Battlestar Galactica: Epitaph For A Dead Saint
Virtual Season 3, Episode 13
By Senmut
July, 2012

From the Adama Journals:

     It has now been one full secton, since our encounter with the
mysterious derelict ship, and the discovery of a Human woman aboard, from
the planet Earth. Held in some sort of bio-stasis tube, for approximately
forty of Earth's yahrens, she was the victim of an abduction, apparently
for both medical research and intelligence-gathering, by a race
previously unknown to us, that was planning to invade Earth. The ship was
found in orbit around a world that, for all it's beauty, was unable to
support us. Sadly, all we could obtain from the uninhabited planet was
fresh water and oxygen; it's biosphere being utterly inimical to Human
life, or any other life forms known to us. Due to damage to the vessel
that carried her, suffered in combat with an unknown third party, we do
not have precise data on the exact distance to Earth. Yet, the find
itself proves we are getting closer to the Thirteenth Tribe's home world.
For the moment, at least, my foes on the Council are quiet. 
     The Earth woman, named Lauren Wagner, [Adama shook his head at these
double, even triple-tiered Earth names!] was a member, both of her Earth
nation's armed forces at one point, as well as serving, at the time of
her abduction, also serving in a security, or as she terms it, 'law
enforcement' capacity. After addressing a potentially serious health
issue, she has been medically cleared, and at their mutual request,
assigned to Captain Byrne's ship, the Constellation, as part of her
security contingent, or as they term it the Master at Arms. I was
somewhat surprised, given Byrne's somewhat...parochial attitudes towards
the idea of women in uniform, but it is a welcome development,
nonetheless. The proximity of others from the same planet, and in a
capacity familiar to her, will doubtless help to ease her transition into
our society. From a time on Earth even less advanced that that of our
other Earthmen, she is nonetheless showing great flexibility in
accustoming herself to surroundings far more technologically advanced
than anything she knew back on Earth. 
     Advance probes continue, but we still have found no further signs of
the race that abducted Wagner, the course the ship took to arrive in the
system where we found it, nor the enemy that is at war with them. While
part of me knows that they could supply much-needed information, and
efforts by our linguists and other experts to fully decrypt all we
discovered aboard the ship continue, I am also hoping that we never meet.
Our survival to date has been a string both of the miraculous, and the
imponderable. We certainly do not need any more enemies. As for the
vessel itself, it was deemed unusable for the Fleet due to considerable
structural damage, and has been scrapped, even now her metals and useable
parts helping us to continue our journey. Once more, thanks be to God for
such gifts.
     I wish, however, that I could feel as sanguine, regarding to what I
have learned from my son, regarding his and Sheba's 'recent' encounter
with our old foe, Count Iblis. Trapped for what seemed like many yahrens
of blissful existence in a mere moment of time, it was another attempt by
the evil Count following his earlier failure aboard his Derelict vessel,
to ensnare and enslave both Sheba and Apollo. But, for some reason as yet
unclear, Sheba interests the Count more. It has left Apollo deeply
shaken, and Sheba emotionally and spiritually wounded. While we seek
redress for their states with the knowledge and tools which modern
science have given us, I am nonetheless left feeling that nothing but
prayer, and a realm as incorporeal as that from which Iblis hails, can
truly heal my children. Of this I am certain; we have not seen the last
of Iblis. But the deeper mystery though, is whether Iblis is now solely
concerned with ensnaring the life of just one individual in Sheba, or
whether his.....obsession with her is in anyway tied toward enslaving all
of us eventually? Unfortunately, that is a mystery beyond my capacity to
deal with, and I must waste no time in pondering it. I must confine my
concern only to the well-being of my children and their recovery.
     On a lighter note, Starbuck seems to be settling in to his new
assignment as liaison officer with the rebel Cylon crew. Despite his
personal history with Baltar, there have been no reports of any problems
with either Baltar or with Ayesha, the woman who but for a twist of Fate,
might have been his stepmother.
     Lords be praised.

Prologue

     "C'mon, will ya?" sighed Norman, as they moved along the corridor,
aboard the Caprica's Glory.  The small, wiry fellow was straining,
pulling the heavily-loaded pallet along towards the lift, leading down to
the landing bay. The fellow on the other end was, he decided, definitely
not contributing his fair share towards the load to hand. 
     "Hey, it's heavy on this end, too, Norm. What do I look like, a
Nomen?"
     "No. A Nomen's a lot better-looking than you are. In fact, there was
this one Nomen..."
     "Look who's talking, BaseShip Butt!"
     "Ha, ha! Look, Frank," he stopped, taking a breather, "any time you
decide you don't want my help, I can let you do this all by your little
lonesome."
     "Don't tempt me, Norm! I ain't nearly drunk enough!"
     "Oh? Since when?" retorted Norman with a grin. He gripped the
controls, and made to continue the job.
     "Since the last time we got blasted, and I drank you under the....oh
frack.....!" The other dodged out of the way as the pallet jack began to
tip, as one of the grav-pulsars suddenly cut out. In a moment, the whole
thing had spilled, spreading its egregious contents all over the deck.
     "Oh great! Sire Pelias is so going to have our astrums when he finds
out about this!" He gestured towards the pile of garbage. "Whew!"
     "You mean if he finds out," said Frank, with a sly grin.
     "If....if is good," shrugged Norman. He moved to begin gathering up
the spilled junk, while his partner examined the malfunctioning jack,
when he leapt back, a look of shock on his face. "Holy Sagan's left..."
     "What...Oh Hades Hole!"
     "Hey, you guys need some help?" asked a voice. They turned and saw a
woman, in Warrior uniform, heading their way down the corridor.
"What...oh my!"
     The three stood, speechless for a moment, staring down at the
suspiciously fresh-looking corpse, spilling out of a shipping container.

Chapter One

     "Identity?" asked Commander Adama in the LifeStation of the
Galactica. In front of him, on the examining table, was the body found
aboard the former luxury yacht of the late Sire Feo, the Caprica's Glory.
     "None so far," replied Doctor Salik, "but since he had removed, or
had had removed, his fingerprints, it may be a while." Salik held up one
of the deceased's hands. True enough, his prints were gone, replaced by
old scar tissue. "There was also no jewelry or personal effects that
could identify him."  
     The body on the table was that of a man, somewhat over fifty yahrens
in age from the look of him. He'd been big, graying, and smelled as if he
hadn't bathed for some time. 
     "Cause of death?"
     "A broken neck, Commander." He tilted the dead man's head back some,
to give Adama a better look. "Something, or someone, hit him damned hard,
right here." He indicated the man's throat. "A sharp, powerful blow
crushed his windpipe, then an equally powerful blow to the back of his
neck shattered the C2 and C3 vertebrae, severing the spinal cord. He was
dead almost before he hit the floor."
     "Delivered by an expert, would you say?"
     "Oh yes. These were done fast and precisely, Commander. Whoever
killed him knew exactly what they were doing, and just how much force it
would take to do it." 
     "Alright, tell me everything," said the Commander, turning to the
two cargo-haulers, Norman and Frank. 
     "We'd gone to the yacht to pick up the usual load," said Norman,
obviously uncomfortable at being interrogated by the Commander himself.
     "Usual?"
     "Yeah,...uh, yes, sir," said Frank. "Every secton, like chronowork,
we pick up the semi-processed garbage and other junk from the ship, and
put it with the rest of our load. The organics and plastics we drop off
on the Sanitation Barge, the metals and stuff on the Foundry Ship. Only
this time..."
     "Yes?"
     "Well, the pallet jack malfunctioned, and it tipped. The whole load
went all over. That's when we saw him."
     "And you don't recognize him?" asked Adama. "Either of you?"
     "No, sir," said Norman, Frank in agreement. "I ain't never seen him
before." 
     "Very well," said Adama. "Report to Opposer Solon's office at once.
Make your official statements."
     "Yes, sir," said both men, and they were off. Quickly. Adama turned,
to speak to Salik, when he noticed the Warrior that had found the body
along with the other two, standing over the deceased, looking down at the
corpse. Long, wavy, dark blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, and she
pushed it out of her way absently.  She seemed very intent on the vista
before her.
     "Lieutenant?" he asked, moving closer.
     "Just having a look, sir," she replied, never taking her eyes off
the corpse, her gaze intense and penetrating.
     "And?" he nudged, curious as to why the Viper pilot should be so
interested in a dead body. 
     "Oh, just curious, sir," she replied, looking up at him. A bit
dully, he thought. He looked at her a moment, trying to recall her name.
He couldn't, and asked. Janna. One of the pilots that had been recruited
during the emergency, when disease had nearly taken out the entire pilot
corps. 
     "Understandable, Lieutenant," he said. "One doesn't usually find a
corpse in the corridor, every day. If I may ask, what were you doing
aboard that ship at the time?"
     "Me, sir?" she replied, as if the question was utterly unexpected.
     "Yes," said Adama, with some patience.
     "I was just visiting a friend there, sir," she replied, giving Adama
the impression of someone whose turbolift didn't quite go all the way to
the bridge. "Is it important?"
     "It could be," sighed Adama. "If you would?"
     She gave him the particulars, after which he ordered her to follow
the two civilian workers to Sire Solon's office, and make a complete
statement of what she had seen and heard. She acknowledged, saluted, and
left. He sighed again, shaking his head.
     "Yes," said Salik, from across the room, smiling. "One does wonder,
does one not?"
     "I know I should hardly be judging, but..."
     "How did someone like that ever qualify as a Viper pilot?" Salik
came over. "Yes, I was wondering about that, too. Then again, she could
be in shock. I'll have Tarnia book an appointment with her to let her
debrief.  That might be best considering the circumstances."
     "I suppose so," replied the Commander, shrugging. 
 
 
     After he returned to the bridge, Adama tried to put the death of the
unknown man from his mind, as he went about his regular duties. Doctor
Salik and Sire Solon would call when they had something to call him
about. But as the watch progressed and he dealt with the minutiae of
command, something kept nibbling at his mind. Not just the fact that a
man had been murdered; that alone was enough to grab his attention.
Something else just didn't feel right...
     After he logged off and returned to his quarters, Sire Solon's
preliminary report was waiting for him. He perused it, then checked in
with Salik. Still no identity on the dead man. Adama scowled, and then
reached over to access the personnel files. Maybe, finally...
     Janna
     Born: Virgon, 7325 AS
     Marital status: single, no children
     Orphaned in the Holocaust, no personal data surviving
     Employed as a Skybus operator before the Holocaust
     Recruited for Viper training during the plague crisis
     Graduated the accelerated program three points above minimum
requirements (see note appended by Lieutenant Starbuck)
     Service record: satisfactory. 
     Disciplinary notations/actions: none
     Fifteen confirmed kills, six probable
     Wounded in the Gamoray operation
     Currently assigned to Red Squadron
     Adama read on. According to the notes in her file from both Apollo
and Starbuck, the girl had seemed barely able to keep even with the other
recruits, leading Starbuck to postulate in his evaluation report that
perhaps she was of under-average intelligence and unsuited to the job,
though he had been careful to avoid using any pejoratives in describing
the girl. Yet, once inside a cockpit, she had performed with a surprising
aptitude, taking down two Cylon fighters her first combat mission
confirmed, one probable. The need at the time was so desperate, that her
lapses were overlooked, and she was, after the recovery of the stricken
pilots, retained, and integrated into the squadrons. 
     "Very odd," muttered Adama to himself, as he went over the minutiae
in the girl's file. Unlike nearly all the rest, she rarely mixed with her
fellow-Warriors while off-duty, and almost never touched anything
alcoholic, which was in itself noteworthy among the pilots. When on
furlon, she had a small time-share billet aboard the tramp freighter Piz
Gloria, split between herself, another Warrior, and one of the ship's
crew. All in all, it seemed that Janna was not anyone to stand out from
among the crowd. Indeed, she was one to sink below it, if the assessments
of her intellectual attainments, or lack thereof, were to be taken at
face value.
     Shaking his head, he turned to the Security reports on Frank and
Norman, the two who had initially found the body. Nothing in their files
stood out to grab his attention. Frank was a former maintenance worker
for a chemical company before the Holocaust, and Norman had operated a
small recycling firm, both men on Aquaria. Neither had served in the
military, had any trace of criminal acts or associations in their
records, nor any serious transgressions since they had fled the Colonies.
No obvious reason for either of them to suddenly decide to murder
someone. 
     "Well, someone did it," he told himself. "The crew?" Security,
doubtless, would scour the yacht's crew, and come up with something, even
if it was negative.
     Yet, as he mulled this, something about his interview with Janna
kept gnawing at him. She had, seemingly, lived down to the assessment of
her in her file. Adama had gotten the impression of speaking to a
slightly dull-witted child, and hoped that, given her obvious
attractiveness, she wasn't taken advantage of unduly. Aside from relating
the bare facts, she had seemed fuzzy at best on the finer details. Yet...
     Yet, when he had first caught sight of her, before she had responded
to him, looking down at the body, he had seen...what? He had seen a deep,
intensely shrewd gaze, as if her eyes were scanners, taking in every bit
of information they could. Her expression had not been one of border-line
stupidity, but almost of a...a scientist, as it were. He had, fleetingly,
felt as if the mind behind those eyes was as sharp and penetrating as
any. Then, she had looked up at him, and what he had seen was....dim. A
laser on low power.
     How to resolve this?
     "Do I need to resolve anything?" he asked the empty room. Unless
something surfaced, pointing towards Janna as a likely suspect, maybe
this was all just his tired, overworked mind. 
     Beep
     Doctor Salik.
 
 
     The dead man had at last been identified. Thanks to both DNA and
dental records, he was now known to be one Bronstein, registered as
billeted aboard the Gemini. He had left the ship two days previously,
without apparently saying where he was headed, and no one had heard from
him until he turned up in a garbage bin on the Caprica's Glory, his neck
broken by an apparent expert. Security was canvassing the passengers and
crew of the freighter, but this would take time. Castor had, however, dug
up one interesting fact; whether it would turn out to be of any relevance
was yet to be seen.
     The dead man had been a member of the Atori Sect, among the Gemonese
refugees. Adama knew little of the group, there being so many sects and
sub-sects among the survivors, benign and otherwise. But, from what
Starbuck had told him once, they were clannish, seldom mixed with other
Colonists aside from those few who had chosen military service, and they
had some atypical ideas about marriage, sex, and interpersonal
relationships. The centerpiece of their culture was the septi-yahrenual
celebration of what they called Sunstorm. Every seven Gemonese circuits
of the double suns, one of them would erupt, in a Coronal Mass Ejection,
giving all the Colonies a wondrous burst of color and brilliance. The
auroras would last for days, arcing and flailing in Gemon's powerful
magnetic field, and the Atori would feast, rejoice, and worship their
ancestor spirits during this time. 
     Also, it was during this time, and this time only, that any form of
sexual contact was permitted, even between sealed couples. After blessing
by the Atori priests, the people were free to do what came naturally, but
such was strictly forbidden at all other times.
     Trust Starbuck to find out about that.
     Anyway, since fleeing the Colonies, contact between the surviving
Atori and the rest of the refugees was infrequent at best, they for the
most part keeping to their section of the Gemini, and maintaining their
odd lifestyle and rituals. As a sect their population was on the decline
for obvious reproductive reasons. Other Colonists were, for their part,
equally happy to keep their distance; your average Atori seemed to have a
problem with "live and let live" when it came to the "perverse and
disgusting" ways of other people. So it was no small puzzle that a member
of that clannish, inward-turning group would suddenly bequit himself of
their billet, head off no-one knew where, and be dead two days later.
     Had Bronstein crossed someone the wrong way? Had the Atori's
endlessly abrasive self-righteousness finally worn terminally old for
someone, and they had decided to remove the irritant? 
     Well, he wasn't going to suddenly get answers sitting here. He
looked at the chrono. He had a meeting with the Council coming up, and a
promised dinner engagement with Siress Tinia. He rose, washed, swore
slightly, and headed out, his new concerns never far from his mind.
 
 
     "Well?"
     "I heard that they identified him."
     "Damn! If only I had had more time to clean up."
     "Nothing for it. We'll do what we can from our end."
     "What if it all comes out, though? All we need are vendettas. Even
riots."
     "Pray God it doesn't happen."
     "Yeah. Yeah."

Chapter Two

     Next morning, as he was about to leave for the bridge, Adama
received the latest on the investigation. More had surfaced on the
murdered Bronstein. While much of his movements between his disappearance
and discovery were still a blank, he had been seen in the docking bay
aboard the Celestra, about twenty centars before his body was found. This
was confirmed by the testimony of one of the hangar crew, and a security
camera. However, no one aboard the ship either knew, or was telling, just
who Bronstein had come to see, or what his business had been there. After
a scant twenty centons, he had reboarded the shuttle and was gone.
     "Curious thing, Commander," said Castor, on a link from the
Celestra. "When we tried to access the shuttle's flight plan, we
couldn't."
     "Couldn't? Why not? Malfunction"
     "It was erased, sir," replied the Security man. "As you know, every
shuttle has to file its daily routing and flight plans with the
Galactica's flight controller. When I checked the records, I found that
the shuttle, the one we salvaged from Ki and put into service, went off
the grid, from the time it left the Celestra, until it touched down on
the Rising Star, almost a full two centars later. We've found the pilot,
and we're pulling the ship's flight recorder." 
     "Good work, Castor," said Adama. "Anything else?"
     "A bit, sir. Some background on this Bronstein guy.  There is
virtually nothing in our records on him prior to the Holocaust, but from
our interviews, it seems he was something of a mystery. He came from
Caprica, but was of a Gemonese family, and moved to back to Gemon, and
joined the Atori sect as a young man. No one seemed disposed to talk
about him, although one woman said he was something of a bad pomem, sir.
He had the bovinecake, as she put it, and liked to use it. He wasn't
above cracking heads when he felt like it. Whether he had a criminal
record before we left home, we don't know yet. Those Atori folks are very
reluctant to talk. It's amazing how many of them know nothing at all."
     "Good work, Castor. Keep on it."
     "Sir."


     "What exactly is it you want?" asked Alais, as she clasped her
gunbelt around her waist. She was in the small cabin she shared with
Janna aboard the Piz Gloria, and was preparing to go back on duty after a
few days furlon. 
     "Information. What can you tell me about Lieutenant Janna?" asked
Castor, fresh from a trip from the Celestra.
     "Janna?"
     "Just routine, I assure you, Lieutenant. Please."
     "Well, she's pleasant enough. We time-shared these quarters after we
got our squadron assignments, but we don't see each other all that much."
     "Any friends?"
     "Not here. She's never brought anyone here, so far as I know. She
spends most of her time here when she's on furlon. Actually, I don't know
her all that well."
     "How so? You share a billet."
     Like I said, we don't see each other a lot. I may sleep here when
I'm on furlon, but that's about it. I like to get out, mingle with
people. She doesn't. She spends a lot of her furlon time camped out here.
Her idea of furlon is to curl up with a good data chip, I guess." She
indicated the small, semi-detached cubicle, containing a bunk, a small
bedside table, and an equally small shelf. On it were a photo of a couple
in old-fashioned sealing clothes, a few data chips with a reader, and
some old-style printed books. Castor ran his eyes over them.
Hhmm..."Although I haven't seen much of her this furlon, I admit."  
     "I see," said Castor, still looking at the small cubicle.
     "Anything else? I'm due to report to the Galactica in thirty
centons. My squadron is on the patrol roster. I get to fly with Flight
Leader Pungericus. Joy."
     "Just a bit more. Did she say where she was headed, yesterday?"
Castor asked.
     "Nope. She just said she'd be back, and left."
     "Okay, that's all. For now. If I need anything more, I suppose I can
reach you on the Galactica?"
     "Yes, if I'm not out on patrol," she replied, with a touch of
annoyance. "Women's billet, starboard gamma section."
     "Right."
     Castor let her precede him out the door, and followed along, his
gait slower than hers, mulling it all. While nothing stood out from his
interview with Alais, something bugged him. He checked his agenda. Yeah.
He quickened his pace, to make it to the landing bay in time for the
shuttle.
 
 
     "Actually, I never saw him, although he's got a face like the north
end of a south bound cow," said Cedric Allen, late of the Royal
Australian Navy, of the planet Earth, and now skipper of the recently
acquired transport/warship Adelaide. "We're still getting things
organized here, and folks are in and out like crazy. We just billeted two
more families." Castor had shown him a scan of the late Bronstein. From
the data in the shuttle's flight recorder, it was learned that the ship
had, after leaving the Celestra, come here, transporting electronics, and
recycled materials from the alien derelict for use in the ship's
maintenance and upgrade."
     "Anyone else aboard who might have?"
     "God knows. Half the people on board, mate. I spend most of me time
either here on the bridge, or in the rec room, when I'm not in me
quarters." He indicated one of the bridge stations, where techs were
busily installing some of the freshly fabricated electronics. "But hey,
feel free to ask about."
     "I will," said Castor. 
     He did. 
     And had some things of interest to report to the Commander.
 
 
     "He was what?" asked Adama, later, back aboard the Battlestar.
     "A bouncer, sir," replied Castor. "In a bar, in Sparta, a city on
Gemon. I found someone who knew him, yahrens ago. An old recruitng
officer for the service, in fact. It seems that the late Bronstein liked
to play rough with people, and was turned down by the Academy for his
preference, both for excessive drinking, and for solving personal
problems the hard way. It was at about that time he joined the Atori
Sect."
     "I see. And his recent movements?"
     "He was aboard the Celestra, as I said. We still don't know how the
flight plan was erased, but from the pilot and the recorder data, the
shuttle went from the Celestra to the Hegal, then to the Adelaide.
Bronstein did not leave the shuttle for the entire thirty centons it was
aboard the Hegal, but he debarked immediately when they touched down on
the Adelaide. Captain Allen says he was on the bridge the whole time, and
I have confirmed that from both security scans and several crew members.
However, Bronstein did move about the ship, but spent most of the time in
the Common Room Mess, drinking some java, and watching the people."
     "Watching them?"
     "Yes Commander. Mostly just watching, although he did speak to at
least one, so far as I've discovered. One of the engineering crew, a man
named Lou, a technician on loan from the Sagittarius, for the work on the
Adelaide." He shook his head. "These alien names! Anyway, he wanted to
know if any pilots from the Galactica ever visited the ship."
     "Pilots from the Galactica? Did he ask for a specific pilot?"
     "No, sir, but Lou said that he got the feeling that the man was
looking for someone in particular. As you know, several Vipers were flown
over to the Adelaide two days, as part of her conversion."
     "Yes," replied Adama. Captain Allen had suggested, in conjunction
with his fellow Earthman Byrne, that the new ships, enormous by Earth
standards, be converted or adapted to carry some Vipers. Once done, each
ship could more effectively carry out screening duties for the Fleet, in
coordination with the Century, in the event of attack. "Or if the d‚tente
with the Cylons goes south," Allen had added. Adama had readily agreed,
and when materials and personnel became  available, the addition of extra
laser batteries, armor plate, and modifications to the ship's landing bay
were undertaken. As a result, the ship was what Allen had called
"organized chaos" at the moment. Someone could easily have slipped on and
off the ship, without Allen, or anyone else, being any the wiser. "What
else?"
     "That's all so far, sir. The shuttle next visited the Yarborough,
the Tip Barge, and the Malocchio, before rendezvousing with the Rising
Star, then returning to the Galactica. As to Bronstein, I have a couple
of our men out, questioning, but nothing further on his movements, so
far, after leaving the Adelaide. Sadly, the flight recorder aboard the
Kian shuttle only gives us flight and navigation data, not vid scans on
the passenger module."
     "Damn. But it is odd," observed Adama. "The body being discovered
aboard the Caprica's Glory, yet the shuttle never went there on that
day's run."
     "You noticed that too, sir. Yes, somewhere along the line, Bronstein
jumped the shuttle, and got another ride to the yacht. I have Skinner and
Lomas out checking into that, sir. I expect to hear from them soon."
     "Good work, Castor," said Adama. "Keep me advised, regardless of the
centar."
     "Sir."

Chapter Three

     Next day, Castor and Lomas accompanied the body of the late
Bronstein back to the Gemini for funerary services, in accordance with
his people's customs. While the Atori leadership was crisply polite, upon
receipt of the dear departed, and verbally "annoyed" that a member of
their sect had been autopsied without notification or permission, they
seemed to want to draw the line at any "outsiders" being present at the
funeral. Just as crisply, Castor made it clear that questions remained to
be asked, and they could be asked nicely, or they could be asked not so
nicely.
     Such as in a Security interview room, bending over and grabbing
one's ankles.
     They would prefer nicely, thank you. Sitting in the back, staying
out of the way as the ceremony progressed, Castor used the opportunity to
study the assembled mourners. Most were somber-looking, the sort likely
to advocate hanging for an unrenewed daggit license. Only a few were
young, the rest either middle-aged or downright elderly, and the
celebrant's eulogy, speaking in glowing words of the departed, seemed
somehow forced. What music there was was played on some kind of flute, a
dolorous dirge, followed by a hymn in a Gemonese dialect neither man 
could follow.  When all was done, and the body was taken away ("what do
they do with it?"), Castor began to move among the people.
     As he expected, no one seemed inclined to talk, or had known him all
that well, or really knew anything. It's like a gangland killing, he told
himself. No one saw a thing! Despite it all, he kept on, like an
aggreived housewife after a speck of dust. It was, he was beginning to
feel, somewhat like herding felons to have their teeth pulled, but duty
was duty. Bronstein was a nice guy, he didn't always know his own
strength, people misunderstood him, he shared his rations with those who
had less, sure he could have a temper but who doesn't?, he liked
children, he was so devout, he was strict in his observances, he had
always been good to his mother, God rest her, he was kind to pets...
     Lords of Kobol! 
     "Sir?" asked Lomas, entering the makeshift chapel.
     "Yes, Lomas?"
     "May have something, sir," he said, in a low voice. Around them,
dozens of eyes watched, and Castor motioned his man outside, into the
corridor. 
     "Yeah?"
     "I searched Bronstein's rack, sir. Despite the seal we put on it,
someone got there ahead of us."
     "Damn! Anything left for us?"
     "Maybe, sir." He reached inside his jacket. "It's part of a
likeness, sir. Someone tore it off the wall, but a bit hastily, as you
see." It was just a corner of a photo, of what he wasn't at once sure. 
     "Looks like...part of someone's...hair?"
     "That's what I thought, sir. Now, stretching our writ just a bit,
I'm having the ship's refuse searched. I'm hoping that our predecessor
decided that ripping the likeness away was enough, and just tossed it in
with the rest of the garbage."
     "Good idea. Anything else?"
     "Yeah. You may have noticed that every member of the Atori Sect
above a certain age wears some kind of medallion. Made of silver."
     "Yeah. Something about denoting membership, right?"
     "Yes. Well, Bronstein's is nowhere to be found."
     "You sure?"
     "I tossed his rack, sir. And his locker. I found thirty-two cubits
and four quantums in his spare shoes, but no medallion. Not a sign of
it."
     "And it wasn't found on him when his body was discovered." Castor
mulled a moment. "Stolen?" He looked at Lomas.
     "I wouldn't think so, sir. At least not by someone in the cult. From
what I understand, the medallions are considered sacred. Something about
a spirit living inside it, or some such. Stealing one from another member
would be considered blasphemy. Which means, sir, unless someone here is
lying through their teeth..."
     "Something entirely possible."
     "No mong."
     "Yeah. Which means that his killer took it."
     "Which would also mean that his killer..." Loams stopped, as some of
the mourners filed out, passing close. "...that his killer understood
it's significance, sir. Something that would have identified him as an
Atori. Therefore, they must have been a fellow member."
     "Yeah. Good work, Lomas. And good thinking."
     "Thanks, sir. Orders?"
     "Keep working the rest of the people in the billets. I'll keep at it
here, for all the good it's likely to do. And check on the garbage
search, again. Maybe we'll get lucky." He slapped Lomas on the shoulder. 
     "I'll keep that in mind while sorting through people's garbage in my
impermeable lacron gloves, sir." 
     As Lomas departed, Castor was almost overrun by people filing out of
the chapel. Before he could do anything, he felt something pressed into
his left hand. 


     Thirty centons later, in the Common Room for this section of the
Gemini, Castor sat, nursing a java. Of sorts. Given what one usually
found in the Fleet, this stuff was almost drinkable. Perhaps it hadn't
been used to flush out quite as many reactor vessels as the usual stuff
one got aboard most ships. As he sipped, he studied the people here. Most
were either crew, or passengers, between shifts or at the end of their
day, grabbing a quick bite of something, before heading back to their
billets, or back to work. 
     He looked up, as the door opened, and a woman entered, tall,
projecting something of a regal aire, and of late middle-age. At once,
she locked eyes with Castor, before moving towards the sideboard, and
getting herself a water. That done, she turned, leaning against the
counter, and just looked at Castor. A look that was both telling, and
mysterious. Frankly, it made Castor feel a little creepy. The two just
looked at each other for almost a full centon, then the other took
something from a pocket, and turned around. After a final sip of her
drink, she tossed the cup, and headed for the door. 
     Castor moved to where she had stood, and scanned the counter. It
wasn't hard to find, slipped under the edge of a stack of trays. It was a
slip of paper, upon which was scrawled one word. 
     Hunley.
     Castor finished up his java, and headed out into the corridor. He
had about twenty centons to make the next shuttle. As he waited for the
lift at the end of the corridor, weighing his next move, he reached into
his pocket, for the slip. Then, the door to the lift opened...
     He saw two large men.
     He saw a fist.
     And then he saw stars.


     "Sir? Are you alright?"
     Castor opened his eyes, and then regretted it, staring right into
the burning corona of a bright lamp. 
     "How do you feel?" asked another voice. Castor tried to focus, while
shielding his eyes against the glare..
     "Like I got slammed," said Castor, focus a bit better now. "With a
drop forge." He was lying on a table, with Lomas over him, as well as
someone in medical garb. He tried to sit up, and felt pain thrum through
his head.
     "You did, sir," said Lomas. "A broken nose, as a matter of fact."
     "Which has been taken care of," said the other, introduced as Doctor
Mered, CMO of the Gemini. 
     "Huh?" asked Castor, trying to sit up again.
     "I found you in the corridor, near the recycling plant, sir," said
Lomas. 
     "I was on the way to see you."
    "Well, it looked like someone laid you out, and was carrying you
somewhere. When I came into the corridor, I saw someone dragging you out
of the lift, and you were covered in blood. I ordered them to halt, and
they dropped you. By the time I reached you, they'd jumped back into the
lift, and were gone. So I called a med tech."
     "No ID on whoever it was?"
     "No sir. His back was to me most of the time, and after that, I was
more concerned about you, the way you were bleeding."
     "I...man this hurts," said Castor, hand to his nose, snuffling.
Despite all the painkillers, it throbbed like Hades Hole. "Doc? It feels
like I have a BaseShip in there."
     "It will for a day or two. We can splint and repair the bone
structure, but can't erase the inflammation completely.  If you'd been
hit any harder, Lieutenant, you'd be dead. Just a tiny bit more force,
and both the septum and the bone behind it would have been rammed up into
your brainpan. It took a bit of digging to get it all out..."
     "My brain?" 
     "Uh, no."  He studied Castor for a long moment, and it occurred to
the Security officer that the CMO lacked a funny bone.  Or maybe it just
needed to be laser mended. "...but you're fine, now." 
     "Thanks, Doc." Mered nodded, and went off to file his report. Castor
looked at Lomas. "Anything?"
     "Not yet, sir. I haven't checked in with the sanitation crew since I
found you."
     "Well, I..." he reached into a pocket, and softly cursed.
     The slip of paper was gone.


     "As a civilian cargo ship, the Gemini was never built with security
in mind, Commander," observed Castor, later, back on the Galactica.
"Internal sensors are spotty at best, and most of what cameras there
were, are long gone. Cannibalized for parts. The only serious security
checkpoints are in the landing bay, and the entrance to the engineering
and life-support systems."
     "So, there's no way to track these men," said Adama. "Are we ever
going to get a break here?'
     Castor lightly touched the bridge of his recently fractured nose. 
"I'm not stopping, sir," replied the security man. "Someone tried to get
me to join up with the late, lamented Bronstein. I owe them. But Lomas
checked. From the time I was found, until we left the ship, no one else
did. No shuttles either docked, or launched."
     "So, whoever it was is still aboard."
     "Seems so, sir. And I'm having every shuttle passenger list, coming
and going, scanned, as well as the entire census for the ship rechecked.
Maybe something will pop up."
     "Lords of Kobol, let us hope so."
     "Me too, Commander. I'm running out of noses."


     "Why did you communicate with the Infidel?"
     "I...I didn't. I..."
     "Liar!" shouted one, a large, angry fellow. "We have the proof!" He
held up a piece of paper, with the word HUNLEY written across it. "Why?
And what else did you tell the un-believer?"
     "Go to Hades Hole!" the woman bound to the chair retorted. 
     "You first," snarled the other, and swung his huge fist down.

Chapter Four
  

     Unable to sleep, Castor had instead pulled an all-nighter at the
computer, reviewing transport logs across the Fleet, and census data for
the Gemini. Again. While he was tired, and no statistician, he was sure
he had found something. 
     So, also, had Lomas. He had finished scanning the garbage aboard the
freighter, and aside from lots of things that shouldn't have been there,
they had found something that they all had hoped would be there.
     "Yuck!" said Castor. He wrinkled his nose.
     "No, it's not pretty sir," said Lomas.
     "Neither are you," grinned his super.
     "True," admitted Lomas, who'd spent a lot of time in the garbage,
"but it's all we've got to work with. We barely got there before the
shredders kicked in. If they hadn't been on down-time for repairs, like
half of the machinery on this tub, we'd never have gotten this."
     "Well, thank the Lords, I guess," said Castor. It was part of a
likeness, clearly that of a woman, with long, lustrous blonde hair. Taken
in full sun planetside, it showed her graces to the fullest. "Too bad
we're still missing part of a face." The face was both partly torn away,
and damaged by exposure to whatever had been in the trash hoppers.
     "Agreed, sir. But I'm hoping that with some computer enhancement, we
might be able to get a better image."
     "Right. I'll get Komma on it."
     "Our resident computer whiz, yes. Sometimes I wonder if he was born
in an electronics lab."
     "Dunno, but I swear the guy was breastfed on data streams. He's got
an eye for the ladies all the same.  Okay, get him on it.'
     "Sir."
     "And Lomas?"
     "Sir?"
     "Turbowash. Now."
     "Right away, sir." 


     While Komma did his thing with the machinery, Castor went over the
questioning and reports again. Somehow, he felt he was missing something.
He also wondered who the older woman was who had slipped him the message
aboard the Gemini. What had been her purpose? To convey some crumb of the
truth, or to send him off, after a wild goslon? 
     And who, or what, was Hunley?
     With few other clues giving ground at the moment, he changed tack,
and began researching the word. It was a rather uncommon place name in
the Colonies, he discovered, and even rarer as a personal name;
genderless, and aside from one cruiser skipper, about a hundred yahrens
ago, he found only one other recent use of the name in the service record
bank. A Viper pilot, originally assigned to the Rycon, she had been
reported lost in the first Cylon wave that had wiped out the Colonies,
the same wave that had caught both the Rycon, and the battlecruiser
Valkyrie, in dock, and made sadly short work of both of them. 
     "No one now. So what the..."
     He turned back to the data banks. No, this Hunley had never been
married, and there was no record in her service file of any offspring.
Just another pilot, lost on that terrible night, when Baltar's treachery
had borne it's vile fruit.  In fact...
     "Mong!"


     "What is the connection, do you think?" Adama asked Castor and his
team, later. 
     "I am not sure yet, sir," replied Castor, "but this Bronstein knew
her. No question. And she had a sister, registered as alive and aboard
the Fleet."
     "A pilot who died in the Holocaust. Obviously, there must be a link,
otherwise someone would not have gone to the risk of violating the
security seal you put on his billet."
     "Or tried to take me out to get that slip of paper back, sir."
     "Obviously, this Hunley is important," said Adama. "Dig, Castor.
Find out everything you possibly can about her. I'm sure there's more to
find. Her file, trolling the Fleet. One way or the other, she's the key."
     "You can count on us, sir."
     "I know that."


     "Not a whole lot I can tell you, really," said Lala, at her work
station aboard the yacht, Caprica's Glory. Short, petite, and with
close-cropped blonde hair, she was busily prepping meals for the
civilians who currently called the former luxury yacht home. Like most
people in the Fleet, she had a second, and even a third "job",
maintaining the food preservation systems, and keeping track of ship's
stores.
     "But you must know something, Lala. After all..." said Skinner.
     "Yeah, sisters. I know. But we were never close, and after our folks
split up, we didn't see a lot of each other. She joined the service, and
I didn't."
     "Why not?"
     "Didn't make the minimum height requirement, they said," replied
Lala. She stopped, carrying a pot of steaming something over to the chow
line. Skinner decided it smelled good, at least. "Could ya...yeah
thanks." Clunk went the heavy pot. "And, considering what happened to
her, maybe that was a lucky break for me."
     "How were you informed? About her death, I mean?"
     "I wasn't, at least not in the usual way. It wasn't until right
before we... found the Pegasus that I heard from another Warrior. Someone
who'd seen her, that last day, aboard her ship."
     "Do you remember which Warrior?"
     "Uhh...Bunker. From...oh, I forget which squadron. He told me."
     "And the ship?"
     "No. Not a thing. Just that she was lost when the tinheads took out
some drydock." She dumped a bunch of utensils in the washer, and then set
another pot on the stove. 
     "You got any likenesses? Anything of her?"
     "Not a thing. I made it to the rendezvous with what I was wearing,
Corporal. And precious little of that." Skinner gave her a quick
masculine appraisal, and let that slide.
     "Understood. Well, thank you."
     "Yeah."
     Skinner made for the hatch, and Lala finished dumping the foodbase
packs into the pot. Once he was gone, she stared at the door for a few
moments, then moved across the galley, and reached for the telecom. She
punched in a code, and waited.
     "Yeah? It's me. Right. We have a problem."   


     "She's lying. I know she is," said Skinner, to his chief, later. "I
can't pin it down, but she's lying through her teeth."
     "Maybe we should bring her in? Turn the screws?" offered Lomas. 
     "And scare away whomever else might be involved?" said Castor. "No,
not yet. But I think Skinner's right. This Lala is lying."
     "Knew it," said Skinner. "How?"
     "I checked out this Bunker she mentioned. He and Starbuck were
fairly close, at least across the billet card table, so I talked to him.
Bunker was a Lieutenant, lost in the Gamoray operation. He joined the
Galactica after the ambush at Cimtar. One of a handful of surviving
pilots from the Columbia." Castor put an image of Bunker up on the
screen, the man's service record scrolling alongside. "Before the
Columbia, he was a cadet trainee aboard both the Berserker, and the
Warspite. He was never assigned to a planetside squadron, and was never
within a country maxim of any drydock."
     "So he couldn't have had any first-hand knowledge of this Hunley..."
Lomas trailed off.
     "Plus the added fact that he is no longer available for comment,"
chimed in Skinner. "Convenient."
     "Yeah, isn't it," said Castor. "Any luck on the likeness?" he asked
Komma.
     "Yes, sir," replied the computer whiz. He replaced the image of the
late Bunker with that of the photo he'd been given to work with. "The
lack of part of the image, plus the damage from the refuse it was in
didn't leave a great deal to work with, but I got a bit creative."
Slowly, the image morphed and expanded, from a smeared, incomplete face,
to a full image of a young woman, more a girl, really, looking directly
at them. "I cleaned up what we had, then had the computer work out the
most likely facial configuration based upon the data we had." Komma hit a
few more buttons. The image sharpened yet again. "This is the best I can
do, sir."
     "Lords, it looks like Lala," said Skinner
     "Well, they were supposed to be sisters," said Castor. "But why
would some musclehead from the Atori Sect be mooning over an image of a
Viper pilot KIA? They usually keep to themselves."
     "Could this Hunley have been an Atori?" asked Komma. Before he could
get an answer, the telecom beeped. It was for Castor.
     They had another body. 
     On the Gemini. 


     Fortunately, this time, the body in question was still inhabited by
it's owner. Barely. Upon landing, the security men were directed to the
ship's LifeStation, where they found the victim, hanging on, under life
support. 
     "Doc?" asked Castor.
     "She'll make it," said Mered, "but it's going to be a long patrol.
Someone worked her over, but good." He ushered them into the Gemini's
excuse for a secure ward. In a support cylinder, connected to tubes and
monitors, was the old woman Castor had seen in the ship's Common Room. He
barely recognized her, for now her face was swollen, black and blue from
a severe beating.
     "Where'd you find her?" Castor asked the doctor. 
     "One of the maintenance workers, in the recycling plant. He saw what
looked like blood seeping from under a container, and checked it out. She
was inside."
     "Son of a..." began Skinner. "She almost..."
     "Yeah," said Castor. "Almost ended up recycled. You have a name?"
     "Yeah. Magdalena. She's been in a couple of times since we left the
Colonies. Minor stuff, age-related. She's one of the Atori, by the way."
     "How soon can we talk to her, Doc?"
     "Hard to say. She's taken a lot of cranial and neural trauma. She's
been downgraded from critical to serious, but it's still going to be a
long time before she can talk to anyone." 
     "Understood. Skinner."
     "Sir?"
     "I want you here, on guard. I'll assign a relief, but this woman
gets round the chrono security. No one but authorized medical personnel,
assigned by Doctor Mered, gets in to see her. Got me?" His face was
grave. Dead serious.
     "What about family?" Castor frowned a moment, considering.
     "With identification and under supervision only."
     "Got you, sir."
     "Any change, I want to know at once. Lomas?"
     "Sir?"
     "Come with me. I think it's time to have another talk with those
Atori."
     "Yes, sir!"


     "YOU FOOL!" crunch "I ought to beat you to death myself!"
     "It wasn't my fault!" wailed the other. "The Line Supervisor came,
and..."
     "I don't care if it was OverArcher Himself! You should have waited.
We could have put her in the chiller, and disposed of her later, without
suspicion! Instead, you..."
     Beep
     "WHAT???" He listened for a moment to the private call.
"Felcercarb!" 

Chapter Five

     "Hey, did you hear about that murder? The one on the Caprica's
Glory?" asked Cree, of his wingmate, Lieutenant Janna. 
     "Yeah," replied the other. They were on the secure circuit, their
Cylon wingmates unable to hear them. "But I thought that was supposed to
be restricted information or something."
     "It was, but news travels fast, even when it's restricted. You know
that."
     "Yes. Have you heard anything new?"
     "Not much. Something about the dead guy belonging to some weird
religious sect, or something."
     "Really? Which one?"
     "The Atori, I think one of the guys said. You know, that cult from
Gemon? They don't believe in marriage. Or sex, or whatever."
     "Oh," replied Janna, as if she were discussing the padding on the
Viper cockpit seats. "No, I don't know much about them." They flew on in
silence for a while. "They close to finding out who did it?"
     "I don't know. Hades Hole, how much do we mere Viper pilots ever get
told?"
     "Yeah," said Janna, flatly.
     

     "We have every right!" declared Castor, to the two Atori Elders
before him. "One of your members, Magdalena, is lying near death at this
very moment, in the LifeStation..." he waited a beat, watching their
faces, "and no one from here has even enquired as to her condition. Did
anyone even notice that she was missing? Given the situation surrounding
her discovery, this stacks up as premeditated attempted termination. Rest
assured, I will get to the bottom of this, and I will find the guilty
parties. Now, you can cooperate, or we can get warrants, and arrest every
damned one of you, turn this whole dump upside down if I must, and
interrogate you all back aboard the Galactica!" He waited another long
beat. "Which would you prefer?"


     "Excellent!" said technician Hummer, in Wilker's lab. He leaned back
from his instruments, and let out a satisfied sigh. After a lot of
painstaking work, he finally had some solid results. Since Castor and his
team were off the ship, he called Commander Adama instead.
     "Hummer?" asked Wilker, entering.
     "I just love it when a bunch of data comes together!"


     "Commander?" said Athena, on the bridge. Her father turned to her,
from reading a report. "A message for you, sir. From the Captain of the
Gemini."
     "To my station, Athena."  Adama moved to his seat, and activated the
monitor.
     "Commander?" It was Jerome, Captain of the freighter. "We have an
alert, here. Two of your security men have been in a firefight, in
Section Delta. The Atori Sect area, sir."
     "When did this happen?" Adama demanded, every sense whip-taut. 
     "I just got the word less than two centons ago, myself, Commander,"
replied Jerome. "I've dispatched men from our own security detail."
     "Good. I'm sending over Warriors from the Galactica. Can you get me
a link with my men there?"
     "No sir. All communications with that area have gone down."
     "How...convenient!" Adama clicked off, and looked to Tigh. "You have
the bridge, Colonel."
     "Sir?"
     "I'm going to the Gemini." As he reached the hatchway, he turned
back. "When is Patrol Four scheduled to land?"
     "Six point...seven centons, sir. They just came into visual range of
our outermost picket."
     "Good. When they land, have Lieutenant Janna report to the Ward
Room."
     "For debriefing?"
     "Yes, but after that, have her wait, until I return."
     "Yes, sir," replied Tigh, and Adama left the bridge.


     "What have we got?" asked Ryan, head of the Gemini's woefully thin
security detail.
     "They've got Castor hostage in there," replied Lomas, in the
corridor leading to the ship's Delta Section. "Near as we can tell, he's
hurt. We don't know how bad." 
     "How in Hades Hole did that happen?"
     "He had just threatened to arrest the lot of them, when someone came
out from behind a partition, and opened fire. They caught him, like I
said I'm not sure how bad. We ducked behind something, and returned fire.
Then one of them fired again, and blew our cover all to mong. I didn't
want to leave, but he ordered me out, while he tried to crawl behind
something else. I..."
     "You followed orders, that's what's important. Warriors are on the
way from the Galactica."
     "Good. I just hope he lasts till then."


     Castor winced in pain, as his wound reminded him it was there. The
creep had gotten the drop on him, and landed a good shot right in the
left shoulder, searing through tissue, muscle and bone. Aside from the
pain, the joint was nearly useless now, and if the pain didn't knock him
out, the loss of blood probably would. He just hoped that this steel
support beam would hold until help could get here.
     "Give it up, you borays!" he shouted, trying to keep the pain out of
his voice. "You can't possibly get away with this."
     "But we will, Lieutenant!" came a reply. "No one will overcome us,
if we remain true of heart and purpose."
     "And you remain true by trying to murder an old woman? And me?"
     "You do not understand!"
     "Then make me understand! Did one of you kill Bronstein, too?" There
was silence. "No, Bronstein wasn't killed by you people. He was going to
kill someone, only they turned the tables on him, and he went down
instead."
     "Lieutenant..."
     "That's it, isn't it? Bronstein was your thug, your cult
Compliancer, and you sent him after someone who'd broken your rules. Am I
getting close?" An angry bolt of laser energy was his reply. It blew a
hole in the beam he was hiding behind. Damn, that was close! "Thought so.
Now, who was it? That young girl, in the likeness you tried to destroy
but we found? Was she someone who decided that your cult wasn't for her?
And what about Magdalena?"
     "Shut up! Shut up, you Infidel defiler!" Another shot zinged past,
and Castor answered it with one of his own. "You shall pay for your
blasphemy!"
     "And like you're gonna get away with it? Commander Adama has been
informed, you half-witted boray-astrum! My apologies to boray astrums.
You think this is just going to go away?"
     "You shall pay!" said another voice this one of the Elders Castor
had tried to arrest earlier. "All of you shall suffer the penalty!"
     "What? No sex for seven yahrens? You should see my love-life now,"
quipped Castor. Another laser bolt was his reward. A further piece was
blown from the support, and he scrunched down further, before replying.
He was feeling a bit light-headed, as blood continued seeping from his
arm. 
     "Attention! Attention!" came a voice over the intercom Castor
recognized it at once. "This is Commander Adama. You are surrounded by
Warriors from security. All escape routes are cut off. Release your
hostage, and surrender at once!"
     "Hear that? You guys are sunk. Just surren..."
     "Never!" screamed the armed one, and fired off several more rounds.
A piece of steel landed on Castor's leg, and he cried out in pain. "We
shall never surrender. Never!"
     "Where you gonna go?" demanded Castor, trying to keep himself
focused. "There aren't a lot of options."
     "We will join with the ancestors!" said one of the Elders. "We
shall, by the grace of the OverArcher, become one in the Bliss of
SunStorm!"
    "Huh...oh mong!"


     "Sir," said Croft, in the corridor, outside the Atori section of the
ship. "They've responded."
     "And?"
     "They sent us this, sir." Croft held up a scan, on the interior of
the Atori area. It was of a large cluster of metal canisters. His
military eye recognized them at once. 
     "By all that's holy!"
     "Yes, sir. They say that unless all security forces are withdrawn,
and the entire case is dropped, they'll detonate it."
     "Damage potential?"
     "Minimum...it'll take out that entire Delta Section, sir. And this
close to the fuel bunkers..."
     "Yes. The whole ship could go." He swore softly. "Ship's
population?"
     "One thousand two-hundred and thirty-six, sir. That's civilian
permanent residents, only, and over fifty of those are children."
     "Begin evacuation at once."
     "They say if we do, they'll set off the bomb, sir."
     "Mong!"
     "You said it, sir!"

Chapter Six

     "Why am I still here?" asked Janna, still in the Ward Room after the
other pilots had been dismissed. "Am I in some kind of trouble,
Lieutenant Sheba?"
     "I have no idea," replied Sheba, sitting across from her, reviewing
data on a pad. "All I know is that you're to remain here, until Commander
Adama returns. His orders."
     "Well, I'd sure like to know what it's all about," said Janna, in
her usually somewhat vacant tone. Sheba looked up at her, over the top of
her pad. Her own recent experiences, corrosive of both mind and soul, had
not left her disposed to be conciliatory, or "nice" to anyone, let alone
a woman who habitually displayed the intellectual depth of a retarded
daggit post-lobotomy! How had this person ever qualified, and why in
Hades Hole had Tigh dumped this duty on her? Lords of Kobol, what a waste
of space in the Fleet! Mong, she ought to just...
     But Tigh was on the bridge, in the Commander's absence, and couldn't
just lounge about in the Ward Room till the Commander got back, so he'd
assigned her. Orders were orders.
     Thanks a lot, Colonel! I must remember to be nice to you sometime!
     "We all have our orders," Sheba replied flatly. She continued to
study the eval reports before her, but kept a surreptitious eye on her
charge. Something about the woman bothered her. She just wasn't sure
what, beyond the obvious. She looked up; Janna was looking around the
room, almost as if she'd never seen it before.
     Lords!


     Aboard the Gemini, as a precaution, Adama had ordered her Captain to
begin transferring as much fuel as possible from the bunker nearest the
position of the bomb in to other tanks. There wasn't enough room for it
all, after the recent top-up, but at least it was something, short of
blowing the tanks to space. While they waited for the Atori to resume
communication, they studied the ship's layout. 
     The Atori had chosen their redoubt well. There was no way to
approach them, or to infiltrate the section, even from outside in an EVA,
without being detected, and scans had shown that they had people posted
at every possible access point. And while they might possibly quail at
the brink, Adama wasn't prepared to push them, when the lives of over a
thousand people were at stake.
     "What about anesthetic gas?" he'd asked Croft. 
     "The fastest-working agent we have would still take almost a full
half-centon before we could be completely certain they were out,
Commander. In situations like this, with hostages and explosives, that's
an eternity. More than enough time for someone to hit the switch on that
bomb."
     "Understood." Adama turned away, then back. "Croft?"
     "Sir
     "I want your men to locate every Atori member you can find,
throughout the Fleet, and hold them. I don't want any more potential
hostage situations cropping up, while we're busy here."
     "Sir."


     "Yes, sir," said Twilly, in his office aboard the Battlestar. When
he'd heard that the Commander was calling, he figured he was in for yet
another disciplinary holocaust, but it seemed Adama had other matters in
mind. For the moment. "If the engineers can shut down the main thrusters
on the Gemini, we should be able to do it. The pulse generator coils can
play havoc with the frequency lock."
     "But it can be done? You're certain?"
     "Yes, sir. As long as I have precise coordinates, we can lock on,
and get that thing out of there. But the timing is going to be absolutely
critical, Commander. Power plants of that vintage have normally a long
and multi-staged shutdown routine. You can crash the drive, but it could
make restart a complete nightmare, if the relays aren't in..."
     "Twilly!"
     "It'll work, Commander. But I'd rather trust only myself to do
this."
     "Alright. Prepare to begin, on my orders, Engineer."
     "Right away, Commander." Twilly switched off, and left the room,
slapping his hand on the bulkhead as he went. "Oh yeah!" 


     "Why don't they just jettison the section? Sir." said Janna,
suddenly, when Colonel Tigh walked into the Ward Room.
     "Excuse me?"
     "The Gemini freighter, Colonel," she replied, a whiff of vacancy in
her voice. "Why not just jettison the section they're in, and that's
that?"
     "I'm sure they have considered that," said Sheba, a bit
dismissively.
     "Well, I just..." began Janna.
     "The Commander has it well in hand," interjected Colonel Tigh. "I'm
quite sure..."
     "He doesn't know Mukar Orel," said Janna, straightening up, and
clasping her hands in front of her. Somehow, something in her seemed to
change, and both Sheba and Tigh noticed it. 
     "Who?" asked Tigh.
     "Mukar Orel. He is the current leader of the Atori sect, Colonel."
She looked at him with eyes...eyes suddenly shorn of any hint of
stupidity.
     "And how would you know that?" asked Sheba.
     "Lieutenant?" asked Tigh, confused.
     "The time for deception is past." She sighed, and stood up, and it
was almost as if she were a different woman. "I know because I was born
Atori, Lieutenant," said the other, "and I know Mukar Orel. I know him
very well."
     "You...how so?" asked Tigh.
     "Mukar Orel, Colonel Tigh, is my grandfather."


     "She what?" asked Adama, taken aback, as Tigh filled him in.
     "She wants to talk to the leader of the Atori. The Mukar Orel."
     "This is...Lords of Kobol! Well, get her here, at once, Colonel."
     "Yes, sir. Also, Chief Twilly reports ready, sir."
     "Good. In fact, have Janna report to him, and have him send her
over. We have no time to waste."
     "Sir."


     The Atori had at last resumed communication, and presented a list of
demands.  It was with some patience that Adama heard them.
     All security forces would be withdrawn.
     All charges against any and all members of the Sect would be dropped
at once. 
     All gambling, drinking, and other "evil and lascivious" activities
would cease throughout the Fleet at once, as well as all "immoral and
deviant" sexual contacts and activity. 
     The killer of Bronstein would be handed over to the Atori for
punishment.
     "Well, at least it's nothing radical," said Croft, reading the list.

     "Please," sighed Adama.
     "Apologies, sir. What do we do now?"
     "Well, they have given us one centar to either comply, or face their
idea of justice. That doesn't give us a lot of..." He turned, as the
sound of a buzzing hum filled the far end of the corridor. Out of a wash
of roiling light, stepped Janna and Sheba. Both women, after regaining
their balance, headed towards the Commander.
     Reporting as ordered, sir," said Janna, saluting the Commander
crisply. She locked eyes with him, and gone was the vacant,
nobody-at-home, lights-are-burned-out, windows-are-boarded-up, low-power
gaze, replaced with a look that was penetratingly intelligent, and even a
bit unsettling.
     "It seems that there are...things to discuss, Lieutenant," he said,
crisply.
     "Yes, sir," she replied. "May I be briefed, Commander?"
     With a nod, he complied, replaying for her the Atori's demands. She
shook her head in disgust, as she read them over. Even as she finished, a
voice came over the circuit.
     "Well? What have you decided, Infidels?"
     "We have someone here who wishes to speak to you," replied Adama.
"Am I addressing Mukar Orel?"
     "You are," came another voice, after a few moments. An older voice.
"This is Mukar Orel. What is your decision, Commander Adama?"
     "I have someone here, as I said, who wishes to speak with you."
     "Enough words have been spoken. Decide now, or..."
     "Grandfather," said Janna, clearly, and loudly. "Can you hear me?"
There was a long silence.
     "Hunley?"
     "Sic, Nepos," replied the Viper pilot, using a Gemonese dialect
spoken by few. "Ega est." As she spoke, Adama signaled for a Languatron.
     "What are you doing with them? Come in, child. Come back to us!"
     "I cannot do that, Grandfather," said Janna/Hunley. "I cannot come
back to that life."
     "It is your life, child! The only life for us! Any of us!"
     "But I am not one of you. No longer. I am my own woman now, and
always will be."
     "Rebellious! Sacrilegious! How dare you..."
     "Grandfather, I didn't come here to debate! Release the hostage, and
give up this madness!"
     "Foolish..."
     "You will kill a thousand people, Grandfather! Is that what
Great-grandfather would want? What our ancestors would want? Come out,
please. This can only end badly."
     "It will end as it must end!" came Orel's answer, and they could
hear him slam a fist down as he spoke. "And you..."
     She turned to Adama, and nodded. Adama turned to the rest, and they
headed back for the hatchway, the girl continuing to talk into the
communit. Once inside the lift, Adama called Twilly. 
     "In ten, Engineer." 
     "Yes, sir."
     "Captain Jerome?"
     "On your word, sir."
     "Now."


     Inside the Atori compartment, Castor was fighting the pain. And
losing. He had been stunned at last, disarmed, and bound to a chair. In
the center of the room was a series of drums, bound together with heavy
tape, and connected by wires to a circuit box. One did not need to be an
expert in such things to know what he was looking at. 
     He tried to open his mouth to speak, but he found that someone had
put a gag in it. So it was that he was unable to say a thing when the
room rumbled, and the lights began to flicker. His chair toppled over,
and several of the Atori cried out in surprise, as...
     The entire cargo module of the Gemini in which they were housed
shook, and began to move away, as first the main thrusters were abruptly
shut down, then the docking clamps were released, and the explosive bolts
blown. The whole unit started to tumble as the thrusters fired back up,
the main body of the ship powered away, then, as if that weren't
enough...
     The bomb began to glow! One of the thugs reached out for it...


     "Got it!" shouted Twilly, back aboard the Galactica. He studied the
scanner, as the machine took hold of the bomb, and transformed it into
myriad energy patterns. From there, it made a brief appearance in the
room, then faded out once more...


     To return to solidity in space, almost a full ten kilometrons abeam
the Battlestar. Once real again, the whole contraption, including the
fellow with the shocked expression now frozen to it, blossomed into a
ball of angry orange light, which then vanished forever, in the icy cold
of space.

Chapter Seven

     "Report, Major," said Adama, entering the Ward Room, back on the
Battlestar. 
     "Castor was rescued, sir. Doctor Salik says he'll be fine, although
he'll be in regen for a while. All in all, we retrieved seventy people
from the blown section. Sixty-five are alive."
     "What happened?"
     "One was killed as the module was blown, another seems to have been
transported out into space with the bomb itself. When faced with capture,
three committed suicide. We pacified the rest, with either stun or gas,
sir. They're all in custody. And here is the data trace, from Technician
Hummer." He handed Adama a chip. 
     "Good. I shall await your full report, Major."
     "Sir," said Croft, saluted, and left. Now alone, save for the three
in front of him, he gave them his best angry glare.
     "So."
     "So," said the uniformed woman. 
     "Captain?" He looked at the man, waving the chip in the air.
     "Commander, I..."
     "Are complicit in deliberate termination, obstruction of justice,
tampering with sensitive military equipment, as well as aiding in
procuring a false identity, and you..." he looked at "Janna", "are
looking at a charge of enlisting under false pretenses, at the very
least. And you, aiding and abetting a fugitive from justice." He looked
from Captain Dante, of Bronze Squadron,  to "Janna", to Lala. While
pleased that a disaster had been averted, he was furious at the deceit
and violence that had been perpetrated by these three. "Now, tell me why
I shouldn't send you all to the Prison Barge for the rest of your lives."
He looked at "Janna". "Assuming you do not receive a death sentence, for
the termination of Bronstein." He straightened up. "Well? I am waiting."
     "Sir..." began Dante.
     "Yes?" said Adama, crisply.
     "Perhaps it would be best if Sire Solon were here?"
     "He is already on the way. Now?"
     "Now, sir."


     "We were born on Gemon," said "Janna", now revealed as Hunley.
"We're sisters, as you've no doubt guessed. Lala is three yahrens older
than I."
     "Is this you?" asked Sire Solon, sliding the restored/enhanced
likeness across the table to her.
     "It is, yes. It was taken when I was about seventeen, a yahren or so
after my first SunStorm."
     "Go on," said Adama.
     "We were born into the Atori Sect, as you know. But I was under a
black cloud, from birth, sir."
     "Why so?"
     "As you know, sexual relations, even between sealed couples, is
forbidden, except during the 'blessed' period of SunStorm. At any other
time, it is forbidden." She sighed, as if either disgusted, or resigned. 
     "I take it your parents..." Adama began, eyebrow raised.
     "Yes. It seems my parents were...unwilling to wait for the next
SunStorm, and here I am. Because I was born 'out of nature', as they call
it, I was always regarded as somehow tainted, Commander."
     "As you can imagine, sir," said Lala, "our parents were subjected to
a great deal of recrimination and censure."
     "To put it mildly," added Hunley. "In fact..." She stopped a moment,
anger crossing her face. "My father was daggited to an early grave, sir.
After our mother was driven to suicide..." She saw the expressions. "Yes,
suicide. After her death, our father had little reason to go on. He loved
our mother powerfully. Intensely. We were taken away from our parents, to
be raised by 'pure' folk, who would see to it that we were 'properly'
brought up. With her dead, and my sister and I gone, he was a broken
man."
     "And your grandfather, Orel, was complicit in this?" asked Solon.
     "Complicit? He ordered it, Sire," replied Lala. "He is the Mukar of
the Sect, sir. A sort of Priest-King, if you will. He ordered us taken
away, and when mother killed herself, he not only declared it just and
right, he handed her the poison!"
     "I can't believe this," said Adama.
     "Believe, sir," said Hunley. "To the Sect, nothing matters as much
as obedience to the Sect. Even family."
     "Alright, we have that," said Solon. "No, about the death of
Bronstein, Lieutenant. You admit to killing him?'
     "Yes, I..."
     "Hun..." began Dante, but Adama raised a silencing hand.
     "Proceed," he intoned.
     "All my growing up, I hated the Atori," said Hunley. "Hated them for
the way I was treated, my sister was treated, and most of all for what
happened to our parents. I looked for a way to escape, but it was a lot
more difficult than you might imagine, inside their compound, back on
Gemon. When I was seventeen, I was allowed to attend my first SunStorm
ceremony. It was there I was introduced, to Bronstein. There was no sex
at that time, Lords be praised. It seems my attendance was something in
the nature of 'cleansing' me of my sinful taint. But, Bronstein took a
fancy to me, and as a reward for his faithfulness, I was..." She stopped
a moment, shaking her head and putting her arms around herself. "I was
promised to him. I would become his...wife, at the next SunStorm." It was
clear from her expression that Hunley recoiled at the idea, even now. 
     "And you rebelled?" asked Solon.
     "Yes. I was only a child, basically. I protested. I was...corrected,
for my insolence."
     "She was punished, Commander," said Lala. "Sleep deprivation.
Isolation. Beatings. Endless sermons on the duties of members to the
ancestors, all of it."
     "I played along, eventually," said Hunley. "I pretended to...adjust,
to my fate. I smiled, looked happy..." she indicated the image rescued
from the garbage. "I didn't know Bronstein had that."
     "Alright, you were part of the Sect, and wished to escape. How does
that bring us to the death of this man?" asked Solon.
     "As I said," Hunley went on, "I kept looking for a way out.
I'm...I'm not the vacuum-headed blonde I have appeared to be, Sire."
Solon raised an eyebrow. "In fact, I have a very high intelligence
rating. That was something I learned to conceal as well."
     "Why?" asked Adama.
     "It frightens them, Commander. Bloody scares the mong out of them.
Beyond the mere fear controlling cults have of people who can think for
themselves. You see, when I was about fifteen yahrens old, I had an
accident. The hovertram we were riding in crashed, and I suffered a
serious skull fracture. Lala says that I nearly died. When I recovered, I
was different. My mind had...grown."
     "She was never stupid, sirs," said Lala, "but afterwards, it was as
if her brain was on full turbos. She was like a genius."
     "Genius?" asked Solon, clearly doubtful. With a somewhat annoyed
look, Hunley turned to Adama, surveying him for a few microns.
     "Sir, how was your breakfast this morning with Siress Lydia?" Adama
raised a brow, but said nothing. "You had your waking repast with her,
this morning, and a visit from your grandson quite recently. The stylus
you use to write with needs replacing, and you have sought some measure
of relaxation in tending to the potted plants in your quarters." She
leaned close, studying his hands, then looked up. "That you have been
upset of late is plain to see, as well as pressed for time."
     "How..." began Adama, clearly taken off-guard by this. 
     "That you sometimes have a working breakfast with Siress Tinia is
well known, Commander. However, I suspect it was with Siress Lydia, for
whom it is known you bear no great affection. That you did so this
morning is made plain by a slight dusting of the pastry you habitually
start your day with on your left cuff." Adama looked. Sure enough...
"Since the Council was scheduled to meet this morning, and Siress Lydia
has become Council Vice-President, it makes the conclusion a simple one.
As to Boxey, there are also some traces of lubricant on the same cuff.
Polylubrisol Beta, if I am correct about the color, used for various
systems in the hangar bays, such as Viper landing gear. Also, for
Muffit's joints." Silence. "Since it is unlikely that you would come into
contact with it elsewhere, your grandson has visited you quite recently,
and the daggit was with him." At a nod from Adama, she continued. "The
stylus? There is a faint trace of ink on your right index finger, sir."
Adama looked. "And also faint traces of what looks like potting soil,
under the nails of the last two fingers on your left hand. Your fondness
for greenery is well known, sir."
     "And the rest, Lieutenant?"
     "You cut yourself shaving, this morning, Commander. I have never
seen you that way before. You were upset, about your meeting with Siress
Lydia."
     "It can happen to anyone," said Adama, dismissively.
     "Twice in the same session?" Hunley asked. "And, since you are among
the most fastidious of persons, the fact that traces of all these remain
to be seen tells me that you have been pressed for time, and thus did not
clean or change your uniform, wash, or tend to your face before leaving
your quarters, sir." She waited a beat. "You're afraid of me, aren't
you?'
     "Afraid? No, I..."
     "It makes you uncomfortable, Commander. That someone whom you barely
know could look at you, and divine so much? It makes you uneasy. It was
the same with them."
     "And they feared this?" asked Solon. "This mental...increase?"
     "Yes. I was punished for showing signs of being 'above the herd' as
they called it. I was starved, sometimes beaten. So, to keep from being
any further oppressed, I learned to conceal it. To play the obedient,
whipped, broken daggit. In time, they relaxed their vigilance, as I knew
they would, Sire. And at last I was able to escape."
     "How?"
     "I set fire to one of our buildings, Sire. It was the temporary
crypt, where all the bodies of deceased members were kept, until the next
SunStorm, when they would be given a proper funeral. Lala helped it to
spread to surrounding buildings. In all the confusion, Lala and I donned
firefighter suits that we had managed to steal from one of their
firerams, and then drove it right out of the compound."
     "Clever. Indeed ingenious," said Adama. 
     "Thank-you, sir."
     "And then?" asked Solon.
     "We made for Dioscuropolis, one of Gemon's major cities. We dumped
the firearm in the river, got lost in the masses, until we could decide
what to do next. It was then that I saw a recruiting ad for the Colonial
Service."
     "So you decided to join."
     "Yes, Sire. I did. Since Atori almost never travel the military
path, I thought it a way to a new life. Better to serve my people
fighting the Cylons than live cowering in the shadows."
     "But you enlisted under your true name," said Adama, looking at the
file. "Wasn't that somewhat risky, if the Atori came looking for you?"
     "In the preliminary casualty list, we were both listed as killed in
the fire, Commander," said Hunley. "It was a stupid lapse on my part, to
believe we had made good our escape forever, but for the moment, no one
was looking for us. Before leaving, we had relieved the Sect of a not
inconsiderable amount of money, sir. I spent several sectons learning
every computer skill I could, since such was not permitted in the
compound, and I created a slightly sanitized personal history for my
sister and I."
     "But the name? You kept your real name. I don't understand."
     "Hubris, on my part, Sire. I was so arrogant in my intellectual
powers that I felt sure they could never find us. I used my real name, in
part because it was, aside from my sister, all I had left from our
parents. In any event, it worked, I was accepted to the Academy, although
my sister was not."
     "I failed the height requirement," said Lala. "So, I established a
new civilian life, under a new name, while my sister entered the
Academy."
     "Yes, I see from your Academy record that you excelled in almost
every area," said Adama.
     "Thank you, sir. I had decided to put this...strange alteration to
my brain to good use. I graduated the Academy, and after getting my
wings, I was assigned to a ground-based squadron, on Caprica. Less than a
sectar later, it all ended."
     "And that's where you come in, I take it," said Adama, looking to
Captain Dante. 
     "Yes, sir. I met the Lieutenant  just before the Holocaust. We were
both at the shipyard, where the Rycon, and the Valkyrie, were docked.
With the bulk of the Fleet on the way to Cimtar, a lot of Warriors were
on furlon back home, and the rest of us were stretched a bit thin. The
Rycon was to be decommissioned, and her remaining Vipers transported down
to the surface. Offloading and stripping of equipment had already
started, and some of the workers and skeleton crew aboard both vessels
had been shuttled up by civilian transports. One of them was a skybus
service, operated by a woman named Janna." 
     "Ah," said Adama. "Go on."
     "One of the civilian workers was, as fate would have it, Bronstein,
Commander," said Hunley. "It had been a few yahrens, and I had tried to
change my appearance some, but he recognized me. I ducked towards the
airlock, between the Rycon and the Valkyrie, but he cornered me, tried to
take me back to the cult. I refused of course. He struck me across the
face, told me how I was his, and that I had to return. Then, the klaxon
sounded, and we were under attack. I broke away, and headed for the
nearest Viper."
     "And Bronstein?"
     "I didn't see him again. I had assumed, hoped, prayed, he'd been
killed in the attack. When the Rycon took a big hit, there was an
explosion in the hangar bay," said Hunley. "I was thrown across the deck,
and so were several others. The airlock was blown to Hades, and there was
a huge fire already burning forward, and no way to get to the remaining
Vipers. When I picked myself up, I saw that this woman Janna was dying."
     "And you saw your chance," said Sire Solon. 

Chapter Eight

     "Not right then, no," said Hunley. "It was only a short time later,
after we saw that the Colonies were lost, that it hit me."
     "You could disappear," said Adama.
     "Yes, Commander. We screamed off the dock in the skybus, along with
a half a dozen shuttles from Rycon and Valkyrie, literally as it blew all
to Hades Hole, and made it to the surface without getting buttoned by the
Cylons. But when we landed, they spotted us, and we barely got away
before they strafed the landing field. We moved about as best we could
for the next day; Dante found some food and medical supplies, and
splinted my fracture, taking care of me as best he could. My uniform was
trashed, so I grabbed whatever I could find, and when we got your word to
rendezvous, we just headed for the staging area."
     "We ended up aboard the Astrodon, Commander," said Dante. "It was a
filthy, stinking hole, packed with bodies and reeking of corroded
plumbing, and God knows what else, and it was a day or two before we got
access to any food or medical help, aside from what little we'd been able
to scrounge before boarding. Hunley came down with some kind of nasty
respiratory infection."
     "Yes, those were dark days. Then?"
     "By the time we finally got shuttled to the Galactica for medical
treatment, Hunley's arm looked bad. Thankfully, they were able to save
it, as well as cure her lung infection. I, of course, reported in."
     "But you did not," said Solon, looking at Hunley. "Why?"
     "As I was waiting outside Life Station, I saw another one of them.
Atori Sect member, I mean. She didn't seem to recognize me. After all, I
looked a right disaster after everything, one side of my face was bruised
and swollen, covered with a makeshift bandage, one eye almost shut, but I
was unsure. I was afraid, but I decided that no way in Hades Hole was I
going to let them know I was alive. I would never go back."
     "But we could have protected you," said Solon. "The service."
     "You don't know the Atori as we do, Sire. When they send a
Compliancer after you, you only have two choices. Come back, or get ready
to die. Bronstein came to kill me. The presence of other Warriors would
have made no difference. Sooner or later, I'd have had an accident. A
fall down a companionway, with the internal security sensors conveniently
offline just at that moment. Tragically electrocuted by a defective
circuit somewhere. Choked on something in the mess. Slipped in the
turbowash. It doesn't matter. They would have found a way."
     "Assassins?"
     "Yes, Sire. I know of other incidents, and I had no wish to join
that august company. So, when the doctor in LifeStation asked for my name
and particulars, I just said I was Janna. In all the confusion getting
out of the skybus, I had somehow ended up with her ID pad. She and I were
both blonde, and about the same height and build. Standing there, seeing
the sect member, I realized I had been handed a chance to vanish again."
     "I see," said Adama. "And then?"
     "I ended up billeted on the Spica for a while, oh joy, and it was
there that I learned that my sister had survived as well."
     "I was overjoyed, Commander. Then she told me about what had
happened. Neither one of us wanted to be found by the cult, so we changed
our appearances."
     "How?"  asked Solon. 
     "One of the MedTechs on the Spica was a doctor we had met while on
the run," said Lala. "Actually, former doctor. He'd been struck off the
lists for unethical behavior. Underage female patients. For
a...consideration," she smiled glumly, "he agreed to perform some plastic
surgery, to alter Hunley's face, and found me some colored contacts, to
alter the color of my eyes. We laid low while she healed, helping out
aboard the Spica, until the disease hit the pilots."
     "That's when I decided I had to enlist, or rather re-enlist,
Commander," continued Hunley. "I still felt bound by my Warrior's oath,
but I had learned from my mistake, and I used my new identity as Janna,
instead."
     "Why didn't your sister change her identity also?" asked Solon.
     "I was already known to several people aboard ship, before I knew my
sister had survived, and Lala is a very common Gemonese name," replied
Lala. "I didn't think I would stand out. I'd also been listed among the
survivors, and among the Spica's crew. If I just vanished..." She
shrugged. "But Hunley is rare. It might attract some notice, if any of
them ever heard it. Not a particularly great plan, but considering what
had just happened, we didn't think any pertinent records had survived, or
that anyone would ever start looking into our pasts."
     "Wrong," said Hunley. 
     "When one of the Security men showed up, and started asking
questions about Hunley, I admit I panicked. I made up the whole thing
about her and that pilot. Bunker. I knew him slightly, and I thought if I
mentioned someone who was dead, it might distract you. A big blank, and
you'd begin sniffing somewhere else." She looked at her sister. "Guess I
didn't do so hot, huh?" Hunley just smiled back, weakly.
     "And the...persona?"
     "I thought that if I played it as someone not too bright, plus the
altered face, any other Atori members would never find me," said Hunley.
"Plus, since I had been through the Academy already, if I made it look
too easy..." She shrugged. "I may have overplayed it a bit, but I knew
when the pilots got sick, that I had to come back, and do my part."
     "It was after I had recovered," said Dante, "that I found her again,
Commander. I had lost track of her, after I reported in. I thought she
looked vaguely familiar, and there was something about her mannerisms,
and of course her voice, that told me who she was. In a private moment,
about the time we picked up the refugees from Proteus, she told me
everything."
     "Alright,"  said Solon. "You've explained your survival and re-entry
into the Colonial Service. The death of Bronstein..."
     "Yes, Sire. As you know, I was integrated into the squadrons, after
the senior pilots recovered, and things went on. Dante insisted on
keeping me on as his wingmate after we absorbed the squadrons from the
Pegasus and we seemed to find a permanent home in Bronze Squadron. He
knew someone on the Yarborough, and got Lala a job there, in the galley,
after the Spica was scrapped. I would visit her as often as possible. The
Captain was the only other person who knew the truth of who we were."
     "Then?" asked Solon.
     "Everything seemed to go along fine, until we put in at Brylon
Station,"  said Hunley. "One day, Dante and I were watching one of the
Rygko matches there, when I saw Bronstein, again. I admit I was scared,
but I didn't let on that I recognized him. He seemed not to recognize me,
so I thought I'd dodged one. After we left the station, I found another
female pilot who was looking for a furlon-mate to time-share a billet,
and with a third, we got a spot on the Piz Gloria."
     "But he found you?" asked Adama.
     "Yes, sir. After we acquired the new ships at the RB-33 station, and
the conversions began, I was assigned to take some Vipers over to the
Adelaide. Shuttling back to the Galactica, I saw him again. He was
working as a maintenance tech, and had gotten a position on the new
ship's refit crew. I'm not sure if he recognized me then, but... he kept
looking at me, the whole trip back. Once we landed, he went on somewhere
else, but I notified both Dante, and my sister."
     "Moving up to the murder..." said Solon, matter-of-factly. 
     "Yes, Sire. I had a few centars free time, so I headed on over to
the Caprica's Glory, where Lala was working now. We had a quick lunch, I
filled her in on what I had seen, and I started to leave."
     "That's when he showed up," said Lala.
     "Just as I opened the door," said Hunley. "Despite everything, he'd
finally figured out that I was alive, and back in uniform. I'm not sure
how, except that he did say that he'd seen me again while picking up some
electronic parts for the Gemini, from the Celestra, when I happened to be
there, a while back. Damn bad luck!" 
     "Continue,"  said Solon. 
     "He forced his way into Lala's cabin, and... it started in again, as
if no time had passed at all. I was his, pledged to him, and nothing was
going to stop him from claiming me. I was an Apostate, and he had been
sent by my grandfather, to... return me to the fold, or visit punishment
upon me for my sins. It was ugly, Sire."
     "How did he come to die?"
     "When Lala told him in no uncertain terms to get lost, he turned and
smacked her in the face. Damn hard. She fell, her face all bloody, and I
drew my laser."
     "But Bronstein wasn't killed by a laser blast," said Adama.
     "No, sir. He turned around fast, and knocked it from my hand. I
thought I was in for it, but he made a mistake. He gloated. He stood
there for a micron, just grinning at me. That's when I lost it. Nobody
touches my sister! Suddenly, all my hand-to-hand combat training kicked
in, and I lashed out at his knee. He stumbled back, and I round-house
kicked him right in the throat. I could hear his windpipe fracture, and
he went down on his knees. Before he could so much as move, and brought
my fist down on his neck. He dropped to the deck like a rock." She took a
deep breath. "I swear by all the Lords I hadn't meant to kill him, but I
was so angry with him attacking Lala, I just lost it. And now he was
dead."
     "And you tried to dispose of the body by putting him in with the
trash," said Solon.
     "Yes, Sire. Once I realized he was dead...well, I've never had a
corpse to get rid of before. Lala had the answer, though."
     "Working in cargo receiving aboard the yacht, I knew the refuse
collection schedule,"  said Lala. "Frank and Norman were due any centon,
so we drug him along a service crawlway, to the back of the galley. There
we stripped him of all ID and his Atori medallion, and Hunley dumped them
in a container of very caustic metal cleaner that we use, to destroy
them. We slipped him into a bag, and then into a battered crate, knowing
that Frank and Norman would just dump it all into the recycler, and that
was that." 
     "Only their grav-sled malfunctioned, and he was discovered," said
Hunley. "Just as I turned down the corridor on the way to the shuttle
bay, he fell out."
     "And,"  added Dante, "I admit, Commander, I hacked the system, and
tried to erase evidence of Bronstein's movements. I know, it's against
all regulations, but I wanted to protect Hunley." Adama raised an
eyebrow. "Yes, sir. She and I are an...item. In fact, we are engaged,
sir."
     "I shall withhold the congratulations for the moment, Captain. What
I want to know for the moment is how did Bronstein get from the Adelaide
to the yacht? There was no shuttle connection."
     "I never did learn that for certain, sir, but some of the crews on
the Earth Captain's ship have been coming and going using small
worker-apion pods, like they use aboard the Hephaestus. Some of them are
pretty slack about filing flight plans. My guess is that he snagged a
ride in one of those."
     "I see." Adama looked over at Solon. "Sire?"
     "I think we have enough for a Tribunal, Commander. The confessions
are full and succinct." He handed the stylus to Sheba, who, after reading
the statements over, signed as witness.
     "I'm...I'm prepared to take whatever sentence is handed down," said
Hunley.
     "Hun..." said Dante, but she waved him off. Lala looked anguished. 
     "I shall fully confess to all charges in open tribunal, Commander.
Sire. But Captain Dante had no part in Bronstein's death, and Lala was
the victim of an attack." She looked from Adama to Solon. "But it wasn't
murder, sirs. On my oath as a Colonial Warrior. It wasn't murder." 
 
     "Well?"  Adama asked Solon, later.
     "As open-and-shut a case as I have ever seen, Commander," replied
the Chief Opposer. "It's a shame, really. Two such exceptional members of
your squadrons. And such excellent service records. Any squadron would be
fortunate to have them. They will be quite a loss."
     "That's something I would hate to do," replied Adama. "Lose those
two."
     "But they must stand tribunal, Commander. The law is unequivocal."
     "Of course, Sire Solon. However..."
     "Sir, may I make an observation?" asked Sheba. Adama nodded. "What
Hunley did was clearly self-defense. And panicking is hardly a criminal
action. Besides, if it hadn't been for this, we'd never have known about
what the Atori were planning until it was too late. Lords know how many
people might have died."
     "She does have a point," said Adama.
     "It's the termination, and then her deliberate concealment of the
body that I'm opposed to, not her panicking," said Solon. "Our Colonial
Warriors learn about the law, their duty, and our Colonial constitution
so they might better understand their responsibility to our people and
the trust they are granted.  If they can't stay true to that trust, what
message does that send the rest of the Fleet?"
     "Indeed.  However . . ."

 
     In all the investigations, it had been learned that the Atori had
been quietly acquiring both explosives, and the materials to manufacture
them, since well before the RB-33 station. No mention was made, much to
Adama's relief, about the deadly piiglin gas discovered deep in the
Galactica's bowels several sectars earlier, though the opinion spreading
among the Council was that if it hadn't been discovered by Starbuck, the
Galactica would have been the Atori's first target rather than the
Gemini. Though he was loathe to consider the possibility that another
extremist subset of Colonial Humanity had such despicable designs, the
Commander couldn't shake the feeling that something - something beyond
the obvious - wasn't right about the situation.
     Their plan had been to put forth their demands, and, failing success
with that, insist on being allowed to depart the Fleet, to settle
somewhere they could renew their particular subculture. Star charts and
other data indicated more than one sun in this sector, with habitable
planets, that had periodic eruptions that might take the place of the
SunStorms of Gemon, as the centerpiece of their rituals.
     Either way, they were perfectly prepared to blow up the Gemini to
make their point, and it was while moving about the Fleet, working on
maintenance and repair crews as a cover for gathering the materials
needed, that Bronstein had come across Hunley yet again. A man easily
obsessed with what he wanted, and not easily dissuaded by failure, he had
asked - nay, demanded - in his role as "Compliancer", to go and retrieve
her. After all, if they did settle some new world, they would need all
the breeding stock they could get including the rest of the Gemini's
compliment, whether they liked it or not.
     Thus it was that he met his death, and the plot that could have
resulted in over a thousand more deaths was averted. 
     Or, a rather unpleasant man was terminated. It all depended on the
point of view.
     "Are you saying we should ignore what has happened, Lieutenant?"
asked Solon. "Even if Bronstein's death was self-defense, covering it up,
as well as altering Fleet records, is still actionable."
     "True," said Adama, "but perhaps some allowance for...extenuating
circumstances might be exercised, Sire? Many lives have, as Sheba has
stated, been saved."
     Solon frowned. He was a total "letter of the law" man, a man who
hated even the slightest "wiggle room" when it came to even the most
trifling of cases. The law was the law. Yet, he had to admit, Sheba was
correct; the law did permit consideration of "extenuating" circumstances,
in a case of termination. And Bronstein did have a record as a
sometimes-violent man, who would use force without conscience. And the
Mukar of the cult had ordered Hunley brought back, to face "trial",
regardless of how it had to be done. Or, be killed for her disobedience.
     If she would agree to turn state's evidence, then the Tribunal might
consider ...
     "Well..." he began.

Chapter Nine 

     "I feel in a quandary," Adama said, into his log recorder, later
that evening. "While the guilt of the Atori Sect, in both aiding and
abetting Bronstein's actions, is beyond question, I nonetheless hesitate
to lump them all together, as regards the matter of punishment. To do so
might be seen as a high-handed, even tyrannical act, upon my part; a
violation of the guarantee of religious freedom enshrined within the
Colonial Charter of Governance. Again, the age-old question; where does
society draw the line, between personal liberty, and collective security?
How does one balance the various parts, so that both liberty, and
security, are maintained?
     "As I ponder this, as if that were not enough, there is the matter
of Lieutenant Janna, or rather Hunley's, tribunal, on various charges
stemming from this incident, along with her companion, Captain Dante.
While I find her story a believable one, as well as his, my feelings are
not evidence, and the two must stand a military hearing, regardless.
Unlike the matter of Sire Antipas, this has become Fleet-wide news, and
secrecy is not possible here. In fact, I am sick of hiding things in the
dark. Already, several people, both Warriors and civilian, have stepped
forward, to offer to testify on their behalf, as well as Hunley's sister,
Lala. That, the openly stated intentions of the Atori leadership as
regards her, as well as the forensic evidence, give me confidence that
they will be acquitted of the willful termination of Bronstein. Yet, even
so, there must be some price for them to pay. Lords of Kobol, give me
wisdom."


     The tribunal for Hunley and Dante was a packed affair, both the
hearing room, and just about every monitor in the Fleet, and when all the
evidence and testimony was in, as well as the character witness
statements by fourteen fellow Warriors, the verdict was not in serious
doubt. Hunley and her sister were acquitted of the pre-meditated
termination of Bronstein, Captain Dante of accessory charges. For
Bronstein's death, there would be no capital punishment. 
     For falsifying identities, however, covering them up, and sabotaging
Fleet records, as well as hiding a corpse, penalties there would indeed
be. For Hunley, it would be a reduction in rank to Ensign, assignment to
conducting "supply and inventory compliance" surveys aboard various
ships, grading cadet exams, and being removed from the promotion list for
a minimum of one yahren, as well as being docked a yahren's pay and
allowances. Barring an emergency, she was also barred from any flying,
Viper or shuttle, for a half-yahren. She accepted the sentence with good
grace.
     As did Dante. Although he kept his rank, he also was removed from
the promotion list, assigned to extra patrols with the Cylon pilots, and
docked a full yahren's pay and allowances. And, although the
non-fraternization regs had been rescinded, he was, fully and at length,
admonished for his violation of them, when they had yet been in force,
with Hunley. Like her, he accepted his punishment, and said nothing.
     Lala was found guilty of complicity in hiding a corpse, and was
sentenced to the Prison Barge. Not as an inmate, but as a worker in the
galley and supply section. She would serve there, in whatever capacity
Chief Faber deemed appropriate, for a minimum of six sectars.
     "Well, it beats the alternatives," Lala said to her sister,
afterwards. They had been represented by a former Protector from Leo, the
famous Ipuwer, who came at the recommendation of Sire Pelias. (Who also
paid his fee.)
     "Not to forget the extenuating circumstances," said Ipuwer. Much to
the chagrin of Sire Solon, who had moved for a complete separation of the
two Warriors from the service, Ipuwer had introduced several legal
precedents, in similar cases.  The Colonial Military vs. Henton, 6799,
the equally obscure Cassius vs. Eccles Prior, 7288, and the most telling,
Schluder vs. Pecheru, 7300.
     All these cases involved "extenuating circumstances," wherein the
defendant, in two cases a military officer, had stood Tribunal for
willful termination of another. In each case, the accused had been
acquitted, on grounds of self-defense or defense of the life or
well-being of another, and the resultant investigations had revealed a
far deeper criminal matter than was at first apparent. In each case, the
court had ruled that the "extenuating circumstances" had mitigated the
usual penalty of separation, from either military of government service,
given that a vastly greater harm had thus been averted, to the ultimate
benefit of society at large. The appeal of one, Cassius vs. Eccles Prior,
7288, had been upheld by the Colonial Supreme Tribunal.
     "Had this matter of Bronstein not happened, the planned terrorist
action of the Atori leadership might never have been discovered, until it
was too late. Who can say how many people might have died."
     "Yes," nodded Hunley, just glad to be free, both of the charge of
murder, as well as to still have a career left. She looked up at Dante,
and smiled.
     "Yes," replied Dante, smiling back. He looked over at Sire Solon,
who obviously wasn't the happiest right now. His objections to the
introduction of the legal precedents had been vociferous.
     "What's going to happen to them?" asked Lala. "The Atori, I mean?"
     "Commander Adama and several legal experts are going to be debating
that, before their trials begin," said Ipuwer. "It's going to be a thorny
issue for certain, no matter what decision is finally agreed upon. After
all, thousands of people came within a hair's breadth of dying."
     "Well, better them than me," said Dante.


     In the end, only those surviving Atori actually involved in the
planned act of terrorism, as well as the intended "retrieval" of Hunley,
stood tribunal. Upon her recovery, Magdalena, a second cousin of Hunley's
mother, testified as to whom it was who had ordered what, and who had
nearly beaten her to death. The same also were convicted in the
kidnapping and attempted murder of Castor. In all, three were sentenced
to the Prison Barge, the rest of those involved having committed suicide,
including Hunley's grandfather, the Mukar of the Atori. The rest of the
remaining cult members, after a long and at times angry lecture by
Commander Adama, were given the opportunity, if they would openly abjure
any and all violence, vendetta, and "blood guilt" now or in the future,
could go back to their lives, and practice their beliefs in peace,
unmolested by anyone.
     "No one is going to tell you how to worship," Adama said in his
summing up, transmitted across the Fleet, "nor would I, even were it
within my power to do so. But no one, and I do mean no one, in what
remains of our race, can take it upon themselves to arbitrarily decide
who will be forced to live under strictures that they abhor, or use force
to make them comply with a mode of life or worship which they do not wish
to. We already have sufficient restrictions upon us, due to our
circumstances, and need no more imposed upon us. That, I trust you will
take to heart, is ended. The law is clear, and as long as you abide by
it, respecting the beliefs, and the persons, of others, you will have
nothing to fear from the state.
     "And I also want the rest of our people to realize, that the mere
name of Atori in no way imparts guilt to anyone, who may have, either now
or in the past, been associated with the sect. Only to those who have
been legally and properly convicted of crime is guilt imputed, and I want
no private acts of retaliation or revenge to ever come to my ears. Our
ancestors wisely declared that punishment should follow crime, not the
reverse. I trust that I am understood by all." 
     "You are, Commander," said Dante, to Hunley, next to him on the bunk
in her small rented billet. He picked up the remote, and clicked off the
screen. "It's a wiser decision than I could have come up with, I'll
admit. I'd have..."
     "Sent them all to some dismal Hades of a planet somewhere."
     "Yup. Or blown them out an airlock while in lightspeed. In their
undies! Maybe it's a good thing it isn't our decision. Adama has
such...strength of character. To be able to show mercy like that, Hun."
He shook his head.
     "I suppose so," replied Hunley, "but it will take a long time for me
to get over the bitterness. After all, aside from the Cylons, I've never
had anyone try and kill me before."
     "Nor ever again, I hope." He leaned over and kissed her on the nose.
"I prefer you alive and well."
     "The sentiment is shared," she smiled. "As well as not having to
always play the village airhead." She reached out, and a cup of ambrosia
slid across the table, sailing gracefully through the air, and into her
waiting hand. She sipped, and then gave to Dante. "Mmm. That's good. And,
I admit, I like to keep a secret or two." 
     "Can't say as I disagree," he replied, sharing the wine. "All your
secrets. Wise of you not to reveal everything too soon."
     "It's a gift. Maybe, in time...I just am tired of being seen as
stupid. Thank God I'm free of it."
     "Well, you can be just as smart as you like from now on," Dante
fired back. "Although," he grinned teasingly, "it was kind of nice."
     "What? Me stupid?" She locked eyes with him, hers filled with
merriment.
     "Well..."
     "All dumb and pregnant and in the kitchenette, huh?" she retorted,
but the sparkle in her eyes belied her words.
     "Mmmmm....I...."
     "Yeah, sure ya didn't" she shot back, and grabbing the sheet, tossed
it over both of them, laughing.


     "So, that ends that," said the uniformed man, across the table from
the bearded older man, in one of the Rising Star's seedier watering
holes. 
     "For the moment. The whole incident with the female pilot has, I
admit, set us back some. Still, much of this works out to the good. The
Atori will be blamed for many of our own actions. At least at first."
     "And with several of them dead, the link to us is broken."
     "Precisely, my young Warrior. Already, it has been suggested in
Council that the piiglin gas Starbuck discovered was part of an Atori
plan. And with Mukar Orel, and his inner circle unavailable for comment,
thanks to the conditioning, that will become the official verdict. Any
other of our work that might be uncovered will be put down to unrepentant
Atori, or private acts of revenge, despite what Adama says about
forgiveness and all that felcercarb."
     "What about the Earth woman, discovered back on that derelict?"
     "What about her?"
     "From what I've heard, she's solidly loyal to Adama, and has been
assigned to a high position aboard Constellation, in spite of Byrne's
attitudes towards women. She's an unknown quantity."
     "Yes. I know. But our agent aboard the Constellation is keeping us
informed of her, as well as certain others, movements. When the time
comes, we shall find a weakness."
     "And the Zohrlochs? When..."
     "I shall be the one to decide, on that matter! Not you."
     "But..."
     "Patience."
     "How long until we are ready, then?" asked the young one, clearly
not pleased.
     "Patience, my young apprentice! Patience. Yes, this has set us back
some, all of it. I don't deny it. The material to manufacture the
explosives aboard the Gemini were somewhat difficult to obtain in
sufficient quantities, without being noticed, but have faith. The demon
and his ten minions will be brought to book, and we shall triumph." The
older man looked at his chrono. "Now, it is almost time for you to be
back, for lights out. Don't be late."
     "No, sir." The Warrior rose, bowed, and left the bar."
     The older man watched him go, then turned and looked at the garish
neon sculpture over the bar. It was of a Centurion, face down, with a
spilled tankard in one hand, and fit the name of this dump. 
     The Mong-Faced Cylon.
     Slowly, the man laughed.

    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.