THE CHALLENGE:
A new job (could be going for one, or getting one or not getting one)
Something Scottish (Galactica equivalent)
A Chocolate chip cookie recipe
Computer problems
Muffit getting shoved out an airlock (and never coming back - okay he comes
back if you want... huff)
Characters:  Sheba and Apollo who should fall out but make up again
(ahhhhh!!!!! - I feel like some conflict/resolution)
Oh and some other characters too but take you pick.

THE RESULTS:

BEWARE THE ERRANT COOKIE RECIPE!

Flight Sergeant Jolly paced back and forth across the short distance from
his chair to the wall and back.  Cradled in his arms was an instrument
native to his home planet of Virgus.  To outsiders, it was an unusual, or
even weird, contraption: a large cloth bag with three upright pipes, a
smaller pipe on the front, and a long, slender mouth piece on which one had
to exhale quite forcefully to create enough airflow to generate any sound.
To Jolly, it was a symbol of his heritage, and he had worked long and
laboriously to construct his instrument, since none had been saved during
the flight from the homeworlds.  The sounds produced were different than
most other instruments found throughout the twelve Colonies.  The loud but
melodic tones, accompanied by a low, constant drone, could be very stirring
when played by an artist.

And Jolly was skilled with the instrument, but he was also cursed with an
intense nervousness when faced with an audience.  When played poorly, the
sounds were worse than listening to a sick bovine.  Jolly tried to focus
this thoughts away from that image: the rest of the musicians, ears covered,
cringing as he tried to play . . . No, no, he could do this. He was good!
He could make the pipes sing!  Jolly paced faster.

The other musicians waiting for their chance to audition were seated, calm,
and were trying to ignore the somewhat heavy-set pacing flight sergeant,
even though he tended to puff his breath out with every other step, coming
close to imitating his instrument.  The others were a selection of
musicians, and would-be musicians representing all of the twelve homeworlds.
They were all auditioning for seats with the newly-forming Colonial
Symphony, which was to feature artists, playing native instruments, from all
twelve Colonies.

At last, the door to the theatre chamber opened and a number was called.
Jolly froze as he realized that it was *his* number.  His heart raced,
pounding in his ears. He breathed deeply to try to calm himself, turned to
face the open door, and pulled his feet out of the quagmire that the floor
seemed to have become, for his feet did not want to move.  Finally, he
disappeared into the chamber for his audition.

*****
Apollo had noted the downcast expression on Jolly's face the next day at the
squadron briefing.  Usually all smiles, reflecting his name, the flight
sergeant had been downright gloomy, and had seemed lost in his own thoughts
as Apollo had discussed the duty roster, the teams assigned to inspections,
and had announced those on the next rotation for a two-day furlong.  Jolly's
name had been close to the top of the list, but even that had not cracked
his solemn expression.  After dismissal, Apollo had snagged Boomer to
inquire about Jolly.  Boomer described the flight sergeant's failed attempt
at joining the Colonial Symphony.  Boomer added, "It's a shame, too, because
Jolly really is a good musician.  And he had been looking forward to this
chance for almost a sectar."  Boomer shook his head in sympathy.

Unaccustomed to seeing Jolly so depressed, Apollo could not shake the image
from his mind as he headed for the launch bay for his patrol.  He was lost
in thought as he neared the turbolift and did not notice when the door
hissed open and divulged Sheba and Bojay, returning from their patrol.  They
were laughing and talking.  When Sheba shifted her gaze from Bojay to the
path in front of her as they exited the turbolift, she had just enough time
to pull her hands up defensively in front of her as she collided with the
captain.  "Whoa!" she exclaimed, startled.

Apollo staggered back a step and stammered an apology.  "Oh! Sheba, I -
look, I'm sorry - I didn't . . ." His voiced trailed off as he noticed her
grin and the amused expression on her face.  Bojay was trying to contain his
laughter but not quite succeeding.  Apollo's face was red, but he quickly
regained his composure.  "Sorry!"  he said finally.  "I should watch where I
go."

Sheba asked, "What were you thinking about, anyway?  You seemed a million
metrons away."

Apollo quickly explained the situation with Jolly, adding, "I'd like to
think of a way to cheer him up."  He glanced at his chronometer.  If he did
not hurry, he would spend the next five centars listening to Starbuck kid
him about being late for his patrol, since it was usually the other way
around.

Sheba noted Apollo's impatient look and said, "You go on!  Let me think
about it, too, and we can discuss it over a cup of java when you get back."

Apollo said a hurried "thank-you" as the turbolift door hissed closed once
more.

*****
Back in the Silver Spar Squadron’s billet, lounging on her bunk since she
had a two-centar break, Sheba ran through a mental list of ideas on how to
cheer up Jolly.  Again and again, the old favorite of her grandmother kept
coming to mind . . . a nice batch of cookies . . . the ones with the sweet,
rich morsels of melted chocolate . . . but she doubted that the food
synthesizers would have the appropriate ingredients to recreate the cookies.
Still . . . perhaps the computers could reach a close enough match to suit
her needs.  It was worth a shot!

Sheba rolled off the bunk and headed towards the galley.  In addition to a
full-service kitchen area, the galley also contained the food synthesizers,
where certain basic elements could be combined, recombined, modified, and
processed into any number of foods or beverages.  All one had to do was
enter the original recipe, and the computer would cross-reference and make
appropriate substitutes, if possible.  Sometimes the results were good,
sometimes they bore little resemblance to anything edible, let alone the
dish that was supposed to have been recreated.

Having the proper security clearance, Sheba was permitted to handle the
synthesis request herself.  Logging on, she chewed her lip as she tried to
remember the ingredients and quantities for the cookie recipe.  Slowly and
carefully, or so she thought, she typed in the necessary information, and
hit <<return>>.  Nothing happened.  Then the screen blinked, a line of code
appeared and disappear in the blink of an eye, then the original request
screen returned.  She should have received a "please wait while we process
your request" message.  So what happened?

Shrugging  and slightly annoyed, she reentered the information.  This time
after she hit <<return>>, the proper message appeared and the quiet hum of
the synthesizers kicked on.  After a five-centon wait, the huge machine
plopped a bowl out of one of the receptacles, followed by a doughy substance
pouring out, filling the bowl nearly to the rim.  With a vision of sticky
mounds of dough being spooned onto cookie sheets, the luscious, sweet smells
from the oven, and the delightful taste from licked fingers swimming through
her mind, Sheba approached the bowl with great anticipation and dipped in a
finger.  It looked fine.  There were just the right amount of dark brown
chunks gracing the dough.  The smell . . . well, the dough never had much of
a smell.  She slid the finger into her mouth – and quickly spat the horrid
stuff onto the floor, nearly gagging.  In desperation, she dived for the
nearest sink, trying to wash the ghastly taste from her mouth, even
considering the soap to expedite the process.

By then, a group of food service technicians had rushed to her aide, but she
brushed them off and waved at the bowl.  "Get – get – get rid of it!"

*****
Sheba was waiting for Apollo on the bridge when he arrive back from patrol.
After briefing the commander, he turned his attention to the lieutenant. For
a moment, he let his mind note the way her dark hair shined as it flowed
over her shoulders, draped in soft waves across the front of her flight
jacket.  The two dark colors seemed to accentuate each other, highlighted by
the tan color of her uniform.  Her eyes sparkled . . . Apollo pulled his
thoughts under control as he greeted her.  "Hello!  Well, any ideas?"

A shadow crossed her face as she remembered her earlier experience.  "No,"
she answered.  "No luck.  How about you?"

Sheba could almost see the metal gears whirling as Apollo gave a faint smile
and his gaze turn inward briefly.  "Well, actually," he began, but was cut
off by a sudden but brief compete loss of power.  The Galactica went totally
black and silent for a micron.  Then the emergency systems kicked on and the
bridge was lit with the red glow of the backup illumination.

"What in the name of Kobol?" said Apollo, Sheba, and the commander at the
same time.

Everyone looked around in bewilderment for a moment before refocusing to
handle the sudden mystery emergency.  Omega called out from his station:
"Commander! Main thrusters are off-line.  They’re regenerating from the loss
of power."

The commander, face serious, inquired to any and all, "What happened?"

Athena was the first to unravel at least part of the mystery:  "Sir, the
secondary computers indicate that the main system is debugging a major
glitch.  Apparently a virus entered through a remote source and attacked the
core programs.  It’s in decontamination mode right now, but we should know
the source of the infection when it’s finished."

Everyone looked at each other, wondering aloud how and where a virus could
have come from.  All were silent as all computer monitors flashed like
lightening with the decon codes as the main system purged the infection.

Omega continued with the status report.  "Sir, we’re being deluged with
inquiries about what happened.  Otherwise, all systems seem to normal, with
. . "  He peered at his panel and the long series of status-indictor lights.
"one exception.  We’ve got a malfunctioning airlock on Gamma deck, section
13."

Adama looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "That would be  right next
to the galley."

Sheba felt a sudden and brief stab from her subconscious.  A flash of
perception.

The commander continued:  "Put me on ship-wide intercom."  Adama quickly and
briefly explained the situation to all and asked for patience, saying he
would give them more details shortly.

After about twenty centons, the main systems kicked back on and the lights
returned to their normal illumination levels.  Athena quickly pulled up the
decon report and said, "Well, whatever it was, it’s gone.  The report says
that the virus was introduced into the system through . . . this is strange.
. ."

"Well??"  several voices asked.

"One of the food synthesizers in the galley."  Athena turned a puzzled,
mildly-surprised face towards the commander.

Everyone mumbled phrases of wonderment.  "What in Kobol . . . the what???
How did that . . .?  By the moons of Aries. . ."

Sheba felt a chill run down her spine.  "No, it couldn’t have been!"

Apollo gave her a sideways look.  "What?  What couldn’t have been?"

"Naw . . . No way!"

"Sheba!"  Apollo said, slightly exasperated, his green eyes widening.

Sheba described her failed attempt at synthesizing the cookies.  Adding, "I
didn’t think anything of the glitch – it was so minor.  The screen flashed
for just a micron."

"You should have reported it.  Any irregularity in the system is supposed to
reported.  We can’t afford any problems when we’re light-yahrens from
anywhere."  Apollo’s voice had a vague undercurrent of disapproval, at least
to Sheba’s ears.

"It was a food synthesizer!  Not a main computer terminal!  And all it did
was hiccup from a moment!"  Sheba shot Apollo a defensive look.

The commander broke in.  "Are there any other problems left, except for the
airlock?"

Omega shook his head.  "No, Sir, that’s it.  All systems seem to be
operating within normal parameters now."

Adama looked at his two warriors, his son and the daughter of Cain, and
noted the serious expressions.  He decided a little action was called for.
"Captain, Lieutenant," he said.  They turned to him.  "why don’t the two of
you investigate that airlock?"

"Yes, Sir."  Apollo nodded for Sheba to follow him.  "Come on!"

Sheba, brow still creased in annoyance, said nothing but followed the
captain away from the bridge.

*****
The airlock in question, being an old docking portal, had not been used in
several hundred yahren and posed little threat to anyone.  Thus, Apollo had
brought along Boxey and Muffit as well, since Instructional Period had
ended. Also, Apollo thought it might be fun to get his son involved in the
operation, to let him help out for a change.

The airlock, for safety reasons, consisted of series of four hermetically
sealed doors with about a metron of space between each, and each operated on
a separate system, on the theory that a malfunction in one would not affect
the others.   The inner three portals to the airlock had a clear panel that
allowed one to see through to the external hatch.  On a panel in the
corridor to the left of the airlock were the control and override switches
for the four doors.  Three had a green light; one, the third hatch, had a
red light.

Apollo peered through the panel to notice that the indicated door stood
partway open, while the others seemed tightly sealed.  Now, to correct the
problem, all he really needed to do was enter a command code to reset the
door, but where was the excitement on that?  Instead, he pulled Boxey close
and explained, "I think we need Muffit’s special "rescue drone" talents to
help us."

Boxey’s eyes were wide with eager anticipation.  "What’s he hafta do?" A big
grin stretched from ear to ear.

Apollo glanced at Sheba, who stood a few paces away, face still set in a
frown, still annoyed.  "Come on!" he said to her, trying to lighten the
atmosphere.  "You have to help us get Muffit ready!"

Sheba looked from Apollo to Boxey’s bright expression and back and forced a
smile.  "All right.  What are you planning?"

"Okay!"  Apollo held up a rope that he had removed from a supply room along
the way.  "To be sure that Muffit is not in danger, we attach this safety
line to his collar."  Boxey was hanging on every word.  Sheba’s fixed smile
did not reach her eyes.  Apollo continued.  "We send Muffit in to activate
the door release to close that airlock.  And just to be certain that nothing
can go wrong, we’ll attach the line to the inside of the door here."  Apollo
indicated the inner-most hatch.

Boxey looked confused.  "What’s he gonna do?"

"Well,"  Apollo knelt next to Boxey, wrapping an arm around his waist.  "we’
ll send Muffy in to reseal the door.  All he has to do his push the bottom
"close" button, and that will reset."

Boxey’s eyes danced with excitement.  "Does he get a medal for saving the
Galactica?"  he asked.

Apollo chuckled to himself.  "We’ll certainly talk to Grandfather about it!"

Sheba rolled her eyes, and Apollo’s smile froze as he noticed her action.
Then he continued with the "operation."  Tying the rope to Muffit’s collar,
he activated the first door and secured the other end to a bar just inside.
Then, he bent down next to Muffit, saying, "Muffit, open the first door and
close the next door! Push the top buttom; then push the bottom button!"

Although he possessed the bare minimum programming, the drone was still able
to follow the instructions.  Waddling, tail waggling in circles, and
growling his electronic "yap, yap," Muffit entered the airlock, and Apollo
closed the inner door.  Boxey pressed his nose against the panel to watch.

Apollo turned to Sheba.  The annoyed expression was back.  The look was too
much.  "Just what is it?" he whispered.

"I was hoping to talk about this, but you decided to bring company,"  She
whispered back, biting off the words.

Apollo felt a growing irritation with her mood.  "He’s my son!  I need to
spend time with him!"  He managed to keep his voice at the whisper, barely.
Glancing at Boxey, he saw that the boy was oblivious to the adults, his
attention firmly fixed on his daggit.  Muffit had just opened the door and
was lumbering through.  "What are you so upset about anyway?"

Sheba lips were a thin line.  "You don’t get it, do you?"

"Get what?"

"I saw the look you were giving me on the bridge."

"The what?"  Apollo felt a building exasperation, as he switched his
attention back to Muffit.  The drone was reaching up for the next switch to
close the third door.

"That disapproving you-should-have-reported-that-computer-glitch-it’
s-the-procedure look!"  The anger was boiling up, and Sheba banged her fist
against the wall for emphasis.

Unfortunately, she was not aware that she was standing right next to the
airlock control panel.  Without looking, she had banged the emergency
release for the outer hatch.  And since the inner door was sealed, the
emergency release activated regardless of the status of the other two doors.
Just as Muffit reached the switch but before he could press it, the outer
doors swooshed open. Boxey screamed as he watched the rapid release of the
air sweep Muffit off his feet and propel him towards the darkness of space.
Sheba gasped when she realized what had happened, and Apollo pressed his
hands and his face to the clear panel, watching with a sick, horrible
feeling.

In a moment of slow motion, Muffit, working as fast as he could to stop his
backward movement, slid towards the open hatch – and stopped a centimetron
short as he reached the end of the rope.  Apollo let out a long breath.
Boxey was still screaming.  And Sheba thought that her heart would never
restart.  With the air all sucked out into space and the suction gone,
Muffit sat on the edge of the open portal, his head turning from side to
side as he watched the silent screaming of his master through the windows.
Then he got up and waddled back inward, his mission forgotten as his basic
programming to look out for Boxey overrode Apollo’s instructions.

Sheba finally unfroze and manually closed the airlock doors as Muffit ambled
through each.  Boxey finally stopped screaming, "Muffit!  Muffit!  Muffit!"
when the inner doors opened and he was able to wrap his arms around the
drone.  The silence in the corridor was oppressive as Apollo turned to face
Sheba.  His face was one of disbelief.

"Oh, Lords!  I’m sorry!"  Sheba stammered.  "I didn’t know – I would never –
"  She gave him a pleading look, almost in tears.

The silence was punctuated only by the whirring yips and growls and whines
from Muffit.  Suddenly, the release of tension was too much for Apollo and
the absurdity of it all struck him.  He began to laugh.  Boxey gave him a
bewildred, hurt look, but he could not stop himself.  Sheba started
laughing, too.

Between laughs and gasps for air, Apollo said, "Sheba, I’m sorry I was so
hard on you!"

Sheba felt foolish at her previous pouting and relieved that all was well.
She let the uncontrolled giggles out.  "That’s okay!  I can’t believe I just
did that!"

Boxey finally yelled, "Hey!  It’s not funny!"

Apollo, using all of his warrior training, quickly composed himself and
said, "No, Boxey, it’s not.  I’m sorry.  We had better talk to Grandfather
about that medal now!"   At that, Boxey’s face lit up again.  Apollo nodded
to Sheba, who had also reigned in her laughter.  "Come on.  Let’s get out of
here.  I think the ‘rescue drone’ has seen enough action for today."

Sheba watched as Boxey and Muffit wandered on ahead, the previous ordeal
seemingly forgotten.  She leaned close to Apollo and said, "I’m truly sorry.
And that was a neat thing you were trying to do."  her expression was soft,
apologetic.

Apollo gazed into her face, felt an unidentifiable stirring, and said,
"Sheba . . . I . . ."   What was this feeling?  Suddenly, Sheba erupted in
giggles again.  "What?"  He gave her a bewildered look.

Sheba finally said,  "Why don’t we invite Jolly down here to watch the
‘rescue drone’ in action!"

The image was too much, and Apollo laughed as well.

Up ahead, Boxey could be heard to mutter, "Grown-ups!"