Battlestar Galactica: Liberation 
Virtual Season 5, Episode 6
By Senmut

 
With thanks to our very own Eppadious Leader, and the inestimable touch
of Queen Zaz.
==========================
None of these characters belong to me, sadly, but I will promise to play
nice with them.
Mostly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From The Adama Journals

     At present, the situation inside the Fleet is one of an uneasy
stasis.  Owing to the maintenance survey and repairs necessitated by the
recent matter of the freighter Paz Goria, we have been stopped for some
time in a solar system of several planets, all uninhabited but each with
some resources that allowed us to replenish our supplies as we conducted
maintenance checks of numerous ships in the Fleet.  I would have
preferred to put more distance between us and the Risik frontier, but it
would seem our enemy of more recent times is no longer a threat to us,
and so we 've been able to take the time we needed to complete our work. 
Final operations were closed down yesterday.
    If we face no external threat at this time, a budding threat from
within is clearly growing.  The sentiments of Sire Xaviar that we should
"turn back" and join the Pegasus in their journey homeward to take part
in the Resistance effort in the Colonies are gaining traction.  Not a
majority sentiment by any means, but nonetheless a growing faction that
cannot be disregarded......and which may not take defeat on the subject
with good grace.  I sense this because the emotions of these people are
emotions I struggle with on a daily basis as the one person more dear to
me than all others in the Universe is part of that movement going in the
opposite direction from us.  My beloved Ila.  Even though we have traded
multiple messages and letters with each other since contact was
established, the ache within me to have her by my side again, and to feel
her gentle touch is palpable.  And yet.....I must remain strong and true
to what is my destiny as surely as she must remain true to hers.  We dare
not ever show weakness to each other when we find precious time to make
contact.
     The Fleet Intelligence Unit under Major Croft continues to put
together their report on the dangers of turning back that they plan on
submitting to the Council within the next two sectans or less.  It is my
hope their thorough analysis will help put an end to Sire Xaviar's
budding crusade.  Xaviar is not a corrupt or ruthless man and if he can
be convinced, then the movement will no longer have an effective
spokesman.  Even Siress Lydia knows this "Turn Back" movement she's
hitched her wagon to can only succeed if Xaviar is at the head of it. 
After undertaking her brazen and treasonous actions in the Charka affair
(which I must unfortunately keep silent about as there is no way of ever
exposing her crimes without compromising the true identity of Academician
Sarah), she has clearly returned to a more measured and methodical
approach of challenging me, and for that, she needs Xaviar.
     For now.....life goes on for us.  The Fleet has resumed its journey
and with it, our long-range advance patrols have resumed as well. 
Appropriately, this resumption also marks the day one of our most
important warriors finally returns to active flight duty.

Prologue 

     "I still have trouble believing it," said Bojay, looking to his
left, at the fighter in formation with him. "And I've known him ever
since we met at the Academy."
     "Aye, it does seem a bit out of character fer the lad," replied
Croad, Bojay's wingman, and refugee from the long-forgotten Proteus
Prison. As always, Croad was flying his old, pre-Viper fighter, which
he'd flown up from Proteus when they were all rescued by the Galactica.
Upgraded and maintained, it was still an effective craft, despite having
only two engines instead of the Viper's three power plants, and Commander
Adama had given permission for it to remain in use, declaring that, given
their situation, no fighter was superfluous. "I wouldn't have thought of
him as the type to ever settle down." The old Enforcer chuckled. "Not
with one woman, anyway."
     "But he has," said Bojay, back in a cockpit for the first time since
requalifying, following his near-fatal accident and surgical implantation
of prosthetic limbs. Although of Cylon origin, the new legs and one arm
had proven to be quite serviceable, smoothly integrating into his normal
Human anatomy and nervous system. And Bojay relished getting back into a
Viper. "I guess it happens, even to the Starbucks of life."
     "Aye," said Croad. "The Age of Miracles is not passed, it would
seem." They both chuckled.
     They were, of course, discussing the recent sealing of Starbuck,
with Cassiopeia. In a move that surprised not a few in the Fleet,
Starbuck had finally decided it was time, as he put it, "to act my age,
and grow up a little." After a great many jawbones were lifted up off the
nearest floors, and damage to the deck plates repaired, the event had
taken place in the Galactica Main Conference Hall.  A grand occasion, of
course, and broadcast Fleet-wide, over the IFB. Slightly disappointed
that he would not be best man (that honor had gone, to the surprise of
few, to Captain Apollo), Bojay had nonetheless salved his disappointment
by, with help from Starbuck's father, no less, making book on whether
Starbuck would get cold feet and back out, how long it would last, and
whether their first would be a boy or girl.
     Chameleon was very good at helping to calculate odds, he had
discovered. He chuckled, at the image of the old man, tabulating wagers
on his own son's wedding ("Lords, I see where he gets it!", Bojay had
exclaimed), when his panel beeped.
     "Fuel limit in ten centons," he said, all back to business. "Time to
turn around, Croad."
     "Aye, sir. Settin' course fer home. Turbos in..."
     Beep
     "Croad?"
     "Pickin' somethin' up on the scanners. Right ahead."
     "A ship?" asked Bojay, focusing his own scan suite in that
direction.
     "I dinna think so. Reads as verra small."
     "I have it, now. Sure is tiny. Smaller than a fighter, but..." Bojay
stopped, reading the scanner analysis.
     "I just hope it's none of those Risik vermin," said Croad. "I've had
about enough of them."
     "Me too," said Bojay. "But I don't think this is them. No indication
of any ships, at all."
     "We'll be on it in one centon," said Croad, "whatever it is."
     "We should be close enough to see something," said Bojay, squinting
into the darkness ahead. "But nothing." He looked down at his scanner, as
they slowed to a crawl. "There!"
     The object was there in front of them, caught in the lights of
Croad's ship. "Holy....!"
     "Lords of Kobol!" hissed Bojay. He stared at the object they had
found...
     As it stared back at him.
 
 Chapter One
 
     "I don't know," said Cedric Allen, late of Earth's Royal Australian
Navy, and now skipper of the Colonial warship Adelaide. "I just got a
call from the Galactica, to report to Commander Adama, and here you are."
     "Same with me," said Kevin Byrne, late of the United States Navy,
and one-time CAG aboard the aircraft carrier Constellation. "I was down
on the hangar deck, painting my ship, when he called. No clues?"
     "Not a one," replied Allen. "We just passed our Fleet inspection,
so..."
     He stopped, as the hatch to the LifeStation waiting room opened, and
Father Desmond Fisher,Church of England cleric, and one of the Human
refugees recently liberated from Risik captivity, was shown in by a
Security man.
     "Well, this is getting interesting," said the cleric, looking more
the part, now, that he had gotten the proper accoutrements fashioned by a
tailor aboard the Rising Star. "Two ship captains, and one peripatetic
cleric. Any idea what Commander Adama wants?"
     "We were just wondering that ourselves, Padre," said Byrne. "Just a
message to get over here lickety-split."  
     "Uh..lick...?"
     "Quickly," supplied Allen.
     "Ah. Well, I suppose we'll find out I short order," replied Fisher.
     "So, how does it look?" asked Byrne, twirling about like a fashion
model.
     "Looks quite...Colonial, Captain," said the priest. "When did you
get it?"
     "Delivered this morning, Padre. Ced?"
     "You look like a Yank with no fashion sense, Kev," said the Aussie,
deadpan.
     "You're a big fat help, Ced," sighed Byrne. "Remind me to have you
organize my next party."
     "Always happy to improve things, Kev." Inside, the Australian was
thinking how more relaxed his friend was compared to not long ago, when
he'd been in a slightly agitated state the morning after Adama's
announcement about the Pegasus and the Resistance movement.  He wondered
if Byrne had gotten over his paranoia about the prospect of the Fleet
turning back and abandoning the quest for Earth.  Or was it just being
submerged for now?
     "My apologies, keeping you waiting, gentlemen," said Adama,
entering. "Council business."
     "No problem, Commander," said Byrne.
     "No drama, sir," added Allen. They stood, and Adama motioned them
inside.
     "I take it you have something that needs our expertise, Commander?"
said Fisher.
     "Possibly," replied Adama. He looked at Byrne. "I see you have made
the transition, finally."
     "Yes, sir. Your Council's decision came down this morning, and well,
I can't say as I blame them." He looked down, at his new, crisply
tailored uniform, then at Fr. Fisher. "The Council ruled that any Earth
natives who choose to serve in the Colonial military in any capacity must
wear the appropriate Colonial uniform whenever we leave our own ships."
Fisher nodded. "And, after all, if I am to serve in the Colonial
Military, I should look the part. Your game, Commander. Your rules."
     "I see," said Adama. "And, I must say, I agree."
     "Not that I'll ever stop thinking of myself as an American in many
ways. Or a former Naval Officer. But as long as the current situation
stands, and we are part of this Fleet, I should wear the proper uniform."
     "Not bad," said Allen. "You put on some weight, Kev?"
     "Oh please!"
     Adama regarded the Earth Captain a moment longer.  He was now
wearing the Colonial uniform of a ship's Commander. The growing "Turn
Back" sentiment on the Council, headed by Sire Xaviar, had become
increasingly vocal on the matter of Earth refugees not assimilating
enough into Colonial Society.  At a recent meeting, both Xaviar and his
leading ally, Siress Lydia, had brought up the matter of the Earth
refugees who had military designations and assignments not wearing
Colonial uniforms.  That had led to a resolution insisting that Colonial
uniforms become standard for the Earth military members.  Which in turn
brought a protest from Sire Pelias and others that it was too much of an
imposition on the freed Earth prisoners from Ne'Chak given their recent
ordeal.  Finally, at Adama's urging, a compromise measure was passed that
mandated the Colonial Uniform for all duty that would take place off the
Constellation and Adelaide.  The Earth natives who were military could
still wear their own clothing aboard their own ships or when they were
formally off-duty and on furlon, but for any official duty that took them
to another ship in the Fleet, no exceptions would be permitted.  Adama
was pleased to see that Byrne had chosen not to protest the order, even
though the American was undoubtedly aware that his former lover and now
bitter enemy, Siress Lydia had been among those advocating it.  Clearly,
Byrne recognized that accepting this point would perhaps defuse any
underlying resentments that could make the "Turn Back" movement gain in
strength.  
     "Looks quite dashing," said Fisher.
     "Thanks, Padre."
     "Anyway, gentlemen." He took them into the autopsy room, where both
Salik and Wilker were already waiting. There, laying on the table before
them was...
     "Fair suck of the sav!" hissed Allen. "Where in God's heaven did you
find this?"
     "Out in space," replied Adama, deciding he'd ask about the doubtless
caustic Earthism later. "Bojay and Croad were about to swing back and
join up with their Cylon counterparts, when they detected our... guest."
He looked to Salik. "Doctor?"
     "What we have here, gentlemen," said the CMO, "is the corpse of a
Human male, approximately twenty-five to thirty yahrens in age, at the
time of death. Apparent cause of death, asphyxiation. Rapid. Virtually
instantaneous."
     "What in Heaven's name was he doing out in space?" asked Fisher,
making the sign of the cross. Adama also made a mental note to ask about
that, as well. "You found a wrecked ship?"
     "No," replied Adama. "All the patrol found was a body. Floating free
in space." He noticed Fisher's shaking of the head. "And this was what he
had with him." Adama motioned them over to another table. On it were the
corpse's clothes. A dull white shirt woven of some organic fiber, a
leather belt and sash, black trousers, also of some organic fabric,
apparently hand-made, and a pair of leather boots. On the belt hung, much
to the surprise of all, a scabbard from which had been drawn a bladed
weapon, and two primitive powder and shot firearms. A locket on a chain,
and a small leather pouch, containing several coins, and a clay pipe,
completed the picture.
     "This is crazy," said Byrne.
     "That it is, Commander, but why call us?"
     "Hopefully, so that you might be able to provide at least some
information." He looked at Wilker.
     "Is there a city or settlement on your planet called Port Royal?"
asked Wilker, looking at one of the old pistols, and making pretty heavy
weather of the English words.
     "Yes," said Byrne. "A city, on the island of Jamaica. It was once
notorious as a hangout for every kind of..." He looked back down at the
items, then at the dead man. "You're kidding me. A pirate, from the
Spanish Main, turns up in outer space?"
     "When we found this," said Wilker, "we thought you might have some
insight." He handed one of the guns to Byrne. There, on the
elaborately-scrolled metalwork of the weapon were equally elaborate
letters, in English. "We thought you might be able to read it."
     "Oh yes." He looked at the antique firearm. "Port Royal, 1690" He
held it up to the light. "And a hallmark. Griffin. Gorgeous piece.
Whalebone handle, hand scrollwork, silver inlay." He cocked it, and tried
the trigger. It sparked. "Oh yeah. This'd bring enough at Christie's to
retire on, Ced."
     "You know these sorts of weapons, then?" asked Adama.
     "I had a collection, back home. All sorts of antique weapons." He
set the gun down, and picked up the sword. "Cutlass. Looks French. No,
it's German. Made in Passau... Also called Dreifl�ssestadt, in 1660.
That'd be about right. See?" He showed them the date and markings on the
blade. He gripped the weapon, and gave it a swing. Despite being in space
for so long, it was in excellent condition. "The place burned down in
1662. And he was wearing them?" He pointed at the body.
     "One of them," said Wilker. "The other pistol was in his right
hand."
     "And you said asphyxiation killed him?" asked Fisher.
    "Looks that way."
     "This is totally crazy," said Allen. "I mean..." He looked from the
body to the doctor. "You've done a full autopsy?"  
     "Yes," said Salik. "We found a wound, in his left leg, but not
lethal. He died of sudden decompression and lack of oxygen."
     "Like he was blasted out into space," said Allen.
     "Yes."
     "Stomach contents?" asked Byrne, still wondering if this was all
some sort of elaborate gag. After all, Bojay was buds with Starbuck, and
from all he'd heard about Starbuck...
     "Uhh..." said Salik, consulting the report. "He had ingested a large
quantity of food less than a centar before his death. A grain-based
porridge, meat, and a respectable amount of some alcoholic libation."
     "Probably rum," said Allen.
     "Excuse me?" said Adama.
     "Rum, Commander. A drink on Earth. A very potent one. It was favored
by pirates, back in the day."
     "The boots look new," said Byrne, looking them over. "And expensive.
Probably made there, too." He began going through the rest of the dead
man's effects. There were seven coins in the pouch, four of them of gold.
Fisher took one.
     "Gold," he said. "French, like the rest. Louis XIV. Louis d'Or,
1656. Heavens, you could retire on this, as well!"
     "You are an expert?" asked Adama.
     "I had quite the coin collection back home, sir." He looked at
another. "Half d'Or, 1650. Hhmm...English groat, various ones. Scottish."
     "A what?" asked Adama.
     "My apologies, sir. These coins are known as groats. They were worth
four English pennies, in the old system. What I'm saying, sir, is that
these things are real. Unless someone is an expert forger, these coins
came from Earth, and are several centuries old." He picked up and
examined the dead man's pipe.
     "And he was found on patrol?" asked Byrne.
     "Yes. No sign of any ship, or anything else for that matter."
     "Well, that all fits with the clothes and guns," said Byrne. "Port
Royal sank in an earthquake, in 1692, and as I said, the boots look
fairly new. The leather is smooth." He looked at the pistol again. "And
there is very little wear on the flint. Can't have been used much."
     "Okay, 1692, till today," said Allen. "Long time to be floating
alone in the dark. Could he have been abducted by the Risik?" He turned
to Adama. "Do we know when they first began abducting people from Earth?" 

 
 
     "What do we have in that sector?" asked Byrne, now on the
Galactica's bridge. They were studying the plot board.
     "Barely picking up anything," said Colonel Tigh. "There are systems,
but too far for much at this range. Bojay's patrol passed no planetary
systems, but we did find some in he and Croad's flight recorders. Four
stars."
     "Concentrated scan," said Adama. Tigh relayed the order, and Athena
entered the appropriate commands. He waited while the data flowed in.
     "Four systems, at the very edge of scanners," said the ship's XO.
"All spectral type K, except this one, here."
     "Planets? Life forms?" asked Allen.
     "Too far for that data. But from what tracking data there is in the
flight recorders, that body was drifting generally along the Epsilon
Vector 22 course we're on to Earth."
     "Commander, I'd like to take a patrol into that area. Have a look.
That man didn't get there by himself," said Byrne.
     "The Constellation?"
     "No, just a Viper patrol. If anything bigger turns up, then maybe."
     "Very well," said Adama.  The Fleet's course would be making it's
closest approach to the point where the body was found in about four
centars. "Stay in constant contact."
     "Sir," said Byrne.
     "Hey, Kev. Need a wingman?" asked Allen.
     "You pass your quals, Ced?"
     "Last week. Uh, secton. No wuckas, mate. I'm ready for a bit of
cockpit time."
     "Commander," asked Tigh, as the two Earthers left the bridge. "Do we
inform Baltar?"
     "Of course."
     "Yes, Commander."
     "As soon as they have launched."
     "Yes, Commander," smiled Tigh.
 
 
     Since his rescue, Byrne had had little time in the cockpit, save for
the simulator. His first love was flying a fighter, and the Viper,
centuries ahead of anything he'd ever handled on Earth, was the sweetest
machine he'd ever had under him. He screamed out the launch tube on the
Constellation, having left Dante in command, and banked, to join up with
Allen. Like himself, the Aussie was a born flyer. They hit turbos, and
were off.
     "You think this is those Risik drongos, Kev?"
     "Dunno, Ced. But our guy was abducted, whoever he was. And if it was
the Risik..."
     "There could be another colony of slaves from Earth, out here,
somewhere."
     "Exactly. Where there's one Human, there are others. If so, we owe
it to our Human kin to find out."
     "Damned right," said Ced. He looked over at his old friend's ship.
While a standard Colonial Viper in all respects, Kevin had added some
touches of his own. She now sported, not only his name, but the name of
her carrier, with flames painted on the engine ports. And, harking back
to the days of WWII, he had treated the plane to a bit of nose art. In
his whimsical style, Byrne had taken the famous poster image of the
actress Betty Grable, and reproduced it on the sides of his ship. Only,
the face was that of his late, still-lamented wife, Genesis, mother of
his daughter, of the same name. Surrounding the image, in large red
letters, was emblazoned Big Beautiful Doll. "Nice art, Kev. I didn't know
you could paint."
     "Hidden talents, Ced." He looked own at his scanner. "Okay, cut
thrusters. We are at the spot where they found the body." Both ships
slowed to a crawl, scanners spread wide. "All scanners on wide sweep."
     "Same here. Nothing so far, except those stars."
     "I see them."
     They sailed on in silence for a while, running the scanners through
several full cycles. As they did so, they were drawing gradually closer
to the G-Type star.
     Beep
     "Ced?"
     "Picking up a trace." He twiddled the controls. "That's crazy."
     "What?"
     "Either I've had too much plonk, or I'm picking up sodium chloride."
     "What?" said Byrne, and switched wavelons. After a moment, sure
enough, there it was. Sodium chloride, plain old salt, in a very
attenuated trail. "Save me some of that plonk, okay?"
     "Right."
     They banked slightly, and followed the almost negligible trail,
continuing to scan ahead.
     "Object," said Byrne. "Metallic."
     "Analysis?"
     "Iron. About four inches long." He zoomed in on it. "For crying
out...a nail?"
     "That's what I get." The scanner beeped again. "Another contact.
This one's organic."
     "And a bigger one. More metal." Byrne zoomed in. "Oh for crying out
loud!"
     "A barrel?" said Ced. "A wooden barrel?"
     "Yup. And she's full of water, too." As he spoke, they drew close to
the object. Sure enough, it was a wooden barrel, bound with iron hoops,
lid slightly askew.
     "Another contact ahead," said Allen. "I see her. Reads as... 213
feet long, approximately 1,200 tons, mass. Some sort of appendages."
     "A ship? Drive nacelles?"
     "I read no power, no heat, no radiation, no ID beacon nor running
lights. If it's a ship, she's abandoned and adrift. And for a long time,
too."
     "Interception?"
     "Four minutes, our present speed. No gravity or energy signatures of
any kind. No scan beams, or warp signatures. No life signs, but it is the
source of the salt trail."
     "These readings are cockeyed," said Byrne. "She's the size of a
ship, but where's the analysis?"
     "Do we hail?"
     "Yeah." They did so, but there was no response. They hailed again,
but it was the same. "This is nuts. Maybe my scanner is...holy shit!"
     "What? Oh, crikey! I see it too. You believe this?"
     "No way. The mass analysis reads..."
     "Wood?"
     Both ships turned on their floodlights, and the mysterious object
slowly came into view. Both men swore.
     "Ced, what do you say about an old sailing ship when you find it
adrift in space?"
     "You're kidding?"
     "That's one thing."  

    Chapter Two

     "A what?" asked Baltar, on the line with Adama, his cup halfway to
his mouth.
     "A sailing vessel," replied Adama, sending the other the scans from
the fighters' flight recorders.
     "Is this some sort of prank from Starbuck?" asked the other, setting
his drink down.
     "Actually, no," replied Adama, with the hint of a smile. "It's the
real thing. Though how a primitive sailing vessel ended up adrift in
space is beyond me for the moment."
     "You do find the most interesting things, Adama," replied Baltar,
with a slight laugh. "Connected to these Risik kidnappers, do you think?"
     "No telling, as yet. We're going to have a closer look."
     "Good. Please keep me informed."
   "I shall."
     "A sailing ship," muttered Baltar, after the link was cut. "Must be
Starbuck," he shook his head.
 
 
     "She is the Bon Femme Tessa," said Byrne, coming around the
mysterious relic, in the shuttle Armstrong. As he had hoped, Adama had
authorized a follow-up mission, to the bizarre find. He ran the
floodlights over the ship. "Her hull appears intact. Glass in her
windows, too."
     "But her sails are furled," said Allen, looking at her through the
ports. "Except for topsail and moonraker. They must have been in port
when...whatever it was happened."
     "That explains the organic contact, Ced. A barnacle." He laughed.
"Barnacles in space."
     "Sounds like the name for a Muppet feature, Kev."
     "Yeah. Add Kermit the Frog and a few singing pigs, and it does, kind
of." They swept the lights over the deck, but could make out little.
     "Ced, I'm going to board her."
     "As the priest said to the Bishop, not without me, you ain't!" said
the other.
     "I thought you'd never ask." Byrne turned to the pilot, Darius.
"She's yours. Keep the link open."
     "Sir."
     They maneuvered the shuttle to precisely match the old ship's
tumble, and gently pressed up against her side. After a few blasts from
the shuttle's attitude thrusters, she was steady. With no docking port,
they'd brought the shuttle even with the gunnel, on the starboard
quarter. Activating the airlock, they opened the hatch, and stepped out
onto the wooden deck. Both men activated their helmet lights and cameras.
     "Almost like we were at sea," said Allen, looking up at the stars
overhead.
     "A sea of stars," said Adama, wistfully, back on the Galactica, and
linked into their telemetry.
     "Except for the lack of water," replied Byrne.
     "Something tells me you'll still end up all wet, quipped Allen.
     Byrne chuckled under his breath, standing at the ship's wheel and
hamming it up. "Hey, Ced, get a picture!"
     "I already have one!" came the crackly voice of Byrne's daughter,
Jena, over the link, back on the Constellation. "It'll look great on
IFB!"
     "No respect!" said Byrne. "Not even from my own."
     "You're playing Blackbeard, like a six-year-old, and you're looking
for respect?" quipped Jena.
     "I'll bet you look just like your mother when you say that!" replied
Byrne.
     "So keel-haul me!"
     "Nah. I'd have to patch up the suit. Cost a bundle."
     "Captain Bligh!"
     "Her wheel and winch still turn, Ced."
     "Here's where the barrel came from," said Allen, on the main deck.
He was looking down at a ring on the wooden planking. "Water barrel for
the crew, I'll wager."
     "Yeah." Byrne descended, or rather floated, down to her main deck.
He looked around. Much of the ship's structure seemed intact. Ropes were
coiled, with one floating slightly above the deck. The ship's longboat
was still in place, the anchors as well, and a shoe was wedged in the rat
lines.
     "Hatch is open," said Allen, looking down into the darkness. He
shone his light down. "Looks like her cargo is still stowed."
     "Weird."
     Shooting tethers into the wood, they gingerly pulled themselves
along them, in the zero gravity, examining the vessel from bow to stern.
     "Talk about antiques," said Allen. "She's got these old six point
six pounders on the galliards." He looked one of the guns over closely.
"It's been fired, Kev."
     "Whatever happened, they didn't give up without a fight. Ced, can
you check out her hull?"
     "You gonna keel haul me, too?"
     "Only if you keep dissing American beer!"
     "You make beer, Bud? Is that was that stuff was? I didn't know. Ah,
Yanks!" Laughing, Allen pulled the tether from his belt, and hooked it to
the gunnel. Slowly, he worked his way over the side, and began moving
down the hull. As he did so, Byrne put a hand to the handle on the door,
and to his surprise, it opened easily.
     It was almost like diving on a sunken wreck, floating along a
corridor. His light caught sight on a floating shoe, probably the mate of
the one outside. The door to the Captain's cabin was ajar.
     "Dad?" came Jen's voice.
     "Yeah?"
     "Looks kinda creepy."
     "Yeah, it is. Anyway, no sign of the crew yet. No bodies."
     "We copy," said Adama, on the Galactica.
     "Okay, I'm heading in," said Byrne.
 
 
     "How fast are they moving?" asked Jena, back on Constellation, of
Dante. He checked the scanner readings.
     "Their current velocity is...approximately fifty kilometrons per
micron." Jena cocked her head to one side, unblinking, and sighed deeply.
"In your measurements..." he looked back at the screen, "thirty-one point
nine miles per second. Average."
     "Where is she headed?"
     "Towards the G-class star. She will arrive in several thousand
yahrens."
     "Slow boat to China," said Allen, over the link.
     "Excuse me?" asked Dante.
     "Never mind," said Allen.
 
 
     The Captain's cabin was surprisingly immaculate. A shirt, tossed
over the bed, that floated up at the slightest touch, was the only sign
of a lack of housekeeping. The bed was made, the tableware stowed, almost
as if the Captain would return at any moment. On the desk, the log book
lay, still open. A quill pen, with frozen drops of ink, floated about.
Other blobs, upon scanning, turned out to be wine, from a silver goblet
that had tumbled from the desk, and slowly floated away. Also atop the
desk were old-fashioned charts, and navigational instruments. Looking
them over closely, he could make out the contours of Earth's Caribbean
Sea. Gingerly, Byrne picked up the log, but could make little of the
flowery 17th Century script. He closed it, and stuffed it in his satchel.
     The Master of this vessel had been a literate, cultured fellow, the
shelf over the bed lined with books. Most were in French, but a few were
in English, Italian, even German. A number, not surprising for that
period, were in Latin. Small portraits hung on the walls, and various
baubles of porcelain or wood were everywhere.
     The Captain's sea chest was locked, but the old heavy iron padlock
was no match for his sidearm, and was easily opened. Inside were several
leather pouches, stuffed with money, and more books, one of them the
ship's accounts ledger. More books, a sextant in its case, telescope,
several spare pistols, shot, a powder horn, cutlass, a few extra clothes,
and a spare pair of boots, with hose, completed the picture.
     "Captain?" came Adama's voice.
     "I found the log, but I don't savvy late 17th Century French tres
bein, mon ami. We'll have to see what we can pick out of it. "But as you
can see, his bookshelf is packed."
     "What else?"
     "Lots of money. Mostly gold coin. Whoever snagged her didn't give a
rip about loot. And some of the art in here would fetch a bundle at
auction."
     "Sounds like they were only interested in the crew, not the
contents," said Allen.
     "Looks that way, Ced. I'm going to check out the lazarette."
     The trapdoor in the center of the deck led into a storage
compartment, directly below. It, also, was packed with items. Candles,
bottles of wine, containers of various sizes. Soap, surprisingly, turned
out to be among them.
     From there, Byrne went forward. The crew's quarters were, in
contrast to the Captain's cabin, in total disarray. Hammocks, clothes,
and personal effects of all kinds were, or had been, strewn about. A
drinking mug and a plate floated by as he shone his beam around.
     "Well, well," he said.
     "What?" asked Adama.
     "Looks like they had a few ladies on board."
     "Indeed," said Adama.
     "Petticoats and dresses. And expensive, from the look of them, too."
     "How surprising!" quipped Allen. "Not the usual trollops, then?"
     Byrne moved to the cargo hold. It was filled with crates and
barrels, most of them filled with food and wine. Flour, beans, lentils,
smoked meats. Citrus fruits. From the amount, it looked as if the ship
had recently revictualed, before disaster had struck. As above, there
were as yet no Human remains, but he did find more than a few dead rats,
and the remains of a cat, probably the ship's mouser.
     On the main gun deck, it was different. The hatch to the powder
magazine was open, but the magazine was full. The bilge and orlop were
undisturbed, the water frozen, and the cannon, with one exception, were
all still in place. The exception had broken a rope, and had skidded
across the deck.
     And caught someone.
     "Well, lookie here. You getting this, Commander?"
     "Yes. We are receiving."
     "Kev?" asked Allen.
     "Another body. Caught by a loose cannon. Crushed against one of the
ship's knees."
     "Human?"
   "Yeah. One of the crew, looks like. Poor bastard. I'm going to check
for...hey!"
   "What?" asked several voices at once.
     "Not sure yet," said Byrne, running his scanner over a deep gouge in
the breakaway cannon. He shone the light on it. "Well, whaddya know?"
     "What?" asked Adama.
     "There was definitely some weapon's fire in here, Commander, and not
just these old cannons. The metal here looks like it was melted." He
zoomed in with the camera. "Whatever it was not only cut the rope, but
nearly sheared the barrel in half. That's why it broke loose. The dead
guy has a pistol in his hand. He was in a firefight with somebody." Even
as he said it, Byrne could just see the Zohrloch refugees smiling in
approval. The man had, they would say, died defending his ship in battle.
Heroically.
     Zohrlochs!
     Forward, in another compartment, he found a ladder, up to the top
deck. Here was another body. Only..."
     "Kev?" came Allen's voice.
     "Yeah?"
     "The hull has patches of ice on her. From seawater. That's probably
the source of the salt."
     "Makes sense. Anything else?"
     "Well, she's intact alright, but there's a weird gouge on her port
side, from about amidships to her stern. Some smaller ones on her
starboard side, at the same level, and on the keel as well."
     "Any clue as to what caused them, Ced?"
     "Nothing obvious. They don't penetrate the hull. The planking looks
sound, they just scrape the surface. I'm coming back inside, Kev."
     "Okay. Well, we've got another stiff over here. Two, actually."
     "Whose?" asked Adama.
     "Well, the face of the first one is a mess, Commander," said Byrne.
"But he was Human. No question."
     "And the other one?" asked the Commander.

Chapter Three

     "So, the Risik have been raiding Earth for longer than we thought,"
said Adama, as they looked over the dead alien in LifeStation.
     "Yes, sir," said Byrne. "But this weapon," he indicated the pistol
found in the hand of the dead Risik, "doesn't match anything in the
database we have on them."
     "How old?" asked Adama, turning to Paye.
     "It's an approximation so far, but I'd say over three hundred
yahrens, Commander. And the cause of death was a shot from the other's
pistol. We found a lead ball buried in the Risik's chest."
     "So, they killed each other, and were left behind." Adama shook his
head. "But how did a water craft end up this far from any planet?" He
picked up the weapon the dead Risik had been holding, studying it
minutely. "Academician Sarah," he said, touching the IC. "Report to me in
LifeStation. Repeat, report to Commander Adama in LifeStation."
     "You think she might be able to help?" asked Allen.
     "She just may."
 
 
     "Who?" asked Allen.
     "Bosaq," said Academician "Sarah", in reality Nizaka, a
shapeshifting Ziklagi former slave and refugee, living aboard the Fleet
in Human form. Adama had found her knowledge of to be of value, more than
once."You were correct, Commander. The lettering on the weapon is not
Risik. It is an older form of Bosaq."
     "What can you tell me about them?"
     "The Bosaq were once a great empire, Commander. At their height,
they ruled a region of space over half the size of what the Cylons now
hold. But, their empire, as you know, collapsed several years ago. They
are defunct."
     "Yes. So we learned on Ziklag."
     "What would they be doing here, with an old Earth sailing ship?"
asked Byrne.
    "Slaving from backward planets was typical Bosaq activity. No one
would ever know what happened to the vanished people, no one could ever
retaliate. It was a cheap source of labor. Expendable labor."
     "But why would a Risik be using Bosaq equipment?" asked Adama.
     "No way to tell, at this remove," said Nizaka. "At various times,
some Bosaq were known to hire out as mercenaries. And by the time this
vessel was taken, the Bosaq Empire had begun its final decline." She
looked at the bodies.
     "So, these Bosaq pose no threat to us, currently?"
     "None, Commander," replied Nizaka. "When the Bosaq capital fell to
the final rebel assault a few yahren ago, everything went, including what
remained of their fleet, both merchant and military. And this ship has
been adrift for centiyahrens."
     "Well, that's a relief," said Adama. "What's next, I wonder?"
     "Well, as I said," replied Byrne, "I'm not too savvy with 17th
Century French. But there might be an old salt or two among some of our
refugee hearties who might."
     "Well, then, let's hoist the mainsail and shiver our timbers,
Matey," added Allen.
     "Arrrrrr!!!!" Byrne growled back.
     Nizaaka just looked at Adama and shrugged.
     Earthers!
 
 
     The log had been scanned into the computer, and two French-speaking
refugees were at work on it. As per International Marine Regulations,
Byrne resumed log entries. (Perhaps meaningless, here, but somehow, on a
whim, he felt like it.
     He did, however, use a more modern stylus.
 
 
     (Date)
     Encountered Bon Femme Tessa adrift, along the Vector 22 course the
Galactica has been following. Derelict and adrift since c. A.D. 1692.
Cargo intact, and ship unlooted. Food, water, and stores untouched. One
body found floating in space, one aboard. Both Human. Also found the
remains of a Risik, apparently killed during a boarding action. The dead
Risik was armed with non-Risik weaponry. Investigation proceeding.
 
 
     "That is probably the longest gap between log entries in maritime
history," said Byrne's daughter, Jen, as he finished up. "Shouldn't you
be using a quill?"
     "I asked. Commander Adama was fresh out, hon."
     "Hhmm... Probably don't have any powdered wigs, either. Any more
ideas?"
     "Well, one yardarm is snapped at one end, so I'm betting she was
damaged when she was dumped into space."
     "Like so much garbage," said Jen.
     "That's my guess. Academician Sarah found a reference to Bosaq
transports, somewhere. Some were huge, with gigantic cargo bays."
     "Big enough to hold that ship, you think?"
     "Uh huh. Scooped up from the water, I'm betting. That's probably how
the one guy ended up outside. There were rope burns on his hands, as if
he were clinging on to something. The bay doors closed, and he was drug
along, till the rope broke."
     "And then?"
     "Well, with a dead Risik inside, I'm betting she was boarded, and
there was a fight. The crew was off-loaded, and then the ship was just
dumped."
     "What about their dead soldier?"
     "Well, in some cultures, dead bodies mean nothing. Not even their
own. Or, maybe they just missed him. We'll probably never know, either
way."
     "Sounds like a good, theory, Dad."
     "All we have for the moment."  He then let out a sigh, and his
expression became more reflective.  Giving him time to think of how this
strange mystery was in many respects a blessing for him.  It had given
his mind something to concentrate on other than the increased air of
"Turn Back" sentiment that he knew existed in the Fleet and had the
potential to become a more powerful movement.  One that could threaten
his ability to see home again, or even worse......thrust him into
responsibilities he had no desire to have.
     "What's next?" his daughter's voice broke his reflective mode and
returned him to the mystery at hand.
     "Well, I'm wondering where the crew went. They were taken somewhere.
Maybe..."
     Beep
     "Byrne, here."
     "We may have something, Captain," said Adama.
     "On my way, sir."
     "Can I come, Dad?"
     "Sure."
 
 
     "It was where?" asked Byrne.
     "In the water barrel, of all places. The one found floating apart
from the ship. We brought it aboard for analysis, and Doctor Wilker found
it in the bottom." The scientist held up a small portable scanner.
     "Well, of all the dumb luck," said Allen. "Does it work?"
     "We'll know soon," said Wilker. "It looks as if designed for rough
handling. Combat conditions, so it may have been waterproof. Shock proof.
Radiation proof. But I doubt it was designed to be submerged in frozen
water for over three-hundred yahrens."
     "Bosaq soldiers typically had the units strapped to arm or chest
when attired for action," said Nizaka. "The images were fed to an
holographic heads-up display in their helmets or goggles."
     "Well, let's find out," said Adama.
     "Yes, sir," replied the Wilker. He connected a cable to a port in
the side of the unit, and adjusted some of his instruments. After a few
centons, it lit up, and made several electronic sounds. He tried another
control, and a holo display slowly formed. It was scratchy and jagged,
but the computer was able to stabilize and enhance the images.
     "Cool. It works," said Jen.
     It showed the Bon Femme Tessa under harsh lights, being boarded by
armed personnel. Among them were both Risik, and Bosaq soldiers. There
was fire exchanged, a great deal of shouting, with men running about the
main deck, and the images got shaky.
     "Mon Dieu! Quels d‚mons sont-ils?" someone shouted, followed by
gunfire, both alien and primitive. "Tuez les salauds!" Then the images
went topsy-turvey, and plop went the scanner, into the barrel, still
scanning.
     "It looks as if whomever was wearing it took a hit, and lost the
unit," said Wilker. "Then, the ship was dumped." They had an image,
through the water, of the lights being replaced after a few moments by
stars, then as the ship tumbled, a huge, bulky vessel, with vast doors
closing up. Then, there was a blur as it went hyper, and the water froze
up, the unit along with it.
     "Confirmation of the theory," said Adama. "Some sort of slave raid."
     "Barbarians," said Nizaka, with contempt.
     "Arnie clearly not among them," said Allen, deadpan. "Okay,
confirmation. But their destination?"
     "Yeah. We need to know where these folks were taken," said Byrne.
     "It's been at least 300 yahrens," said Adama. "Should we even look,
now?"
     "They came from Earth. Clearly, with Risik involvement. And some may
have descendants, alive today. They were Human, Commander. Our own kind,
torn from their home. We at least owe it to them to find out, sir."
     "Alright? How do you propose to find them, Captain?"
     "Check out the most likely destination. Like we were doing when we
found the Bon Femme Tessa in the first place, Commander. The general
direction she was drifting in."
     "When the alien vessel went into lightspeed," said Wilker, "her
hyperdrive wake could have sucked the sailing ship along behind her, for
a few moments. If so, she could have most likely just continued drifting
in the same direction."
     "Anything new on scan?" asked Allen.
     "The G-Type star has four planets, according to the latest scans.
Two are in the life zone of the star zone, and look to be habitable,
Commander," said Wilker.
     "Request per..."
     Beep
 
 
     "We've got a translation of that log book, sir," said Pliny the
linguist, after joining them. "One of the Earth refugees, Jacqueline
Doucet understands this particular dialect, and helped us construct a
translation matrix for the Languatron."
     "Excellent." Adama looked at Byrne. "By all means." Byrne took the
pad from Pliny, and began to scroll through the text.
     "Let's see...June 6th, 1692. The day before the earthquake that sank
Port Royal."
     "That was the place where that pistol was made, correct?" asked
Adama.
     "Yes."
     "What exactly was this Port Royal?" asked Nizaka.
     "A city, on the island of Jamaica," said Allen.
     "No problem, mon!" said Byrne, in a strange accent. Allen made a
strange finger gesture at him, without looking at him. He called up a map
of Earth on the holo display.
     "It was the hang-out of every pirate and cutthroat on the seas, in
those days, the Caribbean. Port Royal was a busy place, then."
     "But why would pirates be in Port Royal at that time, though?" asked
Byrne. "The Governor wasn't all that crazy about pirates, after Sir Henry
Morgan died."
     "Cross and double cross, Kev. I dunno."
     "Well, let's see. Ah! Here's a log entry, dated August 6th, 1690. "
'Left Havana this morning. Sighted merchantman near to midday.' " He
scrolled through more entries. " 'March 9th, 1691 Captured galleon
through ruse, much damage. Ransomed Captain and his family. Left others
to the men.' "
     "Sweet guy," said Allen.
     "Well, he was a pirate, Ced. Not the Red Cross." Byrne scrolled on.
"Ah...'First mate...' "He stopped, an odd expression on his face.
     "Captain?" asked Adama.
     " 'First Mate Byrne and many others sick with scurvy. Put in at
Tortuga for repairs and fresh victuals.' "
     "Byrne?" said both Adama and Allen. "Any relation?" said Allen.
     "Not sure. We had an ancestor that came from Jamaica, I think.
Josiah, I think his name was. Don't remember much." He shrugged. "Weird."
     "What the hell are the odds?" said Allen.
     "Ya got me, Ced." Byrne looked back at the pad. " 'May 6th, 1691.
Performed wedding, First Mate Byrne. Left Tortuga before nightfall."
     "A pirate wedding?" said Jen, trying not to laugh.
     "Must have been one hell of a reception," laughed Allen. He thumped
Kevin on the shoulder. "Always knew you were a bit of a pirate at heart,
Kev."
     "Arrrr, me hearties!" growled Byrne. "Tis Cap'n Bloodthirsty Byrne,
and his scurvy crew! Arrr!"
     "Oh God, I'm so embarrassed," whispered Jen.
     "Who'd he marry?"
     "Uhh...some native girl, name of.....Martina," replied Byrne. He
looked up a moment, concentrating. "I seem to remember some old family
story. One of my ancestors marrying some pirate gal, way back when."
     "When?" asked Allen.
     "Then," continued Byrne. "Niece of some Colonial Governor, or
something. Ah, don't remember now."
     "Married above his station, huh?" grinned Allen.
     "Ha ha!" He continued to scroll through the data. " 'October 7th,
1691. Captured French merchantman near Monserrat. Very rich cargo.
October 12th, 1691. Received message, Governor Inchiquin of Jamaica.
Pardon and commission.' "
     "A pardon?" asked Adama.
     "The English were worried about a French invasion at the time.
Okay...they wintered in Cartegena, then left in the Spring of 1692.
Hither, thither, and yon...Yes. June 1st, 1692, set course, Port Royal.
Arrived Port Royal June 4th. Received pardon and commission, from Acting
Governor White.' "
     "Sounds like they should have hanged the lot!" ventured Nizaka.
"Begging your pardon, Captain."
     "No problem," shrugged Byrne. "Okay, they were in Port Royal,
whooping it up from the look of things over there, when the Bosaq or
Risik turned up. See, here's the final log entry, guys."
     "Ah-hem!" said Jen.
     "Ah-hem!" said Nizaka.
     "And girls. 'Liberty and rejoicing for the crew. First Mate Byrne
and wife ashore with child. Third Mate Mister Maigret and ship's
Carpenter's Mate Mister Lewis ashore for final supplies. All is well.' "
     "Then?" asked Adama.
     "Mon Dieu! Is it God's wrath, or the Devil's? By the Saints, I...'
And that's that. The log breaks off, there, with a smear of ink, and the
Captain's cabin had frozen ink blobs floating around."
     "And no one noticed?" asked Wilker.
     "It must have happened at night," said Allen. "There was wax
splattered on the desk, so the skipper must have been writing by lamp or
candlelight."
     "And our floater was just returning, when zap," said Byrne. "And
next day, when the quake wrecked the place, nobody was thinking about one
missing pirate ship. Everything was a mess."
     "Well," said Adama. "What do you suggest now, Captain?"
 
Chapter Four

     "Yeah," said Byrne, in his Viper cockpit. "At her present speed, the
old ship will reach the G-Type star in several thousand years. Her
current course passes within a single degree of it."
     "It's a long shot," said Allen. "Especially after all this time."
     "Well, you're probably right, Ced," answered Byrne. "But, if there's
even a chance of us finding any surviving descendants of Humans from
Earth, we at least owe it to their forebears to find out." He checked his
instruments. They had placed a navigation beacon aboard the Bon Femme
Tessa, and were now locked on course for the G-Type star.
     "What do you think they were used for?"
     "Well, Academician Sarah said the Bosaq were big on mining, so maybe
they were snagged to mine whatever. But they certainly were a bunch of
no-goods, if they were in bed with the Risik."
     "Scum," said Allen. "The sort you wouldn't piss on if they were on
fire."
     "Interesting image, Ced."
     They sailed on, the star coming into clear view. Up close, they
discovered that the star hosted five worlds, instead of four. Both Vipers
made full sensor sweeps, transmitting the data in real-time back to the
Galactica.
     "Outermost planet on the port side," said Allen, concentrating his
scanners on it. It was about the size of Earth's moon, but it's higher
density gave it more than twice the gravity. The atmosphere, thin and
cold, consisted mostly of methane, hydrogen sulfide, and nitrogen,
largely frozen to it's surface. It showed no signs of life, and sported
but a single small asteroid for a moon. "Nobody at home."
     "She's been visited, though," said Byrne. "Scans show buildings on
and under the surface."
     "Mining?" said Allen.
     "That's my bet, Ced." He scanned again. "But no sign of any power at
all. Cold and dead."
     "Let's have a looksee," said Allen, and they banked low, over the
surface. It consisted mostly of craters, jagged mountains, and outcrops
of various minerals. The old complex was situated in a valley that read
as being extremely rich in copper, chromium, and cobalt. The buildings
were partially covered in windblown dust, and the Vipers sent up huge
clouds of it, as they touched down on one of the landing pads.
     "Captain?" It was Nizaka, back on the Galactica.
   "Yes?"
     "What we are seeing conforms to known Bosaq design."
     "What about Risik?" asked Allen.
     "I'll have to see more," she replied.
     Most of the base's airlocks were blown, and they easily gained
access.
     "What a mess," said Byrne.
     "Bit of a dog's breakfast," said Allen, as they gingerly moved
through the ruins, filled floor to ceiling with machinery. Pipes,
conduits, tanks, and generators. Much of it was wrecked, some burned.
     "Looks like an extraction facility, actually" said Wilker, over the
link. "Ore in various stages of processing."
     "Anybody there?" asked Adama.
     "Not yet," said Allen. I...wait."
     "What?" asked several voices.
     "Two," said Byrne. "One Risik, the other I assume is a Bosaq." He
shone his light down on the corpses, and got some close-up shots.
"Explosively decompressed, from the looks of them, Commander."
     "Any sign of Humans?" asked Adama.
     "Not yet, sir. But we'll scan for signs of Human DNA."
     "Very well," replied Adama.
 
 
   They found the remains of half a dozen Humans scattered around the
installation, and from the preliminary scans, Wilker estimated they had
been dead for well over a centiyahren. Out of respect, with no time to be
spared on a burial, the two men set their lasers to high, and after a
short prayer, reduced the corpses to vapor.
     The aliens were left as they were.
     The next world was a vast gas giant, reminiscent of Jupiter, with a
huge orbit of over fifty yahrens. It sported dozens of small moons, but
showed no signs of artificial activity. The second was on the opposite
side of the sun at present, and Ced headed that way, while Byrne made for
the third.
     "This one's a desert," said Allen, passing over the second planet.
"Breathable atmosphere, a few small bodies of water, with minimal plant
and animal life. Looks a lot like the most desolate parts of the
Outback."
     "Intelligent life?" asked Byrne.
     "Scanners don't pick up any. No signs of any ruins, either, but we'd
probably need more close-up and detailed scans for that, Kev. You?"
     "Just coming up on Number Three. Full scan... Oceans, wide areas of
rich plant life. Looks like we...Good Lord!"
     "Kev?" asked Allen.
     "Captain?" said Adama. "What is it?
     "Oh my God!" said Byrne.
 
 
     "An entire colony?" said Adama, later in his quarters, after viewing
Byrne and Allen's scans of the planet.
     "Yes, sir," replied Byrne. "From the sweeps, it looks to be about
eight thousand or so people, Commander. Human life signs."
     "There's also some pretty heavy industrial installations in the
region," said Allen. "We'll need more close-up scans, but it looks like
there was some sort of mining operation there, Commander. Just like the
outer planet we checked out."
     "And now?"
     "Derelict, as far as we could tell," said Byrne. "No indication of
any current activity, at all." They reviewed the vid scans. Rows of
buildings, in various stages of decay, and overgrown with vegetation.
Obviously, they had been abandoned long ago.
     "But why?" asked Adama. He looked to Nizaka, Melnea, the Risik
defector, next to her.
     "The Bosaq usually sterilized a place, once they pulled out,
Commander."
     "Sterilized?" asked Allen.
     "Terminated everyone," replied the Academician. "Once they were
through, they'd strip an installation of everything of value, then leave
nothing, including the slaves."
     "Not unusual in Risik operations, sir," said Melnea, "especially if
the operation was clandestine, in some way. Once the point of diminishing
returns was reached, it was a scorched planet policy."
     "Yet, these people remained," said Adama. "And all the installations
were just abandoned, so it seems." He looked up at the holo of Baltar,
from the BaseShip.
     "This might be worth the time to investigate, Adama," said the
Traitor. "We've already seen how ruthless these Risik are. If someone or
something just forced them to disappear, we should know about it. For
safety's sake."
     "I have to agree," said Adama. He considered in silence for a few
moments. "Very well. Captain Byrne, I want you and Allen to outfit a
shuttle expedition to the planet. Full instrumentation."
     "Yes, sir."
     "Who all else do we take with us?" asked Allen.
     "Captain Apollo will be in overall command," said Adama. "He has
extensive experience in planetside missions."
     "Anyone else, Commander?"
    
 
 
     "Why me?" asked Starbuck, as he and Boomer made their way towards
AlphaBay.
     "Because you're so cute and fuzzy?" replied the other.
     "I thought that was Apollo's new look."
     "Lords, Starbuck," sighed his wife of two sectans, who was behind
him, carrying the med kits. "Just once..."
     "Because of your experience on the Arcta mission, as well as
Paradeen," said Cute and Fuzzy, aka Apollo, with a pained sigh.  "And the
undeniable fact that you seem to find common ground with the most
unlikely sorts of people, Starbuck. Borays for instance."
     "Well, yeah," said Boomer. "I knew it couldn't be just his good
looks."
     "So, it's true?" asked Starbuck. "An entire Human colony, at a
pre-industrial level?"
     "It looks that way," said Apollo. "No sign of artificial power
generation, or electronic communications technology of any kind. Fifth
Millennium level, if not earlier."
     "How'd they get here? Earth's still a long ways away, right?"
     "They may have been brought by the same people that enslaved the
folks we rescued on Ne'Chak," said Apollo. He filled them both in on the
derelict sailing vessel, and her Earth origins. Starbuck shook his head,
amazed by it all.
     "Talk about weird," he said, as the lift deposited them on the deck
in Alpha Bay's shuttle hangar.
     "So, what's the mission, Captain?" asked Cassie.
     "For now, reconnoiter, and determine if the Risik or any other
hostile group is still active in the region. If they really are from
Earth, some may want to return to their ancestral homeworld."
     "They've been here for a long time," said Boomer. "What if they
don't want to leave?"
     "Then we'll see," said Apollo.
     "And if the Risik do show up?" asked Starbuck, settling into the
co-pilot's seat. "What then?"
     "Well, we need to know, one way or the other. The last thing we need
is to run into them, or some other hostile group, cold. This is as much
an intelligence gathering mission, as anything else, Starbuck."
     "Just us?" asked Boomer.
     "No. Captain Byrne and I will be hitting the frog and toad with
you," said a voice. They turned, and it was Allen who had spoken. Both
were carrying large packs of equipment. They stowed them, and took their
seats, behind the flight deck.
     "Since they basically discovered this settlement, and they
understand things and people from Earth a lot better than we do, father
decided they were coming with us," said Apollo
     "Well, that makes a lot more sense than beating slimy amphibians,"
said Starbuck. "In fact, now that you mention it, I'm going to have to
work to find common ground on that one."
     "There was that incident on Cordugo Pit, Starbuck. That
green-skinned dancer. The one who grabbed . . ." Boomer murmured.
     "Ohhh. I never heard about this one!" smiled Cassie.  
     "Shh!" Starbuck hissed, mischief dancing in his eyes. "Wasn't my
fault."
     "Tell me about this Cordugo Pit," Allen called forward, "sounds like
my kind of place!"
     "Well . . ."
     Apollo radioed for clearance, got it, and they were out.
     "Next stop, the Lost Colony," said Byrne.

 Chapter Five

     "Looks a lot like home," said Allen, as the planet drew closer in
the windows. "The seas and the clouds."
     "It is," said Apollo, relaying the scanner readout. "According to
the data we have, this planet is slightly less than four percent larger
than Earth, with a gravity of zero point one three percent higher. It
orbits at one point two one of your Astronomical Units from it's primary,
and has an atmosphere of twenty-five and a half percent oxygen, and
twenty-one of your pounds per square inch at sea level."
     "Wow," said Byrne. "It does sound a lot like home." He followed the
data scrolling up the scanner readout. "Sixty-six percent of the surface
is ocean, the rest land or ice caps. Numerous island archipelagos.
Average global temperature...fifty-nine point five, on your Fahrenheit
scale."
     "Earth two point oh," said Allen.
     "I wish it were home," sighed Cassie.
     "Extensive forest and jungle cover," said Apollo. "A lot like
Caprica, before industrialization."
     "Okay, so where..." began Boomer.
     "Apollo, we're being scanned," said Starbuck. He ran his fingers
over the instruments, activating the shuttle's ECM suite. "Gamma
wavelons."
     "Gamma?" said Boomer. "Ancient."
     "So someone is still hanging around," said Allen.
     "I don't think so," said Apollo. He re-ran the scans. "It's an old
satellite, in orbit below us. Probably centiyahrens old, from the
waveform analysis."
     "How do you mean?" asked Allen.
     "Spotty. Intermittent. Probably left behind by whomever it was ran
this place," replied Apollo. "A sentinel of some kind."
     "Yeah. Look," said Boomer. The scanners fed them an enhanced image
of the object. It was a satellite, pitted by several meteorite hits, and
slowly tumbling. "She's been here a long time. Still getting minimal
power from solar cells, but it looks like the system is giving out. It's
harmless to us."
     "That's a relief," said Starbuck. "I hate those homicidal
satellites. Now, let's have a looksee at what's below."
     They passed over the Human lifesigns Byrne and Allen had detected,
and the data was soon flowing.
     "Well, well, well," said Byrne.
     "People," said Cassie.
     "A large concentration of Human lifesigns," said Starbuck. "Southern
hemisphere, nineteen point two degrees south of the equator. They look to
be concentrated along a stretch of coastline, facing north."
     "How many?" asked Allen. "People, I mean."
     "Over eight thousand," replied Starbuck, after a few moments.
"Closer to nine. Spread out in several settlements along the coast." He
zoomed in. Tiny water craft were moving to and fro across the sea,
between several of the townsites.
     "Can they see us?" asked Boomer.
     "No sign of any technology at all," said Starbuck. "Plenty of
infrared traces, though. Fireplaces. Cookstoves. That sort of thing."
     "What about signs of the Risik or Bosaq?" asked Cassie. Starbuck ran
another sweep.
     "I'm picking up large numbers of buildings, here." He pointed to a
spot some kilometrons from the coast. "Metal. And I'm reading abundant
deposits of cobalt, chromium, and copper."
     "Yeah. A mining operation," said Byrne.
     "And slave labor to work it, the bastards," said Allen.
     "What's the cloud cover?" asked Apollo.
     "Pretty heavy over the coast," said Starbuck. "Looks like they're
going to have a really good stormfront blowing through, soon." He sighed.
"Figures, doesn't it? We're finally near a beach, and a tropical cyclone
beats us to it."
     "Truth be told, you're a bit on the pasty side for a Speedo, Bucko,"
Allen pointed out.
     "As usual, Allen, I'll just pretend I know what you're talking
about, smile and nod."
     "You're not really missing much that matters," Byrne offered with a
shrug.
     "Oh, I figured that out a long time ago," Starbuck replied.
     "I'm wounded!" Allen exclaimed.
     "Head injury?" Starbuck asked. "That would explain a lot."
     "Physician, heal thyself," said Cassie, deadpan. Starbuck winked at
her.
     "Let's make a pass over the settlements," said Apollo. "Use the
cloud cover to hide us. No point in frightening them."
     "A la Starbuck in a Speedo," Allen returned.
     "A la peanut butter sandwiches!" Byrne chimed in.
     "Ah, now we've lost Byrne too!" Starbuck said, sighing again.
"Earth-fluenza, they call it. One minute they seem cognizant, the next .
. ." He waved a hand in a frenzied flourish.
     "Down a Lepus hole," Boomer finished. "Gone."
     "Hello? Mission? Remember?"Apollo inserted. "Plot a course for the
settlements."
     "Good idea," said Boomer. "Then we can see what's what."
     "I think I need an Earth-Colonial dictionary," sighed Cassie.
     "Don't do it, Cass. You'd only end up joining them," Starbuck
replied, wincing.
     "I didn't realize we were apart," Allen replied with a laugh,
slapping Byrne in the shoulder.
     "Stop encouraging them," Apollo said aside to Starbuck.
     "Who me?" the lieutenant replied, his eyes twinkling in merriment.
     Boomer sighed again. Loudly.
 
 
     The shuttle was buffeted by strong winds, but was able to hold
position over the largest of the settlements. This one was at the mouth
of a large river, emptying into a wider, deep bay. Clustered along the
river banks and the edge of the sea were many buildings, wharves, and
vessels.
     "Mostly of wood," said Starbuck, as they hovered at thousand
metrons. "Some brick, and metal. Most of it scavenged from those ruins."
     "How can you tell?" asked Boomer.
     "Refined metal. High tech stuff," replied Starbuck. "Nothing they
could have produced, locally. No sign of metal in the ship hulls, or even
a rudimentary steam engine."
     "All sails or oars, just like back home at one time," said Byrne.
     "Seems so."
     "What's the population of this town?" Byrne asked.
   "Looks about...umm...four thousand. And I read no sign of settlement
beyond a couple hundred kilometrons inland. Agro settlements, mostly. No
paved roads of any sort."
     "They haven't spread out much," said Allen.
     "Well, the local area may provide all they need, Ced," replied
Byrne. "Some of those boats look like fishing vessels. That, some small
farms; that might be sufficient, at this level of development."
     "Yeah. Still, I wonder if..."
     Beep. Beep.
     "What is it?" asked Boomer.
     "Red light on the left engine," replied Apollo. "Leak in the primary
coolant manifold."
     "Bad?" asked Allen.
     "Maybe. Manifold temperature rising. Nearing red-line."
     "We going to have to break off?" asked Byrne.
     "Better to set her down and fix it," said Starbuck. "Pulling up out
of the gravity well could overload the intercooler, and it could blow. We
can make it on one engine, yes..."
     "No, we came to check this place out," said Apollo. He considered a
moment. "Set her down, near the derelict mine works, Starbuck."
     "Yes, Captain."
     "It should make a fairly good cover, there," said Apollo.
     "This going to be tough to fix?" asked Allen.
     "Won't know till we look," said Boomer.
 
 
     While Apollo and Boomer worked to repair the shuttle, Cassie,
Starbuck, Allen and Byrne made for the large settlement they had scanned.
Dressed in non-descript attire taken from the old pirate ship, they
could, visually at least, pass for locals. The town, according to the
badly-painted sign next to the road, was called Liberty.
     Once they got used to the heat and humidity. Within centons, sweat
was beading on their skin. "Right now, it's 94 degrees, relative humidity
84%."
     "And now, turning to the world of sports," said Allen.
     "Cute. Here," said Byrne, passing out gold and silver coins taken
from the Captain's cabin aboard Bon Femme Tessa. "I have no idea what the
conversion rate would be, so don't spend it all in one place, everyone."
     "Won't these seem out of place?" asked Cassie, looking over her
bankroll.
     "Well, unless we rob someone, it's all the moolah we've got,"
replied Byrne. "I doubt Colonial cubits would pass, unnoticed."
     "Good point," said Starbuck. They had gotten as close as they dared
with the Landram, then proceeded the rest of the way on foot. As they
drew near, Cassie double-checked the Languatron earpieces.
     "I'm reading some non-Human biosigns," she said.
     "Me too," said Starbuck. "Not sure what, though."
     "Well, we'll find out soon," Cassie shot back, and they descended an
overgrown path from the forested heights, to the edge of the village.
"Bacterial scans are also negative for anything inimical to us. Probably
a lot brought from Earth. I....wooo!" exclaimed Cassie, as the ground
moved under her feet. Allen caught her from falling.
     "Great," said Byrne. "Earthquakes."
     "Hey," said Starbuck, grinning at his fianc‚, "did the ground move
for you too?"
     Cassie's response is best left to obscurity.
     "Okay, here," said Byrne, as they slipped out from behind a derelict
building, and onto the main street. They activated their earpieces...
     "...damn fools! I'll hide ye, every...naves I cannot rule! Look to
your...a bit o' Miss Laycock, then, eh?...thousand pardons, my Good
Sir..."
     "It's English," said Allen. "Kev?"
     "Yeah. But really old-fashioned. Like something out of Shakespeare,
or old books, Ced."
     "Or Pirates of the Caribbean. Drink up, me hearties, Yo Ho."
     "May Johnny Depp have mercy upon you."
     "You understand this?" asked Starbuck.
     "The basics, yeah," said Byrne. "With a bit of concentration. But
there are some non-English words, too."
     "And God knows how the language may have diverged, since these
folks' ancestors left Earth," observed Allen. "After all, it's been
centuries. Languages change."
     "Well, it seems to fit the time period of that old ship," observed
Cassie, "from what Doctor Pliny told us."
     "Wind's picking up," observed Byrne. "Gonna be a big blow."
     "Yeah. Let's go," said Starbuck.
 
 
     "Shallow graves," said Boomer, running his scanner over small
overgrown mounds, near the decaying mine works.
     "Human?" asked Apollo.
     "Mostly." After having put the shuttle's problem to rights, they
moved to explore the ruins. As expected, they were a vast, decaying
cluster of industrial works, some burned out long ago, others rusting
away, back into the forest. Inside one of the buildings, they found
several sets of remains, some still on their bunks. These, however, were
not Human. "Bosaq, Captain."
     "Sometimes allies of the Risik, I understand."
     "Yeah. And it looks as if they just died where they were, in their
sleep."
     "Disease?"
     "Ya got me."
     "I'm going to go check out those buildings over there, Boomer."
     "Right. I'll see what's behind these sheds."
     Apollo headed out through a long-gone door, and across what had once
been a paved area, now broken up by vegetation between the cracks, and
piles of corroding machinery. He headed towards another building, and
nodded to himself. No matter who the builders might be, the Commandant's
office was the Commandant's office.
     Besides, the sign was still legible.
     It was a wreck, the door long gone, along with part of the ceiling.
The furniture, as such, had been reduced to rusty frames, and only bare
walls remained. Nor was much left of the Commandant, either, or whomever
the piles of crumbling bones on the floor had once belonged to. Only this
one hadn't been felled by some mysterious agency. His head had been
neatly cleaved, right smack in the middle of the forehead.
     "Whatever hit this place was sudden," Apollo said to Boomer, over
his commlink. He re-crossed the courtyard. "I don't think they saw it
coming."
     "I agree. The loading dock and the warehouse next to it are stacked
high."
     "With?"
     "Crates of refined metal ingots. Lead. Cupric. Auric. Cobalt. In
titanium crates, too. Still intact, waiting for shipment."
     "I can't imagine these folks just giving up a whole freighter load
of valuable cargo," said Apollo. "How much?"
     "Over a thousand kilons, in this gravity, of just auric, Captain.
The rest look about the same. At a toss, I'd say we're looking at close
to five or six million cubits, back home. Minimum."
     "Lords of Kobol! The foundry ship could sure use this."
     "Maybe we shouldn't tell Starbuck?" chuckled Boomer.
     "Good idea," Apollo smiled back. Then it was all serious again. "You
saw no signs of attack?"
     "Nope. Everything just...stopped."
     "Weird. Hades, it's creepy."
     "Yeah. Come have a look at what I found, Captain."
     They moved behind one of the long processing buildings. As they
picked their way through, Apollo noticed the tops of the trees swaying
more strongly in the wind. He swept the area with his scanner.
     "That storm's moving in."
     "Yeah," said Boomer. As he spoke, a branch snapped off one of the
trees, tumbling to the ground, blocking their path, and they felt the
first drops of rain. "Maybe we better get back to the shuttle, Captain.
The weather..."
     "You're right. We'll check this out once the storm passes, Boomer."
     "Right behind you, Apollo."

Chapter Six

     The visitors looked out from the small, dirty window of the wretched
inn, as the storm wailed it's way through the area. They had contacted
the shuttle, but with the driving rain and wind, and the path they had
taken now awash, they had decided to try and batten down in the village,
till it passed. Their coin passed without comment, and the four were now
sharing an upper-floor room meant for two.
     "Too bad they didn't have an extra room available," Starbuck gently
put his arm around his wife's waist, "A newly married couple could have a
nice cozy time here, all safe and secure from the rain and wind."
     She gave him a disdainful smirk but decided not to shake herself
loose, "You'll just have to go back to what it was like in the pilots
bunk tonight, Starbuck."
     "And after I'd made myself forget what that's like," he sighed as
the building shook from a strong blast of wind.  "Looks like everyone's
taken shelter.  Such as it is."  Reluctantly letting go of Cassie, he set
up his commlink, and contacted the shuttle.
     "Well, there's no doubt these people were taken from Earth during
the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries," said Byrne, to Apollo and
Boomer, over the commlink . He then had to explain again what that meant.
He replayed some of the local lingo they had surreptitiously recorded
during their walk-through of the town. "The language fits. But there are
a few words I don't get."
     "I do," said Allen.
     "You do?" asked Apollo. The rest turned to look at Allen.
     "I do indeed, Captain. Some of what they speak here is Harkaelian."
     "Harkaelian?" asked Starbuck. "You mean your wife's language?"
     "Yes. I heard someone at one of the stalls speaking it, or damned
close. And again downstairs, when we came here. I've gotten pretty good
at it, since Kalysha and I met."
     "So, not just Humans were abducted and brought here," said Cassie,
reviewing some of the bio readings she had taken. "Yes. I see what looks
like Harkaelian bio readings."
     "Obviously, Earth wasn't the only source of slave labor for these
people," said Starbuck. "They seem to have gathered workers from all over
the place."
     "Like slavers in our own history," said Allen. "They didn't give a
bloody damn. Just enough bodies to fill their quota."
     "And not just people," said Byrne. "I saw sheep in the market
square. And pigs."
     "Sheep?" asked Allen. "Why the...of course." He noticed Starbuck's
expression, and explained. "Cheap food source for the slaves."
     "Probably cut down operating costs for the place," said Byrne. "They
wouldn't have to provide food for the slaves."
     "I didn't see any pack beasts, though," observed Cassie. "No ovines,
no equinii."
     "Yeah, that is kinda odd," said Byrne. "You'd think if they brought
one, they'd have brought the other, too."
     "Horses mean mobility," said Allen. "It's not too far from the mine
to the other facilities. No need for pack beats, but horses could make it
easier to escape."
     "Of course," said Cassie. "Good point."
     "I thought...ahhhhh...." Allen yawned. "Man, I'm beat. Time to hit
the hay."
     "Yeah," said Byrne, yawning too. "Tomorrow is soon enough for
puzzles."
     They settled down, and slowly, one by one, dropped off. The last
thing Byrne heard before fading out was Starbuck muttering:
     "Hit the hay?"
 
 
     The storm fizzled out about dawn, but they were already awake, the
sun shining through the dirty windows.
     "The folks here must have some idea, some memory of what happened,"
said Cassie. "Their ancestors must have passed on the stories. Their
history."
     "But do they understand any of it?" asked Starbuck. "They were from
a pre-industrialized society. Could they even begin to grasp the concept
of interstellar travel?"
     "Good point," said Byrne. "But they seem to have had no trouble
building a society at something like what they had back home."
     "Yeah," said Allen. "This whole place is like the Caribbean, after
all. We could be in Nassau."
     "But the aliens?" asked Cassie. "The Harkealians, and the few others
we saw?"
     "Old sailor's tales back on Earth were full of stories of lands
populated by weird and bizarre creatures. Monsters. Maybe they just took
it in stride."
     "But they must realize this is not Earth. Or Harkaelis," said
Starbuck. "That's a trinary sun up there, and the constellations would be
totally different from what they would see from Earth, or wherever."
     "If their ancestors were allowed to pass on any such knowledge,"
said Cassie. "As slaves, they may not have been able to, or at least
much."
     "Well, we won't know till we learn more," said Byrne.
     "Will we have to reveal ourselves, do you think?" asked Cassie.
     "We may have to," said Byrne. "I am wondering why these aliens went
to all the trouble to set up an expensive mining operation here, staff it
with slaves, then never came back." He shook his head. "I mean they must
have sunk tons of money and technology into this place. Just doesn't make
a lot of sense. Besides, are they in danger here?"
     "Danger?" asked Cassie. "You mean the locals?"
     "Yeah. What if someone else comes along, and isn't as nice as we
are? Like the Risik, say."
     "Good point," said Starbuck. "But, they have survived all his time.
Looks like they haven't done all that badly, considering."
     "Times could change, Starbuck," replied Byrne. "God knows who might
turn up, someday, and claim the real estate."
     "Well, there is one thing I'd like to discover," said Allen. "And
it's bloody important, too."
     "What's that?" asked Starbuck.
     "Where the hell's the bloody can?"
 
 
     "They never made it," said Boomer, as he and Apollo looked over the
wrecked alien shuttle. A few hundred metrons from the facility, they had
stumbled on the vessel. Alien in design, it was nonetheless obviously a
cargo ship, somewhat smaller than one of their own shuttles. Crumpled and
almost broken in half, it had plowed into the ground, the jungle now
almost obscuring it from view.
     "Yeah. Looks like they crashed on take-off," said Apollo. Slowly, he
and Boomer made their way along the hull, till they came to the main
hatch, bent and hanging loose. Gingerly, they made it inside.
     "More cargo," said Boomer, his light illuminating several crates,
similar to those back at the mine. "But not very many."
     "And they weren't even lashed down," said Apollo. On the back
bulkhead, cargo straps, or what was left of them, were still stowed in
place. "They took off in a hurry."
     "Yeah," said Boomer, stepping over debris and moving forward, while
Apollo continued examining the cargo area. Cables and pieces of debris
hung from the ceiling, and many small creatures had, at one time or
another, made their home here. He looked up as Boomer called, from the
cockpit.
     "It got them, too, whatever it was," said Apollo.
     "Yeah. I'll bet you a secton's pay they saw what was happening, and
made a run for it."
     "But the disease, or whatever, got them first," finished Apollo.
     In the seats, were two of the alien skeletons, still strapped in.
One had obviously broken their neck on impact, thrown forward by the
force of the crash, the other had a hand to their throat, mouth agape.
The forward ports were gone, and the cockpit was filled with dirt and
plant debris.
     "Looks like no one ever got away to report," said Boomer. "I hope
whatever killed them doesn't pick on us."
     "Maybe Cassie can do an analysis," said Apollo. "In any event..."
They turned away, and left the death ship behind.
 
 
     The rest moved around the town, making a few purchases along the
way. More local duds, and, of course, Starbuck had to check out the local
watering hole. The large sign out front, garishly-painted with a
scantily-clad woman holding a tankard, proclaimed it to be The Laughing
Whore.
     "I assure you, Cass, my interest is strictly clinical, from the
standpoint of gathering information as a warrior," Starbuck said.
     Cassie rolled her eyes but inside she knew she didn't have anything
to worry about.  She knew that on missions like this, it was only natural
for Starbuck to joke about his past reputation.  It was his safety valve
that helped him get through missions without being distracted by the
risks that came with them.  That was something that as his wife she knew
she could tolerate....and even join in on with the gentle put-down of her
own.
     "Kind of reminds me of this place, on Cordugo Pit..."
     "Cordugo Pit was cleaner," said Cassie. Starbuck shrugged.
     "English letters," said Allen, looking up at the sign, squeaking
noisily on rusty hooks.
     "Yeah. And she even looks like my..."
     "Please!"
     "Okay."
     Suddenly, the ground shook again, gentler this time, but for longer.
     "Doesn't bode well," said Byrne.
     "Tremors never do," said Allen. "Well, shall we?" he asked,
indicating the watering hole before them.
     "I'm game," said Starbuck. Several of them snorted, and they headed
towards the saloon.
 
 
     "Any idea who they are?" asked Boomer, seeking cover behind a tree.
The wind was beginning to rise again. As they had emerged from the
tangled wood, they beheld two of the locals, entering the clearing. One,
a young man dressed in baggy pants and oversized boots, with a cutlass in
his wide leather belt, and a floppy hat upon his head. The other, a young
lady, in ankle-length dress and loose-fitting long-sleeved blouse, her
long hair loose and tangled by the breeze. The youth was apparently
Human, the girl, by her coloring, at least partly Harkaelian. Obviously,
they knew each other very well.
     "Have they seen us?" asked Apollo. After a moment, Boomer shook his
head. The two, it was plain, had eyes only for each other. "Of all
the...Well, we can't move until they're gone. Let's hope they don't
stumble on the shuttle."
     "Not much chance of that," said Boomer, as the two forgot about
everything but each other. Apollo lifted his scanner, but then lowered it
again. Boomer cocked a questioning eyebrow. "Bioscan, but it can wait."
     "Uh huh," he replied, with the patented "Boomer" look. "However long
that lasts."
     They withdrew a bit back into the foliage, to give the locals some
privacy. Apollo shook his head, grinning.
     "Captain?"
     "Good thing Starbuck isn't here."
     "Starbuck nothing. Good thing Sheba isn't here."
     "Lords of Kobol, yes!"
     "Don't gulp so loud, Captain. They might hear you."
 
 
     Despite the name, and the look, of the place, The Laughing Whore was
not quite as bad as the sign over the door might have at first suggested.
Trying to match his speech with the local accent, Byrne ordered drinks,
each of them ending up with something called scrumpy. After his eyes
returned to normal size, Starbuck, between gasps for air, pronounced it:
"Lords of Kobol! God that's good!"
     "How good is it?" Byrne replied, automatically.
     "So good that that I can see all twelve Lords of Kobol and a couple
angels playing cards at the next table," Starbuck teased.
     Byrne looked at Allen; together they erupted in laughter.
     "Gee, Starbuck," giggled Cassie. "I thought you could handle the
stuff." Allen made a rude noise, but otherwise remained mercifully
comment-free, not bothering to explain another Earthism. Cassie chuckled
quietly, pointing at the Earthers. "I must warn you, though...Their
reaction was funnier than your joke."
     Starbuck took her hand, his thumb caressing the palm. "No argument
here.
     The clientele was a pretty fair cross section of the planet's
population, as they knew it. Over ninety percent of the beings they could
see were Human, with just a few others. One, with silvery-white hair and
milky skin, was at the bar, apparently in a drinking contest with an
aesthetic, grey-skinned individual, neither species known to the
Colonials. Another, in the corner, was of Kalysha's species, and, for the
moment anyway, no one was trying to pummel anyone else's face into mushie
paste.
     "Okay, Genius," said Byrne to Allen, "now that we're here, and
dissolving the enamel off our teeth, what do we do next?"
     "Listen. People talk when they drink too much. Since these folks
were brought from Earth by aliens, we need to know who those buggers
were. What if Earth is still being targeted by them, whoever them are?"
     "If they even still recall," said Cassie. "It's been a long while,
since their ancestors were brought here."
     "Yeah, but it's worth a try," said Starbuck. "In fact..."
     Crash!
     The door to the bar flew open, and a large man, sword at his belt,
and a brace of pistols around his chest, crashed in. He looked like he'd
been sent over by central casting, with his scraggily long hair, full
beard, and large floppy hat.
     "Isabeau!" he bellowed, his accent slurred some, no doubt, from the
reek of him, by drink. "Isabeau! Where are ye? Come out, ya slut!"
     "On the other hand," began Starbuck.
     "Good thought," said Byrne.  

Chapter Seven

     The lovers made quick work of things, the passion as short-lived as
it was intense, as another storm began to blow through. Gathering up
their clothes, they cursed as rain began to pelt them. They headed for
the woods, but stumbled as the ground shook in another tremor.
     "That wasn't funny," Boomer said, looking at his brother-in-law.
Apollo was stone-faced, then broke up laughing. The ground shook again,
as the rain intensified.
     "Where...Ah," said Apollo, scanning. The two lovers had run directly
in their direction. Both Colonials pressed back into the foliage, and the
locals ran by, apparently seeking shelter in the ruins. Once they were
out of sight, both men emerged...
     To be knocked off their feet by a fresh tremor.
     "Damn, those are getting nasty," said Boomer, helping his CO up.
     "Yeah. I wonder if the locals..."
     He was cut off by a scream, and the sound of something crashing.
They moved as fast as they could through the woods, and into the old
mining works. One of the old ruins had collapsed, trapping the two young
people inside. There was a cry of pain, and they moved in.
 
 
     Bang!
     Shatter!
     Byrne looked at what remained of his drink, now lying in puddles and
bits of glass all over the bar, what wasn't splashed all over him. He
lowered the remains of his tankard, and turned to look. At the far end of
the bar, the boisterous newcomer stood, grin on his face, holding a
smoking pistol.
     "I never seen ye, afore," he said, somewhere between a growl and a
chuckle. "Who be ye?"
     "At least let a man finish his drink, Good Sir," said Allen, as
Byrne calmly got another round.
     "Ar, a rough-tongued lout," said the gunman. "Strangers, ye be."
     "Just travelers, friend," said Byrne, taking his new drink from the
barman, a grizzled Kadarian. "Would you care to join us? Quench your
thirst?"
     "I be wantin' ta know who ye are, first, me lad." The man was calmly
reloading his pistol. "We don't be getting' many strangers about here.
Nor folk offering to buy me a tankard. "
     "I'm... Kevin," said Byrne, and these are my friends. Cedric, and
this is Starbuck...and his wife, Cassiopeia." He took a sip, and watched
as the man slid his weapon back into the bandolier. "Just here to sample
your excellent ale, sir."
     "Star-buck, eh?  Where do the Star-bucks be hailin' from?"
     "After a couple of these," Starbuck replied, raising his tankard and
throwing himself into the role, "I cannae remember.  Around the corner
from the moon, I think."
     "Ar, I could be using a drink meself, Master Kevin. Barman! Bring me
something. Quick man, afore I blow away ta dust!" The oaf sat at the bar,
and was quickly served. From the looks of others, Cassie got the idea
that the man was respected hereabouts. No, more than respected. Feared.
"Brassiliano's the name," he said, after a long pull. "Francis
Brassiliano."
     Byrne recognized the name. Back home, in the days of the Spanish
Main, there had been a notorious buccaneer, by the name of Brasilliano.
He wondered, what if...
     "Pleased to be making your acquaintance, sir."
     "Ar. So what ye be doing here, might I be askin?
     God, he even sounds like Robert Newton! Byrne told himself.
 
 
     "Well?" asked Apollo, as Boomer pulled the last of the wreckage off
the young man. What remained of the ceiling of the decaying old building
had at last given way in the tremor, and both natives were pinned beneath
it.
     "He's still breathing," replied the other Warrior. "Banged up pretty
bad, but not serious, near as I can tell." He ran the small medi-scanner
over the young man. "Unconscious"
     "What about her?" asked Apollo.
     "She's out, too. Uhh......fractured upper left arm. Looks like she
may have some internal injuries. We're gonna need Cassie, for sure."
     "Let's get them back to the shuttle."
     "But..."
     "I'm not going to let them die, Boomer." He hefted the last piece of
roof truss off the young woman, and gently began to lift her. "Come on.
Let's get them to the shuttle. Once there, we'll call Cassie."
     "Right."
 
 
     Starbuck excused himself to what passed for a men's room in this
place, as Byrne and he rest conversed with the pistol-wielding
Brasilliano. He re-emerged, and motioned to Cassie, filling her in on
things, as he slid his comlink back into his pocket. At the bar,
Brasilliano was showing them how to balance a full tankard on the muzzle
of a pistol, all the while laughing drunkenly. As he did so, Allen caught
her look, as did Byrne a moment later. She leaned close and whispered to
both Earthmen.
     "What? No, you hafta stay, me lads!" laughed Brasilliano, as they
moved to leave. He grabbed Cassie by the sleeve. "Really."
     "We need to be on our way..." she began, but he brought one of his
pistols to bear on her.
     "Ye really need to be stayin'," grinned the other. "I really
insist."
     "Look, uh, Captain," began Starbuck, but the other had cocked the
pistol.
     "Ye wouldna be denyin' a man the chance to have a little fun over
drinks, now would ye?"
     "Well, now that you put it like that," began Starbuck, giving Cassie
a quick look. In a flash, she raked the heel of one boot down
Brasilliano's leg, as Allen grabbed the pistol. It went off with a roar,
shattering the mirror over the bar, along with a few bottles. The drunken
man roared in pain, gripping Allen's arm with surprising strength. The
two wrestled, till Starbuck landed a right to his jaw, and Cassie broke a
tankard over his head. With a grunt, the fellow fell to the floor with a
loud thud.
     "Ye'd better be makin' yerrrrr-rrrself scarce," said a voice. They
turned, to behold a cat-like being, about Cassie's height, and wearing
huge leather boots, a doublet with a sash, a ridiculous hat, and a sword.
"He'll be after ye!"
     "Uh, much obliged," said Byrne, shaking off memories of childhood
nursery rhymes. "Mister...?"
     "Neverrrrrr-r mind," said the felinoid. "Just get yerrrrrr-rselves
to safety!"
     "Thanks," said Starbuck, heading towards the door.  
     "Here," said Byrne, tossing some coin at the barkeep. "Sorry about
the mess."
     "At least he didn't have some bloody parrot on his shoulder," said
Allen, as they made it to the street.
     "There is that," replied Kevin.


     "Well this is good news," said Adama, on the bridge, to Tigh. His XO
raised a questioning eyebrow. "Apollo's team confirms the installations
are long-abandoned. No indication of Risik presence or activity for at
least a generation or more."
     "Well, if we never meet those people again, I'll be happy," replied
Tigh. "Flesh-and-blood creatures, driven to exterminate flesh-and-blood
creatures. In that respect, they almost seem worse than the Cylons,
Commander."
     "Yes, they do. It's that disgusting racist streak they seem to have.
Ordained to cleanse the universe of whatever they don't like."
     "I hope Earth is better," sighed Tigh.
     "You and me both, old friend," said Adama, as Athena brought him a
report for his perusal. "You and me both."
 
 
     "What have we got?" asked Starbuck, upon re-entering the shuttle.
They had high-tailed it out of town, and used the cover of approaching
darkness to cover their exit. Boomer explained, and Cassie at once set to
work.
     "Good job on the first aid, Boomer," she said. "Ever consider
switching to medicine?"
     "Nah. I'll stick to the cockpit."
     "Will we need to take them back to the Galactica?" asked Starbuck.
     "Give me some time, Starbuck," replied Cassie. Once she had some
silence, she ran her scanner over both patients, and injected the girl
with something. After a few "hhmm"s, she knodded lightly, apparently
pleased with what she saw. "Captain, hand me that...yes.' Allen handed
her a device, which she pressed gently against the girl's shoulder, and
it began to hum, bathing the area in a reddish glow. Cassie explained
that it was a portable bone-welder, the little sister of the big,
hospital-sized model in the Galactica's LifeStation. After a few dozen
centons, the pitch of the device changed, and she made adjustments. Then,
she motioned to Starbuck. "Here. Hold this over the site, while I check
on him."
     "She's Harkaelian," said Allen. "Like Kalysha."
     "Looks that way," said Cassie. "But I scan differences, too. She may
be a hybrid. In fact I'm sure of it."
     "A mix of species?" asked Apollo.
     "Yes. Our scans back on the ship show that Harkaelian and Human DNA
are compatible on numerous levels. She is definitely part Human."
     "How about him?" asked Boomer.
     "Fully Human. And he just has contusions and bruises mostly. He'll
be stiff and sore for a while, but he'll be fine. Lucky man." She
injected him as well with a hypo. Almost at once, he began to stir,
groaning softly. "And, I might add, she's also pregnant." As she spoke,
the young man opened his eyes, and tried to rise.
     "I...who..."
     "Careful," said Cassie, pressing him gently back into the cushions.
"Take it easy."
     "Who...who are ye?" he asked, his voice raspy and slow. "Where be
Isabeau?"
     "If you mean the lady you were with," said Cassie, "she's right
here." The young man rose, a bit too quickly, and turned till he saw her,
Starbuck still holding the bone-welder as instructed."
     "What...what ye be doin' to her, man?" said the other, raising his
voice.
     "Healing her injuries," replied Apollo. "Cass?"
     "That should be about enough," said Cassie, and she took the welder
back from Starbuck. "Good job, Doctor Starbuck."
     "Thanks. I think."
     "What's your name?" asked Apollo.
     "I be Henry. Henry Bellamy," said the young man. "And this is
Isabeau."
     "Wasn't that guy in the bar shouting for someone with that name?"
asked Starbuck.
     "Yeah, he was," said Byrne.
     Isabeau began to stir, and slowly, Cassie helped her to a sitting
position. The girl looked dazed, but slowly she focused on them. She
tried to dart off the table, but Cassie held her.
     "It's alright," she said, in her best tone. "You're among friends.
I'm Cassiopeia." She introduced the rest.
     "Ye rescued us from that place," said Henry. "Me thanks, Miss
Cassiopeia."
     "Actually, they are the ones that actually rescued you," replied
Cassie, indicating Apollo and Boomer. "I just tended to your injuries."
     "Well, I thank ye," replied Henry.
     "I think we be amongst friends, Henry,' said Isabeau.
     "Uh, Isabeau," said Allen. "When we were in town earlier, there was
a man looking for you. A big, dangerous-looking fellow. Said his name was
Brasilliano."
     "Oh, Heaven forfend!" cried the girl, every muscle tightening. She
seemed frightened. "Him! He is not here with ye, is he?"
     "No, he's not," said Byrne, declining to describe just how they'd
taken their leave of the gentleman in question. The girl was obviously in
fear of the man, given her reaction to the mere mention of his name. He'd
come into the bar looking for her, and it didn't as if he had the best of
intentions. What if...
     "You know him?" asked Cassie.
     "Indeed I do. Me father, he is."
     "Oh crikey!" sighed Allen.

Chapter Eight

     "Sagan's Socks was that?" said Starbuck, as a strong tremor rocked
him awake. Next to Cassie in one of the shuttle's pull-down bunks, the
shaking had rolled him onto the deck.
     "Another tremor," said Boomer, likewise roused. He went to the
instruments, running a full geo-scan. It wasn't as efficient, as the
download from an orbital sweep, but it would do. "Uh-oh."
     "I don't think I like the way you said that," said Starbuck.
     "Nor should you," said Apollo, perusing the scanner data as well.
"Lord of Kobol, this looks like trouble."
     "Now I really don't like the way you said that."
     "More quakes?" asked Cassie. She watched as Henry and Isabeau came
forward from their bunks. She tried to calm them.
     "Yeah," said Boomer. "I'm no Wilker, but if I read this right,
pressure along a slip fault is building up, and rapidly. And it's a
shallow fault. No more than maybe one or two kilometrons into the
planet's crust."
     "I take it that's bad," said Allen.
     "Yes," said the Viper pilot. He sat down, and opened a link to the
Galactica. "I'm forwarding the scans in realtime to Wilker. While I'm no
geologist, I did actually pay attention in school and the Academy.
According to this, that fault is going to rip loose, sometime within the
next ten planetary days."
     "Then..." said Byrne.
     "Yes," said Apollo. "That town, and all the people in it, are
doomed."


     "You're certain?" asked Adama, in Wilker's lab, next morning.
     "Totally, Commander," responded the Galactica's chief scientist. He
put up holo-graphics, created from the shuttle's scans. He began
launching in to one of the techno-babble orgies he was so fond of, when
Adama raised a hand, and bid him speak in plain language. He acquiesced,
and handed things over to Dr. Michah, head of Geo-Sciences.
     "Simply put, Commander," said the geologist. "This area here," and
he indicated the long coastline where the bulk of the planet's population
was situated, "is the result of repeated quakes resulting from tectonic
uplift over thousands of yahrens. These two pieces, or plates, of the
planet's crust, have been sliding past each other, gradually pushing up
the land to create the mountains and headlands along the coast. From time
to time, these sorts of faults lock up, as this one has done, and the
energy builds."
     "And now?" asked Tigh, next to his CO.
     "And now, the energy, the stress, has reached a level where at some
point along this fault line here, the rock will fail. And when it does,
the fault will slide on, till it reaches a new equilibrium."
     "So, plainly put, this are is going to be destroyed," said Adama.
     "Yes, Commander. And when it goes, the shock and rebounding of the
crust will create massive waves. Waves of enormous energy and power. When
they cross the ocean," and he indicated the sea to both the north and
east of the expected quake site, "they will obliterate anything on the
opposite shores."
     "Are these areas inhabited?" asked Adama, pointing at the likely
wave targets.
     "Not so far as we can tell," replied Michah. "But depending on how
starong the energy release is, there could be rebound. And that could be
deadly as well."
     "And our people are down in it," said Adama. He thought a moment.
"Bridge."
     "Commander?" came the voice of Omega.
     "Get me Captain Betz, on the Century, and Baltar, on the BaseShip."
     "Right away, Commander," replied the Bridge Officer.
     "We're going to this planet?" asked Wilker.
     "We need to get information, as well as rescue our people," said
Adama. "I think we don't have much of a choice. Colonel?"
     "Sir?"
     "Lay in a course for the planet, once we make the proper
arrangements here."
     "Sir."


     "Damn! That one was stronger," said Allen, as another tremor ceased.
     "And they'll get stronger ye," offered Boomer. "This planet's major
moon will pass over this region in a few days. The gravitational tug will
probably be what finally snaps the fault line for good."
     Beep
     "It's the Galactica," said Apollo. "She's hailing us." He opened the
channel. "Alpha shuttle receiving you."
     "Report, Captain," said Adama, on the small vid screen on the
control panel.
     "It looks like we were right, Father," said Apollo. "The bulk of
these people appear to be Human, and speak variations of Earth languages.
Some of the currency we have seen and clothes, as well as written script,
match material from the derelict ship."
     "You said 'the bulk of these people', Apollo. Are there others, as
well?"
     "Yes. Aside from Humans, we have found individuals from species we
have either encountered, or seen in data captured from the Ziklagoio.
There are some Harkealians, and even a bipedal sort of felinoid." He
explained the patrons in the tavern, and forwarded Cassie's surreptitious
scans.
     "Then you think these people were brought there as slaves," asked
Adama.  
     "Yes. And then at some point, we don't know why as yet, the Risik
just abandoned the whole place." He explained the crashed cargo shuttle,
and the dead aliens inside it. "Since then, the people here have built up
a fair civilization."
     "Do they want to return to Earth, Apollo?"  
     "We have not had a chance to make open contact yet, Father. What
with the impending quake and all. Do you wish us to, now?"
     "Yes. The ship will be there in another four or so centars. Try and
prepare them, as best you can."
    " Yes, sir."
     "What if they don't want to leave?" asked Allen, after Adama had
signed off. "Some of these folks have probably never known any other
home, Captain. They have roots here."
     "Well, we'll think of something," said Apollo, remembering how they
had interfered in diverting Michael and Sarah's shuttle, from it's
original course to Paradeen. "But it will have to be their decision, of
course."
     Rumble rumble
     "I hope," he added.
 
 
     "On course, Commander" said Colonel Tigh, on the bridge. "ETA the
planet, three point six zero centars."
     "Steady as she goes, Colonel," replied Adama.
     "Commander."
 
 
     "Earth?" said Henry, walking with the rest, outside the shuttle, as
the story of who these people were, and why they were here, was unfolded
to he and Isabeau. "Aye, I've heard the tales, from me father and me
grandmother. But I always deemed them fantasies. Bedtime tales fer
children, and naught more."
     "No, it's real," said Byrne. "Your ancestors came from the planet
Earth, generations ago. That's where Captain Allen and I are from." He
explained as best he could how they had come to be here, and what their
mission was.
     "And ye want to take us there?" asked Isabeau. "Away from our home
here?"
     "Only if you want to," said Apollo. "That's your choice. But this
whole region is going to be destroyed soon. We're here to try and rescue
your people, Isabeau. If we can."
     "Destroyed?" asked Henry. "How?"
     "These quakes you've been having," said Boomer. "They have been
getting worse, haven't they?"
     "Aye, that they have."
     "But we have always had quakes," interjected Isabeau.
     "But they are increasing in number," said Boomer. "And they will get
worse yet. Soon, all the settled areas around the sea, including Liberty,
will be destroyed."
     "Destroyed?" cried Isabeau. "Heaven forfend! What shall we do?"
     "Can you stop it?" asked Henry, looking around at all the
bewildering technology of the shuttle.
     "No," said Apollo. "No one can. But we could move you to somewhere
else. Somewhere safe from these quakes."
     "Leave Liberty?" asked Isabeau.
     "All we know is there," said Henry. "At least for most of us."
     "You can build a new town, somewhere else," said Starbuck. "Begin a
new life, safe from the quakes and tidal waves. We can help you.""
     "But if you stay, you'll all perish," said Cassie. "I'm sorry." Her
words were punctuated by another tremor. From the direction of the old
works, they heard a deafening crash.
     "Then we must go and tell the people, Henry," said Isabeau.
     "And fast," said Allen.
     "Very well..." began Henry, when a voice carried to them from the
edge of the woods. A loud and angry voice.
     "Isabeau!" it bellowed. "Isabeau! Where are ye? Answer me, ye slut!"
As they stood by the shuttle, they saw Brasilliano emerge from cover,
armed as always with pistols and cutlass. He was also, as usual,
obviously somewhat the worse for wear, from drink. He looked about, at
last catching sight of the alien machine, and the people in front of it.
     "Fa..." began Isabeau.
     "You!" bellowed the older man, clearly angry. "I told ye, stay away
from this lout!" He looked at Henry, moving closer. "And I told ye to be
keepin' yer hands off my daughter! She ain't fer the likes of such as
ye!"
     "Father!" she cried, with a touch of anger in her voice. "I am a
woman grown, and I will be with whom I..."
     "Shut yer gab! I'll deal with ye later, child!" bellowed
Brasilliano. He looked at Henry. "Ye filthy plow boy!" He drew his
cutlass. "I'll teach ye! I'll teach ye to defy me! If ye nay be keepin'
yer filthy hands off my daughter, then ye'll be havin' no hands! Plow
boy!" Henry leaped back, as the older man swung at him. His blade struck
the shuttle, drawing sparks. The older man drew back for another swing...
     And with a groan, dropped like a rock, as Boomer's stun blast struck
him in the back.
     "O Lord above! What have ye done ta him?" cried Isabeau, looking
from Boomer, to his pistol, to her crumpled father, then back. With a
cry, she ran towards him.
     "Just put him to sleep," said Cassie, catching up to her. "He isn't
harmed, Isabeau. I assure you." She motioned to the rest, and they picked
the insensate man up, and carried him through the hatch, and into the
shuttle. The hatch slapped shut...
     Cutting off their view of the man who slowly stepped out from the
trail in the woods, and after a long look, turned and ran back down the
trail towards the town.

Chapter Nine

     "All scouts reporting in, Commander," said Omega, turning to Adama.
     "And?"
     "All vectors showing clear, sir. No sign of the Risik, or of any
space vessels at all."
     "Good news, Omega. Thank you."
     "Sir."
     "Colonel Tigh?"
     "All decks on yellow, sir. All defense stations manned and ready,
Green and Bronze Squadrons prepped for launch, in case the Risik do show
up."
     "Excellent, Colonel." Adama looked up, at the forward ports. "Steady
as she goes, helm."
     "Steady as she goes, aye, Commander," replied Omega. Turning from
the helmsman, Adama settled his gaze upon his daughter. Though she was
busy at her station, Adama could tell from the tightness of her features
and the set of her shoulders that she was worried. Worried not just for
her brother, leaping into the maw of danger as usual, but also for her
husband as well. He considered a moment, then went to her.
     "He'll be alright, Athena," he said, quietly, putting a hand on her
shoulder.
     "I...I know, Father," she replied quietly. "I just..."
     "I know," sighed Adama, looking up from her, to the main port again.
"I do too."
 
 
     "How is he?" asked Starbuck, as Cassie ran her scanner over the
still-insensate Brasilliano.
     "He could be better," she replied. "Aside from being deficient in
several nutrients, he shows signs of chronic alcohol abuse. A few more
yahrens of this, and his liver's going to crash and burn." She selected a
hypo from her medkit, and adjusted it. She pressed it against the man's
neck.
     "What are ye doin'?" asked Isabeau.
     "Giving him something to make him better," she replied, knowing the
girl could never understand all the medical and pharmacological jargon.
     "Otherwise?" asked Apollo.
     "Otherwise, he's not too bad for a man his age and the level of
medical science, here. If he can just stay off the booze."
     "He always did drink too much," said Isabeau. "Mother used to scold
him about it, she did."
     "Should have scolded him harder," said Cassie. She broke off, as
another tremor hit.
     "How much longer?" asked Henry.
     "No way to be certain," replied Boomer. "But you need to get back to
Liberty, and spread the word. The people need to move out, now. No time
for delays."
     "Aye," said Henry, looking at Isabeau. "Yer right."
     "What do we do with him?" asked Starbuck, as Brasilliano began to
stir.
 
 
     "Decelerating, sir. Ten centons to planet orbit," said Omega,
checking his helm readouts. "We have the shuttle transponder lock,
Commander."
     "Good, Omega. Inform me when we make the first pass over their
position," replied Adama.
     "Sir."
 
 
     Brasilliano awoke, propped up against a tree on the trail from
Liberty. He slowly sat up, his muscles aching, and looked around. What
the bloody hell had happened? He'd been heading towards the old evil
ruins, with his most trusted man, Vigo, to find and retrieve his daughter
from that damned farmboy! Then...
     Then what? He'd come to a stop as they had exited the forest, and
beheld some deviltry in the meadow. Had the evil ones come back? It
looked like their airships, from the old stories, but then...
     Then what? He had seen Isabeau, with that vermin Henry, surrounded
by strangely-dressed folk. Then, it felt like he'd been hit with an
anchor, and everything went black. Black, until now. Maybe he should cut
back on the drink, as Isabeau kept scolding him to do.
     He walked back along the trail, and re-emerged into the meadow.
Whatever it was, if it had indeed existed at all, was nowhere to be seen.
The glade was empty, with a huge fissure cutting across it. He shook his
head, and rubbed his eyes. No, it was true. The glade was empty. It must
have been a fantasy. Yes, he'd stumbled, and hit his head, and dreamed it
all. No sky ship, no Isabeau, nothing.
     But then where was she? Vigo said she'd been here, with Henry. Was
Vigo lying? He'd grown to be suspicious of the man of late. Maybe he
wanted Isabeau for himself. That wouldn't have surprised Brasilliano
much. She was just like her mother, Isabeau was. Headstrong and defiant.
Oh, how he'd teach her, when he got his hands on her! A lesson she would
never forget. And one that Henry would not live long enough to make use
of!
     It had been a wild and passionate union, with Isabeau's mother. The
dark-skinned Harkaelian woman, Hath-Nefer. Wild and passionate and
deliriously intense. No woman could, or ever had, matched her, and he'd
known many, and it was not long before she gifted him with a daughter,
Isabeau. Yes, wild, free-souled, and defiant as a summer hurricane.
     Too defiant. Defiant one time too many, she'd been. Crossing him,
scolding him, sending bullets after the doxies he'd sometimes dallied
with. It had gone on, year after year as Isabeau grew, until one day, as
she...
     He stumbled, as the ground trembled yet again. He righted himself,
and headed back down the trail for Liberty. Obviously, Isabeau was
somewhere else, and Vigo had lied to him. Well, he'd deal with that when
the time was right. For now, he had best hide himself back home. As he
ran, he noticed how good he felt. No hangover from that last keg of rum,
his wind better than he'd felt it in ages. Yes, he felt excellent. But,
no time to dwell on that just now. There were things to be dealt with,
and accounts to be settled.
     The ground shook again, and he stumbled, narrowly missing a falling
tree that crashed onto the trail behind him. He picked himself up,
cursing skinned knees and torn buskins, and continued on, bellowing his
daughter's name as he went.
     "Isabeau! Isabeau!"
 
 
     "There looks good," said Boomer, as the shuttle found a new perch.
And just in time. The geoscan sweeping the area had triggered the alarm,
and they raised ship just in time to avoid sliding into the fissure that
opened up beneath them. Now, the shuttle was settling back down a few
hundred metrons from her original LZ, behind a thick stand of trees.
     "What next?" asked Starbuck.
     "We have to try and warn the folks in Liberty," said Byrne. "I doubt
they know much about geology."
     "And the geoscans show the fault here hasn't done much in several
hundred yahrens," said Boomer. "They may have no experience of quakes."
     "So?" asked Allen.
     "So, we..."
     "Galactica to shuttle. This is Commander Adama. Respond."
     "So we answer the Commander," said Apollo, and reached for the
communit.
 


     Brasilliano emerged back onto the main street of Liberty, to find
barely contained chaos. People were packing whatever they owned into
wagons, and ships were pulling out from the wharf. People were leaving...
     Not if he had anything to say about it! He grabbed someone, carrying
a satchel, but the other broke free as a small tremor rattled the ground.
He looked around, and saw Vigo, talking hurriedly to some others, urging
them to get while they could. In a rush of anger, he crossed the street
to where his henchman stood.
     "What do ye think ye be doin', Vigo?" he demanded.
     "Getting folks away, before it's too late," replied Vigo. He turned
to go.
     "Don't ye be fergettin' that I run this town, Vigo! And you'll be
doin' as I say!"
     "They'll be no town to run if everyone stays and dies!" replied the
other. He turned his back on Brasilliano, and that was his big, and
final, mistake. In a rage, Brasilliano grabbed his shoulder, and turned
him around, at the same time shoving a pistol in his gut.
     "The only one dyin'll be you!" he snarled, and fired. Vigo crumpled
in a heap, and his murderer looked down at the corpse with contempt. "All
of ye! Go home!" he shouted. "No one's leavin' Liberty!"
     "I am, Father," said a voice. Brasilliano turned, and saw Isabeau,
Henry next to her, both carrying their meager belongings in bags thrown
over their shoulders.
     "Get ye home, child!" bellowed her father.
     "There's no home left," cried the girl. She pointed to a column of
smoke. "It's gone, Father."
     "Ye set fire to my house?" howled Brasilliano, at Henry. Before the
young man could answer, he began to draw another pistol from the
bandolier he wore. In a blur, he raised the weapon, and in as quick a
blur, something came crashing down on his hand. He yelped in pain,
dropping the weapon.
     "Come on!" cried a voice. It was the bipedal feline from the bar,
likewise burdened with belongings. "The boat won't wait much longer!"
     "You alley prowler!" snarled Brasilliano. "I'll have yer skin for
this..."
     "Only he did not. A wash of light struck him in the back, and with a
grunt, he crumpled to the ground.
     "Come on!" said Byrne, pistol in hand, as the ground shook once
more. "Let's go!"

     "Orbit attitude, Commander," reported Omega. "Picking up the shuttle
transponder."
     "Get me Captain Apollo, at once."
     "Sir."
 
 
     "There isn't a lot more we can do here," said Apollo, watching the
citizens of Liberty flee. The ground shook again under their feet, and
Cassie caught his arm.
     "Can they get away in time?" asked Starbuck, barely keeping his feet
as a passerby bumped into him.
     "That's out of our hands," said Apollo. He looked across the harbor,
where more of the local craft were making for the open sea. Could they
make it? Dare he even hope? He looked down, and saw a crack begin to
spread up the street, towards them, and where Isabeau's father lay.
     "Come on!" said Cassie, grabbing Henry and Isabeau, and pulling them
towards the edge of the rapidly crumbling town. They ran, as the tavern
collapsed with a deafening crash, and the screams of those unfortunate
enough not to move fast enough came to their ears.
     "Father!" cried Isabeau, turning back towards the insensate man.
"Father...!"
     "It's too late!" said Henry, and grabbing her. "Come, or we all
die!"
     Brasilliano began to stir, and slowly got to his feet. What by
heaven was that? What had happened to him.? He got to his feet, and saw
the wreck of what remained of his domain about him. Cursing loudly, he
loked about, and saw his daughter, just disappearing at the far end of
the street. He took a step...
     And another tremor hit. He struggled to keep his footing, and for a
moment he did. Then, the fissure cracked open wider, and he turned...
     To see it yawning in front of him. He barely had time to scream,
before the edge gave way, and he tumbled into the collapsing pit.
 
 
     "My God," said Cassie, watching the progress of geological events
from orbit.
     "But real even so," said Boomer. One hundred and twenty-some
kilometrons below them, huge chunks of land were collapsing, sliding into
the water. Far out to sea, a massive plume of black smoke and ash
betokened the birth of a volcanic vent. All along the old coast, bits of
the continent were sinking into the sea.
     "Rating?" asked Apollo, as he leaned over, to watch the displays on
the Galactica''s bridge.
     "Approximately a nine," said Wilker. "Massive."
     "I hope at least some of those poor souls made it to safety," said
Cassie. She turned to look at Isabeau. The girl was laboring hard to
fight back the tears. Yes, he'd been an unpleasant man, in the extreme,
but Brasilliano had still been her father. Next to her, Henry, arm around
her shoulders, tried not to goggle, at the sights and sounds of the
Battlestar's bridge. In a few days, he'd gone from simple farmer, to
flying in space. His mind was trying mightily to adjust, but...
     "Yes," said Adama. Even as he spoke, a chunk of land nearly the size
of Earth's Manhattan Island began to slide away from the disintegrating
coastline, and was quickly overwhelmed by the waves. Already, huge
tsunamis were spreading out, and the sea floor continued to buck and
writhe as the tectonic forces spent themselves. He felt helpless, the
massive technology around them impotent to stop or to save. According to
the best computer modeling, the upheavals would continue for at least a
few more days, until a new equilibrium was reached. The new volcano? Not
even the computer could say.

 
     "What will you do now?' asked Adama, two days later, in the ship's
Council Chamber, of some of the survivors. Aside from Henry and Isabeau,
the rescue teams had been able to retrieve about a hundred people, most
of them Human.
     "What can we do?" asked Henry. "Our homes are gone. What have we
left?"
     "There are other parts of your world," said Apollo. "Far away from
what was destroyed. Rivers, seas to fish, and land to farm. You were the
only people on your world. We could resettle you, and you could begin
again."
     "But we have nothing," said another man, a burly fisherman.
"Everything we possessed is gone."
     "Ar!" said a third. "Sunk into the sea!"
     "We can help," said Adama. "You understand about how your ancestors
were brought here, as slaves, long ago."
     "Aye," said Henry. "We do."
     "We are headed for the planet that your forebears came from," Adama
continued. "It is our intention to reach Earth."
     "How far away is it?" asked one of the survivors.
     "Unfortunately, we don't know," said Adama. "We only have a course
through space to follow. We could reach Earth tomorrow, or yahrens from
now. We just don't know."
     "The choice is up to you," said Apollo, looking across the sea of
faces. "We can find a place for you here, in our fleet, or you can build
new lives and a new civilization on the planet below."
     "The choice is yours," said Adama.
     "We will need time to consider all this," said Henry.
     "It will be tough, either way," said Byrne. "But the decision has to
be yours."
     "Of course," said Adama. "And, once you choose a place, if that is
what you wish to do, we can supply you with materials and equipment to
begin again. To farm, to build new homes, new settlements."
     "New technologies," said Apollo. "Ways to improve your lives."
     "And the lives of our children," said Isabeau, putting a hand to her
abdomen.
     "Yes," said Henry. 

Chapter Ten

     In all, only a handful would not be returning to begin anew on the
planet. Out of the approximately ten thousand people who had called this
planet home, fewer than eight-hundred had survived, as far as they could
determine. After several cartographic scans of the planet, numerous
potential settlement sites had been identified. After some scouting
missions, a site was chosen, over a thousand kilometrons from the former
site of Liberty, on the northern continent, almost a third of the way
around the planet. A vast prairie, criss-crossed by clear rivers full of
fish, with rich soil, and forested mountains bordering them, less than a
day's walk from an arm of the sea, it was, the majority voted, the new
place to call home.
     It was also, mercifully, far from any fault lines.
     "What will you call it?" asked Kalysha, who had come down with her
husband to watch the survivors begin the journey into a new life. As
someone from Isabeau's mother's homeworld, the two found they had a lot
in common, including language. In secret, unbeknownst to her father,
Hath-Nefer had taught her daughter her ancestral tongue, and the two
conversed in it as they looked out over the site New Liberty. But, as
fascinated as she was by this glimpse into her heritage, Isabeau was
determined to remain.
     "This is our world, now," she told her fellow-Harkaelian. "And Henry
and I will bring up our children to be worthy of it."
     "I think you shall be," said Kalysha, handing the girl a small
satchel. In it were copies of the few surviving works, in the Harkaelian
tongue, that Kalysha herself had brought with her when she had fled her
home planet. "What will you do?"
     "Henry is a farmer," replied Isabeau. "A man of the soil. I shall be
a woman of the soil, also." She looked over, to where Henry was deep in
conversation with Carmichael, from the Agro Ships. The scientist had
brought several cases down to the surface, and they were going through
the contents. Packed inside were seeds and cuttings, most of plants
native to the Colonies, and, interestingly, also to Earth. A few dozen
metrons away, a shuttle was unloading pallets of tools. Axes, shovels,
plows, hammers, anvils, and pretty much everything needed to get this new
colony up and running.
     And running was a good descriptor. Another shuttle opened up, and
disgorged several animals. Among the few snagged during the flight from
the Colonies, they had been carefully maintained and bred aboard the
livestock ship, no one knowing what they would find, come journey's end.
Among them were some porcines, bovines, and equines.
Animals their ancestors would have known, and which here, could improve
the quality of their lives considerably. Along with some native species
that were congruent with Human physiology, the pioneers would never lack
for food.
     "Looking good," said Starbuck, coming up next to Isabeau and
Kalysha, watching the grid of the new town being laid out. Already,
several "streets" were getting their first traffic, and plots and
building sites were being organized, and allotted.
     "Yes it is," said Kalysha, waving at Allen. "These people will do
well, I think."
     "Kind of reminds me of some of the old stuff we had in school, about
when the Colonies were first settled," said the Viper pilot. "People
starting with basically next to nothing but their hands and
determination."
     "Sounds like this place," said Kalysha. "Oh, where are they going?"
She pointed to one of the Landrams, heading off across the land. The
vehicle was dragging something behind it, raising a cloud of dust.
     "Towards the coast," said Starbuck. "The Landram is paving the way
for a road. Once the folks get wagons and such going, they can travel
between here and the coast. Several of the survivors are already planning
on setting up a new fishing village, one of them told me."
     "Excellent," said Isabeau.
     "Which reminds me," added Starbuck, waving to get Henry's attention.
"We have a surprise for you."
     "For us?" asked Isabeau. "And what might that be?"
 
 
     "That is it?" asked Henry, looking up towards the roar coming from
the sky.
     "That she is," said Byrne, with a grin.


     "This is wonderful," said Adama, sitting around a campfire, and
chatting with Henry and Isabeau. With him were Starbuck, Apollo, and the
Earth astronauts. The conversation ran the gamut from what the locals
knew of Earth, to life here, as it had been. A few bottles of ambrosia
from the Officer's Mess, as well as some of the local brew, made for a
convivial evening. "I haven't had an evening around the campfire since,
oh, before Zac was born, Apollo."
     "We used to do it in summers, when I was in the orphanage," said
Starbuck. "I hated them then. But now..." he took a swig of the local
nectar, "but now, I think I could get used to this."
     "You need to spend more time in the Agro Parks," said Apollo.
"Right, Cassie?"
     "Yes, and I may prescribe it," she replied, grinning at her husband.
     "Yes, Doctor," replied Starbuck.
     "You know," said Allen, slowly, in all this, I never thought to ask,
but, what is this planet's name?"
     "Name?" asked Henry.
     "Yeah. I mean, our planet is called Earth, Commander Adama and his
people came from a planet called Caprica. What do you call your world?"
     "Just...the world," said Henry. "You give world's names?"
     "Of course," said Kalysha, next to Allen. "Mine, and the world
Isabeau's mother was from, is called Harkaelis. All planet's have names."
   "Well, we just never..." began Henry, and stopped thinking.
     "What about...Liberty?" asked Isabeau. "We gained our liberty from
the Enslavers, long ago." She looked to Henry. "Yes. Why not call this
whole world Liberty?"
     "And so shall it be recorded in our charts," said Adama, growing
cautious of the local scrumpy. Like a Cylon pulse rifle to the head.
     "Will you ever return to us?" asked Isabeau. "You have done us so
much good, sirs."
     "I don't know," said Adama. "We must continue to seek out the planet
Earth. That is our main goal. However, it is my hope that we can return
one day."
     "And see how you have done," said Apollo.
     "With all the help ye have given us," said Henry, "I think we shall
do well. All the tools and books ye've given us, we shall do better."
     "Mere tokens," said Adama, who had gone around the Council to
release supplied and technology to the survivors.  While they were
technologically far from even the beginnings of industrialization, they
were eager for knowledge. So, with help from Pliny and Horace, he had
several basic texts translated as best they could be, for the people here
to make use of. Rudimentary steam engines, improved stoves, better ways
of smelting and forging metals, barrels filled with nails made from metal
deemed "inferior and unusable" by the people on the fabrication ship. A
brick kiln, basic geology, botany, and medical works. There were veins of
useful ores in the mountains, and Adama had prepared charts showing their
locations, for when the people were ready to take the next step.
 
     And, next day, they did. While the first buildings were going up in
the new settlement, and the primitive saw and water mills were being
erected, the people of Liberty took the step of electing a leader. Much
to his surprise, and somewhat chagrin, Henry was chosen the first "mayor"
of Liberty. While things like actual laws and a formal charter of
governance would take time, Adama was pleased to see the people here not
descending into anarchy, after what had happened to them.
     As he stood on the small hill overlooking the developing town, Adama
smiled. It felt good, he decided, to be helping fellow-Humans anchor
themselves and grow, rather than always fighting, even if it were at so
low a technological level as this. Cut off from their ancestral home they
might be, but they would make a new Earth, here, and the Star System
would be the better for it.
     He turned, as a small procession wound their way up the hill. It had
been chosen as the town's cemetery, and, sadly, a few had not survived
the disaster that had swallowed up their old home. He stood at a
respectful distance, as the departed were laid to rest, and, somewhat to
his surprise, Father Fisher performed the funerals. He had been much
among the people of Liberty since they had begun to settle here,
"spreading the Word", as he put it.
     Given all that had happened to them and their forebears, Adama
sincerely hoped it would take root. He looked down as his commlink
beeped. Ah! It was almost time.


     "We have a surprise for you," said Starbuck. They stood overlooking
where a wide river emptied into the sea. Already, crude wharves were
being constructed, where the fishing village would soon be.
     "For us?" asked Isabeau. "And what might that be?"
     "Something that belongs to you, anyway," said Byrne. "We thought you
might be able to make good use of it.
     "And that is?" asked Henry. Then he look up, towards a roar coming
from the sky.
     "What by Heaven is that?" asked Isabeau, as something huge and dark
began to grow visible in the clear blue sky.
     "That," said Allen, "is Le Bonne Femme Tessa. The ship that your
ancestors were captured from."
     "But...how?" asked Henry, as the Colonial shuttles, using both tow
beams and tethers, gently lowered the old sailing vessel from the sky,
and amid a roar and spray of water, she touched water for the first time
since 1692. After rolling for a few moments, she settled down, righting
herself in the water.
   "She is...she is beautiful," said Isabeau, unable to take her eyes off
the old ship.
     "That she is," said Byrne, with a grin. "I convinced Commander Adama
that it was worth the effort to try and salvage for you. Something to
use, and to learn from." They watched, as several people swan out to the
old pirate vessel.
     "Thank you!" said both, shaking Adama's hand. "This will help us
learn to make better ships."
     "Yes.  And one day you will learn how to reach for the stars," said
the Commander.
"That we shall," said Isabeau.
     Ka-Boom!
     They looked down at the old ship, where a cloud of smoke was issuing
from a gunport. Almost at once, a tree shattered into splinters.
     "We hope," muttered Starbuck.


     "God speed, all of you," said Adama, watching as Liberty began to
shrink on rear-scan. They had done all they reasonably could to help a
world of fellow-Humans to survive, and pick themselves up from disaster.
With the technical and practical aid he had given them, they would, he
was sure, do well, growing and developing faster than ever they could
have, before the cataclysm.
     But, sadly, that left the Risik. Why had they abandoned this world,
a world mind-bogglingly rich in mineral wealth? A solar system in which
they had made what appeared to have been a sizeable investment, both in
equipment, and in whatever they used for capital? Would they return, to
try and impose their maniacal, black spirituality upon these people? He
shuddered at the thought, and sent up a quiet, but heartfelt prayer, that
these folk would be left in peace, to develop as Heaven would have it.
     Which brought up another point, which he decided he must discuss
later, with both his son, and some of the Earthers, Father Fisher among
them. Had they not encountered the Risik, they might never have detoured
and altered course so many times, as to find the old sailing ship, and
thus this lost colony of Humans. Were they destined to do so? Was this
whole episode part of a plan? A plan bigger and more involved than Adama
could have possibly imagined? Was the Galactica the finger of fate, here?
And were there more lost Humans, scattered throughout the stars? Would
they encounter more of them?
     "God speed," he said again, barely above a whisper.
     "Commander?" asked Colonel Tigh.
     "Steady as she goes, Colonel. Steady as she goes."  

Addendum

     "Welcome to the Fleet," said Adama, in his quarters, to the beings
before him. He had, with help from Allen and Byrne, introduced himself to
the few refugees from Liberty that had opted to join the Colonials on
their journey to Earth. In all, eleven had thrown in their lot with the
Galactica and her charges. A couple with three children, life-long
farmers. Two large and burly men who had spent much of their lives at the
forge, or hauling in nets, and were looking to find the world their
ancestors had come from. After a short introduction, he tasked Sire
Pelias from the Council to get them aptitude tested, and assigned to
where their talents could best be put to use.
     "My thanks," said one of the remaining refugees, after the others
had left. "May our association be of the greatest fruitfulness."
     "That is my wish also, uhhh..."
     "Parsam, Commander Adama," said the being before him. Felinoid,
tall, and dressed almost comically in knee-high leather boots, with
buff-colored pantaloons, a greenish doublet, and long puffy sleeves, he
also sported a large floppy hat, and a sash, with a sword at his side. "I
am Mediator Parsam, of the Armet Hegemony. This is my wife, Persis," he
gestured to the female next to him, in what looked like a sort of gown,
and no hat (or sword), "and our son, Dari. You honor us with your
welcome, Commander."
     "My pleasure," replied Adama. "I must admit, we have never heard of
your people or government before, Mediator. How far from home are you?"
     "We have no idea," replied the other. "We were brought here as
slaves, as the rest were. We have no idea where Armet is, in relation to
where we are now."
     "I see. Is that why you chose to join us, rather than remain on
Liberty?"
     "Yes. There, we could never return home. With you, perhaps, we might
find our way back."
     "A small chance, but worth it," added Persis.
     "How long had you been there?" asked Byrne.
     "We are not sure. It began when I was sent by my government to
mediate a peace conference on Belkus Prime, a world on the fringes of our
known space. It is, after all, what I do, Commander. But, it seemed that
there were those who preferred there to be no peace, and our ship was
attacked and seized by Hork raiders.' Adama cringed, The few Horks they
had met had left him feeling...soiled. And checking his pockets. "We were
being taken we know not where, when we attempted to escape. As a
punishment, we were placed in stasis."
     "And then?" asked Adama.
     "When we awoke, we were on Liberty, and the Horks nowhere to be
seen. From what we could learn, our kidnappers were themselves seized,
and we were taken to Liberty, to be used as slaves."
   "That ended over a century ago,' said Byrne. "The Risik abandoned that
planet, we're not sure why."
     "How long do your people live?" asked Allen.
     "Normally about two of your centi-yahrens," said Persis. "But we
have been active for less than perhaps twenty-five."
     "How did this occur?" asked Adama.
     "When we awoke, we were still in the stasis container the Horks had
put us in. It was in what remained of one of the buildings near Liberty.
It was just us, until we found the Human community."
     "They did not accept us quickly," said Parsam. "And some never did.
We have lived as part of their world since, for we had no choice. Then, a
few of your yahrens ago, our son Dari was born. But it was not home, and
we decided that to join you was a better thing than to remain on
Liberty."
     "At least this way, we have a chance to return," said Persis.
"There, we had none."
     "I hope, sir, that I can in some way be of service to you and your
people. My poor services, such as they are, are at your disposal."
     "Welcome aboard the Colonial Fleet," said Adama, extending his hand.
It felt odd, the "paw" of a felinoid in his, but, that was part of being
a leader.
     "My thanks," said the newcomer, almost a purr, and the three bowed.
 
 
     "What does she want?" asked Allen, as they headed towards the
landing bay. Allen was anxious to get back to the Adelaide, where ship's
business demanded his attention.
     "Ya got me, Ced," replied Byrne, looking again at the note in his
hand. It was a small piece of paper, with a short message. He looked down
at it, again. It was from the Malocchio.
     Ama wanted to see him.
     "Crazy, about that Henry kid's family name," said Allen. "I mean, in
all of this bloody universe, here? You and him?"
     "Again, ya got me, Ced. "I'm beginning to see why Adama is such a
mystic."
     "Mysticism," snorted the Aussie. "Bugger all!"
     "Now, be nice, Ced," smiled Byrne.
     As he flew over there in his Viper, Byrne ran it over in his mind
yet again. The Empyrean "Wise Woman" frankly gave him the willies. They
way she knew things, the way she talked oftentimes in cryptic circles,
the way she could look at you like you had no secrets whatsoever.
     And, how had the note turned up in his pocket, a jacket he had worn
since this adventure had begun, and which had not been there when they
returned to the Fleet, from Liberty?
     "Weird," he muttered to himself, as he came in for touchdown in the
Malocchio's landing bay. With a degree of trepidation he hadn't felt
since being caught smoking back in Third Grade, he moved along the
corridor, to where the Empyrean Wise Woman had her lair...no, held court,
he corrected himself. He stopped at the hatchway, and raised his hand to
the buzzer...
     The door slid open, buzzer untouched, and he was greeted by Lia, one
of Ama's acolytes. She was dressed in a floor-length robe, with a sash
embroidered with symbols Byrne did not recognize.
     "Welcome, Captain," said Lia. "You are expected."
     "Uh...thank you," he replied, part of him wishing he were somewhere
else. Like, oh, Hawaii.
     "Do come in," wafted a voice from within. Lia led him through a
number of curtains, past works of art that plainly confounded him, to a
chamber lit mostly with candlelight. Here Ama sat...
     Starbuck across the circular divan from her, an Empyrean ale in his
hand.
     "I..." Byrne began.
     "Oh, don't stand there like that, said Ama, not looking up from the
focus of her attention. "Do, sit, Captain, and have something to refresh
yourself with." She waved a hand towards a pitcher of ale and a rustic
wooden board covered with an assortment of meat, cheeses and bread.
     "The...the note in my pocket..."  
     "Not very tasty, in my opinion, but if that's your pleasure, eat
up," said Ama.
     "No, no . . . how did it get there?"
     "I put it there, obviously," she replied, as if he were a little
dense. "Do forgive me, Captain. I can never resist little touches like
that."
     "You put it there." Byrne looked from Ama to Starbuck. The viper
pilot flittered his fingers in the air with an accompanying eery whistle,
implying something mysterious or mystical. Perhaps. Or maybe he was
drunk. "Okay, I'm here, like you wanted. What's up?"
     Ama looked upward at an array of twinkling lights, before
enlightenment lit up her eyes and she laughed "Up. What a use of
language. You know what's up, don't you, Son of My Heart Starbuck?"
     "I'm beginning to. I think," replied the Warrior.
     "Well, I'm not. And I would like to," said Byrne. "Starting now."
     "Oh, you Americans," said Ama. "Always so rushed. So impatient. Do
you really think the universe runs in sync with your wishes and desires?"
     "Hardly, but I still..." He paused. "Americans? You said Americans."
     "There are many cultures in your world that understand the
importance of a polite exchange. It sets the tone and defuses any
awkwardness. It lets you know that I welcome you into my heart and home,
and that you are safe here. You Americans, you just want to . . . how do
you put it? Oh yes, you want to 'get down to business'.
     "Wow. I feel like I was just told off by my grandmother," Byrne
muttered.
     "She sends her regards," Ama replied. "Now please, sit yourself
down."
     Starbuck slid over to make room. It was becoming clear that there
would be no going forward until he sat. Of course, he could just leave.
Byrne looked over his shoulder and where there had once been a door,
there was now only an endless sea of twinkling lights and flickering
candles. Byrne swallowed down the lump of discomfiture in his throat and
sat. Ama sat across from them, preparing a small plate of treats for him
and passing them over. He accepted with a nod.
     "You are most welcome, Captain. So, how are the people on Liberty
faring?"
     "They were well, last I saw them. They have a lot to overcome, but
they'll..." he stopped, with a sigh. "Please, Ama. For the love of God
get to the point!"
     "And your daughter? How is she?"
     Byrne closed his eyes, shaking his head. A jab in his side opened
them again. He let out a deep, somewhat tortured breath. "Also fine,
thanks for asking."
     Ama's eyes twinkled like the lights around them.
     "Very good." She pointed, and Byrne saw a glass at his elbow, which
had not been there before. He tried not to let that startle him visibly.
Ama smiled, but did not speak of it.
     "Good stuff," said Starbuck.
     "It is indeed, Son Starbuck," replied Ama. "I brewed it, well, never
mind that for now."
     "Ama, please!"
     "Yes. What do you think of Henry?"
     "Henry? Uh, well...he seems a good, solid fellow. Certainly Isabeau
thinks the world of him. I think he'll make a good leader for his
people."
     "Like Cincinnatus, called from his plow to help his people?" She
smiled at him, a smile that looked as if it would burst into laughter at
any moment.
     "You seem to have boned up a bit on Earth history," said Byrne,
hoarsely. He took a long drink from his tankard. "How? I don't have
any..."
     "Who needs books, Captain? Though London was full of libraries." She
looked at Starbuck and smiled once more her impish smile. Still, better
to live history than to read about it, wouldn't you say?"
     "Yes. I guess the comparison could be made, except for the small
problem with travelling through time and space."
     Starbuck snorted in apparent amusement.
   "Your point, Ama?" Byrne asked. He looked at his tankard. Somehow it
was empty.
     "Did you learn Henry's family name?" she asked.
     "Yes," replied Kevin, as something began to dawn, however dimly. "He
said his last name was Bellamy. Possibly..."
     "Possibly descended from the infamous pirate, Black Jack Bellamy, of
that name," replied Ama. "As Isabeau was from the equally nefarious
Brasilliano."
     "You sure know a lot about Earth for someone who's never..." he was
silent a few moments. "You've been there, haven't you?"
     "She has," said Starbuck. "And so have I."
     "You? But how?" A mixture of disbelief and envy filled his chest.
     "James Charles Byrne," said Ama, slowly, rising and crossing to a
pedestal. "I am certain you have heard of him, Captain?"
     "Yeah," said Byrne slowly, really unsure how to deal with this. "My
grandfather. Flew in the RAF in World War Two."
     "And Henry. His father may have been named Bellamy, but his mother
had an altogether different lineage. Her name was..."
     "Yes, of course," said Kevin, feeling totally weirded out by all
this. "Byrne. He told me her name was Tina Byrne."
     "Yes," said Ama, and and pulled a drape from a work-in-progress. It
was clay, a bust of a man. While it had a ways to go, it was still
completely recognizable as...
     "Grandpa?" said Byrne, who had never shown the one remaining photo
he had of his grandfather to anyone, save Jena.
     "Jim," Starbuck murmured almost reverently, suddenly at his elbow.
     Byrne looked from the bust, back and forth to the Viper pilot. It
felt like the ship had lost its gravity, like it was tilting, off kilter.
"How...how...No bloody way. No way anyone could know. How in the hell..."
     "Oh, really, Kevin Byrne." Ama smiled that infuriating yet
intriguing smile of hers. "Here, come back and quaff your thirst and
we'll have a little chat. Starbuck, could you refill the Captain's
glass?"


     Adama returned to his quarters after giving a briefing to the
Council on events that had taken place on Liberty.  He sat down at his
desk and saw the magnitude of what else lay before him on this day. 
There was the final report from Sergeant Micah of Colonial Security
regarding the identity of the person likely responsible for the computer
virus that had plagued the Fleet not too long ago.  He would need time to
go through that.  He would also be seeing Captain Betz to tell him the
day had finally arrived when he'd have to relinquish command of the
Century as part of the agreement that had been reached long ago not to
prosecute him over matters that had happened when Captain Betz had been
known as Colonel Alesis.  And then there would be an update on the FIU
report that the Council would see in only another sectan from now.
     So many burdens to face, Adama sighed as he rubbed his temples. 
But....he at least knew that the Lords had blessed him recently with the
chance to relieve his burdens in a way he would have never thought
possible again.  And before he got to the work that lay before him, he
intended to take advantage of it.  He picked up the microphone and
switched on the recorder to compose a message for later transmission to
the faraway Pegasus.
     "My dearest Ila........" 


     Aboard the Rising Star, Siress Lydia was carefully considering the
events that had taken place at the Council meeting......as well as a
conversation she'd had with Sire Xaviar afterwards.  She'd made a
suggestion to him about how it might be possible to use the recent events
of Liberty to their advantage.....but in a way that would require
planting a false story about Adama and Byrne attempting to get the entire
population of Liberty to join the Fleet as a way of forcing the issue on
proceeding to Earth instead of turning back.  To her disappointment,
Xaviar had been unreceptive to the idea.
     Damn him for being so principled, she thought with disdain.  He's
never going to win that way.  He's going to need something to capitalize
on that will make the people flock to his side.
     As she looked ahead to the cockpit and saw Jarvik at the controls,
she smiled faintly as the germ of an idea began to form in her mind.

     Fleeing from the Cylon tyranny, the last Battlestar, Galactica,
leads a rag-tag fugitive fleet, on a lonely quest. A shining planet,
known as Earth.