Battlestar Galactica
"To The Last, I Will Grapple With Thee..."
Virtual Season 2, Episode 16
by Senmut
June 1, 2006

PROLOGUE

     "Enter!" rumbled the voice, its tones seeming to slice across the
dim room like a knife. For the next few moments, the only sounds within
the chamber were the footfalls of Over-Colonel Xekash, as he approached
the one who had spoken. The Ziklagi warlord stopped, bowing before the
High Seat, whereupon sat his Master. To one side, in shadow, stood
another figure. After a few moments, Xekash recognized him as well. 
     "My Lords," said Xekash, with a slight bow. "I am here, as
commanded."
     "Punctual as always, Over-Colonel," said the seated one. Xekash was
pleased that the other had noticed. Not one moment late, not one too
soon. Exactly when requested. "Report."
     "My Lord," he said again, and turned, taking a small device from
within the folds of his cloak, and pointing it at the floor. At once, it
went from dark, to a bright glow, as star maps and tactical displays
replaced the ornate faux tiles. Xekash pointed his instrument at it, and
the images rushed and blurred, until he found what it was he wanted. "We
are here, My Lord," he said, indicating a planet. "Here is the frontier
area where we first encountered the alien warship Galactica and her
Fleet." The image shifted to an obscure solar system on the edge of
Ziklagi space. "And this is the projected course of the intruder Fleet."
A bright yellow line threaded across the screen, showing the Galactica's
progress through Ziklagi space. "She was spotted by a freight convoy
here," he indicated a flashing dot, "four standard days ago. They
attempted to evade, but returned to their original heading."
     "And they have not varied from that course, Over-Colonel?" asked
Supreme Triumvir* Xandrix.
     "Only slightly, My Lord, based on the best tactical data we have to
hand at present. They made a minor diversion to this system," the star
charts swirled once more, "System 77-Orchrun, less than twenty-six
standard days ago. Reason undetermined at this time."
     "What is there?" asked the other figure, Chancellor Pentash, voice
soft and raspy. Like a serpent on sand.
     "A single habitable planet, My Lord, according to our data banks,
though it supports bizarre and unexplained weather phenomenon. It has
never been visited, but only been scanned by automatic probes."
     "Very well. Continue."
     "Fifty-two standard days before that, they diverted to this system,
74-Eliv. We have received and decoded a signal, containing an Imperial
Service ID number, picked up by an automated relay station on the edge of
the Derdrin Cluster, from someone calling himself Over-Lieutenant Korax,
and claiming to be in hiding aboard the Human Fleet."
     "Indeed." Xandrix raised a slimy eyebrow. "And how precisely did one
of our people come to be aboard this Fleet?"
     "Unknown at this time, My Lord. But a small scout vessel has reached
the 74-Eliv system, nearest the source of the signal. It is uninhabited,
but apparently some sort of mining operation was conducted on one of the
asteroids in that system, and we have found traces of wreckage of unknown
manufacture. It is being analyzed as we speak."
     "Perhaps a survivor from your ship, Over-Colonel?" asked Pentash.
Something in the way Pentash spoke made Xekash ooze. Still smarting over
the loss of his ship and most of her crew, Xekash bit back on the acid
that rose in his craw. Acid he would have dearly liked to have spit in
Pentash's face.
     Political hack! Bootlicker! You know nothing of command, or of war.
Worm-baited...
     "No, My Lord Chancellor," replied Xekash, oh-so-carefully. "All
surviving crew members from the Nooshgah are accounted for." Oh, to slam
that...
     "What do we know of this Korax?" asked Xandrix.
     "Not much, My Lord," replied Xekash, snapping back, "beyond a single
file." Again, the floor changed, to a service photo of Korax, and
scrolling lines of data. "It seems he was a soldier who was punished for
a serious breach of discipline, and re-assigned to one of the slaver
ships operating beyond the frontier. Neither it, nor a sister-ship have
been heard from since entering the Boron-Din system, one-hundred and
eighteen standard days ago." Korax vanished, to be replaced by yet
another star chart. "As you can see, My Lord, the back projection for the
course of the intruder fleet passes within a few degrees of that system."
     "Yes," said Xandrix, and for a few moments he was quiet, stroking
his chin, such as it was. "And it always returns to that course.
Over-Colonel, what have we learned about the race aboard this fleet, and
their origins? And does this fleet portend any future danger to the
Empire?"
     "We do not yet know the origins of this race, or fleet, My Lord.
Surviving bioscan data shows a marked similarity with one of the two
sentient species on Boron-Din, but the intruders did not originate there.
Nor are they, apparently, of the intruder species that destroyed the
Imperial Cruiser Tszi'oosh."
     "Not to mention the Aradon Station," hissed Pentash, accusingly.
Xekash fumed, but said nothing.
     "Silence, Pentash," said Xandrix quietly, holding up a hand. He
turned back towards Xekash. "Continue."
     "Yes, My Lord. In one of his communications to me, the commander of
this fleet, Commander Adama, referred to his ship as a 'Colonial
Battlestar'." Xekash pointed at the floor once more, turning his face to
hide his anger and shame, and Adama's transmission was replayed for
Xandrix, along with scans of the Galactica and several other of the Human
ships. "The first word, according to our linguistic specialists, suggests
some sort of remote settlement, but we have no context, and do not know
where that would be in their case, My Lord. And 'battlestar' seems to be
the technical designation for this class of warship. Korax's data
mentioned something about them being survivors of a war, but the signal
was cut off. We do not know where, or with whom." Korax's message was
replayed for the Supreme Triumvir.
     "That might account for there being but a single warship in this
fleet," observed Xandrix.
     "Yes, My Lord. However, our charts contain very little data on the
region of space she apparently came from. No probe or vessel has ever
returned from that area, and apart from actual solid data we have only
what might be called..."  Xekash shrugged, "space legends. Fragments of
signals, though none has ever been recorded." 
     "And now?"
     "At her present course and speed, My Lord, the Galactica and the
ships with her should reach this sector, here," again, the images under
his feet zoomed to a new location, showing a small solar system on the
edge of a vast nebula, "in approximately five and one half more standard
days."
     "Close to recent Zykonian activity," rasped Pentash, never raising
his voice.
     "Yes, My Lord."
     "And your plan, Over-Colonel?" asked Xandrix, leaning forward.
     "Due to events at the Aradon Station," said Xekash, slowly, knowing
he must tread lightly. After all, due to his "failure" in losing both his
ship, and 'letting' the Galactica escape, he was lucky to still be alive,
let alone retain his rank. "We have been unable to do little more than
shadow the Galactica, My Lord. Our fighter patrols have had but a single
encounter, with inconclusive results."
     "I am aware of all this!" rumbled Xandrix, dangerously, his fist
pounding on the arm of his chair. The destruction of the Aradon Station,
a huge command-and-control center for a multi-sector area, had resulted
in the loss of over forty vessels, including three of the latest,
top-of-the-line (and incredibly expensive) Dreadnoughts and an older
carrier, not counting the gargantuan loss of trade and revenues. All
together, the resulting chaos had dealt the Empire a staggering blow,
both in lost resources, and the political unrest that followed. Three
systems, seeing their chance, had dared to revolt, spreading a
dangerously reduced fleet all the thinner, and there were rumors others
might bolt at any moment. The repercussions had spread all the way to
T'chou-witu itself, and the very corridors of power. Xandrix had, barely,
survived the brutal power struggles among the elite of the capital.
Others had not been so fortunate, as Xekash was well aware.
     "Because of our... other difficulties," Xekash began again, even
more careful this time, "we have been able to do little but shadow the
intruders. However, the Gee-Tih is nearly complete, and will be ready to
depart spacedock soon for her shakedown cruise. With her new weapons and
defenses, I am confident there will be victory over the Galactica this
time, My Lord."
     "But the Gee-Tih does not launch for another fifteen days. Given the
distance, and at their speed, this...Colonial Fleet will be nearly to the
Zykonian border before you can catch them, Over-Colonel," said Xandrix.
"How..."
     "By delaying them, My Lord," said Xekash, a sudden intensity coming
into his voice. "I shall conduct shakedown en route, and delay Adama,
forcing him to meet me in battle. He will have no choice but to respond,
and I shall have him, My Lord!"
     "Delay him?" asked Pentash. "How?"

* A member of a ruling council, a triumvirate, consisting of three
members. The actual Ziklagi word is kfshpen.


CHAPTER ONE

     It had been, Adama decided, as the door to his quarters closed, a
profitable day, all told. His obligatory sectonly meeting with the
Council of Twelve had, Lords of Kobol be praised, produced no sparks.
Much to his (relieved) surprise, Sire Domra, always one to be counted
upon for obstructionism when it was least needed, had not objected to any
of his proposed measures, minor as they were. The first had dealt with a
measure to open up some of the long-empty space below-decks on the Rising
Star to habitation. Not only would this relieve some measure of crowding
on other ships, it would also remove the last trace of the defunct
"Association" crime ring, who had conducted so many of their sordid
activities on those unused lower levels. The measure had won easy
approval. The second motion, Adama's proposal to grant Colonial
citizenship to the Zohrloch refugees who had requested it, had sailed
through, much to his surprise. Sire Domra had a decidedly anti-alien bent
to his politics, bordering on outright racism, and his agreement with
Adama's proposal came as a pleasant cap to the day's political
activities.
     Even Sire Antipas had been agreeable. It seemed more and more to
Adama that the Libran sire still hadn't decided the time was right to
resume his game of looking for openings that might undercut Adama's
authority. Of course, how much any of that had to do with Antipas's
increasingly dependent relationship with Siress Lydia, he couldn't be
sure. Whatever the reason though, Adama was determined to enjoy the peace
on that front for all.
     After administering the Oath of Citizenship to the Zohrloch
refugees, it had been a day of (small) celebrations, and finally a quiet
dinner in his quarters with his son and new daughter-in-law. It pleased
Adama well to see his only remaining son sealed, at last shedding the
guilt and self-loathing that had gnawed at his soul ever since the death
of Serina. His son was happy. Sheba was happy. Even Boxey was happy. And,
he told himself, that made him happy as well, and, for now, that was all
he could ask for. Sheba had, in an outpouring of uncharacteristic
domesticity, insisted upon helping clean up, but now that he was alone,
Adama could turn his mind to other things, one of them being the files on
his desk. The newly scouted solar system just ahead, according to the
Viper patrol's report, was void both of life, and of any detectable
Ziklagi activity. Good news.
     The second was more engaging. Ever since the discovery, in an
ambrosia crate salvaged from the Proteus Prison by Starbuck, of the
journal and effects of the so-called Silent One, Adama had had Dr. Pliny,
a brilliant and celebrated linguist, working to try and decipher the
contents. Beyond a few clues regarding the numerical system used in the
Earthian's hand-written journal, Pliny had met with only frustration
after frustration. Apparently, the language in which the material was
written had diverged so far from its Kobollian roots as to be
unrecognizeable. Pliny had reported only failure.

     Until now.

     Now though, for the first time, Pliny was giving him reports of some
small breakthroughs. Nothing overly significant. Only that they had now
found a way of isolating the number of characters in the alphabet of this
indecipherable language. No more than 26, assuming that they had been
able to make a proper distinction between special symbols used for the
start of a sentence. Now that they had refined the language of this
unknown Silent One to this point, perhaps they could start forming actual
words that matched into something with cognates in any of the known
Colonial languages or the Kobollian mother language itself. The headings
at the beginning of several entries had, in the opinion of Pliny's young
assistant, Horace, turned out to be dates. From the frequency of certain
symbol repetitions, the young former graduate student had, in a
stroke of insight, posited that they were the sectons and days of the
Silent One's native calendar system. Based on this tentative analysis, it
seemed that Earth's yahren, if Earth it was, was divided into twelve
subunits, nomenclature unknown. All in all, a single Earth yahren
consisted of a cycle of just over 365 solar days, further subdivided into
repeating units of seven. The names of these units had not been, as yet,
transliterated, although Horace was hopeful he would soon be able to do
so. Adama was pleased, feeling that these few inroads, slight as they
might seem, must lead to further discoveries in due time. Indeed, even
this was beyond his wildest hopes. While he would have liked to find a
star chart, or other navigational data, Adama was not displeased by the
results so far.
     Adama yawned, and suddenly realized how tired he was. He shut down
his terminal, and headed for his inner cabin. As he crawled into bed, he
found himself wondering what the Ziklagi, unseen for some time, were up
to. He checked in with the bridge, but, according to Petty Officer Wu,
all scanners remained clear. Slowly, he drifted off, till...
     "What the Hades Hole???" he cried, as he was flung violently out of
bed, and onto the deck.
     And then floated up into the air.

CHAPTER TWO

     He could hear the rumble from the explosion before the next
shockwave hit. The decking below him bucked and thrashed throwing him,
hard, out of bed and against the cabin wall and smacking his tailbone.
The lights went out leaving him in a pitch-blackness that was void of
sounds. All the normal, familiar sounds of the ship, had gone silent.  In
that eerily, lifeless, darkness Adama felt a slight change in the air
pressure as it released him, abandoning him in the darkness. He could no
longer feel the decking below he feet. There was a blinding flash of
light as the emergency lighting kicked on. 
     Blinking rapidly to overcome the effects of the sudden illumination,
he now saw he was floating a metron or so above the floor. The artificial
gravity had been knocked out!  In all his time aboard this ship, he'd
never known the Galactica to lose her AG. Belatedly the klaxon sounded.
Outside in the corridor he could hear the sound of pressure doors closing
and he urgently pulled himself along the wall, trying to make it into his
office. 

     Apollo dug his hands into the side of the wall, hoping he could use
it to propel himself forward toward the compartment door that lay barely
five metrons ahead of him. The hatchway was already beginning its descent
and he realized that if he didn't push himself on a downward trajectory,
then there would be no chance of either he or Sheba getting through
before the door slammed shut. He was beginning to feel a sense of
dizziness come over him, which told him that there was a massive drop in
pressure in progress somewhere close by, and had very few microns left
before they'd both black out completely and be good as dead.
     Come on, he willed himself. Now!
     And then, pushing with all his strength, Sheba never losing her
death grip on his left boot, he was propelled on a downward heading
toward the disappearing opening to the next compartment. He could feel
the top of his head scrape against the descending frame of the door as he
passed through. His feet had not yet cleared the opening when he felt the
weight of the door collapse on them. He now realized that he was stuck,
and with his boots leaving the compartment door ajar slightly, that meant
the pressure in this compartment would soon start to escape.
     Hey!" he shouted, still feeling the dizziness swirl through his
head. "Over here!" Two enlisted Warriors who'd been headed toward the
other end of the corridor when whatever it was that happened had happened
turned and tried to scramble back to them.
     "Get his boots undone, fast!" One of them, whom Apollo recognized as
Corporal Lomas of
     Colonial Security motioned to the other. The second Warrior had to
reach around to get at the strap for Apollo's right boot. Lomas got down
on the other side and frantically fumbled with the straps on the left
boot.
     "Hurry," Apollo could feel the blackness starting to overcome him,
and he also knew that if they didn't free him soon, then the door's
integrity not only could become compromised, but Sheba would be trapped
on the other side. Finally, Apollo felt the straps come undone.  Lomas
and the second warrior planted their feet on each side of the hatch, and
grabbed Apollo by one arm.
     "Pull!" Lomas shouted. After a struggle that lasted several microns,
Apollo finally came out of his boots and collapsed to the floor. Lomas
got back down and then grabbed each boot and tossed them aside. In an
instant, the compartment door resumed its downward trajectory. But so
quickly it made him feel motion-sick, he turned, and grabbed the bottom
of the hatch with one hand, exerting all the strength he had left to keep
it open for Sheba. Lomas joined him, then a third pair of hands. Slowly,
the hatch began to slide back up, its motor growling in protest. Then, in
a blur, she was through, and Apollo let go the hatch, which slammed shut
with an ominous clang. Almost at that very moment, the gravity came back,
and they all fell to the deck in an undignified heap.
     "Thank the Lords," Lomas said as he tried to help Apollo to his
feet. "You okay, Captain? Lieutenant?"
     "Give me a centon, my head's still spinning." It was a struggle for
Apollo to stay standing.          
     "What in Hades happened?" demanded Sheba, massaging her bruised
anatomy.
     "I don't know ma'am, it just happened without warning," said the
third man, Croad. "I was on my way to billet, when...bam. There was no
advance notification about an attack being imminent. Nothing."
     "Damned right," Apollo took a few deep breaths. Never before did
recycled oxygen feel more wonderful than it did now. Apollo made sure
Sheba was alright, then went over to a telecom unit on the wall to try
and get word from the bridge, but as soon as he picked it up, he heard
the sound of static that indicated it was out. "Great," he said to his
wife, and then turned back to Lomas, "Turbo lifts still functioning?"
     "They seem to be, sir."
     "Then let's get going," Apollo said feeling some of his strength
come back as he walked to the end of the corridor. And then, he almost
stopped in his tracks as he remembered that if it was in fact an attack
that caused this, then it couldn't have come at a worse time.  Not with
the rest of Blue Squadron off the Galactica and pulling freighter
inspection duty this cycle.
     "Apollo?"
     "Yes, Sheba?"
     "Your boots?"


     Boomer pounded on the closed door, then winced as the recoil added
to the pain of his already throbbing head.  He brushed at the blood that
flooded down his face and inevitably into his eyes.  Reluctantly he
walked back over to where Jolly was helping Starbuck up into a sitting
position.
     "You okay?" Boomer asked as he watched Starbuck wince, then gasp in
pain as he tried to move his left arm.
     "I think it's broken" Jolly commented as he took the medkit Giles
handed him and began to search through it.
     "Yah, I'll live- I think? What the frack happened?" Starbuck asked.
     "That's the big question right now. " Boomer answered as he squatted
down next to Starbuck. "I just hope Jensen can get the other door open." 
Boomer examined Starbuck's arm briefly.  "It'll need to be reset.  Now or
later?"
     "Later.  Definitely later." Starbuck groaned.  While his trust in
Boomer as a friend and fellow Warrior was implicit, his faith in the
Lieutenant's skills as a physician was more reserved.  Oh that, and if
anyone touched his arm he'd either toss his mushies or scream like a
little girl.
     Boomer nodded briefly, more than a little relieved at his friend's
answer.  He cursed the circumstances that had Starbuck in this situation
so soon after his grueling experience with the Ziklagi shapeshifter that
had claimed the life of Cadet Jada.  This was supposed to be just a
routine duty.  The man's infamous luck had taken a decided turn for the
worse.  He held Starbuck's arms as gently as he could while Jolly secured
his arm in a splint. "Not what I expected when we got assigned to
freighter duty."
     "You can say that again." Jolly retorted, as he finished on
Starbuck's arm.  He then began to dig around in the medkit again. "That's
the last time I think one of the Captain's disciplinary duties will be
boring."  He pulled out a sealer and moved over to Boomer, motioning for
him to turn to the side so he could get at the cut on the right side of
his forehead.
     "What did you hit your head on anyway?"
     "Starbuck's arm" Boomer sourly complained. Jolly chuckled at Boomers
dry tones. "Hey careful Jolly," Boomer protested, "I don't want my eye
sealed shut."
     "Sorry about that Boomer," he apologized as he finished up and put
the sealer away. "I should have known it was Starbuck's fault. It's
always Starbuck's fault. That fact that we are in here and not in the OC
is Starbuck's fault."
     "Hey." Starbuck protested right on cue. "I didn't do anything to
cause that explosion!"
     "No... but..." Boomer began as he stared at the double reinforced
blast doors that had saved all their lives. They had just set down the
large engine casing when there was a flash and the blast doors came
crashing down, preventing the explosion in the engine room from reaching
them.  Of course, it didn't prevent the shock wave from rippling through
the flooring, sending them all flying.
     Boomer had grabbed at Starbuck to steady himself when the
Lieutenant's elbow had connected with his head.
     "But, what, Boomer?" Giles asked. "Did you see something?"
     "You mean besides a solid wall of flaming death coming right at us?"
Starbuck interjected.
     "Yah, maybe," Boomer turned back to them. "It looked like the
explosion came from the area where we set those barrels down."
     "Do you think one of them exploded?"
     Boomer shook his head. "I don't know" then he glanced at Starbuck.
"I was a bit preoccupied by the wall of fire coming at me." Then Boomer
looked back at the closed doors.  "Let just find a way out of here so we
can figure that out.


     "Frack!"  Jensen jumped back from the small explosion of sparks,
shaking his singed fingers.  The blast door had opened a few
centimetrons, then hissed shut.  From the looks of the smoldering control
panel, it didn't look too hopeful that it would open again any time soon.
Boomer banged the sealed doors in frustration.
     "Well, that's just lovely." He cast a glance to the other end of
compartment. An identical set of doors separated the five from the main
engine room of the Nebula. What the extent of the damage was in there,
none of the five warriors knew, but guessing from the force of the blast,
it had to be extensive. Jolly and Giles were having an equal lack of
success in establishing contact with the bridge of the freighter as they
alternated pacing around the com panel with jabbing the button in what
had so far been futile attempts to raise more than static from it.
Whether the problem was isolated to their position or was ship-wide they
had no way of knowing.
     Starbuck was leaning against the wall, watching the others, his
injured arm cradled against his chest.  Despite the splint and the large
dose of pain killer from the medkit, and despite his statements to the
contrary, it was obvious to Boomer that his friend was in a great deal of
pain. Boomer almost regretted that he and the others had teased him about
being responsible for the mess they were in.
     Almost. Sure, it was just dumb, bad luck that they had been where
they were when the explosion had occurred. That some forgetful - or maybe
incompetent - crew member  had left barrels of a highly flammable solvent
next to the main energizers. Boomer couldn't fathom how moving those
crates to a more secure location could have resulted in that explosion,
but they had certainly exacerbated whatever had happened. So, yeah, the
explosion itself was hardly Starbuck's fault.
     However, the reason they were all aboard this paragon of rustbuckets
in the first place, pulling a disciplinary inspection tour, was
undeniably due to Starbuck's hotheadedness. Boomer grimaced at the memory
of that night in the Galactica' s O.C. - how, the very first night after
Starbuck's previous disciplinary probation had expired, brought about by
his spouting off to Colonel Tigh after the battle with the Ziklagi, an
impulsive bet between the Lieutenant and a slightly inebriated blackshirt
had led to a brawl. Boomer, Giles, Jolly, and Jensen had been the
unwitting, and unwilling, participants, but participants nonetheless in
the eyes of the Commander and Colonel Tigh. Thus, the group of Warriors
had been assigned to a secton's worth of maintenance inspections
throughout the Fleet. 
     A pungent, burning odor broke Boomer's train of thought and his eyes
shot upwards towards the air vent.  "Frack!" he exclaimed. "Smoke in the
ventilation system. Anyone see any breathers?"
     "Got 'em right here, sir!" Jensen said as he delicately picked up
the separate emergency kit, that had fallen loose from its mounting on
the wall. "We've got enough to last a few centars if we need them."
     "Well at least there's one thing about this ship that doesn't seem
totally fracked up," Boomer grunted, wishing that Jensen would stop
calling him, "sir." It was the one thing about the younger Warrior that
annoyed him. He then went back over to where Starbuck was still cradling
his injured arm. "Feeling any better?"  Boomer decided to throw his
friend a straight line for no other reason except that hearing one of
Starbuck's patented quips was bound to make things feel better. For
Boomer at least. His friend didn't disappoint him,  
     "You probably want my recovery to be slow enough to guarantee you
and Castor the win in our next triad match," grimaced Starbuck. "I know
you."
     Boomer managed to smile, "I still say we could beat you this time if
our arms were in the same shape, Bucko."  He patted him on his good
shoulder. "Hang tight. We need to see if we can find a way out and then
find out what happened."

********

     When Apollo finally reached the Bridge, he was surprised to see not
the frantic activity of crewmen moving about in response to a crisis, but
instead everyone seemed frozen at their positions. Even more surprising
was the strange hush that filled the vast room.
     "Father?" Apollo didn't bother with protocol as he made his way to
the upper level where Adama and Colonel Tigh were both hunched over
Omega's shoulder. There was no response from the Commander as he leaned
closer to stare at Omega's console. Finally, the Bridge Officer broke the
silence.
     "They're finally showing up now, Commander.  At least twenty of them
on all sides.....Sir, this really doesn't look good. For now, we're
completely hemmed in."
     "Damn," Adama whispered. "We couldn't be in a worse position for
this to happen. Keep us at dead stop for the moment and tell all the
ships at our rear to reverse engines so they can hopefully stay clear of
all this."
     "Father?"  Apollo repeated, "What happened?"
     Adama rose and finally noticed his son. "Oh. Apollo. We've run into
something totally unexpected. We've entered the solar system you and
Jolly reconned yesterday morning. It seems to be mined in every
conceivable direction."
     "Mined?"  Apollo was taken aback. "But our scans showed nothing. No
life, no ships, nothing. Besides, I thought our shipboard scanners were
programmed to detect those kinds of things."
     "Not these mines, apparently. They seem to have been cloaked in some
way, and we didn't detect them until it was too late. Now, they don't
match any known Cylon weaponry, so either they've built something new,
which seems unlikely just now, or else we've stumbled across something
planted by...by the Ziklagi, after your patrol. Whatever the case though,
we didn't notice them until after the Galactica and at least one other
ship in the Fleet ran straight into them."
     "The rest of the Fleet is reversing engines, but for those of us
that already penetrated the mine field we're totally blocked in.  If we
try to go in any direction, we're liable to run into another one of them,
and with one hit already sustained the results could be catastrophic,"
Colonel Tigh said.
     "What about launching a Viper patrol to clear the area?" Adama
smiled slightly. Sheba, always the woman of action, was already anxious
to grasp for a solution to the problem.
     "Therein lies a problem," Adama said as he pointed to the screen.
"We're stopped right here.    And there are at least three of those
mines, that we can detect, on either side of us, and all at the point
where any Vipers launched from Alpha or Beta Bay would run straight into
them before they'd have time to fire a shot. Clearing the area around us
in that way could only be accomplished by asking three pilots to
sacrifice themselves and I'm not about to take that kind of a desperate
solution yet."
     "Although there's no guarantee we can avoid it," Tigh noted grimly,
"Even at full stop the momentum of space still carries us forward, and
according to our calculations we've got at best one and a half centars
before our momentum will push us right into the nearest of those mines in
our path."
     "What kind of damage have we sustained?" Apollo asked. Tigh handed
him a report. Apollo winced as if he'd been kicked, and showed it to
Sheba. The mine had hit them "underneath", under the port bow area.
Although not as powerful as some mines in their experience, this one
nonetheless had packed a respectable punch. Several hull plates had
buckled inwards, and compromised one water storage tank, as well as taken
out a number of cable trunks and auxiliary controls. A large number of
systems, including gravity and life-support, had blown out all over that
part of the ship, and so far, there were two people confirmed missing,
though thankfully there were no fires. A second mine had struck the
forward-most part of Alpha Bay, knocking out lights, power, and
communications with that area. Casualties in that region of the ship were
as yet unknown.
     "We've lost almost a third of our water, and recycling plant two is
off-line," she said aloud. "Thank God we able to refill all of the tanks
from what we found on that crazy weather planet, or we'd have almost
nothing."
     "So we need to think of some alternate solutions and fast." Adama
looked at his son and daughter-in-law. "The Galactica's survival depends
on it."

CHAPTER THREE

     Boomer walked back over to the blast door and placed his hand above
it.  The metal below his hand was radiating quite a lot of heat and he
gloomily wondered how long it could withstand such temperatures. "There
one felcer of a fire on the other side of this door. Jensen, any luck
with the other door?"
     Jensen looked up from bin he was searching through.  "Not unless you
consider frying the circuitry lucky?"
     "Well, you're the engineer. Didn't Shadrick teach you how to hot
wire a door panel or something?" came Jolly's strained voice from
somewhere behind the main storage bin.  His words were punctuated with
lots of groaning and they could all hear the sounds of boxes scraping
along the floor.
     "We don't hot wire them, we repair them," came the unperturbed
response as Jensen once again began to dig through bins. He leaned into
the barrel. "Solonite flow adjusters, theta band monitors, even tylium
gages in an obsolete measuring system, but do you think they'd store
anything so simple as a wrench?  Oh, noooo, that would too practical."
The engineer grumbled as he gave up on the bin and slammed the lid down
with undo force.
     "Somehow, I don't think shorting out the panel qualifies as a
repair." Giles commented as he placed a crate under the smoking air vent.
     Picking up another crate Jensen carried it over to Giles. "Yah, well
it's much easier to repair when you can actually get at them, and they
aren't melting. Believe me, you're lucky that's all it did. That
circuitry has to be a millennium old. I mean even the dust farts dust! I
think even Shadrick would have been hard pressed not to fry it." He
placed the second crate on top of the first, then motioned to the stack.
"Let me climb up there, I'll have a better chance of closing it with the
manual lever."
     "After your work on the door?" Giles chided, "No way." Ignoring
Jensen's scowl Giles carefully climbed up on the creates.
     "Next time you guys decide to do something like this, do me a favor
and leave me out of it." Jensen grumbled as he steadied the crates. "You
know, I had a hot date all set up for this evening."
     "Next time, don't go in on one of Starbuck's schemes." Boomer
responded as he came up behind Jensen. "Can you close it, Giles?"
     "Yah, I think so. Whoa!" Giles exclamation was all the warning they
got before he plummeted down on top of them leaving them in a tangled
heap on the floor as a dark gray dust settled over them in a thick layer.
Coughing from their dusting Giles untangled himself from the others and
triumphantly held up a broken vent chain. "Well, at least it's closed."
     "Hey, you guys," Jolly shouted, "I think I've found a way out of
here!"

*****

     "Sir!" said a voice, and it took a moment for it to penetrate
Adama's reverie. Staring at the scanners, and reviewing all data on known
weapon's systems, he had been "out of touch".
     "Yes?" he asked, acknowledging Rigel. She had turned, half-rising
from her position down in "The Pit". "I've retuned the scanners to read
the mines more effectively, Commander," she said, transferring the data
to Adama's position, "using the algorithms we decoded form the Ziklagi
slaver ship." He switched views, and studied her results. She had
increased resolution on the mysterious alien objects by nearly 20%, and
was able to glean some internal structural data as well. "Using
image-plane multidither sensing to obtain wavefront-correction control
signal..."
     "Ensign, please," said Tigh, sensing one of Rigel's techno-babble
sessions coming on. Besides, he already had a headache. "The bottom
line?"
     "Sorry, sir," sighed Rigel. "The bottom line is, the mines are
Ziklagi. No question."
     "Why didn't we see them sooner?" asked Tigh. "I thought Wilker had
figured out a way to see through their cloaking system."
     "The ones they use on their ships, yes," replied Rigel. "But these
mines don't have the power of an engine or reactor, and we're too far
from a sun for reliable solar power, so they apparently use a different
encoding scheme, and rotate their emitter frequencies randomly. We
actually detected them less than a half-centon before impact."
     "So, they've found us again," said Adama, looking at the scanner
screen, then back at Rigel.
     "What can we do?" asked Sheba.
     "Well, we can now get enough data from our scans to figure out how
to lock on to one of the mines, and capture it for study. Sirs. Ma'am."
     "Are you certain, Ensign?" asked Adama.  "One false move..."
     "Yes, sir, which is why I have the computer working on refining the
sensing parameters. If you approve, Commander, we could send out a team
to capture and retrieve one." Adama looked again at the scanner data
being fed to him from Rigel's station. As he watched, he could see the
percentage of accuracy on the screen creep slowly up, and the device's
image gradually clear, like a slowly unzipping computer file. Already, he
could see vague shadows of internal wiring, and external projections. It
was dangerous, but if there was even a chance...
     And if the Ziklagi caught them, with the Fleet stalled like this...
     "Very well, Ensign," said Adama, after some more thought.
"Coordinate with Doctor Wilker's lab."
     "Father," said Apollo, "do we dare? Once we bring one of those mines
inside the Galactica..."
     "We won't, Apollo," replied the Commander. "We'll do the analysis
aboard a shuttle, keeping position at a safe distance from the ship, and
as far from the other mines as possible. The devices are small enough to
be latched on to by the shuttle's capture arm."
     "I volunteer," said Apollo, as always the first to accept danger. "I
can pilot the shuttle to..."
     "No," said Adama. "As Captain of Blue Squadron, we can't risk you on
something like this."
     "But...."
     "No."
     "Commander..."
     "Captain..."
     "If I may," said Sheba, clearing her throat loudly, and shaking her
head at her husband's obstinacy. 
     Men!
     "Yes, Sheba?" said both Warriors at once.
     "We don't have to risk anyone. We can send out a shuttle, piloted by
the Cylons we captured with Baltar." She waited a beat, hoping the two
would absorb the logic of her suggestion.
     "Perfect," said Omega. "Wilker has them repaired and reprogrammed
now."
     "And last time they couldn't get out of the way of a charging
chariot," countered Apollo, recalling how one of them, Flight Leader
Agrestis, had, during the incident on Boron-Din, been knocked down by one
of the primitive speeding vehicles. Although back together now, it had
been difficult. Cylon spare parts were in short supply on Battlestars.
     "It'll work," said Omega. 
     "And would seem to be the best chance we have, right now," added
Tigh, looking at the scan data on the mines. "Omega, what do we know
about the mines' blast radius?"
     "Approximately 12.5 metrons is total kill, sir," replied Omega.
     "And the closest to the ship?" asked Adama.
     "28.7 metrons, Commander," answered the other. "And closing."
     "The mines seem to have inflicted oddly little damage, considering
what they could have done," observed Adama. "I wonder..."
     "Intended to wound, Commander," said Sheba. "Not destroy. At least
not something as big as the Galactica."
     "But why?" asked Apollo.
     "To give them a chance to catch up with us," said Adama, as it
suddenly came to him. "So far, we've only seen a few patrols and random
ships. No serious threat to us. Something like the ancient, floating
mines were, back in the days of the first steel-hulled, steam-driven
oceanic warships. This way, they can cause just enough damage to
immobilize us, until they can reach us in strength." He swore quietly.
"Perimeter of the mine field?"
     "We still can't find one, Commander," said Rigel. "Too much
interference from the nebular radion in this system."
     "Which is undoubtedly why they picked this location to lay their
mines. Very well," said Adama, with a heavy sigh. "We go ahead with
Sheba's plan, using the Cylon pilots. We'll communicate with them via the
shuttle's commsuite. Colonel."
     "Sir?"
     "I want every gun on the Galactica trained on every mine that we can
detect. I also want every Viper in both bays on its catapult moved to the
opening of the launch tubes."
     "The openings of the launch tubes, sir?"
     "Yes. We can use their lasers, without risking pilots. We'll target
every mine within range and destroy them, then launch the shuttle.  It
will give us time to prepare, as well as some breathing space before more
mines close in."
     "I see," said Apollo. "Excellent."
     "As well," continued Adama, more somberly, "as time to come up with
something else, in case this plan doesn't work." He looked at both his
son, and his Exec. "Get to it."
     "Yes, sir," said both men.
     "Athena, get me status and damage reports on every ship in the
Fleet. And contact Starbuck's disciplinary detail."
     "Yes, Commander."

     "It'll be risky moving the Vipers on manual power to the edge of the
launch tubes." Apollo noted as he and Sheba followed Adama to the other
side of the upper level. "I can't remember the last time any of the
pilots even tried that kind of maneuver in the simulator."
     "Now's as good a time as any to relearn it, Apollo. We've been left
with no other choice. And, with power down in Alpha Bay, you'll have to
release the safety latches manually, and push them into position by
muscle power alone."  The Commander said as he then smiled thinly at
Sheba.  "Lieutenant, thank you for your suggestion regarding the use of
the two captured Centurions. I'd all but forgotten about how we still had
them at our disposal."
     "No problem, sir," Sheba remained nonchalant.  "Just doing what any
good Warrior should do in a moment of crisis. Improvise. Like they taught
us at the Academy."
     "Commander," Tigh interrupted as he mounted the stairs, "I've just
relayed the situation to Dr.  Wilker and he says he doesn't think the
Centurions are capable of flying at this point."
     Adama's expression darkened, "Did you tell him that we don't have
any other alternatives?" Tigh was clearly exasperated from the
conversation he'd just had with the Chief Scientist, 
     "Yes sir, but he is quite adamant and insists that if you'd see them
for yourself, you'd realize that they can't fly."
     Adama gritted his teeth, "The man can be so damned obstinate." He
looked at Apollo and Sheba, "Both of you get down there right away and
report back to me immediately. He's got exactly three centons to prove to
the both of you why those Centurions can't fly."
     "Yes sir!" Apollo nodded, feeling his father's exasperation as well,
as both he and Sheba turned and left the bridge at a fast pace. No sooner
had they both gone, than Athena came up to join her father and the XO.
     "Commander," Athena said, "Only two ships are hemmed inside the mine
field besides us. The Electronics Ship, and a passenger freighter, the
Nebula." She paused, "That was where Starbuck and most of Blue Squadron
were conducting inspection duty."
     Adama's eyebrows went up in concern. "Any word from them?"
     "The Nebula's Captain reports that they struck one of the mines and
it breached one compartment and cut off access to her lower decks." She
took a breath, clearly trying to hide the concern she was feeling inside.
"All internal communications are out below Beta Deck, and there's no word
from Starbuck and his inspection team. It'll take at least a few centars
before they can send some teams belowdecks to figure out if they're still
okay."
     Her father nodded, "I....see. Tell the Nebula's Captain to use his
best judgment in handling it and have him update me whenever there's any
news to report on it."
     "Yes sir," Athena nodded, "Do you want me to tell Apollo and Sheba
about this when they get done with Dr. Wilker?"
     Adama hesitated for an instant and then shook his head, "No. Not
now. We'll let them know later. For now, our first priorities
unfortunately lie elsewhere." He looked his daughter in the eye.  "I hope
that's clear with you too, Athena."
     "Quite clear, Father," she said firmly as she then abruptly turned
and headed back down to her station.

     "Okay, Jolly," Boomer said,   "We're all ears. How do we get out?"
     "Back here, there's a ventilator shaft that leads one deck down to
the orlop deck," the corpulent Warrior pointed at the floor. "I noticed
it when we cleared away the crates. We can each go through the shaft and
go out in a compartment that's clear for us to get to the main levels."
     "If you think you can fit through one of those holes, you're out of
your mind, Jolly." Giles snorted with disgust. "And that goes for those
of us who've managed to stay in shape too. They're all too small."
     "He's right, Jolly," Boomer said as the memory of being trapped in
the Rejuvenation Center aboard the Galactica several sectars before came
back to him. "Now maybe if we had Muffit here like that last time I was
trapped to ferry a message out, that would be one thing but------"
     "Look, you clowns, the shaft is not that small, or else I wouldn't
have brought the subject up!" Jolly interrupted angrily.  "On freighters
like the Nebula, they also serve as maintenance ducts, as well as extra
storage. I remember reading that in the technical journals we had to go
through before we reported to this bucket. They're perfectly okay for us
to go through! Look for yourself!" Jensen nodded, and Giles made his way
over to him and looked down. 
     "I'll be damned, you're right!" Giles said, "Jolly, accept my
apologies."
     "Just buy me the next round at the club and I'll know you mean it,"
he said. "Okay, all we got to do is blast away the grate and then we can
all lower ourselves in one at a time."
     "Wait a centon," Boomer spoke up, "Blast away the grate opening so
we can get into it? Jolly, that's all well and good, but in case you
forgot, this disciplinary duty of ours means that none of us are carrying
a laser!"
     The corpulent warrior tilted his head slightly, and smiled. "O ye of
little faith!" So said, he moved to the grate, and with a suddenness
surprising given his bulk, he hurled himself at the grate. It buckled,
one of the bolts popping free. Jolly then grabbed the bent edge, and
pulled back on it with all his strength. After uttering a few oaths that
would have made Cain himself smile, the grate pulled away. Jolly dropped
it onto the deck, and squaring his shoulder, looked at his astonished
audience. 


     "YOU WHAT???" bellowed Sheba at Wilker, for a moment looking and
sounding very much like her father, the legendary Commander Cain.
"You...snitradiferous... mong-snorting..."
     "Lieutenant, please!" responded Wilker, seeing the slow, lingering
death in Sheba's eyes. "There was no way to predict this. As a part of
scheduled maintenance, it was necessary..."
     "To pull their arms off?" she countered, barely keeping her fury in
check. Next to her, at Wilker's main bench, one of the Centurions, Flight
Leader Agrestis, sat, staring at his arms, which lay there, opened and
partly disassembled. If he didn't know better, Apollo would have thought
the Cylon actually looked...bereft? Forlorn? Disarmed?
     "Lieutenant," continued Wilker, "each Cylon contains a hardwired
maintenance schedule, which I was able to download and decode. As part of
it, the servo actuators in their upper body require servicing,
approximately every..."
     "Bully for them," growled Sheba, sarcasm thick enough to peel hull
plate from a BaseShip.  "They were ready for their thousand metric
checkup!" She took a breath, ready for another verbal fusillade, when
Apollo spoke up.
     "I understand, Doc," he said, his tone almost mollifying, after
Sheba's barrage. "But this is important. We need both of them working,
and right now."
     "Well..."
     "No wells, Doctor," shot back the Galactica's Strike Captain. "This
is from the Commander, and it's inflexible. If we don't get both these
Cylons going within the next centar, we may not survive two centars."
     "It's that..."
     "Yes. It's that bad." Apollo looked around, first at the immobile
Cylons, then the rest of the cluttered lab. Only Technician Hummer was in
evidence, already setting to with one robotic arm. "Where are your
people, Doctor?"
     "Most of them are with Chief Engineer Shadrick at the moment,
working on the damage assessment and repairs, Captain. My Chief
Assistant, Technician Sirrion, is in Life Station. He was down, in the
launch bay, near the impact site, when we got hit. Communications only
just came back up from down there."
     "What's the prognosis?" asked Sheba.
     "Not good," replied the scientist, shaking his head. "The burns..."
He let the sentence drop.
     "Then it's up to us," said Apollo, moving to the bench, and picking
up Agrestis' left hand. Wires and linkage trailed from the open wrist,
and the Centurion looked up at him, no doubt thinking black Cylon
thoughts about Humans. Looking about a bit, he picked up a microwelder,
and began examining the Cylon's limb. "Come on," he said, sitting next to
Hummer, and both Sheba and Wilker moved to assist him. "Let's get
cracking."

CHAPTER FOUR

     "There," said Jolly, flashing a body builder's pose for a moment,
with no little triumph in his voice. 
     "You're a lot stronger than you look," said Boomer.
     "I take after one of my ancestors. From the Shwarzenjolly side of
the Clan. Come on." Bolted to one wall of the shaft was a ladder-well,
heading downwards, towards the orlop. Dusty and a little grimy, it
obviously hadn't been used in a long time, perhaps yahrens. It was a
squeeze, but the rotund Lieutenant maneuvered himself into the opening,
and found the first rung with his feet.  "If I ever get out of this," he
muttered, "I'm cutting back on the mushies."
     "Here, here!" grinned Giles, and Jolly snarled at him. Slowly, he
began to descend, and looking back up, could see Giles begin to as well.
     "Looks like this'll work," said Starbuck, through clenched teeth.
His arm was screaming like a Cylon pinwheel attack, and he wished he had
some more pain-killer. or, at the least, a couple bottles of really good
ambrosia. He opened his eyes at a ripping sound, and looked up at Boomer.
The warrior had stripped out of his shirt, and was tearing it into
strips.
     "Boomer?"
     "We need to keep that arm as immobile as we can, and that's going to
be a daggit's mother going down that shaft, Starbuck." He began to wrap
the injured warrior's arm in the cloth, and then bind it close to his
body. He then looped his own belt around the arm, and slid it through
Starbuck's belt.
     "Sure we don't need duct tape, too?" asked Starbuck. As if on cue,
Boomer held up a roll, scavenged from somewhere, and wrapped his friend
even more, until the roll was exhausted.
     Starbuck got to his feet, a bit unsteadily, and put his other arm
through its paces. Boomer slid back into his jacket, and led his friend
towards the shaft.
     Smoke was getting thicker, and both men were glad to get out of the
room. Boomer insisted on going first, to hold the light, he said, though
Starbuck knew it was to break his fall, should he lose his grip on the
rungs. Slowly, painfully, he made his way down the ladderwell, swearing
from time to time as his damaged arm bumped against the side of the
shaft, or the rungs.
     "You okay, buddy?" Boomer called back up towards him, as the injured
Warrior let loose a particularly colorful string that even Commander Cain
might have put him on report for. "Star..."
     "Ye...yeah, Boomer," gritted Starbuck through his teeth. He let the
pain subside back down to a screaming roar, and resumed his descent. A
few more steps, and he could hear Giles voice from below, and then felt a
rumble move through the ship. Another explosion, somewhere he thought.
Frack! He kept moving, till he could see one of his comrades, looking up
towards him from within a square of light.  The Nebula rattled once more,
and he lost his grip on the rungs, and began to fall towards the other
warrior.
     "Ohhhhhhh Fraaaaaaaaaaack!!!"


     "Commander!" called Tigh, and Adama at once turned to his XO. "Alien
craft on the scanners."
     "Where?" asked Adama, moving towards the scope. 
     "Right here, in our sector zeta." They watched the target skip
around the edge of the scanner's range for a few centons, then it
vanished. "As near as we can tell, it's some sort of scout vessel."
     "So, they know where we are," said Adama quietly.


     Starbuck grunted as he impacted against Boomer, who tried vainly to
stop the other's fall.  All he managed unfortunately was to cushion his
fall when they did hit the decking below.  Boomer groaned as he pushed at
Starbuck, trying to roll him off of him.
     "Boomer, Starbuck you guys okay?" Giles asked as he pulled a shaky
Starbuck up and off of Boomer.
     "Boomer, you alright?" Jolly asked. He forestalled helping the
Lieutenant up when Boomer held up a hand stopping him. Boomer temporarily
ignored Jolly and Giles inquires as he took a slow mental assessment of
his possible injuries. "I think I'm okay," he finally said as he took
Jolly's offered assistance and slowly sat up.  A sharp stabbing pain
quickly followed this action. "Unh."
     Jolly's hands were instantly holding him still.
     "Boomer?"
     Boomer looked up at Jolly. "I think maybe I was wrong."
     "Frack," Jolly looked over his shoulder toward Giles. "How's
Starbuck?  Boomer's hurt."
     "I'm fine," Starbuck replied. "What's wrong with Boomer?" 
Concerned, he tried to get up, but Giles pushed him back down.  It was
probably a good thing.
     "Sit, you'll only be in the way." Giles picked up the med kit they'd
brought from the storage room and went over to Jolly and Boomer.
"Starbuck's bumped and bruised but otherwise seems okay. What wrong with
Boomer?" Giles handed Jolly the pack while he took in the pained
expression on Boomer's face.
     "Hold Boomer still while I run a scan" Jolly said as he turned on
the portable scanner he'd pulled out.  He ran the small devise over
Boomer's chest area, then pulled it back to check the results. "Looks
like you fractured a rib, or rather Starbuck fractured one for you."
     "Gee, thanks Bucko."  Boomer call over to Starbuck.
     "Anytime, Boom Boom," came the flippant response. 
     "What can we do?" asked Giles.
     "There should be a temporary bone knitter in those kits," said
Jensen. "Here." He took the kit from Jolly, and rummaged through the
contents. Sure enough, there was a knitter. Jensen smiled. Then, he
swore.
     "What?" asked Boomer.
     "The battery's nearly flat. Fracking incompet...someone hasn't
checked this kit since..." He turned it over, to read the inspection tag.
He swore again. "More than a yahren before the Holocaust!" Continuing to
utter deprecatory assessments on the intelligence, parentage, sexual
preferences and species of those responsible, he held the unit up.
     "How much juice is left?" asked Jolly.
     "I'm not sure, sir. Enough, maybe, for a few microns use. Can't be
sure until we try it." He moved to Boomer. "Here, sir."
     "Yeah," replied Boomer, as the younger Warrior opened Boomer's
jacket. He placed the emitter disk against Boomer's skin, and pressed the
trigger. The machine began to hum softly.
     "Is it true, sir," he asked, "that you and Lieutenant Starbuck took
out the Cylon control center on Gamoray by yourselves?"
     "Well, we had help," replied Boomer, as the warmth of the unit's
radion began to penetrate. "But yes, it was Starbuck and I that lobbed
the hand mines over into the control room. Why?"
     "Well, I heard a lot of stories, sir. You know, from the older
hands, when I enlisted." He smiled. "Just kind of wondered what it was
like, down there."
     "Cylons to the left of us," said Starbuck, face cocky despite his
pain, "Cylons to the right of us. Into the Control Center of Death..."
     "Frack!" said Jensen.
     "No," replied Starbuck. "What I actually said was..."
     "No, sir," said the other. "This!" he held up the knitter. "Power's
gone." He tossed the device back into the med kit. "How is it, sir?" he
asked Boomer.
     "Still stiff and sore as Hades, but better." Boomer experimented
with moving. "Still hurts."
     "Well, a treatment like that should last at least ten centons," said
Jolly. "You got barely one, Boomer."
     "I'll try and be careful, Jolly," he said, getting up, and
refastening his tunic. 
     "Gee, none for me," wailed Starbuck. "Oh, woe is..."
     "C'mon!' said Giles, rolling his eyes. "Let's get moving." 


     "Sir," said Sargamesh, down in Alpha Bay. "First Viper craft in
position."
     "Excellent," said Master Chief Varica, large wrench in one hand. He
slid it into position under the next Viper, and yanked. There was a loud
ping from the mechanism, and he turned back to Sargamesh. "She's all
yours."
     "Sir!" replied the Zohrloch, now a newly-minted Colonial citizen,
and getting up on the platform behind the fighter with his fellow
Zohrloch Korl, began to push it along the unlocked catapult, down the
launching tube. Varica shook his head, amazed at the alien's strength. He
moved to the next Viper, this one being pushed by a Nomen. The one beyond
was under the power of both Kians, Kudur-Mabug, and Pili. He shook his
head again, and called the bridge.
     "Colonel Tigh? We have six Vipers in position now, and three more on
the way."
     "Excellent, Master Chief," replied Tigh. "Keep me posted."
     "Sir." He clicked off. "Come on," he bellowed to two hangar crewmen.
"Look alive there!"


     Xekash stood stock-still, watching Ziklag fall away below him, as
the shuttle-pod carried him up towards the shipyard. He did not move, he
did not look away, until his new command at last came into sight. Vast,
gleaming, and deadly, she actually brought a hint of a smile to his lips.
Yes, she was a beautiful ship. Beautiful, and lethal. He spared a brief
glance at her sister ship, Zah, still little more than a skeleton taking
shape in the next dock, then back to his new command. Slowly, as the pod
maneuvered alongside, he let himself indulge in feelings of pride. Pride,
that he would be given such a ship. Any ship. He looked down once more at
his new badge of rank. His meeting with Xandrix had been both tense, and
revealing. Not only was he to be given the Gee-Tih*, but a promotion as
well. His predominate emotion was still one of surprise. 
     And suspicion, too. After his previous encounter with Adama,
normally, one would have expected...
     But no. Now was a time for planning. For preparing oneself. Soon,
the Colonial Fleet would be within his grasp.
     Soon, Adama. Soon!
     "Welcome aboard, My Lord," said Ulpash, at the airlock to the hangar
deck. He at once took in Xekash's new uniform and insignia. "General
Xekash?"
     "Yes. It would seem the gods smile upon me yet, old friend. Truly
their ways are mysterious. It is good to see you again, Ulpash," said
Xekash, as he stepped out of the transport pod, and into the ship that
was now his. He stood for a moment, looking around the interior of the
Gee-Tih, and smiled. "How many of our old crew are aboard?"
     "All who survived, My Lord," replied Ulpash, one of the survivors
from Xekash's last encounter with the Galactica. Like his skipper, the
memory of having a ship shot out from under him still burned bitter. Like
his skipper, he also was eager for revenge against the Colonial
intruders. "Except for Xonnrit. He will never walk again, it seems."
     "How unfortunate, Ulpash," said Xekash, as they headed towards the
bridge. "He was a good kfsh. A good warrior. His deeds will live on."
They entered a lift, and began the journey up. "Any news?"
     "Yes, My Lord. Our long-range scout ship has confirmed that the
Colonial Fleet has stopped. Dead in space, and that at least one mine has
detonated." He looked over at his superior. "All seems to be progressing
according to plan, My Lord."
     "Excellent news, Ulpash. Ship's status?"
     "Food and other supplies are coming aboard now, My Lord, as well as
the final crew replacements and your personal gear and slave. However, we
are almost a full day behind, My Lord." Xekash turned to look at him.
"Many of the supplies I have requisitioned have yet to arrive. It seems
several of the surviving ships from Tho'li and Kulu are still under
repair, My Lord, after battles with the rebels."
     "Have not the Dockmaster and Supply Depot been informed that the
Gee-Tih has top priority? From the Supreme Triumvir himself?"
     "Yes, My Lord, they have. But it is difficult to redirect materials
already half-installed and scattered all over the yards of the entire
system."
     "Well it must be done, Ulpash! Do you hear me?"
     "Yes, My Lord." Ulpash's voice was hesitant, and Xekash caught it.
He looked at Ulpash, bidding him speak. "There is another problem, My
Lord."
     "Such as?"
     "There was an...incident among the dock workers. Last night."
     "An... incident?" Xekash's voice went icy.
     "Yes, My Lord. Many of them attempted an... uprising, My Lord. It
seems some elements of the insurgency penetrated the perimeter, and
reached the slave quarters. Fortunately, it did not spread beyond the
outer yards, My Lord. It has been put down," Ulpash continued, hastily,
"but in the course of it, an entire cargo ship full of material bound for
the Gee-Tih was hijacked and its cargo jettisoned, and the ship's
Captain, along with two guards, was killed."
     "And the rebels?" hissed Xekash, as they at last reached the bridge.
He did not exit the car, but merely turned to look at his underling.
     "Some have been caught, and are being interrogated. Others,
unfortunately, are still at large."
     "How many are in custody?"
     "Seventeen, according to Dock Security, My Lord."
     "Execute them. All of them," said Xekash, voice thick with wrath. As
if Adama and his invaders were not enough to plague us... He strode out,
onto his bridge.
     "Yes, My Lord," replied Ulpash.
     "Along with the head of Dockyard Security and all surviving guards
as well. Immediately!"
     "Yes, My Lord!"

* Translates approximately as Fist Of Power.


CHAPTER FIVE

     "Starbuck was right," said Apollo, as he labored to reassemble one
of the Cylon's severed arms. "You are harder on these guys than we are,
Doctor."
     "Well, the more we know about them and their construction, Captain,
the easier it becomes to fight them," replied Wilker. He looked over to
Hummer, and the young man passed him a small circuit board. "But I only
recently discovered the internal maintenance schedule built into them,
Captain. We're still learning a lot about how they're put together."
     "How did you find it?' asked Sheba, looking askance at the piles of
circuits and cables.
     "They told me," shrugged Wilker. "I guess their internal timers
reached the proper moment, and when no maintenance was forthcoming, they
just told me."
     "Helpful," replied Sheba. "Now if they could just tell us how to
stop them from pursuing us forever."
     "I'll drink to that!" said Hummer. He reached over Apollo, to grab
another piece of Cylon interior. He checked it with a tester, and then
slid it back into place inside Agrestis' open backplate. "Ready, sir?" he
asked of Wilker. Wilker nodded, and the younger tech began reconnecting
Agrestis' upper left arm to the Cylon's torso. After a few moments, he
chortled in glee. "Alright, Agrestis. Try it now."
     "By your command," replied the Cylon, and he began moving the
reconnected part. After a few bleeps and squeals, it moved, as fluidly as
before. 
     "Alright!" smiled Hummer. He looked to Apollo. "Could you hand me
that...yes, thanks, Captain." Soon Agrestis had all but his hand back on
the left side. "So, you think it can work, sir? Ma'am? Capturing a mine?"
     "Right now, it's the only feasible plan that we have," replied
Apollo, applying a cleaner to the connectors protruding from the Cylon
hand. Looking at it, he recalled his encounter with Red-Eye, the Cylon
gunsel he had dispatched on Equellus. Fleetingly, he wondered about Vela,
and Puppis. How had they fared? Had Vela...
     "Well, I'm sure once we get some internal specs on them," Hummer was
continuing, "we'll be able to shut them down."
     "All of them?" asked Sheba. "Remotely?"
     "Oh yes," chimed in Wilker. "Whoever put them here would want to be
able to avoid the same fate as their enemies once they closed in, so they
would have to have built in some sort of shut-down protocol. Both Cylon
and Colonial mines were so equipped. There's no reason to assume the
Ziklagi designed theirs any differently in that regard."
     "I hope you're right, Doctor," said Apollo, as he began reconnecting
Agrestis' left hand. As soon as his electronic brain detected the hand,
it ran it through its startup and diagnostic routines. To Apollo, it
looked somewhat ghoulish, a hand laying there, connected only by a thin
cable, moving as if alive. Shaking it off, he pressed it to the wrist,
and with a snap, it was joined to Agrestis once more. He tightened the
fasteners, and soon Agrestis' left arm was as good as new.
     "How's it feel?" Hummer asked the cybernaut.
     "Feel?" responded Agrestis, turning to look at him. 
     "Yes. Your arm. How's it feel now?"
     "The question is irrelevant," replied the Cylon. "It is fully
functional, by your command."
     "Bloody literally-minded..." muttered Hummer. Wilker smiled.
     "Here," said the chief scientist. "Ready for the right arm, now."
     "Sir," asked Hummer, turning to Apollo, but Apollo's commlink
beeped. It was Athena, on the bridge.
     There was no word on Starbuck and the other Warriors aboard the
Nebula. For a few moments, no one said a word. Then Hummer...
     "Okay, now for Furcifer over here."


     "Okay, now where to?" asked Giles, as they came to a hatchway. Like
all the rest aboard the Nebula, it had slammed shut automatically after
the first explosion. Jensen came up to the door, and studied the
controls. Unlike those above, these seemed undamaged, although as
antiquated. Jensen tried a code. Nothing happened, and he tried another.
Finally, the fourth code seemed to do it, and the door slid open
obediently.
     "That was easy," said Starbuck. It was about time that something
was.
     "My old man served on merchant ships for yahrens. Gramps for forty
yahrens before that," replied Jensen. "You pick stuff up."
     "Next thing we know, you'll be telling us you were born on one,"
said Boomer.
     "Oh frack!" moaned Jensen, with mock horror. "You guessed!"
     They made it through the door, then shut it behind them. Down here,
the air seemed clear of smoke, and the lights steady. Unfortunately, the
blast door control circuit at the opposite end of the section was like
the ones above. Dead. They all swore, then took stock. Everywhere they
looked, there were crates in evidence, stacked haphazardly around the
deck, as well as trash and garbage. Obviously, cleanliness aboard the
Nebula was not all it could be.
     "Hey, Jensen," asked Giles, lifting the lid of one container, "any
of this stuff help?"
     "Indeed," said the younger Warrior, obviously pleased. Reaching down
into the crate, he lifted out a pistol. Much to his surprise, it even had
some charge left. "Old model, but it looks okay," he said, tossing it to
Jolly. In another crate, he found several ancient food containers, never
opened, and some old-fashioned commlinks, but none with power.
     "What can we do?" asked Giles. 
     "There are power taps down here," said Jensen. "I may be able to rig
something up." He went back to fishing through the crates. "Problem is,
the power systems on some of these old buckets operate at different
frequencies than our standard-issue military hardware, sirs. A lot of the
engineering on some of these tubs is pre-Standardization era."
     "Can you do anything with that stuff, Jensen?" asked Starbuck,
peering into a particularly grimy container.
     "I hope so. Once, on a run between the Colonies and Hassar, pirates
hit us. Pop and I managed to Tribunal-rig a current rectifier for the
emergency transmitter out of parts from a broken video game."
     "Did it work?" asked Boomer.
     "Well, I'm here," replied Jensen, a tad indignantly. "Yes, of
course. And this, maybe..." 
     "Well get with it," said Starbuck, a bit briskly. Without a word,
Jensen did just that, readily accepting Boomer's offer of help. 
     "How ya feeling?" asked Giles of Starbuck, noticing his abrupt mood
swing.
     "Like mong," replied Starbuck. "All things considered, I'd rather be
in Caprica City."
     "Who wouldn't?" said Jolly.


     Master Chief Varica would never get used to the sight of Cylons in
the Galactica's launch bay. Never mind that these particular Cylons were
now on their side, it still gave him the shivers, regardless. However, he
didn't let the shivers interfere with duty. As requested, a shuttle was
prepped, and ready to go for the two Centurions. 
     "Clever," said Sargamesh, suddenly at his elbow. Varica almost
jumped. The way the Zohrloch could move up on someone noiselessly
was...well, it was almost as bad as having Cylons in the launch bay.
     "Huh?"
     "This," said Sargamesh, pointing. "Using expendable assets like
these Cylon machines, rather than risk highly trained and irreplaceable
personnel."
     "We do what we have to," said Varica, as the two Cylons boarded the
shuttle. Its engines roared to life, and it taxied towards open space.
     "Still," said the Zohrloch, a tad wistfully, "I could wish that it
were me, out there, instead of a pair of machines."
     "And get blown up by an invisible mine?" Varica shook his head. "The
risk, man. Think of the..."
     "Yes," said Sargamesh, smiling. "The risk, Master Chief! The risk!"


     "Commander," said Tigh. "Shuttle ready to launch, and all Vipers and
gun batteries report ready."
     "All compartments sealed, all defense screens to maximum strength."
     "Done, sir."
     "Open fire now, Colonel."
     "Sir."


     "What the holy frack was that?" said Giles, as the Nebula shook
violently. "Another explosion?"
     "Not inside the ship, no. That felt like it was external," said
Jensen. "Outside the hull."
     "Outside?" said Boomer. "You sure? But that would..."
     "Oh frack!" said Starbuck. "A mine?" He looked at his fellow
Warriors. "A minefield?"
     "Mong!" said Jolly, kicking a crate. "They found us!"


     The space around the Galactica seemed for an instant to have become
like some insanely bright crawlon's web, then there was an explosion. One
mine, then another, went up as the gunners and the fighters connected.
Then, as the last of the detectable mines in their horizontal plane were
shredded, the huge warship fired her maneuvering thrusters, and began to
turn, slowly rotating on her longitudinal axis, still firing. Slowly she
turned, clearing a swath of space around them. The entire vessel shook as
mine after mine was destroyed, but she kept firing. After what seemed an
eternity, the Galactica returned at last to her original orientation
vis-…-vis the galactic plane, and Adama ordered them to cease fire. 
     "Report, Omega."
     "According to scanners, sir, over fifty mines confirmed destroyed."
     "Excellent! And the remaining mines?"
     "Moving in, sir," replied Omega, shaking his head. "The nearest one
we can detect will be within blast radius in...four and one half centars,
eight centons, mark." 
     "Then we better get moving. Launch shuttle."
     "Shuttle launched, sir."
     "To think we'd ever be relying on Cylons for our very survival,"
muttered Rigel. Next to her, Wu just shook his head.


     Far away, just beyond the Galactica's current scanner range, hostile
eyes watched her. Watched her as the minefield slowly closed its
stranglehold on the Fleet. Soon...
     What?

CHAPTER SIX

     "Sir," said the operative at the instruments.
     "Yes?"
     "We are getting some strange readings. From the sensor drone in
Sector 228."
     "Ziklagi territory?"
     "Yes, sir."
     "What are they up to now?" The superior leaned close, studying the
readouts. After a few moments, his eyes widened. "Zykor's lips!" he
swore. "Get me the General Command. At once!"
     "Sir."
     "And retask all available intelligence assets to Sector 228."
     "Yes, sir."

CHAPTER SEVEN

     "Okay," said Jensen, hefting his newest creation. "This should, and
I repeat, should do it."
     "What kind of warranty do we get?" asked Starbuck.
     "Well, if it doesn't work," replied Jensen, "you can sue the
manufacturer."
     "I'd call Sire Solon, and put him on danger pay," replied Starbuck.
Giles just shook his head, and chuckled. Jolly said nothing.
     "Here goes," said Jensen, and he slid two stiffened wires into one
of the power taps on the bulkhead. After a few moments of fiddling, he
smiled, and reached for a commlink. "Just hope these old batteries
haven't monged out over the yahrens." He fiddled some more. "Success!"
The unit he held began to hum, and there was a hiss of static.
     "Can you raise the Galactica?" asked Boomer.
     "I don't know yet. I may have to retune the frequency on these old
relics. Lemme...ah."


     "Captain," said  Kale, on the bridge of the Nebula. Her skipper,
Gorski, turned to regard his comm man. 
     "Yes?"
     "Picking up a signal, sir. A voice message, Captain."
     "From?"
     "A Warrior named Jensen, sir." He listened for a few moments. "It's
the missing Warriors, belowdecks, Captain."
     "Are they alright? Put this on the speaker, Kale."
     "Yes, sir."
     "And contact Commander Adama at once."


     "My Lord?" came a voice at Xekash's elbow, however he did not at
once stir, still deeply  contemplating both his bridge, and the report
before him. Numerous explosions in the minefield blocking the Colonial
Fleet had been detected, but the reasons were unclear at this time. Also,
it seemed someone else had evinced interest in the proceedings. A small
probe had been detected, in the area of the Fleet. Origin unknown, but
possibly Zykonian. Possibly? And just who in The Pit else do you think it
might be? Fools! Find out! After a moment, he realized someone was next
to him, and he turned. It was his old comrade, holding a datapad. 
     "Yes, Ulpash?" He took the proffered progress report. Finally, some
good news. The last of the food, water, and fuel was now aboard,
life-support systems were at 100%, and the engineers could initiate the
start-up cycle for the main engines at his command. Also, those at fault
for the recent unfortunate events in the shipyard had been dispatched,
the event being given wide dissemination on the public broadcast bands,
and the workers were obedient and docile once more. Yes, all was as it
should be.
     "My Lord?"
     "Yes, good news, Ulpash," smiled Xekash. "All is as it should be.
Tell the engineers they may proceed."
     "Yes, My Lord."


     "Centurion Agrestis reports the shuttle is in position, Commander,"
said Tigh. 
     "Is Doctor Wilker ready?"
     "Doctor Wilker reports all is ready, sir," replied the XO. 
     "Very well. Proceed."
     They all watched, as the shuttle, dead still relative, sent out a
pulse. Within a few microns, the mine, which until now had shown up only
on the scanners was now optically visible. Once it had washed back into
the visible, a manipulator arm began to extend from the side of the
shuttle, and move towards the alien device.
     "All systems functioning as ordered," Furcifer informed them. 
     "Excellent," said Wilker. "Now, before you lock on to the mine, move
around it with the camera."
     "By your command."


     "We can't get to you right now," Gorski told Jolly, over the comm
channel. "The mine breached a compartment, and all the emergency
bulkheads below Gamma Deck are closed. What's your situation?" Jolly
relayed that information, and Gorski scowled. "The fire isn't responding
to the boraton mist. The system may have been compromised by the
explosion."
     "May? May have been compromised by the explosion?" said Starbuck.
"Really? Say it isn't so!" He could feel that familiar tightness
engulfing him, as it had ever since the events surrounding Cadet Jada's
death.  He took a deep breath, willing it back down, his good hand
clenched tightly into a fist.
     "What can you do?" asked Jolly, ignoring Starbuck's outburst.
     "Right now, we're not sure, Lieutenant. Half the controls to the
engine deck are out, and the rest are unreliable. "We can't even dump our
tanks." 
     "How close is the fire to the storage cells?"
     "That's just it, Lieutenant. We can't be sure. Our fire team has
managed to put out the fire in compartments fourteen through sixteen, but
we're nearly out of boraton."
     "I see."
     "Is there anything you guys can do, from down there?" asked Gorski.
     "We could pee on it!" shouted Starbuck. The outburst didn't relieve
his tension as he had expected.  How in Hades could they be almost out of
Boraton?  Weren't there regulations in place for that kind of situation? 
Easy, Bucko.  Keep it together.
     "Uhh...stand by," said Jolly. "Can it, will ya, Starbuck?" He glared
at the Lieutenant. "What?" he asked Jensen, who'd been motioning to him. 
     "I've got an idea, sir."


     Stripped of its usual Landram and other equipment, the shuttle's
rear compartment was nice and roomy. Roomy enough not only for the mine
which was now slowly being brought inside, but for one of the Cylons to
fit in with it. As soon as it was on the deck, the capture arm detached,
and it was just Agrestis and the alien device.
     Linked to Wilker's lab, the Cylon was relaying both video and sensor
data back to the scientist in realtime. The mine was about two-thirds the
height of the Centurion, half as wide, and studded with projections and
antennae. For the first few moments, Agrestis scanned it passively with
his built-in instruments, moving slowly around the machine. He at once
detected an infrared source inside, as well as a source of  radion. He
collected all the data, decided that the radion was the power source,
relayed this to Wilker, and waited for instructions.
     "Okay, Centurion," said Wilker, after a few moments, "pick up the
portable scanner, and direct it at the cover plate."
     "By your command."


     "Commander!" said Athena, face brightening. "Message from the
Nebula. They have found the Warrior inspection detail."
     "What's their condition?"
     "Both Starbuck and Boomer are injured, but not badly. Captain Gorski
says they found some old junk belowdecks, and rigged up a commlink out of
it."
     "Lords be praised for Academy training," said Adama. "Let me talk to
him."
     "Yes, sir," replied Athena, switching the link over to Adama's
station. Gorski came on the monitor. 
     "Captain?" Gorski explained the Nebula's situation, and after some
fiddling, patched Jensen's rickety comm signal through to the Battlestar.
"Jensen? Yes. I see. And the fires? That's...You have a plan? What is
it?"


     General Xekash felt a warm feeling of satisfaction course through
him, as he watched the indicators at his station. The Gee-Tih's engines
had started up, as predicted, and now her auxiliary thrusters were
putting out a comfortable glow. Power was rising, and soon the main drive
would be ready to initiate. And ahead of schedule, too.
     "We are cleared to leave dock, My Lord," said Ulpash.
     "Proceed," ordered Xekash. 
     "My Lord."
     Within moments, the Gee-Tih, the latest, most advanced, and
deadliest warship in the Ziklagi fleet, was moving out, into the freedom
of space. Xekash let the vibration of the ship's engines course through
him. He reveled in it, this feeling of power. If this ship lived up to
her promise, no one, no Ziklagi ever, had wielded such power in his
hands. It was enough to make one's head spin with anticipation and
delight.
     But Xekash was not one to let his head spin, even if he had
possessed the anatomy for it. He remained focused on the tasks at hand,
while his crew ran their myriad checks and tests. Get to the enemy, bring
him to battle, and then crush him, and his fleet, out of existence.
Except for the survivors that would be sold as slaves, nothing of the
alien fleet would remain to remind the Empire of this annoyance.
     "My Lord," said Ulpash. "Our fighters are ready to rendezvous with
us."
     "Proceed," came the order. Xekash looked up, and watched as the
first of the Gee-Tih's fighter squadrons came in to land. While there had
been little data upon which to base comparisons, he was anxious to see
how the Hi'ishrah* compared to the Viper fighters in combat. He continued
mulling his options for the battle ahead, when once more Ulpash's voice
broke in.
     "My Lord, all fighter squadrons now aboard. Engine room reports main
drive now at optimal temperature. They are ready for transition."
     "You may do so at will, Ulpash. On course for the Galactica."
     "Yes, My Lord."
     With a hum of raw power, and a blur, the Gee-Tih ripped a hole in
space, and was gone.


     "You're kidding, right?" said Starbuck, when he heard Jensen's idea.
The throbbing in his arm had reached a new level, but at least his rising
anxiety was back in check.
     "Not at all, Lieutenant," replied the younger one, full of youthful
confidence.
     Starbuck shook his head at the keener.  Another kid who thought he
was immortal.  "I still say we ought to just pee on it. At least we'd die
comfortably with empty bladders."
     "Starbuck, be serious!" said Giles.
     "Serious? I've had all sorts of therapy. I know 'serious' when I see
it. Hey, my other name is Serious. Didn't you know that 'Starbuck' means
'serious' in fourteen known languages? Trust me on this." It took far too
much effort to stop his incessant babbling.  He bit his lip, disgusted at
his behavior in front of his fellow warriors. "Trust me" he prattled on,
noticing Boomer shaking his head mutely in concern.  "I am one serious
dude."
     "Really?" said Jensen, a tad disgusted. "I thought 'Starbuck' meant
'perpetually horny'."
     "Hey, look, you..." snapped Starbuck fury immediately engulfing him. 
He abruptly tried to rise, but Jolly and Giles restrained him.
     "Well?" Jensen went on. "Captain Gorski and the Commander are
waiting, guys." Ignoring Starbuck, Jensen put the phone to his ear again.
"Yes, sir!" 


     "What the felcercarb is he going to do?" asked Kale, of Gorski.


     Slowly, Agrestis removed the first of the bolts holding on the
cover-plate. According to all the scans they could perform, there was no
particular order in which they had to be removed. Crossing their fingers,
the scientists gave the go ahead, and so far, Agrestis, the shuttle, and
the mine, were all still there. The bolt floated away in the zero-gee
environment of the after compartment, and Agrestis moved on to the next
one. Had he been Human, the Centurion might have felt somewhat daunted by
the fact that there were only seventeen more identical bolts left to go
on the cover plate. But, being the sort of creature he was, this fact was
merely noted as data, and filed away. 
     "Good job, Centurion," said Wilker, as the second bolt floated away
to join the first one. "Just keep her nice and steady." For a moment,
Agrestis stopped, as he realized that the term nice was not in his
database, and he had no definition for it.. Also, according to all of his
scans and programming, neither the bolt, nor the tool he was using to
loosen it, were biological entities, and therefore could not be
classified by gender. And, upon further analysis, steady was being used
in a fashion not consistent with his database, either. It was neither a
vessel nor under power. How could it be kept...
     "Centurion?" asked Hummer, after a few microns.
     "By your command. What is nice?"
     "Centurion?" asked Apollo.
     "Repeat. What is nice? The term is not in my databanks."
     "Never mind that now," said Sheba. "We'll...upgrade your programming
later, Centurion. Return to the task at hand."
     "By your command."
     "Centurion Furcifer? Status of scanners?"
     "Fully operational. No other contacts within range, by your
command."
     "Thank you."


     "You're going to climb all the way through there, and try and blow
it yourself, Jensen?" asked Jolly, incredulous.
     "It's the only way, sir. Sirs. There is a manual release valve, just
below Bunker Number Three. It can be reached by a crawlspace. Surrounded
by mines, we can't risk another ship maneuvering in to offload either
crew or fuel, and we don't have time to wait. The temperature in there is
already edging the danger line from what Captain Gorski says, and leakage
from a damaged fuel line is what's feeding the fire, I'm wagering. This
is the only way we're going to save ourselves, or the people on the
Nebula."
     "But..."
     "Look! All of Gorski's people are either needed to run the ship,
fight the fire with what they have, or trapped behind the emergency
bulkheads," said Jensen, a bit testily. "We don't have time to try and
make it to an airlock, and get suited up for an EVA. And this ship is
going to blow itself to fracking Hades Hole if we just sit around on our
astrums and moan and bewail our lack of options."
     Starbuck winced internally, knowing the kid was referring to him.
"Look, kid," he said tentatively, but Jensen cut him off.
     "Sir. If you want to put me on report, fine. Do it." He moved
towards the ladderwell they had descended. "If we survive."
     "Shall we go?" said Jolly.
     "What the frack? I sure need to," growled Starbuck, getting up
slowly. He had a sudden urge to curl into a ball and wait for them. Maybe
catch up on some much needed shut-eye. What difference would it really
make whether he went or not?  He was useless injured.  He'd just slow
them down.. Even as he spoke, the Nebula rumbled somewhere deep inside,
as another explosion shook the vessel. He lost his footing, and fell once
more.
     "Ummm...I think you just did, Starbuck," grimaced Boomer. 

* Literally spitter. Named for a deadly serpent native to Ziklag.


CHAPTER EIGHT

     After what seemed like centars, Agrestis at last removed the last
bolt, and the cover-plate came away from the mine. Inside, bundles of
wires and blinking circuits greeted his gaze, and Wilker's, back in the
lab. 
     "Alright, Agrestis," said the scientist. "Direct your passive
scanners into the exposed area."
     "By your command."
     "I really wish they'd quit saying that," said Sheba, watching the
proceedings on the monitor.
     "I have tried to expunge it from their programming," said Hummer.
     "What happened?" she replied.
     "Well, when I told one of them to cease using it, he just said 'By
your command', and continued on."
     "Single-minded," said Apollo, shaking his head.
     "But capable," said Hummer. "I had to quit playing Pyramid with one
of them."
     "Oh?" asked Sheba. 
     "Yeah. He kept winning. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is
to lose at Pyramid to a Cylon?"
     "Was that before or after Starbuck played with them?" asked Apollo.
They all laughed, till Wilker brought them back to the here and now.
     "Got something?" asked Sheba.
     "Looks like it, maybe," replied Wilker.


     Jensen, since he was both the smallest of the group, and because he
was the most familiar with the layout, was "elected' to carry out his own
plan. Jolly had mentioned that the specs they had been given showed no
such crawlway. Jensen replied by telling him how ships like the Nebula,
kept together with sweat and a paint job, and operated by small,
seat-of-the-pants firms, were often yahrens behind the mandated
maintenance and safety upgrades required by the Colonial Merchant Marine.
In fact, the Nebula herself, in need of repairs so expensive her owners
couldn't possibly afford them, had been in this legal limbo, impounded
and possibly facing the cutter's torch, when snatched from the
"boneyard", on the day they had fled the Colonies. Whether by design or
oversight, the Cylons had totally ignored the various scrapyards
scattered around the Colonies during the attack, hence ships like the
Nebula had survived. 
     Thus, she still sported the older layout of crawlspaces and
conduits.
     "Well shut my mouth," said Jolly. 
     "Hey, don't sweat it, sir," said Jensen. "Just wish me luck."
     "GOOD LUCK!" boomed Starbuck.
     "That'll do," said Jensen, shaking his head, then he disappeared
into the darkness.


     Xekash was furious, glaring around the bridge of the Gee-Tih. For
the first few cycles out from Ziklag, the new ship had functioned much as
had been expected, both in terms of propulsion, and battle stations
drills. Then, he had been awakened by alarms blaring everywhere. It
seemed there had been a flow failure detected in the conduits to one of
the main engine's reactors, resulting in a sudden and jarring emergency
shutdown of the main drive. Like all those of his class, Xekash was
intolerant of "failure", and had demanded an explanation. Even when one
was forthcoming, an engineer explaining that this was a new and
cutting-edge design, still in need of shakedown, he was hardly mollified,
entertaining the suspicion that the failure might not have been
accidental.
     Although the fault was fairly quickly put right with the replacing
of a defective part, and the Gee-Tih once more back into hyperdrive,
Xekash's wrath was not appeased. Fault, in the Ziklagi system of things,
must be assigned, regardless. It merely remained to be decided where that
assignment was going to be. Xekash ordered Security to sweep the ship for
"possible members of the insurgency", and the junior engineer responsible
for the flow system sensor in question to be "interviewed in connection
with the investigation" into the precise details of the incident. No one
said a thing as the young engineer was dragged away for questioning,
frantically protesting his innocence. No one was ignorant of what was
likely to happen to the unfortunate fellow, nor were they anxious to join
him. 
     "Back on course for the intruder fleet, My Lord," said one of the
night crew.
     "Excellent," replied Xekash, still glaring angrily about him. He
looked over at the Officer of the Day. "Schedule a level four
disciplinary drill, Sub-Commander." He waited a beat. "Immediately!" 
     "At once, My Lord!" replied the other tightly, saluting. Without
another word, Xekash turned and left the bridge. 


     "Is that the detonator?" asked Sheba, peering closely at the screen.
In the middle of the close-up view they were getting from Agrestis, there
was a small shiny metal oblong, attached to a metal plate inside the
mine. It was blinking, and displayed rapidly changing symbols in the
Ziklagi script.
     "Looks like it," said Hummer. "I checked everything we have, and it
seems to fit the basic design of mines, Lieutenant."
     "What next?" asked Apollo.
     "We scan it some more," said Wilker, and ordered Agrestis to do just
that. The Cylon turned all his passive sensors onto the detonator, and
the scientists studied the results. Wilker shook his head. "We need more
information."
     "What if it detects us scanning it?" Sheba looked at the head
scientist.
     "I don't think it will," said Hummer.
     "And why not?" asked Wilker of his subordinate.
     "These mines were designed to be invisible to all scanners, Doctor.
That takes a lot of power, and the cloaking circuitry takes up a lot of
space. If they are invisible, what you suggest would be a needless
redundancy in my opinion."
     "I don't agree," replied Wilker, a degree of testiness coming into
his voice. "After all, given all the sophistication we've seen so far, it
seems unlikely these people would overlook such a..."
     "I didn't say they overlooked it, Doctor. Merely that the would not
bother, given all the..."
     "Hummer..."
     "Hey, you two!" said Apollo. "Stop it. We have bigger problems right
now."
     "Captain?"
     "Yeah. Like it's flashing," said Sheba. She pointed to the screen.
     The mine's detonator was flashing brightly, and making an awful
noise.


     Jensen moved through the crawlspaces like an old pro, which, after a
fashion, he was. Having been born on, and grown up aboard, a similar
merchant ship, he had a familiarity with them, an intimacy almost, which
the others, used only to Vipers and Battlestars, never could. For once,
he praised the Nebula's original owners for their greed and failure to
bring the ship up to specs. It was almost like old home secton as he
slithered through areas replete with equipment that belonged in a museum.
Or, better yet, back in the boneyard this ship had been rescued from. 
     He could feel the heat as he got closer to his goal. The fire, from
what they had learned, was so far confined to the port side of the
vessel, so only those bunkers need be blown. Now, if his luck held out,
he should be moving under one of them any centon now. He slithered along,
keeping the plan of this pile in his head, and trying to remember
everything he could about the jettisoning system. His commlink beeped. It
was Gorski, demanding an update. Then he moved on, straight into...
     "Yuck! Haven't people on this tub ever heard of using the..."
     His head snapped up, and looked forward at a sudden sound. A loud
thunk or crash. He fervently hoped something else hadn't exploded. That
was all they needed just now. He moved closer, catching a whiff of smoke,
and the tell-tall odor of tylium fumes. He reached for his breather, and
covered his face with it. No sense risking tylium fume poisoning, on top
of burns, radion, being blown up, or blown out into space.
     Right. Be safe, kid.
     He turned a tight corner, and could now see the dull glow of flames.
Yes, he was closer. Soon, he would...
     "What the frack..." he shouted, as something dropped down in front
of him. Big, bulky, and... "Lords..."
     There was a scream, then silence.
     "Jensen!" came a voice from his commlink. "Jensen? Jensen?"

CHAPTER NINE

     "Bloody Hades, that was close," said Sheba, as Agrestis held up the
detonator from the captured mine. Somehow, the device had re-armed
itself, and had begun the countdown to detonation. It seemed to work in
two modes. Direct contact with an object or ship, resulting in an
explosion, or a timing device. While all of the various intricacies were
still obscure, it seemed that the simple act of ripping the detonator out
of it's housing was sufficient to disarm the mine.
     "God, that was simple," said Hummer, half to them, half to himself.
"Can it really be that easy?"
     "It was this time," said Apollo. "But what triggered the timer?" He
looked from Hummer to Wilker. "Any clues?"
     "Gravity," said Hummer, again almost absently.  Suddenly he jumped
to his feet. "At least I think so, sirs. I have a theory about the mine's
operation, sir. But..."
     "But?" asked Wilker, raising an eyebrow. 
     "But we'll have to bring it inside. I'll need to crack its
processor, sir, and that's going to take more sophisticated stuff than
the Cylons have with them."
     "What do you think you can achieve?" asked Sheba. 
     "If I'm right about what triggers the back-up system, we might be
able to reprogram them, ma'am."
     "You mean use them against the Ziklagi?"
     "Yes, sir," said Hummer, eyes bright.
     "I see," said Apollo, considering for a moment. "But I still think
it's too risky to bring a mine inside the ship, Technician."
     "Okay, I can go out to the shuttle. I can carry the equipment I'll
need in a satchel, and use a thruster pod on my suit. Afterwards, I can
fly back on the shuttle, sir. In the meantime, have the Cylons shut down
the shuttle's grav generators."
     "If there is an afterwards," said Wilker, as always one for
scattering sunshine and flowers. "What if you blow yourself up?"
     "Then I'll come back somewhat faster. Look, we don't have time for
any other options, sir," said Hummer. He looked at Sheba. "Ma'am." 
     "I'll go," said Apollo, rising. "After all, I'm rated for EVA work,
and you aren't, Technician."
     "But you aren't familiar with the equipment I'll need to carry,
Captain," countered the technician. He spared another furtive glance at
Sheba. "It makes more sense that I go."
     "Done!" said Sheba, bringing her hand down on the bench top like an
auctioneer, before Apollo could say another word. She rose. "Come on,
Hummer. Let's get you to the airlock and suited up, before anything worse
happens." 
     Just then, they were knocked rudely off their feet, as something
rumbled deep in the guts of the ship.
     "I think it just did!" said Apollo.


     Xekash sat, stony-faced, and watched the stars rip by as his ship
sped through the void. While generally pleased so far with the
performance of his new command, other things had left him less so. While
he had full confidence in the ability of the Gee-Tih to achieve victory
over the Galactica, he nonetheless, as any prudent commander would, had
requested backup. Smaller ships, to picket the Colonial Fleet, while he
engaged the Battlestar herself. Finally responding, his superiors had
informed him that no suitable ships were "available at this time", all
vessels currently being committed to either fighting insurgent forces, or
under repair. Of course, should a vessel become available...
     And Xegex will get his left foot back by mess call, he told himself,
as he watched the stars. The lack of support ships meant that he would
have to commit a large part of his fighter force to containing the other
Colonial ships, rather than unleash them in full strength against the
main target, as was the usual procedure. And, thanks to the paucity of
data on the Galactica's own fighter craft, capabilities, tactics, and
number unknown, the tactical computer, despite repeated simulations,
could give him no specific results vis-…-vis possible encounters. Again,
he did not doubt final victory, but when one was dealing with a foe as
new, and as seemingly capable, as Adama had proven to be, one should
never take anything for granted.  
     Like rank, he said to himself, looking down at the new insignia on
his uniform. It had taken him aback considerably when he had learned
that, instead of being sent off to command some asteroid somewhere, or to
a prison colony, or even executed, for his failure in the previous
engagement, he was not only given a new ship, but also promoted! He had
spent some considerable time puzzling over this, and in fact still was.
It was an unknown, and nothing bothered Xekash like an unknown factor.
Checking the history banks, he could find only one other record of a
commander in a position like himself, raised instead of broken or
disgraced. A long time ago, but still relevant, he decided.
     He was a pawn, in a power game, of which he was still largely
ignorant of the rules, or even the players. After the loss of the Aradon
Station, and the resulting chaotic aftermath, the power struggle in the
capital had been a near-bloodbath, as one faction of powerbrokers had
sought to use the events to their advantage, and bring their opponents
down. Of the members of the Triumvirate itself, only Xandrix had
survived, and that serpent Pentash, a minor functionary on the late
Sub-Chancellor's staff, had somehow oozed his way to the Chancellorship.
Rumor had it that the executions cells were still busy, as well as a few
"accidents" here and there. One Lord General, a famous and revered
Squadron Commander, had even, so it was said, "died heroically."
     Hard to do, at home, alone, with no witnesses.
     So, why this sudden rescue from the political dungheap? Obviously,
he reasoned, since the Galactica's intrusion had precipitated this latest
series of unfortunate events, destroying it would pay great political
dividends to a certain Supreme Triumvir, (and probably a certain
Chancellor as well) whose position was itself even now far from assured.
Despite Xekash's earlier failure, no one else (alive) had any experience
with these intruders, and if he was successful this time, no doubt his
victory, suitably expropriated, would go far in stabilizing the positions
of others. If he failed...well, there were risks in war.
     Especially when someone else is taking them for you.


     "Damage report!" cried Adama.
     "Hull breach in area theta-one," reported Omega. "Cadet training
area, sir."
     "Casualties?"
     "Unknown at this time, sir," came the reply. "Communications with
that area off-line."
     "Get a damage control team with med techs down there now!" ordered
Tigh.
     "What the Hades happened?" demanded the Commander. 
     "We missed a mine somehow," said Rigel, at her post, scanning. "It
got through to us. They can rotate their frequencies at random, sir.
Plus, the sun in this system is highly energetic. It is interfering with
certain wavelons"
     "Well, keep trying to refine the parameters."
     "Yes, sir."
     "Athena, any news from the Nebula?"
     "Nothing new. Sir."
     "What about Technician Hummer?"


     Technician Hummer was very, very glad, at that moment, for the
filters built into the EVA suits. The closest he had ever gotten to a
space walk was as a kid in a science center simulator. That, he was
discovering, was not near enough to prepare one...
     Or their stomach.
     He looked up, and saw the shuttle drawing closer, lit up brightly
against the background of space. Over his shoulder, he could see the
Galactica, looming large. To his left and a little below, the passenger
freighter Nebula, having her own troubles, so he understood. Hey, wasn't
he moving closer to the shuttle a bit fast? Maybe he...
     Ooof!
     Yeah. Maybe.


     He inserted the wrench into the slot, making sure it was fully
seated. He looked left, then back at the assembly before him.
     "Okay, I'm ready," he said into his commlink. "Captain?"
     "Ready here, Jensen," replied Gorski. "On three."
     "Sir," replied Jensen, wiping his brow. It was hot down here, a mere
bulkhead away from the fire that was licking ever closer to the fuel
bunker. He had to coordinate this just right. As soon as he blew the
tank, the escaping fuel would act like a rocket, sending the Nebula into
a wild spin, maybe right into another mine. As soon as the tank was
blown, Gorski would need to fire the ship's maneuvering thrusters in just
the right order, to counter the effect, and keep the Nebula stable.
     "One." Jensen tensed, again looking left. "Two." He waited, breath
coming shorter in the rising heat. "Three."
     "Ohhhhhhhhhhh fraaaaaccckkkkkkk............" growled Jensen as he
yanked on the wrench with all the strength he could muster. The valve was
old, and for a moment, he was afraid it would come apart. "Come on!" he
hissed through gritted teeth. "Help!" He yanked again, and felt the valve
begin to give. Then...
     He sailed into the nearest bulkhead as the valve, and wrench, flew
free. Above him, he could hear the fuel, singing it's way out of the
bunker and into space, and the ship buck as it did so. After a few
moments, both the maneuvering thrusters and inertial damping caught up
with them, and the ship felt stable once more. Getting back to his feet,
he squinted up at the grimy old gauge, and hoped it still worked. He
wiped the dirt off the thing, and...
     "Yes!" The needle was beginning to edge its way down, as the bunker
emptied of its contents.
     "You did it, kid!" said Gorski, over the commlink. "She's venting."
     "My pleasure, Captain," said Jensen. "And the fire?" Even as he
spoke, the temperature seemed to be slowly dropping. Sadly, the
temperature gauge didn't work.
     "You were right," replied Gorski. "The fire's dying. That bunker was
the one feeding it." There was more crackle. "As soon as the temperature
drops enough, we can get in there and assess the damage. Good job kid.
Glad to have you on my ship anytime."
     "All in the job description, Captain," replied Jensen. "Colonial
Warrior 101."
     "Now get back to your group."
     "Right, sir." 
     "And don't drop the commlink again. You gave us a scare."
     "Understood, Captain." He closed the device. "Alright. Now what?"


     "You hear that?" said Giles, back with the other Warriors. "He did
it!"
     "Of course he did it!" said Starbuck. "What did you expect? I taught
the kid everything he knows."
     "Huh. Well, I wondered why the course was so short," said Boomer.
Starbuck glared lasers at him, but said nothing. "Tell him to get back
down here, now, Giles. Until everything's back to normal, we need to keep
together."
     "Right."
     "Starbuck, how are you doing?" Boomer asked. Starbuck tested his
savaged limbs, and managed to get to his feet. 
     I'm okay. I guess." He winced as several muscles and tendons
protested. "I don't think I'm going to be doing a lot of dancing any time
soon."
     "Oh, darn!" said Jolly. "And here I was hoping you'd take me to
costume ball on the Rising Star next secton."
     "With that band?" replied Starbuck. "All they can play is metal.
Now, I asked the band leader 'I like rumbas. You got anything in a
rumba?' but no." Boomer was about to make an acerbic comment equal to the
task, when Jensen returned, sliding down out of the ladderwell. "Ah, the
prodigal returns!" 
     "Great job, kid," said Boomer, followed by the rest. "Looks like the
fire's almost out."
     "Hey, no perspiration," replied Jensen.
     "Sweat, Jensen!" said Starbuck. "Sweat."
     "I..."
     "Oh can it you two," said Giles. "I just heard from Captain Gorski.
The fire's out in all but one compartment, and the fire crew's almost got
it."
     "As long as we don't blow up," said Jolly. "Any idea how long till
we can get back up there?"
     "He says most of the bulkheads are still closed, but it should be
within a centar. But we can get back to where we were."
     "Then let's get going," said Starbuck.
     "Right," said Jensen. "Lets." 

CHAPTER TEN

     Xekash perused the report given him by the head of the ship's
security section. No evidence of tampering with the faulty system in
engineering could be found, and the information... "supplied" by the late
junior engineer seemed to have been confirmed. It was a simple mechanical
failure in a new and innovative system, case closed. Reluctantly, Xekash
accepted the findings, signing off on the report and handing it back to
his security chief. How mundane. A faulty part. Finding someone to
actually punish for sabotage was so much more...satisfying.
     He turned back to his bridge, his sharp eye taking in every detail.
Aside form the problem just past, the teething problems with the new ship
had been few. And, he had lost only four crewmen in the various
disciplinary drills conducted since leaving home. The rest should, so the
Chief Physician had informed him, be out of sickbay in a few days. Or so.
Yes, things seemed...
     What was this? he wondered, glancing down at one of his repeater
arrays. The ship's speed...
     "Report!" he bellowed.
     "Unknown, My Lord!' replied the underling. Xekash moved to the
other's post. Sure enough, the reading was the same. The ship's velocity,
which had been at the very edge of the rated safety limit for the
engines, was decreasing. Slowly, to be sure, but decreasing. Dropping by
tiny increments, which he might have missed had he not been looking at
just the right instrument at just the right time.
     "Get our speed back up!" he ordered. "At once!"
     "Yes, My Lord!" said the other. He entered the command into the
system, but there was no response. The Gee-Tih's speed continued to drop.

     "Get our speed back up to where it should be!" bellowed Xekash. He
grabbed the helmsman. "Or by all the gods, I swear..."
     "There!" said the officer, relief obvious on his face. "Speed
returning to ordered level, My Lord."
     "Good," said Xekash, letting go. "What caused this?" When the
helmsman could supply no answer, Xekash called his engine room. It was,
he was told, a minor fluctuation in the flow of fuel to the main reactor.
The problem with a regulator had been corrected. He snapped off before
the engineer could finish. While minor, this latest incident had delayed
his arrival at the Galactica's position even further. Time was a critical
factor here, and every moment of delay only gave Adama more time to
prepare whatever defensive strategy he might have. And Xekash's whole
military career was built on not giving the enemy time to prepare.
     "Maintain flank speed!" he ordered, and left the bridge, heading for
his quarters. As he got further from the bridge, he began to feel his
anger cool, and other emotions take it's place. He entered, returning the
guard's salute, and look around. As expected, the place was utterly
immaculate, and she was ready for him.
     "My Lord," said his slave, bowing low as he approached.
     "Get up, My Dear," he replied, touching her on the shoulder,
signaling her to rise. She did so, and once more, Xekash was taken by her
beauty and radiance. Truly, he had chosen a good slave market. 
     "What does My Lord wish?" she asked.
     "As if you did not know," he smiled, voice a far cry from the one
he'd used on the bridge, and took her in his arms.
     "Yes, My Lord," she replied, softly.


     Hummer momentarily smiled to himself, pleased at his own cleverness.
His deduction about the mines had so far been shown to be correct. Now,
with this one fully disarmed and harmless, they could bring it back
aboard, and carry out the remainder of his plan. 
     He hoped.
     "Gravity?" asked Adama.
     "Yes, sir," said Hummer, still aboard the immobile shuttle, wires
and sensors plugged into the mine's inner mechanism. "The mines work
either by directly slamming into something, as we have already seen, or
by detecting the energy produced by a ship's artificial gravity system.
When Agrestis disarmed it, it went to a fall back position. It detected
the gravity aboard the shuttle, and re-armed itself."
     "And it's dead, now?" asked Adama.
     "Yes, sir. I found the main charge, and yanked all the connections.
It's completely isolated."
     "Any clue as to what type of explosive it is?" asked Apollo.
     "Not yet, Captain. We'll have to bring it to the lab and crack it
there."
     "Good work, Hummer," said Wilker. Sheba spared him a glance. Wilker?
Handing out praise to anyone but Wilker? She was sure she felt the entire
galaxy shift underneath her somewhere. "Are you thinking what I am?"
asked Wilker.
     "I believe so, sir," replied Hummer. "Commander?"
     "Yes, Technician?"
     "That last mine...how bad was it, sir?"
     "We finally got emergency crews into the area, Technician. We lost
two people. Cadets in the simulator room." Adama heard then young man let
out a long breath. "Anyone you knew?"
     "Cadet Gudrun, sir. She and I...I mean, did she...?"
     "I'll check on it, Technician. In the meantime, get that thing back
over here."
     "Right, sir. I'll fly back with the shuttle. Could I please have an
ordnance team standing by in the bay when I land? Just in case."
     "Consider it done, Technician."
     "Thank-you, sir," said Hummer, voice still crisp. "Hummer out."
     "I had no idea he was...involved with anyone," said Wilker. 
     "Apparently so," said Sheba, recalling the cadet in question. She'd
been in the last class Sheba had lectured, a few centars before the first
mine. "So," she went on, shaking off the cloud of gloom, "what is this
idea you and Hummer have for the mines, Doctor Wilker?"
     "Well," said the scientist, and directing their attention to a
monitor, pointed to a thick mass of computations, "right here..."


     Starbuck was glad to get out of the Nebula's somewhat claustrophobic
orlop deck, and back up near the landing bay. Closer to the bay meant
closer to getting off this grime trap and back to the Galactica. And, of
course, the soft, sensuous embraces of Cassie. Yeah, that was exactly
what he needed.
     After he got his mangled bones and tendons repaired in Life Station,
of course. 
     "Blast, the doors are still shut," said Jolly, as they tried to open
the blast doors that had shut so unceremoniously on them earlier.
     "They probably have some repairs to tribunal-rig before it's
operational again," offered Boomer. "But at least the fire's out, from
what Gorski says. We aren't going to blow up. At least not from that."
     "Yeah, well, as luck would have it, we have several other
opportunities to get blown to Hades Hole," Starbuck griped.
     "Yeah, those mines," said Giles. "The Ziklagis, you think?"
     "Ziklagoio," said Jensen, quickly correcting him. 
     "Huh?" asked Giles. 
     "That's...the proper plural," said Jensen, blinking. "I think I
heard Doctor Wilker mention it."
     "Huh?" said Starbuck, turning to look at the younger Warrior.
"Wilker?"
     "Yes, Lieutenant. It was he, I believe." He looked at Starbuck a
moment, and it seemed to Boomer that something, something unspoken,
passed between them. "Anyway, you were saying, sir?" he turned back to
Giles. 
     "Uh, just that I was wondering if the Ziklag...oio were the ones who
set those mines." He looked around at the other Warriors.
     "Who else?" said Jolly, after a long moment. "After all, we're stuck
in their space, and we did tangle with them before. What I wonder is why
they've waited this long to do anything."
     "Yeah, it has been a while," said Starbuck, looking from Jolly to
Jensen. "And we barely made it through, that time."
     "Which we might not have, if it hadn't been for those Zohrloch
guys," offered Giles. "And you know, we never did confirm that we
destroyed that Zik...whatever, ship."
     "That's true," said Starbuck. "No telling if any of them survived,
or got a signal home to their planet."
     "That would sure suck," said Jolly. "And, since we're stuck in a
minefield, in their space, it's a fair bet they put them here."
     "But are the mines specifically for us," asked Boomer, "or did we
just blunder into a mined area by accident? Like the Madagon Passage to
Carillon. A frontier sector, maybe."
     "Interesting thought, sir," said Jensen, quietly.
     "I somehow doubt it was an accident," said Starbuck, trying to
ignore the pain in his arm. Maybe if they got hungry enough waiting to
get through the blast doors, someone would gnaw it off for him. "I get
the feeling these guys don't do anything by 'accident'. No way."
     "Oh I agree," said Jensen. "Absolutely, sir."
     "Good. I'm glad," said Starbuck. He looked back at the young fellow.
"And you're still on report, Jensen."
     "Sir?" asked the other, raising an eyebrow.
     "Starbuck, he just saved our astrums," said Giles, looking at first
one, then the other. "Cut the kid a little slack, huh?"
     "Yeah, Bucko," chimed in Jolly. "After all, he succeeded in keeping
the ship from blowing up. That's gotta be worth something."
     "Starbuck's right though," said Boomer, glancing down at his old
friend. "We can't let anyone be insubordinate like that, snotting off at
a superior officer. Discipline is too important to just toss out the
airlock like that, Jensen." He looked up to Jensen. The other sat across
from him, face expressionless. "But hey, it was a tough squeeze. Maybe we
can..." He was interrupted by the blast door behind them opening, slowly,
noisily grinding on worn, poorly lubricated gears. Someone in a
firefighter's suit stuck their head in.
     "You guys alright?"
     "Sure as Hades Hole are!" said Giles, getting up. Boomer helped
Starbuck to his feet, and they headed through the open hatchway. The
other room was still hot, smoke hanging in the air as the too-slow,
overtaxed air filtration system tried to do its work. The walls and deck
were blackened, and there was boraton scum and debris everywhere, but the
fire was out.
     They had survived.
     "Come on," Boomer said to Jensen, who was staring at all the damage.
     "Right with you, sir."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

     Adama had seldom felt so tense, so stressed, in all his career. Once
the decision had been made to bring the now-defused mine inside the ship
for closer study, it had been slow going. The shuttle had made its way
back to the Battlestar slowly, lest it's motion should unexpectedly
"upset" their cargo. Slowly, with a full ordnance disposal team in train,
the mine was finally brought to rest in Wilker's lab.
     Sheba's head snapped up, and she realized that she had nodded off,
having had no sleep since before she and Apollo had nipped off to the
Celestial Dome for some private time. Right before they had hit the first
mine. Lords of Kobol, how long ago had that been? A full day? Longer? She
wasn't quite sure, with all that had happened since, and her brain felt
fuzzy. 
     She stood there, watching, Apollo and Commander Adama next to her,
as Hummer and Wilker examined the alien mine. Lords, but it's ugly! But
so are the people who made it! But, Hummer was making progress. Already
they had the top housing off, exposing more of the inner mechanism. 
     "And this is the gravity sensor here, sir," said Hummer, pointing
delicately to a small component, about the size of a pyramid card. To
Adama, it looked something like a crystal paperweight he had once had, on
the desk in his study at home. Embedded in the transparent material was a
very fine mesh of some sort, seemingly as fine as a woman's stocking,
inside of which tiny lights blinked, and from which a ribbon cable ran to
a bank of circuits. "Any ship with an artificial grav field strong enough
comes within range, and this baby picks it up, and the mine goes after
it."
     "How would they keep their own ships from falling prey to it, once
they come within range?" asked the Commander.
     "I don't know yet, sir," replied the young tech. "Possibly a
stand-down code, or the computer inside is programmed to recognize their
ships. One of the things that we have yet to figure out, sir."
     "Well, you've done a lot as it is, Technician," said Adama. "Do you
think you can crack the stand-down code, and deactivate this mine-field
before we find ourselves choked in again?"
     "I hope to, sir," said Hummer, gently teasing the cable on the
sensor loose, and pulling the device free. 
     "We've already gone quite far in deciphering their programming from
the computer aboard the slaver ship, Commander," said Wilker. "That's a
huge lead."
     "Keep me posted, Doctor. At any centar."
     "Yes, sir."


     "We can't? Why not?" asked Starbuck. Or rather, demanded it
brusquely. 
     "She took some mine hits," explained Gorski, in the Nebula's small
Life Center. Starbuck was sitting on a bench, the CMO going over him with
a bone knitter. All the available beds were occupied, with make-shift
gurneys lining the passageway outside. Some of the occupants were
unrecognizeable. "Power is partial in one bay, and Commander Adama has
ordered no more flights to and from the Galactica until they are
one-hundred percent at detecting them."
     "You said 'hits', Captain," said Boomer. "What about then rest of
it?"
     "One recycling plant is down, she's lost a huge amount of her water,
and there are several dead and missing." Boomer swore, and turned his
eyes towards a monitor. Fed from the bridge, it showed the Battlestar,
hanging helplessly in space, the wounds in her side plain to see.
However, Adama was not sitting still; work crews were already out, trying
to weld emergency plating over the breeches in the hull. 
     "Mong on a stick!" said Starbuck. "We're going to need a fracking
space dock, after this!"
     "Yeah, maybe the Ziklagers will loan us one," said Gorski. He looked
at them all, and asked the doctor: "Well?"
     "All except for Lieutenant Starbuck here are reasonably well. He's
still going to need some time in physical therapy, even after this. And
you..." she looked to Boomer, "are lucky that portable knitter still had
some juice left in it."
     "I'm not arguing." 
     "Now, Lieutenant," she began again. "Lieu-ten-ant!" she barked at
Starbuck.
     "Yeah?"
     "I...quit looking at him and look at me!" Starbuck did so, turning
his gaze from Jensen to the doctor. "Your bones and soft tissues are back
together, Lieutenant, but there's still a lot of inflammation.' She gave
him an injection  "So, until the swelling reduces and you can get the
therapy you need, you are to take it easy." She slowly fitted his
throbbing arm with an old-fashioned sling. He made to protest, but she
just glared at him. "Now, this place is crowded enough, so unless the
Captain can make use of you on the bridge or wherever, you all go and
park your butts in the mess hall. Now."
     "Yes, ma'am!" said Jolly, eager to get away from all the groaning
wounded, and the smell of death in this place. Even as he made to leave,
he saw a sheet drawn up over the face one of the casualties. "Come on
guys, let's go."
     "Right with you, Jolly," said Starbuck. He stopped at the hatch, and
said to Jensen: "You go first. You already know the way." 
     "Thank-you sir," replied the other, his eyes narrowing for a split
micron before crossing the threshold.    


     As a young officer, Adama had often been required by circumstances
to get by on very little sleep. As a result, once he had been promoted to
bridge duties, he would, whenever possible, catch a few winks in the War
Room between watches or briefings, that being sufficient to keep him
going. Inexorably, as the yahrens took their toll, he found himself less
and less resilient in that area, and in the current crisis he had found
scant rest. Disturbing dreams, of the Galactica ripped to shreds by alien
weapons, or his people falling to Ziklagi guns, kept rest at bay. Even
the ever-welcome Count Iblis invaded his sleep. Finally, he gave up, and
returned to Wilker's lab. Logically, he knew that he had done all he
could, in the current circumstance, that he could do, and that his very
capable people would call him if there was anything to call him about.
Still...
     Hummer had, like himself, apparently found rest elusive, having
caught what little sleep he'd had bunked next to the alien mine. On his
bench were myriad scraps of paper and electronic parts, and more java
cups than Adama had seen in ages. Hummer looked up when the Commander
came in, and gave him an update on the progress. Sadly, there had been
little of it.
     "The mine's main processor uses the same programming language as the
computron from the slaver ship from Boron-Din, Commander," said the
bleary-eyed technician, refilling one of the used java cups. "But, the
interface is different from any of the Ziklagi circuitry I've seen
before. Either it's something new for them, or they are trying to make
the mines harder to compromise."
     "Probably the latter," opined Adama, peering into the mass of
circuits Hummer was delving into. 
     "And they are sneaky, sir."
     "Sneaky?"
     "I already found one booby-trap in the programming, Commander. It's
a mixer-oscillator, right here where the grav sensor was plugged in." He
showed Adama the part in question. "It has a very delicate, very precise
volponage tolerance. More than a hairsbreadth either way..." He snapped
his fingers.
     "Detonation?"
     "No. That's where these slimy toads really show their cleverness,
sir. If you upset the balance, it triggers this storage cap here." Again,
he showed Adama the part he meant. "It shoots a massive amount of current
right into the main memory bank, wiping it clean, if not smoking it
entirely. I caught it barely in time."
     "Thank the Lords you did, Technician."
     "Well, I suspected something like that would be there, sir," he
replied.
     "Oh?" 
     "Yes. It's the way I would have designed it myself." He looked at
the Commander, and shrugged slightly. "It's a gift. Anyway, I now have
the main memory bank out, and I should have it fully downloaded sometime
tomorrow. Once that's done, the stand-down code, or whatever it is,
should be mine."
     "You do realize, technician," said Adama, voice serious, "that the
enemy is probably on the way here, even as we speak. And, we have
detected what is probably one of their ships, hanging just on the edge of
our scanner range."
     "I know, sir," said Hummer, glumly. " So Captain Apollo told me,
earlier. And, inside each mine, there's a small but powerful transmitter.
It sends out a single pulse, right before detonation. No doubt the ones
that hit us announced the fact to them."
     "I see." Adama looked around. "Where is Wilker?" 
     "He finally passed out, sir. He's in his cabin." Hummer jerked a
thumb in that direction. Wilker had a small cabin, just off the lab's
back room. "And Sirrion is still in Life Station." Adama watched the
young man's face darken. (No mean feat for one of his coloring) Although
he wouldn't speak of it, he was anxious about his friend, Cadet Gudrun.
She had survived the latest mine, but...
     "Is Bridge Officer Rigel available, sir? She seems to have an
instinctive feel for this sort of thing."
     "She's still working on our scanners, technician. Getting us ready
for...whenever."
     "I'll be ready, sir," said Hummer. "You can count on it."


     Like Hummer, Rigel was buried in her work, and had had no real
sleep. Popping back between her bridge station and the deflection control
room below, she was dirty, red-eyed, and utterly possessed.
     "Yes, sir," said Rigel, wiping a lock of limp hair from her eyes
with a dirty hand. Down in the deflection control room, she was surround
by a pile of components, tools, and several schematics. "We will be able
to use the cloaking system we got from the Ziklagi, as before, but..."
     "But?" he asked, as she put her head back inside a bank of
equipment.
     "But, as you know, it eats power like mad, sir. Last time, we nearly
blew out the emitters using it." 
     "Yes, I recall. And this time?"
     "I should be able to adjust the system to use a few percentage
points less power. Every little bit helps. Uhhh, could you hand me
that...yes. Thank-you, sir." She pointed the instrument Adama had handed
her into a bank of circuits, and the point lit up like a torch. There was
a sizzling sound and a waft of smoke, and then she looked back at the
schematic. "Uhhh", she grunted, and began again. 
     "What about our own deflection grid, though?" asked Adama, peering
at the plastisheet readout next to her.
     "Well, with power shaved off the cloaking system, we will have more
available for deflection and weapons, sir. And working with Twilly, we've
been able to pump the heat of the lasers up a few extra points. Some of
that Ziklagi technology we got interfaced remarkably well with our stuff,
Commander." She looked at him, then turned away, shaking her head.
     "What is it?" he asked her.
     "Twilly, sir. I mean he's a good engineer and all. Really knows his
stuff, no question, but..."
     "Yes?"
     "Is he taking perpetual hormone shots or something? God."
     "He's been harassing you?" asked Adama, recalling Twilly's earlier
escapade with multiple women.
     "Well, kind of. I mean nothing...physical." She picked up a part,
and started soldering it into the bank of circuits in front of her. Adama
was astounded at her seeming ease with the hideously complicated
electronics. "But, some men seem to be perennial adolescents sir." She
spared him a glance. "No offense, Commander."
     "None taken, Rigel. I'll talk to Twilly, when time permits."
     "I understand, sir. No rush. However..."
     "Yes?"
     "Could you spare Athena, down here? For a while at least? Aurora is
stuck on the Celestra, and Athena knows a lot of this almost as well as I
do. I sure could use another pair of hands right now, Commander."
     "I'll send her down right away."
     "Thanks, sir," replied Rigel. She didn't hear Adama leave, her head
once more buried in a mass of circuits.   


     Far away, another commander was likewise unable to sleep, as he drew
closer to battle. Xekash, like his Human counterpart, found rest equally
elusive. Despite repeated security sweeps of the ship, and checks of the
critical systems, nothing suspicious had been found. Even so, Xekash
could not shake the feeling that something was amiss. He rose, and
activated the bridge tie-in monitor in his quarters. All the ship's
functions seemed to be exactly where they should be, their speed exactly
as ordered. Yet, somehow...
     Simply put, an outside observer would have said, the normal paranoia
of his culture, so inbred in the upper classes, was rearing it's ugly
head. There had to be a reason for the things that had happened, to delay
their arrival at Adama's position. There simply had to be. What other
explanation was truly possible? The young engineer had, unfortunately,
expired before any sort of confession could be extracted. Why so soon?
Come to think of it, didn't some insurgency members terminate themselves,
rather than surrender? What if...
     "Bridge to General Xekash," came a voice. Ulpash, on the IC.
     "Speak," he replied. At once, the screen switched to an image of his
exec.
     "Scanners report a contact, My Lord," said Ulpash. "Bearing 223, at
oh five relative. On the very edge of our scan range."
     "Identity?"
     "Unknown, My Lord. It does not answer hails, and we are getting no
identification beacon from it."
     "One of Adama's ships, perhaps?" Xekash asked after a moment's
thought.
     "Unlikely, My Lord. According to our scout, nothing has left the
area of the minefield since the Galactica first intersected it. The
contact is pacing us, precisely matching our course and speed."
     "Launch a fighter patrol to investigate, Ulpash. And contact base.
Request any and all intel updates on Zykonian activity in the sector."
     "At once, My Lord."
     "And repeat our request for backup!" 
     "Yes, My Lord."
     Xekash turned from the monitor, to his sleeping area. No more rest
tonight he told himself. He regarded his slave, a combination of valet
and sex toy. He roused her*. She looked up at him.
     "My Lord?" she asked, rising up.
     "Attend me," he commanded.

* Or, more properly, it. In Ziklagi society, slaves, even of their own
species, are non-persons, without names (save among themselves), the
right to clothing, and even lacking a legal gender. All slaves are
therefore referred to as "it". By law, they may never be freed.

CHAPTER TWELVE

     "This stuff is horrible!" said Starbuck, tasting the booze in the
Nebula's mess room. "Bleeeech!"
     "It took you three mugs to figure that out?" asked Jolly, looking
from Starbuck into his own mug. Actually, the stuff wasn't too bad.
Really. If you liked Viper engine solvent.
     "Well, you can't rush into these things," replied Starbuck. "I
wanted to be certain it wasn't just me. You know, a guy's taste buds can
be effected by injury, or medication."
     "Uh huh," said Boomer. "And you would want to make sure it hadn't
gone bad, either."
     "Exactly," replied Starbuck. "After all, the crew of the Nebula is
depending on us."
     "To check their beverage supply?" asked Jensen, seated across the
room from Starbuck, chair leaning back against the bulkhead. "Such
hazardous duty."
     "Oh yeah. Dirty job," shrugged Starbuck, and took another pull. "But
someone must forge on, into the Valley of Death." He winked sloppily at
the young Warrior. "Luckily, I have had the appropriate training, so the
risk isn't as bad as you'd think. Yes, Lords of Kobol be praised, we're
trained to take on the hard, brutal..."
     "I think you've had enough," said Boomer, scowling at his friend as
he set down his glass.  His one and only glass. 
     "And how much, My Dear Boomer, is enough?" Starbuck stood up for a
moment. "Observe my excellent balance. Look, no hands!" He held them up
for a moment, never losing his hold on his drink. "Do I slur my words,
does my mind lose its razor edge, do I forget things? Not a single
solitary thing out of all the things I'd give so much to forget." He
scowled suddenly, as if an unpleasant memory had made itself known.
"Therefore, old buddy, instead of having had too much, I haven't had
enough." He slapped his left hand down on the table to accentuate his
point, his fingers tightening around his drink.
     "Starbuck!" said Boomer, and reached for the other man's mug.
Starbuck tried to tug it away, but Boomer refused to let go. He jerked
the mug away his inebriated friend, the contents sloshing messily. He
slammed it down on the table, ire clearly on his features. "Get a hold of
yourself!" Starbuck looked at the mug morosely, then his friends. He
turned away, stumbling towards the hatch.
     "Where're you headed, Starbuck?" asked Giles.
     "The head," answered the other. "I told ya I had to pee."
     "Is he always like this?" asked Jensen, with thinly-veiled contempt,
looking from the door where Starbuck had disappeared back to the others.
"I mean, he..."
     "Belay that, Jensen," said Boomer, voice crisp, not wanting to give
the other so much as a hairsbreadth more room for dissing his superior
officer than Starbuck had already supplied him with. 
     "As you wish, sir," said the other with a shrug. He rose.
     "And where are you going?" asked Giles.
     "Where he went," said the younger one with a slight smile, pointing
at the head door. "Like him, there are certain things that cannot be
belayed."
     "Ah," said Giles, and turned back to his mug.


     Finally, Xekash said to himself, as he read the message, some good
news. Command Base had kindly, graciously, condescended to detach a ship,
to act as his backup. One ship. Hope it isn't some scow. He read the
report over once again, and snorted. At her top speed, the other ship, a
patrol cruiser called the Shogh, would barely make it to the Galactica's
position in time. More delays! He cursed silently, but said nothing. A
ship was a ship, and if this timed out just right, he would be able to
use his full fighter strength against the enemy. 
     Thank the gods for small favors, he shrugged. 
     "Ulpash!"
     "My Lord?"
     "Are we within scanner range of the Galactica yet?" The other turned
to examine his instruments.
     "Not yet, My Lord. At our present speed, I estimate first scanner
contact in nine el'aa.*"
     "Understood. Status of intruder vessel?"
     "It has vanished from our scanners, My Lord. Probably cloaked."
     "Identity?"
     "None as yet, My Lord."
     "Understood."
     He sat silently for a few moments, stewing in anger. The fighters
sent out to investigate their shadow had reported a contact, before
reporting nothing more at all. Two ships gone; from the telemetry
received, destroyed. By Adama's Vipers? Unlikely, at this distance.
Pirates? No. Pirates would never have the gall to attack anything the
size and power of the Gee-Tih, and the insurgents would declare
themselves before attacking. That left only one likely candidate, as far
as Xekash was concerned.
     The Zykonians. The Ziklagi Imperial Assembly's constant enemy.
Always sniffing around the frontiers, probing the defenses, looking for
weakness. And now, with the rebels causing so much trouble, the Colonial
Fleet was as an engraved invitation for them to come snooping around,
causing more trouble. One day, of course, the two of them would come to a
final settling of the accounts between them. Settle nearly a century of
grievances in one big confrontation, with Ziklag as the victor, of
course. It was his people's duty, their historic destiny, to eradicate
the inferior ones from the galaxy. And they would, all in good time.
     But not now. Not with the rebels keeping so much of the fleet tied
down in pacification operations. That was why crushing the Galactica was
so important. Stamp out the little embers, before they spread, and end up
burning the whole house down.  
     His life depended on it.
     "My Lord," said Ulpash, breaking into his muse. "Intruder contact
has returned. Precisely matching our course and speed as before."
     "Acknowledged, Ulpash."
     "Scanner contact, Colonial Fleet, estimated in eight el'aa, My
Lord."
     "Steady as she goes, Ulpash."
     "Steady as she goes, aye My Lord."


     Starbuck just couldn't understand it. He stood still for a moment,
letting the door slam shut behind him, then flopping back against it.
Hades, he had been undergoing "counseling" for what Dr. Salik referred to
as "Combat Stress Reaction", ever since that...ill-fated mission with...
a group of cadets and Lieutenant Dietra to a small asteroid to mine for
tylium. Piece-of-cake milkrun mission. Just when he thought he had the
whole thing licked, it would happen again.
     Ill-fated my astrum! Suicide mission, where you led those kids into
the jaws of Hades Hole. You failed them. You came back! Jada didn't!
     He gasped, as if he'd been shot, and clutched at his heart. He
staggered towards the nearest hunk of porcelain.
     It would usually start slowly, like a building tension, but then,
like now, it would ultimately end with him feeling as though there was a
band of iron clamped around his chest, squeezing every bit of air from
his lungs. He gasped for a breath, gripping the dirty sink as he slumped
against the wall, feeling the perspiration begin to pour off him. He
began to slide to the floor. 
     Frack, frack, frack.
     He shut his eyes tightly against the images that flickered through
his mind, knowing the simple defense would be useless.  Each and every
memory was permanently etched in his brain.  Cadet Jada, dead and bloated
from exposure to the vacuum of space, her dead eyes seeming to accuse him
from beyond the grave; the crazed Sherok leaning over him, grinning, his
blade to the Warrior's throat; Ursus on the Rising Star, squeezing the
very life out of him; the Borellian Nomen chasing him down in a launch
tube; Count Iblis striking down Apollo; the Cylons capturing him after
he'd survived his crash landing on Attila;  Baltar's BaseShip, and an
intense flash which his numb mind finally realized was the Atlantia,
exploding into space dust as the terrified voices of the dying and
about-to-be-dead Warriors aboard her surrounded him . . .
     "Get a hold of yourself!  Breathe, just breathe," he rasped, opening
his eyes. His hand was trembling as he reached for some cold water to
splash over his face.  His other arm was still throbbing.  Hades, he knew
that was probably the impetus that got him in this situation.  Pain, lack
of sleep, and that whole scene with Jensen . . . frack, he'd just had
enough of it all.


     He entered the head, and looked around. Where was Starbuck? He
wrinkled his nose momentarily. Like much of the rest of this miserable
ship, this place could use a thorough scrubdown and sanitation. He
doubted it had been seen too since...who knew how long.
     He heard a noise, and turned that way. 
     Ah. There he is.


     Boomer was right. He was drinking too much. Not that he was really
all that effected by the swill he had just consumed. He figured it was
watered down, by at least half. That was why it hadn't helped ward off
the impending attack. Lords, would the people of the Fleet ever have a
laugh if they knew the great Lieutenant Starbuck, survivor of Cimtar,
Hero of Carillon, and Eater of BaseShips for Breakfast, was having
anxiety attacks. Yeah, the Magnificent Warrior Hero had been reduced to
cowering in the turbo flush next to a sink and hiding from his friends so
that they didn't discover the truth. Well, not the whole truth anyhow. So
far, they only thought he was even more of an equine's astrum than usual.

     Lords, thinking Jensen was...
     The sink suddenly ran over, splashing him. He gasped, and shook his
head. The cold water on his hot, filthy skin felt good, and he again
splashed his face, then put his head under the flow, preparing himself to
go back out, and face the others. He could do this. He raised his head
from the water, threw his wet hair back, took a deep breath and expelled
it as he searched deep inside for his usual mask, and struggled to his
feet.  It was somewhere beneath the wild, scared eyes that gazed back at
him in the cracked mirror. Who in Hades was that guy?
     Not only did he not recognize him, he didn't like him much either.
He couldn't handle the usual stresses of combat that every other Warrior
seemed to breeze through. He was weak. He blinked his eyes several times
as he tried to figure out how he was going to get out of this one. Life
had always been hard, but it had also been worth sticking around for. But
now, and for the first time in his life, he was questioning that. With
the kind of pathetic existence he was leading, it might be better . . .  
   
     Back up, pal. Don't even go there!  
     Something moved in his peripheral vision, and he looked up...
     "What the...?"
     Starbuck's breath stuck in his throat as he looked across the room. 
It couldn't be. He was seeing things. He lifted a trembling hand to his
eyes and rubbed them briefly. When you open your eyes, it will be gone.
You know that you're having another flashback. That's all there is to it,
Bucko.  Just another hallucination.  It's NOT really there.  One, two,
three...
     It was just as hideous as he remembered. A single eye, a long ugly
scar running alongside it and down the "face",  stared coldly at him.
Three pupils, each with its own lens, making up a third of the hideous
eye, were focused on him. Focused on him with an intensity, and an
intelligence, that was almost terrifying. Starbuck tried to breathe, but
it was as if his lungs had seized up. His heart was pounding so hard, if
felt as though it would burst through the wall of his chest.  He shook
his head mutely in disbelief, his body seemingly paralyzed.
        "It is over . . . Lieutenant Starbuck." The creature smiled at
him, recalling the meddlesome Human relaying the same message to him
after beating him nearly to a pulp on the shuttlecraft with the
assistance of that sniveling worm, Pelias, and nearly blinding him in the
process. The man before him now was but a mere shadow of the Lieutenant
Starbuck he had taken on then. He was almost pitiful, hardly seemingly
worth the effort. But he was still destined to die for the dishonor he
had caused Over-Lieutenant Korax of the Ziklagi Empire. He and that other
piece of mammalian offal, Pelias. All in good time. Korax kept on
smiling, and it was hideous, the dribbling slit below the eye slowly
opening, then curling up like a piece of overheated plastic. A sound
issued from it, a squeaky, rasping sound, like rusty metal being scraped
across rustier metal.
     Well, this was the first time one of his hallucinations had talked
to him. Starbuck became dimly aware of a pungent, almost oily scent as
the creature slowly and menacingly moved towards him.  He vaguely
remembered detecting the odor on their previous encounter, but it hadn't
been as redolent. A small, detached part of his mind, the part that
wasn't teetering on the edge of insanity, wondered idly why the
creature's scent had changed.
     Tridactyl hands reached out towards him. It was almost like he was
in a dream. He knew he should move. Knew if he didn't, he would surely
die.  His mind was screaming at him to react, but his body . . . his
traitorous body stood rooted to the spot. Lords, to die in a turbo flush
with his blood sprayed across the porcelain like in some B-rated horror
vid-how frackin' pathetic. To be killed by a hallucination!


     "My God, what the hell was that?" shouted Jolly, as they all leapt
to their feet.

*A Ziklagi division of time, roughly equal to 15 centons, or a quarter
hour. Ten el'aa make up one ee'wa, of which there are 27 in a single
Ziklagi day.


CHAPTER THIRTEEN

     More like Triple-Z.
     A touch was all it took.
     Just the wisp of a sensation, which indicated the beast's hands were
about to wrap around his throat, was enough to rouse him from his trance.
Starbuck drew in a gasping breath.
     "I...don't believe in you!" he spat out, almost choking as he forced
the words out. Almost at once, the horrid vision before him seemed to
hesitate, the scarred eyelid lowering slightly, as if the creature could
not believe what it had heard. "I don't believe you are here!" Starbuck
rasped again, somehow stronger this time, and feeling stronger somehow
for the saying of it. 
     "You are mad!" said the hideous thing before him, the voice chilling
the Viper pilot right through. "Babbling fool!"
     "Hallucinations do not talk!" growled Starbuck through gritted
teeth. Teeth gritted so hard his jaw hurt. "Shut the frack up!" The pain
in his jaw seemed to have something of a clearing effect on his mind.
"You don't talk! You're not real! Shut the frack up, you freak!" His
voice grew stronger, more determined.  He would beat it this time.  He
would not succumb.
     "You..." the thing started to say again, but Starbuck, with a snarl,
drew back, and struck it across the face, releasing a wave of pent up
emotions going back yahrens. He hit it so hard, blood spattered across
his face and the sink. He looked at his hand in morbid fascination, at
the familiar gore that shouldn't . . . no, couldn't really be there. .
     Funny. Hallucinations aren't supposed to bleed!
     Maybe that's because it isn't an hallucination, you fathead!
     Oh mong!
     Somehow in that moment, everything ceased to matter.  Terror,
denial, complete bewilderment.  As his fingers moved towards the
gelatinous tissue that he knew was the shapeshifter's eye, only one
thought prevailed.  
     Destroy thine enemy! 
     His move was swift, and he screamed, feeling a surge of rage empower
him, as he grasped the creature's averted head.  He banged it repeatedly
first on the edge of the sink, until they slipped and fell into a heap on
the floor, unyielding to the haziness that was invading the periphery of
his vision.  He refused to relent, his fingers clenched tightly within
internal crevices, holding the alien's head like a Triad ball. He saw
splashes of green blood. Yeah! This was the fracker that started him on
his mental collapse. Somehow, through all the alcohol and adrenaline, he
figured that if he could eliminate the cause, it would be as good as a
cure. 
     Or at least it would be a fracking good start.
     Korax hurled him away with a furious shriek, and Starbuck felt his
back smack into the edge of the sink, and his head connect with the
mirror. There was a shattering noise, the world spun, he slid back to the
floor in pain, and he saw the horrid thing standing over him, looking
down at him. Its head snapped up, then his chest exploded, and he was
enfolded in oblivion.


     "What troubles you, My Lord?" asked the slave.
     "I...Something does not feel right," answered Xekash after a
moment's hesitation, again in his quarters. While "personal time" with
his slave was always...refreshing, he somehow could not shake the feeling
that something was wrong. The feeling gnawed deeply at him, refusing to
go away.
     "What is not right, My Lord?" asked the other. "Is not the ship just
as she should be?"
     "Yes, all seems well," sighed Xekash, rolling over onto his back,
and looking up at the ceiling. "All systems check out, and there are no
signs of insurgency forces aboard. Yet..." He waved his middle arm, as he
let the sentence hang, a typically Ziklagi gesture. 
     "Yet you do not find peace," finished the other, running one
fingertip lightly along Xekash's brow. Xekash responded, momentarily
forgetting his anxiety, and turned to look it.
     "I feel a measure of it, when I come to you," he sighed, looking the
other in the eye. Though always scrupulously correct in front of his
crew, and rigidly committed to the "Natural Order", he sometimes,
privately, permitted himself to think of this one as her. Beautiful,
intoxicating even, she was a true rarity. He sometimes wished, futilely
of course, that she were not of the slave class, and that they could
mate. However, like it or not, the law was the law, and he was powerless
to change it.
     "I am glad to be able to help, My Lord," she replied, voice soothing
in his ear.
     "Help," he said, quietly, his lugubrious musings closing in on him
once more. His misgivings could make quite a list, actually. 
     Yes. A list.
     "There is a list, here in T'chou-witu," Supreme Triumvir Xandrix had
told him privately, back on Ziklag. "A list, and your name is on it, as
well as mine, Xekash. If this mission against this Colonial Battlestar
Galactica fails, none of us may live to see another dawn!"
     What list? And whose? These questions continued nibbling at Xekash,
even as the Gee-Tih sped ever closer to her prey. What had Xandrix truly
been trying to tell him? Was that...walking piece of bog-rot Pentash
somehow involved? Were there spies from one of the other court factions
aboard his ship? Was that what the Supreme Triumvir had been hinting at,
in the audience chamber?
     Damn! He was getting a headache.
     "Bridge to General Xekash." Xekash got out of his bunk, and moved to
the commsuite.
     "Speak!" ordered Xekash.
     "We have just made scanner contact with the intruder fleet, My
Lord," reported Ulpash. "It is still apparently blocked by the
minefield."
     "And our scout?"
     "Feeding us telemetry, My Lord."
     "Excellent. What about the intruder ship?"
     "It returned, paced us for a few moments, then vanished once more,
My Lord," said the other. "It was still exactly matching our course and
speed, as of last contact."
     "Are we within communications range of the Galactica as yet?"
     "Uncertain, My Lord, given our limited knowledge of their
communications systems. Even our own scout is still limited to low-power
text transmissions only."
     "Understood." Xekash turned to look at her, then back at Ulpash. "I
shall be up shortly, Ulpash. Stealth Mode One."
     "My Lord," said the other, then the screen went blank.
     "I must go," said Xekash, turning back to her.
     "Must you?" she stretched temptingly.
     "Duty calls, My Sweet," he replied, and quickly dressed. She watched
him, as the door hissed shut behind him, then her simpering smile faded.
She reached under the mattress, and withdrew a small device, no larger
than her hand. With quite a different sort of smile, she looked down at
it, then pressed a key. 
     "Status?"


     "Got it!" whooped Hummer, back in the lab aboard the Galactica.
Before him on the bench, several parts from the alien mine lay spread
out, many more on the floor, or hanging from the partially dismantled
device. One of them, a tangle of circuits and blinking diodes that
resembled a crushed ball of Yule-tree ornaments more than a coherently
designed mechanism, floated just off the tabletop, bathed in an eerie
glow. A faint hum filled the room, and Wilker turned to his young
assistant.
     "Holding steady?"
     "Like a rock, Doctor.'" Hummer adjusted one of the instruments
before him, then motioned to his boss. Wilker moved a control as well,
and the alien device flew across the room, to clank into one of the
Cylons. The Centurion looked down at it, now on the floor, but said
nothing.
     "Can we pump enough juice through the system for all of them?"
     "We may not have to, Doctor Wilker," said Hummer, almost as excited
as a kid with freighter full of candy. "It will only take a few, once we
reverse."
     "It's the in between that worries me," chuckled the chief scientist.
He made an entry on his terminal, and watched the numbers start to
crunch. "Alright, I'm transmitting this to Rigel, now."
     "Good." Hummer looked at the still-motionless Cylon, and told him to
pick the device up. Although he could never be positive, Hummer was sure
the Cylon sighed.


     "Commander," said Colonel Tigh. "A communication from Doctor
Wilker's lab, sir."
     "Give it to me here," replied Adama, up at his station. He began
reading it.
     "Sir," Omega broke in. "Long-range scanners are picking up a
contact."
     "Identity?"
     "Unknown as yet, sir. It's at extreme range, but heading this way at
high speed."
     "ETA, Omega?"
     "Sometime tomorrow morning, Commander, present speed," replied the
other. Adama just nodded. Then, even as he looked, it vanished from the
screen once more.


     "What the frack happened to him?" demanded the Nebula's CMO.
Starbuck was on the table in the mess room, stripped to the waist, his
uniform lying in a heap on the floor.
     "He went into the head, then we heard what sounded like breaking
glass and a scream," said Boomer. "We rushed in, and he was on the
floor." Boomer looked up at Jensen. "Well?"
     "Well I went in, and Lieutenant Starbuck was standing at the sink,
hands gripping his head and staring into the glass and talking to
himself, sir. Babbling more like it, really. Then he attacked me."
     "Attacked you?" exclaimed Giles. "What the frack for?"
     "I don't know, sir. He said something about...uhh, how someone had
done 'this thing" to him, and he was going to be free of it. Whatever
that means." He shrugged. "He attacked me, and I tried to fight back. I
guess he hit me pretty hard." Jensen wiped a little blood from his face.
Like Starbuck's, the uniform he wore was soaked from the tussle on the
wet floor. "I pushed him back, and I guess that's when the mirror broke.
He screamed something at me, and then he began clutching his chest, like
he couldn't breathe."
     "Which he couldn't. And wasn't," said the doctor. "In fact, he went
into a full cardiac arrest. Which one of you gave him CPR?" Jolly held up
a hand. "Well, good work, Lieutenant. If you hadn't, he'd be dead meat by
now." She scanned Starbuck with her instruments, and turned up his oxygen
slightly.
     "Come on, Jensen," said Boomer. "What else did he say?"
     "Nothing that made sense, sir," replied the other. "I heard a name.
A woman's name... 'Jada', I think it was, and something about how I
didn't really exist." He took a breath. "I know it doesn't make much
sense, sir."
     "Some of it does," said Boomer, looking from him to Starbuck.
Starbuck's chest rose and fell slowly, with each breath. Boomer worried
though; they were uncertain how long the Lieutenant had gone without
breathing before they resuscitated him. Too long? Since his heart had
stopped, had he gone without oxygen long enough for there to be brain
damage? None of them had thought to time the incident, but then they were
Viper pilots, not Med Techs. Boomer shook his head, his expression
morose. What the Hades Hole had driven Starbuck over the edge like that?
Attacking one of their own people? On the other hand, he had suspected
that Starbuck hadn't completely recovered from his diagnosed Combat
Stress Reaction, as much as his friend had tried to convince him
otherwise. Lords, how had he duped Dr. Salik into letting him return to
duty?
     He looked back to Jensen. The guy was a mess, with a swollen face,
and blood in his hair. It looked as though Starbuck had given him a few
good ones before going under. Boomer wrinkled his nose, as he looked at
Jensen's uniform. It stunk, and was stained with whatever the frack the
filthy floor of the head had been able to supply.
     "Kid, get out of that uniform, and try and get cleaned up."
     "Uh, what about..." He looked at Starbuck.
     "The Doc's got him now. Get going." If Starbuck woke up and saw
Jensen, then whatever had set him off the first time might very well set
him off again. He shook his head. If Starbuck still had his faculties.
     "Sir." 


     "Sir!" said Omega, turning to Adama. Both the Commander and Tigh
turned to regard him.
     "Yes?" they both said.
     "Enemy ship decloaking, sir!" He pointed to the scanner screen.
Adama ordered negative shield, and they looked out into space. There,
less than a kilometron from the Rising Star, sat the enemy scout ship.
Omega began scanning it in earnest at once. It did not move, or attack.
It merely let itself be seen.
     "Any message from the enemy vessel?" asked Tigh.
     "None, sir. All comm bands quiet."
     "Hail it, and let me know if there..." began Adama, when the Ziklagi
ship once more faded out. "What's going on?"
     "Unknown sir. Enemy ship has recloaked."
     "Can you still track him?" asked Adama.
     "Yes, sir. The modifications to the scanners seem to be working as
planned." He smiled slightly. He knew Rigel's fiddling would work. "Also,
the background radion from both the nebula and this system's suns are
creating almost a silhouette effect, with the scout ship between us and
the sun. It helps quite a bit."
     "What's he doing now?" asked Tigh.
     "Moving slowly, sir," reported Omega. Along the perimeter of the
Fleet." Even as he spoke, the other ship became visible once more, then
after a few centons, vanished again. 
     "What the Hades Hole is he up to?" wondered Tigh aloud.
     "He's playing a game with us," said Adama. "They don't know that we
can see through their cloaking screen, so he's trying to make us believe
that there are more of them than there really are. Psychological warfare,
Colonel."
     "Worthy of a Commander Cain," said Tigh. 
     "Indeed. Omega?"
     "Sir?"
     "Collate all data we have on that scout ship, and get me the Captain
of the Century."
     "Yes, Commander," replied Omega. As he moved to comply, he felt his
blood quicken. Adama had a plan.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

     Xekash studied the reports from the scout vessel shadowing the
Colonial Fleet. As per his orders, the next phase of the operation had
begun. The scout had decloaked, long enough to be plainly seen, before
recloaking. This had a two-fold purpose; to determine the reaction times
of the aliens, how quickly they could attack from a standing start, and
to wear them down further, psychologically. A foe that appeared and
disappeared, and thus was of uncertain numbers, was a foe to be feared.
Adama would be well and truly "prepared", by the time the Gee-Tih
arrived. All seemed well on that front.
     However, the Gee-Tih's own shadow remained. Still flitting in and
out of detectability, it was beginning to anger him. He reminded himself
that this was probably what the other ship's commander wanted; to sew
doubt, anger, even fear, and cloud his thinking. True, he was angry at
the loss of his fighter craft; no doubt the shadow was a very capable
vessel, or a lucky one, to so easily dispatch the latest fighters in the
Imperial inventory. Or, perhaps, there was more than a single shadow?
That possibility had to be factored in, as well.
     "Ulpash."
     "My Lord?"
     "Launch a fighter patrol at once." He handed his XO a data pad.
"This patrol circuit."
     "At once, My Lord," replied Ulpash, relaying the order. 
     "After they are off, launch another directly ahead, to sweep the
space between us and the intruder fleet." He saw Ulpash about to speak.
"I know, we are still at too great a distance. They are to continue for
as long as fuel permits, then return. We will continue to launch patrols
until we reach the Galactica."
     "Yes, My Lord." After a few moments, Ulpash turned back to him. "All
fighters launched as ordered, My Lord."
     "Excellent."
     "My Lord, the Shough is now within comm range. Revised ETA...she
will rendezvous with us...two point one ee'la earlier than expected."
     "Finally. Some refreshing news."
     "Yes, My L...My Lord! Our scout reports she is under attack!"
     "WHAT???"


     The Century was an old ship, even older than the Galactica herself.
Originally built as a troop transport and assault ship of the Sarpeidon
class, with two fighters for long-range recon, she had been overhauled
and refitted many times for many different roles, her final incarnation
being as a Fleet minelayer/sweeper. Shot up badly at Casmaro Archipelago,
she had limped home along with Commander Cronus and the Rycon, her battle
damage patched up along the way. She had served for a yahren or so as a
cadet training ship, before finally being at last decommissioned, and
relegated to the mothball fleet. Stripped of much of her equipment, she
had served as a source of parts for other ships, as well as storage space
for materials awaiting transport out of the boneyard. When news of the
"peace" with the Cylons came, it was decided she, along with many another
old ship, was now superfluous, and the order came to finally send her to
the scrapyard.  
     But, thankfully, the bureaucracy of the Colonial Military was as
slow and as cumbersome as that of any large organization. The very day
before she was to be taken to her doom, the Cylons had annihilated the
Colonies, and, whether by oversight or design, the tinheads had not
touched the Argus shipyard. When Adama's call had gone out to the
survivors, the venerable old ship was pressed back into service, and by
the very crew assigned to take her to the cutters. Thankfully, her one
remaining engine had not yet been removed or cannibalized beyond use, and
despite the difficulties involved in cold-starting an antiquated ship
that had lain dormant for nearly five yahrens, her crew had not only
succeeded in firing her up (thanks to "donations" from the tug), but
managed to scrounge a surprising amount of parts and equipment, along
with the 74 personnel who staffed the facility before leaving the yard,
and she had managed to rendezvous with the Galactica for the voyage to
Earth. 
     Refitted in flight as best as circumstances permitted, the Century
once more, if not looked, at least functioned, like a warship. Since
Gamoray, and even more since Ki, she had had some of her weapons and
other systems refitted, and both her scanner array and main drive brought
up as close as currently possible to Fleet specs. Her most frequent duty,
outside of housing around twenty families in reasonable discomfort, and
serving as the site for some cadet training exercises, was to take up
position at the rear of the Fleet. "The eyes in the back of our head,"
Commander Cronus had once called her. From there, with her scanners
directed aft, she served to extend their view behind, and provide a few
precious extra centons of notice, in the event the Cylons, or anyone
else, came calling.
     "Yes, sir!" said her Captain, as Adama relayed the orders. "You of
course know that all but two of the Warriors in my bridge crew are
cadets, sir."
     "No time like the present to learn, Captain," replied Adama. "What
about your ordnance checks?"
     "Laser batteries check out, even the ones we had to rebuild. As to
our torpedoes, well, they're old, antiquated, or just plain cobbled
together from whatever's to hand. Proof'll be in the pudding, sir."
     "Your scanners and transmitter array?"
     "Chief Boone is making the adjustments, now, as per Rigel's
calculations. It should be ready when you give the order, sir."
     "I'm counting on you, Captain," said Adama.
     "And I won't let you down, sir," replied Captain Betz. "I just wish
we had some Vipers in our bay."
     "On back-order, Captain," said Adama, with a hint of a smile. Betz
smiled back, and lifted his finger from the button. The screen went
blank, and he turned to his bridge crew.
"Haaaaaaaaa-le-luuuuuu-yahhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!" he shouted, waving a fist in
the air. "We're finally gonna get some action, folks! We gonna kick
butt!"
     "Are you sure we're up to it, sir?" asked Cadet Breechen, at fire
control. He looked at his board. So many dark indicators, so few guns.
     "We are a Colonial warship, Mister Breechen!" replied Betz. "When
called to battle, we shall do our duty. A Colonial Warrior is always 'up
to it'. Do I make myself clear, Mister Breechen?"
     "You do, sir," replied Breechen, actually feeling some of the
Captain's enthusiasm start to sink in. He watched as Betz leaned back,
fumerello between his teeth. 
     "Death to the enemy!" added Cadet Malik, one of the surviving
Zohrlochs, and recently accepted into the Colonial service.
     "That's the spirit, men!" said Betz. "Can you feel the looooooo-ve
tonight!?"
     "A-hem!" came a voice. Betz turned to look.
     "And ladies," he smiled. Cadet Arissa smiled back.


     "I understand, sir," said Boomer, on the vid com to the Galactica.
"We'll do what we can over here."
     "I know you're in a pretty bad situation, Boomer," said Adama, "but
we don't have a lot of choices right now."
     "Well, I would feel better if this old bucket had more guns mounted
on her." He poked upwards with his thumb, in the general direction of the
Nebula's one and only weapon's emplacement. "I feel like a lone poultron
during a famine, sir."
     "So do I, Boomer," smiled Adama. He lowered his voice. "How's
Starbuck?"
     "He's stable sir, according to the doctor over here. We still don't
know why he went off the deep end, or why his heart stopped. The doc
can't find anything physically wrong with him, beyond the aftereffects of
extreme stress."
     "Well," he spared a brief glance over at Athena's station. She was
however, still down in the deflection control room with Rigel. "Keep me
posted, Boomer."
     "Will do, sir."
     "Out."
     "Out, sir."
     Boomer lifted his finger from the "transmit' button, and turned to
look at the main screen on the Nebula's small bridge. The Galactica still
hung there, still beautiful, and, like a wounded animal at bay, still
dangerous. He was contemplating the coming fight, when Jolly's voice
crackled through the bridge over the Nebula's battered and haphazard
intercom system. What could it be? Jolly never sounded upset...
     Starbuck! 
     "Yeah?" he demanded, upon entering the ship's cramped Life Station.
Starbuck was in a bed next to one bulkhead, an old-fashioned fold-out
bunk pressed into service for the task. Jolly, Giles, and the CMO were
gathered around the supine form. "What is it?"
     "This," said Jolly, indicating the bed next to Starbuck's. Boomer
looked from his old friend, to see...
     "Jensen?"


     As ordered, Over-Lieutenant Lepash of the scout ship W-149, moved to
a new position, after going back under cloak. He smiled, as the alien
ships frantically scanned in all directions, trying to find him. Before
long, he would have the pitiful inferior creatures thinking there was a
whole fleet of him, nipping at their heels out here. This had been a
rather boring detail, until now. Shadowing the alien fleet across far too
many light-years of empty space. Hanging back at the limit of their
scanner range. Teasing them as an ill-mannered hatchling did a pet. But,
finally... Finally, he and his crew, all four of them, plus the six
marines aboard, could get some action. And, of course, their share of the
prize money with it.
     "At next position, as ordered," said his helmsman. "Ready to
decloak, My Lord." 
     "Stand by," ordered Lepash. He studied the scanners closely. His
first three appearances had been close to the Battlestar herself, then a
large luxury passenger vessel, followed by another ship apparently
devoted, according to scans, to organic waste processing. In each case,
the ships in question had scanned him, those further away laughingly
sluggish in their response to his appearance. Obviously, none of these
ships were kfshed  by trained warrior crews. Taking them would prove
almost too easy.
     He looked them over again. In order to claim his prize, as well as
all the prisoners for sale into slavery, he would have to be quick. His
small detachment of troops was hardly sufficient to capture an entire
vessel full of aliens unwilling to submit to their fate. And, he wanted
as many of them alive as possible; dead ones didn't bring much at
auction. So, he would follow the example of many a small ship's master.
He would land upon the ship of his choice, come the proper time, and dig
in with the landing claws, attaching himself firmly to the hull. Those
inside would be given a simple choice. No choice, actually. Surrender or
have their hull ripped open to space. With such a gracious invitation,
few refused to join the party. Then, once compliance had been achieved,
the ship would be punctured, then pumped full of gas, rendering the
occupants insensate and ripe for the plucking. They would be on the way
to the slave market before they knew what had hit them!
     "Now," he ordered. There was a slightly disorienting ripple effect
inside the ship, as her camouflage screen was turned off. As expected,
the intruder ship began to scan him, and one small gun emplacement atop
her hull began to rotate in his direction. With a laugh, he ordered the
screen back up, and they were gone before the other could open fire.
     "Poor little things!" tsk-tsked one of the crew. "Can't see us."
     "They'll get plenty, soon enough," replied Lepash. He watched the
tactical board, as the scout came around the Fleet, at last settling on a
ship with a high infrared reading. Some sort of foundry ship, it
appeared. Yes, he would claim this one. The materials aboard, plus the
over one hundred prisoners aboard her, would bring him a fine haul.
"Prepare to decloak."
     "My Lord."


     "Ready?" asked Betz, on the Century. 
     "Ready, sir!" answered Malik, face and muscles taut, eyes eager for
battle. The rest answered ready as well.
     "Very well. Mister Malik?"
     "Sir?"
     "Indulge yourself!"
     "Sir!"


     Lepash smiled again, as his ship recloaked, and began moving away
from the foundry vessel. He turned to his board, to select the next
target, a large freighter. They moved in, till the ship was directly in
front of them. Suddenly, one of the blips nearby began to move. Fast.
     "My Lord..."
     "I see it. Scan him!"
     Before the other could reply, a shrill whine, like an audio signal
feedback, screamed through the bridge. Lepash covered his ears, then it
stopped as a console burst into bright sparks. At once the whine died,
and everything on the bridge rippled, like...
     "Our cloak is down!" shouted the weapon's officer.
     "Raise it! Now!"
     "Cloak destroyed, sir! Massive energy pulse from the..."
     He didn't get to finish, before the Century, dirty, scarred, and
utterly terrifying, bore down on him like smoke from the Pit. His kfsh
worked frantically, but it was the other that got in the first shot.
Orange bolts of energy tore from the alien, slamming him dead center. The
ship rocked violently. Clearly, the alien ship fielded more powerful guns
then he did. Only by luck had they gotten the screens up in time. But
could they, built only for a small scout vessel, hold against a ship so
much bigger, and that outgunned them almost three to one?
     Once more, he was rocked by a salvo from the Century, then a second,
before the attacker roared past. "Aft batteries fire!" he screamed, and
they did so. He gunnery was true, scoring direct hits on the attacker.
Then, he rocked once more from the Century's return fire.
     "Aft torpedoes fire!"


     "So, he wants to play," said Betz, chomping his fumerello. The ship
rocked from a direct torpedo hit, and alarms went off, but he almost
seemed not to notice it. "Fine by me!"
     "Coming around, sir!" said Malik. "Maneuvering thruster off-line!"
     "Compensate!"
     "Compensating, sir!"
     "Fire torpedoes. Full spread!"


     Lepash gaped in horror as he saw the missiles shrieking towards him.
He ordered a hard over, and two of them missed, the other two did not.
One failed to explode, and bounced off the screens, but the second was
true. The ship was rocked brutally, panels and lights blowing out across
the bridge.
     "ALL SCREENS EMERGENCY POWER!!!" he bellowed. His order was
acknowledged, and once more his gunner opened fire. The Century took a
direct hit, fire blossoming from her hull. Then the scout took a hit from
another direction, as in their rush to escape, they passed close to the
Saggitara, and were caught by her small defensive battery. She lurched,
then accelerated to climb away from the Fleet, catching a lucky long shot
from Nebula on her stern. Turning, Lepash saw the Century also giving
pursuit. It screamed past, firing, and then...
     And then turned, and bore straight down on the Ziklagi ship. Her
forward batteries cut loose, pumping blast after blast of laser energy
into the scout. Lepash screamed an order to turn, and the scout,
sluggishly, did so. Hard to port, six degrees up.
     "My Lord! We...!"
     Right into a mine. The entire bridge was ripped with terrifyingly
bright light, and Lepash could hear the bulkheads above him crack. There
was a mighty explosion, then...


     "Mister Breechen," said Betz, fumerello still in his mouth and
pointing to the Ziklagi ship on his forward screen. It hull was buckled
amidships, her back broken, and spinning slowly, tumbling end over end,
as gas and debris spewed out from several wounds.
     "Sir?"
     "Bring me a can of paint. I'm putting me a toad on the hull."
     "Yes sir, Captain!"
     "And while you're at it?"
     "Yes?"
     "Get rid of that!" he pointed to the other vessel. (Or, how about
"Take out the trash!" ?)
     "Yes, sir!" replied Breechen. He locked on to the target, and cut
loose. After but one shot, the Ziklagi scout ship W-149 evaporated in a
cloud of satisfying, debris-laden brilliance.
     "Bakh'rha!!!!!" shouted Malik, leaping from his seat, and pounding
his chest in salute. "Using their own weapons against them! A magnificent
victory, Captain!"
     "I'll not disagree with you, Mister Malik. Miss Arissa, I want
ship's status. A full damage report. Then, get me Commander Adama."
     "Sir."


     "Completely?" asked Xekash. "You are certain of this, Ulpash?"
     "Yes, My Lord." He called up a display on the board. "The scout's
telemetry has stopped. The last data burst indicates total destruct."
     "But...how?" Xekash seemed to oscillate between fury and
incredulity. "They..."
     "Unknown at this time, My Lord."
     "Well I want it KNOWN!" shouted Xekash, pounding a fist on the
plotting table. "And I want it known NOW!!!"
     Ulpash did not at once say anything. What was there to say?


     There was cheering, both on the Galactica, and throughout the Fleet,
as new of this small victory spread. The enemy were not supermen, they
were not invincible. Nor were their ships.
     The Century's damage was serious, but not crippling. Her forward
screens were down, two of her laser batteries were off-line, and her
life-support was sustaining on emergency. No casualties reported. All in
all, she had acquitted herself well for so old and poorly equipped a
vessel.
     But Boomer was not smiling, despite his success as the Nebula's
impromptu gunner. He looked down at Jensen, then up at the doctor.
     "There's no doubt?"
     "None at all. I've never seen anything exactly like it, Lieutenant.
What in Hades Hole does it mean?"
     "I'm...I'm not sure," he replied. 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

     Adama had slept but little since the destruction of the Ziklagi
scout ship. While debris had been retrieved for study, it had revealed
nothing so for, beyond that the alloy in it's hull was much the same as
that already encountered. That, at least, presented no new worries.
     What did for Adama was the enemy's matter transmission device. The
few charred pieces of circuitry retrieved from the Ziklagi slaver ship on
Boron-Din had revealed little of how the device worked, beyond the basic
theory already known to Colonial science. Despite long centars of
painstaking study, neither Wilker nor any of his staff had been able to
determine with certainty what kind of energy it used to transmit a person
or object with, or how such transmissions might with certainty be blocked
out. Since the enemy was in the habit of taking prisoners as slaves, the
prospect of having to face a boarding party was a very real and
frightening one. Never, in all her yahrens of service, had the Galactica
been boarded by a foe in combat. He had no intention of letting that
happen now.
     But how to prevent it? All ships had kept their screens up, during
the Boron-Din encounter, as protection, but they were really only
guessing that that would do it. Wilker's data had been, and remained,
scanty at best. And a major warship would doubtless have vastly more
power to put behind it. No doubt the approaching enemy ship carried a
force of assault troops for a variety of missions. Just as Colonial
Special Forces teams were trained to penetrate and seize Cylon
facilities, he was sure the Ziklagi had the equivalent. So, having given
up on slumber, he summoned Croft and his entire team currently aboard the
Battlestar to the War Room.
     "It's obscene," said Corporal Kuntz, looking form the plotting board
to Adama. "Slipping aboard by means of a glorified...radio signal."
     "So was the use of submarines, once upon a time," replied Adama.
"The same was said when powered flight was first applied to warfare.
Technology changes what may be done in war. I am sure that if we had
developed the same technology, Corporal, we would have used it against
the Cylons."
     "True, sir. But that's hardly a moral equivalence. The Cylons are
just machines. Soulless hunks of tin. Using this..." he gestured towards
the screen, "against living beings..." he shrugged, and let it drop.
Adama understood his contempt. Kuntz was one of the few people in the
Fleet who had seen, firsthand, what the Ziklagi had done to the slaves
they maintained on Boron-Din. Unlike the Cylons, who killed simply
because it was in their programming to do so, but had no feelings about
it one way or the other, these creatures seemed to like it. They reveled
in it, like a psychotic sexual deviant, or a drug-crazed addict. To
Kuntz, it made them far more vile and despicable than the Cylons could
ever be. 
     "Be that as it may, Corporal," said Adama, "We must be on our guard
as much as possible. Major Croft."
     "Sir?"
     "I want you to deploy your men at strategic points on the Galactica
where you feel that boarding parties are most likely, in the event our
screens fail, or cannot keep their transmissions out."
     "I don't have enough men for that, sir. Unless you can release me
the ship's regular security detail."
     "It is so ordered. And..." Adama sighed, knowing this next one would
be about as well-received as a flight physical, "I am ordering that
Council Security be detached, to your command Major, for the duration."
Adama waited until the ripple of groans had passed through them all. "I
know, but circumstance leaves us little choice." He reached over to the
intercom. "Sergeant Reece, to the War Room. At once." 
     "...couldn't catch a fleeing glacier," someone muttered. 
     "Belay that," Adama said, albeit not harshly. He had no great love
for the testy Council Security man either, but numbers were numbers. "I
understand the feelings, men. Especially after the way in which  they
distinguished themselves against the Eastern Alliance. But, we have
simply no choice."
     "Sir," sighed Croft. He would do his duty.
     "Coordinate with Reese when he gets here."
     "Yes, Commander."
     Beep.
     "Yes?"
     "Commander," said Tigh. "A delegation from the Council is here to
see you."
     @#*&^%"! said Adama, very quietly. 


     "The Pit take this Adama!" snarled Xekash, as he poured over all the
available intelligence. His last fighter patrol had just come into
meaningful scanner range of the intruder fleet before having to turn
back, and their data, along with the interrupted telemetry from the
scout, confirmed his worst fears. Another patrol had been launched, but
would not be in range for some time yet.
     "He seems more clever than one would have expected," ventured
Ulpash. "The conclusion, distasteful as it is, My Lord, seems obvious."
He waited. "Painfully so."
     "Speak."
     "It seems incontestable that this Adama has devised some method of
countering the scout's cloaking system. Lepash was no beginner to let
something like that happen by accident."
     "And he had been shadowing them for quite some time, yes," agreed
Xekash, reluctantly. "A malfunction or a slip at just this moment does
seem most unlikely, Ulpash." Xekash looked up at the tactical display.
The blip that represented the Gee-Tih was drawing ever closer to the
Colonial Fleet, still hemmed in or forestalled by the minefield. He
touched the screen, and the computer zoomed in on the area indicated.
Yes, stalled, but drifting still. And in the direction of the nebula on
the solar system's edge.
     "Why..." he muttered.
     "My Lord?"
     "I am wondering something, Ulpash. This Adama is quite clever, as
you say. Either that or he is abominably lucky. He has, so it seems,
penetrated the scout's cloak, and destroyed her. Yet, he has made no
apparent move to overcome the minefield itself."
     "Lepash reported that he did fire his weapons in a bizarre pattern,
destroying several, some days ago, My Lord."
     "Yes, but if he can do that, why not try and escape the minefield
entirely? To remain is madness, no?"
     "Perhaps he is damaged in some way, My Lord. The scout reported at
least two mine hits upon the Battlestar vessel."
     "That would be the sensible explanation, Ulpash. Yes. The logical
one. Which is precisely, when dealing with this Commander Adama, why I
distrust it."
     "Yes, I see your point, My Lord. Nothing with these creatures is
ever as it appears."
     "Exactly. I think..." Xekash straightened up, and looked at his
underling. "I think that he does not do so because of his compassion."
     "His what?" said Ulpash, as if his superior had told a socially
unacceptable joke. 
     "His compassion, Ulpash. He does not flee, when the warship might
effect an escape, because of his compassion for his fellow beings. The
logic of war, at least as you and I know it, does not seem to be part of
the mentality of these beings."
     "No, that is true. Their motivations still escape me to a large
extent, My Lord."
     "A Ziklagi commander would do his duty in a similar situation, and
abandon the weak and helpless to their fate, in order to either escape
destruction, or to fight on more even terms."
     "Perhaps he expects help from some quarter, My Lord. The Zykonians?"
     "Oh, those pestilential insects! Air-licking..." he stopped, lest
his temper get the better of him. "Anyway, things are as they are,
whatever Adama might intend or think. So," he put a hand on Ulpash's
shoulder, "what do you recommend, old friend?"
     "A standard englobing maneuver, once we are within range. I admit it
would have been easier, if the scout was still there to join us, but..."
Ulpash shrugged, and pointed to various points on the scan of the Fleet.
"Use our fighters to bottle up Adama's fleet, here, and here, with help
from the Shough, then close to killer range and demand his surrender. He
cannot survive a full series of broadsides from us, whatever screens, or
luck, he may possess, My Lord."
     "And he cannot launch his fighter craft with mines closing in on
him, either." Xekash looked at the plotting board again. "Yes, you speak
wisely, Ulpash. That is what we shall do."


     "Yes, it will work, Father," said Apollo, on the bridge. "Although I
have never heard of it being done this way. Not even at the Academy."
     "Well, we have no choice, with more mines than we can count around
us. And I am sure it is something the Ziklagi will not expect us to do,
Apollo."
     "Is Hummer sure, Commander? About the mines?"
     "As sure as possible, Sheba. He's tried it on one single mine, and
the computer simulations seem to bear out the theory. But, we will have
but a single chance at it. If we fail..."
     "Understood," she replied. Adama turned to his exec.
     "All hangar crew report ready on your word, Commander," said Tigh.
"They are having to do a lot of the work by hand in Alpha Bay, with all
the damage, but all will be ready by the time the enemy gets here, sir."
     "Good," said Adama. "Start now." He turned to his son. "The pilots?"
     "Ready."
     "Commander," said Athena, moving closer. "Any word on B...on the
Warriors on the Nebula?"


     "What's the prognosis, Doc?" asked Giles, for about the thirteenth
time. Doctor Galenia sighed, but didn't chide him for it.
     "He was nearly strangled to death, Lieutenant," she told him. Again.
"That, and his neck was broken. It's a miracle he isn't dead already."
She ran an instrument over the young Warrior's neck. "That, and there's
some sort of toxin in his system that I've never seen before today."
     "What the Hades Hole could have done that?" asked Jolly, to no one
in particular. "He was fine when he left us, what, not..."
     "It wasn't Jensen," said Boomer, quietly, yet firmly. They all
turned to look at him, their faces a collective what? "Yeah, you heard me
right. It wasn't Jensen that we saw in here just before the fight with
the scout ship."
     "Well then who was it?" asked, almost shouted, Giles. "His evil
twin?"
     "Kind of." Boomer took a deep breath. He was violating orders in
revealing this, but then this exact set of circumstances had never been
planned for. He'd take his lumps from Commander Adama later. If he got a
later. Keeping in mind that Jensen might not . . . and Cadet Jada
certainly had not. For a brief micron he knew somewhat how Starbuck must
have felt . . .
     "Boomer?" asked Jolly.
     "It was an alien. One of those Ziklagi...things." He saw Jolly
stiffen, emotions still raw over events on Boron-Din. 
     "What the frack are you talking about?" asked Giles. "One of them?
Boomer, they're uglier than a Cylon's astrum. What we saw..."
     "What we saw was a shape shifter, guys." There was dead silence for
a moment, as this sunk in. "These beings can transform themselves into
almost any creature they wish."
     "How in Hades Hole did it get aboard the Nebula?" demanded Giles.
"We...."
     "Boron-Din," said Jolly, quietly. "Right?" Giles turned to look at
him, brows furrowed.
     "Yeah," said Boomer. Briefly, he unfolded the story of the single
Ziklagi survivor among the prisoners taken on the slaver planet, and how
Commander Adama had sworn those forced by circumstance into knowing about
the alien to secrecy. He also told them of the horrific events on the
asteroid and the murder of Cadet Jada.
     "So that's why Starbuck's been in the dumper so much lately," said
Jolly. "But why not tell the rest of us?"
     "Yeah. It's not like we're going to blab to anyone," added Giles.
     "It was the Commander's call, guys. I just follow orders. And you
talk in your sleep, Giles."
     "Yeah, but..."
     "Ensign Kyna says you told her a lot about your ex," said Boomer,
deadpan.
     "Oh. Yeah, but I..."
     "But how does this connect..." Jolly interjected. "Oh, right."
     "Yeah. The damn thing escaped, somehow, when they brought the
shuttle back from the asteroid. From what Starbuck and the cadets said,
it could transform itself into something that could survive in vacuum for
an extended period, and was almost impervious to our sidearms. Starbuck
and Cadet Pelias captured it, but it got away somehow. Apparently it's
been on the Nebula all this time."
     "And it took Jensen's place?" said Giles.
     "Yeah. He must have encountered it when he went through the crawlway
to manually dump the fuel. Remember, when Starbuck kept looking at Jensen
funny, after he came back? Giles, you mispronounced the name of the
aliens, and Jensen corrected you at once."
     "A slip-up?"
     "Yeah, Jolly. Somehow, maybe it was that, maybe not, Starbuck
realized who it was. . . or at least suspected it. And it knew that he
had."
     "And this person is who, exactly?" asked Galenia. 
     "Over-Lieutenant Korax, of the Ziklagi Imperial Fleet. Believe me,
he makes a Cylon look cuddly."
     "Well, it was this...Korax, Lieutenant, that caused Starbuck's
cardiac failure."
     "It was? How?"
     "Jensen, aside from his obvious injuries, was poisoned in some
fashion, with a neurotoxin. Now this toxin does not appear in any of my
medical databases, but it is similar to the sort of toxins that many
insects or amphibians use, to immobilize their prey."
     "Immobilize their prey?" asked Jolly. "How does that work?"
     "Much the same as if I injected you with a heavy dose of a sedative.
Only this one penetrates through the skin, and interferes with the nerve
impulses to the muscles--of which one is the heart. Perhaps in nature it
is merely meant to lessen blood flow, through a decreased cardiac output
as well as prevent an escape through muscle paralysis. Maybe not. I don't
know. That's not really my field. However, in Starbuck's case, with his
stress hormone levels as high as they were, plus the alcohol to thin his
blood,  the neuro-toxin rushed to his heart and it just seized up. If you
hadn't found him when you did and get him advanced medical treatment,
another few millicentons, and..." She snapped her fingers. 
     "Why didn't it kill Jensen, though?" asked Giles.
     "Mister Jensen, it seems," she answered, crossing her arms over her
chest, "has some kind of natural resistance to the toxin, which Starbuck
lacks. He's also in better physical condition."  She wasn't about to
disclose to the Warriors, that Starbuck's blood work was indicative of
the fact that he had been overimbibing on a regular basis. That
information would be forwarded to the Galactica's CMO, and he could
respond to it as he saw fit. "Like I said, I don't understand it very
much as yet. And he had more of it in his system, too. Oddly enough, it
did suppress his pulse slightly. Given his condition, that helped him to
survive till he was found."
     "Will he live?" asked Boomer.
     "If we can transfer him to the Galactica for more extensive
treatment than I can give him here. Perhaps. Doctor Paye is the
specialist in regenerative therapy, not I. Still, I'll do what I can." 
     "Thanks, Doc," said Boomer, and after a last look at Starbuck, he
headed out into the corridor. Doctor Galenia's voice called him back.
"Yes?"
     "I daresay you're going after it, Lieutenant Boomer. There's
something more you should know, in that case."
     "What?" he asked. She led him to a tiny inner storage room. Closing
the door, she then opened a small locker, and pulled out a box. Boomer
looked in.
     "Oh my God!" he breathed softly, feeling a momentary urge to vomit.
"What in Hades...where'd you find it? When?"
     "Down on the lower decks, in a cramped service crawlway near the
engine core. A few centars before we hit this minefield."
     "Any idea who?"
     "Engineering Mate Dodge. He went missing shortly after an airlock
alarm went off on the bridge. He never logged off duty, and a standard
search couldn't find him. We've had accidents before, so..."
     "Did you or the Captain report it to Commander Adama?"
     "No. I wasn't sure what to say. Crewman goes missing, corpse found."
She pointed to a spot on one bone. "I figured the Commander had bigger
problems on his hands than one missing crewman. Until I found these."
     "Butchered?" Boomer's voice went cold.
     "Yes. And traces of compounds similar to what we found in both
Starbuck's and Jensen's systems in what soft tissue remains. Mate Dodge
didn't just blunder into a fatal accident, Lieutenant, easy as that is on
this bucket of bolts. He was murdered, then..."
     "Yeah. I see," said Boomer, looking down. "Who all knows?"
     "Myself, the Captain, and the crewman who found him."
     "Keep it that way, please."
     "No problem." She put the box away. "And you watch your back,
Lieutenant. This...thing..."
     "Yeah. Thanks, Doc." 


     "When???" demanded Adama, shocked, and almost livid.
     "Less than two centons ago, sir," reported Engineer Shadrick. "The
shock from that last mine must have damaged or weakened something. The
whole power buss to the deflection grid blew before we could stop it."
     "You realize what this means, Chief Shadrick? We..."
     "Yes, sir," replied the engineer. "We have no deflection capability
on our port side. We're naked."


     "My Lord," said Ulpash, we shall be in visual range of the Colonial
Fleet in one point six ee'wa."
     "All sections are ready?"
     "All sections report ready, My Lord."
     "The Shough?"
     "Off the port beam, My Lord. She will come alongside us in one
ee'la."
     "Excellent news, Ulpash. Send her skipper my regards."
     "My Lord."
     "Our shadow?"
     "No indications for some time, My Lord."
     "No doubt, that will change."
     "Yes."
     "Communications?"
     "My Lord?"
     "Open a channel to the Galactica."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

     "Commander," said Athena, "enemy warship at one-hundred and
fifty-five microns. Closing."
     "Understood." Adama pressed the intercom. "Apollo?"
     "Starting now, Father. The first one is away."
     "Hurry. We just lost our port side deflection. Shadrick's people are
working on it, but there's no guarantee. And the enemy is less than a
hundred fifty microns away."
     "Yes, sir."
     Adama looked to one of his monitors. From the mouth of Alpha landing
bay, a Viper was emerging, gently pushing off from the Galactica with
minimum thrusters. Another soon followed it, then another. Both bays were
disgorging the fighter craft, if in an unorthodox manner. As soon as they
were clear of the ship, they began moving towards the stalled ships
behind the Battlestar, their on-board systems now programmed to see and
avoid the mines all around them. If this crazy plan worked, if this
desperate...
     "How many, so far?"
     "Fourteen, sir," said Tigh. "We should have them all off by the time
the enemy gets here."
     "Father, second enemy ship detected," reported Athena. Adama moved
quickly to her station.
     "Any data on it?"
     "It's much smaller. It's configuration and basic power curve matches
the Ziklagi ship we destroyed before."
     "I see. Keep scanning."
     "It would appear they don't feel the need to conceal themselves this
close to engaging us," said Tigh. 
     "So it seems, Colonel."
     "Sir," said Omega. "Incoming message from the lead vessel. We are
being hailed."
     "Put it on, Omega."
     "Yes sir." Adama waited, until his screen cleared, and the hideous
visage of a Ziklagi filled it. While he could not be certain, he thought
this one looked familiar. Perhaps...
     "Commander Adama," said the hideous voice, squeaky even in
translation. "This is General Xekash, commanding the Imperial Ziklagi
Battlecarrier Gee-Tih." He waited a beat. "We meet again, Human."
     "So it seems, Xekash."
     "Yes. Now, you will surrender your ship, as well as your fleet, to
me. Prepare to be boarded, or destroyed."
     "Commander," said Athena, quietly, "enemy now at seventy-five
microns, and closing."
     "Understood."
     "He's also beginning to decelerate, Father." She tapped her tactical
screen, and Adama spared it a look. Slowing. That gave him a few precious
extra centons. 
     Thank you Lords of Kobol!
     "Well, Adama?" said Xekash, as if irritated at being ignored, which
he was. "What is your answer?"
     "No, Xekash. I shall not surrender."
     "Then you are a fool, Adama!" snarled the alien warlord. "Your ship
is stopped in a minefield. Crippled. Your fleet all but defenseless. You
would not last two ee'la in combat with us."
     "Seems to me you said something like that before, Xekash," said
Adama.
     "I..!" shouted Xekash, then after a moment he regained control of
himself. Adama smiled slightly. He had made the other angry. Something
that seemed frightfully easy to do with these people. And angry soldiers
make mistakes. 
     "Yes?"
     "I now outgun you, Adama," said the other, his pride clearly
wounded, even to Adama. "My ship is superior to yours in almost every
category. It is undamaged and ready for battle. I shall soon have you
surrounded by my fighters." Thank you for telling me that! thought Adama.
"You are trapped, and if you do not bow to my will, I shall slice your
hull into chunks and pound it into dust!!!" Xekash was shouting now.
     "Xekash?"
     "What? What is your decision, Human?"
     "You're ugly," said Adama, and signaled to Omega. The link was
broken. 
     "I don't remember that at the Academy," said Tigh.
     "Nor do I," said Adama. "Viper status?"
     "Fifty-four airborne, sir."
     "Athena?"
     "Fifty microns, and closing. Second Ziklagi ship is breaking off,
and moving to a position behind the Fleet."
     "Alert the Century."
     "Done, sir."
     "Engines?"
     "All engines report ready, sir," said Tigh. "All bulkheads sealed,
all damage control and security details standing by as ordered."
     "Very well. Technician Hummer?"
     "Sir?" came the tinny voice over the speaker.
     "Are you ready?"
     "Yes, sir. As ready as possible."
     "That better be enough, Technician. The consequences of failure..."
     "You mean I get fired, sir?"
     "Something like that."
     "Enemy at forty-five microns," reported Athena. "Still closing, and
still decelerating."
     "I see."
     "Commander, he is launching fighter craft!"


     Xekash barely kept from bellowing in fury at Adama's insult. The
stupid, malformed worm! Oh, it would feel soooo good to pound the
insolent alien into submission. If the gods permitted, he would have
Adama brought before him alive. Then...then...
     "My Lord," said Ulpash, cautiously. He knew his CO, and recognized
the volcanic mood he was in.
     "Yes, Ulpash?"
     "Scanners are picking up fighter craft, launching from the
Galactica."
     "What? But how? The mines have blocked her launching bays." He moved
swiftly to the plotting table. Sure enough, tiny blips were moving,
slowly, away from the ship.
     "They are leaving the ship by way of the bay entry ports, My Lord,"
said Ulpash, zooming in on one bay. "A most unorthodox technique."
     "Damn him! Damn this Adama and his whole race to the Pit!" snarled
Xekash. Now, he would have to launch his own fighters slightly earlier
than intended. While not a great deal of time was involved, the Ziklagi
mentality is almost religiously devoted to timetables. Pounding a fist,
Xekash gave the order.


     Down in Xekash's quarters, his slave once more pressed a button on a
commlink. 
     "Be ready!"


     "Viper status?"
     "Eighty-four, sir," reported Tigh. "Eighty-five."
     "ETA, enemy ship?"
     "Four centons, Commander."
     "Damn. Very well. Colonel, tell the remaining pilots to remain
aboard the Galactica."
     "Sir."
     "Hummer? Be ready, on my mark."
     "Ready, sir."
     "Engine room. Stand by."
     "Standing by, sir," reported Twilly. 


     "What's going on?" asked Giles, on the Nebula's bridge. "From the
scanners, it looks like she's powering up."
     "Yeah, I see it," said Boomer. "And the fighters, too. The
Commander's got something up his sleeve, that's for sure."
     "Look!" said Jolly, pointing to both the scanners and the main
viewer. "Here she comes. Lords, but she's ugly!"
     "Looks like some twisted version of the Galactica," said Captain
Gorski. 
     "Everything about these people is twisted," said Boomer.


     "My God, but she's ugly," said Tigh.
     "Indeed," said Adama, watching the other ship draw closer. The
Ziklagi had now dropped out of it's version of light-speed, and was
quartering in. She was slightly longer than the Colonial ship, and like
her human counterpart, had two outrigger bays, one on each side of the
ship, although these were somewhat sleeker, more lenticular, and closer
in on shorter pylons. Her outer hull plating resembled, to Adama's eyes,
the exposed ribs of some huge, decaying sea-beast, such as he had once
seen washed up on a beach after a storm when he was a child. The bays
however, had no obvious launch tubes. Apparently, fighters were
dispatched through the forward ports, and recovered aft. Her drive
section, like the Galactica's, was enormous, taking up close to a third
of her total length, but she sported four projecting nacelles, almost
like fins, which from the heat they were shedding, and other data,
indicated they were part of her hyperdrive system. Her bridge section
looked like the vision slit in the visor of an ancient suit of armor, or
a Cylon's eye. Her hull was covered in gun emplacements and torpedo
tubes. All in all, she was like an evil imposter, a sick alter-ego of the
Battlestar, having none of the grace and beauty that the word evoked.
Like the Cylon BaseShip, a pure killing machine, no more, no less.
     "Ugly pile of mong!" muttered Wu. Rigel nodded in agreement. She
then looked up at Adama, a question on his face, and gave him the thumbs
up. As always, Rigel was ready.


     Xekash watched as his own fighter craft screamed out of the launch
bays, to begin the engagement. With a compliment of two-hundred of the
craft, minus the few lost, he would surely overwhelm Adama's pitiful
force of Vipers, those that managed to escape the confines of the
minefield. It would have been a bit easier, with the added flexibility of
the scout ship, but no matter. The aliens were doomed. 
     "My Lord!" shouted the scan officer, somewhere to his left. 
     "Yes, Gorox? What..." Xekash's mouth fell open, not a pretty sight
even for a Ziklagi.
     The Galactica was gone.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

     "Hey, where the Hades Hole did she go?" shouted Giles, half-rising
from his seat, as the Battlestar faded from view. Where she had once sat,
reflecting the light of the distant sun, there was now only empty space,
and a rippling of the stars beyond. "Boomer..."
     "Yeah, I see it." He thought a moment. "She's gotta be using that
Ziklagi camouflage screen device again. Like before."
     "Yes, but trapped by the mines," said Gorski. "How can she move?"
     "Let's see," said Boomer. "Jolly, stand by on weapons."
     "Against that thing?" asked the rotund Warrior. 
     "Beats nothing."
     "Roger, sir."


     Xekash's snarl of rage was enough to blow out several circuits, or
so Ulpash half-expected. Personally, he would have been surprised had the
Battlestar's commander chosen not to employ the cloaking technology they
had obviously stolen once again, as he had during their previous
encounter. While hopeful, he had in no way been certain that the damage
done to the Galactica by the mines was sufficient to preclude it's
employment. It was pride, he decided. Xekash's pride.
     But ego aside, there was a battle to be fought. Almost as soon as
the massive ship had wafted from view, he had ordered the weapon's
officer to give him a firing solution for Adama's last known position.
Quickly and efficiently done, he turned to Xekash, who ordered the
Gee-Tih to open fire. One of her massive forward batteries answered,
spitting out a twin-beamed salvo, ripping through the spot where the
Battlestar had sat mere moments before.


    "Engage, Hummer!" Adama ordered. Almost at once, the energy spike on
one scanner dropped almost to zero. He turned to Tigh. "Now, Colonel!"
     A hum filled the room, then rose to a near-roar, as the Galactica
fired her auxiliary thrusters. With surprising agility, she shot forward
out of her days-long prison, and was gone.
     "It's working, Commander!" shouted Athena, literally on the edge of
her seat. "None of the mines are reacting to our movement!"
     "Excellent. Omega, change course. Come around to a
Delta-Zero-One-Five heading."
     "Helm answers Delta-Zero-One-Five. Executing, Commander." As Omega's
deft fingers entered the commands into the system, Adama could fell his
ship respond, accelerating away from the enemy, and coming around. Yes!
She was truly his, once more!
     "Colonel, all weapons to maximum power. Stand by on missiles."
     "All weapons show ready, sir."
     "Lords!" said Athena, as the vicious salvo from the Gee-Tih ripped
through the space behind them. The beam caught two mines, triggering a
powerful explosion, which rocked them slightly. "Two mines have
detonated, Father."
     "And they'll waste precious millicentons wondering if that was us or
not. Omega, bring us around to his starboard side. Keep our starboard
side to him. Rigel?"
     "Sir?"
     "Status of the cloaking apparatus?" 
     "Holding, sir. Emitter diode temperatures are climbing, but still
within safety limits for the moment."
     "Launch all remaining fighters, Colonel. The Cylon fighter as well."
     "At once, Commander."
     "Excellent. What about our defense screens, Rigel?"
     "Minimal on port side, sir," replied Rigel. "Chief Shadrick's team
is still working on it." Adama spared a moment to study the tactical
display. As he had suspected, his opposite number had, after opening
fire, raked the entire area with sensor radion. Xekash was frantically
looking for the Galactica, but obviously had not found them yet. Now was
the time for cunning, Adama told himself. One slip...


     "Okay everyone," said Apollo into his pickup. "Let's go to work!"
     "On your wing, sir!" replied Bojay. Almost as a body, they fired
their turbos, and sailed past the now harmless alien mines, up and out of
the minefield. The Ziklagi craft were still working to englobe the
immobile Fleet, spreading out on both sides of the Shough. Spreading out
very thinly. Firing massive volleys, Apollo's wing ripped through one
group, still not fully positioned, sending at least four of the enemy
craft flying to bits. On his left, he saw two more go up, before the
approaching Ziklagi pilots realized that their prey was not so hemmed in
as they had been led to believe. 
     "Good shooting, sir," said Cree. "We got at least three over here."
     "Make that four, laddie-buck!" came Croad's gravelly voice from
somewhere. "This old girl can still fight!"
     "Alright, we caught them flat-footed this time around," said Sheba,
heart racing, sweat beading up under her hair. "That won't last. Cree."
     "Yes, ma'am?" 
     "You take your group, and attack the cruiser from portside."
     "Ma'am." Within millicentons, he was 
     "Greenbean, you hit them from the other side," added Apollo. "Here
they come. Let's go!"


     "Okay, folks," said Betz, on the Century. "Let's move. Attack Plan,
Triple Delta."
     "Attack Plan Triple Delta, sir!" replied Malik, saluting, and
rumbling his people's traditional "Bakh'rha!". He hit the controls, and
the venerable old girl moved to engage the enemy.


     "I want that ship found NOW!!!" demanded Xekash, with no little
heat. The explosion of the two mines had, for an instant, given him hope
that the Galactica had been struck a serious, indeed perhaps mortal blow.
But, after a few moments, it was obvious that only his own mines had been
struck, and that the Battlestar had slipped the trap he has so carefully
set for them.
     Xekash also realized what a blunder he had committed, in approaching
the Galactica's position as he had. With her between him and the nebula
and the suns, once she had vanished, the radiation from both served to
only scramble and confuse his instruments. No doubt, Adama had gambled
upon just that scenario. He had made a bad mistake. One so elementary...
     "Scanning, My Lord!" replied Gorox. He spread the Gee-Tih's scans as
wide as possible, but there was nothing to be seen that was certainly the
Galactica. Smears, ghosts, echoes, they all flitted across his screens,
and he realized that he was scanning right through the minefield, and
into the nebula that bordered this system. Cursing, he set about to reset
his scans, when the Ziklagi behemoth was suddenly rocked.
     "Report!" shouted Xekash, grabbing on to something.
     "A hit, My Lord," reported Ulpash, regaining his feet. "A missile,
on the dorsal shields. One of the ships in the trailing Fleet."
     "Defensive batteries lock on! Return fire!" The Gee-Tih shook once
more before Xekash's order had stopped echoing. 


     "Report!" said Betz.
     "One detonator core failed," reported Breechen. "The other two
exploded on target, sir."
     "Damage to enemy?"
     "Minor shield damage topside, sir," replied Betz's XO. "No
structural damage detected. He's painting us."
     "Wash his brushes, Mister Breechen," said Betz. At once, the Century
heeled hard over, describing a deep arc, as she evaded the Gee-Tih's
weapon's lock. A blast from the Ziklagi narrowly scraped her, the next
was a clean miss. Century answered with a volley from one aft gun, then
sped away. It struck the other, but did not penetrate.
     "He's trying to engage his cloak," said Cadet Arissa. 
     "Don't let him!" ordered Betz. He watched as the alien partly
vanished, then returned suddenly to visibility.
     "It's down, sir," said Arissa. "The energy pulse worked. But we cook
our emitter array doing it."
     "Divert power to weapons. Open fire!"


     "Okay let's haul it!" shouted Boomer, as he buttoned the Gee-Tih
with the Nebula's small guns. He managed to strike her three times, each
shot near her bridge, before Gorski hit the engines, and they began to
move away. Boomer kept firing for as long as possible, as the freighter
picked up speed. Gorski sailed behind a mine, which blew as a blast from
Xekash connected, rocking the freighter powerfully. She was nearly
flipped over on her beam-ends, but kept moving. A panel erupted in fire
and smoke, and Giles yelped in pain. Jolly grabbed an extinguisher,
dousing his friend, and the Nebula circled away, trailing vapor.


     "Well?" demanded Xekash, loudly.
     "That last shot damaged some of our sensor diodes," reported Gorox.
"Compensating with redundant system, My Lord."
     "Order the Shough to disengage, and destroy the smaller warship!"
     "Shough not answering, My Lord!" replied Ulpash. 
     "What?"
     "We are experiencing some sort of jamming interference, My Lord."
     "The source?" demanded Xekash. "The Galactica?"
     "No, My Lord. One of the other ships."
     "Locate and destroy!"
     "At once, My Lord!"


     Even without the electronic jamming that the Celestra and Rising
Star were pumping out, the Shough would have had a tough time answering.
Still operating according to the original plan, she had been tardy to see
the supposedly "not going to be a problem" Vipers screaming towards her
from both sides, with the Ziklagi fighter craft still encircling the
Fleet. It was a toss-up which happened first, the first salvos from the
Vipers, or her own screaming calls for help. Cree's wing had made it's
first pass, blasting away at the enemy ship, before her anti-aircraft
gunnery could respond. A few parting shots were aimed his way, as
Greenbean's hove in, ripping into the cruiser's defenses. Her screens
flared, and she rocked from multiple laser and missile hits.
     But her screens were strong, no doubt about it. Though her shields
took massive hits, they were not breached, and by the time both wings
came around for a second pass, several fighters from the enemy squadrons
were closing on them, to defend the cruiser.
     And ran smack into Apollo and Sheba's wings. The Strike Captain at
once noticed how the Ziklagi fighters, looking vaguely like a dagger with
folded, vesperillion-like wings and carrying both one and two-pilot
crews, had better shielding, and hotter lasers than the Vipers, by almost
twenty percent. However, he consoled himself, they were not as fast and
tight in the turns, and the Viper's guns had a longer effective range. 
     Which stood him in good stead, as an enemy pilot targeted him from a
distance, dead ahead. He fired at almost the same instant, sending up a
prayer of thanks as the alien craft boiled away into scrap. He cut a hard
right, then dove to avoid another shot. He saw Sheba get one, then his
attention was fully involved by the enemy fighter that had bitten his
tail, and wouldn't let go.


     Gee-Tih moved away from the remaining mines, and sailed "up" and
around the Fleet, trying to get clear of the electronic jamming, and find
the Galactica. It took some moments to localize one of the sources of the
interference fouling his communications, and he at once targeted it.
     "Adama!" he growled into the commlink. "Where the Pit are you? Come
out and fight me! Fight me, you deformed abomination! If you have the
courage!" There was no immediate answer, and Xekash ordered them to open
fire on the Rising Star. The searing spears of energy tore across the
space between them, slamming the liner's minimal defenses, designed more
for micrometeorites and dust more than for combat. She rocked, clearly
worried by the alien salvo. Xekash fired again, once more slamming the
ship. "Come out, Adama! Come out, or I shall slice up your Fleet, one
pitiful can at a time!" He waited a beat. "Well, Commander?"
    "My Lord!!!" shrieked Ulpash, as the Gee-Tih rocked hard from a
powerful blast, then a second one. He looked at the screen to see the
Battlestar reappearing, just off his port bow. Even before she was fully
solid, the Galactica opened fire again, her shots striking the bow, and
the launch bay, of the Ziklagi vessel. The Gee-Tih was slammed violently
over, then again as Adama kept closing, still firing. Xekash could almost
hear the shield generators howling in protest.
     "You called, Xekash?" came his opponent's voice over the speakers,
even as he kept firing. Xekash bellowed in rage, and ordered return fire.
His forward ion cannon ripped through the space between, striking the
Battlestar and bringing her screens to savage life. 
     The Galactica visibly bucked at the brutal firepower, and began to
turn away, even as she swept close to the Gee-Tih. The two monsters
passed with mere metrons of each other, their shields sparking and
bucking as they did so. Then the Galactica was past, accelerating, and
firing her aft batteries. Xekash fired back, striking Adama underneath
and amidships, before he vanished once more.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

     It seemed as if he walked in darkness. He could see nothing. He
could feel nothing. Yet, for all that, he was somehow still aware of
himself. He had no idea where he was, or why, or even if he truly was. He
called out, yet there was no sound. No voice. Yet, he knew, he felt, as
if all this had a purpose. There was some sort of reason for this Stygian
nothingness.
     No, not entirely nothing. Slowly, and he had no idea how long, for
time seemed to have no meaning here, he sensed a light, or perhaps it was
only a diminution of the all-encompassing blackness. He moved, if indeed
he was moving at all, towards it. Slowly, it became brighter and
brighter, light an illuminator seen through a thick fog. He walked, or
perhaps stood, he could not tell, closer and closer, until he could make
out dim shapes through the mist. Dim, yet somehow familiar shapes, coming
closer to him.
     He looked down, and could see himself. He seemed intact, but to his
surprise he was wearing nothing at all. He looked back up. It was now a
recognizably Human form that was moving closer to him. Out of instinct,
he reached for the gun on his hip, a gun which was not there. He felt
afraid suddenly, exposed to whatever dangers might lurk here, yet
expectant as well, like a child awaiting the unwrapping of a
long-anticipated gift.
     "Who are you?" he asked, and this time, he could hear himself. His
voice sounded strange and alien in this not-place, yet he knew it to be
his own. There was a faint sound, which had been growing for some time
but that he had only begun to notice. Like a soft breeze, yet tinged with
something he could not identify. He stood, rooted to the spot. Then,
still growing brighter (and some part of his mind noticed that he had no
need to squint), the light burst forth from the mist, and a figure stood
before him. It was Human, a woman, dressed in robes of dazzling
whiteness. And from somewhere deep in his long-suppressed memories, as he
stared into her face, he realized who she was.
     "M...mama?" The apparition smiled at him, and then spoke.
     Starbuck.


     The Viper squadrons clearly had their work cut out for them. While
Apollo and Sheba's wings had successfully kept most of the Ziklagi
fighters away from protecting the cruiser at first, come the second pass,
a number of the alien craft had broken through their line, and were
headed for those attacking the warship. Apollo swore under his breath as
he saw a Viper go up, momentarily afraid that it was Sheba. A moment's
glance at his screen relieved his mind on that point; her transponder was
still operating. Briefly guilt cut through him at his reaction before he
was cutting a hard left, trying to lose the Ziklagi pilot on his tail,
and barely avoided a blast from the other craft's guns. 
     Damn he's good!
     He saw another Ziklagi ship, close by, and snapped his stick hard
over, heading for it. Without even bothering to target it, he opened
fire. His shots burned close, but did not strike the fighter directly.
Then, sending up a silent prayer, he slammed his turbos till they
screamed, and nosed the ship down violently. The ship tailing him,
blinded by his turbo blast, barely had time to take all this in, before a
shot from the second, intended for Apollo, sliced one wing right off. The
pilot barely got his mouth open for a scream, when he and the other
slammed into each other, solving Apollo's immediate problem.
     He circled back to the Ziklagi cruiser, to find her swarmed about
with countless dots, all spitting fire either at it, or at each other.
The cruiser's guns were putting up a stiff defense, but the close
presence of so many of their own fighters limited their scope of fire,
and he could see that many of the Vipers had scored telling hits. Even as
he dove on the cruiser, one of them let loose a missile, which slammed
the ship in her stern. He then noticed a Viper, with a Ziklagi fighter on
its tail. Swerving valiantly, the Viper was nonetheless unable to evade
the pursuing ship. An ugly beam clipped the Viper's left wing, sending
bits flying off, and the Viper itself spinning. Apollo lined up, and
fired. The Ziklagi craft was blown in half, both chunks streaming away to
slam into the cruiser.
     He lost sight of the wounded Viper, and tried to put it out of his
mind. Unlike some, however, Apollo could never forget a loss of anyone
who served with him. Not the highest officers, not the newest cadets. He
saw a fighter explode, unsure of whose it was, and then dove for the
cruiser itself. He fired as he passed, and was rewarded with a blossom of
fire from the alien's hull. He had penetrated.
     Hope that hurt, you creeps!
     "Got one on my tail!" he heard Sheba cry. With more instinct than
sense perhaps, he went looking for her.


     Captain Betz looked around his bridge, and hoped the old bucket
would hold together. He had taken two direct hits from the Ziklagi
cruiser's main guns, and they hadn't been kind to him. His screens had
screamed in protest, and one was barely hanging on. He returned fire,
pumping shot after shot into the alien's stern, until he sped past. As he
did so, the Shough fired again, crashing through a screen, and blowing
out a hull seam below decks. But, he did not think of the passengers down
there, the civilians. He couldn't allow himself to. He had to concentrate
on the enemy that wanted to kill them all. 
     He sped away, giving the other only his stern as a profile, and
climbed "up" from the battle, putting some serious distance between
himself and the other. As expected, the Shough tried to follow him, her
movements still surprisingly nimble. 
     "Yes. Yes!" said Malik, as Betz's scheme became clear to him.
     "Mister Malik?"
     "Pardon my exuberance, sir," replied the Zohrloch. "Not my place."
     "Quite the opposite, Cadet. If you see it, I don't have to explain
it."
     "Sir."
     "What's he...?" began Arissa. 
     "Now, Mister Malik!"


     The Shough shook free of her tormentors, and went after the Century.
Hot on the scent of prey, she was lusting for the kill. Faster than the
Colonial ship at sub-light velocity, she was closing. Soon, she would be
in effective range once more, and then the alien cowards would be hers.
She...
     "Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!" screamed someone, as the ship rocked
violently. Too late did they perceive the trap laid for them.
     Suddenly, even as she approached light-speed, the Century cut her
forward thrust. As she slowed, the Shough closed the distance even more
quickly. Knowing he had but microns, Betz hit reverse thrusters, then
flipped the ship over, her bow now pointing in the direction from which
they had just come. Her main drive fired up, and she shot "downwards"...
     Right at the oncoming Shough. The distance between the two ships
closed in a heartbeat, and Betz opened up with everything forward that
still worked. Lasers and torpedoes screamed out from the Century,
smashing into the onrushing enemy like a sledgehammer. Betz kept firing
till the last possible millimicron before turning hard away, the
explosions rocking his own ship brutally. He heard the Century's
collision alarm begin to scream, but could do nothing about it as he was
flung up and over like a piece of driftwood in a wave. Panels burst and
circuits died, filling the bridge with acrid smoke, and then it was over.
     "Did it!" shouted Breechen, as they moved away from the Shough. It
took a few moments to get an aft view, but at last, there it was. The
Shough, falling behind them, her speed dropping off. "She is hurt, sir!"
     "And us?"
     "Light-speed engines down. Our shields at barely ten percent.
Emergency bulkheads have closed. We've got no internal communication to
the passenger section. And...we have one missile left, sir."
     "Sir," said Arissa. "A message from the Galactica. Assistance needed
immediately, sir!"
     "Get us there, now!"
     "On our way, sir," she replied. She punched in the commands, then
turned back to the skipper. "Sir, our nav panel is down. She's fried.
Won't take the input."
     "Seat of the pants then, Miss Arissa. Commander Adama needs us, and
I don't intend to disappoint him." He looked at the Shough, wobbling and
trailing something. "It's up to the Vipers now, I guess. Best speed."  


     "What..." said Starbuck, trying to take it all in. His mother? Here?
But, he was...he'd been...
     Which meant he must be...Suddenly, his state came to mind.
     Starbuck, don't get so upset. I saw you naked the day you were born.
And quite a few times thereafter.
     "But...I..." he managed to get out, then realized that he was now
clad in swirling robes. They looked familiar, almost as if he'd seen the
like, somewhere before.
     No, Starbuck, you are not dead. But, your body lies near the edge,
and you walk the border world between. Starbuck opened his mouth to say
something, then realized he didn't know what to say.
     "W-w-why are you here?" he at last managed to ask. "I mean...
you're..."
     Dead? Yes. I fell in the raid on Umbra. And you did not.
     Suddenly, Starbuck felt a stab of guilt. The guilt that had always
been there, lurking below the surface ever since it had happened. Guilt
that he had somehow, beyond all reason, survived the Cylon raid, when his
mother, and so many others, had not. The stab grew into a burning, then a
flood, that threatened to overwhelm him.
     No! Starbuck, do not feel guilty. Do not let it consume you, My Son.
You were destined to live. To survive.
     "But why?" he asked, voice choked with the emotions he was fighting
to keep down. "Why? Why couldn't we all have survived? Why did you have
to die like that? Why did fa..." he stopped, suddenly, realizing that he
had been about to mention Chameleon. Anger began to well up, replacing
guilt.
     Don't, Starbuck, don't. Gabriela put a hand on his shoulder, and it
felt at once familiar and comforting. The hand that he had so often felt
as a child. Always laid upon him in love. Never in anger. Your father is
not to blame for what happened to me, or to Umbra. Don't hate him.
     "But...but he wasn't there!" cried Starbuck, and he felt the heat
welling up in his eyes. "He was gone, right when we needed him the most!"
     And how would his dying have changed anything, Starbuck? One more
death? One more charred corpse left by the Cylons? You must not hate your
father, Starbuck.
     "He couldn't even tell me the truth! He had Cassie..."
     Your father was trying to protect us, Starbuck. He was trying to
shield us from danger. That is why he was not there. 
     "Why didn't he try and find me, then? Why did I have to rot in that
damned foster..."
     He did not know you survived, Starbuck. He did not even know himself
for many yahrens afterwards. Behold!
     She waved her hand, and the mist seemed to part. Starbuck saw a
dwelling, his old home on Caprica, after it had been hit by Cylon fire.
Amidst the smoldering rubble, he saw Chameleon, much younger, kneeling
over the ripped and burned corpse of a woman. He at once recognized her
as the one who stood before him now. Chameleon, clothes filthy and
covered in soot, was sobbing quietly as he stared down at the woman who
had been his wife. He kept calling her name, each time growing more
frantic and despairing. Rocking back and forth on his knees, he began to
howl like a child, pounding the still-hot dirt with his fists. The
younger Chameleon began to shout a name. He rose, oblivious to all, and
carrying the corpse in his arms, began to wander, then run, through the
ruins of the farm, then the smoldering fields, shouting his son's name
over and over. With each call, he sounded less and less connected to
sanity, until at last the vision faded out.
     "Who?"
     He fell into madness, My son. He could not find you, and he lost his
mind. It was many yahrens before he came to himself. Then, when he did...
     "What? What?"
     You must ask him, Starbuck. You must go to him. Soon.
     "But...I...Who's... 
     I understand, son. It must all seem terribly overwhelming right now. 
You're barely coping as it is, and I'm asking even more of you.
     His throat tightened as she laid it bare before him. She knew it
all. He had deceived Tarnia, Dr. Salik, everyone, into believing he was
coping fine, yet he knew the truth.  Since losing Cadet Jada on the
mining expedition, he had been walking a fine line between functioning
and falling apart.  Every day was a battle, and that was just to make it
from dawn to dusk.  It didn't include the added stressors of combat and
duty.  
     Why do you feel the need to handle it on your own? You don't have to
be alone anymore, Starbuck. Let them in. Let them help. There is so much
love around you, son, if you would only let it in.
     Suddenly, another figure emerged from the fog. It was a woman also,
and one he knew...
     "Jada?" 
     Yes.     
     "I...Jada...I'm so sorry. I didn't..."
     Don't, Starbuck. I forgive you. It was not your fault. You did the
best anyone could. Stop torturing yourself for what happened to me on the
asteroid. It will only destroy you, too. What happened to me will serve
the Greater Purpose.
     You must go to him, Starbuck. Your father. He needs you.
     "But..."
     He is an old man, Starbuck. Old before his time. He needs you, aches
for you. Above all, he fears he will die, never having been allowed to
reconcile with the only thing in his life he is proud of. Please, son. If
ever you loved me, go to him.
     "I..."
     Ever so slowly the arms of both encircled him. Then he felt a third.
He looked, seeing another female form. While the face was unknown to him,
he knew, he instinctively knew, who she was. She smiled at him, nodding.
The same familiarity and comfort seeped through him, warming him. He
closed his eyes and held his breath, simply experiencing it. His mother's
love. Jada's forgiveness. Family. Tears pricked at his eyes as he held
onto the moment, treasuring and savoring it for the temporary miracle it
was.
     Go to him. Go to him. Go to him...
     He refused to let go, even as he felt a cold, hard pull at his
consciousness. "No . . ." he cried, as the light retreated and any
evidence of the others evanesced with the harsh infiltration of reality.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

     So far, Adama decided, his plan seemed to be going well. Or as well
as the unpredictable vagaries of battle permitted. He had succeeded in
drawing the Gee-Tih, with her enormous firepower, away from the main
fleet. Except for the attacks on the Rising Star, Xekash had largely left
them alone. As he had hoped, his taunting of Xekash had produced the
desired result. The enemy commander was angry, his pride stung, and, if
Adama was reading things correctly, he was letting that pride rule him.
If Adama could keep that pride well and truly irritated, he might just be
able to lure Xekash into the second part of the trap.
     Though the ship was still under the tribunal-rigged cloaking system,
he knew they could not maintain it for much longer. Not only had their
remaining shields taken a pounding in the near-collision, but the
port-side grid was still largely unrestored. That, and the emitter diodes
keeping them invisible were edging ever closer to the red line, gulping
more and more power by the centon. Already, they had had to cut power to
various parts of the ship to make up the difference.
     "Tactical?" asked Adama.
     "Enemy ship at 227, sir," said Tigh, indicating a monitor. "He's
sweeping for us. And the Century is closing."
     "Have the fighters nearest us attack, Colonel."
     "Sir."
     They watched, as the remaining Vipers, and the one Cylon craft,
moved in on the Gee-Tih. They were edging closer to the fringes of the
nebula now, and the attacking fighters were taking full advantage of it.
One cut loose with a full spread of missiles, all but one striking the
Ziklagi monster over her drive section. Another lathered her port beam,
while the Cylons did what Cylons do best. Sail by, blast with no finesse
whatsoever, and speed away. But the attacks seemed to be having an
effect, as the Gee-Tih momentarily broke off her scanner sweeps for the
Galactica, and turned to deal with these new threats. 
     "Her anti-aircraft doesn't seem as effective as I would have
expected," said Tigh, studying the data. "I wonder why."
     "Hard to say, Colonel. But right now, I suggest we take advantage of
it."
     The fighters had not attacked in any sort of coherent formation,
which might have given a fire-control computer something to base a
counter-attack strategy upon, but rather swarmed like insects around the
enemy, firing, dodging, and flitting away quickly. As Adama had hoped,
this served to frustrate the other's targeting, at least so far. He
watched, as the Century closed in, and opened fire on the Gee-Tih. Her
one remaining missile connected, and something exploded over the other's
hull. A shot had connected, and one of her defensive batteries had gone
up!
     "Yes!" he cried, pounding on the railing.


     "Report!" demanded Xekash, as his ship shuddered beneath him.
     "Defensive battery nine has been destroyed, My Lord!" replied Gorox.
"Attempting to compensate fields of fire!"
     "Enemy fighters retreating out of range," said Ulpash, clearly as
angry as his CO. His gunners fired at the retreating craft, but missed.
As they watched, the Century took two of the Vipers into her bay, and
retreated with the rest. The pestilential ships had pulled back without
loss!
     "Damn this..." Xekash began, when, once more, the Galactica washed
back into visibility, directly astern of him. Xekash had his words
drowned out by the thunderous noise that rocked his ship as the
Battlestar opened up with her forward batteries. Shot after shot slammed
into Xekash's  stern, setting alarms off all over the bridge.
     "Aft torpedoes fire!" he shouted, and this time it worked. Ordnance
shot out from her stern tubes, and explosions flared across the
Galactica's bow as she turned. Adama answered with another blast, before
banking over, and disappearing once more. Again, Gee-Tih shook violently,
but held. Once back on his feet, Xekash demanded to know the Battlestar's
position.
     "And get me the Shough!"


     "Cloak damaged, Commander," said Athena, as the Galactica's bridge
filled with smoke. Somewhere close something began to spit fire, and she
grabbed up an extinguisher. "I don't know how long we can maintain it."
     "As long as possible," replied Adama, grabbing one himself. As soon
as the fire was doused, he turned to Omega. "Omega, take us into the
nebula."
     "Sir?"
     "It will obscure as well as that cloak device does."
     "Yes, sir."
     "Xekash must certainly know that. He would be a fool to follow us
into the nebula, Commander," said Tigh.
     "That's what I'm hoping for, Tigh. Pray that he is just that."
     "Yes, sir."
     "And tell Betz to harass Xekash as best he can."
     "Sir."
     "And open a channel to the Gee-Tih."


     "Where's the Commander now?" asked Jolly, aboard the Nebula.
     "Can't tell for sure," said Boomer. "He's using that cloaking screen
again."
     "Sure gave that bastard a good lashing," said Giles. 
     "And got a good licking in return from what I saw," replied Boomer.
"This Ziklagi ship looks like going up against a BaseShip, only worse."
     "So what do we do?" asked Giles. "Just sit here?"
     "No," said Gorski. "We go help. We can't follow Adama into the
nebula," he chuckled grimly at the name, "but we can try and help the
Fleet. We go after some of those alien fighters."
     "With what we've got?"
     "I'm not sitting still."
     "Me neither," said Boomer. "Let's go, Captain."


     "No response from the Shough," said Ulpash. "Our fighters report she
is fully engaged with Adama's forces. Taking heavy damage, My Lord."
     "Galactica detected, My Lord," said Gorox. 
     "Where?"
     "Moving into the nebula, My Lord."
     "Follow her!" ordered Xekash after a moment.
     "My Lord, we cannot!" said Ulpash. "Adama is baiting us. Trying to
lead us away from his fleet, and..."
     "I said follow him!"
     "If we go into the nebula, we will be unable to lock..."
    "Well Xekash?" came Adama's voice over the speaker. "How are we
doing? Scraped the paint a bit, have we?"
     "I shall have your head on my cabin wall, Adama!" snarled Xekash.
"You cannot escape me, do you hear? I shall find you, and..."
     "You couldn't find your astrum with all three hands!" taunted Adama.
"Your head now, that's a different matter entirely."
     "ADAMA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
     "Well, kuh'tcheedijuk?* What's your decision? Turn tail? Run away,
like last time? Oh, you might like to know that the Viper pilot who
wrecked your ship before was a woman."
     Xekash's reply was unheard, as Adama had cut the channel. For his
part, Ulpash heard only choked, unintelligible frothing, as Xekash was
consumed with rage. He let loose a string of curses that would have
shorted out an entire Cylon garrison, and ordered his ship to pursue
Adama. 
     "My Lord, we..." The ship shuddered, as a broadside from the Century
connected. "The other ship..."
     "DO IT! DAMN YOU!!!!!!!!!!" screamed Xekash, and shoving the other
aside, leapt for the controls himself.


     "He's moving to pursue us, Commander," said Athena. "Firing on
Century, but he's following us, Father."
     "Into the nebula," said Adama. 


     Sheba fired directly at the Shough's forward battery. She was
rewarded with a spray of debris flying off the turret as she passed. She
had to admit, the damn thing was one tough piece of work. Almost as tough
as the Cylons. Thank God there was only one of these things here. She
banked, and headed back for another pass, when her computer told her
she'd been painted, and someone had a lock on her. She snapped the
control stick over as hard as it would go, and the lock was broken. But,
moments later, it was back. She checked her rear scan, and sure enough,
one of the ugly Ziklagi craft was on her tail, and closing. She snapped
hard over again, once more breaking the other's lock, but once again it
was re-established in little more than a heartbeat. Obviously, this guy
was good. Better than most of the rest they'd encountered so far. 
     She slammed her turbos and screamed away, but the Ziklagi pilot
stayed with her like glue. As she once more maneuvered, her speaker
crackled and an unfamiliar voice filled her ears. It took her a moment or
two to realize that it was her opponent.
     "Give it up, alien. You cannot win this."
     "Why don't you go crawl back into your egg, toad?" she snapped back.
As she spoke, a lethal spear of light streaked past her ship,
uncomfortably close. She hit her thrust reverser, and bled off a little
speed to try and get him to overshoot her, but the other was not to be so
easily fooled, and told her so. She flipped her ship, arcing up, then
bringing it "down" so as to try and catch him from above. But the Ziklagi
fighter was more responsive than she had expected, or perhaps it was
being flown by someone with long combat experience. Before she could lock
onto him, he was gone.
     And back on her tail in microns. He taunted her, and she bit her
tongue to keep from responding. She nosed her ship up, and sure enough he
did the same almost instantly. Then she brutally slammed it "down", once
more breaking his weapon's lock on her Viper. Then, in a move that would
have had the Viper's designers screaming themselves into a mental ward,
she both rolled it, and snapped it back "up" so hard she was afraid she'd
break the stick off. The fighter vibrated ominously, and an alarm sounded
in the cockpit, but she couldn't spare the time for it. This sort of
combat was, her instructor at the Colonial Academy had told her, "like a
knife fight in a phone booth". No rules, no nothing, except win. And
Sheba had no intention of doing anything but win. 
     Perhaps her opponent did not expect this, perhaps his ship was more
limited in it's capabilities in some fashion, but Sheba caught him before
he had fully responded to her maneuver. She roared towards him, and fired
her guns. One of them grazed his port wing, the other was a clean miss,
then she was past him. As she did so, she could see him in his cockpit,
her own canopy barely a metron from his, and for a moment they locked
gazes. She couldn't be certain, but she thought he looked angry. Lords of
Kobol, but they were ugly! 
     He tried to get on her tail once more, but she noticed that he
seemed less quick than before. Had she damaged his ship, perhaps? As she
dodged a shot, he once more taunted her, his voice grating and squeaky,
even through an electronic translator.
     You cannot win, female! We are superior! Your ass is mine!
     "And just what would you do with it?" she spat back. "Maybe it could
teach you how to fly?" Without waiting for his reply, she cut her thrust,
letting him close on her rapidly. As she expected, he did not dare fire
at her this close to his own ship. He would never be able to escape
flying into the exploding wreckage of the Viper, possibly destroying his
own ship in the process. He started to bank, and she fired her turbos
right in his face.
     Over the circuit she heard a sound like a piece of metal being drawn
over on old-fashioned slate writing board, and she smiled. Then, in a
move so obvious a Cylon wouldn't have walked into it, she cut thrust
again, and he sailed past her. She sped up, locked onto him, and fired.  
     And missed! Just as she let loose, he banked away, giving her a
clean miss. Spewing out a curse or two of her own, she snapped her abused
stick over...
     Just as her opponent unexpectedly turned his ship directly into her
line of fire! Not wasting any time on thinking, she thumbed her firing
button. One bolt hit the Ziklagi fighter, shearing off a chunk of his
port wing. The other seared across the top of his cockpit. She followed
it up with an ship-to-ship missile. It flew right up the Ziklagi's
tailpipe, and the alien craft was momentarily obscured by a bright orange
ball of light. Then she saw what was left of it tumble away, pieces
falling off as it did so. Then it burst asunder and was gone.
     "Just not your day, is it?" she said into her mic, then headed back
to the battle, quickly checking first her own ship's status, then across
her console to see her husband's transponder reassuringly active and his
ship not far from her position. She felt a flood of relief that he was
alright, then rebuked herself for being unprofessional.
     You can't always be thinking about him! It clouds the mind, slows
the reflexes! She shook her head to banish such musings, and looked at
her scanner. 
     It didn't take long to see how it was going. The Shough was badly
hurt, both her forward main gun turrets either blackened by explosions,
or silent. She was trying to turn, obviously seeking to withdraw. Sheba
made a pass over the alien vessel, adding her own fire to the attack upon
her, then saw...
     Saw space ripple practically in front of her. She banked hard over,
barely missing the ship that was becoming visible. She sped away, her
heart sinking at the thought of yet another Ziklagi warship to have to
face. Coming about, she prepared to target the newcomer, but her thumb
stopped, a hairsbreadth above the firing stud on her control stick. Far
from being a threat, it seemed the new arrival was quite the opposite.
     And firing on the Shough.

*A Ziklagi epithet, referring to an emasculated slave who willingly
accepts such a state. Given the proper inflection, it also implies
extreme cowardice or deviance on the part of the insulted. The worst
possible insult in the Ziklagi tongue.


CHAPTER TWENTY

     While not as murky as the asteroid dust cloud that they had passed
through over a yahren ago, the nebula nonetheless made visibility for the
Battlestar almost impossible. It was even more difficult to scan through,
with bizarre radicals and electrical discharges arcing through it. Adama
just hoped they didn't end up flying blindly into something.
     Of course, should the Gee-Tih do something like that, he wouldn't
complain.
     "Athena?"
     "He entered the nebula a few moments after we did, Commander," she
replied. "After that, it's hard to get a clear return. The ionic
interference in here is enormous."
     "He'll have the same problem," said Adama. "Tell Shadrick and his
crew to get moving on whatever repairs are possible. Skip all safety
checks. We need all the power we can tap."
     "Yes, Commander."
     "You really think you can jump him in here?" asked Tigh, quietly.
"The scanners are like trying to look through mud."
     "He'll have no better luck, Tigh. This mess scrambles nearly all
scan wavelons."
     "Let's hope you're right, Adama."
     "I do too."


     It had been almost ten ee'la since Xekash had followed Adama into
the nebula. So far, his scans had revealed nothing but electrically
excited muck, with the occasional sighting of magnetically excited muck
to break the monotony. While his screens were sufficient to protect the
Gee-Tih from the worst of the nebula's effects, they didn't help him see
through the cursed mess, and find Adama. Out of the corner of his eye, he
saw Ulpash, standing at his station. Crisp, ready, and as always, utterly
correct. Yet, he oozed disapproval. Disapproval of the order to follow
the Galactica in here, disapproval of Xekash's earlier emotional outburst
on the bridge. His dignity, both as an officer and a kfsh, had been
wounded by Xekash's action. His pride.
     Well I have pride too! And no alien freak is going to speak so to
me!
     He checked the ship's chrono once more. Twenty ee'la. At this rate
the nebula would disperse naturally before they found anything. He looked
again at Ulpash. Perhaps...
     "My Lord," said the subject of his musing. "Possible scanner
contact."
     "Yes?" said Xekash, moving towards the instruments.  "You've found
something?"
     "A large mass reading, My Lord. Bearing 26.6, at Z minus 4,000."
     "How reliable is this reading?" asked Xekash, sparing a glance at
the nebular goo on the main screen.
     "Unable to ascertain that, My Lord. Computer simulations can give no
solid basis for prediction. Not in all this."
     "Very well. Helm, make for the contact."
     "My Lord."


     Gorski pushed his battered ship as hard as he could, heading towards
the battle site. He was as surprised as anyone, when the newcomer vessel
had suddenly washed into visibility, not a hundred maxims from the
Shough. Like everyone else, he had feared the worst; yet another Ziklagi
warship ship had appeared, and all was surely lost. But, even as he
grimly resolved to go down fighting before meeting his maker, and locked
his small guns on the ship, it did the thing he least expected. 
     "What the Hades..." said Boomer. "She's opening fire on the other
one!"
     "Who are these guys?" asked Jolly. No one answered him.


     "Captain, watch out!"
     The warning, not to mention the sudden rocking of his ship, drew
Apollo's attention away from Sheba's Viper. He had gone in search of his
wife following her cry of distress, to find her in vicious combat with a
Ziklagi fighter, only he was too far away to do anything to help.  He
should have known she could take care of herself, and she proved it once
again, as she skillfully outmaneuvered her enemy, subsequently destroying
him.  
     He banked hard to port, lasers firing past him closely enough to
singe his nose hairs.  Well, in a figurative sense.  He checked his rear
scanner as he jammed his stick forward into an evasive dive,
simultaneously seeing his attacker blown to Hades Hole as one of his
pilots saved his astrum.  His distracted astrum, he reminded himself with
self-disgust. 
     "All Vipers, fall back!" ordered Apollo, as the newcomer cut loose
at the Shough. Despite her battle damage, the Ziklagi ship tried to fight
back. One of her still-functioning guns fired at the newcomer, scoring a
direct hit. She fired again, but a torpedo from the newcomer silenced the
weapon, sending up bits of molten scrap into space.
     Shough tried to move away, but her speed was little more than a
crawl. As she slowly accelerated, the other vessel fired again, striking
her amidships. Another shot followed the first one, then yet another
smashed through her hull, into her engines. With a bright flash, gas and
debris belched into space, and she came to a dead stop. The attacker,
however, did not stop, but kept on firing. After three more shots, the
Shough's hull visibly buckled, a wide crack opening up in her starboard
side. Massive explosions rocked the Ziklagi vessel, till the after third
of the ship shattered in a huge blast, sending the rest of her spinning
wildly. She tumbled end over end, finally slamming into one of the mines.
With a huge blossom of fire and debris, the Ziklagi warship disappeared,
becoming a cloud of wreckage. 
     Apollo could hear cheering from many of his pilots, and couldn't
help joining in. But there were still quite a few Ziklagi fighters left
to deal with. Almost at once, some of them began to attack to newcomer,
and it was back to work.


     "Try and raise that ship," said Betz, on the Century. 
     "Sir," said Breechen. 
     "Normally I hate party crashers," said the skipper, "but this time I
might make an exception."


     "Commander," said Athena, "picking up a large mass. Astern,
range...approximately five hundred. Some sort of power signature."
     "What's its size?"
     "Roughly equivalent to the Galactica, Commander, but I can't be
totally sure in this electromagnetic soup."
     "Understood, Athena. Omega, change course. Delta Two, Z plus ten
thousand."
     "Helm answering Delta Two, Z plus ten thousand, sir."
     "Maneuvering thrusters only, Omega. I want a minimal energy
signature for him to track, if his scanners are that good."
     "Understood, sir."
     "You're going to best him," said Tigh. "I know it."
     "Exactly."


     Far away, other eyes were watching the progression of events as
keenly and closely as Betz or Athena. Eyes that had been tracking the
Fleet and its movements for some time.
     "Enemy cruiser engaged and destroyed, sir," said an operative. "The
alien fighter craft seem to be doing well against Xekash's squadrons."
     "Zykor's Lips, but they're good. But if they lose their main
ship...Tell the scout to engage and destroy as many of Ziklagi fighters
as possible. And raise the Galactica if you can, Kibev."
     "Yes, sir."
     "And dispatch the nearest scout to assist. Flank speed!"
     "Sir."


     Adama tracked the moving mass inside the nebula as best as his
myopic scanners would permit him. His sole consolation at the moment was
that his opposite number was no doubt having just as easy a time of it as
he was. From what Wilker had been able to determine about Ziklagi sensing
systems, theirs were no better in this glop than Colonial ones. He sent
up a brief prayer of thanks for that, and a bigger one of intercession
for the fighters still doing battle outside the nebula. 
     "Tactical?" he asked Athena.
     "Still tracking him, sir. He's at..." she scowled in frustration at
her instruments. "Approximately two-hundred fifty maxims, at Z
minus...three...no four thousand metrons."
     "Can you pin it down any better, Athena?"
     "No, sir. It's like smoke in a Hall of Mirrors."
     "Alright. Best guess then. Tigh, prepare to lock our starboard
batteries on him as soon as we're in range."
     "Computer lock not functional, sir," replied Tigh. "The system keeps
going down, then trying to reboot, then fails again."
     "I see. Then we'll have to operate them manually. Get the gunners to
their posts, and we'll target visually."
     "Right away, sir."


     Close by, Xekash was in much the same pickle. His scanners had
picked up the enemy, yes, but were no more specific. He had ordered the
ship to move closer, bringing the Gee-Tih across Adama's bow if possible,
in an ancient and classic battle maneuver, going back to the days of the
ancient sea-going wooden warships with powder and iron ball cannon. In
this way, he could bring fully three quarters of his offensive weaponry
to bear on the Galactica, while Adama would be limited to his forward
batteries only. While best employed with a full battle group, it would
nonetheless deal the other ship a massive, perhaps crippling, blow,
bringing the battle to a successful conclusion soon.
     "Closing, My Lord," said Ulpash, crisply, as he studied the scans.
He shook his head. Tactical was about as useful right now as trying to
stare through a septic tank. He held out little hope of any of this
fuzzy, bouncing excuse for data being reliable, but he would do his duty.
     "Range?"
     "Between four and six thousand, My Lord."
     "No greater certainty?"
     "No, My Lord. Not possible."
     "Very well, then."
     "My Lord!" cried Ulpash suddenly.


     "Best guess," said Adama.
     "Yes, sir," said Omega.


     "It seems alright now," said Xekash, looking at the scanners.
     "Yes, My Lord. But for just a brief moment, the entire targeting
system went down. Completely blank."
     "Interference from the nebula?"
     "It must be, My Lord. The system itself checks out thoroughly now."
     "I see. Very well, then, when..."
     "There it goes again!" said Ulpash. 
     "My Lord!" shouted Gorox. "The enemy!"


     "There she is!" said Adama, his face like a hunter's on the scent of
blood. Less than two-hundred metrons away and slightly below them, the
other ship was becoming, slowly, visible. She was slightly diagonal to
the Galactica, and moving to starboard from Adama's point of view. She
was open.
     "Sir, they've scanned us," said Omega. "Wait, their scans just
stopped..."
     "Let's not waste the opportunity," said Adama. "All batteries fire!"


     Xekash turned, just in time to see the smudge against the nebula
that was Adama's ship materialize out of the cosmic fog. His targeting
array came back up at just that moment, but not soon enough to anything
to defend him against the shots that tore across the distance from the
Galactica and into him. The first rocked the Gee-Tih like a hammer blow
from the Pit, the second barely seemed to nudge them. The third sent he
and his crew reeling, the lights dimming momentarily as the screens tried
to stay up.
     "Fire!" shouted Xekash, even as another salvo spat out from the
Colonial warship, now clearly visible on his screen. Something exploded,
spraying sparks and smoke across the bridge, even as the Gee-Tih's own
guns responded. Deadly fire spewed towards the Battlestar, some cleanly
missing.
     And some not.


     "Lords of Kobol!" swore Adama, as the Galactica rocked from the
first impact of Xekash's ordnance. "How bad?"
     "Hit on our starboard quarter!" cried Athena. "Screens holding but
weakening."
     "Keep firing!" ordered Adama. "All decks on fire alert!" The
Battlestar's guns kept pumping out punishment in Xekash's direction,
scoring several more direct hits. Then, she rocked violently, and the
shriek of blowing circuitry filled everyone's ears. The another hit, and
they were all sent sprawling, the lights dimming as they did so. Adama
felt something crash into him, and pulled himself up, to discover that it
was Athena. He set her back on her feet, just as the lights came back up,
and the ship was pummeled again, then they were past the enemy, back into
the nebula. 
     "Damage?" asked Adama. He looked around the bridge, seeing smoke
hanging in the air, and some dead instruments. Several of the bridge
illuminators were still dark as well. 
     "Direct hit near Cadet's quarters, Commander, and the Council
Chamber" replied Omega after a moment. "Emergency bulkheads in place.
Communication is out below gamma section, aft to compartment beta."
     "Very well. Casualties?" Across the bridge, he saw Petty Officer Wu
administering first aid to another crewman's burned arm and face.
     "No reports from the rest of the ship yet, sir."
     "Defensive status?"


     "We've lost an airlock, My Lord," reported Ulpash. "Deck four is
sealed off for now. Defensive battery two has been knocked out of
action." Xekash noted his XO's scowl. 
     "And?"
     "One blast struck a direct hit on our upper port nacelle, My Lord.
Engineering reports that our hyperdrive is out, and we are leaking
plasma. They are working to lock it down. Also, our auxiliary reactor was
hurt, as well as our starboard landing bay."
     "Casualties?"
     "One confirmed dead so far, six wounded."
     "Scanners?"
     "Same as before. No damage."
     "Well something is wrong, Ulpash. Our system chose the very moment
Adama loomed out of the nebula to go off-line. I do not like
coincidences. Especially in battle."
     "Yes, My Lord."
     "Get all repair crews to stations."
     "Yes, My lord."
     "And the boarding parties. Have them standing by, Ulpash." He saw
the other about to object, but held up a quieting hand. "We may clear the
nebula before all is done. Have them standing by."
     "My Lord."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

     Apollo was still trying to make sense of it all. An unknown ship, of
unknown origin, and having unknown motives, had just shown up out of
nowhere and started blasting away at the same enemy he was. While he was
in no way disapproving, it was unsettling all the same. Apollo liked to
know just whom every blip on the scanner represented.
     He turned, just as the Cylon fighter ripped past him, firing. For a
moment, his thumb moved instinctively to his firing button. It was
bizarre, seeing a Cylon Raider on their side for a change. But, it was
welcome nonetheless, especially when the Ziklagi fighter the Cylons were
pursuing ceased to exist rather spectacularly.
     "Good shooting, Agrestis," he radioed. 
     "By your command," came the usual reply. Apollo shook his head, and
looked around for another target.
     And got one on his tail. Unlike his earlier antagonists, this one
seemed better. Perhaps more experienced. Dodge as he might, Apollo could
not shake the killer on his tail. Shots sizzled close, one even scorching
his port wing as it ripped past. He rolled, then dived, but the Ziklagi
pilot never seemed to lose him for a micron. Apollo banked, first one
way, then the other, but his foe stayed with him like Starbuck on a
novice pyramid player. Then, as he snapped a hard one to starboard, he
ship rocked as a shot from his enemy slammed home. 
     All his instruments went wild, and alarms sounded. Smoke filled his
cockpit, as the brutal truth sunk home. The enemy had hit his top engine,
slicing it open. His speed was dropping, and his maneuverability was way
down. 
     "Hold on, Apollo," came Sheba's determined voice. "I'm on my way!"
     Apparently, he wasn't the only one guilty of keeping an eye out for
a spouse. Meanwhile, he was furiously trying to come up with some
strategy, doubtful if he'd last till she got here, when it seemed a voice
flashed through his head.
     What would Starbuck do?
     Suddenly, it came to him. He poured on all the speed his two
remaining engines could give him, even as the dead top one leaked fuel
like an open faucet. He tried to lock the fuel flow down, then saw the
enemy fighter closing for the kill. Yes! 
     I have you now! came an alien voice over the speaker. I will rend
your pathetic human flesh, and eat you for dinner!" 
     "Okay," he replied. "Here's an appetizer." Then, in a movement truly
worthy of Starbuck at his most deranged, he reached for one of his
instrument panels, slid it back to reveal another behind it, and flipped
the switch up. He felt the resulting explosion like a hammer to both ends
of his spine, as explosive bolts fired, blowing the dead engine, and most
of the upper stabilizer, away from his damaged ship. The Viper surged
ahead as it lost mass, and the engine fell quickly aft ...
     And slammed right into the pursuing Ziklagi ship. It's pilot barely
had time to scream as the chunk of debris flew right through his cockpit,
smashing him to pulp, and ripping his craft apart. The explosion was
enormous, then gone, folded into the dark.
     "I'll call you when we're serving the main course," Apollo grinned.
     Now what? Apollo wondered. He was down an engine, and he'd bled off
so much fuel, he couldn't last much longer. He looked around him...
     And found that the remaining Ziklagoio were pulling back. Breaking
off the engagement. Fickle bastards!
     "They're running," said Sheba, as she took in this development.
     "Yeah, but where do they think they're gonna go?" said Brie. "Their
BaseShip is I don't know where."
     "Straight back ta Hades Hole, iff'n I had me way," said Croad. "Ugly
frackin' toads!"
     "But who are these new guys?" said Cree. "The bio readings I'm
getting don't match Ziklagi ones."
     "Got me," said Sheba, scanning the new ship as well. Cree was right,
the bioscans were unlike those of their foes, yet they were not Human
either. They were entirely unknown to the computer, as was the ship to
the Warbook. She turned, and caught sight of Apollo as he moved up
alongside her. She gaped, eyes wide, at the condition of his Viper.
"Lords of Kobol, Apollo!" she cried. "You..."
     "I'll tell you later," he replied, chagrined. "Everyone, try and
find one of the ships in the Fleet to land on. I'm nearly out of fuel,
and I'll wager most of you are too."
     "Aye, sir," said Croad. "I could be standin' a fill-up."
     "Right away, Captain," said Barton. "I'm heading for..."
     "Apollo," said Sheba, interrupting. "That newcomer ship. She's
trying to hail us."


     Despite the frantic pace at which they worked, the engineers were
slow to repair and restore the Galactica's damaged systems. While they
prowled the nebula, looking for the enemy, Adama took stock of their
situation. So far, two people were confirmed dead, and at least nine were
in Life Station at the moment with burns or other serious injuries.
Communications was being slowly restored deck by deck, but the old girl
had a nasty rip in her side, just forward of the center pylon on the port
side, where one of Xekash's shots had been far too accurate. The area was
sealed off for now, but the damage control people were spread too thin at
the moment to do more. A quick diagnostic showed that the ship retained
her structural integrity, so maneuvering was not going to be a problem,
at least not yet.
     Tigh handed him a report. Life support was intermittent in the
technical section and ship's stores. He ordered the area evacuated,
sealed off, and the power rerouted to defense. Thankfully, at least so
far, the landing bays had escaped any serious harm, and there were no
fires.
     "Like the old days, isn't it?" asked Tigh, as he entered the signed
report/order into the system, where it would be routed to the appropriate
area. "Somewhat like the time we tangled with a BaseShip in the Ola
Nebula."
     "Yes, it is. Somewhat, though I hope this time we don't spend three
days at it. But I can't help remembering that for the first time since I
enlisted, I'm fighting living beings, Tigh. Sentient creatures of flesh
and blood, rather than mere soulless killing machines."
     "There were the pirates we tangled with, in the Klydrathes System."
     "True, but that was a minor distraction from our main focus.
Destroying Cylons. Here..." he shook his head. "I can do it, because I am
left with no choice. Here, the very survival of our people is at stake
here. Kill or be killed, with no chance of compromise or mercy. Of
course. But I still despise the destruction of living beings."
     "Them or us, Adama. We tried to talk to them. Make them understand
our situation. Even Antipas and Gellar admitted that. They came out
shooting. Just like the Cylons."
     "I know old friend." He looked at Tigh, and put a hand on his
shoulder. "I'm glad I have you to keep me steady and on course, Tigh."
     "Just doing my job, Commander."
     "Thank God."


     Like Adama, Xekash was checking over his ship's repairs. The
Battlestar had inflicted some respectable damage to the Gee-Tih, though
nothing crippling, thank the gods, and the plasma leak from the damaged
nacelle had been locked down, at least for now. Xegex's left foot, but
this Adama was a clever war leader. He had done to Xekash the very thing
Xekash had intended to do to him. Clever? A sorcerer more like it. Alien
and freak he may be, but this Adama was obviously a warrior of great
experience. Xekash had to remind himself that, despite all the official
propaganda to the contrary, non-Ziklagi did not equate with
non-intelligent. Although he fully shared his people's contempt for all
inferior races, he did not assume that they were automatically stupid.
Even the furry oob* could be frustratingly clever. Ask any exterminator.
     "My Lord!" said Ulpash. "Galactica detected!"
     "You are certain?"
     "Yes, My Lord. The mass reading is almost a one for one correlation
with our earlier scans."
     "Range?"
     "That is less certain, My Lord. Approximately 9,000."
     "Then we have him. Move toward him."
     "My Lord."
     "And Ulpash, power down our unnecessary systems. Running lights and
screens. If our cloak will not function, then we shall borrow the
nebula."
     "My Lord."


     "Yes, Rigel?" asked Adama, after the young woman called for his
attention.
     "I may have a way to compensate for the nebula, sir." She pointed to
some data on her screen. "By..." and here she delved into her beloved
technobabble for a few moments, "...we may be able to confuse her
scanners, sir. We can't stop them from detecting us, if they get close
enough, or get lucky. But, if I switch over, on this channel here, and
broadcast their own scanner impulses back to them, and overlay it with an
image of ourselves, out into the nebula, on a Gamma Frequency..." She
looked at him, as it sunk in. Gamma freqs were notorious for being
unreliable over long ranges, or under less than absolutely ideal
conditions, one reason they had long ago been discarded for all uses
except short-range civilian commercial broadcasts back home in the
Colonies. Doubling or tripling of the original transmitting frequency. If
Rigel was right, and she pumped out an inverse scanner pulse into the
nebula, on a Gamma...
     "They could end up seeing half a dozen of us," Adama.
     "Or more, sir. They won't know which one is the real us."
     "Until we start shooting. How long?"
     "A few centons at most, sir. I just have to do a bit of retuning,
here." She patted one of her instruments. "The buffer circuits..."
     "Do it."
     "Right away, Commander."
     "Commander," said Athena. "I think we've got him on scanners."
     "Location?"
     "Above and to starboard of us. Approximately...2,000. Perhaps more."
     "Cut all extraneous lights and power," ordered Adama. "No sense
being like a beacon."
     "Right away."


     "My Lord, losing contact with the Galactica," said Ulpash. 
     "Why?" demanded Xekash, the edge coming back into his voice.
"Nebular activity?"
     "Unknown, My Lord. Data continues to be scrambled."
     "Intensify scans!"
     "At once, My Lord."
     "And open fire before she disappears entirely!"


     "Athena," Adama began, when he was shaken almost off his feet. The
whole bridge seemed to rock like an old-fashioned amusement park ride.
     "Enemy opening fire!" shouted Omega, as yet another shot from the
Gee-Tih connected. 
     "Helm, hard over!" ordered Adama. "All batteries fire!"
     The Battlestar began to bank, curving away from where they estimated
the enemy to be. Every available battery cut loose, hosing fire into the
gloom where the Gee-Tih lurked. They kept firing as the ship picked up
speed in her turn. Again the ship rocked violently as Xekash connected,
and Adama was rewarded by the afterglow through the wafting gases of
laser blasts connecting with his opponent. 
     "Dama..." he shouted, as something exploded off to his left. There
was a scream, and fire belched from a hatchway. "Keep returning fire!"


     "Helm, hard to port!" shouted Xekash, as a powerful shot from the
Galactica connected. He felt the ship rumble under him, then nearly lost
his footing as one slammed him close to the bridge. A console somewhere
blew out in sparks and fire, and someone cried out in pain. He watched
his instruments, as the ship turned to port as ordered, then was knocked
to the deck by another deadly accurate shot from Adama. He continued to
move, and as if a gift from the gods, the Galactica slid directly in
front of him.
     "Load all forward tubes! Prepare to fire!"


     "Rigel!" shouted Adama over the din of battle.
     "Done, sir! Transmitting."


     "Open..." said Xekash, then stopped. The image of the Galactica on
his scanner had been fuzzy, watery, but unmistakable. Now, however, it
seemed there were two of them. "By all the gods...what???" He looked
again. "Check fire! Check fire! Confirm target."
     "There seem to be two of them, My Lord," said Ulpash. "I...My Lord,
we are getting unusual returns."
     "Unusual Oghul's ass! Either there are more Battlestars, or we are
getting scrambled returns."
     "Yes, My Lord."
     "Full sensor diagnostics, Ulpash. Quickly!"
     "My Lord."


     "It seems to be working, Commander," said Tigh. "His scanner sweeps
are going all over the place."
     "Yes. Good work, Rigel."
     "Thank you, sir."
     "I think it's time we ended this dance in the dark, Tigh," said the
Commander. He looked around the bridge. Smoke wafted from various places,
and med teams were working on numerous wounded personnel. Even as he did
so, another shot from Gee-Tih hit them, slamming them once more.
     "Hit on Alpha Bay, Commander!" said Omega. He bent to look at the
scan. Falling wreckage and fire were all he could see, before the camera
went out. Another hit struck them above the bay, piercing the deflection
grid.
     "Lock on to the Gee-Tih as best as possible. Missiles. Prepare to
fire on my order."
     "Visual lock only, sir," said Omega,
     "Fire."

* A small furry rodent, superficially similar to a field mouse.
Considered a great pest.     


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

     Xekash suddenly realized that he had, somehow, been tricked. By some
technical slight of hand, this Adama had fed back his own scan beams, to
confuse him and make him "see" multiple returns, confusing his already
confused instruments even more. At least six of the Galactica, according
to the scanners, were moving around out there in the cosmic glop. He
tightened his fists, yet again swearing vengeance against the alien
commander, when Gorox shouted:
     "Incoming!" Xekash barely had time to register the announcement
before the missile form the Galactica impacted, sending them all
sprawling on a nearly-dark bridge, and smashing into the ship like a ram.
Instruments blew out, and the Gee-Tih rocked savagely as the ordnance
exploded, almost gutting his shielding.
     "Shields collapsing!" cried Ulpash.
     "Not again!" shouted Xekash. "NOT AGAIN!!!!!" Uttering barbaric and
corrosive oaths, he got to his feet, just as the emergency lights came
up. The ship rocked again. "Return fire!"
     "Enemy has moved out of..."
     "Then follow him!" bellowed Xekash, face flushed, veins bulging.
"I'm going to put a missile up his ass if it's the last thing I do!"
     "Yes, My Lord!" replied the helmsman.


     "Confirm hits on enemy vessel, sir," said Athena. "She's trying to
follow us."
     "Make sure she can continue to see us, Athena. Tell Shadrick to
bleed off engine heat to the aft vents to give us an easy trail. Rigel,
shut down your inverse scan pulse. Extent of the damage?" he asked his
daughter.
     "Impossible to say, Father," she replied. "I'm picking up a lot of
stray energy readings, but that could just be the electromagnetic
fluctuations in the nebula."
     "Very well. Omega, time to nebular boundary?"
     "Approximately six and a half centons, sir. I can't pin it down any
closer."
     "Close enough. Damage report?"
     "Alpha Bay has been hit, not seriously. Beta Bay took two direct
blasts, damage is extensive."
     "Get..." He broke off, as another shot from the Gee-Tih connected.
From what they could tell, it had been a lucky one, but at least the
enemy was pursuing him.
     As desired.


     "Shields restored to the forward section, My Lord," said Ulpash, as
they pursued the Galactica through the nebula. Xekash did not respond,
but continued to stare at the main screen, where the murky, smudgy image
of the Galactica, bright in infrared, held center stage. His eye was
filled with fury, and Ulpash knew well the mood. Xekash would follow
Adama into the very scalding worm filth of the Pit itself, in order to
destroy him. 
     They kept firing, scoring the occasional glancing hit, but it was of
little effect at this range, and Xekash ordered them to stop. Xekash was
keeping back, hoping not to be seen yet by his fleeing opponent. He
doubted, however, that Adama was ignorant of his pursuit. Even so, he
would prefer to finish this dance in open space, rather than this vile
nebula. 


     "He's falling back," said Athena. "We're going to lose him, Father."
     "Nebular boundary ahead," said Omega. "Two centons, mark."
     "Very well. Once we're out, scan for the minefield."
     "You think he'll go for it?" asked Tigh.
     "I can only pray that he does, Tigh," replied the Commander. "Tough
as she is, the Galactica can't sustain much more of this kind of
pounding."
     "No," agreed Tigh, glancing at a casualty report. Information was
beginning to trickle in from damaged parts of the ship. So far six were
confirmed dead, with over a hundred injured. Nine were unaccounted for.


     "Ulpash, alter course, two and a half degrees to starboard, increase
speed to best available sublight."
     "Yes, My Lord."
     "And bring all available weapons to ready. Maximum on screens."
     "It shall be done, My Lord."


     "Exiting the nebula now," announced Omega. On a still-functioning
monitor screen, Adama watched as the roiling multi-colored gasses of the
nebula slowly thinned out, and stars began to appear. Micron by micron,
the blackness of space replaced the bilious palette of the nebula, till
they were once more in open space. 
     "Scanners clearing, Commander," said Athena. "Making a full sweep of
the area."
     "The enemy?"
     "He hasn't emerged from the nebula yet, sir. Wait...Commander,
there's nothing behind us!"
     "Nothing? You're certain?"
     "Certain as possible, with this scanner like it is."
     "At the last instant..." began Tigh, getting a sinking feeling in
his gut.
     "He must have guessed our move! Helm..."
     "Oh...frack!" hissed Athena, as the Gee-Tih, in all her malignant
glory, bore down on them.
     "Fire! Fire blind!"


     Xekash laughed, as he got the apparent drop on the Galactica. He had
to admit, Adama had been clever. Pretending to have lost him in the
nebula, then seeming to run for open space, all the while making it just
possible to follow him out again. For all his vile alienness, Adama had
turned out to be a formidable foe, and deep down inside, he had to honor
that. 
     Adama, you should have been hatched a Ziklagi. You're wasted on that
race.
     "My Lord?" asked Ulpash.
     "Uh, nothing, Ulpash."
     "All systems ready, My Lord."
     "Open fire at once, Ulpash. Everything we still have."
     "At once, My Lord."


     The Galactica heeled hard over just in time to miss the first blast
from Xekash, and that by mere metrons. Even so, circuits strained and
shields glowed. The second shot was not avoided, shaking the Battlestar
down to her bones. She answered in kind, spewing fire back in the
direction of her enemy. She scored a direct hit, then took another
herself.
     The Galactica finished her bank, and picked up speed, bringing her
starboard side to bear on the Gee-Tih. All operational guns cut loose,
slathering the Ziklagi carrier all along her length. In their present
relation, the enemy vessel was slightly above and to the right of the
Galactica, her bow facing the opposite direction, her underside
fortuitously exposed for the moment. Adama kept firing, shot after shot
pinning the enemy, till a shield failed, and a spurt of molten metal
leapt into space. Another followed it up at once, then the two ships were
pulling away from each other. Adama turned away, all aft batteries
opening fire.


    The Gee-Tih reeled from the Galactica's fire, as the Colonial ship's
lasers punched through her hull. Xekash felt the rumble of an explosion
through the deck beneath his feet. 
     "Report!"
     "Hit in auxiliary energizer, My Lord. The entire compartment has
been breached!"
     "Bring us around," ordered Xekash. "Arm torpedoes!" 
     "Complying, My Lord."
     "Contact the Shough."
     "No answer, My Lord. She...she's been destroyed."
     "Damn you, Adama !" snarled Xekash, pounding his fist on the arm of
his seat. "Damn you, you will pay for this!"


     "We've hurt him," said Athena. "That shot breached some sort of
reactor, Father. He's leaking radion."
     "Good. Target the same area whenever possible."
     Adama looked around for the Fleet, but their wanderings in the
nebula had brought them out quite a distance away form where they had
entered it. He ordered Omega to call for Viper assistance, but the high
gain array was damaged. He turned the ship, heading back for the Fleet,
after trading a few more shots with Xekash. Thank the Lords of Kobol the
main drive was still functioning!


     "He's heading back towards his Fleet, My Lord," said Ulpash.
"Accelerating."
     "Don't let him get ahead of us, Ulpash. Increase speed to overtake!"
     "Our sublight drive has taken damage, My Lord. We..."
     "I shall not tolerate excuses! Do it!"


     "Here comes that Ziklagi BaseShip again," said Breechen, aboard the
Century. "She's closing on the Galactica. Fast. Lords, but she's taken
one Hades of a beating!"
     "Our status, Mister Breechen?" said Betz.
     "We're down to auxiliary drive. Our screens are barely back up, and
we're out of missiles."
     "That should put the odds slightly in our favor. Prepare to
intercept the enemy."
     "Aye, sir."
     "Inform our new friends."
     "Aye, sir. I...Sir?"
     "Yes?"
     "They're gone again."


     As she circled back to the Fleet, the Galactica slowly lost ground
to the pursuing Gee-Tih. Battered and bruised she might be, but the enemy
ship was not out yet. Hopefully, however, Adama would be able to maneuver
her into another trap, and...
     "Commander," said Athena, "We're picking up a ship approaching."
     "Identity?" he asked, apprehensively.
     "I'm not sure. These scanners have taken a beating." She adjusted
her instruments. "It's one of ours," she said at last with relief. "The
Century."
     Her relief was short-lived, as the Galactica lurched suddenly, and
began to shake. Her velocity began to fall off.
     "Report!"
     "Chief Shadrick reports a blow-out in engineering," said Tigh. "A
power transfer coupling to one of the main converters ruptured. One of
the last hits from the Gee-Tih seems to have done some real havoc down
there, Commander."
     "Damn," swore Adama, watching as the enemy closed in on them. Timing
was critical now. "Open fire on her, regardless of the range, Colonel."
     "Yes, sir."


     Gee-Tih felt the slap to her ass as the Galactica opened fire again,
even if from a distance. She rocked, but before she could return fire,
another ship quartered in. Xekash recognized it at once as the smaller
warship they had dueled with earlier on. It closed the distance between
them at high speed, firing as she passed. Xekash returned fire as the
Century roared past, scoring hits.
     And taking some. Several blasts ripped through his screens to cut
deep wounds in her hull. The carrier rocked, and then rocked again, as
Betz's gunnery tore the bleeding wound in her energizer deeper. Then the
fire stopped, with the Gee-Tih still in pursuit of her prey.


     Down below, in Xekash's quarters, his slave was busy getting ready.
She stuffed a few items in a small satchel, and headed out. She just
hoped that her timing was right, and she was not already too late, either
for her plan, or herself. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

     Xekash poured on the speed, yet did not draw too close to his prey,
wary of yet another trick by Adama. He circled wide, to bring his own
ship around, and get in front of the fleeing Battlestar, by the time she
reached the Fleet. Already, his call to home base had gone out,
describing events, and requesting additional ships. Even without the
Shough, he felt that destroying the Galactica was still within his grasp.
At least crippling her beyond all hope of fighting back. Whatever it took
to get back his honor. His pride...
     Still, one must be prudent.
     "Enemy vessels closing in," announced Ulpash. Sure enough, the
smaller warship was closing from behind. Though small, she was
nonetheless tiresomely irritating, and Xekash had no intention of letting
her distract him from his main goal. He turned from her to the other one.
     And almost laughed aloud. Small, slow, more like a wallowing scow
than anything he had to worry about, it nonetheless was closing on him at
a respectable speed. After a few moments the computer gave him an ID on
it. It was the small ship that had strafed them earlier. Nebula,
according to the translation of the lettering on her hull. It was a pity
he had to destroy it; the ship looked like she might have brought a fair
sum. He ordered his gunner to lock onto the small ship. This would take
no time at all.
     Suddenly, the Gee-Tih shuddered, as something slammed into her
screens. She was knocked askew, her shot going wild. Xekash loudly
demanded to know what was happening.
     And did not like the answer he got. A ship had decloaked,
practically on top of them, and opened fire, hammering at his dorsal
hull. It had sped by and vanished once more, but not before they
recognized it.
     Zykonians!


     "I suggest we take advantage of it, Mister Kale," said Gorski,
aboard the Nebula. With all the speed he could drag out of the hammered
ship, they closed the distance, Boomer at the gunner's station, opening
fire. Though low power by comparison, her shots were nonetheless telling,
striking the alien across his bow, impacting the bridge area. His screens
glowed with secondary radion, and Boomer laughed. He kept firing till
they were past the huge warship. They had struck her directly several
times, and she had not gotten off one shot in return.
     Until now.


     Ulpash snarled a loud "yes!" as a blast from the Gee-Tih struck the
Nebula a direct blow. The little freighter lurched, then began to tumble
away, her engines going dead. 
     "That'll teach the two-eyed freaks to mess with us!" said Gorox. He
gave Ulpash the middle arm up gesture, and Ulpash returned it. Ulpash was
about to order them to close in and finish off the now-helpless ship,
when Xekash denied him his kill.
     "That is just what they would want us to do," he said. "Divert our
attention from the Galactica." He snorted. "They seem willing to
sacrifice themselves like ulhao*, these Colonials."
     "Effective," observed Ulpash. "We can't fight the Galactica if we're
busy chasing them. They may be a bunch of two-eyed mammalian freaks, but
they are cunning, My Lord."
     "Yes. Ulpash, try and contact our remaining fighters. Recall them."


     "We've got to try and help her," said Apollo, catching sight of the
approaching Galactica.
     "Like you're going anywhere," said Sheba, referring to his savaged
fighter. 
     "But we have to help her out," said Cree, scanning the Battlestar.
His scanner told a sad tale. "We can't just..."
     "I've got an idear, laddiebuck," said Croad.


     "And that would seem not to be all of them, My Lord!" said Ulpash.
On the screen, more ships could be seen closing in on them. Not fighters,
but ships from the Colonial Fleet itself. 
     "Suicide!" said Xekash, shaking his head in disbelief.
     "So it would seem, My Lord. They must know they have no chance
against us. Not even in a combined attack."
     "How many ships?"
     "I count eight so far, My Lord. Of all types."
     "Madness, Ulpash. Utter madness."


     Adama watched as the ships closed in on the Gee-Tih. The Rising
Star, the Celestra, the foundry ship Hephaestus, the Malocchio, the
Astrodon freighter, the Amargi, and the Borallus. They were all closing
in on the alien ship, and all opening fire with whatever guns they had.
He had to admire their utter audacity, even as he was appalled at the
risk they were taking. None of them had shielding that could handle what
the Gee-Tih could dish out. They wouldn't last more than a few centons at
best in a firefight with her. He ordered them to pull back, but either he
wasn't heard, or he was being ignored.
     If they got out of this, there were going to be some serious
discussions with certain ship's Captains. And, maybe, a commendation or
two.
     Even as he mused this, the mystery ship reappeared once more, diving
on the Gee-Tih, her weapons blasting. She scored several direct hits,
sending bits of the hull into space. As they roared past, the Malocchio,
an old passenger ship/freighter, got close enough to open fire with her
two small guns, one mounted topside, the other underneath. Her gunners
obviously had little actual experience, but they did manage to hit their
target all the same...but then they would have known that ahead of time.
The Malocchio was followed by the Celestra, from the other side. Smaller
and more nimble, she kept up a steady fire over the bridge.
     Then Adama saw the Vipers. From each of the attacking ships, Vipers
were spewing forth, coming to eleven in all. With a quick, practiced
ease, the ships formed up, and attacked the Gee-Tih. They strafed her,
their speed and agility making them difficult to track and even harder to
fire on.
     Except for one. One Viper, piloted by Ensign Harada, had taken a
hit. A bad one, with his left wing nearly sheared off, engine trailing
debris and fuel. Adama tried to contact him, ordering the (to him)
unknown pilot to make for the Galactica. But it was to no avail.
Communications were still choked. Spewing burning fuel and beginning to
come apart, Ensign Harada turned his dying ship as best he could towards
the Gee-Tih, making directly for one of her landing bays. Firing his
remaining gun wildly, the heroic pilot flew right into the massive ship,
spitting out defiance at the enemy to the end. Adama watched as an orange
ball of fire erupted from the bay, followed a moment later by a secondary
blast that spewed fire out into space.
     "He's on fire, Adama!" said Tigh. "Whoever that was..."
     "Whoever that was just bought us some time. Maybe the lives of all
of us." He looked from the monitor, to Omega. "Course Delta six."
     "Executing course Delta six, Commander."


     The Gee-Tih was shaken by the explosion in the landing bay. Badly.
Xekash spewed vile curses at the laggard gun crews, then was nearly
knocked off his feet by a second explosion. He didn't need Ulpash's
report to know what had happened. One of the alien fighter pilots had
decided to make the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of ultimate victory.
Part of him had to honor that. 
     And part of him was bursting with fury. The impact had touched off
several explosions in the starboard bay, and the already overstretched
damage control crews were now stretched even further. He felt a rumble
through the deck, as more explosions tore through the bay, fire eating
its way greedily towards the fuel stores. Emergency bulkheads were
slamming into place, for now. But, should more explosions breach them,
and the fire reach there...
     "Emergency procedure in the bay, Ulpash," he ordered.
     "My Lord, there are over fifty of the crew trapped down there.
We..."
     "We have no choice, Ulpash," replied Xekash, surprisingly quietly. 
     "My Lord," obeyed the other. 


     Adama watched, as the Gee-Tih's savaged landing bay dropped it's
force shields, effectively snuffing out the fire Harada had started by
evacuating it to space. He had to shake his head at the cruelty as well;
scanners picked up numerous bodies sucked out into space with the air.
Obviously, the Ziklagoio held life, even the lives of their own military,
cheap. Even so, while the fire might be out for the moment, the landing
bay was useless to Xekash.
     "Continue on course, Omega," ordered Adama. The Battlestar did so,
the Gee-Tih falling off a bit as the other ships continued to harass her.
Over and over, Adama reviewed the next part of his plan. Timing was
critical here, and while he wouldn't mind the Gee-Tih blowing up at this
particular moment, that didn't seem likely. He tried once more to contact
the attacking vessels, but still failed to get through. Each of them was
pumping out whatever EM interference they could. Effective in keeping the
enemy from communicating, but a bit of a two-edged sword.
     The Gee-Tih took another hit from the passing Astrodon, and picked
up some speed, bringing her around to try and cut Adama off. While a huge
enemy warship directly in his path was hardly pleasing, Adama had to
smile. He truly felt right now as if the Lords were with him, at his
side, as he fought his ship. He looked around a moment, half-expecting to
see the spectral forms around them, lending their approval and support.
Then, he looked back down at the remaining scanners. 
     Yes. Almost.
     "Hummer?"
     "Yes, Commander?"
     "Ready?"
     "I am, sir. I'm not too sure about our transmitter array being as it
should. It's taken quite a beating."
     "But you can send the signal?"
     "Yes, sir."
     "Very well, Hummer. Stand by."


     "Lords, I hope I can," whispered Hummer, down in Wilker's lab.


     "We have overhauled them, My Lord," said Ulpash. "Moving to
interdict the Galactica."
     "The other ships?"
     "Falling back. We hit them all. The Zykonian must have re-cloaked.
She does not appear on our scopes, My Lord."
     "Excellent. Once we are in position, open fire on Adama with all
remaining batteries."
     "All batteries reporting ready, My Lord." They both watched, as the
Battlestar drew nearer, and the moments counted down. A ping sounded, and
Ulpash turned to his CO. "Now, My Lord."
     "Fire at will, Ulpash."
     "Yes, My Lord," replied Ulpash, smiling. He could smell the blood,
now that they were closing in for the kill. At his command, over a dozen
guns opened fire, targeting the Colonial warship. Many struck telling
hits, eliciting roars of approval and even cheers from Xekash's crew. He
let them make their noise. It was good to let one's troops loosen up,
once in a while, even in the heat of battle, and he had to admit, he had
been pretty hard on them, this mission. But now, with the end of Adama in
sight, one could relax the rules slightly. When victory was this close,
one could afford to indulge a bit.


     "Now, Hummer! Now!" ordered Adama.


     Xekash smiled. While Adama was not sitting idly by as he attacked,
the fire from the Battlestar was definitely weakening. The Gee-Tih was
certainly taking her share of hits, but it was obvious that...
     "What?" asked Xekash, seeing Ulpash's troubled look. "What is it?"
     "A signal, My Lord."
     "A signal? From the Galactica?"
     "Yes, My Lord, but not a message for us."
     "What then?"
     "I am not sure. It's fairly weak. Some kind of code, I think.
Running a comparison program on it. It seems..." Ulpash stopped, his eye
going wide in utter shock. "Worms of the Pit...!"
     "My Lord!" shouted someone else, and Xekash turned, just in time to
see...

*A class of warriors from ancient times, famed for their often suicidal
devotion to their overlords. A class similar the Theban Scared Band,
Eridese Temple Guard, or the Japanese Samurai.


CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

     "Hard over!" screamed Xekash. "Get us out of here! Screens emergency
full..."
     He didn't get to finish the sentence, before the first explosion
rocked the ship. The deactivated mines, forgotten in his furious pursuit
of the Galactica, suddenly came back on-line, and began looking for a
target. Thanks to Hummer and Wilker's reprogramming, the artificial
gravity signature of the Gee-Tih was just what they were looking for.
First one, then a second, then a third mine threw itself against the
enemy's hull, detonating spectacularly, before the ponderous warship
began to try and escape the trap Adama had set for it.


     "Commander, power levels are dropping," reported Tigh. "Engineering
is trying to compensate."
     "Then let's fight while we can, Colonel. Open fire!"
     Lances of fire speared across space, pinning the Gee-Tih again and
again. As yet another mine exploded against her, the Galactica scored
another hit. Something big and beautiful erupted from the enemy's savaged
landing bay, flinging huge chunks of hull plating into space. Adama kept
the assault up, ripping deeper into the bay, till he took a nasty shot in
return. The Galactica rocked, and began to bank away. 
     "Athena?"
     "At least half a dozen mine explosions detected, Father," she
reported. "Three on her starboard side, two amidships, one near her bow,
one on her stern." As she spoke, another flare bespoke a mine finding
it's target.
     "Very well. Let's finish this. Lock missile onto the enemy bridge,
Omega. Fire at will."
     "Locking missile, sir," replied the other. "Fir..." The controls
under Omega's fingers erupted in multi-colored sparks and smoke. Omega
yowled in pain, and fell from his chair, cradling his burned hands. Tigh
called for a med tech to the bridge, and almost before anyone could say
another word, Tigh slid into his seat. 
     "Targeting control burnout, Commander," he reported. "The system's
down. We can't fire the missile."
     "Manual override?"
     "Maybe, if the system isn't completely locked up, from down below."
     "Well..."
     Adama got no further, before the ship lurched yet again. He turned
to a monitor. In order to escape the pesky mines, Xekash was quartering
in even closer to the Galactica. He was nearly at point-blank range now,
and firing. Not waiting for orders, Adama's gunners responded in kind,
returning the Gee-Tih's fire blast for blast.


     "My God," said Sire Antipas, watching from Astral Lounge aboard the
Rising Star, now dead in space. Hit several times, the liner had gotten
in her share of fighting, before a blow from the Gee-Tih had forced her
to retire. Now adrift, she could only watch from the sidelines as her
fate was decided. The Libran Councilman was surrounded by Siress Lydia,
and several of his fellow Council Members. "It's like a boxing match,"
     "Like two old Men-O-War from the ancient sailing days," said Lydia,
shaking her head.  
     "They'll rip each other apart," opined Sire Feo. Even as he spoke,
deadly energy from both warships ripped into each other's weakening
defenses, peeling hull plates, popping seams, and sending molten garbage
flying into the space between them. "We're doomed."
     "Don't count Commander Adama out yet, Uncle," said Pelias, watching
as the two behemoths struggled. "He hasn't brought us this far only to
lose now to a bunch of slimy one-eyed toads."
     "I pray you are right, young Pelias" said Sire Montrose, fervently
doing just that under his breath. "Lords of Kobol, may you be right."
     "So like ancient tales of fire-breathing dragons," said Sire Chan,
Councilman from Piscera. "Graceful, even in throes of death."
     "How morbid," muttered Sire Domra. "How can you just sit there,
drinking tea?" 
     "Panic saps strength, Sire. If this is the centar of our death,
serenity of heart, composure of spirit, will give strength to face it.
Order your mind."
     Sire Domra muttered something unkind, but Chan was unmoved by his
acrimony. Siress Tinia scowled at Domra, but said nothing.
     "It'd be easier to order my mind if my shorts were dry," Pelias
muttered ruefully after a moment, with a glance at his uncle, unimpressed
by the bravado of the Pisceran Councilman. Easy for Chan to say. He
wasn't out there fighting the damn battle. And thank the Lords, neither
are you, dear boy.
     Yeah. Here, safe and sound. You lucky boy.
     He ignored the disapproving looks of the upper echelon. They really
had no idea. Still Chan was right. Emotional outbursts or panic helped no
one, save the enemy. "Think I'll have another drink instead." And I'll
raise my glass to those who actually fight the battle. 


     While the damage to the Galactica was mounting up, that being
suffered by the Gee-Tih was even worse. Inside, decks were ripped from
their mountings, bulkheads cracked, and critical systems blown apart by
the Galactica's lasers firing into her guts. Points of fire on her hull
spoke of telling hits, and one orange ball of flame bespoke a laser
battery being destroyed.
     As was one of the Galactica's. Explosions tore into the ship,
bringing down wreckage and flaming debris on crew unlucky enough, or
unable, to get out of the way. Screams, both Human and otherwise,
reverberated through the ship, and fire erupted seemingly everywhere. For
his part, Xekash was discovering that the Gee-Tih's bridge was not as
heavily armored as was the Galactica's. One shot set machinery burning,
another brought down torn cables and the gods knew what else. Alarms
sounded, but the firing continued.
     "My Lord!" screamed Gorox. "Our screens have failed!"
     "What?"
     "All remaining deflectors have just dropped completely! But it is
not battle damage, My Lord. A command was entered into the system, taking
them off-line!"
     "A comm...Get them back up! Now! Emergency power!" bellowed Xekash.
     "No response, My Lord!"
     "We are too close..." shouted Gorox.


     "All hands brace for impact!" shouted Adama, as the two ships drew
even closer. Whether through some error of navigation on his part, on
Xekash's, or just the confusion of battle, the two leviathans had drawn
close enough almost to reach out and touch.
     Too close. With a shriek and groan that sounded like the tormented
souls of Hades, the Galactica and the Gee-Tih collided, Adama's starboard
bay striking Xekash's port bay. There was a sick shuddering as the ships
tore deeply into each other, then stopped, the two locking up in an
embrace of twisted metal. 


     "We're joined fast to the Galactica!" bellowed Ulpash, over the
sounds of fire and screaming alarms. 
     "Reverse all engines!" ordered Xekash, trying to both see and
breathe through the smoke.
     "The torque will tear us apart, My Lord!"
     "Do it!"
     "Helm does not answer!" reported Ulpash, after a few moments. 
     "Keep trying!" ordered Xekash.
     "My Lord." After a few moments, it was obvious the Ziklagi warship
was going nowhere. Ulpash let loose a string of curses.
     "Then prepare to board!" screamed Xekash.  The Ziklagi general would
personally take Adama to the Pit, but only one of them would return.
"Assault teams to the transport chambers!"
     "My Lord!"


     Cassie got the call from the bridge, right before the whole ship
lurched like a hovermobile crashing into a wall. What the frack are they
doing up there? she asked herself, but did not bother to voice it aloud.
A few moments after the collision, the lights went out, plunging the
whole of Life Station into near-darkness. Salik's voice cut through the
gloom and cries of panic, his strong tones making Cassie feel a
reassurance she didn't expect to. 
     "Break out the battle lanterns," said Salik, and Cassie moved to a
cabinet, guided by fingers and memory, thankful for a non-bloody task to
occupy her. She opened it, and grabbed a small illuminator. Lighting it,
she placed it onto the nearest metal surface, its magnetic backplate
holding it in place. She grabbed more, passing them along until the room
was tolerably well-lit. 
     Then the speaker sounded. They had been boarded.
     For a moment all she could think about was how in Hades she was
going to get out of there.  Rational thought was nearly gone, and the
compulsion to find a dark, nondescript place to hide in overruled all
else.  Until . . .
     "Help me!" groaned a weak voice somewhere, a voice thick with pain
and fear. Cassie looked over, her mind split between the wounded woman's
need, her duty, her sudden urge to vomit, and her own sickening fear for
Starbuck that refused to be wrestled down. She nearly jumped when she
felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned.
     "Oh, Tone," she said, relaxing a bit. "I..." A simple touch.  It
reminded her of her responsibility to her station . . . herself.
     "I'll go to the bridge, Cassie," he said. "You stay here and take
care of our patients. I already cleared it with Doctor Salik. It'll be
fine."
     "I..." She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly.  She could
do this.  Really, she could . . .
     "I'll see if they have heard anything about the Nebula." His
normally inscrutable face smiled slightly. "Provided I can make it."
     "Thanks, Tone." She didn't want to tell him that Starbuck had
been...  Pull it together, Cass.
     "My pleasure."


    The Galactica bridge was likewise illuminated by battle lanterns, as
all but a few of her normal fixtures were dead or flickering dimly. Adama
had picked himself up, and was busy trying to extricate Colonel Tigh from
some debris. His old wingman was bloodied about the face, a long cut
along his hairline, but otherwise he seemed alright as he emerged.
     "Break out arms!" Adama shouted. Not delaying, he moved as fast as
he could to the weapon's locker, and began passing out sidearms and
rifles to everyone still able to hold one. Tigh. Rigel. Wu. Athena. He
was just reaching for another weapon when a burst of light washed over
him. He turned to his left, and saw a thin, almost ghostly figure, began
to coalesce out of the smoke and gloom. For a tiny moment, he felt an
almost atavistic certainty that he was seeing that incredible rarity, a
Visitation. Lords of Kobol, could it be...
     But no, it was no such thing. In fact, it couldn't be further from
the truth. Almost before the thought was fully formed, he realized that
what he was seeing was technological, not ethereal. The Ziklagi
matter-energy transportation system in action. As he had expected,
someone from the enemy ship was coming aboard the Galactica by means of
it. He raised his weapon, feeling Tigh at his side, as the sickly yellow
light, accompanied by a buzzing sound, grew stronger, then began to fade,
leaving a form, heavily shrouded in some kind of grayish cloak, with a
hood pulled over the head, standing where no one had been before. Almost
as soon as he drew breath to speak, the other did so first.
     "Hold! I come in peace, Commander Adama!" The figure raised it's
arms, casting back the hood, to reveal a Ziklagi face. Adama felt his
stomach churn at the sight; the Ziklagi physiognomy was truly hideous,
and made one want to turn away. He felt his gorge rise as he looked at
the intruder. The words reached him in Colonial Standard, apparently due
to the device, a small silvery oblong about the creature's neck, a light
flashing from it's surface, and he was surprised to hear what sounded
like feminine tones. A female of this race? From all they had learned,
females did not serve aboard ships of any sort. They had virtually no
place at all. It spoke again, the creature's actual voice sounded more
like nails being scraped across a chalkboard. 
     "Who are you?" he asked, even as the Galactica shuddered under him. 
     "My name, Commander Adama, is Nizaka," replied the other, fixing him
with it's single eye. It was hard to return the gaze, a gaze which
despite its utter alieness, was nonetheless penetrating and intelligent.
"I bring you the key to victory over General Xekash. All I ask for in
return is asylum, Commander."
     Intruder Alert! Intruder Alert!  sounded a voice over the speakers.
That could mean only one thing; the ship had been boarded by enemy
forces. Intruder Al...
     "Please, Commander!" said the mysterious Nizaka. "Time grows short."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

     Sargamesh had been thrown to the deck by the impact with the
Gee-Tih. Thouroughly trained as he was in such eventualities, he rolled
at once upon hitting the hard surface, and thus survived being impaled by
a piece of debris that rained down on him. The crewman with him was not,
however, so fortunate. Struck by a hot cable, he was also crushed by
wreckage. Not given by temperament or culture to dwell upon the gory
horror in front of him, he quickly moved towards safety. Or as much
safety as the Alpha Bay now afforded him. He moved around the wreckage,
and ran smack into Master Chief Varica, himself sporting a cut face and
broken and bloodied left hand.
     "You alright?" asked Varica. 
     "Azgul has spared me yet again," said the other, tearing a strip
from his left sleeve, and binding up Varica's injury as best he could.
Battle hardened soldier he might be, but Sargamesh still couldn't get
used to blood that was ...red! How gross!
     They both turned as bubbles of light began to form not twenty
metrons away. While Varica had no idea as to what this meant, Sargamesh
did. He recognized the six blobs for what they were, and said so. Before
they had fully solidified into recognizeable forms, he was already
drawing his sidearm. 
     The enemy soldiers were, of course, disgustingly ugly, by standards
Human or Zohrloch. They were also heavily armed, with a large
pulse-blaster rifle, what appeared to be formidable body armor, and some
sort of helmet/visor in front of their faces, with a variety of sensors
on it. Each also wore, like the Cylon Centurions, a sword at their side.
Sargamesh hunkered down behind an overturned tool dolly, pushing Varica
down with him. He took aim...
     His first shot caught the closest one right in the visor, made
easier by the fact that the intruders had materialized at an angle to
him. It's visor blew apart, and the Ziklagi soldier went down with a
shriek. At least Varica thought it was a shriek. Hard to tell with these
pukes. Sargamesh fired once more, catching another one smack in the
middle of the assault weapon it carried. The rifle exploded, hurling the
Ziklagi, and parts of it's hands, away, and spraying blood in all
directions. He managed a third shot, before the alien warriors realized
they were being fired upon, this one striking his target at the join of
the visor and the thoracic armor. The Ziklagi's throat blew open, the
head nearly coming off, and it fell in a gory heap. The rest ducked,
realizing at last they were under attack. Sargamesh ducked behind their
cover.
     "Not bad," he said, indicating the Colonial pistol. "Not bad at
all."
     "Glad you like..." began Varica, when one of the surviving soldiers
opened fire on their little redoubt. Metal bits exploded, and smoke went
everywhere.
     "Scordge's Ass!" swore the Zohrloch. 
     "Guess their stuff's good too," said Varica. Another shot slammed
their cover, and Sargamesh replied. 
     "We must inform Commander Adama that we have been boarded," said the
Zohrloch. 
     "You wanna ask those barf bags to let us use a telecom?" said
Varica, wincing in pain. As he spoke, a rapid barrage of fire cut loose
from the other side, tearing away at their cover. "Maybe they'll loan us
one of theirs if we ask 'em real nice."
     "I somehow doubt they would be agreeable, Master Chief," smiled
Sargamesh. Even as he snapped around to fire once more, there was a bang,
and something sailed over their heads. Sargamesh recognized it at once.
     Grenade!


     Reese cursed, deciding that this just was not his day. He and his
security unit had barely survived the collision, their area of the ship
fairly close to the outer hull, when a water line ruptured. Fortunately,
it was clean water, but that didn't alter the fact that having high
pressure water spraying on him, in space, did nothing to improve his
temper.
     Cold water, too.
     Then they showed up.
     He and his detail saw the enemy troops taking shape, and remembering
their briefing from Commander Adama, did as they were trained to do. With
uncharacteristic speed and precision, Reese and his men formed up, and
opened fire, even before the alien soldiers were fully solid. Lasers flew
off armor, alien voices cried out, alien weapons answered. Soon, the
entire corridor was a sea of smoke, light, and carnage.


     "N'eshnakh!" cried Sargamesh, and grabbed up a cover plate from the
tool caddy. Barely in time, as the grenade exploded, showering them with
myriad small needle-like shrapnel. Varica cried out as a few hit his leg,
and Sargamesh one in his left hand.
     Being a Zohrloch, he did not cry out.
     "What the Hades was that?" asked Varica through clenched teeth. 
     "Fragmentation grenade," said the other. "Fired over an enemy's
head. It detects bio readings, then explodes in the air."
     "O joy," said the other. Sargamesh briefly returned fire, a grunt of
pain telling him he'd made contact. He looked around for something to
throw back at the enemy. Nothing, and he knew more eggs would be coming
his way soon. What...
     If you are outnumbered, outgunned, outmaneuvered, and all is
hopeless, what do you have? his old D.I. had asked.
     Guile.
     He looked through the rubble of the tool caddy, at last finding
something that would do. He hefted a small can of lubricant/cleaner, and
hurled it over towards the others. Sure enough they ducked, and he rose
up, firing. He caught one directly in the chest armor, and kept firing
till he was forced to duck once more.
     "Good one," said Varica. "Did you kill him?"
     "Hard to say. They will not fall for that one again, I am afraid,"
he said, as Varica grabbed another, larger, lube container.
     "They will if it's burning," said the old Warrior. He took the top
off the container, and told Sargamesh his idea.


     Assault Leader Oghritt saw the second object fly out from behind the
enemy's cover, and smiled. Surely the scum were not so foolish as to
believe he and his troops would fall for that one again? Oh, but he could
see a commendation coming, here. A commendation, and a promotion. Easy as
a slave after dinner! He smiled, raising his weapon...
     Just in time to see the flame spurting from one end of the object.
"Down!" he screamed, backstepping, and was singularly unlucky enough to
trip over a piece of debris, and fall flat on his back. He opened his eye
in time to have the impromptu weapon land directly on him. The plastic
container hit him in his gun hand, bursting into flame. He screamed again
as the oily, highly flammable contents went all over hand and arm, eating
into him. His rifle discharged as he tried to regain his feet, and then a
laser blast tore through his helmet visor, another exposed joint,
silencing his screams forever.


     "Boys!" Her desperate scream echoed down the corridor.  How could
she have been so stupid . . . so utterly negligent . . .? Two small boys
who had assured her they would stay put. Assured her they knew the danger
of merely peaking out into the corridor.  She had left the room only to
go settle her waking baby. Then the collision occurred, and when she had
returned with the little one bundled in her arms, seeking the comfort and
scent of her mother, they were gone.
       Panic had made her desperate.  Only desperation would have her
traversing the smoke filled corridors of a Battlestar under attack, with
a four-sectar-old infant in her arms, searching for her six-yahren-old
son and his friend. She had screamed their names repeatedly, but to no
avail.  The little buggers probably thought it was all some great
adventure. Or perhaps the jammed bulkhead and the water pouring in had
scared them enough to flee. Lords, either way she would skin them alive
when she found them. The Captain would no doubt support her initiative
when he heard of his son's exploits.
       Where could they have gone? Lords, where would she go if she was
six-yahrens-old and had wanted to see some of the battle? Tears ran
unchecked down her face and she sniffed inelegantly, wiping her nose on
her daughter's blanket. The truth was she was so terrified, she couldn't
think straight, and had no idea. On she ran, in a blind, frenzied rush to
find the boys, scarcely noticing it when she found herself ankle-deep in
water running down the corridor.


     "How can we trust you?" said Tigh, finger on the trigger of his
weapon. The ship rumbled under him as he spoke.
     "I come unarmed, As you can see," said Nizaka, opening the cloak she
wore. She let it drop. Underneath, she wore only a cloth tunic. As she
had said, there were no weapons. "Please, gentlemen, we must act soon,
before your ship is over..." The newcomer was interrupted by a savaged
piece of equipment exploding into sparks. 
     "What is this key you speak of?" demanded Athena, close to her
father. She had not forgotten the violent encounter with these beings on
Boron-Din, nor Adama's brush with death there. "Be quick!"
     "Just this," responded the other, and held out a small data pad. Not
unlike those used aboard Colonial ships, it was incised with the Ziklagi
script, and at first communicated nothing to any of them.
     "What is that?" asked Adama.
     "Xekash's command codes for the Gee-Tih," replied the Ziklagi. "With
this, you can take over his ship." She stepped a bit closer to Adama.
"Look, Commander..."
     "NO! Look here!" said a voice. They all turned, and saw Xekash, with
several soldiers around him. "And look your last!"


     As a kid, Reese had been the champion swimmer at his school, one of
the few things he had actually excelled at. That old skill stood him in
good stead now, as he came face to face with certain death. In the first
instant after they solidified, the intruders seemed disoriented to find
themselves in water. The Colonials used the moment's distraction to get
in the first shots, striking armor. For their opening volley, the Ziklagi
troopers had aimed low, at their legs and feet, rather than their upper
bodies. While he did not know this, Reese owed this to the Ziklagi custom
of taking as many prisoners alive as possible, for interrogation, sale
into slavery, and, of course, experiments. Thus, their first few shots
had hit the water which was knee-deep now, dissipating much of the
energy. 
     Reese and his men had no such qualms. While their handguns were not
as powerful as the Ziklagi pulse blast rifles (all the available assault
rifles aboard were in the hands of the ship's usual security detail as
well as Croft's men), they were still nothing to be messed with. Reese
fired again, striking one enemy target in the hip. At least he assumed
that was what it was. Who could tell with these alien freaks? The alien
stumbled, and he fired again, and with a shriek, the other went under the
water. Altogether, his group took down three of the intruders before they
realized their mistake. Soon, the shots were higher up.
     And lethal.
     Someone screamed, and Reese caught a sideways glimpse of Baker going
down, into the water. He ducked behind a support stanchion, and fired
into the enemy again. Sparks flew from armor, but did not appear to have
penetrated. He fired again...
     Just in time to see a small form wade into view from the left.
Through the smoke, he could make out a small boy, looking as bedraggled
as he felt. Hades Hole, what the frack is a kid doing down here? As if I
didn't have enough...
     One of the enemy troopers saw the boy as well, and turned his weapon
in that direction. Swearing under his breath, Reece fired at the alien as
it prepared to shoot, striking its armor a glancing blow. The child fell
into the water, crying in fright. He fired again, this time hitting the
beast directly in the gut. It grunted loudly, and slipped, falling into
the water as well. Reese barely had time to hope the creature would drown
and save him further trouble, when a shot from another Ziklagi soldier
cut close, burning the flesh under his left arm. He yelled in pain and
slipped, going under. 
     But, since it was clean water, he could still see fairly well.
Despite the fact that his wound hurt like Hades, after a moment old
skills rose to the surface, and he began to shoot through the water like
a porpon despite the pain. Drawing his survival knife, he looked for a
target. The boneless flesh of these pukey toads would be like butter
under the blade of his knife. He looked around...
     And saw not one boy, but two, struggling madly with one of the
aliens, probably the one he had shot. Reese darted forward, knife at the
ready, reaching the others after what seemed like a thousand strokes. It
had both boys in its grasp, apparently attempting to subdue them. Reece
didn't even want to think about what the creatures would do with the
abducted children.  Both boys were kicking for all they were worth, but
were no match for the frightening strength of the Ziklagi soldier. Reese
drew back, and shot forward, plunging his knife into the alien's nearest
leg.
     It howled, screeching like a tormented soul, and released the boys,
water spraying everywhere as it did so. Giving it no time to get its
bearings, Reese attacked again, thrusting the knife upwards between the
armor pads and the leg beneath. The alien flailed and shook, blood
spreading through the water, as Reese lost hold of his knife. 


     Adama and his crew stood frozen for a moment, as Xekash's voice
boomed across the Galactica bridge. He had not expected to meet his alien
counterpart face to face, but nonetheless, here he was. He was armored,
armed heavily, and was identifiable thanks to the elaborate rank markings
on both his armor and belt sash. Evidence of his pride and vanity?  
     "Your ship is mine, Adama!" boasted Xekash. "I'm going to drag the
wreckage back to Ziklagi, where it's shattered hull will inspire
generations of our soldiers!" 
     "Like Hades Hole!" said Athena, and fired at him. Her beam struck
Xekash's armor dead on, and he staggered backwards a moment. The
Colonials at once sought cover, and soon the air was filled with the
deadly exchange of fire. 


     Sargamesh looked out from around the tool dolly, to see one of the
alien soldiers still burning. The rest lay on the deck or over each
other's corpses. Gun still ready, he moved out...
     And saw his old shipmate, Korl, standing behind the gory heap,
weapon in hand.
     "Fools," he spat, as he stepped over the bodies. "They forgot to
check their rear flank."
     "Like I'm complaining?" answered Sargamesh. Like his
fellow-countryman, he spoke Eridese, leaving Varica in the dark. "And
what took you so long, anyway? My aged, ailing mother could have moved
faster..."
     "I thought your mother was dead."
     "My point exactly!'
     "Azgul's teeth! You try getting yourself stuck behind a fallen
cabinet next time, eh? Damn lucky it didn't kill me."
     "Colonial cabinets; the most vicious of adversaries. I guess the
gods are busy," shrugged Sargamesh with a grin. "Here." He led him to
Varica, who was struggling to his feet. Together, they stripped the dead
Ziklagi soldiers of their equipment. 
     "Now?" asked Varica, looking over one of the enemy assault rifles.
     "I must go to the bridge," said Sargamesh. "Commander Adama needs to
know that we are being boarded, and internal communications is not
working."
     "He must surely know by now," said Korl.
     "We cannot be certain of that." He looked at Varica. "Are you able
to fight?" Not 'are you alright'.
     "If I have to," nodded Varica. "I'll go down fightin', if it comes
to that."
     "Ha! That is good! Spoken like a true son of Zohr." He handed Varica
a pistol, and some grenades taken from one of the dead aliens. "We shall
split up, all three of us," he announced. "Try and reach the bridge.
Perhaps Azgul will spare one of us, to fulfill this mission."
     "Aren't you forgetting something?" said Varica. "I am the senior
officer, here."
     "Well?"
     "And we go with your plan, Cadet."
     "Good idea."
     "Just so you know who's in charge here."
     "Indeed," said Korl.
     "Alright. Now let us go!" said Sargamesh.


     It was not long before Reese felt alien hands upon his throat, as
his target turned from the boys to him. It briefly shot through his mind
that when he had ended up in space after the Holocaust, he had never
expected to drown there. As if being a Lifeguard was sufficient
qualification for going into Security. What had he been thinking...?
     He struggled as hard as he could, but the other was just too strong.
Like strangling snakes, its three arms took hold of him, wrenching and
squeezing like some primordial monster of childhood dreams. He opened his
mouth, and bit down on one of its hands as hard as he could, and for a
moment, the creature recoiled. Reese got a hand around its neck, and the
battle was on again. Then, suddenly, he heard the creature scream, and
with unbelievable power, it shoved him further under, and then pivoted
away. 
     He popped out of the water to see one of the boys, drenched and
bedraggled, clinging to the creature's back.  The knife Reese had dropped
was half buried in the alien's back. The boy had found a seam or gap in
the armor, and, with the typical strength befitting a child, had tried to
slip the blade home. With a roar, the Ziklagi soldier easily threw the
boy off, and turned to mete out his punishment. The boy yelled in horror
as it reached for him, but was pulled quickly away by his friend, a
hair's breadth from a deadly grasp.  They plunged away together,
desperate to escape the horror behind them.
     The creature roared in anger, and then reached out, grabbing the
knife and yanked it out, yelping in pain.  For the moment it had
forgotten about the security man. Reese grabbed the sword at it's belt,
pulling it out, and then stabbed, ripping right through one of its hands.
Sickly alien blood poured out, and the other thrashed in pain. It reached
for Reese with the other two arms, and caught him, drawing him close in a
crushing embrace. Then, it pressed him under the surface, cutting him off
from breath.
     But Reese knew something about working underwater that these
creatures, apparently, did not. This time he was able to wriggle out of
its wet grip, twist and go down, escaping it entirely. Then, with what
strength he could muster, he thrust upwards, the point of the blade
scraping along the armor until it found the creature's throat. 
     The Ziklagi gurgled and screamed, more blood flowing, as Reece
yanked and twisted the sword as best he could. He ripped it out, then
maneuvering behind his foe, he drew it across the alien's throat, ripping
deep. With a convulsing shudder and final gurgle, the other fell into the
water, and was still. 
     As he saw the alien fall away, Reese felt the adrenalin rush begin
to subside. He looked back to the fight, not realizing that the four of
them had drifted down the corridor to the left. He looked back, searching
for both boys, when a laser bolt struck the bulkhead next to him. He saw
red, then nothing.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

     Adama fired around the edge of a console, and was rewarded with a
grunt of pain from an opponent. At least he'd scored a hit. Thank the
Lords his visual acuity and hand-eye coordination had not weakened with
age. Then, a rifle-launched grenade exploded somewhere close, and he
heard Tigh cry out. He turned to his old wingman...
     And heard Xekash order a cease-fire. 
     Cease fire?
     Yes. The alien General ordered six of those who had come with him to
detach. To move throughout the ship, killing and maiming as they went.
What psychology prompted this Adama did not know, but anything that took
some pressure off him here was hardly unwelcome. Seeing and hearing the
same thing, Rigel raised a weapon, and fired at one of the departing
enemy troops. As always smack on, she struck the alien in the back of the
right leg, behind the knee joint. A place which had no armor. With a
scream the other toppled to the deck, its leg sheared almost away by her
shot as the joint burst asunder. At great risk, she fired again, hitting
another soldier. Then, she disappeared from view as myriad shots
descended upon her position. 
     "Go!" ordered Xekash.


     Med Tech Tone knew that, when all this was over, he was going to be
in deep mong with Doctor Salik. The ship's CMO had not told him to go to
the bridge. He'd lied to Cassie, getting her to stay in Life Center,
while he answered the call. His reasoning had been simple. Having been
reared in an old-fashioned, indeed in may ways pre-Unification culture on
his small island of fisher-folk, he had a somewhat unmodern view of the
proper role of women. It wasn't that he didn't think Cassie capable of
treating the injured. Hades Hole, he'd seen her work near-miracles on
wounded Warriors before, especially after the suicide runs on the ship
that had almost killed Adama. It was just that he had heard the intruder
alert, and felt an old-fashioned, almost atavistic revulsion at the idea
of a woman going into what was probably a near-suicidal situation, while
he remained behind. Unlike much of Colonial society, his people had
largely kept to the ancient ways in that regard. He'd been able to keep
it under wraps, his normally inscrutable face a mask to what lay within.
But now it was kicking him in the gut, and he had in an eyeblink decided
to act upon it.  
     Of course, if he did run into enemy soldiers, Doctor Salik would be
the least of his worries.
     "Halt!"
     Like now.


     Sargamesh had, so far, seen no sign of any more Ziklagi soldiers.
This was good, as he wanted nothing to delay him on his trip to the
bridge. It was also bad, since having killed some already, he had felt
his blood begin to rise, and was looking forward to mixing it up with
some more of the ugly turds. 
     He got his wish sooner than he expected. Using ladderwells and
crawlspaces to speed his journey, he dropped out onto a deck which, if
memory served, was three decks below the entrance to the bridge. No
sooner had his boots touched the deck, when he heard the sound of
approaching troops. The clop-clop didn't sound like standard Colonial
issue boots, so it must be the enemy.
     He was right. Around the corner came two enemy soldiers, heavily
armed. Ducking behind a support stanchion, he waited. As he suspected,
they were coming his way. He checked the settings on the rifle he had
taken from one of the slain soldiers below, and waited. He timed the wait
by the beating of his heart, listening as they drew closer to his hiding
place. He tightened his finger on the cumbersome trigger...


     Athena looked at her father, and the two nodded. They broke cover
and fired together, slathering Xekash's position with an unrelenting
volley of fire. The enemy commander had only four troopers remaining with
him, including the one Rigel had felled. As she made it to another
temporary redoubt, Athena saw the wounded alien, savaged leg still oozing
blood, crawling and trying to make it to a more defensible position. For
precious microns she watched him, getting to a sitting position, and
trying to fit something to the end of his weapon. While the configuration
might be different, she knew an RPG when she saw one. Her current
position gave her a very limited field of fire. She couldn't be sure
she'd come close enough to hit him. Damn! What...
     Getting down on her belly, she crawled like a snake around fallen
wreckage, and fallen comrades, trying to get closer. Slithering around
her usual station, she dared to peek out, exposing her head to possible
fire. But, for the moment, no one saw her. She smiled, and raised her
pistol. She said a silent prayer, thought of Boomer, and squeezed.
     Her shot missed the alien, but was close enough to shower him with
detritus. Angry, she threw caution to the winds, and leapt out, charging
his position. The alien looked up at her, and raised his weapon. In a
blur, Athena kicked it from his hands, and pointed her pistol in his
face. For a micron, they locked gazes. Human eyes boring into a Ziklagi
one. Then she fired. 
     The alien's head blew asunder, in a loud burst of wet gore. Almost
at once, fire ripped close to her, and she dove, using the
still-twitching Ziklagi for cover. She reached for his dropped weapon,
and drug it close to her. She had scant moments to look it over.
     "How tough can it be?" she muttered. Aiming it as best she could,
she squeezed the trigger.


     Tone was lucky in that he caught the enemy by surprise. He fired
first, striking one of them in the head. It's visor burst into sparks,
but almost before it went down, the other one had responded and was in a
defensive position. It returned his fire, and he felt the heat as he
ducked behind a support. Having no military training beyond the laser
range practice Commander Adama had ordered for all crew members, he
wasn't sure of what to do next, so he just kept firing. For the moment
this seemed to do the trick, as it kept his opponent back. But it wasn't
getting him any closer to the bridge. Though a gap in the smoke, he saw
the enemy soldier he had already hit move. He held his fire for a moment,
then an idea struck him. He waited, and sure enough, the injured one's
partner tried to drag his wounded comrade back. 
     Tone reached around and fired again. The enemy leapt back, letting
go of the wounded Ziklagi. Tone fired again, and the injured trooper
burst asunder in a ball of light and smoke. Purely by chance, Tone had
hit one of the enemy's grenades. After few moments, there were no more
shots, and Tone risked trying for the next hatchway.


     Sargamesh watched in pure rapture as the first beam from his rifle
slammed into the nearest Ziklagi soldier. While it did not penetrate the
trooper's armor fully, it was enough to knock the other back on his
heels, onto the deck. He followed it up with another shot, which blew one
of the other's feet off. Screams filled the corridor, and the air reeked
of burned flesh. He kept on firing, then something zinged past, and
Sargamesh was thrown to the deck by a powerful concussion. As he shook
his head, trying to clear his vision, he saw the surviving Ziklagi
soldier, weapon trained on him, drawing close.
     Then it's chest blew out, spraying him with gore. He looked up, and
saw...
     "Thought you might need me," said Varica, bracing his own weapon on
his left arm.
     "Your arrival is not unwelcome," said the Zohrloch, rising up. He
was splattered with blood, and looked like a ghoul from one of the
Walking Undead from Hades Hole holovids, but didn't seem to care. "We
split up, did we not?"
     "I told you, buster. I'm the senior officer here!"
     "As you said. Come, let us get to the bridge."


     Adama heard a deafening roar followed by a horrific scream as the
grenade exploded, somewhere off to his left. Shards of Lords knew what
flew about, including pieces of the target. 
     "Give up, Adama!" shouted Xekash from somewhere. "You are beaten!"
     "Never!" Adama shouted back. He squeezed off a shot in the general
direction of Xekash's voice. Even as he did so, he could hear the screams
of whomever Athena had hit with the grenade. Apparently they had not
succumbed at once. Somehow, even amidst all this, he felt a small pang of
compassion for the nameless alien soldier. The fellow probably hadn't
wanted to go off and die in some nameless solar system, all in the name
of "duty". The screaming continued, until there was a blast of gunfire.
From one of the other Ziklagi troopers. The screams stopped. 
     Foul scum! Murdering their own troops? Or maybe that's their idea of
compassion?
     "Adama! Be sensible. You have lost. Admit it! Your ship is wrecked
and you have no chance!"
     "Yours didn't look so good last I saw," retorted Adama. He checked
his laser. Damn! Power almost depleted, and he'd lost the reserve power
pack somewhere! The deck beneath him shifted a moment, and from somewhere
he could swear he heard something moving. What? On a monitor, he could
see the Gee-Tih, still "attached". "Yours is dying as well." 
     "Then we die together!" snarled Xekash, and opened fire. The alien
warlord moved towards Adama, the trooper on his right following. Adama
was about to fire when he felt a tug at his sleeve. It was Nizaka,
forgotten in all this havoc. She held out to him the pad she had brought,
but he couldn't take his gaze off her alien form, held there by an almost
morbid curiousity. Then, suddenly, she changed, morphing and shifting,
till she appeared a non-descript Human female. 
     "Is this better?" she asked, with a wry smile.
     "I..."
     "Here," she said, and pointing across the bridge, shifted once more.
     "Lords...!"
     "Hold your fire, Xekash," said the other, rising up. Adama found
himself stunned, to be looking at an apparent double of himself. The
pseudo-Adama held up their arms, as if in submission.
     "You surrender?" asked Xekash, hand raised to signal a halt to his
remaining troops. 
     "Let us talk."
     "We have spoken enough, Adama! Do you surrender your ship to me, or
not?"
     "What guarantee do you offer, for the lives of my people?"
     "Surrender, and I won't kill them. Resist me, and I will. Is that
plain enough?"
     "Very," said Adama, and Xekash turned. For a moment, he was stunned
into silence. Two of Adama? But how? Surely...
     Then in a flash it hit him. She was responsible. All this time, even
back in spacedock, he had been played for a fool! And by his own slave! A
member of the Insurgency. A growl of rage rose in his throat, and he
raised his weapon, in fury, hungering for the kill. Only the death of his
enemy would assuage his humiliation. If only it could be prolonged, his
victim terrified and in agony, but alas . . .
     "Hold, Xekash!" said the pseudo-Adama, holding up the device. Xekash
at once recognized it as Ziklagi technology. A remote data transmitter.
What...
     Oh gods!
     "I have given them everything, Xekash," said Nizaka, still in Human
form. "Your command codes for the ship. All of them."
     "I..." choked Xekash, barely able to speak... "Am GENERAL
XEKASH!!!!!! You will address me as such, SLAVE!"
     "Alright, Xekash," replied Nizaka, smiling. "Anyway, I have it all
here, Xekash. Do as Commander Adama says, or your ship will be
destroyed." She knew her recognition and respect of the enemy's rank, and
omission of Xekash's, would demean him even further. She had had plenty
of opportunity to dissect the soldier's character. Sharing the same
cultural origins didn't hurt, either.
     "I TOLD YOU TO ADDRESS ME AS..." Xekash screamed, shaking and
stamping his foot like a furious petulant child.
     "Suit yourself, Xekash," said Nizaka, and pressed a button on the
pad. For a moment, it seemed nothing had happened. Then, there was a
distant rumble, and a vibration under their feet. Xekash, still frozen in
shock and rage, did not at first hear his underling. The other had to
repeat himself.
     "My Lord! The ship!" He handed Xekash a data pad. Xekash's scowl got
scowlier, and he looked up.
     "The scuttling charges, Xekash!" said Nizaka, once more out of view.
"That was just one, Xekash. Shall I trigger the rest?"
     "You....slave...chattel..." gurgled Xekash, barely able to speak. He
was flushed with rage, and squeezed his eye shut, shaking with fury,
humiliation, and disbelief.
     How by all the gods could this be happening? What had he ever done
to them? 
     "That must mean yes," said Nizaka, and there was the distant shaking
of another blast. 
     "Sounds like you have a problem," said Adama, under cover once more.
"Surrender, Xekash. Surrender, and I..."
     "Nooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!" screamed Xekash, voice apoplectic with
rage. He fired in Adama's general direction, seemingly unconcerned about
his own exposure. One of the soldiers next to him stepped back, onto one
of the ventilation grills set into the deck. He heard a sound, and looked
down. Before his eye had a chance to do much more than squint in
puzzlement, lethal pencils of light ripped upwards, spearing him. He
screamed in pain as shot after shot tore his legs apart. He toppled to
the deck, dead.
     "Eat mong and die!" screamed another voice, and the grill flew
upwards, and a figure burst forth. Before Adama could figure out who,
they opened fire, spraying the Ziklagi soldiers with laser blasts. One,
who had been not an arm's length away, was riddled with shots almost
point blank, an arm blown away. Another was caught just as he turned, his
crotch and chest savaged by shot after shot. He went down in a smoking
screaming heap.
     Who the frack... Athena mouthed, looking at her father. He shook his
head. There was another scream like a banshon from Hades, and more shots.
That voice...
     "My God," said Athena. It was Rigel! She had survived the earlier
attack, and had escaped into the bridge's substructure! A gun in each
hand, she was hosing fire around; blasting away like the hero in some
ancient frontier holovid. Two of the alien soldiers were down, and Xekash
and one remaining trooper were falling back behind a console. Then, the
fire stopped, and it grew quiet.
     "Want to talk now?" asked Adama.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

     "Never!" said Xekash, from across the bridge. Firing had stopped for
a moment, and the bridge was filled with acrid smoke and the popping of
circuits. Adama looked at his gun again. Almost empty; maybe one or two
shots left. Not enough. How to...
     Could he? After all this time, and his age, would it still be strong
enough? He looked around, and saw Athena. He signed to her in
battle-language what he was about to do, and her orders. She looked
aghast, but he insisted. Slowly, he rose up, and called to his enemy. He
concentrated. Focused. Drew up the power...
     "Xekash?" he called, hands open and empty. "Let us speak. Just you
and I. One commander to another. Warrior to warrior?" He waited. Either
this was a truly brilliant plan, or he was being abominably stupid. Such
was the history of battles long fought, and hard won.
     "Hold there, Adama!" said Xekash. "Tell all your people to disarm."
He waited a beat. "Now! And bring the slave to me!" Xekash stood up,
rifle still in his grip. As Adama hoped, he was injured, and his grip on
it was not a tight one. 
     Lords of Kobol, give me strength...
     "You heard him," said Adama, loudly. He reached out his hand towards
Xekash. "Now."
     "You will..." began Xekash, when he felt a tug on his weapon. Then,
it flew from his grip, and crossed the space to where Adama stood in an
eyeblink. He grabbed it, turning it to bear on Xekash. The Ziklagi stood,
dumbfounded for a moment, at this sudden turn of events. "Sorcerer!" he
hissed, and reached to draw one of his sidearms.
     It never cleared his holster. A shot from somewhere struck it,
shearing it in half. Xekash recoiled, and made for cover again.
     "Commander!" said a voice. Adama turned, and saw Med Tech Tone,
entering the bridge, his medical kit still with him. The fellow was
filthy and bloodstained, but otherwise seemed alright. At that very
instant, Varica and Sargamesh entered from another hatchway. Almost at
once, Xekash and his remaining soldier resumed firing. Everyone dived for
cover, but not fast enough. Sargamesh opened fire with his captured
weapon, blowing away much of the cover Xekash had been using. The enemy
commander screeched in pain, and fell back. 
     Then Sargamesh and Varica followed suit, as a figure entered, behind
Tone. One of the alien soldiers he had fought had not been dead, and had
followed him back to the bridge. Gunless but full of fight, the trooper
attacked him, the two going down in a heap of hand to hand. The alien was
strong, and had the advantage of an extra arm with which to grip an
opponent. But Tone was well-versed in a number of ancestral forms of
personal combat, and before long had one of the other's arms bent back
and away. He twisted brutally. It screamed, and then Tone rose up, it's
appropriated sword in his hands, and with a scream of his own, swung
down. With a shriek, the enemy's head was sliced open, and after a last
shudder, it toppled and fell silent.
     "Stop!" shouted a voice. It was Xekash's. He stood up, arms raised.
"Adama. I would speak with you."
     "Speak," said Adama.
     "Let us end this. Fight me. You and I. One warrior to another. So
let us decide this matter."
     "You must be joking," said Athena. "Father, don't..." She never got
any further. A line, or cord of some kind, shot out from some sort of
launcher, mounted on the arm of one of the enemy soldiers. It struck
Athena, quickly wrapping itself around her throat. She gasped, and the
cord was pulled taught. 
     "That line is conductive," said Xekash. "If you decline to fight me,
Adama, it will receive a massive discharge of electrical energy. Your
hatchling will not live to hit the deck." Adama looked at his daughter.
While Athena was no coward, the look of terror on her face stabbed him to
the heart. "Well? Reason enough to fight?"
     "I..."
     "Obey me, or if your child's life is not enough, I will order the
self-destruct of the Gee-Tih," said then other. "The explosion will
surely destroy the Galactica as well." Xekash waited as his enemy
absorbed the information. "Well Colonial? What say you?"
     "Give me a moment," said Adama. The last use of the old telekinetic
powers, on top of no food and little sleep, had been more of a drain on
him than he had expected. He doubted he could do it again to much effect.
Also, he was, by Human standards, too old to physically combat the
Ziklagi warlord. Their natural lifespan was much longer than a Human's,
and Xekash was, by his people's standards, still relatively young. A
prime physical specimen in top condition. Nor did he trust the other's
word. Even if, by some miracle, he did defeat the other in personal
combat, he didn't for a moment believe that their enemy would just let
Athena, or any of them, go. No. 
     "Your moment is up!" said Xekash. "I want an answer now." Xekash
smiled, as Adama stood, and set down his nearly-empty laser on a console.
Hands raised, he slowly made his way across the bridge, till he was face
to face with the alien commander. Xekash looked his opposite number up
and down, as if sizing him up as an opponent. He put his hands on his
hips, and while he was no expert on reading the Ziklagi face, Adama was
certain he read contempt.
     "Father!" gurgled Athena, voice choked. "Don't..."
     "Silence!" said the solder holding the cord, giving it a vicious
pull.
     "Well?" said Adama. "Here I am."
     What am I doing? I must be senile!
     "Fool!" said Xekash, in a low voice. "Old fool. You only delay the
end for your people. I shall rip your limbs out and squeeze your head
till your eyes pop." He laughed. "This will be so..."
     "Does throwing up because your so ugly count at all?" asked Adama,
trying to come up with some sort of strategy. Back in his Academy days,
he had been wrestling champion his second yahren. While his opponents
back then had been somewhat more...congruent, he tried to remember the
old moves. One was making your opponent mad before the match even began,
and thus less thoughtful. It had worked, when he had won the Academy
title from "Crusher" Corulli. 
     Lords of Kobol, what am I doing?
     It seemed to be working here. He could see the other grow angry, his
obvious pride coming to the fore. Xekash doubled his fists, and raised a
hand...
     But Adama struck first. Summoning all the strength he could, he
swung at Xekash's face in a feint. The other ducked back a bit, as
expected...
     And got Adama's boot right where it hurts the most. Xekash's breath
exploded out of him, and he howled in pain.
     Thank God some things are universal!
     As he doubled over, Adama swung as hard as he could, striking the
other directly in the face. It felt something like punching a combination
of an underinflated Triad ball and an overdone roast, but it worked.
Xekash grunted, and something that was probably blood spattered away from
Adama's hand. Taking a deep breath, he struck again, and again, and then
a fourth time, till Xekash grabbed his bloody fist with his own, and
slowly turned back to glare down at him. He squeezed, harder and harder,
till Adama could feel the bones begin to grind against one another. He
winced, then squeezed his eyes shut in pain, and the squeezing continued.
     "I'm sure you can guess where I'm going to squeeze next, Adama!"
hissed Xekash. As he forced Adama down, Adama struggled up with his free
hand, and landed his fist directly on Xekash's eye. With a hiss of pain,
Xekash let go, stumbling back and shaking his head madly, hands over his
eye. Adama moved backwards as well, drawing ragged breaths, trying to get
his bearings. Committing everything to God, he took a deep breath, and
charged Xekash, body-slamming the other.
     Xekash apparently had not expected this, or at least not seen it
coming, and the two went down in a heap. Xekash quickly got atop his foe,
and wrapping his ugly fingers around Adama's throat. With his third hand,
he drew a bladed weapon from his belt; a half-moon shaped piece of metal,
with a beveled edge. Extremely sharp, let Adama get a good look at it,
and hissed in laughter. "To the last, Colonial, I will grapple with you!"
Adama responded by slamming his knee upwards. He sadly missed the vital
target, but it obviously hurt nonetheless. Xekash slashed down at him,
and missed as he jerked violently at the last moment. He slammed again,
then a third time, and Xekash let go. With a speed that surprised even
himself, Adama grabbed up a piece of debris, a fallen piece of metal, had
cracked Xekash over the helmet with it. The Ziklagi pulled back, and
Adama got out from under him. He stepped back, until he came up against a
support stanchion. He stood there, breathing raggedly. He felt something
wet running down his face, and raised his fingers. They came away red. 
     Frankly, Adama was surprised he'd lasted this long. It seemed as if
Xekash's main flaw was his unutterable ego. He couldn't seem to resist
holding at the last moment, to gloat over his opponent. Of course, Adama
wasn't going to complain. It had saved him, it seemed. But what now? He
felt weak. He knew he couldn't possibly go another round with the
Ziklagi. What...
     "You surprise me, Adama!" said Xekash, seemingly recovered for the
moment. "You are stronger than you look." Adama said nothing. Apparently
Xekash expected some response, and not getting one irritated him. "Come,
let us finish this!" he said, resuming a fighting stance. "Well?" he
demanded, when Adama did not move. "What is your answer?"
     Oh God what do I do??? Athena...what...?
     "Here is your answer!" said a voice, and something flew across the
bridge. A knife. It struck the soldier next to Xekash, spearing one arm.
The Ziklagi squealed, and dropped it's weapon. Xekash turned to first see
his comrade go down, then the source of the attack. It was the
blue-skinned alien, and wearing a Colonial uniform. Oh, if ever there was
proof of a conspiracy between aliens to attack the Empire... 
     "Kill the female!" bellowed Xekash, but before it could be done,
something else sang across the space, and sliced through the cord holding
Athena. Never a slow one she, she ducked behind a console, out of sight.
     "Fight me, Ziklagi scum!" With quick moves Sargamesh crossed the
distance and attacked. Xekash barely had time to reach for his own blade
before the other was upon him. The blades clanged loudly, and the two
were joined. A laser shot flew close by, but Adama ordered them to hold.
     "Let them finish it."
     Despite all, Sargamesh was a blur, as he dodged and swung, his
stereoscopic vision giving him an advantage in this sort of activity. But
Xekash was no slouch either, his strength and long training making him a
formidable opponent. Sparks flew from the blades as they struck and
crossed, and Xekash taunted his enemy.
     "Your head will make an excellent addition to my cabin wall, freak!"
spat Xekash, his eye almost flush with Sargamesh's. "Next to Adama and
his female hatchling's!"
     "By Azgul, shut up and fight, you slimeworm's voiding!" Sargamesh
brought his blade down so hard it actually hurt, but he fed on the pain,
embraced it, drew it into himself, and as the ancient Warmasters of Eridu
taught, used it's power to make himself stronger. He ducked, swung, and
barely kept his head as Xekash went for his neck. He then leapt into the
air, as Xekash swung for his legs. Before coming back to the deck, he
turned in mid-air, and back-kicked the other in the chest. Xekash
staggered, swore, then attacked in turn. The Ziklagi kicked, catching
Sargamesh in the ribs, and sending him rolling. He swung down, raising
sparks from the deck, but the Zohrloch had rolled in time.
     Into Xekash's feet. The Gee-Tih's commander lost his footing, and
fell to the deck himself, on top of Sargamesh. The two rolled through
gore and debris, each struggling to get atop the other. At last, Xekash
hurled Sargamesh off, and got to his feet again. He moved back, coming to
a stop at one of the ceiling supports for the left wing of the bridge. It
was cracked and sagging, thanks to Athena's grenade. It bent as Xekash
launched himself away, back at his foe.
     Sargamesh stabbed with great force, the tip of his blade striking
Xekash's battle armor. It did not penetrate, but Xekash felt it
nonetheless. He moved back, and Sargamesh spun around him, like a dancer
on a stage, and brought his blade down on the other's back. The armor
here held as well, but Xekash felt staggered by the blow. Then, screaming
like a tortured soul from the Underworld, Sargamesh leapt up, and struck
Xekash's helmet. Whether by luck or good design, it did not split, but
flew off. But the momentary blindness cost him dear. On the backstroke,
Sargamesh caught Xekash's sword hand, slicing a finger off, and sending
his blade flying. 
     Xekash screamed, vision dimmed by pain. It dimmed further as another
stroke sent him staggering, and he fell, on top of the other soldier. He
tried to focus, but saw only Sargamesh over him, sword raised. With a
scream of invectives, the Zohrloch brought he blade down so hard, it's
point snapped off, but the rest pierced the armor, ripping through the
other's body, and striking the deck beneath. Sargamesh withdrew it, and
holding the bloody blade high, screamed something frightening-sounding in
his own tongue.
     "Stop!" ordered Adama, having had enough of this carnage. "Drop it.
Now."
     After a moment, Sargamesh blinked, seemed to get hold of himself,
and did so. He moved to the Commander, saluted, and in a voice
surprisingly calm, said "Cadet Sargamesh reporting for duty, Commander. I
am here to inform you that we have been boarded by hostile forces." If he
heard the choked laugh from Varica, he gave no sign.
     "Understood," said Adama, somewhat bemused. Before he could decide
what to say next, the entire vessel shifted under their feet once more.
Off to the left, a bank of panels erupted in flames. Adama looked around
for an extinguisher. He looked back...
     To see Xekash, bloody and obviously dying, nonetheless struggling to
his feet. The remaining trooper was also getting up, and offering support
to his CO. "You..." Xekash gurgled, trying to speak, but he staggered,
collapsing against the weakened support. It gave way, and a section of
ceiling fell on him, trapping him with a scream under hot cables and
burning wreckage. Adama and Tigh, also now back on his feet, moved in
with extinguishers. The last soldier was trying to get into the burning
area, to rescue his superior, but Adama grabbed him.
     "It's hopeless!" he said, wondering why he even cared about the
alien or it's feelings. The alien looked at Adama.
     "He is my friend," he said, and turned back. The boraton canisters
did their job, and Xekash was drug out, his burned and dying form cradled
in the other's arms. 
     "Ul...Ulpash..." choked Xekash, trying to focus.
     "I am here, My Lord," said the other, voice thick with emotion.
     "Save...yourself..."
     "That is an order I cannot obey...Xekash," said the other, and even
on the Ziklagi face, Adama recognized tears. "We have fought together too
many times for that."
     "I...I am sorry...old friend. I led you...to defeat..."
     "It is as the gods will it, Xekash," said the other, resignation
evident in his tone, even in translation. "We cannot gainsay them."
     "My... arrogance...my pride. It has cost us victory. Lives. Forgive
me."
     "You honor our people, Xekash.  Do not think otherwise."
     Adama signaled for Tone. He approached, and ran an instrument over
the alien, obviously perplexed at the strange anatomy. He doubted he
could help, even if there was hope... He looked up at Adama and shook his
head.
     "Adama!" gurgled Xekash, the end clear in his voice. "You have
conquered. To...you the victory." He weakly held up a shaking hand.
Understanding, Adama took it. The alien skin felt horrid, making him want
to recoil, but he held his grip. "The gods...favor you Adama. Who can say
why? You have grappled...and won. My failure...my punishment... is your
vic..." He stopped, a massive hacking taking over his body. Then, in a
squeal like escaping air, he quivered and was still, his eye still
looking up at Adama.
     "Commander Adama," said the other soldier, getting to his feet. "I
am Colonel Ulpash, of the Ziklagi Imperial Fleet." He held out his weapon
to Adama. "I am your prisoner."
     "Very well," said Adama, after a moment. "End this."
     "Yes." Ulpash activated the communicator mic on the shoulder of his
uniform. "Attention. This is Executive Officer Ulpash. General Xekash is
dead. I am assuming command. All Imperial personnel, cease hostilities.
Stand down."
     "Thank-you," said Adama.
     "Your prisoner, Commander."
     Adama nodded. He looked at Sargamesh. "Take charge of the prisoner,
please."
     "Sir!" saluted Sargamesh, very smartly.
     "Everyone to your posts." Adama looked around, till he spotted
Athena. Slowly and painfully, he moved towards her. She looked pale, but
alright. He set her down, and sat next to her. Lords, but he felt weak.
"Ship's status. Mister Tone, attend to the wounded."
     "Sir."
     "Commander!" said Colonel Tigh, voice weak but firm. "Unidentified
ship quartering in." He pointed to a still-functioning monitor. The ship
was firing.
     But it was upon the Gee-Tih, and not the Galactica. At the same
moment, the screen changed to an image of Apollo, next to an alien
creature that Adama had never seen before. 
     "Greetings Commander," said the alien, looking something like a
cross between a lupus and a cobron. It had slanted reptilian eyes, ridges
on it's hairless skull, and a thin, forked tongue that had the unsettling
habit of flicking out from time to time. "I am Commander Krylax, and on
behalf of the Zykonian people, I welcome you."
     "Who...?" Adama began, but his son broke in to the transmission. 
     "Father, it's okay. They're here to help!"
     "Tell them to cease fire!" And so said, he fell out of his seat,
unconscious. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

     It took several centars to disentangle the Galactica from the
Gee-Tih. As the two giant warships at last separated, Adama could see
what a horrific beating the other had taken. Sadly, the Galactica was in
little better shape. Her starboard landing bay was torn open and buckled
inwards in several places, and the upper central pylon was virtually
gone, the lower section twisted inwards, what remained hanging in
tatters. The aft pylon was badly wrenched, and there were gaping wounds
all along the starboard side. Wreckage floated alongside, and vapor still
vented from various places. More than half the ship was without power,
communications, or life support.
     But the alien had taken worse. All but a few of her lights were out,
her power plants dead, radion and atmosphere still gushed from myriad
rips in her hull. Her port landing bay was gone, deep gashes ripping into
her guts. She drifted, at a bad list, a lifeless hulk. The newcomers had
wanted to finish her off, but Adama had said no. Ulpash had honorably
surrendered, and one did not make war on those who were down. He watched
as the Gee-Tih's last escape pods sped away from the wrecked ship, and
then turned to his own.
     "Over sixty-five confirmed dead, so far, Commander," said Tigh, one
arm in a sling and face bandaged. Adama had moved command for the present
from the savaged bridge down to the virtually untouched Cadet's Mess.
Even here, it was getting cold, with the power low. "Twenty-two
unaccounted for at present."
     "The ship?"
     "Chief Shadrick reports all but one energizer off-line, Commander.
That one is red-lining, but I have ordered power economy level four. We
are supplementing with batteries, and should have a second energizer
running in seven or eight centars."
     "I see. Propulsion?"
     "Shadrick has one auxiliary thruster back on-line. We can ease back
to minimum headway. He estimates at least three centars for the second
thruster."
     "Our main drive?"
     "Sectons, at the very least, Commander." Tigh shook his bandaged
head. "The main engines took a huge beating. All the internal plumbing
ruptures have been sealed, but we had to dump all the water that was lost
to save the remaining electrical systems. We've lost all but a day's
water at most. Waste recycling is off-line as well."
     "I see." Adama looked around the small room, now stuffed with
surviving bridge personnel and portable terminals. "What else?" 
     "Twilly's group has sealed most of the major hull breaches." He
indicated one screen. Men in space-suits were busy, welding emergency
plating over gaps in the hull. In a bit of ironical turnaround, some of
the metal had come from pieces of the Gee-Tih. The foundry ship
Hephaestus had maneuvered along their starboard side, and docked with
"The Shelf", the recessed area of the Battlestar's hull on each side of
her bow section. More emergency sheeting was being fabricated as they
spoke. "He says we'll have sufficient structural integrity to get
moving."
     "The enemy?"
     "Our scanners are still off-line, Commander. But according to this
Krylax, there's nothing headed this way."
     "Given their cloaking ability, I wouldn't depend on that too
heavily, Colonel."
     "Nor I, sir. In fact, I'm uncomfortable about the whole thing."
     "Still we must be grateful, Colonel. We're still alive. Xekash is
not." He looked up, and accepted the cup of hot java a Yeoman handed him.
He savored it's warmth. For the next several days, it would be emergency
rations only. Not to mention porta-flushies. "The computer system?"
     "Backup system only, Commander, and it is strained to the limits.
Corporals Komma and Lomas are working on it right now. No ETA on when we
can expect a reboot of the mainframe."
     "Landing bays?"
     "Beta Bay is totaled, Commander. No chance of doing anything where
we are. Alpha Bay will be able to resume shuttle flights sometime
tomorrow."
     "No better estimate?"
     "No sir. What crew we have left is stretched extremely thin."
     "And the rest of the Fleet?"
     "Rising Star is able to move, now. So is the Nebula. The rest say
they can keep up."
     "Commander," said Athena. Adama looked up. "A message for you, from
the skipper of the Zykonian vessel."
     "Put him on, Athena."


     Krylax wanted to meet Adama in person, and given the current
situation, came aboard by means of a transport system similar to that
which the Ziklagi used. It was unsettling to Adama to see someone just
pop into existence like that, but whatever did the job. Despite his
ugliness by Human standards (and frankly Adama felt better looking at
someone with two eyes), Krylax was nonetheless a polite, almost courtly
person, and complimented Adama on the battle just fought. Then, it was
down to business.
     It seemed that the Zykonians had been keeping an eye on the Colonial
Fleet for some sectons. Like their Ziklagi foes, they were unsure what
the appearance of this mysterious convoy from space portended. A warlike
and imperialistic race like the Ziklagoio, they were unlike them in that
they were not xenophobic, and did not view all other species through the
lens of racial superiority. Nor were they given to the vicious and often
sadistic streak the others displayed so openly. 
     "This is a border sector, Commander," said Krylax, staring into the
cup of java in front of him. "Both we and Ziklag lay claim to it." He sat
on a crate in the engineering section while various people worked around
him.
     "I see. And that is why you chose to intervene?" asked Adama,
working to reconnect a bundle of burned wires to a relay box. Like
everyone else aboard, he was working to help speed the repairs, though it
was hard with fingers bandaged and a sling on one arm.
     "Partly. But mostly, when we saw your Fleet stopped by a minefield,
we realized the trap being set for you by the Ziklagoio. It's an old
tactic of theirs. And our treaty with them does allow for...shall we say,
'rescue missions' ".
     "I somehow doubt they will see it in the same light," said Adama,
reaching for a tool.
     "I doubt my superiors will care, Commander," said Krylax, still
looking, uncertainly, into the java cup. "But with conditions in their
Empire being what they are just now, a victory is not something they
would want to see Ziklag achieve. Over anyone. And, there are other
reasons, I doubt not, known only to them."
     "I understand," said Adama, who wasn't sure he really did. This was
all becoming very convoluted. Wheels within wheels. "So what now,
Commander Krylax?"
     "I am authorized to offer you and your people the protection of the
Zykonian Empire, Commander."
     "Protection?" asked Athena. Krylax looked to her, as if she had
spoken out of place or violated some protocol, but said nothing. For her
part, Athena held her stomach down; she had never liked the look of
snakes.
     "Yes. My government has extended an offer for you and your Fleet to
enter our space, and put in at the starbase in the Brylon System. There
you will find a fully equipped and capable dock and repair facility.
Among the best in all the Empire. Not only for the Galactica, but for all
of your ships." Krylax waited, his tongue flicking in and out as he did
so. It made Athena want to run from the room, but she stood her ground.
     In less than a centar, they were, once more, under way. Adama had no
choice, really, with his ship hanging in pieces, and Krylax knew it. With
the Galactica looking like a used gunnery target, and the Colonial Fleet
still inside hostile space, he agreed. Bit by bit, the venerable warship
began to pick up speed, until the Gee-Tih, and the field of battle, were
lost to sight.


     It would take at least four days, at their current slow speed, to
reach the frontier, which gave Adama time to deal with other matters.
Ulpash and nine of the surviving Ziklagi soldiers who had boarded the
Galactica had remained, as part of some complicated code of military
protocol which Adama wasn't sure he understood fully. Adama kept them
under guard in one of the Rejuvenation Centers, the brig still having no
power or utilities. He had promised Ulpash that he and the others would
be repatriated to their government as soon as possible.
     Boxey and the other boy had survived, as well as Reese. In the end,
it seemed that Reese and one other man were all that remained of his
unit, but they had killed all the Ziklagi boarders they had engaged. In
fact, of the fifty known boarders, Colonial forces had killed or wounded
forty of them, while losing thirty-eight of their own number killed.
Apollo, who had never liked Reese much, and liked him even less after the
Paradeen affair, now found himself in the Blackshirt's debt. 
     "Just doing my job, Captain," he replied. Apollo begged to differ,
but Reese shrugged it off. "The very thought of what those...things would
do to a kid. I heard about the slaves they had back on that planet Jolly
was on."
     "Boron-Din," said Apollo. "Yes, it was pretty sick."
     "And a kid...well, I hope Boxey is okay, Captain."
     "He is, and the other boy, too. I just wish it hadn't been necessary
for them to witness all that violence and killing."
     "Me too, but..." Reese shrugged. "Better learn it now, and survive.
At least you've got your..." He stopped, and something about how he
stressed the word "your" caught Apollo's ear. He looked at the
Blackshirt, one eyebrow cocked in a question. Reese shrugged. "I had a
family once too, Captain. Yeah. Me. Who'd believe it? A daughter. And a
brother that...well, we were close. A lot like you and Starbuck." Apollo
blinked. He'd never heard this side of Reese. "The Cylons took it all. My
wife. My daughter. My brother and his family. Everything. I..."
     "Sergeant..."
     "What I'm trying to say, Captain," said Reese, "is, well...I didn't
mean to, but every time I saw you and Starbuck together..."
     "I understand," said Apollo. "I had no idea." He was about to speak
again, when the IC chimed.                                               
                                                              "Captain
Apollo, report to the bridge please."   As Apollo turned to leave Life
Station, the Blackshirt surprisingly asked him: "How's Starbuck?"


     Thanks to the Zykonian's transport device, Starbuck and the other
Warriors were transferred from the Nebula. Starbuck would be okay, but he
would need time in bed. As to what had happened aboard the old freighter,
Commander Adama was immediately informed. 
     "And Jensen?" he asked, back in his quarters. They had been trashed,
but needed little repair.
     "Still touch and go, sir," said Boomer. "It's a miracle he's alive
at all."
     "He deserves a commendation," said Adama, "for the way he saved the
Nebula from blowing up like he did."
     "Yeah," said the pilot. "A lot of people do, Commander. I just..."
Boomer brought his fist down on his thigh. "I want that thing, Commander.
I want that alien slug!"
     "So do I," replied Adama. Boomer had searched the Nebula as best he
could, but had found only the place where Korax had been hiding. Boomer
ran a quick head count and ID check, but turned up nothing. Once more,
the cunning alien had given them the slip.
     Adama decided not to tell Boomer about their unexpected guest for
the present. Nizaka, the Ziklagi slave. Or rather, ex-slave. Adama would
not tolerate even the term aboard his ship, and had declared her to be
free. Without her help, the Gee-Tih might have come out on top, and the
Galactica might be space dust instead. Why had she done it?
     "We have groaned under the heel of tyrants for longer than anyone
can remember, Commander," she said, during her private debriefing. "To be
a slave on Ziklag is not just to serve at another's whim. It is to be a
complete non-entity. An un-person. An animal. Farm livestock are treated
with greater dignity than we."
     "I see. And so you decided to help us in order to strike a blow for
your freedom?"
     "Essentially yes, Commander. Your entrance into the Empire has
caused untold chaos. Rebellions, threats of rebellions, and struggles
that have many of the upper classes slaughtering each other in a
desperate attempt to hold on to power. Many of us in the Insurgency
realized that a victory over you by Xekash would go far to stabilize the
situation, and solidify the current ruling clique's hold on power." She
stopped a moment. "Were they to succeed, the lot of those of us who
struggle for freedom would be even worse."
     "So you stowed away aboard the Gee-Tih?" asked Tigh.
     "Stowed away? Not at all. I was part of General Xekash's personal
gear. His slave." She held a moment. "In all things, you understand." 
     "Yes, I think so," said Adama, who found the whole concept a
disgusting one. Yet, it had proven an effective cover. Nizaka had been
able to obtain reams of important data. Not merely the codes that had
slowed the Gee-Tih down, dropped her shields, or detonated the scuttling
charges, but command codes, schematics of vital and classified systems,
combat capabilities of various ships and fighters, bases in the Empire,
as well as the entire military command structure. It was truly a treasure
trove, surpassing anything they had ever had on the Cylons. She had, it
seemed, intended jumping ship to the Galactica from the start. As to the
fate of her counterpart aboard the Gee-Tih, another freedom-fighting
slave under deep cover, she knew nothing. "And what do you wish now?"
     "Asylum, as I said, Commander. At least for the present."
     Which he granted on the spot. Anything beyond that would, Adama told
her, depend upon the Council, once they were out of Ziklagi space. And he
had bothered to tell them. The ship's speed had been nudged up a bit, but
they were still moving painfully slowly. And before much else, he had
unpleasant duties to attend to. 


     "Apollooooooo-ooo-ooooo-oooo-oooooooooo!!!!" shouted Sheba, her head
thrashing from side to side and pounding on the mattress. After a few
moments she collapsed in her husband's arms after a most satisfying
encounter. With the Galactica in the shape she was in, barracks were a
total shambles, and most of the surviving Viper pilots were scattered
about the Fleet. Apollo and his wife were currently occupying rooms
aboard the one-time luxury yacht Saggitara. They were two days out from
the battle site, and this was the first time they had been able to be
alone together. (Or bathe!) He luxuriated in the pleasure still
thundering through his body, as well as the feel of her voluptuous
breasts pressing against him. He closed his eyes, taking in the scent of
her hair, and thanked each and every Lord of Kobol, in order and by name,
for their survival in the battle just past. 
     "You do that so well," he sighed at last, fingers in her wild hair.
"Anyone ever tell you that?"
     "Well, there was this Strike Captain," she replied, still
breathless. "He was the son of a Battlestar Commander, as I recall," she
quipped.
     "Oh, really. Anyone I know?"
     "Hhmm....not sure. I'll have to think on it." 
     "Social climber!" She pressed against him as he laughed, and smiled
as it changed to a groan. They lay together for a long time, the only
sounds beyond their breathing the vibration of the ship's engines. Each
was seduced by the other's heartbeat into a languorous stupor, and then
Sheba finally spoke.
     "Where did your parents come up with the name Zac?"
     "Huh?" asked Apollo, dreamily, caught off-guard by the non-sequiter.
"Zac?"
     "Yes. It's such an unusual name. I kind of wondered."
     "Ummm...well great-grandfather was an Academician. On Father's
mother's side. Scholar and archaeologist. He was always digging up some
relic or ancient inscription somewhere. I think it was some Caprican Lord
or demi-hero from way way back. Not certain really." He stopped,
snuggling back into the warmth of his wife's sensual body. Huh. Asking
about names. What in heaven's name...
     "Apollo?"
     "Yes?"
     "Guess what?"


     "Oh God, I missed you Boomer," said Athena, likewise engaged with
her man, aboard the Galactica. His taught, muscled form delighted her,
filling her with even more desire. 
     "Me too, Athena," he replied, teasing her damp skin. "In fact, it
got me to thinking."
     "Thinking? A man? Think?" she teased, tormenting him with her
fingers. 
     "Yes. In fact...ahh! In fact, I came to some decisions." She looked
up at him. "About us, Athena."
     "Us? What decisions?"
     "We should get sealed, Babe. After all, look what just happened.
That we both survived is a miracle. I watched the fight. I thought the
Galactica was doomed for sure. I want us to have every micron we have
left to us together, to make it official, Athena. As soon as possible, we
should just announce it."
     "Funny you should come to that conclusion, Boomer," she said, rising
to a sitting position. "I've spent a lot of time thinking it over. Us, I
mean. Our relationship, ever since that night on Ki. After all, given my
lousy..." She let the thought drop. "I'm always holding back,
always...But, the decision may have been made for us, Boomer." She looked
at him with a loving smile, then leaned down again, to slowly kiss him.
     "Why's that?"
     "Well, guess what?"


     "Starbuck?" said Cassie, looking into the ward. It had cleared out
some the last few days, the Zykonians kindly offering the use of their
own medical facilities, finally offering some measure of privacy. At the
moment, Doctor Salik was over on their ship, looking things over. "You
awake?" He grunted a reply. "Waiting for my next exam?" She clicked on a
light.
     "Just lying here in the dark, counting my sins."
     "Without a computer?" she teased.
     "You really mustn't be unpleasant Cassie. It has absolutely no
effect."
     "Guess I'll just have to try harder." She moved closer, and sat on
the edge of his bed. "Did you hear?"
     "What?"
     "The second energizer's up and running again. We can stop freezing.
Well almost."
     "Oh. Okay."
     "Try not to sound so excited, Starbuck," she replied. "You'll tire
yourself out."
     "Wouldn't want to do that. No." He continued to stare up at the
ceiling. "And?"
     "We've been offered sanctuary. By some people called the Zykonians."
     "Cheery."
     "Starbuck!" she sighed, exasperated. "Will you pull yourself
together and grow up? What the Hades Hole is wrong with you?"
     "I'm losing it, Cassie!" he said, voice suddenly shaky and unsure.
"I'm just losing it. Going off the deep end."
     "What? What are you talking about?"
     "Hallucinating. Seeing things." He looked up at her. "I see dead
people, Cassie." For a moment, she thought to remind him that she did
too, but decided it might not be the best thing for him.
     "Starbuck..."
     "Dead people. Cadet Jada." His voice caught, almost choking. "I saw
my mother. When a guy my age starts seeing his mommy in his dreams, he's
lost it."
     "You mean...like her spirit?" Before the Holocaust, and the loss of
her old comfortable life, Cassie hadn't put much credence in such things.
Since then, having seen and heard so much, she wondered.
     "I don't know. Lords, I don't...I can't be sure of anything,
Cassie." He looked at her intensely. "Maybe you should stay away from me,
Cassie. I mean really far away."
     "Why?"
     "I'm poison, babe. Every one I care about either gets hurt, or they
die. I don't want you to join the list."
     "Starbuck," she sighed, with great patience, "we're living in deep
space, with every creature in the universe out to exterminate us. Show me
anywhere that's safe."
     "Well, I mean..."
     "Starbuck, I'm not leaving you. Period. Get that through your
concussed and dope-sodden head. Now..." she held up a hand, demanding
silence. "I need to tell you some things, Starbuck. And you are hereby
ordered to rest up and get well. Trust me, you are going to need to be
well."
     "Cassie..."
     "Obey!" growled the Med Tech, baring her teeth. She spoke, and
almost broke out laughing when his jaw nearly hit the floor. 
     "You're...you're WHAT???"
     "Now." She turned, and motioned towards the door. A figure entered,
and Starbuck took a deep breath.
     "Hello. Son."

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

     "We are gathered here," said Adama, on the podium in the Galactica's
Assembly Hall, "to bid a final farewell to these our fallen brothers and
sisters, who gave their last full measure of devotion, that we who remain
might survive." He looked down at the draped caskets. Eighty-one in all.
Eighty-one friends, fellow Warriors, comrades in arms, forever wrenched
from them by the ugly insanity of war. 
     And that didn't include the thirty-eight still unaccounted for.
     "It is pointless, now, to ask whether all of this was necessary. I
am sure all of us, in the privacy of our own hearts, have asked, and will
continue to ask, why another fell, and not ourselves. Each and every one
of us grieves, and shall continue to grieve, for those souls that we have
lost." He stopped a moment, and looked across the podium. Boxey looked so
calm and collected in his dress suit. Yet Adama could see the tears. He
felt them himself. And among the assembled he saw Reese, now up again.
Apollo and Starbuck in their dress uniforms, with their ladies at their
sides. Athena and Boomer. "And it is impossible for us, here gathered, to
add to the gallantry, the honor, the glory, of that which they have
achieved."
     "But," he said, voice rising, strong, "we must take comfort, we must
take heart, we must take strength, in the fact that they did not die in
vain! We, the Colonial Nation of Man, shall go on, we shall survive, we
shall be reborn, because of what they, here," and he gestured at the
caskets before him, "have done for us." He looked out once more, over the
assembled. He saw many old faces. Members of the Council. Newcomers like
Sargamesh, Korl, and the other Zohrlochs, or the refugees from Proteus.
Even Krylax was here, out of courtesy. 
     "This is fitting," said Korl, quietly in his friend's ear. "Would
that we had been able to do so, for our own."
     "Yes. I will admit I miss Mister Kaftef."
     "Yes, but not his cooking, though."
     "No. Not that."
     Then, he drew breath again.
     "Let us pray."


     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! 

ADDENDUM

     Lucifer moved down the Central Core towards the Control Center, idly
wondering if today would be any different than the last several hundred
days. Day after day, moment after moment, all the same. His pilots had
reported nothing new, in the sweeps of the surrounding systems. Debris
from the missing BaseShip had been found, analyzed, and it's identity
confirmed, but nothing since. If he had possessed the ability to sigh in
frustration, he would have done so. The door to the Control Center
opened, and he beheld every Centurion at their duty stations. Just like
every other day.
     "By your command," said the Gold Centurion Moray. 
     "Your status report?" asked Lucifer.
     "Position unchanged. Magnetic disturbance unchanged. Patrol s..."
     "By your command," said another, silver Centurion. "Receiving a
report from one of our patrols, Commander Lucifer."
     "A report?" said Lucifer, switching his attention to the other.
"Yes?"
     "Fighter patrol reports localizing the signal, in Cylon code." The
Centurion put up a graphic on a screen, and Lucifer moved to look at it.
It seemed that the specially augmented fighter had succeeded in not only
penetrating the magnetic cloud, but in returning in one piece. "It
originates from a planet in this system, here." The Centurion pointed to
a plot of the system in question. "The fighter returned before exhausting
it's fuel. The system was at the very limit of it's scanner range."
     "And they are certain as to the location?" asked Lucifer. 
     "Yes, by your command."
     "Their ETA, Centurion?"
     "Twenty-five centons, Commander."
     "Have them report to me at once upon landing, Centurion. I shall
wish to review their data personally."
     "By your command."
     Lucifer turned and left the Command Center, turning all this over
back and forth between his two brains. He had no doubt now as to who the
signal emanated from. However, there wasn't much he could do about it
just yet. While a specially augmented fighter had been able to pierce the
mysterious magnetic cloud barring their way, so far the BaseShips were
unable to do so. Even if he was correct, they were no closer to making
contact than before.
     Or finding the Galactica.
     A message awaited him, as he mounted the throne pedestal.
     Imperious Leader was calling.


     "But I don't understand," said Starbuck. "I saw mother. I saw a
vision of what happened to Umbra. I saw alot. But I don't understand who
the other woman was."
     "Well I doubt you would son," said Chameleon. "Seeing as you were
only five."
     "Excuse me? I don't..."
     "Your mother was pregnant, son," said the other, smiling. 
     "She was p...Oh Lords......"

The End