Battlestar Galactica: What You Wish For
Virtual Season 3, Episode 11
By Senmut
PG-13
May, 2012

Chapter One

     "If wishes were equines!" growled Lieutenant Sheba, as she rolled
her Viper, firing directly into the intruder craft. Her lasers impacted
the alien vessel's shields, flaring up into the visible, but did not
penetrate.
     "Those screens are too damn strong!" said Lieutenant Starbuck,
likewise loosing another salvo. It also seemed to dissolve into the
energy surrounding the unknown ship. A ship on a direct vector for the
Colonial Fleet.
     "But not forever," declared Korl, one of the Zohrloch pilots. He
loosed a missile, followed by a laser barrage, against the enemy vessel.
His ordnance exploded beautifully, yet the enemy defenses remained
stubbornly in place. "I read a nearly four percent loss in enemy shield
strength, across the spectrum."
     "Let's just hope it's enough," said Sheba, making another pass.
"Last time I shoot my mouth off and wish for something to happen."
     "The gods may have been listening," replied Korl. "One must be
careful."
     She and Starbuck had just been returning from a cadet patrol, giving
the new recruits a first taste of a real cockpit, when an enormous alien
vessel, of unknown origin, had appeared on their scanners. It had not
approached from any scanned vector, it had not dropped out of lightspeed
in any fashion known to the Colonials. It had, after a slight burst of
visible light and radion, just been there, on a vector at a right angle
to the Fleet's course.
     It was big, more than twice the size of the Gemini, constructed of
some unknown but very dense alloy, and responded to no hails. As far as
scanners could determine, there were no living beings aboard. Mostly
smooth, her hull sported little in the way of weaponry, but what it had
were both accurate and deadly. Two of the cadets had fallen to it within
less than a centon, and Adama had ordered all Vipers scrambled to meet
the new, nameless threat. 
     But the newcomer seemed virtually impervious to whatever they could
throw at it. Laser energy poured into it's screens, missiles exploded in
fiery beauty, yet the alien's defenses remained firm. As it drew closer
to the Fleet, Adama pulled the Galactica out of formation, arcing away on
a new course. As he suspected, the alien machine, smoothly faceted and
almost black in color, altered course as well, keeping the Battlestar in
it's sights. Whatever it was, whomever had sent it, it apparently had but
one objective in mind. 
     Destroy the Galactica. 
     The Battlestar fired her portside batteries, one after the other,
striking the enemy dead on. The screens over it's bow erupted in blossoms
of fire, yet it kept on, always gaining slightly on it's prey. The
Colonial warship kept pouring fire into the oncoming attacker, now joined
by the Century and the Constellation, but it just didn't seem to be
having much effect. The Century launched a missile, just as the
Constellation fired her newly-installed, but as yet all too-few, guns.
The explosion was blinding, bathing the enemy vessel in massive multiple
megatons of destructive energy.
     And, finally, getting some results. 
     "Enemy speed is down, Commander," reported Tigh, on the Galactica
bridge. "A two percent drop in velocity. Her scanner lock also appears to
be..." He grabbed onto something, as the Battlestar shook. One of the
alien's weapons had connected, rattling the Galactica down to her
reinforced tylinium bones. It was followed by another, before the
Battlestar replied, striking the enemy dead on. 
     "Lords, can nothing stop this thing?" said Apollo, watching the
alien war machine draw ever closer. For a moment, he couldn't help but
think of Boxey, no doubt scared, as he hunkered down in their quarters.
He came around the stern of the monster, and once more saw the massive
thruster nozzles, glowing a brilliant blue-green, that powered the
vessel. He locked his scanner on her engines, and cut loose. His shots
connected. As before...
     Wait, it wasn't quite as before. Once adjusted for the energy
pouring out of the main thrusters, his scanners said that the screens
over this part of the ship were the weakest. Maybe... 
     "Attention all wings, this is Captain Apollo. Form up on me. Her
shields are weakest over the engine thrusters. All units, attack the
ship's thruster bells!" Apollo fired himself, then peeled off, the alien
ship answered, barely missing him. He came around, and found Sheba on one
wing, and Sargamesh on the other. Soon, two more Vipers closed in, and
they began their run. Ship after ship opened up, expending the last of
their missiles, and plastering the ship with laser fire. Viper after
Viper strafed the ship, in pass after pass, until finally...
     "Got it!" cried a voice. Cree's, Sheba thought it was. At last, a
lance of Viper fire had gotten through, and struck metal. A shower of
sparks erupted from one of the huge thrusters, spewing molten fragments
into space. Locking on to the same coordinates, Apollo fired, followed by
every Viper in range. Shot by shot, they were hammering down the alien
vessel's shields. Again and again, bits of the warship's hull were blown
off into space.
     "She's still closing, Adama!" said Tigh, as the attacking vessel
connected once again. "Unless we go to lightspeed..."
     "Prepare to do so, Colonel!" ordered the Commander. "On my mark."
     Even as the words left his lips, the alien machine connected again,
and a panel on Adama's right blew out spectacularly. He didn't need to
hear the report...it was the control console for going hyper. For the
moment at least, they were stuck, at sub-light velocities.
     "Alien vessel closing!" said Omega. "Collision in two centons!"
     "Target alien for missile spread!" ordered Adama. "Arm all missiles!
Seal all compartments!"

     Apollo was pleased, as another Viper connected with the intruder.
But it was not idle. After three passes, a spear of defensive fire
connected with a Viper, sending it boiling away into oblivion. Another
soon followed; struck a glancing blow, it was sent spinning out of
control, spewing fire. Then another, before a wide section of the alien's
stern exploded in blinding mayhem. 
     "Excellent!" shouted Sargamesh. His scanner told him that hot plasma
and other gasses were spewing from the alien's hull. He followed up,
firing until his lasers sounded the alarm, and then automatically shut
down from overheating. He peeled away, then felt a massive crump, as he
was hit. Seeing him in distress, Apollo turned to look...
     And was nearly blinded, as defensive fire from the intruder found
him. He cried out, then heard alarms beeping all across his board.  His
ship began to wobble, and the stick seemed almost dead in his hand. He
opened his eyes, and saw the ugly truth. He was hurt, his ship dying. The
alien was close to hitting the Galactica, an impact the Battlestar was
certainly not going to survive. As he weighed his options, he saw the
shield gap, over the enemy's stern. One good...
     He had no choice. He would, in the tradition of his ancestors, make
the ultimate sacrifice, and use what remained of his Viper as a missile.
If he managed it, just right, he could take out her engines, and...
     "Sheba..." he began, unsure of whether she could hear him.
"Please...tell Boxey, and Athena...tell my father, that I love them. And
you!" Without waiting for an answer, he banked his dying ship as best he
could, making for the exposed stern of the intruder. As it drew closer, a
voice hissed over his commcircuit. Then, something passed in front of
him. Instinctively, he yanked on the stick, and his ship began to tumble
out of control.
     "What the..." said Starbuck, watching Apollo's craft tumble away.
"Sheba? What are you..."
     But Sheba was not listening. Seeing her husband's distress, she
headed that way, and then suddenly...
     
     Apollo hit his auto-control, but it was of no use. Most of his
instruments were either dead, or of no use right now. He fought to get
control, and when at last he righted the Viper...
     "What the..."
     It was gone. The ship, the Fleet, the other Vipers. All were gone,
and he was screaming through space towards a planet...
     Which hadn't been there a few centons ago! Attempting to make sense
of all this, he tried to contact his companions. Nothing. Only static
came back, before the speaker died. He looked ahead. The planet seemed
habitable, though beyond it's being there, his scanner could give him
only garbage. He tried to make for a proper entry window, having no other
choice, and prayed.

     "Starbuck?" said Sheba, into her mic. "Apollo? Anybody?" She cursed,
as her vision began to slowly return. A brilliant flash of radiance had
momentarily blinded her, and she was unsure of anything. Then, as her
vision cleared, she saw...
     "Where did that come from?" 

     Apollo was unable to keep his ship trim, and it soon began to heat
dangerously. He watched hot gasses sluice off the nose, and even more
alarms began to scream. He wasn't sure how deep he was into the
atmosphere, but the planet was rapidly filling his horizon, and he knew
that he had but microns to make a choice. Reaching under his seat, and
uttering a prayer of hope, he found the ejection lever, and gave it a
hard yank. He cried out at his cockpit explosively separated from the
body of his dying Viper. It sped away on tiny thrusters, giving him
distance, before the chute deployed. He looked out, at the fiery trail of
his ship, following it until...

     "Oh my God!" cried Sheba, as her scanner picked up an explosion
below her. She double-checked the data. It was, without a doubt, a Viper
that had exploded. For a moment, Sheba was slack-jawed. Apollo? Her
beloved...the survivor of a thousand sorties? Could it...was it
possible...
     Beep...beep...beep...
     She snapped up, as the auto-beacon reached her ship. It was from an
ejected cockpit, no question. Maybe...She tried to contact him, but it
was no use. If Apollo was still alive, he was incommunicado. She scanned,
looking for his chute.

     Apollo held on, as the chute and tiny thrusters guided him down. The
planet below him was rugged, with mountains, steep valleys, and wide
plains. With his controls mostly dead, he could do little to guide his
ship down, and would have to let nature, and the wind, take it's course.
He watched, as the lifeboat drifted into a massive bank of clouds. A
storm front, angry with dark rain. As his altimeter counted down, he
prayed that lightning wasn't on today's list of things to worry about.
    
     "Got him!" said Sheba, as her scanner picked up her husband's ship.
One Human form, alive and seemingly well. She corrected course to follow,
then cursed, as a powerful gust of wind grabbed hold of her. Within
microns, rain was battering her heavily, and lightning flashed across her
vision. According to the altimeter, the ground was coming up. "Gotta get
control, girl! No point in crashing, after all this felcercarb." 

     "Fraaaacckk!!!!!" shouted Apollo, as the remains of his ship smacked
hard into the surface. For a moment, it seemed as if the wind was going
to carry it along the ground, then it jerked suddenly, as it caught up on
something. His canopy cracked, then, mercifully, everything was still.

Chapter Two

     Drip...drip...drip...
     With a slow groan, Apollo came to, his head lolling to the side, and
a nasty kink in his neck.  He could hear the sound of water, and the feel
of something dripping on his face. He blinked, and shook his head to
clear his eyes. As they did so, he saw that his canopy had a long crack
in it, and water was seeping through. After another blink or two, he saw
that it was on it's left side, which pretty much meant that he was too,
explaining the sore neck. Then the light dimmed, and there was an animate
form, directly above him. He squinted, trying to make out who, or what,
it was through the fractured canopy. 
     "Apollo! Can you hear me?" a voice hollered anxiously. Female. Then
an intense hammering on his canopy started as he tried to make sense of
splintered images of concerned brown eyes and long golden-brown hair.
"Are you alright?"
     It was Sheba, and she was hammering at his canopy. He tried flexing
his limbs, and was rewarded with massive shots of pain up his left arm.
He groaned aloud, holding his breath until the burning pain eased
somewhat before he drew another. He panted, trying to gather his thoughts
and focus on the problem at hand. Here he was the Strike Captain of the
Galactica, a tactician, a decorated officer, a bold leader of men, and he
couldn't even manage to open his cockpit. Then it occurred to him
.Gingerly, he extended his right hand, and reached over to the controls.
Rumor had it that right-handed people did this all the time. The canopy
began to open, then stopped with a grinding sound as it dug itself into
the mud.
     "Are you alright?" Sheba asked again, wedging herself through the
small opening.
     "Other than my arm and my dignity ... not necessarily in that
order." 
     "Here," said Sheba, with a relieved smile, and wedged herself
against the body of the ship with a boot. She reached in, and grabbed,
wrenching as hard as she could, Apollo pushing with his right arm. He
gritted his teeth as he instinctively tightened muscles that set off
another stab of pain. With a sick crack, it came free, Sheba again
reached inside, grabbing his harness, preparing to release him.  He
winced, knowing it would hurt like Hades when the only thing stopping him
from dropping totally onto his left side was undone.
     "Ready?" she asked. He sucked in a deep breath, gritting his teeth
and slowly dragging his left arm across his abdomen with his right,
bracing it.  Then he nodded curtly.  "Do it."
     With a click, he slumped to his left, holding his breath and
fighting back a wave of nausea as his armed was jarred again.  He'd been
lucky in his career, able to count his injuries on one hand ... which was
probably a lousy way to put it just now.
     "Apollo?" Sheba's voice was coaxing.
     He opened his eyes, holding her gaze a moment before nodding. "I'm
fine."
     Cautiously, he began to wriggle out of the wrecked fighter, Sheba
pulling him by his good arm. At last he slid free, biting down on his
scream of pain as he hit the muddy surface, jarring everything broken and
even things that weren't. Yet. Sheba helped him to his feet, and then
reached forward, lifting his helmet off.
     "You okay?" they both asked at once. Both nodded, and Apollo looked
around. 
     They were in a field, a meadow of some sort, a couple of dozen
metrons from a stand of trees. The sky was still an angry-looking black,
clouds threatening more rain, but for now it seemed to have pretty well
finished. 
     "Let me see your arm," she said.
     It was the difference between men and women.  Starbuck or Boomer
would have been satisfied to know it was still attached.
    "Let's get to shelter first," he suggested.
     She nodded reluctantly, turning back to the ejected cockpit and
retrieving his survival pack.  She slung it over her shoulder, which hurt
almost as much as his arm. They headed across the wet field, some of the
grasses thigh-high, towards Sheba's Viper, which stood under the eaves of
the woods. There, in the tiny shelter provided by her ship, they sat, and
she examined his injury.
     "Bad break, both bones," she said, running the medscanner from her
survival pack over it.
     "Clean?"
     "Yeah, at least that. No bits and pieces. Here." She gave him a shot
of anesthetic, then began to pass over his arm with the mini bone welder.
She watched the readout, as it did it's work. He was in semi-shock from
the hard landing, and all this clammy weather wasn't helping much. As he
leaned back against the ship, she built a small fire with one of the
ignitron cells in the kit.
     "What in Hades was that ship?" asked Apollo, feeling a bit mellower
now, from the medication, and ebbing of adrenaline. 
     "God knows, Apollo. I've never seen anything like that before. The
way it withstood our firepower."
     "It just came out of nowhere, headed right for the Galactica. Like
it knew we'd be there." He stretched out a leg. "Any luck contacting the
Fleet?"
     "Not yet. I skimmed close to some lightning on the way in. Some of
my circuits smoked. My radio may be out. I hit the auto-distress once I'd
landed, though."
     "Good." Apollo looked down at his arm, then up at his wife. "Where
are we? Any clue? I don't even remember this planet being anywhere near
our position, Sheba."
     "Nor I, but here we are." She was silent for a while, listening to
the rain plinking off the Viper's wing. "Do you think...think maybe the
Gal..."
     "I have to hope it did, Sheba. For the sake of all our people, I
have to hope it did."
     "I've never seen a ship like that before, Apollo. All dark, no real
features. Like a huge missile, almost."
     "Well, at least we managed to breach her screens aft," replied
Apollo. "That's gotta be enough." Lightning flashed, as it occurred to
him that if the Galactica was still fighting for the lives of their
people, that he and Sheba wouldn't exactly be forefront in anybody's
mind. Then again, how many times in his career had Starbuck pulled some
crazy stunt to save his astrum?  I guess I just can't stand the thought
of you going anywhere without me. "I just hope they can find us, Sheba."
     "They will, Apollo," she replied, not sounding too hopeful, even to
herself. "They will."
     She put away the medkit and scanner, and scrunched closer to Apollo,
tossing his ruined jacket over him. He was dozing now, the medicine and
bone knitting having their effect, the adrenaline rush of battle ebbing.
Within a few centons, Sheba followed him.
 

     "Hey, Sleepy-head," said Sheba, as Apollo opened his eyes, and
looked around. It was day, the rain had cleared, and his arm felt loads
better. He got to his feet, and Sheba passed him a ration bar from her
Viper's survival pack.
     "Morning," he replied, with a yawn. "Or at least I'm assuming it's
morning here. How are you?"
     "Okay. Still no luck, contacting anyone."
     He nodded, and walked out into the sunlight. This planet had a
single, yellowish-white star, and a blue, cloud-bestreaked sky, much like
home. A vast meadow spread out before him, eventually disappearing into a
chain of distant hills, barely perceptible on the horizon. To the "east",
or so he dubbed it, a large moon was just rising.
     He walked across the meadow, to where his downed cockpit lay. It had
come down hard, and been dragged quite a distance by the wind grabbing
the chute, and tearing up the turf as it went. He looked inside, and
shook his head. The seat was soaked, and so were several of the
instruments. He pressed the distress beacon, but nothing happened. At a
sound, he turned back towards Sheba's Viper, closing the distance between
them again.
     "Felgercarb!" his wife shouted, audible all the way across the
grass. He'd heard the turbos whining, as she tried to fire up the ship.
From the sound of it, she wasn't having a lot of success. 
     "Sheba?"
     "I don't know," she growled, getting down, and popping the cowling
for the port engine. The two peered in, and she made some adjustments.
The engine started this time, then as quickly died again. 
     "Any clues?" asked Apollo, running his hand over his chin. The day's
growth of stubble reminded him how long it had been since he'd been
aboard the Galactica. 
     "Not sure. It's like it's not getting any fuel, yet the board reads
over half remaining."
     "Hhmm..." he offered, looking over the rest of the ship. They kept
on trying, but finally had to concede defeat, at least for now. Listening
to his advice, Sheba finally plunked herself down, and had something to
eat. As she did so, she seemed to unwind a bit, arching her back till a
few vertebrae popped. 
     "Damn."
     "We'll get it, Sheba. Don't worry. Right now, I'm just glad you're
okay. All the firepower that thing had...I saw a Viper get hit close to
me, and I thought it was you."
     "Same here. At least I didn't get my ship shot out from under me,"
she almost smiled. "Like some people I know."
     "My turn, I guess," he shot back. He looked out over the landscape,
considering. There were worse places to find yourself after bailing out.
Starbuck had the bogs of Atilla, Boomer had a planet full of dragons. At
least, when he'd landed on Equellus, Apollo had still had an intact ship
afterwards, to get home in. If Vela hadn't known where to find usable
fuel to...
     Vela. I wonder whatever happened...did she...after we...
     "Not the worst place to put down," Sheba opined, mimicking his own
thought of a moment ago. "At least it's not some desert, or toxic
volcanic wasteland. At least we're together."
     "And thank God it's not the Derelict," he replied, then stopped.
Sheba looked at him.
     "Whatever made you mention that...horrible place?" she asked.
Despite the warmness of the day, she shivered, pulling her jacket tighter
about her, as images of that ship, vast, dark, and terrifying, filled
with the lost, enslaved, tortured souls of Count Iblis' victims flashed
through her mind. "It was..."
     "I don't know, Sheba," he replied, puzzled himself. "I just...ah,
who cares." With a slight shot of residual discomfort, he doffed his
jacket, and went back to the engines.
 
     As the sun dipped close to the horizon, it was plain that nothing
either of them could do would bring the Viper to life. Cursing, Sheba
closed the ship up, and Apollo, retrieving his remaining survival gear
and whatever else was salvageable from his own craft, hauled it over to
Sheba's in the parachute. Soon, the Viper was covered by the make-shift
awning, and they had some cover as well, should the rain return. He also,
with her help, built a large bonfire, partly to keep warm, partly in
hopes that someone turning a scanner their way might see it. As night
took full hold, and a blazing medley rose into the starry sky, he stood,
arm around his wife, both staring into the flames. For a long time,
neither said a word, just listened to the crackling of the flames, and
the sounds of the night. 
     "Apollo?"
     "Yeah?"
     "Do you think... Boxey is holding up okay?" The concern in his
wife's voice was clear. "This is the first time he's had to worry
about....both of his parents being lost. I mean ..."  She flushed
recalling abruptly that Boxey had lost his mother over Kobol, when both
of his parents had been on duty there.  "I'm sorry ...I ..."
     "Don't be.  I know what you meant," he smiled softly at her.  "What
were you going to say?"
     She looked at him. "How's he held up in the past, when it was just
you going off, and being.....overdue for a while?"
     "From what I've been told, like a real Warrior. Stoic. Stiff-lipped.
Of course he feels the concern, and the hurt, but... that kid is so brave
and tough after all he's been through in his short life that he's
prepared to face these situations now.  And thank the Lords he has
friends and family who can help him during times like this."
     "Thank the Lords indeed," Sheba sighed, settling closer to him, "I
feel about him as if he were my own, Apollo. I really mean that."
     "I know you do, Sheba. And the way you've thrown yourself into the
maternal role.....and the way he's accepted you so fully. After Serina
was...I mean that really tells me how special a woman you are."
     "Thank you," she said, slowly, at last, turning back to the fire.
      He leaned closer to her, after a long moment, whispering in her
ear. "Sheba."
     "Yes?" she replied, voice quiet and distant.
     "I love you, baby," he returned, voice quiet and close in her ear.
"I love you."
     "I know," she said, turning her head slowly, to look at him in the
weird confluence of moon and fire light. "Apollo..."
     She never got to finish, as he pressed his lips to hers, then put
his other arm about her, holding her close. He kissed her gently at
first, then harder as she responded. He felt her breath catch, and her
heart race. With a suddenness that both surprised and pleased him, she
gripped him with strength, and pulled him even closer. Within moments, he
felt her hands, pushing off his uniform jacket, then her own. His tunic
followed next, racing hers to the ground. 
     He pulled away, to gaze upon her, to drink in the sight of this
woman he loved so much, face and throat caressed by the firelight. She
smiled, as her stay, and most of the rest of her clothing, fell away, and
his own followed it to the ground. For a while they stood there, her head
thrown back, long soft moans escaping from her throat as he kissed her
swelling breasts, nuzzling the nipples with his stubbly growth. 
     Sheba gasped, almost laughing, as he did it, her grip on his
tightening. 
     "Lords yes..." she sighed, and they fell together to the ground, not
caring about anything but each other, and the utter sweetness and
naturalness of this moment. Her moans, mingled with his own deeper
expressions of desire, blocked out everything but the here and now, as he
pleasured her again and again, and she did the same. When at last she
opened to receive him, he was lost, a being without mind or thought,
merely a creature utterly driven to be truly one with this woman. This
woman whom he loved beyond his ability to express. When at last they
reached the most precious moment of sublime ecstasy, and melted into each
other, bodies and souls, it was almost as if he had never been anyone
else, or in any other place, save here.
 
 
     "No, still nothing," said Sheba, three planetary days later, as she
tossed another stick on their campfire. "I'm afraid, barring a miracle
from on-high, the Viper is a washout, Apollo." It had been both
frustrating, and puzzling. In the short time they had been here, several
of the circuits in the Viper had begun to corrode, rendering them
useless. Metal parts were sticking together, circuit boards were
crumbling, even the control stick had snapped off in her hand. Apollo had
tried to cobble together a solar-powered unit, from optical fibers and
photovoltaic cells, to get out a signal, but it had smoked quickly, as
the parts corroded almost before he was done. It made no sense; was there
something in the atmosphere? The water? 
     What about living tissue? Would they be okay?
     "I..." he began, shaking his head. "Still, as long as we're okay,
and have each other..." He looked up at her, and she was staring back at
him. 
     "I know, Apollo." She rose, and came over. She ran a hand along his
jawline, now obscured by several days of vigorous growth. "Looks good."
     "And doesn't itch as much as I had expected," he replied. "I guess
it helps being a naturally fast grower."
     "You sure are," she smiled, stroking first his cheek, then caressing
a bit further down. "I think the old regulation is felcercarb. If a pilot
wants to wear a beard, why not?"
    "Won't hear me complain, Sheba. I've never liked shaving anyway, ever
since I was old enough. As a matter of fact," he sighed as if he were
finally unburdening himself of something he'd kept inside him for
yahrens, "I really hate it. I hate running one of those damned razors
across my face every morning. There's a part of me that just...." He
sighed loudly. "That just feels so stifled every time I have to do it."
       She was amazed by his candor, "I wish you'd said something sooner.
I might have given you encouragement to defy regulations and do something
about it."
       "Well you know me, I'm not the type who knows how to defy
regulations so easily. Starbuck I'm not. I'm the one who has to keep
everyone else in check. I guess I just figured that if duty dictated that
I become a Warrior, then duty required me to just accept shaving every
day, but," he rolled his eyes and then shook his head, "Lords of Kobol,
now that I've been able to go just this long without shaving I never want
to shave again. Once we're rescued, I'll think of a way to justify
keeping this."
      "Better start preparing your arguments for the Commander." She
couldn't help but grin.
      "Yeah, I think I can. I mean we have the....."  he trailed off.
     "The what?" she asked.
     "I don't remember," he said, for a moment feeling confused.
"Something about...pilots, maybe like the...... Oh, what the Hades Hole.
Doesn't matter. Not for now at least."
     "Mmmmmmmmmm...," she teased, stroking his chin again. "Does to me!"
     "If you don't stop that, Sheba, I may not be able to control
myself," he smiled, taking hold of her fingers.
     "Then I won't stop!" she smiled back, her eyes ablaze with merriment
and promise. 
     "You...you witch!" he sighed, kissing her fingers, then her lips.
     "You're right!" 

     As the days went on, they took stock of their new home. The valley
they had come down in was wider than it had at first seemed, when viewed
through lightning-ripped clouds. Almost a hundred and fifty kilometrons
long, it ran in a winding course from the distant hills, over a hundred
kilometrons away, to vanish far into the opposite distance. It was
watered by myriad streams and springs, with a main stream meandering it's
way through the grasses.
     "Apollo, it's so...so beautiful!" cried Sheba, as they reached a
small rise, a stone's throw from the river. The whole valley, as far as
the eye could see, seemed carpeted in wildflowers, many only now just
coming into bloom. From horizon to horizon, the prairie was an orgy of
colors, as if every hue in nature's palette had been employed in riotous
exuberance. 
     "Yes, it is," Apollo replied, gazing out across the vastness. "Its
almost like..."
     "What?"
     "Like when the world was new. I can't help but wonder, Sheba. Was
Kobol like this, pristine and untouched, at the beginning of time? Or the
Colonies, when our people first settled there?" He looked down, and
smiled, as a small, yellowish-striped insecton settled onto an intensely
blue flower. After a few moments, it pushed off, and buzzed away. 
     "Or maybe even Earth?"
     "Could be. This looks a lot like pictures of that place there that
Captain... uh...someone, showed us. Uh...Wash..Wass...Yes. Washington
State. Whatever that means." He frowned a moment, as if the memory was a
dim one. 
     "Apollo?" she asked, as a brief flicker of concern went through her.
     "Nothing, hon. Just an image of someplace. Wide plains, full of
flowers. I...I can't quite put my finger on it"
     Sheba let out a throaty laugh, as she picked up a blue flower at
their feet.  "Then think about something you can put your finger on!" she
offered it to him.
     "I thank you," he smiled, his uneasy feeling gone as he took the
proffered bloom. At their feet were more of the blue flowers. Unless he
was quite wrong, it was what his mother, an avid gardener, had called a
cornflower. A few metrons away, along the edge of the water, were some
deep red blooms. Moving closer, he recognized them as scarlet poppies. A
tiny bird, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, momentarily
alighted on one plant, cocked it's head as it looked back at him a long
moment, then shoved off. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear more
birds chirping. The stream itself, about chest deep and crystal clear,
was cool and sweet, and both Humans quenched their thirst. 
     "Sagan, it's a warm one, today," said Sheba, looking up at the sun.
Big and yellow, it seemed to smile down on that world, bathing the land
in a joyous light. She doffed her jacket, increasingly aware of how warm
their journey had made her, and knelt down to drink more deeply of the
flowing waters. Letting it run between her fingers, she leaned back on
her haunches and  laughed. Apollo followed suit, and leaned close, to
wash the sweat and dirt off his newly bewhiskered face.
     "Ahhhhh!" his wife exclaimed, as the cold water bit into her sweaty
skin. She splashed her own face again and again. "Oh man!" She began to
unfasten her tunic, unbuckled her belt, then dropped her trousers. "Last
one in's a rotten ovium!"
     "Sounds like something that St..." He stopped, as an image flitted
across his mind, a face, a face and a word, then was as quickly gone. He
shook his head, the fleeting memory gone and forgotten. "Uh...here I
come!"
     As fast as he could, he stripped out of his tunic and trousers,
shedding his boots almost as quickly. He leapt into the stream, and
almost screamed, it was so cold! He dove under as best he could, and then
came up...
     To see his wife, like himself, half-naked and drenched, her
undergarments clinging to her body,  hair slicked back on her head, the
water running off her sunkissed skin, was always a wonder. With a smile
on her face, she stepped a bit closer, and looked him up and down,
slowly, like someone checking out a choice chop at the butcher's.
     "Well?" he asked, barely able to contain his own grinning. 
     "Well," she replied, softly, yes with a sensuous tease. She stepped
closer, until they were almost touching. "Here's something you can put
your finger on," she repeated, voice becoming husky. She took one of his
hands, and lifted it first to her lips, kissing it, never taking her eyes
off of his, then placing it on the clasp of her stay, daring him to take
the next step. He wasted no time obliging her, as he ripped it away from
her body, tossing it as far as he could.  Now, he could place his hand
over one freed breast. He could feel it swell, as her breath caught for a
moment, her lips nuzzling his beard repeatedly. She closed her eyes
briefly, and sighed his name, then opened them again, as he leaned down
to kiss her. They remained locked for a long moment, then he felt her
move her hands down, helping him slip off his briefs while he did
likewise with her. Now, she could finally take full hold of him. Already
swollen, he felt himself grow tighter, as she gently squeezed him, and
brushed his hands down her back.
     He was, she decided, like a wonderful piece of marble, sculpted by a
master and come to life. His broad frame, his chest and abdomen, carved
by a god, excited her. She ran her fingers across his chest and biceps,
the sensation, and her smile, driving him wild. She looked further down,
and had trouble swallowing.
     "My God, Apollo. it's a work of art. You're magnificent."
     "Baby," he rasped, as the scent and feel of her buried themselves
deeper in his brain. He cupped her buttocks, pressing her against his
manhood, and dropped his lips to one glorious breast. 
     "Ap...pollo.." she breathed, losing herself even more to him. So
lost, that she scarcely noted the feel of something under her foot. She
shifted her weight, and a smooth stone, long ages in the wet sand,
slipped suddenly...
     "AP...!
     "Sheeee..."
     And the two went tumbling into the water. Apollo found himself atop
her, then rolled away, as she squirmed beneath him. He rose to a sitting
position, butt buried in the mud, as she did the same. For a long moment,
they just looked at each other, then, as the absurdity of the situation
hit them, they both broke out laughing.

     Later, much and oft sated, lying next to each other beside the
stream, their clothes beneath them, they looked up at the sky, and
watched as the clouds drifted across the azure vault. Never in his life
had Apollo felt so whole, so at peace, as now, lying here, next to this
magnificent woman, in a land seemingly straight out of the Book Of The
Word. He turned his gaze from the clouds above, to the woman below, and
for a long moment, just drank in the sight of her.
     For her part, Sheba, eyes closed, drinking in the warmth of the sun
on her body, hovered in that space between sleep and wakefulness, just
being. The love with Apollo just past had left her feeling wondrously and
supremely fulfilled, and, as after a sumptuous meal or incredible wine,
she just wanted to bask in the richly satisfied afterglow of it all. She
smiled, even in her half-waking, and reached out until her fingers found
her husband. Entwining thus, the two of them just lay there, not caring
about anything, but just being, in the now.
     She at last opened her eyes, as she felt his lips upon her. She
sighed as he slowly pleasured one breast, then reached out to put a hand
behind his head. She laughed, to think of him, almost like a baby this
way, then rolled over, righting herself atop him. 
     "Mmmmm..." Apollo said, as he took in the full sight of her body,
face supremely, indeed radiantly, lovely, her neck arched oh-so
aristocratically, her perfect breasts enticing him to draw nearer, her
hair a golden fire around her head and shoulders. 
     "See anything you like, eh?" she teased.
     "Well, where to begin?"
     "Oh please, O Great Strike Captain," she simpered, "can I fly your
Viper?"
     "Stand by to launch," he rumbled, and grasped hold of her, as she
did of him. More slowly this time, more gently, they brought each other
to a sweet, mellow climax, until they at last separated.
     "Cleared for landing," she breathed, sweaty and shaking. As she
rolled off, she heard, as if from far away, the caw of some bird. Looking
up at the sky, she saw one, a small dark speck, gliding over them. It
turned, seemed to circle their temporary bower, then slowly moved away.

Chapter Three

     "How is it?" asked Sheba, a secton later, sitting in front of the
fire. She sat in what remained of the seat from her Viper, Apollo
likewise reclining in the seat from his own wreck. While the metal parts
looked bad, the plastics and synthetics seemed okay, at least for now.
They had moved camp, from the location of her ship, to a spot a few score
metrons across the stream, where a slight rise in the ground gave them a
better view of the land about them. It sported a wide tree stump, and was
close to a small tributary of the larger river, gushing from a
fountain-like artesian spring in the woods, giving them permanent access
to potable water. Behind them, among the trees, various plants and shrubs
were in bloom, and the air was filled with the scents of countless
nectars.
     "Excellent," said Apollo, talking around his food. With their
survival rations all but gone, an alternate source of food had become top
priority. Growing not three metrons from this spot had been a bush,
sporting dark, blue-black berries of some sort. Sheba was sure she
recognized them as a kind she had often seen back in the Colonies, when
she had gone into the woods and hills to pick berries with her mother and
aunt. With their scanner now useless, she shrugged and took the plunge.
The fruit was intensely sweet, and was indeed the berry she remembered
from her girlhood. "I haven't had anything like this since I was little.
My grandmother used to make a kind of jam or paste that we spread onto
bakemeats." Apollo took another taste. "Wow. Like old times."
     "Me too," she replied, taking another bite, the juice running down
her chin. She saw him smiling at her, and laughed. She had broken up what
remained of their last energy bar, and mixed it with the new-found fruit.
Much to her surprise, it was a hit. "I guess Chef Sheba's first recipe is
a winner."
     "Sure is. Tell the galley to keep this on the menu," he smiled,
swallowing the last bite, and returning to his work. 
     "I sure will." She watched him. "What are you making?"
     "Kitchen gadgets," he replied, not looking up. While out in the
woods, Apollo had found a large burl, on the trunk of an old tree. No
longer able to use their lasers to free it, the internal parts corroding
like the rest, he instead used a large, flat, sharp-edged rock to bash it
off the trunk. Once back here at camp, he set the stone across the stump,
creating a rustic table, and he was using his tactical boot knife, the
blade thankfully of an incredibly strong yet flexible synthetic
composite, to whittle and shape the wood into the desired form. After a
couple of centars, he had a reasonably serviceable bowl to show for his
efforts, soon followed by a couple of spoons.
     "Kitchen gadgets," said Sheba, crossing her arms over her chest,
tongue deeply in one cheek. "Uh huh. Of course. Sexist Boray! Just trying
to keep me in the kitchen, right?" She tried to scowl, but burst out
laughing instead. "Not that we actually have a kitchen."
     "Not the place that first springs to mind, when I think of you," he
smiled back. Even now, after all the wild abandoned lovemaking, the fact
that Sheba could still blush, almost like a shy, innocent virgo, somehow
pleased him. Pleased, and also aroused him, and he shifted mental
thrusters, lest he forget what he was supposed to be doing, and slice off
a thumb. 
     "Well, how nice of you to say so," she grinned back. She watched him
work, fascinated by his apparent skill at such primitive crafts. "Where'd
you learn how to do that?" she asked, picking up his somewhat lamentable
attempt at a fork. 
    "I started early. Got a carpentry set for Yule one yahren, as a
little kid. Sawed half way through my parents' headboard before they
wondered where I'd disappeared to," he replied. "Never thought it would
actually end up having any practical value."
     "Lucky it did," she laughed, trying to imagine little Apollo
demolishing his parents' bed. "You know, watching you do that, reminds me
of watching ..." She stopped, as what she had been about to say suddenly
slipped away from her, her attention fixing on a sudden itching on her
right leg. There had been the fleeting image of someone, a knife in one
hand, carving something, their skin...blue? She shook her head, but it
was gone.
     "What, hon?"
     "Nothing. Forgot what I was going to say." She reached down, and
pulled the tactical boot knife from her own footwear, and gave a few
touches of her own to his creations. That done, she just watched him,
loving the way his muscles moved under his bare skin, as he went about
his task. It was both a fascinating study in Human aesthetics, and
terribly erotic as well. She'd never been much of a guy watcher, even
though she'd had a boyfriend or two before shipping out with the Fifth
Fleet. In fact, right before they had reached...
     Reached...
     Reached where? What was I going to say?
     Shaking her head again, and scratching her leg again, she rechecked
their meager stores. Since the lasers no longer worked, they needed to
keep the fire going round the chrono. Towards that goal, she had drained
out some of her ship's remaining tylium fuel, sealing the dangerous
liquid in some of the now-empty plastic water containers. Should they
lose their fire, and run out of ignitron starters, they would have
something to fall back on.
     As they did with the food supplies. In her now discarded inner tunic
were heaped as many of the berries they had been able to find and carry
back here. Apollo's as well. But they would need more; the berries would
not last forever. Were there fish in the stream? Game in the forest? So
far, this place had been almost a paradise. What was the rest of the
planet's yahren like? What sort of measures need they take?
     Making a mental list of potential needs, like a Warrior plotting out
a battle plan, she leaned back, and just looked at her husband, as he
went about his carving. She just drank in the sight of him, his taut
form, stripped down to his (now fraying) trousers, making her thoughts
wander into pleasant paths. She felt her pulse begin to rise, and let her
mind wander where it would, fantasizing about what she would do to him
next. When he at last set his knife down on their meager table, he found
her looking at him with the eyes of desire. Her jacket was open, and she
was breathing heavily.
     "Apollo!" she huskily beckoned, and he immediately came over to her,
taking an admiring look at her naked upper torso
      "I'm not about to apologize for the fact that you've lost your
stay," he said with a teasing air.
      "I always hated wearing those damned things," Sheba matched it. And
then, for a brief instant she found herself frowning and she could see
the same look passing over Apollo's face.    Something doesn't sound
right there, she thought, idly scratching one leg with the opposite foot.
But then, that passed as he took hold of her and was once again subsumed
into her powerful female aura. An aura of pure, animal need, mixed with
the utter love and joy that only a rational being could possess. As she
took possession of him, and he felt himself enfolded deep within her, it
seemed, yet again, as if he had never been any other person, nor had any
other identity, then the one flesh, the collective soul, that they now
were.
     "SHEBA!!!!!!" he roared, and it rumbled through the trees, and
echoed up and down the empty valley. 


      Sheba looked at herself in the small mirror salvaged from her kit,
and frowned. More like scowled. She just looked...awful, with her hair
cut so short. Apollo may have been a terrific lover, but he really sucked
as a barber! 
     Please, God! Please let it grow faster!
     A few days ago, she had been scouting the woods near camp, following
her nose, when she found a trail of honey, dripping down a tree trunk.
Scrapping some onto plates, she carried it back to camp. Damn, but it was
good.
     And she wanted more. Back at the tree, she gathered up all she
could, staring up at the hole in the side of it from which the golden
sweetness flowed. Making sure her boots were on tight, and blissfully
ignorant about the likely results of her actions, she tried climbing the
tree, eyes set upon the prize.
     But there were other eyes, equally set upon keeping it. No sooner
had she reached her goal, and tentatively put a hand in, when something
buzzed loudly, and she felt a sting. She yelped, and nearly lost her grip
on the tree. Yanking her hand out, she saw it was sticky with honey...
     And that several of the apions within had followed it out, to
discover what sort of threat they now faced. She yelped, as several flew
around her face, and she tried to bat them away. Wobbling on the branch,
she began to wobble more, as hordes of the little creatures poured forth
from their sugary redoubt.
     Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...
    "No...no...oh mong...
      Crack!
     "Felcer...
      Craaaaaaaaaaaa-ck!
     "Nooooooooooooooo......"
     "I think I learned my lesson," she said to Apollo later, as he
tended her. Aside from all the swelling stings, she was scratched and
bruised, and her hair was a total mess, her golden tresses now a gooey
mass of mud, leaves, bits of bark, pitch, and globs of sticky honey, with
the occasional apion stuck in it. Fortunately, Sheba was not allergic to
apion stings, and aside from a slight nausea, would be fine.
     Her hair, on the other hand, was a total loss. Softly cursing, she
sat as Apollo used his knife to cut away the ruined knots from her head,
leaving her looking like a piece of savaged shrubbery. After looking at
her new butched image, she had frowned, then scowled, then looked to
Apollo, grumbling.
     "What was that? Didn't quite catch that, Sheba," he tried not to
smile.
     "My poor mother once had to cut her hair for a play she did," she
sighed, "And she got so upset by how she looked that she wore a wig for
sectars afterwards until it grew back. Now I really know how she felt."
     Her husband offered her a sympathetic look, "I'd offer you a wig
from the... ah....." He stopped as he tried to remember something about
where wigs were available for sale. Where? He couldn't remember. "Well
anyway, I haven't got one to spare."
     "Oh well," she shrugged, tossing her former coiffure onto the fire,
"if you can grow from scratch, so can I." She just looked at him, and he
her. Then, they both erupted into laughter. 
    

     "Well. Better and better," Sheba declared, a secton later, looking
down at the object in her hand. It was thick, warm, had hardened just as
it should, and she nodded approvingly.  
     "Ya think so?" asked Apollo, back to her, with some pride. "I wanted
you to be pleased, Sheba."
     "Oh yes." She ran her fingers up and down it. "The size and
thickness are just...perfect. And the length..."
     "Just right, I hope., hon."
     "Just perfect, Apollo. Couldn't ask for a better proportioned piece.
Especially once it's in place where it belongs."
     "I'm glad your pleased, Sheba," he smiled. "I was really hoping that
you'd like it. Find it aesthetically pleasing, at least."
     "And I'm glad you're glad," she smiled back. "But..." she broke off.
     "What?
     "Well, since I have never made bricks before, my opinion may not
count for much," she laughed, and she put it with the rest. "Still..."
     A few days before, they had gone to search for food, at last finding
fish in the main stream. On the way back, Apollo had slipped on some wet
ground. The ground turned out to be gooey, slimy clay, and after some
thought, they had been able to afford themselves a few extra amenities.
Bowls, plates, rough bricks for a fire pit, and, they hoped, one day
enough for a small hut. 
     "There," he announced, and she turned. Next to the edge of their
little hillock, a stripped wooden pole now stood. In to it, Apollo had
carved notches, representing days. "We have been here for two sectars,
local time anyway, as of today, Sheba." He put his knife down, and put an
arm about her shoulder. 
     "And we're doing alright, Apollo." She looked up at him. "We have
food. Water. Tools. Shelter. And most important of all..."
     "We have each other, Sheba," he finished, looking back. Today, she
wore only her "new" shorts, cut from her savaged trousers. Caught on a
rock, one leg had ripped, leaving her with no choice. Her jacket was
open, her stay long gone, her tunic turned to other uses. Her boots were
off, her feet bare, with toes wiggling in the sunshine "That's what
matters most to me. We have each other."
     "Me too." She looked at him, and her heart skipped a beat. Shirtless
himself, she slowly raked his wonderful form with her eyes, tighter and
more defined since they had begun living rough. His own pant cuffs had
frayed badly, and they were cut back, revealing his strong calves and
thighs. His chest and arms were like an athletic competitor's, and his
growing beard gave him the appearance of one of the warrior princes in
the old, old tales her grandmother had sometimes read to her at bedtime
when she was small. The image was made even stronger by the long spear he
held in one hand. While they had yet to see more than fish or birds, they
had heard noises at night, and she had carved it, for him. 
     On pure impulse, she ran her hands over his chest and arms, kissing
his skin. With a deep breath, he responded, pushing off her jacket, and
returning the favor with aplomb. Without realizing they were doing so,
they stripped out of their meager attire, and each was soon lost in the
sensuous flesh of the other. Again and again, Sheba heard herself cry
out, felt her body convulse to the core, as Apollo pressed deeper into
her, again and again giving her what she yearned for. 
     When at last he was spent, she lay close, refusing to be parted even
for a moment. As the sun slowly began to sink towards the horizon, she
dozed, then awoke, to find him, propped up on one elbow, staring at her.
She smiled, and reached over to run her fingers across his chest.  
     "Damn, but you do that so well."
     "You aren't exactly slacking yourself, Sheba," he smiled back. And
then, his eyes wandered down and caught sight of the back of her right
leg, where he noticed a small scar of some kind that ran about two
centimetrons or so along her calf.  He then frowned with slight concern.
"Did you cut yourself, somewhere?"
     His wife glanced down and she reacted with some mild surprise, "Not
that I recall. That must have happened awhile ago. At least I have one
spot the apions didn't sting the Hades out of."
     "I guess," he admitted. But why didn't I ever see that before?  It
had more the look of a healed burn, but......
     "Apollo," she suddenly broke his train of thought.
     "Yeah?" he asked.
     "Do you think we'll spend the rest of our lives here?"
     "I don't know, Sheba," he replied after a few moments, all thoughts
of the scar forgotten now. "Really. I don't. I suspect that's probably
going to be the case, but who can say?"
     "Yes," she said, quietly. She looked at him again. "Are you happy,
Apollo?"
     "What? Sheba, I am happier right now that I have ever been. it's
almost as if...as if I didn't exist before this. Before you." He leaned
closer, lightly kissing one breast, then her lips. "The man that could
not be happy just being with you would either be soulless, or a fool,
Sheba." He smiled. "You embody happiness, for me." 
     "Thanks, Apollo," she said, smiling back. She kept smiling, and it
was infectious. "I feel the same. I feel as if I had no existence before
us. You've given me a joy that...that I can't find words for.
Fulfillment." Then, after another long moment, she looked at the fire,
then leaned her head on his chest. For a long time, she just listened to
his heartbeat. "Apollo?"
     "Yeah?" he answered slowly.
     "I'm pregnant."
     For a moment, one could have heard a pin drop, halfway around the
planet.
     "You...you're sure?"
     "As sure as any woman can be, in such a place." She looked into his
eyes. "Are you pleased?" She watched him as he slowly stood up, the
westering sun highlighting his naked, athletic form, and he took her
hand, bringing her to her feet with him.
     "Pleased????? Sheba, I could not be more pleased...Oh God! Yes!" he
shouted, and kissed her. "LORDS OF KOBOL, YES!!!!!" he shouted to the
sky. "You beautiful, wonderful, angelic woman! You don't know how much
this means to me, Sheba!" He kissed her again, then, in a sudden impulse
which surprised him no less than it did her, he knelt down, bidding her
join him. There, in slow and measured tones, he offered up a prayer of
thanks. For Sheba, for their survival, their union, and for the new life
that they had made together.
     Then, raising his face from his prayer, he met her eyes, and was
again lost. She kissed him, and the two made love, over and over, far
into the night.

Chapter Four

     "Hey, I'm fine, Apollo," said Sheba, as she dropped a load of
firewood on the pile. She straightened up, hand on her back. "I'm
pregnant, not crippled."
     "I just, well..." he replied, arms reached out to take the load from
her. "I'm new at this "father" stuff, Sheba. I guess I worry." He stopped
and then shook his head. Wait a centon, that doesn't sound right.  But
then, he pushed the uncertainty from his mind.
     "I know. And I really do appreciate it," she said, smiling at him,
oblivious to his brief moment of uneasiness. "But, hey. If our ancestors
could do it, then I can do it."
     "I know you can," said Apollo, sorting through the new fuel, as she
sat down, and resumed her latest project. "There's not much you can't
accomplish, Sheba." On a rack over a small fire, fish were being smoked,
along with strips of meat from an antelon-like animal they had discovered
a few kilometrons up the valley. On a rough frame made from branches,
skins were stretched out to be worked, and another, larger fire burned
inside a crude kiln, baking bricks. A dozen or so metrons away, a small
cabin was slowly taking shape, as, one by one, more bricks came out of
the fire.
     Now well into her third sectar, Sheba, true to her character, was
showing no signs of "taking it easy". While Apollo hauled clay up to
their camp, in a travois made from part of his cockpit canopy bound to
long poles, she had fashioned a crude brick mold from wood. The wider
valley, and some of the shadier areas in the woods, sported several
varieties of wild vegetables, and she had gathered quite a collection,
along with berries, to augment their diet. Several now grew in tidy rows,
basking in the sun next to the stream, as their small vegetable plot
flourished in the excellent weather. From Apollo's dead Viper cockpit,
pieces of glass from the broken scanner screen did quite well, focusing
sunlight and igniting brush, once their ignitron starters were gone.
     Aside from it's natural beauty, the degree to which the valley had
so far supplied all their needs surprised Sheba. Wood and drinkable water
in abundance, food in the form of fish, plants, and now herbivorous
animals, several species of which seemed to use it as a migratory route,
a few of which, very like a capron of sorts, they had captured and
penned. Even some kind of large, flightless bird, that lurked deeper into
the forest, and seemed to possess the intelligence of a boot, provided
both eggs, and tasty meat. 
     It was almost as if someone had read a list, and knew exactly what
they needed. 
     "How are these?" she asked, holding up something for Apollo. He
turned, from stoking the kiln, to inspect her handiwork.
     "Look good," he said, turning the flint arrowheads and other pieces
over in his hands. "Yeah. Real good."  While in actuality he had never
used a flint tool in his life, he'd seen pictures in old books, and these
looked like fairly decent specimens. Once fitted to the shafts she had
made, they would have some effective projectiles, when needed. 
     Provided he could figure out a bowstring.
     Another problem solved by Sheba. The lines on their parachutes were
of semi-elastic synthelon fibers. Incredibly durable in a wide variety of
environments, and kilon for kilon having twelve percent greater tensile
strength than tylinium, she had fashioned a number of pieces into
bowstrings, and, in what Apollo called a stroke of true inspiration, a
bolon, with three ends weighted by stones.
     "You are a genius," he said, testing the new arrow in the bow, the
head affixed by animal sinews and a "glue", made of melted plastic, from
wire insulation and the shards of Apollo's instrument panel. It hefted
well.
     "Just some things I remembered from survival class. That, and a few
other things that Lieu..." She stopped, distracted by her leg itching
suddenly. 
     "Who?"
     "Excuse me? 'Who' what?"
     "'Other things' you said."
     "Uhh..." She stopped. "Huh. I...forget the name, now that I try and
think of it," she replied, shaking her head. "Anyway, it seems to work."
She got up, and knocked one of her creations to the bowstring. Pulling
back carefully, she let fly. Instead of hitting the tree, it sailed off
into the tall grass. "Oh well," she shrugged. "More practice."  


     By the end of the sixth sectar since their arrival, the "house" was
nearly ready. The brick kiln had worked out well, and the fortuitous
discovery of some kind of petro-based mineral seepage a few kilometrons
down the valley provided an excellent water-proof mortar. The roof and
finer pieces had presented something of a problem, but, as before, it was
Sheba who came up with the solution. 
     Although the metallic parts of their own equipment had long since
corroded, native metals seemed unaffected. While lounging in the waters
of the river one day, Sheba had spotted something glinting in the
sunlight as it stuck out of the sandy bank. It turned out to be a
specimen of native cupric, and of respectable size. Turning her mind
towards survival needs, she immediately saw the potentialities, and dug
out all she could find. Softened by fire and hammered into shape by flat
stones, she and Apollo soon had some, hopefully, useable metal tools. 
     "But why doesn't it corrode?" she wondered aloud. After extraction,
cleaning, softening and then working, the metal remained. "Our stuff was
junk within a few days, Apollo."
     "I don't know, hon," he replied. "Maybe...maybe it was the alloys.
Something in their chemical makeup." He shrugged. "But hey, I'm not going
to look a gift equus in the mouth."
     "Nor I." She playfully touched his massive beard.  "This is going to
let our house grow even faster than your...mmmm, beautiful appendage
does." She grinned, and he couldn't help but explode in laughter, at her
double-entendre. 
     "So, you're going to help me with this...growth process?" asked
Apollo, hands cupping her face.
     "I...uh, have a feeling my help will be sorely needed, before long."
     "Well, we'll just have to see what...comes up, won't we?"
     "Oh, but we will, Apollo," she grinned. "Now, if you will excuse
me..." She gently tugged his hand away, and so said, she had gone to
work, using one long piece of metal as a draw knife, to work the wood
felled and split by Apollo's stone ax. With parts of the remaining
parachute material as a liner, and the tar as a sealant, the cabin soon
had a roof, which would, it was hoped, keep out the elements.
     She stood up, stretching her back, and looked out over the valley.
In the short time they had been here, Sheba had grown to love this place.
This place. This home. As the days had gone by, and the hopes of rescue
grew ever dimmer, she had thought about leaving, as well as her whole
life before coming here, less and less. She was happy, contented, had
everything she really needed; why even contemplate...
     Caw....
     Whatever it was she had been contemplating. Funny, why had she
forgotten whatever it was she was meditating upon? Her leg began to itch
once more, and there was a sound.
     Caw...
     She looked up, to see a bird, a large, black-as-night corvus,
feathers gleaming in the sunlight, staring at her. Perched atop Apollo's
"calendar pole", it called again, somehow sounding as though it were
scolding her. It cocked it's head, looking at her. For the first time in
sectars, Sheba felt slightly conscious of her near-nudity. She felt a
sudden, unaccountable chill, despite the warm sun, and looked around for
something to cover herself with. Then, with another loud screech, the
large bird flew off, and was quickly lost in the distance. She stood
there for a few moments, mind a blank. Something didn't feel right, but
she could not articulate or define just what didn't feel right. She
actually shuddered, then felt the baby within her kick. In an eyeblink,
the sun seemed to come back, she felt the warmth upon her skin, and felt
her mind start up once more.


     "This is mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm......glorious!" said Sheba, a few days
later, relaxing in the "pool". As they had cut and felled many of the
trees near their home, a small clearing had been created.  Sun filtered
down through the gaps in the canopy, and the sound of flowing water
completed the scene. In the middle of this sylvan glade, an artesian
spring bubbled and frothed from an outcrop of granite, cascading down a
short rock face, and when other projects had permitted, Apollo had dug
out the ground around and in front of it. The turf, thick with mosses and
small flowers, he used to finish their roof, the dirt went for the
garden. Thus he created a bath of sorts, with water springing to life
amidst them. 
     "Yeah, it is Sheba," he replied, leaning back on the stone "seats"
he'd lain in the pool, and enjoying the sun, lancing down through the
leafy green to strike them both. Eyes closed, he just let the moment wash
over him, like the water over his shoulders and chest. "We are so
blessed. I never in my whole life even thought anything like this could
happen to me."
     "I wonder...sometimes. Sometimes...about the Fleet, though."
     "Not much we can do, Sheba. They survived, or they didn't." He
looked over, raking her sumptuous form with his eyes. "All I know is that
you have, and that's what counts most, although..."  He stopped and shook
his head.  Although what? What was I going...Hades, why can't I remember?
Shouldn't there be something else, but....
     "Although what, Apollo?" Sheba asked, "Are you thinking
about...others?"
     "I guess I'm trying to, but...maybe I just have too much of a sense
that they're okay."  He looked at her, "I mean....we couldn't possibly be
enjoying ourselves if we really felt we had to worry, wouldn't we?"
      His wife slowly nodded.  "Yes. Yes, there'd be too much.....guilt,
I suppose. But...I really don't feel anything like that."
      "And neither do I," he said, "So....I guess that's why we should
really be glad we've been able to make the most of all this."
     "Yes," she nodded, slowly.  She opened her mouth to say something
else, but stopped. Like him, she had felt that there was something she
ought to be remembering. Someone...Damn. "Yes," she said at last, slowly,
shaking the dying thought away. "We've certainly found ways to keep
ourselves busy."
      "And have fun," he grinned slyly.
     She laughed heartily. "Yes, that we have." She then playfully
touched his hair which now hung well past his shoulders after so many
sectars of not being cut in the slightest.  "You probably should do
something about this, though."
    "After the trauma you went through when you had to cut your hair, I
don't think I could handle it at this point!" he retorted half-kiddingly.
"Besides, I like having it this long. Goes great with the beard, which of
course I'll never trim ever."
     "I don't mean cutting it, I was thinking maybe something like......"
she took his hair and tried to pull it back so it was no longer
disheveled up front and could hang in a long line down his back. "Like
this. An equitail."
     He looked at her as if an illuminator had gone off over his head,
"Sheba, you're a genius. I should have thought of that sooner. I'd have
to find something to hold it in place though or make something that can
do the job."
     "A simple band or thong should do it."  She studied him more
carefully, "It would really suit you as much as the beard does. In fact,
I seem to recall that the ancient warriors of Kobol used to wear them all
the time when they were brandishing their swords going into battle."
     "I should have remembered that," Apollo said, "And.....come to think
of it....."
     "What?" she prodded.
     "Nothing.  I'm just.....trying to remember if anyone else we knew
else wore an equitail."
     "Hmmm," she said, "Its funny, I kind of know what you mean,
but.....oh Hades, it doesn't matter does it? As long as you don't get it
all smeared with mud and honey!"
      "Nah," he shook his head, "Guess not." They both laughed. "Okay,
we'll take care of this later." He indicated his hair.
      "How much later?" her tone grew playful.
      With the words still on her lips, he rose from the pool and Sheba
drank in the sight of his taut, muscular form, and her mind went in a
very different direction entirely from his grooming habits. She watched
him as the water ran off his smooth, taut, body-builder form, and ran
down his stomach and thighs. She felt her heart leap, as her gaze settled
on his manhood. He laughed softly, and she looked up at him. He reached
down to her and helped her to her feet laughing as he gently lifted her
up, carrying her out of the pool. They had only gone about three metrons
when finally, both of them overwhelmed by the urge to satisfy each other,
he lay her down in the tall grass.
     "Sheba, you are just..." His voice was almost a growl.
     "Quiet, Beloved," she whispered, stroking his face. "Quiet." She
kissed him, feeling him put his arms around her. The power of his muscles
against her skin excited her, as did his lips upon her full, swelling
breasts, and she growled from deep inside her throat. As her awareness of
all, everything but Apollo, faded out, a tiny part of her mind noticed
that the forest had grown quiet. The birds had fallen silent, the wind
was stilled. Even the brook seemed to make no noise at all. As if
everything was now standing still, just for them, so that, in the
ever-deepening throes of their passion, there could be no distractions
whatsoever. 
     He reached down, and with a hand under one thigh, lifted her leg,
seeking entrance. She moaned loudly as he moved into her, his lips
possessing hers. She felt the first ripples of climax beginning to flow
though her, gasping out his name. The next thing she knew, they were on
the grass, she atop her husband, her voice incapable of coherent speech.
As wave after wave of pleasure cascaded through her body, she dug her
nails into his skin, pressing harder against him, there mutual bonding
leaving no room for any rational thought whatsoever. Only the joyous
sensation of pure ecstasy, till they both burst over the top, souls once
more, for a brief yet eternal moment, melding into one, the body of each,
for an instant, the body of the other.  
     


     With a sharp gasp, Apollo snapped awake, sitting almost upright. It
was dark, they were still in the glade, and he could see the stars
through the trees. Next to him, Sheba lay on her side, her soft breathing
telling him that she slept dreamlessly. The light from the Moon reached
down, it's beams illuminating her face and hair. How utterly angelic she
looked, he decided. Her entire body at rest, her growing hair glistening
in the silvery light. He was so moved by the sheer beauty of his wife,
laying there, the seeming embodiment of the First Woman herself, that he
reached out to touch her, feeling his body respond powerfully to the very
sight of her.
     But no. No, he told himself, pulling back, and looking at her
swelling belly. Let her sleep, Apollo. Don't be unfair. You make enough
demands on her as it is.
     He quietly stood up, and looked around. It was a warm, still night,
but something had roused him from a deep, albeit disturbed, sleep. In
fact, this was the first time since coming here that he could recall not
having a totally peaceful slumber. He ran his hand through his
increasingly long hair, and quietly sipped water from the spring. Unsure
as to why, he began to walk, down the trail, towards the cabin. Once out
from under the trees, he stopped, and looked up at the star-drenched sky.

     Bright stars, dim ones. Red, blue, white, yellow. Every color was
out there, all scythed through by a vast, shimmering arch of stars, that
seemed as if they held up the very vault of heaven. None of the stars
were familiar to him, but that was to be expected, since they had long
since left charted space behind. The Moon, just past full, looked down
upon him, a single man in the vastness of an empty world, always showing
the same face to them.
     He turned, a sound like some bird of the night reaching his ears. As
a shooting star blazed across the sky, he looked back up, and for in
instant, saw what seemed a face, in the wispy, backlit clouds. A face...
     He shuddered, as something rose up in his memory. A dream. The dream
just past, that seemingly held a place, dark, disturbing forms, and a
face. A man's face. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the gossamer
threads of dreamland.
     A room, or a tunnel. Walls like cold steel. All around him, in the
darkness, shuffling, black forms, somehow darker than the darkness
itself, red, glaring eyes that moved about in the black, fixed upon him,
faint whispers rasping by his ears as he tried to move. Whispers of
threat, and misery, torment and pain. Hideous, rotting carcasses, yet
somehow alive, sepulchral laughter, and then the sound of...
     Sheba! Somewhere in all that, Sheba had wandered herself, alone,
frightened, hunted. A rictus of fear on her face, as if she had gazed
into the unutterable abyss. And slowly, moving up from the swirling
nothingness, words...
      Sheba....
      In time, you will fear!
     You have no way of escape!
     You will fear!
     No way of escape...
     A face had risen up, out of the gloom, a smiling, yet terrifying
face. A face that struck fear into him, yet roused feelings of hatred as
well. It spoke, saying the same words over and over, till another face
seemed to coalesce out of the black mists. Dark-haired, thin, somehow
old, yet not, it grew into an entire figure, clad in a strange blue
costume. Somehow, Apollo could not make himself remember where...
      Apollo, don't let go! Apollo, don't let go!
     Remember, it seemed to whisper, Remember, Apollo!
     Then, he had snapped awake, to find himself here, still in the glade
where they had made love all that afternoon. Sheba was safe, and he
himself was unharmed. Yet...
     "My life doesn't matter, next to yours," Apollo said, softly. The
words had just seemed to come, without thought or intent. He didn't know
why he'd said them, or what they might mean. Yet, as he looked out over
the immense valley, then back towards where his wife lay sleeping, he
felt a sudden surge of anger; anger, and intense protectiveness. Almost
without deciding to do so, he reached inside the almost-finished cabin,
and grabbed up his spear, and his bow. Giving the valley one more long
glance, he turned back towards his wife's sleeping place. Quietly, he lay
down next to her, stretching his arm across her body, not in passion, but
in tender protectiveness. 
     While high above, eyes turned their way, something dark flew unseen
across the face of the Moon.

Chapter Five

     "She's beautiful!" said Apollo, his voice thick with emotion,
looking down at the tiny, wrinkled, pink form, in his arms. Tears filled
his eyes, unbidden.  She was cooing softly, her tiny hand gripping
tightly to his little finger, clinging to him. Never before had he ever
felt such an overwhelming, protective instinct as when he gazed down at
his newborn daughter in wonder and awe.  Never before had he felt such
love for Sheba. There was no bigger miracle in all the universe, and
nothing that could make a man feel such pure love and joy. Outside, the
weak sun tried to peek through the clouds, a few snowflakes drifted down,
while in here, a warm fire crackled on the rough-made hearth. "Oh Sheba,
she's...beautiful. Just like her mother."
     "Thank-you," smiled Sheba dozily, smiling up at her centar-old
daughter. "Yes, she is, Apollo." She looked up from the baby, to her
husband, and the love radiating from her face was almost palpable to
Apollo. It made him feel so overwhelmed with emotion that tears spilled
from his eyes.
     "I'm just glad nothing went wrong, Sheba. I mean..."
     "But nothing did," she gently reproved him. "We have each other,
Apollo. And we have been singularly blessed in every way since we came
here. I was never afraid."
     "You have enough courage for the both of us, Sheba," he replied,
shaking his head. "More than I would, in your place. You've always been
the courageous one."
     It had been sudden, at least for Apollo. Ever since learning that
his wife was with child, he had worried about the birth itself. He had
never done anything like this, before. Never even seen it done. He'd read
something, quickly glossed over at the Academy once, what to do if he
needed to help out, but that was a long way from actually knowing what
one was doing. That, and the fact that Sheba had quite unexpectedly gone
into labor about a sectar or so early. He wasn't sure, precisely. Some
women did, first time, or so he seemed to recall from somewhere, but was
this a false labor? Or was there something wrong, either with the baby,
or with Sheba? Was she perhaps sick? What if...what if this was serious?
What if Sheba... He had kept on praying, quietly, so as not to stoke his
wife's anxiety, as they tried to get ready.
     This part of the planet was just coming into it's winter, the sun
not yet up, when Sheba's contractions began, and the animal furs prepared
during the warm weather now validated the labor that had gone into
preparing them. Fire lit, the cabin warm and dry, heated water at the
ready, the Strike Captain wondered what in Hades Hole he was supposed to
do next. 
     Not a lot, apparently. He just knelt at her side, as the moment drew
ever closer, watching the winter sun sink lower and lower, hearing the
wind kick up, as the day went on. The look of pain on her face, the sweat
on her brow, her cries of anguish, all tore into him. He had felt in a
sense guilty, for putting her through this ordeal. After all...
     Come on, Apollo. it's how we all got here, and there's not a damned
thing you can do about it. I just wish I could give her something for the
pain. He'd stroked the damp hair back from her forehead, as she squeezed
her eyes shut. She took a deep breath, and looked up at him, taking his
hand.
     "Ap...AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHfffffFFFRAACKKKKK!!!!!!!" she bellowed,
her hand almost crushing his as her labor drug on. "SON OF A
FATHERLESSSSSSSS  BORAYYYYYYYYYYYYyyyyyyyyyyyy with no snout!!!!!!"
     "Baby, are you okay?" he asked, and feeling rather stupid for
asking.
     "Okay??? Do I bloody look... believe me Apollo, I..........I've been
better!" she gasped. "In fact, I'd much rather
be...........eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee..ahhhhhhhh!!!!! HOLY MONG!!" she 
bellowed, face scrunched up, her whole body feeling like it wanted to
contract into a ball. "I'd rather be on Cordugo Pit playing Compartment
Bulyarks just now, but I...I guess everything's got
to...ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!! Mong on a stick! Got to be paid for!"
     "But..."
     "No buts, Apollo. We're Human. We...AAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
     At first she had made comments after each contraction, which he
realized were for his benefit, as much as her own, reassuring him that
she was okay. After all, she was as uneasy as he, with the idea of giving
birth on some unknown, primitive planet, in the middle of a freezing
windstorm, with no medical help whatsoever. However, as the centars
passed, she seemed to almost disappear within herself, the comments at
last ceasing altogether, during the pains that consumed her, either so
intent on battling it through each contraction, or so out of her head
with exhaustion and pain, that he had felt like an outsider or an
observer at times.  
     But now, looking down at his daughter and wife, he felt an
undeniable bond like no other.  They were truly a family. It was amazing
that such a simple thing could be so overpowering in it's complexity.  
     "I love you, little one," he whispered, pulling his child to his
chest and feeling her nestle in against him, her trust implicit. Then he
leaned down, gently kissing Sheba's forehead, watching her eyelids
flutter drowsily. "And I love you, Sheba."
     Life in this moment was, quite simply, perfect.


     "Bethany," said Apollo, picking up his daughter, as she lay at his
feet. He sat, in front of the hearth in their small cabin, clad only in
what remained of his trousers, which by now resembled an ancient
warrior's loincloth more than anything modern, Sheba in front of him. It
had been ten days since the birth of their daughter, and despite his many
private worries, she had proven to be as healthy and energetic as her
mother. So, on a sudden impulse, he wasn't really sure why, Apollo,
acting out an ancient custom from the earliest recorded days of Caprica,
performed the long-obsolete, nearly forgotten, Naming Ritual. "Her name
shall be Bethany."
     "Bethany," Sheba replied, unable to hide the glow of pride she felt,
both in her child, and in Apollo. As per the ancient custom, she had laid
the baby at Apollo's feet, where he sat. He then picked her up, symbolic
of both his acknowledgement of her as his own true issue, as well as his
responsibility for her rearing and protection, and intoned a solemn
prayer to the Creator. As she watched Apollo, with his long equitail
hanging down his back, his beard so enormous and his wearing only a mere
loincloth, it seemed so natural to Sheba to see him performing the
ancient rite. As if now, Apollo was signaling that he had cast all the
trappings of the modern world aside forever and had transformed himself
completely into one who would have felt totally at ease in the world of
many thousands of yahrens ago. 
     For her part, Bethany looked rather bored with it all, as if
wondering what this movement and noise was all about.
     She let out a cry, and with a smile, Apollo handed her back to
Sheba. He watched, as Sheba set to, nursing their daughter, and felt a
warm glow of love for his little family. It was an odd feeling, he
reflected; someone who had spent the majority of their adult life
fighting and destroying, now felt as if his only life, his sole purpose,
revolved around these two lives before him. Sheba looked up, from her
hungry, demanding offspring, to Apollo. Her smile lit the room like a
nova, and he smiled back, brushing away the tear that welled up in the
corner of one eye. He rose, stretching his back, and after wrapping up,
headed outside.
     It was a cold, but clear day, now just dawning. The air was still,
and Apollo could see, far away, the sun beginning to glow upon the peaks
of the mountains, even as the stars blazed overhead. Even as the sun
approached, he could see the moon, full and bright, getting ready to set
on the opposite side of the sky. He shook his head again, as he scanned
the vault, but recognized nothing. The huge constellation, reminiscent of
a man holding a staff or a sword, dominated these skies at this time of
yahren. Near it, what reminded him of the horns of a bovine, and a daggit
on the other side. Some of the other asterisms called to mind tattered
old bits of tales from his childhood, but he couldn't pull them together
much. One that resembled two piscons, another someone pouring water. He
shook his head, as the stars grew fainter, and the moon at last
disappeared below the mountains. 
     Crack
     Apollo turned, at the sound. He cursed himself, as he realized that
he had left his spear and bow inside the cabin, and scanned the area as
best he could in the growing light. He called out, his voice sounding
dead and flat in the cold, still air.
      There was no answer. He moved around the cabin, slowly, picking up
a hunk of firewood as he did so, and swept his gaze over the forest. All
he could see, bending down in the dim light, were a few small bird and
animal tracks in the snow, nothing more. Yet, he was sure that he had
heard something...something more substantial than anything that could
have left these. He had the sudden feeling of being watched, and he stood
up, slowly turning around. Pulse racing, he tightened his grip on the
piece of wood, he saw...
     Nothing. The forest was empty of anyone, or thing, as far as he
could see. For a long time, he scanned the woods, hoping that he might
espy something in the growing light, but beyond shadows, he saw nothing
definite. Making one more circuit of the cabin, he checked on the
animals, then returned inside, as the sun burst over the limb of the
world. Bethany was, for now, sated, and both she and her mother were once
more asleep. Quietly, Apollo shut the door, doffed his frosty coverings,
and put the log into the hearth. He lay quietly down next to them.
     Spear in hand.


     "I had no idea," said Sheba, some days later.
     "No idea of what?" asked Apollo, working on constructing a new
cradle for Bethany. 
     "How much there is to do," she replied, tending to Bethany's less
glamorous needs. She sounded tired, he thought. "Too bad babies don't
come with an instruction and maintenance manual. Not that I'd actually
have time to read them."
     "That'd make it too easy," he smiled, tightening the cords to his
contraption. With some of the left-over parachute, and some scraps of
branches turned into an A-Frame, Apollo now had a quite serviceable
bassinette ready for her. Once the cloth was filled with old dried grass
and wildflowers, she would have a comfy bed, right next to her parent's,
which they could rock her to sleep in. Over it, he strung the crude
rattles he had made for her. "Well, what do you think? Think she'll like
it?" he asked, stepping back to admire his handiwork.
     "She'll probably be too busy sleeping to notice," said Sheba,
finishing up. "However..." She moved over, and put the child down in her
new bed. While it was hard to tell, they both thought they detected a
smile on the girl's face.
     "She looks so much like you," said Apollo. "Its incredible."
     "How so?"
     "That much female beauty, all on one planet at the same time," he
grinned, arm around her shoulder. "Kind of rare, don't you think?"
     "Of course," said Sheba, mock-serious. "Except in my family." She
lost it, and they both laughed. Bethany looked up at them, as if they
were slightly misfiring their thrusters. 
     "What was your mother like?" asked Apollo. "I only met her once,
yahrens ago, when she did a play in Caprica City, and she visited Mother.
But I never got to know her."
     "She was the most wonderful woman I've ever known," said Sheba,
sitting. "She was very famous as an actress, you know." 
     "Yes," Apollo nodded. "In fact, my mother told me how the two of
them used to perform together in primary school pageants, when they were
girls."
     "Did you ever see any of her plays or holdramas?"
     "A few. Certainly enough to know Mother wasn't exaggerating when
she'd talk about how talented she was."  His mind went back, recalling
the ones he knew of. He'd seen several of her plays and holodramas over
the yahrens. Her interpretation of Siress Ninlil, in Hero Of The Land, or
the villainous usurper, Queen Semeramis in Hanging Gardens, her triumphal
return to the stage, a few yahrens after Sheba was born, in The Two
Siress Memnons, had won raves from the critics, two All-Colony Awards
from her peers two yahrens running, and cubits from the public. 
     "When I was very small,' Sheba sighed, "I wanted to be just like
her."
     "A life in the theater?"
     "Yes, until I got a little older, and came to understand what it was
that my father did. When I would hear of his exploits, battles against
the Cylons, that changed everything."
     "Well, I'm kind of glad it did, Sheba," he replied. "After all,
where would I be, without you?" He kissed her on the nose. 
     "Point. Well, like I said, Mother was kind, gentle, and very
patient. Any woman would have to be, to have put up with my father."
     "He was difficult, as a parent?" Although he would never have dared
ask, Apollo had heard rumors, as a cadet, that Cain had been as tough on
his family as he was on his crew.
     "At times. Tough. Expecting of discipline. Yet, he never let me see
his anger. Not once." She snuggled closer, getting more comfortable. "He
loved me as much as it was possible for him to, I think."
     "Because..." Apollo began, then thought better of it. 
     "Yes," she replied. "Yes, because he had so desperately wanted a
son. His first-born being a girl, well, I think it disappointed him very
much."
     "Well, some men are like that, Sheba. Sadly."
     "He is, Apollo. Not that he didn't love me, no. But I think it made
things more difficult, between he and mother. Especially when she lost
what would have been my brother, when I was four. She could never have
another child, after that."
     "I didn't know."
     "Well, such it was." She shrugged. "But she loved my father. Loved
him dearly, despite it all. She was a woman as inflexible in her
commitments as he was in his commitment to the military. He was a good,
sometimes indulgent father to me. I think maybe, sometimes, that I
disappointed her, in choosing the Warrior's path, instead of her own."
She stopped, sighing slightly. She looked back at him. "You don't mind,
do you, Apollo?"
     "Mind?"
     "Bethany. You don't mind our firstborn being a girl?"
     "Chimes of Hades Hole, not for a micron!" he exclaimed. "I have
always felt that what you get is what you get. I never could understand
these people that always have to know, ahead of time. Boy or girl.
Honestly, aside from knowing which color to paint the nursery, what does
it matter? We have what God has given us, Sheba. And I am just as proud
and delighted at having a daughter as I would if she had been a he.
Besides, "he smiled, "she is your flesh and blood, too. How could I be
disappointed at anything that comes from you, Sheba?"
     "Apollo!" she smiled, and embraced him. 


     As the sectons went by, winter seemed to at last hit it's nadir,
then, slowly, to begin it's retreat. From the crude calendar pole, with a
sighting hole bored through it, Apollo estimated that the sun had reached
it's lowest point in the sky, and that now, the days of snow and ice were
numbered.  Even as he peered through the slot, and made his crude
calculations, it suddenly occurred to him that he didn't remember just
where he had learned any of this. Oh, of course; it was back in school,
when he had been a child. Back in Miss...Miss...frack. Suddenly, he
couldn't remember her name. Tall, stately, dignified. They'd called her
"Miss Centurion". Yeah. Her name...
     Damn!
     He shrugged off this odd moment, and headed back towards the cabin.
Bethany was asleep inside, and Sheba was gathering eggs from their rough
hen house, the residents of which seemed ill-disposed to the idea from
the sound. It was sunny and reasonably warm this day, and the chores of
life went by with relative ease. The animals, maintenance on the
dwelling, augmenting their supplies of fuel and water. All seemed to go
by in a happy progression. It was hard and busy work, but in it's own
way, oh so satisfying. Results were tangible. 
     Apollo turned, and looked out over the valley, which he had named
the Valley of Adama. The river flowing through it, he had named the
Bethany River, while Sheba had dubbed one of the large, snow-capped peaks
that loomed over their home Mount Cain. The chain it dominated, the
Pegasus Mountains. As he surveyed his realm, Apollo noticed a small black
speck, silhouetted against the snow, several hundred metrons across the
stream. As he watched, he heard a distant caw, the cry of a bird. They
were one and the same. He watched as the bird alighted on the branch of a
dead tree, just sitting there. While too far away to tell, he felt
certain somehow, that the corvus was looking directly at him. 
     No, a voice in his head seemed to say. it's looking at her. Apollo
felt a sudden uneasiness, even as the thought passed through his mind,
going from an indistinct feeling to a certainty in scarcely a breath, and
he felt an instinctive push to grab up his spear. He looked around, and
began heading back to the cabin, when he heard another sound, thin and
weak, as it swept across the frozen land. He turned back, and saw another
form, larger but no less black, at the base of the same tree.
Four-legged, it raised a limb, swiping at the bird. Unsuccessful, it
reared up, pushing against the tree, until with a loud screech, the bird
flew away. Apollo ran back towards the cabin as fast as snow and ice made
possible, then turned when he reached the door...
     The white, icy land was empty. Whatever it was had gone. 


     "Ohhh Godddd...." wailed Sheba, as her final shuddering climax
coursed through her body. She and Apollo lay upon their bed, close to the
fire, inside the cabin. It was three sectars to the day since the birth
of their daughter, and Sheba, seriously missing the raw physical pleasure
as much as Apollo, had decided to wake him up with a special surprise. He
had turned out to be as ravenous as she, and the changes that motherhood
had wrought on her body seemed only to arouse him all the more.
     "Sheba...baby..."
     "Shhh...don't speak," she whispered, brushing back his damp hair,
and pressing a finger to his lips. She tugged at the long equitail she
had formed from his hair, which otherwise would have hung well past his
shoulders by now. Sheba had found it a perfect complement to his enormous
beard, giving him the look of a mighty ancient Kobollian warrior, which
Apollo had discovered was the look that brought out the most from her in
terms of physical passion. "Just enjoy." She embraced him, reveling in
the feel of him, still within her, and his lips on her flesh. Smiling and
feeling utterly satisfied, she began to doze...
     And dreamed. Dreamed that she walked, alone, through the woods. It
was warm and pleasant, the sun sending shaft through the canopy above
down to the forest floor, and she was barefoot and unclad and felt free
of any concern. As she walked, she felt as if she heard a voice, upon the
wind. A voice calling her name? She listened, but it did not repeat. She
walked on, deeper into the forest, and slowly, she could not say how
long, something began to appear between the trees. It was a long time
before she began to perceive that the trees were disappearing, the space
between them turning into walls.
     Walls of metal! She touched one, but it was cold, clammily damp, and
her fingers recoiled. As she moved further, the walls began to decay,
cracks and gaps appearing, until the very space in front of her began to
disappear.
     She snapped awake, with a sharp intake of breath. She was back in
her warm bed, Apollo next to her, the fire still glowing on the hearth.
The sun was shining outside, and she shook her head. It had just been a
dream. Nothing to worry about. She calmed herself, listening to Apollo's
quiet, steady breathing. All seemed quiet, even Bethany slept soundly.
She began to feel better as the images faded, slipping into oblivion. She
thought about her loved ones about her, and offered up a prayer of
gratitude. Letting the glow of the moment wash over her, she slowly sank
down, and joined her family in slumber.

Chapter Six

     It was a beautiful sight, Sheba decided, as she watched the sunlight
reflected in blazing intensity from the snow-clad mountains that
surrounded them. Up there, cold still reigned, but down here, the grip of
winter was slowly loosening, as icicles fell from the edge of the roof,
and the sound of flowing water was once more heard from the streams.
Above, birds called, and in the distance, she could just make out the
forms of grazers, beginning to move back up the valley as the snow
retreated. Already, a few hardy shoots were to be seen near their cabin,
poking up through the snow, and before long nature would be clothed once
more in green, and a hundred other colors. She took a deep breath, and
held Bethany up, turning her daughter to get a good look.
     "Your world, Beth," she said, face close to the baby's ear. "Your
beautiful world. No technology, no war, just beauty and peace." Bethany
cooed, as if in full agreement with her mother's assessment, and
laughing, Sheba held her up, her arms fully extended. "Here she is,
Father," she said to the open sky, as if Cain were looking down upon her.
"You're first grandchild! And you, Mother. I named her for you. Wherever
you are, just look! Isn't she beautiful?"
     "HGrrgrgrbbgrgrlrllrbrbrllgggllbbb," said Bethany, and her mother
lowered her arms. She looked down at her firstborn, and felt an
intangible, indefinable connection with those who were not here. Her
mother, her father, even Apollo's family. 
     "How goes it?" asked Apollo, coming up behind her, a frozen hunk of
meat in his hands.
     "Great, Apollo. Just taking in the view. I wonder if this is what it
looked like, in the beginning."
      "Must have been close," he offered, as the sun came out from behind
a small cloud. He loved the way it seemed to ignite her hair, now longer
than it had been before her tangle with the apions. "It would be hard to
imagine a more beautiful world, Sheba. A world free of all the things man
does to it."
     "Do you think...our descendants will make the same mistakes we did,
Apollo?" She looked from him, to Bethany. "Commit the same sins?"
     "I don't know, Sheba. We are all imperfect beings, and only time
will tell. But, if we do the right things, bring them up as best as God
gives us the wisdom to...We can at least hope for a better world."
     "It sure is an awesome responsibility, Apollo," she said, after a
few moments of silence.
     "What is?"
     "Being the founders of a whole new world. A whole new...race of
Mankind. A chance to get it right this time."
     "Sounds almost...messianic, Sheba," he said. "Us, refounding the
Human Race."
     "I don't know. It sounds...challenging, at the least, Apollo." She
looked at him, and stroked his flowing whiskers. "My bearded patriarch."
She smiled.
     "And you too, my voluptuous matriarch," he replied, putting a hand
to one breast, while trying so hard not to smile, that he did anyway. 
     "Hhmm...." she smiled. "Voluptuous, huh? Is that a proposition?"
     "Me? Whatever do you mean, woman?"
     "You know perfectly well what I mean, fresh guy! After all, what
sort of girl do you think I am?"
     "How about we go inside, and find out, eh?" Apollo grinned back,
leaning close enough to touch her nose with his own. 
     "Ha!" she laughed, and with a quick kiss, was away towards the
cabin. Totally unaware of the utterly lecherous grin on his face, he
followed her inside.


     "To thee, O Lord," said Apollo, holding a small slaughtered animal
in front of him, and raising his face to the sky. "For my life, for the
life of my wife and my daughter. For all the blessings bestowed upon us
in this place. Oh God, my God! Thou art my shield, and my exceeding great
reward!" With deft movements, he lay the small ungulate upon the
newly-made stone altar, and stepped back as the fire enveloped it.
Slowly, he and Sheba knelt, each offering up their own silent thoughts,
to mingle with the smoke, as the sacrifice was consumed. Next to them,
Bethany lay upon the ground in the small hand-carrier made from Sheba's
old tunic, taking it all in. 
     It was, if Apollo's calculations were correct, one full planetary
yahren, to the day, since they had arrived on this unnamed world. As best
they could determine, this planet's yahren was between 360 and 365 days
in length, close enough to Caprica normal to feel familiar. In all other
factors; climate, air, food, water, it had proven perfect for supporting
Human life. And, aside from a slight naso-respiratory affliction that
Sheba seemed to suffer a secton or so ago, illness had not yet reared
it's ugly head. 
     When he had been a child, each day had started out with devotions,
usually led by his mother, or Adama when he had been home, almost always
consisting of some reading from The Book of the Word. Apollo had
practically memorized whole stretches of the work. At the Academy, and
later on active duty, such things had often slipped to the back induction
coil, but here, after everything that had happened, from their survival,
to the birth of their daughter, to the seeming proclivity of this world
for providing for their every need, to the sheer, utter joy each felt, he
strongly felt the need to render up thanks. As winter retreated ever
further, and the days warmed, he began to collect large stones, and on a
small hillock near the cabin, he built an altar, much as he imagined
their very very ancient forebears had done. 
     Sheba, he noticed, quickly fell deep into prayers of her own, as the
flames devoured the offering. His wife's piety had surprised him,
somewhat. While not profane at all, she had always projected the persona
of the no-nonsense, out-of-my-way, I got-a-job-to-do, go-grab-it-all
modern woman. Old-fashioned, traditional attitudes and the mores of their
ancestors hadn't been much in evidence at all. But now...He had to admit
it pleased him deeply, though he would never voice such to her. Whatever
was inside Sheba, let it come forth in her own time and own way, he told
himself. Then, almost as if on cue, she began to sing an old hymn, and
after a halting moment or two, he joined her, blending his badly-tuned
Viper engine of a voice with her own sweeter tones.
     He raised his head, looking at first directly into the flames, then
up, and noticed something in the distance. At the same moment, a noise
reached his ears. Across the valley, on a branch of the dead tree, the
black shape, the corvus, was back. Even from this distance, he could
tell, more like feel, it's eyes upon them. As before it cried and
screeched, this time hopping up and down, wings flapping, as it gazed in
their direction. Somehow, and he didn't consciously grasp how, it came to
him that the distant creature was...angry! Angry...at what? At him? What
had put such a thought in his head? He shook his head, and after a few
moments, the bird seemed to either tire of the display, or had somewhere
else to go, and pushed off, soaring into the air, it's black wings
carrying it whither Apollo knew not.
     Slowly, as the flames began to die upon the altar, Apollo got to his
feet, Sheba with him, and they returned to their home, myriad chores
awaiting them. As they walked, his focus shifted, turning to his wife and
child, Sheba's lithe movements stirring other thoughts. Before he had
even reached the door, the corvus had slipped from his mind. 


     That Sheba could sing had, somewhat, come as a surprise to Apollo.
Of course, he'd never given it a lot of thought before, but now, it just
seemed the most normal thing in the world that his wife would, at
unpredictable times, show herself in good voice. Whether tending to
Bethany, gathering food, or some other of their daily tasks, Sheba would
often break out in song. Even after making love, she sometimes would
begin to pour forth her sweet voice, providing a beautiful cap to a
wonderful experience. 
     So, as they hiked along, following the Bethany River up the valley,
Apollo wasn't the least bit surprised as she began again, stopping a
moment to pick some blazing wildflower, and put it in her hair. As they
progressed, it almost at times seemed as if nature itself stopped to
listen. Birds of various types sat on stones and stumps, seemingly
mesmerized by the glorious voice that wafted over them. While of course,
Apollo knew that was hyperbole on his part, it was nonetheless a sweet
indulgence in imagination.
     It was a full two days since the last tiny patches of snow had at
last finally vanished, and the river was in full spate. Flowers and
grasses were emerging everywhere, and Apollo had decided that it might be
a good time to explore their valley home a bit further. Trading off
carrying Bethany on the packboard Apollo had made, they made good time,
arriving at the shores of a small lake before mid-day. The river flowed
out from it, chattering loudly over jumbled stones, and they camped upon
a rocky outcrop, near the outlet, a large coniferous tree clinging to the
opposite bank. In those rushing waters, fish were to be found, and soon
several were sizzling over a merry fire. Seasoned with bits of herbage
saved from last year, it was, Sheba declared, one of the tastiest repasts
she had ever had.
     "Hey, Chef Apollo aims to please," replied her husband. "Would
Madame care to see the ambrosia selection?" 
     "Oh of course, Steward," she replied. "Do you have a '27, by any
chance?" They both laughed.
     It was warm, despite the snow on the distant mountains, and Apollo
doffed his leather tunic, leaning back to enjoy the sun shining down upon
them. After sweeping the remains of their feast into the waters, Sheba
did likewise. As if not wishing to be left out of this gastronomic
interlude, Bethany loudly declared her own hunger, and Sheba put the
child to her breast. Apollo opened one eye, and watched her as she nursed
their daughter. He smiled, at the sight of this magnificent woman, just
being so wonderfully natural. It wasn't erotic or such just now, more
like an admiration of beauty for beauty's sake, tinged with the
unutterable love he possessed for this woman and the child she had borne
him. 
     Died and gone to heaven, he thought, silently watching his wife
suckle the girl. Nothing could top this sort of existence. Whatever had
gone before, back on...
     On...what? As he filled his eyes with the sight of her breastfeeding
the child, it nagged at his mind that he was missing something. He'd been
thinking...uh, thinking that before he and Sheba had come here, they had
live aboard...
     Damn! Why is it so hard...what's wrong with my idiot brain? I
can't...
     And then, he thought that, for a brief instant, he heard the sound
of a voice. A voice that he had also recalled hearing in some ill-defined
dreams of his at various points, attached to a face that seemed vaguely
familiar, but to which he could put no name, uttering the same word
again:     "Remember!"
     Remember? Remember wha...
     He was distracted, both from his disturbed thought, and the sight of
Sheba, by another sight. Not twenty metrons away, a large, shaggy
bruinoid had lumbered into view, fortunately on the opposite side of the
river. Nose to the water, it was obviously looking for something.
Probably food, Apollo thought. The beast was thin and ragged-looking,
having likely just emerged from it's winter den, and doubtless was quite
hungry. Hoping fervently that it didn't think that people would be a good
addition to the menu, Apollo called to Sheba. She opened her eyes, and
looked at him...
     And saw the creature. Quickly, much to Bethany's annoyance, she
disengaged the girl, got back into her clothes, and grabbed up her bolo.
Apollo had likewise taken up his spear, and looked towards the beast
again. It was, for it's part, seemingly uninterested in these
interlopers, aside from gazing at them with huge brown eyes.
Nutritionally, it had apparently found them unimpressive. 
     "Never paid much attention to this sort of stuff in school," she
said. "Are they friendly?"
     "Don't know," said Apollo, gripping his spear. The animal grunted
and snuffled a few times, but made no move to cross over to them. Then,
suddenly, it reared up on it's hind legs, and rumbled. Apollo tensed...
     And saw what the beast was looking at. Behind them, on a rock, stood
a large, black lupus, eyes yellow, dividing it's attention seemingly
between the Humans, and the shaggy beast on the other side of the water.
As it looked at him, Apollo felt, bizarrely, that the lupus...hated him.
He could feel some sort of malice, of pure evil, emanating from it. But
how? A mere animal? It growled deep in it's chest, and the bruinoid
responded, roaring as it swept the air in front of it with it's huge
claws. Sheba twirled the bolo over her head, but seemed unsure of which
creature to strike out against. The lupus turned it's attention from
Apollo to her, and something in it's gaze frightened Apollo. The look in
those eyes was almost...almost Human. It looked at Sheba with what almost
seemed a gaze of...no! A gaze of sheer lust, mingled with hatred. Apollo
tightened his grip on the spear...
     Just as the bruinoid roared. Apollo turned, to see the huge beast on
it's hind legs, upper limbs pushing against the tree. With seemingly
little effort, the tree snapped, and fell across the stream. The beast
roared again, eyes fixed on he and Sheba. With a sudden flash of insight,
he dashed for the tree, catching Sheba in one arm. Keeping their balance,
they made it across the surging waters...
     Just as the tree shifted, sliding away, lost in the torrent. Apollo
turned, to see the lupus, howling with fury at their escape, then towards
the bruinoid...
     "Its gone!" said Sheba, looking about. Apollo did likewise. True
enough, the huge shaggy beast was nowhere to be seen, it's massive tracks
leading away from the river, till the mud gave way to firmer ground.
Still, it should be well within sight yet. "But how...?
     "I...I don't know, Sheba," he said, scanning for the creature, then
looking back across the river at the lupus.
     Which, also, was no longer there.
     "Apollo, what in Heaven's name is..."
     "I don't know, Sheba," he said, feeling a chill, despite the warmth
of the sun. "Let's get home."
     "On your wake."
     Being on the opposite side of the river, they had to make their way
back opposite the path they had come up. All the way, each was alert,
wary of any sudden danger. Though neither saw any sign of the huge lupus,
Apollo felt sure that it lurked near, that it was watching them. After a
couple of centars, they had the cabin in sight, and waded across to their
side. 
     "We've had visitors," said Sheba, looking about. Huge lupus tracks
were in evidence, both at the cabin door, and around the altar.
     "Yeah," replied Apollo, looking into the pen. One of the caprons lay
dead, savaged by some wild beast. A fowl lay next to it, also dead,
feathers everywhere, the eggs in the nest spilled out and smashed. 
     "But who...I thought we were alone here."
     "Yeah," said Apollo, slowly. Then, slowly, he began to clean up. In
a wash of black humor, he decided that at least they knew what was going
to be for dinner, tonight.

Chapter Seven

     He sat up a few sleepless nights, but at last Apollo decided that
their mysterious interloper would not return. As the season changed, and
myriad plants and animals made their presence known, the gathering in of
food and other resources occupied much of their time. While he did not
see the bruinoid, or any others of it's kind, for the present, Apollo
decided that the cabin needed to be stronger. With the lumps of native
cupric to be found nearby, he at last succeeded in casting a serviceable
ax head, making the felling of trees vastly easier. With that, and the
drawknife Sheba had made, along with a lot of sweat, the crude brick
walls of the cabin gave way to ones of thick logs, notched together. An
elevated platform also served to keep a portion of their food supplies
out of reach from some of the wildlife. 
     At Sheba's suggestion, they also built a rough bridge across the
river, at a point just below their home. By the end of the second sectar
since the encounter with the strange animals, their home was safer and
more secure than ever, their food supplies never more abundant. While
Sheba worked on projects of her own, Apollo went out and played Mighty
Hunter, bringing down a fairly large grazer, from the herd that had taken
up residence across the valley. With his bow, he, after lying in wait for
what seemed like centars, brought one down, finishing the beast off with
his spear. It may not have been very sophisticated, or neat, but it
worked, and he was glad of the physical exertion. Aside from lovemaking
with Sheba, he enjoyed nothing quite so much as the physical trials of
strength against nature. Tying the carcass to his impromptu travois/sled,
he began the trek back home. Along the way, he stopped to gather some
herbs and wild vegetables, to augment their table, and some flowers to
adorn his wife. He smiled at the thought.
     He began to sing, as he dragged his trophy home, some half-forgotten
ditty from his Academy days, most of the lyrics fit neither for ladies
nor children, when suddenly, he stopped, catching movement off to his
left. It was large, whatever it was, and he instinctively gripped his
spear tighter. It stood up, and he could see that it was the big shaggy
beast, from the falls, or at least another of it's kind. It stood on it's
hindquarters, and for a long moment, just seemed content to watch him.
Apollo gauged the distance between them; too far to be sure of doing any
real damage with the spear. He slowly put it down, and unslung his bow.
     But the beast had no apparent interest in a fight. With a low
rumble, it dropped back to all fours, and shuffled off through the grass,
apparently having forgotten him already. Apollo let out a breath, and
rehitched himself to his contraption, and resumed his homeward trek. A
bit faster, this time. He actually felt a strange sense of relief when
the cabin came in to view, and he set foot on the bridge. He headed up
the path, to be greeted by the sound of...
     Bang
     Bang
    Thwump!
     "Oh, felcer...!"
     Sheba's latest inspiration had been, to Apollo, brilliant. She'd
taken all the bits and pieces left over from his forging and casting the
ax and short daggers, and hammered them into a pan. Heated, then held
over a rock and beaten with another, Sheba had created something a bit
better than the original baked clay utensils.
     Only her aim was not the greatest.
     "Sheba?"
     "Ap...yeah!" she answered, sucking on her thumb. "I missed."
     He smiled as he drew near, and dropped his kill. True enough, she
had missed, and forged her thumb instead. She looked back at him, as she
soothed the wounded member, and at last began to giggle. 
     "Well, what do you think?" she asked, picking up her creation. It
was crude, but it was almost two centimetrons deep, and almost a third of
a metron wide. "Will it do?"
     "How about we find out, tonight?" he replied. "Where's Bethany?" She
indicated their daughter, watching the proceedings from her carrier.
Moving over, Apollo greeted his daughter, putting a small, edible,
blossom in her ever-lengthening hair.
     "If that gives her the runs, you'll be changing her nappies," Sheba
told him sternly.
     "She's had them before," he smiled fondly down at his daughter. 
"That's how I found out they were edible."
     "And you already a fath ..." she frowned, distracted by the caw of a
bird overhead.
     "What was that?"
     "Huh?  Oh, nothing," she replied, scratching her lower leg. She
moved over, and then she and Apollo proceeded to butcher his kill. That
night, with her new skillet, and the wild plants Apollo had gathered,
they feasted. Later, after Bethany had herself feasted, and they had made
wild passionate love under the sky, they drifted off to sleep.
     And dreamed.
     Sheba dreamed once more of walking through some dim, tangled place.
A forest, the trees slowly becoming more spindly, more gnarled, seemingly
less healthy. After how long she knew not, she once more felt something
solid between the branches, something hard under her bare feet. Something
hard, yet damp. Slimy. Something that smelled dank and decaying. Then, as
if in response to her wish for light, a sudden glimmer showed ahead. She
moved towards it. Slowly, it grew. Grew, until she could see that she was
no longer in a forest, but among things artificial. Floors of...metal.
Walls. Small, dimly-blinking lights about her, casting weird shadows in
the gloom. 
     Suddenly, something shuffled past her, a shape, but what precisely,
she could not see. She tried to peer deeper...
     Sheba.
     She whirled, certain she had heard a voice. A voice that had called
her name. 
     Sheba.
     "Who's there?" she called. Somewhere, she could sense shapes, forms,
things, moving about in the darkness. She was suddenly conscious of her
nakedness, and felt a rush to get away, to cover herself.
     Sheba, the soft, whisper came again. Sheba, come to me.
     "Who are you?" she cried out, arms trying to cover herself. "Don't
hide from me!"
     Come to me, Sheba, it seemed to say, although whether she heard, or
somehow felt  the voice, she could not tell. As she began to shiver, she
saw a dim light ahead. Unlike the artificial type of light so far, this
one seemed natural, like daylight. She began to move towards it, when
once more, she heard a voice.
     No. No, Sheba.
     She stopped, mind reeling in confusion, when she felt something on
her shoulder. A touch, and not a touch of warmth, or love, or anything
good. It chilled her, made her feel soiled, made her scream....
     Jerking upright next to Apollo. She looked at him, then with a rush
of panic, turned to find Bethany.  The girl was still asleep, as was
Apollo. Like her, he seemed to be dreaming, it the twitching and muffled
words were any indication.
     "Who..." he called, reaching out with one hand, and snapping awake.
He seemed to be at a loss for a moment, then after a few microns, he
seemed to remember himself.
     "Apollo?"
     "Sheba?"


     Apollo shook his head, as baffled by Sheba's dream, as she had been
about his. For her part, Sheba had felt so...soiled, so filthy after her
strange dream, that she had gone to the pool by the spring, and washed
herself. Repeatedly. It was as if the very feelings in her dream had to
be scrubbed and purged away from her skin. 
     Apollo's venture into the netherworld was no less surreal than her
own. He wandered corridors dark and close, feeling as if countless eyes
were upon him. It felt...wrong, somehow. Wrong, as if the place itself
was sick. Diseased. 
     Remember, said a voice, though, like Sheba, he could not be certain
if he actually heard, or merely somehow felt it. He turned, and caught a
fleeting glimpse of a form. He called out to it, then turned as again he
heard the whisper. For a moment, he saw a face. A man, familiar, yet
unfamiliar to him. 
     "Who are you?" Apollo asked. 
     Remember...the other seemed to say again, and wavered out of
existence. 
     Remember...
     "Who are you? Remember what? Who..."

     "Its a face I know," said Apollo. "Yet, I can't seem to pull it
out."
     "The same with me," said Sheba. "I know this...this place. Yet I
can't remember what or where it is." She reached down, to scratch her
lower leg. "Maybe I'm just getting old and senile."
     "You?" Apollo said, looking into her eyes. "Never, Sheba. Not in a
million yahrens."
     "Thanks, Apollo," she said, almost a whisper. She moved closer,
putting an arm over him. She seemed to shiver for a moment.
     "Sheba?"
     "Just hold me, Apollo. Just...hold me."
     And slowly, quietly, they slipped back into peace.
     

     The dreams did not recur, and the little family got on with the
business of living. As the season progressed, Apollo found increasing
merriment in watching Bethany grow. From smiling, to laughing, to sitting
up, the child's progress was a constant source of pleasure to him, and he
roared with laughter the day she tried to pull on his beard in front, as
well as his long equitail in back. For her part, Bethany seemed to find
it all very amusing. 
     "Wish we had a book, sometimes," he commented, as the child sat on
the ground, playing with her toys. 
     "Oh?" asked Sheba.
     "Uh huh. After all, you're an only child, and I never paid a lot of
attention. How fast do babies grow, anyway?"
     "As fast as they should," she replied, finishing up her project.
Apollo had cut her a long pole, and she had tied a small cupric bell to
the curved end of it. She stood, and began to lead some of the caprons
out of the pen, to graze in the meadow. Apollo was again struck by how
beautiful she looked, as a herdress, with the sun setting her hair
ablaze, and giving a warm healthy glow to her skin. Her hair was more
than back to it's normal length now, cascading well past her shoulders,
giving her the look of a mythological goddess come to life.
     "Well," he said, finally turning back to his daughter, "looks like
it's just you and me, kid."
     "Ppbbrgrppgrpbpbppp," replied Bethany.
     "Yeah. I agree completely," said Apollo, and returned to his work on
the cabin logs. Meticulous by nature, he made sure that each notch was as
perfect as his crude tools could make them, each log and plank as
balanced as he knew how.  Lacking anything sophisticated, he had made a
level from a bowl of water. Placing it on as flat a spot as he could
find, he half-filled it, then drew a line around the edge of the liquid
within with a sharp point. Now, he could use it as a level, making sure
his work was as exacting as he could achieve. By the time Sheba returned,
they would have some real shelves inside, and a mantle over the
fireplace. 
     He looked up, as something caught his attention. A bright flash, or
flare, in the sky. It was a fiery mass, trailing flame and smoke. It
sailed across the vault, east to west, but never came close. As he looked
at it, burning up in the air, it made him remember...
     What? The sight of the object had brought to mind memories. Images.
Thoughts, that he couldn't seem to make sense of. He tried to...
     Remember! Remember, Captain!
     Again, he seemed to hear a voice, the same as in his dream, bidding
him to remember. But what? What was it he was supposed to remember? What
things was he being urged to bring to mind? He just couldn't seem to...
     "Waah!" cried Bethany, and he looked down, attention diverted from
the flame in the sky, and his own troubled mind. He looked down at her,
and smiled.
     "Lords, you must have straight tubes, child!" he laughed, and picked
her up. Oh yeah. Sure enough. As he set to playing parent, the meteor,
the confusion, and all the rest of it was already fading from his mind.
In the distance on this utterly still day, he could hear the tinkle of
Sheba's bell, and the bleat of the animals. He smiled. Yes, it was all so
good. He had all he really needed; a woman that was a veritable goddess
in every way, a beautiful child they had produced together, the perfect
environment in which to live and rear their family. Perfect health. What
man really needed anything else? Who could even want anything more?
     "There ya go, kid," he said, finishing up, and deciding he wasn't so
porcus-fisted at this sort of task after all. He looked down at her, and
she smiled back up at him. Already, he could see hints of the future
woman in the child. Her eyes were her mother's eyes, the way she crinkled
her nose when she smiled a veritable clone of Sheba's. "You're going to
be so beautiful, Bethany," he said, lifting her up, and twirling her
around. The child laughed. "You're going to be beautiful, just like your
mama!"
     "Mammmmbmbmbmm..." said Bethany, batting his hands with her little
ones. "Mmmammmbbbmmm."
     "Ha! I swear you're trying to talk, child!" he said, and laughed
again. "Well, I have a lot of work to do, so..." He moved back to his
carpentry, and set her down. "You sit there, and you can tell me how to
do it all." He chuckled, and lowered his voice. "Just like your mother,
huh?" 
     Bethany just laughed.
     "Yeah. I knew you two were in on it. Women!"
     Bethany giggled again, and Apollo returned to the logs. So lost in
the work was he, that he almost missed seeing Sheba approach, a few
centars later. Despite all the sweat, despite the smell of animals, he
dropped his tools, and ran to meet her, embracing her as she returned. 

Chapter Eight

     Finally, three sectars after he'd begun, Apollo and Sheba fitted the
last log into place, slapped on the last bucket of pitch, and the cabin
was as done as it ever would be. The bricks from the first version he
used to make a "porch", and frames for the "windows", made of
tightly-fitted animal skins, scraped as thin as possible, to admit at
least a modicum of light, while keeping out all but the worst weather. 
     "Who knew you were a secret master builder," said Sheba, as they
admired their finished product from a few metrons away.
     "Certainly not me," he replied, arm around her. He looked down, at
Bethany, who seemed to be more fascinated with an apion hovering about a
blossom, than her parent's masterpiece. "Lords, I need a wash," he said,
wrinkling his nose, and picking up the child, led his little family down
to the river. There, just above the bridge, they waded in. 
     Sheba, on one of her herding outings, had discovered a plant, the
roots of which rendered up a soapy ooze when crushed. It did fair for a
cleanser, and both had to admit, it felt good to get clean. Apollo, who
now wore little more than a loincloth, doffed it and dove in, followed by
his wife. Like himself, she had taken to wearing much the same, save when
out herding, and landed with a huge splash right behind him. Bethany was
more gently lowered into the stream that bore her name, and after a few
moments of puzzlement, began flapping her arms about happily. 
     "Champion swimmer in the making," declared Sheba, holding her
daughter, and getting a big splash in the face for her trouble. "Oh, such
respect!"
     "Champion everything, I suspect, Sheba. I admit I don't know a lot
about babies, but she sure seems to be growing fast."
     "Yeah, she does," agreed Sheba, setting the girl on the grassy bank.
     "Must be all that wonderful nourishment she gets," said Apollo, with
a grin, closing the space between them, and gently touching one breast.
     "You think so?" Sheba smiled back. She ran a hand up and down one
arm, squeezing the wonderfully rounded muscles. She loved the way that
he'd filled out like an athlete.
     "Oh, I'm sure of it. In fact..."
     "Yes?"
     "Wahhh..."
     "I think someone wants some nourishment," said Apollo, unable to
control his laughter.
     "Yeah, so do I," laughed Sheba, and proceeded to comply. Later,
after Bethany was done, and both she and Apollo had consumed their small
picnic meal, they lay back on the bank, and just enjoyed the sun, the
sound of the water, flowing past over rounded rocks, and the presence of
each other. It was only after a doze, he wasn't sure how long, that
Apollo felt himself returning to awareness, with the touch of Sheba's
hands on his body. He smiled, opening his eyes to see her face above him,
and reveled in how expert she had become, in knowing just what, and
where, excited him the most. Almost before he was aware of it, his body
had responded, and he reached out to her.
     "No," she whispered. "Lay back, beloved. Just lay back."
     Apollo complied, He gazed up at her, washed in sun and sweat, and
felt his very depths overflowing with love. Blissfully, he let himself
become lost in what Sheba was doing to him, moment by tortuously long
moment. His wife was, without question, a virtuosa in the arts of love,
and it was becoming harder and harder to resist taking full hold of her,
and bringing them both to fulfillment. The sight of her sensuous form,
seemingly only enhanced and made even more desirable by all that their
lifestyle had done to it, drove him to even greater heights of passionate
need, and when, after Lords knew how long, she at last moved atop him, he
took hold of her. Sheba moaned, loving the feel of his powerful arms on
her, his enormous beard against her, and his manhood within her. 
     "I wish...we had forever, Apollo," she moaned, as they moved
together.
     "Sheba..." was all he could managed to get out coherently. Giving
wordless voice to their deep needs and passions, they moved together for
what seemed like an eternity, yet always too short a time, before Sheba
threw back her head, and screamed like a woman possessed. Apollo soon
followed, his own deeper voice joining hers in an untamed chorus of
fulfillment as everything, both physical and spiritual, mingled together.
Five centons passed before Sheba, lazily atop him, finally let out a long
sigh, and broke the silence. 
     "Mmmmm, I'm so glad that razors weren't part of your survival kit,"
she giggled as she lazily ran a finger through Apollo's beard, which
after all this time was some three centimetrons thick.
     "Me too," he sighed, enjoying her touch as he ran his fingers down
her back. "I always hated shaving. I don't care if this is the millionth
time I've said this, but I hated shaving."
     "You should have told me sooner, and I'd have given you some
encouragement to grow that beautiful manly growth I love so much," she
leaned over and brushed her lips through the massive whiskers. They
locked eyes, then giggled at the double-entendre. "The first night here,
feeling just a bit of stubble was enough to get me all excited. it's just
been better and better ever since."
      "Yeah," Apollo's eyes were closed, his mind slowly becoming lost in
the peaceful reverie of their surroundings......
      "But regulations..."
      "That regulation is no more.  I had a nice long talk with the
Commander and I told him it wasn't necessary."
      Apollo's eyes snapped open, his peaceful reverie suddenly
shattered, replaced by a sense of deep confusion as he heard the echo of
voices. His own, and Sheba's, from a conversation he knew had happened at
some point. But as he idly touched his face, he knew it was a
conversation that couldn't have happened because it made no sense. Not in
the context of all that had happened.
      "Apollo?" Sheba asked, as if she sensed his concern. "Is something
wrong?"
      He slowly came up to a sitting position, "Um.....no, Sheba, no.
Nothing's wrong." He offered her a reassuring smile, but inside he was
still troubled. Deeply troubled. "What's say we wash up again before we
head for home?"
      His wife smiled wickedly at him, "I'm all for that!" She looked at
him, then at their surroundings. "I wish we had forever, Apollo," she
said, looking back at him.
      "You won't hear me disagree," he replied, as they let the water
flow over them. The look of her eyes stirred him, and before he
half-realized it, they were once more consumed by passion, burning up
with their mutual desire. 
       It was getting towards evening, before they were, at last, sated,
and rose to go, after a last wash in the river. Apollo picked up the
child, and Sheba the fish they had caught. Walking back through the
grasses, he picked some colorful blossoms for his wife's hair, and she
broke forth into song.
     Ordinarily, Apollo would have felt deeply moved by how beautifully
melodic her voice sounded. But inside he was still troubled. Memories
were coming back to him, clear and distinct. Of a time when he and Sheba
had experienced a night of deep pleasure somewhere else, far away from
this place in the cramped confines of a..a place with gray walls. Where?
A ship? He knew it hadn't been a dream, but it couldn't have happened.
Not if......
      "Let it grow, grow, grow!" he could hear her voice happily echoing
in his head.
      And then, another voice popped into his head once again. The same
voice he'd been hearing before that he couldn't place. A man's voice.
     "Remember."
      He had an uneasy feeling that he was starting to remember things
that, if they were to continue, just might mean something that could
threaten the state of peaceful Paradise he and Sheba and their newborn
daughter had been enjoying all this time. Something that could destroy
it.
       No, he said to himself, not letting his inner unease show in front
of his wife and daughter. Please no.  Let it stay this way. 
     Forever.  


     His prayer seemed answered, for he did not hear, or even dream the
voice, or any of the rest of it, for some time. As the warm days went by,
his thoughts narrowed to the world of his family, and their lives, here
and now. As he worked their small vegetable patch, made tools at the
forge, or helped Sheba with the animals, virtually every thought was
directed towards life as it was. And, the more he concentrated on these
things, the less and less he recalled the life before. 
     "Come on. Come on!" he smiled, as Bethany wobbled on her little
legs. Held by her mother, the girl, who had been trying to become bipedal
for some while, at last took off across the few short metrons between her
and her father, and with a look of grim determination worthy of her
bloodline, stayed on her feet all the way to Apollo. When she at last was
enfolded in his arms, both he and Sheba laughed, Bethany gurgling happily
as well, at her achievement.
     "Knew you could do it," said Sheba, smiling down at her daughter. "I
knew it."
     "Now we'll have to worry about her wandering off!" said Apollo with
a chuckle.
     "Da..." said Bethany, tugging at her father's beard, and then his
equitail. "Daa-aa..."
     "Will ya listen to that?" grinned Apollo. "She'll be singing next!"
     "Of course," Sheba smiled back. "Its genetic, you know."
     "I believe it."
     He set Bethany down, and picked up what clothes they had, and led
his small family outside. As had become his custom, he led Sheba and
Bethany to the altar he had built, covered their heads, and there offered
thanksgiving for the blessings he and Sheba had enjoyed. They offered up
prayers, both privately and in unison, then heard it again.
     Caw!
     Across the meadow from them, now perched on the railing of the
bridge, was a huge black corvus. Whether the same one he'd seen before,
Apollo was not certain. Yet, as before, it stared at him, cawing loudly
and fluttering it's wings, hopping up and down as if highly agitated. As
he looked at it, Apollo was once again struck by how...how angry the
creature seemed. For some reason, the bird was furious, and at him.
Despite the immobility of the avian face, it nonetheless, Apollo decided,
conveyed a powerful sense of anger. Anger at him, and at Sheba. 
     Face black...angry...it must be...must...
     Almost it was to the surface, when Bethany began to cry, breaking
his train of thought. He looked to her, arm around her mother, who was
still staring into the dying fire on the altar, then back. With a final
scream of what in a Human would have been utter rage, the bird took off,
and they were alone. Apollo watched the bird until it had vanished in the
distance, then looked back at his beloved. 
     "Apollo," she said, getting to her feet. "Just offering up my own
thanks to the Lords for everything."
     "You are so devout, Sheba," he said, moving closer, and embracing
her. "Its beautiful."
     "Thanks, Apollo. I guess I feel...moved to be. After all, I have
everything that I could possibly want, right here. This is like...like
heaven, in this life." She looked at Bethany, then back at Apollo. "Isn't
it?"
     "Yes it is, Sheba. it's like...like I want it to go on forever.
Never to end. Who would?"
     "I feel the same way, Apollo," she replied, smiling and embracing
him. She pulled back, smiling.
     "What?" he asked, her smile infectious. She held him in suspense a
few moments longer, teasing him with her minxish gaze.
     "Bethany's going to have a little brother or sister, Apollo." 
     "Are you...Lords, of course you are," he managed to get out. He
threw back his head, and whooped, and Sheba laughed. Just laughed.
     Smiling and feeling happy, Apollo offered up another sacrifice on
the altar, and more prayers.
     And then sang, all the way back to the cabin. 


     As summer slowly began to fade into autumn, and the trees began to
blaze with color, and the days grew gradually cooler, Apollo scarcely
noticed. So consumed was he with the love of his family, that each day,
with all it's tasks, was a joy, and not a labor. As Sheba swelled with
the new life within her, he decided that it not only didn't detract from
her beauty, but actually enhanced it, and often told her so. For her
part, Sheba just seemed to glow more as time went on, somewhat to
Apollo's mixture of puzzlement and amusement. Either way, she, as before,
did not let her advancing condition slow her down. If anything, she
seemed determined to take on even more work as the days went by, Bethany
frequently at her side. The girl seemed to have taken to walking with a
vengeance, becoming a veritable whirlwind of motion. 
     Much to the relief of both, the next winter was milder than the
first. While there were many cold days, and deep snow, it did not seem to
bite into both ground and flesh as deeply as the previous. In fact, there
was many a sunny day, allowing both adults to work outside, cutting and
stitching Bethany's first outfit. It would never win any fashion show
awards, but it fit her, and that was all it needed to do. She herself
seemed to be a natural-born show-off, twirling around in her new clothes,
and in fixating in particular on her fur cap. 
     "Mama," she said, more like cooed, as her mother adjusted the girl's
sartorial debut. She giggled, and smiled up at her parents. 
     "Yes, Mama," said Sheba, feeling a deep warm glow, at the words
coming from her own flesh and blood. She was immediately struck with a
flash of memory, of how another child had once said those very words, and
not so very long ago, or so it seemed. She seemed to see a face, in her
mind's eye. A face, she thought, about...
     "Damn," she muttered, as her leg began to itch intensely,
distracting her. She dug her nails into it, trying to find release from
the blasted irritation. 
     "Sheba?" asked Apollo.
     "This blasted scar, Apollo. Itches, sometimes. Like mad. Wish I
could...ahh!"
     "Here," he said, and motioned her closer, and spreading an ointment
Sheba had concocted, from a mixture of animal fats and herbs over the
offending area. It seemed to soothe things a bit, and she smiled. "Maybe
you should tie those leggings tighter, when you go out into the grasses,"
he suggested. "Rough thorns, or something."
     "Yeah, maybe. Something, anyway," she replied, scratching. The itch
had almost gone, now.
     As had the memories.

Chapter Nine. 

     "Thank-you! Thank-you O Lord!" Apollo prayed, barely above a
whisper, rocking back and forth upon his knees, on the floor of the
cabin. After the season had once more turned warm, Sheba had gone into
labor, again slightly sooner than expected. Also unexpected was her
delivery of twins! Despite Apollo's anxieties, and what seemed like even
more pain in her labor than last time, Sheba was, just as the day broke
amidst a thundering downpour, lighter of a fair daughter and son, the
girl coming about twenty centons before her brother. Even as he cleaned
them up and made sure the room was warm, Apollo felt a flood of relief,
and offered up his prayers of thanksgiving.
     And gratitude. 
     "Mama," Bethany had added, holding her mother's hand. The girl
seemed determined to be a real comfort, somehow easing Sheba's ordeal
just by her proximity. "Mama 'kay?" she asked.
     "Yeah," said Sheba, hair still damp. "I'm okay, little one."
     "Papa, Mama 'kay," the girl reported dutifully to her father. Apollo
smiled, feeling so full of joy at this moment, that he felt as if he
might burst. Was it even possible, he asked himself, for it to get
better? Here he was, with the most wonderful woman in the universe,
surrounded by the children they had made together, in a setting as
idyllic as Humanly imaginable. What man could possess greater felicity?
That night, after the newborns were fed, settled, and asleep next to
their slumbering mother, he sat up by the fire, long into the dark
centars, a dozing Bethany on his lap, singing softly to her (she,
thankfully, was not a critic), telling her stories, or just watching
Sheba sleep. How pure she looked as she slumbered, he thought. Almost
like an innocent babe herself, at the new and unsullied beginning of the
world. That, he smiled, put him in mind of the time...
     Damn! There it goes, again! Why can't I...
     Remember!
     "Remember what?" he asked aloud, his voice sounding almost booming
in the quiet of the cabin. The feeling that there was something important
that he needed to recall, something terribly important, kept gnawing at
him, even as he slowly got up, and put Bethany in her bed. He slowly
covered her up, and tip-toed to the "kitchen", and got a mug of water. As
he sat, sipping it and staring at the fire, he kept trying to "remember"
whatever it was. He dozed, then awoke, the fire having burned low. He
tossed a few scraps on it, and watched it blaze up.
     Remember, Captain!
     "Captain?" he said softly, as if the word were somehow unfamiliar to
his mind. He knew it, of course; knew that it applied to him. Yet,
somehow, it also seemed...foreign, as if it were merely a sound, and in
no wise truly a part of him. 
     Remember, came the voice, though whether it was an actual audible
sound, or within himself he still did not know. He looked into the fire,
and for a moment, it was almost as if he could see a...
     A face! In the flames, or behind them perhaps, he saw, for a
fleeting instant, a face. A Human face! A man, and familiar. A face he
knew, he knew, that he had seen before. A face that had once seemed
so...so important. Or was it the words it spoke? He felt a rising sense
of frustration. Why? Why in the name of the Lords could he not remember
something seemingly so simple?
     Where in the name of all that's holy have I seen that face? As he
tried to ponder, the one thing that seemed to stick out was that he could
somehow remember a time when this voice that kept saying, "Remember", had
said something else to him once before. But not here though; it had been
somewhere else. Someplace...foreboding and dark. Dark, and cold, and
redolent with the faint aroma of death.  And the words had been.....
      "Help me.....please."
      Yes, those had been the words he'd heard from this voice on that
other occasion. But when had that been?  Where had that been?
     "Why?" he asked aloud? "Why in Hades Hole can't I..." He heard a
sound, and turned. It was Sheba, stirring in her sleep. When Apollo
turned back to the fire, the image was gone. Nothing more than flames and
glowing coals. Maybe that's all it was, he told himself, though deep
inside, he did not believe it. He got up, and checked outside. All was
still under a starry sky. He checked Bethany again, and then Sheba and
the twins. All seemed well, he told himself. You're tired, Apollo.
Exhausted. it's just the anxiety, worrying about Sheba and childbirth.
That's all.
     That's all!
     But as he slowly fell asleep, a prayer on his lips, his hand folded
about his spear.

     He dreamed, and like so many of his dreams it was never something
overly realistic or three-dimensional. His dreams had always tended to be
abstract, seemingly formed from random thoughts and images in his mind
that his subconscious would somehow build on into something that never
made much linear sense. This had always surprised Apollo, since he never
considered himself anything but concrete in his everyday thought pattern.
    As he dreamed, he saw a darkened corridor of some strange place,
illuminated only by blinking light panels of some kind.  He was holding
an electric illuminator to light the passageway. And then, to his left he
saw an opening that reminded him of an access point of some kind. Taking
a cautious step forward, he peered through the darkness and saw a giant
open circular hub of some kind that encompassed several levels of space.
In the center of the open area, a core shaft rising up.
     "Apollo?" he heard Sheba's voice. But it was far away and hollow
standing and he realized it was coming from some device attached to his
side. He was about to reach for it, when suddenly everything around him
went black, and he felt a sensation of being thrown to one side and the
sensation of falling in mid-air into the open area below......
     And laughter. Cold, sick, malignant laughter!
     And then, he bolted up, breathing heavily in terror at how real the
dream he'd just had had seemed to him. As he tried to catch his bearings,
he could then hear the echo of that other voice that had tormented him
for so long going once again, "Remember!"
      "Remember," Apollo said under his breath, "That place....that's
where I know I saw that face before."  Suddenly, it came to him...
     The voice, and the face...they went together. They were one.
     But...who? Who was this...person? Specter. Dream image? He'd linked
the two, yes...
     But what he still couldn't figure out was just what place had that
been. Where?

     "Well, whaddya know?" muttered Sheba, as she looked at the newcomer,
a few kilometrons downstream from the cabin. The basket at her waist was
nearly full, as was Apollo's, with the early berries and herbs, and they
had taken a short break in the river. It was three sectons or so since
the birth of the twins, and Sheba was enjoying the outing. As she came up
out of the water, wiping back her wet hair, she found himself looking
straight into the face of a large animal. An equus, in fact. They
exchanged looks for a few moments, the beast seemingly as surprised to
see her as she to see it, then she reached out to it, slowly. Timorously,
it darted away. 
     "Sheba?" came Apollo's voice, behind her.
     "We have company it seems, Apollo," she announced, pointing. The
beast had stopped, a few dozen metrons from them, seemingly more
interested in the abundant fodder than the Humans.
     "So I see," he replied. He helped her and Bethany out of the water.
     "I didn't think there were any equii around here," she said, making
sure the children were in order. "I've never seen any."
     "Me either. Not even tracks, but here it is." He looked from the
creature to her. "You know, we could sure use an animal like that."
     "Can we catch it? it's not likely to want to just come with us."
     "I don't know. I've never captured one before. I rode one once, but
catching them is different."
     I rode one? An equus? Where? Where did I ever ride one of these
beasts? 
     Images skittered across his mind for a micron. A beast like this
one, but with someone atop it. Someone...no, something. Something like a
man, but shiny, like polished metal. A face with a single red eye:
     It would not go well for you to lie to me.
     Humans lie, not sound waves. 
     Humans lie. Humans lie...
     Remember, Captain! Remember the past. Remember the duel with
Red-Eye. Remember...
     "Well, we can't kill it," said Sheba, suddenly, breaking his
reverie. "If we had some rope."
     Then it was gone, and he was here and now again.
     They started for home, and the equus disappeared into the grass. As
the cabin came into sight, Sheba noticed the beast, a hundred metrons or
so off, wandering it's way lazily upriver, as if unaware, or unconcerned,
at their nearness. As she watched, wondering why the beast was alone and
not part of a herd, it moved further and further off, munching happily
away at the wildflowers. They were almost to the cabin door, when she
heard a scream. A bestial shriek of fear.
     "Look!" she exclaimed, and Apollo turned. Almost half a kilometron
away, the equus was in trouble, seemingly having become the target of a
large, ferocious-looking wild felix. Almost without thinking, Apollo
grabbed up his spears, and began to run towards the panicked equus. The
huge cat had somehow managed to leap atop the beast, and dig it's claws
into it's back. In terror, the other had bucked, dislodging the savage
predator, which howled loudly as it was sent scurrying, with an
additional kick from mighty hooves.
      There was a roar, and as if from nowhere, the ursus bounded out of
the grass, snarling deafeningly at the big cat. It yowled, obviously
taken off guard, and the ursus lunged forward, swiping at the predator
with one huge paw. It struck a leg, and the cat rolled away. It regained
control of itself quickly, however, and tried again, seemingly having
learned nothing, once more moving to attack the equus, which was
attempting to flee.
     But it was hurt. Blood ran from a deep wound on it's back and neck,
and one flank was smeared red. It limped, from a bleeding leg, making it
a perfect target for the hungry predator. It closed in, and then coiled
for a leap...
     Only to turn, finding a two-legged creature heading towards it.
Before it could react, Apollo had let fly one of his spears. It landed in
front of the predator, grazing it's nose. The big cat yowled in fury, and
backed up, snarling dangerously at this interloper. Apollo hurled another
spear, and this one missed. Before the cat could prepare for an attack,
he unslung his bow, and nocked an arrow on the string. Taking aim at the
snarling hunter, he let fly. 
     The cat, perhaps more wisely this time, sensing the inequality of
this fight, moved at the last micron, and the arrow, which would have
buried itself in the beast's heart, only ripped a long wound down it's
side. It screamed nonetheless, and took to it's heels, putting as much
distance between it and the Humans as possible. Apollo loosed another
arrow at the fleeing cat, but could not tell if it hit, as it vanished
into the grass. He looked around, but the ursus was gone.
     How in Hades...
     He set down his bow as Sheba ran up to his side. He looked from her,
to the injured equus. It stood, unsteadily, wounds oozing, and stared at
them. It was either unwilling, or unable, to flee. It recoiled slightly
at Sheba's approach, but let her touch it. It was shaking, no doubt still
terrified by what had happened to it.
     "Its alright," said Sheba, gently, patting it's muzzle. "Its okay.
The felix's gone. So's the ursus, too." The equus snorted, but did not
pull away. "Come on, you're safe," she went on, and with a hand on it's
neck, gently pressed it forward. Much to Apollo's surprise, the beast
began to follow her. Slowly, haltingly from the pain of it's wounds, but
follow her it did.
     "My God," he whispered, at the way she seemed to calm and charm the
beast. Like the old tales, about the Unicorn and the Virgo. I remember
that...
     Remember! Came the strange voice, once more. Remember, Captain.
     Yes! Apollo said to himself. Of course. I remember...
     He turned, as the sound of the screaming cat rolled across the
landscape. Turning, he at last caught sight of it, far away across the
river, atop a rocky outcrop. It stood there, roaring and screaming, as if
boiling over with rage at the loss of it's prey.
     Apollo?" said Sheba. He had stopped, and she was ahead of him.
     "Huh? Oh, coming Sheba."

     After a few days, and much nervous glancing at the energetic Bethany
running around it, the equus seemed on the road to recovery. Shaking and
enervated from it's close call, it had, strangely, submitted to a Human
touch, Sheba washing the sticky, crusty blood from it's hide, and
spreading some of the animal fat salve onto the wounds. Slowly, it seemed
to become less nervous around them, and came to accept both food, and the
touch of Human hands, with equal ease. 
     "A fine stallion," said Apollo, as Sheba fed the equus one of their
wild carrots. "And young too. I wonder where the rest are? What do you
think we should call him?"
     "A name? Hhmm... How about...Pegasus?"
     "Pegasus? That's an interesting name. Where'd that come from?"
     "Uhh, some old story, flying around my mind, I think." Her brow
furrowed, as she puzzled over the question. Try as she might, it just
wouldn't click. She shrugged. "Oh well, I don't suppose he'll care." She
smiled, indicating the equus.  
     "No, probably not." He looked out across the valley. "You think that
felix'll come back?"
     "I don't know, Apollo, but it would be a fool if it did."

     Slowly, growing more accustomed to the Humans, the equus became
tamer, and before long, fully recovered, it submitted to carrying loads.
This was, as Sheba had predicted, a great boon to them. It became easier
to drag home kills, logs from the forest, or much bigger loads of clay
from the pit. Whatever was needed. 
     And a lot was. With his growing family, Apollo decided that more
space was needed, and set to. With the clay and bricks, he built a small
forge where he could make tools and weapons from the abundant cupric to
be found in the region. "And a turboflush, I mean hey!" Sheba had said.
He had to agree. 
     And, before the first leaf began to turn color, Pegasus went from
beast of burden, to transportation. Instinctually inclined to regard any
object on his back as a danger, the equus had at last submitted to having
the Humans atop him. Sheba was first, and before long was handling the
animal like a pro. Apollo had contrived a saddle from sewn grazer hides,
and with long thongs of leather, for both a girth and stirrups. 
     "My God, but she's beautiful!" he said aloud, as Sheba rode upon
Pegasus, wearing only her thong and her boots, the wind sending her hair
streaming behind her, her body taking the ups and downs of riding like a
pro, hurling a spear from atop the beast like someone with a lot of
experience. 
     "Apollo, it's great!" she cried, as the equus responded to her
guidance. "Its incredible!" 
     "You sure are," he said to himself.
     "Mommy ride," said Bethany, smiling, and Apollo looked down. He
picked his daughter up, and together, they watched her mother, like the
equus demi-goddess of ancient legends, atop the beast, ride like the
wind.

Chapter Ten

     "Whatcha got there, for me?" asked Apollo, looking down from his
project. His son, Zac, looked up at him, piece of wood in hand. Apollo
laughed, as he took the proffered chunk. The boy, now almost two yahrens,
seemed almost always to be close by, ready to help his father in
everything. When it was time to go hunting, he'd even found the boy
dragging one of his father's spears to him, anxious to accompany him.
     The boy was big for his age, as was his twin sister, Athena. And
heavy, when he crawled up into his father's lap. Like Apollo, they had
dark brown hair, as opposed to their elder sister's golden brown, like
her mother. Like her mother, Bethany was turning into a slender, graceful
girl, showing the promise of a lithe, athletic form down the road. She
was also, they had both decided, a very adventuresome child. It was hard
to get her to stay put, always wanting to be where her parents were.
Whether hunting, fishing, tending the animals or working the farm patch
or nascent orchard, Bethany would sooner or later be there. Privately,
Sheba was thankful; not merely for the help with the chores, but she
never had to worry about where the girl was, on a planet with a
population of five.
     Athena, on the other hand, was almost the mirror opposite. Somewhat
shy, she often held back, where her siblings were bold. Apparently, given
a choice, she would prefer to stay within sight of the cabin, never
venturing far beyond it. But, when Zac went adventuring, or was not to be
seen, she would go try and find him, as though she were somehow his
shepherdess. 
     Sheba was fascinated, as the contrasts among her children developed.
In between chores and other work, she had begun keeping a journal of
their growth, having found that some of the animals they kept produced a
fairly serviceable parchment-skin. Apollo likewise joined her in this,
though his writings more often than not consisted of poetry, most of it
love poetry, directed at Sheba. Despite their very natural lifestyle,
Sheba almost felt like blushing as she read some of it.
      Lords! He writes worse than an Aquarian pulp novelist, she thought
with a grin, as she set it down and then frowned. Try as she might, she
wasn't sure she knew exactly what an Aquarian pulp novelist was supposed
to be.
     Or Aquaria, for that matter.
     Apollo watched his wife and eldest daughter, from his workbench, Zac
at his side, as they tended the vegetable patch, bigger long since that
Bethany had discovered solid food. Beyond it was a small area, where wild
grains had been sown, and a few metrons further down towards the river, a
few wild grape vines and fruit trees, grown from seeds by Sheba's hand.
Eventually, there would be more, and a much greater supply of the
succulent fruit than could be had merely by gathering in the woods. He
smiled as Bethany chomped down on something. Lords, but the girl was an
intake valve with feet! She could really put it away! Good thing she
wasn't fussy. Carrots, berries, maize, tomatons, wild onions, whatever
the soil produced, she devoured it. Thank the Lords for a metabolism
equal to the challenge! 
     "Papa," said Zac, and nudged Apollo. He looked down. His son was
holding a wooden mallet, and he smiled. Like himself, the boy seemed to
have an aptitude for making things with his hands. Now that they had an
equus, Apollo decided that the beast, as yet the only one of his kind
that they had seen, could be put to greater use. Slowly, over a period of
sectars, with his crude tools, he fashioned a wagon, that could be
hitched to the beast. Rough planks, worked with a drawknife, and slopped
with pitch, with animal skins lain inside, mounted on a frame made from
the stout pine that grew in abundance. The axles were long, thick
saplings, over which he slid cupric sleeves, mounted upon cupric
bearings, and heavily greased with the gooey petro-like glop that seeped
from the rocks down the valley, all held together by a stout frame and
cupric nails. The thing steered like a box of rocks, but serviceably even
so, thanks to a pivot bolt, run through the axel to a point under the
seat.
     The wheels had been tougher, made from pieces of thick planks,
fitted together and rounded off. Bound together with thick cupric strips
and bolts, and held on with heavy wooden dowels, it would serve, he
decided as he pounded them in tightly, but certainly win no engineering
awards. The "tires" were thick strips of leather, fixed by cupric nails.
With wooden hinges, the back could be raised or lowered, and Apollo had
to admit, he felt kind of proud of his craftsmanship.
     Our craftsmanship, he told himself. While he had done much of the
heaviest work, Sheba had been no slacker, and Zac had, of course, been at
his elbow the whole time. Even the oft-timid Athena had lent her small
hands.
     The new vehicle made life, just a touch, easier. (As would the sled
he planned to build before the next snows.) Bringing home kills, wood,
fish, clay, and other resources deemed needful, all could be done with
greater efficiency. Apollo wondered, as they took a ride across the
valley, if this is what it had been like, for the first people, back
home. When the settlers had at last began to advance once more, had
they...
     Home? Settlers...where? Who, and what, had he...
     Once more, the images flitted through his mind, this time like a
shrieking wind. Remember! He could hear the word in his mind, yet he
could not shake out what he was supposed to bring to mind.
     "Apollo?" asked Sheba, as he shook his head, violently. She put a
hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?"
     "Huh? Oh, yeah. Just a little...dizzy for a moment. Must be all this
bouncing around."
     "Yeah. No shock absorbers."


     Sheba rode the equus as often as possibly, utterly intoxicated by
the sensation of the speed, and the wind on her skin and in her face, her
hair streaming out behind her. Pegasus was a pliant beast it seemed, and
after a few sectons she was hunting from atop the equus with ease. She
could hurl a spear, given extra reach with the atlatl, or loose the bow,
like some ancient mounted warrior. But most cycles, she preferred the
simple joy of riding down through the valley like on this day.    
     Ahhhh! She closed her eyes and reveled once again in the feeling of
the breeze against her face and against her naked upper torso as she felt
the equus pick up speed. This was the only time, apart from making love
with Apollo, when the joy of her surroundings and the sensation of living
in Paradise in it's purest sense filled every part of her body and
spirit. In fact, it often excited her so much, Apollo had no time to
prepare! Tonight...
     Suddenly, in a flash, that sensation of tranquility vanished for a
brief instant. And she felt the sensation of her body encased in some
heavy, uncomfortable garment. Around her, the air filled with a recycled
tinge instead of it's fresh pureness and ahead of her, instead of the
golden sunlight filling the valley, there was only a star-filled
blackness. And instead of the sensation of open freedom, there was a
sense of being tightly enclosed, her hand on a stick......
     And a crackling voice in her head, "Blue Two....."
     And then, just as quickly it was gone, and she felt the reassurance
of her familiar surroundings come back to her. She slowed Pegasus to a
stop, trying to understand what that meant, but it made no sense to her.
Only that it was gone like the morning mist. Damn, but it was
frustrating! Why couldn't she remember whatever it was that was trying to
make itself known? What was wrong with her memory? For a moment, she was
afraid...
     You...shall...fear
     Later, after they had eaten, at last put the children to bed, and
she and Apollo had retired to a spot near the pool for some quality time,
she fell into a deep slumber, satisfied utterly, body and soul.
     And dreamed. 
     As many a time before, she dreamed that she was in a place of drear
and fearful darkness. Dim lights flashed, and all around her in the
gloom, dark and threatening shapes moved.
     Sheba.
    She turned, as a voice called her name. She stared into the darkness,
her right hand falling to her hip, grasping for...for something. She
called out, daring who or whatever it was to show itself. In the
darkness, red eyes glared back at her, eyes full of malice and hate.
     Sheba, the voice called again. You are mine, Sheba. You will always
be mine!
    "Who are you? Show yourself!!!! You coward!"
     But the voice remained hidden, and she found herself walking on.
Metal walls, damp, decaying smells were all about her, until she saw a
patch of light up ahead. Once again, she found herself moving through
tangled branches and wet, slimly bark. 
     Remember, Sheba! Remember!
     Closer and closer she got to the light. Slowly, what lay beyond
became more distinct, more focused. She could see rocks, hills, open
ground. And scattered upon that ground, burned and scorched, was...
     "Ahhh!" she cried out, snapping awake, nails at once digging in to
her scarred leg. The itch was so strong, it had torn her sleep from her.
She scratched and scratched, till at last it began to fade. Finally, she
let go, the irritation ebbing. She looked over at Apollo, still
blissfully asleep. She smiled down at her sleeping man, and quietly got
to her feet.
     It was a beautiful, clear, starry night, the moon drenching the
whole valley in it's silver light. Though the itch was gone, a vague
feeling of disquiet remained, hovering somewhere on the edge of her mind.
She walked slowly over to the stable. Pegasus was awake, and nickered a
greeting as she approached. She patted him on the neck, and he nickered
again, apparently pleased. 
     She wandered, a bit aimlessly, down towards the river's edge. She
stopped when she came to the bridge. She listened to the sound of the
water moving against the rocks, the distant wind, and somewhere, near or
far she could not tell, something moving. Among the grasses, perhaps?
Whatever it was, she could hear it clearly.
     Just some nocturnal animal, Sheba, she told herself. Crawling around
in the grass. Nothing to worry about.
     Yet, even as she tried to convince herself of it, she found her hand
closing over a spear she wasn't carrying. She looked down at her empty
hand, clearly visible in the moonlight, and chided herself. Then, as she
looked back up, she was aware of being watched. Perhaps living here, in
this setting, had sharpened her senses. Perhaps not. But she was sure
that somewhere, out there in the darkness, something, someone, was
watching her. As in her dream just past, tendrils of which remained, she
could feel as if eyes were upon her. And, something told her, they were
unfriendly eyes.
     Remember, Sheba, a voice seemed to whisper, whether in her head, or
in the air about her, she wasn't sure. Remember! She tried to focus on
it. What...
     You are mine, Sheba! Another voice seemed to say, competing with the
first. You shall always be mine! 
     "Who...?" she began, when her leg began to itch once more. Cursing,
she dug into it, trying to banish the irritation. She looked up from the
offending limb...
     And saw something, in the darkness across the river, she wasn't
certain how far. It moved, a shape vaguely like a man, yet somehow seemed
to be darker than the surrounding night. As she looked at it, it was as
if the mysterious form ate up the very night around it. For a moment, she
felt a stab of fear run through her heart. She could not explain it, not
give it words, but she began to feel very conscious of her nudity,
despite the cover of night. And, as the microns ticked past, genuinely
afraid. She tried to wrap her arms about her body. Then, in a blur, the
form moved again, closer to her. Unconsciously, she backed up, towards
the cabin. As the dark shape drifted nearer, she could see eyes. Two
sickly greenish-yellow eyes, though no face. 
     "Who are you?" she said, and her voice sounded tiny and afraid.
     Sheba.
     "Who are you?" she repeated, raising her voice.
     Sheba. Come to me! Come Sheba. We are...
     "Stay back!" she snapped, really afraid, now. There was something
about this...thing, this voice, that she somehow, somewhere, knew that
she needed to remember. Deep in her soul, she, for the tiniest instant,
knew that if she didn't remember whatever it was that gnawed at her mind,
she was doomed.
     Come to me, My Sheba, the voice rasped, and it seemed as if
outstretched arms opened to embrace her. I am here, Sheba.
     Remember! said another voice. Quiet, yet penetrating. And, like the
first, somehow familiar.
     Come to me, Sheba!
     Remember! Remember, Sheba! 
     Sheba, come, be with me! You have always been mine!
     You must remember, Sheba. You must! Remember!
     Sheba turned, mind filled with anguished confusion. Her leg burned
like fire, and the voices continued. The dark form seemed to edge closer,
yet she saw, silhouetted against the moon, another form. Unlike the
first, it seemed to shine, as if light were it's very nature.
     But she could not focus, the two contending voices unrelenting. She
felt herself beginning to move, back towards the water, her arms slowly
falling loose at her side. Noises, thoughts, images, swirled through her
confused mind as she tried to resist, threatening to overwhelm her
utterly. 
     "I...don't know you!" she managed to get out, as her body fought
with her. "Who...who are you?"
     You know me, Sheba! You have always been mine. 
     Remember!
     Come to me.
     "I'm...afraid!" she cried, mind threatening to crack.
     That alters nothing, Sheba, said the dark form, closer now. The eyes
looked directly at her, and Sheba was both attracted and repelled. It
alters nothing.
     ...alters nothing...
     Alter.
     Altar.      
     Sheba did not know whether the word came from the first voice, the
second, or from within herself. Yet, for a moment, her mind was filled
with images of the altar that Apollo had built. The altar that they had
offered sacrifice upon, and worshipped at. That, and an image of her
husband filled her mind for an instant, just as the dark form, eyes
ablaze now, seemed to draw even with her. It reached out to her.
     With a choked scream, Sheba pulled away, and turned. She slipped on
the damp grass, but regained her footing, and ran back towards the cabin.
In the bright moonlight, she could see the altar, and, for an instant, a
figure next to it. The shining shape from the river. She slipped again,
and when she once more regained her feet, it was gone. 
     She screamed again, as she felt something touch her from behind.
Like a tendril of cold fear, it almost paralyzed her.
     Sheba! Come to me! You must not turn away!
     Not knowing for certain why she was doing it, only that she must,
Sheba reached out, and grabbed a corner of the stone pile. As her fingers
touched the ashes upon it, the sensation of terror behind her vanished,
as did the feel of sickly cold. She took firm hold, squeezing her eyes
shut, then looked up...
     And almost screamed again...
     "Sheba?" It was Apollo, hands on her shoulders. "Sheba, are you
alright?" In the moonlight, she could see the deep concern on his face. 
      "Ap...Apollo...."
     "Hon, I woke up, and you were gone. I called to you. You didn't
answer. I heard you scream." He was clearly deeply worried, indeed
afraid. Something was wrong with Sheba, and his eyes showed it. 
     "I..." She just let him hold her close for a few moments, as her
fear began to subside. Somehow, the strong feel of his arms about her
frame comforted her. As her breathing and heartbeat slowed, and her mind
cohered once more, she tried to make sense of it all. She let go of the
altar.
     Just a dream. Just a terrible dream.
     "It was just a bad dream, Apollo," she said at last. "I had a bad
dream."
     "Sleepwalking? Like a nightequa?"
     "Yes. That must be it.' She shook her head, swallowing hard. 
     "Was it bad?"
     "Yes," she nodded, violently, not looking at him. "It was."
     "Come on," he said, leading her back to the cabin. "Tell me about
it."
     "The kids..."
     "We'll spend the rest of the night under the forge's canopy, okay?"
     "Yeah. Yeah, of course."
     "Can we...we light the fire?"
     "Sure. Sure we can."
      As they moved back to their bower, in the far distance, something
cawed, or shrieked or howled.
     In anger.

Chapter Eleven

     After a couple of days, Sheba seemed much her old self again, and
life got back to normal. As the sectons passed, both adults hunted,
fished, or otherwise performed the endless labors of survival, while the
children grew. Now past her fourth yahren, Bethany was getting big, and
more of a help to her parents, especially her mother, every day. 
     She was also, they both decided, ready to start school. 
     When other tasks permitted, one or the other of her parents would
write the basic letters of the Colonial Standard alphabet, on a piece of
slate with a chunk of diatomite for a stylus, and the girl would work to
copy them. Her initial efforts had been lamentable, and Apollo for a
moment recalled his own early education. His first Primary Instructress,
Miss...
     Miss Who? What was that...
     The image was as gone as quickly as it had come, and after a few
moments of frustration, it was back to the here and now. Apollo watched,
as he handed the materials over to Sheba, and she tried her hand as
schoolmarm. Unlike his, her hand was flowing and legible, and it was not
long before Bethany achieved her first triumph of the day; writing her
own name! He smiled, praising his daughter for her signal achievement.
Then sitting back, and sketching on a piece of leather, he began planning
his next project. 
     A boat.
     When he wasn't occupied with the immediate needs of survival, or
held prisoner by the oft-insatiable passion for his wife, Apollo's mind
seemed endlessly filled with ideas. Ideas for myriad projects, crafts,
things to make or build. The cabin had gradually become full of them. His
cupric-valved flue for the hearth. The hinged window frames. The metal
utensils they used. Tack for the equus. The brick, fired plaster-lined
tank on a platform, which provided "running water" for their home (one
day to be fed by a small aqueduct, if things worked out). And now, his
mind turned towards the small lake, a few kilometrons up the valley,
where they had first encountered the lupus and the ursus. There, he would
build a dock, with a shed, and a boat, to move across the water in. From
it, they could further explore their home, as well as gather more fish,
and ferry back more resources. Perhaps, at some point in the future, when
the kids were a bit bigger and able to help more, they could just move up
there, permanently.
     He stopped, and looked up from his sketches. Bethany had seemingly
been dismissed from class for today, and Sheba sat there, eyes almost
shut, dozing. The sun was shining through an open window, setting her
golden-brown hair ablaze, making her skin seem to glow with health and
vitality.
     How utterly beautiful she looked, he reflected, for about the
fifty-thousandth time. Not just her well-defined, athletic upper body,
but the way she held her head atop her aristocratic neck, the noble look
of her profile. Like an ancient bust in some history museon, she seemed
ageless, as if, like those hoary works of stone and bronze by the ancient
masters, she would herself never age a day more. As he drunk in his fill
of the sight of her, he could feel his body respond to her mere presence,
kindling the desire to make love to her. Oh yes, he told himself, running
his eyes up and down her face and form. Looks not a yahren...
     Wait a centon, he said to himself. His stirring desire suddenly came
to a screeching halt, as something made itself known to him. Made itself
known much in the fashion of being hit on the head with a rock.
     "She doesn't look a centon older," he said, almost in a whisper. He
looked her over once more, and this time it was in confusion. Although
she had borne and nursed three babies, her body seemed to show not a
single sign of it. Like some teenage female athlete or swimmer, her
breasts looked as if she had never nursed a child, never mind three ...
He shook his head, trying to cast the thoughts away. Unsuccessful, he
looked back at her, studying her again. In spite of rarely wearing
anything more than a skimpy loincloth, Sheba's skin was still as fresh
and unaffected by long exposure to the sun and wind as someone who had
lived their whole life indoors, her hands as unaged as a child's, her
firm body not showing any obvious signs of childbirth.  Around her eyes,
which were often suffused with merriment, or the corners of her mouth,
not the tiniest hint of a wrinkle could be seen. True, it had only
been...how long had it been, since they had come here? He had to think
hard, to remember.
     He got to his feet, and went to the "sink" in the "kitchen". On the
shiny bottom of a copper pan, he looked at himself. Not the best image,
but he could see enough. He didn't look a micron older. His hands, his
skin, his hair and beard; all that of a powerful, healthy young man,
approaching his prime. Not a strand of grey to be seen. Either in
himself, or Sheba. How in the Lord's name was this possible? 
     Remember!
     "Remember what?" he asked the air, and then asked again. "I
don't..."
     Even as he spoke, something began to form in his mind. A face, a
shape. A face and shape that held answers. He tried to focus on it,
almost it was within his grasp, when...
     Bang.
    The door flew open, and Bethany, followed by the two younger
children, rolled in. Sheba started awake, and a cacophony of voices
shattered the moment.
     "Mama, can I hit him..."
     "Mama, Athena said..."
     "He threw dirt at me!"
     "Did not! She pushed me in the water!"
     "Now, hold it, all of you!" said Sheba, standing up, and raising a
hand. "Just be still!" She looked at her brood, Athena dripping all over
the floor, Zac trying to look as if he wasn't there. She looked at
Apollo, shaking her head slightly, as if to say: We just had to have
kids! He merely shrugged back at her, with a half-smile, and moved in to
join her, and deal with this latest family crisis.
     And forgot.


     A secton or so later, Apollo was busy, working on the headgate
system he had devised as his latest addition to the irrigation channels
they had begun to facilitate the watering of their crops, when, standing
up and taking a long drink from his water bottle, he looked about, for
Sheba. The day was bright, sunny, warm, the air still, and he could hear
the buzzing of insectons. Yet, for all it's idyllic beauty, it didn't
prevent a vague feeling of disquiet from slowly coming over him. Where
was she? 
     Making sure that Zac and Athena were in the cabin (snoozing), he
headed down towards the bridge. He at once felt foolish for his momentary
anxiety. There, next to one of the bridge pilings, sitting on a rock, was
Sheba, Bethany next to her. Both had been for a swim, it seemed, for
their hair was dripping. Sheba worked the tangles out of their daughter's
locks with a rough comb, then went to work on her own. Sitting there,
like a Princess, her long flowing hair rolling down her back as she
worked it...
     Just like Serina. She used to sit just like that, and brush her hair
the same...
     Serina? Who...who...
     Remember!
     "Apollo?" came a voice, and he popped back to the present. "What is
it?" asked Sheba.
     "Oh, I was...uh, just..."
     "What is it?" She giggled. "You know, you had the funniest look on
your face, standing there with your mouth half-open, looking like a lost
puppy." She stood up, and Apollo's thoughts shifted totally to her.
     "I know what you two want," said Bethany, standing up as well. "You
two wanna get all mushy."
     "All...watch your mouth child!" said Sheba, turning red, even as she
sought to stifle a laugh. With a superb sense of timing that might almost
be called comedic, doubtless inherent, Bethany got up, donned her furry
cap, and left her parents alone.
     "Don't be late," she called back over her shoulder, as she headed
for the cabin. Apollo and Sheba just looked at each other, slack-jawed. 
     "I'm not sure, but I think we've just been put in our place," said
Apollo.
     "I'm sure." Then they erupted into laughter. As Sheba at last
settled down, Apollo moved closer, and put his arms around her.
     "Hey."
     "Hey, what?" she replied, grinning, pressing herself against him.
     "Ya wanna get all mushy?"
     "Mmmm...you think we dare? Somebody might disapprove."
     "Well, we'll just have to risk it," he breathed, moving his lips
against hers. He felt her quiver, responding to his touch.
     "Yeah..." she sighed, and then dispensed with mere words.

Chapter Twelve

     Night had fallen. Gently and sweetly. A clear night like it always
had been. The temperature was warm, but not unpleasantly so,  like so
many days of the yahren often were, which meant Apollo could step outside
the cabin and not bother covering himself with anything more to protect
himself from the elements than his boots. Much the way both of them
preferred it. As he looked up at the vast starlit expanse hanging over
the meadow in front and mountains in the distance, and inhaled the pure
fresh air, he had the powerfully infusing sense inside of truly belonging
to this place. As though he had never been a part of anyplace, anywhere
else, in his life.
     And yet.....despite the fact that he could scarcely envision a time
when he and Sheba had been anyplace else, something was telling him that
that couldn't be so. For the last several sectons, he'd had the feeling,
ebbing and flowing, that it could not be. That strange face he saw so
many times as he slept. The places he'd been in those dreams.....
     What does it all mean?
     He felt a playful tug at the long equitail hanging down his back. He
turned to see his wife behind him, a minxish smile on her face.
     "A cubit for your thoughts, my mighty warrior?" Sheba giggled as she
sat down on the grass, and motioned him to join her. As was her usual
custom in the warm season, her only concession to modesty was the
minimally-thonged garment about the hips. Her hair cascaded down to just
past her waist, and her naked upper torso seemed to glow in the starlit
night.
     "Thanks," her husband smiled back, and then added, "Whatever a cubit
is."
     "Yeah, I don't know what it means. Just sounds like an old
expression of some kind," she leaned back and looked up at the stars.
"Maybe people.....out there say something like that. I don't know. And I
don't think I really care."
     "Neither do I, Beloved," he nodded and stargazed with her for a few
microns, listening to the sounds of the river lapping against the bridge,
and the gentle breeze. "Kids asleep?"
     "Like perfect little angels," she replied, a mischievous, naughty
edge entering her voice. "And when they do that, you do know what that
means, don't you?"
     "I think I have a vague idea, My Beautiful Sheba." He wrapped his
arm around her and pulled her tight to him, kissing her on the mouth.  
     "Mmmmmm," Sheba kept nuzzling her lips through his beard even after
the kiss ended. "My mighty Lord!" God, how she loved the feel of his
powerful, muscular chest against her, his equally powerful arms about
her. "I wouldn't ever want to think of what you'd look like without this,
or without this," she playfully tugged at his equitailed hair again.
     "Were we ever together when I didn't?" he laughed.
     "Just at the beginning of when we came here," his wife said. "I
remember that, but....you didn't stay that way for long. That I do know.
And I can remember how good it felt the first time you....." her voice
trailed off and she giggled again. The giggle that her husband found so
irresistibly arousing. Almost before he even was aware of it, his manhood
began to respond. Gently, Apollo rolled himself on top of her and
playfully teased his whiskers against her perfectly shaped nipples. 
     "You mean like this?"
     "Ah!" she let out a happy yelp. "Yehhhh-sss! Like that! Down near
the stream, the first night we were here....."
     "I remember," he grinned as he brushed his beard again against her,
enjoying the experience. Just like it had been......
     "Mmmm, you didn't shave!"
     "Yep, and I'm not shaving tomorrow, or the next day or ever again!"
     Apollo suddenly stopped what he'd been doing and rose to a sitting
position. A troubled look came over his face.
     "Apollo?" Sheba grabbed his arm with concern, trying to recover
herself from the interrupted sensations of pleasure she'd been
experiencing.  "Apollo what's wrong?"
     "I don't know." He didn't look at her and idly touched his whiskers,
"Nothing. it's just...." he looked at her. "The first time was....by the
stream?"
     "Of course it was." She was puzzled. "I can never forget what that
felt like that first time," she reached down and idly scratched her leg,
"Hades, doesn't this damned itch ever go away? it's like a recurring
unwelcome guest, almost."
     "You want me to get you some of the medicine for it?" For some
strange reason, Apollo almost welcomed the idea of getting away from
Sheba right now. To give himself some time to think. Never had he felt
that impulse before. Put distance between himself and Sheba? Never.
     "No!" she said with defiance as she suddenly pulled him back down to
her. "I.....want you to get back to what you were doing," her voice
became a huskily sensuous whisper as she reached up and stroked his
beard, "We've had a really long day with the children, Apollo. A
natal-day celebration! A double one! I need this moment." She reached
down, and grasped hold of his member. It at once responded to her touch.
"And obviously, so do you."
   "We keep this up, and we'll be needing a bigger cabin, Babe," he
sighed, as her hands, and his hormones, took over. He groaned as she
directed him to her, and with a maddening slowness, they were joined.
     "We sure will," she breathed in his ear. "I'll even help."
     "Sheba? You..."
     "Yes," she sighed. "I bare your child yet again, Apollo."
     "Sheba, this is..."
     "So spank me!" She grabbed him, and pulled him deeper into her.
      Slowly, he obliged her in the way he had done so many times over
the yahrens. Hearing her sounds of deep joy and pleasure emit, and then
enjoying the sensory pleasure of seeing his wife transform from an almost
angelic woman, into a savage, jungle beast as she felt the desire for her
man reach it's climax, again and again. But this time though, there was
more of a one-sidedness to it all. Mostly on Sheba's part, with Apollo
seemingly acting on autopilot, nothing above the brainstem engaged,
because his mind remained troubled.
     I don't get it, he thought after they had made love repeatedly, and
at the last lay resting in each other's arms. Why do I keep getting this
feeling that our first time wasn't here, but someplace else? Someplace
cold and drab, and far away.....his eyes wandered up to the starlit skies
overhead. Out there. It was out there when we used to.....
     He frowned. Used to? Used to what? What did they use to do? Had they
ever had a life away from this place? It seemed almost impossible to
contemplate, because life here was so natural for them. He looked at his
hands, and somehow knew, knew, that these had not always been the hands
of a farmer/hunter. They had not always been so developed and callused.
And yet...they both knew all that was necessary to survive in this realm
and enjoy it's harvests and bounties. They knew the sweet joys of each
other, and the blessings of their growing family. What other life had
they ever had, or been fit for?
     Remember.
     Again. That voice belonging to that face with the dark hair that
he'd seen visions of in his dreams so many times, filling his head. Why
did that torment his mind so much? He could scarcely think of a time when
his eyes had beheld any other person but Sheba or his children. When
could he possibly have met anyone else? There was no one else here!
     He vowed to fight the urgings. He would only think of how much he
loved this life. His home. His children. His wife. 
      Nothing else mattered!    
      That mental vow sustained him through another session of lovemaking
with the seemingly insatiable Sheba and then, in front of their home in
the tall grass of the meadow, with only the sound of their equine Pegasus
roped nearby letting out an occasional grunt, Apollo managed to fall
asleep holding his wife.
     And dreamed.
     But the dream Apollo experienced this night was not pleasant. It was
also familiar. He found himself, beardless, hair shorter, wearing
uncomfortable garments climbing a ladder in the darkened shaft of
someplace stepping into a recessed opening. The air smelled like...like
the decay of rust and death. Trying to catch his bearings, he found
himself taking two steps and then seeing......something hideous. Vile. A
horned beast with clawlike talons, cloven hooves and a spiked tail,
utterly black body emitting a vile stench. He found himself automatically
reaching for something at his side, pointing it at the beast and pressing
the trigger. He saw light flash against it and then he saw the beast
change into something that wasn't quite as ugly. A reptilian creature of
another kind, yet that seemed familiar to him for some reason. But the
image faded, replaced by the horrible monster once again. Apollo then
pressed the trigger yet again and saw the light flash against it once
more, and once again the monster flashed into the form of a reptile for
just a brief instant. it's sickly yellow eyes were fixed upon him, they
were frighteningly intelligent, and they chilled him to the soul.
     A living Cylon, he found himself thinking. Not knowing why he
thought it, because he couldn't recall what a Cylon was, let alone dead
versus living ones. All he knew was that was what was popping into his
mind.
     And then, Apollo felt himself and heard himself.....shouting.
     "I know what you are!  You can't harm me, because I don't fear you
or your master!"
     The monster seemed to back away from him, a wet stinking saliva
dripping from it's contorted mouth. When the drops struck the floor,
Apollo saw a smoky cloud erupt with a hiss, suggesting that it was
comprised of some kind of acid. Inside, Apollo had the realization that
he did not dare let that come into contact with him and he took a step
back, but still kept his eyes fixed on the monster.
     Finally, the mouth opened and Apollo heard words emit from it. Words
he could recognize as his native tongue, but in an indescribable kind of
hideous voice. One that was both low and high pitched at the same time,
as if it were electronically operated, and set to the most irritating low
and high decibel settings possible.
     "In......time.......you.....will........fear!"
     And then, the creature suddenly turned and bounded off down the
corridor at tremendous speed. Apollo kept his eyes on it until it at last
disappeared from view.
     Slowly, Apollo decided to make his way down the same passageway, not
understanding why he was doing so. He had gone approximately one hundred
metrons, when he came alongside a closed compartment door of some kind
and suddenly became aware of a different kind of noise. The sound of
tapping.
     Apollo stopped and stared at the door with a cautious air. As he
heard the tapping continue his eyes then widened as he realized the
tapping came in a distinct pattern. The pattern of....something he
couldn't name, but what he realized was something that he recognized as a
call for help of some kind. And he could feel himself filled with a sense
of fear that it was a call from.....Sheba! Not knowing at all why he
should think that.
    He reached for the door, where he could see an access button but
found himself hesitating for a brief instant, fearing that a trap from
another monster just like the last one might be awaiting him on the other
side. But he knew he had to take that chance. Especially if there was an
equal chance that the woman he loved was on the other side, perhaps
injured and unable to speak.
     He pressed the button and the door slid open. The room only had an
air of half illumination to it. And then.....he heard the sound.
     "Help."
     Apollo looked down and his eyes widened as he saw not one of the
beasts, nor Sheba, but something else. The figure of a man lying on the
deck. He looked to be about forty-five or fifty yahrens old, with unkempt
black hair and a ragged stubbly beard. His clothing was rumpled and
slightly tattered but......Apollo saw it as some kind of variation on the
uncomfortable clothes he was wearing now. On the jacket was an insignia
that was unfamiliar and yet....he knew there was a word associated with
it. Over and over in his head he could hear the word: 
    Callisto.
     And then, the man looked up at him and Apollo realized that but for
the beard stubble, and the haunted eyes, this was the same face he had
seen haunting him so many times. And as he reached up with a tortured
expression, he spoke in the same voice he had heard so many times
uttering that one word.     
     "Remember."
     Apollo bolted upright, feeling his body sweating heavily despite the
coolness of the night air. He found himself breathing in and out with a
rapidity he couldn't recall, and he felt his heart pounding with
something that he could only call......fear.
      "Its a dream," he whispered, not wanting to wake Sheba's sleeping
form next to him. "It doesn't mean anything, it....."
     He stopped and shook his head. It did mean something.  He couldn't
escape that realization. Memories of being somewhere else, enjoying
pleasure with Sheba long before this place and in a way that didn't jibe
with how things had been here. And these nightmares of that evil
place.....those evil hideous beings. And then, that man from
the......Callisto? What was the Callisto? What did any of that have to do
with his life?
     He felt an overwhelming need to get away from the house, and even
from Sheba and the children for now.  The need to be alone where he could
collect his thoughts and calm himself down mentally. Never could he
recall feeling thus. Ever. From the very beginning, it had been a daily
challenge to keep his hands off her. Now...
     Slowly, he made his way over to the stable where the ever-loyal
Pegasus was tied up. The beast nickered a greeting, seemingly anxious to
be taken for a new ride across the valley as he and Sheba had done so
many times. Apollo threw the leather blanket over the beast's back,
grabbed both of his spears, untied the rope and then mounted himself on
top of the equine. It only took a gentle tug at the reins to get Pegasus
to move. Slowly at first so Sheba's sleep wouldn't be disturbed. Only
when Apollo was over the bridge and out of sight of the cabin did he pull
harder and the equine picked up speed. Across the valley for two whole
kilometrons, perhaps more, he rode and rode, before they came to the bend
in the river. Apollo pulled back and Pegasus came to a stop. Getting off,
he patted the equine on the side knowing it would stay nearby, availing
itself of the rich fodder, until he needed it again. 
     No, he wanted to bathe. Normally, he rarely washed, after making
love with Sheba. The residual sensations on his skin often led to new
pleasures. But now, for some reason he couldn't grasp, he wanted to wash.
To scrub himself clean. He waded in, and did so, feeling almost frantic
to scour his body, over and over, with handfuls of sand from the
streambed. He scrubbed till he literally bled, then slowly, he finally
waded out, and sat down. For now, Apollo just wanted to sit in front of
the mighty river and think. He sat, and stared into space, just like in
the Celestial Dome.
     What was a Celestial Dome?
     The night was just beginning to turn into dawn as he sat with arms
folded, knees raised up against his chest, feet in the water, seeing the
first signs of sunlight glinting off the distant mountain peaks. From
somewhere off to his left he could hear the grunting sound of an ursus
which had become a not-unfamiliar sound to him. Only an inner sense that
the beast was peaceful and meant no harm had kept him from reacting in
the manner of someone being stalked by a predator.
     Overhead, as the stars began to fade, he heard the cawing sound of
some kind of bird. He wasn't interested in looking up to find out what
kind it was, even if it had been light enough. Instead, he kept staring
at the river, growing more visible by the centon. Thinking. Trying to put
all the pieces together.
     "Why do I have these things going through my head, torturing me?" he
said aloud, rocking back and forth like a child. How many times had he
told Boxey to stop that? Boxey? Who was.... "As if....things from another
life are trying to intrude. I don't want them to intrude. Not when
everything is so perfect. Not when I've found everything I ever wanted."
     He stopped.  If it was everything he ever wanted, then that would
mean logically that there had to have been a time when he'd not had
anything like this. In another place where he had experienced a moment
like the one he had recalled last night when he'd tried to make love to
Sheba. It had been a moment of great pleasure amidst a life that had been
full of so very many.....problems and complications. He stood up.
     "Remember!"
     Again the voice. The voice of the face. The face in the dream he'd
just had wearing the patch that meant something called.......Callisto.
     Remember 
    Apollo felt an increasing edge of something he couldn't recall
feeling in all the yahrens he'd been in this place. An edge of terror.
Terror brought by the sudden flash of memory becoming more distinct. "Oh
my God......" he whispered, not wanting to utter the name on the tip of
his tongue but knowing somehow that he had to.  He could feel himself
taking heavy breaths as if to keep himself from hyperventilating. It felt
as if his chest were in a vice. He gasped. The world spun...
     But finally, it came. 
     The sun burst over the horizon.
    "Delambre!"
    "That's right, Captain." he heard the voice from behind him and
whipped around. There before him, wearing a full-length white garment,
was a dark-haired man with a sympathetic but grim expression. A garment
identical to one Apollo knew he had seen someone else wear once before,
which told him right away where it was this man had come from.
     The Ship of Lights!
    "Colonel Delambre," Apollo forced himself to go on, shaking his head.
"Colonel Delambre of the...Battlestar Callisto."
    "Correct," Delambre nodded. "Where did we meet before, Captain?"
    "We....." Apollo felt himself on the verge of hyperventilating again
from the terror. "It was...."
    "I can't say anything more, unless you tell me and show that of your
own free will, you've consciously chosen to remember, Captain," he added.
"Take your time. You've taken the first step forward."
    "Right," Apollo whispered and rubbed the top of his head, "Right. It
was.....aboard the.....the," he shook his head as if trying to will the
reality of it away but there was no escaping from it. Memory would not be
denied. "The Derelict."
    "Yes," he said, "Where you found me, the last survivor of the
Callisto, which disappeared five hundred yahrens ago. Or to be more
precise, the last survivor who still had his Humanity intact."
    "And you helped us escape from.....Iblis," Apollo barely croaked the
name out. He wheezed, as if fighting the very air, but it came out
nonetheless. "Iblis!"
    "You're doing fine, Captain," Delambre's voice remained sympathetic.
"And because of that, you saved me by letting me find the means to at
last end my mutilated mockery of a life, and escape the prison that Iblis
kept me in. Both body and soul were eternally free from him at last.
Unlike my fellow compatriots from the Callisto who still populate that
horrible ship as his minions now."
    "I remember," Apollo was now beginning to collect himself. Slowly,
the maelstrom of insane, maddening images became coherent. Yes, more
memories were falling back into place. "But that was......so long ago,
sir. Uhh...several... yahrens ago."
    "Was it, really, Captain?" he asked gently, "Was it really several
yahrens ago? Ponder that most carefully. I can't give you the specifics
myself. You have to reason out the answer, using your own mind. Your own
will, with only a minimum of direction from me."
    "Just like...," Apollo said impulsively as another memory suddenly
came back that had been suppressed.  "That time on Terra. Brenda, and the
Eastern Alliance."
    "Yes, because we're all guided by the principle of respect for free
will. We can provide signs and hidden bursts of unseen inspiration, but
it's always up to you, the individual, to demonstrate your capacity and
your ability, the free will, to act upon all that."
    "Then this is....." Apollo looked around, seeing the majestic beauty
of this planet in all it's splendor. The golden glow of sunrise beginning
to take hold over the landscape, driving away the last of the shadows.
The gentle chirping sounds of the birds waking to a new dawn, the
rustling of the breeze and the fresh pure air that he could breathe. The
chatter of the flowing water. It defined perfection to him in terms of
the surroundings.  And only now was he forcing himself to admit the cruel
truth. It was not just perfect.
    It was all too perfect.
    "This place isn't real," he grunted, barely able to say it. It hurt
so much to admit, like being kicked in the groin. "Nothing that's
happened here is....real.  This planet, our.....oh my God, our ch..."  He
felt like he was going to be ill.
    "You're sure of that, Captain?" Delambre gently prodded.
    "Yes," Apollo nodded, almost wailing in misery. "Yes. Because....."
    "Because?" he prodded further.
    Apollo touched his enormous beard, "Because when I first crashed
here, I didn't have this. But that's not possible because I remember
having a beard before all this happened!"
    "Exactly. That was the key, Captain. One of two details about you and
Sheba that were altered when you were placed here, because they
represented something you wanted to do in this kind of place. Starting
afresh in these surroundings that liberated you from all areas of
responsibility you'd known before, your mind was conditioned from the
start to want to grow one again."
    "And because I could remember what it was like before that happened,
now I know that means this place isn't real." He shook his head trying to
contemplate the horror of the next point, his gut heaving. He felt sick.
"And that means... our children aren't real. The...the..." He couldn't
bring himself to even say the word, just now. "...that...that led to
them. Sheba's pregnancies. Labor. Childbirth. All of it. Unreal." 
      "Yes, Captain, they're not real either," Delambre said. "And all
these yahrens, they haven't elapsed at all. To be precise, only one-tenth
of one micron of actual time has elapsed since you and Sheba lost contact
with the real world." 
    "One-tenth of a micron......" Apollo shook his head in horror as he
realized everything. He sagged, catching himself against a tree.
"I'm.....still in my Viper cockpit during the.....battle."
    "Yes," Delambre nodded, "That's exactly it.  The battle with the
alien ship. it's not a hostile alien force, Captain. it's a ship that
Iblis manipulated into the area by twisting the fabric of space, and
taking control of it's Captain. The crew of that ship is trying to mutiny
against him and regain control of it so they can break off their
engagement with your forces."
    A loud cawing sound emitted from somewhere. Evil in nature. Angry.
Somewhere, far away, it sounded like thunder rumbled. Delambre looked up
and his tone grew angry as well.
    "I have not violated the rules in revealing that information. The
Captain reasoned that he's really back in his Viper during the battle and
telling him about who he's up against has no bearing on this situation."
    Abruptly, the cawing ceased, and Apollo could see the black bird he
could recall seeing so many times rising and circling lazily about as
though it were monitoring the conversation going on below. For an
instant, that world faded out, and Apollo was back in his fighter. Then,
he was here again. 
    "All right," Apollo raised his hands trying to catch his breath.
"Where are we, really? What planet?"
     "No planet, Captain. We are inside one of the countless bubbles, or
pockets, in the very fabric of space-time, that litter the universe. They
are anentropic. In such places, time itself, as we know it, virtually
ceases to exist. One could exist in such a place for what might seem a
billion yahrens, yet no more time would pass in normal space than it
would take to draw a breath. Iblis merely made use of this convenient
one, fitting it out, as you might say, to represent your idea of the
perfect world."
     "Then..."
     "Go on."
     "Iblis....somehow spirited Sheba and I away into this......fantasy
realm that has nothing to do with the real world. Has he done this to
anyone else? To...Starbuck and everyone else? What about Boxey? Or
Athena?" He suddenly felt a sick fear for his sister and her children.
     "What do you think, Captain, knowing Iblis as you do?"
     Apollo sighed and shook his head, deciding that there was something
to be said for a direct answer!  "No. it's just Sheba and myself. Because
he's.....obsessed with revenge against......her."
     "Exactly," Delambre nodded. "She rejected him to his face, on the
planet where you found him. And after what happened aboard the Derelict,
Iblis knew that he could never try the same kind of trick on you and
Sheba again by employing pure terror. You'd seen through his deceptions
there, and his fear could no longer touch you. So it had to be another
way. A vastly subtiler way, one that would make the both of you
vulnerable to his permanent control. More specifically, making her
vulnerable to his permanent control."
     "Our...our love," Apollo said, slowly. He felt so sickened by the
reality of it, that he wretched, again and again, and for a moment he
actually welcomed the idea of death. "Instead of fear, he used our love
for each other, as a weapon."
     "Yes. None of his lies are possible, without some fragment of truth
behind them, Captain. What you and she have is good, and wonderful and
pure. A love such as few mortals are blessed to know." For a moment, he
fell silent, his face pensive, as if remembering... Then, it was gone.
"The deep and powerful love you and Sheba have for each other, and her
intense desire for a family, and all that goes with it, were the perfect
truths for him to build this lie upon."
     "So why didn't she..." He looked at Delambre.
     "Think, Captain," remonstrated the other, gently.
    Apollo's eyes narrowed. "Sheba doesn't have these moments of
remembering like I do. Not as many of them, anyway. Not as strong. That
means....she's more vulnerable than I've ever been. But...I don't
understand! Why would that be the case, unless...." He stopped and
contemplated again.  "Oh my God."
    "Yes, Captain?"
    "That itchiness on her leg. That scar." The air of horror deepened in
Apollo's voice. "The acid. That demonic venom those minions of Iblis'
aboard the Derelict kept spitting. I remember now, some of it hit her
once when she was fleeing from them in the corridors. Splashed against
her leg, and damaged the boot and fabric. And you told us how that acid
is what Iblis would use to slowly make his prisoners vulnerable to his
influence."
    "But because it was only a tiny amount, and because her will was so
strong, it didn't have an effect on her then. But in a setting like this,
conditioned for pleasure and then to receive everything she's ever
wanted....as good and as beautiful as those things might be...that's
where she finally becomes vulnerable to him."
     "That..."
     "Don't feel stupid, Captain. Remember, he has had countless
millennia to hone and perfect all his arts of deception. He's gotten
rather good at it." He looked from Apollo, back towards the river, and
then back to Apollo.
     "What?"
     "The altar you built, Captain. The worship there. That..."
     The bird cawed, or rather shrieked, again, louder and more angrily.
     "It was permitted!" stated Delambre, to the creature. "You accepted
the conditions! And he has remembered now. It contravenes nothing!" The
former XO of the Callisto turned back to him.
     "The worship," said Apollo. "It...harmed him." He looked in the
direction of the corvus.
     "Yes. Because of free will, Iblis had to permit you to engage in
worship, if you so wished to. Each time you did, it frustrated him a
little more. You saw Sheba's devotion, as you made sacrifices, much as
our distant ancestors did. It filled him with wrath, because each time,
it offset the effect his venom would have. It took just that much
longer."
      But...eventually..."
      "Yes. Eventually, he made even that a part of her life's dream. He
turned her own strengths, her own virtues, into a weapon against her. And
why she couldn't reason her way out the way you have even though she had
one strong clue to help her, like you did with the beard."
    "The fact that she was wearing a stay when we first arrived." Apollo
nodded, half to himself, half to the Colonel. "She never wears those
things. Hates them. But she wanted to experience what it was like to stop
wearing them... again. Basically to wear as little as possible."
     "Correct again, Captain, you're doing fine." Delambre shook his head
and let out a mirthless smile. "Two little things that tied into how you
wanted to make your whole sense of pleasure in this realm
more.....perfect as the two of you defined it. Literally everything that
the two of you have spent your nights fantasizing about together in the
privacy of your chambers was produced for you here. Even the advanced
technology you brought with you was taken away, so that you might have
nothing, absolutely nothing, and seem to develop all on your own, like
our distant ancestors did when they first settled the Colonies. For the
two of you to enjoy everything to the fullest Human measure, physical as
well as intellectual, so that he might lay the ground work for pride and
conceit, in your own achievements. Then, gradually, your memories of the
past would fade and in time totally disappear, and all you'd be left with
was the permanent sense of belonging here, never wishing to leave it for
as long as you live." He paused. "Only in this case after a certain
point......"
     He stopped as the cawing sound grew louder and more angry. Apollo
and Delambre looked over as the corvus from above circled and descended
to the ground just metrons away from them. It seemed somehow to grow, to
become larger, and more frightening.
     Delambre took a step toward the bird, his expression angry. "Don't
try to intimidate me. I did not break the rules because the Captain is
free of your influence now as a result of his own decision to remember
the truth. Now that he has done that, he can be told of that which he is
now free of. Not Sheba, just Apollo!"
     The bird let out another caw and Apollo felt the hair on his face
and head almost standing up from terror. He could have sworn there was
something.....sarcastic in the bird's cawing.
     "Who is that?" he whispered, his gut turning to ice. Even before he
asked, he knew the answer. The bird's eyes were on him, seemingly mocking
him. Despite the immobile beak, it nonetheless seemed somehow to smile.
For the first time in a long time, he felt conscious of being naked.
      Delambre turned back to Apollo and ignored his question. "As I was
saying, after a certain point, time itself, as you perceived it, could
have stopped completely within this temporal pocket. You wouldn't have
any more sensation of time passing, and your memories of the past would
have faded completely. Whether physically your children would have stayed
frozen at no older than eight or nine yahrens, or you seemed to live for
millennia and saw this world filled with your descendants, it would all
have been the same deception." He paused. "Perhaps I shouldn't speak in
the past tense though, Captain, because all of this could still happen."
     "If Sheba wants it to," the Colonial Captain whispered again. "Lords
no! Can't you tell her....."
     "Apollo, I cannot. The acid within Sheba already has put her enough
under Iblis' spell that I couldn't haunt her dreams with my imago and
telling her to 'remember' as I could with you. I tried a few times with
my voice, but her mind has become so dulled to anything but her own, or
should I say Iblis', dreamworld, that I can no longer reach her. The only
way I can appear to her is if she were to reason for herself who and what
I am, like you did. And she can't do that. Cell by cell, molecule by
molecule, both her body and her brain are being taken over by Iblis'
venom. Already, it's tendrils spread out from where her leg was burned,
already it begins to corrode her soul. In time, there will be no power we
possess that can free her." The former Colonel was silent a moment,
looking across the valley, then turned back to Apollo. "So, Captain,
that's why ultimately it's up to you and you alone to free her from this
fantasyland, and make her realize that unless she reconnects with the
real world which is back in her Viper cockpit during that battle with
you, of her own free will, then she is going to be lost to Iblis
forever."
     Apollo swallowed, mind thick with fear. He looked at the corvus, and
it's evil, hateful, mocking gaze. It cawed at him again, this time
seemingly in laughter. Apollo knew. Delambre knew. It knew.
     In order to save Sheba, Apollo would have to do battle with the Lord
of Hell, himself!
     Caaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.............

Chapter Thirteen

     But how? How did one lone Human, stuck in a world that didn't even
really exist, and buck naked to boot, do battle with the very Father of
Lies, himself? Apollo knew that he must, he must, rescue Sheba from
Iblis' clutches, yet he, the Font of All Evil, was a being who, if the
Book Of The Word was to be believed, had ripped whole worlds apart in his
time, and was not some flesh and blood opponent one blithely went up to
and punched their lights out. 
     Clearly, caution was called for, here.
     But did he, or more importantly Sheba, have time for caution? It may
have only been fractions of a micron since this most theatrical of
temptations had begun, but as Apollo had come to realize, time did not
operate the same everywhere in, or out, of the universe. 
     "What do I do?" he asked. Even as he spoke, he flashed back to his
cockpit, then was here again. Delambre was looking at him. In an instant,
he knew; even now, his connection to this "world" was starting to slip.
He was moving back into the "real" world. If he did not free Sheba before
his connection to this place was fully sundered, she would be lost.
     "Go to her, Captain," said the other. "Go to her now!"
     "But..."
     "GO!" Delambre shouted, and pushed him. "Before Iblis alters
everything, and all is dust and ashes!" Apollo staggered, but said
nothing. Instead, he leaped atop Pegasus, and rode like the wind back to
the bridge. Again, for a brief instant, he felt the seat of his Viper
under him, and not an equus. 
     Dust and ashes! 
     Dust...
     Then, the bridge was in sight. He galloped up, and saw Sheba, still
asleep, on the grass where they had made love. Across the river, almost
as if standing over her, he saw the huge black lupus, maw gaping,
snarling at him, eyes burning red with victory and hate.
     He drew up, and leapt off the equus, and took hold of his wife.
     "Sheba!"
     "Leave her alone!" demanded a voice. Apollo looked up, and there was
Iblis, at the far end of the bridge. His white robes billowing about him,
just as Apollo remembered. His face was scowling, eyes angry.
     "Go to hell!" snarled Apollo defiantly. He shook Sheba again, and
she opened her eyes. He began to lift her to her feet.
     "Apollo?" she asked, blearily. "What..."
     "Apollo!" Iblis once more spoke, more like growled, his voice filled
with warning.
     "Sheba!" he said, looking down into her eyes. Eyes that seemed to
have trouble focusing. He looked up at Iblis. "I thought I told you to
shut up!"
     "Pup! Impudent mortal! How dare you..."
     But Apollo ignored the Count, picking up the semi-insensate Sheba,
brushing past him. Sheba in his arms, he made for the altar they had
worshipped at.
     "Apollo!" said Iblis, and there was cold, deadly menace in his
voice. "Put her down!"
     "I told you to go to hell!" Apollo said once more, and set Sheba,
wobbly, on her feet, next to the altar. "Or maybe you have trouble
hearing."
     "No! No, I forbid it!" snarled Iblis, stepping closer. "You will
not..."
     "Forbid mong, you Boray's astrum," said Apollo, still not giving
Iblis the satisfaction of direct eye contact. Sheba was trying to focus
on him, but it was like she was in a drugged stupor, unable to focus
either eyes, or mind, upon anything, her movements weak and
uncoordinated. Apollo shook her. "Sheba, wake up! Sheba, it's me. You
have to remember!"
     "She can remember nothing, you mortal fool!" laughed Iblis, yet
Apollo thought there was a hint of fear in his tone. "Nothing but what I
decree!"
     "Oh, really?" said Apollo, and this time he turned to the Father of
Lies. "Well, I don't believe you, Count Iblis. Or Devil. Or Diablos or
Mephistopheles or whatever other names you like to use. Whatever you call
yourself, I don't believe you. You shall not have her!"
     "Ahhh...." Sheba cried out, as if in pain. Apollo looked down at
her. Beautiful. Alluring. Strong and vibrant. Yet, also, so vulnerable.
Vulnerable, yet through that, lay Iblis' weakness, too.
     "Yes, I have remembered!"
     "Fool! You cannot..." Iblis began, reaching out to put a hand on
Apollo. Almost without thinking, Apollo swung back, striking the Tempter
across the face. For a moment, no one said anything. For his part, Iblis
looked just as shocked as Apollo.
     "Apollo..." said Sheba, trying to straighten up. She opened her
eyes, and saw Iblis.
     For an instant, it all faded out, and Apollo was once more in the
seat of his Viper. Then, he was back in Iblis' illusion world. But it was
different now, somehow. The sky was darkening, and thunder rumbled. The
sky was swept with dark streaks of something that he could not identify,
which seemed to slowly eat up the light.
     "I told you once before, you insect!" snarled Iblis, in smoldering
fury, fists clenched. "If you ever laid hands upon me again, and you
would forfeit your life!"
     "I don't believe you," Apollo declared. "You're a liar."
     "What?" Iblis' eyes almost seem to bug out, rage contorting his
face. "How dare..."
     "You can only take the lives of those who freely give themselves to
you, you piece of garbage! I don't. I reject you! You, and all your
filthy, vile works. I did before, I did back on your ship, and I do so
again, here and now!  And I would think by this time, even you would be
smart enough to know the danger of not following the "rules" that you
have to operate under!" Apollo mocked him. "Do you need me to spell it
out in baby blocks, you fracking retard?"
     "You cannot escape me!" hissed Iblis, fingers clenching, energy
crackling around them. "No one has dominion over me!"
     "Shut up!" said Apollo, and spat at the other. Turning away
dismissively, he reached onto the altar, and drew something from the
ashes. It was the sacrificial knife that they had used. 
     "Sheba!" said Iblis. "Come to me! You must, you want to!"
     "Ah!" Sheba cried, trying to focus on Iblis. Her whole body was like
a limp rag, as she tried to move. 
     "Remember, Sheba!" said Apollo. "Remember the others, aboard his
ship! The people from Earth, and the Pegasus! The people he turned into
vile copies of himself! That's what he tried to do before. What he's
trying to do now! Remember!"
     "She cannot remember, Apollo!" said Iblis. "Only what I allow her
to!" He raised a hand, and as if called onto a stage, the children
appeared, running towards them. "Innocent fool! Did you ever really think
it was real?" Iblis laughed. "Any of it?"
     "Mama!" cried one of the pseudo-children. "Mama! Don't forget us!"
     "Don't make us go away!" said another. They looked at Sheba with
tear-filled eyes that implored her to stay, and Apollo felt her begin to
move towards them.
     "No, Sheba! it's not real! None of this was ever real!"
     "How can a mother forget her children?" asked Iblis, his voice
dripping with pathos and emotion, as he placed on hand on "Athena's"
shoulder and another on "Bethany's", gathering them to him as though he
was their father. Their true father. "How? Not you, Sheba! Never you! You
could never do that!"
     "Remember, Sheba!" said Apollo, as she struggled in his arms.
"Remember!"
     "But..." Sheba tried to say, reaching out towards them. Her eyes
were clear, now, and Apollo could feel her strength gathering, once more.
Soon, it would be a fight, and...
     However, Apollo was through with words. He acted. Grabbing Sheba by
the right leg, he lifted her, till she was partly leaned back across the
rough altar. With the sacrificial knife in his right hand, and trying to
restrain her with his left, he cut into the scar where the venom from the
Derelict's inhabitants had splashed her so long ago, and had remained
inside her all this time. Leaving her unaffected for so many sectars
through their sealing and all that they had endured since but still
lurking within, like a cancer or virus, just waiting for the most
opportune time to unleash it's vile effects. Now it had come, and it was
up to Apollo to finally remove that cancer from her.    . 
     "NO!" Iblis screamed. He raised his hands, and bolts of lightning
ripped up into the sky. The wind began to howl like a storm at sea,
pressing against the Humans, but Apollo would not relent. "NO!" Iblis
screamed again. Lighting struck nearby, so close Apollo could feel the
heat, but he refused to let Iblis strike fear into him. "I forbid it!"
     Sheba screamed as well, as her hair flailed behind her, a scream of
pain such as Apollo had never heard before. She screamed as he cut deep,
as deep as he dared, into the site of the contamination.
     "No! No, you cannot! You..." Iblis screamed, face twisted in rage,
as they beheld the result. From the wound flowed both blood, and a foul
greenish-black slime. For a moment, it filled the air with a hideous
stench, like the inside of a slaughterhouse with a backed-up sewer in
high summer, and Sheba writhed as if in agony, screaming. Even more
horridly, it seemed to writhe itself, as it was forced out. Then, with
his own hand, covered in ash from the altar, Apollo squeezed the wound.
More of the horrid slime spewed forth, like a bursting balloon, and he
swept away the hideous muck. Some of it struck Iblis, and he recoiled.
     "No!" Iblis shouted again, but it was without the power of a moment
before. As blood ran down her leg, Sheba stopped thrashing, and shook her
head, as if to clear it. She slowly straightened up, and looked down at
her leg, the blood still oozing from the cut, then to Apollo. She turned,
seemingly startled, at catching sight of Iblis. She cried out again, this
time in horror and shock.     
    "Oh my God," Sheba whispered in horror as everything now came back to
her in a sudden rush, like that of a light switch being turned on, or a
dam bursting. All the memories of her life. The realization of what she
had been through. All of it. And as her eyes focused on Iblis, the only
thought that went through her was a deep, visceral sense of total
violation.
     "You!" she screamed, voice filled with shock and fury. "Iblis...how
dare you..."
     "Sheba!" he said, moving closer, arms outstretched, leaving the
"children" behind, trying to make his voice fatherly and kind. "Come to
me, my Sheba."
     "Never!" screamed Sheba. She looked over at where her "children"
stood, the full, abominable nature of the whole thing suddenly clear to
her. All the events, all the experiences, everything. All a lie.
     "Sheba..."
     "All a lie!" she howled, in both fury and anguish, tears streaming
down her face. "You...how could even you do this to us?" She leapt at the
Count, fists doubled, but Apollo grabbed her, holding her back.
     "Because he's evil," said Apollo. "He revels in anguish and misery.
He's tried twice before to enslave us. He failed, so now he's he tried
this. Delved into our deepest..."
     "Yes!" snarled Sheba, teeth bared. "Delved into our deepest most
private thoughts. You...bastard!" she screamed, throwing a rock at the
Count. "God damn you..." To both their surprise, it left a wound on the
Count's face.
     "But Sheba! You cannot reject..."
     "I have!" She bellowed back, so loudly Apollo's ears hurt. "I have,
and I do again!" Reaching out to the altar, she grabbed up a handful of
ash and bone, and threw it in Iblis' face. He screamed, hands covering
his eyes. Above, one of the blue spheres that Apollo knew as being from
the Beings of Light appeared, then more, and the very sky seemed to
crack. 
     "I am going back!" said Sheba. "Back to where I belong!"
     "No!" wailed Iblis. "You..."
     "I can, and I do!" thundered Sheba. And standing up to her full
height, proud and erect, she began to walk away. Walk in the direction of
where her Viper had landed, so "long ago". Even as she did so, her old
uniform slowly began to reappear. Within a moment, she was gone.
     "Sheba!" cried Apollo, turning back to Iblis. 
     "No, Captain," said a voice. Colonel Delambre's. "She has gone back.
She is back in her Viper, battling the alien vessel. As soon you must
be."
     "You!" snarled Iblis, raising up to look at Delambre, glare filled
with hate. "I should have..."
     "But you did not, and now you regret it. A bit late," said the
one-time Colonial Warrior. "After all, what you do must extend from this
time, forward." He smiled, taunting Iblis with his own words. "You cannot
change that which already is."
     "Your life is forfeit to me!" snarled Iblis, looking to Apollo. "I
will not be denied!"
     "I..." replied Apollo, anger boiling over now, "thought I told you
to go to hell! I deny you what you have no right to!" In a blur, acting
on pure emotion and instinct, he grabbed up one of the spears left laying
next to the altar, and in a swift move, rammed it right through Iblis
chest.
     For an instant, he could not believe what he had just done. Iblis
also apparently had trouble believing it as well. What was even more
unbelievable was the result. Instead of the stone-tipped weapon just
passing through as if Iblis were air, it had a far more satisfying
effect. Apollo felt flesh and bone rip beneath the point, and Iblis
looked down at the spear, then up at Apollo. Apparently, he was just as
surprised as the Warrior was.
     Pushing back, Iblis tried to remove the weapon, but quick to pick up
on what was happening, Apollo yanked back with a brutal twist, ripping
the vicious point from the Count. Iblis staggered back, gurgling in pain,
more of the hideous green-black horror oozing from the wound. He looked
up at Apollo, face a rictus of pain and utter shock, and reached out his
hand. 
     "Go to hell!" said Apollo again, and after cracking the spear over
his head, he shoved the Beginning of Murders away with his foot. Iblis
stumbled back, then fell to his knees. 
     "We will meet...again!" wheezed the Evil One, staring up at Apollo
with incredible hate. In response, Apollo kicked him in the face, and
Iblis went sprawling. In a blur, Apollo rammed what was left of the spear
through Iblis' throat, pinning him to the ground. It broke. Iblis
thrashed...
     As did the "world" he was in. The sky cracked open, Apollo almost
buckling under the sound of a billion windows shattering, letting
darkness flood in. The winds howled like all the banshees of Hell had
been unleashed, and everywhere, the blue spheres screamed across the
void. Then, as he watched, Iblis dissolved in a blaze of crimson
radiance, his Human semblance now ripped away, to reveal the twisted,
unbelievably ugly, demonic reality beneath. Horns, a mouth of long,
razor-sharp fangs, eyes of blazing fire, fast burning away to the
terrifying skull beneath. With a final gurgling scream, Iblis was gone. 
     Apollo looked down at the piece of spear that he still held. The
weapon was smoldering, and even as he looked, it crumbled away into ash,
leaving only an acrid reek behind. He watched as the ashes blew from his
fingers, into the wind where Iblis had been. The Count was gone...
     Then, it was all gone. The Valley. The sky. His children. Iblis. All
of it.
     And he was back in his Viper. He blinked, then looked down. Instead
of being near-naked, he was back in his old uniform. Instead of riding
atop an equus, he was in a fighter cockpit, hair and beard much shorter,
engaged once more in defending the Fleet. 
     
     "Excellent!" shouted Sargamesh. His scanner told him that hot plasma
and other gasses were spewing from the alien's hull. He followed up,
firing until his lasers sounded the alarm, and then automatically shut
down from overheating. He peeled away, then felt a massive crump, as he
was hit. Seeing him in distress, Apollo turned to look...
     And saw Sheba, moving in close. She was firing on the enemy vessel,
blasting away like a maniac. He fired as well, his shots penetrating the
other's screens, sending up blasts of debris. He lined up again...
     "Break off! All wings, break off!" came Colonel Tigh's voice, over
the UniCom. "Unknown vessel is surrendering. Repeat, unknown vessel is
surrendering! All wings, report status!"
     Lords of Kobol! It was true. The intruder vessel, which had moments
before had the Galactica in it's sights, had finally answered hails. She
had powered down, reducing her speed to a mere crawl, and lowered her
defenses. Bizarre as it seemed, she was surrendering.

Chapter Fourteen

     Sheba sat, listless, mind swirling, in LifeStation, as she waited
for Cassie to return with the results. After the recall, she had shaken
off the miasma of confusion and adrenaline, and led what remained of her
cadet squadron home. Damaged, her Viper had  made a hard trap, the
starboard landing gear collapsing, and the ship tipping, crumpling both
the wing and the engine cowling. She popped her canopy, got out, and
tried to find her feet on the deck. 
     She looked around her, while the deck crew sprayed her ship with
boraton, as if the landing bay were some strange alien world, and nothing
was known to her. Her mind was swirling with countless images; being torn
from the heat of battle, where she had "been", what she had "done", the
fury she felt towards Iblis, and the sudden rush of being thrown back
into combat, all within less than a micron of real time. She stood,
leaning against the boraton tank, as the sounds of the hangar crew,
machinery, and other Vipers coming in reverberated all around her. 
     "Sheba?" asked Starbuck, seeing her almost catatonic expression,
after landing his own ship. "Sheba, are you okay?" When she didn't
answer, he called out, and Master Chief Varica came over. Before either
could so much as say a word, Sheba took a deep breath, straightened up,
dropped her helmet, and fairly sprinted towards the lift. Shaking,
whether with the adrenaline drop, or anger, or both, she leaped out upon
reaching the right deck, dashed down the corridor, and headed for
LifeStation. Cassie was on duty, and visibly shocked at the sight of her
friend. 
     "Well?" asked Sheba, when Cassie finally returned. Fortunately,
casualties were light, and they had some breathing space. Cassie's face
bespoke confusion, and she motioned Sheba into the inner office.
     "Well, aside from being exhausted, and looking as if you've been
running wind sprints for a secton, you're okay. Basic scans look good.
Blood gases. Electrolytes and Neurotransmitters. The works." She looked
down at her pad, then back up at Sheba. "As to the rest..."
     "Yes?" asked Sheba, voice almost a plea.
     What in Hades Hole is wrong? She wasn't injured, yet... Lords, she
looks like a lost daggit!
     "Well, the answer is no, Sheba. Your HCG is negative. Not only are
you the same age you were at your last exam, but you are not, nor have
you ever been, pregnant." She saw Sheba squeeze her eyes closed, whether
in relief or anguish she could not tell. "No indication of pregnancy,
childbirth, or anything associated with it."
     "Okay," Sheba managed to shake out. She nodded, then began to rise. 
     
     "Sheba, what is it?" asked Cassie, unable to keep her concern
medically detached any longer. "Come on, something's not right, here.
This has nothing to do with the battle, and you of all people would know
if you'd ever had kids. What..."
     Lieutenant Sheba, report to the Ward Room. Repeat, Lieutenant Sheba,
report to the Ward Room.
     Please, Cassiopeia, I...I have to go!" she said, almost cried, and
almost ran out of the room. Sheba was gone before the echo had even died.
Cassie turned back, and looked down at her pad. 
     "What in God's name is going on?"
 
 
     Sheba headed towards the Ward Room, but as she got closer, the less
and less able to go through with the debriefing she felt. It was as
though the duty-bound, By-the-Book, 'I CAN'T HEAR YOU!' Warrior was
withering away, leaving only the brutally traumatized woman in it's
place. Finally, she stopped, choking back a cry of anguish, and turned
around, heading for her quarters. 
     The door opened, and for a moment, she did not recognize the person
in front of her. Small, dark-haired, with a mechanical...
     Boxey! Oh God...The child that I forgot about! The child that I let
myself forget about! Oh God forgive me!
     "Hey, Mom! You're back. You're okay!" As usual, Boxey was ebullient,
and rushed to embrace her. Almost as soon as he touched her, she erupted
in convulsive shaking, unable to keep it in any longer.
     "Oh God!" she began to sob. "No! No!"
     "What's wrong, Mom?" asked Boxey, clearly confused, as Sheba pulled
away. He tried to look into her face, but all he could see was pain,
anger, and rejection. And terrible loss, but his eight-yahren-old mind
did not grasp it. Sheba stopped at the door to the Turbowash, hand on the
bulkhead. She began to turn. "What..."
     "Boxey, please...please don't think I'm upset or angry at you. If I
seem...its nothing you've done." 
     "Is Dad okay?"
     "He's fine!" she nodded, pushing her hair back from her face.  "I
... I ...I'm sorry ... so sorry ..."  She hit the pad, and slipped into
the turbowash, disappearing behind the sliding door. She made it to the
turboflush, before losing whatever her stomach still contained. She
looked at herself in the mirror. She stared at herself for almost a
centon, then felt a wave of nausea and disgust well up, and she turned
away.
     Crash.
     She looked down, and saw the shards of a drinking glass on the
floor, brushed aside by her sleeve. She stared at them for several
microns, then with a deep, shuddering sigh, she shrugged, and picked up
the largest one. For a long moment, she stared at it, as if unsure of
what it was. 
     Why not? It was all so ugly. So unreal. So vile. Gone, gone, all of
them. All of it gone.
     So easy. So very easy, Sheba.
     She doffed her jacket, and rolled back the inner sleeve. It would be
quick this way, and relatively painless. She pressed the sharp edge of
the glass to her wrist, and saw red. Just one good slash, and she could
just go to sleep. Go to sleep, and never wake...
    "Mom?" came a voice, and a rapping on the door. "Mom? Are you
alright?"
     "B...Boxey...please."
      This is not the answer, girl!
     So easy, Sheba. So easeful. So...
     "Mom, are you okay? Open up!"
     Slowly, her fingers loosened, and the glass shard fell from her
grip.
     Mom.
     Sliding down the bulkhead onto the floor, she began to sob, anguish
welling up from the innermost depths of her being. 


      "Commander, we're receiving a hail from the alien ship," Athena
said.
      "Put them on."
     "Audio only, sir."
     "Very well. And tie them in to the BaseShip's frequency too. I want
them to hear this as well!"  Adama barked, hoping there would be some
answers at last.  What had happened over the last centar could only be
described as bizarre. The alien ship had so suddenly appeared from
nowhere and attacked with great vigor, and then just as suddenly had
stopped, and surrendered abruptly. The speaker whined, and at first
spewed forth utter gibberish, until the Languatron began to get a handle
on the alien lingo.
      ".....is is Acting Commander Droog, of the Calosiv Federation
flagship,  Borselifunshiwhelix. To the Commanders of the two warships,
your implore of a  forgiveness for the recent attack we. We have been
through a terrible traumatic experience, and our mad Captain has gone. 
We have been forced in order control to regain of our ship to mutiny and
end this attack upon you unprovoked."
     Adama's eyes narrowed as he contemplated these words. With an edge
of skepticism, he hit the switch that would let him respond, "This is
Commander Adama of the Colonial Battlestar Galactica.  Could you please
elaborate further upon your situation?"
     For the next five centons, Adama listened to a story that bordered
on the surreal. According to Deputy Commander Droog, the Calosiv hailed
from a star system scores of light-yahrens from here. From what they had
been able to discover, the Captain of the Calosiv vessel, on the way back
to their homeworld from a long military deployment, had suffered some
kind of mental breakdown, and the ship was in the throes of an attempted
mutiny. As crew fought crew, the very fabric of space-time seemed to rip
open before them, and they found themselves tumbling through a rift,
emerging practically on top of the Colonial Fleet, and the Captain and a
few loyal followers had opened fire, believing the two mighty warships to
be symbols of their enemy. Only after the battle had neared a terrible
finale, had the mutineers at last prevailed, and then surrendered, ending
the attack.
      "Your...story sounds credible, Deputy Commander Droog," Adama
finally spoke, sparing a glance at Tigh.  "But we would like to see some
further signs of goodwill on your part."
      "We have stood our weapons systems down, Commander! That is the
most we can for now do, while we our situation sort out."
      "I see," Adama hesitated, "Would you be open to having a
representative from our ship come aboard to inspect the situation and for
an emissary from your ship to come aboard our ship in the meantime?"
      "That would not be practical, Commander. Scan us, and you will find
that our life systems are not with your environment and vice versa
compatible."
      Adama looked down at Omega. "Scan them."
      The Bridge Officer nodded and then turned around with his report.
"Its like he says, Commander. The interior atmosphere of that ship is
extremely hot, as well as toxic to Humans. Shipwide temperature...over
one hundred degrees above our own. Atmosphere... a mixture of toxic
gases, predominately ammonia, hydrogen sulfide and carbon monoxide, with
traces of various acids and radicals. Lifeform readings indicate sentient
beings but....." He shook his head in disbelief. "Its as if they're
comprised of.....well, sludge sir."
     "Sludge?" asked Tigh, eyebrow raised in that Tigh fashion. "What
kind of...sludge?"
     "Can you get me a visual?" asked Adama.
     "Trying, sir." He worked at the controls. "Now receiving a visual
from the Calosiv vessel, sir." It was an image of a being somewhat larger
than a man, but seemingly composed of multi-colored sludges and slimes,
all held in a floppy, undulating bag. Complex chemistries were detected,
and it was true. These beings, and Humans, were utterly incompatible.
     Adama and Tigh both blinked, wondering how much more surreal this
could get. Before Adama could offer any response, the voice of Command
Centurion Moray from the BaseShip now jumped in.
     "Our scanning confirms these environmental indications, Galactica.
We would be willing to send an emissary aboard to inspect their weapons
systems and evaluate their story as our Centurions could withstand the
shipboard environment for long periods."
     "That is agreeable to me, Command Centurion Moray," Adama said, not
giving any thought to where Baltar was at the moment. "Commander Droog,
would you accept an emissary from our....." he suddenly realized the
incongruity of what he was about to say but he had to say it just the
same, "sister ship?  Their crew is robotic in nature." There was a delay,
presumably as Droog conferred with others of his (Her? Its?) crew.
     "We agree, Commander," came the response at last "We very much to be
able to leave you in peace and as friends want. We will accept an
emissary from your sister ship and maintain an open communication line to
both vessels."
     "Thank you. We will stand by for now."  Adama then stepped away
shaking his head, "Incredible."
     "I know what you mean," Tigh said, looking at the image of one of
the alien beings. "I have never even heard of a species so...so bizarre.
And if what he says is true, their Captain must have just gone stark
raving mad."
     "Just at the moment where they would be in position to launch an
attack on us," Adama mused. "I wonder....."
     "What?" Tigh asked.
     "Nothing," he shook his head. "Just an....intuitive hunch I suppose,
but nothing significant."
     "Commander, Siress Lydia... requests an update on the situation."
Athena called over again. She did a fair job of keeping the contempt out
of her voice.
     "Within a centar, Athena.  Not until after I get a briefing from
Captain Apollo."  Unlike his daughter, the Commander didn't bother to
conceal the disdain in his voice. "Where is he, anyway?"
     "He reported to the LifeStation, first."
     "Well if he's fit to be discharged, get him up here. I have to find
out what he saw!"
     "Yes sir," Athena sighed.


     How? Apollo asked himself, as he headed for the bridge. How had he
done it? Escaped from Iblis in that way? Starbuck's laser had had scant
effect, the first time they had encountered him. Yet, somehow, he'd been
able to send the vile being packing with a stone-tipped spear! He would
never have believed it possible, given the Count's awesome powers. Iblis
had obviously been limited in some fashion Apollo didn't understand, and
somehow, it had come into his mind to attack Iblis as he had done. Was
it...
     Yes! Colonel Delambre's words. 
     Alter.
     Dust and ashes.
     Cleverly, the former Colonel had given Apollo the final clue he'd
needed to beat Iblis. But that still did not explain how he could defeat
the Lord of Death with such weapons. He sighed, as he neared the bridge.
He wished Colonel Delambre were here, so he could ask the ascended man.
He and John together, perhaps?
     All in their time, I suppose, he told himself.


     Five centons passed before Apollo entered the Bridge. Right away,
through his annoyance, Adama noticed an uneasy weariness in his son's
expression, as if he'd been through an ordeal more harrowing than the
battle itself. He was outwardly-seeming well and fit, yet...yet he looked
like someone with the Combat Stress Reaction from Hades Hole. His eyes...
     "Strike Captain Apollo reporting as ordered, sir," Apollo saluted,
his voice somewhat flat. "Blue Squadron reports no losses from the
battle. Seven Vipers have battle damage that will require extended repair
work both here, and on the Celestra before they're combat ready again."
     "Thank you. I'll expect a full after action report from you and the
other Squadron Commanders no later than 0800 tomorrow morning." Adama
drew closer to him, moving them towards the edge of the command platform,
an edge of paternal concern entering his voice. "Are you all right?"
     "I'm fine, Father, fine." His son's answer was quick and abrupt.
"Sheba's okay too."
     "That's good," Adama found it puzzling that Apollo would suddenly
add that detail with such speed. It was clear to him that Apollo was
anything but fine. He looked like...like an abused animal. And underneath
he also had a sense that his son was holding something back. Something
important. Just like.....
       Lords of Kobol, just like that time they came back from the
Derelict. Eyes that had stared into the Abyss!
       As Apollo saluted and then was dismissed, the Commander had a
feeling that some time, after his son had a chance to collect himself,
Apollo would be asking to see him about something private and personal.
And given the puzzling nature of all that had just happened this day,
Adama found himself prepared to believe anything his son might have to
tell him. 

Chapter Fifteen

     When Apollo entered the outer area of their quarters, he saw Boxey
sitting off to one side, playing idly with Muffit. The daggit turned an
ear towards him, and spared the Strike Captain a brief look. The sight of
his son, whose face and name had become utterly forgotten to him for what
had seemed so long, filled him with a sense of guilt and regret like no
other that he could recall. He could get over the loss of "children" who
had never actually existed a lot more easily than cope with the fact that
his love for the only child he had ever known and given so much to and
received so much joy from, out of so much mutual loss, hadn't been strong
enough to stay in his memory all this time.
     You Boray! You fracking Boray!
    "Hi, son," he chose that term deliberately and smiled brightly. He
hoped his salutation didn't sound as plastic to the boy as it felt to
him.
    "Hi, Dad." He didn't look back at him and kept playing with Muffit.
    "Something bothering you?" He came over to him.
    Finally, the little boy looked up at him. "Did something bad happen
to Mom out there?"
    Apollo felt himself tense, like a pugilator preparing for a powerful
blow. "What do you mean?"
    "She came in here and when she saw me, it was like she didn't know me
at first. Then she.....started to cry. And she told me that if she was
going to seem upset or angry that I shouldn't think it was my fault."  He
shook his head in confusion. "Dad, why would she feel that way? Did those
aliens do something to her?"
    Apollo sagged slightly, not sure how he could handle that. Not
because he'd lost the ability to deal with the tough questions his son
was capable of giving him, but because this was the most complicated
thing he'd ever have to explain to anyone, let alone a child of eight.
     Hades Hole, the adults weren't doing so great, either, just now!
    "Boxey, it's not easy to explain," he touched his shoulder with
reassurance. "Your mother and I.....we both had a rough time out there,
and.....yes, something happened that would be too tough to explain, or
for you to you to understand just now. I mean...I don't even understand
it yet! But, but.....she's right. it's not because you've done anything,
and no matter what happens we both love you a lot. I think she's.....just
trying to reassure you in case she ever has a bad day and might snap at
you or something."
    "Can you help her, Dad?" concern entered his voice, "I don't want to
see her that way. I want her to be happy." Oh, the hero-worship in those
eyes.
    "She'll be okay, Boxey. We've got each other, and that's all we
really need to make us happy. You don't have anything to worry about." He
patted him on the head. "We'll do something together tomorrow, okay?"
    "Okay." The little boy then went back to his daggit. But his quiet
tone indicated just how troubled he was by the whole thing.
    Slowly, after chiming, twice, and hearing nothing, Apollo entered his
chambers. The first thing he saw was Sheba lying, back to him, on top of
the bed. And, instead of stripped down to her Academy t-shirt and briefs,
which was her customary bedtime attire, she was wearing a heavy robe. One
he'd seen only a few times. Her expression, what he could see of it, was
the saddest he could ever recall in his life, on any Human face. Even
sadder than when she'd first been parted from her father after the
disappearance of the Pegasus. The redness of her eyes indicated she'd
been crying earlier. Now, as if the tears had been spent, she just lay
staring off blankly into space, like a catatonic, or a mental patient on
drugs.
    "Sheba?" her husband asked gently, making sure the door behind them
was locked. He took off his gunbelt, and hung it up, then waited a full
centon. Getting no response he took a step toward her, "Sheba?"
    There was still no answer. It was as if his wife had become an
unmoving automaton, reminiscent of a deactivated Centurion.
    "Sheba, please, say something." Apollo didn't hide the alarm and
concern in his voice.
    He saw her slowly take a breath. The first sign of movement. And
then, when she spoke, her voice was flat and empty. Almost dead.
    "What can one say?" she said, not even turning to look at him. "What
can one say about something like... this?"
    Apollo lowered his head in anguish, wishing that he could give her
some...some crumb of comfort. But he also knew that it was too great a
task for him to handle, because he understood exactly how she felt, or as
much as a man could. Like herself, he was too bound up in it, too
emotionally entangled, to do anything, and knew that deep within, he was
struggling with some of the very same issues she was going through.
    "Six yahrens," she whispered, rubbing her fingers over a bandage on
her left wrist. "How do you suddenly lose over six yahrens that were
so...so damned real? Every event, every thought, every sensation.
Especially," her voice suddenly cracked and she shook her head, trying to
fight back the tears. "Going through two pregnancies and having three
children? And then finding out they never even existed?  All the pains of
childbirth, and all the joy of having them and loving them.......never
even happened?" She shook her head again, as her voice fell to a rasp.
"Why couldn't they have been real at least? Why couldn't we still have
them?"
    Apollo shook his head, feeling lost. He managed to come over to her
side but didn't touch her. "Sheba, I know it's not fair, and I'll tell
you up front, I have no answers. But we can't change what they were. An
illusion from....."  He trailed off, not wanting to even say the name
because of the blistering hate he felt for it.
    "Iblis," she finished for him. "Iblis." Her voice was a thick growl,
choked with fury. Her knuckles white where she clenched the fabric
beneath her. "That sick, twisted evil sack of mong! Why is he so obsessed
with wanting me? Why is it me, that he wants to suffer so much? What did
I ever do to him, to deserve something like this, having to spend the
rest of my life in total torment and fear of what that rancid crawlon is
going to do next to try and grab hold of me? What other sick... thing is
he going to try to do to me next?"  She visibly shuddered. "I don't even
want to think of how he could possibly top this diseased game he played."
    "Don't think about it," Apollo said quietly, "It'll never happen
again, Sheba."
    "Oh yes it will," Sheba shook her head. "Maybe not exactly like this,
but...He'll try again. If we've learned one thing about him, it's that he
never quits. We thought after he left the Fleet, after delivering Baltar
and dazzling the Council, that we were done with him. And after the whole
experience on the Derelict where it was his own private lair with all his
minions surrounding us, we fooled ourselves into believing that we could
handle anything he threw at us from that point on. We thought we could
face any challenge of his. Life could be something we could handle
because we'd survived being in the center of Hades." 
    She then shook her head more vigorously, "But then,
he......did...this! Something so sick, so perversely twisted, tapping
into every little private fantasy we ever shared with each other about
the perfect place, the perfect setting, the perfect Paradise. All the
little..." She choked, as if the next words could scarce be uttered, "...
sexual games we played with each other. He read all of that and then took
us to a place where he was able to......to....." Now she began to tremble
visibly, and started to curl up into a fetal ball. Apollo wanted to grab
hold of her, but something was telling him that if he did, she would more
likely recoil from his touch, and he could understand that completely. At
least she was talking. "To...watch us. To watch us perform like two giddy
little hormone-soaked adolescents pawing all over each other for six
solid yahrens! Like we were mindless lab animals! A couple of Twillys!"  

    Apollo lowered his head, because he too could relate to what she was
saying. The sexual pull of Sheba in that place had been beyond anything
he had ever imagined.     
    "What do they call a person who performs a sex act in front of an
audience?"  Sheba then said as she kept staring off into space. "They
call you a----,"
    "No!" Apollo interjected, and finally grabbed her shoulder. "You're
not that! Ever! We're not that! What we experienced was our love for each
other, Sheba. All through that...whatever it was, I felt my love for you
grow, with every passing heartbeat! It was good, and pure and godly! It
wasn't anything dirty at all."
    "Then why do I feel so violated? So filthy?" Sheba was still avoiding
eye contact with him, but he could sense the first hint of a tremor in
her voice. "Why do I feel like I've gone through the equivalent of......" 
She trailed off, shaking her head, not wanting to say the word. "I'm not
blaming you for anything, Apollo. I just.....can't cope with the fact
that all that time, we were being watched by that...that evil monster.
Not...not just being naked...but...every thought, every word. Things that
are so sacred and private being watched and scrutinized like bacteria
under a scanner!" Her fists shook, her knuckles had gone white.
    She then slowly let out a deep sigh of regret, and it seemed that
every bone rattled as she did so. "I wish to God I'd never said a word
about my idea of Paradise. Kept my mouth shut." Her eyes went up to the
ceiling, and there were tears in them. "I wish to God I'd never said
anything that he could tap into, to create.....that place. Maybe I should
have died on the Pegasus!" She began to shake and thrash. He took hold of
her, and she turned, seeming to explode, pounding at him with her fists,
her eyes swollen and red, her body like a whip. "I want my children back!
Damn him! God damn him! I want my babies back! I want my dignity back! My
babies! I want them..." She suddenly went limp, and began to sob once
more. After a centon or two, Apollo pulled her to his chest, and let the
flood pass, not oblivious to tears of his own. After a while, she
stopped, and turned her head away.
    For the first time, Apollo had an inkling of why Sheba was avoiding
eye contact with him.
    "It wasn't so bad before we started playing all those silly games,"
she at last went on. "We had a good thing together. We didn't need to
indulge in all those.....extra things. He never would have known. He
couldn't have created that.....place."
    Apollo idly touched his face and felt a wave of self-consciousness
hit him.
    Of course!
    "I'll be back in a few centons," he said quietly as he rose and made
his way over to the turbowash.
    As he entered the small room he reached down into a drawer were
located at the far end was the device he had vowed to never use again. He
had wanted to throw it away in a sign of defiance the day he had stopped
using it, but had held back for a reason he couldn't fathom. Now though,
he was glad he had.  He wasn't going to like having to use it again, but
he knew that he had no choice. Sheba's well-being had to come first, and
right now he realized that his wife needed an image of him that
symbolized stability and the familiarity of what she had known before all
of this. 
    As he finished up, he noticed a small shard of glass, on the floor
under the sink, when it crunched beneath his boot. He looked down, and...
    Oh my God! That bandage on her wrist! She...did she? Oh God no!
Please no! 
    Five centons later, he emerged from the turbowash, his newly-shaven
face schooled to impassivity. "Sheba."
    His wife still kept her gaze away from him.
    "Sheba, look at me. Please."
    As if it were a great effort on her part, she slowly turned her head
and finally faced her husband for the first time since they'd returned to
reality. Her eyes narrowed in mild surprise to see him totally
clean-shaven once again, and his hair purposefully cut to as short a
length as he felt like going for. 
    She finally gave him a weak smile, "Thanks," she whispered.
"I'm....sorry you had to do that, but.....I just couldn't look...I do
need to see you this way. For now."
    "I understand." He came over to her and sat next to her on the bed,
"You matter more than something as silly as my grooming. Anything that
can help you.....and us, get through this ordeal we've been through, I'll
do."
    "Its a good start," she leaned back against the pillow, "But....its
not going to be enough, Apollo. There's.....too much I've been through. I
don't know how I can.....shake these horrible feelings from inside me,
and all this......" she shuddered, "This whole sense of loss for children
I never had.  This whole sense of violation, of being spiritually raped. 
This.....whole sense of terror of what he's going to do next to me."
    "We'll find a way," he took her hand and squeezed it. He sat down, in
the chair beside the bed, and kicked off his boots, and doffing his
jacket. "We'll find a way."
    His wife had no response but the reciprocal squeeze she gave his hand
could at least, for now, offer him one tiny trace of hope. As the centons
ticked by, and she drifted off into slumber, he allowed himself to think
about his "children". No less than Sheba, he missed, longed for, yearned,
for the children that were just...just phantoms. Begotten, brought forth
into the "world" with his own hands, named, protected, nurtured and
loved. All nothing.
     Bethany.
     Zac.
     Athena.
     Nothing!
    As he at last drifted off, he did not notice the tears, running down
his cheek, to mingle with her own.


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