Sidra stood up abruptly and walked away from the table. Not questioning his sudden good fortune, Auriga dropped his coat to the floor and took her vacated chair. He looked around for a bowl, not willing to leave his seat to get one from the cupboard. "Got another bowl?" he ventured. Baltar pushed his untouched soup across the table. "You can have mine .I'm not hungry." "Good enough for us, but not for you?" Sidra shot from across the room . Baltar looked up from the table, mouth taut and eyes bltart last night. We have the attention of Raamasa. But now we need to build on that. We need to let the people know that they have an alternative to Andros. We need to gain their support, and when we have that support we can take back the province. We can't just do nothing. We can't fade back into obscurity. We have our opportunity right here, now. We have to move to take advantage of it, or all we've done, all we've lost, have been for nothing." He looked Narain in the eye. "Are you with me?" At his side, Auriga said, "I am", and then Vanda nodded. Narain looked around, at Lensar, then Shen, then Menkari, and finally back at Baltar. "I guess I'm still in." Baltar nodded. "Good. Lensar?" The big man nodded. "Sidra? You still with us?" She hesitated for a long moment. "I … guess it's the best way. To do what we need to. For our people." Baltar grinned. "Good. I knew I could count on you. All of you. To do what's right." He was feeling almost lightheaded, with relief, e door of the bedroom, leaving Lensar to keep an eye on the wife. In the hall, Narain nodded an all-clear. Gethin looked over his shoulder toward the bedrooms in concern as he headed for his office. At his desk, his hand shook so badly he had trouble entering the combination into the keypad, but Evan's impatient look hurried him along. He got the drawer open, and pulled out a pouchful of cubits. He started to open the top, to count out the money, but Evan snatched the entire pouch from his hand. "That's far more than I owe you," Gethin protested, reaching for the pouch. Evan moved the pouch out of his reach and pushed him down into his chair. "I told you I was collecting interest." "I'll call the Watch! This is robbery!" Evan turned back, his smile malicious. "Yes, fat merchant, it is," he said softly. "And you won't be calling the Watch, or doing anything tocause me and my people trouble, or we'll cause you trouble, more than you can stomach. You understand me?" Geazing. He kicked back his chair and stalked out of the room. The entry door banged shut again. Tem slammed his spoon down on the table. "Curse it, Sidra! Do you ever think before you open your mouth?" He headed for the entry and slammed the door for the third time. For a moment Auriga considered going after them, but he was only starting to get warm, and he was still hungry. He swallowed a spoonful of soup, and found there was too much pepper sauce in it. After a moment he glanced around and found that Sidra was gone too, probably back into one of the other rooms to sulk. He turned to Shen. "So," he asked, "where is Evan?" "Wake up, fat man," Evan hissed. "You owe me money. I've come to collect it." Gethin the merchant started up out of bed, then dropped back to the pillow when he felt the sharp edge of metal at his fleshy neck. He gaped up at the man leaning over him. The eyes staring at him from under a fringe of fair hair were hard and uncompromising. Beside himand with his success at swaying the others. He had gained their support, and now he needed to keep it. Well, that wouldn't be hard. Unlike Evan, he could give them what they needed most - success. "Alright, now, we need to move down into the city. I'm tired of hiding in these hills. We need to pack up everything and move down to the warehouse. Tonight. And tomorrow, we'll get started on the real work." thin slumped back in the chair, nodding. He wished heartily he'd never heard of the Aeriannan and his "people". He was lucky to get out of this alive and unhurt, he knew, but to have his home invaded and his money taken was very nearly intolerable. He'd gotten himself in far over his head, he knew, and he could think of no way out. Evan snapped the pouch shut, gave the merchant one last smirk, and strode out of the room. His two companions passed the office door, and then there was the sound of the front door opening and closing. Gethin sat still for several centons, trying to compose himself. He reached for the comm button on he desk, and keyed in a code. After two pulses there was an answer. "Raamasa Watch," came a woman's pleasant voice. "How can I help you?" Gethin stared at the comm for a moment. Then without a word he broke the connection. Menkari waited under the window a moment longer, until he heard no sound inside. He took the audient from the sill, removed the his wife opened her eyes, took in the scene, and sat up with a cry that was quickly muffled as the man beside her slapped a hand over her mouth and pushed her back down. "What are you doing here?" Gethin sputtered, caught between fear and outrage. "How dare you come into my house?" "Told you, I've come for my money," Evan smirked. "And I'll be collecting interest on that, too. Next time you'll see I have it on time." "Business hasn't been good," Gethin said weakly, fear winning out. "Your concern, Gethin, not mine. Business will be bad permanently for you, if I don't get what I came for." Gethin glanced over at his wife, staring sidelong at him with wide eyes. He thought of his children down the hall, thankful he'd heard no sound from their rooms. He waved a hand toward the doorway. "It' sit's in my office. Downstairs." Evan hauled him to his feet by the front of his sleep shirt, no small feat. Gethin was a man of considerable bulk. He shoved the merchant toward th