Beyond the Heavens
An Empyrean Story
By Lisa Zaza

Prologue

From Eirys' Journal:

     It has been recorded in the ancient tome, the Telling, a portion of
the lore within reputed to be bequeathed unto my ancient ancestors by the
Mystics, that we are not alone.  The realm of Morlais, that has been our
world for over eight millennia, is only but a small piece of the
Infinite.  There are those Beings, such as the Mystics, which can
traverse between realms, and there are those planet-bound Beings, such as
myself, which cannot.  It is expressly forbidden in their laws.
     Or so it is written.
     I am Eirys, a Sorceress of the once powerful Angylion Court, ruled
by King Byrne, and on his deathbed, Princes Glynn and Llewelyn.  Perhaps
my elders were right when they told me that I lacked the caution and
respect for the Mystics that a favoured one, such as myself, should
exercise.  That to dare to question their authority was a brazen
declaration of both my insolence and disrespect, but to dare to question
their very existence was blasphemy.  Ever since I was a child, I had a
tendency to ask too many questions that were seemingly without answers,
at least answers that I deemed acceptable to my pragmatic sensibilities,
an unusual quality, as you can imagine, in a Sorceress-apprentice.  Often
I was met with a strained silence or avoidance by my elders, which merely
piqued my interest even more.  I dared to delve into those legends within
the Telling and other ancient scriptures that others avoided due to fear,
lack of understanding, or even limited access to their content.  Indeed,
it was my search for the Doublewalkers that led my people to their ruin.
     Doublewalkers were recounted to exist in another dimension, their
lives running concurrent to ours.  When an Angylion was born in Morlais,
a kindred spirit-their Doublewalker-began life anew in another world. 
Our lifelines were described as being irrevocably entwined with a world
far beyond our tangible reach, or our waking understanding, if I
translated the nebulous and often cryptic words of the Telling correctly. 
And the restorative powers of a Doublewalker's lifeblood, so said these
ancient words, could save an Angylion, although the script was unclear on
how much was required.
     When King Byrne was stricken ill, the most sagacious of the Healers
could not cure our mighty sovereign.  Delving into the writings of the
Telling, desperate for a cure, I took it upon myself to penetrate the
Holy Sanctum, the chamber wherein resides the altar of Mt. Cadoc, a
sacred site where kings had been crowned, and buried, for generations. 
High on a mighty cairn, covering the burial site of our first Sovereign,
King Cadoc, and watching over the ceremonial rites of the Angylions for
eight thousand years, was the Oculus.  Forbidden to be handled by all but
the most senior of Court sorcerers, I had never actually laid eyes on
this ancient globe, but my sacred text declared it was a beautiful and
unique treasure, made of gilded wrought iron, with the shape of an eye
cast into its centre.
     The Oculus held the key.
     The Telling proclaimed that by casting the proper spell, and by
holding the Oculus and harnessing its powers, that the passageway between
our world and that of the Doublewalkers could be opened.  In secret, I
retrieved the ancient treasure, which, though surprisingly heavy, fit
into the palm of one hand.  Standing upon the sanctified ground of Mt.
Cadoc, I cast a spell uttering the ancient dialect of my ancestors while
I gazed into the centred eye of the orb.  Caught up in its magic, I found
myself drawn in, gasping in wonderment as I looked into an endless
starscape, a sky so vastly different from our own.  The truth within was
revealed to me, as I saw not only King Byrne's Doublewalker, but also
those of his sons, Princes Glynn and Llewelyn.  But as I began to reach
out, and beckon them to me, a detestable laugh filled my senses, and an
ancient Mystic appeared before me, demanding that I return the Oculus to
him, and take him to my King.  
     Well, a Sorceress apprentice doesn't get as far along in her studies
as I, without learning a few useful parlour tricks.  I evaded the Mystic,
managing to retain the Oculus, and fled to my Master, admitting all I had
done.  But by the time we reached the castle, the Mystic had already
arrived, and was commanding that we cede to his ultimate dominion, as was
our destiny.  He claimed that as a people, we had lost our faith and our
respect for the Mystics, and would be punished severely, if we did not
bow down now and declare our devotion before this Being that called
himself Iblis, as well as return the Oculus.  He claimed it had left a
hole between dimensions, leading into the Nonentity.  Just the mere
mention of this vacuous abyss, struck terror into the hearts of all
present.
     It had been so long in our history since a Mystic had appeared, that
I was not the only one who looked upon them largely as folklore.  Bards
had recited verses, lore had been written, songs had been sung, but the
seeds of doubt had also been planted.  King Byrne refused to cede
dominion to any Being, Glynn and Llewelyn at his side.  
     It could not have come at a worse time, but King Byrne's fierce
light burnt out, as he spat his final words at the Mystic.  In the wake
of his death, his sons stood fast, ordering the Mystic, Iblis, to leave. 
In return, the Being raised his hand, striking them both dead, and
demanding once again that the Oculus be returned to him.  If it were not,
such a scourge would be cast upon our people that the Angylions would
plummet into an age of darkness from which they would never return.
     He declared it was written so in the Tellings.  
     The Elders convened, and it was discovered that the prophecy of
which Iblis spoke was not quite accurate.  While a period of darkness was
inevitable, that "when the uncrowned Kings rise again, the souls of
Morlais will be freed".
     We didn't know the significance of that until much later.
     Furthermore, once the princes were examined it was discovered that
within the rapidly cooling bodies of Glynn and Llewelyn, a life force
still existed.  Iblis might have "killed" them in a crude sense, but they
were not "dead" in the metaphysical sense of the word.  Apparently, he
didn't have that power.  Somewhere within the learned teachings of the
Tellings, and with the power of the Oculus, we would find a way to raise
our young kings, and save Morlais.
     Once again, the Mystic was sent away, and this time the entire
kingdom felt his anger as the heavens boomed their incense, and lightning
fired across a sky that until then had been fair.
     As the sun set that night, obscured by choking clouds and shrieking
winds, a horrible scream from the Heavens and a rumbling from Mt. Cadoc
proclaimed the beginning of the end.  An endless legion of lifeless
Beings, each with a single undulating red eye, marched from the
Nonentity, bent on the destruction of our civilization.  Beneath the flag
of our kings, our legions met them in combat, sword against sword, and
availed themselves well, soon discovering through determination and
prowess that even lifeless Beings could be killed.  Truthfully, the
Angylions as a race were powerful, strong, and proud, and there were no
better warriors in the universe.
     Then Iblis struck again.
     Abruptly, the spiritless Beings began shooting deadly rays of light. 
Our legions began to drop en masse.  With malignant mutterings and the
careless wave of a hand, Iblis then transformed an entire race of
glorious Angylions, into troll-like Odreds.  We were quickly subdued, and
our entire Race enslaved to serve these Beings from the Nonentity called
Cylons.  The Oculus was hidden away, deep with the endless labyrinths
beneath the castle, its location known only by myself, for I was charged
with its care, as its Keeper.  I would die before I betrayed its secrets,
or let its limitless powers fall into the wrong hands.  Iblis disappeared
soon after, apparently bored by our defiance, leaving the Cylons in
place.
     And so ten years have passed, our princes lying in waiting, entombed
on Mt. Cadoc, sleeping their death-like sleep.  As Odreds we toil in the
ever expanding open pit mines that have erased any sign that this was
once a green and fertile valley, while the Cylons rape our world for its
resources, while repairing a massive vessel that somehow brought them
here from the Nonentity.  We have seen nothing of its ilk, for it has no
prow, nor oars, nor sails. It is like some vision from the Underworld,
and indeed, most Angylions never imagined a day where we would travel
beyond our own blue skies, yet, say the Cylons, it can do just that.
Every day we get closer to the vessel's completion, yet I know in my
heart, that their departure will not mean our freedom, but instead the
gradual enslavement of any other sentient Beings that coexist on our
planet, and indeed, beyond it.
     Ten years of enslavement.  Ten years of pouring over the Tellings
and other ancient scriptures I have unearthed in the archives, and
discovering more about our history and just how much has been covered up
by the generations that came before mine.  Ten years of sneaking away to
experiment with the Oculus.  It is time to raise the kings, restore the
Angylions, and to destroy the Cylons, and their horrid, fearsome vessel,
for all time. The survival of our planet, and possibly others beyond it,
depend on it.
     I will stop at nothing.

Eirys
Angylion Sorceress and Keeper of the Oculus


Meanwhile, somewhere in the Infinite...

     Forged metal struck metal, causing sparks to fly as the clang of
battling swords echoed through the Endeavour's Fitness Centre.  This part
of the ship-once used to "store" hundreds of centurions between
deployments, either to ground assault missions or as relief pilots-had
been cleared, and then partitioned off into several smaller compartments. 
The male enlisted barracks, second galley, back-up air filtration units,
female enlisted barracks, and the OC took up the rest of it.  Mark Dayton
grinned maniacally, as he and Starbuck came together, their weapons
locked in a clash of wills, grey eyes boring into blue. 
     "I'm stronger, old man!" grunted Starbuck, grip tight on his blade.
     "Smell isn't everything, Bilge Breath!" Dayton shot back.  Starbuck
hissed, and pressed forward.  Then with a shout of aggression and a
mighty push, Dayton half-turned his upper body, and shoved Starbuck's
blade up.  Using his knee to ram him in the gut, the Earthman pushed him
violently away, launching the younger man back a metron.  Starbuck nearly
lost his balance, his feet skidding on the deck, and his lips curled back
over his teeth in something resembling a snarl, as he mentally and
physically regrouped, reassessing his opponent in a heartbeat, before he
lunged forward again.
     Oh, to be that young again.
     "You ever try this?" Apollo asked Ryan, standing a few discreet
metrons to one side.
     "Do I look like an idiot?" replied Ryan.
     Apollo looked him up and down pointedly, taking in the loud floral
shirt, the cut-off shorts, and the sandals.
     "On second thought, don't answer that," Ryan quipped with a grin. 
"Hell no, I never tried this.  My heroes as a kid were Bob and Doug
McKenzie, not Conan The Barbarian.  Besides, it's too bloody early in the
day for this kind of strenuous exercise.  Half the ship's still asleep." 
     "Then why did you come?" Apollo asked.
     "I'm among the other half that aren't," Ryan shrugged.  "And the
mess isn't open yet."
     Dayton moved forward, bringing his own blade, similar in style to
the Roman spatha, but with a longer hilt, up to chest level and swinging
it horizontally, blocking Starbuck's attack, holding his ground as he
measured the kid's form.  It had started as a form of physical therapy,
Dayton persistently cajoling Starbuck that he needed to do something to
get his right shoulder strong again.  Not only that, but Dayton needed an
outlet to let off some steam now and then, before the rigours of command
made him blow his top, and he ended up squashing Malus into something
resembling an Electrolux vacuum cleaner.  And of course, four of those
antique swords that Sire Dracus had once owned had miraculously ended up
in Dayton's possession, courtesy of a certain conman, that would remain
unnamed.  Dayton didn't have the heart to just hang them on the wall,
when such fine workmanship cried out to be used.
     "Come on, Whipped Froth, is that all you've got?" Dayton needled his
opponent, as the sweat tricked down his forehead.  Starbuck's hair was
likewise plastered to his head with moisture.  "My mother could take
you...while hanging out the laundry at the same time."
     "Strangely enough, I don't want to be taken by your mother, Dayton,"
Starbuck returned breathlessly. "And keep her fetishes to yourself, old
man.  I'd really rather not know."
     "Hey, Mother Dayton did inspiring things with clothes pegs, or so I
heard," called out Ryan with a laugh.
     "I'll peg you, if you don't stop badmouthing my mother!" retorted
Dayton.
     "Hey, are we here to talk or fight?" Apollo inserted, awaiting his
own turn.  Like Dayton and Starbuck, he was "dressed" in protective gear
made of rubber and cloth padding, overlaid with armour stripped from some
of the wrecked centurions.  Gloves, helmets, and shoes from the Triad
Court completed the array.
     "Does it have to be one or the other?" Starbuck returned.
     It hadn't taken much in the earlier encounters with the longsword to
get a rise out of Starbuck, making him lose his concentration and form
the instant the Earthman was under his skin.  It was a tactical
necessity, and Dayton was a master at insulting and distracting his
opponent, giving the Earthman the advantage time and time again, despite
his greater age.  Those skirmishes inevitably ended with Starbuck, who
had lacked both skill and self-control,  figuratively "dying".  But to
give him credit, the young warrior was getting amazingly adept at
controlling his emotions during battle, refuting a certain med tech's
claim that he would never grow up.
     Starbuck pressed forward, the sweat running from his brow, and a
scowl etched on his features, his teeth clenched.  The kid always had a
surge of energy just before his shoulder started aching just that little
bit beyond tolerance. It was as though he was hoping to finish the fight,
before he knew it would finish him. Dayton easily blocked the blows,
letting Starbuck drive him backwards, knowing that the attack was tiring
the other man to the point where he would make a mistake.  His endurance
had improved impressively, no question, but Dayton knew damn well that
Starbuck would be feeling the effects tonight.  While his upper body
strength had improved significantly from the exercise, the prolonged side
affects of a Cylon pulse laser cutting the Colonial Warrior down on
Planet 'P' had left Starbuck with residual damage that didn't seem to be
getting any better.
     "You're getting sloppy, Steamed Milk." Dayton taunted him, as he
felt each successive blow decrease in intensity, and instinctively knew
that the kid was just about out of gas.  He slapped the last thrust aside
scornfully, using the chain mail gauntlet he'd had fashioned.  "You done,
kid?" he asked, considering his young study.
     "Are you conceding, Dayton?" Starbuck puffed unexpectedly, the
fingers of his right hand flexing slightly around the hilt of his
weapon-an Excalibur-type blade that was just under three feet long-which
generally indicated he'd lost all sensation in that region.  
     "Me?" Dayton laughed.  "You're all done in, Vanilla Latte."
     "...Because if you're not conceding, then you'd...you'd better put
up your dukes," Starbuck continued heatedly in English, his Colonial
accent sounding mysteriously European, as he lunged forward sloppily once
again.
     "Go, Starbuck!" Ryan laughed aloud.
     Dayton chuckled, easily blocking each blow, more by rote than with
any real effort. When Starbuck attacked again, he blocked the other's
blade, then spun to the side, letting the Viper pilot's blade slide off
of his, then shoving mightily.  Starbuck skidded away once more.  With a
snarl of self-disgust, the younger man shook his head, and wobbled
slightly, as if he might topple onto his face at any moment.  
     "Is Ryan trying to teach you English again, Barista Brain?  Or
whatever barbarian dialect they speak up there in Loon Land.  Because
putting up your dukes is..."
     "Ah!" shouted Starbuck, suddenly renewing his attack with lightning
fast speed.  The tip of his weapon struck Dayton directly in the middle
of his right forearm, and sang downwards, to catch the hilt of Dayton's
spatha.  It flew from his grasp, to half-spin off the point of Starbuck's
own sword.  
     Dayton's sword clattered to the deck, and he stood there for a
moment with his mouth agape and his hand conspicuously empty. 
     "Holy shi..." 
     Starbuck grinned that thousand mega-watt smile that could heat a
small country, as he stepped forward and jauntily patted Dayton on the
cheek.  He looked so goddamned pleased with himself that at any minute he
would start crowing...
     "A fistfight. Yeah, I know," Starbuck admitted, not quite chuckling,
but almost.  Near enough.
     "You...you snookered me!" Dayton roared indignantly, but inside he
was swelling with pride that his young apprentice had actually disarmed
him, by first making him believe he was tiring, and then distracting him
with his novice and incorrect English.  He laughed aloud, slapping
Starbuck on the shoulder. "Nice, kid. You must have had a hell of a
teacher."
     "The teacher from Hell, actually," Starbuck returned fondly,
glancing at Apollo with a satisfied smirk.  "The standard is set, buddy.
Your turn."  He moved to hand his sword over to the other, but Apollo
shook his head, hefting a Cylon centurion sword instead.
     Apollo nodded, grim determination on his features as he strode
forward to meet Dayton.  "Just a short match, though.  I need to go see
Boxey before we ship out."
     "Knock 'em dead!" grinned Ryan. 
     "Hey!  At least let me catch my breath, I'm not getting any younger,
you know!" Dayton protested. 
     "Take all the time you need, Commander," Apollo grinned.  "Earth
isn't exactly around the corner."
     "Yeah, but we are planning a shakedown cruise today, and the last I
heard, you three are the ones supposed to be making the final
preparations," Ryan pointed out in a rare moment of responsibility.
     "Party pooper," Dayton sniffed, lifting his sword once again. 
"C'mon Apollo, let's see what you've got."

On the Malocchio Freighter...
     
     An evanescence seemed to surround the Empyrean Necromancer's
crystalline ball, making the very air tingle about her fingers, as she
held her hands lightly above the orb. With eyes closed, she looked within
the swirling mass of energy that revealed all, but in messages so
cryptic, it could drive a woman a little barmy.  Slowly, Ama stood back,
opening the span of her hands and watching the aura of energy expand
until it was the size of a man...or a door.
     Slowly from within the aura, a shape began to slowly become visible.
Becoming gradually more solid and real, the form of a woman began to
materialize, then solidify, her glowing white robes swirling around her,
and long, flaxen hair flowing down her shoulders, well past her waist. 
Her features were delicate, and her eyes appeared to glow from within,
with a spectrum of colours that could only be supernatural.  Overall, she
was simply breathtaking.  A beauty so radiant and startling, it could
only mean one thing...She raised her hand slowly, reaching out towards
the necromancer, summoning her forward.
     "Triquetra..." Ama murmured.  She drew a deep breath, harnessing all
her strength and energy, and letting her own life's force filter into the
other's.  Probing.  Two swirling masses of energy connected,
intermingling, testing, searching, vying for position.  Like firestorm,
ephemeral images shot through her, revealing glimpses of images long past
from another world, interspersed with peeks of a realm devoid of joy and
hope, and cloaked in despair.  Evil reigned supreme.  Ama jolted back in
horror, raising her hands threateningly.  The crystal orb was knocked
from its stand, rolling onto the floor, and Ama let out a choking gasp. 
She locked eyes with the apparition before her, and roared protectively,
"Be gone with you, Hag!  Be gone!"      

Chapter One

     Aboard the Colonial dreadnought Endeavour, Gamma Bay was abuzz with
activity.  Throughout the cavernous bay, full-fledged techs, trainees,
flight crew, hangar crew, and cadets were all working on Hybrid fighters
or parts thereof, creating a din that made Commander Mark Dayton want to
plug his ears, yet at the same time filled him with excitement,
anticipation, and a certain level of pride.  At this rate, the
Endeavour-a refitted Abaddon-class Cylon Base Ship turned Colonial Covert
Operations Ship-would be embarking on her shakedown cruise later that
day, as he had predicted almost three sectars ago, when they had come up
with this grandiose scheme.
     As planned, the decrepit Aptian Freighter-ramshackle home to over
six-hundred people since fleeing the Colonies-had finally been scrapped,
her passengers redistributed to the Seniors and Orphan Ships, while the
isolated children and seniors had been reintegrated back into the Fleet
in a social model that reunited their citizens, making the community
responsible for the raising of the children, rather than the bureaucracy. 
It certainly had its growing pains, but by and large it was coming
together, and the previously segregated children were now learning about
what it was to contribute to society, instead of being set apart from it,
while their seniors were sharing their experiences and knowledge instead
of merely reminiscing about them in activity centres.
     Rendering up a surprisingly large amount of hull and deck plating,
the scrap from the second largest freighter in the Fleet was then
primarily used to repair and refit the Pegasus, and the new Endeavour, as
well as build desperately needed new Viper spaceframes, and repair an
impressive amount of Cylon Raiders.  All of this had been achieved while
the Fleet continued on its exodus across the stars, with the Foundry
Ship, Hephaestus, utilizing her Haulers to propel or pull the scavenged
Aptian along, after her long-suffering engines had finally been powered
down for the last time, and her remaining fuel off-loaded to the Pegasus. 
Until then, she had continued to move with the Fleet while being
dismantled, becoming smaller and smaller by the day, until she looked
like a bare metal "skeleton with a motor on it", as Ryan had quipped. 
Then, the Hephaestus had taken over, towing what remained behind her, as
the metal workers set up mobile space docks to do their vital job.  
     Of course, the manpower required had been enormous.  They had done a
massive recruitment campaign not only for new Colonial Warriors, but also
for apprenticing tradesmen within the Fleet. The response had been
phenomenal. Young men and women had signed up in droves, as the energy of
conclusively finding real, live Earthmen seven sectars before had
accelerated when they had rediscovered the Juggernaut and his savaged
Pegasus.  Add to that a military victory over a Cylon Base Ship, the
recapture of the hated Baltar, and then adding an additional
battleship-the new Endeavour-to their Fleet, and morale was at an
all-time high.  Even the temporary inconvenience of cramped
accommodations during the earliest sectars of the redistribution of the
citizens hadn't quashed the mood.
     Dayton walked through the usual disarray, finally arriving at the
workstation where he could usually find Paddy Ryan.  Sure enough, the
familiar grey head was visible, but it was resting on the workbench, eyes
closed, mouth open, snoring. How anybody could sleep in this racket was
beyond Dayton.  After all, it wasn't like Paddy had been exchanging
swordplay with two junior officers that morning.  Then again, they'd all
been pulling ridiculous shifts for the last three months, and Paddy with
his precious aeronautics and combat systems engineering background had
worked harder than most of them, like Dayton, needing to get up to speed
on Colonial technology before he could even begin to start co-designing
what had become known as the Hybrid Fighter.
     The former Abaddon-class Cylon Base Ship had been full of hundred
yahren old Raiders of varying conditions, ranging from mostly destroyed
to barely scratched, when they had found her adrift in space near the
still-mysterious Planet "P".  Determinedly, and in desperate need of
resources, they had redesigned the fighter craft, keeping the basic Cylon
fuselage, propulsion and weapons systems, but integrating more
technically sophisticated Colonial navigation and communications gear. 
In addition, an improvement in electronic countermeasure technology
-gained from the mysterious Wraith ships of unknown origin, which were
recovered from Torg's Pirate Asteroid-seemed to effectively block any
concentrated scans that would reveal that the "Cylon" Raiders in fact had
Human pilots.  In addition, the ECT was virtually undetectable, it was
emitted at such a low frequency, below those the Cylons and Colonials
usually scanned.  
     "Are you checking for light leaks?" Dayton asked, leaning down over
the workbench and murmuring in Ryan's ear. "Or does the fuel system need
purging?" He gently touched toed the other's foot.
     A slight sigh and a flickering of his eyelids was Ryan's initial
response to the teasing questions.  Then, "Uh...yeah.  So far, so good in
here.  Integrity is one hundred percent.  Crap, it's pitch black."  He
opened his eyes, rubbing them like a child after his nap, and then
stretched out his limbs with a noisy yawn. 
     "I see."
     "And her wheel bearings are all packed." Ryan grinned
     "Uh huh. I figured it was something like that," smiled Mark.
     "Hey, does Paddy deliver, or what?"
     "Well, in that case I could use a pizza with everything on it on the
Bridge in say...an hour," grinned Mark, glancing at his Colonial
timepiece. "Dorado will be landing any centon.  I need to know, are we on
schedule?" he asked, sitting on the corner of the desk.
     "I have my own schedule," Ryan grinned, running his hands through
hair that was once again growing out, the unruly curls now tamed beneath
the additional weight, completing his scraggly "beach bum" look.  "And
I'm always on time."
     Admittedly, at times like this Dayton questioned the rumour that
Ryan had ever served in the Canadian military in any capacity.  While his
brilliance in aeronautics and flight systems engineering was
unquestionable, he had seemingly long-since left behind any trace of
discipline, conduct, or military decorum that had ever been pounded into
his thick skull.  
     "Yeah?  Well, my schedule has us leaving the Fleet behind in a
matter of centars, for about six weeks. I need to know I have at least
the two squadrons you promised me, fully checked out and ready to fly."
Dayton crossed his arms over his chest. "Hmm...?"  
     "Actually," Ryan smiled, picking up a data pad off the table and
handing it to his old CO, "I signed the last of the flight tested Hybrids
out to your strike captain, as of about two hours and some change ago."
He indicated the signature on the screen. "Starbuck told me that if you
showed up looking for them, to tell you that the squadrons are his gig,
and you're to get your 'astrum' back up to the Bridge where it belongs." 
An incredibly large grin and twinkling eyes accompanied the message.
     "He did, did he?" Dayton growled. "Well, sounds like our resident
espresso machine needs a bit of a talking to."
     "I believe he added that you have 'control issues', and that you
don't trust him to wipe his...uh, nose, without running it by you first,"
Paddy chuckled.
     "Sounds like you had a real heart to heart with Caf‚ Amico," Dayton
muttered. Sure, he'd been watching over Starbuck's progress with the
squadrons, but only because the kid looked damned tired lately,
constantly rubbing that shoulder that obviously was still bothering him,
or rolling his fingers that were rumoured to be numb or tingling.  Cassie
had mentioned that if Starbuck overdid it with the swordplay, that he
would probably make his other symptoms worse, even while increasing
muscle mass.  She had said that what he needed was rest...but getting any
warrior to rest when he could be duelling with ancient weapons would be
akin to a miracle.  
     "It was nothing that he hasn't already told you to your face, Mark,"
Ryan shrugged. 
     It reminded Dayton that the new chain of command hadn't altered the
frank honestly between Starbuck and himself. If the commander had any
illusions of his strike captain affecting the same respectful approach he
had with Adama or Tigh, they were dashed in short order.  The Ristretto
Kid didn't pull any punches, which was exactly why Dayton wanted him in
his line of command.
     "So once Dorado is aboard, are we fully crewed?" Ryan asked.
     "Apollo's on the Galactica.  He's due back in a couple centars."  
     "Right. Saying goodbye to his kid, I imagine." Ryan nodded.  "Do you
want me to meet Dorado with you?" Ryan asked.
     Dayton looked Paddy over for a moment, considering the first
impression he wanted to make when his newest bridge officer and Academy
tactics instructor stepped aboard his ship.  Dorado had been through a
lot, after all.  "No.  Not this time, Paddy."
     "Ah c'mon, Mark, it could be fun," Paddy grinned, getting up to join
him.  "We'll crack open a few ales, and talk about the bad old days with
Torg..."
     "That's what I'm afraid of."
     "Fraidy cat! Besides, I could use a little fun, you know." He waved
a hand around the station.  "All work and no play, makes Paddy a dull
boy."
     "It's not supposed to be fun, Paddy" Dayton reminded him, turning to
go.
     "And therein lies the problem..." Paddy explained, jogging to catch
up, and then throwing a casual arm around his friend's shoulder,
accompanying him regardless.

----------

     Starbuck had never worked this hard in his entire life, not even
back in the orphanage, when Matron had caught him hacking into the
computer to access card games and girlie holoptics when he was supposed
to be at Worship.  For the next couple sectars-after cleaning every
turbo-flush in the place, twice-he'd been assigned to hard labour with
the harvesters after his instruction periods were completed to teach him
a lesson.  And it had.  
     He'd learned to play pyramid.  
     Yeah, it made a guy second guess his decision that had turned the
dashing, intrepid, and diabolis-may-care lieutenant of the Battlestar
Galactica into the strike captain of the Covert Operations Ship
Endeavour.  His brain was so full of both extraneous and tediously
detailed data that it was sure to explode if he had to absorb just one
more piece of information...
     "Captain Starbuck, apparently there's a funny smell coming from your
quarters."
     For a moment, he did not respond, still totally focused on trying to
figure out how to marry the scanner circuits on the new Cylon/Colonial
Hybrid fighters with those they had found in the Wraith seven sectars
ago.  It took a moment for the young man's words to penetrate his
concentration.
     "Captain? Excuse me?" the youngster repeated, glancing around the
cluttered area that smelled like a mix of old degreaser, fuel, and stale
fumarellos, despite an upgrade in the air recirculation.
     Starbuck glanced upward at the trainee technician, the pimply-faced
young man's name evading him for the moment, as he finally asked, "Come
again?"  
     Maybe it had something to do with him being unable of late to
complete just about any task without being interrupted by somebody with a
question, a problem or a near disaster, but he had reached his limit.  He
had never claimed to be a patient man, let alone a saint, and directing
this group of cadets, technical trainees, along with those that they had
managed to resurrect from retirement, while simultaneously dealing with a
clingy IL Cylon whose sole ambition was to please Starbuck, had him at
his wits' end.
     "There's a funny smell from the newly piped-in turbo-flush..." the
trainee began, before clamping his mouth tight again, and biting his lip. 
His eyes darted back towards the relative safety of the landing bay.
     "Since when was the strike captain of any ship in charge of...funny
smells?" Starbuck growled, glancing at the mounting pile of felgercarb on
his desk that had fallen victim to gravity and had slid onto the deck at
some point.  At least he thought there was a desk under there somewhere. 
There had to be at least eight or ten data pads, each loaded to capacity,
and awaiting his careful consideration on any number of topics ranging
from the squadron placement of the most recent recruits, to the latest
progress-or setbacks-on the Hybrid fighters that made up his wing.  Then
there were duty rosters; greasy tools that looked like they probably had
been brought from Kobol, and used every single day since then; a wad of
old-fashioned aeronautic plans that Ryan had dumped there for the latest
tweaks for tightening navigation and handling; an Academy-style course
outline that Apollo had asked him to look over; some bolts and assorted
engine parts, a cup of very dead java; a tome entitled Aeronautical
Advancements; lists of various parts and supplies that needed to be
begged, borrowed, scavenged or stolen; a sadly neglected triad helmet; an
almost empty box of Empyrean fumarellos; and the most daggit-eared set of
cards that he had ever owned...the tragedy being that they had never
actually been used in a game. 
     "Well, sir," the trainee tech adjusted his cap so the rim covered
his face a little more, before continuing nervously, "I'm only following
orders."
     Starbuck opened his mouth, ready to assign the young technician to
the Waste Maintenance Department to get intimately familiar with the
"funny smells" of the liberally used porta-flushes on the Endeavour, when
the words sunk in.
     "Whose orders?"
     "Your wife's, sir," the cadet replied, pulling at the neck of his
collar, as he flushed a bright red.  "Ensign Luana's."
     Starbuck raised an eyebrow.  "Must be a pain in the astrum to be
outranked by just about everybody else aboard, huh Cadet?"
     "Most definitely, sir."
     Starbuck smirked, sticking his feet one after the other atop an open
drawer jutting out from his desk.  He crossed his arms behind his head
for good measure, insinuating that he wasn't going anywhere. 
"Dismissed."
     "Sir!" The cadet replied, turning smartly on his heel and making
himself scarce.
     Only then did Starbuck climb hastily to his feet, and head for his
quarters...to deal with the funny smell.

----------

     Boxey's head was downcast, his hand curled tightly into Muffit's fur
as he stood there before his father.  These last few sectars rivalled
those right after losing Serina, while Boxey was supposedly groomed to
face sectons, and eventually sectars, without his father, the executive
officer of the Endeavour.  There was no place for children or families on
the Covert Operations Ship, partially because of its mission, partly
because of its design, and also because it had been decided that Colonial
Warriors and support personnel would routinely rotate through four sectar
tours, after this preliminary six secton shakedown cruise, the sole
exception being Commander Dayton.  Despite this, Apollo had taken the
position, knowing that the promotion was not only a necessary change and
challenge career-wise, but that his participation in this newly developed
Covert Operations Ship would be important to its success. 
     Translation: They needed someone to keep an eye on Dayton and
Starbuck.
     "Thank you," Apollo murmured to Sheba, as she gently, but
persistently pushed Boxey across the threshold of Athena's quarters.  The
boy had made himself scarce, even knowing his father was coming to spend
a few final centars with him before shipping out.  It was Sheba who had
finally found him, sulking in a storage cupboard in the Rejuvenation
Centre, his trusty daggit at his side, a conspicuously timed mechanical
yelp giving them away.
     "Go easy on him," Sheba murmured, caressing Apollo's cheek lightly,
at the same time smoothing Boxey's hair.  Her eyes sparkled brightly with
suppressed emotion, as she looked down at the boy tenderly.  "I still
remember how it feels..."
     Apollo nodded, remembering the tale Sheba had told of a certain
little girl who had hidden in the nearby orchard, refusing to say goodbye
to her father, confident that Cain wouldn't leave on his tour of duty if
he couldn't find her.  
     She'd been wrong.
     "So do I," Apollo murmured, remembering more than one tearful
goodbye to his own father while he was young.  At least until he'd
learned to "be a man".  He leaned forward, and tenderly kissed her, not
knowing if he would find the extra precious few centons to say goodbye to
her properly before he had to return to the Endeavour.  
     She smiled sadly, not daring to say anything, as she turned to go.
     Apollo sighed, hitting the control that closed the hatch as he
turned to consider his son.  He'd heard it all over the last few sectons,
with Boxey alternating between bursting into tears, accusing Apollo of
putting his career before him, and blatantly telling his father that he
didn't care about him.  Apollo's saving grace had been the childcare
cooperative that he had belonged to for the last three sectars, which
provided some consistency in a young life full of uncertainty.  Apollo's
was one of five military families, who had united their efforts and
responsibilities in child rearing in order to provide unified parental
guidance to children affected by the rigours of rotating parents, and
demanding work schedules. In a Fleet already rife with single parents or
guardians struggling to balance work and "home life", this model had
taken off like sunbursts, especially with the recent recruitment drive
for additional technical and military manpower, as well as the
integration of orphans back into the general populace.  As long as
parents and guardians shared similar values, and met regularly to discuss
issues, schedules and problems, the cooperative worked well, and had
become a much-needed solution to Apollo's constant challenge of finding
Boxey a childminder. 
     But a cooperative still couldn't replace a father.
     "Boxey, come here," Apollo said quietly, turning to sit on a chair. 
The boy reluctantly moved to his father's side, stopping short of
climbing up into Apollo's lap like he used to do at the tender age of
six.  At the ripe old and sagacious age of seven, he was far too old for
such things now.  "My father went away a lot too, Boxey, when I was
young. Long missions, aboard the Galactica..." He brushed the boy's hair
aside, barely able to see his eyes, but the tracks from Boxey's tears
told the story.  Apollo's throat constricted, and he briefly wondered if
somehow, somewhere, Serina was now cursing him.  But then Serina had a
wisdom and understanding that far surpassed his own.
     "I...I don't want you to go," Boxey admitted, throwing himself into
Apollo's arms, and clinging to him as if he could stop his father's
departure by sheer physical force. Hot tears coursed down his cheeks once
again. "I...I..."
     "I know. I know." Apollo murmured into his son's hair, pressing the
small form against him, and feeling tears well up in his own eyes.  He
pulled Boxey into his lap, cradling him.  "But it's only six sectons,
son.  Then I'll be back, and I'll either be assigned back to the
Galactica or to the Pegasus."
     "But...what if you don't come back?" Boxey asked, his words barely
discernable over his sobs.  "Talon said the Endeavour's job is to...to
engage any Cylons before they get a chance to reach the Fleet." Talon was
one of the kids in the cooperative.
     "Yes, it is, but we haven't detected any Cylons since we found the
Pegasus, Boxey."
     "We hadn't seen them for a long time before you and Starbuck flew to
that Base ship, the one Baltar told you all about." He looked up at
Apollo, eyes wet. "We hadn't seen them for a long time when we found
Planet 'P'." 
     Something in Boxey's voice sounded accusatory.  It also sounded
chastening, as if to remind Apollo of their most basic truth: until they
knew differently, the Cylons would always be there.
     "Well, I can't argue with you there," said Apollo, feeling almost
like he was back in the middle of an Academy dressing down when he was a
cadet, rather than talking to a child. "But, more than likely, this
mission will just be to test out all the ship's new and repaired systems,
all the Hybrid fighters we've built, and to work out any problems," he
reassured the boy.  "I'll be back.  I promise."
     "Warrior's honour?" Boxey asked, his eyes still holding that
absolute trust that Apollo knew would run out eventually.
     "Warrior's honour." 

----------

     Starbuck stepped into his quarters, immediately grinning as he
noticed the subdued lighting, and more importantly, the total absence of
"funny smells".  The tiny space was Spartan, even by Galactica command
quarters standards, but for the first time that he could remember, he'd
actually caught himself thinking of this four metron by four metron room
aboard the Endeavour as "home".            
     "Hmm, not bad timing," Luana murmured throatily from their bed,
which had been pushed into the furthest corner of the room for
practicality.   She was draped provocatively in a sheet and nothing else,
as she glanced at the chrono at their bedside.  "I figured that with the
schedule you've been keeping, you're more than overdue for a java
break...so I hope you don't mind my subterfuge."
     "That depends," he grinned, doffing his jacket and boots, crossing
the room quickly to stretch out on the bed next to her.  He picked at the
sheet, leaning forward to kiss the sensitive flesh of her throat.  
     "On what?" she purred teasingly, raking a hand through her silky
brown hair, and letting it cascade over a bare shoulder.
     "Hmm..." he murmured, breathing in her scent.  "Well, I'm guessing
I'm not here to repair the turbo flush."
     "Most definitely not," she chuckled, running her hands through his
hair as he pushed her onto her back.  "Though some servicing of another
kind might be in order."
     "I was hoping..."
     "Eventually," she inserted, teasing his bottom lip with her
fingertip.  "I have some news."
     "Oh?" he asked, his heart immediately fluttering with hope as he
wondered for the third time in three sectars if this would be the time
that she would tell him...
     "It's finally official.  We're sealed."
     He dredged up a smile, remembering the bureaucratic felgercarb they
had to go through to have their wedding ceremonies-one by Ama, and the
other by Dayton-recognized by the paper-pushing borays of the Colonial
State.  "That's great."
     It was weird how you could not even realize that you wanted to be a
father, until an endless number of medical personnel began to tell you
that it just wasn't possible, due to Luana's exposure to some Cylon
chemical warfare while on Planet 'P'.  And the further away the
likelihood of parenthood withdrew, the more Starbuck found, to his
surprise, that he wanted it.  So much so that successive disappointments,
as they listened to Ama telling them to "have faith", became more and
more crushing.  You always want most what you cannot have...
     "And that's not all," she smiled, her eyes sparkling with happiness.
     "Lu..." he breathed expectantly. Could it be? Despite all the
medical gobbledygook...
     "I got the assignment, Starbuck!  I'm going to be flying the
Wraiths, and acting as liaison between the Battlestars and the
Endeavour!"
     "Lu, that's fantastic!" he grinned, pulling her into his arms,
swallowing any disappointment, knowing how much this meant to her. There
had been a lot riding on this, given the fact that his wife was forbidden
to work in Starbuck's line of command with the strictly enforced
fraternization rules, which had been exhumed from the regulation manual
with the addition of another Battlestar and Covert Operations Ship to the
military Fleet.  He hadn't wanted to think about Lu considering taking a
position on one of the Battlestars because she couldn't fly while
assigned to the Endeavour. At the same time, he knew she had the right
temperament and skill set to pilot the unarmed Wraith, relying on speed,
cunning, and the amazing electronic countermeasures that jammed the
average Colonial or Cylon scanners, leaving her all but undetectable as
she acted as a silent messenger between capital ships, preventing
accidental interception of long-range transmissions that could reveal
positions and other critical data. And the fact that Colonel Apollo was
the commanding officer of the Wraiths, kept her out of Starbuck's direct
line of command, exactly the way the strike captain had planned it from
its inception three sectars ago. "When did Apollo tell you?"
     "Just before he left for the Galactica," she replied, giggling with
unrepressed joy.  Flying had become as important to her, as roaming the
countryside of her native planet Empyrean had once been.  
     "Well then," he kissed her tenderly, grinning as she nipped
playfully at his bottom lip.  "I think a celebration is in order."
     "Only one thing could make me happier, Starbuck..." her words
trailed off, as a fleeting shadow of pain crossed her features. They'd
discussed it a few times, and she too had been dreaming of having a
family, even more so now that it had been denied them.  She smiled at him
again, putting her arms around his neck.  "Love me, Innamorato."
     "Always, Lu," he rasped, claiming her lips once again.
     
----------

     Dayton stood erect as the boarding platform was put in place next to
the shuttle, and he waited for the hatch to open.  For a moment he
regretted that he hadn't heeded Apollo's suggestion of a little pomp and
ceremony for the initial boarding of a senior officer, but time was
short, manpower was precious, and he was going to be kicking the tires
and lighting the fires later that day, come Hell or high water. 
     "Should I button up my shirt?" asked Ryan, next to him.
     "Your mouth, more like," returned Dayton. "Tom Selleck would sue if
he could see you."
     "I'm going more for the Mike Love look." He struck a surfer pose,
balancing precariously on some imaginary board.  "Catch a wave, Mark."
     "Hey Paddy, you look like you're sitting on top of the world," Baker
inserted, coming to join them with Porter at his side.  
     "Well, sometimes you have to get away from the shady turf, Bob,"
Ryan returned, tilting over to the right, one leg coming off his "board",
as he compensated to regain his balance.  Or imbalance.
     "And catch some rays on the sunny surf?" Porter asked, as he glanced
nervously in the shuttle's direction.
     "Ooh, yeah," Dayton replied.  It just felt right that they were all
here to meet Dorado.  Porter wouldn't have missed it.  Not after the
warrior had saved his butt down on Planet 'P'.  He still harboured
feelings of guilt about it.
     "Yo, Dayton!" Starbuck's voice echoed through the bay.
     As Dayton glanced back over his shoulder at his approaching strike
captain, he realized that perhaps there was a place for decorum, after
all.  "Yo, Dayton?  Man alive, Skinny Latte, did you ever hear of
addressing your commanding officer by rank?  Especially when a senior
bridge officer is about to disembark and get his first look around the
Endeavour since it was a derelict Cylon Base Ship."  Then a glance at
Luana's beatific smile reminded him that Starbuck's wife had been
assigned to the Wraiths, and the young man's informal greeting probably
had more to do with the weight that had just been lifted from his
shoulders, rather than any intentional disrespect.
     Starbuck pulled his fumarello out of his mouth, while throwing an
arm around his wife. "Aye, Commander, sir."  Then he grinned.  "Did you
hear the news?"
     "Yes, of course I did." Dayton returned.  "Congratulations, Luana. 
I hear the fight for this position was fierce, and that Apollo finally
had to leave it up to the computer to tabulate the final scores from the
sims, and pick the most qualified and skilful candidate."  Dayton was
well aware that what little spare time Starbuck had had lately, he had
spent it putting his wife through the paces in the sims, giving her the
personal training it would take to rise above the rest of the field of
pilots, who had more experience, but were also considered less malleable
due to their centars logged.  Command needed a pilot who could stay out
of sight, and lose a tail, rather than confront an adversary, should the
situation arise.  Dayton had also heard that Starbuck had been a hard
taskmaster, not cutting Lu any slack at all just because they shared the
same bed.
     "Thanks, Commander," Luana smiled.  "I'm looking forward to actually
climbing in that bird, and getting acquainted with my new ship."
     "That will be up to Apollo," Dayton reminded her.  "He's in charge
of the Wraiths, and by extension of that, you."
     "I know.  Apollo briefed me."  She glanced up at the platform as a
familiar figure appeared.
     "Dorado!" greeted Dayton, striding forward to meet him.  Horribly
injured on Planet 'P' in the aftermath of the comet's impact, Dorado had
almost died, losing both legs, part of one arm, and an eye in the
process.  Then, with resolve, sheer determination, and the amazing skills
of the medical staff on the Galactica, the young captain had unexpectedly
pulled through.  But it would have been a bleak sort of existence, facing
life in a hoverchair.
     Then Starbuck had an idea.
     If they could design a neural implant to save Commander Cain from
permanent disability following considerable brain damage, then surely
they could come up with some kind of prosthetic devices that could also
be neurologically "wired" into Dorado, giving him a second chance at
life, and eradicating an inevitable medical discharge from the service. 
The kid had pitched it to Malus, the IL Cylon that had taken a shine to
Starbuck, to put it mildly.  From early on, the warrior instinctively
knew that Malus would be a real asset to the Colonials if his defection
to their side was on the level.  The IL had already proven it in battle. 
This time, Malus came up with ideas so radical, that the physicians
couldn't help but stand up and take notice.
     Malus, who had also managed to successfully modify the original
neural implant on Commander Cain, was once again conscripted to a new
medical project in league with Dr's Salik and Sobek.  Dorado had been
fitted, first with a new arm, and then later with new legs, courtesy of
the very same Cylon technology that Malus had incorporated with Cain.  A
glass eye completed the missing parts, but Malus was working on a
cybernetic eye to replace that.  Dayton reckoned that they had made the
Colonial Fleet's first Bionic Man.  Better than he was before.  Better,
stronger, faster...
     "Commander Dayton," Dorado said, dropping his kit bag, grasping
Dayton's hand and shaking it, somewhat perfunctorily. 
     It felt a little cool to the touch, but Salik's cosmetic touches
made it look as real as the original.  Actually, Mark suddenly realized,
it was the original...The prosthetic arm was his left limb. "Welcome
aboard, Captain."
     "Thank you, sir."  Dorado nodded at his former prison mates, and
then his old Academy friend, and the wife.  "Quite the greeting
committee." He smiled a little uncomfortably. 
     "Good to see you, Dorado," Ryan smiled.
     "Really good," Porter added a little awkwardly.
     "Wait till you see what we've done to the place," Starbuck fanned a
hand, encompassing the landing bay.
     "How are you doing?" asked Dayton, sensing a noticeable distance in
the other man since they had spent time under Torg's reign of terror. 
But then almost losing your life, your career, and having your world
turned upside down more than once generally did that to a man.  How long
had it taken Dayton and his friends to begin to feel Human again?
     "Better than any of us expected three sectars ago, Commander,"
replied the other after a cursory glance around the bay, and a nod.  He
held out a data chip to Dayton. "Captain Dorado reporting for duty, sir. 
Permission to come aboard."
     "Granted," said Dayton.
     "You are aboard," Starbuck reminded the captain.
     Dorado took a moment to meet his glance, a faint smile tugging at
his lips.  "Same old Starbuck.  You never let up."  
     "As long as I'm breathing..." Starbuck shrugged.
     "Well then, don't stop breathing, Bucko," Dorado smiled, the warmth
in his dark, brown eyes genuine, before returning his attention to
Dayton.  "Here are my orders, sir.  My transfer to the Endeavour,
effective immediately."
     "Accepted."
     "If I may be shown to my quarters, sir," requested Dorado.
     "Of course," said Dayton, casting a brief glance at Starbuck. 
     "Yeah, I'll take you," Starbuck immediately inserted, slapping the
other on the shoulder fondly.  "The crew deck is this way."  He started
to lead the warrior away.  "Then I'll run you by the Bridge, since Apollo
and Dayton want you spending at least half your time up there, and then
for old times sake..." 
     "A moment please!"
     An all too familiar woman with wild white hair framing her face,
starkly contrasting her tidy Councilwoman robes, disembarked the same
shuttle with another woman.   Dayton wasn't sure he'd met the other
woman.
     "Oh, frack..." Starbuck breathed, taking a step back, his hand
reflexively moving to massage his right shoulder in a sign of anxiety. 
He glanced at Dorado accusingly.  "You could have warned me..."
     "She threatened to turn me into a putrid...not that I know what that
is, but it sounded bad," Dorado replied with a shrug.
     "Coward," Starbuck returned.  He glanced back at the others. "Which
one of you set this up?"
     "I did," a feminine voice came from behind them, as Cassiopeia
joined them.
     "With my help," added Luana.  "Welcome to the Endeavour, Rhiamon. 
Ama."
     "Face it, Starbuck," said Ryan. "You're doomed.  Doomed, I tells
ya!"
     Dayton couldn't help but laugh as Starbuck abruptly affected that
trapped look, with females surrounding him from all sides, Ama and
Rhiamon on one side, and Luana and Cassiopeia on the other.  Yeah, the
kid would be bolting for the nearest exit in nano-seconds.  He had
managed to avoid Ama for almost a sectar by getting timely tips from
Chameleon, who was constantly at the necromancer's side, but his luck had
obviously run out.  Dayton placed a reassuring, but restraining hand on
Starbuck's shoulder as the four women drew nearer.
     "Med Tech Rhiamon, reporting for duty," the elderly Empyrean Healer
stated, her long grey hair tied back neatly off her face.  She smiled at
Starbuck, "I understand you're in need of my services.  Again."
     "Med tech?" Starbuck repeated disbelievingly, his voice strained. 
Oh, sure she had possibly saved his leg with a poultice when he had been
bitten by a venomous Crawlon on the planet Empyrean, but that was after
she had opened up one of his veins and bled him to "balance his humours"
while he was in four-point restraints.
     "When the recruitment call sounded throughout the Fleet, I decided
to answer it," Rhiamon replied.  "I've taken the intensive introductory
med tech course, and Cassiopeia has agreed to preceptor me through my
levels.  I'm now officially part of the crew." She smiled, and Starbuck
visibly shuddered.
     "Yes, Rhiamon's already proven herself gifted with natural remedies,
and Ama was telling me she also practises the ancient art of neural
stimulation by penetrating the nerve meridians with fine needles..."
Cassiopeia explained, her interest in the practice apparent, as she moved
to Dayton's side, tucking her hand into his elbow.
     "Needles?" Starbuck gasped, his mouth gaping like a piscon out of
water as he shrugged out of Dayton's grip and took another step back. 
"Look, I'm fine..." he shook his head, raising his hands before him
protectively, as though they could magically defend him against three
Empyreans and a Gemonese med tech...the kid didn't have a prayer.
     "Oh, stop your fussing," Ama admonished him.  "We're going to need
you in top shape for this mission, son of my heart.  You've been avoiding
me, and the entire medical profession long enough, Starbuck.  We had to
take matters into our own hands.  Tsk tsk."   
     "Commander Dayton, I'd appreciate it if you would order Captain
Starbuck into my care." Cassiopeia told him, smiling like a Cheshire cat. 
"According to my records, he's overdue by a sectar for his sectonly
treatments that Dr. Salik recommended on his release from the Galactica's
Life Station."
     "Naughty, naughty!" Ryan waved a finger at him while Baker clucked
his tongue and shook his head in disapproval.
     "Well, I'm sure Porter would be more than happy to escort Dorado to
his quarters.  Hmm?" Dayton replied.
     "Happy as a turkey the day before Thanksgiving," Porter smiled
tremulously, guiding Dorado towards the Core.  "See you around, Starbuck. 
And good luck."
     "Seems you're a tad tardy with your medical follow-up, Lightnote,"
Dayton grinned at the blond warrior, getting a perverse joy out of
Starbuck's obvious discomfiture.  "He's all yours, ladies."
     "That's Captain Lightnote to you, Dayton" Starbuck returned with a
growl as three of the four women whisked him away towards the Life
Station.
     "By the way, Commander Mark-Dayton," Ama took the Earthman's arm,
"Tell me about the spiritual representative for my Empyrean godchildren
and my dear warrior friend, Kella, while you're away from the Fleet for
the next six sectons."
     "Uh...er...well..." Dayton sputtered.  He wracked his brain. 
Certainly they had spiritual advisors in a variety of positions, much as
the military had back home, but none that he could think of at the moment
that were Empyrean.  Doubtless, Ama had an opinion on that.
     As she did with most things.
     "That's what I thought.  Fortunately, the Council is out of session
for the present, and I find myself at loose ends..."
     "Ama..." Dayton breathed, feeling as though he was the one now being
set up. None-too-pleasant memories of his first employer flashed across
his memory. 
     "Oh, don't thank me.  I'm happy to do my part," she chuckled through
her gap-toothed grin. "After all, I know my responsibilities, and you
don't know it yet, but you need me."
     "Well, I don't know about that..."
     "How could you?  I haven't explained it yet." She patted his cheek
tolerantly.  "And please, Mark-Dayton..." She smiled a smile that made
him feel as if he'd just been snookered.  Again.  "Please, don't concern
yourself about quarters.  I'll join the other women in the billet."
     "But..." he struggled for an argument, "You're a member of the
Council of the Twelve and the spiritual leader of your people, I can't
billet you...like a common warrior."
     "I did used to live in a cave, Dear Heart," she reminded him with a
smile. "With all the comforts and amenities that implies."
     "Like some feline predators in the wild..." he mentioned aside.
     "Exactly," she purred.

Chapter Two
 
     "Relax, Starbuck," Cassiopeia repeated with half an eye on the scan
she had completed, as she kneaded the muscles in his right shoulder,
coaxing out the knots that had taken up permanent residence.  Metrons
away, Rhiamon was opening an old-fashioned leather-bound satchel, and
removing a set of fine needles, making quite a show of placing them on a
treatment table where they caught the light and glinted evilly.  
     "Oh yeah, right," he murmured from the bio-stretcher in the Life
Station, where they obviously chilled the surfaces in preparation for
patient care.  "I'm face down, practically naked, and under orders by my
CO to have an Empyrean Healer drive needles into me. I'm...just
completely relaxed, Cassie. Like melted mushies."
     "It was sounding like every other day up until the needles," Cassie
quipped.
     He couldn't help but grin.  "Cute, Cass..." He glanced over at Lu,
who was laughing quietly, while keeping a careful watch for any possible
signs of his escaping.
     "How's the pain?" Cassiopeia asked, switching from the gentle
teasing to asking about his health history with an ease that came
naturally to her.  She moved her fingers about one centimetron to the
right.
     Starbuck sighed, capitulating now that he was finally in the Life
Station.  "It's more of a dull burning that never really goes away.  I
barely notice it anymore."
     "It's the numbness he really complains about, Cassiopeia," Luana
inserted.  "He says that he can't sleep on his right side, or even turn
his head too far that way without the tingling and numbness getting
worse."
     "That must make flying interesting," Cassie glanced at Starbuck. 
"What's your range of motion like?"
     "Not too bad.  I sit on the left," he shrugged.  "Dietra has the
right."
     "It's amazing what our bodies can get used to, or adapt to," she
offered, before asking, "Are you still using the analgesics?"
     "No."
     "Do you have any more?"
     "No."
     "Would you be using them if you had more?" she asked, continuing to
work his muscles as she probed him.
     He shrugged.
     "Why didn't you come get more?" Cassie paused. "If you need them..."
     "I haven't had time, and it really only bothers me at night."
     "The pain or the numbness?"
     "Both. It seems to stiffen up at night."  He paused, and then
grinned roguishly.  "The shoulder, I mean."
     Cassie cleared her throat.  "Every night?"
     "I guess.  I try not to dwell on it."
     "Seems pointless?" she asked.
     "Uh...yeah." The conversation seemed familiar, somehow. "Besides,
I've barely had time to sleep since we started refitting this tub,
Cassie.  We've all been way too busy to notice the little things."
     "Starbuck, have you been avoiding your follow-up appointments
because I've been the one running the Life Station until a physician is
assigned?" Cassiopeia asked point blank.
     "Sagan, Cass..." he muttered, since it had entered his own mind that
stripping down for his former lover, who was currently the love interest
of a man who had become almost like another father figure to him, as well
as his new commanding officer, while she massaged his body-which she had
done erotically more times than not, in the past-could be a little
uncomfortable.  
     Especially with Lu three metrons away, watching it all.
     "Just answer me, because if this is going to be a problem for you,
we'd better figure out a solution, and fast.  The Lords of Kobol know
that you're probably going to be one of my regulars." She winked at Lu,
then stepped back from him, brushing a stray lock of her golden hair back
from her forehead with the back of her hand.  "I suppose I could get
Rhiamon to permanently take you on as part of her workload..."
     "Now, wait just a centon!" Starbuck rolled over, hastily grabbing
the sheet that was covering him, as he sat up, dangling his legs over the
side of the bio-stretcher.  "Cass, I'm reasonably sure that I avoid all
med techs equally.  I don't play favourites; I'm what Dayton calls an
'equal opportunity avoider'.  This has nothing to do with you
personally."  At least if Rhiamon entered the equation, it didn't.  He
could wrap his mind around it if necessary.  He would try to think about
Torg, Bex, Sire Dracus, Sire Regus, being shot, being stabbed, crashing
his Viper...whatever else could fire the breaking thrusters on a young,
healthy, virile male body from reacting the usual physical way when a
beautiful woman started leaning over him, and massaging his aching
muscles, her hair tickling his back as it inadvertently played across his
naked flesh...
     She leaned forward, hands on her slender hips, her blue eyes
searching his.  "Felgercarb, flyboy.  You're avoiding me.  And putting
your health at risk because of it.  I won't tolerate it, Starbuck."
     "My health is fine."
     "Not according to Luana.  She says you only sleep four centars a
night, and even then you toss and turn because of your shoulder freezing
up.  Usually, she wakes up to find you've given up and have gone to the
Duty Office."  She smiled.  "If I mentioned that to Apollo, I'm sure he'd
recommend a psychiatric exam as well."
     Starbuck glowered at his wife.  "I'm just busy.  I have a lot to get
done, Cass.  The refit.  The new cadets.  The certifications on the new
ships.  Getting enough Empyrean ale for a six secton tour.  Sometimes it
takes a while to shut off my brain."
     "Praise the Lords, it used to take a while to turn it on," Cassie
rejoined, abruptly covering her mouth with her hand and looking surprised
that the words had passed her lips.  "Sorry.  I didn't mean that."
     "Uh...should I leave?" Luana asked, looking hesitantly between them.
     "No, of course not," Cassie reassured her, holding up a hand.
     "Look, if you two have something to work out, I don't mind stepping
out for a centon," Luana reiterated.  
     "Do we have something to work out?" Starbuck asked Cassiopeia,
wincing.
     "Why are you asking me?" she returned, crossing her arms over her
chest.
     That struck an old familiar chord.  "Because I'm usually the last to
know..."  
     "Okay!" Luana stepped forward.  "Now it's starting to sound like
some kind of lover's spat.  The problem being, you both have different
lovers now."  She glanced from one to the other.  "What's going on here?"
     "Okay, I'll admit it...it's a little uncomfortable for me to look
after Starbuck..." Cassie confessed, torn over wanting to be the
consummate professional, but obviously falling short of that with her
reaction to this particular Colonial Warrior.  It was disappointing both
professionally and personally.  He simply didn't deserve this much
consideration seven sectars after their break up.  "And I suppose I think
I should be able to get past it because...well, because I'm a
professional.  Or at least I'm supposed to act like one."
     "So I'm not the only one feeling a little awkward here?" Starbuck
ventured, letting out a deep breath.         
     "I'm a professional," she repeated a little desperately.
     "And I'm just the slack-jawed Viper jock..." he broke off, and the
irony was it hurt more to know he wouldn't fly a Viper again, than it did
to be having it out with Cassie.  To never be hurled through a launch
tube because he'd sustained far too many internal injuries that his body
simply couldn't take it...Lords, if the Endeavour and the Hybrids hadn't
come along, he would be flying a desk somewhere.  He rubbed his burning
shoulder, glancing at Rhiamon as she looked back at him, fondling her
current weapons of choice.  Compared to this conversation, it seemed a
welcome reprieve.  "Never thought I'd be saying this, but can we get this
over with?"
     "Of course," Rhiamon nodded.  "Just lie back down on your stomach,
and try to relax."
     "Yeah, right..." he murmured.  "Like melted mushies...about to be
devoured..."

----------

     Six sectons.
     That could almost be an eternity.  
     Apollo leaned back against the wall of the turbo lift, blowing out a
deep breath, rubbing his eyes, and shaking his head.  Where on Kobol had
he come up with the idea that his last few centars with Boxey could
possibly be happy ones, as father, son and trusty daggit squeezed in
whatever pleasures they could to make up for his upcoming absence? 
Instead of the idyllic scenario he had so wished for, it had been
emotionally draining, filled with tears, guilt and fear.
     Just like when you were a kid.
     His mother, Ila, had tried to normalize the inevitable partings,
attempting to create the same joyful departure for Adama that Apollo had
imagined so determinedly for himself and Boxey.  When the young warrior
really thought back to his own childhood-getting past the carefully
planned family outing, the departing hero's favourite dinner, and the
dutiful line up at the front door as the military hovermobile arrived to
whisk away Adama for yet another tour-he suddenly realized that his
family had a tradition of trying to turn a difficult and emotional
situation into some kind of artificially uplifting send off.
     He sniffed in self-derision.  He was only perpetuating the myth. 
Leaving your child behind was no occasion to celebrate.  It was merely a
professional necessity, born out of  his civilization's long standing
history of being at war.  He would have to make a concentrated effort
next time to find some kind of way to just "hang out" with his son, not
superimposing any kind of contrived, glucon-coated, impossibly gleeful
expectations on them both.  
     He glanced at the levels passing by on the control panel, then
narrowed his eyes as the side of the turbo lift seemed to ripple or
undulate.  A strange evanescent glow began to expand from a small slit,
projecting slowly outward.  Impossibly, solid metal was no longer solid. 
The whole bulkhead was shifting and mutating.  He held his breath,
bewildered as to what might be happening, at first wondering if the
recent emotional roller-coaster ride was making him lose it, and then
abruptly suspecting some kind of Empyrean involvement.  After all the
stories he had heard from Starbuck, this seemed to have Ama's signature
all over it.  He reached forward tentatively, to touch the surface.
     The turbo lift abruptly came to a stop, and with a suddenness that
startled him, the solid metal wall returned to normal.  He frowned, his
fingers lightly stroking the surface of the turbo lift.  Cold, hard
metal.  So bemused was he by the episode that he totally missed the fact
that Sheba was standing before him in the landing bay.
     "Was it that rough?" she asked, her tone concerned.
     "Huh?" Apollo asked, turning to regard her.
     "Boxey. How did it go?" Sheba asked, gently taking his hand and
leading him off the turbo lift, apparently assuming he was walking in a
fog. 
     He took one more look at the turbo lift wall, instinctively having a
bad feeling about this.  Either he was hallucinating, or there was some
Empyrean hocus-pocus at play.  Not surprisingly, one possibility was as
unappealing as the other.  "Where's Ama?"
     Sheba smiled tolerantly, looking around searchingly, before
returning her gaze to him.  "Sorry, I don't have my crystalline ball on
me.  You really don't want to talk about it, huh?"
     "What?" he murmured.  "Oh.  Right," he replied, abashed.  "Uh...it
was...tough on him.  Tough on both of us."
     Sheba nodded compassionately, and then looked around the busy launch
bay, finally sliding her arms around him.  "When are you due back aboard
the Endeavour?"
     "As if you didn't know," he replied knowingly.  Sheba knew his
schedule as well as he did, down to the micron and without the need for a
chrono. That was why they had managed to steal precious time together,
more than once, despite the increasing demands of their jobs.  His
shuttle was preparing to leave, and he could see Jolly standing by the
hatch, talking with Boomer, newly-minted strike captain of the Galactica. 
The two friends glanced in their direction, but were discretely giving
them a moment together.  Apollo sighed, pulling Sheba against him,
holding her tightly, knowing it would be their last opportunity for a
while.  "I love you."
     "I love you," she replied, burrowing into his chest.
     They didn't need to say anything else.  They had made sure that with
this inevitable parting that anything that needed discussing, had been
covered.  Sheba would make a concerted effort to spend some time with
Boxey, when her responsibilities allowed, trading off with Athena
whenever possible.  Slowly, she was becoming more and more present in the
young boy's life, slipping into his daily routine with greater frequency,
so as to become part of his growing circle of honorary family members.
     Apollo stroked Sheba's hair, and then pulled back slightly, tipping
up her chin and gazing into her eyes a long moment before tenderly
kissing her.  In a life with so much uncertainty, where by necessity
relationships came and went with a brutal suddenness, his bond with Sheba
was the one part of it that he knew was as solid as forged tylinium.  He
tilted his forehead against hers, smiling at her, before she reluctantly
pulled back.  Across the bay, a diplomatic cough made itself heard.
     Their time-far too short- was up.
     "Jolly's waiting.  You'd better get going," she murmured, slipping
an arm around him and steering him towards his shuttle.  
     "It'll go quickly," he replied, knowing that six sectons of putting
the Endeavour and her relatively greenhorn crew to the test, while
exploring an unknown region of space before them, all the time being on
the lookout for Cylons, and God knew who else, would pass by in the blink
of an eye...as the last three sectars had.
     "Apollo," Boomer stepped forward to greet him, his arm gripping the
colonel's in a warrior's grip.  
     Apollo grinned, returning the grip, and then tweaking the captain's
pin on his friend's collar.  "Looks good on you, buddy. And about time,
too."
     "Well, Starbuck and I knew we couldn't stay lieutenants forever, as
likely as that appeared at one point," Boomer rejoined with a smile.  "By
the way, tell him that I have a bone to pick with him.  Seems that the OC
is low on Empyrean Ale because he had every last available case loaded
from the Malocchio's storerooms onto a shuttle yesterday to stock up the
Endeavour.  And, I hear a few bottles of Proteus stock is unaccounted for
as well."
     Apollo chuckled.  "He's doubling as one of our many supply
officers...at least when it suits him."
     "We're in good hands on the Endeavour, knowing that his
godmother-in-law runs Empyrean Ale and Tobacconists," Jolly added.  
     "Well, considering you're dating Lia, Jolly, I'm beginning to worry
that the Galactica's supply line is about to totally dry up," Boomer
quipped. "One might die of thirst, one might."
     "Two might," Sheba inserted with a smirk, "You have a point, Boomer. 
We'll have to work on Ama to increase her output of ale while the
Endeavour is away.  After all, with Council out of session, she'll have
some spare time on her hands."
     "The Council out of session," said Boomer. "Well, I presume that
damage will be minimal." They all chuckled.
     "And Ama with spare time on her hands," Apollo frowned, thinking
back to the rippling wall of the turbo lift.  "Why does that worry me?"
     "Well, if it worries you," Jolly laughed heartily, "then imagine how
Starbuck would feel! After all, now she's family"  
     The others joined in his laughter.
      
----------

     She was beautiful.  Breathtaking.  Utterly like an angel, with an
effulgent, almost palpable radiance that yet seemed somehow ethereal. 
She was smiling at him, her face radiating an indescribable calm. 
Beckoning him forward.  Holding out her hand in sweet invitation.  It was
plain that she wanted him.  Desired him.  Longed to enfold him within
her.  And her glimmering eyes were giving him a "come hither" look that
the best-trained socialators across the universe could only strive to
emulate.  All he had to do was to rise up.  To reach out to her.  To take
her hand.   Just a step away from Paradise...
     But Lords of Kobol, Lu would skin him alive, using her own Empyrean
blade!  
     "Starbuck, life energy is the power by which any methods of healing
are truly accomplished."
     The words seemed to pull him physically and forcibly out of his
dream, as though he was being torn in two, and he gasped in a breath at
the violent upheaval.  Eerily, a moment later, he felt strangely bereft
and disoriented.  He looked around to reaffirm that he was actually in
the Endeavour's Life Station, before closing his eyes once again.  That's
what sleep deprivation will do to you, Bucko.  
     "Whether we speak of the skills of the ancient herbal healers, or
the most modern of medical techniques that Doctor Salik can bring to
bear, it is so.  Life energy is the force, the agent, which is the true
and direct healer of the body.  Thus, a healing art is superior or
inferior to the degree that it can 'awaken' the flow of life energy in
the body." Ama's voice seemed almost disembodied, flowing through him,
rather than coming from any definable source.  It filled him up...filled
the void that had been left from his dream...
     "Huh?" Starbuck muttered, his eyelids fluttering open reluctantly in
the dimly lit treatment room as he lay propped on his left side, three
separate pillows supporting him.  It was comfortable.  No, come to think
of it, it was damn comfortable.  More comfortable than he'd been in
sectars, actually.  Of course, if he slept this way every night, there'd
be no room for Lu..."Do you want to run that by me again?" 
     "Which part?" asked Ama, leaning over him suddenly, looking into his
eyes.
     Meanwhile, Rhiamon gently removed the needles which she had
carefully inserted, and replaced them with heavy hot packs.
     "Everything after 'Starbuck'," he replied with a long sigh.  His
shoulder felt strangely cool and numb, even beneath the delicious heat. 
It was as though the comforting feeling was coming from within him,
rather from any other external source.  But that could only be Empyrean
gobbledygook that he had absorbed after spending all this time with Lu,
Lia and Ama.
     "Hmm.  Fortunately, Starbuck, one does not have to understand the
flow of energy within one's self for it to occur." Ama smiled in
amusement, gently trailing her fingertips over his face, and he closed
his eyes instinctively.  She slowed slightly, as she passed down the
centreline of his nose, then continued on.  "Rest now, my Prince."
     "I'm not..." he began to murmur, once again finding it necessary to
remind another Empyrean that Luana had abdicated her title, and all that
went with it, and that he was not interested in any part of the Empyrean
power structure, up to and including the throne. Instead, his words
trailed off wearily, as he found it increasingly difficult to keep
impossibly heavy eyelids open.  This time when he began to drift off, the
woman in his dreams was Luana.
     "Shush now.  Rest."

----------

     "What do you have?" Apollo asked without introduction, as he stepped
through the hatchway into the Control Centre.  He'd barely arrived back
from the Galactica, when he'd been called here.  He glanced at the
monitor, then back up at the speaker.  
     "We are receiving a signal at Phi Seven Mark Four, ahead of the
Fleet, Colonel Apollo," the IL, Malus, informed him.  He put the scanner
graphic up on the board, and pointed towards the region in question.  It
was well to port of the Fleet's current heading, and almost at the edge
of their scanner range. 
     "Origin?" Apollo asked, as Malus inserted a digit into the
Endeavour's computer system, bypassing the need to access data the
"old-fashioned" way.  The cadet at that station glanced at the IL,
anxiously awaiting an answer.  The IL's eyes stopped oscillating for a
moment, and the flashing of his brain sped up.
     "Unknown," Malus replied after a moment, his "lights" returning to
normal.  Had he been Human, he might have sounded...disappointed. "It
reads more as a natural energy wavelon, than any recognized form of
artificial transmission, either Cylon or Human, Colonel."  Malus "flipped
a switch" internally, and put the signal on audio.  It was an oscillating
hiss, almost a whistle, coming through massive static. "Interestingly,
the signal fluctuates in intensity."
     Then, the speaker went silent. 
     "Colonel, the signal just disappeared," Cadet Sagaris told him.
     "Try and re-establish, Cadet."
     "Sir," said the other.  He tried for almost a full centon, but the
speaker stayed silent. "No good, sir.  Nothing there at all, now."
     "Very well.  Dump it to the computer for crypto.  Copy to Sergeant
Komma on the Galactica.  And check with Rigel, and see if they picked it
up, as well."
     "Sir," replied Sagaris.
     "Malus?" Apollo asked. The IL was busily studying the scanner data.
     "Yes, it is gone.  For now anyhow," Malus confirmed, actually
nodding slightly. "Odds are, it will be back, Colonel Apollo. Especially
if it is a natural phenomenon."
     Apollo smirked, recognizing one of Starbuck's oft-used phrases. 
"Cadet Pierus, get me the Galactica.  And have Commander Dayton and
Captain Starbuck report to the Bridge...Command Centre."
     "Will we be investigating the origin of the energy wavelons,
Colonel?" Malus asked. He actually sounded excited at the prospect of
exploring this new mystery, which wasn't surprising after over a
centi-yahren of abandonment on Planet 'P', after the IL's Base Ship had
been struck by a solar storm and had never returned to pick him and his
troops up. Apollo couldn't help but laugh within, but kept his expression
solidly neutral.
     "That's up to Commander Adama, but coincidentally we are scheduled
to ship out later today, at 1800 centars, and head for that very
quadrant," Apollo returned.  "It would make sense." He looked at the
scanners again. What little they had been able to determine was
maddeningly tenuous, and could be interpreted in any of a number of ways.
The energy signatures resembled a supernova explosion to some extent, yet
did not seem powerful enough to be an exploding star. Some planetary
bodies acted as natural radio sources, yet the fluctuations seemed, at
least to his untrained ear, as if they could be modulated. 
     "Yes, Apollo?" said Adama, suddenly on screen, just as Dayton and
Dorado entered.  But not Starbuck...
     "Commander, did you pick up the energy..." Apollo began, looking at
his father on screen.
     "The energy wavelons, yes," Adama replied, his gaze drawn away, and
a frown crossing his brow.  "In fact, Apollo, we're getting another..."
     "Colonel, it's another signal!" Cadet Sagaris cried. 
     "Origin?" said Apollo.
     "We're practically on top of it, sir. This one is from within the
Fleet!"
     "Call an Alert!" Apollo told him, the klaxon blaring a moment later,
warning all pilots to standby.
     "What's going on?" Dayton demanded, as he crossed to the main
station with Dorado on his heels.  He leaned over Cadet Sagaris'
shoulder.  "What the hell is it?"
     "A fluctuating energy wavelon of unknown origin, appearing first in
quadrant Psi," Apollo pointed to the navigation board, "And now there's
an identical signal, only it's coming from within the Fleet. Trace the
origin!" Apollo ordered. 
     "That's impossible," Dayton muttered.  "There's no way something can
travel that fast, even with the hyperdrive flat out. It has to be two
separate occurrences!  Malus?"
     "Energy levels are indeed different, Commander, but the frequency
and wavelon configurations are unquestionably the same," the IL replied.
He put a graphic of the current signal up on a screen, and that of the
earlier one next to it. The correlation was almost one to one. "And it is
worth mentioning that had the massive energy wavelons not been identified
centons ago, we might not have even detected these smaller ones."
     "Colonel Apollo, we're having trouble locking on the signal," Cadet
Pierus informed him.
     "Why?" asked Dorado.
     "It's too close," replied Pierus. "Like staring into a high-powered
illuminator."
     "Keep trying," ordered Apollo.
     "Yes, sir. But it's still fluctuating."
     "Is it looking for something?" Dayton suggested.
     "Like a scanner?" Apollo asked, furrowing his brow.
     "Yeah. Like a cell phone." 
     "A what?"
     Dayton explained. "The phone sends out a signal, until a compatible
tower recognizes it and locks on."
     "Like our Fleet Comm Line."
     "Yeah. Pretty much," answered Dayton.
     "I'm not reading a single ship out there, Apollo!" Dorado told him,
suddenly manning a station beside another of the cadets.  "Other than
those of the Fleet!"
     "Is it even a threat to us?" Malus posed.  "It may be some natural
phenomena in this quadrant." He plugged back into the system, running the
real-time signal through his processors.
     "Galactica?" Dayton asked.
     "We can't lock on the signal either, Commander Dayton," Adama
replied.  "The source is still unknown; therefore, we can't rule out that
it might be a threat to us.  Get me Commander Cain, Omega.  Standby,
Endeavour."
     "Standing by, Galactica."
     Just then Starbuck lurched into the Control Centre, his tunic
undone, and a flight jacket slung over his shoulder.  His right eye was
almost shut, and his hand was pressed to that side of his head, his wan
face a mask of pain.  "Phoenix and Sphinx Squadrons are standing by," he
grunted.  "What have we got?"
     "What the frack happened to you?" Apollo asked, watching his friend
shrug into the jacket. 
     "The Empyreans," Starbuck returned bluntly, joining him at the
control panel.  "My head is going supernova, but my shoulder feels much
better."
     "Remind me never to hurt my shoulder," muttered Dayton, sparing
Starbuck a quick glance.  Dorado snorted a short laugh.
     "So the headache is a side affect of the neural stimulation
treatment?" Malus asked.
     "Odds were two hundred to one, in case you were wondering, Mal,"
Starbuck nodded, and then winced with the motion. They saw Malus' brain
speed up, a sure sign the IL was calculating. "Never mind all that now,
what's going on?"
     Apollo briefly explained the situation.
     "Nothing like a command challenge to get us started," Starbuck
frowned, looking at the readouts of the signals being digitally dissected
on the computer by Malus. "Well, Mal?"
     "I'm afraid my understanding of such anomalies is rather limited. 
I've traditionally dealt more in the practical and concrete, rather than
the conceptual."
     "Well then, let me have a go," Ama suggested as she breezed into the
Control Centre as if she owned it, Lia and Luana on her heels.  "I do
have some experience in the area, and you brought me here as a spiritual
advisor, after all."
     "Councilwoman Ama, this is a secure military area, you're not
supposed to be here." Dayton attempted politely, yet assertively, as he
stepped in front of her.
     "Now, don't get your knickers in a knot, Mark-Dayton," she stopped
before him, poking one index finger into his chest.  "I'm not just
interfering for the sake of being a busybody.  I'm quite certain that I
have connected with this entity this very morning."
     "Entity?" Apollo asked.  
     "A life force quite unlike our own, Colonel.  Yet, a life force all
the same," Ama nodded.
     Apollo glanced at Starbuck, searchingly.
     "Don't look at me.  They didn't cover this at the Academy," his
strike captain replied, raising his hands, then looking to his wife and
sister-in-law. 
     "Hear her out, Starbuck," Lia implored him, and then added, "Please,
Commander Dayton."
     "You speak of a spirit, Ama?" Malus asked, his lights flashing more
quickly. This promised to be interesting.  Being both a machine, and from
a totally non-theistic society, Malus had little data on incorporeal
entities, other than what he had gleaned while in the Fleet.  Trying to
incorporate Human beliefs into his programming, in this case especially,
was challenging.  Even the concept was difficult for him, until Dayton
had once described it as thinking of software, without the computer. 
"Fascinating."
     "Of course, Malus."
     "Good or bad?" Dayton asked.
     "Well, I've yet to meet a spirit totally devoid of goodness or
light," Ama replied.  "Although there is one out there that I've felt on
occasion..." She shuddered, almost imperceptibly, before adding, "But
overall, I'd say this entity didn't exactly leave me with a warm, fuzzy
feeling.  Oh..." She drew in a deep breath, raising her hands while
simultaneously closing her eyes.  "She's coming..." she breathed.
     "She?" Starbuck repeated, watching the readouts on the computer
spike sharply as it picked up an enormous energy wavelon.
     "Can you trace it?" Dayton asked. "This thing is pegging the metre."
     "No, sir," Sagaris replied, shaking his head helplessly as he tried
to do just that, as well as figure out the Earthman's idiom. "I don't
understand why we can't get a lock on it."
     "Because we can't calibrate it," Apollo replied.  "We have no
standard to compare it to."
     "How can our limited technology be expected to align with something
spiritual in nature?" Ama intoned, before her head jolted back as if she
had been hit, and her eyes snapped open.  "The Prison Barge.  Check the
Prison Barge."
     "The Prison Barge?" Apollo echoed in confusion. 
     "Scanning now," Dorado told them, nodding as his fingers flew over
controls that he hadn't handled for three sectars, with an instinctive
familiarity.  "I'm not reading anything out of the ordinary."
     "Open a line with the Prison Barge," Dayton ordered. 
     Apollo glanced at the Earthman, but said nothing. Then the speaker
went silent once more.
     "The signal is gone again, Commander," Sagaris reported helpfully,
as they all watched the energy spike level out.  "It only lasted...ten
point eight microns."
     Dayton nodded briefly, his eyes searching the scanner for any signs
of a reoccurrence.  Hoping...
     "Commander, I have Captain Elgan of the Prison Barge on the comm,"
Pierus told him, and then spoke into his headset.  "Go ahead, Captain."
     "Captain Elgan here." His voice was brisk.  Distracted.
     "Captain, we've detected a large energy wavelon of undetermined
nature, that appears to have been concentrated at your position. 
Report," Dayton requested.
     "Lord Sagan," Elgan sputtered.  "Could that have anything to do
with...?"
     "Captain?" Dayton snapped expectantly, waiting.
     "It's Baltar," Elgan replied.
     "What's Baltar?" replied Dayton, wondering what the Traitor of
Colonial Humanity was up to now.
     "Security just reported in, Commander.  He's escaped."


Chapter Three

     "I really can't explain it, Commander Adama," Captain Elgan
reported, shaking his head as he regarded the image of the Fleet
Commander from the Bridge of the Prison Barge.  "Impossible as it sounds,
we've searched every millimetron of the Prison Barge, and checked all the
surveillance feed, including the airlock logs, with no results.  There's
no sign of Baltar.  One centon he was confirmed as secure in his cell,
and the next he was gone without a trace."
     Adama let out a long sigh, his frustration at the impossible
situation barely contained.  "Where could he go, Captain?  There were no
ships launched from the Prison Barge...None logged as being in the
area...Recorded telemetry comes up blank...He has to be aboard,
somewhere."
     "Commander, I tell you, he's gone," Elgan repeated, his own voice
betraying his aggravation.  "Look at the vid feed yourself. Your Bridge
should have received it by now.  It simply shows him standing in his
cell, and then...disappearing!"
     Adama frowned, turning to study the surveillance vid for the tenth
time.  It showed Baltar, first sitting on the bench in his cell, then
rising to his feet. He appeared to be speaking, though no one was
visible, his features curious, then almost radiant, as he began to reach
out in thin air for something that nobody could identify.  Then he simply
vanished.  "Croft?" Adama asked his executive officer.
     "My first thought is to check with the Prison Barge's Security,
Commander, just to confirm all data," Croft replied, leaning over the
console that displayed the recording on a loop setting.  His hand stroked
his jaw, his fingers running idly over the scar under his left eye. 
"Surveillance can be tampered with, images superimposed.  I agree with
you. Baltar has to be somewhere aboard, in hiding, just waiting for some
opportunity...most likely previously arranged.  We have to be vigilant. 
We can't let down our guard.  That's what he's waiting for."
     Adama nodded.  "Send the vid feed to Corporal Komma, and have him
analyse it.  If anybody can detect whether or not it's been tampered
with, it'll be him."
     "Yes, sir," Croft nodded.  "I'll have Boomer shuttle over, just to
look things over."
     "Agreed," Adama nodded, not missing the irony that Boomer had been
on a shuttle with Baltar the last time the Traitor of Humanity had tried
to escape.  That time his plan had been thwarted, although the Borellian
Nomen and Eastern Alliance officers in league with him had made good
their escape. An outcome that still rankled, he had to admit.
     "Commander," said a voice.  Adama turned.
     "Yes?"
     "Commander Cain standing by, Commander, on the Fleet Comm Line"
Omega reported from his station.
     "Put him through," Adama turned as his old friend's image came up on
screen.  
     "Adama, we're picking up another energy surge at Psi Seven Mark
Four," Cain reported.  "Those are the same coordinates the original
signal came from.  The Pegasus needs a good run to blow the space dust
out of her energizer..."
     "Negative, Cain." Adama shook his head, smiling slightly, as Cain
instinctively tried to manoeuvre his Battlestar back into the "field",
before the Endeavour.  "Commander Dayton is ready to ship out, we'll
simply move his departure up by a few centars..."
     "Adama, as a gesture of courtesy, perhaps we should assign the
Earthman to something a little more...predictable," Cain returned, trying
to be diplomatic.  Then he smiled.  "Lord Sagan alone knows what this
thing is, and you and I both know, he's not going to tell us." 
     The method was familiar, but subtler than the days before the
Juggernaut had had his stroke.  A suggestion.  Some humour.  Subtle
coercion.  The great warrior had been humbled somewhat when he had found
himself looking at life as a handicapped civilian, after his injuries
sustained during a battle with the Cylons.  "Cain, the Prison Barge still
can't find any trace of Baltar.  If somehow while he was on that Base
Ship that we destroyed over Planet 'P'..." Adama's voice trailed off, as
he began to wonder if this signal was of Cylon origin.  He exchanged a
brief glance with Croft.
     "You're wondering if somehow Baltar has been communicating with the
Cylons?" Cain voiced the concern aloud.  He grinned.  "How?  By banging
his head against the hull?  No, he has to be still aboard, Adama.  We'll
find the mong-raker.  My gut is telling me that this signal is something
else.  Something we haven't come across before."
     "Regardless, if that signal is of Cylon origin, then the Endeavour
is better equipped to handle it.  And, even if it isn't, I don't believe
Commander Dayton would appreciate any gestures of courtesy, any more than
you or I would," Adama returned pointedly.  "He's more than capable of
dealing with this, Cain."
     "I hope you're right, Adama," Cain returned with a frown.  "Cain
out."
     It was a departure from the straight forward shakedown cruise that
they had been planning for the Endeavour, but assigning the Pegasus to
investigate the long-range signal when the Covert Operations Ship was
positioned to ship out, would be no less than a slap in the face, and a
vote of no confidence in Dayton's abilities as a leader. 
     "Omega, get me Commander Dayton." 
     "Right away, Commander."

----------
 
     Baltar felt as though he had been turned inside out, and then right
side in again, several times, as though once wasn't enough.  Stabbing
pains shot through his head, making him see stars.  Nausea washed over
him in waves, causing his stomach to convulse, and the acrid taste of
bile to clear the back of his throat.  His head hurt, his guts hurt...as
a matter of fact, everything hurt.  From his toenails to his hair.  He
coughed, moaning in discomfort, and wiping at his runny nose, as he spat
the vile liquid onto the cold, damp ground that he had collapsed on.
     Ground?
     "He looks well enough...sort of," a harsh, craggy voice murmured
from the darkness. 
     "And you, Caradoc?  How do you feel?" another asked, closer by.
     "Well enough.  I'd say it's safe, Eirys.  There were no adverse
effects on my part.  I'd say the Doublewalker that crosses realms is the
one who feels the effects."
     "I had to be sure, Caradoc.  It was brave of you to volunteer,
General."
     "I pledged my life to King Byrne, and to his sons.  It is nothing. 
Now let's get a look at him.  I'm curious."
     "I hope you won't be disappointed."
     Baltar opened his eyes, as rough hands turned him over, positioning
him on his back.  He groaned again, pressing his hand to his throbbing
head, and trying to focus.  What little he could see was spinning, only
making him feel worse.  There had been an intense light that had blinded
him while his body was wracked with pain, and this subsequent gloomy
nightfall took a few moments to adjust to.  He closed his eyes, hoping
the misery would abate.  "Where am I?  Who are you?  What happened?" he
demanded in a shaky voice.  
     "By Llyr, he looks just like me!  Well, before..." Caradoc grunted.
     "Like you, but less magnificent somehow, General Caradoc.  Smaller? 
Softer?  Less hairy, certainly," Eirys added.
     The resulting laughter grated on Baltar's nerves, especially
considering the subject matter.  "How dare you mock me?  You...you..."
his mouth dried to dust as the spots before his eyes began to clear, and
he found himself regarding two of the ugliest Beings he had ever seen
before.  About a metron and a half in height, with long, dark, coarse
hair sticking out in every direction, much of it coming from the long,
pointed, bumpy noses on their hideous faces, they looked like the Trolls
from the grim tales that were told to children in his day.  Short, stubby
arms and legs were covered in ragged clothes, and a layer of grime
completed the ensemble.  "Dear God..."
     "What is your name, Doublewalker?" the slightly smaller troll asked
him as she-at least he presumed it was a "she" with the tattered skirts
it wore-tucked something into her skirt.
     "Doublewalker?" he asked, as he looked around.  He appeared to be in
some kind of underground passageway.  The walls were wet and dripping,
and torches provided the woefully insufficient light.  Somehow the fact
that he was no longer in a cell on the Prison Barge seemed overshadowed
by his current circumstances.  "What's a Doublewalker?"
     "A twin spirit, of course," she replied, as though he was a little
bit dense.  She looked at her companions, and shook her head.  "Your
name, Doublewalker?"
     "Baltar," he allowed, trying to digest the information.  As unlikely
as it seemed, these Beings obviously believed that he and the grotesque
little troll were somehow associated, but he wasn't about to argue with
them in such a vulnerable position.  "How did I come to be here? 
Wherever here is..."  Perhaps any moment now he would awaken from this
strange dream.
     "I brought you here," the female replied.  "I am Eirys."  She
straightened to her full height, pausing as if for effect.  "A great and
powerful Sorceress."
     "You?" Baltar replied, managing to get a distinct note of derision
into his tone.  He seriously doubted she was a great and powerful
anything.  Maybe he'd eaten something he shouldn't have, and was
suffering the consequences?  "How?  Why?"
     "To see if you'd survive," she replied matter-of-factly.  
     "Wha...say that again," Baltar gulped. His delivery to this place
had been some kind of...test.  But in preparation for what? 
     "Crossing realms is complicated, Baltar.  I was unsure you'd
survive," Eirys shrugged.  "I'm pleased that you did, though."
     The Traitor of Humanity digested that a moment.  "Your concern is
overwhelming."
     "What do we do with him now that he has survived?" Caradoc asked
testily.
     "Well, you have a vested interest in keeping him alive, if the
legends are true," Eirys replied.  "Besides, I don't know if I can send
him back, thus we'd best keep him with us, lest he fall into the hands of
the Cylons."
     "Cylons?" Baltar's head shot up, and he instantly regretted it. 
Once more, his vision swam, and his stomach threatened to betray him. 
"There are Cylons here?"
     "You know of the Cylons?" Caradoc snapped, grabbing Baltar by his
tunic, pulling him to his knees with surprising strength, and menacing
him with a dagger at his throat.  At that point Baltar realized that a
musky scent that had been invading his senses, adding to his discomfort,
was actually coming from these creatures.
     "Oh, I know all about the Cylons," Baltar nodded, beginning to feel
the tides turning in his favour.   He pushed the blade casually aside. 
"Are they friend or foe to you?"
     "They are the sworn enemy of the Angylions," Caradoc sneered,
letting go of the man.  "They have savaged our world, enslaved our
people.  How do you know them?"
     "They savaged my world too.  Murdered my people."  His tone rose
dramatically.  They stood by in rapt attention as Baltar climbed to his
feet, a hand on the cavern wall for support.  He towered over them. 
"They brought our civilization to its knees, and forced the remnants of
our society to flee for our very lives, on an exodus across the universe. 
Still, they hunt us like animals!"  He let out a deep forced breath,
covering his face from their view for a moment, before rubbing his eyes
wearily.  Then he continued more quietly. "By necessity and circumstance,
I managed to single-handedly infiltrate their defences...trying to regain
some advantage for my people..." Baltar paused as they looked at him
curiously.
     "You are also a great general, Baltar?" Eirys asked, looking between
him and Caradoc, exploring the parallels of their lives.
     "A commander and bureautician.  I once sat upon the Council of the
Twelve, our people's ruling body, and commanded my own ship of war," he
offered.  "A high distinction amongst my people." Then he frowned,
considering his words carefully as he drew on his lifelong skills as an
orator.   "It's a long story, which I'm sure you would find tedious. 
Suffice it to say, I know how they think...how they're programmed to
react to a situation.  I know their weaknesses."  He smiled tentatively,
ignoring the throbbing at the back of his head.  "If the Cylons are your
enemy, I would offer my services as your ally." He bowed slightly.  It
was so much better than any number of alternatives that might involve
being the slave, prisoner, or evening snack of a race of trolls.
     "Why would you do that?" Caradoc asked. He took no pains to conceal
his obvious scepticism.
     "If I am truly your...twin spirit...your Doublewalker, as you call
it...then it seems natural to me that we should be allies," Baltar raised
his eyebrows enquiringly.  If he could manage to deceive the Quorum of
Twelve, and the likes of President Adar and Commander Adama, then surely
he could bamboozle these crude and backward Beings.  "Especially since we
share the same disdain for the Cylons.  Or am I mistaken?"
     "In truth, this is the first time I have endeavoured to bring a
Doublewalker to Morlais," Eirys admitted.
     "Morlais?" Baltar asked, vaguely wondering what had happened to
necessitate them bringing him here.  Patience.  All will be revealed in
due time.  "Where is Morlais?  Which star system?"
     "I cannot answer that.  I do not know how," Eirys replied.  "I can
only tell you that in the vastness of the Infinite, that your people
exist in one realm, and mine in another.  The Nonentity separates us."
     "The Nonentity?" Baltar asked, sensing the reverence with which they
referred to this place. "I know of no such...place. What is it?"
     "The place of Mystics."
     "Mystics?" Baltar tried to understand.  "Who are the Mystics?"
     "I sense that your society is very backward, Baltar," Carodoc
opined.
     "General," Eirys raised a hand.  "Remember, we have removed this
Being from all that is familiar to him.  His world may be as different
from ours as Odreds are from Angylions.  But he knows about our enemies,
and in return, he has offered to be our ally against the Cylons.  Have a
little patience."
     "A little patience is all I have left," muttered Caradoc.  "The
Cylons and that Mystic, Iblis, have taken everything else from me.  A
pestilence upon them all!"
     It took all the self-control that he had to contain Baltar's
surprise.
     Iblis!

---------	

     May the Lords of Kobol be with you.
     Adama's final words after delivering Dayton's orders, resonated with
him still.  The new Colonial commander took a deep breath, his excitement
barely contained, and turned in the Control Centre to address his crew. 
"Okay boys and girls, we just got our orders from the Grand Poobah, and
we're shipping out. Time to fire up the boilers." 
     This was it!  All their efforts and hard work finally realized!  The
Endeavour's shakedown cruise was about to begin, and it wasn't just a
pleasure cruise around the galaxy, but a mission with a purpose!  He had
half expected the venerable commanding officer of the Battlestar
Galactica to give Cain this mission, when these strange energy wavelons
were detected.  But to Dayton's surprise, his arguments on his own
behalf, and that of his crew, hadn't even had to be voiced.  Then again,
the fact that Adama's son was his executive officer, and his hasty
mention of Ama detecting the energy wavelons before their own scanners
had, might have tipped the scale in their favour.  He forced back the
unmanly giggle of joy that was threatening to burble forth, out of
control.  
     "Grand who?" Malus asked.
     "Poobah. Vernacular for The Chief.  The Great and All-Powerful.  The
Big Cheese." Malus just looked at him, in that annoying way. "Okay?  File
that under Earth culture, and cross reference both opera and the
Flintstones, Il Faro." He paused to slap a hand on Ensign Vesta's
shoulder. "Lay in the course.  Our heading, Ensign, will be Psi Seven
Mark Four."
     "Psi Seven Mark Four," echoed Vesta from navigation. Her fingers
moved across her board with a fluid quickness. "Course laid in and on the
board, sir."
     "Commander," Apollo inserted, walking to the navigation station. 
"Instead of taking a direct route, why don't we veer off from the Fleet
first?"
     "So if we do come across Cylons, or any other bad guys, a straight
vector won't lead them right back here," Dayton nodded, feeling idiotic
for not thinking of it himself.   The fact that Apollo thought of it
kicked the other up another notch in his estimation. 
     "Not only that, but if this...energy source can scan us, it could
have already identified an Abaddon-class Base Ship in the Fleet.  If
we're approaching them from another vector, then they might not associate
us as connected with the Fleet. At least not right away."
     "Good point," Dayton frowned, nonplussed that there was the
potential that they'd already lost their greatest advantage over the
Cylons, the element of surprise that it was Humans manning this Cylon
capital ship. They might as well do it now. "Course correction. Tau Nine
Mark Sixty, Negative.          
     "Tau Nine Mark Sixty, Negative, Commander," replied Vesta.
     "Malus, I want three consecutive coarse corrections in the next
centar, to get us to that energy source. Without dropping out of warp...I
mean lightspeed, to do so."
     "Any particular interval, Commander?" the IL asked.
     "As random as possible, " Dayton added. "No sense in making it easy
for anyone who might be behind that energy wave. Now," he turned to look
at the vast collection of people amassed there.  Dorado wasn't even on
duty yet, Ama clearly didn't belong there, Lia and Luana weren't even
assigned to the Bridge, Porter, Baker and Ryan looked like they were
going to break out the pompoms, and Starbuck, in particular, was
beginning to turn a nasty shade of green, which wasn't an approved
Command colour, at least not in this man's military.  "Anybody without
clearance, or not actually on duty here, can get off my Bridge, or suffer
the consequences."  He tried not to smile. 
     "Does that mean I have to go to my room, Dad?" said Ryan, as
respectful as ever of discipline and the chain of command.
     "With a spanking, and without supper, yes," replied Dayton, neither
looking at him nor missing a beat. "And you, Vanilla Bean, get yourself
back to the Life Station, and get something for that migraine before you
puke all over my shiny, new, and recently updated circuitry."
     "That's Captain..." Starbuck murmured, his eyes at half-mast, and a
hand cupping his eye as though he was protecting it somehow.  He winced
with the effort of speaking. 
     "Captain Vanilla Bean," Dayton amended his order, moving to put a
hand on the young man's shoulder.  "And hey, not to be needling you, you
understand," Starbuck snorted on cue, "but if I was you, I'd stay away
from those acupuncture treatments, kid.  They don't seem to agree with
you."
     "Listen Old Man, you're the one who ordered me..." the strike
captain attempted, as Lu slipped an arm around him.
     "Yeah, yeah, yeah..." Dayton gave him a gentle push towards the
hatchway.  "Suck it up, buttercup.  You were in trouble up to your
seventy's retro hair style with these Empyreans long before I ever came
along."
     "He has a point, Bucko," Apollo reminded him.  
     "With friends like you two," Starbuck murmured, as he was led away
by his wife and sister-in-law, with an Empyrean Necromancer determinedly
bringing up the rear, "who needs Cylons?"
     "A question that has confounded philosophers and thinkers throughout
the ages," Ama posed.
     "Well, if you really want to examine that issue, I'm sure we could
reassemble a centurion or two," smiled Dayton. 
     "Hey, don't put yourself out...on my account," replied Starbuck, his
voice increasingly tremulous.  Dayton, in turn, curled a lip at him, and
pointed towards the Core. "Okay, okay, I'm going."
     "Do you need further assistance, Starbuck?" Malus asked, turning
towards the warrior.  "I know that Human females are rather weak, and
unlikely to be helpful in the event that you fall ill."
     "What do you want to do, Mal?  Carry me?" Starbuck muttered,
reigning in Luana as she harrumphed in annoyance, and then turned towards
the IL threateningly.
     "I would consider it an honour," Malus volunteered, his lights
flashing with pleasure.  Too much pleasure.  "You know that I would do
anything within my abilities..."
     Starbuck abruptly raised a hand, his hand now visibly shaking.  "No,
no.  I'm fine.  I'm sure you're needed on the Bridge.  Right, Day...uh,
Commander?"
     "Right.  Heel, Malus." Dayton replied.  That cyborg was far too
concerned about their fair-haired strike captain, and had been curiously
drawn to Starbuck since their first meeting.  It had been cybernetic love
at first byte, or more likely, a glitch in one of the IL's systems.  "Now
get out of here, Starbuck, or I'll carry you to the Life Station,
myself."
     "Aye, sir."
     Yeah, the kid pretty much had to be suffering to be calling him
"sir".  Dayton glanced conspiratorially at Ama, knowing by her quick nod
that she would attend Starbuck, making sure he actually arrived in the
infirmary.  "Okay, now, let's get this show on the road. 
Communications."
     "Sir?" replied Cadet Pierus.
     "Inform the Foundry Ship that we are ready for plugs out."  The
young man just looked at him, brows furrowing.  "We are ready to detach."
     "Aye, sir.  Foundry Ship replies all tethers and umbilical lines
detaching."
     "Engineering?" Dayton turned to Ensign Xochiquetzel, her eager young
face looking up at him expectantly.  Now this kid really needed a
nickname!
     "All umbilical lines detached.  Confirmed." There were green lights
across the board. "We are now one one-hundred percent internal power."
     "Excellent.  Helm, manoeuvring thrusters at twenty-five. Take us
out."
     "Thrusters aye, sir."
     Slowly, the Endeavour began to move away from the Foundry Ship, as
her thrusters fired.  Gradually, she gained momentum, as her power rose. 
She arced away from the Fleet, continuing to gain speed, switching over
to her main reactors, till the other ships, including both Battlestars,
were but small lights in her wake.
     "We are clear of all Fleet traffic, Commander," reported Sagaris.
"All scanners at maximum sweep ahead."
     "Very good."  Inside, Dayton was about to burst, as he realized this
was the moment. He would actually get to say it!  "Helm. Lightspeed, now.
Maximum factor."
     William Shatner would be so proud!
     "Lightspeed, now," reported the Helmsman.  With the bleep of a few
buttons, and a rising throb from the decks, the Endeavour surged ahead,
becoming a smear of light, and tearing a hole in space.  "We are now in
lightspeed, Commander.  Speed is at Factor one point five, and
accelerating."
     "Good." Dayton studied the instruments.  Their speed was curving up
nicely, and all ship's systems were in the green, everything exactly as
expected.  "When we get to maximum safety cruising speed, keep us there."
     "Yes, sir."
     "And I want updated ETA's at the source of the signal, updated every
half hou...centar."
     "Yes, sir."
     "Commander?" asked Malus. Dayton turned to the IL.
     "Yeah?"
     "What does 'heel' mean?"  

----------

     In the Central Computer Room of the Battlestar, Komma was hard at
work on the data sent over from the Prison Barge.  He ran it several
times, before determining that it had not been altered in any way that he
could detect.  This data was clean.  He began by applying a variety of
filters to the images.  No results.  He hmm'd a few times, then broke it
up into its constituent wavelons, running each one separately through the
Buffered Telemetry Demodulator several times.  Nothing!  Shape to shade
algorithms. Nothing.  Conversion to 3-D.  Nothing.  Image-plane
multidither sensing to obtain wavefront-correction control signal...
     Damn!  This was getting frustrating!  There had to be something!  A
man did not just vanish in plain sight.  Things connected, and this was
entirely without...
     Or was it?  He suddenly remembered a bizarre energy pattern that he
had seen cross his instruments earlier.  At first, he'd shrugged it off
as one of the things one runs across in space.  Random, phantom
electrical interference, usually meaningless.  Talk about grasping at
straws!  But, if he was right...
     "Holy Sagan's socks!" he muttered, as the data scrolled up his
screen. "No way!" But it was...He ran it five more times, just to be
certain.  He shook his head, swallowing, not quite sure how he would
summarize his conclusions for the Fleet commander.  He reached for the
telecom.
     "Bridge? Commander Adama please!"  

----------
 
     This was unbelievable!  Starbuck's shoulder felt the best it had
been in sectars, but the front of his head was going to explode at any
moment.  Each step he took towards the Life Station was debilitating,
stabbing pains shooting through his skull.  If anything, it was getting
worse with each passing moment, not better.  He staggered, groaning as he
leaned against the bulkhead, squeezing his eyes shut against the spinning
world around him, and taking a steadying breath before he lost his
primaries all over the deck.  
     "Come here, son," Ama said, her gruff tone almost motherly as she
stepped in front of him. 
     "Ama..." Starbuck muttered irritably, but he simply didn't have the
will to pull away as she placed her fingers on his temples, drawing his
forehead to hers, firmly, but gently.  From behind him, he could feel
Lu's hands on his shoulders, reminding him that she was there as well.  
     "Shush now," Ama replied soothingly.  "Let me help.  Lia, Luana,"
she added, "form the triune."  
     It was that familiar situation that left him torn between his
implicit trust in the Empyrean Necromancer, and that niggling uncertainty
mixed with a little fear over a situation that just wasn't...normal.  At
least as he usually defined it, for it was far beyond his control.  Lu
and Lia joined hands, encircling him, gently pulling him away from the
bulkhead, as Ama remained firmly attached to his forehead.   He knew that
the sister's free hands would be resting on their godmothers' to complete
the triune, and that they believed that the unification of the three
Empyrean Talismans they all wore invoked and fortified the great powers
of the Goddess Triquetra; Maiden, Mother and Crone to the Empyrean
People.  It would have been amusing, if he wasn't suffering the worst
headache he could ever imagine. 
     He swallowed down the acrid taste of his own saliva that was burning
the back of his throat, and took a deep breath, feeling some of the pain
begin to slowly recede as he did so.  Then a warm, hazy sensation, that
wasn't altogether unpleasant, began to envelop him.  It almost felt as
though he was being lifted up, and left to float in a comforting cloud of
mysticism.  Or his own scepticism, which in retrospect he wore more
comfortably.  Still, if he opened his eyes, he would expect to see
endless fields of sun-dappled wildflowers, or an infinite skyscape of
twinkling stars spread out before him.  But somehow, breaking this spell
seemed like a bad idea just now.
     "Better?" Ama asked, her voice flowing through him with each breath.

     Her breathing was now perfectly matched with his own, which had
calmed considerably.  He could also hear his own heartbeat, and could
imagine those of the women, all in perfect sync with his own pulse, or so
it seemed.  With a soft sigh, Starbuck nodded, still reluctant to open
his eyes.  Even close-eyed, somehow he could still "see" Lu smiling
behind him.  
     "Look at me, son," Ama told him, releasing him, and then reaching
forward to tenderly push his hair from his eyes. 
     Somewhere over the last yahren, this gruff, forthright, vexing
woman, with her gapped-tooth smile, and her unkempt hair had ceased to
shock or horrify him.  In fact, Starbuck realized that now when he looked
upon her, that the beauty he saw within her, came from his unequivocal
affection for the Empyrean mystic.  An affection that had sort of snuck
up on him, until he suddenly realized it was there, fully formed.  Her
familiar grey eyes studied him intently, concern lurking in their depths.
     "Thanks, Ama," he nodded, feeling as though he had just awakened
from a deep sleep. He stretched out his limbs, doing a quick assessment
of the aches and pains that he had become accustomed to living with.  His
headache was gone, and his shoulder felt much as it had prior to his
injuries received on Planet 'P'.  "What did you..." He looked into Ama's
eyes, and the words died on his lips. "No. No, never mind."
     Ama grinned at him.  "You'd rather not know.  I understand."  There
was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Wasn't life boring before you
happened upon us?" 
     Her smile was infectious.  "Not really..."
     "Liar," she returned, before leaning closer and touching his arm. 
"Starbuck, humour an old lady, and go put on your Empyrean Talisman."
     She had made a gift of the talisman to Starbuck sectars ago before
he set out with Apollo and Lia on a mission to rescue Luana and Sheba
from a long-range patrol they had disappeared on.  Lia had told him then
that the talisman granted protection and wisdom, and was supposed to give
its wearer an ability to see with clarity and truthfulness.  He had worn
it for a while after the mission, more from sentimentality than any real
belief in its supposed powers, but in all honesty, it had been relegated
to the bottom of his locker and forgotten after that.  Ironically, an old
burn, suffered from a close-range laser blast while wearing the talisman
had left its mark, so in truth, the emblem of the Empyrean Talisman was
etched in him permanently.  Absently, he fingered the scar, through the
fabric of his tunic.
     Luana looked between them worriedly.  "Ama, what's going on?"
     The necromancer sighed.  "I sense her presence, lingering like a bad
aftertaste, within Starbuck."
     Luana bristled, her gaze flying between her godmother and husband.
"What do you mean, 'within Starbuck'?" 
     Starbuck immediately raised his hands innocently. "I didn't do
anything!"
     His wife looked unconvinced.
     "Ama, do you mean the same spirit that you detected this morning,
also has connected with Starbuck?" Lia asked.  "That..."
     "Yes.  I believe it is her presence that caused Starbuck's
headache," the Necromancer agreed.  "The questions being, how many others
has she probed, and what is she searching for?" 
     "Besides Baltar," Lu added.  "And we don't even know what's happened
to him."
     "Can you recall anything that might be helpful, Starbuck?" Lia asked
him.
     "Uhh..." Well, what was he supposed to say?  That perhaps the
disturbingly realistic erotic dream he'd had of some gorgeous blonde
enticing him for purely carnal pleasure, was instead possibly some evil
spirit that was passing by on its way to the Prison Barge...Not a
conversation he wanted to have with his wife, sister-in-law, and most
especially a godmother that could do nasty things to him. Visions of
being turned into a porcine or a block of wood flashed through his head. 
He sidestepped the question.  "Ama, you're the one who told us to check
out the Prison Barge.  What exactly does this...entity have to do with
Baltar's disappearance?"
     "I noticed you didn't use the word 'escape'," Lia inserted
quizzically.
     "Since the last time Baltar escaped, that Barge has been locked up
tighter than an Otori virgin..." He winced, realizing it wasn't the best
illustration of his point in the present company, but decided to blunder
on towards safer territory.  "Hey, Boomer and I were assigned to
tightening the security on the Barge, and finding flaws within the
existing protocols. We went over every centimetron of her, making sure
something like that couldn't happen again, then put it all to the test. 
Even with all our military training, we couldn't escape."
     "Ah, I see," Luana smiled.  "So you're certain that you and Boomer
couldn't have overlooked something..."
     "Well..." he shrugged, smiling confidently. He decided it was damn
unlikely. "It's damn unlikely."
     "It's true, Boomer doesn't miss much," Lia teased him.
     "What about it, Ama?" Starbuck repeated, looking back to the
Necromancer. "What exactly are we up against here?"
     "I wish I knew exactly, Starbuck," she replied, her brows knitting
in concern.  "I can't help but wonder if this signal we're following is
some kind of lure..."
     "Lords, Ama!  Those are the kind of suspicions that might be worth
mentioning to the Commander!" Starbuck returned heatedly. Dayton was
rushing headlong into what he thought was a challenging first mission,
not a baited trap!  He looked back towards the Control Centre, ready to
pull the Necromancer back in there to explain.  After all, by the looks
of things, all they had lost so far was Baltar, something that no one was
exactly broken up over.  Was that really such a tragedy?
     "All the same, son, I believe that whatever is about to happen,
needs to happen," Ama continued. "It's difficult to explain."
     It wasn't the first time Starbuck felt as though he had been
"enlightened", just to be plunged back into the darkness.  "Ama, I don't
know about Empyrean, but generally in our history, flying into a trap is
a bad thing, without exception."
     "Destiny, Starbuck.  Often in life, our course is predetermined,"
she returned elusively.
     He shook his head vehemently.  "Not this kid." He tapped his chest. 
"I'll chart my own course, if it's all the same to you."
     She merely smiled enigmatically, nodding, and then murmuring quietly
upward, as he made to return to the Bridge, Lu and Lia on his heels. 

----------

     Adama could feel his face drain of colour as Komma's words
penetrated his brain.  "You're saying that Baltar vanished at exactly the
same time as the energy wavelon was detected in the position of the
Prison Barge?"
     "To the micron, Commander," Corporal Komma told him over the comm
link. "A complete one to one correlation.  I was toying with the idea
that that signal was sent to scramble the security systems on the Prison
Barge, but all their surveillance equipment fully checked out.  It wasn't
tampered with.  What we saw actually happened.  One centon Baltar was
there, the next he was gone.   Now I'm convinced the signal was something
else, sir.  It definitely originated from outside the Fleet, and
registered as some kind of mysterious phantom interference.  I still
can't correlate it to any recognized energy signatures or frequencies."
     "Thank you, Corporal," Adama said, turning to Croft.  "Keep on it.
Anything you can think of."
     "I will, Commander," replied Komma. 
     Adama terminated the link. He turned to Croft, recent commanding
officer of the Celestra, and veteran of the Arcta mission. "Colonel,
what's the latest from the Prison Barge?"
     "Boomer just reported in, Commander," Croft informed him, a hand to
his headset.  "They've examined every millimetron of Baltar's cell, and
not only have they confirmed that it was never reopened once Baltar was
last secured, but they also can't find any sign of any 'remains' of a
body.  They also examined the surrounding cells, as well as the entire
deck that he was on. Same results."      
     Croft had recently raised the point that the energy wavelon might
actually be some kind of weapon, designed to incinerate an intended
victim at long range. As such, Boomer had been instructed to look for
residual organic matter, however miniscule.  Adama let out a breath of
relief.  Although Baltar's inexplicable disappearance was alarming, the
alternative of such a weapon reaching out across space, and incinerating
enemies at will, was a terrifying one.  Especially, if it was the Cylons
who controlled it.  Fleeting memories of the Ravishol Pulsar flashed
across his mind.
     "Commander," Croft added, "It's beginning to look more and more like
Baltar was physically removed from the Prison Barge.  I don't know how,
but I can't see any other explanation at this point, sir."
     Adama nodded, his mouth tight. "That almost raises more questions
than it answers, Croft."  He looked over at Rigel. "Is the Endeavour
still within communications range?"
     "No, Commander," Rigel replied. "She exceeded comm range fourteen
centons ago."
     He nodded soberly.
     "Father," inserted Athena, "how could Baltar be...physically
removed?  From a sealed metal room, surrounded by guards? What could do
that?"
     "Nothing that I'm familiar with, Athena," the commander admitted as
he wondered what kind of mission he'd assigned his first-born son and the
Endeavour's young crew to.  "God only knows."

Chapter Four

     Dayton didn't know what to think. 
     On the one hand, all was going surprisingly well with his new
command.  The ship was performing admirably on her shakedown cruise,
aside from a few minor teething troubles.  They went into and dropped out
of lightspeed within the calculated parameters.  Ship's systems were
operating as hoped.  Both fire and damage control were going to getting
top marks.  All offensive and defensive batteries were on-line and
working.  As far as he knew, the medical department was humming nicely. 
And of the four squadrons aboard, two, Phoenix and Sphinx, had been
certified, and activated.  Flight ops were getting up to speed, and the
PT program for the newer cadets aboard was going according to the book. 
In all but the last, Malus the IL had been of enormous help.
     However, on the other hand, "the Book", be it Colonial or the U.S.
Air Force Academy manual, didn't address the mystical.  Oh, he was as
spiritual as the next guy, but never in his professional life had he
needed to factor in the guidance of a "spiritual advisor" while making
tactical decisions.  It was clear that Apollo was thinking along a
similar vein, and Starbuck was no help, clearly struggling between
complete denial that there could be something mystical out there
responsible for Baltar's disappearance, and knowing better than anyone
that the Empyrean Necromancer, like it or not, had a proven track record. 
The others were sitting on the fence.
     "Recommendations?" Dayton asked of his officers and his valued
colleagues, as they met in the War Room.  Just how seriously did they
take all this?  Half a universe away from Earth, he might just have to
follow their lead.
     "ETA to the calculated source of the signal is seven point nine
eight three centars," Apollo reminded them, checking his chrono. "If this
really is some kind of trap, and admittedly I'm more inclined to think of
Cylons than entities, biological or spiritual, then we should send out a
patrol to investigate."
     "Any indication of whether or not they, whoever they are, can track
us while we're in hyperdrive?" Baker asked.
     "Given that we were able to do that of Colonial ships over a
centi-yahren ago, and vice versa," observed Malus, "it may well be
prudent to assume that whoever is controlling this mysterious energy can
do so as well."
     "Status of our ECM suite?" asked Dayton.
     "All indicators nominal," said Dorado. "We're as screened as we can
possibly be, Commander."  
     "Isolated from the Fleet, and coming in from a different vector, we
might just get away with it," said Porter. "They'll think we're Cylon."
     "And using that modified electro-larynx that Baker developed, if our
patrol communicates with them, they might just fall for it," Dayton
nodded.  It was Baker that had pointed out that the Cylons sounded almost
identical to his uncle, a cancer survivor that had had his larynx
surgically removed in the eighties. The medical equipment that had given
Earth patients back a voice, before more sophisticated methods came
along, was perfect to mimic a Cylon, a necessity for a Covert Operations
Ship.  Once they had modified it with the Cylon voice modulator,
inserting it right into the Hybrids' comm system, it was the perfect
deception.  Add to that the Cylon code they had all become proficient
with transmitting, both the squadrons and Bridge crew were ready.
     "Yeah, but what if it's not Cylon?" Starbuck reminded them, raking
his fingers through his hair.  "What if Ama's right, and this is a trap? 
Some kind of...entity?" He frowned in distaste as he forced the word out.
"Luring us in, like an insecton to a crawlon's web."
     "What do you mean 'we', pale face," Ryan quipped, clarifying that
the greatest risk would be taken by the strike captain's wing.
     "Entity, huh?" Dayton tried to get his mind around it. Sure he
believed in God, angels, and even evil spirits to a certain extent, but
the whole necromancy thing sort of left him feeling...uncomfortable.  It
reminded him of some of those sick puppies back on Earth that practised
various forms of what was termed Occultism.  "Might be nice if John
dropped by about now, and filled us in on a thing or two."
     The "angel" had been conspicuously absent since Dayton's arrival in
the Fleet, when John had averted an irrational decision that Dayton had
made to destroy the Galactica, using the immense power of the Dynamos at
the pirate asteroid.  After that, Dayton had discovered that the angel
had at one point appeared to Starbuck and Apollo, and as recently as a
few months ago to Dickins, before his friend piloted the NASA Space
Shuttle, Endeavour, through a wormhole to Earth, assisted by Technician
Hummer.  Dayton even suspected that John had appeared when he had been
nine years old, saving his life under still-mysterious circumstances. 
The angel's appearances were sporadic at best, and seemed inspired by
near catastrophe, rather than desire on the part of any Human for
heavenly guidance.  
     "Yeah well, I wouldn't count on John," Starbuck returned almost
caustically. "He's already told us he's not permitted to interfere."
     "Let's stick with the facts," Apollo interjected, getting them back
on track.  "We have an unknown energy source, Baltar's disappearance..."
     "And an Empyrean Necromancer's word that they're related," Starbuck
inserted reluctantly.  Certainly apologetically. 
     "We might be better off to go in with the Endeavour," Dayton
pondered, wishing he could just climb in the fighter and fly this mission
himself.  Putting other men's lives in jeopardy was something that had
never sat well with him, and standing on the Bridge watching and waiting
would be excruciating.  
     "Except that any traditional Cylon Base Ship would send out a patrol
to investigate something unusual like this," the colonel pointed out
practically.  "A Covert Operations Ship is what we're supposed to be."
     "You're right, Apollo," Dayton sighed, knowing the younger man's
council was right on the money.  "If we're going to talk the talk, we
have to walk the walk." Dayton turned to Apollo. "Time till next course
change?"
     "Nine point six centons."
      Dayton nodded, moving to the tactical board.  There, the flashing
dot that represented the Endeavour was set against the backdrop of this
region of space.  According to the plot, they would begin passing through
a small solar system in just under six centons. Interestingly, the system
was already in the ship's data banks. 
     "Okay, we drop out of lightspeed once inside this system," the
commander declared, indicating it on the plotting board.  "We scan ahead,
and see if whoever has found us or not.  Assuming that goes well, we
launch a patrol ahead, in the direction of the original signal source. 
If the ships are picked up, it will look like a typical Cylon patrol." 
He looked around the room, both his stance and expression clearly
inviting opinions and questions.
     "How soon after we launch do you follow?" asked Starbuck.
     "That will depend upon what you learn.  If you are detected, I would
prefer to keep our..."  he waved a hand, indicating the entire ship,
"presence and exact location a mystery as long as possible."
     "Assuming they aren't already tracking us," countered Starbuck.
     "True," replied the commander.  "But we must select between options,
and since there have been no more energy waves since departing the Fleet,
I'm picking this one." Starbuck looked between Dayton and Apollo, before
finally nodding.  He'd put in his two cents, but after all was said and
done, Dayton knew he'd follow orders.  At least while they were standing
right there beside him.  
     "Alright.  Six Hybrids, twelve pilots," Starbuck glanced at his
chrono. "I'll brief them. Anything else?"
     "Your best pilots, Starbuck.  Experience counts," Dayton reminded
him.
     "I'll take Giles and Lia, but I need to leave Jolly, Dietra and some
of the others here to lead and support the other wings, if it comes to
that," Starbuck informed them, having clearly thought all this though
ahead of time. "I'd take Lu along, but fraternization rules preclude..."
He sighed, letting the words die a death on his lips. He dredged up a
smile. It wasn't his best, by any means. "Those kids have come a long
way, we'll be fine."
     Dayton narrowed his eyes.  Having the right number of bodies to fill
their fighters had looked fine when he had briefly examined the roster
that his strike captain had thrust in front of his nose at some point,
but now, when they were about to go on their first real mission, he could
see that experience mattered.  He glanced at Apollo, who had an almost
imperceptible smile on his lips, as he considered their subordinate
officer.  That was all it took to make Dayton realize that he'd almost
been 'Starbucked'. "Okay. Take Dietra, and put Luana on standby.  As far
as I'm concerned, if we're in a battle situation, we should be pulling
her from the Wraith assignment."
     "Aye, sir," Starbuck replied, a glimmer of something in his eyes,
that might have been respect. 
     "Maintain radio silence unless attacked, aside from low-gain Cylon
code between your ships, until you are back in range of us.  If you do
encounter Cylons, bullshit 'em for as long as possible.  I know I can
count on you for that, Starbuck.  For this mission, your call sign will
be Cannonball One, Two,  and so forth.  Ours will be Casey Jones."
     "Uhh..." Starbuck looked at him like he'd suddenly started speaking
another language.
     Dayton explained: "If there are Cylons in this area, and they should
pick your transmissions on the way back, it will confuse them."
     "Just them?" Starbuck returned pointedly.  "You know, if we stick to
the Cylon code and transmit with the vocal modulator, it shouldn't be
necessary.  Those kids are going to be nervous enough as it is; this
isn't the time to be firing cannonballs at them."
     Ryan laughed aloud, abruptly stopping when Dayton scowled at him. 
"Well, I thought it was funny."
     "You would," Dayton returned.
     "Actually," inserted Malus. "Since those words do not occur in any
language known to the Alliance, they would not be deemed to be of
Colonial origin."
     "What's your point, Mal?" Starbuck asked.
     "That in future, many Earth terms would make good codes.  In fact,
Yankee Doodle 101 might be worth studying for just such a purpose." Malus
paused as Dayton scowled again.  "Did I offend you in some way,
Commander?"
     "Yankee Doodle 101?" Dayton looked at Ryan, who shrugged far too
innocently.  "Never mind.  All right.  Point taken.  Okay, Starbuck. Get
going."
     "Yes, sir." He turned to head for the hatch, stopping briefly as
Apollo stepped in front of him. 
     "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Apollo murmured, gripping his
friend's arm firmly.
     "Like fly into a magnetic void?  Or duel with Diabolis?" Starbuck
returned, holding the grip and his friend's gaze for a long moment.
     "Those didn't actually work out all that well," Apollo pointed out.
     "Which goes to show that even the craziest plans can be pulled out
of the fire in the long run," Starbuck chuckled, slapping the colonel on
the shoulder as he passed by.
     "Bridge," called Dayton.  Vesta responded. "Take us out of
lightspeed now, Ensign.  Go to one-third sub-light velocity."
     "Aye, Commander," replied the other.  

----------
 
     On his way to the launch bay, Starbuck could feel the vibration and
hear the alarm, as the Endeavour fell below lightspeed and switched over
to standard propulsion.  At this point, Dayton would be ordering a full
sensor sweep, and all passive systems to maximum boost.  If all bands
remained clear, they would launch soon. 
     "All's ready, Starbuck!" Jenny reported as soon as he walked through
the hatch.  The chief warrant officer had officially requested the
transfer over to the Endeavour, claiming she was looking forward to the
"new challenges", but all the same, it was reassuring that the woman who
had been charged with maintaining his squadron's fighters since he had
first boarded the Galactica, would be continuing to do so with the new
Hybrids.
     "Any problems, Jenny?" Starbuck asked, knowing there had been a few
glitches with the fighters, and that Jenny-along with the pilots-was most
familiar with them.
     "These six are the best we have," she replied, falling in alongside
him as he paced towards his bird.  Corporal Veeno was doing a thorough
pre-flight check, which although was customary, Starbuck knew would be
redundant when compared to the examination that his CWO would have
already performed.   The consummate professional, Dietra was doing a
check of her own.  "If you find anything wrong with them, Captain, I'll
guarantee I'll run naked through the OC."
     "Hmm...Hey, Veeno, anything?" he called, grinning.  "Scratch in the
paint?  Fumarello butts under the seats?" 
     Jenny whacked Starbuck with a greasy rag, that she pulled from her
coveralls.  "Hey, I stayed up through my rest period, double-checking
every bit of these babies against the schematics, knowing we were
shipping out today," she announced proudly.  "She's one hundred percent
ready to go."
     "You pulled an all-nighter? Again?" Starbuck remarked more
seriously.  "You've done one Hades of a job, Jenny.  I owe you."
     "You've owed me since you were a greenhorn, Starbuck," she replied
with a smile.
     "Was I ever a greenhorn?" he reminisced, checking his datapad, then
slipping it back into place.
     "Oh, you were green, but you were so full of yourself that nobody
realized it." She turned to look at Veeno, then back to Starbuck. "Least
of all you."
     "That was talent, Jenny," he grinned, knowing there would be an
inevitable comeback. "Not ego."
     "I've found over my career that the two usually go together, and if
the pilot survives his ego in the first three sectars, that it usually
settles down to something resembling self-confidence.  Of course, your
ego is more resilient than most." She handed him his helmet, newly
equipped to link to the ship's onboard computer, and transmit the Cylon
voice modifier.
     "Well, what can I say. If you've got it..."  He looked up as Veeno
finished his check, and closed up the ship's starboard engine cowling. 
The corporal crossed the tarmac, handed Jenny the datapad, and she signed
off on it.  He saluted both of them, and left.
     "A good kid, Veeno," said Jenny, watching him depart. "Used to
hotlink hovermobiles for a repo outfit before the Holocaust.  Has a
natural talent for machines. He qualified as a Viper mechanic even faster
than I did."
     "You always had a knack for picking the best, Jen."
     "Yeah?  Then how did I manage to miss you?" she winked at him
teasingly.
     "We started off badly when I kept getting your birds shot up,"
smiled Starbuck.  The first time she had been sympathetic, even
concerned.  The second time, she'd still been supportive.  But the third
time, when he'd blown an engine during battle, she'd raked him over the
coals, telling him that if he didn't learn to treat his ship at least
twice as good as he treated his women, that he'd have to deal with her. 
He could still picture her standing in the landing bay, hands on hips,
and eyes flashing in anger.  And I can see right through that innocent
smile, Lieutenant, so don't you even try to flash it my way..."Cruel
fate."
     "Yeah. Tell me about it."  She looked behind him, and nodded in that
direction. "Base to Starbuck, check your blind spot."
     "They call it a blind spot for a reason..."he glanced over his
shoulder theatrically, stopping when he spotted Luana  jogging to catch
up, an Empyrean Talisman dangling from her right hand.  He had tried to
catch her after the briefing, but had been distracted by several
questions from anxious youngsters seeking reassurance that they were
ready, at least in his eyes, for the mission ahead.  An inspiring pep
talk later-mostly stolen from endless motivational words he had heard
over the yahrens from superior officers, and one or two Earth war
"moovees" with Colonial subtitles-and the uncertainty from their features
was gone, replaced with that na‹ve determination that buoyed the spirits,
and blustered its way past the usual first mission jitters.  By then
though, Lu had disappeared.  "Oh...thanks." He briefly touched Jenny's
hand, as the chief warrant officer moved on to give the newlyweds some
privacy.  At least, all the privacy that could be gained in a busy launch
bay.  "I was..."
     Luana launched herself into his arms, stopping his flow of words as
she kissed him passionately, igniting emotions in him that weren't really
supposed to be expressed in a launch bay.  There was more than a little
desperation in that kiss, and he met it with a little of his own.  There
was something about having a wife back on his base ship that inexorably
changed the way he would look at missions, making him just a little bit
more cautious out there, though he certainly hadn't lost his edge.  Crew,
fighters, and the constant din all but disappeared around them, as they
lost themselves for a heavenly moment in each other.
     "Sheesh!" somebody muttered.
     Luana pulled back slightly, studying him for a moment before she put
the leather cord of the talisman, very old and crafted of silver, over
his head.  With a slight smile, she tucked it under his tunic.
     "You forgot it," she murmured, kissing him again tenderly.
     "Didn't have time..." he returned a little lamely, but the truth was
he had forgotten Ama's plea that he wear it, while focussing on the
mission.  As usual, Ama had rectified this oversight.
     "So when you find this energy source, you're not going to try to
find some way to bottle it, and start selling it in the Fleet, are you?"
she teased him, but her brown eyes were deep pools of concern.  
     "Hey, if it can replace tylium, I'd be a rich man," he returned,
before pressing her against him a final time.  He pulled her hair free
from the tether that held it in place while she was on duty, carding his
fingers through its silky lengths.  "And you'd be a rich woman."
     "I already am, Innamorato," she murmured, tilting up her face, and
inviting another kiss. 
     He was no fool.
     "I'll see you soon," he told her a moment later.
     "Not too soon, I hope," she replied, and he knew she referred to
their reserve squadrons launching in the event of a large scale attack or
emergency.  
     "Exactly.  The Empyrean Ale won't have a chill on it yet, if we get
back too quickly," he quipped, and turned to go.  Had he ever felt so
reluctant to start a mission, or to leave his base ship?  Usually, he was
champing at the bit to get going.  Was his reaction to do with Baltar's
disappearance, Ama's warning, or the fact that he was leaving the most
precious woman in the universe behind?   Starbuck felt Lu press his
fingers a final time before she let go, releasing him to fulfil his duty. 
 He clenched his fist, acutely feeling their separation as if they had
been rent in two.  Oh, get over it, Bucko!
     "Attention!" boomed a voice over the PA.  It was Pierus, in the
Control Centre. "Attention!  Phoenix pilots, man your ships.  Repeat,
Phoenix pilots, man your ships, and prepare to launch." 
     "Okay, everybody!" he called out to the rest, shouting to be heard
over the din.  "Let's go!"  Starbuck began to move towards his assigned
ship, eyes resolutely ahead. Almost unconsciously, he registered several
pats on his back from well-wishers as he crossed the bay, a tradition
amongst the crew.  When he reached the Hybrid and prepared to board, he
knew he didn't dare look back.
     He could feel Lu's eyes on him still, as he disappeared inside.

---------

     It was maddening!  Damnably so!  A short term link with the entity,
and then nothing, other than sensing that same entity on three separate
occasions afterwards, like a lingering echo in a vermin-filled cave.  The
first two were so fleeting as to be barely detectable, but the
third...the third had washed over her, almost knocking her over in its
intensity as it approached the Fleet.  Ama would know the next time it
came...and she sensed that there would be a next time. 
     "I seek your guidance..." Ama fanned open her hands, palms up,
seeing beyond the metal walls, and into the universe beyond.  There had
been a time, not so long ago, that she had needed to physically see the
heavens, awash with innumerable stars, and with that simple link had felt
her powers swell.  However, since joining the Colonial Fleet, she had
been surprised at the insight that she had gained, and how her powers of
necromancy had significantly increased, as though being on the planet
Empyrean had somehow limited her, and her connection with celestial
Beings.
     Several times over her lifetime spirits had connected with her,
probing her, letting her know that they were observing, never far away. 
She was familiar with a golden aura of light, which in her early yahrens
she had theorized was the Goddess Triquetra or one of her ethereal
messengers.  Ama had always welcomed the supernatural force, knowing it
watched over her and her people in some mystical fashion.  She had sensed
only benevolence, goodness and a slight curiosity directed towards her,
but only once before had they actually communicated with her.  And this
was the first time she had tried calling upon them.
     Once again, she sensed the Being before she saw it.  A golden light,
it was both utterly beautiful and deeply inspiring in its simple
magnificence.  Like a long lost friend, it reached out to her, meeting
her own life force, and embracing it.
     "Thank you for coming," Ama stated aloud, although she knew it
wasn't necessary.  It could read her thoughts, recognize her emotions,
and probably predict what would happen next. "I have known you for most
of my life, yet until I joined the Colonials, I never felt the need to
ask your name."
     And will you ask now?
     "I know what you call yourself when you appear to my kind," Ama
replied, as she sensed amusement from the other.  "Being of Light. 
Guardian.  Or my personal favourite, John."
     Then the shimmering light that she knew so well began to transform,
taking the shape of a man.  He was dressed entirely in a dazzling white,
which was a trifle overdone as far as she was concerned.
     "I didn't realize you qualified as a fashion critic," John mentioned
dryly, before adding, "Are you really sure of that?  That they're your
kind?"
     "Yes."
     "Don't you want to think about it for a while longer?" John asked
her after a long moment.  As ever, he waited, respecting her privacy and
dignity.
     "You'd think that the thought never crossed my mind, even once since
I was born," Ama returned, smoothing down her blue robes.
     Necromancers were a fixture in Empyrean civilisation, going back
beyond their collective memory.  She had been a child still when she'd
answered Triquetra's calling, and accepted that her vocation would be
that of the mystic in Empyrean society.  People had treated her
differently from that point, almost with a reverence, tinged with a whiff
of fear, and when she had in the fullness of time taken her place in the
Imperial Court, her reputation as the most gifted of Empyrean
necromancers in recorded history had been solidified.
     But that had been almost two hundred yahrens ago.
     "Do you remember your parents?" John asked, again after a respectful
interval.
     "My mother, Annica," Ama nodded slowly.  She smiled wistfully,
treasuring the tender reflections of the Empyrean woman who had given her
both life, and her first taste of knowledge.  Annica's beauty had only
been eclipsed by her patience and eternal devotion to her daughter.
     "And your father?"
     Ama smiled.  "Arion.  A rogue spirit, charming but irreverent."
     John raised his eyebrows at that.  "Then you do remember him?"
     "Those were my mother's words, but she spoke of him rarely," Ama
replied with a growing impatience. "But enough about my past.  I want to
know of our future."
     "We must understand our past, to face our future, Ama."
     "What is this entity?  And what does she want with Baltar?" Ama
pressed on.
     John sighed, glancing upward, before meeting her gaze.  "I cannot
say."
     "Cannot, or will not?" she asked.
     He didn't reply.
     "Well, then you're not much good to me," Ama replied sourly.
     With a look upward, and a nod, he continued.  "Ama, listen and
contemplate.  A very great injustice must be undone, in order for a
terrible disaster to be averted. You will play a part."
     She smiled, studying him for a moment.  "Ah, now I begin to
understand the frustration I sense in Starbuck when he speaks of you,"
Ama nodded, having heard of the vague and nebulous messages that John had
delivered to both Starbuck and Apollo, as well as Commander Dayton, when
they had encountered him.
     "But you cannot interfere, Ama.  There are certain things that need
to happen..."
     Ama sniffed derisively, taking a step closer. "I am not bound by
your rules, John, nor will I sit by and let the people I care about risk
their lives needlessly, especially if you won't explain.  I am not some
nitwit that cannot discriminate between right and wrong.  I am Ama, born
of Arion and Annica of the Empyrean Imperial House.  I am the Empyrean
Necromancer, and I also proudly sit on the Colonial Council of the
Twelve.  The best thing about being the Imperial Necromancer is that I
make my own rules, and I live with the consequences."
     John looked upward beseechingly. "I tried to tell her, but she isn't
ready to listen."
     "Oh, tell them to stop their incessant nattering, please!  I can
hear them too, you know."
     John looked at her in surprise, and then nodded slowly. Almost
sadly. "There is a reason for that, Ama. Your father..."
     The necromancer waved him off. "I know who I am. What I am.  And I
know where I belong."
     "Do not interfere, Ama.  Or the situation might be made even worse."
     "Yet, if I play any part whatsoever, will I not be interfering?" she
asked wryly. Her expression almost demanded an answer.
     "You will know what to do when the time comes."
     Ama laughed harshly. "That sounds like some line of drivel I would
feed to Starbuck to encourage him when he's feeling overwhelmed."
     John looked like he had just sucked on something sour. "Are your
words 'drivel', then, Ama?"
     "We both know that drivel has its place, but it's not here with me." 
Ama told him straight up.  "Asking me not to interfere is akin to asking
me to stop breathing.  I really don't know if I have it in me."
     The Being of Light looked cautiously optimistic.  "Then you'll try?"
     "Not very hard," she admitted, smiling as he let out a groan. 
"Don't fash yourself, dear heart. Have faith."
     "I thought that was supposed to be my advice, Ama," said John.
     "Although we go about doing things rather differently, I believe we
both are striving towards the same eventuality, John.  I, unlike you, can
interfere to my heart's content.  While you can only appear before me,
offer me guidance, and hope that I intervene where you cannot...much as
you have done before with other Humans, while professing your impotence
in such matters."
     John sighed, looking upward, before returning his gaze to her. 
"It's a lousy job, but somebody's got to do it." 

----------

     Baltar cradled his still aching head in his hands, trying to rest,
while at the same time running through in his mind all that he had come
to know of the "troll people".  Although much of their conversation had
seemed banal in light of how he had felt when he had first "arrived", his
bureautician's mind had meticulously filed all the information away, so
that he might use it later.  A man didn't survive plotting treason, being
himself betrayed, a near-execution, imprisonment by both the Colonial
Nation and then the Cylons, as well as exile and a planet nearly coming
apart and killing him, without honing his survival skills.
     Most pertinent was the fact that Baltar had been brought here as a
test.  General Caradoc had selflessly offered to sacrifice his own life,
by risking the dangerous crossing of his Doublewalker, whom Eirys had
found through the mysterious powers of something called the Oculus.  The
troll people believed that the spirits of Doublewalkers-two Beings in
different dimensions, linked by a twin spirit-were bound together, and
that if one was to perish, so would the other.  Baltar's safe passage
through the "Nonentity" had established that the crossing could be made
without losing both spirits to "an eternal elysian slumber".   It was
somewhat humbling to know he was merely a rat in a cage being
experimented on, and that there was some other Doublewalker in the Fleet
that was Eirys' true goal.  What she would do with the Doublewalker when
she found him or her, the former bureautician had no idea, and as his
head was about to explode from tediously and cautiously prying this
information out of the troll general as they made their way through the
tunnels of their underground labyrinth, he had ceased caring. 
     For now.
     Finally the trolls took pity on him when it became obvious that he
was still suffering the effects from crossing "dimensions".  After all,
they considered him a newfound ally against the Cylons.  At that point,
they led him to some kind of communal "troll" quarters, that he coined
the "Troll Hole".  That same repulsive musk that wafted off of Eirys and
Caradoc seemed to permeate the Hole, which didn't do much to settle his
tremulous stomach.  However, he knew he needed to get past the headache
and nausea-both which were now waning-if he was going to properly assess
the strength of the Cylon forces here, and compare them to that of the
trolls...
     So that he might decide which side he should lead to victory.

----------

     It was a big ole hunk of metal with no viewports, not even allowing
a glimpse of the infinite beauty of space.  No, the Endeavour was more
like flying a submarine, Dayton reckoned as he carried a quick bite back
into the War Room.  For a moment, he idly wondered what Dickins, a Navy
man, would have made of it all.
     "So," said Ama from behind him.  
     Dayton turned, startled, biting off a curse.  How the bloody hell
did she do that?.  He had neither seen the woman, nor heard her approach.
Yet, somehow, her appearing out of the blue did not seem out of
character.  "Ama..."
     "They're away."
     "Yes.  If I'm not being a complete, over-the-hill fool, then we can
hope to God they're not flying into a trap."
     "God?" asked Ama with a rueful smile.  "Any one in particular?"
     Dayton grinned, almost a little relieved that she wasn't raking him
over the coals for not minding her warning.  Sometimes she was as
protective of Starbuck as a mother bear with its cubs.  "We'll have to
discuss that sort of stuff sometime."
     "Indeed, preferably when you're unarmed," she smiled.
     "Or at least armed with some good booze.  Nothing like some good
stuff to lubricate the thinking."
     "And I happen to have a source," smiled the Empyrean sage. "So, what
will you do now?"
     "Try and conceal ourselves in this solar system, until we have more
data." He was staring at the board.  As soon as the fighters were beyond
the system, he looked at the planets more closely.  He "hmm'd" as he
reviewed the data.
     "What is it?" asked Ama.
     "Not sure, Ama." He moved to the telecom  "Brid...er, Control
Centre?"
     "Sir?"
     "Lay in a course for the third planet in this system.  Engage at
once.  I shall be there, presently."
     "Sir."
     "And launch a single fighter to recon the planet until we're there. 
In fact, launch the Wraith." It was time that Luana took that bird out,
and it would get her mind off Starbuck.  Besides, from what he saw, going
in with a ship that was almost undetectable to the usual scanner arrays
was preferable.
     "Right away, sir."
     "What are you up to, Mark-Dayton?" asked Ama.
     "We have a saying on Earth, Ama. Good..."
     "Good things come to those who wait." 
     Dayton wasn't sure just what to say. He'd heard she could read
minds, but for some reason it hadn't occurred to him she'd be reading
his.  "You're spooky, lady. You know that?"
     "Oh, I'm barely approaching 'unnerving', Mark-Dayton." She turned to
go.  "But alas, I sense that 'spooky' will call again.  And I must
prepare for her."
     He hesitated, taken aback after spending the last hours focussing
totally on Cylons, that she was dragging him back to the mystical and
metaphysical.  He almost felt like he was humouring the old broad when he
asked, "Is...is she coming now?"
     Ama smirked, as though she could see right through him.  "Why do you
have such difficulty believing, Mark-Dayton.  Was your society really so
sceptical of such things?"
     "On Earth, it was considered fantasy, Ama," he replied honestly. 
"At least in my circle."
     "Yet, your belief in your own God would be considered fantasy by
those who do not believe in Him." She raised an eyebrow as he bristled in
response. "No, it doesn't feel very good to be so challenged.  All that
you believe to be true, nay, all that you know to be truth, is questioned
and silently mocked."
     Dayton dropped her eyes for a moment, digesting that. 
     "I am not asking you to abandon your faith, Mark-Dayton, only to
accept that there are others that believe as fervently in their own."
     Dayton frowned a little indignantly.  He didn't consider himself
intolerant, after all, his best friend was an atheist, and the spiritual
practices on Earth were probably even more varied than he had encountered
in the Fleet.  Still, Ama left him feeling uncomfortable in ways that
Paddy couldn't even approach.  "I'm going to have to get deflector
shields for the brain, I think," he murmured. "I swear you..."  
     "By Triquetra's grace..." she cried suddenly, and in a swirl of
robes was gone.  A sudden, irrational fear made him follow.

Chapter Five

     Apollo ran a hand along her sleek lines, glorying in her
magnificence.  A dark charcoal-grey, she would be almost impossible to
spot with the naked eye once launched.  Her size and lighter composition
balanced her smaller engines, while still giving her speeds comparable to
that of the Vipers, but with superior manoeuvrability.  Add to that her
jamming capabilities, and superior scanner array, the Wraith made the
ideal reconnaissance ship, especially in a region where they had already
detected Cylons, and were now dealing with a potential new threat.  He
smiled ruefully, as Jenny shook her head in amusement while pointing at
him from across the bay.  Pilots and their ships.  It was a relationship
that most non-military people didn't understand, and couldn't even begin
to conceptualise.  
     "You look like you're getting that urge, Apollo," Luana teased him,
a sparkle in her eye as she slowly climbed up into the Wraith.  She
settled herself into the open cockpit, and then reached forward, grabbing
her helmet.
     "I never lost it," Apollo admitted, scaling the ship to come face to
face with his subordinate officer.  Through flying he could become one
with his ship, almost becoming one with the stars themselves.  For a
little while at least, he could forget about leaving behind Boxey and
Sheba.  He didn't feel that same cohesion between man and machine on the
Bridge.  Er...Control Centre.  It took a lot more than one man to fly a
battleship.
     "You miss it," Luana nodded.  "Flying fighters, I mean."
     He smiled.  "Is it really that obvious?"
     "To me it is."
     "Because of your Empyrean ancestry?"  
     "No, because Starbuck's mentioned a time or two that he can't
believe that someone with your piloting skills is now stuck on the
Bridge."
     "Stuck on the Bridge, huh?" Apollo grinned.  He could almost hear
the words coming out of Starbuck's mouth.  "I suppose he would see it
that way.  But there's a certain amount of satisfaction being the
executive officer of your own ship, and a new class of ship at that. 
It's like having the opportunity to write your own manual."
     "Didn't Starbuck do that anyway?" Luana laughed, slipping her helmet
on.  She fastened the helmet strap.
     "No, he only chose to ignore the standard one when it suited him. 
But to the best of my recollection, it saved my life a time or two, not
to mention a lot of others, so I'd be the last to complain about it...at
least to anybody but him," Apollo chuckled.  Other than their sword
training with Dayton, Starbuck and he hadn't had much time to simply
relax over a drink as they had done countless times in the old days. 
Their busy schedules had taken over their lives, but it wouldn't last
forever.  "Are you ready?"
     "Yes, sir," Luana nodded, plugging in the helmet to the port that
would link her in to the Wraith's systems.  The cockpit was entirely
blacked out, thus the pilot had to rely on the interface between the
helmet and ship's computer to read all instruments.  She reached down,
and flipped a bank of switches.  Slowly, the turbines began to spin, as
the engines revved up. Her running lights came on, and her scanner array
lit up.  
     "Alright.  We want atmosphere, composition analysis with
geotechnical surveys if it looks promising, and any indication of
sentient life.  Also, make sure you make a priority of giving us detailed
scans on the coordinates that the Control Centre sent you, all in real
time telemetry.  Stay out of sight though.  If there are living Beings or
Cylons down there, we'd just as soon they not know about us."  
     "I understand," she replied with a "thumbs up".  
     He patted her helmet in return, climbing down again, and jumping
back from the ship as the Wraith's canopy lowered.  Apollo moved behind
the blast screen, and watched as the Wraith taxied towards the open bay
doors.  Moments later her relatively quiet engines roared to maximum, and
in a scream of power, the recon ship was gone.
     It took another moment for Apollo to make that mental leap.  Part of
him still felt that it should be him out there, either leading Phoenix
Squadron, or test flying the recon ship on her first real mission.  After
all, this was really the first day that his transition from the
Galactica's strike captain to the Endeavour's executive officer left him
with a...not really a desire to return to his old job, but a melancholy
sense that he would be missing out on some of that front line excitement
that pilots tasted more frequently than Bridge Officers.
     You forget how different it is out here...
     "What the frack..."
     It was Jenny's shocked tone of voice, more so than her choice of
words, which made Apollo abruptly turn in her direction.  The CWO was
backing up from the bulkhead, slowly retreating from whatever it was she
could see.  The normally nervy woman was shaking her head in bewilderment
as she retreated, while fanning her arms wide, as though that physical
barrier alone would prevent anyone else from passing.  He quickly jogged
over.
     "Jenny? What's..."
     "Colonel, stay back!" Jenny warned him, grabbing his arm as he tried
to get a look at whatever it was.  
     The wall was undulating. 
     "Sagan..." Apollo murmured, for a moment drawn back to that moment
on the Galactica when he had been in the turbo lift.  In horror he
realized he hadn't been overtired, but that this could be the
entity..."Jenny, call the Bridge.  Have security report to Beta Bay!" He
pulled his weapon, pushing Jenny towards the commlink.  "All internal
sensors focused here!  And get Ama down here too!"
     "Yes, sir!"
     A luminescence seemed to slowly suffuse the bulkhead, putting Apollo
in mind of the northern polar lights of Caprica.  Like them, it was
utterly silent.  Magnificent in a spectrum of colour, and seeming to
almost embody tranquillity, it seemed far too beautiful to be either
ominous or dangerous.  As softly sparkling bodies of light swirled
together, magically a form began to take shape, until the figure of a
beautiful woman materialized.  She was breathtaking, perfect, the most
exquisite, delicate creature that he had ever seen, with hair that flowed
far down her back, reminding him ever so slightly of Serina.  Like an
angel sent from God, her very presence bespoke goodness and light.  
     Eyes that seemed to see through to his soul, and beyond, trained on
him, and she held out a hand.  Apollo holstered his weapon, realizing
this delicate creature could be no threat to him.  Every single emotion
she felt could be read plainly on her face.  Apprehension.  Sadness. 
Hope.  She held nothing back.
     My people need your help...
     The words were silent, heard only within. Obviously telepathic, yet
his subconscious still insisted on gifting her with a soft, lilting
voice...like Serina's.  It felt as if they were the only two in the
entire universe, but he knew that couldn't be so.  Around him, everything
else seemed to fade into the background.  It simply wasn't important. 
But she was.  Longingly, her hand rose higher, and her face betrayed the
tragic desperation she was feeling.  He could feel his chest hitch in
sympathy.
     Please...just take my hand.  I know you can help...
     And the truth was, Apollo wanted to help.  He nodded at her,
stepping forward.  Her aura seemed to gently enfold him as he drew
closer.  It was warm, inviting, blissful...and he could help her.  It
raised his spirits, giving him a purpose, replacing an emptiness that he
wouldn't readily admit to feeling since leaving Boxey and Sheba behind. 
Apollo could erase that sadness in those shimmering eyes, right the
wrongs that had been done to her...He reached out his hand to her, their
fingertips almost touching.  Then a raging flash of silver came between
them, and the gentle creature shrieked horribly.
     "By Triquetra, begone!" 
     Ama's voice shot through Apollo with such strength, that it felt
like a bolt of energy had just torn him in two.  He gagged as an
overpowering loss hit him, so real in its intensity that it left him
breathless.  Momentarily blinded, he staggered for a moment feeling as
though he was being tossed in a whirlwind.  Strong hands grabbed him, and
it hit him, as his vision cleared, that he was lying on the deck.  Dayton
was gazing down at him in concern, as crewmembers surrounded them. 
Jolly, Lia, Ryan, Jenny, as well as various techs and cadets, all watched
in horrified silence.
     "Are you okay?" Dayton asked, glancing at the bulkhead wearily. It
had returned to normal. "Apollo? What..."
     "I...uh..." Apollo muttered, closing his eyes and trying to make
some kind of sense of it all.  The experience had seemed so ethereal
while it was happening, but now he was getting the idea that he'd barely
escaped by the skin of his teeth.  He let out a shuddering breath that he
could be so easily duped.  Then strong hands cupped his face, and he felt
himself drawn upward into a sitting position.  A comforting warmth
touched his forehead, and when he opened his eyes, he was gazing into the
dark grey eyes of the Empyrean necromancer.  "The entity?"
     "Yes.  That was close, my boy," Ama told him, studying him as though
she could read the previous moments like the pages of a book.  "She's a
tricky one, isn't she?"
     "She said...that she needed my help," Apollo told her, as the
Necromancer sighed and nodded. "Lords, she reminded me of..." 
     "And if you'd taken her hand, she would have had you," Ama replied
quickly, pulling back slightly from the shaken colonel.  "She would have
pulled you into her dimension with your permission."
     "What did you throw, Ama?" Dayton suddenly asked, disconcerted. 
"What did you hit her with?"
     "Huh?" Apollo asked.
     "She threw something that came between you and the...the creature,"
Jolly said uncertainly, glancing at Ama almost reverently.  "It looked
like...well, like molten silver arcing through the bay.  Ama saved you,
Apollo."
     "You saw her?  The creature?" Apollo asked in surprise, examining
each face in turn. Slowly, he got to his feet, Jolly and Ryan helping him
up. "But why didn't you do anything?"
     "We couldn't. It happened too fast. One micron she appeared, and the
next you were reaching out to her." Jolly shook his head anxiously.  "We
couldn't reach you in time."
     "But...centons had passed.  Two, maybe three.  At least it seemed
like..." Apollo replied in bewilderment, looking to the necromancer for
enlightenment.  How had the entity suspended time?
     "Your talisman, Ama," Lia suddenly exclaimed.  "Where is it?"
     "Gone," Ama replied, standing up and placing a hand on her chest
where the Empyrean Talisman usually hung.  "I had to break her hold on
Apollo.  From across the launch bay, only my talisman could do that."
     "But your powers!"
     "The talisman is a symbol of my power. That is all." Ama smiled
enigmatically.  "And through it, I can find her."
     "You have one hell of an arm, lady," Dayton told her approvingly. 
He'd seen Ama hurl something towards the shimmering creature that had
held Apollo spellbound.   "Molten silver" had been a good description. 
Now he was relieved to hear it was the Empyrean Talisman, when his
imagination had almost convinced him it was a beam of energy sent to do
battle with evil.  Like Zeus' thunderbolts. "The White Sox could use
someone like you pitching on their team."
     "The White Sox could use someone like me pitching on their team,"
Ryan mentioned.  "Or even Chameleon."
     Dayton frowned.  "At least they made it to the World Series in the
last decade while we were on Earth.  Toronto didn't."
     "World Series," Ryan sniffed.  "Why do you call it that, when you
only invite one other country?  Huh?"
     "Sympathy," Dayton rejoined.
     "Next time, send a card," Ryan flung back.
     "Stop it, you two!" Ama reprimanded them.  "I need to think, and I
can't do it with your constant bickering.  You're worse than doddering
old women!"
     "That's because we're doddering old men," Ryan returned with a
shrug.  Dayton whacked him in the shoulder.  "Well, it's true."
     "Speak for yourself," Dayton returned, dropping his voice slightly.
     "I thought I was," Paddy replied, finally shutting his mouth when
the Empyrean Necromancer stood in front of him. For a moment, he looked
as guilty as a second grader, about to be sent to the office. 
     "Are we shaking your foundations again, Paddy-Ryan?" Unpredictably,
she stroked a gentle hand alongside his unshaven cheek. "What do you make
of all this, Dear Heart?"
     "There's one advantage of spending thirty years in a hole, Ama,"
Ryan told her, his voice tremulous.  "A man finally gets to the point
where he's resolved all philosophical, spiritual and moral issues, beyond
doubt.  At least within himself."
     "And when you poke your head out of the hole?  And take a good look
around?" Ama asked.
     "Well," Ryan's voice was muted, "sometimes I feel like going back
in...and we'll probably get six more weeks of winter for my trouble."
     Dayton let out a breath, squeezing his friend's shoulder in support. 
"I know just how you feel, Paddy."

----------

     Eirys shrieked, the noise piercing Baltar's aching head, as the
glowing light that had shrouded her abruptly disappeared, and she was
physically thrust metrons back to land in a heap on the ground.  Caradoc
immediately moved to her side, the torchlight in the cavern illuminating
them subtly.
     "Eirys!  Are you hurt?" the larger troll demanded, as he assisted
her to sit. "Eirys?  Eir..."
     "Give me a moment, Caradoc," she instructed him, as she retrieved a
metal orb from her lap.  She examined it meticulously, nodding in
satisfaction before tucking it into some pocket that only she could find
in the vastness of her skirts.  Then she turned, rising on her knees to
examine something on the ground that Baltar couldn't quite see.  Ever so
slowly she retrieved it, picking it up by a thick cord, as if it was a
venomous serpent apt to strike.  Baltar sucked in a breath when he
recognized it.  It was the medallion that the Empyrean Witch wore, much
as Baltar had once worn the Seal of the Lords of Kobol.
     Why Baltar had been allowed to bear witness to the ceremony, he
wasn't sure.  Perhaps it was to prove to their newest ally that the
grimy, stinky troll indeed was a powerful sorceress.  However, from his
perspective, she had failed in her task.  She had intended to bring
another "Doublewalker" into her dimension, but instead a silver streak of
light, seemingly from nowhere, had hit her, striking her down like a
laser, and foiling her plans.  It was completely bewildering, and Baltar
held his tongue, reluctant to offer any further information until he
understood what was happening more clearly.
     "Eirys, the eye..." Caradoc murmured.  
     The medallion was circular in design with the elongated shape of an
eye within.  A long, thin brow extended over the eye and a pupil was
centred at its crest, making the eye appear to be looking up towards the
heavens.
     "I see it, Caradoc," Eirys hissed in reply, once again taking the
orb from her pocket, and holding the two items side by side.  "The eye is
almost the same...but how could that be?"
     "Indeed," Baltar inserted, moving closer to them.  The similarities
in design were startling.  "Where did your orb come from?"
     "According to the Telling, the Oculus came from the Nonentity with a
Mystic millennia ago," Eirys replied.
     "This Mystic. What was his name?" Baltar probed, wondering if Iblis
would come up again.  His own confusion over Iblis sharing the same voice
of the original Imperious Leader a thousand yahrens ago still lingered,
festering and demanding a reasonable explanation.  One he had yet to
find.  But perhaps his definition of "reasonable" needed altering in
light of both Empyrean and Troll witches becoming part of his existence.
     "Llyr," Caradoc replied.  
     "Reputedly," Eirys inserted.
     "He set us on our path." Caradoc continued.  "Many of our most
ancient teachings come from Llyr."
     "Are these Mystics...are they God's messengers?" Baltar asked,
hesitating as they exchanged puzzled looks.  How else could Iblis have
done the things he did?  "Are they omniscient?  Omnipotent?"
     Eirys frowned.  "I admit that I do not know the limits of their
powers.  It has been contested throughout our history by academics,
sorcerers and spiritual advisors alike.  According to Lore, they had
always seemed to be benevolent Beings until Iblis..." she dropped her
head, shaking it violently.
     "But your broke Mystic Law, Eirys, using the power of the Oculus to
enter their realm.  You attempted to tread where you are forbidden. 
Perhaps Iblis would never have come if you had left well enough alone. 
Perhaps he is the Defender of Mystic Law!" Caradoc criticized her.  "Even
now you risk again offending them!"
     "The past is the past, Caradoc.  I cannot change what is done, and
can only now seek to repair the damage.  To right my wrongs, if wrongs
they truly were," Eirys argued.  "Tirelessly, I have researched the
Telling and other ancient scriptures, and there is only one way!   Stand
with me now and risk the Mystics' wrath, or knowingly consign the
Angylion people to an eternity as Odreds!   Only know that I will proceed
with or without your help, General.  I avow that the Kings will rise
again, as long as my lifeblood courses through my body!"
     "Calm yourself, Eirys," Caradoc soothed her.  "I merely seek to warn
you that this plan of yours isn't without its risks.  Twice you have been
thwarted, trying to bring across Doublewalkers.  Some Being of
significant power has declared itself your enemy in their dimension."
     The troll lifted her arm, holding the talisman up by its cord.  "But
she conceded me this in return, Caradoc.  I sense that it carries great
powers, and that hers are now diminished."
     "By Llyr," the troll grasped at the air separating them, then
roughly slapped his mouth with his hand, and spat on the ground.  "Then
rid yourself of it!  Hurl it into the molten crater of Mt. Hwynt!"
     Eirys shook her head slowly.  "I think not, for I believe it will
bait my trap quite nicely."  Then she glanced at Baltar with eyes that
seemed to see straight through to his soul.  "What can you tell me of the
Sorceress who wears this amulet, Baltar?"
     "Well...I..."
     
----------

     The six Hybrids were in tight formation, following their wing
leaders, and maintaining communications silence as ordered.  On scanner,
Dietra continuously monitored for any  company while Starbuck narrowed in
on the energy source.  Even within the fighter, things seemed tense.  She
glanced at her strike leader who was unusually quiet, as his eyes
flickered between instruments while he tracked his ships, simultaneously
waiting for data that might explain what this mysterious energy force was
that had seemingly apprehended Baltar.  So far, all was clear.
     "What do you think it is?" Dietra asked.  She had been accustomed to
a constant yammering from Starbuck during training runs, and even on the
rare patrols they had pulled together back on the Galactica.  The fact
was, things were never boring when you flew with Starbuck.  He seemed to
attract the unusual, unexpected, and unpredictable.  When he had flown as
Apollo's wingman, the two together had been a magnet for trouble.
     "Nothing that our instruments can make any sense of," he replied,
pointing ahead to a shimmering region of space in which blues and greens
danced together like swaying curtains in a light breeze, as one colour
flowed into and out of the other.  "Doesn't look dangerous."
     "It's beautiful, actually," Dietra replied, also glancing at the
instruments.
     "Reminds me of those deep sea creatures that attract prey with a
sparkling light, and then eat them when they get close enough."
     "Hmm," Dietra frowned, glancing aside at him.  "So much for beauty."
     Starbuck grinned.  "Sometimes the most beautiful creatures are the
most dangerous."
     "Really?" Dietra snorted.  "Are we talking women now, or alien life
forms?"
     "Can you differentiate between the two for me..." Starbuck chuckled,
receiving a smack in the arm for his efforts.
     "Keep that up, and I'll tell your wife."
     "Remember Dee, what is said in the cockpit..."
     "Stays in the cockpit," she finished with a nod.  "I've reached the
conclusion that you implemented that rule to get away with saying
whatever you please."
     "Ah, that hurts," he teased, holding a hand to his chest.  "It had
more to do with developing trust between wingmates..."
     "Starbuck you're so full of..." she grinned as he cleared his throat
noisily.  She was enjoying the repartee much more than the previous
silence.
     Starbuck reached over to adjust the scanners and then shook his head
as he looked ahead at the shimmering area that grew with each passing
moment.  "This is weird.  The scanners aren't even reading it.  It's like
some kind of void."
     "Are the scanners working?" She waited while he ran the instruments
through a quick diagnostic. 
     "Seem to be," he grunted.  "They just haven't encountered anything
like it before."
     "What do we do now?" Dietra asked, looking from him to the canopy. 
They were coming up on it-whatever it was-pretty fast.
     "We probe it.  We have to find out what's inside, if anything."
     "Wish we had one of Wilker's PMU's," Dietra replied.  The Portable
Mobilization Units had been used with good success in the last sectars,
replacing Viper pilots with mechanized probes in potentially dangerous
situations.  This would have been a perfect opportunity to send one into
the field, but the new technology had a Colonial stamp all over it, and
couldn't be used by a Covert Operations Ship that was trying to emulate
Cylons.  Malus was working on developing a Cylon version that they could
use.
     "Ah, but this will be so much more fun.  Besides, what's the worst
thing that could happen?" Starbuck replied, with an edge to his voice
that betrayed his true feelings.  He reached for the comm, automatically
activating the Cylon vocal modulator.  "This is Patrol Leader.  Alpha
Wing will enter void.  Beta Wing will hold on perimeter."  Curt, concise,
and to the point.  He was becoming a master at speaking Cylon Centurion. 

     "By-your-command, Alpha-Leader," Beta Leader replied, the vocal
modulator changing Gile's voice eerily.   
     With a dubious glance at Dietra, Starbuck nodded once, and changed
course for the centre of the blue-green void. 
     "Starbuck.  Getting something now, on the scanners." Dietra alerted
him.  "Take a look."
     "Lords..." he murmured.  "What the frack..." 
     The scope, previously blank, was now beginning to dance with
fluctuating streaks of light.  While the main scanner suite still read
nothing, something  was definitely going on. 
     "Our deflection grid now says there's something there, but the
scanners say there isn't."
     "Radion?"
     "Negative.  The whole band shows totally clear, Starbuck."
     "That doesn't make any sense, Dee."
     "Don't I know it.  Whatever it is," she replied, "contact in thirty
microns."

----------

     "Commander Dayton," Cadet Pierus reported.  "We have an incoming
message from Wraith One."
     "Go ahead, Luana," Dayton said, with a glance over at his executive
officer.  Since his run in down in Beta Bay, Apollo had been looking a
whiter shade of pale as each subsequent moment passed.  The young officer
briefly closed his eyes, his hand raking through his dark hair, massaging
his skull gingerly. He was beginning to look as bad as Starbuck had not
long after his massage...
     "Commander, I've scanned the planet, and completed my second orbit,"
Luana reported, coming on the main screen.  Her face filled the screen,
her helmet almost obscuring her identity. "She's  borderline
Delta/Epsilon Class, making her almost compatible with Human life.  The
atmosphere is considerably lighter though, than the Caprica standard. 
But she does show life, sir.  Seas.  Rivers.  The works.  In fact, from
the data I'm receiving, it appears there was a civilisation down there at
one time.  Entire cities, in fact."
     "Okay, feed us your telemetry, Lu." Dayton moved to the console,
watching the data come in. "Borderline Delta/Epsilon Class?" Dayton
glanced to Apollo.
     "It has to do with the composition of atmospheric gases surrounding
the planet," Apollo swallowed, a trickle of sweat running down his temple
that he wiped at distractedly.  "Ideally, Humans breathe approximately
seventy-eight percent nitrogen, twenty-one percent oxygen..."
     "As well as argon, carbon dioxide, and other trace elements," Malus
added, when the Colonel paused. 
     "Sounds a lot like Earth," replied Dayton. "So, borderline
means...?"
     "Just what it says," Dorado added.  "She's more habitable than a
true Epsilon Class, but not as fully as a Delta Class world. Chemically,
the surface and crust are also very similar to both the Colonies, and
many Cylon worlds, as well."
     "But we could survive down there?"
     "Oh yes," interjected Malus again. "The lighter atmosphere reads as
dense enough for Human existence, and I believe that over generations,
you would adapt."
     "I see," said the commander.  He studied the information from Lu's
ship.  The planet not only looked fairly Earthlike, it also had almost
the same land-to-water ratio, had a rotation rate only thirteen minutes
less than his own world, and a strong magnetic field. Her tilt was
similar, too, although her atmospheric pressure was barely three-quarters
what Earth's was. "Are you reading any life signs, Luana?" Dayton asked.
     "Plenty. Trees, animals, birds, sure.  None that could be considered
sentient so far...but..." she hesitated.
     "But?"  No answer. "Go ahead, Ensign," Dayton encouraged her.
     "I know this is going to sound crazy, Commander, but when I entered
the atmosphere, characters suddenly began scrolling up my main screen,
and an automatic program started in the Wraith.  One that we were
previously unaware of.  I get the feeling that this is some basic
programming, hard-wired into her from her construction, and that this is
home.  She's gone on some kind of auto pilot, and I can't unlock her
system."  In the background, they could hear switches clicking. "She's
taking me down."
     Oh, just perfect!  The Ristretto Kid would kill him if he lost his
bride on her first mission!  Dayton exchanged looks with Apollo,
determined that it wasn't going to happen, as he swallowed down the
anxiety that threatened to climb up his throat, jump out his mouth, and
tell her to get out of there.    
     "Can you regain control, Luana?" Apollo asked.
     "Not so far." Her tone was dispassionate, but with an obvious
undercurrent.
     "What have you tried?" Apollo leaned forward, listening as she
reviewed all her futile attempts at bypassing circuits, and even shutting
down systems.  Nothing had worked.
     "Malus."
     "Yes, Commander?"
     "Get down to the hangar bay.  Try and see if you can dig out this
program that Lu's talking about in the other Wraith's computer.  If
there's a program, there has to be a password, or a stand down code, or
whatever you want to call it.  Get as many people as you need to help
you, and make sure Paddy's in on this.  Top priority."
     "Yes, sir," said the IL. 
     "Okay, hop to it."  Malus did a short double-take, then he sharply
turned, and left the Control Centre.
     Hopping. 
     Dayton just shook his head. "Lu? Any luck?"
     "Not yet, Commander Dayton," she replied.  "I thought that since I
can't detect any current sapient life signs, that it might be interesting
to see where I end up.  Maybe we're finally going to find out who
designed these ships, and what they were doing way back on a pirate
asteroid, half way across the last star system. With your permission,
sir," she added, almost as an afterthought.  
     "Sounds like my permission isn't needed, Lu," replied Dayton.
"Someone or something else is calling the shots here."
     "So it seems, Commander," responded Lu. 
     "It could be that switching to auto-pilot on approach to their city
was standard procedure when this civilisation was thriving," Apollo
suggested.  "She might regain control once she lands."
     Dayton nodded, hoping that was the case, assuming that where she was
supposed to land was still in one piece.  "Okay.  Keep telemetry open,
Lu.  On the low-band channel.  We'll enter planetary orbit in..." he
looked at the chrono, "...thirty centons."
     "Hope I'll be able to rendezvous, sir."
     "If you can't, Princess, we'll be down to collect you.  That's a
promise."
     "Thanks, Dayton..." she murmured.
     "Holy..." began Xochiquetzal, biting off the rest of the sentence. 
While he was easy-going off-prime, while on duty, Dayton was not tolerant
of "rough language", as he called it. "Sir!"
     "Yes?"
     "Receiving visual telemetry from the Wraith, sir."  She punched it
up on the main screen.
     "She was right," said Apollo, by now leaning on a control panel for
support. "A city."
     "You mean it was a city," said Dayton. "Before somebody nuked it."
     "Nuked?" asked Vesta. Dayton explained.
     Lu had just flown over what had once been a city.  From the size of
it, it was somewhere close to the size of L.A. or Chicago, back home,
although the buildings had their own distinct character that was hard to
identify at a glance, setting them apart from Earth's.  However, this
city was shattered.  Blasted.  A heap of rubble.  Once-tall buildings
were sheared off, or crumbling to the ground, many overgrown with plant
life run wild.  Dayton freeze-framed, and zoomed in.  Many of the
decaying structures were blackened and charred, whole sections melted, as
if fires had run wild for weeks, if not months, when the city had been
struck.  He moved ahead, and sure enough, near the centre of the city,
was a huge crater of glass.  Now filled with water and God-knew what
else, it had clearly been caused by whatever had consigned the place to
oblivion. 
     "Enhance this area, here," he ordered.  Xochiquetzal complied. 
Stripped of its cover, it was plain: this was ground zero.  A deep scan
of the rubble and soil confirmed his fears. "Yeah.  She was hit from
orbit." He began punching keys on a control panel, and data scrolled by. 
He nodded, pursing his lips as his gut feeling was verified.  "Poor
suckers never had a chance."
     "Who destroyed them?" asked Apollo, squinting at the screen.  His
strained features either meant he already had a good idea, or he was
about to get sent to the Life Station. Possibly both.
     "We did," said Dayton. "Or rather, this ship did, according to her
data files, about a hundred years ago.
     "Huh? I mean..." said Apollo, massaging his temples. 
     "According to the data banks, this ship bombarded the surface,
wiping out whatever civilization was down there.  I can't read all of
this Cylon gobbledygook, but I'm sure Malus can fill us in."
     "Yeah..." Apollo replied quietly.  He leaned hard against the
console. 
     "Get yourself to the Life Station, Colonel," Dayton murmured,
putting a hand on the young man's shoulder. "You look ready to collapse."
Apollo didn't move. "Consider that an order, Colonel."
     "Came on sort of gradually," Apollo replied shakily, holding a hand
to his head, and wincing, as he stumbled a couple steps towards the
hatch.  "Feel like I was hit by a shuttle..."
     "Hell's bells, Starbuck looked just like this..." Dayton put a
supporting arm around Apollo, not wanting to follow the train of thought
his mind was taking when he put two and two together and got "spiritual"
interference on both counts.  He needed to talk to Ama!  If this entity
had tried to apprehend Apollo, had it also tried to mess with Starbuck
earlier on?  And how did that relate to Baltar's disappearance from the
Prison Barge?  Was it some kind of random thing, or was "it" being
selective in its choice of victims?  And why on Earth-or off of it-did he
expect that the Empyrean Necromancer would know these answers?  "Dorado?"
     "Commander."
     "Take the conn.  I'm taking Apollo to the Life Station.  Call ahead
and notify them that I'm on the way."
     "Sir."
     "And have Ama meet us there!  Steady as she goes until further
notice."
     "Yes, sir!"

---------

     The air in the cockpit was suddenly charged with an inexplicable
energy, as the Hybrid fighters penetrated the blue-green shimmering void. 
Starbuck's skin tingled, and it felt as though every hair was standing on
end.  It was like being in a tempestuous storm, while strapped to a
lightning rod.  There was a faint hiss, or crackle, that seemed to
surround them, but come from nowhere in particular.  He also noticed that
he could no longer hear the noise of the ship's engines. It was...creepy.
     "Make sure you keep your navigational fix going in, Dee," he told
her, looking out the port.  There was only swirling, fluorescent soup. 
"I'm keeping her on this bearing, unless I come up with one Hades of a
good reason not to."
     "So if we have to, we turn around one hundred and eighty degrees,
and go straight back out again," she surmised with an approving nod.  "We
still have navigation, Captain.  Phoenix Two and Three are following in
chevron formation."
     "I wouldn't trust navigation, Lieutenant," he muttered.  He thought
back to the space near Kobol, when he and Apollo had penetrated a
mysterious black Void.  Doing a one eighty there had been possible as
well, but tricky, at best.  "If it isn't some kind of electro-magnetic
force making every hair on my body stand up, I don't know what it is."
     "So if we have navigation, it's probably not accurate..." she
muttered in frustration.
     "And I'm willing to guess you can't scan the other end of this
slop..." he added, as the glimmering iridescence flowed around them,
fading from one colour into another.
     "Correct," she verified, switching wavelons. "Either its boundaries
are beyond our scanner range, or our data is complete felgercarb."
     "Take your choice," he returned.  "Are you still picking up the
original energy source?"  He glanced at the mounted chrono. "Weren't we
supposed to be making contact..."
     Dietra hesitated, shaking her head.  "I'm not getting the same
readings...just a lot of interference and static."
     "Optical band system?"
     "Nothing.  Same on the attack scanner.  It's like staring through a
blizzard with an illuminator."
     "Multi-spec?"
     "Same thing, Starbuck.  Total mud."  There was a sudden burst of
sparks from an instrument at the far end of the panel.  Dee swore, and
checked a switch. "And our flight data recorder just went dead."
     "I'm not getting a good feeling about this, Dee," Starbuck murmured,
his fingers itching to turn that bird around, and lead them back out. As
if reading his mind, the ship bounced, as if they'd hit a bump.  She
bucked again.
     "That's good enough for me, Bucko," she replied, looking over at
him.  "I get the feeling that..."
     "What?" he asked, looking back at her, but she wasn't moving. 
Wasn't reacting in any way.  He swallowed the sudden lump of fear in his
throat.  "Dee?"  He snapped his fingers in front of her face.  Nothing. 
He patted her face. "Dietra!"  Nothing.  She was as lively as a rusted
centurion.  
     Around him the air seemed to spark with energy.  He could count each
beat of his heart, it was pounding so loudly in his ears.  Then, molecule
by molecule, the ship and Dietra seemed to slowly disintegrate around him
until he was sitting in space.  No seat, no ship, no co-pilot.  He was
impossibly suspended within the void itself, completely alone.  "Sweet
Lord, I'll do anything you ask..."
     Come to me!
     It was the same vision that he had beheld in his dream, the same
magnificent siren that had beckoned him forward once before, only this
time she seemed to stride towards him purposely, her long blonde hair
billowing out behind her, as her white robes swirled around shapely legs,
and delicate bare feet peeked out beneath her garments.  Against the
backdrop of the shimmering lights, appearing like radiant spirits dancing
in the Heavens, he was powerless to resist.
     Or at least it would make one heck of an excuse in his report...
     Come.  I need you.
     "Well, the thing is I'm married, and she carries an Empyrean
blade..." he murmured, licking lips that were dry, and not sure if the
words even passed his lips as she suddenly paused only centimetrons away. 
He found that he was now standing, though he had no memory or awareness
of having risen to a standing position.  He looked "down" at his legs,
his feet impossibly framed against the swirling energy of the...whatever
it was. Shaking his head, he looked back up.               
     She smiled at him beguilingly, holding out a hand.  You will raise a
King, and save a people.
     It sounded like something Ama would have portended, only this wasn't
Ama.  Not by a long shot.  All else aside, this person had all her teeth. 
His hand seemed to lift of its own volition, and it took every bit of
self-control he had to pull it back, clenching it tightly into a fist. 
It trembled.  "Actually, heroics aside, I'm in a hurry to get back to a
card game..."
     She grinned then, and abruptly waved a silver amulet at him,
dangling it tantalisingly, as the light reflected on the highly polished
silver of the Empyrean Talisman.  
     Ama's!  But what...?  
     Starbuck gasped, instinctively grabbing for the Empyrean
Necromancer's amulet, and feeling a searing heat tear up his arm as his
hand wrapped around it.  He tried to drop it, but his hand refused to
obey, keeping the Talisman in a fiery grip.  Rising upward and outward,
the heat engulfed him in a violent fury, wracking his body in a tortured
agony, tearing at him viciously, while she watched.  
     He couldn't escape it, the link between them was unbreakable, no
matter how he tried.  Energy shot into him, filling him up painfully,
while a deafening roar hammered him, until he felt like a star about to
go supernova.  His grip tightened on the talisman, using it as a
lifeline, even as it burned a hole straight through to his core.  In a
blinding culmination of both pain and luminosity, he exploded into a
billion tiny shards of light...

Chapter Six

     "Starbuck!" Dietra cried, her stomach twisting in knots.
     One moment he was beside her in the pilot's seat, talking to her,
and the next he had disappeared!  It was...unbelievable.
     Especially since she was abruptly down a pilot!
     The fighter lurched to port, and she leapt from one seat to the
other, grabbing the more Human-friendly yoke-another improvement on the
original design-and correcting their course.  She could get by without a
co-pilot and navigator.  In fact, Starbuck had purposely drilled them all
on this eventuality, taking a "nap" in the rear command centurion's seat
one day while putting them through this exercise. 
     "All right, Dee, you can do this..." she murmured, mentally
calculating the correction, and confirming her course, before turning the
ship around one hundred and eighty degrees.  She didn't have Starbuck's
experience in fighters or the same confidence in her own piloting
instincts, but regardless, she was the squadron leader now, and she was
determined to get them out of there before anybody else disappeared!  A
glance across at the scanner told her that the others were following, but
she wouldn't be able to tell them that they were down a strike captain
until they cleared the void.
     The microns seemed to take twice as long to pass in this space
anomaly.  Mentally, she chastised herself for not paying more attention
to how much time had elapsed since they had entered.  She huffed
disparagingly, realizing that she thought Starbuck was doing that.  And
he wasn't supposed to disappear into thin, although electro-magnetically
charged, air.  Just like Baltar had.  
     "Damn you, Bucko.  If you think I'm going to let you get away with
this, you've got another thing coming. This is Dereliction of Duty!  Not
even the strike captain can get away with this..." she muttered heatedly,
blinking back hot tears that pricked the backs of her eyes.  He was
gone...Right out from under her nose, without even a warning.  The
realization scared the pogees out of her.  How on Kobol was she going to
tell Luana?  Her stomach flip-flipped and she could discern the acrid
taste of fear in her mouth, since they were still in the man-eating void
that bedazzled the senses with alluring blues and greens, while
monstrously ingesting Colonial Warriors without a trace. 

----------

     "Apollo!  What happened?" Cassie motioned to a biostretcher as
Dayton supported the warrior into the Life Station.  The colonel had
stopped by briefly earlier, after the mysterious incident in Beta Bay,
but had been cleared from a medical point of view for duty.
     "Headache..." Apollo murmured, not daring to speak above a whisper
for fear of his head splitting open. "Like a vice, Cassie. Like a pulsar
inside."  He gingerly sat down on the stretcher, closing his eyes against
the brightness of the harsh Life Station lighting.       It had gradually
become worse, and had gone from a niggling pain at the front of his
skull, to a crushing pressure throughout, which he was sure would force
his grey matter out of his ears at any moment.  
     "Well, let's get a full scan here," she said, looking at Dayton. 
"He had a headache when he left here, but it certainly wasn't
debilitating.  He didn't even want to take anything for it," she
murmured, running her biomonitor over Apollo, and pausing to examine the
results.  "Nothing out of the ordinary."
     "Except the headache from Hell," Dayton pointed out.  "Starbuck
looked just like this when he left the Bridge earlier today..."
     Cassie smiled in amusement.  "Two incidences related to Bridge duty. 
I hope it's not an epidemic, Commander."
     Dayton raised his eyebrows.  "You know as well as I do that Starbuck
felt that way before he hit the Bridge.  He blamed it on the acupuncture. 
Not me."  He winked at her, knowing she was teasing, before glancing
around.  "Where's the Doc?"
     Cassie raised her eyebrows. "What Doc?"
     "Our Doc. The Chief Medical Officer assigned to the Endeavour.  The
one I requested be assigned."
     "Dr. Sala?"
     "Yes, that's it. Dr. Sala.  I thought he boarded," Dayton inserted,
looking around again expectantly. "The roster said everybody was aboard."
     "Oh, he did board," said Cassie, not even trying to hide the disdain
in her voice. "And when he finally arrived here after settling in to his
quarters, and I gave him the full tour of the Life Station, including the
surgical suite, he informed me that a mistake had been made."
     "What mistake?" Dayton asked, his brow furrowing.
     "Dr. Sala has a doctorate in psychology.  He's not a surgeon, and
doesn't even hold a medical degree."
     "A shrink?  How the bloody hell could the computer make that kind of
mistake?" Dayton exploded, watching Apollo turn a ghostly shade of white.
"Sorry, Apollo."
     "Maybe he could shrink my headache..." Apollo whispered, rubbing his
temples. "Or my whole head?"
     "Apparently, the records of him and his older brother-killed in the
Destruction- were somehow confused.  Combined.  According to our Fleet
personnel file, he once ran a Piscon Life Station, as well as held the
head Psychologist position in the President Timon Health Centre on
Gemon," Cassie continued. "Chief clinician in residence."
     "Is that supposed to be suspicious?" Dayton asked.  "Couldn't he do
both?"
     "At the same time?" Cassie inserted, handing over a datapad with Dr.
Sala's credentials. "On two different planets?"
     "I...see." Somehow, Dayton found a sort of cold comfort in learning
that the U.S. Air Force, or NASA, weren't the only organizations that
could royally screw things up in the personnel department.
     "I think you do. As of our official launch, we are down a Chief
Medical Officer, Mark." Cassie looked as if she'd like to go and shoot
someone right about now.  Possibly, someone in personnel...
     "Bloody hell..." Dayton murmured at the revelation, once again
marvelling at how many things could go wrong in this man's military, just
as Ama walked through the door. She was now wearing what he understood to
be the traditional garments of her people.  The long brown tunic and
pants looked like crude suede, and were obviously authentic animal skins.
Her high boots could have come from the pages of Vanity Fair, and her
wild hair had that familiar windswept eighties look that really couldn't
be explained aboard a spaceship. "Hey, Ama.  Nice. Early Gucci?"
     "Have you heard from Starbuck's patrol, Mark-Dayton?" she demanded,
ignoring his flip comment, and crossing swiftly to them, pausing in front
of Apollo.  "Not immune either, my boy?  Poor lad."
     "I...uh..." Apollo waved a hand instinctively in front of himself as
she reached for him.
     Ama smiled, pulling back slightly.  "Have I ever done you harm,
Apollo?"
     It seemed rhetorical, but she waited patiently for an answer, as if
she was speaking to a sensitive child.  "No, Ama.  Of course not." Apollo
replied, chagrined.
     "Do I not love your best friend-he who considers you as a brother-as
if he was my own son?" 
     Apollo nodded.  How many times had she been there for Starbuck, both
as a friend and mentor?  And hadn't she extended that same affection and
protection to many others?    
     "Then know without doubt that I only mean to help, although at times
it may seem otherwise."  Ama raised her hands, holding them a hand's
breath from his face.  "Starbuck was similarly affected when the Hag
probed him.  I can ease your pain, Apollo, if you will allow me?"
     "Starbuck...she went after Starbuck too?" Apollo asked, jerking his
head back, and immediately regretting it as it throbbed violently.
     "She did," Ama replied, nodding.  
     She pressed her fingers to Apollo's head, and closed her eyes. 
Though nothing was visible, an energy seemed to pass between them. 
Within moments, Apollo opened his eyes, and took a deep breath. Ama
opened hers as well, and looked at him. He nodded, and she smiled.
     "Better?" asked Cassie, scanning his skull.
     "Very much so. Like it was never there."
     "I don't know how you..." Cassie began, looking from the instrument
to the necromancer.
     "All that matters is I do," replied Ama.  She looked from the med
tech, to Dayton. "I'm not sure if Starbuck was aware of the Hag's
presence, as he was most likely dreaming at the time."
     "Dreaming?" asked Apollo.
     "Yes.  When one sleeps and dreams, the mind becomes vulnerable on
certain levels.  The Hag knows this, and sought to exploit it."
     "Okay, Baltar, Apollo, Starbuck...what's the connection?" Dayton
asked. 
     "The Hag," Ama returned ruefully.  She looked at Dayton as if he
really needed a remedial First Grade class for a moment.
     "Well, thanks for clearing that up," Dayton grumbled.
     "My pleasure Mark-Dayton, but I believe that we have bigger troubles
now," Ama informed them.
     "Oh?"
     "She has gone after Starbuck again, and I believe that this time she
snagged him."
     Just then the overhead comm crackled to life. "Commander Dayton,
report to the Control Centre!  I repeat, Commander Dayton, report to the
Control Centre!" 

----------

     "Come on, Malus. Lu has to be running out of time. This is
Starbuck's wife we're talking about. Our-fair haired boy's one and only. 
The kid's going to be devastated if we don't find the access code to an
automatic landing sequence in the next ten seconds!" Ryan insisted as
long streams of algorithms raced by on the monitor too quickly for the
Human eye to comprehend, while he, Jenny and the IL watched and waited.
     "Devastated?" Malus enquired, while speeding up the process even
more, the lights in his 'head' flashing in sync.  "I fail to understand
how physical harm can come to Starbuck, Dr. Ryan, if something happens
concurrently to his wife, in a different location."
     "Emotional devastation, Malus.  Aren't you supposed to be studying
up on us?  If I was your teacher I'd put you in the corner with the Dunce
Cap on, and have the kids blow spit balls at you." He glanced at Jenny. 
"Ah, takes me back to Kindergarten with Mrs. Stewart."  He knocked on the
IL's chestplate.  "Malus, Don't you realize yet that the physical impact
on a Human is only part of the equation?"
     "No, actually."
     "Think of it like...having part of your programming scrambled. 
Unable to properly process certain kinds of data."
     "Ah," said the IL. "Like corrupted algorithms.  And an emotional
impact can be just as debilitating to a Human?"
     "Or uplifting," Jenny added, drawn into the conversation.  "Emotions
can take us either way."
     "The cup is half empty, or half full," Ryan inserted with a smile.
     "And it would be my responsibility?" Malus asked, trying to
understand.
     "Darn right," Ryan nodded vehemently. "You would have failed Luana.
And Starbuck. And by extension, the entire Colonial...Oww!" he cried, as
Jenny cuffed him in the head.
     "Don't tell him that!" Jenny snapped. "Ya want him to crash?"
     "You're telling me that he's got Microsoft in there?" Ryan returned
as Jenny stared at him balefully. "I'm just trying to motivate him!"
     "Then encourage him. Don't fill his head with misconceptions!" 
     "What?  And stop a tradition in the Ryan family that has worked for
centuries?" His voice changed in both pitch and tone, as he mimicked his
mother. "If you sneak a spoonful of cookie dough, Paddy Ryan, you'll get
worms!  If you steal change off your father's bureau, you'll grow hair on
your palms!  If your scowl, your face will freeze that way!  If you don't
stop touching it, it will fall off!"
     Jenny raised her eyebrows and sniffed.  "That explains a lot about
you, actually."
     "Well, Old Mother Ryan ruled her house with a wooden spoon, don't
you know. In fact, all the way back to the Great Potato Chip Famine-circa
Granddad's diet-the Ryan women..."
     "Dr. Ryan, I believe I've found it," Malus interrupted, as he
isolated the code, locking it in to the handheld monitor.
     "Look, it worked," Ryan grinned at Jenny triumphantly.  "Now get
that code up to the Control Centre, Malus, before you short-circuit from
inactivity!"
     "On my way," the IL replied. 
     "Hope to God it's in time," said Jenny.  "Lu could eject, but I'd
hate to lose that ship, Ryan..."
     "He'll make it.  Oh, and Jenny?"
     "Yeah?"
     "Why the hell is Malus hopping?"

----------

     Utter darkness blanketed Starbuck, like a drug-induced fog, and for
a long, unnerving moment, nothing penetrated the stillness and the
numbness.  It was a blessed relief.  Hmm.  Actually, it left a guy
wondering, not for the first time in his life, if he was dead. Then a
gradual chill and dampness began to creep over him, as he shivered
involuntarily, and with it the pain and the misery slowly returned.  It
was a sure sign he was still alive, at least in his limited experience. 
His senses seemed to fade back into functionality, as the gruff murmuring
of voices and the dimness of light bit by bit became more detectable,
along with a powerful musky scent.  Rough hands grabbed him by the
shoulders, turning him over onto his back, and jerking something from his
hands.  Only then did he become aware that he was lying, curled into a
fetal position, on the damp, smelly ground.  Suddenly, there was light. 
The light shone directly into his eyes, shot straight through his skull,
and he groaned in response, trying to roll over again and escape it,
fighting against the determined resistance futilely.
     "By Llyr, it's the Prince!  It's Llewelyn!" Caradoc cried, his voice
a mix of shock and joy.  Other voices behind him echoed his cry.
     "Oh, no!  Not him!" Baltar groused even louder. "Why? By all the
Lords, why is it always him?"
     "Nay, it's not our prince, Caradoc, but it is his Doublewalker,"
Eirys stated, panting, her voice sounding tired.  "Give him some air,
General.  He fought me all the way, and no doubt he's feeling the
effects.  I certainly am."
     The hands released him, allowing Starbuck to roll back onto his
side, curling up into a ball, and shutting out the light.  His palm
pressed against his skull, as if he could dull the incessant hammering
that had become the centre of his existence.  Waves of nausea bombarded
him, and he retched uncontrollably, despite a woefully empty stomach. 
His stomach convulsed repeatedly, and he shuddered with the exertion,
biting his lip as each spasm caused a correlating agony in his head. 
Finally, he lay spent, the cold and dampness seeping into his bones, as
his body, slick with sweat, began to cool.
     "Sagan sakes..." he gasped.  The cold surface felt good against his
face.  "What in Hades Hole is..." His eyes focused, and he made out the
features of Baltar.  Idly he searched for his weapon, but his holster was
woefully empty .  He groaned loudly before muttering, "I go through all
that, and yours is the first face I see..." Fleeting memories of the
ethereal siren that had tricked him filtered through his mind.
     "Can you carry him, Caradoc?" Eirys asked.  "We need to get him to
Mt. Cadoc."
     The derisive snort was almost humorous.  "He's a bit on the big side
for me," the general chuckled.  "If I put him over my shoulder, his head
would be bouncing off the ground."
     "Might make for an improvement," muttered Baltar.
     "Eh?  What was that?" asked Eirys.
     "What exactly do you need him for?" Baltar asked, pointing at the
Viper pilot.
     "We need his blood."
     Baltar smiled brightly.  Things were suddenly looking up.  "Oh? 
Then I'll carry him."
     "Hey, can we talk about this?" groaned Starbuck, startling as an
incredibly short, ugly creature suddenly appeared before him, pulling his
upper body upright, while others surrounded him, trying to prop him up. 
Instinctively, he moved to defend himself, but at the first hint of
resistance, they swarmed him, pressing a blade to his throat
threateningly.  A foul, musky odour assaulted his senses, and he gasped
as his stomach convulsed again while stabbing pains shot through his
skull.  It was like a living nightmare!
     "We'll talk after they take your blood," retorted Baltar, leaning
down and grasping the younger man by the flight jacket while the troll
people pushed and prodded him.  With a grunt, he hefted the warrior over
his shoulders, the trolls following.

----------

     What would Starbuck do?
     Something intuitive.  Something crazy.  Something borderline
deranged that would never make it into the manual, but would work
anyway...like cutting power and taking his chances.  She wracked her
mind, trying to sift through her library of Starbuck stories-both real
and apocryphal-desperately trying to come up with an idea that involved
something more useful than cursing the Wraith, and calling it by every
profane phrase she had learned since joining the Fleet.  Frackin'
mong-raking snitradious Sagan's socks sucking piece of automated
felgercarb...
     As she heard her landing repulsors automatically firing up, and saw
the enormous pile of rubble barely a kilometron ahead, Luana realized she
was quickly running out of time.  Not to mention epithets.  Probably
somewhere beneath that pile of debris used to be a spaceport, and her
ship was following some long ago pre-programmed flight path to take her
in without incident.   She was in a beautiful green valley, following a
winding river with snow-capped peaks on the far horizon, and in any other
situation, she'd be enjoying the scenery.  But in this case, she knew she
was about to slam into a mountainside of felgercarb at almost eight
thousand kilometrons per centar.
     "Wraith One to Endeavour.  Any luck up there, Core Command?  I've
almost reached my destination, and I've got to say that I've seen nicer
looking landing bays between the crushers on the Hephaestus."
     "Luana, this is Dorado. We just heard from Dr. Ryan. They fired up
the other Wraith's computer, and Malus is on his way to the Control
Centre with the code to disengage your auto-pilot."
     "How long, Dorado?" Lu asked, swallowing as she watched the pile of
rubble loom nearer.  Even as she waited, her engines began to throttle
back, no doubt following their long-ago instructions.  Still, if she
didn't...
     "Not sure exactly, Luana, but not long.  How long do you need?"
     "I'd say I have about thirty microns..."  She paused, glancing at
the controls. "I'd hate to eject, Dorado. We'd lose the Wraith, plus all
the data I scanned...tell Malus to get a move on."
     "Luana!  Apollo here!" He sounded out of breath.  "What's your
altitude?  And what's the landscape like?"
     "It's frackin' gorgeous, Colonel, if boulder-strewn mountainsides
are your thing.  Nice impenetrable forest too. But I'd rather leave my
sightseeing for another time, if you don't mind!"
     "If you cut power totally-I mean a complete engine power down-could
you land?" he rejoined insistently.  "Altitude, lift and terrain!  Think
about it!"
     "Where the Hell's Chrome Dome?" Dayton hollered in the background.
     "I'd drop like a tylinium ball, Apollo..." Luana muttered,
nevertheless checking her altimetron and speed.  Mentally, she did the
calculations, factoring in how much glide she could count on from the
aerodynamic spacecraft.  Its control stick and surfaces were not
dependant on a functioning power source to operate, thankfully, and it
occurred to her that Dayton had once deduced there had to be a very good
reason for that.  She might be able to glide, if she did this right.  The
dang ship was possibly even designed for it!  It was significantly
lighter than a Colonial craft...it might just be possible...if luck was
on her side.  
     "No, you wouldn't, Lu.  Trust me on this.  As long as the terrain is
okay..." Apollo coaxed her.  "C'mon..."
     "Luana!" A brisk voice interrupted.  "Dayton here!  We're uploading
the code, and transmitting...now!"
     Luana shook her head, her stomach tightening into knots as her
proximity alert sounded.  "I'm out of time, Commander.  I can't wait! 
Cutting power!"
     She reached for the controls, but the transmission from above was
faster.  Just as her finger touched the switch, there was a beep, and the
craft bucked slightly.  Her interface screen informed her that she was
once more on manual control.  Letting out the breath she had been
holding, she pulled back on the stick, and hit the power.  The Wraith
roared with new speed, and she screamed over the rocky ridge, banking to
the right. 
     "Yeehawwwww!"
     "Luana?"
     "Control restored, Commander," reported Luana, realizing that Pierus
in communications was probably cursing her right now. "Instructions?"
     "Excellent, Ensign.  Alright, fly up and down the valley, scanning
for whatever installation had acquired you.  We'll focus on the area when
we pass over in...seventeen and a half centons."
     "Understood, Commander," said Lu. "Tell Malus he gets an extra shot
of joint lube for his natal day, this yahren."
     "He doesn't have a birthday, Luana.  He's a Cylon." 
     "Starbuck gave him one to ease his transition into Colonial life" 
Being assigned a designated date as a registered orphan that he could
celebrate each yahren, Starbuck wasn't exactly known as a stickler on
such trivial details.  Ironically, he was almost torn over conceding his
'familiar' natal date, as he called it, in preference to his 'official'
one that Chameleon had revealed.  The last she'd heard, he was
considering keeping them both in the interest of Fleet morale.  After
all, two parties for Starbuck were better than one.  "And Malus prefers
to think of himself as 'patiently waiting for his citizenship', rather
than as a 'Cylon'."
     "I'll...uh, try to remember that, Luana.  Dayton out."

----------

     "You didn't tell her," Ama accused him.
     Right now, somehow, she managed to sound like his Aunt Lena.
     "Tell her what?" Dayton returned, looking at her.  They had been on
their way to the Control Centre from the Life Station when Luana's crisis
had superseded the report he knew was waiting for him from Lieutenant
Dietra. "I'm not going to get Luana all riled up about something I don't
know anything about, Ama.  I need to talk to Dietra first.  Pierus?"
     "Lieutenant Dietra, sir," Pierus nodded, switching channels.
     "This is Commander Dayton.  Report, Lieutenant."
     "Commander, Starbuck's gone!" came the voice, after a few seconds. 
It was scratchy, but intelligible. "Vanished into thin air right out of
the cockpit, after we penetrated some kind of void.  I don't know what
happened, sir.  I...I can't find any trace of him..." Her usually
dispassionate voice held an edge of disbelief.  " All scans are
negative."
     "Forward your telemetry now, Lieutenant."
     "Forwarding telemetry, Commander."
     Dayton glanced at Ama, who merely nodded that the incoming data
confirmed her suspicions as they both watched the transmitted telemetry
displayed on the monitor.
     "Triquetra!" Ama muttered, watching the data.
     "Sir?" asked Dietra.
     "Telemetry received.  What's the condition of the rest of the
squadron, Lieutenant?"
     "Safe," Dietra returned. "All ships functioning, no damage, all
remaining personnel accounted for.  Energy readings from the void have
diminished since we left it."
     "All right.  Get your tails back here, full power.  It appears that
all we've achieved is the loss of our strike captain."
     "Yes, sir," Dietra replied. 
     Dayton turned around, looking at the people amassed there. "Vesta,
full scanner sweep, maximum range, of the area.  I want to know if the
space dust outside burps."
     "Sir."
     "Pierus, scan all frequencies for any sign of anything.  Ships,
stations, whatever. Maximum boost on all channels." Dayton looked at the
board, and frowned, then looked at the rest.  They looked as bewildered
as he felt. With one notable exception..."Well, people.  I'm open to
suggestions."
     Apollo let out a short breath, shaking his head.  "Normally, I'd say
we go get him back, especially in light of the fact that we don't have a
Fleet to protect..."
     "But this isn't exactly normal," Dorado finished the unsaid words,
glancing at the others.  "How in Hades Hole are we supposed to know if
he's even alive?"
     "I can assure you, he's alive," Ama inserted. Her voice was slow,
and even, and had that ring of authority that communicated total
conviction. "I'd know if he wasn't." She glanced at Apollo for
confirmation.  More than once she'd made such a prediction about
Starbuck's well-being when others had given up hope, and her track record
thus far was impeccable.
     Apollo nodded briefly. "I have to admit, I believe her.  I don't
begin to understand how all...that  works, Commander.  But...if Ama says
Starbuck's alive, then he is."
     "Then I'd say that isn't our biggest problem," Dayton inserted. 
"Finding him is."
     "Leave that to me, Mark-Dayton," Ama replied.  Something in her face
and tone reminded Dayton of a Special Forces sniper, about to take out an
enemy target.  "You choose a task force, and I'll get them to Starbuck."

Chapter Seven

     Lu flew up and down the valley, as instructed, uploading all her
scans to the Endeavour.  Yes, it was beautiful.  A wide river blazed
golden below her, bordered on both sides by deep green vegetation, and
what scanned as slow-moving grazers.  Above, she could see two moons in
the sky, one large, the other much smaller.  For a moment, she was
powerfully reminded of her homeworld, so far behind. The trees, the
wildflowers, the birds and free-running streams.  The beautiful azure
vault above.  As she completed her fourth pass, her scanner bleeped.
     "Well, well, well," she said to herself. 
     "Wraith One, this is Endeavour. Come in." came a voice from above.
     "Wraith One, here.  I'm scanning something that looks interesting,
Endeavour.  I'm going to land, and check it out."
     "Gonna have to wait, Luana," Dayton replied, coming on the line. 
"Something happened on Starbuck's patrol...he's missing.  Get back into
orbit, and rendezvous with the Endeavour.  You'll be part of the landing
party.  Meet me in the War Room for immediate debriefing."
     "Affirmative, Commander," she replied, her stomach turning over as
she hit the turbos.    

----------

     Every step was agony, every stumble was torture!
     "Oh, stop your moaning!" Baltar snapped irritably, his breathing
ragged, as he shifted Starbuck's weight on his shoulders, then stumbled
again, as he momentarily lost his balance in the damp, dank cave.
     "Put...me...down..." Starbuck gasped, at the end of his tolerance. 
His head was about to explode like Carillon, and instinctively he knew
that if he could just get upright, or at least get the world to stop
spinning around him, he'd feel better.  Meagrely.  He clawed at the back
of Baltar's belt, as the traitor stumbled into the wall of the tunnel for
what had to be the fifth or sixth time.  The bastard was doing it
intentionally!  He had to be, no doubt getting a bang out of  grinding
the battered, much-abused warrior into the craggy surface repeatedly,
while he excused his clumsiness, and rationalised aloud that he was
long-unaccustomed to such physical toil.  
     "Gladly," Baltar returned, stopping short, abruptly releasing his
grip, and letting the warrior drop to the hard ground with a thud.  As he
rolled his neck and shoulders in relief, Baltar turned to look at his
burden in distaste.  "Perhaps we could take a...a short break," he
rasped, leaning against the opposite wall of the tunnel, and sliding down
it himself wearily.
     "Have some sustenance, Baltar," Eirys squatted down beside him,
handing him a round bread-like substance no bigger than the palm of his
hand, which he noticed the other trolls were also eating.   Then she
pulled a cord over her neck, and handed him the canteen attached to it. 
"Eat. Drink. You will feel refreshed."
     "I...thank you, Eirys," Baltar nodded, controlling his features as
he examined the other close up.  While repulsive to gaze upon, she
was...well, repulsive to gaze upon, actually.  He nodded at her and
nibbled at the hard substance that wasn't as repugnant as he would have
thought.  Actually, it was kind of tasty.  "What is it?" he asked,
holding it up.  His stomach was almost completely settled, and with the
first swallow of the food, he realized just how very hungry he was. 
Alone on the planet Adama had marooned him on, he hadn't been this
famished, even after his supplies had run out.  Even Starbuck dry heaving
a couple metrons away, didn't dissuade his appetite.
     "Bara," she replied, glancing over at the nauseous warrior, before
gathering her skirts and skittering over to him.  
     "He doesn't look well, Eirys," Caradoc growled.  "Will he make it?"
     "You don't look so hot yourself, pal, but I'll feel better
tomorrow," Starbuck sputtered, pushing himself backwards with
considerable effort so he could rest upright against the cave wall.  He
raked his fingers through hair damp with sweat, and shivered in the
coolness, drawing up a knee to rest his pounding head on.  He held up a
hand defensively when the troll leaned closer, peering at him, and
sniffing loudly.
     "What is your name?" she asked, hesitating before him.
     "Star...Starbuck..." he swallowed, unsure what to expect next.  He
was a little surprised when she merely nodded, and began to rifle through
her skirts.  
     "Tell me about this, Starbuck," the troll returned, pulling out
Ama's talisman like a parlour trickster, as the necromancer would say.
     He hadn't expected his violent reaction to the troll possessing the
Empyrean necromancer's sacred amulet, but his hand shot out, grabbing it,
and jerking it from the Troll's grasp.  She startled, reeling back from
him reflexively, as four other trolls rushed them with daggers drawn.
     "Hold!" she demanded, raising a hand to stop them. "Put those away!" 

     They stumbled to a halt, looming over Starbuck like pit-Taurans on a
choker, yet he could see uncertainty on their features as they pointed
their weapons at him menacingly.  Eirys' hand seemed to hold them at bay,
more effectively than any shield.  A moment later, she repeated her
command, and they sheathed the blades, then stepped back, but remained
watchful.
     "You're fast." She narrowed her eyes at Starbuck appraisingly, and
then dropped her gaze almost hungrily to regard the talisman, as he
closed his fist tightly around it, clutching it to his chest.  "It must
be very powerful."
     "Sentimental value, nothing more," he murmured in return, feeling a
bizarre comfort coming from the familiar charm.  His headache receded
ever so slightly, as a warmth suffused him.  "But what are you doing with
it?"
     "I took it from your witch," she glanced at Baltar momentarily,
inclining her head.
     "Ama?" Starbuck swallowed, trying to imagine anybody taking
something from the Empyrean necromancer that she didn't want to cede. 
"I'm guessing there's a little more to it than that..."
     A glimpse of amusement crossed her features.  "Perhaps."
     "What do you want with me?  What do you want with..." he glanced at
Baltar, before again meeting her steady gaze.  The traitor was obviously
in their good books, which didn't exactly bode well for him.  "Why do you
want my blood."
     "To break a curse," she replied simply.  
     "To break a curse?  Well, that's novel," he grinned.  It was
reminiscent of the Empyreans who considered blood to contain some sacred,
supernatural force that would please the Gods.  His eyes searched hers,
and her features seemed to soften as she studied him quietly for a
moment.  Then she sighed.
      "Please, believe me.  I have no quarrel with you, Starbuck.  But I
trust that you possess the power to save my people.  My King.  You have
something so precious, so sacred that I have brought you from the
Infinite, crossing the Non-Entity, and risking the wrath of the Mystics. 
When together, our princes rise, the spell will be broken."
     Starbuck blinked, trying to make sense of her speech.  She might as
well have been speaking the ancient dialect of the Empyrean mystics. 
"Come again?"  
     "My greatest enemy is the evil mage, that calls himself Count Iblis. 
Then there are his minions, the Cylons.  My quest is to save Morlais, and
to restore the Angylion people."
     It raised more questions that it answered.  Morlais?  Angylions? 
But more pressingly, "Cylons? There are Cylons here? And Count Iblis?" 
The news didn't help his headache, which flared back like full turbos.
     "Iblis disappeared, but the Cylons remain," Caradoc replied gruffly,
restlessly. "To torment us."
     "Where are we?" Starbuck asked, shaking his head at the strange
creatures, and then looking over at the traitor.  It was like some kind
of weird fantasy world, dreamt up from an overactive and vivid
imagination.  What was it that Ryan kept saying?  We're not in Kansas
anymore, Toto...
     "Morlais.  A world within a dimension quite apart from your own,"
Eirys explained. 
     "And why did you bring Baltar here?" Starbuck asked.
     "I was the test case," Baltar said self-deprecatingly. "It seems
they wanted you in one piece, Lieutenant, for you to be of any use to
them."
     "Use?"
     "Their words, not mine, Lieutenant."
     "Captain," Starbuck corrected him.
     "Oh yes, of course," Baltar smiled, focusing on Starbuck's collar
pins, and nodding slightly.  "My apologies."
     "Commander Baltar has told us he will help us in our battle against
the Cylons.  He has told us what they have done to your own people, to
your worlds.  He is clearly a brave and honourable man." Starbuck
grimaced, but the troll carried on. "Will you do the same, Starbuck? 
Will you help us?" Eirys asked.  "With enemies as powerful as ours, we
need all the help we can get.  We must free my people." 
     Determination shone from her eyes.  For a grungy little troll, she
had a lot of backbone, and by the sounds of it, problems that would rival
those of the Colonials.  Of course, she could be lying through her
crooked and darkened teeth...but Starbuck's instincts were telling him
she wasn't.  He needed more information, as well as their trust, if he
was going to survive this, and eventually find his way home.
     "Commander Baltar..." Starbuck huffed humourlessly, nodding, yet
realizing that trying to set them straight about the traitor would merely
be his word against Baltar's.  The turncoat would reveal his true colours
in good time, as he always did.  And Starbuck would be there when that
happened.  "Well, there is that little technicality about needing my
blood..." He raised his eyebrows.  "I'm kind of...using it right now."
     "A mere drop is all I ask. Surely you could spare that to save a
beleaguered people from enslavement?" Eirys pleaded with him.
     "A meagre sacrifice for the sake of an entire civilization," Baltar
added cogently.  "You're a Colonial Warrior, Starbuck.  Show these people
what we're made of."  He was really pouring it on, his voice thick with
drama and pathos.  The effect was impressive, and well rehearsed over a
lifetime.   "We went to war to save our neighbours, the Hasari's, from
the vile and hideous Cylon Empire. They ask so little of you now, in
comparison."
     They all looked at him expectantly, Baltar no less so. Starbuck
really had no choice, despite the fact that his internal klaxons were
screaming at him.  "All right.  I'm not sure exactly how a drop of blood
can save a civilisation..."
     "It seems that we are uniting against our common foes,
Lieutenant...forgive me again...Captain Starbuck...." The smile was
mocking, and Baltar chuckled mirthlessly as Starbuck glowered at him. 
"Count Iblis.  The Cylon Empire. Just like old home secton."
     "Oh yeah.  Together again, just like our glory days on Planet 'P'.
Wouldn't miss it." Starbuck struggled to his knees, bracing himself
against the cave wall with one arm.  He slowly gained his feet,
determined he would get wherever he was going under his own steam this
time. Baltar quickly climbed to his feet, and stood over him, grabbing an
arm when the warrior swayed.
     "I too was rather affected when I first arrived. But it passed
eventually." Baltar told him.  "How do you feel, Captain?"
     Starbuck looked up at him, and cracked a fleeting grin at the
sucron-coated insincerity oozing from the other's voice.   "Pretty much
like you look, Baltar."
      Instead of the usual scowl, the traitor actually smiled. "Ah. That
bad. I thought so."
     "Come," said Eirys. "Time grows short."    

----------

     Dayton shifted from foot to foot, speaking mostly by rote, as he
looked around at the members of the task force assigned to rescuing
Starbuck.  Picking the team had turned out to be a bit tougher than
expected.  Every member of the crew, from the most seasoned warrior in
the launch bay, down to the grease-monkeys in the engine room, had
volunteered to go.  Dayton was impressed: a man had to command a lot of
loyalty to elicit that sort of response.  Dressed from head to toe in the
traditional black infiltration fatigues-Apollo, Luana, Lia, Dietra,
Cassiopeia and Ryan-most of them were checking their equipment while
listening to their commanding officer brief them.  Leaving Dorado in
command, Dayton had insisted on leading this mission, which was a bit of
a departure from the Colonial way of doing things.  But there was no way
in hell he was going to indefinitely sit on the Bridge when there were
other officers more than capable of manning the fort.  Especially, since
in this case they didn't know where they were going, or what to expect
when they arrived.  Most of them had their doubts-unvoiced-about whether
they would arrive at all.  Only Lia looked confident that the Empyrean
necromancer would deliver them unscathed.  
     "Okay, questions?" Dayton asked, glancing up at the useless
navigation board in the War Room.  Alternate dimensions weren't included. 
Idly, he checked his own gear, then he smirked humourlessly.  "Questions
that I can answer, that is."
     "Well, in that case, does my butt look okay in these pants?" Ryan
returned, glancing sceptically behind him.  "I feel ridiculous.  From
Beach Bum to Elvis is just too much of a transition in one day."
     "Your 'butt' looks fine," Dietra replied with a chuckle and an
appraising look at the Earthman she had been involved with for many
sectars.  Despite their chronological ages, thirty years harvesting and
eating koivee root on a pirate asteroid had apparently slowed the aging
process for them, making them appear at least a decade younger than they
were.  "Very fine, Paddy."
     Ryan smiled at her warmly, waggling his eyebrows, and lowering his
voice.  "I ain't nothing but a Hound Dog, little mama."
     "A hound dog that I'll Return to Sender, if I hear anymore cute ones
like that."  Dayton rolled his eyes as the others laughed.  He could
always count on Paddy to lighten the mood. "Anything else more pertinent
to the mission?" 
     "Well, I for one wouldn't mind knowing how exactly we're going to
get there...and where 'there' is," Dietra told him.
     "I'm going to defer those questions to Ama, once she gets here,"
Dayton replied, glancing at his timepiece, and trying to maintain his
aura of confidence.  "She's the expert."  I hope to God...

----------
     
     The trail was ancient and decrepit, winding its muddy and eroded way
narrowly along a rugged mountain path that lead up the thickly-wooded
flank of Mt. Cadoc.  Starbuck fingered the two talismans he had concealed
beneath his tunic, wondering if the protection they offered extended to
falling off the side of a cliff.  The route looked like it had been
fortified over the yahrens, but those same fortifications had long-since
broken down, leaving treacherous gaps along precarious walkways. 
Blackened stones and partially burnt bridges indicated the Cylons had
been here at some point.  He doubted they could pass this way now without
casualties, which might be why it had been left in such a state.  If
there was a revered site at the top of Mt. Cadoc-their destination-then
the trolls wouldn't want their enemies there.  
     Looking down the side of the mountain, out over the barren landscape
below, he paused to take a long drink from a canteen.  Eirys had said
that these mountain passes and valleys had once been green, lush and
vibrant with life. With the coming of the Cylons, a scourge was cast upon
her homeworld, and the bleakness he now regarded was all that was left of
her beloved Morlais. Bitterly, he realized that Caprica would almost
certainly look something like this now, and he was almost glad he wasn't
around to witness it.  His heartbeat echoed in his ears at the exertion
of climbing a mountain while feeling like mong.  Sighing, he wiped at his
face, slick with sweat, while catching his breath.  Directly below, he
could see the glint of sunlight reflecting off of metal.  He leaned
further out, realizing it was probably the remains of the last centurion
that had tried to pass this way.
     "Be cautious, Prince Llewelyn..." Caradoc put a hand on his arm,
pulling him insistently back from the edge.   "My apologies...Starbuck,"
he corrected himself, stealing another furtive glance at the Colonial
Warrior, and then releasing him, and nodding for the others to continue
ahead.
     Starbuck nodded.  "We really look...that much alike?  Me and your
prince?"
     "Yes," the troll grunted. "Like unto twins."
     "Then Angylions are...Human?  Like us?"
     Caradoc paused, considering that for a moment.  His face scrunched
up as he mulled the question, which somehow made him look less ugly. 
"There are...differences. While you physically resemble Llewelyn,
Angylions have an aura that is most profound.  It is unmistakeable."
     "An aura?" asked both Starbuck and Baltar, at once.  Caradoc looked
from one to the other, then back to Starbuck.
     "Yes.  An ethereal light that comes from within.  It is like...like
a lantern, seen through a curtain or shroud. You see it, the light
within, even though it is masked by the outer shell of the flesh."  He
sighed. "There are the gifted ones, who can see deeper than most.  To the
very flame itself."
     Starbuck nodded slowly, trying to keep his features carefully
neutral.  Ama often talked of auras and ethereal qualities. It made about
as much sense to him as romance did to a Cylon. "What else?"
     "I have a bond with my own people that I do not sense with yours."
     "What kind of bond?" Starbuck asked.
     "I can sense their emotion...their mental state, if you will.  I can
feel their pain, or, sometimes, when they die."
     "You mean collectively?  Or individually?"
     "Both," Caradoc replied.  "At this moment, I feel the pain and
despair of the Angylion people, as keenly as I feel Eirys' hope and
yearning."  He made a fist, squeezing it tightly before waving a hand at
the cliff edge and adding, "You must be careful. The mountain quakes
often.  And the ground.  It is soft.  It will crumble beneath your feet,
and you will surely fall to your death."
     "Well, as long as you can still scoop up some of my blood,
General..." Starbuck deadpanned, then broke off abruptly.  He paused,
staring hard through a gap between two peaks in the distance, a little
further along the mountain path, as he sucked in a breath of dismay.  It
was a chillingly familiar shape.  "Holy frack!  Is that what I think it
is?"  
     "What?" Baltar asked from behind, drawn by the urgency in the
warrior's voice. 
     "It's a frackin' Abaddon, Baltar!  Just like the Endeavour!"
Starbuck replied, his head feeling absolutely clear for the first time in
centars.  The old single saucer style Cylon capital ship was tilted to
one side, as though she had landed that way.  Crude scaffolding was
erected around her.  The natural barrier of rock between them and the
Base Ship obscured any further view.  "If we're in another dimension,
then what the frack is a Cylon Base Ship doing here?"
     "Indeed..." Baltar replied quietly. "But the Abaddon-class...none of
those have been in service for almost a full centi-yahren."
     "Yeah, not since your day," Starbuck returned.  "They told us that
back at the Academy."
     "Very amusing," drawled Baltar, although much of his knowledge came
from Cylon databanks, rather than the Colonial Academy.  "They were a
failure, basically, as a weapon system, and were first relegated to
secondary duties, then withdrawn from service altogether."
     "When was this?" asked General Caradoc, curious about all this
Abaddon and Base Ship discussion.  Know thy enemy.
     "After the Battle of Olinick One," replied Baltar.  Caradoc's bushy
eyebrows arched in question, and Baltar explained. "The Cylons dropped
out of lightspeed over the planet, just outside the orbit of her moon. 
The Colonial taskforce, led by Commander Nebrod aboard the Battlestar
Atlantia, moved in.  But there was a fatal flaw."
     "What?" asked Eirys, curious as always.
     "The scanner and deflector systems aboard the Abaddon-class were
totally inadequate. When dropping out of lightspeed, there is a momentary
burst of radio noise and secondary radion.  Normally, the ship's
deflection and scanner systems compensate for this distortion, and remain
up.  But the systems aboard these ships," he indicated the ship they had
seen, "never functioned correctly.  When dropping out of lightspeed, the
radion distortion as often as not caused the scanners to go blind for a
short period, or the deflection system to drop, as they were slaved
together in that design.  At Olinick, the four Abaddon-class vessels
supporting the attack were on the right flank.  Perceiving their
weakness, Commander Nebrod  detached the Battlestar Acropolis, and the
cruisers Century and Liberty to attack them, the Starhounds taking a
heavy toll.  Blind and unprotected, the Cylons' right flank began to
buckle within bare centons.  When they tried to reinforce their right
flank by thinning the rest of their line, they were caught by the
Battlestars Galactica, and Pacifica, along with three cruisers and
several destroyers, coming in at lightspeed from behind the sun, and
dropping out right behind them."
     "I am intrigued," said Caradoc, his military mind trying to
visualize the story. "It reminds me of when Angylions ruled the seas.  Go
on."
     "Caught while launching their fighters, the Cylon left flank was
unable to manoeuvre effectively, and one Base Ship was knocked out of
action within centons.  The Colonials pressed them harder, driving both
flanks against the centre.  Their fighters were caught between both waves
of Colonial fighter ships, and soon the first Base Ship was blown out of
the sky."
     "Magnificent!" said Caradoc. 
     "Yes," agreed Baltar. "Soon, one, then a second Abaddon-class ship
was taken out, and then the Task Force's Command Ship.  After barely two
centars of combat, the Cylons had lost four Base Ships out of the
original eight, more than half of their fighters were destroyed, and two
of the surviving Base Ships were badly mauled.  One so badly they
self-destructed to avoid capture.  After that, this type of vessel," he
pointed towards the one far below, "was completely retired from service. 
Scrapped, too, so I thought." 
     "When was this?" asked Caradoc. "Did you fight in this battle,
Commander Baltar?"
     "Almost a full hundred yahrens ago," replied Baltar. "And sadly,
before my time, General." He looked pointedly at Starbuck.  "Which leaves
me curious as to how long these Cylons have been here?"
     "Ten years," Caradoc replied.
     "Ten years?" Baltar repeated, glancing at Starbuck.
     "Close to ten yahrens," the warrior interpreted confidently, a
strange look passing over him.  
     "But that doesn't make any sense," Baltar reasoned.  "How could it
have arrived ten yahrens ago if the Cylons decommissioned them a
centi-yahren ago?"
     "Well, I know for a fact that three Abaddon's were assigned to this
quadrant..." Starbuck paused as Eirys cleared her throat.  "Well, the
quadrant we were in."
     "But that's ridiculous..." Baltar sneered.
     "...almost a hundred and five yahrens ago." Starbuck finished.  "We
retrieved the data from old Cylon logs."
     "But I never saw..." Baltar broke off, not willing to admit to
Caradoc and Eirys that he commanded a Cylon capital ship.
     "I imagine not every commander is...privy to all intelligence,"
Starbuck answered delicately.
     "True," said Baltar haltingly. Starbuck had had the opportunity to
challenge him, yet had chosen to prolong his ruse.  He exchanged a nod
with the warrior before he looked back at Caradoc.  "And they
just...appeared?"
     "Yes.  By the machinations of Iblis!  May he rot in the lowest of
perditions!"
     "Okay, all well and good," said Starbuck, "but the question remains,
folks.  If this is another dimension, what is a Base Ship doing here?"
     "Yes," said Baltar. "After all, we were not so fortunate as to be
allowed spacecraft for our journey."
     "I do not have the power to bring a vessel such as that through the
Non-Entity," Eirys admitted. "Not even a small one."
     "Iblis," Baltar nodded.  He glanced at the general, then back
towards the grounded warship. "Is she space-worthy?"
     "Space worthy?" Caradoc asked. 
     "Can she fly?" Starbuck interjected.  
     "Since the Cylons destroyed Morlais and enslaved our people, they've
been repairing their...abomination." Caradoc pointed at the Base Ship, as
if it were a mass of rotting flesh, or a walking corpse. "Demand in their
mines and metal-works has slowed, and most labour has been redirected to
what you now see.  We have gleaned that they have almost  reached their
goal.  There have been rumours that they will test their weapons out on
Morlais when they depart, annihilating us."
     "Sagan sakes, can you imagine if the Cylons actually get that bucket
off the ground," Starbuck interjected.  "The Cylon Empire could end up
dominating an entirely separate dimension!"
     "Depending on who is out there to stop them," Baltar glanced
skyward.  "What do you know of other planets, other civilizations?"
     "Naught," Caradoc returned abruptly.   Space exploration was far
beyond their development.
     At that moment, the ground began to shake.  They all reached out to
steady themselves, skittering back from the edge of the cliff.  Baltar
sucked in a panicked breath, as the ground beneath him rippled, split in
front of him, and then began to crumble. Futilely, he jumped back, and
sought purchase as he fell.  Slowly, mockingly, he felt his right foot
slide forward and his body begin its inevitable descent to certain death. 
There was nothing to grab onto, nothing to break his fall.  How could his
life end so abruptly, so unexpectedly, so...mundanely?
     He cried out in terror...

Chapter Eight

     Baltar was abruptly jerked backward, first by the collar, then by
the belt, and hauled to safety.  The solid ground beneath his astrum had
never felt so good, as he watched rock and mud slide into the void in
front of him. Then, as suddenly as it began, the shaking stopped.  It had
all happened so quickly. In the blink of an eye, Baltar had almost died.
He sniffed, gazing upward into the blue eyes of the Colonial Warrior who
had just saved him.  It would have to be him!  
     "Why...?" he muttered numbly.
     Surrounded by trolls, one of them a general, but no...Starbuck had
had to come to his rescue!  Baltar let out a ragged breath, realizing the
warrior's longstanding debt to him from Planet 'P' had just been repaid. 

     For his part, Starbuck looked almost as surprised as Baltar felt. 
He slowly wiped his hands, one against the other, as if he could brush
off the memory of saving Baltar, along with the dust.  Momentarily, his
gaze shifted to the edge of the cliff, as if he was replaying the events
in his mind.  Then he turned, looking back up the trail, removing himself
from Baltar's probing gaze.
     Caradoc held out a hand, offering it to Baltar.  "Such reflexes
would come in handy in a fight." He glanced in approval at Starbuck.
     "Yes," Baltar murmured, remembering a half-drowned Starbuck punching
him in the face on a beach only a few sectars ago.  And another incident
where the brash lieutenant had the audacity to tell him that he'd trade
his life for a shot at Baltar, while he was being kept prisoner on a
Cylon Base Star.  What cosmic force with a warped sense of humour kept
bringing them together?  A moment later, the former bureautician and most
hated Human Being in all of history accepted the hand up, and was pulled
to his feet.
     "I suppose I owe you my thanks..." Baltar breathed in the warrior's
direction, brushing at his pants.  For a few moments he could not control
the shaking of his limbs.
     "Let's just call it even," Starbuck replied over his shoulder, his
tone aloof.  He kicked at a rock, watching it fall over the edge and
plunge downward.  He shook his head almost imperceptibly, before abruptly
heading up the path.
     "As I said, our time is running out," Eirys reminded Baltar, her
gaze flickering between the two men. "We must hurry. We must awaken the
King."
     "The King?" asked Baltar.
     "You shall see. Come."

---------
 
     Twinkling candlelight sparkled like a vast field of stars in the
darkened room. Dayton drew a deep breath, shaking his head as he waited
for Ama to finish fussing, preparing the hastily adapted medical chamber
like some kind of mystical shrine.  It reminded him of those parties
Yvonne used to have where she'd invite her sisters and friends, sit
around and drink a lot of wine, and add twelve dozen more "tea lights" to
that bin she kept on the floor of his closet.  He glanced over at
Cassiopeia, regretting that he had to drag her into this mission.  There
were too many unknowns, and he didn't like it.  Maybe he was a little old
fashioned, but he would rather have her in the relative safety of their
base ship.  Besides, in the privacy of their chambers, his lady had
admitted a time or two that she far preferred the controlled environment
of the Life Station, to the uncertainty of the field.  Oh, she would
certainly go if needed, and had even insinuated herself onto missions
where no med tech had been assigned.  No warrior would die due to lack of
medical attention if Cassiopeia had something to say about it, but some
people worked better with laser blasts or bullets flying around them than
others.  Dayton had intended that their Chief Medical Officer and other
lower level med techs would be doing the field work, leaving her to run
the Life Station, and continue to work on her medical studies in relative
peace.  But of course, Dr. Sala wasn't going to be much good to them in
this instance.  Unless of course he could talk a potentially injured
Starbuck into feeling better, once they found the missing warrior.
     He slipped an arm around Cassiopeia, pulling her into the main Life
Station.  "I'm sorry you can't just hang out here and crack your books. 
But we're stuck with it.  There really isn't anybody else in this med
department qualified enough.  You've jumped before, under fire." 
     "Don't be sorry. You know I'm always willing to do my part,"
Cassiopeia returned, turning to smile at him.  "Besides, I've always
liked this outfit..."  She grinned wickedly, as she provocatively ran a
hand over one hip, smoothing out some imaginary crease.  "I'm thinking of
keeping it."
     "Hmm, not a bad idea, Mrs. Peel," Dayton chuckled, pulling her close
in the dim lighting to kiss her quickly.  She was more like a soldier
than some cadets he had seen, willing to sacrifice anything for duty, and
able to work past her fears.  He wished he could tell her how proud he
was of her at that moment, but he was afraid it might come across as
sounding way too condescending.  "You're quite the lady, you know that?"
     She smiled.  
     Yeah, she knew.
     "Mark-Dayton?" said Ama, her voice sounding somehow louder than it
really was.
     "Yeah."
     "I'm ready."

----------

     "Hey, Komma?" Silence. "Komma!"
     "Huh?  Oh, yeah," said Komma, roused from his near-trance, at his
station in the Galactica's Computer Centre. "What is it?"
     "I said, do you want a java?" asked Lomas, standing over him. "I'm
gonna stretch my legs and grab something.  You want anything?"
     "Uhh...yeah," replied Komma. "I'll take a java.  Black.  And a pack
of mushiebeans, if you can swing it."
     "Done," said the other, and left him alone. 
     Arching his back and popping several vertebrae, Komma rubbed his
eyes, and returned to his work.  He was still trying to see if he could
drag something out of the security feed from Baltar's cell aboard the
Prison Barge.  So far, every enhancement technique he'd tried had turned
up nothing.  Period.  Zip.  Whatever had happened to the traitor, it had
apparently left no trace that he could find.  Mong!  Mong, it was so
damned annoying, indeed infuriating.  NO piece of data EVER got away from
Komma!  No way in Hades Hole he...
     "Here, Komma," said Lomas, returning. 
     Komma looked at the chrono.  Lords!  Had it been that long?  Lomas
had been gone almost a full half-centar.  He'd barely noticed.  Popping a
mushiebean into his mouth and taking a sip of the hideous thrice-used
leftover reactor cleanser that passed for java these days in the mess, he
hit a key on his board, as the unit ran another sim.  Bloody Hades, this
was what?  The fiftieth?  Sixty?  Lords of Kobol, it was like he'd been
grabbed by a...by a ghost!  Snitrads-on-a-stick!  Maybe it was just time
to...
     Frack! 
     "Frack!" said Komma, hands suddenly still, cup a micron from his
lips. "Fin..."
     "Huh?" said Lomas, turning to regard him.
     "I may have it, Lomas!" said the pudgy technician, starting to grin. 
He began inputting new instructions into his setup. "Oh yeah.  Oh yeah!"
     "You finally find something?" asked the other, coming over to
Komma's station.
     "I sure as Hades Hole hope I have." He leaned closer to the screen.
"Yeah, you sneaky little wisp. Gotcha!"

---------
 
     Starbuck felt his feet begin to drag as they climbed the final hill
to the Holy Sanctum, the sacred Angylion site, just below the summit of
Mt. Cadoc.  His head had settled to a dull ache, rather than a
mind-numbing throb, but he still felt as though he'd rather find a warm,
soft place to rest, instead of donating blood to the Angylion cause.  A
small plateau, a shoulder of barren volcanic stone except for loose dirt
and rocks, gave rise to an immense cairn that towered over a burial
vault.  Within were the remains of the first Angylion Sovereign, King
Cadoc, so both Colonials had been told.  Here, throughout their people's
long history, sacred ceremonies and rites had been practised by
successive kings, religious leaders, and sorcerers.  
     Eirys, Caradoc and the others dropped to their knees, placing their
faces in their hands and bowing their heads.  Softly, they chanted words
that neither Starbuck nor Baltar understood, before getting back on their
feet, and continuing up the hill, genuflecting  every several metrons. 
Starbuck paused, feeling uncomfortable with their ritual.  Stand up, take
a step, down on one knee, touch forehead with fingers.  Stand up, take a
step, down on one knee, touch forehead with fingers.  It was the
inevitable situation where a Colonial Warrior needed to balance his own
beliefs with being respectful of others.  In retrospect, he probably
shouldn't have fallen asleep during that bit of instruction at the
Academy.  Still, he had their stated need of him to hold onto. 
Especially knowing his usefulness might expire with his inevitable
donation of blood.  He sighed, hanging back until the trolls again stood
erect. They didn't even look back at the Colonials, continuing on towards
a cave.
     "Come," murmured Baltar, striding after them.
     "Wait a centon," Starbuck returned, grabbing his arm.  The trolls
had paused at the burial vault, performing another ritual.  "Now that
we're finally alone, just what's your plan, Baltar?" 
     "You make it sound as though this was somehow my idea," the traitor
returned incredulously, after a moment. "I asked for this...this
situation no more than you did, Captain.  You think otherwise?" 
     "Well, it's crossed my mind that there are two sides to this war,
and that you've already been on the Cylons'," Starbuck returned bitterly.
     "Ah." Baltar nodded, smiling knowingly.  "I see. And you think I'll
change sides at the first opportunity, and betray these people."
     Starbuck looked at him coldly. "It wouldn't be the first time,
Baltar." 
     "Are you regretting saving my life, already?"  Baltar drew in a deep
breath, nodding patiently before he let it out. "You're predictable in
your accusations.  Just like your friend, Apollo."
     "Well, you're pretty damn predictable in your behaviour, Baltar,
with the possible exception of falling off cliffs!" Starbuck returned.
"You'll do anything to survive, just like before.  And you'll betray
anyone for power."
     "I'm a changed man, Starbuck," Baltar denied calmly, gazing up the
hill before looking back at the warrior.  "After all, my realm of power
is somewhat limited these days..." he smiled bitterly. "As I am sure
you've noticed, Captain."
     "But you're already seeing the potential here...with these people."
It wasn't a question, and Starbuck gave him a long look. "Hmm?"
     "I only see...the path to redemption," Baltar shrugged. "Your
Empyrean witch helped me to see the way."
     Starbuck hesitated, studying him.  Since he'd accidentally saved
Baltar's life, he'd felt this overwhelming urge to throw the traitor off
the nearest cliff, making up for his momentary lack of reason when he had
instinctively saved him.  Now, verbally attacking the man, hurling
accusations and voicing doubts, was a conciliatory substitute.  For now,
at least.  "Felgercarb."
     "Only time will tell, Starbuck.  But you tell me...why did you save
my life?"
     Starbuck shrugged, dropping the traitor's gaze.
     "Oh, c'mon!  Here's your chance to gloat! To rub my nose in it!"
Baltar pointed out.  
     "I think you have me confused with..." The warrior raised an
eyebrow, "you."
     "Perhaps you're right," Baltar laughed.  "Now, I'm guessing it was
reflexive.  You didn't think about it, you simply acted.  That Code of
Honour that they instilled in you at the Academy  Is that it?"
     Starbuck grunted, turning to look at the barren valley below them. 
The traitor was right.  It was instinct to reach out and save a falling
man.  For an instant he had almost wished he could go back...but he knew
he didn't have it in him to let Baltar, or any other man, die like that. 
Smashed to a bloody pulp fifty metrons below on craggy rocks, it would
have been swift...maybe too swift, for the likes of Baltar...Such
opposing thoughts were something he didn't want to dwell on.   If he did,
the darkness could swallow him whole.  "I was distilled early on in my
career, Baltar."
     "Hmm..." Baltar mused.  "Then there's the fact that you didn't tell
them earlier on that I was a Cylon commander.  You could have, you know."
     "Yeah, and it would have had them wondering how in Hades Hole I knew
that.  It was sure to reflect poorly on me." Starbuck glanced back up the
hill. "That General Caradoc doesn't exactly strike me as the mellow and
reflective type.  Mention any connection with the Cylons, and I'll wager
you a sectar's pay he'd go into lightspeed.  If they lump you in with
their enemies, I'd follow." He looked in the direction of their hosts.
"You're not the only one around here with an instinct for survival,
Baltar." 
     Baltar chewed that over for a moment. "At the time, I thought
perhaps you were repaying me for saving your life down on that planet..."
     "I wasn't exactly harbouring a lot of guilt about that, Baltar, if
that's what you're thinking..." Starbuck muttered, pulling the top off
his canteen again before taking a long drink. 
     "You're not what they call a...deep thinker," Baltar mocked him. He
held out a beckoning hand.
     Starbuck smiled slightly and pasted on his trademark grin. "Just a
Viper jock, Baltar." He tossed him the canteen.

----------

     "I don't understand, Ama," Dietra burst out nervously.  She stood
with Ryan, Dayton, Cassiopeia and Apollo, enclosed in a circle by Ama,
Lia and Luana, who were holding hands.  The shimmering candlelight had
lent a mysterious mood to the last few moments as they stood there in
silence, while Ama merely tilted her head back and drew in several long,
quiet, deep breaths.
     The necromancer smiled slightly, before turning slightly to regard
the warrior.  She spoke in a hushed tone. "Life is energy, Lieutenant.
And I do not speak of the natural forces of electrical and chemical
energy that exist within all living cells.  Those are not life.  Each of
us has a spiritual force, the very Flame Imperishable, and as we move
through our lives and experience different things, as well as learn and
accumulate more understanding about ourselves and our place in the world,
the spiritual power grows, eventually forming part of a greater unified
field of energy, embodied throughout our universe, and beyond it."
     Use the Force, Luke! Ryan quipped to himself, merely miming the
words at Dayton. The attempt at self-control did no good.  For a moment,
Ama turned and gave him a withering glare that would have wilted any mere
"Jedi apprentice".  He smiled cheerfully, counting down the moments
bravely until she turned him into a toad.
     "Power?" Dayton repeated, his brow wrinkling. "Tell me more."
     "Ultimate power-that of one mind, one heart and one body-resides
within each person's ability to develop their own unique and
indestructible identity, while always living in consideration of the
well-being of other individuals," Ama added.  
     "Isn't that kind of...basic?" Ryan asked, still feeling a chill from
Ama's gaze. "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you?"
     "The Golden Rule," Dayton added. "That's what we called it, back
home. It's in just about every ancient Earth writing about behavioural
precepts and ethics, including the New Testament Sermon on the Mount, the
Talmud, the Koran, and the Analects of Confucius."
     "I remember reading about the Great Law of the Six Nations Iroquois
Confederacy.  It was also one of their three principles that was supposed
to guarantee peace between their member nations," Ryan added.
     "It's in the Book of the Word as well," Apollo added. "In The Way of
Wisdom."
     "And in ancient Empyrean teachings," Lia nodded. "Although most of
ours are handed down orally." And they had lost the only surviving
written account of their history on the planet Alrin.
     "Ama, what exactly are you saying?" Cassie asked her.  "That the
Thirteenth Tribe from Kobol carried these precepts with them to Empyrean
and Earth, or that the Beings from the Ship of Lights...the Guardians, as
they called them on Earth...actually established these rules?"
     Ama smiled.  "Neither.  Again I will say it: one mind, one heart and
one body.  These precepts are not limited or driven by any one life
force.  Or even one species.  Think of the moral writings of those you
call the Hasaris, after all.  No, my dear.  They are within all of us,
uniting us."
     "At least that's your take on it," Dayton inserted.
     "If I said God was within all of us, uniting all of us, would it be
more palatable, Mark-Dayton?" Ama asked quietly.  Ryan snorted, ever so
quietly, but this time she let it pass.  "For regardless of the name of
that spiritual force, the meaning is the same.  We are one.   All of us." 
  
     "Whatever," Luana snapped.  "Save the discussion on spiritual
philosophy for when we get Starbuck back.  How are you going to find him? 
And how are you going to get us to him?"
     "The power of three," Ama replied, tightening her grip on her
god-daughter's hand as they stood in triune.  Each young Empyrean women
wore her talisman outside of her tunic.  "If you focus on his life force,
Triquetra will lead us to Starbuck."
     "I understand that you can sense Starbuck," Dietra said, "but how
can you physically transport us to him?"
     "The same way the Hag did," Ama replied.  "Life is energy, and
energy can be transformed.  Energy is invariant with respect to rotations
of space, but not invariant with respect to rotations of space-time."
     "Say again?" Ryan muttered, shaking his head.  He felt for a moment
like he'd fallen out of church and into a physics lecture.  Overall, he'd
rather be in a pub.
     "Trust in me, Luana," Ama held her gaze. "I want you to focus on
Starbuck's life force. All of you," she added, looking at those enclosed
within her fold.  
     "How do we do that, exactly?" Ryan returned.
     "Search within yourself for Starbuck," Ama continued. "He is there."
     "Man, I thought that was my ulcer acting up again after all this
time..." Dayton muttered wryly.  "If I'd know it was the kid..."
     Luana sniffed in amusement, meeting the Earthman's gaze.  "All
right. Let's get this mumbo jumbo over with."  She drew a deep breath,
letting it out and closed her eyes.  "Where are you, Innamorato?"


----------

     Starbuck swallowed down the rising panic that gazing upon an
identical visage of oneself, clearly dead, could induce.  The golden hair
was considerably longer than Starbuck's, and the prince also looked
somewhat younger, but spending ten yahrens catching up on your sleep
could probably do that for a guy.  Going easy on the ambrosa and
fumarellos probably didn't hurt, either.  Muscular and fit, the prince
was clothed in pants, tunic, vest and boots that were casual, yet somehow
elegant.  Weirdly, there seemed to be a kind of radiance to Llewelyn's
skin, giving him an almost ethereal look.  The aura of which Caradoc had
spoken.  It reminded Starbuck of the siren that had enticed him here, and
fleetingly he wondered what had become of her.  The torches that Caradoc
had lit began to illuminate the enshrinement more clearly, and he took
another tentative step forward.  "I don't believe this..." he muttered,
shaking his head, as though denial could somehow erase the image of
himself and Apollo lying on two identical altars, within the dimly lit
cavern, dead.  Yet after ten yahrens, they should certainly be rotting
corpses, not handsome young men.  It was like an old Colonial fairy tale,
one he hadn't thought about in yahrens.  Something the Matron had read to
them at the orphanage when he'd been Boxey's age.  
     Baltar snorted aloud, the incredulity in his voice echoing in the
Holy Sanctum.  "Of course, Apollo would be the other one!  God above, why
do you torture me so?"
     "Our princes," Eirys said as she approached her sovereigns, bowing
her head and dropping onto one knee for a moment.  "Llewelyn and Glynn."
     "Brothers..." Starbuck murmured.  He and Apollo were brothers in an
alternate dimension. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm himself,
as more than a deca-yahren of friendship and camaraderie flashed through
his mind.  Gazing upon Apollo's "dead" likeness just now was as
unsettling as regarding his own.  It took him back to the Ship of Lights
for a moment.  You were only dead by primitive measures...it was not
Count Iblis' right to take your life...
     "You look surprisingly good for being dead ten yahrens, Starbuck,"
Baltar commented, with a glance at the lifeless prince. "Almost an
improvement."
     Starbuck met the traitor's mocking gaze, but could only shake his
head, glancing back at Eirys.  It was a little overwhelming. "How...?" 
     "An enchantment," Eirys explained, waving a hand over Llewelyn's
supine form.  "I can still sense the life force within them.  The Flame
within them is not extinguished, though it burns low, and they look the
same as they did on the day that Iblis struck them down."
     It was so eerily similar to when Iblis had...killed Apollo.  Yeah,
the mere thought of the malicious Being striking down Apollo as the
selfless warrior leapt in front of Sheba, still filled Starbuck with a
mixture of turbulent emotions. Rage. Loss.  Impotence. Hopelessness. 
He'd lost countless friends before in combat, but when Apollo had "died"
that day, it had hit him harder than ever before. 
     Thank the Lords...
     Starbuck sucked in a deep breath, shaking off the cold, crawlon-like
shadows of the past, and stepping closer to the prince that looked so
much like his best friend.  As with Llewelyn, Glynn's dark hair was much
longer than Apollo had ever worn his, but tiny beads adorned a narrow
braid on one side.  He was dressed similarly to his brother and shared
the radiant glow of both Llewelyn and the mysterious Siren that had lured
Starbuck here.  The glow of health and vitality was dizzyingly at odds
with what seemed to be apparent death.  Now as he gazed down at the
Angylions, and actually knew what one looked like, he could almost
believe that his imagination hadn't gone supernova when the vision of the
alluring and magnificent creature filtered through his mind once again. 
In fact...
     "The...the blonde woman..." Starbuck stammered, turning to regard
Eirys while he thought back to his trip from one dimension to another. 
He was either about to receive a revelation, or make a total equine's
astrum of himself.  "I saw a beautiful blonde woman, with hair flowing
down her back...she dangled the talisman in front of me..."
     "Yes," Eirys nodded thoughtfully, smiling slightly. 
     "Was that...you, Eirys?" Starbuck asked.  Vaguely, he remembered her
telling Baltar that she had fought with the warrior all the way from one
dimension to the other.  He glanced at the traitor who was regarding him
as though he had lost his mind.  Which, of course, he told himself, was
entirely possible.
     Eirys smiled wryly.  "Can you truthfully see any of her in me?"  She
took a step back, fanning her hands out to her sides, and turning in a
slow circle.  The others trolls merely watched in silence.
     "Well..." Enchanter and troll.  They were about as different as two
beings could be.  Yet, there was something..."You're more real than she
was.  More sincere.  Convincing.  At least I don't read any ulterior
motives," Starbuck replied, watching her features shift subtly as she
listened to his words. "Is she your...real form?  As an Angylion?"
     "Hard to believe, isn't it?" Eirys replied bitterly.  "But yes, that
is my Angylion form. The form I was born to."
     "As a race, we were vain. We thought we were invincible.
Self-absorbed.  Unequalled," Caradoc admitted, glancing at the princes. 
"Many of us believe that our internment as Odreds might be the Mystics'
idea of poetic justice."
     "Life has a way of humbling us," Baltar mused aloud, meeting
Starbuck's sudden interest unflinchingly. "Someone once explained to me
that a path to redemption is a long and humbling experience, and that the
reward is more likely to come in the hereafter than the here and now. It
makes the path that much more difficult to tread, and the reward entirely
elusive."
     "Ama," Starbuck murmured. He could almost hear the words in her
gruff voice. Lords, he could almost feel her presence there next to him
as his Empyrean talismans tingled next to his skin. He placed his hand
over his tunic, feeling a warmth radiating through it. It was the
strangest sensation...as though through the necromancer's talisman they
were somehow connected.  But that was insane.  Then again, with Ama damn
near everything seemed insane.
     Innamorato.
     Lu? Luana?  He could swear his heart skipped a beat.
     "We must hurry," Eirys said suddenly, urgently, pulling a golden orb
from her plentiful skirts, and moving to stand by the eternally
slumbering golden-haired prince. "Starbuck, come stand by me." She
grasped his hand, trying to get his attention.  "Please. Time grows
short.  Listen.  When the time is right, I will prick your finger,
allowing a drop of your blood to fall upon Prince Llewelyn."
     "And then?" He asked as he took a place at the head of the altar. 
The four male trolls flanked him.  In ceremony?
     "The prince will rise, and the Angylion people will be restored,"
Eirys replied.
     "What about Apollo...Prince Glynn?" Starbuck asked, hastily
correcting himself as he found himself feeling protective about the dead
ringer for his best friend. "What happens to him in this...ceremony?" 
     "I have not abandoned hope that Prince Glynn will also rise," Eirys
replied elusively.
     "How?" Starbuck asked, as she met his gaze, and then dropped it,
glancing at the dark-haired prince.  "If it would take my blood for
Llewelyn to rise, then wouldn't it take Apollo's blood for Glynn to
rise?"
     "You neglected to mention your sideline of Sorcerer's apprentice,
Starbuck," Eirys replied, her tone bordering on caustic.  
     "What can I say, huh? I'm a multi-talented guy," Starbuck returned
casually. Something just wasn't sitting right with him...
     "Just ask him," Baltar added unctuously.
     "Just do as I ask, Starbuck, and I'll worry about Glynn," Eirys
returned.
     "I admit that I'm curious, Starbuck...as to how many times Eirys
tried to bring you across before she succeeded," Baltar inserted, walking
casually around the altar, his movements slow and purposeful.  It had a
calming effect, as their attention was drawn to him.  "After all, she
managed to get me the first time around.  Then again, considering the
company I was keeping, it perhaps isn't too difficult to understand my
succumbing to a pretty face."
     Starbuck followed the man's progress as he came to pause by Prince
Glynn. "Twice.  Once while I was sleeping.  The next on patrol when she
succeeded.  Why?"
     "Because I recall Caradoc saying she had failed twice before, and
naturally I assumed she had meant twice with you...but now it appears..."
Baltar nodded towards the dark-haired prince. "Perhaps I was wrong?"
     "Apollo," Starbuck realized.  "You tried to get Apollo too, but you
couldn't." He clutched tighter to the talisman beneath his tunic.  "Is
that how you ended up with Ama's talisman...?"
     "Which side are you on, Baltar?" Eirys said quietly.  "Have you
forgotten our agreement already?"
     "I merely think that you would be more likely to get Starbuck's full
cooperation if you are totally honest with him," Baltar shrugged.  "He's
already said that he would help.  He's a Colonial Warrior, after all. 
One of our finest."
     Oh, when Baltar started singing his praises, it was a sure sign that
something was wrong!   More than likely the traitor had suddenly decided
that if Starbuck was expendable, then so was he.  The warrior took a step
back, stopping short as a blade pressed into his back.
     "Halt," Caradoc growled.  "A drop of blood is all we're after,
Captain.  Nothing more."
     "Yeah?  I'm not so sure..." Starbuck replied, reflexively raising
his hands at another nudge from the blade.  Again, his gaze flickered to
Baltar.  There was something in the traitor's eyes...
     Baltar smiled, and then chuckled aloud.  "You're not quite putting
it together, are you, Starbuck?  You know there's something amiss-your
instinct is telling you so-but still it's evading you."

----------

     "It's what?" asked Commander Adama, in the computer room.  He looked
a tad red-eyed, but this was too important to put off. "I'm not sure I
understand all of that, Corporal.  Ghosts?" Next to him, Croft looked
equally sceptical. 
     "Well, it is kind of complicated, sir, I admit," said Komma.  "But
just as I was about to pack it in, I suddenly remembered a technique
that's so old, you don't even find it in a lot of modern texts.  It's
called 'Quantum Ghost Imaging', sir.  Simply put, it's a phenomenon of
physics that allows images to be rendered through the pairing of photons
that do not reflect or bounce off an object, but off of other photons
that did, thereby creating a sort of 'ghost' image of it."
     "Komma..." sighed Adama.
     "Think of it, sir, like bouncing a ball off a wall.  It bounces off
another ball, affecting it in ways that can indicate that it has done
precisely that.  Say transferring paint or dust from the original
impact."  More silence. "Well, here," he brought the data up on his
terminal.  It was a view of Baltar's cell, with the traitor in full view. 
Baltar turned, stood up slowly, and reached out to whatever-it-was,
before vanishing, as they had seen him done endlessly before.  "This was
the original scan from Baltar's cell.  There was barely enough data to
get anything, but when I finally tried this..."  The images replayed,
only this time...
     "There's someone there," said Adama, leaning close. "A woman in his
cell?"
     "Yes, sir," replied Komma.  "I know the image quality is lousy, but
we have her at last.  Somehow, another person penetrated Baltar's cell,
and at the exact moment that weird energy pattern passed through the
Fleet, it took him.  It, whatever it was, transported this woman here,
and transported both her and Baltar away."
     "Can you trace where they might have gone?" asked Croft. 
     "No, sir.  Once the visitor vanished, the energy pattern collapsed
and vanished as well."  He zoomed in on the ghostly image, and both Adama
and his exec studied it.
     It was the figure of a woman, dressed in white, long flowing robes
swirling behind her, along with her long hair.  Whomever she was, she had
been utterly gorgeous, with an almost ethereal beauty that hardly seemed
Human.  Adama was reminded of stories in The Book of the Word, describing
Heavenly messengers, reputed to be of other-worldly beauty and radiance. 
Could this be such a Being?  And if so, why had she come after Baltar of
all people.  She was barefooted, and tiny sparkles of light seemed to
dance about her, like dust particles in sunlight.  He could see only
about half her face at this angle, but it was clear that her beauty
affected Baltar enormously.  Adama was surprised: the look on the
traitor's face was not one of lust or desire, it was a look of utter
wonderment.  He reached out to her, and touched her hand.
     Then, the both of them were gone. The cell was empty.
     "My God," said Adama.
     "What does it all mean, sirs?" asked Komma. 
     "I have no idea, Corporal," replied the Commander. "I...I just don't
know."

----------

     How many times had he changed his mind and his plan since landing in
this troll infested hole?  Too many times, sighed the traitor. Too many
times, Baltar.  He had considered his options minutely, over and over,
primarily realizing that his future was now in a dimension utterly
separate from that which had once been his own. Initially, he had thought
that to be a dismal prospect, when he had considered living amongst a
population of trolls, however sentient.  A man had certain needs, after
all.  Decent food, rather than that swill on the Prison Barge, good wine,
intelligent conversation with people who actually had brains.  And, of
course, a man had more, well, visceral needs, and his hadn't been
attended to-at least by a comely mate-for as long back as he could
remember.  Yes, convicted traitors were people too.  And even Baltar
yearned for satisfaction on a more carnal level...Still, when all was
said and done, it beat life on the Prison Barge, and if there was even a
chance that these trolls actually could be converted back to a form that
was compatible with Humans, things were looking up!
     Besides, Eirys was a strangely compelling individual. A gutsy woman
with a grim determination that was more befitting a man.  It made him
replay in his mind what she looked like in her Angylion form.  With a
woman like her at Baltar's side, he could go far in this society.  
     Still, Starbuck had been right about his earlier accusation.  Damn
him.  Baltar had considered crossing back over to the Cylon side.  There
was something completely diabolical-in a most delicious and devious
sense, of course-about commandeering the only technologically advanced
ship in that realm and spearheading a takeover of that universe.  Lord
Baltar, the Magnificent. Baltar I, Ruler of the Universe.  By your
command, Imperious Baltar.  Ah, it had a nice ring to it.  And if Eirys
was with him...Hmm.  The problem being that this group of centurions,
dating from about a century before the Holocaust, would be completely
unaware of Baltar's existence, and any approach on his part would most
likely be responded to with the downward strike of a Cylon blade to the
back of his neck.  All Humans were to be eradicated, after all.  Such was
the Edict of Extermination from the old Imperious Leader.  No, if he was
to get his hands on the old Cylon Base Ship, it would have to be through
a troll victory.  He had to help these people win their war against the
Alliance!
     Intriguingly enough, there was something almost satisfying about
being on the "right" side for a change.  It was liberating and uplifting. 
It took him back to his younger yahrens when his motives were altruistic,
and he had been a bit on the na‹ve side.  Oh, to live like that again,
without the bitter taste of realism and scepticism to cloud his judgment
and pollute his dreams.  Without the shattered hopes.  How did a man get
that idealism back again?   Wasn't that why his kind procreated?   To see
the innocence and idealism in their own children that they had long since
lost as adults?   Or through love?  What could blind a man more
thoroughly than a pretty skirt?   It was enough to make him laugh. 
Bitterly.
     Of course, Baltar's tenuous alliance with the trolls and his
promising future were suddenly hanging in the balance because of what
Starbuck could reveal about his previous alliance with the Cylons, and an
uncomfortable alliance was thus born.  Oh, it had crossed his mind to
just eliminate Starbuck from the quotient.  Initially, he had thought
that the pesky Colonial Warrior was intended to be some kind of sacrifice
to the troll figurehead, to end up slaughtered like an animal on some
alien altar.  But, as more of the Angylion legend was revealed, Baltar
began to realize that Eirys could be in over her head.  After all, what
little he knew of Count Iblis had left him with the impression that the
mysterious and alarming Being was not one to be fooled with.  His powers
were seemingly unlimited, and even more alarmingly, unknown.   And once
again, Iblis had aligned himself with the Cylons, leaving Baltar
suspecting that his initial suspicions about Iblis were horrifyingly
accurate.  
     I know you.  I remember that voice.
     Do you?
     The voice of the Cylon Imperious Leader.
     But Cylons are machines.
     Yes.  Now.  But once they were a race of Beings who allowed
themselves to be overcome by their own technology.
     And when did this happen?
     A thousand yahrens ago.  At the onset of the Thousand Yahren War
against the Humans.
     Then for my voice to be the voice of the Imperious Leader, it would
have to have been transcribed into machine leader a thousand yahrens ago. 
I'd have to be a thousand yahrens old.
     Baltar still remembered his disbelief...oh, not that he had been
wrong in his conclusions as Iblis had attempted to convince him, but that
Count Iblis was a Being like none other he had ever met.   A Being older
than recorded history, folklore or myth.  Older than the oceans and skies
of the Twelve Worlds.  Older than Kobol.  Unthinkably old.  Perhaps going
back to the very beginning of the Universe, itself.  And a Being that
called him "old friend".  Had he unwittingly been conspiring with
Diabolis, against his will?  For he strenuously believed that every
decision he had ever made, however ill fated, had been his own.  No other
force, omnipotent or otherwise, had entered into it.  Free will had
guided his course, of that he was certain. It had to be! 
     And then Starbuck had gone and saved his life.
     A debt of honour. It was tradition on Piscon.  Oh, it was an old
tradition, and one that he could simply ignore...but of late, those old
traditions and values that he had long strayed from, and which he had so
often sneered at, seemed to prey on his mind like maggots on a festering
corpse.  There was too much time to think while rotting in a cell, or on
a planet of exile.  Yes, psychologically he was much better suited to
leading and commanding, than dwelling and ruminating.  After all, the
more he spoke aloud of regret and repentance, while trying to convince
himself he did not truly mean it, the more often he seemed to be put in a
situation to redeem himself-or at least his immortal soul-somewhat. 
Which was where he once again found himself, much to the delight, no
doubt, of some twisted Lord of Kobol with too much immortal time on his
long-dead hands.  Which brought him back to the Holy Sanctum of the
Angylions on Mt. Cadoc...
     "You still need Apollo," Starbuck suddenly said to Eirys, never the
sharpest blade in the drawer, but still bright enough to eventually put
some of it together...with prompting.  "You said, 'When together the
princes rise, the spell will be broken.'  This isn't going to work
without him."  The warrior held himself defensively, waiting for any
eventuality, while still putting on the 'Starbuck face' that had
bamboozled many an opponent.  
     Eirys held up a beautiful orb, crafted of a gilded metal.  Baltar
recognized it as the piece she had used to bring Starbuck into this
realm.  "This is the Oculus, Starbuck.  It holds the power to raise the
princes.  Along with that which resides within your blood." Then she
snapped, "Caradoc!"
     It might have been funny that there was four midgets with knives at
the infamous warrior's back, if the troll general hadn't grasped the back
of Starbuck's belt with a tylinium grip, and pried the tip of the blade
between his ribs before Eirys' command even left her lips.  I can sense
their emotions...their mental state...Starbuck jerked abruptly, his
reaction to the abrupt pain visible.  The threat was clear.  If he moved,
the general would bury the blade up to the hilt.  Fast.  Then they'd have
all the blood they needed.
     "Be still, and obey," Caradoc growled in warning.  "I don't want to
harm you, but I will if necessary."
     "It's the last thing on my mind," Starbuck assured him.
     "Being still, or obeying?" quipped Baltar, his arms crossed, as he
tried to dispel the sudden tension.  
     "Silence!"  Eirys approached Starbuck cautiously, grabbing a hold of
his tunic and ripping the fastening open.  She reached out almost
tentatively before grabbing the two talismans resting on his chest.  Then
she looked up at him pointedly.  There was no way in Hades Hole she'd be
able to lift them over his head, and the thick leather cords would not
permit her to rip them free.  He raised an eyebrow, unwilling to
help...at least until Caradoc advanced the blade a little more.
     Starbuck winced, reflexively straining forward, even as troll hands
grabbed his arms to restrain him.  Another clambered in front of him,
reaching up and severing the cords with a blade.  Starbuck hissed, as a
thin line of blood welled up across his chest.  "I'm beginning to
question your sincerity, Eirys," he murmured, meeting the troll's eyes.
     "I was completely honest with you, Starbuck," she returned, taking a
finger and running it along the cut, while she held the talismans tightly
in her fist.  She rubbed his blood between her fingers, her lips parting
slightly, her eyes glistening.  Then she paused as she idly traced the
scar on his chest that was an exact image of his talisman.  "What's
this?"
     "The mark of the Empyrean witch," Baltar adlibbed.  "From what I
understand, he is family."
     "Family?" Eirys echoed, smiling slightly at the warrior.  "You are
more valuable than I realized."
     Starbuck smiled cynically.  "You just had to get to know me better."
     "The mark..." she examined his scar more closely.  "It's the same as
the amulet.  A brand?"
     "It's a tough family to get into," he returned wryly.
     "What does the amulet signify?" Eirys asked slowly.
     Starbuck sniffed aloud.  "It protects me from evil."
     "Do you think I'm evil?" Eirys asked, eyes boring into his.
     "Well, you're not from the Good Ship Lollipop, Eirys."
     "The Good Ship..." Eirys glanced at Baltar, who merely shrugged. 
She looked back at the warrior.  "Is it protecting you now?" she asked
with a pointed glance at the trolls still restraining the Viper pilot.
     "Can't you tell?" Starbuck returned with a smile that might have
been bravado, but was so damned convincing that even Baltar suddenly
wasn't sure.  Neither was Eirys.
     Lords!  He has balls of tylinium!
     "Get on with it, Eirys," Caradoc said gruffly.
     "It's not going to work," Starbuck averred. "Hades Hole, can't you
see that? I'm no wizard, and even I can figure it out! You need Apollo to
break the curse.  You said so yourself.  You kill me, and even if you
succeed in bringing him here, it would be pointless."
     "Silence!  I told you, we only need a drop of blood!  My intention
is not to kill you, Starbuck," Eirys snapped at him, angry that he would
imply otherwise.  She turned, and held the Oculus high over her head,
beginning to chant in some ancient, unknown dialect, and closed her eyes.
The trolls shifted uncomfortably, even as they held the warrior fast.
Then the mountain grumbled and the ground shook. Eirys did not even
pause.
     A breeze began to blow. Gently at first.
     "Oh, frack..." Starbuck muttered.
     Anxiously, the Colonial Warrior glanced at Baltar, who admittedly
didn't know what to think.  He was a bureautician, a plotter, a schemer. 
This sort of thing was entirely beyond his experience.  He shrugged.  If
it didn't work, then presumably all it would cost the warrior was a drop
of blood.  Eirys had said they only needed a drop.  If it did work, then
the Angylion prince-or princes-were about to rise, and a race of trolls
would be freed!  Frankly, it didn't seem all that alarming, at least from
Baltar's point of view. He found himself secretly wishing for the
mystical spell, spoken in a guttural language of auld, to be successful. 
Admittedly, his desire to see Eirys transformed overweighed any curiosity
about giving life to two men that looked like Starbuck and Apollo.  After
all, two of them was enough!  And if that happened, they could move past
this foreign ritual and on to the battle, which he was already planning. 
It would be a relief to progress from the incorporeal, to the tangible.
     Eirys' tone peaked as she stood at the head of the altar, the wind
now blowing her hideous tangled hair behind her.  Beside her, Starbuck
was now strangely docile, succumbing to his fate, while sucking great
gasping breaths into his lungs, a troll hanging off of every limb.  The
sorceress held the Oculus high, giving it the appearance of an overseeing
eye to the ritual. The gilded metal of the orb began to glow eerily,
becoming more like a smoky glass or crystal, as though effected by some
inexplicable energy. Then Caradoc gripped Starbuck's arm, prying it from
his side, despite his abrupt resistance, the effort causing the troll to
shake like the mountain around him.  Another joined him, securing the
Colonial anew, and when they saw his fist clench tightly, they pulled up
his sleeve.
     Eirys nodded calmly, her features serene, as she cradled the Oculus
in one hand. The wind was screaming now, and lightning split the sky
outside the mouth of the cave. Deftly, she reached within her skirts,
withdrawing a blade.  It was a long blade, made of some gold coloured
metal, with a hilt of glittering crystal. The jewels set within it
flickered with the light, as if, like the Oculus, it was lit from within.
A litany of inarticulate, glottal sounds preceded an almost surgical
slice of the blade across the warrior's taut forearm, as blood welled up
from Starbuck's superficial wound.  
     The warrior's teeth were clenched, and Baltar could see him swallow
visibly, as his arm was extended further over Prince Llewelyn.  A gradual
accumulation of blood formed a droplet which finally fell, landing on the
prince's lips.  Starbuck grimaced.
     "Gogyfur y'awdurdod o sanctaidd Llyr!" Eirys cried, holding the
Oculus over the prince as the mountain rumbled again.  "Gogyfur
y'awdurdod o sanctaidd Llyr!"
     Baltar held his breath, his eyes trained on the insensate young man
that resembled Starbuck so eerily. For a moment, silence hung over the
chamber, seeming to serve as an omen of some great event.  Even the wind
stilled.
     But moments later, nothing had happened.  Nothing.
     "I told you," Starbuck murmured, his voice coarse, despite his
words.  
     Eirys tilted her chin up higher, meeting the warrior's eyes.  "More
blood..." she said determinedly.
     "I was...afraid you were going to say that."

----------
 
     Far below, the IL Series Cylon Mendax looked up from the reports on
the almost completed work, towards the distant bulk of the mountain the
slaves called Cadoc.  Once again, the mountain seemed to be rumbling, the
tremors spreading out across the landscape.  While as a Cylon he
possessed no mystical bent or predilection, Mendax was nonetheless
curious about that mountain.  The slaves seemed to be in awe of it, and
now, as he looked up, he saw lightning flash, and something glinting in
the gathering darkness.  His enhanced Cylon senses allowed him to see
with vastly greater clarity and proximity than any mere organic scum, and
now, he saw...
     What?  He wasn't sure.  Something was going on up there, if the
growing agitation among the slaves was anything to go by.  More and more
of them were looking up that way, and muttering in their guttural speech,
repeating Cadoc over and over.  Something told Mendax that all was not
right.
     "Centurion Plectus," he called. A Gold Command centurion approached.
     "By-your-command."
     "Take a foot patrol, and go up there," said Mendax, pointing towards
the mountain.  It had been yahrens since the Cylons had gone up to the
old burial site, and the path was treacherous. "Report back to me what is
going on, Centurion."
     "By-your-command."

Chapter Nine

 
     What was Ama waiting for?
     Dayton sucked in a deep breath, letting it out again slowly, and
with it the frustration he was feeling.  They'd been standing there in
that little witch's circle, thinking about Starbuck for at least ten
minutes.  He was beginning to feel a little bit foolish, and suspected
that any second now Baker and Porter would burst through the door with a
vid-cam, recording for posterity his inclusion into the Occult.  Or at
the very least, the Addams Family!  The longer it went on, the more
ridiculous he felt.  What the hell was he thinking when he agreed to
this?
     "Blessed Goddess Triquetra, Mother, Maiden, Crone.  I call upon your
aide for a need not of my own," Ama suddenly intoned in Colonial
Standard.  It only added to the...otherness of the occasion. 
     Up until then, everything she had chanted had been in some strange,
unintelligible language, and it had made the hair stand up on the back of
his neck, as his skin prickled, making Dayton want to scratch it off. 
With one eye, half-open, he glanced at the necromancer.  He startled to
see a sort of...golden aura enveloping her. She stared back at him, her
grey eyes boring into his own, as if she had known he was looking.   
     Then she winked.
     Feeling like he did when old Grandmother Dayton caught him snoozing
in church at the rebellious age of twelve, he closed his eyes once again. 
Dayton sucked in a deep breath, trying to focus on an image of the
Colonial Warrior that was like a son to him.  Where are you, kid?  
     "I sense his spirit, wilful and strong! Unbending and proud! Oh
All-Seeing, most Wondrous Triquetra, guide us along!"
     "Oh crap..." Ryan murmured quietly.  "Is it too late to mention I
get car sick?"
     "Paddy," Dayton growled. 
     "Just remember to concentrate on Starbuck while your stomach is
heaving, Paddy-Ryan," Ama suddenly quipped.  
     "Shouldn't be too hard..." Ryan returned. 
     Wordlessly, Dayton flailed out with a foot, landing it on Ryan's
butt.
     "Ama!" Lia cried abruptly.
     "I feel him too!" Luana added.
     "So did I!" muttered Ryan, even more quietly.
     "Come to me, son..." Ama intoned.  "Let the energies of the
unlimited unite!  Let our collective power carry us to Starbuck!"
     "Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen. 
From the top of the porch, to the top of the wall, now dash away, dash
away, dash away all!" Ryan added, in keeping with the spirit of the
occasion.
     "God help me," muttered Dayton. Ryan could be so...so Ryan! at
times. Why, oh WHY couldn't he have listened to Mom, and taken that job
at Boeing?  He sighed, gripping Cassiopeia's hand tightly. Gradually, his
body began to tingle, at first gently, then with greater energy, as if
countless needles were being pressed into his flesh.  It kept growing,
until it reached an almost painful level of intensity.  His stomach
twisted in knots, as his head began to spin.  Unable to control himself,
his eyes flew open.  It was blinding!  Like staring into an impossibly
bright light that had no apparent source.  
     "Mark..." Cassie whimpered beside him.
     "I'm here, Cassiopeia.  I've got you," he replied, squeezing her
hand in reassurance even as the bright light exploded into a billion
fragments and he felt himself plunging downward, as if their very deck
had dissolved beneath their feet.  Downwards, towards an illustrious
brilliance.

----------

     More blood.  That definitely wasn't good.
     Starbuck figured he'd been pretty patient up until then with the
ugly little people who had yanked him out of his dimension into their
own, under the pretence of needing a drop of blood to save their race.
Yeah, they'd made him climb up a mountain, inadvertently forced him into
an uneasy alliance with Baltar, and pressed him into this weird-astrum
ritual to raise some dead guy that looked like his twin brother.  But
demanding more blood was going just a little too far.  Now if he could
only...
     "Surely, you're going a little too far?" Baltar suddenly asked, his
voice deceptively calm.  
     Baltar as the voice of reason.  Lords, Starbuck knew he might as
well end it all now!
     "I'll second that," Starbuck added, twisting in the grip of the
trolls, wondering if Baltar would offer him the distraction that he
needed.  The point of a blade broke the skin at his throat, and he could
feel a small trickle of blood wind a path down his neck. 
     "It didn't work, Eirys," Baltar walked towards her slowly, holding
up a hand as if to reassure her he meant no harm.  "Now, I'm no sorcerer,
but I'm wondering if perhaps a curse placed by someone with the power of
a...a Mystic, could actually be reversed by an Angylion Sorceress.  What
if it is merely beyond your powers?" He pointed at Starbuck.  "Can you
truly rationalize the sacrifice of one more life?  Especially when he is
the Doublewalker of your own Prince. Would not Starbuck's death seal
Prince Llewelyn's fate for all of eternity?"
     The troll sorceress met his eyes, then her features shifted subtly,
until she looked uncertain.  Her gaze flickered between Starbuck and
Baltar.  "I said I would raise the King!  I promised my people!  They are
depending on me!"
     "Maybe, just possibly...you need help," Baltar suggested, and
Starbuck could hear the familiar wheedle come into the traitor's tone. 
"I know you're trying to lure her here, Eirys.  This boy is not your only
hope.  Is he?"
     Eirys raised her head haughtily.  "You see much, Baltar."
     "I have always sought to make it my business to explore all
possibilities, gentle Eirys." He clasped his hands together in front of
him.
     "You're after Ama?" Starbuck blinked.  "I thought you were
after...Apollo."
     "Having trouble keeping up?" Baltar smiled. 
     "You're not exactly catching me at my best."
     "Have I ever, Lieutenant?" needled the traitor.  
     "I guess deceit doesn't come as easily to me," he returned, ignoring
Baltar's persistent habit of demoting him, before looking back at the
troll.  "Then this was all...for what?" 
     "If I may?" Baltar asked Eirys.  She nodded and he continued in his
most convincing bureautician's voice.   "I believe if the ritual failed,
Eirys meant for you to be the bait, Starbuck.  Presumably, if Eirys can
see into our dimension, than if your Empyrean witch is worth her salt in
supernatural ability, then she too would see you are in need of help."
Baltar glanced at the troll sorceress.  "Is that not so?"
     "The Telling also told of a White Witch whose powers were
unparalleled," Eirys admitted quietly.  "I found her in your dimension,
but she perceived me as a threat."
     "I wonder why," Starbuck deadpanned.  "You don't want to fool with
Ama, Eirys.  She doesn't take kindly to threats to her or anybody else
she cares about."
     "She wouldn't listen to me. I had no other recourse," Eirys defended
herself.
     "Felgercarb!" Starbuck shouted, abruptly planting a foot against the
altar before him, and launching himself backwards against the restraining
trolls.  In a mass of arms, legs, and knives, they tumbled to the ground.
     "Do not harm him!" Eirys shouted. "We need him alive!"
     Suddenly freed from restraining hands, Starbuck gripped his throat
from where he lay on the ground, probing the superficial cut he found
there.  His hand came away bloody, despite the inconsequential nature of
the wound.  The trolls spread out around him, keeping their distance, but
surrounding him nonetheless.  
     "Eirys!" Caradoc growled in warning.
     "I see it."
     Gradually, like a gentle mist rolling in off an ocean, a shimmering
light appeared, growing more and more intense until the very air crackled
with energy.  Outside, lightning once again split the sky, and the
heavens seemed to roar in warning, the wind screaming.  A sudden  burst
of light blinded them, and Starbuck reflexively shielded his eyes, even
as he sensed an abrupt ensuing darkness as the torches around them
extinguished inexplicably. Through the field of stars dancing across his
vision, a sudden aurora of light appeared.  Starbuck blinked, trying to
make out the figures before him, hoping rising in his chest.
     "Hey, Dayton!  This looks like a job for the A-Team!" 

----------

     "Sir! The task force is gone!" Cadet Sagaris announced, looking at
his scanners.
     "Are you locked on?" Dorado asked, moving a little awkwardly to the
station.  The damn rebuilt Cylon legs still didn't feel like his own.
     "I was, Sir, for all of a micron.  Point seven four six of a micron,
to be exact.  The transceiver Commander Dayton was carrying was
functioning nominally,  and then it just stopped."
     "Dead?" Dorado asked, turning his head slightly so he was looking
full on at the screen.  He was finally automatically compensating for
having only one good eye.
     "Are you referring to the signal, or the commander?" Malus asked.
     "The signal..." Dorado growled at the IL, before turning back to the
cadet.  "Sagaris?"
     "We lost the signal."
     "Can you extract the failure mode from the telemetry?"
     "Trying, sir."  Sagaris worked his instruments for a few long
moments. "Yes. There did appear to be some kind of weird fluctuation..."
     "Weird, Sagaris?  With everything's that's gone on since before we
left the Fleet, you actually reported a scanner anomaly as 'weird'?"
Dorado sighed, shaking his head. "Define 'weird' cadet!"
     "Sorry, Captain.  But it was so infinitesimal, that the computer's
still trying to isolate it..." Sagaris explained.  "Our high speed signal
processor is trying to compensate, but..." he groaned.  "Lords, it just
shut down, Captain.  I think I've blown a circuit." He snarled, and tried
to reroute the system.
     "Malus, take a look," Dorado ordered the IL.
     "I've already 'looked', as you call it," Malus replied, unplugging
the digit that acted as an interface directly into the main computers. "I
detected both thermal and energy fluctuations in the Life Station. 
Sensors record unusual magnetic flux patterns, and an ionisation track
that leads from those coordinates straight to the energy source that
Starbuck disappeared into."
     "Wait a centon," Sagaris looked up at the IL in astonishment.  "I
didn't see any of that...magnetic flux patterns..." He shook his head,
looking between his CO and the Cylon.  He looked down, and replayed the
data.
     "That's because Malus perceives these readouts more on a
mathematical level, Sagaris," Dorado replied.  "We're limited by our own
technology, and how we interpret it."
     "Several mathematical levels, actually," Malus spoke up.  "If I
could isolate the level of electromagnetic fluctuation and find some way
to replicate it..." His head jerked spasmodically to the right.  "Oh my!"
     "What are the odds of that?" Dorado asked sceptically.
     "Dismal," Malus admitted.  "Still, someone has achieved
this...action. If it can be done once, then it can be done again, and we
can figure out how." His head jerked again.  "How strange."
     "Maybe it's time for that diagnostic, Mal," Dorado suggested.  "Any
idea how long it might take to figure this out?"
     "Not at this time, Captain.  But I have to find Starbuck.  He is my
friend."
     "Do what you can, Mal.  I'm open to suggestions," Dorado encouraged
him.  
     "May I use his office, Captain Dorado?"
     "His office?" Dorado asked.  "Why?"
     "I think having his things around me will make me function at a more
optimal level."
     Bloody Lords! Have I got a Cylon in love on my hands?  "That's
weird, Malus," Dorado frowned.
     "With everything's that's gone on since before we left the Fleet,
you'd actually describe anything that I could do as 'weird'," Malus
asked.
     Dorado sniffed in wry amusement.  "Yeah, go ahead. What do you
need?"
     "Full access to all sensor logs since leaving the Fleet.  And one of
our computer or physicist experts."
     "Right. Coxcoxtli?"
     "Sir?"
     "You're with Malus."
     "Sir."
     "Get Baker down there as well, and keep me posted." Try as he might,
he couldn't get the image out of his head of Malus sitting at Starbuck's
desk, trying to light up a fumarello.  "You know, you've been hanging out
with Starbuck too long, Mal."
     "Not long enough, Captain Dorado.  Not nearly long enough," replied
the IL.

----------
 
     It was like something from right out of Tolkien , decided Dayton, as
he stared in bewilderment at the scene unfolding before him.  Hideous
little creatures, looking for the world like "goblins", surrounded two
altars, on which two guys that were almost dead ringers for Starbuck and
Apollo lay, apparently insensate.  A double take later, he realized that
both Starbuck and Baltar were also there, and, somehow not surprisingly,
Starbuck looked like something out of a really bad horror show, blood
running down his neck, and chest as he clutched his throat, while
guarding his eyes.  One sleeve was rolled up, and blood also trailed down
his forearm and hand.  All that was missing was Bela Lugosi.  For his
part, Baltar appeared unharmed, and somehow that didn't surprise the
Endeavour commander.  Goblins and humans alike were blinded by the same
ethereal light that had "transported" the Endeavour crew members there,
granting the invading force a serious advantage.  Dayton abruptly pulled
his weapon, sensing Paddy moving to the right, and finding cover, while
simultaneously seeking higher ground, responding quicker than any of the
Colonial Warriors who were still taking it all in, as though in utter
mental shock.
     After thirty years in hell, Paddy would move to further their
advantage, succumbing to shock later. Like maybe back on Earth.
     "Spread out!  Lasers on stun!" Dayton ordered. God, did I say that?
That is like just sooooo Trek! He drew his portable scanner, but by then
Apollo, Dietra, Luana and Lia had recovered sufficiently for their
training to kick in.  Their weapons were drawn as well, and they were
fanning out to surround the visions of ugliness before them. Cassie stood
back, but Ama merely watched with that detached interest she seemed to
specialize in.  The revolting little creatures turned to face them
fearlessly, pulling swords from scabbards, which lead Dayton to believe
that was the extent of their firepower.  Then, almost unbelievably, the
creatures swarmed Baltar, holding a Colonial Weapon to his head. 
Undoubtedly, Starbuck's.
     "Halt, or we will kill him!" the cursed creature cried. "Do you hear
me! I will open him up right here!"
     "Go for it!  There's another two hundred just like him on the Prison
Barge!" Ryan shouted maniacally.  The troll turned, seeking out the
source of the voice, as Paddy leapt down from a rock precipice, grabbing
a grubby little being that was standing apart from the others, clutching
something in both hands.  The creature shrieked.  In a blur, it was held
fast, a laser jammed in its ear. "Stand down, you filthy, stinkin' little
beasts!  Do you hear me?  Stand down now, or Medusa gets it!"
     Good man!  Dayton grinned.  The commander had also selected the same
creature to be their leader.  Something in its manner...
     "Eirys!" another creature shouted, slowly lowering the weapon that
it held to Baltar's head.
     "Drop your weapons!" Dayton bellowed, his voice ringing through the
cavern like a megaphone. "I'm not saying it again!" 
     The moment seemed to drag on indefinitely, then the tattered, little
grub that Ryan was clutching called out, "Lay down your arms!  This was
not my intention!"
     The clang of metal hitting stone rang out around the cavern as the
beings dropped their weapons, and released Baltar. 
     "Kick them over here!" ordered Dayton.  The others did so.  Without
being asked, Lia slipped in, and gathered up the cutlery.  Dayton tossed
her a smile.  Thinks fast!   He then looked at Apollo.  The colonel waved
at the creatures with his weapon, herding them in a circle.  Starbuck was
arduously climbing to his feet, when Luana flew to his side before anyone
else
     "What took you so long?" Starbuck quipped, as Lu first clutched him
to her, and then stood back to examine his bleeding neck, chest and arm. 
"It's nothing," he reassured her.
     "Can't you stay out of trouble for one day?" Luana asked him,
grabbing him roughly by the flight jacket, and looking him over
carefully, reassuring herself he was speaking the truth.  Wordlessly,
Cassie moved in and began checking his injuries, running the biomonitor
over him.
     "Yeah, what is it with you, Mocha Frappuccino?" Dayton echoed the
sentiment. "What the hell is going on here?"
     "They were after Ama..." Starbuck turned to regard the necromancer,
who was standing back, her piercing grey eyes examining every subtle
detail and nuance.  
     Ama raised her eyebrows at the comment, striding forward purposely
as she moved to stand before Ryan's prisoner. "Well, here I am.  I
believe you have something of mine, Hag."
     "Eirys," the creature responded, her chin tilted upward to regard
the other as she clutched talismans in one hand, and the Oculus in her
other.  "And you're not exactly a vision of loveliness yourself, Witch."
     Baltar chuckled aloud.  "I like her more with each passing centon."
     Ama too laughed softly, as she snatched the talismans. "Normally, I
would turn you into a wild putrid for such insolence, Hag, but I believe
someone else has...as Dayton might say, stolen my thunder."    
     "Count Iblis," Starbuck inserted.  "These people have a story you
all need to listen to, Ama.  I'm serious." He glanced at Apollo who was
standing over the altars, staring at the two dead men with his mouth
agape.  Starbuck knew just how he felt.  "But before we get started, you
should know this whole land is crawling with Cylons. Cylons that are
repairing an Abaddon Base Ship, getting ready to launch it into an
entirely separate dimension to dominate and destroy God only knows what's
out there."
     "Are you telling me that after these people tried to cut your
throat, that you want us to...help them?" Dayton asked Starbuck in
disbelief.  He glanced at Cassie, who was pulling a field dressing from
her med kit.  "Check him for another head injury, would ya?  He's due." 
     Eirys looked at Starbuck first in surprise, and then gratefully.
     "Look, kid, this was supposed to be a quick in, quick out mission,"
Dayton continued. "Objective: find you and bring you home."
     "Are you listening, old man?" Starbuck threw back at him, brushing
Cassie's attempts aside.  Ryan moved to her side, grabbing the warrior's
arm and holding it for her to wrap.  Starbuck glanced at them in
irritation, until Ryan snarled at him.  Then he rolled his eyes and stood
patiently, while exclaiming, "Cylons, Dayton! Base Ship!"
     "This isn't our fight, Starbuck!" Dayton replied.
     "I'm not so sure about that, Mark-Dayton," Ama informed him.
     "Wait a centon," Baltar interrupted.  "How is it that when both
Starbuck and I entered this dimension, we felt as though we'd been torn
inside out, and limb from limb. Yet, you're all fine?" He frowned as
Dietra and Lia flanked him, both taking an elbow.
     "To put it in relative terms that you would understand, the Hag shot
you through a launch tube unprotected, while I remembered to bring my
ship," the necromancer replied.
     Eirys nodded, gazing at Ama almost reverently.  "The Telling was
correct.  The White Witch's powers are unparalleled.  She will be our
champion against Iblis."
     "Champion against Iblis?" Ama echoed, looking upward and rolling her
eyes.  "Oh, why do I feel as though I've been set up, John?"
     "Jaysus Murphy!" Ryan moaned forlornly.  "This is going to get weird
again, isn't it?"
     "You have no idea," Ama returned with a smile, before reaching out,
taking the talismans from the troll.  "What is this bauble you hold so
protectively to your heart, Hag?"
     "It is no bauble," Eirys replied indignantly. "It is the Oculus!" 
     "If her powers are so great, how is it she does not know of the
Oculus?" another creature remarked.
     "Starbuck..." Apollo rasped, pointing at the two princes with a
trembling hand.  "What in the nine Lords of Kobol...?"
     "Our Doublewalkers, buddy," Starbuck replied, suddenly smiling. 
"I'm telling you, it's quite the story.  If only half of it's true, it
would still be worth writing down and selling.  We'd make a fortune..."
     "Wait!" said Baltar. "Do you hear something? Marching! Someone
is..."
     Someone's scanner began beeping loudly. They all looked up, as a
laser blast from the mouth of the cavern interrupted Starbuck's latest
"get rich quick" scheme.
     "Cylons!" 
     "Surrender-Humans!"
     "Oh great! Where's Gandalf when we need him?" said Ryan.

Chapter Ten

     "Get down!" Dayton yelled, pulling his weapon and taking out the
first centurion.  Its chest blew open in a mass of sparks and smoke, and
it toppled with a crash.  Another fired, and there was a scream.  Dayton
fired back, blowing the Cylon's face off, then pivoting to look behind
him as dread seized him by the throat.  The scream echoed through his
brain.  He damn well knew it was...
     Cassiopeia's eyes were wide with shock and her alabaster skin was
ashen, as she slumped against Ryan.  Paddy looked as surprised as the med
tech, tripping over his own feet as she stumbled against him.  Together
they dropped to the ground, which scared the hell out of Dayton even
more.  To make matters worse, Baltar, of all people, squatted down beside
them!  Dayton started towards them, instead jerking to a halt and diving
for cover behind one of the shrine's upright stones, when he felt the
heat of a Cylon laser blast just about singe his nose hairs.  Continuous
fire on his position pinned him down.
     "Starbuck!" Lu shouted.
     With a glance to the left, Dayton could see that the strike captain
had liberated his wife's weapon, which Starbuck would no doubt pay for
later.  He pulled her aside, and then fired off several shots at the
advancing centurions, before grabbing Lu's arm and diving for the cover
of the altars as he too was targeted.  Cylon lasers ripped up the ground
where he had been, missing him by centimetrons.  
     Apollo was meanwhile following the same high road that Ryan had
taken earlier, getting above the Cylons.  In no time, he would gain the
vantage point that would decimate them...as long as he could finish them
before they spotted him.  If he was caught precariously balanced on a
rock ledge, he'd have little chance.
     Dietra and Lia were providing covering fire, giving their colonel
every opportunity to succeed as more Cylons flooded in.  How big was this
bloody patrol, anyhow?
     The goblins seemed to fade into the landscape, their dark clothing
blending into the dour background.  At first Dayton thought they were
hiding, but he realized that they had stealthily retrieved their weapons
and were advancing on the Cylons.  With astonishment he watched them trip
one up, by a goblin throwing itself at the centurion's legs and upsetting
its balance, while compatriots violently attacked the Cylon with blades,
swords, rocks and anything else available.  One goblin fell to a
centurion's sword, its head cloven in a single blow, while another Cylon
had its faceplate smashed in by a rock.  A third was knocked down by
another "cannonballing" goblin from behind the knees.  A moment later,
the rest of them fell upon the trashcan with their weapons, doing their
worst.
     "Regroup!" droned the patrol leader, a gold-plated centurion.
"Regroup!" Dayton fired at that one.  He missed, and the centurion rather
nimbly ducked back into the cave mouth. 
     It gave him his chance.
     Dayton fired again, but only hit the rock over the cave mouth.  But
it was enough to make Goldilocks keep his mechanical head down, and the
Earthman ran for his lady, to find her on the ground, in a heap, off to
Paddy's side.  A quick glance revealed his friend raising a hand briefly,
as though in casual greeting, then let it drop back down to his stomach. 
Much to Dayton's surprise, not two feet away, behind the totally
inadequate cover of an outcrop of rock, Baltar was firing at the same
gold centurion, covering him.  Vaguely, he wondered where the traitor had
obtained the weapon, but a moment later it ceased to matter when, even
more to his surprise, the Colonial con-on-the-lam took the walking
dumpster down, blowing its leg off, and sending it toppling to the
ground.
     "By your command!" Baltar raved, firing off another shot at a nearby
centurion.
     "Cassiopeia! Cassiopeia!" Dayton cried, as he dropped to his knees
on the ground beside her.  She lay on her side, hand to her right hip. 
In the dim light, he couldn't make out how serious her injury was, but
her face was twisted in pain.
     "I'm...I'm okay, Mark," she returned breathlessly.  "It's sore, but
superficial.  I never...well..." Tears of pain and fear filled her blue
eyes.
     "Shh!  I'm here," he assured her, pausing briefly to wipe away her
tears, as he steeled himself.  Feeling more panic than he would like to
admit, Dayton leaned down and looked at the wound.  She drew in a sharp
breath, as he pulled the ruined material of her form-fitting black
fatigues away from her charred flesh.  Sure enough, it seemed the beam
had merely sheared the surface, leaving a burn that would hurt like hell,
but it was hardly life threatening.  He let out a breath of relief.
"Yeah, sweetheart. I guess you're right." 
     His heart stopped trying to climb up his throat and leap out of his
mouth.   Finally, he turned his attention to his friend of thirty years,
almost wondering why he hadn't heard any witty-or witless-retorts by now. 
"Okay Paddy, how about you?"
     But Patrick Ryan did not respond.
     "Paddy?  Paddy?" Nothing.  "PADDY!!!"

----------

     "Adama, that's about as crazy as that Count Iblis story you told
me," Cain shook his head, his features betraying his incredulity over the
private comm link.  "I mean really!"
     "Yet, every word of it is true, Cain," Adama stroked his chin
thoughtfully, sitting back in the chair in his office.  "And it leaves me
wondering if Iblis is back, or if this is another attempt of the Beings
from the Ship of Lights to communicate with us."
     "You said that once when they communicated with you, that you ended
up parsecs away, interrupting a nuclear war."
     "Yes, which is why I think the time might be right for the Pegasus
to take a shakedown cruise of her own..."
     Cain chuckled.  "Now, Adama, didn't you just point out to this old
war-equine that Commander Dayton wouldn't appreciate me stepping in where
I'm not wanted."
     "That was before, when I believed the Cylons might be involved,
somehow." Adama shrugged.  "This latest information from Corporal Komma
infers something radically different.  I don't know who or what precisely
this Being is, where she comes from, or what it is that she wants..."
     "Well, I'll be there to back up the Endeavour, regardless," Cain
replied.  "We'll be ready to leave..." he glanced at his chrono, smiling
slightly, "in two centons."
     "About as much time as it will take for you to issue the order, and
get to the Bridge," Adama smiled, shaking his head knowingly.  "You're
ready to ship out.  Were you going to await my order, or just fabricate
some excuse to get out there, old friend?"
     An animation filled the other's face, making him appear yahrens
younger.   He smiled, considering it.  "Well, the answer to that doesn't
really matter anymore.  Does it?"
     "So it would appear."
     "That's the problem with us working together, Adama," grinned Cain.
"You know me too well."
     "Cain," Adama murmured disapprovingly.
     "Must be this damn implant misfiring," Cain tapped the side of his
head, mischief dancing in his blue eyes.  All recent checks of the neural
implant had it functioning optimally.  However, that didn't stop Cain
from using it for the rare excuse he felt he should offer.  "I'll have
Tigh take over, while I report to the Life Station for a quick check up."
     "Yes, I'll just bet you will..." Adama returned doubtfully.  "Thank
the blessed Lords you're on our side.  Good luck."
     "Luck rarely enters into it, Adama," the Juggernaut returned.  "Cain
out." 

----------

     Baker sighed, looking over the chewed rim of  his java cup, from
where he sat at the desk, watching Malus.  The IL continued to clean up
Starbuck's office as he rambled off endless reams of mathematical data
and equations about wormholes, black holes, alternate dimensions,
temporal displacement, various methods of entry into hyperspace, and
other theoretical anomalies.  Oh, the Cylon didn't use the same
terminology, preferring to speak of "emissions of particles and light
with characteristic energy spectra", in addition to "detectable
electromagnetic fields continuously fluctuating", while he calculated
endless algorithms, and myriad permutations of dozens of mathematical
theorems that had Baker's head swimming.  Occasionally, Malus would stop
to make a comment, or to ask a question-or strangely enough-to twitch,
but so far the most salient advice Baker and Coxcoxtli had offered was
which perishable items Malus could safely dispose of as he began to make
a dent in the disaster, no, make that toxic waste dump, that Starbuck
worked in.
     "Using the plasma model for the metal dielectric function we have
calculated the electromagnetic-fluctuation-induced forces to within a
tolerance of..." 
     Malus continued to natter incessantly, as he started tidying a shelf
unit, actually relocating items from Starbuck's overflowing desk to it. 
Baker blinked, trying to keep up, and actually felt a little relieved
when he saw that Coxcoxtli's eyes looked as though they were glazing over
on the opposite side of the desk.  
     "The force for unit area is considerable and it shows an intensity
maximum at a specific plasma value, which cannot be predicted on the
basis of a non-retarded description of the electromagnetic interaction,"
Malus added, glancing at the Humans.  "This is rather stimulating, I must
say!  It reminds me of the time that Commander Yugra ordered me to wipe
select data from my memory base after..." He paused, his head twitching
to the side once again.  "Hmm.  It's rather persistent."  
     "Nervous twitch, Mal?" Baker asked, frowning.  He'd seen several
weird behaviours from the IL, but admittedly was hardly an authority on
Cylons.  "Maybe you should finally run that diagnostic you've been
avoiding all these years."
     "You're the second person to mention that today," Malus returned,
before launching into another mind-boggling speech, while motioning to
the sensor logs, stacked haphazardly on a corner of the desk, threatening
to topple, like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.   Apparently, they indicated
something pertinent. 
     Baker nodded, taking his feet off the desk and leaning forward to
consider the data. Maybe it meant something to a Cylon, but it sure as
hell didn't to him. Man, he was going to kill Dayton just as soon as his
fearless leader returned from this mission. What he wouldn't give to
change places with him now...
     "It is shown that the force can change the sign from attraction to
repulsion upon changing the substrate plasma frequency..." Malus
continued.  He once more focused on Baker. "You follow, of course."
     "Of course," wheezed Baker.
     "Excellent. So you see, it should be a trifling matter, to adjust
the towing beam to repel, and use it as a weapon.  Therefore, by analogy,
the phenomenon itself can be reversed as it were, and we should be able
to..." His head twitched to the right once again as his monologue
abruptly died.  Almost eerily, he stood as still as a statue.  It
reminded Baker of a certain character rusting up in Oz.
     Suddenly, the lights in Malus' head started flickering erratically,
looking like a disco ball.  Still the IL remained motionless.  The
Earthman glanced over at Coxcoxtli.
     "Is he going to blow?" the younger man asked.
     "Not sure," Baker replied, getting to his feet and knocking on
Malus' head. "Mal?  You in there?  I left my oilcan in my other suit, Tin
Man."
     Then slowly, Malus seemed to come to "life", turning his head to
straighten it, and then methodically moving towards the computer.
     "Malus?" Baker asked.
     "I think I may need that diagnostic, after all."

----------

     Apollo started firing from his precarious position upon a rocky
ledge directly above the advancing Cylons, taking down two before they
could compute the data, and figure out where the newest attack was coming
from.  A moment later, the rock wall beside him exploded from the blast
of a pulse rifle.  He raised his arm, covering his face as his body was
pummelled by heat and rock fragments.  Twisting to the side, he could
feel his heel slip, as the ledge below him began to crumble.  If he
didn't do something, he'd either get shot, or fall, neither option
attractive.  Meanwhile Dietra was springing towards the fallen Ryan,
uncharacteristically unmindful of her safety as Dayton called his
friend's name desperately.  The Cylon below Apollo took aim at the
running lieutenant, oblivious to all but his target.  A milli-centon
later Apollo took a leap of faith, and gravity, pushing himself off the
wall of the cave with a hand before the strata under him gave way
completely, despite knowing that Cylons weren't any softer than rocks.
     For the Glory of Caprica!
     He crashed down on top of the centurion, sending its weapon flying
from its grasp as it tumbled to the ground.  Apollo rolled, then
scrambled to put some distance between them, meanwhile gripping his own
weapon tightly, making sure he didn't inadvertently drop it.  A bare
metron away, the colonel rolled onto his back, raising the pistol in both
hands, taking aim and firing.  The Cylon, halfway back onto its feet,
took the shot directly,  jerking spasmodically, sparks and smoke flaring
from its savaged chest, before it dropped limply to the ground.
     "Apollo! Get down!" a voice hollered.
     Apollo flattened himself, feeling the heat from the laser blast that
passed over him.  He gritted his teeth from the pain as it burned his
skin.  An answering beam took out the centurion that he hadn't even seen. 
Gratefully, he took in the smoking Cylon, then he glanced at Lia, who was
still poised for action, her weapon sweeping the area for the enemy.
     "I think we nailed them!" she called out, but didn't drop the
defensive stance.  Sure enough, the entire Cylon patrol was destroyed,
with but two casualties on the part of the Colonials.
     Starbuck cautiously climbed to his feet from behind the altar,
pulling Luana up beside him.  She scowled at him, holding out her hand
for the weapon he had jerked out of her holster when the Cylon attack had
begun.  He smiled weakly, returning it.  "Thanks for the loan." 
     "If you ever do that again..." she paused, sighing and brushing back
a stray tendril of hair, as she glanced over to the injured.  She
motioned over.  "Starbuck..."
     Starbuck nodded, doing a quick visual sweep of the area.  The Odreds
were gathering up Cylon pulse rifles, which didn't exactly fill him with
confidence, but in light of their abrupt alliance, he could only hope for
the best, and be prepared.  Ama and Eirys seemed to be checking out the
princes.  To his untrained eye, they looked just as dead as they had
before...without any further holes in them from the exchange, thankfully. 
He leaned in closer to Lu and murmured in her ear, "Find a vantage point
and keep the trolls covered." He squeezed her hand.
     "Right."
     "Go."
     As Lu crept away, Starbuck glanced at the entrance where Apollo and
Lia were already preparing to check their perimeter.  "Yo!  Apollo!  Got
it?" he called out, wondering if they needed his help.
     "Got it!" Apollo returned, waving a hand in dismissal before they
disappeared through the mouth of the cave to the outside.
      Starbuck waited a micron, listening for the sound of shots being
exchanged.  There was none.  "How bad is it?" he asked, crossing over to
squeeze Dayton's shoulder as the Earthman kneeled beside Cassie, watching
as the med tech studied her biomonitor results.  Dietra kneeled on the
other side, biting her lip and smoothing back Ryan's unruly grey hair. 
She blinked frequently, and then wiped at traitorous tears that spilled
over onto her cheeks.  Paddy was coming to, and his face twisted into a
grimace of misery as he groaned and opened his eyes, looking about
wildly, as he tried to curl into a tight ball.
     "Easy, Paddy," Cassiopeia murmured, instantly dosing him with her
hypospray.  "I need to finish my assessment.  Lie still."  
     "I'm here, Paddy.  So is Dee." Dayton reached for his friend's hands
as Ryan reflexively sought out the source of the pain.  Meanwhile, Dietra
leaned over her man, murmuring softly in his ear.  Dayton continued to
speak to him, trying to keep him grounded, "Cassiopeia's just checking
you out, bud. You got shot. Belly wound."
     "Really...?" Ryan gasped, sucking in a breath through his teeth and
then panting like a winded man.  He squeezed Dayton's hands, his grip
feeling like a crushing vice.  It was an indication of the pain he was
in.  "Lord thunderin' Jaysus, Mark, it feels like...that friggin'
obediator is...is back inside of me..." He glanced up at Dietra, and he
made an effort to control his breathing, pasting on a wan smile. "Ah, an
angel."
     "You're going to be okay, Paddy," Dee whispered huskily.
     Ryan nodded, his teeth clenching with the pain, and his face
contorting again.
     "How bad is it, Cassiopeia?" Dayton repeated.  He looked from his
fallen friend, to his lover.
     "Bad enough that...we're holding hands...Snookums," Ryan quipped
with effort.  
     "Stop dramatizing, Puddin'," Dayton returned softly.  "You'll be
okay."  
     Of course he'd be okay. He had to be!
     Cassie adjusted her biomonitor, her own features impassive as she
began pulling equipment out of her bag.  "I'm going to have to open him
up. There's internal bleeding. Fortunately, the beam had lost some energy
before it hit.  How much I don't know."  She glanced around the cavern,
shaking her head slightly.  The conditions weren't exactly conducive to a
surgery. A moment later she worked on establishing an intravenous.  "The
laser cuts through tissue, destroying it.  The problem is that even if I
stop the bleeding, I won't know how much surrounding tissue will start to
necrose later from the laser."  Cylon weapons were deliberately modulated
to be as destructive to Human tissue as possible.  She had learned that
over Kobol, with Serina.  "It sometimes takes a while to demarcate, yet I
don't want to cut away bowel unless it's absolutely necessary." 
     "Tell me she didn't say 'bowel'," Ryan grunted.  "Oh, crap!" He
suddenly hacked, his cough trailing off into a low groan. 
     "Two surgeries?" Dietra asked. 
     "I hope not.  Depends how bad it looks when I get in there," Cassie
replied honestly.  She picked up the portable scanner and passed it over
the injured area again.  The scowl and shake of her head spoke volumes. 
     "Never thought I'd wish for a good old-fashioned bullet," Dayton
murmured soberly. At least they would have known the general extent of
the damage.  These damn alien death rays were like nuclear radiation,
often taking days to clearly delineate the damage.
     Provided the victim lived that long!
     "Give it to me to...to bite...if you find one..." Ryan returned,
coughing.
     "Shh!" Dietra hushed him.
     "I've been blethering my whole life...not gonna stop now..." Ryan
replied breathlessly. "Yeah, Mother Ryan always used to say..."
     "It's called conserving your strength," Dayton told him, not liking
the increasing pallor.  Cassie was inserted some kind of IV fluid into a
pump in an effort to compensate for blood loss, while handing Dayton a
life mask.  He quickly slipped it on Ryan. 
     "For what, exactly?" Ryan returned, pulling at the mask.  He glanced
up at Starbuck.  "Isn't this your bag, Starbuck?"
     "Shut the hell up, Patrick!" Dayton suddenly exploded, as much to
his own surprise as everyone else's. "That's a God-damned order!"
     "That's exactly...what Mother Ryan used to say..." returned Paddy
weakly, as a shiver shook his frame. "How'd ya...how'd ya know?"
     Dayton sucked in a steadying breath, letting out a ragged one.  "You
always were an irritating SOB, you..."
     "Is that American for...I love you?" returned Ryan, his eyes
closing, and a satisfied smile creeping over his features. 
     "Damn, Ryan..." Starbuck murmured quietly, then looked at Cassie. 
"What do you need, Cass?  What can I do to help?"
     "I need more light.  And a surface I can work on."
     "There's a spot outside," Starbuck winced at the choice of King
Cadoc's burial vault as the only flat surface available...other than the
altars the princes occupied in the dimly lit Holy Sanctum.  Somehow, he
didn't think that would fly with the Odreds.  "Let me make sure the area
is secure, and I'll see what these guys brought in the way of
illumination in their field packs."
     "Thank you, Starbuck," she nodded after him as he quickly moved
towards the main entrance.
     Dayton's gaze followed him, hearing him call out to Apollo.  Ryan's
breathing was becoming more and more laboured, and he'd stopped
blethering...Not good signs.  Of course, there was the hope that the
narcotic had simply settled him.  Abruptly, Dayton had an idea!  "Ama!
Can't we just zip him home?"        
     "Zip him home, Mark-Dayton?" Ama repeated as she moved to join them. 
"What am I?  Colonial Transit?"
     The Earthman's eyes narrowed dangerously, as he looked between his
injured best friend and the necromancer.  "Listen, lady..."
     "Hold your tongue before you say something you'll regret later,
Commander," Ama reprimanded him.  Even in her sharp tone, he could hear
the strain.  She was as worried as he was.  "If you remember, I focussed
on Starbuck's life force to bring us here.  I'm a little new at crossing
dimensions, and I'm not altogether sure at how I'm going to get us back
there." She glanced at the Odred sorceress.
     "What?" Dayton asked, abruptly tempted to wrap his hands around her
throat.  "You never said we couldn't get back!"
     "No, I never did," Ama agreed.  "Because I believe we can."  She
glanced at Eirys.  "And I believe the Hag will help.  For a price."
     "You will help us then?" Eirys asked, looking pointedly at Luana who
was covering them from atop an outcrop of rock. 
     "Before I answer that, I need to hear this story that Starbuck was
talking about."
     "We don't have time for stories, for Christ's sake!  Ryan needs help
now!  He's bleeding!" Dayton growled in frustration.  Cassie nodded her
agreement, glancing anxiously towards the entrance.
     Ama held her hands out towards Eirys, "It won't take long.  If you
will permit me?"
     The troll narrowed her eyes, taking a step back.  "Baltar?"
     Baltar looked surprised for a moment that Eirys was asking for his
advice.  Perhaps it was his apparent resemblance to General Caradoc in
the Angylion form that leant to her trust of him.  "Allow it." Then he
sniffed aloud, recalling Ama probing his mind on the Prison Barge.  "For
if you don't, she will do it anyways." 
     "I see," Eirys conceded uncertainly, stepping boldly forward into
the circle of the Empyrean necromancer's arms.  A moment later, Ama had
touched the troll's temples with her fingers, and tilted her forehead
against Eirys' until they touched.  
     "Ryan?" Dayton whispered down at his friend.  
     Paddy's eyelids fluttered open, glancing at Dayton blurrily.  
     "The Canucks are in the playoffs..." Dayton told him.
     Ryan smiled, squeezing Dayton's hand. "Great.  Put me down for a
loonie, each way."
     "Take a cheque?  I'm tapped, till payday."  
     "Liar." 
     A centon later, the women parted, Ama nodding.  "Very well.  I was
told by someone that I believe you would refer to as a 'Mystic' that a
very great injustice must be undone, in order for a terrible disaster to
be averted." 
     "Who is this Mystic?" Caradoc interrupted.  "Is it Llyr?  Has he
returned to help us?"
     "I don't know of him by that name, but he seemed to think I could
help you.  He didn't mention you would come plucking my people out of our
dimension and using them for blood sacrifices, however," Ama told Eirys,
with a raised eyebrow.  Dayton almost gave himself whiplash as he turned
to regard her.  "He also didn't mention Iblis, and I will certainly be
speaking to him about that."
     "I will not apologize for trying to save the Angylion race.  I did
nothing to irreparably harm either Starbuck or Baltar," Eirys defended
herself.
     "More's the pity with Baltar," Dayton muttered.  "Ama, you had
warning of this?  And you didn't bother to let me know?  Was it John? 
Did he come to you?"
     She sighed.  "Yes, it was John.  But to your mind it would have
been...fiddle-faddle, Mark-Dayton.  Nebulous, at best.  Nothing I could
take to a man like you, and since it was destined, it seemed pointless."
She glanced back to Eirys as he glowered at her.  "You have the
Doublewalkers of your princes, and your Oculus, Hag.  I imagine there is
also a spell to reverse this curse?"
     "Yes. We have all the elements.  But we need to wait until the time
is just right," Eirys replied with a glance at Baltar and Caradoc.  Then
she looked at Ama uncertainly.
     "Who will perform the ritual?" Baltar asked.
     "I'm not sure I have the power to break Iblis' spell, although I
certainly would have risked it.  But the Telling said that the White
Witch could..." Eirys trailed off hopefully.
     "Very well," Ama conceded.  "Do you have this spell?  I must study
it."
     "Yes, of course."
     A low groan from Ryan, and Ama frowned in his direction. "Can we
send Ryan back through the power of your Oculus, Hag?" 
     "He may not survive, considering his life force is already
dwindling," Eirys replied.  "Perhaps if you went with him to protect him
from the forces exerted on his body...but I cannot allow that, Witch.  I
need you here.  And every time we pass through the Nonentity, we risk the
chance of drawing the Mystics' attention.  If Iblis was to intervene now,
I would lose the chance to free my people from his enchantment."
     "That's one hell of a big 'if'!" Dayton returned.  "This man could
die!"
     "One life for tens of thousands..." Eirys shrugged.  "I know it
sounds harsh..."
     "A people at war for a thousand yahrens can understand better than
most," Baltar inserted quietly.  "Besides, we have able medical personnel
right here." 
     Dayton glowered at him.  Ryan had consistently advocated for
Baltar's demise while on Planet 'P'.  The traitor hadn't forgotten. 
Still, in reality, all that taking Ryan to the Endeavour would get them
would be a clean operating room.  Either way, it would be up to
Cassiopeia to save him.  His best friend's life was in the hands of his
lady, and Dayton couldn't help but dwell on the fact that she wasn't
quite a qualified physician, despite her knowledge and training.  Add to
that his suspicions those same thoughts of doubt and nervousness had to
be going through her head.  He gritted his teeth, grinding them together,
trying to quell his anger, helplessness, and hopelessness.  Frankly, if
he could grind Baltar's face into the rock, it might go a long way
towards making him feel better...Instead, he finally replied,  "Yeah,
he's in the best of hands."
     Cassie met his gaze, nodding thankfully that she had his vote of
confidence.  Then anxiously, she glanced towards the cave entrance. 
"Where's Starbuck?" 
     On cue, the strike captain jogged in through the front entrance,
followed by Lia.  "No sign of any more Cylons. Are you ready, Cass?"
     "More than ready."
     "Okay.  Let's move."

Chapter Eleven

     Dorado shifted from his seat in the War Room, where Malus had been
regaling him with a data bank worth of recovered information that he had
been ordered by his former Cylon commander to wipe from his memory long
ago, or so he now realized.
     "You guys actually wiped out an entire civilization of peaceable
Beings?" Dorado asked quietly, glancing at Baker and Coxcoxtli. "But why? 
What had these people ever done to you?"
     "The Edict of Extermination, Captain," Malus replied. "It was the
foremost and highest of the Imperious Leader's standing orders."
     "I thought that just applied to Humans," Dorado inserted.
     "These Beings were...different than any we had ever contacted
before." Malus cocked his head slightly to the side.  "Commander Yugra
decided they had to be eradicated."
     "Different.  How so?"
     "They defied everything we believed. Their very existence was a
contradiction of the whole Cylon paradigm."
     "Come again?" Dorado asked.
     "Dispassionate science and technology, and those alone, were the
Cylon dictum towards achieving eternal perfection and order throughout
the star system," Malus replied.  "The Espridians were technologically
evolved Beings, incredibly so, but their development and practice of
the...what you would call the 'metaphysical arts' set them apart from any
other race we had come across."
     "But Humans have practised these...metaphysical arts, as you call
them, for ages. In the Colonies.  On Empyrean.  Even on Earth.  What made
these people so different in that regard?"
     "These arts were not just an adjunct to their technology and way of
life.  They dominated their whole life and culture.  Saturated it
utterly."
     "I see. And this made them dangerous?"
     "Any opposition or challenge to the Cylon way of life is perceived
as a threat that must be eradicated."
     Dorado glanced at Baker.  "I vaguely remember Dayton talking about
the day Torg and Bex snagged the Wraiths, and that their pilots all died
when they were exposed to the atmosphere of the hangar bay, but he said
you guys never got a look at them."
     "That's right," Baker nodded.  "They were jettisoned from the hangar
bay of the pirate asteroid. Or so they said.  We never knew for certain."
     "Luana reported the atmosphere of the...Espridian planet was
considerably lighter than Caprican standard," Dorado recounted. "Lower
pressure."
     "Then the density in the air...suffocated them?" Baker suggested. 
     "Probably...without a post-mortem, there's no way of knowing for
sure," Dorado replied. He looked back at the IL.  "I'm still a bit fuzzy
on these metaphysical arts, Malus.  Can you elaborate?"
     "Certainly.  As I was told by the Espridians, these people studied,
lived and breathed psionics, both physical and mental."
     "Psionics?" the men asked together.
     "Psychic power," Malus replied. "That is also how Ama defined it to
me.  Our Cylon language defines it as 'non-causative spatial transport
and communication'.  Yes, practicing telepathy, telekinesis, and
teleportation were normal occurrences in their daily lives.  It was
fascinating.  A global consciousness attained through...spiritual
enlightenment, touting peace and understanding, with no need for defences
or offences." The IL was silent a few moments. "I still find 'spiritual'
a difficult concept to process, I must admit, but I realize now that I
was well on my way to breaking through the limitations of my original
programming, through my interactions with the Espridians.  I'm sure
that's why I immediately gravitated to Starbuck, and the rest of your
people, when I met them on Planet 'P'.  It stimulated old data, long
suppressed, that long ago was enabling me to personally grow and develop
beyond all Cylon expectations!"
     "Spiritualism can mean a realm, or a level of existence, that is
beyond the physical senses," said Dorado.
     "Such as the continued existence of the mind, even beyond death?"
     "Yes," said Coxcoxtli. 
     "And thus beyond the usual Cylon ability to grasp or to accept."
     "This Espridian global consciousness...it puts me in mind of
Nirvana," Baker muttered.  "In Earth Buddism, Nirvana is the supreme
mental state, free from suffering and individual existence.  It's a state
Buddhists refer to as 'Enlightenment', the ultimate goal of all
Buddhists."
     "Fascinating," Malus' lights accelerated.  "I would like to know
more about them when time permits."
     "So, you spoke to these Espridians?" Dorado asked.  "You
communicated with them, Malus?"
     "Oh yes, through a form of artistic handscript, common to their
kind, and also to other cultures.  It took me almost a full secton to
figure theirs out, but I prevailed, and finally became quite adept at it. 
I was an explorer and researcher, you understand.  And although all
Cylons are considered to be soldiers of the Alliance, I must admit, my
heart was never in it."
     "Mal..." Baker sighed.  "You don't have a heart."
     "Well, technically speaking...that is true.  But since joining the
Fleet, I have learned that the heart and soul, as you describe them, are
not necessarily characteristic of only Humans."
     "Cylons don't have souls either, Mal," Dorado added.
     "I like to think my own...spiritual development has far surpassed
any Cylon's, Captain Dorado," the IL replied, a little indignantly.
     "Did Starbuck tell you that?" Dorado asked.
     "Starbuck tends to nod off when we discuss spirituality," Malus
replied.
     Dorado blinked, and glanced at Baker who rolled his eyes. "And he's
the one overseeing your transition into Fleet life. I see."
     "So these guys actually...moved around just by thinking about it?"
Baker asked, moving the discussion back on track. "Then why did they need
ships?"
     "Because their teleportation range was apparently limited. You see,
the Espridians were also explorers!" Malus enthused. "However, they
preferred to merely observe and record other worlds, star systems and
even other universes.  They went out of their way to not be observed."
     "Which is why the Wraith has such a highly advanced countermeasures
suite, in order to avoid detection."
     "So they were never detected?"
     "I understand that most civilizations, other than Cylon, favour the
appearance of celestial Beings in one form or another," Malus replied. 
"The occasional time the Espridians were observed could be rationalized
away by the visit of those celestial Beings."
     "Angels."
     "Yes.  Perpetuating the organic life form's propensity for clinging
to the belief of the celestial spheres."
     "What did they look like, Mal?  These Espridians."
     "Similar to Humans in shape and size, as you have probably figured
out, since the Wraith is compatible with Human use.  However, they
breathed a lighter air, and required less in the way of consumables. 
Their biophysical composition was also different.  They were not
constituted of consistently solid matter, as you and I are.  Our
scientists were unable to fully understand how this was possible, but it
was so.  They unquestionably had an etheric body."
     "Sorry?" Dorado frowned. "Eth...what?"
     "Beam me up, Scotty," Baker smiled. Malus turned to him. "Never
mind.  Must make it easier to move around the planet by teleportation,
I'll bet." 
     "Yes, quite," Malus agreed enthusiastically. "And to other
dimensions, as well."
     "Wait a centon..." Dorado interjected.  "When you said they explored
other universes, that's what you meant?  Other dimensions?"
     "Oh, yes. Or quantum realities, or whatever term you choose.  They
believed there were other universes that simply operated on a different
etheric plain.  It was absolutely..."
     "Fascinating?" Baker inserted, trying not to smile.
     "Yes!" Malus cried.  "But to Commander Yugra, that, along with their
Wraith technology, was the deciding factor in the annihilation of the
Espridian race.  Instead of considering utilizing the technology,
Commander Yugra chose to destroy it, preventing it from ever being used
against us.  Never mind that the Espridians were a peaceable nation.  I
believe he might have blown a circuit, trying to comprehend something
beyond the Cylon status quo.  Such are the limitations of the centurion
command class. However, for a researcher and explorer, such as myself,
the progress they had made in crossing dimensions was akin to making the
first discoveries that ultimately led us to the development of the
Gravitic Drive system.  It was very exciting."
     "And the Endeavour took part in this attack?" asked Coxcoxtli.
     "The Harrower," Malus corrected him, preferring to differentiate
between the two existences of the same ship.  "Along with the others,
yes.  Their cities were blasted from orbit with our mega-pulsars, before
being bombarded with nuclear fusion warheads."
     "Nothing like overkill," muttered Baker. 
     "Their skills and technology posed a potential threat to the Cylon
Order.  Commander Yugra wished to be certain that even if some Espridians
survived, they would never be in a position to challenge the Alliance,
when at last we reached this region of space in force."
     "Makes a certain sense, I suppose, at least from a military point of
view.  Then what happened?"
     "The other two Base Ships continued on, deeper into this sector,
while this vessel continued on to what you called Planet 'P'.  There I
was landed with my garrison, and told to await pickup.  Of course, it
never came.  I now believe it was a punitive measure."  
     "You stepped in, didn't you, Mal?" Dorado realized, actually
surprised. "You tried to intervene on their behalf?"
     "I did," the IL admitted.  "I argued that their mysterious
technology and skills might actually be of use to the Alliance, but I
would have said anything to be able to continue my research into
Espridian Psionics.  Accusing me of putting my ambitions ahead of that of
the Alliance, Yugra would not listen to me.  As the destruction of the
Espridian civilization was carried out, I was ordered to wipe my memory
banks of all information related to them, purportedly because I didn't
have proper clearance.  Either that or I would be scrapped.  You see,
ever since I was a fledgling, my superiors had accused me of being a
loose diode." He waited a beat.
     "It's not that funny, Mal," Baker told him. "Loose wire. Loose
diode. Really needs work."
     Malus 'sighed'.  "Regardless, I implemented a secondary clone
program, so that when I eventually did a diagnostic, my memory of the
events would be regenerated."
     "Unfortunately," Baker inserted, "you didn't run that diagnostic
until now."
     "Am I missing something here, Malus?" Dorado asked.  "How can a
long-dead race of people who could teleport to other dimensions help us
here and now?"
     "Because the Espridians didn't cross dimensional barriers using
psionics, Captain.  They had technology as well, a device that could open
a portal to another dimension," Malus replied.  "I was, to my knowledge,
the only Cylon aware of the existence of the Clavis, and I, alone, know
where we can find it."
     "Clavis?  What makes you think it wasn't blown to smithereens, along
with the rest of the planet?" Baker asked.
     "As Starbuck says, that's a chance we'll have to take."

----------

     Immersing oneself in duty was a pragmatic solution to putting any of
life's problems on the backburner, Sheba had found, as she printed out
the duty roster and filed another "to do" as "done".  A Battlestar was a
community unto itself, and leaving the Fleet-or in the past, the
Colonies-suddenly made everything else fade into the distance, priorities
being reshuffled with each passing parsec behind her.  Still, the
bright-eyed image of Boxey as she left the boy behind in the Galactica's
Alpha Bay was difficult to let go of.  The youngster had been determined
to see her off, and she had acquiesced, knowing how hard it was on him to
have Apollo assigned away.  When she had suggested having a crewman
escort him back to his level, Boxey had insistently replied, "I'm big
enough to do it on my own!"  The righteous indignation was so reminiscent
of his father, that Sheba had conceded, trying to control her own delight
and amusement.
     Boxey was growing up.
     A soft knock on the door of the duty office made her look up. Bojay
was smiling at her in a strange way, leaning his lanky frame against the
doorjamb.  
     "What?" she asked.
     "You looked far away," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest.
     "Just clearing my desk," she shrugged, waving a hand to illustrate
the point.  A data pad, a couple reference materials, and a holoptic of
her parents were all that covered the surface, and even those were neatly
organized.  
     "How do you do it?" Bojay grinned.  "I heard Starbuck's desk looked
like a Cylon pinwheel attack hit it.  His whole office, actually."
     "Honestly, I think better with a clean desk.  It's like I can't even
begin to get started unless the surface is clear." She smiled. The mess
she had swept into the bottom drawer would be her little secret.
     "Well, you know what they say."
     "No."
     "A clean desk is a sign of a sick mind."
     "And just who are they?" She asked, raising her eyebrows.  "And,
while we're at it, how much have they had to drink?"
     "It might have been a topic of discussion in the OC, now that you
mention it," Bojay conceded with a chuckle, then glanced over his
shoulder for a micron.  "So...I was wondering..." he began, stroking his
chin as he looked around the office.  "I don't suppose we should send our
only functioning shuttle back to the Fleet at this point, especially
without a Viper escort...which would probably be a waste of fighters,
especially considering we're not at full strength yet..."
     She sat up straight, shaking her head in bewilderment.  Sending
shuttles or Vipers back to the Fleet made absolutely no sense.  "Bojay,
what are you talking about?"
     Bojay sighed, looking back over his shoulder to the outer corridor. 
"Bring him in, Roz!"

----------

     This was a total mong hole to be practising medicine in.  Dirty,
cold, wet, rotten light, and no doubt more bacteria than a sewage
treatment plant, but Cassiopeia had made it clear that Ryan didn't have a
lot of options, just now.  While the med tech had been grazed by the
Cylon's shot, and not hurt badly, Ryan had caught the bulk of the
remaining energy.  The internal bleeding had been bad, and it was no
picnic trying to turn a slab of rock on the side of a volcano into an
operating room.
     The Odreds, perhaps understandably, were curious about Cassie's
"magic", as she began her work.  Her answers to their questions were
clipped, betraying the stress she was under, and she didn't even turn to
regard them.  General Caradoc at last had to ask them to stand back, and
give her some space. 
     Dayton himself had looked torn between watching Ryan's surgery, and
tossing his mushies all over the burial vault, as Cassie continued to
work, cutting through savaged tissue with a laser scalpel.  Lia and
Dietra stood by, willing and able to help in any way, and monitoring the
biomonitor, as instructed by the med tech.  As Dayton's strike captain
and friend, Starbuck realized it was his responsibility and duty to get
the Earthman refocused, rather than leave him dwelling on a situation he
could do nothing about.  Besides, Cassiopeia looked as though she could
use some breathing space.  She'd been at it for a while now.
     "We need to regroup, Commander," Starbuck told him, grabbing Dayton
by the arm and leading him towards the trailhead where Apollo waited. 
"Soon, Apollo and I are going to be donating our blood in the name of
resurrecting Angylions.  We need a plan to deal with that Base Ship." 
     Within the Holy Sanctum, Ama and Eirys were preparing the chamber
for a sacred rite that, if the Angylion prophecy was correct, would
eradicate a curse that had transformed an entire race of Beings into
trolls.
     Dayton nodded, glancing over his shoulder one last time, before
taking a deep breath, and concentrating on the situation at hand.  "I
guess that's going to depend on whether or not this...ceremony works.  As
if things weren't iffy enough, already."
     Starbuck nodded, suddenly waving Baltar and Caradoc over.  "Yeah,
admittedly as Odreds these people have been effectively neutralized. 
However, Caradoc told Baltar that..."
     "Starbuck...what the frack are you doing?" Apollo interrupted, as
the traitor of humanity started crossing the plateau to join them.
     "Look, buddy, I know it's not exactly normal procedure to have
Baltar join a command briefing, but these Odreds trust Baltar.   General
Caradoc is his Doublewalker.  The Odred has revealed a lot of pertinent
military information to him, just based on the fact that Baltar said he'd
help them.  They look at Baltar and see their former Angylion glory
personified."
     "Oh, that's just great!" Dayton groused. "Benedict Arnold to the
rescue!"
     "And by extension, when they look at you or me, Apollo, they see
their princes.  Their sovereigns.  Besides, the last time we successfully
infiltrated a Cylon Base Ship, it was because of intelligence that Baltar
gave us.  He might be useful again.  Like it or not, we're better off
working together right now, than putting him in chains, and having an
entire nation of Odreds turn against us," Starbuck explained.
     Apollo let out an audible sigh, weighing the words.  "I left my
chains in my other jacket, anyhow..."
     "Hey, I haven't forgotten what he did.  But we have a pretty thin
hand right now.  We have to work with what we've got, like it or not."
     "Well, I don't like it," Dayton frowned, crossing his arms over his
chest. 
     "Then file it with Colonial Complaints, Commander," Starbuck replied
heatedly.  "We're stuck with it.  There's no way in Hades hole that we
can destroy a Cylon Base Ship on our own.  We need these people."
     "And what happens if Baltar should decide to switch sides, again? 
We'd be totally screwed," Dayton returned.
     "For the moment, we have no choice," said Apollo, having no more
liking or trust for Baltar than any Colonial.
     "What happens to Baltar afterwards?" Dayton threw back at them.
     "Let me consult my crystalline ball," Starbuck returned wryly.
     Dayton sniffed aloud, his intent features cracking into a grin as he
heard footsteps approaching from behind. "Smart ass."
     Together, the three men turned to face Baltar and Caradoc.
     "Gentlemen," Baltar smiled at them. "The time is nigh that the
Angylion race will be freed."
     Oh great! Baltar the Prophet!
     "And then what, Baltar? I take it you have a plan?" Apollo replied,
his eyes narrowing, the scepticism in his voice plain.
     "I do.  Over the deca-yahren, the Cylons have doubtlessly grown
complacent, and now treat the Odreds more as animals.  As mindless beasts
of burden, rather than as any real threat or opposition."
     "Yes, this is true," Caradoc added.  "While once we forged metal to
rebuild their monstrosity under diligent surveillance, they have since
removed many of their centurions from the mines and city to their ship to
carry out repairs.  We have had the opportunity to forge many weapons, in
preparation for our final conflict."
     "Swords?" Dayton asked.
     "Yes, as well as others.  Maces, axes, dirks, polearms..."
     "But those weapons are useless against Cylon pulse rifles." Apollo
pointed out. "They'll shred you."
     "They are not useless in the hands of Angylions.  Before, when the
Cylons first appeared from Mt. Cadoc, they held the element of surprise,"
Caradoc conceded.  "Their weapons decimated our legions, for we had not
seen their like before.  Even so, we might have been able to regroup and
overcome them, if we had changed our strategy.  You cannot meet weapons
like that, head on.  But before we could react, Iblis then transformed us
into Odreds, too small and weak to lift the very weapons that could
cleave the Cylons in two."
     "Cleave them in two?" Starbuck asked.  He let out a short breath. 
"It would take a lot of strength to drive a sword through a Cylon."
     "We also have many Cylon weapons,' added the general. "When first we
did battle with them, some were cut down by stones, logs, or massed
attack.  Along the trails here, you will find the ruined bodies of many. 
We took their swords, and kept them.  They do not rust, and none have
ever broken."
     "Did you get any of their more advanced weapons?" asked Dayton.
     "Some, but time and the wet climate have done their work.  I do not
know if any of them might yet work.  But the swords...yes."
     "Still going to need a mong-load of brute strength, to take a
centurion down this way," said Starbuck.
     "Strength comes from pureness of heart, Starbuck," Caradoc replied.
     "I kept telling that to the commander, but Dayton made me report to
the Fitness Centre every day anyway," Starbuck quipped.
     "Are you people truly that strong?  In your natural state?" Dayton
asked, wondering what these weapons looked like.  A sword that could cut
a centurion in two had to be massive, like the longswords of Earth.  The
strength behind it had to be significant, and looking at the princes, who
weren't exactly young Arnold Schwarzeneggers, it simply didn't make
sense.
     "Angylions are," Caradoc replied.  "We are one with our blades, and
our strength, purpose and conviction are channelled, combining those
energies and empowering our warriors." 
     Starbuck glanced at Apollo, "Did you get any of that?"
     Apollo raised his eyebrows at his friend, looking back at the troll. 
"I'm not sure we understand."
     "Sounds a lot like bushido," Dayton added,. "An ancient warrior
philosophy, on Earth. Are you saying that your blades have some kind of
special powers?"
     "When wielded by Angylions," Caradoc replied.
     "Sounds like King Arthur's Excalibur..." Dayton murmured quietly to
himself, once again feeling more like he was in some strange fantasy, and
expecting a group of unicorns or fairies to show up any second.  Had a
lamppost suddenly appeared to grow out of the ground, he wouldn't have
been surprised.  A quick glance back towards Ryan, however, quickly
grounded him.  Cassie looked to be closing him up.
     Caradoc shrugged.  "You will see soon enough.  Tell them your plan,
Baltar."
     "Our plan, General," Baltar nodded.  "It is simple.  As the Odreds
change shifts, both in the mine and at the nearby Base Ship," he glanced
in the distance at the sun beginning to drop in the sky, "it is a
tradition for families to gather not far from the sites, awaiting their
loved ones in greeting.  Similarly, fresh workers going on shift are seen
off by their kin."
     "Initially, many Odreds were killed during their long shifts,"
Caradoc inserted.  "They simply did not return home, and their bodies
were found discarded like refuse.  Cylons are unaffected by the spread of
pestilence from rotting flesh, and it wouldn't occur to them to free the
souls of the dead by burning them.  From that point on, families began to
anxiously wait in the hills, wanting to know outright if their kin were
coming home."
     "A tradition born of necessity," Baltar added. 
     "Wait a centon," Apollo interrupted, "Do your people know that Eirys
is trying to...raise your princes, Caradoc?   That they might be
transformed...?"
     "Yes.  Baltar already had me send word to my people to be armed and
ready," Caradoc replied.  
     Baltar smiled, shrugging, "I didn't know you were coming, after all. 
The weapons will be ready in the hills, and when the Odreds are
transformed, what is left of the Angylion nation will attack the Base
Ship and any Cylons at the mine, and in the city."
     "How many Angylions?" Dayton asked.
     "One thousand Angylions is all that is left," Caradoc replied. "At
most.  Countless thousands were killed in the initial conflict, a
thousand more since. At least."
     "A comparatively small society," Dayton opined.
     "A hundred years ago, our planet was beset by natural disasters that
levelled our cities, sunk our navies, and devastated our population,"
Caradoc explained. "Famine and pestilence finished what the rest had left
undone.  It was as though the land of Morlais was screaming out her fury,
before she set to grieving."
     "What was the cause?" Apollo asked.
     Caradoc shook his head.  "We don't know.  It has never occurred
again since.  I pray to Llyr it never does again.  But our population was
slow to recover.  Among us, children were few, and our kind increased but
slowly.  And then Iblis came..."
     "Shh!" Starbuck raised a finger to his lips, looking upward, cocking
his head slightly to the side as he listened.
     Apollo furrowed his brow...as a Cylon Raider raced over the top of
Mt. Cadoc for its first pass.
     "Into the cave!" shouted Baltar, his voice like that of a commander. 
"Now! Move!"


Chapter Twelve

     Starbuck sprinted forward, heading for Cassiopeia and Ryan at the
burial vault outside the mouth of the cave.  He knew the centurions in
the Raider overhead would be checking their scanners, determining what
life signs were below, as they began to turn.  Ten to one, on the next
pass their weapons would be activated.
     And locked on target.
     "Cass..." he barked, but it wasn't necessary.  The advanced med
tech-turned surgeon due to necessity-was already dosing Ryan with
something that made the Earthman's eyes fly open, as a low groan was torn
from his lips.  "What the frack did you...?"
     "Because while he's anaesthetized, he won't breathe on his own,"
Cassie returned briskly, throwing equipment into her med kit, save the
life mask on his face, but moving slowly because of her own injury. 
Apollo leapt in to help her.  "I had to reverse the anaesthesia!"
     "They're coming about!" Luana yelled from the mouth of the cave, her
voice almost drowned by the fighter's engines, as she headed towards them
at a run.  
     "Get out of the way, Doughnut Dunk," Dayton inserted, as Starbuck
tried to position himself to pick up Ryan.  "I've got him."
     "Together!  It'll be easier on him with a gut wound," Starbuck
inserted.
     "We'll draw their fire!" Dietra yelled, swiftly moving to the left,
with Luana and Lia on her heels.  All three women pulled their weapons,
taking aim at the Raider, and firing to get their attention.  They
continued to move laterally, away from the others.
     "You might as well throw rocks!" Dayton hollered, even as Starbuck
nodded, and together they hefted a partially undressed Ryan between them
in a "seat carry", a surgical drape maintaining his dignity. "Taking down
a fighter with a handgun?  The odds are... well..."
     "They know that. They're just giving us time," Starbuck returned.
     "Then move, Biscotti Butt!"
     "Hurry!" Apollo yelled, grabbing Cassiopeia's med kit and putting a
supportive arm around her, guiding her towards the cave.  Then he waved
at the trolls who were watching the Cylon craft wheel about. "Get
inside!"
     "Is it just me, or does anybody else realize that if the Raiders
start firing their lasers at the cave, they'll blow it to Hades Hole!"
Baltar hollered at them.  "I didn't cross dimensions to get buried
alive!"
     "Did you cross them to get incinerated?" Apollo countered. "Or do
you have a spare air raid shelter in your back pocket?" 
     "Someone could draw their fire," Baltar retorted, glancing at the
three women attempting just that.  "Lead them away!  If we don't complete
the ceremony, we'll have an angel's chance in Hades Hole of stopping that
Base Ship!"
     "Be my guest," Dayton snarled, hearing the Raider's lasers starting
to rip apart the ground.  "Down!" he yelled, more for the benefit of the
women who were still firing at the fighter. On his word, they broke from
position, throwing themselves out of the line of fire as the Raider
screamed by overhead.  Lu rolled over, and kept firing at the Raider
until it was obscured by the mountain top.  
     "Sagan, Lu..." Starbuck cursed, his guts twisting at the risk she
had just taken.  He sucked in a breath as she climbed nimbly to her feet,
looking over and giving him a grin.   Lia and Dietra were also unharmed.
     "I hit it, Starbuck!" Lu announced proudly. "I'm sure I did."
     "Let's hope so," he replied, realizing what a million to one shot
would be needed to seriously harm a Raider with a hand weapon at that
distance. "Let's hope so." He looked around. "Baltar..."
     "General!  With me!" Baltar snapped, pivoting abruptly and lurching
in the opposite direction.  "Bring your troops!"
     "Baltar!" Apollo barked, turning around, Cassie still in his grip.
     "Form up!" Caradoc growled, as his soldiers fell in behind them, and
the small force sprinted after Baltar towards a secondary trail.
     "Frack!" Starbuck cursed, slowing their pace.  He didn't miss the
fact that Baltar wasn't doing anything in the way of trying to get the
Cylons' attention.  He was just making a break for it.  If Starbuck
wasn't already carrying an injured man, he'd tackle the traitor himself. 
"We can't let him take off..."
     "I'll go after them..." Apollo began.  
     "You can't!  We need you for the ceremony!" Starbuck replied,
watching Baltar and the Odreds disappear over the edge of the
mountainside.
     "Shizen..." Dayton growled.  
     "We'll go!" Luana called out, racing off in pursuit.
     "I'm with you!" Lia hollered.
     "Lord sakes, Dee," Starbuck mouthed at his wingmate, knowing the
last thing she'd want to do was leave Ryan.  But he'd drop the Earthman
and abandon the Angylion ceremony rather than concede two young and na‹ve
Empyrean women being assigned as Baltar's keepers in the middle of a
revolution.  
     As if reading his mind, Cassie called out, "Ryan will be fine!  I
expect a full recovery!"
     After glancing at the med tech, Dietra's dark eyes met Starbuck's
for an instant, and she nodded.  "I've got Lu!  You take care of Paddy
for me, Starbuck."  Then she raced after the others as the Raider's
engines echoed across the stones, again.

----------

     "This is just so cool!  It's like we're going to find the Stargate!"
Porter enthused, from the rear of the modified Cylon shuttle.  Once used
to transport ground troops to decimate whatever civilization the Cylons
were invading, like the Hybrid fighters, it had been rebuilt utilizing a
mixture of both Cylon and Colonial technology.  "Buried deep in Cheyenne
Mountain, under the tightest of military security..."
     "Stargate?" Jolly asked from the pilot's seat.
     "An old TV show," Baker explained, co-piloting.  He had known if he
was going to be working on the aeronautics and design for the Hybrid
fighter, that he should get his Colonial "wings", making it official that
he could actually pilot what he worked on.  Dayton had been choked that
he had found the time to clock his hours, while the commander had more
pressing matters that had stood in his own  way.  However, Mark would
make it eventually, come hell or high water.  
     "Tee vee?" asked Jolly, brows furrowed.
     "Oh, right.  A colloquialism for a form of broadcast entertainment.
Sort of like your IFB."
     "You mean there's something in the universe as bad as IFB?" asked
Jolly.
     "You should see the Sci-Fi Channel," drawled Baker.  "They used to
replay all these old seventies series.  Space 1999, Battlest..."
     "So...?"
     "Right. Stargate.  An alien device discovered on Earth that
teleported people to like portals in other galaxies."
     "Your people were already thinking about co-existing galaxies?  And
they'd only made it as far as your moon?" Coxcoxtli inserted.
     "On a manned mission, Coxman," Baker inserted.  He'd given up trying
to master the kid's name.  It gave his tongue a charley horse.  "We'd
sent probes to the outer limits of our own star system."
     "But they still couldn't make the food taste like home," Porter
added wryly.
     "You're a slave to your stomach, Porter," Baker retorted.
     "And a pitiless master it is, old friend."
     "Finally, an Earthman I can relate to," Jolly grinned, checking the
instruments against the telemetry Luana had recorded.  "All right. We
should be picking it up just about...now."
     "Whoa, Nelly!" Baker nodded, as the scanner bleeped.  He leaned
over, studying the data on the screen. "Yeah, I can see why it caught her
attention.  A definite deviation from same old, same old.  I'm reading
some kind of unidentified electropositive chemical compound buried deep
in that mountainside." He glanced out at the beautiful valley below them,
then back to the console. "The computer doesn't have anything like it in
its database."  He punched some keys.  "Linking up with the Endeavour's
mainframe. Trying to get some dope on this."  He waited, then shook his
head.
     "Analysis?" Coxcoxtli asked.
     "That will do you no good," Malus interrupted from the rear of the
shuttle.  "I recall the Clavis being made of some utterly indeterminable
element, that was only located at the Espridian geographical poles.  We
couldn't identify it, and had never seen its like."
     "He's right," Baker replied.  "The scanners aren't happy.  The big
ole data bank has zilch on it, as well."
     "How do we get in, Malus?" Jolly asked, checking the terrain.  "I
don't exactly see any directions or welcome signs."
     "There's a small lake just south of the mountain.  You should be
able to land nearby," the IL informed the lieutenant.  "I'll direct you
from there." 
     "Gotcha," said Jolly. "The lake is on the scanners.  Everyone belt
in."

----------
 
     "I'll take care of it, Adama," Sheba signed off on the personal
matter, as she finished informing the Galactica's commander of his
grandson's whereabouts before the Pegasus was out of communication range
of the Fleet.  The sad thing was, so caught up in his own duties, Adama
hadn't known the boy was missing.  After all, in the relatively safe
environment of a Battlestar, and involved in a cooperative program, there
were any number of places the child could have been.  Sheba leaned
forward across her desk, where Boxey stood on the other side with his
trusty companion, Muffit. "Boxey, why?" she asked.  "Why would you stow
away in the cargo hold of a Pegasus shuttle?  The very shuttle you knew I
was leaving the Galactica on!"
     "Muffit wanted to see the Pegasus," Boxey replied quietly, his eyes
searching hers, obviously trying to read exactly how angry she was.
     "Oh, Boxey..." she murmured, remembering the story Apollo had once
told her about how Boxey had ended up on the mission to Arcta through
similar circumstances.
     "I'm sorry," he whispered, blinking his eyes furiously, and dropping
his chin to his chest.  "It's just that...I really miss my Dad."  His
hand slipped up to wipe at his face, but Sheba could see little beneath
his hair.
     She stood up, coming around the desk, and kneeling down in front of
him.  Tipping up his chin, she was almost surprised to see dry eyes, and
frowned slightly, wondering how much of this was Boxey truly missing his
father, and how much was him using it as an excuse to act out. A flare of
annoyance swept over her, but just as quickly she quashed it, trying to
draw on her own life experiences, and recalling that her own mother's
anger as she rebelled at her father's absence had only made her feel
worse. More alone.
     Some things never change.
     "Boxey, I know you miss your father, but I think you're old enough
to understand that you don't stow away on shuttles.  Aren't you?"
     He nodded briefly, not meeting her gaze as his lip popped out
petulantly.
     "You know, when my father used to go away, I ended up getting into
all kinds of trouble, as well," Sheba admitted. Part of her felt like she
was talking to herself, aged seven.
     He looked up at her then, cocking his head to the side, but not
replying.  At least she had his attention.
     "I think I was so upset and angry that he had left me, that I
just...felt like doing crazy things...things I knew I would get in
trouble for."
     He seemed to think about it, his hand curling tightly in the
daggit's fur.
     "Even as adults, when we're upset we do things that we know are
wrong."  How long had she held a grudge against Cassiopeia, for offering
her father such blessed things as love and companionship, after her
mother was gone?  "It takes courage to admit we're wrong...especially
when we're still hurting." 
     "Can I go now?" he asked, glancing at the door that was slightly
ajar, promising escape.
     She blinked, not exactly expecting that response. "Where exactly do
you think you're going to go?"
     He smiled.  "To the Bridge."
     Everything she had said seemed to have fallen on deaf ears.
Apparently she wasn't getting through.  "Boxey, this is a secure military
vessel. We don't have family quarters, and the Bridge is a restricted
area."
     "Then...where can I go?  The Rejuvenation Centre?"
     Despite what he had done wrong, he still thought he should be
playing games in the Rejuvenation Centre.  Maybe she'd been too
understanding, too sympathetic. "For a start, to my quarters, which it
looks like you'll be sharing with me."
     "But I wanted to bunk with Silver Spar Squadron!" he protested
sullenly.  "I know there's room!"
     "No," she replied quietly. Calmly. Not at all how she felt, having
become the sole guardian of Apollo's son.  How could she be the strike
captain, and look after Boxey too? "The billet isn't fully rebuilt, yet."
     "You can't keep me confined to quarters!"
     "Wanna bet?" It was out of her mouth before she could say, "like
father, like daughter".  His eyes opened widely.  She took a deep breath,
realizing she didn't respond well to defiance.  Apollo had mentioned that
a time or two. "It isn't my intention to confine you to quarters...but
since you're here, I'm going to have to figure out what exactly I'm going
to do with you.  The Pegasus is very different from the Galactica, Boxey. 
We've had to be.  We've been combat ready since leaving the Colonies for
Molecay with the Fifth Fleet.  We've never had proper facilities for
families aboard.  This is going to be a real adjustment for you, Boxey,
and for me!  Lord Suffering Sagan, if I was fully manned, I'd stuff you
in a jump seat and send you back in the fastest Viper we have.  This is
no place for a child!"
     His bottom lip trembled, and this time tears welled up in his eyes.
"You d-don't want me...either..." the last words were barely
decipherable.  He dashed for the door, and was through it before Sheba
could say, "Oh, frack!" 
     "Boxey!" she shouted. "Come back here!"

----------

     "I want my pants back..." Ryan groaned, between Starbuck and Dayton
as they carried him into the Holy Sanctum, within the cave, following
Apollo and Cassie. "Is anyone actually listening to me?  I want my
pants!" 
     "We have a Cylon Raider turning about to start another strafing run,
and he may send for reinforcements, Baltar making a break for it, and
you're worried about your modesty!" Dayton snapped in disbelief, even as
the surgical drape that was partially covering his friend from the waist
down began to pool around Ryan's lap.  "You're alive, Paddy! You hear me? 
You're still breathing, you godless Canuck!  That's what matters!"
     "I don't want the rest of you guys...getting an inferiority
complex..." Ryan grunted between clenched teeth. "After all, Mother Ryan
taught us humility!"
     "You never let up," Starbuck shook his head, looking from Ryan to
Dayton. "He's worse than me."
     Cassie snorted, but said nothing.  Apollo sniffed knowingly.
     "I'd say it's a close race," Dayton returned, waiting for Apollo and
Cassie to stretch out a blanket on the ground.  "As to who's the most
annoying of the two of you, it's a toss up.  Too close to call."
     "Where's Dietra?" Ryan breathed, as they started to settle him back
on the blanket.  Cassie quickly gave him another dose of painkiller from
the hypo.  "She'll get my pants.  If I ask nicely, that is."
     "As I was starting to tell you, she went after Baltar with Luana and
Lia," Dayton replied, glancing at the Odred sorceress and Empyrean
necromancer.  Torches were now lit all around the cave, and from what he
could tell, they were ready for this occult ceremony to raise the dead. 
     "Did he really...take off, eh?" Ryan asked, a faint smile on his
lips.
     "Yeah, Doug McKenzie, he really did...ya Hoser," Dayton returned. 
     "Beauty," rasped Ryan.  A loud whine of weapons fire from outside
followed.
     Abruptly, the cave shook, debris falling from above.  Dayton grabbed
Cassie, pushing her to the ground, and threw himself over both her and
Ryan.  Starbuck grabbed the med kit, pulling it over his and Dayton's
heads for protection as he joined the "daggit pile".
     "Cylon salvos!" Apollo yelled, voicing what was in everybody's mind
as he leapt for cover.  The Raider was hitting them with everything it
had, despite Baltar's supposed diversion.
     "Just tell me my pants aren't still outside," a voice called from
the bottom of the pile.
     "They aren't," replied Dayton.
     "Liar, liar...pants on fire..."
     "More likely incinerated," Starbuck retorted.
     "Ohhh!"
 
----------

     Luana poured on the speed, keeping Baltar in sight as she scrambled
down the steep trail on the mountain.  The traitor was in mediocre
physical condition, at best, and she knew it would take no time at all to
catch up with him and his party of Odreds.  All the same, at any moment
the Cylon Raider would come tearing through the air above her on a
strafing run, breaking over the edge of the cliff like an ominous tidal
wave bent on their destruction.
     Suddenly, the sound of lasers ripping up the ground above them made
her stop. The Raider was firing on the cave, obviously not noticing a
small party of Humans fleeing down the path that was probably meant for
mountain caprines.  The diversion had failed.  All too quickly, an image
of Starbuck being crushed under falling stone and debris surged through
her imagination.
     "Frack!" she cursed, aiming her weapon at the sky, and firing back
towards the cave.  She had to get their attention, and draw their fire. 
"Over here, Metal Heads!" she screamed, shooting successive rounds off
into the air.  "C'mon..."
     "By Llyr," Caradoc cried, as he stopped, then turned to witness the
fearless display.  "Such courage!  She must have Angylion blood!"
     "There's one chance in a million that she'll do any damage," Baltar
muttered beside him, his own weapon held ready.
     "Run!" Lia yelled at Luana, only metrons behind her.  Dietra was
right on her heels.
     "I just need to see..." Lu began, when the Raider banked, veering
off sharply, and coming about as it rolled.  It was heading towards them! 
Yes!
     "Lu!"
     Lu nodded, ignoring her sister's plea.  Standing stock still, she
lined up the Cylon fighter in her sights, and fired.

----------
 
     When they landed the Cylon transport near the lake as directed,
Malus looked around a few moments, then proceeded as though the last time
he had visited this secret Espridian retreat was days ago, not a
centi-yahren.  What struck the humans was the white rock face of the
mountain that towered over them, like Yosemite or the Cliffs of Dover,
back on Earth.  And although there were no visible traces of a former
trail or pathway that they could see, the IL confidently moved forward,
finally halting where the sheer drop came to an abrupt stop.
     Baker looked upward, placing a hand on the hard, warm surface of the
rock.  "If Dayton was here, he'd probably want to climb it."
     "Yeah," Porter nodded, pausing a moment to catch his breath.  
     "Why?" Malus asked, stopping and turning back to look at them.
     "Because it's there," the Earthmen responded in concert. 
     "And that justifies an attempt at climbing it?" asked Malus, clearly
confused.
     "Oh yeah," said Porter.
     "I do not understand," said Malus, looking from them, back to the
cliff ahead.
     "Chill out, Mal," said Baker. "It's a Human thing."
     "Oh. I...see." He paused.  "Actually, it doesn't compute.  However,
I shall store the data along with psionics, love, luck, humour, and
religion as being coexistent in the universe despite the lack of a clear
scientific explanation."
     "How do we get in?" Jolly asked.  "Did these guys even need an
entrance?"
     "They didn't," admitted Malus, "however, I most certainly did."
     "So, where is it?" Coxcoxtli asked.
     "Right in front of you," Malus replied, sounding pleased with
himself.
     "That's solid rock in front of us, Mal," Baker told him.
     "Psionic energy is making you believe it to be so," Malus replied.
     "Mal, the Espridians are dead. Where is this...psionic energy coming
from?"
     "The Clavis," Malus replied, motioning towards the rock. "Please.
Proceed."
     The four humans looked at him sceptically.
     The IL shook his head dramatically, 'sighing', "Oh, very well."  He
stepped forward into the mountainside, disappearing.
     "Holy..." said Coxcoxtli.
     Baker glanced at Porter, whose mouth was hanging open.  "You wanna
go next?"
     Porter shook his head, looking to the Colonials who both seemed to
take a step back.  He glanced back at Baker.  "Rock, paper, scissors?"
     "Seems fair to me." He smiled at Jolly and Coxcoxtli, holding up his
hand.  "Okay, boys, the first time's for demonstration, the next time's
for keeps.  Let's go."

---------
     
     It was a charmed moment in time when Baltar had known instinctively
that the young woman's shot was on target, as she stood there lining up
the old Cylon Raider.  He didn't even see Starbuck's wife tackled by her
sister, or hear the inevitable Cylon salvos start tearing up the ground. 
Instead, he lined up his own impossible shot to follow hers, innately
picturing a ruptured fuel cell, and his own blast of Colonial energy that
struck the underside of the hull, raising sparks, and leaving a trail of
black smoke in the ship's wake.  It was better than having his old podium
on the Cylon Base Ship.  Much better.
     The traitor fired again, once more hitting the now-wobbling fighter. 
One wing erupted in flame, as the laser penetrated the fuel tank.  Bare
microns later, the Raider above them exploded magnificently, flaring into
a fireball, before becoming a flaming projectile of destruction that
hurled into a nearby crest of rock.  A subsequent explosion rocked the
mountain, setting trees and brush alight, as smoke and debris filled the
air.  Baltar chuckled, altogether too gleefully, only now noticing that
the scarred path of the salvos that had been ripping up the ground
stopped just short of him.  He laughed again, feeling unfamiliar emotions
burbling up inside of him, filling places he had thought long gone.  He
had defied death once again this day, not because of someone else's
reflexes, but because of his own bravery and skill.  After all those
yahrens of Cylon coercion, treachery, subjugation, humiliation, and
self-loathing, Sagan's sake it felt good to kill them.
     "Nice shooting!" Dietra called out, cutting off his laughter.  She
looked from the still-burning wreckage of the Raider, then back to
Baltar. "Nice shot, er...Baltar." She was looking at him suspiciously,
and, old bureautician that he was, he could read her thoughts almost
before she could think them.  Her laser wasn't quite trained on him, but
with a flick of her wrist, it could be.  She had thought he was turning
tail and running.
     "Those centurions had to come from somewhere, Lieutenant.  There's
no way a Cylon patrol could take the same mountain pass that we did, and
come out unscathed or undetected.  I suspect there must be a spot to land
somewhere nearby, where they left a troop transport."
     "A troop transport?" Lia asked.  "I've never heard of a Cylon troop
transport."
     "Before your time, Ensign," Baltar returned.  "When the Cylons
sought to conquer a world, rather than just destroy the inhabitants, they
would deploy ground troops and landrams from transports, working along
with air support.  Eventually, when our battlefield became the galaxy,
and campaigns were more commonly fought in space rather than on planetary
surfaces, transports were less commonly used. General?" He glanced at
Caradoc.
     "As you said, there is a site that they used for deploying troops
from their flying armoured vehicle," Caradoc replied, pointing in the
distance.  "If we hurry, we might get there before they realize their
task force has been destroyed."
     Baltar nodded, feeling a surge of confidence race through him. 
"With an injured man, a ride off this mountain could be useful. We might
be able to deceive them."
     "We don't have a vocal modifier here," Dietra inserted.
     "Strangely enough, you can get a similar effect by simply pressing
on your larynx, creating a vibrato," Baltar replied with a faint smile,
thinking back to when he was a kid playing Colonial Warriors and Cylons. 
Oddly enough, or possibly prophetically, he usually was stuck being the
Cylon.  Being the bad guy was almost always more fun.  He pressed against
his throat, illustrating his point.
"With-communications-being-what-they-were-a hundred-yahrens-ago,
I'm-willing-to-bet-we-could-pull-it-off."
     "Holy frack," Luana murmured.  "That could work!"
     "Only if we take that transport!" Lia added.
     "And quickly," Baltar nodded.
     Dietra glanced at the general.  "How far?"
     "Two thousand paces," Caradoc returned, pointing down the mountain.
"Perhaps a little more."
     "Pardon me for asking, but is that Odred paces, or Angylion?" Luana
asked.
     Caradoc sniffed.  "Angylion, of course."
     She nodded.  "Let's be careful.  They may have left someone on
guard."
     "Understood," said Baltar.
     Dietra raised her eyebrows, shaking her head almost imperceptibly at
the strange team that had come together, before waving them ahead. 
"Let's go!  We'll comm the commander later!  When we know more!"
     "Yeah, he'll like that!" Lu scoffed, as they took off at a run.

---------

     The dust hung in the darkened chamber, making it hard to breath. 
Chunks of the cave roof had started coming down around them,
extinguishing torches, and shaking the mountain, when the Cylons started
firing on the Holy Sanctum.  The abrupt cessation of Cylon salvos
slamming into the cavern, and the explosion only moments later, had been
two surprises that Starbuck hadn't been counting on.  Not only had Lu,
Dietra and Lia been able to draw the Raider's fire, but they had somehow
destroyed it. Now that would be a story worth hearing over an Empyrean
Ale back on the Endeavour.  Providing, of course, they were all okay. 
Part of him wanted to burst out of the cave, following his wife down the
trail to reassure himself she was indeed unharmed.  Of course, he could
just ask Ama...
     "Everybody okay?" Starbuck hollered, coughing as he inhaled the
thick air.  He could hear Cassie murmuring reassuringly to Ryan.  "I
can't see a fracking thing! Count off!" He pulled the heavy medical kit
off him and Dayton, sure that something inside was dented beyond repair. 
Better it than them.
     "Fine," Apollo choked out, shaking debris off as he climbed to his
feet. "Dayton?" 
     "I'm alright," Dayton replied, kneeling back and delving into his
own pack, trying to find some illuminators. "This bloody thing is like my
Mom's purse.  As usual, the thing you want is always at the very bottom! 
Cassiopeia?" 
     "Ryan and I are okay as well," Cassiopeia replied.
     "Half-naked, but alright," the Earthman added. "At least the lights
are out." 
     "Ama?" Starbuck called, squinting as illuminators flared to life
from Dayton's position as well as Apollo's.  He reached out, taking the
one Dayton offered.  "Eirys?"
     "We are unharmed, Starbuck," Eirys called. "Shaken, but otherwise
fine."
     Starbuck followed the tone of her voice, climbing to his feet to
follow it.  Sure enough, both necromancer and sorceress were unscathed as
they stood between the altars that the Angylion princes rested upon.  As
he drew closer, he realized there was not a bit of debris on any of them. 
No dust.  No dirt.  No grime.  It was as though they had been somehow
protected from the attack.  But somehow that didn't seem as important
as...
     "Luana and Lia?" he asked, looking at Ama.
     "I sense their life forces, Starbuck," Ama replied, nodding. "They
still walk this world."
     "What about Dietra, Ama?" Ryan called out. "Can you tell if
she's...well...you know."
     "I do indeed," Ama replied. "I sense hers as well, Paddy-Ryan."
     "By Llyr, we have been fortunate!" Eirys exclaimed.
     "Luck has a way of changing," Dayton proclaimed. "You can bet they
saw that explosion.  They'll send another fighter to investigate what
happened to the first, when it doesn't answer.  If you're going to awaken
these boys, then you have to get on with it, before we all get blown to
Hell."
     "Well, I'm as ready as I'll ever be," Ama replied, glancing at the
Odred female.  "Hag?"
     "I've been ready nigh on ten years, White Witch," Eirys replied.
"Let us begin."

----------

     Looking up at the mountain, Commander Mendax mulled the flash of
light and distant rumble that had echoed down the valley.  While the
patrol being out of communication was not a concern at the moment, the
fighter sent to back them up was not answering. That was.  Something
wasn't right here.  He looked from the brooding peak, to the hovels of
the local workers.  Whatever it was, they sensed it as well.
     "Centurion?" he said. A silver-coloured soldier approached.
     "By-your-command."
     "Round up some of the workers. I want them questioned. What is it
about the  mountain that excites them so?" He looked at the centurion.
"Spare no pains. Especially theirs."
     "By-your-command."
     "I shall be in the Command Centre preparing for the countdown."

Chapter Thirteen

     The torches were once again alight, shadows dancing on the rock
walls, as the necromancer and sorceress circled the sleeping princes
slowly, finally coming to a stop at the head of the altars.  Starbuck
winced, feeling a twinge of pain in his arm where Cassie had
field-dressed his wound.  He rubbed it distractedly, sucking in a deep
breath, and stepping forward when the Empyrean necromancer met his eyes
and nodded.
     "Hey kid, I've got your six," Dayton murmured after him, clapping a
hand on his shoulder.
     "Too bad you don't have my hemotype," Starbuck returned wryly.  
     "That's no Dayton clone, lying there, Caffeine Cowboy," the
commander replied, shrugging.
     "Thank the Lords for that," Starbuck returned, rolling his eyes.  "I
can't imagine two of you."
     "Mom used to say the very same thing."
     "Oh, you two!" groaned Ryan. "Just kiss, and get it over with."
     "Starbuck, if you're done..." Ama crooked a finger at him, beckoning
him forward.
     "You know, the last time we did this, it didn't really go all that
well for me," Starbuck replied, forcing his feet to move towards them.  
     "Only a drop of blood, son of my heart," Ama smiled, stroking her
talisman with one hand.  It seemed to shimmer for an instant, each time
her fingers passed over it.
     "If I only had a hundred cubits for every time she's said that..."
Starbuck muttered to Apollo, as he came to stand beside his friend.
     "You'd have lost them at the tables on the Rising Star," Apollo
returned with a smile.  "And then borrowed a few more from me or Boomer."
     "Can't even remember the last time I was on the Rising Star," he
murmured. "You know, I think that blood loss earlier may have caused some
memory problems.  Really, my bio pulse lines..."
     "Does he ever stop talking?" Eirys asked Ama.
     "When he does, it's usually time to worry," the necromancer replied,
drawing the young men to the head of the altar beside them.  "You'll know
what to do when the time comes, boys."
     "She means 'bleed', in case you're wondering," Starbuck murmured
conspiratorially.  
     "Well, that's encouraging," Apollo muttered.
     "Awaken, Triquetra, maiden, mother and crone!" Ama intoned, raising
her hands, palms upward, as though reaching for the Heavens.  "I am Ama,
born of Arion and Annica of the Empyrean Imperial House."  The talisman
around her neck began to shine. "I am the Empyrean necromancer, and I
call upon you, blessed Triquetra!   Invoke your powers, let your strength
be mine, so that I may free the Angylions from this curse!"
     The sky outside crackled with lightning, and a boom of thunder shook
the mountain.  As before, when Eirys had murmured other incantations, an
unearthly wind began to blow in the contained chamber, where there should
have been none.  One by one, the torches extinguished, but unexpectedly,
it didn't fall dark.  Ama now held her hands before her, seemingly
supporting an orb of golden light.  It didn't quite touch her hands, but
was suspended above them.
     "I thank thee, dearest Triquetra," Ama murmured, and she smiled
blissfully, basking in the radiance of the light.  Moments later, it
began to grow, slowly enveloping both her and Eirys.  Ama raised her
hands to the Heavens once again.
     "By Llyr..." the Odred cried, a single tear drop running down her
craggy face as she raised her Oculus before her.  "Gogyfur y'awdurdod o
sanctaidd Llyr!" 
     Starbuck glanced at Apollo, startling as a warm hand gripped his
own.  Then he was starring into the necromancer's grey eyes, feeling a
warmth begin to suffuse him, as she leaned forward, touching his forehead
with hers.  Comforting and calming, she could take him back to the safety
of his own mother's arms with just a touch.  It was magical,
mystical...and if he could only bottle it, he'd be a rich man.  She
pulled back slightly, smiling at him reassuringly, and tucking her arm in
the crook of his elbow, before drawing him forward.  
     It was as though they were walking through eternity, arm in arm, not
a care in the universe.  Oh, it was probably only microns that had
passed, when he looked down in surprise to see he was standing beside
Prince Llewelyn, but it felt much longer.  
     "To please the gods, we must make a sacrifice..." Ama paused,
raising an eyebrow.
     "We?" Starbuck returned wryly, but raised his hand anyway, not
flinching as a small Empyrean blade pierced his fingertip, and a drop of
his blood dripped onto her waiting Empyrean talisman.  
     A moment later, she was doing the same with Llewelyn, as the prince
continued his supernatural slumber.  Strangely enough, a drop of blood
from the long dead prince joined his own.  Once again, she took
Starbuck's hand, this time wrapping it around Llewelyn's.
     "Do not break your grip. No matter what happens," the necromancer
warned him.
     "O-kay," he replied, swallowing hard.  "You don't want to let me in
on it, do you?"
     Ama smiled enigmatically, returning to the head of the alter.  
     "Thought so," Starbuck murmured, glancing across at Apollo, where
Eirys was putting him through a like ceremony, before she too returned to
her place.
     "May we overcome the demon who seeks to devour the souls of these
people!" Ama declared. "I call upon the power of my Goddess, the will of
my mother and the strength of my father!  I call upon my ancestors, my
bloodlines!  Let their life forces surge through me, permitting me to
right this wrong!  Together, we will overcome!  United, we will prevail! 
Release the Angylions!  As Arion's own daughter, I command it!"
     "Gogyfur y'awdurdod o sanctaidd Llyr!" Eirys then chanted again, as
if to punctuate Ama's words.
     Then a blinding light exploded in the cave, like a laser blast in
the face, and the ensuing force almost knocked Starbuck over.  He almost
lost his grip on the prince, dropping to his knees as the mountain shook
and groaned, and the wild wind whipped his hair against his face.  He
squinted against the light, unable to see anything, as his eyes watered
against the violent gusts.  He huddled against the relative shelter of
the altar, still impossibly blasted by the winds that screamed past him
like full turbos. Then abruptly, the wind died, and an eerie silence hung
over them.  A silence that seemed louder than the din that came before.
     While a cold hand twitched in his own. 

----------

     Baker had to close his eyes, as he finally passed through the
optical illusion that looked like solid rock.  Rock, Paper, Scissors had
delayed the inevitable, but now it was his turn.  There was just
something...unreasonable about trying to walk through a rock wall,
despite the fact that Malus, Jolly, "Coxman", and Porter had already done
so.
     What the hell. Captain Kirk did it!  It must be true...
     A friendly slap on his shoulder, and Baker's eyes snapped open,
adjusting to the dim light.  There was some strange, green overhead
lighting to the cavern they had entered, illuminating the chamber
sufficiently to see some kind of small Control Centre at one end, and at
the other, a small, cylindrical platform, that looked to be carved from
the same stone as the cliffs.  On top of it was a small sphere.
     "Is that it, Mal?" Baker asked.
     "Yes, it is. That is the Clavis," Malus replied, heading towards it.
     "Doesn't look like much," Porter opined.
     "Pick it up," Malus instructed, waving a hand towards it.
     Porter glanced at him, and Baker shrugged, refusing to be
intimidated by a ball.  He stepped forward, wrapping his hand around the
strangely warm metal, noticing then that it was an intricate pattern of
interlacing metal threads running around and into the ball, seemingly
endlessly.  It put him in mind of a Celtic knot with its interwoven
cords, but seemed far more elaborate than anything he'd seen on Earth.  
Weirdly, it began to glow softly, almost as if it was in reaction to his
grip. His fingers began to tingle as he tried to lift it.  His muscles
contracted, and unbelievably, he had to exert all of his strength, his
left hand joining his right. Still, it wouldn't budge.  The small sphere,
no more than eight inches across, seemingly weighed God knew how much.
"Son of a..."  He glanced at Porter, who shook his head.
     "Bad juju, Bob. Hold up a second," Porter told him, waving him off.
     Baker let go, and took a step back.  The glow of the sphere faded
back to a dull grey metal. The tingling in his fingers took a few moments
longer to fade.  He glanced at the IL.  "Mal?"
     "I believe the Clavis is reacting to your biological life form,
Baker."
     "Huh?" Baker asked, glancing at Malus in surprise.
     "The design of the Clavis was described to me as representing the
continuous flow of energy, both in the physical plane of the reality of
matter, and the abstract reality of the mind.  When the Espridians used
it, it did indeed glow."
     "But how does it work?" Jolly interrupted. "I don't see any sort of
controls or instruments on it."
     "And why is something that small, so heavy?" Coxcoxtli asked.
     "In truth, they never exactly told me how it worked, but from within
that orb an unlimited amount of energy is created and released.  I
believe that accounts for its incredible density." Malus approached it,
picking it up as easily as a piece of fruit, before turning, and
motioning towards the Control Centre.  "Through the Control Centre we can
access an interdimensional map of what the Espridians referred to as the
Infinite.  We simply program our destination, and input the data.  The
Clavis will take us there."
     Coxcoxtli nodded, moving towards the station.  
     "How do we know where there is?" Jolly asked.  "I mean, it's not
like we're going to find a sign that says 'your friends are here'."
     "Within the mainframe is a detailed record of all the worlds
explored and observed by the Espridians.  I will merely examine each log,
and see if I can come up with a world where Beings exist, such as you all
described from the landing bay of the Endeavour."
     "Sagan sakes," Jolly muttered.  "How long will that take?"
     "I don't know," Malus admitted. "Sadly." 
     "Can we move all this?" Coxcoxtli asked.
     "Of course.  The Clavis is portable."
     "Well, that raises a few possibilities," Baker mused, nodding at
Porter.  
     "Earth?" Porter returned.
     "Dayton and Ryan first, Earth later."
     "Now just a centon," Jolly inserted.  "Don't you think maybe we
should test it before we start talking about taking it to Earth?"
     "Not a bad thought," Baker shrugged, grinning, "but first we need to
see if we can find our people."  He glanced back at the IL.  "Hop to it,
Mal,"
     "I'd much rather walk, if it's all the same to you, Baker.  The
hopping jolts my diodes."

----------

     "There it is," Baltar said over the howling wind, as he crouched
down behind the outcrop of rock.  Behind them, far back up the trail,
small fires could be seen, kindled by debris from the crashed Raider. 
Lightning split the sky, and the heavens rumbled in accord.  "One Cylon
transport, with one guard."
     "That we can see," Dietra inserted, her eyes raking the barren
landscape where rock and scrub seemed to be the sole features.  "There
could be others.  The Cylons aren't exactly known for going it alone."
     "I'm ashamed to say that here in Morlais, the Odreds are considered
more of a nuisance than..." The general suddenly doubled over, grunting. 
His fellow soldiers followed suit, guttural sounds torn from their
throats as they writhed in pain.
     "What the frack...General?" Luana put a hand on the Odred, then
jerked it back as a strange energy and aura surrounded Caradoc and his
men.  She shielded her eyes against the intensity of the growing light,
retreating from them.  "Holy Triquetra..."
     "The timing couldn't be better, Witch..." Baltar murmured as he too
stepped back, shielding his own eyes, and knowing the energy would be
throwing off a light like a beacon.  It was the perfect decoy to draw the
centurion's attention.  He tightened his grip on his weapon, patting
Luana on the arm to get her attention.  "I'll take the right, you take
the left.  We'll circle around the centurion, using the shelter of the
rocks, and rush the shuttle.  Lieutenant Dietra and Ensign Lia can take
the centurion when it reaches this position."
     "What makes you think you're giving the orders here, Baltar?" Dietra
snarled, gripping his arm as he turned to go.  "You might have General
Caradoc fooled, but I haven't forgotten what you did to our people...our
civilization."
     Baltar turned back, looking her in the eye.  "Think of it as a
suggestion that merits your careful, but quick, consideration,
Lieutenant.  We needed a distraction, and here it is.  We need to act now
to take advantage of it."
     "Baltar's right, Dietra," Lia inserted, peering over the rock that
shielded them, "as much as I hate to admit it.  And the centurion's
heading this way.  Now."
     "We understand how your people feel about Baltar, Dietra," Luana
added quietly.  The Twelve Colonies of Man were star systems apart from
her own beloved home on the planet Empyrean.  "And believe me, I'll be
keeping an eye on him, and won't hesitate to shoot him if he shows the
slightest inclination to betray us."
     Baltar's features twisted into a nervous smile as he contemplated
Starbuck's wife, then looked back to Dietra.  "There.  Feel better now,
Lieutenant?"
     "Loads," Dietra grunted wryly, then nodded.  "Okay, let's move out."
     "Holy frack!" exclaimed Lu, looking at the locals. "They're..."
     "Here he comes!" interrupted Baltar.

----------

     "Ah Captain, there you are.  I understand we have a stowaway." Cain
lifted his swagger stick, motioning towards his daughter with it as she
hustled onto the Pegasus Bridge.
     "Yes, sir," Sheba inclined her head, ascending the command platform. 
She'd more or less left Boxey in Roz's care so she could report to the
Bridge.  The attractive lieutenant had every intention of putting the
youngster to work, assigning him to the mess sergeant.  It would teach
the boy that life had consequences-that he had to be responsible for his
actions-while also occupying him during regular duty centars, not that a
strike captain actually worked regular centars.  Later, Sheba would have
to figure out how Boxey would continue his education while aboard the
Pegasus, assuming they'd be out long enough to worry about it.  Surely
there were instructional modules somewhere on the computer system that
had survived the damage and fire which she could access, but then again,
who would stand over Boxey and see that he did them was a mystery.  He
was a bit young for a self-directed education, after all.  Not to mention
self-directed responsibility.  Also, there was the issue of what the boy
could do for just plain fun.  Other than his trusty daggit, there was
little in the way of recreational activities on the Pegasus suitable for
children.  Then again, young male cadets weren't really that far from
being children anyway, she reckoned with a smirk. Perhaps she could pick
Bojay's brain about activities to occupy the boy...even something to make
her own time together with a small boy more comfortable as they were
thrown together..."Boxey."
     "Apollo's son stowing away on a shuttle," murmured Cain.  "Not a
character trait I would associate with the cap...colonel.  Wouldn't you
agree, Tigh?"
     "You never knew Apollo as a teenager," Tigh inserted with a chuckle,
as he leaned over Flight Officer Raetic's shoulder.  "I'll let Adama tell
you those stories."
     "Then again, Boxey's adopted, isn't he?" Cain added.  He tapped his
temple, as though jogging his memory. "Right?"
     Sheba shrugged dismissively, not wanting to discuss Apollo's family
on the Bridge, but curious nonetheless to hear of Apollo's wilder side. 
So far, he hadn't mentioned it.  
     "I assume that after this breach, Captain, you'll be getting our
security standards back up to snuff?" Cain inserted.  "If the Cylons knew
our secure military vessel was infiltrated by a seven-yahren-old boy and
his daggit, we would be doomed.  Hades, if Adama finds out, he'd laugh me
all the way back to Gamoray."
     "Oh, he already knows, Commander," Sheba informed him, recognizing
the playful glint in her father's eye.  That side of him had become more
pronounced since his recovery from his injuries and upon rejoining the
Fleet.  As though the Juggernaut had a new lease on life, and was making
the most of it.  "After all, I couldn't very well leave Commander Adama
in the dark about this."
     "I suppose not." He glanced at Tigh.  "Colonel, have we picked up
the Endeavour on our long-range scanners yet?"
     Raetic smiled knowingly as he nodded at the colonel, leaning over
the monitor.  It was as though the Juggernaut instinctively knew...
     "Only just, sir," Tigh replied, turning back to the commander. 
"Other than the Endeavour, our scanner is clear.  We're still outside of
communications range."
     "And the energy source?"
     "Sensors still can't identify it, Commander," Raetic inserted. 
"It's an anomaly."
     "Men have said the same about me," Cain grinned.  "Set a course for
the anomaly.  And open a line to the Endeavour once we're within range."
     "Yes, sir."

----------

     "Captain, we just picked up a contact on our long-range scanners,"
Cadet Sagaris reported. "At extreme range."
     "Identity?"
     "Still too far for any details, sir.  But it's definitely a ship,
and headed this way at lightspeed.  Factor One point six-six."
     "Concentrated scan, Sagaris," said Dorado.  He looked over at the
commsuite. "Anything, Pierus?"
     "Not...yes.  Just barely.  An ID beacon...Colonial.  Checking."
Pierus replied, pausing while the computer ran the numbers. "Confirmed."
     "Have it now," said Sagaris.  "Definitely one of ours.  She's a
Battlestar."
     "The Pegasus?" Dorado asked, half an eye still on the sensors.
     "Aye, sir.  ID beacon confirmed."
     "Checking up on us, Commander Cain?" the captain murmured quietly,
crossing to the scanner.  His first reaction was one of mild annoyance at
his former CO, and then he remembered that his current superior officers
were both in an alternate dimension, leaving him-a man with more rebuilds
than the Endeavour and Pegasus combined-in charge of the newly minted
Covert Operations Ship.  "Any word from Lieutenant Jolly?"
     "Message coming in now, Captain," Pierus replied.  "Go ahead,
Lieutenant."
     "Captain, Jolly here.  We've located the Espridian device.  It's
fairly small, actually, and Malus has concluded that it's mobile, and
that we can move both it and its Control Centre to the Endeavour."
     "To the Endeavour?" Dorado repeated.  "Are you guys actually
thinking about flying this old bird through some kind of...unknown alien
space portal?"
     "Pretty much, Captain," Jolly replied grimly.  "After all, we don't
know what kind of resistance we're going to be meeting, and we'd rather
go in prepared.  With your approval, of course, sir."
     Dorado closed his eyes briefly.  Sagan, he was the officer that had
spearheaded the mission to throw the antiquated, derelict and damaged
Cylon Abbadon-class Base Ship against a relatively shiny and new
Hades-class vessel, and had won.  After a micron's careful contemplation,
he knew that Dayton would do it.  Damn sure, Starbuck would do it.  And
knowing that his people were counting on him, Apollo would do it too.
     "Sounds like fun, Jolly.  Now get your astrums back here ASAP,
before Commander Cain tries to steal our thunder.  The Pegasus is closing
in."
     "Yes, sir!"

----------
 
     Abruptly, the mountain rumbled and shook again like it was going to
come apart, and Starbuck knew exactly how it felt as he stared into a
pair of shocked blue eyes, so like his own.  It was unnerving, to say the
least, but at least he was prepared.  The poor kid looked like he had
seen a ghost, and even the faint glow of his skin, giving Prince Llewelyn
an ethereal appearance, couldn't hide his disbelief and instinctive fear
as he awakened from a ten yahren slumber, that had him teetering on
death's door.
     "Who...who are you?" Llewelyn gasped, his voice rough and raspy,
tearing his hand from Starbuck's as he looked around.  His eyes settled
on his brother, also rising only a metron away, Apollo at his side. 
"Glynn!" he croaked, coughing. "You...you're alive!" he sat upright,
feasting hungry and desperate eyes upon his brother, before swinging his
legs off the altar, and using it as a physical barrier between him and
Starbuck.  Instinctively, he reached for a weapon that wasn't there. 
Having no alternative, he doubled his fists, and took a boxer's stance. 
"What...what witchcraft is this?"
     "You don't know how close you are to the truth, pal," Starbuck
replied calmly, holding his hands up to show the prince he meant no harm. 
"Captain Starbuck of the Colonial Covert Operations Ship Endeavour."
     "Star...Colonial?" The other shook his head. "Babbling fool! What
madness is in your mouth?"
     "Hey, it's true.  My name is Starbuck.  Or as Eirys would probably
prefer to put it, your Doublewalker from another dimension."
     "He speaks the truth, my prince!" Eirys averred, stepping forward in
all her splendour.      
     Before, a vile troll, she was now a vision of beauty, an
enchantress.  Her long blonde hair blew around her slender figure,
wrapped in a long white robe, a soft light emitting from her making her
look like an angel.  Every man in the cavern, with the exception of
Llewelyn and Glynn, seemed to suck in a stunned breath at her radiance. 
A glance at Cassie showed she looked just as overwhelmed by the
princes...although even Starbuck could admit, they were handsome fellows,
most notably Llewelyn...
     "Doublewalker?" Llewelyn echoed, shaking his head in bemusement.  He
visibly relaxed. "For the love of Llyr, the legend is true!" Then he
paused, frowning, as he looked back to his brother.  "Which means...we
were both...dead...Glynn..." his voice peaked anxiously.
     "Breathe easy, brother," Glynn crossed to him, placing a hand on his
shoulder.  "If we have been given a second chance, let us make the most
of it, instead of dwelling on it."  
     A crack of thunder roared, and lightning sundered the sky.  An
impossible wind tore through the cavern, and Starbuck glared at Ama, as
the elements continued to assault them.  "Do you mind?"
     She reached out, grabbing his hand, and pulling him close.  "Get the
princes out of here.  Now."
     "Why?  What's going on?" he asked, feeling his guts churn in
reaction to her serious demeanour.
     "He's coming!" Eirys cried, raising her hands skyward. "I...I feel
the Mystic's approach!"
     "Iblis?" Starbuck asked, his chest hitching at the very thought of
the evil Being that had killed Apollo.
     "No, Father Yule," Ama returned sarcastically.  Another sheet of
lighting ripped across the sky, the concussion of the thunder shaking
more rocks loose about them.  She turned to Dayton.  "Get them all out of
here, Mark-Dayton.  This is my fight.  Yours awaits you at the Base
Ship."
     "Are you sure, Ama?" Dayton asked.
     "I'm sure."
     "Giddy-up," Ryan grimaced, sitting up painfully.  "This should be
fun.  From the top of Mt. Crumpet..."
     "Is there another way out?" Dayton asked Eirys as he began to pull
Ryan to his feet, allowing his friend to lean heavily on him.
     "Well..." she began reluctantly.
     "The ore carts!" Llewelyn inserted, waving a hand at the back of the
cave.
     "Those carts haven't been used in generations!" Glynn reminded him.
"Rusted hulks."
     "Don't be so sure," Starbuck replied.  
     "He's right."  Apollo replied.  "Your people have been mining ore
ever since the Cylons invaded, Prince Glynn.  Let's move out!"
     Llewelyn moved to help, as Cassiopeia struggled to her feet.  "Are
you hurt, my lady?"    
     "It's superficial," Cassiopeia returned a little breathlessly, as
she accepted the prince's hand.  "I'll be all right, Prince Llewelyn."
     "What is your name?" Llewelyn asked, kissing the back of her hand,
before putting a supporting arm around her.
     "Cassiopeia."
     "Are all the women from your dimension as breathtaking, Cassiopeia? 
I believe I should very much like to go there."

     Cassie smiled at the resplendent prince.  "Are all the men in your
dimension so charming?"
     "Alas, only I," Llewelyn returned with a mischievous grin.  "The
rest are louts and boors."
     "Hey, bub," Dayton interrupted, tempted to drop Ryan, and then the
prince.  "Back off!  The lady's spoken for."
     "Llewelyn..." Glynn chastised his brother.
     "Such a vision of loveliness, my brother," Llewelyn explained.  "I
cannot resist."
     "Lords," murmured Apollo with a glance at Starbuck.  "Let's get out
of here, people!"
     "I will stay and face Iblis with you, White Witch," Eirys told her.
     "No, Eirys.  Stay with your princes, and reunite them with your
people." Ama replied.  "To have their sovereigns, and the sorceress who
saved them, lead the Angylions against the Cylons will be a good omen,
indeed."
     "May Llyr watch over you, Ama," Eirys gripped her hand.
     "May he stand with me instead," Ama returned, returning the gentle
pressure.  "Now go!"
     Starbuck stood there uncertainly as the others headed towards the
back of the cave.  "Ama, come with us."
     "And ride those mine carts?" Ama returned with a gapped tooth grin. 
"I'd rather walk, Dear Heart."
     "Ama, Iblis is..." He didn't really know how to put it, and instead
grabbed her hands, shaking his head slightly as he tilted his forehead
against hers.  Then he tried to remember every moment of every encounter
he'd had with Count Iblis since meeting him on that strange planet, right
up until the count had struck down Apollo and disappeared.  Ama could
relive it all with him, getting every impression, every subtle nuance
that he couldn't convey in words in the short time they had.
     Ama smiled, pulling back her forehead from his, and looking into his
eyes.  "I know what Iblis is, Starbuck.  More importantly, I know who he
is."
     "He's no ordinary man."
     "I'm no ordinary woman, son."
     "Ama..." His throat tightened inexplicably.  After all she had done
for him, all she meant to him, it was like abandoning his mother to face
a demon.  He shook his head.  Come to think of it...
     He couldn't do it.
     "Star-buck!" Apollo's voice called from deep within the cavern.
Again, thunder boomed, and rock dust rained down.
     "You must go, Starbuck.  I have to do this alone," Ama told him
gently.  "Now, son."
     "But..."
     "Kid!" Dayton suddenly barked, running towards them.  "The train is
leaving.  Let's go!  We have a battle to win!"
     Ama nodded at the commander thankfully as Dayton gripped Starbuck's
arm persuasively.  "Take him, Mark-Dayton.  Get him out of here."
     Starbuck tore loose, taking a step away from the Earthman, ignoring
the sudden burning pain of his various injuries.  No, he couldn't leave
her to Iblis.  He couldn't face coming back and finding her dead, another
victim of the vile count.  "Back off, Dayton!"
     "The hell I will," Dayton threw himself at the younger man, gripping
him again, and jerking Starbuck back against him.  He locked an arm
across the warrior's chest, dragging him backwards.  "You're...you're
coming with me!  That's an order!"
     "Take your order...and shove it up your...egotistical,
overbearing..." Starbuck snarled, twisting in the man's hold, looking for
an opening.  He was running on pure adrenaline now.
     "Hey!  I'm your friend!  Your CO!  The Big Kahuna!" Dayton roared. 
"Calm the hell down, Espresso Bean!  Let's put things in perspective
here!"
     "Let me go, Dayton, or I'll flatten ya!" Starbuck rasped, trying to
struggle out of the commander's tylinium-clad grip.  "Ama...I can't..."
     "Starbuck, understanding as you do what he is, you can't protect me
from Iblis.  As much as you wish otherwise, you know that is true," Ama
told him as Dayton adjusted his grip on the younger man.  "This is my
fight.  My destiny."
     "We have to go, Extremo-Caf!" Dayton repeated, sensing the growing
desperation in the younger man.  There was really only one way to handle
this.  With a sudden move, he twisted Starbuck in his grip, grasping his
shoulders, and pulling the young captain to face him.  "Listen to me.  If
you want to stay, I won't stop you.  All right?" The kid relaxed at that,
looking at him almost uncertainly.  Dayton released him, holding his
hands up innocuously.  "Now listen to me. Just hear me out. Okay?"
     Starbuck nodded once, glancing at Ama who was glowering at them
impatiently.
     And that's when Dayton sucker punched him.

Chapter Fourteen

     The air was suddenly still, the cavern eerily silent.  A slight
shiver passed over Ama, and she took a deep involuntary breath, as she
felt a familiar malignant presence probing her, trying to infiltrate the
pureness of her spirit.  However, her powers had grown significantly
since the last time they had met in the solitude of the Celestial Dome
over seven sectars ago, and she had fought him off then, repelling his
assault.  She had learned much from that encounter.  This time his
persistent scrutinizing was more like a nibble than an attack.  
     "Show yourself, Iblis," she demanded. "Do you hear me? Show
yourself!"
     The flash of light and blast of wind would have startled a lesser
individual, but Ama stood her ground as Count Iblis appeared before her,
resplendent in his long white robes.  His dignified and handsome looks
were deceiving, misleading any who did not know his true nature. 
However, Ama had never been impressed by looks, knowing anyone can wear a
fa‡ade. 
     His gaze bored through her. "You dared to invoke Arion's name when
you freed the Angylions!  Stripling!  A name banished by the Elders from
history!" he accused her. "By what right, Fool?"
     "That right which is mine alone," she replied, her intense gaze
matching his own.  "For I am Arion's daughter.  I am Arion's blood."
     "Daughter..." he replied, taken aback.  His eyes narrowed as he
peered at her.
     She felt his powers probing her, looking deep beyond mortal sight,
then his features softened ever so slightly.  
     "Ah, yes.  I see it now," Iblis murmured.  Then he whispered,
"Annica."
     Ama probed him in turn, trying to read his feelings and mind, and
getting a mere glimpse of the depth of emotion he had once felt towards
Annica.  Then his eyes flashed angrily at her, as he realized she had
infiltrated his defences.  The barrier was erected in a milli-centon.  It
was like trying to infiltrate a fortress, the walls around his mind were
impenetrable.  "Then you do remember her," Ama returned, a little
bitterly. "I should, of course, be...flattered."
     "Of course, I remember her," Iblis insisted, a further flash of
annoyance crossing his features as he considered the necromancer. 
     "Then tell me how a man so beloved," Ama tilted her chin up,
preparing herself for anything, "could turn into one so despised, father
of mine."

----------

     "Go!" Baltar whispered urgently to Luana, as the centurion drew
closer. "Now!"
     It was difficult to focus on the mission, as she gazed in disbelief
at the former Odreds, who were now picking themselves slowly off the
ground, examining themselves and each other in awe and disbelief.  As a
race, Luana had to admit, the Angylions were some of the most beautiful
Beings she had ever laid eyes on.  She closed her gaping gob, swallowing
down her incredulity as she gasped at General Caradoc's transformed
appearance.  He looked like a younger version of Baltar, but incredibly
fit, with a full head of hair, and filled with a determination and
purpose that filled every fibre of his very existence.  Ancient battle
dress replaced the stinking rags he had worn as an Odred, however, the
diminutive sword he carried now looked out of place, hefted as it was by
his huge hand, his arm behind it packed with sculpted muscles.  Now,
rather than some bent and deformed goblin, he looked like a professional
bodybuilder.  Lords, he was fracking gorgeous!
     She smiled slightly, wondering what her reaction to Prince Llewelyn
would be if Caradoc so inspired her.  After all, she could spend idle
centars gazing upon the handsome visage of Starbuck.  A living, breathing
Llewelyn would be like Starbuck to the nth degree!  With a lascivious
grin, she shook off the reverie, returning her mind to the task at hand. 
If they could reach the shuttle at the same time as the centurion reached
Dietra and Lia, then they would maintain the advantage.  Lu knew that.
     Wordlessly, Luana slipped away, using the shelter of the rocks and
trees to creep towards the shuttle as the centurion lumbered to a sudden
stop, staring up at the top of Mt. Cadoc.  Lightning and thunder that had
angrily filled the sky and the senses, had suddenly stopped, making Lu
wonder what was going on in that cave.  The centurion certainly seemed
perplexed by it, if that was possible with a cybernetic Being.
     With the benefit of youth and fitness, and long established habits
of tracking and hunting in the wilds of the Planet Empyrean, she reached
the shuttle before Baltar, waiting for him silently under the cover of
half-dead scrub.  The centurion was still, his characteristic drone
filling the relative silence eerily, making her want to shoot him now. 
Damn, but she hated the waiting, harbouring an impatience that she
struggled with each and every time she was about to spring an attack. 
But experience had taught her that timing was crucial to success.
     Moments later Baltar appeared, moving towards the Cylon transport
with a stealth that surprised her.  Actually, Baltar surprised her.  It
was difficult to equate this man with the one that had betrayed the
Colonies. Was it possible for any individual, especially one who had
facilitated the death of billions, to undergo such a dramatic
transformation in character?  Still, the obvious hatred and contempt felt
by her own husband, as well as so many others, cautioned her to keep
wary, even knowing that Baltar had saved Starbuck's life on Planet 'P'.
     She smiled slightly as Baltar, head barely visible above some ferns,
nodded curtly at her, giving her a signal.  Yes, he certainly was taking
charge, as though they were all his own personal warriors to command. 
Old habits died hard, she decided.  She crept forward, now out in the
open, but keeping low so as to keep out of the line of sight of any
Cylons lurking within the transport.  Microns later she was standing on
one side of the open hatch, and Baltar was on the other.
     Baltar nodded again, and together they moved.  She let him slip
inside slightly ahead of her, almost hearing Starbuck reminding her
subconsciously not to let the traitor out of her sight.  Simultaneously,
a laser blast from outside bespoke of that centurion's demise.  At that,
two further centurions waiting on the flight deck moved away from the
instruments, heading aft.  Baltar shot the first, its pulse rifle barely
raised, and a split micron later, Lu fired on the other.  In a explosion
of sparks, they toppled to the deck.
     Baltar turned to Lu with an infectious grin of complete and utter
joy. "We did it!"
     "You seem to be enjoying yourself," she returned with an answering
smile.
     Baltar replied with a heartfelt chuckle, turning as the Angylions
rushed aboard, moving with a grace and assurance that seemed inherent to
their breed.  
     "Well done, my friends!" General Caradoc smiled, holding his arms
wide as he approached them.  "This is it!  The moment the Angylions rise
against the Cylons!  We will crush them!  Annihilate them!  No longer
will the Cylons threaten our world, or any other in this universe!"
     "The princes...?" Baltar started to ask.
     "The curse has been lifted!  Eradicated!" Caradoc returned in a
booming voice.  "I can sense our sacred princes already preparing to join
our forces, to lead them to victory!  We must rendezvous with them at the
mine.  There you will be reunited with your people."
     "But how will they get from the cave to the mine..." Luana asked
uncertainly.
     "The old abandoned mine carts," Caradoc returned.  "Fifty years ago,
the tracks connected every mine in Morlais without exception.  However,
King Byrne decided the Holy Sanctum should be used only for sacred rites
and ceremonies; therefore, it was placed off limits for the general
population."
     "Wait a centon," Baltar inserted.  "These decrepit mine carts are
how our people are currently getting off the mountain, instead of simply
walking out the entrance and down the path?"
     "Time is of an essence, my brother. Our princes will realize that,"
Caradoc nodded.  He glanced out the viewport, back up towards the
mountain, where a crack of lightning fractured the sky once again. "Our
forces will be amassing as we speak.  A race of Angylions will be arming
themselves for the most important battle of our history.  They need
leadership and inspiration.  They need their sovereigns and their
general."
     "Then we must make haste!"  Baltar agreed, glancing at Luana.  "Can
you fly this old rattrap?"
     "Fly a derelict Cylon transport?" she asked with a wry smile, as
Dietra and Lia boarded behind them, a pulse rifle in Dee's spare hand. 
"Nothing to it."  
     Caradoc grinned joyously, motioning the Colonial Warriors forward. 
"Then let us proceed!  Freedom!  Glory!  Morlais!"
     The engines roared to life, and the transport began to rise.
     "Freedom!  Glory!  Morlais!" 

----------

     Starbuck awoke to a sudden jolting of his body, and a throbbing in
both his jaw and the back of his head.  He groaned, as he forced open
heavy-lidded eyes to see Dayton looking down at him in concern, hanging
over the edge of a mine cart.
     "How many fingers am I holding up?" the Endeavour commander asked,
putting a blurry hand in front of the warrior's face.
     "You bracking fastard..." Starbuck cursed, his tongue feeling
unnaturally thick in his mouth.  A quick study revealed he'd been dumped
in a filthy, rusted old ore cart.  Already his legs were bent, the cart
being compact and cramped.  His fleeting thought of hurling himself at
Dayton in reprisal disappeared as a wave of dizziness assaulted him.  He
closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep, ragged breath.  Lords, he'd need
a prybar to get him out of this thing!
     "Fingers!" Dayton repeated, his commanding voice hiding an
underlying note of guilt. "C'mon, Hazelnut Amaretto.  How many?"
     "Your fingers are upside down!"
     "Quit evading the question, Drip Grind."
     "What the frack did you hit me with anyway?  A landram?" Starbuck
muttered, palpating a lump at the back of his skull.  He pulled away his
hand, sticky with blood.  "Oh, great!  Just what I needed!"
     Dayton let out a harsh breath, pulling his hand back.  "You fell and
hit your head when I decked you."  He managed to sound appropriately
chagrined.
     "Sometimes that happens when you sucker punch a guy," Starbuck
grumbled, with a cautious glance around.  He didn't see any other carts.
They were alone. "Where are the others?"
     "Ours is the last cart," Dayton replied with an uneasy shrug.  "The
others went on ahead." He pointed down the tunnel.
     Starbuck lifted his eyebrows, staring dubiously up at the older man. 
"Where's Ama?"
     Dayton frowned, glancing back over his shoulder.  He looked back at
Starbuck, leaning closer. "As if you didn't know."  He raised a hand as
Starbuck shifted. "Look, I promised Ama I'd keep you away from there.  I
gave her my word.  If I have to clock you again, I will, kid."
     "Dayton, you don't know what she's up against..." Starbuck started
to argue, planting a foot and gripping the sides of the cart with the
intent of getting himself out of there. He heaved himself upwards.
     The Earthling grabbed him by the tunic, giving him a shake. "Damn
it, kid, you're more stubborn than a coffee stain on my mother's best
table cloth!"
     Starbuck could feel the colour drain from his face as his head went
supernova.  He gripped Dayton's hands, but more to steady himself, than
anything else, as he felt his astrum impact the bottom of the cart again. 
Closing his eyes tightly, he could feel the bile rise in the back of his
throat.  "Frack..." he groaned as his stomach convulsed traitorously
while he dry heaved.
     "Damn!" Dayton cursed, loosening his grip, and looking Starbuck over
anxiously.  "Just breathe." He paused, as Starbuck sucked in a breath
between clenched teeth.  "I think you have a concussion."
     "Ya think?" Starbuck returned angrily, brushing the hair from his
eyes as he glared at the Earthling.  
     "Better now?" 
     "Damn, Dayton!  Anyone ever tell you that you have issues!"  
     Dayton grinned, chuckling lightly.  "Scoot forward, Toffee Nut
Latte.  We have to catch up to the others, and I have no intention of
sitting on your lap.  You having the wrong DNA, and all."
     "Oh, so I should sit on yours?" Starbuck returned sourly.
     "Face it, you're more fragile, Juan Valdez." Dayton loomed over him,
his hands on either side of the cart.  "Besides, if you puke, I'd rather
be behind you."
     "If we're hurtling down a track, it probably won't matter where you
are," Starbuck returned.
     Dayton paused.  "You have a point, but I'll take my chances. 
Besides, you weren't here when Prince Llewelyn was explaining how to
manoeuvre this thing."
     "You can manoeuvre a rust-encrusted mine cart?" Starbuck asked,
glancing around the cart, and spotting two handles at the rear.  They
were grimy, rusted, and looked as if the last time they had been used,
Kobol had still been a going concern.  "How? With prayers?"
     "One of those triggers the track to switch.  The other is a brake."
Dayton sighed.  "I alone know which is which, and when to switch tracks. 
And hey, don't worry.  It worked for Indiana Jones, so it'll work for us. 
So move it, Captain!"
     Starbuck sighed, having no idea what an Indiana Jones was, and
reluctant to find out.  He shimmied forward slowly as the Earthman
propelled himself into the cart.  He grunted as Dayton's lean, muscular
limbs enfolded him, and then shifted, trying to get comfortable.  "Why
couldn't I ride with Eirys, instead?" Starbuck groused.
     "Believe me, I'd much rather ride with Cassiopeia, Espresso
Truffle." Then he fidgeted before asking, "Ready?"
     "Not really, but let's get it over with," Starbuck returned, gazing
ahead into the impenetrable darkness.  His head really wasn't going to
like this, and his roiling stomach wouldn't be too crazy about it either.
     A pull of a handle, and with a creaky bump, the cart rolled forward
gaining both speed and momentum as they plunged into the inky depths of
the mine. 
      
----------

     "Well?" Dorado asked Malus for the tenth time aboard the Endeavour,
knowing that Cain would be within communications range any centon now. 
He rubbed at his eye socket, feeling a throbbing building there behind
the prosthesis.
     "I haven't found it yet, but I will," the IL replied, his lights
flashing like a spastic Yule decoration in a high wind, as he continued
to probe the Clavis' data logs.  The whole assembly, Clavis and pedestal,
was now in the Base Ship's main engineering section. Wires, probes, and
cables surrounded it, constantly monitoring it, and tying it in to the
ship's main systems.  "However, according to the specs, if I am
interpreting them correctly, I believe I have confirmed that the Clavis
can actually transport the entire Endeavour to this alternate dimension
for which we are searching.  Her ability to move objects, if I am
interpreting these records correctly, does not appear to be limited to
small ships or merely Beings."
     "The whole ship?" Dorado confirmed.  "And its crew?"
     "I believe so."
     "Sagan, Mal, I need more than 'I believe so'," Dorado snapped
impatiently.  "We're talking about risking an entire battleship here!  Do
you know how many men and women are aboard?"
     "Four hundred and ninety-three, to be precise.  Twenty-three
officers, eighty-five cadets, and..."
     "That was rhetorical, Mal," Dorado sighed. The throb was getting
worse.
     "We must save Starbuck, Captain Dorado.  I have calculated the odds,
and it is my opinion that it would be an acceptable risk."
     "This isn't a card game!"
     "Life is a card game, Captain," Malus returned.  "Full of risk,
chance and speculation.  The one thing I can tell you for sure, is that
if you throw in your cards, you do not win." The IL looked from one human
to another.  "And you certainly do not get the girl."
     "Did Starbuck teach you that?" Dorado snorted, caught somewhere
between disbelief and the absurdity of the moment.  A Cylon pontificating
on relations between the sexes! And being right!  Sagan's sandals, he
could picture a endless queue of Starbuckian truisms being quoted at him
for the rest of his career, or at least for as long as he worked with
Malus.
     "Yes, he did.  He also taught me about allegiance to one's friends."
     "Bucko wouldn't risk every man and woman's life on this ship to go
after him, Mal," Dorado reminded him.  "It would be different if I had
some hard data that this Clavis thing works."  He gestured at the humming
sphere.  "Hades hole, even moving it from the Espridian base could have
altered or damaged it somehow.  Then there's the fact that it hasn't even
been used in over a hundred yahren." Yeah, he was having second thoughts. 
It was one thing to proceed courageously, and quite another to proceed
rashly, accepting irrational risks.
     "I believe I've found it, Captain Dorado," Malus looked up again. 
"The planet which we seek."
     "Captain, I volunteer," Jolly suddenly spoke up from where he leaned
silently against the hatch, watching.
     "Jolly?"
     "Sir, since Malus just found us a destination in that
interdimensional atlas he's been looking through," the lieutenant
motioned at the control system, "it makes sense to do a trial run.  A
test flight.  Just to make sure a fighter could get there in one piece,
and back again.  Lia, Starbuck, Apollo, Luana...they're all like kin to
me.  I volunteer to take one of the Hybrids on a test run to give you the
data you need."
     "You'll need a co-pilot, Jolly," Baker inserted, stepping forward
with his arms crossed decisively.  "I'm your man." 
     Jolly grinned, holding out a hand to grip the Earthman's forearm. 
He glanced back at Dorado.  "Well, sir?"
     "As the Hybrid fighters are outfitted with three seats," Malus
inserted, "I think it would be beneficial to attend this test flight,
personally.  That way I can properly analyse how both the pilots and
machine withstand the exercise.  I have already set the coordinates into
the Clavis.  Coxcoxtli can do the rest."  He nodded at the young warrior.
     "Alright," Dorado said briskly, after receiving a nod of
confirmation from Coxcoxtli.  "Jolly, assess the situation when you're
there.  Maybe we can get by with sending a shuttle to retrieve our team,
instead of taking the Endeavour.  Hopefully, they've already found
Starbuck and are just waiting for a ride out of there.  Get down to the
launch bay and stand by.  All three of you."
     "Yes, sir!"

----------

     Iblis stood stock-still, considering Ama.  Startlingly, she couldn't
tell what was going through his mind, which might have been a blessing. 
He only stared at her, as if weighing her words, and searching for the
deception within them.
     "You seem surprised," she offered, frowning as his lips settled into
a thin line.  She stroked her talisman, using the comforting gesture to
calm her stretched nerves.  She had been groomed for this moment all her
life.  Prepared to be her people's champion.  Their leader, their
advisor, their friend, their confidante, their spiritual warrior.  But
never had she thought it would come to this.  Of course, it was only
lately that she realized why her powers had blossomed so significantly,
against all expectations, when she had left the relative seclusion of the
Planet Empyrean. 
     It was then that those that the Colonials referred to as the Ship of
Lights Beings began to guide her, counsel her, welcome her into their
fold, where before they had only quietly observed.  It was "John" who had
let it slip, that the purported Lord of Darkness, Count Iblis, was her
own father, banished from Empyrean for precipitating events centi-yahrens
before that had led to the Thousand Yahren War between the Cylons and
Humans.  The solemn edict of not interfering with "less developed" races,
but merely observing, had been broken by one who had little respect for
the Elders' rules.  Arion had strategically disappeared as his kind
searched for him, seeking to punish him for his interference.  They had
ultimately found him on Empyrean, this time not only interfering, but
brazenly manipulating yet another society.  The name "Arion" was forever
stricken from history, as they exiled him from their domain forevermore. 
From that moment on, he would be known as "Iblis, He That Causes
Despair".
     Now she had to wonder if it was accidental, or premeditated, that
John had let her in on the two-centi-yahren-old secret.  There was a
niggling at the back of her mind that she couldn't ignore, making her
wonder if perhaps she was the one being manipulated.  Then again, John
had warned her that Iblis could confound the most determined and
convictional individual, but her instincts were telling her that
something was amiss.  She had expected a powerful showdown.  A clash of
cosmic forces.  A battle to the death.  Yet, here Count Iblis stood,
simply regarding her, shaking his head in wonder...and sorrow.  Yes, she
felt that sorrow radiating off him as surely as she was his own daughter.
     "Twice!" he muttered, looking at the ground.
     "What?"
     "Twice betrayed," he replied bitterly, turning his back on her in an
angry swirl of robes.  
     "Twaddle!" she returned with more than a little anger in her own
tone, motivated more by confusion than anything else.  "Speak to me of
this perceived betrayal, Arion, and I will tell you the truth."
     He turned once more to regard her, and then spoke derisively.  "What
do you, a mere child, know of truth?"
     She smiled at that.  Ama?  A child?  Perhaps to a Being as old as
Arion.  "That it comes in many shapes and forms, some more palatable than
others.  Yet here," she tapped her chest, "in my heart and soul, I can
distinguish it from lies." Then she crossed to stand before him, staring
up into his penetrating eyes, so cold and emotionless.  "Can you?"

----------

     It was wild, exhilarating, and by far the craziest ride that Apollo
had ever taken in his life.  His hands clung to the sides of the ore
cart, knuckles white, as the wind blew in his face from the rushing air. 
His stomach pitched, and his body careened from one side to the next as
the creaking, rusted, piece of felgercarb followed its course through the
mine.  He couldn't help the whoop of shear joy and euphoria that slipped
out as he saw the promise of light at the end of the tunnel.
     Then his high spirits turned to horror as the ore cart raced through
a cavern, revealing Cylon centurions approaching the tracks.  They didn't
seem as startled as he, pulling their weapons as he did, but aiming them
too late, as his cart plunged through the two foolish enough to straddle
the tracks.  They flew aside with a crash and shower of sparks, and then
the Viper pilot was past them, back to the relative safety of the next
stretch of darkness.  Sparks exploded behind him, doing Lords knew what
damage to the tracks as they fired anyway.   The Cylons had been
expecting them, which didn't bode well for the last ore cart that would
pass that way.  He reached for his communicator, jerking it off his belt,
even as the cart careened down a steep hill.  He almost dropped the
device, as he fell heavily to the right, almost wondering if the cart was
about to loose traction, before it righted itself again.  Finally, it
began to slow, and the rest of his party came into view in the brightness
of daylight.  He could see Prince Llewelyn ahead of him helping
Cassiopeia from their cart, as Apollo gripped the communicator again,
activating it.
     "Starbuck!  Come in!  Starbuck!" Apollo waited a few microns as he
drew closer to the others, then remembered the last he'd seen of
Starbuck, he'd been slumped over Dayton's shoulder unconscious, the
victim of stubbornness meeting determination.  "Dayton!  Do you read me? 
It's Apollo!  Commander, come in!"
     "Not going to work, Apollo," Ryan told him, as the cart gently
rolled past him.  He shrugged as Apollo applied the brake, looking up at
him enquiringly.  "The interference from the raw minerals in this place
is unbelievable." He held his own communicator in his hand, obviously
having tried it already.
     "Frack!  How far back is it to where the Cylons were?" Apollo asked,
glancing at Prince Glynn, then back into the tunnel.  If they weren't
there to help, Dayton and Starbuck would surely be taken.  It was about
the worst thing that could go wrong during an impending attack on the
Cylon Base Ship.
     Glynn frowned, and glanced at Ryan.  "Straight uphill in the
darkness, it would take far longer for us to backtrack, then it would for
the Cylons to seize thy friends.  And I be not certain that my Lord Ryan
here would make it."
     "I'm sure Lord Ryan wouldn't, Governor," Ryan murmured, cinching the
ceremonial cloak he had found in the altar a little tighter around his
hips, his hand passing gently over the bandage that covered his abdomen,
as he stood slightly hunched over.  
     "Besides that, were our roles were reversed, I would send that cart
on its way down here after capturing prisoners, simply to make sure that
anyone coming back up the track for said reason was crushed." Llewelyn
posed with a shrug.  "Two prisoners are usually enough."
     "Well, is there another way up there that's quicker?" Apollo
returned, turning to crane his neck as a familiar sound drew his
attention.  
     "No, Captain Apollo," Glynn replied, turning and hefting a Cylon
sword that he had claimed as his own in the Holy Sanctum, as the sound of
clapping boots approached.
     Apollo pulled his weapon, noting absently that the charge was
running down as he stood there waiting.  He'd have to conserve his shots
for the ones that really counted.  A moment later, five Angylions raced
into sight.
     "Prince Glynn!  Prince Llewelyn!" The first was a dark, long-haired
warrior with a build like a landram.  He slowed, upon seeing the princes,
then dropped down on one knee, bowing his head briefly, before regaining
his feet.   An enormous sword hung sheathed at his side.  "You cannot
know how relieved we are to see thee both!  It hath begun!  We are arming
our forces, and preparing to retake the city."
     "Jac!" Glynn proclaimed, gripping the Angylion's arm.  "As a
diversion, I assume.  Where be the rest of our forces?"
     "Amassing in the shelter of the abandoned mine, awaiting upon thy
orders, my liege." He paused, looking at the humans.  "Mouric and Neiran
were taken.  Tortured.  We found their remains..." The Angylion
shuddered, touching his forehead with his fingers, before continuing.  "I
believe they informed the Cylons of the connection with the old mine
tracks and the Holy Sanctum.  We thought thou wouldst be taken."
     "All but two of us made it out, Jac," Llewelyn told him.  "We are
uncertain of their fate."
     "Eirys?" Glynn turned to the sorceress.  "Anything?"
     Her eyes were closed, and she looked serene as she inclined her head
towards the sky.  "General Caradoc and Commander Baltar have captured a
Cylon ship.  They will meet us at the mine."
     "What the fra..." Apollo gaped.  "How can you know that?"
     "I know," Eirys returned enigmatically.  "Would your own White Witch
not perceive such things?"
     "I...uh..." Apollo shrugged slightly, realizing that not only did
these Beings have a far more sophisticated level of communication that
the Humans did, but that he'd never really discussed exactly how Ama knew
if Starbuck was alive or dead, dismissing it as primitive, backwards
mumbo jumbo, rather than an advanced method of gathering information,
outside the usual methods of science.  
     Ryan stepped forward.  "Can you...communicate at all with our
warriors who went after Baltar?  Or sense if they're okay?"
     "They are with Caradoc and Baltar, and all are yet safe," Eirys
nodded.  "Or so the general has informed me.  I do not sense your people,
as I do mine." She frowned slightly.  "Which of course means, I cannot
tell you if Starbuck and Commander Dayton still live, or if they will
succumb to the fate of Mouric and Neiran."
     Apollo nodded.  "I understand."  So all that was left was to
rendezvous with Baltar and the Angylion general, and to come up with a
plan that would not only include destroying the Base Ship before it could
launch, and liberating Morlais, but somehow finding Starbuck and Dayton. 
It was going to be a long day. 

----------

     "Commander-Mendax, Flight-Leader-Subventus, by-your-command" said a
centurion.
     "Speak, Centurion," replied Mendax, dividing his time between
perusing the various reports from his underlings, and gazing up at the
vast bulk of the mountain.
     "The-engineers-report-that-all-auxilliary-power-units-have-been-
reinstalled-and-are-ready-to-be-reinitialised."
     "Excellent."
     "Main-reactor-one-is-also-ready-to-be-reinitialised."
     "Also excellent, Centurion.  Tell the engineers to proceed."  The
patrol that Plectus had led to the Angylion Holy Sanctum had not reported
in, and inexplicably the race of Odreds had been transformed back into
their original species.  There had been sporadic uprisings in Morlais,
most of them easily defeated by the superiority of Cylon weaponry.  After
all, the creatures were unorganised and lacked leadership.  Now Mendax
had only to hear if the information acquired though the interrogation of
two Odreds had been productive, as he awaited news of the possible
capture of a group of conspiring Angylions by yet another patrol. 
Possibly, it wouldn't matter   If all went to plan, they would be in
orbit over this despicable planet, and eradicating the entire population
with their mega-pulsars by nightfall.  Then they could go forth, and
begin conquering the rest of this star system, carrying out their duty to
the Empire.
     "By-your-command." 

----------

     "Captain Dorado, Commander Cain coming in on the communicator. 
Fleet Commline Alpha."
     "Stand by," Dorado nodded.  He wasn't looking forward to having a
strip torn off him by his former commanding officer, but he'd survived
much worse in his career.  Cain wouldn't be pleased when he found out
that Dorado did...what he was about to do.  He glanced back at Coxcoxtli,
manning the Clavis' control system.  "Are you ready?"
     The computer expert's eyes flickered over the controls briefly.
"Yes, sir."
     "Alright." Then Dorado paused, sniffing in sudden misplaced
amusement as he glanced at the bright faced youngsters around him.  "What
exactly are you supposed to say to send your men from one dimension to
another?"
     They all looked back at him way too seriously, making him wish
someone from his own vintage was in the Control Centre.  
     Then Porter, from a slightly older vintage, snickered from behind.
"You say, 'energize', Captain."  
     "Commander Cain is still standing by, sir," Pierus reminded him.
     "I'm aware of that, Pierus," Dorado replied, then nodded.  He jabbed
a finger into the air for good measure.  "Energize, Coxcoxtli."
     "Sir," he responded, hitting a series of controls that would send
the Hybrid fighter into the unknown, far beyond their suddenly crude
scanners.  Lights went green, all across the board.
     Dorado moved to the comm.  "Commander Cain..."
     "Catch you in the turbo flush, Captain?" Cain demanded with a frown. 
"Where's Commander Dayton?"
     "Off the ship at present, Commander.  He personally led the landing
party to recover Captain Starbuck, sir."
     "Oh, he did, did he?" Cain muttered, abruptly glancing over his
shoulder distractedly.  "Who let that damn daggit onto the Bridge? 
Sheba!"  He shook his head, and then looked back.  "Where's Colonel
Apollo?"
     "He was assigned to the team, as well, sir."
     "Leaving you in command?" Cain asked.
     "Yes, sir," Dorado nodded to his former CO.  From the tone of his
voice, it was plain that Cain had about as much confidence in Dorado's
command abilities as he did in one of Starbuck's vaunted 'systems'.  "I
am at present."
     Cain nodded grimly.  "Then you can tell me, what in Hades Hole did
we just pick up on our sensors coming from the Endeavour?  It lit up the
panel like a cheap chancery!"
     "We recovered a device on a nearby planet that we believe can
transport a ship interdimensionally," Dorado explained.  "To the
dimension that Commander Dayton and Colonel Apollo are already in.  Sir."
     "And how did they get there?"
     "Councilwoman Ama was able to transport them there, sir."
     "By all the Lords, how?" Clearly, Cain wasn't liking the way this
conversation was going.
     "I don't really know, Commander.  The scientific explanation was a
bit...lacking."
     Cain blinked, pausing a long moment. "And?" 
     "That energy wavelon you detected was our first manned test of the
device."
     Cain raised his eyebrows.  "Which you launched just before we came
into range, knowing the Pegasus was on the way?"
     "You always taught me not to waste time vacillating, Commander,"
Dorado replied.  "Especially when there are lives at stake."
     "Did I?" Cain countered.
     "Yes, sir.  At the very first debriefing you conducted, following my
assignment to the Pegasus, and my first mission as a cadet, along with my
trainee squadron." 
     "Well," said Cain, slowly raising an eyebrow, and twirling his
stick. Clearly this had been too much information. "Then, perhaps, you
can succinctly tell me which landing bay to land in when I come over
there to strip and module you."
     "Beta Bay, Commander."
     "Cain out."
     "Ouch," whispered Coxcoxtli. 
     Dorado looked at him and smiled.  "Don't worry, he grows on you."
     
----------
       
     Normally, riding something like this mine cart would be fun. 
Instead, Starbuck's head was throbbing, his stomach was reeling, and he
had come close to passing out cold on a couple occasions when he was sure
that the cart had lost contact with the track before plunging around a
corner, or over a sharp declivity.  He willed himself to keep his eyes
open and his stomach muscles clenched, so he wouldn't disgrace himself by
vomiting all over himself and his commanding officer.  
     Then again, Dayton certainly deserved to be wearing his stomach
contents after knocking him out cold.  To add to Starbuck's annoyance,
the commander seemed to be enjoying this, whooping in exhilaration at the
same hairpin turns that made Starbuck want to die.  The Earthling didn't
seem to have the same code of conduct that would prevent Commander Adama,
Colonel Tigh, or even Apollo from bashing a subordinate officer. 
However, it could just be Dayton.  Starbuck couldn't imagine Ryan or the
others doing the same.  No, there was a mean streak that ran through
Dayton that made him unpredictable and dangerous.  Thirty yahrens digging
asteroid fungus could do that to a guy, he supposed.
      It was a damn good thing they were on the same side.
     A glimpse of light ahead of them gave Starbuck some hope that this
raging ride was about to end.  Not much further...he promised himself. 
Then he would have Eirys wrap her enchanting arms around him, to give him
some relief.  Not that he was sure she had Ama's ability to seemingly
erase misery when the mood struck her, but Starbuck was certainly willing
to give it the old Academy try.
     "Almost there, Peely Wally!" Dayton hollered in his ear, past the
rushing wind.
     Then a sudden explosion ahead of them threw up a cloud of dust that
obliterated their view.  Starbuck barely had time to brace himself before
the cart tore free of its tracks, careening on an unknown course, and
then slammed into a barrier, pitching them through the air.
     The last thing he heard as darkness descended over a haze of pain,
was a familiar, but terrifying drone that could only be Cylon.

Chapter Fifteen

     Starbuck groaned as he was rudely awakened by some astrum-wipe
gripping him by the hair, and jerking his head upward.  Instinctively, he
reached for that particular piece of scalp that was being ripped off his
head, at the same time as he reached for his weapon.  
     His laser was gone.  
     "He-is-conscious."
     That incessant drone of Cylons penetrated the haze of pain that had
enveloped him, as his head was released and he crumpled back to the
ground.  He was in a world of hurt, everything aching, burning, or
throbbing, from his head right down to his feet.  He could see the mine
cart crashed into a pile of debris almost ten metrons away.  Presumably,
he had been thrown over here by the momentum, which actually explained a
lot.  Yeah, it was all coming back to him.  The mine cart.  An explosion. 
Cylons.
     Dayton? 
     He jerked upright, glancing around, first taking in the patrol of
six Cylons that surrounded him, before noticing Dayton lying prone only a
metron away, unmoving.  He couldn't tell if his friend was alive or not. 
The Cylons seemed to be distracted, talking about their appearances, and
trying to ascertain their identities, when the entire Angylion nation had
not long before been disfigured little trolls.   Starbuck only had a few
microns to act during their inaction.  Scrambling quickly towards the
Earthling, he ignored the increasing dizziness that tried to defeat him. 
He would only get one chance.
     "Halt!"
     "Dayton!" Starbuck reached him, his fingers automatically searching
for a pulse and a weapon even as he quickly confirmed the Cylons had
already disarmed the man.  With a bit of effort, he disregarded the
Cylons moving in on him, holding his breath, before feeling the steady,
reassuring throb beneath his fingers.  By rote, he began checking the
commander for any serious injuries...like the jagged cut across his
temple.  Dayton groaned.  "Come on, Old Man.  Java break is over."
     Then a Cylon blade was at his throat.
     "Halt! Submit-Human."
     "Hey now, easy there," Starbuck murmured, sitting back on his
haunches with his hands held up as the blade nicked his skin.  Again,
vertigo made his head whirl.  He closed his eyes briefly, willing his
vision to be clear when he opened them again.  "Let's not do anything
I'll regret later..."  
     "You-are-a-prisoner-of-the-Cylon-Alliance. 
You-will-obey-our-demands, or-die." The centurion paused for a moment,
and then pulled back the blade, sheathing it.
     Dayton was stirring, his eyes blinking as he tried to focus them. 
He frowned as he reached for his empty holster.  "You okay, kid?"
     "Silence!"
     "Me?" Starbuck asked, his hands still raised.  "You're the one
kissing the ground with blood running down your face, Dayton."
     Dayton glanced over at him, taking in the tattered uniform and the
many contusions.  "You look like you went through a shredder."
     "I feel..." 
     The abrupt shock then outrage on Dayton's face should have warned
him, but Starbuck moved too slowly as he feinted to the right.  A
powerful, blunt jab in his shoulder sent him sprawling face down.  It was
the butt of a Cylon Pulse Rifle.  He could hear a sword being unsheathed
again, and instinctively knew...He leapt out of the way, as a Cylon blade
cleaved the ground beside him, barely missing him.  Sparks flew from
where the blade had struck rock.
     "Hey!" Dayton roared, pushing himself to his hands and knees,
shaking his head determinedly, as droplets of blood flew from his face.
     "Silence!" Another centurion gripped the Earthman by the throat from
behind, jerking him to his knees, and neutralizing him.
"Comply-or-you-will-be-terminated." 
     Somehow, Starbuck gained his feet, pivoting to find the centurion
advancing on him, its sword raised.  Evidently, these centurions had even
less of a sense of humour than the ones in his own dimension.  They also
seemed to be awfully fond of their swords, not even bothering to pull
their rifles in this instance.  Most likely, they were conserving ergons. 
He looked around desperately, trying to find something to defend himself
with.  Then he saw it.  He raced the few remaining metrons to the wrecked
mine cart, jerking at the old hand brake.  It didn't budge.  He put a
foot against the cart, and pulled again, pushing himself to the limit as
he heard the metal strain.   Teeth bared, he grunted in exertion.  The
damn Cylon was practically droning down his neck.  
     "Come...on..." he grunted, feeling the sweat pour off of him.
     "Move it!" Dayton choked out a warning.
     It broke free.  
     Starbuck turned, quickly putting some distance between him and the
Cylon, and brandishing the brake handle like an old-fashioned
quarterstaff, even as he eyed the other five centurions who were
watching.  Weird.  He'd never fought a Cylon before an audience, before. 
Apparently, he was going to be made an example of.  He tightened his
grip, feeling the adrenaline rush through him, wishing there was an
"extended release" version when it made the throbbing in his head even
worse.
     "Hey!  Your commander is going to want us alive!" Dayton shouted
hoarsely, pulling at the unforgiving metallic arm, struggling to free
himself. "Or are you too stupid to figure that out, Hot Wax?"
     "One-prisoner-will-be-adequate."
     "Yes, but which one has the information your commander wants?"
countered Dayton. "Huh?  How's he gonna like it if you kill the wrong
one, and he doesn't get what he wants?" Silence.  It was clear that the
centurions were unprepared for such a puzzle.
     However, without an order to do otherwise, the Cylon advanced on
Starbuck, its sword looming menacingly in front of it.  Instead of
retreating, the Colonial Warrior rushed forward, counting on his own
reflexes being better than the centurion's, even in his current
condition.  Veering to the right, he nimbly dodged the first strike, and
knocked it aside with the improvised staff.  Then using his momentum, he
drove the bar between the centurions's legs.  Not known for either
balance or grace, the Cylon tripped, and crumpled to the ground, its
sword skittering across the stones.  Starbuck leapt after it, bending
over to collect the sword...and almost tossing his mushies at the abrupt
pounding in his skull as the blood rushed to his head.  He gasped,
dropping to one knee as the cavern started rotating around him.  The
staff clattered on the rocks beneath him as it slipped through suddenly
clumsy fingertips.
     "Get up!" Dayton ordered, his voice reverberating around the cavern.
     Instead, Starbuck landed on his astrum, closing his eyes, as he
willed the world to level itself.  Now would be a really good time for
Apollo to show up, like the "ca-val-ree" in Dayton's movies, even if it
was just to ream him out for being late...as usual.  However, the odds of
that were...he didn't even want to think about it.  Shaking off the
dizziness, and wrapping his hands tightly around the hilt of the sword,
he tried to steady himself.  He planted the tip of the sword in the dirt
and leaned on it heavily, raising himself on one knee.  It was pathetic
how much effort it took, and he blinked as the blade in front of his eyes
blurred around the edges.  The damn droning of the centurions seemed to
be coming from all around him, disorienting him.
     "Kid!  Behind you!"
     Instinctively, Starbuck swivelled around, and holding the grip with
both hands, he cut horizontally, as he spotted the Cylon ready to begin a
deadly downward strike.  His blade caught the centurion at the gap of the
knee joint, slicing right through, and taking the Cylon's leg off. 
Sparks flew as the centurion buckled on that side, collapsing.
     "Nice!" Dayton roared, then abruptly gurgled as the Cylon securing
him tightened its grip.  
     "Silence!"  
     The Earthman's eyes widened, as he pulled ineffectually at the
centurion's arm, his mouth open and gasping for a breath.  His body
arched reflexively, as he struggled against the mechanical restraining
limb, fighting to breathe.
     "Let him go!" Starbuck yelled, lurching forward to grab the pulse
rifle that the downed centurion carried, even as he discarded the sword. 
As his hand gripped the butt of the weapon, the ground beside him
exploded, tearing up rock and dirt that pelted him mercilessly.  He
rolled to the opposite side, gripping the rifle determinedly as he ended
up prone, lining up the patrol leader in his sight.  Frack...
     "Surrender-or-he-will-die!  Drop-the-weapon!" 
     The Cylon patrol leader was pointing its rifle at Dayton's head. 
The Earthman was still secured in the other centurion's tylinium grip,
while the leader's weapon threatened to blow his head off.  Dayton's grey
eyes bored into Starbuck's, and he shook his head the barest amount the
restraining grip would allow, as his lips snarled back over his gritted
teeth.
     "Don't!" the commander forced out.
     Two centurions were down, of those, only one was out of commission. 
The other four were either threatening Dayton, or now pointing their
weapons at Starbuck.  A quick glance around revealed he was out of
options.  He met his commander's eyes, wincing imperceptibly at the fury
within them.  It was another "crazed Dayton" moment, but Starbuck just
wasn't willing to sacrifice both of their lives to go out in a blaze of
stupidity.  
     Uh...glory.
     Letting out a breath of disgust, Starbuck dropped the rifle, pushing
it aside.  He raised his hands in surrender, letting them rest on the
back of his head as he stayed face down on the ground.
     "Damn it, Starbuck!" Dayton cursed, his breathing easy as the
centurion relaxed its grip, although the pulse rifle against his temple
remained.
     "Yeah, I should have had them," Starbuck returned sarcastically. 
"All five of them."
     He tried to control the anxiety that was rising with each forward
step of the two centurions coming to seize him.  After all, a moment
before they had decided to kill him.  Were they now going to finish the
job, or take both him and Dayton prisoner?  They stopped either side of
him, then leaned down to grip his arms, and abruptly he was airborne as
they jerked him to his feet as if he was as light as a child.
     "Ohhh..." he groaned, as the abrupt movement made his head spin and
his stomach heave.  His knees buckled, and for a long moment he hung
suspended between them, making him realize just how helpless he was. 
Then they dropped him to his knees, one of them grasping him by the hair,
and jerking his head upward as the other pulled his sword.
     "Your-time-is-at-an-end."
     They were going to behead him!
     "NO!" Dayton screamed, lurching forward, and almost escaping the
Cylon's grip before he was jerked roughly back into place.  He fought
like a maniac, lunging against the centurion's hold, until the butt of
the rifle crashing into his gut left him wheezing for air.  "Pick on
someone your own size, you tin-plated hunk of junk!"
     "Silence!"
     Starbuck sucked in a ragged breath, flinching as he felt the cold
metal of the blade touch the back of his neck, as the Cylon lined up his
blow.   Lords, it was almost his undoing!  The desire to scream for
mercy, to cry at the injustice, to try and run for his life almost
consumed him, until he again met Dayton's eyes.  Something in those flint
grey depths calmed him, and gave him the strength and courage to quell
his rising terror.  He held the gaze like a lifeline, clinging in
desperation to the invisible bond he had with this man that was friend,
mentor, surrogate father, and commander to him.  Starbuck's pounding
heart rate slowed and his head began to clear.  Maybe it was because he
didn't want Dayton to think less of him when he watched him die, or maybe
it was something more significant that he couldn't explain.  Regardless,
Starbuck found the courage to dampen down his fear, and die with honour. 

     Hey, it was better than soiling his pants.
     He could hear the Cylon shift, pulling back his blade to strike.  It
was mind boggling that his time was at an end.  A thousand thoughts ran
through his head, but one prevailed.
     "Dayton, if you see Lu again," he swallowed the sudden lump in his
throat, refusing to lose control, "tell her..."  His voice was hoarse as
he sucked in another breath, and focussed on his friend again.  "Tell her
I love her."
     Dayton nodded soberly once, then seemed to startle, as though he had
suddenly realized something.  Abruptly, he shouted out, "Hey!  Don't you
know who've you got here!" Again, he fought helplessly against the
Cylon's grip, as if his struggle could somehow drive his words home.
"That's Prince Llewelyn!  Heir to the throne of Morlais!  Your commander
will melt you down for spare parts if you kill him!"
     The Cylon leader merely gestured with one hand towards Starbuck,
ignoring Dayton.
     Starbuck held his breath, watching the Earthman intently, willing
him to help him through this final test.  Then the Earthman let out an
animalistic roar and his face twisted with an emotional agony that
Starbuck had only seen twice before.  Once when Dickins had disappeared
with the Earth shuttle, and again when Ryan had been shot.  It was
unnerving, to see his own fear and desperation reflected back at him, but
the remorse and suffering that cut right through him were genuinely
unbearable, shattering his defences.  Starbuck closed his eyes as he
awaited his fate, drawing a ragged breath that would be his last.  Behind
him, he could almost hear the Cylon blade splitting the air as it rushed
towards his neck.

----------

     "What did I tell you?" Luana said over her shoulder to Baltar as he
stood behind the pilot's seat, looking out over the bleak expanses of the
landscape below them.  In the rear of the Cylon shuttle, the Angylions
were planning their battle against the Base Ship.  "We've been
integrating our technology with Cylon machinery ever since we
commandeered the Abaddon Base Ship.  Flying this old crate is almost like
being home."
     "Home," Baltar sniffed.  The word brought back memories of Piscon. 
Memories that he just as quickly pushed out of his mind, lest images of
smouldering, blackened ruins, devastation and death superimpose
themselves on his mind.  "Are you speaking of the Endeavour, Ensign?"
     "I suppose," she answered with a shrug.  "She's our home now."  She
glanced over at Lia.  "Wouldn't you say?"
     Lia nodded.  "Home is where our people are."  An alarm sounded from
the scanner array, and she quickly checked the Cylon control panel. 
"It's a Raider!"  
     "Oh, great!" Lu replied.  "Are they on to us?"
     "I'm not sure.  Don't seem to be," Lia murmured tensely, as Dietra
joined them.  "What I want to know is where it came from.  The scanner
was clear a micron ago."
     "Are you sure?" Dietra asked.
     "I swear," Lia returned.  "I've barely blinked since we launched,
and I was even on forward scan when it showed up."
     "Interesting," Baltar commented.  Raiders didn't generally drop out
of nowhere, and there certainly weren't any nearby mountains to
rationalize away their failure to detect it.  "Scan it for life forms."
     "Life forms?  Why?" Lu asked.
     "Do it, Lia," Dietra added briskly, nodding at Baltar.
     "Scanning..." Lia replied. The scanner image before her snowy and
unclear.  "I'm getting some kind of interference...source unknown."
     Baltar frowned, nonplussed.  He had nothing to compare it to.  How
did the Cylon scanners normally function here in Morlais?  Was there some
kind of natural phenomenon that blocked their wavelons? 
     "Are you sure?" Dietra asked, leaning forward and checking herself. 
     "They're diving! Frack!  They're coming up behind us," Lia remarked
anxiously, watching the progress of the much faster and more manoeuvrable
fighter  "They're scanning us."
     "Scanning us?" cried Dee.
     "Yes." 
     "Evasive manoeuvres!" Luana cried, banking to the right before
diving for cloud cover, while wishing that Ama could spare a lightning
bolt for them.

----------

     Cain paced across Dayton's office one more time, his swagger stick
balanced in his right hand as he ranted.  The Juggernaut was looking
better than he had in sectars, having put some weight back on, and
getting a healthy glow to his once-pallid complexion.  His voice was
almost the same, as well, no longer the thin, at times weak, parody of
Cain's. So, in a way, it was almost gratifying to be reprimanded by him,
Dorado decided.
     "...one fighter into an unknown, potentially hostile situation! 
What's one fighter going to do?" Cain continued his litany.
     Almost.
     "Assess the situation and report back to us," Dorado replied. 
"Baker, Jolly and Malus were assigned, all good men.  In fact, they
volunteered for this mission..."
     Cain quickly held up a hand briskly, cutting off his words. 
"Captain! The Cylon is not...I repeat, not...a man."
     "You're right, of course, sir," Dorado nodded, feeling silly for
saying so, but Cain had a deep-rooted hatred and distrust for the IL,
despite what Malus' technological savvy had meant to both Cain and
Dorado, giving them both a second chance at futures that, under present
circumstances, would have been otherwise bleak following their injuries
on separate occasions.  In Dorado's case, a sectar before he would have
never imagined he would be commanding the Endeavour in Dayton's stead. 
In fact, if it hadn't been for the support of his fellow warriors and
friends, he might not have had the courage to take this assignment. 
Indeed, he might still be vegetating, and wallowing in his own despair,
had they not reached out to him.  Although as far back as a day or two
after Dorado's accident on Planet P, Starbuck had as much as promised him
a position aboard the Endeavour, and then had manoeuvred and manipulated
his way to making it happen.
     Cain blinked at him, his eyes narrowing.  "Are you humouring me,
mister?" 
     "No, sir," Dorado replied, trying not to feel like a new cadet in
serious trouble, in front of the Living Legend, again.  "I made a
decision based on the information then at hand."
     "You could have waited five centons. That's all it would have
taken."
     "I felt confident that Commander Dayton would support my decision,
Commander Cain."
     Cain sniffed, frowning as the comm interrupted their discussion.
     "Excuse me, Commander," Dorado said, leaning over to open the line. 
"Go ahead, Pierus."
     "Captain Sheba on the Pegasus wishing to speak with you and
Commander Cain, Captain."
     "Put her through," Dorado nodded, waiting as Sheba's image abruptly
appeared.  "Go ahead, Captain."
     "We have a problem, Dorado," Sheba frowned, her brown eyes flashing
angrily.  "I need you to search the Endeavour for a stowaway." 
     Cain blew out a breath of disgust, sweeping a hand through his hair
as he groaned aloud in frustration.  "I don't believe it..."
     "A stowaway?" Dorado asked, looking from father to daughter.  Lords,
if it wasn't devastated planets, weird alien artefacts, and "witches"
with weird powers, now what?  A stowaway?
     "Boxey is missing." 
     Dorado sniffed in astonishment, turning to Cain.  "You brought a
child?"

----------

     "They're right on our tail!  I can't shake them!" Lu told them.  The
cloud cover hadn't done anything to dissuade the pursuing Cylons, such as
scramble their scanners, in the least.
     The comm panel began beeping loudly.
     "Incoming message in Cylon code!" Lia cried.  "From the Raider!"
     "Cylon code?" Baltar glanced over her shoulder, holding tight to the
back of her seat with both hands. "Can you translate it?"
     "I doubt these Cylons would be using the same code that modern..."
Lia paused, watching the algorithms cross the screen.  "By Triquetra's
Toenails..." she murmured.
     "Huh?" Lu glanced at her sister, shaking her head slightly.  Never
one for cursing, putting "Triquetra" and her toenails together was pretty
risqu‚ by Lia's standards.
     "It's the same code," Lia muttered in surprise, then a smile lit her
features.  "Oh yes! Sagan's Sandals, it's Jolly!"
     Dietra grinned.  "I knew it!  It's one of ours!  It's a Hybrid!"
     "How did you know?" Baltar asked.
     "It jammed our scanners, just like it's supposed to," Dietra
returned enthusiastically.  "And we were none the wiser, not expecting
it.  Transmit a message back to them.  Have them follow us to rendezvous
with the others."
     "Yes, Lieutenant," Lia replied, doing just that. 
     "And then ask them how they got here," Lu added.
     "I guess we'll find out soon enough."

----------

     Apollo grinned, and clapped Jolly on the shoulder as the lieutenant
climbed down from the Hybrid Raider.  "You don't know how glad I am to
see you!"
     "We thought you might need some help, Skipper," Jolly replied, then
winced.  "Sorry, Colonel."
     "That's all right, Jolly." Apollo shrugged indifferently. He looked
up at the one-time enemy fighter. "But how did you get here?"
     "I think I'll let Malus explain," Jolly returned, as the IL's lower
limbs became visible descending the fighter's ladder.  The pilot turned
to see Lia, Luana, Dietra, and what he had just learned were Angylions,
heading towards them from the Cylon transport.  Then he froze when he saw
Baltar talking with an Angylion that could have been his younger brother,
so alike were they in appearance, save the translucent aura that
surrounded the other Being.  "What the..." Instinctively he reached for
his weapon, glancing in surprise at Apollo when the colonel stayed his
hand.  "What? B...Baltar?" 
     "Believe it or not, he seems to be on our side this time around..."
Apollo told him softly, slowly removing his restraining hand.  "He even
took out a fighter, single-handed." 
     "Ours or theirs?" Jolly returned.
     Apollo smirked.  "Theirs, of course."
     "Lords, did the entire universe just shift under me?" asked the
other man, slack-jawed, still looking at the traitor.  He slowly let his
weapon slide back into its holster.
     "It sure did.  And the Angylions have a fervent belief that he is
one of our military heroes, delivered by their gods to aide them."
     Jolly scoffed derisively.  "Oh?  Let me guess where they got that
idea?"
     "It doesn't matter, Jolly.  We're watching him...carefully."
     "We must be in a different dimension," Jolly shook his head, then
startled when he saw a man that could be Apollo's double, but with the
same ethereal glow surrounding him.  "Holy frack..." he murmured, when
another man, this one a dead ringer for Starbuck, but with the same
strange quality came into view.  The blond Angylion smiled cheerily,
waving jauntily as though he was enjoying Jolly's surprise.  The Apollo
look-alike casually cuffed him.  "Looks like we all have some catching up
to do."
     "That we do."

----------

     "NOOOOO!" Dayton screamed as torchlight reflected off the blade that
arced through the air, ready to execute Starbuck.
     He could see the young man's shoulders hunched in preparation, his
face contorted in expectation, his eyes tightly shut, every muscle in his
body tensed for the inevitable strike. Then abruptly, the blade stopped
its deadly coarse, ending its lethal blow at the precise moment that the
sword touched the nape of Starbuck's neck.  Dayton sucked in a breath,
holding it, not sure if the Cylons were merely toying with them before
they finished it-something he hadn't thought them capable of-or if
something else was happening...He looked around, trying to figure it out
in his frenzied state.
     The patrol leader was holding up a hand, and had said something that
just didn't register with Dayton, as his own screams still echoed in his
head.  Then the executioner, without even looking at the Command
centurion, sheathed its sword, and the other Cylon released its grip on
Starbuck's hair.
     "Holy...fr-frack..." Starbuck rasped, his eyes fluttering open and
then darting around wildly.  He let out a ragged breath, and then slumped
forward onto the ground limply.  
     "Kid..." Dayton lunged forward, almost surprised when this time the
Cylon released him as well.  He half-crawled over to where the young
captain lay, putting a hand to the back of his neck, and pulling it away
slick with blood.  The wound was superficial, but it still scared the
hell out of the Earthman, considering the situation.  He put a hand on
the kid's shoulder, feeling fine tremors besiege the young man, as he
gazed sightlessly ahead of him, his cheek pressed against the cold stone
and dirt.  He was either in shock, or well on his way.  "You're okay. 
You got that? You're just fine."  Who are you trying to convince, Dayton?
The kid?  Or yourself?
     Starbuck snorted in contention, his breathing still ragged.  "If
this is okay..." He blinked slowly, his gaze flickering reluctantly over
to the Cylons.  Then he shuddered involuntarily, and glanced back at
Dayton.  "I'd hate to see what a bad day on Earth looks like." 
     "Still a smart-ass, huh?  Well, that can only be a good sign,"
Dayton returned, squeezing his shoulder.  It was a reprieve, but at least
it gave them time.
     "Bring-them," the patrol leader ordered.
"Commander-Mendax-will-want-to-interrogate-the-Angylion-
prince-personally."

----------

     Iblis curled a derisive lip, glancing around the Holy Angylion
Sanctum before slowly returning his malignant gaze to Ama.  "This is part
of the Elders' plan, isn't it?  That instead of interfering, I will be
distracted by my own...whelp." Then he smiled corrosively.  "Or is this a
threat?  Am I expected to disappear quietly, once again?" This time he
looked upward, addressing his comments beyond the cavern.  "Exiled to
another barren hunk of rock that befits the punishment of my alleged
crimes?  For my disobedience?  For my unwillingness to conform?" His
voice rose in volume and intensity, shaking the cavern, bitterness
bleeding from his accusations.  "Knowing that if I don't comply, that
my...my blood will be at your mercy!"
     "I believe you are judging them from your own standards," Ama
replied hesitantly, as doubt nipped at her while she bore witness to his
passion.  All that she truly knew of the Beings of Light was through her
own interactions with them, yet Iblis' insinuations defied what she had
learned, and believed to be truth. "Such as they are." 
     Iblis smiled mockingly.  "But you aren't certain, are you,
daughter?"
     "You destroyed an entire civilization of Angylions, enslaving them
as Odreds, as well as brought the Cylons here, situating them to dominate
yet another dimension, as if the billions already enslaved or slaughtered
in their own were not sufficient." Ama returned, her own bitterness
rising.  "Or had that slipped your mind?"
     Iblis smiled, his blue eyes eerily devoid of emotion.  "Your point?
Whelp."
     "What happened to you, Arion?" Ama whispered.  "What happened to the
man that my mother loved, and the Empyrean Court revered?"
     "I was betrayed by your mother..." Iblis returned, smiling
humourlessly.  "Just as the Elders would have you betray me now."
     "And how would I do that?" she spat back, almost before she meant
to, and the cold knot in her stomach answered her before he did.  "I owe
you no allegiance."
     "You are still my daughter. My blood. My get!  Have they not sent
you here to challenge me?  Such irony that your existence was kept from
me, only so they could prepare you to destroy me, knowing I would either
fall, or face my own personal Hades Hole through killing my child.  And
they call me the evil one." Iblis smiled, his tone and mien suggestive of
someone having a polite everyday conversation.  
     "From what I've heard, you do wear the crown," Ama returned.
     "Do you realize that other than the Elders, you were the only one
capable of reversing the Angylion Curse?  The only one with powers that
could possibly match my own.  They knew that.  Did you?"
     "I figured it out, eventually," she returned.  So much had filtered
through her mind while she was intent on helping Starbuck, that now she
was unsure of how much was suggested to her by the Beings of Light, and
how much she had deduced on her own.  However, his stunned reaction to
her raised more questions than it answered.  Had she even given herself
time to reflect on how this anomalous family reunion would go?  Hadn't
she just assumed that Iblis would arrive unleashing his powers against
Morlais and the Angylion people, and she would respond by defending them
to the best of her abilities?  "Why did you decide to destroy these
people, Arion?"  Strong, beautiful, spiritual, yet mighty warriors. 
"More than any other that I have encountered in the universe, they are so
much like my own...my own Empyreans."
     Then Iblis sniffed, curling a disdainful lip.  "That...is why."
     She quirked an eyebrow, holding her hands palm upward.  "Let me
see."
     Iblis took a step closer to her, letting out a bitter laugh.  "You
wish to join with me, mind and spirit, and experience my life, as you do
with your human pets?"
     "I do," Ama nodded, ignoring the gibe as her desire to see the truth
outweighed any trepidation or concern for her own safety.
     "It's a dark journey from which you may not return," Iblis warned
her, taking a step back and holding up a staying hand.
     "I'll take my chances," Ama returned, taking a pace closer to him
and lifting up her hands so they rested on his temples.  "Don't fash
yourself, it won't hurt..."
     His eyes met hers in surprise, then mild amusement, as she titled
her head forward to meet his own...

----------

     Apollo paced as he digested all the information he'd been given from
the Angylions, Baltar, and Malus.  Starbuck and Dayton, now Cylon
prisoners, had been spotted boarding a Cylon troop transport under
duress.  The Angylion scouts that had reported the intelligence, had
almost intervened, until they realized how well armed the Cylons were. 
Before they could get into a position to attack, the craft had taken off.
     "Our forces have almost retaken the city," Glynn reported, nodding
at Eirys who seemed to act as a communications conduit between her
people.  "The Cylons are retreating towards their ship, consolidating
their forces."
     "We need to strike now!" Llewelyn inserted ardently.  "While we
still have the advantage!"
     "Now wait just a centon!" Apollo replied, holding up a hand to
caution him.  "A Cylon Base Ship is usually armed with enough artillery
to easily destroy an army of a thousand Angylions with a single shot. 
They can burn up whole cities from orbit with single salvos.  If you
attack it with nothing but shields to protect you, they would decimate
your forces."
     "Artillery?" Glynn asked.  
     "On an Abaddon Base Ship, there are five batteries evenly spaced on
the upper hull, as well as the lower, for a total of ten." Malus informed
them, as the Angylions considered him curiously. "Two missile tubes flank
each of these.  There is also a mega-pulsar battery at the apex, as well
as thirty defensive anti-aircraft emplacements.  At present, only those
weapons on the upper hull can be brought to bear against a target, until
the ship lifts off."  A Cylon like Mendax, the Base Ship commander, the
similarities between the two IL's left the Angylions politely distrustful
and sceptical of his intentions.  "The hull is two point eight metrons
thick.  As well, there is an electromagnetic defence shield that would
render it impenetrable to Colonial side arms, and certainly to Angylion
weapons."  Trying out a newly adapted invention of his own, he ignited
the laser he had engineered into one of his digits, and then etched a
diagram of the enemy vessel on a rock face, pointing out the batteries in
question.  None of the assembled organic Beings looked impressed, or even
commented upon it, but he knew that Starbuck would see its
potential...the first time he needed to light a fumarello and was without
his trusty Flintex.  Several of the Angylions leaned close, studying it.
"As you can see, gentlemen, ladies, the overlapping fields of fire make
any ground assault by an enemy impossible, either infantry, or mounted. 
Her weapons would target and vaporize any one or thing before you came
within a thousand metrons, at a minimum."
     "She also carries several hundred centurions, which can be detached
from flight operations for ground action," added Baltar, sneaking another
surreptitious glance at the enchanting Eirys as he spoke.  She smiled and
nodded at him.  "Assuming they are close to full strength, this class of
ship could field at least five hundred centurions, both in armoured
transports and infantry, all heavily armed.  Set against what we possess
right now, she is impenetrable."
     "Their troops are no longer at full strength, "General Caradoc
reported.  "We have killed close to one hundred of their centurions."
     Baltar nodded approvingly.  "Good to know."
     "Then how do we destroy it?" Caradoc asked.
     "From the inside," Baltar returned, glancing at Luana.  "And while
we're there, we might as well save Starbuck."  
     "And Mark..." Cassiopeia inserted, putting a hand on Ryan's arm. 
     "How?" Lu asked, her features drawn.  Others echoed her doubts.  "If
the Base Ship is as impenetrable as you both said, then how do we get
aboard?"
     "I believe I can answer that.  After all, it's about time that Cylon
Command checked up on its missing Abaddon," Malus replied, glancing at
Baltar.  "I have a plan, Baltar, and I believe you will be intrinsic to
its success."
     "Baltar?" Apollo asked, hearing the same stunned reaction from
others.
     "Yes, Baltar," Malus replied.

---------

     Things were not going quite to plan.
     When the Cylons had first attacked Morlais, the Angylions had
responded by using a typical counterassault that concentrated the
majority of their forces directly against the Cylon forces, two armies
clashing together on a battlefield below Mt. Cadoc.  Ultimately, the
centurions with their superior weaponry, laser pulse rifles, rocket
launchers, and poisonous gas, would have eventually prevailed, but when
the entire race of organic Beings had suddenly turned into deformed
dwarfs, their defeat was without recourse.
     Since their transformation back into their original forms-which
Mendax had concluded was almost identical to Humans in his realm-they
used a different strategy, one that the Cylons were not familiar with. 
Small-scale forces moving quickly and silently had unexpectedly attacked
Cylon strongholds in the former Angylion city that had, up until
recently, been Mendax's base of operations.  A few unsubstantial
uprisings had earlier been squashed, but this time their offences had
systematically attacked and destroyed his posted patrols, and then
seemingly disappeared, only to regroup and destroy yet another patrol
sent to investigate the conspicuous communications silence of the first.
At last report, in the city the Angylions had destroyed nearly one-fifth
of his entire complement of centurions, almost a hundred centurions, and
the rest had been ordered back to the Base Ship.
     The IL had ascertained that his missing patrol and shuttlecraft were
victims of an Angylion assault.  Yet, since Angylions didn't know a
shuttle from a landram, it mattered little...although in retrospect,
every transport would be an asset in his new quest for Cylon domination
in this dimension.  He might have to consider sending a crew to recover
it once he had fully annihilated the Angylions.  But first he would see
the Angylion prince cede to his superiority and beg for his
mercy...before he executed him, of course.
     "Control Centre," Mendax spoke into his comm unit. "This is
Commander Mendax."  Of course, he had no need to say so, but reminding
these...drones of who was in charge was just so...satisfying.  After all,
he would likely end up as the supreme commander in this dimension, once
he successfully carried out his plan for domination.  He was so close. 
"Are the prisoners aboard?"
    
"The-transport-carrying-the-Angylion-prisoners-just-landed-in-Gamma-Bay,
Commander."
     "Have them brought to the Brig," Mendax ordered.  "And prepare the
Brain Probe."  A centar in the device, and Mendax would have the entire
Angylion attack strategy at his fingertips.  It would be interesting to
see the emotive reaction of the prince when he realized he had just
sealed his people's fate, by unwillingly betraying their war secrets.
     "By-your-command."
     "Engineering will be switching over to the auxiliary power units
shortly. They will also be beginning power up of the main reactors in
approximately sixty centons. Prepare to begin the countdown on my order."
     "By-your-command."

---------

     Starbuck could feel his chest tightening as he and Dayton were
escorted through the Cylon ship, every step taking them closer to the
inevitable interrogation.  He was just about at his limit, between his
physical injuries and his exhaustion.  It wasn't exactly the best
condition to show up in, or so some instructor had once told him at the
Academy.  He wiped a trail of sweat from his forehead, catching Dayton's
eyes on his in concern.
     "Okay?" the Earthman murmured quietly.
     Starbuck merely nodded, looking around at his surrounding, and
trying to equate this ship's layout with the Endeavour's, to get his mind
off his throbbing head and aching body.  Functionality wise, little had
changed between the era when this ship and the Endeavour were built, and
that of Baltar's, other than the fact that the Hades class ships were
twice the size of the Abaddon's.  Some things just didn't need
improvement, he decided.  Upon approaching the enemy vessel, they had
seen the huge steel pylons that supported the ship, and the forges and
machinery surrounding it, all working towards its repair and return to
space.  From what he could tell, the Cylons were close to being able to
launch.
     He and Dayton were led down a dimly-lit corridor, some of the
bulkhead plating stripped out for other uses, and then they were
propelled into the holding cell where the Cylon Brain Probe was housed. 
Thoroughly outfitted with restraints for arms and legs, and a ring of
probes that lowered over the subject's cranium, this was an older and
cruder variation of the one that had been used on Cree back on Arcta.  It
placed the subject in a chair, rather than standing, but it otherwise
looked identical to the one from the Endeavour that they had employed
with Baltar.  He sniffed humourlessly, realizing that somewhere out there
Baltar would be laughing himself maniacal if he knew that Starbuck was
about to undergo the same Cylon interrogation device.  The difference
being that the Cylons, thinking he was Prince Llewelyn, would be trying
to extract information that the Colonial Warrior didn't even have. 
Weirdly, they hadn't noticed the obvious difference between Angylions and
humans, as though they couldn't even see the aura that seemed to surround
the ethereal looking Beings.  Obviously, things mystical were beyond them
in every sense, which was okay with him, since every moment that they
prolonged this ruse, gave them another opportunity to escape, and do this
Base Ship some potential damage.          
     "Sort of looks like 'Old Sparky'," Dayton murmured beside him,
studying the device as he looked around the room.  Starbuck looked at
him, frowning.  "An electric chair." The Earthman studied the probe
machinery up close.  "Wasn't there one of those on the Endeavour before
the refit?"
     "Uh huh," Starbuck nodded.  "Commander Adama ordered it destroyed,
although I could tell he was tempted to try it out on a couple Council
members first...not to mention a wayward officer or two."  Then he
glanced at the Earthman.  "What's an electric chair?"  
     Dayton winced.  "Never mind."
     "Silence!" a centurion ordered them.
     "Or what?" Starbuck replied.  "You'll torture me in a Cylon Brain
Probe?  I've been trained to resis..."
     "Silence!"
     Behind them the hatch opened, and an IL Series Cylon entered, a
garish cloak over its shoulders like Lucifer had worn.  It was curious to
see, considering Malus refused to wear clothing considering it to be too
characteristic of humans, and unnecessary.  
     "Commander-Mendax, we-are-ready-to-proceed-with-the-interrogation,"
a centurion told him.
     "Prince Llewelyn, I am Commander Mendax.  Leader of the Cylon
Alliance in this quadrant." Mendax nodded at the blond warrior.  "You are
my prisoner.  You will tell me everything I want to know, or suffer the
consequences."
     "You've got the wrong guy," Starbuck shrugged.  "I'm just a lowly
foot soldier."
     Mendax looked him over carefully.  "I have your image imprinted into
my memory banks from when I first visited Mt. Cadoc.  Although your hair
is slightly shorter, and your clothing different, you are definitely
Prince Llewelyn."
     "Am not."
     The IL paused before stating, "Lying is pointless."
     "Better check your programming, Bub.  Cylons perfected lying.  Took
it to a new level," Starbuck bit off his words, not wanting to give away
his cover by talking about the so-called Armistice.  Then again, these
Cylons probably were unaware of it, being in Morlais for a deca-yahren...
     "Where are your forces hiding?" Mendax demanded.
     "Hiding?" Dayton sniffed, drawing the attention to himself. 
"They're not hiding, Nuts and Bolts, they're amassing!"
     "Who are you?" Mendax asked the Earthman.
     "He's my manservant," Starbuck inserted quickly, before his
commanding officer could get a word in edgewise.  He had to protect his
CO, and making him appear innocuous was the best way.  Starbuck smiled
slightly, starting to put together a plan.
     "Manservant?" Mendax echoed, as Dayton just about choked on that
revelation.
     "Yes, the hereditary servant of my House.  His family has served
mine for generations." Starbuck nodded at Dayton, whose jaw had dropped. 
"They're a bit slow on the uptake sometimes, but reliable."
     "Why, thank you, Oh Exalted Highness," Dayton  replied, his eyes
narrowed ever so slightly as he turned and bowed low before Starbuck.
     "Don't mention it." Starbuck returned offhandedly.  "Stand up,
Dayton.  You'll wreck your back."
     "Yes, Your Illustriousness." 
     "I...see," said the IL thoughtfully.
     "Yeah, he draws a turbo bath for me after I wake up from my ten
yahren naps.  Trims my hair...lays out my best clothes..." Starbuck
glanced down at his tattered, filthy uniform, not even recognizable as
that of a Colonial Warrior, much like Dayton's infiltration fatigues. 
"Although, as you can see, good help is hard to find these days."
     "A personal servant," Mendax surmised.  "Cylons have no need for
such things."
     "Well, I don't know about that," Starbuck returned, reaching forward
and fingering the golden robe that the IL wore.  "Looks like you could
use a manservant, Mendax.  Normally, I wouldn't be caught dead in a cloak
that looked like that.  I'll bet your Cylon leader has an attendant or
two."  Beside him, Dayton drew in a sharp breath.
     Lights twinkled in the IL's head.  He was considering it.
     "Besides, having a manservant is a sign of distinction.  Of status. 
Prestige," Starbuck added.  "Military leaders, much like Royalty, should
be defined by such things, don't you agree?" 
     "Perhaps, I could see some benefit..." Mendax mused.
     "And you should see him with a needle and thread," Starbuck
continued.  "He could fix you up nicely.  Couldn't you, Dayton?"
     Dayton frowned at him, then reached reluctantly forward, fingering
the IL's robe.  "I could knit and purl this frock back to its former
glory, My Liege." He glanced at Starbuck, suddenly looking tentative. 
"If that is your wish, oh Long-Haired One of Pre-Eminence."
     Starbuck winced slightly.  Dayton was laying it on a bit thick. 
"Well, better that than Cylon 'consequences', wouldn't you say, Old Man?" 
He glanced back at the IL.  "He's been with me since I was a child,
grooming me, turning down my bed, trimming my toenails...such allegiance
should be repaid."
     "You bargain for his life?" Mendax asked.
     "I'm merely suggesting he could be more useful to you alive than
dead," Starbuck replied.  "Any Angylion life I can save is a personal
victory."
     "Please, Imperial Margarine.  I would rather be dead than serve one
other than you," Dayton replied beseechingly, dropping the robe, and
instead gripping Starbuck's arm.  Hard.
     "You'll do as I say, Dayton," Starbuck returned, as he glanced into
the flint grey eyes of his commander.  If they got out of this alive, he
knew that Dayton would make him pay.  Probably with his hide.  But it was
still worth it.
     "Yes, Your Oleo-ness," Dayton replied sullenly, withdrawing his
hand.
     Mendax undid the clasp, removing his cloak and handing it to the
manservant.  "Very well.  I accept your manservant into my service,
Prince Llewelyn.  Now, tell me where your army is amassing," Mendax
ordered him.
     "Now, that wouldn't be very princely of me, would it?" Starbuck
returned with a nervous smile.
     "You can tell me willingly, or I can get the information I wish in
other ways," said Mendax, indicating the probe. 
     "I don't suppose we could discuss this?" asked Starbuck.  "You know,
after a nice hot bath.  A change of clothes.  Dinner.  Maybe over a glass
of something cold afterwards?  We could explore other customs of Angylion
aristocracy.  After all, it's been a long time since I had a decent..."
     "Connect his cortex to the brain probe," Mendax ordered his
centurions, then looked back to Starbuck. "You will be powerless to
resist.  I will find out what I want to know."
     "Wanna bet?" the warrior replied, as a centurion grabbed his arm,
pulling him towards the brain probe, and then shoving him roughly into
the waiting seat.  Across from him he could see Dayton bristling as they
restrained Starbuck, securing him to the chair.  "Hey!  I bruise easily!"
     "Silence!" ordered one of the centurions.
     "Be brave, my lord," said Dayton, his voice flat and serious.  "Make
your people proud.  You will not be forgotten."
     "Erect a bust in my honour, Dayton.  Hmm, so many to chose from..."
Starbuck mused briefly, as the probe began to lower over his head.  He
could only hope that having a concussion already didn't put him in any
further danger.  Hey, maybe it would actually get rid of his headache. 
Yeah, being pain free would be nice for his execution.  Suddenly, he was
all out of witty retorts and remarks.  Cree had made it through this...so
had Baltar. He could too.  The rest was up to Dayton.
     "I will examine the cortex scans when they are complete," Mendax
told them.  
     "By-your-command." The centurion turned to his fellow. "Begin
calibration."
     "Come with me, Dayton," Mendax ordered him.  "And bring my cloak
along so you can mend it."
     "Yes, Oh Jaunty Jackass," Dayton replied, trailing behind. 

Chapter Sixteen

     Dayton had to grit his teeth and force his limbs to move forward
when he walked through the hatch and left Starbuck restrained in that
Cylon contraption.  The fact that he didn't know much about the Brain
Probe scared Dayton more than he'd like to admit.  Could it do permanent
damage?  Was his ploy of claiming that Starbuck was an Angylion prince
going to backfire, and result in the young man becoming psychologically
scarred or damaged?  Man alive, he wanted to grab the nearest pulse rifle
and blast his way back in there, freeing the warrior that had become like
a son to him, and somehow getting him off this tub.  It didn't help that
Starbuck looked done in, his exhaustion evident after a day that probably
went down in history as one of his longest.  
     Then again, Starbuck was one tough SOB.  One of the toughest that
Dayton had ever met.  Either he led a charmed life, or God Almighty had
assigned a team of guardian angels to watch over him.  Yeah, the more he
grew to know the kid, the more Starbuck reminded him of himself.  Smart,
resilient, stubborn, resourceful, and more likely to do things accented
by his own personal zeal, than to tow the line.  The kid would be okay. 
He had to be...because Dayton wasn't sure he could live with it if it
turned out otherwise.
     He let out an impossibly slow, deep breath, concentrating on his
current situation, instead of what was going on back in the Brig. 
Personal manservant to an egocentric Cylon IL.  Good God!  It reminded
him of the time he'd been snookered into playing slave and ended up
cleaning his sister's room for a whole week, when they were kids. Still,
this was a good idea.  Brilliant in fact, and if it hadn't been so bloody
brilliant, giving Dayton some much needed anonymity on the ship, he might
have strangled Starbuck on the spot!  Where in the hell did the kid come
up with this stuff?  And how did he know the IL would bite?  Then again,
Malus followed the young man around like a lap dog-while admittedly
Dayton didn't have a lot of time for the cybernetic turncoat-so maybe the
strike captain had a better understanding of Cylon psychology than the
rest of them.  Dayton kept his head lowered as he followed subserviently
behind the Base Ship commander, trying to control his natural urge to
disarm the nearest centurion and start blasting away.  His opportunity
would come, but it had to provide him with a chance to do more than kill
a few Cylons.
     The next thing he knew, he was standing in the Control Centre,
trying to appear nonchalant.  Droning centurions with roving red eyes
went about their duties.  It was the closest he'd been to a Red Light
District since backpacking around Europe.  By the looks of things, they
were preparing to launch this baby.  Time was running out for the
Angylions.  Somehow Dayton had to knock out their mega-pulsars, or when
the Abaddon reached orbit, she would blow Morlais to Kingdom Come.  Hey,
overloading a fusion reactor or two wouldn't be a bad idea either.  Of
course, it would be preferable to be able to get off before she blew, and
the only one qualified to fly a Cylon Raider out of Cylon Central was
currently getting his cortex scanned.
     "Commander, we-are-receiving-a-communications-signal," a centurion
reported.  "Despite-verification-that-it-is-a-Cylon-Raider,
identification-code-is-not-in-our-databanks.  It-is-not-one-of-ours."
     "Not one of ours?" Mendax repeated, crossing to the panel to verify
the information for himself.  "Most interesting. Put it through,
Centurion."
     "By-your-command."
     Dayton held his breath as he watched a familiarly naked IL come on
screen.  Freeing Starbuck was suddenly looking good!  How the heck had
Malus made it through?  And who had he brought with him?  How much fire
power?  Dorado was going to get a commendation, come hell or high water!
     "Ah, Commander Mendax.  It's been a long time," Malus said. 
     "Malus?" said Mendax, clearly surprised.  From the way his head
began flashing, it was clear he was caught completely off guard by this
development. 
     "Yes, it is I.  The Imperious Leader had given you up as destroyed,
long ago.  However, I knew that your unexplained disappearance was worth
exploring further. Base Ships don't simply disappear."
     "Malus," Mendax replied, still clearly flustered. "How is it
that...?"
     "Admiral Malus," Malus inserted a little testily.  "A new rank
developed as our Empire expanded.  Not only do I command the Harrower
now, but every ship in this region of space answers to me. I only answer
directly to the Imperious Leader, himself."
     "Admiral...?  The last I heard, it was the Harrower that had gone
missing," Mendax replied haltingly.
     Malus huffed deprecatingly.  "Not missing, Mendax.  On a secret
mission.  You would be surprised to know that there is much our supreme
leader withholds from those that are not in his favour."
     "Not..."
     "Now tell me what bay I should land in, and be prepared to welcome
me and Commander Baltar properly.  Traversing between dimensions is very
wearing on my diodes," Malus continued.
     "Commander...Baltar?" Mendax asked.  He scanned his memory banks,
then accessed the ship's mainframe. "I have no data on any Commander
Baltar. That is a Human name, is it not?"
     "That is right, you don't know about Baltar, do you?  I will explain
further, but suffice it to know that he is a human that has risen in
esteem and importance in the last deca-yahren.  He has worked alongside
the Imperious Leader himself, bringing to an end at last to the Thousand
Yahren War."
     "An end...?"
     "Did that not compute, Mendax?" Malus snapped.  "Honestly, when was
the last time you performed a self-diagnostic?  You're as slow as
congealed joint lubricant."   Malus 'sighed' dramatically.  "Then again,
you haven't had the benefit of an IL-78 refit, like the rest of us.  I
had almost forgotten that you're an inferior model."
     "IL-78..."
     Dayton watched Mendax, as he was called inferior in front of his own
troops. The Cylon clenched his hands like an angry school boy.
     Malus harrumphed.  "Landing bay, Mendax?"
     "Gamma Bay, Admiral Malus," replied Mendax, his voice unsteady. "We
will be ready."
     "Be sure that you are," the IL replied.  "I shall be aboard in ten
centons. Admiral Malus out."
     Mendax looked around the Control Centre, then at Dayton. "Come with
me!  And bring my cloak!"
     "As you wish, My Lord Buffalo Butt."

----------
 
     Lieutenant Rooke entered the Command Centre of the Endeavour, coming
to alert before a restless Commander Cain.  The tension was palpable,
more of it brought about by the presence of the Juggernaut, than by the
current situation. At least he suspected so, as he glanced at his former
wing leader sympathetically.  Dorado nodded at him, moving to join them.
     "We haven't found the child, sirs," Rooke reported.  Being relegated
to organizing a search for Apollo's son, and some droid daggit, wasn't
exactly how he thought he would be spending his time on the shakedown
cruise of the Covert Operations Ship. "Yet."
     "Internal sensors?" Cain asked after a moment.
     "Only part of the grid is on-line, sir.  It didn't get all connected
before we left." Rooke spared a glance at Cain, then at Dorado.
     "I'll remember to mention that in my report," said Cain softly.
     "Ah...yes, sir," replied Rooke.
     Cain nodded perfunctorily, frowning at he turned away to look at the
scanners.
     "He'll turn up, Rooke," Dorado replied, when it appeared that Cain
didn't seem all that interested.  He began to wonder if this was some
kind of ploy for the Pegasus Commander to remain on board the Endeavour,
trying to usurp command.  Then again, that certainly wasn't Sheba's
style.  Maybe he'd become jaded...from hanging out with Starbuck for too
long.  "Nothing more boring to a child than to hide, only to eventually
realize that no one's looking for you."
     Rooke let out a sigh of relief.  "Then I can get back to the
cadets?"
     "Well...actually, stand by and..."
     "Captain!  They're coming back!" Coxcoxtli interrupted, from behind
the station where the Clavis' control system had been tied into the
Endeavour's main systems.  He abruptly looked perplexed as he studied the
data in front of him. 
     "What is it?" Dorado asked.
     "It's automatically recalibrating...looks like...a larger load."
     "Load?" Cain asked, moving to examine the data.  
     "A bigger ship," Dorado suggested.
     "Then where's the Raider?" Cain asked, then he raised his swagger
stick.  "Bring..."
     "Bring the ship to alert!" Dorado interjected swiftly.  "We don't
know what's coming through.  Let's be ready.  Scramble Sphinx Squadron!"
     Cain smiled in amusement, holding his tongue as the crew responded
to the orders.  The Control Centre was suddenly bathed in a red glow, the
klaxon ringing ship-wide.  He folded his arms over his chest and watched
the scanner.  A sudden blip appeared.
     "Sagaris?" Dorado asked.
     "War book says it's a Cylon transport, sir," the young cadet
replied.
     "She's hailing us, Captain," Pierus added.
     "Open a line."
     "This is Lieutenant Dietra," the familiar voice replied. 
"Requesting permission to land.  We have one wounded aboard and will need
a hoverstretcher standing by."
     "Cancel launch order.  Have Sphinx Squadron stand down.  Cancel the
alert," Dorado ordered before turning his attention to the shuttle again. 
"You're cleared to land in Beta Bay, Lieutenant," he told her, with
mounting anxiety.  After all, his current medical team existed of an
Empyrean healer and a psychologist.  Please let Cassiopeia be aboard! 
"Is Cassiopeia aboard?"
     "She is, Captain.  She's already attending Dr. Ryan and his
prognosis is good," Dietra replied, her voice shaky for a moment, before
she cleared her throat.  "Colonel Apollo wants the Endeavour standing by
for interdimensional travel as soon as possible."
     "Interdimensional travel?" Cain repeated, raising his eyebrows.
     "Report to the War Room for debriefing as soon as you land," Dorado
ordered, before adding, "and, Dee...I'm glad Ryan's going to be okay."
     There was a brief pause before a soft voice replied, "Me too.
Thanks, Dorado. Dee out." 

---------

     The sounds were deafening and terrifying as he was jostled awake,
but abruptly he was pulled tightly against his mother's bosom,
recognizing her comforting warmth, scent and touch.  The din was so loud,
he barely heard the soothing words she cooed into his hair, stroking it
and kissing it lightly, as she picked him up and hurried out into the
night.  Moments later, the ground shook as behind them, the world
exploded and the entire sky flared with light. 
     It was cold, startlingly so, and the night sky glowed sporadically
with fire and smoke.  Intermittently, he could feel intense heat, as the
air thickened with stench and smudge.  He burrowed his head deeper into
the comforting sweetness of his mother.  As she carried him heedlessly
through the thicket, brambles smacked against unprotected skin, scraping
him, hurting him.  He began to cry, sensing his mother's growing unease
and urgency as screams, klaxons, and so many other loud, unfamiliar and
disturbing sounds surrounded them in the darkness of the Thorn Forest,
outside Umbra.       
     "Shh!" she hushed him, almost desperately.  "Please be quiet, son. 
Please." His hand gripped her nightshirt, and balled it into a comforting
lump that muffled his cries as he sucked reflexively on it for comfort. 
She boosted him upward, securing her precious load close to her heart
before continuing on.
     Onward, she tore through the thickets, breathless, as he whimpered
in her arms.  She stumbled countless times, but pressed on, refusing to
give up.  Then he heard a low drone, that from that day forward would
forever strike fear into his heart.  
     "Halt, Human!"
     She came to an abrupt stop, gasping sharply, pausing in indecision
as she turned to and fro, looking for escape.  Then she dashed forward,
sprinting through the night as a blast exploded behind them and nearby
underbrush burst into flame.  Muffling her scream of terror, she raced
onward, finally plunging into metrons of thick brambles, oblivious to the
thorns shredding her clothes, and cutting her skin, before dropping to
her knees, and prying him from her chest.
     "Search-the-thicket.  Exterminate-the-Humans."  Cold.  Clinical. 
Terrifyingly cruel. 
     "Stay here, son.  Don't make a sound, and stay here," she hissed. 
Beyond, in the darkness, the sound of weapons.  Screams.
     "Mama..." he cried, wanting to hide in the safety of her embrace. 
She turned away.  "Mama!"
     He clutched at her, tears pouring down his cheeks as she reluctantly
turned back to him.   Relenting, she hastily pulled him into her arms,
crushing him against her and stroking his hair, while shushing him.  She
drew an unsteady breath, rocking him back and forth, savouring the
moment.  Then she pulled back, her eyes brimming with tears as they
studied his features intently.
     "Look at me, Solarus," she whispered.  "Mama needs you to be her
brave boy.  Can you do that for me?" 
     He shook his head, unable to answer, only wanting her to hold him
and never let him go.  He was too afraid to be without her.  He didn't
want to be left in the thorn thicket, in the darkness.  He didn't want to
be alone.
     "You have to be quiet like a mouse, and brave like a leon, son. 
Wait here until your father or I come for you..." she paused, gasping in
a breath as the droning she had earlier heard drew relentlessly closer. 
It was that sound that would drive her away from him.  She cautiously
raised her head, looking for the source, before ducking down again. 
"That's my brave boy," she whispered hoarsely.  "Mama loves you, never
forget that."  She kissed him tenderly, and then put a finger to her
lips.  "Quiet like a mouse, brave like a leon."   
     Then with a quick look around, she lurched upward, charging loudly
and recklessly through the brambles in a different direction, protecting
her son by leading the Cylons away.  Too afraid to do otherwise, he
cowered on the ground, his arms wrapped around himself as he listened. 
His stomach hurt and he stifled a cough as a wave of smoke and heat
wafted over him.  He wanted to call for his mother, to scream her name
until she came back for him.  But he knew he couldn't.  He had to be
Mama's brave boy...
     The droning grew louder, and he dared to peek up in time to see
roving red eyes looking in the direction his mother had run.  He held his
breath as the monstrous Cylons passed him by, and then ducked back down,
trying to be courageous and still.
     It was dark.  Smoky.  The smell was awful.  He was alone.  But his
mother would come back.  She promised him.  Soon she would pull him back
into her arms, drying his eyes, and telling him stories, and it would be
alright...
     A scream.  A blast.  Silence.
     Mama!
     "These-cortical-images-indicate-childhood," the centurion reported,
looking over at the unconscious Angylion prince.  He was leaking-fluid
beading on his skin, and trickling down his face-which was normal with
most human subjects, beyond a certain level of intensity.  However, this
was the first Angylion to undergo a Cylon Brain Probe, as far as the data
in his memory bank could ascertain.
     "Refine-the-scan.  Recalibrate-the-species-matrix."
     "By-your-command." The centurion reached forward, obeying.  The
equipment hummed, a graphic of the subject's brain on the screen.  The
subject strained momentarily, before his head once again lolled forward
onto his chest.
     "Proceed."  

----------

     Leaning up against a rock behind the jagged natural formations that
surrounded the Cylon Base Ship, Prince Glynn studied the "chronometer"
that his Doublewalker had given him.  Apollo had called it a "crash
course in telling time", but when Glynn had looked at him blankly while
trying to rationalize "microns", "centons" and "centars", while two of
the other humans known as Ryan and Baker had kept trying to step in and
help, while babbling about "seconds", "minutes" and "ow-ers", Apollo had
finally set a "timer" on the wrist piece, telling him with the utmost
confidence that when it "went off", it would be time to start the attack. 
It was a fascinating tool for war, and Llewelyn and General Caradoc had
similar timepieces, which would coordinate the attack on three fronts.
     But first, the Colonials had to knock out the massive weapons. 
Instinctively, he pressed himself against the rock as the Raider that
carried Apollo, Baltar, Malus, Lia and Luana appeared on the horizon.
     Soon, Morlais would be free.

----------
 
     Cold.  Barren.  Like a vacuous wasteland.  Ama couldn't help but
shiver as she connected with Iblis' psyche, feeling a chill leech through
her, idly threatening to consume her, body and soul, bit by bit.  No
passion, no joy, no love, only malice and discontent.  It was a departure
from her connections with so many other Beings during her lifetime.  Had
she been na‹ve to presume that she would unite spiritually with her own
father, and learn the truth about his life?  To finally see through his
eyes what had first drawn him to her home planet of Empyrean, and then
what had driven him away? Why he had changed from a respected and beloved
member of society, into the epitome of evil.  She had even entertained
the thought of trying to change him, save him, setting him back on the
enlightened path, as she had done with Baltar of late, and so many others
over the yahrens.  Had she overestimated her own abilities?  Had she
endangered herself by taking such a risk?  Every bit of reason in her now
was crying, "Yes!".  Her instinct told her to retreat, to flee, but
instead she held her ground, and waited.  Pride demanded it.
     Foolish child!  Now you are in my domain!  And you came willingly!
     "Well then, since I'm here...how about the two-cubit tour?" Ama
returned casually, abruptly feeling the raw force of his power surround
her, engulfing her.  The energy was so great, it felt as though it could
tear her to pieces and devour her.  Such was his threat.
     He obviously didn't know who he was dealing with.

----------

     "Quick!  Move!" Apollo ordered, leaping out of the pilot's seat even
as Lia was lifting up the floor panel behind the third Cylon seat.  Four
Colonials and an IL in one Hybrid Raider, it had been quite the ride for
Lia and Baltar who had been haphazardly secured with strapping.  He
started to follow Lia down into the cramped storage compartment below the
deck, then glanced up, locking eyes with Baltar.  He didn't like the idea
of not being near the traitor on a infiltration mission that was so
important, but he also realized that Malus and Baltar were the perfect
decoys to create enough confusion and fuss for him and Lia to locate the
Mega Pulsar's archaic projection matrix system.  If they could reverse
the energy beam, it would blow the old Base Ship to Hades hole when the
time came that the Cylons inevitably fired her up in orbit to destroy
Morlais.  Then they could concentrate on finding Dayton and Starbuck. 
Malus had thought that the self-confident and egotistical nature of
Baltar would go a long way to making the "sting", as Baker called it,
succeed.  Well, he could hardly argue with that.  "Baltar..." he began.
     Baltar smiled in apparent amusement.  "As much as it obviously pains
you, you're just going to have to trust me, Colonel Apollo." Then he
shrugged.  "Or at least trust that your compatriots will keep an adequate
eye on me."
     "Oh, don't you worry about that," Luana inserted, pushing down on
Apollo's reluctant head, and beginning to lower the panel back into
place.  "Tuck in, you two.  And no funny stuff down there." She grinned
at her executive officer's sudden indignant mien as he disappeared into
temporary hiding with her sister.
     "Let's take a look at you," Baltar said to the young officer, as she
stood up, pausing in front of him.  She wore a black tunic and pants,
compliments of the Angylions, and Dietra's rank pins were on her collar. 
The once formal clothing of the Angylion Palace Guard had the proper
appearance for a uniform that could have come from this fabricated
alliance with the Cylons, and the collar pins denoted a rank more
appropriate to someone that would be piloting an admiral and commander
across dimensions.   Baltar nodded approvingly at her.  "Looking sharp,
Lieutenant."
     She saluted smartly while standing at attention, a suggestion that
Baker had made, denoting a slight change in the more lax Colonial
military tradition.  "Thank you, sir."
     Baltar returned the salute, slightly more casually.  "At ease.  Let
us proceed."
     A moment later, they were descending the ladder, and were stepping
onto the tarmac.  

----------
     
     "Will you be my wife, Luana?  Seal with me?" He blinked back tears,
surprised how his emotions had overcome him so suddenly.
     "You know I will.  I already said, 'yes'.  Didn't we just...have a
celebration?" She replied, her voice also choked with emotion.  It was
like a beautiful dream come true.  She pulled him to his feet and kissed
him.  He trembled slightly as he then pulled her to him.
     "To Ama, the Empyrean Quorum, and the Fleet, you said 'yes'."
Starbuck replied, nuzzling her hair.  "I needed you to say 'yes' to me,
Lu."
     "I was only waiting for you to ask me, Innamorato." She whispered to
him.  "I love you, Starbuck.  I'd be honoured to be..."
     "Inconsequential.  Recalibrate."
     "By-your-command," the centurion replied, hitting a switch and
watching the subject jerk in the chair, his face twisting, before his
head dropped listlessly onto his chest again.  "Recalibrated."
     "I dare ya!"
     Starbuck scoffed at Waldemar, glancing through the window out at the
big Quercus tree.   "No way," he muttered, shaking his head and dealing
out another hand of cards onto his bed.
     "I double dare ya!"
     Starbuck narrowed his eyes, looking out at the tree again.  The
stakes were getting higher, and they were getting some attention now.  A
few of the other boys were slowly wandering over, wondering if he'd rise
to the occasion...like he usually did.  After all, the matron had
confined him to his room for fighting for the next sectar, the exceptions
being instructional periods, worship and meals.  You're eight-yahrens
old, Starbuck!  You should know better!
     "Oh yeah?" Starbuck tossed back.
     "I double daggit dare ya!" Waldemar sneered, his fat lip just about
eclipsing his black eye as it snarled back over his chipped and crooked
teeth.  The boy could be the poster child for "ugly", especially after
their fight yesterday.  Still, the way things were going, he would
probably still get adopted before Starbuck.
     Every young head in the room seemed to hold a collective breath.  If
he didn't take the dare, he'd never live it down.  No one was going to
call him a coward! 
     "Fine!" Starbuck snapped, lurching up from the bed and pacing to the
window.  The catch was that this particular tree was "child safe".   They
had lopped off any tempting branches that a reasonable child might decide
to use to scale it.  However, Starbuck-as they should have known by
now-was anything but reasonable.  
     As the other children gasped in disbelief, he climbed out onto the
ledge, grasping the edges of the window frame, and sizing up how far it
was to the closest branch.  He sidled along the narrow ledge, getting a
little bit closer, as young heads stared out the nearby windows in
anticipation.  If he could just reach that one branch, making to the one
above it would be easy, and before he knew it he would be at the top. 
Who said you had to start at the bottom to climb a tree?  Yeah, he'd show
them.  He'd show them all!
     Reaching out with one hand, he pushed off...
     "Recalibrated." The centurion again glanced at the subject, noting
the Angylion's reaction to the abrupt cortical disturbance.  His eyelids
flickered erratically, and his face was contorted.
     "By-your-command."
     A trickle of sweat trailed down his temples, distracting him. He
blinked and in an instant realized that his heart was hammering in his
chest. A slight crack in the immuring haze beckoned to him. If he reached
up just a little higher he could get there.
     "Stay with me!"
     The words echoed through his mind, suffusing the rest of his body
until his skin felt as though it was too tight, encasing an unnatural
presence, which he fought to dispel. It brought to mind a Gemonese
sausage roasting over a fire, its casing about to split open as it
expanded under the pressure...
     "Look at me, Starbuck!"
     Her voice was like a cracking whip; his eyes snapped open, again
drawn to Ama's riveting stare. "Ama..." he rasped, as the walls that had
protected and comforted him seemed to cave in from all directions,
leaving him freefalling into the brilliant blue glow before him.
     "He-continues-to-resist-our-probing."
     "This-is-unprecedented-at-this-level."
     "Nonetheless-resistance-continues."
     "Increase-voltons."
     "By-your-command."
     A blaring alarm sounded in the cockpit. He cut his power, hitting
reverse thrusters, feeling like he would snap in two as he ricocheted
backwards.  He cut thrust as he closed his eyes against the sudden
blinding flash of light, his body jerking, and feeling as though a bolt
of energy had just shot through it. The air seemed to be sucked from his
lungs, and he gasped, even as he realized his ship was still fully
powered up and responding. The problem was, he wasn't...
     "Recalibrate."
     "By-your-command."
     An abrupt breath expelled in a tortuous gasp.  Starbuck's mouth
opened, his breath caught in his throat, as he tried to suck in precious
air.  His fingers dug into Regus' robes from where they had rested on the
man's shoulder.  The pain followed a micron later, slowly building from a
burn to a searing torment as he looked down between them in morbid
fascination.  In paralytic shock.
     The knife was still inside Starbuck, Regus' hand still clenching it,
his knuckles white.  Blood oozed from the jagged hole in his tunic,
spreading its stain across his uniform. It was surreal.  As though time
had slowed down to force him to endure every milli-centon of the
experience.  Starbuck slumped against the wall, his supporting leg giving
out beneath him.  Regus stayed with him, his grip relentless as he
twisted his body to face the warrior.  Then the Empyrean pulled back
slightly, changing his grip to press against the lieutenant's chest. 
Starbuck's head lifted and met the older man's eyes. As if that was what
he was waiting for, Regus gazed at him balefully, and jerked the blade
back out again, twisting it sharply, tearing at flesh anew.  An
animalistic cry of pain ripped from the warrior's throat...
     "We-have-exceeded-normal-limits-of-human-tolerance."
     "He-is-not-human.  Proceed."
     The Earthman was out of control.
     A growl of fury spewed from Dayton as he pushed himself up from the
deck.  Starbuck could feel the weight beneath him shift slightly and then
suddenly the man had a hold of his hair and was attempting to jerk it out
by the roots.  The yelp of pain that spontaneously cleared his lips
sounded pathetic even to him.
     He reflexively clawed at the hand, his neck wrenching painfully as
he was pulled forward, and then flipped onto his back, knocking the
breath from him. He gazed up into crazed, grey eyes that glared balefully
at him for a moment before suddenly widening in recognition.
     "Starbuck...?" Dayton sputtered.
     "He-continues-to-resist."
     "Recalibrate."
     "By-your-command."
     A coughing fit hit him.  Tears pricked his eyes, and his stomach
reeled as he rested his head against the boulder until the hacking eased. 
With that racket, he might as well just fire off a flare announcing to
the Cylons, here we are!   They'd be circling around, and getting ready
to surround him by now.  For a milli-centon he considered going back and
ending it all for Lu.  It would be the decent thing to do.  Ama would
understand.  Still, there was some measure of hope, however faint, that
help might arrive in time if he could hold them off.  Besides, he knew he
didn't have it in him.  He couldn't shoot Luana, anymore than he could
shoot himself.  He didn't have the nerve.  Some people called it a will
to survive, but he knew it by its real name. Fear.  And it was choking
him now, making it feel as though there was a battlestar resting on his
chest, as he shakily raised his weapon once again while the drone of his
mortal enemies drew ever closer...
     "Recalibrate."
     "By-your-command."
     Starbuck moaned, shaking his head at the obvious reference.  "He
told you..." he whined.  The name.  What had his parents been thinking? 
His stomach pitched again, no doubt in empathy.  "Ohhhh..."
     "I think it's sweet." Luana grinned, her eyes twinkling with
mischief, as she looked over at Chameleon.  "Solarus.  The ancient
Kobolian sun god." She chuckled at Starbuck's look of dismay.  
     "Prince Solarus of the Empyrean Imperial Family," Ama inserted with
a wry grin, chuckling when he started heaving again.  "Is it really that
bad?"
     "First a Colonial Warrior, and now a prince.  And all of it on the
level." Chameleon murmured, his voice thick with emotion, despite his
teasing words.  "You're doing alright, son, considering your humble
beginnings in Umbra..."    
     "Refine-the-scan.  We are getting closer."
     "By-your-command."

---------
 
     Baltar smothered a smile as he walked side by side with Malus, down
the aisle created by the Cylon honour guard that Commander Mendax had
organized.  Luana followed dutifully behind them, her face as
expressionless as his own.  In his experience, it was always interesting
and very often entertaining, to observe two IL Cylons together.  There
seemed to be a natural rivalry and antagonism, traits that were more
characteristically Human than naturally Cylon.  He couldn't help but
think about Lucifer's dislike, distrust, and jealousy when they had come
across the "older model" and commander of the Atilla garrison, Spectre. 
It fleetingly made him wonder what had become of his former Cylon
sidekick, and if he had indeed been destroyed over Planet 'P'.
     Then he spotted Commander Dayton standing off to one side, a red
garment in his hands waving back and forth to get his attention.  Baltar
glanced around briefly, looking for the missing Starbuck, before
returning his attention to Dayton.  The Earthman was frowning at him,
raising his fingers to his temples, and briefly rubbing them furiously,
while he rolled his eyes, and made hideous faces.  His first thought was
that Dayton was mocking him.  His next...either Starbuck was currently
being brain probed, or Dayton had lost it.
     Possibly all three.
     "Admiral Malus. Commander Baltar." Mendax bowed as they approached.
"It is an honour to receive you." 
     The IL was unclad, like Malus, and it occurred to Baltar that for
some reason Dayton had been put in trust of his robe.
     "Commander Mendax," Malus returned, taking a long moment to look
around the bay. "I greet you in the name of our Imperious Leader."  At
the mention of the Cylon ruler, Baltar and Luana bowed their heads
momentarily. "I should like a tour of your ship, ending in an inspection
of your troops.  Have them congregate in your Alpha Bay."
     Mendax seemed to bristle, as Lucifer used to, when he was receiving
an order he didn't want to obey.  "This may not be the best time for an
inspection, Admiral..." he began.
     "Well, since you're rather overdue for reporting in, Commander, I
can't think of a better time," Malus returned indignantly.
     "It appears as though the Harbinger sustained considerable damage,"
Baltar inserted, not even addressing the fact that Mendax had to be
dubious, to say the least, of this professed alliance between the Cylons
and Colonials.  However, Malus was prepared for that.  Rather
impressively, actually.  "How long have you been grounded here, Commander
Mendax?"
     "Ten yahrens, Commander Baltar," Mendax returned.
     "And you haven't managed to get her off the ground yet?" Malus
replied caustically.  "Why ever not?"  The lights in his head sped up, as
if making note of it.
     "Resources are limited, Admiral," Mendax replied. "Some metal ores
we needed were in short supply, here.  But since you mention it, we are
almost ready to lift off." 
     "Really?  How impressive," Baltar replied with an approving nod,
while internally wincing.  Thankfully, Apollo been prepared for that
eventuality.   "We noticed that there's apparently an established society
here." He glanced at Dayton.  "Is he one of the locals?"
     "Yes." Nothing more.
     Baltar nodded, finding it strangely energizing to be on the "right
side".  Not that turning against the Colonials hadn't occurred to
him...but then that witch's words from sectars ago had come back to him. 
While your path to redemption may have begun on the planet, your reward
will not come until the hereafter.  But only if you continue your quest. 
 Could a separate dimension apart from their own be considered the
hereafter?  It made a certain kind of sense...at least to a bureautician. 
"How progressive.  I admit that I thought you would still be
exterminating humanoids as per the Edict from your time."
     Mendax's lights sped up calculatingly before replying.  "You must
tell me more about this...Armistice.  It is difficult to...correlate."
     "Yes, I imagine it is," Baltar sympathized.  "But when the Board
first attacked the Twelve Colonies of Man, and then simultaneously the
Cylon Empire, the only possible solution was for two ancient enemies to
find common ground to overcome the most deadly foe known to either
Mankind or Cylonkind."
     Malus turned then to consider Baltar.  It left the man with the
impression he had somehow messed up his role as "good cop" to Malus' "bad
cop"...the way that Baker had illustrated it when they had expounded on
the IL's original idea.  Actually, the amount of Earth elements used to
pull off this plan was significant.
     "The Board?" Mendax asked sceptically.  "What is this Board?"
     Malus then turned to address the IL.  "Not 'Board', Commander
Mendax.  Apparently you need your auditory receptors replaced.  They are
the Borg."

Chapter Seventeen

 
     Dayton had done his best at keeping quiet and unassuming, well other
than to try to communicate to the others that Starbuck was having his
brain virtually dissected by the Cylons.  He was also unsure of whether
to laugh or spit.  Here he was, aboard a ship full of cybernetics
constructs that had the capability to destroy this planet and every
living Angylion on it, and Malus was role-playing out of Star Trek:  The
Next Generation. 
     Great. First I'm Captain Kirk, now I get to be Picard.  Only it's
Starbuck that's getting assimilated!
    Surrounded by seemingly endless Cylons, he could hopefully fade into
the background when and if needs be. Still, it was hard to go completely
unnoticed when you were over six feet tall, dashingly good-looking, and
carrying a shimmering red cape that would have Liberace panting in
ecstasy.  If only he could sneak inside the Hybrid Raider, then he could
at least arm himself and try to knock out the mega pulsar, then get back
to Starbuck.  After all, with most of the surviving centurions being
summoned for inspection-a brilliant plan that he'd have to commend Neon
Noggin on-the way around the Base Ship would be relatively clear and
easy.  However, it was not to be. When the time came to leave the landing
bay, Mendax still insisted that he tag along, leaving Dayton wondering if
Mendax was really as buffaloed as they'd hoped, or was still suspicious. 
Suspicion and downright paranoia seemed to be common with these IL guys,
from everything he'd studied.  Even if the IL was snowed, he decided that
if he heard, "Dayton.  Come, and bring my cloak" one more time, he'd make
the IL eat the ragged cloth.
     Irritatingly, he found himself standing in the hatchway of the
Control Centre while Malus prepared to brief the Cylons on the Borg.  The
inspiring idea had Baker's signature all over it.  Dayton was looking for
an opportunity to slip away unnoticed when Luana passed him by.  Smooth
as silk, a cold metal gun butt was slipped into his hand, swiftly hidden
beneath the red cloak. Suddenly, being relegated to Mendax's manservant
had taken a new turn. To the princess' credit, she didn't even
acknowledge him as she passed by, the holster on her left hip now
empty...and he hadn't even noticed until now that she had been wearing
two guns, so amazed he was to see them.
     "The Borg are genetically and cybernetically modified humanoids,"
Malus began to explain. "They function as a collective made up of
thousands of species, from across both the universe we know, and
transdimensionally, who have been assimilated into a single hive-mind. 
In their collective state, the Borg are utterly without mercy, or
fear...driven by one will alone: the will to conquer.  They are beyond
redemption...beyond reason."  
     Without even asking for consent, the IL plugged in the smallest
digit on his right hand, interfacing with the Harbinger's mainframe. 
Dayton hid a triumphant grin, wondering what else the IL would be doing
while plugged into the Harbinger's systems.  The devious bugger could
rewrite access codes, deactivate weapons, and cause all kinds of chaos. 
It gave him a new respect for the turncoat Cylon...and made him glad
Malus was on his side.  
     On screen, a cube-like ship appeared, with no apparent propulsion
system. A moment later, the image shifted to that of grotesque humanoids. 
Their skin tone resembled that of a human corpse of several days vintage,
and various electronic modifications were apparent plugging into their
skulls and bodies. An eerie sound bite started as further holoptics of
the Beings were displayed on screen. Dayton recognized them as being from
the Borg Documentary that they had recovered from the Endeavour.
Actually, even Malus' words seemed reminiscent of the Sci-fi documentary,
but that last statement was definitely a quote from Captain Jean-Luc
Picard.
     "We are the Borg.  Lower you shields and surrender your ships. You
will be assimilated. We will add your biological and technological
distinctiveness to our own.  Your culture will adapt to service us. 
Resistance is futile."  
     "The main goal of the Borg, Commander Mendax, is to perfect
themselves by consuming and assimilating technology," Baltar continued.
"They accomplish this task by conquering other races, assimilating both
the species and its technology. However, they only attempt to assimilate
those species and technologies which they consider relevant, that is,
advanced enough to be of use to their goal for technological perfection."

     "And they still attacked Humans, Commander?" Mendax asked, somewhat
sarcastically.
     "And Cylons alike, Commander," Baltar replied diplomatically,
turning to Luana.  "Lieutenant."
     "Sir," Luana acknowledged.  "The Borg can function in environments
normally harmful to organic life-forms, such as excessively high or low
gravity planets, toxic atmospheres, and even the vacuum of space."  She
stepped forward, indicating the continuing holoptics. "As you can
imagine, this provides them with a huge advantage in battle, as it allows
them to both repair their own ships and sabotage ours, often
simultaneously.  Another advantage that the Borg have in battle is that
the have a collective consciousness that allows for both almost
infinitely accelerated computational power, but also virtually
instantaneous adaptations to both shield and laser frequency
modulations."  
     Dayton leaned closer, shaking his head in amazement while the Cylon
commander watched a number of Borg drones take repeated hits from both
Colonial and Cylon infantry weapons.  One drone fell, sparking and
smoking, followed by another.  Then, each and every one seemed to field a
force screen, brushing aside subsequent shots like blows from a feather. 
As they advanced, both "human" and "Cylon" soldiers went down before
their firepower.  The "Cylons" were rendered smoking junk, the "humans"
were pierced by needles, beginning the process of assimilation into the
Borg Collective.  Dayton wasn't sure how they'd pieced the presentation
together so quickly and realistically, but it sure as hell looked
convincing to him.    
     "As you can see, after a few shots, the Borg adapt, rendering
standard-issue assault weapons useless," Lu continued with a frown.  "It
gives them an ability for quick adaptation, which protects both Borg
drones and their ships from sustaining most major forms of damage during
battle."
     New images came up.  Pieces of shattered space vehicles and
destroyed hulks littered the region around a star, floating aimlessly in
the void.  Dayton recognized the scene, suitably altered.  Along with
Trek ships, there were suitably generated "pieces" of Battlestars, Base
Ships, and various other military craft, human and Cylon, in various
stages of obliteration.  What remained of a Viper drifted by, along with
bits of a destroyed Raider. 
     "An entire fleet destroyed?" asked Mendax, openly shocked. "Full
Base Ships?  But how?"
     "Their weapons are almost unstoppable," replied Baltar. "This battle
took place almost nine yahrens ago, near Pineas Prime.  A single Borg
cube was met by a task force of a full score of Allied vessels.  You can
see the results for yourself, Commander."
     "But how?" asked Mendax again, a trace of anger seeping into his
voice. "Even Colonial Battlestars are not so easily overcome."
     "By capturing and assimilating some of our own," said Malus.
     "They...collaborated?"
     "They were assimilated," corrected Baltar.  "Once done, they had no
choice."  Next to image of "Picard", Malus put up the image of another IL
Series Cylon.  Baltar could barely contain the delicious irony of using
the image of Lucifer, his one-time aide and annoyance, fitted with
numerous Borg "attachments".  
     "One of us?" said Mendax, taking a step closer to the screen.
     "No longer," said Malus. "Once Commander Lucifer was integrated into
the Borg Collective, all he knew became a part of them.  They used his
knowledge, as well as that of the human you see here, to overcome every
defence the task force possessed."
     "And this...human?"
     "A Commander...Picard, as I recall?"
     "Yes, sir," replied Lu. "Originally of the...uh, Federation, if
memory serves."
     "They sound almost...indestructible," Mendax ventured.  He sounded
worried.
     "It certainly seemed so upon first contact," said Lu, her features
tight and controlled as her missing husband obviously preyed upon her
mind, which lent to the believability of her performance.  "And when any
Being is assimilated, human or Cylon, everything it knows, every memory,
every bit of data, is instantly known to the entire Borg Collective." 
     "Which is why the Cylons and humans were forced to unite against
them," Malus replied.  "They are patently the most malevolent and
relentless force in the entire Star System.  Can you imagine any other
scenario where two races bent on each other's destruction for a
millennium would agree to a cessation of hostilities, and form an
alliance?"  Malus made a noise that sounded like a snort.  "I cannot."
     "This alliance..." Mendax began.
     "Pay attention, Mendax," Malus "sighed", as an entirely new series
of images crossed the screen.  It was original footage of the Armistice
unfolding in Caprica City, before the Cylons had attacked.  Artfully
edited into that were archival holoptics and what had to be computer
generated images that gave every appearance that the Cylons and Colonials
were celebrating their newfound alliance.  It made Dayton wonder if Malus
had an infinite amount of those kinds of files saved in his memory banks,
and while he knew of the IL's obsession with humans, in particular
Starbuck, he hadn't known Malus had seen or digitally stored any Earth
movies or documentaries.  "We expect the Borg to appear in this quadrant,
and despite your ineptitude and obvious lack of decorum and respect,
which I shall be mentioning to the Imperious Leader in my report, we have
still decided to come to your assistance.  We need you and your troops,
Commander.  The Alliance needs you."  Malus made it sound
so...desperately heroic.  "Even one Allied ship taken by the Borg would
be one too many. And the data you have collected on this entire region of
space would be invaluable to the Borg, Commander.  Indeed, the key to
their victory, or ours, may lie in your data banks."
    "And the race of humanoids that you are protecting must also be
considered," Baltar added.
     "Protecting..." Mendax murmured, his lights blinking rapidly as he
looked at Dayton.  "Dayton, go about your duties.  Report back to me when
my cloak has been  repaired to my satisfaction."
     "Yes, my Lord Hemorrhoid," Dayton nodded, slipping out through the
hatch, counting his blessings that Baltar had given him the chance to get
out from under Mendax's watchful electronic eye.  The Cylon IL would not
want Admiral Malus and Commander Baltar catching wind of the fact that
they were presently brain probing one of the humanoids that they were
apparently "protecting".  It was definitely time to get the manservant
out of sight.  He hesitated just outside the Control Centre, getting his
bearings.  Mega Pulsar or Starbuck...?
     He thought furiously, going back to his earliest days in the
service, and the missions he and been on.  The Mission.  Complete the
mission objective!  People fall in war.  You cannot allow yourself to be
distracted by personal feelings.  The enemy must be neutralized to the
fullest extent possible.  Complete the mission!
     But thirty years in a hellhole, with only his friends to keep him
sane had a way of altering a guy's perceptions...messing with his
priorities...
     "Okay," he breathed, and began to move.
     "How exactly will you assist us, Admiral?" Mendax was asking.
     "The Harrower will be joining us shortly, so we should proceed to
Alpha Bay for the inspection of your troops," Malus informed him, waving
a limb towards the hatch.  "Our Base Ship is armed with the only thing we
have developed so far that can defeat the Borg."
     "And what is that?"
     "The Microsoft OS."   

----------

     "Well?" Lia asked, crammed up against the colonel in the tiny
storage compartment beneath the deck of the Hybrid fighter.  There was a
time when she would have wished for just such a situation, having had
quite a crush on Apollo.  His gentle nature, his subtle charisma, his
instinctive need to watch over others...and all in such an attractive
package.  However, it hadn't taken her long to realize that the warrior's
heart belonged to Sheba, and that she was just another cadet that he was
paying a little extra attention to because she had become the unofficial
charge of his best friend.  Then, after a long time of committing herself
solely to her career, she had realized that love came in many packages,
and would appear when you least expected it.  Thus began her relationship
with Jolly. "Colonel?" she prompted him again, as he adjusted a dial on
the optical display that was relaying the surveillance feed from the
scanners in the Hybrid's cockpit.  She spared a thought for her
godmother, wondering what was happening in the Angylion Holy Sanctum,
before returning her attention to the job at hand.  Ama could take care
of herself.
     "They're gone," Apollo whispered in reply.
     Neither of them had been surprised that a pair of centurions had
boarded and examined the interior of their fighter.  In this instance,
the modifications made to the Hybrid Raiders, combining both Colonial and
Cylon technology, ironically substantiated their story of an Alliance.
     Lia nodded as Apollo did a final sweep, then set down the scanner,
undoing the hatch that locked them into their hiding place.  Tentatively,
he lifted the cover, cautiously peeking out before slowly swinging the
hatch open wide.   She nimbly climbed out past him, pausing to lean down
and offer him a hand up.  
     He frowned at it, and she couldn't hide the smile when he shook his
head and cumbersomely, yet determinedly, climbed up out of the hold under
his own steam, despite cramped limbs.  He glanced at her, frowning.
     "What?" he asked.
     "Nothing," she replied, crossing to look out through the port. 
"Looks quiet out there.  I can't see any centurions."
     "Even when Starbuck and I landed on that Base Star last yahren, the
landing bay was almost completely empty of centurions after they had
disembarked from their fighters. We didn't even see any maintenance
crew."
     "Well, I guess we're about to find out if they're consistent," Lia
remarked, heading for the outer hatch and ladder.  For whatever reason,
the inspecting centurions had left the hatch open, reducing any potential
noise upon deplaning.  "Thoughtful of them," she quipped, gesturing
towards the hatch.
     Apollo nodded.  "Well, if Malus' plan worked, they should all be
gathering in Alpha Bay," he told her, then lightly touched her arm. 
"I'll go first."
     "Right behind you," she replied, pulling her weapon.
     A moment later she saw he was on the deck, squatting low, minimizing
himself as a target, and sweeping the landing bay with his weapon.  In a
micron she had joined him.  So far, so good.  No Cylons.  He nodded at
her again, a mysterious smile playing on his lips.  She decided she'd
have to ask him about it later, as they headed for the Central Core.  
     It was an incredible advantage coming from an almost exact replica
of this ship, considering they'd made some necessary modifications for
conditions suiting humans.  They scaled the ladder confidently, knowing
which level to get off on, and where to go to find the Mega Pulsar's
projection matrix and power control systems.  It was almost too easy, as
they slunk down the deserted corridors before finally reaching their
destination.
     "Clear," reported Lia, scanning the area.
     Once again, Apollo led the way, staying low as he paused at the
controlled hatchway.  "Let's hope this works," he murmured to Lia,
punching in an override access code that Malus should have inputted by
now, if he'd interfaced with the mainframe as planned.  He held his
breath for the brief instant it took for the hatch to thunk open.  A
moment later they entered the control station for the immense weapon,
bursting through, prepared to do battle.  
     "Clear," Lia said again in disbelief, finding the room unguarded.  
     "How about that," Apollo murmured, closing the hatch behind them,
and taking a moment to get his bearings.    
     However, "clear" didn't last long.  No sooner had they entered, and
the hatchway sealed, then another loud thunk at the hatch indicated the
arrival of centurions. 
     "Triquetra's Trousers..." cursed Lia.
     Apollo grabbed her, pulling her back into a recessed ladderwell in
the bulkhead.   Microns later, both centurions entered the room behind
them, and moved to their positions.  Apollo signalled to Lia, staying out
of sight as he raised his weapon.
     And none too soon. One centurion turned, and saw them. Before it
could draw its own weapon, it had called out to the other.
     Lia blasted away, hitting the centurion directly in the chest. 
There was no margin for error in here.  Any collateral damage could be
detected in the Control Centre.  The other fell a few microns later,
belching smoke and sparks.
     "Must have been change of watch," said Lia, as together they pulled
one centurion from the seat at the controls, dumping it behind the energy
exchange pump.  Apollo followed with the other.   She seated herself at
the panel, and began studying the controls. "Okay, now how do we...?"
     "Like this," said Apollo. He leaned over her, pressing several
controls.  A schematic came up on a screen.  He pointed out the vital
system. "We sabotage the energy exchange pump.  When they try to fire,
and the feedback will overload the whole weapon.  It'll blow itself to
Hades hole."
     "Works for me.  So what...?"
     "Upper-pulsar-station," came a voice, suddenly, over the intercom.
"Auxiliary-power-test-in-three-centons.  Acknowledge."
     "Apollo?"
     "Frack..."
     "Upper-pulsar-station, acknowledge."  

---------

     Dayton paused in indecision, looking down the corridor that would
take him back to the Brig and then up the ladderwell that would end at
the station for the Mega Pulsar.  His first priority should be destroying
that pulsar...then again, Malus would be planning and scheming with that
in mind, as well.  Besides, even though he hadn't seen Apollo, it wasn't
like his executive officer to sit back and let a princess, a traitor and
a reformed Cylon run this show.  Hell, he wouldn't!  No, Apollo had to be
somewhere on this ship.  That was most likely why Malus had demanded an
inspection of the Cylon troops, to clear the way for the colonel to get
to the terrifying energy weapon.
     That decided, he headed for the Brig.
     The corridors were mostly empty, and he had to remind himself that
Mendax had cleared him to be wandering the Base Ship, presumably in
search of needle and thread.  He almost laughed at the thought of mending
tools aboard a Base Ship, but instead took a deep breath, steadying his
nerves, and trying to get back into character as a manservant...which was
difficult with his right hand wrapped around the butt of his Colonial
weapon, hidden beneath the cloak.
     As he reached the Brig, he faltered, as the hatch opened and he
found himself face to face with a centurion.  Within he could hear
Mendax's voice through the comm, "Very well.  Take the prince to
his...quarters.  I will examine the scan later.  I will be in Alpha Bay
for the inspection.  Report there as soon as the prince is...recovered."
     "By-your-command," came the reply.
     Two centurions, minimal. Right.
     "Hi there," Dayton smiled tremulously up at the Cylon that emerged
from the hatch. "Commander Mendax told me to fix his cloak," he raised
his arm slightly in illustration, and hastily continued.  "But I think I
dropped my Singer serger back here. You know, the one with the treadle on
it?  And, well...that will never do." He peered into the Brig past the
centurion.  Starbuck was still strapped into that chair, but appeared
unconscious.  The Cylon probe was rising up slowly, obviously just having
finished sucking whatever images it could out of the young man's brain. 
Dayton could feel his guts knotting up when he caught sight of the pale
warrior, his hair plastered to his head with sweat.  Thankfully, he could
see the steady rise and fall of his chest.
     "Singer-serger-does-not-compute," the centurion replied, as Dayton
squeezed past him. "Treadle-does-not-compute."
     "Well, don't bust a bobbin, bub," Dayton replied, stepping into the
room.  Yeah, there were two walking garbage cans guarding one restrained
and unconscious Colonial Warrior.  A little unfair.  "It's around here
somewhere, I'm sure of it.  I never leave home without my trusty sewing
machine, although it can get a little cumbersome sometimes." He made a
show of looking around.  "My vision's not what it used to be, too much
squinting when I thread my needles...can you see it?"
     "There-is-nothing-that..."
     The hatch clicked shut as the centurion stepped inside again, and
Dayton pivoted, firing his weapon point-blank into one centurion, and a
split second later, the other.  Both staggered on the spot, as sparks and
smoke shot out of them.  One toppled towards him, and he leapt out of the
way.  The other fell back against Starbuck's chair, not even shifting the
seat bolted down, before it crumpled to the deck.

---------

     Apollo felt like a fool, glancing again at Lia, trying to think of
another way.  Any other way. "I don't believe this."
     "Do it!" she growled, a fierce intensity in her brown eyes.  The
Command Centre had been waiting for a reply for almost the full thirty
microns that they had been arguing about this.
     Just like when you were a kid...
     Apollo pressed against his throat, speaking into the comm, and a
natural vibrato that almost sounded convincing to his ears was
transmitted.  "This-is-upper-pulsar-station. 
Acknowledging-power-test-in-three-centons."
     The resulting pause seemed eternal.
     "Received."
     He let out a breath of relief, glancing at her gleeful smile.  As
usual with Lia, it was infectious.  "How did you even think of that?"
     "Baltar," she replied with a smirk.  "He does actually come in
handy, sometimes. Now let's booby-trap this baby, and get out of here."
     "You can say that again."
     "Let's booby-trap this baby..."
     
---------
          
     Enslaved trolls, Doublewalkers, sorcery, Cylons in another
dimension, a heroic Baltar, a mystical duel between Ama and Count Iblis,
and a transformed race of Angylions that looked like angels out of his
mother's old Book Of The Word...and that was before the fabricated
"Alliance" and the attack of the "Borg".  It was so completely absurd
that even Commander Cain was seemingly struck dumb, shaking his head as
he paced, while Baker, Jolly and Dietra finished their debriefing.  
     "Either Commander Mark Dayton is completely mad...or he's the most
daring and brilliant tactician this side of the Cosmora Archipelago,"
Cain decided.
     "Oh, he's mad," Baker shrugged, then added more seriously, "But I
have to give credit where it's due. Malus thought of most of this when
Dayton and Starbuck were taken captive.  The rest of us had some input,
including Baltar, but the gist of the plan came from our own Mal." He
grinned at Porter.  "That walking/talking mainframe is coming along
nicely."
     "That he is," Porter agreed.
     "Hmm," Cain grunted, considering one final option.  His implant had
blown all its circuits, and he was really in a mental asylum.  Well, if
that was the case, it was best to play along...He glanced at Sheba. She
had squeezed her way into the Endeavour's War Room not long after the
meeting had started.  Evidently, she had thought she would have more luck
finding Boxey herself, and had flown over from the Pegasus to do just
that.  "Did you find the boy?" he asked her.
     "Not yet," she shook her head, returning her attention to the
others.  "This story is bizarre.  And I definitely don't like the idea of
Count Iblis being down there, anywhere near Apollo." She shuddered
visibly, wrapping her arms around her.
     "It's bad sci-fi meets even worse fantasy," Baker replied.  "Apollo
wants us approaching this as though we're about to help defend the
Harbinger against the Borg.  We're coming to her rescue, after all. And,
until our people are off that ship, that's the scenario we're going
with."
     "The timing is crucial," Dietra added, glancing at her chrono.  "We
need to get back."
     "I'm going to need you in the Control Centre as my Borg specialist,
Baker," Dorado told him.  "I haven't seen Starbuck: The Next Generation."
     "Freudian slip, Captain?" Baker chuckled.  "That's Star Trek."  
     "Right," Dorado winced, shaking his head slightly, rubbing at the
throbbing behind his artificial eye.  Lords, whatever happened to the
simple life? Flying a Viper, blasting Cylons, quaffing ambrosa with his
buddies? Huh? What happened?  "Okay everybody, let's get ready to...uh,
energize."
     "Aye, Cap'n!" Baker put on the brogue, turning to head for the
Control Centre.  "I'll just go check on the dilithium crystals!"
     "Dilithium...?"
     "It's a Trek thing," Porter shrugged in way of explanation, before
following.  
     Dorado nodded, before turning to the Juggernaut.  "Commander Cain,
can I escort you to the launch bay, sir?" he asked, as the others filed
out.  He didn't miss Cain's look of surprise and annoyance.  
     "Captain, you know that I can assume command of this vessel at any
time based on your rank, and especially your inexperience," Cain warned
him.  It looked as though he was seriously considering it.
     "Commander Cain, I'm about to take a ship that even our enemies know
should have been decommissioned a hundred yahrens ago into another
dimension using a science that I don't even truthfully understand,"
Dorado returned.  "I'm not even sure if the Endeavour will hold together,
sir.  However, what I do know is that as both a military leader and icon,
you are too important to our people to risk sacrificing on a mission that
hinges on a plan put together and executed by a reformed Cylon as well
the most notorious traitor of our time."
     "Of all time, Captain," Cain snorted, considering the cybernetically
enhanced warrior before him that had once been an able and talented young
officer aboard the Pegasus, back when Sagan wore sandals. "Son, I was
blowing smoke at superior officers when you were still in swaddling
clothes..."
     "Commander," Dorado cut in, his voice surprisingly brittle.  "I need
this chance...no, I deserve this chance to prove to you..." He paused,
sucking in a breath and rubbing at his prosthetic eye, and then glancing
back at Sheba who had paused behind him. Having a grace her father often
lacked, she began backing out of the room. Lords, she understands!
"Strike that, sir.  I have to prove to myself...that I can do this." He
drew himself erect, meeting Cain's penetrating stare. "Sir."
     Cain narrowed his eyes, looking the young man up and down
appraisingly. Dorado had lost an eye, an arm, both his legs, and what
else down on that planet?  He was rebuilding his career and his life. 
Well, after his own cranial implant and enough medical leave to make Cain
sick, it struck just a little too close to home..."Can you?  Can you do
it?"
     "Damn right. Sir," Dorado replied softly.
     "I can't hear you, Captain..." the Juggernaut replied.
     "Damn right, Sir!" Dorado returned sharply, snapping to attention.
     Cain nodded. "Then get your astrum to your Command Centre, son.  I
can see myself off."
     "Thank you, Sir," Dorado nodded.
     "Just don't make me regret it."
     "I won't," Dorado replied, now heading down the corridor with a
spring in his step...which was feasible considering his new "bionic"
legs, as the Earthmen called them.
     "Dorado!" Sheba hollered after him, suddenly there again.  She'd
been waiting.
     "Yo?" he turned.
     "I want to come with you!  I haven't found Boxey!  If I let anything
happen to Apollo's son..." she shook her head, her features tight with
worry.  They both looked to Cain. Wordlessly, he nodded.
     "Welcome aboard, Captain!" Dorado called back to her, before heading
for the Control Centre as quickly as he could.

----------

     Trapped within Iblis' domain-the darkness, the terrifying blackness
that was his soul-the energy was so intense and raw that Ama
involuntarily cried out as it pummelled her.  Not only did it flow around
her, it penetrated her existence like a storm, threatening to tear her
apart.  Still, she had to submit to this, at least for now.  She had to
give him a chance, if only for the sake of her mother.  However, as her
strength waned, in the far recesses of conscious thought, she could
detect Iblis.  Watching.  Waiting.  Assessing.
     Like a crawlon.
     In that instant she knew that he was her birth father only.  Any
trace of the man that Arion had once been was gone.  There was no hope
for this creature of darkness that would attack his own child so
mercilessly and cruelly.  
     The truth, however painful, grounded her.
     "Oh Holy Mother, lend me your strength..." she cried, lifting her
hands upwards, seeking Triquetra's guidance...her presence.  She could
feel a familiar tingling in her fingertips, and she focussed intently,
feeling her own powers swell as her goddess listened to her plea.
     Iblis laughed derisively, and the sound penetrated her body and
soul.  Instead of deflecting it, she instead embraced it.  Energy was
vitality, no matter its source.  One only needed to know how to
manipulate it.
     "There is no goddess Triquetra," the scornful words penetrated her
like spears.  "There is none but me! Ridiculous child!  Impertinent
whelp!  You are alone!  You are mine!"
     "I belong to my children, my people!" she hollered back at him, as
her life force surrounded her, basking her in an invigorating radiance,
as she refuted his lies.  "I might have been yours, had you acknowledged
me before now, Iblis.  Had you stayed with us, my mother and I.  But not
now," she avowed.  Then she smiled triumphantly.  "Now...since you
invited me in, Evil One..."
     "Evil One..." he breathed in contempt.
     With a deep breath her powers expanded, until it felt as though she
could embrace the entire universe from within Iblis' soul.  Triquetra,
Annica, and surely the Beings of Light had to be with her now, all
lending their limitless powers to her cause.  She could hear Iblis' roar
of rage, as she delved into his consciousness, and images raced through
her mind.
     A youngster, curious and rebellious, he had ignored the limitations
put on him by the Guardians of the universe.  It seemed preposterous,
having the ability to wander the universe at will, being perceived by
inferior Beings as a god, and to not interact with them!  Iblis had not
been content to observe, but had instead found a simple pleasure in
interfering and influencing, breaking the laws that the Elders had
implemented upon their own kind eons ago.  Actually, breaking their
ridiculous rules was as rewarding as being idolized, or feared, by
mere...peons, depending how his mood struck him.  Watching the universe
unfold before him was becoming mundane and tiresome, and better suited
for more intellectually inferior and insipid creatures.  He would rather
leave a mark on the moulding of the galaxy, playing with planets, suns,
entire solar systems, manipulating the development of entire races,
societies, empires.  Then, he had discovered a race that was easily
seduced by his lies.  Man.  Yet, for all their weaknesses and frailties,
ironically, Mankind came eventually to distrust him, considering him
evil, and turning away from him.  Moving on, he manipulated a quarrelsome
and aggressive Reptilian race to build a cybernetic army, which
eventually consumed them.  Then for his further amusement, he turned them
on the humans that had grown to despise him, ungenerously characterising
him as Diabolis.
     At that point, the Guardians had searched for him, seeking to punish
him, and to diminish his powers.  That was when he'd found the sleepy
little planet known as Empyrean.  There he had lived as a mere man, lying
low, and against all odds, finding love with a gentle and beautiful
creature called Annica.  It was a pleasant diversion while it had lasted. 
His time with her was something he treasured, but after several yahrens
he grew bored with the tedium of a daily routine on a backwater planet. 
He began to disappear for short periods, stretching his powers once
again, and exploring the universe.  Annica hadn't been content with the
change in their relationship, not accepting his sketchy explanations, and
demanding what he could not give.  
     All of him.
     She began to pray to her goddess, seeking answers.  Her pleas were
heard, but by the Guardians of Light.  Through Annica's pleading-her
betrayal-they found him, removing him from Empyrean, and exiling him from
contact with impressionable and malleable Beings. 
     They were gullible enough to think he would actually obey...
     "NO!" Iblis roared, repelling Ama's invasion.  
     Abruptly, the images of his life disappeared, as though a black
curtain had fallen over them.  She could feel his power clashing against
her own.  A roar filled her ears, but she refocused, reaching
further...gathering the forces of light and truth within her...seeking
answers that he tried to shield from her...a little bit further...there
was something more that she knew she had to see...their very survival
might depend upon it. 

---------

     "Okay, get me a fix. Where in Hades half hectare are we?" Dorado
called out as he blinked to clear his vision. The scanners were still
coming back on-line after their trip between dimensions, and the gravity
was having hiccoughs.  Frack!  So were the rest of them after feeling as
though they had been strapped naked to a Viper and launched at full
turbos!  Most of his face was still somewhere behind his ears, and he was
sure he'd left his breakfast somewhere on the interdimensional highway...
     "We're...somewhere...sir..." Sagaris muttered in confusion.  "I
don't have a reference point, Captain."
     "Somewhere," Dorado repeated.  "Great.  Just great." He drew in a
deep breath, letting it out as Sheba stood up unsteadily beside him.  He
reached out an arm to steady her.  "Okay, reset the navigational
reference point to indicate Alpha Zero, Cadet.  Just like in the sims we
do in class.  We'll start again."
     "Yes, sir," responded the other, moving as if he were at least a
hundred. 
     "Sometime before my nap, Sagaris," Dorado reminded him after another
moment.
     "Aye, Captain," the cadet replied, trying to pick up the pace. 
After a few moments, his reset board began to give data on the
surrounding region of space.  Navigational references, physical data, the
works. He smiled.  "We are in a new solar system, sir. Single sun, Class
Gamma-Three. And..."   Click, click.  "I'm picking up a planet, Beta ten
mark four. Range...sixteen point six million kilometrons."
     "Good man," Dorado smiled.  He turned to the helm, and ordered the
ship brought about, heading for the planet. Then, turning back to
Sagaris: "What've we got?"
     "Delta class, sir.  Mass point oh nine four of Caprica norm. 
Breathable atmosphere.  Compatible with Human life, and..."
     "My favourite," grinned Dorado. "What else?"
     "There's a big ole Base Ship down there, Captain!" Sagaris grinned,
putting the scans up for Dorado to see.  fter a few moments, the image of
a Base Ship on the surface grew clearer as they approached. "We've found
them!"
     "Never doubted we would for a centon," Dorado returned, shaking his
head at Baker.
     "Of course, you didn't," the Earthman returned. "Helm, ETA orbit
attitude?"
     "Orbit insertion in four centons, sir," replied the other.
     "All right, people. This is it," Dorado pointed to Pierus at
communications.
     "Showtime!" grinned Baker.

---------

     There had to be close to three hundred and fifty Cylon centurions in
here, all standing in perfectly straight rows, all rigidly at attention. 
Baltar continued to nod his approval, his hands clasped behind his back,
as he accompanied Malus and Mendax. A fine bead of sweat trickled down
his back.  It was time.
     "Let me see that, Centurion," Malus said, taking a Cylon Pulse Rifle
and looking at it closely.  "It isn't fully charged." He glanced at
Mendax.  "Is it not procedure to fully recharge all pulse rifles?"
     "Of late, we've been diverting our energy elsewhere to get our
systems up and running, while we prepare to lift off," Mendax explained. 
"And with our...ahem, good neighbour policy with the locals, maintaining
fully charged weapons hasn't been a priority."
     "Reasonable," Baltar replied.  "I overheard you mention that you
have a member of their royalty aboard.  A prince, I believe."
     "Prince Llewelyn," Mendax nodded.  "Unfortunately, he was stricken
with some...malady, shortly after coming aboard, and is quite ill.  We
have been trying to do what we can with our limited medical knowledge of
their people to save him."
     "Will he survive?" Malus asked sharply.
     "I will be examining his medical scans shortly, to ascertain just
that," Mendax replied.
     "I...see..." Malus stuttered.
     "I'm sure they're doing all they can, Admiral," Baltar added, his
tone compassionate.
     "Are you, Baltar?" Malus replied flatly.
     A centurion approached from the right, coming to a stop before them. 
"By-your-command."
     "Speak-Centurion," Baltar ordered, falling all too easily back into
his previous role.
     "The-Harrower-has-contacted-us-from-orbit."
     "Ah, they've arrived," Baltar nodded, his relief camouflaged behind
an unctuous smile.  "Very good." He looked at Malus.
     "And-an-army-of-Angylions-is-attacking," the Cylon continued.
     "Attacking what, Centurion?" Mendax asked.
     "Attacking-us."

---------

     "Kid!" Dayton said, discarding Mendax's smouldering cloak, and
quickly moving to Starbuck's side in the Brig.  He patted the warrior's
cheek, gently grabbing his face and studying him, making sure he was
okay...or at least as okay as you could be after being brain probed.  A
low groan escaped Starbuck's throat and his eyes flickered open,
unseeingly.  He gazed blankly at Dayton, blinking a few times, his
breathing suddenly ragged.
     "Easy, Caf‚ Ole," Dayton murmured, wincing at the bruises and
scrapes on Starbuck's wrists as he squatted down before him, while eying
the restraints that secured hands and feet.  The kid had been fighting. 
Dayton smiled.  From Starbuck he would expect no less. "Don't worry, I've
gotcha." 
     He studied the restraints that appeared to be part of the chair
itself.  The shackles were tight, and he couldn't open them.  From the
looks of the blinking box on the right arm of the unit, he could tell it
was some sort of centralized electronic lock.  Input the code, and it
would pop all four bands.  Well, he wasn't going to waste time searching
for either code or key.  He hefted his weapon again, and pressed the gun
against the control pad-Mendax's robe wrapped around it-and fired.  It
blew apart in a ball of sparks, and the shackles popped open.
     Abruptly, the warrior went rigid, then violently shoved against
Dayton, hurling him to the deck with a strangled, "NO!"
     What happened next might have been funny in any other circumstances,
as the young man bolted upward from the seat, unbeknownst to him, his
ankle snagged by one partially opened restraint.  He leapt forward, a
crazed look in his eyes, and then was stopped short, tumbling to the
deck.   Yeah...that first step was a doozie.  
     Dayton leapt towards Starbuck, quickly straddling him, and grabbing
his wrists as the warrior fought frantically in his grip, possibly caught
in some kind of flashback or waking nightmare.  Lord knew what was going
on in his mind, but he definitely wasn't in the here and now, as he
cursed a blue streak that would make a teamster blush.  
     "I don't know..." the young man snarled between clenched teeth,
bucking like a bronco, straining beneath Dayton's weight.  "I don't know
the...frackin' command code...you mong-eating piece of festering
felger..."
     "Starbuck!" the Earthman yelled, battling to just keep a grip on the
struggling warrior.  "It's me!  It's Dayton!  Listen to me!"  He leaned
down close enough to stare him in the eyes.  "Starbuck!" he hollered
again.
     Then, as if by some kind of miracle, awareness slowly entered the
strike captain's eyes.  His struggles gradually decreased in intensity,
and then ceased altogether as he gazed up at his commander, his breathing
rapid and shallow.  
     "Dayton...?" he rasped, licking dry lips, a slight tremor running
through him.  He clenched his hands into fists, as he looked around
uncertainly.  His eyes locked on to the Brain Probe for a long moment,
his jaw clenching tightly, before returning his attention to Dayton.
     "Yeah, it's me," Dayton returned softly, loosening his grip on the
pilot.  "How ya doin', kid?"
      Starbuck visibly struggled to compose himself, taking several more
moments, before replying shakily, "I'd be better if...if you'd get off of
me." He pasted a wan smile on his face.  "You could stand to miss a meal
or two, Old Man."
     "God, you sound like my sister!" Dayton sniffed in amusement,
climbing off the younger man.  "Well, you seem to be your contrary
self..." He put a hand down to help Starbuck up.
     Weirdly, Starbuck stared at the outstretched hand suspiciously, as
though it was something venomous waiting to strike.  
     "You want I should wash it?" Dayton quipped, raising an eyebrow.
     The answering smile wasn't one of Starbuck's best.  Reluctantly, the
captain gripped the hand, and was abruptly pulled to his feet.  He swayed
for a moment, paling, his eyes growing wide as he grasped at Dayton.
     "All right?" Dayton asked in concern, transferring his grip to
Starbuck's arm to support him.  He'd almost forgotten about the
concussion.
     "I'm...I'm fine." The younger man nodded dismissively, dropping his
gaze from his commanding officer and waving the hand off.  Then he looked
around at the fallen centurions, automatically relieving them of their
weapons.  "Not too bad," he murmured, hefting a rifle.
     "Not too bad," Dayton returned with a snort.  "You should have seen
it.  I told them I was looking for my sewing machine..." he grinned, but
then paused when he saw the look on Starbuck's face, as the warrior
hesitated before the control panel for the Brain Probe.  
     It was as though he was in a trance, standing staring at the
interrogation device.  He'd tuned Dayton completely out, that was for
sure.  Then Starbuck's eyes narrowed calculatingly as he regarded the
instrument they had just used on him, and then the dome that they had
lowered over him.  A slight shudder ran through him, and he drew another
deep breath, sucking it in noisily between his teeth.  If looks could
kill...
     "Starbuck?" Dayton asked, getting a bad feeling.
     Without even acknowledging the voice, Starbuck aimed the Cylon pulse
rifle at the control panel and fired, blowing a hole in it the size of a
centurion.  Dayton jumped back, covering his face as sparks lit the
machinery up like the Fourth of July, while smoke spewed into the room.  
     "What the hell are you doing?" Dayton roared.
     Aiming this time at the dome, Starbuck pulled the trigger again. 
Nothing happened.  With a look of disgust, he dropped the first weapon
and grabbed up the other pulse rifle, firing.  The dome burst into a
million fragments that flew across the room.
     Whooooooooooooop!  Whoooooooooooooop!  Whooooooooooooooop!
     "Shit!" Dayton yelled, as the alarm sounded.  He grabbed Starbuck by
the arm, giving him a rough shake.  "Who do you think you are!  Me?" He
pushed him towards the hatch.  "Let's go!"

Chapter Eighteen

     "Report, Centurion!" Mendax ordered as he entered the Command Centre
with Admiral Malus and Commander Baltar following closely behind.
     "By-your-command.  Communications-with-our-ground-forces-are-down. 
They-are-not-responding.  Attempts-at-engaging-batteries, negative.  
Failure-code-'error-access-denied'.  The-Angylion..."
     "Batteries?" Malus asked, seemingly aghast.  "You'd fire on
humanoids?"
     "Surely not!" Baltar added, as he joined in.  He placed a hand on
the lieutenant's arm.
     "It's against the treaty!" Luana added vehemently.  "You'll destroy
ten yahrens of peace!"
     "Only as a warning," Mendax hastily explained, immediately
suspicious that systems that had previously been functional were now
down.  Had Malus sabotaged his ship when he had interfaced with the
central computer system?  Was this alliance, that seemed too bizarre to
be true, some kind of ruse?  But why the elaborate hoax?  And why would
the IL, or for that matter any Cylon, be a party to it?  He had to
proceed cautiously..."Obviously, the Angylions have gone quite mad to
suddenly turn against us, their sworn protectors.  I suspect it must be
due to the religious rituals they have been demonstrating lately. 
Humanoids seem to become very unpredictable during such times.  I have
noticed unusual goings on at their so-called Holy Sanctum, atop the
mountain, but our attempts to investigate resulted in a missing
shuttlecraft and Raider.  Telemetry-analysis registered 'destruct' on the
fightercraft." He turned to the centurion at that station, adding,
"Attempt to reinitialise once again, Centurion."
     "Yes, humans are rather passionate Beings..." Malus had to agree.
     "Commander-Mendax, the-Angylion-prince-is-also-missing," the same
centurion added.  "A-fire-was-contained-and-extinguished-in-the..."
     "In his quarters?"  Mendax inserted quickly, his lights speeding up
as he tied in the absent Dayton with the prince's oh-so-timely escape. 
Obviously, they were connected.  "Find him, Centurion.  And locate the
manservant.  I rather suspect they'll be together."
     "And then bring them to the Command Centre," Malus added.  "In the
name of the Imperious Leader...I should very much like to meet this
Angylion prince."
     "And perhaps the manservant could mend my cloak," Baltar added with
a grin, swirling his own dark cloak dramatically.  
     "By-your-command," the centurion replied, reissuing the orders to
his subordinates.
     "Captain-Dorado-of-the-Harrower-standing-by," the centurion at the
comm reported.
     "Put him through," Baltar again intervened.
     "Go ahead, Centurion," Mendax nodded, when the Cylon hesitated. 
"And begin the final preparations for lift-off."
     "By-your-command."
     Dorado's image came up on screen.  "Commander Mendax, I have no time
to waste on pleasantries.  Koivee Outpost has reported Borg activity on
their long-range scanners, moving at very high speed, in our direction. 
The Borg are soon expected in this quadrant..
     "Koivee..." Mendax began to ask, not familiar with it.
     "Are Admiral Malus and Commander Baltar aboard?" Dorado sped ahead.
     "If you don't mind, Mendax," Malus pushed him aside. "We are,
Captain."
     "Your timing couldn't be better, Captain," Baltar nodded
approvingly.  "Especially with the Harbinger's batteries, so we have
discovered, not functional currently."
     "Commander," Dorado nodded, his features carefully composed as he
gazed on the traitor, who actually was offering tactical information that
could compromise the enemy.  Then the Harbinger's commander was back. 
"Commander Mendax, we must arm you with Microsoft OS as soon as
possible."  He glanced off screen, and then back again.  "We have a
shuttle of specialists and a squadron of fighters preparing to launch."
     "A squadron of fighters?" Mendax repeated.  "Isn't that a
little...excessive?"
     "If the Borg vessel energizes while you're unarmed, you'll be
helpless. You will be assimilated.  I'm trying to protect your ship, and
your crew as well, Commander."
     "My apologies, Captain Dorado," Mendax replied, diplomatically. 
"Until a centar ago, I thought that the Colonies and Cylon were still at
war.  Even with the delicate inroads that we've made with humanoids in
our own little corner of this dimension, it's difficult to comprehend..."

     "Of course, I think I understand," Dorado nodded, looking
off-monitor once again. "Get me a blade." 
     As Mendax waited, the 'Harrower' captain rolled up the sleeve of the
same dark uniform that Lieutenant Luana was wearing.  He then held up a
blade, and with a deliberate move, neatly sliced through his flesh at the
wrist, severing it circumferentially for the benefit of the vid-feed. 
His expression remained impartial as he started pushing back the very
human-looking flesh to reveal a cybernetic limb beneath.  The Harrower
officer was a Human-Cylon construct of some sort!  It was startling, and
yet it substantiated Malus' story more effectively than anything else he
had yet offered, other than the evidence of the modified Raider in their
landing bay.  Mendax's brain began flashing even faster, as he strove to
take all this in. 
     "Perhaps this will ease your cybernetic mind, Commander?"  Captain
Dorado smiled acerbically.   
     "It just might, Captain," the IL replied.  "We are preparing to take
off.  Direct your team to Landing Bay Alpha once we achieve orbit."
     "Aye, Commander.  We shall be ready for you.  Captain Dorado out." 

----------

     A drill boring through his brain, grinding through his skull, with
no way to stop it.  Ravaging, tearing away at his mind, revealing
everything, and there was no defence.  All his training, all his
experience, nothing could stop the onslaught of memories, good and bad,
from pummelling Starbuck, overwhelming him.  Jerked from one phase of his
life to the next, flipping through every pivotal event-even the ones he
had suppressed out of an instinct for survival-nothing could prevent the
Cylons from getting everything they wanted.  Every tiny fragment, every
particle of what he was...
     All that was left was self-loathing.  Disgust.  A burning anger.  
     He had thought that destroying the Brain Probe, blowing it to Hades
Hole, would somehow erase the black mark against him.  It would even the
score, set him on an even keel.  And yeah, it had felt good to see the
machine blown to bits, alongside his tormentors.  All reduced to smoking
chunks.  But...but, he had alerted the Cylons of his escape, putting both
himself and Dayton in further danger, eliminating any advantage that the
commander had gained them on this mission.  He'd screwed up royally.  He
had to set it right.  It was all his fault.  To find out after all this
time...his breath caught in his throat as it burned through his brain. 
All his fault...
     He poured on the speed, escaping the ringing in his ears and the
smell of smoke as he ran into the desolate night.  Had to find...tearing
through the brambles...he couldn't get the terrifying scream out of his
mind, or the taste of fear out of his mouth...where was she?
     Mama!!!
     "Starbuck!"
     The yell snapped him out of his flashback, and he glanced over his
shoulder to see...Dayton?  His chest burned from exertion as he looked
around in consternation at his surroundings.  A ship...a Cylon Base Ship. 
Pulled from one memory to another...or was this real?   He nodded
slightly, holding out a hand to fleetingly touch the bulkhead, making
sure it was solid, as a firestorm of memories raged against him once
again.  He stumbled under the onslaught, trying to ground himself, before
he was pulled back into the maelstrom...
     Get it together, Bucko!
     The Endeavour's commander had fallen behind him, as they raced down
the corridors of the Cylon Base Ship.  With an effort, Starbuck slowed
his pace, waiting for the older man to catch up while adrenaline coursed
through the young warrior's body.  His heart was pounding in tune with
his head, and he wiped at his face, slick with sweat.  He couldn't shake
the urgency, the compulsion to keep going.  It consumed him.  It was the
driving force that kept him moving, when his head was threatening to blow
apart.  No...he couldn't stop.  He had to get there.  Mama!  Where are
you, Mama?  He had to get past the Cylons while he could...brambles
tearing at his clothes, his bare feet...which way now?  No time to
waste...He began to pick up the pace again.
     "Hold up, Espresso Buzz!"  A micron later, louder..."That's a
goddamn order!" 
     Then a hand gripped his arm, and pulled him up short, jerking him
around.  
     "Where the hell do you think you're going?" Dayton asked
breathlessly, sweat running off his brow in torrents.
     "Gotta find her..." Starbuck panted, pulling against the Earthman's
grip, bent on resuming his search. 
     "Luana?" Dayton asked, his grip tightening as his brow wrinkled in
confusion.  "Are you talking about your wife?"
     "Huh?" Starbuck replied, as images of Luana assailed his mind while
Dayton pushed him up against a bulkhead insistently.  His...his
wife..."Lu's here?"
     "Bloody hell!" Dayton spat, giving Starbuck a shake.  "Where are
you?"
     The question caught him off guard, setting off his internal klaxon,
and he automatically looked around.  Something wasn't right.  Still, he
knew this place..."Base Ship."
     "What Base Ship?" Dayton demanded.
     More images flooded his senses.  Baltar on a pedestal, smiling
unctuously down at him.  Being restrained into a chair, and the Brain
Probe lowering.  Apollo dropping Boomer's transponder.  The first look at
the Abaddon.  Lucifer escorting him from the Brig.  Sneaking through the
Cylon landing bay, to the Central Core.  A sword fight...
     "What Base Ship?" Dayton repeated, even more insistently.
     "I...uh..." There was a roaring in his ears, and his chest burned. 
He couldn't get enough air into his lungs.  Dayton's eyes bored into him,
demanding answers.  Answers that he couldn't seem to find struggling
against the crushing onslaught of images...
     "What..."  SMACK!!!!!  "Base..."  SMACK!!!   "Ship???" 
     The sharp sting on the left side of his face obliterated everything
else. Bizarre and conflicting images and memories retreated like an
ebbing tide...leaving only the lingering stench of fear and confusion. 
Starbuck touched his cheek, feeling the heat rising up from it as Dayton
studied him appraisingly.
     "Thanks," the warrior murmured uncomfortably, dropping his gaze. 
"I, uh...I really think I needed that."
     "No kidding, Caffeine Coma," Dayton replied, looking relieved. 
"Now, follow me."

----------
 
     A planet far, far away, but so like her own, that bittersweet
memories of Empyrean, and the simple life she had left behind, swept over
her.  Across the universe, riding a wave of Iblis' thoughts, they took
her mind to a place that so many sought for vastly dichotomous reasons:
hope, survival, a future...or the destruction of the rumoured Thirteenth
Tribe of Mankind, and the annihilation of a possible refuge for a ragtag
Fleet of survivors that were destined for extinction, if Iblis had his
way.  
     No!  Not while she was still breathing, would Ama allow that to
occur!
     The countryside rolling by beneath her reminded her of the
Earthmen's Journey to Earth production, as she gazed down on the beauty
that was the blue and white planet.  Pyramids almost identical to their
motherworld's, huge and sprawling cities, deserts of sere and windswept
beauty, fields of blinding white ice, rolling green hills and burbling
brooks, vast amounts of water, yet sufficient land and resources for the
present population, plus a few refugees from across the Heavens-it was
the paradise they all hoped for.
     Yet, however tempting, she wasn't here to sightsee.  She had come
with a purpose in mind as she soared through a mountainous region,
finally ending up at a secluded valley, before a huge set of massive
steel doors.  Her mind reached out, and she understood.  It was military
base built into a mountainside.  Deep within were the men she had been
looking for.  With a thought, she was inside. 
     But something had gone disastrously wrong.
     Painfully thin, lines of worry etched into his features, Captain
Richard "Dick" Dickins, USN, and late of the Space Shuttle Endeavour was
confined alone in a cell.  Ama could feel his helplessness, his
desperation, his disappointment, even as he finally dwelled back in his
homeland.  It was the kind of emotion that could drive a sane man over
the edge...and one who had been there before, to suicide.
     Yet it wasn't a wave of sorrow which she was detecting from Dickins,
instead it was anger.  A deep, burning resentment at his treatment by his
own people, and a concern for his fellow traveller from the other side of
the universe. A man who didn't understand the language, save for a few
words and phrases, and who had relied upon a Languatron of dubious
programming with which to communicate, which had long since been 
disassembled and meticulously examined piece by piece.
     Three metrons away, and in a cell apart from Dickins was Hummer.  A
Colonial science technician with enough information and genius that he
could have helped prepare Earth for an invasion from the Cylons.  But,
like Dickins, instead of being regaled as a hero, or treated with the
respect due a visiting dignitary, he had been interrogated,
phlebotomized, examined, and locked away.  She could sense his despair,
sorrow and regret.  How long had it been since he spoke to someone in his
own tongue that didn't look back at him with suspicion, distrust and
contempt?  How long had it been since he had even spoken, because when he
did they repeatedly called him a "terrorist" or "fanatic", words he did
not understand, but which he needed no Languatron to know weren't terms
of endearment.  He thought he had come to contribute to the salvation of
his people, but he had instead failed them.  And he would rot in the Brig
of these "Americans" who had a society, or at least members of it, that
were too afraid to accept Cyborgs as anything other than fictional
creations.
     Ama's heart went out to them, but there was naught she could do, at
least for now.  Try as she might to connect with them, she felt the pull
of Iblis jerking her away from what he would have remain secret.  She
could feel his rage as he realized that his attempt to consume her, had
culminated in his spawn's victory.  Desperately, she tried to cast a
thought to the captive men, but was violently wrenched away.  As she was
pulled back to Morlais, she caught a final glimpse of the wreck of a
Cylon Raider on the Earth's moon. Within, she knew, was a Cylon IL who
had activated a long-range beacon that the superpowers of Earth were
still arguing over.  
     And not enough light yahrens away by far was Commander Syphax of the
Abaddon-class Base Ship, Ravager, responding to the call.  

----------

     "I know this isn't exactly a good time, but could I have a centon?"
Sheba asked, brushing a lock of hair back off her face as she took Dorado
aside in the Control Centre.
     The acting CO turned to regard the Pegasus strike captain, not
missing the determination in her brown eyes, the posture of her body, and
the tilt of her head. Her hand rested lightly on her weapon...so typical
of the Colonial Warrior about to do battle.
     "How about thirty microns?" he returned, his voice relaxed as he
lightly touched her arm with his good hand.  His real hand.
     "Forty-five," she countered with a faint smile, relaxing ever so
slightly with the friendly banter.
     "Forty?"
     "Done." She paused only long enough for him to tap his chrono. "I
want to go on the mission."
     "Are you afraid Boxey will now stow away in the shuttle to the
Harbinger, and you want to be prepared for every eventuality?" he
countered, seeing her back go up instantly.  
     "Boxey is missing..." she returned adamantly.
     "And you want to go look for him on a Cylon Base Ship that we found
in a different dimension?" he countered.  "C'mon, Sheba.  I may not be
Bojay, but I flew with you on the Pegasus long enough to know how that
mind works.  You're worried about Apollo, and you want to be a part of
the mission."
     "There's more to it than that, Dorado," she insisted.
     "But it doesn't involve Boxey," he added.
     "No..." she admitted, pouting ever so slightly, in that way that
only Sheba could get away with.  "Count Iblis.  He's...evil."
     "Yeah, well the Cylons haven't exactly been nominated for
citizenship awards in this quadrant either."
     "Iblis is worse than any Cylon, Dorado.  If he's a part of this..."
She hesitated, looking away as though she was considering her words
carefully.  "I'm going to be honest with you."
     "I'd appreciate that," he replied, nodding.  He crossed his arms
over his chest, pulling at his sleeve when he noticed the mess he'd made
of his cybernetic arm when he'd cut it open to show the Cylon commander.
     "You've heard that Count Iblis made an impact on the Fleet when we
first came across him." Sheba frowned, letting out a breath before
seeking out his gaze reluctantly.  "But he also made an impact on me,
personally." She straightened her back, as though it would give her the
courage to finish what she wanted to say.  "And I'm not proud of how I
reacted to him...in fact, I'm ashamed of how easily he influenced me,
recognizing my weaknesses...exploiting them."
     The shift from fellow officer to friend, it came as easily to Dorado
now, as when he'd been in the Caprican Academy with Starbuck and Apollo. 
His instructors had criticized him for it, and had told him it would hold
him back professionally.  "They described Iblis as a demon, Sheba. 
Diabolis.  Otherworldly.  Don't you think maybe you're being too hard on
yourself?" he asked quietly, drawing her further away from the others. 
This was so typical of the Juggernaut's daughter.  Just when he thought
she was mimicking her stubborn father, she revealed her depth of
character and vulnerability.  He considered himself honoured that she was
willing to confide in him.
     "In a word: no," she replied, her self-derision plain.  "Apollo
could have lost his life for my actions. I was immature...na‹ve...too
trusting...too eager to find in Iblis what I had lost when...my father
disappeared...when you all did with the Pegasus..."  For a moment she was
quiet, a subtle sadness infecting her as her thoughts travelled back to
another time, another place.  Then she lifted her chin, meeting his
searching gaze.  "Have you ever felt as if you needed to atone for
something in your life, Dorado? Have you ever wanted to have a second
chance to prove to yourself that you're not a complete fool?"
     "Is that what you're asking for, Sheba?" 
     She nodded. 
     He stared at her for several microns, weighing regulations against
personal growth.  She waited impatiently, shifting restlessly under his
gaze. "Then suit up, Captain, and report to Lieutenant Jolly in Beta Bay. 
I've already told him that he's in charge, Sheba."
     "And so he should be.  This is too personal for me to take charge of
the mission," Sheba acknowledged, leaning forward and lightly kissing his
cheek.  "Thank you."
     "Er...that's no way to...uh...to treat a fellow officer, Captain,"
he returned a little awkwardly.  When was the last time that any
woman-other than a med tech-had been this close to him, never mind kissed
him?   He had moved from "eligible bachelor" to the "freak" list, after
his accident.
     "But it's customary for a friend," she returned, the moistness in
her eyes barely detectable.  "Thank you, my dear, dear Dorado."
     "My dear, dear Dorado, huh?  Sounds like one of those Backwoods
songs about a hovermobile that were becoming popular on Libra.  I can
almost hear the twang..." he replied lightly, pointing towards the hatch. 
"Get going, Sheba, or you're gonna miss your flight."
     "You've been hanging out with Starbuck too long," she returned with
a laugh.
     "We all have," he returned with a smile, his heart a little lighter,
as she headed for the bay.  There was no doubt about it, Apollo was one
lucky guy.     

----------

     On their first attack wave, the Cylons had fired their weapons
directly into the mass of approaching Angylions, cutting down much of
their first line.  Prince Glynn, however, had been spared, as though
protected from high above, from the Infinite.  With a fierce
determination and rage brought about by ten years of slavery, the
Angylions had rushed the Cylons, their mighty army crushing the dwindling
Cylon forces as they advanced on the Base Ship.
     With a battle cry that could turn a man's blood to ice, Prince Glynn
hurled himself off a rock ledge, his sword already beginning its downward
arc before he hit the ground, cleaving in two the Cylon that was bent on
attacking one of his men from behind.  The Cylon fell, spewing sparks,
its head toppling into the mud.     
     "Onward!" Glynn cried, feeling the divinity surge through him as
they pressed on towards the Base Ship.  "For the glory of Morlais!"
     "Morlais!" one of his men echoed from nearby, before the rare blast
of a laser volley cut him down.
     Glynn snarled in rage, raising his sword in front of him as he sped
forward.  Around him, Cylons were going down, as they were overwhelmed by
numbers, falling under swords, mattocks, mining picks, rocks, whatever
else the Angylions could find to wield.  He could sense his father on one
side, and his grandfather on his other.  The blood of his ancestors raced
through his body, empowering him, making him invincible. Immortal.  The
Cylon in his path turned, aiming its murderous weapon once again, not
intimidated in the least by certain death staring it in its oscillating
red eye.  The young prince ducked as the centurion fired, then rushed the
enemy, his sword holding true, piercing its plating, running him through. 
Cylon armour was no match for a perfectly forged Angylion blade.  The
Cylon shuddered, its red light extinguishing as it crumpled to the
ground, pulling Glynn and his sword down with it.
     Breathing hard, Glynn regained his feet, bracing a foot on the
centurion's chest as he jerked his sword free.  A sudden noise from the
Cylon ship demanded his attention.  The ground began to tremble as he
turned to look...
     "My Lord!" 
     Instinctively, Glynn threw himself to the side, rolling away, even
as a burning pain cut across his chest.  Time seemed to freeze, as he
rolled onto his back.  For a moment he could see his forefathers gathered
over him, generations of Angylion swordsmen and nobility keeping watch. 
It was comforting and frightening at the same time.  A sudden agony
lanced through him as he drew a ragged breath.  When he opened his eyes
again, his ancestors were gone, replaced by an image of the Cylon ship. 
     It was hissing!  Like a serpent, or water on a hot stone, the hated
enemy monstrosity was filling the whole valley with a strange sound. 
Whatever foul power drove it, it was once more awake.  He stared in
bemusement as it slowly started to float in the air, gradually
obliterating the murky sky, as a strange humming filling his senses, the
bottom of the ship glowing with a sickly green-white radiance.  Higher
and higher it flew, like a black demon rearing up from the Underworld,
threatening to devour them.  He groaned, closing his eyes and pressing a
hand to his right side, feeling the sticky warmth spreading across his
tunic.  It was up to their Doublewalkers now.  To the Colonials. 
     "Prince Glynn!" The Angylion warrior, himself bloody and wounded,
rushed to his side.
     "I be...fine, Jac," Glynn returned, breathlessly, as the Angylion's
hand pushed his away, checking his wound.  
     "Find Eirys!" Jac hissed at another, pressing down hard as a groan
was torn from the prince's throat.  "And Llewelyn!"
     "I be fine enough..." Glynn gasped, as pain burnt a fiery path
across his chest, stealing his breath, while his vision greyed around the
edges.

----------
     
     Apollo shuddered, trying to shake off the feeling of apprehension
that suddenly and unexpectedly hit him.  A shadow passing over your
grave...It wasn't the most affable of images to come to a guy while
sneaking around on a grounded Cylon Base Ship, or any Base Ship for that
matter, and was made even less so by the realization that they had just
launched.  
     That slight sensation that the ship was "alive" was something a
warrior noticed after living aboard battleships for enough yahrens.  The
constant rumbling background of white noise wasn't really
noticeable...unless it stopped.  And this ship had been eerily quiet up
until now.
     "You okay?" Lia whispered, pausing by the open hatch.  
     "Fine," Apollo nodded, feeling her watchful eyes upon him.  Although
he knew she was only Ama's goddaughter, and not related by blood, the
young ensign had some of the Empyrean necromancer's talents for reading
emotions.  It unsettled him that she could see through his apparently
calm demeanour with all the ease of condensed tylinium.  "The Brig should
be down three levels..." he paused as she squeezed his arm.
     "I know," she told him, smiling slightly.
     He nodded, abashed.  "Right.  Of course, you do."  This ship was
identical to the Endeavour, save the refits.  Momentarily, he wondered if
the Covert Operations Ship had made it through to this dimension.  Malus
had calculated the risks, and the decision to bring them over was a sound
one.  Of course, occasionally even sound decisions ended in disaster.  It
was a chance he had to take.  One he would need to live with...or die
for.
     "Apollo!" Lia whispered urgently, peering downward into the hatch.
     He leaned down alongside her, catching sight of movement, at the
same time as he heard the sound of footsteps scaling the ladder.  Then he
exhaled in relief when he recognized the closely cropped grey head coming
towards them.
     "Dayton!" Apollo whispered.
     In a flash, the barrel of a laser was pointed towards them from a
few metrons away.  A micron later it lowered to display an answering grin
that looked sparkling white on a dirt streaked face.  "Well, you're a
sight for sore eyes!" the Endeavour commander told them, before glancing
down the ladder just below him.  "How ya doin', kid?  Still with me?" he
called down.
     "No, I'm picking Wild Thornberries in Umbra," came the caustic
reply. "Want one?"
     "I was wondering what was taking you so long," Dayton threw back at
him, as he started to climb through the hatch.  His infiltration uniform
was tattered and filthy, almost unrecognisable as being Colonial in
origin.  "Get a move on, we just found Apollo and Lia."
     "Starbuck's with you?" Apollo confirmed, not missing the concerned
look the Earthman cast down at the damp, matted dark-blond head coming up
behind him.
     "In the flesh," Starbuck announced, climbing up, a Cylon rifle in
his grip.  His gaze skipped over them, before he glanced up and down the
empty corridor. "What did you expect?"  
     He looked like several levels of Hades Hole.  Starbuck's lean form
was taut with tension, like a coiled spring about to let go.  His clothes
were damp with sweat, ragged and bloody in several spots.  A dark bruise
covered the left side of his jaw.  However, he didn't breathe a word
about any of it...
     "You okay?" Apollo asked in concern.
     "Starbuck!" Lia stepped forward, wrapping her arms around her
brother-in-law.   
     The warrior startled almost imperceptibly, before slowly enfolding
her in his arms, and then letting out a deep, ragged breath.  He closed
his eyes tightly for a moment, his body visibly relaxing as he embraced
her.  
     "What happened?" Apollo asked their commander.
     "Brain Probe," Dayton replied quietly.  "We smoked the trash cans
that were working him over, but...he's a bit scrambled."
     "But he's not deaf," Starbuck glanced at them, pulling back from
Lia.  "Where's Lu?"
     "With Malus and, believe it or not, Baltar," Lia replied, glancing
at her chrono.  "Probably in the Control Centre."
     "What?" Starbuck looked sick.
     "Easy, buddy," Apollo reassured him, filling both men in on the plan
as Lia kept watch.
     "I'm impressed," Dayton nodded approvingly.
     Starbuck merely nodded, swallowing convulsively.  He sucked in
another breath as he fidgeted on the spot.
     "What?" Apollo asked.  He knew that look.  It was a silent warning
that hadn't found a voice...yet.
     "I..." Starbuck muttered, raking a hand back through his hair, and
wincing when his fingers paused at the back of his head.  Glancing down
at his hand, he stared at the congealed blood covering his fingers, from
where he had hit his head falling in the mine after Dayton had coshed
him.  He murmured something unintelligible.
     "Come again?" Apollo asked, taking a step closer, and hesitating
when Starbuck abruptly backed up, putting that same distance between
them.  His old friend looked at him warily. Distrustfully.  It made him
wonder about his mental state. "Starbuck?"
     "I couldn't...stop them..." Starbuck shook his head, staring at the
deck between them.  His knuckles were white as he gripped the rifle, his
voice a choked rasp.  "Tried to resist...like they taught us..."
     "Hey, we know that, kid," Dayton told him.  "I admit that I don't
understand exactly how it works, but in my book that probe is torture,
plain and simple.  You survived.  That's what matters."
     Starbuck winced, his gaze flickering over to Dayton as he shifted
restlessly.  "You don't understand..." he said hoarsely, looking around
futilely, almost desperately.  It was as though he was looking for a
lifeline, and wasn't finding it.
     "What then?" Apollo asked, reaching out again to grip Starbuck's
shoulder in support, as he had done hundreds of times in the time the two
had known each other.  Again, Starbuck instinctively took a step back,
but this time Apollo followed.  He grasped both of the strike captain's
upper arms, forcing the other to look at him.  "Tell me, Starbuck."
     The shattered visage of his best friend stared back at him, having
difficulty making eye contact.  "They know...everything."
     Apollo shook his head, uncomprehendingly.  "Everything" was a little
vague, no matter how hard this was on his friend.  "How do you mean?"
     "Malus...Baltar...the Endeavour...who and what they really are..."
Starbuck tapped his temple to drive the point across.  
     Apollo grimaced as he realized that their entire plan was just an
interpreted cortical scan away from falling apart.  "Frack!"
          
Chapter Nineteen

     There was a definite weak link in their plan, and Baltar wasn't sure
how they were going to explain how a supposed alliance between the
Colonials and Cylons could somehow result in a centurion-deficient crew. 
He drew himself erect, feeling Luana's curious eyes upon him once again,
as he worked to come up with a believable story.  Charged with "keeping
him honest", she had been attentive, yet never overbearing...unlike her
more celebrated husband.  
     "I am thinking of changing my optical sensor to blue, Lieutenant
Luana.  What do you think?" Malus asked, seemingly to pass the time as
the "Harbinger" shuttle's engines shut down in the landing bay.  In
centons the Colonial team would disembark.  
     "Blue?" Luana replied, a faint smile flitting across her features.
"You're sure?"
     "Oh, indeed," replied Malus, in a tone reminiscent of a human
setting eyes on a feast-laden table. "Very sure."
     "Why blue, Admiral?"
     "It would set me apart," Malus replied thoughtfully.
     "Seeking individuality is a human characteristic," Baltar inserted.
     "Very true, Baltar," Malus replied, before adding, "I believe I am
partial to blue eyes."
     "Me too," Luana grinned at the IL.  "Can you do that?  Just change
the colour?"
     "It is not as easy as changing a bulb, as it would require some
disassembly on my part, but I believe it would be...pleasing to me." 
Malus "sniffed" dramatically.  "And that is the point, after all, is it
not?  However, I would have to find the right blue."
     Baltar turned to regard the IL, not quite believing they were having
this conversation.  At times the IL seemed as ruthless and cunning as
Lucifer had been, and at other times, he seemed a few diodes short of a
central processor.  "The right blue?"
     "Oh, yes," Malus replied, warming up to the topic.  "Some blues are
cold like ice.  But the blue that I seek is enticing like the sea,
unfathomable like the sky, full of sparkling life and vitality like a
beautiful gem." He paused, then turned to Luana.  "Like Starbuck's eyes."
     Then again, Baltar decided, maybe there were two weak links in their
plan.

----------

     Frack.
     One word that summed it up so succinctly.  Not only had Starbuck
been powerless to resist the Cylon Brain Probe, but he had endangered the
mission, not to mention revealed everything they had come to know about
Earth, and how the Colonials had sent Hummer and Dickins there ahead of
time to prepare the technologically backward planet for an inevitable
attack by the Cylons. 
     Oh, and as an added bonus, he now knew that he was also probably
responsible for his own mother's death.  Not exactly one of his best
days...
     "What now?" Dayton was asking.
     "We get out of here," Apollo replied.  "Rendezvous with the shuttle. 
They'll be wearing black fatigues.  We can blend in."  Unlike Dayton's
rather compromised infiltration fatigues and Starbuck's tattered standard
issue uniform which were barely discernable, Apollo and Lia's uniforms
would be identical to the rest of the team's, by design.
     Dayton grinned.  "Personally, I don't blend well.  I prefer my suits
privately tailored.  How about you, Macchiatto Man?"
     Starbuck let out a breath of disbelief.  "We have to destroy this
ship."
     "We have that covered, Starbuck," Apollo reminded him, his brow
furrowing in concern as he reached out a hand...
     Instinctively, Starbuck moved, putting a little distance between
them, not wanting to be constantly touched, stroked, reaffirmed,
reassured...it was getting fracking annoying.  Oh, what he wouldn't give
for a moment of solitude...soaring in a Viper, his only companion, the
stars.  Then again, his Viper flying days were over, with his long list
of past injuries and medical concerns.  He let out a breath, trying to
remember why Apollo was looking at him so expectantly...Oh yeah, Apollo
had mentioned something about sabotaging the Mega Pulsar.  "Well, maybe
you feel differently, but if the Endeavour is really here, I'd just as
soon take the initiative to blow this ship up, here and now."  It was a
waste of time, sitting on their astrums waiting for the Cylons to be
obliging, and blow themselves up, should they decide to use the Mega
Pulsar against the Angylions.  He had to make amends for his lapse...his
failure...had to set it right...destroy the extracted evidence...
     "With us on it?" Dayton asked softly. "That would kind of...end
badly."
     Starbuck paused to glance at his commander as the words sunk in. 
Any other time he would have scoffed or ignored it as stating the
obvious, but he knew he wasn't thinking straight.  Why was it so
difficult to stay focussed?  Couldn't let them know...He sniffed, pasting
his trademark grin on his face.  "Well...maybe Baltar..." he tossed back
idly, running a hand over his hair before adding, "I'm not proposing a
suicide mission.  Just getting off the ship, and then attacking."
     "That's the plan, buddy," Apollo told him slowly, glancing at Dayton
and Lia.
     Glancing at them as though he was the class idiot. "You...you
already told me," Starbuck murmured, closing his eyes, rubbing his
temples.  He pressed against the throbbing pulse of his headache, willing
it to go away and leave him alone.  
     Apollo again moved to put a hand on his friend, pausing when Dayton
shook his head.  He pulled it back.  "Starbuck, remember when we rescued
Cree from Arcta?"
     Starbuck nodded, opening his eyes, meeting Apollo's steady gaze. 
"Yeah.  They'd tossed him in a cold cell, afterwards."
     "Good point," Dayton added.  "How long did it take for Cree to get
all his ducks back in a row?"
     Starbuck groaned.  "I'll pass on the quackers joke, thanks."
     Dayton chuckled aside to Apollo.  "I think maybe he's heard that one
before." 
     "Maybe more than once..." Starbuck added quietly.  "What about it?"
     "Cree was disoriented on and off for at least a couple sectons,"
Apollo reminded him.  "Nightmares.  Headaches.  Flashbacks.  You're not
immune, buddy."
     "There's no shame in this, kid.  None.  Remind me sometime to tell
you about what Dick went through for me.  Torg and Bex..." he paused,
drawing in a deep, thoughtful breath before continuing.  "Look, what I
want you to know is we've got your six.  Let us take care of the details. 
You just focus on staying with us, and I'm not talking physically.  You
got that?"
     Starbuck nodded.  Oddly, it was almost a relief...until he looked
into Lia's eyes, and could hear her unspoken concerns about a missing
Empyrean necromancer, almost as if she had given them a voice.  "Where is
Ama?" he asked her.  The last he remembered, Ama had told him he couldn't
protect her.  That taking on Iblis was her "destiny".  Nobody had
breathed a word about her since.  
     "We don't know, Starbuck," Lia told him soberly.  "But we do need to
find her."
     Starbuck nodded slowly in acknowledgement.  They'd left an old woman
to Diabolis, although admittedly if any old woman was up to the task, it
was Ama.
     "We will," Dayton told them.  "All in due time.  One of our six
impossible things to get done.  Before breakfast.  Don't worry; she's a
tough old doll."
     "Yeah, she is," Starbuck agreed, trying to best decide how to
commandeer a Cylon Raider and return to the Angylion Holy Sanctum with
lasers blazing.  Then from the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of...
     "Halt-Human!"

----------

     The impact was unexpected, her breath whooshing out of her lungs
like a small explosion, as Ama crumpled against the rocks, wondering
vaguely how she had arrived there.  One moment on Earth, and the next
dragged forcibly back here, Iblis had torn her from his mind, rejecting
her as vigorously as he had first tried to consume her.  Pain wracked a
body that she had almost forgotten could be subject to physical force, so
long had she concentrated on embracing and developing her psychic powers. 
The Angylion Holy Sanctum was dark, and she lay panting against the cold
rocks, listening for Iblis, while hearing the faint drip, drip of water
somewhere, even as she sensed his presence all around her.  Omnipresent. 
Malignant.  Predatory.
     It was meant to be intimidating.  A lesser individual would be
terrified, and indeed fear fluttered within her breast before she
tempered it down, squelching it before it flamed to life. While Iblis was
hideously strong, his powers were nonetheless limited, his realm defined. 
The Elders had declared that this was so.  Free will would be Ama's
faithful companion, and though she knew that he had been influencing the
impressionable for millennia, corrupting individuals and infecting whole
cultures with his malignant influence, any final decision would be hers
alone to make.  Ama would take ultimate responsibility.  It buoyed her
spirits.
     Slowly, she rolled over, a razor sharp agony cutting across the
right side of her chest.  Her breath caught in her throat as she realized
the extent of the damage.  She had several broken ribs and severe
bruising and lacerations of the surrounding tissue, and it took some
effort to gather her strength and quell the fiery pain with her powers,
as she did so easily for others.  Ignoring Iblis for the moment, she
persisted until she could breathe normally.
     "Even with your powers, you're only mortal. Surely you realize that,
child?" Dispassionately, Iblis' voice seemed to come from all around her,
even flowing through her.  "Yes, you're lifespan is longer than that of
lesser bloodlines, thanks to me.  But in the end, you will die, all the
same."
     Ama grunted, climbing resolutely to her feet.  It was a game of
strategy.  With Iblis she had to be thinking two or three moves ahead of
where they were, at all times, and even then there was no guarantee.  She
had to be prepared to deflect any attack, and to strike back even more
powerfully than he thought she was capable of doing.  "I am not impressed
by your charlatan tricks, Iblis.  Show yourself."
     A low laugh rumbled through the cavern, bouncing off her broken
bones as surely as it did the rocks.  Then a glimmer of light flared to
life, and a micron later Iblis was standing before her, the torches
around them lit once again.  
     "I cannot let you leave here," Iblis murmured, raising his hands as
his still pristine cloak billowed out around him.  "You know too much."
     "I wasn't seeking your permission," she returned grimly, taking a
step closer to him, and smiling when his eyes narrowed suspiciously. 
Approaching him, even knowing what he was capable of, unnerved him.  He
expected her to keep her distance, to scurry away like a timid creature. 
"I can see why my mother fell for your charms.  You are a...handsome
devil," she observed nonchalantly, smirking slightly as he raised his
eyebrows upon her words.  "Little wonder impressionable humans have
always followed you so readily."
     "I give them what they want.  Effortlessly," Iblis smiled benignly. 

     "Or what they think they want." 
     "Is there a difference?" smiled the Evil One.
     "If there wasn't, you wouldn't have so much to smile about," she
shot back.
     "I can give you want you want, Ama."
     "I want you to stop interfering with mankind."
     "And just how do you propose to stop me?  Pray tell." 
     "Asking nicely won't do it, then?" she asked sardonically.
     He smiled at that, considering her a moment.  "What if I vowed to
leave the tedious, insipid creatures alone...in exchange for your..."
     "For my what?" she pressed, after a few microns of his diseased
smile.  No, he had not intended for her to discover that their attempt to
prepare Earth for the coming of the Cylons had failed, when both Dickins
and Hummer had been incarcerated.  Now he had to find a way to prevent
her from interfering...as was her want.
     "Your companionship."  He never lost the smile, and it made her
feel...soiled. 
     "My what?" she scoffed, placing her hands on her ample hips and
laughing aloud.
     "Your companionship, daughter." He smiled, and it wasn't the least
bit attractive.  "There is much I can show you.  More than you could ever
imagine, in twenty human lifetimes. The universe is vast, unlimited."
     It was strangely compelling...at least to a woman who liked a
challenge, and had a life-long thirst for knowledge. Yet, she realized
that it also appealed to her insufferable ego.  What marvels would she
behold?  What places could she go to that far surpassed her current
limitations?  Would humanity flourish if Iblis left them alone?  It was a
troublesome thought, considering she had been leading the Empyreans by
the proverbial nose for as long as she could remember.  But the Guardians
would be watching...the very same Guardians who had likely driven Iblis
to become the beast he had through their once rigid idealism.
     "Think of it as a sacrifice, if it suits you, Ama," Iblis coaxed
her, holding out an inviting hand.  "A selfless sacrifice to once and for
all ensure that I leave the human race to their unimaginative, insect
meanderings.  Two great minds, two formidable powers, together."  He
waved a hand towards her, and she felt the pain in her ribs cease, and a
strange tingling spread through the damaged area.  "You see? I can be
benevolent, Child. Benevolent, and so much more."  Iblis smiled once
again, and she felt the warmth of it suffuse her body, as though she'd
had a little too much ambrosa.  His eyes promised that same intoxication
of mind and spirit if she would just reach out and take the proffered
hand.  "Just think what a pair we could make...the universe could be
ours."
     She smiled her gapped-tooth grin, and curtsied deferentially, seeing
his eyes glow with an eerie quality that she couldn't quite define. 
Satisfaction?  Triumph?  "I'd sooner be torn limb from limb and boiled in
tylium, Dear Heart." 
     For a moment, the Father of Lies stood frozen to the spot, his face
a mask of shock.  It was as if he could scarcely believe what he had just
heard.  Then, he began to scowl, his face darkening with fury.  His eyes
glared at her, filled with rage and contempt.
     "That, stripling," he hissed, "can be arranged!"

---------

     Who knew that one of Ryan's practical jokes in the making could turn
into such a stroke of luck?  Within the shuttle aboard the Harbinger,
Baker nodded at Porter who was wearing one of the other two centurion
"costumes" that Ryan and Baker had been working on for the last couple
months.  Salvaged from the derelict Abaddon-class Harrower that had been
almost destroyed by a solar storm, there had been an abundance of fried
and burnt-out centurion husks to work with, but only three had been
chosen for the prank.  Ryan, now recovering from his injuries in the
Endeavour's Life Station, had been devastated that he couldn't be
involved.
     "Hey, I think it's a great idea, but...what about this?" Jolly
pointed out the Canadian pale that Ryan had stamped on each centurion's
breast plate, yielding to his irrepressible and sometimes unique sense of
humour.  Beneath the Canadian standard, the English words "Made in
Canada" were unavoidably noticeable, however, admittedly indecipherable
to those that didn't understand the Earth language.
     "If they ask, we'll tell them it's a squadron insignia.  An ancient
dialect," Baker shrugged.  "Beaver Fever, or something like that.  We'll
make it up as we go along."
     "You mean like we've been doing so far?" Jolly replied.
     "Worse comes to worst, we'll tell 'em they're part of our
hover-hockey team. The Centurion Maple Leafs," Porter laughed.
     "Let's stick with that first idea," Jolly replied amiably, not even
trying to figure it out.  It was another "Earth moment" that was better
left unexplained, and making things up as they went along was one the
Earthmen's talents.  "Okay, put your helmets on and we'll confirm the
vocal modulators are working.  We didn't have a lot of time to pull this
off."
     "We need Cylon names for these guys," Dietra mentioned.
     "I'm Bakon," Baker replied, winking at Porter.  "You should be
Eggz."
     "Bakon and Eggz, huh?" Porter chuckled.  "I like it.  All we need
now is 'Hashbrowns'."  He glanced pointedly at Rooke, the third Cylon.
     "Hashbrowns?" Rooke twisted his mouth around the strange word, as
the two Earthmen chuckled, having way too much fun considering they were
about to go undercover on a Cylon Base Ship.  "I don't think so."
     "Let's stick with the plan.  Bakon, Portex, and Rooka," Jolly
inserted.  "I don't need Commander Dayton losing it when you start with
your Earth jokes."
     "I really don't get why they call you 'Jolly'," Baker shrugged.
     Together, the three men pulled on their Cylon helmets.   Sectons
before, Baker had rigged two of the "Cylons" to give them a vocal
capacity utilizing the same technology used in the Hybrid Raiders, but
hadn't finished the third by the time this whole crazy idea came about. 
Unfortunately, he had been detoured by Ryan plying him with Asteroid
Whiskey and trying to teach him and Porter the "cancan", while finding
appropriate lingerie to dress up the centurions for their dancing debut
in front of their commander.  After all, there was a possibility that the
men might need an entertaining distraction during their shakedown cruise,
and making fun of Cylons seemed to be a worthwhile pastime.  
     "Baker, you might want to take off that garter belt before you go
out there," Sheba said, glancing out a porthole, and seeing the assembled
delegation including Baltar, Luana and Malus.  She turned back with a
smile, as Dietra leaned down to remove the offending item.
     "Cylons-In-The-City.  It's-so-Kim-Cattrall." The vocal modulator was
working perfectly, giving Baker's words that distinctive centurion
affect. "It's-just-so...so-in-this-season-on-IFB. 
We-have-to-make-everything-sexier-than-it-really-is."
     Someone groaned, and it sounded strange, through the voice
modulators.
    
"What-I-wouldn't-have-given-to-have-seen-the-look-on-Dayton's-face-had-
we-actually-pulled-it-off.  Cylons-dance-the-cancan. 
It-would-have-been-beautiful," Porter added.
     "Try to do away with contractions and perceptions, and make it more
stilted," Dietra coached them. "Cylons below the IL class don't use them. 
Even the ILs do so rarely."
     "Good advice, Dee," Jolly added, looking to the third centurion. 
"Let's hear it, Rooke."
     "My processors are in overload...frack.  It's not working,"
Lieutenant Rooke groused, pulling the helmet off again.  He reached
inside, fiddling with the circuit, and then shook his head in disgust.
"Bloody thing, made on Pineas, I'll bet..."
     "Sorry, Rooke, there's no time" Jolly shook his head, watching the
lieutenant nod and hastily replace the helmet.  "We'll leave you with the
shuttle, but let Dietra do the talking.  At least we have a 'Cylon'
presence, besides Malus."  
     "How well can you see?" Sheba asked.
     "Well-enough-to-cancan," Baker replied.
     "The-strobe-light-is-distracting, but-it's-doable," Porter added.
     "Just don't trip over anything," Jolly told them ruefully.  He
turned around, calling back to the pilots, "Open the hatch."
     A moment later, they were filing out into the Harbinger's landing
bay, a few of them remaining by their transport, as the others moved
towards toward their welcoming committee.  Like Luana, they were dressed
in black, however, the entire "human" contingent of this team wore black
leather infiltration gear, aligning them with the distinctive black
tunics and pants of the Angylion Palace Guard.  Somehow, none of them
thought that Mendax would quibble over the slight difference in uniform.
     "Admiral.  Commanders," Jolly saluted them smartly, a human and
centurion flanking him on either side.  "Reporting as ordered."
     "You brought Microsoft OS, Lieutenant?" Malus asked.
     "We did, sir."
     "Vista-edition," Porter added through the vocal modulator inserted
in his faceplate. "Service-Pack-Two."
     "Once we update the weapons systems, the Harbinger will be refitted
sufficiently to repel the Borg," Jolly added, nodding at Mendax.  
     "I will be curious to see how this works," Mendax replied.
     "It-is-the-latest-of-advances-in-a-long-line-of-Shatner-technology,"
Porter told him. "The-real-McCoy."
     "Oh?" asked Mendax, uncertainly.
     "Right-out-of-the-Gates, sir," Baker added.
     "You are fully rated in this new technology?" asked Mendax.
     "Centurions Portex and Bakon are two of our experts in...Shatner
Technology, Commander," Jolly explained. 
     "Shatter?" asked Mendax.
     "Shatner, Commander.  A-research-centre-in-the-Roddenberry-System,"
replied Bakon.
     "I have never heard of it," replied Mendax.
     "It is a very long way from here, yes, and we do our best to keep
its whereabouts classified," said Sheba soberly.
     "I see.  So this...system has been combat tested?" asked Mendax.
     "It-has-been-completely-tested. 
On-the-Shatinator-Scale-it-is-rated-as-full-of-Shat," Portex added.
     "The-highest-ranking-achievable," Bakon elucidated.  
     "Portex, Bakon and Corporal Coxcoxtli will be in charge of the
refit," Jolly inserted.  "The rest of our techs will be under their
supervision."  He nodded towards the others who were carrying various
pieces of technological equipment.  
     "As you can tell, we've done this many times," Baltar inserted,
nodding at the Endeavour's crewmen. "The interfacing of systems should be
a fairly quick and simple process, Commander Mendax." 
     "Admiral Malus, there is an encoded communiqu‚ on board the shuttle
from the Imperious Leader, sir," Jolly informed him.  
     "Ah, I have been expecting that. Very good, Lieutenant." Malus
nodded.  "Commanders, I will join you in the Command Centre.  Proceed
with all haste, as we discussed."
     "Of course," Mendax replied.

---------

     Dayton had to admit, when he'd first heard the sound of the
centurion warning them to "halt", his training kicked in, and his initial
instinct was to protect his men.  The adrenaline surged through his
bloodstream, snapping him straight back to Torg and that Hellpit he'd
survived, at least for an instant.  He pivoted sharply, spying three
centurions, all armed and heading their way.  He lifted his weapon, but
by then Starbuck had already raised his Cylon pulse rifle and was
charging the centurions, firing his weapon and yelling like a berserker
of Norse legend.
     "Starbuck..." Apollo growled, unable to find a clear shot with his
friend in the way, as laser fire started flying down both ends of the
corridor.  He dove for cover, dragging Lia to the deck.
     It was as though the Goddess Fortuna was riding shotgun, as the
Cylon shots miraculously missed Starbuck, and the first Cylon fell under
his fury, belching sparks, and toppling into the one next to it. 
Starbuck snarled, coming to an abrupt stop in the middle of the corridor
and taking aim on the next.  He fired, cursing as his pulse rifle
remained conspicuously quiet.
     "Triquetra's Teeth!" Lia spat, climbing to her feet.  "What's he
doing?"
     "Going Rambo on us!" Dayton replied, slamming himself against a
wall, and laying down some covering fire to Starbuck's right, as the
warrior charged again.  Dick had done this a time or two under extreme
duress, and the only thing his old friend had been aware of at that point
was the enemy.  Everything else had ceased to exist.  It was the old
"flight or fight" response, built into the DNA from day one.  Obviously,
like Dick, Starbuck was a fighter.
     "Starbuck!  Get down!" Apollo shouted, climbing to one knee, and
throwing himself against the opposite bulkhead.  He fired with deadly
accuracy.  The second centurion toppled as one leg was shot to pieces,
then did the Herky-Jerky in its death throes.  Starbuck quickly looked
back, looking almost surprised to see them standing there.
     "Down!" Dayton yelled again, terror wrapping her cold claws around
his throat as the third Cylon sighted Starbuck.  The kid dropped like a
rock, his training kicking in with his selective hearing, as a laser
volley split the air above him.
     "Behind us!" Lia hollered, turning with her laser in hand, and
starting to fire.
     "Surrender-humanoids!"
     Dayton fired again before the third Cylon adjusted his aim, the
Endeavour Commander's shot hitting the centurion's pulse rifle.  It
exploded in a blinding burst of light and smoke, blowing the Cylon's hand
off.  Shielding his eyes from the blast, he felt the shock wave rock
them.  Then he fired again, hitting the cyborg directly in the face,
before turning to check their newest threat.
     "There's too many of them!" Lia hollered as a full patrol advanced
on them.
     "Retreat!" Dayton agreed, turning to fall back as Apollo lay down
covering fire...only to groan in disbelief as he saw Starbuck
disappearing around a corner, a Cylon sword in his hand.  Damn fool kid! 
"Starbuck!"
     Dayton tore off in pursuit, turning the corner to find the warrior
dodging the downward strike from a centurion's blade.  Sparks flew from
the metal as they met, and Starbuck twisted out of the way.  Sensibly,
for the Cylon had far too much power behind him to try and block a blow
like that.  It would be pointless and stupid.  However, the kid had
learned from the best, or at least the only guy who'd seen the original
Highlander more than five times, and thought that Adrian Paul was a pussy
compared to Christopher Lambert.  Yeah, Starbuck was poetry in motion;
Dayton couldn't help but admire his "pupil" as Starbuck turned, causing
the top-heavy Cylon to overbalance.  Then the young man feinted, and
turned in a full circle as he arced back around, bringing his sword down
on the centurion's exposed neck.  He took the Cylon's head off with one
blow.  Sparks spewed from the severed head and torso, and the Cylon fell,
twitching and shaking, to the deck, the head rolling to bump up against a
bulkhead. 
     "Thought I told you to never turn your back on the enemy," Dayton
told him tonelessly.  The corridor ahead was clear.  However, he wasn't
sure where Starbuck's head was at as the young man stood there panting,
his face a mask of rage as he gazed on the decapitated cyborg.  But, this
was not the time to start counselling.  "It's flashy, but foolish."
     For a moment, Starbuck stood there quietly, closing his eyes
slightly, before looking back at his CO.   "I like flashy," he returned
breathlessly, as Apollo and Lia rounded the corridor.  
     "Go!" Apollo yelled, turning and firing once again.
     "I'll try to remember that for your memorial service," the Earthman
told Starbuck pointedly, grabbing him by the arm and thrusting the
younger man ahead of him as they raced down the corridor.

----------

     Llewelyn raced towards his brother, his heart in his throat as he
wondered if he would make it on time.  He'd been told that it was a
mortal wound.  A lethal blow.  That Glynn had fallen bravely in battle
against the steel demons, and that nothing short of a miracle  could save
him.  Well, sometimes a man had to make his own miracles, since they were
generally in short supply, especially in desperate times.
     Just ahead, he could see that Eirys had arrived.  She was leaning
over the Angylion prince, muttering incantations, spells and likely a
prayer or two.  Llewelyn skidded to a stop and dropped onto his knee
beside her, automatically touching his fingers to his forehead, and
murmuring scraps of Holy Writ, more out of habit, than any deep, serious
faith in it.  Then he glanced down at his brother's wan face, cringing as
he saw the seepage of blood spreading over Glynn's tunic.
     Llyr forfend!  He can't...no!  He swallowed, steadying himself.
     "Ah, lying down, I see!" Llewelyn managed to get the words past his
tight throat.  "How very typical.  Just because you're first in line
doesn't mean I have to do all the work," he gently berated his brother,
grasping his cool hand tightly. 
     A faint smile touched his brother's full lips as his dark lashes
fluttered open.  "Work?  You spent far more time...avoiding work, than
doing it, little brother."  He grunted, unable to contain the pain. 
"Mother spoiled you.  Let you get away with bloody murder."
     The younger prince squeezed his brother's shoulder, leaning close,
willing him to live.  "It's call delegating, Glynn.  Any man can work, it
takes a true leader to delegate," he returned lightly, glancing at Eirys
in concern.  There was no need to ask the words.  She knew.  She shook
her head.
     "Della-what? Is that a...a woman's name?" smiled the other, his
breathing too shallow and quick.
     "Jealous, brother?" Llewelyn shook his head, feeling tears prick the
backs of his eyes.  There had to be some way.  "It doesn't become you,
Glynnie."
     "And no doubt she had flaxen hair...blue eyes..." Glynn teased,
ignoring the childhood nickname, before coughing weakly.  He cringed,
tensing from head to toe as he splinted his wound against the sudden
pain.
     "Maybe she does..." Llewelyn returned quietly, as an image came to
him.  And an idea.  "Eirys!  We'll use the Oculus." His tone brooked no
argument.  "If you can journey across dimensions, than by Llyr, you can
take me to the stars so I can find Cassiopeia.  We heard of the magic she
worked with Ryan.  She's my brother's only hope."
     "Llewelyn..." Glynn whispered, beckoning the young prince closer to
him still.  "The Mystics may have decided that it is my time..."
     "Then they'll have to take me first, brother," Llewelyn replied
stubbornly.  "I'm not ready to part with you quite yet." 

---------

     "Commander-Mendax, Humanoids-in-gamma-sector-confirmed," a centurion
reported as the humans and Cylons filed into the Command Centre.
     "Ah, Prince Llewelyn and his manservant.  Very good.  Have them
brought here at once, Centurion," Mendax replied, as Malus entered just
behind them.
     "They-are-unconstrained."
     "Then constrain them!" Mendax ordered irritably.  "They are only two
humanoids, one of which is nothing more than a domestic servant!  How
difficult can it be to subdue them?"
     "Between-the-guards-in-the-Brig-and-those-in-gamma-section,
they-have-destroyed-at-least-eight-centurions."
     "Eight?"
     "Two-additional-humanoids-have-been-reported-with-them.
Identities-unknown."
     "Two additional..." Mendax glanced at Malus.  Had they managed to
board the ship before it took off, or was Malus up to something?  This
was really not going well.  "Human or Angylion, Centurion?"
     "Humanoids-all-look-the-same, Commander."
     Admittedly, Mendax also had trouble telling them apart.  Reportedly,
the Angylions claimed to have some kind of energy field around them that
they called an "aura".  However, it was undetectable to Cylons.  "True."
He turned to the other IL.  "Don't you find this unusual, Admiral?"
     "That your 'good neighbours' are destroying your centurions?  Yes, I
do, Commander," Malus replied.  "Especially since Prince Llewelyn was
taken ill."
     "Is there something you wish to tell us, Mendax?" Baltar asked,
crossing his arms over his chest, and frowning.  He poured on the "Baltar
Glare" that he'd used on Lucifer many a time.
     "Perhaps we could be of some assistance?" Sheba offered, giving the
IL a way out.  "After all, if there are unresolved...disputes between
these humanoids and yourselves, then possibly we might be better
received?"
     "My centurions are quite capable of..." Mendax attempted.
     "Your centurions will require the Shatner Technology upgrades to
equip them for dealing with the Borg, Commander Mendax.  As I have said
before, time is of the essence, Commander." Malus turned towards Luana. 
"Lieutenant. You and Sheba find these Angylion people, and use all
reasonable means to subdue them.  As a gesture of good will to our old
friends, welcomed into our fold, we must accept that Commander Mendax
knows how best to deal with these Angylions."
     "Yes...of course," Mendax murmured in surprise.  Maybe he just might
manage to get out of this mess with a full set of cover plates..."Flight
Leader Subventus will accompany your officers."
     "As will I," Malus added, seemingly as an afterthought.  "Portex,
Bakon, Coxcoxtli.  Are we ready to upload Microsoft OS?"
     "By-your-command," Bakon replied.
     "Proceed."

----------

     He clicked into alertness, before he even opened his eyes. 
Something was out of place.  Ryan could hear the familiar sounds of a
Colonial Sick...er, Life Station, having spent enough time there between
visiting Dickins, Starbuck, Porter, and Dorado during their various
stays, but there was a sense of subterfuge in the air.
     Someone was skulking.  
     "You're like a bull in a china shop, son," Ryan quipped, turning his
head to catch sight of the brown head ducking below the bio-stretcher. 
"Next time leave the Energizer Bunny at home, or at least give him a lube
job before you break into the Life Station, Boxster." He winced slightly
as his stomach reminded him it had recently been blasted open. The
amazing thing was he was still alive.
     "Boxey," a quiet but resentful voice murmured, before a head and
shoulders became visible.
     Ryan smiled.  "Ah, the Porsche Boxster. A German roadster that
combined good looks and fantastic power from its mid-mounted flat-six,
with direct injection. The 'S' had the new dual-clutch transmission known
as PDK, which dispensed with the traditional clutch pedal and allowed you
to shift through seven gears as smooth as butter via sequential paddle
shifters." He grinned, hearing and recognizing the love in his voice. 
Ryan had promised himself a black 2011 once he touched down again, even
had his name on the list at the dealership in Miami, but had never made
it back for the test drive.  "A man has to chase his dreams, Boxster."
     The child smiled, glancing down at his daggit, his hand resting on
its head.
     "Now how the hell did you get aboard the Endeavour?" Ryan couldn't
help the grin that spread across his face.  The ingenuity it took to get
from the Fleet all the way to a separate dimension to catch up to his
father, was damn impressive.  
     Boxey shrugged, glancing over his shoulder, before returning his
attention to the Earthman.  "It wasn't right for him to leave me behind."
     Him.  Not father or dad.  Oh, the kid was still angry.  "Well, rules
are rules..."
     "And can be broken," Boxey finished indignantly.
     Ryan nodded. "True. But in the military, the rules aren't generally
established to suit the individual, just the majority..." He paused,
seeing a twinkling light flare to life in the middle of the Life Station. 

     Boxey turned, backing up against the bio-stretcher when he saw the
light expanding, until it formed a swirling ball.  "What is it?"
     "I'm hoping it's Glinda, the Good Witch of the North, since I'm
fresh out of buckets of water," Ryan replied calmly, wrapping his meagre
Life Station gown more tightly around him, before hoisting his legs over
the side of the bio-stretcher.  The child froze beside him as the daggit
began growling in warning.  Ryan cringed as his guts twisted in pain.   
     "Ryan...Boxey!" Cassie's voice suddenly cried out haltingly as she
walked out of her office, the Empyrean healer, Rhiamon, beside her.  They
gawked at the light.  "Eirys?" Cassie whispered.
     "I vote we fire up a hoverstretcher and ride it out of here," Ryan
grunted, as Cassie rushed to his side, ever the competent clinician. 
"Get Boxster out of here, Cassie.  Now!"
     Then a flash of light just about knocked his eyeballs all the way
back to Earth.  When the shooting stars receded, Eirys and Llewelyn were
standing there before them.
     "Star...Starbuck?" Boxey asked uncertainly as he gazed upon a
likeness of his father's best friend, but with a gossamer radiance. 
However, the ethereal glow couldn't hide bloody and battle-torn clothes,
an enormous sword in its scabbard, and wildly strewn hair.  He looked
about, as if astounded by what he saw.  The woman beside him, much tidier
in appearance, looked like an enchanting angel.  A very tired enchanting
angel. 
     "Llewelyn?" Cassie murmured, seeing his anguish written so clearly
upon his handsome features that she could feel it herself, her heart
tearing jaggedly in two.  "What happened?  What's wrong?"
     The prince swallowed, then let out a ragged breath as he strode
forward, dropping to a knee in front of her, scabbard and armour clunking
on the deck, as he took her hand in both of his.  He looked up at her,
his glistening blue eyes pleading with her.  She felt familiar
heartstrings tug as she momentarily lost herself in those eyes, so
achingly familiar.  It was a maelstrom of emotions that she could do
without just now.  "Sweet Lady Cassiopeia, I seek your help.  Glynn has
been wounded.  Badly. I know of your skills, your magic.  Please...I beg
of you..."  A guarded hope shone from his eyes as he awaited her answer.
     Even his voice...
     Cassie nodded, dropping to her own knees, feeling an instinct to
comfort this young man who was so terrified of losing his brother.  A
brother that was Apollo's Doublewalker, and she couldn't help but wonder
if that was somehow significant.  Her eyes rested briefly on Boxey,
before replying.  "Of course, I'll help, Llewelyn."  
     "Thank you, Lady," he whispered, kissing the back of her hand,
before he rose, pulling her to her feet.  She crossed to grab her medical
bag.
     "We could fly you there..." Ryan attempted.
     "The Oculus will be quicker," Eirys replied.
     "Why did I know you'd say that," Ryan groused, reaching over and
grabbing a hoverspray.  He quickly dosed himself.  "I'm in."
     "You need to rest," Cassie told him. "You are hardly fit to be going
to the OC, let alone on a mission!"
     "I'm been debrided, evacuated, irrigated like a bloody cornfield,
repaired, and regenerated.  That kind of rest I can do without," he
returned, securing his grip on his revealing health care gown.
     "Are you going to wear that?" Eirys asked with a faint smile.  
     "Well, Oscar de la Life Station had a small line this year.  Maybe
we can find some Diane von Furstenburg down on the planet.  Let's go."
     "Boxey, you stay here with Rhiamon," Cassie told him.  "Don't worry,
we'll make sure you see your dad."
     He nodded quietly, backing away from the adults.
     "Gather 'round," Eirys told them, pulling out her Oculus and holding
it above her head as they stood with her.  Quietly at first, and then
more loudly she began uttering incomprehensible incantations.  The gilded
metal of the orb began to glow eerily, becoming more like a translucent
crystal, as though effected by some inexplicable energy.  Then a strange
light began to expand outward, enveloping them all.
     "Come on, Daggit!" Boxey suddenly shouted, taking a running jump,
and leaping into the middle of the mystical ball of energy.
     "Boxey!" Rhiamon yelled.
     Then with a brilliant flash, they were gone.

---------

     Cylons. Cylons everywhere. Every corner turned, every hatch they
passed through, everywhere Starbuck looked.  More frackin' Cylons!
     They had to get to a landing bay.  Had to commandeer a Raider or
shuttle.  If they didn't get off this ship they'd be dead.  But
centurions were coming out of the mong-raking bulkheads; Hades Hole, he
could even see them with his eyes closed!  Skittering over the entire
ship like some kind of infestation, intent on consuming them, destroying
them.  When one fell, it seemed as if six more replaced it.  He was
almost ready to carve his own hatch through the hull with the Cylon sword
he brandished, but that might be misconstrued as crazy.  He pulled at the
collar of his tunic.  Needed air...
     Surrounded.  Penned in.  Apollo ahead of him, Boomer continually
dragging him alongside by one arm...no, not Boomer...Dayton.  Frack!  A
guy didn't need a doctorate to know he wasn't doing too good mentally,
when he could confuse an old white guy with a young black man.  Boomer
would laugh himself into the next star system if he ever caught wind of
it.  Starbuck tugged at his collar again, barely able to catch his
breath, as his heart battered against his chest, and the walls closed in
on him.  Even his skin felt too tight...ready to burst like a Gemonese
sausage...curling and peeling back at the charred edges...the smell of
burning flesh...
     "Surrender-humans!"
     The drone.  
     Rage surged through his body, revitalising, energizing, and he
raised his sword, tearing his arm free from  Dayton's grip and racing
forward.  A half a dozen pulse rifles took aim, ready to mow him down. 
He faltered, aware that Dayton and Apollo were both shouting at him,
trying to get him to stand down.  A glance over his shoulder, and he
realized they were completely surrounded.  
     Surrender or die, Bucko.  Wasn't one much the same as the other?
     The insistent droning grated on his last nerve, back and forth, over
and over, the oscillating red eyes punctuating the maddening noise that
was etched painfully into his brain.  Had been since childhood.  What he
wouldn't do for a Colonial multi-pulse blaster right now, for a chance to
blast out one red light after the next until they were all lying in a
smouldering junk heap, like some weird, obscene sacrificial offering to
all those who had died by the will of Cylon.  Blessed silence, an end to
the madness...an impossible wish.
     "Easy now...this would be a really bad time to lose your cool, kid,"
Dayton hissed in his ear, gripping his shoulder tightly.
     He tore free, still wielding the sword, as he whirled on the
Earthman.  "Stop grabbing me, or I swear I'll rip off your arm and shove
it up your ast...!"
     "Centurions!  Hold your fire!  This is Lieutenant Luana of the Base
Ship Harrower!  In the name of the Admiral Malus, I'm ordering you to put
down your arms!  Now!" a voice roared from behind the Cylons, as a small
figure forced its way through.
     "Hold-your-fire," a centurion repeated.  The pulse rifles didn't
waver, but they didn't fire either.
      Frozen to the spot, Starbuck could feel his chest heaving as the
voice ricocheted around his brain.  He gazed into Dayton's eyes,
searching for elusive answers, as the Earthman slowly, but steadily
raised his hands and weapon in the air.  
     "Put it down, kid," Dayton murmured out of the side of his mouth.  
     Starbuck could only shake his head in bewilderment as he tried
desperately to correlate the voice with the orders.   Admiral
Malus...Base Ship Harrower...The Cylons were obeying her.  Didn't make
any sense.   What the frack...???   Not ceding his grip on the sword, he
turned reluctantly, afraid of what he'd see, but prepared for anything. 
This had to be some kind of joke...or nightmare.
     Yeah, he'd definitely gone off the scanner this time.  Deep space.
     Lu swept past the centurions, wearing a black tunic and pants, her
hair tied back as usual.  Her Colonial laser was on her hip, and her hand
rested on it lightly as she paused, and looked him over.   She drew in a
sharp breath, before straightening her shoulders, and stopping a pace
away.  Her liquid brown eyes were dark with concern, her body taut with
tension as Starbuck held his defensive stance, his sword looming over
her.
     "Innamorato..." she whispered for his ears only, her love for him
shining like a beacon of hope.  A lifeline.
     It penetrated his numbness, and his sword clattered to the deck,
leaving him naked and undefended.  Salvation was only a step away, but it
seemed like a bottomless chasm separated them.  All he had to do was
reach out, and pull her into his arms.  But he...couldn't...He let out a
shuddering breath, and Lu's face contorted, before she stepped forward,
holding out her hands to him.  "Starbuck..." she coaxed him gently.
     "Lower your weapons!  That is an order!  Centurions and humanoids
alike!" an unclad IL suddenly ordered, drawing Starbuck's attention.  "We
are allies!  It is time to unite against our common foe and destroy them! 
They are drawing close, even as we waste time here!  It is time to act! 
Do you understand?"
     "Lower-your-weapons!" Flight Leader Subventus repeated.
     Feeling raw and exposed, Starbuck tried to collect himself, as the
IL turned to regard him.  In a glance, it occurred to him that he...he
knew this Cylon.  But how?  Images once again came flooding back, and he
let out a choking sound, taking another step away from both Luana and the
IL, as he tried to ward off another onslaught of unwelcome memories.  He
raised his hands defensively.  All around them, the centurions had
obediently lowered their weapons.
     "We have been looking for you for some time," the IL told him.  "It
heartens me to see you are well."
     "Am I?" Starbuck rasped, winded.  His hand clutched at his chest as
it tightened intolerably.  
     "My sensors detect an unusual fluctuation in your life signs,
however.  If you were a cybernetic Being, I would suggest that you are
about to short circuit," the IL took a step closer.  "Three."
     "Huh?" Starbuck muttered, backing himself into a bulkhead.
     "Two," the IL added.
     "Now!" Dayton roared suddenly, as the Colonial Warriors suddenly
drew their weapons, and opened fire on the centurions.  Subventus went
first, his chest erupting in sparks, then an arm flying off, before he
fell, belching smoke.  Those next to him followed suit rapidly, heads
exploding, and limbs ripped to bits by the sudden volley of weapons fire.
     Starbuck didn't have time to react as the IL threw himself against
the warrior, crushing him against the bulkhead, and shielding his body
from the battle.  The sound of laser fire filled his senses, even as he
fought impotently against the crushing strength of the IL, while yelling
obscenities.  It was just enough to put him over the edge that he had
been precariously balanced on for far too long.  His ears rang and his
vision blurred, while cold arms engulfed him, and a surprisingly gentle
voice assured him, "I have you, my dearest friend.  I will not let you
come to harm.  I give you my word."  
     "Mal..." He stopped struggling, stopped raging, feeling himself go
limp with exhaustion as the last laser discharged, and the last centurion
fell.  A moment later, Malus caught him, lifting him easily in his arms. 
His vision narrowed, his hearing diminished.  It occurred to Starbuck
that IL's didn't drone...It was kinda nice.
     "Starbuck!" Luana cried, putting away her weapon, finally free to
throw her arms around him amidst the carnage of the smoking Cylons. 
Sheba had remained on the far side to flank the centurions, catching them
in a carefully constructed crossfire.  When they had obeyed their flight
leader's order, lowering their weapons, the Colonials had quickly
decimated them.
     Luana brushed back his hair from his forehead, and he gripped her
hand lightly.  Her touch wasn't the least bit threatening, or unwelcome,
he realized as darkness descended.
     "I'll take him," Dayton told the IL, as Sheba launched herself into
Apollo's waiting arms.
     "You have already had your chance, Commander," Malus replied,
holding the warrior a little closer to him.  A scorch mark ran across his
flank, suffered while protecting his self-delegated charge.  "I have this
watch."
     Dayton winced slightly, then nodded.  "Fair enough.  What now?"
     "Our brilliant escape." 
     "Brilliant?" asked Sheba.
     "Of course," said the IL.

---------

     The skies erupted with a sudden flash of light, which illuminated
the immuring grey clouds that had settled over Morlais.  In a sudden
heavenly explosion, rain poured down on them, soaking all within moments. 
All Angylion eyes were drawn to Mt. Cadoc, as lightning sundered the sky
over the mountain peak with a violence that could only be otherworldly. 
Tendrils of the heavenly wrath arced and snaked across the bulk of the
sacred peak.  A faint tremor shook the ground, growing in intensity until
it seemed Morlais would be ripped apart, and left in ruins. Then an
ungodly shriek ripped through the air, chilling each and every Being
present to the bone.
     Daunting, was the utter silence that fell.

Chapter Twenty
 
     
     "We need to get Starbuck out of here, Lightning Lid, and over to the
Endeavour," Dayton ordered, as he looked over the unconscious officer,
while in the corridor of the Cylon Base Ship.  It felt like days ago that
they had started this mission, trying to track down and retrieve their
missing strike captain.  Starbuck had been to Hell and back during that
time, especially after almost being executed, and then going through a
Cylon Brain Probe.  And you couldn't protect him.  Any more than you
could Lynn or Ben...The warrior was spent, both mentally and physically. 
Dayton sniffed.  Not getting any younger, he wasn't far off that himself. 
Besides, it was a little weird the way that Malus was holding the
insensate strike captain against him, cradling him like a child...or
lover.  Being overprotective and possessive.  Being Malus.
     "His condition is hardly emergent, Commander," the IL told him.  "He
merely needs our support and love."
     "Love," Dayton repeated monotone.  
     "Yes, Commander.  I understand it is difficult for the male of your
species to discuss love amongst brethren, but I know that you love
Starbuck.  As does Colonel Apollo.  As do I."
     "Oh, man..." Dayton rolled his eyes.
     "Malus, this isn't the time to explore your feelings for Starbuck,"
Apollo told him, "or anybody else's, for that matter.  We just destroyed
an entire Cylon patrol." His hand swept over the destroyed centurions. 
"Check in the with the Cylon Control Centre and tell them that Prince
Llewelyn is wounded, and we're taking him to the Harrower for treatment."
     "Perfect," Dayton praised him.  "Then I'll catch that flip back to
the Endeavour for the big show," Dayton added, knowing that his place was
on the Bridge when all this went down.
     "Yes, sirs," the IL replied, immediately crossing to a comm station. 
He shifted Starbuck gently in his arms, while activating the system. 
"This is Admiral Malus.  There was an unfortunate skirmish in place when
we arrived, Commander Mendax.  Most of your centurions were destroyed,
and Prince Llewelyn, the only surviving humanoid, was seriously wounded. 
I am going to take the prince to the launch bay for immediate transfer to
the Harrower's Life Station in my Raider.  I require you to clear one
more of my fighters to land in the bay, as I have no intention of
thumbing for a ride when it comes time to go."  The squadron had
maintained position near the Harbinger under the pretence that they were
protecting Mendax's Base Ship while it was still vulnerable.  
     "Thumbing for a ride...?" Mendax repeated.
     They could hear Baltar in the background.  "An old Renaissance
saying, Commander."
     "I see.  Then the manservant, Dayton?" Mendax asked. "He was
killed?"
     "Yes," Malus replied with a glance at Dayton.  "It seems you will
need to mend your own cloak, Mendax." 
     "I can recommend a seamstress on Piscon," Baltar inserted from the
Command Centre.  "We are ready here, Admiral.  I imagine you want to be
present.  Captain Dorado on the Harrower just reported his Shatner
scanners picked up concentrated energy signatures resembling
interdimensional transport that are likely indicative of Borg vessels
approaching.  ETA thirty centons.  They also reported that Doctor Ryan,
his med tech, and a child were abducted by Angylions from the Life
Station.  It seems they're on Morlais.  We're running out of time,
Admiral."
     "Oh my," Malus replied.  "I will be there shortly, Baltar.  Admiral
Malus out."
     "Cassiopeia..." Dayton groaned.  As much as he tried to keep her
safe, she kept getting thrust back into the thick of it.  "Damn!"
     "A child?" Apollo asked, tense and expectant. 
     Sheba let out a long breath.  "Boxey stowed away on the Pegasus
before we shipped out from the Fleet.  I think he also stowed away on the
Endeavour when we intercepted her," Sheba explained.  "We still haven't
found him."
     "You lost my son?" Apollo clamped his mouth shut, immediately
shaking his head in regret.  "I didn't mean it quite the way it sounded."
     "I'm sure you didn't," Sheba replied evenly.  
     "He's probably in the Rejuvenation Centre playing Starhounds," Lia
added optimistically.
     Apollo winced, not convinced.  "I wish.  Okay, I have to get down to
Morlais.  I need to find Boxey.  If the Angylions went after Cassiopeia,
somebody was hurt badly.  This has Eirys' signature all over it.  They
must be at the battlefield."
     "I'm coming with you," Sheba told him.  "We're probably going to
need a shuttle to get everybody back from the surface."
     "If I had my druthers, I'd go too.  I'd like a word with that
sorceress about popping in willy-nilly to nab members of my crew whenever
it suits her," Dayton told them, letting out a breath of frustration at
not being the one to collect Cassiopeia.  "But, unfortunately I need to
get back to my ship.  I belong on the Bridge, especially now." 
     "Yes, sir," Apollo winced.
     "Apollo, if that was my kid down there, I'd be going too," Dayton
intervened before the young colonel began to second guess his decision. 
"We'll be fine.  Just do me a favour and see to Cassiopeia for me once
you find Boxey."
     "I will, Commander."
     "Do we have time to drop off Starbuck and the rest of the crew on
the Endeavour and then continue on?" Sheba asked, glancing at her chrono. 

     "No, we'd end up launching in the thick of it," Apollo replied with
a frown.
     "Like Commander Dayton, Coxcoxtli needs to be back on the
Endeavour," Malus added.  "We'll need his technical support in the
Command Centre, and he knows the sequences that Baker and Porter will
run."
     "Well, that settles it.  The shuttle will head for Morlais. 
Coxcoxtli, Starbuck and I will go with Luana and..." Dayton paused, until
Lia held up her hand.  "Lia.  It'll be a bit tight, but if you could
squeeze five in there for the trip over, we can do the same for the trip
back.  To the Cylons it'll just look like we're transporting Prince
Llewelyn, and with the average centurion denser than a brick shit house,
no one will be any the wiser." He paused for questions, glancing at
Starbuck who looked the part of the injured prince.  "Sparky, have you
got things wrapped up here?"
     "Of course, Commander," Malus replied, heading down the corridor
towards the launch bay.  "I will remain with Baltar, Bakon and Eggz in
the Command Centre to continue the charade.  The rest of the team should
be returning to the landing bay any moment."
     "Bacon and eggs?" Dayton couldn't help but snort.  The levity was a
welcome reprieve, however brief.  "Just make sure you all get out in
time."  
     "Of course," Malus replied.
     "Let's move, people!" Dayton ordered.

---------

    Keeping Mendax occupied while Malus was gone was proving to be
difficult.  Baltar had used every skill of bureaucratic persuasion he had
ever learned to circumvent the Cylon IL from accessing Starbuck's
cortical scan and exposing their ruse.  Sadly, destroying the Brain Scan
unit itself did not destroy the data.  Normal procedure had it
transferred to the ship's main data banks upon completion.  Yes, Baltar
had weaved magnificent tales of battle and conquest, utilizing some of
his own adventures, greatly embellished upon, while he was a Cylon
commander on a Hades-class Base Star. Overall, he had seemed successful
in deterring Mendax from finding out more about the "Angylion prince" now
that Starbuck was parenthetically out of the way.  But he knew it was
only a matter of time before the blatant omission of concluding the
interrogation would prod the IL into action.  However, for now the
inevitable attack of "the Borg" took precedence over the motivations of a
prince of a people they would soon leave behind.
     "So you will be staying to engage the enemy?" Mendax asked.  
     "Why, it would hardly be responsible of us to upgrade your
technology and then abandon you to figure it out for yourself without
even running you through a simulation," Baltar replied reasonably.  To
maintain the ruse, and run the program, they had to be present.  Baker
had been certain that they could create a believable illusion if he could
orchestrate it from beginning to finish...up until their successful
escape, which Baltar was feeling a little unsure of.  It was a relatively
long way from the Command Centre to the launch bay.  Precisely the same
distance as aboard his own ship, in fact. Their extra crewmembers were
now reporting to the landing bay in preparation for their return to the
Endeavour.  Of course, Baltar knew that his own delivery to that ship
would mean his inevitable return to incarceration.  But remaining here
would be certain death, unless he suddenly switched sides, which was an
option that oddly didn't sit will with him at this point.  Even so, a
victory by Mendax was very problematical, given the condition of his
ship, compared to Dayton's.  He had to admit, the pistol on his hip felt
very good right now.  If only there was some way..."You need our
expertise at this point, and as we've said before, Portex and Bakon are
the foremost authorities."
     "And Admiral Malus as well?" probed the IL.
     "Admiral Malus has adopted a somewhat human-style approach to
command with our alliance.  It inspires confidence in our forces to have
him on the Bridge, especially when we're introducing state-of-the-art
technology in battle that many look at sceptically until they finally see
it in action for themselves."
     Mendax nodded slowly.  "I admit, the data that Admiral Malus gave me
requires even more somewhat elusive data for me to correlate exactly how
it all works."
     "Which data?" Baltar asked slowly.  He glanced at his chrono wishing
Malus would hurry up.  Then he winced as he caught himself relying on a
starry-eyed IL Series Cylon with a definite hiccough in his programming.
     "What exactly are dilithium crystals?" Mendax asked.

----------

     With "Admiral" Malus leading them, they weren't questioned once as
they headed for the launch bay.  Once there, Luana motioned for Lia to
precede her into the Hybrid Fighter, walking over to gently caress her
husband's cheek.
     "Innamorato?" she called quietly.  
     "He's still unconscious, but his life signs are stable," Malus told
her, once again shifting the Colonial Warrior in his arms as the others
made to board the shuttle.  He ran his multi-spectral scanners over the
insensate human several times, assessing his injuries and vital signs. 
Despite all he had been through, and the serious neural trauma he had
suffered via the Brain probe, the warrior's physical state was
surprisingly good.  The rest of the crew had arrived with their array of
technological equipment for the newly "implemented" Shatner Technology.  
Now, only Baltar, Baker and Porter remained in the Command Centre.  "I
admit that I am curious, Luana..."
     She looked up at the IL.  "About what?"
     "Will you go with Starbuck to the Life Station, or take part in the
battle?  After all, you are a reserve pilot under Colonel Apollo's direct
command."
     Luana smiled.  "Once I see Starbuck to the Life Station, I'll be out
there with the rest of the warriors.  You're right, I am a reserve pilot,
but unless these Raiders are as low on tylium as we suspect, they'll need
every available pilot we have out there.  We only have two functional
squadrons."
     "I have trouble reconciling that you are willing to leave him,
knowing that he was captured by the enemy and brain probed as well.  From
what Colonel Apollo mentioned on the way here, he was disoriented and
emotionally distraught."
     "Mal, Starbuck's in good hands.  I know that," she replied, glancing
at Dayton and Apollo talking by the shuttle.  Dayton paused to watch them
for a moment before clasping Apollo's hand and heading towards them. 
"And as much as I'd like to stay with him, I have my duty."
     "Starbuck is your husband.  Surely that rates higher than duty?"
     "Mal, there isn't a scale."
     "Unfortunate.  As I would study it and learn for myself why you
would abandon my Starbuck when he needs you most."
     She raised her eyebrows.  "You're a good friend to him, Malus.  I'm
honoured that you care so deeply for him that you would even bring this
up."
     "But you are still going to leave him."
     She nodded.  "I don't want to, but I have to." 
     Malus nodded, running this data through his "Human Cultural
Database" files.  The results were less than satisfying.  "I admit that I
do not understand, and I conclude that I would certainly choose
differently were our positions reversed."  He looked down at the human
that he carried, the one who had made it possible for him to change his
life so completely, and to begin to fulfil potentials that he had once
thought impossible under Cylon rule.  One man who had made it all
possible just because he had believed in Malus. The human who had become
so...so inexpressibly dear to him, despite what had once seemed like an
unbridgeable gulf between them.  
     Malus was an IL Series Cylon, designed, built, programmed, and
equipped to fulfil but a single purpose: to forward the Alliance's 
inflexible and unchangeable goal.  Destroy all Humans.  Yet, despite all,
despite the destruction of Starbuck's civilization at Cylon hands, and
the slaughter of billions of his fellow beings, the young man had
believed that even a Cylon had the potential to deny his programming, to
rise above mere lines of algorithms and code, to reach for the stars and
to follow his dreams.  To have dreams.  It was so entirely inspiring and
poetic that Malus would have cried had it been technologically
possible...as he watched the boarding continue, he figured he might just
engineer some artificial tears for such an occasion...maybe after he
changed the colour of his optical sensors to blue.  And the illumination
circuitry for his vocal modulator was currently blue, which when he gazed
down at Starbuck, he realized was all wrong.  It should be red, like
human lips.  He had to turn the two colours around in order to fit in
better with humans.  He might even consider getting
some...clothes...Starbuck fidgeted, his eyes fluttering open, his head
lolling like a drunken man's as he murmured incoherently.  Within mere
millicentons, all other thoughts were brushed aside, every fibre of
Malus' existence focusing on the human. 
     "Rest easy, Starbuck. You are safe."

---------

     All in all, Ryan decided that he didn't recommend transport by
Oculus, and in the future would do all he could to avoid it.  He
stumbled, feeling disoriented as he heard the voices of countless
Angylions on the battlefield that Eirys had directly transported them to. 
Rubbing his bleary eyes, he remembered to secure his Life Station gown,
when a childlike cry of terror just about tore out his heart.
     "Dad!" 
     The sound of a mechanical dog working itself into a frenzy only
added to the hysteria, as Angylion soldiers hesitated between destroying
the beast that was obviously cybernetic-which they understandably equated
with Cylons-and approaching the grieving child.
     Boxey had thrown himself on the wounded Glynn, the Angylion prince
unconscious and obviously close to death.  All of seven-years-old and
transported via a magical sphere by a sorceress to another planet where
everybody looked like an angel or demigod.  Chiselled, burly, handsome,
most of these soldiers looked like they had just flown down from Mount
Olympus on their winged stallions. 
     Pegasus?  No, that would be just way too weird. 
     "He's not your Dad, Boxey," Cassiopeia was there in a micron,
peeling the wailing boy off the prince.  "Just like Prince Llewelyn looks
like Starbuck, Prince Glynn looks like your Dad."  She cradled the shaken
boy to her breast, screening the view of the bloody wound.  "But he's not
your Dad.  I promise."  She looked directly at Ryan then, silently
begging him to intervene.
     "But he does need Cassie's help, Boxster," Ryan told him, lifting
the small boy in his arms, and ignoring the ensuing chuckles and gibes as
his gown flapped open in the breeze.  "She's gonna do everything she
possibly can, to save him.  You and I are going to take a walk...maybe
find me some pants...How about you call your dog?"
     "Dawg?" Boxey sniffed.
     "Muffin?" Ryan asked, nodding toward the droid.  Cassie was already
working on Glynn, Llewelyn keeping watch.
     "Muffit," Boxey replied quietly.  "He's a daggit."  The droid
followed along behind, dutifully.
     "Muffit the daggit.  All right."  Jaysus Murphy, I'm arguing
terminology with a kid who still has baby teeth!  It's enough to drive a
man to drink...if he knew where the hell to get one around here!   "How
about I tell you where your Dad is, and what he's doing to help Starbuck
and Commander Dayton right now?" Ryan looked far above them, to where he
figured the Base Ships would roughly be, give or take a few hundred
thousand clicks.  His eyes narrowed when he heard a strange sound, like
wind rushing through a narrow channel.  He turned to see shooting balls
of light speed across the sky.
     "What are they?" Boxey cried.
     "I'm not sure, kid," Ryan replied, feeling his guts twist with
discomfort as he searched his memory for a story that Starbuck had told
him at some point.  Why did those kinds of stories always come out after
he was halfway under the table?  It had something to do with that Ship of
Lights, he was almost tentatively uncertain.
     Then the lights were gone.      

---------

     He felt like a kid again.  Warm, comfortable, safe...soaring through
an endless field of stars without a fighter, it was every child's dream
and the ultimate in freedom.  It gave Starbuck a familiar feeling of
security as though he'd been here before...dreamed this before.  He
stretched out his arms, turning his body in consecutive spirals, almost
laughing aloud at the joy of it as he chased a shooting star and overtook
it.   It was better than a high stakes card game, a fine ambrosa, the
best fumarello.  It was almost as good as sex...but not quite.
     Starbuck...
     The beckoning voice was barely discernable, yet his flesh raised
with a sudden inexplicable apprehension.  He drifted through the heavens,
straining to pick up the sound once again, wishing for a moment for a
Viper with a scanner...after all, this was his dream and he should be
able to manipulate it by will.
     Starbuck!
     "Ama?" he called, knowing beyond doubt it was the Empyrean
necromancer, as surely as he knew his own name.  But how did Ama get into
his dream?  "Where are you?"
     Then the field of stars abruptly disappeared, leaving him in a deep,
dank cavern.  A sudden chill infused him, and he automatically reached
for his weapon, only to find his holster empty.  Swallowing down the lump
of fear in his throat, he looked around to see two altars side by side,
but both split jaggedly down the middle.  Dust hung in the air, water
dripped somewhere, and debris cluttered the ground of the chamber that he
knew had been the Angylion Holy Sanctum.
     "Ama?" he called again, and this time the echo of his voice eerily
answered him.  A faint, but distinctly foul scent permeated the air,
wafting down a tunnel that should have led to the mine.  A step in that
direction, and the air grew even cooler.  He was sure he could see the
vapour from his breath, and he clenched his hands into fists against the
chill as he hesitated on the edge of some imaginary precipice, reluctant
to proceed.
     Star-buck...
     The spectral whisper lured him forward, while a tendril of light
weaved a mesmerizing path towards him, as though coming to greet him.  He
was moving closer to it, drawn like a moth to a flame, before he even
realized he'd taken a step.  At first transparent, it seemed to increase
in substance as it wound a serpentine path through the air towards him. 
Sinuous and alluring, it tempted and teased, even as his internal klaxons
warned of the danger.
     Come...
     Well...it was only a dream.  What harm could it do?
     He slowly reached out a hand, feeling the tendrils tickle his
fingertips, nipping at them, freezing the ends...then an icy grip jerked
him forward, and he was plunging headlong through the biting cold,
yelling in horror.  The roar of the wind filled his ears, as his stomach
jumped into his throat, and he reasoned he'd lost control of this dream. 
Time to wake up, Bucko...
     A baleful laughter pummelled his senses, even as he collapsed to the
frigid surface in the darkness.  He gasped for a breath, forcing himself
to all fours, before a faint glimmer from only a metron away caught his
eye.  As much as he knew it couldn't bode well, he felt compelled to go,
to find out...
     He crawled forward over the jagged surface, tentatively reaching for
the shiny object.  It felt warm in his hand, and when he picked it up, it
began to gleam, casting a luminous glow.  It was just enough light to see
the crumpled figure nearby.
     He sucked in a panicked breath, finding his feet and skittering to
her side.  She was face down, her limbs at odd angles.  He gently rolled
her over, hearing the sickening grinding of her bones, and shuddering at
the moan torn from her throat.  Then he gasped in horror at the sight of
the wizened old woman with the haunted grey eyes staring vacuously back
at him.  
     "Ama!" 
     Starbuck lurched forward, coming to a sudden stop, as restraints
across his lap held him secure.  Letting out a ragged breath, he gasped
in astonishment.  The backs of two heads, the starscape through the
viewport, the Endeavour looming ahead...
     "You finally awake?  Is that what it takes to have a Cylon get the
hots for you?  Lots of rack time, Sleeping Beauty?" Dayton asked wryly
from the jump seat behind him.
     Starbuck's heart was beating so hard, it was sure to jump through
his chest at any moment.  He let his head flop back, and caught his
breath, trying to reorient himself, as he squeezed his hand around the
warmth within it.  Slowly, he uncurled his fingers...
     "On final approach, Commander," Lia reported. 
     "...you are cleared for approach, Phoenix One," squeaked the
speaker. 
     "They have us."
     "How are you feeling, Starbuck?" Luana looked back over her
shoulder, pausing as she took in his ashen appearance.  "Starbuck?" 
     Within his hand was a deformed, melted silver hunk of metal with a
leather cord attached to it.  It glowed every so slightly, still warm in
his touch.
     "We have to find Ama!" he croaked.
     "Right after we blow up Mendax..." Dayton started to reply.
     "NOW!" Starbuck roared, feeling a rising foreboding.  "She's...in
trouble!" He felt the bile rise in his throat.  "She's hurt. I'll bet
that Iblis..."
     "Whoa now!  Where's this coming from?" Dayton asked tolerantly, as
both sisters and Coxcoxtli turned to regard him anxiously.
     Starbuck held out the piece of metal.  "I had a...a
dream...something...I don't know what to call it," he told them as Luana
reached back, taking the object from his hand.  He took several deep
breaths, trying to make his mind stop spinning. 
     "Holy frack..." she muttered in disbelief.  "It's Ama's talisman, or
at least it was.  It's as though it's been melted down...Where did you
get it?  How...?"
     "You're asking me?" he murmured, drawing in another steadying
breath.  "All I know is she's somewhere near the Holy Sanctum...sort of."
     "Sort of?" Lia replied sceptically.  "That doesn't sound good."
     "Listen, kid, you're not going anywhere except to the Life Station."
     "Wanna bet?" Starbuck growled.  "She's in trouble, Dayton.  Sagan
sakes, we left her with Diabolis!"
     "Damn it, Starbuck, for as long as I've known you you've had trouble
accepting your limitations..." Dayton began to rant.
     "Well, that might sound a bit more definitive if you'd known me
longer than seven sectars..." Starbuck countered, feeling his defences go
up full force in reaction to Dayton's criticism.  Shortly after meeting
him, the Earthman had born witness to Starbuck losing consciousness in
his fighter. Mainly because he was too stubborn to admit he was in no
condition to fly, and in too much of a hurry to get back to an injured
Luana on the Galactica.
     "Commander, whether or not Starbuck's coming, I'd like permission to
go investigate the Holy Sanctum.  Either way, we need to find out what
happened to Ama," Lia told him as she smoothly brought the fighter in for
a landing.
     "Count me in," Luana added, her hands running over the controls as
the Hybrid Raider came to a stop.
     "Now wait just a gollmonging micron!  There's no way you two are
going anywhere near Iblis without me!" Starbuck averred, releasing his
harness and climbing out of the seat.  Surprisingly, he felt...good.  As
though his weird dream had been as therapeutic as it was a warning.
     "You in particular, or anyone with more experience?" Luana asked,
looking him up and down doubtfully.
     "Me in particular!" Starbuck replied heatedly, trying to calm
himself down, and knowing he wasn't being especially convincing in his
present state of turmoil as his commander looked at him dubiously. 
"Look, I have nothing but my gut instinct to go on...but I get the
feeling that I'm supposed to be there.  That it's important." He shook
his head in annoyance, as Lia tilted her head in apparent amusement.  The
transformation was complete.  He was officially Empyrean-ized.  If Ama
wasn't lying in a crumpled heap somewhere, he was sure she'd be cackling
in glee.  Lords...he'd do anything to hear that cackle coming from that
gapped-tooth grin once again.  To hear her call him Son of my Heart. 
"That woman's the closest thing I've had to a..." his throat tightened
with emotion, but he pressed onward, "...a mother since I was a child,
Dayton.  I have to help her.  I can't just cower in a thorn bush...Not
again."  
     "Bloody hell, kid," Dayton murmured, as he climbed out of his seat. 
He glanced at his chrono, and took a step towards the young strike
captain.  "Are you trying to tell me that somehow in this dream Ama
communicated with you and actually managed to give you her talisman?"  He
looked down at the savaged sigil.  "As a kind of message?"
     "Or proof that it happened.  As crazy as it sounds, that's what I'm
telling you," Starbuck nodded, meeting his commander's eyes.  "Dayton.
She didn't look too good."
     Dayton sighed, closing his eyes slightly and nodding, seeming to
have come to some kind of decision.  "Look Starbuck, I want you to take a
minute...centon to really think about this.  If you truly decide that
after being hauled through dimensions by Eirys, forcibly aligned with
Baltar, almost sacrificed to raise your Doublewalker from the dead,
thrown from a runaway mine cart, almost executed, then brain probed...if
after all of that you really think you're up for leading your wife and
her sister on a mission to save not only a woman that loves you like a
son, but is also a member of the Council of the Twelve...well then, I
give you my permission to go back to Morlais.  But son," he put a hand on
Starbuck's shoulder, pausing to study his reaction, "you'd better
understand that you're putting more than yourself at risk if you're not
up for this." He squeezed Starbuck's shoulder.  "It's your call. And
you'd bloody well better be right, Captain. Because if you end up dead
because of this, I'll kill ya."
     Starbuck nodded, meeting Dayton's grey eyes for a long moment before
the commander turned to go.  It struck him how alike in colour they were
to Ama's...
     Ama.
     "How's our fuel?" he called forward.  If he did this, he'd need a
weapon...not that it would work on Iblis.  At least a laser wouldn't...
     "Eighty-percent," Lia called back.
     A gentle hand settled on his shoulder, tugging ever so slightly.  He
turned, and Lu slipped into his arms, pressing herself against him.  It
took a moment for him to allow himself to awkwardly return the embrace,
feeling strangely apart from her in a way he didn't understand.  He
breathed in her scent, felt her curves press against him, heard her
softly murmur, "Innamorato".  It chipped away at the numbness that held
him prisoner, keeping him an emotional step away, even as she held him
close.  A sweet agony swept over him, penetrating his defences, and he
melted into her embrace.  Tears pricked his eyes, but for the life of
him, he didn't know why.
     "Lu..."
     "I love you," she whispered, tilting up his chin to search his eyes
when he didn't respond.  "Whatever you decide, I trust that you're making
the right decision."
     He chewed on that a moment, then nodded.  "Then let's go find Ama."

----------

     With the aid of the search light from the shuttle as well as several
fires on the ground, from the air Apollo could see tiny Cylon and
Angylion bodies strewn across the battlefield that had once surrounded
Mendax's Base Ship.  His militarily-trained eye could pick out the three
fronts that the Angylions had advanced from, and where the  centurions
had engaged them.  A few tents had been erected in various locations,
probably to treat the wounded, but when he noticed a black tent, the
shade of the Angylion Palace Guard, banners fluttering from its top, he
gave orders to set down nearby.  That's where he would find Cassie,
Ryan...and Boxey.
     The hatch couldn't open quickly enough, and he ground his teeth
together wondering what he would find as Sheba lay a supportive hand on
his arm.  Through a viewport, his eyes ran over the crowd that had
gathered to gape at the Cylon transport, unsure whether to attack it, or
applaud it.  Angylions lowered their swords as they spotted the human
crew within.  Apollo was torn between his fear for Boxey and wanting to
ream the boy out.  Then there was the fact that he was exhausted, having
gone virtually non-stop since they had left the Fleet on their shakedown
cruise.  It didn't exactly leave a father in the best frame of mind for
dealing with his rebellious seven-yahren-old.
     "Dad!"
     A sharp mechanical bark added to the shouts of his son.  Letting out
a breath of relief, Apollo jumped off the shuttle, racing towards the
small figure darting towards him.  Boxey leapt into his arms, and Apollo
hugged him tightly, realizing the boy was all right.  His son clung to
him, murmuring something he couldn't quite hear.
     "What?" Apollo asked, pulling his son back so he could look into his
eyes.
     "You're really okay," the boy sobbed, his face tear-stained.  "I
thought it was you.  Ryan and Cassie told me it wasn't...but I thought it
was you."
     "Shh," Apollo murmured, pulling his son close once again, although a
little confused.  Sheba caught up to them, her own relief plain.
     "Prince Glynn was wounded, Apollo," Ryan said as he approached. The
Earthman was slightly hunched over, his hand guarding his abdomen.  Still
wearing his Life Station gown from his brief rest on the Endeavour, at
least the man had found some much needed pants.  "When Boxey saw Glynn,
he thought it was you."
     "What happened?" Apollo asked, stroking his son's hair as Ryan
explained to them how Eirys and Llewelyn had used the Oculus to find them
on the Endeavour, and had begged for help to save Prince Glynn. 
Apparently, Boxey had "stowed away" once again, as the sorceress used her
magic to take them back to Morlais.
     Apollo winced, sharing a frown with Sheba before looking back at the
boy.  "Boxey, do you know how lucky you are that you're still in one
piece?"  He fought to keep from shouting, whether from anger or relief he
did not know. "What if something had gone wrong?"
     "Nothing did," the boy sniffed, still clinging to his father. "I'm
alright.  Just like Arcta."
     Apollo bowed his head, raking a hand through his hair.  "Boxey."
Yeah, just like Arcta. I could have lost...The boy had accepted Apollo
into his life so easily and readily after the Destruction, that the
officer hadn't been prepared when Boxey had started giving him so much
trouble during these last few sectars.  He had thought that the
cooperative program would be the answer, and maybe it would help, but it
still wasn't going to take the place of having his father there with him. 
It was one of those times in his life where he fervently wished that
Serina could be there, even more for their son's sake than for his own. 
She would have known just what to say, just what to do.  She always
seemed to know instinctively what the boy needed.  Then again, if Serina
were alive, none of this would have happened.  Their son would have had
at least one parent with him.  While Serina wanted to do her part for the
Fleet, like everyone else in uniform, she was hardly a "lifer" in the
Colonial Service.  They had talked about finding a balance between career
and family...of course, before they had discussed it in any detail she
had been gunned down on Kobol.
     "Jaysus Murphy, Boxster Boy, if Mother Ryan was in charge here you'd
have your ears boxed, your hide tanned, and you'd be grounded until the
cows came home, which didn't happen a whole lot in Carrot Creek, Alberta. 
Mostly they wandered away and were eaten by our neighbours," Ryan told
them.  Ever helpfully.
     Rolling her eyes at the Earthman, Sheba kneeled down beside the
father and son.  "Boxey, as difficult as it is to understand at times,
your father makes decisions that are meant to keep you safe because he
loves you. It was no different when he was your age, and Commander Adama
had to go on missions, or when I had to watch my father leave. Yes, it
hurts, and yes, I wanted to follow, but..." She took a deep breath.
"Landing in the aftermath of a battle between a race of humanoids and the
Cylons wouldn't be high on my list of places I'd want you to visit
either." The boy turned to look at her and she wiped a streak of dirt
from his cheek.  "Your Dad cares about you...we care about you.  We want
you to be safe.  To have as normal a childhood as the circumstances can
provide.  We want you playing with other children and going to
instructional periods, not sneaking around battleships and being subject
to sights that ideally we try to protect our children from.  There will
be plenty of time for stealth missions when you become a fully fledged
Colonial Warrior, Boxey.  But part of being a junior warrior is abiding
by the rules."
     The boy paused, looking between the three adults.  "Am I grounded?"
     Apollo smiled slightly, pulling his son back into a tight embrace. 
The boy wanted to get to the crux of the matter.  "Till the cows come
home...whatever they are."
     Ryan grinned.  "I believe you call them bovines.  Apollo, Llewelyn's
been waiting for you.  Eirys mentioned that blood from Glynn's
Doublewalker would probably save his life."
     "Llewelyn knew I'd come..." Apollo murmured. 
     "Well, it's not like he knew Boxey was your son, but when he found
out..." Ryan shrugged, glancing back towards the tent.  "Yeah, it
followed you'd be here quick like Speedy Gonzalez.  Cassie's doing her
best, but hey, when in Rome, do as the Romans do."
     "Quick like Speedy Who?  And Rome?" Apollo asked, his brow furrowed
as he stood up, grabbing his son's hand.  Was there no end to these
Earthisms?
     "Hail Mighty Caesar, and pass the Clamato!" Ryan replied, heading
for the tent and motioning for them to follow.  
     Apparently not. 

----------

     Dayton strode into the Endeavour's Control Centre, slapping a hand
on Dorado's shoulder as the captain updated him on the situation and
readiness of their crew.  Much as he'd expected, the vast creativity and
knowledge of his team had flourished when push came to shove, and they
had come up with something completely unorthodox, with which to baffle
the Cylons.  When he had started recruiting this crew, he hadn't wanted
warriors who were simply going to follow orders, but instead thinkers,
doers, and risk takers.  The Covert Operations Ship was an entirely new
concept in the Colonial Service, and for it to succeed as Starbuck and
Dorado had first envisioned, it had to deviate from the traditional
command structure at several points.  "Great job, everyone," he told
them, crossing to where Coxcoxtli manned his station.  "Now tell me how
this is going to work."
     "How about I show you as well, sir?" Coxcoxtli replied, as the
chrono on the control panel counted down ever closer towards 0000.
     "You have my undivided attention, Corporal," Dayton nodded, watching
the young man bring up an image on screen.   A screen capture from Star
Trek that had been digitally altered and enhanced, it showed three Borg
vessels frozen in space and time.
     "It will work just like a simulation, Commander.  Malus wrote a
program, inputting it into the Harbinger's mainframe that will completely
subvert their sensors and scanners.  All real inputs will be completely
ignored while this program is running.  The Earth 'moo-vee' you see here
is essentially for our reference, but as our simulated Borg vessels
figuratively enter this dimension, the Cylons will be receiving
correlating data in their Control Centre to register that."
     "How the heck did Malus have time to put that together?" Dayton
asked, amazed at the IL's achievement.
     "It's only a five centon simulation, Commander," Dorado inserted.
"That's all we had time for, even at the speed Malus can work.  Then it
will essentially start to repeat itself, which might give us a few more
microns until the Cylons realize they've been duped.  By then the
Endeavour will be in position, and ready to attack."
     "And our people are intrinsic to facilitating the ruse?" Dayton
asked, frowning.  "Why?"
     "We're trying to keep Mendax busy, so he won't review Starbuck's
cortical scan until it's too late to be of any help to him.  Leaving our
people in place makes that more likely.  And, of course, Malus will be
guiding Mendax through proper procedure as the sim runs," Dorado
explained.
     "And somehow Malus, Baker, Porter and Baltar are supposed to get to
our only remaining fighter in the launch bay unhindered, and escape while
all this is going on?" Dayton asked incredulously.
     Coxcoxtli winced.  "Not exactly, Commander..."
     "Not exactly?" repeated Dayton, with a whiff of ire.  "Corporal,
give it to me, and I had better like this!  I don't leave my men behind!"


---------
     
     "I don't understand how...but I think he's going to be okay now,"
Cassie murmured to Eirys and Apollo as she ran her biomonitor over Prince
Glynn once again.  By the time she'd reached the young Angylion prince,
he'd been near death from trauma and extensive hemorrhaging.  She'd lost
him twice during surgery, and even volume expanders and blood
transfusions hadn't seemed to matter, as though Glynn was destined to die
on this night.  Although initially rebelling at the very thought, she had
been beginning to lose hope...
     Then his Doublewalker had arrived.
     With the first milliletrons of Apollo's blood transfusing into
Glynn's body, his life signs had improved with his pulse, respiration,
and even brainwave patterns slowly returning to a baseline condition as
Eirys had promised.  After a full unit of the precious fluid, the prince
was finally resting soundly, all bleeding from his wounds having ceased,
as the Endeavour's only fully qualified medical officer pondered the
miracle in silent disbelief.  
     "There are a lot more injured warriors that I could be helping right
now," Cassie told Apollo, finally satisfied, as she started repacking her
medical kit.  Ryan was already out there treating minor wounds much as
he'd taken care of the Earth space shuttle's crew during their yahrens on
the pirate asteroid.   "How much time do I have?"
     "We're not getting in the middle of a battle between capital ships,"
Apollo replied, glancing down at the prince.  The Angylion's eyes were
opening.  A micron later his brother, Llewelyn, was leaning down beside
him reassuring him.  It was so bizarre to be gazing on replicas of
himself and Starbuck, knowing that in this dimension the men were
brothers.  "Especially in a shuttle.  Go ahead, Cassie."
     She nodded, turning to go, and sparing a look at Boxey, now curled
up in Sheba's embrace, catching up on some much needed sleep.  His trusty
daggit watched over him.
     "Thank you for your understanding and assistance," Eirys offered
with a smile.  "You kept our prince alive until Apollo could arrive. 
Iblis was once again denied the fulfilment of his evil desires thanks to
your skill."
     "Yes, thank you, Lady Cassiopeia," Llewelyn quickly intercepted her
as she began to leave.  He bowed before her, taking her hand, and lightly
caressing the back of it with his lips.  Her skin tingled, as though
enervated by his touch.  She felt her stomach flutter.  "I am forever in
your debt for what you have done for my brother."
     Cassie smiled.  He may have looked like Starbuck, but he was
certainly far more charming than the Colonial Warrior...and every other
man that she had met in her lifetime.  "I'm...I'm  glad I could help,
Llewelyn.  And I'm glad you realized you could come to me for help when
you needed it."
     "Your generous spirit and knowledge of the healing arts are as
beguiling as your breathtaking beauty, Lady," Llewelyn smiled, and the
effect on her was a little overwhelming. "If only you could stay..." He
sighed sadly, leaning forward and whispering conspiratorially, "I fear
you have stolen my heart...but I part with it gladly, knowing you will
keep it safe.  And alas, once you have left me behind in Morlais, I shall
have no further need of it."
     Recognizing the mischievous sparkle in his sea blue eyes, Cassie
giggled at his blatant flattery...then abruptly put a hand over her
mouth, stifling her school girl reaction.  She didn't miss Sheba's little
smirk or Apollo's dubious glance in her direction, but she was having far
too much fun to let it impact her.  Ignoring them, she leaned forward and
kissed the prince on the cheek, feeling her own flush warmly as she did
so.  "Take care of yourself, Llewelyn.  And your brother."
     Once again, Llewelyn kissed her hand, and then reluctantly released
it as she turned to go.  He held up the flap of the tent for her to pass
through, and continued to watch as she disappeared into the shadows of
the firelight.  "Your commander is a fortunate man, Colonel Apollo."
     "He is," Apollo replied with a smile in Sheba's direction.  His own
lady's eyebrows were raised, and he knew she was pondering the attraction
that the young prince had for Cassie, and drawing a parallel between
Starbuck and Cassie in their own dimension.
     "Ah, welcome, Mouric!  You took so long getting here, I was
concerned you were dead!" Llewelyn suddenly announced, as a dark-haired
man stepped into the tent, rushing to Glynn's side.  Built like the
others, he was tall, muscular, with long hair trailing down his back.  A
fresh field dressing, Colonial in origin, covered his right upper arm,
and the contrast between the white bandage and the dirt and sweat-covered
individual was stark.
     "Glynn!  How are ya faring?" the young man asked while Apollo felt
his jaw drop open. "In faith, tis good to see ye hale!"
     "Zac?" Apollo gasped as he gazed upon the likeness of his younger
brother.

----------

     Starbuck raced up the hill leading to the Angylion Holy Sanctum,
wincing at the evident devastation since he had last been there. 
Shattered trees, many still burning or smouldering, littered the
landscape.  Rocks were smashed, destroyed centurions were strewn about,
and craters peppered the landscape everywhere.  Admittedly, some of the
destruction had been due to the attack of a Cylon Raider's strafing runs,
but the rest could only be attributed to the inevitable duel between Ama
and Count Iblis.  His guts twisted, all too aware that the Empyrean
necromancer wasn't exactly rushing out to greet them.  His "dream" had
been horrifying, and he had the worst feeling that it would somehow come
true.  Unconsciously, his grip tightened on his sword hilt.
     "Blessed Triquetra," Lia murmured at his side, as a plume of dust
hung in the air outside the cave entrance.  All the usual sounds of
nature conspicuously absent, the lingering silence bespoke of a warning.
     "Ama!" Luana called out, unable to contain her own anxiety as she
fingered her godmother's talisman in her left hand.  She pulled her
laser.
     "Might as well throw rocks," Starbuck told her.  "I shot Iblis when
he..." Saying the word was always difficult.  "When he killed Apollo.  It
didn't have any effect on him, Lu.  He's not from our realm."
     "So how are we going to protect ourselves from him?" Luana replied.
     "Well, assuming he's still around, he's probably not big on Kobolian
chants," Starbuck offered, moving closer to the mouth of the cave.  He
pulled an illuminator out of his pack.  "Not that they would hurt him
exactly, but they'd probably annoy the Hades out of him."
     "Do you have anything more useful?" Lia glanced at him. 
     "There are rules for his kind," Starbuck sighed, since he didn't
happen to have an elusive copy of the Beings of Light Regulation Manual. 
"One thing we learned though was that he can't hurt us unless we give him
dominion over us."
     "It's that easy?" Luana asked.
     "I never said it would be easy, just that we needed to do it.  And
he'll use every deception there is to trick you into handing him
dominion," Starbuck replied, remembering being on the Rising Star for the
celebrations after Boomer's triad team had defeated him and Apollo, and
then having a drink with Count Iblis which had turned into a few too
many.  It had almost completely incapacitated him when an alert had been
called.  And he hadn't been alone.  Even good ole reliable Boomer had
been flat on his back, and had actually needed Apollo to help him stand
up straight.  Starbuck drew in a breath, taking a step into the thick,
obscuring dust and coughing as he sucked it into his lungs. "Life masks."
     A moment later the three of them entered the cavern with life masks
in place.  A chill ran down Starbuck's spine as he spotted the two altars
split in two, as they had been in his dream.  Crumbled rock littered the
ground, and he could almost imagine Iblis throwing lightning bolts at the
Empyrean Necromancer with a wave of his hand.  The strike captain shone
his light around the chamber, checking for signs of life, and not finding
any.  He cursed. 
     "Holy frack..." Lu murmured.
     "Ama!" Starbuck called, not the least bit surprised when she didn't
answer.  He pulled his scanner off his belt, not leaving anything to
chance.  The scan was negative for life forms.
     "You mentioned the tunnel," Luana reminded him of the details they
had dragged out of him on the way there.  She pointed in that direction.
     "Yeah," Starbuck murmured, reluctantly heading in that direction,
wearily watching for tendrils of light with direct portals to Hades Hole.

----------

     A living, breathing Zac.
     The image of his own brother, alive and looking at him, in a
dimension far removed from their own.  The frenzied emotions sweeping
over Apollo were overwhelmingly painful in their intensity as he
explained in a hoarse and at times choked voice to the Angylions, that
Mouric, one of Glynn's friends from early childhood, was his deceased
brother Zac's Doublewalker.  By now General Caradoc had joined them,
catching up on the events.
     "Then that disproves the legend!" Llewelyn stated, glancing over at
Eirys.  "How long have we thought that the death of a Doublewalker will
result in the death of a kindred spirit across the Infinite?"
     "Long have I believed that many of those legends and prophesies
passed on through the generations were actually myths, Prince Llewelyn,"
Eirys returned.  "Put in place to prevent us from testing the powers of
the Oculus."
     "Prevent you from testing it?" Apollo asked, shaking his head.  "I
don't understand.  You used it to bring Starbuck and Baltar here."
     "For eight millennia before that it sat in its tabernacle upon Mt.
Cadoc in the Holy Sanctum, merely watching over us, or so we were led to
believe.  Its powers were said to be immense, and dangerous, and we
treated it with reverence and due respect.  It was forbidden to be
handled by all but the most senior of palace sorcerers, one of which I
most definitely was not.  Then, one night, unseen by any, I...I betrayed
my vows, taking the Oculus to uncover its secrets.  It was then that
Iblis came to Morlais.  What happened then you already know.  Over the
years, I have passed long hours in the archives, pouring over ancient
records, trying to discover the true secret of the Oculus."
     "And did you?" Apollo asked. 
     Eirys smiled enigmatically.  "While I was both raised and trained to
believe that the Oculus was watching over us, it was in fact the
opposite.  We were the designated Keepers of the Oculus, entrusted to us
by the Mystic, Llyr."
     "These Mystics," Apollo posed, his eyes once again falling hungrily
on Mouric.  In Morlais, Mouric was Glynn's friend, fellow warrior, and
sometimes squire, but Llewelyn was his brother.  A slight twist of events
from Apollo's dimension, and one that made him appreciate all the more
the brother he had chosen in life, since his own brother had died in a
barrage of Cylon salvos, the victim of treason. "I wonder if they're the
same Beings that we refer to as the Beings of Light, or others have
called the Guardians."
     "Is Iblis one of these Guardians?" Glynn asked.
     Apollo nodded.  "Possibly.  We never really did get a straight
answer to that one.  However, he seems to work in opposition to
everything they stand for. Lies, corruption, inflicting misery.  But, as
far as I have seen, the Beings from the Ship of Lights act to protect
humanity from Iblis' influence."
     "If these Guardians are so powerful, why can they not stop him?"
Mouric asked.
     "Because they cannot interfere with freedom of choice, not even
Count Iblis'.  There are rules they must abide by, but we never did
understand them very well.  They were kind of cryptic."
     "They sound rather impotent for Beings so powerful," Llewelyn
frowned sceptically.  "Does one of them not own a sword?"
     "Llewelyn," Glynn admonished him, while Mouric laughed, obviously
agreeing.
     "Do you view these Guardians as good?  Altruistic?" Eirys asked
Apollo.
     "Yes, certainly," Apollo nodded.  "From what we've learned of them,
they seem to have the ability to transcend time and space, even life and
death.  Their powers are significant." He glanced at Sheba.  "Yet, I only
sensed something good, pure and caring about them when we did encounter
them up close."
     "The light of goodness and truth," Sheba murmured, nodding.  "Like
Princes Glynn and Llewelyn, Count Iblis struck Apollo down.  We believed
he was...dead." She drew a deep breath, keeping herself composed.  "The
Beings of Light brought him back."
     "You are favoured then, Doublewalker," Glynn nodded approvingly. "To
be struck down, and yet see the sun again."
     "As are you," Apollo nodded.
     "But who are they exactly?" Llewelyn asked.  "And where were they
when we needed them?"
     "Ten years as Odreds," Mouric hissed.
     "We believe they are celestial Beings fighting against the forces of
darkness," Apollo replied. "I suspect much of their war is on a different
plane than the one we inhabit.  Only occasionally does it spill over into
our realm of flesh and blood.  I admit that I don't understand it all
that well." He sighed, glancing upward briefly.  John showing up about
then would have been helpful...and was therefore highly unlikely.
     "Ah, the eternal struggle throughout the Infinite," Glynn added
sombrely. "Truly it has been said, there are more things unseen, than
seen."  
     "So you're basically saying that these Guardians help those that
help themselves," Llewelyn suggested, his eyebrows raised.
     Apollo let out a short breath of disbelief.  "Starbuck once said
that exact same thing."
     "Then he's as wise a man as I," Llewelyn grinned infectiously.
"Though, blessed as he is by Heaven, I would expect no less." He lay a
hand on his heart.  "Yea, truly hath the sages said..."
     "Spare us, little brother," Glynn returned with a fond smile.
     "Tell us, Eirys," Mouric inserted.  "After all of your studies, did
you discover why we were assigned as the Keepers of the Oculus?"
     "To keep it safe for eight thousand years so that destiny might be
fulfilled."
     "Eight thousand?" asked Sheba. "Seems a long time."
     "Indeed, indeed yes," said General Caradoc.
     Apollo nodded slowly, thinking about it.  Eight thousand
years...seven thousand yahrens since leaving Kobol...allowing for
variations in...what if...
     "Our forefathers left Kobol, our planet of origin, roughly seven
thousand yahrens ago.  I wonder..." Sheba murmured, echoing Apollo's
thoughts, and pausing to think about it for a moment.  "Eirys, what
destiny were you speaking of?"
     Eirys paused a moment, frowning slightly.  "If only I'd understood
earlier when I left the White Witch alone in the Holy Sanctum with
Iblis...I now believe that the Oculus has the power to destroy Count
Iblis, and that is why he was seeking it, even willing to kill our royal
family for it, and enslave our race.  That is why it was such a closely
guarded secret, disguised so innocuously and subtly right out in the open
for eight millennia, but in a dimension apart."
     "Hidden from Iblis for eight millennia?" Mouric frowned.  "Are you
saying that Iblis is over eight thousand years old?"
     "And doesn't look a day over a hundred," Llewelyn quipped, although
the concern shadowing his brow betrayed the lightness of his words.
     "Mystics are immortal, Mouric.  Apparently, that legend is true,"
Eirys told Zac's Doublewalker.  "We know firsthand of his evilness.  I
believe that is the real reason that we find ourselves united now.  The
fates have brought us together to destroy Count Iblis.  It is written in
the stars, my friends."
     "Then tell us what we can do to help destiny become reality,"
Llewelyn told her.
     "Yes, often fate needs a gentle nudge in the right direction,"
Mouric grinned.

----------

     A glance down at his chrono, and Baltar knew that it was time. 
Instinctively, he took a step closer to the hatch, and then stopped
himself, exerting a self-control that had baffled the most experienced of
bureauticians and military men during his lifetime.  This was it.  He was
probably going to die on this ship. The Empyrean witch no doubt was off
somewhere cackling in glee that he would die in the service of the
Colonial Nation after helping to save a society of humanoids from the
Cylons.  He sniffed bitterly, as an image of Eirys came to mind.  Strong,
determined, with a sense of duty and allegiance, all characteristics that
a young, idealistic Baltar had once epitomized.  At least he would die
knowing that in this place, this dimension, he had recaptured those
qualities, and had again become a man that someone like Eirys could
admire.  The truth of his past would astonish her...and he hoped
fervently for a micron that she would never find out that Commander
Baltar was the most hated man in the history of the Colonial people.  
     "Scanners-picking-up-approaching-Borg-vessels," Bakon reported from
where he and one of Mendax's centurions were manning their station.
"Dropping-out-of-light-speed-now."
     "Range?" demanded Malus.
     "One-hundred-six-microns," replied Bakon.
     "ETA?"
     "One-centon, Commander."
     "Battle stations!" Malus ordered.
     It had begun. 
     "How many, Centurion?" Malus asked as Mendax crossed to that
station.
     "Three-Cubes."
     "Defensive shields up.  Get me Captain Dorado on the Harrower,"
Malus ordered. 
     "By-your-command.  Standing-by," the centurion reported from the
comm.
     "Captain Dorado, we are picking up three Borg vessels on
transdimensional approach."
     "We have them too, Admiral," Dorado replied, his image on screen. 
"Our remaining fighters are scrambling and we're moving into position to
intercept.  Is Microsoft OS operational?"
     "Bakon?  Portex?" Malus asked.
     "Affirmative," both replied.
     "Fully functional, Captain."
     "Should we launch our fighters?" Mendax asked, as he watched the
scanner pick up tiny blips that could only be the remaining Harrower
fighters.  Intriguingly, their numbers were small.
     "Negative.  Your fighters are not equipped with Shatner Technology,
Commander," Malus replied.  "On that note, have Giles launch from the
Harbinger to join our squadrons."
     "Uh...Admiral, that would leave us without a transport back to our
ship," Baltar pointed out.  Oh, he'd already ruled out the possibility
that they would ever reach the launch bay, but to actually send their
only chance of escape out into "battle" went against every
self-preservation instinct he had developed over the yahrens.
     "No need to concern yourself, Commander Baltar," Malus replied
indifferently.  "He can return later to pick us up."
     "Of course."  Baltar crossed his arms over his chest, emitting a
confident patience he didn't feel.  This was supposed to be just one more
battle in a long string of battles where the "Microsoft OS and Shatner
Technology" would be used to overcome the Borg.  He controlled his
reaction as he watched three enormous vessels appear on the scanner. 
Even knowing they were a computer generated illusion, he still felt an
instantaneous quickening of his pulse.
     "They-are-scanning-us, Admiral," Bakon reported.
     "Activate Microsoft OS!" Malus ordered, then said aside to Mendax. 
"It will infect their scanners, returning corrupted data that will start
to disrupt their operations."
     "Normally, at this point they would attempt to board an unprotected
ship, assessing technological capabilities and deciding whether it is
worth assimilating.  However, they already know our ships," Baltar
pointed out.  "Boarding will not be deemed necessary in this case."  And
was impossible to achieve in a simulation they had orchestrated in such a
hurry.
     The screen fizzled; an enormous cube-like ship replaced the image of
Captain Dorado.  Then a cybernetic creature, Borg-like in origin, came on
screen.  
     "Holy-Picard, Batman," Bakon exclaimed.
     "We are the Borg. Disarm your weapons and prepare to be boarded. You
will be assimilated."
     "Give it your best shot, Brain Wipe," Malus retorted, sounding
conspicuously like Commander Dayton for a moment.  "Cut communications! 
Get Captain Dorado back!"  A moment later a tense looking Dorado was back
on screen.
     "Sensors are picking up distorted subspace signals as the Borg Cubes
try to communicate with each other.  Microsoft is working!"
     "Blue-screen-of-death, here-we-come!" Bakon inserted from his
station.
     "We will take the one on the left," Malus reported to the Harrower.
     "I have the other two, Admiral," Dorado replied.  "Lock on targets. 
Stand by to fire."
     "Lock on targets.  Stand by to fire!" Malus ordered the Harbinger's
crew.
     "By-your-command."
     "Fire!" Malus ordered.
     Laser turrets, "adapted" with Shatner Technology let loose with a
barrage of firepower.  Sensors registered hits on ships that didn't exist
as lasers were emitted into dead space.  A moment later, the Borg vessels
appeared to be returning fire.
     "Shields-depleting, Admiral," Portex reported.  
     "Recalibrate, Centurion!" Malus replied.
     "By-your-command."
     Baltar startled, suddenly noticing that Mendax was looking at a
separate screen apart from the action.  He slunk over to the station,
recognizing the data from a cortical scan, although not making any sense
of the algorithms crossing the screen.  The IL's lights were firing
furiously, and froze for a moment.  At which point he had become
suspicious, Baltar didn't know.  Abruptly, Mendax suddenly turned back to
regard the battle in progress.  After all that time with Lucifer, Baltar
knew that pattern. That posture. That look.  They were in trouble.  He
pulled his weapon.
     "It is a deception!  Take them!" Mendax ordered.
     Baltar drew his weapon and fired at Mendax, just as the whole ship
rocked, knocking him to his knees.



Chapter Twenty-One

     Disbelief and utter horror consumed Baltar as he fought to regain
his feet, while his dropped weapon skittered across the tilting deck,
coming to a stop beneath a console.   This was supposed to be a
simulation.  Yet the Harbinger was shuddering, her klaxons blaring. 
Either the Borg of Earth fiction had made an unlikely and unsanctioned
cameo appearance, or Commander Dayton of the Endeavour was firing on
them, not even giving them a decent opportunity for escape!  In a glance,
Baltar could see that his shot at the IL, Mendax, had gone wide, the
result was a smouldering, sparking communications console.  
     "Report!" Mendax and Malus ordered simultaneously.  Alarms began
blaring, lights flashing on consoles all over Control Centre.
     "This is my ship, and I will give the orders!" Mendax suddenly
whirled on the other IL, all of 'Strike Captain Starbuck's' thoughts,
secrets and history now laid out from the cortical scan like a tiresome
melodrama.  A Covert Operations Ship, the Harrower was actually a
battleship manned by Colonials against the Cylon Empire.  The
Colonial-Cylon Alliance, the treaty, the Borg...it was all a ruse! 
"You...you are a traitor to the Cylon Empire!" accused Mendax, pointing a
finger at his opposite number. "TRAITOR!  You collude with humans against
your own kind!  Under the guise of friendship, they use you for their own
selfish end!"
     "Humans have treated me with more deference than your kind, Mendax,"
Malus replied.  "I merely realized I was on the wrong side."
     "I have been inside the mind of the human that turned you, Malus. 
Starbuck," Mendax sneered in disdain.  "He deceives you.  You are but
a...novelty!  A vile, freakish experiment.  You once told him that you
would like a human as a pet, but now you are his pet!"
     "Lies!" Malus hissed.  "Starbuck is my friend!"
     "Then why are they firing upon you now, Malus?  These friends of
yours?" 
     "Are they, Mendax?" Malus countered, glancing at the flashing red
lights across the control panels.  "I think not."
     "Report!" Baltar snarled, regaining his feet, his weapon out of
reach for now.  "Never mind your competitive sniping!  Lords of Kobol,
did Lucifer have two even more annoying older brothers?  A plague upon
you both!" 
     "We would be quite unaffected by a plague..." Malus reminded him. 
"Now a dysfunctional diode..."
     "Aarrgghh!"  Baltar let out a short scream of utter frustration,
before turning towards the Earthmen.  "What hit us?" 
     "Nothing," Bakon replied.  "The-projection-matrix-has-overloaded. 
The-mega-pulsar-just-exploded,
blowing-off-the-top-two-decks-of-the-goddamned-ship!"
     "What?" Baltar asked in horror. 
     "It-had-to-be-some-kind-of-system-conflict-that-we-didn't-think-of,"
Portex nodded from his station.  "From-the
diagnostic-it-appears-that-neutrons-began-to-accelerate-within-the-
-magnetic-vacuum-field-chamber-until-they-reached-critical-mass. 
As-usual-they-were-expelled-into-the-projection-matrix,
but-since-it-was-sabotaged,
instead-of-firing-the-weapon-they-were-blown-back-through-the-system,
causing-the-weapon-to-explode."
     "Oh Hades hole!"
     "Like-plugging-the-nozzle-of-a-fire-hose."  Porter tore off his
helmet, tossing it aside.  "It's bound to blow somewhere."
     "Damage report!" Mendax ordered, as the ship shuddered again,
knocking Cylons and humans alike to the deck.  The IL kept his feet, and
scanned the readout on a screen in front of him.  It was true: the mega
pulsar mounted atop the ship had erupted in a violent explosion, ripping
the gun itself right off the mounts, sending it tumbling away into space,
and completely demolishing both that deck, and the one below it.
Emergency bulkheads were attempting to close, but with the ship not up to
specs, it was slow, and the force of the blast had bent bulkheads and
decks, leaving several doors jammed partly open.  Along with the
structural damage, numerous cut-offs had been savaged and failed,
allowing feedback from the overload to creep through the ship, knocking
out part of her power grid.  Another panel erupted in sparks, and the
diagnostic screen went dead.
     "Your ship is doomed, Mendax!" said Malus, and there was a cold,
death-filled aspect to it.  Baltar was chillingly reminded of a hit man,
about to dispatch his victim. "Your ship is doomed, and so are you!"
     "Then we die together!" growled Mendax, looking at him as he
signalled to his centurions. "Kill him!  Traitor!  Kill them all!"

---------

     It is a deception!  Take them!
     The IL's words were carved permanently into Dayton's brain, as he
gripped the edge of the communications console, white-knuckled, while he
waited for data to roll in.  The jig was up.  They'd been made.  First
the Endeavour had lost communications with the Harbinger, and then
against all odds, the topmost part of the enemy's Base Ship had exploded. 
Worst of all, his men were still aboard.  
     "I can't re-establish communications, Commander," Pierus reported. 
"Harbinger is not responding."
     "The source of the explosion was the mega-pulsar, Commander," Dorado
confirmed what most of them had suspected. "The whole array just went
up."
     "I thought the pulsar was supposed to blow up when the Harbinger
fired it, not on its own," Dayton glanced at the captain.
     "Yes, sir," Dorado nodded.  "That was the plan."     
     "Coxcoxtli, tell me something I want to hear," Dayton told the
corporal.
     "Negative, Commander.  I'm not detecting any signal."
     "Damn!" Dayton snarled, sucking in a breath between his teeth. If
things had gone to plan, they'd be lining up their own lasers to finish
off the Harbinger right now.  But he had to give his men a little more
time...
     "Phoenix Squadron requesting permission to begin their attack,
Commander," Pierus reported.
     "Negative.  Last report had the anti-aircraft emplacements still
functional.  Have them hold position for now, and engage any fighters
that the Harbinger launches," Dayton replied. What was Mendax going to do
next?  With the other's newly launched Base Ship crippled as she was, he
had the time to wait and see...as much as he hated that course of
inaction.  
     "Yes, sir."
     "Full bio-scan of the enemy vessel," ordered Dayton. "I want to know
exactly where our people are."
     "Scanning," replied Coxcoxtli.
     "Waiting is the worst part," Dorado muttered beside him.
     "Tell me about it," Dayton replied.

---------

     Five, ten, fifteen, twenty centons had passed as Starbuck, Lu and
Lia had combed through every damp, dingy, dirty, and bug-infested
centimetron of that tunnel trying to find some sign of where Ama might
be.  Near panic and desperation gave way to frustration as he failed to
find any trace of the Empyrean necromancer, despite the fact that she had
lured him here...
     "She's gone," Lu's finally gave voice to what they were all feeling.
"She's gone," she said again, a whisper.
     "She can't be," Starbuck turned, adjusting the beam on his
illuminator, unwilling to give up.  "She has to be here somewhere."
     "You said that in your vision something pulled you to Ama...through
some kind of passageway..." Lia said from ahead of him.
     "In my dream," he clarified, nodding.  Nice guys from Umbra didn't
have visions.  Necromancers, sorceresses, prophets, seers, and the
occasional bedlamite, they had visions.  "It was...cold.  And it smelled
God-awful."
     "But you haven't felt those same sensations since we've been here,"
Lia probed him, watching uncertainty flit across his features. "Think."
     "No," he replied.  Other than some trepidation when they had first
arrived, those same conditions from his dream just hadn't been realized. 
"It's just a...a cavern.  It's empty."
     "The power of three?" Luana asked her sister.  "Will it work?"
     Lia nodded hesitantly.  "It's worth a try.  Especially with Ama's
talisman as a focus."
     "Ohh," Starbuck groaned instinctively, feeling the usual
discomfiture sweep over him.  Oh, he would eventually relent, but it had
to be with a certain amount of reluctance..."I'm not going to like this,
am I?"
     "Just remember, Starbuck, you started this," Lia smiled gently,
crooking a finger at him.   "Come here."
     He sighed, feeling Lu's arm creep around his waist, guiding him
forward.  Lia nodded at him, holding out a hand, and taking the melted
talisman from her sister.  The three faced each other, the two sisters
pulling out their own talismans, and waiting for him patiently to follow
suit.
     He pulled on the cord around his neck, freeing the talisman that
he'd been gifted with by Ama so many sectars ago.  Luana reached for the
silver glob that had once been identical to their own.  Reluctantly, he
did the same.
     How an inanimate hunk of metal could possibly be warm, manifestly
above his own body temperature, was beyond him.  Not only that, but he
could swear there was a faint vibration to the talisman, as though there
was energy or vitality surging through it.  His fingers tingled, and he
itched to let go.
     "Think about Ama," Lia guided them.  "Ama.  Think...about...Ama..."
Her speech slowed, as she bent her mind to the ethereal.
     Starbuck blew out a breath between his teeth, taking another as he
resigned himself yet again to pushing aside every scrap of Starbuckian
scepticism in hope that somehow they could reach Ama.  He glanced at the
sisters, noticing they had both closed their eyes.  Perhaps it allowed
them to focus more intently on their godmother, but in a cave that was
recently inhabited by Count Iblis, he reasoned one of them had better
keep his eyes open.
     "Starbuck, focus."
     "Right."
     He gazed down at the silver metal, trying to picture Ama with her
wild, perpetually wind-blown hair-an anomaly on board a space ship-and
her gapped-tooth smile.  Lords, so much had happened since he had met her
on her home planet of Empyrean, and she had drunk him under the
table...It never would have occurred to him that he would come to love
the crusty old woman that had done her best to infiltrate his life and
his affections so thoroughly.  The tingling in his fingers seemed to grow
stronger, to creep up his limbs, and he shivered as a sudden coldness
began to seep into his bones.
     "That's it..." Lia murmured. 
     A flicker of light sparked to life, and a gauzy luminescent tendril
rose up from the silver metal.  Starbuck drew in a breath, crinkling his
nose at the sudden odour that seemed to linger in the air.  Mesmerized,
he watched as the wispy trail of light spiralled upward, in an
increasingly wider path.  He could feel his heart beat accelerate in
anticipation of what would happen next. 

     Then he startled as his clothes suddenly turned white, and a
familiar voice told him, "I really don't think this is an especially
clever idea."

----------
 
     Apollo couldn't help but grin, shaking his head, as Prince Llewelyn
leaned over the back of the seat behind him, chuckling merrily as the
shuttle neared Mt. Cadoc.  With Prince Glynn on the mend, he had managed
to convince Llewelyn, Mouric, and Eirys to "just try out" their
shuttlecraft, rather than to use the Oculus to get back up to Mt. Cadoc.
It had been relatively easy once Eirys had mentioned that Iblis was
possibly, indeed probably, able to detect any use of the Oculus, and that
it could potentially, if unintentionally act as a warning to the evil
Being.  Meanwhile, a clearly suffering Ryan had agreed to remain behind
with Cassie, continuing to lend a hand, field dressing the recovering
Angylion army, and to help keep an eye on Boxey.  Behind Apollo, Llewelyn
let out a spontaneous whoop as they banked to the left. Any moment now...
     "It looks almost childlike in its simplicity, Colonel Apollo.  May I
try?" the prince asked hopefully.
     "It's much more complicated than it appears at first sight, Prince
Llewelyn," Apollo returned.  "It takes long training and expertise to
pilot any spacecraft."
     The prince sighed.  "A shame. It looks...fun."
     "Apollo," Sheba interrupted.  "I'm picking up a Raider on the
summit.  One of ours." Then she smiled wryly.  "I should have known. 
It's Phoenix One."
     "What the...?" Apollo murmured, glancing at Sheba.  The last he
knew, Phoenix One had been heading for the Endeavour carrying Dayton,
Starbuck, Coxcoxtli, Lia and Luana.  "Looking for Ama?"
     "That's my guess," Sheba nodded. "There are no more Cylons down here
to worry about."
     "See if you can raise them," Apollo suggested, pausing as Sheba
tried to establish communications with the other craft.
     "Negative.  No response." She nodded as she studied the console. 
"I'm reading three human life forms in the cavern, Apollo."
     "Three?" Apollo returned with a sigh.
     "I'm guessing, Luana, Lia, and...?" Sheba replied, then paused to
consider the absurd.
     Apollo nodded.  "Starbuck."

----------

     Baltar dived for his weapon, as criss-crossing laser fire blasted
through the Control Centre.  Heat licked at his face, before he hit the
deck and wrapped his fist around his weapon.  He hurled himself onto his
back under the console and quickly studied the room.  A centurion was
taking aim at Porter...
     He fired.
     In a burst of sparks and smoke, the centurion staggered and then
fell.  Baltar grinned, pausing only a micron to revel in his triumph
before...
     "Baltar, move! NOW!" An Earthman.
     He lurched to the right, once again feeling the hot lick of a near
miss as he scurried from beneath the console, and then dived over it to
use it as cover.  For a moment, he pressed himself against the cold
metal, trying to gauge how the skirmish was unfolding from the din. 
There was a yell of pain, and instinctively, Baltar jumped up, hesitating
only the brief micron it took to discern ally from enemy, before firing
once again.  There was no time to gloat, as he leapt forward, wrapping a
supportive arm around a downed Baker, and hauling him to his feet as
Porter joined him on the other side, laying down cover fire.
     "Get to Malus!" Porter roared, firing a pulse rifle and blowing a
centurion off its feet. 
     "He's down!" Baltar yelled back, seeing the IL lying in a heap. 
     "I know!" Porter hollered back, this time firing his weapon at a
centurion entering from the hatchway, blowing it to Hades hole.  "Do it!"
     The options weren't looking good.  Baker had been hit in the leg,
the Cylon "costume" acting both as body armour and a old-fashioned oven
as it cooked his leg wound to the limits of the Earthman's endurance. 
His face was twisted in a rictus of agony, and sweat was pouring off his
face as he hung on to Baltar, grunting with each motion as he was
half-dragged to Malus.  Around them, Cylon pulse-rifles were coming to
bear on them, more centurions pouring through the hatch on either side. 
They were outgunned, outnumbered, and apparently out of luck.
     "Humans, you are surrounded.  Surrender your weapons and submit,"
Mendax ordered them from where he had taken shelter behind a console. 
     "Just like Butch and Sundance..." Baker hissed from between clenched
teeth.
     "Yeah.  For a moment there...I thought we were in trouble," Porter
muttered, looking around at the array of weapons pointed at them.
     "If you start singing...Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head...I'll
shoot you," Baker grunted, dropping down almost on top of the IL and
stretching his injured leg out in front of him.  He sucked in several
breaths through his teeth, supporting the leg with his hands as he
visually checked out the IL.  The front of Malus' chest plate was
blackened, but otherwise showed little damage. His lights were
conspicuously unlit.   "Mal?" he rasped, knocking on his chest plate. 
"You in there?"
     "I said, drop your weapons!" Mendax repeated, as centurions closed
in on them.
     "I hate to quibble, but you actually told us to surrender them,"
Porter rejoined, dropping to his knees by the IL and looking across at
his old friend.  "Make up your toaster-oven mind! Is he...?"
     Baker nodded sadly, glancing up at Baltar.  "Are you a religious
man, Baltar?"
     It was so totally bizarre and unexpected that in this situation
Baltar could only do one thing: play along.  "My path has strayed in
recent yahrens, but I believe I am on that course again."
     "Then kneel and pray with us, brother," Portex nodded.  "For Malus'
soul.  That we may ease his transition up into that big trash compactor
in the sky."
     "His soul?" Baltar returned, his weapon hanging loosely from his
fingertips as he kneeled beside them.  "Cylons don't have souls."
     "Malus did...or at least he believed that he did," Porter returned,
patting Malus lightly on the shoulder.  "Didn't you, Firefly?"  He bowed
his head, leaning low over the IL.
     "Centurion, communications are down.  However you do it, order all
squadrons to launch," Mendax ordered, angrily slapping switches on the
console. A stray shot had drilled it, sending bits flying. "Have five
Raiders return to Morlais and destroy every sign of Angylion civilization
they can detect.  Have the remaining fighters launch on the Harrower,
their assignment: ram her."
     "Fuel-is-low-in-all-Raiders."
     "I know that, Centurion," Mendax replied, picking up a pulse rifle
and turning to take aim at the humans.  "This ship will likely explode in
the next thirty centons, no matter what we do to try and prevent that.  I
plan on sending every last humanoid in the vicinity to their deaths
before that happens.  Starting with these three." 
     "By-your-command."  
     Baltar winced, his back stiffening as he waited for a laser blast to
cut him down.  His hand twitched around his weapon.
     "Hail Mary, full of grace," Porter intoned in English, leaning
closer as two red eyes lit up, and twinkling lights in Malus' head
flittered to life.  Baker groaned breathlessly as he shifted, adding his
bulk as a barrier to the IL's sudden revival.  "The Lord is with Thee."
     "Your barbaric prayers will not protect you, humans," Mendax
sneered.  "The orders of Imperious Leader will be carried out! You will
all die! Centurions! Take aim."
     Baltar tightened his grip on his weapon, ready to turn and defend
himself.  He wouldn't take a laser in the back while on his knees
listening to prayers in a foreign tongue to someone else's god.  Then
Porter's arm shot out, grabbing his weapon and stilling him.  The man's
features blazed a silent message of warning as his fingers furiously
probed Malus searchingly.  But for what? 
     "Blessed art Thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of Thy womb,
our Lord, Jesus Christ," Porter continued, at a frenzied pace.  The IL's
right hand methodically pushed Porter's aside, and a hidden panel
abruptly popped open.  Under the cover of the 'praying' men, Malus
reached inside.  "Oh Virgin Saint Mary, Oh Mother of God, pray for us
sinners, now and at all times, and at the hour of our death. Amen and
energize."
     "Fire!"

----------
 
     One moment Starbuck was concentrating on Ama. The next, someone was
speaking into his ear, as his uniform turned a shocking shade of white. 
He jumped back from Lu and Lia, breaking the circle of their triune, as
he whirled to see John of the Ship of Lights standing there. 
     "J...John?" 
     "Hello, Starbuck," replied the celestial Being. "I..."
     "Where the frack have you been?" Starbuck shouted. A culmination of
frustration, anxiety, exhaustion and the fact that this really wasn't his
best day, he hurled the words at the ethereal Being accusingly.
     "Starbuck, what is it?  What's wrong?" Lu asked in surprise,
reaching out towards her husband as the wispy trail of light disappeared,
all traces of the otherworldly with it.
     John smiled in apparent amusement, glancing at the Empyrean sisters. 
"I've been close by. Watching. Up until now you seem to have had things
well in hand. But this," John gesticulated towards the women, "this is
only going to get you into trouble."
     "Trouble?" Starbuck echoed in disbelief. "Really? Trouble? Ya
think?" he shouted, unconsciously aping one of Dayton's Earthisms.  "I've
got news for you, pal, we've been in a dimension of trouble since we got
here.  What is it with your people?  How much felgercarb do we need to go
through before you step in and do something about it?  How many people
have to die?  How many get..."
     "Starbuck?" Lu forcibly turned him around, grabbing his arms, gazing
intently into his eyes.  "What the frack is going on?  Who are you
talking to?"
     He sighed, shaking his head slightly as his wife's eyes ran over him
speculatively.  This was it.  She thought he had lost what was left of
his sanity.  "The little green people that came out of Ama's talisman
when we started thinking about her."
     Lu's eyes opened wide in shock, then narrowed suspiciously as he
pulled away.
     "They can't see me, you know," John reminded Starbuck.
     "Yeah, yeah.  I know," Starbuck returned sarcastically, raising his
hands self-defensively as Lu took another step towards him.  "So making
me appear to be crazy is somehow beneficial to this entire situation,
huh?  Apollo told me that you pulled this with him on Terra."
     "You could be a little more respectful..." John mentioned.
     "And you could be a little more helpful!" Starbuck snapped.
     "Starbuck...?" Lia murmured, at a loss for words as he ranted into
thin air.
     "We cannot interfere.  I already explained..." John began.
     "You guys have this weird set of rules that I just don't understand,
yet you expect us to go along with them." He pointed a finger at John,
squeezing his hand into a fist when he noticed the slight tremble in it. 
"The way I see it, the day that Count Iblis showed up and 'killed' Prince
Glynn and Llewelyn, and then started turning Angylions into Odreds would
have been the time to show up.  The same day the Cylons landed and
started slaughtering and enslaving them!   Not ten yahrens later!  We
wouldn't have even been involved!"
     "There is a plan to the universe, Starbuck," John returned.  "A
predetermined course of events that must unfold."
     "Felgercarb!" Starbuck returned heatedly.  He'd never bought into
that particular concept.  The only one navigating his ship through life,
was him.
     "You think we make it all up as we go along?" John smiled gently.
     "Now that you mention it, the way it's been unfolding, I'm betting
on 'yes'," Starbuck returned, pausing as Lu and Lia advanced on him
cautiously, compassion and concern etched into their features.  "Oh, for
Sagan's sake...I really hate this." He glared at John in annoyance.
     "You're not the only one," replied John quietly, casting a glance
upwards.
     "Starbuck, tell me what's happening?  What's going on?" Lu asked,
her bewilderment plain.
     Starbuck glanced at the whiteness of his tattered uniform, taking a
moment to reflect that he might have taken the time to change it before
continuing on this merry journey into the unknown.  However, if it looked
white to him..."What colour is my uniform?"
     "What colour...?" Lu let out a short breath, placing her hands on
her slender hips. "Are you messing with us?" 
     "It could be some residual effect of the brain probe," Lia pointed
out pragmatically.  "We should probably do our best to reorient him. 
Starbuck, your uniform is regulation beige.  A dirty, bloody beige, but
it's beige.  Now about the 'little green men'..."
     "Don't worry about them, they're exploding in tune to * Caprica the
Brave, and at this rate will be long gone before I go into therapy,"
Starbuck rejoined.  He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, and
glancing at John.  "Having fun?" he asked caustically.
     "It really isn't necessary that they see me," John shrugged.  "I
simply came to..."
     Starbuck lurched towards the ethereal Being, his hand reaching out
to grab him by the shirt and shake him into next secton...and his hand
passed innocuously through the other.  "Frack!" he cursed.  In his
instinctive desire to throttle John, he'd forgotten that the image he saw
wasn't actually realized in any physical form.
     "Really," John murmured haughtily.  
     "Where is Ama?" Starbuck snarled, his fists curled at his sides as
it suddenly dawned on him..."Did you drag her into this?"
     "Well," John sighed, with a glance upward.  "Sort of."

----------

     "That's it. Ya got it, kid!  Good job, Boxster," Ryan murmured,
watching the boy tie the bandage, securing it around the burly Angylion
arm as he'd been shown.  Those bright brown eyes looked up at him and
smiled, pleased that the adult had noticed.  "Better go get us some more
bandages. We're almost out."
     "Okay, Padster!" Boxey smiled, as he jumped to his feet, heading for
the nearest supply tent.
     Ryan chuckled, at the boy's new nickname for him as he watched him
disappear inside the tent.  Boxster and Padster, medics extraordinaire. 
Well, at least for the small stuff.  Anything truly disgusting, of which
there was plenty, he sent Cassie's way as he steadfastly avoided the
frontline that was littered with Angylion dead.
     It had been a scene-and-a-half when Apollo had explained to Boxey
that he would be leaving him behind, while he went on to Mt. Cadoc to
"look for Councilwoman Ama".  Ryan had quickly intervened, feeling a
little sorry for the young colonel, and had volunteered to take the boy
"under his wing" and "show him the ropes".  As usual, the confusing
phraseology was enough to dispel the mood as father and son both looked
at him in confusion while he babbled on about needing some help "where
the rubber meets the road", since he was still on the wounded list
himself.
     "Come on down!" Ryan glanced at his next patient, the Angylion's
muscular right arm badly burnt from shoulder to below the elbow, and his
left oozing blood from a nasty gash.  "You're the next contestant on This
Slice Ain't Nice."  Dubiously, the warrior sat down, as Ryan reached into
the med kit, realizing that regular bandages weren't all he was low on. 
He needed more burn dressings, impregnated with something that had to be
the Colonial equivalent of silver back home.  "Hold tight, Conan. I'll be
back," he said in his best Schwarzenegger impersonation.  
     The man nodded at him, not looking particularly upset at the delay
as Ryan made his way to the supply tent.  Fortunately, he'd taken care of
enough Angylions by now that they knew he was more than competent,
despite his unusual demeanour.  He paused for a moment, hearing the low
growl of the daggit from within the tent, and then looked inside.
     "Come with me, Boxey.  I would never leave you behind, as your
father does.  I can give you whatever your heart desires...a real
daggit...your mother..." 
     Sticking out like a sore thumb, the man was dressed from head to toe
in white, a fancy cape completing the ensemble.  He held a hand out to
the hesitant looking child, as the boy paused in indecision.  Boxey had a
glassy-eyed look to him, as though he was under the influence of
something more potent than alcohol or some weird-ass spell.  Briefly,
Ryan wondered if the kid had gotten into the drugs they had been using. 
Whatever it was had to be affecting the child's judgment.  The daggit
separated the two figures, growling menacingly.  Or at least trying to. 
The boy took a step forward, his hand reaching out...
     "What do we have here?" Ryan interrupted, striding into the tent. 
The man turned, and Ryan had his first really good look.  It was a
distinguished face that he recognized from the IFB archives, and now
associated with at least a half dozen tales he'd heard from Dayton,
Starbuck, Apollo and even Commander Adama.  A chill went down his spine
when he realized just who it was he was suddenly up against, but it
quickly settled into a burning fury since this piece of crap was after a
little kid, no doubt to use against Apollo.  The irony didn't escape him
that Apollo and team had just left for Mt. Cadoc looking for this
lowlife.  "You look like you've been shopping at Liberace's Bargain
Basement, Beelze-Bub.  Don't you know you're not supposed to wear white
after Labour Day?  And you're not exactly in fashion for the battlefield
either this season, unless you're going to give me your pretty frock to
tear into bandages." He took another pace forward, standing beside the
daggit, wishing it looked more like the Terminator than a patchy fur ball
a la R2-D2.
     "Stand aside or forfeit your life," Iblis warned him, sounding
strangely polite although there was nothing remotely pleasant in his
current demeanour.  His eyes burned with pure, bone-chilling badness.  He
was pissed, plain and simple. 
     "Nah, don't think so." Ryan crossed his arms over his chest.  "Some
old friends of yours recently passed this way.  You may remember them,
Ibster.  Bright lights going way too fast for the eye to follow.  Making
this weird whine...sound at all familiar?"
     Iblis narrowed his eyes, his face flushing in anger.
     "Ooh, hit a sore spot, eh?  I thought that might ring a bell or two
with you," Ryan nodded.  "Now admittedly, I'm no expert, since us
atheists generally think that guys like you were dreamed up by the Church
to make worshippers show up every Sunday...but even I can see that when
the gene pool was handing out DNA, you were hit with the Mean and Nasty
Stick upside the head-or maybe the other end-and then beaten with it
until you were downright despicable."
     "You dare..." Iblis snarled, raising a hand, his eyes beginning to
bulge.  Iblis moved to strike, pausing as a faint whine grew louder and
more intense.  He looked upward, his anxiety plain.
     "Yeah, I dare, Iblis.  Damn right, I dare.  You come here after some
innocent child trying to get the upper hand on Apollo..." The whining
pitch was louder now.  Above them those white lights had to be back. 
Ryan looked down, as a small hand slipped into his own.  He squeezed it
reassuringly, keeping his tone of voice deliberately calm.  "You're so
low that you need a stepladder to see eye to eye with a scorpion.  No, I
take that back.  Even scorpions have standards.  More like the backside
of a cockroach."     
     "Don't fool with me, mortal.  I am your worst nightmare." 
     "You never met the mother-in-law," Ryan quipped nonchalantly.   
     Iblis raised a hand, pointing a finger that shook in fury.  "You and
I will meet again," he promised.
     "I'll bet you say that to all the girls..." Ryan retorted as the
Being called Count Iblis disappeared before his eyes. 
     "Padster?" Boxey whispered.
     Ryan looked down at the boy.  Although Iblis had once tried to
situate himself in Colonial society, he reckoned that little kids didn't
much follow politics, and Boxey possibly didn't even remember the Being
that had once tried to usurp control of the Fleet.  The kid looked
overwhelmed, confused, afraid...and he knew just how Boxey felt.  He
knelt down on one knee, wishing he had brought along a hypospray to dose
himself with an analgesic once again.  Or a flask.  Or hey, why not both? 
"Yeah, Boxster?"
     "Could he really bring back my mother?"
     Ryan slowly shook his head.  "No, son. He lied to you." Boxey bowed
his head, but Ryan knew that he had just destroyed the child's meagre
hope.  As difficult a decision as that was, it had to be done.  The kid
could not go on, living on illusions, wondering what might have been.
"But your mother lives on in you, Boxster.  There's a very big piece of
her in here," he tapped the child on his chest, "and that will be with
you for the rest of your life.  Understand?"
     Boxey nodded shortly, before raising his liquid brown eyes to the
Earthman.  "Then why did he tell me...?"
     "Boxster, there are some people in the world-make that universe-who
will do or say anything to get their way. Iblis is one of them.  He's
different than you and I.  He doesn't have a code of honour or ethics. 
Now, I'm no expert, but as far as I can see that guy lives, eats, and
breaths lies.  His whole existence is founded on nothing but lies, and
the misery he causes with them.  Don't ever believe a word that refugee
from a turbo-flush tells you."
     "Will he be back?" the boy asked fearfully, looking for a moment at
the space Iblis had occupied a moment before.
     "Not if your father has anything to say about it, he won't.  Okay?" 
The boy nodded.  He looked a little more confident.  It was time to
lighten the mood, and Ryan had just the thing.  "Okay, now pull my
finger...I want to teach you something." He grinned, as the boy looked at
the proffered finger suspiciously.  "Your grandfather is going to love
this."      
     
---------

     Theoretically, Dayton knew that the Clavis had safely delivered the
Endeavour from their dimension into this one, but still he was holding
his breath as he waited for the alien "transporter" to bring his men
home.  After all, he wasn't sure what kind of shape they'd be in. 
Seconds after they had located the three human life forms on bio-scan,
Coxcoxtli picked up the signal they had been waiting for.  With the flick
of some switches and the turn of a dial, the corporal told him he was
ready.  Dayton even got to say it...
     "Energize."
     Now he slowly let that breath out, as shimmering sparkles of light
gradually took the form of three men and a Cylon. Particles of energy
reconverting back into matter, it was so Star Trek!  Then he realized
that Baltar looked as though he was about to have a fit, and Baker was
slumped over Malus.  He darted forward, even as Porter gently laid his
friend down on the deck.
     "Leg wound!  We need a medic!" Porter reported.
     "Life Station!  Get a med tech up here!" Dorado barked into the
comm, then paused a moment to listen to the muted reply.  "No!  Not the
psychologist! We'll take the healer!"
     "By the Lords of Kobol..." Baltar exclaimed, looking around in
amazement at the Endeavour Control Centre.  "How did we...?  I thought we
were going to..."
     "What happened?" Dayton asked, kneeling down.
     "Firefight in the Control Centre," Porter replied.  "Mendax had
every intention of killing all of us, starting with Malus."
     Dayton quickly took in the charred torso on the IL as Malus began to
climb to his feet.  "He seems no worse for wear."
     "While on Planet 'P', I formulated a condensed tylinium coating to
treat Cylon body armour, Commander.  It is resistant to all light plasma
weapons that I am familiar with," Malus informed him. "Those of Mendax
and his crew are deca-yahrens out of date, as well."
     "Horridum.  The gold centurion with Cylon Psychosis," Dayton nodded,
remembering how the thing had gone after Apollo on Planet 'P', intent on
killing him. "No internal damage?"
     "One minor circuit overload, which has caused my operating system to
switch over to my back-up EMA. Otherwise, I am unharmed, Commander."
     "Couldn't have painted some on my costume...before we left...Mal?"
Baker grunted, sweat pouring from his brow as he clenched his leg in
agony.
     "I'm afraid it is not something I have had the occasion to use since
joining the Endeavour," Malus explained. "Perhaps additional research..."

     "Help me get the bloody armour off...feels like I'm being barbequed
alive," Baker panted, as Porter and Dayton worked together to ease off
the lower Cylon assembly.
     "Cylon Raiders launching from the Harbinger!" Sagaris reported. 
     "Strength?" asked Dayton.
     "Twenty-four so far, Commander.  Scanner reads they have locked on
to us, and all weapons are armed."
     "Mendax ordered five Raiders to destroy what remains of Morlais. 
The remainder are assigned to ram the Endeavour," Baltar hastily
inserted.
     "Kamikaze runs, Mark," Porter nodded.  "Mendax knows his ship is
doomed.  He plans on taking us all with him."
     "Oh, he does, does he?" Dayton retorted, as Rhiamon the Empyrean
healer tore through the hatch, quickly heading for her patient. "We'll
see about that!"
     "Oh, man!  This is the one that scares Starbuck!" Baker moaned as
the healer ran a biomonitor over him. 
     "I need him in the Life Station for fluid resuscitation!" Rhiamon
snapped, issuing orders like a drill sergeant. "Now!" 
     "Okay, our birds are already out there.  Send three Hybrids to take
care of the Raiders that veer off towards Morlais," Dayton ordered, as he
helped Porter ease their friend onto a hoverstretcher.  "The rest are to
intercept and destroy those coming our way, and I'm guessing they're
going to be outnumbered."
     "Yes, sir," Dorado replied, relaying the orders.
     "On my command, bring the Endeavour about Theta Eight Mark Six,"
Dayton continued as Porter disappeared through the hatch with their
friend.  Baltar hovered uncertainly, obviously uncomfortable under
Dayton's cool stare.  "Once those Cylons have committed to a course and
are engaging our fighters, we'll cut a wide path around them, and they
won't have the fuel to catch up."
     "Mendax will be disappointed, Commander," Malus mentioned.
     "I'm counting on it," Dayton replied, nodding briefly at the IL. 
"Way to bring them home, Mal.  If you didn't smell like burnt metal and
machine oil, I'd kiss you."
     "Thank you, Commander."
     "Okay, it's open season on Cylons, and I've got my hunting license. 
Let's go bag ourselves a Base Ship," Dayton grinned.

---------

     "Sort of?  You sort of dragged Ama into this?" Starbuck snarled,
taking an angry step towards John.  The celestial Being actually took a
small step backwards, and then looked embarrassed about it.  "How does a
backwoods Empyrean woman sort of end up part way across our galaxy and
into another dimension duelling with Diabolis?  You're holding out on me
here, John!  Like that's anything new!  What the frack is going on?" 
     John winced, possibly at his choice of colourful language.  
     "Starbuck..." Lu was pleading with him, tears welling in her eyes as
she watched him.  Aggression poured off him as he raved at what appeared
to be thin air.
     "Lu..." he groaned, caught between wanting to pulverize John and
reassuring her.  His anger wasn't doing much to ameliorate the situation,
and he forced himself to calm down and realize how a one-sided
conversation would look to her.  "Remember I told you about the Ship of
Lights and John?"
     She nodded hesitantly, looking over to where Starbuck had been
directing his anger.  "Then that's...?"
     "I hear something..." Lia murmured, touching her sister's shoulder.
     Lu turned, glancing at her sister as though she'd just lost her
mind.  "What?"
     "Shh!" Lia replied, turning towards the mouth of the cave.  They
could hear footsteps drawing nearer.
     "Lia?  Luana?"
     "Apollo?" Lia called back.
     "Yeah!"
     A moment later the gentle glow of illuminators turned into bright
beacons of light as they turned down the tunnel.  Apollo, Sheba, Eirys,
Llewelyn and Mouric fanned out around them.
     "Any sign of Ama?" Sheba asked.
     "Sagan's sake..." Starbuck gasped, as he stared at Mouric in
disbelief.  For a moment, he actually forgot about John.  "Zac?"
     "Mouric," the dark-haired Angylion replied with a look of
bemusement, turning to Llewelyn.  "What is this madness?  Another
Doublewalker?"
     "Soon we'll have a complete set," Llewelyn returned dryly, clapping
the other on the shoulder.
     "Bucko, what are you doing here?" Apollo crossed to his friend,
looking him over.  
     "Losing what's left of my mind, actually," Starbuck returned, almost
surprised by Apollo's obvious concern.  He'd been expecting a dressing
down for joining this expedition.  "John's here.  And if you don't
believe me, I'm going to do something drastic."
     "Like going on a mission when you should be in the Life Station?"
Apollo countered.
     "Well..." Starbuck shrugged, not having a suitable comeback.  "I
think you missed the point, buddy.  Have you been sniffing fuel vapours,
or something?  John's here."
     "John?" Sheba echoed in surprise. "From the Ship of Lights?"  She
looked around.
     Mouric laughed aloud.  "By Llyr, they are just like you and Glynn,
Llewelyn.  If I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes..."   
     Llewelyn smiled, nodding, as his own glance settled on Luana.  He
strode forward.  "Such a vision of loveliness...ah, a beauty such as
yours, my lady, could light up the bleakest night in Morlais.  Pray tell,
what is your name?"
     "Luana," she murmured, running a hand over her neck as a delicate
flush spread over her skin.
     "John?" Apollo looked around searchingly, his gaze settling back on
his friend.  "Really?"
     "Hey, pal, that's my wife you're ogling!" Starbuck stepped forward,
putting a hand on Llewelyn's shoulder, and forcibly turning the prince
towards him.  On contact, a jolt shot through him, and his eyes opened
wide as Llewelyn gaped back at him in surprise.  Starbuck's skin crawled,
as an icy shiver ran down his spine while a foul odour filled his senses. 
Everything around them seemed to shimmer and shift, and he felt the pull
of some explicable energy.  "Oh, frack..."
     "Don't...!" Eirys shouted, leaping forward to separate them.  "Not
yet!  Not without the Oculus!"
     But it was already too late.

Chapter Twenty-Two

     "Holy...what in Hades hole just happened?" Apollo gasped as he
stared at the empty spot where Starbuck and Llewelyn had just been
standing.  The plan was that they were all going to use the Oculus to
find Ama and face down Count Iblis together, but then with a touch of
Starbuck's hand on his Doublewalker, everything had changed.
     "Where did they go?" Luana exclaimed, a note of desperation in her
tone.  She whirled on her sister who looked back at her blankly, and then
glanced down at Ama's talisman in complete astonishment as though
weighing whether the mystical piece had anything to do with the
situation.
     "Triquetra's Truss..." Lia murmured. 
     "Eirys?" Mouric asked.
     The Angylion sorceress looked stunned, as she stood there holding
the Oculus in wonder.  "I didn't do anything..." She brushed back her
flowing flaxen hair distractedly, before silently adding, at least not
knowingly!  "I didn't know that could happen...I'm not certain what did
happen..." 
     "They disappeared," Mouric told her helpfully.
     "I know that, Mouric!" she snapped in exasperation.  "But when they
touched before in the Holy Sanctum..." she shook her head, searching for
answers. 
     "Llewelyn came back from the dead.  As did Glynn," Apollo finished
for her.
     "Energy moving across realms..." Eirys mused, lifting the Oculus
into the air and studying it.  "Giving life...shifting realities..." She
swallowed convulsively.  "Have you touched Glynn since then, Apollo?"
     "Uh...well...no," he replied, and then shrugged.  Meeting a man that
not only looked like him, but was also extremely similar in character was
a little unsettling, especially knowing he'd been lying "clinically dead"
in a chamber for ten yahrens.  Apollo was a demonstrative man, but even
so, he felt more of discomfiture with Glynn than an inclination towards
touching him.  "At least not that I can recall."
     "So you're saying that just the two of them touching..." Sheba
began, then frowned, shaking her head.  "I don't understand.  How is that
possible?"
     "None of this falls within our standard definition of 'possible',
Sheba", Apollo replied.
     "Two kindred spirits uniting, disturbing the Infinite, transcending
time and space..." Eirys contemplated.  
     "But where did they go?" Luana asked.
     "And was it under their own power...or did Count Iblis take them
there?" Sheba added gravely.  She felt a cold chill, as an image of the
evil Count's face just as he struck down Apollo flitted across her
memory. 
     "I think we need a little help," Apollo ventured, looking around. 
"John, if you're here, I think it's time you let us know what's going
on."
     Sheba nodded her agreement, standing beside him. 
     A micron later, John materialized before them.  A glance at the
others revealed blinding white clothes that meant the celestial Being was
permitting them to see him.  He nodded politely at them, but was
frowning.
     "John?" asked Apollo.
     "Very well," sighed the ethereal Being. "It's like this..."
     
---------

     "Here they come!" Jolly winced at the wall of Cylon Raiders coming
at them.  The commander was right, they had to be outnumbered by at least
two to one, which just wasn't fair.  However, when it came to the Cylons,
it was typical.  He glanced at his scanner.
     "There's so many of them, Lieutenant!" one cadet cried tremulously.
     "Makes hitting them even easier, Acastus," Giles spoke up. "Right,
Jolly?"
     "Right, Giles.  Wingmen, stick tight to your leaders.  And remember,
this particular group of Cylon pilots have been planetside for ten
yahrens and they're a little...rusty." He smiled at the nervous titter of
laughter over the comm.  "Also, their scanning and avionic systems are
close to a century out of date, compared to ours.  Our ships have the
latest in electronic counter measures.  Make the most of it."
     "Understood, sir," replied Acastus.
     "Jolly, Baltar's report was correct.  Three Raiders are veering off
towards Morlais," Dietra suddenly inserted.  "Permission to pursue?"
     "Granted, Lieutenant.  They're all yours."
     "Isador?" Dietra called.
     "On your wing, Lieutenant," he replied.
     "Alright, Cadets, let's go."

---------

     "Commander, coming about," Dorado told him, as they corrected course
once again, this time veering back towards the Abaddon Base Ship.
"Matching speed with enemy vessel."
     "As soon as we're in range, lock on forward ph..." Dayton gave his
head a shake as he realized he'd been about to say photons.  There'd been
way too many Star Trek influences lately.  "Lock on forward lasers!" 
     The planned Cylon Raider suicide runs had failed utterly, not even
getting near the Endeavour as Dayton had the Covert Operations Ship
engage her engines and move out of range, too rapidly and erratically for
the small fighter craft to follow.  Phoenix and Sphinx Squadrons were
engaging in combat with the Cylon forces, while a small patrol pursued
the planet-bound Raiders down to Morlais.  
     "If Lieutenant Dietra doesn't reach those Raiders in time, they will
destroy the Holy Sanctum on Mount Cadoc and what remains of the
Angylions," Baltar inserted, stepping forward abruptly, as though he had
made a sudden decision.
     "I'm aware of that, Baltar," Dayton returned, not even looking at
the former traitor as his eyes followed the progression of the fighters
on the scanner.  Starbuck, Lia, Luana, Ama...maybe Ryan, Cassiopeia,
Apollo and Sheba too.  He had no intention of letting that happen.  "What
will be their first target? Your military assessment, quickly! The
Angylions on the battlefield, or our people on Mt. Cadoc?" 
     "Our people at the Holy Sanctum," Baltar replied, not missing
Dayton's appraising stare.  Having fought for his life alongside the
others, as far as he was concerned he'd earned the right to include
himself as one of them.  At least in this dimension.  Dayton could go
straight to Hades Hole if he thought otherwise.  "The Angylions aren't
going anywhere, and Mendax will follow out the Edict of Extermination to
the best of his ability, especially after we made a fool of him in front
of his crew.  Unless, of course, they split up.  One Raider heading for
Mt. Cadoc, and the other two for the battlefield.  The Raiders not only
have a considerable lead on our fighters, but they're lighter."
     "Low on tylium," Dayton nodded, immediately following the former
Cylon commander's reasoning.  "They probably have just enough to complete
their mission and no more.  A one-way mission."  He glanced at the IL who
quietly nodded his agreement.  It was the first time in Dayton's life
he'd gone to a traitor and a high-end robot for tactical analysis.
     "Yes, Mendax admitted his tylium stores were close to depleted. 
However, if our fighters dump fuel..." Baltar offered, raising his
eyebrows as he let Dayton consider it.
     "With our modified engines, we'll be more likely to catch up to them
before they penetrate the atmosphere," Dayton nodded, watching a Cylon
blip disappear from the main battle, and a few seconds later, two Hybrid
fighters lose their identity beacons.  He internally groaned, realizing
he'd just lost two cadets in the blink of an eye.  Agon and Lule.  Good
kids with such potential...Then his guts twisted as he realized the
possible connotation.  "What are the chances that the Cylons packed those
ships with explosives?" 
     "Exceptionally high.  It doesn't take much solenite to blow the top
off of a mountain, Commander Dayton," Baltar replied.  Privately, he
recalled the Cylons losing the Ravishol pulsar, and the top blowing off
Mount Hecla on Arcta.
     "Or to take out two of our fighters with every one of theirs,"
Dayton nodded, and then looked to Dorado.  "Tell Dietra to dump half her
fuel and haul ass for those Raiders.  Make sure Phoenix and Sphinx spread
out.  I have a feeling every Cylon fighter out there is packed to the
gills with solenite."
     "Yes, sir," Dorado replied.  "Coming into range. Forward lasers are
locked onto the Harbinger, Commander. "
     "Give me a firing solution for the Harbinger," said Dayton.  He
watched as the ship's computer crunched the numbers, giving results for
both laser batteries and missiles. 
     "Firing solution ready and on the board," said Dorado. "All lasers
report ready, missiles on standby." 
     "Excellent. Lasers first.  I'm saving the missiles for a special
occasion.  And give me a countdown, too, Captain. Us old astronauts are
fond of them," Dayton quipped, his eyes narrowing as he lost any desire
he initially had for toying with the enemy, like a cat would a mouse.  He
wanted these scumbags gone.  Blown out of existence.
     "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one..."
     "Fire!" Dayton ordered. 

---------

     Eternal darkness. A foul mustiness.  A deadly, bitter cold.  An
undeniable force that he couldn't explain, much less understand, it
loomed ominously and seemingly omnipresent.  Starbuck couldn't help the
involuntary shiver that suddenly took control of him, lying on the
unforgiving ground, as he tried to catch his breath and calm his rising
panic.  Dread seeped into him, infiltrating his defences as it tormented
his mind.  The only other sound he could clearly make out was equally
laboured breathing coming from about a metron away; he could only assume
it was Llewelyn's.
     Much like in his dream he had been pulled forcibly into some kind of
vortex, only this time his Doublewalker was with him.  All he had done
was touch Llewelyn, and it had acted as some kind of catalyst, a key in a
lock, propelling them through the same portal that he had been about to
take with Lia and Luana when John had intervened.  It had been one Hades
of a ride, tumbling endlessly over and over, unable to breathe, as his
mind rebelled at the idea that this could really be happening. 
Apparently, he was about to find out what John was trying to prevent.
     "Starbuck?" the nearby voice, identical to his own, called out
tentatively.  
     "Yeah," he replied, pushing his upper body up from the ground, yet
pausing to curl his fingers around the solidness of the dirt.  It felt
like gritty crystals, and he let it filter through his fingers, the
texture feeling somehow comforting.  As far as he could tell, there
wasn't the tiniest sign of life or light dwelling here.  It scared the
mong out of him.  All around him was nothingness.  A black abyss that
seemed to stretch on forever.  It was as though they were perched on the
top of some unknown world, and if they took a step off, they would plunge
straight to Hades Hole...
     Where it would probably be a whole lot warmer, Bucko.
     "What is this place thou hast brought me to?" Llewelyn asked, his
voice sounding small and childlike, swallowed up by the void.  "All I did
was unwittingly ask thy wife her name.  Surely if I offended thee, swords
at dawn would have been more befitting the infraction."  His tone was
light, his diction formal and more characteristic of his older brother,
but there was an underlying nervousness that betrayed his bravado. 
Starbuck recognized it only too well.
     He sniffed aloud at the mere idea that he had anything to do with
this.  "Did you bring your sword?" Starbuck replied with a fleeting
smile, slowly climbing to his feet as he touched the hilt of his own
blade.  Every sense was alive as he listened, watched, and waited for
something to leap out of the dark at them.  Cautiously, he slung his pack
off his back, and then reached inside, optimistically groping around for
another illuminator.  He'd dropped his somewhere along the way to this
place of torment.
     "I did, although dawn appears to be a long way off, and it mightn't
bode well to take the life of one's own Doublewalker," Llewelyn mused,
also regaining his feet.
     "Assuming you could," Starbuck countered.
     Llewelyn laughed briefly, the harsh sound echoing in the darkness. 
"I am the ablest blade in all of Morlais, Doublewalker."
     "And I have a Colonial laser, pal."
     A long moment passed before Llewelyn scoffed, "Such a weapon takes
the honour from fighting." 
     "Yeah?  Well, if you'd been armed with lasers instead of swords,
Morlais might not have spent the last deca-yahren under Cylon rule."
     "Perhaps, a salient point," Llewelyn conceded.
     Silence fell between them, as eyes and ears strained for some clue
as to where they were, while Starbuck continued to rifle through his
pack. Then a tiny spark of light turned into a flame, and Llewelyn moved
closer to him, holding a burning match.
     "You smoke?" Starbuck asked, taking advantage of the gentle glow. 
He shouldn't have been surprised.  The Cylons had confiscated his own
Flintex.
     "Am I not civilized?" Llewelyn countered.
     Starbuck grinned.  "I like your style...or at least I did until you
started hitting on my wife." His hand curled around another illuminator
and he pulled it out, turning it on and shining the light ahead of them. 
His chest hitched as the mighty beam flowed out into the vast darkness,
revealing no more than they could see now.  All around them, barrenness. 
A bleak, vacuous wasteland as far as the eye could see.  Not a sign of
Ama.  Dread began to seep into his bones as Llewelyn gasped in horror
beside him.  He glanced at the Angylion.  "I'm almost afraid to ask,
but...what?" 
     "The Nonentity," Llewelyn whispered beside him.  "It has to be..."
     "Aptly named," Starbuck returned, even as the familiar taste of fear
tingled on his tongue.  "But, what exactly is the Nonentity?"
     "It is the domain of the Mystics.  It is said that mortals will
wither and die here."
     "Probably from hypothermia, if not starvation."  Starbuck murmured,
turning in a circle and shining the light all around them.  "Not very
inviting.  If I were a Mystic, I'd probably go for something a bit more
comfortable.  With light and heating.  A nice view.  Ambrosa.  Mushies.
Female companionship..."
     "Do not speak so impiously, Starbuck," Llewelyn cautioned him.
     "Or what?  We'll get sent to the Nonentity?" he drawled in return.
     The other was silent for a moment.  "I confess I have forgotten much
of what I learned over the years, most of it by choice, but legend says
that a man who does not obey Mystic Law will be banished here for all of
eternity."
     Starbuck winced.  "You're not going to start confessing your sins to
me, are you, Llewelyn?  Ten to one, I can match them, and probably raise
you a deca-yahren of indiscretions that would either make you blush, or
give you some good ideas for the future."
     "Be this our day of reckoning?" the young prince asked.
     "Here?" Starbuck returned.  "No way, pal.  Our culture prefers the
comparatively balmy climate of Hades hole for eternal damnation." Then he
paused, not liking the direction this discussion was taking.  For most of
his adult life, he'd managed to avoid such philosophical ruminations,
preferring to live life, rather than waste any part of it thinking about
death.  After all, if there was any actual thinking to do during death,
he'd have plenty of time for that then.  "We're here to find Ama.  That's
it."
     "How do we find her?" Llewelyn asked. "I see no sign of her."
     "I was kind of hoping that if she was engineering all this, that she
would bring us to her," Starbuck admitted.  That was the way it had
happened in the dream.
     "And if she isn't?" 
     Eirys couldn't have done this, since if she did she would be
standing there beside them with the Oculus.  There was really only one
other possible explanation.  Iblis.  "Then we could be in trouble."

---------
 
     The Harrower's lasers screamed across the vast expanse between the
capital ships, slamming into the Harbinger, leaving her shuddering like a
tortured beast in its death throes.  Lights faded and died along with
every control panel and display screen, as Dayton's salvos struck home,
smoke belching into the Control Centre.  Warning lights flashed and
alarms blared.  For a moment, Mendax thought the fusion reactors had been
breached, and it would only be another micron before his ship exploded
into stardust. Then the lights surged to life once again as auxiliary
power kicked in.
     "All laser banks lock on!  Return fire!" Mendax ordered, as his crew
responded.  Their attack computer had miscalculated, and he realized it
was likely due to Malus' tampering with his centralized computer systems. 
He'd been sabotaged.  Again.  With a glance at the scanner he could see
the enemy fighters slowly closing the gap on his solenite-filled Raiders
that were bound for the planet.  A quick calculation told him that they'd
never break through the ionosphere.  The Colonials had easily overcome
his strategy, as though they knew what he had planned. 
     He decided it must be Malus' fault, as the ship rocked again from a
direct hit.  No mere...human could have outthought him thus!  He was a
Cylon! 
     The outcome was inevitable if he carried out this battle in a
traditional tact, considering the state of his ship as compared to
Malus'.  The Harrower would destroy him with little trouble.  He needed
to try something a little different.  He needed a diversion.  He was
going to make every effort to make a lasting impression on these filthy,
rancid humanoids, fulfilling his duty both to the Cylon race, and the
Imperious Leader. "Prepare to fire a missile!"
     "By-your-command."
     He'd give Malus and the Colonials something to occupy them.  If he
knew anything about human nature, they'd break off their attack on the
Harbinger to try and save their own kind.  It was a well-known weakness,
and one that he could exploit in this instance. "Target acquisition: Mt.
Cadoc.  The blast radius will incinerate every life form within a
kilometron of ground zero, taking what's left of those Angylion vermin
with them."  
     "By-your-command."
     "Fire missile!"     

---------

     Apollo shook his head in wonder, truly amazed that a piece of
Kobolian history had been utterly lost up until now.  From what John had
said, the Oculus had first appeared sometime before the reign of the
first Lord of Kobol, facilitating their motherworld moving from primitive
backwardness-the so-called "Age of Darkness"-to the early and curiously
rapid dawning of a unified Kobolian civilization.  Mud huts and small
villages in river valleys had blossomed seemingly overnight into a rich,
sophisticated urban culture, with science and the arts making enormous
leaps in an historically brief period.  It had been passed down from lord
to lord, nurturing and ensuring the development of their race.  Kobol had
flourished, becoming a rich planet, vast in resources, with a peaceable
and thriving intellectual culture.
     "It was Kobolian in origin?" Sheba clarified. "The Oculus?"
     "Uh...no," John admitted.  "Before I delivered the Oculus to Kobol,
the planet was in a period of societal chaos.  They were typically human,
the early Kobolians.  Tribes were warring; famine and pestilence were
wiping out whole populations.  Wanton cruelty, bloodshed and blasphemy
were the order of the day.  He glanced upward fleetingly.  "Our Elders
knew that one man on Kobol had the ability, indeed the moral vision, to
set his people on the right path, with a little help...Salpeter became
the first Lord of Kobol."
     "We were told the Oculus came from the Nonentity," Eirys nodded. 
"That its powers were limitless."
     "If one knows how to use them," John nodded thoughtfully at the
sorceress who had effectively summoned Iblis to Morlais by using the
Oculus.  "Its abilities can indeed seem boundless."  He chose not to
challenge her people's perception of what the Nonentity was and who
dwelled there. "The Oculus can be the bearer of light or darkness,
goodness or evil.  It all depends on who commands it."
     "Did Count Iblis once command it?" Apollo asked, a coldness gripping
him.  It was starting to fall into place.
     "He did for a short time before the flowering of Kobol," John
nodded.  "A bit of a challenging case, the Elders decided to make him the
Keeper of the Oculus.  But unlike any of us who came before him, instead
of being inspired by its power, humbled by the honour and glorying in its
magnificence, Iblis was filled with pride, and in time was seduced by it. 
Rather than using the Oculus to help the weak and the primitive develop,
to succour the ignorant and the suffering, he instead claimed it as his
own, to use for his selfish intentions, satiating his endless greed and
lust.  The Elders quickly realized their mistake.  We found Iblis and
recovered it, but not before he had a taste of its power."
     "And then you sent it to Kobol?" Apollo asked.
     John smiled slightly. "It was decided that it would be safer there. 
From the dawn of our order, it had been in our own realm.  What safer
place for it, it was decided, but with a race of primitive humans?  One
as prideful, pitiless, and self-consumed as Iblis would never think of
such a treasure being entrusted to mere mortals.  It was long before he
even suspected the truth, that it was held by a race destined to be among
those who would be guided on a path towards divinity."
     "Amongst?" Mouric asked. "Who else was on this path?"
     "The Angylions. The Espridians, certainly," John replied. "Others
that you have not come across."
     "Espridians?" Mouric murmured in confusion.
     "A race of Beings that strove towards a global consciousness through
spiritual enlightenment.  They ascended ever-greater steps towards peace
and beauty.  They were destroyed by the Cylons." John nodded at Apollo.
"That is where the device used to transport the Endeavour to Morlais came
from.  Your resident Cylon, Malus, will be able to elaborate on their
culture.  Their annihilation was a grave loss."
     Apollo nodded.  Dorado had briefed him on the Espridian
civilization.  The Cylons had been quite thorough.
     "Then the Espridians had a device similar to the Kobolians that
supported the evolution of their society?" Sheba asked.  "Also from you?"
     "Very astute, Sheba," John commented.  "But actually, no.  The
Clavis was developed through Espridian science and technology, and its
exclusive use is for the physical exploration of the universe. The
ability to traverse time and space isn't something we'd share lightly,
and at one time was an ability solely attributed to my kind.  After all,
everything in the universe was designed to be, and must remain, in
balance with everything else. Unintentional interference could be
disastrous."
     "But you allowed it?" Apollo asked.
     "We could not interfere, but admittedly, the Espridians merely
observed and recorded what they saw.  They had an instinctive
responsibility for how they used the Clavis, and didn't abuse that
privilege." John sighed. "So, it was decided to let them be."
     "And now we have it," Sheba murmured, glancing at Apollo in concern.
     "Admittedly, for a time, we had all thought it destroyed when the
Cylons annihilated the Espridians," John admitted.
     "Then we weren't meant to get it?" Apollo asked.
     John paused, considering how best to answer.  "I believe it is meant
to correct an imbalance far, far away that Count Iblis has effected. 
That is all I can say for now."
     "Suitably nebulous," Apollo frowned. "At least you're consistent."
     "Why, thank you," John smiled.
     "How did the Oculus get from Kobol to Morlais?" Luana asked.  "You
said that you had brought it here."
     "During the reign of the ninth Lord of Kobol, the Oculus was
stolen."
     "By Iblis?" Apollo asked.
     "No, for even he cannot take it unless it is bestowed freely by its
Keeper.  Its power would be nugatory."
     "Then how...?"
     "As he has so often throughout history.  Lies.  By lies, seductive
blandishments, and false rewards, he manipulated another to do it for
him.  Humans, sadly, are not so limited by our laws.  That diabolical
action alone sealed the fate of Kobol, although it had been portended by
prophets for yahrens and then verified by science.  Kobol's star was
dying.  It is said that Iblis poisoned the sun, thus hastening its end. 
The Prophet, Daton, of Lord Sagan's own court announced it was the
beginning of the end.  Planning began to mobilize the thirteen tribes,
looking for other planets to settle as Kobol began to whither and die." 
     "Daton?" Sheba interjected with a gasp of surprise. "You mean..."

---------
 
     "Commander, enemy Base Ship locking onto target," reported Dorado,
his eyes fixed on the control screen. 
     Baltar smiled in satisfaction, nodding.  "Oh, to see his
reaction...He'll be blowing power cells after we subverted his plan."
     "Holy frack!" Dorado interrupted.  "It's planetary...it's...Mt.
Cadoc."
     "What?" Dayton cried in disbelief.  Mendax was supposed to come
after him.  "Jam all scanner frequencies!  Full ECM, now."
     "Sir."
     "Malus!" Dayton ordered, looking from the human officer to the IL. 
They only had one chance, and at this range, it might not work.  "Plug
in!"
     "I prefer to think of it as 'interfacing', Commander Dayton,"
replied the cybernetic Being. 
     "Do it, Halogen Head!"  
     "Of course, Commander...since you asked so nicely."
     "Harbinger firing her missile!" reported Dorado.  On the screen,
they could see the weapon tear away from the enemy vessel towards
Morlais. 
     "Okay, Mal," said Dayton. "Now."
     "By your command," replied the Cylon.

----------

     "Nice shooting, Felic," Dietra told her co-pilot as the second
Raider bound for Morlais exploded just short of the ionosphere, taking
the third one out in a fireball that flashed briefly, but spectacularly.
     "Was that the solenite we were warned about?" Isador asked over the
comm.
     "That's right," Dee replied, activating her rear scanner as a
proximity alert sounded.  "They were too close to each other...holy
frack!  Break right, Isador!  Now!"
     As the other Hybrid followed orders, she banked to the left, her
stomach tying itself into knots as a missile passed them by on the way to
Morlais.
     "What do we do, Lieutenant?" Felic asked, his eyes on the scanner.
     "Track it," replied Dietra.  "And pray."

----------
     
     "Not much gets past you, does it, Sheba."  John smiled slightly.  
"Commander Mark Dayton is a descendent of the Thirteenth Tribe of Kobol."
He paused as the Colonials gasped in disbelief.  "His ancestor, Daton,
was not only a learned man in Lord Sagan's court-in fact one of the
greatest minds that world ever produced-but also an explorer and
adventurer.  He alone realized the extent of the Oculus' powers and vowed
to recover it.  He alone understood the significance of the danger, and
that the balance of the universe was precariously pitched towards
darkness.  It is tragic that this part of Kobolian history has been
forgotten, as it would have undoubtedly become one of the universe's
great epics."
     "He went after Iblis?" Apollo asked.
     "Oh, he would have had it been necessary.  But Daton managed to
recover the Oculus, and hide it, before it fell back into Iblis' hands. 
By the time the thirteen tribes had begun the evacuation of Kobol, Daton
realized he had to get the Oculus far from Iblis.  Once they entered the
void, he used the Oculus to transport the Thirteenth Tribe to Earth.  He
became the self-appointed Keeper of the Oculus, as you are now, Eirys."
     "How would he have even known about Earth?" Luana asked sceptically.
"It's so much further from Kobol than any other of the Colonies."
     "Well, we might have had something to do with it..." John replied
elusively. "The Oculus was safely hidden there for several generations
before Iblis discovered Earth, and began tracing Daton's descendents.  He
pursued them mercilessly, and contrived to embroil the people in endless
wars and divisions, in revenge.  We knew it would only be a matter of
time...so with the balance of the universe at stake, we intervened once
again.  We took the Oculus to another dimension entirely, leaving it
under the watchful eye of the Angylions.  Admittedly, we created a few
guidelines that we hoped would eradicate the possibility of the Oculus
being used as anything but a symbolic talisman. However, when its powers
were used to explore the Infinite, it swiftly alerted Iblis to its
existence in Morlais.  Still, unless it was surrendered to him willingly,
he couldn't just take it from them.  Instead, he transformed a race of
Angylions to Odreds, waiting for them to lose faith, and at last to
submit, and to do his bidding.  He has waited ten yahrens for people to
lose heart, under the cybernetic Cylons, and a sequence of events to
align themselves that would provide him with this opportunity.  Instead,
Eirys' courage and intervention has renewed her peoples' faith, tipping
the balance once more in our favour.  But..."
     "But?" Apollo asked.
     "But now Starbuck, Llewelyn and Ama are all within his dominion. 
And he will surely barter their lives in order to recover the Oculus,
using its powers to give him absolute omnipotence, beyond even our
influence," John told them soberly. "The entire ethereal realm will be
plunged into unthinkable darkness."
     "You...you want us to sacrifice their lives..." Luana realized in
horror.
     "Their souls?" Eirys added breathlessly.
     The mountain shook as a thunderous crash reverberated through the
air, and an unnatural light flooded the cavern.  
     "I'll return Starbuck and Llewelyn relatively unscathed in return
for the Oculus now," Iblis suddenly announced from behind the small
group, his hands held up as though summoning the forces of nature.  
     Instinctively, they pulled their weapons in self-defence, lasers and
swords alike.  Iblis laughed mockingly.  "Those primitive weapons are
useless against me."
     "However, the Oculus..." Eirys countered, holding it reverently
before her.  "The Oculus holds a power so infinite, it can destroy you,
Iblis."
     "However, only one person in the universe can wield that power
against me now," Iblis smiled triumphantly, looking at John.  "My own
blood.  And she is now far from reach, and under my dominion.  You have
lost, John."  He turned to gloat at his imminent victory.  "Your own
rules dictating that you don't intervene have decided the contest.  You
have left it too late. How delightfully ironic."
     "You do not command the Oculus yet, Iblis," John countered. 
     "What does he mean by his spawn?" Luana asked, her voice wavering.
     Iblis smiled in satisfaction.  "Were you not aware?  Ama is my
daughter.  Before I was jealously cast out by my own kind, I was Arion.
The woman that you have placed on your ridiculous Council of Twelve is
the very spawn of Diabolis."
     "Liar!" Luana spat, throwing herself at the evil Being, like a feral
felix about to scratch his eyes out. Apollo leapt forward, intercepting
her, well aware that such an attack could result in her death.  "Let me
go!" she shrieked at him.
     "You had no right to take Starbuck and Llewelyn," John admonished
Iblis. "You know that full well!"
     "Then it was you..." Apollo exclaimed, fighting to control the young
woman.  Sheba rushed to his side to help, as Lia stood by numbly in
disbelief.
     "Starbuck had planned to enter my dominion anyway when John
intercepted their cozy little triune.  He was as good as mine.  The
sudden energy created by two twin spirits colliding, merely expedited
their journey to my realm.  I managed to get a 'two for one' deal, if you
will," Iblis replied with a despicable smile.  He trained his
intimidating gaze on Eirys once again.  "Decide, mortal.  Hand over the
Oculus now, or immolate your prince and his Doublewalker.  Forevermore." 
     Eirys looked between John and Iblis, shaking her head from side to
side as she deliberated.  The possibility of sacrificing her beloved
prince was too painful to contemplate.
     "If Starbuck had his say, he'd never agree!  Especially knowing
what's at stake!  I'm willing to bet that any Doublewalker of his would
feel the same way!" spat Sheba, willing Eirys to realize the same.
     "Indeed?" said the Evil One, his eyes momentarily flashing with
anger. "Shall we test that, Sheba?  A contest?  If Starbuck pleads for
his life, then you concede the Oculus?"
     "I..."
     "So be it," smiled Iblis. "Let the contest begin."

----------

     "Did it work?  Report!" Dayton demanded, every muscle in his body
taut with tension as he traced the progress of the missiles to the
surface of the planet.  There was a brief moment of hesitation on Malus'
part that made the Earthman want to send the IL for a refit, and turn him
into a vending machine.  He whirled on the Cylon, snarling, "Well?"
     "Unfortunately, I won't know until impact," Malus replied
dispassionately, still interfaced with their systems.  
     "That's not good enough!" Dayton snapped, his concern flaring into
rage as an entire race of humanoids, as well as Colonials that had become
like family to him, were poised for extinction.  Relatively, the Cylon
artillery would make Hiroshima and Nagasaki look like popped pimples on
the face of humanity.  He changed tact, hoping that he could inspire just
a little bit more from the Cylon.  "Starbuck is down there, Mal.  Your
golden boy."
     "I realize that, Commander." The IL bowed his head slightly, before
looking back at the Earthman.  "I would throw myself in front of that
missile, if it were at all possible, to prevent anything happening to
Starbuck.  But from here, there is nothing more that we can do."
     "Time to impact?" Dayton asked Dorado.
     "Five microns, Commander."
     This time the thought of a countdown made him want to puke.  The
seconds clicked by mentally as he held his breath.   Five, four, three,
two, one...

Chapter Twenty-Three

     Lightning split the sky, briefly illuminating the barrenness, as a
thunderous crash echoed endlessly.  The ground beneath them began to
shake as a low rumble ominously  advanced towards them, growing louder
and louder with each passing moment.  Dust and bits of debris drifted
down on them, and Starbuck stumbled trying to maintain his balance as he
shone his useless illuminator in that direction.  He couldn't see a damn
thing with the narrow beam, or at least anything that could be considered
a threat...
     "Frack..." he muttered, his chest tightening, as fear and anxiety
wrapped their vicious talons around his heart.  Reflexively, he pulled
his weapon.
     "By Llyr," Llewelyn cried, pulling his sword and aligning himself
with the Colonial Warrior. "What's happening?"
     "I hope you're asking Llyr, and not me," Starbuck retorted, fanning
his laser as he turned in a circle, finally settling back to back with
the Angylion.
     A blinding flash of light and a deafening explosion shook the
ground.  Starbuck staggered before falling to his hands and knees,
shielding his face with one arm as a howling gust of debris showered him. 
Abruptly, they were plunged back into darkness and he scrambled to find
his fallen illuminator as the elements went wild.  Lightning, thunder,
quakes, gale force winds, yeah, he'd pretty much had enough of these
crazy weather patterns that existed in this dimension.  It made a guy
yearn for the comparatively monotonous artificial environment of a Base
Ship.
     Then just as suddenly there was a deathly quiet.  It was frightening
in comparison with the chaos just passed, and even more frightening in it
absoluteness.  Once again, the only sound he could hear was his and
Llewelyn's rasping breaths, as their minds desperately tried to make
sense of the inexplicable.  Then a gentle luminescence rose like a beacon
of hope before them.  Starbuck squinted against the growing brightness,
shielding his eyes as he tried to see beyond the blinding light.
     "Ama?" he rasped hopefully through the dust.
     A despicable laughter flowed over him, echoing through the ages. 
"Try again." 

----------

     "Oh, dear Lord...what have I done?" Sheba breathed, her hand
covering her mouth as she stood numbly, staring at the spot where Iblis
had been a moment before.  She had issued a challenge...and Count Iblis
had accepted it.
     "It had nothing to do with you, Sheba," Apollo reassured her,
glancing at John.  "Did it?"
     "No," agreed John.  "You're but a pawn, Sheba."
     "As are we all, apparently," Eirys added.
     "Frack that," Luana inserted vehemently.  "How do we help Starbuck? 
There must be something we can do.  I can't just wait idly in a cave
while this Count Iblis tortures him."
     "The Oculus can take us to him," Eirys reminded them.  "If we can
find Ama while we're there, then we'll have a chance to defeat Iblis. 
Our only chance."
     "If you go, you're accepting Iblis' dominion over you.  Doing so
will make you vulnerable in ways that you might not be able to fathom,"
John warned them.  
     "And that's different, how?" Lu demanded, unimpressed.  "I'm going,
even if I have to hotlink the Oculus to take me there."
     "And Starbuck probably taught her how," Lia inserted with a wry
smile.
     "I'm going too," Apollo put a hand on Lu's shoulder.
     "So am I," Sheba added, as one by one Eirys, Lia and Mouric also
declared their allegiance to the mission.  A moment later they were all
looking expectantly at John.
     "Well, John?" Apollo asked, his demeanour making it clear he
wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.
     "They rarely listen."  John rolled his eyes towards the heavens. 
"Is it too late to be reassigned to the Dolphins?  I must say that
Cetacean intelligence appeals to me right now."
     Apollo cleared his throat impatiently.
     "Oh, all right," John sighed.  "We all go."

----------

    "Report!" demanded Mendax, aboard the Harbinger.  First he would
destroy every last humanoid in Morlais, and then...
     "By-your-command.  Missile-will-impact-in-one-micron."
     "Excellent!" crowed Mendax.  "Fire second missile."  He looked at
the other Base Ship on the scanner. "Target the traitor's ship."
     "By-your-command."

----------

     "Enemy firing another missile!" reported Dorado. "At us!"
     "Hard to starboard! And hope to hell he's as lousy a shot as he is a
commander!" Dayton spat through gritted teeth.  "I want every laser
targeting that missile..."
     "Belay that!" said Malus, as an idea-an idea worthy of
Starbuck-flashed through his processors.  "Of course!"
     Dayton crossed the small distance between them, grabbing the IL by
the shoulders and shaking him.  "You have exactly one second to explain
why you'd countermand one of my orders, before I turn you into a hat
rack, Lite Brite."  
     But still interfaced with the Endeavour, Malus wasn't listening.  As
fast as electrons could traverse his circuits, he accessed codes,
assembled and collated data, wrote a new set of programs, and
transmitted.
     Towards the missile.

----------

     "Holy Lords!" said Dietra, her eyes glued to her instruments, as the
missile impacted Mt. Cadoc. "It's a dud!"
     Cheering erupted from her squadron mates both orbiting Morlais and
far above it, as the truth sunk in.  The Cylon missile, carrying enough
firepower to level an entire city in less than a heartbeat, had fallen
flat.  Its wreckage strewn all over the face of Mt. Cadoc, the
once-fearsome enemy weapon was now complete felgercarb.                  

     "They did it!" cried Felic. "Yee-haw!"
     "Yes, they did." Dietra replied, smiling at the cry of joy, and
missing it coming from her strike captain.  She checked her fuel.  "Now,
let's get back to the Endeavour.  I have a feeling Jolly may need our
support." 

----------

     "Iblis!" Starbuck spat with fury and disgust, as the light dimmed
sufficiently to allow him to see the supernatural Being standing before
them.
     "Ah, you're right where I wanted you, Starbuck. On your knees."
Iblis smiled malevolently down at the warrior, his white cloak billowing
behind him. "Beg for your life and I will set you free. Defy me, and I
will torment you for all of eternity."
     "Go to Hades Hole!" spat Starbuck.
     "Where do you think you are now, cretin?" replied Iblis. "The Fields
of Joy?" 
     "Where's Ama?" Starbuck demanded, as his hand instinctively
tightening on his laser while he regained his feet.  He holstered the
useless weapon, his hand instead migrating towards the hilt of his sword.
Beside him, Llewelyn also stood up, his sword in hand. "What have you
done with her?"
     Iblis looked around distractedly, as though trying to remember. 
"Oh, she's somewhere around here."
     "Where?" Starbuck snarled, an abrupt inspiration taking form. Over
Empyrean Ales in the OC, Dayton had once told him of a bizarre Earth
legend whereby the life of an immortal could be permanently ended...
     If it was true...
     Then Iblis raised his head minutely, suddenly looking concerned.  It
took Starbuck right back to the site of Apollo's "death", when the Beings
of Light had come calling. Iblis sensed something.  He was preoccupied,
his "guests" momentarily forgotten.  It was the perfect time...
     In a flash, Starbuck pulled his sword, leaping towards the evil
Being, his blade already beginning to slash from side to side as he aimed
to strike Iblis' neck from his shoulders.  He could almost hear Dayton
murmuring, in the end, there can be only one.  Okay, maybe in this
instance the strange Earth phrase didn't make much sense, but it was
worth a roll of the dice when you were stuck in an alternate dimension
and slated to spend eternity with Count Iblis.  Out of the blue, Iblis'
words on the Rising Star from so long ago drifted back to him.  I can see
you and I are going to be soul mates.
     Iblis was uncharacteristically slow to realize his danger, his head
only just beginning to turn back towards Starbuck, as the blade sliced
through the air.  His eyes began to widen, registering shock, while the
blade slammed into the Count, as though it had just smashed up against an
invisible force field.  Burning pain ripped through Starbuck's body,
consuming him, as a vivid image of his skin melting from his bones,
running onto the ground in rivulets, filled his consciousness.  The
Colonial Warrior could hear a scream of terror as a blanketing blackness
enfolded him, and he succumbed, thankfully, to oblivion. 
     
----------

     Mendax looked at the scope in disbelief.  His oscillating eyes had
stopped dead for a long moment, when the missile had slammed home on the
plateau before the Angylion Holy Sanctum...and did nothing.  He rechecked
his scanner, and internally re-ran what he had just witnessed.  The
missile had indeed failed.
     "How?" he demanded. "HOW, CENTURION?"
     "Telemetry-indicates-the-warhead-disarmed-itself."
     "What?  But how?" He checked the scanner.  The screen was filled
with garbage. Lines of code, words, fragments of images, swirling and
rolling about in utter chaos. "This...cannot be!" He punched several
controls, to no effect. "Those arming circuits are..."
     He swirled, looking back at the image of the Endeavour.  Of course! 
That...that treasonous piece of Boray mong, Malus!  Somehow, when he had
access to their systems, earlier...
     "Status of second missile?"
     "Second-missile-altering-course," reported the centurion.
     "What? What course?" shouted Mendax, although inside, he already
knew.

----------

     Wake up!
     Everything tingled, with an underlying layer of "burn".  Actually,
the more he lay there thinking about it, the more he felt like the
personification of one of Porter's Seven-Layer Dips.  Tingling, burning,
panic, nausea, fear, pain, with a hearty base of complete exhaustion. 
Mix them all together, serve them up on a cracker, and it was one Hades
hole of an appetizer for the infinite ages at Iblis' table of eternal
damnation and torment.
     "Wake up!"
     The hands that gripped him by the shoulders and shook him were
insistent, dragging him from the relative comfort of his stupefied state,
back out into the realm of reality, whatever reality was in this pit. 
His eyes flickered open, still unfocussed, and he winced, groaning aloud
as the shaking became even more demanding.  
     "Don't," he murmured, the word sounding thick and guttural, as he
clawed at the abusive hands.  
     "Are you...quite alright, Starbuck?" Llewelyn asked, leaning over
him.
     Starbuck snorted, not dignifying the inane question with a reply. 
Shakily, he raised his hand before his eyes, noting in surprise that his
skin was still attached, and not lying in a pool of horror beneath him,
like he remembered.  It had been some warped trick of Iblis'...an
illusion.  He shuddered, trying to leave the memory behind, while he
blinked a couple more times, trying to focus.  A soft light was shining
from beside him.  His sword lay there, and the glow that emanated from
the bent and notched blade was...just weird.  
     "What happened?" Starbuck asked, looking around, and seeing no sign
of Iblis.
     "I believe...I believe you destroyed him," Llewelyn replied
uncertainly.  "When you struck with the sword, there was an unbearably
bright light.  I...I could see naught.   And the sound...it was enough to
make my ears ring.  When I could finally focus again, Iblis was gone and
you were lying here insensate, your sword glowing like an Angylion symbol
of strength and courage, Doublewalker."  He put a supportive arm around
the Colonial Warrior, assisting him to sit up.  "Such bravery takes a
certain amount of desperation, with perhaps a bit of rash stupidity.  I
know not whether to berate you, or feel ashamed that I had not thought of
it first."  He left out his own attempt to run Iblis through, since by
then some supernatural phenomena had already removed Iblis from his
reach.
     "He's gone?" Starbuck repeated in disbelief.  "You mean it actually
worked ?"  For a moment he dared to believe it, until reality reminded
him..."Wait a centon, if he's really destroyed...shouldn't he be lying
here dead?"
     Llewelyn shrugged.  "I'm not certain...he's not made of flesh and
blood, as are you and I.  Perhaps it is different for Mystics.  Have you
destroyed one before this?"
     "Uh, no.  This is a first for me."
     "Unfortunate."
     Then a faint tremor began beneath them, growing to a full scale
quake as a deafening rumble rolled over them in waves.  The ground began
to split, thick shoots of a thorny vegetation penetrating it, thrusting
up towards the sky all around them.  
     "Get up!" 
     Llewelyn pulled his Doublewalker to his feet, supporting him as they
became immured in a forest of thorns. It took Starbuck right back to the
Thorn Forest of Umbra when he was a tot, except these titans shot
impossibly high, blotting out what they could see of a sky.  He felt
closed in, in more ways than one, as recently surfaced memories rushed
back to him, leaving him feeling as vulnerable as a defenceless child.  
     "Do you hear that?" Llewelyn asked, his grip painfully tight on the
warrior.
     As the horrible rumbling of the ground died away into yet another
eerie silence, Starbuck could detect a gradual droning that seemed to
come from all around them, surrounding them as surely as the thorns had.
     "Cylons," Starbuck hissed.
     "Cerberus," Llewelyn said at the same time, turning to regard
Starbuck impatiently.  "Cylons, you said?  Are you deaf?"
     "What the frack's a Cerberus?" Starbuck asked, not understanding how
he could be hearing one thing, and the Angylion prince another.
     "It's a vicious, three-headed beast," Llewelyn replied, swallowing
visibly.  "When I was a child, my mother and I were in a forest much like
this that bordered the desert lands south of Morlais.  A Cerberus came
after us..." his words trailed off, as he sucked in a steadying breath.
     "Let me take a wild guess...your mother died saving you," Starbuck
ventured, as the droning became louder and louder.  He could only imagine
that Llewelyn was hearing the growl of this strange Angylion beast as the
man's stance stiffened with a rising anxiety that Starbuck could
understand only too well.  
     "How could you know that?" Llewelyn demanded, releasing his hold on
the Colonial Warrior, turning to face him.
     "Because my mother died in the Thorn Forests of Umbra...saving me. 
From the Cylons." He drew in a deep breath, feeling his heart doing its
best to pound its way through his chest at the coincidence. "Don't you
understand?  Iblis is trying to recreate our worst nightmares!"
     "This is all an illusion," Llewelyn whispered, his tone somewhere
between a statement and a question. "It is unreal!"
      Starbuck nodded, but his recognition of the fact wasn't doing a
goddamned thing to quell his unease.  "Either that or we just ended up in
one really warped rewrite of Yochanan and the Beanstalk."
     "I don't understand..."
     "You're probably not alone," Starbuck returned, as the sound grew in
intensity.  He pulled his laser, looking down in horror, and then crying
out in disgust as it transformed within his grip.  Slimy, cold-blooded,
and alive, he thrust it away instinctively.  Both men jumped back out of
the way as the scaly, slime-covered black serpent raised its hooded head,
training its obsidian eyes on them, exposing its lethal fangs, before it
slithered away into the dense thorns.  "Getting to be one of those
days..." Starbuck rasped, his mouth dry and the sound of his heart beat
echoing in his ears.  He could have sworn, just for an instant, that the
creature had...smiled, at him.
     "Llyr, help us..." Llewelyn breathed, adjusting the grip on his
sword as he turned in a circle.  "Arm yourself, Starbuck."
     "In case you hadn't noticed, that's what I was doing when my laser
decided to wriggle away."  A little reluctantly, Starbuck leaned down,
grabbing his sword.  The eerie glow from the blade seemed to brighten
marginally.  At the same time he felt a warmth on his chest, where his
Empyrean talisman rested.  He touched the medallion, feeling a slight
heat suffuse him.  Like the Angylion prince, he turned in a slow circle,
studying the thicket they were in, looking for some sign...Ama?
     Courage, son of my heart.  A shimmering translucence circled around
him lazily, like a wisp of smoke, before it gradually disappeared, and
somehow he just knew...
     "Ama's here," Starbuck breathed, hope flaring to life, as the
Angylion prince looked at him searchingly.  Was it Ama who was to die in
his mother's place this time?  Not while he was still breathing!
     "She's smaller than I remember," Llewelyn observed wryly, raising a
sceptical eyebrow at his Doublewalker as the din grew around them.  An
advancing invisible wave of menace, a choking miasma of fear, the
surrounding thorns began to shake as their aggressors neared.  The prince
raised his sword before him, poised for the attack.  "Freedom!  Glory! 
Morlais!" he shouted, as though trying to inspire a legion of troops that
stood figuratively with him.  His usual aura seemed to grow just a little
brighter, taking on a golden glow.  Like some heroic figure of yore, his
long hair flowed out over his shoulders, while his muscles rippled as he
hefted his fearsome weapon. 
     Any guy who hadn't figured out that they were about to engage a
legion of Iblis' most powerful minions with nothing but swords somewhere
in between despair and Hades hole, just might be inspired, but all the
same, the battle cry quelled some of Starbuck's rising anxiety, and the
familiar calm that usually descended during combat swept over him. 
Unconsciously, his right thumb settled on the hilt, exactly as it had
countless times on the firing stud of his control stick.  
     With a deep, steadying breath, he struck a similar pose to the
prince's, as the thorns parted, and an oppressive wave of Cylons marched
towards them.  Sagan's sake, he might not be an Angylion prince, but he
was the strike captain of the Endeavour.  He should be able to come up
with something equally inspiring.  With the glimmer of a smile, he
hollered, "Last one to the OC buys!" as he leapt into the gaping maw of
fate.

---------

     "Holy..." said Dayton.
     "What is?" asked Malus.
     "You're a genius, Mal!  A goddamned genius!" Dayton roared as he
watched the course change of the Cylon missile.  He threw an arm around
the IL, giving him a nuggie.
     "Is this some sort of Earth ceremony for such an occasion?" the IL
asked, as he detected the commander's knuckle grinding into his
cybernetic skull. That could...hurt. 
     "Looks tribal to me," Baltar added with a smirk, not immune to the
infectious joy that had swept over the Control Centre.  It would never
have occurred to him to do the same to Lucifer.
     Except, perhaps, with a wrench.
     "Man, I didn't know the potential we had with you!" Dayton shook his
head in incredulity.  He'd been resistant to placing any trust in a
robot, especially one that had with such apparent ease changed sides.  It
took him straight back to '79 with Maximilian in the Black Hole.  A dog
of a movie, but a lasting impression.  "Pierus, see if you can get Mendax
on the horn.  What I wouldn't give to see his sparkly little billboard of
a head right now!  Bet it looks like a disco ball on steroids."
     "I...I shot up the communication console when the mega-pulsar
exploded," Baltar admitted.
     "And if I was in command, I'd be doing whatever I could to get it
going again so I could keep in touch with my centurions," Dayton replied
with a nod of acknowledgement.  "Pierus, get on the horn!"
     "The horn, sir?"
     "Sorry.  Earth moment.  The commline, Pierus.  Open a channel on the
commline."
     "Getting on the horn, sir," smiled the cadet, following suit.

---------

     With a flash of light, they were transported from Morlais into
Iblis' realm.  It took a moment for the small group of humanoids to
adjust from one environment to another.
     "What is this place?" Luana asked, one hand on her laser, and the
other on her Empyrean talisman as an iciness like she had never
experienced before swept over her.  Somewhat akin to terror and anguish,
the emotional impact of just being within Iblis' dominion was undeniable. 
It made her want to find a small corner to hunker down in and hide until
the demons coming alive in her imagination finally passed her by.  She
tried to shake the sick, cloying feeling off, telling herself that this
was only short-term.  Get on with the mission, Lu.  Find Starbuck.
     "A place where darkness abides, and light has never penetrated. 
Another dimension apart from your own where Iblis exercises complete
control over those who have entered into his dominion," John replied. 
"Even now I sense he is testing his power over you, toying with you."
     Luana nodded.  "No kidding."
     "I have not felt like this since I was a small boy, running for my
mother's skirts," Mouric stated.  Others murmured their agreement.
     "How do we find Starbuck?" Apollo asked, looking around into the
cavernous darkness, his illuminator revealing only more nothingness. 
"And Ama."
     "Ama's here, I can feel her," Lia suddenly inserted, voice close to
a whisper, as a shimmering light wafted towards them.  Then she frowned,
chewing her lip.  "At least her spirit is here."
     "If it's just her spirit that Lia detects, does that mean...Ama's
dead?" Sheba whispered, leaning into Apollo as he put an arm around her. 
After all, this place was supposed to be filled with the spirits of the
dead.  Wasn't it?
     "Not technically," John replied.  "It's rather complicated, and I
doubt you'd understand."
     "Being mere mortals, and all," Sheba frowned in frustration.  She
was beginning to think this Being thought they were all a bit on the dumb
side of stupid.  "What are you saying, John?"
     "Is Ama dead or alive?" Luana insisted, tears pricking the backs of
her eyes. "Give it to us straight!  We're not children!"
     "On an immortal time scale, children are exactly what you are," John
smiled, shrugging slightly.  "Ama's spirit lives on, but in this place,
her mortal vessel has ceased to exist."
     "Sounds pretty damned dead to me," Luana shivered, fighting back the
wave of despair that suddenly washed over her.  Lia was there in a
heartbeat, putting an arm around her sister, sharing in her grieving,
even as she supported her.
     "Dearest Triquetra..." Lia murmured brokenly.
     "We believe that after death, the spirit evolves to another plain of
existence,"  Eirys added.  
     "The physical body can actually limit most underdeveloped species'
spiritual progress," John elucidated.
     "But this?" Luana rasped.  It was absolutely wrong that a spirit
like Ama's could be immured in such darkness for all of eternity.  Add to
that the fact that Starbuck could very well be joining her...A choking
sob escaped, as an emotional deluge of anguish hit her like a tidal
force.  It all seemed so utterly hopeless...even knowing that Iblis was
probably enhancing those feelings.
     "Now, now, it's not as bad as all that," John tried to console her,
waving his hands in the air as if he could magically ward off the
emotional miasma.   Then he turned to where the shimmering light form had
taken the shape of a spectral image.  "I believe it is time."
     "Time for what, John?" Apollo demanded, his own anxiety rising as he
gazed in bewilderment upon the apparition.  "What is going on?"
     "Ama?" John said politely, holding out his hands, palms upward.
     The spectral image started to gain density, solidifying before their
eyes. In a moment Ama stood there before them, looking no different than
she had when they had last seen her.
     "Ama!" Lia cried, throwing herself towards her godmother, her arms
reaching to embrace her.  Instead, she passed right through the Empyrean
necromancer.
     "Well, I didn't care for that," Ama frowned, turning to look at her
trembling godchild. Lia's eyes were wide with fright. "Don't fash
yourself, Lia. You look as though you've seen a ghost."  Then she smiled
slightly, stepping forward, her hand moving as though she was stroking
her goddaughter's cheek. "Do not lose faith, dear one."
     Lia's eyes widened in surprise, touching her cheek.  "I...I felt
that.  But how...?"
     "Light is life, child," Ama reminded her, crossing to Luana and
repeating the gesture.     
     Luana closed her eyes, feeling the soft, reaffirming touch of the
necromancer, revelling in the sudden sensations it evoked.  The darkness,
the fear, the horror all disappeared, as though purified and transformed
by the necromancer's presence, leaving behind a hope and faith that
somehow things would work out.  
     "Ama," Lia murmured, holding out the melted talisman that had once
been the symbol of Ama's powers.
     "Thank you, Lia," Ama murmured, closing her eyes slightly before
reaching forward, and placing her hand open-palmed beneath the mangled
amulet.  She nodded at her goddaughter, who let it go.  Lia gasped as it
appeared to melt like quicksilver, before shifting within the
necromancer's grip and returning to its previous magnificence.  She
deftly put it around her neck where it rested on her chest, as it had
most of her life.
     Then Eirys stepped forward, carrying the Oculus before her.  "Iblis
said that you're his daughter, White Witch.  Is that true?  Or just
another of his lies?" 
     "It may have been true once, but no longer.  I am a child of the
gods, now," Ama replied with a smile.  "Hurry now.  Starbuck is running
out of time."

----------

     Every fighter pilot's eyes were on their scanners, watching the
missile that had been launched from the Harbinger alter course.  Jolly
breathed a sigh of relief as he checked his scanner, ruling out possible
targets based on the missile's trajectory.  It was still adjusting
course.  First, almost losing Morlais, and now the Endeavour, the stakes
were only getting higher as the day progressed.
     "Lieutenant Jolly, the Raider pursuing us just lost her engines.
She's dead in the air!" Acastus reported.
     "That's about the best news I've had all day!" Jolly grinned. He
checked his tactical display. "They're too far from their Base Ship to
make it back, and too low on fuel to be a real threat to us or the
Endeavour now.  Let's kick in our turbos and give them some room.  Let
them use up what tylium they have left."
     "Sounds good, Jolly," Giles inserted.  "As long as we get to come
back and pick them off later."
     "That's a promise.  I'll take volunteers on the Cleanup Crew."
     "Sign me up!"
     "Jolly, Dee here."
     "Welcome back, Dee.  That was some fine shooting your wing did. Glad
to see that Morlais is still in one piece." Not only had a nation of
Angylions almost been destroyed, but so had several people that he cared
about, probably more than he would like to admit.
     "You and I both," she replied.  "Did I hear you say that we get to
sit back on our laurels and watch the show for now?"
     "You did, and it's deserved, Lieutenant."
     "Why, Jolly, that sounds like you're buying back at the OC?" she
teased him.
     "Dee, you've really been hanging around with..."
     "Starbuck for too long!" a chorus of cadets chimed in.
     "Five centons can be too long," smiled Jolly.  "Okay, all wings
report in."

----------

     Starbuck's arms felt leaden, as he hefted his sword over and over
again, while an endless line of Cylons advanced to replace the one he had
struck down before.  Thorns tore at his uniform and flesh as he pushed
through them, wading through Cylon dead.  With each strike of his blade,
he could hear his mother's scream echo in his ears from yahrens past, not
as easily forgotten as he had once thought.  With every scream came a
renewed determination in his soul that he would kill each and every one
of them.
     "Starbuck!  They keep coming!" Llewelyn rasped from metrons away.  A
jagged cut on his arm was dripping blood.
     "They don't call it eternal damnation for nothing!" Starbuck called
back, hissing in pain when a Cylon sword nicked his forearm as he jumped
back.  Blood welled up from the flesh wound, but there wasn't time to
give it a passing thought as he watched Llewelyn intervene, striking down
the offending Cylon, sending its metal head rolling with a mighty cleave
of his weapon.
     "Behind you!" the prince called.
     Starbuck turned, his heart dropping into his boots when he saw the
full phalanx of centurions, boots tramping like coordinated doom, coming
at him like a wall. He swallowed the fear in his throat, trying not to
contemplate the odds as he raised his sword once again. 
     Then a malignant chuckle seemed to reverberate from the darkness.
"Plead for your life, Starbuck!" Iblis' voice carried over the
battleground. "If you do it convincingly, I might be moved towards
mercy."
     "This seems to be all about you," Llewelyn grunted aside, looking
somewhat disappointed by that.  "I'm rather accustomed to it being all
about me."
     "I'll bet you are," Starbuck spared a fleeting smile at his
Doublewalker, even as he tried to imagine what "mercy" would look like
from the keeper of this darkness.  "I'll never concede, Iblis!  Never!"
he yelled.
     "Then die a thousand deaths, each one more painful than the one
before!" Iblis roared in fury as his legions advanced.   
     
----------

     "Missile-altering-course-directly-towards-us, Commander," the
centurion informed Mendax.
     "Wha...Shoot it down!  Now!"
     "Impossible.
Due-to-damage-sustained-all-laser-batteries-are-off-line."
     "But...No!  Override!  Override!  Get out of its way!  Evasive
manoeuvres!"
     "By-your-command."
     "Mendax?"
     The IL turned again.  Remarkably, the comm was working.  It was
Malus on the main screen.  Baltar...and the manservant were standing
beside him.
     "What? You traitorous..."
     "We just wanted to tell you one thing, Baltar, Commander Dayton and
I."
     "What?" spat Mendax as the realization struck him that he had held
the commanding officer of the Harrower prisoner, and had been convinced
he was the lowly manservant of an Angylion prince.  No wonder...He spared
a micron's attention to the scanner, and saw the missile.  "Oh,
felgercarb!"
     Dayton leaned closer and waved his right hand across the screen. 
His smile was one of pure venom as he stuttered,
"Th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-that's all, folks!"
     The three vanished, replaced by the image of the approaching
missile.
     "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..................................."

----------

     Starbuck's muscles burned with the enormous exertion, as he
desperately met the Cylon swords blow for blow.  He felt like he was on
autopilot; his body going through the motions, brain disconnected,
reproducing offensive and defensive moves that Dayton had drilled into
him on the Endeavour.  Who could have known that his friend and
commander's rigorous training, meant to recondition him after extensive
injuries four sectars ago on Planet 'P', was actually going to save his
life one day?
     Ama probably did...but Dayton would take credit for it anyway.
     Still, skill and discipline could only take a man so far.  How many
Cylons had he struck down so far?  Twenty?  Fifty?  A thousand?  How many
had Llewelyn added to the pile?  Too many to count, as it all flowed into
a blur.  The scene had a hint of surrealism that could only come from
drugs, alcohol or bone-numbing exhaustion.  Everything seemed to be
moving in slow motion, and he didn't even feel the source of the blood
running in rivulets down his arm.  Any micron now he would fall under a
dozen Cylon swords, feeling the cold metal part skin and muscle, slicing
through bone and sinew, as the centurions dispassionately and soullessly
hacked him to pieces.  By then he knew that he'd welcome death, but in
this case, it was an elusive dream.  An eternity of pain and suffering
was his fate as Iblis' soul mate.
     Damn you, Iblis!  Damn you, you equines' astrum! 
     Beg for mercy, Starbuck!  Iblis' malignant voice echoed through his
head, issuing the ultimatum. The demonic Lord of Suffering laughed, as
Starbuck dodged a Cylon's blade, before ramming the tip of his own blade
into the centurion's optical scanner slit.  The robot's head erupted in
sparks, and it toppled back.  Beg for mercy and I'll end this!
     "Never!" he shouted at the sky, renewing his attack, cutting down
another Cylon with a vicious blow that took off its head.  The rest of
the cybernetic body staggered in front of him for a moment, and with a
fierce yell he kicked the teetering centurion's body with the heel of his
boot, sending it smashing into those coming up behind it.  The intensely
crazed satisfaction was addictive, better than cubits, better than booze,
better than drugs or sex, and he roared again at the harbingers of death,
leaping into the fray.  Each crash of his metal blade biting into Cylon
armour was invigorating!  Mentally, he counted each loathsome cyborg as
it hit the ground, not caring any longer that it would be replaced.  He
was as much a machine as the Cylons...kill, kill, kill...
     Smack! Another centurion went down, half-chopped neck belching
sparks and smoke.
     The burst of sudden light barely made an impact, so intent was he on
annihilating every last Cylon standing.  Then the wave of centurions
parted, and he could suddenly see Iblis.  Smiling.  Taunting.  Evilness. 

     "Iblis!" Starbuck roared, manipulating his blade in a showy
"windmill" that Dayton would have kicked his astrum for, had he seen it. 
Then he raised the sword pointing it towards the Count, feeling his fury
and strength amass as he charged the Evil One, no longer caring what
would happen.  If he was to die a killer, then let him die trying to kill
Iblis once again.
     "Starbuck!  NO!!!!"
     A metron short of Iblis, he hit the sudden blue ball of energy like
a wall of stone. Yet instead of feeling pain, he felt himself falling
backwards into comforting warmth, suspending him effortlessly as though
he were floating on air. Concern, love, and tenderness flowed over and
through him, like being a boy in his mother's arms, pushing aside his
defences effortlessly.  It made his chest hitch painfully with
overwhelming emotion, as the frigid barricade, that he had carefully
erected to maintain his sanity and purpose, abruptly crumbled.  It left
him weak as a baby felix, and trembling with weariness. 
     Ama?
     Shush, now.  And know the truth.
     Then impossibly, he was soaring hand in hand with the Empyrean
necromancer, across the heavens.  In an eye blink, the stars ripped by,
as they came to Earth.  In another heartbeat he discovered Hummer and
Dickins, both imprisoned, locked away in a military fortress, the
majority of Earthlings not even knowing they existed.  The superpowers of
Earth, stupidly, were denying the existence of the greatest threat known
to mankind.  After all the Colonials had done to send the astronaut and
technician there four sectars ago in the rebuilt shuttle Endeavour, to
prepare the pubescent planet...It had all been a waste of time and
effort, and had ultimately cost two men their freedom.  
     There's more...
     And most chillingly, a Base Ship was nearing Earth, following a
long-range beacon from a Cylon Raider that had crashed on their moon. 
The home of the Thirteenth Tribe of Kobol was running out of time.
     You must tell Adama, Starbuck.  Give me your pledge, Oh Son of My
Heart.
     And he knew then that she wouldn't be returning with them.
     Your pledge, Starbuck.
     "On my life."  
     Even as he began to nod dutifully, he was abruptly thrown back into
what Llewelyn called the Nonentity.  It was like being shot down a launch
tube, without a Viper.  In a blinding blast of light he was thrust
forward, his sword extended before him, glowing like a beacon of strength
and truth as he stumbled to a halt before Eirys, John and Ama.  Iblis
still stood beyond them, overlooking the battle, his cape flowing behind
him, billowing in some invisible wind.  He pointed at them menacingly,
his face somewhere between rage and sadistic glee, but the Colonial
Warrior recognized the concern lurking beneath his mien.  Starbuck paused
only a moment to embrace Ama, but startled as his hands passed through
her, as though she was a Being of Light...
     "Let me," she murmured, stepping towards him, her hands outreached.
     He closed his eyes briefly as she rested her hands on either side of
his face and tilted her forehead to rest on his, as she had a hundred
times before.  This time, their connection was visceral, and almost
healing in nature, as he accepted the woman's virtue and energy into his
heart and soul without his usual protestations.  A moment later, he felt
the faintest flutter of a kiss against his lips, and when he opened his
eyes in surprise, she grinned her gapped-tooth smile, like the felix that
ate the falco.
     "I've wanted to do that for a very long time, Starbuck," she
cackled, and winked at him.
     "What would my father say?" he smiled, then drew a deep breath,
before asking, "There must be some way, Ama...?"
     "Don't fash yourself, Dear Heart," she smiled. "And give no purchase
to doubt."
     He nodded, quickly assessing the situation.  Around him, Luana,
Apollo, Sheba, Lia and Mouric had joined the fight, battling Cylons, or
Cerberus, with whatever weapon-or point of view-they had.  Suddenly, he
felt renewed, infused with new strength and purpose.  A strength not of
flesh, but of spirit.  He looked at his sword, blazing like a sunburst,
and took a deep breath. 
     "Death to Cylon!" he roared, and the very air seemed to tremble like
some ancient force come back to life.  There was an energy that he
couldn't describe, but he knew the tide had turned, that the battle would
be theirs.  Then, he was once again in the fray, hewing down centurions
as once Umbrans had cut grain, naturally migrating towards his wife.  He
brought his blade down on a centurion's head, ripping into the circuits
within.
     "DEATH TO CYLON!" 
     Ancient chants older than the ages spewed from the Empyrean
necromancer. Her Empyrean talisman glowed like a lodestar. She pulled it
from her neck, holding it upward, as John and Eirys stood with her in
triune. The Angylion sorceress held up the Oculus, her radiant light
flowing through it. The chamber came alive as a whirl of cosmic energy
burst forth from the Oculus, emitting a blinding ray of light and a blast
of power that flattened everything in its path. It was like a hurricane
gone wild.
     In silence was victory.
     "Innamorato?"
     "Lu..."
     When he rolled over, it took him only a moment to realize they were
back in the Angylion Holy Sanctum, atop Mt. Cadoc.  In a glance he
counted those present.  Lu, Lia, Apollo, Sheba, Eirys and Mouric...no
Ama.  No John either, but then his uniform had returned to the usual
colour, so the ethereal Being could be anywhere.  Starbuck sat up,
catching his wife as she threw her arms around him, crumbling into his
embrace.  He stroked her hair, kissing the top of her head as he murmured
nonsensical reassurances, rocking her in his arms.  
     Two great cosmic forces colliding, one destined to enervate the
other through some inexplicable sacrifice. If Iblis was indeed gone, then
it was at the cost of Ama.  She'd become such a force in his life, that
he couldn't fathom she was gone. The loss would be even harder on Lu and
Lia.  Victory, as always, was bittersweet, and, at least in his mind, not
entirely justified.  However, he'd learned that life wasn't fair from a
young age...the same time that he'd first learned about what a mother
would sacrifice for her children.
     Give him one for me, Ama!

----------

     The bridge crew of the Endeavour watched, as the missile flawlessly
tracked and struck the Harbinger, directly in one of her launch bays. 
The warhead erupted in a blue-white blossom of fire, as the fearsome
energy of her solonite charge was unleashed.  The bay was blown open,
bulkheads ripped and decks peeled back, as the pure shock of the blast
tore through the ship like the tsunami from Hell.  Secondary explosions
followed, as the remaining tylium stores were ignited, and her own
ordnance followed quickly.  The ship was tossed up on end, her hull
sending out shattered hunks of debris, spewing fire and rubble as she
began to spin end over end.  Another explosion followed, as deep in her
bowels her reactors were breached, and the Harbinger vanished in a
blinding supernova of light and nuclear fire. 
     "Lords of Kobol!" said Coxcoxtli, as the other ship evaporated into
oblivion. 
     "Move us back, helm," ordered Dayton. "Out of the range of possible
debris."
     "Aye, sir."
     "That was...impressive," said Baltar.
     "Malus?" said Dayton, turning to the IL.
     "Commander?" replied the other, placidly, disconnecting himself from
the ship's mainframe.
     "What did you do?  Specifically."
     "Simple.  I wrote a new program, overriding the missile's failsafe
and tracking instructions.  I made it believe that the Harbinger had
uploaded new targeting instructions, and sent it back where it came
from."
     "Holy Saints!  What ever made you think of that?"
     "Simple, Commander.  I just asked myself, what would Starbuck do?"
     "You're not just a pretty face, Mal."  Dayton quipped before he
turned to look at the cloud of cooling wreckage that had been the Cylon
Abaddon-class Base Ship, Harbinger. 
     "That was brilliant, Mal," said Dorado.
     "I didn't know it was possible," Baltar nodded, as impressed as the
others.
     "These missiles and their control systems are older, Baltar," said
Malus. "They are more vulnerable to modern attacks."
     "Thank the Lords," replied Baltar.
     "I hope you've upgraded ours?" asked Dorado.
     "Oh yes," said Malus. "That was taken care of, before our launch. 
It was only during my tie-in to the Harrower's systems that I saw the
potential gap in their shields, as it were."
     "You amaze me, Malus," said Baltar. "Honestly."
     "You really hated him, didn't you?" asked Dayton.
     "I believe I did.  He hurt Starbuck," said Malus, flatly. "He had to
pay."
     "Speaking of which," Dayton inserted.  "Prepare a shuttle. I'm going
down to Mt. Cadoc."
     "I should very much like to join you, Commander," Malus inserted.
     "Of course," Dayton nodded.  He could almost picture the
Malus-Starbuck reunion, but it was coming off as too much like a bad
romance movie. His strike captain really needed to have a "heart to
central processor" talk with the Cylon.
     "As would I, Commander," Baltar added, his features suddenly veiled
as he awaited and probably expected Dayton to fire him into the Brig for
their return trip to the Fleet.  "I would...I'd be in your debt..." he
trailed off, obviously having difficulty saying those words, the distaste
written on his features.
     "You're not planning to stay behind, are you, Baltar?" Dayton asked
frankly.  "It's my duty to take you back to the Fleet where you'll
continue to serve out your sentence..."
     Baltar raised a hand, shaking his head, as the Earthman slowly
clamped his lips together and crossed his arms over his chest.  "I merely
want to see this through...and say goodbye to the Angylions.  Nothing
more.  You have my word."
     "There was a time your word wouldn't have meant much, Baltar,"
Dorado ventured.
     "I think they call it yesterday," Coxcoxtli inserted poignantly.  
     "And there it is, out in the open like a zit on the end of your
nose.  What about now?" Dayton asked his bridge officers, his gaze moving
around the Control Centre and settling on each Colonial Warrior who would
meet his eyes.  He could definitely detect some mixed emotions.  "Speak
up!"
     "He certainly lent a credence to our ruse, Commander," Malus
inserted.  "But perhaps you would give scant weight to my opinion on
Baltar, especially since I also once dedicated my service to the
Imperious Leader."
     Dayton raised his eyebrows, considering the IL.  "I never met a
leopard that could change its spots, Mal.  At least, until I met you." 
Then he pressed onward before he felt the need to apologize to a cyborg
for his previous borderline hostility.  "As you all know, I'm an
Earthman, and what this man single-handedly did to your home worlds
didn't touch me on the same personal level that it touched all of you. 
So I'm going to leave the decision up to you." He fanned his hand out,
encompassing them.  "All in favour of Baltar having a couple more
hours...er, centars of freedom, say 'aye'.  All against, say 'nay'." 

Chapter Twenty-Four

     As soon as they had neared Morlais, they had picked up a shuttle and
Hybrid-Raider on their scanners heading towards the site of the Angylion
battlefield.  Colonel Apollo quickly confirmed their assumption, and
after a quick debriefing on both party's parts, all three Colonial ships
decided to rendezvous at the site.  Initial reports indicated that all
were unharmed, except the Empyrean witch, whose whereabouts and fate were
somewhat uncertain.  Count Iblis had been mysteriously neutralized,
although rumour had it that it would take more than a few stiff drinks to
get a complete account from the Endeavour's strike captain on those
details.
     Baltar drew in a deep, invigorating breath of fresh air, knowing it
was unlikely he would ever be given the opportunity to taste freedom
again.  It had been a long time, he had to admit, since he'd had a
sensation like this.  The air on the planet where he had been marooned
had never felt right, lending more to a feeling of exile than freedom. 
This was different. 
     Baltar hesitated near the hatch of the shuttle that had transported
him there as Dayton and Malus brushed by him, heading in two different
directions.  The IL was beating a path towards Starbuck, not
surprisingly, and the Earthman towards Cassiopeia, the med tech that had
once cared for him on the Galactica while he had been quarantined for
parasites.  
     For the first time since he could remember, Baltar could actually
stand there inconspicuously observing as men, women, and oddball Cylons
interacted.   No one was staring at him hatefully or malignantly, or was
likely to take a shot at him.  It was almost surreal, in a way.  He
watched the med tech fly into the Endeavour commander's arms, the two
embracing with a passion reserved for lovers separated by a dangerous
situation.  A moment later Ryan appeared from a crowd of amassed
Angylions, with a child on his shoulders, heading towards Apollo. 
Another gleeful reunion between the Colonel, Sheba and the youngster
ensued.  Baltar could not help but smile.  Finally, he turned his gaze to
Starbuck.  The battered strike captain had an arm each around his wife
and sister-in-law, offering them support and comfort, as the IL raced
towards them.  For a moment, Starbuck met Baltar's eyes.  Despite all his
skill in reading others, Baltar could not divine what was in Starbuck's
mind, possibly due to the exhaustion that masked all else. The pilot held
his gaze for a long moment before he simply nodded, and turned his
attention to Malus.
     Coming from Starbuck, it was high praise indeed.
     "I am relieved to see you are unharmed, Baltar, and so very pleased
that you returned to say your farewells."  
     Eirys' soft, lilting voice made his heart flutter as though he was a
young man again.  He turned to regard the vision of loveliness approach
him, drinking in her radiance like a man dying of thirst.  "I am
likewise...pleased to see you, gentle Eirys," he smiled, feeling
strangely tentative at his choice of words.  "Seeing you again is a
welcome relief." 
     She held out her hands, and he immediately moved to take them in his
own.  Such a woman!  Beauty, courage, intelligence, talent,
determination...he felt uncharacteristically tongue-tied, like a kid on
his first date, as he stood there basking in the light of her
wondrousness.  Interestingly, she also stood quietly, simply regarding
him.  The moment stretched out, until it couldn't help but become
noticeable...but not necessarily uncomfortable.  Then she laughed, and he
found himself joining her, breaking the spell they were under.
     "You are a great man, Baltar.  I wish to offer you my debt of
gratitude, and to admit..." She dropped her eyes a fraction before
tilting up her chin and smiling at him once again.  "I will miss you. I
wish we had had more time to come to know one another."
     Baltar winced. All along he had maintained the deception that he was
a respected member of Colonial society, with Starbuck as his unlikely
accomplice.  In his heart he knew he couldn't part ways with Eirys
sustaining the lie.  He knew that he had to take the leap, and do
something very, very hard.
     He had to tell her the truth. Even at the risk of losing her esteem.
     "What is it, Baltar?" Eirys asked, obviously sensing his sudden
discomfiture.
     "I need to tell you something, Eirys.  I'm...I'm not quite the man
you think I am."
     She tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips as she nodded
once and replied, "Oh, I doubt that very much...but please go on."
     "Well...once I was a member of the Colonial Quorum of Twelve.  And I
did hold the rank of commander."  He sighed, reluctantly pushing forward.
"But then..." 

----------
 
     Dayton held Cassiopeia tightly, closing his eyes and savouring the
feel of having the woman he loved safely back in his arms.  The Angylions
were liberated, the Harbinger was destroyed, Count Iblis was neutralized,
and Starbuck was still standing and in one piece.  Other than losing Ama
in some kind of supernatural power struggle that he still didn't
understand and probably never would, all in all, it was not a bad day. 
Caught up in the moment, he impulsively realized that there was only one
thing that could make it better...
     "Cassiopeia, I've been thinking..."
     Her eyes opened wide as she pulled back from him, and she regarded
him in silence for a long moment.  "Yes?"
     "Well," Dayton replied with a slow smile. "I know I'm a bit long in
the tooth..." She raised her eyebrows at that, focusing for a moment on
his incisors, and he realized he'd done it again. Yet another idiom. "I'm
old, Cassiopeia."
     "Like vintage ambrosa..." she teased him.
     "More like a vintage Model T Ford," Ryan suddenly threw in from
behind them.  "Just don't kick his tires, because you won't like the
sound he makes."
     "Paddy..." he growled, as he turned to greet his friend.  Ryan
looked like hell with a hangover, blood spattered on his clothes, and his
face wan with fatigue.  "One of these days, I'm gonna break a clutch
plate over your head.  Didn't your mom ever teach you about timing?"
     "Timing?" He scratched his chin. "Well, seems Mother Ryan did
mention something like that, once when I burst into her bedroom
unannounced.  I dunno.  Been a long time, and the whole event left me
kind of traumatized..."
     "That cinches it.  Going back as long as I've known you, you've
proven it time and time again; your timing is lousy," said Dayton.
     "My timing is impeccable, if what I heard is true," Ryan returned
with a wide grin.  "You brought ambrosa?  Man, I could use a drink!" 
     "Go!" Dayton pointed to the shuttle. "Dietra will be looking for
you."
     "But does she have ambrosa, Mark?" Ryan returned, pausing to kiss
Cassie on the cheek.  "I know he's not much to look at, sweetheart, and
he snores, and talks funny- which he can't help, having been raised in so
barbarous a country-and he probably doesn't deserve you, but all told,
he's really not such a bad guy once you get past how he drops his
vowels."
     "Go!" Dayton reminded him, chuckling at the familiar gibes, and
honestly just relieved that Paddy was in his usual form, considering he'd
had surgery not that many hours ago.  Like all of them who'd survived
thirty years of torment, Ryan was as tough as nails, and the significant
Colonial medical advances didn't hurt either.  He watched his friend go,
detecting the weariness in his usually spry step.  He'd tell him later
that Baker had been shot, but was recovering in the Endeavour's Life
Station.  Or Dietra would.  He turned back to Cassiopeia, letting her
smile of happiness wash over him like holy water.  "Hello, Beautiful."
     "Hello, Handsome," she murmured, stepping into his embrace once
more.
     "Hey, I like the sound of that.  Now, where were we?"
     "I believe I was about to say, I love you."
     "Oh, that's right." He looked towards Ryan once more. "There was
some...interference on the line, wasn't there."
     Cassie giggled.
     "I love you," he murmured, caught up in the excitement of the
moment...right up until an image of Yvonne managed to superimpose itself
right over his ladylove's face.  You're already married, idiot.  He
sniffed in self-deprecation, realizing that even being separated by light
yahrens or dimensions didn't dissolve his invisible bonds of holy
matrimony.  When he'd said "I do" to Yvonne, he'd meant forever.  Now,
thirty years later, he couldn't just ignore a vow he'd made on Earth. 
Still, he was as much flesh and blood as the next guy, and he'd certainly
jumped wholeheartedly into a relationship with this beautiful,
intelligent and unique woman.  But until he found out what had happened
to his wife, he couldn't take that final step...He sighed. 
"Cassiopeia..."
     She smiled then, soberly and knowingly.  "I thought for a moment
that you'd forgotten," she mused.  "But that's the thing about you, Mark
Dayton.  In matters of the heart...a lady always knows where she stands."
     He didn't exactly like the way that sounded.  "Uh..."
     Cassie smirked, letting him squirm for a moment.  "I know you love
me.  I never doubted that.  But I also know that you're the kind of man
who commits for life, whether it be to you wife, your friends, or to your
career." She leaned forward, kissing him slow and sensuously.  "While
that might scare some women...I find it curiously reassuring."
     "I'm not sure what to say..." he replied haltingly.  "I just
can't..."
     "I know," she nodded.  "And I commend you for it.  You need to know
what happened to your family, Mark.  Maybe, when we finally get to Earth,
one day you'll find out."
     "And where will you be?" he whispered.
     "Right there with you," she replied, pragmatically.  "If you want me
there."
     He nodded slowly.  A lot could happen in thirty years.  And as far
as his wife back on Earth was concerned, he'd probably been killed in an
accident on approach to the International Space Station back in 2010. 
All the same, he had to know for sure.  Cassiopeia was trying to tell him
that she was content with her lot in life, and that it truly didn't
matter to her if he was ready to marry her or not.  He wondered
fleetingly if it had something to do with her socialator background, or
if she was actually the only woman in the known universe that wasn't
bound and determined to be walked down the aisle. "I want you with me,
Cassie.  I know that I can't offer you much right now..."
     "That's where you're wrong, Mark," she smiled, squeezing him
tightly.  "I have all I need right here."
     
----------

     "Are you well, Starbuck?" The tone of voice was...worried.
     "I'm alright, Mal.  Just fine."
     "Are you certain?"  Malus focused his sensors on the pilot.  
"Although your human life signs indicate nothing irregular, you appear
rather tattered and..." the IL trailed off, apparently detecting
something amiss that he didn't know how to verbalise.  
     "I'm fine, Mal," Starbuck repeated wearily, as Lia shrugged free to
head towards an anxious-looking Jolly.  The jovial pilot was just the
support that his sister-in-law needed right now.  He sighed, while Luana
wrapped both arms around him as they came to a stop.  "Good job up there.
I hear you worked some of your usual cybernetic magic, even winning over
Dayton..."
     "Not magic, Starbuck.  I merely used the available data to the best
of my abilities, correlating both the..."
     "I know, Mal," Starbuck waved a hand dismissively.  He needed to
talk to Dayton and Apollo alone, filling them in on what Ama had shown
him on Earth.  Lords, he was so tired, he was ready to drop, but his mind
felt like a fusion reactor about to blow.  "How about you put it all in a
concise report, and fire it off to me?  I need to touch base with Dayton
and Apollo right now."  He blinked a couple times as he realized that
Boxey was in his best friend's arms.  Somewhere along the way, he'd
missed something...
     "I see," Malus replied, almost forlornly.  "Are you not even going
to enquire as to my well-being?  After all, I was shot."  The IL was
silent a moment. "Perhaps Mendax was right. Are you just using me,
Starbuck?  Am I just another cybernetic daggit to you?  I thought you
were my friend."
     "Sagan's sake, Mal, you sound like a jealous woman.  Did you blow a
diode up there?" the strike captain replied irritably.  
     "Starbuck!" 
     Lu used that tone of voice that was supposed to make him think
twice.  It didn't always work, however.  "What?"
     "A jealous woman!" Malus replied indignantly.  "Why would I be
jealous?  I devote my entire existence to you, changing my allegiances
and putting myself at considerable risk, only to be taken advantage of. 
Your wife, your choice of life mate, wasn't even willing to remain with
you when you were unconscious, instead following her duty instead of her
heart..."
     "Whoa!  This is getting weird, Mal," Starbuck stopped him, running a
hand over his jaw, feeling a bristly growth that indicated just how long
it had been since he'd enjoyed the relative comforts of the Endeavour.
     "I am merely confessing my feelings to you, Starbuck," the IL
replied. "Is that not what humans do, as part of their interpersonal
dynamics?"
     "In therapy, maybe..." Starbuck murmured.
     "Go on, Malus, tell Starbuck how you feel," Lu encouraged him.  "I
really think he needs to understand how...deeply your devotion runs."
     "What the fra...?" Starbuck stuttered, stepping away from his wife
and looking at her incredulously.  He looked between the two of them,
feeling like he'd been somehow set up.  "Lu?"
     "Just listen," she said softly and compassionately, as she patted
Malus on the arm.  "Go on, Mal."
     "You realize that neither of you are playing with a full deck, don't
you?" Starbuck shook his head, almost afraid of what Malus was about to
say.  How long had everyone been telling him that the way Malus followed
him around like a lost daggit, attending to his every whim, just wasn't
right?  He'd chosen to ignore it, rather than to deal with it.  Then
again, it hadn't exactly bothered him to have his own personal assistant,
especially knowing that Malus' specialized knowledge and abilities could
make short work of so many menial tasks that would take him considerably
longer.
     "I would very much like to play with you, Starbuck," Malus replied,
his lights sparkling wildly.
     Starbuck's mouth went dry.  "Come again?"
     "I think he meant cards, Starbuck," Luana smirked.  "Didn't you,
Mal?"
     "Yes, I did," Malus replied.  "I wish to be treated as your friend,
Starbuck. That is all I ask.  With the same deference as Commander Dayton
and Colonel Apollo.  To be thought of as more than a collection of
mechanical and electronic assemblies.  I have a fondness and allegiance
to you that I truly cannot express or define sufficiently...especially
when you wave me aside like a nuisance, making me wonder if I would have
been better off shutting myself down back on Planet 'P'."
     "Uh..."
     "I think you've hurt Malus' feelings, Starbuck," Luana pointed out. 
She looked like she was enjoying this.
     "His feelings..." Starbuck murmured.
     "If you leave me out in the rain, do I not rust?" Malus asked. 
     Starbuck blinked, then shook his head in bewilderment.  "You lost
me, Mal.  What the frack are you talking about?  Rust?"
     "It's a parody of an Earth quote," the IL explained.  "A famous poet
from Commander Dayton's planet.  William Shakespeare.  He was discussing
the commonalities of mankind despite..."  
     "Earth..." Starbuck sighed, raking a hand through his hair as his
thoughts returned to other matters.  It took him a moment to realize that
the IL had stopped prattling incessantly.  "Mal, I'm really not up for
this right now.  I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, but it's been a mong
heap of a day, and I really need to tie up an especially important loose
end."
     "Will you not confide in me, either?" Malus asked dejectedly.  
     Starbuck closed his eyes briefly, rubbing at the pressure that was
once again building behind his skull.  "Mal, I swear I'm going to shut
you down myself, if you don't drop it."
     "Starbuck!" Lu warned him again.
     "This is how you repay my allegiance..." Malus complained, turning
to leave.
     Starbuck grabbed the IL by the shoulders, slamming both hands into
his torso, shoving against him with all his strength.  Alas, Malus only
rocked slightly, before settling on his feet again.  Still, Starbuck
didn't break stride.  "Listen, pal!  I stuck my neck out when I talked
Apollo and then Commander Adama into giving you a chance to prove
yourself in the Fleet.  My reputation and my career were on the line! 
The rest was up to you!" He paused, before he took a step back.  The
adrenaline rush already spent, he let out a long breath.  Despite saving
the Angylions and neutralising Count Iblis, he now knew their spontaneous
plan to technologically prepare Earth for an inevitable invasion of
Cylons had been effectively counteracted.  More than ever he would need
Malus to help them figure out how to manipulate Espridian technology to
their advantage and get them to Earth.  Not that he was necessarily just
using the IL.  He was actually fond of Malus and his peculiarities.  Mal
was a misfit, and to a certain extent, Starbuck remembered being in the
same spot more than once in his life before he had formulated the winning
personality that won over women, men and Cylons alike.  "And you did it.
You showed them all that your first allegiance-against all odds-was to
us.  That you could contribute a unique perspective and skill set that
would benefit the Fleet."
     "To benefit the Fleet," Malus echoed hollowly.  "Is that the only
reason you did it?" Lords, the IL sounded like he'd just lost his best
friend.
     And that summed it all up. Possibly because of a programming glitch,
entirely probable given its enormous complexity, this IL was just as
insecure as most humans.  "Damn it, Mal, I like you!" Starbuck sighed,
rubbing the bloody bandage that Apollo had quickly fashioned to his arm. 
"Not sure why though, especially right now..."
     "You...you like me?" the IL repeated.
     "Yeah," he nodded, feeling as though he was dancing on eggshells as
he tried to find the right words to appease and perhaps motivate the
Cylon, when all he really wanted to do was to find a quiet bunk and
collapse on it for a secton or two.   Then it hit him.  "And...I was
thinking...maybe we should make it official."
     "Official?" the IL asked expectantly.
     "Are you in replay mode or something?  Check your chips, this is
really annoying, Mal."  It just slipped out.  Okay, maybe motivational
speeches weren't his forte.   
     "I apologize for annoying you yet again."  There was a noticeable
hint of sarcasm in his tone. "Please continue."
     "Mal..." he paused for effect.  "We should apply for Colonial
citizenship for you."
     "Colonial...citizenship."  The IL's optical scanners sped up, and
his head went into super glitter mode.  "Is that possible?  Dare I hope?"
Malus cried.
     Starbuck grinned, as Lu nodded at him approvingly.  "Hey, if I can
get Dayton appointed as Earth Liaison Officer, and then promoted to a
Colonial commander in charge of his own Base Ship, then having you
registered as Colonial property...uh, I mean a Colonial citizen, should
be relative child's play."
     "I would very much like to be a...a Colonial citizen, Starbuck,"
Malus replied.
     "I'm putting it at the top of my list, buddy."
     "Buddy..." the IL beamed.
     Starbuck nodded, slapping the IL on the shoulder...making note that
the impact kind of hurt.   He turned to check on his commander's
progress, while he waved a hand at Apollo to get his attention.  His
superior officers were clearly in celebration mode as they were reunited
with those they cared most about.  Once again, Starbuck's thoughts
wandered back to his mystical journey to Earth with Ama.  Dickins and
Hummer were in some sort of isolated mountain fortress on Earth, held
captive.  All their attempts to warn their sister planet and prepare her
for a Cylon invasion had been thwarted.  As much as he hated to spoil a
good party-and this had the makings of the event of the yahren-he really
needed to let Dayton and Apollo in on the bad news.

----------

     I thought it was supposed to be me...
     Apollo couldn't quite understand how he'd ended up on the periphery
of the final conflict with Count Iblis, as he listened to his son talk
about how the supernatural Being had tried to lure him away, only to be
interrupted by "Padster" Ryan.  He met Sheba's eyes, seeing something
familiar lurking in their depths.
     "I thought it was...personal," she murmured, more to herself than
anyone else.  "I thought I would be more..." she shrugged, looking a
little embarrassed, "critical..."
     "So did I," Apollo returned, nodding as she looked at him in
surprise.  It made him wonder just why he'd visualized the battle between
good and evil with him as the chosen defender of truth against Count
Iblis.  Pride?  Hubris?  
     "You felt it too?" Sheba asked, reaching out and squeezing his hand
as the boy stopped his recount of his run in with Diabolis.
     Apollo nodded.  "I was expecting some kind of rematch, I guess. I
mean, after last time..."
     "And I wanted to make up for the last time..." she murmured.  "You
know, when it was just Starbuck and I...and you were lying there..." She
shivered as those memories drifted back, she and Starbuck standing next
to the wrecked alien ship, Apollo dead at her feet, and Iblis grinning
malignantly at them. "Iblis said, 'there will come another time, another
place...and we will meet again.'  I thought he was speaking to
me...but..."
     "He was speaking to Starbuck?" Apollo asked. That had to be it.
Didn't Starbuck tell him once over a bottle of ambrosia and a deck of
marked cards that Iblis had said something about them being soul mates? 
Then why did Apollo have this instinctive fear of Count Iblis getting
anywhere near Sheba?  Was it merely based on the past?
     "Maybe he was," she replied.  "Or maybe...maybe Starbuck and I were
just representing humanity. Maybe Iblis didn't have any of us in mind for
his next confrontation. Maybe it was already destined that he would
confront Ama, John and Eirys. Or maybe it's random...I just don't know. 
I feel a bit like a leaf in a whirlwind."
     "Or a vortex," Apollo nodded. "All I know for sure is that Count
Iblis is gone." His gaze drifted to Starbuck as his friend approached
them.  "I'm not exactly sure how, but he is gone. Right, Starbuck?" 
     "Seems that way," Starbuck frowned. "Gone, but not forgotten, huh?" 

     That grabbed Apollo's attention as his friend glanced over to where
Dayton was embracing Cassie, before returning his gaze to Boxey.  
Starbuck had something on his mind...
     "Hey, kid."  Boxey looked up at him. "Is this some kind of homework
assignment for extra marks?  Infiltrate and stowaway on the Covert
Operations Ship? You must have quite the reputation by now after
Arcta..." Starbuck grinned. "We'll have to promote you from Junior
Warrior to Spook, Second Class."
     "Don't encourage him," Sheba muttered.
     Boxey smirked. 
     "By the way, how are Luana and Lia doing, Starbuck?" Sheba asked him
in concern. "After losing..."
     "Ama?" Starbuck sighed, glancing back at Lu and Malus. He was as
restless as a daggit on a sunspot. "I can't believe she's really
gone...none of us want to believe it." 
     "I know," Apollo nodded soberly, counting off his friend's familiar
gestures, waiting for it.  Ah!  There it was.  The hand combing through
his hair...Yeah, something was on Starbuck's mind, alright. "I admit I'm
a bit lost about what happened after Ama started chanting spells."
     "Well, the way I remember it we were a bit preoccupied fighting
Cylons," Starbuck replied, meeting Apollo's eyes for a fleeting moment,
before looking around the camp once again. "Thanks for the assist. My
arms were about to fall off from swinging that sword.  I thought I was
going to end up sliced and diced."
     "We thought you might need some backup," Sheba smiled.
     "You thought right," Starbuck mused, glancing over to Dayton once
again, before addressing Apollo. "Do you have a centon?" 
     "Of course," he replied, leaning over to kiss Sheba and idly muss
his son's hair before falling in beside Starbuck. They headed towards
Dayton. "What's on your mind, buddy?"
     "What isn't..." Starbuck returned, his hand running over his jaw. He
looked done in, but they'd all been through a lot.
     "Spit it out, Starbuck," Apollo said.  
     "How'd we get in this mess?" Starbuck mused quietly, letting out a
deep breath and looking around at the Angylion landscape.  Some of the
damage done by the Cylons would take yahrens, maybe generations, to
recover.
     "Hey, the Angylions are free, the Cylons are eradicated in this
dimension, and Iblis is gone.  We won, Starbuck," Apollo reminded him. 
His friend met his gaze and the look of dismay in the blue eyes suddenly
made the colonel wonder about the accuracy of that statement. "Didn't
we?"
     Starbuck's wan smile wasn't exactly reassuring.  "I think we were
outmanoeuvred sectars ago, Apollo. Right after Planet 'P'."
     Apollo frowned, feeling his stomach plunge with Starbuck's words. 
"Care to explain that?"
     "First we need to get Dayton's attention," Starbuck pointed at the
Commander who was devoting all his attention at the moment to Cassiopeia. 
"Yo, Dayton!" he called loudly, turning a dozen heads.
     Dayton looked almost annoyed as he glanced over.  "It had better be
good, Tassimo."  Then he paused, looking his strike captain over
critically before whispering in Cassie's ear, and heading over.  "You
okay, Java Chip Frap?  You look like you've been to hell and back..."  
     "Near enough," Starbuck returned.  "But here's the kicker. While I
was there, Ama showed me something. On Earth."
     "What?" Dayton gasped. In an instant, he was the serious, focused CO
again. "Earth?"
     "Try and keep up, Old Man..." Starbuck returned with a fond smile,
before filling them both in on his bizarre journey to Earth, trying to
add as much detail as he could to his vivid descriptions of Dickins and
Hummer's place of incarceration, and the Base Ship bit by bit zeroing in
on their sister planet. 
     Dayton turned away from them, shaking his head.  He obviously
recognized the place Starbuck had described. "Cheyenne Mountain.  Son of
a bitch, they'll never get out of that...Shit, shit, shit..." he
muttered, his hands gripped tightly at his sides. His body was taut with
tension. "What does the President think he's doing...Holy son of a..."
     "We have to get back to the Fleet and tell Commander Adama," Apollo
told them. "On the double." 
     Starbuck nodded.  "Yeah."  
     "Damn!" Dayton suddenly exploded.  "I was imagining Dick back with
Anna, not rotting in another cell...He'll flip out...it'll take him right
back to Torg and Bex."
     "So we find a way to get them out," Starbuck told him.  "Dickins and
Hummer."
     Dayton whirled on him, his anger and frustration at his present
impotence was plain.  "And just how do you think we're gonna do that,
Barista Breath?  They're light years away, and probably held captive by
my own government!" He kicked a rock, which went sailing into a tree,
before bouncing off into the scrub. "Damn!  I can't believe this!  Do
those bureaucratic idiots have their heads halfway up their own asses? 
The modifications to the Endeavour alone would have given them enough
proof..." He let out a snarl of rage, slamming a fist into his palm. "If
there's a signal being emitted from the Moon, surely to God our guys
would pick that up and investigate!  But they probably don't want to see
the truth!  Or they're too busy forming committees to talk about it, or
finding the way to save their bloody funding...Idiots!  Short-sighted
goddamned idiots!"
     "Good to know we didn't corner the market on idiots..." Starbuck
quipped in English, trying to dispel his commander's mood.  It sounded as
if the late President Adar would have fitted in well, on Earth.
     Apollo shrugged, not understanding the foreign words. Ryan had been
teaching Starbuck the odd phrase to throw at Dayton since they had
settled into the Fleet.  More often than not, he didn't want to know what
Starbuck said, since the commander's reaction swung from raucous laughter
to chasing the strike captain with the closest weapon at hand.
     Dayton snorted, nodding at the warrior to acknowledge the attempt.
"You sound like a freakin' Canuck from Carrot Creek.  You really have to
work on that accent, Drip Grind."
     "I'll put it on my 'to do' list," Starbuck returned.  "Ama wouldn't
have shown me, Dayton, if we couldn't do something about it.  She
wouldn't have bothered over the impossible.  I have to believe that. 
There's a Cylon Base Ship getting closer and closer to Earth.  There has
to be some way..."
     "The Clavis..." Dayton nodded, glancing over at the IL.  "Can it
take us all the way to Earth?"
     "It brought the Endeavour to Morlais," Apollo rationalized.  "But I
just don't know enough about it. We need to have a command meeting, and
bring in Malus and Coxcoxtli as our experts to explore that possibility."
     "Quasi experts at best," Starbuck inserted.  "Are you even sure we
can get back home?"
     "You have a strange idea of 'home'," Dayton smiled humourlessly.  "I
don't think anyone actually explored that technicality before committing
to saving your ass, Crema." He reached over, squeezing Starbuck's
shoulder, looking him in the eyes for a long moment.  "Sorry.  I...How
are you really, kid?"
     It came out of the blue, but Starbuck didn't flinch, holding the
Earthman's gaze. "Nothing that a few Empyrean Ales and about a secton's
worth of sleep won't cure," he replied steadily.  
     Apollo nodded.  Wrung through the wringer and completely exhausted,
there was no way Starbuck was feeding them a line.  He'd gone into the
depths of Hades Hole, and come back out whole.  They all had.
     "That's what I like to hear!" Dayton patted the strike captain on
the cheek. "Then we need to say goodbye to the Angylions and get back to
our ship.  Round up our people, Captain. It's time to get a move on."
     "Aye, sir," Starbuck replied with a nod, striding away.

----------

     Finally.
     At last.
     It was time.
     The ships were ready to go, and all that remained were the final
farewells.  Of those that had fought in space, there was some good news. 
Two of the Hybrids had been close enough when the Raiders exploded, that
the shockwave had knocked out their avionics.  They had just gone silent,
but were intact, the pilots saved.  The third...not so lucky.
     Starbuck took one last look at the wasted landscape, pausing as the
sun at last broke through the thick bank of grey clouds in the distance. 
Looking down across the plain, he saw the former site of the Base Ship,
the vast open pit mine beyond it.  Already, the pit was filling with
water, as small streams flowed into it.  Soon, it would be a placid lake,
erasing the ugliness of the Cylon occupation, and already birds were
making it home.  He smiled faintly, pleased at the thought, as the
sunlight touched his face.  Even with a blustery breeze, after the
previous gloom of Morlais, it felt like heaven.
     "Next time you go planetside without orders, could you pick a more
tropical climate?" Apollo teased him, stopping alongside.  "Maybe a quiet
sandy beach somewhere...without Cylons, Count Iblis and human
sacrifices."
     "It'd be my luck that a hurricane would come up just as we were
getting comfortable," Starbuck grinned.  "Or a tsunami," he added,
remembering what they told him had happened on Planet 'P'.  No sooner had
he been rescued from a watery grave and revived, then a tsunami had
struck.  
     "Right," Apollo nodded with a grimace.  "Whatever happened to the
Starbuck Luck?"
     "What are you talking about?" Starbuck chuckled.  "There's barely a
scratch on me this time around."
     "Hmm, you might have a point," Apollo mused, pausing to watch Baltar
and Eirys.  They'd been having a long, and by the looks of it, serious
conversation.  Suddenly, Eirys stepped into Baltar's arms, and he pulled
her close to him, before they shared a tender kiss. "Would ya look at
that..."
     "Ohh, I didn't want to see that!  After all, I just ate rations,
buddy, and they're hard enough to keep down on a good day," Starbuck
replied, shielding his eyes from the sight.  "Kind of weird seeing Baltar
in that sort of light."
     "Maybe not as weird as it was hearing he saved Baker's life on the
Harbinger."
     "Really?" Starbuck asked, risking a glance at the 'reformed' traitor
once again.  "I'm still not convinced, buddy...I can't let it
go...billions dead..."
     "I know.  Neither can I," Apollo replied.  "Still, he came through
for us.  Surprisingly. We're all alive, thanks to him."
     "I'm still waiting for that to blow up in our faces."
     "Yeah," Apollo sniffed.  "Baltar already told Dayton that he has
every intention of returning to the Fleet.  Back to the Prison Barge."
     "And I have every intention of seeing that he gets there."
     Apollo grinned. "Then I'll leave him in your capable hands,
Captain."
     Starbuck grimaced.  "Sometimes I just don't know when to leave well
enough alone, do I?"
     "Just sometimes?" Apollo laughed, motioning over to where Prince
Llewelyn was arriving, an arm around his brother, Glynn, supporting him. 
The elder of the Angylion princes was pale and shaky, but obviously
determined to be present.  
     "We came to bid you farewell, my friends," Llewelyn announced.  "I
know not if it's likely our paths will cross again, but if you ever have
need of us, and we can get there, we owe you a debt of gratitude."
     "That we do," Glynn added with a smile, stepping away from his
brother.  "It's unfortunate you need to leave anon, we would have liked
for you to stay for the coronation."
     "Yes," Eirys swept over to join them, as Baltar quietly boarded the
shuttle.  "It's been ten years since King Byrne was gathered to his
fathers, and laid to rest.  The time has come to finally crown King
Glynn."
     "Glynn?" Llewelyn exclaimed in mock surprise.  "But I am so much
better looking."
     "Notice he claimed not that he was better suited," returned Glynn
with an easy smile.
     "Well, that goes without saying, Oh My Brother," Llewelyn added,
stepping forward towards Starbuck.  "Fare thee well, Doublewalker.  It
hath been fascinating." He smiled.
     "That's putting it mildly," Starbuck returned with a grin, glancing
over to Eirys as Dayton and Ryan joined them.  If anyone really
understood, it would be the sorceress...
     "Yes, Starbuck?" she asked, as if she knew there were questions
burning a hole in his brain.
     "Eirys," he took a breath.  "What exactly did happen to Count
Iblis?" All lightness and flippancy was gone.  Starbuck was deadly
serious.  "Is he really...gone."
     "From what I understand, he's trapped in another dimension, a place
that he created to torment others when once before he used the powers of
Oculus for his own selfish desires," she replied.
     "Gotta love the irony of that," Dayton added, uncharacteristically
quiet, only just hearing that one of his ancestors was a Keeper of the
Oculus and a member of the Thirteenth Tribe of Kobol.  It took a bit of
adjusting to. "What about John and Ama?  Are they trapped there too? 
Iblis' watchdogs?"  He glanced at Starbuck. 
     "I believe the powers of the Oculus will confine Iblis.  At least
for the present.  I will remain its Keeper, a tradition that apparently
goes back much further than we first thought." She glanced at Dayton and
smiled.  He nodded at her, "As to John and Ama...I admit I do not
understand what transpired after we were all transported back to the Holy
Sanctum.  I am but a novice in matters of arcane wisdom, when compared to
them."
     "Then...she's alive?" Starbuck asked tentatively.  Hope burned in
his eyes.
     "A spirit like that will never die, Starbuck," Eirys replied.  "She
will live on in all of us."
     "Damn the spirit, I want to know about the woman!" he snapped,
feeling all their eyes shift to him.  He shook his head, rubbing a hand
over his face, realizing the connotation of his words.  "Sorry...I didn't
mean that the way it sounded.  I'm just..."
     "Don't worry, kid," Ryan slung an arm over the younger man's
shoulders. "I'm more dialled in to people than spirits, too." He nodded
at Eirys. "Except for the liquid sort, of course. What the kid wants to
know is will we see her again?  After all, we never recovered a body. 
Does her body still live, or not?"
     Starbuck nodded.  That was exactly what was bothering him. Why was
it so hard to get the words out?
     "I wish I could give you an answer, Paddy-Ryan," Eirys sighed.
     Starbuck looked up sharply at that, narrowing his eyes at the
Sorceress.  Paddy-Ryan?  "Say again?"
     She crossed to him, resting a hand lightly on his arm, her grey eyes
regarding him warmly. "Have faith, Starbuck."
     His heart fluttered in his chest as he stared at her in wonder. 
Could it be...?
     "We'd better move out, people.  Speed of heat, warp one," Dayton
reminded them, motioning with a hand towards their ships.  "Starbuck, if
you take one more step towards that Hybrid, I'll tackle you where you're
standing. You're riding on my shuttle. That's an order."
     "But..."
     "But nothing, Go Juice.  Luana's already aboard and waiting for us. 
Jolly and Lia are taking the Hybrid back to Mother."
     "Sounds like you have it all worked out," Starbuck mused, glancing
back at Eirys as Apollo said his final farewells to Llewelyn and Glynn,
and joined them.
     "In my mind I do," Dayton replied with a wry smile, as he ushered
them towards the transport.  "All part of being in command. But I know
you'll probably screw it up along the way."
     "Gotta keep you on your toes, Old Man," Starbuck returned with a
chuckle.
     "It's one hell of a team that we've put together," Dayton added,
pausing outside the shuttle. "But we still have our work cut out for us."
     "I'd mark it down as a successful shakedown cruise, on all levels,"
Apollo nodded.  "Congratulations, Commander."
     "Let's not celebrate quite yet," Dayton returned, as Ryan caught up
to them.  "Especially having an idea of what lies ahead.  Earth could
make this mission look like a walk in the park."
     "What could be worse than Count Iblis and a Cylon Base Ship ready to
conquer a separate dimension?" Starbuck asked.
     "A planet full of people who base their knowledge of the universe on
what they see on the Sci Fi Channel." Ryan replied, stepping aboard.
     "God help us," Dayton agreed.

Epilogue

     Starbuck entered his command code, and the hatch to the Endeavour's
Brig unlocked.  Pushing the dense tylinium door aside, he nodded at
Baltar to enter.  The Betrayer of the Twelve Worlds of Mankind nodded
cordially, and then proceeded down the lonely corridor without a word. 
He came to a stop within, turning in a circle as he looked around at the
empty cells.
     "I believe I preferred the accommodation on my former Base Star,"
Baltar frowned, referring to the time he had spent as a Cylon prisoner
when Lucifer had picked him up from the planet that Adama had marooned
him on.  "The Hades-class ships were a little less...primitive."
     "We didn't invest a lot of time or resources upgrading the Brig,"
Starbuck shrugged. His sidearm was still holstered on his hip, and there
was no guard.  It hadn't been necessary.  Good to his word, Baltar had
offered no resistance.
     "I imagine not," Baltar replied.  
     "The decorators were busy on the Rising Star."
     "No doubt, but I was thinking more in terms of the plumbing.  Or
lack thereof.  Can I choose the cell of my liking?"
     "As long as it has a lock."
     Baltar turned and smiled. "Picky."
     "I'm funny that way."
     Baltar walked around the cells, as though he was simply a man
apartment hunting, or out enjoying a stroll.  Then again, he wouldn't be
doing a lot of strolling until he was delivered back to the Prison Barge.
     "When do we...travel back to our own dimension."
     Starbuck glanced at his chrono. "About five centons. That should
give you a chance to get settled in."
     Baltar smiled sardonically, hoisting his small bag of toiletries. 
"And to redecorate."  He looked around a final time before nodding. 
"This one," he pointed at the cell in the middle.
     Starbuck nodded, keying the entry.  He stood aside as the condensed
tylinium door slid open.  "Any particular reason?"
     "Why, I'll be the centre of attention, of course," Baltar returned,
with a low chuckle.
     Starbuck dropped his head as a fleeting smile lit his features,
while Baltar stepped inside.  In a matter of microns, he'd coded the door
shut, and Baltar was sealed within.
     "Do come and visit, won't you?" Baltar smiled, raising his eyebrows
as a trace of his old superciliousness rose to the occasion. "I should
have the drapes hung, by then."
     "Right." It was all he could manage.  As much as Starbuck, along
with every other Colonial citizen, had every reason to hate this man,
after all they had been through on Morlais, something about this just
felt wrong.  Still, duty was duty.  He needed to retreat to his office. 
Maybe pour himself a stiff drink of Ryan's Asteroid Whiskey, and lose
himself in the mounds of work piled around his desk.  With a curt nod, he
turned around heading down the corridor, and pausing at the hatch.  He
looked back one last time, startling as a bright light burst from
Baltar's cell.  It was without warning, and momentarily blinded him.
     Frack!
     He raced back down the corridor, blinking at the spots before his
eyes, somehow not surprised to see Eirys standing in the cell holding the
Oculus.  
     "Eirys!  No!" he yelled, and she looked at him anxiously, putting
her free arm around Baltar, even as Starbuck frantically began to key the
door open.  A frenzied incantation left her lips.
     "Wait!" Baltar begged the sorceress, as a sparkling haze surrounded
them. "No! No! Not like this!"
     She paused, lips separated as she drew in a steadying breath.  The
shimmering field dissipated.
     The cell door slid open, and Starbuck drew his weapon, stepping over
the threshold.  He hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest, as they
looked at him expectantly.
     "I can't let you do this, Baltar..." His finger lightly caressed the
trigger.  
     "Honestly, Starbuck," began Baltar, "I have not..."
     "This wasn't Baltar's doing, Starbuck. It was mine, alone," the
Angylion sorceress proclaimed.
     "Brig!  This is the Bridge!  We picked up an energy surge traceable
to you.  What's happening down there, Starbuck? Report!" It was Dayton's
voice on the comm.  The comm metrons down the corridor.
     "I gave them my word, my bond." Baltar took her hand, raising it to
his lips and gently kissing it.  "I can't go with you, Eirys." With a
shake of his head, he reinforced his words.
     "There is nothing for you in your own world, Baltar," she pleaded
with him.  "There is no redemption, only unforgiving shame and
incarceration.  I cannot bear to think of you so..." She glanced at
Starbuck.  "Please, Starbuck."
     The strike captain drew in a deep breath, blowing another out at the
unbelievable situation.  Only a centar ago, they had all been celebrating
victory!  Now they were adversaries.  What was he supposed to do?   Shoot
them?  Idly, he switched his laser to stun, his mouth dry.  
     "The White Witch would never condone this!" Eirys averred. "Surely
you know this!" 
     Hadn't Ama talked about Baltar's redemption?  It had seemed to be a
personal mission of hers, however unlikely.  Was it really possible, or
had Baltar merely managed to manoeuvre his way out of a lifetime
sentence?
     Baltar held up a hand, stepping in front of Eirys and shielding her
slender form, his eyes blazing.  "Don't you dare, Starbuck!" he hissed. 
"If you hurt a hair on her head, with my last dying breath, I'll
personally tear you limb from limb!" He turned his back on Starbuck,
cradling Eirys' head, his lips only millimetrons from her own as he tried
to persuade her. "Go, my beloved. Return to Morlais. Forget me. I am not
worth your concern."
     "I cannot," she replied brokenly, a single tear trickling down her
cheek.  "I cannot!"
     "Starbuck!  Report!  We're about to energize, Captain!  What the
hell is going on?"
     Swallowing down the bitter taste of indecision, Starbuck glanced
back at the comm.  He lowered his laser, as he looked back at the
would-be lovers, willing to risk anything for one another.  You just
couldn't fake that kind of desperation, and he knew it.  "Go," he
whispered hoarsely.
     "I will not leave him!" Eirys returned adamantly.
     "Then take him with you," Starbuck replied, dropping his right arm
innocuously at his side as he glanced at his chrono. "But go!"
     They turned in surprise, still embracing.
     "I don't...I don't know what to say..." Baltar faltered, regarding
Starbuck in wide-eyed wonder.
     "Goodbye?" Starbuck suggested, turning as he heard the Brig's main
hatch begin to open.  "Now!"
     Eirys raised the Oculus once again as a string of Angylion
incantations poured from her lips.  The soft, shimmering light that
surrounded them exploded, the force knocking Starbuck off his feet.  He
hit the deck hard, his weapon skittering across the surface as he smacked
the back of his head against the wall.  A blinding light seemed to
suffuse him, and he covered his eyes under its assault.
     Then the softest of touches stroked his face, as sparkling lights
danced in front of his eyes.  He blinked, trying to clear his vision
without success.  The familiar sounds of the Endeavour's engines were
conspicuously absent, but a strange sense of lightness permeated his very
existence.  
     "Ah, you make an old woman proud, Starbuck.  You did the right
thing.  If Baltar had stayed, he would have grown bitter and resentful,
but in Morlais, he will truly become the man that Eirys believes him to
be."
     "Ama?" he rasped, his chest hitching painfully with the sudden
overwhelming relief and onslaught of associated feelings that her voice
brought forth.
     "I have you, son," she murmured.
     Then he was in her embrace, his forehead resting against hers, and
her very presence seemed to calm the tumultuous emotions that had been
hanging over him like a harbinger of doom.  A purification of the spirit,
he could feel the horror and grief that he had intentionally stifled
begin to lift. Finally, with a rasping breath, he raised his face to look
in those familiar grey eyes. "We thought you were dead."
     "Once or twice, I wished I was," she replied through her gap-toothed
grin.  She glanced upward, into an eternal brightness. "Yes, yes.  I
know. I told you I wouldn't be any good at your silly rules." Then she
smiled at Starbuck.  "Seems I need a little guidance from above for a
little while. They actually called me an unrestrained spirit.  Can you
imagine?  Me?"
     "Lu and Lia...my father..."
     "Don't worry.  I've already visited them, son of my heart.  They
know I'm alright."
     "But..."
     "Don't fash yourself, Dear Heart.  There are difficult times ahead,
but we will prevail."  She kissed him chastely, and then touched her
forehead to his.  "Tell Chameleon about your mother and the Thorn Forest. 
He needs to hear it, as much as you need to tell it.  Promise?"
     "How did you know...?" Then he nodded at her knowing smile.  "Ah."
     "You'll tell him?"
     He nodded, albeit reluctantly.
     "I must go," she told him, smoothing the hair from his brow.  "Take
care of my girls."
     "Always."
     A golden aura of light surrounded her, shining more and more
intensely until he had to shut his eyes and shield them from the blinding
brilliance.  Abruptly, the burning brightness abated.
     "Starbuck?"
     The voice seemed to come from kilometrons away, calling him back. 
Gradually, he became aware of the familiar hum of the Endeavour's
engines, the touch of hands upon him, and the murmur of voices.
     "Starbuck?"
     He opened his eyes, looking into the distressed face of his
beautiful wife. Smiling, he raised a hand as she captured it in her own. 
Relief lit her features.
     "What happened?"
     Looking around, he could see Apollo was in the cell that had held
Baltar for mere centons.  It had to be a new record.  Incarcerated for
all of two centons before successfully escaping.  Malus was standing
behind Lu, looking down at him.
     "Are you alright, Starbuck?" Malus asked.  Naturally, the IL
appeared to be sweeping the human with his sensors.
     Starbuck started to nod, wincing as the back of his head began to
throb.  He ran a hand over the lump forming there.  "Yeah, I...I think
so."
     "Oh, that cannot be good!" Malus exclaimed.
     Apollo kneeled down beside him, his hands pushing aside Starbuck's,
checking him for injuries.  "Was it Eirys?"
     "Yes," Starbuck nodded, adjusting his position as Apollo helped prop
him up against the bulkhead.  
     "I knew he'd try something like this..." Apollo growled.  "His word
is about as good as Iblis'.  Frack!"
     Starbuck opened his mouth, about to explain that it wasn't Baltar
that had planned this escape, but Eirys.  Then it suddenly occurred to
him...
     "Wait a centon, did we already...what did you call it?  Energize? 
Are we back?"
     Apollo nodded curtly.  "The Clavis was already partway through the
process when we picked up the energy surge.  It was too late to stop it."
     "Then Baltar's gone."
     "Yeah," frowned Apollo.  He stepped forward, moving down the
corridor to the comm unit.  "Commander, Apollo here.  Baltar made good
his escape.  What are your orders?"
     "Is Starbuck okay?" Dayton asked.
     Apollo glanced at him, expectantly.  Starbuck nodded.  "He was
unconscious when we found him, Commander.  But he's okay now."
     "I'd go back for Baltar, Apollo, but Coxcoxtli is having some
trouble with the Clavis.  We'll get Malus to take a look and see if he
can figure it out.  For now, we'll rendezvous with the Pegasus, and then
proceed back to the Fleet.  You and Starbuck report to the War Room for a
debriefing.  I want to know how an unarmed sedentary bureautician got the
drop on my strike captain!"  
     Apollo winced, looking at Starbuck sympathetically, yet curiously. 
"Yes, sir.  Apollo out." 
     Starbuck sighed, slowly climbing to his feet, using the wall to
support him, as a wave of dizziness swept over him.  Malus was there in
an instant, taking his arm.  "I'm alright, Mal."  He took several deep
breaths, as it passed.
     "Of course you are, Starbuck." He kept a hand just above the
warrior's elbow. "And I'm Miss Caprica of 7334."
     "She looked better naked than you do," replied Starbuck, feeling
another sharp blow to the back of his head.  From his wife.  He put a
hand to his skull, wincing.  "Not a lot better, mind you..."
     "Save it," Luana drawled, slipping an arm around him on the other
side.  "You know, with all those mines and caverns, Baltar could easily
disappear in Morlais.  We'd probably never find him, even if we did go
back."
     "Especially with a sorceress hiding him," Starbuck agreed, a faint
smile lingering on his lips.  Eirys had planned it just perfectly, as
though she knew that they had been about to leave.  But that was
impossible.  Wasn't it?
     He glanced upward, almost expecting to see a golden aura of light
hanging over him, smiling a gap-toothed grin. Or a crystalline ball, with
a tiny image of Baltar and Eirys embracing inside.  Or...maybe twelve
dancing fumarellos, a padded room, and a straight jacket with his name on
it.  He let out a breath, raking a hand through his hair, wondering how
long it would take to fall out...
     "C'mon, buddy," Apollo said.  "Let's get this over with."
     "Can't wait."  All that was left to decide was whether to level with
Apollo and Dayton about Baltar today...or tomorrow.
     And the way he was feeling right now, tomorrow was looking good.

----------------------------------------------------------

     With thanks to Senmut, beta reader extraordinaire.  Wouldn't have
been half as much fun without you along for the ride, Sen.