Battlestar Galactica: Succession Virtual Season 4, Episode 5 June 1, 2015 FROM THE ADAMA JOURNALS Thanks to the Grace of God, and the guidance of the Lords of Kobol, we have reached yet another maximstone since the Exodus from the Colonies. It has now been four cycles, since the rescue of a group of Humans, kidnap victims from Earth, who found themselves being held in conditions of slavery, by the alien race known as the Risik. On one of their colony worlds, called NeChak, we discovered a labor camp, where the conditions could only be described as horrific. A Special Forces team has liberated the Humans, and now they, about sixty of them, are being gradually integrated into our population. The horror of their ordeal, and their gratitude to be liberated at last from it, I am sure has made it easy for them to make the adjustment to life in the Fleet as it will be for them from now on, much as the Proteus prison population before found adjustment quick and happy. Preparations also continue for the Tribunals of those surviving Risik officers who were responsible for many of the atrocities committed against the prisoners. From both the evidence collected, and the arrogance of the accused, I foresee a quick proceeding. It is that conceited arrogance in them, combined with their almost Cylonesque ruthlessness, I confess, that has made me avoid objecting overly to the question over whether we have the right to try them according to our laws for crimes committed outside the matters of what would normally constitute Colonial jurisdiction. After all, when we held Commandant Leiter and his crew prisoner, it was never my intention to detain them indefinitely or place them on trial, but merely to hold them until we had more information regarding what the general Terra situation was about. That, and the fact that we had not as yet determined that the Terrans were of Kobolian race. With certain knowledge of that, regarding the Earth refugees, the legal question is, I grant, a much simpler one, given the statute in question. I suspect the reason why the issue of whether propriety would dictate the legitimacy of trying the Risiks has not come up in the Council is because of the memory of what Leiter did in the prison break. That is certainly the case with Siress Lydia, because while she was not among those who had been taken hostage by the Alliance, she had voted to free them. She would never want to find herself on that side of the issue again, and she knows it, lest her status as Council Vice-President perhaps face a challenge one day. On a personal note, I continue to recover, from my experience on the planet Kradina, where Bojay, Cassiopeia, Doctor Salik, and myself, were taken prisoners, by members of a despotic military dictatorship, who wished to use me as a bargaining capstone, in an attempt to gain the upper hand in their war with their enemies. It was a world that, while not inhabited by Humans, was depressingly similar to the planet Terra, and those regions of it ruled by the Eastern Alliance. It was with great bravery, and no small amount of personal relief, that Captain Byrne, Commander Allen, my son, Sheba, and Starbuck launched a rescue mission, which resulted in the return of us all. I have recommended them all to the Council for citations. Also, I have become aware that Sheba is pregnant, which has brought more joy to me. And with Sheba I notice how it is made her more spiritually serene than I can ever recall seeing her. Apollo was surprised that I was aware of this, until I reminded him of the fact that having had three children, I recognize all the signs. My son has confided to me that Sheba sees this experience perhaps as a case where the Almighty is giving them both a chance to experience for real what they had only known before in the depths of a twisted and evil illusion Iblis had placed them in. That is why, if the child is a girl, as Sheba says she is convinced it is, she intends to name her Bethany, in honor of her late mother. However, Apollo has asked that I say nothing to anyone for the present, until they announce it themselves, and I have agreed. It is more, of course, than just Apollo and Sheba's happiness that I bask in. The same is there with Athena, Boomer and their children, who continue to thrive. Yes, both of my children have never looked happier, and my home life, such as it is these days, is as good and as harmonious as I can remember, since the day the Fleet sailed for Cimtar. I just wish that I knew how much further it is to Earth. I am more than ready for this journey to find its end. Prologue "May I help you, Lieutenant?" asked the clerk, at the desk, her politeness a tad forced. It was late, and she was deep into the book that had held her attention up till now. It was near the end of a long working cycle, and she shook her head slightly as if to clear her thoughts. Her eyes focused briefly on the face of the occupant of the Colonial uniform in front of her, the insignia of which had appeared with a sudden reflective flash above the weathered, hide-bound, yellowed pages in her hands. "Yes, I'd like a cabin, please. Private." "What sort, Lieutenant?" she coughed as she adjusted her slightly hoarse tone to a more polished and melodic banter, lowering her book and pausing to consult the glowing screen below her on the desk console "We have...uh, four available, right now. Three on Delta Deck, and one on Gamma Deck." "It doesn't matter," replied the other, bouncing from the ball of one foot to the other, and scanning the near-empty lobby with his eyes. "Any of 'em will do." "Very well," said the clerk. "Cabin 14-C, on Delta Deck. Self-contained. The charge is twenty-five cubits per cycle, and..." "Fine." "Will that be cash, or credit ducat?" "Here," said the man, sliding cash across the counter, avoiding a direct gaze, as his hair shaded his eyes over his slightly lowered chin. "Keep the balance." "Thank you." As she took the money, moving the currency to the lower worktop of the console and made a note in the open register on the top, she smiled blandly at the lack of baggage, save for a small case. She registered him, and handed him the key card for the room, a large 14-C emblazoned on it in blue script. "Will you be wanting room service, sir? The kitchen is open from..." "No thank you," said the Warrior, brusquely, grabbing up the keycard with his right hand. "I've already had something." "Very well. Check-out time is..." But he wasn't listening. He moved to the lift. He pressed the key pad, taking one last scanning glance over the lobby as he disappeared from view behind the closing doors. The doors re-opened on Delta Deck, and he stepped cautiously from the lift, clutching his case tightly, then along the corridor, following the luminescent arrow that indicated the direction toward the guest cabins in the block numbered fourteen. He stopped, looking this way and that, but it was quiet at this centar, the only noise being the ventilators, and the distant sound of the ship's engines. He reached 14-C, and slid his keycard into the lock, and with a ping, the door opened. Once inside, he moved quickly through the cabin. It was not large, nor particularly luxurious, as one might expect given the modest price But it was a good room, and it would serve. He checked out the turbowash, the kitchenette, and the bedroom. All seemed well. There could be a period of respite, here. He gave the place a last look-over, then picked up the telecom handset. He expelled a breath, visibly relaxing as he set his case on a small bench seat beneath the room's single viewport. He pulled the small remains of a protein stick from his pocket, and finished it off. "There could be a period of respite, here," he spoke softly into the darkened room as he gave the place a last look-over and reached for the telecom handset mounted beside the door controls. "Yeah. I'm here. It's clear. Come on down. 14-C." He hung up, and spared a look out the port. Though not spectacular, the view would be appreciated. She liked being able to see stars, even if they were cluttered up with the other ships in the Fleet. He double-checked the fooder, and there was enough stocked there for a day or two. Enough time, he told himself. He opened his case, and re-checked the contents. Yeah, these would do, just fine. Once settled, they'd link up with the contact, and then... Ding. He closed the case, moved to the door, and straightened his uniform before opening up. "Great. You finally..." He barely had time to take a step back, before a silenced laser bolt tore into his chest, followed by another. In all, six shots ripped into him, before he could hit the deck in a muffled lifeless thud. Chapter One "What do we have?" asked Commander Adama, looking down at the corpse. All about him, the Security and forensics people were scurrying, doing their jobs. He'd come over to the Rising Star to officially open the first All-Fleet Triad Championship. No sooner had he made his short speech, when Chief Steward Zeibert had contacted him, then quietly ushered him below decks, where he was now. "Male, about forty to forty-five yahrens," said Doctor Paye, Deputy CMO for the Fleet. "Six laser shots to the chest. He was dead before he hit the deck." He looked at the corpse, and Adama followed suit. The man's clothes were torn and burned, the congealed blood all around. The smell of charred fabric and flesh was still in the air. "A Warrior, from his clothes." "How long has he been dead?" "Well, I'd say about two centars, sir," said Paye. "Rigor hasn't set in, yet." "Any idea who he was?" asked Adama, turning to Paulson, a pre-Holocaust homicide detective, and now of Security. "Good question, sir," replied the other. Off-duty, he'd been enjoying the Triad game, when his commlink had beeped, calling him down here. "He registered in as a Lieutenant Sigurd. Paid cash, the girl said. And apart from a small bag, the contents of which we found on the floor by the port, no luggage.' He showed Adama the bag's contents. Aside from a shaving kit, a commlink, and few cubits, it held nothing. "He's got no fingerprints, either, so we tried facial recognition, then retinal scans. Nothing, yet. He's not in the military database, anywhere. Active, invalided, or retired." "Who reported it?" "Anonymous call, Commander." "I see. And the real Lieutenant Sigurd?" "There isn't one, Commander. Doesn't exist." "Very strange." "Very. We've swept the cabin, sir. No sign of robbery, and the victim wasn't assaulted, aside from being shot. Someone went through the place, but from what we can tell, and without knowing what else he might have been carrying on him, nothing was taken." They stood aside, as the gurney was slid in, and the deceased was placed on it. "Priority, Doctor," said Adama, to Paye. "I want to know everything possible about this man, as soon as possible." "Yes, Commander." He watched, as Paye and the deceased left the room. "Security scans from the lobby?" "Already in hand, sir," said Paulson. "They'll be on your desk when you want them." "Very good. And Paulson?" "Sir?" "I should prefer it that the IFB did not get a hold of this, if at all possible. After the way they behaved, regarding Petty Officer Clemens..." Thanks to that...bitch Lydia! "Understood, sir. We'll do what we can." "Good. Now, I'd like to talk to that receptionist." "In the office, and waiting, sir." "Very good." But the girl, Cote, wasn't able to help much. The man had come in, asked for a room, registered, paid, and that was that. He had seemed a little nervous, but that wasn't uncommon, here. This lower-class establishment often catered to those who preferred that their rendezvous attracted as little attention as possible, and Warriors, of all ranks, were not an uncommon sight, here. Romantic liaisons, of all sorts, were a quantum a quorum. Adama looked at the register. "Sigurd's" signature was the last one on the screen, and he had checked in less than ten centons before being murdered. He cast a glance at her reading material; "It was a dark and stormy sector." Maybe it gets better. It was clear, after a few centons, that the girl wasn't going to be much further help, and they headed for the upper decks. "Paulson?" asked Adama, as they rode the lift up. The former detective seemed deep in thought. "Got something?" "Just puzzling it all, Commander. The deceased had all his money on him. Nothing was taken, so far as we can tell, yet whomever it was made damn sure that he was dead. You don't pump six shots into someone at point blank range unless you really mean it." He shook his head. "This goes a lot deeper than just a robbery gone bad. It's no such thing." "Voice of experience?" asked Adama. "Well, all those yahrens as a homicide detective taught me a few things, sir," said the other, as the lift opened. "There's a lot more here. This was a professional hit. I can smell it, sir." "Well, keep me informed. Whatever the centar." "Sir." "Nothing yet?" asked the first, as their hand passed over the flickering flame. "Nothing. She seems to have vanished," replied the other. "We have scoured the entire section." "No one just vanishes. Not even inside this accursed Fleet." They closed his hand over the flame, letting it burn the flesh. They closed both eyes, but seemed to show no pain. "Keep looking! Go!" "I obey." Returning to his quarters after logging off duty, Adama found several messages awaiting him. He sighed. Even off-duty, he was still on. Plowing through all this, everything from trivial matters for the next Council meeting to an invitation to a Nomen funeral ceremony, it all just made him want to sleep. A lot. But not just yet. He had some promised meetings with some of the recently-rescued Earth refugees to fulfill, and myriad matters concerning them still to be settled. And, after all that, well, tonight was a family night, and Boxey was looking forward to another Earth video; something about her ancient cultures, several of which resembled what they had found on Kobol more than a little. Along with his unwavering drive to emulate Apollo and be a Viper pilot, Boxey was also showing an interest in his people's deeper history, on the spiritual plane, as well as the historical. Images from Earth, the region called "Egypt" being one of them, had captured his young imagination. Which might be just as well, the Commander reflected with a smile. If Boxey asked him one more question about turbine stresses, combustion pressures, or ejection systems, Adama felt he might glaze over. The boy's thirst for knowledge seemed unslakable. Beep It was Security. "Two shooters?" asked Adama, in Wilker's lab. "Yes, sir," replied technician Hummer, the forensic evidence spread out on the bench before him. "The laseronics ergon scans show that two different weapons were used. One was a civilian weapon. Pretty archaic, and from the energy profile probably an old Marley of some sort, and the other...I don't know. It's scan profile fits nothing in our database." "Alien?" "Possibly, sir," said Paulson. "There were more than a few contraband items picked up on both the Brylon and RB-33 stations. Could be something in that area. Either way, it was enough to kill ten men." "I see. What else?" "Well," said Doctor Paye, "the deceased had eaten within half a centar of his death. Stomach contents were clear on that point." He picked up a hardcopy. "He also had tucked into a candy, just before death. Here...a small Pisceran pasty, an equally small salad, a single cup of spiced java, and some kind of protein stick. In fact, traces of the stick were found in his teeth." "And you've traced him, from this?" Adama seemed surprised. "Yes. The dressing is a rare blend of herbs in vegetable oil, and is served by only one food outlet in the Fleet, Commander. Olivio's, in the market area, on the Rising Star. The java is also a unique blend, and came from Rogilio's." "The security scans from the area confirm it, sir," resumed Hummer. He punched up a scan for the Commander. The mysterious man was there, receiving a cup from Mairwen, at the java stand she operated. He kept looking at his chrono, as he drank, then... "Who is that?" asked Adama. Someone had come up to the deceased. A woman, from her clothes, and the hair sticking out from under her heavy scarf, but she never turned towards the camera. "Unknown, sir," said Paulson. "We don't get a view of her face." They watched as after a few moments, she moved out of range of the scanner, and after checking his chrono for the umpteenth time, "Sigurd" tossed back the last of his java, set the cup back on the counter, nodded at the proprietress, and headed out. "And," Paulson continued, "we still have no genuine ID on our victim, Commander. We're waiting the results of a full DNA scan, and nothing as to his dental, yet." "Well, keep on it, Paulson. Something has to turn up." "Sir." Beep. "LifeStation. Doctor Cassiopeia. Well hi. Long time, no hear from. Sure. Well, I've been running the last health scans for those Earth folks we rescued. Uh huh. No, not a problem, kiddo. I log off here in about....oh, twenty centons. I can be there. Sure. Dinner and a catch up. Medkit? Sure. And dying to hear all the news. Star...oh, he's back over on the BaseShip for the moment. That liaison officer posting. Sure, I'll wager a secton's pay he does. Like a hole in the head. Okay. Catch you in a few." "A what?" asked Adama, early the next morning. "He was a private enquiry agent," said Paulson. "Worked mostly out of an investigative and private security company, back on Piscera. Name of Weldon, Commander. Aged forty-four, born Sparta City, Laconia Province, Piscera. Single, no record of any family." "And why was he masquerading as a Warrior names Sigurd?" "Still nothing on that, sir. But we found out who he was, from his genetic scans. He was living aboard the freighter Pandora, until about three sectars ago, when he got himself a new billet aboard the Amargi." "What was his designation?" "He worked as a junior tech, maintaining the life support systems aboard the Amargi. I contacted both Captain Rimmer, and his crew chief, Moss. He was a good worker, with no record of disciplinary lapses, punctuality, or other problems, but nothing that stands out from the rest. Got along with his co-workers, and kept pretty much to himself, when off the chrono. Nothing on his sheet at all." "Until now. Was he involved with anyone? That woman we saw on the security scan. A wife? Girlfriend? Daughter?" "Still checking into that, sir. I should have something, soon." "Good work, Paulson. Keep it up." "Sir." Trying to work herself even deeper into the old seat, she drew her cloak around her, and spared furtive glances at the other patrons. It was one of the old cinema houses on the Rising Star, and for a few quantums, one could lose oneself in the on-screen or holo-cinema of long ago. She had more than a few quantums, but how long could she reasonably stay hidden in here? For now the place was fairly crowded, and that was good, but sooner or later, she'd have to come in for refueling. He was dead. She knew that, now. Despite the lid put on it, word had gotten around. If it hadn't been for her need to pay a visit to the turboflush at the last micron... She shuddered. She did not want to contemplate that eventuality. "Well?" "Our people are still searching, but it is hampered by our visibility. The Security forces are seemingly everywhere. One of our number was stopped and questioned, this morning, by one of them." "Unfortunate. Very...unfortunate. Still, it will not stop us, in the end. Nothing shall. Their addiction to kindness and compassion will work to our aid. The weaklings! Eventually, she will need help, and someone will be there to provide it. When that happens, we shall have our chance." "Yes, O Glorious One." Chapter Two "What have you got?" asked Paulson, the next morning, as he logged on for duty. "Anything new?" "Message for you from Castor, requesting an update. And a possible ID on the mystery lady, sir," said his deputy. "Tentative." "Great. Let's see it." He got a hot java, while his deputy slid the chip in. Up came a data file, the photo that of a woman, of about twenty-five or so yahrens of age, her information scrolling up. "Ilsa, aged twenty-one at the time of the Holocaust, a native of Spicon, on Aquarius. Applied for Viper training during the epidemic episode, but failed the dexterity test. She's been working as a junior med-tech on the Oberon since. No family." "And what makes you think she's our mystery woman?" "She went missing two days ago. She logged off her job, went back to her quarters, and that's the last definite trace we have of her. The only person in the Fleet who is actually missing at present, sir. And her hair color matches what we have." "That's a bit thin, isn't it, Bangor?" "Yes, sir, but there's more." He turned back to the holodisplay. "I crosschecked what we know of both her movements, and Weldon's." "Ah. And?" "Weldon left the Amargi, two days ago, after finishing his shift. He received a call, from the public commsuite aboard the Oberon. He at once caught the shuttle, from the Amargi, and got off on..." "Oberon?" "No. He debarked the shuttle when it docked aboard the Caspia. After that, I lost track of him. But, within four centons of that, the shuttle from the Oberon also landed aboard the Caspia." "Light begins to dawn, Bangor. Next?" "This is where it gets murky, sir." "You mean it isn't, already?" quipped Paulson. "Well, murkier, sir. After this, Weldon disappears. Until he turned up dead, I mean. According to the records, he never left the Caspia. But, a man named Dari, did. Along with a woman named Lyssa." "Security cams?" "Curiously, the cams just happened to quit, about that time, sir. And, there is no record in the Fleet personnel database for anyone named Lyssa." "And this Dari?" "We did find him, sir. A four-yahren-old boy, aboard the orphan ship." "I think we can rule him out, don't you? Anything more?" "Yes, sir. After a few more stops, the shuttle in question reached the Rising Star. Among the twenty-three passengers, were a young couple, the husband dressed as a Warrior, but no one named either Dari or Lyssa, according to the ID ducats." "This is getting decidedly bizarre," said Paulson. "Yes, sir. They debarked under the names Sigurd, and Freya. And sir, the one witness I have tracked down says that the lady was pregnant. Pretty far along, too. Just like the missing med-tech from the Oberon." "You got a statement from that witness, Bangor?" "Not yet, sir. I was just on my way to interview her in person." "Good. So, we have a dead Private Investigator, and a pregnant lady on the run. She's gone to ground, but can't stay hidden for long. No indication of her leaving?" "No, sir. Of course, she could have slipped off, before we discovered the murder, but med tech Ilsa has been seen nowhere, by anyone in the Fleet, so far as we know yet, since she left the Oberon." "Good work, Bangor. You check out that witness. I'm going to call the Commander, then it's off to the Amargi. Gonna toss that guy's billet upside down." "Right, sir." "Well, of course you can stay, Ilsa," said Mairwen, in the tiny space behind Rogelio's java stand. "You're sure? I didn't want to put you and Cassey in danger, but..." "You've got no place else to go. I understand." "Yeah," nodded the other, almost violently. "I've been hiding out since it happened. And if they catch me..." "Can you go to the Commander?" "I...I don't know if that's the right way to go. After all the felcercarb lately, what with the Il Fadim, and the rest. All we need is another damnable pseudo-religious crusade." "I gotcha. Look, you try and get some rest, kiddo. Snacks in the fooder. I gotta shut the place down. Okay?" "Thanks, Mairwen. You always were a trooper." "Hey. Friends, kid. Friends." Weldon's cabin on the Amargi was a small affair, with few amenities, but then that could have been said of most of the billets in the Fleet. Recently constructed with the salvaged materials it had once carried as an ore freighter, in the Ki system, the cabin didn't even have any plumbing, aside from a small sink. The greater necessities were addressed via a communal facility at the end of the corridor. Paulson shook his head. Like most of the survivors, he certainly looked forward to living on a planet, again. Air, open skies, the works. As to works, the cabin had certainly been worked over. Someone had beaten him to it. The bunk was tossed, the mattress ripped apart, the small closet ransacked. What little food had been kept there was also gone through, the remains spilled everywhere. What in Hades Hole had someone been looking for? They certainly knew what, from the look of things. The search, while messy, had been quite thorough. Not a single... No, take that back. As he looked at the few pieces of reading material and containers of food, he noticed that one, small and blandly labeled, seemed untouched. He picked it up, a small plastic-wrapped package of protein sticks. He sniffed them. Not spoiled. Really fresh, in fact, and only one had been taken. He checked his data pad. Something like this had been found in Weldon's stomach contents. The date on the package was only a couple of days back, and it was still almost pristine. All the rest of the edibles were ruined. Why...? Something from an old case, many yahrens ago, tickled at the edge of his mind. He looked at the package again, Puffy Porcine Skin Cracklers, and tried to remember... Where he'd seen some of these, and not too long ago. And the package seemed stiff. In Hades Hole, where... "Holy frack! Of course, you idiot," he whispered, as he reached into the package. He felt around, and smiled. He pulled out... "False identities?" asked Adama. The items in question were on the desk in Security. He picked one up. An old-style leatherette folder, with photograph and data inside. There were several, along with some round, ID ducats. "Yes, sir. Altogether, ten of them, sir. I found these," he indicated the folders, "concealed in a package of snacks. The others were hidden under the bunk's scuff pads. Inside the legs." "Devious place to hide something," said Castor, looking the stuff over. "Yes, sir. But I suspect our victim was a pretty devious man. And under two of the bunk's pads, were these ducats. Sealed in plastic wrap." "Have you traced any of these identities, Paulson?" asked Adama. "Only two, so far," replied the former cop. "One is a person named Skerrit. There is no one aboard the Fleet with that name, sir. Maybe one of his old identities, from before. The other is Moore, a holovid producer." "And the real Moore?" "Died over two yahrens ago, in the Cylon attack at Kobol, sir. But somehow, our man had his ID, and his life history, as well." "I see. And you say your deputy is checking out witnesses from the shuttle?" "Yes, sir. But I wanted to show you this at once, Commander." Adama picked up the protein snack package. Odd place to hide identity folders, he told himself. Yet, out of every item in the cabin, this was the only one to remain unsearched. He reflected a moment, then looked up at the others. "Exactly, sir. An item, a food item, remains untouched." "And it was made with porcine skins." He looked at the package again. "And only one group in the Fleet will go to almost any lengths to avoid contact with porcine flesh." "Yes, sir. Just one." "Lords of Kobol. This just got deeper." "Very deep, sir." Chapter Three "Well, you're okay, physically," said Cassie, running the biomonitor over her friend. "Everything looks good." "That's a relief, at least," said Ilsa, on the small couch in Mairwen's billet. "All of this confounded stress." "Why don't you tell us all about it?" asked Cassie. She waited a moment. "It's got to do with that man who was killed, doesn't it? The one who was dressed as a Warrior." Ilsa looked at her, her shoulders sagging. "I heard, in the medical department. A request for medical records on someone who it turned out has no file at all. So far as I know, the IFB and their sneaky peepers and mutterers haven't caught on to this. Yet, anyway." "Thank the Lords," said Mairwen. "So, come on. What gives?" "You can trust us," said Mairwen, setting an herbal tea in front of the other. "Please, Ilsa." "Okay." "Well, Tigh, how did it go?" "Bizarre. A little confusing, actually, sir," replied the Galactica's XO. "I've been to a lot of funerals over the yahrens, of course, but this one was just plain strange." "How so?" "All the chanting. The fire-walking. Yes, fire-walking. Bare-footed. The weird dancing." He shook his head. "I know different peoples have their unique ways, even among Colonial Humans, but I'm awfully glad to have that one astern, Commander." "Well, I'd have gone, myself, of course, if duty had permitted." "Their chief understood, Commander. He sends his regards." Tigh shook his head. "You know, this is the first time I've ever been on the Borellian Nomen ship. In fact, the first time I've really seen Nomen culture up close." "Very different, from what little I have observed." "Very much so. I'm wondering what they'll do, now." "Do?" "Well, the man who died was some sort of priest, or prophet, or something along that line. I didn't really understand that part, I admit. No Languatrons allowed at sacred functions, it seems. Apparently, he was the last of his bloodline. From what I gathered, the Nomen are in a quandary, about what comes next, regarding the family succession." "Well, as long as they keep it to themselves, Tigh," said Adama, stretching his back. "We don't need them going after Chameleon, again. Or anyone else, for that matter. Anyway, after duty, a drink, in the Officer's Club?" "I think I could stand that, Commander,' said Tigh. "After that...whatever it was that they drank, I could use some real libation." "Then on me it is," smiled Adama, and turned to his duties. Then, he remembered... Nomen, thought Adama. I wonder. "I know it was dumb," said Ilsa, "but it just happened. I'd been drinking a bit too much. Hades Hole, a lot too much. A friend had died, and I was drowning my sorrows. I look up from my glass, and there's this Nomen at the bar. I was smashed, and, well..." She shook her head. "Anyway, at first, I wasn't sure what to do. I wasn't sure what the rest of them would do. They're so...unpredictable, after all. So, I didn't say anything, for a while." "But he found out," said Cassie. "Yeah. How, I'm not sure, but he did. So, I was kind of avoiding him, and then, one night when we did meet again. He'd tracked me down. We talked, and I ended up losing lunch all over his boots." "Ewww," said Mairwen. "I'll bet that went over well." "Like a Cylon joke on Hassari Prime. He pressed me, and, well, since I felt like a garbage recycler in reverse, I spilled it." "How did he take it?" asked Cassie. "Surprisingly well. I thought he'd be angry, and all possessive, or whatever it is Nomen do. But he was surprisingly kind. It really took me by surprise, that. We agreed to keep it quiet for the present, until he could, he said, smooth things over, on his end. The Nomen have all kinds of weird attitudes, you know. Lots of taboos. Especially when it comes to outsiders." "Oh yeah," said Cassie, recalling the incident with Starbuck's father, and the "blood trail" he'd unwittingly initiated. When it came to outsiders, the Nomen could be very touchy. Murderously so. "Then what?" asked Mairwen. "Well, I didn't hear from him, for a while. I was beginning to think maybe he'd decided to be done with me. I was kind of hurt, naturally, but at the same time I also felt kind of relieved. I really wasn't sure about living with the Nomen." She shook her head. "Just too weird." "How did you become mixed up with the dead man?" asked Cassie. "Well, after about a sectar or so, I heard a rumor. Gora was dead. Some kind of accident, or whatever. I couldn't believe it. Figured I was off the hook. Then, after maybe another secton or so, I got a message from the Nomen ship." She shuddered. "They wanted me." "Wanted you? Because of..." Mairwen pointed at her abdomen. "Yeah," Ilsa nodded. "Turns out that Gora was the last of an important bloodline. Some sort of bardic historian, or interpreter of sacred texts, or whatever. I really didn't understand it all that well. And of course, I had no idea. Before that, I mean. About him being so important." "Okay, I get it," said Cassie. "They don't want you. They want Gora's child." "Yeah," said Ilsa, trying not to cry. "From what I gathered, most of his family died in the Holocaust, along with an older brother. One of those Nomen who tried to kill Chameleon? He was from the same family, too. Gora was it, for that bloodline." "Till now," said Mairwen. "So, you have just become a very hot commodity." "The dead guy?" asked Cassie. "Oh, right. I knew Weldon slightly. My sister knew him better, back when he was a private agent, on Piscera. I had run into him, shortly after we fled the Colonies. I knew he was good at handling problems for people. New identities, disappearing, that sort of thing. So I tried to get in touch with him. After I don't know how long, I finally found him, and he agreed to help me." "For a price," said Cassie. "Actually, no," said Ilsa. "He had a serious dislike of Nomen, and agreed to help me for nothing." She looked at both of them. "And I do mean nothing." "Okay. Then what?" "Mommy!" came a voice. They turned. It was Cassy's voice, from her cubicle. "Coming. Hold on," Mairwen said to Ilsa, before crossing the room towards her child's call. "Anything new?" Castor asked Paulson, over the vid link. "Maybe. Turns out there was someone up and about, on that deck, that we didn't know about. The sanitator. An ex-con by the name of Targus. At least that's the name he's using at the present." "Why didn't we know about him, before?" "Seems he works under the table, now and then. He was there, when the girl told us no one was. Also, he gets things for some of the clientele that they might not want anyone to know about. I headed to pick him up, now." "Okay, keep me posted. I'm still half-buried in the security and personnel data for all the rescued Earthers, plus fending off the snitrads from the IFB, or I'd be over there with you." "Understood, sir. Better you than me." "Watch it," grinned Castor, and clicked off. Sanitator Targus was a somewhat furtive fellow. An ex-con, a two-time loser, with a dishonorable discharge from the service many yahrens before the Holocaust, he had survived by picking up odd work here and there, often of the less than straight and narrow sort. His most recent legitimate stint had been as sanitator here on the lower levels of the Rising Star, where some of the less glamorous among the survivors billeted, landed, or sometimes crashed. Which was not to say that the people who booked rooms here were paupers. Many of them, in fact, had a fair amount of personal assets, occasionally somewhat more than they needed, in his professional opinion. Including some they would barely miss. Targus, from time to time, would help them barely miss various items, permanently, in the course of his regular duties. He hadn't been listed on the ship's roster. However, there was something about the receptionist's demeanor, plus the corridors and rooms had seemed oddly clean for a place with no regular cleaning help. These things alone had motivated Bangor, Paulson's deputy, to go back. He grilled the girl, over and over, pressed her hard, until she at last admitted the unrecorded employment. Targus could be found living in cabin 20-C. Delta Deck. Or rather, he had been. Living, that is. When the security men got there, and gotten no answer, they popped the door, whereupon they found the highly pungent remains of the late Sanitator Targus, unsanitarily sprawled across a table in his room. Chapter Four "Well, no question that it was a deliberate termination, sir," reported Doctor Paye, to Adama, in the autopsy room. "Whoever it was, picked him up...you can see the contusions here on the upper arms, and slammed him down on the table, and hard. It shattered two of his thoracic vertebrae at T4 and 5, but that didn't kill him. His head was then slammed down hard enough to fracture the back of his skull, but that didn't kill him either, amazingly. I also found cervical vertebral fractures at C1, 2 and 3, transecting his spinal cord. That's what finally did it. After that, he would have been dead in the blink of an eye." "A lot of strength, Doctor?" "Oh yes. Targus was no lightweight. This took someone with a lot of bovinecake, and the will to use it. The victim's fingers were also broken, sir. Snapped like mushie sticks." "And his room was tossed," said Paulson, next to Adama. "Ripped to shreds. But it wasn't robbery, Commander." He showed Adama scans of what they had found. "Targus it seemed had done pretty well for himself, in his 'second job'. Jewelry, cash, whatever. None of the stuff he'd stolen from the various patrons was taken, though. Whatever it was that his killer wanted, it wasn't jewels or money, sir." "What then? Information? It appears as if he was tortured, before he was killed," observed Adama, looking at the dead man's savaged hands. "Maybe. Maybe Targus saw something, when Weldon was murdered, and the killer came back to take care of loose ends. But this ripping the place to shreds, and killing Targus this way, rather than with a weapon, like the other man." He shook his head. "That bespeaks anger, sir. Hatred." "Theory, Lieutenant?" "Voice of experience, sir. You don't kill someone, and pass up a fortune, like this, unless you don't know it's there. Or there was another, altogether more important motive. Oh yes. Targus saw something." "And paid for it,' sighed Adama. He thought a moment. "Paulson, we've got to find the woman who was with Weldon, just before he was terminated. We have to. Go back to that java stand. Press her, that Mairwen. I have a feeling that place is the key." "You too, sir?" Paulson smiled. "You should have been a security officer, Commander." "No," Adama shook his head. "Too dangerous." "Fool!" roared the older person, scourge in hand. "Congenitally retarded turnip! How could you have been so stupid! Leaving the second man to be found?" They cracked the whip, lashing the other's flesh. "With Security all over the area, there was no chance to..." "Silence! There is always a way! Fool!" They lashed out again. "I should have done it myself! Sending a complete cretin to take care of this matter." "I..." "If you wish to apologize, do so after you have been punished! If you survive!" "Look, Mairwen," said Paulson, in the interrogation room. "I don't want to be a hard-astrum. It gets old after a while. Honestly. But I have two terminations to solve, and like it or not, you are involved. Somehow. Now..." "All I do is run a java stand, Officer Paulson," Mairwen shot back, trying to shrug. "And dragging me off, in front of my daughter like that...well, you had no right. I..." "Look, the man who was killed had java at your stand, less than half a centar before he was murdered. The mystery woman he was with..." "I have at least a hundred people a day get java at my stand!" she declared, indignantly. "I can hardly remember them all!" "But not all of them end up dead," Paulson shot back. "Now, you saw the woman that he was with. You know who she was. I need to know who she was. Fast. We know she was young, pregnant..." he held a moment, studying her face. He'd take a chance. "And that her name was Ilsa." Capstone! "Commander," said Cassie, in the LifeStation's inner office, "you know that I have to operate under the confidentiality of doctor and patient. Some things are just closed off." "Even if a crime has been committed?" asked Adama. "Not just one, but two deliberate terminations." He watched her face. It was clear to him she had not known about the second man's death. "Cassie, I'm not saying that she is guilty. All the evidence we have at the moment points to someone else, as the killer. Certainly, that of the second man, Targus. But she is the center of this whole thing, and she needs to come forward." "But, my medical oath, Commander. It demands a lot. If I just..." "Cassiopeia..." began Salik. Beep. "Commander Adama, this is Croft." "Go ahead," said Adama, into the telecom. "We've had an incident, sir. On the Rising Star." "Will he make it?" asked Adama, looking at the patient/prisoner, in the Rising Star's LifeStation security ward, on a screen. "Probably," said Salik. "They are rather hard to kill, as we've seen." "Alright, what happened?" asked the Commander, turning to the woman seated across from him. He tried to tone down his glower, but the anger was rising to the surface, and he was not in the mood for any more prevarication. He wanted answers, straight, honest, truthful ones, and he wanted them now. "It's okay, Ilsa," said Mairwen. "It's all gonna come out." The girl looked from her friend, to Adama, and then down at the table top. She sighed, clearly not liking this much. "Yes, Commander," she said, a bit testily. "I knew Weldon. When I found myself in this mess, he agreed to help me. So yeah, I guess you could say that I got him killed." "Not unless you actually pulled the trigger," said Adama. "And I am taking it that you did not?" "No, sir. But I might as well have. If I..." "Enough of that! Personal recriminations can come later! Speak." With a heavy sigh, she began. Of how she had met the Nomen bard Gora, and, despite the wild improbability of it, ended up in a romantic relationship with him. Then, after discovering she was pregnant with his child, and then hearing the news of his untimely death, she had been "summoned" to the Nomen ship. Not asked, not a proposal. A command. "I was on duty, when one of them came aboard the Oberon. He met me in the crew lounge, and demanded that I return with him to the Nomen ship. At once. No subtilty, no waiting for a private moment to speak with me. Naturally, I told him no, that I had responsibilities, and no furlon time just then, and while I was honestly sorry about Gora, I was not going to just drop everything, because one of them ordered me to." "What did he do?" asked Croft. "What you would expect, from a Nomen. He grabbed me, and tried to take me by force. I kicked him where it counts, and some of the other people there came to my aid. I got away, and Security escorted him off the ship, naturally. I didn't see him again, and I supposed he'd remained on his ship, and that was that." She shook her head. "Not very bright, am I?" "None of us can help who we end up falling for," said Paulson. "Then what?" "A few days later, I got a personal message, on the Oberon's message board. It was from the Nomen. Even though my code was private, somehow they'd gotten a hold of it. Again, they were demanding that I come aboard their ship at once. That's when I remembered Weldon. Back home, he'd done some work for my sister and her husband, and since he'd survived the Holocaust, I figured...well, I was desperate by this time. So, I got a message to him. He remembered me, and he agreed to help." She reached for a water carafe, and took a long drink. Then a second. "Then?" asked Adama. "He prepared some false identities for us both. He had a whole pile of them, it turned out, and some fake travel itineraries, to cover our movements around the Fleet. Then at a pre-determined time, after my duty shift, I put on a disguise, and I slipped off the Oberon. He knew of a place, he said, on the Rising Star, where he said that only the rich and corrupt liked to go, no questions asked. He could stash me in a room there, while he arranged for something more permanent and secure, and for help when the baby comes." "And then?" "I was on the market deck, and he slipped off, to get the place ready. He commed me, saying all was ready. I headed down there, and saw that girl, at the desk. I hesitated. I didn't know if she was trustworthy, or if she was part of his plan. He hadn't said anything about her, one way or the other, so I held back. Good thing I did, it seemed. After a few centons, I saw one of them slip out, when she was away from her desk. Lords, if I hadn't had to stop and use the turboflush on the way..." She shook her head. "Them?" asked Paulson. "Nomen. The same one you've got, in fact. I think his name is...uh, Omag. He's the same one who tried to drag me off the Oberon, Commander. I didn't get a good look at the other one." "And Omag is our number one suspect, in the terminations of both Weldon, and Targus," said Paulson. "That pretty well wraps up the crimes, sir." "Yes. But why, I'd like to know. Why do the Nomen want you so badly?" Adama asked the woman. "Enough to commit multiple homicides for?" "The baby, sir," said Ilsa. "They don't care about me, Commander. They want Gora's child." "Lords of Kobol," sighed Adama. "But why?" "He's the last, was the last, of his line," said Ilsa. "How do you mean?" asked Adama. "His bloodline, sir. Gora's family was an old one, of great status, on Borallis. In fact, well, do you recall the Nomen that escaped, with the Eastern Alliance?" "Who could forget?" sighed the Commander. "Well, Gora told me, Maga was the head of his family. When he and the others left, the leadership of his family fell to him." "I think I'm beginning to see where this is headed," said Paulson. "Your baby is the last of that bloodline." "Yes," said Ilsa. "Gora was considered the heir of a line of seers. Prophets, or interpreters of mystical stuff. Whatever. The position is called a grel." She sighed, and took a long drink of water. "I didn't know any of this when we started, but he finally told me, after I found out I was pregnant." "And so, your baby is the cause of all this?" asked Salik. "Seems so," replied Ilsa. "Omag told me that I had to go to the Nomen ship, and submit myself to the current Nomen leader of that family. Hohga, the grandmother of Gora." "A woman?" asked Cassie. "That's odd, for the Nomen, a woman being so prominent? They are very patriarchal, aren't they?" "Yes, but things are different, since the Holocaust. Hogha is a widow, from a very important family. She lost her husband and one son in the War, another son and a brother in the Holocaust, and then her last son, Maga. He was Gora's father. The family was about out of men." "And now with Gora dead, your baby is it," said Adama. "And it seems they have no compunction doing whatever it takes to get a hold of that child," said Paulson. "No, none at all, sir. And, I'm afraid." "Well, considering what happened to both Weldon and Targus, I can hardly blame you," said Cassie. "Anyway, I have managed to avoid them, until Omag turned up on the market deck, and just grabbed me, sir," said Ilsa. "No subtilty, no subterfuge. He just grabbed me, and told me that if I didn't come with him, he'd kill my friends. Right there and then." "Not very adept at these sorts of things, was he?" quipped Paulson. "Our security scans and several eyewitnesses confirm it all, Commander. He entered, near the change of the watch, when the number of people there was fairly low. He was wearing a stolen security uniform, but the girl, Cassy, raised a ruckus when she saw him trying to break into the java stand. A genuine member of security turned up, and challenged Omag, and he tried to kill the man. After a few moments, Cassy actually banged him over the head with a metal platter, and the security man was able to finally down him with a stun charge." "His charge sheet just keeps getting longer and longer," scowled Adama. "How is the girl?" "She's okay. Gutsy kid. She saved at least one life." "Takes after her dad," said Mairwen, proudly. But, now what?" "But they won't do anything to harm their heir," said Cassie. "They want the kid, alive and well. They wouldn't actually harm Ilsa, would they?" "I'm sure they'd treat her just fine," said Adama. "See to her every possible need. Until they don't need her, anymore." He let the sentence hang, as the implications sunk in. "Oh God," sighed Mairwen. "God has very little do with this," said Adama. Chapter Five Given the Nomens famed recuperative powers, it was not long before the murderous Omag had regained his senses. Despite his considerable efforts, however, he was no match for the force-fields restraining him. Once made fully aware of his unhopeful situation, he was visited by both Adama, and Sire Solon, and formally charged, with willful termination, attempted termination, impersonating a Security officer, and assault. That done, he was shackled, and transferred to the Galactica, to await Tribunal. The response from the Nomen ship was not long in coming. Adama had contacted them, as per the law, to both inform them of the charges against their man, and to..."request" that Hogha, and Gora's mother, Zagha, report to the Galactica, for questioning. After recent events with both the Il Fadim, as well as the Atori radicals, Adama was reluctant to appear overly heavy-handed. Yes, the law was the law, but even the Borellian Nomen were entitled to the benefit of the doubt. At least that's what it said in the Colonial Charter of Liberties. Initially, there was no response from the Nomen ship. This didn't surprise Adama overly, given their always haughty, superior air, and intense need to "save face". But when they ignored a second, then a third communication, he decided it was time to take action. Assembling a Security detail, he prepared to go to the Nomen ship, and serve the warrants issued by Solon's office, and damn their touchy sense of honor. Just as he was about to head for the launch bay, the comm channel crackled to life. Adama would not have to board the gloomy Nomen vessel. The interested parties were preparing to debark for the Battlestar presently, and would be most pleased to cooperate in whatever way was "needful" in the investigation. Please stand by. Adama had not met many Nomen over the course of his career, and never any Nomen women. Normally, they were kept out of sight of others, even on Borallis, and rarely mixed openly in the day to day of life. As the shuttle from their ship touched down in Alpha Bay, he wasn't quite sure just what to expect. Hogha was, well, striking was the first word that came to mind. Followed by intimidating. Like the Nomen men, she had a heavy frame, and thick brow ridges, little softened by the difference in gender. Lacking only a beard, she could have been taken for a prepubescent male Nomen, at first glance, beneath her voluminous sashes and robes. Without preamble, she crossed to him, and looked straight into his eyes, with the direct, almost challenging glare, the Nomen often affected. Age was deeply lined into her face, but her eyes held still the fierceness her people were famed for. This was, he told himself, a formidable person, and would not be easily bovined, in any interrogation. The woman next to her, Zagha, was likewise attired, and shared her mother-in-law's glowering mien. After only a few microns, like a bovine in a porcelain emporium, the elder woman took charge. "Commander Adama, I am Hogha, and this is my daughter-in-law, Zagha. We have come, as you requested." From her tone, it was plain she was contemptuous of both him, and the whole affair. "Mada..." Adama began, but the other cut him off. "Let us dispense with the pleasantries, Commander Adama, and get directly to the business for which we are here." She mover her intense glare from Adama to Solon. "Well, shall we be going?" "This way," said the Opposer. "At once," said Hogha. The session was not short, nor overly sweet. When questioned, first separately, then together, both Nomen women haughtily demanded to know upon what basis they were being questioned. After all..."are we not also Colonists, with the same rights and privileges..." It seemed to be a mantra. "Where is the woman, Ilsa?" demanded Hogha, as if she were in charge of the proceedings. "She is safe,' said Solon. "Despite all of your attempts, she is unharmed." "She belongs with us," said the Matriarch. "It is her place." "She doesn't think so," said Paulson. "She has no intention of going aboard your ship, nor having anything to do with you." "That choice does not belong to her," said Zagha, imperiously. "It is for us to make." "I'm afraid that's not how she sees it," said Paulson. "Nor the law, I might add. Now, have a look at these." He slid several screen captures from the crime scene scans, from both killings, across to them. From their response, they could have been looking at paint selections for a turboflush door. "Now, we know that both murders were committed by Omag, one of your people. And we also know that he did so upon your orders, and that he had an accomplice." He watched their expressions carefully. "Look, we know you did it. You..." he pointed at Hogha, "ordered him to get Ilsa, and let nothing stand in his way. He didn't, nor did his accomplice." "You..." "Oh please. Don't bother to deny it," said Paulson, with some heat. "He's confessed. We know you ordered it. That makes you an accessory. And..." he looked to Zagha, "anyone who aids and abets. You gave sanctuary to Omag, and his partner, between killings. That makes you ladies accessories. Both of you. To capital crimes." He waited a beat. "Well?" "This is a matter that does not concern anyone but the Nomen,' said Hogha, imperiously. "The woman and her child belong to us. If you know so much, then you also know that!" "I know that as the child of the late Gora, the baby would be the heir to an important lineage among the Nomen. I can appreciate and respect history. But not murder. You had no right to murder someone, just because of who impregnated Ilsa." "You weaklings," sneered Zagha. "You claim to respect all creeds, but..." "The respect stops, at murder," said Solon. "Now, if you are not going to cooperate with us, and tell us who Gora's confederate was, we shall proceed with the formal declaration of charges." "We want to see the woman, Ilsa,' said Hogha. "No," said Adama. The news of impending trials of Hogah, Zagha, and Gora, for multiple capital charges, made it onto the IFB, in spite of Adama and Solon's attempts to keep it quiet. However, with the still-loud buzz over the rescued Earthers from the slave camp on Ne'Chak, and the upcoming Tribunals of their surviving Risik captors, it garnered less attention than Adama had feared, for which he was thankful. While the law must take its course, he was somewhat apprehensive, first impressions being important, of seeming to be getting off on the wrong foot, with their new Earth brethren, as regards what sort of society Colonial culture was. He needn't have worried, in that regard. None of the accused Nomen would stand in the dock, neither for the termination of Weldon, the attempted kidnapping of Ilsa, nor for any other charge. It was not a matter of pleas, deals, nor legal wranglings. Two days later, upon coming to visit them in their cells, to discuss possible Protection (which they had heretofore refused), Solon found them dead. Hogha, Zagha, and Gora, were lying in their bunks, formal and composed, and as cold as last chapel-day's pisca. Wary, having learned of the Nomen talent for being able to appear to be dead in extremis, Doctor Salik was called to examine all three. It was no pretense. All three Nomen were dead. For real. Their complete disregard and contempt for Colonial Justice was such that in this instance they would rather be dead than be subject to the "rights and privileges" enjoyed by the rest of the Colonial people. "Mong," muttered Adama. Chapter Six "Now what?" asked Starbuck, at the dinner table in Adama's quarters, next evening, seated between Boxey and Cassiopeia. It was the sectonly Adama family gathering, and Starbuck was enjoying a short furlon, from his liason position aboard Baltar's BaseShip, for a brief visit with Chameleon. "The Nomen, I mean. The other one." "Yes, Father," said Athena, Boomer next to her. "What about the other Nomen? Omag's accomplice." "We still have no real clue as to who he was," replied Adama, looking at his grandchildren. "They would not give him up, and certainly no one on the Nomen ship ever will. We will just have to continue to investigate, as best we can, and hope that something turns up." "Substantive, anyway," said Boomer. "It's really sad, in a way, that they evaded justice," said Sheba. "I just hope that this other killer is caught soon." "Fat chance," said Apollo, next to his wife. "The Nomen will never give him up. You know how they are, and that twisted code of theirs. Which reminds me, Father. What about the deceased Nomen? I mean the funeral rites." "We returned the bodies to their ship, of course. But no one from Command was invited to the services," replied the Commander. "Not that I'm too offended." "Nor is Colonel Tigh, I'm guessing," smiled Cassiopeia. "No, Cassie," said the Commander. "I suspect that he's had quite enough of their ship for a while." "At least they didn't hurl accusations of murder while in custody," said Athena. "That would have been..." She shook her head. "Let's not give them any ideas," offered Starbuck. "As long as the girl is safe." "What's..." began both Boxey and Boomer, at once. Boomer deferred to the boy. "The lady they were after," asked Boxey. "What's going to happen to her, grandfather? Are she and her baby going to be okay?" "Yeah," said Apollo. "She'll still be a target, won't she, Father? She and this dead Nomen's baby?" "She would, yes, but Sire Solon and myself have taken steps. As you know, Weldon had numerous false identities, among his documents. Many are of people who presumably died in the Holocaust, or before. One has been selected, and an elaborate background story is being created. What the intelligence people used to call a legend, I believe. Ilsa is now Amunet, Colonial Warrior." "Warrior?" said Starbuck. "Yes. Once everything is ready, she will be assigned to one of the numerous clerical and logistical positions that are chronically understaffed almost everywhere. She'll be trained, as circumstances permit, and given a low rank, and will be interacting with some of the new Earth arrivals. Young recruit, no family, and no mention of any pregnancy, she can melt into the background easily enough. For the present, it's the best we can do for her." "I see. The Nomen will never find her, in all that," said Sheba. "Hopefully." "And, when her baby comes," said Adama, "she can make use of the maternity aid program. As many women have, in our present circumstances." "Sounds good," said Cassie. She looked over at Apollo, and gave both he and his wife a knowing look. Adama smiled. "Alright," he smiled back. "And speaking of such things," said Apollo, with a smile, and looking at his wife, "Sheba and I have an announcement to make to you all." He stood, glass in hand. "What's that?" asked Starbuck. "Sheba is going off flight status," Apollo continued, "effective immediately, and there shall be yet another member of the House of Adama, because..." "Because I...we, are pregnant!" She laughed, and the ladies joined with her. Boxey bounced in his seat, and even Starbuck, usually uncomfortable at such moments, seemed reasonably pleased. Briefly, he recalled Sheba's near-death, after the most recent machinations of Count Iblis, and the intervention of the translated Colonel Delambre and the Beings of Light which had saved her, but quickly shook that thought away. "Congratulations!" said Adama, and it was laughs and back-slapping all around. "I was wondering when you were going to tell me." "You knew?" asked Apollo. "I had three children, son. I know all the signs." He smiled. "Besides, yesterday, when Sheba manifested the signs of morning sickness, all over my boots, it was a fairly good guess." "Yes, well, sorry about that," said Sheba, and they all laughed. "So, looks like I gotta hang up my helmet." "Quite right. No flying Vipers in your condition," said Adama. "Perfectly healthy and robust, as that may be," Cassie added ruefully. She cast a quick glance at Starbuck, who suddenly began an inspection of what remained on his plate. "Well, I'll miss it," said Sheba. "Imagine me, flying a desk. But hey...this is what we've wanted." She looked at Apollo. "And now you have," said Athena. "Congratulations." She lifted her glass, and they all drank a toast to that which was to be, Sheba alone eschewing any alcohol. "So, Sheba, have you two picked a name yet?" "Yes. We have. Bethany, after my mother." "Are you sure it's going to be a girl?" asked Boxey. "Genetic scan?" asked Boomer. "Not by me," said Cassie, shaking her head. "They refused one." "I just know," said Sheba, clutching Apollo's hand. "We just know." 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.