March 25, 2001

Disclaimer: Glen Larson or Universal Studios own the rights to these
characters, although I admit I have invented a couple and stuck 'em in
there.  I'm only borrowing the BSG characters to tell a little story. 
This is purely for entertainment and I am not making money from this
little venture.  No one else is allowed to do so, either.  Just read
and enjoy.  Or not.

*************************
Chains of Command
By Barb Conway

Chapter 1- A Day In The Life... 

     A body in motion tends to stay in motion, a body at rest tends to
stay at rest.  The first law of motion applied to celestial bodies and
could be painstakingly calculated by astronomers interested in the
movements of their favorite planets.  Dreamers, some of them were, but
their love of research allowed the advances that made such calculations
mundane for astronavigators charting the course of a starship. 
Naturally such calculations were important, but that did not stop them
from being boring, Navigation Officer Shephard thought.
     He stifled a yawn as he waited for the navicom program to process
his latest figures.  Adama had authorized a change of heading to be
executed on this shift.  Every so often, the Commander would change the
fleet's heading, seemingly randomly.  At least, there was no pattern to
the changes that Shephard could detect.  He knew that was to keep their
real destination a secret from the Cylons.  If they were still
unknowingly being tracked across the stars, at least the Cylons would
not be able to tell where they were going.  No one would, he thought. 
Especially since their overall heading was known only to a select
number of command officers.
     The computer beeped at him, demanding his attention.  Shephard
studied the readout for a moment, then keyed in another command and sat
back to wait again.  This was the part of his job he enjoyed the least. 
This number-crunching could probably even be done by a shuttle pilot,
for Sagan's sake.  The actual mapping of coordinates and determination
of velocities and vectors was what he loved.  His real talent lay in
the choice of parameters for executing course changes for such a large
number of ships, some of which had real maneuvering capabilities, some
of which did not.  Unfortunately, the work of doing the calculations,
however monotonous, was just as necessary to the outcome.
     Athena would be wanting the numbers soon and she'd be a real urson
if he didn't have them ready before Lieutenant Starbuck's patrol
launched.  Athena was a lot like the Commander, he mused.  She could be
very demanding but she never expected anything more out of the bridge
personnel under her command than she delivered herself.  Sometimes he
wished she would be a little less formal on duty, more like Rigel, but
she was a product of her family, after all.  From what the pilots told
him, her brother was no different.  Worse, even.  I guess that's what
you get, growing up in a military family, he thought.
     "Shephard?"  At the sound of his name he swung around in his chair
to face the object of his wandering thoughts.
     "Yes, Lieutenant?"
     "I'd like to meet with you and Rigel when you have the course
calculations.  Can you tell me how long it will be?"
     Shephard turned back to the computer to see how far along the
program was, then looked back over his shoulder.  "Should be another 3
or 4 centons for the calculations, ma'am, then it will take me a few
moments to check them and output."
     Athena leaned forward, hands on the back of Shephard's chair, as
she mulled the information over.
     "Very well.  Make it... ten centons at the plotting station."
     "Yes, ma'am."  
     "And Shephard, have you seen Rigel?"
     "She finished her report a little while ago, Lieutenant.  I think
she just ran down to the commissary to get a java."  Just as he
finished speaking, Rigel appeared back on the bridge.
     "Thank-you, Corporal," Athena patted him on the shoulder as he
turned back to his work and she straightened up to go see Rigel.

*************************

     Athena was pleased to see Rigel smile at her approach.  She was
even more pleased to see that Rigel had two steaming cups of java and
was holding one out to her.  The two women had been friends for a
number of yahrens now.  Athena was the flight officer when Rigel first
came aboard the Galactica two-and-a half yahrens ago, and had trained
her in the position when her own duties expanded with her promotion to
lieutenant.
     Now Athena was responsible for the communications and course
plotting sections of the bridge.  It didn't leave much time for flying
a Viper, but she kept her skills honed in the simulators and still
managed to pull a patrol often enough to stay on the active reserve
squadron.  Even Apollo flew with her on occasion.  The truth was,
though, she was gradually becoming more comfortable with the idea of
rising through the command ranks on the bridge.  She was proud of the
fact that there was not a single station she wasn't familiar with.  She
was one of the most versatile bridge officers on the Galactica, a fact
that had not escaped Colonel Tigh's notice.  Or her father's.
     Athena was also coming to understand that this was why the
Commander did not assign her to one of the Viper squadrons.  Though she
had chafed when he removed her from permanent duty with the squadrons,
she knew now that it had less to do with his concern about his youngest
remaining child and more to do with the lack of qualified bridge
officers.
     "Bridge to Lieutenant Athena..."
     "Huh?"  The sound of Rigel's voice broke her reverie.
     "Your java's going to get cold if you don't drink it."
     "Oh, yeah.  I was just thinking about something."
     "I could tell.  Has Shephard finished the course calculations yet? 
It would be nice if we could have them executed before the next set of
patrols launches."
     "Agreed.  I promised Starbuck I'd make sure we got them done
before he launched.  He always makes such a fuss about finding us again
when we change course.  As if we were trying to leave him behind on
purpose."
     "You mean you never considered it?"
     "I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that I may
incriminate myself."  They both laughed.
     Athena glanced over toward Shephard.  His reddish-blonde head was
still bent over his console in concentration.  "He should be finished
any time, now.  I said we'd meet at Plotting in about five centons." 
Then, as though it just occurred to her to ask, she added, "Rigel, what
do you think of him?"
     "Who, Shephard?" Rigel leaned against one of the unmanned consoles
as she sipped at her drink.
     "Yes."
     "He's young, but he's good.  He catches on quick, too.  He could
man my station if he had to, but boy, with navigations, he's fast.  And
accurate."
     Athena nodded thoughtfully.  Technically, there was only a single
rank difference between Shephard and Rigel, but Rigel had a great deal
of experience compared to the young man.  Shephard had been a rather
green ensign when he first arrived on the Galactica, just after the
holocaust.  Rigel had lived through the terror of that time right here
on the bridge, as Athena had.
     Not only had they survived it, they had put aside their own
personal tragedies to do what they could to save what was left of the
Twelve Colonies.  Their actions, along with the rest of the Colonial
warriors and countless civilian volunteers, had made the difference
between certain annihilation and their present quest for the lost
Thirteenth Tribe of Kobol and the planet Earth.
     Still, in the time since then, Shephard had proven himself to be
an exceptional navigator, leading to his promotion to the rank of
corporal.  Athena thought he had, perhaps, one of the most impressive
mathematical minds she had ever come across.  She made a mental note to
discuss the young man's abilities with Omega.  Surely they could find
some other duties to help develop his talent.
     "Athena, where are you tonight?!"
     "What?"
     "Never mind," Rigel laughed.  "I think Shephard's finished.  We'd
better kick in our turbos."  
     With that, Rigel stood and began to make her way over to Shephard
at the plotting station.  After another sip of her java, Athena
followed her.  She was glad, for a change, that the most exciting thing
that had happened on this shift was that they would have the new course
coordinates laid in and executed earlier than they had expected.  If
she was lucky, the only remaining task would be to make sure that the
other ships in the fleet had received and correctly followed their
course.  If her luck held, of course.

*************************

     Lieutenant Starbuck was cursing his luck.  Normally relaxed and
reserved when the stakes were high, he had already blown his cool in
reaction to what he saw before him.
     "I just can't believe he would do this to me.  After all we've
been through."  An unlit fumarello clenched in his teeth, Starbuck
stared in disbelief at the posting in the pilots' ready room.
     "I dunno," Boomer commented, leaning forward to look over his
shoulder.  "Interim Squadron Leader- I think it has kind of a nice ring
to it."
     "Yeah, you would," Starbuck glanced back at Boomer's smiling face. 
"What did I ever do to deserve this?  Colonel Tigh must be in on this. 
He could have countermanded the order."
     Boomer shrugged, "Maybe they thought it would build character." 
Though he wanted to see Apollo back in a Viper and commanding the
squadron as much as any of them, he was going to enjoy this turn of
events for as long as it lasted.
     "Oh yeah, that's just what I need," Starbuck rolled his eyes,
"more character."
     "You've got a point there," Boomer mused, enjoying his friend's
discomfiture with his new assignment.  "Apollo must still be feeling
the effects of that concussion to think of putting you in charge." 
Boomer ducked, laughing, as Starbuck made a face and took a
half-hearted swipe at him.
     Still unable to accept his misfortune, Starbuck stood, hands on
his hips, staring at the notice board as if he could will his orders to
change.
     "Well," he turned and looked at Boomer again, "this couldn't be
for more than a day or two, right?  Maybe it won't be that bad."  He
didn't sound convinced.
     "More like a secton or two I think, Bucko,"  Boomer's tone changed
to one of seriousness.  "Apollo hasn't even been in the simulators yet. 
Sheba told me he is still having some bad headaches."
     "Sure, but we've all flown with headaches before, Boom."
     Boomer looked at his friend incredulously.  "Starbuck, do you
remember anything from your Academy training?"
     "Yeah.  Vipers good, Cylons bad.  Uh, blast the bad guys?"
     "Be serious," Boomer frowned at him.  "That concussion he got was
a bad one, not just some headache.  If Apollo gets back into a Viper
too soon, the G-forces could cause him to black out.  Or worse.  If
Salik missed dissolving a clot from that internal bleeding, the
pressure irregularities could cause an embolism.  He'd be dead before
we could do a thing to help him."
     "Yeah, I know, I know."  Starbuck ran a hand through his mop of
sandy-blonde hair.  "He just should have put you in charge, that's
all."
     "What?  So I could try to run a squadron with you in it?" Boomer
laughed.  "No thank-you.  I have no idea how Apollo manages to keep a
rein on you."
     Starbuck clapped his friend on the shoulder and smiled. 
"Practice, Boomer, lots of practice."

********************

     "There, comfortable?" Sheba asked as she propped Apollo up with
another pillow.  She studied his face for a hint that he was feeling
better.  The swelling had responded well to treatment but the bruises
under his eyes were another matter.  They were just now ripening to
their darkest shades of blue and purple.  The gash under his left eye
was still red and angry looking but had begun to heal over.  The hit
from the triad game replayed itself in Sheba's mind whenever she looked
at him.  She wanted so much to reach out and touch his face but she
knew that it was still tender.  She had touched his cheek once before
and he didn't protest, but she could feel him flinch involuntarily at
the contact.  Since then she had tried very hard not to cause him any
more pain.
     "I'll be comfortable when I'm back on duty," Apollo growled
slightly, frowning.
     "Not a chance, Captain."  Sheba sat down next to him, on the edge
of the bed.  "Dr. Salik said you're off for at least another secton,
remember?  Besides, you already got your way, coming back here instead
of staying in the life center."  After much arguing and cajoling, Salik
had finally given his permission for Apollo to be taken back to his own
quarters.  "What more do you want?"
     "I'll start a list."  He leaned back and stared at the ceiling.  
     Sheba couldn't help but feel sorry for him.  She was sure she
would have gone crazy with boredom after the first day of bedrest, and
Apollo was only now recovering enough to be able to get around a little
on his own.
     "And don't kid yourself," he added, looking back at Sheba.  "Salik
was more than happy to get rid of me.  He kept complaining about how I
was disrupting his sick bay."
     "Yes, I know, Cassiopeia told me all about it.  She knows you were
doing it on purpose, too.  She says you're worse than Starbuck."  Sheba
was rewarded with the captain's shy smile as he lowered his gaze, his
face coloring at her remark.
     "Anyway, she also told me you're recovering quite quickly.  You'll
be able to be up and around in no time."
     Apollo raised his head, his eyes meeting Sheba's once more.  He
reached out to offer her his hand, obviously pleased when she grasped
it in both of her own.  Her right hand faced him so that he could see
the betrothal ring he had given to her.  He tilted her hands so that
the light bounced off the shining aurium band.  Sheba smiled, enjoying
the attention.
     "It suits you, I think," he said, still staring at her hand.
     "I think so too."  She smiled, meeting his eyes as he looked up. 
"It means a lot to me that you went to that much trouble."
     Apollo laughed, then winced and rubbed at his side, reminded that
he was not completely healed yet.
     "Ouch, I keep forgetting not to laugh."
     "As long as you don't forget to do more of it when you feel
better."
     "I'll try to remember.  I promise."  He paused, then his tone
became more serious, "Who is flying this patrol with you tonight?"
     "Brie is.  It will be good to fly with her again, it's been
awhile."
     Apollo paused for a moment, a slight frown taking hold of his
features.  Sheba took a deep breath.  She had learned to recognize this
as an indication that he was considering if he should voice what he was
thinking.  Usually that expression forecast a difference of opinion
that often culminated in an argument.
     "I know that you want a break from flying with Bojay right now,"
he began, not daring to look her in the eye, "but couldn't you have
asked Starbuck or Boomer?"
     Sheba wasn't sure what she had expected him to say, but it wasn't
this.  She tried not to show her confusion, but couldn't help raising
an eyebrow at his query.
     "What do you mean?  Don't you trust Brie?  She's in your squadron,
for Sagan's sake."
     "Um... that's not what I meant," Apollo frowned.  He remained
silent as Sheba waited for a better response.
     "Well?" she prompted him when she realized he wasn't going to
continue.  "I just thought..." he looked down at their still clasped
hands as he obviously tried to tap-dance his way out of answering her.
     "You thought what?!"
     "Uh... I thought maybe you could get Boomer or Jolly to pull your
patrol and then you could just stay here tonight.  With me."
     Sheba would have given anything to be able to take his answer at
face value but she knew better.  Something was bothering him about her
going on patrol with Brie, but what?  She wanted to find out more about
what was going on in his head, but she didn't have the time right now.
     "Well, it's a bit short notice now, but it's just a regular recon. 
I'll be back tomorrow.  We can spend some time together then.  Besides,
you're supposed to try to get back on a regular sleep cycle."
     "Yeah, I know.  I'm just not that tired."
     "Yes you are.  You can hardly keep your eyes open.  I've got to go
now or I'm going to be late.  And you wouldn't want me to rush my
pre-flight check, would you?"
     "No, I guess I wouldn't," Apollo admitted.  He leaned forward, his
hand gently touching the nape of Sheba's neck, guiding her mouth to his
in a tender kiss.  "Please be careful," he whispered as their lips
parted.
     Sheba felt the strange weight of his imploring eyes.  Something
was definitely wrong, but instead of voicing her concern, she merely
smiled.
     "I'll be back before you know it."  Then with one last kiss, she
stood and walked to the door.  She looked back to see Apollo settle
back resignedly, eyes closed.  *What is going on with you, Captain?*
she thought as the door slid closed quietly behind her.  She knew he
wasn't telling her the whole truth but she didn't have time to figure
it out now.  She would get to the bottom of it, though.  With or
without his help.

********************

     Even with his eyes closed, Apollo could sense Sheba's pause at the
door before leaving.  He knew that he hadn't fooled her.  If it hadn't
been for Sheba's patrol, they would probably be starting another
shouting match right now.
     He should have known not to bring this topic up with her.  It
wasn't that he didn't appreciate her skills, or Brie's, for that
matter.  Brie was a good pilot, considering that she had really only
been with the Viper squadrons for a little over a yahren, but he would
feel better if his fiance was flying with someone more experienced. 
Even though they had avoided the Cylon pursuit force for some time now,
Apollo knew they could run into them again at any time, and if that
happened, he wanted Sheba with someone who could control her.  Or at
least protect her.  Sheba just had too damned much of her father in
her.
     Commander Cain, the Juggernaut, would stop at nothing for a
victory.  His battle tactics were as legendary as his brashness and
courage.  While Apollo had a great deal of respect for the man, his
experience had also taught him that there were times when one had to
carefully weigh the chances for success against the potential losses
before blindly charging into the breach.  Aggressiveness such as Cain's
could bring on devastating defeat as often as it could supply the edge
needed to win a battle.  As Apollo saw it, Cain had the benefit of
yahrens of experience to tell him when to be brash and when to be
subtle.  Sheba did not, yet she was as bold and stubborn as her father. 
Ill-timed, that boldness could become deadly in the wink of an eye.
     He rubbed at his right temple, feeling another headache starting
to come on.  For a fleeting moment he considered calling the life
center to request a painkiller, then decided against it.  No sense
having Salik know _exactly_ how many headaches he was getting.  Then he
would never get back on duty.  Instead he settled for curling up with
one of the many pillows Sheba had found for him.
     *What in hades does she think I need all these for, anyway?*
     Irritated, he pushed most of them onto the floor and laid down. 
She had been right, though.  Despite the distractions of Sheba and his
headache, he was tired.  As he began to slip into the nether world
between sleep and wakefulness, the insistent pounding at his temples
reminded him that his conversation with Sheba was far from over.  It
had barely begun.  He knew he had better marshal all his defenses to
handle her temper when she finally found out why he was worried about
her.  And he knew her- she would find out.  Sooner or later.  All the
Lords of Kobol wouldn't be able to help him then.  

********************

     When Starbuck entered their quarters, he was only a little
surprised that Cassiopeia was not back yet from her shift at the life
center.  Lately, she had been spending more and more time there.  More
often than not, if they did not have something planned, she stayed
late, sometimes finishing reports, sometimes tending to the equipment,
sometimes just listening to a patient who needed to talk.  He supposed
that was one of the things he loved about her.  She seemed to have the
patience of a seraph.  She needed it, he knew, to put up with the long
patrols and battles that were like a curse leveled on anyone married to
a Viper pilot.  It was a subject they had discussed often, most
recently just before their sealing.
     "Starbuck," she had said, "I won't lie to you.  I wish you had any
other job in this fleet.  I don't like waiting when you're late coming
back from a patrol.  Whenever there is a battle, part of me is out
there with you in your Viper, hoping by all that's holy that you come
back in one piece."
     "Cass, I..." he had wanted to interrupt what he thought was going
to be a tirade about how dangerous his job was.  He was going to give
her the pat line about how there wasn't a safe job anywhere in the
fleet.
     "Be quiet and let me finish," she said levelly, cutting him off. 
"Of course I am worried about losing you.  Do you think I want to go
through what Apollo went through?"  His response was just an
uncomfortable shrug of his shoulders.  "Well, I don't.  But I also know
how much flying means to you, and how good you are.  If anything, I
hope maybe you will learn to think twice before you take those crazy
chances because one of these days, Apollo or Boomer won't be there in
time to get you out of trouble."  She had paused a moment then, waiting
to see if he had anything to say.
     What could you say to that, he had wondered.  She was right.
     Cassiopeia looked into his eyes.  "Starbuck, I love you.  And I
agreed to marry you, knowing you are exactly the way you are.  Some
days it frightens me to hades, but I wouldn't have you any other way." 
Then she had smiled at him.  That was it, just smiled.  At that moment,
Starbuck had known that never in all his yahrens, had he loved a woman
as deeply as he loved Cassiopeia.  For an orphan who had been shut out
and shuttled from place to place, it was nothing short of a miracle to
be loved and accepted for who you were.
     The sound of the door sliding open interrupted his thoughts and he
turned to see the love of his life rushing in, just a little
breathless.
     "Oh, I'm sorry Starbuck, I wanted to be here when you got home."
     "Hey, that's all right.  I haven't been here long, myself."  He
made his way over to where Cassiopeia was putting down an armful of
reports and wrapped his wife in a warm embrace, nuzzling her neck.
     "Mmmm, you smell fantastic.  Eau de disinfectant, if I'm not
mistaken?"
     "Starbuck!"  She swatted him playfully.  "Better than smelling
like turbo grease and tylium."
     "You didn't mind so much last night."
     "After you had a turbo-shower..."
     "Hmmm... that doesn't sound like such a bad idea.  I could use
some company, though."
     "Not tonight, Starbuck.  I have to talk to you about something."
     The tone of her voice and the seriousness in her eyes told
Starbuck that Cassie meant business.  What could be so important that
it couldn't wait?  Unless...
     "It's not Apollo, is it?  Something hasn't happened?"
     "No, of course not, he's fine.  As a matter of fact, we
transferred him back to his own quarters this afternoon."
     "Oh.  Well, what is it then?"
     Cassie took Starbuck by the hand and led him to the couch in their
small living room.  She pulled him down to sit facing her, and looked
into his eyes.
     "Starbuck, I've thought a lot about this, and I want to enter the
physician's class that is starting in a few sectons.  I want to train
to become a medical doctor."
     Starbuck remained silent as Cassie watched him hopefully, waiting
for a response.  When he finally realized that she had finished
speaking, he replied, "That's it?  You got me all worried just to tell
me that?  If you want to study to be a doctor, you should do it.  You
know I'll support anything you want to do."
     "Starbuck, it's more than that.  This is going to take up a lot of
time.  The class is full-time, and I'll still be working at the life
center on a part-time basis.  Not to mention all the studying..."
     "Ah, now I get it.  In other words, we're going to have even less
time together than we do now.  Cass, we already have to juggle shifts
if we ever want to get a night to ourselves."
     "I know that, but this is something I really want to do.  And I'm
good at it.  I know I would make a good doctor."
     Starbuck wanted to argue with her.  He wanted to tell her how much
he wanted to spend as much time with her as he could.  He was very much
in favor of living for the day, since they never knew how many they had
left.  Apollo had found that out the hard way and it had taken him a
long time to get over his wife's death.  Starbuck did not want to be in
that position and he did not want to put Cassie in that position.  He
knew, though, how much Cassie loved working with people in the life
center.  He also knew that she was right, she had a natural talent for
healing.  Looking into her eyes, he wanted to be selfish and demand
that they put themselves first, but he couldn't imagine his wife not
doing everything she could to help others.
     "Cassie," Starbuck reached up to brush her hair away from her
face, "You would make an excellent doctor.  I don't want for us to have
even less time together, but how could I ask you not to do something
you love?"
     "Starbuck, are you sure?"  
     "Yeah.  Besides, I already have to share you with every patient in
the life center who has a wandering eye.  What's a little more time?"
     "Starbuck..." she chuckled and shook her head at him, then wrapped
her arms around his neck and held him tightly.  "Thank-you.  I hoped
you'd understand."
     "Well, as it turns out, I guess I have a little news of my
own.I've been appointed Blue squadron commander until Apollo is back on
his feet, so I guess we'll probably never see each other."
     "It won't be so bad.  Apollo should be up and around pretty soon. 
He seems to be a quick healer- he's actually doing very well."
     "Boomer told me he still gets headaches, though."  
     "That will clear up soon.  And we can always give him something
for that."
     "Yeah, but when can he go back on duty?"
     "That will be up to Salik, but if he keeps on the way he has been,
I don't think it will be more than a secton.  Two at the most."
     "That's what I was afraid of."
     "What do you mean, 'afraid'...?  Starbuck, you're not worried
about taking command of Blue, are you?"  Cassie stared at her husband
as though he were a stranger.
     "I... I guess maybe I am.  Look, being in charge of a patrol is
one thing, but the whole squadron?  Apollo's the command guy around
here, not me."
     "Starbuck, all the pilots look up to you.  They respect you... and
they _trust_  you."  
     "Yeah, well maybe they shouldn't."  Starbuck frowned as he spoke. 
"Cass, when we're out there, Apollo always worries about how we all fit
together, how what one of us does affects the rest of the squadron.  I
can be who I am because he always reins me in if he thinks I'm a danger
to the group.  My judgement is good, but his is better."
     Cassiopeia chuckled good-naturedly.  "Starbuck, no one is going to
expect you to be Apollo.  He's had yahrens of experience as a squadron
commander."
     "Cass, you don't understand.  If I make a mistake out there now,
someone could get killed."
     "So, you mean you're afraid you'll have to take some
responsibility for what you do out there?"  Cassie straightened up and
folded her arms across her chest.  "Excuse me if I don't get too
excited about this unfortunate turn of events."
     "You just don't get it, do you?"
     "No, of course I don't 'get' what it means to be responsible for
someone else's life.  It never occurred to me that something I could do
would make a difference to someone living or dying.  I'm sure Apollo
would have been just fine if we would have let him bleed to death all
over the triad court!"
     There was no mistaking that Starbuck had overstated his case. 
Cassiopeia didn't often get really angry with him, but he had to admit
that he pushed her right into this one.  What a stupid thing to say. 
She knew exactly what it was like- she was responsible for people's
lives everyday.  He was just so wrapped up in being worried about how
this would affect him, he didn't stop to think before he spoke.
     "Cass, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean that.  I... I wasn't thinking."
     "No, you sure weren't."  Arms still crossed, she fixed him with a
glare.
     "Look, I'm sorry I said that.  I know that you deal with this
everyday.  It's just not something I'm used to.  It's going to take me
a while to figure out how to make it work."
     "It's okay," Cassiopeia sighed.  "Maybe we're both a bit tired. 
And this is a lot to deal with all at once.  Why don't we go get some
dinner and just spend a nice, quiet evening together?"
     "Sounds good to me," he agreed.  "You know, I'm lucky you married
me.  I don't think anyone else was ever this understanding with me. 
Except maybe Apollo, but he's too much trouble to work with, never mind
marry."
     Cassiopeia couldn't help but laugh.  "Sometimes _you_ are a lot of
work, but I guess you're worth it," she gibed.  Rising, she added,
"Just let me get changed and we can go.  Where to, tonight?"
     "Oh, how about the Chateau de Mess Hall?  I think I could afford
to take you there."  
     "Hmmm, at least it's close by.  Boy, what an exciting evening we
have planned."
     "I think I've had enough excitement for one day, thank-you."
     "And you with a patrol later on..."
     "Yeah, well that had better be boring.  I can do without that kind
of excitement for awhile."
     As Cassiopeia disappeared into the bedroom, Starbuck thought again
about his predicament as squadron leader.  Well, maybe nothing will
happen in the next couple of sectons and I won't have anything to worry
about, he decided.
     *Sure.  And maybe saimiri will fly up my astrum, too.*

*************************

     Aboard the starship, it was another day as usual.  If it was
possible for a starship to be bored, The New Hope would have been
positively lethargic.  As it happened, the ship didn't care one way or
the other that this day was exactly like all the others before it.  At
least, it appeared that this day would be like the others.  Thus far,
there had been no evidence to contradict that particular theory.
     Scientists had built it, explorers had launched it.  The ship
continued to slice silently on through the blackness of space.  Sensors
continuously sampled its surroundings and gyros activated automatically
to adjust course when necessary.  It had been over a yahren ago that
the thrusters had last fired for a course change, though they
test-fired on a regular maintenance schedule, also automatically
controlled.
     She was one of a kind.  Her crew hand-picked for this very special
mission.  They would be alerted if anything unusual happened.  So far,
the voyage had been uneventful, and it would be yahrens yet before they
reached their destination.  If they ever did.  As fate would have it,
however, this day would not turn out to be like all the others.Unknown
to the crew, the events of this day would change all of their lives
forever.

*************************

Chapter 2- A Matter of Duty

     Alpha landing bay was a noisy bedlam of activity.  Maintenance
crews were busy around the clock, inspecting and repairing the Vipers
that were the fleet's safeguard.  Without the pilots' continuous
patrols and deep space probes, the fleet would have precious little
information about what awaited them in the next quadrant.  The patrols
were vital fact-finding missions, enabling command to make informed
decisions about their journey forward.
     The flight crews painstakingly inspected each Viper after every
mission.  They knew that the additional stress of a routine atmospheric
reconnaissance on an already fatigued stabilizer could spell disaster
for an unsuspecting or less experienced pilot.  A coolant leak in a
laser cannon could allow the generator to overheat and seize during a
prolonged  battle, leaving a pilot defenseless and vulnerable.  The
technicians responsible for keeping the Vipers functioning took their
jobs very seriously, and when one of their pilots did not return, they
took the loss equally hard.  Many of the pilots would have agreed that
if anyone in the fleet was under as much stress as they were, it was
their deck crews.
     Sheba appreciated how seriously the crews took their work, but
every pilot was trained to carry out their own pre-flight check on
their spacecraft.  Mostly, the pilots felt that their technicians were
more than thorough enough, but every so often, someone found a problem
that had gone undetected.  No matter how small a concern the pilots
had, their crews were always ready to re-run diagnostics on a moment's
notice.
     The relationship between the flight crews and pilots was as close
as any between two groups of people in the fleet.  At times it was
almost like a marriage, with the usual ups and downs expected from such
intimacy.  More than one pilot had been berated for what a Viper
technician considered undue recklessness, resulting in long centars of
repair work.
     "Hey, Sheba," Corporal Brie's head poked out from underneath her
Viper and interrupted Sheba's thoughts.  "You about ready to go?"
     "Yeah Brie, just let me have a look here and we can get going."
     "Here, I'm done.  I can give you a hand."
     It took the two of them only a few centons to go over Sheba's
Viper and, as expected, everything checked out.
     "See you after launch."  Brie ducked under the fuselage of the
Viper to get back to her own ship.
     "Well, Lieutenant, I think you'll be wanting this," a deep voice
boomed.  Sheba turned just in time to see her flight helmet arcing
towards her.  She laughed as she caught it easily.
     "Damien, you're going to have to do a lot better than that if you
ever expect to surprise me."
     "It works on Captain Apollo," he chuckled.
     A big man with a hearty laugh and a thick, greying moustache,
Damien had been Sheba's viper technician since she had come on board
the Galactica.
     "Yeah, well it's easy to surprise him just before launch.  He's
already thinking about a parsec ahead in space.  Terrell is lucky she
doesn't have to strap him in and push the turbos for him."
     "Are you saying I can't surprise you because you never think
ahead, Lieutenant?"
     "Damien, you are incorrigible!"
     "Oh, using big words on me now- no fair."  Sergeant Damien knelt
on the platform beside the cockpit after Sheba climbed inside.  "Have a
good flight, m'lady."
     "Thanks.  I'll be back before you know it," Sheba smiled as the
canopy closed down on her ship.  Damien peered into the cockpit while
Sheba flipped the toggles that would start the engine ignition
sequence.  He glanced toward the rear of the ship to make sure the
telltale flow of steam was coming from the turbos, indicating the
engines were primed and online.  Satisfied, he slapped the cockpit
twice with his open hand and gave Sheba the "thumbs up" that meant
everything was ready to go.
     Sheba waited until she saw that he had pulled the mounting
platform away and the area was clear before she signaled Brie.
     "Corporal, this is patrol five- confirm communications status for
patrol six."
     "Patrol five, all communications functioning normally.  All
systems ready for launch, Lieutenant."
     Sheba could hear the hint of laughter in Brie's voice at her
"by-the-book" approach.  She had to smile, thinking that her
seriousness was something she would more likely have expected from
Apollo.  But then, she was her father's daughter and had been doing
this for so long, it was all second nature.
     "Don't laugh too loud, Brie," she signaled her wingmate again, "I
wouldn't want it to get back to your squadron leader that we had too
much fun on patrol."
     "Oh, yes ma'am," Brie chuckled.  "I wouldn't want the skipper to
know everything wasn't exactly up to regulation."
     Sheba smiled as she prepared to contact the bridge for their
launch clearance.
     "Galactica bridge, Lieutenant Sheba.  Patrols five and six ready
for launch."
     "Patrol five, this is Core Control," came Rigel's professional
voice in Sheba's ear.  "Standby for launch, you are next in sequence
behind patrols one and two."
     "Standing by."  Sheba activated the com to Brie's Viper.  "Did you
get that, Brie?"
     "I heard.  We're waiting for Hecate and Benjamin?"
     "You got it."  As she waited for Rigel to contact her again, Sheba
found her thoughts turning back to her conversation with Apollo.
     *He's hiding something, but what?*  She couldn't believe he
thought he could delude her by playing innocent.  *He probably knows he
didn't fool me,* she frowned.  *Well, we're going to have this one out
before it gets any further,* she vowed.
     "Patrol five, this is Core Control."  Completely lost in her
thoughts, Sheba almost jumped out of her restraint harness when Rigel's
voice sounded in her ear.  She fumbled for the com switch.
     "Sheba here, go ahead Core Control."
     "You are cleared for launch.  Transferring control to probe craft. 
Launch when ready."
     "Copy.  Patrol five launching."  She thumbed her turbos, feeling
the sudden adrenaline rush that always accompanied the explosive thrust
that propelled her Viper down the launch tube.  There was always one
small part of her that was never completely sure the force-field would
iris open correctly, until finally, her field of view filled with
stars.  She checked her heading and eased her ship to the set course
for their patrol.  Brie's Viper appeared alongside her port wing in a
few more microns.
     "Setting a course of oh-one-six mark seven," Sheba radioed to her
wingmate.
     "Copy that.  So.  How's Captain Apollo doing?  I heard they sprung
him from the life center today."
     "What makes you think _I_ know how he's doing?" Sheba asked coyly.
"He's _your_ squadron leader."
     "Oh, come on!  It's not as if the rest of us can't see that you
two are a perfect match.  I'd bet my next pay voucher that you spent
the whole day with him."
     "All right, all right.  Guilty as charged.  Just don't let it get
around."
     "Sheba, it's already 'around'.  The only person who didn't know
was the Skipper.  And by the looks of your new ring, I'd say even he
has finally figured it out."
     "How did you know about that?  Did Starbuck tell you?"
     "No, but I'd have to be blind not to see how you've been walking
around about a metron off the deck for the last couple of days.  I
don't think I've ever seen you so... fanciful."
     "Fanciful?!  Me?"
     "Yes, you.  Who else?"
     "Well, I wouldn't say I was fanciful.  I can't afford to be
fanciful," Sheba frowned.
     "Yeah, sure.  I've got news for you, Sheba.  You can fall
hopelessly in love too."
     "Hopeless?!"
     "Well, only hopelessly in love..."  Brie trailed off, a bit taken
aback at Sheba's reaction.  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it- I
was only teasing."
     "That's all right.  I guess I'm a little on edge tonight," Sheba
hadn't intended to snap at Brie.
     "Everything okay?"
     Sheba considered the question.  'Everything okay?'  No, as a
matter of fact, everything seemed wrong.  Only a few days ago, she had
been as happy as she had ever been.  The man who had stolen her heart
had finally realized his love for her, asked her to marry him, and she
had accepted.  Now, he suddenly seemed strange again, distant, closed. 
The aurium ring weighed heavily on her finger as she wondered at the
strangeness creeping between them again.  Sheba was afraid that their
relationship would return to its old pattern.
     Should she confide in Brie about her fears?  Should she tell her
about the conversation with Apollo just before their patrol?
     "Everything's fine, Brie," she said, "and we've got work to do.  I
want to make a thorough sweep of this quadrant."
     "Isn't the new heading going to take us away from here, anyway?"
     "Yes, but it wouldn't do to have the Cylons or anyone else
tracking us beyond scanner range.  They'll be able to pick up the
fleet's ion trails for a day-and-a-half after we've passed by. 
Especially some of those older ships."
     "Like the Gemini Freighter?"
     "Right.  That old scow's engines are so inefficient she probably
uses more fuel and leaves more waste in her wake than any other ship in
the fleet.  Okay, now, I want to use a beta search pattern to cover
this quadrant, so when we get to oh-one-six mark eight, we'll split up. 
I'll take the point and you cover the rearward sectors.  Understand?"
     "Got it, Lieutenant."
     "All right... oh-one-six mark eight, here we go.  Happy hunting,
Brie.  Don't find any Cylons."
     "Good luck, Sheba.  See you later."
     As Brie veered away, Sheba watched the flare from her turbos until
their fiery glow became just another trio of flickering lights among
thousands.  Turning back to her scanner, Sheba activated the program
she wanted to use for this patrol.  It wasn't the most accurate method
she could have chosen, but it allowed them to cover the most distance
in the shortest time.  A ship would have to be as small as a sublight
speeder for them to miss it and, under the circumstances, Sheba knew it
would be accurate enough to pick up anyone with an interest in tracking
them.
     As with many other patrols of late, this one quickly became
reassuringly boring.  With each scanner sweep, Sheba became more
convinced that this quadrant was clean.  That was, until she was about
to turn around and head back toward the fleet.  She couldn't explain
it, exactly, but something didn't seem quite right about the last
couple of scans.  Sheba looked up from her instruments, peering out the
canopy of her Viper, as though she might be able to see something the
scanner missed.  Everything looked as it did before.  There were no
planets in this section of the quadrant- just empty space.  There was
nothing that should demand her attention, yet she couldn't shake the
feeling that she was missing something.
     Sheba's instincts had saved her life more times than she could
remember: at Molecay, all the strikes at Gamoray, the more recent
battle with the Cylon baseship, and countless alerts since joining the
Galactica and her fleet.  More often than not, she would be jolted out
of a sound sleep to find herself shooting out of a launch tube and
being fired upon before she was fully awake.  In those instances,
surely it was instinct that took over.  Otherwise, Sheba could not
think of one good reason why she should still be alive.
     Now, all her instincts told her there was something out here,
something she would miss if she turned back.  Quickly, she checked her
fuel gauge.  Not enough.  She should have turned around to rendezvous
with Brie centons ago.  As if on cue, static crackled in her ear,
followed by Brie's voice.
     "Sheba, is my scanner busted or are you still heading out?"
     "Affirmative, Brie.  I'm just going to edge out a little
further..."  She didn't want to alarm her wingmate unnecessarily.  At
least, not yet.
     There it was!  *Frack, I knew it!*, Sheba thought.  Just at the
edge of her scanner's range, the unmistakable track of a spacecraft. 
It was too far away to scan for identification, but that meant that she
was probably not being scanned either.  Strange, there was something
different about this reading.  She couldn't quite put her finger on
what...
     "Sheba, what's up?  Shouldn't we..."
     "Cut the chatter," Sheba interrupted her partner.  "I've got
something here..."  She turned her full attention back to her scanner.
     "Frack!"  As suddenly as it had appeared, the blip on her scanner
winked out of existence.  
     "Sheba, what's going on?  Do you need help?" a note of alarm crept
into Brie's voice.
     Sheba stared desperately at the screen, hoping to see the reading
reappear.  Nothing.  She tried changing frequencies, but couldn't raise
the signal again.
     "Sheba, come in!"
     Cursing under her breath, Sheba knew the only course of action now
was to head back to the Galactica.  She had lost the craft, whatever it
was.  Maybe they could analyze the scans in more detail on the bridge. 
Reluctantly, Sheba pulled back on the joystick, reversing course back
to the fleet.
     "Everything's fine, Brie, relax.  I'm heading back now."
     "Geez, you scared me!" the relief in Brie's voice was evident. 
"Are you even going to have enough fuel to get back?"
     "I'll manage."
     Sheba's clipped tone was a ready indication that the conversation
on the flight back would be minimal.  She was still fuming over losing
the trace on her scanner.  She was sure that if she were reporting back
to her father, instead of Adama, Cain would be furious.  Part of her
knew she should be worried that the Cylons had found them again, but
something in her gut insisted it wasn't them.  Was it only wishful
thinking about a clue to their search for Earth?
     *I suppose we'll find out soon enough,* she thought bitterly, more
determined now, than ever, to solve this mystery.

 *************************

     "Did Sheba say anything more, Lieutenant?"  Commander Adama had
been in his quarters, reading reports and messages on his computer when
the call had come from the senior bridge officer on duty.
     "No, Sir.  We tried to have her transmit the scans back to us but
there was too much interference and the signal was too weak.  We'll
wait until she's back aboard so we can download the scanner data
directly," Omega replied.
     "I thought you said her patrol had returned?"
     "Not exactly, Commander.  Corporal Brie, her wingmate, is aboard. 
Lieutenant Sheba is just returning from the Ashur."
     Adama sometimes wished his officers would just tell him the entire
story the first time rather than force him to dig for information.  He
knew that they didn't want to trouble him with what they thought were
unimportant details, but he would rather they let him be the judge of
what was important.
     "What was she doing on the Ashur, Lieutenant?" he asked patiently.
     "Re-fueling, Sir."
     "What?"
     "She used up her fuel trying to get the scans, Sir.  She glided in
to the Ashur dry."  The Ashur was one of the few military ships besides
that Galactica that had escaped from the colonies with the fleet.  She
was the rearguard of the fleet now, the ship in the last position of
their formation whose job it was to manage and protect their aft flank.
     "All right, Omega," the commander sighed and looked at his
chronometer.  "Thank-you for notifying me.  I'll be on the bridge in
thirty centons.  See if you can get those scans analyzed by the time I
get there."
     "Yes, Sir.  Omega out."  
     The Commander of the Galactica leaned back from his desk and
stroked his chin thoughtfully.  If Sheba had run out of fuel before
reaching the Ashur, it had been a close call indeed.  He wondered if
she had put herself at risk for something that could very well turn out
to be another echo or a scanner glitch.  Heaven knew, that had
certainly happened to many of the pilots before.  It was tempting to
discount this as just one more aberration but they had to proceed
carefully.  Every anomaly had to be thoroughly investigated, lest they
make a mistake that would allow the Cylons to find them again.
     For now, though, he would have to wait until Sheba arrived and the
scans were analyzed.  In the meantime, he had something important to
do.  He focused again on the message he had been reading before Omega
called.  It had been sent to him the previous day:

           Dear Grandpa,

                Dad is going to get up tomorrow and we are going to eat
in the mess hall
           with the pilots can you come?  Dad says we are going at
0800.  

           Love Boxey

     Adama couldn't help but smile when he thought of his grandson. 
Boxey was a handful more often than not, full of questions, and with
more energy than he could remember his own children having at that age. 
Then again, he was much older now too, and maybe that made Boxey seem
all that much more energetic.  The boy's youthful innocence and
enthusiasm often rejuvenated his own spirits when things did not seem
to be going well.  Boxey had a way, as did all children his age, of
looking at a serious problem as the merest of inconveniences.
     Not wanting to pass up an opportunity to spend some time with his
grandson, Adama pushed his other worries out of his mind.  He
straightened some of the reports on his desk, closed the message on his
computer and, satisfied that all was in order for the moment, made his
way to the mess hall.  
     As he entered the packed dining hall, the Commander wondered how
he would find his son and grandson among the sea of uniforms and faces
until he saw Boxey bouncing up and down in his seat with delight.  A
smile lit up his normally stoic features as he realized that the
excitement was because of his arrival.  He was a bit surprised not to
see his son, but supposed that Apollo was simply too tired.  He nodded
in greeting to Giles, Greenbeen, and Jolly who must have stepped in to
look after the youngster.  Then the figure opposite the little boy
turned around and Adama's smile disappeared as quickly as it had formed
when he realized that the uniformed man was his son.
     "Grandfather!"  Boxey could hardly contain himself.  "You came! 
See, Dad's awake, just like I told you in my message."
     "Yes, I see."  Adama managed a half-smile in Boxey's direction but
his eyes shifted to his son.
     Apollo returned his father's gaze evenly, not backing down from
the silent challenge.  Sitting beside Boxey, Jolly began to squirm in
his seat, nervously glancing from the commander to the captain, and
finally dropping his focus to his meal.  Boxey, however, was apparently
oblivious to the tension between the two men.
     "Grandfather, I have to go to instruction period.  Can you take
me?"
     Adama's attention returned to his grandson and he smiled.
     "Yes, I suppose I could, if it's soon.  I have to get to the
bridge, you know.  The Commander has his duty too, young man."
     "Yes Sir!"  Boxey flashed him a salute.  "Dad, I'm finished now,
can we go?"
     "All right.  Pick up your dishes and let's get the table cleared."
     The youngster managed to make a melodramatic show of
responsibility as he dutifully picked up each dish and utensil and
stacked them carefully on the mess hall tray.  Apollo rolled his eyes
while Giles and Jolly snickered at the scene.  Greenbean delicately
added his own dishes to the pile while trying not to laugh out loud. 
As Apollo went to deposit their tray on the conveyor, Boxey grabbed his
grandfather's hand and pulled him toward the door.
     They two men walked in relative silence while Boxey maintainted a
non-stop commentary of what he had been doing since he had last seen
his grandfather.
     "We had to do more fractions in calculation period yesterday and
I'm good at them but I don't like them.  But I got to go early when
Cassie and Dr. Salik took Dad home.  He was real sleepy so Muffey and I
just played 'Warriors and Cylons' real quiet in the outer room.  Then
Sheba came over to visit Dad and me and so did Boomer and Athena and 
then me and Boomer went to the rejuvenation center and I beat him at
'Ground Assault' one game and then he beat me one game so we tied, but
he gave me a mushie anyway because he said I won first so it was fair."
     Adama couldn't help but smile at Boxey's story.  It reminded him
of the way his children would regale him with tales of their exploits
between the times he would return home on furlon.  Often, he and Ila
could not get a moment to themselves until after Zac, Athena, and
Apollo had been put to bed, later than usual of course.  Zac had been
the most like Boxey was now, an incessant chatterbox.  A little boy
with dark hair and bright eyes, he had made it difficult for Apollo and
Athena to get a word in edgewise and was always the first to come
running out the door of the house toward Adama as he came up the front
walk.
     Now Zac was gone forever, another casualty of the war, another
statistic in a record somewhere.  Somewhere with Ila.  God had not been
completely absent that day, however, for it was because of the
holocaust that Boxey had became a part of his life.  It had been
difficult to move on from the losses but for all the destruction that
had occurred, there were some gains.
     Adama glanced up at his son, marveling at how much of Apollo and
Athena and even Zac he could see in Boxey, though the boy was not a
blood relation.  He frowned slightly as he thought of how Boxey also
showed signs of his son's stubbornness.  It was probably just as well
that Boxey seemed blissfully unaware of the fact that his father was
not yet well enough to return to duty.  It suddenly occurred to Adama
that perhaps Apollo had dressed in his uniform for the boy's sake, to
help keep him from worrying.  He fervently hoped that was the case.
     They had reached the entrance to the learning center.  The
Commander watched as Apollo knelt down to give Boxey a hug.
     "I'll see you later, son."
     "Bye Dad."
     Adama couldn't help but notice how his son reached for the
corridor wall to steady himself as he stood up.  Then the little boy
turned to Adama, who also knelt to embrace him.
     "Grandpa," Boxey whispered softly in Adama's ear, "Don't be too
mad at Dad, okay?"
     Adama regarded his grandson with some surprise.  *So much for
being blissfully unaware,* he thought.
     "Don't worry," he responded in kind.  "I'll go easy on him."  He
was rewarded with an ear-to-ear grin and an enthusiastic embrace that
almost knocked him sprawling.
     After Boxey had disappeared into the learning center, Apollo
turned to his father.  "So what was that all about?"  
     "Oh, just something between us."
     "What?  Secrets?"
     "No," the Commander's voice hardened.  "Some of us are simply
wondering why you are in uniform."
     "Father," Apollo met the cold stare evenly, "I know about Sheba
running out of fuel on her patrol.  As her commanding officer, I think
I am entitled to a full report, on duty or not."
     "Are you sure it's as her 'commanding officer' that you feel this
_entitlement_?"
     The captain's jaw stiffened.  "Are you suggesting otherwise, Sir?"
     "Only that the strike commander of this battlestar had ought to be
sure he is treating _all_ his pilots with an equal hand."
     The captain's face began to color as he fought to keep his voice
level.  "I'd expect a report from any of my pilots who had a problem on
patrol, Commander."
     "Well, I suppose you had better come to the bridge to see what her
scans picked up then.  But understand this, Captain Apollo: you are not
going back on duty one centon before Dr. Salik says you are ready. 
When you are finished viewing the scans, I expect you to leave."
     "If it's all the same to you, Sir, I think I'll meet Lieutenant
Sheba when she lands."
     "Very well."
     Adama knew his son well enough to know when his opinion was
unwanted, but he also knew him well enough to recognize that in this
instance, he was in danger of letting his concern for Sheba get in the
way of his duty; hers as well, for that matter.  One thing he did not
need was a squadron commander with an overdeveloped sense of
protection.  Sheba was a fine pilot who certainly did not need to be
coddled.  He was also sure that Sheba would not respond well to such
treatment, especially not from Apollo.  If that young lady had one
quality, it was a highly developed streak of independence.  As he
watched Apollo stride off down the corridor, he couldn't help but
wonder if he would be able to hear their arguement all the way from the
landing bay.

*************************

     Apollo was the last person Sheba expected to see walking toward
her across the tarmac.  As he approached and she could see the grim
expression on his face, she knew that this was not going to be a good
time for them to talk.
     "Here, give it to me," she snatched the cable from a bewildered
Damien and leaned down into her cockpit to connect it to the scanner so
they could directly download the data and transfer it to the bridge.
     "Aha..."
     Sheba heard Damien's remark and knew he had also seen the Captain
coming toward them.
     "Good morning, Captain," she heard him say, just a little too
loudly.  "It's good to see you up and around."
     "Thanks, Damien," was the terse reply.  "Is she going to be
finished soon?"  Obviously Apollo didn't realize that Sheba could hear
him quite clearly from where she sprawled under the forward instrument
panel.
     "Oh, I think so, Sir."  Damien poked Sheba in the ribs as he
spoke.
     "Ow."  Sheba grimaced at him as she made a mental note to get back
at him for not deflecting Apollo's attention for awhile longer.
     "Here, Lieutenant," Damien offered with a mischievous grin, "I'll
take care of that."
     Without an excuse to avoid Apollo any longer, Sheba reluctantly
backed away from her ship and handed the cable back to Damien.  
     "I'll remember this, Damien!" she muttered under her breath.
     "So will I," he whispered and broke into a huge grin.  "Let me
know how it turns out..."
     "How what turns out?" Apollo raised an inquiring eyebrow.
     "The scans.  What is it?  I can see you're not here to welcome me
back from patrol.  And why are you in uniform?"
     Apollo seemed a bit taken aback at her tone of voice.  Sheba
hadn't meant to sound so harsh.  She was still annoyed at having lost
the source of the signal on her scanner.  She knew they wouldn't have
much to go on, even with a cleaner data transfer from her ship.  She
had picked up ghost signals and echoes before, they all had.  This
time, though, she felt it was different.  The track she picked up was
one of the clearest she had seen.  She was sure it was real, but she
also felt as though she had let the Commander down by not getting a
better reading.  Cain wouldn't have been pleased that she couldn't seem
to follow a straightforward tracking signal.
     "Uh, well, I am glad to see you back, but..." the Captain seemed a
bit flustered as he glanced down and shifted his weight uncomfortably.
     "Well what then?  I need to get up to the bridge to review those
scans."
     Apollo's face darkened and he grasped Sheba by the elbow to propel
her away from where Damien was working.
     "That's just it, Sheba.  I know about those scans- and how you got
them."
     "What do you mean, 'how I got them'?" Sheba stopped walking and
pulled her arm out of his grasp.  She didn't like the accusatory tone
he was using with her, and unless she was horribly mistaken, she had a
pretty good idea of what was coming next.
     "You know exactly what I mean!  You flew into the Ashur dry.  How
long did you run without fuel?  Didn't you do the computations to see
if you could get back?"
     "There wasn't time!  Do you think I'd go risk my neck for no
reason?  I had a feeling something more was out there, and I was right,
I..."
     "You had a _feeling_?!"  Apollo was incredulous.  "Explain to me
how you could put your entire patrol at risk for a... _feeling_."
     It was all Sheba could do to hold her temper in check.  Not since
she had been a raw cadet on the Pegasus had anyone called her judgement
into question this way.  And in front of the flight crew and whoever
else was around, no less!
     "I think we had better carry on this _inquisition_ elsewhere,
Captain," she seethed.
     Apollo suddenly seemed to remember where they were.  He looked
around, noticing a number of stares in their direction.  Chagrined, he
returned his attention to Sheba and said, a little more quietly, "Oh,
we'll continue this later all right, Lieutenant.When you're finished
your decon, I'll see you on the bridge."
     Sheba fumed as he turned his back on her and walked away.  *It is
so like him to walk away in the middle of an arguement,* she thought,
as she stomped back to Damien and her Viper.  Whenever something
between them got a little uncomfortable, Apollo's response always
seemed to be to turn away when Sheba wanted to tackle it head-on.
     "Well?" Damien's head poked out of her cockpit at her approach.
     "What else?  He makes me so mad I could rip his head off and then
he just walks away!"
     "For no reason?"
     Sheba paused.  Actually, he _did_ have reason to be concerned. 
After all, she had pushed her luck a little, even she had to admit
that.  But damn it, why couldn't Apollo trust her judgement?  If it had
been Starbuck or Boomer, or even Bojay, he wouldn't have flown off the
handle like that.  They would have discussed the patrol and that would
have been the end of it.  When it was her, though, he practically
convened a tribunal in judgement.
     "He's concerned about you, you know," Damien continued.
     "Sure," she snorted, "He's so concerned he'll chew me out in front
of the entire ground crew.  If it had been anyone else, he wouldn't
have said those things!"
     "You're right, he wouldn't have.  Many pilots before you have done
similar things."
     "Oh, and it's different when its me..."
     "Darned right, young lady.  He's not in love with any of them."
     Sheba stared at her crew chief for a long hard centon before
replying.  "So that gives him the right to question everything I do?"  
     "No, but I think he's right to worry.  You remind me very much of
another impulsive young pilot I once crewed for.  The Captain was right
to worry about him, too."
     Sheba frowned, not understanding what Damien was getting at.
     "Let's just say I don't want to help bury another member of the
family someday," he sighed softly, regarding her with an expression
that seemed a mixture of sorrow and concern.  Changing the subject
abruptly, he spoke again, "Here, you're all hooked up and I contacted
the bridge to download the scans.  You'd better get off to decon if you
want to be up there to see them."  He gently gave her a shove in the
direction of the decontamination chambers.
     *What in Sagan's name is the matter with everyone?* Sheba puzzled. 
First the mystery of the track on her scanner, and now this.  *As if I
need even more complications in my life,* she groaned.  Well,
everything else would have to wait.  Right now, she was most concerned
about whatever it was she had picked up on her patrol.  She would deal
with everything in due course, including her strike commander.  With
that, Sheba marched off to the decon chambers, determined to make
Apollo see things her way.

*************************

Chapter Three- Decisions

     Every once in a while, a situation arose about which you could do
nothing.  Starbuck was no stranger to those situations.  As a matter of
fact, he had a lot more experience in that area than he really cared
for.  For instance, it was beyond his control that he had been assigned
to command Blue squadron.   It was beyond his control that his patrol
had been reassigned and now he would miss seeing Cassiopeia before she
went on shift at the life center.  It was also beyond his control that
he had been ordered to take a flight group chasing after what was
probably just another scanner echo or reflection off an ion field,
wasting resources and manpower on a myth.
     Sheba hadn't thought so, though, he reminded himself.  Neither had
Athena and the young navigator, Shephard.  When he had left them on the
bridge to prepare for this reconnaissance, their noses had been
plastered to the computer screen at the navicom.  Shephard had muttered
something about "clarity and trajectory" for such a weak signal and
Athena had agreed with him, suggesting that they might want to consider
the possibility that this could be an encounter with a spacecraft of
some kind.  The fact that he had learned to trust Athena's judgement
about such things was what had kept Starbuck from protesting yet
another mission chasing down apparitions.
     The Commander, of course, was the most cautious of any of them. 
It was his decision to send them out to see if they could find the
source of the signal.  They were to try to intercept and determine the
nature of the "mystery ship", then rendezvous with a refueling tanker
that would be launched behind them.  That way, they could greatly
increase their patrol range.  At Colonel Tigh's urging, the Commander
had also put the rest of Blue Squadron on launch standby.  Starbuck
still thought it was a waste of tylium to send fifteen ships out but
understood that Adama wanted Vipers flying if this turned out to be a
run-in with the Cylons.  It had been some time since they'd detected
the tinheads and many people in the fleet thought perhaps they'd seen
the last of them.  Few of the pilots who repeatedly risked their lives
to protect the flotilla of civilian ships allowed themselves the luxury
of such enticing thoughts.  As a result, they were also cautious about
using precious resources like tylium.
     As usual, Apollo had reserved judgement pending the patrol's
findings, but he had seemed to have something else on his mind anyway. 
Undoubtedly still mad at Sheba for running out of fuel.  A knowing
smile formed on Starbuck's features as he recalled how uncomfortable
Apollo had been when Colonel Tigh quietly dressed him down for reading
Sheba the riot act in front of the ground crew.  Only Starbuck and
Athena had been close enough to hear Tigh berate Apollo's choice of
time and place for dealing with one of his officers, but Starbuck was
sure the Colonel knew exactly who could overhear him.  Just giving the
Captain a little taste of his own medicine to drive home the point
before ordering him off the bridge and back to his convalescence.
     Normally, Starbuck would side with his closest friend and wingman
over such an issue but even he could see that Apollo was dangerously
close to letting his feelings get in the way of his better judgement
where Sheba was concerned.  Not that he couldn't understand his
friend's trepidation, but Sheba was a big girl.  And she was certainly
a better pilot than Serina ever had a chance to become, no disrespect
to the dead intended.  He could see why Apollo worried, though.  Sheba
was more cautious on patrol than Starbuck had ever been, but every once
in a while she would pull something downright crazy.  Even by his
standards.  Though his own wife often worked even longer centars than
he did, he was grateful that he didn't have the added worry of
Cassiopeia being in a Viper cockpit.
     Starbuck turned his attention back to his instruments, listening
to the idle chatter of the other pilots in his ear and noting that they
should be coming within scanner range of their intended quarry in a few
centons.  After they launched, Athena had transmitted the coordinates
where they thought they might be able to intercept... whatever it was. 
Apparently this Shephard was some kind of navigational whiz kid and had
hastily calculated a course from the limited information Sheba had
recorded.  Well, Starbuck would rather trust his instincts than some
theoretical calculation from a rookie navicom operator and his
instincts told him that they would find nothing out here.
     "Hey, Bucko," Boomer's familiar voice came over the comline. 
"Shouldn't we be getting close to where the navigator thought we'd pick
up Sheba's signal?"
     *Good ol' Boomer,* he thought.  *Right on time.*
     "Hold it," a third voice interjected.  Starbuck thought it sounded
like Jolly.  "That's 'Commander Bucko' to you, Boomer."  There was
laughter over the line as the whole of the patrol joined in.
     "Awright, awright," Starbuck grimaced.  He was going to have
enough problems being taken seriously without help from these clowns. 
"Let's cut the chatter.  Boomer's right.  According to the Galactica,
we should be picking up the, uh... object within the next few centons. 
I want to split the squadron to give us the best chance to intercept." 
He paused for a moment as he mentally reviewed his choices for group
leaders.  "Boomer, you take Kristoff, Cree, and Dothan.  Greenbean,
you've got Myriell, Jathan and Harris.  Giles, Sharron, and Fritsch
form on me.  Jolly, you take the rest and spread out across our rear
flank.  I want you guys on rear scan to keep an eye on what's behind
us.  Boomer, Greenbean, we're going to spread out across the delta,
gamma, and epsilon sections of this quadrant.  Everyone on forward
scan, but rotate someone to rear scan every few centons.  If this does
turn out to be Cylons, I don't want them sneaking up on us."  
     "Starbuck, did you leave anything out?" Giles teased.  "Will I
need a note to relieve myself too?"
     "Very funny, Giles," Starbuck was starting to get tired of the
jokes at his expense.  "Just do as you're told, huh?"
     "Geez, put a guy in command and he gets sensitive all of a
sudden," Giles grumbled.
     "We'll take the epsilon vector," Starbuck ignored him.  He thumbed
his turbos and waited for the others to follow his lead.  "Fritsch, I
want you on rear scan."  They flew in silence, eyes glued to their
scanners, waiting for some semblance of a signal to appear.  After ten
centons of emptiness, Starbuck began to feel justified in his belief
that this whole exercise had been a complete waste of energy.
     "Anybody pick up anything on their scanner?" he finally asked.
     "Negative," Boomer reported.  "A big fat nothing, here."
     "Jolly, how about behind us?"
     "We're clean, Starbuck.  If anyone is following us, they're one
hades of a long way away."
     "Greenbean?"
     "Nope.  Not so much as a... " Greenbean's transmission stopped
suddenly.  "Hold it, I'm getting some interference, here... Jathan, you
get that?"
     "Greenbean, what's going on?" Starbuck tried not to let his sudden
apprehension show in his voice.
     "Holy Lords of Kobol!  Starbuck, you're not going to believe this
but we've got something.  We almost missed it, but its there.  I'm
tracking it now."
     "Where are you?"
     "Sending coordinates."
     Starbuck relayed the transmission to his navicom.  It would only
take them a few centons to rendezvous with Greenbean at full turbos.
     "Boomer, kick it in.  Let's join up with Greenbean and see what
he's found."
     "Starbuck, you still want us back here?" Jolly queried.
     "Yeah.  We still don't know what this is, so I don't want any
surprises."
     "Copy that.  I'll relay the coordinates to the Galactica."
     "Negative!" Starbuck shouted into his helmet-mike.  "If the Cylons
pick up that transmission, it'll bring them right to us."  Frack, was
it always like this when they were out on patrol with Apollo?  Starbuck
found himself trying to remember if things were always this chaotic. 
This seemed more like trying to oversee play-period on the Orphan ship
than commanding a squadron.  He honestly couldn't recall whether or not
he had made things this difficult for his friend.  He'd have to ask him
when he got back.
     In moments he was pulling up alongside Greenbean, the same reading
now registering on his own scanner.  Definitely a ship.  He made a
mental note to buy Sheba a mug of ale for doubting her.  Maybe a couple
of mugs.  He should have known better.  She had served under the most
successful military commander in the colonies, after all.  Cain had
demanded near perfection from all his warriors.  From his own daughter,
he had expected even more.  
     "Lieutenant Starbuck, Sir?"  It was ensign Jathan, newly assigned
to the squadron from the last class of recent Fleet Academy graduates. 
"Warbook can't identify it."
     "Try the shipping and civilian class records, Jathan," Starbuck
replied.
     "No matches there either, Sir."
     "At least it doesn't appear to be a Cylon craft..." Boomer added.
     "...that we can tell," Starbuck reminded them all.  "Greenbean,
transmit our 'greeting' to the ship."  He couldn't help the note of
sarcasm that crept into his voice any more than he could help the
unease in the pit of his stomach whenever he thought of the Council's
meddling.  He hated that they were allowed to tell the military how
they should handle first contacts with vessels not identifiable as
Colonial.  Maybe it would be different if the Coucillors had to fly the
damn missions.  It seemed that if they couldn't have control of the
military, the Council of the Twelve wanted to interfere in as many of
its day-to-day operations as possible.
     "Greetings, new friend," the Council's greeting began.  "We come
in peace.  We wish to communicate with you in the spirit of
brotherhood."  It was transmitted in Colonial Standard as well as the
twelve primary languages of the old Colonies.
     *Surely those old snitrads could find something better to do with
their time than dictate messages for the military,* Starbuck thought. 
He had been flabbergasted when Commander Adama had sided with the
Council on this issue.  He had agreed that even though the military
would most likely have the first contact with any new vessels, those
ships would not necessarily be military in nature, and a show of force
might be detrimental to subsequent communications.
     "Already done," Greenbean replied to Starbuck's order.  "We should
have visual contact in a few microns."
     Thankfully everyone had become "all business" now that they had a
real ship to occupy their attention.  The amiable conversation that had
previously occupied the comline had ceased entirely as the collection
of individuals that made up Blue Squadron now worked together as the
well-trained unit Starbuck knew they were.  He peered ahead, trying to
make out the shape of a starcraft against the background of stars.
     "Got it!"  Boomer's voice resonated in his helmet.  "Port side,
bearing delta-nine."
     Starbuck looked in the direction Boomer had indicated.  There it
was.  So far there had been no response to their transmission but
neither had there been any sign of hostile intent.  Either way, they
wouldn't find out anything further by hanging back.
     "Boomer, hold the rest of the flight here.  Giles, come with me
for a flyby."
     "Be careful, Bucko."
     Starbuck hit his turbos and shot ahead of the group.  He could see
Giles on the scanner, following his lead.  He wanted to approach at
what he hoped looked like a non-threatening vector.  He decided to take
them in a wide arc around the ship, then approach head-on and from
slightly above.  Starbuck cut his turbos then watched Giles drop
beneath and behind him, staying visible but not so close that both
ships could be taken out by a single shot from their objective.
     As they drew closer, it became evident that this was no ordinary 
ship.  She was a beauty; her smooth, clean lines made her look long and
slender, not entirely unlike one of Starbuck's beloved fumarellos. 
There were no external identifying marks, few observation ports, save
for the ones above the tapered nose of the craft, presumably where the
cockpit was located.  Three large, shapely tailfins angled gently out
from the hull about a third of the way from the aft section, indicating
she was intended to be able to fly in an atmosphere as well.  She
appeared to be powered by two large aft thrusters but there were also a
number of maneuvering jets located along the hull.  If she did not look
civilian, neither did she appear to be a military craft.  There were a
few circular indentations that might have housed recessed armaments,
two just above the nose and one at the base of each tailfin, but their
size and orientation suggested they would be of limited usefulness. 
About the size of one of the larger interfleet transports, this ship
appeared to be most suited for interstellar distances.
     They had almost reached the nose of the craft and still there was
no response to their hails.  Starbuck eased his Viper up to glide over
what he presumed was the cockpit.  It was impossible to see past the
darkened panes to get any idea of who or what was inside.  Giles still
followed him but on an offset vector when he continued toward the rear
of the ship, then on past to circle around again.  They made a second
pass in the opposite direction with the same result.  Still nothing
from whoever was inside.  Suddenly, it occurred to him that he had
assumed the ship was manned.  He hadn't even scanned for lifeforms.
     "Starbuck?" Boomer cut in as if reading his thoughts.  "I think
you'd better take a look at the bioscan.  What do you think?"
     "Tell you in a flash."
     It took the scanner only microns to confirm that there was indeed
biological life on board.
     "I'm reading... seven lifeforms..."  He waited as the information
continued to scroll across the scanner's screen.  "They're human!" 
Starbuck's pulse quickened as he considered the implications of finding
an unfamiliar spacecraft with humans aboard.  Everyone in the fleet had
been hoping for another sign that they were indeed headed on a course
that would eventually lead them to Earth, and this finding would top
the list of clues.  Now it became imperative to establish contact.
     "Yeah, but look at the lifesigns," Boomer's voice interrupted his
thoughts again.
     Starbuck returned his attention to the scanner.
     "Oh frack, they're barely alive!"  Giles had obviously been
reviewing the data as well.
     "Or... they're in hibernation."  Starbuck had seen readings like
these before.  He remembered what a mess had ensued after they had
found Michael's ship and brought it aboard.  *Great, just great!  This
is all I need!*
     "Those lifesigns look pretty low, even for someone in
hibernation," Boomer spoke again.  "Can you scan their systems to see
if everything looks operational?"
     "Got it," Greenbean spoke up.  "They've got problems.  I'm reading
intermittent drops in the power to their life support.  That thing
might be shorting out somewhere.  Do you think we should try to bring
her in?"
     "I don't know," Starbuck began.  "We don't know anything about
this ship or where these people are from.  I think we should just play
this cautiously until we know more."
     "But Starbuck, these readings say their life support system's
failing..."
     "I dunno, Greenbean, I still think we should be careful..."
     "For Sagan's sake, Starbuck, we got no response on our flyby, what
are you afraid of?" Giles cut in.  "You've been hanging around Apollo
so long, now you're starting to sound like him!"
     That did it.  There was only so much criticism Starbuck was
willing to take.  To be ridiculed for having to take command of the
squadron was one thing, but to be accused of being overly cautious?  As
much trouble as Michael and that blasted Eastern Alliance turned out to
be, these people definitely seemed to be in trouble and he would not be
accused of standing idly by while their life support system failed
because he was trying to play it safe.
     "All right!" he barked.  "Attach the tow cables.  Giles, since
you're such a wiseguy, you can stay with her and lead her in.  Get
yourself some help and get to it, Corporal."
     "Okay, _Lieutenant_.  No need to jump down my throat."
     "Uh, Starbuck..." Boomer had hailed Starbuck on a private comline.
     Starbuck switched to the private line.  "Boom, unless you're
volunteering to help Giles tow this thing in, save it."
     "Uh, no, I just wanted to ask if you're sure you want to tow it
before we contact the Galactica?"
     "The Galactica is too far away to reach now, and if we let this
ship go, we'll never see it again.  Not to mention that those people on
board may die.  I'm not changing my mind!"
     "Okay, I just hope you're not letting yourself get pushed into
this."
     "That's ridiculous!  Of course I'm not!" Starbuck lied, knowing
that Giles' comments had gotten under his skin.  Besides, he couldn't
just let those people die, could he?  "What are you trying to do,
Boomer, undermine what little authority I do have over the squadron?"
     "No, I just hope the Commander agrees with your decision."
     "It's just a small ship... what could go wrong?"  Starbuck only
wished he felt as sure as he sounded.

*************************

     "Who gave that order, Colonel?"  
     "Lieutenant Starbuck thought it would be in the best interests of
the people on board the ship if they recovered it immediately.  Their
scanners indicated that the life support system might be failing."
     "And he didn't think it judicious to consult with us first before
going ahead with this 'rescue' operation?"  Adama knew his patronizing
tone would effectively communicate his displeasure with how this
incident had been handled.
     "No, Sir.  I can only assume that he felt the situation was grave
enough to require immediate action."
     For a moment, Adama wondered if the warriors had any idea how
often Colonel Tigh had stood up for their interests or reserved
judgement of their abilities until he had absolute proof of wrongdoing. 
Probably not.  Tigh had the versatility to explode with all the fire of
a solium explosion or quietly maneuver behind the scenes to accomplish
a task, whether it was motivating the troops or intervening with
Command on their behalf.  It was only one of the qualities that Adama
knew made him such a formidable executive officer.
     "Very well.  Since Lieutenant Starbuck has left us no choice but
to welcome our guests, have them take a course to the Galactica that
minimizes any contact with the rest of the fleet and launch another
flight group to escort them in.  I want no chances taken with this
ship.  I'll join you on the bridge shortly."
     "Yes Sir," Tigh replied over the comline.  "Shall we go to a
yellow alert status for all squadrons?"
     "No.  News of this encounter will spread quickly enough.  I'd like
to keep the Council at bay until we have enough information to tell
them something.  I don't want this turning into a repeat of the Luna
Seven debacle."  Adama waited for Tigh to sign off, but the pause on
the line told him the Colonel had something more on his mind.
     "Is there something else, Colonel?"
     "Well, yes Sir.  Should I notify Captain Apollo?"
     "Captain Apollo is on medical leave, Colonel."
     "Yes Sir, I know that.  I just thought that it would be more
trouble to keep him out of the launch bay than to tell him about the
ship.  As soon as we had confirmation of the patrol's findings, Sheba
left the bridge like her boots were on fire.  I wouldn't be surprised
if Captain Apollo already knows about that ship, considering what
happened between them this morning."
     Once again, Tigh had managed to anticipate a problem Adama hadn't
considered.  He was right.  Sheba's wounded pride would undoubtedly
drive her to show his son that he'd been wrong to question her
judgement.  The Commander sighed resignedly as he realized he this
incident was rapidly becoming a much bigger problem than he had
originally anticipated.  He wondered how long it would be before he
also had the Council breathing down his neck and Zara demanding an IFB
interview.
     "All right, Tigh.  You can inform him.  But make sure that both
Apollo and Sheba know that they are not to take any action down there. 
They are welcome as observers only."
     "Yes, Commander.  The trawlers are launching now to take over from
the patrol and bring the ship into the fore section of Alpha bay.  They
should be arriving in about thirty centons."
     "I'll join you on the bridge in a few centons.  And then Colonel,
I'd like you to go down to the landing bay and secure that ship
personally."
     "Yes Sir.  Bridge out."
     Adama rose from his chair and walked to the oval screen providing
him a view of the ships near to the Galactica.  Of course he could call
up any view from the Galactica's many external cameras but he preferred
the one that gave him the truest picture of what he would see had it
been a real porthole.  He looked back at the reports on his desk,
thinking that they would have to wait again before he could get to
them.  He had precious few moments now to collect his thoughts before
his presence would be required on the bridge.  He would have to give
Tigh some time to prepare for recieving the ship, although his senior
officer was undoubtedly doing everything he could without physically
being down in the landing bay.
     Why had Starbuck decided to tow this vessel without asking for
more guidance?  He was as good a warrior as they had but he did not
have a great deal of command experience.  Adama trusted the
Lieutenant's judgement about most things but the memories of the Luna
Seven colonists and the Eastern Alliance from Terra were too fresh in
his mind.  Between the Council's well-intentioned but uninformed
meddling and Baltar's attempted escape, the whole situation had served
to heighten his desire for caution when contacting unknown entities. 
There was also a chance that this could be some decoy launched by the
Cylons.  If so, Blue Squadron could be leading their enemy right to
them.
     "By all the Lords of Kobol," he muttered aloud.  "Don't let this
be my biggest mistake."

*************************  

Chapter 4- Appearances

     Starbuck chewed apprehensively on his lower lip as he watched the
haulers slowly pull the fleet's newest acquisition into a docking area
away from the central landing deck in alpha bay.  As the leader of the
patrol that intercepted the vessel, he had been asked by Colonel Tigh
to aid in establishing contact with those inside.  Part of him, he
decided, would just as soon be sitting in the Officers' Club with the
rest of the flight wing, downing a well-earned ale and speculating on
the meaning of their find while someone else worried about securing the
ship.  A larger part of him, however, was curious enough about her
origins to want to be there when she was opened up.  Not only that, he
was concerned about the welfare of whoever was aboard.  The
life-support readings he had picked up were so low, there might not be
anyone left alive if they didn't hurry.
     In his headset he could hear Colonel Tigh communicating with the
ground crew and the other teams involved in securing the ship.  It
suddenly occurred to him that this must be more important than he had
first imagined if the Commander had sent Tigh to personally oversee the
operation.  The presence of all the support crew- warrior security,
Captain Croft's demolitions team, Davis, the electronics lab's systems
expert, and the med-techs- was a testament to how carefully they were
handling the situation.
     Starbuck brushed a hand through his thick, sandy hair, a customary
nervous gesture, and almost knocked his headset off as he did so.  The
massive production he saw unfolding in front of him made him uneasy. 
He began to wonder if he should have done things differently.  Did they
already know who was aboard?  Had something happened already?  Maybe
Boomer was right and he shouldn't have brought the ship back at all. 
He hadn't heard anything from the Commander and Tigh had been rather
short with him when he had landed.
     "Come with me, Lieutenant," he had said as he handed Starbuck a
communicator.  That was it.  When Starbuck had pressed the issue of the
life-support readings, Tigh had read him the riot act about securing
the ship, checking it over for explosives, and carrying out a thorough
decontamination before anyone would be allowed near it.  After that,
Starbuck had tried to keep a low profile and stay out of the Colonel's
way.  The only problem was that he still couldn't get the readings and
their implications out of his mind.
     *Who could be on board that thing anyway?* he wondered.  *Frack! 
Just for once, couldn't something be straightforward?*  Starbuck rolled
his eyes heavenward in what he knew was a futile gesture, and offered
up a silent plea to whichever of the Lords of Kobol might be listening,
just in case it would help.
     "Colonel?"
     Completely lost in his worries, Starbuck almost jumped out of his
skin at Croft's approach.  He whirled around to find Croft standing at
his elbow, behind Colonel Tigh, an amused twinkle in his eye and a
self-satisfied smirk on his face.  *Damn!*  He hated it when Croft
snuck up on him like that.  Well, it wasn't sneaking, exactly, he
conceded, but the man was as silent as a Scorpian tigris on the hunt. 
Precious few people would ever have been able to surprise him so easily
and that Croft was one of those people did nothing to put him at ease. 
*Golmonging snitrad probably does that just for his own blasted
amusement,* he thought with disgust.
     "Colonel?" Croft asked again when Tigh failed to acknowledge him.
     "Just a micron, Captain!" the Colonel snapped, looking back over
his shoulder.  He turned away from them and spoke into his communicator
again, obviously on another channel as Starbuck couldn't quite hear
what he was saying.  Then just as quickly, Tigh turned and faced the
two men.
     "Now, what is it, Captain?" he asked, staring hard at Croft.
     Starbuck wondered if the Colonel entirely trusted Croft, even now. 
After his return from the mission on Arcta, Croft had received a full
pardon from the Council of the Twelve for his role in destroying the
Ravashol pulsar.  His commission had been reinstated and he had been
assigned to the Galactica's demolitions unit.
     "My team is ready to move in as soon as you need us, Sir," Croft
replied evenly.  "But I'd recommend that all personnel move back behind
the bunker, just in case the primary barrier doesn't hold if we have a
detonation."  Croft pointed to the short, heavy metal bulkhead about
twenty metrons from where they stood.
     The primary barrier was a localized energy curtain that could be
erected around stationary objects.  It was originally intended for use
as a detention device but when the field theorists back in the Colonies
had tinkered with it to allow them to experiment with their high
density harmonic wave theories, they found that it could contain all
but the highest velocity particles.  It couldn't completely contain an
explosion, but it could greatly limit its severity.  No one had been as
surprised as the engineers who built and tested the new "barrier", that
one of "those far-fetched field theories" had actually worked.
     "Thank-you, Captain," Tigh answered.  "Primary decontamination of
the surface will be completed shortly.  Prepare your team to go in as
soon as the barrier is up.  "Lieutenant Starbuck?"  Tigh fixed Starbuck
with the same steely stare he had given Croft.  "Get the other teams
and their equipment behind the bulkhead."
     "Uh, yessir."
     Starbuck was grateful for the excuse to get away from the Colonel
for awhile.  He was getting tired of being glared at.  Besides, if he
was in trouble, it was all Apollo's fault anyway.  He was the one who
goaded Drake into knocking him out during a triad game so that Starbuck
had to take command of blue squadron while he healed.  For a moment, a
smile flitted across the lieutenant's features as he laughed at the
grand joke he was telling himself.
     After he had relayed the Colonel's orders to the team leaders,
Starbuck helped the med-techs carry their equipment behind the
bulkhead.  All the medical gear made him think again about whoever was
on board. Would it already be too late?  The lifesign readings had been
so low...
     A movement off to his right caused him to glance up toward Croft
and the Colonel just in time to see Croft nod and shuffle back toward
his demolitions unit.  It was more of an awkward, stiff-legged, walk
caused by the bulky response suit that he was wearing.  Starbuck noted
that all of the demolitions team members were similarly outfitted.  The
response suits afforded them some protection but also seemed to hamper
their movements somewhat, making them look like a flock of overgrown
Aquarian cold-water spheniscidons, waddling around on one of that
planet's polar ice floes.  As he watched them make their final
preparations, Starbuck wondered if the suits would make any difference
if there was a real explosion.
     "Colonel Tigh," a different voice sounded in Starbuck's ear,
"Docking and surface decon is complete.  We're pulling away now."
     "Affirmative," came the response.
     Tigh and a young woman Starbuck had seen with Croft were walking
toward him.  Turning to her, Tigh ordered her to activate the energy
curtain when the haulers were out of the area.
     "Yes, Colonel," she replied.  When they stopped beside him,
Starbuck noticed that she held some kind of controller delicately in
her hands.  She seemed to be studying it intently, waiting.  Finally
she keyed in a sequence on the number pad.  The fading noise from the
haulers' turbos was quickly replaced by a thick, resonant hum as the
containment field shuddered into existence.  Starbuck could tell from
the placement of the field generators that it surrounded the ship on
four sides only, leaving the top open, but it was difficult to locate
the field itself.  Aside from the sound, only a slight shimmering of
the air at its perimeter gave any indication of its location.
     "Starbuck."  Colonel Tigh had pulled his headset mic aside to
speak to his blue squadron leader.  "Switch to delta channel.  I think
you may find this... interesting."
     As Starbuck adjusted his communicator, Tigh spoke again into his
microphone.  "Croft, you can take your team in now."
     "All right, group, let's go," the gruff captain told his men.
     *Apollo is the one who would really find this interesting,*
Starbuck thought as the demolitions team slowly moved forward.  *With
all his daydreams about deep space exploration, he'd love to see this
ship.*
     "Open the wall."
     Croft's voice sounded short and businesslike in Starbuck's
headset.  He watched as a section of the energy curtain in front of
Croft flickered and disappeared.  Croft went through first, followed
closely by the next two suited figures.  The last three guided a
hover-storage unit through the opening.
     "We're through.  Close it up."
     Croft hadn't even turned around to be sure his team was through,
Starbuck noted.  Considering how closely they had to work together,
they were all probably well aware of where each one of them was, and
what they were doing at all times during a disarmament sortie like
this.  Their work required split-micron precision and timing.  In the
short time since Arcta, Croft and the warriors he commanded had
developed a reputation for their careful accuracy, for their close
comradeship, and for their fierce defense of one another after a few
mugs of baharri too many.  *Not too much unlike any of the Viper
squadrons,* Starbuck thought.
     He continued to watch with the same boyish fascination he'd always
had for any kind of spacecraft.  Croft's occasional reports to Colonel
Tigh and orders to his team were the only sounds Starbuck heard above
the hum of the field.  The team had fanned out, surrounding the ship,
each member carrying out what Croft quickly explained was a sectional
deep scan that linked each adjacent scanner and provided them with a
comprehensive reading of all the energy systems aboard.  This allowed a
faster and more detailed scan than any of them could have achieved
alone.  Everyone watched silently as Croft moved between the suited
figures, peering at their readings and making notes on his own datapad.
     *Come on, Croft,* Starbuck thought as the silence over the com
continued for more than a few centons, *Those people inside don't have
all day!*  Just when Starbuck thought he would burst with impatience,
Colonel Tigh spoke.  "Croft, what is happening in there?"  
     "Just a micron, Colonel..."
     Starbuck saw an exchanged hand signal, then one of the suited
figures put down its scanner, went and removed a set of cables from the
box they had brought with them, and carried them back to Croft who had
moved under the hull of the ship and begun to remove a panel near the
aft section, between the port and starboard tailfins.  
     "Colonel, we're accessing the main and auxiliary power feeds so we
can cross-link their powered systems," came Croft's explanation over
the com.  "We haven't found anything yet, but someone who wanted to
booby-trap this thing could have cross-wired two or more different
systems to detonate a charge when those systems are accessed at once."
     "How could we be so clumsy as to trip multiple systems at once?"
Starbuck interjected, thinking that this was a colossal waste of time
when they needed to get inside.  He felt a flush start at his neck when
Croft paused to glare back in his direction before returning to what he
was doing.  Apparently Croft was not aware that anyone was monitoring
the channel besides his team and Colonel Tigh.  His reply held a
definite tone of tested patience.
     "Well, for instance, _Lieutenant_... opening the hatch and turning
on an interior light is an old favorite.  Simple, but very
effective..."  
     "...since it draws a number of well-meaning but _impatient_ people
inside before detonation," Tigh finished.  He shot Starbuck a stern
look, communicating that he was expected to listen, not interrupt.
Evidently Tigh knew considerably more about disarmament procedure than
Starbuck did and his uninformed input was not appreciated.
     "Exactly, Colonel," Croft continued, to Starbuck's embarrassment. 
"Just so you don't get confused, Lieutenant, I'll explain.  We can
check different combinations by cross-linking them through a secondary
connection, then apply a small charge we think is below the activation
threshold.  If there's a power differential between the calculated and
actual values we read, there may be a device wired in."
     Starbuck could feel his face redden further at Croft's patronizing
explanation, but he wasn't about to give in to the taunting so easily. 
"And what if the charge you apply is above this 'threshold'?" he asked
pointedly.
     "Then you won't have to worry about incendiary devices after the
ship explodes," Croft replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
     Starbuck wished he could wipe the smirk off Croft's face.  He
didn't respect him when they were down on Arcta together and he
certainly didn't respect him any more now, accomplished or not. 
Apollo, Tigh, and Adama had all praised Croft's work on demolitions,
both at Gamorray and during the attack on the Cylon baseship, but
Starbuck just didn't trust the man.  He was still surprised they hadn't
all wound up dead at the hands of the convicts back on Arcta.  As far
as he was concerned, the blame for the attacks the convicts had made on
the warriors on that mission rested squarely with Croft.  He was their
leader.
     "Colonel Tigh," Croft's voice came over the com again, "We're
going to need to work uninterrupted for the next few centons to check
all the cross-links.  I'd like to shut down our communications for now
and I'll advise you when we're finished."
     "I don't like being out of contact with you, Captain," Tigh
replied.
     "I realize that, Sir.  But I don't want to be interrupted again."
     "Very well," Tigh sighed.  "But I want you uplinked as soon as you
are finished."
     "Signing off..."
     The comline went quiet.  Starbuck saw another of the suited
figures approach Croft with a handful of tools he didn't recognize. 
*Specialized, probably,* he thought.  *Boomer would know what they're
for...*
     "Lieutenant Starbuck!" Colonel Tigh barked.  "Come with me."
     The Colonel led him out from behind the bulkhead back into the
main landing bay, his long, purposeful strides forcing Starbuck to do a
half-run to keep up.  He kept on toward one of the communications
consoles but away from where the ground crews were working.  Starbuck
felt decidedly like a man hurrying to be on time for his own execution. 
When they were sufficiently out of earshot of anyone else, the Colonel
turned abruptly, almost causing Starbuck to trip trying to avoid
running into him.
     "Lieutenant Starbuck," Tigh began, his voice low but menacing.  "I
asked you to accompany me as an opportunity for you to listen and
learn, not to have you question a senior officer about his judgement."
     "But Colonel..."
     "I'm not finished!  When you have more experience with demolitions
than Captain Croft, then you can question him about his choice of
method for clearing and disarming a potentially dangerous spacecraft,
but not before.  Have I made myself perfectly clear?"
     "Yes Sir," Starbuck answered meekly, hoping to end the lecture
quickly.
     "If you can't control yourself, I just might be tempted to loan
you out to Captain Croft for some first-hand explosives disarmament
practice.  Would that be more to your liking, Lieutenant?"
     "No, Colonel.  It's just that those life readings we picked up...
what if those people are dying in there?"
     "Apparently you are not hearing me, Lieutenant!  First of all, we
know nothing about the inhabitants of that ship.  Second, I will _not_
endanger any member of this crew unnecessarily!  Had you considered the
possibility that this ship could be a decoy of some sort, or worse, a
trap?"  When Starbuck shook his head no, the Colonel continued.  "I
thought not.  We will contact whoever is inside as soon as we are sure
we can do it safely, and not one micron before.  Do you understand,
Lieutenant?"
     "Yes Sir," was the exasperated reply.
     Starbuck was saved a further chewing out when they were both
distracted by the sound of the lift coming down halfway across the bay. 
As it descended, two figures became visible.  Starbuck recognized them
immediately.  He glanced sidelong at the Colonel when he thought he
heard him mutter something under his breath, but Tigh just went to the
communications console and returned with one more headset.  He handed
it to Starbuck and instructed him to meet the pair while he returned to
the ship.
     "Make sure they understand they are to observe only, Starbuck."
     Starbuck frowned after the Colonel, watching him walk away, then
walked across the bay to meet his friends.  As they approached, he
could see that Apollo was gritting his teeth as though in pain.  One
look at Sheba told him why.  She appeared to be chattering at him
almost non-stop, pointing in the direction of the docking bay.  Of
course!  She had probably harangued him from the moment she found out
that her scans had borne fruit.  Starbuck barely suppressed a chuckle
as he thought to himself that this time, his best friend was getting
exactly what he deserved.
     "Welcome to the great spectacle of Alpha Bay," Starbuck smiled. 
"Duckets can be had for only five cubits.  A real bargain."
     "Very funny."  Apollo didn't seem to be amused.
     *Little wonder,* Starbuck thought.
     "She's over this way."  Starbuck jerked a thumb over his shoulder
and turned to walk back in the direction he had originally come from. 
"Oh, and the Colonel is just a little testy right now, so uh... don't
annoy him, hmmm?"
     Apollo and Sheba fell into step on either side of him, neither one
of them saying anything more.  The tense silence told Starbuck that it
must have been a struggle for them to talk at all.  Glancing at each of
them, Starbuck shook his head in amusement.  Sheba still looked furious
and Apollo was his usual tight-lipped self.  This was going to be
interesting.
     "Colonel Tigh," Croft's voice rang in Starbuck's ear, reminding
him that he was still patched into their communications.  "We've
finished our tests.  The ship is clean.  We're going to prepare for the
decontamination crew to open the hatch, with your permission."
     "Here."  Starbuck remembered the extra communicator he was holding
and handed it to Apollo.  "Colonel Tigh and Croft are on delta channel. 
They've just finished disarming the ship, it sounds like."
     "It was wired?" Apollo asked, incredulous as he donned the
headset.
     "No, no... they were just checking it.  But they were taking their
damned time about it.  There's people on board!"  At this interesting
revelation, Sheba shot Starbuck a dirty look and gestured sharply
toward her ear.  "Sorry, Sheba," he added.  "The Colonel only gave me
one extra communicator and he's the captain."  He pointed at Apollo.
     "Yes, and _he's_ supposed to be resting."  Sheba sounded both
angry and disgusted.
     "Oh, for..."  Apollo glowered at her.
     "For Sagan's sake!  Quit fighting, you two, I can't hear what
they're saying."
     "... leave the energy screen in place for now, and wait until the
ship has been decontaminated before we open the hatch."  Starbuck could
finally hear Tigh's voice over his friends' bickering.
     "That's exactly what I'd recommend, Colonel," Croft replied.
     "One more thing, Croft," Tigh continued as Starbuck returned to
his side.  "When you were doing your cross-links, did you detect the
power drops that Lieutenant Starbuck read on the scans?"
     "Well..."  There was a pause as Croft peered back at his datapad. 
"We picked up some fluctuations in the power to their life support
systems but they were too regular to be actual drops.  You wouldn't
have been able to tell that from a single-pass scan, though.  Their
auxiliary supply wasn't activated either.  If there had been a real
loss of power to the life support, the auxiliary should have kicked
in."
     "That doesn't make sense," Tigh sounded puzzled.  "How could the
readings be so low, then?  And why would they be fluctuating?"
     "I think I might have an explanation for that, Colonel," said a
soft voice.
     Tigh glanced back at the sound of Captain Apollo's voice,
annoyance settling on his features once again.
     "What is your 'explanation', Captain?" he asked, his patience
obviously being tested by all the interruptions.
     Apollo activated his headset's microphone.  "Croft, this is
Apollo."
     "Apollo?" Croft looked up toward the bulkhead, confused.  "I
thought you were on medical leave."
     Apollo ignored the comment.  "What were the power levels you were
reading from their life support system?"
     Croft checked his scanner again.  "It's cycling between 38 and 53
kiloteres.  It's low for a life support system but it's consistent."
     "Your explanation, Captain?" Tigh prodded.
     "Don't you recognize the ship, Sir?"  Apollo stared at him, the
surprise plainly evident on his face.
     "Of course not.  Captain, if this is some kind of joke..."
     "The New Hope, Colonel!"
     Starbuck recognized the excitement building in his friend's voice
but, like Colonel Tigh, he had no idea what Apollo was talking about. 
He looked at Sheba. Her frown said that she did not know what any of
this was about, either.  One thing was clear, however: Apollo was
somehow familiar with the vessel they had intercepted.
     "Captain Apollo, are you saying you recognize this ship?"
     "Colonel," Apollo was incredulous.  "It was a research vessel.  It
launched from the Colonies... probably eight yahrens ago!"
     Tigh frowned, as though trying to remember something buried in the
furthest recesses of his mind.
     Apollo continued, his gestures becoming more animated as he spoke. 
"Don't you remember?  It was a group of financiers and scientists who
were tired of the war.  They wanted to return to deep space exploration
but everyone thought they were crazy!"
     "That's right... they got permission from the Ariean government,"
Croft chimed in, evidently beginning to remember.  "They financed the
whole program themselves.  It took them about twelve yahrens to build
and equip the ship and train the crew."
     "And no one ever thought they'd get this far..." Apollo finished,
staring, mouth agape, at the ship.
     "But what does any of this have to do with the status of their
life support system?" Starbuck queried.
     "It was a brand new hibernation system."
     Starbuck thought his friend looked almost giddy with excitement at
the prospect of their discovery.
     "They knew they'd have to be in space for... Kobol knows how long. 
So they devised a system that took less power and maintained lower
temperatures by cycling energy between the chambers.  The readings
Croft is getting should be right within their operating parameters."
     "Croft, are those readings still stable?" Colonel Tigh asked.
     Croft checked with one of his men who was monitoring a scanner.
     "Yes Sir, they are."
     The importance of what they'd found was slowly beginning to dawn
on Starbuck.  No wonder Tigh had proceeded so carefully.  If Apollo was
right, this situation could potentially be even more sensitive than
their encounter with the Terran colonists.
     "All right," the Colonel's voice was clipped.  "Croft, have
someone monitor those power levels while the ship is thoroughly
decontaminated, but do not open that hatch."  Tigh switched to
communication for the entire intercept team who had been watching and
waiting.  "Attention all intercept teams: we will proceed with level
two decontamination.  Following that, all operations are suspended for
one centar.  Team leaders, you will meet with myself and the commander
in tactical room one in ten centons.  All team members will standby on
alert status until further orders.  Lieutenant Baker from the
decontamination unit will be the officer in charge.  Colonel Tigh out."
     Turning to Apollo, he said simply, "I want you there, Captain." 
He then turned on his heel and marched to the closest lift, presumably
on his way to the bridge.
     "Well, buddy," Starbuck grinned and clapped Apollo on the shoulder
while Sheba shook her head in disbelief.  "Welcome back to active
duty."

*************************

     Colonel Tigh watched the bustle of activity around the ship as he
boarded the lift that would take him to the bridge.  He let out a deep
sigh, not realizing he had been holding his breath.  He tapped his
communicator to life.
     "Yes, Tigh?"
     "Adama, there's been a new development."
     "Is everything all right, Colonel?"
     "I hope so, Commander.  I've arranged for a briefing in tactical
one in ten centons."  Tigh hoped his voice hadn't betrayed his anxiety.
     "What has happened, Colonel?"  The note of authority in the
Commander's voice was unmistakable.  Tigh should have known his friend
would recognize his unease immediately.
     "You're not going to believe it."
     "Try me, Colonel."
     "That ship we picked up?" Tigh began, "It's one of ours..."

*************************

Chapter Five- Against Better Judgement  

     They were all watching him intently.  Commander Adama met the gaze
of each person in turn until he had connected with everyone at the
table.  Their expressions were so different; each of them came to this
meeting with their own ideas, their own expectations.  Yet ultimately,
they all wanted the same thing- a sensible resolution to the problem
presented by the spacecraft in the landing bay.
     Starbuck had made the first real contact with the ship- The New
Hope, or just The Hope, as the crew had taken to calling her.  Now the
lieutenant waited, nervously aware of his position as the most junior
of the officers in the room, but also very anxious to contact whoever
was inside the craft.
     Croft slouched in his chair, feigning a cool disinterest in the
proceedings.  For what purpose, Adama did not know, but he had noticed
that Croft had paid sharp attention to everything that was said. 
Despite his detached demeanor, he had perked up every time the crew of
The Hope had been mentioned.
     Davis, the electronics chief, and Kwan, the head medic, were both
keen to begin, although each for different reasons.  Davis had talked
openly about how he was fascinated to see if the hibernation and power
systems were indeed an improvement over their own, since the companies
funding the original expedition owned the rights to the technologies
and had never made their specifications public.  Kwan, on the other
hand, simply wanted to be sure that the people inside were safe and
healthy after such a long time in stasis.
     Colonel Tigh's expression, Adama noted, was one of patient
determination.  Steadfast and intelligent, he had made the right
decision to consult with his commander before proceeding further. 
Adama also knew that Tigh was well aware that he would eventually have
to order that the ship be opened.  While his second-in-command was
undoubtedly as curious as the rest of them, he would never openly admit
that curiosity to anyone, lest it interfere with his responsibility to
the Galactica. Once again, Adama was grateful for his friend's
dedication.
     Finally there was his son.  Apollo stood alone, away from the
others.  He leaned up against the door frame, arms crossed defiantly,
almost daring his father to leave him off the intercept team now. 
Apollo probably knew more about The New Hope, her crew, and its mission
than everyone else in the room combined.
     *But he is _not_ ready to go back on duty yet,* Adama thought
grimly.  *And that stunt with Sheba this morning only reinforces that. 
He knows better.*  As a father, Adama didn't have to look at the
medical report to see how drawn his son's face looked, how slow and
careful his movements were, as if he was unsure of his own body. 
Apollo was steadily recovering from the blow that had left him
unconscious for two days, but already he was trying to do too much. 
Had he known it would come to this, Adama wondered if he would still
have encouraged the young boy's love of starships and exploration that
had followed him into adulthood.  It vexed the Commander to know that
of all the people in the room, his son had suddenly become
indispensable to this mission.  Despite the fact that Adama had no
intention of involving his firstborn in this incident, Apollo was the
one person who probably had the information they needed to proceed. 
Regardless of his feelings as a father, it was time to find out.
     "Captain Apollo... you have archived information on the
specifications of this ship, its systems, and her crew?"
     On hearing his name, the young man uncrossed his arms and
straightened up.  "Yes, Sir.  I..."
     "Good," Adama cut him off abruptly.  "You will give Colonel Tigh
full access to that information and assist him in deciding what will be
most helpful to the squads involved."  The Commander watched his son's
back stiffen and his left hand clench and unclench as he realized his
father was not going to return him to duty.
     "Colonel Tigh, I want you to go over whatever data Captain Apollo
has on The New Hope.  You have someone monitoring the status of those
aboard?"
     "Yes, Commander.  We're continually checking both their power
levels and the life support system."
     "Then I want operations suspended until you have a chance to
analyze this new information."
     He continued speaking to Tigh but looked pointedly at Starbuck,
who seemed about to protest the delay.  "If anything happens to the
lifesigns, do whatever you must to save those people.  Otherwise,
proceed as you see fit and keep me apprised.  Any questions?"  This was
directed to the others.  Adama looked at everyone but his son, and was
met with expressionless stares and negative gestures.  He stood,
signifying the meeting was over.  "Then you are dismissed."
     Adama sat on the edge of the table, studying the notes on his
datapad as he listened to the scrape of chairs on the deck and the
noisy exit of his team leaders as they began to discuss the process of
standing down their crews.  He did not need to look up to know that his
son would still be standing near the door, livid with rage.
     Tigh paused, halfway into the corridor.  Adama glanced up at his
friend, a barely perceptible shake of his head letting him know that he
would handle affairs with his son alone.  Tigh glanced quickly at
Apollo before leaving, his expression one of sympathetic amusement at
the Captain's willingness to walk into the leon's den.  Like father,
like son.
     Looking down at his datapad again, Adama expected the tirade to
begin the moment the door slid shut, but there was only silence. 
Finally he looked up at Apollo, who seemed to be fighting with himself
as to what to say.
     *Not surprising,* Adama thought, regarding his son evenly.  *Gods,
he's so much like Ila.*  He lowered his head again, remembering. 
Emotions had always run deeply with their eldest son, although he was
the first to deny he had any.  Apollo had been the one to bring home
every stray daggit that crossed his path, begging his parents to let
him keep the latest one.  He was also the one so quick to protect his
younger brother and sister when they were too young to defend
themselves.  One yahren at school, Zac had been picked on by some of
the older boys.  Ila's messages had told Adama of more than one
occasion when Apollo had come home with a black eye or swollen cheek,
defending his brother, who had been small for his age.  At least, he
was until the summer of his fourteenth yahren, when Adama had come home
on leave after eight long sectars in space.  He almost didn't recognize
his youngest boy when the tall, skinny youth had nearly knocked him
over, racing out the front door of their home, a mischievous twinkle in
his eye.  Zac had been clutching a holopic of some dashing young man
from the cinema, his angry sister hot on his heels in pursuit.  Adama
smiled at the memory.
     "Is that what this is?  Funny to you?"
     Adama's head jerked up at the angry sound.  The pleasant feeling
of the memory dissipated like a wisp of smoke on the wind.  Annoyed, he
fixed his son with a stare that would have withered most officers, but
Apollo was obviously not going to back down.
     "Is that what you think, Apollo?"
     Apollo walked toward him, placed both hands on the table and
leaned forward to look his father in the eye.
     "Father, I know more about that ship and its mission than anyone
on the Galactica," he stated matter-of-factly.  "You _need_ me.  No one
else has the experience I do."
     "You're right," Adama measured his words carefully, "I do need
you..."
     "Then you'll assign me to one of the intercept teams."
     "... to perform your duties as the Strike Commander of this
battlestar when you are well enough to return to duty."
     Shock replaced the hopeful look on Apollo's face as the meaning of
his father's words registered.
     "Father, you can't _do_this!"  He slammed an open palm on the
table in frustration.
     "Enough!" Adama roared, rising to his feet to stare down at his
son.  Apollo flinched visibly, startled by the ferocity in his father's
voice.  "I can and I will!  You will go over what you know with Colonel
Tigh, then he will decide what is to be done.  I will not be bullied
into putting you or anyone else back on active duty when they are
clearly not ready!  Have I made myself clear, Captain?"
     His son looked up to meet his gaze, anger smouldering hotly behind
the flashing green eyes, furiously powerless in the face of rank.
     "Yes Sir," he said, straightening up stiffly.
     "Dismissed."
     Without another word, Apollo spun on his heel and marched out the
door.  Adama sighed heavily, the tension of the confrontation weighing
on him.  His son was a good officer and valuable member of the crew,
but sometimes he did not know when to ease up on himself.  Adama knew
from the flight reports that Apollo often shuffled his pilots' duty
shifts when they were too tired or too sick to perform, but he refused
to give himself the same consideration.  That kind of attitude would
only lead to disaster.
     But then, maybe that was what he wanted- some kind of relief from
the pain of living day-to-day while friends and family members
continued to risk their lives.  And die.  Athena had certainly thought
her older brother was trying to kill himself after Serina died. 
Apparently Sheba had even told him so, not very long ago.  Now, for
whatever reason, Apollo refused to admit he needed time.  Well, he
would get that time if Adama had to confine him to quarters.  If his
son needed to learn one thing, it was that there were times when you
simply had to stand back and trust someone else.

*************************

     Apollo was furious.  How his father could leave him off the
intercept team now, was beyond his comprehension.  He was certain he
would be assigned to one of the crews when Colonel Tigh told his father
what he knew about the ship in their landing bay.  Instead, the
Commander wanted to coddle him like some fresh-faced cadet.  The quiet
of the near-empty corridor was broken by the pounding echoes of the
Captain's angry steps as he made his way to the bridge.
     Why was everyone making such a big deal out of a few headaches? 
Sure he got a little tired but that would straighten itself out in a
day or two, he was sure of it.  At least if he could return to duty, he
could get some semblance of normalcy back into his life.  Since that
fracking triad game, everything had changed.  Sheba was taking foolish
chances on patrol, his father refused to let him do his job, and Dr.
Salik wanted to make him a virtual prisoner in his own quarters.  What
in hades was wrong with everybody?  Starbuck had been the only one who
seemed happy that he might be returned to active duty.
     Apollo brought all his frustrations along with him as he stepped
onto the bridge.  He scanned the large room impatiently, anxious to do
his duty and leave.  It only took him a moment to locate Colonel Tigh,
up on the command platform, looking over Omega's shoulder at something
on one of the viewscreens.  The Colonel looked up as Apollo stalked
over to the dais and up the stairs.
     "Captain- good, you're here."  Tigh greeted him, still clutching
the datapad he'd had at the meeting.  "The crews are beginning to stand
down, but I'd like to get them back to work as quickly as possible. 
Can you access the files you have and transfer them here, to the
bridge?"
     "Yes, Colonel," was the terse reply.  "I'll need a station."
     "There's one open next to Shephard on the second level."
     Apollo's gaze followed to where Tigh was pointing but he failed to
see the open computer terminal.
     "Who?" he asked, not recognizing the name the Colonel had
mentioned.
     "Beside Athena."
     Apollo quickly found his sister among the other bridge officers. 
He descended from the command center, intent on finishing his duty here
and then... what?  He didn't know what he would do next.  Maybe he
should find Sheba and continue their discussion from this morning.  No,
that would be a mistake.  She'd just be upset that he was questioning
her judgement.  She didn't seem to understand that he worried about
her.
     Maybe he should find Starbuck and go get drunk.  His friend would
get a laugh out of that.  Apollo hadn't gone "drinking" with Starbuck
since well before he met Serina.  But Salik would probably have him
chained to his bed if he found out.  The meds he was on for the
headaches precluded any consumption of alcohol.  But it was sure
tempting.
     "Well, big brother, what brings you to my little world tonight?"
Athena's smile was a metron wide at the sight of her older sibling.
     "I need to use a terminal," he replied brusquely.
     Athena's face fell.  Apollo instantly regretted his coldness but
he couldn't bring himself to apologize.  Normally, he would have
welcomed the opportunity to chat with his sister.  Sometimes, when
their schedules were hectic, they could go a couple of sectons without
talking.  At least, not about anything other than patrol schedules and
coordinates.  Tonight, however, he found he was in no mood for small
talk.
     "Here," she returned in kind.  "This one's free."
     He sat down in the chair she indicated and stared blankly at the
screen.
     "How do I get out of this?"
     "Oh, I'm sorry."  It was Shephard.  "I was running a couple of
navigational programs earlier."  The young navigator leaned across from
his station and tapped a few keys, closing the program he had left
running.  "It'll take a micron to shut down, then you should be able to
log on, Sir."
     "Thanks, uh -"
     "Captain Apollo... Corporal Shephard," Athena handled the
introductions.  "Shephard, this is Captain Apollo, my brother."
     "Good to meet you, Sir."  Shephard offered his arm in greeting,
which Apollo took, somewhat impatiently.
     "Yes, Corporal.  Well, I'm sorry, but I have some work to do."
     "Of course.  Sorry to interrupt, Sir."  Shephard went back to his
own work.
     Apollo caught the dirty look his sister shot him and turned away. 
He hadn't meant to be impolite, but he was more interested than ever in
getting the files for Colonel Tigh and leaving.  The headache he'd had
earlier was now threatening to come back as well.
     *Great!  What a perfect way to cap off a lousy day,* he thought.
     He logged onto the Galactica personnel's server and began to
search for the files he wanted when he felt a touch on his arm.  He
looked up to see Athena staring back at him, a concerned look on her
face.
     "I know about what happened with Sheba this morning," she said
simply.  "If you want to talk..."
     "Thanks, I'm okay," he told her.  She squeezed his arm and smiled
at him before leaving to see to her own duties.  He shook his head,
smiling in spite of himself.  He didn't know how she did it but
sometimes Athena seemed to know exactly what was bothering him.  His
mother had been like that too.  If only Sheba could read his mind as
well...
     He continued to locate the information he had on The New Hope. 
There were the ship's specs, the payload, the crew; Apollo was
surprised at the amount of data he had amassed.  Each filename brought
back memories of countless centars spent combing the news releases and
funding companies' public databanks for any reports mentioning the
expedition.  It had been yahrens since he had looked at it, but it was
all still here.  He made copies of everything, preparing it for Colonel
Tigh to download.  Presently, a pair of hands gripped his shoulders. 
Athena had come back and stood behind him, peering down at the screen
where he was working.
     "How's it going?"
     "I'm almost finished."  He turned to look up at her.  "Have you
seen Colonel Tigh?"
     "Here he comes," she said as the Colonel approached the pair.
     "Are those files ready, Captain?" Tigh wanted to know.
     "Yes, Sir."  With a flourish, Apollo hit the 'enter' key one last
time, completing his assignment.  "You can download it right here, if
you have a portable."  He had seen that the Colonel still had the
ever-present datapad under his arm.
     "Good.  Athena?"  Tigh handed the datapad to her.  "Would you
bring those files to me?"
     "Yes, Colonel."  Athena stepped back to let Apollo get up.
     Apollo put his hands on the arms of the chair and began to stand
up.  Suddenly, his vision blurred and he felt his legs give way beneath
him as his knees buckled.  He thought he could hear someone call to
him, very faintly, as though from far away.  He felt something holding
him tightly, then everything went black and silent.  Almost as quickly,
the usual sounds of the bridge rushed back, pounding in his ears- a
little too loudly, it seemed.  He opened his eyes to a light so bright
it hurt.  Narrowing his eyes against the glare, he was finally able to
focus on the worried faces standing over him.
     "Wha... what happened?" he stammered.  And why wasn't his tongue
working properly?
     "You passed out."  Athena knelt beside him now, her concern
showing on her face.
     At first, Apollo was inclined not to believe her, but he could
hear the fear in her voice, the way it wavered when she spoke.  She
wasn't joking.  He tried to get up.
     "Apollo, stay where you are."  Colonel Tigh's hand on his arm
forced him back down into the chair.  "We'll send for a med-tech."
     "No!" he protested loudly, setting off a stab of pain in his head. 
"I'll be fine in a micron."  He grimaced and rubbed at his temples to
try to ease the throbbing.
     "Captain," Tigh reminded him of his position,  "You just passed
out, and you need to be checked over."
     "Apollo, please listen," Athena pleaded.  "If Colonel Tigh hadn't
caught you, you would have split your head open on the desk."
     "I'll be fine.  I'm just... a little tired, that's all."
     "Captain Apollo," Colonel Tigh assumed his most officious tone. 
"You are going down to the sick-bay if I have to carry you there
myself!"
     Looking from his sister to the Colonel, Apollo realized this was
one fight he was not going to win.
     "All right, I'll go to the life center- first thing tomorrow
morning."
     "You'll go there now, Captain.  Shephard!" Tigh barked at the
young man who had been watching the whole scene.  The surprised
navigator almost jumped out of his chair.  "Go with Lieutenant Athena
and help her _escort_ Captain Apollo to the life center.  Then I want
you to report directly back to me.  And Captain, I will notify Dr.
Salik to expect you."  Tigh glanced meaningfully at Athena.
     "Can you stand?" Athena asked gently, when the Colonel had gone.
     "Of course I can stand," Apollo grumbled as he got up from the
chair.  He steadied himself momentarily at the desk when a wave of
nausea passed over him.  Athena reached for his elbow to support him
but he angrily pulled it out of her grasp and turned away.  Again, he
realized too late that he was taking out his frustrations on her.  He
hoped it meant she understood when she fell silently into step beside
him, her hand on his back.  He let her guide him away from the computer
stations.  Shephard stepped quickly ahead to open one of the doors
leading off the bridge, following after they went through.
     *Terrific!* Apollo thought as they walked slowly back down the
corridor he had originally come down.  *The day's almost over.  What
the frack else can go wrong?*

*************************

     Starbuck paced nervously outside the commander's quarters,
wondering what Adama wanted with him.  He had been down in the landing
bay, helping the crews stand down when the order had come for him to
report to Adama.
     It had to be about the ship.  What else could it be?  Maybe Adama
wanted to hear again what Starbuck had seen and heard, or rather, not
heard, when he'd first hailed The New Hope.  Or maybe he wanted to know
something about the return flight.  Starbuck started suddenly when the
outer chime rang, indicating that he should enter.
     He slipped cautiously and quietly through the door to find
Commander Adama at his desk.
     "Be seated," the old man ordered.
     The lieutenant did as he was told.  As the commander remained
silent, making notes about something with a stylus, Starbuck glanced
around the room.  It was spartan, save for a large floor-to-ceiling
bookcase behind the desk.  It was packed tightly with books,
parchments, and even an artifact or two.
     Knowing his best friend as he did, Starbuck was not surprised to
find that this seemed to be the one luxury Apollo's father allowed
himself.  He remembered that during their Academy days on Caprica,
Apollo had been a voracious reader, even with the hectic pace of their
studies.  Looking around the commander's quarters, it was easy to see
where Apollo got his love of books.  Even on the single table to
Starbuck's left, there were stacks of books and data disks.  Every
available space, it seemed, was devoted to information and learning.
     As his gaze wandered further about the room, Starbuck was
surprised to realize he was seeing it anew.  It suddenly occurred to
him that he had never been alone with the commander in his quarters
before.  He had always been here with Apollo or Boomer or even Colonel
Tigh.
     "Lieutenant Starbuck."
     The imposing voice caused Starbuck to jump in his chair, his focus
coming to rest on the steely grey eyes that threatened to bore right
through his skull.  He silently cursed himself for allowing his
commanding officer to catch him with his mind wandering.
     "Uh, yes Commander?" he managed to squeak out.
     "What in hades did you think you were doing, bringing that ship
back to the Galactica without clearance?"
     Starbuck's mouth dropped open in surprise.  Whatever he had
expected, this wasn't it.  Sweat broke out on his forehead as he
struggled to force his brain to recall just what it was he had been
thinking at the time.
     "Well?!"  
    "Uh..." Starbuck was drawing a blank.  It seemed strangely bizarre
to him that his face felt so hot and flushed while his hands were cold
as ice, gripping the chair as if holding on for dear life.  "Well, uh,
Sir..."  The lifesign readings!  That was it.  "It was the lifesigns,
Commander.  The readings were so low, I thought their lives were in
danger."
     "Did it not occur to you, even once, Lieutenant, that this could
have been a Cylon ploy?"
     "But Commander, they're human."
    "Of course they were human, or rather _appeared_ to be human.  What
better bait for the souris?"
     "I... I didn't think of that, Sir," Starbuck admitted, somewhat
sheepishly.  "I just assumed our scanner readings were accurate."
     "Starbuck," Adama's voice took on a gentler tone as he came around
from behind his desk.  The older warrior sighed gently as he crossed
his arms and sat back against the edge of his desk.  "This is exactly
the sort of trap we must expect.  We have been fortunate enough to
evade our pursuers for nearly two sectars now, but we must remain
vigilant.  If we let our guard down, even for a micron, that may be all
the advantage our enemies need to wipe out what is left of our
colonies."
     Starbuck considered the implications of Adama's words.  If he was
right and the Cylons were close by, waiting for an opportunity to find
the fleet again, he might have inadvertently led them straight back to
the Galactica in his haste to help the "humans" he had thought were on
board that vessel.
     "I'm sorry, Sir.  I didn't mean to let you down."  Starbuck was as
sincere as he had ever been in his life.  At times, Adama had been like
a surrogate father, intervening more than once when the rambunctious
young man had caused a bit too much trouble at secondary school. 
Starbuck had loved and respected his best friend's father more than any
other adult he had known in his tumultuous teenage yahrens.  He still
did.  Disappointing the man had never been an option.
     "Consider it a 'command lesson', Starbuck," the Commander smiled
warmly.  "It seems we have been spared this time.  This may even be a
rather fortunate turn of events.  As you saw, we have several
scientists fairly salivating at the prospect of studying that ship."
     Just then, the communicator rang out.
     "One moment, Starbuck."  Adama went around to his computer and
began to read the incoming communique.
     "Is everything all right, Commander?" Starbuck asked as the older
man's expression darkened.
     "Everything is fine, Lieutenant."
     Starbuck could tell by Adama's expression that everything was not
fine.
     "It seems I will have to cut our meeting short to visit with Dr.
Salik for a few centons.  And before you ask, the ship's inhabitants
are fine.  Do you have any questions, Lieutenant?"
     "No Sir."  Starbuck recognized the implication not to pry any
further.
     "Then you are dismissed."
     Starbuck was relieved to end the meeting but as he watched Adama
march quickly down the corridor away from him, he had a fleeting sense
of foreboding trouble.  Whatever was in that message had certainly set
the Commander on edge.  He just hoped that it wouldn't involve him.

*************************

     "Well," Cassiopeia began, "I can't find anything."  She looked at
her portable scanner then back at Apollo, who was sitting on the exam
table.  "Your scans are clean."
     "So I can go back to my quarters?"
     Cassiopeia considered the man before her thoughtfully.  "Your
circulatory pressure is a bit low.  If you got up too quickly, maybe
that was enough to cause you to black out momentarily."  Though she
knew she sounded outwardly convincing, Cassie was concerned.  Except
for the color of the remaining bruises, Apollo's face looked hauntingly
pale, yet the scans seemed to indicate that everything was mending as
expected.  Maybe he was just overdoing it.
     "Can I go back to my quarters?" he repeated his question.  "It's
late and I'm tired."
     *He _sounds_ tired*, she thought.  *That has to be it.*  She
wished she could believe the scanner's readout and leave it at that,
but her instincts told her there had to be something else that would
cause him to lose consciousness like that.  And she knew she had good
instincts.
     "Dr. Salik is going to want to give you a once over, but after
that, you can probably go."  Cassiopeia started to go to hand her
report over to Salik, but paused in the doorway as something occurred
to her.  "Apollo?" she asked thoughtfully, "How often have you been
having headaches since we discharged you from the life center?"  She
turned back to face him.
     The captain paused a beat before replying.  "Off and on."  
     "How often is that?"
     He dropped his gaze, avoiding eye contact with her, then reached
down to rub at a scuff mark on his boot.
     "I don't know.  A few."
     "Two?  Three?"
     "I told you, I don't know," he said impatiently.
     Cassie was about to leave him alone with his moodiness when he
looked up at her, somewhat apologetically, from under long, dark bangs. 
"Maybe a couple in a day," he told her softly.
     Cassie stepped to him and put her hand on his shoulder.  He looked
away again.
     "You know it's important to tell us if they're bothering you more
than we expected."  Her heart went out to him.  She knew he wasn't used
to being in a position of such vulnerability and she could see he was
having trouble dealing with it.  When he didn't reply, she added, "We
want to get you healthy and back in a Viper as much as you want it, you
know."
     "I know," he shrugged, still refusing to look her in the eye.
     Cassie sighed inwardly.  Apollo's petulance reminded her of
Starbuck.  Sometimes when her husband was sick and wanted attention,
you'd think the twelve worlds were ending all over again.  Other times,
when he wanted to hide how he really felt, he acted just as Apollo was
now.  Why couldn't they understand that the medical staff just wanted
them to heal as quickly as possible?  Most often, Cassiopeia was
amused, but at times, she hated it when the warriors treated her as
"the enemy."
     "I'll get Dr. Salik."
     Cassiopeia found Salik in his tiny office, behind a stack of
charts, deeply immersed in a medical record he had called up on his
computer.  It was Apollo's.
     "What do you think, 'future med-student'?" he asked when Cassie
walked in.
     Cassie was still not used to Salik asking so direct a question
about her opinion on a case, though he'd been doing so far more often
in the past few sectons.  She gathered her thoughts and considered for
a moment how best to express what she felt.
     "His scans check out, but I have to think that something had to
have caused him to black out like that.  His circulatory pressure is a
bit low, but I just don't think that's it."
     "He's lying."
     Cassiopeia stared at Salik, not quite believing he'd said what
she'd heard.
     "He's lying about his headaches and you know it," he repeated.
     "Well, if you want to put it that way... yes."
     "Cassiopeia," the old doctor sighed, "They all do it.  Those
blasted Viper pilots are the worst.  They seem to think they're
invincible.  If one of them cut his head off, he'd still insist he
could fly."
     She had to chuckle, knowing as she did, that Salik was exactly
right.  "I suppose they would," she laughed.
     "And _he_ is one of the worst."  Salik stabbed a finger in the
general direction of the treatment rooms.  "That's why I'm still
grounding him.  Right now, he'd be nothing but a danger in a cockpit
because we know something's wrong but we haven't figured it out yet. 
We'll just have to wait.  And so will he."
     "I noticed his color's still not good.  I wonder if there's a
circulatory problem?"
     "Could be... " Salik mused thoughtfully.  "It could be any number
of things.
     There might be a slight blockage or a slow bleeder we can't detect
yet.  That is also why a good doctor uses their eyes and hands in
addition to a scanner.  All our fancy devices can't substitute for good
observational skills and an open mind."
     "I told him you'd want to see him before we let him go."
     Salik rose from his seat, taking the scanner from her.  "I'll go
let him off the hook for now."  He peered intently at the readouts. 
"And Cassie," he stopped her at the door as she was leaving.  "Good
work.  You're going to be right at the top of that class."  He smiled
at her, an almost fatherly gesture.
     She nodded, pleased, and returned the smile.  For a moment,
Cassiopeia allowed herself to feel the warmth that came with Salik's
praise.  She knew he had a genuine respect for her abilities.  They had
discussed at length how her previous socialator training served her
well in her highly developed ability to see beyond what a patient was
willing to tell her.  For him, it had been yahrens of experience that
gave him that ability.  For her it was very much an intuitive skill.
     With Apollo, however, Cassie wished she had something more than
her intuition.  They knew something was wrong, but what?  Impatient for
answers that were not forthcoming, she knew she would have to be
content with waiting.  Sooner or later they would have an answer but at
what cost to Apollo?  Though she had given up praying to a deity after
her experiences on Gemon, Cassiopeia hoped that someone or something
would watch over her friend until they could do more to help him.

*************************

     Sheba paused outside the entrance to the life center, wondering if
she should go in.  Athena had contacted her after taking Apollo there.
     "Sheba, he's fine," Athena had assured her.  "But he did pass out
on the bridge a little while ago.  Cassie said she couldn't find
anything wrong, so I think maybe he just tried to stand up too fast."
     So here she was, debating whether or not Apollo would think she
was "interfering" if she came to check on him.  Of course she cared for
him.  After all, wasn't that what two people in love did for one
another?  What she really wanted was for them to get past their
misunderstanding from this morning.  Maybe Damien was right.  Maybe
Apollo chewed her out because he cared.  It didn't give him that right,
but at least she could understand why he felt that way.
     Well, there was only one way to find out.  As Sheba stepped
forward, the doors automatically slid apart and she entered the
sickbay.  She spotted Apollo almost immediately as he emerged from one
of the treatment rooms with Dr. Salik.  Their eyes met as Apollo
glanced quickly toward the entrance, apparently eager to get away from
Salik and the life center.  Sheba wanted to go to him and have him take
her in his arms as he had that night in the celestial dome.  She wanted
him to tell her that he loved her and everything would be fine.  She
wanted to hold him close and tell him that she would be there for him
whenever he needed her.
     Instead, there was a coldness in his eyes she hadn't seen before. 
What was it?  She thought back to their conversation yesterday, before
she had left on patrol.  Had that really only been yesterday?  He had
seemed distant then, but this was different.  He looked angry.  At her? 
As Sheba took a tentative step toward him, she wasn't sure she wanted
to know.
     "Ah, Lieutenant," Dr. Salik hurried toward her, the sullen Apollo
lagging behind.  "Perhaps you would be so good as to see the captain
back to his quarters."
     "Sure."  Sheba was anything but sure.  Apollo looked away,
refusing to meet her gaze.
     "Is everything all right?"  Sheba turned toward Salik, sensing
that Apollo was not going to tell her anything.
     The doctor smiled at her reassuringly.  "We haven't been able to
find any problems with his scans."  He left out any explanation of what
had happened, apparently assuming that Sheba's mere presence meant that
someone had told her about the incident on the bridge.
     He looked back at Apollo.  "I just want to be sure he gets back to
his quarters in one piece."
     At that, Apollo shook his head disgustedly and brushed past both
of them, heading for the door.
     "Thanks, Doc."  Sheba hurried to catch up.  "Hey, wait for me."
     Apollo was already half-way down the corridor when he stopped at
the sound of her voice.  He waited with his back to her as she was
delayed by a knot of people going the other direction.  Finally she
caught up to him and slipped her arm around his waist.
     "Let me give you a hand," she smiled, "That's what I'm here for." 
She could feel him stiffen at the contact as he continued to stare
straight ahead down the corridor.
     "Apollo, what is it?" she asked, confused by his response.  She
touched his arm gently, wanting to show him she cared.
     "You wouldn't understand."  He wrenched free of her grasp and
stalked off down the hall.
     There was a sharp intake of breath as Sheba's mouth fell open in
shock.  She couldn't have been more surprised if he'd slapped her
across the face.  Again, she had to hurry to keep step with him, her
stomach tied in a knot of tangled emotions.  Neither of them spoke
another word until they were inside his quarters.
     "What do you mean, I wouldn't understand?!" she challenged him.
     "Shhh!  Do you want to wake Boxey?"  Apollo crossed to the small
compartment that was his son's room.  It was little more than a closet,
really.  Sheba could see the lights of Muffit's eyes as the droid
shifted to alert status at the sound of the opening door.  Apollo
kissed the sleeping youngster and covered him up with a tenderness
Sheba would not have expected, given his behavior a few centons ago. 
When he re-emerged from the compartment, he silently motioned her to
follow him into the bedroom and sealed the door behind them.
     Sheba had tried to be understanding.  She knew Apollo was
frustrated with his convalescence and wanted to get back to duty.  She
could appreciate that; she had been in his place after the battle at
Gamorray and knew just how tedious it was.  But she had done it, damn
it.  And Salik hadn't released her from the life center so easily.  Now
she was fed up with his refusal to communicate.  It was as though he
blamed her for what was happening to him.  She had tried to deal with
the emotional turmoil of the last few days, but after all that had come
before, it was tearing her apart.  Finally all the pent-up emotion
boiled to the surface.
     "What in hades gives you the right?!"
     He met her gaze, the eyes that had been so cold now flashing to
life.
     "The right to what?"  His voice was low, almost menacing, as if he
was giving her a chance to back down.
     "You know fracking well what!  I've had it, Apollo.  First you
can't even admit to me that you don't trust me on a patrol, then you
practically take my head off in front of the crew, and now you won't
even talk to me!  We're supposed to be engaged to be married!  Don't
you think that entitles me to some consideration?"
     Apollo stood before a storage chest, gripping its surface so hard
his hands were white.  He had closed his eyes and gritted his teeth at
Sheba's tirade, as if it was a torture to be endured.
     "What am I supposed to say?" he replied slowly, trying but not
succeeding in holding his temper.  He opened his eyes and stared
penetratingly at her.  "That I don't care?  Well, I do, but right now,
no one will let me.  No one will let me do my job.  Not Salik, not my
Father... not even you!"
     "What are you talking about?"  Tears of frustration and confusion
welled up in Sheba's eyes, though she tried to will them away.
     "There's nothing wrong with me!" he yelled at her.  "Why can't you
all just leave me alone?!"
     "We're trying to help you!  For Sagan's sake, you just passed out
on the bridge!"  His only response was an angry shake of his head.
     "Why can't you see that we care about you?" she continued. 
"Apollo, it scares me, what's happening to you."  She tried to reach
out to him but he shook her off violently.
     "Just leave me alone!"
     Sheba stopped.  All the fear, anger and frustration was too
painful to bear any longer.  She had tried so hard to understand,
thinking that understanding would be a bridge between them.  But Apollo
didn't want her understanding.  Or her love.  Concern was replaced by
an awful, empty ache.  She knew what she had to do.
     "Apollo," she choked out, barely able to contain the emotions that
threatened to overwhelm her, "I don't even know you anymore.  I can't
keep going like this."  
     He stiffened as she moved toward him again, but this time she
didn't reach out to him.  Simply, quietly, she placed the aurium band
he had given her on the surface of the storage chest he still clung to.
     Backing away, Sheba waited for only a heartbeat before turning to
leave, knowing that if she waited any longer she wouldn't have the
strength to go.  Even as she stepped through the door, she hoped Apollo
would stop her, but he remained silent, staring strangely at the ring
before him.  She walked across the outer room when the door slid closed
behind her, quickly before she could change her mind.
     Out in the still corridor, Sheba leaned back against the closed
door, physically and emotionally drained.  Then, unbidden, the tears
came.  When she was younger, she would never have cried.  Crying was a
sign of weakness and she was the daughter of Commander Cain.  Even at
her mother's memorial she had refused to cry, standing beside her
father, being strong for him.  It wasn't until many yahrens later that
she actually grieved for her mother when she could no longer keep those
painful emotions inside.
     But now?  Now she cried for relief.  Now she cried to ease the
ache of a promise unfulfilled.  Then, quickly, realizing that she was
out in the corridor, Sheba wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her battle
jacket and looked around.  She was grateful that the corridor was empty
at this late centar.  As she began to make her way back to the female
pilots' barracks, Sheba realized that for the first time in her life,
she didn't know what to do.  She didn't know what would happen next. 
Her relationship with Apollo had been so rocky...She thought it would
change when he proposed taking the Seal.  Instead, it continued to be
as painful and confusing as ever.  Maybe it simply wasn't meant to be. 
Perhaps this was a sign that a relationship between them would be
fraught with nothing but strife.  How could she know?
     Sheba also could not know that elsewhere on the Galactica that
night, a man as confused as she was wept with the pain of frustration
until no tears remained and he was too exhausted to do anything but
sleep.  

*************************  

Chapter Six- Smoke and Mirrors

     It was quiet in the docking bay.  Croft preferred the silence
after the bustle of the crews rushing to switch to standby status.  He
didn't blame them for all trying to be the first ones out of the bay. 
Most of them had families they would like to be spending time with,
rather than waiting around while the colonel and the commander decided
what to do about their new guests.  Starbuck had been the last to
leave, save for Croft and a couple of military security officers. 
Croft had volunteered to take first watch over the systems.  At least
this way he would have some time to consider what to do next.
     He wondered how long it would take someone to discover what he
knew.  He'd have to be the biggest fool this side of the Cylon empire
not to realize that Adama had seen right through him at the briefing. 
Damn the old man, anyway.  He was as sharp as a vulpine.  Croft
absently picked up one of the scanners his team had left near The New
Hope.  He wondered who else had noticed.  Tigh, maybe?  He was Adama's
eyes and ears; if the commander felt he had reason to be concerned
about Croft, it was a sure bet that Tigh had been alerted.  Apollo? 
No, he had been thoroughly entranced by their discovery.  At first,
Croft was alarmed at how much the captain knew about The New Hope, but
luckily it seemed he didn't know everything.
     Croft turned on the scanner and looked at the readout, not really
taking in the data that blinked at him from the screen.  As it turned
out, he realized, he was grateful for Apollo's exuberance.  It had
allowed him to discreetly reveal a little of his own knowledge without
calling attention to himself.  Apollo was taking care of that quite
nicely on his own, thank-you.  For the senior officer in charge of the
squadrons, Croft thought the young man's behavior at the briefing had
been less than exemplary.  Commander Adama's son was an intelligent
officer, but he was still young enough to allow his emotions to get the
best of him at times.  And he didn't hide them very well.  That the
captain had some kind of burr up his butt was obvious.
     A sudden crash came from behind him.  Croft whirled quickly at the
sound, surprised that he was no longer alone.
     "Frack!"
     An irritated Captain Apollo knelt to gather up the remains of
what, moments before, had been a small portable scanner.  With a sigh,
Croft reluctantly put down his own scanner and went to help Apollo pick
up the shattered pieces.  The young man could be a smart and valuable
ally, as he had been down on Arcta, but his moodiness could also make
him a huge pain in the astrum.
     "So, treating my equipment the same way you treat your vipers,
now?"
     The black look Apollo shot back at Croft told him that this would
be one of the captain's "pain in the astrum" moments.  Croft smiled and
laughed softly to himself as he knelt and reached for a couple of
broken diodes that had skittered under a crate.  *He's still so
serious.  When will this guy ever learn to take a joke?*  Aloud he
said, "What brings you down here?  I heard you were told to stay out of
the landing bay."
     "Where'd you hear that?" the green eyes flashed angrily.
     "Hey, don't jump down my throat.  I don't care what you do against
orders, but I can't have you busting up my equipment."
     Apollo's spirit sagged as visibly as his shoulders.  He stopped
what he was doing and sat back on his heels, his expression a mixture
of frustration and helplessness.
     "I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep.  I just thought I'd
come down and see if there were any new developments."
     "You could have checked with the bridge."  Croft couldn't resist
teasing his young friend.  Well, not a friend exactly, more like a
familiar colleague, but one he'd trust with his life if the situation
warranted it.  He also happened to know that the feeling was mutual. 
He chuckled again at the glare that met him.  "Come on, you can help
me.  I was just going to do another systems scan."
     Croft rose from his crouched position and returned to his scanner.
     "Here..." he handed it to Apollo and picked up a second scanner. 
The young man reached for it with his right hand, but it slipped from
his grasp.  He juggled it for a micron, like an errant triad pass,
finally trapping it under his other arm and clutching it to him,
wide-eyed at the thought of repeating his previous mistake.
     "Do you think you could hang onto it, please?" Croft asked
incredulously.
     "I'm sorry, it just slipped."
     Croft shook his head in disbelief.  "Well, be careful.  Those
things don't grow under k'nik bushes, you know.  Stay here.  I'm going
around to the other side.  You can link up for me and monitor the
readouts when I test-load the system."
     "What about the energy barrier?"
     "I deactivated it."
     Apollo gave him a dirty look, signifying his displeasure at
Croft's end run around standard operating procedure.  Croft ignored
him, instead handing Apollo a communicator and motioning for him to put
it on.  He donned his own headset, adjusted the mic and switched it on,
saying, "Look, there's nothing on that ship that's a danger to us or
anyone else aboard the Galactica."
     "Are you sure about that?"
     Frack, Apollo's stickiness for procedure could really test his
patience.  "I'll reactivate it later," he added, exasperated by the
inquisition.  "We don't need it in the way while we do these scans."
     Croft stalked around to the other side of the ship, wondering if
he should just report Apollo's presence to Colonel Tigh and let the
captain have a taste of his own medicine when they found out he was
disobeying orders.  He had heard about Apollo blacking out on the
bridge a few centars earlier.  Scuttlebutt didn't take very long to
make the rounds, even on a ship the size of the Galactica.  It didn't
take a Caprican Academy Prize winner to figure out that the commander
would probably have his son chained to his bed after that.  No, it was
probably best to let Apollo get all that damned curiosity out of his
system now.  It might also be useful to find out just how much Apollo
knew about the crew of The New Hope.
     He stopped in front of an open panel on the port side of the ship. 
A number of cables hung from a rack hooked to the hatch.  Croft took
two of them and proceeded to connect them to other contacts inside the
panel.  "All right, Apollo, I need you to call up the linking menu on
your scanner."
     "Got it already."
     "Good.  Select the life support system, then the 'test-load'
function."
     There was a pause, then, "Okay, now what?"
     "Now, monitor the readings while I load the system.  If you see a
significant power spike or a drop, hit the 'cancel' key.  All our test
readings will be recorded automatically by the program so we can review
them if we need to.  You're like the 'deadman switch' because I won't
be able to deactivate the load fast enough if there's a problem, and I
don't want to short out a system.  I'm not really expecting anything
unusual, though.  Got it?"
     "Yeah.  What if you do short something out?"
     "I won't."
     Apollo sat on a crate and watched as Croft changed the
connections.  They continued for maybe half a centar, re-evaluating the
different power systems on the ship.  Croft found the work tedious, but
it gave him time to think.  And to draw Apollo out on the subject of
The New Hope.
     "So how did you first hear about the mission she was going on?"
Croft asked.
     "I was still at the Academy on Caprica when the story first hit
the news."
     There was such a long pause over the communicator that Croft
ducked down under the craft to see if Apollo was still there.  He was
puzzled by the slight sad look on the captain's face until he
remembered who had covered that story for the Caprican News Service. 
Even in her early vidcasts, Serina had been a striking young woman,
Croft recalled.  *So was Leda,* he thought uncomfortably.  Of course,
it had been some time since he and his former wife had been close. 
Ever since that failed platinum heist.  Ah, that was just an excuse. 
There had already been trouble brewing between them for awhile.  Then,
inexplicably, on Arcta she had given her life to save his.  Why had she
done that?  It was a question that still confounded him.  He had long
ago realized that there were some questions that never had satisfactory
answers but it didn't keep him from trying to make sense of all that
had happened between him and Leda.
     Most often, Croft preferred not to think about her.  When he did,
it was like opening an old wound that never quite healed.  At one time
they had been passionately in love.  Sometimes, even now, Croft tried
to remember what it had felt like to be so devoted to another human
being.  But the faded, dusty memory was light yahrens away.  Leda had
hated him for the constant separation in their marriage.  All in the
name of duty.  Most of all, she had hated him for making their
separation permanent by not firing on the Colonial Commander who had
finally apprehended them all.  Croft could still hear her accusation.
     "The service comes first again, doesn't it Croft?  It always did,
didn't it?"  The venom with which she spoke those parting words was
what Croft remembered most.  He had shut himself off from feeling much
of anything after that.  Imprisoned, first on the penal colony, later
on the prison barge, emotions were not a luxury one could afford to
have anyway, unless it was anger.  Or a deep simmering hate.  Hate for
the Cylons, hate for your captors, hate for the God that had seen your
humanity stripped from you when you were chained like an animal.  It
was all the same.  Or so he had thought.
     Then he had met Captain Apollo on what should have been a
straightforward mission to sabotage a Cylon gun installation on Arcta. 
Even while he was still on the prison barge, Croft had heard about
Apollo's personal tragedy and had felt a perverse satisfaction that the
son of the last remaining Colonial Commander should know how it felt to
be thwarted by fate.  Then the Arcta mission had turned deadly, taking
the lives of Thane, probably Wolfe, and finally Leda.  When fate
cheated Croft again, he had wanted to hate Commander Adama's son, for
Apollo was a constant reminder of what he had lost, not just once but
twice.  Instead, he found someone who understood how he felt.  Though
they had never spoken about their losses, Apollo had silently stood
with him at the memorial for Leda and the others.  Then the young
captain had spoken up for Croft, contributing to his reinstatement to
the Colonial ranks and his transfer from the ground forces to the space
wing.  But now this fracking ship threatened to undo everything Croft
had accomplished in the last yahren by dredging up a past he thought he
had buried a long time ago.  Damn the whole mission to hades!
     Across the docking area, Apollo finally noticed Croft's stare and
shifted uncomfortably before he spoke.  "Uh, when that first report
came out, they had mostly finished construction and were beginning to
train the crew.  By the time they were ready for launch I was on my way
to my first posting after graduation."
     "So you followed the news reports?" Croft prompted.
     "Actually, I scanned everything I could get my hands on while I
was still at the Academy and had easy news access.  I've always been
interested in deep space exploration."  The young man allowed himself a
chuckle.  "I used to think about what would happen if I had graduated
already and had the flight experience they needed.  I wished I was old
enough to be able to make that crew."
     Croft noted the wistful tone in Apollo's voice.  That was
something he'd not known about him.  It was no wonder he knew so much
about the ship, and no wonder he recognized it so quickly.  The captain
was a romantic at heart.  He'd wanted to be an explorer!
     A sudden, slight buzz in his ear caught Croft's attention.
     "What was that?!" he heard almost immediately from Apollo, who had
already interrupted the test.
     "Did you hear that?" Croft asked him.
     "I didn't hear anything, but the power reading went crazy a micron
ago.  I shut it down."
     "Yeah, you did fine," Croft replied absently, trying to recall
exactly what he had heard.  "I could've sworn that sounded like a relay
tripping," he muttered to himself.  He disconnected the leads he had
been using and instructed Apollo to restore the scanner's linking
program.
     "Looks okay now," Apollo said hopefully.
     "No, there's a 20 cycle feedback fluctuation that wasn't there
before," Croft shook his head.  "You can see it every third pass of the
scan.  See?  There..."
     "I see it.  What's it mean?"
     "That was the..." Croft paused while he checked his own scanner. 
"...navigation system.  Might be an intermittent short somewhere.  We
probably tripped an auto-repair system.  I don't think it's serious,"
he lied.
     "Now what?"
     Now what, indeed?  Croft considered the possibility that he didn't
know the ship as well as he thought.  He certainly hadn't expected to
activate a system, but that was exactly what had happened.  The
question was, what had he tripped?  And how?  The ship had been
equipped with sensors to tell it whether it was in the vacuum of space
or in an atmosphere.  Was it merely coincidence that they had been load
testing and those sensors finally kicked in?  Possible, but Croft
preferred to deal with probabilities, and in all probability, this
event was likely to bring at least one crew member out of hibernation. 
That was something he had wanted to avoid as long as possible.  But
now...?
     Finally he noticed Apollo watching him intently.  "For starters,
you'd better get out of here."  He began to walk back over to where
Apollo was now standing.  "Your buddy Starbuck is going to be here to
take over in little while.  And you're _not_ supposed to be down here,
are you?"
     "No, not really."
     "Not really," Croft said sarcastically as Apollo gave him his
communicator.  "Tell me something I don't know.  You'd better go get
some sleep, you look like you're about to fall down again."
     "You heard about that?"
     "Of course, what did you expect?"  Croft looked at him strangely. 
Did the commander's son think he was off limits for ship's gossip?
     "I don't know, I guess I just... "
     As Apollo started to hand his scanner back to Croft, it began to
slip from his grasp.  Reacting quickly, Croft snatched it from him. 
"Give me that before you break it!  What in hades is the matter with
you?!"
     Apollo stared at his hand in disbelief.  "I... I don't understand
it," he stammered.  "I couldn't feel it for a micron.  I just lost my
grip."
     "Well, you'd better get a grip!"  Croft was angry, but he could
see that Apollo was a bit shaken by what had happened.  "Look, why
don't you go get some sleep.  You're probably just tired."
     "Maybe that's it," Apollo didn't sound convinced.
     "Go!"  Croft pushed him in the direction of the lift.  He watched
momentarily as Apollo walked slowly across the bay, staring at his hand
and clenching it as if testing to see if it still worked.  Whatever
problems Apollo was having, the last thing Croft needed now was to
babysit the commander's son.  He had enough of his own problems at
hand.  The power anomaly they'd uncovered meant only one thing: it was
just a matter of time before someone would be revived from those
slumber chambers.  He checked his scanner once more.  No doubt about
it, the readings indicated that two of the chambers had shifted from
standby to active status.  He'd have to notify Colonel Tigh, and soon. 
He checked his chronometer.  Only thirty centons until Starbuck was due
to arrive.  Probably only a couple of centars until the two crew
members came out of hibernation.  Damn.  This was happening faster than
he wanted.  He'd delay his report if he could but he knew he'd be
fodder for the Viper squadrons' target practice if he did.
     Croft wiped his forehead with the back of his uniform sleeve.  He
hadn't realized he'd been sweating.  He suddenly became conscious of
droplets coalescing between his shoulderblades to form an insistent
rivulet of moisture running down the middle of his back.  He shook
himself, breaking the trance-like state, aware that, whatever the
personal cost, he was bound by his duty.  Just like the platinum mine
job.  None of this would be happening to him if he'd just fired on the
ship that had caught them.  But he couldn't do it then and he wouldn't
ignore his duty now.
     His decision made, Croft went to one of the internal communicators
and punched up the code for the bridge.
     "This is Captain Croft in alpha landing bay," he told the officer
who answered.  "Get me Colonel Tigh."

*************************

     Something just didn't add up.  Athena leaned back in her chair,
hands behind her head, stretching tired muscles.  It had been a long
tedious shift of analyzing the files Apollo had given them on The New
Hope.  With Rigel and Shephard, she had spent the better part of two
centars sifting through all the information to determine which files
would even be useful to them.  Then they had split those between the
three of them to break into subgroups: flight information, crew, ship's
specs, and more.  Finally, at Colonel Tigh's behest, she and Shephard
took all the navigational data at their disposal and began the arduous
task of reconstructing the most likely path taken by The New Hope.
     Shephard had said that it was a mystery to him why they would meet
up now, when their own flight from the colonies began little more than
a yahren ago, yet that ship had launched over eight yahrens ago. 
Athena reminded him that after its initial launch, The New Hope had
been drifting, essentially, using its thrusters only for minor course
changes to conserve fuel.
     "Even so," he had told her, "They should be farther out than this
unless they ran into something or landed somewhere.  Unless they were
headed back... "
     "Well, we've still got a lot of records to check so maybe we'll
find something when we compare these data files to the information we
downloaded from their flight records."  Davis, the electronics chief,
had managed to rig a temporary connection to the ship's databanks.  He
insisted that he wasn't sure how good the link would be but until they
could get inside, it was the best he could do.  So far, it had proven
to be the most useful datastream that Athena and Shephard had.  She
glanced over to Shephard's station where he was staring intently at his
monitor.  Their plan was to calculate the ship's course independently:
she from the original flight data available, and he would
back-calculate its course from their intercept data.  The only problem
was that her answers made no sense.
     Athena checked her calculations a second time, then a third.  No,
there was nothing wrong with them.  She might have suspected the
validity of the original flight data except that on a hunch,  she had
searched the Galactica's archived records and found several short notes
on The New Hope's trajectory after launch.  So even though the company
funding the expedition had kept its course a secret, the military had
known exactly where the ship was headed.  At least for a time.
     She yawned and stretched her arms above her head one more time. 
Rising, Athena gathered some printouts and made her way to Shephard's
station.  The red-headed young man turned around when he heard her
approach.
     "I'm just finishing up, Lieutenant.  Did you find their last known
heading?"
     "Well, I'm not sure.  I thought I'd check these with you.  They
aren't making sense to me."  She handed him a copy of her computations. 
"See the projected trajectory at the bottom?" she continued as he
scanned the page.
     "Oh, I see what you mean.  According to this, there's no way they
could have met up with us, is there?" Shephard looked up at her
curiously.
     "Nope," Athena shook her head.  "At first I thought I must have
made a mistake, but I've gone over it twice and I still come up with
the same answer.  Unless I'm missing something... "
     She waited patiently while Shephard turned his attention back to
her work.  His face was a picture of concentration as he mentally
followed Athena's derivations, occasionally scratching a note in the
margin or using his terminal to check a calculation.  At last he pushed
the sheets back at her and tossed his stylus onto his own pile of
printouts.
     "If there's a problem with your figures, I can't find it," he
said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.  He shuffled through his own
paperwork, finally pulling a handful of sheets out from the middle of
the pile.  "Here, take a look at what I came up with."
     Athena pulled up a chair and took the offered printouts.  The more
she read, the more her feeling of unease grew.  "You were right.  These
trajectories are completely independent.  They shouldn't be here."
     "We must be missing some data somewhere.  We need to get at the
complete records.  There must have been course changes we don't know
about.  They could have been anywhere."
     "That's exactly what the Colonel and the Commander are afraid of. 
But the Lords of Kobol know when they'll get around to breaking the
seal on that thing. It could be days before we get to look at the
actual flight records."
     "I guess that's it for now, then."
     Athena thoughtfully traced the curve of her lower lip with her
finger.  "Maybe not.  I'm going to talk to my brother.  Maybe there's
something more he has, or a file we missed.  Even if he hasn't looked
at it in yahrens, he's got to be more familiar with what's here than we
are."
     "Uh, is Colonel Tigh going to be very happy about that?"  Shephard
was obviously thinking about the excitement at the beginning of their
shift when the captain had passed out on the bridge.  He looked around
nervously, like a kid expecting to be caught with his hand in the
mushies.
     "Let me worry about that, Corporal," Athena assumed a more
officious tone.  "If we're going to stop stumbling around in the dark,
we're going to need some help."  With that, she returned to her own
station and put a call in to Apollo's quarters.  She didn't want to
wake him so soon after the spell he'd had last night, but what they
needed to do, they could do from his quarters.  Strangely, though,
there was no answer to her summons.  That was not like him.  Even when
he was sick, he never failed to answer the com.  Unless...
     Athena glanced up quickly, looking for Colonel Tigh.  Good.  He
was busy up on the command platform, going over something with Omega. 
Quietly, she punched up a search of the duty areas of the Galactica. 
Nothing from the officers' mess, or the launch bay.  When a scan of the
launch tubes in alpha bay appeared on her screen, Athena felt the color
rising in her cheeks.  She'd almost forgotten about that little "steam
burn" she'd inflicted on Starbuck when she'd caught him with Cassiopeia
in the launch tube.  Feeling a bit guilty, she looked around to see if
anyone else had noticed her blush.  Poor Starbuck had taken the brunt
of the teasing for that incident, but for sectons after her rather
"unprofessional response", as Tigh had put it, she'd had to put up with
Omega sneaking up behind her and making his version of a noise like
escaping steam.
     Something on one of the scans caught her attention as it passed
by.  She stopped the series and backed up to the one she wanted.  Holy
Lords of Kobol!  What was Apollo doing down in the docking bay with
Croft?  She knew her brother could be single-minded but this was
ridiculous.  He'd already caught hades once from Colonel Tigh.  If
their father found out he had disobeyed orders and gone back down to
the ship... and since when did he start disobeying direct orders?  Then
again, this was Apollo.  She should have guessed he'd go straight back
there as soon as he got the chance.
     Frack.  Now she'd have to wait until he decided to go back to his
quarters.  She considered going to the bay herself, but Tigh would want
to know why she was headed down there.  As frustrated as she sometimes
got with Apollo, Athena didn't want to see him get in trouble.  If he'd
just damned well do as he was told and stay put, he'd be a lot bigger
help to her, though.  Well, sooner or later he would wise up and get
back to his quarters.  Maybe he'd even be smart enough to sleep one of
these days, although she decided not to hold her breath on that one.
     Athena looked across the bridge again.  Colonel Tigh was still
tied up with whatever he was doing.  Maybe she could slip out for a few
centons unnoticed.  She checked the monitor again.  Good, Apollo was
leaving the landing bay.  If she was quick enough, she could catch him
on his way back to his quarters.
     "Shephard, I'm going to go get a java or something.  Cover for me
for a few centons?"
     "'Or something'?" he asked, curiously.
     "Just don't ask too many questions, Corporal," she replied with a
wry grin.  Great!  Now she was starting to sound like her brother and
Starbuck.  She swore that when she got her hands on Apollo, first she'd
kill him, then she'd ask for his help.  She just hoped he'd appreciate
the trouble she was going to in order to keep his butt out of a sling. 
Brothers!

*************************

     The insistent ring of the door chime woke Cassiopeia from a sound
sleep.  She rolled over to see if she could convince Starbuck to get up
instead.  Then she remembered.  He had left for the docking bay early
to look after that ship, Old Whatever-it-was-called.  She covered her
eyes with her arm as she lay there, hoping whoever it was would go away
and let her sleep.  Yesterday had been a long, tiring shift at the life
center and she had to do it all over again today.
     The entry alert continued to ring.  So much for sleep.  Starbuck
must have come back and forgotten the key sequence for their chamber
again.  Cassie yawned and pushed at her ruffled hair, then swung her
legs over the edge of the bed.
     "I'm coming, I'm coming!"  She quickly pulled on her robe, crossed
the small sleeping area and entered the outer room.  "You can remember
the coordinates from your last six patrols, but you can't remember the
sequence to your own bloody chamber," she muttered sleepily, jabbing at
the control panel on the wall by the entryway.  The door slid open.
     "Oh!"  She started when she realized it wasn't Starbuck.  "Apollo,
what are you doing here?  You should be on sleep period."
     "Cass, I need your help."
     The look of desperation on his face jolted her awake.  Something
had to be wrong.  "Come in."
     He took a couple of tentative steps into the room then turned to
face her.  "I'm sorry I woke you."
     "It's all right.  What's the problem?"  When he hesitated, she
took him by the elbow and guided him to the seating unit against the
wall.  She sat down facing him, watching a confusing mix of emotions
play on his face as he to struggled with what to say.  "Apollo, I know
you wouldn't get me out of bed for nothing.  What's wrong?"
     He swallowed hard before looking at her again, an uncommon fear
evident in his eyes.  "Cass, something's wrong with my hand."  He held
his right hand out to her.
     She took his hand gently, wondering what had prompted this change
of attitude.  It wasn't so many centars ago that he had been surly and
uncooperative in the life center.  "Maybe you'd better tell me what
happened."  Cassie took hold of his arm and began to examine his hand.
     "I keep dropping things.  I can pick something up, then, suddenly,
it's like my hand short-circuits and I can't feel it anymore.  I just
lose all my strength and no matter how hard I try, I can't hang onto
anything."
     That didn't sound good, but be damned if Cassiopeia could say
whether or not it might have anything to do with the fainting spell
he'd had yesterday.  She held his arm by the elbow, then with her other
hand began to turn his wrist as far as it would go in each direction.
"Do you have feeling in it now?"
     He nodded mutely as he watched her.
     "Good.  I want you to tell me if anything I do hurts you."  She
continued examining him, moving and stretching the wrist, hand and
fingers.  Then she curled his fingers into a fist and squeezed it tight
with her own.
     "Ow!"  He pulled his hand back as if he'd just been burned.
     She looked up at him.
     "Frack!"  He shook his hand painfully.
     "Did that do it?" Cassie prompted gently.
     "Yes."  His expression was a combination of concern and annoyance. 
He shook his hand again before she was able to grasp hold of it and
hold him still.
     "Ahh, careful!" he told her as she slowly eased his palm open and
stretched the fingers.  There was a definite lack of responsiveness to
her touch.
     Cassiopeia pushed his sleeve up to his elbow then began to work
her thumbs in small opposing circles on the inside of his forearm,
slowly moving toward his hand.  She had learned a number of massage and
relaxation techniques as a socialator, some for more intimate pursuits,
and some that were more therapeutic in nature.  Now she couldn't even
remember the number of times she had found those techniques to be
helpful in her present designation.  Simply working an injury to
increase relaxation and blood flow often had far-reaching beneficial
effects.  "How is it now?" she asked as she felt Apollo relax slightly.
     "It burns a bit, but I'm starting to get some feeling back in my
fingers."
     She studied his face as he watched her work.  Cassie could see the
muscles of his jaw begin to relax even as she could feel the increased
circulation and softness in his arm.  When she finished, he continued
to stare at his hand, stretching it out gingerly.
     "It's better now," he said, finally looking up to meet her eyes. 
"Thank-you."
     "You know you should have gone to see Salik in the life center,"
she admonished him.
     "I know," he admitted, looking away uncomfortably.
     Cassie crossed her arms and continued to stare at him with the
expression she usually reserved for Starbuck when he was trying to
double-talk his way out of something he'd done.  She knew she had a
talent for forcing those two to cut through the felgercarb.  Apollo
swallowed hard for the second time before he spoke.
     "Cass, I'm scared.  I've never had anything like this happen to me
before."
     Cassiopeia sighed heavily.  "Apollo, you've got to help us.  We're
doing the best we can but if you keep hiding it when something's wrong,
we can't help you.  Then something may happen that you really will have
to be scared about."
     "I know, I just... I didn't want to give Dr. Salik any more of a
reason to ground me."
     "He's not stupid, Apollo.  He knows about your headaches.  We both
do."
     The captain's expression shifted to one of unexpected surprise.
     Cassiopeia continued.  "And after last night, you aren't going to
get anywhere near a Viper until we're sure you're healed."  When it
looked as though Apollo was about to open his mouth in protest, she cut
him off before he could speak.  "Now, I'm on shift again at 1000
centars and I'll be expecting you to come in again for a scan.  Don't
worry, we'll find out what's at the bottom of this."
     They rose and walked silently together to the door where he turned
and put a hand on her shoulder.  Cassie noted the hopeful gaze that met
her own.
     "I'm not trying to be ungrateful, you know," he said softly.  "I'm
just finding this a bit hard to deal with."
     "I understand," she replied, knowing how he hated to be
vulnerable, how he needed to be dependable for everyone else.  As
different as they were, Apollo and Starbuck were alike in that respect. 
"Just let me help you.  That's what I'm here for."  She didn't
understand the brief sad look that crossed his face, but it was gone as
quickly as it appeared, and he opened the door to leave.
     "Thanks, Cassie."
     "Just make sure you stop by the life center later, or I'll send
Starbuck and Boomer after you."
     He smiled and turned on his heel to go.  After the panel slid
shut, Cassie tried to decide what to do.  Sleep would be out of the
question now.  Maybe it was time to do a little more reading in the
life center.  Apollo's symptoms didn't all fit with the usual
expectations for post-concussion syndrome, so something else had to be
going on.  But what?  And more importantly, would he do as he was told
this time, before things got worse?

*************************

     *It just figures that Croft would be involved with this fiasco,*
Starbuck thought as he looked over Kwan's shoulder at the unfamiliar
face in the hibernation pod.  *If he'd just left well enough alone, we
could have processed the ship properly.*  Now they were racing to
analyze the readouts from the lifepods and keep up with the programs
reviving the two crew-members.  As if that wasn't enough, Starbuck also
had to prepare the updates Tigh wanted every thirty centons, manage the
rest of the crews, and keep word of The New Hope from leaking out to
the rest of the fleet.  It was almost enough to make him wish for a
good, old-fashioned alert to restore a little of his sanity.
     "No doubt about it."  The sound of Kwan's voice immediately
brought him back to the job at hand.  It was the first time she'd
spoken out loud in centons.  "These two will be conscious in another
centar at this rate."
     "Are you sure you don't want me to get Dr. Salik or Dr. Paye down
here?" he asked nervously.
     Kwan turned at these latest words of encouragement and fixed him
with an exasperated glare, "I've been on more deep space flights and
treated more hibernation sickness than you've seen Cylons.  I think I
can handle it."
     Starbuck felt himself blush.  "Well, all right, uh... carry on,
then.  Let me know if you need anything."
     "Lieutenant, if I _need_ anything, you will be the first to know,"
she replied, annoyed.  A shake of her dark head told Starbuck that she
had about had enough of his interference.  He should have known.  Kwan
was in her fifties and had been a med-tech in the Colonial service for
many yahrens already when he first arrived on the Galactica.  She was a
short woman, but sturdy and no-nonsense.  In the sickbay, he'd seen her
overpower warriors twice her size to get them back in their med-beds. 
He'd also seen her treat the injured with a tender compassion equaled
only by her toughness.  Her hair was just a little more grey than the
day he met her, but other than that, there was no evidence that she was
not still the same tough medico who'd given him his first official
physical.
     Suddenly, Starbuck found himself being pushed into the computer
bank beside the cryo-chambers.  "What the...?"
     "For Sagan's sake, Starbuck, get out of the way!" growled a voice
he recognized all too well.  Apollo's arms were full, carrying a crate
of equipment, and he'd nearly tripped over Starbuck as he stood in the
passageway.
     "Apollo, what are you doing in here?!"
     "He's here at my request," Athena spoke up from behind her brother
as he continued past Starbuck.  "I need his help with something."
     "Now what?  Does Colonel Tigh know about this?"
     "No, and we're going to keep it that way," Athena replied.  When
Starbuck gave her a look she added, "I need his help with some
navigation data.  We're having trouble reconciling the projected course
with the ship's last location.  We've already been through all the data
we've got and we still can't make sense of it.  So, now that the ship's
open, we're going to download the flight records.  Apollo says he knows
where they are and how to link them up."
     Starbuck rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in mock despair. 
"Great," he muttered as he followed them to the cockpit.  "I'm already
halfway out the airlock and you guys are gonna seal the hatch if the
colonel gets wind of this."
     Starbuck stepped gingerly over the case Apollo had deposited at
the cockpit door.  The cabin was almost roomy compared to a Viper but
still had space for only two people.  Someone from one of the other
teams had previously left a number of data recorders sitting in the
co-pilot's chair.  He and Athena would be forced to stand behind
Apollo.  The captain was already seated in the pilot's chair and had
accessed the flight record on the ship's main terminal when Starbuck
squirmed his way into the cramped space beside Athena. Her response was
a sharp elbow to the ribs.
     "Ow!"
     "Well, don't step on me!"
     "Would you two knock it off?!"  Apparently Apollo was in one of
his moods again.  "I can't get the entire record from here for some
reason.  That shouldn't happen...I'm going to have to try a direct link
to the navigation module."
     Starbuck had to back out of the cockpit when Apollo got up to
remove a panel from the front console.  His best friend then laid down
on the floor, pushed himself underneath the console and began to pull
on various wires and God knew what else.
     "Athena, can you get me that work torch?" he asked from the bowels
of the central computer.
     "Yeah."  She pushed past Starbuck, out into the main corridor.
     Starbuck stuck his head down closer to where Apollo was working. 
"Hey buddy, not to intrude on your little project here, but do you have
any idea what you're doing?"  He was beginning to have visions of deep
space probes until hades froze over if he let Apollo do anything to
damage the computer system.
     "Do you really think I'd be under here if I didn't?"
     "That's not an answer."
     Apollo sighed.  "Yes, I know what I'm doing.  I can access the
navigation module from here and do a direct download of the flight data
if I bypass the main system."
     "Are you sure that it's safe?"
     "Starbuck, it's a remote, okay?!  Where's that damned torch?!"
     "Right here," Athena had finally returned with the lamp.  "It took
me a centon to find it."  She handed it to Apollo.
     After another few centons of fiddling with connections, Apollo
finally pulled a line out from where he was and handed it back in
Starbuck and Athena's direction.  "Here," came his muffled voice as he
continued to work under the console.  "Connect this to a portable and
download it when I tell you."  Athena powered up the computer they'd
brought with them and prepared to access the data they wanted.
     "Okay, do it now."
     Athena hit the 'return' key.  Suddenly the ship's lights dimmed
visibly, then slowly returned to their normal brightness.
     "What in hades...?" Starbuck began.
     "Hey!  What are you doing up there?!" Kwan.loudly demanded.  "Oh
frack!"
     Starbuck rushed back to where the med-tech was monitoring the
hibernators.  "What is it?  What's happened?"
     "This is _not_ good."  Kwan was as agitated as Starbuck had ever
seen her.  She moved quickly from one pod to the next, pausing only
long enough to glance at the control panels, which were now dark and
silent.  "We've lost power to the hibernation units.  I'm going to need
that help now, Lieutenant.  Get Dr. Salik and tell him we need cryo
units down here as fast as we can get them."
     Starbuck relayed the request to the life center then turned and
stalked back up to the cockpit.  Angrily, he pushed past Athena,
grabbed Apollo by the boots and yanked him out from under the console.
     "Ow, damn it!" Apollo rubbed at his elbow where he'd bashed it on
the edge of the panel.  "Starbuck, what do you think you're doing?"
     "We just lost power to the hibernation units, Captain
'I-know-what-I'm -doing'!"
     "What?"
     "You just shorted out the ship!"
     "That's impossible."
     "Tell that to the crew in those hibernators!"
     "Apollo, he's right."  Athena had run back to check with Kwan.
     "Something's not right, that can't happen," Apollo shook his head
in disbelief.
     "What in hades did you do under there?!"  Starbuck was livid. 
"You just couldn't follow orders and let me look after this, could
you?"
     "That's a switch for you, isn't it?" Apollo shot back.
     "Apollo, Starbuck, stop it!  We've got a real problem if we can't
get those hibernation units back on-line."
     "She's right," Starbuck glared at his friend.  "Now, you'd better
get back under there and undo whatever you did."
     "Is that an order, Lieutenant?" Apollo snarled back at him as he
crawled under the computer terminal once more.
     "Just do it!"  Starbuck couldn't believe what he was hearing.  The
hibernation units were fried and Apollo wanted to argue with him.  What
was he thinking?  The lieutenant quickly made his way back to where
Kwan was manually opening the two chambers that had already begun to
wake the first two crew members.
     "These two should be all right," she told him.
     "What about the others?"
     "I don't know.  We had two other cryo-chambers prepared, maybe we
can save two more of them."
     "What are you talking about?  Don't we have other cryo-units?"
     "It takes a centar to cool them down to operating temperature,
Lieutenant.  We weren't planning on waking them all up at once!  These
poor buggers have lost their life support and we can't use standard
revival techniques when they're frozen.  They won't last the time it
takes to cool a chamber down.  They're as good as dead."
     "What if we can restore power to these units?" he asked hopefully.
     "It'd have to be fast," she replied as she scanned the first of
the doomed crew-members.  "They're starting to slip."
     "Starbuck!"  Apollo was running towards him from the front of the
ship.
     Starbuck saw red.  All of the time he'd spent worrying about the
people on board this ship, only to have Tigh and the commander dress
him down for bringing the ship in... and after all that they were about
to be sacrificed because Apollo couldn't keep his nose out of the way. 
Damn his fracking curiosity!  He grabbed his boyhood friend by the
shoulders and slammed him into the bulkhead, knocking the wind out of
him.  "Do you know what you've done?!"
     Apollo tried to shake him off but Starbuck had a death-grip on
him.  He slammed Apollo against the bulkhead again, furious.
     "Starbuck, stop it!"  Athena pulled at his arm.  He whirled on
her, almost ready to strike.  He stopped as she flinched, suddenly
recognizing her face.  He released Apollo with one last shove, then
turned on Athena, jabbing his finger at her angrily.
     "And you!  You let him do this!"
     "Starbuck," Apollo wheezed, "We've got to get this ship out of
here now."
     "The crew is dying, Apollo!"
     "Get them off the ship, but we've got to get it out of here now!"
     Hadn't Apollo heard a word he'd said?  Why didn't he care about
their own people?
     "Starbuck, listen to me."  It was Athena.  "The ship has been
tampered with.  That's why we couldn't get the flight data to
coordinate."
     "You're crazy, both of you!"
     "Starbuck, there's a homing beacon wired into the navigational
system..."
     "So?"
     Apollo was bent double, trying to catch his breath.  "It doesn't
belong there."
     Starbuck stared at him, still not understanding.
     "Damn it, Starbuck, it's Cylon!  It must have been set to cut the
power to the hibernators as soon as we tried to access the full flight
records."
     "What do the Cylons have to do with this?"
     "It's emitting a signal!  If we don't get this ship out of here
and on a course away from the fleet, it's going to lead the Cylon task
force right to us!"
     "Oh Lord..."  Starbuck felt lightheaded, as though he'd just
passed through a gravity well.  All the puzzle pieces finally clicked
into place.  He turned to look at the still forms in the hibernators. 
"Then they never stood a chance.  They're Cylon decoys!"
      Starbuck contacted Colonel Tigh as Salik arrived with the first
of the cryo-units.  He watched helplessly as Apollo, Athena and Kwan
transferred The New Hope's crew while he explained the craziness of the
last ten centons to the colonel.  "Emergency briefing- five centons,"
he told Apollo and Athena woodenly.  As they all left the ship, he had
an overwhelming urge to run, but his feet felt as if they were bolted
to the deck. Just like the most horrifying of his childhood nightmares
where the demons of hades were drooling in pursuit and all he could
manage was a heart-stopping crawl.  Unfortunately, unlike those
nightmares, this was not a dream he could wake up from.

*************************

     In a corner in the back of the room, Croft sat quietly, still
nursing the ale he'd ordered when he'd first entered the crew-members'
lounge half a centar earlier.  He hated the whole damned thing, he
decided.  He hated Sheba for finding the ship, he hated Apollo for
knowing what it was, and he hated Colonel Tigh for assigning him to
this lousy duty.  Most of all, he hated Leda for putting him in this
position to begin with.
     The barkeep approached him, for the second time, with a pitcher to
refill his mug, but Croft waved him away.
     "Why did you order it if you're not going to drink it?" he asked
curiously.
     "It makes me feel better to stare into it's golden depths and
contemplate my loss," Croft replied sarcastically.
     "Why?  What did you lose?"
     "Oh, nothing at all," Croft responded with as much emotion as the
barkeep had ever seen him show.  "Just the work of another entire
lifetime."

*************************

Chapter Seven- Anticipation

     "Now what, Commander?"  
     'Now what', indeed?  It was a question Adama had asked himself at
least a thousand times in the past centar.
     "Now we wait and see if our ploy works," he finally replied. 
Adama paced his quarters nervously as he waited for news of The New
Hope's successful re-launch.  "It has been sectars since our last
encounter with the Cylons.  We haven't picked up any sign of them;
presumably they have also been unaware of our location."
     "If we're lucky..."
     Adama looked back over his shoulder in mild irritation.  His
executive officer could always find the darkest side of any situation. 
It wasn't that his attitude was defeatist; he was merely being
realistic.  Tigh's attention to the worst-case scenario had become
essential to their defensive strategy.  Adama preferred to be
optimistic but his long-time friend always made sure he considered all
possible outcomes- no matter how distasteful.  "Perhaps, Tigh, but we
barely picked up the signal from that ship.  I believe that the Cylons
must also be far away from her or we would have discovered them by
now."
     "What I'm afraid of is that they sent that ship in our direction
to get our attention, to slow us down so they could catch up."
     Adama stopped before the porthole vidscreen, staring off into
space as he considered Tigh's arguement.  Finally he spoke.  "We have
made numerous random course changes since our last contact with the
Cylons.  They couldn't possibly know where to send that ship so that it
would intercept us.  No, Colonel, I think it far more likely that this
was a last ditch effort to locate us.  They're getting desperate."
     "So will our people if they find out."
     "You mean 'when', old friend.  Siress Tinia notified me that
Councillor Burgess has begun asking questions.  If he has found out
about our 'guests', the rest of the Council will know in short order."
     "There's no reason they need to know," Tigh pressed.  "Especially
now, it's become strictly a military matter.  You alone have authority
in the case of fleet defense since the Council restored martial law."
     Adama sighed.  "In name only, Tigh.  You know that as well as I
do.  Eventually the Council will have to be told about The New Hope."
     "I thought you were going to try to keep it from them."
     The commander shook his head.  "No, Colonel.  Only to delay the
inevitable long enough to determine the threat to our fleet before the
Council's meddling starts."  The commander rubbed at his forehead to
assuage the mild ache he frequently associated with the Council of the
Twelve.
     "Well, thanks to Athena and Apollo we discovered that homing
beacon sooner than we might've otherwise."
     Adama nodded.  Tigh was coming to the defense of his officers,
once again.  This time, Adama was more than grateful for his daughter's
independence and his son's stubbornness.
     "And to you, Colonel," Adama smiled, adding his thanks.  "Don't
think I've forgotten who insisted on computing those course matchups
before we did anything else."
     Tigh looked away, embarrassed by the commander's praise.  "It was
the logical thing to do."
     "Tigh, when you see Apollo, please tell him I'm glad he was there. 
I'd hate to think what might have happened if that beacon had gone
undiscovered."
     Tigh smiled.
     *Probably remembering the looks on Apollo's and Athena's faces
when they arrived at the emergency briefing,* Adama decided, recalling
himself how guilty they had looked.  He couldn't recall seeing the two
of them looking that way since the time they had led their younger
brother around Caprica City for a night of revelry when Zac had reached
legal age.  Of course, they had left most of the revelry up to Zac then
teased him mercilessly the following morning when he could hardly get
out of bed.  Adama remembered that he had been less than impressed at
their sense of responsibility and had made that quite clear as soon as
he had discovered what they had done.
     "They didn't say anything," Tigh said aloud, "but I think they
were a little worried about how you'd react."
     Adama allowed himself a chuckle before becoming serious again. 
"So now we wait.  And pray that Starbuck gets that ship back onto it's
original course before the Cylons realize what's happened."
     "Will you be returning to the bridge, Sir?" Tigh asked as he rose
to leave.
     "Not just yet, Colonel.  I think it's time I spoke with Captain
Croft.  You did manage to find him?"
     "Yes, finally."  Tigh's expression changed to one of acute
displeasure.  "That is, if he hasn't wandered off again."  To say that
Tigh had been a little upset to find Apollo and Athena aboard The New
Hope after the frantic communique from Starbuck, would be stretching
the truth.  To suggest that he had been anything less than furious when
he discovered that Croft was nowhere to be found, would be a bald-faced
lie.
     "Good," Adama ignored his executive officer's demeanor.  "Have him
sent to me here immediately."  Though he hadn't confided in Tigh just
yet, Adama had his own suspicions about why Croft had been acting so
strangely since they had brought the ship aboard.
     "Yes, Commander."  Tigh started for the door.
     "One more thing, Colonel," Adama added.
     Tigh paused before the open hatch.
     "As long as Captain Apollo can't seem to stay out of trouble, you
might as well have him assign the extra patrols to watch for Cylon
pursuit."
     Tigh took the last few steps into the passageway then turned and
smiled.  "I believe he's already started on that, Commander."  Tigh
barely had time to glimpse the "I should have known" look that crossed
his commander's features just before the door slid closed.

*************************  

     Starbuck punched the buttons to fire up his turbos with tense
anticipation.  His thoughts drifted briefly to the events of the past
few centars as another part of him automatically listened for the
familiar whine of the turbo generators revving up to operating speed. 
They were taking The New Hope out again.  The slower trawlers, launched
just microns ago with the graceful ship in tow, would take centons to
reach the rendezvous point for their flight.  Starbuck, along with
Boomer, Jolly, and Sheba, were providing fighter escort.
     As he waited he thought of the hastily convened crisis management
session.  If Adama had been disappointed at the way in which The New
Hope had confirmed their worst fears, he hadn't shown it.  Starbuck, on
the other hand, was terribly disappointed.  He was sure they had caught
a break this time.  Here was a ship from their past, a ship with people
from the Colonies, from a time when the Colonies still thrived.  Now it
was just an empty husk.  No, worse than that.  It had been stolen and
corrupted by the Cylons.  Just like their lives.  Just like the
so-called peace conference that started this whole fracking trek across
the stars.  The galmonging Cylons always seemed to be able to find a
way to use their hopes and dreams against them.  What a liability hope
was becoming!  The New Hope's crew had no doubt launched with great
dreams about their mission.  Look where it got them.
     He remembered the look on Commander Adama's face as Salik had
personally come to the briefing to report on the ship's crew.  Three of
them were in critical condition in the life center and would probably
not survive the night.  They had been without life-support for at least
fifteen centons while they were transferred from their own powerless
chambers to the life center's cryo-units.  Their core temperatures had
risen uncontrollably as the medical staff tried desperately to cool
down more chambers.  As Salik had explained, with the considerable
tissue damage from that uncontrolled thaw, it would likely not be
enough to save them.
     Starbuck glanced over at Boomer, in the next ship to his left. 
His friend was sitting back in his viper, a faraway look on his face.
     "Hey, Boomer!"  The response to his hail was a slight, surprised
jerk of Boomer's head.  The black lieutenant slowly turned his head
toward Starbuck, his expression clearly indicating he wasn't pleased at
being startled.
     "What?"
     "What, 'what'?"
     Boomer rolled his eyes.  "Starbuck, what do you want?"
     "I wondered what you..." Starbuck was suddenly put off by the tone
of Boomer's voice.  "Nothing.  I was just trying to pass the time
before launch."
     "'Nothing', my foot; just spit it out.  You've been impossible to
talk to ever since we found this ship.  Now what's up?"
     "I dunno, Boomer.  It just bothers me how this has turned out."
     "Hey, we're all disappointed, Bucko."
     "It's not just that.  I feel like I let the commander down."
     "What, because you brought the ship in?  How were any of us
supposed to know about a homing beacon.  There's no way we could have
picked it up on our scanners.  Even the decon crews missed it."
     "Yeah, but..."
     "But what?"
     Starbuck paused, wondering how to say what he was thinking. 
"But... I was in charge."
     "Is that what this is about?"
     "Look, if you don't want to listen, forget it," Starbuck
straightened up and shifted his weight in the cramped cockpit, annoyed
at Boomer making light of his concerns.  Just then, Starbuck heard
Rigel's voice in his helmet, giving him clearance to launch the patrol. 
"Forget it, we've got to launch."
     "Starbuck, wait," Boomer said apologetically.  "You did everything
you could.  You can't help what Fate dishes out, you just do your job. 
That's all you did."
     "Yeah, well Apollo can have his job back anytime."  Starbuck
angrily punched up the coordinates for their rendezvous with the
trawlers.
     "It's still your show for a while yet, my friend."
     "Yeah, I guess it is."  Starbuck looked to his right, where
Apollo's empty viper sat on the launch tracks.  *Still, I wouldn't mind
if he was coming along,* he thought.  Then aloud, he told the patrol,
"All right boys and girls, we're cleared to launch.  Let's get this
over with."  He thumbed his turbos immediately, their roar in the
launch tube drowning out everything else.  Except for the whispered
"Good luck" he could have sworn was Apollo's voice barely sounding in
his imagination.

*************************

     Croft waited impatiently outside the commander's quarters.  He
knew all about the tactic of the forced delay; he'd used it on more
junior officers on numerous occasions.  It didn't stop him from doing
exactly what Adama expected him to do now: wonder what was coming. 
What exactly did the old man know?  Croft wanted to believe that he was
summoned to discuss why his scans hadn't detected the Cylon
interference.
     How could he have missed the homing beacon?  It was wired right
into the navigation system- the most obvious place for it to be.  Too
obvious, maybe.  Did he outsmart himself looking for something more
complicated?  Or was he just too distracted by The New Hope's
appearance in their landing bay?  No, Croft could remember the tests. 
He'd paid special attention to the navigation system because he knew
that was a likely place for tampering.  Of course, he had been looking
for explosives, not a homing beacon.  Still, there hadn't been any sign
of an alteration to the system.  He didn't even want to think about
what might have happened if Apollo and his sister hadn't stumbled upon
the beacon.  Scuttlebutt had it that it was at her prompting that
Apollo tried to download the flight data.  Smart lady.  Unfortunately
for the crew, a little too smart.  He hoped she hadn't felt at fault
when the life support failed.
     As soon as he had heard, Croft tried to find out what had happened
to the crew.  There was no information coming from the life center,
unfortunately, and Croft knew better than to start asking a lot of
suspicious questions about a restricted operation.  As far as he could
figure, by the time the system shorted the two that were awakening
should have been fine, but what about the rest?  And which of the crew
members had been awakened?
     The sound of the commander's door opening interrupted his
thoughts.  Without waiting for an invitation he stepped inside.  The
door slid closed.  Adama was busy at his desk making notes on a
datapad, seemingly oblivious to his presence.  Just as Croft began to
wonder if he should announce his arrival, the commander glanced at him
and motioned him in front of the desk.
     *Might as well get this over with,* Croft thought as he moved to
where Adama had indicated.  The old man's expression had given nothing
away but Croft noted that the chairs had been pushed away from the
front of the desk.  He assumed that meant he was to stand.  Croft
strode directly in front of where Adama sat, silently challenging the
older man, but maintaining an outward calm.  At least, Croft hoped he
looked non-committal.
     The commander continued to write for another centon, then
carefully laid down his stylus, and looked up at Croft.  He leaned back
with his fingers steepled under his chin and asked purposefully, "Who
do know aboard that ship?"
     For a moment, Croft thought the deck had opened up under him.  He
caught himself as he swayed unsteadily on his feet.  He felt his body
break out in a sweat.  If he'd had the luxury of panicking, he would
have.  In Adama's quarters, that option simply did not exist.  Even the
bloody Cylons didn't unnerve him as much as the commander of the
Galactica and his uncanny sixth sense.
     "How did you know?" he asked.
     "Croft, I am not a fool."  The commander paused as he took a drink
from a glass on the desk.  "Did you think I wouldn't notice how you
were so attentive to comments about the crew at our first meeting?  How
you so conveniently disappeared after the first two hibernation
chambers were activated?  Now, who do you know and what is their
relationship to you?"
     If Croft had ever considered lying to this man, he realized now
that it would be a terrible mistake.  He decided that the only thing
that could possibly save him was to tell the truth.  If he didn't,
Adama would find out soon enough anyway, if the crew were out of the
hibernators.
     "I'm acquainted with Dr. Almira, Sir."
     "She's a medical doctor?"
     "No, Sir.  She's quite a fine geologist."
     "Ah, yes," the commander nodded.  "Now I remember.  She did some
work for the Colonial military.  She was instrumental in helping us to
locate and neutralize certain Cylon mining operations."
     "Yes, Sir."  Croft guessed that Adama knew exactly who Almira was. 
He was testing to see if Croft was going to tell the truth.  When the
commander continued to stare at him, Croft realized he was waiting for
an answer to the second part of his question.  "She was my wife's older
sister, Commander."
     Adama's level expression remained unchanged, the steel grey eyes
boring into Croft's own, as if trying to read his mind.  *Who knew what
the old man was capable of?* Croft thought.  As if in response, the
commander spoke again.
     "That is not all she means to you, is it, Captain Croft?"
     'Captain Croft.'  Damn the old man!  He would have to remind him
of the debt he owed to Adama for setting him free after the Mt. Heckla
mission.  Croft's rank had been returned to him, he'd been given a
place among the rest of the fleet, and a life to call his own.  His
team had played a key role in the ground attack on the Cylon fuel base
at Gamorray.  Despite that, there were many who still questioned his
loyalty.  Foremost in their minds, he was a criminal.  But Adama had
been willing to take a chance on him.  For that he would be forever in
the man's debt.  And forever loyal.
     "It was Dr. Almira's geological reports that allowed us to plan
our raid on the Cylon platinum mine, Commander."
     "So she helped you plan that heist."
     "No, Sir.  Leda stole the reports from her, along with some
others.  The platinum mine wasn't our first job."  His worries out in
the open, Croft began to feel as though he was shedding layers of
deceit, like dead, peeling skin.  He could not have imagined how
freeing it would be to let out fears he had been holding inside for
yahrens.
     Adama motioned for Croft to pull up a chair.  He sank down in it
gratefully, only now realizing how stiffly he had been standing.
     "We'd planned a few little 'jobs' in conjunction with raids we
were involved in against certain Cylon mining outposts.  I don't know
what the others' motivations were, I never asked.  I needed the extra
money to pay off debts I had with some... less-than-scrupulous people. 
At that time, Leda didn't want to get involved.  I talked her into
stealing the geological reports from her sister.  It's not something
I'm proud of; it meant the end of our marriage."  Croft paused,
wondering how much of the story Adama wanted to hear.
     "Continue," the commander pressed.
     "We took small amounts at first.  No one noticed.  Then we got
greedy and took a little more.  Our base commander realized that
someone was skimming ores when he checked the mine production records
and our recovery records a little more closely, but he had no proof. 
Then on the platinum mine job, we were caught in the act."  Croft
laughed bitterly, "I had decided that it would be my last one.  You
already know the rest of the story."
     "That still doesn't explain what exactly you fear from Dr.
Almira," Adama pointed out.
     Croft stared hard at Adama for a micron, relieved at being able to
unburden his conscience but annoyed at being forced to recall all the
details of what he considered his former life.  "The reason they caught
us was that Almira realized that there was a connection between the
bases she had done geological reports on and the mines we hit.  She
knew there was only one person besides her who could have got that
information.  She alerted our base commander about the platinum mine
and that's how they caught us.  She came to see me once while we were
awaiting tribunal.  She blamed me for corrupting Leda, for ruining her
sister's life.  She swore that when I got out of prison for that heist,
she'd see that I was put on trial for the others."  Croft paused,
staring into space, his soul reaching back for a brief moment to
another time.  When the commander caught his eye, he sighed and said,
"Then she left on the deep space mission just after the tribunal.  I
thought she was as good as dead, but now she's come back to haunt me."
     Adama's face remained unreadable as he digested the story Croft
had told.  Finally, he said, "I believe you are telling the truth.  I
wish you had told me this before now, but I don't believe that the
Croft from that time is the same person before me now.  If I did, you
never would have been allowed to leave the Prison Barge.  I can only
hope that Dr. Almira will take the opportunity to know you as we do. 
If she wants to prosecute, I doubt the evidence that would be required
to put you on trial even exists anymore.  I suspect that when she is
told about the destruction of the colonies, she will have enough to
think about without worrying about you."
     "So she's alive?" Croft asked nervously.
     "Yes.  But I expect that to go no further than here."  Croft
nodded and the commander continued.  "I also expect that you will do
your best to make peace with Dr. Almira when you inform her of her
sister's death."
     "Me?" Croft was surprised.  "Commander, she's not going to want to
hear from..."
     "That is an order, Captain.  Like it or not, you two are the only
family each of you has left.  That is not something to throw away
because of past mistakes.  Do I make myself clear?"
     "Yes, Sir."
     Croft was still in shock as he and the commander spent the rest of
their meeting going over the possible reasons the scans had not picked
up the homing device.  When he was finally dismissed, he found he had a
new project with Davis' electronics lab, developing a scanner that was
more sensitive to operating frequency fluctuations.  He also felt a
relief that he'd not experienced since before The New Hope's arrival,
despite Adama's order to talk to Almira.  He was not certain what to
expect when he would finally be allowed to see her, but he would try. 
For Leda.  But for himself, he decided, the barkeep had been right all
along.  Now was the time when he could finally use that drink.

*************************

Chapter Eight- Calm Before the Storm
 
     "First, I get drunk, then I figure out what to say to Alivea,"
Croft muttered to no one in particular as he strode down the passageway
leading to Deck fifteen's officers' club.  He entered the lounge and
walked straight to the bar.
     "Andaeian whiskey and an ale," he said simply when the barkeep
raised a questioning eyebrow.  The man was well acquainted with Croft's
tastes and quickly provided him with a full mug and a glass of the
bitter whiskey.  Croft waited impatiently while his ID code was
dutifully recorded in payment, then briefly nodded his thanks.  He
threw the whiskey back in a single swallow, appreciating the long,
numbing burn that followed it down his throat.  Turning from the bar,
he surveyed the room with a cynical eye.  At this centar it was filled
mostly with bridge officers just off the second duty shift.  He was
accustomed to drinking with his own warriors, not a bunch of bookish,
uptight command ovines.  If there was one thing he disliked more than
the arrogance of the pilots, it was the officiousness of the command
ranks.
     As his gaze roved over the heads of the patrons, Croft spotted a
solitary figure seated in a corner at the back of the room.
     *Unusual for Starbuck to be drinking by himself,* he thought. 
*Then again, I'm drinking by myself.*  An amused smile crossed his
rugged features.  *Maybe we should both drink by ourselves, together.* 
With that he carefully wound his way through the throng surrounding the
bar.  As he approached the lieutenant, Starbuck finally looked up,
noticing him.  Croft almost laughed out loud when Starbuck looked
behind himself, first over one shoulder, then the other to see who else
Croft might have been looking for.  Of course, there was no one behind
him so he returned Croft's amused grin with a distrustful gaze.
     "You looking for me?" he asked dubiously as Croft sat down
opposite him.
     "Not exactly, but you'll do," came the amused reply.
     "What?"
     "Never mind," Croft shook his head, suppressing a snicker.  "Any
news about The New Hope?"
     Starbuck regarded him suspiciously for a moment before he spoke. 
"We took her out a while ago and put her back on course.  So far, so
good, last I heard.  Now we wait."
     "Great."  Croft hated waiting.  He had done enough of that in
prison.  In prison there was nothing to do but wait.  Oh, they tried to
"rehabilitate" you, all right.  Listening to some socio-councillor tell
you how to "channel your aggression in a positive manner" was enough to
kill you with sheer boredom.  The remembrance of some perky emotional
guidance student practicing her book theories on him was still enough
to make Croft's blood boil.  Those councillors had been about as far
removed from their subjects as the Council of the Twelve was from the
fleet's real concerns.
     "Croft, what do you want?"  Starbuck abruptly brought Croft's
thoughts back to the present.
     For a moment Croft regarded Starbuck with a cool expression,
wondering why he had bothered to talk to the lieutenant in the first
place.  Starbuck was making no attempt to hide his obvious distrust of
the former convict.  Suddenly Croft realized he had intuitively
approached Starbuck without knowing why.  A good reason now occurred to
him.
     "Your buddy's a sick man."
     "Don't play games with me, Croft.  What are you talking about?" 
Starbuck let his impatience show.
     "He didn't tell you, did he?" Croft was genuinely surprised.
     "Who didn't tell me what?"
     "Apollo."  There was a pause while Croft took a long draught of
his ale.  "He was helping me before the first two hibernation units
from the ship kicked in."
     "So?"
     "So he couldn't hold onto the scanner- kept dropping it.  He
couldn't have held a mug of hundred-yahren-old ambrosia if you'd taped
it to his hand.  Something's wrong with him and he's too afraid to
admit it.  He needs help."
     Starbuck frowned, his face darkening as he listened to Croft's
assessment.  This was obviously not the sort of thing he'd expected to
hear from him.
     For that matter, it wasn't the sort of thing Croft expected
himself to be concerned with.  But something about Apollo's manner had
truly worried him.  There was a desperation he had sensed from the
young captain- almost bordering on panic.  He still wasn't sure why he
cared even this much.  If someone had asked him what he found so
interesting about the captain of the squadrons, Croft would have been
hard put to give an answer.  Maybe it was because he enjoyed needling
the young man; he rarely failed to provide some kind of reaction. 
Maybe it was because Croft had been expecting to have to drag a spoiled
commander's brat up a mountain on Arcta, but had been surprised by the
young man's commitment and ingenuity.  Maybe it was because he saw
something he respected in Apollo's concern for all the warriors under
his command.  Maybe it was because he genuinely liked the young man.
     Starbuck's face was still a mask of concentration, mulling over
what he had just been told.  Croft swallowed the last of his drink and
rose to his feet.  Starbuck followed his lead after a micron, staring
quizzically at Croft.
     "You're his friend.  I thought you should know," Croft told him
matter-of-factly before turning to leave.
     "Croft!"  Starbuck's voice stopped him and he turned around. 
"Thanks."  Belatedly, he offered his hand.
     The ex-convict nodded and accepted the lieutenant's extended arm,
noting the sincerity in the man's voice.  Somehow the urge to drink
himself into a stupor, rather than think about what to say to his
sister-in-law, had dissipated.  If he could have this effect on
Starbuck, maybe he stood a chance with Alivea.  After all, it wasn't as
if he had a choice.  Even if he tried to avoid her, Alivea would find
out about him soon enough anyway.  And Commander Adama would
undoubtedly be expecting to hear that he'd at least made an attempt to
talk to her.  No doubt the Old Man would remember to check on him, so
he would try.  He owed the man that much.  Briefly, Croft wondered what
it was about Adama and his clan that inspired such loyalty.  He didn't
think about it long.  Honesty didn't need much explanation.

*************************  

     Commander Adama sat at the desk in his quarters, a cold,
half-eaten meal at his elbow.  His piercing grey eyes were riveted to
the computer screen before him as he silently reviewed Colonel Tigh's
summary of the compiled information on The New Hope.  Once in a while
the commander picked at the unappetizing meal while he read.  He had
started to review the data about the ship's known course when he began
to get an uneasy feeling.
     Where had that ship been?  There were too many gaps in their
records.  Even though they now knew the terrible fate of the ship and
her crew, he was uneasy about all the time unaccounted for.  How long
had the ship been controlled by the Cylons?  It was clear they had
tampered with the ship's electronics, but had they also tampered with
the crew?  Dr. Salik's preliminary medical report on the five surviving
crew members indicated that there seemed to be no evidence of previous
revival or interrogation of any kind, but how could they be sure?  Too
many questions- not enough answers!
     The two men who had expired were now being held in cryogenic
suspension, awaiting the outcome of this latest crisis.  They wouldn't
hold a memorial service or lay the poor devils to rest until this was
over.  At the very least, Adama thought it proper that they should wait
until the survivors were recovered enough to help attend to such a
service.  As it was, the fifth survivor was still critical in the life
bay and Salik would not make a prediction on the young woman's chances
for survival.
     Adama leaned back in the chair and wearily rubbed his tired eyes. 
Thinking to stretch, he rose and walked to the low table across from
the desk.  He picked up the decanter sitting there and poured himself a
small glass of the red Tauran summer berry wine.  As he was about to
set it down again, something caught his eye.  Slowly he raised the
flask to look at it in the light.  It was one of the few things he had
recovered from his home on Caprica.  The decanter had been a wedding
gift from Ila's mother and father.  Ila's mother had received an
identical one on her wedding day.  She had said it was a symbol of the
love of the married couple.  It was never to be left empty, but filled
again and again.  The wine represented the normal course of the
marriage.  There were times when it would be in need of replenishment
and times when it was almost full to overflowing.  There were times
when it would be shared unselfishly with friends and family, and times
when it would pass only between two people.  Eventually there might
come a time when only a single glass would be poured.  Like now.  Like
that awful night on Caprica.
     There it was- the chip in the glass that had caught Adama's eye. 
When he had found it in their destroyed home on Caprica, the night of
the holocaust, the decanter had fallen to the floor but stayed
miraculously intact, save for a small chip out of one corner.  Somehow,
when it fell, it had landed upside down in a pile of books and debris
against a desk.  The stopper had been wedged closed and not a single
drop of the wine it contained had spilled.  The symbolism had not been
lost on Adama.  Before he and Apollo returned to the Galactica that
night, he had found a glass and poured a single drink for himself. 
Then he and Apollo had shared another to honour Ila, Zac and the other
members of their family who had likely been killed in that terrible
ambush.  Later, back aboard the Galactica, he, Apollo and Athena had
all shared the wine once more in remembrance of their family and their
civilization.
     That wine was gone now but he always replaced with whatever he
could find.  Once, for Boxey's sake, it had even held fruit juice. 
That was the day they had all gathered to remember Apollo's wife,
Serina.  Turning his head slightly, Adama gazed at the starfield
projected on the porthole viewscreen above the seating unit.  His
thoughts turned to his eldest son.  Apollo had caused him a great deal
of consternation these past few days.  Adama was well aware of how
non-compliant the young man had been with his convalescence.  He was
also well aware of how frustrating that inactivity was.  He would have
liked to confine Apollo to quarters until further notice but now that
the threat from the Cylons was again very real, he knew he might need
to call on his flight commander's considerable tactical experience. 
But he'd be damned if Apollo would get anywhere near the cockpit of a
viper.
     Sighing, Adama returned the carafe to the table.  He sipped
gratefully at the wine, appreciating the hope it represented.  The
commander turned slowly back to the desk and the numerous reports
demanding his attention.  Deliberately, he made his way back to his
work.  So many decisions to make.  He had not asked to lead the fleet,
it had simply fallen to him to look after their people- by default. 
What he really wanted was to rest.  Just once, Adama wanted to
experience a single night of peaceful, uninterrupted sleep.

*************************  

     Sheba was too preoccupied to sleep.  In the dark she heard every
cough, every restless turn of her bunkmates as she longed to be asleep
like they were.  Even a trip to the workout centre with Boomer had
failed to tire her enough to allow the relief of blissful sleep.  She
had almost confided in Boomer about the falling out between her and
Apollo, but at the last micron, something had kept her from telling
him.  He had noticed her preoccupation, had even commented on her lack
of concentration.  Boomer was such a good friend.  He had given her
every opportunity to discuss what was bothering her but had never
pushed.  She had wanted so badly to tell him- to tell someone- but she
couldn't.  It was the only way she could distance herself from the
confusion.
     If only she could talk to Bojay.  Sheba felt a pang of regret at
how her friendship with Bojay had suffered over the last few sectars. 
Back on the Pegasus she and Bojay had been more than just wingmates,
they had been the closest of friends.  There was a time when she would
have been comfortable telling him anything.  But now?  Something had
changed him since they'd been forced to come aboard the Galactica.  At
first he seemed more than happy to revisit old friendships from his
first assignment here, but since the disappearance of Count Iblis he'd
become more and more distant.  That wasn't quite right; it didn't have
anything to do with Iblis.  It had everything to do with her deepening
relationship with Apollo.  As hard as she had tried to excuse Bojay's
increasingly surly disposition where their strike commander was
concerned, deep down, Sheba knew that Bojay was jealous.
     She had tried to ignore the problem, hoping it would resolve
itself, but the tenuous peace between Apollo and Bojay had only become
more strained, as had her friendship with Bojay after his role in
injuring Apollo at the triad game two sectons ago.  Oh, Drake had been
the one to do the damage, but Bojay had no doubt encouraged him, even
if only indirectly.  Sheba knew better than to lie to herself about
Bojay's motivations, just as she realized she could no longer lie to
herself about her relationship with Apollo.  She shut her eyes tight
against the tears that began to form as she remembered their argument
in his quarters and how strongly he had resisted any of her attempts to
reach him.  Finally she had to tell him she couldn't stand to be shut
out of his heart.  And he had just stood there and let her go without a
word of protest.  Inaudible sobs shook her weary body as the tears
slipped out from under her long, dark lashes and silently slid down her
cheeks to soak into the pillow.
     She'd had to do it.  She'd had to call off their engagement before
they both did something they would regret.  She had been half-submerged
in an ocean of pent-up emotion since her father disappeared.  She'd
called out and Apollo had answered.  Now she realized that he wasn't
answering her plea for help, he was drowning too.  He couldn't help
her, he couldn't even help himself.  It had almost been too late.  She
had almost let him pull her under- just the way a drowning man could do
to a would-be rescuer.  Everything in her soul screamed out that it was
her only choice.  She had to walk away while she still could; she knew
that.  But that didn't make it any easier.  And unfortunately for her
anguished heart, it didn't stop her from loving him.

*************************  

     Lieutenant Doyle of yellow squadron wanted to be anywhere but out
on patrol.  Well, not "anywhere", exactly.  Specifically, he wanted to
be back in the rejuvenation center, valiantly protecting the lovely
Ensign Fahrada from the tedious attentions of one Sergeant Hallett from
beta flight deck.  He could picture the evening's merriment- a little
friendly conversation, perhaps a few games of flipchance (graciously
losing once or twice to the lady to help her feel conciliatory), then a
leisurely stroll to the officers' club where he would purchase a bottle
of the finest ambrosia the Galactica's stores had to offer; a few
drinks, a bit more stimulating conversation, then who knew where the
evening might go?
     "Doyle, did you pick anything up on the scanner?"
     Doyle's dreams of a romantic evening were shattered in an instant
by the sound of his captain's voice over the com.  They were a number
of centars out from the fleet, still looking for evidence of Cylon
pursuit, and he was point man on what had so far been a strained but
uneventful patrol.  He didn't mind flying under Captain Drake- the man
was good in a battle, but on patrol he was about as lively and
interesting as an Otori mating ritual.
     "No, Sir," he replied, glancing again at the unchanged scanner
readout.  "Same as last checkpoint.  Scanner's clear, but I'm closing
in on the system Captain Hecate picked up on her last deep probe."
     "Good.  As soon as I finish my sweep, I'll come up and join you. 
Hold position at omega-three-five until I get there."
     "Aye, Cap'n."
     Doyle programmed a holding pattern for his flight computer to
execute when he reached the desired coordinates, then leaned back
against his seat with a sigh.  He had been so close to winning Fahrada
over- he could feel it.  She was almost ready to succumb to his charms
when Captain Drake had found him and dragged him away for patrol duty. 
Caught like a poisson in the net.  Damned Hallett.  He could still see
the amused smirk on his friend's face as he prepared to take advantage
of all Doyle's hard work.  Ah, no matter.  Fahrada was sure to see
right through Hallett's shallow attempts to woo her.  Wasn't she?  Sure
she was, she was a right smart lass.  But Hallett could be clumsily
charming when he wanted to... after all, he had learned by watching
Doyle, hadn't he?  Dirty beggar!  He'd have to catch Ensign Fahrada
tomorrow and try to undo all the damage that had probably been done
tonight.
     If only Drake had found someone else instead.  But then, this was
probably his squadron commander's idea of punishment for that little
donnybrook he'd started with the engineering techs last secton.  Doyle
grinned widely, remembering how poorly the six hapless engineers had
fared against himself, Hallett, Ensign Power and Lieutenant Shonn.  As
fist-fights went, there was no real damage done since, to a man, they
had already been three-quarters knackered when it started.  And it had
been a fine way to vent a lot of frustration.  Besides, that would
teach the bloody sooks to criticize their singing.  As far as that
went, Doyle didn't think Captain Drake was really in any position to
say much about picking a fight with other officers.  He'd keep that
opinion to himself, though.
     Doyle logged another reading of the planetary system from his
forward scan then switched to rear scan again to find Drake's viper
rapidly approaching his position.  He adjusted course as Drake
wordlessly pulled up alongside him.  They flew together on a heading
taking them straight into the tiny system.
     *Not much of a system, really,* Doyle thought.  *Three miserable
hunks of rock barely bigger than an asteroid and one real planet with
almost no atmosphere orbiting a weak star that should be embarrassed to
call itself a sun.*  The closest of the "miserable hunks of rock" was
within three thousand kilometrons.  They would reach it in another few
centons at their present speed.
     "Doyle, I want you to check out this planet and the next one in." 
Drake had finally spoken again.  "I'm going on to the third and fourth. 
We'll rendezvous and head back once we know there's nothing here to be
concerned about."
     "Aye, Sir," Doyle replied to his squadron commander's ion trail. 
"Bloody well can't even wait around for a proper response," the
lieutenant muttered softly to himself as the roar of Drake's thrusters
hummed in his ears.  Drake hadn't even had the decency to break the com
before he fired his turbos.
     "I heard that, Doyle!"
     Doyle started at the sound of Drake's voice over the thrusters.
     "Now get your astrum in gear and get those surfaces scanned or I
might be tempted to put you down for the next deep probe.  That's a
promise."
     "Yes, Captain," Doyle said, chagrined.  Blasted son-of-a-boray. 
He knew he should have kept his mouth shut but he could never resist
the temptation to make a smart-astrum comment.  Just like when he was
in school as a kid, then later at the academy- he'd found it easy to
make everyone else laugh but it was usually at the expense of one of
the instructors.  And he'd always paid for it whenever he was found
out.  "Now I just have to stay out of trouble long enough to miss
another deep space probe," he said to himself as he adjusted course to
intercept the first planet.  "Great!"
     As he approached the nondescript grey mass, Doyle programmed the
necessary surface scans and sat back to make a lazy orbit of the
planet.  The light from the scanner created an eerie glow in the dark
cockpit as readouts began to flicker across the screen.  Doyle silently
monitored the readings.  Nothing.  There couldn't be anything less
interesting than this lonely rock.  Unless it was an account of
Hallett's love life.  Doyle chuckled to himself as he thumbed his
turbos and headed for the next planet.
     The second mass turned out to be as interesting as the first.  At
least that meant the fleet was in no danger from this quadrant.  As
much as they could tell anyway.  As far out as their patrol was, there
wasn't much chance of anyone accidentally stumbling across them.  Since
the bugged ship they had intercepted was sent out on another vector
entirely, even the chances of the Cylons finding them were
astronomically small.
     Since he had finished so quickly, Doyle decided to catch up to
Drake near the last small planet rather than go to their rendezvous
coordinates.  Maybe he could convince him that he'd just been joking
about the "bloody well" comment and knew Drake had been listening all
along.  As a matter of habit Doyle activated the forward scan to take
readings as he went.  Maybe he'd save Drake a bit of work and get on
his good side.  The last planet began to grow larger outside the
cockpit canopy as he continued.  Just as he began to approach an orbit,
an object appeared on his scanner.
     "Captain Drake," he spoke into the com, "I'm coming up on your
rear flank.  I'll take a scan from this side of the planet, Sir."  He
waited a micron, no response.  He waited another micron, then another,
then another.  Still no response.  "Captain Drake?" he tried again. 
Another blip appeared on his scanner, then a third, and a fourth.  With
mounting apprehension, Doyle fumbled with the computer strapped to his
thigh for access to the warbook.  Looking up again, he noted with alarm
that there were now six craft registering on his scanner.  After what
seemed an interminable wait, the warbook dumped its results to the
scanner readout.
     "Oh no..."  Doyle felt his stomach drop into his boots as the
words "Identified-  Cylon attack craft" flashed before him.  He very
nearly had a heart attack when something streaked past his fighter,
just above and to his starboard side.
     "Get a move on, Junior!"  It was Drake.
     Dumbfounded, Doyle fumbled to activate his turbos and follow his
squadron leader.  As they bore down on the targets, there were two
explosions before Doyle realized that Drake had already fired and
destroyed two of the Cylon fighters.  His targeting computer blinked
brightly with the third centered in its crosshairs.  Yahrens of
training kicked in at that moment and Lieutenant Doyle fired.  Jerking
the joystick to his left, he avoided the debris from the exploding ship
and was already targeting another fighter when he noted another
explosion off his starboard side.  He hoped it wasn't Drake.
     The Cylon craft darted away from him, apparently recovering from
the shock of being ambushed from behind.  The pilot wasn't very
imaginative, however, and Doyle dispatched his second fighter of the
day.  He quickly turned his attention back to the scanner to discover
that Drake was indeed still in one piece and turning toward the last
Cylon.
     "He's trying to run for it, Sir," Doyle said, as he noted the
fighter's sudden acceleration and desperate evasive maneuver.
     "Well he's not going to make it."  Drake's voice was cold and
calculating, his aim deadly as the last Cylon fighter disintegrated
into tiny fragments of scrap metal.  Drake's ship accelerated through
the debris, the viper's shields easily deflecting the millions of
little blades of death.  After a few microns, he spoke again.  "My
scanner's clear for this quadrant, Lieutenant, let's head home."
     Doyle's jaw dropped in surprise.  He had to change course quickly
to keep up with his patrol leader.  He checked his chronometer and
realized that barely a centon had passed since he had first picked the
Cylons up on his scanner.
     "Sir?" he asked, confused by Drake's order.  "Shouldn't we edge
out a little further?"
     "What for, Lieutenant?  We found what we came to find," came
Drake's icy reply.
     "What if they got a transmission off?"
     "Did you pick up any transmissions?"
     "Well, no, but I wasn't..."
     "Well neither did I.  I said this quadrant was clear, Lieutenant."
     "But I..."
     "But nothing.  Let's get back and report in."
     Drake's turbos fired again, leaving Doyle staring open-mouthed at
the retreating ship before he recovered enough to remember to follow. 
He shivered slightly, suddenly chilled, then realized he was soaked
with sweat.  One at a time, Doyle rubbed his sweaty palms on his
pants-leg.  Only then did he remember that his scanner had been
recording continuously since before their encounter with the Cylons. 
He quickly shut it off.
     Cylons!  For the first time in sectars!  Like everyone else, he'd
hoped they 'd finally lost them for good.  And what in hades was Drake
up to?  Why had he gone charging in like that?
     For the first time in a long while, Doyle was afraid.  Worriedly,
he directed his scanner to the rapidly retreating quadrant behind them. 
Nothing.  Maybe it would be all right.  But they'd run into the
golmonging tin-heads again, after all this time!  He glanced again at
the rear-scan, as he would do continuously, all the way back to the
fleet.  It was going to be a long flight.

************************* 

     Athena wished the flight reports would come in from the patrols. 
Maybe they'd pick up a new clue about what had happened to The New Hope
or learn something about where it might have been headed.  She wished
she could say exactly what was bothering her, but she couldn't. 
Something just didn't feel right.  Part of her uneasiness might have
been because she and Shephard still couldn't make sense of The New
Hope's flight data.  Part of it might have been the way Colonel Tigh
had been impatiently pacing the command deck since submitting the
status reports to her father.  The largest part of it was likely the
way Apollo had been hovering over her shoulder since he had arrived on
the bridge.
     "Are you _sure_ you didn't make a mistake in your calculations?"
he asked for the second time.
     "Would you like to check them for me?" she challenged looking back
over her shoulder and fixing him with her best patronizing glare.  For
once, her older brother took the hint.
     "No," he sighed.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean... "
     "Forget it," she cut him off and turned back to her work.  "It's
got us frustrated too.  None of our calculations make any sense."
     Apollo pulled up an empty chair from the adjacent workstation and
sat down next to her.
     "What if you plotted their forward course after launch from the
colonies and the reverse course from where we picked them up?  You
could determine the intercept point of the two..."
     "We already did that.  It wasn't informative."  Athena turned to
face her brother.  "All we can say with any certainty is that they were
intercepted at some point after the first yahren into their flight. 
The pilot and co-pilot didn't go into hibernation until after their
first yahren in space, so we have their personal entries into the
ship's logs until that time, but after that, they were all just systems
reports and diagnostics carried out automatically by the flight
computer."  She sighed and shook her head dejectedly.  "Even the Cylons
would be smart enough to change the log entries to erase any record of
their tampering."
     "Yeah, you're probably right."  Apollo looked as frustrated as
Athena felt.  "I wonder if it's possible any of the crew would have
been woken up when they were intercepted?"
     "Out of the survivors, you mean?"
     The withering look her brother shot her told Athena he was still
upset about what had happened on the ship when they'd tried to download
the flight records.
     "Sorry," she added.  "But it wasn't our fault, you know.  No one
who scanned her before us picked it up.  There was no way we could have
known what would happen when we tried to access those records."
     "I know," he replied, absently rubbing at the palm of his hand. 
"I'm not worried about that."  His focus slipped away momentarily as he
stared vacantly past Athena.  She recognized the look on his face
instantly.
     *Well if that's not bothering you, what is?* she wondered.  Athena
knew her brother well enough to know when he was troubled.  Something
had been building for a couple of days, she was sure of it now.  Could
it simply be the strained emotions she noticed between Apollo and their
father earlier, at the hastily called meeting to deal with the threat
of the homing beacon?  Apollo had certainly been pushing himself too
hard when he was supposed to be off duty but that wasn't anything she
wouldn't have expected from him.  Their father, however, had not been
pleased.  If he had thought it would do any good, he probably would
have confined Apollo to quarters.
     Apollo, of course, had been convalescing for over a secton.  The
injury from the triad game had forced him to be far less active than
usual and he had chafed at his confinement.  Athena knew he was bored-
plain and simple; but there seemed to be something more than that on
his mind.
     *Wait a micron, Sheba was furious after that little incident
yesterday in the landing bay.  Could that be what this is all about?*
Athena wondered.
     Aloud, she said, "I'm due for a break.  Do you want to come with
me to get a java?"
     "Huh?"  Her brother looked at her questioningly, then suddenly
nodded as what she'd asked him finally penetrated his consciousness. 
"Oh, yeah, sure."  The way he continued to sit there, lost in his
thoughts, told Athena he really didn't want to go, but she was
determined to get to the bottom of his mysterious mood.
     Athena scanned the bridge, looking for Colonel Tigh.  He was
hunched over the communications console with Rigel.  Rising, Athena
took a few steps toward them until her movement caught the Colonel's
attention and he looked up.  Quietly she signaled that her duty station
was idle and she'd be leaving her post, with his permission.  It wasn't
only the pilots who had found a use for coded hand signals.  Sometimes,
it was faster to manually signal another station across the bridge than
to link up internal communications.  Not unlike the traders frantically
posting bids on the floor of the old Caprican Commerce Exchange, Athena
had once noted during a battle.  She liked to use the codes when she
could, just to keep in practice.  Tigh merely nodded his assent and
tapped his index finger twice on his chronometer.  She had exactly
twenty centons.
     "Come on, let's go."  Athena took Apollo by the elbow and pulled
him out of the chair.  He reluctantly followed her off the bridge and
down the corridor toward the lift.  She turned around to tell him to
hurry up, but the preoccupied, faraway look on his face stopped her. 
When the lift arrived, it was empty.  They stepped inside.  Athena
selected the commissary level and waited until the door slid shut. 
"Apollo, are you all right?" she asked softly, touching his shoulder.
     Apollo leaned heavily against the wall of the lift.  For a micron,
he didn't respond.  He stared at his right hand, alternately clenching
and stretching it as though he didn't believe it was really his own. 
Finally he looked up at her, his eyes silently communicating the pain
in his soul.
     "No," he said quietly.
     Apollo's gaze locked Athena in place, connecting them at a deeper
level.  Something about how he stood with his back to the wall,
shoulders slumped, reminded her of how he had looked when he emerged
from the life center after Serina passed away.  Days later, Athena had
held him, sobbing, as he told her how his wife died in his arms.  He
had told her of his feelings of despair and helplessness and it had
torn at her heart to know how deeply he felt the loss.  Now he had the
same look and it could only be because of one thing.
     "Apollo, did something happen between you and Sheba?"
     The door opened as they reached their deck.  Apollo charged out of
the lift as though in response to an alert.
     "Wait a micron," Athena followed on his heels, grabbing at his
elbow to turn him around to face her.  "You can't just run away from
this.  What happened?"  Apollo pulled his arm out of his sister's grasp
and continued down the deserted corridor.
     Athena wasn't sure if she was doing the right thing but she had to
say something to wake him up to what he was doing.  "Okay, run then,"
she yelled at his back.  "But if you turn your back on Sheba that
easily, you don't deserve her!"
     Apollo stopped dead in his tracks.  Athena caught up to him.  She
was right.  The look of despair on his face told her all she needed to
know.  His dark, sorrowful eyes fixed on hers.
     "I never wanted it to work out like this."
     She took him by the hand and led him into the nearly empty
commissary.  He sat down at a table while she bought them each a cup of
java.  Work out like what?  Athena hoped it wasn't as serious as he
seemed to think it was.  As she weaved her way back through the tables
to reach her brother, he sat, unmoving, his head in his hands.  He
finally looked up over his fingertips at her as she placed the mug of
dark, steaming liquid across from him.  Apollo grasped it tightly with
both hands as though it was his only link with the rest of the world. 
Athena wanted to ask him what had happened, to demand he tell her what
he'd said or done, but she knew her brother better than that.  He
wouldn't tell her unless he was ready.
     He hadn't been so intensely private when they were children.  He
had always shared his innermost thoughts and feelings with her and,
later, Zac.  The three of them had been very close then.  It was when
Apollo began his tenth yahren in a new school that Athena first noticed
the emotional walls he put up to protect himself from the criticism of
others.  He'd always been bright in school- all three of them had
seemed to have a natural disposition to learning.  This was the first
time, though, that jealous classmates had begun to question whether his
marks were due to his abilities or his connections.  Apollo would never
admit it, but the jibes had hurt him.  Athena could see it in the way
he began to avoid her and Zac and anyone else he had been close to.  It
was as though he thought he could protect himself by keeping everyone
at arm's length.  The problem was, she thought, he couldn't escape the
walls he'd built around himself either.
     "I was terrible."
     The sound of her brother's voice brought Athena's thoughts back to
their conversation. 
     "Sheba just wanted to help, but I couldn't talk to her.  I
couldn't talk to anyone.  There's just... things going on she doesn't
know about."  Apollo paused, frowning.  "She thinks I'm shutting her
out..."
     "Are you?" Athena prodded gently.
     "No.  I don't know... there's something I have to work through
myself."
     "What is it?"
     Athena was greeted with a glare that warned of subjects not to be
raised.  She was treading on slippery ground.  Apollo would shut her
out in a micron if she pried too closely into his affairs, she knew
that.  At the same time, she knew that Apollo just might throw away the
relationship he'd cultivated with Sheba with that stubborn pride of
his.  He still had to do everything by himself.  Athena felt a sudden
shiver go down her spine as the realization came to her that Apollo's
single-minded attitude might someday kill him.  What could she say to
make him realize what he was doing?
     "You've got to get back to the bridge," Apollo said brusquely,
rising to his feet.
     Looking at her chronometer, Athena realized he was right.  She'd
have to hurry, she was almost overdue.
     "You didn't drink any of your java," she noted.
     He stared down at the untouched mug.  "I guess I wasn't thirsty-
I'm sorry."
     "That's all right," she laughed, lightening the mood.  "You owe me
one."
     "Okay."  For the first time that evening, he smiled.  "Let's get
back."  He motioned for her to lead the way past the few other
customers.
     When they were alone again inside the lift, Athena tried once more
to get through to him.  She stepped directly in front of him, took his
hands in hers, and looked him in the eye.
     "Apollo, you're the only brother I have.  I love you and I care
what happens to you.  Whatever it is, you know you can talk to me,
don't you?"
     He gazed back at her for a micron, his expression unreadable. 
Then his features softened to a wry grin as he pulled her close and
hugged her.  
     "I know," he whispered in her ear.  "And I'm not ungrateful.  I
just need some time to work things out my own way."  He gave her an
extra squeeze and released her as the lift stopped back at the bridge
deck.
     When they arrived on the bridge, it was abuzz with frenzied
activity.  Athena went quickly to her station, donned her headset and
sat down.
     "You're back just in time, Lieutenant."  Athena turned at the
sound of Colonel Tigh's voice in her ear to see him striding in her
direction, speaking into his comset.  "I need you at the communications
console now.  Bring Captain Apollo with you."
     Athena looked up worriedly at her brother.  His face had a similar
look of apprehension as he stared across the bridge at the Colonel. 
He'd seen Tigh call him over with a wave of his hand.Brother and sister
quickly joined the Colonel who was once again hovering over Rigel's
shoulder.
     "Ask him to repeat his last transmission," Tigh directed the young
woman as Athena sat down beside her and logged onto the second
communications station.  Her eyes widened in surprise when she heard
the message.
     "Cylons?  Now?" she stared open-mouthed at Colonel Tigh.
     "What?!" Apollo exclaimed.  "Does my father know?"
     "One of our patrols was ambushed," Tigh told him.  "The
Commander's been notified.  He's on his way."
     "Who was it?" Apollo asked.
     "Lieutenant Doyle..." the Colonel paused, "... and Captain Drake."
     Apollo's face twisted into a barely suppressed mask of rage.
     "Drake?!" he asked angrily.
     "He's reporting that they didn't get off any transmissions before
they were destroyed," Athena added, intently concentrating on the
report.
     "They destroyed a Cylon patrol?!"  Apollo was incredulous.  "How
long ago?  How far out are they now?" 
     "According to Captain Drake they were attacked near this planetary
system in sigma quadrant, bearing omega-three-five," Tigh pointed at
the starchart Athena had called up on the screen.
     "Delta patrol is approaching the outer marker and requesting
instructions, Colonel," Rigel interjected.
     "Give them immediate landing clearance and have them report to the
bridge on the double, Sergeant."
     "Yes, Sir."
     "Drake maintained communications silence until they were within
internal fleet communcations range," Tigh answered Apollo's question. 
"The attack on his patrol occurred over three centars ago."
     "That means the Cylons will already be sending out another patrol
to check on the one that didn't make it back," Athena guessed.
     "We haven't got much time to prepare for the attack," Apollo
growled bitterly.
     Athena noted the worry and frustration in her brother's voice. 
She could see it on Colonel Tigh's face as well.  The feeling of
apprehension she'd had just twenty centons ago became one of dark
foreboding.  After all this time, they were going to have to fight for
their lives again.  She glanced once more at her brother, his demeanor
now strictly military.  Whatever had happened between him and Sheba
would have to wait until their destinies were their own, once more. 
Athena was troubled at the thought.  She still couldn't shake the
realization that had chilled her back in the commissary.  With all her
soul she hoped that fate wouldn't crush them once again.

*************************  

Chapter Nine- Bound by Duty 
 
     At times like this Croft wished he had been smart enough to make
the right decision eight yahrens ago.  His steps slowed as he
approached the entrance to the life center, halting a few metrons from
the doors.  Maybe it wouldn't be a good time.  Maybe she wouldn't be
awake.  Maybe he was just fooling himself.
     Alivea wouldn't listen to anything he had to say.  He would be the
last person in the twelve colonies she would want to see.  And when she
found out that Leda was dead, well, she'd probably want to kill him. 
Not that he'd blame her, really.  So many yahrens later, he could
appreciate her concerns.  Back then, he'd thought she was just
meddling.  Back then, he told both Leda and himself that Alivea
couldn't possibly understand the position he was in.  Leda had loved
him and reluctantly went along with him.  Her sister had condemned him. 
With the certainty of hindsight, Croft knew he'd been so desperate that
he just couldn't see any other way out.  And he certainly wouldn't have
trusted anyone who said they could.
     Pride, simple arrogant pride- that's what it came down to.  He
leaned back against the grey, unyielding corridor wall and sighed. 
What an arrogant bastard.  Just a foolish young man who allowed himself
to get caught up in a situation he should never have gotten involved
in.  Instead of facing the consequences back then, he thought he could
outsmart fate, and only wound up outsmarting himself.
     And Leda.  Damn it.  The remembrance of what he had done to their
marriage still ached in his soul.  Sometimes he could almost forget he
had a soul, but then he would remember Leda.  She had never been an
innocent, at least not as long as Croft had known her.  But she had
always been hopeful.  She loved him, trusted him, followed him.  Right
up until the time of their arrest she had held out hope for their
future.  Then the long yahrens of incarceration had changed her.  She
became hardened, suspicious, calculating.  No wonder Alivea had hated
him.  She had seen Croft's true potential more clearly than any of
them.
     No, that wasn't true.  He had turned his life around.  He'd been
given a second chance and he'd proved his worth as a warrior, as a
mission commander, as a human being.  But he'd sacrificed Leda to do
it, hadn't he?  Had he been as understanding back on Arcta when she'd
sided with Wolfe and wanted them all to escape together?  All he had to
do was let Wolfe kill the man who stood in their way.  He couldn't even
do that for Leda.  Eliminate one arrogant young captain who... who was
not so much unlike himself.
     Except somehow he seemed to have made all the right choices where
Croft's had been wrong.  Still, their fates had not been so different. 
Croft had been imprisoned by the choices he'd made and Apollo had
chosen his own self-imposed prison.  Croft laughed wryly.  Funny how he
could see someone else's mistakes so clearly.  Or were they merely
reflections of his own?  Maybe there were no wrong choices after all-
just lessons to be learned.
     "Captain Croft?"
     Croft jumped away from the wall, automatically turning toward the
voice and reaching for the place his laser would normally be holstered.
     "I'm sorry," Dr. Salik went on, calmly ignoring his reaction.  "I
didn't mean to startle you.  You seemed a million hectares away."
     "I guess I was," Croft admitted rather sheepishly.  "I don't
usually startle that easily.  Sorry about the..." he nodded toward his
open gun hand.
     "It's not the first time that's happened to me," Salik chuckled
softly.  "Nor is it likely to be the last.  I was just on my way in,"
the doctor nodded toward the door, shifting gears effortlessly. 
"Commander Adama told me to expect you and brief you on Dr. Alivea's
condition before you see her."  Then, raising a curious eyebrow, he
added, "You... were going in to see her, weren't you?"
     Croft considered another response to the doctor's question, but
only for a moment.  With a sigh of resignation, he nodded toward the
sick bay doors.
     "Yeah.  Yeah, I was going to see her."

*************************  

     Apollo seethed inside.  His father had not relented on the order
grounding the Galactica flight commander.  Then he had asked Apollo to
be at the debriefing for the purpose of gathering information for their
battle plan, but he had been forbidden to speak.  Apollo found he could
barely contain his anger as Drake and Doyle made their report to the
commander and Colonel Tigh.  Frustrated at his inability to convince
his father either of his flight readiness or of Drake's recklessness,
he stewed silently during the patrol's report.  The Yellow Squadron
leader had screwed up badly and Adama had correctly deemed that Apollo
would be hard-pressed to be objective where Captain Drake was
concerned.
     What in hades was Drake thinking?  Sure, he said the patrol had
fired on them first, but Apollo had seen the way Drake glanced at his
junior partner.  He had heard the uncertainty in Doyle's voice as he
scrambled to support his captain's story.  Apollo had seen similar
scenarios too many times in his yahrens in the military as wayward
officers tried to cover their tracks.  His own wingmate had raised the
whole issue of covering-your-astrum to an art-form, but for as much
trouble Starbuck got into, he would never lie about anything that had
to do with the safety of the fleet or his fellow warriors.
     "Very well, Captain Drake," Apollo heard his father say. 
"Certainly, if the Cylons attacked you, you had no choice but to defend
yourselves and return to the fleet with this information."  Commander
Adama faced away from his son, standing directly in front of the Yellow
squadron leader- shoulders squared, arms crossed, spine ramrod
straight.  Though he could not see his father's face, Apollo could hear
the iciness in his voice and knew that the expression greeting Drake
was one of equal coldness.
     "But understand this, Captain Drake: as a squadron leader and
senior pilot on this battlestar, I expect that you will take an active
role in training the members of your squadron in patrol and stealth
techniques as well as combat flight.  Since it seems your skills
require some refinement, I suggest you complete a secton's worth of
upgrading in the simulator."
     "I may have to consider that, Sir," Drake replied smoothly, a
placating grin on his face.
     "You will do it, Captain.  During your off-duty time, of course."
     Apollo knew that tone of voice well.  The steely gaze that
undoubtedly accompanied it caused Drake to look unsure of himself for
the first time since he had entered the room.
     "Y-yes, Sir," he stammered.
     "You may log your simulator flight data with Captain Apollo,"
Adama continued, not breaking eye contact with the Yellow Squadron
leader.  "Do you have any questions?"
     "No, Sir."  Drake had recovered from his shock, his ever-present
smirk now replaced by a scowl of disdain.
     Half-sitting on a corner of the table a few metrons behind the
commander, Apollo could see his pilots' faces quite clearly.  Drake
refused to even look at him.  Doyle had glanced at him uncertainly once
or twice, obviously torn between his duty to the fleet and his
responsibility to his squadron commander.  Just what would the
lieutenant have to say about their patrol if he'd had leave to speak
freely?  Apollo noted Drake's displeasure at being disciplined and was
afraid he already knew the answer.
     The commander spoke one final time to the two men, "Thank-you for
your report, gentlemen.  You are dismissed."
     Doyle looked relieved to make his escape.  Drake replied with a
smart salute to the two senior officers.  "Commander.  Colonel."  He
turned a tight-lipped, malevolent smile to Apollo.  "Captain."
     It was all Apollo could do to keep from leaping up and ramming
that smirk back down Drake's throat.  His reaction did not go
unnoticed.  It was perhaps a half a centon after the two pilots had
left the room before he realized that not another word had been spoken. 
He rose from the table to find his father measuring him carefully.  A
glance at Colonel Tigh revealed nothing of his position on this issue. 
Apollo faced the commander again, crossed his arms deliberately, and
said simply, "They're lying."
     Adama matched his son's determined posture.
     "I would be very careful of making accusations without proof," he
said grimly.
     "Oh, Father, come on!" Apollo gestured vehemently, unable to
contain his frustration.  "You heard Doyle as clearly as I did.  You
saw the look on his face!  He's hiding something and I'd bet my life
Drake fired on that patrol."
     "All right, suppose they are lying," the commander challenged his
son quietly.  "What would you propose to do now?"
     For a few microns, Apollo continued to stare belligerently at his
father.  What he would propose was to nail Drake's hide to the nearest
viper and send it down a launch tube.  But his father was right.  He
had only his suspicions that Drake had violated orders, no proof.
     Guilty and frustrated, Apollo lowered his gaze.  No matter what he
thought of Drake personally, he had to treat him as he would any
officer under his command.  Any other officer would be certain to get a
fair shake from him.  He couldn't afford to let his personal feelings
get in the way of his duty.  He'd already messed things up badly enough
with Sheba over this same issue.  Apollo knew he couldn't live with
himself if he wasn't honest and fair with his pilots.  Including Drake.
     A little calmer now, Apollo leaned back against the table once
again and exhaled slowly as he looked up at his father and the colonel. 
Both men were still waiting for his assessment.
     "I propose we get ready for another battle," he began, "because
the Cylons won't take long to figure out where that patrol came from
and then all hades is going to break loose when they attack.  We have
no idea how many baseships we might be dealing with so we'll be going
in blind."
     Apollo appreciated the slight smile that lightened his father's
features.  He recognized that Adama had only been trying to get him to
think logically rather than react.  He also realized that he'd been
reacting to a lot of things a bit too emotionally lately.A deep pang of
regret stabbed at him when he remembered again how badly he'd treated
Sheba.  He had to talk to her, straighten things out somehow, but that
would have to wait for later.  Unfortunately they all had more
immediate problems.
     "He's right," Adama glanced meaningfully at Colonel Tigh. 
"This... _incident_ has put us in a most unfortunate position.  Now,
either this is an isolated baseship like the last one we encountered,
or they have been able to track us because of that homing beacon.  Even
now they may be massing for an all-out attack."
     "Father, there's one more possibility."  Apollo rose to get the
full attention of both men.  "It's possible that the Cylons could have
a base out here."
     "This far from Cylon?" Adama was skeptical.  "That would be highly
unlikely!"
     "I know," Apollo pleaded for understanding.  "It sounds
far-fetched, but if there is a Cylon base out here, they may have all
the firepower and supplies they need for a sustained attack on the
fleet.  If that's the case, we can't stop them."
     "Adama, he's right."  Tigh joined Apollo in facing the commander. 
"It's possible that one of the reasons we haven't encountered their
forces in sectars is that we've been heading toward another of their
outer listening posts."
     The commander shook his head, unconvinced that this was a
realistic possibility.  Tigh pressed their argument.
     "You know how unreliable some of our intelligence reports became
in the last yahren leading up to... the armistice."  Tigh made a face
of disgust as he recounted a very distasteful subject.  "Some of our
operatives were bought out... we never were able to clearly discern
which reports were truthful and which were planted.  Until it was too
late," he spat the words out bitterly.  "As remote a possibility as it
might seem, the Cylons could have an installation this far from their
homeworld."
     A thoughtful look appeared on Adama's face.
     "If they did have a functional installation this far out from
Cylon, it would be very difficult to supply because of the distances
involved," he parried.
     "But it would also be off any of the known shipping routes, so
there's not much chance we would have discovered it," Apollo countered.
     Adama looked up, first at his second-in-command, then at his son. 
"You two have already discussed this," he charged.
     Apollo exchanged a contrite look with the colonel.
     "Then I suppose you already have a recommendation for me to
consider," the commander continued.  An uncomfortable silence greeted
his accusation.  "And I'm not going to like it," he added, knowingly.
     "The Kentauros is one of the few military ships we have that is
capable of light speed," Apollo began, realizing his father was now
considering their argument.  "What we propose is to have Colonel
Andromeda remove her from the fleet and circle in from one of the
sectors trailing the one where the Cylon patrol was destroyed."
     "We don't know where they came from, Apollo.  For all we know they
were at the limit of their patrol and had a great distance to return to
their launch point.  We have no idea where to look." 
     "That's not entirely correct, Commander," Tigh interjected.  "We
do have an extensive ion-detection scan from Lieutenant Doyle's viper."
     "Then we can track their ion signatures?" 
     "Father, I'd bet that Athena and Corporal Shephard can make an
accurate determination of the original vector for those fighters.  I
think they could guide the Kentauros to a location where they'd have a
very good chance of finding the Cylons."
     "And what then?  The Kentauros is instrumental in maintaining our
defense perimeter around the civilian ships.  Without them there would
be a considerable breach in our formation."
     "True," Tigh added.  "But the Cylons won't know that..."
     "And it will take them some time to carry out a detailed enough
analysis of our position to find the weakness," Apollo interrupted
excitedly, pushing his point home.  "That may be just enough time to
bring the Kentauros around behind them.  We'd be able to squeeze them
between us."
     Adama rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he listened.  When Apollo
finished, he continued to stare straight ahead, lost in his thoughts. 
When he finally spoke, it was with a clipped tone of military
precision.
     "The Kentauros is too small a ship to be effective on her own.  I
want Athena and Shephard's calculations and an explanation of why they
are correct within the next thirty centons.  Have the Kentauros and the
Ursidia prepare for a possible jump to light speed and assign Silver
Spar squadron to accompany them.  If I am satisfied with the accuracy
of those calculations, they'll leave in two centars.  I want them to
have enough time to locate a listening post, if there is one, and
enough firepower to destroy it."
     "Yes, Sir!"
     Apollo sprinted for the door, eager to carry out the commander's
order and begin preparations for the coming battle.
     "Captain..."
     Adama's voice stopped him short.  "I hope you remember you will
not be seeing this battle from a viper cockpit."
     Shock registered on the captain's determined features.  He looked
at Colonel Tigh, who turned uncomfortably away, then back at his
father.  Unsure of whether he should press the issue in Colonel Tigh's
presence, he took a hesitant step back toward the two men.  Then,
making his decision, he stopped and stood his ground.
     "Father," he said quietly but firmly, "we're going to need every
pilot we've got if we want to win this.  I haven't had a headache in
well over a day now.  If I feel like I'm going to be a danger to the
squadron, I'll pull myself off the flight.  You've got to trust me."
     For a long micron, the commander's gaze remained unflinching, his
opinion unchanged.  Then slowly, the rock-hard features softened; there
really was no choice.  He shook his head reluctantly before he
answered.
     "I don't want you taking any unnecessary risks.  As soon as we
have the upper hand or if the attack force is smaller than we expect, I
want you back on the Galactica.  Is that clear?"
     "Yes, Sir, it is."
     With a determined expression, Apollo turned on his heel and
marched out the door.
     Adama sighed deeply, watching his son go, wishing he could follow
his heart and order him to stay.  But Apollo was right.  The one thing
they were certain of was that the Cylons would find them and they'd
need every pilot they had.  Nothing else mattered until that threat was
gone, neither his feelings nor his family.  His wishes were powerlessly
bound by duty once again.
     "That wasn't an easy decision," Tigh observed as he came over and
put a hand on his friend's shoulder.
     "No," Adama rubbed tiredly at his temples.  "No, it wasn't easy
but I've not been left with much choice."  Abruptly, he straightened up
and pulled determinedly at his tunic.  The commander of the Galactica
reached for the dark cloak laying across the back of a chair and
fastened it securely at the shoulders, donning his authority once
again.
     "We have work to do, Colonel," he said matter-of-factly.  "And I'm
afraid it's going to be a long, difficult night."

************************* 

     Athena stepped confidently off the lift before it reached the
level of the tarmac in beta landing bay.  She glanced around, looking
for Shephard, finally spotting him near one of the comm stations.  He
was trying, unsuccessfully, to stay out of the way of the deck crews
preparing the Galactica and her complement of fighters for their task
this night.
     While Athena watched, he stumbled into a crewman rushing by, spun
around and nearly lost his balance, then backed into Flight Sergeant
Nyssala of Silver Spar squadron, knocking her helmet from her hand. 
Shephard tried to recover some of his dignity by retrieving it for her
but as he reached for the wayward helmet, his boot caught on a seam in
the tarmac and he pitched forward, landing on all fours and sending
Nyssala's helmet skittering across the deck.  The flight sergeant
deftly stepped over the sprawling young man, recovered the helmet with
one swift, graceful movement, and continued on to her waiting viper. 
Poor Shephard turned the deepest shade of red Athena could ever recall
seeing.  She allowed herself a sympathetic, if amused, smile as she
shifted the weight of the pack on her shoulder and made her way
carefully past the assemblage of equipment on the deck.
     "Shephard!" she called out over the noise of the crews.
     The young navigator, still kneeling, turned toward the voice he'd
heard.  Relief flooded his features when he saw his superior officer,
then embarrassment took over as he rose and dusted himself off.
     "I wasn't sure if this was where you meant to meet..." he said,
dodging another crewman who slipped quickly through the narrowing space
between them.  "Is it always like this down here?"
     Athena regarded him quizzically, then smiled again when she
realized he probably hadn't been down to the landing bay more than a
few times since he'd arrived on the Galactica.
     "Yes," she replied, knowing how disorganized the rush of a
squadron launch could look to someone unused to the bustle.  "It's
usually a state of organized chaos.  Come on, our shuttle's this way."
     "This is organized?"
     Athena chuckled inwardly at the comment she was not intended to
hear.  She waited a micron to be sure Shephard was following, then
strode quickly toward the transport to their objective, the Kentauros
and Colonel Andromeda.
     Although she had never served under her, Athena knew of
Andromeda's reputation.  Even before she had successfully led the
Kentauros against a second Cylon attack wave on Libra during the
holocaust, Andromeda and her crew had distinguished themselves by
running interference for military transports operating close to Cylon
territory.  In her six yahrens in command of the Kentauros, Andromeda
had maintained one of the highest mission-success rates of any Colonial
vessel, along with the lowest casualty rate in the entire fleet.  The
Colonel was a well-respected officer and, according to Starbuck, was
the only player alive who'd out-bluffed him at pyramid- twice.
     "Is the navicom on the Kentauros similar to the Galactica's?"
Shephard asked as they entered the shuttle and began to stow their
gear.
     "I don't really know, Corporal."  Athena decided it was time to
adopt a more formal manner.  Omega had told her that Andromeda ran a
very tight bridge.  Of course he might have been trying to make her
nervous on purpose.  That would be just like Omega; unlike his quiet
competence, his sense of humor was off-beat, to say the least.  To
Shephard she added, "It's our computational skills they need.  We won't
be flying her."
     "I know, ma'am.  I was just wondering what to expect when we get
there."
     "We'll find out soon enough."
     Athena fastened her harness when the pilot announced the countdown
to launch and tried to settle back into her seat.  Truthfully, she
_was_ a little nervous about their assignment.  Not only were they
representing the Galactica, she felt a personal responsibility to give
her father reason to be proud of her performance.  Not that he wasn't
proud of her already, it was just that she never wanted to give him
reason to be hesitant about trusting her judgement.  Maybe it had
something to do with the way her brother had been behaving lately.  No,
on second thought, it had nothing to do with him.  She was a
professional, she was good at her job, and she intended to stay that
way.
     Presently the familiar thrust of the turbos pushed her against her
harness as the shuttle accelerated to escape velocity.  She would have
been happy to pilot the shuttle herself, but the Kentauros had sent one
to pick them up, along with several visiting engineers who had been
helping to analyze the Galactica's power consumption.
     Letting her gaze wander over the less familiar faces seated around
her, Athena realized that for the first time, she would be on her own. 
There would be no room for errors.  The Galactica and the other ships
of the fleet, the viper squadrons- they would all be counting on her
judgement and Shephard's mathematical skill to put them in the right
place at the right time.  It was a sobering thought.  She wondered how
often that would have been her older brother's last thought before he
led the squadrons into a battle.  If there'd been time she would have
liked to talk to him about that.  It seemed to her as though he'd been
wearing that responsibility for so long, it was familiar to him now. 
Or maybe one never got used to that burden.
     Rigel had been uncomfortable about her leaving and had made no
secret of her feelings earlier on the bridge.
     "I hope they realize what a good deal they're getting," she'd
said, leaning over Athena's shoulder, staring at the monitor as Athena
finished the report for the commander.  Surprised, Athena looked up
from her work. 
     "It's not forever, Rigel."
     "I know.  It's just going to be strange without you here, that's
all," her bunkmate replied.  "I'm used to hearing you call the scanner
during an attack."
     "Well, it's not exactly an attack this time," Athena countered. 
"We know about it and we're going on the offensive again.  Just like
that last baseship we destroyed."
     "Yeah..." Rigel's voice trailed off sadly, matching the wistful
expression on her face.  "But you're like family here.  We all are. 
It'll be like there's a part missing."
     "Rigel," Athena admonished lightly, "You're not going to have any
time to be thinking about what I'm doing.  You'll be so busy you won't
even notice anyone's missing."
     "Maybe..."
     Maybe.  Now, while she still had time to think about other things,
Athena had to admit she would miss the familiar environment of the
Galactica bridge.  For a strange moment her world tilted out of balance
as she considered how she even came to be in this position at this time
of her life.  Suddenly she felt herself falling sideways and reached
out quickly to steady herself against the empty seat beside her.  Her
brain struggled with the conflicting impulses for a micron until it
realized she had not really been falling at all.  She was still safely
strapped into her seat.
     "Everything okay?"
     From the other side of her, Shephard must have seen her start.
     "Yeah, fine," she replied, feeling a little dazed.  "I was just
daydreaming for a few microns."
     "Oh."
     He sounded dubious.
     "It's nothing," she reassured herself.
     Athena turned toward the front of the shuttle to see the rapidly
approaching Kentauros landing bay looming in the windows.  None of that
mattered now.  They had a job to do and no one else could do it as well
as they could.  Athena felt her fears settle into an uneasy truce with
her faith as the shuttle adjusted its final approach vector.  For good
or ill there was no turning back now.  One last time she allowed
herself the luxury of wondering if she really knew what she was doing
before the composed visage of a seasoned bridge officer possessed her
once more.  All that mattered now was that she do everything she could
to help ensure their survival.  Maybe later she would have the time to
wake from this nightmare.

*************************

     It was almost surreal, like a bad dream.  Had it really only been
two days?  It seemed more like a secton- the worst one of her life,
since her father had disappeared.  That stupid ship!  That's what had
started this whole nightmare.  First, a failure of trust and a broken
promise, then an insidious trap and a dying crew.  And if that wasn't
enough, now the Cylons had found them and would make their lives a
living hades again.  The tenuous peace of the last few sectars was
over.  If only she had never detected that ship on her scanner, then
everything would be all right.
     That wasn't true and she knew it.  Somehow it just seemed a bit
more comfortable to think of life in such simple, straightforward
terms.  But when was it ever that uncomplicated, she thought as she
mounted the steps to her waiting fighter.
     "Sheba!"
     The young woman turned abruptly, surprised at the interruption. 
It took her a moment to realize who had stopped her.  Her stomach
tightened angrily as she spotted Apollo striding quickly towards her.
     "What do you want?"
     She couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice and noticed
immediately how the captain's step slowed slightly with his sudden
hesitation.  She could see the confusion on his face, the uncertainty
in his eyes.  He glanced around nervously, as if afraid he would be
overheard, but the noisy activity of the flight deck preparing Silver
Spar squadron for launch would prevent that from happening.  He stopped
at the base of the mounting platform, one foot placed tentatively on
the lowest step.
     "Sheba, we need to talk."
     "I'm almost ready for launch."  She turned away from him and
climbed the last two steps to the top of the platform.
     "Sheba, please."
     As she crouched down to climb into the cockpit, Sheba turned a
wary eye toward the man who had once been her fiance.  Angry fingers
clutched the edge of the open canopy as she tried to keep her temper in
check.
     "I think you already said it all," she spat.
     She watched as he lowered his gaze, unable to meet her flashing
eyes.  With all the fire in her being, Sheba hauled herself forcefully
into the cockpit of her Viper, furiously resentful of his inability to
communicate with her.
     "Wait!"
     Apollo climbed a few more steps, enough to look Sheba in the eye.
     "We have to work this out," he pleaded.
     "You had your chance, Captain," she replied tightly as she donned
her helmet and began to check her instruments for the final launch
sequence.  "Now, get off.  I'm on countdown."
     "Sheba, don't leave it like this."
     Her eyes flashed as she speared him with her gaze again.
     "I didn't leave _anything_ like this!  You were the one who made
everything so perfectly clear the last time we 'talked'."
     "Let me explain--"
     "You had your say, now I'll have mine: back off!"  With that, she
hit the switch to close the canopy, effectively bringing their brief
conversation to a disquieting end.
     Though she knew he remained beside her, one hand on the window at
her shoulder, she refused to look at him.  Instead she stared straight
ahead, waiting for the order to launch.  After several long microns,
she finally looked back, briefly, seeing Damien steering him
reluctantly off the platform and out of the way.
     Presently, Damien was at her side, giving her the "okay" signal
for launch, then retreating and removing the steps.  Strangely, she
noticed how disappointed he looked.  Sheba wondered at that for a
moment.  Then, with the final order to launch, she hurtled out into
space, thinking only of the rendezvous with the Ursidia and their
fast-approaching jump to light speed.  For a brief time, all else would
be put aside to deal with the threat of imminent death.  There would be
enough time for the pain of living later.

*************************  

Chapter Ten- For The Good Of The Many

     As Athena stepped onto the bridge of the Kentauros she was
immediately struck by its contrast to the Galactica.  The same air of
battle-readiness penetrated every nook and cranny, as on her father's
ship, but here it seemed even more palpable.  Maybe it had to do with
the size of the ship.  The bridge of the Kentauros was perhaps a fourth
of the size she was used to.  Next to the Galactica's expansive bridge,
it seemed positively claustrophobic.
     The Kentauros was a light-cruiser class ship.  She had only a
single, small landing bay for her complement of six ground attack
shuttles, but could accommodate a much higher velocity viper landing if
necessary.  A forced landing into a deceleration curtain was usually a
little hard on the pilot, but it did save the difficult-to-replace
fighter craft.
     The Kentauros was equipped with four individually-manned
heavy-armor laser cannons, one on each of the port and starboard sides
as well as top and bottom.  When they were active, a warrior climbed
inside the reinforced tylinium bubble behind the laser mounting and
controlled the cannon from what was affectionately known as "the hot
seat."  Officially, of course, it was a gunner's position.  The gunnery
capsule was then sealed off from the rest of the ship.  The gunner
manning the station had an extreme wide-angle view of space around him
and continual scans from all directional attack-computer positions. 
All four gunners were in constant communication with each other to
allow a quick exchange of information about enemy positions.
     The ship was also equipped with ten medium-duty laser disruptors,
each capable of disabling a Cylon raider with a single pulse.  These
were mounted at regular intervals along both sides of the main hull
axis and were most often computer controlled from the bridge.  Not only
were they used against enemy fighters, they also served to keep the
immediate area around the ship free of large and potentially damaging
pieces of debris and wreckage.  Their contribution saved a great deal
of extra energy expenditure in the maintenance of the ship's defensive
shields.
     But, despite her considerable armaments, the Kentauros was meant
for hit-and-run decoy missions or rapid emergency ground extractions,
not the kind of protracted defensive battles they had fought against
the Cylon task force in the past yahren.  They simply did not have the
energy-generating capabilities to power the disruptors and cannons for
a lengthy battle.  As a result her primary defense was her speed.  The
Kentauros could be brought to a light-speed jump from a near dead stop
faster than any other ship in the fleet - including the Galactica.
     Athena found her mind wandering as she listened to the gunnery
sergeant explaining the workings of the Kentauros to her and Shephard. 
As befit a lieutenant and bridge officer in the Colonial military, she
managed to maintain an air of polite interest while the man happily
quoted firing ranges and recharge schedules in his excitement at having
new people to talk to.  But behind the facade she was worried.
     She and Shephard had finished their calculations before they left
the Galactica and had checked and re-checked them several times after
coming aboard the Kentauros.  Everything was in order and they had made
their jump to lightspeed, along with the Ursidia.
     But Athena couldn't shake the feeling that she was overlooking
something.  When she had mentioned it to Shephard, he was surprised
that she wasn't as confident in their numbers as he was.  They had
reviewed them one more time and, again, everything checked out.  She
had agreed that they had done their best and handed them over to
Colonel Andromeda, who accepted them without question.  The two ships
had made the jump to hyperspace shortly after that and were now rapidly
nearing the coordinates for resolving back to standard space.
     She couldn't say why, but Athena kept thinking back to her
conversation with Rigel before she had left the Galactica.  Something
about it was nagging her like an old shopkeeper at an agri-market. 
What had Rigel said to put her so on edge?  She honestly couldn't
remember- it had been an innocent enough talk.  They had simply
discussed the upcoming battle and said good-bye.  So why was she so
bothered?
     "Colonel, we'll reach our approach coordinates in thirty microns."
     The voice of the Kentauros navigator reminded Athena where she
was.  She hadn't even realized the gunner who had been talking to them
had already left to take up his position.
     "Good," Andromeda's rich alto filled the small bridge. 
"Synchronize our position with the Ursidia and prepare to drop from
light-speed.  All hands to battle-stations, bring us to alert status."
     "Yes, ma'am."
     The flurry of activity that followed held Athena's attention for a
few microns until the navigator began to count down the approach. 
Still concerned about her uncertainty, she prayed that it was just
nerves about her central role in this battle and that they would find
what they were looking for.  As she listened to the final countdown,
Athena realized that, right or wrong, she would have to live with
whatever happened.  She only hoped her conscience was up to the task.

*************************  

     For the first time in a long while, Sheba was nervous as she
waited for the launch signal.  This wasn't like one of the many attacks
she'd endured after joining the fleet.  It was even less like the
intricately planned strikes her father had initiated on Gamorray.  They
were trying to place themselves at the back door of a hypothetical
Cylon installation, but ultimately they had no idea what they would be
flying into.
     Sheba glanced over at her wingman on the adjoining launch track. 
Bojay seemed lost in his own thoughts.  There was a time, she thought
wistfully, that he would have instantly known her attention was on him
and he would have immediately turned to face her.  That was back when
they had flown strikes and counter-strikes around the clock.  That was
back when they were still aboard the Pegasus, back when her life still
had some semblance of... well, regularity, if not normalcy.  Now Bojay
still sat staring off into space, seemingly oblivious to everything
around him.
     *Is that what's happened,* she wondered?  *Has the horror of what
happened to our people hardened us so much that we've become immune to
everything and everyone around us?*  Her thoughts drifted to her last,
angry words to Apollo back on the Galactica.  Had her heart become as
impenetrable to him as his was to her?  She sighed as she considered
how things lay between them- in pieces again.  She just didn't know if
she had the will to try to pick them up one more time.
     Sheba's attention turned back to her instruments as the general
klaxon sounded and the entire ship went to alert status.  The
hyperspace jump would be complete now and soon Silver Spar squadron
would be hurtling down the launch tubes.  Or, at least some of them
would.  The Ursidia only had enough launch tubes to accommodate half
the squadron.  Sheba and Bojay would be in the first wave launched,
then the deck crews would scramble to bring the remaining vipers to
launch status as quickly as they could.  For the first few centons, at
least, Silver Spar would be at half-strength.
     Sheba's grip tightened on her viper's control stick as she waited
tensely for the launch order.  Nothing.  Quickly, she checked her
armaments then reviewed their battle plan in her head, just one more
time.  Her father had taught her that mental preparedness was the
ultimate ally.  She had always tried to follow his advice and never
leave anything to chance that should be under her control.
     "Risks are taken after you've done your homework," he had told
her.  She knew that very often, Cain didn't follow his own good advice
but he'd always had an unwavering belief in his own judgement that
seemed to make up for it.  That was, until... but she didn't want to
think about that now.
     Where was that launch order?  Sheba looked over at Bojay again. 
This time he did look at her, his confusion at the delay showing on his
face.
     "Attention, Silver Spar squadron, this is Ursidia Control," a deep
male voice boomed in their headsets.  "Standby launch, pending
concentrated scan.  Contol, out."
     "Bojay?"   Sheba linked her private com with her wingman.
     "We must have come up empty," he said dryly.  "There's no other
reason they'd take the time for a concentrated scan."
     "Those ships the Galactica picked up on her long range scan when
we left must be reaching the fleet right about now," Sheba said
worriedly.
     "Yeah, and we're sitting here on our astrums with a whole squadron
and two perimeter ships!"
     "What if we don't get back to them in time?" Sheba couldn't help
the apprehension in her voice.
     "It'll be the Fifth Fleet all over again."
     To Sheba Bojay sounded almost livid with frustration.  She felt
her fear congeal into something cold and hard in the pit of her
stomach.  Commander Adama had always been so careful in comparison with
her father.  That cautiousness had saved them on more than one
occasion.  Would this one time he took a calculated risk prove to be
their undoing?
     As her fear threatened to overtake her, Sheba wished with all her
soul that she could talk to her father now.  She never thought she
could feel so helpless in a viper cockpit.  What could you do when
there was nothing to shoot at?  Would they even find the Cylon threat
they were searching for before they destroyed the fleet?  What else
could possibly go wrong today?

*************************  

     "Are you sure you're up to this?"  The uncertainty in Starbuck's
voice was unmistakable.
     "Oh?" Apollo teased.  "Getting used to command now?"
     "That's got nothing to do with it!"
     "Okay, okay, I'm sorry..." Apollo laughed softly.
     Starbuck was being awfully touchy for a guy who hadn't wanted to
be left in command of the squadron in the first place.  Apollo could
almost feel the lieutenant's eyes boring into his back as he leaned
into the cockpit of his viper to turn on his flight computron.  It read
seven centons to launch.  He turned back to find Starbuck still at the
foot of the mounting platform, glaring at him, hands defiantly on his
hips.
     "Look," Apollo sighed, "I'm feeling a lot better.  And we're going
to need everybody out there."
     Starbuck still didn't look convinced.
     "The commander agreed to this?" he challenged.
     "Yes," Apollo stressed, beginning to get frustrated with his
friend's pestering.  "All right, I'm not one hundred percent, but if
there's a problem, I'll pull myself off the flight.  You know I'd never
do anything to endanger the squadron."
     Starbuck seemed to relax a little at that.
     "Besides," the captain added, trying again to lighten the moment,
"who's going to keep you out of trouble?"
     "Boomer's been doing a pretty good job."  The lieutenant moved
aside as Apollo climbed back down the steps, then fell into step beside
him.
     "Yeah, but he'll have his hands full keeping Cree from shooting
Giles out of the stars again."
     A wide grin broke on Starbuck's face.  He laughed and shook his
head.
     Apollo smiled, thinking about how Giles had been paired with the
newly graduated Ensign Cree for the young man's first official squadron
assignment.  Cree had understandably been a bit nervous about his
assignment to Blue Squadron after the experience of being shot down
over Arcta several sectars earlier.  Though his piloting skills had
improved considerably since then, the kid was still a bit jumpy on the
trigger and had very nearly shot Giles down during one of their last
patrol skirmishes with the Cylons.  Since then he'd been partnered with
Boomer, who had seemed to be an effective counter to the young man's
nervousness.
     "I guess I can't argue with that."  Still grinning, Starbuck
clapped Apollo on the shoulder.  "We can't have our own pilots shooting
at us too."
     Apollo laughed easily with him, glad to be back with the squadron,
even if only temporarily while the Cylon threat was dangerously real
once again.  "I'll see you in a couple of centons," he said, more
seriously.  "I've got something to take care of before we launch."
     "All right, Buddy," his wingman half-turned to go back to his own
ship, then hesitated, looking thoughtfully out from under a shock of
long hair.  "It _is_ good to have you back, you know..."
     "Thanks, Bucko," Apollo replied sincerely.  "See you soon."
     With that, he strode off across the flight deck, seeing the object
of his search conferring with two other ground crewmen.  Damien looked
up as he approached and, sensing the young man's urgency, left the
others and met him alone.
     "I'd heard you were flying tonight, Captain."
     "Yeah," Apollo dismissed the implied request for more information. 
"Damien, I need to ask you for a favor."
     The older man regarded him suspiciously, aware as he was of the
tension between the captain and Lieutenant Sheba, the pilot he crewed
for, and a young lady he cared a great deal about.
     "Go on."
     The captain pulled a small package from the inner pocket of his
flight jacket and held it out towards Damien.  The deck sergeant took
it cautiously, turning it over in his hand as if it was something
distasteful.
     "If anything happens," Apollo started hesitantly, "give that to
Sheba for me."
     "What do you mean, 'if anything happens'?" Damien asked warily.
     "Just give it to her," Apollo said harshly, about to tell Damien
to mind his own damned business.  Then, realizing how rude he sounded,
repeated more softly, "Please..."
     "I'll give it to her."  He pocketed the offering.  "You know it'll
kill your father if something happens to you..."
     "What?"  Apollo was taken aback by the sudden shift in topic.
     "You heard me, son," Damien stared unflinchingly.
     "I can take care of myself!" Apollo felt the flush rising with his
temper.
     "Can your little boy?  Or will he be devastated when his father
doesn't come home?"
     "You're out of line, Sergeant," Apollo said grimly.
     "Am I, Captain?  Is that what you'd like me to say at your
memorial?"
     Apollo couldn't believe what he was hearing.  "What are you trying
to do, Damien?!  Bury me?"
     "It seems like you're taking care of that yourself."
     "You don't trust me..."
     "Captain, there isn't anyone on this battlestar who wouldn't trust
you to walk them into the fires of hades and back."  Damien sighed
sadly and shook his head.  "I just hope you appreciate that someday."
     "How could you think I don't?"
     Apollo's face registered the confusion he felt.  Did Damien
honestly think he had no appreciation of what his pilots would do for
him?  They would all do their duty.  Just as he had to.
     "I've got to go," he said uneasily, hesitating, then turned to
make his way back across the landing bay to his fighter, the strange
confusion of Damien's accusation echoing in his mind.
     As he walked, Apollo became aware of the tension in his shoulders. 
He rubbed at the back of his neck but it did nothing to relieve the
sharp stinging.  Now that the uncomfortable encounter with Damien was
over, he was conscious of the nervous sweat that was making his tunic
cling to his back.  Great- now he'd get chilled sitting in his viper,
awaiting the launch order.  Salik would never let him hear the end of
it if he got sick on top of everything else.
     Abruptly the claxons began blaring the alert, bathing the launch
bay with an eerie red glow from the warning lights.  Apollo broke into
a jog, as did several other nearby pilots.  As he neared his craft, his
head began to pound with each footfall- dully at first, but more and
more insistent with each step.  By the time he settled into the cockpit
and fastened his flight harness, the sting in his shoulder had become a
stabbing ache.
     He fired up his thrust generators without waiting for the go-ahead
from his crewman.  Terrell would have alerted him by now if anything
was  out of the ordinary.  Sometimes he thought she was even more aware
of how his viper performed than he was.  Glancing across to his left,
he saw Starbuck carrying out his own last-micron preparations. 
Starbuck looked up to see him, grinned and gave a reassuring "thumbs
up."  Terrell then appeared outside the cockpit, cleared him for launch
and retreated back down the ramp.  The battle was imminent.
     It seemed awfully warm.  Apollo ran a quick check of his
environmental controls but turned up nothing.  He shivered with a
sudden chill and realized his flight suit was soaked with perspiration. 
He heard Rigel's voice in his ear giving the order and could see other
nearby vipers disappearing into their launch tubes.
     An insistent buzzing began to drown out the sound of Rigel's
voice.  Apollo tapped the side of his helmet to no effect.  When he
glanced out of the cockpit again, looking for the source of the noise,
he noticed that very few ships remained on their launch tracks.  He
began to realize that something was dreadfully wrong.  Dazed and
light-headed, he looked for help from Starbuck, but the lieutenant's
ship was already gone.  He thought he heard a voice that sounded like
his own report a launch abort to the bridge, but couldn't remember
speaking.
     The pain in his shoulder was getting worse.  His shaking hand
tried to activate the canopy release but he had trouble closing the
contact.  Finally the canopy began to lift and he heard Terrell's voice
beside him, asking him something.  He didn't pay any attention.
     He had to get out.  It was getting difficult to breathe- he pulled
off his helmet and dropped it, clattering noisily to the deck. 
Although he couldn't recall undoing his flight harness, he desperately
clambered out of the cockpit, almost knocking Terrell off the hastily
replaced mounting ramp.  His arm burned dreadfully, almost making him
black out as he tried to stand.  Then his precarious equilibrium
shifted and he was falling.
     Hazy images of familiar faces swam before his eyes.  Unseen hands
were trying to hold him still.  Someone spoke to him again as the stab
in his shoulder became unbearable.  For a micron, the world around him
coalesced into a brief moment of focus and pain and he saw Damien's
worried face looking down at him.  Part of him wondered why the big man
wasn't helping Sheba launch, then his whole body tensed at the agony
searing down his arm to his deadened fingers.  Nothing else mattered
but his absolute certainty that his arm was on fire.  He screamed once
as he tried to wrench free of the hands that gripped him, before he was
seized by a disquieting absence of sensation.

*************************   

     To Starbuck the silence on the other end of the com was deafening.
     "Starbuck, you'd better get your butt up here."
     Boomer's voice abruptly broke that silence, distracting Starbuck
momentarily from his concern over his wingmate's absence.  He looked at
his rear scan one more time, hoping to see another viper flying up to
join their formation, but there was nothing.  Grudgingly, he hit the
turbos to move up beside Boomer.
     "Boomer, did you see Apollo launch?  I can't raise him and I can't
find him on my scanner.  Something's wrong."
     "I'll say, something's wrong, Bucko!  Take a look at your forward
scan," came the uneasy reply.
     Irritated at Boomer's apparent indifference to his loss of a
wingman, he switched to his forward scan.  Starbuck's jaw dropped as he
stared in disbelief.  "That can't be right..."
     "There's nothing wrong with your scanner.  There are at least ten
full squadrons of Cylon attack craft closing on our position."
     "By all the Lords..."  Starbuck breathed.  He couldn't remember
hearing Boomer sound so apprehensive before.  He didn't like how it
made him feel.  Ten squadrons were a hell of a lot of fighters.  And
where was Apollo?
     A new communique interrupted his thoughts.
     "Attention, all viper squadrons, this is Captain Hecate.  We have
been issued new orders from the Galactica: I will be assuming command
of all squadrons.  Lieutenant Starbuck, you're leading Blue. 
Understood?"
     "Yes, m-ma'am," he stammered.
     "Good.  Take your squadron to a heading of delta-two-seven and
approach on a triangulate cross-vector.  Don't be late."
     "Heading delta-two-seven, copy," Starbuck confirmed.  To his
squadron-mates he transmitted, "Blue squadron form on me."
     As he pulled away from the main force meeting the Cylon attack,
Starbuck had only a moment to wonder what had happened back on the
Galactica.  Then there was no time for other worries as his resolve
turned to the grim task ahead of them.
     Ten squadrons.  It had been a long time since they'd seen odds
like that.  Not since Gamorray, when they had faced three baseships and
a full Cylon garrison.  Of course, then they'd had the added advantage
of the Pegasus.  Not this time.  And now they were missing Apollo as
well.  He didn't like the way this battle was shaping up at all.  Even
as he led Blue squadron away from the main attack force, Starbuck
wondered if maybe this time, his famous luck would be stretched to the
limit.

*************************  

     *Frack, frack, frack, frack, frack, fracking, _FRACK_!*  Athena
futilely wished she could turn back time.  As she tried desperately to
grasp the meaning of what had happened, she idly considered that
Starbuck would have been proud of her ability to cuss like a flyer. 
The thought did not amuse her as much as it might have under other
circumstances.
     "Lieutenant Athena- at the con.  Now."
     Colonel Andromeda's voice sounded strangely calm in spite of their
position, which was nowhere- literally nowhere.  Athena hurried to the
navicon station to meet Andromeda, Shephard trailing, dumbfounded,
behind her.  She knew exactly how he felt.  What had gone wrong?!
     "All right, Lieutenant, they're not here.  Options?" Andromeda
looked inquiringly at her second-in-command, Major Collin, then fixed
her gaze on Athena.
     Athena's mind raced.  Their calculations were correct, she had no
doubt about that.  But there had to be a mistake somewhere.  Had the
Cylons found a way to plant false data in the ship's records that they
weren't able to detect?  Or was it simpler than that?
     "We've come up empty here," Collin was saying.  "I suggest we
return to the fleet as quickly as possible."
     "By the time we get back there, there may not be anything left,"
Athena countered, surprised at how detached she sounded, despite the
near-panic she felt.  "We have to find that Cylon base."
     "Lieutenant, with all due respect, we don't even know if there's a
base to find."  Collin wasn't backing down.
     "Lieutenant Athena, I need coordinates and a damned good reason
why we should be there in the next centon.  Or else we'll have to do
exactly as Major Collin advocates."
     Andromeda's eyes seemed to bore right through Athena's skull, as
if the woman was trying to read her mind.  The young woman stared back
at the Colonel, wondering why she had such a strong feeling to press on
when she knew what her friends and family would be facing in their
absence.  She also wondered why the conversation she'd had with Rigel
before leaving the Galactica kept nagging at her.
     "I never thought the Cylons would be organized enough to
coordinate the efforts of that many outposts and baseships without
Baltar's help," Rigel had said. When Athena had asked her why she felt
that way, the flight sergeant had simply shrugged her shoulders and
said, "Remember Gamorray?  Part of our success was due to the lack of
communication between the base and Cylon.  Even with the Pegasus, we
secured that fuel base quite easily."
     Of course!  That had to be it!
     "Shephard!" Athena turned around suddenly, knocking the bewildered
navigator into the railing behind them.  "Redo the calculations," she
continued, ignoring the confused stares of the others.
     "But how?  We already..." he spluttered.
     She grabbed him excitedly by both arms.  "We assumed the Cylons
launched The New Hope from the base we're looking for!  What if it was
intercepted independently and the base doesn't know anything about it? 
We assumed they went together!"
     Shephard's eyes sparked with realization.  "Then we were wrong
about where those fighters came from."  He looked around furtively,
forgetting that he was already standing beside the navicom.  "May I?"
he asked, then leaned over The Kentauros' navigator to reach the
console without waiting for an answer.  Athena looked up at Colonel
Andromeda.
     "Do it!" Andromeda confirmed.  "But make it quick."
     By the time Athena was able to jostle the Kentauros' navigator out
of the way and join Shephard, he was already most of the way through
the new calculations.
     "I'll do the check," she said, training her gaze on the clutter of
symbols.
     Another few microns passed before Shephard's triumphant "That's
it!" proclaimed the result.  He moved a short metron away as the
navigator manned his post once again.
     "Yes," Athena confirmed when she'd finished.  "That's where we'll
find them, I'm sure of it."  She watched with anticipation as Major
Collin stared at their handiwork.
     After a few microns he turned to Andromeda, "It's sound- they
might be right."
     "We'll go," she decided.  "Transfer the new coordinates to the
Ursidia and notify them we're jumping again in one centon.  Helm?" 
     "Yes, ma'am," came the reply.  "Jump boosters online and ready."
     "On my mark, Corporal..."
     The wait for the jump signal seemed to take forever as Athena
returned to her seat and strapped in.  This time she felt calm, not
nervous.  She knew in her gut they were right.  Beside her, Shephard,
too, seemed more at ease, as if this was clearly the only answer that
made sense.  Maybe she wouldn't need to have that talk with Apollo
about how to deal with battle stress, after all.  As Andromeda's voice
broke the relative silence of the bridge, Athena realized she'd soon
know.
     "All stations standby to jump... and, mark!"

*************************  

     Starbuck kept one eye on his forward scan and one on his
navicomputer as Blue squadron hurtled toward the sector Captain Hecate
had specified.  His mind, however, was elsewhere.  Ever since he'd seen
the evidence for himself, something had been bothering him about the
formation of the incoming Cylon fighters.  Ten squadrons- why ten? 
Like the Colonials, the Cylons generally deployed their squadrons in
units of four.  So where were the other two squadrons?
     "Boomer," he signaled his friend.
     "Yo!  What's up?" came the reply.
     "Boomer, I've got a bad feeling about this."
     There was an uncomfortable delay before he got a reply.
     "About what?"
     "There should probably be twelve squadrons coming to meet us:
three-to-one odds.  Where are those other two squadrons?"
     "Maybe that Cylon base is for real and they've been held back to
protect it."
     "Huh uh, Buddy.  When have you ever known the Cylons to hold
anything back when they think they're closing in for the kill?"
     "Hmm... what're you thinking?  Ambush?"
     "I'd bet every cubit I've got."  With every passing micron,
Starbuck had become more and more convinced they should be somewhere
else.  He quickly turned his navicomputer to calculate mode.  Those
fighters had to be planning to surprise the rest of the Colonial attack
force, but where would they be coming from?  All previous scans had
turned up nothing.
     His mission computer finished it's task and flashed the answer at
him in glaring red numbers.
     "Of course!"
     "'Of course', what?" Boomer asked warily.  His tone quickly
changed to one of alarm when Starbuck's ship began to turn away from
the squadron.  "Starbuck, what are you doing?"
     "Blue squadron," Starbuck ignored Boomer's question, "Change
course immediately to gamma-two-five to rendezvous with enemy
fighters."
     He could almost imagine the look of agitation on Boomer's face as
he adjusted coordinates.  He knew his friend would be wondering what
demon possessed him to disregard orders, but also knew that Boomer's
trust in him would prevent him from questioning his judgement openly.
     The rest of the squadron followed obediently.  As soon as they
were on their new heading, Starbuck's private com-line chirped.  That
would be Boomer, wanting to know what in hades was going on.  Starbuck
opened the com and wasn't disappointed.
     "Starbuck, what in hades hole are you doing, disobeying a direct
order?!  Hecate's gonna have your astrum!"
     "She won't be around to chew me out if we don't move it." 
Starbuck continued, not giving his friend another chance to protest,
"Boomer, if they wanted to completely outgun our attack force, where
would be the best place for those other two squadrons to be?"
     "On top of us," came the sarcastic reply.
     "Be serious!" Starbuck stressed.
     "I don't know, probably as far... " Boomer stopped in mid-sentence
as he realized what Starbuck was thinking.  "As far from our heading as
they can get!"
     "Exactly.  They must have been holding back and waiting for word
from the forward squadrons.  They could scan us and send word back to
the last two squadrons after we separated from the main force."
     "Do you think we'll get there in time?"  Boomer no longer
questioned his friend's reasoning.
     "I hope so.  Or we'll be nothing but a few strays to mop up while
they finish off the fleet."
     As they raced to the new rendezvous point, Starbuck could only
hope that dire prediction would not come to pass.
 
*************************  

     *One more pass,* Sheba thought.  *Just one more pass and we can
get out of here and back to the fleet.*  She moved into strafing
formation with Bojay.  They were quickly joined by Nyssala, and
Damocles as they dropped closer to the planetoid where they'd finally
detected the unmistakable traces of a Cylon installation.
     Athena and Shephard had done it.  Sheba had been impressed at how
closely they had placed the two covert warships to what had previously
been a theoretical Cylon base.  She had to admit that at least this
time, a crazy theory had turned out to be the truth.
     The Kentauros had led the first three strafing runs, concentrating
her heavy laser cannons on the power grid for the installation's
shields while the vipers eliminated the anti-assault batteries.  They
had met with very little resistance, taking the base completely by
surprise.  Just two fighters had been lost in the short battle and the
Kentauros had suffered only minimal damage from the one laser burst she
had taken.  It now fell to Silver Spar squadron to finish off the job
they had started together.
     "This is too easy!" Damocles exclaimed, clearly delighted by the
lack of fighter resistance.
     "Keep it quiet!" Bojay interjected.  "Focus on your assignment,
Ensign."
     Sheba was glad Bojay reprimanded the young man before she did. 
This was no time for celebrating their success.  All she wanted to do
was finish off the base to Colonel Andromeda's satisfaction and return
to help the others.
     From the size of the outpost, she estimated that the Galactica's
squadrons would be outnumbered at least two- or three-to-one.  Before
the destruction, those odds would not have been a cause for worry. 
Since she had come aboard the Galactica however, Sheba had learned
quickly that the continual loss of seasoned pilots pressed far too many
inexperienced cadets into service before they were ready.  The older
pilots did their best to protect the young ones, but it was often an
exercise in futility.  Too many times it had been fatal for both.
     With a grim sense of purpose, she veered away from Bojay's
fighter, selected her target and fired her lasers.  As the deadly
energy pulses found their mark, Sheba was surprised by her lack of
satisfaction.  What she felt was a deep-seated disgust- disgust at the
never-ending loss of life, disgust at the intrusion of the Cylons back
into their lives.
     "Silver Spar squadron," Bojay's voice reached into her dark
thoughts, "We're finished here.  Rendezvous immediately with the
Ursidia at coordinates alpha-six-four.  We'll re-fuel and re-arm as
best we can during the jump.  Then we'll join the rest of the squadrons
in obliterating these tin-heads.  Well done, ladies and gentleman."
     Despite Bojay's congratulations, Sheba still felt ill-at-ease. 
She was too worried about the others to enjoy their victory here.  Her
thoughts turned to the one person she didn't want to think about and
wondered if he was safe.  If there was a way to get himself out in the
middle of the battle, she knew Apollo would find it.  Sheba closed her
eyes for a moment in a silent prayer for all of them this night.  As
she followed her wingman in for landing, she realized that she still
didn't even know which of her squadron's pilots would not be making the
return jump.  Then a disheartening thought occurred to her: God
willing, there'd be time enough for mourning later.

**************************  

     Doyle had lost count of the number of wingmates he'd been paired
with this battle.  First, he'd narrowly escaped being destroyed along
with Cadet Carver as six Cylons had pinned them in a deadly
tri-directional trap.  Then he had lost Corporal Novell when her lasers
jammed.  There had been a couple of other transient partners after her,
but he couldn't remember now, who they were or what had happened to
them.  For awhile he had flown with Shonn, but, in another exchange,
had become hopelessly separated from the rest of his squadron.  That
was when he had ended up flying with Captain Hecate of Green squadron.
     "Doyle, have you picked up Blue squadron on your scanner yet?" she
asked him, while dispatching with a pair of raiders that had tried,
unsuccessfully, to catch them in a crossfire.
     "No, ma'am," he replied.
     "Damn!  I was hoping there was something wrong with my scanner. 
Where are they?"
     Doyle glanced over at Hecate's ship as he was about to reply, when
he saw a flash of grey approaching.
     "Pull up, Cap'n- three on your tail!" he yelled.
     "Frack!"
     Doyle looped his viper around and above his wingmate's attackers. 
Turbos whined loudly with the strain of the tight turn.  Doyle felt
three times the weight of his body as it was pushed back into the seat,
the g-force increasing in the artificial environment of his cockpit. 
He began to see bright spots in front of his eyes that he knew, from
experience, were merely temporary effects of the maneuver.  
     Finally he pulled up in a position behind the raiders.  They were
firing.  Hecate dodged and banked, leading them back toward the
concentrated area of fighting.  Doyle's targeting scanner flashed.  He
calmly pressed the firing button.  Two raiders were destroyed before
the third veered off, self-preservation overcoming its programming for
destruction of the humans.
     "Thanks, Doyle."  The relief in Hecate's voice was evident.
     "Anytime," he chuckled, but his amusement was short-lived.  The
laughter almost choked in his throat when he looked again at his
scanner.  "Aw, shit!  Cap'n we got more company."
     "Two more squadrons?!" she exclaimed before regaining her
composure.  "Where in hades is Blue squadron?" 
     "You don't suppose they..." Doyle couldn't bring himself to
verbalize the terrible thought.
     "No.  Frack!  I sent them the wrong direction- the Cylons must
have scanned them and adjusted course.  But I don't understand why we
haven't seen them on our long-range scan yet."
     Almost immediately, the comlines became a tangled jumble of
desperate communications.
     "Captain Hecate!" came a frantic voice, "What do we do?  There's
too many and there's more coming!"
     "Hold positions!" she ordered.  "We've got to keep them as far
from the fleet as we can for as long as we can."
     "Captain, we're going to be overrun any micron, those raiders are
fresh!"
     "Keep dodging- heads up, Peri!  There's two running off your port
wing."
     Then came a message that Doyle, like every other pilot, had been
afraid he would hear.
     "Hecate, this is Drake.  An attack phalanx has re-formed beyond us
in quadrant gamma-two-four and is headed for the fleet.  Request
permission to pursue."
     "Do it.  Doyle, go with them.  I have Captain Drake at heading
gamma-two-two."
     "Got them," Doyle replied, confirming the information on his own
scanner.  "Be careful out here, Cap'n."
     "Will do, Lieutenant.  Thanks for the assist."
     Doyle decided he definitely liked and respected Hecate.  He hoped
she would stay alive.
     Presently, he closed ranks again with what remained of Green
squadron.  He flew with Shonn, happy to see his friend still surviving,
but noted the obvious absence of a number of other recent additions to
the squadron.  Communication from Drake was short and to the point. 
The Cylon attack wedge had finally punched through the Colonial
defenses with enough ships to rendezvous and continue on toward the
fleet.
     Their task now became almost impossible.  The Cylon raiders were
too far ahead to catch them before they had several centons of open
target practice on the fleet.  As Doyle pushed his craft to its limits,
he felt an overwhelming sense of dread he hadn't experienced since the
rout of the Colonial forces at the false armistice.  There was no way
Green squadron would be able to catch the raiders in time.  Images of
the undefended civilian ships under heavy attack flashed, unbidden,
through his mind.  He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.  There
was nothing he could do.
     Suddenly another formation appeared on his scanner.
     "Oh, frack!"  Beside him, Shonn echoed his sentiments.  "Not
_another_ squadron of the bloody beggars..."
     "Shut up, Shonn!"  That was Drake.  There was silence over the com
until Drake spoke once more.  "They're ours.  For once it looks like
Blue squadron has actually decided to show up and be useful."
     Cheers went up from the members of Green squadron as they saw
their own forces closing on the Cylons ahead of them.  Wisely, Doyle
decided to be quiet about his perspective on Drake's comment.
     "Green squadron leader, this is Lieutenant Starbuck.  Do you
copy?"
     Doyle grinned at the sound of the legendary pilot's voice over the
com.
     "This is Drake, go ahead Starbuck."
     Doyle wondered if the lack of formality was purposeful on Drake's
part.
     "We'll take care of these guys.  Have you got enough fuel and ammo
to go back and help the others?"
     "Sure," Drake oozed sarcastically.  "We'll just go back and forth
across the star system so you guys can have it easy."
     There was a pause.  Starbuck's reply was icy in its tone.  Doyle
got the feeling that if the rest of the squadron hadn't been listening,
Starbuck would have said something else to his squadron leader.
     "We have word from the Galactica- the Ursidia and the Kentauros
returned from their mission and Silver Spar squadron is now
rendezvousing with the other squadrons.  Commander Adama requests that
all able fighters return to the main battle, the others can continue on
to the Galactica for recharge and refuel."
     "Copy that."  Drake's manner became curt and businesslike at the
mention of Adama.  Doyle could understand why.  Standing in front of
the man for a dressing-down, no matter how politic, was not something
he wanted to experience again.
     Once more he turned his viper around to rejoin the others in what
would, with the timely return of Blue and Silver Spar squadrons,
undoubtedly turn into a mop-up operation.  They'd been lucky again. 
Habitually, Doyle glanced up at the stars visible above him, both in
thanks and relief.  Even now, as he checked his scanner again, the tide
had definitely turned in favour of the Colonials.  Again, their
dedication and skill had served them well.  As his ship hurtled back to
the battle, Doyle's faith and hope for their continued survival was
renewed once more.

*************************  

Chapter Eleven- Fences to Mend

     With the urgency of the battle and its subsequent emergencies now
behind them, Adama took a centon to consider the two warriors who had
been called before him.  He had always been well-aware of his
daughter's talents as a bridge officer, but today he felt as though he
was seeing Athena through new eyes.  And summoning Starbuck to his
quarters for a breach of protocol was never a comfortable experience. 
On this day, however, the young lieutenant's disobedience had been a
carefully calculated risk that had resulted in the saving of countless
lives in the fleet.  Rarely had Adama been as proud of his daughter and
the man he considered to be like another son, as he was at this moment.
     He could see from her slight smile that Athena had already deduced
what this was going to be about.  She stood before him easily,
patiently waiting for him to speak.  When he looked at her, her
expression remained unchanged, save for the spark that lit up her
expressive eyes even further.  Adama marveled at how she seemed so like
her mother at this moment- confident, relaxed, very much in charge of
her emotions and her life.  Ila, too, had been a woman who knew what
she wanted and had not been shy about doing whatever it took to realize
her dreams for herself and her family.
     Starbuck, on the other hand, shifted his weight nervously from one
foot to the other, glancing alternately at Athena and Adama, as if
waiting for the worst.  Adama chuckled inwardly at the young man's
discomfort.  He was well aware of Starbuck's reservations about leading
the squadron, but, in Apollo's absence, had led them both wisely and
well.  His son and Colonel Tigh had been right to give the
responsibility to Starbuck.
     Knowing that his son was now safe in the life center, Adama wanted
to enjoy this moment for a few centons.  He moved out from behind his
desk and fixed Starbuck with a stare.  The lieutenant was clearly
uncomfortable about the amount of attention being paid him as he
glanced nervously at Athena.  His eyes widened slightly when he
realized that she, too, was staring at him, her smile broadening.  He
looked back to the commander, confusion settling on his features. 
Finally, he spoke cautiously, unable to stand the suspense any longer.
     "Uh, commander?"
     "Lieutenant," Adama began formally, crossing his arms and leaning
back against the edge of the desk.  Starbuck looked as though he wanted
to slip beneath the deck plates and disappear.  Adama suppressed the
grin that threatened to overtake him.  He was about to demand an
explanation for the disobedience that had saved so many lives, but,
seeing the apprehension on Starbuck's face, could not bring himself to
tease the young man further.  His expression lightened and Adama
laughed as he said, "Starbuck, your inability to follow orders has once
again proved to be your most valuable asset."
     Starbuck apprehensively took his commander's extended hand, not
sure he had heard correctly.  Adama smiled and clapped him on the
shoulder.
     "Your entry into the battle was perfectly timed.  Captain Hecate's
report assured me that had you not redirected Blue squadron, the Cylon
force heading for the fleet would have easily outrun the vipers
pursuing them.  We would have undoubtedly lost more lives, and possibly
ships, if you hadn't detected their ruse."
     A half-hearted smile made its way onto Starbuck's face, though he
was still not convinced he wasn't about to receive a dressing-down.
     "Well-done, lieutenant," Adama drove the point home.
     "Then I'm not in trouble?  Again?"
     "Not this time, Starbuck."
     The young man's grin was genuine as he warmly returned the
commander's congratulations.
     "And you, Lieutenant Athena," Adama continued as he turned to his
daughter.  "Colonel Andromeda briefed me about what happened.  Because
of your quick thinking, you and Corporal Shephard have allowed us to
make good our escape.  The Kentauros' scans indicate that the base was
utterly destroyed.  We don't think they were able to get off any
transmissions, but even if they did, the fleet will be long gone by the
time the Cylons can mass a rescue force and bring it here.  Following
us will be almost impossible."
     "Thank-you, Father," Athena returned his embrace.
     The commander pulled back from his daughter and once again grasped
Starbuck by the arm.  "I just wanted to tell you that I'm very proud of
both of you," he smiled.
     "Thank-you, sir," Starbuck replied.  "Uh, would you like to join
us?  We were going up to the life center to check on Apollo once more."
     Adama retreated behind his desk before answering.  "I'm afraid I
have several things to finish up here.  Why don't you two go ahead?"
     Athena spoke to Starbuck as he headed for the door.  "I'd like to
talk to my father for a centon- I'll catch up later."
     "Sure."
     After the door closed behind Starbuck, Athena moved forward to sit
on the edge of Adama's desk.  "Father, I know you haven't had time to
go to the life center yet..." she began.
     "I've already talked to Dr. Salik," he reassured her.
     "Of course.  I just wanted you to know that I stopped by earlier
and Apollo's going to be fine."
     "Yes, I know."  He took her hand and squeezed it, realizing once
again, how fortunate he was to have both his son and daughter still by
his side.
     Athena smiled back at him, then rose to leave.
     "Athena," he called out, stopping his daughter at the door. 
"Thank-you."
     "I love you, Father."
     "I love you, too.  And I am very proud of you.  I have always been
very proud of you."  The warmth with which his daughter returned his
smile reassured Adama that despite all the difficulties they had faced
in the past yahren, his family would survive.
 
*************************  

     After a battle, the Galactica's life center was always busy with
the wounded and their frightened, grieving families.  When Croft
arrived, he carefully made his way around a disconsolate group of
people crowding the entrance.  A woman was wailing loudly, unabashedly
lamenting the loss of her daughter, unwilling to be consoled by the
young man beside her.  Croft understood how she felt and even envied
her for the conviction with which she mourned.  His had been far more
personal, and ultimately, no less painful.
     With a slight shudder, he left them behind and continued into the
sickbay.  He stopped at the central desk and found Kwan there, entering
reports.  He wanted to ask her about... but then, it was none of his
business, really.  Alivea would be waiting.  He started in the
direction of the main bay where the survivors from The New Hope were,
but stopped once more.  Turning around, he strode back to where Kwan
was absorbed in her work and stood over her.  Eventually, she raised
her head to look at him, a dubious expression on her face.
     "Captain Croft," she began with a calculated professionalism. 
"What can I do for you?"
     "I heard they brought Captain Apollo up here a few centars ago.  I
just wondered what happened... if he was all right?"
     "Well, if you were a family member, I might be able to brief you
on his condition.  Since you are not..."
     "Fine, have it your way," Croft grumbled and turned away.  He
should have known better than to ask Kwan.  She had been on the
Galactica so long, she could probably quote him the regulations by
rote.  She was easily the toughest med-tech they had and not one to act
contrary to standards.
     "Captain..."  Kwan interrupted Croft's pout when she came out from
behind the desk and stopped him with a hand on his arm.  "All I can
tell you is that they got him here in time and he'll be fine-provided
he listens, this time.  Anything else, you'll have to ask Dr. Salik or
the commander."
     "Thanks," Croft muttered, wondering if he'd have to change his
assessment of the woman.
     "One more thing, Captain."
     "Yes?"
     "Dr. Alivea woke up again a short time ago.  She was asking about
you."
     "'About' me?"
     "It seems she's not one to mince words- reminded me of my husband,
actually.  She wanted to know whether or not you were to be trusted."
     "Oh."
     "I told her you were."
     Croft regarded the woman with some confusion.  Her serious
expression told him she was not just ribbing him.  Maybe she had a
heart under her uniform after all.  He laughed inwardly.  Imagine that-
he, Croft, wondering if someone else had a heart.  Leda would have
found that very funny, it occurred to him.
     Croft watched silently, not moving, as Kwan walked back to her
station and resumed her work.  She was a model of medical efficiency. 
He wondered if she ever came across something she couldn't handle.
     "Thanks, Kwan," he said simply.
     "For what?"  The med-tech seemed genuinely surprised at his
reaction.  "I just told her the truth."
     "Sometimes the truth is hard to see."
     "Not if you're looking in the right place."
     "Yeah, well... tell Apollo for me, I hope he's feeling better."
     "Tchusch, tchusch!" she clucked, waving her hands at him to shoo
him along.  "Get going-Dr. Alivea is waiting for her visitor and she
needs rest."
     Croft could tell he wasn't ever going to get in the last word.  He
ducked away quickly before Kwan could decide to go drag him across the
room to Alivea's bedside.  He wasn't entirely sure the little fireball
couldn't do it, either.
     As he approached the far end of the bay, he noticed how much
quieter it was, compared to the bustle of the life center entrance. 
All of The New Hope's survivors were asleep, except for Alivea.  A
small reading lamp clipped to the medbed illuminated her face as she
read from a portable flatscreen someone must have given her.  She bore
more than a passing resemblance to Leda, Croft noted-her dark,
shoulder-length hair framed a face once far more familiar to him. 
Absorbed as she was, she frowned slightly, as though it took all her
concentration to digest what she was reading.  Croft slowed down as he
came near, unconsciously adopting a stealthier gait to avoid disturbing
the others.
     "Don't try that with me, Croft, I know you're there.  Sit down."
     Alivea indicated the edge of her bed, speaking without even
looking up from the flatscreen.  Croft hesitated only slightly, then
sat beside her, saying nothing.  After another centon, she laid down
the computer, her piercing gaze leveled at him.  He returned her stare,
not flinching, not backing down.  He found she couldn't make him feel
guilty about how things had turned out- not anymore.  He would be the
sole judge of that.
     "You've changed," she said, finally.
     Her tone of voice was not venomous, as Croft had expected.  A
little surprised, a little confused, maybe, but not accusing.  A bit
taken aback at her candour, Croft lowered his gaze for a moment,
wondering what to say.  He looked up at her again.
     "Yes."
     "Leda always was too stubborn," Alivea sighed, almost
imperceptibly.  "I suppose she learned some of that from me."
     Croft didn't reply, sensing there was something more his
sister-in-law wanted to say.
     "You didn't tell the entire truth in this mission report, did
you?" Alivea nodded toward the flatscreen sitting on her lap.  "This...
Arcta mission."  
     "I reported what happened," Croft offered, unsure where the
question would lead.
     "There's almost nothing in there about Leda's contribution between
the landing and..."  Alivea paused, searching  in vain for words to
acknowledge her sister's death.  "Leda didn't support the mission," she
guessed.  When Croft didn't answer, she added quietly, "She tried to
run, to abandon you, didn't she?"
     Croft looked into his sister-in-law's dark eyes and saw the sorrow
there.  Just like him, she was forced to mourn her sister not once, but
twice.  Just like him, she was powerless to prevent the fate that
befell the last remaining member of her family.  Now the eyes that
stared back at him pleaded for the truth.  Alivea would accept nothing
less.
     "Leda... tried to run on the mountain-with one of the other cons. 
I had to stop them.  The whole fleet would have been destroyed if we
hadn't taken out that gun.  I couldn't let them go, they would have
killed..."  He stopped, remembering the moment on the mountain, when
the whole mission almost fell apart, when he intervened so that he
would never have to find out if Leda would have chosen a futile escape
over a possible future.  "I didn't put it in the report because she
chose to stay," he lied.
     "No, she didn't," Alivea saw through him.  "She would have run if
it had been possible."
     "Alivea, she was scared," Croft pleaded, not wanting her to blame
Leda for her own death.  "She stayed anyway.  And she saved my life."
     At that moment Croft could have sworn that a star had gone
supernova in his mind.  Enlightenment overwhelmed him like leaf in a
gale force wind.  He finally understood why Leda had sacrificed
herself.  It was as though a crushing weight had tumbled from his back
and fragmented to a thousand tiny bits, like the grains of sand on a
beach.  For the first time in a very long time, Croft thought of Leda
and smiled.
     Alivea's look of bemusement made him chuckle.  He looked away and
shook his head in amazement as he continued, "Leda was as scared and
confused as I was.  I don't know why I didn't see that before... when
she realized we couldn't escape, she just..."  Like Alivea had, Croft
now struggled to find the words to describe what he felt.  He focused
directly on his sister-in-law when he spoke again.  "She wanted to do
what was right-she had to!"  He watched as a grim cast settled on
Alivea once more.  Softly, he added, "She trusted me."
     For a micron, Alivea's jaw tightened as her expression hardened. 
Then she sighed deeply, her shoulders sagging.
     "I always hoped she would find a way to come back," she whispered. 
"I just wish she didn't have to die to do it."  Alivea raised a hand to
her face, as if she could ward off the tears that were forming in her
eyes.  When Croft took her in his arms, she didn't protest.  He noticed
how utterly exhausted she looked.  How long had she been reading,
looking for hope about her sister?  Not just the centars she had spent
here, he realized- probably yahrens.
     Presently, he felt her body sag against his shoulder.  He gently
laid her back in the medbed and pulled the blanket up to cover her
shoulders.  She was already asleep.  Croft extinguished the reading
lamp and turned to go.  For the first time in over eight yahrens, he
finally felt at peace with Leda, Alivea, and, most importantly,
himself.  Maybe now he could begin to put the past behind him.  Maybe
now he could begin to heal.

*************************  

     Slowly, Apollo's head rolled in Sheba's direction when she entered
the darkened room.  His eyebrows knit in intense concentration, he
appeared to be having trouble locating her in the dim light.  Cassie
had warned her that muscle weakness and fatigue would be a side effect
of the treatment.  They had needed to sedate him to keep him quiet
while the medication that would dissolve the blockage in his arm
circulated through his bloodstream.  Cassie had also warned her that he
might not be very responsive.
     As Sheba took a step forward, she fought a sickening sense of deja
vu.  The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach was not unlike her
experiences as a child at the fair, riding the coaster, plunging
crazily from its highest crest.  Not so very long ago she had felt the
same worry as she waited at Apollo's bedside, praying for him to regain
consciousness after Drake's vicious play during the triad game. 
History was repeating itself.  She slowly made her way to the lifepod
and sat carefully on the edge beside him.  The dark shadows thrown by
the dim light of the room made his face seem hollowed and thin,
emphasizing the dark, tired eyes that stared, unfocused, back at her.
     "Didn' we jus' do this?"
     His voice was not much above a whisper, but at least he recognized
her.  Sheba's gaze went to the single line of tubing snaking under the
white bandage on the back of Apollo's right hand.  She took his other
hand in hers, resting his arm in her lap while she very gently massaged
his palm.
     "How do you feel?"
     "Like daggit felger."
     "Does it hurt much?"
     "Not now.  Pumped me fulla painkillers."
     His speech was slurred as if he had been drinking a bit too much
at the officers' club.  The hand she held was soft and warm, but
unresponsive to her touch.  Not because he didn't want to respond to
her- Sheba understood that now.  It was that he couldn't.  It was a
sickeningly close parallel of their relationship.
     "Damien?" Apollo prompted after a centon.
     Sheba hadn't realized how long she'd remained silent, thinking. 
"Yes, I saw him," she said, sensing that Apollo needed to hear her
voice, to be reassured.  She paused again, recalling how Damien had run
to her ship as soon as she had landed after the battle.  He was out of
breath and his face was lined with worry.
     "Captain Apollo collapsed before launch," he had said.  "Something
to do with his arm...They took him straightaway to the life center. 
But he gave me this and insisted I give it to you when you got back." 
It was the aurium ring.
     Cassiopeia and Dr. Salik had filled in the rest of the story.  As
a result of the blows from the triad game, a clot must have been
forming slowly in a blood vessel in Apollo's arm.  It was so small at
first that they had been unable to detect it with regular scans, but it
was there nonetheless, causing his headaches, the blackout, the loss of
sensation in his hand.  Then, shortly before launch it had dislodged,
traveled up his arm and caught again, blocking circulation.  He had
collapsed in agony in the launch bay, pain shooting down his arm from
the pressure exerted on nerves in his shoulder.  Sheba tried not to
think about what might have happened had he actually launched first.
     "D' he give it?"  Apollo's voice brought Sheba back to the
present.
     "Yes, he gave me the ring."
     With a surprising burst of energy, Apollo clumsily grabbed for her
hand.  She pulled back involuntarily, surprised at the sudden movement. 
"What are you doing?"
     His hand fell back to the bed as if the effort had sapped his
strength.  He closed his eyes and sighed dejectedly.  "Now what?"
     For a moment, Sheba didn't understand.  Then she realized that he
had guessed from her reaction that she had not put the promissory ring
back on.  She felt the tears welling up slowly in her eyes.  This was
not how she had wanted to break this to him.  She had wanted to wait
until he was stronger.  Why did they always seem to have these
conversations in the life center?
     "Forgive me, Apollo, this isn't how I wanted to tell you," she
said softly.  "But I just can't go on this way.  You tell me you love
me, then you won't let me anywhere near you.  You're tearing me apart. 
I can't live like that.  I won't live like that."
     "Can't forget you either."
     He finally managed to look directly at her, his eyes pleading,
begging her to reconsider.  She felt him gently take her hand and give
it a squeeze.  It must have taken all his strength, for his eyes closed
again, his head relaxed back on the pillow.  He was asleep in microns. 
Sheba continued to watch the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he
breathed and wondered what it would have been like to lay with him,
watching him sleep.
     He seemed so peaceful now, so gentle and open.  And she knew he
could be like that; she had seen his gentleness and patience surface
time and again with his family, the people he loved.  She had seen it
in his dealings with the bereaved families of pilots who didn't come
back from a battle.  Would he ever be that open with her?  Could she
afford to wait?
     No.  She knew that now.  It wasn't that she didn't love him.  On
the contrary, she loved him too much.  It took so long for her to
realize she was losing her own identity in their relationship that
Sheba was afraid she wouldn't be able to find herself again if she
stayed.
     But now what?  Apollo had asked her the same question.  With every
breath she watched him take, she knew with more certainty that no
matter how much he loved her, or she him, she couldn't sacrifice
herself to be with him.  She regretted that he would wake to find her
gone.  She regretted that he forced her into this decision.  Most of
all, she regretted that she had to walk away from something that, deep
in her heart, she felt was right.
     Presently, she heard the door slide open.  Light streamed into the
room, partially blocked by a figure in the open doorway.  Without
turning around, Sheba watched the diffuse shadow thrown over them
shrink and darken as the figure approached from behind.  Sheba felt a
warm, soft touch on her shoulders and knew it was Cassiopeia.
     "It's not easy, is it?"
     Sheba laughed bitterly, brushing the tears from her eyes.  She
knew what Cassie meant, but next to the painful choice she had just
made, seeing Apollo in the life center again was easy.  How could she
tell Cassiopeia that she was abandoning her husband's best friend to
save herself?  What could she say to make her understand how it killed
her a little inside each time Apollo turned away from her?  She
understood his confusion, but that didn't make it any less painful for
her.  In the end, Sheba decided that a simple response was the best.
     "No, it never is."

*************************  
 
Epilogue

     As it always had, the asteroid designated QX-784252 moved through
the heavens undisturbed, save for the slight gravitational pull of the
large gas and dust planet, millions of hectares away, that prevented it
from breaking free and beginning its own voyage across the universe. 
The surprised Colonials had discovered the outermost members of the
planetary system to which it belonged when they had destroyed the
equally surprised Cylon patrol.
     The Cylon outpost on the surface of the asteroid lay in ruins. 
The fuel depot and spacedrome had been destroyed by the attacking
Colonial ships.  So bold a response had not been expected.  Not a
single structure had been spared the carnage.  They would have to
re-evaluate their view of Commander Adama's tactical abilities.
     The explosions above had stopped centars ago.  Deep beneath the
surface, Moloch glided silently down the short hallway to the control
room.  He had already begun a detailed analysis of the Colonials'
attack.  A complete analysis would have to wait until the few remaining
centurians had gathered the information he needed.  If it was possible
for a machine to be worried, one would have thought Moloch was worried. 
For himself, Moloch would have said that as an IL-series Cylon, he was
merely fulfilling his functions by analyzing the details of their
defeat.
     Upon reaching the control room, Moloch hesitated for a moment. 
What would she say about this latest development?  As soon as it became
clear that the Colonials would wipe out the base, she had retreated
here, far beneath the surface, to the underground bunker.  Moloch had
known about the existence of this space for a yahren, ever since he was
assigned to this outpost by the new Imperious Leader, but until the
last few centars, he had never moved along its corridors.  Now, she had
ordered that they stay here, maintaining communication silence until
further orders.  As he contemplated whether or not to disturb her with
the news, the doors to the control room slid open.
     Moloch entered immediately.  She had obviously expected him.  He
went directly to the command station, standing silently behind her.  If
she had permitted him entry, then she knew he was here.  He waited
another few respectful microns to see if she would speak first. 
Finally, he deduced that she was waiting for him.
     "By your command."
     "Quite," came a slightly impatient voice from behind the chair.
     Whatever she was doing, clearly, it was too important for her to
interrupt her work to give him her undivided attention.
     Moloch continued.  "I have not picked up any seismic disturbances
in over five centars.  Neither have I been able to detect any movement
on the surface.  It is logical to assume that the Colonials believe
they have destroyed our outpost and have withdrawn."
     "They _have_ destroyed the outpost."
     "Quite."  Moloch really had no reply to such a statement of fact
but had noticed that she often said 'quite' when no other reply seemed
appropriate.  The truth of the matter was that the Colonials had
completely decimated the outpost.
     "They have destroyed your fighters as well."
     How could she know that?  Moloch had suspected as much, but was
still awaiting any last communications from the fighters they had
launched to take on the Colonial fleet.  "There may still be some
communication from survivors," he reminded her.
     "There were no survivors, save the humans."
     Moloch stopped himself before he said "quite" again.  "What are
your orders?"  When there was no reply, he asked, "Shall I awake the
others?"
     Slowly, the command chair turned around so that she faced him. 
She stared straight through him as though he wasn't even there.  He
noticed she did that when she was thinking.  He'd come to know that
even when she appeared to be ignoring him, she knew exactly where he
was at all times.  Sometimes he even wondered if he was redundant when
she also seemed to know what he was thinking.
     "No."
     Moloch quickly accessed his memory bank and determined that she
had answered his second question.  "Shall I send a message to Imperious
Leader about the humans?" he queried.
     "There is no need."
     Moloch had learned early on that it was best not to question her
more enigmatic answers.
     "Shall I prepare your vessel?"
     She looked through him again before finally answering.  "It is not
yet time.  They have returned their ship to space, but it has served
its purpose.  We will wait awhile longer.  You will gather your
remaining centurions until they are needed again."
     Moloch wondered briefly what ship she was talking about but
decided against asking.  He then considered asking what they would be
preparing for or when they would be needed again, but was fairly
certain he would not like the answer.
     "By your command, Medea."

*************************  

- The End -