1

     The cross hairs of the laser sniper settled.  The image came into view.
     I can do it.  I can stop him.
     He eased his finger onto the trigger, but could not bring himself to
activate the weapon. He knew the orders, and was bound by an oath that
forced him to obey them.
     They're wrong.  He must be stopped.
     The last yahren had been spent leading up to this micron.  Do it, or
everything was for nothing.  With a quick pull of the trigger, he could
change everything.
     As he continued to watch, a second figure came into view: long,
flowing robes, the blood-red of Cylon Imperial hierarchy.
     The time is now.  Drop him, then take out that monster.  Two shots, I
can do it.
     He felt a hand on his shoulder.  He rolled, expecting Colonel Howell
to snatch the weapon from his grasp.  But instead, it was a Caprican
civilian, burned beyond recognition.
     "Why didn't you stop them?"
     He turned back to the sniper laser, but the image had changed.  The
moment was lost.
     The air was filled with wave after wave of Cylon fighter-bombers,
unloading megons of ordnance into the unprotected city.  People ran all
around, desperately trying to find a safe place, any safe place, where they
could escape.  Many died in the streets, most not even realizing the
tragedy of it all.
     Glass exploded, showering the street with shards.  A man looked up,
raised his hands to protect his face from the deadly falling missiles.  He
avoided any major cuts from the glass, only to have the building's remains
bury him.  He was probably dead, long before the last piece toppled onto
the pile.
     No!  This should not be happening!  I should have stopped it!
     A bomb exploded off to his right, the shock wave slamming him back
into the ground.  The sound had nearly deafened him, leaving a loud ringing
in his ears.  He pushed himself back up, trying to get back on his feet.
He could barely hear the words as they drifted to him.
     "And what are the standing orders for humans from your Imperious Leader?"
     "Extermination."
     "Then carry out your orders!"
     "NOOOO!"
     Cutler woke up with a barely stifled scream.  His body was shaking,
sweat drenched his sheets.  Raleigh had woken up several microns
previously, and was beside Cutler's rack, gently shaking him.
     "Cut, wake up, it's OK," he said quietly.  "It's over."
     Cutler shook his head.  "No, it will never be over."
     "Same one?"  Raliegh asked.  Cutler had told him of this nightmare
before.
     "Of course," Cutler replied disgustedly.  "What other one is there?"
     Raliegh didn't know what to say to that one.  "All I know is this: The
reasons we are here, in this fleet, searching for a myth, all of us
homeless, is MY fault."

     The next day, the dreams were pushed to the back of everyone's mind.
Everyone in the Colonial Service had them, but everyone also knew that they
could not interfere with their duties.  There was simply no one else to do
the job of defending the last of humanity.
     Cutler pushed the last cobwebs of drowsiness from his mind with a
second cup of caffe from the Warriors mess.  He consulted his chronometer,
refilled his mug, and left the mess.
     It was a routine day, at least as routine as it could be under the
circumstances.  Cutler went through the normal routine of filling out the
munitions and Operational Status reports on the Galactica's laser turrets,
then moved on to turret 2 to complete his maintainance tasks for the day.
     Working the in Turrets had come almost naturally to the 8th Colonial
Assualt Team, also known as the Mud Daggits.  They had been the best of the
best, pulling off impossible infiltration, intelligence, and sabotage
missions against the Cylons.  Time after time, they had pulled various
President's of the Council's astrums from the political fires when military
decisions had accounted for much of the Council's policy.
     When the Cylons destroyed the Colonies, Cutler and the Mud Daggits had
found themselves on board the Galactica, being evacuated with the
survivors.  After the initial flight from destruction, Personnel Department
had tried to break up the unit, and assign them to various mundane military
duties.  Colonel Howell, the Commanding Officer of the 8th, had appealed to
Colonel Tigh, listing the Mud Daggit's weapons and machinery knowledge,
convincing him to allow assignment working the laser turrets.  Howell had
won, and the 8th stayed together as a unit.
     During the mid-day break, Cutler found an empty chair, filled his mug
from the caffe dispenser in Turret Control, and stretched out to enjoy the
break.
     Zeta broke the silence.
     "Hey, you guys catch the Triad game last night?"  Zeta was a die-hard
triad fan, and bragged about getting tickets to the games on the Rising
Star whenever he could.
     "Saw some of it on the scanner," Cutler replied.
     "Yeah, they had it on the Officer's Club," Degeria agreed.
     "Some match, eh?"
     "Man," Cutler said, "Starbuck should have pounded Ortega's head into
the deck plates. 
That sorry goof had it coming."
     "Don't say that," Raliegh said softly.
     "Well, he probably did," Zeta said.  "But I don't think he deserved to
die."
     Cutler looked dumbfounded.  "What?"
     "Someone killed him, right after he got ejected from the game."
     "No?" Cutler couldn't believe it.  "No one has been killed like that
for....hades, since we left the Colonies."
     "Oh, yes.  Guess who they got for it?"
     Cutler shrugged, since he barely knew Ortega in the first place, let
alone know who would want to kill him.
     "Starbuck."  Zeta nodded.  "Some dude saw him running away from the
locker area, and found Ortega shot, his own laser was drawn.  Captain
Apollo checked Starbuck's laser, and it had been fired.  Right afterward, a
laseronic ergon scan performed by Dr. Wilker proved it was Starbuck's laser
that terminated Ortega."
     "I don't believe it," Cutler said.  "I know Starbuck, he might be
hotheaded at times, but no way would he kill someone, over a triad game,
for Sagan's sake."
     "Well, I guess we will find out at the Tribunal."  Raliegh consulted
his chronometer.  "Tribunal convenes in seven centaurs."

     Cutler paid for his mug of baharii, and returned to the table with
Degeria, Zeta, and
Raliegh.  Siree had the overnight watch in Turret Control. 
     All eyes were glued to the scanner, watching the pre-tribunal
coverage.  The Chief Opposer made his statement, giving as much information
as he could against the Warrior.
     "And it would appear to this reporter," Zara concluded, "that the
brilliant career of Lt. Starbuck has come to a sudden, tragic end."  The
IFB logo flashed on the screen, followed by announcements of fleet position
and heading.
     "I still don't buy it," Cutler said.
     "Who is Starbuck's protector?"  Degeria asked.
     "Apollo," replied Zeta.
     "Apollo?" Cutler was dumbfounded.  "What was that guy thinking?
Apollo is a real bright fellow, but as his protector....?"
     Degeria shrugged.  "Hope he can get him off."
     Cutler's attention was drawn to a table to his right.  A couple of
warriors from Silver Spar Squadron were also discussing the news, and
coming up with their own theories.
     "I knew that clown couldn't last forever," one pilot remarked.
     "Maybe they should just jettison him down the launch tubes after the
tribunal.  Undiciplined lout," said one somewhat loudly, and Cutler
recognized the
speaker as Davis.
     Cutler stood, and Degeria tried to pull him back into his seat.  He
shook off her hand, and covered the distance between the tables in about
three steps.
     "Hey, Davis," Cutler said softly.
     "Yeah, Mud Wallower, what's on your mind?" Davis made no attempt to
hide his opinion about the 8th.
     "I really don't think that last statement was called for.  You are not
the tribunal, and you don't have the facts."
     "I fly with the idiot.  Gambler, boozer, and leech are not skills that
lend to great fly---"
     Davis never completed the sentence, as Culter swung and connected with
his jaw.  Davis went flying out of his seat, sprawling on the deck.
     His fellow pilots leaped up, ready to come to their partner's aid.
The Mud Daggits slowly rose to help Cutler if need be.
     "Anyone else have an opinion on Lt. Starbuck?"  Cutler growled.
     They saw his face, heard the ice  in Cutler's voice.  One raised his
hands, and they all backed away.  Two of them helped Davis off the deck,
still shaking his head, muttering curses.
     Suddenly, Davis stood straight, and leaped at Cutler.  Cutler dodged,
bringing his hand down on a pressure point on Davis' neck as he went past
him.  Davis again hit the deck, and didn't move.  Another member of Silver
Spar squadron tried to shake him, then put him in a chair.
     Bojay left his spot at the bar, and approached.  Cutler watched him
passively, convinced that he would have to take on the Lt. from Commander
Cain's battlestar.  Instead, Bojay simply patted Cutler on his shoulder.
     "Thanks, I was wondering how to knock that self-riteous idiot down a
peg or two," Bojay said softly, then moved to help carry an unconscious
Davis from the O-Club.
     Cutler drained his mug, and signalled Callahan the bartender for a
round for the table.

The next day, all eyes in the fleet were on their scanner.  Everyone
nervously sat through the opening statements, one, a well-worded damnation
of Starbuck by the Chief Opposer.  Boomer, acting as Protector Pro-tem,
stumbled through, speaking of set-up, and tried to touch on Starbuck's record.
     The Mud Daggits were crowded around in Turret Control, watching the
proceedings.  With every point made by the Chief Opposer, the group shook
their heads, picturing another nail in their friend's coffin.
     Nearing the end of the Tribunal, Cutler got a strange feeling.
     "You leave this Tribunal no choice but to make a decision--" Adama was
reluctantly saying.
     "Our defense is on Alpha Channel," Boomer nearly shouted.  "By the
Lords of Kobol, LISTEN!"
     "The way you killed Ortega?" Apollo's voice was heard.
     "Killing Ortega was easy," said a voice that sent nightmarish shiver's
up Cutler's spine.  The rest of the 8th recognized the voice also.  "But
you, Captian,  have proved to be a much more dangerous opponent.  Baltar,
turn on the automatic pilot."
     "If you remove these shackles!" came another voice, and Cutler felt
his blood pressure rising.
     The sounds of a scuffle were heard through the scanner, and the sound
of a single laser shot followed.
     "Did the Tribunal hear that?" came Apollo's voice.
     "We got it!"  Boomer replied.
     The Mud Daggits cheered.

     Starbuck sat alone in the Officer's Club.  He finished his baharii,
and ordered another.  I can't believe this, he thought.  Two days ago, my
life was nearly finished. Then the whole fleet cheers for me as I go onto
the Triad court.  And to think, I didn't trust my best friends to defend
me, almost fired at Apollo in the launch bay.
     He had made it a point to track down Sheba shortly afterwards.  His
close friendship with Apollo and Boomer allowed many words to remain
unspoken..  Sheba, however, he wasn't always on such friendly terms with.
     "Sheba," he had said, when he managed to corner her.  "I owe you an
apology."
     "You do?"  She asked.  "For what?"
     He had told her of his jailbreak, and his conversation with Apollo.
     "And when he asked if I would fire at you, I said I would, if I had
to.  I'm sorry."
     She had shrugged it off, saying something about stress, knowing he
didn't mean it.  Starbuck had accepted that, but still felt as if the words
had somehow made things a little more difficult.
     Starbuck let his mind drift through everything that had happened.  He
almost didn't see Cutler approach and pull up the next barstool.  Cutler
signalled Callahan, who set two more drinks in front of them.
     "Hey, there hero,"  Cutler said.  "Buy you a drink."

     "Thanks."  Starbuck finished the first one, and started on the second.
 "I'm still not sure how all that happened so fast."
     "I know, it really does amaze you, doesn't it?"  Cutler said.  He knew
how Starbuck felt.  He too liked to be in control of any situation, be it
the battlefield, or in personal matters.
     "I only want to know one thing," Cutler started.  "Why the FRAK didn't
anyone ask me or the rest of us about Karibdis?"  Cutler nearly exploded
with the question.
     "Well, to be honest, I was in the brig the whole time," he said.
"And, I had no idea that Apollo had found the biggest traitor left alive
after Baltar."  Starbuck looked at Cutler.  "Besides, how the hades do YOU
know who Karibdis is?"
     "Kind of a long story," Cutler said.  He signalled Callahan.
"Callahan, give me two bottles of your best ambrosa.  Not that cheap
feglercarb, the good stuff from the back."  Callahan nodded, and
disappeared to the back.
     "Feel like a story?"  Cutler asked.  Starbuck shrugged, and agreed.
"Not here, though.  Most of it I guess is still classified."  Callahan
returned, and Cutler laid a large pile of cubits on the bar.  He picked up
both bottles, and gave Starbuck a 'come here' gesture.
     Starbuck followed his friend from the Officer's club, and the pair
passed through the darkened passageways.  Even in space, they tried to
maintain some semblence of day and night, and set up lighting and duty
periods accordingly.
     They passed into a section of the warship that Starbuck was not very
familiar with, but knew it was one of the weapons mounts corridors.  They
stopped in front of a door labled "Turret 2: Authorized Personnel Only
Beyond This Point."
     Starbuck pointed to the sign as Cutler pulled a keycard from his
uniform.  Cutler grinned.
     "Humdy Dumbdy,  you are now Authorized Personnel!" he said with a
triangular hand motion.  The door slid open, and the pair entered.
     Cutler pointed to a comfortable looking chair, then reached behind a
console and pulled out two pillows.  He tossed one to Starbuck, then pulled
up another chair.
     He opened the two bottles of ambrosa, and handed one to Starbuck.
"You want a glass?"
     Starbuck shook his head, and took a drink from the bottle.
     "Hey, good stuff.  How did you know that Callahan kept this stuff
stashed?  I didn't even know that."  Starbuck said.
     Cutler grinned, then leaned back in his chair.
     "Well, I promised you a story, eh?"  Starbuck nodded.  "Ok, like I
said, most of this stuff is probably still classified, but then again, who
knows.  Anyway, I still don't think it should become common knowledge."
     "OK," Starbuck agreed.
     "Well, it is like this: I want you to know right now, one thing.  I am
responsible for the Cylons Attack on the Colonies!"

2

     About two yahrens before the attack (Cutler explained), Count Baltar
had been employed by a Picsean underworld figure named Pacino.  Not too
much information was available on Pacino, only that he covered himself very
good.  Many an investigation into his criminal activities had turned up
nothing, at least nothing worthy of a Tribunal.
     "Mister Pacino," Baltar said as he entered the room.  "I bring you
good news: we have
successfully captured the Cylon frieghter as planned."
     "Good," said the raspy voice of the underworld crime boss.  "Have you
contacted the other party?"
     "Our pilots are enroute to Hasarii space now with the frieghter.  I
just patched the transmission through to the leader of the Hasarii
resistance, and he is anxiously awaiting his weapons shipment."
     "Excellent," Pacino replied.  "This will bring us a large profit, as
well as cause some grief among the Cylon occupation forces on the Hasarii
homeworld."
     "Yes, it should," Baltar agreed.  He didn't much care one way or the
other about the Hasarii resistance, only about the fortune in cubits they
were collecting for their day's work.  He did, however, enjoy the feeling
of manipulating the strings of power, arranging for the Cylon weapons to be
used against their creators.  Then again, if it was the complete opposite,
he would feel nearly the same rush of power.  Provided there was a hefty
profit for himself.
     "Yes, as I always say," continued Pacino, "I may be one of the most
notorious criminals of Picsea, but I will do anything I can to help stop
the Cylons.  Souless monsters."
     "Of course," Baltar smiled.  "Sir, with your permission..?"
     "Yes, I know, you have things to attend to.  Go to it, my young Baltar."

     Baltar left the quarters of his employer, and returned to his own
office.  He called up the files of the latest Cylon hijacking, and entered
the appropriate numbers into his personal accounting subroutines.
     Baltar lifted an eyebrow.  Very nice profit.  Perhaps there is
something to this 'good-guy' routine, after all.  Of course, a significant
portion of the total of his finances would be deteriorated by the cleansing
of the cubits.  However, it was worth it.  No amount of Council Finance
Commission auditing could ever prove that any of his gains had been illegal.
     He just may have to look into branching out on his own.  While his own
accounts were brimming full, he knew it was nothing compared to what Pacino
must be putting away.  He didn't know for sure, as he was only a shipping
consultant for the Crimelord, and didn't have access to some of the
internal workings of Pacino's organization.
     "Yes, very profitable.  And fun," Baltar muttered to himself.  He
almost secretly hoped the war with the Cylons would continue, despite the
fact that many of his friends and family had perished at Cylon hands.
Well, the war had been going on nearly a thousand yahrens, why would it
stop any time soon?
     Baltar finished his bookeeping, and tidied up his workspace.  He
gathered his things, then went to Pacino's quarters.
     "Sir?" he said, slowly pushing the already unlatched door.
     "Yes, Baltar," Pacino said.  "Please, come here."
     "I was just reporting I had finished--" Baltar started.
     "Yes, yes, I am sure it is all good.  Please, come in!"  Pacino repeated.
     Baltar eased into the study, to see two other men with Pacino.  One,
he recognized at his Security officer, and the second, Baltar knew to be
Pacino's personal pilot.  Karrib, Carob, no, Karibdis, that's it, Baltar
thought.
     "Baltar, my friend, I will have a very important mission for you, just
as soon as I can clear up a few things," Pacino told him.
     "Oh, what is it?" Baltar fiegned interest.  He really wanted to be
leaving.
     "What have I told you is one of the biggest problems for us, to keep
up with the Cylon shipments?"  Pacino asked.
     "It is fuel, of course," Baltar said.  "We are only allotted a small
amount per secton, and the black market sources are starting to dry up.
Have you found another marketer?"  Balter was suddenly interested.  Tylium
on the black market would bring an unheard of profit.
     "Not as such, to speak of.  What would you think of us being able to
get shipments from one the of the largest Tylium mines in the galaxy?"
     "That would--Good Lords, that would be wonderful!"  Baltar stammered.
"But where?"
     "I have heard sources tell me," Pacino said, "of a Tylium mining
operation that would dwarf nearly anything else the Colonies have access
to.  We could actually start our own operation, bringing out enough tylium
for our own needs at first, then some to sell, and, after we are firmly
entrenched, we can actually open it up and sell it to the Colonies
outright.  Think of the profit from the military contracts alone.  And all
the while, we could really shut down those evil Tin-headed machines!"
     Baltar nearly didn't hear the last.  He bobbed his head in response,
but his mind was racing.  Black market tylium.  I could actually enter the
Big Time!  Perhaps once we have the mine operational, I can still manage to
siphon off a bit from the top, and still sell black market--
     "But of course," Pacino interrupted Baltar's line of thought, "That is
providing the mine is there, and that it can be worked."  Pacino's grin
said that he knew Baltar was thinking in cubits.
     "Where is it?"  Baltar asked.
     "You and Karibdis will be leaving in two hundred centuars.  It is a
long journey, and you will have to stop on Borallus to refuel. The name of
the planet I want you to check out is called Carillon."
     "Of course, Sir" Baltar replied.


3

     "Daggit Two to Daggit One, in position," Cutler reported over the coms
unit.
     "Daggit One, confirmed," Colonel Howell's voice came back into
Cutler's earpiece.  Cutler signaled to Siree, and turned back to the Cylon
emplacement.
     The mission was simple, but very deadly.  Cylons had captured a
passenger liner enroute from the outer Colonies to Caprica.  Reports were
that the Cylons had taken prisoners, but no intelligence report could
confirm it.  The last known telemetry from the ship had been tracked and
extrapolated to one of two Cylon controlled planetoids.  The first one had
proven barren, but Viper fly-overs of the second had shown a Cylon base, as
well as the captured liner.
     Unknown to many, and hopefully unknown to the Cylons, was the identity
of one of the passengers: Councilman Stuart, from the Libra Colony.  The
Mud Daggit's mission: Rescue the Councilman, if he was still alive, along
with any other passengers, and if possible, destroy the base.
     In just over ten centons, a red flare shot skyward, flooding the
encampment with redish light.  This light was also enhanced with
ultraviolet, which had been proven to confuse the Centurian's eye-scanners.
     "Let's GO!"  Cutler leaped from cover, bringing his laser rifle up,
and letting two blasts fly.  The laser bolts connected with the lead
Centurian, showering sparks and dropping it in its tracks.
     All around Cutler and Siree, the rest of the 8th followed suit.  A
total of eight Cylons were cut down in the opening salvo.
     "Fire in the hole!"  Cutler heard Siree shout.  Cutler keyed his com
unit, warning the rest of the Team to get down.  Siree tossed a solenite
grenade toward the heavy-gun unit at the corner of the main compound.  Two
Centurians watched it fall, then made clumsy attempts at reaching for cover.
     The grenade exploded, sending Cylon bodies flying.  The laser ammo of
the heavy rifle went up next from the heat of the initial blast, sending
secondary shock waves thoughout the camp.
     "MOVE IN!"  Cutler heard Colonel Howell say over the com unit.
     Cutler and Siree dashed from their cover, rifles at the ready.  They
were the penetration team, whose job it was to actually enter the buildings
and search for the survivors.  Recon reports had narrowed the chances down
to two possible locations, both located inside the main structure.
     Raliegh and Degeria moved inward also, trying to keep the Cylons
pinned down.  Zeta used his heavy laser rifle, and kept the main entrance
clear.
     Cutler raised his left hand, to signal Zeta they were entering the
structure.  He held his fire while Cutler and Siree leaped into the entrance.
     Cutler went low, to his right.  Siree dodged to the left.  Siree
spotted a Cylon lumbering toward them, and dropped him with a single blast.
 The two warriors then followed a 'leaping' tactic to cover each other as
they moved inward.
     Cutler stopped next to a large door.  He tried to palm the controls,
but they had been encrypted.  Frustrated, he sent a laser blast into the
panel, which caused the door to slide open.
     Cutler dived into the room, with Siree right behind him.  They heard
the startled gasps of human voices.
     "Colonial Warriors, 8th Assault Team!  We are here to take you home!"

     Raliegh and Degeria had finished mopping up the perimeter, and planted
solonite charges in several vital locations.  Cutler, after getting the
'all clear' over his com unit, had herded the prisoners outside.  He
pointed them outside the encampment, and called for the evac team to meet
them.
     When Cutler and the passengers were clear, Raliegh detonated the
solonite.  Most of the buildings were crumbled, those that weren't were
pretty much rendered useless.
     The civilians they had rescued were herded onto a waiting
shuttlecraft, that lifted off as soon as Cutler stepped onboard.  Vipers
provided cover for them as soon as they cleared the atmosphere, and the
entire unit set a course for the waiting Gunship.
     "Once again, Colonel Howell," President Adar said over the comm, "I
must congratulate you and your team for pulling off the impossible."
     "Nothing is impossible, sir," Howell replied.
     "Nevertheless, Colonel, I feel I owe you and your men a great deal.  I
would very much like to give the award--"
     "Sir," Howell interrupted.  "Mr. President, I have already told you
what my and my team's feeling are in the matter.  If you must reward us,
simply put it in the record.  Any undue publicity would make it all the
more difficult for us to sucessfully do our jobs."
     Adar shook his head.  "Well, Colonel, if you insist.  Still, I give my
deepest gratitude."
     "Sir, that's all we really want."

     Eighth Assault Headquarters was a non-descript building around the
back side of the main Caprica military base.  A small aircraft pad was
located behind the building, with several small shuttlecraft stationed
inside equally small hangars.  This would allow the Team to leave the base
and rondezvous with any orbiting ship without waiting for the Air Division
of the Warriors to scedule them a flight.
     The team departed the shuttle they had ridden down from the Iraknis, a
Colonial Gunship.  Smaller in size than a Battlestar, it only carried one
Viper squadron, and was nearly twice as fast.  Also a large pulsar cannon
was affixed beneath the nose of the ship, allowing for massive firepower
against the Cylon Basestars.
     As they stowed their gear at HQ, Colonel Howell filed the reports with
the Central computer.  The movements of the Mud Daggits were beyond Need to
Know Secret, and only accessible to himself, President Adar, and, if
required, by the SpecialOpposition Branch of Council Security.  To the best
of anyone's knowledge, those orders had only been enforced one time in
Colonial history.  That was for the illegal platinum raid conducted by
Commander Croft and his Ice Legion, when they had refused to turn over the
bounty of their raid.
     "So, Cutler, what are you doing tonight?" asked Raliegh.
     "Thought I'd visit with my family, and head down to the Depositorie
for a few cold ones," Culter replied.
     "Really, thought about heading out there tonight myself."
     "Want to meet up there later?"
     "Sure, see you at about 23 Centaurs."
     Cutler had changed into his civilian attire, a loose-fitting blouse
over dark trousers.  He collected his personal things, and retrieved the
keys to his hovermobile.
     "Catch you later, Colonel," Cutler said as he exited the building.
Howell glanced up from his comp terminal, and nodded.
     Cutler unlocked and activated his hovermobile.  He slowly cruised
until he was off the Military base, then brought the vehicle up to speed.
He reached for the entertainment controls, and dialed up a civilian music
broadcast.  He nodded his head to the time of the music.  Not quite as
"musically artistic" as most people his age preferred, Cutler enjoyed the
fast, harder chords of the popular culture.
     Within about 3 millocentons, he had reached his family's home in
Caprica City's suburban area.  His parents hovermobile was in the bay, as
was his sister's newer model.  He pulled in behind the vehicles present,
and shut down the power to his own.
     He gathered the small bag of gifts he had aquired for his family, and
climbed out of the car.  He moved toward the side entrance to his family's
dwelling, but was pleasantly surprised when his sister bounced out the door
greet him.
     "Hey, look who's home!"  Bethea said.
     "Hi there, Sis," Cutler hugged her, and the two moved inside the
building.
     "Mother, I'm home!" Cutler called out in his traditional manner.  He
saw her turn from the cooking station, and smiled warmly.
     "Son, I would hug you, but I have talon roots all over my hands," Jola
said.
     "Don't worry, I'll let you owe me," Cutler replied.
     He moved through the dwelling, coming into the family room.  His
father, Niles, was sitting in his chair, watching the news scans on the
entertainment scanner.
     "Hi Dad," Cutler said, as he found an empty chair.
     "Good to have you back," his father replied.  Niles took the small
package from Cutler, and opened it.  It was a poplular fumarillo lighter,
with the Iraknis' squadron crest engraved on it.  Cutler had started his
father a collection of them, to show show each ship in the Colonial Service
he had been on.
     Niles himself was retired from the Serivces, and enjoyed the
continuation of his own collection of military memoribelia.  Occasionally,
Cutler was able to get passes to give his father tours on some of the
vessels in port, or sometimes even the large ones, like Battlestars, in
orbit above Caprica.
     Cutler watched the news scans.  The commentator was trying to get
interviews with some of the hostages that Cutler and the Team had just
rescued.
     "So about all that can be determined at this time, is a secret team,
possibly even a Colonial Assault Team, was the unit to carry out the rescue
mission.  We will give you more as soon as we can learn it for ourselves.
This is Serina, at Caprica's Military Spacedrome."  The station ID flashed
on the scanner, followed by an advertisment for a local eatery.
     "You know," Niles said, motioning toward the scanner, "I'll bet that
was you and your friends, wasn't it?"
     "You know I can't tell you that, Dad," Cutler replied.
     "Yes, I know."  Niles looked up, and smiled at his son.  "Good job."
     Niles looked back at the scanner, and continued speaking.  "You know,
they ought to make that reporter, Serina, an anchor.  She's got more news
credibility than most of them on the air now."
     "Yes, but she can use some questionable tactics to get the story
sometimes.  And now with all those rumors about the man she was sealed to,
I don't know."
     Cutler and his father exchange conversation for while, until Jola's
voice called from the kitchen.
     "OK, it's ready."
     Cutler and his family ate their meal, and afterward, Cutler assisted
his mother in cleaning the untisils.
     "Say, Mother, I hope you don't mind, but I was going to meet Raliegh a
little later."
     "Of course, I don't mind.  You go out and enjoy your self.  You don't
get much time off between missions anyway."
     "Thanks Mother," Cutler said, and gave her a kiss on the cheek as he
headed out toward his vehicle.

4

     "So what'll it be?" the waitress asked Cutler over the noise of the band.
     "Budareii," Culter replied, naming his favorite local brand of
baharii.  "On my tab, if you could."
     "Sure thing, sweetie.  Be right back," she said as she disappeared
through the crowd.
     Cutler watched the crowd.  The Depositorie was a large entertainment
establishment, catering to a lot of the military crowd around Caprica City.
 It often featured live bands, playing a mix of traditional and modern folk
music.  A large dance floor was usually filled whenever music was playing,
and there were game tables toward the back.
     As he was watching, a familiar face caught his eye.  He watched mildly
amused as he saw Raliegh fighting his way through the crowd.  As the
waitress returned with his drink, Cutler ordered another one.  Only thing
is, he thought, is at the rate Raliegh's going, it'll be warm before he
gets here.
     Cutler leaned back to relax in his chair, and put the short bottle to
his mouth.  As he took a long drink of the baharii, He saw another familiar
face..  He lowered the bottle, and turned to investigate.  Tall, with long
black hair, and dark features that marked her as a native of Caprica's
equatorial islands.  Oh yes, he thought, it's Tisa.
     She spotted him as soon as he turned.  As soon as she recognized the
face, her own broke out with a bright smile, the kind that Cutler would
always swear could illuminate the entire section of the city.
     Cutler stood, as she made her way to his table.  They met in a warm
embrace.
     "Hey, gorgeous," Cutler told her.
     "Hey yourself, stranger," Tisa replied.  "Glad you're back."
     "Glad to be back, at least now I am," Cutler said.
     "Flatterer," she turned up her nose playfully, and gave him a quick
kiss.  "Be back in a little bit."
     "I'll be waiting."
     By this time, Raliegh had finally made it to the table, just in time
to see Cutler intently studying Tisa's departure.
     "Hey, Cut, was that her?"
     "Oh, yes," Cutler replied, almost absently.
     Tisa had been Cutler's sometimes-girlfriend for nearly two yharens
now.  With him always being called away, sometimes for sectons or longer,
it made it very hard to maintain any sort of serious relationship.  As a
result, they usually enjoyed each others company when they could, but
Cutler felt that it would never develop much farther than that.  Since
neither one of them had asked for any sort of commitment, he realized that
during his long periods away from Caprica, that she probably would date,
and he really couldn't blame her.
     However, as of late, he had been thinking of discussing the idea of a
serious relationship with her.  The other guys in the Team had accused him
of being scared to go through with it, and Cutler was beginning to think
they were right.  Seems he was always finding a reason not to talk to her
about it.  Someday, he thought, someday.
     "So, you two going to talk, or what?" Raliegh asked.
     Cutler shrugged, and retrieved his drink.  He saw the waitress moving
toward them, and he signalled her for two more drinks.
     Suddenly, a loud smack was heard.  Cutler and Raliegh both turned
toward the sound, not sure what to expect.  Damn training, Cutler thought,
got us all jumping at every shadow.
     What they saw was a dark-haired woman following through with a hard
slap to a blonde Warrior.  He was halfway between sitting and standing at a
nearby table, with an attractive redhead occupying a seat at the table.
     "You RAT!" the brunette snarled.
     "Athena," the Warrior said slowly, as if allowing himself time to
think.  He took a pull on his fumarillo, then set it down in the ashholder.
 "Athena, it's not what it looks like!"
     "Oh, really?" she crossed her arms.  "So how did you put it?  Oh yes:
'No, sweetheart, I'm probably going to stay on the base after the training
class is over?  No, I'll probably be too bushed to do anything.  No, stay
on the ship, I'm going to get some rest?'"
     The woman at the table slowly shook her head, then stood up and
quietly walked away.  The Warrior made a half-motion to stop her, then
apparently decided against it, and returned his attention to the one he had
called Athena.
     However, by this time, Athena had spun on her heel, and stormed off
the other direction.  The Warrior caught sight of her, then looked back at
the departing redhead.  He picked up his fumarillo, looked in both
directions again, then finally made up his mind.
     "Come on, Athena!" he said, as he began moving through the crowd after
her.
     Cutler grinned, and finished the bottle of baharii.
     "You know, Raliegh, I'll bet you some of those playboy pilots are more
worried about their last girlfriends than they are of the Cylons!"
     Raliegh laughed.
     Cutler and Raliegh spent most of the night sitting, drinking, and
laughing over old stories.  As the night drew to a close, Cutler heard the
band strike the  familiar opening notes to a popular romantic ballad.
     As his mood settled down to the music, he took a long drink of
baharii.  As he set the bottle down, he caught a whiff of a fragrance that
he would know anywhere.
     A pair of arms slid around his shoulders, as a soft voice whispered in
his ear.
     "Come on, big guy, you owe me a dance."
     Cutler rose, and followed Tisa to the dance floor.  He took a deep
breath, enjoying the fragrance she wore.  Cutler had wondered what it was,
but she kept it in unmarked bottles and always refused to tell.  He now
just associated the smell with her.
     They danced close, while Cutler's mind raced.  He tried unsuccessfully
to come up with a way to open the discussion with her about their
relationship.  When the song ended, the crowd applauded the band, and
slowly moved off the floor.
     "Hey, Tisa," Cutler said as they returned to his table.  "Want to get
out of here, go get some caffe or something?"
     "I'd like to get out of here," she replied softly, "but not for caffe."

     Out of habit, Cutler woke up early the next morning.  His head had a
slight pounding to it, something that he estimated to be caused by about
three too many drinks.  The daylight was starting to creep into the room
through the blinds, and Cutler recognized the room as Tisa's.
     After he got his bearings, he realized that he was in bed alone.  He
checked his chronometer that had been set on the nightstand, and confirmed
that he did not have to report to the base.
     As he started working up the energy to sit up, he heard footsteps in
the hallway.  Tisa entered the room with two steaming mugs in her hands.
     "Good morning Cutler," she said.  "I think you said something last
night about some caffe?" She held out a mug for him.  "Black, like you like
it."
     "Darling," he said, "you are an angel!"  He sipped the hot liquid,
slowly letting the stimulant bring him fully awake.
     She sat down on the edge of the bed, and looked at him.
     "Hey," she said.  He raised his eyebrows in question.  "I've missed you."
     "I gathered that," Cutler grinned.  She smiled back, the smile that
could melt his heart every time.
     "Hey, Tisa, can we talk a little bit?"
     "Sure."
     He took a deep breath, trying to remember how he wanted to start this
conversation.
     "Ahhh, well," he said.  To hades with all this, he thought.  Just spit
it out.  "I was thinking about something."
     "That could be dangerous," she quipped.  Don't I know it, he thought
to himself.
     "Listen, I was wondering, just how you might feel about making this
thing we've got a little more permanent like?"  He paused, took another
drink of his caffe.  "You know, it won't be easy," he continued, "what with
me always having to go on missions.  You know what I do, and you know I
can't tell you much about it.
     "But, I've thought about it a lot, and I really love having you in my
life.  I know you've got your career, working with the Civil Defense
Services, and all.  But, I think I would really like to be able to really
call you my girlfriend."
     She sat quietly, sipping on her caffe.  She reached out, and set the
mug down, then turned to face him.
     "I've thought about it too," she said. "I know what you do, and I know
it's dangerous.  Every time you leave, I wonder if I ever see you alive
again.  I hate that feeling."  She paused, and took a deep breath.
     "I thought about asking you to transfer back to the regular Service
again.  But I can't do that.  You have to do what you have to do.  It's one
of the things I love about you.
     "Every time you leave, I hate caring so much.  But every time you come
back, I am so happy to see you, it almost makes me forget how worried I get
about you."  She reached out, and took his hand, then pulled him toward her
and gave him a deep kiss.
     "You can take that a 'yes,'" she whispered with her sweet, sweet smile.

5

     "Can you believe it?" Baltar said to Karibdis  as they disembarked the
small ship.  Ahead of him, beyond the lights of the landing field, they
could make out a large number of lights.  Ships were launching and landing,
and large groundcars were moving many people from the ships toward the lights.
     "What is it?" Karibdis asked.
     "I don't know, but I think it is a place we should check out."  Baltar
started walking, and flagged down one of the groundcars.  He waited until
it stopped, then spoke to the driver through the open door.
     "Where is this going?" he asked.
     "Why, to the hotel, of course," the driver said.  "You have to go
there first, or they won't let you in the casino."
     Casino? Baltar thought.  Hotel?
     "Well, are you getting on, or what?  I've got a scedule to keep!" the
driver said impatiently.
     "Yes, yes, of course," Balter said, his mind racing as he stepped up
to the vehicle.  Karibdis followed, and the pair took a seat.
     The groundcar made stops at two more ships in the landing field,
embarking several more people.  They all seemed to be acting like they were
on vacation, and happy to be herded around in a tourgroup fashion.
     Baltar felt the familiar shudder of the drives of the groundcar idling
down, and when he looked out the window, he saw they had stopped in front
of a large structure strung with multi-colored lighting.  Everyone on the
car stood up, and began to retrieve small bags and travel items.  Baltar
and Karibdis followed suit, at least until Baltar could figure out what was
going on.
     They followed the crowd into the lobby of the hotel, where a friendly
looking staff member was asking for reservation numbers.
     "I'm sorry, kind gentleman, I'm afraid we don't have any reservation.
We didn't realize, ahh, didn't realize they were required," Baltar said.
     "That's perfectly OK sir.  May I ask what brings you to Carrilon?" the
staffer asked.
     "We are... ahh, supposed to be meeting with some business associates,"
Baltar thought quickly.
     "Oh, yes, business meetings.  Great place for it, if you want my
opinion, sir."  He picked up his electronic notepad, and punched a few
buttons.  "No problem sir, these things happen.  We get this all the time,
you know."  He looked up.  "We have you both a room, over in the second
wing.  That puts you near the pool, the restaurant, with the main casino in
the next wing over.  How will you be paying?"
     Baltar blinked.  For some reason, the thought of payment had not
crossed his mind.
     "Ahhhh, do you take DepositoryCard of the Colonies?"
     "Yes, Sir!  Top of our list!" He replied cheerfully.  Baltar handed
over his card, and the staffer input the numbers into his notepad.
     "Will this be together, or separate?" he asked.
     "Together," Baltar replied.  What the hades, if it is too much, then
Pacino can fork over the cubits.
     He handed the card back to Baltar, along with a small reciept that had
printed out from the notepad.
     "There you go sir, your reciept, and here are your keys," he said, as
he extracted two keys from a pouch on his belt.  "Feel free to enjoy all of
our wonderful facilities, your rooms have a scanner terminal that can tell
you any information you need to know, and if you have any difficulties,
please feel free to contact the front desk."
     "Thank you," Baltar said, almost absently.  He still could not quite
figure out what was going on here, but he intended to find out.  Out of
habit, he glanced at the bottom of his reciept.
     Something was wrong.  From the looks of everything he had seen and
heard, this was a top-billed resort, and with that came top price.
Especially for an all inclusive type of resort that this one appeared to
be.  But the bottom line price on the reciept looked to be barely enough
for simple accomodations, the type that were usually located annoyingly
distant from the main attractions.  And the price listed included not one
room, but two.
     Baltar began to get a funny feeling on the back of his neck.
Something did not feel right, but he could not quite put his finger on it.

     After refreshing from their long flight, Baltar and Karibdis met in
the restuarant.  Baltar had  activated his scanner terminal after changing
attire, to try to find some information about the resort they had happened
into.
     Not too surprisingly, he didn't find much useful information.  Of
course, he had no idea what to look for.  What did surprise him, however,
was that all food, drinks, and admission to entertainment was all included
with the price of the room.  The only way this place could maintain a
margin, he thought, was to tilt the casino odds a little further towards
the house.  Not a bad idea, get the tourists here with the inexpensive
rooms, and clean them out at the tables.
     He also wondered about their original mission to Carillon: the tylium
mine.  Pacino had not disclosed much information about it, in fact, the
only thing they were told was that their contact would find them.  Karibdis
also did not know what to make of the whole setup, and the two exchanged
theories as they ate their meal.
     As to be expected in any sort of top billed resort, the food was
remarkably good.  Baltar's only complaint was the waitstaff insisted on
bringing out more portions every time their plates got nearly emptied.
Finally, he simply pushed the serving ware away, and left the table.
     Baltar and Karibdis made their way from the dining area, and toward
the area that had been called the casino.  After a quick survey, Karibdis
spotted a tammani table, and disappeared into the crowd.
     Baltar, however, believing himself to be somewhat of a con man, chose
to only play a few low-stakes rounds at various tables.  Much to his
surprise, he actually came out ahead in the end.  He decided to quit while
he was ahead, and moved to the bar.
     "So what'll it be, sweetie?" a woman's voice asked.
     "Ahh...how about ambrosa?" Baltar replied.
     "Coming right up!" she said cheerfully.
     Baltar turned to survey the room, and spotted Karibdis.  He was
looking quite pleased, and accepting a large stack of cubits from the
tammani dealer.
     "Here you go, darling," the bartender said as she placed a glass on a
small square napkin.  Balter dropped a few cubits into the tip slot,
earning a bright smile from her.
     "So what brings you to Carillon?" she asked him.
     "Hmmm?  Oh, business.  I'm meeting a business associate," Baltar said.
     "Ahh, yes.  Great spot for business meetings, I think."  She said.
"What's your name?"
     "I am Baltar, from the Picea Colony."
     "Thea.  Welcome to Carrilon!" she said, as she extended her hand to
him.  Putting on the show of a well-to-do businessman, he accepted her
hand, and placed a small kiss on the back of it.
     "Pleased to make your acquaintance." he said, enjoying the slight
redness that came into her cheeks.  His eyes traveled downward slightly,
spotting a nametag.  "Calia."
     She started to say something else, but a strange sight caught Baltar's
attention.  It was an insectoid being, the likes of which Baltar had never
seen before.  It walked upright on two legs, leaving four limbs to act as
arms.  A stretched net seemed to be the only garment it wore, and it
quickly moved into a service passage to the rear of the casino floor.
     "What was that?"  Baltar asked Thea.
     "What?  Oh, that.  That was one of the Ovions.  They own this place,
Hades, they own the whole planet.  Don't worry, aside from the odd looks,
they are pretty nice.  Keep to themselves, and honestly, I've never had a
better employer."  She leaned over the bar, and lowered her voice.  "They
don't want a lot of people to know this, but they also run the tylium mine
under the surface."
     Ah ha! Baltar thought.  Now we are getting somewhere.  He felt it was
always important to go into any business arrangement knowing as much as he
could about who and what he was dealing with.  Perhaps this Calia was worth
getting to know a bit better.
     "Doesn't seem too busy tonight," he observed.
     "No, it's the off-season.  Not a lot of tourists make it out this far.
 Most of them head to Aquarius, since it is thier warm season now.  All
those beaches, you know."
     They made small talk for a bit, between orders.  Baltar had another
glass of ambrosa, partly to kill time until he could try to get more
information from her.
     After his third drink, however, he decided that it would be nice to
get a little more than information from this woman.
     "So what time does your shift end?" he asked.  "I would love to share
a meal with you."

The next morning, Baltar used the link in his accomodations to order caffe
from room-service.  He nursed the pounding in his head with some mild
painkillers he found in the sanitary facilities.  His head felt like a
skybus had parked on it for a few centons.  Must have a lot stronger
ambrosa here than he was used to.
     He gathered his bearings, and realized he was not alone in his room.
The bartender from the casino was still asleep in the room's single bed.
Oh, yes, Calia, he thought.
     He sipped his hot caffe, and activated the scanner console.  He tried
to do a search for some more information, but once again only finding
travellator brochure-type information.
     "You won't find much in there," a sleepy voice said behind him.
     Baltar turned, slightly red-faced.  He felt like a kid who had been
caught looking at things he shouldn't have been.  She smiled warmly at him,
then moved across the bed toward him.
     Baltar retrieved the decanter of caffe from the room-service tray, and
poured her a cup.  She accepted it, and again smiled.
     "So tell me," Baltar began, hoping to sound like he was merely
tourist-curious, "just how does this place make a profit?  I mean, the
rates are far less expensive than lower-class resorts I've been to, the
food and drinks are free, and the odds at the casino seem to be way in
favor of the players."
     Calia shook her head.  "I don't really know.  Everyone I talk to seems
so amazed that everything costs so little.  The only thing I can figure is
that the Ovions make so much money off the tylium, they can afford to take
a loss on the resort."
     "But why?"  Baltar was seriously beginning to suspect there was a lot
more to this planet than a great time.  "They could easily double the
rates, and use standard odds at the tables.  They would still be breaking
down the bulkheads to get here."
     She shook her head, and said nothing.  Baltar turned over every angle
he could think of from his own business knowledge, and nothing made sense.
     The comm link on the console began flashing.  Baltar stared at it
curiously, then hit the 'accept' key.
     A slightly distorted voice came through.
     "Baltar?  The music is quite well-performed."
     Baltar was instantly alert.  This was the code-phrase Pacino had given
him before he and Karibdis left Picea.
     "But they play it too loud," Baltar replied with the counter-phrase.
     "You want to learn what you came her for?  Get your partner, and take
the third turboshaft on the left from your room."  The connection broke
before Baltar could reply.
     He looked at Calia apologetically.
     "I'm sorry, my dear, but that was my business associate."
     She looked somewhat confused, and just a little scared.  She assured
him that she understood, gathered her things and quickly departed.  After
she was gone, Baltar connected to Karibdis' room.  He appeared half-awake,
and was still undressed.
     "Get dressed, Karibdis.  Our contact wants us."  Baltar signed off
before Karibdis could reply, mimicking the tactic of their unknown contact.
 By the Lords, he would be in control of something on this trip.
     Baltar waited outside his door.  About ten centons passed, and
Karibdis stepped out of the next door.  Baltar handed him a cup of caffe,
motioning him toward the turboshafts.
     The door to the third turboshaft opened as they approached it.  Baltar
looked at Karibdis, who merely shrugged.  Whoever they were about to do
business with was obviously well-connected within the resort.  The two men
stepped in, and the door slid shut.
     As the car began to move, Baltar could feel it was headed down.  He
watched the lights as the car decended into the planet's surface.
     One of the only useful peices of information he gleaned from the
information scans was that the lower levels were off-limits to humans and
other guests of the resort.  These were reserved for the staff, "to allow
them to continue to serve you with the first-class treatment you have come
to expect from us here on Carillon.".  Baltar was starting to get a very
strange feeling at the back of his neck, and he realized that he didn't
like this situation one little bit.
     The car slowed, and the flash of the control-panel lights told him
they had reached to lowest levels.
     The door slid open.

6

     Cutler and Tisa were taking in a shopping trip in downtown Caprica
City.  He had checked in with the Colonel, since standard routine for the
Team was to spend as much time off between missions as possible.
     "Oh, Cutler, look at this!" Tisa pointed to an elegant evening gown in
a shop window.
     "Love to see what that does to you," Cutler grinned.
     She playfully slapped him, and returned to studying the garment.
     Just then, the contact device Cutler carried began to beep.  He
checked it, and found the code for him to report to the base as quickly as
possible.
     "Frak," he muttered.  "Just when I was starting to have fun."
     Tisa sighed, and turned to Cutler.
     "Go."  She said.  "You have to."  With that, she turned away, and
walked to the back of the store.
     Cutler cleared the contacter, and turned to follow her.  He caught up
with her, and tried to speak, but she cut him off.
     "I know you have to go.  Just go."  She looked at him.  "I don't have
to like it, and I'll have to deal with it.  Just hurry back to me, and
don't make this any more difficult than it already is."
     Cutler stared at her, while his mind tossed the idea around of
skipping the recall.  Instead, he gave her a quick kiss, then turned away.
     He stopped at the checkout, and gave the clerk a handful of cubits.
     "The dress, on the second display.  Have it cut to fit the dark-haired
woman in the back, then deliver it to her."  He gave the clerk Tisa's
address.  "Don't let her know, just do it.  It's a surprise."

     Cutler arrived at 8th Headquarters.  As he walked into the briefing
lounge, he took his seat, and growled "This better be good."
     Colonel Howell glared at him, and turned back to his scanner console.
After waiting a few moments, the rest of the Team made thier way into the
room.
     The Colonel stood and addressed the Team.
     "Sorry to cut the standown short.  But we have a crisis."

     Cutler made one last check of his equipment, and followed the rest of
the Team into the boarding capsule.  This mission was not shaping up to be
a good one, he thought to himself.
     The vessel they were about to board and try to take was a private
freighter.  This one, however, had been modified, with large laser cannons
and turrets mounted all over it.  Plus, it was suspected they had a few
more military type surprises waiting for anyone who tried to attack it.
     The plan was fairly simple: Vipers would commence strafing runs on the
ship, attempting to draw the attention and fire of the occupants of the
freighter.  This would hopefully distract them long enough to slip the
boarding capsule in, allowing the Mud Daggits to cut their way into the
ship, and take out the crew.
     Unlike most of their previous missions, however, this time the Team
would be taking on their own kind: Humans.  This ship was reputed to be a
pirate vessel, and often made similar attacks on Cylon ships, plundering
cargo, fuel, weapons and ammunition.  Usually, if a pirate was lucky, it
took only a few such attacks to be able to retire rich.  And as long as the
targets remained of Cylon origin, the Colonial military tended to turn a
blind eye.  In fact, the Council had on several occasions voted on the
issuing Letters of Marque and Reprisal to the successful ones, but the
proposals had been voted down for various reasons.
     This group, however, had crossed the line.  They had attempted to raid
a Colonial military installation.  While raids against the enemy were not
necessarily discouraged, outlaw piracy was dealt with quickly and decisively.
     Cutler secured himself into the boarding capsule, and gave the
all-clear signal to the warrior at the hatch.  The warrior returned the
signal, as an unspoken sign of good-luck, and secured the hatch.
     Cutler activated and tuned in his comm-link, so as to keep tabs on
what was happening with the battle.
     "Control, Daggit Two, manned and ready," he spoke into the link.
     "Confirmed, Daggit Two, stand by."
     After several centons, Cutler began to hear reports and combat chatter
from the strafing runs of the Vipers.  After the first pass, he could make
out that two Vipers had taken hits, but had not sustained serious damage.
     "Daggit Two, Control.  Stand by, launching now!"
     The Team braced for the launch of the boarding capsule.  When they
felt it disconnect from the launch bay, they once again checked the
webbing, and braced for action.
     This was the most dangerous part of the mission.  Three Vipers would
fly with them, issuing slight course corrections to the capsule's automatic
guidance system.  However, the small pod was unarmed, and not heavily
armored, so a direct hit could result in a premature ending to the mission.
     "Daggits, stand by, impact with target in Five, Four, Three, Two..."
     Cutler felt the impact of the landing claws as they grabbed for
purchase on the freighter.  As soon as the computer system got a confirmed
lock, the access mechanisms went to work.  A circular shaped tunnel
extended from the main body of the capsule, until it came to contact with
the hull of the target ship.  Then, a ring of shaped charges detonated,
literally blowing a hole directly into the hull of the freighter.  The
sealed tunnel kept the atmosphere from the target contained, and a hatch
slid open on command, once all systems were confirmed status-green.
     Cutler led the charge of the Team.  He leaped thru the hatch, and
cleared the tunnel in two strides, diving and rolling through the still-hot
opening.  He found himself in an apparently unused compartment, with no
opposition.
     "Team, Daggit Two.  Access secured, let's go!" 
     Raleigh, Zeta, Degeria, and Siree scrambled through the opening,
weapons at ready.  Cutler surveyed the compartment, finding an opening on
the far bulkhead.
     He motioned, and Zeta took position to open the fitting.  Zeta shifted
the weight of the heavy assault laser, and nodded he was ready.  Cutler
shouldered his laser rifle, and motioned to Zeta.
     With one motion, Zeta unlocked, opened the door, and brought his own
weapon to the ready.  Seeing no opposition, Cutler gave the signal for Zeta
to join him.
     The two warriors met at the opening, and on signal, leaped through it
simultaneously, each covering opposite ends of the passage.
     Still meeting no opposition, Cutler consulted his mental blueprints of
the class of the freighter.  They might not be 100% accurate, especially if
any major modifications had been done, but he should be able to get an idea
of where they needed to go.
     The plan was for Zeta and Degeria to make their way to the engineering
spaces, where Dee would use her knowledge of computer controls to disable
power to the vessel.  Cutler, Raleigh and Siree would find their way to the
bridge, where they figured the pirate in charge would be.
     Unspoken, each member of the Team moved out in their assigned directions.
     "Daggit One, Daggit Two, we are inside, and so far unopposed.
Initiating Step Two."
     "Daggit Two, confirmed," Col Howell's voice replied from the boarding
capsule.
     Cutler motioned to Raleigh and Siree, and the trio moved out.
     As they rounded the next corner, however, the first opposition
appeared.  Laser bolts threw sparks from the bulkheads, as Cutler made a
hasty retreat back around the corner.
     From what he had seen before the laser fire had started, there were
four pirates in the passage around the corner, and had thrown up a
makeshift barricade of several crates.
     Cutler eased to the corner, and projected his voice around it.
     "Colonial Warriors!  You are under arrest for piracy and larceny.
Throw down your
weapons, and you will not be harmed!"
     Another barrage of shots erupted from the passage.  Cutler shrugged,
and motioned to his team mates.
     On signal, Cutler dove low across the passage, coming to a prone
position with his weapon downrange.  Siree knelt at the corner, edging
around and providing some cover fire, while Raleigh did the same from the
standing position.
     The return fire from the pirates grew more sporadic, and finally,
Cutler saw a laser pistol being tossed from behind the barricade.  Cutler
rose, keeping his weapon trained and ready.
     "Stand up, keep your hands where I can see them!"
     A slim figure rose from behind the crate.  The thin blonde hair framed
a face that was way too young to be associated with piracy on the space
lanes.  Cutler sighed, and approached the figure.
     "At this time, you have no requirement to speak to me, before
consulting with a Protector.  If you choose to speak prior to the presence
of a Protector, your words can be used against you."  Cutler finished his
speech, required to inform suspects of their legal rights upon confinement
awaiting tribunal.
     "However, son, if you choose to help me and friends here, I can
virtually guarantee things will be much, much easier on you."
     The young man was obviously scared out of his wits.  Cutler had seen
the story over and over.  A young kid, dreaming of adventure, falls in with
some of the rougher crowd around the space ports.  Then, when given the
opportunity of joining a crew, especially one that would brag of raiding
Cylon targets and keeping the plunder, he would jump on it.
     However, the dream never quite worked out, in most cases.  Fighting
the Cylons soon gave way to smuggling, black market, and eventually, to
outright murder sometimes.
     "Will you help us?" Cutler asked.
     The scared kid looked around, swallowed hard.  He nodded.
     "Good.  We'll make this as painless as possible.  I need to find the
bridge."
     The kid nodded.  He lowered his hands, and Cutler signaled the others
to follow.  All the same, Cutler did keep one eye on the kid as he led them
around toward the bridge.
     No opposition was met on the way, and soon the group was looking at a
door marked "Bridge."
     "Daggit Four, Daggit Two," Cutler spoke softly into his comm-link.
"How you doing down there Dee?"
     "Got it, Cut.  Took down two pirates, and I'm standing by at the
controls.  I'll pull the plug on your signal."
     Cutler pulled a set of restraints from a belt pouch, and placed them
around the kid's wrists.
     "Sorry, kid, but I really don't want to have you laser me in the back
while I'm taking out your bosses."
     The kid nodded, and accepted his fate.
     Using a tactic similar to the one used earlier, the three made ready to
storm the bridge.  Cutler keyed his mic again.
     "Give me a five micron count, and shut 'er down, Dee.
Starting......NOW!"
     Siree opened the hatch, and the three warriors stormed in, each going in
different
directions.  Cutler again shouted his warning.
     "Colonial Warriors!  You are under arrest!  Throw down your weapons,
and no one will be hurt!"
     At that micron, all power in the ship went out.  The Mud Daggits
activated their night-vision devices, and began the battle.
     A few laser bolts tried to seek out the warriors, but without light,
the shooters had no way of knowing where they were.  All the lasers
exploded harmlessly off the bulkheads.  Soon, the entire bridge crew had
been taken out.
     "Dee, give me lights back."
     Within a micron, power had been restored.  Cutler heard the
ventilation fans starting.  He switched channels on his comm link, and
spoke into it once again.
     "Control, Daggit Two, pirate ship is secure.  I say again, pirate ship
is secure.  Proceed with your mass boarding."
     "Daggit Two, Control, confirmed.  Do you have any casualties?"
     "Negative, control.  Mud Daggits report Zero Casualties."

7

     Baltar and Karibdis were met by several humans, who also had two
Ovions with them.  They were led at gunpoint through several corridors,
finally coming to a huge opening.
     Baltar looked around.  The size of the hole in front of him was
enormous.  He could make out many small figures far below him, moving
around the bottom of the pit.  Small railcars moved back and forth.  It
occurred to Baltar that this was the tylium mine he had been sent here to
scope out.
     "Like it, Baltar?"  One of the gunmen said.  A slight push from behind
got the message through that they were to keep moving.
     Baltar found himself being herded into a lavish chamber.  It didn't
take a zenopsycologist to realize that the normal occupants of this chamber
were the ones, or one, in charge of these strange Ovions.
     One of the gunmen handed Baltar a small electronic box.  A quick
glance at the face of it told Baltar it was a translator device.  As he
watched, a many-robed Ovion was escorted into the room.
     The Ovion began to chirp.  As it did so, the translator in Baltar's
hand spoke the translated words.
     "Greetings, Count Baltar.  Have you enjoyed yourself with our
facilities?"
     "Yes, I have.  But I am quite confused."
     "I would imagine so," the translator spoke.  "However, we thank you
for your patience, and hope you will allow us to explain the full nature of
our interest in becoming a partner with you."
     "A partner with me? But I'm here for...." Baltar stopped, realizing
that the translator probably did a literal translation, and the creature
most likely meant you as in you and your people.  "Of course, I would
welcome the opportunity to discuss business with you."
     "A distinct honor, I'm sure," the Ovion chirped.  "First, allow me to
introduce myself.  I am Lotay, and the planet belongs to me.  I am the
Queen here."
     "Your Highness," Baltar said.
     "I have no need for titles.  You may simply call me Lotay."
     "As you wish," Baltar smiled.
     "As I understand it," Lotay chirped, "you have come here in search of
Tylium."
     "Yes, my....employer wishes to make arrangements for picking up
shipments of refined tylium, for our own vessels.  Would those sorts of
arrangements be possible?"
     "Yes, quite readily."
     "If you like, my dear Lotay, I could also find ways to arrange the
selling of your tylium, and bring you a much higher than normal price for
it.  For a small.....commission, of course."
     "Baltar, myself and my subjects have no need of your people's money.
We have all we need here.  We are content."
     This was not going quite as he planned.  How do you deal with a people
who wanted nothing?  And that being the case, then why would they share?
     Most importantly, who else was already a customer of the Ovion tylium?
 They must be owed a great favor by the other customers, either supplies,
or possibly protection.  He could see no real functinal military system in
place, yet no one had attacked and taken over the planet.
     For that matter, he didn't know anyone else who even knew the planet
was there.
     As he stood there thinking about his dilemna, he heard a familiar
noise.  Suddenly, he realized just who the other customers were, and just
what the Ovions were getting in return.  Baltar felt his heart quicken.
     The noise he heard was the whine of Cylon servos.  As they grew
closer, he could hear the metallic boots coming down on the floor, in
unison.  By the time the three centurians rounded the corner, Baltar's
heart was racing like a hyper-speed pulse drive.
     The Cylons leveled their weapons at him.
     "Count Baltar," came the metallic monotone of the lead centurian.
"You will accompany us."
     Baltar had no choice as the Cylons fell in around him, and escorted
him to a separate chamber from the Queen's chambers.
     Baltar looked around the room.  He could see no furniture, but against
the wall was what looked like long-range communication setup.  As he
surveyed it, the screen flickered to life, and a hooded face appeared.  The
reptillian face of the Cylon Imperious Leader.
     "Greetings, Baltar.  I see you have arrived right on scedule.  Please
be seated, we have much to discuss."
     As the Leader was speaking, an Ovion appeared, pushing a plush chair,
positioning it in front of the comm console.
     Baltar nearly stumbled as he was pushed to the seat by a centurian
behind him.  Out of habit, he started to shoot  a glare at the offender, to
have his gaze soften quite considerably as he remembered who was behind him.
     Baltar eased himself into the chair, and decided to see just what was
going on.  It was obvious the Cylons thought he might be valuable, else he
would have been killed already.  Probably without him ever knowing what had
pulled the trigger.  Yes, he thought.  They want something.  Perhaps I may
live through this after all.

8

        "So that's all we were able to get out of that?"  Zeta spat.  "We risk our
necks to get that freighter back, and they had already sold everything?"
        "What I don't understand is," Cutler said, "is why they just didn't blast
the thing out of orbit?"
        Colonel Howell let the venting run its course.  The Team had returned to
their headquarters on Caprica, and were going through the mission
debriefing.  Sometimes, especially when they were asked to take out fellow
humans, the mission would end up leaving a bad taste in everyone's throat,
whether it was successful or not.
        "So did they find out who owned that heap?"  Degeria asked.
        "Yes," Howell replied.  "According to records of serial numbers and
registry, it belonged to a gentleman called Pacino, registry of Picea."
        "Pacino?"  Cutler said.  "You mean the Pacino, the Picean crimelord, that
Pacino?"
        "The alleged Pician crimelord," Howell corrected.  Cutler shrugged at the
mere technicality.  "Yes," he continued.  "That Pacino.  Picean
constabulary has already questioned Mr. Pacino in the matter, and he claims
the ship was stolen from him, get this, hijacked by the very pirates that
we took out."
        "Yeah, right," Siree muttered.   Howell ignored the interruption.
        "The constabulary checked the records, and sure enough, a dated
transmission reciept 'proved' the captain of the vessel had been boarded by
pirates."
        "I'll tell you what happened," Cutler growled.  "That Pacino has the local
authorities in his pocket, and as soon as we hit that scrap heap, the
'dated records' were neatly inserted into the proper files."
        "Probably you are right, Cutler, but for now, our job is finished."
        "What about the kid we arrested?"  Degeria asked.
        "He doesn't know anything.  He got a very extensive interrogation.  He
swears he didn't know anything, he just got a job in engineering on the
ship.  He wanted to try for his license next secton, and get some
experience before he took the test."  Cutler nodded, convinced there was
more to the story,  but he doubted they would ever really know.  But it was
probably close enough to the truth to get by.
        "What next, Colonel?"  Zeta asked.
        "As of right now, you guys are on furlon for the next two sectons.  You
all have had two hairy missions back to back.  Anything else comes up, I'll
insist it gets assigned to the 6th. Have fun, folks."
        Raleigh and Zeta practically raced each other out the door, and cleared
the opening almost before the Colonel finished speaking.  Degeria gathered
her things from the table, as did Siree, and quickly followed them.  Cutler
rose slowly, and approached the Colonel.
        "So what aren't you telling us about those pirates, Colonel?" he said softly.
        Howell looked up, unsure of whether Cutler actually knew, or if he was
just playing a hunch.  In either case, he realized the look he just gave
his Leiutenant confirmed there was more.
        Howell sighed.
        "Identi-scans of the man you shot in the captain's chair showed him to be
officially on Pacino's payroll until 1100 centuars the day of our strike.
Those records of theft supposedly proved the ship had been stolen three
cycles prior."
        "So what is being done about it?"
        "Nothing.  The Council Opposers feel that is not enough to get a
conviction.  Pacino would simply produce records showing that the whole
thing had been engineered by the captain, or he would hand over some
subordinate to take the fall, saying the subordinate had been trying to
take over his operation, or something."
        Cutler shook his head.
        "This is offically out of our hands," Howell continued.  "We are not
trained investigators, or Opposers, for that matter.  We were given a job,
and we did it."
        "What about our copy of the records?"  Cutler asked.
        Howell smiled.  "What copy?"  Cutler nodded, knowing what he needed to know.

        Cutler used the comm panel in the Team's HQ after he had gotten changed
out of his uniform.  From memory, he entered the access codes for the
connection to Tisa's residence.
        Cutler smiled as her lovely face filled the screen.  "Hi there, sweetie."
        Tisa smiled back.  "That didn't take long.  Where did you go?"
        "Oh, you know, the usual.  Just us guys, went to the beach, looked at girls."
        Tisa laughed.  "Sure you did.  And I'm next in line for the Presidium."
        "Hey, sweetie, how would you like to have a nice little vacation?"
        "Really?  Where?"
        "I have two sectons, guaranteed.  Thought I'd book us tickets on the
Rising Star."
        "The Rising Star?  Really?"
        "Sure, they are departing tonight, and get back in one secton.  Can you be
ready?"
        "What about my job?"
        "I'll make a few calls.  I know someone over at Civil Defense who owes the
Colonel big time."
        "Are you sure?"  Tisa sounded unsure.
        "Positive.  Don't worry about it, its all under control."
        He broke the connection, and returned to Colonel Howell's office.
        "Sir," Cutler said.
        "Yes?"  Howell replied.
        "I need a favor, a big one."  Cutler said.
        "What is it?"  Howell looked skeptical.
        "Well, you remember Tisa?  Well, I'm taking her on a cruise on the Rising
Star, and I need you to contact Cusano over at Civil Defense and make sure
she's covered for the next secton."
        Howell whistled.  "That's kind of a big one, son."
        "Come on, sir," Cutler pleaded.
        "You got it, Cut," Howell grinned.  "You and Tisa, huh?  Finally make it
official?"
        "Somewhat, sir," Cutler replied.  He gave a salute, and turned to leave.

        Cutler stopped by his own accomodations, to pack his bags and make sure
things were all in order.  He used the comm panel in his place to call
Suite Transports, a fancy commuter service, well known for their fancy
aircars and well-to-do clientel.  He made the appropriate arrangements, and
signed off.
        What good is all those bonus cubits I get paid if I can't enjoy spending
them, he thought.
        He waited on the street, and a few centons later, the aircar pulled up.  A
uniformed driver exited the operators compartment, and accepted Cutler's
bags as he opened the passenger access. Cutler gave the driver the address
for Tisa's, and sat back to enjoy the luxurious ride.
        When the aircar hovered to a stop at her place, Cutler didn't wait for the
driver to open the door for him.  He bounded out, just in time to see Tisa
come out the door of her building.  She was wearing an elegant evening
gown, the one he had instructed the store clerk to deliver to her.  She had
been right, he thought.  That looks great!
        The driver unobtrusivly retrieved Tisa's bags, and stowed them in the
storage compartment.  Cutler held the door of the aircar as she slipped
inside.
        How does she do it? he thought.  She gets dressed up, and she's ready for
planetary royalty.  I get dressed up, and I feel like an idiot.  She's
definitly too good for me.
        "Hard day at work, darling?" she asked him playfully.
        "No harder than usual," he replied.  Cutler reached up and touched a
control on the panel.  A small compartment slid open, revealing a chilled
bottle of ambrosa, and two stemmed glasses.
        "My my, going all out for this one, aren't we?" Tisa teased him.
        "Just don't get too used to it," he growled softly.  "I'm still only
making leiutenant's pay!"
        The ride to the spacedrome took almost a centaur.  When the aircar finally
came to hover, it was near the boarding platform for the Rising Star.  The
driver, not to be outdone by Cutler again, got to the door before Cutler
could open it himself.
        "Your bags will be in your cabin sir," the driver said softly.
        "Thanks," Cutler replied, handing a small stack of cubits, hoping it was
not an insulting amount.  The driver smiled.
        "You have a good voyage sir, and make sure you ask for me if you ever need
our services again."

        The sleek lines of the Rising Star were brightly lit by the lights of the
spacedrome, as Cutler, Tisa, and several other passengers made their way
through the boarding platform.  A simple matter of showing his account card
to the boarding agent, to confirm the reservations, and they were on.
        As a porter showed the couple to their accomodations, Tisa remained
practically glued to Cutler's arm.  Cutler saw the radiant happiness in her
face, and thought Oh yes, this is going to be a great secton off.

9

        "So you see, my dear Baltar, we have many mutual interests," the voice of
the Imperious Leader rang out from the speaker of the comm panel.  "I hope
that we can have a sucessful and profitable arrangement between us."
        Baltar fidgited in his chair.  He knew that if he answered any question
wrong, the centurians behind him would simply kill him.  If he agreed, he
knew it would be a deal with Diaboles himself.  He decided to play along
for the micron, and try to get a little more information.
        "But, Imperious Leader, our peoples have been at war for nearly a thousand
yahrens," Baltar said with a smile.  "While you may not have problems
dealing with me, my people might not take kindly to finding me dealing
with.....the enemy."
        "Baltar, the Cylon race grows weary of the war.  I am simply trying to
look out for my own subjects, as well as help your people out too."
        "Can't you just end the war, then?" Baltar asked, then suddenly realized
that may not have been the wisest choice of words.
        "We could, at that," Imperious Leader said.  "However, as I explained to
you, our problems with your people that led to a thousand yahrens of
fighting is with your government, the Council of the Twelve.
        "I have interrogated many of your fellow humans, to find that we hold many
similar interests.  However, unless the Council can be broken, I'm afraid
the war will have to continue.  The needless loss of life from both sides
saddens me to contemplate."
        "So what is it exactly that you want from me?"  Baltar asked tenatively.
        "Simply this: I want to destroy the Council of the Twelve, so that we may
end this war.  You, my friend, can be the source of inside information we
need to accomplish that."
        "But, Imperious Leader, that would be considered traitorous on my part,"
Baltar pointed out.
        "Not if it could be shown that you, Baltar, have delivered your people to
the end of the war.  Of course, we would have to monitor the Colonies very
closely after the Council is destroyed, to see that the threat is over.  We
would have to be able to see a government established that would allow us
to continue our relationship of goodwill."  Imperious Leader fell silent,
allowing Baltar time to digest the words he'd heard.
        Baltar was quiet for several microns.  "Imperious Leader, am I to
understand that you are proposing allowing.......ME...... to be in charge
of the Colonial government?"
        "Very good, Baltar, I enjoy negotiations with intelligent beings."
        "How do I know that I can trust you?" Baltar asked, feeling slightly
empowered.
        "Because I will let you live.  You now know the secret of Carillon, and
that the Ovions are supplying us with a good portion of the fuel we need.
I am also allowing you to use this fuel supply.  You may use it however you
see fit.  You may power your own ships with it, stockpile it, or simply
sell it on the market.  I only ask that you keep the knowledge to yourself."
        Baltar wieghed the offer quickly.  No matter what else happened, he was
being promised wealth beyond his greatest ambitions.  And if the deal got
too deep, he figured, he could always find a way out of it later.
        "Do we have a bargain?"  Imperious Leader asked.
        "Yes," Baltar replied.

        With an air of satisfaction, Imperious Leader told Baltar that he would be
in touch, once he was certain the deal would remain trustworthy.  He then
signed off the comm circuit.
        The Leader leaned back in his throne, allowing the feeling of
accomplishment to course through his system.  He felt confident, felt he
could use the human Baltar's own greed and lust for power to whatever end
he wished to gain.  It was amazing the war with the humans had lasted as
long as it had.
        Dealing with humans, however, always had its downside.  There was that
terrible disgust he always felt after seeing one, that he usually simply
had the offending human killed.  However, he couldn't do that with this one
quite yet.  Not until the end.
        The Leader compartmentalized his feelings, so that me might be able to
continue to think, and plan.  While part of him knew a great deal of work
was to be had, another part delighted in the idea that he, after a thousand
yahrens, would be the Leader that led the Cylon Empire to its greatest
victory ever:  The total extermination of the human race.

10

        Cutler and Tisa were watching the view of the vast starfields from the
Rising Star's port observation lounge.  They had taken their evening meal
in the main dining area, and enjoyed part of the featured entertainment, a
contracted orchestra performing a subtle piece of classical Colonial music,
representing a musical interpretation of the star system of the Colonies.
Cutler had always enjoyed the peice, but could not quite picture it
describing the circles of orbits.
        They had found the port lounge nearly deserted, and cuddled together on a
lounge seat, with Tisa resting her head on Cutler's shoulder as they
watched the stars float past.
        "Hmmmm," Tisa said softly.  "Do we have to go back?  I could just live
here on the Rising Star forever."
        "Sorry," Cutler replied.  "I would run out of cubits before the next
cruise was over."
        "Too bad the war is still going on.  We could just buy a small yacht and
go exploring ourselves."
        "That would be nice, find a nice little planet somewhere, with no one else
around..." Cutler trailed off, afraid he was taking the conversation a
little to far for his own liking.  Tisa's only response was to move a bit
closer to him.
        A voice came over the intercom.
        "Ladies and gentlemen, at this time we request that all passengers return
to your assigned cabins for the transit through the Straits of Sagataria.
We apologize for any inconvienence this may cause you,and sincerely hope
that you enjoy the rest of the voyage."  A few centons later, the message
repeated.
        "What's that all about?" Tisa asked.
        "Nothing, really.  The military plotting station found a few signs of
Cylon activity around the Straits, but it didn't look recent.  At least not
when we left.  Otherwise, they would have taken a completly different
course," Cutler explained.
        "Well," Tisa smiled, "I have no problem with us going to the cabin."
        Cutler smiled, and followed her out of the lounge.
        

        Baltar had gathered his things quickly upon returning to the resort area
of Carillon, and instructed Karibdis to do the same.  They checked out of
the hotel, and caught the next shuttle-bus to the landing pad.
        Baltar noticed that they were the only passengers on the bus.  He thought
this a bit odd, but didn't really think a whole lot about it until they
arrived at the port.  He could see two ships being worked over by a group
of Ovions, and one of them was in the process of being towed out by
ground-crew transport.  He had a sinking feeling that if he actually did
get off the surface of Carillon, it would be in his best interest to his
livlihood to never return.
        Karibdis went through the standard pre-launch procedures, but nowhere near
fast enough to suit Baltar.
        "Aren't you ready to lift ship yet?" Baltar demanded.
        "One moment, sir, I have to run these checks on the engines," Karibdis
replied.  "Would hate to get into orbit, and find out that we can't make it
anywhere else."
        "Well, please hurry."
        Karibdis finished his systems checks, plotted the course to orbit, and
laid in a call to the launch towers.
        "Carillon Port Control, this is Picea One-Seven-Niner-Three-six,
requesting clearance for launch, in accordance with filed flight plan."
        "Picea One-Seven-Niner, one moment, please," came the reply.
        There was several centons of silence, and Baltar got more and more anxious.
        "Picea One-Seven-Niner, please repeat your request," the voice from Port
Control finally came back.
        "Port Control, Picea One-Seven-Niner requesting launch clearance.  Flight
plan filed, number  Six-Four-two-niner."
        After a few more microns of silence, the voice returned.
        "Picea, One-Seven-Niner, you are cleared for launch.  Please return soon,
to enjoy our hospitality at another time."
        "Roger, Port Control."  Karibdis cut the connection, and fired the lifting
jets.  Soon, the small ship had broken free of the atmosphere of Carillon.
They established a standard orbit around the near-desolate planet, as
Karibdis laid in the coordinates for the return trip.
        Only after they broke orbit and were safely on their way back to Colonial
space did Baltar finally begin to feel relieved.
        After that, his mind began working out the details of the scheme he had
concocted with Imperious Leader.  Yes, he decided, it could be quite
profitable indeed!


        After the Rising Star had once again settled on the tarmac at Caprica,
Cutler and Tisa made their way off the boarding platform.  As per the
arrangemnts, an aircar from Suite Transports was waiting, practically in
the same spot they had been a secton ago.  As they made their way over to
it, the uniformed driver again took their bags, as Cutler recognized the
man as the driver who had brought them there.
        "Surely you didn't sit here all secton waiting for us to get back?"
Cutler asked jokingly.
        "No Sir," the driver replied dryly.  "I of course cleaned the car and
restocked the ambrosa while you were gone."
        Cutler laughed, and waited as Tisa slid into the passenger compartment,
then followed her.
        After arriving at her residence, the driver allowed them to exit, and
Cutler walked Tisa to the door.
        "I had a great secton," she said.  "You can come in, if you like."
        He smiled.  "No, I've still got 40 centons rental on the aircar.  Besides,
I need to run to the base, let the Colonel know I'm back.  And, I have some
things to take care of before I head back next secton.  I'll call you,
though."
        "OK," she said, a little disappointed.  "Call me when you get home."
        "Promise," Cutler said.
        As the aircar pulled away, the driver addressed Cutler.
        "Sir, if I may, I would like to extend my compliments to the lady," he
said politely.
        "Thank you much.  Yes, she's wonderful, isn't she?"  Cutler replied,
almost more to himself than to the driver.
        That left him wondering: Why couldn't  he stay with her?  He had the
furlon papers with him, and he didn't actually have to report back to the
base at all for another secton.  While he did have some business to do, it
was nothing he could do tonight, and could just as easily be done after she
had reported to her job.
        One thing seemed certain: For whatever reason, his committment didn't seem
to be complete.



AT THIS POINT, Starbuck interrupted Cutler's story.
        "Wait a micron, Tisa, now I remember: She's the one you were going so nuts
trying to find during the evacuation!"
        "Yes," Cutler replied.  "I never did find her, either.  Either she got out
with the initial evacuation when Civil Defense was overrun by the Cylons,
or she got killed in the attack.  Because, by the Lords, she is NOT in the
fleet anywhere, and I have practically looked on every ship.  But either
way, I never found proof that she was killed, or that she got out."
        "OK," Starbuck said, "I think I can see where the thing with Baltar is
going, how he came to sell out the Colonies.  But what I don't get, is how
YOU know all this, and how you think you are responsible for the Destruction?"
        "Well, there is a lot more to the story," Cutler shrugged.  "But if you
want to hear the rest, I'm going to have to take a quick break, and fetch
some more ambrosa."
        "Hmm, now that you mention it, I tend to agree with you," Starbuck
replied, as he poured the last swallow from his own bottle.
        Cutler locked the access to the turret as they took care of stretching
their legs and getting two more bottles of Ambrosa.  By this time, the
O-Club was pretty much closed, at least for business.  The lounge was open
all centaurs, but bar service was cut about two centuars after the ship
darkened for the cycle.
        When Cutler and Starbuck walked in, they saw two more bottles of the same
vintage they'd previously had sitting on the bar, with a short, handwritten
note: "Ill let you owe me on this one--Callahan."
        "Hmmm," Starbuck said, "Kind of spooky, when you think about it, isn't it?"
        "I don't know," Cutler replied.  "I've seen far stranger things happen
when it comes to Callahan!"

11

        After Baltar returned to Picea (Cutler continued the story), he confronted
Pacino about the whole Carillon operation.
        "Mr. Pacino, do you have any idea what Karibdis and I almost walked into?"
        Pacino chuckled.
        "Actually, to tell you the truth, not really.  That, my boy, is why I hire
young eager men such as yourself."  Baltar could almost feel the sting of
Pacino's words.  "So tell me, what did you find?  Can the tylium  be mined?
 Will it be suitable to  our needs?"
         "Not only that," Baltar smiled, "We can not only stockpile enough tylium
to see our needs well into the future, but we can also bring about an end
to this insane war with the Cylons!"
        Pacino stopped short of whatever thought he had been formulating.
        "You mean, Baltar, that the Ovions will help us get to the Cylon capital
and take those monsters out once and for all?"
        "Not exactly," Baltar smiled.  "You see, Pacino, we can negotiate a peace
treaty.  The Cylons want to end the war!"
        "Felgercarb!" bellowed the older man.  "I fought the Cylons for fifteen
yahren before I was forced out of the Colonial service.  I have continued
fighting them for the last thirty yahren on MY terms.  No way will the
Cylons ever accept a truce!"
        "But Sir," Baltar started.
        "Sir, nothing!" Pacino continued.  "I don't know what kind of space debris
the Ovions stuck in your head, but under no circumstances will the Cylons
ever accept peace with a human.  Their cyborg programming runs too deep!
It is ingrained into their very souls, if indeed they have souls, to hate
anything that is not Cylon in origin.  If you have heard that they actually
want a treaty to end the war, well, let me assure you of one thing: Yes,
they might want to end the war, but if they claim to want to end it any
other way besides our extermination is nothing but a trick.  Pure felgercarb!"
        Baltar felt stunned.  He hadn't even gotten to the best part of the whole
offer, that they would be the ones left in charge after the Council was
crushed.  Slowly, he managed to look back at all the time he'd been
employed by Pacino, and finally saw that the man was not after money, or
power, at least not in the way that most people on the fringe of the law
would be.  No, Pacino was after one thing:  The death of the Cylons.
        Never had Pacino ordered a "hit" on anything human, besides those who
would cross him in the line of business.  For that matter, he almost never
had dealings with any of the human's allies in the neighboring star
systems, even though Baltar knew there was quite a large sum of money to be
made with the illicit substance market, and weapons running to
anti-Colonial factions through the borders.
        No, Pacino only made war on the Cylons.  Any profits he made, aside from
seeing to his own needs, were being carefully funnelled back to the war
effort, even if it was Pacino's own personal forces conducting the war.
Why, even that smuggling captain that had gone rogue and hit the Colonial
warehouse, before the Warriors had retaken the ship and netrualized the
crew, Pacino had ordered a hit on the entire crew for selecting the wrong
target.
        Baltar slowly realized that he had seriously misjudged his employer.  Now,
he was also beginning to see the wisdom in the Cylon Leader's words.  This
war had gotten seriously out of hand, nearly polluting the minds of anyone
that had been involved.  Why, most of the members of the Council must feel
the same way that Pacino did about the motivations of the Cylons.
        That would be the reason the war kept dragging on and on, yahren after
yahren, until entire generations of humans knew of nothing other than war
and fighting.  No wonder the Imperious Leader believed the Council must be
destroyed.  He probably felt that he couldn't trust them not to re-engage
hostilities.  And meanwhile, more and more humans were being killed every
day the war went on, and the war effort would continue to eat away at the
resources of the Colonies, depriving children of their fathers, families of
homes, and the economy of real expansion.
        Baltar decided to do what he must.


        "Don't you see, Karibdis, what we must do?"  Baltar had caught up to
Pacino's pilot and was comparing notes on the situation.  "You know what
happened on that trip to Carillon.  We have the opportunity to finally end
this war, once and for all!"
        "And to set yourself up quite well," Karibdis retorted.  "Personally, I
think there is probably going to be something else the Cylons are after,
and it's probably our heads."
        "Don't be a fool, man.  Listen to reason: I would probably do this without
the promise of being left in charge.  I merely think it is completely mad
that this war continue to eat away at our society, the way it has for the
last thousand yahrens."
        Karibdis tried to busy himself with the electronics console on Pacino's
personal ship, but failed to distract his attention from the overly eager
Baltar.  As much as he hated the idea of making a deal with the Cylons, he
also would like to see the war come to an end.
        "Ok, Baltar, I'll go along with you," he finally said.  "What do we have
to do first?"
        Baltar grinned, the kind of grin he always flashed when his confidence got
a major boost.
        "First off, my friend," he said, "is that you must realize that Pacino
will stand in our way.  First, we must remove Pacino.  After that, we can
really start to make some serious plans!"


        After the furlon was officially over, things were pretty much normal
routine for the 8th.   They underwent a few training courses, participated
in a live-fire exercise, and had a few small, low-risk missions.  All
seemed almost normal for a few sectons.
        Cutler and Tisa saw quite a bit of each other, as Cutler tried to get his
own feelings sorted out.  He knew how he wanted things to go, and the sort
of commitment he would have to make of himself to see that happen.  He was
simply having a hard time convincing himself of it.
        If I don't get it figured out soon, Cutler thought to himself, I'm not
going to have a Tisa to worry about! 
        Cutler was working at a comp console, filling out munitions and supply
expenditure reports.  Whatever else the Colonial military might be, they
still loved paperwork and accounting, the same thing that civilized
military organizations throughout history had thrived on.
        He rubbed his eyes, and looked back at the last entry.  The subroutines
has found an error in the numerical entry for solonite charges.  He
compared the number with his handwritten notes of the last live-fire
exercise at the Caprica City Weapons Range.  After a correction, the
computer accepted the value.
        "Lieutenant," Cutler heard Colonel Howell's voice at the door.
        "Sir?" Cutler looked up from the console.
        "Something you might find interesting."  Howell handed Cutler an
electronic notepad.  Cutler activated it, and found an intelligence report.
        Cutler scanned it over, to find out what it was.  Seemingly a routine
report, finding on the death of a young spacer.  He put the peices together.
        "The kid we found on the frieghter!" Cutler said.  He read on.  He had
been found in his rented quarters near the space drome.  
        "Who?"  Cutler asked when the report did not specify on the details.
        "Unknown," the Colonel replied.  "He was found by the maintenence crews.
Been dead for several days, cause of death: single laser to the
head--execution style!"
        "Hmm, that almost fits," Cutler muttered.
        "What?" Howell asked.
        "Well, Colonel, it's like this: After out little operation, I started to
do some research on our Mister Pacino.  Seems he might not be the criminal
everyone thinks he might be."
        "Oh?" Howell beckoned him to divulge more.
        "Well," Cutler began to recite from memory, "first of all, there has been
no proof of any of Pacino's actions causing any harm to Colonial citizens,
or damaging Colonial property.  Any sign of any action in those realms,
such as our 'rouge frieghter,' has always resulted in the susequent death
of all known parties involved.  Everything that seems to be actions of
Pacino's, at least everything that CAN be proven, has always been directed
at the Cylon Empire.
        "There's been some speculation that he is actually working for Colonial
Intelligence.  Nothing has ever been admitted, and no solid evidence has
ever been put to gether to either prove or disprove that particular thoery.
        "Personal on Mister Pacino: Spent 15 yahren in the 16th Armored Landram
Division, before nearly being fatally wounded at the Siege of Yaberia and
being retired with a medical discharge.  He has since moved into the
underworld, and, in my opinion, been fighting the Cylons ever since."
        "I see," Howell said softly.  "And, just how did you manage to put all
that together?"
        Cutler felt a very dark wave coming over him, realizing that he may have
spoken too much for his own good.  Oh well, he thought, either I trust my
CO, or they lock me in the grid.
        "Mostly from news clippings, editorial peices from the Picean News, and a
little intuition."
        Howell smiled.
        "I knew there was a reason I wanted you on my team," he said, as he leaned
into the door frame.  "And you figured it out pretty much, except for a
couple of points.
        "Pacino is indeed, officially, a suspected syndicate member, and there are
currently several investigations going on into his activities, with some
authorities trying to come up with convictable evidence.
        "What isn't known, however, is that while he isn't really working for
Intelligence, he does pass on regular reports of Cylon activity.  Any
Agencies in the 'know' tend to look the other direction, and have also
mislead some of the other authorites as they try to gather evidence.  In
fact, this command gets a good fraction of its operating information from
none other than Pacino himself."
        Cutler allowed this to sink in, then decided that he didn't want to push
any farther into the intelligence game.  He turned back to his console, and
continued to fill in his reports.

12

        "Is everything in place, Karibdis?"  Baltar asked.
        "It is," came the reply through the com-link.
        "Very well.  Let it begin."
        At that micron, Baltar knew that Karibdis, the electronic whiz, was
patching a signal through to Pacino's personal ship, coded for reciept by
Winstell.
        Winstell, Baltar had realized, was very close to Pacino, and would
probably carry on after Pacino had been 'removed.'  So, in order to avoid
that trapfall, Baltar had come up with a plan to not only remove Pacino,
but to take Winstell out of the picture as well, while casting any possible
blame away from himself.
        Right about now, Winstell would be reading the personal communique, while
Pacino's ship was prepping for liftoff.  It contained a 'message' from a
business contact, that Baltar had learned was involved in a long-term
project with Winstell.  It would appear, by the message, that the project
had hit a snag, and Winstell's presence would be required.
        Since the project was being done with the full approval and backing of
Pacino, Winstell would cancel his place with Pacino to a meeting with a
group of mercenaries, who were after backing to hit Cylon targets.
        What wasn't known, however, was that, thanks to Karibdis, the urgent
message would later be found to originate in Winstell's own computer
terminal, (hopefully, Baltar thought) making it look as is Winstell
arranged to have himself off of Pacino's ship.
        The second phase of Baltar's plan was for a solonite charge to detonate in
the engines of Pacino's ship, destroying it utterly.
        The third part of the sceme called for Baltar to cast suspicion upon
Winstell, and subsequent investigation would show a small amount of
solonite in Winstell's posession.  Solonite that matched the molecular
signiture of the solonite that destroyed Pacino's ship.
        And, of course, the fourth and final stage of the plan was for Baltar to
assume the reins of Pacino's organization, which would give him the freedom
of movement that the plan with the Cylon Imperious leader would require.
        The only possible problem, Baltar could see, was a very interesting tidbit
of information that he had only discovered last secton.  Pacino had been
discreetly funnelling information on Cylon movements to Colonial
Intelligence.  Had that bit of trivia been overlooked, it could have proved
the undoing of most of Baltar's plans.
        But, thanks to some very close allies, Baltar had learned of the
intelligence connection, and therefore, he hoped, managed to work his own
plans around it.
        "Baltar?"  Winstell's voice came through the Pacino estate, and almost
simultanously, Baltar heard the launch engines of the ship fire.
        "Yes, Winstell?  What happened?  I thought you were going with Mr. Pacino?"
        "Yes, well, uh, something came up.  I need to get to a coms link."
        "Of course," Baltar smiled.  "Is everything all right?"
        "Oh, uh, no, just need to check a few things.  I'll talk to you later, OK
Baltar?"  Winstell hurried down the hallway.
        Baltar smiled again, and chuckled softly.  So far, the plan was proceeding
perfectly.

13

	"Daggit Two, in place," Cutler whispered into the comm mic.  Without
waiting for acknowledgment, he returned to the survey he had been conducting.
	Four outer buildings, which surrounded a larger central structure, seemed
to be the bulk of the Cylon listening post.  The small airfield was about a
half-hectare away, which meant that any assault on the complex would have
to be done in two spearheads.  The fighters at the airfield would have to
be disabled, so the Cylons could not scramble craft to provide air support
in defense of the main complex.
	This could turn out to be a real sticky operation.
	The orders had come down from Military intelligence to survey the
listening post.  They had known of its existence for quite some time, and
were now deciding that it was nearly time to take it out.  When Cutler had
inquired of the timing, the only reasoning he had gotten was that
Intelligence thought it was better to know where the existing posts were,
than to try to ferret out the new ones that would undoubtedly spring up
immedietly after any assault.
	Cutler activated the macro-binocular's record-scan functions, so that all
he saw would be recorded for later analysis.  Already, his own mind was
debating whether the 8th should attempt the assault on their own, or try to
arrange for a Viper strike on the airfield simultainous to the main attack.
	On the one hand, if they relied only on themselves, the attack would come
completely by surprise, almost ruling out any possibility of the Cylons
mustering much of a defense, practically guaranteeing a swift victory.
	On the other hand, a Viper bombing run of the airfield would give the Team
at least two more people with which to attack the main base, maximizing the
chances of a totally successful strike.  The down side here would be that
the approaching Battlestar from which the Vipers would deploy would
undoubtedly be picked up by the Cylons, who would in turn be that much more
wary of an impending attack.
	Cutler tried to push the tactical give-and-take argument out of his mind,
and concentrated on his assignment: the gathering of intelligence.  No
final decision would be required for several days, and the best course of
action at this time would be to get as much information as he could about
the base they may be tasked with leveling.
	Of course, the safest course of any action against this post would be to
simply bring in the Vipers and level everything in sight.  However, after
the loss of the 5th Fleet at Molokay a few sectons ago, Colonial
Intelligence had decided that instead of just beating the Cylons where they
could, they wanted to gather as much as they could from them.  That meant
sending in a Colonal Assault Team, with the required expert fluent in Cylon
computer coding, to attempt a total download of the Cylon data base at any
facility they hit.
	That was where Digeria came in.  A very tough woman in her own right, she
could also access and manipulate Cylon computers, turning any active
terminal into a direct line straight to the Cylon Capital.
	However, in most cases, that access only lasted microns, if indeed it
could be established.  The fail-safe lockouts on the Cylon computers could
rarely be beaten, and once realized that a base was out of Cylon control,
access was quickly and permanently locked out from the main circuitry.

	In the end, the most they usually got was a set of logs of the actual base
in question, and, if lucky, copies of routine message traffic to and from
the central command.  Mostly, the info they aquired was already sectons out
of date.
	The loss at Molokay had nearly thrown the high command in the Colonies
into total chaos.  Suddenly, missions across the board had been planned,
and Cutler knew that the other eleven Assault Teams were engaged in similar
actions throughout the star system.  Several high-ranking Commanders had
suggested, quite heatedly, that a traitor was at work.  Given the firepower
of the 5th Fleet, and the fact that it had sailed under the flag of
Commander Cain, there should have been no way the force could be wiped out,
let alone as quick as it apparently had been.  Cutler had heard a lot of
arguments on both sides, and was personally leaning toward at least a lax
in security of ships movement plans.
	Such things were not unheard of, even in the ranks of the elite Colonial
Warriors.  A Warrior, anxious to enjoy his last night ashore, might brag
out loud to the wrong person or in the wrong place.  One of those human
collaborators might have been able to get word back to the Cylons, who
simply met the incoming reinforcements with a veritable wall of ships and
munitions.
	Cutler was more than a little disturbed at this thought.  It still didn't
seem possible that his cousin Fisher had been a pilot on the Pegasus, and
was now gone.  If there were a traitors at work, he hoped that he would get
the chance to deal with them.
	Cutler's attention was drawn by an approaching ship, vectoring toward the
distant airfield.  He didn't recognize the design, and soon realized that
he was trying to match it to a Cylon class of ship.  It wasn't Cylon at
all, but instead a private transport--of Colonial origin.
	Cutler swung the macro-binocs up to focus on the ship, hoping the optical
enhancers would allow him to read the registration numbers.  It was not
unheard of for Colonial fringe groups to attempt cooperation with the
Cylons, usually hoping to trade information for profit.  In the end,
however, most of the would-be traitors ended up dead by Cylon hands once
all useful information had been turned over.
	In any case, it would be nice to know which group had decided to jump-ship
this secton.
	The Colonial-made ship settled down, falling below Cutler's vantage point.
 He turned to focus on the main road leading from the base to the airfield.
 Sooner or later, the new arrivals would probably be escorted into his view.
	Cutler was not wrong, as a pair of humans with a large Centurian escort
made their way onto the main base.  He got a good look, and scan, of the
humans, before they disappeared into one of the bunkers.
	It was now thirty centons past the end of his sceduled surviellence watch.
 Cutler had been so absorbed by the events, he didn't even notice the
passage of time until his comm speaker beeped.
	"Daggit Two, Daggit One, what is your position?"  Howell's voice came over
the channel.
	Cutler immedietly realized he was late checking in.
	"Daggit Two, returning to base," he replied, and melded into the foliage
as he made his way back to the makeshift base the Daggits had set up.
	"Dee, need you to take a look at what I got," Cutler handed Degeria the
macro-binoculars.  She took them, then plugged an adaptor into the case
that would allow download of all the information he had scanned.
	"What did you get?"  Howell asked.
	"Hopefully an ID on the Cylons' new best friends," Cutler replied.  He
didn't relate the spotting of the Colonial-built craft, as he knew they
would already have scans on record of it.
	Degeria compiled the data on the portable computer system the Team carried
along with basic supplies for missions such as this one.
	"Got it," she called out.
	Cutler finished filling his caffe from the camp mess unit, and hurried
over to the console.
	"What do you have?" he asked, as he leaned over her shoulder to watch the
display.
	"Positive ID on our friends.  The one with the permanent sneer is known as
Baltar, the one who looks kind of afraid, is known as Karibdis."
	"That's fine," Cutler said, "but WHO are they?"
	"Sorry," she replied.  "Our databanks can't find a match.  I'll have to
wait until I can upload this info back to IntelHQ, see if they can find a
match for us.  I'll be linking up tonight."
	Cutler nodded, then retired to his own tent.  This was his night off the
watch, so he knew he should get several centaurs of sleep before the next
round of surveillence came tomorrow.
	He kept turning the options of the assualt over in his mind, followed by
the questions surrounding the humans who had landed apparently unchallenged
on a Cylon outpost.  Then, with a smile, he finally drifted off to sleep,
with thoughts of Tisa, and that sweet smile.

	In the dark hours of the pre-dawn, Cutler had resumed his vantage point
making surveillance  against the Cylon outpost.  He was hoping that the
orders would come through for them to either take the base down, or to
withdraw from the arena.  In any case, Cutler was beginning to get very
tired of sneaking through the foliage, and spying on a very boring base.
	On the other hand, Cutler thought a few centaurs after the sun rose, this
just might get a little bit interesting.  He saw the two humans who had
landed the night before, and it looked as though they had realitive freedom
of the compound.  That was somewhat unusual, even in the case of
collaborators.  True, the Cylons would deal with turncoat humans, but
normally kept them under close gaurd.
	Cutler zoomed the optics on his scope in on the pair, and brought the
image into focus.  He wished he'd been issued one of the range-mics, so
that he could hear as well as see what was going on.  As it was, he would
have to rely on attempting lip-reading, something that he was not good at.
	The two men appeared to be in a semi-heated discussion.  Apparently, it
wasn't anything too threatening, as several centurians in the area
practically ignored them.  The one Degeria had said was Baltar seemed to by
trying to convince the other, Karibdis, of something.
	Cutler began to get a very uneasy feeling, and felt his heart skip a beat.
 He could make out a few words from time to time, but not enough to really
follow the talk.  Too late, he thought to activate the 'record' function on
the scope.  He couldn't be certain, but unless he was grossly mistaken, he
made out one word that Baltar had said.
	Molokay.


	"Karibdis, what are you saying?"  Baltar asked.
	"I'm not sure this is the right thing to do, is all," Karibdis replied.
"I am just not sure that we can trust the Cylons."
	"Karibdis," Baltar said, "they are keeping their end of our bargain.  We
have already got more than enough tylium from Carillon to see us for many
yahren to come, and the profits are already starting to come in from the
black-market sale of it.  Or have you forgotten the sudden growth in your
personal funds?"
	"I know, I know."  Karibdis shook his head.  "It just doesn't feel right,
for some reason.  A lot of people might not understand about the 5th Fleet."
	"The information was necessary.  If Cain had been able to drive the Cylons
out of Molokay,  that would have been unacceptable to Imperious Leader.
And besides," Baltar added, "it was a great way for us to get his trust."
	"I knew people in the 5th Fleet.  I don't think they would approve of your
sacrifice of their lives."
	"Yes, everything does have its price, does it not?"  Baltar smiled.  "But
think, just think, of how many of those people would actually thank us, if
they were here when we were able to end this war, and save countless other
lives."
	"I suppose you are right," Karibdis muttered.
	"Of course I'm right!"  Baltar snapped.  "Now, let's get yourself
together.  We want to present  a proper image when Imperious Leader arrives."
	The pair moved toward an area that had been set up for them, at the rear
of the compound.

14

	"Dee," Cutler demanded after he returned to the Daggits base, "have you
uplinked to command yet?"
	"Yes, about fifty centons ago."
	"What was it?  Please tell me we are taking out this place, and taking it
out NOW?"
	Degeria shook her head.  "Not yet.  At least I don't think so.  The
Colonel got coded instructions."
	"Frak."
	After the Team had assembled, Howell addressed them, in a very somber voice.
	"Gentlemen, and Lady, we have been ordered to pull out.  Immedietly.  We
are not to do any more surveillence of this post, and in no way are we to
interfere with the humans we have seen arrive here.  No further information
was sent in my orders, so I assume that we will have to wait until we are
at least back in Colonial territory to find out what is going on."  Howell
paused, to allow the orders to sink in.  "We have a Battlestar sitting
outside scanner range, we will be picked up by one of their shuttles in
four centaurs.
	"Lets get ready to move out."  Howell turned and started to walk away.
	"Colonel!"  Cutler finally found his voice.
	"Yes, Lieutenant?"  Howell did not turn to face him.
	"Colonel, I have very good reason to believe that one of the men down
there, Baltar, was the one who sold out the 5th Fleet."
	"You have proof?"
	Cutler sighed, mentally cursing himself for not beginning the recording
sooner.
	"No sir."
	"Then we move out.  The orders specifically said, and I quote, 'Under no
circumstances, except in the case of self-defense, shall any action be
taken against your present target.  In the case of self-defense, all
personnel are required to make every attempt to withdraw from the action as
soon as reasonably possible.'"
	Cutler stood there with his mouth open.
	"What the hades have those guys been doing, smoking plant vapors?"
Raliegh asked.
	"You have your orders."  Howell walked toward his own tent, and began to
break it down.
	Cutler had any one of a dozen ideas, and any of them would get him
stripped of rank and held in the Grid.  He could begin transmitting, fire
off a laser volley into the air, or simply start screaming very loud.  In
almost any case, the Cylons would send a patrol to investigate, and would
undoubtedly engage them under fire in less than four centaurs.  Without the
shuttle from that Battlestar, they would not be able to withdraw, so they
would be forced to shoot back.
	Too bad I really believe in following orders, Cutler thought.  There's got
to be a good reason for all this.
	Cutler broke down and stowed his gear in near record time, giving him lots
of time to contemplate the situation.
	Fisher.  Cain.  Countless hundreds others, killed in action.  All probably
because of the smug-looking man who probably was still rubbing elbows with
those cybernetic monsters.
	"To hell with a career," he muttered.  Cutler found the transport case
where most of the Team's weapons had been packed, and drew out a long-range
laser sniper.  Maybe he couldn't do anything about Fisher and the others,
but by all the Lords, that traitor would not get another Colonial Warrior
killed.
	Cutler moved out of the camp without anyone seeing him, and made his way
as fast as he could to his vantage point he had been at before.
	On his way there, he spotted another ship overhead, appearing to be
settling down at the airfield.  This one was unmistakably Cylon, looked
like a small transport of some sort.  No matter, as long as I get that
traitor before he can do any more damage.
	Cutler settled into position, and powered up the scope, scanning the
compound.  He immedietly saw what he was looking for.
	The human, Baltar, was back in the open of the base.  This time, he seemed
to be in the company of several centurians, and Cutler realized that there
were several IL series Cylons present also.  It appeared they were waiting
for something.
	Or someone, Cutler thought, remembering the Cylon transport that was
landing as he made his approach.
	Cutler saw Karibdis standing a short distance away from Baltar.  In order
to be certain, Cutler knew that he would have to take them both down.  He
punched on the power to the rifle, and powered up the large scope mounted
on it.
	He settled the cross hairs down.  Very simple, very quick.  Probably even
be less painful than 
what the Cylon's'll do to you when you've outlived your usefulness, Baltar
my friend.
	He brought his finger down to the firing stud, ready to loose the shot,
then swing up and fire on Karibdis.  Something, though, wouldn't let him
pull the trigger.
	Cutler had done long-range sniping missions before.  He had, unfortunatly,
been called upon to terminate the lives of fellow humans in the line of
duty.  He knew the reluctance he felt was the fact that he was just about
to violate a direct order.
	The event the Cylons seemed to be waiting for came to pass.  A tall
figure, flanked by several command-level centurians, as well as an escort
of IL-series Cylons, came into view.
	"By all the Lords...." Cutler whispered aloud.  He realized that he was
seeing a sight that very few humans ever saw.  And those that did, most of
them did not survive to tell the tale.
	I wonder just how many Warriors would sell their souls to be in this
position this micron, Cutler thought.  To have the Cylon Imperious Leader
in your sights....
	Strategy was now completely reconsidered.  Obviously, the Imperious Leader
should be the primary target.  Follow up shot should drop Baltar.  If the
elusive third shot were able to be done, then Karibdis could be that target.
	For the third shot, Cutler figured it wouldn't make much difference either
way.  If he got the Leader and Baltar, the remaining Cylons should turn
immedietly to any threat, real or percieved.  Karibdis was human,
therefore, a threat in the minds of the Cylons.
	Cutler resettled his position, and brought the rifle into position.  He
adjusted the zoom, and brought the scope into fine-focus, as he settled the
cross-hairs on the Cylon Leader.
	Pretty ugly dude, he thought.  Wonder what the tin-heads make of his
looks? Not that it'll matter much longer.  He watched as the Baltar began
to speak with the Leader.
	Two shots.  I can do it.
	But again, that small voice in the back of his mind would not let him fire
the weapon.  Cutler felt a presence behind him.  He rolled over, ready to
grab his pistol from its holster.  He instead looked up to the face of
Colonel Howell, who reached down and snatched the sniper rifle from
Cutler's grasp.
	"What do you think you are doing?" Howell asked softly.
	Cutler took a deep breath.
	"Sir.  Do you realize who is down there?"
	"I know."  Cutler watched in amazement as Howell turned and walked away,
back toward the base camp.  He shook his head, then moved to follow.


	As Baltar conversed with the Imperious Leader, an IL-Series Cylon
approached a platoon of Centurians.
	"Commander."
	"By Your Command."  The gold-armored Cylon responded.
	"The base scanners have picked up a bit of electromagnetic interference,
consistent with Colonial rangefinding and weapon sight emissions, coming
from grid forty-eight by sixty-three, putting it within range of this base.
 Take your squad and investigate this."
	"By Your Command."  The squad of centurians turned, nearly simultanously,
and began to move out in formation.
	The IL Cylon turned to another subordinate, and issued another order.
	"Take your pilots, and ready the duty fighter patrol, in case we find
evidence of human infiltration."  As the Cylons moved to follow their
orders, the IL was silently cursing his own bad luck.  First, he was tasked
with making accomodation for that dispicable creature Baltar.  Then to add
to his misery, that had been followed by a personal visit from Imperious
Leader himself.  He found himself wishing he believed in a god, much as his
ancestors had worshipped the Dark One.  If he did, he would have been
praying for an uneventful secton.

	As Cutler and Howell made it back to the camp, they found the rest of the
Team waiting by their stowed gear.  Cutler took the sniper, and replaced it
in its case, then wordlessly joined his comrades in the wait for the shuttle.
	The jungle silence was shattered by the sound of turbines in the air.  The
looked up, seeing a trio of Cylon fighters peeling off.  The Mud Daggits
scrambled to find cover, breaking out sidearms in the event of a foot
patrol showing up.
	"Frak!  Dee, fire up that comm unit.  Raise the battlestar, and get us
that shuttle down here, and tell them to come in hot!"  Howell yelled.
	After speaking into the unit for a few centons, Degeria reported what she
had heard.
	"Sir, the Galactica has sent the shuttle, and they are now scrambling a
patrol of Vipers to provide cover and escort for us!"
	"Good.  When is their ETA?"
	"Approximatly seven centons.  I've got the landing coordinates.  It's that
clearing, fifty metrons, bearing zero-seven-three true."
	"You heard her people, let's get there!"
	The Mud Daggits scrambled to grab their gear, and headed out.

	"I remember that," (Starbuck exclaimed).  "That was when we pulled you out
with those very weird orders.  'Engage the enemy only long enough to ensure
the safe extraction of the ground forces.  Upon accomplishment, break off
engagement, and return to base immedietly.  Do NOT attempt to hit the
base,'" Starbuck said, with a passable imitation of Colonel Tigh.
	"That's the one," Cutler said.
	"Imperious Leader was on that base when we pulled you out?"  Starbuck asked.
	"Very true."
	"Amazing.  And they didn't let us take it down?"
	"Well, as you will soon hear, we were all up to our collective necks in
some very deep felgercarb, with the intelligence community, and politics at
the very highest level!"



	"There's the shuttle!" (Cutler resumed the story).  "Let's go, everyone!"
	The Team grabbed the gear they had carried over to the clearing, as the
shuttle floated down on landing thrusters.  They were sprinting for the
craft before the hatch had completely cycled open.
	Cutler tossed the equipment cases inside, then turned to assist the others
in boarding.  After Colonel Howell scrambled through the hatch, Cutler
moved to follow, then paused.  Howell turned, and shot him a glare that
could have killed a Cylon at medium range.  He shrugged, then followed
Howell into the passenger compartment.
	As Cutler found a seat, he heard a vaugely familiar voice coming from the
control section.
	"OK fellows, find a seat and strap yourselves down.  I'm seeing six enemy
fighters on my scanner, and they will be on us before Blue Squadron can
help.  This is going to get rough!"
	While Cutler was attaching the buckles of the harness, he managed to get a
quick look at the pilot, then remembered: that was the voice of the woman
who had found her pilot boyfriend with another woman at the Depositorie.
	He didn't have a lot of time to contemplate the memory, however, as the
woman manipulated the controls of the shuttle, and fired off the main
engines, sending the craft hurtling toward the upper atmosphere.
	"Athena, much more and the stress will shred the structure before we hit
space!"  The warrior in the co-pilot's seat objected.
	"Giles, if I don't get us up and out of here, those Cylons will rip us up
before Blue Squadron can help us.  Get me a vector on their approach!"
	"Cylon fighters inbound at two-seven-three mark six.  Blue squadron coming
in at nine-eight-six mark one.  Tin cans will get here first!"
	"Frak!  Why the hades don't they ever listen to us, and put a couple of
guns on these flying targets?"  Athena coaxed the throttles forward a bit
further.  "Changing course, zero-four-three mark zero.  Maybe that'll buy
us a little time!"
	Cutler listened to the pilot, wishing that he could do something, finally
resigning himself to sitting back and letting them do their jobs.  They
changed course twice more, and each time Cutler swore that he could hear
the turbines stressing more with each maneuver.
	"Blue squadron eta, fifty microns!" the co-pilot Giles called out.  "Cylon
fighters, in weapons range........NOW!"
	The shuttle shook with the impact of a laser blast.  Cutler stole a glace
back toward the pilots, just in time to see Athena yank a control lever
back.  The force of decelerration led him to believe that the lever in
question had been the throttle.
	"Whatever you boys did down there," Athena called over her shoulder, "you
really upset those guys behind us!"
	The sound of laserfire, followed by an explosion, made its way past the
whine of the shuttle's turbines.  Then, just as suddenly, Cutler felt
several g-forces tearing at his body, which felt as though Athena had made
a radical course change, then accellerated again.
	"Blue squadron engaging Cylon fighters.  Current course has us leaving
Cylon weapon range in twelve microns," Giles reported.
	Athena fed the throttles a little more power, then keyed her inter-ship
comm mic.
	"Blue Leader, Shuttle One.  Starbuck, I've got the Team, and we are away.
Give us two centons, then get out of there!  I will rondezvous with the
Galactica, ETA, twenty-eight centons."
	"Copy, Shuttle One.  Will break off in two centons.  Or less, if this last
one will hold a steady course......." Cutler heard the whine of laser fire
over the comm link.  "....Got 'em!  Breaking off from planet.  Blue
Squadron, form on me, let's escort the shuttle back."
	The shuttle's engines eased back, dropping down to normal cruising power,
and Cutler felt the excessive g-forces relax back to nearly Caprican norms.
	"What happens if they send out another squadron of fighters?" Cutler asked
the pilot.
	"That's what the Vipers are with us for," Athena replied, without turning
from the controls.  "Meanwhile, may I suggest you make yourself
comfortable.  We've still got over twenty centons before we land."

15

	Baltar was looking very nervous at the two centurians who had moved to
flank him.
	"I assure you, your eminence, that I know nothing about any other humans
on this planet."
	"I'm going to trust you for now, Baltar.  Just the same, I think it may be
best if we continued our discussion in the shelter of the main headquarters
here.  I will join you there shortly," the Leader said, then turned and
moved away.
	Baltar was escorted, somewhat roughly, by the centurians at his sides.
Karibdis was being similarly brought along.  The two humans were left alone
in a large room, with only a large chair and a small table in it.
	"What's going on, Baltar?" Karabdis blurted out, with fear in his voice.
	"I don't know.  But it would appear that that there is a battlestar in the
area, and we just may be sitting on a target, if the President decided that
what I told him wasn't true.  In any case, our little plan just might be
almost over."
	"Oh, Lords, I knew this was a bad idea," Karibdis said.
	"Well, now, that remains to be seen."
	As promised, the Imperious Leader entered the room several centons later.
	"I apologize for the inconvienence, Baltar.  It would appear that several
humans have been on this planet, possibly watching this base.  Our fighters
destroyed them, before the human Vipers managed to escape our wrath.  Since
I have placed trust in you, I do not believe they are here as a result of
your actions.  We may now continue."
	Baltar could barely keep the relief from his face, and out of his voice.
To help cover his nervousness, he smiled.
	"Of course, Imperious Leader.  Where were we?"
	"We were discussing the information you willingly shared about the 5th
Fleet sent to slaughter our population at the newly subjected bases on
Molokay."
	"Ah, yes."
	"Thanks to your timely warning, we were able to move in reinforcements in
time to save them, as well as take out the offensive force.  This will, of
course, make the final phase of the operation easier and cleaner."
	"And this final phase?  What is it, and how can I be of help with it?"
	"We intend to destroy the council, and the remains of the Colonial fleet
in one strike.  I believe I can assure you that the fleet will be
overwhelmed by our firepower, and when we launch simultanous strikes at the
orbital defenses of Colonies, and the few ships that are in orbit there for
repairs, I think it will bring our mutual goals to fruition."
	"That would have to be a very complex operation, Leader," Baltar
protested.  "That would require so much firepower--"
	"Just leave the details of the strikes to me and my Commanders.  What I
need from you is assurance that the whole fleet will be at the designated
coordinates at the proper time."
	"If that is part of the terms of the Armistice, I can virtually guarantee
it," Baltar smiled.
	"Good.  I will also require that you make certain no ship can launch its
defenses before we begin our main attack on the fleet.  By then, of course,
victory will be ours."
	Baltar thought about this one.  He could come up with many reasons, most
of them even believable, as to why armed fightercraft should not be
launched.  Especially with that idiot Adar so convinced that he and he
alone would bring about peace for the first time in a thousand yahrens.  He
smiled again.
	"That should be no problem," he said.  "And, you will leave Picea to me,
to use as my own seat of power?"
	"Of course," Imperious Leader boomed.  "That IS the agreement, after all!"


	After the shuttle landed on the battlestar, the Team gathered the gear,
most of which had miraculously not been thrown around the compartment
during the escape, for stowage in the Galactica's weapons lockers.  As per
standard regulations, however, they were allowed to retain their laser
pistols while on board a military vessel or installation.
	A black colonel, that Cutler learned was the Executive Officer of the
Galactica, named Tigh, met them in the weapons locker.
	"Gentlemen," Tigh began, "as per orders from Commander, Seventh Fleet, we
are to give you passage back to Colonial territory.  Since we are in the
middle of a survey patrol, however, the trip back will be about three
sectons.  I've made arrangements for you and your team to have quarters
here on the Galactica.  Officer's mess facilities and the Officer's Club
will be open to you."
	"Thank you, Colonel," Howell replied.  "If you would be so kind as to see
that we have an escort to show us there, I would like to have a few microns
alone with Lt. Cutler."
	"Of course.  I'll have the duty messenger waiting just outside.  If the
rest of you would follow me..."
	After the Team left the Armory, Howell waited until the door cycled shut,
then turned to Cutler.
	"Well?" he asked.
	Cutler shook his head.  "I'm sorry, Sir.  I'll turn myself in for
violation of orders."
	Howell took a deep breath.
	"Son, I don't want that.  You are much too valuable to me right here.  To
everyone.  I need your astrum out there on the line, doing what you do
best, instead of being locked up in the Grid."
	"If I can't be trusted, Colonel..."
	"That's just it, Cutler.  I think you CAN be trusted.  Do you realize that
I was watching you for nearly seven centons before you realized I was
there?"  Cutler raised his eyebrows.
	"Yes, nearly seven centons.  And you never pulled the trigger.  Why?"
	Cutler shook his head again.  "I don't know."
	"I think I do.  I think that deep down, you really did not want to violate
the orders.  I think that you knew what would happen to you, not to mention
what effects it may have on the Colonies if the Cylons got all upset and
launched a full-out assault to avenge their loss."  Howell grinned.
"Hades, Cutler, I don't know if I could have resisted that one.  Couple
that with you never even heard, saw, or felt me approach....."
	Howell looked up at Cutler.  "In our business, being careless like that
will most likely get you killed.  I had friends on the Pegasus, hell, I
knew Cain!  But we can't go around avenging everyone we lose.  That would
be the surest way to lose the whole war."  Howell was silent for a moment.
	"Tell you what: I'll forget about the bit with the laser sniper.  I'll
even forget about the fact that the scope was probably what alerted the
base to us being there.  What I will remember, though, was the surprise
guest you saw on the last bit of surveillence, right before we were to pull
out.  That should look good in the report.  Just make sure that it never
happens again."
	"Yes, Sir!"  Cutler said.


	When Cutler rejoined his team mates, they were stowing their personal gear
in small lockers in the berthing space assigned to them.  Siree and Zeta
looked quizically at Cutler when he walked in.
	"What happened?" Zeta asked.
	Cutler shook his head.
	"Later.  I really don't want to talk about it now, and I'm sure the
Colonel would agree."  The others looked disappointed, but nodded in
agreement.
	Cutler rummaged through his personal bag, and managed to find a semi-clean
uniform.  After retrieving his hygiennic kit, he placed his soiled clothing
into the receptacle for the ship's laundry crew to handle, and moved toward
the turbo-flush.
	When Cutler finally felt somewhat refreshed, after nearly a secton in the
wilderness, he turned off the water supply and fell into a deep, dreamless
slumber.

	The next cycle, the 8th met in the squadron briefing room.
	"Gentlemen.  And lady.  I think we can conclude that our surveillence
mission was a success.  Lt. Cutler, would you care to inform the rest of us
just what you found on your last watch-section?"
	Everyone turned toward Cutler.
	"Well.  Sir."  Cutler stopped to gather his thoughts before continuing.
"When I reached my vantage point, as you know, I could see most of the
lower third quadrant of the compound, which pretty much seemed to be a
'common area.'  Anyway, I noticed a Cylon transport craft touching down,
and as I continued my observing, I saw none other than Imperious Leader
being escorted from the airfield."
	The Team was silent for a micron.
	"You mean to tell me," Zeta spoke slowly, "that the topmost top daggit of
the whole frakkin Cylon Empire was there, and we just walked away???"
	"If I may have your attention for a micron," continued Colonel Howell, "I
think I can offer some sort of explanation for the apparent strangeness of
our orders.  What I am about to tell you, will not, under any circumstances
whatsoever, leave this room.  If you so much as think about it at the wrong
time, I will personally make sure that you never have public thoughts again.
	"Because you guys are not cleared for something this highly classified.
The level of classification this information falls under is even
classified.   I have made a command decision to inform you of this
information, because you stood out there sweating for two sectons in the
jungle, and we just walked away.  I think you deserve an explaination."
	Howell cleared his throat, and continued.
	"The humans we saw on that base are not only dealing with the Cylons at
the highest levels, they are also dealing with our own government at those
same high levels.  You see, after Winstell was convicted of murdering
Pacino, Baltar moved up to lead Pacino's organization.  Baltar was
apparently was a very trusted aide to Mr. Pacino, as he knew of the
intelligence information that Pacino had been passing on to the Colonial
spooks.  He continued to pass on some intel on Cylon movement, and several
checks showed the information to be reliable.
	"About three sectons ago, Baltar informed his Intelligence contacts that
he had very vital information, and requested a private meeting with
President Adar.  Under very tight secrecy, and the highest security you can
imagine, Baltar informed the President that the Cylons want to end the war.
 Baltar is currently acting as liason between our President, and the
Imperious Leader, working to come up with an acceptable treaty.
	"Apparently, our main objective for that mission, according to an
explaination from Admiral Trinotti, was to ensure that Baltar was indeed
meeting with Imperious Leader, and wasn't just pulling some sort of game
with the Council.  I am to pass on to you, 'Good Job.'"  Howell finished,
then turned and left the briefing room.
	All members of the Mud Daggits sat unmoving and silent for nearly a
centon, as if unable to believe what they had just heard.  Then, Cutler
slowly rose from his seat.
	"I need a drink," he said, then turned and left.


	Sure would hate to be on one of these tubs permanently, Cutler thought,
fellow could die of thirst before he figured out just where the O-Club is.
Finally, he found a crewmember who pointed him the correct direction.
	The Galactica was large enough to have a good sized club area for off-duty
personel.  With four fighter squadrons and support crews, not to mention
all the regular crews, it was good to have entertainment facilities.  It
would definitly make those long deployments battlestars were famous for
doing so much more tolerable.
	Cutler finally found the Club, seated himself at the bar.  After ordering
a drink, he immersed himself in thought, and kept turning what Colonel
Howell had told them over and over in his mind.
	Any way he ran it through, his mind kept coming up with the same answer:
felgercarb.
	He supposed it was possible, perhaps the Cylons had taken a little bit
harder losses than what Intelligence believed.  Perhaps the Cylon
leadership realized that the apparent stalemate would never end, and
decided to end hostilities.  Maybe the Cylons had another war going with
another, more militaristic race, and needed to devote their forces there
instead of dividing them.
	Sure, anything was possible.  Not likely, but possible.  He tried and
tried to convince himself that he had made the correct decision in not
taking the Leader out with the laser sniper.  He wasn't very successful
with that, either.

	The 8th busied themselves for the next secton with compiling the
information from the surviellence mission, preparing the report.  As
promised, Cutler's near-violation of orders was conviently reworded to
avoid casting blame.
	"I don't get it," Degeria looked up from a comp console.  "Everything we
have shows the Cylons have the upper hand on us, at worst, they are on
level footing.  Why would they want a peace treaty?"
	Cutler looked warily around the conference room, hoping no one but the
Team was present.
	"I don't know.  I can't figure it out either.  It just doesn't make
sense."  Cutler took a drink of his caffe, and shook his head.  "I wish we
could have gotten more audio from that Baltar character.  Would be really
be nice to know what he knows about Molokay and the 5th Fleet."
	As Cutler finished the sentence, the door slid open, with Colonel Howell
entering, followed by a tall, white-haired man, wearing Commander's insignia.
	"Attention on deck!"  Zeta yelled.
	The Team leaped to thier feet, assuming the proper attention stance.
	"As you were," the Commander waved them back down.
	"Gentlemen," said Colonel Howell, "this is our host, Commander Adama, CO
of the Galactica."
	He was greeted with a chorus of "Sir" from the Mud Daggits, as they stood
at ease.
	"So I understand you have some information on a matter very important to
the Colonies?" asked Adama.  He was met with silence.
	"Sir, the Team isn't cleared with specific details of the situation," said
Howell.
	"Stow that, Colonel.  You and your Team have information that I can use,
being Caprica's representative to the Council.  Anything in your report I
will receive anyway, but I want more than the reports tell.
	"I am aware of the 'offer of peace' brought by Baltar to the President.  I
can also tell you that I think there is a lot we don't know about either
Baltar or the armistice he brings."
	Cutler cleared his throat.
	"Sir, what do you know about the 5th Fleet at Molokay?"
	"That is something I would very much like to know about," replied the
Commander.  "I'll tell you this, though: I think the Cylons were tipped off
that reinforcements were coming.  There's no way that Cain should have been
stopped by what the Cylons had there initially.  What do you know?"
	"All I know," Cutler said, "is that I'm certain that this Baltar and his
buddy were talking about Molokay.  But other than that, nothing but some
suspicions.  Nothing solid."
	"I see."  The Commander looked thoughtful.
	"Sir, we can let you see the raw data, what we are using to make the
report," Degeria offered a data chip to him.  "I am sorry, but we can not
allow you to keep it."
	"Understood.  Thank you.  Lieutenant, I understand you actually saw the
Cylon Leader down there?"
	Cutler nodded.
	"What was your impression of the situation?" asked Adama.
	"Well," Cutler said, "he was one ugly bastard!"  The Team chuckled, and
even the Commander smiled.  "Other than that, I felt that this Baltar guy
was really trying to kiss up to that lump of rocks.  I didn't have the
audio equipment though, so that's just a guess based on gestures and posture."
	"I see."  Adama looked at the data chip, appeared to be weighing a
decision.  Finally, he set his jaw, and looked over the Team.
	"As the Chairman of Military Affairs to the Council, I am under strict
orders from the President to do nothing that may jepaordize the possibility
of peace.  Therefore, I cannot order you to undertake any mission in this
matter.  I do believe, however, that I would be within my rights to request
personal updates and detailed reports, as well as the raw data gathered on
anything you might get concerning this matter.  However trivial it may seem."
	"I think that would be acceptable to all parties, as well as within the
law, Sir," Howell said softly.
	"I'll tell you this much," the Commander continued, "I've dealt with the
Cylons nearly all my life.  Some might say that I don't want the war to
end, but we'll not deal with that at the moment.  The point is, that I
don't believe that a simple cessation of hostilities is what the Cylons are
really after here.  I don't know what they are up to, but I will be
surprised if it's nothing."
	The Daggits were silent as they digested this information.  Without a
further word, the Commander turned, and left the room.
	"At least we're not alone," Cutler said to no one in particular.


	The next two sectons passed mostly uneventful.  On one occasion, the Team
was confined to their quarters while the Galacitca's pilots dealt with a
Cylon scouting expedition near the outer orbit of Libra.
	Upon return to the central Colonies, Cutler and his teammates loaded their
stowed gear aboard a shuttle, and caught a ride back down to their own HQ.
	After checking in, they assembled in the breifing room.  Admiral Trinotti
was waiting for them.
	"Take your seats, Warriors.
	"I'm certain Colonel Howell has filled you in on a few things that are
above your classification clearances.  As the news is about to become
public, we can discuss this now."
	They are going public? Cutler thought.  They must be further along with
these talks than we thought.
	"Your orders will continue to remain as follows: You are not to discuss
details of what you may know with the press or anyone else.  When asked,
the proper response is 'I am not qualified to speculate on the actions of
our Government.'" The Admiral looked over the room.  "Are there any
questions?"
	"Yes sir," Cutler said.
	"Yes, Lieutenant?"
	"Is anyone actually taking this seriously?"
	Trinotti sighed.
	"Cutler, I don't know what to tell you.  I'm not sure I believe it myself,
but on the other hand, can we as an honorable people take the chance that
the offer is NOT genuine?  If it is, but we don't accept it, how many
innocent lives are we throwing away in continuing the war?  At the very
least, we look into it, and keep ourselves ready for anything.
	"Any other questions?  Dismissed!"
	Spoken like a true politician, Cutler thought.

16

	Due to the ongoing peace talks, the Team had very few assignments over the
next several sectons, and most of those were more or less routine rescue
missions and escort of classified materials.  It seemed the politicians in
charge of the military didn't want to rock the ship too much, so to speak.
	As a result, Cutler got to spend a lot of time with Tisa.  He was getting
very used to being around her a lot.
	When the news became public, they watched the ongoing news conference
about it.
	"....and I am here to tell you, my brothers and sisters, that the end of
the Thousand-yahren war, at long last,  has come upon us!"  President Adar
addressed a crowd of spectators and on-lookers.  The crowd broke into
cheers.  The image of Serina appeared on the scanner-set.
	"That was the statement delivered six centaurs ago at Caprica's Presidium.
 Sources in the government inform us that this announcement has been in the
works for several sectons, and that talks have reached acceptable
agreements on both sides.  Reactions have varied from disbelief, to hopeful
anticipation, to outright celebration."  
	Cutler punched the mute button on the scanner.
	"What a load of felgercarb," he muttered.
	"Don't you think it's wonderful?" Tisa asked him.  "Don't you want the war
to end?"
	"Of course I do.  I just don't believe it."
	"Or you don't want to believe it?"
	Cutler caught the edge in Tisa's voice.
	"Listen," he weighed his words carefully, "I would like nothing better
than for the Team to have nothing to do for the next ten yahrens until I
can draw a nice fat pension, and take you to Aquarious to live on the beach
forever."  He paused, and took a drink of his iced-pekoe.
	"But I am just very very wary of the situation.  I'm just not sure how
much we can trust the Cylons!"
	Cutler turned his attention back to the scanner-set, in time to see a
familiar face being followed by a crowd of reporters.
	"Hey, I know him!  That's Baltar," Tisa said.
	"You know him?" Cutler asked.
	"Sure, they gave him a tour of the Civil Defense headquarters yesterday."
	"What??"
	"Well, I didn't know it then, but I understand he is the mediator between
us and the Cylons."
	That's one way to put it, Cutler thought.  Just who is he mediating in
favor of?
	"Ah."  Cutler bit his tounge before he could say anything classified.  To
distract him for a micron, he turned the volume back on.
	"Count Baltar, Count Baltar, one question please!" a reporter shouted.
	Baltar smiled, and raised his hands toward the crowd.
	"I'm sorry, folks, I am on my way to a meeting in the interest of Peace.
At this time, due to the sensitive nature of the negotiations, I am not at
liberty to answer any questions.  I'm sure everything will be made
available to you as soon as possible, thank you."
	Two Blackshirts opened the way through the crowd for Baltar to be escorted
to the waiting hovercar.  The fact that he had told the reporters that he
could not answer any questions did not dissuade them from asking them, most
of them all at once.
	Cutler switched the set off, and shook his head.
	Tisa left the room, and Cutler could swear the temparature dropped.

	"I'm sure you remember those times," (Cutler told Starbuck), "the endless
celebrations, the disbelief, and the veritable enchantress-hunts that went
on, for nearly half a yahren before the ambush at Cimtar?"
	"Yeah, I remember.  I think I was too busy trying to enjoy all the parties
to really follow it all," Starbuck replied.  "Looking back, however...."
	"Yeah well.  I was worried, from the very beginning.  Tisa was starting to
hate me, thinking I was some sort of sick war-monger, and no one really
wondered why a 'peace negotiator' such as Baltar would insist on touring
nearly every military installation on every planet in the colonies.  And
those that did were quickly bought off with the excuse that the information
'was to promote full disclosure and open trust' between us and Cylons.  No
one seemed to wonder why that didn't go both ways."
	"Hmmmhmm..."  Starbuck nodded.  "But what else could there be, I mean, I
know there wasn't a lot of combat action going on those last few quatrons,
there was the civilian problems, and then...."
	"Oh, don't worry, 'Bucko.  I've still got half my bottle left, and a good
bit of story to tell.  Besides, tomorrow is Holy Day, so we really don't
have to work.  You got anything else better to do?"
	"Ahh, now that you mention it, no, I don't."
	"Well, the rest of it goes something like this..."


	"What's the drill, Colonel?"  Cutler asked after the Team had mustered at HQ.
	"What we have here is an extremely classified mission.  Survey of troop
movements."
	"Survey?  Isn't that something done better from orbit?"  Raliegh asked.
	"Ordinarily, yes.  However, the President feels that a ship large enough
to do a proper orbital scan would be carrying too much firepower, and as a
result, could jeopardize the peace talks."
	"Too much firepower?  The President had a good look at Zeta's squad
auto-laser?" Degeria said.  The Team chuckled, but Howell didn't even smile.
	"The only weapons you are allowed to carry are standard sidearms.  You--"
	"Sidearms only?" nearly everyone blared out.  "What is this felgercarb?"
	"You are also," Howell raised his voice to be heard above the others,
"only to carry two recharge cells."  At this, everyone was silent.
	"Shall I call my mother and make sure it's ok if I go?" Siree said softly.
	"Guys, I don't like this any more than you do," Howell said.  "I've
already tried all the protests I could think of, and even made a few up.
But the Admiral is under strict orders to find out what we need, and to use
as small of force as possible to do it.  I'm also under the impression that
Trinotti got a good chewing out for protesting it himself."  Howell looked
over his Team, then continued.
	"The target is this:" He pointed out a depiction of a planetary system on
a projector.  "Seracor Three.  Currently being held by the Cylons, with a
garrison based here," as he indicated areas on the projection while the
image zoomed in, "and supply outpost here."
	"Sir?"
	"Yes, Cutler?"
	"Do I understand this correctly?  We are to make planetfall, behind enemy
lines no less, and we are only allowed to carry approximately eighty shots
with us?"
	"That is correct, Leiutenant."
	"Has the President been getting aquainted with plant vapors again?
Respectfully, of course?"
	"The reason for this mission, gentlemen," Howell said ignoring Cutler's
comment, " is as follows: As a show of goodwill toward the upcoming
armistice, the Cylons have offered to remove their forces from this forward
outpost.  Your job, is to ensure they have indeed moved out."
	The Team digested this information.
	"'Moved,' as in past tense?"  Degeria asked.  "In that case, expected
resistance should be..."
	"Non existant.  Reports from long-range scans seem to indicate a large
number of ships leaving that area of space.  We are unable to ascertain if
they came from the planet's surface, or have been rerouted from elsewhere
to simply make it appear so."
	"And if that is the case...?"
	"Then you five will be walking into a trap."
	"Well, Hades, Colonel, why didn't you just say so?"  Zeta said sarcastically.
	"Zeta!" Cutler snapped.  "In case you had forgotten, that is the primary
function of this Assault Team.  And personally, I think I would rather we
got caught in the trap than to lose an entire battlestar group in a
sneak-attack ambush."
	"Yeah," Raliegh countered.  "But normally we can carry at least a little
bit weaponry to help even the odds a bit!"
	"Yes, Colonel," Degeria spoke up.  "What about that?  If the Cylons are
still there, we are going to need a lot more than these little pistols to
get us out of there.  If the Cylons are gone, like they are supposedly
supposed to be, what difference will it make if we only have pistols, or
roll up in an Armored Landram?"
	"I'm not sure exactly where this originated, but it was either the
President, or it was Baltar.  But the idea is that we don't want to show
too strong of a force, and startle the Cylons if we get there in the middle
of their evacuation."
	"Oh, for all the Lords..." Cutler muttered.  "When do we lift ship Colonel?"
	"You will be on the pad in six centaurs for liftoff, upon acheiving orbit,
you will rendezvous with a long-range recon ship, which will take you into
the Seracor system.  You will then land in the shuttle at specified
coordinates, and proceed on foot to the location of the installations.
After reporting the status of said installations, you will receive further
instructions based on that status.
	"Any questions?"  No one had any.
	"Well, look at the bright side, fellas," Cutler attempted to lighten the
mood.  "At least we dont' have to lug of bunch of felgercarb through
metrons of jungle this time!"
	He noticed no one laughed.

	In six centaurs, the Team boarded the shuttle at the landing pad behind
their HQ.  Raleigh looked at Cutler in surprise when he saw him load
several carrying cases in the storage locker.
	"Hey, Cut," Degeria asked.  "Thought we weren't supposed to carry any
artillery?"
	"Weapons, no.  This stuff is electronics.  Spy scopes, long-range audio,
night vision.  Maybe we are walking into a trap, but I," Cutler exaggerated
a macho stance, "will walk into it knowing it is there!"
	"Good thinking," Zeta said.
	"Besides," Cutler said slyly, "if we end up getting jumped, our orders say
nothing about stealing some bigger guns from the tin-heads."
	He saw his Team's faces light up just a bit at that.
	Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad, after all.

17

	Raliegh guided the shuttle down toward Seracor Three.  The shuttle's
limited scan did not show an abundance of activity on the surface, but that
did little to ease their minds.  Cutler knew the Cylons had pretty good
scan cloaking technology, and would be able to block all but the most
sophisticated equipment.
	As the shuttle touched down on landing thrusters, Raliegh called out from
the pilot's area.
	"All ashore that's going ashore!"
	The Team exited the craft, and immedeitly took up a defensive posture
around the perimiter of the landing zone.  Meanwhile, Cutler unpacked the
hand-scanners, and uplinked them to the shuttle's computer system, loading
the latest data on surface features to them.
	Using the topographical scanners, he plotted out the best route to the
location of the Cylon bases.  He also looked very closely for suspect
ambush points, and included a circular route to take in both the garrison
and supply depot in one loop.
	According to the information they had, the two installations were somewhat
close to each other, the supply base being in a large open area, probably
to allow for ease of landing and loading of ships, while the garrison was
in a bit more inaccessible spot, closer to the mountain ranges.  If the
scans proved accurate, Cutler estimated they could finish their mission,
and be back in orbit and enroute to Caprica in four or five days.
	He broke out the personal surveillence gear, and passed them out to the
rest of the Team.  Then, after activating the camoflage force field around
the shuttle, they moved out.

	Nearing nightfall on the second day of the hiking, they came within range
of the garrison.
	"Dee, you get anything?"  Cutler asked.
	She consulted the portable equipment that had been set up.
	"I'm not getting a thing.  Nothing on the comm channels, no scanner
radiation.  Not even picking up much in the way of residual signals from
craft on the ground."
	"So what does this all mean?" Zeta asked.
	"Well," Digeria explained, "either they have shut down all communications,
are watching with passive scanners, or they really are gone."
	"We'll assume the former," Cutler stated.  The Team nodded in agreement.
"We'll camp here for the nightfall.  I want us good and rested by the time
we come to that garrison.  Siree, you have the first watch."
	Siree moved to survey the perimeter, while the rest set up for the night.

	The next morning, the Mud Daggits rose and were ready to move before first
light.  Cutler took the point position, and the Team moved out.
	"Good Lord," Cutler whispered as he looked through the binoculars.
	"What do you see?"  Raliegh asked.
	"Nothing.  Nothing at all.  The hangar door is standing open, and I can't
see fighters in the pods."
	The Team digested this information.  It was beginning to look like they
Cylons had really abandoned the base.
	"Let's check it out.  That is what we are here for, after all," Cutler said.
	When they reached the hangar, they took normal cover-and-maneuver tactics
to enter the seemingly empty base.
	"I've never seen one of these so empty before," Zeta said softly.  The
Cylons had not merely pulled out all their personnel, it looked as if they
had stripped the entire base of anything of value, tactical or otherwise.
	For the next six centaurs, they examined every corner, nook, and cranny of
the outpost, finding only emptiness everywhere.  The Cylons had, indeed, left.

	"Cut, I'm getting something!" Degeria exclaimed.  The Team had moved
outward from the garrison to survey the supply depot, and had set up the
scanning equipment near the outer perimeter of it.
	"What?" Cutler was instantly near the scanner.
	"Looks like a Raider on the ground.  Picking up at least two Cylons,
possibly a third.  The grounded ship seems to be sending signals to orbit."
	"Hades, I knew it!" Siree muttered.
	"We don't know what it is, yet," Cutler said.  "Maybe they forgot
something and are just coming back to get it."
	"Yeah, they forgot to ambush at the garrison!" Zeta said, feeling quite

vulerable being behind enemy lines without his squad auto-laser.
	"Just the one ship, that's all I can pick up," Degeria reported.
	Cutler thought the situation over.  If there was only the one ship, and
possibly three Cylons, they would of course be no problem to take down.
Hades, for this Team, anything less than twenty-five Cylons would not even
be a challenge.  On the other hand, this could be a lure, to try to trap
the Team in an ambush, as Zeta feared.  It would be foolish to think that
the Cylons did not know of the 8th Assault Team, even if they didn't know
exactly who made up the Team.  It would be very beneficial to the Cylons to
have Cutler and his Daggits taken down.  Finally, he decided what to do.
	"Ok, folks, here's how we will handle this..."

	Cutler approached the given coordinates where the scanners had picked up
the Cylon forms.  He saw the grounded Raider first, sitting on its landing
claws.  The access hatch was open, but he could see no activity around it.
	Cutler made no move to hide his approach, and had no one providing cover.
He had his blaster in its holster, with the strap undone.
	With an almost arrogant air, Cutler stolled toward the Raider.  As he came
closer, he made out three figures between himself and the grounded ship.
He clearly made the two centurians, and finally spotted the third, an
IL-Series Cylon.
	"Evening, gentlemen!" Cutler called out.  The Cylons turned to face him.
	"Ah, our guest has arrived," the IL said.  "Welcome to Seracor Three,
Leiutenant."

	"Stow it, Tin-head.  I thought you all were supposed to be gone?"
	At the sign of aggression in Cutler's voice, the centurians leveled their
rifles at him.
	From empty pre-fab buildings on either side of the confrontation, the Mud
Daggits stepped out, their own pistols aimed in two-handed grips toward the
Cylons.
	"Well, well," Cutler said, "a good old-fashioned Libran standoff."
	"Centurians, lower your weapons.  You remember your orders!"  The IL snapped.
	Interesting how those things can put emotion in their voices, Cutler
thought.  Fifty cubits says it's only for our benefit, though.
	"Leiutenant, I apologize.  My centurians can be somewhat over-eager at
times."
	Cutler was silent.
	"Yes, as you said, we are supposed to be gone.  I and my pilots have
stayed behind, awaiting your arrival.  I have a message to give you."  At
these words, the centurians slung their laser rifles over their shoulders.
The IL Cylon held out his hand.
	Cutler snap-drew his pistol from reflex.  Almost as soon as he lined up
the shot, he realized the Cylon was holding a data chip.  Cautiously, he
stepped forward to accept it, the blaster never wavering from its target.
	After the IL had relinquished the chip, he gave a short bow.
	"By your command.  Centurians: prepare to lift ship!"  The Cylons turned
and walked to their craft.
	The Mud Daggits watched in amazement as the Raider's engines fired, and
lifted from the ground.  The watched until the Cylon fighter had
disappeared from sight.
	"Well, I'll be damned!" Cutler said.

	A thorough survey of the abandoned supply depot showed the same results as
that of the garrison: nothing but empty buildings.  It would seem that the
Cylons had indeed kept their agreement to leave Seracor Three.
	I wonder... Cutler thought.

18

	"This is the chip the Cylons gave to us," Degeria explained.  Present at
8th Assault HQ was Colonel Howell, Admiral Trinotti, and Beech, a
representative to President Adar's defense cabinet.  "It is encoded with
Cylon programming, and incompatible with our own interface hardware.  So I
haven't been able to see just what is in it, since I needed this equipment
to do it."
	Her hands played over the keyboard, with indecipherable scrawls and
characters appearing on the readout screen.
	"It would seem like, to me, Sirs, that that the message chip is a message
itself," Cutler commented.
	"How do you figure that?" Beech asked sharply.
	"Well, Sir, it lets us know that the Cylons know we have some of their
equipment, and know how to use it.  Otherwise, they would have given us one
with our interface on it.  It's not exactly hard to come by, after all.
Not since practically every computer we have uses Colonial Microtron
protocols."
	"I think I've got it," Degeria said.  "Looks like it is nothing but an
audio message, though."
	"Play it, Leiutenant," Trinotti said.
	Degeria punched a sequence of keys, and activated the sound outputs that
had been integrated with the Cylon computer.
	"Greetings.  I am the Cylon Imperious Leader.  Since you are hearing this,
I will trust that you found that we have indeed abandoned our forward
outpost at Seracor Three.  I hope this gesture of goodwill will be a symbol
to your people, that the Cylon Empire is willing to enter into a lasting
peace with the Humans in the Colonies.  Please, I ask that you continue the
negotiations toward that end with the Honorable Count Baltar, and may this
be a day that we will all remember."
	"Well, I'll be," Trinotti said softly.  "Maybe they really are serious
about this."
	"Well, Admiral," Cutler stated, "I did a little research.  Seems that
Seracor Three was a lot less valuable to them than what they want us to
think."
	"What do you mean?" Beech snapped.
	"They've had that world for a couple of yahren now.  All they ever did
there was put up a garrison, and a small supply depot.  That depot wasn't
even big enough to supply a base ship.  It was pretty far off the main
routes, and very far removed from the front lines.
	"I'll grant you, though, I am impressed by the gesture.  Just don't start
thinking that they gave up their capital, or their main industrial center.
It's nothing more than that: a gesture."
	Beech looked at the Mud Daggit very sternly.
	"Leiutenant... Cutler, isn't it?  There are those in your chain of command
who would not appreciate you downplaying the progress we are making."
	"Not downplaying at all, Sir," Cutler shook his head.  "Merely pointing
out the facts.  If we are to see this thing clearly, we have to look at all
possible angles.  The consequences of not..."
	Admiral Trinotti looked very uncomfortable as Cutler trailed off his
thought.  Colonel Howell gave him a look that made it very clear he should
not go any farther.
	"Now let me tell you something, son.  President Adar has had the entire
Colonial establishment, including Intelligence, scouting reports, and
several others that you know nothing of.  He has looked at this from all
angles, he is convinced the Cylons are sincere.  I happen to support that
line of thinking, and I won't allow anyone in the chain of command disrupt
the process that will go down in history as the most honorable victory the
human race has ever experienced.  I have had enough of sending young men
and women like yourself out to die on mission after mission, battle after
battle, in a war that is apparent neither side can ever achieve clear
victory through combat.
	"Peace is at hand, gentlemen, and I won't let anyone stand in the way of
that.  Do I make myself clear, Leiutenant?"
	"Yes Sir!" Cutler snapped.  He had been in the circles of upper
military/politics for quite some time, and was well aware that Beech had
just delivered a very serious threat.  He mentally chastised himself, for
Beech seemed like the type that would remember an upstart leiutenant that
dared to question the judgement of the Adminstration, and would hold a
grudge for a very long time.

	Cutler stared at his comp screen.  The information had become almost
meaningless over the last several centons, as his own mind began to wander.
	Are they right?  Cutler thought.  Am I a warmonger?  Would I be able to
fit in anywhere if there was never a War for me to go back to.
	His mind stewed over the information at hand.
	Pacino.  Ruthless, totally committed to the war against the Cylons, at
times risking a very high personal price to continue.
	Baltar.  Heir to Pacino's throne, with an offer of peace from the Cylons.
All things pointed to Baltar being a greedy, manipulative trader.
	President Adar.  A man of the people, as he liked to say.  The issues that
got him elected were based on bringing the Council's attention to matters
at home in the Colonies, instead of in a war somewhere across the galaxy.
If this peace plan was genuine, it would indeed secure Adar a very
memorable chapter in Colonial history.
	Commander Adama.  The only active-duty military member currently serving
on the Council of the Twelve, and was seriously questioning the motives of
the Cylons.
	Admiral Trinotti.  A man caught between duty and political philosophy, it
was really hard to find exactly where he stood on any issue.
	And Cutler?  Yes, what about Cutler?  Do I believe that peace is possible
with Cylons?  Am I afraid of what might happen?  Or am I simply trying to
cover my fear with seemingly logical questions?  Cutler was worried at some
of the thoughts his mind fed back to him.
	He became aware of another presence in the room.  Colonel Howell had
entered, and taken a seat at another desk.
	"Leiutenant."
	"Sir."  Cutler saved his information, and put the comp terminal into
'sleep' mode.  He got up, and got himself a refill of caffe.
	"Cutler?  You OK?" Howell asked.
	Cutler shook his head.
	"I don't know, sir.  Just trying to sort some thoughts."

19

	 Baltar paced nervously.  The meeting was due to start in a few centons,
and he still hadn't gotten news from Karibdis.  Without that news, it could
throw the whole meeting, and all his plans, right out the portal.
	The others were already gathered, discussing things among themselves.
Baltar had placed several discreetly- but well-armed men in the room with
them, to protect the secrecy of the plans that were due to be laid shortly.
	It had not been very difficult to assume the reins of Pacino's
organization.  Nearly everyone in it knew that Baltar had been close to
Pacino, and when Winstell had been incarcerated for Pacino's assassination,
the power vacuum had swept him right to the top.  That had given him access
to the vast underground network of personnel and equipment, and even
allowed him to step up the process of selling Carillon tylium on the black
market.
	But now, Baltar had need of even more.  As the plans got deeper and deeper
with the Cylons, Baltar became more and more convinced that he would
actually be able to come out not only alive, but quite possibly in complete
control of the Colonies after the Cylons eliminated their hated enemy, the
Council of the Twelve.
	But he would need to greatly expand his resources if he was expected to
carry out his end of the bargain with the Cylon Imperious Leader.  This was
where todays meeting came in.
	In the adjoining conference room sat several heads of various branches of
the Colonial organized crime operations.  Together, they represented, to
varying degrees, power in each of the twelve worlds, as well as space
lanes, no-questions-asked supply contacts, and even a few minor members of
the government.  Baltar could not prove it, but he would not have been
surprised in the least to find out that at least one of them had a member
of the actual Council in his pocket.
	"Where is he?  Doesn't he know the importance of this meeting?" Baltar
muttered.
	Baltar checked his chronometer for the second time that centon.
	Finally, he heard the footsteps approaching, as the automatic door slid
open to admit Karibdis to the chamber.
	"Did you get it?  Where have you been?  I almost had to start this without
this information!"  Baltar nearly sputtered.
	Karibdis nodded his head, and held a data chip in his palm for Baltar to
see.  Baltar smiled, as the pair moved to enter the conference chamber.

	"Gentlemen.  You are all anxious to get this moving along, I suspect.  It
is good to see you all here, and I sincerely hope that our goals and plans
together may be profitable to us all."
	"You want to stop the felgercarb, Baltar?  I want to know what this is
about.  The way I see it, you have no right to call a council of us,
especially since I believe you were the one, not Winstell, who killed
Pacino!" The speaker was Cirillo, whose friendship with Pacino had dated
back to the Colonial Service.
	Baltar ignored the taunt, choosing instead to begin his semi-rehearsed
presentation to the council of crime figures.
	"As you all are aware, I have recently uncovered as-yet unexploited
sources of tylium.  Many of you here have utilized this source for your own
needs.  What you do not know, is that my association with those who help me
acquire this fuel has opened to all of us an even greater opportunity."
Baltar paused, and surveyed the group.  He was pleased to see that he had
already gotten their attention, and they would at least hear him out.
	"As you are also aware, my brothers, I have been approached by the Cylons
to help bring a peace treaty between us humans and the Cylons.  They feel,
like many of our own people do, that the war has gone on too long and cost
too much on both sides.
	"What is not known, however, is that the proposed treaty is not entirely
what it appears."  This caused a bit of commotion, and Baltar could feel
the tension grow.
	"The Cylons goal is indeed peaceful coexistence with us.  But in order to
achieve that peace, the present warmongering representatives to the Council
of the Twelve must be eliminated."
	"This is an outrage!" shouted Cirillo.  "You speak of profits, and wish to
include us in your schemes.  What have the Cylons promised you for your
treason?"
	Cirillo rose from his chair, and turned to leave the chamber.  He was
quickly flanked by Baltar's own armed guards, and escorted at gunpoint to
an armored room Baltar had arranged for such purposes.
	"Uberto," Baltar spoke to Cirillo's second-in-command.  "May I assume by
this action that you are now free to speak for Cirillo's interests and
forces?"
	"Yes, Baltar."
	Baltar was pleased with himself for having the forsight to contact Uberto
before the gathering, suspecting strong reactions from Cirillo.  A quick
explaination of the opportunity at stake, and a large number of cubits, had
quickly convinced Uberto to side with him against his own boss.  He also
had similar arrangements with a few others in the room, in case his
proposal evoked more unfortunate feelings.
	"When the Cylon plans come to fruition, they will effectively eliminate
the current governing body of the Colonies.  This is the extent of their
plans, and providing that we ourselves make no hostile moves against the
Imperious Leader once we assume the leadership, the Cylons will leave us be."
	It took several centons for that statement to sink in.  As Baltar saw
realization come across the faces around him, he nodded, and continued.
	"Yes, my brothers, by my arrangement with the Imperious Leader, he will
leave me in charge once the Council is destroyed.  I wish to share my
fortunes with you, in exchange for a bit of help with the plan."
	"Do you expect us to believe, Baltar, that simple assassination of the
Council will fulfil the requirements of the Cylons, leaving us in charge,
and in possession of a large fleet of warships and Battlestars?"
	"No, Orazio, I do not.  I have not been given the final plan as of yet,
since it is still being finalized at the Cylon capital.  I do know,
however, that a good portion of the current fleet is also to be destroyed.
I have been assured that we will not be left entirely defenseless, but
neither will we have the ships necessary to conduct warfare with the Cylon
fleet."
	Baltar surveyed the room, finding some mixed reactions, but mostly finding
tenative agreement with the plan, at least in principle.  There was no love
lost between most of these people and the Colonial government, as
government Chief Opposers had tried to convict many of them on various
crimes.  Baltar decided to play on that opposition, to expand his own network.
	"Another problem that will be overcome is the planetary defenses in orbit
and at ground facilities throughout the Colonies.  There can be expected
heavy heavy resistance once the removal of the government has begun.
	"To assist the Cylons in neutralizing this threat, the defensive systems
must be disrupted.  This would allow the Cylon warships to move in and,
with surgical precision, remove the infrastructure of the currupt Council,
with a minimal loss of human life.  To bring this about, I introduce my
associate, whom you may address as Proteus."  Baltar turned to Karibdis.
	Karibdis stood, and held out the data chip in his hand.
	"My friends, I have here the main machine coding which the defensive
systems computers operate from.  Myself, and my team of programmers are in
the process of decompiling the data, and working on ways of reprogramming
it to shut itself down at the specified time, or more preferably, with a
specific signal from ourselves.  The goal is to render the orbital weapons
platforms useless, and to drastically delay the launching of defensive
fighters from the ground bases.  With the proper timing, the Cylons can
move in, accomplish their goal, and move out before the Colonial forces can
resist."
	"And we are to be left in charge when this 'surgically precise' strike is
completed?" asked Orazio, disbelief creeping into his voice.
	"In order to help convince you of the Cylons ultimate good intentions,"
Baltar resumed, " I have ordered my own ships to begin docking at your own
facilities.  Their purpose is to supply you with all the tylium you need.
This fuel is mined at a remote outpost, under the control of the Cylons."
	The meeting broke up nearly two centuars later.  Baltar was left alone in
the meeting chamber.
	With a sigh, he realized that there was much work left to be done.  But
with the assistance of those who had just left, he knew that he was that
much closer.
	But just right now, there was one loose end left to be tied.

	Baltar entered the room where his guards had taken Cirillo.
	"I suppose now you intend to kill me?" Cirillo asked.
	"No.  I have no wish stain my hands with your blood," Baltar replied.
	"If you carry out your plan, the blood of the Colonies will be on your
head!" Cirillo spat.
	"Don't you see, sir, the futility of maintaining that line of thinking?
You believe the Cylons are evil, and you would continue the fight.  Your
children will see you die in the fighting, and they will vow revenge,
believing that they must avenge your death.  As will their children, and
their children's children.  The cycle must be broken."
	"Have you ever fought the Cylons?  Have you seen what they do?"
	"No, I cannot claim that honor.  I have spoken to the Imperious Leader on
several occasions, and I find him to be an insightful, intelligent being.
He has seen beyond the death and the killing, to a brighter future for all
of us."
	"A brighter future, with the humans as subjects of the Empire!"
	"And, my friend, that is the very prejudice that the Leader wishes to end,
so that this war will stop perpetuating itself generation after
generation."  Baltar paused.  "I have no wish to downplay your own heroic
record, or the record of the Warriors.  Thier efforts have probably saved
many lives.  But look at the cost: the continuation of the war.  How many
of those lives that were saved were subsequently lost in future
engagements, in a war that neither side can win?"
	Cirillo was silent.
	"Sire, as I have said, I have no wish to kill you.  I cannot, however,
allow you to leave here.  You know too much, and that knowledge may
completely destroy my efforts.  You will be well cared for, but I must
insist that you remain here."  Baltar rose and turned to leave.  At the
door, he looked at the aging underworld boss.
	Cirillo held Baltar's gaze, and Baltar could see the defiance in his eyes.
	So many lives, thought Baltar, so many lives lost to maintain that
defiance.  Can we learn a better way?
	Baltar left the room.  Now more than ever, he was convinced that he, and
he alone, could lead his people effectively away from the destructive path
they had been on for nearly a thousand yahren.

20

	"Tisa, how many times do I have to tell you?  There are things I've seen
and heard that just make me question Baltar's and the Cylon's motives!"
Cutler was tired of the same argument.  Every night they were disagreeing
on the Cylon Truce.  Tisa, as a civilian, refused to accept Cutler's point
of view.
	"Sure, you've listened to your warmongering superior officers.  Face it,
won't won't be happy unless you can keep killing things!  Of course, that's
all you know.  Just where would you and your wonderful Mud Daggits be
without Cylons to kill?"  Tisa was really laying it on thick, and Cutler
grimaced at the hatred she put into her voice.
	The problem was, Cutler realized, that Tisa had listened to all the peace
speeches, and seen some of the spirited debates on the informational
programs.  Everything she was telling him was a line-by-line repetition of
the arguements of the peace activists.
	Cutler held his own temper in check.  No need to add fuel to the flames,
anything he said would just make her madder.  He hated to fight with her
more than almost anything, so he decided to do the only thing that he
could: He left.
	After he picked up his jacket and keys, he turned toward her before
leaving the apartment.
	"For what it's worth, Tisa, I hope I'm wrong."

	The briefing room was silent after Colonel Howell's announcement of the
date of the Armistice signing.  Cutler had just been pulled from his comp
console, where he was desperately trying to deduce what possible strategy
or betrayal the Cylons might be holding in reserve.
	All five active battlestars would be escorting the entire Council of
Twelve to the Ceremony, and it was agreed between the Council and the
Cylons that the actual signing would take place on the Presidential yacht,
the Star Kobol.
	"Why all five battlestars?  What's wrong with just one, maybe two?"
Raliegh asked.
	"I'm told that it is a show of trust from the Cylons to us.  For us to
refuse it would be a show of mistrust from us toward the Cylons.  At least
so the President tells me."
	"At the prodding of Baltar, I'm sure," Cutler said softly.  "That would be
nearly devasting if they decided peace wasn't worth it.  Could they launch
enough firepower out there to kill off five battlestars?"
	"I'll bet they could," Degeria said.  "That would make it pretty hard to
defend the home worlds, let alone carry the war back the them.  At least
until we could repair a ship or two.  Could get hairy if we have to depend
solely on planetary defenses in the meantime."
	"So, when can we expect the reassignment?"  Cutler asked Colonel Howell
after the briefing.
	"You will report to the Atlantia in one secton, and check in with the head
of Council Security.  From there, you will most likely be assigned
according to their needs.  At least one Team member will be assigned to the
Presidential Detail at all times.  Probably have one of you rotating on and
off with other members of the Council."
	"Until then," Howell smiled, "consider yourselves on furlon.  See you in
one secton."

	Cutler switched off the scanner set disgustedly.  He was sick of seeing
the incessant debate on whether the peace offer was genuine, and the
every-five-centon public opinion poll on the matter.  To hear them talk,
there really must be some sort of deep-rooted conspiracy set on derailing
the armistice before it ever happened.
	The real irony is, Cutler thought, is that if there IS a conspiracy, it's
the armistice itself!
	Cutler was restless on the third day of his furlon.  So far, he'd spent
some time with his family, and enjoyed sleeping late, but otherwise hadn't
done much.
	He realized that he'd been moping ever since the fight with Tisa.
	To hades with this felgercarb! He thought, I'm going out!
	He changed out of his lounge-around clothes, and called a hovertaxi.  He
decided not to drive himself, avoiding possible problem in case he tried to
drive altered.
	When he arrived at the Depositorie, he saw the club was a little more
crowded than normal for a workday night.  Since the announcement of the
time when the armistice was to go into effect, many people had taken on a
celebratory attitude.  Many 'Welcome Peace' banners were hung, and people
were wearing appearal that also proclaimed the happy days that were surely
ahead.

	Cutler pushed his way through the crowd, and saw that all the tables were
full.  He ended up squeezing in at the bar, and had just ordered his drink
when the band opened up for their first set.
	For a couple of millocentons, he listened half-heartedly to the music,
sipping his drink almost absently.  It seemed every time he tried to bring
his mind back to the present, it would wander off into uncharted territory
once again.
	Cutler found himself standing beside the public comms units, cubits in
hand.  He stared at the device for nearly a centon, when he caught the
familiar smell, and felt a hand on his shoulder.    He turned around to see
Tisa standing beside him.
	"Hey," she said quietly.
	"I was, ahh, just about to call you," Cutler said hesistantly, indicating
the comm units he stood before.  She nodded.
	"I tried to catch you at home, but you weren't there," she stated.
	"Yes," Cutler said.  "I decided to get out for bit."
	Tisa nodded, then turned and acted as though she was moving away.  Cutler
reached up and grabbed her right shoulder.
	"Hey, I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have left that night.  I should have called
you earlier.."
	"Don't be sorry.  We just disagreed," she said solemnly.  "Everyone
disagrees about something."
	They returned to the main floor of the club, where they had a couple of
dances.  They tried to talk, but the noise of the band and the crowd made
conversation difficult at best.
	They left the club hand in hand, and walked down the street to a quiet
cafe, where they talked until the early centaurs of the morning.  When the
cafe closed for the cycle, they caught a taxi back to Cutler's place.
	"And, I'll be on the Atlantia, part of the security detail.  I'll be right
there when they sign the papers on the Star Kobol," Cutler said.  Normally,
Team and Fleet movements were classified; however, in this case, Inter
Colony Broadcasting seemed to know more about where the Fleet was headed
and who would be there than even Cutler himself knew.  Also, a small part
of him wanted to impress into Tisa's mind that he had at least accepted the
idea of ending the war.
	"And then?  What happens after that?"  Tisa asked, still seeming uncertain.
	"Honestly, I don't know.  Nothing has been said about what happens at all.
 I figure most likely that most of the Fleet will come in, and they can
refit and update all the battlestars.  Some of those things, from what I've
heard, shouldn't even be flying, let alone fighting.  There is talk of
returning to the deep-star exploration probes, and personally, I think a
battlestar would be ideal for that.  
	"As for the Assault Teams, I really don't have a clue.  They might disband
a few of them, but I think they'll keep most of us.  There will always be
piracy that we'll have to keep under control, things like that.  Hopefully,
though, it just means I'll get a lot of time off!"
	"Oh, Cutler, that's wonderful.  I won't be making myself sick worried
about you every time you go off on a mission."
	"And I won't have to leave you and miss you the whole time I'm dodging
Cylons in some jungle wasteland somewhere in the galaxy."
	After a few centons of silence, Cutler coughed slightly, then shifted
nervously to face Tisa.
	"How would you like to move in when I get back from the Ceremony?"
	Tisa was silent, but her eyes turned toward his as she met his question.
Cutler could see the disbelief gradually fade and a happy glow take its place.
	"Do you mean it?  Do you really mean it?"  She wrapped her her arms around
him.
	"Sure.  We can start moving you in just as soon as I get back.  I've
already put in for a quatrons leave.  I was thinking we could call it a
honeymoon, if you are interested."  Cutler could see she was startled again.
	"Do you mean...?  I mean, is that...."  She squeezed his hand even
tighter.  "Are you asking me to get Sealed?"
	"Well," Cutler said, "that's the usual way it works, you get sealed, you
move in, and we have a honeymoon."  Cutler felt exultation as he finally
completed his mission, almost the same feeling he got when watching a
mission objective fade as the shuttle lifted him from the area.  Somehow,
this victory seemed sweeter than any previous one. 
	"YES!" She nearly yelled, then threw herself on him, and held him tight.

21

	Baltar closed the connection, and smiled broadly.  It was all almost too
easy.  The Council, and that trusting imbecil Adar had bought every word of
his terms.  The bulk of the Fleet could be wiped out at once, along with
the entire Council of the Twelve.  All without excessive damge to the
Colonies themselves.  He was proud of the plan, and was certain that
nothing could go wrong with it.
	Baltar would make his escape from the Atlantia at the last micron before
the Cylon attack force arrived.  His ship had been coded into the Raider's
targeting system, and according to the Imperious Leader, would not be
targeted as it left the vicinity of the Fleet.
	When Baltar would return to the Colonies, he would be able to rally the
entire population under him, and quickly acsend to the office of the
presidency.  He was even debating not even proposing a newly elected
council, as they would only get in his way as he solidified his power, and
would be able to reap the benefits from his deal with the Imperious Leader.
	Karibdis had just informed him that his hand-picked computer hackers had
just finished uploading the entire rewritten software into the defense
systems of all twelve colonies.  The finished virus was even better than
anyone had even hoped for.  Instead of a time-delay, or even a signal from
the outside, the entire system would lock itself down into an irrecoverable
logic loop at the first sign of a Cylon craft that entered the systems range.
	The hard part had actually been getting the subroutines into place.  The
first few attempts had been unsuccessful, and had even resulted in a
tightening of the computer security measures already in place.  But it had
been achieved.
	At long last, Baltar was about to accomplish something with his life.  And
now, as he packed the few things he would need for the trip, it was time to
make history.

	With the Star Kobol parked in the Atlantia's landing bay, it was very
crowded for the flight crews.  In addition to the full crew, there was the
entire Council, their staff, and a select few other bureauticians and
journalists, all of them naturally claiming V.I.P. status.  As a result,
the 8th Assault Team would have been forced to share berthing scattered
throughout the ship.
	Instead, Colonel Howell decided that it would be better to have the entire
Team in one place.  So the decision was allowed to let the Daggits berth in
their own shuttle.
	It was kind of cramped, and not very comfortable.  But, Cutler decided, it
was even better that their weapons and equipment did not have to be turned
into the Atlantia's armory.  If it would be needed, they could get to it
very quickly.
	Cutler found himself wondering just how much of his own suspicions were
shared.  He recognized Commander Adama as he came and went from the Council
meetings, and noticed the elder man remained armed with a standard-issue
blaster.  And Howell himself pointed out to the Team that if the Council
Security types didn't know about the rifles and other weapons stowed on the
shuttle, they couldn't very well ask it to be turned in.
	For himself, Cutler had his issue weapon tied down on his right thigh, as
per uniform regulations.  What wasn't part of the regulations, however, was
the large knife that was tucked under his tunic, as well as the two small
hand blasters that had been custom-fitted into small holsters carved into
the inside of his uniform boots.
	One thing that hadn't been mentioned earlier, however, was that Team would
not only rotate on the Presidential Detail, they would also be assigned to
protect Baltar.  It seemed that as the Day of Armistice drew closer and
closer, the anti-peace people had stepped up the frequency and severity of
threats against the man.  Just how many were genuine and how many were
merely angry, empty threats was not a matter of debate.  The presidential
staff decided that a loss of Baltar would mean a loss of any chance of
peace, and that was a risk they simply wouldn't take.
	Cutler quickly found that the voyage left many centaurs off duty, as most
of the Council had brought their own security details from their own
colonies.  Which left a very large pool to rotate personnel from, meaning
each person had more time off.  He found himself lounging in the shuttle
during most of his free time, feeling very out of place with all the
high-ranking officials having nearly free run of the battlestar.
	While he slept, he dreamed of a beautiful, dark-haired woman.

	As the Atlantia fleet began their approach to the Moon of Cimtar, the
agreed-on rondezvous, Cutler could feel the excitement and anticipation
begin to grow stronger with each passing centon.
	It gets much heavier out there, Cutler thought as he prepared to relieve
Siree on his shift with Baltar, and we won't even be able to walk through it!
	Cutler straightened his semi-formal uniform, and ensured his weapons were
in place.  Couldn't be in the presence of the President looking like
anything less than a recruitment poster.  As he finished, Raliegh came to
the shuttle, having been relieved on his shift with Adar.
	"Man, I'm glad that's over!"  Siree exclaimed as he threw himself on a
make-shift rack.
	"That bad, eh?"  Cutler grinned.
	"Cut, you should have seen that thing.  It wasn't a Council meeting, it
was a 'we're great' party.  Everyone in there toasting each other, talking
about how wonderful they were, and the President himself making Baltar look
like the greatest person alive since the Tenth Lord of Kobol led the tribes
out to the Colonies!"
	"Sheesh!"
	"You said it, it was getting so deep in there, I was afraid I'd get in
over my boots!
	"At least," Siree continued, "Adama still doesn't believe it."
	"Still not?"  Cutler asked.
	"No, he was looking pretty sick of the whole thing actually.  I overheard
him and the President talking, and it was sad.  The man just forced a
smile, and agreed with Adar."
	Cutler shook his head.  He knew Adama had been one of the most criticized
people in the media, because he not only voiced his suspicions about the
peace offer, he also was active-duty military.  If the election were held
tomorrow, he had little doubt that Adama would lose his seat on the Council.
	"Probably just sick of arguing about it.  I'd bet that the Galactica will
be ready in case something falls to felgercarb though," Cutler speculated.
	"Uh huh, makes me wish we were berthing over there, instead of this
floating bureautician-land!"
	"Anyway," Cutler consulted his chronometer, "time for me to relieve
Raliegh watching over Baltar.  Can't have anything happen to him before
they build his temple, now can we?"
	The men laughed as Cutler left the shuttle.

22

	Cutler watched the activity on the Atlantia bridge.  Officers milled from
station to station, called reports out, and accepted orders as to heading
and speed.  President Adar, flanked by Baltar, tried to be everywhere at
once, not wanting to miss a moment of the history he was about to create.
	"Commander Adama on Fleet ComLine Alpha, Mister President," a technician
called out.
	"I'll take it here," Adar replied.
	Cutler, being a security person, was supposed to be in the vicinity, not
necessarily visible.  However, he tried to ease closer to the console to
hear what Adama had to say.
	"Quite right, Baltar.  Commander, as a precautionary measure, I insist
upon restraint.  If this turns out to be an encounter with some outlaw
traffic, we could jeopardize the whole cause of peace by displaying
fighters when we are so close to our rondezvous."
	"Mister President, two of my starfighters are under armed attack!" Adama's
voice came through, and Cutler could hear the disbelief he felt himself at
Adar's words.
	"By forces unknown!" Adar stressed.  "You are not to launch until the
situation is more clear!"
	"Sir, may I at least urge you to bring the fleet to a state of alert?"
Adama's strained voice came back over the sytem.
	"I will consider that.  Thank you, Commander," Adar replied as he cut off
the signal.  He then turned to Baltar.
	"Don't worry, Baltar, I know Adama.  He has just fought long battles with
the Cylons, and has his suspicions of their motives.  He will follow my
orders, and do what is honorable."
	"Of course," Baltar replied, with a smile that Cutler knew was forced.

	Baltar smiled at the President, while his own mind burned with a near-hatred.
	Adama.  The man who had been his most outspoken critic.  Even Baltar's own
people spreading word about Adama had failed to completely erode the
Capricans trust in their elected Councilman.  If not watched carefully, the
Commander could undo his whole operation in one order to launch fighters.
	In a way, it was very fitting that Adama would die in Baltar's own
ascension to power.  After everything the man had done, he deserved to die.
 After he returned to take control of the Colonies, he would make certain
that the man's name would be tarnished in any history of the event.
	The only way it could be better, Baltar thought, is if I could see your
face and tell you what I know about you!
	Very soon now, a lifelong debt would be paid.  In blood.  Adama's blood.
	The future was at hand...

	"What's all that about?"  Cutler asked a woman at a comms console.
	"A couple of patrols from the Galactica appear to be getting into some
trouble.  Commander Adama thinks it might be Cylons, obviously!" the
technician said with an amused tone.
	You'd better hope not, lady, Cutler thought.  If it is, there's no way
this tub could get a Viper out there in less than 20 centons! Cutler was
willing to bet that the rest of the fleet was probably in the same
condition.  Except maybe the Galactica.
	Cutler noticed Baltar and Adar moving around the bridge again, and turned
to follow.  Being on security detail can put a lot of metrons on your boots.
	Adar made the complete round of the bridge, trying to make sure he talked
to everyone.  Cutler noticed that Baltar seemed as though he was steering
the President away from some of the communications panels and sensor
stations.  With the pace the two were setting, however, it was impossible
for Cutler to notice what those stations might have to report that the
President was being sheilded from.
	Cutler noticed a bridge officer quickly rush Adar to a comms station, and
Cutler himself had to hurry to hear what was going on.  He felt the rush
that he usually did right before the action started, and could not account
for the feeling.  Maybe the signal that Adar was about to accept had
something to do with it.
	"Commander?"  Adar said, sounding slightly annoyed at Adama's continued
skepticism.
	"Mr. President," Adama's voice came over the circuit.  "A wall of
unidentified craft is closing in on the Fleet!"
	"Possibly a Cylon welcoming commitee," Baltar said softly, with that smile
that Cutler had quickly gotten to find very sickening.
	"Sir, may I suggest we launch a 'welcoming commitee' of our own?"  Adama
said with an air of defiance.
	"Mister President," Baltar said, as though he were correcting an unruley
child.  "There remain many hostile feelings amongst our warriors.  The
likelihood of an unfortunate incident, with all those pilots in the sky at
once?"  Baltar moved away, leaving Adar to answer Adama on his own.
	"Commander..."
	"Sir," Adama said incredulously, "Did Count Baltar suggest that our forces
sit here, totally defenseless?"
	"My friend, we are on a peace mission!  The first peace man has known in a
thousand yahren!"  Adar answered, clearly thinking of the great promises of
peace that had been made.
	Adar looked around the bridge, and Cutler swore that he was desperately
looking for some sign to prove that he had been right.
	"Mister President," Adama's voice came over the comm channel, unanswered.
Cutler was close enough to hear another familiar voice, that of Colonel
Tigh, in the backgroud, but could not make out precisely what he said to
the Commander.
	"Mister President," Adama said again, after Tigh had finished speaking,
"your 'welcoming committee' is firing at our patrol!"
	Adar face completely flushed of confidence as he turned his head around.
	"Baltar?" he asked, as though he were expecting an answer to the newest
development.  "Baltar?"   Baltar had moved away from the station, and Adar
saw him keying the circuit on another communication panel.
	An explosion blossomed in the darkness of space several hundred
kilometrons in front of the Atlantia.  With the extreme visual range, it
was impossible to even see the ships out that far, let alone which one had
been destroyed.
	"What was that?" Adar spoke, almost to no one.
	"That was my son, Mister President," Adama replied softly.
	The Atlantia's bridge had seemingly suddenly sprang to life.  Alert
klaxons sounded, and officers rushed from station to station, some shouting
orders.  Cutler was so caught up in the almost chaotic activity, he nearly
missed Baltar swing and knock Adar to the deckplates.
	I knew I was right about you!
	Cutler whipped out his pistol, intending to cut Baltar down any way he
could.  If there was enough left of the traitor for a trial, fine, if not,
so much the better.  Right before he could pull the trigger, a junior
officer of the Atlantia crew ran headlong into him, knocking both of them
to the deck.
	Cutler managed to get himself to a kneeling position, just in time to see
Baltar turn and dash for the exit, with a chain trailing from his hands.
He rushed over to the stunned Adar, and helped the man sit up.
	"Mister President, are you all right?" Cutler asked, trying to make sure
he was heard over the activity of the bridge crew.
	"Yes, son, I'm OK."  Adar hand stole to his breast, then he looked down at
himself.  "My Seal!" he exclaimed.  "Baltar has taken my Seal of Office!
Stop him, or we all will die!"  He struggled to gain his footing, and
Cutler assisted the older man.
	"Sir?"
	"Stop that man!  I'll be OK, maybe I can pull us through!"  Adar regained
his composure, then turned to face the onslaught of Cylon ships that
swooped over the viewport on the Presidential Battlestar.
	Cutler picked up his pistol, and turned to follow Baltar from the bridge.
There could only be one destination he was headed to: The launch bay, and
escape.  He keyed his own handheld comm unit, and contacted Degeria on the
Team's shuttle.
	"Dee, have Raliegh get that bird ready for launch, we have a major
situation!  I'll be there in a centon!"
	Baltar, if it's the last thing I do, Cutler screamed in his mind as he
raced to the launch bay, I'll make sure you pay for what you've done here!

	When Cutler leaped from the crew elevator as it descended to the launch
decks, he saw a ship taxiing, gaining momentum as it rose from the deck.
Several shots crisscrossed the launch bay, some making contact with the
ship, but doing no damage.
	Cutler raced to the center lane of the launch area, and held his pistol in
a steady two handed grip, rapidly squeezing the trigger.  Bolt after bolt
shot from the small weapon, most of them contacting the ship, but again to
almost no effect.  He felt the backwash of the ships engines as they gained
throttle to launch velocity, and just as quickly, the ship vanished from
the bay.
	Cutler saw the Team's shuttle taxiing to a similar position in the launch
lane.  He rushed over to it, and saw Zeta toss his heavy laser rifle into
the open hatch, then leaped in himself.  Cutler followed, to see Siree
extend a hand through the hatch to assist him in boarding.
	"What the hades is going on?" Zeta asked, as he struggled to get into a
seat for launch.
	"Cutler? I assume we are following that bastard?" Raliegh called from the
pilot's chair.
	"Damn right!  I owe that man, and I intend to collect!"  Cutler snarled.
It was then he saw Degeria pressing a field dressing on her arm.  "What
happened?" he demanded.
	"I caught your warning, just in time to see Baltar run out, trying to make
for his ship.  I tried to stop him, and that pilot of his put a bolt in me.
 Good thing he's such a lousy shot!"  Dee said, obviously in pain.
	"Zeta, get her some painkillers.  Raliegh, get this thing in the air, we
still have to clear some obstacles!"
	"Just what is going on out there?" Siree asked.
	"Cylon's pulled a double-cross.  Instead of meeting with us to sign an
armistice, they intend to wipe out the bulk of the fleet, right here.
After that, they'll be able to move in on the Colonies."  Cutler thought
about the implications.  "Seems they were right, the Cylons are tired of
the war--they just decided to end it right now!"
	Raliegh pushed the throttles up, and the shuttle shot forward, acheiving
escape velocity from the monsterous ship, shooting into space.  He
immedietly threw the small ship into a hard dive, barely missing being hit
by multiple blasts from Cylon dive-bombers.  Cutler whipped his head
around, trying to see the battle that was taking place.
	Several of the Atlantia's turrets were returning fire, many of the shots
connecting simply due to the large number of ships in the area.  However,
it looked as though the Cylons had the upper hand, and Cutler had yet to
see any Vipers streak from the battlestar's launch tubes.
	The Team was nearly tossed around the compartment of the shuttle several
times as Raliegh dodged both enemy fire and ships, hoping to get a clear
shot at open space where he could put some distance between the battle that
was being waged and the small unarmed craft.  It seemed the only way they
were able to avoid being destroyed was the fact that the Cylon fighters
were appearing to concentrate their fire on the large warship.  
	Cutler found himself wishing very much for one of the experimental Team
Shuttles, that Council Appropriations had turned down due to budget
restraints.  Both the oversized engines, and the dorsal gun bubbles would
have been welcome right now.
	"Cutler?"  Raliegh asked.
	"Yo!"
	"I've got a fix on Baltar's ship.  Heading--Frak, they just jumped!"
	"Did you get a heading?  Where's that snitrad going?"
	"Hold on, computer's cross-checking..."  Raliegh looked up.  "Assuming he
doesn't drop out and change course, he's headed to Caprica."
	"Mister Raliegh," Cutler said, "Then you've got your own orders.  Let's go
get him!"

23

	Raliegh set the ship down, and powered down the star drives.  Cutler had
used the long trip to inventory the weapons supplies, coming up with things
they would need once they set down at Team HQ.  He also tried to hope that
Baltar had been tricked, along with everyone else.
	However, they had once again run into unexcpected trouble.  Cutler first
got the feeling that something was desperately wrong when no one answered
the calls Raliegh made to Caprica Approach control.  As they penetrated
Caprica farspace, it was apparent that an ambush of the fleet was not all
the Cylons intended.
	Degeria had taken a turn a the comms units, and ended up scanning all the
frequencies, both civilian and military.  All units that were still
broadcasting were saying the same thing: the planet was destroyed.
	They had been unable to return any communications, until they had gotten
to Caprica nearspace.  Even then, all they could get was bits and pieces of
information, all seemed to be told by panic-stricken survivors.  Raliegh
ran a deep scan in orbit around the planet, and the Team was speechless at
the amount of destruction that was evident even from space.
	Finally, they found what they were looking for--particle emmissions from
an interstellar stardrive.  They had located Baltar's ship.
	Raliegh steered the shuttle through the atmosphere, and set down mere
metrons away from the location.  Cutler got a fix on the direction, and
headed out the hatch as loaded with weapons as he could, including the
laser-sniper.
	Wordlessly, the rest of the team outfitted themselves, and followed him out.
	Cutler found a vantage point about a metron from Baltar's ship.  He got
the high ground, and unpacked the sniper rifle.  He would use it this time,
and make no mistake about it, he would accomplish the mission that he now
knew he should have accomplished the first time.
	When he got the ship into focus on the scope, he searched around it,
hoping to see Baltar near it.  He was rewarded with what he wanted, and he
tuned in the audio from the directional mic that Degeria had mounted.
	He watched the traitor as he paced the small area near his ship.  Wonder
who's he waiting for? Cutler asked himself, The Cylons to deliver his payoff?
	"Do you have him?" Zeta asked, as he began to set up and charge the the
squad automatic laser.
	"Shhhh!" Cutler said without looking up.
	Two Cylon centurians had entered the picture, and approached Baltar.  He
turned up the signal gain from the audio system.
	"Their destruction is complete?" the dark haired traitor said to the enemy.

	Baltar paced the ground around the ship that Karibdis had brought down to
the rondezvous point.  Something wasn't proceeding right, and Baltar knew it.
	The destruction they had witnessed while decending to the surface had was
too great.  This was not the surgically precise strikes he had been
promised would be required to remove the threat of Colonial retaliation.
This looked more like the Cylons had simply conducted saturation bombings
of the planet.
	Most disturbing, however, was his inability to contact members of his own
group.  He tried on all the high-band frequencies, and used all the
designated recognition signals.  None had produced anything more than static.
	And now he was to meet with a Cylon contact, to receive his next
instructions.  Baltar didn't know what was going on, but he intended to
have a few words with the Imperious Leader about being a little
over-zealous in his strikes on the Colonies.
	He knew that he needed to be careful.  It would not take more than the
wrong word to turn the Cylons totally against him, especially those
mentally-slow centurians.  Deciding to play along until he knew just what
had gone wrong, he turned to face the burning city as the Cylons approached.
	"Their destruction is complete?" he asked as they neared him.
	"Command intelligence estimates destruction of the human population at
approximately ninety-two percent," said one centurian.
	"Our forces have taken prisoners near the spacedrome," spoke the other.
"They tell of survivors, who escaped in ships."
	"What ships?  How far can they go?"  Baltar snorted, and turned to face
the armored warriors of the Alliance.  "If a handful of survivors did
indeed escape, they would have neither food nor fuel for a prolonged voyage."
	"The information in not complete.  It is offered in exchange for life."
	Baltar whipped around to the centurian.
	"And what is the standing order for humans from your Imperious Leader?"
	"Extermination!"
	"Then carry out your orders.  If they exist, they're doomed."  Baltar
turned back to stare across the bay, and watch Caprica City burn.  As the
centurians walked away, he felt a very unsettling feeling, one that he
didn't get very often.  The feeling that he, Baltar, had been the victim.
That he'd been had.
	At least he now had the Seal of Lords.  That part of the plan could still
be useful, once he searched the worlds, and gathered the survivors.
	He would tell them, truthfully now it seemed, that he, too, had been lied
to by the Cylons.  He would tell them of the late President Adar's last
words, as Adar handed him the medallion.  How Adar told him to flee the
Atlantia, and return to the Colonies.  To save what he could, and rebuild
the great human civilization.  With him as their new leader.  Baltar felt a
surge of power.  He felt that nothing could stop him now.
	Meanwhile, Imperious Leader had some explaining to do.

	No.  It can't be.  Cutler shook his head.  He had wanted to believe that
Baltar had been honest with what the Cylons had told him.  He wanted to
think that the man would not have been so foolish as to actually make a
deal with the reptillian monsters.  But it is true.  You just heard it
yourself.  He actually told those things to kill humans!
	In his disbelief, he nearly forgot about the rifle in his hands.  He
gritted his teeth, and once again lined up the crosshairs.  Nothing would
stop him now.  Baltar would pay with his life.
	A Cylon fighter swooped low in the Caprican sky.  The Team brought up
their weapons, and fired a volley at the instrument of their destruction.
	It seemed the Raider was not interested in a small group of humans with
only small-arms to oppose it.  Instead, it seemed to have locked on to the
Team's shuttlecraft, as it opened up with its laser cannons.
	Cutler, intent on making the perfect shot toward Baltar, was oblivious to
the fighter as it shot the grouded shuttle.
	Just as Cutler began to squeeze the trigger, the shuttle exploded.  The
tylium remaining in the fuel tanks ignited instantly, sending out a huge
fireball toward the sky.
	The shockwave from the explosion slammed into Cutler, knocking him to the
ground as his shot landed well short of the target.  The pain was almost
too much to bear.  Cutler realized that he'd failed again as he passed out.

24

	Cutler slowly came to, wondering what was memories and what was dreams.
His body felt as if it had been severely banged up.  He opened his eyes,
trying to make out his surroundings.
	He saw he was in a burned-out structure.  He could see the night sky
outside what remained of one wall.  He looked around, seeing more signs of
destruction, then saw Siree near the opening that was once a door.
	"Sss!" he hissed softly.
	Siree turned, then came over to Cutler.
	"Don't worry, you're OK.  The rest are out scouting the area."
	"Where are we?"
	"Just outside the capital.  Looks like the Cylons laid the whole planet to
waste."
	"What happened?" Cutler asked.
	"The shock from the shuttle exploding knocked you out cold.  We had to
carry you here.  We weren't far, fortunatly.  Deciding on whether to try to
make it to HQ or not."
	Cutler shook his head.
	"Probably nothing left but a crater where the whole base was.  Cylons
securing the planet?"
	Siree shook his head.
	"We've spotted some foot patrols, but they seem to be rounding up people.
Looks like for interrogation.  Raliegh and Dee are following one group now."
	"Probably trying to get more information on those ships they were telling
Baltar about."
	Cutler made himself get up and try to work out the kinks in his muscles.
The bruises would hurt for a while, but he figured he'd be OK.
	He found his weapons, making sure they were charged and ready.  He and
Siree took to watching for the others to get back.  Zeta was the first to
return.
	"How's it look out there?  Can we get to the base?"
	"No chance.  The tinheads nailed it pretty good, plus landed a bunch of
ships there, including a couple of troop transports, to fan out and kill
survivors.  The only way we'll get in there is with an armored brigade, and
maybe not even then!"
	When Raliegh and Degeria returned, the situation looked even more grim.
	"They took everyone they could find and lined them up.  Then one of those
bulb-heads, the ILs, would ask if anyone knew anything about escaping
ships.  When no one answered, the centurians gunned down several.  Seemed
everyone was anxious to talk then.  They got killed anyway."
	Cutler was silent.  One thought was in his mind: Tisa.
	"What about the Civil Defense buildings?"
	"I don't know, we didn't get that close to the city," replied Degeria.
	Cutler stood up, and painfully strapped on his weapons and what few
supplies that had survived.
	"That's where I'm headed!"  He picked up his laser rifle, and nearly
stumbled out the door.  The others gathered what they could, and quickly
moved out with him.


	From the looks of it, the Cylons had concentrated serveral waves of fire
on the Civil Defense complex.  Most of it lay in smoking rubble.  Cutler
wordlessly surveyed the destruction, then turned and quickly marched out of
the center.
	Raliegh quickly caught up to him.
	"What now, Cut?"
	"You all can fan out.  Find your families, whatever you need.  Looks like
we've lost this round, and there's not a damn thing we can do about it!"
	"What about you?"
	Cutler stopped, and turned to face his team.
	"I'm finding Tisa.  Then I'm finding my family.  Then, we are all going to
get out of this mess, and try to survive."
	"Where?  Just where on this planet will you find where the Cylons won't?"
Zeta demanded.  "What will you do then?"
	"I'll decide that after I know everyone is safe!"
	"And what if they're not?  Shouldn't we be trying to find someone to link
up with?  Orders?  Maybe we can rally and kick them off this planet!"
	"Rally where?  All the battlestars that weren't out on deep patrol, at
least a secton away, or torn apart in the shipyards, were at Cimtar to get
slaughtered.  The base here is trashed.  If you think Caprica is the only
planet they Cylons pounded, you are deluded!
	"Maybe there is something to those escaping ships rumors.  Maybe they are
just trying to say something that will save their life.  But by the Lords,
I'm not going to run out of here without even looking for my family!"
Cutler started to turn, then turned back.
	"Consider this my resignation from the Colonial service.  Sorry, I'm
keeping the weapons I was issued!  You can file a prosecution if you want!"
 With that, he turned and walked away.

	A short while later, he found the remains of Tisa's apartment.  It, too,
looked as if it had taken at least one direct laser bomb.  He poked around,
looking for any kind of sign that anyone had been there, either during or
after the bombing.
	He didn't find any bodies, but then he knew that didn't mean much.  He
knew that Tisa would have been at work at the beginning of the attack.
	Cutler made his way through the burned-out building, looking for some sign
that she might have been there and left.  He found none.
	As he moved through what had been the bedroom, the remains of a small
glass cylinder caught his eye.  He reached down to pick it up, and he
caught the familiar fragrance of Tisa's nameless perfume.  Cutler had a
fleeting thought that he might finally learn its name, just to see that the
bottle had been shattered where the name had once been.
	"Still not going to tell me, are you?" He said aloud with a smile.
"Always the mystery."
	Cutler turned to once again face the destruction of his world.



	"And that, Starbuck, is the story of what I know about Baltar and Karibdis."
	Starbuck was silent for several microns.
	"Really makes one wonder, doesn't it?  Here we are, all but wiped out, all
because of the politics and greed of a few men and women!"
	"And if I'd just pulled that trigger the first time, we would probably
still be at home right now," Cutler said.
	"You couldn't know that!  You only knew what they told you."
	"Still, why didn't I make a stronger case?"
	"Ah," Starbuck brightened, "That must have been what that whole mess was
with you, right after Baltar surrendered?"
	"What would that mess have been?"  Cutler smiled.
	"I don't know, Athena wouldn't tell me anything about it, no matter how
much I tried to talk her into it.  Figured it was something with Iblis, the
way he scrambled all our brains."
	"Well, that could certainly be the case.  Meanwhile, it's late."
	Starbuck consulted his chronometer.
	"Yes, it is.  Going to call it a cylce?"
	"I think so," Cutler said as they left the turret control.
	"Thanks for the story," Starbuck said.  "Have a good night."
	"You too," Cutler replied as he turned to walk to his quarters.
	He hoped that someday he could come to terms with himself over the
destruction of the Colonies.  He hoped that he could stop blaming himself
for the events, stop blaming himself for the likely death of his fiancé.
	He doubted it would ever happen.