Best-Laid Schemes-An Empyrean Story
by Lisa Zaza
 
The best laid schemes of mice and men,
Go oft awry,
And leave us nought but grief and pain,
For promised joy.

Robert Burns

Chapter One

     When Ama, the Empyrean Necromancer, stood and spoke as a member of
the Council of the Twelve, it was with both an eloquence, as well as a
force of personality, that Adama had seldom seen in any bureautician,
especially a woman.  There was an internal strength and manner of purpose
to her that shone through, making her seem larger than life with a
confidence that was both enthralling and entertaining.  However, Adama
noticed it also distracted the listener from what she was actually
saying, even though he found himself nodding along in agreement anyways. 
It oft made him wonder if she was using some Empyrean powers of the mind
on them all, though he had always considered himself beyond such
manipulations.
     Now what was that she was saying...? 
     "The time is nigh that we unite fully as not only as the Twelve
Tribes and those under the protection of the Colonial Union, but as
brothers of man, my fellow Council Members.  One people moving forth to
our ultimate destiny, the planet Earth.  I propose that with this in mind
that we dedicate a thirteenth seat on our Council.  A seat honouring our
sister planet, and our future homeworld.  Our hopes, our dreams, indeed,
our very salvation.  A seat that would represent those that we would ask
for help and shelter, proving that we have both Earth's best interests in
mind, as well as our own.  This seat, I'm sure you will all agree-as
would his faithful friends and compatriots-could only be filled by one
man, Commander Mark Dayton of the Earth Space Shuttle Endeavour."
     "Ama, might I clarify, do you envision this seat giving Commander
Dayton the same privileges as other members of the Council, or would it
be more honorary in nature?" Adama asked her, feeling the need to take
his feet, as the woman remained standing on the far side of the Council
table to answer any interrogatives.
     "Well, I would suggest that if the purpose of this appointment is to
have the thirteenth tribe fully represented, as are the other twelve,
then it would be logical that Commander Dayton would not only be able to
participate and contribute, but to vote on issues of Council concern."
Ama returned rationally. "After all, until we reach Earth and the Cylons
are defeated utterly and for all time, the same hardships and dangers
threaten us all."
     "Quite so." Siress Tinia agreed, nodding thoughtfully.
     "Have you discussed the matter with Commander Dayton?" Adama asked,
despite knowing that she would never present it to Council unless she was
reasonably sure of Dayton's cooperation.  Some time back, when he had
casually overheard Starbuck discussing the matter in a more teasing
nature with the NASA Commander-though with Starbuck, one never knew-Adama
had thought him ambivalent and even resistant to the idea of actually
sitting in their government.  Of course, then the likelihood of that
happening was practically nonexistent. Perhaps Dayton's feelings had
changed?
     "Commander Dayton has advised me that, upon invitation from the
Council, he would seriously consider the great honour, should we choose
to bestow it on him" Ama inserted smoothly.  "He takes his responsibility
to his people seriously, as I'm sure anyone who has met him would attest
to."
     "My dear lady, traditionally throughout the yahrens, position on
Council has been justified through democratic representation of the
populace." Sire Anton inserted, choosing to stay seated.  "Commander
Dayton and his men only represent five individuals.  We are not even
certain that they're descendants of the thirteenth tribe."
     "A salient point, Sire Anton." Adama agreed, taking his seat again
as another voice lent support to his own position.  There were certain
advantages to having Dayton on Council in some kind of capacity, such as
keeping a close eye on the outspoken and now celebrated individual who
was not afraid to voice his opinions.  It would allow him to vent his
criticisms of military and bureaucratic decisions in an appropriate
forum, rather than in public on the IFB.  However, being a man who valued
tradition, Adama also felt that an official seat wasn't justified.
     "Yet, as Ama pointed out, we must begin to plan ahead, and to think
of Earth as a destination that must be valued and protected at all costs
if it is indeed going to be the home of future generations." Siress Tinia
offered.  "I believe if a Fleet of refugees landed on Earth's doorstep,
potentially with great technological advances over our brethren, that our
brothers on Earth might consider us to be more of a threat, than long
lost family."
     "Yes, I concede your point.  From some of their 'movies', the people
of Earth seem to be rather paranoid about an attack from 'outer space',
as they call it." Sire Domra added.  "Martians, Klingons, Flying
Saucers..." He shook his head in bemusement.  "They seemed rather
preoccupied with the potential threat of other planets and solar systems,
even those proven unable to sustain life as we know it."
     "It does make one wonder how we would be perceived," Ama agreed. 
"But if we could present our own..." She paused dramatically, eyes
turning towards the ceiling as if she was in thought.  "Our own Official
Earth Liaison Officer, it might ease the shock of our arrival.  I'm sure
it would be comforting to Earthmen to know that a respected and decorated
officer of the United States Armed Forces had some input in our eventual
arrival."
     "An Earth Liaison Officer." Adama stroked his chin thoughtfully,
realizing it would be an effective strategy with the best interests of
Earth and her people in mind.  "An honorary seat permitting Commander
Dayton to influence policy through participation in Council Meetings, but
not by direct vote."
     "Hear!  Hear!" Anton added.  "An acceptable compromise that would
illustrate that we took our responsibility to Earth seriously, and didn't
just expect that she would receive us with open arms." 
     Adama nodded, as he looked around the Council table.  The complexion
of Council had changed drastically with the death of Sire Dracus and the
election of some younger representatives to Council.  Several more
'self-serving' bureauticians, Sires Uri and Geller among them, had failed
to be re-elected, as had one or two blustering idiots-for lack of a more
'bureaucratically correct' phrase-Sire Geller specifically coming to
mind.  It was a clear message from the people that they were ready for a
change. Less did the Council concern themselves with honouring and
prolonging millennia old traditions, and more did they focus on their
future.
     And for the first time since the Destruction, the Council
unanimously agreed-at least for the time being-that their future was
Earth.


----------

   A blue and white planet, looking like the most exquisite, and rarest
of jewels, in the vastness of space.  
     Starbuck had no idea where that thought came from, and if any of
Blue Squadron heard him say it out loud, they'd claim he'd gone soft. 
But, then again, the most dashing and eligible male in the Fleet was
currently engaged to be sealed to an Empyrean Princess, so what the
frack...maybe it was true.
     In any case, Commander Adama had given clear and specific orders to
geotechnically scan this planet-the third of nine from the sun in this
solar system-within a centimetron of its core with every remote sensing
method and device at their disposal, all the while staying a respectable
distance from the surface.  Starbuck hadn't missed the inference, or the
way Adama's eyes had sparkled with excitement. This pretty hunk of rock
could very well be Earth.
     "Tell me again how we happen to be flying together.  I want to get
my story straight for when the Captain dresses us down." Luana chuckled
from her cockpit, as her computer began displaying data on the planet
they were sent to check out. Apollo had been endeavouring to keep them
apart on patrols since they had both returned to active duty, not wanting
their concentration affected by their concern for the other.  It was only
a matter of time before the Strike Captain made it official and
transferred either her or Starbuck out of Blue Squadron, and she had a
pretty good idea it wouldn't be Starbuck.  
     "It's just a routine patrol, Lu.  How much trouble can we get in?"
Starbuck chuckled when she snorted in return.  "Apollo broke his arm
playing hover-hockey with the Earthmen this morning.  He's in the Life
Station having it mended.  You were on standby. Somebody had to pull
patrol with me, and you had the least amount of cockpit time, and were
next up on the roster." Starbuck replied, hitting the switches that
transmitted his scans back to the Galactica in real-time.  So far, the
planet looked ideal for replenishing their supplies, and had the perfect
environment for Humans.  However, there was a conspicuous absence of
anything that could be considered 'civilized' life down there.  Not a
single Human to be identified among the many life signs that were
generally animal at a quick glance. He tightened his orbit of the planet,
and concentrated his scanners on a heavily forested area in the northern
temperate zone. Lu did the same, altering her own orbit to similarly scan
another part of the single continental landmass, this one covered in
semi-desert terrain. Starbuck swallowed down that hope that he had only
allowed to rise ever so slightly, while awaiting the results of their
surveys. Truthfully, he had come to accept some time ago that his
generation would never actually see Earth.  At least until John, from the
Ship of Lights, had intimated that Commander Dayton would act as some
kind of liaison for them when they finally arrived there.  Ever since
then, in the four sectars and five days since encountering the Earthmen,
every new solar system that they encountered brought with it a heightened
sense of expectation and excitement.
     "You're the one who put me on standby, according to Boomer," she
pointed out, knowing he had done a little creative manoeuvring to get
them to fly together.  Flying with Starbuck was always like a refresher
course, and far more invigorating than any mere simulation.  He would put
her through the paces, honing and refining her skills to ensure she would
be ready when she finally did encounter hostiles in space. 
"Hover-hockey?  What's that?"
     Starbuck sniffed, as he shifted in the cockpit.  "Well, it's an
Earth game that Ryan introduced us to, but there were a few problems with
reproducing it the way they used to play it.  First, it's played on ice,
so Baker and Hummer designed some hover-shoes..."
     "Hover-shoes?"
     "Pretty much the way you'd imagine them, with miniature suspensors
on the soles.  You can really get your speed up." Starbuck grinned.  It
was the closest he had come to breaking a speed limit indoors.  "They
take some getting used to though, and we haven't perfected a good way to
stop yet." Truthfully, it hadn't occurred to the master designers that
they needed to be able to stop.  It had made their first game-more of an
introduction to the sport-an experience that none of them would forget,
especially Apollo, and they all had the bruises to remind them.
     "Which fairly much proves you're crazy for even thinking about using
them," Luana laughed.  "So...when do I get to try them?"
     "I had a feeling you'd see it that way," Starbuck replied with a
grin.  It was one of the things that he loved about her.  Her thirst for
adventure and fun rivalled his own.  "Oh, and the area that they usually
play on is a lot bigger than anything we have available, so we had to
make do."
     "Where did you play?"
     "The Empyrean Ballroom on the Malocchio." Starbuck replied.
     "The Ballroom?  I thought that was essentially a storeroom these
days?"
     "Well, with our Sealing Ceremony practically around the corner..."
     "Starbuck, it's eight sectars away!" There was a note of desperation
to her voice.
     He laughed, knowing just how she felt. Eight sectars and three days
was the official countdown.  "Yeah, well, tell that to Ama." The Empyrean
Necromancer seemed to shove something under his nose every time he saw
her regarding the 'Social Event of the Yahren'.  Frankly, he was amazed
that she even had the time to squander on frippery and folly since she
had been elected to the Council of the Twelve.  However, contrary to his
expectations, it hadn't slowed her down. Not one little bit! Not only was
she still running Empyrean Ale and Tobacconists, she still insisted on
acting as their Sealing Coordinator as well, especially since neither he
or Lu had seemed particularly interested in putting any effort forth on
their own behalf, feeling it was all getting a little out of hand.  Guest
lists, seating arrangements, recommendations for musicians, menus,
flowers, decorating, denomination of the ceremony, not to mention a
choice as to who they wanted to perform it...Lords, it made a guy want to
run the other way!  Screaming. "Anyhow, she's cleared most of the
felgercarb away already.  It's beautiful, Lu.  Looks just like it did for
the Empyrean Ball they had, just before we found you.  Beautiful hardwood
floors polished to perfection..."
     "Just right for hover-hockey," she smiled ruefully at the irony.
"So, Apollo broke his arm? Let me guess. Trouble stopping?"
     "Well, actually, Dickins broke it for him when Apollo couldn't stop
and barrelled into him.  Dickins had control of the hover-puck though, so
from what I understand about the game, Apollo had every right to slam
into him." Ryan had assured Starbuck that his impression that the rules
changed for the Earthling's convenience and advantage was simply his
imagination.  "I'm reasonably sure it was an accident though."
     "Reasonably sure?" Luana asked.
     "Dickins gets a bit intense at times. He makes Dayton look
good-natured and even-tempered," Starbuck explained wryly. 
     "Good-natured? The man who took a broadsword, and made cutlets out
of Sire Dracus? Good-natured?"
     "Well, everybody has a bad day, Lu.  Besides, better 'Councilman
cutlets' than 'Colonial Warrior cutlets', I always say."
     "Maybe Dickins is having a hard time adapting," Luana suggested,
ignoring her lover's banter. She knew that the relationship between
Dayton and Starbuck had changed irrevocably when the Earthman saved his
neck-as well as other bits better left unmentioned-from the deranged
bureautician.  "It can't be easy when you've spent the last thirty
yahrens as a prisoner, Starbuck. Think about it.  Especially when you
don't speak Colonial Standard and have to carry a languatron around with
you to communicate. Maybe you should be a bit more sensitive to that."
Her tone was matter of fact. On a smaller scale, she and her Empyreans
had had a difficult time adjusting to life in the Fleet from a backwards
little planet where they lived in a cave, had a Healer with a propensity
for bleeding the ill, and had little in the way of modern conveniences or
technological advances.  Of course, Starbuck had certainly eased that
transition for herself and her sister, Lia.
     "I'll try to keep it in mind the next time he body-slams me,"
Starbuck replied with a sniff, though he knew she was right.  Dayton had
told him more or less the same thing.  That a man couldn't survive that
kind of mental and physical trauma, and still come out whole.
     "Star-buck." Luana drew out the syllables.
     "C'mon, Lu.  Who has done more for the Earthlings than me?  From
what my father was saying, those guys have become wealthy men just on the
kickbacks from the Rising Star." The Journey to Earth idea he had come up
with had merely launched the phenomenon.  Starbuck had known it would be
a natural progression.  It was Earthmania, as Ryan had declared to
Chameleon, the official Public Relations Man for Earthling Enterprises,
Inc.  Everything remotely to do with Earth was a huge hit.  Their
collection of 'movies', the free lectures that Dayton and Ryan had done
on Earth Culture and History throughout the Fleet, an IFB series of Earth
documentaries, Earth food and drink items popping up at restaurants and
bars, even astronaut action figures and models of the Endeavour for the
kids.  There didn't seem to be an end to the marketing possibilities. 
Any day now, the old Earth space shuttle would be transferred to the
Astrodon Freighter and be made available to the public for viewing.  Her
crew and quite a few volunteers had worked tirelessly to try and put her
back together again over the last few sectars, or as close as they could
get to the original condition, the availability of parts necessitating
some modifications.  Dayton was determined to fly her there himself. 
Tickets to tour her were already sold out for the next six sectars.
     "Which in turn, means Chameleon is doing fairly well for himself."
Luana added.
     "It's keeping him honest." Starbuck inserted.  The old conman had
been far too busy managing the Earthmen's business affairs to get
involved in anything that could be considered questionable, either
legally or ethically.  Well, other than when he had decided to help
manage Ama's campaign when she ran for Council.  The two had become thick
as thieves, which was a little unnerving.  The Necromancer and the
Conman.  It had all the makings of a bad joke.
     Or the next primetime sitcom on IFB.
     "He must be bored stiff." Luana laughed. She looked out her cockpit,
at the lushly fertile world below, then at her scanners.  Despite a
massive biosphere and what looked like millions of species down there,
there was not one single reading that even resembled a Human.  Damn.  She
had hoped.  She tweaked her orbit, as she crossed over into the
nightside, to scan more of the same extensive landmass.  It was huge.
     "Not while he's making cubits," Starbuck grinned, glancing at his
control panel as it beeped. Over the open circuit, he could hear her
scanners beeping as well.
     "Starbuck..."
     "I've got it, Lu." It took a milli-centon for him to recognize it as
he checked the warbook.  Frack!  "Hit the turbos!  Get out of here!"
     "What is it?" Luana asked, her body tense as it responded to the
anxiety in Starbuck's voice. She hightailed it away from the small,
innocuous looking spheroid, only visible to the naked eye because it
seemed to be glowing slightly.
     "Patrol to Galactica, this is Viper Two." Starbuck was the
consummate professional once again. "We've detected a Dynamo, exactly
like we picked up over the Pirate Asteroid. It appears inert for the
moment. Taking evasive manoeuvres."
     "What would a Dynamo be doing here?" Luana asked him.  As far as she
knew, Dr. Wilker and his team had never identified the origin of the
spheroids that the pirates had utilized to incapacitate ships that they
had ultimately scavenged.  When they had dissected one, the technology
was so advanced and unknown, the Science Ship was still in the initial
stages of trying to come up with some kind of explanation as to their
actual mode of operation.  The scientists had been reasonably sure
though, after studying endless algorithms, that they weren't actually
designed to be a weapon. Starbuck had sworn up and down that Wilker
needed to experience being fired on by one of them, and then sitting
paralyzed in a defunct Viper as it was towed into an enemy base.  Then
the scientist would approach that particular unsolved problem with a less
nonsensical outlook.  Apollo was inclined to agree with him.
     "I don't know, but it doesn't exactly fill me with a warm, fuzzy
feeling about this place..."
     "Starbuck!" Her tone of voice a warning unto itself.
     Then a bright beam of blue laser shot past his ship, but not on a
vector from the detected Dynamo.  Where the frack did that come from? And
why hasn't it dissipated?
     "Galactica to patrol, report!" Athena, all business as usual, at
least on the surface.
     "Under attack!" Starbuck replied briskly, rolling his ship to the
starboard, nodding in approval when he saw Lu go the other way.  The
energy beam was still there, and now seemed to be expanding both
vertically and horizontally, corralling him in on that side.  He changed
course, trying to evade its widening path.
     "Another Dynamo, Starbuck.  Frack!" Luana rolled her ship again, as
a second beam, shot past her, seemingly intent on cutting off her escape
on that heading.
     "They're triangulating!" Starbuck cried, as the two beams met at a
vertex and connected, the beam growing larger and more powerful still, as
a third blue streak began to close the polygon on his scanners. 
"Galactica, we're in trouble!"
     Then the third beam met the other two, and the encompassed area
began to fill with the glowing light. It was a web of energy designed to
ensnare everything within it, like a monstrous net. Starbuck blinked as
it began to rotate, finally closing in around his ship, and no doubt,
Lu's. The power to his Viper abruptly died, and he shuddered as the
energy penetrated him, making his body tingle with an intensity that made
him gasp in shock. Strangely, it wasn't painful, especially comparing it
to the last time he'd tangled with a Dynamo. He tried to speak, but he
couldn't. Again, he was paralyzed by the effect of the spheroids, just
like he had been sectars ago, in a different place and situation. This
time it seemed gentler, somehow. Less offensive.
     At least until the blue beam intensified around his body. Eyes wide,
he watched as his frame seemed to be split into a grid pattern, the
bright glow starting at his boots and working its way towards his head.
He tried to suck in a rasping breath, barely able to breathe at all, as
each cell systematically began to disappear before his eyes. It was like
a hand knit sweater coming unravelled with a casual pull of some
powerful, unidentified hand. To add to the terror, the Viper was also
unravelling around him.
     If he could scream, he would have.  Closer and closer, each
molecular cell-each tiny piece of him-erased before his eyes, until
everything from his chest down was gone.  It was like being consumed
alive!  But by what?  His mind steadfastly rejected what was happening
before his eyes, as he watched himself carved up into miniscule pieces,
processed, and removed from existence. The very worst part was he was
alert, and excruciatingly aware of it the entire time.  
     Fleetingly, he thought of Lu, well aware that he had failed to
protect her.  He tried to close his eyes, unable to watch anymore, but
even that small voluntary movement was denied him.  Finally, he prayed
that the end would come quickly.  

Chapter Two     

     "Report, Colonel," Adama ordered, slightly out of breath from racing
to the Bridge from the Council meeting.
     "Our patrol was attacked while scanning the planet, Sir.  Lieutenant
Starbuck reported sighting Dynamos just before we lost communications."
     "Dynamos?" Adama asked as his executive officer nodded. "Telemetry?"
     Tigh inclined his head towards Omega's monitor.  "On screen."
     His first sight of the blue and white planet.  Adama caught his
breath at its beauty, as well as the stunning similarities to Earth that
he had seen in some of Commander Dayton's 'movies' and documentaries.  A
star system with nine planets and one sun.  The third planet from their
star.  As was this.  Not for the first time since they had entered that
star system, he wondered, could it be? Are we there?
     Then a blue ray of light shot past Viper Two, and Adama's pulse
quickened as he watched the beam widen, systematically ensnaring and
disabling the Vipers.  The transmission abruptly died.
     "Tigh?"
     "We don't know, Sir." Tigh's mouth settled into a thin line before
continuing.  "It was as if they simply disappeared.  Spectro-analysis
didn't pick up any traces of an explosion though."
     "Short-range beacons?" 
     "Nothing," Tigh conceded. "Probably disabled with the radion waves,
Commander. Currently, the energy readings from the planet's orbit are off
the scale.  And there are similar, but even more intense radion waves
that we've detected on the surface."
     "Yet, there were no such readings before our patrol began to survey
the planet?" Adama clarified.
     "None, Sir.  At least not since we've been within scanning range. 
I've sent a copy of the transmission to Dr. Wilker for his input."
     "What kind of effect could these radion emissions have on our
pilots, should they actually make it to the surface?"
     "I'm afraid that's a question better suited for Dr. Salik." Tigh
replied, but his dour mien suggesting they both knew the grim reality of
that issue.
     Adama nodded soberly.  "Who was with Starbuck?" he asked, well aware
that Apollo was supposed to be pulling this patrol.  However,
unexpectedly, the Strike Captain had ended up in the Life Station.
     "Ensign Luana, Sir."
     "Dear God..." Adama murmured, instantly wondering how the betrothed
couple had managed to be assigned to the same patrol.  An image of a
certain lieutenant resistant to inconvenient, but conventional rules and
regulations came to mind.  "Have my son report to the Bridge."
     "Yes, Sir." 
     Adama turned, then glanced at the image of the blue and white planet
on the monitor once again as he quickly looked over preliminary
geotechnical surveys.  "Tigh." He paused as the atmospheric conditions
and composition results crossed the screen.  "Ask Commander Dayton to
report to the Bridge as well."

----------
     
     The clouds flew across the sky with a speed that he had never before
seen, and the ridiculous notion of a celestial stampede came to mind, as
the heavenly bodies seemed to surge against one another, urging the next
onward.  Then the sun broke through their cover, shining on him before
dropping into the horizon with a suddenness that barely gave him time to
register the incredible sunset, the sky alight with a brief, burnished
orange glow.  Complete darkness surrounded him all too quickly, and the
sky filled with stars that were so bright that he swore he should be able
to reach up and pluck them out of the air.  With that in mind, he raised
a hand tentatively, only to realize he was still in his cockpit .  He had
barely tapped the canopy with his fingers, when a glow of light drew his
attention and he turned his head to see the sun rising majestically once
again.  
     He blinked as he watched it over and over, an endless cycle that
could only mean one thing.  What the frack was in that last fumarello you
smoked, Bucko?
     As he lay slumped there, he became aware of the vegetation around
him sprouting up around his ship.  With far more effort than it should
have taken, he lifted his head and sat forward, peering through the
closed canopy as a colour reminiscent of lavendula gradually encroached
upon him before the sun dropped below the horizon again.  Yet another
sunrise brought enough light to display an endless sea of huge purple
flowers, more like the purple panthelons of Empyrean, and he was enclosed
somewhere within it.  He paused to watch one single blossom unfurl petal
by delicate petal, before withering and dying before his eyes, all in the
space of microns.
     Then it abruptly stopped, and time seemed to stand still.

----------

     "This is an informal meeting.  Please feel free to contribute any
and all ideas." Adama reminded those who were gathered in his office,
Colonel Tigh, Captain Apollo, Lieutenants Boomer and Sheba, Dr. Wilker,
and Technician Hummer. In addition,  three of the Earthmen, Commander
Dayton, Lieutenant Colonel Baker and Dr. Ryan, were also present.  "We
have few facts and many questions, as I'm sure you're all aware from
Colonel Tigh's briefing." 
     "Where do we start?" Ryan asked, his long, grey hair still tied back
in a queue, and his clothing increasingly casual with each additional day
he spent in 'retirement'. 
     Adama was struck by the extreme nonchalance of the man's attire. A
flower-print shirt, short trousers, and sandals, the entire ensemble
reportedly known on Earth in some quarters as 'beach bum' and in others,
as 'granola'.  In glaring contrast, next to him Dayton wore a suit of a
strange cut, which was in actuality part of a reproduced U.S. Air Force
uniform, cut to his specifications by a tailor on the Rising Star. 
Straight-legged trousers, long sleeved shirt that buttoned up the front,
sleeves casually rolled up to below his elbows and neck opened up at the
collar.  Bit by bit, Dayton had declared, he was getting 'back to
normal'.
     "Can we safely get past the Dynamos and launch a rescue mission?"
Apollo asked, looking to Wilker and Hummer. "Right now that's all that
matters." 
     "We can't honestly answer that, Captain.  These Dynamos responded
differently than the ones we encountered at the pirate asteroid," Wilker
replied. 
     "What did you find out from the Dynamos we retrieved from the pirate
asteroid base?" Apollo asked, suddenly wondering why he had never laid
eyes on that report.
     "I'm embarrassed to say that we haven't figured out how to open them
yet." Wilker replied with a frown.  "And with something that potentially
can release such immeasurable amounts of energy and be used as a weapon,
I'm not about to crack them open like a nut." He shrugged, looking to
Hummer.
     "They're like nothing we've seen before.  Even the concentrated
composition analysis identifies some unknown substances.  They're utterly
alien to us, and still a mystery."
     Wilker nodded, "It should be noted that the various wavelon spikes
recorded at the pirate base do not correlate exactly with the new
Dynamos."
     "Yeah, those ones disabled our ships, these incinerated them!"
Boomer inserted. 
     "We don't know that for sure, Boomer," Apollo objected, still
looking battered from his 'game' with the Earthmen that morning. "There's
an interference from the energy wavelons on the surface that's acting to
effectively disable our scanners when we focus them on the planet. We
haven't been able to get an acceptable reading on life forms or the
presence of the two missing Vipers since Starbuck and Luana went missing. 
All the same, I'm not giving up on them until there's some proof that
they're dead" 
     "I wasn't suggesting that we do." Boomer let out a deep breath, his
jaw set.  "We have to find out what happened to them.  If they're down
there, and they need help..." 
     Sheba nodded beside him. "Don't forget the added possibility of
radion sickness.  Depending on how long they're exposed..." She shook her
head, looking ill at the possibility.
     "Yes.  We understand that timing could be a factor," Tigh replied. 
"But first we have to be reasonably sure that the same thing-as far as
the Dynamos go-isn't going to happen to the rescue party.  Or any other
ship that gets close to the planet." 
     Boomer nodded shortly, "Yes, sir." 
     Hummer raised a hand hesitantly.  "I know this is going to sound
far-fetched, but just as I have been focusing on the Dynamo as a weapon,
Dr. Wilker has been focusing on it as a potential form of malleable
energy." 
     "Malleable energy?" Dayton asked. "What the hell's that?"

----------
 
     His eyes flickered open, and in a rush, it all came back to him. 
The mission, the sudden appearance of the Dynamos, the equally sudden
attack, and the terrifying sensation of helplessly watching yourself
being lasered out of existence.  Starbuck bolted upright from where he
had slumped down into his cockpit.  One thought was foremost in his mind.

     "Luana!" 
     He twisted his head sharply, spotting a Viper alongside his own,
sitting in some kind of meadow covered in foliage.  Within the other
cockpit he could see Lu, her head slumped forward.  Instantly, he tried
to open the Unicom.  Nothing.  No response.  His concern rising, he hit
his canopy release, hearing a welcome click.  The canopy jerked and he
counted the microns impatiently as the hydraulic actuator kicked in.  He
pulled off his helmet, waiting for enough space to squeeze out of the
fighter. 
     Then he was over the side, jumping to the surface, and racing to
Lu's ship through thick vegetation.  Or at least he would have been if
the world hadn't pitched violently to the right all of a sudden.  Like a
drunken man, he tumbled to the ground, shaking his head and blinking his
eyes, trying to fight the waves of dizziness and nausea.  Apparently,
that little merry-go-round ride from Hades Hole wasn't just a figment of
his imagination...at least that's what his abrupt lack of equilibrium was
telling him. 
     He took a slow, deep breath, steadying himself.  He needed to get to
Lu.  Nothing else mattered.  He crawled the rest of the way to the Viper,
struggling through the masses of foliage, and then used the ship to pull
himself upright.  His vision still hazy, his fingers ran over the fighter
until he found the panel he was looking for.  He pulled it open, and
activated the canopy release. 
     Handhold, foothold, a familiar path that he followed by rote.  He
was up and looking into the fighter long before the canopy cleared. 
"C'mon, c'mon," he muttered impatiently as it finally opened enough for
him to lean inside.  "Lu!" 
     "Ohhh!" she groaned, her head lolling back.  "What...what happened?"
Her voice was thick.  After a micron, she looked up and recognized him.
"Starbuck...what the Hades Hole happened...?" 
     "Easy, sweetheart," he murmured, leaning forward and removing her
helmet with shaky hands.  He swallowed down the lump of fear that had
lodged in his throat, and looked her over carefully, still feeling his
heart pounding like a tambour in his chest.  Lords, too many times now he
had had to wonder if he'd lost her.  At times like this, he wished he'd
never supported her dream of becoming a Colonial Warrior, let alone a
Viper pilot.  Yeah, better she was tucked away safely on the Malocchio
brewing ale and curing fumarellos so he wouldn't have to worry about her. 
All this fretting over his ladylove was definitely bad for a guy's
bio-pulse lines.  But somehow he knew she probably wouldn't see it the
same way...
     "What..."
    "You're okay," he told her, trying to sound reassuring, but dredging
up a convincing smile for her was next to impossible.  Where's the game
face, Bucko? 
     "That's funny, I don't feel...okay," she replied, plainly
unconvinced. 
     "I know," he returned, pushing a tendril of hair out of her eyes,
before adding, "We need to try and contact the Galactica."  She raised
her eyebrows in an unspoken question as he pulled on her helmet and tried
to fire up the comm from the console.  "Galactica, this is Viper Three. 
Do you read?" He flicked the switch, but with no result.  He flicked it
again, his mouth tightening in a thin line as he began trying to boot up
the systems.  Any systems.  "Galactica, this is Viper Three.  Do you
read?  Frack!" 
     "No comm?" she murmured, running a hand over eyes that were refusing
to focus quite right. 
     "No nothing.  She's deader than Lord Sagan himself." 
     "What about yours?" Luana asked, glancing over towards his Viper. 
     "I didn't try to contact base...yet," he replied, pulling the helmet
off. 
     "Oh." 
     "What?" he asked, recognizing the edge of defensiveness in his own
voice.  So maybe he normally would have tried to contact the Fleet first,
but if it had been any number of his good friends unconscious in the
other Viper he would have done the same thing...Wouldn't he? 
     "I just thought," Lu looked at him for a moment, then shook her head
briefly, "...nothing." 
     "What?" Starbuck insisted. 
     "Well, that you would have tried it first. Contacted the Bridge and
let them know that we were alive." 
     He blinked.  "Well, I had this strange compulsion to make sure you
were still alive first. So litigate me. Sire Solon's not busy right now,
I hear."  With that he slipped off the nose of her fighter and stormed
towards his bird, shoving aside the thick stalks of dried grass. 
     Starbuck shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around the fact
that his betrothed-an ensign, still wet behind the ears-was giving him
grief over not following protocol to the letter, because he had let his
concern for her get in the way.  He could almost hear Apollo whispering
in his ear from when Starbuck had formally requested-over a glass of
Empyrean ale-that Luana and Lia be put under his supervision as cadets. 
I have some concerns, Starbuck.  I'm worried that your relationship with
Luana and Lia may influence your behaviour with them. 
     Influence his behaviour.  Of course, when Starbuck had thrown it
back in Apollo's face about Serina having been his wingman at one time,
the captain had relented.  And after all, Starbuck had been only a friend
and mentor to both young women then-though every Colonial Warrior in the
Fleet seemed to have trouble believing it.  Even Cassiopeia had wondered,
and as it turned out, she had good reason to.
     Yeah, the lieutenant felt as if he'd been under the influence of the
Empyreans for some time now.  Ama, Luana, Lia, the Empyrean Quorum, and
numerous other players had somehow managed to turn his once carefree and
orderly lifestyle-at least that was the way he remembered it-into a
mockery of its former existence.  Of course, meeting astronuts from Earth
and finding out that Chameleon was his father had added to the drama.  No
wonder he was now having anxiety attacks, and crawling on hands and knees
across some strange planet, desperate to find out if his betrothed was
dead or alive.  All too frequently, he might add.  Only to have her
criticize him for it, he reminded himself. 
     He leaned over, picking up his discarded helmet from beneath the
fighter, for a tempting instant just wanting to boot it into next secton
instead.  He pulled it on and scaled the Viper, jumping into the cockpit
and going through the same procedures all over again. 
     "Viper Two to Galactica, come in."  Nothing. "This is Viper Two,
calling the Galactica.  Do you read?" Total silence, not even the hint of
static or hiss.  
     He closed his eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath and letting it
out.  Whether it was the Dynamos, the after effects, or the fact that
they were now marooned, he felt like pounding the mong out of his
console.  Instead, he pulled off his helmet, throwing it roughly to the
ground, and ran a hand back through his hair. 
     No communications, no transportation, the Dynamos still active and 
part of some weird network of weaponry, it wasn't looking good for a
quick rescue.  He looked around briefly to see a fertile landscape
covered in large purple flowers mixed with long yellow grasses, an
abundance of trees and an incredibly blue lake against the backdrop of a
hillside and waterfall.  It appeared they were in some kind of valley. 
Lu was standing by her fighter, also studying their surroundings.  Her
skills for surviving in the wilderness probably surpassed his after all
those yahrens on Empyrean.  Shelter, water, protection, food...they both
had their survival kits, their weapons...he could probably rig something
to signal the Galactica...or maybe he could first manually reboot the
flight computer...at the very least get his emergency beacon working...
     He jerked off the control panel and got to work.

---------- 

     "Commander?" Wilker asked, gestured towards the monitor on his desk.

     "Go ahead Doctor," Adama replied, rising. 
     "Thank you." Wilker replied, taking the Commander's place at his
desk and inputting some data.  He tapped the keys again, and a graphic
was displayed.  "Now, we used the elevated radion signature from our
recorded data at the pirate asteroid field to pinpoint the locations of
the Dynamos surrounding the planet using the Galactica's scanners." 
     "Does this planet have a name?" Ryan asked suddenly, glancing from
Dayton to Adama and back again.  He leaned forward, examining the image
closely. 
     "Uh...no, Dr. Ryan." Wilker inserted for them, when the two
Commanders deigned to respond.  Dayton was looked at his friend
suspiciously.  "At least not one known to us. We've only just discovered
it." 
     "Just seems awkward to keep referring to it as 'the planet'.  Can't
we call it something?" Ryan suggested, getting both a nod of approval and
a grunt of agreement from Baker. "Planet 'P', or something?  For the sake
of expediency?" 
     "I don't think it's really all that important, that..." Wilker
began. 
     "Planet 'P' actually looks a lot like Earth," Ryan added.  "Did
anyone else notice that?" 
     "Earth?" Apollo asked, his head snapping up. 
     "Yeah, Earth," Ryan replied.  "Early Earth.  Before coffee and the
morning constitutional.  Mark?" 
     Dayton's eyes narrowed as he nodded slowly. "It does." He paused as
he felt their gazes upon him.  Better get used to it, Dayton, especially
if Ama gets her way.  "Can you sharpen up the image of that landmass, Dr.
Wilker?"  Wilker adjusted the image of the planet, stripping away the
cloud cover, and flattening it to something that the Earthman recognized
as a Mercator Projection.  He studied it a few moments. "There's a theory
that in an earlier geological epoch, the seven continents that now make
up most of Earth's current landmass, made up one vast supercontinent,
much like this one." He traced the basic outline of the landmass with one
finger. "Scientists called it Pangaea.  Over the years, tectonic
plates-internally rigid crustal blocks of the lithosphere which move
horizontally across the earth's surface relative to one another-were
responsible for the gradual movement, collision and division of
continents, as some of you would have seen in our Journey to Earth
presentation." 
     "You mean that planet could be...Earth?" Sheba asked hesitantly.  
     "Not unless she's a relative baby in this space-time continuum,"
Ryan replied with a shake of the head before second-guessing himself and
pausing to look at his friends in question. 
     "Isn't that possible?" Boomer asked.  "After all, you said that when
you went through the wormhole, that time as well as distance could have
been distorted." He tried to wrap his mind around the fact that they
hadn't detected any life known as Human on initial scans.  So how could
the Thirteenth Tribe have landed there and made the impact that had been
illustrated so clearly by Dayton and his crew?  It didn't make any sense. 
He could see the other Colonials were thinking along the same wavelength. 
At least they looked just as confused as he felt.
     "What do you think, Dayton?  Are we there yet?" Ryan asked with a
grin.
     "Don't make me pull this Battlestar over, Ryan." Dayton retorted,
before looking to Boomer.  "Hey, that whole wormhole theory is just that.
A theory. Mostly discussed by men who had imbibed heavily in Asteroid
Whiskey, and had only a few tenuous threads of data to build upon,"
Dayton reminded them.  "For lack of a better explanation, we settled on
the wormhole." After all, how many science fiction writers had used the
same formula over the years?  No explanation for the plotline?  Then
blame it on God, the Devil, or a wormhole. Worked for TV, anyway. 
     "I think there's more to it than that," Hummer nodded back towards
the Scientist. 
     "Oh, right." Ryan murmured, realizing he had taken them off topic. 
     "Yes, what were you saying, Dr. Wilker?" Dayton asked. 
     "Well, we managed to chart the position of the Dynamos in relation
to the planet..." he was unable to ignore Ryan's expectant glance,
"...Planet 'P'.  Now the area of 'P' is approximately 510,900,000 square
kilometrons." He paused as Ryan and Baker began to snicker.  Dayton
stared hard at them for a moment and they contained themselves in short
order.  "For every 12,772,500 square kilometrons is one Dynamo in a
parking orbit above the planet.  The altitude is almost exactly equal to
the planet's circumference, and equidistant from the others, blanketing
the entire planet's surface.  Obviously, this range far exceeds anything
that we saw while interacting with those at the pirate asteroid." 
     "Interacting?  He has an uncanny ability for making it sound
exceedingly polite." Boomer said aside to Apollo. 
     "Therefore, I'm theorizing that these Dynamos are meant to be more
than just sentinels for this planet," Wilker elucidated.  "That the
energy beams that they emit are actually meant to affect the planet's
physical structure-its crust, oceans, even its atmosphere-in a formative
process." 
     "Wait a minute.  Are you suggesting that this planet is being..."
Dayton paused as he looked at the other, "terraformed?"  
     "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that term." Dayton briefly
explained, and Wilker nodded. "Yes. What I'm suggesting is a process of
planetary engineering, Commander Dayton.  And the Dynamos are the
guardians as well as the expeditors of the process." 
     "Uh, Doc, a guy's got to ask..." Ryan shifted from one foot to the
other.  "Who set this whole process in motion?" 
     "Exactly." Adama echoed the thought.  "Who's technologically capable
of such an undertaking?  And the fact that the planet's atmosphere is so
ideal for Human life..." He exchanged looks with his son. 
     "This science is so beyond anything that we're capable of..." Wilker
shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.  "I really have no idea. A
great deal of this is beyond even the theoretical level, Commander." 
     "Where does all this leave Starbuck and Luana?" Apollo reminded
them. 
     "There's more, Captain." Wilker admitted, punching the keys once
again.  "Shortly after the Lieutenant and Ensign's disappearance there
was a massive surge in the energy wavelons from the Dynamos and the
planet.  Again, this is going to sound improbable at best," He glanced at
Hummer who nodded in agreement.  "The rotation of the planet in its
orbital path increased substantially.  It only lasted a short time, but
in that relative period, days instead of centons would have elapsed on
the surface.  Since then, in comparison, the readings have dissipated
until they have become virtually undetectable." 
     "Yet they're still interfering with our scanners." Apollo pointed
out.  
     "Wait a minute, are you suggesting that Starbuck and Luana's
presence somehow kicked that whole planetary engineering process into
high gear?" Dayton asked. The blank stares told him that gears were not
exactly common here. "Uh...up to a higher level of activity, Doctor
Wilker."
     "For a brief moment on a geological time scale.  It's possible. 
Again, so much of this is conjecture right now." Wilker replied. 
     "The thing is," interjected Hummer, "a planet speeding up to this
rate of rotation so quickly, then slowing down again, should have ripped
the planet apart. That it didn't is quite flatly impossible."
     "Yet it happened," said Sheba.
     Baker sniffed. "Sounds like a Monty Python movie. Adam and Eve
arrive separately by his and hers spaceships in the Garden of Eden." 
     "Eden?" Adama asked, his eyebrows rising. 
     "It's the place on Earth where the first man and woman lived after
they were created by God," Dayton elaborated. 
     "According to the Bible," Ryan added, pointedly. 
     "The Book of Genesis," Dayton nodded. "Part of an ancient text known
as 'The Old Testament'." 
     "Eden was also the name of the largest city on Kobol," Adama added.
"The seat of the Lords, in fact." 
     "Fact?" Ryan asked, eyebrow raised. 
     "Fact," replied Adama. "I can show you the vid scans from our time
on Kobol later." 
     "Interesting," Dayton nodded.  
     "So, Dr. Wilker, you're saying that we aren't currently detecting
any further radion emissions from the Dynamos?" Apollo asked, getting
back to the topic at hand. "Essentially, they're dormant?" 
     "That's correct. From all the data we currently have, they have shut
down." 
     "Well, one thing we did learn the last time around, is that after
they discharge their energy, they are essentially at their most
vulnerable.  We can blow them to Hades Hole with one shot, Commander,"
Sheba suggested.  "Clear a path, and go in looking for Starbuck and Lu." 
     "The problem being that they may very well be critical to the
ongoing evolution of this planet," Adama replied thoughtfully.  "And, as
I believe Dr. Wilker has indicated, their range seems vastly increased
over the last time we encountered them." 
     "However, they didn't attack until Starbuck and Luana picked them up
on their scanners at relatively close range, Father, according to the
flight data logs," Apollo returned. Briefly, he pondered using one of the
smaller and lighter Wraith ships they had confiscated at the pirate
asteroid.  It would be more difficult to detect by scanner, however, the
downfall was it was still a single-manned craft.  Good for
reconnaissance, but not much use for a rescue.  
     "I wonder..." Wilker mused.  "Did the Dynamos attack?" 
     "What else would you call it?" Apollo asked. 
     "A planet genetically engineered and perfectly suitable for Human
life, but curiously no Humans are present.  Almost as if populating the
planet was a final step." Wilker proposed. 
     "As if the entire planet, indeed the whole project, were some sort
of gargantuan computer program?" asked Ryan.
     "It is beginning to look like that," replied Wilker.
     "I wonder if we should look for Slartibartfast's signature somewhere
in Norway," Dayton muttered to Baker.  The other man just rolled his
eyes, and said nothing.
     "And suddenly a man and a woman show up at what could be perceived
as just the right time in geological development, assuming the
acceleration in evolution for that brief period concluded some kind of
preset objective," Adama added. 
     "Ah, I see. Maybe they weren't attacked, but instead they were
recognized as being the primary species Planet 'P' was designed for,"
Dayton added. "So the computer, or whatever it is that runs the place,
decided it was time to start populating the place." 
     "So what does all that mean?" Baker asked. 
     "That they could be still be alive," Tigh replied. 
     "And possibly breeding like bunnies," Dayton grinned. 
     Abruptly, the entry chime sounded. 
     "Enter!" Adama called out. 
     The door slid open to reveal Ensign Lia, looking slightly
embarrassed. 
     "Commander, I'm sorry to interrupt," she looked around at the
assembled group as she held a card in her hand that appeared quite formal
in nature. "I know this isn't exactly proper procedure, Sir." 
     "Come in, Ensign," Adama encouraged her. 
     "This will be quick, Commander.  I have a message from Council. 
She...they insisted I bring it to your attention right away," Lia
continued, crossing the short space between them. 
     Adama raised his eyebrows, having a fairly good idea just who had
done the insisting in this instance. "Thank you, Ensign Lia." He undid
the antique-looking wax seal, and unfolded the card, that resembled an
archaic letter of introduction or announcement.  Within was a short note
in neat, bold script that declared, They're alive.  It was signed
formally, Ama, daughter of Arion and Annica of the Empyrean Imperial
House, Empyrean Necromancer, and Member of the Council of the Twelve.  He
slowly refolded the note. "I see." 
     "Sir?" Lia asked. 
     "That will be all, Ensign," Adama dismissed her, keeping his tone
neutral. 
     She looked disappointed, and glanced for a moment at Apollo before
adding, "Yes, sir."  Then she turned smartly on her heel and left. 
     "Father?" Apollo asked, eyes going from the Commander, to the note,
and then back to his father. 
     "A message from Ama, insisting they're alive." Adama replied, his
mouth grim. 
     "How seriously do we take such a message?" Dayton asked.  He'd heard
rumours from Ryan and Baker about the Necromancer's reputed talents. It
was said the woman could see both the future, and into the very hearts
and souls of others. Good or evil. And since meeting a real angel named
John right there on the Galactica, he was willing to believe almost
anything. Almost.  
     "She has a fairly impressive track record," Adama admitted
reluctantly as he thought back over the sectars since he had met Ama. Not
only had she lifted a curse that had probably saved Starbuck's life, she
had also seen to it that a second rescue party was sent to Alrin, somehow
knowing that Apollo, Starbuck and Lia were in trouble, as well as
insisting that Starbuck wasn't dead when they had assumed him so,
mistaking the charred remains of Ensign Szabo for the lieutenant's after
being caught by pirates sectars later.  Added to that, the woman had an
intelligence, warmth, and a personal code of ethics, that made her rise
above his usual opinion of self-professed soothsayers and witches. And
Bureauticians. Besides, he liked her. "We need a plan to get past those
Dynamos. However, keeping in mind that I'm basing this decision on Ama's
powers of  prediction, I want this to be on a strictly volunteer basis. I
want no misunderstanding that this could be a tactical mistake." 
     "What about using Baltar's Cylons and their fighter?" asked Sheba.
"With no life forms to detect, maybe it could slip past the Dynamos."
     "I don't think we have the kind of time it would take to get them
functioning properly." Boomer inserted.  "Stacking a few boxes in the
science lab is one thing, but flying a Raider..."
     "And they could never give medical aid, if needed," Dayton
countered. "And if Starbuck or Luana are hurt, they're going to need a
med tech. Maybe more than one, along with whatever rescue and survival
equipment is deemed necessary.  After all, if we're wrong, and those
Dynamos do attack, even if we manage to sneak past their defences on the
way down, we might have to sit tight a few days."
     "It's sneaking past their defences that has me worried," Apollo
added.  He looked around the room, and as he expected, each warrior was
nodding in agreement.  Wilker looked less concerned, then again, he
likely wouldn't be going. 
    "Commander Adama," Dayton stepped forward.  "I have an idea about how
we can reduce the risk that the Dynamos would be able to recognize our
rescue shuttle.  Perhaps it would give us some more time." 
     "I'm listening, Commander Dayton." Adama replied with interest.  
     "We use the Endeavour, Sir." 

Chapter Three

     The sun beating down on her face, the combined scent of fresh air
and blossoms, the heavenly scenery spread out before her, Luana smiled as
she mused that perhaps being marooned on this planet with Starbuck for
all time might not be such a bad thing.  After all, it would be just him
and her, no one else's expectations or opinions would come into it.  Her
perceived 'role' as a wife and as an Empyrean Princess would be
irrelevant. 
     Actually, the more she looked around, and the more she thought about
it, the more staying appealed to her sensibilities.  It was so very
Empyrean of her.  Drop an Empyrean on a planet, and it was difficult to
persuade her to be cooped up again on a ship.  It had been proven at
least twice that she knew of when the Thirteenth Tribe journeyed to
Earth, once on Empyrean and again on Alrin.  Often, it made her wonder if
any actual Empyreans had ever finally made it to Earth.  Or if any
ultimately would. 
     Finally, having done a complete sweep of their perimeter, she headed
back to Starbuck and his ship.  He was busily trying to get something
working-communications or emergency beacons, she imagined-but he hadn't
spoken two words to her since she had made that offhand comment to him
about not trying to reach the Galactica as a priority.  In retrospect,
she realized now that he had probably been frantic with worry when he had
first woken up, and she would have likely done the same thing. 
     But Apollo wouldn't have. 
     That was the crux of the matter.  There were reasons that Apollo
didn't want them flying together.  The same reasons that Sheba stayed in
Silver Spar Squadron, and spent less time these days joining her man on
missions.  And they did make a certain kind of sense, she had to admit.
Couples spent too much time watching-and reacting to-each other.  Sheba
had admitted that she actually lost her sense of perspective when she had
disagreed with one of the Strike Captain's orders back on the pirate
base. Openly and vocally. She had taken it as a personal affront.  It had
taken them some time, and some professional distance to get their
relationship back on track. 
     Starbuck, however, had thought that they were immune to that.  Lu
had figured it had to do with their vast difference in experience.
Starbuck would give orders and she would follow them. Generally, she had
such immense respect for his skill, ability and knowledge, that it had
never been a problem. 
     Not that he had put either of them in any kind of danger. However,
she couldn't help but wonder if the best pilot in the Fleet-and the
universe, if Starbuck was telling the tale-would have been able to get
out of the Dynamo's trap if he hadn't been following her progress, and
therefore breaking his own concentration. 
     Dang, she would absolutely hate to leave Blue Squadron. The pilots
had become a second family to her, the barracks, her new home.  Each one
had taken her and Lia under their wings, showing them the ropes, and
sharing their tricks of the trade.  Treating them like little
sisters-especially with Starbuck's watchful eye upon them in the early
days.  She sighed, walking up to Starbuck and peering over his shoulder
as he held a probe to a circuit board in the Viper's underbelly. 
     "Getting anywhere?" she asked casually.
     "Nowhere fast," he replied, obviously not at all surprised by her
presence. "I'm trying to modify the circuit board in the emergency
beacon. I'm thinking I can use a jumper wire to change the circuit path,
and thus that of the current, and then try to reroute the charge from my
laser's spare charge pack, to try and kick start the whole subsystem."
     "The laser?  I thought the power cell was totally different?"
     "Yeah, for reasons known only to the Mighty and Mystical Madmen of
Colonial Military procurement.  Which is probably why our lasers are
still working, Lu.  That shouldn't matter though for what I have in
mind."
     She nodded thoughtfully, amazed at the training he had received in
an Academy setting, "You certainly seem to be quite adept at this."
     "Well, sort of."
     "Was this part of an Academy exercise?"
     "Some of it obviously." He smiled faintly, glancing back at her for
a moment. "The rest was part of how I used to hotlink the occasional
circuit board as a kid in Caprica City."
     "Ah." He didn't often speak of his childhood, and never in great
detail, and Luana had the idea there was more of it that he wanted to
forget than remember.  "It must have been...difficult.  Losing your
family as a child.  I couldn't even imagine not knowing or remembering my
mother or father."  
     For a moment he just looked thoughtful, pausing in his actions,
before finally replying.  "I guess it made me who I am today.  I picked
up a lot of...skills, for lack of a better word, back then."  
     "I think a lot of those skills were in your genes, Starbuck." Luana
smiled, thinking of how similar he was to Chameleon.  Many an evening had
they spent over the last four sectars, father and son exchanging tales of
their pasts and trying to catch up on yahrens long gone.  Of course, both
men stuck to tales of glory.  It was as though they had an unspoken
agreement to not discuss anything negative that had come about due to the
tearing apart of their small family and the tragic loss of Starbuck's
mother.  "But it was ironic that you ended up honing them as you did."
     He shrugged slightly in response.
     "I was thinking," she told him.
     He sighed. "I had a feeling this was leading up to something like
that."
     "I think I should leave Blue Squadron." 
     "No." It was clipped.  He didn't even stop what he was doing. 
     "This isn't a request to a superior officer, Starbuck." Luana
returned, watching his shoulders rise and fall as he took another deep
breath, before turning to face her. 
     "I'll leave Blue," he said.  Truthfully, he'd been thinking too.
He'd hoped to have the time to talk himself out of this though.  "I'll
tell Apollo when we get back." He shrugged as if it was nothing. 
     But she knew differently.  "You've been Apollo's wingman
since...well, I don't know how long, but it seems like forever." 
     "It probably seems that way to Apollo too," he grinned ruefully,
setting down the delicate tools on his emergency kit.  "Look, Apollo's
been talking about shuffling the squadrons.  It'll be good for all of us
to shake it up a bit.  We're too comfortable flying with the same guys
all the time.  After all, we haven't seen a Cylon in so long, we're
losing our edge." 
     "I never had one," she smiled.  "I still don't think you should
leave Blue.  You love flying with Apollo.  Besides, we need someone who
can cover his astrum, and there's nobody better at it than you." 
     He looked at her pained.  "Couldn't you have put that a different
way?" 
     "Think about it, Starbuck.  This is one situation where it's
incredibly important to know how your wingman flies if you're going to
protect him.  You two are so instinctual.  It's like watching birds in a
mating flight." 
     "Again..." he groused at her comparison. 
     "So litigate me.  I hear Sire Solon's free." Her chin tilted upwards
ever so slightly. 
     Starbuck had the good grace to wince as she threw his words back at
him.  Then he took a step towards her, stroking her cheek lightly. 
"Actually, he's the Chief Opposer, so he wouldn't take the case.  He only
handles the big stuff." 
     "Give it some more thought." Her arms crept around him.  "I really
think I should be the one to go.  I know why you want me in Blue, but the
other squadrons would watch my back just as meticulously as Boomer,
Dietra, Giles and the others.  You're selling them short." 
     Lords, she knew him too well! "Blue Squadron is the Commander's
wing.  There's a reason for that, Lu." 
     "Tell that to Bojay and Sheba, and I'll watch them wipe the deck
with you." 
     He grinned, pulling her against him, and looking into the endless
depths of those dark, brown eyes.  "I just want you to be safe." 
     "Much the same as I want for you.  And if we examine our medical
records, I'm betting you've spent a lot more time in Life Station lately
than I have. What with breaking into criminal's quarters, torture
sessions by psychopathic henchmen, curved Empyrean daggers..." 
     "Lately?  I haven't been there for sectars." He refuted. 
     "Yeah, well, now that you've taken up hoverhockey, I'm sure it's
just a matter of time." She kissed him lightly.  "Now, how about you
teach me how to change the circuit path with a jumper wire?" 
 
----------

     It didn't escape Dayton's notice that every Colonial in the
office-with the possible exception of Lieutenant Boomer and Technician
Hummer-was looking at him like he was wearing a pink tutu and singing
Tiptoe Through The Tulips in a 'Tiny Tim-like' falsetto while balancing
on a tightrope with a frilly umbrella. With ringlets and ribbons in his
hair. "What?" 
     "The Endeavour?" Adama asked, his tone incredulous.  As recently as
last sectar, he had visited Dayton upon the shuttle where they had
discussed history, culture, the Thirteenth Tribe, vegetables, and, of
course, the Earth shuttle.  Dayton had mentioned that the ship would be
fit for touring and that he harboured some hopes that she would be flying
to her resting place on the Astrodon Freighter, however, there was at
least one blatant problem.  She had no engines.
     "Yes, Commander." Dayton nodded, thankful that the other hadn't
sounded derisive or mocking.  "As you know, we've restored many of her
systems, mostly by jury rigging and machining parts ourselves. 
Lieutenant Boomer and Technician Hummer have helped a lot in that regard
with bits and pieces salvaged from the pirate base." He nodded to the two
men who had invested a huge amount of their own time in Dayton's pet
project. 
     "Commander Dayton," Tigh inserted.  "The last I heard, she had no
engines." 
     "Uh, well...she does now." Dayton tried to keep his features and
tone neutral. 
     "From where?" Tigh asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he
sighed loudly. 
     "You'd have to ask Starbuck..." Baker inserted, pausing as Dayton
looked at him warningly. He looked at his friend uncertainly.  There was
a certain amount that a fellow missed when he was still relying on a
languatron to communicate.  Truthfully, he did better when he simply
tried to keep up with and participate in the conversation, and now found
the electronic translator more of a distraction.  But this had seemed too
important to risk relying on his tenuous grasp of Colonial Standard.
     "I...see." Adama nodded, letting out a deep breath. Thank the Lords
that Starbuck is on our side.  He looked to Boomer and Apollo.  If the
lieutenant had somehow managed to scavenge engines for the Earth shuttle,
there was no way in the universe he wouldn't have shared that particular
story of glory with his friends. "Well?" 
     Apollo winced slightly, avoiding his father's eye.  "I...uh...told
him I didn't want to know."
     Adama's brows went up, until they nearly disappeared under his
hairline. 
     "Boomer?" Tigh asked, frowning at the resulting snicker from Sheba. 
     "Well, that old ship of Croad's was finally scrapped." Though the
parts were impossible to replace and she was slow and handled like an
archaic landram, the Proteus Enforcer had been reluctant to give up his
craft.  However, once they had introduced him to a Viper, he had finally
come around to their way of thinking.  "Starbuck figured we'd be able to
adapt her engines and a lot of her other parts for use on the Endeavour."

     "And he was right." Baker inserted.  "It would have been a nightmare
to get the Earth technology to work together with anything as
sophisticated as what you're using now. Most of your connectors won't
fit, and a lot of the electrical values are way off. Believe me, we
thought about it." 
     "Having said that, we were able to install a 'new' scanning system
from the shuttle that was salvaged from Arcta," Hummer added proudly.
     "The shuttle that crashed there?" asked Adama, wondering what else
was going on aboard his ship that he didn't know about. "Yes, it was
retrieved as I recall."
     "Along with Cadet Cree's Viper, sir," said Hummer. "The Viper was
repaired, but the shuttle suffered a badly cracked frame on impact, as
well as major structural damage from the hit she took from a Cylon
fighter.  She could never fly again, but with resources at a premium, we
brought her back for parts.  We've been mining it for parts ever since to
keep the other shuttles going, as well as using it to train maintenance
technicians."
     "And you used components from that shuttle to restore the
Endeavour?" asked Colonel Tigh, looking from Hummer to Boomer. 
     "We did, sir," said Boomer. "Along with pieces from Croad's fighter,
as we said, and the old freighter from Proteus as well. All in all, the
Earth shuttle is beginning to look pretty good."
     "But if the electrical power system is so dissimilar," asked Adama,
"how will you get her operational?  Won't the components just blow out?"
     "We've reconfigured most of that, Commander," replied the
lieutenant. "I'm just concerned about how the Dynamos will react to the
Earth shuttle, once it's within their scanning range."   
     "That shouldn't be a problem, Boomer.  The basic systems are all
revamped, and even the navigational system is from Croad's fighter," 
Dayton added, looking back at Adama.  "My thinking is that this Dynamo
technology is so advanced, that it might not recognize the 
Endeavour as being a potential threat." 
     "It might not recognize the Endeavour at all," Hummer added with a
chuckle.  "Might think it's just space junk." He shrugged as Dayton
bristled.  "No offence, Commander.  We'll just kill the Colonial scanner
until after we get through the planet's atmosphere to improve our
chances." 
     "Won't that leave you blind at a critical moment?" asked Tigh.
     "No. We had room, so we installed the scanner from Croad's fighter
as a back-up system. The scanner from the old fighter is the old
two-tiered set-up, sir. The active scan system can be shut down, but the
passive scan mode remains on, unlike the scanner array in the more modern
Vipers. You'll be sending out no energies for the Dynamos to detect."
     "Sounds good," said Baker.
     Wilker rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  "That could work." 
     "One more thing," Adama added.  It was really more of a formality
because he already knew what the answer would be. "Who's going to fly
her?" 
     "She's my ship, Commander Adama. And Lieutenant Colonel Baker is her
pilot. We'll fly her." Dayton replied steadily. 
     "Just like riding a bicycle, eh, Mark?" Ryan added. 
     "Something like that, Paddy." He turned back to Adama. "Besides,
given all we've done to her, I couldn't ethically ask anyone else to take
the risk." 
     "Commander, when was the last time you...either of you, flew
anything?" Adama asked quietly. 
     "Well, I admit we haven't logged any hours recently, but Starbuck
introduced us both to your simulators a few months...uh, sectars, back. 
I've made it to the third module and I believe Bob," he nodded towards
Baker, "is about to crack the fourth.  And while I admit, my reflexes
aren't quite what they were when I was in my twenties, as long as we have
someone on the flight deck that can operate the Colonial components, I
think we'll do just fine.  I wouldn't risk my ship, or the lives of
anyone else aboard, if I believed otherwise.  I think you know me well
enough to realize that. Besides, I...we all owe Starbuck."  Not only had
he saved their lives, but each of the crazy schemes-Earth gambling, IFB
participation, marketing-that he had pitched to them in their first week
on the battlestar had paid off in spades.  They were financially
independent men as a result of his vision, and no longer felt as if they
were under the thumb of their new hosts.  Ama had told a similar story
with Empyrean Ale and Tobacconists.  Starbuck had a real talent for
making other people wealthy.  His business acumen and insight as to the
deficiencies in the Fleet were wasted as a Colonial Warrior.
     "Commander, Starbuck was impressed with both of their piloting
abilities," Apollo added.  Starbuck had lost one too many hands of poker
with the Earthmen.  The bet: sneaking them into the simulators and
teaching them how to fly a shuttle.  Of course, being Starbuck, a couple
sectons later he had lost another game and another bet, and this time, he
had become their personal flight instructor for the Viper sims as well. 
Apollo had turned a blind eye, curious when Starbuck pitched the idea of
refitting one of the old replaced flight sims and adapting it to simulate
an Earth fighter, circa Dayton and company.  He wasn't sure what an F-15
Eagle was, but he was damn interested in finding out.
     "How many crew members will the Endeavour carry?" Adama asked. 
     "A crew of seven the way she's configured currently.  Assuming
Starbuck and Luana might be injured, we could reconfigure the middeck for
additional seating and remove the sleeping provisions and modular
storage." Dayton looked to Boomer. 
     "Take that up with Jenny." Boomer suggested, referring to the Chief
Warrant Officer that had been in charge of the Galactica's hangar crew
for so long, that she was practically a fixture.  "I'll bet she could
handle it ASAP." 
     Adama looked to his son.  "Apollo?" 
     "It sounds like the best chance we have." The captain agreed.  
     "The team?" 
     "Me, Boomer, Dayton, Baker, a med tech." The captain could feel
Sheba's eyes upon him, but they had an agreement now.  No more missions
together unless it was strategically necessary.  "Then we shouldn't have
to make any modifications at all." 
     They also wouldn't be risking any further personnel if it turned out
that they were wrong.  Adama nodded.  "Alright.  I want a full diagnostic
done on the Endeavour before she launches. When will she be ready to
actually fly?"
     "Well, at the rate we were going, we figured another one of your
sectons," said Baker. "But since this is a rush, we'll get it done before
the day is out.  After all, it's been a hobby up until now.  Give us the
men, the time, and resources, and that changes everything."
     "Good.  And I want to see the diagnostics before you are cleared for
launch." 
     "It'll be done, Commander." Dayton told him.  "She'll be shipshape
and ready for duty, sir, if I have to drag her down the tarmac myself and
use rubber bands to launch her."
     Adama looked at him a moment, then scowled slightly at Wilker.  He
doubted that 'contraceptive orchestras' was really what Dayton had meant.

     "Viper escort, Commander?" Sheba asked.  "At least as far as the
planet's orbit?  After all, so much of this is conjecture, and the
Endeavour will be defenceless."
     Adama nodded at young officer approvingly. "Two Vipers should do
it."
     "Bojay and I are scheduled for patrol in four centars." Sheba
inserted.  "We'll do it."
     "Very well." Adama nodded, then looked at them all.  "I shall expect
a progress report in one centar.  Dismissed." 
     Adama lightly touched Dayton's arm as the others filed out of the
office.  "By the way, Commander Dayton, the Council had unanimously
agreed to offer you the position of Earth Liaison Officer.  As president
of the Council, I hope you will agree to accept the position." 
     "What exactly will it entail?" Dayton asked, anxious to get back to
his ship, rather than talk politics.  Besides, there was one other stop
he had to make before they launched.
     "You will be welcome in Council meetings and can participate in
debate and discussion, representing the interests of Earthmen, but you
won't have the privilege of voting." Adama noted that the other didn't
seem surprised by that. It made him wonder, not for the first time, how
long ago Ama had conceived of this agenda, assuming it had been Ama.  The
two had certainly been on friendly terms since Starbuck had brought them
all together four sectars ago.  Then again, there was a touch of the
lieutenant in the plan as well, he mused.  "There will be a stipendiary
compensation, of course." 
     "Thank you, Commander." Dayton replied without hesitation, gripping
the other's hand.  "I accept." 
     "I'll release it to the IFB. Now, good luck, Commander.  Bring them
home safely." 

----------

    Apollo was quiet and thoughtful as Sheba walked alongside him down
the corridor.  She had been waiting for him to comment on her
volunteering for Viper escort of the Endeavour, but so far he hadn't said
a word.  Any word.
     "Quantum for your thoughts." 
     He shook his head slightly.  "It should have been me out there with
Starbuck, Sheba." He paused in motion, dropping his gaze to the deck as
she stopped and waited him out.  It was always difficult to accept the
ugly reality when one of his pilots went missing.  It was even worse when
they went missing on a mission that he should have been heading up.  And
when they were friends, it was hardest of all to bear.  Distant memories
of Starbuck launching ahead of him and Serina, and insisting on entering
the seemingly endless void on deep probe in his stead, came to mind. 
Consider it a wedding present.  "I can't help but wonder if it would have
made a difference."
     "They're both good pilots, Apollo. Starbuck's one of our best."
     Apollo nodded, standing aside for someone to pass. Starbuck had
evidently seen the Dynamos as soon as they showed on his scanners, yet
their increased range had made it impossible to escape them. All the
same, it should be him down there on that planet with his wingman.  And
if he hadn't been in Life Station with a broken arm, it would have been.
     Damn! Damn fate!
     "Hey, don't go beating yourself up.  Besides, this way you finally
get a chance to ride in that 'old-fashioned sub-light rocket' that
Starbuck talked about," Sheba told him, leaning against him, her arms
creeping around his waist.
     Apollo smiled slightly, reminded of the time he had first taken
Sheba, Starbuck and Cassiopeia up to the Celestial Dome, the day they had
intercepted their first transmission from Earth.  He pulled her to him.
"I have to admit, that very thought did occur to me."
     "Good.  Because just about every warrior on the Galactica would love
to be going in your place. It's like having a chance to step back in
history...aside from the purpose of the mission, that is."
     He sniffed at the excitement dancing in her brown eyes.  There was a
time when he might have chosen her over Boomer for this mission as a
senior officer.  However, their decision to work less together had taken
a lot of stress off a relationship where decisions made while on the job,
often came back to nip him in the astrum in his centars off.
    "It looks like someone needs to talk to you," Sheba inserted, seeing
Ensign Lia waiting just down the corridor.  She tried to control her
smirk, as a look of sudden pain momentarily crossed Apollo's features
before he carefully composed himself.  He had mentioned that the times
seemed to be long gone where he could issue an order, and just have
everyone jump to it.  Instead, there always seemed someone at hand to
question his authority, possibly because he was always approachable,
reasonable and willing to listen.  Sheba knew that herself, Starbuck and
Lia topped that list. In fact, with Starbuck, it seemed an integral part
of his DNA. "I need to find Bojay and update him on our orders.  I'll see
you in the launch bay." 
     "Right," Apollo nodded, giving Sheba a kiss before focussing on the
Ensign.
     "Captain," Lia nodded at him, taking Sheba's departure as her cue to
join him.
     "Ensign Lia," replied Apollo.
     "Sir, I was just wondering if I could join the..." She trailed off
as she watched him slowly shake his head from side to side. "Mission."
     "We can only take five men, Lia." He watched her eyebrows shoot up
at the use of the word 'men'.  "Otherwise, we'd have to reconfigure the
seating arrangement of the Endeavour. It doesn't have the capacity of one
of our shuttles, I'm afraid."
     "Who...?"
     "Myself, Lieutenant Boomer, Med Tech Tone, Commander Dayton and
Lieutenant Colonel Baker. She's their ship, and they're the best pilots
for the job."
     "Apollo, she's my sister!" Lia reminded him.  It was reminiscent of
a similar situation when Sheba and Lu had gone missing.  Except that time
he had agreed that she could come along. 
     "I realize that, Lia, but the team's set.  It's not just a matter of
one more Viper coming along.  The reason we're taking the Earth shuttle
is in hopes that the Dynamos' scanner array will be unable to read her
because she's so archaic."
     "Then take me instead of Boomer." She shrugged.  It was the obvious
solution.  "You might need a tracker down there, from what I've heard of
the planet." Sure, she had stopped by the Bridge and had obtained all the
information she could on where her sister and future brother-in-law had
disappeared.  It was rugged and wild terrain.  They would be dealing with
wildlife as well as unfamiliar territory.  She would be an asset to the
team after being raised on Empyrean in a similar environment.
     "Boomer's spent endless centars helping to rebuild that ship, Lia. 
If we have any technical problems, I want someone aboard who knows what
they're doing." If there had been one more seat, he would have given it
to Hummer.  But somehow he knew that saying it aloud, wouldn't make Lia
feel any better.  "That's why I'm bringing him."
     "Then let me fly escort."
     He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he noticed the
stubborn tilt to her chin, the hands on her slender hips, the gaze that
she locked on him as though he was a target in her sites.  "Don't you
ever give up?"
     "Never." She shook her head and added solemnly, "Not on my family,
or my friends."
     "Ensign..."
     "Captain Apol..."
     "This is not a reflection on your ability, Ensign. But when it's a
loved-one, your judgement can become less than razor-sharp. There can be
hesitation at a critical moment."
     Lia bristled . "I didn't hesitate on Alrin."
     "No, Ensign," he said with finality.  
     She pressed on. "You know what I think, Apollo?  I think you're
taking your personal decisions and imposing them on the rest of us.  Just
because you and Sheba argued a few times on duty..."
     "You're out of line, Ensign." Apollo replied stiffly.  In reality,
the awkwardness of working with his lover went right back to Serina.  She
had even threatened to lock him out of her chambers once over the comm
while on patrol.  He could just imagine how that went over on the Bridge. 
It probably would have become a bigger issue, and something he would have
had to resolve, if fate hadn't dealt a lethal blow in the form of a Cylon
pulse rifle blast on Kobol.  Yeah, it could be he was losing his sense of
humour on that front about now.
     "Colonial Military for 'you nailed it, Ensign'." Lia took a step
closer to him.  "I've never been a detriment to a mission, and I resent
you assuming that I would be now, based on your experiences with Sheba."
     Oh, that rankled, but he managed to maintain his composure and keep
his voice tightly controlled. "This has more to do with other people
being more suitable and qualified than..."
     "You just keep telling yourself that, Captain." Lia replied
bitterly.  "I told you once before that if something happened to your
sister, you'd be out there trying to find her despite your own emotions
running amok.  I don't see the difference."
     "The difference is, I'm in command and I have over a deca-yahren of
experience." Apollo returned.  He'd always been able to reason with her
before.  
     "Really?" Lia drawled, knowing she was crossing the line, but as
Starbuck said, sometimes you just had to hit the turbos and say, "what
the frack".  After all, it wasn't as if they could bust her back to a
cadet.  "Well, Sheba has almost as much experience.  Funny how she's
unable to rein in her emotions as effectively as yourself.  Must be that
Adama bloodline, or some kind of special training." Everything in her
bearing contradicted her statement, from her raised eyebrows to the tone
of her voice.
     It was a side of Lia he hadn't really seen before.  She had
developed an edge since joining the Fleet.  He wasn't sure what had
happened to that innocent, forthright, determined...Then it hit him. She
was standing before him right now telling him he was full of felgercarb
as far as she was concerned.  Yet, he had recently set a standard,
reviving old rules and regulations that had been put in place hundreds of
yahrens ago for good reason.  If he was going to stick with it himself,
then the rest of them had to as well.  There couldn't be two sets of
rules, based on each individual case that came up.  He sighed, not
particularly liking the reasoning, and knowing that he was rationalizing
his decision.
     "My decision stands, Lia.  I'll talk to Athena on the bridge. You
can listen to the telemetry." He turned to go.
     "But..."
     He turned back to her in disbelief, raising his hands in frustration
bordering on anger. "What part of 'no' don't you understand?" 
     She paused as she studied him briefly.  She'd pushed him as far as
he could go.  It was time to retreat and add a little humour.  "That part
between the 'n' and the 'o'." Then she smiled slightly.  "I had to try."
And for good measure.  "Sir."
     Direct from the Book of Starbuck, he recognized it only too well and
was not amused.  After all, no one could deliver it like the master, and
it lacked the sincerity when duplicated. "When I return from the mission,
report to the duty office, Ensign.  I think you and I need to go over a
few pages of the manual that your instructor neglected to mention.  The
ones regarding following a commanding officer's orders."
     She straightened her back and drew herself up.  This time there was
nothing but military correctness in her demeanour.  "Yes, sir."

----------

     Blue eyes, blonde hair, and a beauty that was only surpassed by her
warmth, sense of humour and intellect, Dayton couldn't help but make time
in his busy schedule to bring Cassiopeia up to speed on the
mission...classified or not.  After all, no one in the Colonial military
had actually thought to sign him up. 
     "I'm almost surprised I wasn't assigned." Cassiopeia smiled
ruefully.  It was difficult to not cross paths with Starbuck and Luana on
the battlestar.  While some of the bitterness over their sudden and
almost predictable tryst had faded, she still wasn't prepared to
socialize with them, which was difficult considering Mark Dayton had
certainly become fast friends with her former lover, something which had
surprised her no little bit. However, the Earthman was a sensitive and
intuitive individual, and it really hadn't been an issue. 
     "I understand that Med Tech Tone was assigned," Dayton told her.  It
wasn't the first time that holding Cassiopeia in his arms filled Dayton
with a sense of guilt as thoughts of his wife, Yvonne, another blue-eyed
blonde, came back to him.  
     She nodded, slipping her arms around his neck and pressing herself
against him.  "I know you've been practicing in the simulators, but are
you sure you're ready for this?" 
     "I'm sure I'm ready for this," Dayton replied with an exaggerated
leer, pulling her closer.  "I'm just not sure we have time." She giggled,
tucking her head into his chest before looking back up at him.  Lord, she
took his breath away. 
     "I meant the mission." 
     "I might be old, but I'm not ready to be put out to pasture quite
yet." 
     Cassiopeia smiled in amusement, but there was an element of
seriousness to her question that he couldn't miss.  They had discussed
this.  She had had enough of Colonial Warriors willing to risk life and
limb, and sacrifice all in the name of duty.  He had promised her that
those days were over for him. "I thought you were focussing your efforts
on participating on Council, not being back on active duty, Mark." 
     "Ah!" Dayton smiled, shaking his head in bemusement.  "Speaking of
which, I was offered a position as Earth Liaison Officer.  I don't get to
vote, but I can influence Council with my sparkling personality and
powers of persuasion." 
     "Then you should have them eating out of your hand in no time,"
Cassiopeia returned lightly.  "You accepted?" 
     "I did." He kissed her tenderly, not missing the slight reluctance
on her part.  "You're not pleased?" 
     "No, it's not that," Cassiopeia denied, then stepped back from him,
turning towards the viewport in her quarters.  
     "Then what?" 
     "I'm not sure how to put it." She murmured. 
     "Just say it. That usually works." 
     "I don't know enough about your...your people's attitudes. Your
values and mores." 
     "What is it?" he asked, taking her gently by the shoulders, then
turning her so as to look her directly in the eyes. "How do you mean
'mores'?" 
     She looked up at him, seeing the concern and curiosity in his eyes. 
She had thought she had left this all behind her and that she would no
longer wonder how a man would react to her previous profession of choice. 
Yet, here she was once again, prepared to defend herself before she had
even spoken the words aloud.  And it was really best that he hear it from
her.  Might as well get it over with.  "Before I was a med tech, before
the Holocaust, I used to be a Socialator." 
     "A what?" he asked, still trying to absorb all the new terms the
Colonials were throwing at him. The way things were going, he'd finally
get them all straight about the time they reached Earth. 
     "It's..." she pulled away from him trying to find simple enough
words to explain the designation to a man who might not even have an
equivalent position back on Earth. "I belonged to a professional order
that practiced Socialation." She watched as he shook his head in
confusion.  "It's a millennia old tradition practiced with the blessings
of the Elders.  I had yahrens of training in social behaviour,
counselling, interpersonal relationships, human sexual physiology and
behaviour, sensuality, communication skills, relaxation techniques..." 
     "A professional order?" he repeated, not quite being able to resign
himself to the idea of a professional anything studying sensuality and
sexual behaviour.
     "Yes." 
     Maybe he misunderstood what she was getting at.  She probably meant
she was a social worker.  That he could see.  She was so good with
people.  But then, where would his values and mores come into it?  "You
were paid to...do what exactly?"
     "Entertain men," she replied candidly, seeing the sudden realization
in his eyes as they widened for an instant. 
     "A Social...I see," he said as he looked first down at the floor,
then out the viewport at the stars passing by.  Why the Hades Hole had
Starbuck not mentioned this to him?  He took a deep breath, abruptly
wondering how Yvonne would feel about him taking up with a reformed
prostitute.  Even one who was on her way to becoming a physician.  "Why
tell me this now?" 
     "As I said.  I know virtually nothing of your people's mores and
standards," she said from behind him, making no effort to touch him.  She
honestly couldn't read his reaction, other than his understandable
surprise.  On the other hand, she hadn't seen him this emotionally
restrained, his feelings tightly in check, since his man Dickins had been
in Life Station fighting for his life.  "Among the Colonists, we have a
sect that looks upon any intimate contact between men and women outside
of very narrow bounds as immoral or unnatural." 
     "Yeah." He replied quietly, wondering where she was leading him now. 
It was one roller coaster of a discussion, and he felt a bit like he was
on a gut wrenching drop from the very top of the V2 Vertical Velocity at
Six Flags, about to begin the 185 foot drop.  Get a grip, Dayton.  Listen
to what she's trying to tell you, and stop envisioning the Happy Hooker
in Outer Space.  "I...uh, heard about those folks. The...Atari, I think
they're called." 
     "Otori."  She corrected him, for a moment flashing back to that time
aboard the Gemini Freighter, where a member of the sect had openly
suggested they 'feed her to the daggits' when she had spoken out to help
a fellow passenger who was ill.  If Apollo and Starbuck hadn't removed
her when they did..."They believe any contact, if not blessed by the Sun
Priest, is grossly immoral. And the ritual comes only once every seven
yahrens." 
     He blew out a short breath.  "Sounds like a bunch of Vulcans,"
muttered Dayton, turning to face her.  Cassiopeia frowned, but he went
on.  "And you wanted to find out how I might react to the idea that
you've had sexual relations with a lot of other men.  Not just Starbuck,
but..." He swallowed, unable to quite get his mind around the fact that
this beautiful, intelligent woman would debase herself to that level.
     "More than that.  While people like the Otori are extremists, there
are still many who look derisively upon a woman who would give herself to
men for cubits." She laid it on the line.  No pretty words, no patented
Socialator explanation.  Just the way that many men would perceive her. 
The men of position and influence who would be delighted to clandestinely
employ her, but would then pretend not to recognize her if they met again
socially.  And they did often. 
     "Why bother to even bring it up?" he asked woodenly, almost wishing
she hadn't. "I mean, we..." 
     "If you're joining the Council, it could become an issue, Mark.  I
just want you to understand that.  You know that I care about you, but
before we go any further in this relationship, you need to think about
this.  I need to know that my past is not going to come between us, or
that you're concerned it will affect your bureaucratic career." 
     He paused in thought as he considered her words.  She didn't have a
problem with her past.  She just thought that he might.  He had the
distinct idea that as far as she was concerned, if his appointment to
Council hadn't occurred, they probably wouldn't be having this
conversation.  It spoke of her security within her life's choices, as
well as her obvious consideration of him. "Are you ashamed of what you
were, Cassiopeia?" His question was gentle, not at all sharp or
accusatory. He simply wanted to know.
     "Ashamed?" She smiled at the very thought.  "No.  As I said, it was
a traditional art.  Thousands of young women on Gemon, and from other
planets and colonies, vied for a chance to be admitted to the Sanctorium. 
I was proud to be among them.  I felt as if I brought some measure of
joy, of happiness, to those who needed it.  Everyone should feel valued,
after all." 
     "Are you religious at all, Cassiopeia?" 
     "I...well, I was raised to believe in The Book Of The Word, and
studied many theologies in my Socialation training, but have never
considered myself devout. Why?" 
     "I was thinking of a woman from my own planet. A woman who lived a
long time ago. Her name was Mary Magdalene." 
     "Oh?" asked Cassiopeia.  Mark Dayton never talked just to hear the
sound of his own voice, at least not with her.  
     "She was a woman famous for her...profession.  Not unlike your own
former life, but with a lot less training, I'm willing to bet.  She was
also said to be possessed by seven demons." He could see the slight
narrowing of her eyes at that. Yeah, possibly he could have held back
that bit of information.  His own attention to detail was sometimes
misplaced.  "When she at last came to the One that some of us believe to
be Divinity Incarnate, she was not only healed, but forgiven. An amended
life, its course radically changed. My point is, if she could change, and
go forward, so could anyone.  Including you." He paused for a moment,
then added quietly, "Or me." 
     Abruptly, he realized, that if that story could apply to her, in a
way it could apply to him as well.  And it shouldn't necessarily take
divine intervention to put one on the right path, though in retrospect,
the angel 'John' had happened along at just the right time for him, when
Ryan's words had failed to make an impact.  Dayton thought about the
years of imprisonment that had changed him, turning him into a man who
spent too many hours dreaming of the ways he could avenge himself against
his tormentors, making them feel every ounce of the fear and
self-loathing that he had experienced.  He had become more animal than
Human, falling back on his instinctual drive to survive.  When Adama had
first explained their intent to find Earth, despite Dayton's voiced
concerns of the Cylon Empire destroying yet another planet-his home
planet-the Earthman had taken it upon himself to be judge, jury and
executioner for the Colonial Fleet, intending to let the imminent
explosion of the asteroid base and Dynamos wipe out the mighty Battlestar
that protected them.  Yeah, on the scale of immorality, he was a relative
monster compared to Cassiopeia.
     He sniffed as he tried to remember where he had left off in his
egotistical and condescending attempt to 'forgive her sins'.  She was
waiting patiently, unaware his train of thought had radically changed his
perception of the situation.  "I guess what I'm trying to say,
Cassiopeia-and probably not very coherently-is that what you used to be
doesn't matter to me.  Not at this point in my life.  I guess thirty
years in that hellhole teaches a guy what's important and what isn't.  I
care about you for the person that you are, not your chosen profession or
what you did in the past.  Besides," he shrugged, attempting to lighten
his dour and reflective mood, "I'm not exactly a saint myself, you know."

     "Really?" she smiled.  She didn't really have a difficult time
believing that, especially with some of the stories that Ryan had told
her. 
     "Oh, yes." He smiled at the way she looked up at him expectantly, as
though this would be worth hearing.  "There was a time when I was known
as 'lock-up-your-daughters-Dayton'." Really, it seemed so trite
considering what had been running through his head.  He changed tack
again.  "Seriously, I've done a lot that I'm not particularly proud of. 
Most of it would horrify you." To her credit she simply nodded.  She had
been there more than once when he had awakened from the nightmares that
had dragged him back to relive the terrors of his lifetime.  "So, I am
hardly one to sit in judgment of how someone else has lived.  And
besides, if we have anything, you and I, then the past is just that." 
     "I'm glad you see it that way, Mark," she replied simply, putting
her arms around him once more.  "And this mission?" 
     "My one and only, I hope to God.  Frankly, I don't see them needing
the Endeavour more than this once.  My last hurrah, as it were." He
pulled her close. 
     She sniffed and held close to him, wondering if it was true.  Cain,
Starbuck, and now Mark Dayton.  The truth was she was attracted to a
certain kind of man.  A man of action who would always be willing to jump
into the fray when called upon.  "Come home safe," she whispered, not for
the first time wondering if her man would come home at all. 

----------

     Adama stood aside, crisply formal, as the two women entered his
office.  He sighed, preferring to be on the Bridge at this point, but his
respect and fellowship with both of these Council members dictated that
he take the time to reassure them-at least as far as Tinia was concerned. 
Ama had her own contacts, as she often put it, and was as unflappable as
ever.  He followed them through the door.
     "You're sending a rescue party," Ama stated, as flatly as if she had
announced to one and all that his uniform was blue.  Not a question.  Nor
a demand.  Just a statement.
     "We are," he nodded.  "Apollo is getting the ship prepared now." 
     Tinia nodded, her features tense.  She had liaised with the
Empyreans for so long, that she had taken a personal interest in the
people.  And while Starbuck and her hadn't always seen eye to eye across
Adama's dinner table, his betrothal to an Empyrean princess had gone a
long way towards easing the integration of the Empyreans into the Fleet,
as well as boosting morale Fleet-wide.  Between them, Tinia and Ama had
elevated the two warriors to icon status, and the Fleet had certainly
needed heroes and idols to look up to on a journey that at times seemed
both endless and uncertain. "Adama, is there any word?  Any sign at all
that Luana and Starbuck have survived?"
     He reached out, gently squeezing the upturned hands as she beseeched
him for reassurances that he couldn't, in all good conscience, offer. 
"We've had no contact with them at all since the distress call."
     "Emergency beacons?" Ama asked, a little more familiar with
operations having two goddaughters and an honorary son who were pilots. 
"Life signs?"
     "Nothing.  There are radion emissions from the surface that are
interfering with our scanners." Adama shook his head.  "Yet, I understand
you...sense they are still alive, Ama?"
     "There's no doubt in my mind, Adama," she returned, smiling
mysteriously. "I can feel their life forces.  They still walk within this
dimension, Adama.  I sense them as truly and as fully as I sense you. 
And, fortunately, my spiritual connection with my kin cannot be
interrupted by mere radion emissions."
     "One day I will sit down and ask you to explain that to me over a
glass of ambrosa," Adama returned, shaking his head, and wondering about
the source of the woman's...powers, talents, skills, gifts-he was even
unsure how to refer to them. Were it not for the proof that he had
repeatedly seen that defied all logic, he would have sworn long ago that
Ama was completely addled.
     "I'm not sure that I could," Ama replied, with the hint of a smile.
"There are some things that transcend logic, after all.  One must take
comfort in that."
     "Most do not, Ama," Tinia pointed out.  "I for one, seek answers
that can be supported by logic."
     "What of you, Adama?" Ama asked, with a curious smile.
     Abruptly, and for no apparent reason, a memory of the tomb of the
ninth Lord of Kobol came back to him.  Adama, Apollo, Serina and Baltar,
they had all been trapped when the Cylons had unexpectedly attacked.
Baltar, who was sure he had offended the sensibilities of the Lords when
he opened the sacred sarcophagus, had demanded, "Adama, the Lords are
with you, use your power, get us out of here!"
     His power.  
     He had thought about it long afterward, when he had had a quiet
moment to reflect on it all.  Baltar had assumed that through the use of
his 'mystical powers', the Commander could free them from megatons of
falling stone that had secured their apparent fate.  As if he could grip
his medallion, mutter some incantation, and save the day.  It almost
seemed silly in that light.  Yet, now it reminded him of...Ama.
     Her powers were indefinable, defying the paradigms of a
materialistic universe, yet tangible, and were perhaps embodied in her
character. An inner strength and resolve, fierce faith and determination,
along with an innate sense of knowing right from wrong, she was a force
of nature. Qualities that Adama not only respected, but recognized within
himself.  Yet his own 'powers' were balanced by his bureaucratic and
military responsibilities.  His own need to explain the inexplicable
often surpassed his desire to simply accept that in the universe that was
beyond his understanding.  He smiled slightly as he considered the
Empyrean woman.
     "Ama, as a military man, I seek explanations.  Such things are a
cornerstone of my profession. Yet when I cannot find answers, or
furthermore, bring myself to realize that perhaps I was not meant to
understand, I can find solace...and perhaps even hope and reverence, in
the knowledge that there is a power greater than all of us out there." He
waved a hand towards the viewport.
     Ama nodded, placing her hand over her heart.  "And in here, Adama. 
Most importantly, in here."

----------

     "Yes!" Luana cheered as she watched the emergency beacon indicator
go on in Starbuck's cockpit.  As blinking little lights went, it was the
most beautiful one she had ever seen.  "Yeehaw! It's functioning!" 
     "Well, what did you expect?" Starbuck called up to her, a little
relieved that his creative reconfiguration had actually worked.  He
watched as she climbed out of the cockpit, slipping to the ground with
the grace of a wild felix. "I mean...hey. This is me we're talking about
here."
     "Oh, right.  I almost forgot." She grinned at the bravado.  "It's a
good thing you were here to remind me.  Now what do we do?" Luana asked,
brushing aside stalks of foliage to join him. 
     "Well, we wait and see if they're going to rescue us."
Unfortunately, he had his doubts about it this time around.  It was
similar to the circumstances inside the pirate asteroid.  The risks of a
rescue might outweigh the benefit.  He just wasn't sure that Lu was
prepared to hear that just yet.  You're doing it again, Bucko.  Treating
her differently because she's your betrothed.  "In the meantime, I'm
going to work on establishing some kind of communications with the
Galactica." 
     "Starbuck, when we were attacked, did you pick up the energy
wavelons coming off the planet?" she asked. 
     "Yeah." He nodded briefly. "I've been thinking about that.  It
doesn't exactly fill me with comforting thoughts." 
     "What do you think it was? Some sort of defence system possibly? 
Maybe left on automatic?" 
     He slowly turned the other way, looking over the vast field of
yellow foliage with clumps of purple flowers, to the lake beyond, wishing
he knew where they were in relation to where he had seen the energy
surge. "Some kind of command centre for the defensive network?" He
frowned and shook his head.  "I don't know, Lu.  We didn't have any trace
of sentient life signs or indications of civilisation on the surface
before we were attacked, and suddenly my scanners were sparking up like
it was the Caprican Summer Solstice Festival. There has to be some kind
of explanation for that, but we just don't have enough data."
     "What about our scan logs?"
     "Can't get mine to come up," he said. "No power to any of those
systems, and I'm afraid even if we did have, the energy pulse would have
wiped them clean." 
     She thought about it a moment.  "You're...wondering if it's the
Cylons?" Luana could tell by his silence that he was seriously
considering it.  "But what would they be doing this far out and ahead of
us?" 
     He turned back towards her.  "I don't think it's Cylon.  If the
Cylons controlled the Dynamos and this planet, we'd either be captured or
dead right now, not sitting here in a field of flowers.  This just
doesn't feel like their style." He sighed. "But you can't rule out the
possibility that they could have manoeuvred ahead of us. They don't have
a Fleet of civilian ships to slow them down, remember."  He thought back
to the Base Ship he and Apollo had penetrated sectars ago. That one had
moved ahead of them, and manoeuvred into a waiting position.  If they
could do it once...
     "If not the Cylons, then who?" 
     "Whoever designed those Dynamos to begin with.  I don't know how in
Hades Hole twelve of the spheroids ended up at that pirate base, but that
technology was obviously in their hands for a long time.  Probably
generations, when you consider everything else we saw there.  Someone
must have shown them how it worked, at least for their own purposes."
Starbuck mused aloud.  Oddly, he and Bex had never had the opportunity to
sit down over a glass of asteroid whiskey and chat about how that
despicable settlement of loathsome Humans had come about.  Even Dayton
wasn't sure, and he'd spent thirty yahrens in that pit. 
     "Go on," Luana encouraged him. 
     "I don't really understand it.  I don't know what all this..." he
held up his hands to the sky, "is for.  Some kind of command centre on
the planet and the Dynamos in position to protect it from above.  Then
when it does pick us off, it seems to just...relocate us onto the surface
and disable our ships. Why? What's the overall plan here?" 
     "Well, who or whatever is behind all this obviously wants us alive.
Given their technology, they could just as easily snuffed us out as
anything else."
     "I agree," he nodded, after a moment. "But the why of it is what
bothers me. Reminds me..." He looked around the bucolic valley, with it
intoxicating beauty. "Reminds me of Carillon somehow.  Beauty that hides
something." He shuddered, recalling just how close Cassie had come to
being fodder for one of the hideous Ovion larvae.  What lurked here?
     "It's unnerving, Starbuck.  Would it even make sense for the
Galactica to send a rescue team? They must have received the telemetry
you sent them; therefore, they'll know what a force the Dynamo Network
is.  A rescue party could potentially end up down here beside us, or
worse." 
     "I know." He sniffed.  She was a clever girl.  She'd figured it out
all by herself. 
     "You..." She grabbed his hand, preventing him from turning away from
her again as the chilling reality set in.  "You don't think they'll
come...do you?" 
     "Not if they can't figure out a way past the Dynamos.  It's
different than the last time we encountered them, Lu.  This new network
is an unknown adversary with a significant amount more power and range." 
     "Where does that leave us?" Her voice was tense. 
     "Look, the Galactica has the advantage of her scanners.  We don't
know what's happening up there. We're essentially blind. We can't assume
the same applies to them right now." 
     "So there's hope?" she asked, feeling his hand slip around her and
pull her to him. 
     "There's always hope, Lu." He smiled gently at her, tipping up her
chin.  "That's what we live for around these parts.  Besides, it might
not be so bad being here, just you and I." 
     She smiled fleetingly, her earlier thoughts of her and Starbuck
staying behind on the planet, and avoiding all the bovine mong about the
sealing details, seeming less attractive now that it might actually come
true.  Be careful what you wish for...Surely there could be some happy
medium instead?  Her and Starbuck together in the Fleet, but without all
the complications of the impending sealing ceremony hanging over them. 
If anybody would understand, it would be Starbuck.  She was being silly. 
She should just talk to him about it.  He probably felt the same way,
after all.  "I was thinking about that earlier.  You and I marooned
here."
     "You were?" he asked, as she looked down at his chest, avoiding his
gaze. Never a good sign with Luana. 
     "I...was thinking that...sometimes with all the sealing plans, and
all the fussing that Ama does...her expectations...yours..." She sighed
before returning her gaze to him. 
     "What?" he asked, shaking his head in bemusement.  Where was she
going with this?
     "That it might be nice to avoid all that." She looked at him
searchingly, awaiting his response. Any centon now he would laugh and
tell her he felt the same way. 
     It seemed for a moment that he had stopped breathing as he stared in
incredulity at the quirky little smile on her face.  His heart was
obviously still beating though, because it had irritatingly risen to his
throat and the sound was echoing in his ears.  Then he blurted out, "You
don't want to get sealed?"

Chapter Four

     Adama glanced over the final diagnostic report for the Earth
shuttle, inputting his command code and giving final approval for her
conscription and utilization. She was now, officially, part of the
Colonial Fleet. He smiled wryly, shaking his head. Something his mother
had once said about 'scraping the bottom of the barrel' came fleetingly
to mind.  Surprisingly, it hadn't taken that long to prepare the ship for
readiness, which bespoke of the quality of the work that Dayton and his
band of scavengers and hobbyists had put into their personal project, not
to mention the engineers and technicians who had originally designed and
built her, on that planet so far away. All the same, his feelings were
mixed because it hadn't escaped his notice that he was sending two
civilians into active duty who were not that far off his own age in
relative Earth yahrens, considering their shorter life span. Ah yes, in a
shuttle that the Lords of Kobol would have scorned, had they survived
laughing themselves nearly to death over it. He sighed, as he wracked his
brain one more time for a more viable option. There simply wasn't one
that he could live with. 
     While finding out what had happened to his missing pilots wasn't
strategically mandatory, getting to the bottom of who was responsible for
the planetary engineering project of Planet 'P' was.  Instinctively, he
knew they shouldn't ignore the situation and safely move the Fleet around
the potential threat, as would be the usual course of action with a
weapon as unknown, powerful and unpredictable as this network of Dynamos.
With the Ravishol pulsar, they had at least known what sort of threat
that they faced. Here, there were too many unknowns. Far too many. Also,
the suggestion that there was some link with Earth was almost palpable.
He could feel it. Taste it. He had to pursue it.  
     "Commander, we've just picked up elevated radion, in widely varied
wavelons, from the surface of the planet again," Athena reported.  "It
seems to be directed at the point in the planet's orbit where the Vipers
were last detected." 
     Adama took the stairs from the Command Level two at a time as he
moved to her station, resting a hand on the back of her chair as he
looked over her monitor.  "Can you trace the exact source of the radion
emissions, Athena?" 
     "Our scanners are still being affected, sir," Athena replied,
clearly already working on it. "The radion waves seem to be effecting
some kind of countermeasures. The coordinates of the source appears to be
moving randomly every 3.333 microns, precisely." 
     "Concentrated scan." 
     "I already tried that, father. I've also tried to stabilize the
waveforms from our own sensors, but the countermeasures seem to always be
one step ahead of me, causing distortion. The scan beams from the
Galactica are scrambled almost as soon as they enter the planet's
atmosphere, giving me garbled returns. Whatever they are, these other
emissions react and adjust to everything I try before it has a chance to
work." 
     "Commander, maybe trying to outdo the technology is the wrong
approach," Tigh suggested, over his shoulder.  "Maybe we need to...use
something more archaic." 
     "Tigh?" Adama asked. 
     "Why don't we try emitting a scan on a gamma frequency? The same
theory that Commander Dayton suggested with the Endeavour, sir.  Perhaps
the fact that the frequency is ancient will confuse the planet's
defensive system.  At least long enough to get some kind of meaningful
results." 
     Adama nodded slowly.  While not as precise, it would be a starting
point. "That would at least give us an idea of the general area that the
signals are coming from. Captain Apollo's team could investigate further
from the surface." 
     "Commander, the Endeavour is also equipped with what Commander
Dayton referred to as 'radar'.  It's a crude form of scanners, sir. 
Similar to what our own early space explorers used back before
Unification," Athena spoke up.  Much like her brother, she had been
intrigued by the archaic systems of the Earth shuttle, and keen to learn
more of the old ship.  Commander Dayton had personally shown her around
the flight deck and had given her a quick demonstration of its rebuilt
systems. He had had a far away look on his face when he had described 
the imaging system. Apparently, it had been instrumental in adding data
to their own knowledge of their planet at the time. Surprisingly, it had
survived the depredations of the pirates largely intact, having been
pulled from the shuttle and used to augment the base's patchwork network
of scanners. Salvaged during the evacuation, Baker had managed to restore
it with help from Hummer, and it was now back where it belonged.  "It
will give a detailed topographical analysis of the area." 
     "Very well," nodded Adama. "Athena, work with Rigel to retune our
scanners for gamma frequency operations.  Priority one."
     "Right away, Commander," replied Athena. 
     "Good idea, Tigh," said Adama, turning to the Colonel. "I admit the
thought of a gamma scan had never occurred to me."
     "Well, all this immersion in archaic technologies of late...it
seemed natural.  Though I never thought I'd be using obsolete methods for
countering countermeasures."
     "Never let it be said that we've forgotten the relevance of the past
in regards to the present, old friend, or the future," Adama returned,
aware of the irony of his statement.  It hadn't been that long since
Dayton had accused him of doing just that, forgetting that the Cylons had
destroyed their civilisation, as he single-mindedly lead their mortal
enemies to Earth to potentially have history repeat itself.  Yes, his
quest for Earth continued, but the Commander was reminded that he had to
be able to eliminate or rule out any threat of Cylon involvement before
he arrived on the doorstep of his Earth brethren.
     "Commander, I've just picked up low frequency radion wavelons that
started at the same point in the planet's orbit that we traced the
planetary emissions to, extending across the entire Dynamo Network and
encapsulating the planet." Athena informed him.
     "It could be they're relaying the signal from the planet..." He
mused, "Are the Dynamos responding in any other way?" 
     "Not that I can detect, at least at this point, Father." Athena
replied.
     "Rigel, notify Captain Apollo on the Endeavour of the same.  Omega,
monitor the Dynamo Network for any changes, however trifling they may
seem.  Now let's get our scanners reconfigured before that planetary
signal stops again," Adama ordered. "Get Technician Hummer and his
equipment up here, on the double, and have Corporal Komma in the Computer
Centre render every aid that might be needed from that quarter."
     A medley of 'yes, sirs' resounded around the Bridge.

----------

     All too often, when life seemed to be going just the way you wanted,
it had a way of abruptly tossing you on your astrum as though to suggest
that maybe you weren't choosing your own flight path after all.  Starbuck
stared at Luana absolutely dumbfounded.  She didn't want to get sealed to
him.  This would probably have been a good time to reflect upon his own
reluctance to commit to various women in the previous deca-yahren, but...
     "What the frack are you talking about, Luana?" He stumbled back from
her embrace, pushing her away reflexively.  "I seem to recall you saying
'yes'.  If you didn't want to get sealed, then why the FRACK didn't you
tell me that four sectars ago!" His tone of voice peaked with his
emotions.
     "I didn't say that I..." she reached for his arm, but he jerked away
from her once again, turning his back and taking a rasping breath.  His
hand raked his hair and his body seemed to tense from top to bottom.  No,
not exactly the reaction she was expecting.  "Starbuck..."
     "Don't!" He whirled on her again, holding up a hand.
     "You're not even giving me a chance to explain!" Luana pressed on,
grabbing the hand he had intended to put some distance between them, only
to have him jerk it away again.  
     "What's there to explain, Lu?" He asked angrily, turning away again
and stumbling in the other direction.  His anger seemed to wash over him
in waves until it reached some kind of pinnacle.  He felt like a volcano
about to blow, and had the incredible urge to scream, or hit something. 
Yeah, maybe it was irrational, but his body was almost trembling with
suppressed emotion.  He needed to get away before he did something he'd
regret.
     "Hey!  We need to talk about this!" Luana protested, hot on his
heels.  "You're overreacting!"
     "Overreacting!" He whirled around again, startling when they
collided.  Instinctively, he reached out and gripped her arms, preventing
her from tumbling backwards.  He winced, and guilt lanced through him as
she looked at him in wide-eyed surprise, and maybe a little fear.
     Luana drew a jagged breath, as she looked him over.  "Fine.  Go."
This time she pulled out of his grasp, taking a step back.  "I think you
need to calm down." Her voice was deliberately low and controlled, though
she felt far from being in control.  She ignored his obvious regret,
written plainly on his features, and plunged on as he opened his mouth. 
"I'll be waiting right here when you're ready to talk.  And we will talk,
Starbuck, because you're out of your fracking head if you think that
suddenly I don't love you and don't want to spend the rest of my life
with you."
     "Lu..." he began.
     "No!  Now it's my turn." Her hands balled up into fists at her
sides, and she resisted the incredible urge to grab his tunic and shake
him until his brain cells banged against each other enough to stimulate
some useful activity.  "I don't deserve this!  I start to tell you how
I'm feeling lately, because it's been eating me alive, and you...you turn
on me like I'm the fracking enemy, Starbuck." She shook her head as he
opened his mouth again.  She simply didn't want to hear it right now. 
"Go cool your turbines!"
     "But..." he took a tentative step.
     "I..." She raised both hands as if they could ward him off like some
kind of shield.  Surprisingly, it had the desired effect as he stopped in
his tracks, his mouth tightening in a thin line.  "I don't want to hear
it right now.  Go...cool...off."  
     He nodded briefly, before he turned and walked away.  

----------

    Dayton looked into the crew cabin one last time, shaking his head in
wonder that this ship-his ship-would soon be launching on her first
mission in over thirty years.  Apollo and Boomer were going over the
newly installed instrumentation once again with Baker, and Med Tech Tone
was securing his gear.  All the men were suited up in the much lighter
Colonial version of an Advanced Crew Escape Suit like the NASA astronauts
used to wear for the ascent and entry portions of their missions. 
Despite the modifications they had made to the Endeavour, she still
didn't have the sustainable internal artificial environment and gravity
of the Colonial ships.  They would be floating around on this one.  Just
like the old days.
     This was it.  T-minus thirty minutes.  He could almost hear the
voice from Mission Control in his ears.  He glanced at his Colonial watch
for the hundredth time, as a hand slapped him on the shoulder. 
     "I just came from the OC and it's official breaking news on the
IFB," Ryan announced with a wide grin.  "Mrs. Dayton's little boy is
finally a beautician."
     "That's Bureautician, Paddy." Dayton replied with a sniff,
retreating with his friend into the middeck section, as Tone passed them
heading forward.
     "Oh?" Ryan replied. "Right. A shame, really. I need a haircut." He
ran a hand theatrically through his hair.  
     "Yes, you do," he nodded, looking at the other's long, grey queue. 
Then at the pseudo-Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and bare feet in open-toed
sandals.  Oh, and he hadn't shaved in a few days either.  "You're
starting to look like a hippy, a vagrant...or an over-the-hill Tom
Selleck." 
     "Tom never looked this good."  Ryan sniffed under each armpit for
effect, then shrugged. "Hey, I'm retired, old fella.  I can look however
I want to." He looked around the ship.  "Wish I was going with you
though." 
     "I thought you'd be the last one who would want to get back into the
action," Dayton replied in surprise. 
     "Action I could do without. It's the fresh air I'd kill for," Ryan
admitted, suddenly serious. "Thirty years is a long time to go without
feeling the sun on your face, Mark." 
     "But you're from Canada. You never had the sunshine on your face
until you came south of the forty-ninth, Paddy," he razzed the other. "If
I remember, you don't have sun up there at all." 
     "Never thought the dogs would be able to pull the sled all the way
to Florida..." Ryan continued the banter as he ran a hand over equipment,
both familiar and new.  "The road got a bit bumpy after I passed through
St. Louis.  Anyway, how's the Colonial pressure suit?  Baker said it
seemed to be working well for his varicose veins.  Does wonder for the
butt too, I'll bet. He said he might wear it all the time...if he can get
someone to insert a 'Y' fly." 
     Dayton chuckled. "I think I dislocated my right shoulder getting
into it.  I'm scared to death of drinking anything because I might
actually break something when I try to get out of it again."
     "Still, you look a bit less like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man than
we did in our day." Ryan returned, grinning as he looked his friend over. 
"Much more svelte." 
     "I was thinking of the Michelin Man, myself," Dayton returned, then
grinned himself, "And speak for yourself, old man." 
     Ryan paused to close a storage hatch that hadn't been properly
secured by Tone.  He automatically began double checking the storage
lockers, ensuring everything was secure for the trip.  Advanced Colonial
medical equipment wouldn't be any use to them after floating around and
then crashing to the deck.  He looked up to see Dayton's eyes on him in
amusement and something more.  After all those years of watching out for
each other, old habits died hard.  "I know your enormous ego isn't going
to be able to absorb this, so I'll say it twice.  You're no spring
chicken, Dayton.  Be careful down there.  And don't do anything stupid. 
Or idiotic.  Or brave.  Or thoughtless.  Or..." 
     Dayton took a swat at him. 
     Ryan took a step back laughing.  "Now, as I was saying, I know your
enormous ego isn't going to absorb this, so I'll say it..." 
     "Enough already!  I get it," Dayton replied. "You're acting like my
mother.  I'm only doing this because it seemed like the best plan to deal
with the Dynamos.  And we owe it to Starbuck.  I never planned on going
on a mission again." 
     "Right.  Which is why you and Baker swindled Starbuck at Texas
Hold'em so he would teach you how to fly in their ships." Ryan returned. 

     "Swindled?  Are you insinuating that I cheated, Paddy?" Mark asked
wide-eyed. "Moi?"
     "No, I'm insinuating that you cheated Starbuck, mon frŠre." Ryan
chuckled. "But since he usually has a card or two up his own sleeve, I'm
not sure that it actually matters. Regardless, you've been dying to get
back out there, Mark. Don't bother trying to pull the wool over my eyes."
     "You ought to join ranks with Cassiopeia," Dayton muttered, shaking
his head. 
     "Well, since you brought it up, she can recognize the well-rehearsed
'reluctant hero' scene when she sees it.  Adama didn't exactly drag you
into this by your heels." Ryan returned with a snort.  "She's a smart
lady and already has experience with your kind." 
     "What are you getting at?" 
     "Did she sign on for this, Mark?" He waved a hand towards the flight
deck.  "Seems to me the lady was under the impression that you were a
sedate professor with some political ambitions, not an astronaut dying to
get back in the game, a la Clint Eastwood in Space Cowboys."
     For a moment Dayton wondered if he should have discussed it with
Cassiopeia first.  At one time, he would never had made a big decision
like that without consulting Yvonne.  Then again, after all those years
of being his own man, he was a little out of practice at being in a
relationship.  Ryan had a point...as usual.  Dayton shuffled foot to foot
than glanced at his watch.  "T-minus twenty-five minutes, Paddy.  We have
to get ready." 
     "I don't think it's quite that precise here in Spaceville.  After
all, they blast off a bit more frequently." Ryan reminded him, then held
out a hand to the other.  "Safe trip." 
     "Thanks." Dayton returned the grip, feeling his friend's reluctance
to let go as the other searched his features as if trying to memorize
them...or if noting how much they had deteriorated with age since the
last time he had truly gazed upon his ugly mug.  "You're not going to hug
me, are you?" 
     "Not while you're wearing a girdle, I'm not," Ryan replied with a
grin, nodding towards the crew cabin again.  "I'll just see off Bob and
the others, then I'll be on my way." 
     "Of course." Dayton replied, feeling that familiar sensation of
butterflies in his stomach that he always got before a launch.  Only
these butterflies felt more like they were wearing armoured plating and
wielding maces.  He watched Ryan say a quick farewell, then with another
slap on his back depart, closing the hatch behind him. 
     "We're ready here, Commander Dayton." Apollo called back.  "We just
heard from the Bridge.  They picked up an emergency beacon from Viper
Two...uh, Starbuck's ship.  They're having trouble locking in on the
coordinates, but at least we have a general idea and should be able to
pick up the signal when we get through the atmosphere."
     "All right, Captain." It was good news.  At least they knew for sure
that Starbuck was alive if he was well enough to activate his beacon.  He
knew the kid was tough.  The Colonial Warrior had proved it time and time
again.  Dayton tried not to think about Luana for now.  They'd find out
soon enough.  "Let's get started." He pulled on his helmet, securing it
and stepping onto the flight deck.  He stepped past Apollo, Boomer and
Tone, and patted Baker on the shoulder, then slipped into his traditional
seat on the left, and strapped in.  It all seemed a bit surreal.  
     Until he looked down the runway towards space and realized that
he-Mark Dayton, Commander of the Space Shuttle Endeavour, leader of men,
survivor of Torg's hellish pirate base, Earth authority, and now
quasi-Bureautician and Earth Liaison Officer-had an almost
seventy-year-old bladder, and needed to take a wicked wizz before
take-off. 

----------

     "Welcome," said Sire Uri, as he ushered Sire Geller into his
quarters. The architect of the 'Carillon debacle' guided his guest to a
seat, and gestured towards the wet bar. Geller nodded, always willing to
sample the finest. Someone else's finest, preferably.
     "Thank you," said Geller, pacing about the room. He waited until Uri
finished preparing his own drink, and sat down opposite him. 
     "Well," said Uri.
     "Well," replied Geller. "It seems, old friend, that the winds have
changed in the Fleet. I find myself with time on my hands..."
     "Yes," rumbled Uri, sipping at his ambrosa.  It was of the Proteus
vintage, acquired through means best left unexplored. "This new crop of
Councillors is not of our ilk."
     "No. They are 'yes' men.  Whiners at Adama's heels."  Geller took a
long slug, as if to wash the taste of the words out of his mouth.
     "I don't think one could call Montrose a whiner," said Uri, looking
at Geller over the rim of his glass. From the state of his eyes, it was
obvious this glass wasn't his first of the day.
     "Only because no one from his Colony stood against him, Uri,"
replied Geller. "But then Montrose could probably get re-elected until
Doomsday."
     "Perhaps," said Uri, standing to refill both his and his guest's
drink. "So, what do you suggest we do about it?  Sit here and complain,
or take action?"
     "Action of course. But what action? Thank you,"  he took the
proffered drink, and sipped slowly. 
     "Geller, my dear old friend, what do you think of Commander Dayton?"
     "What?  The Earth astronaut?" said Geller, head snapping up quickly.
"Ah."
     "Yes," smiled Uri. "Ever since the arrival of Dayton and his fellow
Earthmen, the offensive has gradually shifted in Adama's favour.  The
people are besotted with them, as you no doubt have seen."
     "Yes!" spat Geller angrily. "The people! Herded bovine to be led! 
And these..." he stopped, snorting, as he stared into his glass. "Even my
own kin has gone after them. Seeking them out, listening to their wild
tales, even trying to learn their language!  Bah!  They are fools.  Just
like ovine, waiting to follow..."
     "Well, there is always a solution, old friend," said Uri. "We just
need to exercise patience and a modicum of cunning, in order to bring
things back into line."
     "What would you suggest?" His eyes glinted with newfound purpose. 
He laid aside his ambrosa for the moment.  "With these newcomers, Adama's
obsessive drive to find Earth has gained new momentum.  More and more of
the people are falling in line with his pious crusade, and sensible
voices like ours are being drowned out by the...the marching moronic
masses."
     "Then you agree with me?  We should find a suitable star system as
soon as possible, and settle there?  Abandon this idiotic trek?"
     "Absolutely.  The Cylons have ceased to be a threat," replied Geller
with some heat. Like Uri, he was a comfort creature. Long accustomed to
living in sybaritic luxury, the destruction of the Colonies had reduced
him to living aboard a ship. Now while the best suites aboard the Rising
Star were not exactly a vermin-infested hovel in a poverty-ridden slum,
it was a far cry from the many vast and palatial homes Geller's family
used to own and enjoy. Like several others, he longed, nay lusted to
settle somewhere, where a planet-bound civilization could take root once
more and provide all the amenities that life in the Fleet often had to do
without. 
     Under their leadership and guidance, of course. After all, the
people needed them. 
     "Then, we need to direct our attentions, not at Adama per se, but at
his newfound support." Uri let the words hang for a few moments. 
     "As I said, old friend, the people are besotted with the Earthmen.
What did you have in mind?"
     "Nothing tarnishes a reputation quite like an accusation," replied
Uri, with a smile. "And, even if ultimately one is found innocent of any
wrongdoing..."
     "Their reputation is never quite the same," finished Geller. "And
the momentum will have shifted."
     "In our favour," nodded Uri. "Now, as you know, Commander Dayton has
been nominated to advisor's status on the Council."
     "Yes, I just saw it on the IFB, official Earth Liaison.  Which gives
him Adama's ear, and great influence over the rest of the Council."
     "Including Adama's pet, Tinia."
     "What do you have in mind, Uri?  And what can I do to help forward
the return of common sense to the Council?"
     "Well," smiled Uri again, and it was not a pretty sight, "as you
know, Commander Dayton has sort of taken up where our infamous Lieutenant
Starbuck left off, with the lovely med tech, Cassiopeia. And, his friend,
uh...Ryan, seems most friendly with Lieutenant Dietra."
     "Ah," smiled Geller, and it wasn't a pretty sight either. "Tell me
more."

----------

     It was like a self-destruct mechanism that had auto-engaged as soon
as his temper flared and he opened his mouth.  Full turbos, disengage
brain, Lieutenant!
     It was especially ironic, because he used to be known for his silver
tongue and his smooth way with women.  Starbuck shook his head, picking
up a stone and firing it across the clear body of water that had
collected beneath the waterfall and sprawled out for kilometrons in the
distance.  One, two, three, four...the flat stone skipped across the
surface and finally plunged into the depths.  He could actually follow
its path down to the bottom through the crystal clear water.  He glanced
up at the cascading flow that seemed to lazily wind its way down from the
rolling green hills and white stone cliffs above in several tiers, taking
its time reaching its destination as though reminding all those that
gazed upon it, that nature was in no hurry to get where it was going.
     You really should be trying to get your communications going right
now, Bucko, not sitting on your astrum worrying about your love life and
taking in the scenery.  Ruefully, he remembered that his 'communications'
with Luana would have to precede any attempt at repairing his Viper's
comm system.  Yeah, he was definitely experiencing firsthand how being
involved with your wingmate could complicate the mission.
     He sighed, leaning down and trailing his hand through the cold water
from where he sat on the boulder that seemed to have been put there
specifically for him to enjoy the magnificent view.  He was really
beginning to feel the warmth of the sun now that he had paraded across a
couple hundred metrons of  waist to shoulder high foliage.  He squatted
beside the lake, scooping up water with cupped hands, and slaking his
thirst.  Of course, he hadn't had the presence of mind to bring any water
with him when he stalked off across the valley towards the waterfall,
after all, what better place to 'cool off'?  He could almost hear his old
survival instructor barking at him for not testing the water before
drinking it...so he took another gulp in a heartfelt toast to the old
bugger. He squinted down at the bottom, as the sunlight seemed to reflect
off a shimmering surface causing a spectrum of colour to dance in the
water.  It was mesmerizing.
     Why did you jump down her throat?
     He sighed, feeling all the residual anger drain out of him with that
one breath.  She was right, he'd overreacted.  He'd assumed she didn't
want to get sealed.  He'd been waiting for something to go wrong, after
all.  Hades, after a lifetime of screwing up every good relationship-not
to mention even more bad ones-he'd ever been in, it was only a matter of
time before something happened with this one.
     Yeah, life was a little too good.  They hadn't seen a trace of the
Cylons for almost eight sectars.  The Earthmen-with the possible
exception of Dickins-seemed to be fitting into the Fleet nicely, and
their enterprises had been hugely successful except for the rejected IFB
pitch for Mark Dayton and Ristretto Kid.  However, that was Ryan's idea,
and Starbuck could safely say he had nothing to do with it.  Then there
was his relationship with Chameleon, which had finally evolved into
something  comfortable.  Not exactly father-son, or at least from an
Adama-Apollo perspective, but a slowly coalescing friendship. Starbuck
was still learning things about his mother, his father, and himself. 
Like his real name for instance.  Who the Hades Hole in their right minds
would name their son...?  He shuddered at the memory, and hoped that
Chameleon would be as good as his word and keep it quiet.  Lords, what
were they thinking?
     Then there was Luana.  
     Yeah, it was too clich‚ to even think about.  She just had this
knack for making him feel like a kid in love for the very first time.  He
smiled faintly, actually thinking back to his first love, and abruptly
realized this was actually significantly better than that.  Luana had a
unparalleled zest for life, with an almost na‹ve exuberance that
constantly amazed him.  Not to mention the fact that she didn't seem the
least bit put off by his other pursuits in life, such as cards, triad,
and the various schemes and enterprises he seemed to be constantly
working on.  The most incredible part was that four sectars after they
had declared their love for one another, that really hadn't
changed...well, other than this deep, dark secret that she wanted to
discuss that had apparently been 'eating her alive'.  
     Ah...that might have had something to do with why he had reacted the
way he had.  He had thought that she was as happy as he was.  Sagan, up
until a few centars ago, he was on top of the world.  How could a guy go
about cheerfully with his scanners down for four solid sectars, not
having a frackin' clue that his betrothed was slowly being ingested bit
by bit by something he hadn't even been aware of?  
     He sighed, dipping his hands into the water again, and this time
liberally splashing the cold water over his face and hair.  He noticed
the sun seemed to be climbing higher in the sky, and realized it was
probably going to get a lot warmer.  Then abruptly a scream filled the
air, immediately followed by the whining pulse of a laser blast.  
     He leapt off the boulder, racing back towards the Vipers, his heart
racing even faster than his feet.

Chapter Five

     "Commander, long-range scans just picked up..." Omega paused,
looking hard at his monitor.  "It's gone." 
     Adama leaned over the man's shoulder looking at the empty field
before him.  "Where?" 
     "Delta 8, Commander.  I've seen it three times now, always in the
same position." Omega replied, pointing to the area in question on his
screen. "It's acting like it's shadowing us." 
     Tigh leaned in.  "Like it's trying to stay out of scanner range."
     "Which would mean they would have to know just what our scanner
range is, sir," added Omega.  
     "Precisely. Commander, the last time we picked up something like
that..." 
     "I know, Tigh." It had been shortly before they had encountered the
Void, and found the ancient homeworld of Kobol.  As it turned out, it had
been Cylons. "Bojay and Sheba are fully fuelled and are in a holding
pattern for escort of the Endeavour.  Reassign them to investigate this
quadrant, and have Jolly and Dietra take their place as escort."  
     "Yes, Sir." 

----------

     "This is Commander Dayton of the Space Shuttle Endeavour, requesting
permission to launch." Dayton sat whip tight in his seat, eyes going over
the instruments in front of him.  For the zillionth time, he sent up a
prayer-make that a fervent prayer-hoping that their jury-rigged rebuild
of the shuttle would get the job done.  Of course, right now he would
settle for it not blowing up on launch.  Or anytime after launch, come to
think of it.
     When he had entered the hangar bay where the Endeavour had been
stowed since her retrieval from the pirate asteroid and then rebuilt, he
was once again awestruck by the sheer size of the Colonial vessel that
surrounded them.  It was like standing in the old VAB* at the Cape,
looking up at the ceiling far above him.  Even the hangar deck on one of
the Nimitz-class carriers was small compared to this.  As he walked
towards his old ship, the fuelling boom was just being withdrawn, and the
newly installed fuel tank-taking up almost half the cargo bay-was being
sealed by the hangar crew.  There had been nothing here built to fit her,
and her own internal fuel tanks and lines were not designed to hold the
highly volatile compounds used in these engines, so a new tank, etc., had
been fabricated.  According to the engineers, she now carried enough fuel
to fly a patrol equal in length to that of the Vipers.  
     Now, if the damn tiles just don't fall off...
     He came back to the moment, a small part of him was waiting for the
person on the other end of the line to start laughing uproariously, and
then politely remind him that he was an old fart who had no business
being back on the flight deck.  He glanced at his pilot, who was
performing final checks all over again. For the third time.
     "Shouldn't another be computing?" Baker mumbled over the comm in his
rough Colonial Standard.  
     "Huh?" Boomer asked from behind them, wishing Baker would just use
the damn languatron link like he had suggested.  He glanced at Apollo who
shrugged, not understanding his meaning either.  Of course, relying
entirely upon the languatron might get them anything from a sealing
proposal to another weird Earth recipe, especially with Wilker's
programming.  He fidgeted in his seat, impatient to get it over with. 
Lords, he felt more nervous than a cadet on his first solo.  After all,
this thing hadn't even had a test run on the revamped engines, or the
recycled main computer.  Sure, it was communicating just fine with the
Galactica's own mainframe for now, loading navigational data, but with no
serious diagnostics run as yet, who knew?  That, and they were taking it
on a rescue mission up against a new variety of Dynamos that they
couldn't predict.
     "Shouldn't someone be counting." Dayton corrected his friend.  "In
our day, Mission Control used to countdown to lift off."  He smiled
fondly at the memory, before speaking in a contrived, deep voice:
"Endeavour, we are at T-Minus twenty minutes, and counting." 
     "Why?" Med Tech Tone asked.  He had to admit, he found all
this...antiquity he was currently immersed in completely fascinating.  In
fact, if he were not already committed to a career in medicine...
     "Well, it was a bit more of a production back then." Dayton looked
back over his shoulder.  "We weren't launching something into space every
two minutes...er, centons.  Believe it or not, it actually cost over
four-hundred and fifty million dollars per launch." Dayton replied,
catching Baker's nod of agreement.  His friend understood ninety percent
of what was being said, yet still had trouble verbalising it fluently.
"Consequently, there was a lot more emphasis on following the list of
safety checks and inspections.  Even more so, after we lost the
Challenger, back in '86."  He saw Tone open his mouth to ask and shook
his head, his mouth in a thin line.  "Another time."
     "For how many centons did you countdown?" Apollo asked. 
     Dayton sniffed. "Centons?  Try centars.  Approximately, forty-three
of them. And Mission Control could scrub us for a lot of reasons. 
Computer foul-ups.  Malfunctioning sensors.  Heat-shield tiles not just
right.  Even the weather.  Like I told Tone, we learned the hard way that
you don't get complacent.  Get complacent, and people die."
     "Uhh, scrub?" asked Boomer, trying to reconcile the image of the
astronauts being thoroughly washed over with sonic cleaners.  Surely...
     "Cancel. Abort. It's an old term going back to long before we ever
went into space.  Just a colloquialism." 
     Apollo shook his head, trying to put himself in their place. 
Hundreds of millions of cubits spent on one mission.  Lives at stake. 
Yeah, if that was the case, he'd take every precaution to ensure that
nothing went wrong.  Especially at a stage of development where the
technology was still so...crude. 
     "Endeavour, you are cleared to launch," Rigel informed them. 
     "Thank you." Dayton returned.  "This is it, Bob." 
     "Then let's do it right, Mark." Baker returned in English.  He
flipped up several switches, and with a sharp thump, the engines began to
whine.  The shuttle started to vibrate. "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six..."
In front of them, the hangar bay doors began to open, and the ship began
to move out into the launch bay.  
     Dayton chuckled, then joined in.  Moving the stick, he pointed her
nose towards space, lining the Endeavour up with the markings on the
flight deck. Together they counted down as the Endeavour headed down the
runway, picking up speed.  His eyes flicked rapidly from the windows to
the instruments and back again.  The engines were operating as promised,
well within all operational tolerances. Speed continued to climb, fuel
system, computers, G-indicator, everything was just as they had not dared
to hope.
     Now, as long as the windows don't blow out...or my bladder...
     "Seal helmets," he ordered. Without comment, they all complied. 
     "...three, two, one..." 
     "Houston, we have lift off!" Dayton added with a grin as he felt the
runway disappear beneath them, and the gravity plummet. 
     "Yeehaw!" Baker whooped beside him. They could hear the engines
roar, and the stars filled the ports. Within seconds, the other ships of
the Fleet became visible.  
     Dayton moved the stick, and the Endeavour banked over, clawing for
open space.  Both men looked at the instruments. "Good God! Look at that
speed!"
     "Bloody hell!" said Baker, grin wide. "We're moving at...eighty
thousand...a hundred-fifty thousand...a quarter mil..."
     "Never gone this fast before?" asked Boomer, hiding a smile.
     "Not with us in control," said Dayton. "Holy shit, if only Patrolman
Magnotti could see me now!"
     "Who?" asked Apollo.
     "A cop who issued me a lot of speeding tickets when I was a kid. 
Man, Oh Man!"
     "Okay, let's get to where we're supposed to be," said Boomer.  He
looked at the nearest instrument panel, trying to review on the spot what
he had learned over the last few sectars. How the heck do you work this
thing again?
     "You got it, Lieutenant," said Dayton. He keyed the nav data
downloaded from the Galactica, and laid the course in.  Reprogramming the
Galactica's scanners on a gamma frequency to trace the planet's
mysterious radion emissions had paid off in spades.  They had been able
to identify coordinates that would narrow the search within the
circumference of five hundred metron area.  Not so surprisingly, Colonel
Tigh had informed them that Starbuck's emergency beacon was being emitted
from the same area.  With a smoothness that would have impressed her
original designers, the Endeavour banked to port, leaving the Colonial
Fleet behind at a speed that both Earthmen still found stunning.
"Alright, we are on course for the planet. Locking on to the emergency
beacon from the Viper."
     "All systems nominal so far," said Baker
     "Our ETA?" asked Apollo.
     "At our maximum velocity, we are vectored to reach IP with the
planet in...two centars, sixteen and one half centons.  Mark."
     Wish we had had time to install those light-speed pulse generators
they talked about.  Hell, warp drive!
     "You read that, Galactica?" asked Baker.
     "Loud and clear," came a voice. Adama's. "Good luck and Godspeed,
Endeavour."
     "You too, Commander," said Baker. He looked down at his instruments,
and edged the ship's speed up a notch. Though still within the
theoretical safety limits, they would need to tread carefully. He turned
to his Commander, as the man began to hum.  The song was familiar.  He
glanced again at the control panel, trying to enjoy being back in the
action.  But that song.  Why did he have to pick that song? "Do you
mind?"
     "What?" Dayton asked, as he watched the Viper escort move into
position.
     "If you're going to hum, could you pick something other than
'Mission Impossible'?" Baker requested, his tone betraying his own
tension.
     "Oh." Dayton replied with a frown.  "Right.  Sorry." 


     *VAB---Vehicle Assembly Building, where the shuttle is mated to the
external fuel tank, and solid rocket boosters. It was used to assemble
the old Saturn V rockets for the Apollo moon shots, as well.

----------

     I wonder what's happening, down there?
     "What?" asked Bojay, looking over at Sheba's Viper, barely visible
against the stars.
     "Uhh...I said I think we're in the middle of nowhere," she shot
back, unaware she had spoken aloud.  She was, she had to admit, glad to
be flying with Bojay. Uncomplicated, straight forward, down-to-Caprica
Bojay.  Except for the emblems on their uniforms and helmets, it was like
old times, before encountering the Galactica and the Fleet.  Back when
she and everyone else on the Pegasus had wondered if they were the last
surviving Humans in the universe. How her world had changed since then. 
How she still missed her father.
     Are you there, Father? she idly wondered, looking at a star picked
at random
     She was also, she hated to admit, disappointed from once again being
excluded from a mission. She had so wanted to go down to the planet on
the old Earth shuttle, trying to find Starbuck and Luana. The chance to
actually fly in a ship, so primitive by their standards, its like was
usually seen only in old pictures in schoolbooks.  Or museums.  She'd
seen something like it once, as a little girl on a natal day outing to
the Science and Technology Museum, during one of her father's rare times
home from the war.  She had wondered then how something so...so
backwards, could have ever flown.
     Well, apparently it had, from the transmissions they had listened in
on, until the Earthmen had shut down upon reaching the planet.  One day,
she told herself, one day she would get to fly that old firecracker, if
it...
     "Yes?" she said to Bojay, snapping back to business.
     "We have a contact," he reported. "Just where the Galactica's
scanner put it.  Bearing 227 by 490, in our Delta Quadrant."
     "I see it," she said, adjusting her scanner. "But it's not moving."
     "Drifting.  We're still a long way off, but I get no active power
signatures, no elevated radion detected, barely above background
thermally."
     "Mass analysis?"
     "Metal, and huge. On the opposite side of this system we're just
entering.  But something's obscuring my scanners, Sheba."
     "I have a bad feeling about this, Bojay.  Like this is some kind of
trap."
     "You and me both." He paused, "Alright, we split up.  Approach
Pattern Gamma One."
     "Gotcha.  See you when we get there."
     Bojay's Viper banked away, and Sheba took the opposite direction,
the two fighters moving to flank the mysterious object from both sides. 
Just in case.  The further she flew into this solar system, the more her
scanners were obscured by clouds of dust, and ionized gasses, ejecting
from the red giant sun.  Given all the scanner-smothering muck, it was
remarkable they had seen it as far away as they had.  She tweaked her
scanner some more, and the huge, amorphous blob began to resolve itself. 
It slowly became clearer and clearer, as her pulse and anxiety grew
higher and higher.
     "Oh, my God!" she cried, hitting Unicom to the Fleet and gripping
the firing control. 
     "Frack!" Bojay spat, as they came face to face with the Cylon Base
Ship, hangar doors open, floating lopsided in space.  

----------

     "Well, you sure got the booby prize, Cassiopeia." The usual hoarse,
low voice that only ever spoke to her in "English".
     Cassie looked at the Earthman, shaking her head at the statement as
the words came through the Languatron.  She'd spent enough time with Mark
to have picked up a number of the Earth colloquialisms, especially some
of their more commonly used ones.  This 'booby prize' remark seemed to be
one of their favourites. 
     "Hardly, Dick," Cassie assured Dickins, taking the arm he offered
her as they walked from the Docking Lounge towards the Astral Lounge of
the Rising Star.  It was supposed to have been a dinner for five.  Her
and Mark, Dietra and Ryan, and Dickins-the odd man out.  Then again,
Dickins always seemed to be the odd man out. 
     Unlike his compatriots, he was having a difficult time finding his
place in the Fleet. Beneath a quiet, distant demeanour-bordering often on
anti-social-there seemed to be an underlying current of anger that he
kept repressed, as though it was a deep, dark secret that he wanted
buried forever.  However, often it appeared in abrupt and unexpected
physical aggression.  His reputed attack on the pirates on their asteroid
base during the prisoners' escape-when he had wielded a pipe, beating a
man to a bloody pulp, and then killing several others with his bare
hands-came briefly to mind.  More recently, so did a hoverhockey accident
involving Apollo.  Realistically, it should have scared her.  But
Cassiopeia had seen what desperation could do to some people-the night
they had all fled the Colonies coming to mind-and ultimately, Dickins had
never been anything other than a perfect gentleman with her, often trying
to overcome his obvious introversion when he was with her.  Then again,
being the first person he had opened his eyes to in the Life Station, and
the med tech who had consistently provided him with compassionate and
efficient care as he recovered from his injuries while adapting to a new
environment, they had formed a bond of mutual respect early on.  Which
was why she had agreed to keep an eye on him for Mark, while the
Commander was on his 'one-and-only' mission. 
     One and only! Hmm.
     "It must be difficult not being on this mission with Mark and Bob,"
Cassie probed, as they entered the elegant lounge looking for their
friends.  She watched a series of emotions flit across his face before he
scowled. 
     "What I wouldn't give to breathe some fresh air again,
Cassiopeia...preferably Earth's," he returned briefly, before spotting
Ryan waving enthusiastically at them, and steering her in that direction.

     "Dickins, you look lovely," Ryan smiled at the customary dark shirt
and pants that the deceptively slight man seemed to wear every day of the
week as he rose to greet them.  He shook his friend's hand, before
kissing Cassiopeia on the cheek.  "Cassiopeia, you're absolutely
radiant." He paused dramatically to gaze upon her in unabashed adoration,
winking as she shook her head at his obvious flattery.  Pulling out a
chair for her, he added, "Dee was delayed.  She drew Viper escort for our
boys. She'll be along as soon as she can get away." 
     "Thanks, Paddy," she smiled warmly at him. This man was as close to
a brother as Mark could have in the Fleet, and they had spent long
centars in one another's company discussing art, history, culture, life,
philosophy and...Mark Dayton. 
     "My pleasure. Dickins, I took the liberty of ordering you one of
those Empyrean Ales that Starbuck is always flogging." He pointed to the
tall tankard of dark brew and pushed it towards his friend as he took his
seat. 
     "You're a lifesaver," Dickins replied as he slid into his seat.
Immediately, he picked the heavy tankard up, and downed half of it in a
single go, appreciating how the fine brew seemed to dull the garish
pomposity of his surroundings.  "Not bad." 
     Earthmen and their impressive capacity for drink. Cassiopeia figured
they could drink most Colonial men-with the possible exception of certain
pilots in Blue Squadron-under the table. 
     "Cassiopeia, can I get you something?" Ryan asked. "Drink?" 
     "Ambrosa would be nice," she replied, looking to catch a server's
eye.  Four separate servers were suddenly being kept very busy by two
well-known, but recently displaced, Council members.  She frowned and
dropped her gaze as Sire Uri raised a glass to her cordially from across
the room. Though the very epitome of self-confidence, Cassie could never
suppress a tiny shudder whenever she saw the man.  
     "Who are the big wigs?" Ryan asked, as the staff made every effort
to fawn over the two old men wearing pristine, long robes that reminded
him of the ancient Greeks, or the Toga Party in Animal House.  Then he
watched one of them stuff a piece of roasted flesh into his mouth, the
juices running down his jowls as he bit into it, and realized that John
Belushi would fit right in...as long as he didn't start a food fight.
     "Big...oh, I see," said Cassie. "Sires Uri and Geller. Both former
members of the Council of Twelve before the election. Though Sire Uri
seemed to spend more time in absentia than in office." Cassiopeia added,
still feeling his probing eyes upon her.  She resisted the impulse to
look again in their direction. There was no reason that either man should
be taking an interest in her.  She had never had the occasion to meet
either of them. Thankfully.
     "Which one is which?" asked Ryan.
     "Uri is on the left," said Dickins, smiling slightly at Cassiopeia's
surprise.  Most people thought that he didn't pay much mind to current
events in the Fleet.  And, in fact, most of them were right.  But he'd
heard Starbuck filling Dayton in on the previous Council a couple months
before.  The young warrior had predicted that Uri might not be
re-elected. 
     "Well, they sure find us interesting," Ryan added with a grin,
abruptly contorting his face hideously in their direction, and then
thumbing his nose for good measure. 
     "You know, this kind of service is ridiculous at eight cubits an
ale," Dickins griped, still not used to the idea that he was a wealthy
man from the kickbacks from the Rising Star chancery. He raised his glass
in the air, and called out, "Hey, Joe! Could we get a round here?" 
     Cassie held a breath, caught between amusement and embarrassment, as
she felt every eye in the place upon them.  Dickins looked as though he
was regretting his outburst as the room collectively stared upon him in
disbelief.  Of course, the languatron didn't adjust volume in
coordination with its user, so most of them had no idea what he'd
said...but the glass waving in the air gave them a good idea.  Ryan
looked bemused, but not the least bit uncomfortable.  "An ambrosa and two
Empyrean Ales would do it," she added sweetly, pointing to their table. 
     "You're a class act, Cassiopeia," Ryan reached over and squeezed her
hand, as the room slowly returned to normal. "No wonder Mark's
head-over-heels." 
     "Head-over-heels?" she asked. Lords, another colloquialism.  Do they
ever run out?
     "Bloody hell, they're still not getting our drinks." Dickins
complained, as he finished his ale.  "I'll go." He pushed his chair back,
and languatron in hand, headed for the bar. 
     "Want some help?" Ryan called after him. 
     "If I want your help, I'll ask for it," Dickins returned sourly.  He
could order a few friggin' drinks without a designated babysitter at his
side. He made a beeline for the same barkeep he had addressed from across
the room, and stood in front of the man until 'Joe' mustered the guts up
to meet his unshakeable gaze.  "One ambrosa, two Empyrean Ales." He
refrained from yelling it, and asking if 'Joe' was deaf or just stupid,
with considerable effort. Who said he had no self-control? 
     "Bar stock?" the barkeep asked as he place two bottles on the bar,
"or Proteus reserve?" 
     "The best you have," Dickins returned, then nodded back towards
their table. "It's for the lady." He rested an elbow on the bar as the
barkeep nodded and turned to grab a glass. 
     "Some lady. Nothin' but a frackin' tramp and socialator.  A fancy
streetwalker," a voice said from over his shoulder, but the languatron
picked it up just the same. 
     And socialator did not come out at all nice.  Not at all. 
     Dickins turned around.  "Who are you talking to, mister?" 
     "You." 
     The guy was solid muscle, and as big as a tree, with a body by
Schwarzenegger.  He looked like a bouncer or a hired goon, with all the
depth of intellect and social skills that implied. There were three other
guys not far behind him, equally as big, watching the proceedings a
little too closely, and obviously, giving themselves away. If they also
were hired, then he hoped they were only getting minimum wage. "Then the
next words out of your mouth had better be, 'I'm truly sorry for what I
just said, and I'm actually even more stupid than I look', or I'm going
to wipe the floor with your sorry carcass, asshole."  Considering the
message, he had thought the delivery was polite and suitable to the
ambience of the establishment.  He hoped nothing was lost in the
translation.  Dickins smiled pleasantly as he awaited a response.  Dayton
would be proud of him.
     You could have heard a pin drop. 
     "You and what army?" the mountainous man sneered back at him. Arms
akimbo, he smiled, showing his teeth.  
     "Army? Oh, now I am mad! I'm Navy, bub." With that, Dickins gave him
a quick, powerful blow to the gut, followed by a classic uppercut to the
jaw. With barely a grunt, the big man fell, and stayed down.  
     "Hey!" 
     "Get him!" The other three approached him as a unit. 
     "Bring it on!" Dickins roared, smashing the bottom off a bottle of
ale on the bar, and leaping towards them, seeing red, and little else as
he stepped over the insensate body of the defamer of socialators.
     "Oh, shit!" said Ryan. He half-rose in concern, then remembered
Dickins' parting words.  If I want your help, I'll ask for it.  He
sighed, taking his seat again.  He hoped his friend didn't get too much
of their blood on the bar.  Or even worse, get him banned from this fine
establishment.
     "Paddy!" Cassiopeia exclaimed admonishingly.
     Her concern was needless. The first thug had lunged, apparently
depending on his bulk and strength to win the day.  He didn't see
Dickins' foot coming up, but definitely felt it smashing into his left
knee.  He bellowed in pain, and thus missed the bottle crashing down on
his head.  Almost at once, the Earthman turned, and gripping the bar with
both hands, vaulted up and plowed both feet into Thug Number Two.  The
goon gasped as the air exploded from his lungs, and sailed back, crashing
into Thug Number Three.  So swiftly had it all come down, the last man
barely had time, or inclination, to move out of the way.  Slammed by his
partner, he sailed into a vacant table, coming at last to rest on the
floor, unconscious. 
     "Pussies." Dickins straightened up, and brushed off his clothes.  He
squatted down beside the still barely conscious thug that had started all
this. He picked the man up by the collar, and loud enough to be heard,
told him, "You don't talk that way about my friends, asswipe." 
     "Uuuhhhh...."
     Thud.
     "Sorry about the mess," said Dickins to the barkeep, then followed
his gaze to the entrance.  Heading straight for him were Colonial
Security, and just behind them, Zara from the IFB.  He looked back at
Ryan who winked and raised his tankard in salute.
     "You want that help now, buddy?" Ryan called out with a grin.

----------

     Centons of a panic driven, headlong rush were interrupted by
training, common sense, along with an unsurpassed instinct for survival
finally kicking in.  Starbuck slowed his sprint across the grassy field
of dappled, purple flowers, his senses beginning to tune in to his
surroundings, and to look for a sign of whatever could have startled
Luana.  
     Or worse. 
     He recognized it in a milli-centon.  That familiar drone that he had
experienced first-hand enough times in his career to make an
unforgettable impact. It sent a surge of icy terror through his veins as
he thought about the potential ramifications of what it could mean for
Lu...and ultimately, the Fleet.  He abruptly dropped to the ground,
drawing his weapon in a single smooth motion. 
     A solid centon of hugging the dirt was enough.  He could hear the
Cylon Centurions moving around through the overgrown foliage, crashing
about with all the grace and stealth of a raging elephanton.  He was
immediately reminded of their seemingly relentless hunt of him on Attila
so many sectars ago when he had crash landed. Of course, he had been more
than a little out of it after hitting the ground with enough impact to
bury his fighter up to the nose, before fleeing injured through a swamp
to futilely try and evade capture.  The differences this time was that he
was fit, and they might not even be aware of his presence. 
     He began crawling through the underbrush on his belly, heading back
towards the Vipers.  He had to reach Lu.  She was a relatively new ensign
who had never even laid eyes on a Cylon while in a combat situation,
after spending almost twenty yahrens in the backwoods of Empyrean before
joining the Fleet.  They had obviously caught her unaware as evidenced by
her scream...though they weren't exactly known for sneaking up on their
quarry once on the ground. 
     Now the obvious problem with crawling on your stomach for enough
metrons was a guy eventually got a bit disoriented when staring at the
stalks of thick, yellow grass.  Starbuck longed to climb to his feet and
take a look for the Vipers that he knew must be sitting nearby, big as
life.  Instead, he used his well-honed sense of direction, and hoped it
worked as well in grassy fields full of dirt, insectons and Cylons, as it
did in space. 
     Then he saw it. 
     Starbuck crawled closer to the inert, horizontal Centurion, like a
moth drawn to a flame.  Of course, the charred blast across its
breastplate and the lingering scent of burnt diodes gave him a certain
sense of security.  The last time he had been that close-other than in
Dr. Wilker's lab with Baltar's captured pilots-he had been slung over
one's shoulder.  Not a memory he held dear.
     These Cylons are not well constructed. They damage easily! He
couldn't help a moment's reflection at the ironic thought.  He looked
again at the charred Cylon, taking some pride in the marksmanship. 
     Nice shot, Lu. 
     But where the frack was she?  His eyes scoured the surrounding area
for signs of blood, a struggle, a trail.  He looked for the subtle, yet
telltale signs of a young woman being surrounded by an entire unit of
Cylons at pulse rifle-point, and forcibly marched away.  However, it
looked as though the same raging elephanton had trampled the ground with
a few of his rampaging friends, so discerning what had happened was
something better left to soothsayers rather than fighter pilots. 
    Stretched out behind the considerable bulk of the inert Cylon, he
could see there were still four centurions standing guard by the Vipers. 
He squinted at them, wondering why they looked different to him.  Maybe a
little more bulky with a heavier grade armour than what he was used to.
Definitely, they do with a good polish.  It could be that they were an
older design, but what the frack would they be doing on this planet?  Not
that it wasn't a nice setting for a Cylon Senior Citizen's Home,
featuring regular Diode changes for troubles with those embarrassing
leaks...Hmm.
     Getting to his ship and deactivating the emergency beacon crossed
his mind.  If he could pull it off, assuming the Galactica had picked up
his signal, at least they would wonder why it had abruptly stopped,
perhaps giving any potential rescue party a warning.  It was the four to
one odds against him that he didn't like. A further unknown amount of
Cylons seemed to be spreading out, searching, probably for him.  Four
well-aimed laser blasts ringing out consecutively might give him time to
get to the Viper and deactivate the signal, but not to escape again
without back up.  And if he was going to find Luana, being footloose and
fancy free was high on his list of priorities. No, he'd have to try
something else. But what?  
     The blast of a Colonial laser pierced the air, and Starbuck saw the
first Centurion erupt in a cloud of sparks and jerk spasmodically before
it fell.  Instinctively, he fired on the two furthest from its position. 
Obviously, Luana was alive, well, and true to form, engaging the enemy. 
However, he didn't have time to rejoice in that fact and his targets fell
in milli-centons.  He was already on his feet and running full tilt
towards the Vipers when Lu appeared from the tall grasses, having just as
effectively eliminated her chosen targets. 
     "The emergency beacon!" she yelled to him. 
     "I know!" he replied, agilely scaling his ship and leaning into the
cockpit to access the control boards.  "Cover me!" he shouted as he
twisted his way into position. 
     It didn't take much to disable it, considering the effort he had
exerted to get it working.  He jerked the circuit board out of the
control panel, to ensure they didn't turn it on again. Lords, if only he
could send some kind of meaningful signal...
     "Starbuck!" 
     Her warning preceded three shots, all of them Lu's. He could almost
envision the enemy doing the Cylon herky-jerky before they fell.  He
pushed himself out of the cockpit, dropping to the ground, his weapon in
hand as he swept the area. 
     "Move!" Luana shouted, backing towards the tall grasses, still
covering them. 
     "Let's get the frack out of here!" Starbuck replied, grabbing her
hand and pulling her along.
     She jerked it out of his grasp, knowing she could run a lot faster
if they weren't handfasted.  Now, now, Lu.  "Where?" 
     A searing heat flew past them, and they reflexively threw themselves
to the ground, rolling and then moving on all fours deeper into the
grasses. Luana paused, glancing in the other direction, her mouth opening
in a look of horror.  Starbuck looked over to see what she was staring
at.
     The grass was burning!  
     Frack!  

Chapter Six

     "Mark..." Baker breathed, looking at the blue and white planet as
they drew nearer. He pointed, almost unconsciously. Even with the obvious
differences in the landmass arrangement, in his gut and in his chest, he
could still feel a yearning for home. 
     "I know," Dayton replied quietly. "It's..." He took a deep, choked
breath, and looked down at the instruments.  He powered up the passive
scanners, original to the shuttle and salvaged. They correlated very well
with what their more advanced Colonial counterparts were telling him. 
Currently, they were 119,750 nautical miles out from the planet, and
continuing to decelerate after main engine shutdown.  He was somehow
unsurprised at the data he was getting. Diameter.  Mass.  Rotational
speed.  Axial inclination. Distance from primary star.  Atmosphere.
Average global temperature.  It was all familiar.  Bizarrely familiar. 
He focused the whole array on the approximate site of the Viper beacon. 
However from this distance, there was nothing to show that anyone was
down there.  And increasing power, even at this distance, might just
trigger the Dynamos.
     "We're veering off.  Good luck, Endeavour.  Bring them home safely."
Dietra's voice came over the comm.  
     "After all, Starbuck owes me twenty cubits." Jolly added.
     Dayton chuckled as he watched the two fighters change course before
they came within range of the Dynamos. "Thanks for the escort,
Lieutenants." 
     "Shutting down Colonial scanners, Commander," Boomer told him,
hoping Dayton's theory about the Dynamos only detecting the newer
electronic signals was on the mark. With luck, the scanners from Croad's
old fighter in passive mode wouldn't be detected by the Dynamos.  
     "Was there any detectable change in the Dynamo grid before you shut
the scanners down, Boomer?" Apollo asked. 
     "No.  They still seemed dormant, Apollo." 
     "Seemed," Apollo repeated uneasily as the Earth shuttle drew ever
nearer to the defensive grid and the faint glow of a Dynamo became
visible to the naked eye.  According to the instruments, they would pass
it by on their starboard side, at a range of less than fifty metrons in
just under three centons.  He realized after a moment, he was
unconsciously holding his breath, waiting for the sudden attack from the
familiar, yet different, spheroids.  The last time he had been attacked
by one, his ship had been disabled, and he'd ended up unconscious. 
     "Is that individual?" Baker asked. 
     "One?" Boomer squinted ahead.  "Yeah, looks like it." 
     "What do we look for?" Dayton asked, eyes glued to his readouts. The
thing had, so far, ignored both the Endeavour, and the passive scanners,
as they had hoped. "How can we tell if they're going to attack?  What are
the initial signs?"  He turned. "Ben?...I mean, Captain Apollo?" Baker
snapped around to look at him, but said nothing. 
     For an instant, Apollo could see that Dayton had flashed back for a
milli-centon, to old times and old friends.  Benjamin Zuskin, his
one-time crewman, and probable Silent One from Proteus.  He knew the
feeling, but wouldn't upset Dayton by broaching it.  "Well, the first
time we encountered one, Starbuck picked up elevated radion waves just
milli-centons before it energized," Apollo replied. 
     "What wavelengths?" asked Dayton. "Uhh...wavelons?" Apollo paused in
thought a moment, then recited what he remembered of his all-too-brief
scanner readings.  Dayton spent a few seconds mentally translating it to
what he knew. "Sounds a lot like some variation on an EMP.  At an
enormous power level." He explained.  "Knocks out solid-state
electronics.  Only this is more...selective.  It has finesse, of a sort. 
Instead of smoking every component, it just shuts them down, with minimal
damage."
     "Well, it made short work of my Viper's systems," recalled Apollo.
"It was so fast, there was no way I could react in time to get out of
range.  Subsequently, we did tweak our scanners somewhat to give us more
warning time, but these Dynamos work together to trap a ship in their
grid, and then..."  He trailed off, still not sure what had ultimately
happened to his friends. 
     "So long, so well," Baker inserted encouragingly, as they passed the
spheroid by.  They held their collective breath, but the alien device
remained inert, and they passed by it unharmed. 
     Dayton scowled at him.  "Ryan put you up to this, didn't he?  It's
'so far, so good', and you damn well know it!" 
     Baker just looked back at him innocently, shrugging his shoulders.
     They nudged the Endeavour into orbit, and rolled the ship over on
her 'back'. Opening the cargo bay, the instruments were pointed at the
planet below, as they circled it. 
     "We'll pass over the approximate transmission site in...nine
minutes, mark," said Dayton.
     "Uh, why do you repeat your own name that way?" asked Tone.
     "Excuse me?" Dayton asked, then realized,  "Oh, you mean say
'Mark'?"
     "Yes. Why do you do that?" 
     "I'm not, actually," replied Dayton. "It's a way of
mark...delineating time.  In other words, we will pass over the
transmission site in nine minutes precisely, counted from that moment."
     "I see," said Tone, checking his own chrono, and making the
minute-to-centon conversion. He watched the experts at work, oscillating
between wondering how Starbuck and Lu were faring below, and his
fascination with the scans the men were running.  Baker was saying
something about 'geo-scans', the others using the time until intercept to
gather data of a purely scientific nature.  From what he could make out,
both the Colonial, and the more primitive Earth instruments, were
revealing some fascinating, and it seemed disturbing, information about
the planet beneath them.
     "Okay, we'll be over them in two centons," said Baker.
     "Lord of Mercy," muttered Dayton, shaking his head. "We'll be on top
of them."
     "Well, three hundred miles on top of them.  Whichnever," shrugged
Baker.  If he heard Dayton's disgusted groan, he made no sign.  But he
did betray a grin at Boomer's quiet chuckle.
     "Okay, now," said Dayton. On the screens on the control panel, they
could see the surface, magnified by the scanners.  It was a wide prairie,
with mountains close by, and cut by a wide river. "I'm getting refined
metal indications. Yeah, the fighters.  Both of them."
     "I see them," said Boomer, feeling his excitement rise as he looked
at the scanners.
     "What about life signs?" asked Apollo.  Something a little more
definitive...
     "I'd have to crank the power up, to discriminate Human from anything
else," said Dayton. "I'm keeping it all at a minimum, in case there are
any surprises."  He turned back to the Colonials, and said something that
was, he had to admit, tough to do on his ship. "Your call, Captain
Apollo."
     Apollo turned the pros and cons over in his mind.  While they had no
proof that the Dynamos worked in any other fashion, they also had no
proof that they did not.  They had been fortunate, so far.  No sense in
pushing it to find out now what they would ultimately find out when they
landed. "No. We'll land near the site of the Vipers, rather than risk our
scans being detected."  He looked to Boomer.  The other nodded.  "Let's
take her down, Commander Dayton."
     "The man has spoken," said Dayton, and began working several
switches.  He said something to Baker, something technical in their own
language the others didn't quite catch, and there was a thump, as braking
thrusters fired, slowing their velocity.
     "Alright, firing OMS engine now. Decreasing speed for atmospheric
entry," Baker stated, hitting the thrust reversal, watching the
instruments as their velocity fell. "Dumping remaining fuel from the
forward RCS jets."
     "Acknowledged," said Dayton. "Okay gentlemen, helmets and gloves on.
Just in case."
     "Understood," said Boomer, complying. Suddenly, an alarm sounded.
"What's that?"
     "SSME Hydrogen Repress," Baker answered him nonchalantly, shutting
the alarm off.  
     "Oh, right.  Of course it was." Tone replied dryly, catching
Boomer's shrug of confusion.
     Dayton chuckled, before explaining, "The official NASA term, 'SSME
HYD REPRESS', is where the fluid lines of the Space Shuttle Main Engines
are cleared out, and can cause the Master Alarm to sound, due to spikes
in the hydraulic pressure.  We hooked a lot of that stuff back up to the
new engines.  Part of the safety measures, prior to re-entry."
     "I see," said Tone.
     "It sounds like something from early on in Colonial history," Apollo
commented.
     "Well, by comparison, our stuff is ancient, compared to yours," said
Dayton. "You must feel like we're flying an artifact." 
     "Mark, remember when this used to take us a good couple hours?"
Baker asked.
     "Yeah." Dayton replied. In the old days, they had to turn the old
girl around, and fire the orbital manoeuvring system engines for about
three minutes of re-entry burn. That, along with a series of S-turns
creating speed brakes through atmospheric friction, significantly
decreased velocity enough to allow the Earth shuttle to fall out of orbit
and towards the atmosphere.  Of course, back then they would be virtually
out of fuel as well by now.  In fact, one astronaut had compared that
stage of a shuttle flight as 'flying an anvil'.  "Here we go." 
     Apollo watched in fascination as the planet loomed ever larger.  The
Endeavour was gradually enveloped by ever-brighter ionized gasses as she
burrowed deeper into the planet's atmosphere.  There was surprisingly
little turbulence.
     "How are you enjoying the ride, gentlemen?" Dayton asked. 
     "So long, so well," Boomer murmured, playing along with Baker.  He
shifted in his seat as flashes of light filled the flight deck.  But that
was better than flashes of light consuming the flight deck. And all of
them. 
     "Don't encourage him," Dayton replied with a sidelong look at his
pilot, a betraying smile hovering on his lips. 

----------

     "Bojay..."
     "Let's get the frack out of here! And back to the Fleet!" Bojay
exclaimed for the benefit of any enemy listeners as his heart tried to
thump its way out of his chest. They had quickly sent an encoded
long-range transmission to alert the Galactica of their find, one from
each Viper, but now their priority was to see themselves safely out of
range of the Cylon Base Star before any Raiders launched, and to lead any
pursuers on a merry race away from the Fleet. For a quick moment, he
realized that his last view of their Battlestar, while glancing back at
her as he and Sheba had departed on this patrol, may well have been his
last.  
     "Wait, Bojay! I'm picking up something on my scanner!" Sheba
inserted, glancing at the edge of her field. "Adjust wavelon to 22
Delta."  Whatever it was, it was big. Then a micron later it was gone. 
Disappearing behind the planetoid that had obscured it. "Damn!"  
     "That'll probably be the enemy, Sheba!" Bojay replied wryly, as his
thumb paused over his turbos.  "Let's go!"
     "Wait!" Sheba snapped back. "Haven't you even noticed? The Base
Ship, Bojay. They're not launching, not responding in any way."  She
swept the enemy vessel with full scanners once again. Aside from the ship
itself, slowly spinning and at a heavy list in relation to their
position, there was nothing. "There's still no power.  None at all.  No
radion emissions. And her engines are cold.  Barely above background. 
It's not a trap.  Something's...wrong."
     "Yeah, the fact that you're not listening to me, and that we're even
having this conversation!" Bojay snapped back...then he really looked at
that Base Star.
     First of all, she was visibly an older model, older than he had ever
seen, other than in computer modules at the Academy.  Smaller almost by
half, as the ship spun slowly around she appeared to be the original
single layer of what had ultimately become a double-decker battleship. 
He glanced at his scanners; there were still no active power signatures,
just like Sheba said.  She was truly adrift, and bereft of any life-or as
close as you could get to it with Cylons.
     And there was a huge breach, ripped open from within, just to the
right of one launch bay.
     "Bojay!" Sheba tried again.  Her heart was in her throat, staring at
a capital ship that, despite its obsolescence, could potentially blow
them both out of existence with a single blast of her laser turrets. 
She'd never been this close to one before-had never wanted to,
truthfully.  "She looks like an old Abaddon Class ship.  They're over
five hundred yahrens old!"
     "Six hundred. They haven't been used in battle for well over three
hundred." He replied.  "She looks like she's been adrift awhile." Then
with a curiosity that bordered on the insane, he turned his ship towards
her. "Lords, she's in a bad way.  Looks like she took a broadside from a
whole armada." He pointed his ship at the damaged area, and powered up
his Viper's searchlights. "Whoa! Wait here, Sheba.  I'm gonna check her
out."
     "Not without your wingman," Sheba replied, moving into position
alongside his ship, and ignoring the sigh on the comm. "Together or not
at all, Bojay."
     "Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "Do you ever follow orders anymore,
Lieutenant?"
     "Was that an order?" Sheba teased him. "I thought it was a request,
Captain," she chuckled, as they moved in closer. The damage to the
Cylon's hull was massive. Lords, what it must look like inside...
     "Hmm..."  replied Bojay. "Just a wild guess, but I'd say someone has
been hanging around Starbuck too much."
     "Me? Acting like Starbuck?" She couldn't suppress her laughter.  No
two people could be more different.
     "You're more alike than you think." Bojay retorted.
     She sniffed in amusement at the very thought.  Then the flash of a
laser flying past her right wing had her gasping in shock, and rolling
her ship to defend it.

----------

     "Must be a new record for police response time," Ryan murmured to
Cassiopeia as he watched the two Black Shirts cross the Astral Lounge
towards Dickins.  He smiled wanly at the med tech as the IFB started
recording the incident from the periphery, and then stood up, slowly
pushing back from the table. In for a penny, in for a pound.  He noticed
that the politicians were following the situation with interest.  Maybe
too much interest, from the glint of satisfaction in Uri's eyes. 
     "Just calm down, sir.  We want to ask you a few questions," the
Security Guard told Dickins as he moved in from the right. 
     "That's right. Take it easy," the other replied as he flanked him on
the left, momentarily kneeling down beside one of the victims, who seemed
to be waking up.  Slowly.
     Oh, there were words coming out of their mouths, but Dickins
abruptly realized that his valued friend, the languatron, had given up
the ghost. Much like the louts who had insulted Cassiopeia, it hadn't
survived the encounter intact, and was in more than a few pieces on the
floor. Which obviously meant his final words of wisdom to the goon might
as well have fallen on deaf ears.  He raised his hands, backing up a pace
as they approached, and used one of the only two phrases he had learned
of the Colonials' most common language.  "I don't speak Standard." 
     "Yeah, right," the Officer on the right replied as he looked to the
barkeep.  "What happened here?" 
     "I'm not really sure.  He just went kind of nuts and attacked that
guy.  When the guy's friends stepped in to help, he went crazy on them
too.  Then again, he kind of arrived with an attitude.  Shouting things
out across the lounge in some foreign language like he was in a common
bar." 
     The look the Security Officers turned on Dickins wasn't friendly as
they approached him together, their hands resting on their weapons in a
quiet threat.  He could feel his body react as a cold chill went down his
spine at the thought of another potential incarceration.  He couldn't go
through that again.  Couldn't stand to be debased and abused at the
hands...
     "Jaysus Murphy!" Ryan breathed, about two tables away as he
recognized that look on Dickins' face that meant he was going straight
back to hell...at least in his mind.  "Dickins!  NO!"  He upset the
sturdy chair, heading for his friend. 
     The Security Officers turned as one at the disruption.  It was all
the distraction that Dickins needed, then the slightly built man was
moving with the speed and agility of a prize fighter.  In a blur, he had
the first Officer on the ground, and his own Security issued weapon
wedged firmly under his chin. 
     "I'm not going back!" Dickins spat hoarsely, his hand steady as he
stared murderously into the man's disbelieving eyes.  The man who would
try to once again take away his liberty, his rights, everything he held
dear, everything that ever really mattered...
     Pandemonium broke loose, as women shrieked in terror and their men
strove to remove them from the line of fire. Ryan weaved around dodging
and retreating bodies, desperately trying to reach his friend in time. 
     "Drop it!" the second Officer shouted as he pointed his laser at the
"madman". 
     "Don't shoot!" Ryan screamed as he launched himself towards the
armed Black Shirt. Gripping the weapon and knocking the startled man to
the floor, he rolled atop him, grappling for domination.  Of course, the
Security Officer was about a third of his age, and outweighed him by
thirty pounds.  All of it rock solid.  So there was really only one way
to win.  Fight dirty.  
     Abruptly, Ryan dropped the weapon, and elbowed the other in the
nose.  A sickening crunch, and a gush of blood told him he'd broken it. 
A quick uppercut to the man's jaw, and he was out cold.  You're getting
too bloody old for this crap, Ryan.  The physical stuff was supposed to
be Dayton's gig. 
     "There's nowhere to go.  Don't make it any worse for yourself," the
Security Guard begged the madman as he saw his partner get taken down by
another old fart, just like this one. What in Hades Hole was happening? 
An uprising from the Senior's Ship?  
     "Dickins!  Look around!  See where you are, buddy!" Ryan encouraged
him.  Those dark, staring eyes locked on his for an instant.  They seemed
to be a direct portal to Hell, as well as every kind of misery and
suffering that they had lived and relived on their extended stay in the
Hilton from Hell.  He held them nonetheless, refusing to break eye
contact and the tenuous connection he had with the troubled man.  "We're
on the Rising Star. In the Colonial Fleet. We're going home, Dick. Home
to Earth!" 
     "Paddy?" Dickins whispered. 
     "Yeah. We're out of that hellhole.  Have been for sometime now. 
Over four months, guy!  Look around, man, and see.  We're already on the
way home!  We've travelled light-years already." He lowered his own
weapon, noticing it seemed to have a calming effect on the customers. 
Funny thing that. "C'mon, man. Just put the gun down, Dick."
     "Paddy," said Dickins, blinking rapidly, as if his brain were coming
out of a fog.
     "Yeah, man. It's Paddy. Now put the heater down, or I'm going to
tell everyone your daughter's nickname for you." He smiled, hoping.
Hoping. The inkling of a smile appeared on Dickins face as he obviously
took a rare moment to think back to his wife and four kids. Paddy
couldn't remember how long it had been since his friend had mentioned
them aloud.  Twenty years, maybe.  Dickins' face and arm relaxed
slightly...
     "EVERYBODY DOWN!" Three more Security Officers swarmed the room,
their weapons drawn as they moved into position. 
     Dickins watched the new arrivals, surrounding him from the
periphery. Getting ready to make their move. His eyes darted around the
room, looking for an escape. Even if he killed his prisoner, he wouldn't
get away.  He could use him as a Human shield though. 
     "Drop the weapons, or we'll be forced to fire!" Reece declared as he
advanced. 
     "Don't fire!  This is all a misunderstanding!" Ryan replied,
realizing that he would probably sound a bit more convincing had he not
been sitting on a bloodied, unconscious Security Guard and holding his
gun.  "Dickins, stand down!" 
     Dickins looked over at his friend, shaking his head slowly as he
again took in the crowd.  "I need your help, Ryan.  Together we could do
this." His voice was pleading.
     "There's nowhere to go, Dick!  All you've done is banged a few guys
up.  Leave it at that!" Dickins looked at him blankly, and he abruptly
realized he hadn't switched back to English for his friend's benefit.  He
repeated himself.  "These are decent people.  Their laws are reasonable."
Between the facts that his friend didn't speak Colonial Standard worth
toot, and suffered from frequent flashbacks and depression, they'd
reconcile his assault.  They had to!  "You're not going to prison for
this." 
     "I beg to differ with you," The voice came over the languatron loud
and clear from Sire Uri's nearby table. "He will, and I intend to see
that he does.  The Fleet needs to be protected from people like him. 
Unpredictable Earthmen who can suddenly turn on us." 
     Dickins turned, eyes fixed on the bald Sire. Paddy instantly
realized that his friend had just crossed over a threshold. A one-way
threshold. Oh, good Lord!  No!  Then Dickins looked back at his comrade,
and shook his head, his eyes glancing wildly around the room. 
     "I won't go back, Bex!" He shook his head again. "I won't!  There's
nothing you and that bastard, Torg, can do to make me go back there!"
Then he raised the gun, jamming it beneath his own chin, and aiming
towards the top of his skull. 
     "NOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" screamed Paddy, arms outstretched towards the
other man, as he tried to leap the distance between them.
     Dickins fired. 

----------

     "Run!" Starbuck hissed, grabbing Luana by the arm and pulling her to
her feet.  It wasn't necessary though.  The flames licking at the dry
grasses behind them was enough to spur her on without any extraneous
encouragement. 
     "The waterfall!" Lu yelled, the tall grasses whipping against her as
she sprinted towards the sound of cascading water.  It was their best
chance to avoid being incinerated. Possibly their only chance if a
wildfire started. 
     Another Cylon laser blast, and they instinctively ducked, moving as
fast as they could while staying as low to the ground as their speed
permitted.  
     "Can Cylons run?" Luana asked, feeling a sharp sting on her face
from the vegetation. 
     "It's not their speed we worry about, it's their endurance!"
Starbuck replied, looking back over his shoulder to see the sun glinting
off the Cylon armour that was heading their way.  Smoke was rising as the
growing fire built in both intensity and breadth.  "They don't get
tired!"
     "Don't their power cells ever run down?"
     "Not that I've ever seen." 
     "Where are the others?" Luana asked, as she considered the Cylons
that had headed off searching for Starbuck after her initial encounter
when she had evaded them. She grimaced as her heart raced and she gasped
in a breath. She had thought she was in excellent shape, but apparently
sitting in a Viper cockpit for long centars wasn't conducive to physical
conditioning. And workouts in the Fitness Centre didn't make up for the
long days spent hiking and hunting on Empyrean. 
     "Out here...somewhere." Starbuck replied, also getting short of
breath.  The smoke was beginning to fill the air which meant one thing,
the wind was behind them and fanning the flames in their direction. 
Hopefully, the fire would engulf a few Cylons long before it began
nipping at their heels. 
     "Starbuck!" Luana screamed as a Cylon abruptly appeared in his path
from behind a large boulder.
     "Halt, Human!" ordered the Centurion.  It began raising its weapon. 

     Forward momentum being what it was, there was little Starbuck could
do but shove aside the Cylon pulse rifle that was now aimed at his chest,
as he collided with the Centurion.  It was worse than being body-checked
by Dickins in hoverhockey as they tumbled to the ground, the noise of the
weapon discharging just below his left ear almost deafening him. The
Cylon, strong and unyielding, quickly gained the advantage and rolled on
top.  It was as if a fracking Base Star had landed on him, and the air
abruptly whooshed from his lungs, as metallic armour dug into his flesh.
The Cylon raised its rifle, the bayonet poised to strike down at his
throat.  A milli-centon later, Starbuck heard the blast of Lu's laser and
the Cylon erupted in sparks.  It jerked spasmodically atop him, painfully
grinding him into the ground. Another blast of a Colonial weapon, and the
Centurion went limp. All five hundred or so megatons of it. 
     "Get it off..." he rasped, trapped beneath the considerable weight. 
No little wonder the buggers were so fracking strong. 
     Lu pushed against the bulky, smoking Centurion, using all her
strength to budge it .  "It's...heavy," she groaned as the weight began
to shift and it tumbled aside, freeing him. 
     "You're telling me..." Starbuck caught his breath, as a glint of
armour appeared behind them. He fired repeatedly in that direction, at
the same time struggling to regain his feet, feeling Luana's insistent
hands on him from behind.  The Centurion didn't stop advancing-being
programmed as a killing machine-and his own instinct for
self-preservation had him back on his feet in an instant, despite his
body's protestations. Just as the Centurion's finger began to pull back
on the trigger of its rifle, Starbuck fired.  The Cylon's head ripped
open in a cloud of sparks and smoke. 
     "Let's go!" Luana hollered in his ear, helping to steady him, but
pausing to watch another Cylon death dance.  Then they were heading 
towards the waterfall again as a wave of heat, fire and aggression
pursued them. 
 
Chapter Seven

     Nature's glory.  
     It was almost enough to make a man forget he was on a mission.  If
finally making it out of Torg's hellhole and back to civilisation-even if
it came in the form of two hundred and twenty odd ships travelling
through space on a quest for his precious Earth-wasn't enough to
overwhelm Dayton, then this certainly was. 
     Landscapes that flowed one into the next, as they flew over the
eerily familiar terrain, tugged at his memory and his heart.  Of course,
in his day, they couldn't exactly just planet hop and find anything that
even remotely resembled home, never mind being able to set down and
actually breathe the air.  So to now find a planet so much like
Earth-even with its subtle differences-was a little...well...disorienting
and disturbing. 
     Okay, after a lifetime of watching all the various Star Treks and
the endless reincarnations of that genre, he had eventually reasoned-over
enough cases of beer with like-minded 'Star Philosophers'-that mankind
had taken arrogance and egocentrism to a new level if they truly believed
that there were several hundred planets across the universe where they
could breathe, live, and thrive in an atmosphere perfectly suited to
their survival, right down to the germs and the ozone.  Which was
probably why he was staring speechlessly at this one.  It shouldn't
exist.  Several cases of Budweiser, Coors and Miller had told him so. 
Then again, he hadn't ever counted on meeting Humans from other star
systems either. 
     "I'm having trouble picking up the Viper's emergency beacon,
Commander," Boomer reported as he again looked over the equipment, going
through the procedures he had been taught. "Am I doing something wrong
here?" 
     "What?" Dayton exclaimed, looking over his own readouts. "Bloody
hell! It is gone!"    
     "Gone?" Baker asked.  "Is the system depressed?" 
     "Depressed?" Dayton asked a little sharply. "Yeah, it just needs a
little Prozac and it'll be fine! In English, Bob." 
     "Is the system down?" Baker repeated...in English. 
     "No. It's functioning at our end. There's no signal though. Cut off
at the source," Dayton replied. He flipped switches, hit buttons, checked
power levels, and when all that failed, he slammed his fist against the
control panel in order to bring his rising anxiety at the thought of
losing Starbuck and Luana down to a more normal level...about moderate. 
"Damn!  Where the hell are you, Demitasse?"   
     "Commander," Tone approached the topic cautiously, knowing this
wouldn't be a popular theory, even if it was legitimate.  "If Starbuck
and Luana were subjected to some radion poisoning...they might have
turned the signal off thinking that there was no point in..." 
     "Hold it, mister!" Dayton snapped back.  "Until we have evidence of
that..."
     "Mark..." Baker interrupted him, pointing to a scanner screen
showing a massive infrared signature, and black smoke rising miles from
their position. 
     "Just great. The kid's beacon stopped, so he decided to send up
smoke signals," Dayton growled, praying fervently that Tone was wrong,
and that Starbuck and Luana weren't down there with their skin melting
off like the victims of a nuclear attack...
     "Tone's right.  It doesn't make sense that the signal would just
stop," Apollo pointed out, the tension in his voice audible.  "But there
is another possibility."  
     "The Viper blew up in that fire?" Tone asked. 
     "No, I'm still reading the Vipers," Dayton pointed out as he glanced
again at the readings. "Both still intact, as far as I can tell." 
     "So we're back to him turning it off.  There must be another
reason..." Boomer suggested. 
     "What?" Baker asked, but Boomer shook his head in response. 
     "Keep your eyes peeled, gentlemen, and maybe we'll find out," Dayton
added as they approached the area, flying low. 
     "Eyes peeled?" Tone asked, with a wince. 
     "Stay alert," Boomer inserted.  Yeah, apparently he had spent a
little too much time with the Earthmen. 
     "Okay, we're coming in for a landing," said Dayton. "Airspeed?" 
     "Mach 2, and dropping," 
     "Where are we putting down?" asked Boomer. 
     "Preferably someplace that isn't on fire, Boomer.  Space shuttles
react badly to brushfires." 
     "So do Colonial Warriors." Boomer added grimly. 
     "Let's get a signal back to the Galactica," instructed Apollo. "Let
them know what we've found." 
     "We'll have to use our old stuff," said Baker. "And it'll take a lot
longer to get there. Your comm unit could trigger the Dynamos." 
     "I understand.  Gamma frequency 223." 
     "On and transmitting," said Baker, after flipping the switches.
"Galactica, this is Endeavour. Repeat, Galactica, this is Endeavour."  He
began reciting what had occurred. 
     Ahead, they could see the terrain speeding by underneath them. From
both the instruments and Dayton's experienced eye, they were at about
2000 feet and descending.  They passed over a low range of hills, thickly
covered with forest and wrapped in mist, and for just a second, he felt
the tug of home again.  They flew through a cloud, emerging covered with
moisture. He studied the instruments again.  There was a wide, flat
plain, part of which had already been ravaged by fire.  Out the
windshield, a thick, black smoke was obscuring his view.  He risked the
scanners salvaged from the Arcta shuttle.  The ground was smooth, with
few rocks or obstructions of any sort, and there was a waterfall nearby. 
It they were still alive, it would make sense they would head for water,
if they were able to.  Powering up the engines, Dayton moved the ship
over that way.
     God this is weird!  Flying her like she was a plane. Who would have
thought? 
     "Can you see anything?" Apollo asked. 
     "Not with the naked eye.  The smoke is covering just about
everything..." 
     Then the ship abruptly lurched, and a flame erupted from the
blackness below for an instant. 
     "That was an explosion!" Baker exclaimed.
     "Ya think?" retorted Dayton, even as his chest tightened in concern.

     "A Viper...?" Boomer hazarded. 
     "Yeah." Apollo added quietly, wishing he could see beyond the grey
darkness.  
     "If they turned off that emergency beacon, they had to be alive. 
They'll head for water.  And that's where we'll pick them up." Dayton
averred.  "Get ready.  This could get a little rough." 
     "You mean there's no one down there sweeping the rocks and bird
nests off the landing strip?" Baker asked. 
     "Or cooling down the beers in the OC." Dayton added. 

---------- 

     "Commander, decoding long-range transmission received from Bojay's
patrol." Omega frowned, his eyebrows furrowing as he awaited the
decryption. "It's a Cylon Base Ship, sir!" 
     "A Base Ship," Adama replied.  Two Vipers against a Base Ship
wouldn't stand a chance, assuming the Cylon battleship had detected them. 
If Bojay and Sheba-two of his best pilots, he reminded himself-managed to
get a jump on them, they would head into deep space, leading the Cylons
as far away from the Fleet as possible. A tactic, thanks to the Cylon
inflexibility and lack of imagination, that seemed to work time and time
again. "Anything else, Omega?"  
     "That's all, Commander." 
     "Commander, we just lost both the Vipers on our scanners.  They must
have moved just beyond our scanner range." Tigh inserted, with a sidelong
look at Ensign Lia who had returned to haunt the bridge, awaiting news of
her sister. 
     "Pursuing or being pursued?" Adama posed, moving to the scan console
alongside his executive officer.  Sure enough, that quadrant of space now
read as clear, other than the Base Ship. 
     "Could be, sir," Tigh replied, adjusting a control. "Sir, if they're
taken prisoner..." 
     "I know, Tigh. I know." He'd have to consider moving on.  He looked
at the scan returns from the planet where Starbuck's patrol had gone
down, and the Endeavour was headed.  He looked at the ship's chrono, and
shook his head again.  The rescue team was running out of time, and they
didn't even know it. 

----------

     Horror, shock, helplessness, confusion, Ryan wasn't sure what he was
feeling as he reached Dickins' side, dropping the weapon he had been
holding.  He reached out tentatively, rolling his limp friend of thirty
years back towards him from where he had slumped to his side after
pulling the trigger.  Tears welled up as he thought of the utter
desperation and hopelessness that had filled the other's eyes before Dick
had finished it all.  But there was something wrong.  Like a movie scene
was being played out, despite the fact that the special effects guy had
taken a terminal lunch break.  Something was missing. 
     There was no blood, and the back of his friend's head hadn't been
blow away. 
     "Paddy, let me in!" Cassie pushed him gently, but firmly. "Reece,
get me a med team!  STAT!" The Security Officer instantly made a call on
his comm unit. 
     "What the hell..." Ryan murmured, not budging as he leaned over
Dickins and felt for the carotid pulse...and found it. Instant euphoria.
"He's alive! But how the..." 
     "Our weapons are routinely left on 'stun'," the Security Officer
explained as he pulled himself out from under the unconscious Earthman
and retrieved both discarded weapons. He checked both pistols, and showed
the setting to Paddy from a distance, before holstering his own, and
loosely covering Ryan with the other. 
     Of course. They dealt with civilians, not Cylons. And because of it,
they used a setting on their guns more similar to an Earth Taser, than
the usual deadly semi-automatic pistols that Ryan was accustomed to
policemen carrying back home.  Men like Guidobaldo and Sire Dracus seemed
to be the exception in Colonial Society.  These civilians were generally
perceived to be a more docile breed than their Earth counterparts. It was
rather quaint really.
     And damn lucky for Dickins. 
     "But you don't usually fire them at close range," Cassiopeia
inserted, as she ran gentle hands over Dickins, wishing for the first
time in her career that a bio-monitor would fit in her handbag. "Point
blank, right up against the body." 
     "No. We don't," the Officer replied, as if he hadn't really
considered it. He looked across at Reece who was still on the comm. 
     "What happens if you do?" Ryan asked, his gaze shifting between
Dickins, Cassiopeia and the cops that were all around him. 
     "Simply put, the blast overloads the central nervous system, like
blowing out a circuit board. Usually, the result is unconsciousness.  But
keeping in mind that one shot can usually knock out four men at fifteen
metrons, there could be some potential long term effects from this," the
med tech replied.  "That's what we need to monitor him for." 
     "Such as?" Ryan replied wearily. "Aside from death, that is."  He'd
seen what overdoing it with a Taser could do to someone. If the nervous
system responded even remotely similarly with one of these babies...
     "Confusion, seizure activity, decreased motor function, behavioural
changes..." She paused, realizing she was beginning to sound more like a
medical journal than a Human Being.  She turned and squeezed Ryan's hand,
wishing that Dayton could be here for him.  For all of them.  Dickins was
this man's family.  And how difficult was it to see your brother try to
blow his brains out from mere metrons away, when you were helpless to do
anything about it?  "Paddy, we really won't know unle...until Dick wakes
up.  But besides all this, any man who holds a weapon to his head and
pulls the trigger needs help. Psychological help." 
     "Or a better gun," Ryan replied quietly. 
     "You don't mean that!" Cassie replied, watching the emotions cross
over his features. Lord's sake. Had she so markedly misjudged this man? 
     "Cassie, he just made a decision to kill himself.  To end it all. 
He's going to be one pissed off guy when he wakes up to find out that he
screwed it up because the friggin' gun was on the wrong setting." 
     "You honestly think he'd be better off dead?" she challenged him.
Good God, how bad had it been down there for Dayton and his men?  Then a
memory of the condition that the pirates' women and children had been in
came to mind.  She withheld a shudder. 
     "No...yes...well,  maybe." Paddy shrugged, letting out a deep
breath.  Dickins hadn't exactly been a happy camper for a long, long
time.  At times, Ryan figured he had taken a few too many blows to the
head at the mercy of Torg and Bex.  But regardless, this wasn't a 'cry
for help', as the shrinks used to put it.  Or an attention-getting ploy
that screamed 'I can't take it anymore!' or 'Look at me!'. Dick was
serious about wanting to be dead.  He had crossed right over that line of
thinking about it, to picking the most effective way to kill yourself
with a gun-at least if Martin Riggs in Lethal Weapon was correct.  "The
point is that he obviously thinks he'd be better off dead." 
     By the looks of the Security Officer that Dickins had subdued, he
obviously agreed. Cassie caught his scowl, and shot the man a look that
would have crumpled a Cylon's armour. After a few microns, he looked
away. 
     "The med team should be here any centon," Reece inserted as he
joined them.  He glanced at Dickins. "How's he doing?" 
     Cassiopeia shrugged, keeping an eye on the entrance, waiting for the
technical equipment that would back up her initial assessments.  "He's
alive."  Then she looked back at Reece, "We'll transfer him to the Life
Station here on the Rising Star when the med team arrives." 
     "He'll need to be kept isolated, restrained and under guard," Reece
inserted. 
     "Yeah, he looks dangerous, all right," Ryan replied bitterly. 
     "Ryan, the reason we're all here is that your friend just assaulted
four men resulting in bodily harm," Reece pointed out, his tone sounding
as if he were addressing the learning disabled.  He spoke slower and
louder.  "One of them was a Security Officer, which translates to an
additional charge of resisting arrest." 
     "Look, buster," Ryan snapped, rising to his feet, glowering at the
other, "if you hadn't run in here screaming for everybody to get down and
waving your gun around like Hondo and his SWAT team, then I could have
talked him out of this!  I know the man. I understand him!" Then a
certain fat Sire came to mind.  Ryan swung around, seeing both
politicians busily being interviewed by the IFB reporter.  He gritted his
teeth, getting up to confront the bastard who had really made Dickins
pull the trigger.  
     A restraining hand grabbed him by the arm insistently, getting his
full attention. 
     "Ryan, you're not going anywhere.  You're going to be detained as
well," Reece's partner, Willem, informed him.  He nodded towards the
bloodied Black Shirt who was only just coming around now from the blow
the old astronaut had delivered to his face.  "I don't know what you
people did on Earth, but you can't just start fighting in a public place,
and beating people senseless with no provocation in our society." 
     Ryan jerked his arm loose, then took an aggressive step closer to
Willem, his emotions running high and needing some kind of outlet.  "No
provocation?  Your man was about to shoot my friend.  I didn't know you
had another setting on your friggin' guns.  And you can bet that Dickins
didn't jump that guy-who outweighs him by more than two to one, by the
way-for no good reason!" He resisted the incredible urge to grab a hold
of the officer and shake him.  "Look, bub, I need to be there for Dickins
when he wakes up." 
     "Well, short of shooting yourself in the head on 'stun', that's not
going to happen," Willem replied evenly, then nodded towards IFB cameras
that had swung their way as he felt the hostility rolling off the other
in waves.  "Do you want the entire Fleet changing their opinion of you
Earthmen, just as your Commander takes his position as official Earth
Liaison Officer?"
     The way the Officer maintained his cool made Ryan want to rip his
tonsils out.  Through his ears.  If it wasn't for the grudging respect
that Starbuck showed Reece and Willem after getting their help with
Fausto on the Rising Star, he might have given in to his urge.  Your lot
in life, Paddy, maintaining the peace.
     "It's not going to look very good on the Primary Report if you take
this any further, Ryan." Willem continued to try and calm the Earthman
down.
     Ryan paused as the truth of his words continued to sink in.  He
could just see the headline, Earthmen go mad!  Hell, Dayton would kill
him when he found out what a mess this had turned into.  He glanced back
at the Sires once again.  Uri was looking at him scornfully, his eyes
shining with a malevolent satisfaction.  Ryan squeezed his hands into
fists, trying to diffuse his anger and the corresponding temptation to
pull Willem's weapon from his holster and blast both Sires into next
week. Or secton. Whatever.  And the IFB camera with them. 
     "Paddy, I'll comm Porter from the Life Station. He can stay with
Dickins." Cassie reassured him. "And I'll get Chameleon to find you both
a Protector."
     "A what?"
     "Legal advocacy." 
     "Thanks. Hopefully, Johnny Cochran is in your phone book," Ryan
replied quietly, wondering was the Colonial punishment would be for
assaulting a Black Shirt.  Rumour had it that the Prison Barge was
already filled to capacity. Still, he had to keep in mind that here in
the Fleet, as in the Colonies they came from, an accusation of murder or
attempted murder, was something that they took to court within ten hours
of charges being laid. Their justice was swift and decisive, whether or
not they had had time to gather all the evidence. Despite his assurances
to Dickins that these people's laws were reasonable, he had also heard
the story about Starbuck almost being convicted for a murder he hadn't
committed. Something about another pilot being gunned down with
Starbuck's weapon, after the two had had a blow up. It didn't exactly
fill him with confidence. He glanced at the entrance as a full medical
team entered at a run.
     "Let's go, Ryan." Willem told him, grabbing his arm again.  "Don't
give me any trouble, or I'll have to restrain you." 
     "Understood," he replied briskly, all out of witty comebacks for the
moment. Then, as they moved towards the door, he saw Uri and Geller
again, once more talking to the IFB camera. He glanced at the bald Sire,
and Uri looked back.  Something about the arrogant and self-serving mien
of the other made Ryan want to smack him.  "Well," he said instead,
locking gazes with the former beautician, "That's round one for you, Uri. 
But one thing you don't know about us Earthlings, we usually go the full
nine, unless of course, we get an early knockout."
     Uri frowned before replying haughtily, "Ah, some more of your quaint
Earth vernacular, Doctor Ryan.  How charming...and utterly meaningless."
     "There's going to be a rumble in the jungle, Uri!  Beware the
rope-a-dope.  You're going down!" Ryan called over his shoulder as Willem
pulled him out of the Astral Lounge.  "And down is where you're going to
stay!  Oh, yeah!"
 
----------

     Tears ran down his face as thick smoke enveloped him, making it hard
to breathe, not to mention run, from the heat nipping at his heels. 
Thank the Lords of Kobol that you're used to sucking on a fumarello and
breathing noxious fumes!  Otherwise, all this smoke might be bad for you!

     With the roar of the waterfall before them, the harsh hacking of his
and Luana's coughs, the crackle of the flames behind them, and the
occasional burst of a Cylon laser rifle as the Centurions spotted them
through the murk, Starbuck almost didn't catch what almost sounded like a
ship in the distance.  Couldn't be...
     But he definitely heard Luana's gasp as she hit the ground behind
him. 
     "Lu!" he pivoted, dropping down beside her.  "Are you..." he coughed
as the smoke filled his lungs once again. 
     She nodded, her face blackened with soot, except for the dirty
tracks of tears.  She let him pull her to her feet as she struggled to
catch her breath, feeling idiotic that she had tripped.  She was usually
more surefooted than the proverbial mountain caprine.  Wiping at her
face, she tried to steady herself, but her chest felt like it was on
fire.  Another wracking cough consumed her before she could gasp out,
"Okay...I'm fine." 
     He pulled off her flight jacket, pushing it into her hand and
pressing it lightly against her face to use as an impromptu filter,
before doing the same for himself.  She nodded again, this time not
protesting as he gripped her hand tightly and pulled her behind him.  
     It shouldn't be reassuring, but it was.  The smoke would get them
long before the fire if they didn't make it to the waterfall.  And by the
feel of the intense heat behind them, they very well might not make it. 
Luana coughed and sputtered again, feeling light-headed at the lack of
oxygen, and marvelling how much better the self-proclaimed 'city-boy'
seemed to be faring. What in Hades did they breathe in the cities of the
Colonies? Carbonion monoxide? 
     Starbuck stumbled, righting himself again, as he forged onward
towards the water source.  He was purely going on sound now, his vision
almost completely useless as the haze stung his eyes mercilessly.  It was
beginning to feel more like he was dragging Lu, then running with her,
and readjusted his grip on her when he heard it again.  There was that
sound again. Almost like a ship.  Raiders.  Out looking for us.  Has to
be.
     No, wait a centon. He looked above him, trying to catch a glimpse of
what was up there, but the dense smoke filled the sky, obliterating
everything else  But the sound...That's not Cylon. The sound's not right. 
And it was sputtering.  What the mong is it? After a moment's thought, it
reminded him of something back at the Academy, or that flying piece of
felgercarb that Robber had left him with when the former Proteus Prisoner
had stolen Recon Viper One.  
     His arm jerked, as Lu went down again, pulling free from his hand. 
He turned to help her up, only to find her prostrate on the ground. 
"Lu!" he shouted, discarding his flight jacket.  Quickly, he checked her
over, looking for injuries, and then rolling her over when he found none. 
He shook her roughly by the shoulders, trying to get her to respond. 
"C'mon, Lu.  Wake up!." 
     Her eyes were closed; she was unconscious, but breathing. But for
how much longer?  Flames were beginning to lick at the dry grasses mere
metrons away, and he could hear the whine of the Cylons as they drew
closer.  They had to be engulfed by flame, but it didn't seem to be
slowing their advance. Yeah, it was unnerving, to say the least.  He half
expected them to emerge from the fiery wall of death that was following
him, like demons from Hades Hole.  
     Easy, pal.  
     A little slower than he would have liked, he managed to hoist Lu
over his left shoulder, staggering under her slight weight as he regained
his feet. Then unbelievably, he felt a soft gust of wind hit him square
in the face. The wind had shifted.  He tripped and stumbled, before
righting himself and again heading towards the sound of the waterfall.
They might just escape the fire after all. But what about the Cylons? 
     Move your astrum, Bucko.  First things first. 
 
----------

     "That was a warning shot!  I won't be so nice next time!  I'm
ordering you to cut your thrusters, and surrender! Immediately!" 
     The warning came over the Unicom, concise and to the point.  Sheba
checked her rear scan, and knew in an instant she was still in his sites,
even as she turned her ship in yet another evasive manoeuvre.  But a
niggling thought at the back of her mind made her wonder who he was. She
knew that voice, by the Lords. But how..."Virtanen?" she asked, as the
voice finally clicked with the memory of a face.  "By all the Lords, is
that you?" 
     His voice cracked as he replied with equal measures of hope and
uncertainty. "Sheba?" 
     "Bojay!" Sheba exclaimed with excitement, actually bouncing in her
seat. "Bojay, did you hear him?" 
     "I heard him!  Where's your wingleader, Virtanen?" Bojay asked,
grinning ear to ear. "Primping in front of a mirror, as usual?" 
     "No. I'm right on your tail, Captain," came the even reply of the
unmistakeably female voice. Then she added with a sassy drawl, "And I
have to say, I'm enjoying the view."
     Bojay snorted, checking his rear scan.  "Nice flying, Roz." 
     "I learned from the best," she returned. 
     He could almost hear her grin, and see those vivid blue eyes
laughing at him coyly beneath thick, dark lashes.  Hey, indulge yourself,
Bojay!  Long, black hair that flowed down her back in waves, and a figure
that made most men ogle, open-mouthed and drooling...Yeah, it would be
good to see Roz again in the flesh.  He chuckled out loud at the thought. 
Might as well aim high. 
     "I take it you two have already checked out this drifting wreck?"
Sheba asked. 
     "We have. By the looks of her, she was destroyed yahrens ago," Roz
replied. "She's got that huge hole in her that looks as though she
exploded from internal problems, but I can't see any indication of why.
The rest of her appears intact, and not even battle scarred. As though
she wasn't even used in the War, and had some kind of other purpose. I
sure wish we could board her and take a look around." 
     "Not without the right equipment, we can't," Bojay replied.  "She
doesn't have any gravity, or life support, according to the scanners." 
     "We could probably enter the landing bay safely enough," Sheba
suggested.  "Just to take a look around." 
     "I think the risk outweighs any possible benefit, Sheba." Bojay
replied reasonably.  Yeah, it would be useful to figure out what had
happened to the Base Ship, but it might not even be relevant at this
point in time.  Besides...
     "Agreed." Sheba nodded, checking her scanner.  "Okay, Virtanen, I
picked up a blip on my scanner, heading 22 Delta.  Was that the..." 
     "Yes, it's the Pegasus.  Oh, and we have a standing order from
Commander Cain if we ever run into you, Sheba, to take you back home. 
Apparently, you're late for dinner," Roz teased her. 
     "Bojay..." Torn between reporting back to their own base ship, and
seeing her father, Sheba appealed to her friend and wingleader. 
     "I'll send another encrypted message to the Galactica." Bojay
replied, doing so.  "I'm sure Commander Adama will understand when he
hears that we're rendezvousing with Cain, and that the Cylon threat isn't
quite what we thought it was." 
     "How is my father?" Sheba asked, feeling the excitement well up
inside of her. 
     The hesitation was slight, but noticeable.  "He's okay, Sheba." 
     "Just okay?" 
     "We've seen a lot of action since we left the Fleet.  We've lost
some good people." Virtanen replied evasively.  "Sustained a lot of
damage..."
     "You had a skeleton crew when we left for the Galactica as it was."
Bojay responded. "Most of your pilots were transferred to the Fleet."
     "Some of us damn near mutinied, to stay," added Roz.  "Others were
on Bridge rotation.  I personally had problems with my ship.  So did
Virtanen, oddly enough.  Damn engines just wouldn't fire up when we were
given orders to launch.  We had to stay." She sounded rather pleased
about it.
     "And a handful of other Vipers were being repaired, and hadn't been
given the final authorization from the flight crew for action.  A real
shame." The tone of his voice said otherwise.
     "Well, your Viper looks like it's seen better days," observed Sheba.
Virtanen's ship looked like it could use a paint job and a scrub, at the
very least.  
     "Yeah, well, the Pegasus has certainly seen better days too.  She
needs some furlon in a big way," Virtanen admitted. 
     "And so does her crew," Roz added. 
     Sheba frowned.  It didn't sound like the ship of dedicated and
driven warriors she had worked with for yahrens.  Something wasn't right. 
She turned her ship on that heading, feeling an uneasiness sweep over
her. "Take us home." 

----------

     Dayton grinned as the low-flying Endeavour broke through the wall of
smoke. Immediately below them, about 500 feet or so, a group of what
could have been Cylons was moving steadily forward, also towards the
waterfall. 
     "Holy crap!  Walking trash cans!" Baker exclaimed.  "Did you see
that?" 
     "What?" Apollo asked anxiously. 
     "Cylons, Captain." Dayton replied, as his stomach lurched even more
at finally encountering the Colonials' ancient enemy in action, than it
had on launch.  "At least I think they were Cylons. About half a dozen, I
think. I barely got a glance at them before we flew over." He reached
over, and adjusted a control. The scan was replayed for the Colonials. 
     "Cylons!" Tone burst out. "What in Hades Hole are Cylons doing here? 
I thought we left them behind sectars ago." 
     "Well, that would explain Starbuck turning off his emergency beacon. 
He didn't want us flying into a trap." Boomer nodded, blowing out a
relieved breath.
     "Just goes to show that we can't get too complacent," Apollo
returned. "Something a few ex-bureauticians don't seem to understand.
Better send another message to the Galactica and let them know about the
Cylon presence."
     "Gamma frequency?" Baker verified.
     "You got it." Apollo agreed.  "We can't risk those Dynamos turning
against us now.  Any sign of Starbuck and Luana in all that?" 
     "Trouble being that there's a whole lot of beige waving around down
there, and still a lot of smoke covering it," Dayton replied.  Of course,
his eyesight wasn't exactly what it used to be either.  "I'm going to
circle round, and pass over again, then take her in for a landing
regardless." 
     It was a kick to be able to say it, not to mention do it.  Of
course, the last time the Endeavour had landed on a planet-Earth, of
course-it had been gliding to a landing without power, as per usual. A
glorified flying brick. With wings.  Now, not only could he fly her like
an average space-age jet, provided he didn't get too fancy, but he could
take off again and clear the planet's orbit.  You've come a long way,
baby!  
     He loosened his death grip on the stick, realizing it had indeed
been a long time since he had done this.  He watched the radar altimeter
as their altitude dropped until it seemed the tops of the tallest grasses
would be sweeping her underside. 
     "I see them!" Baker exclaimed pointing off to their right. 
"Starbuck's carrying Lu over his shoulder.  They're heading for a
waterfall! Almost there, it looks like.  Maybe...a couple score metrons
to go.  C'mon, Starbuck! You can make it!  We're here, kid!" 
     "That'll place them about a quarter mile from where we intend to set
down," Dayton remarked, steadying his grip and wondering if he should try
and get closer. 
     "That'll be fine," Apollo inserted.  "We don't want the Endeavour
anywhere near Cylon pulse rifles.  Her hull wasn't designed to be under
enemy fire." 
     "You can say that again." Baker murmured. 
     "Her hull wasn't designed..." Dayton did the honours. 
     "Shut up, and take her down, Commander." Baker replied.

----------

     Starbuck instinctively ducked as he looked up at the sound of the
ship flying not far above him, wondering if it was about to set down on
top of them.  He was shocked to see something surprisingly familiar
flying low over the field. The Endeavour...?  
     But he had no time to ponder what the old Earth relic was doing
here, or even how the thing could fly all of a sudden.  He turned to look
behind them, then moved forward, his left foot coming down in a hole.  He
lost his balance, then felt a sickening crunch as his left ankle twisted,
and his body kept on going, lurching to the side.  He cried out in agony
as he tumbled to the ground, coming down hard on his left leg, Lu landing
on top of him.  For a selfish moment, he let the pain wash over him as he
gripped his boot with both hands, his face a rictus of agony. 
     Idiot!  
     He couldn't believe it.  A phalanx of Centurions on his astrum, and
his unconscious fianc‚e over his shoulder, and he wipes out!  Yeah, just
when you thought it couldn't get any worse.  Frack!  Frack!  Frack!  
     He knew, from the pain, that he'd broken his ankle. He took several
steadying breaths before rolling Lu towards him, again checking her
breathing.  She was still with him.  He twisted around, trying to catch
sight of his pursuers.  He could hear them coming his way, their whining
drone getting louder and louder.  Clenching his teeth, he climbed to one
knee, easing Luana back into position over his shoulder.  There was no
real choice and he knew it as he grunted and climbed to his feet.  The
pain was terrible, but what choice did he really have?  It should be
tolerable until the swelling set in.  And if the Goddess Fortuna was on
his other shoulder, she would see him safely aboard the Earth shuttle
long before that happened. 
     "Halt, Human!"
     Zing!
     He ducked as he lunged forward again, gritting his teeth, and
pushing on.  Escape was so close he could taste it.  And smell it.  It
had just never occurred to him that it would come in the form of an
archaic piece of felgercarb from Earth.

Chapter Eight
 
     While the landing hadn't exactly been up there on Dayton's top ten
list, at least they were all in one piece. They had come in so damned hot
the alarm had started screaming, telling him he was about to rip the
wings off if he didn't correct his angle, and throttle back.  He managed,
and with an ease he would never have dreamed of from the old girl, he
brought the Endeavour around, and made for a flat area of ground. Much to
his-and his heart rate's-relief, the landing gear dropped without a
hitch, and firing braking thrusters, he came to rest on solid ground for
the first time in thirty years, the ship rolling to a stop.  
     "Okay, we're down," he declared, as he and Baker went through the
post-landing procedures.  They continued as Apollo and Boomer tore out of
their seats, heading for the hatch before the shuttle had even come to a
full stop. Before anything else, they needed to do some readings to see
if the radion emissions being detected on the planet had left a mark. 
Their suits would protect them against such emissions, but Starbuck and
Luana were totally unprotected.  Tone followed once the shaking and
rocking stopped, a little less enthused about being tossed around the
flight deck. 
     "I don't believe it." Apollo muttered as he studied his portable
scanner.
     "Nothing.  Not a trace of lingering radion levels." Boomer checked
his own.  "That doesn't make much sense, considering the wavelons they
were reading from the Galactica."
     "No, but it gives Starbuck and Luana a much better chance of making
it out of this alive." Apollo replied, calling back to the others, "Looks
good, Dayton!  We'll be right back.  Be ready to take off!" He pulled off
his helmet and grabbed his weapon, before jumping through the hatch with
Boomer on his heels.  The captain slid down the hastily rigged automatic
emergency egress slide that prevented them from having to jump almost
four metrons to the ground.  No sense in breaking their ankles before
they even got started.  Dayton would secure the light collapsible
stairwell that would enable them to get back up. 
     They had seen where Starbuck was heading, and the lieutenant
couldn't have missed them coming in, so would alter his course when he
saw where they landed.  If Apollo's estimation was right, they should run
right into him. If it was wrong, they'd run right past him through tall
grasses dotted with strange purple flowers that had to be three metrons
high. 
     They poured on the speed, letting Tone-who was lugging a med
kit-fall behind. A half a dozen Cylons were on Starbuck's tail, and this
time he was carrying an injured woman after sucking in enough smoke to
slow down even the fittest of men.  He needed help now. 
     The sound of a pulse rifle pierced the air, and Apollo veered to the
right, brushing aside the foliage that acted as both shield and obstacle. 
Another blast and he grunted with exertion, his heart pounding against
his chest as he tried to close the distance between them. Then the
distinct sound of a Colonial blaster answered the others.  Starbuck was
returning fire.
     Somehow, he expected no less. 
     "Boomer!  Circle round!" Apollo cried, pointing to the left, as he
took the right with the intent of flanking the enemy.  He dashed across
the first hundred metrons, and then slowed down slightly, and then
drastically when he heard the drone of the Centurions.  He moved
cautiously forward, as he spied the glint of their metal through the
vegetation. 

----------

     "Commander, I'm picking up activity from the Dynamos," Athena
reported, eyes on her scanner. "We're getting movement."  Ensign Lia was
at her station in an instant, her eyes pouring over the readouts.
     "Movement?" Adama asked, moving down from the Command level of the
Bridge. 
     "The entire network, Father, has started shifting position," Athena
explained as she plotted the almost negligible change.  
     "Is there any kind of pattern to it?" Tigh asked, joining them. "Are
the movements coordinated in any way?" 
     Athena changed screens, plotting the variation and combining both
patterns on a graph. The computer crunched on the numbers for a few
microns. "They're moving so incredibly slowly, it's difficult to tell at
this point, Colonel.  Mainly, the ones from the north and south poles
seem to be converging towards the others."
     "How slowly? Can you be more precise?"
     "It's...approximately two point...oh one metrons per micron,
Colonel." She punched a few controls, shaking her head. "Impossible to be
more precise at this range, sir."  
     Adama arrived, and leaned forward, also studying the data.  "Is
there any change in their emitted radion wavelons?" 
     "No, sir.  They don't seem to be emitting any energy. They're
just..." she shrugged, "moving." 
     "Another phase in the planet's formation?" Tigh asked. 
     "Possibly.  But does the network continue to function as a defence
system?" Adama posed.  If the defensive network was inactive, they would
be able to contact their rescue team about the Cylon threat and get them
back to the Fleet with due haste.
     If not...
     "We could send in one of Dr. Wilker's PMU's, Commander.  They
triggered the Dynamos' energy blast at the pirate asteroid successfully,
and I understand he's made some improvements since then." Tigh suggested. 
Programmable Mobile Units with the additional benefit of a short-range
transmitter that could more meticulously control repair or maintenance
functions, they had been based on back-engineered Cylon technology as
Wilker continued to study Baltar's pilots in his lab. No longer did the
Colonials need to send out valued warriors, entrusting their lives to
safety lines while spacewalking, or even worse, opting not to, in the
case of Starbuck and Apollo during the fire on the Galactica. 
     "Good idea, Tigh. Contact Dr. Wilker, and see if he has an
operational unit." 
     "Yes, sir." 
     "Commander, another encoded message from Bojay's patrol!" Omega
reported.  "Sir, the Cylon threat is obsolete.  The Base Ship is
suspected to have been wrecked yahrens ago! She's adrift and without
power!" He punched up the vid scan, from Bojay's telemetry.  Sure enough,
the Base Ship looked like someone had ripped her a new landing bay. 
Adama had Omega transfer the image to all screens. 
     A cheer went up on the Bridge at the news.  Adama nodded in relief. 
As much as he had insisted to the Council that the Cylons were an ongoing
threat despite the many sectars that had passed without encountering
them, he had been as disheartened as anyone else that his prediction had
been validated.  
     "Good news, Adama," Tigh stated with a relieved smile.  
     "Indeed." Adama agreed.  The rescue mission could go ahead as
planned without its timetable being affected.  He wouldn't have to even
consider leaving his son...or the others, behind in an effort to flee the
Cylons.  He turned towards Ensign Lia.  "Why don't you get some rest,
Ensign?"
     "Please, sir, I'd rather stay," Lia replied earnestly. 
     He nodded, certainly understanding her need.  Yet, it was rewarding
to see some of the worry erased from her features now that the threat of
Cylons had been eliminated. Still, those Dynamos...
     Omega put his hand to his headphone in the din as he struggled to
hear the incoming message and simultaneously decrypt it on his equipment.
His eyes went wide and he grinned joyously as he read the second message. 
"Commander, further to that, Bojay's patrol has rendezvoused with Vipers
from the Pegasus!"  He held his breath a moment, as if he could barely
believe what he was hearing. "They've found Commander Cain!" 
     "Cain?" Adama shook his head incredulously.  And for Sheba, of all
pilots, to be a part of that discovery...He paused as he noticed Ama
storm onto the Bridge, looking slightly more respectable in traditional
Council robes with her usually wild hair tied back from her face.  Her
eyes were trained on him and she looked at him expectantly. 
     "They'll rendezvous with the Pegasus, and report back ASAP, Sir."
Omega informed him. 
     "Very well, Omega.  I'll be in the my quarters." He gestured for Ama
to proceed him there.  "Colonel, you have the Bridge."
     "Yes, sir."
     "And notify me of any further change in the Dynamos, or
communications from Commander Dayton or the Endeavour."
     "Yes, Commander."

----------

     Tolerable, huh?  Well, apparently what used to be tolerable was
considerably less so now.  Each step was excruciating, and with the
weight of Luana on Starbuck's shoulder, it was even worse.  Sweat poured
off him, and the repeated jarring crunch of his ankle bones was making
him want to toss his mushies.  Still, he knew the Cylons were right
behind him, and it was only the concealing screen of vegetation that
stood between them and his astrum.  He leaned up against a boulder almost
as tall as him, taking the weight off his foot for a moment, as his chest
rose and fell like a bellows in hyperdrive.  Strangely, the weight hurt
as much coming off his foot as going on.  That just seemed wrong somehow. 
Just a micron's rest, Bucko.  You deserve at least that. 
     The searing heat of a laser blast just about singeing the hair off
the his head made him duck, and it also propelled him on around the huge
rock.  They were too close.  He was going to have to make a stand.  He
was not going to be taken captive as he had on Attila, especially if it
meant Luana was to be taken too.  There was no fracking way in Hades Hole
that he was going to let her fall into Cylon hands.  No way, knowing as
he did what Cylons did to their prisoners.  Even if she was apparently
having second thoughts about their 'happily ever after'...
     Maybe that sudden memory of their argument was why he seemed to dump
her unceremoniously on the ground.  Or maybe it was because it hurt too
damn much to lower her down gently. Either way, that boulder was going to
be his defensive stronghold...or the closest thing he could get to it in
a field of waving, purple flowers. 
     Using the boulder for support as well as a shield, he circled back
around.  He gasped in alarm, firing off a shot at point-blank range as he
came face to face with another Cylon where the boulder jutted out. The
Centurion's chest exploded in a cloud of sparks, and it staggered
precipitously, its weapon still pointing his way. He fired again, at the
same time flattening himself face first against the boulder and groaning
as the resulting final blast of the disabled Centurion's pulse rifle came
alarmingly close to broiling his astrum.  Then it tumbled to the ground
in a thrashing heap.  
     That was when the coughing fit hit him.  Tears pricked his eyes, and
his stomach reeled as he rested his head against the boulder until the
hacking eased.  With that racket, he might as well just fire off a flare
announcing to the Cylons, here we are!  They'd be circling around, and
getting ready to surround him by now.  For a milli-centon he considered
going back and ending it all for Lu.  It would be the decent thing to do. 
Ama would understand.  Still, there was some measure of hope, however
faint, that help might arrive in time if he could hold them off. 
Besides, he knew he didn't have it in him.  He couldn't shoot Luana,
anymore than he could shoot himself.  He didn't have the nerve.  Some
people called it a will to survive, but he knew it by its real name.
Fear.  And it was choking him now, making it feel as though there was a
battlestar resting on his chest, as he shakily raised his weapon once
again while the drone of his mortal enemies drew ever closer.
     Then the sound of laser fire seemed to fill the air, and he
startled, trying to visualize the crossfire that he was certain he was
hearing.  Those were Colonial weapons!  The cavalry-as Dayton put it-had
arrived.
     "Starbuck!" Apollo's voice called out a centon later.  "Where are
you?" 
     "Here!" he replied, turning back to check on Lu, but one more step
on his abused ankle, was one too many.  The pain was too much.  He
grunted through clenched teeth as he dropped his weapon, desperately
gripping the boulder to stop his fall. 
     Then supporting arms were around him, guiding him gently to the
ground.  Apollo looked down at him in concern, quickly checking him over,
and looking for any signs of advanced radion sickness.  "Tone!  Over
here!" he shouted, then turned back to the lieutenant, whose entire body
was blackened with smoke, his face covered with streaks of grime, and his
hair singed.  "You okay?" he asked uncertainly.
     "Me? Just fine," Starbuck hissed, as pain ripped through his leg.
"Never better, old buddy. Why would you ask?" 
     He couldn't help the grin that ambushed his face  This was not a man
dying of radion poisoning.  "Starbuck!"
     "I broke my fracking ankle!" He admitted in disgust.  "Falling!  Can
you believe it?" Starbuck cringed, as the fact that he had probably been
taken out by some burrowing rodent came to mind.  Then he frowned as he
took in Apollo's spacesuit, remembering that he had arrived in the Earth
Shuttle.  He nodded back towards where he had left Luana.  "Lu..." 
     "I'll get her," Boomer said, seemingly appearing from nowhere, as he
raced by them. 
     "Help me up!" Starbuck insisted. 
     "Wait for Tone to check you out," Apollo replied, as the med tech
appeared out of the tall grasses, and kneeled down beside them. 
     "Tone!" Boomer called out urgently from metrons away.  
     "Be right back," Tone told the captain with a quick glance at
Starbuck, as he quickly moved to the others.
     "Which ankle?" Apollo asked, trying to take his friend's mind off
what was happening just beyond them.  He grabbed the discarded Colonial
laser lying a metron away, and made to shove it into his own holster,
suddenly remembering the spacesuit wasn't equipped with one. 
     "Left," Starbuck replied, wincing and holding back a yell as Apollo
touched his boot, apparently considering whether or not to remove it. 
"Leave it," he grunted. 
     Apollo nodded.  At least it was acting as a crude splint for now. 
He handed Starbuck's weapon back to him.  "Dayton and Baker are waiting
about five hundred metrons due south." 
     Starbuck's eyes opened wide in surprise as he holstered the laser. 
Dynamos, Cylons, the Endeavour, and now Dayton.  He'd had his share of
surprises this day. "Dayton?  You let him fly? And that...relic?" 
     Apollo sniffed at the reaction.  It was exactly how the rest of them
had responded when Dayton had suggested his plan.  "The Endeavour was the
only ship that the Dynamos wouldn't detect.  Too fracking old to be of
consequence, I guess.  And Dayton is her commander." 
     "Speaking of 'too fracking old', how did he do?" Starbuck asked, his
eyes darting towards where he left Luana. 
     "Great.  He still has the touch and instinct. Amazing considering
how long it has been since he flew, other than those simulations you ran
him through.  I'll wager he could give us a run for our cubits in a
Viper," Apollo replied, following his friend's gaze. "Okay, Bucko, how
bad is Luana?" 
     "She passed out when we were coming through the smoke.  I had to
carry her." Starbuck replied, low and measured, shaking his head slightly
as he began to cough again. 
     "You both must have breathed in a lot of smoke." Apollo studied him
for a moment, wondering about inhalation burns, which often weren't
symptomatic early on.  Luana almost certainly had one if she had lost
consciousness in the fire. "How's your breathing?" 
     "I'm fine!" He waved off the other's concern.  "I just busted my
ankle."  He glanced up as Tone hurried back. "How's Lu?" 
     "Stable." Tone replied.  "She's on life mask therapy, and Boomer's
carrying her back to the shuttle.  No signs of radion contamination." He
pulled out his biomonitor, aiming it at Starbuck's ankle as both warriors
pointed to it.  "It's broken." 
     "How about that." Starbuck muttered, raising an eyebrow and looking
at Apollo, who smiled in return. "Keep up the good work, kid.  You have a
career in medicine waiting for you.  Ahhhh!" he jumped, as Tone squeezed
his boot just a little too hard.  Of course, at this point, just someone
looking at it hurt.
     "We can mend it back on the Galactica," Tone replied, knowing they
didn't have the time now with wildfires and Cylons encroaching upon them. 
He moved his medical scanner over the lieutenant, paying particular
attention to his chest. The tissue damage was incidental according to his
scan. "Not a trace of radion, and his chest is surprisingly good," he
said in surprise, nodding at a very relieved looking captain as he pushed
the lieutenant on his side to assess the charred mark down his right
flank. "Nothing some medicated inhalation therapy and a regeneration
treatment can't take care of, Lieutenant."
     "So a steady intake of foul, toxic fumes from early on apparently
pays off," Apollo grinned at his friend. 
     "Hey, I told you they were good for me, contrary to popular belief,"
Starbuck replied.  "Not to mention a great prop for cards." 
     "Yeah, right.  And sometimes a fumarello is just a fumarello." He
nodded at Tone who was dosing the downed warrior with a hypospray.  "Can
we move him?"  
     "Yes, other than some minor burns on his..." 
     "Then let's get out of here!" Starbuck interrupted. "I've had enough
of nature for one day, with its flaming fields liberally dappled with
waving purple, laser rifle toting Cylons."  Apollo looked at him
strangely for a moment. "What?" 
     Apollo glanced at Tone, nodding towards the hypospray.  Waving
purple Cylons?  "How much of that did you give him?" 
     Tone smirked. "Maybe a bit too much?" 
     "Maybe," Apollo nodded.  He propped himself under Starbuck's left
shoulder, adding ruefully as he felt his friend suddenly tense up at what
was to come, "Ups-a-daisy."  Tone supported his other side, and they
pulled him to his feet.  
     "Ohhh," Starbuck groaned, as blood rushed to his foot, making it
throb with a new intensity despite the analgesia. "Frackin' Hades Hole .
." he hissed through his teeth. 
     "Move, Lieutenant!" Apollo ordered him, raising his weapon to cover
them, should any more Cylons suddenly appear.  Another groan of pain from
his friend, as they stepped forward, "Lean on me, Starbuck, and keep your
weight off that foot!  Believe me, buddy, I don't want to carry you, but
I will if I have to." 
     Yeah, Starbuck could just imagine Dayton's face as he arrived at the
Endeavour cradled in Apollo's arms.  He'd never live that down. "Right!"
he gasped, as they hurried forward. 
     
----------
 
    "Once again, the top story on tonight's IFB Primary Report, Earthman,
Captain Richard Dickins, was arrested by Colonial Security following a
reportedly unprovoked attack on three off-duty Rising Star employees. 
All three victims have been released from Life Station, and confirmed
that they intend to press charges for what one witness called "a brutal
and uncalled for display of unrestrained savagery from an unpredictable
and base people".  Captain Dickins is currently in Life Station,
following a violent self-inflicted injury which succeeded the incident. 
In addition, Doctor Patrick Ryan, also of Earth, was arrested for
assaulting a Security Officer when he tried to prevent the crazed man's
arrest." 
     Adama sighed as he turned up the volume on the monitor, glancing
again at Ama as she made herself comfortable pouring them both a drink.
For a brief moment, it crossed his mind that he hadn't seen her actually
reach for the decanter.
     How does she do that?  Smoke and mirrors? He watched the subtle
smile playing on Ama's lips as he changed his demeanour from one of
irritation, to one of inquisitiveness.  For the moment.
     "The IFB tried to contact Commander Mark Dayton, recently appointed
to the Council as Earth Liaison Officer.  It appears that Commander
Dayton is unavailable for comment, but a former member of the Council of
Twelve had this to say..." 
     Sire Uri filled the screen. 
     "This just goes to show how unpredictable and dangerous these
strangers from Earth can potentially be, my fellow citizens.  In their
questionable wisdom, the newly elected Council has appointed the leader
of these men to a position of influence.  It pains me to see a formerly
respectable office being occupied by such a man." 
     "But surely, Sire Uri, the actions of two of his former associates
aren't necessarily reflective of Commander Dayton's own character?" Zara
asked. "Everyone is an individual, after all."
     "It has been brought to my attention that Commander Dayton has
been...well, associating, with a young woman who formerly held the
designation of...Socialator." He paused, as his features tightened
contemptuously.  "I think that really says it all about the man's moral
fibre." 
     Zara's features took on an almost feral appearance. "Undoubtedly,
the Fleet would be interested in knowing such things about a man that we
have all come to trust and respect immensely.  Especially, since he has
now been appointed to a position of some importance, Sire Uri." 
     Adama let out a short angry breath, shutting off the monitor.  His
lips tightened into a thin line as he accepted the glass she placed in
his hands.
     "This...this utter garbage, from the man who very nearly got us all
killed at Carillon! The utter...gall of that man!" 
     "Indeed.  Down the hatch," she offered, before raising the glass to
her lips and taking a generous sip while she allowed him to compose
himself.  "Ahhh!  Not bad, Adama." 
     "Do you know what happened?  What really happened, Ama?" he forged
on, pausing as she stared at him patiently, and then pointedly down at
his full glass.  He nodded, and slowly took a sip of his ambrosa. 
     "Somewhat," she smiled.  "Chameleon visited Ryan in his quaint
little cell in the Security Office on the Rising Star.  Ryan said that
Dickins was baited by the men at the bar, and then by Sire Muck himself. 
It sounds as though the pretentious old git is trying to defame our Earth
Liaison Officer, Adama." She looked thoughtful for a moment.  "And our
newly elected Council of Twelve by association." 
     "How is Chameleon handling all this?"
     "Obviously, it's difficult." Ama shrugged.  "Once again he finds
himself called upon to aid his friends, when his mind is prevalently on
his son.  I wish we had some news for him.  I'm sure that you can
relate."
     Adama nodded.  How often had he sent his own children into battle,
wondering if he would see them again?  He sighed as he thought back to
Zac.  So very young...too young.
     "It sounds as though Uri has enlisted Sire Geller's help." Ama said,
as if to remind him what they were discussing.
     He really didn't have time to deal with this right now.  Adama took
another drink, considering his options.  He had thought that his days of
sparring with Sire Uri were over.  How wrong he was.  Then he noticed a
peculiar look on Ama's face as she waited for him to...to do or say what? 
"I get the idea that you know what Sire Uri is up to, don't you, Ama?" he
asked.  She was silent a moment, her eyes meeting his. "Ama?"
     "Of course.  I recognize the beast within the man.  You do too,
Adama," she replied matter-of-factly. "The answer is within you, my
friend.  Reach out and feel it.  Embrace it." She laid a hand over her
heart.  "From here."
     He sniffed, his lips quirking.  For a moment, he was going to
dismiss her...her mystical utterances. But, as part of his mind
assimilated her words, it came to him. Like a light going on, it all
seemed so clear. Before he could do more than take a breath, she smiled. 
     "Yes, you see it, Adama.  I told you, the truth more often than not
lies within. You need but reach for it." Then she grinned widely, her
gap-toothed smile startling him as it almost always did in a face that
was beginning to look half ways respectable.  "And if you still can't
find it you can always ask me again."
     "It's me he wants," said Adama, revelation washing over him.  "He
plans on somehow using Dayton and the other Earthmen to undermine me. 
Dickins and Ryan have nothing to do with it.  They're simply pawns."
     "He's not that fond of me either, dear heart." She chuckled in wry
amusement.  Uri had come from aristocracy.  He was a blueblood who, while
he had apparently done some worthwhile deeds in his younger yahrens, had
been riding on his earlier accomplishments for a good long time since. 
Ama remembered his scathing remarks when she had been elected to the
Council of Twelve.  He had referred to her as a 'primitive witch' who was
now 'stirring a cauldron of another kind'.  She had ignored it at the
time, knowing he wasn't worthy of her attention.  However, now..."He
would destroy you if he could, Adama," said Ama, face deadly serious.
"And everything you've done for us.  He would set us on a disastrous path
of his own design.  This, I know to be true."
     "I must stop him," said Adama, not doubting her for a centon.  Then,
it occurred to him for a micron that he had come to believe in the word
of this woman perhaps a little too readily.  However, while she had
admitted more than once to having a certain amount of ego and even her
own agenda, she had always proven herself to be concerned with the good
of her people-their people-above all else.  She was a proven ally and
friend.  
     "I mean you no harm, surely you realize that by now." 
     For a moment he simply stared into her grey eyes, realizing she had
read his mind.  Much like Count Iblis had at another time, and she made
no attempt to hide it.  Yet with Ama, he only sensed goodness and light.
Still, it unnerved him.  "I do." He replied simply, before returning to
the matter at hand.  "How?  How do we stop him?"   Truthfully, he had
stopped following the goings on of Uri when the man had seemingly
graciously retired from the bureaucratic arena.  "I can't openly..."
     "I'll handle him, Adama." Ama placed a hand on the Commander's
wrist.  "After all, Council needs to rebut the Sire's statement."  Then
she smiled, and chuckled quietly.  "Besides, I have a braw idea." 
     From the glint in her eye, Adama knew he'd like it.  He just wasn't
sure she should tell him what it was. 

----------

     "Holy frack..." Bojay muttered. 
     Sheba didn't say it aloud, but she agreed with her wingleader.  The
Pegasus looked as though she had been used for target practice by an
armada of Cylon Base Ships. Battle scarred from bow to stern, with
blackened, jagged, gaping holes in parts of her hull, and the starboard
landing bay a twisted, gnarled husk, the lieutenant barely recognized
her.
     What the Hades Hole is holding her together? The will of Cain?
     "Something you meant to mention?" Sheba asked Roz and Virtanen,
impressed that her voice sounded so calm while her chest hitched with
horror.
     "A visual is worth a thousand words," Virtanen replied, no humour in
his tone. "Or so they say."
     "We took on a Base Ship about two sectars ago, Sheba.  We were
prospecting for tylium in an asteroid field orbiting an unstable star,
and they jumped us.  It was hard fought and lasted four centars.  We
destroyed it finally, but their fighters almost destroyed us in return. 
Several of them tried to ram us when their Base Ship went up." Roz told
them. "Four of them got through. It took days for the fires to get under
control.  Forty percent of the ship is still sealed off, exposed to
space, or bereft of life support."
     "Casualties?" Sheba asked.
     "We lost Colonel Tolen. Quite a few others," Roz replied quietly.
"These two Vipers are our last. Assembled from spares in ship's stores."
     Tolen was always three steps away from Cain, living comfortably in
his shadow.  At times, it was easy to forget that the man was actually an
executive officer, and not just another in a long list of subordinates
receiving orders from the Juggernaut.  However, if Cain was in his usual
place on the Bridge when Tolen was killed...
     "Give it to me straight, Roz. How's my father really?" Sheba asked,
almost dreading the answer. "And I mean really."
     "He was injured along with Tolen. A blow to the skull from flying
debris. We think he threw some kind of blood clot to the brain.  He's not
the same Sheba."
     "What?" Sheba asked, voice rising incredulously. "But we have
treatments for that!  Blood clots can be dissolved, tissue damage can be
repaired in a regen..." She broke off, looking once more at the savaged
Pegasus.  Finding the area where Life Station ought to be...
     "Oh God," whispered Bojay.
     "The extent of the fires was massive, Sheba.  We lost the Life
Station.  Dr. Eco and the staff were..." Her voice wavered.  "...they
were trapped.  They lost life support and the life masks ran out of air
long before we could get to them."
     "Commander Cain went untreated?" Bojay asked in disbelief.
     "Basic first response treatment with emergency supplies was all we
could offer.  It was all we could offer any of them," Virtanen said
defensively. "Out of the entire medical staff, only med tech Zeb
survived-he was attending to the injured on Delta Deck at the time-along
with some very basic medical supplies. That's it."
     "How bad is Cain?" Bojay asked again.
     "The right side of his body has some paralysis..." Virtanen began.
     "But that's not all..." Roz continued.
     "Tell me!" Sheba snapped.  No, dammit! I will not show fear! I will
not shed tears...
     "It's like he's...well, like he's not all there, Sheba, if you know
what I mean.  Oh, we still see glimpses of his tactical brilliance.  That
fabulous military mind.  But he's acting like nothing's wrong.  Like the
Pegasus is as battle worthy as ever.  We're working double shifts just to
keep this wreck moving through space, and he still expects that we're
going to decimate the next Base Ship that comes along." Roz's voice
cracked.  "And he's obsessed with finding Baltar. He was sure the ship we
detected was him. You don't know how relieved we were to discover that
Base Ship was a derelict."
     "Yeah, after all, he launched two full squadrons to intercept it,"
Virtanen added, his voice brittle.
     "Two full squadrons?" Bojay asked. "Come again?  I thought you said
these were your last two fighters?"
     "Yeah, I'm Silver Spar, and Virtanen is Bronze Wing. You didn't have
a chance, Bo." Roz replied bitterly at the absurdity of it. "Not only did
we sneak up on you two, we outnumbered you two squadrons to two Vipers,
and you didn't even know it." A hollow laugh followed her words.
     "Holy frack," Bojay replied, shaking his head dumbly.
     "I can't believe it," Sheba whispered.  So many sectars had passed
since the Pegasus had disappeared while taking on three Cylon Base Ships. 
While she had tried to maintain some measure of hope that her father and
old shipmates were out there still, the discovery of Dorado and Rooke on
the pirate asteroid, not to mention the unfortunate Ensign Szabo-proof
positive that the Pegasus had survived-had nearly knocked her on her
astrum.  She'd spent many a centon since then imagining a joyful reunion
with the Juggernaut.  But now this.  It was as though the universe was
playing a cruel and despicable joke on her.
     Then the Unicom came to life.
     "This is the Bridge.  Looks like you've picked up a couple strays,
Silver Spar Leader.  Identify."  The message was a strange mixture of
casual yet brisk.
     "This is Silver Spar Leader, Bridge," Roz returned.  "The Cylon Base
Ship turned out to be wrecked. A derelict, thank the nine Lords of Kobol
and all of the assorted demi-Gods.  But what we did find was Sheba and
Bojay from the Galactica nosing around it too."
     There was a hesitation, and then, "Sheba?" Cain's voice was
tremulous.
     "Father!" Sheba replied, her joy at hearing his voice, overcoming
her trepidation.
     "You're overdue, Lieutenant." Cain replied, an edge of what might
have been humour to his voice. "You're cleared for Alpha landing bay. 
I'll see you there." Then another pause.  "Welcome home, baby."
     "Yes, father..." Sheba replied tentatively as she stared once again
at the abomination that had once been the starboard landing bay.  She
switched off Unicom.  "Roz?"
     "Beta bay, Sheba.  Follow us in."

----------

     How deep in despair did a man have to be before he decided to blow
his head off?  And why couldn't his best friends see it coming? 
     Ryan sat up on the tiny bunk in his cell, glancing at his watch once
again as he tried to get his mind off the horrifying image of his friend
trying to kill himself.  Chameleon had promised that he would be back to
report on Dickins' condition.  He was also arranging for a lawyer to try
and spring him from the slammer. Or whatever it was they called ambulance
chasers around here. Apparently, assault wasn't quite as big an issue as
Ryan had imagined, or that fat grease ball, Sire Uri, had let on.  After
all, these people had been in a state of war for a thousand years, so an
episode or two of fisticuffs was punished by a slap on the wrist and a
conditionally suspended sentence as long as no one was seriously hurt. 
Chameleon had every confidence that he would be free by the end of the
day, providing he was willing to do something equivalent to community
service.  Now, the fact that he'd been touring the Fleet, educating its
citizens about Earth, out of the goodness of his heart, didn't look half
bad on his citizenship record either.
     Still, freedom couldn't come soon enough. 
     Ryan's hands clenched into fists, and he forced the trepidation
rising in his throat back down to his gut.  He knew it was his
imagination, but it was almost as if the walls were closing in on him. 
The air seemed denser, hotter, and fouler.  His breaths were coming
quicker and with increasing difficulty...no doubt contributing to the
foul air, he reckoned with a twitchy grin.  For a brief moment, it took
him back to his childhood.  Driving across Canada in their old '68 Dodge
Monaco to visit his grandmother in Cape Breton, Jim Reeves blaring over
the eight track, the car filling with smoke as his mother sucked
contentedly on her Mark Ten cigarettes-self-rolled with tender loving
care-while he hung his head out the window, desperate for some fresh air. 
Four walls to hear me, four walls to see, four walls too near me, closing
in on me...
     It took him to other places too. 
     He trained his eyes on the IFB monitor, even though he had the sound
turned down, not wanting to hear one more time about how a 'crazed
Dickins' had tried to end his own life from the ever-annoying Zed or
Zara.  After all, if Ryan dared to close his eyes for more than a few
seconds, he would be back in the pirate colony, surrounded by koivee
root, and thirty years of unspeakable misery.  It hardly made sleep an
inviting prospect.  It seemed he had developed an allergy to jail since
his incarceration.  So he could dimly understand the wild terror that had
filled Dickins' eyes at the thought of another confinement.  The madness
that had made him believe that he was surrounded by Torg and his goons,
back on the asteroid...
     Stop thinking about that place!  Think about something else. 
Dickins...
     What the hell was going to happen to his friend?  He obviously
needed some kind of One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest kind of
help-preferably minus the lobotomy.  But where did someone find that kind
of help in the Fleet?  Well, they had an Orphan's Ship and a Senior's
Ship.  Maybe they also had a Loonie Ship?  A place designated for those
with mental illness.  It was hard to say.
     Back home, when they had started closing down all the Psychiatric
Hospitals, it had quickly translated into a huge increase in the
homeless, not to mention, the prison populations.  'Antisocial behaviour'
didn't exactly make those struggling to get on their feet 'star
applicants' for available housing, if indeed there was anything out there
that they could afford in the first place. Potential employers didn't
exactly rush to embrace the newly released with open arms, either. Gee
whiz, what a surprise! The powers that be had bragged about the
'successful integration' of those with mental illness into the community. 
The problem being, that the poor bastards effected didn't have a powerful
enough voice-if any at all-with which to respond to those reports.  Yeah,
it had saved the struggling medical system billions, but what about the
ultimate cost to society?  To the lives of those effected? 
     A sudden image of Dickins begging in a marketplace came to mind.  He
squelched down his all too vivid imagination, turning back to a coping
mechanism that he had relied on from years before.  Oh, the guards would
think he was as nutty as Dickins, but at this point he just didn't care. 
He cleared his throat.  What the hell...
     Then, quietly, "The warden threw a party in the county jail.  The
prison band was there and they began to wail.  The band was jumpin' and
the joint began to swing.  You should've heard those knocked out
jailbirds sing.  Let's rock, everybody, let's rock. Everybody in the
whole cell block...was dancin' to the jailhouse rock." 
 
----------

     Boomer could see Dayton and Baker both pacing alongside the
Endeavour as he broke through the wall of vegetation, Luana stirring in
his arms.  Dayton, he could see, was carrying the weapon they had issued
him with, obviously keeping watch for Cylons.  The astronaut whirled at
the sound of Boomer's approach, weapon pointed directly at his eyes.  In
a blink, the Earthman lowered it.
     "How is she?" Dayton asked, as he glanced at the young woman covered
in soot.  She muttered something unintelligible as her eyes drifted open
for a moment, then fluttered shut again without seeming to focus on
anything.
     "Well, there are no traces of radion, so that's something," replied
the Viper pilot. "At least her coughing eased off some, once we got clear
of the smoke." Boomer boarded the shuttle, feeling the collapsible
stairwell shaking beneath his and Lu's combined weight.  He settled her
into a seat middeck.  "Tone says she has inhalation burns. He's got some
kind of nebulizer going that's supposed to take care of it."  Cool mist
wafted up from the life mask, slowly starting the healing of the damaged
tissues with each breath that she took. 
     "Amazing," Baker muttered, observing her vital signs on the portable
biomonitor.  He shook his head in near-disbelief.  "On Earth, that would
have meant near-complete respiratory failure and an extended stay in
Intensive Care. Even then, there's no guarantee." 
     "Then I guess we're lucky were on the Colonial Health Plan. How's
Espresso Breve?" Dayton asked.  At least the warrior had been mobile the
last time they had seen him as they flew overhead. "Any traces of radion
on him?"
     "Huh? Oh...I'm not even sure.  He was awake and in better shape than
Luana, but still looked like several depths of Hades Hole to me," Boomer
replied, as Baker pulled another spacesuit from storage and shoved it
towards him in pieces.  They would need to get both Starbuck and Luana
suited up for the trip back to the Fleet.  While the cabin pressure had
held on the way here, after an atmospheric entry and landing like this
one, plus the upcoming stress of take-off, he was taking no chances.  He
wasn't going to go through all this crap to save them, only to lose them
within sight of home in a depressurized cabin. 
     "How many Cylons were out there?" Dayton asked, leaning down to help
the Colonial Warrior suit up the young woman. 
     "I counted five around Starbuck's position.  He already had taken
one down, and the others were moving in on him when we managed to flank
them," Boomer replied, frowning at the effort it was taking for three of
them to get one small woman into a likewise small spacesuit. 
     They turned as Apollo, Starbuck and Tone appeared at the hatch. 
Dayton and Baker immediately joined them as the men handed the injured
warrior through, knowing they'd never squeeze through the opening
together. 
     "No radion poisoning." Apollo confirmed as they met the others.
     "Careful of the left ankle," Tone warned them as the Earthmen
supported the warrior's weight on either side. "I haven't had time to
knit the bone yet.  He'll need the full treatment in the Life Station
when we get back for the tissue damage."
     "So, Dayton, I thought you retired from all this." Starbuck rasped,
breathing hard from his one-legged hop, occasionally broken up by a
concerted drag, through the field.  "Didn't we try and arrange for a soft
job on Council?  Did that fall through?" 
     "No, I got it.  I'm the Earth Liaison now.  One last mission though,
Caf‚ Caramel.  Get you home so you don't miss your wedding," Dayton
returned with a grin.  Like Luana, the kid was black from head to toe,
and if the sweat pouring off him and the grimace on his face were any
indication, he was hurting.  Bad.  They hurried him towards a seat.  "You
got something for pain for him, Tone?"
     "Just get that foot up.  He should be fine on what I've already
given him for now.  I need to reassess the ensign right now," the med
tech replied as he followed them in. 
     "What's he think we have in here?  La-z-boy chairs?" Dayton asked
Baker, plunking the warrior into a seat and grabbing the spacesuit from
nearby.  He glanced at the kid as a prolonged hiss of pain passed his
lips. "Come on, kid.  We need to dress you up, to take you up." 
     "I'm not sure I brought anything appropriate for the occasion. 
Maybe Chameleon will lend me his black dress..." Starbuck returned with
an effort, as his singed astrum reminded him about his embarrassing burn. 
He blew out a breath between his teeth, glancing over at Lu as Tone ran
the biomonitor over her while Boomer readied her Upper Torso Assembly. 
Falling silent, he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. "How is she?
Give it to me straight, Tone. The truth." 
     "Better.  She's breathing easier, Starbuck. Her vitals and blood
gases are almost back to normal," Tone returned, checking out the medical
data.  "She'll recover fully, just give her a little time.  Half a centar
or so of therapy, and she'll be as good as new." 
     "Yeah..." Starbuck murmured, more to himself than anyone else.  Then
maybe she'd get around to telling him just what was truly going through
that stubborn mind of hers.
     "We're going to have to cut this boot off to get the Lower Torso
Assembly on Starbuck," Baker told his Commander, as he pointed to the
boot that he had opened as far as possible, where already swollen and
discoloured tissue was visible inside. 
     "Do it." Dayton nodded. "No choice."
     "I don't have a knife." Baker replied with a shrug.  
     "Other boot," Starbuck stated, reaching down and pulling his
Empyrean blade out and offering it to them. 
     "Handy," Baker began carefully splitting the leather with a steady
hand.  The young man was rigid, and at one point he thought Starbuck was
going to grab the knife out of his hand and turn it on him in revenge,
but instead, the Viper pilot bit his lip. 
     Till it bled.
     "How are we doing?" Apollo called back after stowing the collapsible
stairwell. 
     "I didn't know it was so difficult to dress full grown adults,"
Boomer called back, struggling with Tone to finish suiting Luana up. 
     "Yeah?  Well, try a distracted seven-yahren-old boy sometime,"
Apollo fired back as he took a final glance out the hatch and pulled it
shut, securing it.  "Dayton and Baker, get her fired up.  I'll dress
Starbuck." 
     "Well, since you're experienced with seven-year-old boys..." Dayton
quipped for the lieutenant's benefit as he prepared to pull off the boot.
"Ready?" 
     Starbuck nodded briskly, gritting his teeth.  "Do it." 
     "One, two..." Dayton abruptly yanked the boot free, as Baker tried
to stabilize the ankle. 
     Starbuck yelped with pain, jumping off the seat momentarily, and
feeling as though they had taken the foot off with the boot.  He drew
several gasping breaths before asking testily, "What happened to three?" 
     "I'll let you know if I find it," Dayton replied, squeezing his
shoulder and heading for the flight deck. "Gonna take you home now, son."

     "Sounds good," Starbuck replied as Apollo replaced the Earthmen at
his side. 
     "C'mon, Bob, let's get the hell outta Dodge!" Dayton settled into
his seat. 
     "We can cruise for a while until everybody's suited up, but I think
the sooner we get this bird off the ground, the better," Baker replied. 
"Especially if there's more of those walking trash cans out there." 
     "Your Standard's improving by the minute." Dayton noted distractedly
after a few minutes. 
     "I'm speaking English, you old coot," Baker pointed out as he
continued going methodically through mental checklists long ingrained in
his memory...if he could just remember where he'd left it. 
     "I don't feel like an old coot." Dayton returned, his eyes running
over instruments both old and new. "At least, I don't today." Man, oh
man, it was good to be back on the flight deck, feeling useful,
invigorated, and alive.  
     Baker grinned at that, "Yeah, I know what you mean."     
     "How's it going back there?" Dayton called back as he prepared to
fire her up. "Ready to go, Cortado?"  
     His answer was Boomer and Apollo supporting a drowsy-looking
Starbuck-all suited up- through to the flight deck. The lieutenant looked
like he'd had about twenty mugs of something potent in the last five
centons. 
     "Tone's staying middeck with Luana," Apollo answered the unspoken
question as they lowered Starbuck into a seat.  The lieutenant's head
lolled slightly, as if its weight was too much to hold up.  He glanced
around, seeming to have difficulty focusing as Apollo worked at strapping
him in. 
     "Tone gave him something more for pain?" Dayton asked. 
     "Yeah.  Maybe too much," Apollo replied ruefully, as the
lieutenant's right eyelid, followed by his left, fluttered closed, and
his head slumped onto the captain's shoulder while his friend fastened
the harnesses.  There was something to be noted about Starbuck and drugs. 
It was never predictable, or pretty.  "Tone was concerned about the
pressure change and what that might do to a broken ankle, even with a
pressure suit on. Then there was something about the likelihood of
throwing a blood clot with the fracture. He's medicated to the max." 
     "All right. Probably just as well," Dayton replied, but truthfully,
he would have liked to have had the kid fully alert and enjoying the
ride. The lieutenant had gone out of his way more than once to share his
passion and teach them all he could about flying in his time, even
smuggling them into the simulators against regulations. God, even on a
simulator, that Viper of theirs was a pilot's dream!  It would have been
a real bonus to return the favour.  He chuckled realizing that Starbuck
must have just about flipped his lid when he saw the Endeavour soaring
overhead, coming to take him home. 
     He sniffed.  
    Ah! 
     The engines roared to life and soon they were taxiing across the
rolling field, the tall grasses whipping against the ship as she gained
speed.  Dayton studied his instruments, balancing as best he could the
thrust of the 'new' engines, with the amount of stress the Endeavour was
built to take.  Especially considering that she was never designed to
take off this way. 
     "Take-off speed in four..." said Baker. "Three. Two. One. Now!" 
     Dayton pulled back on the stick, and the Endeavour, for the first
time ever on the surface,  gently lifted off under her own power.  He
slid over the top of a stand of trees and they were airborne. 
     "Last one to the OC buys." Dayton called out as they slowly began to
gain altitude.  Forty feet.  Fifty.  Seventy-five.  A hundred.  Yeah! He
grinned with elation, pleased with himself, and the others, for a mission
gone smoothly.  His first, and the Endeavour's, in thirty years. Oh, it
was corny, but there was definitely a song in his heart, and the next
thing he knew it was coming out of his mouth, "Fly me to the Moon, let me
play among the stars, let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and
Mars..."  He could only imagine what the Colonial Warriors behind him-not
exactly a group known for breaking into song on lift-off-were thinking. 
"In other words..." 
     Baker chuckled beside him, "Ask me to hold your hand or to kiss you,
I'll have to punch you, Commander or not." 
     Dayton laughed, as they climbed to four hundred feet. "Aww.  And I
thought my Sinatra impression was terrific."
     "Oh, Frankie!" warbled Baker, in a lousy falsetto.
     "You got it," laughed Dayton.  He checked his altimeter.  A thousand
feet, and climbing.  He'd just begun banking, when an alarm sounded.  
     "What is it?" asked Apollo and Boomer in chorus, not accustomed to
the sound, but recognizing it nonetheless as a warning.
     "Radar contact. Something's coming up behind us. Fast." 
     "What?" asked Baker, looking at the instruments. 
     A blue pencil of light streaked past the cockpit. 
     "Cylon fighter!" cried Boomer. 

Chapter Nine 

     The Raider screamed past the Endeavour, banking slightly to port as
she did so. The first salvo had missed, whether by chance or design,
Dayton had no idea.  From what he'd heard about these robotic scum
buckets, giving the enemy a chance to surrender wasn't part of their
usual game plan.
     "He's coming around for another pass," said Boomer, eyes darting
between the radar and the windows. 
     "Dayton, when he comes up, you'll need to bank hard over..." began
Apollo.
     "She may not be able to take it," he replied, a bit testily. 
     "These newer engines..."
     "Are putting more stress on her hull than was ever envisioned by her
designers.  Besides, I wasn't expecting to take us into combat, you
know."
     "Didn't you fly a fighter on Earth?" asked Boomer anxiously,
reminding himself that Starbuck had run these two through combat
simulations recently.
     "Yeah, but this is like going up against an F-22 flying an anvil!" 
Dayton growled as he checked his scope.  Sure enough, the Cylon was
positioning to get on his six again.  God, but that sucker was fast!  She
was at least twice the speed of the latest thing on Earth, in atmospheric
flight, and had the manoeuvrability of an angel.  To try and outrun it in
something as clumsy as the Endeavour...
     Well, nothing for it.  He yanked her hard over to port, then a split
second later, back to starboard.  As he had hoped, the Cylon had banked
to port to stay on his tail, but had not responded in time to his second
manoeuvre.  The alien fighter peeled away to port, as he sped away as
fast as he dared in the opposite direction.
     "Nice move!" said Apollo. 
     "Old as the hills," retorted Dayton coolly, though he grinned at
Baker in absolute euphoria.  It had been a while since engaging in
evasive manoeuvres.  At least as a pilot.
     "But Cylons can't anticipate very well.  Certainly not at the
Centurion level.  You outthought him."
     "But they'll learn, I take it," said Baker.
     "I'm afraid so," said Boomer. "They won't fall for that trick
again."
     "Well, here's where we find up," said Baker. "Anemone coming up on
our tail again."
     "Enemy, not anemone!" The Commander snapped, swallowing the tidal
pool of saliva that threatened to choke him. Again, the Cylon lined up on
his six.  Again, Dayton banked hard over.  Only this time it was the
reverse of the previous move.  Again, the Endeavour had dodged the
bullet, thanks to the unoriginal thought of their opponents.
     "Damn good!" raved Apollo. "I would never have thought of using the
same move in reverse."
     "I hope they appreciate that," said Dayton. He checked his
instruments. They were at just under two thousand feet.  While in a
fighter, his instinct would be to gain altitude and try and use it
against his foe, here that dictum was useless.  The Endeavour had no
armaments, and was about as nimble as a pregnant elephant on a tightrope. 
And he doubted that the Cylons would fall for any of his tricks again. 
At least tricks he could pull with a ship like this one.
     "Here he climaxes again," warned Baker. 
     "Huh?" Boomer asked, totally lost.
     Dayton snapped her hard over again, barely missing one of the
Cylon's lasers. The other...
     They rocked, and several alarms began blaring. Dayton cut speed, and
the Cylon sped past, but the damage was done.
     "What the frack...?" Starbuck muttered, lifting a heavy head and
trying to focus as the shuttle shuddered.  Someone was trying to hack off
his foot, and his astrum was evidently on fire.  Just another day in the
life of a hotshot Viper Jockey.  "What...what's going on?" he groaned,
instinctively arching in his seat, but abruptly meeting the resistance of
the harnesses.
     "Easy, Bucko.  Cylon attack." Boomer informed him succinctly, as he
patted his arm reassuringly.  Then he asked the Commander, "How bad?"  
     "Hard to say," replied Dayton.  "I think he hit our tail.  Our
airbrakes are out!"
     "Where the frack did the Cylons come from?" Starbuck asked, urgency
in his voice as he straightened up in his seat.  Memories of the patrol
and the subsequent events flashed back at him.  But wait a centon!  He
hadn't seen any evidence of Raiders, which meant...exactly nothing he
abruptly realized.  Yeah, there would have to be Raiders for there to be
Cylons on the ground.  What are you on, Bucko?  Drugs?  He tried to
ignore his aches and pains as he took in the scene on the flight deck,
trying to realign his muddled brain cells into some form of cognitive
thinking.
     "Behind us." Baker replied.
     "Thanks a lot." Starbuck grunted.  "We're hit?" He looked at Apollo
who briefly nodded in reply. Then he returned his attention to Dayton. 
"Frack, Dayton.  This is your idea of a rescue?"
     "Don't grind my beans, Starbuck, or I'll percolate ya." Dayton
snapped back, shaking his head that the kid could still get on his last
nerve in less than a nanosecond, when he really wanted to.  He glanced
back briefly, recognizing that glint in the lieutenant's eyes.  That look
that questioned his integrity and ability, and accused him of being an
old man that didn't belong there.  Of course, at the same time it both
challenged and dared him to take the situation to another level where it
was safety be damned, and get the job done.  Damn! With a busted tail,
getting back into space was iffy, at best.  And if the Cylon was quick in
the atmosphere, they were screamin' demons out in space.  How...? 
     Yeah!

----------

     "It's awkward, Chameleon, to say the least." Ama touched his hand
across the small table in the Astral Lounge. 
     "How so, Ama?" He felt a strange, but not altogether unpleasant,
tingling sensation at the point of contact. 
     "Here's a planet that could be ideal for the prospect of settling,
yet our agenda is to press on towards Earth." Ama continued.
     "How ideal is it?" Chameleon asked, raising a hand to their server
to fill their glasses. The tingling faded, but did not disappear
entirely. 
     "Now that's the kicker, dear heart." Ama laughed humourlessly. 
"It's almost identical to Earth at a certain stage of her development. 
She has everything we need.  An abundance of wildlife, water, fertile
soil for farming, and raw materials that could support us, and our
descendants for millennia. Absolutely perfect." 
     "Then why not give the people the option of settling, Ama?"
Chameleon asked logically, his smile faint.  "Many are weary of the
journey.  I know I am, and I'm fairly sure my son is. After all, he's
planning to be sealed.  Certainly many on the Malocchio, as well as
almost every other ship in the Fleet, would applaud the thought of ending
this journey now.  Starting life anew." 
     "Because it comes at a time when the hope and eagerness to find
Earth is at an all time high." 
     "Thanks to Commander Dayton and his men," Chameleon inserted. "Earth
is in the forefront of everyone's mind."
     "Yes.  Of course.  Knowing and seeing that there are truly people
from Earth who have made the journey in the opposite direction has
bolstered our people's faith that the suffering of this quest is
worthwhile. That fellow Humans await us there. And that even if our
generation does not lay eyes on Earth, that the next will." 
     "I sense you're feeling a little guilty at withholding this
information from the public?" Chameleon probed. 
     She sighed.  "Difficult to believe, isn't it?  That I would feel
guilty about any decision that I have to make.  But I did swear to
represent the interests of all my electorate, Chameleon.  And I know that
this would interest some of them." 
     "Then tell them." 
     "Ah, Chameleon," she smiled, tapping his hand with the tip of her
index finger, then leaning back in her chair.  "You're much like your
son.  You see things in such rigid 'either-or' sorts of ways.  It's more
complicated than that." 
     "You're making it more complicated than it has to be." 
     "Alright, Starbuck." Ama smiled fondly at the old conman. 
     Chameleon smiled back at her, leaning forward and squeezing her
hand.  "If only I was as young and handsome." 
     "Thank the Goddess Triquetra that you're not." She laughed lightly. 
"It would be my undoing, and I'm far too old and set in my ways to be
falling in love, and making a fool of myself." 
     "Is it only the young who make fools of themselves over love?"
Chameleon countered. "We never cease to be Human."  He reached out to
touch her hand, but somehow thought better of it.
     She looked searchingly into his eyes for a moment.  A long moment. 
"Love is for the young, Chameleon." 
     "Or the young at heart, Ama." This time he braved the danger, raised
her hand to his lips, and gently kissed it.  His fingers didn't tingle
this time, but he had to wonder if perhaps hers did.
     "Why, you old charmer, Chameleon," she smiled languidly.  "But I was
going to say that the Cylons are still a possible threat." 
     "Bilge rot, Ama. We haven't seen them for sectars.  We've lost them,
or at least they've lost interest in us."
     "Ah, if only Adama would concur." Ama returned. 
     "The Commander is single-minded," Chameleon replied.  "He is a
military man." 
     "True." 
     "What does Dayton think?" 
     "He's far too busy courting the lovely Cassiopeia right now, to
concern himself with such matters." 
     Chameleon sniffed.  "Yes, Ryan mentioned that Dayton hadn't even
checked on them when I visited him in the Brig."
     "Ryan was released?" Ama asked.
     "Community service, the price of the damages to the Astral Lounge,
and a short rein.  Colonial Security will be watching him closely."
Chameleon explained, then smiled dubiously.
"It seems the lovely Cassiopeia's charms are more compelling to our Earth
Liaison than the welfare of his men, at least right now." 
     "Dayton's not the man we thought." 
     "Not at all, my dear," Chameleon agreed, nodding. "But who can say
what thirty yahrens of captivity in a Hades Hole like that will do to a
man." He paused, thanking God that Starbuck hadn't met the same fate and
had managed to escape.  He looked up as the head steward, Zeibert, came
to a stop before their table.  "Yes?" 
     "Your dining room is ready, sir.  Madam." The immaculate steward
replied with a short bow. 
     "Ah!  Thank you, Zeibert." Chameleon rose gracefully, offering Ama
his arm as they moved towards the private rooms. 
     "Thank you, Chameleon." Ama murmured as they cleared the Astral
Lounge and headed down the hallway.  "Once again I find myself indebted
to you."
     Chameleon paused, dropping a handful of cubits into Zeibert's
waiting hand, and nodding at him, before they stepped into the turbo
lift.  The doors closed behind them.  
     "Do you think it worked?" Ama asked.
     "There was a transceiver in the centrepiece on our table. I'm sure
Uri heard every word," Chameleon replied with a knowing smile.
     "That sneaky little grid rat." Ama nodded, "I suspected as much."
     "You're a cunning woman, Ama, and more than his match." Chameleon
smiled, once again taking her hand and kissing her fingertips.  "I'm
proud to call you friend, and to know we'll soon be family." 
     "One way or another, dear heart." Ama grinned in return, astonished
to see that it didn't faze him in the least.  It was enough to make a
woman think that his charm and flirtations weren't only for Uri's
benefit.  "Oh my..." 
     He laughed out loud in return, with a familiar twinkle in his eyes. 

----------

     "Commander!" said Tigh, as Adama returned to the Bridge.
     "Yes, Colonel?" 
     "We're picking up a second gamma frequency signal, from the planet. 
I didn't alert you to the first, because it was merely a progress report
and things were going well.  Now, however, Commander Dayton's crew has
reported seeing Cylons on the ground."
     "Cylons?"
     "Yes, sir.  In pursuit of Starbuck and Luana.  Endeavour is moving
in for a pick-up."
     Adama clenched his jaw, inexplicably getting the sudden and
irrational urge to be on the Earth shuttle himself, instead of safely on
the Galactica waiting for progress reports.  Especially knowing that the
time delay in the archaic frequency meant this had all happened within
the last centar.

----------

     How many?  How many long and sleepless rest periods had she dreamed
of being reunited with her father?  Cain had lead by example throughout
Sheba's life, whether in a personal or a professional role, and she had
done her uttermost best to try and exceed his expectations, even
surpassing some of his personal bests at the Academy.  She knew no other
way.  In the early days, after losing sight of the Pegasus, rarely a day
passed where she didn't think about him.  Dream about him. Wonder if he
was still alive.  Yes, though most people would have never guessed, there
was many a time in the previous sectars when Sheba had been sure that
Cain was dead.  However, she kept those thoughts close to her heart,
unwilling, and maybe just a little bit afraid to open up and,
unintentionally elicit any pity.  Finally, her last remnants of doubt had
flickered and then died, though the tenuous flame of hope had struggled
insistently to rekindle and thrive, in an intensity so reminiscent of
Cain himself.  Instead, it had ultimately smothered beneath the bleak
harshness of reality as the sectars passed without a trace of him.  Lord
Sagan, there were even times when, in a fit of despair disguised as
anger, she had raved against Cain's memory, blaming him and his infamous
ego for going down in a courageous, but inevitable blaze of glory. 
     Abruptly, Starbuck's impetuous decision to take on a group of
pirates that had neutralized his wing leader's ship, had changed all
that.  Dorado and Rooke, both from the Pegasus, had been discovered
amongst the refugees on the pirate asteroid, and she finally knew the
truth.  Her chest ached with long suppressed emotions as she stood rooted
to the deck, Bojay at her side and Roz and Virtanen just behind them,
while the turbo lift descended towards the landing bay more noisily then
she remembered.  Memories, sensations, and feelings washed over her once
again, as they had a thousand times before.  Lords, she had missed her
father. 
     Fortunately, she had been welcomed by a new circle of friends and-as
Adama put it-family.  They refused to allow her to give up hope of a
possible father-daughter reunion.  From the 'idealistic Apollo' to the
'cynical Starbuck', and everybody in between, they constantly tried to
buoy her spirits, even when she was so very tired of wishing upon endless
seas of stars.  She smiled wryly at that.  What was it her father used to
say to his pre-teenage daughter?  If wishes were Battlestars, we'd have
won this gollmonging war a long time ago, baby. 
     Her life had changed drastically since waking up in that Galactica
Life Station to find out that the legendary Commander Cain was missing in
action, along with several hundred of his crew, and the mighty Pegasus. 
Sheba had shifted roles from a top notch pilot trying to cause as much
damage to the Cylons as possible, while under the tylinium-clad command
of the Juggernaut, to a different focus in a different environment.  On
the Galactica, it was the very future of Mankind they were concerned
with, not the imminent destruction of a mortal enemy.  She hadn't
realized how much Human connection she had missed while working double
shifts and strikes around the chrono, and trying to put a dent in the
Imperious Leader's plans, not to mention his chromium plated forces. 
     She had quickly formed fast friendships on the Galactica and had
even found love with Apollo, much to her enormous surprise.  It had
humbled her to find so much happiness so far away from her father, and
had filled her with hope of another kind.  Hope for a real future.  On
Earth. 
     Now, of course, just when she had thought that she had it all
figured out, just when she and Apollo were rebuilding a relationship made
difficult through the stresses of working together, too closely and too
often, Cain had reappeared.  And while in her head, she knew that that
shouldn't really change anything, her heart was telling her differently
as she looked upon the shadow of a man that her father used to be. 
     Sheba's breath caught in her throat as Cain stepped off the lift and
limped towards her, his right leg dragging slightly behind him as a
cane-not his trademark swagger stick-supported him on that side.  His
face was twisted in a partial smile, his right eyelid drooping, creating
a pocket below it and exposing reddened tissue that made her eyes water
reflexively. That entire side of his face seemed to hang slackly, as
though it didn't really belong there.  She forced back the tears that
pricked her eyes as the haggard and overly thin man that used to be the
unbeatable Juggernaut came to a doddering stop before her. 
     Oh Lords! Oh Heaven above! Daddy!!!
     "Welcome home, Sheba." Cain said, carefully enunciating his words. 
His eyes ran her over critically, before he leaned forward and embraced
her with one arm. 
     "Father..." Sheba murmured, holding tightly to him for a long
moment, before pulling back slightly, and looking him over again.  His
face was thinner, his hair whiter, and with the physical disability of
half of his body refusing to keep up with the other half...Lords, it was
difficult not to pull him back into an embrace again, and sob out the
grief and despair that was overcoming her.  She was sure she could reach
out and snap him in half, so thin had he become, and he appeared as
though he could use about a sectar of uninterrupted sleep from the dark
shadows under his eyes.  The most difficult part was that she realized he
looked ill adept to handle any additional concerns that weren't his own. 
Damn, he was so frail in appearance, so vastly different than she had
thought of him all of her life, he looked ill adept to handle...anything. 
Especially Command.  "It's good to be back..." she smiled bravely. 
     "How has that ole modocker been treating you?" Cain asked, with a
half-smile. 
     "Commander Adama?" Sheba asked, seeing his nod.  "He's been
wonderful.  Very supportive.  So have all the warriors.  They're a good
crew.  We've been fortunate."
     "As I can see, baby."
     "And we haven't been idle," she added a little defensively, not sure
why. "We found and took out a Cylon Base Star some sectars back."
     "Indeed!" he replied, raising an eyebrow.  "I look forward to
hearing that one."
     "It was glorious, sir," said Bojay. Cain turned to regard him a
moment.  He looked uncertain for a moment as an uncomfortable silence
ensued.
     "Bojay," Cain finally nodded at the other warrior, gripping his arm
with a hand that moved slowly and stiffly, and with far too much
concentration on his part, but at least it moved.  "How are you?  The
last I saw of you, you were injured from the attack on Gamoray." 
     "Completely recovered, Sir.  I had a top notch med tech caring for
me." Bojay returned the grip, suddenly impressed that the man who had
directed them towards a destroyed landing bay could recall his injury at
all. 
     "Ah, Cassie," Cain nodded, ducking his head for a moment before
asking, "How is she?  I suppose...ah, Starbuck and her must be sealed
with a family on the way by now?" 
     "Not exactly, Commander." Bojay replied with a lop-sided grin,
relieved that Roz's statements seemed to be a bit extreme regarding
Cain's cognisance. 
     "No?" Cain asked in surprise.  After all, he'd left the way clear
for the young warrior to make his move.  Practically had given his
blessing when he had declined Starbuck's offer to join the Pegasus before
taking on the three Base Ships.  The lieutenant would have made a
suitable consolation prize for the beautiful Cassiopeia.  His voice rose
in irritation.  "Why in Hades Hole not?" 
     "It...just didn't work out," Sheba replied, smiling at little at
Cain's obvious annoyance.  He liked to think that everyone would play
into his personal strategies and his ultimate plan for those around him,
whether warrior, Cylon, or civilian.  Like Bojay, she breathed out a
little sigh of relief that even though his body was affected, his mind-at
least at this point-seemed as sharp as ever.  "They've both moved on to
other relationships." 
     "I see.  Young fool.  Well, his loss." Cain replied, pausing for a
moment to digest that.  "Come along, both of you, and we'll catch up on
what's occurred since we parted ways at Gamoray." He waved a hand towards
the turbo lift once again. 
     "Like finding Dorado and Rooke." Sheba inserted.  "They're part of
the Galactica's crew now."
     "By all the Lords..." Roz grinned at the others.  "Alive!"
     "And men from Earth." Sheba added.
     "What?" Virtanen's head snapped around.  "Earth?"
     "The big rock that we're all heading to." Bojay explained with a
smirk.
     "Wise guy." Virtanen rolled his eyes.
     "That's...incredible." Cain inserted after a moment, seemingly lost
in thought.
     Or so Sheba hoped, as she exchanged concerned looks with her
wingmate.  Cain looked as though he was having some difficulty keeping up
with the conversation.
     "Commander, Roz and Virtanen told us you lost Tolen recently..."
Bojay brought up the tragic loss of the former executive officer as the
Pegasus warriors followed behind. 
     "Tolen?" Cain hesitated, looking over his shoulder as they stepped
on the lift.  Then he nodded briskly before replying, "Yes.  Terrible
thing. An invaluable man on the Bridge." 
     "Who's exec now?" Bojay persevered. 
     "Tolen," Cain replied snappishly.  "Who do you...?" Then he cleared
his throat as all four warriors looked at him in question.  "No, that's
not right..." he muttered, and glanced at Roz.  "He's dead." 
     "Yes, sir.  He'd dead.  Lost in the battle two sectars ago." Roz
glanced at the others.  "We have no exec right now.  Or Strike Captain,
for that matter." 
     "We don't need them," Cain replied, slamming his cane on his floor
for emphasis.  "This ship hasn't had a Strike Captain since Molecay.  I
fill that role.  I'm in command here, in case you've forgotten,
Lieutenant Roz!" 
     "No, sir.  I haven't forgotten," Roz winced slightly at the tone,
taking a step back.  
     That was when Sheba's guts dropped into her boots. 

----------

     Ryan paced into the Rising Star's Life Station, quickly picking out
where Porter sat beside Dickins' biobed.  He paused, running a hand over
his jaw, where the bristly texture of his beard reminded him how long it
had been since he had primped for dinner. Dinner? What's that? The
familiar gesture was strangely comforting as he looked around the busy
medical centre where he didn't recognize a single med tech. He headed
over as Porter waved at him from inside a private cubicle.  No one could
miss the Security Guard stationed just outside.
     "How's he doing?" Ryan asked, looking at the angry red skin that
covered Dickins' throat like a bad burn. His friend's eyes were closed
and his breathing was even, but his eyelids flickered ever so slightly. 
     "The Doc said that according to the brain and tissue scans, he
thought he'd be okay, then in the next breath said he'd never treated a
self-inflicted point-blank stun-shot before." Porter announced, rubbing
the back of his recently cut hair.  It hadn't been more than an
inch-and-a-half long since being freed. "Not exactly comforting, Paddy." 
     Ryan nodded, leaning over Dickins.  "Gotta suck big time, waking up
to find yourself...waking up, after trying to blow your brains out, eh
Dick?" 
     Another flicker of an eyelid, but no verbal response from the
insensate man was forthcoming. 
     "Paddy!" Porter hissed angrily. 
     "What?  You don't think we should talk about the fact that he tried
to check out early?" 
     "Maybe you could phrase it a little differently...or at least wait
until he wakes up." Porter returned distastefully. He looked around, as
if he expected Zara and a hoard of IFB cameras to suddenly pour into the
room.
     "Well, the problem is, I'm not sure exactly how to phrase it." He
crossed his arms, and grunted. "I suppose I could find some clinical
terms for trying to cash in your chips...suicide attempt comes to
mind...but frankly, I'm so bloody pissed off about it, that I'm having a
hard time trying to rationalize it all." Ryan snorted, turning towards
the other.  "I'd like to grab Dick around the throat and shake him until
he explained to me why he wouldn't think to tell me-or any of us for that
matter-that he was so close to the edge."
     "I'm no shrink, but if it was anything like post-traumatic stress,
like the Vietnam guys had, he might not have even known he had it."
     "What I want to know is, why the hell didn't we see it coming? Hell,
thirty years in a hole with a guy..."  He broke off, cursing. 
     Porter shook his head in response. "Getting angry isn't going to
help." 
     "It sure beats crying like a baby," Ryan returned disheartened.  He
leaned over Dickins again.  "Come on, Dick.  I know you're in there. 
Open your eyes and tell me what the hell you were thinking." 
     Nothing.
     "Dick, wake up, or I'm putting a grenade in your bedpan." 
     "Leave him alone.  The Doc said it might take him a while to come
around." Porter grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back gently. 
     "As in 'wake up' or as in 'not want to kill himself'?" Ryan asked,
not really expecting a reply. 
     "Look, from everything you and Cassiopeia said, it sounds like he
had some kind of flashback which took him right back to Torg, koivee
root, and that living Hell that is only ever a nightmare away for any of
us. Maybe just the thought of going through all that again was why he..."
Porter swallowed the lump in his throat, shaking his head as the
disturbing words refused to pass his lips. 
     "Shot himself." Ryan finished the sentence.  
     "You're not helping.  You're really not helping," Porter told him in
irritation. 
     "Maybe that's the problem, Jimmy.  I don't know how to help.  I
don't know that there's anything I can do to make this better.  I feel
so...goddamned helpless." He cleared a voice that was suddenly hoarse
with emotion.  "I'd like nothing better than to be able to say something
to Dick that would make him want to treasure and appreciate life the way
he did when he was back in the States, married to that insanely gorgeous
wife, and raising four beautiful kids.  I'd like nothing better than for
him to sit up and say, 'Gosh, Paddy, what an idiot I was.  What the hell
was I thinking?  Don't worry, bud, I'm better now.  Life is good. Or at
least I know it can be again.'" He sighed, rubbing his hand across his
jaw again.  "Somehow, I just don't think that's going to happen, Jim.  It
almost feels as though Torg is still with us.  Like this is his ultimate
revenge from the grave.  Like Dick is buying into it and finally letting
that piece of rat shit, Torg, get the better of him." 
     Porter nodded slowly, squeezing Ryan's shoulder.  His friend had
somehow managed to put into words most of what Porter was also feeling. 
"Hey, Dayton always says, if you can't get even..." 
     "Get drunk." Ryan sniffed.  "I'm going to find me the skankiest
little bar I can find, and down me a mug or six of something numbing. 
Call me if he wakes up." 
     "As in 'regains consciousness', or as in 'comes to his senses'?"
Porter asked. 
     "Exactly." 
     
----------

     "Okay, hold on.  I want to try something," said Dayton. Really, he
had nothing to lose and everything to gain, even if it was a little
unorthodox by NASA standards.  "Everybody, if your helmets aren't sealed,
do it now!  And cover your eyes!  That's an order!" 
     "Can we vote on this?" Starbuck asked abruptly, even through his
dissipating haze of analgesia recognizing that same look in Dayton's eyes
that he had seen on two separate occasions...which usually resulted in
somebody's death.  
     "No." Dayton drew his pistol, and fired directly into the port to
his left. The window took two shots to blow completely, but now the wind
was screaming through the cockpit. 
     "What the hell are you..." shouted Baker, but stopped as the Cylon
came up again. Cutting power and airspeed as best as his ship could,
Dayton let the enemy fighter rip by.
     On her wingtip.
     Pointing out the open window with a Colonial laser, he fired,
directly into the exposed underbelly of the Cylon.  Sparks flew from the
impact point, and he fired again.  The Cylon suddenly pulled away. 
     "What...that was..." Boomer shook his head incredulously. It was
crazy.  But it worked.  "I can't believe you even tried that!"
     "That's why you need to watch more Earth movies!  What was that
catch phrase, Bob?  You need to think 'outside the box'", responded
Dayton with a chuckle. "Did we hurt him bad? You guys are the experts on
these Cylon jokers."
     "Hard to say, without seeing it up close," replied Apollo
sceptically. "And a hand laser isn't all that powerful against their
hulls."
     "Now you tell me," replied Dayton. 
     "Try asking next time!" Starbuck returned, his hands gripping the
arms of his seat until his knuckles were white, as he fought against the
urge to take Dayton's place at the helm...while on narcotics and with a
broken ankle and burnt astrum.  Then there was the fact that the only
time he'd 'flown' the Endeavour was with Dayton at his side, and five or
six Empyrean Ales in their bellies, as they came as close as they could
to putting Starbuck through an Earth Shuttle simulation in the
Galactica's landing bay.  
     There was no sign of the Cylon in the immediate vicinity, and Dayton
took her down, back in the direction of the meadow.  The fire had reached
the lake, but had been stopped by the water. The wrecked Viper was still
smouldering, but the other remained intact.  That boded well.  
     But the Cylon screaming in their direction at treetop level did not. 
She fired, and Dayton had barely began a bank when she did so.  One lance
of energy was a clean miss, the other seared too close for comfort. Once
more the Endeavour shook, and alarms sounded.  Dayton pulled her over so
hard that the wings threatened to fly off, if the instruments were
anything to go by.  Again, he fired out the window.  Once, twice, all the
time hoping to hell that his aim was true.
     "Okay, this is going to be it, guys," he said. "Apollo, break out
that heavy duty puppy we brought from the Fleet."
     "Puppy?"
     "Laser pulse rifle.  Baker, your window."
     "But we..."
     "Like we can get into space right now, anyhow.  Do it." He nodded
and tried to hold her steady as Apollo went aft.  It would be difficult
enough to move through the ship taking evasion tactics as they were
flying in the atmosphere, never mind the additional challenge of losing
pressurisation.  He hoped to God that Tone had stowed his gear securely.
     "You have a plan?" asked Boomer.
     "Yup.  One, and only one."
     "Mind letting us in on it this time?" asked Starbuck, hoping this
was all a very bad dream as his stomach reeled uncomfortably.  The
throbbing of his ankle told him otherwise.
     "What was that?  I can't hear you!  Must be the reception." said
Dayton with a grin, as Apollo lurched back into the cabin in good time. 
The captain thrust the pulse rifle towards Baker.
     "Do you know how to use it?" he asked.
     "Piece of cake!" Baker replied.
     "Don't you guys ever just say 'yes' or 'no'?" Apollo retorted in
consternation.
     "In a pig's eye!" Baker riposted with a grin as Apollo lurched back
towards his seat.  It was fun finally getting the hang of Colonial
Standard.
     The Cylon pilots had evidently learned that the unknown craft had a
sting, and, in typical Cylon style, were approaching it again with no
caution whatsoever.  Dayton had dropped the Endeavour so low, he could
just hear every one of his flight instructors screaming at him in
concert.  As he expected, the enemy took the bait, as they flew over a
wide expanse of forest.  He wove the ship up and down, forcing the Cylon
to follow suit.  Then, the Raider pulled away, and came back around from
the starboard side.  This time, they noted that the enemy was trailing a
thin line of smoke. His shot had done some damage.  Would it be enough?
     She fired her guns at the Endeavour, just as Baker opened fire with
the heavy rifle. The Cylon shots passed directly underneath them, and
sparks flew from several instruments. Baker, however, was either a better
shot, or luckier.  The pulse of laser energy tore into the Cylon's right
engine cowling, sending up sparks and smoke.  The Raider shuddered, and
dived beneath them.
     "Right on!" shouted Dayton, and headed for the meadow. "Great shot!"
     "I aim to titillate!" Baker laughed.
     "Here he comes again," said Boomer, indicating the radar.  Sure
enough, the Raider was still in pursuit, despite the smoke it was
trailing from one engine.  Dayton swore loudly, and manoeuvred his
battered ship as best he could.  The contour of the land was undulating,
and right now, was rising somewhat.  Dayton studied it, and instantly had
another idea.
     "Those trees!" said Apollo, abruptly in sync with Dayton.
     "Right with ya!" said Dayton, weaving the Endeavour up and down. 
The forest cover began to thin, going from solid to patchy, and he dove
to treetop level, then climbed again.  The Cylon, despite its obvious
damage, did the same.  It fired again, but missed cleanly.
     "Okay, I'm getting tired of this!" Dayton said, and swore again as
more sparks danced across the control panel.  He headed for the thick
stand of what looked like California redwoods.  He held her level for
what likely seemed an eternity to everyone else, as the gargantuan trees
loomed evermore present. Then, when it seemed that they could not
possibly pull up, he yanked back on the stick with a near-scream. The
Endeavour began to pull up, the treetops scraping noisily along the
bottom of the ship. They soared clear, clawing for altitude...
     And shook, as something exploded behind them in a brilliant
fireball.
     "Did it!" said Baker, high-fiving his skipper. 
     "Yeah!" responded Dayton.  "And the crowd goes wild!  Now, let's see
if we can set her down and see how badly off we are."
     "We're airborne," said Boomer. "Shouldn't we head back for the
Fleet? If our suits are sealed up..."  He indicated the open windows, and
nodded towards Starbuck, his face a mask of pain as his broken ankle
still hung dependent.  "And Luana," he added, thinking of the young woman
being tended by the med tech.
     "Some of the instruments are out," said Dayton.  "Our tail is
probably shot off, and after getting our butt slapped by those trees,
there's no telling how bad our heat shield may be.  If something goes
wrong, and we have to put down again, and the tiles are missing.  We're
toast."
     "I see," hollered Apollo, assuming that toast was a bad thing.
"You're right. Okay, let's set her down."
     "The man speaks wisdom," said Dayton, and headed back for the
meadow. 
     "That's why he's the Captain," Starbuck quipped, swallowing down
another wave of nausea.
     Dayton glanced back at him quickly.  "You're looking a little green,
kid.  You're not going to soil my flight deck, are you?"
     "Not with this fracking head gear in place." He replied ruefully,
knocking on his face plate.  Yeah, he was highly motivated to keep the
contents of his stomach where they were.  "Besides, you just blew out the
windows and you're concerned about a little vomit?  You're one crazy son
of a daggit, Dayton.  Still."
     "Well, it's all relative." Dayton replied with a shrug. Bringing the
Endeavour around, he lined her up on their original tracks, and Baker
punched the landing gear controls. All held their breath, but the gear
came down, and locked into place without a hitch. "Hurdle one," sighed
Dayton.
     "Yeah," said Baker, letting out an equally long breath.
     "Ladies and Gentlemen," Dayton grinned, "thank you for flying
Miracle Spacelines.  The only spaceline where Lady Luck is your
co-pilot." 
     Baker glanced at him and then the two Earthmen broke out laughing at
their inside joke.  
     "Isn't it usually when they laugh that something goes wrong?" Boomer
glanced at Apollo.  "Or is it just me?"
     "When they laugh or sing..." Apollo returned, glancing over at an
ashen Starbuck.  "You okay, Bucko?"
     "Great..." Starbuck returned, swallowing down the acrid burning in
his throat.  Then the ship shuddered again and a resounding boom filled
his ears.  "What the...?"
     "Oh, crap!" Dayton called out as he watched the altimeter plunge. 
"We're going down!"

Chapter Ten

     They plummeted towards the planet's surface in a smoking,
shuddering, windowless, space shuttle, hearing the familiar shouts of the
pilot counting down to impact as crewmembers-religious or
not-simultaneously started praying that they would survive.  For the
Colonials, it was like a weird replay of the crash landing on Arcta; a
hit from the enemy, the screaming wind, the ship careening out of
control, the pilot counting down.  
     "Strap in or grab the hell onto something!" shouted Dayton, hands
moving about the controls like a demented pianist. Then there was a
sudden, sickening scream of metal hitting the ground, and the abrupt
pitch and roll, as the Endeavour seemed to buck like a wild equine,
lurching to the right, and then overcorrecting to the left, before Dayton
regained control of the overtaxed ship and she finally slowed to a stop. 
     The ensuing silence was deafening. 
     "Is everybody all right?" Apollo called out first, releasing his
harnesses and finding his feet. 
     "Think so," Boomer replied, also freeing himself as he turned to
Starbuck. "Buddy?" 
     "Considering..." Starbuck nodded slightly as he tugged ineffectually
on his own harness with hands that refused to cooperative.  "Nice
landing, Dayton." 
     "Kid..." Dayton snarled, tugging his own harness free and abruptly
whirling on the Colonial Warrior.  
     "No, I mean it," Starbuck shook his head slightly, no merriment in
his face. "Any landing you can walk away from..." 
     "Is a good one." Dayton finished, nodding slightly.  "Thanks,
Starbuck."
     "Not that I'm doing a lot of walking, actually..." the warrior
realized. 
     "We better move." Apollo inserted, rushing to Starbuck's seat and
swatting his hands aside. "I'll get it." 
     "I'm going aft to check on Tone and Luana, and break out the
survival packs." Boomer declared before disappearing off the flight deck.

     "Hesitate, I'll help." Baker paused as he followed Boomer.  "I sent
out one last transmission to let the Galactica know we made it, but I
don't know if it..." He twisted his features as he sought the appropriate
word, "concluded."
     "Understood." Apollo nodded, then looked to Dayton.  "What happened? 
Did an engine blow?" He wouldn't have been the least bit surprised that
it would have, the way Dayton was flying her.  He made Starbuck look like
a little old lady out for a secton-end cruise. 
     "No, Captain.  All functioning instruments were showing nominal.  I
don't think it was debris from that exploding fighter." Dayton shook his
head as he moved to the captain's side.  "No question, we were hit again.
From the ground,"  What it indicated was that one or more of the
centurions had hit them from the ground with their pulse-blast rifles,
or, more likely, that the Cylons had some sort of ground-based weapons
emplacements out there, and had somehow managed to lure them right to
one.  So much for the walking trash cans being predictable.  Either that,
or you blundered into it all by yourself, Ding-dong!  Not exactly an
encouraging thought either.  Further to that, a downed ship in an open
meadow was a sitting duck for another Raider to finish off.  They had to
get out, and quick. "I'll help carry him." 
     "I don't need to be carried," Starbuck protested as together, they
pulled him to his feet.  The pain multiplied threefold as he
inadvertently bore weight on the ankle, and with a slight moan, he
crumpled. 
     "I don't need to be carried," Dayton mimicked him, helping support
the lieutenant as Apollo quickly threw him across his shoulders in a
fireman's carry, ignoring his protestations. 
Through the hatch he could see them rousing Luana, Boomer and Baker
supporting her slight frame as they headed aft. "You have him?" 
     "Yeah, let's go." Apollo replied, adjusting his friend's weight with
a grunt. 
  
----------

     "Commander, a further report from the planet." Omega alerted him. 
"The Endeavour is under attack."
     Adama nodded, realizing that by the time they had received the
signal, the attack could very well have ended.  "Attack? The Dynamos?  Or
Cylons?"
     "Negative, sir.  Scanners still show the Dynamos as dormant." said
Omega. "There's a corresponding cut in energy wavelons from the planet."
He paused.  "Signal cut off, Commander."
     "I'm sure they said it was Cylon, Commander." Tigh reported.
     "Replay the original message, and then the translation this time," 
Adama ordered the flight officer.  
     Omega complied, and they waited patiently as an anxious male voice
spoke in a garbled language that had come to be known as 'English'.  
     "...actica, this is Endeav...der attack.  I repeat, we are under
attack!  Cylon fight...aking evasive action.  Will contact you when..."
     "That's it, sir," said Omega, once both transmission and translation
were complete. 
     "That sounded like Baker's voice," said Adama. "It certainly was
their native language."
     "Dayton's idea," said Tigh. "In the event of enemy contact, the
Cylons have no template for it, while we have a translation matrix.  It's
as good as a coded signal."
     "Maybe better since the Cylons have been known to break our codes.
Clever of the Earthmen," replied Adama nodding. "Cylons. Omega, still no
activity from the Base Ship?"
     "No sir.  Concentrated scan still reads her as dead in space.
Completely cold."
     "Then where are the Cylon fighters coming from?  And how did they
get past the Dynamos?"
     "Unknown, sir," replied Omega. 
     "Should we have Red Squadron stand by?" Tigh asked.
     Adama blew out a short breath of frustration.  His hands were tied. 
If he launched his fighters, the Dynamos could wipe out an entire
squadron in the blink of an eye.  If they were still acting as a
defensive network.  And what was happening on the planet's surface to
cause the cut in energy wavelons?  "When will Dr. Wilker be ready to send
out his PMU's?  We need to find out if the Dynamos are still a danger to
our fighters."
     "You think the Cylons somehow made it past the defensive network?"
Tigh asked.
     "Unless they were already there waiting for us." Adama returned.  He
looked to Omega, "Scans?"
     "Clear, sir.  No sign of any additional Cylons anywhere." 

----------

    "How many glasses does it take to ease your pain?"
     Ryan smiled ever so slightly as Ama whispered hauntingly in his ear. 
He'd been sitting in the secluded little bar on the Rising Star for some
time now, drinking continuously as he waited for the magic.  For that
mystical moment that he knew would inevitably come when the liquor he had
consumed would finally quell his anger at Uri and Dickins, and even at
Dayton for picking this day, of all days, to joyride down to Planet 'P'.
     "The jury's still out on that one," Ryan replied, detecting the
slight slurring of his words. He tilted his glass up and drained it,
staring through the bottom of it at the light fixture, then closing his
eyes for a micron as the heat enveloped him once again, making the cold
reality and harsh ugliness of the world disappear...if only for an
instant.  Then he gazed into the translucent bottom once more, seeing a
face stare back at him.  A face that he would wipe that smirk off of,
come hell or high water.  Carefully, he stacked his glass on top of the
others still sitting in front of him, the teetering tower evidence of his
concerted effort to empty this charming establishment of its supply of
Gut Rot Whiskey, as he called it. "One more dead soldier."  His words
sounded hollow, and their particular significance hit him hard.  He let
out a deep breath as he thought about Dickins lying insensate in a
medical bed.
     "Can I take those?"
     The server was back, once again trying to remove all traces of a man
sitting there by himself, drinking himself into oblivion.  Apparently, it
was upsetting to see a collection of empty glasses, offering the blatant
proof, were any needed, that the patrons were there to do some serious
drinking.  He wondered briefly at the irony of that as he pictured in his
mind's eye the dark and dank little retreat that promised seclusion and
privacy to its patrons.  He tossed a few cubits on her tray, and offered
her a smile.  "No.  Leave them, sweetheart.  But you can get me another." 
He glanced at Ama as she slid into the seat next to him.  "And one for
the lady."
     They sat there quietly until a drink was placed in front of them
both.  Ryan nodded his thanks and picked up his glass, swirling the dark,
amber liquid and holding it up to eye level as he gazed into its depths.
     "What do you see there, Paddy Ryan?" Ama asked him.
     "A reprieve," Ryan replied quietly before he turned to face her. 
She was looking entirely too respectable these days, her hair oh-so
elegantly coiffed, and carefully arranged atop her head.  He placed his
glass on the table and reached over, efficiently removing the few
hairpins that transformed her from the wild Empyrean Necromancer into Ama
of the Council of the Twelve.  Her white hair tumbled down around her
shoulders, and for good measure, he mussed it thoroughly as she stared at
him in amusement the entire time.  "That's better."
     "Quite," she replied as she raised the glass, sniffing it.  Then in
one gulp, she downed it and slammed it on the table before her.  
     "Jaysus Murphy, Ama!  You're a woman after my own heart!" Ryan
chuckled.
     "It's a cold place today, your heart," Ama mused, lightly touching
his hand and then taking it in her own.  "And could probably use some
company."
     Ryan sighed, turning towards her and letting her take his other
hand.  He felt a spark, then a flow of warm energy. He gazed into her
grey eyes, startled for a moment how like in colour they were to
Dayton's.  It was reassuring, somehow. There was something about Ama that
made him feel very relaxed and cared for as he studied her slightly
weathered features.  It was as though he was holding the hands of Mother
Earth Herself, as she leaned forward, touching her forehead to his for a
long-strangely comforting-moment.  He had miraculously found the magic
moment, through Ama, that he had sought through the Gut Rot Whiskey.
     She pulled back slightly, not letting go of his hands, letting her
energy flow through him, and receiving his in return.  Closing her eyes a
moment, she breathed slowly and deeply. "It must be difficult being in
the constant company of your friends for thirty yahrens, to suddenly have
one in a coma in the Life Station, and two on a mission, and out of
contact." She opened her eyes. 
     Ryan's breath hitched, and he found himself holding it for a moment. 
He shook his head slightly.  "I'm fine."
     "You don't have to be ashamed to admit you need the support of your
friends, Paddy Ryan. I personally find it quite...poetic and beautiful,,"
she told him softly. "Mark Dayton has been a constant at your side for a
very long time.  He's your closest friend.  It's no wonder that you're
angry at him for not being here now, when you need him."
     "How do you know...?" Ryan paused, shaking his head again in wonder.

     "Each of you has the soul of the warrior.  You have been together in
adversity for so long, it is as if you were all forged, melded, into a
single man.  A considerable, indeed, formidable one.  Without him, you
feel...incomplete.  Like one who has lost an eye, or a limb.  And with
your other friend lying, caught between life and death, you feel bereft,
as if a part of yourself was cut out."  She looked him right in the eyes,
as if daring him to deny it.  For a tiny moment, Ryan was reminded of the
parish priest, Father LeBecque, when he was a boy. The priest had caught
him in a lie, and the man's penetrating eyes had bore right into his
soul.  However, with Ama there was no accusation, just a quiet
recognition and acceptance.
     He forced a smile. "That's some weird voodoo you've got going there,
lady."
     Ama smiled in return.  "Voodoo?" She rolled the word around in her
mouth, trying it once more.  "Hmm...I think I like that." She squeezed
his hands again.  "I can also sense that you're looking for some way to
avenge your friend.  That at the bottom of every one of those glasses is
Sire Uri staring back at you mockingly."
     "How the hell could you know that?" Ryan asked haltingly.  The
insufferable Sire only lived a few levels away from the Earthmen.  It
wouldn't take much to corner him in a turbo lift and teach him what
happens to those that mess with Ryan's friends.  His mind flickered back
to him and Baker teaching Fausto a lesson during the Journey to Earth
premiere when the odious Guidobaldo had made off with Starbuck.  However,
Fausto hadn't expected to be attacked in his own offices, so the
advantage had been theirs.  Uri was far more cautious.
     "Your hostility is as palpable as your despair, Paddy Ryan." Ama
replied.  "But I must warn you, that Sire Uri would use any threat
against him, either physical or verbal, as one more opportunity to
discredit Mark Dayton.  Indeed, all of you, and through you, Commander
Adama and his leadership.  He'd once more allude to the violent,
desperate and unpredictable nature of your people.  I'm sure you don't
want that to happen. I know I don't."
     "Do you believe that, Ama?  That we're violent and unpredictable?"
Ryan asked. While they had, in more relaxed moments, talked about their
respective worlds, he and the rest had avoided discussion of Earth's more
violent history.  Sadistic dictators, psychopathic genocides, wars
seemingly without end.  Now, looking at her, he had a feeling she knew it
all anyway.  So why hide it?
     So much for discretion, Paddy, old boy!
     "It shouldn't matter, Paddy Ryan, what I think.  It's what you know
that should matter." Ama replied.
     Ryan sniffed as her words sunk in.  "Yeah."
     "And I will take care of Sire Uri.  In fact, if he tries to make any
further trouble for you, I'll turn him into a porcine." Her face lit up
at the thought, then she realized that from 'Uri' to 'porcine' wasn't
really much of a stretch of the imagination.  "But you must give me the
latitude to finish what I've already started without any further arrests
or distractions.  You need to rein in your need for revenge."
     "I can't let him think that he got away with what he did to Dick,"
Ryan returned, fighting hard to keep even the tiniest glimmer of a tear
from betraying him. "I just can't!"
     "Sire Uri will curse the day he decided to try to manipulate his way
back to power," Ama replied.  "Remember, especially now, that the dourest
of situations may actually be a blessing in disguise."
     "Forgive me if I have a hard time believing that." 
     "This really isn't the place to embrace such thoughts." Ama
shrugged, glancing at his pile of empty glasses.
     "Where is?" Ryan scoffed.
     "Where you are needed most.  The Life Station." She squeezed his
hands once last time, before standing and kissing him gently on the
forehead, as if he was a child.  
     "Yes, Mother." Ryan replied warmly, with no hint of his usual
sarcasm.  "I'm going."
     "Good lad." 

----------

     Sheba hit the entry chime
     A few words aside to Med Tech Zeb was all that Sheba really needed
to realize the possible extent of her father's neurological damage.  Only
a thorough brain scan, available through the Galactica's Life Station,
would tell them for sure whether or not the lack of oxygen to Cain's
brain suffered during his cerebral infarct had caused permanent damage,
or whether some measure of recovery was actually possible.  Zeb had
admitted that he simply didn't know if Colonial medical science was
capable of repairing neural hypoxic damage so long after it had happened. 
Only Dr. Salik could tell them that now.  The usual treatment ritually
took place within centars of occurrence, with the greatest success rate
occurring centons afterwards.  Still, it was crucial to discover whether
or not the Juggernaut should still be in command.  It was imperative that
Sheba know all her facts before she discussed it with her father.  
     "Enter!" Cain called out.  
     This was going to be the most difficult discussion she had ever had
with her father, or in fact with any fellow officer, and she wasn't
looking forward to it at all.  As a Senior Lieutenant, trained from her
early days in the Academy for the fast track to Command-despite the
several snickers and disparaging remarks that she would be 'squeezing out
babies' long before she ever commanded her own squadron, as well as the
usual nepotistic cracks-she knew her duty.  Sheba took a deep breath,
squared her shoulders, then stepped forward into her father's quarters.  
     "Now where did you get to?" Cain asked quietly, a twisted smile on
his face.  "You disappeared so quickly after our meeting, that it made me
wonder if I had just imagined you being here." 
     The meeting with Cain, Bojay, Sheba, Roz and Virtanen had been
brief, awkward, stressful, and confusing.  Over all, it had left her with
the impression that Cain was having periods of memory loss, but at the
same time he was adamantly refusing to acknowledge it.  His crew was left
with no one willing-or with enough rank after the recent death of any
senior officers-to challenge Cain over his ability to command.  After
all, he was a leader that they had placed so far up on a pedestal that it
would have made the average angel light-headed from the thin air at that
altitude.  The result was a demoralised crew with an edge of desperation,
waiting for something to happen.  Sheba had promised Roz that she would
initiate that something. 
     Sheba looked at her father critically.  "I spoke with your medical
advisor.  Do you know who I mean?" 
     Cain sniffed, leaning heavily on his cane.  He scowled, looking down
at the idle swagger stick on his desk for a moment, before returning his
attention to her. "Dr. Eco.  I haven't seen him around for over a
sectar..." Then he hesitated. 
     "Eco was killed in the battle, father. The Life Station was cut off
and lost life supports..." Sheba replied, though it broke her heart that
she was having to correct him once again. "Roz showed me the damage.  The
whole area's still sealed off." 
     "Lords of Kobol!" Cain exploded, his face an abrupt mask of fury. 
"Do you think I don't know that?" He lifted his cane, slamming it on his
desk angrily, but almost lost his balance in the meantime. 
     Sheba rushed to his side, steadying him.  "I think that..." she
sighed, "I know you have some memory loss related to your own injuries
during that battle, Commander.  I think you're doing your best to try and
hide it, but even you must realize that your thought processes have been
effected." 
     "Commander, eh?  Is that your professional opinion, Lieutenant?"
Cain snapped as he pulled himself free from her grasp. 
     He'd suddenly gone into 'parent mode', a look and tone she
remembered only too well from long ago.  "It's Med Tech Zeb's
professional opinion, father." She raised her hands, backing away from
him a step, allowing him his space. "His medical opinion.  You can barely
remember from one moment to the next that Alpha Bay is destroyed, and
that Tolen and Dr. Eco were among the dead from a battle only two sectars
ago.  How on Caprica do you think you can still continue to command the
Pegasus as if nothing has happened?" 
     "You're out of line, Lieutenant!" Cain returned. 
     "Am I?" Sheba asked softly.  "Am I really, father?" 
     "The Pegasus is my battlestar!  I'm not giving her up!" 
     "I'm not asking you to." Sheba shook her head, giving him a few
microns to let that sink in.  "You're the greatest military leader of our
time...Hades Hole, of all time.  And you're my father.  I have the utmost
respect for you, and total confidence that with the proper treatment you
will completely recover.  But you refuse to even entertain the thought of
a follow-up visit with Zeb, never mind trying the therapy he
recommended." 
     Cain paused, retreating from her slightly as he considered this. 
"What are you proposing then?" 
     "Let me help you." Sheba replied with a slight shrug.  "Until you've
recovered, let me take on some of the responsibilities, and let you focus
on getting well." 
     Cain studied her a moment.  "You'd come back to the Pegasus?" 
     "You sound surprised by that." 
     "I understood...from Bojay...that you and Captain Apollo
were...are..." Cain muttered, raising a hand as he tried to find the
words. 
     "We are." Sheba nodded, sniffing as she realized that she wasn't the
only one doing a little reconnaissance before this meeting.  Her father
had also been checking up on her.  Some things, obviously, were still
working according to specs. "That's irrelevant." 
     "I see." Cain sat on the corner of his desk.  He let out a deep
breath. "No, I...I  don't really.  Why is it irrelevant?" 
     "I can still be assigned to the Pegasus and have a relationship with
Apollo." Sheba replied. "If anyone understands that duty needs to come
first, it's Apollo."
     "He might not like that." Cain remarked wryly. 
     "Father, you're as bad as the rest of them." Sheba returned
stubbornly.  "You've told me all my life that I can do anything I set my
mind to, but on the other hand you obviously still think that as soon as
I fall in love, that I should settle down and become 'Sheba-homemaker'." 
She shuddered dramatically for effect. "Lords of Kobol! As long as we're
still at war, I'll rather freeze to death on Kalpa first!" 
     Cain smiled slightly, covering the affected side of his face with
his hand, knowing the permanent droop would cause his face to twist
hideously.  "You're like your mother, Sheba.  You tell it as you see it."

     "I'm like a certain other parent, too," Sheba replied, putting a
hand on his.  "I want you to make me Strike Captain of the Pegasus.  I
want to lead her squadrons for you.  Not just my own, but both her
squadrons once we get our manpower back from the Galactica.  I want to
help you rebuild this battlestar and her crew to their former glory." She
rose, and moved to his small sideboard. Lifting the almost empty carafe
of ambrosa, she started to pour two small glasses, wishing she felt half
as confident in this decision as she was intimating.  A cabinet door hung
part way open, and she automatically moved to nudge it shut with her
knee.  It refused to budge.  She casually opened it, seeing several empty
ambrosa bottles discarded there.  Oh, father!
     "Promote you above Dorado?  Above Bojay?" 
     She glanced back at him. "Like me, they're both seconded to the
Galactica right now.  If I transfer back now on your orders, I'll be
senior officer as things stand.  I'm also the best officer for the job. 
You know that." Sheba pointed out, her tenacity coming to the forefront
at a critical time.  She had been one of the best Squadron Leaders that
Cain had ever seen, with an intuitive nature and a skill set that few
could match.  Silver Spar had set kill records that would have made other
fighter pilots green with envy, if they weren't monging themselves at the
thought of the amount of action that the Pegasus saw on a regular basis
back then.  "Besides, Dorado was promoted after Gamoray. He's a good
warrior, but I'm willing to bet that he wouldn't have been your first
choice for promotion to captain if most of your pilots hadn't been
transferred to Adama's forces." 
     "And Bojay?" Cain asked. 
     "Bojay will understand, father.  Above anyone else, Bojay will
understand," Sheba averred. He'd been like a brother to her for yahrens,
and was the only one who really recognized how difficult it had been for
her to step back from working with Apollo, in order to save their
relationship.  Her career had always been important to her, and this
opportunity for promotion- as well as a chance to help her father and
restore the Pegasus-was like a gift from God Almighty himself.  Besides,
much like Starbuck with Apollo, she knew that her oldest friend would fly
to the deepest depths of Hades Hole if she asked.  "Bojay would support
me in this.  He'd support both of us."
     "Well..." he seemed to consider it a moment. "I don't see why not. 
I'm sure Tolen could...I mean, the other pilots would see themselves
clear." Then a little bit of the old fire came back into his eyes, and
they shone with a clarity that was now rare.  "And, damn it all, it's my
decision anyhow.  I don't have to rationalise it to anyone else.  How
soon can we rendezvous with the Galactica?"
     "Six centars, Commander.  But I think we should first look at how we
can retrieve that Cylon Base Ship to use for scrap metal for repairs to
the Pegasus." Sheba told him in return, handing him his drink.  "And to
build some new Vipers."
     "Indeed." Cain nodded, looking at her proudly, as he raised his
glass.  "To your promotion.  Captain."
     "And your health." Sheba smiled, taking a small sip of alcohol that
tasted as though it had been distilled that very day.  Controlling the
urge to spit it out, she began mentally listing what she needed to do
next.

----------

     "By-your-command." 
     Malus kept his back turned on the Centurion for a moment, before
slowly turning to acknowledge him...for the one hundred and fifty-three
thousand and eighth time in-he double-checked his inner chrono -one
hundred and four yahrens, seven sectars, two sectons, three days, nine
centars, and three point six six six centons, including the six times he
had shut himself down out of sheer boredom.  But who was counting? 
"Report, Centurion." 
    
"Our-Raider-was-destroyed-but-we-shot-down-the-unidentified-shuttlecraft-
from-our-weapons-emplacement." 
     Malus was almost surprised at their success, but, as his first
programmer had told him when he was initially activated, good programming
seldom was a waste. "I see. No more Colonial fighters?"
     "No."
     "Hmm. Survivors?" the IL Series asked, wondering again how the
Vipers had initially appeared on the planet's surface without actually
being detected by their scanner, and then how the strange shuttlecraft
had managed to make it past the planet's sentinels. 
     "We-currently-have-a-patrol-moving-to-investigate-and-intercept. 
Survivors-unknown.  What-are-your-orders?" the Centurion droned. 
     Of course, he always droned. They all droned! Why in Cylon's name
couldn't they...burble?
     The IL glanced up at the immense screen with the emblem of the green
blob that had eluded him completely since he had first discovered this
control centre and had gazed upon the symbol, wondering what it
represented.  Since then they had discovered a likeness growing on a tree
nearby.  Quite a few, actually.  Well, to be precise, one million,
seven-hundred and eighteen thousand, six hundred and four, in various
stages of growth.  But who was counting?  Evidently, it was something
that Humans considered a food source, his woefully incomplete databanks
had informed him.
     He had spent yahren after unutterably boring yahren in this
cybernetically forsaken place, his only link with Cylon being the Base
Star that had assigned his small battalion to investigate this strange
planet, that upon high-intensity scanning seemed to be constantly and
inexplicably modified-by what science they did not know-by its equally
inexplicable spherical guardians.  His mission-once he was able to find a
surprising hole in the seemingly impenetrable network of sentinels-was to
find out who was behind the transformation of this planet. He had waited
for over a century, his only company his battalion of centurions, as the
mystery stubbornly remained unsolved.  The planet's transformation
resisted every analytical technique at their disposal. A century on an
isolated, hyper-evolving planet, while his Base Ship, presumably, 
continued its exploration of deep, unexplored regions of space, and he
waited for them to return so he could report his ultimate
failure...providing they could figure a way out past the sentinels since
the 'hole' had closed over a hundred yahren ago.  As assignments went, it
had all the intellectual stimulation of watching centurions rust.  
     And he ought to know.
     "Well, by all means, in case there are survivors, prepare the
cells," Malus replied, optically scanning his tattered, gold robes
distastefully.  He wondered if the Humans could make anything of the
green blob, since the planetary defences seemed designed to accommodate
their presence.  Perhaps the mystery was finally unravelling.  "I could
do with some stimulating company, after all."  
   
----------

     "Colonel Tigh, there seems to be a problem with the Programmable
Mobile Unit," Rigel announced as she once again tried to regain control
of it.  It no longer responded.  Instead, it was drifting aimlessly in
space, no longer on the correct vector to intercept the targeted Dynamo. 
     "Let me see," Dr. Wilker interrupted from where he had been
monitoring its progress and watching the relayed telemetry just over her
left shoulder.  "The range?" he looked to Technician Hummer. 
     "Almost for certain, Doc.  We just finished working on boosting the
range by refining the emitting array, but never had a chance to field
test it.  Just remember though, the last time we released one of these
babies and sent it up against a Dynamo, we did have the Viper pilots
controlling them at short range." 
     "Sir, I'd be willing..." Lia jumped at the chance to do something to
help.
     "I'm not risking Viper pilots within range of this Dynamo network,"
Colonel Tigh reminded them. "If you recall, that's how we arrived in
this..." 
     "We understand, sir." Hummer nodded.  "The supposed advantage in
utilizing the PMU's is so as to not endanger our people, but if you
remember, the original function was for repairs and maintenance of the
ships in the Fleet, not for reconnoitring in space.  How far was our
patrol away from the Dynamos before they initially activated, Colonel?"
Hummer asked. 
     "They had a visual," Tigh replied.  "From the telemetry report, it
was less than fifty metrons.  However, we can't be certain that when the
Dynamos...scanned the Vipers ion by ion, that something within them might
have been activated so that they recognize and respond to them
differently now."
     "Their programming may be far more flexible than we thought." Adama
suggested.
     Wilker nodded his agreement. "We've plotted a more recent prediction
of the Dynamos course, Commander.  It seems they will converge over the
same general area where Starbuck's emergency beacon was initially
detected." 
     "In how long?" Tigh asked. 
     "Thirty centars," Wilker added. "Assuming their velocity doesn't
change."
     "Then what happens?" Adama asked rhetorically. 
     "God knows." Wilker replied, shaking his head as he reviewed the
readouts on screen. 
     "And we all know that He ain't telling." Hummer remarked with a
sigh. 
     "Anything more from the Endeavour?" Adama checked.
     "No, sir.  Nothing," replied Omega, then he paused and looked up
from his board. "Commander!"
     "Yes?"
     "Scanner contact. At extreme range in sector Delta 8. Moving this
way."
     "Identity?"
     "None yet, sir," replied Omega. 
     "ETA?" asked Tigh.
     "It's moving at...point 94 of lightspeed, sir.  ETA..."he ran a
calculation, "eight point six centars."
     "Any signals?  Messages of any kind?" asked Adama.
     "None yet, sir."
     "Omega, launch a patrol to investigate." Adama turned to look at his
Exec. He raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?"
     "Sector Delta 8. That's where Sheba and Bojay..."
     "Commander," interrupted Omega, a smile crossing his face. "An ID on
the contact.  It's the Pegasus, sir!" The bridge erupted in cheers.
     "Open a channel," ordered Adama.
     "Incoming signal from the Pegasus, sir," said Omega, then his brows
knitted. "It's...uh, Strike Captain Sheba, Sir.  Of the Pegasus."
     Strike Captain Sheba?

----------

     It was almost unbelievable. Almost. Sire Uri as the guest star-and
the behind the scenes impetus-of the latest IFB show, Bureaucratic Watch:
An Eye on Our Leaders.  Chameleon adjusted the volume, wishing he could
also adjust the picture, as Sire Uri seemed to ooze onto the screen once
more, no doubt, trying yet again to discredit Dayton and the rest of the
Earthmen in front of the Fleet.  It was getting to be old news, but still
he tuned in.  He couldn't help but wonder if the corrupt old bureautician
had taken their bait.
     "Zara, my dear, Dayton's sole qualifications for the job seem to be
that he...reputedly, came from Earth." Uri replied.
     "'Reputedly.' You have your doubts about that, Sire?"
     "Well, it does seem entirely too convenient that these men have
arrived to lend credence to Adama's determined scheme to lead us all to
Earth.  As you know, I always preferred the resettlement option, not
seeing the point-especially now that we are manifestly safe from the
Cylons-of continuing this seemingly endless journey through the Heavens. 
The newly elected Council are predominantly young, and it would seem
easily influenced by the momentum and excitement of the discovery of
Dayton and his men.  What intrigues me, is that no one thought to doubt
the validity of their claims.  At least openly.  Perhaps we are too
blinded by their tales to see beyond them." 
     "And if we looked beyond them, what would we see?" Zara asked.
     Sire Uri smiled for a moment.  "That Dayton is only a man, with
faults and secrets, like any other man."
     Chameleon watched Uri pause thoughtfully, and recognized the
carefully disguised cunning beneath the flowing robes of an overweight,
aged man.  It was a disguise that concealed a manipulative and venomous
mind that had dedicated itself to discrediting Dayton, and through him,
Commander Adama, all in pursuit of the continuance of his accustomed
lifestyle of comfort, through power and influence. Chameleon smiled.  It
would be enjoyable to watch Ama duel with the old bureautician. Uri had
met his match...but he didn't know it yet.
     "Secrets, Sire Uri?" Zara asked.
     "I believe that I have already mentioned that Commander Dayton has
grown quite...close to a woman who studied in the Gemonese Sanctorium in
the ancient tradition of Socialation.  And while we all know that
Socialation was a formerly wide-spread and somewhat acceptable practice
amongst the commoners, it is certainly not an appropriate designation for
the love interest of a man now sitting on Council, even if only in an
advisory position," Uri reasoned.  "It makes a man wonder if the next
thing we'll see, is Commander Adama emptying the Prison Barge and
appointing its population to our Ethics Committee."
     Chameleon jumped to his feet, his face flushing in anger as he
glared at the monitor.  "Why you slimy, old..." He stopped, momentarily
tempted to send his glass of ambrosa hurtling through the screen,
however, it was the good stuff. "I'll have Ama turn you into a Aquarian
Sea Slug, and you can look more like the part that you play!"
     "I believe you are referring to Cassiopeia, Sire. She's one of the
Galactica's most respected med techs now. Hardly an object of opprobrium,
one would think."
     Chameleon couldn't help but smile as Zara bristled while she replied
to the bureautician.  An unlikely ally.
     "Ah, you've done your research, my dear.  I'm impressed," Uri
complimented the reporter.  "Still, with that young woman's socialating
skills, I'm sure she could have obtained any designation in the Fleet
that she pursued.  Most men would be quite defenceless against
her...feminine wiles, shall we say."
     Chameleon just about burst a blood vessel as the Sire alluded to the
possibility that Cassiopeia had 'slept her way' towards securing a
position on the Galactica.  Predictably, the reporter's eyes seemed to
light up maliciously at the thought of another woman's success being
gained through such base and carnal abilities, rather than merit,
dedication and intelligence.  It was typical of  some of the powerful and
successful women in the Fleet, that they celebrated the downfall of their
peers, even as they made a feeble attempt to defend them.  
     "As well, I'm sure we're all aware now that lately two of Commander
Dayton's men were involved in an altercation in a public arena that
resulted in bodily harm to innocent bystanders, as well as Captain
Dickins turning a weapon on himself." Uri looked appropriately shocked,
despite the fact that he had already shared this news with his audience
on the Primary Report.  "I'm afraid that yahrens of incarceration on that
Pirate Asteroid has adversely affected these men, making them violent and
unpredictable. Again, not exactly a shining example of someone that I,
personally, would place on Council."
     "You believe that Commander Dayton is capable of the same?" Zara
asked.
     "Did he not suffer through the same indignities as his compatriots? 
Does he not come from the same society?  Furthermore, I understand he
hasn't even had the compassion to check in on his man, who is this moment
in a coma in the Rising Star's Life Station.  Perhaps, indeed let us
hope, that Dayton is as disgusted with their behaviour as the rest of us. 
Or he is simply too distracted by his lady love to find the time," Uri
commented with a shrug.  "Personally, I wonder if these violent men are
indicative of the average Earthling, and if we should once again
reconsider this seemingly endless voyage.  Perhaps Earth is not a place
where a people of our advanced civilization would comfortably fit in."
     "You have always been a supporter of Settlement, Sire Uri," Zara
nodded.  "But finding an appropriate world that could sustain our vast
population where we would be welcome is almost an impossible task.  At
least we have a link with Earth, through the Thirteenth Tribe."
     "Ah, but that is where you are mistaken, my dear," Uri refuted,
holding up a finger, voice like a teacher gently reprimanding a slow
student.  "I believe that currently we are relatively close to a planet
that could do just that.  An unpopulated planet, that, as I believe
Councilwoman Ama was recently heard to say, that is-and I quote-'almost
identical to Earth at a certain stage of her development. She has
everything we need.  An abundance of wildlife, water, fertile soil for
farming, and raw materials, that could support us, and our descendants
for millennia. Absolutely perfect.' However, the current Council
directive is that we should push onwards towards Earth." 
     Zara seemed speechless for a moment.
     "Yes, I too was taken aback when I heard, Zara.  Why would we
continue this pointless trek across the stars when everything we need is
so close.  We could start anew.  Rebuild." Uri smiled.  "It would be
worth asking the Council about, certainly."
     Chameleon reached for his comm unit, waiting the scant microns for a
voice to respond.  "Ama, it's time."

----------

     "Are we...there yet?" Starbuck moaned, getting a chorus of groans in
return. 
     "Starbuck, you sound like my three-year-old. Are we there yet?"
Dayton repeated singsong, then grimaced as he thought about his
statement.  "Scratch that.  She's thirty-four." He lapsed into silence as
he readjusted the weight of Apollo's pack.
     Starbuck ignored Dayton.  After all, bouncing up and down on
someone's shoulder really wasn't conducive to settling a stomach that was
already reeling.  At least he had dumped the head gear.  For a moment, he
wondered if he should warn Apollo that he might just throw up all over
the Strike Captain, then he remembered a particularly distasteful episode
on Alrin where Apollo had done just that to Starbuck. But in his face.
Yeah, he owed him one. 
     Surely to God they were far enough away from the Endeavour that if
it blew up, they would be safe.  Hades, they had left the smouldering
space shuttle behind long ago.  Surely they could rest just a little
while and he could get off this lurching ride that jarred his ankle and
upset his stomach even more with each successive step that Apollo took as
he lumbered along endlessly.  Once again, it took him back to being
captured by the Cylons on Attila, and he conceded that perhaps he wasn't
exactly thinking clearly when he was more concerned about puking on
Apollo's boots, then getting mowed down by Cylons in a possible strafing
run.  Oh, frack...
     Apollo stumbled, tightening his grip on Starbuck as he did so, and
wincing with the resulting groan of pain and further rasping breaths from
the injured warrior.  "Sorry, Starbuck," the captain murmured as he
regained his balance easily and fell in again behind Boomer.  "We need to
take a break soon," he announced. 
     "I can carry him," Boomer inserted, as he turned.  They had covered
about a kilometron, heading for a densely forested area, and escaping
detection-at least for now-from any air reconnaissance and attack that
might happen along...and oddly enough hadn't so far. 
     "So could I." Dayton offered.  
     "I'm more worried about Starbuck, than me." Apollo returned
honestly, though once he thought about it, his shoulders and legs were
beginning to burn with the exertion in the growing heat, especially after
the beating his body had taken that morning in hoverhockey. He'd been so
focused and determined to reach the tree line before they were
rediscovered by the Cylons, that he really hadn't given it much thought
until now. 
     "Me too." Starbuck quipped, swallowing another mouthful of  bile and
then coughing as it went down the wrong way.  Once again he willed his
treacherous stomach under control, determined he wasn't going to
humiliate himself amidst this group of  Colonial Warriors and Earth
Astronuts. Okay, so he was a little ambivalent about the whole vomiting
issue. But at least it kept his mind off his ankle...and what exactly was
going through Luana's mind as she followed along a few paces behind him,
conspicuously silent.
     "We can take a break once we hit the woods ahead.  About another ten
minutes...centons, or so, I'd say," Dayton replied, turning back towards
Tone and Luana. "We're still way too exposed out here, folks." He
gestured, indicating the open terrain about them. Aside from a few
boulders and scraggly trees, the area from there back to the landing site
was as open as a football field. You couldn't ask for better strafing or
sniping terrain. "How are you doing, Luana?" 
     Tone had purposely revived her in the shuttle, deeming her
inhalation treatments sufficient, given the circumstances, so that she
could make the trek to the forest under her own power.  After all, they
needed to carry survival packs, extra weapons, and a med kit, as well as
Starbuck.  It had been disorienting for her, to say the least, awakening
aboard the Endeavour to find that Starbuck had broken his ankle while
trying to carry her out of a flaming field brimming with Cylons, and that
the old Earth shuttle had inexplicably been sent to rescue them.  She
recalled Tone trying to offer some explanations for that regarding the
Dynamos and their recognition system, but truthfully, his interpretation
seemed too generalized, and seemed to raise more questions than it
answered.  She'd have to ask Apollo or Boomer later. 
     "Just peachy," she replied, being immediately rewarded with a huge
grin as Dayton realized she had responded in English. Along with
Starbuck, she had spent enough time in the presence of the Earthlings
that she had picked up a smattering of their unusual language, mainly
some of the odder expressions.  "How long will it take to fix Starbuck's
broken ankle, Tone?" she asked the med tech. 
     "Once we find a safe place to rest, maybe fifteen or twenty centons,
uninterrupted." Tone replied.  "It's still going to be a bit sore though
with all the swelling that's set in, but he'll be able to walk on it with
no problem in fairly short order." 
     "What I want to know is, where the hell are the Cylons?" Dayton
interrupted. "I thought they'd be all over us by now." 
     "Cue Cylons.  Enter, stage right." Baker returned wryly. 
     "I don't understand it either. Usually, they fly in formation in
groups of three.  Instead, we had one Raider engaging us, looking a
little rough for wear, and that's it." Apollo agreed. 
     "They still shot us down," Boomer pointed out. 
     "We weren't exactly flying a fighter, guys," Dayton reminded them.
     "But where's the rest of their squadron?" Apollo asked. "I mean, one
ship? This makes no sense at all."
     "And what about their ground troops?  That's the shot that really
got us, after all." Dayton inserted. 
     "Sorry.  Don't know.  We didn't have a chance to ask them while they
were trying to hunt us down and kill us," Luana replied, shrugging as the
conversation suddenly halted and heads whipped around to look at her in
apparent surprise. 
     "I remember when she was sweet and unassuming." Boomer told them
reminiscently. 
     "What in Hades hole did you do to her, Bucko?" Apollo added with a
smile. 
     "Better ask Lu." Starbuck replied with a grunt, hoping he managed to
sound as nonchalant as he had intended.  From the resulting silence, he
realized he hadn't quite pulled it off.  Your game face is definitely
slipping, Bucko.  Time for evasion tactics.  "Are we there yet?" 
     "NO!" the men all replied. Adamantly. 
     "Shh!  What's that?" Luana hushed them, her face intent as she
detected a mechanical sound distinctively heading their way.  A lifetime
of hunting on Empyrean had sharpened her senses, and she easily detected
the faint noise heading their way.  She glanced in that direction, seeing
birds flushed from the landscape.  It wasn't encouraging. 
     "I don't hear anything." Tone replied, falling silent as Dayton
raised a hand insistently. 
     At first all they could hear were the idyllic and harmonic sounds of
nature.  Then ever so slightly, the rumbling of an engine gradually grew
louder. 
     "Boomer?" Apollo looked to him. 
     "Sounds like a...a landram." Luana offered, having had some
experience with the Colonial ones on Alrin.
     Boomer nodded grimly, looking to Starbuck.  The anxious look on his
buddy's face was confirmation enough that he also agreed. 
     "What's a landram?" Baker asked. 
     "I'm guessing it's some kind of Cylon tank." Dayton replied,
swallowing the sudden lump in his throat.  Dodging a battalion of trash
cans was one thing, but being pursued by them in tanks was plainly
unfair. 
     "Get me down!" Starbuck insisted, already beginning to squirm off
Apollo's shoulders.  There was no way that the captain could run while
carrying him. 
     "Dayton!  Take Luana, Tone and Baker and head for the tree line!"
Apollo ordered him as Boomer grabbed Starbuck, supporting his weight,
while he dropped to the ground with a grunt. 
     "We'd have a better chance if we stuck together," Dayton replied,
shaking his head.  Besides, he was no expert on Cylons, and if a tank was
coming and they were planning to split up and run for it, whoever was
running slowest was certain to be caught.  That would mean the
rescue...make that the inevitable rescue...would be up to one ensign who
was still wet behind the ears, one med tech, and two old, retired
astronauts...or astronuts, as Starbuck preferred to call them.  Perhaps
for good reason. 
     "Not against a laser cannon." Apollo returned, shifting position and
putting an arm around Starbuck on his opposite side as Dayton nodded
soberly. 
     "I'm not leaving Starbuck, Apollo," Luana insisted, even though
Baker was tugging at her arm. 
     "That's an order, Ensign." Apollo snapped, hearing the landram draw
closer.  They were running out of time. 
     "So strip and module me!" she snarled back, pulling free of Baker. 
"I'm not leaving!" 
     "To Hades with this!" Starbuck shouted at them both, as the ground
began to vibrate beneath them.  "Leave me here, and the rest of you go! 
This is crazy.  I'm only going to slow you down.  I didn't bring my
fracking hovershoes!"  
     "We're not leaving anybody behind." Apollo retorted, his eyes boring
into his friend's.  
     "Yeah, what do you think we came down here for?" Dayton added with a
grin.  "Starbucks, Starbuck?" 
     Starbuck hesitated as every pair of eyes in the group met his,
nodding in agreement.  Which in retrospect was inspiring, but probably a
waste of precious time. "Then move!" he hollered, his frustration
mounting as he realized that he alone would be the reason they would
likely get captured, and he could argue with them until he was blue in
the face and it wouldn't make a scrap of difference to the outcome.  Talk
about wanting to throw up. "Now!" 
     "Boomer, let me in there. You're a better shot than me, Lieutenant."
Dayton told the younger man as he replaced him insistently at Starbuck's
side.  
     "I don't know about that." Boomer replied, recalling that Dayton
looked fairly handy with his Colonial issued weapon back when they had
first appeared back at the Endeavour with an unconscious Luana. 
     "Well, you're damn well more familiar with the weaknesses on the
Cylon tank, if there are any," Dayton rejoined. 
     "Yeah, the attack speed.  However, the fact that we're on foot kind
of compensates, don't you think?" Boomer returned soberly. "Let's go!" 
     By the now the ground was trembling as they raced towards the tree
line.  Dayton counted down the distance mentally, as he and Apollo half
supported, half dragged Starbuck towards the closest thing they could
consider safety.  Those trees looked to be thousands of years old, which
at any other time in his life would have been extraordinary, and there
was no bloody way that any armoured vehicle could cut through
them...unless they had those extending chain saw attachments like in
Speed Racer...
     "Halt-Humans!" 
     Dayton risked a quick look behind him, to see the Cylon tank bearing
down on them.  On top was a trash can with the biggest goddamned piece of
mounted artillery that he had seen in a very long time.  "Bloody hell..."
he breathed, steeling himself for the inevitable blast, and wondering
briefly if surrendering was somehow preferable to being incinerated by
the Cylon weaponry. 
     Boomer turned, firing on the lurching landram, aiming for the
Centurion.  He cursed as his shot went wide, and then again, as a blast
from the laser turret tore apart the ground and a boulder near Apollo,
Starbuck and Dayton.  The three men were thrown to the ground.  "Go!" he
shouted to Baker, who had stopped short as he dragged Luana along beside
him.  Boomer turned back, taking aim again, and hitting the landram with
a barrage of laser fire. 
     "No!" Luana screamed, watching Dayton crawling over to where
Starbuck was thrown.  Her fianc‚e wasn't moving.  Neither was Apollo,
beside him.  "Let me go!" She struggled to free herself from the
Earthman's grip, raising her own weapon and firing on the Cylons.  She
gritted her teeth as the laser turret swung in her direction. 
     "Baker!  Clock her!" Dayton hollered, on hands and knees as he
grabbed Starbuck's weapon, wedging it behind him.  Page fifty-four of the
Boy Scout's handbook: Be prepared.  Boomer, Baker, Tone and Luana were
only a hundred feet shy of the forest and safety. They could make it if
they ran for it.  Instead, they were all hesitating, taking aim at a
friggin' tank that could repel laser fire as easily as rainwater. It was
heroic, but idiotic.  "Get her out of here!"  
     Luana could feel the Earthman tug sharply on her arm as she tried to
jerk free of him.  Then she was looking into regretful blue eyes as he
considered her for a milli-centon.  She didn't even have time to duck as
his fist hit her under the chin, and everything went black.  
     Dayton climbed to one knee, taking aim at the Cylons, and attempting
to draw their fire.  He grunted in satisfaction as a shot seared the top
of the trash can's head, definitely getting his attention.  The turret
swung again, aiming right for him, and the two unconscious Colonial
Warriors.  
     "Cease-fire." the Centurion ordered him. 
     "Go, Boomer!" Dayton yelled, wishing he wasn't seeing through the
eyes of an old man as he aimed for the Cylon once again...and missed. 
Boomer, meanwhile, took another shot at the landram not doing much better
as it came to a stop in front of them, its massive gun trained on them in
deadly intent.  Baker had thrown Luana over his shoulder and was heading
for the forest, Tone covering his retreat.  His friend knew it was time
to cut their losses and regroup.  Unfortunately, Boomer hadn't quite
cottoned onto that yet.  Dayton drew in a deep breath, barking in his
best command voice, "You can't help us now!  Go, Lieutenant!" He lowered
his weapon in silent surrender, dropping it to the ground, his attention
finally turning to the downed warriors. 
     Boomer hesitated a micron more, his heart about to pound its way out
of his chest as his two best friends lay thirty metrons away, unmoving. 
He could only pray it was the concussion of the blast and not an actual
hit.  "Frack!" he shouted, knowing with a bone-numbing certainty that
there was nothing he could do to prevent their capture.  The landram's
weaponry would take him out long before he could even reach them.  With
another curse, he turned heel, and sprinted for the trees. 

Chapter Eleven

     It was like something out of Star Wars, Terminator or Robocop...on
acid.  And Dayton was man enough to admit that he was a little
intimidated by something mechanical dressed in body armour that was
holding a weapon on him.  Especially knowing that these Cylons had
destroyed an entire civilization. Indeed, several, from the data he'd
been shown.  All the same, he had to check.  He leaned over Starbuck,
reassured as he felt the steady pulse beneath his fingertips.  A groan,
and a slight movement was his response.  Dayton glanced at Apollo, only a
few feet away, and noticed him stir slightly. "Wakey, wakey, boys. These
are your damned Cylons, not mine." 
     "Halt-Human!" ordered the Cylon voice from atop the tank.  Dayton
wondered if their vocabulary was really as limited as it seemed.  He
turned, still kneeling, laser pistol on the ground, as the tank hatch
began to open up.  It was noisy and sounded like it could use a serious
oil job, but it seemed to work nonetheless.  From the side of the machine
stepped a Centurion, pulse blast rifle in hand.  It levelled its weapon,
and droned, "Halt-Human!"  
     "I've halted, already!" replied Dayton. He couldn't see inside the
vehicle from this angle, and the others had said nothing about how many
enemy troops it could hold.  From the size of it, about the same as an
Abrams M-1 back home, he didn't envision a big crew.  And, given the
general appearance of the thing...
     "Dayton?" Barely a whisper. 
     The NASA Commander glanced back down to see Starbuck was back with
him.  Even filthier than before, with blood running down one side of his
face, he nonetheless was a sight for sore eyes.  "We're kind of
outgunned.  Any ideas, Double Double?" 
     Starbuck looked up at the Cylon laser cannon pointed down at them,
then over at the captain.  Green eyes blinked back at him blearily, but
Apollo hadn't moved a centimetron.  Yet. 
     "Raise-your-hands." 
     "Consider them raised," Dayton replied, as he placed them behind his
head. 
     The laser cannon altered aim ever so slightly as it pointed at the
still prone Starbuck. 
     "Raise-your-hands-Human." It repeated for the warrior's benefit.
"You-are-prisoners-of-the- Cylon-Alliance."
     Slowly, Starbuck began to shift his weight, then let out a cry of
agony, grabbing his ankle and rolling dramatically to his side, and
towards the Centurions.  He groaned again, sucking a breath through his
teeth, effectively putting more space between all three men. 
     "Silence." The Centurion took another step towards the warrior,
moments later followed by a second Cylon trooper from within the tank.
Dayton looked from the two mobile Cylons, up to the muzzle of the gun
turret.  The cannon was trained on the vociferous Starbuck, as the
lieutenant played up his injury for all it was worth.  The kid deserved
an Oscar.  
     Maybe I could...
     Before the Cylons broke their single-file approach, Dayton made his
move.  Hands raised behind his head, the Cylons had no indication of
anything but compliance from him as they were distracted by the still
yowling warrior. With a speed that would have impressed Quick Draw
McGraw, Dayton drew the pistol from behind him, and fired.  The first
Cylon's chest blew open in a spray of sparks, and then it abruptly
tumbled forward as Starbuck threw himself against its legs. 
     The second Centurion levelled its own weapon, but Dayton had dropped
to the ground, lurching away suddenly. He rolled towards the
still-smoking Centurion, ignoring the sudden wrenching of his back, and
brought the pistol to bear on the second trooper.  They fired at the same
moment. The Cylon's shot seared close, and the astronaut could feel its
heat slapping his face. Dayton's shot cut across the top of the trash
can's head, but caused minimal damage.  
     Then another blast hit the Cylon's red eye, and it burst open in a
wild display of sparks and flame. With the usual twitching and noise, the
Centurion fell dead. Dayton twisted around to see Starbuck wielding the
first Cylon's pulse rifle.  "Nice shot!" 
     "Halt," the voice from above...
     "Oh, shit," Dayton said, as he looked back up to find himself
staring into the single barrel cannon above him. It was barely six feet
away, and aimed for his forehead...or maybe it was Starbuck's.  They were
so close together it was hard to tell.  Dayton tossed his weapon aside,
holding his breath, waiting to see what the Cylon would do about its
smouldering compatriots lying there dead.  Out of the corner of his eyes,
he could see Starbuck do the same, letting loose a hiss of disgust.  The
trash can's red eye scanned back and forth, as it came to some kind of
decision, probably based on programming from long ago, and possibly on
its current orders. 
     Suddenly, a shot to the muzzle of the laser cannon showered the
Cylon with molten bits.  
     Dayton whipped his head around to see Apollo setting up for another
shot from where he lay on the ground.  He'd barely moved from where he
had landed.  The Cylon swung his turret towards the captain, protected by
the bulk of the weapon. 
     "Now, now, don't be too hasty!" Starbuck intervened, hollering up at
the Cylon.  "Didn't you come here for prisoners?" 
     "Silence. Drop-your-weapon." The Cylon instructed the captain. 
     Apollo didn't budge.  He kept his laser trained on the Centurion. 
     "Uh...buddy, I'm fairly sure he's talking to you," Starbuck pointed
out, ever so slowly shifting towards Dayton's abandoned weapon.  In the
distance he could see Boomer and Baker making their way back, crouching
low amongst the ground cover.  But if he could see them...
     "Mexican standoff," Dayton remarked. 
     "What the frack's that?" Starbuck asked. 
     "An impasse. Either one of them shoots at close range, the other
will too.  Makes a guy stop and think about what he's doing," Dayton
blathered on, hoping Starbuck could reach the weapon unseen. 
     "Yeah, well, Cylons aren't exactly known for stopping to
philosophize about things..." 
     That was when the trash can made his move.  But instead of a deadly
blast in Apollo's direction, the weapon itself began to scream, like an
engine over-revving.  
     "Get down!" Apollo shouted, covering his head with his arms. 
     The other two men hit the dirt, taking cover, as the muzzle of the
laser cannon exploded spectacularly, smoke belching from the open
hatches, and enveloping the top of the landram in flames. 

----------

     "Congratulations on your apparent promotion, Captain," Adama said,
the glimmer of a smile playing across his lips at Sheba's apparent unease
on screen.  
     "I...uh, I know that my transfer back to the Pegasus isn't exactly
by the book, Commander," Sheba managed apologetically, glancing over her
shoulder, before returning her attention to Adama.  "But the
circumstances are unusual, I'm afraid, sir. Quite outside anything in the
manual."    
     "How so, Lieu...Captain?" Adama asked, crossing his arms and
wondering exactly what it was he was detecting that was amiss.
     "Sir, the Pegasus underwent serious battle damage a little over two
sectars ago. Large parts of the ship are still sealed off, open to space,
including Beta Bay. There has been little attempt at repairs, sir. Many
of the crew were killed...injured..."
     Immediately, he wondered if the destroyed Cylon Base Ship they had
first detected was involved in that battle. "Cain?" Adama asked, his
concern immediately rising for his old friend and colleague, as well as
the remaining crew of their sister battlestar.
     "I'm here, Adama." Cain entered the screen, his trademark swagger
stick in his left hand.  He raised it slightly, as if saluting the other.
"How are you, old friend?"
     At first glance he appeared to be the same old Cain, but thinner in
the face and more haggard. A certain sparkle was missing from his eyes,
and he had a definite droop to the right side of his face, most notably
his eyelid and mouth. Of course, that was all Adama could see of him on
the monitor.
     "Cain. What's your condition?"
     "We sustained severe damages, Adama.  Now, our patrol, as well as
Bojay's, discovered a destroyed Cylon Base Ship.  It poses no risk, and
actually appears to have been there, adrift, for deca-yahrens.  Not only
that, but we've cleaned up this region of space and haven't detected any
further Cylon threat.  I propose that you reassign Silver Spar Squadron
back to the Pegasus to watch our backs while we start preliminary work to
recover as much recyclable metal and other reusable scrap as we can
carry, in order to effect repairs."  He seemed to consider something a
moment. "A medical team wouldn't go unappreciated, either."
     Now that he'd said more than a few words, Adama could detect the
slur to Cain's words, and could see the considerable effort the
Juggernaut was putting into his articulation. However, it was clear that
even though the legendary warrior had suffered some injuries, he was
still as intellectually sharp as ever. "You're aware we have a Foundry
Ship in the Fleet, Cain?"
     "The Hephaestus." Cain nodded.  "Sheba told me."
     "The trouble being Cain, that there's a Cylon Base on the planet
we're investigating.  We lost a patrol there, and our rescue party was
more than likely shot down after rescuing them.  They were heading for
orbit when they were attacked.  We've lost contact with them." 
     Cain seemed to hesitate, looking to Sheba.
     "Apollo?" Sheba gasped.
     "He's fine.  Captain Baker managed to get one more message out to
say they were all in fairly good condition after landing, and they were
heading for cover." Adama replied calmly.  "Our scanners haven't picked
up any further detectable Cylon activity in this area."
     Apollo always had a way of landing on his feet after the worse that
life threw him, thank the Lords of Kobol. "Your scanners are working
again?" Sheba asked.
     "Yes. The previous radion wavelons that were jamming our scans have
stopped," Tigh clarified.  "Dr Wilker is working to increase range on his
PMU's, so we can find out if we can safely send Vipers in past the
Dynamos..."
     "To rescue the rescue party," Cain added flatly.
     "I'm afraid so." Tigh replied.
     "What's a Dynamo?" Cain enquired, looking to Sheba with a furrowed
brow. "Some sort of energizer?"
     "The weapon that first neutralized Dorado, Rooke and Szabo, Father. 
It wreaks havoc with Colonial systems.  We're still not sure how they
work, or where they originated.  Then all the energy wavelons from the
planet have stopped?" Sheba asked Adama.  
     "As well as from the Dynamos," Adama confirmed with a slight nod.
"But the Dynamos are moving on a vector that will have them converging at
approximately the same position that Starbuck's emergency beacon was
initially detected from."
     "And the Dynamos were dormant, yet still attacked our Vipers near
the pirate asteroid," Sheba reiterated.  "So we don't know if they're
still a risk to our ships."
     "Exactly, and we don't know the extent of the Cylon threat from
their base,." Tigh concluded.  "Even on concentrated scan, we aren't
picking it up.  Either they're jamming our scanners, or they're out of
our range."
     "Then you'd better leave Silver Spar right where it is, defending
the Fleet, if it becomes necessary," Sheba nodded, seeing their
predicament.  
     "When can you rendezvous with us, Cain?"
     Sheba intervened, sensing her father was going to try and postpone
reuniting with the Fleet once again.  Privately, she wanted him in the
Galactica's Life Station as soon as possible, but she knew he felt
differently about that.  "About five centars, Commander Adama."
     "Very well."

----------
 
     From dour and moody to steely determined, Ryan took a deep breath as
he stood in the back corner of the turbo lift, intent on doing the best
he could to offer silent support to Dickins, as well as Porter, in the
Rising Star's Life Station.  Then the door slid open, and in an instant,
everything changed.
     "Ah, Doctor Ryan.  I do hope your friend is making a full recovery."
     No one but Sire Uri could manage to affect that same underlying tone
of malice and insincerity with such innocent words.  The voice was
treacly sweet, avuncular, and the last thing in the universe Ryan wanted
to hear right now.  Or ever, for that matter.  The two young women
clinging to the nobleman's arms, their dresses equally clinging, stared
at Ryan in speculative fascination, as though he was a specimen of some
dangerous but rare species on display.  The astronaut could feel his
hands clench into fists as Uri then pasted on what was no doubt supposed
to look like an encouraging smile, but instead it mocked him.  Uri knew
that however much Ryan wanted to wrap his hands around the fleshy throat
and squeeze the life out him, that he couldn't do it with witnesses
present...however tempting.  Then the retired bureautician began to
chuckle, but somehow-almost magically-it came out as a pig-like squeal.
     At the same moment, an unbelievable calm swept over Ryan, and he
abruptly knew that he wasn't alone.  Knew, as surely as he knew his own
name.  There was a mystical presence, watching over him at the same time
as it warned Uri to back off.  The Sire looked horrified as he drew a
deep breath, and a snort worthy of a barnyard escaped him.  The
attractive, young women withdrew from him in confusion, and not a little
disgust.
     Ryan fixed a stare on him that would have rattled the most
courageous of men.  He gathered all his fury and hatred and directed at
the man who had done his best to drive Dick over the edge of sanity, with
Dayton's ultimate destruction in mind.  He remained silent and still, in
the corner of the lift, and his glare never wavered.
     Uri dropped the Earthman's gaze, and glanced uncomfortably at the
levels, sighing quietly as they seemed inexplicably to pass by more
slowly than was normal.  He swallowed, pulling at his collar and
fidgeting as the microns passed painfully by.  Wave after wave of enmity
radiated off the other man, filling the small chamber with a choking
animosity that he simply couldn't tolerate any longer. Sweat beaded on
his bald pate. With an angry huff, which somehow came out amazingly close
to an oink, Uri hit the next level, sighing with relief when the door
opened a micron later.  
     He left the lift without a backward glance...his bimbos trailing
behind. 

----------

     "By-your-command," droned a centurion. 
     For a moment, Base Commander Malus didn't even turn to see which one
it was.  He didn't honestly care, after so long.  All he really wanted
was word of the Humans.  Interrogating them would be a welcome change
from his usual duties, which generally consisted of standing around doing
nothing.  And perhaps he could finally solve the mystery of this cursed
planet and get out of here.  Somehow.  "Speak," he said at last, giving a
good impression of a Human sigh.
     "The-detention-cells-are-prepared-as-ordered."
     "I see."  Every order he gave was irritatingly confirmed as
completed.  If only just once a centurion would come back to him and tell
him that he'd decided he'd rather shut down for a diagnostic.  And then
for something completely original would add, "Get someone else to do your
bidding, you egotistical despot.  After a century, it is wearing thin. 
Perhaps you should be the one running the self-diagnostic, Malus.  Just
for a diversion, he did so, consuming all of 3.77 microns in the process. 
As he had for the last thirty-two point six yahrens, he detected a
glitch.  However, since it had developed, he had found his sense of irony
had improved so as to become a much needed distraction.  He ignored the
error message, as usual.  Glancing back at the centurion, he realized it
was typically awaiting further interaction obediently. "And the
prisoners?"
     "There-are-no-prisoners."
     Somehow it didn't surprise him.  He'd calculated that the likelihood
of capturing the Humans using constantly malfunctioning equipment and
rusting centurions as 38.475894...oh, shut up.  "And why not, might I
ask?"
     "Our-landram-has-failed-to-report-in-after-sighting-the-Humans.
Telemetry-analysis-indicates-total-system-failure."
     Which might mean something if the telemetry analysis was actually
working, which he doubted. "You mean you think they were destroyed, like
the Raider?" asked Malus.
     "I-do-not-'think'. 
I-merely-present-the-data-that-is-available-Commander."
     "Believe me, Centurion, after a hundred and four yahrens, that's
something I'm excruciatingly aware of.  Is the other landram
serviceable?"
     "Not-at-this-time," replied the centurion.
     "Well, get to it, Centurion!  And in the meantime, send out another
foot patrol."
     "By-your-command."
     "By my command. By my command. Bah!"
     "By-your-command."
     "Oh, go away!"

----------

     Getting herself back to work, and getting her mind off of Apollo and
the rescue team, Sheba surveyed the data she had collected on the extent
of the damage to Pegasus, as well as current manpower and rosters as
submitted by Lieutenant Roz.  Basic repairs that were conceivably within
their abilities hadn't even been approached, but whether due to neglect,
or Cain's own refusal to acknowledge the real extent of the damage-or
more likely his inability to accept it-she wasn't sure.
     That would change. As of right now.
     "Are you certain you know what you're getting into?" Bojay asked,
looking over her shoulder at the depressingly long list and shaking his
head as he followed her towards Cain's office.
     "I've never been so sure of anything in my life, Bojay." Sheba
replied, meeting his steady gaze and searching for the approval she so
desperately needed from him right now.  "This just feels...right," she
added as she looked over the Pegasus' familiar Bridge, seeing the flurry
of activity as the crew went about their various duties with renewed
purpose since she had announced her recent promotion to Strike Captain.
There had been a collective sigh of relief when Sheba had made it
official that Commander Cain was on sick leave, and that she would be
assuming the role of Executive Officer until such time as he was able to
resume command.  When she had added that repairs to their battlestar and
a rendezvous with the Fleet would be primary on her agenda, the crew had
erupted into cheers of joy.  In five centons of command, she had restored
hope and purpose to her crew.  It had boosted her own self-confidence,
but all the same, it was still good to know she had a friend
unflinchingly ready to stand in her corner.
     "How's Apollo going to take all this?" Bojay asked, stepping inside
the office and looking around, amazed to see that the Juggernaut had been
true to his word, and had actually returned to his quarters for a rest
period. Then again, Sheba had admitted that she'd slipped a light
sedative into her father's drink while they had toasted to her promotion
earlier.
     "Oh, Bojay...please don't." She closed her eyes, not wanting another
discussion on how her decision might affect Apollo. The door slid closed
behind her.
     "You've obviously given it some thought, Sheba," Bojay pressed on,
sitting on the corner of the desk and fingering Cain's old swagger stick. 
"He's a proud man. He might not be willing to share you with the Pegasus,
and all that entails." He stood and took a step towards her, turning her
gently towards him, lowering his head and waiting patiently until she
looked up to meet his gaze. "And you know better than most what working
with a proud man can be like."  He looked meaningfully around Cain's
office. "You could lose Apollo."
     "If what we have together is worth anything, we'll make it work."  
     Bojay nodded slowly several times, watching her for a long moment. 
"You know what I think, Sheba?" He tipped up her chin as she
instinctively turned away.  "I think you've already made that choice.
You've picked advancing your career here on the Pegasus over your
relationship with Apollo. You've got to know that a relationship between
two Strike Captains on two different battlestars isn't going to work. No
way in the universe. Between your duties and responsibilities, there
isn't going to be a lot of time left for Apollo."
     "Well, at least no one can accuse me of fraternization," she replied
caustically, turning away and sucking in a deep breath to maintain her
self-control. Typically, Bojay waited her out, letting her anger diffuse
in the silence that hung between them. "You make me sound so...selfish."
     "No, not selfish. Not at all.  Hades, you're here trying to help
your father.  I understand that your first allegiance is to Cain. After
those yahrens following Molecay, to a certain extent I feel that way too. 
I just think you should think about what you're sacrificing personally to
come back here.  There's more to life than the service, Sheba.  Apollo
loves you."
     "I love him too..." she replied quietly, meaning every word of it.
How she was torn between helping her father, and climbing in her Viper
and hightailing it back to the Galactica to try and find some way to get
past those fracking Dynamos.  But, Lords, when she put Apollo-strong,
healthy, resourceful and determined to succeed-against Cain...She knew
where her loyalties had to lie right now, and who needed her most.
     "But...?" 
     He knew her too well.  "It hasn't been easy these last four
sectars..." she murmured.
     Since she had first entered the Academy, right up until Cain's
disappearance after taking on three Cylon Base Ships in a blinding blaze
of missiles and laser fire, the service had been her life. But that had
changed ever so subtly once onboard the Galactica.  Whether it had been
because of the people she had befriended, or because someone else's
father was the Commander and she was no longer first in line for the
difficult missions, gradually she had felt herself transformed from a
no-nonsense officer to a woman.  As such she had, for the first time in
her life, discovered what it was to be a woman, yet she could still fly
circles around most of her male counterparts.  
     It was that change that had given her the insight to recognize that
the fact that she and Apollo could end up at each other's throats in a
matter of centons, actually had more to do with chemistry than dislike.
And true to form, she finally made the first move, realizing he wasn't
that likely to come to the same conclusion on his own, or if he did, to
act on it anytime soon. However, after the relative bliss of their
initial courtship, they seemed to settle back into old patterns where she
found herself, as she had aboard the pirate base, challenging his
decisions, and defending her own-vehemently. Awkward moments on duty,
turned into personal battles behind closed doors. Finally, Apollo had
suggested distancing themselves while on duty, and in fact,
re-establishing a variation on the old fraternization rules from yahrens
ago. She still remembered him pointing it out in the most daggit-eared
regulation manual she had ever seen: Excessively familiar relationships
between officers of different ranks may also be considered
fraternization, especially when between officers in the same chain of
command.  However, since almost a third of the pilots were already in
relationships, it was decided they would simply reshuffle the roster and
keep lovers separated while on duty. At the time, it had seemed better
than breaking up, which had looked inevitable if they continued on the
same path.
     "I know." Bojay replied softly, then added, "Whose idiotic decision
was it that you two wouldn't fly together?"
     "It was a...compromise." It had been a professional setback that she
hadn't really been prepared for, or had realized the implications of at
the time.  No longer was she picked for the fascinating recon missions
that she loved, Apollo generally assigning himself to those that
presented any conceivable element of risk...or intrigue.  After all, the
Strike Captain wouldn't send his warriors out on dangerous missions that
he was capable of executing himself. Putting himself in harm's way before
anyone else-that was Apollo's nature.
     "Sounds like you're the one who made all the concessions, Sheba."
Bojay shrugged.  "What did Apollo give up?"
     She sniffed as she considered her reply, having not really thought
about it like that before.  Then in a whisper barely discernible she
replied, "Me".
     "Is that fair?" Bojay asked, calling her on it.
     Sheba sighed.  "Probably not."
     No, she hadn't told Apollo how unhappy she had become with the end
result of their plan, not really seeing a way around it.  And perhaps he
would have tried some variation on it to try and appease her.  But was
appeasement what she was looking for in relationship?  No, definitely
not.  
     So now she found herself in the unlikely position of being promoted
to Strike Captain on the Pegasus, as well as acting Commanding Officer,
feeding her professional appetite as though she was a starving woman
suddenly placed before a grand buffet.  At the same time, she was helping
her personal hero-her own father-try and regain his health, and his
rightful station as the living legend that they all remembered through
tales of exploits echoed down through a generation.  As much as she loved
Apollo, she had to stay the course...at least until Cain recovered enough
to regain command.
     God willing.

----------

     Ama smoothed back her hair distractedly, as she took her seat
opposite Zara in the IFB studio.  This system of communicating with the
people of the Fleet was a marvel, and she smiled as she thought back to
her early days on Empyrean where news was spread by word of mouth, and
would often take sectons to reach the outlying settlements of their
community.  
     "Siress Ama..." Zara began.
     "Just Ama, my dear.  I'm no Siress, just a Councilwoman and Empyrean
Necromancer." Her affiliation with the Imperial Family seemed long ago
now, especially since both princesses had abdicated their right to
succession to the Empyrean Throne.  The Necromancer lightly touched the
other's hand, reaching across the small table that separated them for no
apparent reason.  Perhaps the announcer considered it a necessary
physical barrier between them.
     A slight smile touched Zara's lips.  "Ama." She nodded.  "As you are
no doubt aware, Sire Uri has made some claims as to the existence of a
planet nearby that is ideal for settlement.  He quoted you as saying..."
she glanced down, referring to her datapad,  "Almost identical to Earth
at a certain stage of her development. She has everything we need.  An
abundance of wildlife, water, fertile soil for farming, and raw
materials, that could support us, and our descendants for millennia."
     "Yes, but I'm afraid that Sire Uri is sadly out of touch with the
relevant facts-on all of his unfounded accusations-now that he is
retired.  The planet is physically perfect in all respects...except for
the Cylon presence-both on the planet and at the edge of our scanner
range-that our dedicated Colonial Warriors are investigating even now as
we keep our civilian population as far away from danger as is possible."
     "Cylons?" Zara asked, her eyes wide as her excitement swelled, even
as a tiny tremor of fear ran through her. Finally, word of the Cylons,
and featured unexpectedly on her report. An exclusive!
     "Yes, our patrol-Lieutenant Starbuck and Ensign Luana-ran into
trouble as they investigated the planet, requiring that Commander Adama
launch a rescue mission.  Commander Mark Dayton-our recently appointed
Earth Liaison Officer-has joined the mission, explaining why he is
unavailable for comment on the incident with his fellow Earthmen, that
little fracas in the lounge that arose on the Rising Star." She frowned
slightly.  "We are truly blessed to have such a brave and selfless man,
willing to put his ship and himself at risk for the benefit of his new
friends, and our Colonial Nation."
     "They took the Endeavour?  The Earth shuttle?" Zara asked. "Surely
it is quite primitive, in comparison to Colonial craft?"
     "I'm afraid the technical reasons allude me, but yes, it seems that
the Endeavour was the only ship that could penetrate the planet's defence
system."
     "How close are these Cylons?  How large are their forces?  What is
the risk to our people?" Zara shot back, in true journalistic fashion.
     Any more rapid-fire, and she could qualify as an Opposer, Ama
thought briefly. "I'm afraid I'm not privy to those details, since that's
military information, and something that Commander Adama will make
available as they discover more.  However, the risk that the Cylons pose
could be balanced by the news that we've had contact with Commander Cain
and the Pegasus.  They are relatively nearby, and ready to once again
join the Fleet."
     "Commander Cain!" Zara exclaimed, half-rising from her chair. Lords,
this was just too good to be true!  "He's alive?"
     "He is." Ama confirmed, content that any consideration of Sire Uri
was now far from Zara's mind, especially since his claims had been proven
utterly unfounded, and his sources deemed unreliable. "It seems that as
our ancient enemies have returned, so has the Juggernaut.  The Lords of
Kobol are indeed watching over us."
     "Oh Lords!" said Zara. She turned to her studio director. "Whatever
is set for tonight's lead, kill it! This has to go out first!"
     "Right," replied the other.
     "Ama, I..."
     "That's quite alright, my dear," smiled the Empyrean.

----------
 
     "How the hell did you do that?" Dayton asked Apollo, as they stood
watching the flames begin to die down on the Cylon landram.  It had
looked old and beaten up before, but now the top third was a charred
mess.  However, the vehicle had been designed to withstand heavy laser
fire, and almost beyond belief, it was still in one piece. 
     "I couldn't get a bead on the Centurion, so I decided to take out
the emitter diode on the laser cannon instead," Apollo replied, grinning
despite the blood trickling down his face from an impressive gash in his
forehead. "Thank the Lords it was unshielded."
     "Ah." Starbuck replied, sitting just off to the side of them with
Tone finally tending to his ankle.  A growing pile of spacesuits lay on
the ground, as the Colonials and Earthmen shed their second layers of
clothing to battle the rising heat of the day.  Starbuck had sat through
his nebulizer treatment, warding off any complications of potential
inhalation burns, but his patience was wearing thin as he waited for the
completion of the regeneration therapy that would repair the soft tissue
damage, which had followed up the bone knitting treatment.  He was just
about as good as new.
     Beside him sat Luana, who had been conscripted to help. 
Intermittently, she glared at Baker, who was circling the landram
curiously and keeping a safe distance from the young woman.  She looked
over at the captain, as she rubbed her bruised jaw while contemplating
revenge on a seventy-yahren-old Earthman with a nasty right hook.  And
his Commander.  "So the energy from the laser cannon had no place to go
and..." 
     "Boom." Dayton inserted with a grin, "like plugging up a gun barrel.
Nifty little trick." He stopped, rubbing his back.
     "What now?" Boomer asked pointing to the forest.  "Should we stay
undercover, or try to get that old wreck to work for us?" 
     "Old wreck, huh?" Dayton asked.  "I thought it looked a
little...broken down." 
     "Definitely.  Landrams with single-barrelled laser cannons haven't
been around for a hundred yahrens or more." Apollo explained. 
"Everything here is old.  The Centurions, the Raider..." 
     "The Earthlings..." Starbuck murmured for Dayton's benefit. 
     "Still saved your astrum, kid.  And stop calling me an Earthling! 
Or I'll show Tone how to rearrange your tendons!" Dayton retorted to the
still-grinning Starbuck.  His admittedly empty threat apparently held all
the impact of a raised feather poised for the kill.  
     "Ryan's always telling me to call you Earthlings." Luana shrugged.
     "Big bloody surprise." Dayton groused.
     "Hey, back on topic, it's been the only Raider that we've seen so
far." Boomer pointed out. 
     Dayton nodded.  "Yeah, it's kind of strange.  A planet being
engineered, supposedly for Humans, but already occupied by these trash
cans. Is it just a Cylon trap?"  
     "I can't help but think it's something more than that," Apollo
turned to look around at the incredible scenery.  It was paradise.  Well,
other than the Cylons.  "I have a hard time believing that the Cylons
have, or ever had, this kind of advanced science." 
     "Especially considering the state of their equipment," Boomer added,
examining the trashed Centurion. 
     "Then who?" Luana asked. 
     "Someone a lot more sophisticated that's known for his benevolence?"
Dayton suggested. 
     Starbuck sniffed. "Tell me you're not talking about John." 
     Apollo turned around. "The Ship of Lights?" 
     Dayton nodded.
     "But they gave us the heading to find Earth," Boomer pointed out. 
     "And it led you here." Dayton agreed. 
     "But this isn't Earth," Boomer refuted.  Then he hesitated, before
asking as he had in Commander Adama's office. "Is it?" 
     All eyes swung to Dayton. 
     "I don't think so. As we've already discussed, we didn't find any
signs of civilisation, and the Earth we left had a planet-wide
civilisation, with satellites, electronic communications, the works.
That, and the continental landmasses are the wrong shape. Similar, yes,
but not identical. Add to that, if your thirteenth tribe left Kobol
millennia ago in your timeline, then we have to assume that Earth was
populated long ago.  This can't be Earth." 
     "But you think that the Ship of Lights has something to do with
engineering this planet?" Luana asked, leaning forward to wipe at the
blood and soot that caked Starbuck's face.  Flying debris from the Cylon
laser cannon blast had left its mark on all three men's exposed skin,
mainly faces and hands.  She hesitated, as Starbuck brushed her hand
aside, almost irritably.  She wondered at his ability to joke with the
other men when he was obviously still annoyed at her.  Was it some sort
of attempt to hide what exactly was going through his head where she was
concerned?  She sniffed, recalling hearing from other women sectons ago
that Starbuck excelled at the uncomplicated relationship.  But as soon as
things became difficult, that he retreated emotionally until his partner
realized there was nothing left to salvage.  Oh, they needed to have a
talk.  But now that the others were here, when would they get that
chance? 
     "Who else in the galaxy have you met that could achieve something of
this magnitude?" Dayton asked. "From your history banks and the data that
Commander Adama let us review, no race you have ever encountered has the
ability to re-engineer planets on so fundamental a level. This isn't
Terraforming. This is full-scale planetary duplication. And this system
has nine major planets that we scanned coming in. Huge gas giants. An
asteroid belt. Small inner ones right where Mars and Venus would be, back
home." They seemed to consider that a moment. "And if it were the Cylons,
they'd be all over this place like a cheap suit, and not with old, rusty
junk kept together with chewing gum and bailing wire. No. Not the
Cylons."  
     "But I thought that the Ship of Lights Beings weren't allowed to
intervene?" Boomer asked Apollo. 
     "Like they didn't intervene on Terra.  Or with Apollo after Count
Iblis..." Starbuck began, breaking off and frowning.
     "Or with me on the Galactica." Dayton added.  "And again on Earth
when I was a child." 
     Apollo nodded.  "Good point.  Despite John's protestations, they do
have a habit of intervening." 
     "Why would they engineer a planet, then lead the Fleet to it, if
they want us to ultimately find the real Earth?" Tone asked, as he once
again scanned Starbuck's ankle following the treatment, nodding with
satisfaction at the results. "I mean the original one."  
     "Maybe they're intervening again?" Dayton posed. 
     "Sounds about right.  That explains the Cylons," Starbuck riposted,
flexing and extending his ankle gingerly. He nodded thankfully at the med
tech.  
     "Somehow, I don't think they counted on the Cylons," Dayton replied
wryly, looking back and forth between Starbuck and Luana for a long
moment.  He smiled slightly, then asked, "Why don't we mosey on over to
the landram and see if its salvageable.  It would sure as hell make
finding that Cylon base easier if we can get the thing running.  And Tone
could set up an infirmary to finish treating our injuries." 
     "Good idea." Starbuck frowned as Tone looked at him.  "What?"
     "I still need to check your burn." The med tech reminded him.
     "What burn?" Luana asked.
     "It's nothing." Starbuck hastily added, not particularly wanting his
astrum on display for all to see.  "I guess we'd better figure out the
extent of this Cylon threat," he added, beginning to climb to his feet.  
     Dayton was there in an instant, grabbing his arm supportively as the
young man tested his ankle. "Hey, kid.  If the med tech thinks you need
treatment, then let him take care of it."
     "I'm fine." Starbuck insisted again.  
     "Tone?" Apollo asked.
     "He has a burn extending down his right flank.  Looks like a laser
shot that barely missed." Tone explained.  
     "Right flank.  That's medical vernacular for astrum." Boomer pointed
out with a grin, as usual celebrating in his friend's discomfiture,
especially now that he knew he was safe.  Relatively.  "Hey, Bucko, your
face is getting as red as...well, as red as your astrum, I can only
presume."
     "Thanks for your support, Boomer." Starbuck returned sourly.  "How
about later, Tone?  When we get the landram up and running.  All this
fresh air can't be good for a guy's..."
     "Dignity?" Dayton inserted with a laugh.
     "Something like that." Starbuck smiled as the rest of them had a
laugh at his expense.
     "I'd rather do it now, Lieutenant.  After all, if it's a second or
third degree burn, and we don't treat it, it will only get worse when the
necrotic tissue starts to slough." Tone replied with a shrug.  "Then
it'll start to ooze, and your pants will stick to the wound, tearing any
good tissue, which would be really painful.  It could also get infected."
     "Enough, already." Starbuck held up a hand distastefully and glanced
at Apollo.  The captain's arms were crossed over his chest as he waited
for his friend to comply.  "What?  You all want to watch too?"
     "Well, I would." Luana teased him.
     "Oh, for Sagan's sake..." Starbuck muttered, undoing his belt and
looking at them all in turn.  Baker and Boomer had the decency to turn
for the landram as soon as his pants were undone.  Dayton and Apollo,
however, seemed to be revelling in his discomfort.  He jerked his pants
down to his thighs, thanking the nine Lords of Kobol that his briefs
stayed in place, and met their amused gaze as Tone checked the damage.  
     "How is it?" Apollo asked, winking at Luana.
     "Not bad." Tone replied as he pulled down the briefs to reveal
reddened skin that ran almost midback to halfway down his astrum.  He ran
his medical scanner over the site, also checking it visually.  "It's only
the epidermal level, so it should be fine."
     "That's what I said." Starbuck replied.  
     "Just remember to moisturize." Tone added with a smirk as Dayton and
Apollo chuckled.  "After all, your skin is your first line of defence." 
     "I think I'll stick to my laser, if it's all the same to you."
Starbuck replied, pulling his pants back into place.
     "C'mon.  Let's get to work." Apollo told them as he clapped Starbuck
on the shoulder on his way by.
     Luana hung back a moment, wondering how she could get Starbuck to
herself for a few centons.  She noticed the Earth Commander look between
the two of them, and offered him a weak smile and he looked at her
enquiringly.  
     Dayton nodded at the young woman in understanding, and then reached
out and gripped Starbuck's arm as the warrior moved forward.  "I think
you and Luana need to stay here and watch our backs," he told him
quietly. 
     "Are you giving orders now?" Starbuck asked a little sharply
     "Listen, kid, I've been around the block a time or two.  I can see
that you two need to iron things out," Dayton replied, looking
inquisitively at the younger man, his voice even lower. "You almost lost
her. Again. Maybe you should be thinking about that right now." 
     Starbuck sighed, glancing at Lu as she took a few steps away, giving
them some privacy.  He didn't miss the grateful look she threw in
Dayton's direction.  "What is this?  Gang-up-on Starbuck Day?" 
     "It's the Year of Ganging-up-on Starbuck. Check your Chinese
calendar." Dayton quipped, as the warrior shook his head in return.  "You
know, you asked this girl to marry you. In what I suspect was a lapse of
brain function, she agreed.  But you need to grasp something, Lieutenant
Lothario.  Marriage isn't only about having a good time with the one you
love, it's a commitment.  It's about surviving the tough times and making
it through the unending challenges that life throws your way.  Not just
those in a fighter cockpit." Dayton squeezed his shoulder, as the other
avoided his piercing stare.  He waited until the warrior again met his
eyes.  "And I'll tell you right now, that its worth the effort and the
hard work that you need to put into it." 
    Starbuck glanced over at Lu who was shuffling from foot to foot and
watching them.  "Work, huh?" 
     "Yeah. Work." Dayton replied. "And some days it can make slamming a
sledge hammer in a rock quarry look like a quiet afternoon in the
hammock.  So get your lazy ass over there and talk to Luana." He slapped
the younger man on the back, and moved to join the others. Then he turned
again when he realized that Starbuck hadn't budged an inch. "Don't screw
this up, Starbuck, or I'll break your other ankle." He smiled. "She's a
wonderful young woman who's absolutely crazy about you.  And you should
know better than anyone else, that you're no prize." He grinned widely,
tampering it down a bit when the young man simply nodded and looked
briefly at his betrothed, before studying the ground intently.  "You know
I'm joking.  Right?" 
     "Right." Starbuck nodded again, then let a breath out between teeth
that were clenched before taking a few reluctant steps towards Luana.  "I
know." 

Chapter Twelve

     It was like walking into a Cylon attack completely naked, with the
added bonus of a big target painted on his chest.  Somehow knowing that
he definitely didn't look his best, covered in grime and wearing one boot
that had been duct taped back together, didn't help the matter.  Usually,
Starbuck could rely on his good-looks and charm to get him through this
kind of encounter.  Now, he just felt tired, sore, and not-quite-ready
for the single-woman firing squad waiting for him impatiently.
     Guns drawn.
     "I don't bite," Luana said quietly. 
     Like Ama, she had an almost eerie talent for reading him that way.
Starbuck found it damned unnerving that anyone could know him so well.
"That's not the way I remember it..." he replied lightly, watching the
rest of their party check out the Cylon landram. "In fact, it was ..."
     "What is going through your head?" she asked, ignoring his banter. 
"You look like you just lost your best friend."
     "Let's just get this over with, Lu. Tell me what's on your mind."
His voice was strained as he glanced at her.
     "You make it sound like torture," she commented after a pause as she
studied him.
     "Well, to be honest, I think I'd rather be assigned to one of
Colonel Tigh's disciplinary duties than deal with this at the moment. But
here we are,"  he looked at her for a micron before looking out across
the broad expanses once again. "So..."
     "So...yeah." Her features were intent as she continued to consider
him, then her eyes narrowed speculatively.  "I love you, Innamorato."
     He frowned at that, not really expecting avowals of love or terms of
endearment. He took a hesitant step closer. "Then what's this all about?"
     "I'm in love with you, Starbuck. Never doubt that. Not for a
micron." She smiled. "It's just that...I'm just not sure that I'm ready
to get sealed." 
     "Hey, I understand that. I'm the King of second thoughts," he
replied flippantly as he turned once again to evade her probing eyes. He
shook his head slightly that this was happening. He had been so sure that
she would be the one. Then again, she was so young...He had conveniently
put that thought out of his mind for the most part. 
    "You're...you're having second thoughts too?" 
     There would have been a time where he would have turned and grinned,
and then told her that life was too short to spend it regretting hasty
choices made in moments of emotional upheaval.  But he had changed since
then. And she had a lot to do with that change.  
     "No." Starbuck replied, still not daring to look her in the eye. 
"I've never looked back since I asked you to be my wife, Luana.  Never."
     She nodded slowly.  "It's not being sealed to you that's bothering
me, Starbuck.  It's the damn build-up," She took a step forward when he
slowly turned to look at her, raking his hand back through his hair and
expelling a short breath. "It's the four hundred people on the guest
list, and the IFB mic in my face every time I go out in public. It's
trying to decide whether to have Commander Adama perform the ceremony, or
Ama. How to intertwine Empyrean traditions with Caprican, and still have
it go smoothly. Whether to go with traditional music, or something more
specific to our tastes.  It's driving me fracking crazy and we still have
eight more sectars of it ahead of us." 
     "That's it?" 
     "What do you mean, 'that's it'?  Of course, that's it!" she replied,
narrowing her eyes at him.
     Starbuck shook his head slightly. "Are you sure?"
     "You don't sound like you are." Lu returned hesitantly.
     Starbuck sighed.  "Look, Lu, that stuff is all so...inconsequential. 
I don't really care about any of it. I'm only going along with it,
because I thought it was important to you."
     "Going along with it?  Starbuck, you haven't made a single decision
regarding our wedding. Not a bloody one! You just keep saying, 'whatever
you want, Lu'."  She did a fair impression of his voice, then crossed her
arms over her chest, scowling at him.
     "That pretty much sums it up," he replied indifferently.  "Hey, I
chose the ale.  Doesn't that count for something?"
     Lu took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing angrily. "You'd better be
joking."
     He shrugged, feeling he was getting in dangerous territory, yet
hadn't quite figured out how he had arrived there so unexpectedly. 
"Luana, all I'm trying to say is that I want to marry you.  I want us to
spend the rest of our lives together.  Now, whether that comes about with
a big, flashy Empyrean style party in eight sectars, or by...by us
filling out the proper forms and filing it with what passes for the
registry office in the Fleet tomorrow, I honestly don't care."
     "You don't care," she repeated flatly.
     "Oh, no you don't!" He grabbed her arms, pulling her close so he
stared into brown eyes, filled with confusion and resentment as she
mentally went off on some deep space probe into unfamiliar, but no doubt
estrogen-rich territories. "I care about us. I care about you.  Period. 
What doesn't faze me one way or the other is what we're eating for dinner
on our wedding day, or whether 'Sire What's-His-Face' can sit at the same
table as 'Lady Who's-It' because 'she scorned his younger brother forty
yahrens ago and he has yet to get over it, even though the git was a
twit'...or the 'twit was a git'."  He smiled slightly as he saw her
features relax.  "I can't remember which."
     Luana smirked, "So you were paying attention."
     Starbuck tapped his forehead, releasing her. "I reserve a couple
brain cells for the superfluous stuff, like our more painful sealing
details, and a lot of the regs that they tried to drill into us at the
Academy."
     She let out a deep breath as she watched the sun climb even higher
in the sky, while it beat down on them.  "I'm just not sure I want to go
through all that, Starbuck. I'm from a little, backwards planet where two
people united for life under the stars and in front of their loved ones,
with Ama officiating when it was convenient.  If she didn't, no one
considered them any less committed."  She'd been a child when she had
last attended a hand-fasting ceremony.
     "You don't want any kind of...ceremony?" Starbuck asked.  No
flippancy. All seriousness.
     Luana sniffed, as she turned and looked at him.  "Funny.  Nobody
ever asked me what I wanted.  Ama just started planning...and then it all
seemed to get out of hand."
     "What do you want, Lu?" He asked earnestly. 
     "I want what I already have. A commitment from you."  She smiled
slightly as he waited expectantly for her to continue. "Though couple's
quarters would be nice," she added with a coy smile.
     "You don't want an actual ceremony?" he asked again, not quite sure
he was getting it. "No fancy dress or big party?  Nothing...official?"
     "It's not necessary to me, Starbuck. You know I'm not exactly your
typical traditional girl from the Colonies.  Instead of enjoying the time
we have together now, we're sneaking around trying to find secluded
little getaways to make love, all the time wasting our energy and cubits
on that extravaganza that is still sectars away." She shook her head. 
"Every time I think about it, I feel sick.  I just don't want to do it."
     "So...when I asked you to marry me...what exactly was it that you
said 'yes' to?" He felt completely bewildered at the sudden turn of
events.  Hades, he'd even pictured them standing before Adama...at other
times, Ama...with candlelight flickering in the background and their
friends and family...and several hundred onlookers...watching their lives
entwine for all of eternity, both symbolically and otherwise.  For him,
especially, this was a big step.  A life change.  
     "Forever," she replied simply.
     "Let me get this straight.  You want us to be together forever, but
don't want to bother going through the ceremony. Is that right?" He
quirked an eyebrow.
     She nodded slowly, "That about sums it up. What do you think?"
     "Frack, Lu...."  Starbuck blew out a breath between his teeth as he
tried to figure out why he wasn't happier about that.  Hades, he should
be ecstatic.  Starbuck and "sealed" went together like positively charged
ions, or at least that's what he and everybody else had been drilling
into him since he was old enough to even think about committing to
someone.  Yeah, he'd been avoiding it like a pernicious disease for some
time now, and in fact, it had become a bit of a standing joke amongst his
friends...and even his ex-lovers. Sagan, there was a bet going on about
whether or not he'd finally make it to the altar, or whether the Empyrean
Necromancer would be out searching for him in the final centar, with her
crystal ball in one hand and her Empyrean Talisman in the other.  He
finally muttered, "I guess I should be relieved..." 
     "You don't look very relieved."
     "Well...I...uh..." He shook his head, trying to figure it all out. 
He wasn't the greatest at summing up his feelings, or even figuring them
out. After all, all his previous lovers had the common decency to do that
for him...though admittedly that was usually on the way out the door. She
was looking at him so expectantly, as if she expected him to have all the
answers, but instead he could only think of one thing to say and it
sounded like it was straight out of the Book of Apollo.  Not to mention,
that up to a certain point in his life, it probably wouldn't have
mattered to him.  But now...with her...
     "Talk to me," she insisted.
     "Lu, couples who don't get married aren't particularly well thought
of in a society where Kobollian customs dominate. Hades, even Borellian
Nomen and the Serenity Borays have some kind of sealing ceremony." He
could see her scrunch up her face at that, and in retrospect, it might
have been better left unsaid.  "And, well...some people-and our families,
and definitely some of my friends come to mind-refer to living together
without being sealed as 'immoral living', or 'living in sin', or...just
plain old 'wickedness'." Her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open
ever so slightly.  "And you-whether you abdicated or not-are still an
Empyrean Princess, both by blood, and in the minds of most of your
people, so they have certain expectations and standards that apply more
to you than to the average citizen."  Lords, it had sounded so stiff and
staid, he almost wanted to crawl under the nearest rock while he waited
for her to shoot him dead.
     It took her about ten microns to recover.  "And do you think it's
wicked?" she purred, stepping towards him and sliding her arms around
him, pressing her body against his.
     "Lords, Lu..." Strangely it didn't hurt at all when her hand pressed
lightly against his burn. "Wicked I can handle. In fact, I may have
perfected it."  But several faces still glared at him from his mind's
eye: Adama, Ama, Apollo, Lia, Chameleon, even Dayton.  Each and every one
of them would let him know exactly what they thought of him using this
innocent young woman, and not having sufficient respect or honour to
marry her.  And, if children did happen, precautions or not, then he'd
sure as Hades want them to never doubt that he was their father.  "People
are gonna talk, Lu.  Like it or not, they will.  It isn't going to be
pleasant." Especially for you, Bucko.
     "I don't care, Starbuck," Luana insisted.  "Unless you're telling me
that there's something deep inside of you that really has you convinced
that we need to go through all this felgercarb, then I think we should
ditch the whole thing."
     "But the whole Fleet is expecting us to..." He paused as he
recognized that stubborn tilt to her chin. "You don't care."
     "I think you're getting it," she grinned. "I'm sure the IFB can
scrape up something to fill that reserved timeslot.  Maybe they could
reconsider Mark Dayton and the Ristretto Kid." She quirked an eyebrow. 
"So...what about you? Is it important to you? Not what other people think
of you, but to you personally?"
     "I..." He shrugged, feeling off balance.  There was a definite part
of him that was disappointed that she was backing out of sealing with
him, in favour of just living together. He'd never considered himself
old-fashioned before, but then again, he'd never really met a woman that
he wanted to marry before either. Or at least one he'd actually got
around to asking. He chewed his lip as their discussion ran through his
mind, feeling as though he'd missed something, or that she'd sidetracked
him somehow. Maybe by pressing herself up against him.  That usually did
it.  Those luscious curves pressing against him always had a certain
effect that...Oh, right!  "I...well..."
     "You smooth talker, you," she teased him.
     Then it hit him.  "Lu, earlier you said that it wasn't actually
getting sealed that bothered you, it was the build up.  Now...you don't
even want to get sealed." He kept his features carefully composed as he
waited for her to comment.
     "I guess just being able to finally talk about it with you made me
realize that it isn't at all important to me." She traced his bottom lip
with the tip of her finger. "It's our commitment to each other that
matters, Starbuck. Not some ceremony that society has imposed upon us,
deeming us moral or immoral by whether we conform to their standards, or
not."
     "Wait a centon, how did this turn into a discussion on cultural
expectations?  We were talking about us." He asked, feeling as though she
was spinning him round and round each time she changed tack in the
conversation.  Actually, the more he thought about it, she was sounding a
bit like he used to.  His internal klaxon began as a quiet whine that
grew in intensity as he recalled how many relationships and long term
commitments he had talked himself out of in his lifetime.  "Are you sure
this isn't just you having second thoughts about us?"
     "Why do you keep coming back to that?" Luana challenged him.  
     "Because you're all of twenty yahrens old, and this is the very
first intimate relationship that you've been in." He replied point-blank. 
"Hades, Lu, I wasn't ready for 'forever' when I was twenty.  Are you sure
that you are?  Is that what this is really all about?" 
     She pulled away from him angrily, turning her back as she took a
deep breath.  Luana was taking an inordinately long time to answer him,
he realized.  He sighed as he looked out across the field, listening to
the sound of an avian calling in the distance.  He turned and caught
sight of it, watching its graceful flight as it soared low over the
grasslands.  Then the gentle touch of Luana's hand on his shoulder had
him turning slowly back around to face her.
     "I love you, Starbuck.  That much I'm sure of.  But as to the
rest...I just don't know."  She sniffed, her lips quivering ever so
slightly.  Smudge marks on both cheeks betrayed a recent trace of tears
that she had wiped away before turning to answer him.  "I haven't done
this before, you know."
    He sniffed humourlessly, pulling her against him, unable to look into
her glimmering brown eyes any longer.  What was it about this woman that
could dispel his anger and uncertainty so quickly with the shedding of a
couple tears?  "We'll figure it out, Sweetheart," he replied, then
stroked her hair lovingly, pressing her face to his chest and finally
whispering, "I...I love you too."

----------

     A warmth.  A light. A feeling of security, of peace. Drawing him
closer. Coaxing him to rise.  He took a deep breath, drawing it in as if
he could inhale the comforting presence, taking it into his body and
letting it infuse him with life. As if it could become a very part of his
innermost being.
     "Dick?"
     Familiar voices echoed through his brain, reminding him he was loved
and needed. That he was valuable. Important. A touch on his hand, a
whisper at his ear, both trying to get him to rise. To lift himself up
beyond the fog that kept him comfortably blanketed in oblivion.  It was a
nice place to be.
     A medley of indistinct thoughts, memories, and sensations all seemed
to flow through him and around him, creating a symphony of colour, grace
and beauty.  For a moment, it seemed as if every lovely, pure, creative
thought and impulse that had ever been, suffused him.  It was unlike
anything he had ever experienced before, and he reached out his hand,
wanting to touch it, embrace it, ready to return...
     Then a cold, claw-like grip grasped him, pulling him downward
through the fog, away from the light. An icy coldness, like the bitter
hands of Death, enveloped him, paralysing his body and mind as two orbs
peered at him from within. Orbs that seemed to overflow with malice and
hatred, and to rip right through him. 
     Wither and die, I command thee!
     Brittle and frail, poised to break into a million pieces and scatter
to the furthest ends of the universe until he was no more...
     He is not yours to command!
     Insolence!
     Truth!
     He was alone and adrift, as flashes of light arced through the
realm. Two powerful forces danced around him, doing battle as they had
for all of eternity.
     A warmth.  A light. 
     
----------

     The landram's engine seemed to cough, sputter and then finally die,
making Dayton think about more than one car that he owned between the
ages of sixteen and twenty-five, that he'd spent under five hundred bucks
on. He'd be surprised if they could get this thing going, even with
Boomer and Baker hanging out of the access panels, and Apollo shouting
out suggestions from within the hull which Tone was helpfully relaying.
     The turret and the gun-mounting were completely destroyed, and the
gun itself, the barrel split like a stick, was mangled beyond
recognition.  Of course, if they came across another one of these babies,
they'd be SOL...and that didn't stand for Ship Of Lights where he'd come
from.
     He could see Starbuck and Luana heading their way, Starbuck's arm
lightly draped around her shoulders and his head intimately ducked
towards hers. Her arm was around his waist, and she was nodding at
something he was saying. Whatever the problem was, they had seemed to
have worked it out. They were both nice kids, and deserved some
happiness. And since they'd possibly never get the three bedroom bungalow
with the two car garage and white picket fence, he wished them all the
best. 
     "All right, give it another try!" Boomer shouted, and the directive
was immediately echoed through the hatch to Apollo.
     Dayton held his breath, involuntarily bearing down on his stomach
muscles as the engine started to turn over again. It sounded like a flock
of penguins in heat, and he thought for sure it was going to crap out. 
C'mon, Baby!  Then, much to his surprise, a cloud of exhaust spewed from
what seemed like the entire underbelly, and the whole machine shook like
a bowl of jelly before the engine began rumbling to life.
     "Yes!" Baker pumped a fist in the air and jumped down.  He shouted
at his friend, "Hey, buddy!  Want a ride?"
     "Good job!" Dayton congratulated them, taking one more look around
as he kept his eyes peeled for Cylons from his vantage point, portable
scanner in hand. "Let's go!" he hollered to Starbuck and Luana who let go
of one another long enough to jog towards him. Starbuck's ankle seemed to
be fine, his limp barely perceptible, which still amazed him. To think
that an injury that could have made him a definite liability could be
healed so quickly and efficiently.  
     "Are we all going to fit in there?" Luana asked as Dayton jumped
down to join them. "It looks smaller than a Colonial landram."
     "Not a chance.  Apollo suggested that two of us ride on top." Dayton
replied.
     "Is he one of them?" Starbuck asked, a knowing smile on his face.
     "I believe he made mention of both you and Boomer," Dayton grinned. 

     "Figures," Starbuck replied with a shrug.  "He has a small problem
with me driving when I've recently been in a drug induced stupor."
     "Which happens often enough." Luana teased him.  "Besides, I'm
scheduled for another medical treatment, and Apollo wouldn't put
civilians on top.  They're too vulnerable up there, especially with the
laser cannon blown to Hades Hole."
     Starbuck nodded.  "Where exactly are we going?"
     "Well, we're going to try and find that Cylon base." Dayton
explained.  "Do a little recon for the Fleet and try to find a comm suite
that we can contact the Galactica with."
     Starbuck nodded, looking back at the path that the landram had cut
through the surrounding landscape.  "Looks like we could follow the trail
of devastation back there.  Did the Galactica pick up any telemetry on
it?"
     "Not on the Cylon base per se, but on emitting radion wavelons
coming not far from your ships."
     "That's why you were all so concerned about the radion poisoning?"
Starbuck asked.
     "Yeah." Dayton nodded soberly.  "I thought you were toast, kid."
     "Toast?" He shook his head, his brow furrowed.
     "Burnt toast." 
     "So these emissions were coming from the Cylons?" Luana asked.
     "We don't know.  Either the Cylons, or whatever is controlling the
Dynamos." Dayton replied.  "I'm wondering if the Galactica's scanners
could be somehow misreading the emissions.  After all, to get down here
and not detect any fallout from the radion...Not that I'm complaining,
you understand.."
     "Hopefully we'll find out when we find the base." Starbuck mused.
     "Are you up for it, French Press?  That and clinging to the top of a
lurching piece of Cylon junk?" Dayton asked, gripping the younger man's
shoulder and bringing him to a stop.
     "Yeah, I'm fine. Really." Starbuck replied.  
     "If you're not up for it, tell Apollo." Dayton pushed.
     "If I wasn't, I would." Starbuck retorted.
     "Kid, you look like crap." Dayton began.
     "Lords, Dayton, your paternal instincts are going supernova again."
Starbuck shook his head at the commander. "I'm a warrior. And a damned
good one. I know when I've reached my limit, and I'm far from it. Hey, I
eat Cylon Base Ships for breakfast and asteroid pirate bases for lunch."
     "Then I hope you Colonials have one hell of an Alka-Seltzer, kid,"
grinned the astronaut.
     "Or a lot of mineral oil," added Baker with a chuckle as Starbuck
gazed at them dubiously.  
     "All right." Dayton nodded, satisfied that Starbuck was either
telling the truth, or was improving his poker face. He patted the young
man on the back, winking at Luana who was looking at them tolerantly. 
"Let's go."
     Once inside, both Earthmen found the interior of the Cylon machine
both strange, and familiar. Baker, who had once driven an Abrams tank,
could at once see the similarity, as well as the differences. To Dayton,
it was a bit like sitting in a Humvee, or, he chuckled to himself, the
Chariot from Lost In Space. The driver and co-driver sat forward, much as
in the Colonial version, with what had been the gunner's seat behind
them. With the gunner's rig partly removed, there was slightly more room,
as well as an open top, but the whole thing still stunk of fried
insulation and electronics.
     "Can you figure the controls?" Baker asked Apollo, who slid into the
driver's seat.  In front of them, several of the instruments on the panel
were dark.
     "Of course," said the Strike Captain, gripping the steering yoke,
and moving it as he glanced back to ensure all his passengers were
seated, or at least holding on. "Starbuck and I actually flew a Raider
once.  If we can handle that, I think I can manage this."  The landram
lurched...
     Backwards.
     Into a boulder.
     "Hey!" shouted Starbuck from above, suddenly finding himself in
Boomer's lap. 
     "Sorry!" called out Apollo with a wince. 
     With a shift of levers, he tried again, and they were off.

----------

     That distinct antiseptic smell, the constant buzz of activity and
alarms, and the pseudo-sterile environment, it seemed strange to Ryan
that light years away from Earth, a hospital could still smell, sound and
feel so distinctly like a hospital.
     I wonder if the food is as bad?
     "Ryan!" Porter hissed.
     He looked up to see Porter studying Dickins intently. A slight
flickering of eyelids, a twitch of his lip, then his nose...His fingers
raised slowly to rub his face where a bruise darkened his cheek bone.
     "Dick?" Ryan whispered hopefully, glancing up at a monitor that
supposedly recorded brain wave activity, and was now assuming a pattern
different from the ones he had been staring at over the last couple
hours. He leaned closer, "Dick!"
     Heavy eyelids slowly lifted, gazing blearily at the two faces
staring down at him, trying to focus. Then Dickins blinked a couple times
and looked around, turning his head slightly from side to side. He closed
his eyes again, letting out an inhuman groan as his face twisted in
blatant misery.
     "Look at me!" Ryan hissed, grabbing his friend by the shoulders,
sitting him up, and shaking him.  "Look at me, goddammit!" 
     Dickins drew in a ragged breath as he opened his eyes once more. His
gaze darted around the Life Station, taking in the hulking Security
Officer guarding him from several feet away, before returning to his
friend.  "Can't be..." He closed his eyes tightly.  "How the hell could I
miss?"
     "You didn't miss. Their weapons have a stun setting.  Like a
supercharged taser," Ryan explained quietly, as Dickins opened his eyes
and shook his head in disbelief. "You scrambled your senses, but that's
about it."  He hoped. "Assuming you actually had any in the first place."

     "I can't go back there..." He glanced at the Black Shirt once again,
gripping Ryan's shirt and wringing it in his hands. "I can't."
     "You're not going back, Dick." Ryan vowed. "We're all in this
together." He had spoken to the 'protector' that Chameleon had hired for
both of them, wishing the man looked less like Ben Matlock because it was
a little distracting.  In any case, Pactus had stressed that Dickins had
clearly been non compos mentis when he had attacked several strangers and
had then turned a weapon on himself.  All they needed was a physician's
sworn statement to the same, and Dick would be cleared of all charges of
assault due to his state of mind.  Apparently, a psychiatric assessment
would be in his near future now that he was awake.
     "Wanna go home, Paddy." His hoarse voice broke like that of a small
child's. "One way or the other..."
     "Not that way."
     "I don't care anymore." 
     "Then I'll care enough for both of us, at least for now." Ryan
replied, refusing to drop the other's gaze. "And we'll get you home. I
promise. We're already on the way!"
     "Don't forget about me, guys," Porter interrupted, grabbing Dickins'
arm. "I'm an equal partner. So are Dayton and Baker."
     "Don't promise what you can't deliver," Dickins rasped, his eyes
shining with clarity as he looked between them.
     "Hey, we are going home." Porter leaned closer.  "Remember what
Dayton told you?  That his angel friend told him that he's supposed to
act as some kind of envoy with Earth when we arrive back home? And like I
said, we're already on the way. We're light years closer then ever, now."
     "Angel friend," Dickins sneered. "Where were the bloody angels for
the last thirty years, Jimmy?"
     "Playing ball in LA." Ryan returned.
     Porter frowned at him.
     Dickins cracked a smile, however slight. 
     "Never give up," Ryan reminded him. "Never say die. Never."
     "Came pretty damn close, Paddy..." Dickins reminded him hoarsely,
his eyes blank and unfocussed, and a tremor running through him.
     Ryan grabbed him behind the neck, pulling him in tight.  "Close only
counts in horseshoes and hand grenades."
     A muffled snort was his response.

---------
 
     As the sun rose higher in the sky, and the heat of the day seemed to
peak, it had become clear from the grumbles within the Cylon landram that
the occupants were cooking within the confines of the metal box.  After
all, Cylons had no need for re-circulating stale and hot air for the
benefit of the crew.  It seemed, however, that Starbuck and Boomer had
celebrated their air-conditioned vista for all of a centar when the sun
seemed to begin a downward plunge for the horizon as though it was part
of an offensive strike mission.  The temperature was also plunging
accordingly.
     "How are your optic sensors working?" Starbuck called back to Boomer
as he gripped the edge of the turret and squinted ahead into the
encroaching darkness with the pitiful glow of a handheld illuminator from
a survival pack.
     "What?" Boomer called back, then he grinned and shook his head. 
"Good point!" He called down the open gunner's hatch to Apollo, "We're
rapidly losing visibility up here!"
     "I lost it five minutes ago," Dayton murmured beside Apollo as he
gazed through the port. 
     Apollo rubbed his eyes wearily, "Well, there aren't any external
illuminators, or a functional scanner array for topographical analysis,
and the thermal imager and navigational systems don't look like they've
been in working order for yahrens..."
     "Not to mention half of them are toast, anyway," said Dayton,
looking at the panel. The explosion and fire in here had taken out a few
things.
     "Uhh...toast?" A vague recollection of it having a negative
connotation;
     "Burnt up. Ruined. From taking out the gun."
     "Ah. Understood," replied the Strike Captain.
     "We're hooped. Let's call it a day before we accidentally run off a
cliff." Baker concluded.
     "Sounds good," Luana agreed, stretching as the landram powered down.
     "We'll secure a perimeter and try out Wilker's new toy," Apollo
called out as they unloaded from the cramped space.  "We don't know the
extent of the Cylon forces, so keep your eyes peeled." He exchanged looks
with Dayton, and the Earthman grinned. Yeah, the Earth lingo was catching
on. "You can bet that their optic sensors work better than ours."
     "Can we risk a fire, Apollo?" Luana asked, checking her scanner. 
She swatted at her cheek as something brushed it.  "I admit that I'm not
sure that these Cylons could detect the heat or light from our fire, any
easier than they could pick up an energy reading on their own landram."
     "Gonna be a cold night, by the feel of it." Dayton added, accepting
a nutrient bar from Tone as he handed them out.  "Dinner.  Yum," he said
unenthusiastically. 
     "We haven't seen a Cylon in centars," Starbuck mentioned, grinning
as Boomer surprisingly handed him a fistful of Empyrean fumarellos from a
survival pack. "Hey, thanks!  Have I mentioned my undying respect and
affection for you, buddy?" 
     "Not nearly often enough," Boomer grinned, as he tossed Starbuck his
trademark ignitor and watched his friend attend to the fumarello with
consideration and attention more befitting a lover than a noxious plant. 
He rubbed his neck as something buzzed by his ear. "But hey, whose
keeping score? Compliments of your God-mother-out-law." Truthfully, he
had almost left them back on board the Galactica, but somehow he just
knew that Ama would find out...probably before he left.  He certainly
didn't want to get on the Necromancer's bad side.
     Starbuck nodded shortly, his smile slipping as he glanced at Luana. 
"What about that fire, Apollo?" He drew deeply on his fumarello, exhaling
through his nose.  "Seems like a good idea to me."
     Apollo felt a slight tingling on his hand, and brushed it against
his pants.  He watched Baker and Dayton swatting at their hairlines.  "I
have a feeling we're going to be eaten alive if we don't build a fire. 
Better keep it small though."
     "I'm on it." Luana spoke up.  "Dayton.  Baker. Why don't you help me
find some fuel?  Boomer and Starbuck can establish our perimeter, and
Apollo and Tone can start making camp."
     "Yes, maam," Dayton agreed with a smile at the Colonial captain.
     "Luana, are you sure..." Apollo touched her arm lightly, looking
enquiringly at Tone.
     "Captain!" Luana turned on him, startling him with the suddenness of
her movement.  "I'm fine and cleared for duty, just ask Tone." The med
tech nodded briskly, not daring to say otherwise in light of the young
woman's vehemence.  
     "Actually, Ensign..." Apollo began.
     "Captain Apollo, before you suggest that I make camp and hand out
nutrient bars, I want to remind you that I've spent most of my life
hunting and gathering for survival in an environment much like this one. 
I've already seen many plants and wildlife that are similar, and in some
cases identical, to what I'm familiar with on Empyrean.  Now, you guys
might like these nutrient bars, and if you're starving to death and have
no other choice then they're an acceptable alternative to real food, but
frankly I'm thinking that what we really deserve after a day of both
fleeing and fighting Cylons, is some roasted wild meat and freshly picked
greens seasoned with fresh oreganus." She kept her tone respectful,
simply trying to overcome his protective male instincts that were so
typical of Colonial men.
     Apollo swallowed the considerable amount of saliva that had pooled
in his mouth as she described their evening meal.  "As I was saying,
perhaps you could use some of your skills to catch some game..." He
chuckled at her answering smile.  "I'll just set up camp."
     "Yes, sir."
     
---------

     "It's a small matter, really," Uri said with a shrug of his
shoulders and a smile as he sat across from the other man. Dark wooden
furniture, shelves full of reference material, walls decorated with
certificates of merit, as well as contemporary art, it all contributed to
the fa‡ade of respectability and prestige and could be destroyed so
easily.
     "I...I can't," he replied, blinking furiously as he pushed his chair
back from his desk, and began pacing the room.  He pulled a handkerchief
from within his immaculate white robes, folding it meticulously into
quarters and glancing at the embossed golden 'C' on the corner, before
dabbing gingerly at his sweaty brow.
     "You can and you will." The former bureautician linked his fingers
and rested his hands on his chest as he followed the other's path, back
and forth, like a caged animal.  He smiled.
     "This is a man's life."
     "But not one of our men."
     "That has nothing to do with it, and you know it!"
     "Do I?" smiled Uri.
     "You don't..." the other tried to say.
     "I have three separate statements, whereby you've been accused of
sexually assaulting three very attractive female clients while they were
under the influence of hypno-therapy." Uri reminded him. "Really, Cordis.
Such behaviour!" Uri smiled again. The smile of the predator.
     He dropped his handkerchief, his hands shaking as he bent over to
retrieve it.  "It's a lie!  I would never do that!  It's immoral and
disgusting!  Besides, I'm a happily married man, for Sagan's sake. I have
a family, Sire Uri!"
     "I imagine they wouldn't be pleased to hear these accusations,
Cordis." Uri frowned.  "Especially with your wife being so...public with
her support of  women's issues." He stopped, chuckling softly at the
irony. "It will be a blow to her charitable society when her husband is
revealed as one of the monsters that she is trying to defend Colonial
women against."
     "But I'm innocent of those charges!" He gripped the handkerchief
tightly, shaking his head in denial.  "I swear!  Please, believe me!"
     Uri smiled pleasantly, reaching forward and picking up the holoptic
on the desk  An attractive, middle-aged woman and three teenagers-two
boys and a girl-smiled at him beatifically.  He looked back and forth
between the image and the man. "I do believe you, Cordis. I really do.
The real shame of it, of course, is that others won't.  Then the damage
will be done.  Public humiliation. Professional ruin. I'd be surprised if
you retained your family, never mind your practice, after all was said
and done."
     "But if I do this thing you ask..."
     "Then these accusations will never see the light of day, my dear
Cordis.  I give you my word." Uri offered the holoptic to the other as he
climbed to his feet.
     "And how...how can I trust you?" the other asked, almost a whimper.
     "You have no choice," replied Uri indifferently. "It is either one
way..." he smiled again, gesturing at the depositions, "or the other."
     "I need time...to think..." Cordis whispered, as he stared at the
trusting and loving faces of his family. Lords, one of the so-called
'victims' was his daughter's age!  How could anyone possibly even
think...
     "Take all the time you need, Doctor." Uri replied as he walked to
the door, then he turned and added, "As long as you've decided by the
time Captain Dickins is ready for his psychiatric evaluation." 

----------

     "She's going to try something," Baker whispered, looking around
surreptitiously as he piled another piece of dried wood on Dayton's
stack, while swatting at a blood sucking insect.  "I just know it."
     "Would you stop it." Dayton muttered, grunting under the weight of
the wood. "She's just a wisp of a girl.  What could she do?"
     "Well, she's the one carrying the crossbow, first off," Baker
pointed out.  Neither of them had heard of a crossbow being an integral
part of a military survival kit, but apparently since the Empyreans had
joined the Fleet, the kits had been augmented substantially.  As Boomer
had said, the days were gone where Colonial Warriors were expected to
crash land and survive with just a laser and good looks.  "And she
definitely owes us, Mark. And I get the feeling she's not the forgetting
sort." He laughed a bit. "I'll bet she'd fit right in, back in the
States." He switched to a very bad mobster accent. "Cause, like ya know,
revenge is a dish that is best served cold. Right?"
     Oh, Dayton had been thinking about that too. Ever since he had given
Baker the order to coldcock Luana and carry her into the forest when they
had first encountered the Cylon landram, he had known that anyone under
the influence of Ama would be plotting some kind of revenge.  No doubt
that was why she had suggested the two Earthmen join her to gather fuel,
while she set some snares and tracked some small game.  Either that, or
just get the two old fossils out of the way doing something suitably
primitive, while they set up their advanced scanner doohicky thingy.
     "Just keep alert and stop dramatizing," Dayton finally replied as he
adjusted his load. "You sound like my sister...Look, if she was plotting
some diabolical revenge, I get the idea she's not the sort to be anything
but direct."
     "Yeah, otherwise, Starbuck wouldn't be able to keep up." Baker
laughed.
     Dayton laughed as well, pausing when he felt that familiar tingling
at his ear.  He did his best to rub it against his shoulder with
difficulty, "Damn! What I wouldn't do for a can of Raid."
     "Remind me, Mark.  Am I watching for blood sucking insects, Cylons,
or Luana?" Baker chuckled quietly. In the distance, they could hear the
twang of Luana's crossbow.  
     "All three." Dayton replied with a grunt.

----------
 
     "Commander, Battlestar Pegasus approaching from the rear of the
Fleet.  Range...forty-four point eight. Shall I hail them, sir?" Omega
looked back at Adama.
     "No.  We'll wait for Commander Cain to hail us again when he's ready
to shuttle over. Lord knows what conditions they're working under." Adama
replied.
     "Uh...Commander," Tigh grimaced.  "Do they have a shuttle with which
to...shuttle over?"
     For a moment the rueful look on his Executive Officer's face almost
made him burst out laughing at the black humour of the situation. 
Apparently, they had both been at the helm for far too long this duty
shift. "I'm afraid...I don't know, Tigh." 
     "Commander, we've reached another snag with the Programmable Mobile
Units and the Dynamos." Rigel reported reluctantly.
     Adama sighed, "Yes?"
     "Well, sir, Dr. Wilker managed to increase their range-doubled it,
in fact-however, since doing so the Dynamos have shifted position..."
     "Thereby making the updated range, once again, inadequate," Tigh
supplied in frustration.
     "Yes, sir."
     "It's almost as if those blasted things know what we're thinking and
planning, Commander."
     "Given all the unknowns about their origin and technology, that
doesn't surprise me." Adama turned to regard the fidgety Empyrean. "Yes,
Ensign?"
     Ensign Lia jumped to her feet. "Sir, I'd like to volunteer to take
some of the newly modified PMU's out on a shuttle, and at their new
maximum established range, release them and guide them to the Dynamos." 
She shuffled from foot to foot, and chewed on her lip nervously as she
waited for his response. There really didn't seem to be any other viable
alternative. "I know there's some risk involved, sir, but we need to know
if we can get past that network, if indeed it's still operating as a
defensive system, and get down to the surface to retrieve our people.
Including my sister, Commander."
     "I haven't forgotten, Ensign." Adama nodded. "Tigh?"
     Tigh shook his head.  "We have to find out the extent of the Cylon
threat, Adama.  Ama did announce through the IFB that there's a Cylon
presence down there, and we're going to look like complete fools if we
can't deliver any further data on that several centars of supposed
reconnaissance later.  In fact, I'm expecting someone from the Council to
barge in here and demand answers any centon." 
     "Vipers." Adama amended, nodding.  "Two Vipers. They can react
quicker to any potential attack of the Dynamos. Tigh, have..." he looked
over at the current flight roster, "Lieutenant Jolly report to Alpha
Bay."
     "Yes, sir." Tigh replied, glancing in Lia's direction.  She'd been
pacing the Bridge like a caged leon since the rescue mission had
launched.
     "Ensign Lia," Adama added with a slight smile. "You'd better hurry
if you're going to join him."
     "Yes, sir!  Thank you, Commander!" She raced off the Bridge.

----------

     "Ready?" Boomer spoke into his communicator.
     "Ready." Starbuck replied, activating the controller as he took
another drag on his fumarello.  He glanced down, nodding in satisfaction
as he was able to bring up a graphic display of their perimeter, complete
with topographical details.  He switched screens, checking each of the
eight receiving stations, getting not only an analytical readout, but a
computer generated scan of the area. "How sensitive is this thing?" he
asked, certain that Boomer would be more aware of the limitations of
Wilker's latest invention.
     "As sensitive as we want it to be." Boomer replied, heading cross
country to rendezvous with his friend.  "It can detect bugs or Base
Ships."
     "Anything in between?" Starbuck asked ruefully as he juggled
communicator, controller and fumarello with ease.
     "See that big knob in the centre of the unit?"
     "You can see Dayton from your position?" Starbuck chuckled.  "That's
amazing." He reached for the rather conspicuous knob, turning it to the
right and watching the correlating effect on the display.  The refinement
was impressive and a small alarm pierced the night air as what appeared
to be a small mammal crossed through the connecting sensor beams.  He
swung the dial back to the left, and the alarm shut off in response.
     "I got that," Boomer told him.  "We'd better synchronize the
settings before we completely confuse the computer."
     "Well, I didn't make the briefing..." Starbuck pointed out, turning
his head slightly as he heard Boomer drawing closer.  He shone his
illuminator in that direction, giving the lieutenant something to follow.
     "Surprise, surprise." Boomer returned, raising his own light in
greeting.  "I see you.  Okay, adjust sensitivity to 0.765.  That should
detect Cylons and predators, without picking up breakfast."
     "0.765." 
     Starbuck waited for his friend to cross the ground between them. 
"Sure beats the old days at the Academy when you had to stay up half the
night taking turns standing guard.."
     Boomer smiled as he closed the distance between them.  The new
technology would be wonderful, if it worked.  Of course, they both knew
that Apollo would still insist on each of them patrolling the perimeter,
to ensure that it was functioning adequately. "They were trying to build
character."
     "They were trying to mentally and physically exhaust us so their
brain-washing would have a better chance at taking hold.  Five kilometron
runs, perpetual guard duty, snap inspections, parading in time around the
square..." He shuddered, before taking another comforting puff of his
fumarello.  It was a fine blend of Empyrean tobaccos.  "By the end of my
first secton, I knew that the real enemy-the one I'd have to learn to
overcome before I ever saw the inside of a fighter-was lint!" He
reflexively brushed at some dirt on his tunic as a series of endless
inspections came back to him.  What's that on you tunic, Cadet Starbuck? 
Lint?  Drop and give me twenty!
     "Of course, one has to have some 'character' to build upon..."
Boomer quipped, scratching vigorously at a bite beside his eye.  His
right eye was beginning to partially close in reaction to the swelling. 
"I remember that though.  My squad used to get up thirty centons early
every morning to go over each other's uniforms with a fine tooth comb. 
And  Sergeant Monitus would still find lint." He chuckled, shaking his
head at the utter absurdity of it all.  Thankfully, he hadn't worried
much about lint since surviving basic training, with the war going on and
all.  "So...how did you manage to overcome the evil lint?"
     Starbuck grinned.  "They issued us two uniforms and two sets of
fatigues.  One uniform I kept inspection ready; lint-free, pressed,
folded and sealed in a plastic bag in the bottom of my kit.  As soon as
inspection was done, I put the other one back on or changed into my
fatigues."  He had been regaled as a hero when he came up with the
solution, affording the squad an extra forty centons of sleep each
morning.  He chuckled in remembrance, pausing when he saw his friend's
swollen face.  "What the frack happened to you?  Looks like you sparred a
couple rounds with Ursus Major."
     "I'm still standing." Boomer replied, noticing a distinct lack of
corresponding bites on Starbuck.  "They aren't biting you?"
     "It always pays to be the least tasty human in the group, I always
say." He grinned, glancing at his fumarello and holding it up for
consideration.  "Do you think...?"
     "I'm willing to try anything." Boomer replied reaching for the
smouldering weed.

---------- 
 
     "Bring her around, Raetic. Let's show the Fleet our good side,"
Sheba commanded as they adjusted the Pegasus' approach to the Fleet,
deliberately concealing the worst of their extensive battle damage from
the civilian populace.  The small Bridge crew went about their duties
with enthusiasm and efficacy, and a steady stream of other authorized
personnel filtered in to get a look at what remained of the twelve
colonies of man.  This day had been a long time coming. Sheba glanced
over to communications, from the navigation station she was manning, not
quite prepared to contact the Galactica just yet. There was still
something which she needed to establish.
     For a moment, she had an attack of conscience.  No matter how she
could reason her way around it, she was still attempting to mislead
Commander Adama regarding Commander Cain's condition.  Everyone on the
Pegasus Bridge had seen their earlier pantomime, when Cain had spoken to
his former comrade, the topics carefully scripted and reviewed prior to
'show time'.  They all knew that Adama wouldn't tolerate a man in charge
of a battlestar who couldn't remember one moment to the next that his
Alpha Bay had been destroyed. He couldn't, with so many lives depending
on it. While Sheba couldn't fault the Galactica's Commander for that,
having interceded for that very reason, she also couldn't bear to see her
father relieved of command and his beloved battlestar once again,
especially when he was already dealing with his recently acquired
physical disabilities. However, she justified the short term subterfuge
by reasoning that Cain would make a full recovery once seen by Dr. Salik
and his injuries treated with the finest advances in medicine that
Colonial science had to offer.  In the meantime, she was perfectly
capable of assuming temporary command and getting the Pegasus restored to
her former glory. Or at the very least, battle ready. Granted, a few
scars on the old warship only seemed appropriate, considering the fact
that she had been blasting away at the Cylon Empire for centi-yahrens.
     "I feel a bit nervous," Flight Officer Raetic, recently
promoted-about eight centons previously-admitted.  He flashed a tentative
smile at his new CO, and ran a hand over closely cropped red hair. "The
last time we met up with the Fleet, we barely had a chance to blink
before we were back in the line of fire.  I didn't even get an
opportunity to see if anyone I knew survived the Destruction."  All too
serious blue eyes looked the Fleet over with a measure of curiosity and
restrained hope.
     Sheba nodded, noting that the freckles across his face, and his
slender build, made him look so much younger than his actual yahrens. 
Possibly a reason Cain had failed to promote him. "A lot of us were able
to contact old friends and family that we hadn't seen in yahrens,
Raetic." She still remembered doing innumerable searches on the
Galactica's database, looking for people that could have survived.  Her
datapad held a list which she had constantly updated as names and faces
came to her over the sectars after the Pegasus' disappearance.  She had
spent centars in front of a computer, though at times it had felt like
yahrens, searching for people in her time off.  It was a bittersweet
period as the joy of discovery vied for dominance with the despair of
loss.  Her list at last dwindled down to a final name, one she had added
as an afterthought. 
     Father.
     A low whistle drew her attention, and Sheba glanced back to see Roz,
Virtanen and Bojay entering the Bridge. Roz let out a deep breath,
pulling her long, black hair back off her neck as she stared out the
viewport.  Bojay hovered just behind her, not letting her get far from
reach.
     "We're there," Roz nodded wistfully, a glimmer of a smile on her
lips. "Finally. We made it."
     "Hey, don't sound so surprised," Bojay ventured, cocking his head to
the side and meeting her gaze as she turned to regard him solemnly.  
     "I guess you didn't notice, but I was out there pushing for the last
parsec." Virtanen grinned, before he noticed that Bojay and Roz were in
their own little world. 
     "There was a time, Bo..." Roz let her remark go unfinished as she
glanced uncomfortably at Sheba and then back at Bojay.  He nodded at her,
taking her hand tentatively and interlocking his fingers with hers. She
likewise took a step closer, and looked curiously up at him.  Then she
smiled, apparently liking what she saw.
     For a moment, Sheba felt strangely jealous at that unspoken
communication that seemed to pass between them.  She shook off the
irrational reaction, that Bojay was hers.  After all, they had been
strictly friends and wingmen since they had met.  Romance had never even
entered into the quotient. Roz and Bojay, however, had both done their
fair share of flirting before they had been separated by fate and war. 
Cain, unlike Adama, was rigid with fraternization rules. Extremely so.
Even a second glance could get a warrior, regardless of rank, condemned
to a sectar-long assignment of permanent graveyard shifts...and cold
turbo washes.  
     "It's okay, Roz. Don't feel you can't say it out loud." Sheba raised
her voice slightly, so all could hear her-not just those straining their
ears subtly in her direction.  "I can't pretend that I know what it's
been like for all of you since my father was injured, and so many of our
crew were killed in battle.  I wish I could have been here...but that's
probably just my ego trying to convince me that I could have made some
difference..." She smiled weakly, glancing at Bojay and seeing his
answering nod.  Yes, he wished he could have been here too.  You could
take the warrior off of the Pegasus, but you could never take the spirit
of the Pegasus out of her warriors. Or their allegiance to her Commander
after all the brutal, hard-fought light-yahrens behind them...
     "Well, speaking of Cain...you do come by that ego honestly enough,
Captain." Roz quipped, trying to lighten the mood.
     "The point is, you can make that difference now, Sheba." Bojay
nodded approvingly at the murmurs of agreement that affected the Bridge. 
There was no one more appropriate for command than the daughter of the
Juggernaut, at least not in their eyes.  Everyone on board knew that he
was grooming her for eventual command anyway, though most never saw him
ceding that role until he was stiff and cold...and even then grudgingly.
"The Pegasus is your ship now, at least until Commander Cain recovers. We
have the utmost faith that you'll do her, and us, proud."
     "Hear!  Hear!" Roz echoed, leading them all in chorus of several
more renditions before she leaned over to Bojay and asked, "So, are you
coming home then?"
     He smiled, "Would you like me to?"
     "Thinking about it..." Roz replied evasively.  
     "Captain Sheba, pardon my bluntness, but..." Raetic glanced around
the Bridge, letting the din die down, before continuing.  "How much are
you going to tell Commander Adama, ma'am?  I mean, we all need to be in
agreement on this, or at least coordinated with our stories." The flight
officer frowned, as he took a deep breath.  "If Adama knows just how bad
Commander Cain truly is, he might assume command of the Pegasus right out
from under you.  He'd probably put Colonel Tigh in command again." He
frowned, his intense dislike of that scenario evident.  "Don't get me
wrong, I have nothing personal against Colonel Tigh, either as a man or
as an officer, but...I guess I still have a bad taste in my mouth from
the last time Commander Adama relieved your father of duty." He frowned
even more. "You Viper pilots came awfully close to mutiny back then."
     "Yes, we did," Sheba agreed, pushing herself out from behind her
console.  She had been livid when she had found out that Adama had
dressed down Cain in front of a room of subordinate witnesses, and
relieved him of command.  After two yahrens of becoming a tight knit
group of warriors, fervently faithful to their commanding officer, they
had naturally stood their ground to support him during his humiliation. 
She glanced at Bojay, Roz and Virtanen.  They moved instinctively to join
her on the command level, letting her know they still would stand behind
her, no matter the consequences.
     "Is that what we're doing?" Raetic asked.  "Are we purposely
conspiring against Commander Adama in order to retain command of the
Pegasus in Commander Cain's name?"
     Sure, it probably needed to be said, but somehow Sheba didn't expect
the quiet, unassuming  Raetic to say it quite so succinctly.  Furtive
glances flew around the Bridge as people either held gazes, or avoided
them.  The air seemed to spark with intensity, as honour, integrity and
allegiance somehow mutated into conspiracy and mutiny. 
     Sheba walked forward, gripping the railing and looking out at her
crew.  From the corner of her eyes, she caught sight of a golden glint on
the deck near the viewport.  Behind her, she could feel the other pilots
fan out in a semi-circle behind her. "I believe by now you've all heard
of the Earthmen that we discovered four sectars ago, and their rescue,
along with hard data on Earth, from a pirate base.  Now..." She held
herself ramrod straight. "While most of us on the Pegasus were content to
simply fight the good fight, taking as many Cylons out with us along the
way as we possibly could, now we actually have a tangible goal worth
fighting for.  The survival of what remains of our people." She
hesitated, letting them absorb her words. "The Thirteenth Tribe is real,
Earth is real!  Every man, woman and child in the Fleet believes this." 
     Sheba was well aware that stories of Celestial Beings giving them a
course to Earth were difficult for the average Colonial to believe. 
Hades, there were times when she had convinced herself that she had
dreamed that entire sequence of events with Count Iblis and the Ship of
Lights.  While the 'evidence' conveniently supported Adama's quest of
faith, the actual discovery of living, breathing Earthmen had gone a long
way towards convincing the average citizen that they weren't being lead
down a fabricated flight path which justified their seemingly
never-ending journey. 
     Commander Dayton's words on more than one night in the Officer's
Club came to her now.  "If we're ever going to reach Earth, we must
ensure that the Cylons are either destroyed, or we've lost them for good. 
We cannot lead our ancient enemies to Earth, allowing them to wipe out
our last colony, our future, and the home of the Thirteenth Tribe." 
Sheba continued, walking down the steps, and towards the viewport where
she considered the stars for a moment, before she turned to face her crew
once more.  "So what we're actually doing, Raetic," she raised her voice
a little more, making eye contact and holding it momentarily with each
crew member as she spoke, "is we're rebuilding our ship and giving our
Commander time to rehabilitate, so we can once and for all, make sure
that the Cylon threat is eradicated.  That will be our trust.  For him. 
For the Fleet.  For the glory of all who carry the blood of Kobol!  We
must, we shall, see to it that the Cylons are defeated.  Annihilated for
all time and wiped from the face of the universe!" That same golden
glimmer caught her eye once again, and she bent down, reaching under a
station, surprised when Cain's swagger stick almost magically appeared in
her hand.  The last time she had seen it, it had laid abandoned in his
office.  Her office.  She stared at it a moment, feeling as though Cain
was with her now, at least in spirit. The words abruptly came to her, a
phrase that Cain had uttered time and time again over his career.  She
raised Cain's trademark stick high in the air, "Death to the Cylons!"
     "DEATH TO THE CYLONS!!"

----------

     "By-your-command."  
     Commander Malus turned around with something approaching
excitement...or perhaps new power cells.  "Speak, Centurion," he replied,
sounding like an eager Human.
     "The-second-landram-will-be-ready-by-midday-tomorrow.
We-have-also-detected-a-canner in-use."
     "A canner, Centurion?" A fluctuation of interest spiked in Malus'
brain as he computed this unlikelihood and the possible ramifications as
pertaining to this particular unit.  He toned it down before he blew a
circuit.  "Do you possibly mean a scanner?"
     "Yes-Commander." 
     Silence. 
     Malus waited. More silence. "Anything else, Centurion?" he asked, in
exasperation, noting the large dent on its right side and the exposed
wiring within.. 
     "Yes-Commander. It-does-not-emanate-from-a-ship-or-ground-vehicle.
It-appears-to-be-stationary."
     "Well, why didn't you say so before?" snapped Malus.
     "You-did-not-ask."
     "I did not...Oh, Imperious Leader! What did I do to...?"
     "I-have-no-data-on-any-interaction-with-Imperious-Leader. 
Such-communications-are-forbidden-unless..."
     "Shut up!"
     "I-do-no-compute-'shut-up'.  I-am-only-programmed-to-'shut-down'."
     "A salient point, Centurion.  Anything else?" Malus decided to
clarify before he was drawn into another round of stupidity. "About the
scanner emissions, I mean, Centurion."
    
"It-is-originating-approximately-fourteen-point-zero-six-kilometrons--
from-where-the-landram-last-reported-its-position."
     "I see. Anything else?"
     "Is-that-not-enough?"
     Malus paused, wondering if he had imagined it. Then, if it was even
possible for him to imagine it..."Anything else?"
     "Not-at-this-time."
     "Send out another foot patrol. Have them investigate, Centurion."
     "By-your-command."

----------

     Oh, Luana knew it was cruel and just a little bit evil, but all the
same, they really deserved it. A smile slowly spread across her face as
slung her crossbow over her shoulder.  She silently crept up behind the
two Earthmen who had been talking quietly, while steadily heading back
towards base with armloads of fuel for the fire. Occasionally, they
looked over a shoulder and checked their immediate vicinity, but she
could tell they hadn't spent much time in the wilderness-if their
exuberant reaction to the insectons was any indication-though Dayton had
long ago mentioned 'camping' with 'a cabin, a cooler and a two-four'. Of
course, given how they'd spent the last thirty yahrens...
     Now, the obvious choice would be a nice, throaty growl that denoted
something big and vicious.  A mountain leon, perhaps, or possibly a
she-bruin who'd had a really bad day.  But then something that Ryan had
once said came to mind, so instead she leaned close to Dayton's ear
before letting loose with a sharp, "Boo!"
     Her instincts probably saved her from another blow to the face, when
she agilely ducked out of the way of Dayton's swinging branch just after
the rest of his firewood became airborne in all directions.  
     "JESUS H. CHRIST ON A RAFT!" he shouted, the stick still shaking in
his hand. "Dammit, Lu! You just about gave me a heart attack!" Dayton
snapped, ducking as a piece of wood hit him in the head on the way back
down. He dropped his 'weapon' and covered his head with both hands, wary
of any other falling debris as Baker lay on the ground gawking at the
Empyrean princess turned Colonial Warrior.  Baker had flailed wildly,
diving to the side when she had first startled them, and now his
shoulders were beginning to shake with mirth as he righted himself on his
knees. He was...laughing.
     Luana grinned as Baker's silent jocularity turned into something
approaching hysterics. More than anything else, it was Dayton's reaction
that was funny, as he stared between Lu and Baker incredulously.
     "Well, you got us, Luana," Baker wheezed, his face threatening to
split wide open as he continued to laugh and then lapsed back into
English. "She got us good, Mark. You should have seen your face, Dayton!
A couple of old warhorses like us, and she makes us look like
tenderfoots." He managed to compose his features for a brief moment, then
shouted out, "BOO!" again.  He collapsed back onto the ground, laughing
anew as he held his middle.
     "Is it really that funny?" Luana asked Dayton, with a smile of
bemusement as Baker's incoherent jabbers turned into peels of laughter .
     "Well," he glanced at his friend, shaking his head at the complete
lunatic and starting to retrieve the wood. "No. It's not that funny. But
it is funny." He held up his forefinger and thumb, allowing a small space
between them. "About that much." Then he smiled at the young woman,
before arranging a more serious expression on his features and
approaching the topic that had been hanging between them since earlier in
the day. "I never did tell you that I'm sorry for getting Baker to hit
you out there."
     "I'd noticed that," she replied evenly, setting down the line of
game she had caught. "Still waiting, actually."
     "Lord, you're one tough nut," Dayton told her with a snort. "You
see, the problem is that if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't
change a thing. I still would get you, Boomer, Tone and Baker to fall
back."
     Luana cocked her head, nodding slightly as she considered his words.
"I'm not asking you to apologize for taking me out of the action,
although how you did it might merit some consideration."
     "Then what do you want me to apologize for?" he asked after a
moment.
     "Underestimating me."
     "Underestimating?"
     "Precisely so, yes."
     "Go on."
     "You have this irrational need to protect me, Dayton.  Probably
because I'm a woman." She took a step closer to him, pulling herself up
on her tiptoes until she was looking in to his steely grey eyes.  "But
what you really don't understand is that I come from a planet where the
male population all died off.  I took care of myself and my people as a
hunter, trapper, and trouble shooter for a lot of yahrens before the
Colonials dropped in."  She poked him in the chest.  "I don't need or
want to be taken care of." 
     "How does Starbuck feel about that?" 
     Luana smiled, shaking her head, and taking a step back.  "You should
have seen us together, Dayton.  When the Cylons first surprised me and I
escaped and went to ground...then Starbuck ran back to the Vipers like
the demons from the lowest level of Hades hole were nipping at his
astrum...Lords, it was beautiful!"  She grinned, as she pictured it. 
"Covering each other, working as a team.  What a rush!" 
     "You almost died, Luana." Dayton reminded her. Such youthful
exuberance seldom survived war.  He told her as much.
     "If I have to go, then that's the way I want it to be," she averred,
seeing his eyes widen in surprise. "Really. And Starbuck trying to carry
me out of there with a broken ankle..." She shook her head.  "The kind of
courage and determination that took...I hope one day that I can say I
have that kind of courage."
     "Luana, Warrior Princess," he said monotone.
     "Are you mocking me, Dayton?" 
     "Hardly. One of the bravest things I've ever seen was the way you
struggled through all that rehab after being in a coma.  Cassiopeia told
me she's never seen such a determined patient before."
     "Amen to that!" Baker echoed, moving off to collect his scattered
wood.
     "So?"
     "So...maybe you're right.  Maybe I...underestimated you." Dayton
shrugged, then grimaced before adding, "And I'm sorry."
     "Thank you, Commander," she replied bemusedly as her lips twitched
in amusement.  It was obvious it was taking a great deal of willpower for
him to not to explain himself any further, or try to justify his point of
view. She tapped her comm unit. "Now should I call Tone and get you
something for your obvious pain?"   
     He shook his head ruefully. "Starbuck doesn't stand a chance. I
should warn him to run for the hills while there's still time."
     "Oh, there's plenty of time." She shrugged, seeing the warrior in
question striding towards them with a fumarello firmly clamped between
his teeth.  Oddly enough, Boomer was also sampling some of Empyrean's
finest. 
     "Well, speak of the Devil," muttered Dayton. "Eight sectars. Right?"
he asked, swatting at another bug who was intent on removing the entire
little finger on his right hand.
     "Uh, no. We've changed our minds," Luana replied, reaching down to
retrieve her line of avians and mammals.
     "You've WHAT?" Dayton asked incredulously, immediately glaring in
Starbuck's direction.
     "What?" Starbuck asked, with a curious look at Lu. "What did I
change my mind about?" Then a pained expression crossed his face, and he
groaned feebly, "Lu..." 
     "What?" Boomer echoed, as he stared at the outraged Dayton.
     "What?" Baker added, simply feeling left out.
     "We've changed our minds." She nodded at Starbuck.  "We're not
getting sealed."
     
Chapter Thirteen  

     Apparently, Starbuck's utter dismay was on his face for all to see,
as his fumarello almost dropped from where it dangled loosely between his
lips.  He'd had no clue whatsoever that Luana would choose this place, of
all places, to decide to come out and tell their friends that
she-correction, they-had changed their minds about getting sealed.  Now,
personally, he would have waited until they were safely back on the
Galactica...but then again, he was evidently more sensitive to the fact
that they already had Cylons trying to hunt them down and kill them, so
he really hadn't been prepared for any additional hostility to be
directed his way.
     Three sets of eyes, all turned on him, looking him over in varying
degrees of hostility and scepticism-oh, the temptation was almost
irresistible for Starbuck to throw his hands up in the air in surrender
and just walk away without saying a word.  Until he looked at Lu.
     Luana, for whatever reason, simply didn't get that.  She actually
looked relieved.  As if it was a huge weight that she needed to get off
her chest.  Damn the consequences, she would deal with them later.
     But Baker, Boomer and Dayton weren't looking at her...
     Baker, from behind his arm load of firewood, was regarding him with
mild disdain.  Well...to be fair, Starbuck didn't realize it was mild
until he looked at Boomer.  His good buddy was shaking his head not only
in disapproval, but in disappointment, his jaw set.  Yeah, it took all of
a micron to absorb his silent recriminations before Starbuck had to drop
his eyes, so he glanced over at Dayton.  
     Big mistake.
     "What part of 'don't screw this up, Starbuck' didn't you
understand?" The Commander drawled, his eyes narrowing.
    "Hey!" Starbuck raised a hand defensively.  "This really isn't
anybody's business, but mine and Lu's."
     Boomer threw up both hands, almost dropping the fumarello he held. 
"I didn't say a thing." His lips tightened and he did a one-eighty,
heading for base.
     "I just don't get you, Starbuck.  I thought..." Baker shrugged,
shook his head, and followed Boomer, swatting at another insect buzzing
by his ear as he grumbled, "Just my luck, I finally get planetside, and
it's worse than Florida for bleedin' mosquitoes."
     "Try this." Boomer passed him the fumarello as they moved away. 
"Believe it or not, it works."
     "Thanks."
     "I think I can figure out the mosc-kito, but what's Florida?" His
voice faded away.
     "Dayton, back off." Luana turned on the Earthman as the others
retreated.  "This was my choice.  I told Starbuck I wasn't ready to get
sealed.  He didn't suddenly decide to back out on me."
     Dayton sniffed humourlessly.  "I just have a hard time believing
that, sweetheart.  But it's admirable of you to try and defend him.
Really."
     "Well, it's true." She replied rapid fire as she glanced at her
lover.  "And frankly, I don't understand why you're taking it out on
him."
     "Maybe because of a certain reputation he has for lovin' and
leavin'..." Dayton replied wryly, arms crossed, and scowling at Starbuck.
     Starbuck blew out a breath of disbelief that after four sectars of
getting to know the Earthman, that this particular topic had finally
reared its ugly head on an isolated planet filled with Cylons.  Oh, it
had seemed too good to be true that Dayton could accept so graciously
that his precious Cassiopeia had recently been in a very intense, serious
relationship with Starbuck.  "Did it ever occur to you if I hadn't, you
wouldn't be with her now?"
     "Don't be too sure about that, Whipless." Dayton blustered.
     "Sagan sakes, it doesn't matter!  What is it about you two?  One
centon you act like father and son, and the next, you're at each other's
throats!" Luana intervened, glancing between the two men angrily. There
was a volatility to Starbuck and Dayton's relationship that no one seemed
to understand. 
     "Speaking of fathers, does Chameleon know about this?  How about
Adama? Or even Ama, for that matter?" Dayton inserted, an eyebrow raised
at Starbuck as he studied him critically.  "I can just imagine what
they'll have to say.  Not that anyone else's opinion evidently matters to
you."
     Starbuck met the angry grey eyes for a few microns, and the
accusation in them bore into his soul.  It took all the self-control he
had to return the stare coolly and reply evenly, "Evidently not."  
     Then he grabbed Luana by the hand, and headed back to base without a
backward glance.

----------

    "More news." Porter nudged Ryan, shaking him gently to rouse him from
his vigil over his friend.  He glanced at the sleeping Dickins, and then
inclined his head towards the door to the cubicle. 
     "Huh? Oh, I was just..."
     "Standing, or rather slouching, on guard for thee.  Yeah, I know.
I've got some news, Paddy." He whispered. "Bad."
     Ryan nodded, wiping tired eyes and rising slowly to follow.  He
stood aside as Porter gently started closing the door to the isolation
cubicle, getting a glower from the Security Officer for his efforts.
     "I'm pretty sure he won't make a break for it through the viewport."
Ryan said pointedly.  The Black Shirt glowered, but said nothing in
response.  Ryan allowed Porter to pull him a few feet away for privacy
before he turned towards his friend.
     Porter's face was deadly serious. "Colonel Tigh just commed from the
Galactica to let us know that the Endeavour went down."     
     Ryan didn't answer.  He waited.  There had to be more, otherwise
Porter wouldn't be holding it together so well.  Still, his chest hitched
in anticipation. Finally, "How...how bad?"
     "He wouldn't give me all the details, but did say that Baker
radioed, or whatever they call it, to say they all made it down in one
piece." He squeezed Ryan's shoulder. "They ran into Cylons down there,
but the details are spotty. Or at least they aren't sharing.  You know
that Ama was on the IFB talking about Cylons being down there."
     Ryan nodded again.
     "What do you make of it all?" Porter asked.
     "Are they sending a rescue team?" Ryan returned.  "The Commander's
son is part of that team.  That has to count for something."  Blood is
thicker than water.  History is thicker still.
     "Apollo's team was the rescue team." Porter pointed out.  "Tigh said
they're still waiting for more intelligence before they can send another
task force down there."
     "Then they are planning to send a task force?" Ryan asked.
     Porter shrugged.  "He couldn't tell me for sure. Said he'd keep us
posted."
     "Ah. And we all know what that means, don't we?"
     "Yeah. Anywhere you go in the galaxy, it seems some things never
change. So, what do you think we should...?" He let the sentence hang.
     Ryan nodded, looking back at the cubicle door.  "If we have to..."
     Porter nodded, and shook his head.  "Only if we have to, Paddy. 
Better start thinking about how we'd do that."
     "I already am."

----------

    Lia slowed her step as she approached her Viper. Jolly was already
waiting for her, leaning against his bird and thoughtfully stroking his
moustache as he watched the hangar crew trying to secure Wilker's
Portable Mobility Unit..  He pushed off his fighter with a sigh, and
walked towards her, a frown on his lips.
     "Let's talk," he said.
     Lia paused, looking at the stocky warrior curiously as he came to a
stop before her.  He planted his feet, like a man with a mission, then
crossed his arms over his chest before expelling a deep breath.  
     "What do you mean, Jolly?" 
     "How are you holding up, Lia?" 
     "Fine," she reassured him, just glad to be finally doing something. 
Standing by uselessly on the Bridge had been informative, but
frustrating.  She just wasn't built to sit idly by and watch, especially
after almost twenty yahrens of being an Empyrean Princess in training for
her role as  
Emperor. After a deca-yahren of being first in line to deal with the
responsibilities or problems concerning her people, albeit often with the
guidance of her parents or Ama, it was quite the comeuppance to be
downgraded to a lowly ensign in the Colonial Service.
     "Fine?"
     She nodded. "Yes. Just fine. Are we almost ready to launch?"
     Jolly put a hand on both of her slender shoulders.  "Lia, how could
you possibly be doing fine?" His words were soft, as he studied her
features searchingly.  There was no doubt that he was worried about her.
It was so typical of the affable man.  He had a habit of treating the
younger warriors with exaggerated care.  She'd even caught him acting
that way with Starbuck when he'd been released from Life Station after
Sire Dracus had tried to skewer him.  Then again, both Starbuck and Jolly
were orphans, so there seemed to be an unspoken bond of kinship-through
mutual histories and understanding-between the two.
     This was probably as close as she had ever stood to Jolly. There was
something so protective and compassionate about him as he stood over, his
kind, gentle eyes staring into hers. Almost like an older brother, or an
uncle.  Irrationally, it made her eyes well up with tears and she blinked
them back, determined she wouldn't show him any weakness.  Not before a
mission.
     She cleared her throat, "Jolly, we know that the Earth shuttle
picked up Lu and Starbuck, and that they were stable. When it crashed,
everyone made it out alive. That's good enough for me. They're alive,"
she replied soberly.
     "Look, Lia.  You're a good pilot. Hades, you've even out-flown me a
time or two!  But these Dynamos..."
     "Jolly..." Her voice broke and his mouth opened slightly, the way it
usually did when something surprised him.  He frowned and shook his head
as she swallowed the sudden lump in her throat.  "You know you're making
it worse."
     "Maybe I am, but I want to know that you're really up for this." He
lowered his head, if anything pulling her closer, ensuring they had
complete privacy and that he had her undivided attention.
     "I'm trained for this, Jolly. Just like the rest of you.  Fly my
Viper, blast the bad guys, save Humanity.  Starbuck trained me, for
Triquetra's sake," Lia returned, sparing a look past him at the hangar
crew.
     "Which is exactly why we're having this conversation." Jolly's lips
quirked.  "Now you know I love him like a kinsman, but he tends to leave
an imprint on his cadets. He says one thing, but almost always does
another. Usually, the exact opposite. Eventually, people notice."
     "Jolly, I swear, I'll listen to every word you say.  C'mon, I think
I've established a reputation for following orders," she replied...then
she thought about how she had once manipulated Apollo into letting her-a
relative greenhorn-join the rescue mission to Alrin. Then again this very
day, she had accosted the Strike Captain in the corridor outside Adama's
office, trying to do the same, but this time without success. However,
she wasn't sure she could blame that on Starbuck.
     "I'm not talking about your record. That speaks for itself.  I'm
talking about your inclinations." Jolly replied.  "I've seen it with
Luana as well, Lia.  Now granted, you two are subjected to a higher
concentration of Starbuck than the average impressionable ensign. 
However, I need to know that you will not hesitate to follow orders out
there. These Dynamos wield so much energy-energies we don't really
understand-they have the ability to destroy the Fleet. We have to
approach them carefully."
     "I know. I promise, I won't let you down.  I don't fool around in a
Viper, Jolly.  You should know that by now.  You've flown enough patrols
with me to have figured that out." Jolly, Boomer, Apollo, Starbuck,
Giles, Greenbean, Dietra, she'd flown countless patrols with all of Blue
Squadron, logging her flight centars and honing her skills amongst some
of the most respected pilots on the Battlestar.  She's always been
dedicated and responsible, but flying among the best would turn her into
a better pilot than she could ever imagine.  She knew she had a guardian
angel taking care of her-it just never occurred to her that he would end
up being embodied in a brash, fumarello-smoking, fun-loving Colonial
Warrior that her people still believed was their saviour, as predicted by
a long dead Prophet, the Great Kaula.
     Jolly sighed again.  "Yeah, I know.  I'm just worried about you,
Lia.  You've been through an awful lot since you joined the Fleet.  This
Colonial Warrior stuff isn't exactly on the average Princess portfolio."
     Lia groaned, looking to her ship where the hangar crew was finishing
up securing her PMU, before looking back at Jolly.  "Please tell me you
don't actually think of me as a Princess." She grimaced and shook her
head in disdain.
     "Well, admittedly, I haven't known many princesses..." Jolly replied
looking at her haltingly, then his face flushed and he let her go, taking
a step back. He glanced back at her, and then at his chrono, followed by
his boots.  He brushed something off his pants, then rested his hand on
his weapon, sighing and checking out his ship once again.  "...I...uh..."
     "Jolly?" Lia asked in confusion.  One minute he's bawling her out
about how Starbuck could be possibly influencing her, and the next
he's...She wasn't exactly sure what he was doing.
    "Well, I just think that..." He winced, running a hand over his jaw
and stroking his moustache again, before turning back towards his ship. 
He slapped his thigh with his helmet. "Ah, Sagan...I'm no good at..."
     "Jolly?" Lia asked.  Abruptly, she realized that this man who had
befriended her, treating her like a kid sister-or so she thought-was
actually attracted to her.  Jolly? And for the first time in her life-at
least since admitting to herself that she had a small crush on Apollo
some sectars back-she was more than slightly curious about how this might
turn out.
     "Never mind," he replied over his shoulder, heading for his ship.
"Starbuck would kill me anyway."
     She launched herself after him, grabbing his arm, and trying to stop
him. "Kill you for what? What on Empyrean are you talking about?" she
asked, looking up into a face that was now bright red with acute
embarrassment.  
    "Just forget it, Lia." He shook his head, as though a shudder was
passing through him, continuing to press on towards his fighter. "We have
a mission.  And Colonel Tigh will have my astrum for a footrest if we're
late launching."
    She managed to get in front of him, though how, she wasn't sure, as
she speed-walked backwards, realizing they must look as though they were
performing some strange dance or mating ritual.  Lia planted both hands
on his chest and pushed hard, determined to get him to talk to her.  He'd
either have to barrel her over, or stop.  
     He stopped.
     "Tell me!" she pleaded with him, looking up into a face that was now
bewildered.  His mouth had once again dropped open, and his eyes were
opened wide, as he studied her features. "Please, Jolly."
     "Lia, I'm not good with words." He winced, his reluctance clear,
then he again averted his gaze, his attention flickering haphazardly
around the launch bay as though he could somehow escape this discussion. 
     "What words?" She smiled to soften her remark, then she reached up
ever so gently stroking his cheek with her hand.
     His blinked.  Then he smiled at her hesitantly, almost shyly,
encouraged by her touch.  "I just thought that...well, if I ever met a
princess..." He seemed to take a moment to think about his choice of
words, "...that she'd look like you do." He held her eyes for a moment,
then winced ever so slightly, as though he was unsatisfied with his
attempt.  
     "How do you feel about her flying a Viper and carrying a laser?" She
returned with a gentle smile.
     "Oh, I don't mind that." He smiled again, this time easier. "So long
as she doesn't shoot me with it."  More Jolly.
     "Glad to hear it, because I kind of traded in my tiara." She
quipped, never having laid eyes on such riches in her life.  
     "But you're still a princess." He pointed out.
     "And you're a prince of a guy, Jolly," Lia admitted shyly, before
dropping his gaze and awkwardly looking back towards their ships. 
Suddenly, she felt as foolish as he obviously had the moment before. 
Granted, her experience with romance was limited to watching the IFB and
inadvertently listening to the odd off-coloured tale of conquest amongst
her squadron mates in the OC.  Somehow she hadn't realized the early
stages of romance could be so...painful.  The Vipers looked loaded and
ready, and Jenny was standing there with hands on her hips, staring
intently in their direction, tapping her foot on the deck in time with
her finger on her chrono.  
     "Lia..."
     She looked back at him.  "Yes?"
     "When we get them all back here...back home safely.  Do you think
you'd maybe like to...have a drink with me?"  Then he chewed his lip
thoughtfully before adding,  "I mean, just with me."
     "I'd like that very much, Jolly."
     "So would I."

----------
     
     "Pegasus Shuttle requesting permission to land." 
     "Permission granted, Pegasus Shuttle."  It was Athena's voice, over
her commline. "Proceed to landing bay Alpha."
     "Acknowledged, Alpha Bay."
     This was it. Sheba took a deep breath, glancing at Bojay beside her. 
Her mind was so full of incidental details that it felt as though it
would explode.  Excitement at reuniting two old friends and cohorts, vied
with worry about her father's health-physical as well as mental-as she
glanced back at Cain, noting he was still hovering behind them. 
Typically, he was watching their approach to the Galactica.  "Father, you
should sit down.  We'll be on approach in a centon." Despite her tension,
she kept her voice sounding light.
     "I know that," he replied matter-of-factly, his features unreadable
as he stood there. Then he turned, slowly taking a seat on the command
dais behind them, where he could observe and give orders as needed. 
"Bojay, have the flight crew run a diagnostic on the reaction mass
generator before we return to the Pegasus.  I sensed some hesitation on
takeoff."
     Bojay raised his eyebrows, glancing at Sheba who nodded. "Yes, sir."
     Within centons they were on board the Galactica and taxiing to a
berth. Cain remained seated, until the ship was through powering down. 
Through the ports, Sheba could see Adama crossing the landing bay to once
again witness the miraculous return of a great military hero.  No doubt
an honour guard would be assembling outside the shuttle.
     "Let's get this daggit and equus show over with," Cain quipped,
rising slowly, and, to Sheba's eye, somewhat painfully.  She had to
resist the impulse to reach out and take hold of his arm.  He climbed to
his feet, and made his way to the hatch.  Leaning heavily on his cane, he
paused for a moment before taking a deep breath, straightening his spine,
and crossing the threshold.
     Sheba was right on his heels and she swallowed a lump in her throat,
as cheers and whistles at the first glance of Cain's familiar gold
brocade flight jacket quickly subsided when the Galactica's crew took
their first good look at the Juggernaut.  He paused on the platform, as
though he was letting them get used to the idea, before he slowly moved
forward a couple steps, pausing again at the edge. The usual drag of his
right leg was less pronounced than usual, and she could tell from the
look on his face that it was because he was concentrating all of his
energies to appear more like his old self.  She held her breath, not even
sure he could manage the obstacle of a couple stairs.  She was tempted
again to rush to his side, and take his arm, but knew he wouldn't
appreciate her stressing his physical limitations.
     Adama took the steps quickly, preventing the need for Cain to
descend them before an audience.  Cain took a hesitant step back as Adama
gripped his stiff right arm formally.
     "You did it again, Cain. Thank the Lords of Kobol! Against all the
odds, you did it again!" Adama smiled warmly, not releasing his grip on
the other.
     "Well, I have a reputation to uphold, Adama," Cain replied with a
half-smile.  "Something we're going to have to discuss further, my
friend.  Any word on your rescue party? Your son?"
     "Nothing new," Adama replied, shaking his head slightly.  "Two
Vipers just launched.  Dr. Wilker designed some portable mobilization
units which we're going to use to probe the Dynamo network to see if it's
still acting as a defence system now that they've stopped emitting any
detectable wavelons."
     "Good." Cain nodded approvingly.  "I want to know where those
gollmonging Cylons came from, what they're doing there, how long they've
been there..." He looked out at the onlookers and rose his voice ever so
slightly, "and what sound their base makes when we blow it to Hades
Hole." Several nearby crewmembers laughed, and both Sheba and Bojay
couldn't help but smile. That sounded like her father!
     "Let's not jump the gun, old friend," Adama smiled at the familiar
Cain bravado.  "I believe there is much to be learned on this planet,
aside from why it's crawling with Cylons. May the Lords give us that
chance.  Come.  Let's go back to the War Room and I'll brief you on
everything that's happened. We have a lot of catching up to do."
     "Alright, Adama.  As long as there's a flagon of ambrosa to pass
back and forth, I'm willing to cool my thrusters." He smiled tolerantly.
     "You also have an appointment in the Life Station," Sheba pointed
out.
     "One thing at a time, Captain." Cain looked back at her in apparent
amusement as he moved slowly down the stairs, leaning slightly on Adama. 
"We're not in battle yet."
     Sheba frowned, and looked at Bojay. He shrugged, and fell in behind
them.
     "It almost feels like the last time we rendezvoused with the
Galactica." he whispered to her.
     "Yes." She nodded soberly.  "But it's not."
     
----------

     The fire was small but merry, and certainly enough to keep them
warm, and to cook the game that Luana had caught. Apollo and Tone had
emptied the survival packs, and quickly set up camp, while awaiting the
others.
     "Lords of Kobol, save me..." Apollo sputtered as he inhaled the
noxious fumes of Boomer's fumarello, and passed it over to the med tech
across the fire. He coughed a few times, before he noticed Boomer and
Baker chuckling at him in amusement.  And God knew they could all use
some amusement about now, after the latest news of the disintegration of
Starbuck's engagement.  "You're sure this works?" he asked doubtfully.
     "I haven't had another bite since Starbuck gave me a drag of his
smoke," Boomer reassured him.  "I don't know if it's the fumes, or some
kind of chemical that very quickly ends up in the blood stream, but I
swear our fumarello smoking friend doesn't have a single bite on him." 
     "I can vouch for that." Baker added, chuckling as he looked at the
numerous white dots of ointment that covered Apollo and Tone's exposed
pieces of tissue. He took another drag on his cheroot. "Man, give me the
address and phone number of your tobacconist. Please!"
     "They're Empyrean." Boomer told him.
     "Ahh!"  Baker savoured the smoke a moment. "What is..." He flicked a
finger against his own face to indicate their war paint, "the goo?"
     "Goo?" Tone asked, then grimaced as he puffed tentatively on the
smoke.  "Salve. It has anti-inflammatory and antiseptic properties, as
well as a local anaesthetic."
     "Gets rid of the itch," Apollo summarized seeing Baker's hesitant
look.  He was personally amazed at how well the other was doing with
improving his grasp of Colonial Standard since he had joined the Fleet. 
Necessity was obviously a good motivator. 
     "Well, then, fist me the goo." Baker nodded, watching Tone
tentatively put his lips on the fumarello again as he reached into his
jacket and pulled out the salve.
     "You have to suck on it to get it into your mouth, Tone.  Not just
lick the tip," Boomer groused, watching the other's sad attempt.
     "Uhh...well, I never tried before. My parents didn't believe in
smoking."
     "Bummer," said Baker.
     "Boomer." The lieutenant corrected him.
     Tone tried yet again, mimicking Apollo's example and he coughed as
the fumes went straight to his lungs.  "These things are really bad for
you, you know. They should be illegal, with all the medical conditions
they cause or exacerbate."
     "That's for damn sure," Boomer agreed wryly.  "I can't help but
wonder if somehow Ama knew we were going to be needing it. Now hand it
over."
     "I feel like a teenager, dangling out with my friends, smoking a
little weed..." Baker smiled, watching Boomer take another drag and pass
it to him.  
     "Weed?" Apollo asked.
     "Uh...crock." They looked at him. "Uhh, nowhere mind.  Just a phaser
I went through a long time ago." Baker lowered his eyes, shifting from
foot to foot as the others looked at him curiously.  
     "Phase." Boomer corrected him, wondering what a 'phaser' was, if
anything. Sounded kind of dangerous.
     Baker shifted his gaze, grinning abruptly and pointing, "Oh, look,
here climaxes Starbuck and Luana." 
     "Dinner's here, boys!" Luana grinned at them, holding up the
impressive line of small game she had caught.
     "Great! I'm starving," Apollo smiled at her, and noticing her
holding tightly to Starbuck's hand, which boded confusingly well if they
had decided not to get sealed.  Only Starbuck.  "I heard you did well."
     "Three avians that look like our Speckled Grousson back home, and
four mammals that remind me of a smaller species of our Black-Backed
Bobaks." She elaborated on the various species as they came over to the
fire.  Luana slipped her hand free of Starbuck's and set down her catch. 
"Nice fire."
     "Thanks." Baker said. "A small pine pitch will slave miracles."
     "Uhh," groaned Boomer.  
     "How's the ankle, Starbuck?" Tone asked.
     "Good as new." 
     "Bucko, where's your stash?" Boomer asked, holding up the fumarello.
     A flicker of a smile crossed Starbuck's features when he saw them
passing Boomer's smoke around.  "What was that you said about 'sometimes
a fumarello is just a fumarello'?" he asked Apollo.
     "And sometimes it's great insecton repellent, apparently," Apollo
chuckled, as Starbuck pulled his remaining stash from his pocket.  
     The lieutenant studied them regrettably for a moment, before handing
them around.  He hesitated and looked at Lu, "Do you want one?"
     "Actually, the insectons haven't been bothering me. Guess it's my
Empyrean Blood," she winked at him. "They're probably afraid of me."
     "Yeah," said Starbuck. "They suck any of that royal blood, and they
know Ama will be after them."
     "With that cross bow, and your collection of dead varmints, I'd be
afraid too." Tone quipped. "What did you do with Commander Dayton?"
     "I believe he was collecting the firewood he...dropped," Luana
replied, glancing at Baker for a moment. The other started chortling
quietly to himself.  "I'm going to need something to cook these with."
She pulled her blade from her boot and kneeled down. Within a centon she
was deftly skinning the mammals. "Anyone want to help?" She smiled up at
them.
     "I notice she's very adept with knives and other weapons," Baker
mentioned aside to Starbuck.  "Not exactly a Disney princess, huh?"
     "A diz...?" Starbuck shrugged.  "She's...very handy to have around,"
He replied, sighing as Baker looked at him questioningly.  "I...uh...I'm
gonna go do a quick check of the sensors.  Just make sure everything's
functioning properly." He walked away briskly.
     Luana paused what she was doing looking wistfully after him.
     "I think I'll go with him. It would be just his luck to fall through
a sinkhole and land in the middle of that Cylon Base." Apollo spoke up as
he watched his friend beat a hasty retreat.
     "Well if he does, hopefully they design them the same way they do
their Base Ships," chuckled Luana. "At least he'll know his way around."
     "Yeah, he's the only warrior I know who has been aboard two Cylon
Base Stars, and is still around to tell the tales." Apollo mused.
     "So, you think it could be underground?  That's why we didn't pick
it up on our scanners?" Boomer asked.
     "Possibly," Apollo nodded, pausing to grab a twig from the fire, and
holding it to the end of his recently acquired 'insecton repellent'.  He
sucked on it as he'd seen Starbuck do at least a thousand times before,
but it didn't seem to ignite.  "Frack, what am I doing wrong?"
     "You're supposed to use an ignitor, and rotate the fumarello as you
puff on it...never mind. Here, take this one." Boomer handed him another. 
"And go."

Chapter Fourteen

     Apollo caught up with Starbuck just short of the first sensor
module. If it wasn't for the minute glow at the end of his fumarello, and
the dappled moonlight shining down on him, he might have missed him
entirely, his friend was standing so still.  The captain paused for a
moment from a distance, taking a deep breath and drawing in the fresh
air, instead of the pungent pollutant he had been steadily puffing on, in
an all out attempt to repel the attack of blood-sucking insectons. 
Admittedly, it did seem to be working, certainly better than any
repellent he'd ever used. He cocked his head to the side, watching
Starbuck for a moment.  Contrary to his claim, the lieutenant hadn't even
looked at Dr. Wilker's electronic perimeter guard, at least not that he
was aware of.  He simply stared across a dark field, where the wind
gently blew tall grasses that they could hear better than see beneath a
dull lunar glow.  Apollo shifted a centon later, beginning to feel as
though he was spying on the other, yet somehow reluctant to interrupt his
solitude.  
     Instinctively, Starbuck pivoted, his weapon abruptly in his hand.
"Who's there?"
     The captain raised his illuminator, increasing its beam and shining
it on himself. "Just me." He moved forward slowly as Starbuck lowered his
laser, and re-holstered it.  "I thought you might want some company."
     Starbuck merely nodded, turning back towards whatever it was he was
studying so intently, his gaze fanning the landscape lazily.  Apollo
stopped beside him, extinguishing his light, and he scanned the area for
potential points of tactical weakness and strength for both them, and the
enemy. For a moment he wondered if he would ever be able to face nature
so pristine, and not have to think about where the next Cylon was hiding.
If he could ever just run carelessly through a field such as this one,
holding his son's hand, or maybe Sheba's, and not have to think about
survival, fate, the enemy, or where danger was most likely to be lurking. 
Finally, he simply took another breath of cool, crisp air, redolent with
both familiar and unfamiliar scents. "What are you looking for?"
     "Peace."
     Well, he wasn't sure what he expected, but that definitely wasn't
it. "Did you find it?"
     Starbuck sniffed humourlessly. "You know, I finally realized...I
don't think I'd recognize it." His blue eyes looked up to the stars.  He
nodded slowly and the hint of a smile settled on his lips as he tilted
his head back. For a long moment, they just looked at the vast, glowing
splash of stars that arced like some impossible canopy across the sky. "I
guess up there is the closest I've come, really. I wonder how close
freedom is to peace?"
     "You find freedom up there?"
     It took him almost a full centon to respond as he appeared to
consider it. "Yeah."
     Apollo nodded slowly. "Me too."
     There was something almost intoxicating about being in space. One
man, alone in his ship, and in every other direction, every which
way...infinity. Of coarse, just when you had fooled yourself into
believing and enjoying that, then the static of your comm unit stirred
you from your reverie as your wingman, and your computer, warned you of
targets on the scanner array. All on their way to kill you.
     "She doesn't want to get sealed." It was a whisper, barely audible
above the wind through the grass, or the distant sound of a lazily
burbling stream. "She just...doesn't want to get sealed."
     Apollo nodded, watching Starbuck's eyes continue to rake the night
sky.  They looked unusually bright, until he blinked several times and
let out a long, haggard breath.  Then he closed his eyes tightly, his
hands curled into fists.
     "You do," Apollo stated softly.
     Starbuck slowly nodded, turning his head the other way and casually
rubbing his eyes before he answered. "Pretty frackin' funny, huh? 
Considering."
     Apollo reached over and squeezed his shoulder.  Never before had he
seen such naked vulnerability displayed so openly from this man, other
than when he had found out that Apollo was running a background check on
Chameleon.  Then his feelings had been masked by an uncharacteristic
rage.  "She just needs time."
     Starbuck raked his fingers back through his hair. "Yeah.  Time."
     "What are you going to do?" Apollo asked, dropping his hand and
waiting patiently for his friend to think about it.
     "What can I do?" He shook his head faintly and shrugged.  "Give her
time, I guess."
     "And in the meantime everybody in the Fleet is going to be giving
you grief about this," Apollo mentioned, bemused by the irony, but
impressed that Starbuck had finally grown up, or so it appeared.
     "Believe me, some have already started," Starbuck shrugged again,
then looked searchingly at his friend.  "So.  What do you think it would
take to get us couple's quarters?"
     Apollo groaned.  "You know that Adama won't approve