Battlestar Galactica
Loose Ends
Virtual Season 2, Episode 17
By Senmut and Lisa Zaza
slinter@juno.com
casazaza@shaw.ca
August 16, 2007

Note: To clarify a couple fertility issues, the prologue of Loose Ends
picks up at the end of To The Last, I Will Grapple With Thee in the
Virtual Season Two series...

Prologue

     "Starbuck?" said Cassie, looking into the ward. It had cleared out
some the last few days, with the Zykonians kindly offering the use of
their own medical facilities, which finally offered 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 lying in Life Center at Delirium's Door, and she asks me what's
wrong with me. 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?" She moved closer.
     "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. Lords of Kobol! 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.
There was this world, and that was that. 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?" she replied, almost as if she'd been slapped. "St..."
     "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, pressing her fist down where he would
notice it the most, and baring her teeth. Then 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 sharp breath.
     "Hello. Son."
     The sight of Chameleon sent an unexpected wave of emotion through
his already rattled brain; concentrating, he swung his gaze back to the
blonde Med Tech.  "W-w-wait. Just wait a centon. You're not going to tell
me something like that and then just change the subject! What do you mean
--?"          
     Cassie crossed her arms. "You heard me. For the next sectar, I'm the
official "enforcer" of Dr. Salik's orders. Until you are cleared for
active duty."
     "No - I." Starbuck stared at her and shook his head in disbelief. 
"Did you say 'sectar'?"
     "Indeed."
     "But... but, that's..."
     "At least four sectons. Just like they taught us in school. Yes.
Given what your body has been through, it will take that long to fully
recover. At least. And that's if you stick strictly - and I mean strictly
- to the doctor's orders." Cassie gave a wane smile and put a hand on his
shoulder. She could see that the reality of his situation had washed away
his earlier self-pity. Now, he just looked stunned.  
     "Look," she said softly, glancing up briefly to catch Chameleon's
eye. Starbuck's father waited quietly, lips pursed, listening. "I know
that Dr. Salik already explained this to you, but it bears repeating.
When that alien injected the poison into your system, it caused all sorts
of problems, not the least being that it stopped your heart. And it's a
nasty venom, and it's proving difficult to eliminate from your body."  
     Starbuck gave a deep sigh but said nothing.
     "If you really want to overcome this," Cassie continued, " then you
have to fight it aggressively. And that means following the doctor's
orders to the letter. No alcohol. Limited javeine. Plenty of sleep. And a
gradual increase of both physical exercise and physical therapy.  And --"
She paused until the Warrior glanced up at her. "And psychotherapy."
     Starbuck groaned. His views on such matters were widely known.
     "Roll your eyes all you want," Cassie said, slapping him lightly on
the shoulder. But I've already spoken with Tarnia and set up a schedule. 
One centar - minimum - a day, starting..." She glanced at her
chronometer. "In two centars."
     "But --"
     "Remember?"  She grinned at him.  "That's my job for the next
sectar. Doctor's orders. I'm your 'enforcer.'"
     Starbuck let out a deep breath, studying her face for a moment.
"When the Hades did you join the Eastern Alliance?" Her eyes twinkled and
her lips curled in a slight grin.  With her head tipped just a bit, she
looked smug - and beautiful.  The Lieutenant closed his eyes and shook
his head briefly. "Fine. I surrender. Facing a phalanx of centurions
would be easier than facing the 'Wrath of Cassie.'"
     "You got that right, buster." The Med Tech's grin broadened. Maybe,
just maybe, he would let himself turn things around. Finally. She shifted
her gaze to their visitor, her smile fading. "Now," she said quietly, "I
believe you have someone here to see you."
     Cassie kissed the top of Starbuck's head, then nodded towards
Chameleon as she left the two alone.
          
  
MEANWHILE... 

     "Oh Goddddd, I missed you, Boomer," said Athena. She gripped him
against her, squeezing with every fiber of her being, inhaling his
essence, and relishing the cool tautness of his muscled form. If only she
could pause time and remain in the moment forever. She opened her eyes to
see the multitude of pinpoint stars wrapped across the Celestial Dome.
Yes, if this wasn't Heaven, then it didn't exist.     
     "Me too, Athena," Boomer breathed into her ear. "In fact...."  He
pulled himself back, somewhat reluctantly, to where he could take in her
amazing beauty.  "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."  Boomer gazed into her blue eyes, and
Athena could feel his determination. "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 and meeting his gaze with the hint of a smile.
"I've spent a lot of time thinking it over, as well. Us, I mean. Our
relationship, ever since that night on Ki. After all, given my lousy..."
She let the thought drop, her eyes gazing briefly towards the vast star
dome, then searching out her lover once more. "I'm always holding back,
like some timid bird. I always...But, the decision may have been made for
us, Boomer." She looked at him, a loving smile spreading across her face,
then leaned against him to slowly kiss his lips.
     "Why's that?" Boomer asked after a long centon.
     "Well, guess what?" Athena pulled back once more to study his
expression.
     "What?" His brow crinkled in puzzlement. 
     "Well... Do you remember the discussion we had a couple of sectars
ago?" She ran a finger slowly down the line of his jaw, never letting his
eyes go.
     He shook his head.  "Which discussion?" He took her hand, pressing
the finger to his lips. A couple of sectars, after all they had been
through, seemed like a lifetime to the Lieutenant.
     "The one," Athena said as she gently kissed the tip of his nose,
then getting to her knees and pressing his palm gently to her belly,
"about leaving fate in the hand of God and not -"
     "Oh my G- Athena, you mean - that means-You're -" Boomer's eyes
opened wide as he gave up on coherent speech.  For a micron, he let the
truth settle in the silence, but then his face burst into a grin. He
scooped her into his arms, pulling her tight against him. "Oh, Athena,"
he finally whispered into her ear, "that's...just... wonderful!"
     For several centons they embraced without words, simply experiencing
the moment. Then several more centons, then a few more, then a few more
on top of those, then...
     At length, they separated, reluctantly.  "We'd better get back,"
Athena said with a sigh, reaching for her tunic amid the pile of
discarded clothing.
     "Yeah, you're probably right."  Boomer replied, watching her, her
taut, sweaty form catching the light like an athlete's, but making no
move of his own.  Instead, he put a hand on her arm to stop her. 
"Shouldn't we work out a few details before we go, though?"
     Athena grinned. "Of course. I was about to suggest we see if my
father is available. I think he should be the next to know."
     Boomer chewed his lip, looking thoughtful.
     "What is it?" asked Athena. Her smile faded. "What's wrong?"
     The Lieutenant puffed his cheeks.  "Well..."  
     "I thought," Athena said carefully, studying Boomer's expression,
"that you were okay with everything we talked about.  That this crazy new
life means new traditions."
     Boomer shook his head but smiled, remembering the discussion they
had had in the Celestial Dome, almost exactly three sectars previously.
At first, he had insisted that they take "measures" before romantic
encounters. Athena, on this occasion, had pointed out that while birth
control was still widely available, it was evident that that would change
in the not too distant future, as Fleet supplies and the ability to
manufacture the needed synthetic hormones decreased.  "Does that mean you
don't want to... anymore?" he had asked, his mind buzzing with sudden
panic at the thought of returning to a platonic relationship.
     "Not at all!" Athena had assured him. "It's just... well..." She had
looked away, unable to express in words at that moment the conviction
that had been growing subconsciously until, that morning in the
turbowash, it sprang into her mind, gripping her with a certainty that
she had not felt since before the Great Destruction.  She knew at least a
tiny part of the path that the Fates or God or Whoever had lain out
before her.
     "Boomer," she had said at last, "We've seen so much death and
destruction and hopelessness. It's time to turn squarely to the future.
And build new life." Surprisingly but wonderfully, Boomer had understand
what she meant. And felt the same.
     Now, as Athena watched the emotions and memories play across his
face, she felt doubt creeping in.  "Boomer," she said, an edge to her
voice as she narrowed her eyes.  "You still feel the same way, don't
you?"
     "Athena, of course I do," he said softly.  "I couldn't feel more
strongly that creating new life, this new life -" he placed a loving hand
on Athena's abdomen.  "-Is the most important thing we can do.  We have
to nurture the future if the Human race is to survive.  And this," he
said, reaching over to kiss her lightly on the lips, "is our
contribution."
     "So what is it?"  Athena asked.  "Something's still bothering you."
     "I -" Boomer shifted his gaze to the blanket of stars above them.
"Okay, maybe I'm a coward, but -"
     "Yes?" Athena bit her lip, waiting.
     He let out a long breath. "Look, I know we agreed that getting
sealed did not have to come first, but that was before..."
     "Before what?" Athena frowned at him.
     "Before..."  Boomer finally let it out in a rush of words.  "Before
I knew I would have to face the Commander of the Fleet with the news that
I'd gotten his daughter pregnant before getting sealed."  
     "Is that all?" Athena burst out laughing. Her laugh was like music.
     "Isn't that enough?" Boomer stared at her.  
     Athena slapped him lightly on the shoulder. "You have nothing to
worry about! We talked about this, too, remember?"
     "Yes, I remember, but..."
     "Trust me," Athena said, staring into his dark, now troubled, eyes. 
"I know my father.  He may seem all traditional and old-fashioned, and
even scary, on the surface, but he's not.  He, of all people, shares our
belief and understands how vital it is to create life in the Fleet,
especially amidst all the death."
     Boomer pursed his lips. "You're sure. Okay, then..."
     "Yes, I am, but," Athena grinned, giving him a playful wink, "we
probably should set a date for getting sealed soon. He's not that
understanding.

MEANWHILE... 

     Starbuck blew out a slow, deep breath as... he...  stood poised at
the door of the Life Station. It didn't take much in the way of powers of
observation to see that Chameleon had lost weight. Actually, he appeared
downright haggard as he smiled weakly and raised a tentative hand in an
almost shy greeting before he got around to putting one foot in front of
the other.
     Starbuck mustered a lame smile of his own, aware that he probably
looked more pained than welcoming at this point, but then again,
Chameleon wasn't exactly jumping up and down with exuberance either.
Starbuck's gaze followed Cassiopeia's recent path of departure, but if he
was expecting any assistance from that quarter, he was out of luck. She
was already gone.
     "How are you feeling?" the old conman asked, slowly approaching his
son. He glanced back at the door, before dragging his attention almost
reluctantly back to the supine Warrior.
     No doubt looking for an escape route, should he need it, Starbuck
mused as he critically surveyed the still elegant, but oversized clothes
that hung on the man's frame. Good God, he looks like death warmed over.
Starbuck shrugged after a moment, recalling Cassiopeia's words about his
upcoming therapy. "Been better."
     Chameleon nodded uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot.  "Uh...
is there a seat...?"
     It was on the tip of Starbuck's tongue to say, Oh, you're staying
then?  But something inexplicable choked it off, and instead he stood up
and retrieved a chair from behind the partially closed privacy curtain,
moving a bit on the slow side himself. He sat on the edge of the biobed,
aware it gave him a slight advantage of height as he faced the man who
had been trying to contact him off and on for several sectars. 
     "Thank you," Chameleon nodded at him.
     "You're welcome." Starbuck replied, reaching for his glass of water,
not because he was thirsty, but because it would give him something to
do. He had spent sectars avoiding this moment. Now he was painfully aware
of why.
     "I knew this would be awkward, I just didn't realize how awkward,"
Chameleon offered, his face wrinkling as the shadow of a smile crossed
his features. He stroked his chin absently as he sat down, before
intertwining his fingers on his lap.
     "Cassiopeia said you had something to... explain." Starbuck reminded
him, setting down his glass again.
     "Yes." Chameleon looked up at him.  "I suppose it's overdue really."
     Starbuck returned his gaze evenly.
     The older man cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. "I... uh..."
     Starbuck smiled faintly, finally letting out a derisive sniff as the
man continued to stall.  "I thought you would have had some kind of a
speech prepared." 
     "I thought I did." Chameleon answered wryly. "I seem to have
forgotten it."
     Starbuck stood up, pacing across the small room before turning back
to face the conman.  All pretence of politeness or calm was gone, and his
body now exuded the tension that had been building as their discussion
floundered back and forth. "Why?  Why would you get Cassie to lie to me
about the genetics test?" He felt anger beginning to boil up. 
     "I've thought about that a lot, Starbuck." Chameleon replied,
swallowing the lump in his throat at the raw emotion so clearly conveyed
in his son's blue eyes. Eyes so like his mother's.
     Oh hon, if only I had been there...
     "And?" His voice was clipped, and the single word carried an
expectation that this had better be good.
     "Well, you see... there's a lot you don't know about me, son."
     "Yeah, well, I guess so after you disappeared for twenty-odd
yahrens," Starbuck snapped, almost regretting his tone when the frail,
old man winced. Almost.  He sighed, turning to look out the viewport at
the distant expanse of space... beckoning to him.  If only he could jump
in a Viper and blast himself... 
     Memories of the conman firing on the Borellian Nomen in the launch
tube so many sectars ago flooded his mind and he closed his eyes letting
the images and feelings wash over him. He had been so full of hope,
expectation... joy. Ready to give up his career to spend time with his...
father. Lords, he had been so damned na‹ve. The Great Starbuck, conned by
a conman. It would be laughable if it wasn't so bloody pathetic. He shook
his head as he turned to face the old conman again.
     If it was at all possible, Chameleon appeared several shades paler
than he had previously. Shaking hands were reaching into a pocket,
removing a small aerochamber of sorts, which he struggled to manipulate,
fumbling it in his haste to get it to his mouth. With a trickle of sweat
trailing down his face, he depressed the chamber twice, the result an
echoing hiss as he closed his eyes tightly and drew deep, shuddering
breaths.
     "Chameleon!" Starbuck was by his side in an instant, down on one
knee and grasping the aged man's shoulder.  "Cassiopeia!" he yelled for
assistance.
     "I'm all right." Chameleon assured him with a slight smile as he
wiped at his face.  "Just a little spell.  I seem to... get them a lot
these days." He smiled reassuringly, waving off the blonde Med Tech who
had abruptly appeared.
     "Why?" Starbuck asked, but this time his heart was filled with
apprehension instead of anger as he awaited a reply.  He barely noticed
Cassiopeia hovering in the background.
     "I... I'm sick, Starbuck." Chameleon told him, seeing the fear and
uncertainty on the younger man's face.
     "How sick?" His voice was a whisper.
     His father smiled weakly in reply, blinking back unexpected tears as
Starbuck drew a rasping breath between clenched teeth, trying to control
his turbulent emotions. It was almost the conman's undoing. He cleared
his throat before responding hoarsely, "Pretty damned sick, son."  
     "As in?"
     "As in I think I heard the Grim Reaper sharpening up his scythe."

Chapter One

     "Helm, go to dead slow," said Baqouba, eyes fixed on the scanners.
     "Helm, go to dead slow," said Omega, at his post in the Battlestar
Galactica's hastily rigged auxiliary control center. "Helm answers dead
slow," he added, looking at the alien next to him. 
     It had been two full sectons since the Galactica, along with the
rest of her rag-tag charges, had been attacked while stopped in a
minefield by the Ziklagi warship Gee-Tih. Through an unpredictable
confluence of guile, tactical cunning, superb reading of the foe,
treachery and blind chance, the Galactica had emerged victorious, the
attacking enemy reduced to a shattered, radion-soaked hulk.
     But the Battlestar herself was little better off. Hull ripped by
myriad wounds, decks and bulkheads blown out, Beta Bay shattered, and
numerous systems either dead or barely hanging on, she had limped away
from the field of battle, barely enough power in her brutalized thrusters
to even move. Though repairs had begun at once and continued en route, it
was plain the ship would need massive amounts of work if she were ever to
look forward to anything but scuttling.
     Which is why they were here. The Ziklagi Empire's perennial enemy,
the Zykonians, had not only been surreptitiously watching the Colonial
Fleet for some time, they had, for reasons still murky, decided to
intervene. Coming to the Galactica's aid, they had tipped the scales of
battle, and the Battlestar had survived. They had also, again with little
explanation as yet forthcoming, offered the entire Fleet sanctuary, and
the services of a fully equipped, state-of-the-art space dock and repair
facility. Having no other realistic options open to him, Commander Adama
had accepted, and they had begun the journey out of Ziklagi space. It had
taken longer than expected, with the thrusters failing twice and
life-support once, but they were, at last, here.
     "Come to port, one point one degrees, helm," ordered the Zykonian.
Omega complied, and the huge warship answered. Omega looked up from his
controls, to the monitor in front of him. Directly ahead, growing larger
by the moment, was the Zykonian space station, high in orbit over the
world they called Brylon V. About the size of the old spacedock over
Caprica, this one was obviously new, or nearly so. Even her paint looked
fresh. She was built around an enormous saucer-shaped section, reminding
Omega of one of the round pastries he so liked as a boy, with the center
taken up with a set of gigantic cylindrical structures, above and below,
subdivided into many deck and sporting numerous landing bays and docking
ports, with small vessels coming and going as they watched. Below the
main part of the station, an enormous docking facility was now visible,
with several others ringing the station round, and they were heading
right towards it.
     "Brylon dock control," said Baqouba, into his headset, "this is the
Galactica, requesting docking clearance."
     "Acknowledged, Galactica," came the reply, by way of the Languatron.
"You are cleared to dock at slip four. Repeat, you are cleared to dock at
slip four. Prepare for docking interface."
     "Acknowledged." The Zykonian turned to Commander Adama, watching it
all from behind Omega, Colonel Tigh at his side. Adama nodded, and the
alien gave Omega the code to punch in. After about half a centon, the
dock's computer successfully interfaced with the Battlestar's, and the
venerable ship was guided in the rest of the way on automatic controls.
     Adama and his people watched as the ship slowed even further, at
last pulling even with the orbiting station. Now at a barely perceptible
crawl relative to the huge structure, she eased up close to the stations
hull, fired her braking thrusters, and with an almost maddening slowness,
came at last to a dead stop. 
     "Initiate moorings," said Baqouba, and almost at once, pale beams of
light lanced out from the dock, and locked onto them. Thus held fast, the
ship was lined up with dock sensors, and Athena watched with interest as
a long transparent tube extended, at last coming to rest against the
hull. More appendages and cables extended or descended, till they were
held tight, like a crawlon's prey. 
     "We have a green light on airlock four, Commander," said Omega.
"Pressure equalized."
     "Excellent," said Adama.
     "Cut all engines," said the Zykonian.
     "Engineering answers finished with engines, aye." Slowly, they could
feel the vibration of the ship's engines die away, and Omega's
instruments confirmed complete interface with the Zykonian station.
     They had arrived.
     "Your ship, Commander Adama," said Baqouba, turning to the
Commander, and handing his headset back to Omega. "My job is done."
     "My thanks," replied Adama, extending his hand. The alien pilot took
it, and gave a slight bow. "Good work."
     "My pleasure, Commander," said the other. "I will admit, I have
never piloted a ship as large as this. She was indeed a challenge, sir."
     "I will agree," said Adama. He watched as the Zykonian pilot, whom
he had had to take aboard to get the ship through the system's defenses
and into dock, left the room, escorted towards the newly established air
lock. "What?" he asked, as he heard Tigh speak.
     "I was just wondering, Commander. All these...aliens, swarming over
the Galactica. I'm just not entirely comfortable about it, sir."
     "Well, we had little choice, Tigh," replied Adama. "Our ship shot to
pieces, barely able to move, and in no position to defend the Fleet, if
the Ziklagoio had attacked again. The mere fact that we survived the
battle with Xekash's ship at all was a miracle."
     "True. But this Zykonian...benevolence," said Tigh. "Perhaps I am
being overly cautious, Adama, but..."
     "You don't trust them."
     "No, sir. No one gives something for nothing. Certainly not to the
extent of an empire risking war with an aggressive neighbor, merely to
help a group of total strangers from parts unknown."
     "True, but here we are. And if we ever hope to be able to resume our
voyage, we will have to not only spend some considerable time here, but
act the gracious guests as well." He turned from his XO, to look at
another monitor. Behind them, the old warship Century was being settled
into her repair berth as well. 
     "We're not exactly rolling in money, either," said Tigh. Before he
could speak again, the commline beeped. 
     "The Brylon Station Commander is on the line for you, Father," said
Athena. "Beta Channel."
     "Thank you, Athena," said Adama. He turned to Tigh. "Now we find out
how much the check is."
 

     "So, how go the repairs?" asked Siress Tinia, across from Adama in
his quarters, sharing a spartan breakfast. As usual a working breakfast,
the two had discussed matters of Fleet politics (specifically the updated
casualty reports and revised census following the battle), possible
upcoming Council measures, and now, the condition of the Galactica
herself. It was morning of the second full day since the pummeled
Battlestar had docked at the Zykonian station, and Adama was glad that
this section of the ship had it's plumbing back. Especially since he was
on his third cup of java.
     "Slowly," he replied, consulting his monitor. "Our engineering
people and the Zykonian engineers are still assessing all the damage, and
determining exactly what we will need, and how long it will take to get
the Galactica back into shape. We've made a start on the repairs from
what survived of our own ships stores, but it's barely a dent in the
overall picture."
     "Considering all the damage we took, Adama, I'm surprised we're
still alive," replied the Siress. She reached over and squeezed his hand
fondly. There were times during the battle where she had wondered if she
would ever have the opportunity to do that again.  Times where she had
feared for him. For herself. For all of Mankind. "I admit I'm not much of
an expert on ships, but even I've seen vessels with less damage that were
relegated to the scrapyard." 
     "Indeed. It's by the Grace of God alone that we survived. And I'm
not looking a gift equus in the mouth, but I am still wondering what the
Zykonians really want from us."
     "What did their station commander have to say?" 
     "Not a lot. Merely extended his greetings on behalf of his
government, and offered full shore leave for our people. Apparently he's
going to be assigning someone from his staff to act as a liaison
officer."
     "Who?"
     "A..." Adama referred again to his monitor. "A Captain Xlax. A
regular sort of fellow, according to his commander." He smiled weakly. 
"As I said, he was succinct.  Oh, and this Xlax is also a decorated
combat warrior, apparently. He'll be coming aboard this morning
sometime."
     "Who are you going to pair him with?"
     "Apollo, I think. As someone of roughly equal rank, it seemed
fitting."
     "Roughly?"
     "Well, the Zykonian ranking system is quite different from our own,
and the Languatron is still working on the subtiler details. But it seems
that 'Captain' comes fairly close."
     "What do you think of them, Adama? The Zykonians, I mean." She
shuddered a bit. "I must admit their appearance..." She trailed off.
Tinia had a life-long dislike of reptiles, going back to a cruel
childhood prank played by her brothers.  She shuddered involuntarily at
the thought of it... 
     "Yes, it does take some getting used to," he nodded. "And I will
admit I have never seen or heard of a race quite like them. But they seem
much less aggressive than the Ziklagoio. They don't have the viciousness
of the others. And it seems they and the Ziklagoio have been enemies for
a long time."
     "Indeed?"
     "Almost since they day they met. Right now, they are in an uneasy
peace. A stalemate of sorts, across their mutual frontier."
     "I imagine we must have upset that tenuous truce. And each side
accuses the other of bad faith I take it?"
     "Exactly, Tinia. A Cold War that is always threatening to become hot
at any moment."
     "Wonderful. And we're in the cast iron pot with the fire being
fanned beneath us, especially, with the Ziklagi frontier so close."
     "Yes. The Ziklagi government has already lodged some sort of formal
protest over the Zykonian intervention that saved us."
     "And how have the Zykonians responded?" She leaned forward nervously
awaiting his answer.  What if the Zykonians were like another Baltar? 
Simply waiting to deliver Mankind to their mortal enemy in exchange
for... a peaceful resolution for their own people.
     "I don't know. We intercepted the Ziklagi message almost by
accident. We decrypted it with the help of the data Nizaka the former
slave brought us. As to the Zykonian codes..." He held up his hands.
     "What about her? This Ziklagi that helped us?"
     "She's still aboard, in secure quarters. I don't want any more
information about her leaking out than I can help. We still have a lot to
figure out and assimilate here."
     "She deserves a medal," ventured Tinia. "And the prisoners? Domra
and Antipas were wondering about them, Adama."
     Adama tried not to scowl. When it came to almost any issue that
might come up in Council, neither Domra nor Antipas ever just wondered
about it. Still...
     "As soon as possible, we shall try and communicate with the Ziklagi
government through whatever diplomatic channels there are around here.
We've given the Zykonians everything we have on the identities of the
prisoners. If none are wanted by them for war crimes, then I intend to
see them repatriated to their nation."
     "Magnanimous of you, Adama," said Tinia, with perhaps a touch of
asperity. Personally, she wasn't sure she would have been so lenient.
Adama seemed to catch her train of thought.
     "There has been enough bloodshed, Tinia. After virtually destroying
the Gee-Tih and killing one of their Generals, we need to show that we
really aren't interested in anything but leaving their sphere of
influence. If I have to...overlook a few things to prove it, so be it."
     "Commander Adama," chimed Omega's voice over the telecom.
     "Commander Adama here."
     "Sir, the Zykonian station is signaling us. Captain... Xlax the
liaison officer is ready to transport aboard."
     "Transport, Omega?"
     "Yes, sir. By that device of theirs, Commander."
     "I see." Adama looked at his guest. He could see that she found the
alien transportation device as unsettling as he did. "Very well, Omega.
Tell him I will meet him in Alpha Bay in five centons."
     "Yes, sir."
     "Shall we go?" asked Adama, rising. 
     "Of course." 


     A "radical new therapy" was what Dr. Souliere had called it when
Chameleon had first been diagnosed with an aggressive, advanced tumor of
his prostate gland which had also metastasized to his lymphatic system.
The fact of the matter was, that up until recently, despite all of
Colonial medical science's great strides, it had been considered a death
sentence.       
     But this new therapy, a combination of a series of trial drugs
designed to target the spreading malignancy as well as a more localized
radion therapy, meant to isolate any "hot spots" picked up on the daily
resonance scans, seemed to be a success story in the making for the old
con man who had almost resigned himself that he was going to meet his
Maker.
     Apparently, his Maker wasn't quite ready to get reacquainted just
yet, which was fine with Chameleon, since as far as he was aware, there
still wasn't a decent chancery in the Heavens.
     Besides, for an old coot who should be just about ready to cash out
his chips, life had taken an incredulous upswing of late.  Not only had
the unlikelihood of love happened his way when he had met Claudia, but
his relationship with his son had progressed to the point where the young
man had stopped shuffling from foot to foot uncomfortably every time they
were in a room together... as had the father.
     "Last treatment today," Joyelle, his usual Med Tech informed him
with a smile that could melt the polar ice fields of Arktos.  "I'm going
to miss you, Chameleon."
     "I will miss you as well, my dear. Not your caustic cocktail,
however," the old man returned with an easy smile as he watched her
connect the med line that would deliver the final offensive attack on his
disease. "A light ambrosia is much more to my taste."
     "Ah, ah, ah. Remember, no alcohol," she smiled, wiggling a finger at
him. 
     It had been Starbuck's way of interpreting the treatments, the
gambler recalled with a smile, that had made the whole process easier. 
Visualization had been part of his own therapy as the Lieutenant
underwent counseling for his Combat Stress Reaction.  Starbuck had
surprised his father by showing up unannounced in the Life Station aboard
the Senior's Ship one day during the previous secton.  He had wandered
restlessly around the treatment suite while Dr. Souliere and Joyelle
explained the therapy and side affects of the daily treatments that had
gone on for six sectons following his initial surgery.
     Chameleon's decorated and infamous son had grinned as he looked up
at the medication slowly dripping into his father.  "That's Blue Squadron
launching to blast the enemy to Hades Hole," he had said, pointing at the
drops. "Little Vipers, moving down their launch tubes."
     The enemy. It was ironic that it was the enemy that had cemented not
only his tentative relationship with Claudia, but had given him the
impetus, at Claudia's prompting, to once again approach his son and try
to salvage what had turned into a cold, distant recognition of the fact
that they were actually father and son.
     Unfortunately, his son was just as talented as his father at pushing
away those who really cared about him, and avoiding attachments.
Especially when those attachments had already translated into emotional
pain for the young man.
     Lords, what was I thinking when I made poor Cassiopeia lie about
those test results?  He was still shaking his head about convincing
himself that it was in Starbuck's best interests that he would keep the
secret locked away.  In retrospect, perhaps it had more to do with his
own fear of failing to live up to his son's expectations, built up over a
lifetime, as the young man dreamed about one day being reunited with his
family.  
    Starbuck hadn't really admitted it, but Chameleon knew he had
interpreted it all as simple rejection by his father.  Despite the cocky
facade that the Colonial Warrior sported for everyone around him, friend
or acquaintance, it had cut him deeply at a time when he was obviously
having difficulty coping with the barrage of ordeals that had afflicted
him since, and probably before, the Destruction.  Indeed, it had been
just after getting to know his... son that Starbuck had then found
himself fighting for his freedom when he'd been framed for the murder of
his bitter enemy on the triad court, Ortega. And what did you do?
Nothing! Not a bloody thing! Some father you were. Undoubtedly,
Chameleon's failure to come forward at that point when his son had almost
been desperate enough to become a fugitive from Colonial Justice had to
have rankled Starbuck more when the truth finally did come out. With all
of that, Chameleon couldn't help but wonder if he had instead embraced
his son lovingly and announced to the Twelve Worlds that they were kin,
that perhaps Starbuck wouldn't have begun the downward spiral that had
plummeted him into his psychological nightmare.
     Then again, perhaps Chameleon was assuming too much.  Taking the
blame fully onto his shoulders when there were more contributing factors
than he could possibly be responsible for. Like father like son.  
     "You're looking a little green around the gills, Chameleon."
     Joyelle's lyrical voice drew him from his reverie, and indeed, he
could feel the telltale sheen of sweat beginning to bead on his body as
the metallic taste in his mouth began to progress into a gradual churning
in his belly.  His body felt heavy, which was odd considering he had
dropped weight that he knew he could ill afford to lose since beginning
his treatments. While he had never been heavy, when he looked in the
mirror, he appeared positively Wraith-like.
     Chameleon merely nodded at her sadly, as she leaned towards him with
the hypo-spray, delivering yet more medication to ward off the side
affects of his current therapy. He closed his eyes, suddenly too weary to
think anymore, praying silently for it all to be over soon.
     A warm hand enveloped his own, and he again opened his eyes to see
the classic and rare beauty that was his precious Claudia.  A few locks
of her stunning black hair fell over her forehead, and he reached up to
finger it lovingly and he gazed up at her.
     "Almost done, my love," she reminded him, brushing her lips across
his fingers and lending her strength to the depleted con man.
     "You can say that again," he muttered wryly, heartened by her mere
presence, and finding the sound of her elegantly clipped voice
invigorating. 
     A face that belongs on a coin, or a portrait. And a form that would
do justice to classical statuary. Am I lucky or what?
     "Almost done," she repeated and she smiled, her fine wrinkles
accented as she gazed upon his smile of appreciation for her ongoing
humor, support and love.
    It never ceased to amaze Chameleon how fortunate he'd been to find
her. At a time when he had been put through the emotional low of the
truth coming out to Starbuck and being rejected by him; and at a time
when he had become totally weary of the hovering maternal presence Siress
Blassie had been exercising over his life, to meet a woman like Claudia,
whom he could feel comfortable sharing his inner thoughts with, and who
unlike Blassie, would treat him as an equal in return, was the greatest
gift the Lords could have given him. And to his relief, his request to
Adama that Claudia become his new designated rehabilitator had been
granted with no complications either from Adama, or from Blassie as it
had turned out. The Siress had come to sense that Chameleon had grown
more dissatisfied by their arrangement, and at the very least,
Chameleon's initiative had made it possible for her to turn her
attentions to other things in life. Which was fine by Chameleon, since
despite their parting, he only wished the best for her.
     In the few sectars since, he had found in Claudia a woman whose
sense of compassion and kindness seemed all but limitless. And he could
see how it was a trait within her that extended to all facets of her
life. Not just in how she treated him, but in how she carried that to her
work as a humanitarian aboard the Senior Ship for the infirm, doing her
best to brighten the lives of so many whose lives were nearly at an end,
and who could meet that end with a greater sense of inner peace.
     Not to mention the fact that she's still a great beauty, he thought.
On the one occasion when he'd coaxed her to wear just a bit of make-up
and wear a more elegant gown, he was startled by how much it enhanced her
appearance. As if somehow, during the routine of her daily life, Claudia
was more anxious to hide the fact that she was still quite beautiful for
her age. Indeed, when he'd tried to prod her into accompanying him for an
engagement aboard the Rising Star, she'd repeatedly refused, insisting
that the greatest luxuries the Fleet had to offer were not for her to
enjoy. Not when there were so many people she worked with who'd never get
a chance to partake in them, themselves.
     Still, inside Chameleon was determined to one day change her mind,
if only so he could show as many people as he possibly could just how
special she was, and how beautiful he knew her to be. And he was sure
with a little determination, he could make that happen sooner rather than
later.
     "Thanks for coming," he said, as he continued to enjoy her gentle
touch. 
     "The pleasure is always mine," Claudia smiled as she stroked his
thinning silvery-white hair, "Even those weary souls I daily attend to
have to realize who ultimately takes greater precedence with me."
     "And does your boss, Chief Townsend, understand that?"
     She let out a sweet sounding giggle that sounded so youthful for
someone her age, "He encourages it, my love. Before I met you, he always
said I was overworking myself too much. So the more time I spend with the
man I love, the happier it makes him feel, because then he feels I'll be
more productively efficient than ever."
     Amazing that there was never anyone else for you to love before me,
Chameleon thought. Only once had he tried to get Claudia to reveal
something about her own past, but she had always tried to delicately
change the subject, revealing only that her husband was dead since the
Destruction and that she never liked revisiting a painful memory. Which
Chameleon could understand, because unlike her, there were still things
about his past that he had the opportunity to make amends for now, such
as Starbuck. That chance would always be gone for Claudia, if he read her
right.  
     Still, there were times when Chameleon couldn't help but notice the
lightness of her ring finger which revealed how a sealing band had once
rested there for quite some time. Just who had been the man Claudia had
shared her life with until that horrible night? And was there anything in
himself that reminded Claudia of that last love? Or was he completely
different?
     Perhaps in good time, he would one day know the answer. But for now,
there was no pressing need. None whatsoever, as he sighed and relaxed in
her gentle, loving touch. For now, with Claudia at his side, with his
illness seemingly conquered, and the relationship with his son on the
mend at last, he couldn't think of another time in his life these last
thirty yahrens where he'd ever felt more at peace.     
 
       
     Aboard the old freighter, Nebula, no one was paying much attention
to the three Zykonian dockworkers helping with the repairs. They seemed
to blend in with the Human workers, as well as those of other races who
worked at the station. One, a creature of more or less Humanoid lines
that nonetheless required an environmental suit to function in normal
atmosphere, finished welding a conduit one deck below the bridge, and
moved to put it's torch away. There was a slight movement off to the
left. It turned...
     No one noticed the dropped torch, nor the lone suited worker who
soon after left the Nebula.

Chapter Two

     Xlax was fairly tall, and wore a uniform of grey, with several
colored sashes across the front, diagonally from his right shoulder,
indicating (so he told them later) his rank. Smaller ribbons and medals
were affixed to these, denoting various awards or commendations received
in his career. Adama and Tinia watched as the air in front of them began
to shimmer, and then a faint buzz filled their ears. Within an eye blink,
the faint light had taken a roughly Humanoid form, and then began to
coalesce into a solid figure. It was all over in less than ten
millicentons, with a rush of warm air, and a faint feeling of static
electricity on their skin. Xlax blinked (disconcerting to Tinia, in a
reptile), looked about for a moment, and then addressed his hosts. 
     "Commander Adama?" His voice was somehow less "reptilian" than the
Commander would have expected. More pleasantly man-like. He stepped
forward, and offered his "hand". More like a claw, it was somewhat cool
to the touch, as Adama expected of a reptile, but they got through the
pleasantries, and were soon joined by Captain Apollo. Adama introduced
his son, informing Xlax that he would be his liaison officer to the
Zykonians. Apollo likewise greeted the newcomer, and Adama gave the
Zykonian a brief tour of the ship. He seemed impressed.
     "Surely you have vessels of similar size, Captain," said Siress
Tinia. "Your space station is enormous."
     "Stations yes, but we have never built a ship the size of your
Battlestar." Xlax stopped to watch several technicians working on the
repairs at the junction of two corridors. A ruptured conduit was being
carefully sliced away by one man, while two others were working to repair
an electrical junction. "No vessel of this size has ever been attempted
by our shipwrights. We obviously have much to learn."
     "Perhaps we can learn from each other," said Tinia, in her best
bureautician tone. 
     "Such is to be hoped, Colonialcouncilorsiresstinia," replied Xlax. 
     "Just Siress Tinia, Captain Xlax," replied the Councilwoman. "Or
even just plain Tinia will do."
     "Ah, have I made an error in the usage of names? I thought I had
studied the material that I was given sufficiently."
     "Not really," said the Siress. "But 'Councilor' and 'Siress' are
just titles. Not actual names. We each have but a single name."
     "Indeed," said the other, a bit surprised. "Is that
not...confusing?" 
     "Not to us," said Apollo, as Xlax looked at him. "You have more than
one?"
     "Of course," said Xlax, who told them his second name. Or tried to.
To Apollo, it sounded like someone trying to swallow too much ambrosia
while gargling a grinding wheel that was busy grinding. "I see that we
indeed have much to discover about each other, my friends."
     "I agree," said Apollo. Before he could manage another breath, the
PA rang out. Omega was calling Commander Adama. He crossed to a telecom.
It was another call from the Zykonian Station Commander. Would Adama be
able to meet him in his office, shortly? Adama said yes, and leaving
Apollo to his newfound companion, he and Tinia were off.
  
 
     "Must be nice.  Having all day to amuse yourself as you see fit."
The voice was almost light enough to indicate he didn't mean it. Almost.
     "Yeah, well, I have deep rooted psychological issues that I'm
dealing with. Just ask my analyst." Starbuck returned dryly, lying on his
bunk in the billet, arms crossed behind his head as he watched the
endless parade of Warriors pass into the turbo washes.
     "I hope you put 'em on danger pay!" rang a voice from inside the
washroom.
     "Any more outta you, and your guts are bootlaces!" snarled Starbuck.

     Bojay was the typical example of the Colonial Warrior at the
Zykonian Space Dock. His usual uniform had been exchanged for the more
functional outfit of a maintenance worker as he spent long centars
contributing in any way possible to the repair and refitting of the
ravaged Battlestar. Every man and woman aboard the ship were well aware
that command wanted them out of there as soon as possible, and while they
were politely associating with their hosts, a palpable unease permeated
the Battlestar as they lay beached like a mammoth whale, exposed and
vulnerable to enemies both old and new.
     Bojay snorted in return. "C'mon Starbuck, everybody knows you're
just trying to get out of these extra duties we've all grown to love so
well."
     "Careful, Bojay, your slip is showing." Starbuck remarked, ribbing
the man as he always had since he had decided on their first tour that
the Warrior really needed to loosen up a bit. He could see the answering
twinkle in the man's eyes, and wondered, not for the first time, if Bojay
had never had the benefit of a best friend to harangue him mercilessly,
taking him down a few notches when the man got too serious for his own
good.  The Captain had the capacity to give as good as he got, he only
needed the right motivation...     "Go blow the stink off in the bar. The
Lords know, you could do with a personality alteration brought on by some
high-test alcohol and dazzling female companionship. Maybe hook up with
that little brown haired sweetie of yours. What's her name again? Gayla?"

     Bojay threw him a disdainful smirk, "Come on Bucko, you're already
acquainted with her. And believe me, it was fun hearing her tell me what
a bad impression you made!"
     For just a fraction of an instant, Starbuck felt the temptation to
tell Bojay how Gayla had likewise not left a favorable impression on him,
especially when he'd been trying to restrain her from physically
assaulting her bigamist husband, Twilly, during what proved to be a
harrowing incident aboard the Agroship. But he knew that would have
crossed a line, so he just smirked back and shrugged, "Not every woman in
this universe was meant for knowing what it really means to be exposed to
the Starbuck charm."
     "The Lords of Kobol be praised," Bojay smiled.  Starbuck grinned and
shrugged good-naturedly in response.  The sparring was almost like a
relentless Cylon attack...only more amusing.  Yeah, Gayla had been good
for the man.  Just what he apparently had needed.
     "I hear Captain Xlax is going to introduce us to one of their
national pastimes tonight." Bojay offered, relieved to see some of the
old spark back in the Lieutenant.
     "I haven't met him yet. But I've heard all about him from Apollo."
Starbuck mentioned.  The alien officer had become the unofficial public
relations man (well, Zykonian) for their space station.  He had tried to
ease the transition for the Colonials by introducing them to Zykonian
traditions and pastimes to bolster the spirits of the battle-weary Humans
after their last encounter with the Ziklagi Empire.  Most of the
encounters had occurred in the Har-bitah*, which was the main reason
Starbuck hadn't met the Captain.
     For the most part he had been avoiding bars, Human or otherwise. 
After all, it was awfully hard on a guy's resolve to sit in front of
shiny brass taps and sip on a refreshing, yet repulsive, fruit juice,
soft drink, or... gasp!... water.  Just the mere thought of it sent a
shudder of revulsion through him.  
     Okay, maybe it wasn't so much the flavor of the drinks as the
suspicious looks on his fellow Warrior's faces as they considered the
contents of his glass. They all knew that if it held the slightest trace
of alcohol, he would be on report so fast it would make a Viper on
maximum thrust appear as though it was standing still.
     Yeah, of late his friends had also joined the ranks of Cassie's
enforcers. The little Baltars! As much as he publicly turned a jaundiced
eye on all of them, inside he knew that they had his best interests at
heart.  Still, it was tough on a seasoned Warrior to be treated so...
deferentially.  He shuddered again.
     He had even gone as far as to seek out a little Zykonian
hole-in-the-wall bar just to prove to himself that he didn't need the
support... or the accusatory glances, of his friends to dissuade him from
imbibing.  How he had even found the dank and dour little spot in the
bowels of the space station after his last session with Tarnia actually
amazed him.  It must have been his sixth sense that naturally led him to
the disreputable dive, built right over a recycling plant from the smell
of the place, that was so dimly lit that he could barely see the
occupants, as they regarded him with more curiosity than hostility. At
least he had believed that to be the case.
     He had walked coolly up to the bar, as though he had done so many a
time before, then he had ordered Gurrocht. It took some time, but he
eventually made himself understood to the barkeep, a non-Zykonian that
looked more like a bipedal lupus than anything else, and after a moment,
he had his drink. All he really knew for certain was that it
non-alcoholic and sold in every cooler on the station. That was all it
really needed to recommend it. It certainly sounded better than blurthgg
anyhow. Nope, there was nothing alive squirming around in it as he tipped
the tankard and took a tentative first sip of the musky, swamp-like
liquid, every eye (and equivalent organ) in the place upon him.  And from
the cold shiver that ran down his spine, as his glance passed over a dark
corner, not all of them were friendly.
     It had burned going down like a potent homebrew and as soon as it
hit his stomach, he could feel his pulse begin to race.  It had been like
an instantaneous javeine rush. Then a slightly tingling sensation had
filled his mouth like a refreshing effervescence. He momentarily wondered
if he still had any of the enamel left on his teeth.
     Third Lord of Kobol on a raft!!! What in Hades Hole... 
     So he had taken another sip.
     A quiet spot and some inspirational beverage was what he needed to
formulate a plan.  Lords, he had been feeling like he was at loose ends
since leaving his counseling session.  Since he had purposely left his
Languatron at the billet, he had waved off apologetically any attempt at
polite conversation from the other patrons as he thought about how he
would hunt down the Ziklagi shape-shifter that had altered his life so
inexorably.
     According to Apollo, neither Colonial Security nor the Elite
Squadron had had any luck in tracking down the elusive Korax.  It was as
if, once again, the murderous shape-shifter had simply disappeared.  It
would be just Starbuck's luck that he was impersonating a turbo flush in
the nearest facility where he would next attack the Lieutenant with his
pants down around his ankles, the Zykonian Gazette in hand.
     That was it really.  As much as Korax had seamlessly melded into his
environment, Starbuck had this nagging suspicion that the Ziklagi
Over-Lieutenant would once again surface to seek absolute revenge. It
would be out of character for him to just give up, Starbuck decided.
Alien he might be, but Starbuck could read him like a book, as many a
Pyramid opponent had discovered to their doom. He had meant to kill
Starbuck, and knowing his rather passionate personality, he would be
furious to discover he had once again failed.
     Failure was akin to the worst of possible sins to the "honor" of his
Ziklagi enemy.
     Honor...? Sewer rats know more about......
     Hades Hole, Starbuck wasn't too impressed with his own failures. 
For a moment while battling Korax in the turbo flush aboard the
Nebula-not exactly the most noble of battle zones, he reflected-he had
actually thought he would overcome the beast.  The next thing he knew he
was waking up to be told he had been killed by it instead. Well, at least
he woke up.
     And what the thing had done to Jensen... Lords, he had known that
something was up with the kid!  If he hadn't doubted his instincts,
continuing to carefully watch the "Ensign" that the shape shifter was
impersonating, and had instead exposed the creature while he was in the
relative safety of his friends...  No, he was so unsure of himself that
he had almost caused yet another death, his own. As it was, the kid might
never walk again.
     The time for self-recriminations was over. Just as when he and
Apollo headed out for the lone BaseShip, the time for action was upon
him.
     Bojay's voice drew him out of his reverie.  "So are you coming
tonight or not?"
     "Yeah.  Of course I'm coming, " he replied.  "After all, Apollo said
he was going to order the blurthgg.  That I have to see."
     Apollo was in full "Captain mode", overseeing everything and
everybody, while trying to experience the nuances of another culture and
spend some quality time with his blushing bride and son.  And, being
Apollo, he was pulling it off.  Yeah, they all needed to kick back and
relax for a couple centars which was the reason Starbuck had agreed,
after some prompting from Boomer and Apollo, to escort Cassiopeia to the
Zykonian Bar & Grill that night.
     He wondered fleetingly if the newly pregnant Athena would make it
there. Boomer had told him how his incredible joy at the announcement of
the conception of their child had been somewhat tempered by his very
recently betrothed taking up residence over the great white flusher. 
Rumor had it, she hadn't strayed far from her porcelain palace since
then.  Boomer had morosely explained the morning sickness-and why they
called it that when it lasted twenty-four centars a day, he'd never
understand-could last anywhere from a few sectons to a number of sectars.
It made Starbuck wonder if the poor girl would stop retching long enough
to get sealed. Lords, what Adama would think if she didn't.
     What he probably already had!
     "Are you going to try the blurthgg too, Bucko?" Bojay asked with a
grin as he turned to head into the turbo wash.  "After all, you are
Apollo's friend and wingman."
     Starbuck chuckled before replying, "Hey, I said I have deep rooted
psychological issues... I'm not crazy." 
     "HA!" rang a voice, and Starbuck grabbed up his spare boot sending
flying across the room with deadly accuracy.  

     *Translates roughly as The Spittoon.


     Still not entirely trusting the Zykonian device, Adama chose to
transport over to the station by shuttle, with Athena as pilot. The
landing bay port was as big as those on the Galactica, and once lined up,
they were guided in remotely by the station's computer. Athena found that
a bit annoying, preferring to fly the machine herself, but as Adama
pointed out, once inside they had no idea where to go. They settled into
their assigned slip, and Athena powered her down.
     "How long do you think this will take, Father?" From her sigh, it
was obvious to Adama that his daughter had no good feelings about the
meeting.
     "I have no idea, Athena. The Station Commander is obviously a busy
person, but I have a feeling we've been moved to the top of the pile."
     "Do you trust them?" she asked. She had hoped for some time alone to
talk to her father about events concerning herself and Boomer, but
privacy seemed to be at a minimum right now. She certainly did not wish
to discuss the matter in front of anyone else. Besides herself, Colonel
Tigh and Siress Tinia were making the trip.
     They were met by two Zykonians in what they decided must be Security
uniforms, and escorted to the Commander's office. Why, Athena decided,
the place you are headed is so blasted far away from where you landed
made no sense whatsoever, but nonetheless seemed a universal constant.
They exited the landing bay through an airlock, then a massive set of
blast doors, down a long slightly curved corridor, then into an elevator
to another deck. After what seemed like centars, they arrived at a
non-descript door, painted a dull ochre color. One of the guards pressed
several keys on an electronic control pad next to it, and after a few
moments, the door opened, and they were ushered inside.
     "Ah, Commander Adama. At last," said the object of this trip. He
stood up, and greeted them in more or less Human fashion, extending his
hand. Athena wanted to lose several lunches at the touch of a reptile,
but held her composure. "Welcome. I am Commander Hir-Zykor. I regret that
my duties have so far delayed our meeting in person."
     "You are busy, Commander," replied Adama. "I quite understand. May I
introduce my associates?" He introduced each person in turn, and their
position in the Fleet. Hir-Zykor greeted them, bowing courteously. 
     "Yes. Duty is never done. As you can readily understand," he said,
motioning them to seats, "your arrival has caused some measure
of...excitement hereabouts."
     "So we observed," said Tigh, flatly. The alien motioned to another
of his kind, a steward apparently, whom he did not introduce, and offered
them drinks, and all but Athena accepted. She and her father exchanged
glances, but said nothing. Tigh tasted his, and nodded. 
     "Excellent," said Tinia, lifting her glass a bit.
     "Yes. Our oshib is a most stimulating imbibement." Hir-Zykor sat
down, and took a sip himself. "Now, to business." He set down his glass,
and activated a screen. One of the windows of his office turned opaque,
and then became a video screen. It went from a sweeping vista of the
planet below them to a slightly out-of-focus image of the Galactica.
There was no hint of color.
     "Your scans of us?" asked Adama.
     "Yes. One of our long-range unmanned scout probes, surveying beyond
the Ziklagi frontier, detected your vessel several of your...uh, sectars
ago. That area of space is little known to us, and the Ziklagoio have
persistently blocked any attempts at exploration of it. Finally, one of
our probes got through."
     "Where was this, exactly?" asked Adama, gesturing towards the image.
     "A few light days this side of a system listed in Ziklagi charts as
Boron-Din. Sadly, our probe was discovered, and we did not find you again
for some time."
     "Why did you not contact us?" asked Tigh, his voice not particularly
sympathetic. If Hir-Zykor noted it, he gave no sign.
     "As I said, it was some time before we found you again, and in the
interim our attention was, regrettably, focused elsewhere," replied the
Zykonian. "Then, when the Aradon station was destroyed, and you defeated
one of their ships in an asteroid field, you once more had our full
attention. Our tactical experts are still studying your engagement,
Commander. Most impressive."
     "Thank-you, but I must tell you that we did not destroy that space
station," said Adama.
     "Yes, we know, Commander. The alien vessel you encountered was
responsible for that. Eridese I believe."
     "You certainly seem to know a great deal," said Siress Tinia, a bit
astringently. 
     "Well, when you were found again, one of our probes was able to
remain in your vicinity. We intercepted segments of both audio and visual
transmissions you refer to as..." He looked down at some papers on his
desk. "Ah, yes. IFB. Inter-Fleet Broadcasting. Most informative in its
own way. From it, we were able to both learn something of your origins,
as well as decipher your language."
     "And doubtless learned that we are of no threat to your people,"
said Athena, deadpan.
     "Of course not," replied Hir-Zykor. "We assessed that very quickly.
Then, after the destruction of the Aradon station, and the resultant
chaos throughout the Ziklagi Empire, it was decided that you deserved
careful watching."
     "Meaning you want something from us," said Tinia, the politician
coming into her voice again. She locked eyes with the reptilian being.
"Forgive my bluntness, Commander Hir-Zykor, but refugees such as
ourselves could have little of obvious value for such a society as yours.
And your...benevolence, while certainly welcome, is hardly standard with
total strangers, I would deem. Therefore..."
     "Ha! Commander," said Hir-Zykor, laughing and slapping a hand on the
desk. "Your fellow Councilor has a sharp wit." He leaned forwards, hands
clasped in front of him. "Yes. We, that is my government, as you say,
want something."
     "And that is?" asked Adama.
     "While doubtless there is more, I am authorized to say this. You
passed through a huge slice of Ziklagi space."
     "Ah," said Tigh, softly, nodding.
     "Yes, Colonel. Our own scans of those sectors are either old,
fragmentary, or entirely lacking. My government is, shall we say, eager
to rectify this deficiency."
     "So, you want our scans and sensor logs?" said Adama.
     "Succinctly, yes. You and your fleet, aside from coming from a
region of the galaxy utterly unknown to us, have traversed areas of a
hostile power that we are most anxious to learn more about. The data you
possess is of vital importance, in the view of my government."
     "Are you planning to attack Ziklag, then?" asked Athena. Try as she
might, she was finding it a great struggle to feel the least bit trusting
of a glorified bipedal snake. Still, they were alive, thanks to these
people, so...
     "Attack? No, not at all, Lieutenant. My government is indeed most
anxious to avoid war. A war that could conceivably lead to the utter ruin
of both sides. My superiors wish to forestall any potential aggressive
moves by Ziklag, and maintain the current balance of power in this
region. To be certain of achieving this, we require data on areas from
which it has been most difficult to gather meaningful intelligence. What
you possess is worth many years of dangerous and potentially provocative
covert operations."
     "Surely Ziklag would not attack, with their empire undergoing
revolts right now?" asked Tinia. "That would be potential suicide."
     "True, but the situation there may stabilize. And the future is
always in doubt, especially with the power struggles rumored to be going
on in their capital. Should a new, more aggressive regime come to
power..."  Hir-Zykor turned his palms upwards, the Zykonian equivalent of
a shrug, it seemed. "We must look to the future safety of our people,
Commander Adama. And, my superiors are most eager to learn about these
Cylons with whom you warred. What, if any, threat they may pose to this
part of the galaxy." 
     "I understand, Commander Hir-Zykor," replied Adama. He sat in
thought a moment. While he found the Zykonian attempt at back-door
intelligence a bit distasteful, he had to admit it made sense. They were
alive solely due to the benevolence of these people, a benevolence that
might well change if he refused to play Triad. And with the Galactica
currently in pieces, in their space dock, should the red carpet be
pulled...
     "Very well, Commander," said Adama. "I think our scanner logs and
patrol data could be made available."
     "Excellent," said the other. "I am pleased." From the way the
Zykonian "smiled", it was obvious that he was indeed pleased. Then, after
a moment, he spoke again. 
     "You want what?" asked Tigh.
 

     "They want what?" asked Chief Shadrick, in his office off the main
engineering section. It was a tiny haven of relative quiet, amidst the
cacophonous din of repair personnel, and their machinery. 
     "Our full structural and layout specifications, Chief," said Tigh,
sitting across the desk from Shadrick.  "From keel to Celestial Dome."
     "Uh..." said Shadrick, clearly taken aback. In order to get underway
with the repairs, he had had to allow access to many of the Galactica's
classified systems, but only low-level so far, and only on an as-needed
basis. Never the full Pinias. "May I enquire as to why, sir?" he asked. 
     "Part of the deal the Commander struck with the Zykonians, Chief."
Tigh saw the look on the other's face. "I quite agree, Chief. But, it
seems that for all their technical prowess, the Zykonians have never
succeeded in building a ship the size of a Battlestar. They seem...taken
with the possibility, and asked Commander Adama for data on her
construction. If we wish the good will to continue..."
     "I understand, sir." Shadrick sighed in disgust, and swept some data
chips off his desk, reaching for his keyboard. "I'll need the Commander's
clearance for the files."
     "Right here, Chief," said Tigh, handing him a chip. "They say
they'll expect the data by 0800 tomorrow."
     "It'll be in their...hands, Colonel."
     "Thank you, Chief," said Tigh. He turned to go, and the door slid
open, to once more envelop them in noise. "How are they doing?" he asked,
inclining his head in the direction of the repair crews.
     "All in all, pretty well, Colonel," replied Shadrick. "Their basic
systems seem to be interfacing with ours without too much trouble." They
both stepped back out into the cavernous room. Tigh looked up at one of
the huge tylium reactors, silent now save for the work going on around
it. At least a dozen figures, four of them Zykonian, were swarming over
it, torches flashing as bent and charred metal was cut away, and the
damaged components within exposed. Already, not a metron in front of
Tigh, a pile was growing, of charred circuits, melted cables and busses,
and other things he did not recognize. "As you can see, we're still
stripping out damaged components."
     "As you know, life support and utilities are the top priority just
now, Chief. Our water and recycling plants were heavily damaged."
     "Yes, sir," said Shadrick, and motioned the Colonel to follow him.
Eventually they came to a room, the hatchway still stuck part-ways open
in a bent bulkhead. Like the engine room, workers were busy, trying to
free the hatch, and both men slipped inside. It was a wilderness of
broken conduits and wrecked controls, but a bright spot, as workers cut
away debris and detritus, was a shiny new pump, being fitted against a
far bulkhead.
     "The Commander will be pleased," said Tigh, watching as the workers
coupled pipes to the new unit, fresh from ship's stores. 
     "We've got the Hephaestus working overtime, sir. But we'll make it.
You can count on it."
     "Thanks, Chief. I'll let Commander Adama know. Now, what about the
water? We lost a lot of it in the battle." 
     "Courtesy of the Zykonians, sir. Apparently they are letting us have
water from the planet below. Groundwater there is quite plentiful, it
seems."
     "I see. Make sure it's scanned from here to Kobol, Chief. We don't
want any...unpleasant after-effects manifesting themselves."
     "Dr. Wilker already has some people on that, sir," smiled Shadrick.
"They took a shuttle with all their equipment down to the planet about
half a centar ago."
     "Good. I'll report to Commander Adama, Chief. Let me know when those
files have been transmitted."
     "Yes, sir."
     "And make sure all our anti-hacking and other computer safeguards
are in place, Chief."
     "You think they might try and steal something, sir?"
     "Better safe than sorry, Chief. After all that's happened so far, we
certainly don't need any more surprises coming at us."
     "Yes, sir. Understood."


     Apollo found his Zykonian opposite number to be not quite what he'd
expected. As a Colonial Warrior, he both knew about the original
reptilian origins of the Cylons, and possessed the natural aversion to
such creatures that most Humans have, and thus had a natural caution
about what to expect. Xlax however soon made him forget that he was
reptilian ...well almost. He was curious, learned fast, and had a ready
laugh. He also, reminding the Captain more than a little of Starbuck
before he had cut his alcohol intake out completely on Dr. Salik's
orders, liked to lift the elbow whenever possible. Thus it was, after a
brief tour of the ship, and a visit to the computer room for some data
transfers, that they found themselves in the Officer's Club, Xlax
sampling some of their best. 
     "And this be what's called ambrosia, yer honor," said Freeman, the
former inmate from Proteus Prison, and now one of the ship's barkeeps. He
set the glass in front of Apollo's guest, and waited. Xlax lifted the
glass, took a tentative sniff, then a taste. 
     "Zykor's Lips!" exclaimed the Zykonian, voice excited, eyes going
wide, pupils expanding from the usual slits to full circles. He looked at
the glass, then at Freeman, then to Apollo. "It's...it's..."
     "You like?" asked Freeman.
     "Oh yes!" said Xlax, and downed the whole thing. 
     "Has he met Lieutenant Starbuck, Captain?" asked Freeman, the
innocence on his features betrayed by the devilry in his eyes.
     "Not yet," laughed Apollo. They watched as Xlax finished his drink,
somewhat disconcertingly licking out the glass with his flicking tongue.
He set it down, and looked up at the old ex-prisoner. 
     "What else do you have?" 
     Freeman kept his amusement to himself, and went off to check his
stores. Fortunately, they had survived the recent engagement unscathed,
much to his relief. 
     Hhmm.... Let's see...Skorpian ale...scorpius! HA! Hassarian brandy?
Hades, at that price? That's for special customers only. Ah Hades Hole,
if this ain't special! Libran whiskey? Mmmmmmmmm.....maybe that'd be
good...Kobol, anythin' that can knock Starbuck flat onto his astrum hasta
be worth something!
     "...your race, Captain," Xlax was saying, as Freeman returned with
his selections. In his absence, the Zykonian had consumed more ambrosia,
and was apparently enjoying it all the more, if his wider eyes and
darkened skin was any indication. 
     "You have never encountered Humans before?" Apollo asked, swirling
the almost full contents of the glass in front of him.
     "You and your people are the first I have ever seen, Captain," said
Xlax, looking over Freeman's proffered selections. With a smile, and a
smack of his lipless mouth, he selected something green, and filled his
own glass, nodding courteously at the barkeep. "While there are species
that resemble you superficially, the Kykor, the Xull, the Triolosians,
even Harkaelians, Humans have never visited Zykonian space." He took
another gulp of something tantalizing, and then paused, seeming to
remember something.
     "You seem to have contact with quite a number of other species,"
said Apollo, wondering if he was going to end up with an intoxicated
alien on his hands...or on the deck. As Xlax perused the rest of the
beverages, a couple of off-duty Warriors wandered in, and stopped, seeing
the Blue Squadron Captain with one of the new aliens. Apollo returned
their salutes, and they settled in a far corner, watching him curiously
from behind their drinks. 
     "Oh indeed, Captain Apollo. As I recall, we have either contacted or
otherwise encountered over one hundred and sixty sentient races since
leaving our home system."
     "How long ago was that?"
     "Just over two hundred of our years on Zimira-Prime, which works out
to close to three hundred of your standard Colonial yahrens."
     "That's pretty fast, to go from just discovering light-speed
propulsion, to where you seem to be now, Captain."
     "Is it?" asked the other. "Most of the other races we have
encountered with similar technology seem to have taken roughly the same
amount of time to advance." He took another long swig of something, and
smacked his non-lips again. "Perhaps your long war with the Cylon
creatures inhibited certain areas of scientific advance." His words and
thought processes were obviously unaffected by the alcohol.  The man's
capacity was impressive, or alarming, depending on how you looked at it.
     "Possibly, Captain, but I wonder..."
     "Hi," a voice interrupted.
     Apollo looked up, to see a somewhat stunned looking Boomer, standing
over him. Apollo returned his greeting, and motioned for him to sit. 
Boomer greeted the Zykonian liaison, and signaled the barkeep for a
drink.  
     "A large one." Boomer added.  Athena, after returning from the trip
to the station, had curled up into a ball in her quarters, once again
overcome with nausea. She had told him that Dr. Salik had recommended a
medication to quell the worst of the symptoms, but she had refused,
vehement that she wouldn't take anything that might put the baby at risk,
and that she could endure anything that the mothers-to-be who came before
her did.
     "Are you all right, Boomer?" Apollo asked.
     "Yep." He took another drink, recalling his torn feelings at being
proud of her for wanting to do everything she could to ensure a healthy
pregnancy, yet his helplessness at her discomfort.  He looked back to the
Zykonian, relieved to occupy his mind with other thoughts for the moment.
"So, we're the first, huh?  Humans, that is."
     "In my time, yes certainly." Xlax replied.
     "Whoa, hold it a centon," said Apollo. "Did you say your time?"
     "Yes, Captain," replied Xlax, setting down his latest drink. "I
remember now what it was that was bothering me. I have never seen your
kind before, as I said. But there have been Humans in Zykonian space
before this. Many, many years ago."
     Both Colonial Warriors, as well as Freeman, fell silent, looking at
each other. Apollo picked up the Languatron. Blast! The thing had
rendered his "you have never encountered" as "you've never met", turning
the collective into a second person singular.
     Wilker!
     "When was this encounter?" asked Boomer.
     "Oh, let me see." Xlax considered a moment. "Before my time,
Lieutenant. Possibly even before my father's time as well. I remember the
story. A ship of a type never before encountered was discovered in our
space, near the old Bosaq frontier. It was damaged and drifting, and the
survivors were rescued by one of our patrol ships. Out of an original
crew of ten, it seemed there were six or seven survivors, and they were
slipping fast."
     "Had they been attacked?" asked Apollo. For a moment, thoughts about
the crew of the long-lost Battlestar Callisto flitted through his mind.
Could these also have been lost Warriors, or civilian refugees from the
Colonies? A few people had fled the Colonies, sick of the war, and headed
out for parts unknown over the yahrens. Maybe...or maybe not.
     Wait a centon, he thought, as his mind went back to a conversation
aboard the hideous Derelict vessel, with the man who had once been
Colonel Delambre, the lost Battlestar's executive officer. He had told
him something about which there had not been enough time for him to
reveal more about. Something that could conceivably tie into what the
Zykonian was now describing.
     "I don't know, Xlax answered his initial question. "As I said, it
was a story I heard as a child. I can try and see if there is any
official record of it."
     "And these were Humans," said Boomer.
     "Yes."
     "What happened to them?" asked Freeman, in spite of himself.
     "I don't recall. I was very young, as I said. A story told by one's
elders, overheard long after one was supposed to be in bed. I think..."
he mused a moment. "I think at least one of them tried to return to their
homeworld. Stole a ship, or something." He turned his palms upwards, the
Zykonian version of a shrug. 
     "And these Humans, they identified themselves as such?" asked
Apollo. He had no intention of pressing too much, especially when it tied
into a subject that for now remained an off-limits matter that only he,
Sheba and his father knew anything about.
     "All I remember is the word, in association with the old story,
Captain. That, and they were supposed to be from some planet called
Earth."

Chapter Three
 
     "Promise me one thing," said a voice.
     "Just one?" Apollo asked Starbuck as the Lieutenant appeared
abruptly over his right shoulder.
     "If you can promise me this, I'm sure I won't need anything else the
rest of the night," Starbuck responded as he leaned over the back of
Apollo's chair to enjoy the immense view of space before them.  It made
the Celestial Dome feel like one was being crammed into a crystal fish
bowl. The drinkery itself was about the size of the bridge with a
'U'-shaped, dark, carved stone bar that separated the room from the main
dining area. The patrons were treated to a twenty metron high elliptical
viewing port that seemed to engulf the room, leaving them with the
illusion they were sitting in outer space enjoying their drinks.
     Although he could have done without the concealed mauve mood
lighting around the window.
     The Har-bitah was easily the largest bar Starbuck had ever been in.
Even back in Colonial space, there had been nothing quite this big. Not
even the Carillon Casino. And he had never seen so many different species
in one spot at the same time. Every being in the Space Station clearly
used it to relax, rotating between the elegant bar, formal restaurant,
entertainment lounge, and the Rygko Pit.
     "I thought you were busy corrupting our hosts," Apollo grinned at
his friend, hearing Sheba's light laughter in response to his comment. He
reached across and squeezed her hand, holding her gaze for a moment
before returning his attention to the Lieutenant.
     "I think you're changing the subject," Starbuck shrugged, a slight
smirk on his lips. "I heard that maintaining your concentration gets
difficult after marriage. Not getting enough sleep, buddy?"
     Sheba cleared her throat, a slight blush on her cheeks, as she stood
up. "I think I'll go see where you've abandoned poor Cassiopeia,
Starbuck." She paused, giving him a glower worthy of Cain. "You don't
happen to remember, do you?"
     "Who?" he grinned, signaling a passing waiter.
     "About what I thought." Sheba shook her head, leaning down to kiss
Apollo lightly.  "I'll see you soon. See if you can lose the yahoo by the
time I get back."
     "Hey!" Starbuck protested. "I resemble that remark!"
     "I'll do my best," Apollo replied with a smile, pausing to watch her
cross the room, enjoying the way her sterncastle maneuvered the area.
"Now where were we?" he watched his friend slide into the chair recently
vacated by his bride.
     "The promise." Starbuck nodded to the waiter as the Zykonian stood
in front of him for a moment, studying him, before handing him a large
glass of Gurrocht. Starbuck narrowed his eyes at the retreating alien
before raising his glass to the Captain, taking a sip... and shuddering.
     "No, that wasn't it." Apollo replied, his eyes crinkling in
amusement as he noted with interest the Lieutenant plunge in for a second
taste of the strange drink, made from the root of the Gurro tree.
Wherever in the Universe that came from. "Ah, yes.  I remember now...
even without much sleep..."
     Starbuck laughed out loud, raising his glass to his friend again in
appreciation.
     Apollo stretched his feet out in front of him, considering the stars
as he crossed his ankles. Not for the first time did he find himself
wishing they were the stars of home. "Now, I'm sure that when Captain
Xlax was explaining Rygko to me, there was no mention of placing bets and
setting odds in the Rygko Pit." The Captain continued, looking back over
his shoulder in reaction to a growing din. Zykonians, along with many
others, were on their feet punching "fists" into the air as they followed
their favorite sport on one of the largest screens Apollo had ever seen.
Much like the viewing port in the bar area, and bigger than the main
viewport on the Galactica's bridge, the screen almost gave the spectators
the illusion that they were on the large dirt court itself, watching the
two teams compete. While Apollo had seen the locals excited about their
sport before, never had that translated to the passionate display before
him now, as Zykonian currency exchanged hands at the end of each of the
five periods.
     "We were exchanging... cultural information.  I merely pointed out
to Xlax that wagering on a sport often makes the event even more
enjoyable to our people," Starbuck elucidated.
     "So Xlax wanted you to explain it more thoroughly?" Apollo asked,
sipping on his alechti, a popular drink that was similar to their ale.
     "You know, Xlax, he's a details kind of guy," Starbuck nodded,
looking back towards the Rygko Pit trying to spot the Zykonian Captain
that he had finally met that night.  "They catch on quickly though, don't
you think?"
     "How much are you in for?" Apollo asked.
     "Not much. I haven't quite learned the subtle nuances of the game."
Starbuck chuckled.  "Now, about my promise..." His eyes glittered with
mischief as he saw Xlax coming in their direction.
     "Right. One promise. What is it?"
     "I just want to know for certain that the Council of Twerp....uh,
Twelve isn't planning on implementing the farming of Zykonian grubs as a
foodstuff."
     Apollo chuckled.  "Well, apparently blurthgg is a protein enriched
food requiring very little in the way of resources or space to propagate
it."
     "Apollo, they're bugs."
     "Protein rich bugs, Starbuck. Well, actually, more like a
bug/reptile sort of...cross thing. Many cultures in the Colonies were
known to eat insects, often as a delicacy." He laughed as he watched the
look of revulsion cross his friend's face.
     "And you really want to try the bugs?" Starbuck asked, again
shuddering dramatically.
     "I'm curious what their national dish tastes like." Apollo nodded,
startled to suddenly find himself looking down into a black stone bowl of
writhing, white grub things, each big enough to fill his palm. 
     "Have you seen what they grow the stuff in?
     "Well..." 
     "I had the chef prepare it specially for you, Captain," Captain Xlax
told him fondly as he walked around Apollo, wearing what could be
perceived as a smile on a face that strangely resembled a cross between a
lupus and a serpent.  He set the dish down on a small table between the
Colonial Warriors, his three claws and main digit as functional as any
Human hand. "Fresh from the farm and briefly marinated in a fine
keedechtee before they were zinggeed to perfection." The Languatron
translated the Zykonian officer's words almost perfectly into Colonial
Standard, minus the words still unknown, with occasional frequent
modulating as they expanded their knowledge of the language.
     Apollo kept his face carefully neutral, noticing Starbuck failing
miserably to do the same, as the Captain contained the single grub that
was endeavoring to escape the fate of its siblings as it squiggled across
the dish.  
     "Luckily, they are not known for their speed." Xlax pointed out as
he pulled up a chair to join them. His serpent-like tongue flicked out
briefly as he spoke. "It's really preferable to eat them while still in
their death throes."
     "Really," said Starbuck, hoping his stomach would not embarrass him
tonight. "Why's that?
     "The changes in their blood brought about by preparation, as well as
the fear, creates an utterly delectable savor. The very flavor of
Paradise!"
     "The diner's fear or the bug's?" Starbuck asked as his shoulders
began to shake with suppressed laughter and he covered his face, cupping
his chin in his hand.  He watched Apollo scoop up a small serving,
offering it his way.  "I'll stick to the Gurrocht, thanks," he sputtered.

     "Well, here goes." Apollo let out a deep breath, raising the utensil
to his lips and placing the squirming... and squealing...food... in his
mouth.  The initial flavor was surprisingly pleasant.  He bit down,
certain he could feel each plump grub pop, as he chewed and finally
swallowed.  "Tastes like poulon," he grinned at the Lieutenant.
     Starbuck roared with laughter as he watched Apollo take another
bite, chuckling around his blurthgg.  The Captain held out the bowl to
the Zykonian offering a taste.
     "Thank you, no.  I don't eat that much fuuttweept if I can help it,"
Xlax politely declined.
 
     
     "Hi, Cassie!"  Sheba called out as she noticed the blonde Med Tech
taking in the view.       She turned around and smiled, "Glad to see
someone remembered where I was!"
     "Yeah, I guess it's easy to get distracted by this if your tastes
don't instinctively run toward sampling Zykonian food and drink," Sheba
shook her head, "Truth be known, I don't feel up to sampling anything I'm
not familiar with right now."
     "Believe me, once you've had a taste of it, you get used to it,"
Cassiopeia said.  "I'm really glad we were able to put in here. Getting
away from the Galactica's given me a chance to unwind a bit. And since I
don't have any passes on the Rising Star coming anytime soon, enjoying
Zykonian hospitality seemed like a good enough substitute."
     Sheba nodded and glanced back at the giant transparent window, "I
swear, I'd almost suspect the Zykonians had to have hired the same
designer who did the Empyreal Lounge! The same basic idea of being able
to relax in front of a breathtaking view of the stars."
     "True. Although the Empyreal Lounge is so much quieter by
comparison."
     "No Rykgo Pit allowed to create a noisier atmosphere," Sheba then
glanced at Cassiopeia.  "So how goes it?"
     "Pretty good," the Med Tech said, "Starbuck's doing a lot better
now...thankfully. He's got a ways to go, but...I think the worst is
over."
     "Glad to know that."
     "So is marriage everything it's cracked up to be?" she felt more
comfortable changing the subject.
     Sheba lowered her head slightly and chuckled, "In every way. It's
kind of funny how easy it's been sliding into that status of being
married now. You know your life is different from what it's been before,
and yet, it seems like Apollo and I have been able to go about our lives
just like we always have before."
     "Well it helped that you and he had built up a solid relationship
over the last few sectars. I've seldom seen a marriage work where the
couple had only met a secton or so before and then acted on impulse."
     "Yeah, that helps," Sheba paused, "Though for a couple cycles, I was
on the verge of thinking a dramatic change in our lives was about to
happen."
     "What do you mean?" Cassiopeia frowned.
     "I mean, for two whole cycles, I was convinced I was pregnant,"
Sheba said, "I was so sure I even started dropping suggestions to Apollo
about possible names. But.....turned out I jumped the gun on interpreting
the test results. A possible positive reading on a first test usually
turns out to be true seventy percent of the time, but...turned out I'm
part of the thirty percent where it just wasn't true."
     Cassiopeia wasn't sure how to respond to that information.  "I'm
sorry," was all she could say.
     "Oh don't be," she said disarmingly, "I mean...if it had been true,
that would have been wonderful, but...after I got the final results back
that said for certain it was negative, I gave it some thought and
realized that it was probably just Someone's way of saying that's just
not meant to be, right now." She pointed upwards. "And given
how...orderly my life is, the way I've been able to adjust to being
Apollo's wife, Boxey's mother and still carry out my normal duties as a
Warrior, it's just as well I don't have to worry about the complications
a new baby would cause right now."
     "I hear you. In fact, I thought I was pregnant for a while too."
Sheba looked at her, and Cassie nodded. "But, after re-running the tests
again a few days later, it turned out I had a false positive as well.
Maybe for the best. I don't think Starbuck could handle impending
fatherhood right now. He needs more time, and frankly I need him to be
well and stable before I take that step."
     "I understand. Sounds like Athena is the only one of us to end up
pregnant."
     Cassiopeia pondered her next question, "So....do you plan on being
more...careful when it comes to making sure you don't have to deal with
that?"
     "Probably," Sheba admitted, "I....do have a fairly generous supply
of certain...things that are meant to prevent those things from
happening."
     The Med Tech allowed herself a faint smile, "Be diligent in how
quick you use that supply, Sheba, because rumor has it that the black
market price for such....things is rising every day."
     "Oh, I'm aware of it. How else could I have gotten myself into a
position where I would have thought I was pregnant?" she returned it and
then looked back out the giant window, "But....if it does come to that,
I'm prepared to adjust my life as it needs to be adjusted. I'll just
let...Whoever controls things decide that ultimately."
     Cassiopeia found it interesting how Sheba always seemed to have a
way of avoiding the use of the term "God" or "The Lords" whenever she
talked about deeper matters of the spiritual realm. It was as if Sheba
had a faith that such things did exist, but didn't feel comfortable using
the terms a man like Adama would use.
     Probably gets that impulse from her father, she thought. Cain was
the same. Never willing to admit that he needed to believe in the same
things men of open faith did, because he felt it was a sign of weakness;
a crutch. So he always used the language of a Skeptic even though down
deep he was as spiritual as Adama, simply on a different plain
     "Shall we rejoin our wayward men?" Cassiopeia motioned, deciding it
was best to go no further in a one-to-one chat.
     "Of course," Sheba smirked, "But believe me, we never have to worry
about losing them to Zykonian females!"
     "Lords of Kobol be praised!"

 
     Sire Feo looked up from his plate, and scanned the dining room once
again as he searched for his absentee nephew. Ever since Pelias had left
the Colonial Service in cowardice, the young man had been a gigantic pain
in the derriere. He had persisted with his pipedream of becoming an
artist, and had all but disappeared from the social circles of the upper
echelon. Instead he frittered his time away by searching out other
artists, both unknown and somewhat recognized-none of the greats had
survived the Destruction, after all-and trying to revive the arts in what
remained of Colonial society. Feo knew that the boy was simply seeking
financial support, and that was likely why the whippersnapper had finally
agreed to dine with his celebrated uncle, an important member of the
Council of Twelve and the patriarch of one of the noblest bloodlines in
the Colonies. 
     Pelias had left their table in the exclusive dining room of the
Har-bitah some fifteen centons previously, on the pretence of
investigating the origins of a Zykonian sculpture he had been admiring
while failing utterly to make polite conversation with his uncle. The boy
had blathered incessantly about frivolities pertaining to some upcoming
exhibit featuring a cluster of nobodies displaying their mundane efforts.
Pelias claimed to have one of his own pieces in the exhibit, and Feo had
waited for the hammer to drop as the boy poised himself to begin
imploring his privileged uncle for monetary assistance.
     It was at that moment that something-or more likely, someone-had
caught his nephew's eye, and Pelias had stood and excused himself,
ignoring his venerable uncle's protest and muttering some tripe about
Zykonian bas reliefs. Feo had both sneered and snorted in contempt as he
saw the boy make a beeline for the despicable Lieutenant Starbuck. The
Colonial Warrior had so ill-prepared his nephew for the harsh realities
of combat that the tenderfoot had resigned after his very first encounter
with an alien beast. It was scandalous, and a blow to their good family
name.
     Zesty Zykonian delicacies were being set down before the Councilman,
the empty space across from him now conspicuous as Pelias' own meal was
presented.
     "Would you prefer I keep your nephew's entr‚e in the warmer,
distinguished Sire?" the server asked correctly, his respect for the
bureautician properly conveyed.
     "No, that won't be necessary," Feo responded curtly, his ire rising
at Pelias' continued absence. 
     "Ah, here is the young gentlemen now, Sire," The server nodded in
that direction.
     "Apologies, My Uncle." Pelias made a curt bow of respect, then
slipped into his seat, his once stocky physique much more streamlined
after several sectons as a struggling artist. Despite his uncle's surly
presence, he was enjoying this outing much more than expected after
running into Starbuck and Dietra, and then his old classmates, Kyna and
Kefira. After barely surviving their encounter with the Ziklagi
shape-shifter on the mining training mission, he would always hold a
special place in his memories for those dedicated and brave Colonial
Warriors.  It was good to see them-and a relief that none of them were
intent on discussing the "not so good old days".
     "I should think so, Pelias.  Still consorting with the riffraff? 
You're getting positively common," Feo informed him with a long sigh of
disgust.
     Just like your mother, mused Feo to himself. Common. My brother, the
lovesick fool...     
     "Why thank you, Uncle." Pelias gushed with a wide grin, more pleased
than he really should be to see the cloud of displeasure cross his
uncle's features. He had learned a great deal about the common people
since "abandoning his birthright" and his privileged status as he
simultaneously resigned from the Colonial Service. He had also learned a
lot about himself.
     For the first time in his life, he was doing something he was
passionate about.  He was surprised how little in the way of basic needs
he really required when he was doing what he most loved. He had also met
a supportive network of equally passionate, struggling artists, all of
who were keen to share experience, stories, and in many cases, meager
sustenance. "Yes, common."  
     It was a far cry from the Caprican Art Institute, true, but the
people were friendly and keen to include one more among their fold. He
had also discovered his love for the arts far surpassed mere painting.
There were so many other areas to explore and learn about that his life
seemed to be an endless mystical pathway, each route tantalizing and
interesting with one more trail beckoning him onward, while another
called him back.  An entire new universe had been opened to him, and
despite the continuing threats from the Cylons and Ziklagoio, the future
seemed full of promise even so.
     "So, do you think that you'll be able to make it to the exhibit,
Uncle?" Pelias asked Feo again, returning to their discussion before he
had spotted Starbuck.
     "Huh?" grunted Feo, still lost in his musings. "What exhibit?"
     "The Art Exhibit that my paintings will be featured in," Pelias
returned, digging into his meal with relish. While he no longer dined
routinely on such exquisite foods, he still appreciated them.
     "Featured?" Feo asked, wiping at his pudgy chin as the juice from
his meat dripped from his jowls.
     Pelias smiled, "Well, along with the other twenty artists." He had
invited everyone he knew, but truth be known, Colonial Warriors were not
the likely purchasers of fine art.
     "Excuse me, Colonial Sire," the waiter interrupted politely, waiting
for an encouraging nod from Pelias before he continued. "I was curious if
you had visited the Art Gallery in the Space Station. It's actually not
far from here, Colonial Sire."
     "Art Gallery?" Pelias' eyes lit up with wonder as the small Zykonian
equivalent of a Languatron worn as a badge on the alien's chest
translated their dialogue. "I was unaware that you had such a thing.
Here? On your space station?"
     "Indeed, everything one could think of is here, Colonial Sire. Here,
or on the planet. The gallery is to be found on Level 3, Gamma section.
Turn right as you leave the Har-bitah and then follow the passageway to
the blue lift.  It will take you to Level Three.  Gamma section is only a
hundred of your metrons to the right after you disembark." The Zykonian
waiter patiently explained. "It is well worth the effort, Sire. I'm sure
you'll be pleasantly surprised by some of the distinctly Zykonian folk
art displayed along with the more historical and classic forms." 
     "Thank you. I look forward to it. Perhaps you'll join me after
dinner, Uncle?" Pelias suggested, his glance caressing the several
sculptures and paintings displayed in the dining room. 
     "We shall see." Feo replied, digging back into his food with gusto.
     The waiter bowed and backed away from the table keeping an attentive
eye on his patrons. After all, he wanted everything to be perfect.

 
     Where could she have disappeared?
     He'd been keeping an eye on Cassie all night. Starbuck was fortunate
enough to have found a woman who was as social as himself, and they
enjoyed the rare situation of not partaking in that inexplicable social
tradition whereby so many couples felt that they needed to be joined at
the hip when they appeared anywhere together in public. She circulated,
seeking out friends, and meeting new and interesting beings, occasionally
dropping by to slip an arm around his waist and nuzzle his ear, pat his
astrum suggestively, a constant, but never stifling presence.  He did the
same. Admittedly, however, on just as many occasions, they would sit down
with friends and partake in the more conventional couple's atmosphere. 
It just wasn't necessary all the time. Cass even seemed to have a sixth
sense as to when he was searching her out, a knowing smile on her face,
as they made eye contact, the rest of the room disappearing for a brief
moment in time.
     But, for a micron, and inexplicably, Starbuck's chest tightened as
he failed to spot her. Then the familiar glint of golden blonde hair
caught his eye, and he leaned around a pillar to see Cassiopeia with
Sheba crossing the Har-bitah and heading back to the viewing port, where
he had recently left Apollo and his writhing grubs so that he and Xlax
could check on the progress of the Rygko match.  
     "You look concerned, Lieutenant." Xlax prompted him as he rested an
elbow on the bar accepting his drink from the barkeep.
     "The name's Starbuck. It's nothing," Starbuck reassured him, shaking
off the ominous feeling, but turning to keep an eye on the Med Tech all
the same. 
     For his part, the Zykonian liaison officer again pondered his
companion's name. Run through his equivalent of the Colonial Languatron,
it was rendered with enormous literalness. Star Buck. "Fusing ball of
hydrogen" coupled with "Male ungulant". What in the name of Zykor's Lips
the two had to do with each other... "I believe if you ease your
consumption of Gurrocht, and switch to Alechti, you will likely find it
easier to relax." The Zykonian Captain raised his own glass. "Gurrocht
contains a strong organic stimulant and can put one on edge."
     Starbuck chuckled, "Sounds like java. No wonder I like it so much."
     "Java?" asked the Zykonian.
     "Yeah. It's a drink we had back in the Colonies.  Made from a bean,
actually. The after-effects aren't too dissimilar to Gurrocht."
     And this java contains no alcohol?"
     "Nope. Just javeine."
     "You do not imbibe alcoholic beverages, Starbuck?  Is that not
strange for a Warrior?" He indicated the other Colonial Warriors present,
some of them well into their tankards.
     "Damn strange, Xlax," Starbuck agreed as he raised his tankard to
his lips, only to reconsider and put it down again.
     "May I ask why?" Xlax leaned towards him, turning his body ever so
slightly to engage the Warrior.
     "Health issues." Starbuck grimaced, looking back towards Cassie once
again.  She seemed to be sweeping the room for him, but was unable to
spot him in the crowd of sports fans.
     "I've been told Alechti is hard on the libidocht." Xlax sighed
knowingly, following the Lieutenant's gaze.  "Especially when you exceed
your capacity."
     "Libidocht?" Starbuck repeated, looking back at the Captain, only to
track his line of sight back to Cassiopeia.  "Uh, if that's what I think
it is, my libidocht is just fine.  Thanks for asking."
     "I didn't mean to infer otherwise. I hope I have not offended you."
     "Takes a lot more than that, pal." Starbuck chuckled, swirling the
murky contents of his glass and watching the concentric patterns the foam
made.  "Let's just say I had a little run-in with one of your neighbors a
while back."
     "A Ziklagi?" Xlax nodded.  "Yes. We heard. I understand it was quite
the battle... the state of your ship tells the tale."
     "Yeah, well, you should have seen the other guys," Starbuck quipped,
amused to see the Zykonian hesitate for only a micron before hissing in
appreciation.  "Actually, I missed most of it. Our encounter was on one
of our civilian ships."
     "A spy?" Xlax asked with interest.
     "More like a stowaway," Starbuck shrugged. "And bloody hard to find,
too." 
     "What happened?"
     "It's a long story, and most of it's classified.  Suffice it to say,
when I woke up they told me the shape shifter killed me... and I sure as
Hades Hole felt like it was true." He took another swallow of his drink.
"The doctor put me on a strict regimen to get me back in shape. Giving up
the booze until he declares otherwise was part of it."
     "A shape shifter?" The Zykonian's serpent-like tongue flicked out,
and a strange hood suddenly flared around his head.
     "Yeah."
     "They are very rare.  Also very dangerous, my friend." The Zykonian
seemed tensed for attack.
     "No kidding." Starbuck retorted with raised eyebrows.  "I didn't
realize they were rare though. Seems like they're popping up in the Fleet
like Centurions in a Cylon-Basher Arcade Game." He had heard stories
about another shape shifter appearing on the Galactica's bridge out of
thin air. Just moments before the Ziklagi boarding party followed suit.
     "They receive special combat training. You are fortunate to be
sitting here telling me the story." 
     "Yeah?  Well, that was our second soiree together.  He's slipped
through my fingertips twice now, he isn't going to do it again." He
downed another mouthful, trying to master the anger he felt welling up.
"That's a promise. I'm going to get that piece of fracking Sagan mong.
He's mine, Captain."
     "The name's Xlax." He paused for effect.  "You must be very good or
very crazy to want to take on a Ziklagi shape shifter three times in
succession." The Zykonian remarked, studying the Warrior with increased
respect as the flaring of his hood relaxed and it settled into its
previously less rigid position.
     "Or maybe a little of both, Xlax," Starbuck grinned, thinking back
over the last couple sectars as he watched the alien's physical
adjustment with interest. Emotion rushed up, and he spilled part of the
story. "Jada was a good kid, a good student. She would have made a
Warrior any Colonial would be proud to serve with. But he murdered her.
And I was responsible for her!" He felt his pulse begin to speed up, and
his face flush, wondering briefly if it was the drink or his zeal. "I was
in command, and I failed her.  All because of that... thing!  Next time,
it's gonna be him or me, pal. Him or me!"
     "Remember something." The Zykonian leaned forward setting down his
glass. Starbuck's anger, his passion, had impressed him. "The Ziklagoio
are vengeful to the point of obsessive. On their last dying breath they
would still attempt to destroy their enemy.  As a shape shifter, and from
what you describe, this one sounds like a prodigy, the beast could be
anywhere, and the place you would least likely expect it, is the place it
will most likely be."
     "Do you do cryptic crosswords too?" Starbuck asked, thinking over
the words, the hair at the nape of his neck suddenly prickling.
     "If you believe your own desire for vengeance is considerable, and
it plainly is, then multiply your enemy's several times over and then you
might get a modicum of insight regarding his motivation towards revenge. 
And if he failed to kill you twice, you have injured him grievously. You
have in essence spit on his pride. Humiliated him to a degree it is often
hard for others to grasp. He will do anything to avenge his honor.
Anything." Xlax continued, his eyes holding Starbuck's.  "There are no
rules of engagement here, as in open combat. All that matters now is
death. Yours."
     A shout of triumph from behind them indicated the end of the game. 
Xlax swung towards the enormous screen, jumping to his feet as he joined
the mighty roar of celebration.  He turned back to the Warrior slapping
him heartily on the back.  "I must say, the tenuous aspect of the wager
adds an enthralling level of enticement to the game."
     "Yeah, it does."  Starbuck smiled, his eyes glinting as he scanned
the room, "I have to get back, buddy.  Don't spend your winnings all in
one place, and remind me to introduce you to Pyramid before we leave the
Space Station."
     Xlax was puzzled a moment. A large flat-coned building, usually of
massive size? A game? Obviously, the translation matrix could use some
work.  "I... look forward to it, Starbuck."
     "Catch ya, Xlax."
     Xlax grabbed his arm, "Heed my warning, Starbuck.  And if you
require assistance...I might consider some lessons on the finer points of
wagering as fair exchange for my experience in dealing with the
Ziklagoio."
     "I'll keep it in mind, Xlax." Starbuck returned, patting the
Captain's shoulder before heading for Cassiopeia.  He only made it half
way across the Har-bitah when he was approached by a server, carrying a
drink.
     "Your beverage, Colonial Sir." The Zykonian bowed slightly before
offering the tankard to the Warrior.
     Starbuck shook his head slightly, "I didn't order one."
     The server nodded towards the dining room.  "It was from the young
artist, Sir.  I believe he said his name was Pelias.  He was with the
honorable Councilman."
     "Oh..." Starbuck paused, taking the tankard reluctantly.  "Uh,
thanks."
     "My ultimate pleasure, Sir," the server replied before bowing,
backing away, and turning towards the dining area.
     Starbuck studied the contents of the glass. Gurrocht. He raised it
to his lips and then paused, lowering it again as he turned slowly, again
scanning the room. Though all appeared as it had when they had
arrived-with the possible exception of the rowdy Rygko pit-it was if he
was watching a theatrical production and the lighting had suddenly
changed.
     He had heard that both Elite Squadron and Colonial Security were
tearing the Fleet apart looking for Korax. Now that the Ziklagi shape
shifter was in the heartland of his enemy, he would be lying low, and
keeping out of sight-or so they thought.
     But if what Xlax said was true, that was unlikely.  In fact, if the
Zykonian Captain was on the money, Korax would be on the Space Station. 
Sagan's sake, he would be in the fracking Har-bitah.  Suddenly, it
clicked.  Slowly and purposely, he walked over to a spiny, succulent
plant displayed in an enormous porcelain pot.  Its bright, yellow flowers
were showpieces unto themselves, with startling red stamens extending a
hand's breadth from their center, and exuding an intoxicatingly sweet
scent, like honeysuckle, only more intense.
     Again, he studied the beverage, tipping the tankard and methodically
emptying the contents into the rusty soil. The plant looked a bit on the
thirsty side anyhow.
     Nothing.  He smiled to himself, unsure why he had imagined the plant
would implode or shrivel up and die before his eyes.  Ah well, he'd
really had enough Gurrocht as it was. No loss. Better safe than sorry,
fella. After about half a centon he turned to go, when a movement from
the succulent's base caught his eye.
     A handful of oval shaped, flat bodied, hard shelled insects, each no
bigger than a one-quantum coin. skittered out from beneath the soil.
Their departure was feverish, but in a milli-centon they slowed until
they were tortuously crawling for the edge of the pot.  One by one they
began to twitch, until all movement ceased.
     Only then did he look up to see the vibrant flowers already
beginning to brown and wither.  "You'll have to try harder next time,
Korax," he muttered, licking lips that were suddenly dry, as a strange,
yet calming resolve settled over him. He looked around the room, a slight
smile on his face, scanning the throng. He set down his mug, and with a
final survey of the crowd, he headed for Cassiopeia.  "Colonial
Warrior-1.  Ziglaki scumbag-0."
     And from far across the room, unfriendly eyes watched him go.

Chapter Four

     "You're sure?" asked Adama, in Life Station, as Dr. Salik checked
the progress of his injured hand. "He mentioned Earth by name."
     "Yes," replied Apollo. "Apparently this encounter was many yahrens
ago, when he was a child. He said he would check their records for more
information."
     "Earth," said Adama, almost to himself. "We are getting closer,
Apollo. I knew it."
     "So it seems, but how much further is it? From what I've learned so
far, ships from Earth are unknown here, and Xlax seems to be the only one
who's even heard of the place."
     "But it's more than we had before, Apollo. And proof that we are on
the right course." After all that they had been through, even the
unshakeable Adama needed that extra bit of evidence that reinforced they
were indeed on the true path.  One more piece of evidence he could offer
to his people, in their desperation for something to cling to at the end
of a bitter and arduous battle with the Ziglaki. This could give them a
measure of hope as they crawled out from under their bunks, and clutched
their families to them, realizing their Warriors had prevailed, and they
would all live to continue on into the unknown.  He looked up at the
doctor. "Well?"
     "Doing just fine, Commander. The bandages can come off, but go easy
for a day or two. And make sure you do those exercises I taught you. 
Bones don't knit, even with modern medicine, as fast at your age."
     Translation: old bones are still old bones.  "I'll take it easy,
Doctor," nodded Adama, as the dressing was removed. He flexed his hand,
feeling a slight ache and tightness with the movement, before he slid off
the table, and both he and Apollo left.
     "Where to now, Father?"
     "Our Ziklagi guest. I have some questions for her."


     But it seemed Nizaka could add little to what they already knew.
Being raised from hatching as a slave, she had had no education. All she
knew had been acquired the hard way. And while she had kicked around
space quite a bit as part of Xekash's entourage, she had never heard of
any planet by that name.
     "But," she added, "if the Zykonians know of such a place, Commander,
you can be certain that somewhere on Ziklag, there is a data bank with
this Earth in it."
     Frustrated for the moment, Adama threw himself back into work,
visiting each habitable part of the ship, and lending a hand with the
work where possible. After three days of this tireless effort, both
Apollo and Tinia convinced him to relax, and spend some of his
well-earned and long overdue furlon down on the station. 
     "After all, Father, you haven't been off the ship since Boron-Din."
     "But..."
     "You need to unwind a bit, Commander," said Tinia. "And Doctor Salik
did say you were to take it easy."
     "But..."
     "No buts, Father."
     So it was that they found themselves on the station, in a huge
promenade area, which reminded Adama at once of the gigantic Caprica City
Public Market, with a huge curved area full of shops, eateries, bars, and
dens of somewhat less reputable pursuits. As he looked around, he could
see several people from the Fleet milling about. Sire Uri, a voluptuous
young thing on his arm, Sire Antipas, with Lydia, several Warriors in
uniform, Feo, as usual feeding his face at some eatery, and two of the
Zohrlochs. The atmosphere was one of a perpetual carnival, as the huge
cross-section of people, of numerous races, explored new foods,
curiosities, and even several entertainers who encouraged donations in
any currency. Several people seemed entranced by the goings on at a long
banister, curving around a sunken area, from which cacophonous noises
were emanating. With a drink in one hand, and Siress Tinia in the other,
he wandered over there, and leaned against the railing, looking below. 
     "It is a game," Sargamesh, the newly minted Colonial citizen and
Warrior informed him. "Called..."
     RYKGO!!!!! went up a roar from many of the assembled crowd.
     "...rykgo, apparently, Commander." Sargamesh smothered a smile.
     "I see. And what exactly are they trying to do?" He pointed to one
of the players, a Zykonian wearing little beyond some sort of thong, and
a thick belt. 
     "The point, it seems, is to put a small ball through one of the
hoops on each side of the pit in which the game is played. The players
cannot use their hands, but only their hips, elbows, and knees in order
to move the ball."
     "Sounds like Triad with an attitude," said Apollo, shaking his head.

     "What's the score?" asked Tinia, herself a long-time Triad fan.
     "Nothing, as yet. They are starting a new game," said Korl, next to
Sargamesh. "The game is won when one side or the other scores a single
point." They watched as a small red ball was tossed into the pit. At
once, both sides, four on each team, went for it. Almost any sort of
blocking or countering move was, it seemed, permitted. Elbows in faces,
knees in other places, kicks and blows to head and body, all to get or to
keep possession of the ball, and likewise keep the other team from
getting close to it. After several centons, the ball remained in motion,
but was no closer to transiting either hoop.
     "The game can take all day, before a single point is scored," added
Sargamesh. "It is something like prem, back home on Eridu."
     "I see," said Tinia. "You play ball as well."
     "Not quite, Councilwoman," said Sargamesh. "In prem, there is no
hoop."
     "Oh. What then do you put the ball through?"
     "There is no ball, either," smiled Sargamesh.
     "Ohhhh." Tinia winced.  "And the point of the game?"
     "Victory, of course." Sargamesh grinned, wondering if he would get
to explain how that was determined.  The Councilwoman didn't look as
though she had the stomach for it.
     "Commander Adama?" Adama turned around, to see Xlax.
     "Ah, Captain. What can I do for you?"
     "I have found some information, Commander," said the Zykonian,
holding up some sort of instrument. "About the Earth vessel."
 
 
     If the message had not come personally from Dietra, Starbuck
probably wouldn't be wandering around the Space Station's marketplace
right now, looking for an Art Exhibition after his session with Tarnia.
Statues. paintings. Holosculptures. Oh yeah, art galleries and Starbuck
didn't exactly go hand in hand.  Not to mention the fact that with Korax
the Scumbucket on the loose, this whole scenario just seemed too...
tidy... to be on the level. 
     Pelias, it seemed, the former cadet and student, wanted to see him
about something that had happened the night before at the Har-Bitah.  He
would be at the Exhibition awaiting the Lieutenant after 1400 centars. 
So while he would usually be enjoying the exotic atmosphere of the
promenade with its diverse displays, not to mention diversions, instead
he found himself acutely aware of every glance, Human or otherwise, that
brushed over him as he made his way through the crowds.
     The line between careful and paranoid seemed less defined these
days.  However, Xlax's words of caution about the Ziklagi shape shifter
drifted back into his mind before he impulsively cast aside his sudden,
and not altogether natural, inclination for extra precautions while he
searched for the elusive exhibit.  
     Other than the Rykgo Pit, there seemed to be very few landmarks that
could effectively guide him to his destination.  Normally, he would just
go with the flow, but instead he felt frustrated and impatient as he
tried to find his way.  Several beings had told him that the Art Exhibit
changed locations almost daily, and that finding it was a part of the
"conceptual nature of the show".  Or at least, that was how his
languatron had translated it. What the Hades Hole was a "conceptual
nature"? He looked down at the device. Frankly, he thought the piece of
felgercarb needed to be modulated. 
     On a Triad court.
     Then a delighted gasp of excitement from behind him caught his
attention and he turned to see several beings pointing while they
"ooh'ed" and "ahh'ed" in their own way.  All eyes, of whatever number or
design, were trained on a kaleidoscope of color as what appeared to be a
massive collection of bubbles floated upward from the far end of the
marketplace.  Starbuck sniffed in amusement, as susceptible as the rest
of the assembled throng to the display, wondering if this was also a part
of the "conceptual nature of the show".  He turned and joined the tide as
they headed in that direction, reasoning there was safety in numbers...
or obscurity.
     Exactly as desired.


     "It matches, Father," said Apollo, back aboard the Galactica, in
Wilker's lab. Unlike the last time, his lab and it's equipment had
survived the recent encounter. On the floor, as it was too large for all
but the largest bench, was a piece of torn metal. Once painted a
brilliant white, it had been recovered from the shuttle Apollo and
Starbuck had flown into the Ki system, during the rescue of Athena and
Boomer. After repairing the shuttle sufficiently by an EVA to complete
the mission, they had held on to it, in hopes that it might perhaps yield
some secrets about the new area of space into which they were heading.
Then, it was forgotten amidst myriad other events.
     Until now.
     "Yes," said Adama, looking at the photo on one of Wilker's monitors.
"Part of the tail assembly." He ran a finger along the image. It was of a
spacecraft, of unknown provenance, sitting on some sort of runway. More
than thrice the length of a standard Colonial shuttle, it had a wide
stern, it's thrusters or other propulsion set-up mostly obscured. It
narrowed to a sharp point, with two narrow ports above it. Set in the
side was an open hatch, with an antenna or scanner sentinel projecting
above just abaft the ports. They could see no name or designation, but
several Humans as well as Zykonians were milling about it, and might have
obscured any number of features. The design was totally unfamiliar to any
of them. He looked back at the piece of metal they had salvaged. It fit
precisely into the old image. "Doctor Wilker?"
     "We analyzed the metal, Commander. It is similar to alloys used by
spacecraft in the early Colonies, but there is no precise match. The
coating on it is also similar to what we used once, but again, not exact.
It's not Cylon, Delphian, Hassari, Terran, or that of any race known to
us." Wilker hefted the fragment, and indicated the part of some painted
design still adhering to it. "And this symbol as well is unknown to us,
Commander. I've checked our records."
     It was a strange sigil. All that remained on the old fragment was
part of what had once been a series of red stripes, alternating with
white. Adama and the rest looked up from the fragment to the image Xlax
had provided. There, the emblem could be seen in full as they zoomed in.
A rectangular symbol, consisting of a smaller blue field in the upper
left-hand corner, spangled with white stars. Apollo counted fifty-one of
them. The rest of the emblem was of alternating white and red stripes,
thirteen in all. Below it was a string of symbols, doubtless letters in
some alien script. 
     UNITED STATES
     Below that, there were other colored emblems, of the same size as
the uppermost, but of different designs. One consisted of two red blocks,
with a white center, in which was emblazoned some sort of, well, it
looked like some kind of leaf, also red. Beside that, a patchwork of
overlaid crosses and diagonal stripes, of red white and blue. The next
was of the same colors, yet consisted of but three blocks, one of each
color. The one below was the same, it's colors being red, white, and
green. Then one of white, with a red ball in the middle, the last having
blue borders on the top and bottom, with an open, six pointed star
between them on a white field.
     Adama shook his head. None of them had the faintest idea what any of
it meant.
     "And this was how long ago?" asked Tinia.
     "Over thirty-five standard years ago," replied Xlax. "The last entry
in the report is dated thus." He showed them the entry. It was
hand-written in the Zykonian script, and none of the Humans could make
anything of it. 
     "Are any of these people still alive?" asked Adama.
     "I do not know, Commander. The file appears incomplete, as if the
report was never collated or fully collected. I shall of course translate
it for you."
     "Thanks you, Captain."
     They began to move towards the door, when Technician Hummer entered,
one of Baltar's captured Cylons in tow, hideous "music" blaring from the
player about his neck. Xlax's eyes went wide.
     "Zykor's Lips!" he exclaimed. "What by all the Oath Stones is that?"
     "This," said Hummer, his voice raised in an automatic response to
the noise he was clearly accustomed to, "is Centurion Agrestis."
     "By your command," intoned the Cylon.
     The Zykonian moved closer to the Cylon, looking up at him with an
inquisitive eye and slowing walking around him, as if assessing a
potential enemy.
     "What was it doing out of the lab?" asked Adama, smoke not quite yet
ready to roll from his nostrils. After a moment, Hummer turned down the
noise.
     "Helping with the repairs, sir," said Hummer. "One of the workers
down near Beta Bay was hurt when some wreckage came loose, so Centurion
Agrestis here was filling in as it were."
     "I see. And the other one?"
     "Centurion Furcifer is still there, helping to shift debris and
equipment, Commander. I brought Agrestis here back because the EHA in his
upper body needs some extra recalibration. It's acting up."
     "EHA?" asked Tinia.
     "Electro-hydraulic actuator, Ma'am," replied Hummer, who took a
breath to begin a long and detailed description of the subject. However,
before they could be swamped by an orgy of technobabble, Adama cut him
off, and introduced their guest. Hummer was polite in return, then headed
for the inner lab at a call from Wilker, Agrestis in tow.
     "That is a Cylon?" asked the Zykonian. He reached out a hand,
hesitating to touch the strange being, before turning to the Commander.
"May I?"
     Adama nodded, curious to see the exchange. 
     Xlax folded his hand into a fist and rapped it on the Centurion, a
loud echo sounding through the room. He hissed with suppressed amusement,
or delight, it was difficult to tell which. The Cylon looked down at the
point of impact, then back up, without comment. "They hardly seem
particularly formidable."
     "They are when a task force of their BaseShips and about a thousand
fighters are facing you," said Apollo. "As your superiors asked, we are
supplying data on the Cylons to your government."
     "My thanks, Captain. It is good that as allies we exchange
information about our mutual enemies. And I shall try and track down more
data on this Earth ship. I do not know why the files are so incomplete."
     "Let us hope you find it," said Tinia. "After all, Earth is our
ultimate goal."


     Finally, Starbuck had arrived.  The Art Exhibition, featuring the
works of the System Renowned Zykonian Conceptual Artists, Dargha,
Farghka, Ghurka, and Zug, was abuzz with action as Beings flowed through
the several portable structures covered in bright red, heavy cloth.  He
joined the steady flow of people as he entered, his eyebrows raising in
consternation at the "contents" of the first section.
     "What do you think?"
     Starbuck snorted, turning to see Pelias considering him.  "About
what?"
     "The Exhibit." Pelias replied with a smile, his arms casually folded
over his chest. "C'mon. Whaddya think?"
     "Fascinating," Starbuck remarked sarcastically as he looked over to
see a garishly-robed Zykonian standing on a small, rotating platform in
the center of the room with arms outstretched and eyes turned upward,
almost in the attitude of a priest leading worshippers. Observers filed
around the periphery, pausing at every station, each one about three
square metrons in size and only discernable by slight, almost
imperceptible color variations that denoted where one piece of artwork
began and the next ended.
     "Dargha's art is telepathic.  He's emitting his visions through the
minds of the observers." Pelias explained.
     "Really?" Starbuck drawled, disbelief in his voice. And Tarnia's
therapy was supposed to make things make sense! Man, I need a drink!
     "Really." Pelias nodded. "Look closely. What do you see?"
     Starbuck sniffed in amusement, shaking his head. One of Tarnia's
inkblots? Hhmm...that one looks like Baltar dancing with Muffit...
     "Humor me." Pelias suggested.
     Or she needs a new pen.
     Starbuck sighed, letting out a deep breath as he moved to the
closest station. He peered at the "artwork" seeing only a blue-green
segment of shimmering cloth. "I don't see anything. Just a blue piece of
cloth."
     "Blue?" Pelias asked.  "What does the blue remind you of?"
     Starbuck gave him a skeptical look.
     "C'mon." Pelias encouraged him.
     "The Caprican Sea," he replied with a shrug, remembering his last
furlon before the Destruction.  It had been the perfect day.  The warmth
of the suns on his face,  the waves rolling up the beach, the fresh scent
of the ocean, and the enchanting sound of Athena's laughter as they
cavorted on the sand, that last perfect day before they shipped out for
the Armistice...
     "What would you say if I told you I see a blood red cloth?" Pelias
asked.
     "That you need to catch up on your sleep and stop drinking so much
Alechti," the Lieutenant remarked with a grin.  He patted the younger
man's abdomen, notably more streamlined that when he had been a Cadet. 
"Maybe your blood sugar is low, Pelias. You're hallucinating, kid. Eat
your primaries."
     Pelias chuckled.  "Would you even consider that everyone here sees
something different brought about by Dargha's telepathic suggestions?"
     "Why would everyone see something different?"
     "The mind perceives the information on an individual basis resulting
in a different projected image." Pelias replied. "Just like some people
find a certain joke funny, and others don't get the punch-line."
     "Or the artist becomes the con-artist." Starbuck suggested wryly,
smirking in Dargha's direction before returning his attention to the
young man.  "So, Dee said you needed to see me about something that
happened in the Har-Bitah."
     "Yeah.  But it wasn't in the Har-Bitah.  It was after I left.  I was
told by one of the servers in the dining room that there was an Art
Gallery not far away."
     "I hope it was easier to find than this one." Starbuck remarked. Or
maybe not.
     "That's just it.  I took the lift as directed to Level Three, and
found myself in a dimly lit corridor.  Now, I was told that the Gallery
was only a hundred metrons or so away, but I just got this...feeling...."
     "And?"
     "Well, after dealing with that shape shifter on the asteroid, I
generally follow my instincts when they scream at me to run away." Pelias
shrugged, slightly abashed.  "That's pretty much why I decided to resign
from the service, Sir."
     "Forget the "sir", Pelias.  You're a civilian again." Starbuck
reminded him, recalling that any displays of military respect had to be
torn out of the ill-mannered Cadet, like pulling teeth, before Starbuck
and Dee's courage and leadership on their training mission had made an
impact on him.
     Pelias nodded.  "Anyhow, I decided to just take the lift back to the
Har-Bitah.  When I hit the control and the doors opened again, a Zykonian
officer, a Captain I think, stepped out and demanded to know what I was
doing there. Apparently, there was no Art Gallery down there.  In fact,
it was a secured area."
     "Did you catch his name?" Starbuck asked, an all too familiar,
uneasy feeling settling around him.
     "Xlax.  He told me he had seen me board the lift, and was wondering
how I had gained access since it was supposed to be off limits and you
needed a security code to access it."
     "How's that?" Starbuck asked, wondering the same thing if what the
Zykonian Captain said was true.
     "Apparently, the security system was somehow deactivated, which he
realized having followed me down."
     Holy fracking...and they call me paranoid!
     "The...um, server in the dining room. What did he look like?"
     "Sort of non-descript in a Zykonian way, but wearing the uniform of
a waiter.  I'm afraid I have a bit of difficulty telling them apart thus
far." Pelias admitted.  "At least I'm going on the assumption it was a
him. What are you thinking, sir...uh, Starbuck?"
     "I think you were being set up, kid." Starbuck told him.  He shook
his head, realizing that while Korax had now made an attempt on both he
and Pelias, that he was no further along in finding the murderous Ziklagi
Over-Lieutenant.  "Frack, I need a plan."  He turned and considered
another canvas, as though he could find some answers on the teal surface
revealed to him through the supposed telepathic generosity of Dargha...
Hades, maybe Dargha could conjure up a few potential hiding places for
Ziklagi shape shifters while he was at it.
     Oh God, I need a drink!!!
     Pelias squeezed his former superior officer by the shoulder. 
"Actually, Starbuck, we need a plan."
     Starbuck turned, about to remind Pelias of his earlier words when
the glaring truth hit him.  Pelias was in danger and therefore was better
off close by.  Besides, Korax had made one attempt... If the fish are
biting, bait the hook and lower the line, Bucko. "Yeah, kid...Pelias.
You're right. We do. C'mon. Let's get out of here and find a table."


     "Father," said Apollo, later, in Adama's quarters, "I think we ought
to bring Starbuck in on this." 
     "Starbuck?" said Adama, slipping a few personal possessions into a
carry-all. It seemed the course of the repairs necessitated taking most
of the electrical power and environmental control in this part of the
ship off-line for a while, as many of the tribunal-rigged measures were
to be replaced with more permanent systems. So, Adama, having been
offered guest quarters aboard the station, was moving out. Apollo watched
as a picture of his mother was slid into the bag, then one of Zac. "Why
Starbuck? He's still under medical supervision isn't he?" 
     "Yes, but it seems he is much improved. And, I might add, talking
with Chameleon?" 
     "Chameleon? That is good news. Finally." Adama picked up a book.
"But why involve him in this wrecked ship business? He..." Adama stopped,
as it clicked. "Of course. You think this might be him?" 
     "Yes, Father. The so-called 'Silent One'.     I'm pretty sure that
the red, white and blue emblem matches something Starbuck described that
was drawn on the wall of his prison cell. " 
     "That's interesting," the Commander mused.     "You think there's a
connection between what we've found here, and what happened to the Silent
One?" 
     Apollo  hesitated for just an instant, "Yes.     And----," 
     His father looked up and frowned,  "And what?" 
     Apollo took a breath, "There's something else, regarding that symbol
you have to know about.     Something I'm not at liberty to reveal to
anyone other than you.     Mind you, I can't say I'm a hundred percent
sure, but......" 
     "Apollo," his father interrupted, "It isn't like you to beat around
the bush.     What are you getting at?" 
     His son summoned all his strength, "I think, mind you I'm not
completely sure, but I think I saw that symbol aboard the Derelict." 
     "You saw it?"  Adama's eyes narrowed, "In what context?" 
     "Well......you remember my telling you how Colonel Delambre said
that a ship from the Thirteenth Tribe was enslaved by Iblis at some
point, but he wasn't at liberty to reveal the details?" 
     "Yes." 
     "I think at one point, I saw what had been one of their crewmen,"
Apollo said, shuddering as the memory came back to him.    
"Those.....transformed demons reveal their former selves when you take a
laser shot at them, and at one point, I saw a human wearing a uniform I
didn't recognize.     Not one of the Callisto's uniforms, so I knew it
wasn't one of their crew." 
     "I see what you're getting at," Adama nodded.     "You think he was
wearing a uniform with one of these symbols, is that it?" 
     Apollo nodded, "I think so.     I wouldn't swear on the Book of the
Word to that, but....yes, I think it likely." 
     "If that's true, it may not be a coincidence," his father's
expression grew grim,  "And if we.....extrapolate a bit, it could explain
a lot.     But.....absent any further proof, it may not be enough for us
to do anything we can act on in that area." 
     "The danger is that it could mean Iblis is closer to us than we
think, and just might be planning his next move!"  his son indicated more
than a bit of alarm.     Because despite having faced down Count Iblis
twice, the prospect of having to face the outcast once again was the one
thing that left Apollo more terrified inside than anything else.    
Especially knowing how Iblis was likely determined to extract his own
revenge by targeting Sheba once again. 
     "That may be true, Apollo," Adama said, "But....I think you realize
that preparing for Iblis is something you can't plan out with the kind of
thoroughness one does when preparing for the prospect of something more
grounded in everyday reality." 
     "I know.     I just.....had to get that off my chest." 
     "You did wisely," Adama said reassuringly.     "Now that we've
addressed that possibility, let's return to more tangible matters we can
deal with.     Why do you recommend bringing Starbuck in, when all he can
realistically do is confirm the emblem being what he saw?" 
     "Well,  we don't know anything yet about what kind of propulsion
system that Earth ship might have had, or how long it may have drifted
before the Enforcers found it and brought it to Proteus. I'm looking for
Robber.....I mean Joab, but he's off on the station somewhere with his
family. Most of the other Proteus people are as well." 
     "Then realistically, Starbuck could only offer some second-hand
hearsay he's picked up from the Proteans.     I have to admit, that's
rather thin grounds for bringing him into something of this magnitude." 
     Apollo sighed, "Well....he *has* had more contact with them than
anyone else I know.     It's certainly something we should check out if
all the Proteans are inaccessible right now." 
     Adama smiled thinly.     He had suspected that Apollo had been
looking for the faintest thread of a reason to give Starbuck a new
chance, and thin as this one was, he had to admit there wasn't much
reason to say no at this point. 
     "Very well, Apollo. But Starbuck must understand. He's still under
Doctor Salik's orders as to food, drink, and whatever else is proscribed.
I won't have any more breaches of discipline on his part. Certainly not
in front of our hosts. You know how Starbuck can be when it comes to
protocol or even common politeness." Distasteful and disheartening images
returned of one of his best Warriors losing all sense of decorum after
the fateful cadet training mission on an asteroid mining expedition. Had
it not been for the fact that he had known that Lieutenant Starbuck had
been through several depths of Hades Hole on the mission where Cadet Jada
had been killed, he would have had the young man stripped and moduled for
such behavior at the debriefing... at least he would have in the old
days. Before the Holocaust. 
     "Understood, sir," smiled Apollo. "Actually, this might be a good
way to keep an eye on Starbuck.  He and Captain Xlax hit it off at the
Har-bitah the other night, and it might be just the right distraction to
keep him out of trouble. The Captain has a capacity for alcohol that
makes Starbuck look like an altar boy. Besides..." he hesitated as he
searched for the right words, "things haven't really been the same
between Starbuck and I since after he found out that I knew about the
shape shifter in the Fleet and didn't tell him..." He looked down at his
feet, studying his boots, aware that his father was waiting for him to
continue.  "I think he's trying to make me think that he's forgiven and
forgotten, but I also know that I let him down." 
     "As did I, in Starbuck's mind. The rigors of command. Damn them."
Adama added with a sigh, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "There was
a time when Starbuck was considered an honorary member of our family.
More importantly perhaps, he considered himself as one of us. In
retrospect, perhaps that's partially why he didn't make much effort to
mend his relationship with Chameleon." 
     "You were the closest thing to a father he had before he met
Chameleon." Apollo pointed out. 
     "I know." Adama replied quietly, remembering Chameleon telling him
that "you're a much better father figure" when he had confronted the
conman about not telling his son the truth so many sectars ago. "Still,
blood is blood." 
     "And friendship is friendship." Apollo inserted. "He's saved my tail
more times than I can count. I need to get things back on track with him.
I can't help but think if I had been spending more time with him... if I
had noticed how much he was drinking... how little he was sleeping...
maybe I could have done something to help him before it all spiraled out
of control." 
     "Apollo, Starbuck developed Combat Stress Reaction. He needed more
than a good friend." Adama squeezed his shoulder, well aware that his son
took too much on his shoulders. Much like Strike Captain Adama had, once
upon a time. 
     "Yeah, well, he didn't even have that." Apollo returned bitterly,
his self-disgust evident. 
     "Son..." Before he could so much as take another breath, the telecom
beeped. 
     "Yes?" answered Adama. Apollo saw him raise an eyebrow in that
fashion that told him he was not surprised at what he was hearing. It
seemed Athena and Boomer wished to speak with him, as soon as possible." 
     "I'll be..." began Apollo, but Adama held up a hand. 
     "Athena asked for you, too, Apollo. A family matter, she said." 
     "I see." Apollo hefted one of Adama's bags. "Well, shall we go?"


     Far away, in the Great Council Chamber, in the city of Tchou'witu on
Ziklag, voices were raised in both anger and exasperation. Ever since
news of the defeat of the Gee-Tih, and the death of General Xekash, had
reached the capital, the government had been in an uproar. Despite the
most stringent of security measures, word of the terrible event had
spread, not merely to the population of Ziklag, but to the various
conquered systems as well as insurgent forces throughout the Empire.
Emboldened by the setback, rebels had scored a number of small victories
against their enslavers, bringing the crisis in the capital to a
near-boiling point.
     "ONE SHIP? How by all the gods could this happen?" demanded
Triumvir* Tinash, loudly pounding the table. "Surrounded, damaged, and
seemingly helpless, yet the vermin smashed the greatest ship in all the
Empire! And then escaped! Tell me how!"
     "Information is still coming in," replied Chancellor Pentash, as
always his voice silky, serpentine, and calm. "We do not yet have all the
facts, Triumvir." He let his predatory gaze move across the assembled
officials. "The surviving crew of the Gee-Tih have not yet been
repatriated by the Colonials, so we have not been able to debrief them.
Until then..."
     "Colonials? Bah! Zykonians you mean!" hissed another, Triumvir
Vedox. 
     "Until then, we are in a more dangerous position than before,
Chancellor Pentash," spat back Triumvir Tinash, dismissively. "Word of
this defeat has reached the Insurgency, and they have not been idle.
Correct, General?" Tinash turned towards a garishly besashed officer on
his left.
     "True, there have been increased moves by some rebel forces in my
area," replied the other, Lord General Qumash, Commander of the Third
Fleet, with no great enthusiasm. "However, we have the situation well in
hand there, Triumvir."
     "Not what I have heard, Lord General," replied Tinash, sharply. 
     "And just what have you heard, might I ask?" probed Qumash, leaning
forward slightly. A big fellow, he knew that his size often intimidated
others, and he never failed to use it to advantage.
     "That in the recent engagement in the Tinon system, you lost almost
a quarter of your force, and the Insurgency managed to pull off a
brilliant tactical withdrawal with less than a third of your losses. Lord
General."
     "Triumvir..." said Qumash, almost a growl, half rising,
"such...defeatism..."
     "No one is talking defeat here," said another voice, and they turned
to look at Sub-Chancellor Koshrar. "Are we?" He let the words hang a
moment. "Of course not. Now, there is no need for us to be at each
other's throats, My Lords, and do the Insurgency's, or the Zykonians',
work for them."
     "You imply that I would..." spluttered Qumash, but before he could
say more, another voice boomed across the table.
    "Enough!" rumbled Supreme Triumvir Xandrix, until now silent at the
head of the huge council table. He pounded his fist on the table,
rattling the cups as he gazed at them all with obvious disdain. "You have
the self-control of Zykonian hatchlings. Some appropriate decorum, if you
please. No one is accusing anyone here of anything. We all want to save
the Empire!" He waited a moment, glaring at each of them in turn. They
settled down, suitably abashed. "Now, Triumvir Tinash is correct. The
defeat of Xekash and the Gee-Tih has indeed placed things in a more
precarious position than before. Especially with the Ikk situation being
what it is. However, all is not lost just yet, My Lords." Xandrix took
out a data chip from a folder in front of him. Inserting it, he brought
up a holopicture of a Ziklagi officer. "This is Over-Lieutenant Korax, a
minor officer of no particular distinction, who has recently come to our
attention." He relayed to them how Korax had come to be aboard the
Colonial Fleet by chance, and had gone into hiding, causing all manner of
chaos and mayhem subsequently. 
     "He has established himself aboard the Brylon Station, and has
contacted us."
     "What is his mission, My Lord?" asked Koshrar.
     "Sabotage. Delaying the repairs to the Galactica by whatever means
possible, and passing information on her to us." He killed the picture of
Korax, and switched to an image of a planet. "Now, the Ikk problem."
     "Negotiations are at an impasse," said Tinash. "Krytilax is utterly
intransigent."
     "Yes," interjected Qumash. "And if the Zykonians get their hands on
it..."
     "Something none of us wish to see, My Lords," hissed Pentash. "Which
is why we are going to maneuver the Zykonians into solving the problem
for us."
     "Maneuver them?" asked Vedox. "How so?"
     "Koshrar?" said Xandrix, looking to Pentash's second.
     "By using Adama against them."
  
*A member of a ruling council, a triumvirate, consisting of three
members. The actual Ziklagi word is kfshpen.

Chapter Five

     "This is lovely," Sheba remarked as she looked around the small
reserved room off the main area at the Har-Bitah, her hand tucked into
Apollo's.  Fresh Zykonian flowers, mostly scentless so as not to
interfere with the appreciation of fine food and drink, tastefully
adorned the room.
     "Yes," Apollo agreed.  The view could have been better, but if they
had to look at a ship, at least it was their own Battlestar.  
     "We're... uh... glad you could come on such short notice," Boomer
mentioned, somewhat apologetically as he handed them glasses of aruntech,
a light, refreshing Zykonian beverage made from fermented fruit that
fizzed.
     "It sounded important," Apollo remarked, smiling slightly at his
friend's uncharacteristic, but obvious discomfort.  
     "It did." Adama agreed, sipping on his drink and nodding his
approval.  "Aruntech? The Zykonians seem to have a wide array of
alcoholic beverages." 
     "All of them good," Boomer added.
     "You've tried most of them then, Boomer?" Adama asked, his eyebrows
raised.
     "No, Sir." Boomer denied quickly.  "But what I have tried, I've
enjoyed. As good as anything in the Colonies." He put an arm around
Athena's waist drawing her close.  "But, we actually haven't had much
time to partake in Zykonian culture."
     Athena turned up her nose as the memory of some recent Zykonian
traditional foods made her want to toss what little was in her stomach,
followed by the stomach itself... but then so did Apollo's aftershave...
and the smell of the appetizers the others were enjoying... and the
colors red, green, blue, yellow... and white and black... and lavender
and puce...and any combination of any group...  She drew in a deep breath
and willed the two crackers to stay in her churning stomach.
     "Athena, are you all right?" Sheba asked, touching her friend's arm
lightly.  Athena didn't exactly look the part of the blushing bride.  She
was pale, and Sheba could detect the faint shadows beneath her eyes, even
with carefully applied concealer. 
     "Do you want to sit down?" Boomer asked, the concern in his voice
immediately putting everyone on alert.
     "Sure." Athena agreed, digging in her heels when Boomer directed her
closer to the savory foods at the table.  "No, no, over there." She
pointed to the window seat beneath the viewing window.  
     Boomer guided her to the seat, kneeling before her and gazing at her
worriedly.  "Can I get you anything?"
     "No," she murmured slipping a wafer into her mouth and forcing
herself to swallow it.
     "Boomer, Athena, I think you'd better tell us what's going on."
Adama demanded, real fear in his voice as he stood before them gazing
down on his daughter... so like his Ila in many ways.  
     Boomer looked up in surprise at the tone that Adama used.  He had
never seen the extent of foreboding on his Commander's features that he
did now, as the man gazed with uncertainty on his child.  Boomer looked
to Athena.  She'd planned the whole event to the tiniest detail, only
leaving out the possibility that she would be feeling so miserable that
she would be unable to follow her own carefully scripted evening. And,
never having done this before, he wasn't sure how to proceed.
     Well, it wasn't exactly how she wanted it, but she didn't much care
anymore. "I'd just like to tell you all, that everything everyone ever
said about morning sickness was understated." Athena muttered dejectedly,
squeezing Boomer's hand before looking up at the hovering Adama, Apollo
and Sheba. "It really needs a more accurate name, like 'infinity
sickness'."
     "Morning sickness?" Adama mumbled, his face going from concerned to
confused to delighted.
     "You're pregnant?" Sheba cried, squeezing Apollo's hand as she
grinned down at the wan, but smiling face before her.
     "Pregnant? Me? Oh no, I'm just trying it out for later," she
quipped, trying to make it light.
     "Athena..." Apollo shook his head in bemusement. His little sister
was going to be a mother. He stepped forward, leaning down to kiss her
cheek. "Congratulations. That's wonderful."
     "Thanks." Athena breathed, trying not to inhale anymore of his
suddenly pungent cologne, when she felt Boomer's hand suddenly pull away
as he stood to the side. "But I didn't do it alone."
     Boomer cleared his throat as four sets of eyes swung his way. He
smiled weakly, feeling like a lone Viper in a Cylon pinwheel attack,
wondering how Athena's formerly well-scripted and profound speech about
their future together had deteriorated to this.  "Uh...well..."     
     "I am assuming there's a sealing in the future as well?" Adama
"suggested", turning to bend down and kiss Athena's forehead before
returning his penetrating gaze to Boomer. His expression reminded Boomer
of the father, in the old melodramas, about to start polishing up the
plasma rifle.
     "Of course, sir." Boomer replied quickly.
     "Well, then, welcome to the family," said Adama, as he raised his
glass. He clinked his glass with Boomer's, and they drank, all but Athena
who waved them off.  "Athena, try and eat something.  You'll feel
better." Adama told her.
     "Hmm." Athena looked at him skeptically, her cheeks heroically
refusing to puff.
     "Your mother also had..." Adama smiled at the memory, "infinity
sickness. She ate constantly to try and ward it off." He moved to the
table and picked up a small plate and placed a couple of benign-looking
tidbits on it, taking it back to his daughter.  
     "How many times did she have it?" Athena asked as she looked down at
the proffered morsels.
     "All three." Adama told her, placing the food in her hand.  
     "Lords..." Athena murmured before taking a small bite.
     "How is it?" Apollo asked.
     "Not as nauseating as your aftershave." Athena replied with a shrug.
     "Don't take it personally." Boomer told him.  "I had to stop wearing
mine."
     "O... kay." Apollo muttered uncertainly, suddenly seeing the benefit
of skipping through the pregnancy... and the first six yahrens.
     Adama smiled, looking back and forth between his children.  The set
up had all the makings of Apollo and Serina's engagement party, likely
where the inspiration had come from, though Starbuck was once again
conspicuously absent.  His honorary son had once again been overlooked by
his adoptive family, he mused.  "This seems to be the season for
sealings."
     But then, considering his history with Athena, perhaps it makes
sense...
     "Sure is," said Apollo, looking from his father over to Sheba. In
her most stunning civilian dress, she could have blown out the defenses
of an entire BaseShip just by the way the light hit it. "About time,
Sis," he added, turning back to Athena, who was cautiously taking another
bite. 
     "Some things are worth waiting for." Athena smiled, also dressed to
slay, though her clear discomfort detracted from it. "Bro. I'm just
praying that this heralds a new era for us. I for one want to be able to
have this baby and raise it in peace."
     "Me too," said Boomer. "If I never see another Cylon again, it'll be
fine with me." Unlike Sheba or his bride-to-be, Boomer was wearing his
uniform. Busy with duty, he hadn't yet had time to hit the shops aboard
the station. "Now, if Earth is just over the next nebula, then we're
set."
     "Lords, I hope so," said Sheba. "If that data about an Earth ship
turns out to be solid, then it proves we're getting closer, Commander."
     "I hope so, Sheba. Hopefully, this will help to defuse some
disquieting things that have come up in the Council of late."
     "What, Father?" asked Athena, frowning as she rested a hand on her
abdomen, as though protecting the life that she carried there. If the
Council was getting uppity again, then it certainly needed protecting.
     "Well, I don't want to spoil the evening, but..."
     "No, please," his daughter countered, looking better now that she
had eaten something, however small.  She stood, crossing to the small
group.
     "Well, even though he is no longer on the Council,"
     Lords be praised!
     "...word has it that Sire Uri is letting it be known that we should
end the voyage. Now."
     "End it?" asked Sheba. "What by all the Lords for?"
     "Well, we have escaped the Cylons, and now the Ziklagoio. We are
within the territory of an apparently friendly nation. He says that we
should seek a place to settle within Zykonian space, and forget about
Earth."
     "That is ridiculous," snorted Boomer, refilling Adama's glass. "It
hasn't been all that long since we last encountered the Cylons. Not
really, and I doubt they'll ever give up. And with an equally brutal
empire next door that is howling for our blood..." He trailed off,
shaking his head at the idiocy of bureauticians. 
     "I know, Boomer," replied Adama. "But some on the Council seem to
have forgotten how he nearly got us all killed at Carillon. And Sire
Domra parroted him at the last Council meeting, wondering if maybe there
might be some place to settle in this Zykonian Empire."
     "Like Hades Hole," said Athena. "That would be stupid. Oh, right.
Domra..."
     "Damn right," said Sheba. "We've fled across the stars to escape the
tyranny of an empire. And no matter how benevolent these Zykonians may
be, they are still ruled by an Imperial system of some sort. I for one
don't want my children growing up under some tyranny. Benevolent or
otherwise."
     "I agree," said Adama. "We would be subjects. Not free people. I
sometimes wonder if certain members of the Council remember what that
means." He stood, and went to the viewing port built into the wall.
Below, he could see the Galactica, her blackened and wounded hull covered
by the flashes of worker's torches, work vehicles flitting about. Even as
he watched, the workers finished severing the last bolts, and began
pulling away the now fully detached Beta Bay. Damaged almost beyond
repair in the battle with Xekash, the landing/launch section looked like
a partly crushed ale can, shot full of holes. Hull plates twisted and
blackened, many of the ship's casualties had occurred here.
     But now, with a facility as fully capable as any in Colonial space,
she would be reborn. With all internal sections sealed off, she was being
detached from the main hull, to be towed to another section of the yard
for a complete rebuild. Adama felt a tad queasy, seeing his ship
dismembered like the bird they had just devoured, but it meant that she
would fly again. That was ultimately what mattered. 
     "Commander Adama?" said a voice. He turned, to see their waiter. Of
unknown species, he/she/it/whatever resembled a tall, bipedal insectoid
of some sort. 
     "Yes?"
     "A message for you, Commander. >From the station commander's
office."
     "Thank-you."


     How in Hades Hole are you going to protect Pelias, and at the same
time hunt down Korax?
     Starbuck and Pelias had tossed around a few ideas, in most of them
Pelias insisted they use him as bait, and Starbuck in some way, shape, or
form, would come to his rescue.
     "Of course, I would expect you to kill the shape shifter before he
so much as breathed on me." Pelias had informed him, somewhat
distastefully. "I don't think he even flosses."
     "Look, kid, I can't promise you that. You know as well as I do that
he's unpredictable. He could be anywhere. He could be watching us right
now." Starbuck reminded the younger man as they took drinks that the
Warrior had insisted they pick up at a kiosk which he had veered into at
the last micron, and leaned up against a building watching the
festivities of the marketplace.  He checked his chrono, knowing he didn't
have much longer before he would be meeting Chameleon and Cassiopeia, and
possibly even Claudia for dinner. "In fact, I'd bet a yahren's pay on
it."
     "Why don't we ask Captain Apollo for help?" Pelias asked, noting the
way the pilot let out an exasperated breath and then looked away. 
"What?"
     "He's busy with ...things." 
     "Things?"
     "You know."
     "Nope.  I don't.  What things?"
     "He's the dang Strike Captain.  He's busy!"
     Pelias looked at him patiently waiting. And waiting. He started to
look less patient after that.
     "He just got sealed, for Sagan's sake.  And he's liaising with the
Zykonians.  And then there's the repairs on the Galactica that he's
overseeing, not to mention the rest of the Fleet."
     "Sounds busy," Pelias nodded.
     "Well, he is." Starbuck agreed curtly, sipping on his drink, wishing
it was a fine Sagittarian Ale, instead of something they had cut off a
tree, run into several times in a Zykonian hovercraft, and then squeezed
into his glass.  "You're right though. We need help. I can't protect ..."
He abruptly shut his mouth, catching sight of a familiar face in the
crowd, next to some sort of vending machine.  "What the fra...?"
     "What is it?" Pelias asked as Starbuck tensed from head to toe, his
eyes scanning the crowd before him, his hand hovering just over his
blaster.
     "I thought I saw ... but it couldn't be ..." he murmured, taking a
few steps forward and again studying each face where he was sure he had
seen ...
     "What?" Pelias asked, grabbing Starbuck's arm.  "What did you see?"
     Starbuck continued to scan the crowd, his face intent, as he shook
off the younger man's hand.  "A dead woman.  I saw Jada." Then with a
sharp cry of recognition, he shot into the crowd.
     "Frack..." Pelias muttered, racing to catch up.
 
 
     Commander Hir-Zykor welcomed Adama to his office, Apollo with him.
The Zykonian seemed somewhat agitated, but otherwise was as polite as
before. Very polite, as he dropped his bombshell.
     "Excuse me?" said Adama, looking down at the translator device on
the other's desk, not certain if he had heard the other correctly. "The
Ziklagi government wants what?" He exchanged glances with Apollo. 
     "You, Commander Adama. Specifically, and by name."
     "I don't understand this," said Apollo, his instinctual
protectiveness towards his father kicking him in the gut. "They want him
to arbitrate a treaty?"
     "Yes, Captain Apollo," replied Hir-Zykor, hands folded across his
desk. "I received an urgent message, not one of your centars ago, from my
government. We have been in... difficult negotiations with Ziklag for
some time, regarding certain trade routes. Most are of trifling moment,
but one has become a focal point for considerable ire." The Zykonian slid
a data chip into a slot on his desk, and a holographic starchart filled
the space between them. The image zoomed in, until a strip of space was
highlighted, and a red dot flashed. "This commercial route came open,
following the collapse, some years ago, of the once-powerful Bosaq
Empire. Both we and Ziklag have utilized it, but until the recent
rebellions in their space, they apparently deemed it worthy of little
attention."
     "And now, I take it, it is no longer unimportant," said Adama.
     "Quite, Commander." Hir-Zykor pressed a key, and the image zoomed in
further, till a solar system came into view. A system consisting of a
Main Sequence G-4 yellow sun, and fourteen planet-sized bodies. "This is
System 505A, or, as it more commonly referred to, Ikk. And this planet-":
he zoomed in further still "-is Ikk itself."
     Both Colonials studied the image before them. The planet was dull,
reddish-brown, and sported a thin, toxic atmosphere, whipped by violent
winds. It certainly seemed to live up to its name. It was utterly boring
and unprepossessing, at least to look at.
     "And how does this concern me?" asked Adama.
     "Ikk is fantastically, almost unbelievably, rich in mineral
deposits, gentlemen. Gold, silver, copper, iron, lead, crystalline forms
of almost limitless kinds, as well as radioactive elements and rare
gases. Compounds found nowhere else. So rich in fact that even with the
smallest cargo vessels, any run is a profitable one."
     "I begin to see," said Adama. "And Ziklag wants this planet."
     "Yes, they do. With the loss of the Aradon Station, a number of
trade corridors were cut off. Now, with the rebels tying up much of their
commerce as well as their starfleet, their economy is beginning to show
signs of strain. That, and the recent nova of the Pidon sun, destroying
all its planets, has cut deeply into their available resources. They not
only want Ikk, gentlemen, they need Ikk."
     "I take it that they are issuing threats?" asked Apollo.
     "Yes. Veiled but quite real." Hir-Zykor adjusted some controls, and
the image zoomed out, to show a wider swath of space." Here is
Zimira-Prime, gentlemen. Here is Ziklag, and this is the frontier between
us. This frontier has stood for nearly fifty of our standard years. We
would like it to stay that way. Both of us have colony worlds along or
near the border, and war would be a disaster for them all. My government
is most anxious to avoid war, as you can imagine."
     "Any sane person wishes to avoid war," said Adama. For a fleeting
moment, an image of Commander Cain flitted through his mind. "But I take
it that cool heads do not prevail on Ziklag?"
     "Sadly, no, Commander," replied the other, with a deep hiss, the
Zykonian version of a disgusted sigh. "There are elements within their
government that would risk all in an attempt to seize Ikk, as well as
several of the surrounding systems."
     "Insanity," said Apollo. "With all the revolts in their empire right
now? They would have to be fools to risk an all-out war for...this Ikk."
He shook off the irrepressible idea that he was being set up for the
latest IFB presentation of Warrior Screw-ups and Fleetwide Practical
Jokes. After all, Starbuck at loose ends could be trouble...       
     "Indeed, Captain." replied Hir-Zykor. "You speak wisely. But
nonetheless, the threat of a conflict with Ziklag is very high at this
moment. Like a smoldering ember in a dry forest. And, regardless of who
might actually win, their Empire would be so weakened, that it could fall
prey to invasion or even civil war. Possibly both." He leaned back, then
offered both men a drink. "The resulting chaos throughout the quadrant
would be an utter catastrophe, gentlemen. Oblivion. There are those,
waiting as it were, hoping for just such an opportunity."
     "Other empires?" asked Adama, taking the proffered glass.
     "Yes. The Xull, the Ordanu, the Bedaker. All aggressive, warlike
races, and all tasting the air for a chance to pick Ziklag's bones.
Believe me, they would not stop there. A weakened Zykonian Empire would
also be a tempting prey. Too tempting for most of them to resist."
     "So, how does my father fit in?" asked Apollo. Something fairly
stunk here, and he was waiting for the other boot to drop. 
     "As I stated, we have a treaty with Ziklag. We are in negotiations
with them, as we speak, over this issue, but no one is fooling
themselves. There is no real hope of a settlement between now and the
heat-death of the universe. In that event, the treaty permits either
party to invoke a third-party arbitration clause, gentlemen."
     By all the Lords...
     Frack!
     "And I am to be this arbitrator?" asked Adama, head still reeling
from it all.
     "The Ziklagi government has specifically requested you, Commander,
yes. By name. The message reached Zimira-Prime late yesterday, directly
from Chancellor Pentash's office." Hir-Zykor curled his lip in disgust,
or would have if he'd had lips. Even so, the effect was much the same.
     "But why my father?" demanded Apollo, trying to keep his temper.
"All they've done since we first encountered them is try and kill us.
They have kidnapped some of our people, and attacked us several times.
We've lost over ninety people thanks to the Ziklagoio."
     "Apollo, please," said Adama.
     "Father, I just can't..."
     "I know, but let him finish. Go on, Commander," said Adama. "I take
it you know this Chancellor Pentash?"
     "We met. Once, at a diplomatic function a few years ago. Even for
one of his kind, he is a slimy, unprincipled slug. I would not trust him
if my back were plated in battleship armor."
     "Treacherous?"
     "Very."
     "Commander," Adama said, trying to tread carefully, "While it's true
that I have been involved with civilian government matters for some
yahrens, as a member of the Council of Twelve before our Great
Destruction, I have never served in any direct diplomatic capacity in the
sense of handling negotiations between two parties. I am, first and
foremost, a soldier. I have spent my entire adult life on active military
service, as a warrior. I..."
     "But, you have held your people together in the face of great
adversity. No small achievement. Also, you are the President of your
nation, Commander. A Head of State. Thus..." he sighed, "Ziklag is within
its treaty rights in asking for you."
     "And if I should decline their request?" asked Adama.
     "Lords of Kobol!" shouted Apollo, back in Adama's quarters on the
station. He felt angry enough to put a fist through the bulkhead just
now. Of all the dirty... "If ever something smelled like low tide at the
docks, Father..."
     "Please, Apollo," said Adama, looking out his port at the planet
below them. "Calm down. Getting angry is not going to help either of us,
or the situation." 
     "I know, Father, but this is so...transparent. We just defeated and
killed one of their Generals, we wrecked their newest, top-of-the-line
warship, made common cause with their enemies, and now they ask if you'll
come and settle some treaty dispute that has nothing whatsoever to do
with us! They want you. More like they want your head, after all that's
happened. The Zykonians aren't going to just hand you over, so they're
pulling this, this utter felgercarb in order to get their hands on you."
     "Apollo..."
     "Lords, even a Cylon Centurion could see through this one. I mean,
do they think you're some sort of idiot?"
     "I have no idea what the Ziklagoio think of me, Apollo," said Adama,
voice still calm. "Probably nothing the least bit kind, I imagine." He
understood his son's ire; Hades Hole, he felt it himself. But as
President of the Colonial Nation, he had to look at this whole thing from
every angle.
     "Father..."
     "But Commander Hir-Zykor is right. If war should break out between
his people and Ziklag, the entire region could end up looking like the
Colonies. In that event, we would have no safe haven, Apollo. Not with
the shape the Galactica and much of the Fleet are in. No place we could
go for refuge." He put a hand on his son's shoulder. "And there may be a
higher reason behind all this, as well."
     "You mean...God? Divine prompting? Some sort of...of hidden plan?"
     "Possibly. But whether there is or not, I think Commander Hir-Zykor
made the situation quite plain, for all his attempts to veil it in
diplomatic verbiage. If I refuse, Apollo..."
     "I know. The welcome mat might just get rolled up. And with the
Galactica, not to mention the rest of the Fleet, in her current state..."
     "Exactly."


     "Boomer..."
     There was something in Athena's voice that made him bolt to his
feet.  In three strides he crossed to the turbo flush in her quarters, to
see her coming through the door, slightly hunched over, a hand on her
abdomen.
     "Athena, what's wrong?" He stood before her, hands on her arms, as a
cold, chilling fear gripped his heart, squeezing it with an intensity
that he hadn't felt since losing his family during the Destruction.
     "I'm not sure..." she looked up at him, tears filling her blue eyes. 
"I'm having this... cramping.  My back hurts...and when I used the turbo
flush..." She gasped in a deep breath before burrowing into his arms.
     "Dear God, Athena...the baby?"  He shook his head in denial, not
even wanting to think about the possibility.
     "No...no, I didn't mean..." She stood back, shaking her head. 
"There's a few drops of blood..." She sniffed loudly, "nothing more
significant."
     Boomer pulled her to him, cradling her in his arms once again,
shaking his head that they had just been celebrating their little miracle
of life with her family, and now...  "We had better go to the Life
Station and get you examined."
     "Boomer..." Athena pulled back, biting her lip as she blinked back
tears.  "I know we didn't exactly plan this..." she curled her lips and
fairly growled..."but I want this baby...I'm so...afraid that I'm going
to lose..."
     "Shh." He embraced her once again, his hand stroking her hair
soothingly, blinking back his own tears.  "We're jumping to conclusions.
We're not doctors." He cleared his throat, thick with emotion.  "So,
let's go see Dr. Salik and find out what's happening."

 
     A sea of endless faces, and not many of them Human.  Starbuck
pressed on through the throng of the marketplace, more from long-honed
instinct, than from any actual further sightings of what had appeared to
be Cadet Jada.  
     Korax!  His lip curled with pure hatred as he looked for some sign
of the Zikagi shape shifter, who had taunted him with the form of the
cadet that the beast had killed on that unforgettable training mission. 
Likely, the Ziklagi scum sucker was hoping he would question his sanity
once again, but those days were thankfully over.  He no longer saw 'dead
people', and it took but a couple microns to narrow the possibilities
down to Korax. In an instant, he was so consumed with his own malignant
intent and thirst for revenge that he forgot that Pelias was vulnerable
to an attack.
     He stopped on a cubit, whirling around, relieved to find the younger
man on his heels.  He reached out, grabbing Pelias' arms, abruptly
preventing a collision.  "Stay close," Starbuck ordered him as though he
was still subordinate, before releasing the grip and setting off once
again.
     A swirl of black hair caught his eye and he again lunged forward,
dodging amongst bodies to follow the almost undetectable trail through
the thick of the crowd.  He fleetingly wondered how Korax reproduced a
Being. Did the shape shifter need to touch a victim to take their form? 
Or could he merely look at a Being, scrutinizing them before mimicking
them?  He knew that the obvious giveaway was the fact that though the
beast could assume almost any form, he couldn't perfect the subtle,
almost unconscious  distinguishing characteristics that anyone who knew
the Being well could detect. As in the case of Jensen on the Nebula;
there was something there...something that was just off about the younger
Warrior... something he couldn't put his finger on, but he knew...  Of
course, that wouldn't help at all if he wasn't personally familiar with
the assumed form.
     Starbuck stopped short, and his blood ran cold, his heart dropping
into his boots.  There. About twenty metrons away. Jada-or what looked
like Jada-standing next to a frail elderly man.  Though his back was to
the Lieutenant, Starbuck well knew who the man was. His stance. His
too-gaunt frame. His thinning hair.
     Chameleon! Oh God......
     And then Jada turned-Korax, he reminded himself-and the malevolence
in those dark eyes was of a vicious nature that he could only equate with
the beast... never the life-loving young woman he had known. The shape
shifter smiled at him, a smile right out of the very scum-caked bottom
pit of Hades Hole, and turned towards his father, a hand reaching for his
shoulder, gripping it lightly as it leaned in, pulling the old man
closer... 
     "DOWN!  NOW!" the Warrior screamed instinctively, his blaster in his
hand in a milli-centon, locked on the form of Jada, as Beings from every
direction began to scream, and in a universal reaction to a weapon drawn
by a crazed man, they dove to the ground.
     He fired.

     "Lords of...when did this happen?" asked Chief Shadrick, almost a
shout. He was in the Battlestar's main water recycling and filtration
plant. The repairs here, given a priority by Commander Adama, had gone
quite well, with over fifty percent of its pre-battle capacity restored.
Shiny new pumps lined one bulkhead, and equally new pipes and valves took
up the spaces above and between them. All in all, it looked good.
     Except for the filters piled on the deck next to one of the filter
modules. Shadrick and Twilly were bending over them, Twilly with scanner
in hand. Both men looked upset. Very upset.
     "Sometime within the last two centars, sir," said Twilly. "According
to the engineering logs, these filter modules went on-line this morning
at 0900 exactly. The first illnesses weren't reported until after about
1300." 
     "Well, I want every single..." Both men looked up, as Doctor Salik
entered, Med Tech Waheeb in tow. They explained the situation to the CMO,
and Waheeb set to work with a chemical analyzer. 
     "How bad is it, sir?" Twilly asked the Doctor. 
     "Bad enough. We caught it in time, but over twenty people drank this
stuff before it was discovered. Most of them are in Life Station. Severe
cramps, vomiting, a sudden and unexplained drop in white blood and T cell
counts. One man may die."
     "What did it?" asked Shadrick.
     "Some kind of toxin in the water they drank, Chief," replied Salik.
"It ripped through them like a laser scalpel." He swore, then looked to
Waheeb. "Anything?"
     "Yes, sir," replied the other. "It originated here, sirs. The same
toxin we found in the water, and in the systems of the affected people,
origin unknown."
     "Alright," said Salik, with an angry sigh. "I am hereby ordering all
these new filter modules taken off-line as of right now, gentlemen.
Waheeb, get Tone and Cassie down here to help you run tests on every
micron of this plant. Twilly?"
     "Doctor?"
     "I want these filters and the units they were housed in sent to Life
Center for testing."
     "At once, Doctor."
     "Any suspects, Chief Shadrick?" asked Salik. 
     "No way, sir. And I don't see how it could be an accident. This
water running through here is our own, not from the planet below. It
couldn't be some alien contaminant from there."
     "Who installed this particular filter module?"
     "Ahh...I'll have to check the work logs, but I..."
     "Holy Sagan's...look, sirs," said Twilly. The rest turned to comply,
and he held up a piece of the filter housing. He reached in, and pulled
something out.
     "My God," said Shadrick.


     A howl of pain and a glare of outraged astonishment as "Jada's" face
contorted, the scream itself lost to the uproar around them.  Chameleon
turned abruptly, confusion and a little fear on his features as he stared
at the now rapidly mutating form of the young female Warrior beside him,
as the injured shape shifter lost its hold on its creation. Then Starbuck
was hit from behind and shoved to the ground, an alien limb battling for
possession of his blaster as his body was pummeled in an attempt to
loosen his deadly grip.
     "Seize and desist!" a voice growled into his ear, more a hiss
actually. "Comply!"
     "Eat felgercarb and die, serpent breath!"
     In retrospect, the wrong response. Starbuck's head jerked abruptly
upward as his hair, and then his skull, was seized between two vise
grips, and with a helpless awareness of what was to follow, his head was
slammed into the hard surface.  A spectacular array of stars filled his
vision and he could feel his blaster at last torn from his grip, as his
vision grayed at the edges. Then his arms were wrenched painfully behind
him and secured.
     "See to the Human female!"
     Starbuck was jerked to his feet, flanked by Zykonian Guardsmen, as
his head swam and his vision blurred, partly thanks to the blood running
down his face. His tunic was gripped in the front and he was shaken like
a child's doll as a Zykonian officer sneered at him, "You have betrayed
interstellar laws of conduct firing a weapon in a public arena!"
     "At least he had the courtesy to attack one of his own people..."
the voice behind him muttered.
     "Hold your tongue, Sergeant Girdahg!"
     "Yes, sir!"
     "Chameleon..." Starbuck murmured, trying to find his voice. He
sucked in a deep breath and yelled, "Chameleon!" As he blinked, another
of the station security detail ran up, to report.
     "Decurion Gorda!  We are unable to locate the Human female.  She has
disappeared into the crowd." Three additional Guardsmen appeared from the
crowd.
     Gorda turned towards his men. "Mammal's afterbirth, are you blind?
All of you? She'll be the one with the large smoldering wound on the
right side of her chest!" he hollered. "She can't have made it far. Find
her!" He whirled on Starbuck again, jerking the Warrior forward and
sneering into his face, "Explain yourself, Sir."
     Starbuck took a deep breath, fighting down a wave of nausea. He
tried to look beyond the Zykonian, desperately searching for a glimpse of
his father.  "Chameleon!" he hollered again, fear for his father gripping
him by the throat.
     An abrupt blow with a bludgeon to his stomach cut off his yell, and
he doubled over, gasping for breath.
     "I do not believe you heard me correctly, Lieutenant.  Explain
yourself." The Zykonian repeated. 
     "It ... wasn't Human," he wheezed, hoping that if he threw up, he
would at least hit the other's boots. "It was Ziklagoio ...a shape
shifter."
     "In our midst?" the Decurion responded acidly.  "I think not."
     "Starbuck ..." Pelias appeared, stepping into the group of Guardsmen
uncertainly, having missed most of the action. "What happened?"
     "Pelias, I need you to find my father!" Starbuck told the young man
desperately. "Korax was right next to him."
     "I ...uh ... don't know what he looks like." Pelias protested.
     "He's old!" Starbuck snapped, before getting himself under control. 
"Thin, shorter than me, thinning grey hair, white shirt, grey pants, blue
waistcoat ..." He nodded in the direction he had last seen Chameleon
...in the clutches of Korax, the image still vivid in his mind.  "That
way! About twenty metrons! To the right of the jewellery vendor!"
     "Right!" Pelias returned as he sprinted in that direction.
     "Bring him to the Guardhouse. And contact Captain Xlax. He is the
appointed Liaison Officer to these... unruly Colonials.  He'll know what
to do," the Decurion ordered.
     "Wait just a frackin' centon!" Starbuck hollered.  "Didn't you hear
me!  You've got bigger troubles than just me here, pal.  There's a
Ziklagi assassin on the loose!"
     "Don't be ridiculous. If there was a Ziklagi assassin on the Space
Station, we'd know about it." 
     Starbuck wasn't sure, but he thought the other was laughing.  "Yeah,
that's what I said..." He returned bitterly, recalling when he had been
told the mind-blowing news that Command, including Apollo, had known all
along about the presence of Over-Lieutenant Korax of the Ziklagi Empire
in the Fleet, yet had failed to mention it to the ranks. He twisted his
body, attempting to jerk free from their grip.  "It was after my father.
I just need to know ..."
     "Son!"
     Chameleon broke through the crowd, bloodstains on his otherwise
immaculate, though loose, clothes, and Pelias right behind him.  He
strode past the Zykonian Guardsmen, ignoring their attempts to stop him,
until he was standing before Starbuck.  "What by all the Lords of Kobol
was that thing?"
     "Are you okay?" Starbuck nearly shouted, his eyes running over his
father's frame, searching for any sign that the blood stains were
growing, wondering if it was the conman's wounds or just the splash from
Korax's. After a few microns, the blood changed, going from bright red,
to a sickly green. Starbuck breathed a tiny sigh of relief. One of the
Zykonians hissed.
     "Fine...I'm fine.  Starbuck, what was it?" He glanced down at his
stained suit. "I thought it was just a young woman in uniform trying to
get my attention, but then it ..." His face betrayed the horror of the
moment when the features of the beautiful young Warrior twisted
hideously... "Like something out of Hades Hole!"
     "The shape shifter that I ... didn't quite get around to telling you
about." Starbuck replied briefly as they pulled him backwards, and then
shoved him in the other direction.  "Chameleon, stay with Pelias!" He dug
in his heels.  "Where are Cassiopeia and Claudia?" 
     "Shopping." Chameleon replied, looking back the way he had come. "A
dressmakers, I think they said."
     "We'll find them, Starbuck.  I'll contact Captain Apollo and let him
know what happened." Pelias assured him.
     "Thanks, kid." Starbuck yelled as he was propelled before his
escort, "stay together!"
     "Yes, sir!" replied Pelias, for the first time since resigning
wishing that he was back in uniform. Oh, he'd still be afraid, but at
least he'd have a Colonial Blaster strapped to his thigh.
     And maybe some steel up his spine!

Chapter Six

     "What do you have?" asked Adama, in Life Station. Bent over the
instruments, Waheeb was running his latest analysis on the unknown
substance found in the water filters. 
     "A very ugly toxin, Commander," said Salik, looking at the results
of the previous tests. "It resembles piiglin, a nerve gas the Cylons used
to use."
     "Cylons?"
     "Not an exact match, Commander," replied Salik. "But close enough to
have a similar effect on the victim. It attacks the bone marrow, liver
and the kidneys with great rapidity, and shuts them down. The immune
cells in the bloodstream are almost wiped out as well. It's vicious."
     "I see. And the men?"
     "All but one look likely to recover," said the CMO, referring to his
charts. "It's slow going, but the antitoxin and blood filters developed
for treating piiglin seem to be fairly effective here. But Technician's
Mate Second Class Iarbas...he's very bad, Commander. He seems to have
gotten a bigger or more concentrated dose than the rest, somehow." He
motioned them to the unfortunate man's support chamber. "His immune cells
in his blood are virtually gone putting him at significant risk for
complications, and both his kidneys and bone marrow have virtually shut
down, practically eliminating his body's natural defense mechanisms. He's
sustaining on near-total life support." 
     "Prognosis?" asked Adama.
     "At best," sighed Salik, clearly not liking the answer he was going
to give one bit, "he has a ten to fifteen percent of recovery, Commander.
Right now, that's the best I can give him."
     "I see. Thank you, Doctor."
     "This was it, for sure," said Waheeb, turning to the senior
officers. He motioned both men over. Holding up a pair of fine tweezers,
he exclaimed: "This was what we found inside the filter housing earlier,
sirs." Adama leaned close. It was a small translucent ampule, no bigger
than a ten-cubit coin. "The poison was in here."
     "Planted," said Adama, clearly angry.
     "Yes, sir," said Waheeb. "And fragile. The ampule is very thin, and
made of a microcrystalline glass. The pressure of water moving through
the filter housing was enough to eventually break it, releasing the
contents."
     "How much?" asked Adama. 
     "Barely a cubic centimetron, sir. But from what we found in the
filter, it was concentrated to an extraordinary degree. There was enough
in here to conceivably kill a score or more Humans."
     "No chance of some kind of accident then."
     "No way, sir. This thing was planted. On purpose.  And with an
intent to kill, in my opinion."
     "Thank-you, Med-Tech," said Adama, turning towards the door. Almost
at once, his daughter and Boomer entered, but they quickly tried to allay
his fears. She was just getting a follow-up scan. Or so they said.
Somehow their own anxiety had him wondering otherwise, but he respected
their obvious decision to tackle whatever was troubling them as a couple.
He reluctantly turned to go, when the telecom rang for him. It was the
Brylon Station Commander, for him.
     Again.
     About Starbuck.
  
     Apollo could almost feel the anger rising off his father as they
strode together towards the Zykonian Guardhouse. Usually, this would be
the kind of incident that the Strike Captain would handle on his own, but
when the niceties and boundaries of diplomacy were already being tested
by the Zykonian conscription of Commander Adama as mediator to a trade
treaty-politely, but just as inaccurately, cloaked as a request-his
father felt his presence as military leader of the Fleet was necessary. 
And they both knew that it gave the Zykonians yet another advantage while
they awaited Adama's inevitable answer to their "appeal".
     "How does he get himself into these situations?" Adama muttered, nay
growled under his breath, not for the first time.  Memories of Starbuck's
brief stint as the Sheriff of Serenity came foremost to mind.  "He's on
medical leave, for Sagan's sake.  How can he find trouble while
rehabilitating...?"
     Apollo merely shook his head. As the Lieutenant's immediate superior
officer, and friend, he knew it was one of Starbuck's many talents;
getting into trouble when it was least expected. But, if the Warrior was
truly on the road to recovery, there had to be a somewhat reasonable
explanation for firing a blaster into a crowded marketplace when the
Colonials were enjoying their host's hospitality and safe harbor... if
anyone could indeed follow Starbuck's line of "reasoning".
     "Ah, Commander Adama.  Captain Apollo.  I am pleased you were able
to come so quickly." Captain Xlax stood awaiting them at the entrance to
the Guardhouse, looking over a hand-held electronic display, similar to
the data pads the Colonials themselves used.  "I hope we will be able to
clear up this matter forthright."
     "As do I, Captain Xlax." Adama replied, his features carefully
composed, as the Zykonian officer motioned them through the doorway ahead
of him.
     "What happened, Captain Xlax?" Apollo asked, having only received
the information that Starbuck had broken "interstellar laws of conduct"
by firing his weapon. While Apollo hadn't read or even seen a copy of
this book of laws, he was certain it was against station regs to cut
loose with a weapon into a crowd. 
     "Decurion Gorda reported that Lieutenant Starbuck shot a Human
female.  I've asked for Security feeds of the marketplace to be made
available for us, as I have only just arrived myself." Xlax motioned for
them to precede him into the holding cells, as Zykonian Guardsmen
straightened to various degrees of military correctness. 
     "And the identity and condition of the victim?" Adama asked in
concern. Aside form Technician Iarbas and the others, no one had been
reported injured. Who...
     "Strangely, the victim seems to have disappeared." Xlax replied, as
two Guardsmen snapped to attention within the brig.  Within a small cell,
approximately two metrons across and three deep, Starbuck paced.  Dried
blood matted his hair where it usually fell over one eye, and his right
hand was also smeared the same brownish-red.  He seemed unaware of their
presence, and his body seemed tense and prepared for action, as though he
was a wild beast awaiting the opening of its cage and the chance for
escape.
     "Fra..." Apollo murmured quietly. He watched his friend a moment.
"He can't see us?"
     "No, he cannot. The door of the cell is constructed of a
multi-layered polycarbonate which appears opaque on the prisoner's
...excuse me, Starbuck's side of the cell.  It prevents the transmission
of sound and light.  We can thereby alter the internal environment at
will, virtually eliminating all external stimuli. Usually, this has a
calming effect on the prisoner, but evidently not in this case." Xlax
explained as he considered the man within and reached for the control
panel, inputting a sequence and opening the door.
     Great for torture as well, mused Apollo.
     Starbuck whirled around to find himself face to face with Commander
Adama, Apollo just behind his right shoulder.  He drew himself to
attention as his Commanding Officer glowered at him.
     "Commander, sir! Captain."
     "Lieutenant."  
     The Commander was beyond furious.  Starbuck could see it in his
stance, though his arms seemed to be folded casually behind him, his face
however wore the same controlled mask that he usually used when dealing
with bureauticians and other irritants.  The Warrior licked suddenly dry
lips, realizing his Commander might just think he was completely off his
nut if he suddenly starting reporting seeing dead cadets while he was
supposed to be recovering from Combat Stress Reaction. 
     More like a nut cluster, Bucko. With fruit topping! 
     "Explain yourself, Lieutenant."
     Starbuck's guts twisted as the Commander's disapproval washed over
him, and he hadn't even had an opportunity to begin to explain yet.  A
quick look at Apollo revealed a furrowed and unsympathetic brow, the
Captain's own desire to know what had occurred foremost on his mind. 
Both would be angry that he had even entertained the thought of pursuing
the shape shifter on his own, while on medical leave, and without backup. 
He cleared his dry throat, wondering just how much he should reveal. 
Might as well get it over with, Bucko.
     "It was Korax." He swallowed, clearing his throat once again. "Sir.
He was...baiting me." Adama's eyes narrowed, doubt seeming to fill their
depths.  "He threatened Chameleon.  If I didn't fire...I knew...he would
have killed my father."
     "Lieutenant, all reports state that you fired on a Human female. In
a Warrior uniform..." Adama paused, realizing abruptly that it would be
an easy thing for the shape shifter to impersonate a woman.  But why
would Korax rear his grotesquely ugly head in the middle of a Zykonian
marketplace? Colonial Security and Croft's Special Elite Forces were
still searching the Fleet for the Ziklagi shape shifter.
     As if that ever stopped him before...
     "Not only fired, Commander Adama, but blew open the right side of
her chest according to our Guardsmen.  A respectable shot." Xlax
inserted, a slight hiss and a nod of respect towards the Lieutenant
concluding his statement.  "Unless, I vastly underestimate the anatomy of
the female of your species, I believe that would amount to an almost
instantly mortal wound."
     "Yet your men were unable to find her?" Adama asked, wondering why
the Zykonian Captain seemed to be taking the information in stride.
     "The marketplace erupted into pandemonium after the Lieutenant fired
his laser.  The Ziklagoio disappeared."
     "Ziklagoio?" Apollo asked, well aware none of them had said anything
about who Korax was.
     "Apollo...Captain." Starbuck paused, wincing internally at what he
was about to admit.  "He knows.  I told him about Korax.  In the
Har-Bitah."
     "I...see."
     Starbuck drew in a deep breath, realizing that Apollo likely thought
he had broken his word and had imbibed in a drink or two before sharing
classified information with a Zykonian Captain.  This is going from bad
to worse.  Might as well just call in the firing squad and have done with
it.  He dropped his eyes, finding it difficult to meet the Captain's
glower.
     "I believe the Security feed has been rerouted. Shall we take a
look?" Xlax asked smoothly, indicating the station at the desk.  He put a
hand on the Lieutenant's arm, guiding him forward after considering his
bloody visage.  "Do you require medical intervention, Starbuck?" he
asked.
     "Not yet, Xlax." Starbuck murmured with a sidelong look at his
Commander.  
     "I asked our technician to try and focus on the Lieutenant and the
victim.  As you probably realize, we have many vid-cams to record various
vantage points.  He tried to narrow in on the targets as I requested."
Xlax explained as he activated the screen.
     Like an action film, Starbuck stormed onto screen, yelling a warning
as he took aim and fired into the distance.  The focus changed and
Chameleon and a dark-haired young woman came into view.
     "Jada!" Apollo hissed in shock, looking at Starbuck who was gritting
his teeth as he watched the scene play out. "Oh my Lord!"
     "Jada" recoiled as she was hit, bright red spreading across her
chest, face twisted in both shock and pain, before she seemed to mutate
into the twisted form of something half-Ziklagoio and half-Human.  Then
abruptly, she fled the scene, ducking behind a knot of people of various
species, and disappearing into the mayhem of a panicked crowd.
     "A true shape shifter." Xlax nodded.  "This one is a true prodigy,
this Korax. A rare thing indeed. And very dangerous." He reached forward
as the scene shifted again to Starbuck's arrest and his treatment at the
hands of the Zykonian Guardsmen.  "Oh, and we don't respond very well to
being called serpent-breath, as you probably realize now." His tongue
flickered out and a hiss followed, as if he actually found the derogatory
comment amusing as he switched off the monitor.
     "Nothing personal." Starbuck returned.
     "I thought not," Xlax nodded.  "So, gentlemen, we have a Ziklagoio
shape shifter running amok. I had hoped that his zealous pursuit of your
Lieutenant would flush him out, but evidently he has evaded us once
again." Xlax made a fist, and lost the light mood of a moment before.
Clearly he was not pleased. Not pleased at all.
     Starbuck startled.  "You were watching me?"
     "It did seem like a good opportunity to bag me a living Ziklagi
shape shifter. There is still much we do not know about them, chemically
and biologically. Dr. Rekilw would have been thrilled at the opportunity
to dissect such a creature. Yes, my men were instructed to cover you, but
they lost you when you took off into the crowd.  Unfortunately, then you
pulled your weapon and they had to react accordingly." Xlax hissed. 
"Besides, I thought you could use some backup.  You didn't seem inclined
to ask your own Captain for it, which was odd considering I understood
you to be friends."
     What could he say?  It was true.  At one time, Apollo would have
been the first person he would have gone to, but now he was more inclined
to go it on his own-Boomer having all but disappeared off the face of the
Space Station for no apparent reason-especially after the Captain's
apparent loss of confidence in him over the past sectars.  Gone were the
days when he was at Apollo's side during the course of the day, as part
of the valued periphery of command.  Giving his opinions, assigned to
every important mission, involved in strategy.  He had been replaced.
     "Well...thanks for the assist." Starbuck murmured, personally
thinking the Zykonian Captain was a bit too forthcoming with his
opinions.  He could see Apollo shifting from foot to foot, and knew he
was likely thinking the same thing.  "But ...I didn't want to put anyone
else at risk. And his ...major grudge seems to be with me, Captain Xlax"
     "Yes, I am aware of that.  Your presence as bait is crucial to his
eventual capture. Well, you are free to go for now, Lieutenant Starbuck."
Xlax held a moment, controlling himself. That name...it was just so
ridiculously funny! "From a military standpoint, everything is clear, but
the station's civilian administration may wish to press charges, as per
regulations. Considering the circumstances, and the fact that no one was
hurt-other than the Ziklagoio-well, I shall see what I can do."
     "Thank you, Captain," said Adama.
     "Of course, Commander.  Let me know your next move regarding the
shape shifter.  I understand that Lieutenant Starbuck is vital to luring
him back into the open, and as such, I relinquish overall control of this
endeavor, but I want to be kept informed of the situation, and I trust
there will not be a repeat of today's occurrence." Xlax told him, showing
them the way to the door once again.  
     "There will not." Adama agreed with a pointed look at Starbuck as he
and Apollo briskly preceded the Lieutenant down the corridor.
     "Ha!" they heard Xlax behind them. "Serpent-breath!"


     "So, all I can do is wait and see?" Athena asked, testily, relishing
Boomer's supportive arm around her as she sat on the side of the
bio-stretcher.  
     "I'm afraid so," Salik replied.  "Your scans show a viable..." He
cleared his throat at the shadow that passed over Boomer's brow. 
"...show signs of a healthy baby.  Having said that, you are also showing
symptoms of an impending miscarriage.  It's not unheard of with first
pregnancies however."
     "How common is it?" Athena asked, looking for numbers. Statistics.
Something tangible. "Come on, doc. Give it to me. Right on the chin."
     "The numbers are low, but still noteworthy." Salik replied. "My best
advice is to go back to your quarters and take it easy."
     "I have been taking it easy." Athena insisted.  "There's not a whole
lot you feel like doing when you're constantly nauseated, Dr. Salik.
Except cornering the market on bed pans!"
     Salik smiled slightly.  "I imagine not."
     "I want to know if I have any control over whether or not this baby
is going to survive at this point." Athena continued, hearing Boomer's
dispirited sigh. That was the worst part of all this. Not feeling as
though she was in control of her own body. It was like it had become
possessed by another ...Oh, yeah. Right.
     "Athena, there's nothing you can do wrong at this point. Countless
mothers have gone through the very same thing before you, all the way
back to Day One. It's really in the hands of God."
     "Why doesn't that make me feel any better?" She shook her head
ruefully.
     Salik put a hand on hers.  "Lie down a moment, Athena. I think you
need to hear something."
     She raised her eyebrows in question, but stretched out once again,
and gripped Boomer's hand as Salik started looking through drawers and
cupboards, obviously having difficulty finding something.  She looked up
at Boomer who shrugged, squeezing her hand gently before raising it to
his lips and tenderly kissing her fingers.
     "Aha!" Salik muttered triumphantly, pulling a cylindrical tube with
a blunt end out of a drawer, attached to a small box.  "We don't usually
use these any more, the scans are much more conclusive, however, there is
one advantage..." He returned to Athena's side.  "Pull up your tunic
again, Athena, if you would."
     Athena nodded, pulling her tunic up, and sliding her pants down a
bit, still feeling somewhat vulnerable, as she felt Salik gently press
the probe to her abdomen. He pushed a button and the box emitted some
static, and he took a moment to readjust the position of the probe before
the steady, rhythmic and surprisingly fast sound of thump, thump, thump,
thump, thump, thump, thump, thump transmitted over the tiny speaker.
     "That's your baby's heart beating, Athena." Dr. Salik told her with
a smile.
     "Oh, my God..." she murmured, feeling tears well up in her eyes.  It
wasn't just some scan that she couldn't read, or abstract words of
encouragement from a physician, words that meant nothing to a
non-specialist. Instead, it was tangible proof that her child was alive.
There was life...real life...within her.  "Boomer..."
     Boomer nodded, a look of awe on his features.  "Our baby, Athena."
     She nodded, smiling and gripped his hand tightly, "I think we're
going to be okay.  All three of us."


     It was a far cry from the relaxed atmosphere of the Har-Bitah, where
Apollo had actually thought that Starbuck was back to his old self again. 
Lords, little did he know the Lieutenant was instead betraying classified
information to the Zykonian Captain while he was placing bets at the
Rygko Pit.  Of all the idiotic, irresponsible...  And now he follows that
up with firing off his weapon in a public arena where innocent bystanders
could have been hurt or killed, just in time to coordinate with the
Zykonians manipulating his father into a position where the Ziklagoio
could very well have the Commander's head on a platter.
     And it wasn't even lunchtime, yet.
     Oh, Apollo was fuming as he strode towards his father's quarters,
his words of guilt and regret regarding his best friend all but forgotten
in the passion of the moment.  He sucked in a deep breath and started
counting, hoping that by the time they reached Commander Adama's
temporary quarters on the Space Station, that he would be less likely to
throw Starbuck in the Galactica's brig-or what was left of it after the
battle with the Gee-Tih.  ...twenty-frackin'-eight, twenty-frackin'-nine,
thirty, thirty-frackin'-one...
     He stood aside as his father opened the door to his quarters,
preceding the younger men inside.  Apollo glanced at Starbuck, who seemed
to be studying his boots, his face a mask beneath caked on grime and
blood which he had all but ignored. Apollo cleared his throat loudly and
indicated for the other to enter.
     Starbuck raised his chin a notch and did so, coming to attention
just before Adama.  Apollo closed the door and stopped just behind the
other's line of sight, as if to unintentionally intimidate.
     Adama sighed deeply, considering the two men before him.  So
different, yet so alike; both standing erect and filled with emotion
following the harrowing previous events. While Starbuck's actions
couldn't have possibly come at a worse time, he could understand the
young man's reaction having seen the vid feed.  If he hadn't acted as he
did, Chameleon-the father that he had barely come to know-would now be
dead.  And Apollo was reacting purely as a concerned son, knowing that
his father's future role as mediator between the Ziklagoio and the
Zykonians had been cleverly manipulated and would put the Commander at
risk, and that Starbuck's escapade had sealed the deal from a
bureaucratic point of view.
     "Starbuck, go get cleaned up." Adama told him, his voice carefully
restrained.  He watched Apollo's head shoot up in surprise, and Starbuck
hesitate, his shoulders tensing as if he felt a predator behind him that
was about to strike. "Now. Consider it an order."
     Starbuck nodded briefly, still slightly taken aback, but realizing
he looked like several depths of Hades Hole, and was hardly fit to be in
the company of his Commanding Officer.  "Yes, sir," he replied as he
followed Adama's indication of where the facilities were and disappeared
within.
     Adama took a step forward, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. 
"Before Starbuck comes back, I want you to know that I've decided you
will stay here on the Space Station while I act as mediator on Ziklag."
He forestalled Apollo's rebuttal by holding his hand up sharply as he
watched the anger and confusion wash over his son.  "I need you here to
oversee the repairs on the Galactica, and act as liaison with Captain
Xlax."
     "But Colonel Tigh..."
     "While Tigh is an excellent executive officer, and will follow
procedure and protocol to the letter, he sometimes lacks the..." Adama
hesitated to find the words, but couldn't help but think back to when
they had had to mislead Council over the dangerous nature of Michael,
Sarah, and the children, in order to place them safely back on their
flight path to Paradeen.  Starbuck, of all people, had had to explain to
Tigh that he wasn't quite getting into the spirit of their deception when
the Colonel failed to understand their strategy.  "He lacks the
intuitiveness that defines a non-military leader.  I need you here,
Apollo, to support him." He squeezed his son's shoulder.  "And I think
that Starbuck needs you as well."
     Apollo let out a short breath. "I belong at your side. You're my
Commander, as well as my father. I know as sure as we're standing here
that they're setting you up. I don't trust those top-heavy slimebags as
far as I could throw a BaseShip. I want to be there to protect you."
     "I understand." Adama squeezed his son's arm.  "A man's desire to
protect his father drives him to do...unpredictable things." He looked
towards the turbowash, reminding Apollo that another son had recently
acted to protect his own father, but the Captain had been less
understanding of that situation.  In reflection, they both had.
     "This is different." Apollo muttered, though he dropped his father's
gaze.
     "How is it different?" Adama asked. Fleetingly, he recalled  a time
when he had bent more than a few rules to save his own father. He'd have
to tell Apollo that story, some other day.
     "They may be planning your assassination ..." Apollo abruptly closed
his mouth as he realized the significance of his own words in relation to
recent events. He shook it off and continued, "I'd wager every last
quantum in the Fleet on it. You virtually destroyed their latest,
top-of-the-line warship, killed one of their Generals, and made common
cause with their mortal enemies. There's probably no one in the entire
universe they hate more than you right now."
     "And my life is somehow more important than that of Chameleon's?"
Adama asked gently.
     "To our people? Yes. Who else could have rescued us from the Cylons,
led us this far, kept us together, and kept those bozons on the Council
from getting us all slightly dead several times over?" Apollo replied
quietly, shaking his head slowly as his words and their relevance to
Starbuck and Chameleon filled him with sudden self-loathing.  Long had he
defended equality with righteous indignation, and now his own prejudice
filled him with disgust and remorse.  He turned from his father, covering
his face with his hands, his voice choked, "Bloody Hades Hole...what am I
...saying?"
     "Nothing I wouldn't have said in your place, my son," said Adama,
his gaze a mixture of both pride and admonishment. "The inequitable
nature of our hard fought "equality".  One of life's lessons.  Yet, all
our lives are precious, even that of an elderly ex-gangster trying to
reform. And certainly that of his son." He smiled affectionately at
Apollo.  "No one is asking you to choose one over the other, Apollo."
     "I know, it's just..." Apollo turned away, gathering his thoughts,
calming his turbulent emotions. His father's mind was made up.  There was
nothing he could do to change it. "Who's going with you?"
     "I am still mulling my choices, Apollo. Athena is out of the
question right now, though I would have taken her otherwise. Instead,
I..." He stopped, turning towards the closed door. Looking back at
Apollo, eyebrows furrowed, he asked: "Does he always sing in the
turbowash?"
     "Wha...?" Apollo asked, looking towards the door, no sound
whatsoever emanating from Starbuck's direction. He glanced back at his
father to see an amused smile on his features. He rolled his eyes.
"Funny." 
     Adama patted his back. "Perhaps you should check on him.  He's been
gone so long, I'm beginning to wonder if he was in worse condition than
he let on. After all, they did seem to bounce his head off the surface
fairly hard.  Either that, or he's doing a fine job of delaying our
conversation."
     Apollo nodded, walking to the door and knocking on it twice. 
"Starbuck?  You still alive in there?"
     The ensuing silence stretched into microns before the door slid open
to reveal the Lieutenant, his hair wet and hand-combed back off his
heavily bruised and still oozing temple.  There was a wild look to his
eyes, the same that Apollo had noticed in the Zykonian detention cell, as
he took a deep breath and considered the Captain.
     "I don't know if ...I can do this anymore." Starbuck murmured
quietly as he shook his head slowly.
     "Do what?" Apollo asked, realizing fleetingly that all pretense of
military correctness had been abandoned by the other, not that it was the
first time with Starbuck.
     "This." He motioned towards the Commander, then back to Apollo. 
"Frack, Apollo, I still don't even know if Pelias ever found Cassiopeia
and Claudia-if they're even alive or prisoners of that...thing-and I'm
standing here, dripping wet, actually not giving two pieces of mong about
whether I'm about to be busted back a rank or returned to some ultra-lame
disciplinary duty for another couple sectons..." He paused, letting out a
short, sharp breath of realization.  "Oh, that's right, I'm still on
frackin' medical leave.  How does that fit in the regs?  I probably need
another fracking psychological evaluation now that I've relapsed into
further antisocial behavior!" His voice rose in correlation to his
frustration, his emotions achingly close to the surface.  "All of this
felgercarb just doesn't matter to me anymore. I don't have the time..."
     It hit Apollo like a splash of icy cold water.  More like an icy
cold tidal wave.  His friend-the man who had fought at his side
faithfully, at times unquestioningly-was about to resign.  He reached
out, grabbing Starbuck's wrist as the Lieutenant's hand returned from its
ritual trip, pushing hair back from his forehead in that familiar gesture
of anxiety that he had practiced countless times since the Academy. 
Probably longer. "Hey, hey! Now just a centon. Cassiopeia is missing?"
     "Yes, goddamn it!" Starbuck choked out, sucking in another steadying
breath, jerking his arm back out of the other's grasp.
     "Why didn't you say ...?" Apollo began, his own anxiety rising.
     "When did you give me the chance?" Starbuck spat.  "You're too busy
judging me for my transgressions to bother to find out why I broke the
fracking regs! That mutating sleazoid is out for my blood!  It's already
failed once in the Har-Bitah, and now it's trying to get to me through
the people that I care about!  It even tried to pick off Pelias, for
Sagan's sake. If it wasn't for Xlax ..." He broke off, his voice breaking
emotionally as he realized that this stranger...this Zykonian officer
that he barely knew, had offered more support than his friend of over a
deca-yahren.
     Yeah, the Lords must be laughing. With you. All the way to the
rubber room!
     Apollo shook his head mutely, wondering when they had drifted so far
apart that he could be so unaware of Starbuck's ordeal. His
disillusionment. His pain. "Starbuck..."
     The sudden beep of the Space Station commline interrupted them, and
Adama held up a hand to quiet them as he activated the system. 
"Commander Adama here."


     The face of Captain Xlax appeared on the monitor.  "Commander Adama,
my apologies at the intrusion, but I have a very determined hatchling
here, named Pelias, that is trying to locate Lieutenant Starbuck." 
     Starbuck strode to the comm, his body taut with tension. "I'm here,
Xlax."
     Xlax withdrew from the frame, and Pelias came into view.  "Starbuck,
Chameleon and I found them. They're okay, sir.  We're all okay."
     "Oh, thank the Lord ..." Starbuck murmured, letting out a breath.
"Thanks, kid."
     "What do you want us to do now?" Pelias asked, his discomfort clear.
     "Stay together. Right there in the Security section with the Captain
for now. Unless he has something else in mind." Starbuck told him, as
Xlax's voice filled the line once again. 
     "Lieutenant Starbuck, I'll personally escort them back to the
docking lounge for the Galactica, if that would help."
     "Yeah, that would help a lot. I'd appreciate it, Captain." Starbuck
agreed.  "I...uh...might be slightly delayed." He sighed, looking back to
his own Captain, his abrupt compulsion to end his career suddenly not so
pressing as the Zykonian signed off.
     "Starbuck, I think you better fill us in on what has happened
between you and the shape-shifter since arriving here at the Space
Station." Adama suggested, motioning to a chair.
     Starbuck ignored the gesture, too wired to sit still.  "That night
at the Har-Bitah.  I was given a drink of Gurrocht by a waiter.
Compliments of Pelias, supposedly.  I can't explain why, but I ..." He
glanced at them wondering if they would decide it was further paranoia
related to his Combat Stress Reaction. That was part of the problem. 
Everything he did, every move he made, he felt as though his superior
officers were standing in judgment of him.  Sounds like paranoia to me,
Bucko. "...I decided to dump it." He hesitated, and Adama nodded at him
to continue.  "The plant I fed it to, literally died before my eyes.  And
every insect that ever infested it."
     "Frack..." Apollo muttered, horrified that Starbuck's life had hung
in the balance for that precarious micron, and that he hadn't even been
aware of it. Instead, he had been socializing, oblivious to what was
happening not far away. "Lord's sake, Starbuck! Why didn't you say
something?"
     Starbuck sniffed self-disparagingly. "Because...I thought you would
lock me up somewhere safe where you thought that the big, bad beastie
under the bed couldn't reach me. Probably a padded room somewhere, maybe
in a tower..." He shrugged, turning away from them.
     Apollo opened his mouth, about to deny the words. But he couldn't.
     They were too close to the truth.
     "Besides," continued Starbuck, "I was na‹ve enough to think that it
was just between me and Korax. But then I found out today that the
creature tried to lure Pelias to one of the station's lower restricted
levels later that same night. Last night." It seemed like ages ago
already. He turned back to them. "Xlax saw someone about to try and
access a restricted level, and intervened. He probably saved Pelias'
life."
     "Korax really wants your head." Apollo commented. Perhaps as much as
the Ziklagoio wanted his father's, he couldn't help but think.
     "No kidding. I ...I need..." Starbuck cleared his throat, shifting
from foot to foot, "I need help." He shook his head, finding it difficult
to get out the words. Difficult to admit that he couldn't handle it
alone. "I can't ...protect Cassie...or my father...Hades, even Pelias..."
He wiped at the trickle of exudate running down his face.  "I can't do
this by myself.  As much as I hate to involve anyone else..." He turned
away from them once again, looking out the viewport at the foreign planet
below them. More unfamiliar landmasses, small bodies of what was likely
water, a strange hue covering the entire planet. Nothing familiar or
welcoming. For a moment, he felt anger. Anger that it wasn't Caprica.
Wasn't home. Just another chunk of rock in an endless journey to a planet
that they barely knew anything about. 
     Apollo stepped forward, placing a hand on Starbuck's shoulder. The
Lieutenant turned to regard him. "I'm...disappointed that you felt you
couldn't come to me with this," the Captain told him.
     "Yeah, well, disappointment is one of my specialties. Just ask your
sister." The delivery blas‚ in a knee-jerk response, but the regret on
his features instantaneous as he reflexively started to pull back from
the other's touch. "Sorry...I didn't mean..."
     "I didn't mean I was disappointed in you." Apollo grabbed his arm,
not letting his friend retreat from him. "I've let this...distance come
between us...I don't even know how it happened."
     Starbuck sighed, shrugging, seemingly indifferently. "Friendship is
a two way street, Apollo. It wasn't just you."
     "What was it then?"
     "That would take a whole lot of ambrosia..." he trailed off, shaking
his head mutely, realizing that even the numbing luxury of alcohol was
lost to him right now. Had been for quite a while in fact. "Forget it."
     "I can't do that."
     "I can."
     "I don't think so." If anything, he tightened his grasp, grabbing
Starbuck's other arm until they were face to face.  "I'm not going to let
you do this.  I'm not going to let you just turn away from ten yahrens of
friendship."
     "It doesn't matter..." Starbuck's features were drawn, his jaw
clenched, his control tenuous.
     "It does to me!" Apollo averred.  "Starbuck, you've been like a
brother...closer than my own brother.  I know you better than I ever knew
Zac." Living under the same roof with a young Zac, slightly more than
seven yahrens his junior, had often bred more contempt than affiliation,
and then Apollo had left for the Academy, and then he had shipped out.
Yahrens had passed before Zac was himself posted to the Galactica. 
Lords, Apollo had barely dented the surface of getting to know the man
that Zac had become, before the Cylons devoured one more young spirit, so
full of promise. "And I know that by letting you down recently, by
keeping my distance, when what you really needed was my support, that
I've driven a wedge between us."
     Starbuck let out a ragged breath, the words cutting through him with
an intensity that he couldn't deny.  Sure, he had felt the loss of
Apollo's friendship, but everybody moved on in life.  Didn't they? 
Sagan's sake, Apollo had been sealed! Taken on the responsibility of
fatherhood. Obviously, they wouldn't be joined at the hip as in the old
days.  Apollo and Starbuck.  Starbuck and Apollo.  If you want to find
one, just look for the other.  But no longer. "Don't..." 
     "My sister told me that the reason you couldn't commit to her or any
other woman was that you're terrified to commit to anyone.  That fracking
"disposable orphan syndrome" that you carry around with you, like a
BaseShip on your shoulder, using it as an excuse when the going gets
tough. I thought we had overcome that. I thought you knew that I would
always be here for you." Apollo shook him. Just once, and for effect, but
he shook him.
     Lords, he shook him.
     "I'm not going anywhere, Starbuck." Apollo told his friend,
apparently stricken mute for the first time since they had known one
another.  "In fact, until we find this shape-shifter and either arrest
him or destroy him, you're going to be bunking with me! I'm not going to
let you out of my sight until we get this resolved. You got that?" He
shook him again. "Do you?"
     Starbuck nodded slowly, as if trying to comprehend some foreign
language, then the corners of his mouth quirked into a familiar smile. 
"Who's going to sleep in the middle?  You or Sheba?"
     "Watch it, Starbuck," said Adama. "Or you'll be bunking with
Muffit."
     "Might as well sleep with a fracking Cylon."
     "Exactly."

Chapter Seven

     An immuring, burning pain wracked his body and twisted his soul so
that all that mattered was the annihilation and tortuous death of the
...vile Pit-worm feculence that had brought him to this. There was
nothing as ugly, as utterly repulsive as the Being that at every turn
seemed to do the unexpected, mocking him and turning what used to be
honor and courage into abasement and degradation.  
     He had thought to toy with the creature, to mock it and make it
suffer 
     suffer! 
     suffer!
     suffer.........
     as he snapped the scrawny neck of its progenitor, but, by all the
gods, how? his mortal enemy had bested him once again. Xegex's Left Foot,
why? Against the nature of his species, which seemed to value the
innocence of civilian life, it had drawn its weapon and fired through the
hysterical crowd, landing a devastating wound to his chest.
     He had been forced to retreat. To flee, like the most fearful and
quivering of vermin, to the dark, abandoned recesses of the Space
Station. To hide like some fearful female hatchling.  But only until he
was recovered enough to hold a form, and then, he vowed to himself, he
would return to find the creature known as Starbuck and he would grind
his bones and flesh, and all who shared his accursed blood, into a pulpy
mash and feast upon it so as to regain the honor lost to him.
     Only then would he be avenged.

Chapter Eight

     Starbuck was exhausted, both mentally and physically. He leaned his
head back on the longseat in Cassiopeia's quarters, his unlit fumarello
lightly gripped in his fingers, as he closed his eyes.  He drew in a deep
breath and let it out, forcing his tense muscles to relax as his favorite
Med Tech had taught him so long ago.  
     It was amazing that he had escaped Apollo's clutches. His friend had
meant every word when he had said that he wanted Starbuck bunking with
him. Of course, that meant finding safer quarters for Boxey if there was
a Ziklagi shape shifter on the loose. Apollo and Sheba were moving the
boy in with Athena and Boomer, who it turned out were expecting a
baby-the ex-lover always being the last to know.
     That was when he had made his break.
     His reward for his successful mission was just metrons away in her
chambers, "slipping into something more comfortable".  Cassie had been
shaken when she had found out about the attack in the marketplace, and
she needed Starbuck's support as much as he needed to be with her. On
more than one level.
     Her gentle touch in his hair startled him, and he realized he had
started to doze off.  He opened his eyes to behold Cassiopeia, wearing a
softly flowing peignoir in a pale translucent blue, the same color of her
eyes. It simultaneously left everything, and nothing, to the imagination,
as well as banishing any vestige of his exhaustion. Behind the sheer
fabric, he could see every sensual detail of her finely sculpted form,
yet it still managed to swath her in a mist of anticipation. She smiled
as she lowered herself onto his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.
     "Wow," he muttered. What the lingerie lacked in material, it made up
for in promise.
     Cassie laughed lightly. "Wow? Is that all you have to say?"
     "You want me to talk?" he asked with a rueful smile. "After all,
actions speak louder than words, Cassie..."
     She giggled, tracing his lower lip with her finger. "I bought it in
one of the markets on the station today."
     "I'm glad something good came out of all of that," he told her, for
a moment taken back to that horrifying moment when Korax had leaned over
his father...
     Her lips brushed his, returning him to the moment. She bit gently
down on his lower lip a moment. "I love you," she murmured.
     "I love you too." He pulled her against him, breathing in her scent
and kissing her again before he lowered her onto the longseat, stretching
out above her. His hands began to leisurely explore her body, stopping
briefly here and there, making quick work of the tiny fastenings made
from buds of material and secured with small delicate loops. Designed to
frustrate the average male humanoid he suspected, but fortunately, he had
surpassed average long ago.
     Cassie began to laugh, as she tugged at his tunic. "I wondered how
long that would take you."
     He grinned, sitting back and pulling the garment over his head. 
"How did I do?"
     "Please don't tell me you're already finished," she returned
teasingly while watching him discard his tunic, tossing it onto the
nearest chair.  
     "I've barely begun," he breathed, gently pulling the peignoir aside. 
"The wrapping is nice, but I like what's inside even better," he rasped,
as he leaned down to explore her more intimately.  He took his time,
pacing his seduction as he reacted to her sighs and moans of desire.
     "Starbuck..." she begged, tugging at the waistline of his pants.
     A three-handed exotic dancer on Pineus couldn't have shed his
remaining clothes any quicker than Starbuck did, and he stood for a
moment before her just admiring her wondrous beauty, her perfect figure.
She returned the inspection just as openly, her eyes running over him
hungrily. Lords, this woman could make him feel like a god. Speaking of
which...
     He leaned down and swooped her into his arms, carrying her into the
bedchamber.  In microns, they were entwined, their naked bodies finally
touching, no barriers between them. He lay back, chuckling as she
straddled him, her eyes holding his as she leaned over him teasingly. She
nipped at his lip, brushing herself ever so slightly against him,
arousing him even more with the tantalizingly light touch.
     "Cass..." he breathed, wanting more.
     Her smile would have been evil, if she wasn't so goddamned beautiful
at that moment.  She leaned forward, her hands entwined in his hair as
she kissed him thoroughly.  Her tongue tentatively explored his mouth,
pausing every so often to suck on his bottom lip or bite his chin,
staring into his eyes with a strange look of triumph and power. Lords, it
was erotic.
     "You're mine," she breathed, at last lowering herself onto him, his
hands guiding her hips.  She leaned in for another kiss, her fingers
aggressively clenched in his hair.  He pulled her tightly to him, feeling
every last centimetron of her, reveling in their union. She kissed him
wildly, passionately, desperately. He responded in kind, moving down to
suckle her, pull at her, lose his mind in her...
     Then abruptly her weight upon him seemed almost oppressive and the
soft, sweet flesh beneath his hands seemed to change into a coarse, thick
hide.  He opened his eyes, but was unable to see beyond the horror of the
situation.  The fingers in his hair now seizing his skull in a crushing
grip; the tongue in his mouth plunging deep into his throat, choking off
his breath; the taste utterly repulsive...
     He bucked wildly and tried to hurl them both from the bed, trapped
beneath the loathsome, hideous creature. It wouldn't budge. He pounded on
flesh that refused to give, seemingly impenetrable. His lungs burned,
desperate for air, and still the creature held him fast, filling his
throat with an organ that seemed to expand further, the acrid taste
burning all the way down.  Greyness infiltrated the edge of his vision
and his head spun with the lack of oxygen, and still he fought... Lords,
he couldn't even scream...
     "Starbuck!!"
     Strong hands on his shoulders, the sudden light blinding him, his
throat burning, the taste... Oh, God! The taste!  Starbuck clawed at his
throat, sucking in a raspy breath, rolling on his side, coughing, trapped
by the sheet entangling him on the floor.  The floor?  The bile rose in
his throat, and he coughed again, trying desperately to clear his airway,
wheezing audibly with each progressively weaker cough.  
     "Starbuck! What is it? What's wrong, for Sagan's sake?" 
     "Apollo, I think he's choking!"
     "Frack!"
     Arms hauled him into an upright position as if he was a sack of
Umbran Tuberons, giving Starbuck a chance to see little decorative Vipers
on the wall, a crudely drawn poster of a Star System, and a shelf of
toys. He blinked, his hand grasping his burning throat, his wheeze now a
painful squeak, and then Apollo's fist thrust into his stomach from
behind. A bolus shot into his mouth, the taste familiar and foul, and his
stomach convulsed in reaction as he spat it into his hand.
     Black.  Hairy.  Three thick legs.  Partially chewed.
     Starbuck bolted, tearing loose of Apollo's supporting arms, past
Sheba, and into the turbo flush, emptying his stomach of the other five
crawlon legs and anything else that was leftover from the day before.
     It was about then he realized he was in Apollo's quarters... make
that Apollo and Sheba's quarters, Bucko.  Cassiopeia... the shape
shifter... a nightequa.  Another fracking nightequa.  Voices murmured
behind him quietly.
     "Should we call the Life Station?" Sheba, anxious and worried.
     "I think he's okay." Apollo, steady and confident.
     Apollo's hand gripped his shoulder.  Suddenly, Starbuck was
conscious of his lack of clothing, clad only in his briefs.  A cloth was
thrust in front of his line of sight.  "All right now?"
     He gratefully took the cloth, wiping his mouth.  His throat still
felt raw, the taste in his mouth still disgusting.  He rubbed his throat,
clearing it again, feeling as though there was still something clinging
to his esophagus... but all the various arachnon parts were apparently
accounted for. Sheba handed him a glass of water. He took a swig, trying
to rinse his mouth out.
     "Sorry," Starbuck croaked, standing and turning, his hand still on
his throat.  Talk about awkward.  The three of them, Apollo in sleep
pants, Sheba in his matching top, and Starbuck in his military briefs,
all crammed into one turbo flush.  
     "What in Hades hole was it?" Apollo asked, peering past Starbuck and
into the receptacle where the Lieutenant had discarded it.
     "Crawlon..." Starbuck replied hoarsely.
     "More to the point, how did it get in your throat?" Sheba asked,
lightly touching his arm, her concern evident.
     "Crawl... in." A shrug.  A smile.  Somehow it was just easier to
return to his old pattern of quips and off-the-cuff remarks than to
explain to these two that he had been experiencing one of the most
horrifying nightequas of his entire life when he'd half swallowed the
crawlon and begun choking.  What they didn't know wouldn't reflect on
him.
     Apollo groaned, rubbing his face.  It was way too early for puns.
     "Wait a centon! Maybe we should get it analyzed or something?" Sheba
submitted. "Look at the size of that thing!  We don't exactly get a lot
of arachnons on the Galactica."
     Starbuck nodded soberly, "Could be a Ziklagi spy." He reflexively
coughed again.
     Sheba grimaced, rolling her eyes, shaking her head at him. Was
Starbuck ever serious?  Then again, if he spent less time hiding his true
feelings, perhaps he wouldn't be going one on one with a psychotherapist
on a regular basis.
     Apollo patted his shoulder playing along to his friend's lead, "Good
work, Lieutenant." 
     "Thank you. Sir," he rasped.
     "Oh, you two think you're so funny." Sheba remarked. "Listen to him,
Apollo. Just listen to him. You don't sound like that from swallowing a
bug."
     Apollo considered his friend, Starbuck's hand still on his throat.
"Sheba has a point. Maybe we should take you to Life Station and have it
checked out."
     Sheba nodded vigorously. "What if it was venomous? After all, the
reason you're here is a crazed shape shifting Ziklagi assassin is trying
to kill you. What if your throat swells up and cuts off your airway?"
     Starbuck frowned. "You're a lot of laughs, Sheba. Next time we have
a slumber party, Apollo, could we invite Boomer instead?" 
     "Come on, Starbuck." Apollo took his arm as he looked at the
determined expression on Sheba's face. "Life Station."
     "Can I put some clothes on first?"
     Apollo grinned ruefully at Starbuck, then looking at his bride; 
"Can he?"
     "Actually, I've heard he's better at taking them off," harrumphed
Sheba, arms folded. "Still..." She broke off, as Apollo unexpectedly
broke out laughing. She scowled at him, sighing loudly. "You really want
to sleep on the couch for the remainder of rest period, don't you?" she
asked Apollo sweetly, her eyebrows raised, but playfulness on her
features.
     "So this is marriage. Think I'll pass." Starbuck quipped hoarsely.  
     They both looked at him measuredly before Sheba pointed the way back
to Boxey's room.  "Get dressed.  Apollo's taking you to Life Station. 
Now."
     "Okay, Mom. Will you carry my school books as far as the bus?" She
thwacked him, but said nothing. Starbuck smiled lightly, but the way his
throat was feeling, he was beginning to think she might be on to
something.     


     "This all comes down to the fact, my brother members, that there
isn't a great deal of choice for us in this matter," said Adama, at the
head of the impromptu council table aboard the Brylon Station. Some of
the members had groused about the venue, but as that deck of the
Galactica resembled a construction site at the moment, Adama reminded
them, this chamber would just have to do. 
     "First these people try to kill us, now they want us to play
diplomat?" said Sire Domra regarding the Ziklagi. "The whole thing
strikes me as simply intolerable!"
     Adama couldn't help but note the irony in how Domra's attitude was
anything but the way he had approached the matter with the Eastern
Alliance so many sectars ago. Perhaps it indicated at the very least that
for all his ongoing faults, the Sagittarian was at least capable of
learning just a little bit.
     "I am hardly in a position to disagree, Sire Domra," replied the
Commander. "However, as the request was communicated to me through the
Zykonians, it has also been hinted at broadly that the continued goodwill
we require in order to repair and resupply our ships with additional
stores from what we obtained on that planet with the unstable weather
patterns, is heavily dependant upon my answer."
     "Blackmail!" hissed Domra. "Pure blackmail. We have enough supplies
as it is from that planet you spoke of, so it's hardly as if we're in a
critical situation where that kind of resupply is essential!"
     "I agree, Sire. But we are hardly in a position to refuse our
hosts'.....gracious invitation. As to your point about resupply, you are
technically correct, but I can hardly pass up the opportunity to make our
supply levels capable of lasting for an even longer-term journey than was
first envisioned." 
     "Yes, hardly," said Sire Antipas. "I must say, Adama, that I no more
like this situation than does my brother counselor." He and Domra
exchanged a nod. "However, you speak rightly in that we have little
choice. And, that being so, I think that it might be appropriate for a
member of this council to accompany you on this mission."
     "I second my brother's motion," said Sire Montrose, rising. "We need
to show these Ziklagi creatures that the entire Colonial Nation is behind
you, Adama. A united front." 
     "I appreciate that," replied Adama, sighing. Why can't there be this
sort of unanimity when I really need it?
     This had not worked out quite the way he had hoped. He had been
discussing the upcoming "diplomatic mission" over a scant breakfast with
Siress Tinia, in the small office provided for his use, here on the
station.
     "It's fortunate that we don't have a full Council meeting scheduled,
Adama. I'd have hated to deal with any probing questions from Domra or,
God forbid, Antipas."
     "Or Lydia," added Adama.
     "Yes," Tinia noted, "Have you noticed how strangely.....involved
she's become in Council matters recently? I keep remembering how these
meetings always bored her so much. She always enjoyed the status of being
a member of the Council, but not the responsibilities that come with it."
     "I've noticed," Adama admitted. "I don't know how much of that is
caused by the fact that she and Antipas are a.....couple now..."
     "A couple what?" she quipped, then covered her mouth as if surprised
she had voiced the thought aloud.  She almost apologized, but he threw
his head back and laughed heartily.     
     Adama squeezed her hand, agreeing with her wholeheartedly, and
enjoying how they were now so relaxed in one another's company, that she
could be tactless... and funny.
     "I was going to say, that I wonder how much it has to do with any
newfound sense of ambition on her part, and....I do plan on keeping my
eye on her." He then smiled wryly at her remembering that she had set the
tone a moment before, "Strictly speaking from the standpoint of watching
her for any signs of further acts of undue ambition on her part."
     Not to mention the fact that she's one of only three people who know
about Baltar's wife still being alive, he thought to himself.     I have
to watch her, but I also have to be careful of not making her think of me
as an active enemy.     Now that Chameleon and Claudia are an item, the
potential for disaster could be too great if she decided to reveal
Claudia's identity out of an act of revenge.
     "Of course," Tinia returned it with a smile, sitting on the edge of
his desk. "Frankly, Adama, I wouldn't trust Lydia as far as I could throw
her. Her politics are vague, to say the least, and she seems to spend an
inordinate amount of time trying to look like some holopic goddess,
rather than a serious member of the Council."
     " 'Holopic goddess'?" He resisted a smirk. Even Siress Tinia had
claws.
     "Well," said Tinia, smoothing her carefully coiffed hair. She had to
admit, she had a few more grey hairs than the other woman, still...  
     "Well, I must say I'm glad I'm not the only one to have noticed,"
replied Adama, with the faintest hint of a smile. "Her closing ranks with
Antipas on virtually every measure that comes up creates a power bloc on
the Council I freely admit to not being entirely comfortable with."
     "Nor I," she seconded and then looked him in the eye. "I will admit
though, that I didn't make much of a good example of myself during that
whole business with the Eastern Alliance. Because Antipas came out of
that whole business unscathed, it made it possible for him to be
your....main rival, if you will."
     "Think nothing more about that," Adama said disarmingly. He knew
full well that the Eastern Alliance experience had shaken Tinia to the
core and left her determined to never make that kind of mistake in
judgment again.
     "It's too bad that we couldn't have left political corruption
behind, in the wreckage of the Colonies."  she added.
     "Sadly," said Adama, nodding. "But it predated the Colonies, and I
expect, will survive us all. Human nature, with all of its attendant
evils, is something we each carry with us."
     They left the office, and took a brief walk to one of the many
observation decks, from which they could watch work proceeding on the
Galactica. Even after only a secton, she was already looking more her old
self, and just the sight of her filled Adama with hope. He turned to
speak with Tinia, herself glued to the image below, when a Zykonian, in
civilian dress, appeared, and handed him a note. He thanked the other,
read it, and then sighed loudly. He motioned Siress Tinia to follow him,
and returned to his office, only to find that the entire council was
assembled, and waiting for them. 
 
     "Open wide and say, 'ahh'." Dr. Salik told him, leaning over
Starbuck and peering into his throat, instruments in hand.  "I love
saying that."
     "Aahhh..." Starbuck rasped dutifully, his body tense, his hands
gripping the sides of the biostretcher.  How could such an erotic dream
evolve into... this?
     "Interesting." Salik breathed.  "Your throat is certainly inflamed,
Lieutenant.  It looks like the crawlon either bit you... or..." He
sighed, taking another look.
     "Or what?" Apollo asked from Starbuck's other side.
     "Many crawlons secrete digestive enzymes into their prey to liquefy
them for ingestion.  It could be that this was a particularly toxic
cocktail and when Starbuck bit the crawlon, the enzyme caused a local
inflammatory reaction in his throat." 
     "Next time you want a midnight snack, Starbuck, just help yourself
in the galley. Okay?" Apollo ribbed him, surprised how well his friend
was handling all of this.  He really seemed to be acting like the 'good
ole' Starbuck, pre Combat Stress Reaction.  Unless... he was simply
trying to put one over on his Captain.  
     Starbuck gurgled an incoherent rebuttal, Salik still examining his
throat.  
     "It's slightly swollen, but I don't think you're in any danger of
occluding your airway, Starbuck." Salik reassured him, withdrawing his
instruments of torture.  "It will probably be sore for a day or two
though.  I tend to think you bit the crawlon first.  They generally don't
bite unless provoked in some way, and by the time you did that, it had
burst in your mouth.  There's no sign of any puncture, and certainly
nothing resembling an abscess."
     "Doctor Salik," Apollo began, "It seems a bit... suspicious.  We
don't exactly get a lot of crawlons around here.  There's nothing for
them to live on."
     "Certainly true." Salik nodded.  "I can't tell you where it came
from, Captain, I can only tell you that the Lieutenant here is going to
be fine.  However, if the crawlon's digestive enzyme was that toxic, I'd
hate to theorize about how poisonous the actual venom was. Fortunately,
Starbuck's blood panel is clear. No appreciable toxins in your blood,
Lieutenant." He shrugged.  "Then again, I'm no arachnologist." He looked
at the specimen that Sheba had insisted they bring along, just in case
Starbuck had been poisoned, holding it up to examine it through the
drinking glass.
     "Who is?" Apollo asked.
     "Actually..." Starbuck interrupted, "Agro Supervisor Eldritch might
be able to tell us what it is. He was actually breeding some rare species
of crawlon over on Agro Ship One when we were doing a training exercise
there..." It had been just before that disastrous training mission where
Cadet Jada had been killed... by Korax.  "I wonder..."
     "The same type of crawlon?" Apollo asked.  "Korax got it from the
Agro Ship?"
     "Possible." Starbuck shrugged. "Should we check it out?"
     "Right after you and Sheba check out the rest of our quarters for
more crawlons, and I check in with the Commander." Apollo told him.
     "Hey, why...?" Starbuck began to protest.
     Apollo stopped him with a hand on the shoulder and a rueful grin. 
"Because I'm the Captain."


     It seemed a foregone conclusion, but Adama was glad to have it down
on the record, even so. Siress Tinia would go with him, with the
Council's blessing, as his second, to the negotiations on Ziklag. While
he was pleased to have someone with him whom he didn't have to worry
about leaving daggers in his back, the energy with which Sire Antipas and
Siress Lydia promoted her selection troubled him. Obviously, the Libran
Sire was pleased to see Adama out of the way, considering what Adama knew
about his sordid and criminal past, even if for a while. Whether Lydia
joined him out of being a partner in crime, or merely her own
all-consuming lust, he did not know. Either way, it made his choice of
deputy here, in his absence, all the more important.
     "Of course, Father," said Apollo, later, aboard the Century. Like
the Battlestar, the old warship was under repair, and Adama had decided
to visit it, to shake off any possible unauthorized listeners. "I must
admit, I never saw myself as a Bureautician."
     "Think of it as flying a Viper, with no laser guns," replied Adama.
"But with matters still unsettled with Antipas, and Sire Uri talking
settlement..."
     "I understand," said Apollo, stepping over a stack of wire. The
engine room of the old warship was noisy and cluttered, and a perfect
place for privacy. "I just hope I can live up to what's needed." And
carry through on my word to Starbuck at the same time...
     "I have no doubts," said Adama.
     "Who else will be going with you?"
     "Siress Tinia, of course. She worked in law, as a Deputy Opposer,
before she became active in Virgon civil government, and has a
razor-sharp legal mind. I will need someone like that when it comes to
dissecting that convoluted treaty."
     "Who else?" From his tone, it was obvious that Apollo wished he were
going with his father. Adama understood, and half wished it was Apollo as
well.
     "I've asked Sire Solon for someone from his office, as an assistant
for Tinia. Someone who is at home in tangled and obscured legal language.
He's found someone who used to serve in the Colonial Foreign Office, and
has diplomatic experience. Hektor."
     "As long as he doesn't bring Vector with him." Apollo quipped,
smiling briefly and shaking off his memory of the two androids on
Paradeen.  "Sorry, never mind.  And Security?"
     "Sargamesh."
     "Sargamesh?" replied Apollo, clearly surprised. "The Zohrloch? Why
him?"
     "He practically begged, as a matter of fact, although I gather his
language regards that word as almost an obscenity. He requested,
personally, to accompany me, as my personal guard."
     "And you agreed?"
     "I gather he feels the need to redeem himself, Apollo. Jumping in,
as he did, during the fight on the bridge with Xekash, he admits was an
emotional outburst as much as a response to an attacking enemy. He feels
that he has dishonored me somehow, and wishes to make recompense for it."
     "Dishonored you? He saved you from having your head end up on a
pole. Probably all of us. How is that dishonoring you?"
     "I'm not sure, actually. There is a lot about our newest citizens I
still admit are a complete mystery to me. But," Adama sighed, "I
understand the need for the young Warrior to prove himself, so I agreed.
He will be coming with me."
     "I see. I just hope the Ziklagi don't mong a block when they see
him." Apollo let out a sigh and paced a few steps.  He turned back,
facing his father.  "I'd feel a lot better if you were taking an
experienced Warrior who's more familiar with protocol.  Someone that I
could trust to get you out of there if something goes wrong.  Sargamesh
is a fine Warrior, but he doesn't have the experience or knowledge of...
     Who?" Adama asked.  
     "Sheba."
     Adama raised his eyebrows.  "Apollo, you were just sealed.  I
naturally thought that you would want her here with you."
     "If the circumstances were normal, of course I would.  But, other
than Boomer and Starbuck," he paused, abruptly realizing that Starbuck
certainly wasn't ready for a mission of this magnitude at this point. 
"Well, there's no one I would want watching your back more than my wife."
     "Very well," Adama nodded.
     "Anyone else? "Who else?"
     "Nizaka."

Chapter Nine

     "Speak!" said Supreme Triumvir Xandrix, looking up from his desk.
     "We have heard from our intelligence operatives, My Lord," said
Chancellor Pentash, standing a respectful distance from his superior.
"Finally."
     "I see," said Xandrix, leaning back. "And?"
     "It appears that Adama has agreed to act as arbiter, My Lord. They
intercepted and decrypted his communication to the Zykonian government
less than one ee'wa* ago. He will be leaving the Brylon Station sometime
late tomorrow."
     "I see," rumbled Xandrix. "And they have not yet communicated
directly with us?"
     "No, My Lord. Adama seems to be waiting until the very last moment
for that."
     "Well, I can hardly blame him for that, Pentash."
     "My Lord?" asked the Chancellor, scowling slightly. 
     "He may be from one of the most hideous and disgusting-looking races
we have ever encountered, Pentash, but this Adama is no simpleton. His
actions so far have proven that. He is in an unplayable position, and he
knows it. He delays, in order to try and devise some plan, and to try and
make us uncertain. He shows a certain cunning, Pentash." Xandrix sighed.
"As the late, unlamented General Xekash would agree. If only he could."
     "Perhaps, My Lord," replied Pentash, voice dismissive. "But whatever
plan or scheme he may be concocting, ultimately it will fail. As will
Adama also."
     "By all the gods, may it be so, Pentash," replied the Supreme
Triumvir, rising. Pentash saw a wince of pain cross the other's face.
     "Of course, My Lord," intoned Pentash, tonelessly.
     "On what ship, Pentash? What ship will Adama be traveling on? They
understand that no foreign warship will be permitted to cross our
frontier?" 
     "That has been communicated, yes My Lord. From our data, it would
seem that neither the Galactica, nor the other smaller warship in their
Fleet, is in any condition to make the voyage at the moment." 
     "I see. I trust Over-Lieutenant Korax understands that we want data
on the Galactica, as well as sabotage?"
     He paused, deciding not to mention that Korax had been late
reporting in. "He has been informed, My Lord."
     "Excellent." Xandrix looked up, as the door opened, and another
functionary entered. There had been a message from Zimira-Prime. Adama
had replied.
     "Until later, My Lord," said Pentash, bowing respectfully, and
turning to leave. Xandrix winced again, pain clearly on his face, but it
meant nothing to Xandrix.
     He didn't care.

Chapter Ten

     Starbuck's body was tight with tension as he strode through the
lower levels of the Space Station for his daily appointment with Tarnia. 
Sheba could see his resentment in the set of his jaw as she dutifully
followed alongside as his assigned escort.  It was one thing being told
by his Strike Captain and friend that he wasn't going to be permitted to
wander by himself through semi-deserted corridors when a Ziklagi assassin
was bent on hunting him down and killing him, but it was quite another
when instead of the Captain, Apollo's wife was sent to protect him. 
     Will she burp me and powder my astrum, too?
     "Do you want to talk about it?" Sheba asked, determined to keep pace
with him though he was going on full turbos and moving into lightspeed as
she spoke.
     "I already have a Therapitician, thanks," he groused, his voice
still gravely from the recent crawlon bite.     
     A thorough search of Sheba and Apollo's quarters hadn't turned up
any further creepy crawlies. Thankfully. Identification of the
half-chewed arachnon would have to wait until after Starbuck's
appointment.
     "Is it because I'm not Apollo that you're upset about this? Or,
maybe, a woman?" Sheba asked, startling when he suddenly stopped in his
tracks, letting her take a couple paces beyond him.  She turned back to
face him. "Or is it just because we're reluctant to let you get yourself
killed?"
     "Let me get myself killed?" he asked, his voice low and angry. "You
know, I've done a fairly good job of staying alive so far." It would have
had more impact if his voice hadn't been reduced to a husky whisper that
sounded like a final death rattle. He rubbed his throat irritably, and
cleared it.
     "I know." Sheba agreed. She took a step closer, hesitant to reach
out to him, but also sensing that was what he needed. "Starbuck, if
Apollo, Boomer, or I had an assassin trying to kill one of us, Ziklagi or
otherwise, we would be in the same situation. We'd get back up, just like
on a mission. The difference is, you seem to resent it for some reason.
There was a time when you welcomed our support. Expected it even. What's
changed?"
     Her words seemed to extinguish his anger with all the fire-quenching
efficacy of Boraton. He laced his fingers through his hair, letting out a
sigh as he turned away, tilting his head towards the ceiling and shaking
it slightly.
     "Talk to me, Hotshot."
     A quiet snort of amusement at the old nickname, followed by the
longest sigh she had ever heard. She placed a hand on his shoulder,
pulling him back to face her.  She gave him her best no nonsense
look-handed down from her own mother and recently perfected on Boxey-and
then just waited.
     "Why do I feel like I'm back at the orphanage being bawled out by
the head matron?" he murmured.
     "No evasive maneuvers. No thrust reversers. Tell me what's on your
mind," Sheba told him, trying to catch his eye as he looked everywhere
but directly at her. She was tempted to make it an order, her commission
having been posted a full two sectons before his, but decided that would
only add fuel to the fire. She reached up, taking his head between her
hands and forced him to look into her eyes. "Why is this so hard for
you?"
     "Because...I wanted to do it myself." It came out between gritted
teeth.
     "Why?"
     He dropped her eyes and pursed his lips, letting out another breath
before again looking at her and replying, "I thought it would prove..."
He chewed his lip, knowing that logically he shouldn't have to prove
anything to anybody... but it wasn't just anybody he was proving it to.
     "Starbuck, you don't have anything to prove to us." Sheba reassured
him, dropping her grip to his arms.  "You're one of the finest Warriors
in the Fleet. We've all seen it, time after time. Mission after mission."
     "Sheba, you don't understand..."
     "Then explain it to me."
     "I can't even explain it to myself..." he sniffed shaking his head.
     "Try."
     "Well, alright, but if we make it through this I'm skipping my
session with Tarnia," he replied ruefully, falling back on his humor to
keep him breathing.
     "Good try." Sheba replied, letting him go.
     "Look..." He couldn't believe he was doing this here in a dark
corridor... with Sheba.  Hades, there was a time when each and every dark
corridor that held a beautiful woman was earmarked for... Stow it, Bucko! 
This is your best friend's wife and you shouldn't even be thinking it! 
He shook it off, trying to find the right words. "It doesn't matter what
anyone else says to the contrary, there's a Sagan-fracked stigma attached
to Combat Stress Reaction around here." He wrinkled his face at the
words, as if they tasted about as wonderful as the crawlon. "Has been
since some doctor thought it up the first time to explain why his
Warriors were losing it."
     "You're not losing it," she argued, though honestly she remembered
when Apollo had first told her about Starbuck 'losing it' in the
Commander's Office after the Cadet Jada and asteroid training mission
debriefing and she had honestly wondered how he could let his mind be
affected by it all. Since then she had done a bit more research on the
condition, and after speaking even further with Cassiopeia she realized
that while most victims of the condition could at least work to get past
the associated traumatic event, in Starbuck's case, it was now evident to
them all that his living nightequa was far from over.  
     God, how I wish I could share with Starbuck that experience Apollo
and I had on the Derelict. Coming face-to-face not just against Iblis
again, but against all those repulsive minions of his that would make
that crawlon seem beautiful by comparison. For Sheba that event could
easily have been the kind of thing that could have left her with the same
scars that Starbuck had been exposed to, and she wished she could share
that experience as a way of making Starbuck put things in a broader
perspective that could make him realize that such a horrifying event need
not linger in one's psyche forever.
     But Sheba also knew just how important it was to keep her word to
her father-in-law that all information about the Derelict and the
encounter with Iblis would remain a secret, so however much she might
have felt such knowledge would help make Starbuck understand things
better, she had to look for other ways of offering help.
     Starbuck shook his head, thinking about the nightequa the night
before.  Cassiopeia turning into Korax while they were in the throes
of... Lords, he sure as Hades Hole wasn't going to discuss that with
Sheba... then again, it would likely put an abrupt end to the discussion. 
Hmm.
     "No, I'm not losing it now, but I did.  Seeing things that weren't
there.  People that were dead. Hades Hole, my own mother talking to me in
my dreams. And then when that...that Boray's astrum Korax did come out of
hiding, I thought I was hallucinating." He sniffed.  "If I'd just got the
help I needed to begin with, instead of trying to..." He broke off,
leaning back against the wall heavily, as though the attempt convey his
thoughts had left him physically spent, and resting his head back against
it, his arms crossing over his chest.
     "I hear denial is common with CSR," Sheba ventured.
     "Yeah, well, it's also one of my specialties," he admitted, looking
down to study his boots. "Maybe that's why it hangs around, liking me so
much."
     "It's common in your species."
     He looked up at her. "Huh?" For an instant, he felt a wave of fear.
Species? Was this in reality...
     "Male," she grinned.
     He smiled weakly looking back down the corridor, then at his
chronometer.
     Frack!
     "We better get moving, or I'm going to be late." He started walking
away.  Really, Bucko, you're putting Tarnia at risk just be going there
every day. Something needs to be done about that too." Tarnia will have
my..."     
     "Starbuck." She grabbed his arm, realizing her own attempt at humor
had just blown up in her face.  "Sorry.  I..."
     "Don't..." he waved her off. "It's fine."
     "No, really.  You were finally talking to me, and I just shut you
down.  I'm sorry." She grabbed both arms.  "I just want you to know that
I have every confidence in you.  You are going to get through this. 
You'll beat that... mong-licking Ziklagi." She hesitated, then added
quietly, "I'm going on a mission with the Commander.  He's going to be
mediating a treaty on Ziklag between the Ziklagoio and the Zykonians.
Apollo will be acting as deputy while he's gone."
     "Ww... wait just a centon.  On Ziklag!  The planet of ugly one-eyed
freaks? What the...Hades Hole is the Commander thinking?" His face a mask
of horror.
     "That he had no choice." Sheba spoke quietly, explaining.
     "Sheba..." He gripped her hands muttering quietly in return. 
"That's insane! And I should know!"
     Sheba shook her head, "Shh.  I shouldn't even be telling you this,
especially here in the corridor.  I need you to keep an eye on Apollo. 
I'm worried about him. He's got a lot on his plate..."
     He nodded soberly letting her go. Including all my problems.
     "You know how much he takes on." Sheba told him. There was an
enormous amount of pressure on her husband, and while she knew he was
accustomed to it to a certain extent, what Strike Captain on a Battlestar
wasn't, he was also used to having her support.  Someone he knew he could
discuss the rigors of the job with, and who could also help him relax,
sharing an intimacy that they had both come to rely on for their sanity
in a universe that seemed to deliver one lethal challenge after the
other, both personal and otherwise.
     "Yeah, he always has." It was typical of Apollo. Ever since Starbuck
had met him yahrens before at the Academy, his friend's capacity for
solving the universe's problems was limitless. There was never 'too much
on his plate' as Sheba had inferred.  Hades, if there was, the Captain
ate it for breakfast and asked for more. "I would have thought that
Apollo would go..."
     "Adama wants him here." Sheba shrugged. "I'm not sure I understand
it myself."
     Starbuck nodded. "Well, for Sagan's sake, take care of him out
there.  Who else is going?" Please let it be Boomer.
     "Sargamesh."
     "Well, that should be... interesting." Sargamesh would be under
Sheba's command.  Zohrloch's weren't exactly known for taking orders from
women, and this in a society of Ziklagoio where women were treated with
complete disdain... or treated as chattel and ignored altogether from
what Xlax had told him.  All the same, if it were him, he'd be happy to
have Sargamesh backing him up.  He was a good soldier, damned good, if a
bit unconventional by Colonial standards.  "Be careful, Sheba. They treat
women like daggits over there."
     "No kidding." Truthfully, she was a little nervous about the
mission, wondering how she would react when she was actually under the
full force of that potentially lethal patriarchal environment, but
determined to not let them get under her skin.  "But back to Apollo..."
     "I'll watch Apollo's back," he told her briefly, not believing for a
micron it was necessary in the capacity she suggested.  The laser-proof
Captain.  Still, Apollo would be pulling his hair out not being able to
protect his father, be near his wife, or have the slightest bit of
control over the Ziklagi situation.  Perhaps he did bear watching, and
since it was second nature to him anyway...
     "I know. You always have." She smiled. "Are we okay here?" she
touched his arm lightly.
     "Yeah. Of course we are." He replied with his trademark smile as he
started down the corridor again.  "Contrary to popular belief, I'm not
made of fine crystalline.  I'm just a bit ornery after almost swallowing
a crawlon."
     She smiled in return, falling in beside him, but not sure that she
believed him.
     Crystalline, huh? Well, neither am I!


     A pillowcase with a picture of a daggit on it.  A real daggit. 
Boomer smiled, shaking his head at the simplicity of it as he rounded the
corridor heading back to Athena's quarters.  Lords, imagine if that was
all it took to take away the stresses of everyday life and make you happy
before you closed your eyes at night.  Oh, to be six again.  For that was
what it had come down to.  Boxey was accustomed, after all, to spending
his nights away from his quarters having a father who was a Strike
Captain.  But he still needed his comfort... pillow.  
     He hit the entry pad and the door swished open.
     "Did you get it?  Did you get it?" Boxey cried excitedly, leaping
towards Boomer.
     "Hey, didn't I say I'd get it?" Boomer replied with a grin, catching
the boy and handing him the retrieved treasure from Apollo's quarters. 
"One pillow. Daggit in attendance."
     "Thanks Boomer." Boxey replied with a smile that could charm a
mushie out of a mushie jar. Through the lid.
     "No problem, Boxey." He set the boy down and watched him retreat, at
light speed, into his temporary bedroom to set things right.
     "Yes, thanks Boomer," Athena repeated as he leaned over her to
tenderly kiss her.  "Hmm, and thanks again."
     "How are you feeling?" Boomer asked, sitting down and putting an arm
around her. 
     "A bit better," she smiled.  "I only threw up once today.  Not bad."
     "Yeah, but why did it have to be in response to me kissing you 'good
morning'?" Boomer asked wryly.  An interesting way to start the morning,
to say the least.  Lean over the woman you love, kiss her, watch her bolt
to the turbo flush to vomit up her toe polish.
     "Nothing personal," she shrugged.  "Besides, I came close to heaving
again after Apollo dropped by to tell us about Starbuck and
that...yeeech! crawlon.  I can't imagine." She shuddered reflexively,
remembering that it had been different watching her brother interact with
his son, now that she had her own child on the way.  There was something
truly endearing about it knowing that one day it would instead be Boomer
and Baby Boomer. You have to come up with a few names, girl.
     "Me neither. What I'd like to know is how that thing got in there. 
We're not exactly known for our abundance of..."
     Boxey burst back onto the scene, interrupting his words.
     "Starbuck drooled on my pillow!" The tone accusatory, the face in
full pout. "How could he?" Muffit was behind him, "growling" at the
pillow.
     "Huh?" Boomer asked as the offending pillow was thrust into his
face. Lords, the extent he had gone through the night before to delay the
pillow retrieval by telling Boxey that poor Starbuck had been hurt in an
incident on the Space Station and was staying with Apollo and Sheba until
he was feeling better. Only through a guilt ridden dose of "you don't
want me to go wake up poor Starbuck, pulling the pillow right out from
under his aching head, do you?" was Boomer able to convince the boy that
he could survive the night.  But only one night.  Because he had promised
Boxey that the very next morning, as soon as Starbuck had lifted his
formally aching head, he would go get it back. Luckily, it hadn't
occurred to Boxey that Starbuck generally turned in later than the
average six-yahren-old.
     "Starbuck doesn't drool... uh..." Athena bit her lip as Boomer
raised an eyebrow and looked at her.  "Er... does he?" She grabbed the
pillow from the boy and examined the obvious liquid stain.
     "How... would I know... if Starbuck drooled?" Boomer asked
pointedly.
     "Well, you've lived in barracks with him for how many yahrens now?"
Athena replied somewhat convincingly. "You'd think you'd notice some
drool running off his face in the morning."
     Boomer stared at her.  "Maybe he's a light drooler.  You know, the
kind that doesn't necessarily leave puddles on the floor for his buddies
to slip in." 
     She shrugged, her cheeks a little flushed, examining the stain
closer, under a light.  Moving right along. "Boomer... this looks like it
has a tinge of green to it. It's not saliva."
     "Let me see that," Boomer remarked, taking it from her. Sure enough
a very faint tinge of green could be seen.  He sniffed it and shook his
head.  "Can't smell anything.  But there's obviously something unusual
there."
     "Boxey, was this stain on your pillowcase before?" Athena asked
logically.
     "Starbuck put it there." Boxey crossed his arms, blinking back tears
that threatened to overflow from his eyes.
     "Now, now. We'll just get it cleaned. It'll be fine," she reassured
him, pulling him in for a tight hug.
     "Are you sure?" Boxey asked, trying to be brave.
     "I'm sure," Athena smiled, looking back to Boomer in concern. 
"Boomer, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
     "That we should have this analyzed?  Yeah." Boomer agreed.  He
slipped the pillow out of the case.  "Boxey, I'm going to take this to
the lab, and get the stain out."
     "The lab?  Couldn't we just wash it?" Boxey asked.
     "Not this time, buddy." Boomer replied climbing to his feet.  "I
promise you that we'll have it back in time for rest period tonight. 
Okay?"
     "Your word of honor?"
     "My word of honor."


     Tarnia looked at her datapad curiously.  She had seen several
variations of Starbuck since she had started treating him, from
despondent and silent, to angry and raving, to laughing and
philosophical, but this one was new. Different. Much like the Starbuck
she had first met several sectars ago on the Sagittarius. 
     He had entered her tiny consultation office of his own accord, not
needing the usual preliminary coercion to coax him in.  He had then
proceeded to sit on the comfortable chair, with his legs casually crossed
at the ankle, and tell her that he had had the "wicked step-mother of all
nightequas" the night before so his sleep quota for the secton was "good
and fracked".
     Then he launched into a horrific story about how the shape shifter
of his dreams, and his past, had come back and was once again trying to
kill him.  He didn't hold anything back, and at times she wished he had. 
He told her everything in elaborate detail. Detail so vivid that she
could imagine it herself, as she watched him rise to his feet to and
gesticulate wildly while he walked around the small room explaining the
events of the last couple days... some of which he had neglected to
mention on his last visit.
     Then she had made the mistake of asking him to tell her about his
nightequa.  She could feel the color rise to her face, engulfing the rest
of her, until she wished the heat would incinerate her on the spot as he
vividly described his erotic dream with Cassiopeia, her colleague,
leaving out not a single detail.  Then when he described how Cassie had
shifted into Korax at the moment when they had...  Suffice it to say, it
challenged one's professional decorum.
     For he had done exactly what she had requested all along.  He had
been nakedly honest with her.  He had exposed himself beyond her
expectations.  He had met all her requirements and exceeded her
expectations, seemingly because, once again, he was "back in the game" as
he called it.
     "You're not a man who can sit around idly and just... get better. 
Are you?" she asked, still feeling a little flushed, embarrassingly so. 
The usual treatment for CSR was the most difficult thing the Warrior had
had to do his entire life.  Spend endless days in self-reflection, coming
to terms with previous events, and identifying contributing factors in
his own behavior that had precipitated or exacerbated his condition. Yet
he done it. And his apparent reward was the return of the hideous beast
that had plunged him into the depths of Combat Stress Reaction to begin
with, or had at least exacerbated existing issues until he just couldn't
handle them through his old coping mechanisms any longer. Yet he appeared
accepting of it in a matter-of-fact way that surprised her. Almost as
though he welcomed the chance to finish it all.  At the same time, as a
friend and counselor, it scared her.
     "I am better." He shrugged. "If I get any better than this, I'll be
insufferable."
     She smiled at his return to his old bravado, knowing that this time
he wasn't hiding behind it.  It was simply a part of his nature.  
     "Tarnia, part of the problem is that you're at risk now.  If the
Ziklagi is really hunting me, then he'll learn my patterns, find my weak
spots.  This..." he pointed at the floor, indicating their meetings, "is
a weak spot. I can't keep coming to see you day after day, because
routine is not a good thing right now." He lifted his hands helplessly,
knowing it was beyond his control.  "I think Dr. Salik would agree. 
Lords, I wish I had thought to talk to him about it when he was checking
my throat."
     "I can see how you would have been distracted," she murmured, like
most Humans personally disgusted by crawlons.  "All right, I understand
that it wouldn't be in either of our interests right now, but... you know
that you can come see me if you need to talk."
     "I know," he nodded.
     "And I'll still see you on your sectonly visits with Dr. Salik for
follow-up. In fact, should you feel the need, we could have our sessions
in the Galactica's Life Station. Certainly a lot safer."
     "Fair enough." He stood to go, pausing to pull her to her feet and
kiss her on the cheek.  "Thanks for all you've done. I know I haven't
made it easy for you."
     "We're not done yet, Starbuck," she reminded him.
     He nodded and opened the door to go, seeing Sheba waiting in the
outer room.  
     "Ready, Starbuck?" Sheba asked, climbing to her feet.
     "Am I," he agreed with a grin, giving Tarnia a wink.  "See you in
the Life Station sometime next secton." He called back loudly, for the
benefit of anything that might be listening.
     Walking through that doorway was liberating.  It was like a jolt of
freedom had coursed through his veins as he left behind the daily therapy
that he had suffered through for too many sectons.  Well, one thing about
therapy, Bucko, if you be a good boy and pay attention,  you eventually
learn what it is your therapist wants to hear.  On a personal level, for
the first time in days, things were definitely looking up.
 
 
     "What?" boomed Lieutenant Sargamesh at the row of new cadets before
him.
     "Yes, sir!"
     "I can't hear you!"
     "YES, SIR!"
     "I  CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
     "YES, SIR!" they all shouted at once, so crisply at attention they
looked as if they might crack. 
     "Sounds better!" replied the Zohrloch. "Now, as you pathetic maggots
probably know, we're not here to enjoy the scenery in this wonderfully
bucolic location, are we?"
     "SIR NO, SIR!"
     "Exactly. We are gathered here, dearly beloved, SO THAT I CAN
EDUCATE YOUR SORRY ASTRUMS, and make something resembling WARRIORS out of
you!" He looked at each one of them in turn. "Your Lords of Kobol are
probably laughing themselves into a coma right now, BUT I INTEND TO DO MY
BEST! IS that understood?" Sargamesh stepped closer, looking one cadet
right in the eyes. "Think you can handle that, Cadet Zaza?"
     "SIR, YES SIR!"
     "Glad to hear it, Cadet. You had better not disappoint me!" He
stopped, at the sound of a soft giggle to his right. He snapped his head
to look at another Cadet. "Something funny, Cadet Kitane?" He moved to
glower at the offending one. "Do I amuse you, Cadet Kitane?"
     "Uh...no sir, sir. I..." 
     "Well it certainly sounded that way, Cadet. I am so pleased that we
have lightened your day, Cadet!"
     "Y-yes, sir..."
     "I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!!!!!!!!!"
     "I...uh, yes sir..." A little louder.
     "What kind of sorry astrumed reply is that, Cadet? My grandmother
could do better!" Sargamesh put his fists on his hips, and glowered even
more menacingly. "ALRIGHT, MAGGOT! DROP AND GIVE ME TWENTY!!! NOW! NOW!"
     "S...sir..." replied the offending cadet, at once going down on the
sandy ground, and beginning to do the required push ups. As if to ram
home the point, Sargamesh picked up a fair-sized rock from the ground,
and set it on Kitane's back, then got down on all fours, watching the
space between the cadet's chest and the ground.
     "One!" said Sargamesh, white teeth in a smile. "Two..."
     "Lieutenant Sargamesh," said a voice, and the Zohrloch snapped to
his feet.
     "Commander Adama, sir!" he said, as crisply as he demanded of any
cadet, and snapping to attention.
     "At ease, Lieutenant." The Zohrloch did so, and Adama drew closer.
"So, how are the new recruits shaping up?"
     "I'm pleased so far, sir. The desert dome here on the Agro Ship is
perfect for this stage of the fitness training. All the cadets seem to be
adapting well." He noticed Adama's smile. "Sir?"
     "Just recalling my own D. I., Lieutenant. In fact, you remind me of
him."
     "I do, sir?"
     "Yes. When I had my first furlon home after enlistment, my father
asked me what my D. I. was like. I told him 'loud'." For a moment, Adama
thought the Zohrloch was going to break out laughing, but only a smile
escaped his vigilance. "Anyway, I came to tell you, I have decided to
agree to your request, Lieutenant. You will accompany me to the
conference on Ziklag."
     "Sir!" saluted Sargamesh, saluting smartly. "When do I report, sir?"
     "Tomorrow at 0800. I shall let you know which ship."
     "Sir!"
     "Carry on, Lieutenant."
     "Sir!" Sargamesh returned to the cadets, a new spring in his step.
Cadet Kitane, who was never known to giggle again in his lifetime,  had
finished his twenty, and was on his feet again. "Alright, maggots! From
the look of your fat, lard-astrumed selves, I don't think you need to be
stuffing in any more mushies! Ten laps around the dome. NOW! MOVE YOUR
HORRIBLE IDLE SELVES!!!!! GO!!!" His eyes fell on Cadet Caruthers, moving
slower than the rest. "MOVE, Cadet Caruthers! Those plants over there
move faster than you do! You  make my grandmother's hoverchair look like
a warp engine! All of you! GO, YOU SEFRIT PUPS!!! GO!!"


     "Tag, you're it." Sheba gave Starbuck a wink as she leaned over to
kiss her husband upon the safe delivery of his friend.  Luckily she
missed the lethal scowl that Starbuck sent her way.
     However, Apollo didn't.
     "How did it go with Tarnia?" he asked the Lieutenant.
     "Fine." Starbuck replied, a bit stiffly. "Sectonly visits from here
on in."
     "That's great." Apollo smiled, his friend's features immediately
changing with his news. "Athena just telecommed.  Boomer's on his way to
join us.  Seems he has some interesting news regarding your arachnon
friend." He held up the container with the offending crawlon.
     "What news?" The roughness in his voice was considerably less
noticeable.
     "I don't know. My sister was a bit vague. Something about needing to
'upchuck her primaries'." Apollo frowned.
     "Nice and appetizing," Starbuck winced.  "Not feeling so well?"
     "No.  She's been really nauseated, and all the time." Sheba told him
in concern. "I didn't realize it could be that bad."
     "Is that common?" Starbuck asked.  He hadn't given a lot of thought
to fatherhood at this, or any other, point in his life-well other than
making sure he took precautions that it didn't happen-but he hadn't
equated the joys of pregnancy with a perpetually vomiting mate either.
     "Actually, I'm not sure." Sheba grimaced, wondering what her own
eventual pregnancy would entail. 
     "Father said that mother was the same way. And she went on to have
two more children." Apollo added optimistically. Apparently too
optimistically. The other two were looking at him as though he was a
little addled.
     They're looking at me as though I were addled. 
     "A perpetual hangover. And without the pleasure of the ambrosia. No
thanks." Starbuck murmured.
     "Well, luckily the continuation of Humanity isn't resting on your
shoulders." Apollo grinned, putting an arm around Sheba.  "There's
probably a good reason that women are the ones who have children."
     "Hey, I'm willing to do my part." Starbuck grinned in return.  "In
fact, I practice regularly so that when the time comes, I'll be sure to
get it right." 
     "Knowing you, Starbuck, you probably think that's where your part
begins and ends," Sheba teased him.
     "You mean it isn't?" he returned, wide-eyed.
     "Like I said, there's a good reason women are the ones who have the
kids," Apollo grinned again.
     "Eh?"
     "They seem to have a sense of responsibility, Starbuck."
     "Yes," added Sheba. "You know, staying around for longer than it
takes for the..."
     "Responsible? Me? I'll have you know that 'Starbuck' translates as
'responsible' in every language in the known universe. In fact, I look
forward..."
     "Oh, I'll look forward to the day you and Cassiopeia have children,"
she snorted. " I'd love to see you changing diapers and burping..."
     "Now burping I can do." Starbuck cut her off.  
     "Not exactly what I meant," she smiled. "Burping the baby, silly."
     "I think you're getting slightly ahead of reality, Sheba.  Unless
you and Apollo are...?" he paused, looking at them standing there arms
around each other, grinning inanely.  Or maybe that was what sealed
couples did.  Actually, the closer he looked, the more it mimicked some
kind of Cylon brain wipe. He honestly hadn't noticed before.
     "No." Sheba shook her head, an amused smile on her features. 
"But... some day ..." She smiled up at Apollo seeing an emotion on his
features that made the rest of the universe disappear for a moment. 
Someday.  
     Lords, there it is again, Starbuck noted in alarm. Total brain death
in one centon!
     Sheba gave Apollo a parting kiss. "Anyhow, I'd better run. I need to
get organized for the mission. Have fun hunting crawlons." 
     "Oh, yeah." Starbuck replied with all the enthusiasm of a zombie as
she strode away.  "Where are we meeting Boomer?" Lords, it had been a
long time since the three of them had done anything together. 
     "Launch bay Alpha." Apollo replied as they headed in that direction.
     The shuttle was ready to go.  All he was missing was Apollo and
Starbuck.  Boomer ran through his checks one more time, thinking guiltily
that it was kind of nice to get away from the home front for a change. 
While he wanted to be there to support Athena while she was feeling so
terribly, there really wasn't much he could do to help. Every time she
looked at him, he wasn't sure whether it was a silent plea for comfort,
or an accusation of "Look what you did to me!"
     "Yo! Anybody home?" Starbuck's voice rang out from the back of the
shuttle.
     "Starbuck." Boomer got up to meet him half way. He gripped the
other's arm, trying to remember the last time they had managed to get
together. "Lords, it seems like ages."
     "Well, from what I've heard, you've been busy, buddy." Starbuck
grinned. "Congratulations." 
     Boomer beamed. "Thanks. But I hear you've been busy too. Mind you,
chug-a-lugging crawlons in the middle of the night is something I don't
mind missing."
     "It's okay. I didn't swallow."
     "That's what they all say."
     "Huh?"
     Apollo interrupted. "Boomer, what's the word on the crawlon?"
     "Right." Boomer smiled. He looked back to Starbuck. "Is Boxey ever
choked at you, Bucko."
     "Why?  What did I do?"
     "He thinks you drooled on his pillow." Boomer headed back to the
cockpit and climbed into the pilot's seat, his friends following behind. 
"We found a very slight green stain on his pillowcase.  The same
pillowcase that I had to swear on my ancestors' graves that I would get
for him this morning." He looked pointedly at the boy's father.
     Apollo groaned. "Sorry Boomer." He shook his head. "With everything
that's been happening it slipped my mind last night." He slipped past
Starbuck, who was gazing regrettably at the co-pilot's seat, and patted
his shoulder.  "Soon, Starbuck. Soon."
     "Can't come soon enough," the Lieutenant replied, feeling as though
it had been sectars since he had flight clearance instead of sectons.  "I
noticed the stain this morning, Boomer.  But I didn't think anything of
it.  I just thought Apollo was reticent about  falling behind on his
laundry."
     "You noticed it?" Apollo asked.  "What exactly did you think it
was?"
     "Green mushie drool a la Boxey," Starbuck grimaced. "Go on, Boomer."
     "I had the lab analyze the stain. Seems it's a pheromone."
     "Pheromone?" Starbuck muttered. "Uhh..."
     "It a chemical secreted by an animal, in this case the crawlon.  It
can function as an attractant of the opposite sex," he explained.
     "I know what it is, Boomer." Starbuck rolled his eyes.  "I was just
remembering that Eldritch on the Agro Ship had a synthetic version of it
to artificially stimulate crawlon copulation." He smiled faintly at the
memory.  "One of Pelias' punishment details as a cadet was applying a
drop of the pheromone onto a crawlon's back to kick start the
reproduction cycle." 
     "Wonderful image. Ever hear of pushups?" Boomer grimaced trying to
imagine getting up close and personal with a crawlon.
     "Believe me, pushups weren't a severe enough reprimand for that
crew." Starbuck shook his head at the memory of the unruly cadet class. 
     Except...Jada. 
     "Never mind that, what in Hades Hole was an arachnon pheromone doing
on Boxey's pillow?" Apollo asked, a cold shiver running down his back.
"He's never even been to the Agro Ship."
     "Attracting the crawlon," Starbuck replied slowly.  "But that
doesn't make sense.  There's no possible way that Korax could have known
that I was going to be sleeping ..." He paused, putting it together. 
"Oh... mong."
     "Exactly," Boomer nodded. "That crawlon was meant for Boxey."
     "But how would Korax get into my quarters?" Apollo shook his head in
shock; that same cold shiver now completing its journey by running up his
spine.
     "I've been giving it some thought." Boomer admitted.  "The engineers
running structural integrity checks are all over that part of the
Galactica right now. Both they, and the sanitation techs have an entry
code for your quarters. Could be that Korax was able to get it. You have
to admit, we aren't usually thinking about an attack from within the
Galactica."
     "But why Boxey?  I can see a Ziklagi assassin wanting to eliminate
me, I'm third in Command, but why an innocent six-yahren-old boy?" 
     "Because that's his nature." Starbuck replied, his voice cold.  "The
same way he went after my father in the marketplace. He isn't going to
kill me. Not until he's made me suffer, until he's destroyed everything I
care about in this world." Starbuck clenched his jaw, fists doubling.
"Until I don't know whether I want to live or die."
     "Well, it isn't going to get that far," said Boomer. "He isn't going
to get that far, Starbuck. That bag of slime has to get through us
first."
     "Both of us," said Apollo, extending his hand, the implied threat
against his son bringing a grim determination to his voice. The other two
reached out, and added their grips, and they shook three-way.

Chapter Eleven

     "You okay, buddy?" Starbuck asked a pensive Apollo as they looked
around Agro Ship One for the elusive Eldritch. Crew lounge. Mess Hall.
Lab. 
     No answer was forthcoming.
     Starbuck looked at Boomer who shrugged and raised an eyebrow in the
Captain's direction.  Since their shuttle had been delayed in the launch
bay only to have Sheba and Adama suddenly appear to inform their friend
that they were leaving a day ahead of schedule for Ziklag, Apollo had
been conspicuously silent.  Of course, neither Starbuck nor Boomer were
privy to what had been said outside the shuttle, but it didn't take a
three-brained Cylon to figure out that Apollo was not pleased with the
escalated departure.
     "Hey, do you want to... talk about it?" Starbuck grabbed Apollo's
arm, halting his advance.  And it was an 'advance'.  The Captain was
marching through the Agro Ship as if he was invading enemy territory, not
looking for an overly hairy Agro Tech to identify a crawlon.
     Apollo whirled on the Lieutenant snarling, "No!"
     Starbuck abruptly lifted his hands in surrender at the unexpected
reaction.  "Whoa!  Easy there.  I didn't have anything to do with
this..." The flicker of emotions that crossed Apollo's face made him
suddenly wonder if there was something he didn't know.  "Did I?"
     Apollo sucked in a deep breath, long since resigned that despite
Starbuck's run-in with the Zykonian Guardsmen, come Hades Hole or high
water the Zykonians would have had Adama on Ziklag under any pretense. 
"No," he admitted.
     Starbuck winced as if afraid to ask, "No, as in I didn't have
anything to do with it, or, no, as in you don't want to talk about it?"
     "Precisely." Apollo replied, turning back on his heel to resume his
mission. He stopped at a lift door, and waited for the car to take him up
to the Desert Dome.
     "I don't think he wants to talk about it," Boomer murmured.
     "Really?" Starbuck drawled loudly. "Good thing he's a Captain. Us
lowly Lieutenants get stuck in therapy for sectons on end if we don't
want to talk about it."
     "I heard that!" Apollo hollered back.
     "Good!" Starbuck replied, following in his wake at Boomer's side. 
"Sir," he added belatedly... just in case. They rode in silence, if
Apollo's raspy breathing could be called silence, until they were there.
Once the door was open, Apollo shot out across the terrain like shooting
out a launch tube.
     "Hey, is that Eldritch?" Boomer asked, pointing just beyond a small
hill. 
     Agro Supervisor Eldritch appeared much the way that Starbuck
remembered him as he arose from the dust of Agro Ship One, somehow
seeming to mutate from the surrounding desert environment and suddenly
sprouting arms, legs and a head at will when the Lieutenant called his
name.  A disturbing thought considering there was a shape shifter at
large.  
     "Lieutenant Starbuck. How good to see you again, sir." Eldritch
smiled, his even teeth startling white in a face covered in sand and
dust, as he reached out a hand in welcome, first pulling off his grimy
gloves. His unruly hair and  beard had reached epic proportions, almost
blending in with the single eyebrow that partially obscured the man's
aquamarine eyes. Lords, if anyone was in need of one of Zara's IFB
Makeovers, Eldritch was the man.
     Starbuck pasted a smile on his face and gripped Eldritch's rather
moist hand, now hosting any number of microorganisms in a perfect
breeding environment.  For the second handshake in as many offered, he
again shook off the sudden urge to wipe his hand on his uniform pants. 
"Just 'Starbuck', Eldritch." He reminded the man, seeing an answering
smile that the military  propriety claptrap could be kept to a minimum,
at least with him.  "This is Strike Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Boomer. 
We need to ask you about one of your...uh, friends."  He held up the
glass vial containing the masticated crawlon.
     "Ohh." Eldritch sounded almost sad as he took the container and
dumped the crawlon into his palm, his brow bent in two as he considered
the departed arachnon. He pulled an old-fashioned lens from one of his
many pockets, and studied the pieces. "Hhmm...Just a baby."
     "A... baby?" Boomer asked, carefully controlling his features as the
Agro Supervisor poked at curled limbs, examining the hairy specimen.
     "A fully grown Quietus can be as big as a man's hand." Eldritch
replied. "Even larger, sometimes."
     "Quietus?  It's one of yours?" Starbuck asked, vaguely recalling the
name from his short visit during a training episode with Dietra and their
challenging class of cadets.
     Bigger? Holy frack!
     "Yep.  Where did you find it?"
     "In his throat," Apollo replied.
     "You chewed it up then?" Eldritch looked at Starbuck almost
accusingly.
     "Hey, pal, I'd much rather sit down to a nice cut of bovine any
day," the Lieutenant retorted.  "Or even some second hand mucilage."
     "And... how's your mouth?" Eldritch somehow positioned himself so he
was almost peering into the Warrior's mouth, or at least that seemed to
be his intent.
     "Sore, at least my throat is sore," Starbuck replied through pursed
lips, carefully keeping any access to his oral cavity safely to himself. 
He wasn't sure what the man intended, but he was certain that he didn't
want any part of it.
     "Are they poisonous?" Apollo asked. Eldritch looked at him as if he
were a slow child who needed extreme patience.
     "Very much so, Captain.  The bite of a fully grown Quietus could
easily kill a man without the available antitoxin." Eldritch replied.
"Several men, in fact.
     "And one of this size?" Apollo asked, indicating the specimen.
     "Could make a man, assuming he were otherwise healthy, seriously ill
with fever, vomiting, diarrhea, and abdominal pain that would make you
wish you were dead."
     "Sounds like the voice of experience," said Boomer.
     "Oh yes, Lieutenant. More than once, in fact. Fortunately, antitoxin
was available. After several times, however, one can develop a certain
level of immunity."
     Apollo's features were grim as he looked briefly at Starbuck then
back to Eldritch. "What about the effect on a child?"
     "Depending on the size, and of course health, of the child, it would
certainly be fatal within oh...ten to fifteen centons. Again that would
be assuming the antitoxin wasn't available as it is here on the Agro
Ship. Tell me, where did you happen to... swallow this crawlon,
Starbuck?"
     "On the Galactica.  It crawled into my mouth when I was asleep. We
found a trace of a pheromone that had a tinge of green to it on... my
pillow."
     "Very strange.  I carry that very pheromone here to assist with
mating," Eldrich mentioned.  "But how would one of my crawlons get to the
Galactica? Everything shipped out of here is redundantly scanned and
checked for all possible contamination."
     "That's why we're here," Starbuck replied.  "To hopefully find the
answer to that." 


     "She's beautiful," said Sheba, as the shuttle approached the
Caprica's Glory, moved out of the main body of the Fleet, and into a
separate orbit near the Brylon Station. She was a private yacht, of
sumptuous appointments, once owned by a former high-powered theatrical
and holopic producer who had retired from the business to "finally live
the good life".  For him, the "good life" had ended the day the Cylons
had blasted the Colonies to kingdom come, under the rubble of a new
theatre he had been opening. However his nephew, a seminary student
visiting family at the time, had survived, and made it to the staging
area in the family yacht when the call from Adama went out to the
survivors. 
     "Yes, she is," said Adama. "I am glad that Zanuck was willing to
allow me the use of her."
     "Indeed," said Sargamesh, watching as they drew closer. "It would
not be meet for one of your rank to travel to an affair of such moment
aboard a freighter or other such vessel, Commander."
     "Well, Zanuck is generous to a fault, Commander. Sargamesh,"
answered Sheba. "Sometimes, I wish we had more like him decide to run for
the Council."
     "Have you informed the Ziklagoio of our impending departure, Adama?"
asked Siress Tinia, next to him.
     "I sent off the signal on the frequency they gave us just before we
boarded the shuttle," replied Adama. He looked out the shuttle's ports,
at the now-enormous yacht. Then, they were swallowed up by the landing
bay.
     Being small, by Colonial standards, for a yacht, the Caprica's Glory
had carried few people, compared to other ships, in their flight from the
Cylons. Built for no more than about thirty or so people at the most, she
had managed to accommodate about fifty, mostly families, in her
previously luxury suites. Now ensconced aboard the station for the time
being, they had left the ship in something of a mess, but Adama did not
care overly. They were finally getting this annoying episode out of the
way. And a day early at that.
     "Have you ever flown a civilian ship before?" asked Herrin, a
Council staffer and aide, of Sheba, as they entered the yacht's small but
well-designed bridge, after stowing their gear in their respective
quarters.
     "No, actually," she replied, settling into the pilot's station, and
studying the instruments. "But, it really isn't all that different than
your basic shuttle control systems." She shook off the fact that her
final night with Apollo before the mission had been sacrificed in lieu of
a hasty goodbye in the launch bay, so they could arrive in Ziklag with
due haste.  Besides, the fact that Starbuck was occupying the 'guest
room' eased the pain.
     "Indeed," said Sargamesh, at the co-pilot's seat. "The instruments
are similar to those of many cultures."
     "I imagine you've seen quite a few," said Herrin, of the Zohrloch. 
     "Indeed," replied the other. "Bikan, Pythrun, several others. In
fact, the layout is surprisingly similar to that used by the Sh'mel
shakh, on their troop transports."
     "The..shm...Uhh, friends of your people?" asked Herrin, hesitantly.
     "No," said Sargamesh, with the hint of a smile.
     "Ah. Enemies, then."
     "Not anymore," replied Sargamesh, looking directly into the other's
eyes.
     "Ah," said Sheba, with the slightest shake of her head.
     "Sheba?" asked Adama, gesturing at the controls.
     "Double-checking all the diagnostics, Commander," she replied, eyes
on the instruments. "Everything nominal so far. Fuel load at maximum.
Engines are powering up, the curve looks good. We should be ready for
full speed in less than ten centons."
     "Excellent. The sooner we get started, the sooner we can get back
here and finish what we need to do."
     "Amen to that!" opined his daughter-in-law, again thinking of her
hasty goodbye to Apollo, most of which had been spent in Adama's company
as her father-in-law gave last centon instructions to his son.
     "What is this vessel's maximum velocity?" asked Sargamesh.
     "According to Zanuck, we should be able to cruise comfortably at
Factor Six point Six," said Adama. "She can make Factor seven point five
in an emergency."
     "I see. That should give us..." he trailed off, thinking, "Four
point seven Colonial Standard Days to the frontier. From their, we should
be able to make Ziklag itself in another three days, four centars."
     "That was fast," said Tinia.
     "I was trained as a helmsman and navigator, Siress."
     "I see."
     "Commander," said Sheba, "we have clearance from Brylon Dock
Control. We may depart at any time."
     "Very well," replied Adama. "Take us out."
     "Commander."
     Adama moved to one of the ports, where he could see the station in
full. There, nestled in a cocoon of machinery, his beloved Galactica sat,
the flickering of lights across her hull telling of the crews at work.
Bringing her back to life. Already, she looked better, many of the wounds
in her hull repaired, many ports once more glowing with light from
within.
     Farewell for now, old friend. God willing, I shall return, and we
shall sail together once more.
     Then, she was gone as they turned, and all he could see was the
planet itself, already beginning to fall astern. 
     "Engines show ready," said Sheba.
     "Course for Ziklagi frontier plotted and laid in, sir," said
Sargamesh. "On the board."
     "Very well. Let's be going."
     "Sir," replied the Zohrloch. With a deft hand, he slid the throttles
slowly and smoothly up, and the bridge hummed with power. After almost
two centons, the entire craft shuddered slightly, ripped a hole in the
fabric of space, and they were gone.     


     "Adama is on his way," said Koshrar, to Pentash. "His ship departed
the Brylon system a half ee'wa ago."
     "And our ship?" 
     "Will be in position to intercept him, on time, My Lord. As
ordered."
     "Excellent."
 
 
     The more time he spent in the Agro Ship's desert dome, reliving that
training exercise with Dietra and the cadets, the more it made Starbuck
wonder if Korax had been there even then, watching them.  He had nothing
solid to substantiate his theory. Just a feeling. Then again, if he had
required hard evidence before he acted impetuously or instinctively every
other time in his life, he probably would be dead by now.  
     Or sainted.
     Possibly both.
     "You want to go where?" Boomer asked distastefully.  It was with
minor consolation that he noticed Apollo had the same skeptical look on
his face.
     "Down." Starbuck replied looking into the dimness of the ladderwell
that lead to the deepest levels of the Agro Ship, not passable by turbo
lift.     
     "And what do you think you'll find there?" Boomer asked, peering
down into the gloom.
     "Some sign of... him," Starbuck returned, voice cold.
     "And maybe some clue that will tell us where he might be now."
Apollo added, patting Boomer on the shoulder.
     "Well, at least your mood has improved with this new element of
insanity and danger," Boomer quipped, looking at the Captain. "I mean,
hey...compared to infiltrating BaseShips..."
     "Works every time," Starbuck grinned.
     "Who's going first? Captain?" Boomer asked, stepping back from the
ladder.
     "I go first." The voice soft, yet determined.
     They turned to see Pili, the Kian woman, who had joined the Fleet
with her mate, Kudur-Mabug.  She had originally trained on the Agro Ship,
her extensive knowledge of the Kian botanicals they had collected a
godsend when the Colonials had supplemented their diminishing stores on
her homeworld. She and Kudur-Mabug still frequented Agro Ship One, the
lush tropical environment of the other dome reminding her of her faraway
home.  Her long red hair hung loosely, and she hoisted a pack over her
shoulders as she spoke.
     "Pili, you don't need to..." Boomer started, touched by the woman's
ever-helpful nature.
     "I wants to, Boomer," she assured him with a smile. She managed to
pat the pack on her back. "I have..." She trailed off, as if searching
for the right words. "Crawlon not-die medicine." Her considerable brows
furrowed. "You call..." 
     "Antitoxin?"
     "Yes! 'Antitoxin' right word."
     "Does that mean...?" Boomer shuddered.
     "Many Quietus webs deep in ship." Pili confirmed with a nod. "Egg
sacs. Better to let Pili lead."
     "But you don't know what we're looking for." Apollo shook his head,
not wanting to put the woman unnecessarily at risk.
     "Then you must tell me." She replied simply before slipping past
Starbuck and beginning her decent.  


     "Well, now that we are on our way, we can get down to some serious
work," said Siress Tinia, sitting across a wide table from Adama in the
yacht's saloon, after a brief meal. In front of her was a stack of hard
copies, translations into Colonial Standard of the fiendishly convoluted
treaty. She handed one to Adama, Herrin, Baker, another aide, and Nizaka,
now in Human form.
     "I am what?" she asked, her Human voice smooth and pleasant with the
proper inflection indicating a question.
     "A colloquial term,' said Adama. "Our 'capstone up the sleeve'." He
explained. "First off, the Ziklagi government doesn't know about you. And
there is no one else in the Fleet who understands both the complexity and
subtilty of the Ziklagi tongue, as well as the way one of your kind
thinks. We will need all of that in understanding the treaty, and during
the actual negotiations."
     "Yes, Commander," said the other, looking down at her fabricated
Colonial identity. Sarah. Actually, it was real, in a way. That of a
woman who had died in the debacle at Carillon. If the Ziklagi spy aboard
the Fleet was in communication with home, which Adama strongly suspected,
then a check of the records would turn up a genuine identity.
     Suitably altered.
     "Also, we frankly don't know how to read their body language," added
Tinia. "That, and facial expressions are a complete mystery to us."
     "Plus, I will admit, the idea of a former slave infiltrating the
very center of power in the capital has a delicious aspect to it,"
replied the Ziklagi. "Your cunning continues to surprise me, Commander.
Siress." She laughed softly. "My people are such fools to think all other
races cretinous inferiors."
     "Now, let's have a look at the treaty itself," said Adama, flipping
open page one of the vast tome before him. "Lords of Kobol, how long is
it?"
     "In Colonial Standard," said Herrin, looking to Adama then Tinia,
"it is six-hundred and thirty-two thousand, one-hundred and nine words."
     "Lords save me!"
 
 
     First a few pieces of grain found at the bottom of the ladder, and
then as they followed the corridor on the lowest level of Agro Ship One,
a light smattering increasing gradually every twenty or so metrons.
     "It's as though he wants us to find his lair." Apollo mused,
following Pili and Starbuck.
     "It's a definite trail." Boomer agreed, the hair on the back of his
neck raising at the thought that they were being manipulated in some way. 
"Purposely laid."
     "Just be careful," Starbuck cautioned them from beside Pili, shining
an illuminator slowly back and forth across the dimly lit corridor, not
wanting to miss anything that could be a trap.  "Somehow I don't think
there will be a plate of mushies and a 'Congratulations, you found me'
card at the end of this."
     "Did Starbuck just tell us to be careful?" Boomer asked Apollo
ruefully.
     "Wonders never cease." Apollo replied lightly, shining his own light
above them. "What are these corridors used for?" he asked, looking at the
grimy bulkheads.
     "Just access," Starbuck replied. "Carmichael told me they run fairly
close to one of the engine rooms. They were opened up to bleed off the
available heat up to the domes when we almost lost our food."
     "Uhh," said Apollo. To him, the gloomy corridor reminded him of
something out of a creepy old horror holopic Zac had loved; Cylon Zombies
From Below!
     So far there had been no sign of any crawlons, or any other living
things, but then Pili had said that overt sightings were rare.  She also
assured them that the eight-legged creatures generally avoided Humans...
unless they were inert.
     However, they were probably watching them.
     "I needed that," muttered Boomer.
     "I'll bet there was no enticing trail leading to Korax's lair while
he was here." Starbuck told them.
     "You're probably right, though I doubt he was ever much of a
housekeeper," Apollo nodded, slowing as Pili and Starbuck stopped in
front of him.  "What is it?"
     "I think we've just arrived." Starbuck muttered, grabbling the Kian
woman's arm lightly and pulling her aside.  "Just a centon, Pili."
     A thick hatch barely open with the same trail of grain enticing them
within.  Starbuck pushed against it, but it didn't budge.  He tried to
wedge himself through the opening, but it was tight.  Too fracking tight. 
Instead, he shone his illuminator within, but little was revealed through
the narrow opening, the light mostly illuminating the wall at that angle. 
The smell within, however, was horrific.
     "Lords..." Starbuck gasped, covering his nose and mouth with his
hand.  "Smells like something totally fracking died in there."
     "Yes." Pili agreed, wrinkling her nose.  "Rotting flesh and...
organic waste."
     "Remind me again why we're going in there." Boomer murmured, joining
Starbuck.  Together they pushed against the heavy hatch, groaning with
the effort.  It didn't budge.
     "One more time, all three of us." Apollo instructed, joining them.
     "Four." Pili added, setting down her pack, and placing her hands
against the hatch.
     "Alright.  On three." Apollo tensed his muscles.  "One... two...
three!"
     The hatch groaned louder than the four pushing against it.  It
seemed to give a few centimetrons, but after almost a centon's effort it
was clear to them all it wasn't going to budge any further.
     "Again?" Boomer asked, wiping at the sweat trailing down his
temples.  
     "I don't think so." Apollo shook his head.  "It's got to be propped
there from within."
     Starbuck squeezed against the hatch, trying to wedge himself in
through the opening, his illuminator before him.
     "Can you make it?" Boomer asked.
     "Maybe if I... get naked..." Starbuck gritted his teeth, wondering
if this was what it was like to pass through a birth canal the wrong way. 
"... and someone greases me from head to toe." He grunted, letting out a
breath and squeezing in a further centimetron, his jacket and the back of
his pants snagging on something jagged, stopping his progress as sharp
metal grazed his skin.  
     "Did he really just say that?" Apollo asked.
     "Who exactly do you have in mind for that, Bucko?" Boomer noticed
Pili looking at the blond Lieutenant curiously.  "Just ignore him, Pili. 
Everybody else does."
     "Frack, my uniform's caught on something." Starbuck grumbled. 
"Something sharp"
     "Naked more better." Pili mused aloud, an amused smile on her face. 
"Where caught?"
     "My astrum..." Starbuck grunted back at her, only able to turn his
head slightly while trying to wriggle free.  "And shoulder."
     "Lords, he'll do anything for a little action," Boomer ribbed him
shaking his head as the Kian woman practically pasted herself against
Starbuck from the rear and slipped a slender hand along his astrum.  He
fleetingly thought of Attila, and the young girl practically clinging to
Starbuck. "I don't know how he does it."
     "Hey, this is all in the line of duty!" Starbuck grinned, feeling
Pili's body pressed up against him, and her creeping fingers groping his
astrum, trying to find the snagged material. It would be enjoyable if he
could forget about that brow ridge that her people had, making her appear
somehow... barbaric.  Oh, and then there was Kudur-Mabug's incensed
temper, not to mention nasty-looking spear, whenever any male ventured
too close to his mate.  "Careful, Pili, there's something jagged there." 
He heard a small rip.
     "Free?" Pili asked.
     "Yeah, thanks." Starbuck muttered, pulling back and hearing another
rip as he jerked his jacket free.  He squeezed back into the corridor,
turning to the others and sighed, commenting, "A bit snug." 
     "Well, if you can't get in, I sure as Hades won't be able to."
Boomer shook his head, eying the Captain.  After all, Apollo and Starbuck
were about the same size... and the Strike Captain had even less
opportunity to eat on a routine basis.
     "I'll try." Apollo nodded.
     "I go." Pili murmured, once again slipping past Starbuck.
     "Hold on.  I think if I lose the jacket I could get through, after
all, I've already sacrificed the seat of my pants." Starbuck told her,
reaching for her, but she was already slipping in through the opening. 
He looked back at the others, pulling off his flight jacket to decrease
his bulk.  "I don't like it.  It's a trap.  Something's in there."
     "Pili, be careful!" Boomer called after her.
     "I fine, Boomer." She assured the Warrior as she squirmed through
the opening and paused on the edge of the room.  She shone her
illuminator around the pitch blackness, revealing complete disarray in
what had once been a storage or janitorial room.. Various food stuffs,
some dried, some rotting, all pilfered from the Agro Ship were scattered
around the room.  The half-decomposed, half-chewed carcass of a reptile,
the only sign of meat, was tossed to the side, and one corner, it's
long-dysfunctional "throne" almost invisible,  seemed to have been used
as the designated waste area.  "Looks like... lair." She wrinkled her
nose, affronted by the odor.  "Beast live here. Beast."
     "Can you free up the hatch, Pili?" Boomer asked, watching Starbuck
once again try to maneuver his frame past the hatch.  You'd need a
pry-bar to get in there, Boom-Boom.  And maybe a small solonite charge.
Apollo looked about ready to give him an extra shove of propulsion for
good measure.
     "I try." Pili replied, turning to assess the problem.  Again, the
deck was covered in refuse, but a rectangular block of some considerable
mass, more trash piled atop it, was wedged into the corner, preventing
the hatch from opening.  She shook her head at the simplicity of it and
stepped forward to remove it.
     "Frack..." Starbuck muttered, again feeling jagged metal graze his
skin as he pressed onward through the tight space.  Just a little
further, Bucko...  His hand brushed the wall beyond the hatch, and he
froze as he touched something large... and hairy. 
     His blood ran cold when to add insult to injury, Pili shrieked like
a wounded animal from within.

Chapter Twelve

     The sound of Pili's scream had Starbuck propelling himself through
the tight opening between hatch and bulkhead like a launching Viper,
ignoring the crawlon that he had inadvertently decided to fondle along
the way. He hissed aloud as he felt a sharp stinging sensation to both
his hip and shoulder just before he burst fully into the room.  
     "Frack!" His face and hands were abruptly covered in a fine, sticky
covering and he realized he had walked right through a web. He
instinctively brushed at it, both marveling and angry at how it
stubbornly clung to him, as he turned back towards Pili who was still
screaming while shrieking something in her native tongue. As he shone his
illuminator on her, he could see her foot was somehow trapped, and
thousands of tiny crawlons were on the deck at her feet, a mass of
writhing blackness, many of them making their way up her boots.
     "Starbuck!" What's going on?" Apollo shouted, pulling off his flight
jacket and beginning to squeeze through the opening, shards of metal
digging into him and snagging his uniform.
     "Crawlons!  Thousands of them. Pili's foot is trapped by something,"
Starbuck shouted back, simultaneously kicking at the refuse at her feet
and pulling off his tunic, wrapping it around his hand and beginning to
clear the multitude of arachnons from her trapped foot to get a closer
look.  
     Pili was still screaming, swatting at the crawlons advancing up her
body.  "Get off!  Get off!" she yelled shrilly at Starbuck as he kneeled
at her feet.
     "I'm working on it!" he returned but with each successive wipe of
his protected hand another wave of crawlons seemed to appear from within
the confines of... where in Hades were they coming from?
     Abruptly, Starbuck could feel his skin crawl as arachnons scurried
over the tunic swathing his hand and began crawling up his exposed arm. 
He brushed at them in revulsion, trying to ignore the sporadic pinpricks
of pain, as he looked up at Pili's wide eyes filled with panic and fear.
A shudder ran through him. Frack, they were going to be swarmed! 
     Just like that freak wanted. It's a trap! 
     "Boomer!  Anti-venom!" Apollo yelled as he looked at the two
half-covered in crawlons. "Right away!"
     Boomer already had it out of the pack. He thrust the hypospray
towards Apollo through the narrow opening, trying to wedge his body in as
far as he could.  "It needs to go into a muscle," he instructed the
Captain. "Get the door open!"
     "Right!" Apollo returned, twisting back to Pili and Starbuck.  Pili
had crawlons up to mid-thigh now, and was trying to jerk herself free as
she swatted at them, her foot immobilized.  Starbuck, also half-covered
with a undulating mass of tiny bodies, was on his knees, holding his
illuminator in his teeth as he struggled with something Apollo couldn't
even make out.  "What is it that's trapping her?" He leaned over pressing
the hypospray to Starbuck's shoulder, depressing the mechanism as he
tried to get a look at the situation.
     "Frack!" Starbuck yelped, dropping the illuminator, as the
anti-venom penetrated his tissue with more virulence than the actual
crawlon bites.  He sucked in a breath through his teeth, getting back to
his task.  Beneath the trap that held Pili fast was a box of some kind
that had cracked open with the weight of her foot, thereby creating an
exit point for the thousands of crawlons within.  "It's some kind of
leg-hold trap." Starbuck spat, dropping his tunic and abandoning any
pretense at protecting his hands as he felt a few crawlons run up his
back, torso and arms.  "The release is stuck!"
     "Use your laser!" Apollo suggested, stepping up to Pili, trying to
jerk up her sleeve to give her a dose of anti-venom.  The woman was
almost hysterical now, swatting at arachnons, her arms flailing wildly as
she reacted in terror.  "Pili, calm down, we'll get you out." Apollo
spoke loudly and firmly, trying to hold her gaze as she paused in her
panic attack to focus on him.
     "Me...no like crawlons," she admitted, trembling, as she helped
Apollo tug up her sleeve. 
     "Me neither." Apollo agreed, depressing the plunger and seeing her
jump in reaction to the dose.  He recalled Starbuck's expletive at the
same moment.  Kind of makes a guy wish that he doesn't get bitten...
     "Forest full of crawlons! Bite make die!"
     "Apollo, I need some light!" Starbuck told him from below.  The
leg-hold trap was vicious looking, its teeth embedded in the thick
material of Pili's boot, and he wondered if her obvious fear of arachnons
was what was keeping her from howling in pain, as his hands came away
from examining the trap slick with what he suspected was her blood.
     The Captain's illuminator confirmed Starbuck's thoughts as he once
again tried the release, now realizing it had been purposely jammed and
rendered useless. He pulled his laser, thinking briefly of adjusting the
power setting and using a fine beam to cut through the metal, but then
changed his mind as he felt another pinprick bite on his shoulder. 
Aiming carefully at the thick chain that secured the trap to the box, he
cried over his shoulder, "Pili, don't move! I'm going to fire!"
     Starbuck turned his face against the blast of heat from close range,
wrinkling his nose at the smell. "Charred crawlon, anyone?" he muttered
while taking careful aim at the opposite length of chain. He fired again.
     She was free.
     "Her ankle must be broken..." Starbuck told the Captain, nodding in
relief as Apollo immediately swept Pili up in his arms, the trap still
attached. He reached forward towards the cinder block that had wedged the
hatch in place. Then stopped.
     It had all been so carefully orchestrated; the wedged door, the
leg-hold trap, the encased venomous crawlons.  Ten to one, Bucko, there's
something waiting for you if you grab that block.  He stood up, backed
off a couple steps, pointed his laser at it, and pulled the trigger. If
there had been another trap, he'd never know with the gaping hole his
blast had left in the deck, hatch and wall. But he could live with that.
     The hatch slammed open as Boomer charged into the room.  
     "Sagan sakes..." he moved immediately towards Starbuck using the
sleeve of his flight jacket to knock stray crawlons from his friend's
bare skin.  "Where did they all come from?"
     "Egg sacs." Starbuck murmured, suddenly feeling light-headed. He
laid a hand on the wall to steady himself as he re-holstered his weapon.
"Check out... Pili."
     "How many times did you get bit?" Boomer asked, steadying him and
watching the  Lieutenant shake his head noncommittally. He glanced at
Apollo, "How's Pili?"
     "Starbuck thinks her ankle's broken." The woman had her head tucked
into the Captain's chest and was breathing rapidly in both pain and fear,
but was otherwise silent.  "Let's get the frack out of here and then
figure it out." He was already moving through the hatch.
     "C'mon, Bucko," Boomer took his arm. "Did it ever occur to you that
taking your shirt off in a room full of venomous arachnons was a stupid
thing to do?"
     "Just trying to take Pili's mind off the crawlons..." he returned
with a grin, not bothering to explain he was using it to protect his
hand.
     "Yeah, well, don't let Kudur-Mabug hear you say that. He'll skewer
you with that handy spear of his."
     "It's getting to the point where a guy can't even indulge in some
innocent flirting without someone overreacting," Starbuck muttered,
feeling Boomer pull him along, and relieved of his supportive hand as
perspiration began to bead on his forehead. "Better call...Life Station,
Boomer."
     "No mong, Mega-Brain!" replied the other, and moved to the nearest
telecom.


     "Which Paragraph is it," asked Adama, "that spells out the Third
Party arbitration?"
     "Ah...yes, here it is," said Tinia, in the yacht's saloon. They were
about ten and a half centars out from Brylon Station, on the way to
Ziklag. She had huge reams of hardcopy in front of her, as well as their
data pads. "Article 71, Paragraph 209, Subparagraph 6, Section B."
     "Lovely," sighed Adama. "Feeling at home in all the
bureauticianese?"
     "It has a familiar feel to it, yes," she replied, her lips quirking
at his mien. 
     "Well, let's get to the relevant part, dealing with the trade route
disputes, Tinia."
     "Yes, that's...Article 59, Paragraph 103."
     "And it says?"
     "The representative, and or representatives, of the Ziklagi
Assembly, individually or collectively, in concert with allies or
independently, may, at their discretion, request the removal of the
representative, and or representatives, of the Zykonian Empire, High and
Appointed, from all planets, moons, stations or other astral bodies,
natural or artificial, that reside within any of the territories that
are, will, or may be claimed by the Ziklagi Assembly, and or its allies.
Failure to comply with such demands will result in punitive, unilateral
action, by the Ziklagi Assembly, and or its allies, by means set out in
Article 61, Paragraph 9 of this instrument, or by such means as will, in
the view of the Ziklagi Assembly, most speedily and expeditiously
accomplish said directive.
     In the event of failure to resolve such disputes in the manner laid
out in Article 61, Paragraph 9 of this instrument, either of the parties
to the dispute may, under the provisions of Article 71, Paragraph 209,
seek the intercession and arbitration of a third party, specifically a
party neither associated nor allied with either the Ziklagi Assembly, or
the Zykonian Empire, High and Appointed."
     "Oh enough!" groaned Adama. "I feel as if I'm in a never-ending
Council meeting."
     "That certainly sounds like something a Ziklagi would write," said
Nizaka, seated next to Tinia. "There is an almost perverse love of
verbosity. As if simplicity were a failing somehow."
     "That or the Colonial tax code," said Tinia.
     "They may have written that, too," sighed Adama.
 
 
     Apollo set Pili down gently at the foot of the ladderwell.  He
glanced down the corridor to see Boomer and Starbuck bringing up the
rear.  His attention returned to the Kian as she let a whimper of pain
escape. "I got through to the upper decks."
     Her hands were tucked under her arms, hugging her body tightly.  A
slight nausea seemed to envelope her, and Pili shivered as a chill
followed it. She couldn't understand how she could be simultaneously
chilled and sweating, but decided it didn't matter as her throbbing foot
distracted her. She grimaced, her breath hissing through her teeth, as
Apollo touched her injured ankle, the metal trap still penetrating her
flesh and bone.
     "How's it look?" Boomer asked, kneeling down beside him, getting his
first good look at the trap.
     "I'm just trying to figure out how we can release it without making
the injury worse. Just touching the dang thing is agonizing for her."
     "Looks straight forward," Boomer remarked as he examined the spring
mechanism with the reset lever. "It should release."
     "Well, Starbuck couldn't do it." Apollo shook his head, glancing at
the blond Lieutenant. The Ziklagi shape shifter was likely a lot stronger
than his friend. 
     "Yeah, well, he was being attacked by twenty billion crawlons at the
time. I might find that a bit distracting too. Maybe we can do it
together."
     Starbuck kneeled down closer to Pili, hoping that Boomer was right. 
"Let me see your hands, Pili."
     She reluctantly pulled them from beneath her arms to reveal multiple
red, raised welts all over the tender swollen flesh.  She winced again as
Apollo repositioned her leg to stabilize the trap.
     "How are you feeling?" Starbuck asked her, wincing as he turned the
swollen hands over, trying to distract her from what Apollo and Boomer
were doing, knowing it must be agonizing.  She was a lot smaller than
him, so it was natural that the crawlon venom was racing through her
system quicker, causing a more immediate inflammatory reaction.  His own
flesh was covered in numerous welts and stung like Hades hole, but he
didn't have the same degree of edema.  You might have this to look
forward to, Bucko.
     "Bad.  Much bad." Her hand trembled as she tried to move her hair
from her eyes, the puffiness affecting her dexterity.  She stared at it a
moment before placing it back on her lap.
     Starbuck brushed her hair aside, tucking it behind an ear.  "Do me a
favor and don't tell Kudur-Mabug I did that."
     She smiled slightly, well aware of her mate's jealousy... and the
consequences it could have on the average male.  She did her best to
conceal her own appreciation or curiosity for the opposite sex-wondering
in what other ways the Colonial men were different-less it be
misconstrued in any way.  "Thank you, Starbuck. Thank you for help."
     "Well, I feel bad that you got caught in a trap that was probably
meant for me." He shuddered at the thought of a man-actually, more to the
point-the thought of him investigating the lead on his own-it was only
the day before when he had been determined to find Korax himself-and
landing in that trap, unable to escape, and slowly dying from the
venomous bites of thousands of crawlons as they climbed over his body
getting ready for a first class Colonial Buffet.  He shuddered again.
     "You much bad too," Pili whispered, gently touching his face where a
trail of sweat had left its mark.
     "Could be worse, sweet lady." He smiled gently, meaningfully
glancing down at her trapped foot, then the others. "Are you ready?"
     "We're ready," Boomer nodded, looking back at the Kian. "Pili?"
     "Ready." She nodded, clamping her teeth down, and trying to grip
Starbuck's hand with her own.
     Apollo steadied himself, looking up at Starbuck, willing him to be
there for the Kian woman. "On three. One, two, three!"
     Pili shrieked again as her broken bones shifted and her flesh was
torn anew as the trap's teeth retracted. Starbuck gathered her to his
chest as she wept with the pain, her own chest heaving.  
     "Holy mong!" said Boomer, as he examined the now-removed trap.
"Barbed points! That fracking bastard..." He indicated the ugly-looking
barbs on the trap's teeth. He hoped they weren't poisoned.  
     "It's over. You're okay," Starbuck murmured comfortingly, smoothing
Pili's hair as if she was a child. He looked down at Boomer who was
splinting the foot. "You gonna take the boot off?"
     "No, at least it offers some protection. We still need to get her up
the ladder." Boomer shook his head at the thought of that exercise. 
Unless...
     "Her hands are all but useless from the swelling of the bites,"
Starbuck informed them. "She can't climb."
     "How are yours?" Apollo asked, looking up the ladderwell.
     "I can climb." Starbuck returned.  
     "Hellooooo down there!" A voice from above.  
     No, not that voice.
     "Eldritch? Is that you?" Starbuck hollered up.
     "Yes. I brought a hover-stretcher like Lieutenant Boomer asked!" the
Agro Supervisor yelled down.
     "Thank the Lords," Apollo smiled, clapping Boomer on the shoulder
for his forethought and infinite wisdom. They could strap Pili in and
guide her up, and then hightail both her and Starbuck to the Galactica's
Life Station.


     Despite its small size, Sheba found the accommodations aboard the
Caprica's Glory the most luxurious in her experience. From the day she
had joined the forces, she had mostly lived in cramped metal rooms,
tents, rugged terrain, or some combination thereof. To actually have a
cabin all to herself was a real treat. 
     And what a cabin! It was more than double the size of her old room
at home, not counting a turbo flush fitted with real auric fixtures! To
be able to luxuriate in a...hot bath! was a nearly-forgotten memory from
a dim and mythical past.
     The ship's gym wasn't anything to sneer at either. While small
compared to that aboard a Battlestar, it nonetheless had all the expected
equipment, and a floor large enough for her exercise routine. She was
looking forward to a strenuous workout, something that there had been
scant time for since the recent battle. She arrived, pressed the door
control, and stepped in.
     And stopped abruptly. Sargamesh had preceded her to the gym, and was
well into his own workout routine.
     "No, by all means remain," he said, as she moved to back out. She
was surprised, as his back was to her just then, but decided to comply.
     It's not like any of us have it reserved.
     "I didn't realize anyone was in here," she said, as she moved
closer, setting down her bag near the treadmill. For his part, the
Zohrloch was clad only in a very brief pair of shorts, and was kneeling
on the mat, a sword (?) in front of him.
     "Nor did I realize you would be using the room," he replied,
remaining on his knees. "I shall not be long." With his left hand, he set
the sword to spinning on its tip, then took it in the crook of his arm.
It seemed to roll along his outstretched arm, across his chest, and then
along the right arm, into the other hand, till sent back the way it had
come. He did this several times, eyes closed during the entire exercise
as if in meditation...or prayer. 
     What the Hades Hole is he doing? Sheba wondered. Never, among any of
the Colony's sub-groups, had she ever seen anything of this sort. It
struck her as...barbaric, yet strangely compelling.
     Before she could muse further, Sargamesh was us on his feet, quicker
than she would have thought possible, sword held rigid in front of him.
He tossed it into the air, caught it with the other hand, then began to
practice intricate, dance-like moves, all the while wielding the blade
with quick, complicated strokes and thrusts. 
     "It is called the berenka," he said, still moving with the grace of
a hunting cat. "I was taught the first level by my father, when I was a
boy."
     "I...see," Sheba replied, mesmerized by the other's lithe and supple
grace. She was also, she had to admit, more than a little taken by the
way the chiseled muscles rippled under the skin, the fine, masculine
synthesis of...
     Watch it, girl! Don't go there.  She grinned, still watching...
     "And...and this is part of the basic education system on your
world?" she asked, trying somewhat to take her eyes off the taut,
well-defined body before her, wondering for a moment what Sargamesh would
look like in a triad uniform...uh...if Sargamesh would be interested in
trying triad.  She nodded curtly.  Right, that's what I meant.
     "Yes. It generally begins in the home, when boys reach the age of
seven or so."
     "I see," said Sheba, as he continued to practice, hacking,
skewering, and dodging an unseen enemy. He appeared to be winning. "And
what about the girls?"
     "Girls remain in the home, being taught by their mothers those
things which as women they will need to know." He stopped a moment, and
let the blade fall to the floor. Sheba noticed how little sweat he had on
his blue skin. "They are not, save in the most unusual circumstances,
taught the use of arms. Ancient or modern."
     "Oh," said Sheba, her mouth set in a thin line, remembering now that
Sargamesh's culture, a harsh and rigid warrior society, was also highly
patriarchal. With a few, a very few exceptions, women stayed in their
place, as they were expected to. While not as rigid and repressive in
this regard as Ziklagi society, it nonetheless was not to her taste. To
put it mildly. She much preferred the openness of Colonial culture. 
     "I understand, of course, that in your culture, things are
different," said the Zohrloch. He looked at her, and then slid his bare
foot under the hilt of the sword. He flipped it up with a rapid kick, and
grabbed hold of it. Almost too fast for her to follow, he closed his hand
around it, spun around on one foot, and sent the blade flying from his
grasp. It sang through the air, at last burying itself in a target.
Sheba's jaw fell.
     "Lords of...how did you do that?"
     "Practice," he replied, taking a deep breath. Then, he looked at her
again, and an odd expression crossed his face. "Oh, I am..." he began,
looking almost...embarrassed. He quickly crossed to a rack, and grabbed
up a robe, wrapping himself in it self-consciously. "My apologies,
Lieutenant."
     "Apologies? I'm afraid I don't understand," she replied, her
eyebrows knit in bewilderment. The moment before he had seemed so secure
within himself as he performed what was likely a ritual of some sort, his
body moving with a grace and strength that was both fearsome and
beautiful to observe, as he displayed his adeptness with the traditional
weapon.
     "As I said, women are not taught the use of arms. As such, contact
between the genders is limited once past childhood. And attired as I am,
and you being a wedded woman, it was thoughtless of me to..."
     "Oh...oh that's quite alright," replied Sheba, trying very hard not
to laugh. "I mean, were both adults."
     That didn't quite come out the way I meant it.
     "Exactly my point," replied Sargamesh. "The potential for
importunity, or the suspicion of it, and certainly your reputation, with
your husband not here."
     She blinked.  Oh, it was dressed up nicely in Zohrloch etiquette,
but it could just as well have come out of Starbuck's mouth. Okay, after
about three ambrosias. But still... "Well, luckily I'm able to control
myself.  Must be the special forces training to overcome those female...
tendencies," she smirked at the surprise on his features and managed to
contain the chuckle that was threatening to escape. He would have been
humiliated if she had laughed, and while that was the preferable reaction
with the Human male offering that kind of remark, she realized that with
Sargamesh it had more to do with culture than condescension.  
     "I..." He actually looked as though he would like to disappear
inside his robe.  "I did not mean to imply ..."
     Sheba shook her head and raised a hand, hoping she could make him
understand, "Apollo and I are both officers, and as such we have our
assigned duties. Sometimes, that means having to be apart, on different
missions, at different times. He has a number of women that he must work
with , just as I am in contact with any number of men."
     "Of course," replied the Zohrloch, frowning a bit. Obviously, the
cultural gap between them was vast, and was not likely to close any time
soon. So far, Sargamesh had done a splendid job of assimilating into
Colonial society, but did he have limits? 
     Lords of Kobol, who doesn't?
     "And hey, what's a marriage without trust?" she continued. "I assume
it is the same on your homeworld?"
     "Wives are expected to be faithful, yes," he said, as if that
explained it all. 
     "Only wives?" He merely looked at her, and Sheba nodded inside. Yes,
that explained a lot. 
     "But you are fortunate, in that Commander Adama is in personal
command of this vessel."
     "Oh? How so?" 
     "It is always best when the Father-Kin is near."
     "Fatherkin?"
     "Yes. Oh, of course." Sargamesh had moved to the table whereon
several bladed weapons were laid out. He splashed water from a bowl on
his face, and wiped it with a towel. "I believe the Colonial term
'father-in-law' would be the closest translation. Some of your terms are
still mysterious to me. As the father of your husband, his presence is a
form of...protection for you."
     "Protection?"
     "Yes. In ancient times on Eridu, women with no male kin to protect
them were considered legitimate booty. Often they were sold as slaves,
or..." he shrugged. "I am sure you get the idea. Over time, rules came to
be applied to such things. Even if a man were dead, the presence of his
father, or other male kin of the father's generation, was seen as
extending an ...aura of protection over the woman. Eventually, over his
entire household, and all its members. Much as Commander Adama has over
the entire Colonial Fleet. It is, in a way, like unto his household."
     "Umm..." Tread lightly here, Sheeb. "Are you trying to tell me
something, Sargamesh?"
     "Oh yes. Despite your husband's absence, there need be no fear of
any...untoward actions on my part, Lieutenant."
     THAT's his problem? He really thinks...Lords of Kobol!  He thinks
he's irresistible! She blinked again and groaned internally. Note to
self; Human or Zohrloch, humiliate them all and take no prisoners. 
Cultural differences be damned!
     She took a deep breath, trying to maintain her professional
demeanor.  Again, something she wouldn't have worried about with any
other Warrior that was Human... she realized she was definitely cutting
Sargamesh more than a little slack. But then, he had a lot more baggage
to get rid of than any Human in the Fleet, so maybe she was misreading
him. "I imagine that your people believe it is the male's right to
initiate any ...intimate relations."
     "Of course." He looked at her in bemusement as if trying to imagine
it happening any other way.
     "So you're giving me your ...word that you wouldn't ...dishonor
Apollo by making any advances on his...wife. Especially since his father
is here." She squelched the tightness in her chest, and the fire in her
belly.  "Is that correct?"
     "Yes, Lieutenant." He nodded calmly, not appearing to notice that
she was struggling to retain her composure. "My word of honor that I
would never seek to dishonor any of you so. I realize your males are
somewhat more publicly emotive about their relationships."
     She smiled, remembering having seen Sargamesh look at Apollo
strangely before when he expressed his affection in public, whether with
her, or even more noticeably with his male friends. "Well, Apollo is a
tad jealous, yes, but it's deeper than that. It wasn't that long ago we
were sealed, and he was married before."
     "Oh. I did not know. She is...dead?"
     "Yes. Shortly after they fled the Colonies. She was killed by a
Cylon. Boxey is her son. Apollo adopted him."
     "I see. Yes, such a look as I saw in his eyes was indeed the look of
a man who knows loss, and holds tightly to what he has. A good man. A
good Warrior. And a good son for Commander Adama."
     Sargamesh began to sort through the blades on the table, and Sheba
watched him, relieved that the conversation had taken a more normal turn.
The fascination by an advanced, technical society for such ancient things
was odd to her. Still, it had made this man a warrior of great skill.
Maybe some measure of fencing might not go amiss among their own people.
     "You sure have quite a collection, here," she said. She reached out
to touch one, and saw a look of horror flash across Sargamesh's face. She
pulled back, and he relaxed.
     "My apologies," he smiled. "I must remember that things are
different now. I must strive to be as Colonial as possible." He saw the
question on her face. "On Eridu, the sword is like unto a warrior's soul.
An extension of his nature. His very essence. For a woman, especially one
not of his House, to touch one." He shook his head again. "I still have
much to learn."
     And unlearn!
     "Us, too. We still know little about your world. Where did you get
all these?"
     "They were off-loaded from the Nem'lach, when she was found. I
adopted them, before coming on this mission, as all my own were taken
from me when I was captured by the Ziklagoio."
     "Adopted?" she asked, intrigued.
     "Yes. All these belonged to various crewmen aboard the Nem'lach. I
could not just...take them. It would be like a...like a sacrilege almost.
So, I performed a ceremony we call the Ol'tab."
     "What's that?"
     "A small fire is lit, in a crucible of bone, and each weapon is laid
upon the coals. Through prayers, both spoken, and written on paper which
is burned to become one with the smoke, one entreats the spirits of the
fallen warriors that they will permit their weapon to continue being used
for the purpose it was made for. To be used honorably. To use it, and not
do so, would risk their spirit not being at rest."
     Weird!
     "Sounds...interesting," said Sheba. "Could you maybe tell us more,
sometime?"
     "You have but to ask, Lieutenant," said Sargamesh. All his cutlery
was back in its sheaths, and rolled up in a heavy leather satchel. He
lifted it off the table as if it weighed no more than Boxey.  
     "So," she said, as he headed towards the door, "women never fought
in battles?"
     "As I said, there have been rare exceptions. One day, perhaps, I
will tell you of the wife of Lord Saralkh, who took up her husband's
sword, and stood before the nine warriors who challenged her, and took
all their heads, in the Battle of the Screaming Caves."
     "Sounds...interesting."
     "Oh it is," smiled Sargamesh, ever so slightly. "Lieutenant."


     Boomer looked at the three occupants at the rear of the shuttle.
Pili's hands were wrapped in a poultice that Eldritch had prepared, and
the narcotic they had administered had her dozing somewhat comfortably
while strapped securely to the row of seats with her foot-now bandaged
and immobilized-elevated on survival blankets.  Starbuck's hands were
likewise wrapped, and sweat beaded on his skin.  He had given up any
pretense of jackets and blankets with angry welts on his upper body that
were too sensitive to tolerate any unnecessary friction or weight.  Eyes
closed, body slouched, his head rested back against the bulkhead, as he
wiped distractedly at another trail of perspiration running down his
face.
     And Kudur-Mabug sat between them, one arm around his wife, eyes
glowering beneath his shelf of a brow ridge.
     "Almost there, buddy.  How are you holding up?" Boomer asked
Starbuck.
     "Just great." Starbuck muttered miserably, sitting upright. Or
rather trying to. "So can they actually do anything that will help, or
are they just going to poke me, make me put on one of those ridiculous
gowns, and then take my blood?"
     "Dr. Salik said that as long as you've had the anti-venom in time,
that the symptoms should improve within a centar. They just want to
monitor you for a few centars since you both had so many bites."
     "Okay, but if I puke all over the place, I don't want them to rub
their chins, go 'hhmm' a lot, and mutter something about me being 'an
interesting case'. Right?"
     "Hey, I hear ya, Bucko."
     Starbuck sighed.  "I'm missing something, Boomer. I just can't
figure out what it is."
     "I've been saying the same thing for yahrens about you, buddy."
Boomer ribbed him, laughing at the withering glance thrown his way. 
"What do you mean?"
     "There had to be something there. In that room." He shook his head,
his lips pursed as he visualized it all again in his mind's eye.
     "I'm not following." Boomer remarked, sitting down beside him.
     "He would have left something... to lead me to the next...
encounter." 
     "He left you something, alright," said Apollo over his shoulder from
the flight deck. "Every crawlon in the Fleet, all waiting for you."
     "That's not what I meant, Apollo," Starbuck called back.  "He must
have planned for the possibility that I might survive. He may be a
psycho, but he's not stupid. He'd have a contingency plan."
     It felt like a shadow crossing over a grave as Boomer barely
contained a shiver of unease.  The idea that this sociopathic shape
shifter was laying a trail of clues that Starbuck was consciously
following, like crumbs, playing along with him... "Are you serious?"
     "Yeah." Again he ran through things in his mind. The crawlons, the
trap, the box, the refuse... was there something he just didn't take the
time to see?  Lords, was he actually going to have to go back and look
through all that mong?  "It's a game to him.  If he leads me to the next
situation, he's still in control.  Just like the crawlon in Apollo's
quarters."
     "Has it occurred to you that you shouldn't follow?" Boomer
suggested. "So far, it's been kinda unhealthy."
     "At least I'm going in with my eyes open." Starbuck shrugged. "I
have to find him. Besides, the more we learn about him, the better chance
we have at getting ahead of him." An image of reaching for a block
tweaked his memory...
     "I don't like it." Boomer growled.  "I was thinking that we were
pursuing the whereabouts of an injured beast, not letting him reel us in
as he sees fit."
     "You know what he's capable of.  You saw what he did to Jensen on
the Nebula, Boomer."
     "Yeah," Boomer muttered quietly, knowing the kid was still in the
Life Station, undergoing the torture of physical therapy, and it would be
a long time before he ever returned to duty... if, indeed, he ever could. 
"Well, think about it.  What are you forgetting?"
     Starbuck bolted upright to his feet.  "The block holding the hatch!
A cinder block." He had blasted it into oblivion, certain that it was
another trap. "What the frack would a cinder block be doing in the bottom
level of an Agro Ship? And as Korax's final test." He shook his head that
he hadn't realized it sooner.  Boomer was looking at him like he was
nuts, but somehow he just knew he was right.  He was positive.  "That
must be it," he insisted.
     "Cinder block?" Boomer asked skeptically, wiping his brow. He
suddenly felt warm, and his vision was fuzzy.  "Are you sure?"
     "Yeah.  Now where on the Zykonian Space Station would we find cinder
blocks?  Is there an area under construction?  Do you know?" Starbuck
asked.
     Boomer shook his head, but his visage changed as he followed
Starbuck's thought process.  A worksite could hide many things. 
Including a shape shifter who could easily disguise himself as a
construction worker of some sort.  Now that would make some sense.  "I
don't know, but I'll bet Captain Xlax could tell you." He blinked.
"Capt..."
     Suddenly, he felt his gut tighten, and everything in it felt like it
was trying to come up at once. His muscles ached, and chills ran through
him.
     "Boomer?" called a voice, but he wasn't sure whose. Then he felt his
body tip, hands upon him, then nothing.

Chapter Thirteen

     "Boomer!" Starbuck yelled, his bandaged hands all but useless as he
tried to grip the listless man when his friend inexplicably pitched
forward.  Fortunately, Kudur-Mabug reacted instantly, catching the
unconscious Lieutenant before he hit the deck.  Starbuck dropped to his
knees beside them, tearing the dressings from his hands.  "Damn these
fracking...Apollo!  I could use a hand... or two!" he yelled, bemoaning
his clumsiness.
     "What's happening?" Apollo called back sharply.  He was well aware
he was much too close to other ships to put the shuttle on autopilot.
     "He just... passed out!" Starbuck called back, leaning low over
Boomer's face as Kadur-Mabug stretched the Lieutenant out on his back,
looking down at him anxiously.  "C'mon, Boom-Boom.  Breathe for me." 
Nothing.  "DAMN IT, BOOMER!!!!! BREATHE!!!!"
     "Starbuck!" Apollo yelled again, awaiting more information and
feeling the tension in the air.  He paused, wondering if Starbuck could
change places with him and fly the shuttle.  He might be better able to
help Boomer.  Then his common sense kicked back in.  There was no way
Starbuck could pilot a shuttle, otherwise he would have suggested it
himself.  The Strike Captain instinctively increased speed.
     "Just a centon!" Starbuck placed his fingers gently on Boomer's
neck, trying to palpate a pulse, but his hands were swollen, tight and
burning, and he couldn't feel a damn thing.  He looked desperately at
Boomer's chest, still not feeling a breath on his cheek nor seeing his
chest rise reassuringly.  He tilted his friend's head back and started
rescue breathing, struggling to pinch his friend's nose with fingers that
refused to cooperate.
     "STARBUCK!" Apollo's tone demanded information.
     A powerful shove abruptly sent Starbuck inexplicably skidding across
the deck, landing on a shoulder.  He looked up in shock to see
Kudur-Mabug glaring balefully at him, kneeling protectively over the
inert Boomer.
     "You no kiss Boomer!" Each word delivered staccato and reinforced
with a stabbing finger, and an indecipherable expression, in his
direction.  "Only Athena kiss!"
     "I'm not fracking kissing him!" Starbuck shouted back, climbing to
his feet angrily.  "He's not breathing and I'm trying to put some oxygen
in his bloodstream." He loomed over the Kian recklessly, even knowing the
other powerfully built man could easily squash him, especially in his
current condition.  "I'm trying to save his life!  Now back off,
Kudur-Mabug, or I'll frackin' shoot you!" He didn't even touch his
blaster, but dropped down to Boomer's side again, glaring across at the
caveman who looked back at him uncertainly.  "Apollo, we need an
emergency med team in the landing bay!  Boomer's not breathing!" He lay
his head on Boomer's chest, relieved to hear and feel the steady thump of
a heart beating.  "Thank you, Lord."
     "Does he have a pulse?" Apollo shouted back.
     "Yes!" Starbuck replied, wiping awkwardly at the sweat pouring off
his brow.  He took a deep breath, fighting back the nausea that refused
to abate. His empty gut wanted to heave, nonetheless.
     "It must be a crawlon bite!  We have some anti-venom in the med
kit!" Apollo shouted back before comming the Galactica.
     "Get the med kit," Starbuck told the Kian man before bending over
Boomer again, and beginning rescue breathing anew. 
     "Three centons until we land, Starbuck!" Apollo hollered.  
     Three centons.  Sagan, how could three centons seem like a lifetime?
Well, that's exactly the way it seemed that when one of your best friends
was lying on the deck, close to cashing out his chips. Each and every
micron seemed like an eternity.
     He trained his eyes on Boomer's chest as he watched it gently rise
in response to another of his breaths. It was too bizarre.  He had been
feeling like Hades within centons of being bitten by the Quietus
crawlons, yet it had been a good thirty centons since they had left that
dingy hole.  Why hadn't Boomer shown any signs or symptoms? Or at least
been aware of having been bitten. They were vicious little bastards and
it stung like Hades when they punctured the flesh. He ought to know. And
then for Boomer to suddenly keel over with no warning.  It didn't make
sense.
     "Med kit." Kadur-Mabug thrust it towards him as though it contained
some black magic that would revive the fallen Warrior. As Starbuck fished
through it looking for the appropriate medication, Kudur-Mabug pushed
Starbuck away, more gently this time, and knelt over the supine Warrior. 
     "What...?" Starbuck began again.
     "You not only one know 'kiss of life'"," said the Kian, his massive
chest expanding as he took a deep breath, and knelt over Boomer. As
Starbuck watched, the "caveman" began giving Boomer a surprisingly
sophisticated example of rescue breathing. The Kian's huge lung capacity
was pumped into Boomer, and the insensate Warrior's chest began to rise
and fall as he worked. He kept it up for almost a centon, until Boomer
began to cough weakly, and his head moved from side to side.
     "Where did you learn that?" asked Starbuck, still fiddling with the
small hypo-spray of anti-venom Eldritch had given them for the trip "just
in case".  He had dropped it twice already, the diminutive size making it
even more difficult to press the small button that activated the plunger.
     "Healer Annipadda, back home. Teach all hunters how make 'kiss of
life'." He took the hypospray from Starbuck's hands, beginning to press
it against Boomer's neck.
     "I...well..." Starbuck help up a hand.  "It needs to go in a muscle. 
His shoulder."
     "Two centons to landing, Starbuck," said Apollo. "Doctor Salik is on
the way." He turned back, and saw Boomer, moving again.
     "Hey, you did it."
     "No, he did," said Starbuck, pointing at the Kian. "Hey,
Kudur-Mabug, I'm...well..."
     "Problem not," shrugged Kudur-Mabug, with a hint of a smile. "Not
everyone know how to get joke."
     "Yeah?  Well, sometimes I lose my sense of "ha-ha" when my friends
stop breathing and I find myself skittering across the deck on my head."
Starbuck murmured.  "But...thanks for the assist." If the Kian man hadn't
been there, there was no telling how differently it might have turned
out.


     The recollection was foggy, yet he knew the place so well. Adama
moved through the room, everything, every fixture and piece of furniture,
just as it had always been. His favorite chair, the shelf where antique
paper-bound books were kept, the tiny shrine where the Book Of The Word
was displayed openly, his and his sister's toys on the rug next to the
table, model of a Battlestar prominent among them. Yule log burning in
the grate. The room looked just as it always had, when his mother had
called her children in for dinner. 
     But no one was here. His siblings, his parents, his pet
daggit...nothing. The house was empty, utterly silent. He wandered about,
calling for them, but there was no answer. He went upstairs, to his
father's study. He put his hand to the door, but it would not open. He
tried again, pressing harder and harder on the door, but it refused to
budge. He pounded on it, calling for his father, but there was only
silence. He moved, nay ran, down the hall, to his own room. Likewise, it
would not open. His sister's. The door was open, and he went in. 
     Unlike the sitting room, there was a thick layer of dust covering
all.  The air was damp, musty, and cold.  So cold, he could feel fine
bumps covering his flesh and he reflexively rubbed his arms to warm
himself, almost expecting to see his breath as he exhaled.  There, over
her dressing table was a mirror. He stood on his tip toes to take a look,
and stopped as he caught sight of himself in it. 
     He appeared as he was now. Older, white hair, the care-lined
features of the Commander of the Fleet. Yet, somehow...
     Yet, somehow, the features began to morph into something different,
something not himself at all. Something, someone, he had not seen in more
than a yahren, and prayed he would never see again in this life, becoming
those of the vile and diabolic Count Iblis! The Prince of Evil looked at
him, and smiled. A smiling face that, behind it's ordinarily handsome
visage, concealed its owners true and diabolic nature. Then, without a
word being spoken, he broke the endless silence, and began to laugh, his
face and eyes filled with mocking. Try as he might, Adama could not seem
to speak, and Iblis kept laughing at him. The malignant sound filled the
house, seeming to shake its very foundation until it reverberated through
Adama's body... and soul.  It seemed a lifetime later when, the ungodly
sound at last too much for Adama, he turned to go, tearing himself from
the spot he had been seemingly rooted to, and he ran smack into the open
door. He grunted in pain...
     And opened his eyes, to find himself staring at the leg of a table.
He was still in the saloon of Caprica's Glory, having rolled off the sofa
onto the floor, banging his head on the edge of the table as he did so.
As he tried to rise, he thwacked the back of his head on the underside of
the table. 
     It just wasn't turning out to be Commander Adama's day. As his mind
cleared away the cobwebs, he realized it had all been a dream. A walk
through unreality.
     Or was it? Was it really?
     Or was it a warning of some kind?
     He had to admit that, ever since his recent conversation with
Apollo, when they had discussed the matter of Iblis likely being
responsible for the disappearance of some travellers from the Thirteenth
Tribe, the potential danger of Iblis appearing once again had been
intruding more and more into his mind. And it was a danger potential that
troubled him more than anything else, even more than the Cylons, since
right now, his mind could not conceive of a single viable plan of attack
that could be used against the Father of Evil incarnate. 
     "Adama!" said Siress Tinia, her hand suddenly on his arm, helping
him back to his seat. "Are you alright?"
     "I'm fine, Tinia," he replied, hand to throbbing head. His fingers
came away clean, with no blood, but it sure hurt like Hades Hole. "I
just...nodded off, studying this abysmal treaty."
     "And dreaming, from the sounds of it," she finished for him. "I
could hear you before I came in."
     "You...well, yes. Ila always said I talked in my sleep a good deal.
Anyway, I..."
     "Banged your head."
     "Yes. The furniture was most uncooperative, and didn't get out of
the way."
     "Very unfriendly of the furniture," she replied. "I'll have it
punished." 
     Adama couldn't help but laugh a little, as the image of a couch,
being beaten with a whip, came unbidden to mind.
     "What?"
     "Nothing." He shook his head not willing to share the ridiculous
image.  Or, anything else, re Iblis. Any details. Right now, he would
hesitate to even tell Apollo and Sheba, the only two people with a true,
intimate knowledge of the horrific danger that Iblis still posed. To
reveal the true nature of that danger, even to an ally such as Tinia,
would likely carry far too many risks. "I was just ...dreaming." 
     "I see." She looked at him, features soft. "Care to share?"
     "I..." he began, reluctantly, then inwardly shrugged. "I was
dreaming of home. The house I lived in as a child."
     "Sounds nostalgic. I dream about home too."
     "I haven't since I was a child," he replied. "At least, not that
house. It was all as it had been, when I was very small. Only...only it
was empty. Everyone, save myself, was gone. And I couldn't get into my
father's study. The door would not open."
     "Was that it?" she asked expectantly, sensing that it was not.
     "No. I saw myself in a mirror. Saw myself as I am now, not as a
child. And then...then I saw Count Iblis." He felt her shiver, from her
hand on his arm. 
     "Iblis?"
     "Yes. He was there, in the mirror in my sister's room. He didn't say
anything. He just smiled that...evil smile of his, and laughed. He kept
on laughing and laughing at me. Then, I woke up."
     Tinia wasn't sure what to say. While she was no doctor, of body or
mind, her brother had been a psych major at the University of Virgon. She
had absorbed enough to get a vague idea what a professional "shrink"
would be likely to say. No doubt, her brother would have gotten a slew of
psych papers out of the Commander's dream.
     "Why would you dream about Count Iblis?"
     "He was a...very dangerous foe, Tinia. As Commander, I suppose I
worry about everything."
     She looked at him, and knew he was holding something back. She knew
that there had been some sort of...something, between Adama and the
mysterious visitor, but she had come to have too much respect for the
Commander to press the issue just now. He would speak of it when he was
ready. When the time was right. 
     "Must be overwork," he said at last, shaking his head. Revealing the
full truth of Iblis and the potential danger he still posed was something
he sadly realized he could not do just now. Not even, sadly, with one he
had come to regard so highly as Tinia. "All this." he gestured at the
vast treaty.
     "You do need to relax sometimes, Adama," she said, looking him in
the eye, hand still on his arm. "After all, letting the burdens of all of
us crush you won't help any of us...least of all you." She smiled gently,
her eyes becoming kind. Almost maternal. 
     Almost. Then she leaned over, and gently kissed him.


     "It was a contact poison that entered his system," Salik explained,
running his biomonitor over Boomer yet again, as medications and
intravenous solutions poured into him.  The Lieutenant blinked blearily,
closing his eyes against the bright lights and wincing.  "We found a high
concentration of an as yet unidentified toxin on his fingers, so it
appears that he touched something to contract it."
     "Touched something?" Apollo repeated, thinking his friend looked
unnaturally ashen beneath his dark complexion.  "What do you think it
was, Starbuck?"
     Starbuck sighed from where he sat on a biostretcher next to
Boomer's, squeezing fingers that were finally returning to their normal
size after more anti-toxin for the crawlon bites, and some regeneration
treatments to accelerate the healing.  His upper body remained bare, and
Med Tech Tone was spot treating several bites with his equipment.  As
fluids flowed into his arm to help in flushing the remaining venom from
his own system, Starbuck studied Boomer intensely, his expression
unreadable.  "The fracking comm..." He muttered, remembering his friend
contacting Life Station for advise and to prepare them for what very well
might have become a medical emergency for the crawlon victims... instead
of Boomer himself.  Starbuck ignored Salik's look of disapproval at his
expletive.  "Had to be." He looked up at Apollo and the CMO. "Oh
that...that bastard! That fracking cunning bastard!" He grabbed up and
threw one of his boots across the room, his face red with fury.
     "Starbuck?" said Apollo. "What are you...oh Lords." The Strike
Captain looked down at Boomer.
     "Yeah. Korax. That slimy piece of boray mong...he didn't leave a
single possibility to chance."
     "The telecom in the corridor."
     "Exactly! If we found his lair, he knew I would call for backup, and
touch the telecom. All the electrical lines and conduits down there play
havoc with our communicators. He'd know that. If I went into the room
first, and somehow survived the traps there, then I'd make for the
telecom, and call someone. Either way, he knew it would be used."
Starbuck cut off, fists clenched in rage... which kind of hurt actually.
     "Only...only I did, instead," rasped Boomer, voice still weak.
"Lords, he's clever."
     "I can't believe I underestimated that...that fracking piece of..."
     This time Salik interrupted, having had enough. "Lieutenant, please
keep in mind this is the Life Station, not the billet." He gestured at a
group of children, here for their physicals and immunization boosters.
"They aren't here to pick up Officer's Club lingo, and I would appreciate
you desisting from using inappropriate language, throwing your boots,
and..."
     "Where is he?"
     Her voice was desperate as Athena burst into the Life Station, her
eyes immediately finding her brother, and by extension, Boomer.  She
rushed across the room, taking in the small group of men.  Apollo looked
fine, Starbuck-who didn't-was at least sitting upright, and Boomer was
stretched out, receiving medical treatments and looking awful.
     "What happened?" Athena asked no one in particular, grabbing
Boomer's hand. He looked pale and diaphoretic.  "Are you okay?"
     "I'm fine... or at least I will be," Boomer reassured her.
     She looked to Dr. Salik to confirm that.  
     "He'll be fine. The poison hasn't left any permanent damage. His
blood levels are dropping satisfactorily," the CMO comforted her.
     "Poison?" Athena gaped.  "I thought he was bitten by a crawlon!"
     "No, that was me and Pili," Starbuck offered, but she seemed not to
take any notice of his helpful information.
     "What in Hades happened?" her voice rose, as she imagined for a
brief micron having and raising her child without Boomer.  She
reflexively covered her abdomen with her hand.  Lords, how happiness
could plummet into chaos way too quickly.
     "We think there was poison on the comm that Boomer used to call the
Life Station," Apollo told her. "It attacks the victim through the skin,
sis."
     "Doctor Salik?" came a voice. They turned. It was Doctor Paye,
Salik's second, a data reader in his hand. "The lab results on Lieutenant
Boomer's blood panel just came back." Salik took the proffered data, and
studied it. After a moment, he nodded somberly.
     "I was right. I suspected it, and now we have proof." He showed the
reader to Apollo. "The same toxin that the enemy spy attacked you with,
Starbuck, the one that stopped your heart, was found in Boomer's blood."
     "Oh...frack..." breathed Athena.
     "Fortunately, Boomer did not get as large a dosage as you did,
Starbuck. That, and from our tests, it seems that the toxin had degraded
somewhat. It may have been on that telecom for centars. Even days. It
seems it has to be fresh to have the maximum effect."
     "Thank...God," said Athena, quietly. She sat down, visibly shaking.
Apollo moved to comfort her, hand around her shoulders. "And now?"
     "Well, even so, he might have died, had not Kudur-Mabug given him
mouth-to-mouth so promptly, on the shuttle. Even a few centons more, and
his heart could well have stopped permanently."
     "Korax used some kind of poison on me on the Nebula. Something he
secreted from his hands. I should have thought..." Starbuck mused aloud,
shaking his head self-derisively. "Damn! My brain is useless felgercarb!
Take it out and feed it to Muffit. About all it's worth lately."
     "You couldn't have known, buddy," Boomer argued.
     "Iblis' astrum I shouldn't have! He's...Ah, Hades Hole. All the
same..." Starbuck hesitated, looking at the distraught woman that he had
at one time, admittedly several yahrens before, considered as a kid
sister... and had even thought about committing to after the Destruction. 
She was pale, hugging herself, protecting the tiny life inside of her.
Protecting her sanity as well, no doubt.  "Sorry, Athena.  I shouldn't
have involved him," he muttered quietly, his lips tightening. "It was..."
     "The Hades you shouldn't have," Athena replied at once, recalling a
very important conversation with her sister-in-law over Starbuck's
hesitation to get anyone's help.  He needs Apollo and Boomer right now. 
He needs all of our support... or he's going to do something really
stupid.
     Starbuck looked at her in surprise, words failing him.
     "Where's Pili?" Athena asked, looking at the red spots on Starbuck. 
He looked like he had lost a bit of weight since she had last seen him
play triad.  Although never heavy, he appeared a bit too thin, in her
opinion, and she took a moment to study him, noticing his familiar
gestures-his inability to sit still, his fingers raking through his
hair-indicating  his anxiety.
     And counting his ribs all too easily.
     "In the recovery room." Dr. Salik replied.  "A couple of her bones
were fractured in her ankle. It's amazing, really. Her bone density is
more than double ours. That trap was meant to crush bones. Smash them.
Not to severe the foot, but to maim. To cripple. With her, it only
fractured the lower tibia, the talus, with a slight tearing of the
anterior talo-fibular ligament, and damage to the surrounding tissue is
far les than it would be for one of us. She'll be off her feet for a
while, but it will heal with time and therapy."
     "And Boomer?" Athena asked.
     "Over-night treatment until the toxin is eradicated." Salik smiled
at Boomer's look of dismay.  "I think we can safely release Starbuck, as
long as he's bunking with someone." He looked at Apollo questioningly,
knowing the Lieutenant had stayed in the Captain's quarters the previous
rest period.
     "Yes, he's bunking with me." Apollo verified.
     "Apollo..."
     "That's an order, Buddy!" said the Strike Captain. Starbuck glowered
at him, but Apollo smiled in return. "I'll call Cassie, and give her the
bad news."
     "Oh, you're all heart, Apollo." 
     "Just doing my job," replied the other.
     "Spoiling my love life?" Starbuck griped mundanely, his mind racing
ahead to another rest period spent on a Boxey-sized bed, surrounded by
kid stuff.  An attempted assault on Chameleon in a public market.  A
prearranged crawlon attack on Boxey that had inadvertently targeted him
instead.  A trap awaiting them on the Agro Ship that had resulted in
another visit to Life Station, this time also for Boomer and Pili.  And
all of this knowing that Korax was out there!  How in Hades Hole could he
ensure the safety of his friends and family?  Where would Korax strike
next?  Lords, I could sure use a drink.  Or six.
     "No," said Apollo, face somber again as he looked closely at his
friend, knowing that there was a lot more going on behind Starbuck's
fa‡ade than thoughts of a self-indulgent night with his lover. "Keeping
my people alive."


     "So," asked Sheba, later in the saloon, after they had polished off
a splendid dinner. Siress Tinia's mother's recipe for rack of arnion,
with a spicy sauce and vegetables. Even Sargamesh, whose people rarely
cooked food, declared it "superlative". "Have you gleaned anything more
from the treaty, Commander? Siress Tinia?" She sat down across from
Adama, and at the opposite end of the long sofa from Sargamesh. 
     "Not much," said Adama, sparing Tinia a brief glance. "On the
surface it seems straightforward enough, yet the verbiage goes on and
on." He shook his head, and looked up at Nizaka, just re-entering the
room, Herrin and Baker, the Council aides, behind her.
     "Why is that?" Sheba asked the Ziklagi woman. "Short and simple
would seem to more pragmatic."
     "A lot less wiggling room," offered Baker.
     "I would agree," said the other, "but our language is complex, and
heavy with idioms and metaphors of varying degrees of turbidity. In order
to make sure there are no misunderstandings, both Ziklagi and Zykonian
legal experts insisted that it be so." Nizaka motioned at the stack of
documents. "That, and I am afraid my people have a conceit that all other
races are at the level of severely retarded hatchlings, and need
everything spelled out to them as if they were cretins. Your expression
'short and sweet' is unheard of on Ziklag."
     "How sad," said Herrin.
     "So, what is next?" asked Sheba.
     "I have been reviewing the people who will be at the negotiations,"
said Tinia. She was looking at her data pad, and they took up theirs.
"Supreme Triumvir Xandrix of course. He will lead for Ziklag." She looked
up at Nizaka, hearing a slight murmur from that direction. "Excuse me?"
     "I said 'Oh, that fat worm'. Xandrix is an uncouth, and extremely
obese, slug."
     "You know him?" asked Adama.
     "Well, 'know' would not be precise. However, I did meet him, if you
will, at a palace function, where Xekash took me as part of his retinue.
And of course, he has been on the video channels." She shuddered a bit.
"He makes me want to be sick, actually."
     "Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that," said Adama, digesting
the information. He turned back to Tinia. "And?"
     "And for the Zykonians, they will be represented by Appointee
Kyzalis." 
     "Appointee?" asked Sheba.
     "The closest translation of his title the matrix could come up with,
Sheba," replied Tinia. ">From what Captain Xlax told us, it is something
analogous to 'Sire", or 'Prince'."
     "Sounds like an elective office," said Herrin.
     "No. According to the Zykonian cultural database we got from Xlax,
the Zykonian aristocracy believe that their leaders, or at least the
positions, are granted by divine fiat. One is 'appointed' to their
station."
     "I see," replied Sheba. Sargamesh nodded, but said naught. "Will we
be able to trust any of the others, I am wondering?"
     "An excellent question," said Sargamesh. He turned to Nizaka,
expression questioning.
     "Xandrix is cruel, and without mercy," she replied. "However, as odd
or paradoxical as it may seem, he is not one to lie."
     "What?" asked Sheba.
     "His reputation is of one that will use half-truths, evasion, even
outright bullying to achieve his ends, but will never actually lie in
negotiations. Or so it is said."
     "What a mine-field," said Adama.
     "It is indeed, Commander," replied the Ziklagi. "But while Xandrix
is, perhaps predictable in some ways, his Chancellor is not."
     "Uhh...Chancellor Pentash," said Tinia, scrolling through the data.
"Of a noble family. Came to the Chancellorship three standard Ziklagi
yahrens ago."
     "Who is he?" asked Herrin. "As a person?"
     "I know next to nothing of him, save he also has a reputation for
sadism. He'll bear watching, I suspect. As will the other one listed
here. Sub-Chancellor Koshrar. Him I have heard of. He is from a powerful
family, and rumor has it he chafes under Pentash's shadow."
     "Politics!" spat Sheba. "It's the same everywhere you go. A wants
what B has, so he links up with C to backstab B. In the end, it's all
bloodshed by other means than naked war."
     "A concise analysis, indeed," said Sargamesh. "One feels very much
at home."
     "Still glad you came?" Adama asked Tinia, with barely the hint of a
smile.
     "Oh yes," she replied, voice indicating the opposite, rolling her
eyes. "I just cannot wait until we get to Ziklag."


     Starbuck should have been able to just close his eyes, shutting out
all the problems of the universe. Pretend like they didn't exist. He was
good at that. Hades, he ought to be tired after the day's events, but
instead he was tossing and turning, which was quite a trick in a bed made
for a seven-yahren-old boy.  The fact was, if he bumped his head on the
fracking Viper Mobile one more time, he was going to launch the tiny
squadron leader into the next solar system... or at least the sitting
room.  
     He just couldn't shut off his mind, thinking and rethinking if
Cassie was safe staying with friends of Athena, instead of in her own
quarters.  If Korax would have foreseen any chance that Boxey would end
up staying with his Aunt.  If the two of them, a pregnant woman and a
child, alone in her quarters wasn't somehow a bad idea.  Then there was
Chameleon, Claudia, Pelias...
     C'mon, Bucko.  You've talked it all over with Apollo, Boomer and
Athena.  They should be fine.  What's eating you?... well, besides
arachnons.  It made him wonder if he wasn't getting old, not being able
to handle a few hundred crawlons bites and a less than personal best
attempt at resuscitating his rapidly deteriorating friend on the shuttle.
     Outdone by a...a caveman!
     He let out a deep, long breath, swinging his legs over the side of
the bed and ducking out of the way of a Viper, only to be hit by a
rotating shuttle.  Side swiped by a shuttlecraft upon attempt to launch.
How frackin' appropriate.
     He grabbed his uniform pants pulling them on, for a micron having
every intention of heading to the dysfunctional launch bay for a
fumarello and a little solitude. Oh, to tuck himself into his Viper...
any Viper-assuming he could find one that was accessible somewhere
between the construction and the destruction-and just imagine he was
ripping through space away from it all. But that would be betraying his
word to Apollo, and he wasn't about to do that... as tempted as he might
be. That was it really. When he could feel himself getting worked up, he
needed some kind of outlet.  A fast ship. A high stakes card game. Triad.
Sex. Mixing it up with the Cylons. Sex. A landing party mission.
Wrestling in the gym. Sex. He shook his head ruefully, rethinking the
order he put those in as he quietly opened Boxey's door and padded
barefoot into the dark sitting room.
     There was something almost magical about the way the starlight could
subtly illuminate a room.  He paused for a moment, hearing nothing, not
even the usually ubiquitous drone of the Battlestar's engines, shut down
as repairs progressed.  An amber glimmer caught his eye and he moved
toward it, realizing with a smirk it was starlight shining through the
auric depths of ambrosia, calling to him like a long lost friend.
     The antique decanter was a showpiece unto itself.  Based on the
seafaring ship's decanter of yore, with a broad base that would never tip
in a rolling sea, it was made of a heavy crystalline.  It had been a
sealing gift from him to Apollo and Sheba, and while the bride had
appreciated the historical significance, the groom had appreciated the
sentiment, having shared many an ambrosia, both fine and otherwise, with
his friend.
     "I always wondered where you found that, but somehow never had a
chance to ask you." Apollo's voice seemed almost otherworldly coming as
it did from the darkness.  
     "A fumerocconist on the Rising Star," Starbuck returned over his
shoulder, sensing that Apollo was in his armchair.  "He carried a
sideline of products and was always on the lookout for something of
quality... and character." He picked up the decanter, swirling the
contents gently.
     "Care for one?" Apollo asked, his voice careful, measured.
     "One would be nice." Starbuck replied after a moment.  "It would
also be against Salik's orders.  But then you know that."
     "I thought that after everything we've been through, I could drop
the Captain for a while and just be your friend," Apollo returned.
     That would be nice too.  Starbuck smiled. "Well, in that case,
buddy, where are the glasses?"
     "I did have a couple glasses there for convenience, but Sheba didn't
like the fact that they didn't match the decanter.  She's been combing
the Rising Star market for the rest of the set," Apollo's tone was
amused.
     "Impossible. I...uh... don't think it was meant to be a set."     
     "Try telling 'impossible' to the daughter of Cain," Apollo returned
wryly, rising to turn on a light and find a couple of glasses. They were
plastic, left over from odds and ends he and Serina had once found on the
Tip Barge, but the ambrosia didn't seem to mind. "She's determined to
find something close." He joined Starbuck, pouring them both a shot.
     "To finding Earth." Apollo raised his glass.
     "To finding a pillow before the rest period's over," Starbuck
clinked Apollo's glass and took his first sip of ambrosia in what seemed
like sectars, but had in fact only been a couple of sectons.  The taste
was bliss, utterly exquisite; smooth and full of character.  "Isn't this
the bottle I gave you?"
     "Yeah," Apollo nodded, smiling at his friend's surprise.  "It's for
special occasions."
     "You're not concerned about my 'addictive personality' then?"
Starbuck asked, turning to study a few holopics that Apollo had set out
on his shelf.  Off to the side, his entire family around the time of his
graduation from the Academy, his and Sheba's sealing day, Boxey and the
daggit...
     "Addictive personality?" Apollo asked.
     "It's official now." Starbuck replied evenly, reaching back behind
other holopics and pulling out a still of Apollo, Serina, Boxey and
Muffit during the festivities on Carillon. He shook his head at the
fleeting memory of that destroyed world. What a fiasco! The frame was
handmade. Obviously, one of Boxey's treasures.  From its position behind
the others, likely one of his forgotten treasures.  A larger shot of
Apollo, Sheba and Boxey was now featured.  Of course, it didn't hold a
candle to his decanter... "Drinking, smoking, gambling, even piloting.
Blasting Cylons. Suicide missions to BaseShips. Apparently, I'm classic. 
At least that's what Tarnia and Dr. Salik told me."
     "What do you think?" Apollo asked.
     "They don't encourage it," Starbuck whispered, half-covering his
mouth conspiratorially.  
     "Seriously.  Do you think you had a drinking problem.  Have a
drinking problem."
     "No," the Lieutenant replied.  "Then again, I'm supposed to be in
denial." He winked at Apollo.  "Now how about the pillow?"
     Apollo sniffed, returning to his armchair.  "I forgot that Boxey
took his pillow back.  You can have Sheba's."
     "Thanks.  Now what are you doing up?"
     "The same as you. Couldn't sleep." Apollo took a slow drink of his
ambrosia. "Where did you find this?"
     "I won it in a card game." Starbuck replied grinning as Apollo
chuckled aloud.  "Private game in the backroom of the chancery.  My
opponent ran out of cubits and couldn't cover the bet.  He wanted me to
accept a bottle of vintage ambrosia from his personal collection at
market value in lieu."
     "What did you have?" Apollo asked.
     "Not one Hades of a lot at the time.  But for my last card I was
dealt the capstone." He grinned at the memory.  He had beat a full
pyramid.  Sire Feo had been furious.  Lords, that had felt good,
especially considering the grief the Councilman had given him over his
nephew, Pelias, during training. Training, for that...mission. The one
where he couldn't even keep Jada from...
     Knock it off, Bucko. Don't go back there!
     "There must have been a lot of cubits on that table," Apollo
ventured, shaking his head at the thought of the cubits that had run
through his friend's hands in his lifetime.
     "Easy come, easy go." Starbuck murmured, taking another sip as he
continued to wander around the small room restlessly.  That time was
almost a blur to him now.  His behavior had been almost self-destructive. 
Drinking, gambling, not eating regularly, not sleeping, avoiding his
friends.  Anything he could do to hold back the memories, the flashbacks. 
Still, somehow he had managed to function well enough to convince them to
put him back on duty.  The truth of the matter was he was the best damn
pilot in the Fleet in any condition-just ask me.  Then came the Nebula
and the Ziklagi attack, and his mask, his carefully constructed fa‡ade,
it had all fallen apart.  "I was able to get a hold of Xlax when you were
settling Athena and Boxey in.  Seems there is a construction site in the
Space Station.  Translates as "gamma section, level three".  It's
eventually going to be part of another space dock. Commercial vessels.
The construction was put on hold when the Fleet arrived due to a lack of
manpower, according to the Captain."
     "You want to go there." Apollo stated. Not a question.
     "I'm of two minds about it," Starbuck took another long drink of his
ambrosia, setting the empty glass down on a table and turning to face his
friend.  "I know Korax is injured and possibly vulnerable right now, but
I have no idea how long it would take him to recover and regenerate.
Neither we, nor the Zykonians have a lot of Ziklagi medical data, and
there's a lot about their shape-shifting ability they don't understand. 
And he's probably filled the site with death traps just to get his
jollies.  I think we'd be idiots to try and take him on his own turf,
because that's what he's expecting us to do. He thinks we're rash and
reckless."
     "Uh... you kind of are, Starbuck." Apollo chuckled, seeing
Starbuck's answering smile of agreement.
     "I know I can be.  But you're generally not." Finally, Starbuck sat
down on the longseat, putting his feet on the table and crossing them at
the ankle.  His advantage was his instinct.  The same instinct that in a
milli-centon had him fire his weapon in a crowded marketplace.  That's
how it would be with Korax.  It might come down to a split micron's
decision, and he just knew that he would make the right choice. Hades, he
always made the right choice. He always had. He always would... or he'd
die trying.  "So I guess that makes you my capstone."  Come to think of
it, his best friend had been his capstone for a long time. Unfortunately,
Apollo didn't fit up his sleeve.
     "What exactly do you have in mind, Starbuck?" Apollo took another
sip of his drink.  By this point Starbuck would usually be helping
himself to another.  However, his glass was out of reach, and the
decanter was out of view.  The Captain knew without a doubt that Starbuck
would stick to one ambrosia as he had first intimated.  And he wouldn't
let it get out of hand again, no matter how much he might be craving
another.
     Oh God, I want another drink! So bad...  Starbuck took a deep
breath, locking his attention and his gaze on Apollo. "Time for a little
fun," the Lieutenant replied, a self-satisfied smirk crossing his
features.  "I have a plan, but it's by no means perfect.  I want you to
play Diaboles' advocate.  Shoot it full of holes, tear it apart, then
come back and help me fix it.  It has to be laser proof when we put it
into effect."
     "Or as close to it as we can get," Apollo replied realistically. 
"Tell me something though, does this plan use you as bait?"
     "I prefer to think of myself as a 'much coveted man, of great worth
to the enemy'," Starbuck replied with a grin.
     "You would." But somehow the egotistical remark was so Starbuck,
that he couldn't help but grin joyously in return as he saw the other's
confidence return full force. Lords, it was long overdue.  
     "So, Korax probably knows about our escape by now. He'll be furious,
but when he calms down enough to think, he'll expect us to be cautious.
So..."
     Welcome back, buddy.  Welcome back.
     
     "Ziklagi frontier in fifteen centons, Commander," reported
Sargamesh, on the yacht's bridge. "We are now receiving the boundary
buoy's signal on the supplied frequency, and have it on the scanners
also."
     "Our escort?" asked Adama. After several days, he still felt out of
place in the luxurious seats of the Caprica's Glory's bridge. Compared to
those on the Galactica, this was almost like a plush penthouse apartment.
     "Still no indication of any vessel," replied Sheba. "We have swept
the area twice."
     "Continue scans, Lieutenant. Lieutenant Sargamesh?"
     "Sir!"
     "Come to a full stop as soon as we reach the frontier. Begin
transmitting the agreed upon hailing message at that time. Keep repeating
until there is a response."
     "Understood, sir."
     Adama checked the bridge chrono, and then swiveled his chair,
turning to the communications array next to his seat. He opened a
channel, then waited a few millicentons, until he got a reply. Colonel
Tigh came on the screen.
     "Commander," said the Galactica's XO, delayed a few moments by the
time lag in the signals. 
     "Checking in as per schedule, Colonel," said Adama. "How are things
there?"

Chapter Fourteen 

     "My Lord," said a voice. Pentash looked up from his desk, to regard
the functionary before him. As was his want with subordinates, he let the
other sweat a moment or two under his chilling gaze before answering. It
helped keep underlings in their place, after all.
     "Speak," he said at last.
     "Commander Adama and his party have arrived at the frontier."
     "He is early," mused Pentash. "I see." He leaned back in his chair a
moment, seemingly having forgotten the other. However, it would have been
foolish for that one, or anyone, to think Pentash had forgotten anything.
After a several long moments, he returned his gaze to the other. "Is the
escort vessel on station?"
     "Yes, My Lord. They arrived almost half a day ahead of Adama."
     "I see. And has Adama sent the designated hail?"
     "He has, My Lord. The escort has refrained from an immediate answer,
as per your orders."
     "Excellent," smiled the Chancellor. "Tell them to continue to wait."
     "For how long, My Lord?"
     "Leave that to me," replied Pentash, icily.
     "My Lord."
     "You may go," said Pentash, dismissing the other with a wave of one
hand.
     "My Lord," replied the other, a feeling of relief flooding him as he
at last withdrew.

Chapter Fifteen

     Then, houses burning, brickwork broken, did Korl, sore wounded and
with darkness close upon his eyes, fly away into the gloom, escaping the
spears of his enemies. The swords of his enemies found him not. Long did
he wander, as a stranger upon the lands, healing and gathering such
strength as he could, till, at the waters of Sheriit, he fell into
slumber. Yea, at the waters Tullab, sleep did Korl find at last. There,
in the mists of sleep, there in the deepest House of the Night, did come
unto him Zigo, son of Azgul, and in the world of dreams, speak thus unto
him-
     Adama listened with a certain degree of both fascination and
disbelief, as Sargamesh sang accompanied by a strange-looking harp, and
in traditional dress, one of the epics of his people. They had been
waiting, as instructed, at the Ziklagi frontier, for over ten centars.
Repeated scanner sweeps had turned up nothing substantive within range,
though given the Ziklagi cloaking technology, this might mean nothing at
all. The scanner suite on the Caprica's Glory was several yahren old, and
not of a military rating, nor had it been given the full upgrade to
detect the traces of a cloaked ship that Wilker and Rigel had devised
after their first encounter with the Ziklagoio. With resources limited,
and the to-do list a yahren long, some things had fallen through the
cracks.
     He was also concerned about events back at the Brylon Station. The
near-deaths of Lieutenant Boomer, and the Kian woman Pili, showed that
the malevolent Korax was still active, plotting the Lords knew what fresh
evil. Colonel Tigh's report also told of new sabotage of the repairs.
During a pressure test of a refit to her fuel system, there had been an
explosion in one of the Galactica's engine rooms. During a power-up, one
of the blow-down tanks had chosen that moment to rupture, ripping out
several lines, and injuring two. An investigation showed clearly that the
equipment had indeed been tampered with, a valve jammed shut, its
emergency sensor sabotaged. Fortunately, the amount of fuel involved was
quite small, keeping the damage to a minimum.
     Still, it showed that their nemesis was still on the loose.
     Damn this entire exercise in stupidity! A treaty clear across the
Star System? Bah! I should be there!
     Take these arms, my son, continued Sargamesh, eyes closed, voice
deep and rich, his robe and beard making him look like some ancient
statue come to life, take these arms, O Korl, and go forth, spake Zigo
unto him. Go, spake he unto the son of Bek. Unto your destiny, go forth!
Unto the uttermost parts of the world, set thy foot! 
     How then, O Zigo, shall I know my destiny? asked Korl as he looked
upon the divine one. How shall Fate be made known unto me? For I am
bereft of kin, place, and honor. What then shall there be for me, seeing
I go childless?
     For every man is his fate written. For every son of woman is destiny
decided. Go thee forth, and thou shalt become that which thou art in
truth, O Korl. Remain strong, remain true, O Mortal Man, and the gods
themselves shall ride with thee. Be constant, let not thy heart be
feeble, and their hand shall not depart from thy side.
     "This is great stuff!' whispered Sheba to Tinia, next to her on the
long sofa in the ship's saloon. She leaned over to refill the Siress'
glass. Tonight, they were sampling something from Sargamesh's homeworld
of Eridu. Salvaged from the wrecked Nem'lach, had been several bottles of
gordya, a highly prized liquor. Usually affordable only by the wealthy,
Sargamesh and his fellow Zohrlochs had quite a bit of it all to
themselves.
     Until now. Sheba's eyes had gotten as big as BaseShips at her first
taste. Herrin and Baker had declared it to be  "Wow!", and Adama had
nodded in approval. Nizaka had opined that it beat just about anything
she'd ever had on Ziklag. But, the Ziklagi was getting caught up, she had
to admit, in the story Sargamesh was relaying. Her own people, in a
curious parallel, also had a great bardic tradition, and she herself knew
several songs from the ancient epic of the hero Kurulu. 
     She just wished that all modern problems were as easily corrected as
the ancient heroes had found them to be. A few sword thrusts, a head or
two goes rolling, and hey...problem solved.
     Tinia found most interesting the instrument that Sargamesh was
playing, as he recited the tale. Called a narit, it had a base of some
kind of wood, from which sprang a curved pole. Atop it was a round metal
boss, to which strings of varying thicknesses were attached. A second
curved piece of wood below gave each string a different length as well,
and the central pole was hollow, functioning as a sound box. None of them
had ever seen an instrument like it, and Sargamesh had explained its
function and history. Also found aboard the wrecked ship, he had taken
possession of it, much as he had the swords, lest the soul of it's
departed owner return, and show displeasure.
     They continued to listen, enrapt, as Korl, now armed and with the
blessing and empowerment of the god Zigo, crossed the Mountains of Krak,
and traversed the fearsome valley of Gul, where he, in heroic fashion,
slew various monsters, demons, and other creatures of varied and horrific
description, and came at last, exhausted, to a spring in a cleft in the
rocks. There, in a cave, he met the mysterious and feared sorceress,
M'Pel. There, unable to look away from her beauty, he...
     "Commander," said Sheba, interrupting the story. She leapt up, and
made for the comm panel. "Finally!"
     "What is it, Sheba?"
     "Our escort, Commander. Approaching on a Delta 6 vector. She's
transmitting the recognition signal."
     "Good. Visual?"
     "Coming through, yes."
     "Okay, put him on."
     The Ziklagi had washed back into visibility some distance beyond the
buoy, and was now pulling even with the Caprica's Glory. Separated by a
mere five maxims, each was still on its own side of the border. 
     She was the Ziklagi patrol cruiser Bhogh, which would from this
point onwards escort them all the way to the Ziklagi Homeworld. After
exchanging rather...crisp pleasantries with the other, Caprica's Glory
crossed over the line, and they were on their way. Adama was annoyed that
they were required to reduce speed once in Ziklagi space, but since the
other was bristling with weapons, and the yacht had but a single gun
emplacement, there was little choice.
     The entire trip seemed to drag on endlessly, and the Bhogh spent
much of it bathing the Colonial ship with scanner radion. Adama returned
the favor.
     "They keep us waiting," said Herrin, "now we have to reduce speed. I
get a very uncomfortable feeling about this, Commander."
     "They must realize that this ship is of no threat to them
whatsoever," observed Tinia.
     "To the paranoid," said Sargamesh, "threats are everywhere. They are
probably half-convinced that we are carrying a shipload of deadly
assassins."
     "Almost makes one miss the Cylons," said Sheba, adjusting their
course to keep in-line with their escort.
     "The Cylons would have opened fire at first sight," Adama reminded
her.
     "My point exactly." She looked down at her instruments. "On course
for Ziklag, Commander. At our current speed, our ETA is..."
     "Five days, seven centars, four and one half centons," finished
Sargamesh. He spared her a look, and a slight grin. "Precisely."
     "Very good," said Adama, smiling himself. "Steady as she goes,
helm."
     "Steady aye, sir."     


     It had been almost a sectar since Pelias had been personally invited
to "attend" upon his uncle in his quarters on the Rising Star, and he was
curious as to why he had been invited.  Perhaps the old man was finally
softening up about his new choice in vocation.  Pelias almost felt
guilty, disobeying Starbuck's implicit directions to not go anywhere
alone, and it had taken a fair amount of persuasion to convince himself
that traveling on a shuttle full of people to one of the Fleet's most
frequented ships wasn't exactly skulking about alone.  Though if the
Lieutenant caught him, he fully expected to be stripped and moduled, even
if he was no longer in uniform.  
     His hand hesitated for a micron before he activated the entry chime. 
Within a few short moments, his uncle's steward, Septimus, was there
bowing shortly and politely standing aside for him to enter.  The man was
looking as old as Lord Sagan, but still stood as erectly as when Pelias
had been a child and not a thread of his immaculate attire was out of
place
     "Good evening, Master Pelias." His diction was as crisp and correct
as ever, despite his aged voice. "May I take your...?" his query stopped
as he realized the young man lacked anything he could possibly take,
including a topcoat.  
     "I'll keep it, thank you, Septimus," Pelias replied swiftly covering
the older man's slip.
     "Very well, young Sir. I expect you'll be warmer with it on,"
Septimus replied deadpan, the only hint of his humor belied by a twinkle
and a crinkle within and around his eyes.  He motioned the nephew to
precede him into the antechamber.
     "You are correct, as always, kind Sir," Pelias replied with a smile
as he entered his Uncle's suite.  Septimus was a rare find in a
manservant.  Not only was he faultless in decorum, etiquette and
efficiency, but he was also quietly observant, missing nothing that
transpired in his employer's circle of life.  He rarely commented or gave
his opinion, even when asked, but his more friendly nature since the
young man had decided to leave the Colonial Service spoke volumes about
his support for Pelias' decision.
     "Ah, nephew, there you are.  I was beginning to think you'd
forgotten our engagement," Sire Feo stood, awaiting his nephew with
goblet in hand. Make that jeweled goblet.
     "Forgive me, My Uncle." He seemed to be saying that a lot these
days.  He frowned, realizing it didn't really sit well with him. 
However, that deep rooted need to please his patriarch was difficult to
break.  And Feo was his only family.  "The shuttle was running a bit
late. Last centon pilot replacement."
     "Ambrosia, Pelias? Or are you more of a "grog" man these days?" Feo
asked with a barely concealed derisive sniff.  He motioned at Septimus
who was already crossing the room to a well-stocked personal bar that
would make the most discerning of gentlemen froth at the jowls at the
wide array of rare, and staggeringly expensive, specialty items.
     "I never turn down one of your fine ambrosias, Uncle." Pelias
replied, noting that Septimus was indeed pouring him the finest from the
stocks.  He nodded in thanks to the steward, swirling the amber depths in
his glass before savoring the aroma.  He let the flavor invade his senses
before finally taking a small sip, letting it sit on his tongue several
microns before swallowing.  By all the Lords, it was good.
     "Your father taught you to appreciate the finer aspects of what life
has to offer."
     "He was a good man, my father." Pelias replied, meaning every word. 
"I still miss him, Uncle." His father had, following the death of his
family-chosen betrothed yahrens before, married "beneath his station" and
had received little in the way of family support in the early days.
Despite that, he had risen in public office without the interference of
his family, intent to show them that he had the same backbone and
fortitude that their forefathers did. By the time Pelias' older brothers
were born, he had established himself back in the family favor through
forbearance, determination... and a reluctance to lose touch with his
inheritance.  His birthright.  Pelias didn't condemn him for it.  Or at
least he didn't until all his family was lost in the Destruction, and he
found himself in the unlikely position of taking his elder brother's
place as the "warrior".
     "Yes, he was.  It must be difficult for you to know how disappointed
he would be in you now," Feo challenged the younger man.
     Oh Uncle, can't you ever let it rest?
     "My father... knew I wanted to be an artist.  He supported my choice
to study at the Caprican Art Institute." Pelias returned calmly. "After
mother died, there was never any conflict between he and I on this,
Uncle."
     "Only because your brothers were pursuing careers as bureauticians
and military men.  It would kill him now to know his only remaining son
was throwing away his potential.  His life."
     Pelias paused.  "I'm finally realizing my potential, Uncle. Not
throwing it away." He put down his glass.
     "That sounds like something your mother would say." Feo's voice had
just the faintest whiff of acid in it. He had never liked Daphne, Pelias'
mother, and had never been reticent about making his opinion known.
     As often as possible.
     "I hope so," Pelias replied, knowing his mother and uncle had never
seen eye to eye.
     "It's not too late to make your father proud, my boy."
     Pelias shook his head, feeling sick inside, despite the fact that he
was finally comfortable in his own skin since becoming an artist.  "My
father is dead. Like all the rest of our family, back home."
     "His spirit is still with us. Can you not feel it, son?"
     Pelias whirled away from the other man.  He could never explain to
this man how oppressed he had felt at the idea of becoming a Warrior.  Of
giving up his dreams, to instead pursue the mundane life of a military
man.  There was nothing creative or artistic about death, at least not as
far as he was concerned.  Over-Lieutenant Korax of the Ziklagi Empire
obviously felt differently about that.
     But the simple thought of his deceased father, and his forefathers,
had decided the matter for him at the time.  His family historically
followed two paths, military and bureaucracy.  Several of his ancestors
had made a name for themselves in the pages of Colonial history.  Honor,
bravery, contributions to society, all the while building a family
reputation that had to be lived up to.  However, it didn't take a fusion
reaction engineer to realize that Pelias didn't fit either profile.  His
uncle had known it too, and had made him a compromising proposition. 
Truthfully, the thought of the simple, cushy desk job his uncle had
promised him, seemed slightly more tolerable than that of shaking hands,
chowing down with lobbyists, and kissing babies. Just barely.
     However, when he had come face to face with that demon from the
stygian depths of Hades Hole, he had known without a doubt that life was
too short to live for the sake of someone else, even his father.  And
when he had seen his commanding officer, Lieutenant Starbuck, reduced to
the same violent, merciless nature out of survival instinct, it had
shaken his very soul.  It had almost destroyed him when he had felt that
mindless rage himself, and responded in kind.  Through that bitter and
terrifying experience, he had learned that in war, often both sides
mimicked the other's cruelty.  Right and wrong didn't seem to exist. 
Only life or death. 
     "What would you have me do?" Pelias asked quietly. He stared down
into his glass, unwilling to endure another of his uncle's glowering
expressions.
     "I understand that the... creature may also seek revenge upon you,
Pelias.  At least that's why Commander Adama suggested that I go nowhere
alone until this debacle is over.  He felt the Ziklagi might try to use
me to persuade you to follow some unknown course of events against your
will," Feo told him, the aversion to that particular situation plain on
his bloated features.
     "Lieutenant Starbuck felt we had to take every precaution to not
give the shape shifter the upper hand." Pelias agreed.  "No hostages."
     "Then I believe you should be more involved in joining the effort to
capture the vile beast.  Surely to God, you aren't content to just stand
by and watch this egotistical officer gain all the glory associated with
capturing our enemy?"
     "Glory has little to do with it, Uncle. Starbuck knows what he's
doing. He has the support of Captain Apollo to make it happen." 
Actually, he had never been more relieved than when Starbuck had decided
to confide in the Strike Captain, ending his reluctant participation.
While Pelias would have been willing to help his former commanding
officer out of a measure of immense respect, his doubts about his own
abilities had scared him, giving him repeated nightequa's about Korax
approaching him and simply being too terrified to do anything other than
submit and die.
     With dirty trousers.
     "According to his personal file, the last time your celebrated
Lieutenant was attacked by Korax on the Nebula, he ended up having a
cardiac arrest, spending many days in Life Station, and was then assigned
to psychotherapy and an alcoholic rehabilitation program.  Now that
hardly sounds like a man destined to catch the beast.  More likely he
will once again be bested by Korax."
     Pelias paused, again meeting the eyes of the Councilman.  Obviously,
he wasn't the only one who had suffered from the nightequa's that Korax
had brought.  "That sounds like classified information, Uncle.  As such,
I don't understand why you would share it with me now.  Frankly, I think
it's inappropriate and unprofessional."
     "Are you criticizing me, boy?" Feo snapped.
     "I'm sharing my opinion with you.  In actual fact, the last time
Starbuck was attacked by Korax, he saved his father's life in a
marketplace full of crowded people.  He risked his own arrest by the
Zykonian Guardsmen to do so.  That's the Lieutenant Starbuck that I know. 
I don't doubt he's had a difficult time to go through after that...
despicable monstrosity left its mark on him.  I certainly know that I
have."
     "Then if you have so much respect for the Lieutenant, it seems only
natural to me that you would want to be at his side, helping him in this
matter," Feo changed tack.  "And in the meantime, you could remove the
blight on our family's honor that you so publicly effected when you
resigned from the Colonial Service." A little more guilt went a long way.
     "I'm a civilian now, it's not my place. Starbuck made that clear."
Pelias shook his head, though wincing at the heaviness in his chest at
his uncle's words.  What would his father think of him now?  Would he be
disgusted with his cowardice?  That he wasn't willing to apply himself
and put aside his own desires for the sake of his family honor?
     "Even your mother understood honor, Pelias."
     Oh God. Here it comes. 
     "Don't you realize the sacrifices she underwent in her life to
become a bureautician's wife, boy?  To support him through his career,
both good times and bad?  Where do you think your inclinations as an
artist come from?  She gave it all up, for your father.  As was her role. 
As is yours." Feo continued, picking up the abandoned glass and thrusting
it back into Pelias' hands.  
     The truth was, Feo needed this creature out of the picture sooner,
rather than later, if he could in any way take advantage of Adama and
Tinia's absence to reconvene the Council and push through the rulings
that would give him the reasonable salary that he deserved for his
diligent service, a justifiable twenty-five percent increase.  A simple
vote of majority could also give them a half-yahren's worth of severance
pay should they lose their places on Council when elections came around
again.  He had several other ideas about changing the existing rules, but
this would be a good start, and realistically, he couldn't see much in
the way of contention coming from his peers, since they would also
benefit.
     As for his nephew, the young man would make reasonable bait to lure
the creature out of hiding.  Ideally, Pelias' participation would redeem
some of the respect lost since the boy quit the service, dishonoring the
family.  And if something happened to Pelias... well, at least he would
die doing the right thing.  In fact, that would make an ideal epitaph. 
     "I'll... speak to Starbuck again, Uncle." Pelias tried to keep the
pained annoyance out of his voice. He failed. "And see if there's some
way I can help."
     "That's my boy." Feo smiled briefly, gently clinking his glass
against his nephew's.  "Your parents would be proud."


     Much to Adama's non-surprise, his escort was not at all chatty
during the transit to Ziklag. Out of courtesy, and in an attempt to
foster some measure of good-will, the commander of the Bhogh was invited
over to the Caprica's Glory, for a "state dinner". Much to his surprise,
Adama found his invitation accepted. The alien Captain, one Dagash, and
two others, arrived by means of the Ziklagi transport device, something
which still tended to set Colonial stomachs churning, and was introduced
to Adama's entourage. 
     Dinner was a lengthy affair, Nizaka having told them that formal
meals on Ziklag were expected to be both long and drawn out. Though he
hadn't recognized the significant difference between the two until he was
fully involved in the lengthiest meal of his lifetime, both
chronologically and unpleasantly. While they talked, they alien skipper
said little of substance, and used as little in the way of pleasantries,
all the while watched closely by Nizaka and Sargamesh.
     "And you are merely refugees?" asked the other.
     "Yes," replied Adama, explaining briefly their flight from the Cylon
Holocaust. "We never meant to trespass in your, or anyone's, space. But
we have a course to follow, and it led us across your frontier."
     "You could have gone around," said X'lxlar, apparently Dagash's XO.
     "We had no idea how far 'around' was," said Sheba, trying not to be
annoyed at the other's tone. The Ziklagi turned to regard her, and from
what she had learned from Nizaka about the Ziklagi face, it was not a
friendly look. "We knew nothing of your space, even of your existence."
     "Ignorance. Yes, I understood your people considered 'ignorance' a
viable excuse for failure to recognize Ziklagi boundaries and laws,"
replied the other. "There is, also, however, the matter of Boron-Din, and
the incident there."
     "We were attacked," replied Adama, using his most diplomatic tones.
"By someone we knew naught of, and who did not make themselves known to
us. Several of my people died as a result."
     "Regrettable," said Xl'xlar, with all the depth of conviction as if
he were just noticing that it was irritably raining.
     "Still, one cannot blame us if we approached ships of an unknown
species with caution," said Dagash. "Prudence alone would commend such."
     "Caution is all well and good," interjected Tinia. "But needless
deaths occurred. On both sides. Deaths that could have been avoided."
     "People were kidnapped, and used as slaves," said Sargamesh, eyes
fixed directly on Dagash. "Taken from stealth. There is no honor in
this."
     "There is always honor in victory. Besides, had they not been there,
they might have fared better," replied the Ziklagi, indifferently. as
though he were addressing a mental defective. Then, as if that were not
enough, he yawned. Sargamesh said nothing, but it was clear that he was
angry. Not only had Zohrloch colonists, women and children, been murdered
by Ziklagi raiders, but all but one of his shipmates had been slaughtered
by them, and he sold into slavery. 
     Oh, blades! Oh Ziklagi throats!
     "But none of that matters here," said the Ziklagi Captain. "All that
is of moment is your...mission to Ziklag." He spoke the word as if it
tasted bad. Perhaps it did. He and his party rose. "Until then," he said,
and withdrawing a commlink from his uniform, signaled his ship. Within
moments, they were gone.
     "Lorrrrrrrrrrrrrrds of Kobol!" exhaled Siress Tinia. "If that is a
sample of how they negotiate..."
     "Well, we wanted to see," said Sheba.
     "Yes, we did," said Sargamesh, holding a finger up to his lips.
"Interesting folk, are they not?"
     "Uh...yes," said Herrin. "Very. Virtually every sentence an evasion,
a criticism, of everyone but themselves." He watched as Sargamesh stuck
his fingers between the sofa cushions. He smiled, withdrawing a small
object. No larger than a coin, it was obviously electronic, and hadn't
been there before. He held it out to Adama. The Commander took it, and
with a look of disgust, dropped it to the floor, grinding it to bits
under his heel. 
     "The dirty little..." began Sheba. "You expected that?" she asked,
looking at both aliens.
     "I would have been surprised if they had not," said the Zohrloch. He
chuckled slightly. "I almost feel as if I'm back home."
     "We can expect our quarters in the capital to be monitored as well,
Commander," said Nizaka. "And they will be much more clever about it than
this, you may be sure."


     Starbuck stared into his glass of alechti as he sat at the bar in
the Har-Bitah.  He smiled happily to himself, despite the hideous noise
in the background that some called music, now that his sectonly
appointment with Dr. Salik was over and he had once again been cleared
for full flight status.  His appointments had been reduced to every two
sectons, and now that he had been off the mind-numbing meds that the CMO
had prescribed in the early stages of his recovery-truth be known, he'd
eliminated them a lot sooner than the physician was aware of-he could
once again imbibe in alcoholic beverages... "moderately". 
     Salik had warned him that he could be hauled into the Life Station
at the drop of a flight helmet for a blood-alcohol test to ensure that he
was following the program as mapped out by the Colonial Service. 
Starbuck had grinned and shrugged, suggesting they start right then. 
He'd even held out his arm helpfully, keeping in mind a recent illicit
ambrosia, or two, with Apollo.
     Doctor Salik had studied him for a moment, and had then told him
point blank, "Don't think you're fooling anyone Lieutenant Starbuck.
Except perhaps yourself."
     It had thrown him for a milli-centon. Hades, he thought he'd pulled
the proverbial woolon over the physician's eyes.  After all, who bluffed,
who bovine-monged, better than Starbuck? But the more he thought about
it, the more he realized that Salik had seen a long line of like
Warriors, and was more than aware that they would stick to the "program"
just long enough to get their flight clearance, and would then go back to
their former lifestyle.
     Really, when it came right down to it, basically all that Starbuck
really needed was a fast ship, good friends, the love of a beautiful
woman, a little action to keep him on his toes... and some purpose in
life.  Ironically, he had lost most of that during his so-called therapy,
or at least he had felt that way at times.  Cassiopeia had stood by him
through it all though. She was one special lady. 
     "You look like the felix that swallowed the avian," Apollo murmured,
taking a seat alongside the Lieutenant.
     Starbuck held up a finger, and the Zykonian barkeep efficiently drew
another alechti and slid it along the bar in front of the Captain.  "Life
is good."
     Apollo sniffed as he took a sip. "Yeah, Bucko. You have cardiac
failure, get bitten by four billion arachnons, you have a Ziklagi shape
shifter out to kill you, and you think life is good."
     "Well, that's beside the point," Starbuck grinned.  "How's Boomer
today?"
     "When I telecommed, Athena said he was feeling better.  I think we'd
better give him a couple more days though to recuperate though. The toxin
was fairly well degraded, but it was bad enough.  Apparently, he hasn't
moved far off the longseat and he's alternating between watching Triad on
the IFB and Rykgo on the Zykonian network that he managed to pick up." 
     "Sounds like a beautiful dream," Starbuck grinned.  When was the
last time he had had the luxury of just hanging out on the couch to watch
sports?  Probably some furlon that he had spent at Apollo's house before
the Holocaust.
     "Reminds me of that furlon we spent watching the Triad finals,"
Apollo smiled at his friend. 
     Starbuck nodded enthusiastically, chuckling at the memory.  "Until
your mother set us to painting her kitchen."
     "Idle hands are Diabolis' workshop." Apollo recounted his mother's
words with a smile.  "But you talked her into letting us finish watching
the game, and prepping the room in between periods." Apollo
diplomatically left out Starbuck's laying bets on the game out of the
earshot of Ila, and cleaning a na‹ve Zac out in the process.
     "She had a soft spot for me," Starbuck smiled at the memory of Ila. 
She had taken him into her family and into her heart when he had first
darkened her doorstep while he and Apollo were at the Academy.  In fact,
she seemed determined to shower him with kindness and hospitality giving
him his first real inkling in ages of what having a mother was like-his
memories of his own mother being so remote.  Hades, he would have done
anything for Apollo's mother.  Painting a kitchen seemed so paltry an
attempt to repay her kindness.
     "I remember." Apollo agreed.  Ila had seen something special in the
young man who had become her eldest son's best friend.  She had once told
Apollo that friendship was 'a bond of trust, Apollo.  As such, it can
endure what many other relationships in life never can'.  I think she
liked you better than me."
     "Most people did," Starbuck agreed solemnly, ducking to avoid the
reflexive smack to the head that Apollo half-heartedly threw his way.  He
laughed at his friend's apparent outrage.  "And who can blame them
really? I mean, well...when you have me..."
     Apollo shook his head at the gibe.  "Isn't that the furlon where you
and Athena...?" He trailed off, curbing his trip down memory lane,
remembering that it was hardly appropriate to be discussing his pregnant
sister's previous relationship with her former lover.  Must be the
alechti... or the company.
     "Yeah... " Starbuck sighed, having no such compunctions.  Athena had
been in her last yahren at the Academy.  When she had come home for a
long secton-end break, he had been stunned at how the gangly young girl
he remembered-two big knees and two big eyes and not much else-had
matured into the beautiful woman of whom Adama and Ila were justly proud.
Athena had admitted later that Starbuck had then begun pursuing her until
she caught him.  It was a pivotal point in their relationship, though he
didn't even kiss her that first time out, much to her chagrin, he
recalled with a smile. Despite his infamous libido, he had too much
respect for her parents to do anything other than spend what Apollo
referred to as "precious centars off" getting to know the captivating
young woman a little better, while no longer thinking of her as "Apollo's
little sister".  Apollo who?  It wasn't until they were both on the
Galactica almost a yahren later that their relationship had progressed
beyond some mutual and highly enjoyable flirting.  "A long time ago,
buddy."
     "Hard to believe she's going to be a mother," Apollo nodded,
checking his chrono. "Seems like just yesterday she was playing with
dolls. In porcine-tails..."
     "I know.  Makes me feel..."
     "What?" Apollo asked, his interest piqued.
     Starbuck shrugged. "Like time is flying by, yet standing still at
the same time. At least for me."
     "What about you and Cassie? Are you going to...ask her? Sometime in
this life, I mean."
     "What?" Starbuck asked, deliberately obtuse.
     "To get sealed?"
     "Me?" Starbuck pointed to himself dramatically while his eyebrows
disappeared beneath his hairline.
     "Seriously." Apollo said quietly, silently hoping his friend would
drop the bravado and level with him.
     "I'm not ready to get married." He shook his head briefly to accent
the fact. "No no no no....."
     "Define ready."
     "Motivated towards sealing." He smirked as Apollo rolled his eyes.
     "I know what it means, dictionary breath.  When will you be ready?"
     "When we find Earth.  When I can stop looking over my shoulder and
checking my scanners for Cylons and Ziklagoio."
     "That could be a long time, Starbuck," Apollo said quietly.  
     "I know."
     "How does Cassiopeia feel about it?"
     Starbuck paused, taking a deep drink of alechti before turning back
towards Apollo.  "We're happy, Apollo.  Just the way we are.  Really, the
only real reason to get sealed is to start a family. At least that's how
I see it. And I'm not going to do that until I can be a decent father."
     Apollo smirked, shaking his head.  "That's not the only reason to
get sealed, Starbuck. There's love, companionship, the desire to make a
real commitment to a woman.  And, by the way, I consider myself a decent
father."
     "I didn't mean to infer that you aren't." Starbuck replied.  "Even
if you did sort of come to it all of a sudden. I just... " He squirmed
for a moment under his friend's steady gaze.  "I want to know that when
we have children-Cassie and I-that I have a good chance of being around
to see them grow up."     
     "Is that really it?" Apollo asked.  Hades, the idea of Starbuck
finally committing to a woman was unbelievable even to him.  But in his
mind, it had little to do with his friend's image of parenthood, and
everything to do with his fear of commitment.  
     "What else... ?" Starbuck hesitated as he saw the skepticism on his
best friend's features.  "Ah... I see.  You think it's just an excuse."
     "You said it, not me." Apollo took a sip of his drink.
     Starbuck sniffed briefly as he thought about it, unsure how to
explain it to his friend.  As much as it sounded like a classic Starbuck
excuse, the mere thought of having children while still being pursued by
their enemies, just didn't sit right with him.  Maybe it was because he'd
been raised by over-worked, well-meaning strangers who were trying to
make sure he was simply fed, nourished, sheltered, and educated enough to
contribute something to society to "pay them back" for their
"generosity".  It was all rather efficient, but impersonal.  And while he
really couldn't complain about his Colonial upbringing-being one of
countless thousands of parentless, often unwanted children who had gone
through the system-he still didn't want that for his own children.
     "It's different for you.  If something happened to you-and or
Sheba-your father, or Athena could raise Boxey.  Family." He grimaced as
a frown crossed the other's face.  It had to prey on Apollo's mind at
times, especially with both of them flying combat.  "If something
happened to Cassie and I..." He let out a deep, forceful breath. 
Realistically, Cassie was a Med Tech on a Battlestar.  While she was less
at risk than him, the increasing amount of trust that Dr. Salik was
placing in her abilities made her the usual choice for landing parties,
such as on Gamoray, Paradeen or even the recent rescue mission of Bojay's
team when they had replenished their resources on that way station planet
where they had discovered the weather control system.  "I don't want my
kid on the Orphan Ship, Apollo.  I want him to have a real future. A home
that he stays in for more than a yahren or two at a time. A couple doting
parents and a sibling or two.  Friends that are with him throughout his
school yahrens.  Memories..." He cleared his throat, finding his voice
annoyingly close to breaking.  
     "A two-hovermobile garage and a family daggit." Apollo murmured in
return, squeezing Starbuck's arm when the Lieutenant looked down into his
drink, seemingly fascinated by its amber depths all of a sudden. Starbuck
simply wanted to give his own child what he never had.  It was
heart-warming in its simplicity and not exactly what Apollo had expected,
but then Starbuck occasionally surprised him. "I think you forgot the
white picket fence."
     "I don't like fences," Starbuck replied in a heartbeat.
     Apollo sniffed. "I think... I understand. But... does Cassie?" 
     Starbuck nodded slowly. "Yeah. And she agrees with me. She didn't
exactly have an easy go of it as a kid. Her parents separated, and she
spent most of her time shuttling between her mother, who made Colonel
Tigh look like a free spirit when it came to rules and discipline, and
her father, a merchant who spent a lot of time traveling the Twelve
Worlds and beyond, and treated Cass more like a prospective partner in
the business than a kid."
     "I... didn't know that," Apollo replied, wondering if Starbuck was
aware that Cassiopeia had thought herself pregnant recently, according to
Sheba.  Perhaps the Med Tech had opted to keep the news to herself, and
not add one more worry to her lover's list.  "But, what if Cassie became
pregnant accidentally? It happens." Even Sheba had recently thought
herself with child.
     "Well, one of the benefits of working in the Health Care system, is
Cassie has better access to contraception. I hear there's a worry that
the Fleet is running low on some of the more sophisticated means of
ensuring that sex is simply for pleasure." He grinned wickedly at his
friend.  "But we can still fall back on yahrens old proven methods, even
if they're a bit less convenient for... me." He sniffed and took another
sip of his alechti, shaking his head when the barkeep queried another. 
Yeah, a simple contraceptive hypo lasting the patient, either man or
woman, six sectars was apparently getting harder to come by.  What in
Hades did they gather on that planet full of so-called resources?  Surely
to God there were some harvestable botanicals or extractable hormones
that could reformulate the best anti-fatherhood program known to mankind!
     "It's still not fail proof, Starbuck. If it was, there would be a
few less children in the Fleet."
     "Well, it's only as reliable as the people using it." Starbuck
almost ate his words at Apollo glimmer of amusement. "Hey, this is
something I take seriously." 
     Apollo nodded slowly, pondering all Starbuck had said. It was food
for thought and a rare insight into his friend. "But what about just
getting sealed for the sake of love and commitment? Parenthood aside."
     "I'm in love. I'm committed." Starbuck shrugged. "So is Cassie. How
would sealing change that?  What's the point?"
     "Okay, suppose you got sealed, and then found out that one or both
of you could never have children, modern medicine notwithstanding. What
then? Would that make it all pointless?"
     "Hey, I just realized; you're going to be an uncle.
Congratulations," said Starbuck, and signaled the barkeep. "I need a
refill."
     "Starbuck!"
     "Let's see...what could we do...?" He took his glass, and sipped.
     "Well, for one, you could be sharing quarters," prompted Apollo,
irritated by Starbuck's way of dodging around the point as if it were a
Cylon attack. "You're not now."
     "No, I'm sharing quarters with you now," Starbuck chuckled wryly. 
"Sorry, pal.  I'm not having your baby."
     "I appreciate that, Starbuck," Apollo returned with a chuckle. "More
than you can imagine. I don't get it though, wouldn't you rather be
living with Cassiopeia than in the billet?"
     "No."
     "No?"
     "No." Starbuck looked out over the crowded Har-Bitah, before
returning his attention to Apollo.  "You...wouldn't understand."
     "Try me." Apollo suggested.  "People tell me I'm very
understanding."
     "It's your sensitive nature," Starbuck quipped, grabbing a handful
of nuts from a bowl and munching them, watching the other roll his eyes.
"All right. Just remember, I was raised in an orphanage where I shared a
room with at least fifteen other kids at a time.  Then I went to the
billet at the Academy, and then to barracks on various ships. I've never
had my own... space." He smiled for a moment. "Unless you include my
Viper."
     "But..."
     "Cassie and I work opposite a lot. And she's advancing her career,
and spending more time in the Life Station."  More and more often, Salik
was entrusting Cassiopeia with increasing responsibilities as she
evidenced just how intelligent and keen she was to increase her scope of
knowledge and take on duties that would formally be assigned to young
physicians in training. Which is what she, essentially, had become. "The
way I figure it, I would spend a heck of a lot of time... well..."
     "Alone."
     Starbuck shrugged.  "Basically.  It's not my cup of java, buddy.  I
don't handle "alone" all that well.  Lords, if I didn't have Jolly
snoring on one side of me, and Giles farting on the other side, not to
mention Barton talking in his sleep all the time... well, think of them
as my own personal Colonial lullaby." He smirked at the image of the
symphonic nature of the billet lulling him to sleep in his bunk.  "I'm
gonna miss that weird breathing thing that Boomer does when he starts
dreaming..."
     Apollo laughed. "Too much information, Bucko. Way too much." It had
been a while since he had been in a billet since first becoming a Captain
and then being promoted to Strike Captain of the Galactica.  Sagan, even
in his final yahren of the Academy he had been afforded semi-private
quarters as head of the illustrious Phoenix Squadron. In contrast to
Starbuck, he remembered the difficulty he had had getting accustomed to
sleeping in a room full of Cadets at the Academy, after having his own
room for most of his life. Of course, there were a few brief yahrens
sharing with a much younger Zac, until Apollo convinced his mother to let
him take over the attic.
     "You asked," Starbuck replied, his thoughts again drawn to
Cassiopeia.  In a lot of ways, they were both contributing to the Fleet
and their people to the best of their abilities.  For different
reasons-Starbuck being determined that his children would have a father,
Cassiopeia currently focusing on her career-they were of a similar mind
about "family planning", as Cassie called it.  It was probably one of the
reasons that they were such a good fit.  He grinned, his mind drawn to
more carnal desires.  A perfect fit actually.
     "Here comes Captain Xlax," Apollo told him, as the Zykonian crossed
the room.  Starbuck immediately signaled for another drink and caught it,
leaving it in place as he moved over one barstool clearing a spot between
them for Xlax.
     "Captain Apollo, Lieutenant Starbuck, good to see you both again."
The Zykonian joined them.
     "And you, Captain Xlax," Apollo responded in kind.
     "Xlax." Starbuck nodded, raising his glass to the other.
     "How do you like our alechti, Starbuck?" Xlax asked, dropping the
rank in response to the Colonial Warrior doing so as he picked up his
glass.  He liked the less formal approach of this Human.  It was quaint,
and a departure from his own chain of command.
     "You don't miss much, do you, pal?" Starbuck replied, not surprised
that the Zykonian had noticed his graduation from gurrocht.  "It's good. 
A little heavier than some of our usual brews, especially that swamp
water in the Officer's Club, but a whole lot more flavorful."
     The Zykonian's tongue flickered before he replied, "I'm pleased that
you are enjoying it." He pulled out a handheld computer, somewhat similar
to their datapads.  "Now I brought the construction plan of  Gamma
Section, Level Three, as you requested." With the touch of a digit the
plans came on screen and the Warriors leaned in to examine it.  "What is
it you need to know?"
     "Environmental controls, all accesses in and out, including waste
recycling conduits and repair ducting, ability to seal it off..."
Starbuck began listing off their ideas.  Over-Lieutenant Korax of the
Ziklagi Empire didn't know what he had coming.  Somehow the idea of
turning the tables on the vile, alien, when he was at his most
vulnerable, was irresistible.

Chapter Sixteen

     He was cold.  So cold.
     Rarely had so deep a chill penetrated his flesh, consuming him so
thoroughly.  Shivers wracked his body and his mind sought refuge in the
thoughts of the warmer regions of Ziklag where Korax had once done
military survival training in his youth.  It was weakness, pure and
simple, and not to be tolerated.
     What had once been a gaping hole in his chest had almost regenerated
and the agony had lessened to an irritating ache.  It infuriated him that
he had undoubtedly succumbed to some kind of microbial invasion, and this
obvious febrile state was the result.  In response, he had willed his
body to annihilate the infection, envisioning an all out attack on the
microorganisms and their complete eradication.
     His traitorous body did not comply.
     Forced to burrow like a wretched rodent beneath the scraps of refuse
left behind on the construction site, he focused on the one thing that
would warm him.  The destruction of his mortal enemy.  When he at last
had the Human, Starbuck, in his clutches, he would flay every last piece
of flesh from the man's fragile body, slowly laying naked his very bones,
until he wept for mercy.  But there would be none forthcoming.
     He could feel his hatred envelop him, covering him like a protective
mantle.  Making him invincible.  For hours on end he could imagine
himself standing over the supplicating form of Starbuck, exacting his
slow and carefully orchestrated revenge.  It nourished his soul.  It
eased his pain.  It made him whole once again.
     And he waited.  
     For he knew that Starbuck would find the clue eventually, despite
the intellectual disparity between their races.  And if the Lieutenant
survived the arachnoids, the incensed Warrior would come looking for him,
bent on revenge.  Furious.  Careless.  Vulnerable.  
     In the recesses of his mind the inkling of an idea tried to come to
the surface.  It nagged at him, trying to overcome his pleasure.  His
obsession.  Something about sabotage and information.  It had ceased to
be important.
     It occurred to him he might be mad. Perhaps, he briefly considered,
his obsession, his repeated humiliation, had driven his mind over the
edge of sanity, that his injuries had ravaged his brain. But that was
inconsequential as well.  All that concerned him was fulfilling his
desire.  His need.  His own selfish appetites.  Nothing else mattered.
     He laughed then and the way the air around him filled with the
telltale condensation of his breath startled him.  The intrusive cold was
not a symptom of disease after all.  It was environmental.  How very...
intriguing.
     He slowly moved from his lair, his aching body reliving the moment
Starbuck's laser blast had hit him in the chest.  He had been so close to
snapping the aged Human's neck that he could taste it.  That precious
moment where he felt more alive and invigorated than at any other time in
his life had been stolen from him.  The taking of another's life, a mere
weakling inferior invader's insect existence!...it filled him with a
satisfaction more fulfilling than thousand successful copulations could
ever be.
     And the pulsating pleasure would have been threefold when he saw the
loss echoed in the face of Starbuck. It gave him pause.  He could embrace
the other's suffering in more ways than one.  Physical pain and
emotional.  He couldn't rule out the breaking of the Warrior's body and
mind simultaneously.  It was delectable in its entirety. 
     He moved slowly through the abandoned construction site.  All his
senses were attuned to his surroundings.  A light mist seemed to hover on
the air, like a fog blanketing the great bogs of Gaelgh.  He could feel
the almost welcome moisture settle on his hide.  Long had it been since
his could slake his thirst, having not had the energy or the will to
replenish his water or food stores.
     But what was it?  Where had it come from?
     Then abruptly his skin began to crawl, then itch, then unusual
raised welts appeared and he almost expected them to erupt, unleashing a
scourge upon him.  His hands tore at his flesh, desperate to stop the
burning irritation, and for a moment he thought back to Starbuck and his
plans of slowly and agonizingly removing the flesh from the Human's body
as a precursor to his eventual death.  It was almost ironic now as his
own suckered digits ripped into his hide.
     He began to run, to head towards the water supply he knew could ease
the burning.  He had to rid his hide of the chemical irritant.  He tried
to concentrate, to take the form of the Rekka, as he had done on the
asteroid. The external all-encompassing tough hide of the creature might
be enough to shield him from the chemical of its own accord, its mucous
secretions ridding him of all traces afterwards.  But he was unable to
take its form, his weakness, pain and suffering preventing a successful
transmutation.
     He roared in fury and frustration.
     Then he was at the cistern, and he threw his body into the water,
immediately feeling a slight easing of the irritation.  Still, the
chemical settled on any exposed parts, and infiltrated his respiratory
system as he involuntarily breathed it in.  He submerged himself
entirely, settling on taking the form of the sea dwelling Roesha, hoping
to revel in the allayment of his misery. But as before, no change would
come. As he opened his eye, he could see the blood-his blood-spreading
through the cistern from his self-inflicted wounds.  Self-flagellation. 
His procreator would be proud.
     Abruptly and inexplicably his head was again above the surface.  The
cistern was draining of its own accord!  He gasped as the air choked him,
reflexively dropping all attempts at the Roesha's form.  Again, the
chemical settled upon him, assailing his flesh anew.  Instinctually, he
cleaved into his hide, ribbons of flesh coming off in his hand.  He
screamed with the pain as the chemical infiltrated the rawness of exposed
tissue.
     He had to escape.  
     Once again, he tried to shift, to take the form of a fleet-footed
being, but once again, his tormented body refused to obey as he was
wracked with agony.  He raced towards the only other large source of
water that was now full with the runoff of the cistern.  The waste pipes.
     His body quivered in pain with each strain of  muscle or stretch of
sinew.  He forced the hatch open, revulsion encompassing him as he
squeezed through the pipe, and dropped into the mostly foul liquid below. 
It was debasing.  Forced to find comfort and safety amid the waste-the
sewage-of Beings so inferior to the Ziklagoio. The Master Race. It was a
blow to his pride, his ego, his honor.
     As the organic matter surrounded him, and his breath grew short, he
again tried to change form, this time successfully.  The Mok, a beast
from the primordial muck of the lunar swamplands, and able to stay
submerged for long stretches, its thick, textured hide a barrier to the
hideous, toxic soup that he now swam in, save where he was injured.
     He paused, trying to gather his thoughts, trying to form some
rational idea of what had just happened.  Of how he had been forced from
his lair.  Then a mild rumbling distracted him and he twisted in the
pipe, trying to determine what was occurring now.
     A rush of hot water and turbulence hit him so hard, he was tumbling
through the pipes. Unbeknownst to him, these pipes were periodically
flushed with clean water, hot from the main reactor's heat exchanger,
cleaning them out. He rolled over and over until he had lost all sense of
orientation or time.  He was sucked or pushed onward, it didn't matter
which, and with a sense of impending doom he realized that at the first
junction of the waste pipes lay the new primary treatment system with its
massive rotating blades that sliced organic matter to sludge within
seconds before sending it onwards.
     The desperation and fear consumed him as helplessness and
hopelessness set in.  He reached out with massive tentacles trying to
stop the momentum, but the water pressure was too great.  Then as
abruptly as it had started, the turbulence stopped.
     He continued to soar through the waste pipe, now seeing the deadly
blades before him, but mysteriously, they had ceased their rapid
rotation.  He raced passed them, his stomach in his throat, feeling
another rending of his flesh as an extremity caught on a razor-sharp
edge.  Then his progress began to slow as the water level gradually
dropped.
     His tentacles affixed and he stopped his tumultuous ride, merely
thanking the gods that he was still alive.  He groped his way along,
finding a secondary and then tertiary system of conduits, winding his way
through a maze of pipelines before finally finding a grate and ripping it
off, and escaping from the underworld.
     By Oghul, he would triumph yet! He would! He would! 
     He pulled himself upward and out of the water, regaining his form as
his body heaved from his exertions.  Prostrate on a hard metal grill,
still within some system of pipes that he would undoubtedly find his way
out of, he flipped over, seeing the filtered light from above shining
through.  He shifted position as something dug into his spine and he
reached behind him and held it before his eye.
     A Colonial collar pin.
     He roared with fury, stunned at the evidence in his hand that
somehow the cretinous Colonial Warrior had managed to orchestrate this
plot. He wondered briefly if it was a message, or a failed attempt on his
life.  He was about to hurl it away, when an idea oozed into his mind.
Yes, he could use this. But he needed to finish healing, and the station
was no place to do it.
     He had to get down to the planet.

Chapter Seventeen

     At last the day came, and they approached the world of Nizaka's
birth. Or, as she explained it to Herrin, her osh ntgnaah, "the breaking
of the shell".
     "Eggs," said the councilor aide. "It seems so..."
     "Bizarre?" she asked him, with a slight half-smile.
     "Yes. Except for the Ovion on Carillon," he explained, "I don't
think we've ever encountered a sentient species that reproduces by egg."
     "The majority of species on Ziklag do," she replied. "Mammals are
rare, and mostly harmful. Poisonous even. Perhaps that is why my people
have often feared them."
     "Well, we're nothing to fear. We don't want your territory."
     "Their territory," she reminded him. "Not mine." She turned back to
the viewports, eyes fixed on her homeworld.
     Ziklag was 84.7% the gravity of Caprica, and slightly smaller than
Kobol. A dusty reddish-brown hue, it showed few open bodies of water from
this vantage point, and no real mountains to speak of. Mineral poor
compared to the Colonies and with a much less varied eco-system, Ziklag
was not a pretty or attractive world, by Human standards, and life there
had always been hard. A struggle for survival. Hard, of course, for the
slaves who did most of the work to support the callous and rapacious
ruling class.
     "Look!" she said, pointing. Almost smiling. "It is raining! Over
Tih'woh, near where I was born. It's actually raining, Herrin!"
     "Is...Tih'woh,' he stumbled over the alien word, "the capital city?"
     "No, but it is not very far from it. Perhaps two hundred or so of
your kilometrons, I think. Look, the polar cap." She pointed , and he
could make out the northern ice cap, expansive in winter, whose grip over
the northern hemisphere was only just beginning to loosen.
     Then, it was gone. The nearly three-quarters full planet disappeared
from view, as the Caprica's Glory turned away to take up the directed
orbital position. As they followed the Bhogh to their allotted place,
Nizaka turned away. Herrin followed her. 
     "Did it hurt?" he asked her.
     "A little," she replied. "But not as much as I'd expected. Oh, the
anger is still there, true. But it actually felt good to see it, again."
She turned back to the port, as they followed their escort. Ahead, and a
little below them, they could see a huge spacedock facility. In one slip,
looking for all the star system like a smashed hovermobile, was the
wrecked Gee Tih, apparently recovered from the site of the battle with
the Galactica, and brought back. In the slip next to her, her obvious
twin, the Zah, continued to take shape.
     "Do you think they will actually rebuild her?" asked Sheba, looking
at the savaged Gee Tih. Never having seen it from this angle, she was
shocked at the amount of damage the warship had suffered. It seemed
unreal that it still held together.
     "They may have no choice," said Adama, next to her. "With rebellions
ongoing, they cannot afford to lose anything. Perhaps they deem it better
to try."
     "Or imperative to never admit absolute defeat," added Sheba.
Sargamesh nodded at her approvingly.
     "When do we go down to the surface?" asked Siress Tinia.
     "I don't know," replied Adama.  "And I believe they intend to keep
us in the dark about as much as possible as long as they possibly can."
     "Yes. Considering that they asked us here, they are hardly
accommodating." Tinia interjected.
     At last they reached their assigned position in orbit, the Bhogh
departing without a word. They were not docked, either to ship or
station, but just sitting there. So they waited. And waited. As they did
so, Nizaka continued to advise them on expected Ziklagi behavior towards
them. The sharpness. The rudeness. Even outright insults were to be
expected, she told them.
     "What about the Zykonians?" asked Baker. 
     "Well, you already have some experience with them," replied the
Ziklagi. "For all their faults, Zykonians are very polite, especially in
diplomatic settings. They will usually only insult if insulted. Then, it
becomes a sort of contest, actually. Zykonians love a good insult match,
especially after a few drinks, the way you Humans seem to enjoy team
sports. If one starts, they will expect you to grip yourself."
     "Uhh, that's hold your own, Nizaka," corrected Herrin.
     "Oh. Right." Damn!
     "Lords of Kobol," laughed Sheba softly. 
     "Their language refers to it as 'civil discourse'," Nizaka told
them. 
     "We'll see how civil, I'm betting," said Adama, with a twinkle in
his eye. Before anyone could utter another word, the commlink beeped. 
     "Ziklag Central Control, Commander," reported Sargamesh. "We have
received word from Chancellor Pentash's office."
     "Put him on, please," said Adama.
     "It is a text message only, sir." He indicated the instruments.
Words on a screen. No voice or image. A slight, just short of a slap in
the face. "We may go ashore in...fifty centons."
     "How?" asked Tinia with a shudder. "Are they going to use
that...beaming machine to bring us down?"
     "No. They say we are to descend by ship. Our shuttle is considered a
military vehicle, so it is forbidden."
     "But it's unarmed," said Baker. "We are a diplomatic vessel."
     "They insist," said Sargamesh.
     "What then?" asked Adama.
     "We land the Caprica's Glory, Commander," replied the Zohrloch.


     "Right.  I see.  Okay.  Thanks, Xlax." Starbuck switched off the
comm unit, cutting his transmission to the Brylon Station.  His face
stony, he glanced at Apollo and Boomer who were waiting expectantly.  His
jaw tightened as he shook his head, and then he slammed the edge of his
fist against the unit... getting a few dirty looks from attending
technicians on the Galactica's bridge.  "Frack, frack, frack, frack,
frack!!!!"
     "Well, that can't be good." Boomer remarked deadpan.
     "What happened?" Apollo asked.
     "The fracking power generator overloaded!" Starbuck returned,
letting out a sharp breath.  "The blades stopped rotating.  Korax is
still in one piece."
     Apollo nodded soberly.
     "Frack!" Starbuck cursed again.
     "So you keep saying." Boomer folded his arms over his chest
tolerantly.  "Isn't that why you insisted on a 'Plan B'?"
     Starbuck nodded slowly, then groused, "I liked 'Plan A' better."
     "It was beautiful in its simplicity." Boomer agreed.
     "Simplicity?" Starbuck looked at him in disgust.  "That took days of
planning and coordination with the Zykonians."
     "Too bad you never checked the power generator in that time." Boomer
returned.
     "Boray."
     Boomer smiled.  "On to 'Plan B'."
 
 
     The descent through Ziklag's atmosphere was long and tedious, as
they were ordered to rendezvous with, and then to unwaveringly follow, a
pair of atmospheric police escorts, which routed them circuitously around
this, that, and the other "militarily sensitive area". At last, they
touched down on the landing field at the spaceport outside T'chou-witu,
the capital city.
     "No honor guard," noted Sheba, looking out the ports, as they taxied
to a stop in front of a large hangar. 
     "Are you surprised?" asked Sargamesh. "After all, all non-Ziklagoio
are worms."
     "Present company excluded," chirped Nizaka. She was dressed in
Colonial attire denoting a Councilor's aide, her meager baggage at her
side. They moved to the airlock, waiting as the system cycled to equal
pressure.
     "Here goes," muttered Baker.
     Though formal, the reception as they descended the ramp was muted.
"Chilly", Siress Tinia put it. The sickly light of the sun only added to
the Human's revulsion at seeing the gathered Ziklagoio. Fortunately,
lessons from Nizaka had prepared them to some extent.
     "This way, honored guests," said a uniformed Ziklagi, and Sheba
guessed, from the way he stressed the last two words, just how "honored"
they truly were. They passed between a number of Ziklagi personnel, some
obviously security, some they knew not what. As the ship was drawn into
the hangar, Adama turned, and pointing a control at it, raised the ramp
and sealed the hatch. If their escort had an opinion about this, he gave
no sign whatsoever.
     Inside the terminal building, they were seated in an aircar, and
took off. Every one of them found the seats uncomfortable in the extreme,
since they were not designed for Human anatomy, but none would give the
officious twit who had greeted them the satisfaction of showing it. As
they rode through the city, their escort sat silently, merely staring at
them. Nizaka stared back, steadfastly holding his gaze, refusing to cede
ground. It was as if their was an unspoken challenge, an unofficial
contest that only those two understood.  At last, the officer looked
away.
     The negotiations were to be held in the Great palace, where the
Supreme Triumvir, and the rest of the high officials lived. The car at
last set down, surprisingly gently, in front of the massive pile, and
they were ushered inside, a number of locals stopping to stare at them as
they climbed the steps.
     The architecture, Sheba decided, was most definitely Neo-Awful. The
whole building looked as if it were somehow molting, or had a severe case
of leprosy. Arches were asymmetrical, doorways were ridiculously high,
and there was hardly a straight line in the place. I wonder, she thought,
sparing a look at Nizaka, if she hates this so-called architecture as
much as I do?
     I wonder if these Humans hate this so-called architecture as much as
I do?
     "Dinner is in two of your centars," said another Ziklagi, emerging
from somewhere, and meeting them at the bottom of a gargantuan staircase.
He looked them all over, his single eye giving Tinia the creeps. "Human
food is prepared."
     "My thanks," said Adama, wondering humourlessly for a milli-centon
if Humans would enjoy the food or be the food. "Has Appointee Kyzalis
arrived yet?"
     "His ship docks early tomorrow morning. Until dinner, then," said
the functionary, then he turned and left. 
     "If the greeting gets any warmer," said Sheba dryly, "my icicles may
melt."
     "Not a charmer, is he?" asked Adama.
     "Life of the faction,' said Nizaka.
     "F...uh, that's party, N...Sarah," said Tinia. "Life of the party."
     "Oh. Right."
     Damn! 
     They came at last to their assigned rooms, in actuality a vast suite
of them, and as the doors were shut behind them, Nizaka looked around
suspiciously, as if she expected there to be covert listening devices. 
She tapped a finger on her lips, looking at the others, signaling that
they were to remain silent.
     "Where is the lavatorion?" she asked. "Ah." She motioned her
companions to follow her, and they all filed in. She at once turned on
all the water fixtures, which were surprisingly noisy. "That will fool
them," she smiled, arms crossed.
     "Excuse me?" asked Tinia.
     "The sound will interfere with listening devices, Siress Tinia."
     "I see."
     Click
     "Or rather, don't see," she finished, as it went dark. 
     "Cuts possible power taps to monitoring devices."
     "What did you wish to say?" asked Adama.
     "Just a final reminder. One, as much as it will grate, all the women
must act extremely deferential to the males. I understand the differences
between us, but here we will be under scrutiny at every moment."
     "I understand," said Sheba, biting her lip, her tone almost a growl.
     "Also, we shall be the subject of a great deal of overt and
blatantly obvious staring. Among Ziklagoio, this is not considered rude,
although I understand Human mores on this point. Virtually none of those
here will have ever seen one of your species before, and thus will stare
doubly often. Please, try not to let it unnerve or upset you. Improper
responses could be seen as breaches of protocol, and thus become a
wedge."
     "Wedge?" asked Herrin.
     "A wedge to try and create an incident. They will be seeking some
excuse for these negotiations to fail. We must not do their job for
them."
     "I see," began Adama, then stopped, as something touched his boot.
"Wha..."
     "Uhh, the sink ran over," said Nizaka.     


     True to their word, their hosts did have Human-compatible food. In
all, it was a good meal, on the culinary side, though tedious on the
social. At first the fact that Tinia, Sheba and Nizaka were given hard,
unadorned wooden chairs that seemed to seat them several centimetrons
below the men was difficult to bear.  But soon, that became the lesser of
all transgressions. As the meal progressed, the Colonials grew
increasingly uncomfortable with the way that the slaves were treated.
Even Sargamesh, whose homeworld had enslaved not a few races itself, felt
only disgust.
     Supreme Triumvir Xandrix sat in a throne-like gilded chair with
opulent decorations above his head at one end of the huge, deeply
polished table, endlessly stuffing his hideous one-eyed face with God
alone knew what. Even so, amid all the drinking and belching, his gaze
rarely left any of them, especially Sargamesh, who of course stood out
amidst the rest.
     "Tell me, Commander," he asked, his voice deeper and less squeaky
than the others, "were you hatc...excuse me, born that way?"
     "Supreme Triumvir?" replied Adama, from the opposite end of the
table in chair not quite as impressive as his host's unsure of what the
other meant.
     "The...hair. Yes. The hair on your head. Were you born with it that
color?"
     Hair? What in...
     "Uh, no. It was once dark, much like Mister Herrin's. The loss of
color is often a result of the normal aging process in Humans."
     "I..." buuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrpp! "I see." He took
another drink. "Forgive what must seem an odd question, but your species
is new to us."
     "As is yours to us, Supreme Triumvir."
     "How old are you?" asked Xandrix, directly.
     "I am in excess of one hundred of your Ziklagi yahr...years."
     "I understand your life-span is shorter than our own," said
Chancellor Pentash, almost a hiss. He was idly stabbing at something on
his plate with a jeweled dagger.
     "It is," said Adama, wondering where this was going. "Yours is quite
a bit longer, I gather."
     "An average of nine-hundred years," replied the other, eye raking
the group.
     Except in battle, mused Sheba as she watched the exchange.
     "I see," replied Adama, not sure if he did. 
     "Have you always been in military service?" asked Pentash.
     "From the time I was old enough to enlist, yes."
     "And you are in uniform, still?'
     "Our situation did not lend itself to easeful retirement,
Chancellor. Everyone must, in some capacity, serve if we are to survive."
     "Logical," sighed Pentash, as if the topic now bored him.
     "And females are permitted serve as well?" asked Xandrix. "As
soldiers?"
     "They have that option," replied Adama, carefully. "In our current
predicament, no talent or skill can be wasted."
     "And your hatchlings, Commander?"
     "It is a family tradition, Supreme Triumvir. All my children
followed my path."
     "Ah. Tradition can be a good thing. So, I trust that advancing age
does not interfere with your duties, Commander," said Xandrix. 
     "Age is always an inconvenience, but I am still able to function
quite well."
     "With the help of your...aides?" asked Pentash, looking from Adama
to Tinia and Sheba. Something in the way he said "aides" rankled the lot
of them. Nizaka looked disgusted.
     "All of these women have been of great value to me, Chancellor,
yes," replied Adama, pausing as Xandrix and Pentash broke into what
Nizaka later explained as lewd laughter. 
     "I quite understand.  Our females also have their uses." Xandrix
replied, curiously looking over Tinia's chest and comparing it to the
Human males.
     "You misunderstand me." Adama interjected adamantly. "They have
saved numerous lives." He shifted in his seat, feeling his ire rising.
"In truth, were it not for Sheba's skill in..." he was cut off by a loud
clang, and the shattering of glass, as a slave carrying a tray tripped,
going sprawling.
     "Fool!" cried Pentash, striking the slave across the face. The
terrified slave squealed in pain from the blow. "Pick them up!" The slave
did so, and scurried away. As he reached the door leading back towards
the kitchens, Pentash called out: "hand them to the other one, and
return." His voice had returned to its silky timbre. The obviously
fearful slave did so. Slowly, Pentash drew a small rod from his cloak,
and held it up for the slave to see. He rose to his feet, slowly, moving
towards the offending servitor.
     The slave screamed as Pentash touched him with the rod, twitching
and shaking. Horrified, Tinia turned away, unable to look further. Sheba
clenched her fists, and opened her mouth to speak.
     "Supreme Triumvir!" cried Adama, preventing her. "I would ask a
thing of you."
     "And that would be?" replied Xandrix, beginning to be somewhat the
worse for drink.
     "Stop this!" He gestured towards the writhing slave. "I beseech
you!"
     "Why? The fool must be disciplined, Commander. How else will the
cretins learn obedience?"
     "Quite true," said Pentash, pulling the rod away from his victim for
a moment. He made some sort of adjustment to the device. "Obedience, as
you say My Lord." He at once resumed the torment.
     "Then let him be assigned to me for the duration of our stay, as my
valet."
     "Please," cried Sheba on the edge of her seat, together with Tinia,
her head turned away in horror.
     Xandrix seemed to consider a moment, then shrugged. At least Sheba
thought it was a shrug. "Perhaps. As a...personal favor." He gestured,
somewhat lazily, to Pentash. The Chancellor stopped the torture, and the
slave dropped in a boneless heap to the floor.
     "It is yours," said Pentash, with all the depth of one commenting
about a rug. He resumed his seat.
     "Thank you," said Adama. He rose, and stiffly bowed to his hosts. "I
shall retire to our rooms now, Supreme Triumvir. I must continue
the...preparations for the meetings."
     "Of course, Commander." 
     Bbbbbrrrrrrruuuuurrppp!
     As they rose and withdrew, Sheba heard two of the Ziklagoio talking.
Curious, she lingered a moment, pretending to study a sculpture.
     "Such softness. And over a slave."
     "Uhhh," grunted Xandrix.
     "It astounds me that they won, Supreme Triumvir."
     "Do not be fooled, Pentash. These Human are strong. Their priorities
may be grossly misplaced, but they are not soft. The younger female.
Adama's kinswoman. The one called Sheba. She especially. There is a
hardness in her, almost matching Adama's. Like tempered hull plating." 
     "As you say, My Lord," said Pentash, sliding some choice morsel into
his mouth. He bit down slowly, until it died.
     "He will be a formidable one, Pentash. Mark my words. These
Colonials are no weak-minded off-worlders."
     "Yes, My Lord."
     If Xandrix caught the slightly condescending way in which Pentash
spoke the last words, he gave no sign.
     "I'm sorry, I should have prepared you for that," said Nizaka. Adama
and the rest were still worked up over what they had witnessed at dinner.
"Their" slave had been carried to their room, and dumped,
unceremoniously, onto the floor.
     "Will he live?" asked Tinia, bending over him.
     "Probably. Pentash's little toy was apparently set for pain only.
Not meant to kill, although it can if the torture does not stop in time."
She knelt down, and examined the insensate creature. "He should come
around in a few centars. Let's get him on the long-seat." 
     Sheba bent to help, lifting the unfortunate creature, and moving
towards the furniture.
     "This society is straight out of----," she started and then stopped
as she realized she'd been on the verge of saying "The Derelict" and
remembered how that was a verboten subject to talk about in front of
anyone other than Apollo or Adama in private. "Hades Hole!" she quickly
amended, as they set the other down. And her mind lingered for a centon
as the thought of the vile Count Iblis flitted across her memory, as well
as the twisted creatures held in his thrall aboard the Derelict vessel,
so many of them the crew of the lost Battlestar Callisto. She shuddered
as if a cold blast of wind had ripped through the room. 
     "Got that right," said Baker, looking from her to Herrin. "Sick
daggits."
     "All too true," said Adama. "But I could not remain silent. I...but
later. We still have a lot of work to do."
     "Yes," sighed Sheba. "And I will admit I wish it were the 'in the
cockpit' sort, Commander. All this..." She waved her hand about,
indicating the entire palace.
     "Beginning to wish you had not come?" he asked, with the hint of a
smile.
     "Never. Not for a micron."


     The Zykonian ship, Zykor'ta'a, entered orbit early the next morning,
local time, and docked. During the night, the brutalized slave had
awakened, terrified. Nizaka, who had been tending his burns, left by the
vile torture device, and Sheba, had calmed him, trying hard to convince
him that he was not going to be punished or tortured again. 
     "Thank-you, Mistress," muttered the slave, bowing at Sheba's feet.
Nizaka audibly choked in disgust, and the Viper pilot picked the pitiful
creature up and set him on his feet.
     "Lift yourself up...kfsh," she said, using the Ziklagi word for
"man". The slave was visibly startled, for never had he been so
addressed. Nizaka repeated the word, and the other looked from one of
them to the other, clearly at a loss for words. As he stood trying to
grasp this turn of events, Nizaka put a cloak around his thin shoulders.
This only confused him more, though he was obviously thankful for the
garment.
     "What is your name?" asked Sheba.
     "Slaves are not given names, My Lady," replied the other, voice
still fearful.
     "But amongst yourselves, surely."
     "Y...yes," said the other at last. "I was called Roshnar." He fixed
her with his single eye, an eye that even to her untrained observation,
looked unwell. "Why did you save my life?"
     "No one deserves to be killed on a whim," said Sheba, disgusted that
Roshnar would even need to ask. She held up a hand when he winced at her
tone, lowering her voice as she realized the slave thought she was
displeased with him.  "Anyone could have dropped a platter like that.
I've done it myself. Big deal."
     "Yes," he agreed, dropping to his knees.  "I am not fit for
service."
     "No, no!" Sheba replied in sudden realization.  "Sometimes Humans
say one thing... that admittedly means the opposite.  'Big deal' for
example, means it's of little consequence." She trailed off, allowing
that the slave likely thought them a confusing and strange breed.
     "Rise, Roshnar." Nizaka told him, using a soft tone. "You shall
remain on your feet in our presence. It is so ordered."
     "You are...kind," said Roshnar as he obeyed. Not from any
expectation that he deserved to stand with them as equals, but from
yahrens of training.  He looked from one to the other. "What is to become
of me now?" 
     Sheba explained to him that he had been "given" to Adama, for the
duration of their stay on Ziklag. At first his chest had convulsed with
fear at the thought of being given to outlanders, a fate worse than
death, but then Adama informed him a few centars later: "I do not
consider you a slave. The laws of our people do not tolerate slavery, in
any form, Roshnar." 
     Of course, this meant he was now nothing.  Not even a slave.  So it
was with great surprise that along with a new set of clothes, that
Roshnar received food. Not the usual scraps the slaves got, either, but
real food! Perhaps to no one's surprise, he had never had enough to eat,
and once it was made clear that "more" was not a dirty word, he ate his
fill, and then some.  After all, they told him to, and yahrens of  both
education and discipline were difficult to break. Especially with
kindness. The Ziklagoio who was born to a life of degrading servitude
didn't know how to receive it.
     No wonder he looks sickly, thought Sheba. The slaves around here are
starving in the midst of plenty. The borays!
     "You need have no fear of us, Roshnar. However, I realize that I
shall have to tread softly." Adama looked at his daughter-in-law. "I do
not wish to anger Xandrix."
     "Yes, My Lord," said Roshnar. He looked at the party, seated around
the table.  "May I serve you?"
     Roshnar's deeply imprinted subservience angered Adama, kindling as
it did memories of Cylon atrocities he had seen over his career. But any
further words on the subject were cut off by the ringing of the door's
chime. Quickly, with the trained responses of his class, Roshnar scurried
to answer it. The messenger at the door seemed surprised, but made no
comment.
     "Tell Ambassador Adama that Appointee Kyzalis and his party have
arrived," he said to Roshnar, the scorn in his voice plain.
     Roshnar delivered the message, though it had been heard by all, and
they left for the Great Hall presently. Once more, they had to sit
through a formal dinner that evening, and Nizaka rather enjoyed the
annoyed look on Pentash's face on seeing his former slave now fully clad
and standing upon his feet.  
     You can barely stomach it, can you, you ball of mok snot! Well
watch. Watch and fear, for one day...
     Appointee Kyzalis was a bit shorter than Xlax but every bit as
hideous, to Human eyes, as the other. He strode into the Hall briskly,
and with a self-confidence in his step. Removing his cloak without even
slowing down, he handed it off to one of his party, who folded it over
one arm. 
     "Supreme Triumvir Xandrix, Commander Adama, I greet you in the name
of High Appointee Kry'tilax, and of Zykor Who Watches Us All." He
inclined his head towards Xandrix, in Ziklagi fashion, and shook hands
with Adama and his party, in Human style. 
     Unlike the previous evening's, dinner was animated, for Kyzalis was
extremely loquacious, often diverging from the topic at hand to enquire
of his hosts about doings on their world, or Adama about the Colonial
Fleet, and where it had come from. 
     "What are your hopes for a settlement of this dispute in peace,
Commander Adama?" he asked, eyes focused on the Commander.
     "Fairly good, Appointee Kyzalis," lied Adama. "We have been studying
both claims, as well as the treaty. There is much ground for talk here."
     "Let us hope it is fruitful," said Pentash, soulessly.
     "Don't tell me you have doubts, Chancellor?" questioned Kyzalis,
shoveling in a healthy helping of blurthgg. Sheba tried not to woof her
mushies-especially remembering that, unbeknownst to her, she had kissed
Apollo after he had tried the same-no, she still could not quite accept
the idea of food that moved. 
     "When one is in negotiations, Appointee," replied Pentash, "there is
always some degree of doubt. Would you not agree?" He turned to Adama.
     "Oh indeed, Chancellor," replied Adama. "But we must work to
eliminate as many doubts as possible. That is the job of a diplomat."
     "Ha!" guffawed Kyzalis, slapping the table, laughing. "You have a
wit, Adama! A diplomat removing doubt!" He laughed again. 
     "Commander Adama did not intend to foster amusement, Appointee,"
said Tinia, with just a whiff of asperity in her voice. "He was being
entirely serious." Kyzalis laughed again, almost choking on the blurthgg.

     Much to Sheba's dismay, the Appointee's food not only moved, it made
noises.  If the witty repartee didn't improve soon, she fully expected it
would beat a hasty retreat for the nearest exit.
     "Your aide is a woman of true wit, Commander. A mind like a
surgeon's scalpel."
     "Requiring the guiding hand of a man to be useful..." Pentash could
be heard to mutter to an aide.
     "I can see you chose your staff well," Kyzalis continued, ignoring
the Ziklagoio.
     "Thank-you, Appointee," replied Adama. "My choices were made with
some degree of deliberation and thought."
     "Unlike most diplomats!" he shot back, and laughed again. Were it
not for the serious nature of their situation, Tinia would have found him
a funny fellow. 
     Ugly, but funny.
     "And how is your slave?" asked Pentash, in an unfriendly tone. As a
Ziklagi, only Nizaka caught the subtil nuance in his speech. "Adequate, I
trust."
     "Most, yes," replied Adama. Already, he hated Pentash.
 
     "Got it!" said Boomer, on the Galactica's bridge. A few workers and
technicians still labored here at this centar, but by and large the
bridge was starting to look its old self again, save for a few consoles
that had yet to be replaced. 
     "Where?" asked Starbuck, hovering closer than a Cylon pinwheel
attack. Their faces were lit by the glow of the scanner screen at Rigel's
usual station. 
     "Right here," said the other, pointing. On the scanner was a graphic
of the entire Brylon Station. On one of the lower levels, marked on the
charts as "Maintenance and Infrastructure", a small red dot flashed
steadily. "You were right, Starbuck."
     "Of course, I was right, Boomer." He glanced up at his friend.  "Had
you any doubt?"
     "This is real-time stuff?" asked Apollo.
     "As we speak, Captain," said Boomer. "The beacon was activated the
moment it was picked up by a living being."
     "How can you be sure it was Korax? There must be all sorts of vermin
down in those pipes and tunnels." 
     "This," said Starbuck, flipping a switch. On one screen was
displayed a jerky, slightly out-of-focus image of Korax, looking down at
the Colonial rank pin that had so unceremoniously jabbed him moments
before. The video feed was scratchy, thanks to all the electrical
conduits and metal between them and their foe, but unless Ziklagi agents
had the run of the sewage treatment facility, it was unmistakably their
quarry. 
     "It was a long shot, Captain," said Boomer, "but it looks like it
paid off."
     "Yeah, well, always best to have a back-up plan." Starbuck shrugged. 
"Personally, I was hoping he'd be sliced and diced, but who knew the
fracking power generator would overload in the primary treatment plant."
     "Well, think about it, buddy.  I'm sure Xlax and his superiors would
rather catch Korax alive." Apollo suggested quietly.  "And as long as
Korax is found on the Brylon Station, he falls under their custody."
     "You think the Zykonians purposely cut the power?" Starbuck asked,
not liking the implication that Xlax wasn't being one hundred percent up
front with them.
     "It's possible.  Likely even.  Still, the chance that Korax would
somehow find the pin, in all that maze of piping and conduit, is a minor
miracle, so let's count our blessings."
     "A miracle?  It was careful planning, Apollo." Starbuck retorted
with a grin at Boomer.  Apollo didn't need to know they had eight other
transceivers planted in various other locations that the shape shifter
could have potentially turned up at.
     "Will he detect the sensors inside?" Apollo asked.
     "Not unless he has scanners of his own, or decides to try and take
it apart," replied Starbuck. "Hummer made sure it looks exactly like our
standard rank pins."
     "And we can track him with this?"
     "If he holds on to it, and if we don't get any additional
interference. There wasn't room inside it for any extra power. For the
moment, we've just found where he is. We don't know if this is his
current lair, or just a chance encounter."
     "The station's hull is hard to scan through, Captain," explained
Boomer. "And with the Galactica's main array still off-line, we're having
to fall back on one of the low-gain back-up units. It barely does the
job, so this seemed the best way to try and pick up his trail." 
     They watched the silent screen in front of them, as Korax looked
down at the pin, the fury on his alien face evident. He closed his fist
about it, cutting off the image. Then, surprisingly, he opened his hand,
and looked at it again. He smiled.  Or at least they imagined it might be
a smile.
     It was not a pretty sight.
     "Got you, you alien freak!" said Starbuck, straightening up. He
looked at his comrades. "Shall we?"
     "Let's go," said Apollo.
 
 
     "The negotiations began at dawn, with both sides formally restating
their claims and positions. Zimira-Prime demanded that Ziklag remove its
as-yet small mining operation/garrison from Ikk, and Ziklag refused.
Ziklag demanded the same, and got the same answer.
     After some centars, Adama began to realize that the foremost
obstacle to progress was not Supreme Triumvir Xandrix, as he had
expected, but the coolly sibilant Chancellor Pentash. His subtil, quietly
bellicose manner not only made Ziklag's position seem immovable, but
served to harden the Zykonians, whenever it seemed that there might be,
however slight, some concessions.
     "He does not want us to succeed," he told Siress Tinia later, as
they lunched in their quarters. 
     "I've noticed that too," said Baker. "He wants war."
     "He's a glory-hungry boray," said Herrin, refilling Nizaka's water
glass. "Never mind all the millions or billions of deaths that might
result."
     "I hope the Zykonians have picked up on it too," said Nizaka. "But
for all his odd humor, Appointee Kyzalis is a pointed pastry."
     "A..." began Tinia.
     "Sharp mushie," said Herrin.
     "Oh. Right."
     Damn.
 
 
     As time wore on, it became increasingly clear that Ziklag had no
intention of budging. Adama had suggested that Zimira-Prime be allotted a
yearly percentage of the production from Ikk, in return for a royalty,
the amount of which was to be determined by the fluctuations of the
material's market value. Xandrix said at first that he would consider
this, raising hopes somewhat, but then declared that it was not
acceptable. Frustrated, after several centars of argument, Adama
adjourned the meeting, to "examine other options". 
     "They are deliberately stalling," said Tinia, back in their suite.
"Dragging the negotiations out."
     "Yes, but for what?" asked Adama. "Mobilization?"
     "No question about it," said Sargamesh.
     "But the fleet is already mobilized," said Nizaka. "Fighting the
rebels."
     "Completion of repairs to the Gee-Tih, and completion of his brother
ship?" ventured Sargamesh. "Two such vessels could easily take Ikk, from
what we have seen."
     "Perhaps," said Tinia. "But whatever, Pentash, at least, wants a
war. No doubt being able to say he got Ikk for the Empire would put quite
a feather in his cap."
     "The fool," spat Sheba. "Ziklag is in a mess, especially after the
loss of Xekash and the Gee-Tih. It is in no position for war."
     "There seems no logic to it, but then I don't suppose logic amounts
for much here," said Herrin. He looked down at his feet. "What?" It was
Roshnar, kneeling at his feet. He looked to Nizaka, who touched the
former slave on the neck. 
     "The Lady is right," said Roshnar, raising his gaze to Herrin.
"Chancellor Pentash means to foment war."
     "How do you know this?" asked Adama. He reached down and lifted the
Ziklagi to his feet.
     "They are often careless when they speak around us, Lord," replied
Roshnar. "One whom this one served with in the kitchens told me. He spoke
to one of his aides, called Kozax, of his intent to sabotage the talks." 
     "He is certain? This other one?" pressed Adama.
     "Yes, Lord. He is called Kazax," replied Roshnar. 
     "I must speak with him," said Adama, after a moment's thought. "Can
it be arranged?"
     "It will be difficult, Lord."
     "Please, Roshnar. Call me 'Commander' if you must."
     "Let me try," said Sheba. Both her father-in-law and Sargamesh
looked at her with surprise. "I can say that I'm... checking on the
preparation of our meals. Health concerns or something."
     "Clever," said Sargamesh, looking sideways at Sheba with a gaze of
respect. 
     "Be careful, Sheba," said Adama.
     "I have that painted on my Viper, Commander."
 
 
     "But Human akfsh require more iron at certain times in their life
cycle than kfsh do," Sheba told the head of the kitchen staff. "The food
itself is quite excellent, actually. No insult is implied."
     "Understood," said the other, then looked at Sargamesh, next to her.
"And yourself?"
     "Copper," said the Zohrloch, tonelessly. 
     "It shall be attended to," said the other. "How much more would be
proper?"
     Sheba threw in a tiny amount she hoped would sound good, and the
chef went his way.  
     Roshnar had described Kazax, and Sheba hoped she remembered how to
tell one of these creatures from another. Casting her eyes around, she
saw many of them, working myriad jobs. Then, Sargamesh tapped her on the
shoulder, and indicated with a slight nod. Sheba saw him, scrubbing a
metal surface. Slowly, the two worked their way over towards him.
     "Kazax?" she whispered, conspiratorially. 
     "Yes, Lady?" he replied, all obsequiousness and servility.
     "I am told you hear much, Kazax. Much that your rulers think you do
not."
     "Having ears can be dangerous, My Lady. A tongue doubly so."
     "Well put," said Sargamesh. "This is the Lady Sheba, and I am
Sargamesh. Just Sargamesh."
     "Yes, My Lord Sargamesh."
     Sargamesh just shrugged.
     "You know of Pentash's intention, Kazax," said Sheba. "I wish to
know also."
     The elderly Ziklagi fixed her with his single eye, apparently
considering. She could tell he was old, for his skin was even more
wrinkled than the rest, and less slick. Nizaka had told her the signs of
advancing age, and Roshnar said that Kazax had a limp. 
     "Pentash has many intentions," Kazax said at last. "A higher seat
being among them."
     "And the negotiations?" she asked.
     "Will fail, My Lady Sheba."
     "How, Kazax? How will they fail?"
     "He..." Kazax broke off as Pentash entered the kitchen. The
Chancellor fixed Sarah with his gaze, and moved towards her. Kazax moved
on, finding something else to scrub.
     "I understand there is a problem with the food," said Pentash,
almost accusingly. 
     "No, not as such, Chancellor Pentash," said Sheba. "As I was telling
the head cook, Human akfsh require more dietary iron at certain times in
their life cycle than kfsh."     
     Pentash studied her a moment. "Most...interesting, Ambassador. May I
enquire why this is?" His gaze was shriveling.
     "It is, that is to say, it concerns..." oh this infuriating
creature! "The reproductive system, Chancellor."
     "I...see. Are you going to procreate, then?" Pentash cast a quick
glance at Sargamesh, and seemed to enjoy the discomfort he was causing
Sheba. 
     She wondered if he suspected her of having another reason for being
here... or if his pleasure was simply derived from baiting a Human
female.  "Ah...no, Chancellor. Not at this time." Her pulse was racing,
as her skin was flushed. Oh, how I'd love to get my hands...
     But Pentash would not relent, and Sheba had to relate the salient
facts of the Human menstrual cycle.  He stood before her studying her
through his single eye, his face shifting hideously in reaction to every
detail, making her feel as though she was under a microscope. She was
about to explode, when she decided to retaliate a bit, and gave him a
dose of his own medicine. 
     "But surely it is the same for Ziklagi akfsh, Chancellor?"
     "Well..."
     "Tell me, Chancellor, about Ziklagi reproductive systems, and how
they operate. If you have bothered to apprise yourself of the details."
She smiled, oh, so sweetly. "Please."
     Pentash seemed to squirm now, obviously uncomfortable. But his
answer was not forthcoming, for an aide entered, and finding his chief,
moved close and spoke.
     "A message for you, Chancellor."
     "I shall be there presently, Utash." He turned back to Sheba. "A
most... interesting conversation, Ambassador."
     "Yes, Chancellor. We must continue it at a later date, when my iron
stores are less depleted, and I'm feeling stronger." Sheba couldn't help
but grin wickedly. "We really must."     
     "Yes. And now, if you will excuse me." With the tiniest of bows,
Pentash left.
     "He hates you," said Kazax, suddenly back at their sides, like a
shadow. "And he is a powerful enemy, Lady Sheba."
     "Yes, I think so," she replied. "Now, we were talking about the
negotiations."
     "We were." Kazax's voice dropped low. "Pentash plans murder, My Lady
Sheba."
     "Who?" she and Sargamesh asked, at once. Sheba lowered her voice,
and asked again. "Who?"
     "Tonight, in the gardens, My Lady Sheba. At the setting of the
second moon." And quick as a flash, he scurried away. Frustrated, they
left the kitchen. 
     " 'Tell me, Chancellor, about Ziklagi reproductive systems, and how
they operate' " said Sargamesh, as they headed back to the suites, in a
good imitation of Sheba's voice. 
     "Well, it was all I could think of on the fly."
     "Don't apologize," said Sargamesh. "Indeed, you have a wit that
could slit a throat."
     "Uh, thanks. I think."
 
 
     "You have him?" asked Pentash, in his office later, with Utash.
     "Yes, My Lord."
     "Excellent." Pentash looked at the hologram, waiting. Then, a
somewhat battered Ziklagi image came up. "Ah, Over-Lieutenant Korax, I
believe."
 
 
     Nizaka had told them that the second moon set at the hour of ku,
this time of year. At last working that out, Sheba made for the garden,
Sargamesh in tow. Although she felt she could do this on her own, and
said so, Adama was insistent. He was reluctant to let her go in the first
place, every nerve screaming "setup", but at least this way she would not
be alone. And, of course, Sargamesh had to mention her iron stores.
     The flowers and ornamental trees of Ziklag were, she decided, one of
the few things about the planet that she liked. Especially the white
ones, the little blossoms like hollow pyramids hanging from a central
stalk, like vixenglove. Its scent was wild and strong, like pine blossoms
in their full strength. She began to reminisce about childhood outings in
the woods with her class from school, when the soft sound of feet came
her way. She ducked behind a hedge, and waited.
     "My Lady Sheba?" came Kazax's squeaky whisper. 
     "Here," she whispered back. She stepped out of the shadows, and he
caught sight of her. They moved closer to each other. "Now, Kazax."
     "Yes. Here." They moved into the shadows again. "Pentash means to
destroy the negotiations, as you said."
     "How? How will he do it, Kazax?"
     "Trust no one, My Lady Sheba. He means to eliminate you and
Ambassador Adama, first, by..." Kazax squealed, with a sharp intake of
breath, then slumped. Sheba caught his sagging form, staggering beneath
the weight, and saw the kitchen knife buried in his back, the sickly,
pale green blood running from the wound.
     "Kazax!" she cried.
     "Stop...stop him," groaned Kazax. "Do not let him kill Adama...do
not let him kill them..." And with a rasp and a shudder, the old slave
went limp. In the distance, she could hear the sound of feet running
away. In an eyeblink, Sargamesh was at her side, hand on her arm.
     "Come on!"
     "Kazax..."
     "Will have company if we stay! Let us go!"

Chapter Eighteen

     "What could he have meant?" asked Adama, later in their suite.
     "I've no idea, Commander," said Sheba. "But he did say 'do not let
him kill them'. What about you, Roshnar?"
     "I do not know, My Lady," he replied tightly. It was clear that he
was upset about the old slave's death.
     "It was definitely the one called Kozax," said Nizaka. "Pentash's
clinging rash. I recognized him." During the rendezvous in the garden,
Nizaka had watched, hidden in the shadows, in bird form. Unbeknownst to
the assassin, she had seen it all.
     "So, now what?" asked Herrin.
     "Obviously, we are going to have to wait," said Tinia.


     Stage two, phase three, subsection four-and-a-half in capturing
Korax.
     Oh, sure, it was brilliant in its simplicity.  Plant transceiver on
one Ziklagi shape shifting lunatic in the form of an irresistible
Colonial rank pin-a la Lieutenant Starbuck, aka the bait-and then trace
Over-Lieutenant Korax's mutating astrum until you could pinpoint and
apprehend it, preferably blasting it all the way to Hades hole.  
     Typically, it crashed and burned.
     The plan, that is. Korax's astrum was still intact.
     Lords, they were so fracking close... it was almost like it was
yesterday.  Okay, okay, maybe it was yesterday.  Starbuck could see it
vividly, like watching a holopic... on the barren walls of the Zykonian
detention cell.
     Once they had shuttled to the Zykonian Space Station, the signal had
strengthened on the remote unit that Boomer had rigged.  The three
Colonial Warriors had easily picked up the trail, following Korax through
the inner guts of the space station.  Nervously, Boomer noted that their
prey was nearing one of the spaceports as they narrowed in on him.  They
had poured on the tylinium, knowing that if the Ziklagi jumped a
transport of any kind, or even went down to the planet, they could very
well lose track of him on their short-range transceiver. 
     They were just short of the launch bay when the unexpected happened. 
Just as Starbuck had psyched himself up for meeting Korax face to face
once again, the Zykonians had descended upon them en masse.  Just the
thought of it made his blood boil all over again... 
     "Halt!" Decurion Gorda had hollered with the same drill sergeant
bark that Starbuck remembered so fondly from the last time he had tangled
with the Zykonian Guardsman in the marketplace. He briefly wondered if
perhaps Gorda had been his first Drill Instructor in a previous life.
     It was Apollo and Boomer's restraining arms that had stopped
Starbuck, so intent was he on finally putting an end to a long and bitter
dispute between mortal enemies with Korax so close by that his focused
mind was sure they weren't speaking to him.
     "We don't have time for this!" Starbuck had hissed to his friends.
"We're so damned close to..."
     "Well, there's about eight of them, and three of us.  I say we make
the time." Boomer returned dryly, tucking the tracer into his pocket, as
the Guardsmen surrounded them.
     "Colonial officers, we are under orders to escort you to the
Guardhouse to converse with Captain Xlax." Decurion Gorda stepped
forward.  "Now."
     "Look, pal, this really isn't a good time..." Starbuck had begun,
his eyes drawn to the entrance to the spaceport.  Korax could be climbing
aboard a ship as they stood there wasting time with the Zykonians.  
     In retrospect, he should have known better.  Sagan, you seem to be
thinking that a lot these days, Bucko.  One moment, he's trying to figure
out a way to slip away from their clutches, the next he's being gripped
roughly by Gorda until they were nose to... uh, whatever the frack that
was on a Zykonian.
     "That was not a polite request, Lieutenant Starbuck." Gorda growled
in Starbuck's face, his ire raised quickly as he recalled their last
confrontation.  "You seem to have great difficulty understanding me,
unless I hammer home my point."
     More like hissed in his face.
     "I'll hammer you home, Fang Face," the Warrior bit back, hearing
Apollo murmuring his name in warning, Boomer groaning behind the Captain. 
By then it was already too late.  Gorda struck.
     Starbuck got in a few good blows before he was swarmed by half the
Guardsmen, and, like the last time, they were none too gentle about their
treatment of him.  Still, it took them a few centons to restrain him, and
the fact that Gorda was in a frothing rage by the time Starbuck was prone
on the deck with his arms shackled behind him, and the Decurion's knee in
his back, well, it was somewhat rewarding.
     Yeah, that was how he had come to be living in the Zykonian
detention cell for the last twelve centars, or so he had estimated,
having his chrono removed along with all other personal items.  And how
Apollo and Boomer had been banned from the Space Station until "such time
as the Captain would meet with Captain Xlax to retrieve the errant
Lieutenant Starbuck and discuss these newest infractions on the unruly
officer's part".  Even Xlax-who he'd just as soon punch out, as ask
assistance of at this point anyway-couldn't, or perhaps wouldn't, get him
off the hook this time.
     Now, the absolute silence and the four stark grey walls of the tiny
cell were beginning to make him want to mumble to himself, and examine
the mind-numbing surfaces in exhaustive detail to find some sign of a
defect or mark.  He thought about extending his overall search to the
ceiling and floor, but was appallingly concerned that they would only
confirm his suspicion that they were identical to the blankness of the
walls. 
     Obviously, Zykonian detention-cell designers were seriously lacking
in imagination.
     Yeah, he couldn't even remember which of the walls was the actual
door to this rat trap.  And the only reason he hadn't sat himself down in
a corner and closed his eyes to the tortuous bleakness of it all, was
that he damned well knew that Decurion Gorda was looking in on him
through the polycarbonate one-way viewer, waiting for some sign that he
was breaking.
     Sure, they said it was a detention cell, and maybe it did have a
calming effect on a Zykonian by eliminating all external stimuli, but as
far as Starbuck was concerned, it was a fracking torture chamber.  He
ground his teeth, pacing the two by three metron space for the thousandth
time, and wanting to drill his fist into one wall, if only to give it a
little character.  Yeah, if they didn't get him out of there soon, he was
going to redecorate.
     He turned to one of the walls, and guessing it was the right one,
stuck his thumbs in his ear, wiggled his fingers, and went "Blah blah
blah blah blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah blah!!!!!"
 
 
     Adama climbed the ramp of the Caprica's Glory, Sheba and Tinia
behind him. He had been awakened, rather rudely, before dawn by a call
from some palace functionary. There was a message for him, on his ship's
commsuite. 
     "Yes, Colonel?" he asked, over a multi-layered encrypted channel.
"What is it? It sounded urgent." He waited as the time lag played itself
out.
     Both women heard him groan, as if he had been struck a physical
blow. His shoulders sagged, and Sheba flew to his side. Adama was almost
bent over, fists doubled, eyes clenched tightly shut. She asked, nay
demanded that Tigh repeat his message.
     "It's Athena," said the Colonel. If her ignoring rank and military
courtesy had rankled him, he showed no sign. If anything, he seemed as
compassionate as she had ever seen him.
     "What about her?" she asked, already feeling her stomach start the
long slow descent towards her boots.
     "There was an...accident, in one of the station's shuttle bays,
Lieutenant. Athena and Boomer were heading down to the planet."
     "Oh God," Sheba breathed, feeling sick.
     "The shuttle lost power just as it launched, and crashed into the
flight deck. We still don't have all the details."
     "And...and Athena? Boomer? How..."
     "They're both alive," said Tigh. "I don't know much more than that.
Doctor Salik is still in surgery with her. Boomer will pull through, but
I don't..." He stopped, shaking his head. 
     "The cause, Colonel?" asked Adama slowly, rigidly controlled. "Have
you investigated?"
     "We are, right now. Commander Hir-Zykor is offering us every
facility in order to find out what happened. Doctor Wilker and Hummer are
in the bay now."
     "Good. Good," said Adama, quietly. He straightened up, and visibly
struggled to get control of himself. "The Fleet, Colonel?"
     All was well for the moment on that front. The repairs to the
Galactica were actually a little ahead of schedule, and all of those
affected by the toxin in the ship's water earlier had been released, with
the exception of Technician Iarbas. Though still very sick, he had made
some progress, and was now conscious, and breathing on his own. Jensen
was responding to therapy, and Pili had also been discharged, her system
fully cleared of the crawlon venom. Adama nodded, receiving the report
almost mechanically. Tigh signed off, and he let out a deep breath. 
     "This is no 'accident'," ventured Sheba. She looked from Adama to
Siress Tinia.
     "No, indeed," answered the Siress. "After all that has happened so
far, including the sabotage, it is obviously not an accident." 
     "Give me strength," Adama muttered, more a prayer than anything
else, rocking back and forth in his seat. "Please, give me strength. Give
me strength."


     Oh, how he would dearly love to blow off the air of responsibility
that he routinely wore like a heavy and confining suit of armor, as he
paused outside the Har-Bitah.  To be able to just go inside, lose himself
in the noise, the smells, the mindless alien babble, and order himself
enough alechti to take away the pain and misery right now, would be a
gift.
     Apollo had been just about to leave the Brylon Station's shuttle
bay, after seeing off Boomer and Athena as they embarked on a two-fold
mission.  The first part, pure pleasure in nature, was to simply view the
Zykonian countryside below for the first time by shuttlecraft. Brylon V
had been only recently settled, in Zykonian terms, and the transformation
of the planet from a barren wasteland to a lush, verdant world was still
under way. Limited leaves to the surface had been given, and Athena was
wasting no time in getting dirt under her feet again. The second, which
Athena was admittedly unaware of, was to see if Boomer could pick up any
further signals on his tracer that might indicate that Korax had ventured
planetside after seemingly disappearing from the Space Station while they
were tangling with the Zykonian Guardsmen.
     Apollo had just about left the bay, when the scream of horrified
Beings mixed with the abnormal whine of an engine and the screech of
metal grinding into and along the deck, before the ship lost control
completely and crashed into the bulkhead.  Apollo had stood stunned for a
brief moment-which seemed like eternity-as he realized with nauseating
dread that it was the transport carrying his sister and friend.
     He could still smell the smoke, and feel the terror-including his
own-as he forced himself through the small crowd of Beings hesitating at
the pried open hatch. Apollo shuddered as he remembered screaming for a
medic, images of Zac mercilessly ripping across his memory, as he waded
through bodies and belongings strewn every which way, desperate to find
his sister.
     Zykonians bellowed about evacuating the transport before she
exploded... from outside the shuttle.  The glow of emergency lights
seemed eerily inadequate as he stopped to peer at victims, checking
pulses and faces, before moving on.  One entire wall of the shuttle had
been buckled inwards with the impact, and the poor people strapped to
that bulkhead were either dead or close to it. The instrument panel was a
sparking, smoking wreck. 
     Of course, that was where he had found Athena and Boomer.
     Athena looked bad.  Covered in her own blood, and unconscious, hair
and face burned, she looked helpless and childlike as Apollo tried to
free her from her "safety belt".  Meanwhile, Boomer was groaning in pain
as he came around, and ineffectively tried to help while discovering he
had suffered several broken bones.  Apollo would never forget Boomer,
feebly trying to push him away, begging him to "get her out", and "don't
waste your time on me".
     In the end, Apollo had managed to get his sister out of the doomed
transport, and still make it back for his buddy and two other people,
before the shuttle erupted in flames, becoming a funeral pyre for the
rest of the occupants.
     Even now, Apollo's gorge rose in his throat as he relived choosing
Athena and Boomer over the others.  Somehow he had naively insisted to
himself that they would save them all.  That they would get every last
Being out of that wreck.  He rubbed his smoke-clouded eyes furiously at
the thought that he had second-guessed himself when he forbade Boxey
missing instructional period that day to accompany his sister on her
trip, ran through his mind over and over.  Sweet Sagan, if Boxey had been
with them... Already, he was beginning to shake, as the adrenaline ebbed
out of his system.
     Yeah, the Har-Bitah was looking really good.  By now, Colonel Tigh
would have contacted his father.  Apollo just couldn't face telling Adama
about the condition of his little sister.  There was no way he could have
held it together after waiting centars in the Life Station for word of
Athena's condition.  I failed her, Father! I failed my sister. Just like
I failed Zac! Like I failed you! Even now, it was touch and go.
     But instead of drowning his sorrows, he had an appointment with
Captain Xlax to mediate Starbuck's release from the Guardhouse.  His
buddy would be ready to choke him after fourteen centars of cooling his
heels in a detention cell.  Apollo wasn't sure he was up to dealing with
Starbuck's volatility right now.  He might just deck the Lieutenant if
Starbuck started venting about how long he had had to wait before Apollo
came to spring him. 
     And, of course, the crash was damn suspicious.  Starbuck would go
ballistic when he heard that they were already suspecting sabotage.  No,
he really wasn't up for this right now.
     Still, with a heavy sigh, he turned towards the Guardhouse.
     "Apollo Captain?" asked a voice. Apollo turned, to see a Being of
uncertain species before him. Looking like a bipedal collection of twigs
arranged roughly like a Human, the creature looked at him from deep-set
eyes.
     "Yes?"
     "Someone would in the establishment with you speak."
     "Uh..." For a moment, he wondered if this could be Korax, in yet
another alien form. But, the homicidal shape shifter had already tried it
here before, and Apollo doubted he would be so obvious, so soon. "Who?"
     "Just the music follow, Apollo Captain," said the creature, pointing
towards the dark, bleakly lit interior. With a brief thank-you, Apollo
headed inside. 


     Adama had decided, once he was back in their rooms, that the
Ziklagoio had certainly tapped into his conversation with Colonel Tigh.
Despite all their caution, he could not be sure that they had not been
able to decrypt the message, layered in an expropriated Cylon code as it
was. He shared this with the rest.
     "If it is a near certainty," said Sargamesh, "then use it."
     "Use it?" asked Sheba. "How?"
     "If they know the content of your signal, Commander, and if the
shuttle crash was the result of Korax's actions, then you are being
maneuvered to behave a certain way."
     "To head back to the station," said Tinia.
     "Yes. Effectively stopping the negotiations. And, that being so,
they will doubtless expect you to respond to it in the way they want you
to, sir. If you do not, whatever plan they are hatching will fail, and
they will have to continue the negotiations."
     "Something they desperately want to see fail," said Nizaka.
     "Yes. This entire episode was engineered to murder the Commander's
daughter, and perhaps others of importance to the Colonial Nation,
triggering the Commander's emotional pain, and probable withdrawal from
the talks. With the negotiations thus effectively at an end..." He
stopped, looking at the rest.
     "With them ended, then Pentash can use the fallout from that to
forward his own plans. Whatever they are," said Nizaka, slowly. "At least
he hopes so. Doubtless, he has his spin on it prepared. Telling the
military and the Great Houses what they want to hear, in order to support
his thrust for power."
     "Exactly," said Sargamesh. "The diplomatic reports the Zykonians
gave us indicated that Xandrix barely survived the power struggles
following the destruction of the Aradon station, and a large part of
their fleet. Failure of these talks, whatever the true reason, can be
manipulated for Pentash's ends."
     "I feel like I am in an endless Council meeting," said Tinia.
     "Welcome to Ziklag," said Nizaka, dryly.
     "Well," said Adama, standing, "I cannot let these talks fail. To do
so will mean a sector-wide war, with us caught in the middle of it. We
haven't survived the Cylons and everything else, only to come this far
and fail."
     "So, we go on?" asked Sheba.
     "We go on."
 
 
     The Har-Bitah looked much as it had a few days previously, Apollo
decided. Smokey, redolent with the scents of a dozen races and their
refreshments of choice, and overflowing with the sounds of as many
languages. As he stood in the entrance, gazing about, he wondered who in
Hades Hole in this place would want to talk to him. As far as he knew,
they had paid for all their drinks, and he didn't think Starbuck had
broken anything.
     Just follow the music, the alien had said. In here? Lords of Kobol,
it would be hard to hear a Cylon garrison marching towards you in this
din! Especially near the Rygko Pit.  Who could possibly hear instruments?
     He moved a little further inside, letting his eyes adjust to the
garish, partially concealed fuchsia mood lighting, when something sailed
past him. It was large, furry, and seemed to be carrying what looked like
a very large and lethal axe. Apollo barely had time to blink, when
another large form followed the first. Both seemed to drift off into a
dark corner, where he thought he could hear the sounds of clashing metal.

     "Those two! Always at it!" said a servitor. Of the same species as
the one outside, he/she/it offered Apollo a table, which he accepted.
Settling on a mineral water to keep his senses and reaction times clear,
he looked about the establishment. As he adjusted to the surroundings, he
began to pick out what sounded like repeated patterns, at last
recognizable as something resembling music. 
     Must be a band, somewhere, he told himself as he looked around.
Whoever it was could make a horn weep, and what sounded like a keyboard
reminded him of some of the old classical pieces from Caprica's Late
Transitional Period, which his mother had so liked. Hades, Zac had liked
playing that stuff, back in the school band. For a moment, he let his
mind drift back, to...
     Stop it! He took another sip of his mineral water, and looked around
again. Follow the music... or was that music the follow... or...  Frack,
it had been a long day and it was far from over!  He shook his head,
trying to focus.  The music seemed to be coming from an alcove off the
main lounge area, but it was even more badly lit than the bar, and Apollo
could see little beyond a few flashing lights. He slowly rose, and drink
in hand, made his way towards the alcove. 
     He dropped down a few steps, and looked around. The music was now
plainly coming from the other side of the room, where a huge potted plant
seemed to reside next to a bank of weirdly flashing lights. He moved
around a bit, seeing a few customers, three of whom seemed to be dancing.
At least he thought it was three, and that it was dancing. Kind of hard
to tell, all things being equal... or odd.
     "Well, you finally made it," said a voice. Apollo swirled around,
hand almost to his holster before he caught himself. He looked around,
but could see no obvious speaker. The patrons were still...whatever they
were doing, and the music still continued.
     "Who...?" asked Apollo, feeling suddenly vulnerable. 
     "Here, Captain Apollo," said the voice once more, somewhat high and
squeaky, reminding Apollo of the oft overused holopic caricature of the
fat hairstylist laden down with horrible jewellery and smelling of fifty
kinds of perfume. Apollo realized that it was the potted plant that was
speaking to him.
     "Uh...yes, I'm...who are you?"
     "I am Ozko, Captain," said the object, now shifting slightly on what
was not a pot, but a large, very large, seat. "Ozko Bolzakian is my name.
A belated welcome to Brylon Station." From the hulking thing a single
tentacle slid forth, the end looping into something like an "O".
Swallowing loudly, Apollo took it, shaking it as he would a Human
appendage. He looked up, to see a single red eye gazing down at him. He
had to fight an urge to run screaming from the room at the sight of it. 
     "C...Captain Apollo, of the Battlestar Galactica. You wanted to talk
to me?"
     "Indeed," said the huge being. It turned slightly, to face Apollo
more fully, yet never left off playing the gargantuan instrument in front
of it. A massive conglomeration of pipe, pedals, keys, lights, and parts
that Apollo could not recognize, it was nearly the size of an
old-fashioned Cathedral organ, and looked as if it had partially
exploded, then frozen. Despite the creature's attention being on Apollo,
it seemed to have no difficulty continuing with the music. 
     Now that he could see it better, Apollo was struck with the
creature's resemblance to a huge, inverted artichon, with countless
tentacles extending from the bulbous "head". Ozko was a Calcoryan, he
said. A race of artists and pacifistic by cultural inclination, they
tended to wander about the galaxy, and could be found almost anywhere.
Despite their grotesque appearance, they were friendly and personable by
nature, rarely taking offense, though the Captain had no doubt it had to
be offered often and amply. The single red eye was the most disturbing
part-especially considering their age-old enemy-but the creature seemed
to be both friendly, and possessed of a good humor. Apollo wondered if it
got this sort of reaction to its form often.
     "What can I do for you?" Apollo asked.
     "It is rather more a matter of what I can do for you, Captain
Apollo. I was sorry to hear about the attempt upon the lives of your
fellow beings, in the shuttle bay."
     "You know of that?"
     "It's the talk of the station just now," replied the other. "I am
glad both of them survived, Captain. It would be a sad thing to lose more
of one's family. Certainly of one who prepares for procreation." The
Calcoryan looked at Apollo a moment, as if considering. "I know of your
losses, yes. Your brother to the Cylon enemies you fled."
     "How did you know of that?" asked Apollo, suddenly wary.
     "Many of your folk have been in here, and partaken of the liquid
refreshments much too liberally. On hears much if one does not speak."
     And looks like a shrub.
     "Yes, I see. What do you know about this? The shuttle crash?"
     "The enemy you seek. The one called Korax, was behind it."
     "How do you know this?"
     "A few nights ago, he was in here, in the form of an Ordanu. There
are quite a few on the station just now, as you must have seen. He was
sitting over there..." a tentacle extended, indicating a small booth
behind Apollo, "and he was plying one of the shuttle bay crew with
drinks. He managed to pilfer both information, and a code key, from the
unfortunate fellow."
     "Why didn't you tell someone before now?" asked Apollo, irate to say
the least. "If you had, maybe my sister would..."
     "Calm yourself Captain," said the huge creature. "Sitting here, I
overhear a hundred plots a day. And I couldn't leave just then. After
all, I am under contract." He stopped, and the whole thing shuddered.
Apollo decided it was the Calcoryan version of a sigh. "It was only upon
reflection later, that I realized that the one I saw was indeed the
Ziklagi shape shifter that you seek."
     "How much do you know about him?"
     "I know that he has been aboard your Fleet for quite some time, and
that he has murdered many of your people. He seems to have a particular
animus towards your Lieutenant Starbuck." Ozko stopped for a moment.
"Quite an interesting, poetic name, really. Starbuck. What does it mean?"
     "I don't know. Something to do with a famous drink, I think. Anyway,
go on."
     "Ah yes. Well, after Korax got what he wanted from the bay worker,
he opened a communications link."
     "A link? With whom?" Apollo tried not to jump. 
     "His homeworld. He had some sort of holo-commlink with him, and was
communicating with his superiors." 
     "All the way from here, with just a commlink?"
     "I am not a technical expert, Captain, but it would not be the first
time someone had pirated the station's communications array
for...slightly illegal purposes."
     Apollo nodded. Yes, Korax could probably do that. He had already
shown his technical prowess, both aboard the stolen shuttle, and in his
use of scavenged gear aboard the Fleet. Rigging up some way of
communicating with Ziklag without attracting unwanted attention would
almost certainly not be beyond his capabilities.
     "Yes, I can imagine. What else?"
     "There will be an attempt to stop the talks occurring on Ziklag at
the moment. An attempt at assassination."
     "Who?" said Apollo, heart leaping into his mouth. "Who is going to
be assassinated?"
     "Your father, Captain. Commander Adama, and his party." Apollo rose,
but another tentacle shot out, restraining him with surprising strength.
"There is more, Captain."
     "What? What more?"
     "There will also be another attempt at murder. The Governor of
Brylon Five, Bougariul, has been targeted for death, and Korax is
preparing to carry out the murder. I am sure you are aware of what such
an act would do to the fragile peace between the great powers in this
sector, Captain."
     "Of course. And my people in the middle of it."
     "And mine too, Captain. Calcorya lies in a neutral sector. One which
would doubtless be of strategic interest to both sides, should all-out
war erupt. I no more wish to see my people suffer than you do yours."
     "What else?"
     "Your Lieutenant Starbuck will be blamed. Whether by his
shape-shifting powers, or some other means, Korax will contrive to have
your Lieutenant Starbuck accused of this crime. Failing that, another of
your people, but you will be blamed Captain. With the collapse of the
peace talks, and  the murder of an important governor..."
     "The felgercarb will sure hit the fan."
     "Indeed it will, if I understand your words, Captain. Korax will
have what he wants, the destruction of the man he hates, and Ziklag the
war with the Zykonians it has long lusted for."
     "Either way, billions of people will die."
     "Yes, Captain Apollo." The Calcoryan turned towards him, red eye
narrowing at it focused on him minutely. "Stop it, Captain! Stop this
horrible crime before it can be committed. I can do little myself, as you
can see. But you..."
     "Right." He rose. "Thanks..."
     "Ozko."
     "Ozko."
     And he was gone.
     A very nice Human, Ozko told himself, as he began another number.
Much like the one from...oh, where was that? Oh yes. Earth.
     Very nice.


     Summoning every skill he had ever learned for dealing with others,
the strength of character that had kept him from total collapse when Zac,
Ila, and the Colonies had all been lost in short order, Adama resumed his
role as ambassador. He watched the reactions of their hosts, as did the
others. There did indeed seem to be something they were hiding. 
     Damned confounding alien body language!
     But it seemed as if he were swimming upstream through dry rocks.
Even Kyzalis' good humor began to wear thin, as the talks dragged on. The
Ziklagoio, and most especially Pentash, seemed intent on blocking any
real progress. The Zykonians, at one point, loudly and angrily threatened
to pull out, much to Pentash's feigned dismay. But, Xandrix had spoken
soothing words, such as only politicians can, and Kyzalis, after a
suitable period of fuming, came back to the table. 
     That evening, after they had adjourned, the Colonials further
discussed the plotting, and its true ramifications for their immediate
situation. 
     "Bloodthirsty boray," snarled Sheba, thinking of the murder of
Kazax. 
     "Typical around here," said Nizaka.
     "You don't exactly sound upset," she shot back, more sharply than
she meant to. 
     "What good would it do? He's dead, and signs of mourning on our part
won't do him, or us, any good at all."
     "That sounds a bit cold."
     "Pragmatic, that's all. I grew up in this society, and I got over
being shocked or upset a long time ago." Nizaka shifted on the long-seat.
"Besides, I don't intend to end up like Kazax. There's a death sentence
on me, and if they find out I'm still among the living, especially right
here, I soon won't be."
     "Yes, but..."
     "No buts. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is." She rose.
"Understand, I am not cold or heartless."
     Sheba frowned and said nothing, before turning away.  It was obvious
to all, she disagreed.


     The Zykonian Guardhouse was quiet and strangely unattended as Apollo
entered, intent on collecting Starbuck and getting a message to his
father ASAP.  He traced his former path, already familiar with the route
to the detention cells from Starbuck's last stay.  The murmur of voices
from the cell block caused the Captain to pause, and hearing the harsh
tones of the Zykonian native tongue, he pulled out his languatron out of
curiosity, purposely keeping out of sight as he listened to the
conversation already in progress.
     "Note how he paces as a trapped berrhglowe. He tries to appear
unmoved, but the simple fact that he has not stopped prowling since his
incarceration indicates how the isolation has already affected him.  It
seems to be peculiar to Humans, I've noticed.  And very effective."
     "How long is it now?" 
     "Fifteen centars."
     "What is the long term effect on these Humans?"
     "Much of it is still just theory, but studies claim they will suffer
symptoms ranging from memory loss to severe anxiety to hallucinations to
delusions and, under the severest cases of sensory deprivation such as we
can mimic in our cells, Humans can go quite insane."
     "Incurably?"
     "Unknown, yet."
     "I see. Well, one day perhaps."
     "Quite."
     "Curious."
     "Very interesting."
     "Isn't it?  I personally find it fascinating.  Especially in this
particular Human's case.  His self-control is surprisingly impressive,
when one considers it is that very lack of self-control that has resulted
in his repeated arrests.  Most Beings would be throwing themselves
against the walls and screaming obscenities by now. I had expected that
Humans would follow the basic pattern."
     That was enough. Apollo rounded the corner that separated him from
four Zykonian Guardsmen, including Decurion Gorda. They were peering
through the one-way viewer intently as they discussed Starbuck like he
was some kind of lab specimen. Gorda was idly handling a security card
that hung from a chain on his neck. It reminded the Captain of the
security keys that he'd seen in the detention cells on Terra, or that
Colonial Security carried.
     "Let him out." Apollo demanded, his voice low and dangerous, his
hand resting lightly on his weapon, more out of habit than threat, but
Gorda didn't know that.  "Where's Captain Xlax?  Does he know you're
breaking your own posted interstellar laws of conduct in your experiment
to test the limits of Lieutenant Starbuck's self-control, Decurion
Gorda?"
     Gorda startled guiltily before protesting, "I have broken no laws,
Captain Apollo.  I'm merely following Guardhouse procedure." He tucked
the security key beneath his tunic.
     "Let him out." Apollo repeated, seeing the evident tension in his
friend through the viewer.  Puffing, sighing, pacing, face an angry
cloud, hand raking his hair absently, beginning to talk to himself,
Starbuck looked close to exploding.
     "Procedure requires that Captain Xlax give that order, not you."
Gorda hissed...politely.
     "Frack procedure," Apollo snapped, and stepped forward grabbing the
chain around Gorda's neck and jerking it free.  He instantly inserted the
security card into the cell release, bypassing the need for an access
code.  The cell door slid open as the Zykonians gaped at him in complete
surprise.  After all, Apollo was supposed to be the reasonable one.
     Starbuck whirled on them, his mouth open and his eyes narrowed
calculatingly.  His gaze rested on each individual for a mere
milli-centon, but it seemed that with each assessment he drew a
conclusion.  He nodded at Apollo for the briefest of microns before he
looked beyond him, then his pupils dilated, his nostrils flared, and he
moved.
     He was out of the cell and past them so quickly, they had no chance
to stop him.  Most were relieved that they weren't his target of
retribution as they turned dumbly to follow him and the gasping sound of
surprise from behind them.
     "You have about ten microns to explain yourself, Xlax, or I'm going
to take you apart." Starbuck threatened the Zykonian Captain as he
slammed him up against the wall.


     He sat alone in the darkness, listening the sounds of the night.
Strange and alien, they were not his sounds, the sounds that deep down in
his soul, he longed to hear again. The keening moan of the wind off the
desert, the whoosh of a kitok's wing, the sound...the sound of his
mother's voice, above his cradle, telling him his first story.
     Such is the will of the gods. Who can gainsay it?
     Alone, stripped to the waist, Sargamesh sat cross legged, stad'ich
in his grasp before him, meditating. Focusing every faculty of mind,
body, and spirit, he sought to cleanse his thoughts of every weakness,
every distraction that worked to hinder his search for perfection.
Slowly, he felt the heat of the small brazier of coals before him on the
floor caress his skin, then begin to flow into him, becoming part of his
awareness, and the knife before him became lighter and lighter. He slowly
opened his hands, letting the weapon sit there. Let it become part of
him, as he became part of it.
     Weapon and warrior.
     Warrior and weapon.
     As is the steel, so is the man.
     As is the man, so is the steel.
     Flow warrior power.
     Flow warrior strength.
     Flow warrior virtues.
     Snap...
     Ah ha! 
     Alert, taut, senses heightened, Sargamesh listened, barely
breathing, utterly motionless.
     There it was again. The window, open to the gardens, seemed to
darken as something slowly and stealthily blocked out the light from the
moon. A shape, large and bulbous, crept across the opening. For a long
time, it did not move, then slowly...
     The soft hiss of something moving along the floor. Moving towards
the bed. Still stealthy, the black shape seemed to expand, growing larger
as it drew closer. An even softer hiss bespoke something...
     A glint of something, and the dark shape stabbed down. Down, again
and again. It raised up...
     "I'm sorry," said Sargamesh. "But he's not here." The lights had
blazed up, and with a sharp intake of breath, the intruder turned.
Ziklagi, and dressed entirely in black, the two locked gazes for a
moment. 
     The intruder did not try and flee, but at once began to draw another
weapon. It never cleared its holster. The blade upon which he had been
meditating flew from Sargamesh's fingers, striking the intruder in the
throat. It squealed, as the knife sunk deep, burying its tip in the wall
behind.
     "Stick around," said the Zohrloch.


     It seemed that every available weapon was drawn as Captain Xlax
looked past his attacker at the Guardsmen and Captain Apollo.  The
situation had escalated and was getting completely out of hand.  However,
what was most surprising was the Colonial Warrior, Starbuck, didn't seem
the least bit concerned about the five weapons sweeping the area as he
gazed murderously at the Zykonian Captain.  Xlax teetered on his boot
tips as Starbuck pressed him up against the cold, hard surface of the
wall, his startling blue eyes glaring at him malevolently as if he could
terminally pierce the Zykonian's body with a mere glare.
     "I think we should all calm down and discuss this civilly." Xlax
inserted calmly, resisting the urge to grip his own weapon.  Starbuck was
unarmed, but Apollo was watching them carefully, seemingly unimpressed by
the fact that he was obviously outnumbered.  It was an impressive display
of bravery and honor, if not somewhat foolhardy.  Still, was there a
Zykonian out there that would do the same for Xlax?  He thought not.  The
Human penchant for standing with a friend in the face of adversity was to
be admired.  The Zykonian looked to his Guardsmen.  "Stand down and put
away your weapons." They hesitated. "That's an order!" he barked.
     Apollo slowly re-holstered his own laser as the Guardsmen complied. 
No one dared to move as they looked to Starbuck and Xlax.  "Starbuck..."
Apollo murmured, knowing it was Starbuck's turn to back down before they
could even begin to discuss the situation.
     Starbuck sucked in an audible breath before patting Xlax lightly on
the cheek almost affectionately.  He tightened his grip for a moment
before releasing the other. "We almost had him.  We almost had that
scunge-sucking, murderous piece of mong.  This better be good, Xlax."  
     Xlax paused for a moment looking at the Guardsmen.  His next actions
would set the tone for his meeting with the Humans.  "Dismissed."
     Gorda startled.  "But, Sir..."
     "I said, 'dismissed', Decurion Gorda.  I shall debrief you later."
His voice was crisp and authoritative.  He nodded towards Starbuck, then
Apollo, "Lieutenant, Captain, if you would accompany me and we can
continue this discussion in private?"


     "I...I own you my life, Lieu...Sargamesh," said Adama, a short time
later. They stood in the room, the dead would-be assassin still pinned to
the wall. "If you had not insisted we exchange rooms..."
     "I felt certain that an attempt would be made upon your life,
Commander. Given what the old slave died to tell Lieutenant Sheba, and
the attempt upon your daughter's life, I knew as surely as anything that
another attempt to destroy the talks would be made." They both turned as
N