Desperate Measures
By Maggie

Prologue

     He could not stand another day, let alone endless sectars.  Or
another yahren.  The thought sent an almost physical stabbing sensation
through his mind.  Crushing, it seemed, overwhelming.  He wanted to
scream and scream and scream.  He pulled himself into a tight fetal ball
and tried to will the feeling away.
     He spent as many centars as he could in sleep period, trying to
escape, trying to remember and to *feel* what life had been like so many,
many sectars ago... trying to walk the shores of his Virgon ocean in his
mind, to feel the pale green waters lapping at his toes and his feet sink
into the soft, foamy sand.  The images eased him, soothed him, and lulled
him to sleep.
     But each time he awoke - and realized that it no longer existed,
that he was condemned to spent yet another day confined to the innards of
this aged freighter - the wave of despair cut deeper, ripping through his
mind, his soul, taunting him... tormenting him.
     It had to end.  It had to.  Had to.  Had to.  
     He had to end it.  He did.  Or go insane.
     Engineering technician Dominius rolled out of his bunk, running both
hands down his grizzled face, wiping away the perspiration that stung his
eyes.  Breathing in deep, ragged breaths, he stumbled into the tiny head. 
Gripping the sink with shaking hands, he stared at the image in the
mirror.  Stared beyond it.  Frak it all, he though.  Frak it all.
     His mind ran through the list of tedious tasks he had to do that
day.  Maintenance inspections.  Mind-numbingly dull checklists.  To be
sure that the _Lyra_ passed the Galactica's formal inspection.  Who the
frak cared?
     Then it hit him.  Yes... yes!  The inspection team from the
Galactica was due to arrive in three days.  Well, he'd make this one they
wouldn't soon forget.  If they survived.
     Survived?  A tiny part of his mind cried at him, pleaded with him. 
Don't... they just want to help you.  To help everyone.  They saved your
life.  
     Frakking mong they did!  This is not living.  This is pure torture. 
It would have been better to die a fiery death on Virgon than to endure
this... It has got to end.  It has to.  Has to.  Has to.  
     One way or the other.
     That night, during sleep cycle, a new fantasy dominated his
thoughts.  A plan, a scenario, one where carefully wired fuses were
connected to a certain diagnostic panel.  One where the resulting chain
reaction crippled but did not destroy the Lyra.  One where even the
commander could not ignore that this impossible exodus had to end - had
to end! - soon!  These ships just could not take it any more.  No more. 
No more.  An end.  And end had to come!

**********
Part 1

     "Wake me when we get there."  Lieutenant Starbuck leaned his head
back against the co-pilot's seat, and with an exaggerated sigh, closed
his eyes.  "If I have to examine one more intake valve, I'm going to go
nuts!"
     "Cheer up."  Lieutenant Boomer gave his friend a playful knock on
the shoulder.  "This is the last stop for today, and then we've only got
three more days of this."
     Starbuck opened his eyes and snorted.  "I didn't join the Colonial
Service to be an engineering technician -"
     "Well, some people might say that sitting for centars and centars in
a cramped cockpit on a routine recon mission is just as monotonous." 
     "Yeah, well..."  Starbuck lapsed into silence.  He knew full well
that the Fleet did not have the manpower to delegate the inspections each
quarton to just engineering specialist and technicians.  Having added the
task as a rotating duty among the Warriors had eased the burden.  And
without continual inspections, repairs, upgrades, many of the ships in
the Fleet would not still be flying.  Thus, he knew that the duty was of
vital importance to the survival of the Fleet.  Still, that did not make
it any more pleasant.  He could think of countless other ways he'd rather
spend his centars, as opposed to running diagnostics on key engine
components.
     "The freighter Lyra in visual range, dead ahead," Boomer announced. 
"Three centons until final approach."
     "Gotcha."  Starbuck keyed the transmitter on his head set.  "This is
Galactica Shuttle requesting landing clearance."
     "You are cleared for landing," responded a voice from the Lyra.
     "Acknowledged."
     Five centons later, the two Warriors strolled down the shuttle ramp. 
Starbuck, lightly tossing his compupad from hand to hand, trailed behind
Boomer.  Not for the first time, he marveled that his buddy actually
seemed to enjoy the inspections.  That untapped technical side to ol'
Boom-Boom, mused Starbuck with slight grin as he watched the lieutenant
follow the procedures - checking in with the security and then waiting
for a technician to meet them and escort them to the main engines
compartment.  Boomer rocked slightly on his heels in anticipation. 
Whereas Starbuck was more than content to just let the computer do the
work as they preformed each diagnostic, Boomer would study the readouts,
recite the figures to himself,  and even make various observations about
the differences among the different engine specs from ship to ship.
     Starbuck no longer even feigned an interest.  Most teams alternated
on who preformed the computer diagnostics and who handled the other
checklists - such as standard emergency equipment in place, etc. Starbuck
gladly accepted the task that at least permitted him to roam through the
engine compartment and other key sections instead of having to stand
glued to one spot as the computer ran each specified test.  
     The turbolift door swooshed open and a technician stepped out to
greet the Warriors.  Boomer offered a hand and stated, "Lieutenant
Boomer, and this is Lieutenant Starbuck."
     The man ignored the hand.  "Dominius.  Now follow me."  He turned
and stepped back onto the turbolift, not waiting for acknowledgement.
     Boomer shrugged and instead took out his own compupad as they
entered the lift.  As the lift door hissed shut, Starbuck gazed at the
rude technician out of the corner of his eyes, debating whether it was
worth it to light the mood with a few wise cracks.  The man stared
resolutely ahead of him, his face stony.  His sandy hair was unkempt and
several days worth of stubble covered his face.  Obviously less than
thrilled to be stuck escorting around a couple of Warriors, mused
Starbuck.  He looks haggard, overworked.... the lieutenant decided to
refrain from any comments.  He knew that managing the upkeep of some of
these old freighters was a next-to-impossible task.
     Eventually, the lift bumped to a stop five levels below the shuttle
bay, and they made their in silence down a long corridor that led to the
main engine compartment.  The ship's configuration, Starbuck reflected,
as they entered through the double-sealed portal,  was fairly typical of
the older freighters.  The cargo/landing bay sat on top, midship, above
what - in this case - used to be storage areas but were now living
compartments for nearly 100 civilians.  The aft quarter of the ship held
the FLT engines, housed in two massive chambers separated by a catwalk
above and a narrow passage below for maintenance purposes.  At various
points, sturdy ladders extended upward on both sides to allow access to
key components.  Amazingly, the construction of the chambers limited the
noise of the engines to a dull roar and ear protectors were not
necessary.  Still, any conversation involved shouting, so both Warriors
focused on their chosen assignments.
     Boomer had ten key diagnostics to run, so he followed Dominius to
the first interface on the port engine and snapped the compupad into the
bracket.  Starbuck watched for a brief time, noting that the technician
said a few words, Boomer shook his head, then the tech left.  Fine with
him, he mused as he walked down the passage to begin his own checklist. 
He and Boomer had preformed enough of these inspections, so they hardly
needed an over-worked, impatient technician following them around.

********

     Dominius stepped through the air-tight safety portal, walked three
paces, then stopped.  He leaned against the wall, feeling his heart
pounding, his limbs starting to shake, as the magnitude of his actions
sank in.  He had done it.  Really done it.   Taken fantasy and
transformed it into reality.  A tiny part of him still cried - but people
will die!  The faintest hope, the barest chance that this could expedite
an end - an end! - to the exodus, however, overwhelmingly crushed any
remorse or regret.
     After a moment, he straightened his shoulder, took several deep
breaths, then strolled off with a renewed affirmation burning in his
mind.  

******
Part 2

     Boomer disengaged the compupad from the third interface and turned
to the starboard chamber to run the identical test on the other engine. 
So far, all readings had checked out within acceptable ranges and if the
rest of the inspection proceeded likewise, then he and Starbuck would be
finished in just over a centar.  Plenty of time to shuttle back to the
Galactica and hit the commissary for an early evening meal - since they
had worked through the midday one - and then to relax, maybe meet up with
the rest of the squadron in the O.C.  Time enough before curfew to enjoy
a few rounds of both Pyramid and some good Sagittarian ale.  Or maybe
they'd head over to the simulators to hone their skills with a little
friendly completion-
     A flash out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. 
Lieutenant Boomer, instantly alert and focused, snapped his head in the
direction of the forward engine compartment.  For a moment, he saw
nothing.  He stared, studying in turn each chamber, sure of what he had
seen.  He was about to stop to locate Starbuck when he saw the second
flash - port engine compartment at the tylium infusion line.  Not good!
     He whirled, heart pounding, breaths coming in short gasps.  Where
was Starbuck?  There!  All the way aft.  Boomer yelled and sprinted
towards him.
     The noise of the engines drowned out his voice.  He had gone only
three paces when the tylium sparked and exploded.

*****

     Starbuck, intent on finishing his checklist, examined each safety
valve quickly but efficiently.  Only three remained.  He glanced down at
his compupad to mark off number twenty seven, then shifted the half
metron to number twenty eight, which was located above a maintenance
rack.  Stretching up and around the various pieces of hanging equipment,
he attached the gage which measured the valve's integrity.  Inspections
might be tedious, but once he got started, he was just as focused and
professional as Boomer.  The payback, he knew, was two fold; he could
gripe and grouse later, mostly as a way to irritate his buddy, but he
would also  feel the satisfaction in the completion of a vital job.  Many
of the 220 ships in the Fleet should have been retired yahrens ago.  Now,
they were the only home for so many people.  The survival of the Fleet -
of the human race -depended on keeping as many ships as possible
operational.  So while he might prefer the cockpit of a viper, Starbuck
took the responsibility of performing inspections in equal seriousness. 
He kept mind focused and did not permit the growling of his hungry
stomach to distract him.  They would be finished soon enough-
     The hair on the back of his neck prickled an instant before the
explosion burst in his ears. He swung part way around in the micron it
took for the force of the blast to slam into him.  And ram him back and
into the rack of bulky equipment.  The various apparatuses crashed down
over and around him.  His right arm exploded in pain as something heavy
and sharp connected with his shoulder, then his head struck the bulkhead. 
Consciousness snapped and the world went black.

*******

     The force of the blast lifted lieutenant Boomer off his feet and
hurled him several metrons before gravity pulled him down.  He slammed
into the deck, felt the wind knocked forcibly from his chest, and then
skidded towards the starboard engine chamber, head first.  Out of
instinct, he tucked his chin down in time to let his back and shoulders
smash into the immovable surface.  For a micron, he lay still, stunned
and disoriented.  Then slowly, slowly... he started to pull himself
upward, off the cold deck.  But the effort sent a fiery ache across his
shoulders, and he flopped back down, rolling, instead, onto his back.
     He knew that a fire raged even before he turned to look towards the
forward section; the wall of heat blazing against his cheek left no
doubts.  The tylium line on the port engine chamber burned with
blue-white flames that leaped upward, almost to the top of the
compartment, melting the panels surround it.
     Get up!  The thought screamed through Boomer's mind.  Get to the
shut-off valve and stop the flow of tylium!  Boomer dragged himself
upward, stumbling.  The valve was all the way forward, past the flames
but not unattainable.  He struggled to make battered and aching muscles
move, to coordinate.  He scrambled, crawling, as his rubbery legs refused
to support his weight.
     He had gone only a metron before a another flash, then explosion -
this one on the starboard chamber-- blinded him and knocked him flat.  He
curled into a tight ball, eyes squeezed shut, as he felt the full brunt
of the shock wave slam past him, around him.  Searing heat forced him to
scramble back, back--  Move!  Move! His mind screamed.  He stumbled up
once, twice, dragging himself away from the scorching flames.
     Then, with a screech of breaking metal, the catwalk, supports
weakened by the explosions and melted by the heat, tumbled down.

******

     Frak, it's hot.  That thought tumbled around Starbuck's mind for
nearly a centon before he managed to pull himself back to the conscious
realm.  Hot.  A searing heat, beyond just uncomfortable.  And hard to
breath.  He coughed and sweat dripped into his eyes as he blinked
rapidly.  With each shuttering breath, his head pounded sharply.  And for
another few microns he struggled, with a growing desperation and sense of
urgency, to remember where he was and why.  The _Lyra_.  Inspections. 
But what in Hades had happened?
     With a groan, he started to sit up.  Then froze and screamed through
gritted teeth as a blinding pain shot through his right shoulder and arm. 
Only the frantic need to escape the heat and suffocating smoke kept him
from collapsing back. With a long, agonized cry, he squeezed his eyes
shut, threw himself to his left , rolled, and pushed himself upright with
his left arm.  And gulped and choked as a wave of nausea surged upward.
     Frak, oh frak, of frak...
     The wave subsided.
     Starbuck wiped the sweat from his eyes, tried to control the
coughing by breathing slowly, and did his best to ignore the pounding in
his head, in his ears.  He *had* to move *had* to get up.  Get up!  Or
die.  The adrenaline surged.  With his left hand, he tucked his useless
arm across his chest, then squinted through the black, acrid-smelling
smoke.
     A wall of flames burned from each engine chamber, fueled by leaking
tylium.  Behind the roar of the fire, the emergency klaxon screamed, and
warning lights flashed.  The catwalk lay crumpled and twisted in the
passage between the chambers.  And a still form lay pinned under the edge
of it, not more than three metrons away.
     "BOOMER!"  Starbuck gasped and coughed as he struggled forward,
crawling, scooting, propelling himself with legs and his one good arm.
     Boomer lay sprawled on his back, unmoving, trapped beneath the thick
beam of the catwalk, which crossed his legs just above the knees.  Blood
streamed from a gash in his forehead.
     "Boomer!  Frak and felgercarb!" Starbuck frantically grabbed his
friend by the shoulder and pulled, yanked, but to no avail.  The bulky
edge of the catwalk held fast to its victim.  "Wake up!  Wake up!  We've
got to get out of here!"  
     Boomer groaned and rolled his head.  "Whaaa... ?"
     "WAKE UP!"  
     Boomer seemed to snap back to reality.  "What the...?"  He pushed
against the immovable beam that lay across his legs, then stared wildly
down the passage.  The flames had almost completely blocked the passage
to the forward part of the engine chamber.  Boomer suddenly realized that
they only had microns before the blaze would completely swallow up their
only exit. There wasn't time.  No time.  No time.  "Starbuck!"  he
screamed, feeling an overwhelming panic, "GET THE FRAK OUT OF HERE!"  He
tried to grab the lieutenant by the arm and push him on.
     "NO!"  Starbuck pulled away, tumbling back, yanking his arm free. 
"Not without you!"
     "Get the frak out of here! We don't have time -"
     Ignoring him, Starbuck threw himself against the beam and tried to
push - to push! - with his back.  He was *not* going to leave Boomer.  
     For several microns both warriors strained against the beam, but
even adrenaline-fueled panic could not budge immense steel of the
catwalk.  Starbuck finally collapsed down beside it, gasping, groaning,
tears of frustration mixed with the sweat.    What else could he do? 
What could he do?  A glance forward showed their passage to safety nearly
engulfed by the raging flames.  

********* 

     In the corridors outside the engineering section, the warning klaxon
blared - a high-pitched whine that strained the ears of the emergency
crew, despite their earguards. Six frustrated engineering technicians
worked feverishly to override the emergency bulkhead that, for unknown
reasons, had sealed itself, blocking their efforts to reach the fire.
This particular bulkhead door was supposed to close only in the event of
a hull breach. The fact that the fire continued to rage was proof that
the hull was, for the moment, intact. Obviously, something wasn't right
here. Precious microns ticked by.  At last, they managed to cross-wire
the controls, and the door screeched open.  They grabbed up their
equipment and scrambled forward, only to be blocked by yet another sealed
door.  Eleven centons had passed since the first explosion that triggered
the alarm.  Eleven centons with a fire raging through critical systems. 
Eleven centons.  Even with fire-resistant shielding surrounding the fuel
bunkers, any leak would mean instant disaster-- a build up of pressure
from the heat generated by the fire would eventually compromise a valve,
or a seal, fuel would leak, and the bunkers would rupture, violently,
dooming the ship.
     The emergency crew chief, Brennus, pounded the sealed door, cursing
in utter frustration as his team once more struggled to reroute door
circuits.  What in blazes was going on?  He snatched his communicator to
call the bridge.  "Captain!  We've hit another sealed door!  What its
look like inside now?"
     After a moment's pause, the reply came: "At the rate the temperature
is rising, we'll reach red zone in just under six centons. And still no
response to commands for an emergency fuel dump."
     "What about your command override, sir?"
     "No response there, either. Computer interface with engineering is
totally down, Brennus."     Another pause.  "Keep me posted."
     "I copy."  replied Chief Brennus. He let loose a string of verbage
that would have done Commander Cain proud, as he slapped the communicator
back onto his belt and clenched his hands, fighting the urge to yell at
his crew. Hades, they were doing all they could.  Six centons.  Not
enough time to properly contain the fire, but maybe enough to dowse
enough vital systems with boraton and get the temperatures back down. 
Should they fail, the Captain would have no option except to fire a
series of explosive bolts on the hull, and jettison the entire drive
section- both FTL and sublight reaction cores, as well as the bunkers. 
That would save the ship but render it inoperable.  Generators might keep
other systems functioning for a couple of cycles, but the Lyra would be
little more than floating space junk. 

*******

     "Get your crew and equipment ready to launch as soon as possible. 
The shuttle will be waiting for you in Beta Bay, and we'll have a medical
team standing by, as well.  Adama out."  
     The commander jabbed the comm button and let out a slow, long breath
as he turned from the now-dark vidscreen to face those around him, all of
whom had heard the anxious message from the captain of the _Lyra_.   An
explosion in the engineering section during the official inspection.  No
word on casualties or the extent of the damage. His own crews would do
all they could, but they had limited manpower and resources and needed
all the help they could get.
     Athena and Omega stared up from their bridge positions.  Tigh, his
face grim, stood next to Adama, and Apollo paced tensely behind them.  
     "Father, I'm going to pilot the shuttle."  Apollo stopped briefly to
meet the commander's eye, then resumed his pacing.
     Adama looked puzzled and glanced at Tigh.  "That's hardly necessary. 
Chief Jorda's fire crew can pilot their own-"
     "Adama," the colonel interrupted quietly, putting a hand on the
commander's shoulder.  "The _Lyra_ was on Starbuck and Boomer's
inspection list for today..."
     Adama's eyes widened almost imperceptibly as he locked his gaze with
Apollo's. His frown deepened.  The source of his son's nervous energy was
crystal clear, now.  "Very well.  I'll notify Life Station to activate
the emergency team.  Be ready to launch in five centons."
     Without a word, Apollo turned and raced off the bridge.

******
Part 3

     Coughs racked both warriors to the bone now as they struggled to
breath through the black, pungent smoke.  It burned their eyes, their
throats, their lungs. Starbuck crouched next to Boomer, his head
spinning, pounding, as the tightness in his chest mercilessly grew.  He
rubbed his eyes and squinted around, desperate for an answer.  "There's
got to be a way!" he muttered between coughs.
     A hand slapped at him feebly.  "Get out of here!"
     "Will you frakkin' shut up! I won't leave you!"  Anger flared, and
with it, one final, desperate inspiration.  Starbuck grabbed his laser
with his left hand.  "Cover your face!" he shouted through choked
breaths.
     Scrambling to his knees, he aimed at the section of the crossbeam a
half metron past the part that pinned Boomer and fired, pressing his own
face into his shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut.  Sparks and pieces of
shrapnel spewed  all about them, over them, as the laser burned through
the beam.
     Five microns... ten... twenty...
     Starbuck held his breath to keep his aim steady but felt his arm
wavering as his head spun and his lungs screamed for air.
     Twenty-five microns...  A dull roar was building in his head... in
his ears.
     "Now!"
     Hands pulled the laser from his grip.  Starbuck let out his breath
and opened his eyes, coughing uncontrollably and collapsing in a heap,
all energy spent.
     Boomer clawed at the deck, struggling to pull himself from under the
severed beam with a renewed effort.  With an agonized groan, he finally
slipped first one, then the other leg free.  The release of pressure sent
waves of pain through his calves.  And a searing jolt through his right
leg.  He screamed but kept pulling, dragging himself.  he spared a look
at one boot. It was deeply slashed, and tinctured red They were so
close... so close!  He would not give up!  Go! Move!
     "Move!" he growled into Starbuck's ear, yanking him by the collar. 
Then froze for a micron as he stared at their only exit.  The raging
flames had swallowed up any possible passage in that direction.
     No!  His mind screamed.  There had to be another way.  Had to... had
to.  Instinct took control.  All his warrior training.  All his will to
live. All the anger and indignation, all the blind unadulterated rage,
that he could survive the Great Destruction, survive countless battles
with the Cylons.  He would *not* die in some senseless accident...  He
dragged himself back, back--
     Starbuck still lay in a dazed heap, coughing, gagging.  Boomer,
propelled by the pain as well as the desperation, snatched at his
friend's jacket, yanked him forward, upward, and slapped him across the
face. Once, twice, *hard.*  "MOVE! MOVE, you...philandering ambrosia keg!
MOVE!"
     The added stinging sensation snapped Starbuck out of his daze.  He
scrambled up, eyes bleary with tears, pulling Boomer with him, supporting
him with his good shoulder. Together, they stumbled, hobbled, *willed*
themselves onward, through the thick, acrid smoke, towards the aft
bulkhead.
     "Left!" croaked Starbuck through the coughs when they tumbled
against the wall.  He'd done the inspection.  So he knew the closest
survival kit was attached to the bulkhead just three metrons away.  They
could barely see, could not breath.  Starbuck could feel the roar in his
ears pressing in, sucking away his awareness with each air-starved gasp. 
Fingers groped across the wall blindly.  There!  He fumbled, one-handed,
with the latch on the kit. But could not open it.  Hands brushed his
aside.  Boomer's weight shifted on his shoulder.  He focused on holding
him up.  Up.  Stay up.  Stay up!  Don't lose it now! He squeezed his eyes
shut, let the pain from his throbbing head, his useless arm, wash over
him, felt himself going numb, felt oblivious to the relentless, racking
coughs, felt the world closing in, as Boomer's weight seemed to increase,
to overwhelm him, to press him down... down...
     A rush of cool, fresh air swelled down his throat and into his
lungs, as something slid over his face. Gripping the mask like a lover in
the throes of passion, Starbuck breathed in deeply, desperately, for
nearly a centon, before something pulled his hand and the breather back,
away.
     "Take it easy," said a voice in his ear, "or you'll hyperventilate."
     Starbuck opened his eyes to see Boomer's hot, sweaty,
smoked-streaked face-behind a breather-- next to his.  They lay in a
heap, propped against the bulkhead, where they had both sagged to the
floor.  A brief, brief respite as they replenished their oxygen supply.
     "Beats burning to death, Boomer."
     Finally rational thought returned.  They might have air, but they
were still trapped by the fire, which raged remorselessly on.  And it was
growing, spreading, a  mindless cancer of destruction.  A sudden though
occurred.  "Why in Hades  didn't the automated boraton sprays kick in?" 
Starbuck jabbed a finger in the direction of the inferno.
     "Good question," muttered Boomer.  "And the fuel. Why didn't the
automatic dump valves open like they're supposed to?" He took a deep
breath, then added, "We can't stay here."
     Starbuck smacked the deck with his good hand.  "What a frakkin'
idiot I am!"
     Boomer just stared at his friend, wondering if he had truly gone
mad.
     "The maintenance shafts!"  yelled Starbuck.  "The snitrad-fracking
maintenance shafts!"
     He scrambled upward, pulling Boomer with him.  Three paces beyond
the survival kit, one of many hatches protruded from the wall.  It led to
an elaborate series of shafts that snaked throughout the entire ship to
allow access to various systems and components which were otherwise
concealed within the bulkheads.
     "Of course!"  shouted Boomer with a whoop.  "Grab some luminaries
from the survival kit!"  He hobbled to the hatch and yanked it open again
in less than a micron, staring in through the darkness.  And up. 
Starbuck appeared next to him, handing him a head strap with a luminary
secured to it.  Boomer shook his head and turned to stare at his friend,
suddenly somber.  "It leads up and over the starboard engine chamber,
most likely."
     "Yeah, so?  That's perfect!  It'll be away from the heat of the
flames."
     "*Up,*"  repeated Boomer.  "With your arm and my leg, that'll take
us too long.  Too long..."  He suddenly looked defeated.
     "What do you mean?"  Starbuck yelled wildly, not understanding.
     "Look at the fire!"  screamed Boomer.  "It's uncontained.  Not a
single emergency system's kicked in!  Where're the automated boraton
sprays?  Where' re the fire crews?  If someone doesn't do *something* in
the next few centons, it's over!  They've got to either jettison the
drive section or risk an all-out tylium explosion!"
     "Well, we can't just give up!"  Starbuck felt beyond frustration,
beyond desperation.  They'd made it this far... "Get your astrum into
that shaft and climb!"

******

     "Open, open, damnation, open..."  Chief  Brennus chanted under his
breath as he paced and waited for his crew to open the actual bulkhead
that would - finally! - bring them face to face with the blazing inferno. 
Two centons, he estimated, they had  just two more centons.  Before the
fire red zoned, and the whole ship...
     With a screech like a tormented beast, the crew pushed the door open
enough for them to drag their gear through.  With a determination fueled
by the frustration of the previous sixteen centons, Brennus and his men
attacked the fire as best they could with the portable boraton pumps,
aiming for the critical tylium lines, and systems control board. What was
left of it.  In the back of his mind, though, he analyzed the situation.
Too little, too late, if they didn't receive support.  Soon.  With the
inadequate  resources they had, he and his men would be able to slow the
blaze, lowering the temperatures, but only  briefly.

******

     "I copy.  Galactica Shuttle out."  Apollo jabbed the comm button and
turned slightly to yell over his shoulder.  "Brennus' crew just now
reached the fire. They-"
     "What?" said Chief Jorda, incredulous.  "What in Kobol took so
long?"
     "I don't know. He just said they'd had some 'unexplained delays'. 
Sealed emergency atmospheric bulkheads," Apollo responded tersely.  "But
the important thing is they're through now."  He paused to study his
readings.  "And we'll be landing in just over one centon."

******

     Boomer gripped the ladder with both hands, took a deep breath, and
*pulled,* lifting himself just enough for his left foot to slide onto the
next rung.  His right leg, a dead weight, throbbed and ached with each
movement; he kept it extended against the side of the ladder for as much
support as possible.   At first, adrenaline had propelled him, sending
him gliding up for nearly three centons with barely a pause. Gradually,
though, the muscles in his arms and upper back began to tremble, to
protest the massive exertion, forcing him to slow down, to rest a little
longer before continuing up the rungs. Lords, but he could use a cold cup
of water about now! 
     Panting, gasping, he gazed up the shaft, which disappeared out of
the luminary's range.  "Frak," he muttered.  How far had they come?  And
how far until the maintenance shaft  reached the top of the engine
compartment?  He had no idea, but-
     "Don't mean to complain or anything," said a voice from below, "but
a little more hustle would be nice.  I'm not very partial to sudden
decompression-"
     Boomer leaned to his left just enough to shine the luminary below
him.  Starbuck's grimy, soot-covered face stared up at him, grinning
beneath the breather.
     "Yeah, yeah!" muttered Boomer, wrapping his arms around the ladder
so he could wipe the sweat from his palms.  "*You* try this on our next
fitness test!"  He puffed and grunted and hoisted himself up three more
rungs.  Then four, then five... then he hugged the ladder against his
chest, tightly, gasping, fighting the sensation that his arms had turned
to rubber.
     "I calculate that we've gone just over two levels," said Starbuck. 
"Once there, we may even be able to locate the manual dump valve
controls."
     "May? You mean you're not certain?"
     "Well, the Lyra's spec were never my favorite bedtime reading. I
don't know every nut and bolt."
     "Terrific. We're climbing up a maintenance ladder, towards something
that might not..."
     "Look," Starbuck said his voice taking on an apprehensive edge, "at
the very least, once we get above the engine compartment, we should be
safe if they jettison the core.  Maybe..."
     "Swell."
     "Keep climbing, buddy.  Just one more level..."
     "One more..." muttered Boomer.  "Like Cylons. Always one more." He
took a deep breath and pulled.  One, two... The sound of his boot
clinking on the metal rungs reverberated through the narrow shaft.
     "Hey!  Just imagine a room full of gorgeous women waiting at the
top."  Starbuck called up as Boomer stopped again.  "Waiting to massage
those aching arms. Just picture the most beautiful of all.  She's all
yours.  So climb!"
     Boomer let out a loud, guttural growl and pulled.  He had to keep
going.  Had to!  Pace it, he told himself, pace it!  Go - one, and two,
and three-"
     "That's it, Buddy!"  Starbuck shouted.  "That's it!"
     "With my luck,"  Boomer replied, panting,  "it'll be some
firefighter with a mug that'd make Reese look pretty, Bucko."
     "Spoilsport. Where's your faith in the Starbuck Luck?"
     Boomer grunted, but didn't respond. He had to get moving again, had
to... time was not a luxury for them; at any moment, their world might
explode with the last-resort effort to contain the fire.  If they could
just reach the upper level of the compartment, they should be safe. 
Airtight seals would protect them.  But until they reached that point,
Starbuck and Boomer knew every micron counted.
     Boomer puffed and counted, puffed and counted as he hoisted himself
at a slow but steady pace.  One, two three, up!  One, two, three, up! 
Every breath, every sound, echoed in the confines of the shaft.  From
beneath him, he could hear the staccato clink -clink, clink-clink as
Starbuck maneuvered up, pausing momentarily to shift his one-handed grip. 
Much easier to climb with one arm than with one leg, mused Boomer, weary
and distracted, as he grasped the ladder with both hands yet again, took
a deep breath, and pulled. A fraction too late, he felt his palms
sliding.  He tried to adjust his grip, tried to hastily thrust his foot
onto the next rung. He was a centimetron off, though.  The toe of his
boot banged into the metal bar.  And hands, moist with sweat, slipped
free.
 
"FRAAAK...."

*******
Part 4

He could feel the fire, even through his protective suit, before they
reached the partially opened blast doors.  Captain Apollo, bringing up
the rear to stay out of the way, watched as Jorda and his seven men
hefted their equipment through the opening and scrambled to join the
fight against the overwhelming inferno.  Back down the corridor, well out
of the way, the medical team waited to see if they would be needed.
     As he stepped past the blast door, Apollo sucked in his breath; the
flames towered in blazing, roaring  sheets of yellow, orange, blue, and
white to the top of the vast engine chamber and across from one side to
the other, fueled by fallen debris and...leaking tylium?  He sniffed,
tentatively. Yes, he knew that smell. Even through the filters of his
protective suit.  What Warrior didn't? A slow leak, to be sure, but
enough to feed the raging firestorm.
     Brennus and his men had their boraton hoses aimed at the tylium
lines, but it was  immediately apparent that their efforts were woefully
inadequate.  Jorda started for what remained of the fire control panel,
located near the blast door, but stopped when he got a good look at it. 
Apollo could see, even from where he stood, that the panel-which included
the fuel dump and boraton jet backup  switches-had been destroyed.  There
were holes in the steel casing. Holes that, despite the fire damage, had
obviously been blown outward from inside the panel. Holes that were
precisely, and ominously, regular in their pattern He felt a chill deep
within, despite the horrendous heat; someone, it was all too apparent,
had gone to great lengths to both sabotage the ship and any attempts to
save it.  The captain finally let his furious gaze sweep through the
flames.  The manual fuel dump valves, located at the base of the tylium
line on each chamber, looked fused, melted.  And beyond that... he
couldn't really see anything.
     Or anyone.
     "Where are they?" he muttered under his breath.  The captain of the
Lyra 
had reported that the lieutenants had been in the middle of the
inspection
when the explosions had occurred.  Beyond that... no one knew anything.
Neither warrior had carried a portable communication device.  Why would
they
have needed one, when each ship had its own intercom system?  "Frak it
all
to Hades,"  Apollo whispered.
     "What's the status now?"  Apollo heard Jorda's voice crackle through
his helmet's
communicator.
     Everyone heard the reply:  "Seventen degrees from red zone, sir. 
And climbing
again."
     Jorda's team had already cranked up their own boraton lines, aiming
at the
starboard manual fuel dump valve.  The plan, Apollo knew, was to
concentrate
on doing what they could to get the tylium reserves drained.  If
possible.
As three of the men handled the boraton, three more moved in with special
equipment to attack the manual dump valve.  If they could dump the fuel,
they just might stand a chance of containing the fire.  If not...
     "Fifteen degrees," said a voice from the bridge.

***********
Starbuck had been trying to pinpoint exactly how he felt.  The sensation
was paradoxical, he had finally decided; he felt a desperate fear mixed
with an amazing calm - fear that at any moment their world might suddenly
explode because the fire had become critical, but also a calm acceptance
that if that were to happen in a Viper cockpit... or here, then so be it. 
Damned shame, but he wasn't one to argue with the fate life dealt to him. 
 And, fleetingly, he hoped that whatever came after wasn't as...warm. 
Still, he had no intentions of just giving up.  He definitely had a
preference -
     Starbuck froze and sucked in his breath as a stabbing pain shot
through his right shoulder and arm.  Cursed broken collar bone.  It had a
habit of throbbing with every slight movement.  Most of the pain had
faded into kind of a hazy constant ache, but occasionally, as he
inadvertently jostled it, he would experience what he figured must be the
equivalent of someone thrusting a knife into his shoulder and chest.  He
squeezed his eyes shut as the sensation subsided, then continued on.
     Above him Boomer moved slowly.  Starbuck could hear his labored
groans and gasps for breath as he heaved himself up, straining, pulling,
calling on reserves he didn't have.   Starbuck wished yet again that he
could help his friend, somehow.  If he only had use of both arms, then he
could have climbed *with* Boomer, supporting him, giving him a chance to
rest, yet allowing them to maintain a more steady pace.  
     He look upward.  Shining around Boomer, his luminary cast bouncing
streaks of light and shadows on the sides of the shaft as the warrior
moved.  The shaft was semi-cylindrical and about two metrons in diameter,
with slick sides except where the ladder bordered an access hatch. 
There, hand rungs surrounded the portal, along with a platform to the
left of the ladder that allowed a maintenance worker to maneuver through
the opening.  Glancing downward, the nearest hatchway was about three
metrons below them, and he figured that it marked the second level.  Just
one more to go.  
     Come on, buddy!  Starbuck thought.  You can -
     Starbuck heard Boomer scrambling for a hold as he snapped his gaze
back upward.  Heard the clang of a boot striking metal.  Watched in
horror as Boomer's foot flailed for a purchase momentarily as his hands
slid and he slipped downward.  It was as if a vid had been switched from
slow motion to fast forward.  Suddenly Boomer dropped straight towards
him, his scream filling the maintenance shaft.  "FRRRAAAK!"
     Starbuck had no time to respond, even on instinct, even in
desperation.  Boomer's boot slammed into his face, then his chest.  And
shoulder.  Pain exploded with an agonized, "ARRRGH!"   The force stripped
his fingers from the ladder, propelled him downward, knocking him
sideways.   Freefall as gravity gripped him.  Until he crashed into the
maintenance platform, with a thwump that expelled the wind from his lungs
and shattered reality.

 *****
Boomer thrashed about wildly for the ladder, snagged a rung with one
hand, wrapped his other arm around.  He stopped with a jerk that
threatened to rip his arm from its socket.  But he held on, squeezing
himself tightly, desperately, against it.  His foot flailed for a moment
more until he found a step.  Panting, gasping, groaning, he cried out
with each breath as pain pulsed through his injured leg and every muscle
in his body screamed in protested.  Eventually, the agony subsided, but
Boomer kept his eyes squeezed shut.  
     Afraid to look. 
     "No..."  It was a quiet sob.  He had felt the impact of his foot
against Starbuck.  Heard him fall.  Knew that it was his fault--  his
fault! - whatever had happened.  He could not bear the thought that *he*
had sent his friend falling to his death... two levels... It was too
much.  Better if he just let go... he sure as Hades could not climb
anymore.  What difference did it make?  Let them blow the engine chamber! 
Just end this madness!  The pain -
     Pull your frakkin head out of your astrum!  Boomer banged his head
against the ladder, furious at himself, and opened his eyes.  "Just stop
it!" he muttered.  "Frakking stop it!"
     He inhaled deeply, slowly, for several centons.  The throbbing agony
subsided to a painful ache.  Now, assess the situation.  Inhaling once
more, he held the breath, and forced himself to look.  The light from the
luminary swept across the smooth surface of the shaft, downward,
downward.  He felt his pulse quicken, felt it thumping in his ears.  The
beam caught the maintenance platform and the still form that lay sprawled
across it, legs dangling precariously over the edge.  Boomer released the
breath and sobbed, "By the Lords of Kobol!" 
     Carefully but rapidly, Boomer slid from rung to rung until he was
just above the platform.    Grasping the hand rungs, he cautiously,
slowly, in what seemed to take endless centons, maneuvered himself down
and around, across Starbuck's legs, and onto the platform.  Pulling
himself flush against the curved wall of the shaft, he was able to sit
with his wounded leg extended, giving him enough support so that he could
- he hoped! - tend to his injured friend. A tight squeeze with them both
jammed onto a ledge that was about a metron in diameter, but it would
have to do.  
     He shifted to take a good look at Starbuck, finally.  Boomer felt
himself shaking, despite his resolve to stay in control; his unconscious
friend lay partially on his back, partially on his right side, one arm
resting across his belly as if he were merely sleeping, but his right arm
twisted at an unnatural angle beneath him.  His legs dangled off the
ledge at the knees, but he appeared to secure on the ledge.  
     Good, breathed Boomer to himself, good...  He did not want to move
him, did not want to touch him.  Not yet.  Not until he knew - 
     Boomer stared at his friend's grimy face. Blood was smeared with the
caked-on soot, a combination of dried blood and fresh, from a new gash on
his cheekbone.  Starbuck's eyes were closed, and he was still... deathly
still.  Boomer carefully readjusted the breather, which had been knocked
askew in the fall.  And held his breath as he watched.  There!  A faint
bit of steam clouded the mask.  He let out a long, loud sigh.  
     But what now? 
     Boomer gazed at his friend's shoulder and right arm, which twisted
beneath his body at an unnatural angle.  That's going to hurt like Hades
when he wakes up, he mused.  Better to do something now while he's out.
     Shifting first to get into a better position, Boomer then placed his
hands under Starbuck's neck and shoulder and lifted gently, slowly, until
he could slip the arm out.  Gently, carefully... the sleeve of Starbuck's
flight jacket was soaked with blood.  Boomer swallowed back a wave of
nausea as he saw the bulge inside the jacket at his elbow - clearly the
jutting of a broken bone.  
     "Oh, frak," Boomer whispered as he eased Starbuck back down flat on
his back and tried to find a way to position the mangled arm.  He finally
tried to rest it against the lieutenant's chest.  Gotta stabilize that
somehow, he thought, racking his brain to remember their medical
training.  Gotta stop the bleeding, too.  Pressure.  That was his only
hope in their current situation.  He didn't have any way to cut back
Starbuck's sleeve to assess the actual damage.  Didn't have any supplies,
period.  What did he have?  He stared around, fighting the desperate
sensation building in the pit of his stomach.  Maybe there was a tool kit
next to the blasted maintenance hatch.  He moved his head so that the
luminary scanned all around the hatch and their platform.  Nothing. 
Lousy, stinkin' goll-monging useless maintenance shaft!  I need -
     Starbuck groaned and shifted.  Then gasped.  His eyes were still
closed and he was not fully conscious, but it was clear that the pain was
cutting through.  His breathing increased, breaths coming in short,
shallow gulps.  
     "Take it easy!"  Boomer said, trying to steady his friend.  "Lie
still."  
     Instead, Starbuck's eyes flew open and he let out a blood-curdling
scream as he arched his back and fought to sit up, fought to escape the
pain. 
     "No!  Stay still!"  Boomer grabbed him by both shoulders in an
effort to calm him.
     Starbuck thrashed his head from side to side, still screaming, and
clawed at Boomer with his good hand.  
     "Frak!" Boomer yelled through clenched teeth as fingernails sliced
into his cheek.  He swatted the hand away and finally leaned all of his
weight against Starbuck chest and left shoulder, shouting, "STOP!  I'm
trying to help you!"  He found himself nose to nose with his friend,
whose unseeing eyes darted wildly about as he struggled, weakly now, for
a few more microns, then closed again as he sagged against the ledge,
unconscious once more.
     "Starbuck, can you hear me?" Boomer shouted.  No response.  "Lords
of Kobol..." he muttered, panting from the exertion and from his own
pain.  He felt so drained, so weary.  He felt his own head spinning, his
stomach churning; how could he help someone else?
     Then he looked at his friend's face.  They had been through so much,
much of it together.  The destruction of their home world, countless
battles against the Cylons.  The crash on Atilla.  The time he and Apollo
and been ordered to destroy Starbuck's recon viper.  Seeing Starbuck
locked up and accused of the termination of Ortega, something Boomer had
known was beyond the Warrior.  He would never willingly take the life of
another human.  No.  In fact, he would do everything in his power to save
- anyone.  He would risk his own life without batting an eye, even for a
stranger.
     So how could he even consider giving up?  Boomer cursed himself. 
Vehemently.  And bit his lip as he considered what to do next.
     Pressure - that's what I was trying to figure out!  He thought to
himself.  Gotta get that arm wrapped tightly enough to at least slow the
bleeding.  And then...  Boomer gazed up the shaft.  The ladder
disappeared out of the luminary's range.  I'll worry about that later.  
     Then, it hit him. He did have a device that he could use... But
first he had to secure the arm, somehow.
     After first testing the feel of the metal shaft - hot, but not
excessive-- Boomer then pulled off his flight jacket and stripped off his
tunic.  Tearing his shirt was out of the question, though, he discovered
after a few vain attempts - that only happened in the action vids,
apparently.  Okay, okay... he could still use it. 
     He switched his gaze to Starbuck's arm.  And swallowed the rising
bile.  Frak!  It looked even worse than before.  The sleeve was soaked,
and blood ran in rivulets off his hand, pooling beneath him.  Too much,
Boomer feared.  He had to stop it, somehow.  Had to reach it, first, he
thought sullenly.  He couldn't kneel, so how...?  
     He finally decided he had only one option.  Pulling himself as close
as possible, until they were side by side, Boomer slipped his left arm
under his friend's head and back and lifted, slowly, gently.  Lords of
Kobol, but he was limp.  Supporting Starbuck's right arm with his own, he
maneuvered himself under the warrior, with care, pulling him across his
good left leg, until they sat together, propped against the wall of the
shaft.  Starbuck groaned softly but did not wake.  
     Boomer took a deep breath, closing his eyes, as the pain coursed
through his injured leg, then settled back to the dull throbbing.  It may
be bruised and tattered, he mused, but nothing seemed broken.  Thank the
Lords for small favors today...
     After a few moments, Boomer took a deep breath and focused back on
his task.  Grabbing his tunic, he tied one sleeve around Starbuck's arm,
above the elbow, and yanked it tight, trying to form a tourniquet.  Then
he positioned the arm at what seemed to be the best angle - bent across
the lieutenant's chest-- and wrapped the rest of the tunic around and
around the elbow and forearm, tying it with the other sleeve, to provide
a little bit of support, at least.  Finally, he took his flight jacket,
tucked it around Starbuck's arm and pulled it tight across his chest and
behind his back, tying the sleeves into a knot.  Throughout the whole
procedure, Boomer noted grimly as he finished and let himself rest
against the shaft wall, Starbuck had not reacted, beyond a few soft
moans.
     Now comes the ugly part, mused Boomer, trying to remember his
elementary first-aid from the Academy. From the bleeding, he knew that an
artery had been at least clipped, and that every beat of Starbuck's heart
was pumping the blood out of him. He had bare centons. Starbuck's laser
was gone, but Boomer's was still in its holster. Satisfied that
Starbuck's arm was as immobile as Dr. Boomer was going to get it, he
adjusted the settings on the weapon. Normally, it was set to high, since
he generally used it only on Cylons. With a gallows chuckle, he set the
weapon down to its lowest setting, and tried to adjust the beam to its
narrowest. Wishing he had some pain killers, or at least a really good
slug of grog, he pressed the trigger.
     The beam cut through the tough fabric of Starbuck's jacket, filling
the air with a stinking reek. Boomer tried hard to keep his hand as still
as a surgeon's, as he cut along the length of the sleeve. If he, even at
this setting, slipped, and his flesh...
     The sleeve flopped open, and he gingerly peeled it away. He almost
woofed his mushies, at the sight of the ruin underneath. The humerus had
been fractured, the jagged tip of the break punching through muscle and
skin, to the outside. Boomer stared at it for a few moments, in morbid
fascination. It was...was...
     Shaking his head, he tried to wipe away some of the blood with his
own sleeve, but it was as quickly replaced. No frakking time to do this
right, he swore, Starbuck's got bare centons. He felt his friend's pulse.
It was getting weaker, the beats thready. He didn't have to be Dr. Paye
to know what that meant. Inwardly recoiling at the agony he would be
causing, he nonetheless steeled himself, and took hold of the savaged
limb. With a tug, then a stronger one, he pulled on the arm, till the tip
of bone vanished back into it's sheath of flesh. Starbuck groaned, tears
running from his eyes even though he was unconscious, but Boomer didn't
quit. He kept at the unorthodox procedure, till the arm looked about the
right length once more, ran his hand down the length of the fracture a
few times, then stopped. Blood was gushing like a bottle of vintage
ambrosia, and he dared not go slowly. Picking up the laser once more, he
pressed the emitter against the bubbling wound, and fired.
     Please, Lord. Don't let me kill him! Rather me than Starbuck. Cassie
needs him...
     Starbuck yowled, eyes flipping open. Dilated and blank, but he was
not conscious, for which Boomer was profoundly thankful. He tried to keep
the thrashing Warrior flat with one tired arm, while playing surgeon with
the other. The stench of burning flesh filled his nose, and he gave a dry
heave, but kept at it. After a few millicentons, he pulled back. There
was a black, ugly patch of burned skin, but the blood had slowed to a
trickle, now. He fired once more, and watched as the last of the rip in
Starbuck's arm was cauterized closed. He let up on the trigger, and set
the laser down once more. Starbuck was still crying out in his delirium,
calling for Cassie, Aurora, even for...
     His mother? Boomer was momentarily startled. In all the yahren he'd
known him, Starbuck had never once mentioned his parents, until Chameleon
had popped up. Could some long-dimmed childhood memory be bubbling up,
now, in a time of trauma? Did Starbuck, deep down in his subconscious,
actually remember the woman who had given birth to him, and died in a
Cylon raid before he was even five yahren old? Well, Boomer was no
shrink, and decided to leave the question for others. For now...
     For now, the wound seemed to be holding. He took off his undertunic,
and gingerly pressed it against the cauterized wound. Tucking it in as
best he could, he at last leaned back, and tried to relax. Starbuck was
safe for the moment, but the congealing blood around them testified to
what he'd lost, and what Boomer could not replace. Did he still have
enough to live? Would he...
     He began to nod, exhausted beyond almost all endurance, when
something awakened him. A loud clang, or banging sound on the hull. 
     What in Hades...
********
PART 5
     Dominius swore repeatedly under his breath as he pulled the
protective suit up over his shoulders.  The Lyra's captain had ordered
his engineering crew to assist in whatever capacity they could, since
even with Jorda's team, they were short on manpower.   
Help the fire crew?  Help the fire crew?  Yeah, he'd help them, all
right...  He fastened his helmet and started his oxygen flow as he
stepped through the portal into the embattled engine chamber.

     Apollo looked once more at the temperature gauge, and swore. While
the streams of boraton were helping, they had reached an impasse. The
heat wasn't going any higher, but it wasn't going any lower either. And,
if he remembered the specs on these old scows, they would run out of
boraton long before the bunkers ran out of fuel. When that happened...
     "Frak it all!" he growled, and looked around, seeing the newly
arrived group of engineers and technicians.  His eyes fell on one who
seemed to be hanging back and uninvolved, even though his insignia marked
him as the ship's chief engineer. He couldn't read the name on his suit
in all the smoke."You there. Come with me." He motioned for the man to
follow him.
     "What?"
     "Come with me, to the shuttle. Now!" ordered the Captain, and he
headed back towards the landing bay. They rode the turbolift in silence,
till the engineer asked: "What are we doing...sir?" Apollo noticed he was
still sweating, though the lift car was quite cool.
     "We're going outside, Engineer. Out on the hull."
     "The hull?" The fellow looked as if he'd just been told he had a
fatal illness.
     "Yes. We're going to find and open the fuel inlet, and vent the fuel
from there. We'll never manage it from the inside."
     "But--"
     "And you are going with me, Engineer. You know the outside of this
tub better than I do."
     "Ahh, sir," gulped the man, "I don't know anything about EVAs."
     "You are ship's engineer, right?"
     "It's a brevet rank, sir. We lost our original chief when the Cylons
hit one of the Agro ships. Near Serenity? Debris hit us, and hulled a
crew cabin."
     "Well, there's no time like now to learn, Engineer," said Apollo, as
the lift opened. "Over two-hundred people are counting on us to save
their home." He moved quickly to the shuttle, and went inside. Jolly had
copiloted the shuttle with Apollo but had remained aboard.  He met the
captain as he entered and moved to assist him without a spoken word.  
With quick movements, Apollo shed his fire suit, and tore an envirosuit
out of a locker. Given the overall condition of the equipment aboard the
Lyra, he decided to trust to his own gear from the Galactica. Jolly
helped him get into it, and checked the seals, then did the same for the
engineer. The man complained like a petulant child, but Apollo was deaf
to it. They were going out, and they were doing it now.
     He and Jolly flew the shuttle out of the bay, and over the Lyra's
hull. On her underside, just forward her drive section, was a hatch, no
bigger than one of the tables in the officer's lounge. They maneuvered
the shuttle alongside, matching the Lyra's foreward velocity, and set
down.
     "Fuel is precious," said Apollo, as he headed aft, after checking
the shuttle's fuel gauge," so we'll break out the syphon, and off-load as
much fuel from the Lyra as our tanks will hold, before we jettison the
rest, Engineer." Apollo handed the man a satchel of tools, and took one
for himself. He noticed how the other was still sweating, and fleetingly
wondered why. Was he ill? Had he breathed too much of the tylium fumes?
He shook his head, not having time for that now, and showed the engineer
the way to the airlock. 
     "All a-okay here, Skipper,' said Jolly, over the helmet speakers.
"Everything on your suits is green."
     "Including the grav boots, this time," said Apollo, recalling a
similar scene, on the hull of the Galactica, during another fire. As he
found his feet on the Lyra' s hull, he took a few moments to orient
himself to the odd perch. Over the "horizon" of the freighter, he saw
billions of stars. it was dazzling, and never failed to take his breath
away for a micron. Up "above" them, he saw the Celestra, and the
Hephaestos, way out ahead. And, in the distance, gleaming like a star,
the Galactica.
     "Okay, here we are," he said, returning to the here and now. The
hatch was directly in front of him, and secured by a heavy latch. He
gripped it, pulling the ring up, and turned it slowly. It gave, and then
stopped. He yanked, and it extended, like a control rod, and with a clank
he could feel through his glove, the hatch opened. "I've got the hatch
cover open, Jolly," he said, shining his light down into it. "The
coupling is right in front of me."
     "I've got it all on camera, Skipper," replied Jolly. "Extending
syphon, now."
     "Good. What's the temperature reading now, Jolly?"
     "Two points closer to red-line, Skipper. Climbing again."
     "Understood, Jolly. All right, Engineer..." began Apollo, but he
didn't see the man. He looked around, but all there was was the shuttle,
the Lyra, and the stars. "Engin..."
     "NO!" came the reply, in a voice thick with fury. Apollo whirled,
his boots only just keeping him rooted to the hull, to see the engineer,
a tool of some sort in his hand, moving to attack him. "No, you fool! You
don't understand! Adama is killing us all!" He swung at Apollo, his
wrench arcing down towards the captain's helmet.
"Holy Frack!" swore Jolly, as he looked up from the pump gauge to one of
the monitors, and saw...
 
     Apollo barely had time to dodge, as Dominius' wrench arced down
towards his head. He moved to the side, clumsily in the microgravity, and
took the force of the blow on the left shoulder. He cried out in pain,
his vision momentarily blurring, as he went down. Dominius stood over
him, his weapon raised up to strike again, and snarled: "Your father will
kill us all with his insane quest! We have to stop now!"
     "You...you sabotaged an entire ship..." hissed Apollo, gritting his
teeth against the pain as it all clicked, "for that? Hundreds of people
will die..."
     "No they won't!" snapped the engineer, waving the wrench in a motion
made eerily odd by the lack of gravity.  "Only your Warrior cohorts will
die!  I sabotaged it in such a way that there'll be plenty of time to
blow the engine core. And the captain's not stupid!"  The man seemed to
shake with fury.  "Sabotaging an old junkpile like the Lyra was easy,
Mister High and Mighty Hero. Disabling the flow pressure sensors and
auto-cutoff to the fuel pumps, and the dump valve controls as well?
Simple, with engineering systems this antiquated. A child could do it
blindfolded. They'll never reach the manual valves before the temperature
red zones!"
    "But, you..."
    "Your father is a madman, Captain!" screeched Dominius, his voice
nearly hysterical.  "This ship must..."
     He broke off, as Apollo made a grasp for his legs. The
weightlessness made movement difficult, but at least this time there were
the grav boots to help keep him rooted to the hull. Dominius lost his
"balance", the wrench flying from his hand, and off into space. He sailed
back, into the shuttle's siphon line, and grunted as he impacted
something hard. He seemed stunned for a moment, but before Apollo could
renew his attack, a beep, then a computerized voice sounded in his ears-
     "Warning. Suit integrity compromised. Internal pressure loss now at
2.5% and climbing." Frak! The blow may have missed his helmet, but the
fabric or shoulder seal had taken a beating. If Dominius didn't kill him,
he'd asphyxiate. "Warning. Suit integrity compromised. Internal pressure
loss now at 5% and climbing."
     Dominius had recovered, it seemed, and was coming at him once more,
but Apollo was ready. As the crazed engineer attacked once more, Apollo
ducked, his shoulder screaming in protest, and grabbed one of the other
man's legs. Dominius swore, as he was lifted off the hull, and found
himself sailing into the shuttle's left thruster nozzle. Over his helmet
speaker, Apollo could hear the crack of something breaking, and a hiss.
     "Warning," Apollo's suit computer started again, but he ignored it,
shutting it off. He could see a jet of vapor venting from Dominius'
helmet, but the other was not out yet. Still breathing, the murderous
saboteur reached into his satchel for another tool, this one a long,
lethal looking probe, and came after him, screaming incoherently. So
swift was his advance that Apollo barely had time to prepare himself,
when...
     Dominius cried out, as if in pain, and a flare of radiance wafted
from behind him. He screamed in pain, knocked to his knees. Apollo looked
up, and saw Jolly, laser pistol still in his right hand. 
     "Thanks, Jolly," he gasped, the air in his suit noticeably thin now.
     "You okay, Skipper?" asked Jolly, moving over the crumpled Dominius.
Before Apollo could answer, Dominius whirled around violently, as if to
slash Jolly's suit. But the rotund Warrior was either very ready, or very
lucky. He stepped back at just that micron, and Dominius' sudden movement
carried him off the hull, and directly into the syphon tube. It bent
back, then gave way under the sharp probe, spewing fuel at high pressure
out into space. The jet of freezing tylium caught the saboteur directly
in the chest, and with a scream, he was hurled away at high speed, off
the hull and into space.
     "Skipper! Skipper!" cried Jolly, trying to see Apollo through the
frozen vapor. He moved ponderously, coming at last to his CO's side. "You
okay, sir?"
     "I...I will be now, Jolly." said Apollo. "Come on, let's take care
of this syphon."
     "Yes, sir!" said Jolly, and the two Warriors reboarded the shuttle
to stow the syphon, and the Lyra's potential bomb vomited itself into
space.
 
     "Yes!" cried Jorda, as the raging flames in the Lyra's engine room
slowly began to die. Within a single centon, the fire had shrunk, and the
temperature noticably dropped. He slapped his second on the back,
laughing, then attacked the remaining flames with renewed vigor. 
     "Finally!" shouted Brennus.  The Lyra fire chief threw back his
protective mask and grabbed the transceiver from his belt.  "Brennus to
rescue team. You're cleared to enter."  Without waiting for a response,
he flipped the device back in place and concentrated on securing the
remainder of the burning structures.  

******
     Boomer shifted, then sucked in his breath, stifling a cry, as his
right leg flared with pain, a sharp, shooting sensation that radiated out
from a very swollen knee.  A deep gash on his thigh continued to seep
blood, and every muscle, every fiber of his being ached.  After gingerly
probing with his fingers, he discovered a tender knot right above the
throbbing sensation in his left temple... The noise which he had heard
several centons previously had not repeated itself; although, he thought
he might have heard other vibrations and faint knocks.  His head felt
fuzzy, however, like he'd had a few too many ambrosas, and kept spinning
when he moved, so he couldn't be sure if the noises weren't coming from
inside his head.   And, blast it all, he was beginning to feel cold and
very drowsy, with his bare back pressed against the maintenance shaft.
     Cold...cold?     
     Frak, focus!  he told himself, slapping himself in the face.    He
shifted again, and slipped a finger under Starbuck's chin.  The other
Warrior lay next to Boomer, still unconscious, still deathly quiet, deep
in shock.  He hadn't even moaned when Boomer had slipped out from behind
him, practically tearing the fabric of his pants, which had adhered to
the pool of drying blood.  Boomer had laid him back down flat and propped
his legs awkwardly over his own; basic shock treatment, he remembered,
called for elevating the legs, keeping the patient warm...  The
unorthodox cauterization seemed to be holding, but Boomer knew that there
was nothing else - not a damned thing!-- that he could do now.  Except
wait.  And pray. He felt the faint throbbing of Starbuck's pulse beneath
his fingers, but it was weaker, more irregular, than even a centon
previously. He didn't need to be a doctor to know that without true
medical help... 
     Stop it!  He'll make it - he has to!  They haven't jettisoned the
engines, so they must be making progress with the fire - Boomer closed
his eyes and let out a long, shaky breath.  It seemed like an eternity
since the nightmare had begun, when in reality less than two centars had
passed - if he could believe his chronometer.  They'll come, Boomer told
himself as his mind started to drift again.   They have to... He tried to
swallow, but his throat felt beyond dry, beyond parched.  What I wouldn't
give to be back in the OC with a Sagittarian ale, sitting around a table,
watching Starbuck gamble away his pay and mine.  A few mushies...
proteins... 
As oblivion drew closer to Boomer, the swirling scene in his foggy mind
dissolved from the comforting image in the Officer's Club to the
maintenance shaft.  And their desperate climb.  He was clinging to the
rungs again, pulling, straining to lift himself up.  His muscles quivered
and screamed in protest. Sweat trickled into his eyes, down his cheeks.  
He reached, grasped the next rung, pulled - and felt his hands slipping. 
No!  He grabbed for the ladder, tried to pull - pull!  The rungs slowly
morphed into rocks, the soot and sweat into snow and ice, as he climbed
Mount Hekla once again, the lethal winds of Arcta tearing at his flesh.
Then he slipped down.  Down.  Falling.  Until his foot whapped into the
only thing that could have slowed his momentum enough for him to grasp
the rocks and stop his deadly decent.  Starbuck.  The feel of that jolt
reverberated through his leg, his nerves, through ever fiber of his
being.  Through his heart and soul.  He should have fallen.  He should be
the one lying there, deep in shock from loss of blood.  Close to death. 
Too close... no!  
The scene replayed again and again.  Boomer thrashed his head from side
to side, moaning over and over, "No... no... no..."
"Ah!"  Boomer jumped, startled, disoriented.  Something had awoken him. 
He stared around, uncomprehending, bewildered for a moment. Where was the
snow? A ladder? Surely that was inside the mountain? No, it was..was...
"Sir, sir," said a voice.  "It's all right."  
Finally his eyes focused on the face gazing at him from the maintenance
ladder.  A medtech - help at last!  "Starbuck!" he croaked, voice weak
and raspy.  "You've got to help him!"  Boomer tried to sit forward
abruptly, but his head swirled and his stomach started to churn.
"Whoa, take it easy!" said a different voice. "Calm down, Lieutenant."
Hands held him back gently.  A second face swam into view as the world
seemed to phase in and out, with lights and sounds growing stronger, then
fading, then washing back, like waves... all in time with his rolling
stomach...  He heaved.  Hands pressed him over.  The waves reached a
crescendo.  A deafening roar in his ears as his stomach emptied its
contents.  Then nothing.


******
Medtechs Jay and Richards had been Search-and-Rescue experts even before
the Holocaust.  During those final centars on their home world of
Aquarius, they had worked determinedly, without respite.  They had saved
many people, had watched even more die from lack of proper resources and
medical facilities.  After the Great Exodus began, they had requested -
and received - assignments aboard the Galactica as medtechs, with the
intention of eventually mastering the criteria to become full doctors. 
One of their first actions, however, had been to totally revamp the
standard search-and-rescue medtech kits to include everything physically
possible to give them a greater chance of saving their victims.  In
essence, the packs were now mobile medical centers and not just first aid
supplies.
     Jay and Richards had waited impatiently, restlessly, with the rest
of their four-man team and Dr. Paye for the all-clear to search the
Lyra's ravaged engine compartment for the missing Warriors.  Within a
centon of entering, they had assessed the situation, scanned the layout
of the vast smoke-filled chamber, and had spotted the open maintenance
hatch.
     "Felgercarb," muttered Jay into his transceiver as he stared up the
shaft, lit dimly by his helmet's luminary.  "They could be anywhere." 
     "I don't think they could be very far," muttered Richards.  He
nodded towards the ladder itself, and the light on his helmet refelcted
brightly against the metal.  Clearly visible were splotches of dried
blood trialing upward.  "I'll check the lower level.  You head on up."  
     "Right."  Jay took a deep breath, and checked the ladder. It was
cool enough to touch, and he said nothing further as he started up,
climbing rapidly.  Frak, there's blood all over the place, he noted as
his gloved hands quickly gripped the rungs.  The dispassionate,
professional side of him evaluated the situation as urgent; the human
side of him dreaded what they might find.  
     A moment later, Richards' voice crackled in his ear.  "Bottom of the
shaft is clear.  I'm headed up."
     "Acknowledged," Jay answered as he passed the first maintenance
platform.  He paused to assess the situation - hatch closed and the trail
of blood still leading upwards.  They'd have been crazy, anyway, to exit
at this point.  "First level clear here."
     He continued upward.  After a centon or so, the beam from his
luminary caught the bottom of the next maintenance platform.  Boots
dangled over the edge. Military-issue boots. "Richards, at least one of
them is on the next level!"  He quickened his pace.
     A moment later, he pulled himself past eye level with the platform. 
"Got 'em both!"  His heart skipped a beat, though, as he took in the
situation in front of him.  One Warrior sat propped against the side of
the shaft, on the edge of the semi-circular ledge.  He appeared
semiconscious and agitated, and wore only his pants and boots.  The other
lay next to him, positioned awkwardly so that his legs were draped across
the other's.  In the pointed bright light he looked pale and... The
makeshift bandages, the discarded laser, and the voluminous pools of
dried blood told the rest of the story.  
     Jay quickly secured himself to the ladder with his flexible safety
harness and reached over to put a hand on the first one's right leg to
assess the damage.  The Warrior moaned, and then his eyes snapped open
with a startled cry.  "Sir, sir it's all right," he said as the man
stared wildly around, finally focusing on his face.  
     "Starbuck!  You've got to help him!"  The Warrior tried to sit
forward abruptly, then started to gag.  
     Richards had scrambled up and was securing himself next to his
partner.  "Whoa, take it easy!" he said as Jay held the Warrior steady.
"Calm down, Lieutenant."  To Jay:  "Watch it.  He's going to lose it!"
     Lieutenant Boomer's eyes rolled back into his head, and Jay deftly
turned him so that he vomited over the edge.  As the heaving subsided and
the Warrior sagged into unconsciousness, the medtech settled him back
against the shaft.  It took just a quick glance at the other to know that
his status was critical, and they had bare centons. If that.  But - first
they had to be able to get to him, and that meant removing his companion
first.  Richards handed Jay a bio-scanner and leg brace.  He attached the
bio-scanner, which used a special adhesive, to Boomer's bare chest,
mentally noted his vitals, and quickly secured the brace around the man's
injured knee.
     Richards had already notified the other two team members.  Then he
had unrolled a light-weight stretcher that employed an anti-grav system,
which allowed for easy transport even in vertical situations, such as the
maintenance shaft.  In less than three centons, he and Jay had
transferred Boomer to the stretcher and passed it to the other rescuers,
who would remove the Warrior from the engine room.  Once in a more
suitable location, he'd be in the capable hands of Dr. Paye.  
     "Probable concussion, smoke inhalation, numerous contusions and
abrasions, and that leg's a real mess," Richards had informed his crew as
they took the stretcher from him and headed back downward.
     Jay pulled himself onto the ledge, ignoring the slick, sticky feel
as he knelt in the blood.  He took the bio-scanner which Richards passed
to him and attached it against the left side of the lieutenant's neck,
near the carotid artery.  "Frak," he muttered as it flashed the vitals. 
"Pressure's way too low to even consider transporting.  We'll have to
stabilize him here."
     Jay studied the readings for a micron.  "I don't like that cranial
signature."  Pulling a penlight from his pocket, he examined Starbuck for
signs of a head injury.  "This isn't good either," he mumbled, shaking
his head. "Probable skull fracture and severe concussion.  Right pupil is
fixed and dilated.  The other is sluggish.  Got localized swelling on the
left parietal zone and a nasty contusion on the right temple."  Jay
paused to peer more closely.  "Frak, and there's evidence of bleeding
from the right ear." 
"Lords, why isn't this man dead?" muttered the other, rhetorically.
 "Let's make this fast," whispered Jay as he first irrigated the area,
and then sprayed a substance directly onto the contusion on the Warrior's
temple.  The compound would permeate deeply, and act as a temporary
internal "patch" to locally slow any bleeding and reduce swelling by
interacting chemically with the surrounding cells.  Without proper
treatment, though, the patch would dissolve after a centar or so. 
     Next, with unspoken coordination, the two used laser cutters to
shear away the remains of Starbuck's flight jacket and tunic, carefully
removing Boomer's makeshift bandages, so that they could properly assess
the damage to the shoulder and arm and administer fluids, all the while
keeping a close eye on the bio-scanner. 
     As soon as he pulled the lieutenant's left arm free, Jay inserted an
intravenous connection and started a plasma infusion.  If all went well,
the fluid would elevate his pressure enough to where they could transport
the Warrior.  For now, they would have to do what they could and then
wait.  
     And hope.
     Jay turned his attention to Starbuck's right arm and gave a low
whistle.  "Will you look at that..."  he said softly, nodding towards the
crudely cauterized wound.  The whole arm was swollen and twisted.  Ugly
bruises extended across his shoulder and chest, as well. "Broken clavicle
and humerus.  Possible internal bleeding from that clavicle.  Punctured
artery with the humerus, but the repair job the other Warrior did seems
to be holding."  Jay broke off to gaze at his partner, briefly,
appreciative of the horror the man must have faced while performing such
a brutally crude procedure.  
     Jay took the soft braces that Richards handed him and began to
secure the mangled arm and shoulder.  As he worked, he glanced at the
bio-scanner.  The numbers had increased, but not enough; the blood
pressure was still dangerously low.  Jay nodded towards Starbuck's legs. 
"We need to start another transfusion -"
     Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.  Blip, blip, blip, Beeeeeeeeeep.  
     "Frak!" yelled Jay, snatching the heart stimulator that Richards
thrust towards him.  "Complete cardio- and pulmonary arrest!"  He slapped
the device onto the warrior's chest and furiously tapped in the code to
activate it.  The stimulator used electrical impulses to try to reactive
the heart, first with a series of jolts.  If that failed, it would
establish a regular electro-neuro pattern to stimulate the heart and keep
it going for up to a centar.  Beyond that... 
     Jay held his breath and lifted his hands up as the lieutenant's body
jerked in response to the first shock.  A pause while the device assessed
his condition, then a second shock. Starbuck's limp body jerked upward,
rigid for a micron, then collapsed back to the ledge.  The monitor beeped
quietly while it assessed his heart once more.  Jay bit his lip, waiting,
waiting - Beep, beep.  Beep, beep.  Beep, beep.  He exhaled in relief. 
"Sinus rhythm."  But then he frowned.  "Still in pulmonary arrest."  He
quickly attached the portable respirator to the device and switched the
lieutenant's almost empty breather for the respiratory mask and
esophageal airway.  After a micron, Starbuck's chest rose and fell with
the steady but artificial pace of the machine.


 "Okay, got it!" breathed Jay as he studied the vitals for a moment.  The
heart rhythm seemed stable, and the pressure continued to improve as he
replaced the now-depleted plasma pack with a fresh one.  He took a
precious micron to lift his face mask and wipe the sweat from his eyes. 
That was too close.
Grabbing the laser cutter, Jay turned his attention to establishing the
second plasma infusion.  With the right arm out of the question, the next
best alternative was at the knee joint.  With rapid, practiced movements,
he sliced away the fabric of Starbuck's pants from mid-thigh to just
above his boot on his right leg.  He tossed the material over the edge of
the rampart, quickly inserted the intravenous connection into a vein on
the back of his leg, just above the knee, and attached a plasma pack to
the unit.  Like the bio-scanner, the setup was such that the I.V. line
connected with a computerized base which the medtech attached to the
patient-- in this case, on Starbuck's thigh.  The unit electronically
controlled the flow of medication, and beeped when the pack was nearly
emptied.
Jay studied the readings on the bio-scanner for a moment.  "Looks
better." He prepared an injection, an anti-shock medication, and found a
vein. "We might even be able to transport in a few centons."
"Let's finish securing that arm," said Richards.  Despite his yahrens of
experience, he still felt his stomach lurch every time he thought about
what the other Warrior must have gone through to treat his companion.  
The bare-handed repair of a mangled, bleeding limb. The horror, the fear
that if he slipped with his laser... it made even the seasoned pro
shudder.  He had preformed several similar procedures in the field,
especially after the Cylons devastated Aquarius, but he was trained and
had known exactly what to do. He momentarily glanced at Boomer's laser. A
tool designed to kill, and he uses it to heal. That lieutenant deserves
some kind of commendation, for sure, reflected Richards.
A few centons later, Jay sat back on his heels, let out a long sigh, and
stared at the cold metal of the maintenance shaft, then back down at the
bio-scanner. The Warrior was ready for transport as soon as his blood
pressure rose enough to handle the vertical descent.  "Let's strap him on
the stretcher.  We're
almost there."
******
PART 6

"Hold still, Captain!"  Dr. Paye's hands hovered over the still-oozing
wound, a jagged cut left when Dominius' wrench had impacted Apollo's left
shoulder and mangled the metal suit joint.
"Why don't you have a seat, Skipper?"  Jolly smiled, gently guiding the
captain down to the floor so that Dr. Paye could finish his job without
the Strike Commander pacing about.  
They had landed the shuttle five centons previously and Apollo and Jolly
had raced to get back to the engine room - or would have, had Dr. Paye,
who was waiting for the rescue team in the corridor just outside the
blast doors, not noticed the blood staining Apollo's tattered uniform and
stopped him.  As the doctor had carefully peeled back the flap of his
tunic, Apollo had wished that he'd put his flight jacket back on, because
then the good doctor would never have noticed, and he'd be where he
wanted to be-- looking for Starbuck and Boomer. 
"What happened"?  Paye asked, trying to distract Apollo, who still kept
fidgeting while he tried to clean the wound.
"What?"
Paye repeated the question.
Apollo finally took a deep breath and looked at the doctor.  "A madman. 
The chief engineer, in fact.  He sabotaged the engine room so that they'd
have to blow the engine core - to disable the ship."
"Why in Hades Hole would he want to do that?"  Dr. Paye had irrigated the
wound, sealed it with a microlaser, and was applying a sterile bandage. 
Jolly, he noted, thankfully, held the captain by the shoulders to steady
him, because Apollo still seemed oblivious to the doctor's actions.  
"Who the frak knows!"  Apollo's eyes burned with utter frustration.  "He
said he blamed my father for... who knows what! And he deliberately booby
trapped the engine room to explode during the inspection."  Apollo stared
past Dr. Paye to the blast doors.  "I've got to know -"
"Captain, relax," Paye said firmly.  "You and Jolly have done your jobs,
let the rescue crew do theirs, okay?"  He stared into Apollo's face, his
steely eyes and pitiless expression finally catching the Warrior's
attention. Paye was well practiced at it; once, he had been the
hardest-nosed, most tough-as-hullbolts Special Ops leader in the
military, a man who could outstare a Cylon till it shorted, or take them
out without detection. After a serious combat injury, he had transferred,
undergoing medical training, till he wielded a scalpel with the same
dedication and skill as he had once a laser pistol. Apollo sighed and
settled against the wall.  "That's better.  Look," he said more softly,
"Jay and Richards are the best Search-and Rescue team we've got, and they
can treat anyone as well as - if not better - than I can.  Let's just let
them handle things, okay?"
"Okay."  Apollo said at length, sagging as the adrenaline levels ebbed. 
He closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and let out a long breath,
feeling finally the throbbing pain from his injured shoulder. "Why?" he
whispered, Paye's question echoing in his mind.
"They'll be fine, Skipper," said Jolly quietly.  He had sat down next to
the captain.  Dr. Paye stood and watched the two but said nothing
further; his attention kept shifting to the half-opened blast door, as
he, like Apollo, wondered when they would know.  One way or the other.
Jolly continued: "Hey, Captain, you know Starbuck.  He always comes back
- even from a Cylon baseship.  Two Basehips. And Boomer..."
His voice trailed off as they all suddenly looked towards the blast door. 
Someone was coming - Jay and Richard's assistants hustled through the
opening a moment later, the stretcher, suspended on its anti-grav bed,
between the two.  Apollo and Jolly clambered to their feet, silent,
breaths held, as they stared at the still form on the stretcher.
 "Boomer!"  exclaimed Apollo, taking in his grimy, battered appearance
and the dried blood all over his face and what was visible of his chest
above the blanket that had been tucked around him. 
     Dr. Paye studied the bio-scanner, which had been attached to his
left shoulder, above the collar bone. Then he looked at the two medtech,
Bromus and Liel, as they placed the stretcher on the floor, asking the
question that burned in all their minds.  "What's his status?"
     "Lieutenant Boomer has a probable concussion, a badly bruised knee
and right leg, some first degree burns, and numerous cuts and abrasions,"
explained Bromus.  "He's sufficiently stable to transport to the
Galactica."
     "And Starbuck?" asked Apollo before the man could continue.
     "We don't know yet, Captain," answered Liel.  "Jay and Richards were
still working on him when we left.  They had to get Lieutenant Boomer out
in order to treat Lt. Starbuck, but..."
     "'But' what?' demanded Apollo, feeling his chest tighten.
     "Look, I don't want to speculate, sir" said Liel, "but there was an
awful lot of blood up there, and it didn't come from this patient."  He
nodded towards Boomer.  "They'll have to stabilize the lieutenant before
they can even think about moving him. Captain." Liel was terse, and
clearly didn't like answering all these questions.
     Apollo looked ready to pounce on the medtechs, so Dr. Paye stepped
in.  "Bromus, Liel, go ahead and get Lieutenant Boomer secured aboard the
shuttle and wait for us there."
     The two lifted the stretcher and headed off down the corridor,
looking relieved to be away from the captain. 

********
Jay checked the bio-scanner readings one final time.  "Okay, let's do it,
but we've got to be quick!  BP's as stable as it's going to get without a
transfusion.  Cranial signature is holding steady."
With Starbuck immobilized and secured, Jay switched on the anti-grav unit
and slipped the stretcher off the ledge.  While his partner steadied it,
he then snapped one of its handles to Richards' harness, next to his
medical backpack.  With the anti-grav unit activated, the stretcher
weighed a mere two kilos; thus, the medtech could descend the ladder as
rapidly as he dared, while still being cautious to not jostle their
patient.
"Uh oh," said Richards."
"What?"
"He's gone into violent REM state." As if on cue, Starbuck began to
thrash about, as if he were a ragdoll the grip of some petulant child. He
moaned, incoherent sounds coming from his throat, and straining against
his bonds. His eyes snapped open, glassy and unseeing.
"Frak, he'll rip that arm to shreds!" 

******
Darkness, darkness all around, and empty arms. Where's Max? Max!  Max!!
He looked around, but his beloved stuffed Pacaderm was nowhere to be
seen. Darkness surrounded him, and the long, sharp thorns of the forest
snagged his clothes, scratched his bare legs and arms.
"Don't go near the forest, dear," his mother had said, many a time. But,
the curious child could never seem to pay attention, so riveted had he
become on the mysterious expanse of wilderness. Now, alone and lost
amidst the wild, he was terrified.  Mama!  he wailed.  Mama!  Papa!
The darkness consumed him as his voice grew faint, distant...

******
"That'll kill him!" yelled Jay, as his partner grabbed a hypo from his
waist pack and fitted it with an ampule.
"He won't live to reach the deck if we don't get him calmed down." He
pressed the hypo to his patient's neck, and after a few moments, Starbuck
began to relax, his glassy eyes slowly closing once more.
"BP?"
"Still dangerously low, but we'd better get moving, now, or he won't live
a centar."
It took Jay and Richards five centons to reach the engine chamber level
of the maintenance shaft.  In less than a half a centon, they had
maneuvered around so that Jay could exit first to guide the stretcher out
through the hatch, followed by Richards.  As they altered the angle from
vertical to horizontal, however, Jay noticed the patient's cardio
signature fluctuate, then settle back into its rhythm.  "Come on," he
muttered to himself.  "Hang in there, Lieutenant. Just a little bit
more."
Backing out with the stretcher in tow, Jay vaguely noted the shift in
temperature, vaguely heard the sounds of the fire crews engaged in the
arduous task of tearing down the useless and fire-ravaged structures.  He
squinted through the smoky atmosphere to keep his eyes locked on the
bio-scanner, glancing quickly aside only to safely snake his way around
the charred metals remains towards the exit.  More often, he let Richards
shout directions at him as he moved, body twisted to hustle forward while
staring at the bio-scanner.  The lieutenant's BP had held steady during
the descent, but now it was wavering and creeping slowly downward. 
There's internal bleeding somewhere, mused Jay.  Just hang on - 
*********
A cacophony of sound swirled out of oblivion...
Countless blue pencils of light shot down like rain, leaving fire and
screaming in their wake. "Mama!" he wailed, feeble and trembling, his
voice not carrying over the howling wind, or the raging fires just beyond
the edge of the forest. He could smell the smoke, the burning buildings
and the burning flesh, and he began to cry. Where were they? Mama? Papa?
Where?  Where? Where did they go? Why hadn't they followed him, away from
the bad noises and lights? Why? Why...
He tried to find his way out of the endless tangle of thorn; they tore
his skin, his face, and he found only darkness. 
Darkness, empty streets, and a gang of youths, a dozen or so in all, who
glared at him with hateful eyes. Shot through with fear, he ran, and they
pursued him. Knives, guns, they had it all, and they wanted him--  dead. 
TRAITOR!!! they shrieked. TRAITOR!!! 
He ran, ran furiously till his heart felt as though it would burst. 
Let the Viper carry him down the launch tube, anything-anything!-- to get
away. 
Kill Cylons! Kill them!  They had made him run!  Taken everything,
everything he had loved-- Max?  Max!  Where's Max?  Mama, Papa!--
Destroyed it all - He flew-- blasting and blasting - kill them, kill them 
all!
The launch tube rushed towards him.  Impact! The Viper crumpled, crushing
him into a small metal box of pain. Pain.  Pain till he screamed......
 
 
********
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
Jay snapped his head forward.  He and Richards ran, side stepping and
jumping over the debris.  They could not stop where they were, in the
middle of the twisted, charred remains of the catwalk.

*******
Apollo paced between the corridor walls, banging the bulkhead with his
hands at each turn and cursing under his breath.  Jolly, shifting
restlessly from foot to foot, stood next to Dr. Paye, watching his Strike
Captain and thinking that he had never seen him this tense, this
unsettled.  He seemed oblivious to the shoulder injury, but between that
and the shear effort that it had taken to defeat the crazed engineer and
finally dump the fuel, the captain had to be exhausted and running on
adrenaline.
Dr. Paye stood rigid against the wall, as if at attention, his arms
crossed and his eyes shifting from Apollo to the gap left by the
partially opened blast door.  He appeared the polar opposite of Apollo -
calm, professional, detached: the doctor waiting to assess the patient,
as if that person were a nameless, faceless... body, rather than - 
Jolly shook his head.  It was the doctor's job to remain detached.  And
Starbuck wasn't his friend and squadron mate.  Starbuck. Jolly took a
brief moment to dare to imagine Blue Squadron without the brash, daring
Warrior.  Without the optimist who lived for the moment, who always had a
scheme up his sleeve, and who regaled his bunkmates with obviously
exaggerated stories of romantic conquests.  During all of the dark days
following the Great Destruction, how many times had it been Starbuck's
spark that had, in all honesty, kept them going, kept them from giving
up?  Felgercarb, Jolly thought, he's just gotta make it.
They heard the flurry of activity a micron before Jay and Richards burst
through the portal, and in one rapid motion deactivated the anti-grav
unit, slid it to the deck, and began furiously removing Starbuck's
bindings.   Before Apollo could fully process the meaning of the steady,
piercing alarm, Dr. Paye was at the lieutenant's neck, injecting a
substance, then tapping in the code to the heart stimulator. The three
pulled back, waiting.  A brief moment later, Starbuck's body arched
upward, rigid for a micron, then collapsed back down.
"No conversion!" yelled Richards between gasps for breath.
A second shock.  The alarm continued, unrelenting.
Apollo watched in horror as the doctor armed another injection, pumped it
into Starbuck's neck, and tapped the stimulator once more.
A third shock.  
Apollo, lungs pounding from the breath he held, stared at the straight
line on the bio-scanner.  It wavered weakly, briefly with the jolt, then
nothing.  Flat line.
Dr. Paye punched in a different code.  The cardio signature beeped, then
assumed a steady blip-blip, blip-blip rhythm.
Full life support.
Apollo felt numb.  He released the breath and gazed at his friend,
refusing to believe what his eyes were telling him.  Dr. Paye and the
medtechs secured the bindings once more.  Activating the anti-grav unit,
Jay and Richards lifted the stretcher and hurried off down the corridor.
"Let's go, Captain."  Dr. Paye had a gentle hand on Apollo's arm, guiding
him forward.  "We've got limited time with the heart stimulator."

*******
PART 7 
  
     Captain Apollo, elbows on knees and head bowed, stared at the floor
as he and Jolly waited in the outer area of the Life Station.  One
thought echoed through his mind: if his heart stopped beating, he's dead. 
Dead...  
Those precious centons, from when Dr. Paye activated the heart
simulator's life support function to when he and the medtechs whisked
Starbuck into the Galactica's Life Station, had seemed to last an
eternity-- hustling to the shuttle, feet pounding on the deck, barely
containing himself enough to get emergency clearance to launch from the
Lyra, the 5-centon flight at maximum safe velocity, and the final,
desperate rush out of the shuttle to the Life Station.  Paye and the
medtechs had disappeared at once into the emergency surgical unit. The
door clanged shut, and the sudden silence, the abrupt standstill, had
been almost overwhelming.   Apollo had stood, gasping for breath, staring
at the closed door, before dropping into the seat in the waiting area and
cradling his head with his hands.  Like an unrelenting nightmare, that
final image of his friend burned in his mind's eye - his face beneath the
oxygen mask covered with a gruesome mixture of soot and blood, his light
brown hair filthy and matted, but worst of all, the steady beep-beep,
beep-beep, throosh-throosh of the artificial life support as the machine
operated his heart and pumped the air into his lungs.
A centon later, Liel and Brommus had brought in Boomer.  Apollo had
vaguely noted that the lieutenant was semi-conscious and moaning, shaking
his head from side to side, agitated, but the captain was too preoccupied
to wonder why.  His gaze followed the stretcher through the doors, then
he dropped his head once more into his hands, letting his fingers trail
through his hair.  "Lords of Kobol do something," he muttered.  "Don't
let him -"  he broke off, unable to utter the word.
Jolly paced nearby, glancing at his chrono every few moments.  It had
been five centons since they'd made it to the Life Station.  He really
ought to report to the commander, he reflected, update him, fill him in
on what all had transpired - all that he knew, at least - aboard the
Lyra.  Regulations were quite specific. But he could not tear himself
away from the Life Station.  He had to know... had to be there, in case,
in case... no!  Stop it!  They'll fix him up.  Salik and Paye are the
best.  He's gonna be just fine -
The whoosh of the outer doors to the Life Station broke his train of
thought.  He let out a sigh as he saw the Commander, Sheba, and Athena
quietly cross the threshold.  Behind them, he heard the familiar whirl of
a mechanical daggit.  Boxey clung to Athena's hand as he trailed behind
her, looking uncertain, scared.  Then he spotted Apollo, and he slipped
around the adults to fly into the Captain's lap before he could even look
up.  "Daddy!" he said in a hushed voiced, "Uncle Starbuck'll be just
fine!  Nothing can hurt him.  You know that!  He told me that himself!"
Apollo wrapped his arms around the boy, embracing him tightly and staring
over his head to Adama as he whispered, "Lords, I hope you're right."
The Commander smiled softly.  "Maybe we should all keep our faith in the
'Starbuck Luck.' It seems to work in mysterious ways, sometimes."   Adama
didn't bother to ask for any details.  The full report could wait, and he
already knew the status of both Starbuck and Boomer, from Paye's brief
report as the doctor had ordered the preparations for the emergency
surgery.  They could sort out the rest of the details of this nightmare
later.  Instead, he and Athena took seats across from Apollo.  Boxey
settled into his father's lap, clinging tightly to his tunic, and Sheba
sat down next to him.  She placed a hand on his arm, and their eyes
connected briefly.  She said nothing, tried to smile, but her face, her
red, tear-stained eyes, reflected the raw emotion that Apollo fought to
keep inside.
Nearly a centar later, the inner doors slid open, breaking the somber
silence.  Medtechs Liel and Brommus, looking weary as any Warriors,
nodded slightly to the group as they walked on through and out of the
Life Station.  Behind them, Cassiopeia, still dressed in bloody surgical
scrubs, appeared.  She stopped to gaze at the group in front of her, her
face serious but unreadable, her professional mask determinedly kept in
place. She pulled off her cap, shaking her blonde strands free, as she
sat down in the one remaining seat.  The others waited, knowing that she
would explain all that she could.
Cassie pursed her lips, then cleared her throat.  Her gaze swept slowly
across the group, then settled on Apollo.  "Dr. Salik and Dr. Paye are
still working on Starbuck, and that's really all I know.  Jay and
Richards are assisting, and -" she stopped as her voice threatened to
crack and frowned, determined to stay calm and objective, the
professional.  A moment later, she continued.  "Boomer's injuries were
not life threatening, so Dr. Salik left me in charge of his care so that
he could assist Dr. Paye."  Her lip twitched in a faint smile.  "The good
news is that they're still in there, working on him, so he's still
alive." She lowered her face into her hands, and for a moment, her whole
body shook. She clenched her fingers, and forced herself to be still.
"And Boomer's going to be just fine!"  She said, raising her head up, her
smile forced.  "He's resting now, sedated, so that his body can recover
its strength.  He had a bad case of smoke inhalation, first and second
degree burns on both legs and his hands and some shrapnel wounds from the
explosion, I'd suppose.  He also has a moderate concussion, and his right
leg was ripped up pretty badly, but no broken bones.  Liel, Brommus, and
I cleaned and sealed the leg wounds and started him on a combination of
antibiotics and enzymatic compounds to help his tissues heal."
"How long will he be out?" asked Jolly.
"He'll be here about a secton, then put on medical leave for a couple
more.  I'd say about a sectar before he'll be back to active duty, but it
should be a complete recovery, barring any unexpected infections or
complications."
"That is good news," said the commander, quietly.  He paused, then
continued.  "If things go all right, what's a reasonable time to expect
any further news with Starbuck?"
Cassie chewed her lip, fighting to remain objective.  "Given the
procedures they needed to coordinate - blood transfusions combined with
repairing all of the damage, properly sealing that severed artery, but
not stressing his weakened systems too much -- I'd say at least three
centars. At least. Maybe longer.  Maybe even much longer. If Boomer
hadn't played battlefield surgeon when he did..." Her voice trailed off
and she looked away, her objectivity washing away with the tears that had
welled in her eyes.  
Adama watched as they glistened a moment before spilling down her cheeks. 
She swiped at the wetness and stood up. The commander stood, also, and
took a step towards her, intending to offer his comfort, knowing that the
waiting was tearing her up as much as it was his son.
She shook her head slightly, though. "I need to go check on Boomer," she
said, her voice tightly controlled.  "I'll let you know if anything else
happens."  She turned and disappeared behind the doors.
No one spoke.  Boxey remained quiet, clinging to Apollo until the boy
drifted off to sleep in his father's lap.  Even the normally whirring
daggit sat as still as if it were deactivated; only a slight twist of the
ear from time to time indicated that it was not.

*****
Five centars, 67 centons.  Is  that good or bad? Jolly wondered as he
glanced at his chrono for the fifth time in as many centons, and then at
the still sealed doors.  No word from anyone, not even from Cassiopeia,
who seemed to be taking refuge in her work as she monitored Boomer. 
Several centars earlier, they all had filed into the recovery area of the
Life Station to see the lieutenant, to whisper their encouragement, even
though he was sedated.  Cassie had glanced at the entrance to the
emergency surgical unit but had said nothing, instead describing Boomer's
condition in further detail and focusing on the positive prospect of his
recovery.  Everyone had stayed for several centons before heading back
out into the waiting area to continue their vigil.
Five centars, 73 centons.  This is going to drive me nuts. Jolly took a
deep breath, climbed out of his seat, and started to pace once more. 
Periodically, he pulled out a compupad to try to write up his report of
the events, but he found that he could only remain objective for about
three centons before his disgust, his loathing at what Dominius had done,
welled up, and he thrust the device aside again. He was about to glance
at his chrono yet again when the door whooshed open. 
All eyes stared at the figure standing on the threshold, a weary-looking
Dr. Salik, surgical mask and cap in one hand, his scrubs wrinkled and
blood-stained, his face stony and unreadable.
"We need to locate two more units of whole blood within the next centar,"
he said bluntly, then held up a hand at the questioning, troubled faces
and at the mouths that started to open.  "Let me give you all the rundown
on where we stand."  Salik paused to take a deep breath, exhaling slowly. 
"For the moment, he's stable.  Richards informed me that both warriors
were found inside the maintenance shaft, and it is most likely that
Lieutenant Starbuck suffered severe blunt trauma from a fall of
approximately 3 to 4 metrons.   We repaired his right arm and shoulder,
which had two fractures - the lower humerus and the clavicle - and
extensive damage to the muscles, ligaments, and tendons.  The broken
humerus sliced through a major artery, resulting in a consider amount of
blood loss.  He also had three fractured ribs, some internal bleeding
from a punctured lung, numerous cuts, abrasions, and contusions -
including a fairly minor bump to the back of the head in the occipital
region - first and second degree burns on his hands, mainly, and moderate
smoke inhalation.  The most worrisome injury, however, is the blow he
received to his right temple, resulting in a severe concussion.  We did
what we could to treat it, to reduce any swelling and control any
bleeding, but... at this point, there's no way to predict how it may
affect the lieutenant. And at the moment he's unconscious, in a deep
coma."  Salik paused, giving the group time to process this chunk of
information.
"What about his heart?" asked Apollo.  "It wasn't - he wasn't -"  he
stopped.
"When we switched life support systems before the surgery," Salik
answered, "his heart was beating on its own, albeit weakly and with an
irregular rhythm.  For now, until he's stronger and shows signs of
regaining consciousness, he'll be in a bio-pod and on complete life
support.  And we're constantly monitoring his brain activity.  However, I
just can't give you a time frame as to when... or if... he'll regain
consciousness.  It could be a few days, a few sectons, or-- and I must be
brutally frank with you-- the trauma may have been too much, despite all
our efforts."
Salik stopped and waited again while everyone pondered his words.  Apollo
closed his eyes.  "Felgercarb," he muttered.  A heavy silence settled on
the group.
Finally, Adama, turned to Dr. Salik. "If the broken bone severed an
artery," he said, his brow furrowed with deep concern, "how is it that he
didn't bleed to death before the rescue team arrived?  I know they were
delayed by the fire."
"Lieutenant Starbuck is alive right now because of some impressive field
surgery done by Lieutenant Boomer, according to Jay and Richards,"
answered Salik.
"Boomer?" said several voices.
"Yes." His voice reflected open admiration.  "He used his laser to
cauterize the wound and stop the bleeding.  And had he not, had he merely
tried to use a tourniquet or pressure, I'm almost certain it would not
have been effective enough. He even managed to temporarily reset the
fractured bone. Even with lieutenant Boomer's radical procedure, however,
Starbuck lost a great deal of blood." The doctor's face grew serious
again.  "Which brings us to our present dilemma.  We still need at least
two more units. Since it's so perishable, we just don't keep a big supply
of whole blood on hand."
"If he needs blood," Apollo said, standing up, still holding Boxey,
"you've got five volunteers right here. Hades, the whole squadron..."
"It's not that simple," Salik said with a sigh.   "I wish it were.  Dr.
Paye's compiling a list of potential donors from Fleet medical records as
we speak.  The problem is," he said, cutting off the questions before
they could be voiced, "Lieutenant Starbuck's blood type is O-negative,
and while not the rarest, it's more--."
"I thought type O was common!" interjected Jolly, shaking his head and
looking confused.
"That's type O-positive.  That and A-positive are the most common, with
over 70% of the population having those two blood types.  O-negative is
actually in the middle, with about 5% of the population having that type. 
The rarest type is AB-negative - only about 1% have AB-negative. 
However."  Salik shook his head slightly, looking suddenly tired. 
"Because people with O-negative can only receive that type of blood
during a transfusion - and even AB- is not that restricted - it makes it
one of the more limiting factors during emergency situations, such as
this."  Salik ran his hands over his face.  "And we have about 50 centons
to find another donor, so let's go check on Paye's progress."
Adama, Athena, Apollo with Boxey, Sheba, and Jolly followed the doctor
into the Life Station.  Boomer still slept in his bio-bed, and Starbuck's
bio-chamber was presumably still in the emergency surgical unit, because
it was nowhere to be seen as the group hurried over to the medical
control center.  Dr. Paye sat staring at the computer screen, chewing his
lip, with Cassie standing beside him.  He turned and stood as Salik
approached.  "Fleet records identified fifty-seven potential donors out
of 178 people with type O-negative blood, four of which are aboard the
Galactica.  I've already sent an emergency summons for them - one's a
viper technician, one's Sargeant Cree, one is you, Boxey, and the other's
-"  Paye gave a tired but wry smile. "Colonel Tigh." 
"Oh goodie!' chirped Boxey, oblivious to the realities. "I can help!"
"Not exactly, Boxey," said Paye, smiling at the boy. "You are two small,
right now, to give Starbuck the amount of blood he needs. If we took it
from you, it could ki...hurt you, instead."
"But I want to help..." said Boxey, crestfallen.
"And you are," said Adama, picking the boy up, and smiling that paternal
smile Apollo remembered so well. "Your prayers are helping him, Boxey.
See how far he's come so far?"
"I guess so, gran...sir."
"Good." he smiled, and turned back to Paye.  
"That's good, that's good!" muttered Salik, studying the list, oblivious
to the family drama. "We can take a unit of blood from each. No, scratch
Cree. He's on medical leave, with the Cyrannian flu. Can't risk that.
Well, that should be enough to bring Starbuck's blood volume back to an
acceptable level. I assume..."  His voice trailed off as he squinted at
the list on the screen.  "That's odd."
"What?"  Apollo, Paye, and Sheba all asked.
"One of the people on the list who're outside the parameters of
'acceptable donor' - meaning they were either too young or too old - is
listed as a relative."
"That's impossible," muttered Apollo.  "Starbuck doesn't have..."  
But Salik wasn't listening.  Instead, he had turned to stare at
Cassiopeia, who looked wide-eyed and pale.  She sank into the seat.  "I'm
sorry," she whispered, fixing her gaze on the floor.  "I meant to tell
you."
Salik looked ready to explode.  "You mean to tell me -"
"What is going on?" demanded Apollo, stepping between the two, feeling
utterly bewildered.
Salik took a breath, about to speak, when he noticed Colonel Tigh
hurrying through the door.  "Look for yourself," he snapped, jabbing a
finger at the computer screen.  "I've got a transfusion to worry about." 
He grabbed a confused looking Dr. Paye by the arm and dragged him off.
"Will someone please explain what's going on!"
All eyes turned to stare in disbelief at the commander, who almost never
raised his voice. 
Silence permeated the Life Station for a micron, until Cassiopeia cleared
her throat.  "You don't have to look," she said softly.  "He didn't want
me to tell anyone.  He was afraid that Starbuck was going to throw away
his career and his friends, so he convinced me - made me promise!-- not
to tell..."  Cassie gazed at the faces before her; all reflected a
shocked surprise as her words sank in, and the name became clear.
"Chameleon," whispered Apollo, feeling as if the wind had been knocked
from his chest.  
Adama fixed Cassiopeia with an unsmiling gaze.  "We'll sort this out
later.  For now, you'd better notify Chameleon that his son is in a
coma."


Part 8 

"Why're you all yelling at Aunt Cassie?"
The small voice brought everyone up short.  Apollo closed his mouth,
swallowing the less-than-kind words that he had been about to say, and
stared at Boxey, who still clung to his grandfather's neck. In the sudden
silence, they could hear the quiet, choking sobs.  The medtech sat with
her face in her hands, overwhelmed.  Athena, Jolly, and Sheba stared from
her to Apollo to the commander, all feeling overloaded by this sudden new
bit of information. 
Adama gazed at Cassie, feeling terrible for his own harsh words, and he
hugged his grandson. "Boxey's right.  If any of us can look back and not
find a time when he or she is not guilty of a mistake in judgement... " 
He his voice trailed off and he paused.  The others looked away.  "This
is a time for supporting each other.  Completely.  Starbuck will need all
of our strength to pull through this, I fear."
Apollo sat down in the chair next to Cassie.  "I'm sorry," he whispered. 
"I'm sorry..."
The medtech glanced up.  "Oh, Apollo..." The captain wrapped his arms
around her, and she collapsed against him, face buried in his shoulder,
the tears flowing uncontrollably, her body racked with desperate sobs.
Adama closed his eyes and exhaled, drawing strength from his inner core. 
They needed him to support them, to guide them, and in turn, he could
draw strength from them.  They were all his family, all of them, not just
Apollo, Athena, and Boxey, but Sheba, and Jolly, and all of the warriors. 
All of them.  And Starbuck... the brash, young warrior had become a part
of his family back in the days of the Academy, back when - against any
odds Adama would have offered - he and Apollo had bonded as best friends. 

Adama bit his lip as a sudden memory sprang to mind - the first time that
Apollo had brought his new friend home with him, the first-yahren cadet
who had managed to drag his son, who was the second-yahren cadet-corps
captain for Starbuck's barracks, into more trouble in one secton than
Apollo had ever been in - even as a young boy.  Apollo had always abided
by the rules, always been serious about his schooling and never took any
responsibility lightly.  Yet, in the secton previous to the visitation,
Apollo had been caught breaking curfew not once but twice - twice! 
Adama's lip curled into a slight smile, now, as he remembered his
reaction to seeing "that scoundrel" standing on his doorstep; he had
practically exploded at Apollo - until Ila had took him by the arm,
pushed him out of the way and embraced the wayward cadet in a motherly
bear hug.  Starbuck's eyes had nearly popped out of his skull in
surprise, and Adama had been left speechless as Ila had led him inside,
saying, "I always knew that Apollo would find someone to add some
excitement to his life.  We can't be serious all the time, you know..." 
The two had disappeared off into the kitchen area, leaving both Apollo
and Adama staring after them, too shocked to argue anymore.
Ila had recognized instantly in Starbuck the qualities that Adama
eventually came to know - the heart beneath the bravado, the true valor
disguised behind a mask of supposed selfish irresponsibility, and the
honor hidden by the front of apparent disregard for authority.  Starbuck,
in many ways, was the polar opposite of Apollo, but together, they
balanced each other.  It may have taken a few more sectars for him to let
himself admit it, but by the end of Starbuck's first yahren, he was an
"adopted" member of Adama's family.  And even back then, the commander
could not picture his son without his "alter ego."  
Adama pushed the memory aside and inhaled, drawing himself up even as he
balanced Boxey on his hip.  He studied the weary group in front of him,
then said, "We will best serve Starbuck, now, by staying strong and
hopeful, just as he is the eternal optimist.  And to do that, we all need
our rest." He glanced at his chrono to note that it was long into the
sleep period and most of them were officially due back on duty in less
than six centars  "Go, everyone, and try to get some sleep."  As Apollo
opened his mouth to protest, Adama said gently but firmly, "That's an
order."

****
   "Doctor?" asked Adama as he entered the autopsy room, off the
Battlestar's main Life Station. He had tried to follow his own advice,
had tried to sleep, at least for a few centars, but had given up by 0900. 
A call from Dr. Paye at 0940 indicated that he probably hadn't had much
sleep, either.
"Well," said Dr. Paye, flipping up the bill of his cap, and pulling down
his mask, "as you can see, Commander, there isn't a lot of question as to
the cause of death." On the table before them lay the savaged body of
Dominius. The lower chest and abdomen were brutally crushed inwards by
the force of the tylium jet, pieces of his space suit embedded in the
wounds, and the flesh showed the signs of decompression. "He was dead
before he was out of sight."
     "Anything more helpful, Doctor?" Adama decide that right now,
Dominius' mother wouldn't have regognized him.
     "Well, the tox screen came back negative. No sign of any drugs,
alcohol, or anything else that might have caused his sudden deranged
behavior. No indication of any bacterial or viral infection that might
have affected his mind."
     "What do we have on him, Colonel?" asked Adama, turning to Tigh. 
The colonel had had about as much sleep as anyon else, having rested in
the Life Station after the transfusion.
     "He graduated from the Colonial Merchant Academy seven and a half
yahren before the Holocaust, Commander. Tops in his engineering class.
Served on a number of merchant vessels right up to the day the Cylons
attacked."
     "Anything in his background? Anything at all?"
     "He lost everything in the Holocaust, sir," replied the Exec,
consulting his data pad. "His wife, his two children, all his shipmates,
as well as his parents and siblings. He was the sole survivor of his
family." Tigh looked down at the dismantled corpse. 
     "Another one gone quietly insane," said Paye, peering into Dominius'
empty cranial cavity. "He's not the first."
     "Nor will he be the last, I fear," said Adama. "What's the status of
the Lyra, Colonel?"
     "Well, the fire is out, and repairs are proceeding as best they can.
The engineers have tribunal-rigged a new control system, and with the
tylium from the reserve tank, have both one energizer and one auxilliary
thruster going, as well as life support. Dominius very thoroughly
sabotaged the original controls, sir. She's slow, but she'll keep up with
us, for now."
     "Good. Tell Engineer...uh,"
     "Brennus, sir."
     "Tell him I want a full report on damage and the repairs by this
time tomorrow, Colonel."
     "Yes, sir."
     They all turned, as medtech Liel entered, and handed Paye a data
pad. Paye perused it, and arched an eyebrow.
     "Well," he said, in that way only doctors can, "interesting."
     "Doctor?" asked Adama.
     "Well, you asked about a cause, sir. Engineer Dominius,  it seems,
was dying."
     "Dying?" said Tigh. "How?"
     "Well," said Paye, once more annoying Tigh by starting every
sentence with "well", "I sent his brain to the lab for the usual
sectioning and such." He looked at Liel.
     "We found a tumor, Colonel. Commander. A glioblastoma, here." He
pointed out a lump, the size of a large fruit pit, squeezed between the
brain stem and the rest of the brain. "It was growing, and would have
finally killed him in about five or six sectars at the most."
     "Could that account for his behavior?"
     "Possibly, Commander," replied Liel. "But a judgement like that is
very tricky." He looked at Paye, who signed the report, and he left.
     "Doctor, what's this?" asked Tigh, indicating the corpse. On
Dominius' chest, just over the heart, was a dark patch. Paye wiped away
the blood, to reveal a tattoo.
     "Well, I wondered that, too, sir. I've never seen one like it."
     "A lot of merchant spacers had tattoos," offered Adama.
     "Well, this one was recent, sir. Within the last few sectons."
     Adama leaned close, and tried to make it out. The tattoo was
circular, about the size of the Seal of the Lords he wore, and consisted
of the image of a pair of outstretched hands, the palms filled with tiny
people. Around the edge were letters, but Adama could not read them. As
he looked, something stirred in his mind. Somewhere, he had seen this
sigil before. He tried, but could not for the life of him recall where.
He scowled, shaking his head. This was important, he was sure. 
     Wait a centon... he thought, as a sudden chill ran through him
     "Doctor, I want a close-up scan of this emblem, and have it
transmitted to my quarters, as soon as possible."
     "Yes, Commander."
     "And marked Eyes Only."
     "Y..yes, sir."
     "Commander?" asked Tigh, as they quit the autopsy room. "Did you
recognize that symbol?"
     "I'm not certain , Tigh," replied the Commander. "I'm just not
certain." 

***********

"Just wait!  Just you wait!"  The face above him glared in anger.  "Wait
until your father gets back!" She shook a finger at him.
He glanced down at the shards of pottery at his feet and the bright
orange ball that lay amongst the ruins, then back at the face.  He felt
his ears and cheeks burn and the tears well. His lip trembled and he
gulped, unable to hold back the sobs.  It was an accident, he wanted to
scream, but couldn't.  He knew better than to throw the ball inside, he
did... and now he just wanted to erase the horrible mistake that lay at
his feet.  Her favorite pitcher, the one that used to be Granna's.  Why? 
Why'd it have to break?  He hated her for yelling at him and he hated
himself.  And he was NOT going to be around when his father got home.
He turned and sprinted out the door, running as fast as his small legs
would carry him.  He'd run away, run forever.  Out. Out into the forest. 
He'd disappear.  They'd never find him, never.  Ever.  The world bounced
as he ran.  He thought he heard her voice calling behind him.  But he
kept running.  Into the dark forest, through the thin break in the
brambles, over the bovine trail.  His foot hit a fallen branch and he
stumbled onto his knees and palms.  
The sting of the biting thorns stopped his flight.   He looked around at
the shadowy woods, listening to the suddenly scary sounds, the strange
hoots and cries.  The lups...How'd he forget? 
He turned, terrified, scrambling to his feet to run back the way he'd
come, but... it was too dark, now.  He couldn't see the scraggly path. 
Couldn't see the dim light from the setting sun.  He screamed.  But the
darkness swallowed up his voice.  
It was black.  Completely.  He could see nothing. Feel nothing. Hear
nothing. Nothing... Nothing. Except a faint, rhythmic beat.  Thump-thump,
thump-thump,...
Then the horrible spears of blue light rained down from the sky... 

*********
     The Life Station was quiet and nearly empty, except for the two
patients and their vigilant medtech.  That had not been the case a mere
ten centons ago; Salik estimated that at any given time, probably half of 
the Viper squadrons were present, flowing in and out, offering their
prayers and encouragement to their two fellow pilots.  And Apollo, Sheba
at his side, had not left his seat since returning to the Life Station at
0900.  However, at 1400,  Dr. Salik had ordered all visitors to take a
break and go get some nourishment.  Period. Doctor's orders. They could
all return in a centar.
     Cassie glanced at the bio-monitor above Starbuck's pod, noting the
sudden, if slight, increase in brain activity as the Theta wave pattern
spiked briefly, fluctuated for a few microns, then tapered off again to
nearly a straight line.  She sighed as the pattern returned to its
previous signature: three unwavering lines for the Alpha, Beta, and Theta
waves.  Only the Delta signature maintained a low but steady cycle,
indicating minimal brain activity-- only enough to keep essential body
systems functioning.  The Theta spikes were promising, she told herself. 
Now, if they would increase in both frequency and intensity...
     She tore her gaze from the monitor to stare at Boomer, lying in the
biobed next to Starbuck's pod, then up at his vitals.  How different his
monitor looked, she reflected - the normal reading for someone merely
sedated, with an oscillating combination of Delta, Theta, and Alpha
waves, as the lieutenant cycled through periods of deep sleep and REM
sleep.   Only the Beta wave signature - those involved with wakeful
cerebral activities - remained quiet.
It's too soon to tell, she reminded herself, and the Theta activity is
good, it has to be -
Cassie felt a hand on her shoulder.  "Can we talk?" said the deep, quiet
voice of Dr. Salik.
The medtech felt her chest tighten.  She nodded and followed the doctor
over to his office.  She sat down, staring at the floor, dreading the
next few moments as she remembered his furious face from earlier. He
closed the door and walked around to sit behind his desk.  Cassie felt
her heart pounding against her chest as she waited for Salik to speak. 
To censure her for her deception.  It was also within his right to
release her from her duties for unethical conduct; after all, she had
lied to a patient.  Regardless of her reasons, it still boiled down to
that.  At the request of one patient, she had deceived another.  
"Well, at least you had the sense to properly enter the results into the
Fleet medical records." His voice was quiet and not reproachful, as she
had expected.
Cassie looked up and met his gaze.  Salik's face was soft, concerned. 
"But, what were you thinking?"
"I -" she started, then stopped to clear her throat and take a deep
breath.  "I wasn't thinking clearly.  I know that now.  But at the
time..."  Her voice trailed off as she pictured that moment so many
sectars ago.  Slowly, she explained it to the doctor, or tried to, at
least.  "Chameleon asked... no, pleaded with me not to tell, because he
was convinced that Starbuck would overreact, that he'd throw away his
career and his friends and... "  She averted her gaze again.  "And even
me."
"Do you think he would have done that?"  Salik asked. "Seriously,
Cassie?"
Cassie took a deep breath.  "At that time, yes... I think he just might
have.  He was acting crazy, as it was.  He'd already nearly come to blows
with Apollo and Boomer, and Chameleon had told me that he had every
intention of quitting the service. But..."
"Do you still think so, now?"  Salik prodded, gently.
"I don't know.  I think... I think he'd have come to his senses before he
actually resigned, especially given that Chameleon had deceived him about
things like his work on the Orphan Ship."
"So when were you going to tell me?"  Salik's tone was matter-of-fact. 
"Or Starbuck?"
Cassie looked up again and bit her lip, fighting back the tears. "I tried
to... several times, but I - I couldn't -"  She broke off, staring at her
fingertips, unable to continue.  "I'm sorry," she finally whispered.  "I
was wrong..."
"Yes, you were.  But since you followed the proper procedures and
recorded the information accurately, I'm not going to do anything."  He
paused as she met his gaze once more, her face openly surprised.  "I
think you're going through enough right now, as it is, and you'll still
have to sort it out with the commander, your friends, and Chameleon."  He
paused, patting her on the shoulder. "And yourself. Don't worry. There'll
be no inquiry, official or otherwise."
Cassie dropped her head into her hands.  "Chameleon said he'd tell him,
he'd tell Starbuck, on the day -" She choked back the tears.  "the day he
got sealed.  And now..."
Salik had quietly come around his desk, and he put a hand on the
medtech's shoulder.  "Cassie, you know as well as I do that we can't make
any predictions right now.  It's just too soon.  A coma is a body's
natural way of shutting down to heal itself, sometimes. Give him a couple
of days, okay?"  
She looked up to meet his gaze and wrapped her hands around the arm on
her shoulder, smiling faintly and blinking away the tears.  "Thank you,"
she whispered.
"Now," the doctor said, his tone more positive, "I'd expect Lieutenant
Boomer to be waking up soon.  And -" He glanced at his chrono, and
groaned.  "The 'horde' will be back in about fifteen centons.  Come on."
Cassie took a deep breath and stood.  And the world did a flip flop.  She
grabbed the edge of the desk to steady herself.
"How long as it been since you've eaten?"  Salik sounded like he already
knew the answer.
"About 40 centars."  She held up a hand to waylay the impending speech. 
"I tried to eat when I went on rest period, but, I don't know... I just
couldn't.  With everything that's happened, I just felt nauseous.  So I
just tried to sleep."  
Salik pointed to his chair.  "Sit.  I can't let you go back to work until
you've had some nourishment.  I should have sent you out with the
rest..." he muttered as he pulled a rations pack from his supply cabinet. 
He tossed it to her.  "I should send you to quarters now for more rest -"
"No!"  Cassie sat and grabbed the pack.  I'll eat it all.  I promise."
"See that you do. And Cassie..." He caught her eye and gave her a gentle
look.  "Just remember that, all things considered, Starbuck is doing
remarkably well."
The medtech nodded and ripped open the packet as Salik left.  And for the
first time since the ordeal had begun, she felt a glimmer of true hope.  
Salik was right.  And so was Boxey.  Starbuck himself had once said it
did no good to dwell on what might go wrong.  So why do so now?  

******  
Part 9

He took the last of the tableware, and dumped it in the washer. Lords,
but he was tired. getting too old for this kind of thing, Chamy ol' boy,
he told himself. He hit the red button, then sat down at one of the empty
tables in the now-quiet mess hall. It wasn't so bad, he supposed, being
stuck here, on the senior's ship. He'd have preferred the Rising Star, to
be sure, but at least here, things weren't too bad. He didn't have to
scam his way through the day, or lie every five centons.
     Of course, there was Siress Blassy...
     He hadn't yet wiped the grimace off his face, when he heard
footsteps out in the corridor. Young, strong, powerful footsteps, not the
usual seniors and cripples he...
     He started, when three Colonial Warriors entered, and moved to where
he sat without so much as a break in their movements. On his right,
Captain Apollo sat, across from him was a rotund Warrior whose name he
did not know. Nor did he know the name of the third one, a short, wiry
fellow with tousled brown hair.
     "Uh, Captain," he began, but didn't get far.
     "Hi, Chameleon. Remember me?" smiled Apollo, putting his arm around
the old man's shoulder.
     "Well, of course, I...."
     "You're coming with us." Apollo squeezed the old man towards him,
never breaking his smile.
     "Com...what? When?"
     "Now," said the plump one, deadpan.
     "I..."
     "Starbuck needs you," said the third. "Now."
     "Starbuck? Well..."
     "Now" said Apollo, squeezing again, in a voice that could only be
described as brittle.
     "Now," said Chameleon, and rose.

*******
Cassie glanced up at the monitor, then down at the sleeping form on the
bio-bed.  While his face looked tranquil, she couldn't help but note the
tell-tale reminders of the ordeal that he and Starbuck had endured barely
24 centars ago; pink, healing skin from the numerous burns and cuts left
by flying shrapnel marked his normally dark, smooth complexion, and a
bandage still covered part of his forehead.  Internal scans indicated
that his leg was infection-free, but even with the neuro-enzymatic
treatments, the damaged tissues and cartilage would take nearly a secton
to heal enough to where Boomer could put any weight on the limb.  More
troubling, but not serious - yet - were the pulmonary readings.  They
still showed a 23% decrease in lung capacity and signs of edema,
indicating they had not cleared all of the crud that he had inhaled
during the fire; the treatments, so far, had been only moderately
effective.
 Boomer stirred.  His head jerked slightly, and he moaned beneath the
oxygen mask.  
Cassie returned her gaze to the bio-monitor, which showed a sharp
increase in alpha waves: REM sleep. His brow creased and he rolled his
head from side to side.  Whatever he might be dreaming, she reflected, it
was apparent that it was none too pleasant.  His heart rate had jumped
from an adrenaline rush, and she could hear the raspiness of his
breathing.
"Is he waking up?"  Sheba's quiet voice interrupted the medtech's
thoughts.
Cassie turned a faint smile towards the Warrior.  Only a select group of
friends had been permitted to remain after Salik had finally directed
everyone else out, for now.  Period. The two patients needed peace and
quiet; he would inform the commander when either one were up to receiving
visitors.  Only Jolly, Athena, Sheba, and Apollo had been given
"clearance" to stay.  At the moment, Sheba and Athena held the vigil.
While the other two, Cassie knew, had been sent to escort Chameleon to
the Commander.
"It could be any time," the medtech answered.  "The last sedative will
have worn off by now." 
She glanced at Sheba, who paced restlessly as she waited for Apollo to
return, and at Athena, who sat with her elbows on her knees, her chin in
her palms, and her eyes watching Boomer; she looked as tired as Cassie
felt, yet there was something more than weariness in her eyes. Something
Cassie had never seen before. Anguish? Concern?  She observed Athena as
she stood up to stretch, rolling her shoulders back and flexing her neck.
Even at this distance, she could hear the vertebrae crack. Then Athena
froze, staring at Boomer.  Cassie followed her gaze to see two dark eyes
staring up at the young bridge officer.  
"Boomer?"  Athena said softly as she moved to stand next to the biobed,
hands on the metal railing.  Her face broke into a smile.
The lieutenant knitted his brow and looked confused, saying nothing at
first.  Then, finally, his voice a raspy whisper, he said, "Athena...
I... where am I?"
Cassie moved into his line of sight.  "Boomer, you've been hurt.  You're
in the Life Station."  She paused while he seemed to consider her words. 
Then she asked gently, "Do you know what happened?"
For a nearly a centon, the lieutenant said nothing as his eyes cast
around the Life Station, his thoughts turned inward as he struggled to
remember.   Finally, he locked his gaze with Cassie's.  "A fire," he
said.  "Explosion.  On the _Lyra _--"  His eyes went wide.  "Starbuck!"
his voice cracked and  he tried to sit up.  "Where-"
Cassie pressed his shoulders back gently and said, "It's okay.  He's
okay. Just stay calm. He's okay."
"Okay?'  Boomer, still looking dazed, gazed at her, seeking reassurance.
"Yes.  Starbuck was hurt, too, but he's doing okay. "  Cassie fought to
keep her voice even as she said the words.  He was doing okay... all
things considered.  His recovery was right on target-- that much was
true. 
"Okay?" he repeated his voice barely audible beneath the oxygen mask. 
Boomer settled back, silent but studying the medtech's face, trying to
concentrate as he remembered.  Finally, he whispered, "But he fell.  He
fell.... Where--"   He pushed up again, propping himself on an elbow as
he looked around.  His eyes settled on the life pod.   "Is that...?"
Cassie took a deep breath.  "Yes -"
"But you said-"  
Cassie pushed him gently back down.  "He's doing as well as can be
expected.  He -" Her voice finally broke, and she turned away, biting her
lip.
"And it's my fault, my fault..."  Boomer's voice cracked into a cough,
and he squeezed his eyes shut. 
"No," said Athena, puzzled, as she reached down to touch Boomer's hand,
hesitantly.  "Dr. Salik said that you saved his life - that he would have
bled to death if you hadn't done what you did -"
"But I'm the reason he fell!" whispered Boomer fiercely, opening his eyes
to stare at Athena.  
She shook her head, confused, and glanced at Cassie and Sheba.  "What do
you mean?" she said at last.
Boomer inhaled slowly.  "Like a frakking idiot, I went first in the
maintenance shaft.  I should have gone last, because I couldn't climb
with a messed up leg.  I knew that!" He screwed up his face and looked
away.  "I slipped.  And I knocked Starbuck off.  That should have been me
falling.  Me. Not him."  
"Boomer," said Sheba, shaking her head.  "That was an accident!  For
Sagan's sake, you saved his life!"
"No," said Boomer, his rasping voice cracking again.  His eyes as they
stared at Sheba were filled with anguish.  "I might as well have shot him
with my laser and then tried to patch him up."  He closed his eyes again. 
"It's my fault," he whispered, barely audible.  He slipped his hand away
from Athena's.  "My fault..." He trailed off, falling silent, and Athena
looked at the others.
"My God," whispered Cassie, feeling numb.  Sheba shook her head, not
knowing what to say.
"Felgercarb!"  All eyes turned to stare at Dr. Salik, who stood at the
foot of Starbuck lifepod, hands on hips, his face stern as he gazed at
Boomer.  "You were in a life or death situation."
"But I should have let Starbuck go first.  I--"  Boomer insisted.
"You can't control everything, and mong happens.  Now listen,
lieutenant."
Cassie's eyes went wide; she had never heard Salik use such language, and
certainly not with a patient. Boomer frowned but said nothing.
After a moment, Salik continued.  "The medtechs who found you and
Starbuck were amazed by two things: one, that you were able to climb as
far as you did, and two, that you were able to keep your wits enough to
perform bare-handed surgery.  I've known doctors and medtechs who would
never have been able to do what you did under such conditions.  Frak, I'm
not sure I could have done it, not on a close friend.  There's absolutely
no doubt that you saved Starbuck's life."
Boomer stared at the doctor for a moment, unmoving, breathing in slow,
long breaths.  Then his eyes slid towards the lifepod.  "How is he?" he
asked at length in a subdued whisper, breaking the uneasy silence. 
Salik moved to stand between Cassie and Athena.  He put a hand on the
medtech's shoulder before answering.  "I'll be honest.  He's in a deep
coma, and we won't know much more for another day, or so.  At the moment,
he's on life support to give his body time to recover from the shock. 
It's what we call 'assisted life support,' meaning that the lifepod's
computer works in conjunction with Starbuck own heart and respiratory
system to maintain a steady, healthy rate.  It also gradually releases
control back to the patient."  Salik paused to glance at the monitor
above the lifepod.  "At present, the system is operating at about 60/40,
meaning the computer is handling around 60% of Starbuck's vital
functions."
"Is that good?"  Boomer asked.
"Well, it's not bad," answered the doctor.  "If it continues to improve
over the next day, then he'll most likely come off the life support some
time tomorrow."
"And if it doesn't improve?"  Sheba frowned at Salik, who sighed.
"If he hasn't regained at least 80% control of his own systems within
another 20 centars, or so, then the chances of recovery are greatly
reduced.  But -"  Salik pointed to the monitor and squeezed Cassie's
shoulder.  "He's on track.  So it's pointless to worry or speculate at
this point.  All right?"  Salik gave  the lieutenant a fixed stare.
Boomer nodded and let out a slow, raspy breath.  "Okay," he said.  His
eyes slid up to Athena and he smiled faintly.  "And thanks."
"For what?" she asked, giving him a puzzled look.
"For being the first person I saw when I woke up.  Too bad I had to be
such an equine's astrum."
Athena blushed, and Cassie and Sheba laughed, feeling the tension broken,
if only briefly.

****** 
 "Come in."  Adama laced his fingers together on top of his desk and
stared around as the door to his office slid open.  After a moment,
Chameleon entered - or rather, was nudged forward into the room in front
of his escort.  The commander drilled the elderly man with an unwavering
gaze as he spoke to the Warriors.  "Thank you, Jolly... Giles."  The two
nodded, said "Sir", and moved to leave, Apollo as well.  "Apollo, I'd
like you to remain."
The Captain released his hold on Chameleon's arm and moved to stand near
the oval portal,  saying nothing.
Chameleon fidgeted, looking from father to son and back again.  "Uh,
Commander, I -"
"Have a seat."  Adama's voice carried the same edge that Apollo's had.  
Chameleon glanced at the Captain, then sat in the chair that had been put
in front of the Commander's desk, in obvious anticipation of the visit. 
He started to speak, but thought better of it.
Adama, gazed at the man for a moment longer. He looked the same as he
had, when he'd last seen him, Adama decided. His hair was a bit longer,
and he still wore the same garish suit, but otherwise seemed much the
same. Finally, he said, after touching a control on his computer, "It has
come to my attention that you convinced Cassiopeia to lie about the
results of the paternity genetic tests."  Chameleon opened his mouth, but
Adama silenced him with a firm look.  "Knowing your 'persuasive talents'
and knowing how vulnerable she is when it comes to matters concerning
Lieutenant Starbuck, I hold nothing against Cassiopeia.  I am," he said
in a slow, deliberate voice, "attempting to reserve judgment on you,
until I hear your explanation as to why you would withhold from Starbuck
the one thing he has wanted more than anything - to know about his
family."
Chameleon cleared his throat.  "I, uh, that is..."  
"I trust," added Adama, "that anything you tell me now will be the
unadulterated truth."
Chameleon stared down at his hands.  "Uh, yes, Commander."  He chewed his
lip and studied his fingers for nearly a centon.  Finally, without
looking up he said, "When Starbuck and I were in his Viper, talking,
before those Nomen arrived, he... he overwhelmed me with his conviction
and his, his... determination to make up for all of the time we had
missed together.  I was just about to tell him the truth - honestly! -" 
Chameleon glanced up to lock eyes with Apollo for a micron at a snort
from the Strike Captain, before switching back to stare at his fingers. 
"But then the Nomen interrupted, and then..."  He trailed off.   
His face grew clouded and his brow furrowed as he seemed to withdraw into
a memory.  His voice when he spoke again seemed distant.  "A long time
ago, yahrens before I got sealed, when I was just a youth, I made some...
terrible choices.  Got involved with some terrible people.  And did some
things I wish... that I can't forgive myself for, even after all of these
yahrens."  Chameleon finally looked up at the Commander.  "Starbuck
deserves a father like you.  Not me.  If I tell him the truth, then I'd
have to tell him everything.  And I'm not sure that he'd ever be able to
accept my true past."
Adama's face softened a bit.  "Everyone has done things we wish we could
change -"
"Not like this," interrupted Chameleon.  "Do you know the name 'Poros'"?"
Adama frowned as he considered the question.  Then his expression grew
grim.  Even out on the distant battle fronts, where he'd spent much of
his adult life, Adama had heard that name. "I am familiar with the Poros. 
They were the most feared and ruthless crime family in the Twelve
Colonies."
Chameleon's voice was barely audible as he continued.  "I used to work
for them."
The silence seemed suddenly oppressive.
"What happened?" asked Adama at length.
"I got involved at age 15 because my uncle was a servant of the Head of
the "Family".  And I was thoroughly amoral, Commander. No conscience, no,
no...I did all the usual things that a... 'henchman' does.  I collected
the Family's cut from various establishments, intimidated people, broke
fingers and legs, all the stereotypical things you've seen in the
holovids. Until I had to kill someone I'd once known.  I...I had killed
before, Commander. People Poros deemed to be an...inconvenience. Then, I
fell under his distrust. He was a very...paranoid man. I don't know how,
or why, but I was given a loyalty test. I was told to kill someone I had
known for yahrens. An old friend. I looked into his eyes, saw the terror. 
And knew I couldn't do it. I had to get out."  
Chameleon paused, his voice having fallen to a raspy whisper, and dared a
glance at Apollo.  The Captain's expression was one of utter shock.  He
looked back to the Commander, who had assumed a stoic countenance.  "But
not before trying to get my revenge on Poros. I was so angry at what  he
had done to me and my friend. I...I tried to kill him. But, I blew it,
and I got his son, instead. Anyway, I ran. Ran like Hades. I knew a
doctor I thought I could trust, and altered my appearance by plastic
surgery.  I changed my name several  times, and after a twenty yahrens
ended up on Caprica, in Umbra working as an agro technician.  That's
where I met Gabriela, the daughter of a local merchant.  Gabriela's
mother was a widow who's husband had been killed in action several
yahrens previously. I -"  Chameleon stopped, suddenly as his voice
cracked.  "I tried to never look back.  To forget the horrible things I'd
done.  Gabriela and I made a new life, and I realized, for the first time
in my life, I was happy. I was a farmer, and dirt-scrabbling agro man,
but it was heaven to me.  I got a part-time job in the local chancery to
supplement our agro income, and a yahren later, we had a son..."
"Starbuck," whispered Apollo.
"Yes."  Chameleon was back to studying his fingers.  
"And then what happened?" asked Adama.
"And then they caught up with me," said Chameleon, almost inaudibly. "I
thought I'd been clever, covering my trail. It took yahrens, but they
found me, somehow. I saw two of Poros' goons walk into the chancery one
night. Men I remembered, and I could tell, they were looking for me. I
ducked out the back, desperate to escape. I knew what would happen to me,
if they caught me."
"And your family?" asked Apollo, coldly. "What about them? You were just
going to leave them?"
"I hoped that if I left, Poros' people wouldn't go after them. Just me.
But I had forgotten how sick he was. I made it out of the chancery, but
they cornered me a few streets away. Poros was there himself, waiting for
me. I was, as we used to say, taken for a ride."
"And your family?" asked Apollo again.
"Poros had found out about them, and we were driving towards the farm. He
said he was going to 'reward' me for what I'd done to his son. I was
desperate. I begged, everything. He just sat there, like ice." Adama was
reminded of Baltar, as Chameleon spoke. The cruelty, the evil, the utter
coldness of the man. 
"Obviously, you got away somehow..." said Apollo.
" That's when the Cylons attacked," said Chameleon in a solemn voice. 
"Just as we pulled up in front of our farm, Cylon fighters swooped down,
and started blasting. The power plant behind the house took a hit, there
was huge explosion, and the hovermobile was sent flying. The next thing I
remember, I was covered in soot and blood, crawling through the wreckage,
calling for my family. But, my house...my house was a black, burned-out
wreck. Nothing was left, except...except some charred bones. Wearing a
bracelet I'd given her."
Adama felt his gut tighten, at the words. Upon returning to Caprica after
the massacre at Cimtar, he had gone to his home, overlooking Caprica
City, and found much the same thing. A blasted, smoldering ruin. Like
Chameleon, he had searched, only to find bones. Blasted, shattered,
charred bones. All that was left of...
"And Starbuck?" he asked, shaking the horrid memory away.
"I looked, but with everything destroyed..." Chameleon shook his head. "I
sat there, for I don't know how long, Commander, just screaming.
Screaming and sobbing, like a baby. Everything I had in the universe was
gone. Blasted out of existence. I hated the Cylons, I hated Poros, and
mostly I hated myself for bringing this upon them."
"You weren't to blame for the Cylons," said Apollo.
"I wasn't thinking, Captain," replied the old con-man. "I finally calmed
down, and looked around. Poros' limo was a shattered wreck; I don't know
how I escaped it alive. I went over, but they were all dead. I switched
identities with one of them, took all their money, made sure the bodies
were burned beyond recognition, and got the hell out of there."
"That made a certain sense," said Adama.
"Yes, but I couldn't run from myself. I was so traumatized by it all, I
had some sort of mental breakdown. I ended up in a psychiatric hospital
on Aquaria, until I came to myself. Then once I was released, it was back
to conning and lying to get along." He sighed. "And so it remained, until
the Holocaust."
"Did you recognize Starbuck at all, when you first saw him?" asked
Apollo.
"Not after all these yahrens. But after I saw him on an IFB show, I got
to thinking. Remembering. He certainly looked a lot like my wife. I made
a leap, when the Nomen came after me, and the more I thought about it,
the more I couldn't help but wonder. Could he have survived? Against all
odds, could he have?"
"That must have been a shock, when you discovered he really was your
son," opined Adama.
"Yes. And when those Borellian Nomen went after Starbuck, when I saw how
determined they were to, to... kill... because of me--  Someone I do care
for! - it brought back all of those old memories.  And... I just can't
tell him." Chameleon's gaze was pleading, desperate, as he lifted his
gaze to look at Adama.
The commander let out a long, slow breath.  "Were the circumstance
different, you realize that I would be obligated to report what you just
told me.  However -"  Adama closed his eyes and shook his head at
Chameleon.  "It will remain off the official record, given our current
plight, the fact that everyone involved is most likely dead-- on a world
that no longer exist, for all intents and purposes - and given the fact
that, from what you just said, you were under the legal age of 20
yahrens..."  Adama paused and gazed at the man.  
"I was 18-yahrens-old when I ran," said Chameleon quietly, subdued.  
"And if you were introduced to the 'business' by your uncle at age 15, I
would suppose that your options were limited." 
"Yes," answered Chameleon, studying his fingers again.  "But I still
can't forgive myself." His voice was a whisper.
The commander sighed.  "All right.  I can appreciate, now, why you might
have made the choice you did.  I'm not sure I agree with it, still, but I
understand.  However, since you are his father, you need to know what's
happened."
Chameleon frowned.   "What?  All I was told was that 'Starbuck needs
me...'"  He glanced at Apollo, who's face looked pained, almost
sympathetic.  Almost.
Adama let his own weariness show for a moment as he closed his eyes and
rubbed the bridge of his nose.  "Starbuck's in the Life Station right
now.  In a coma." 
Chameleon's eyes went wide.

******
PART 10

"Traitor!"
His heart pounded in his ears, lungs heaved, as he flattened himself into
the quagmire inside  the narrow  drainage tunnel, slunk into the shadows,
yet peering out through the bramble to catch a glimpse of his pursuers. 
Eight.  There were eight of them.  And they had but one intention, one
objective.  To kill him.  Mercilessly.  And slowly, ruthlessly, with
sadistic glee should they catch him.
No one left the 'brotherhood' once they had been accepted.  It was for
life.  
However long that might be. 
"You can't hide, you frakkin' boray of a  traitor..."  
The voice pierced the silence.  The sound of cracking branches, trampled
leaves roared in his ears.  He pressed himself back, back. Deeper into
the slick mud and frigid water.
"Coward!!"
"Mama's boy!!"
 The sounds reached a crescendo as feet stomped within a metron.  Then
trailed away.
He didn't dare move.  Not now.  Not for a long time.  They might still be
there... waiting.  He could not risk it.  They were too many.  
He let his head flop forward to rest on numb arms and tried to shift his
freezing, drenched legs.  But the space was too tight.  He tried to
ignore the growing, biting pain in his limbs as he remembered.  And
wondered... why?  Why did he ever, ever trust them... believe in them?
How could he have been so stupidly na‹ve?
So stupid!  A runaway from his last foster placement. The family had been
attentive but... cold... distant.  Indifferent.  Their lack of real
concern had cut deeper than had they actually been abusive.  Then, at
least, they would have shown some emotion... instead, he had felt like a
faceless commodity.  Frak, they couldn't even remember his name!
So he had run.  Run from the cold indifference.  Run.  To anywhere.  To
nowhere.  Run from the emotional void, seeking someplace... anyplace...
where he might... belong. And feel human.
Riesgo had found him one evening, after a run-in with a local merchant,
and had taken him in with all kinds of false promises and false concern. 
At the time, he had been too despondent, too vulnerable, to realize the
trap that was carefully being laid as they had drawn him into their fold. 
Their gang.  The "Brotherhood."  The Brothers swore allegiance to each
other and would die before they broke that vow.  
Then he had watched them ruthlessly, sadistically, kill an elderly woman. 
For sport.
It had nauseated him, cut through to his core. What had he done?  This
was not him. He had to get out.  Out.
But no one left the Brotherhood.
Ever. 
The fold bolted, the vow broken, they had pursued him.  The traitor.
He had only known fear that great once before.  A cold, chilling morning
in the Thorn Forest.  
He lay in the mire, face pressed against his forearm,  in the blackness
of the culvert, listening to the sounds of night, listening for his
pursuers, as the burning, needle-sharp pain in his limbs... his fingers,
toes, knees, shoulders...ebbed into a frozen numbness...
All sensation  faded, washed out into nothingness.  Emptiness. Void.
Except for the pounding of his heart against his chest, the rhythmic
thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump... 

******
Cassie studied the bio-monitor, watching the theta waves spike once,
twice, then settle into a steadier, if slightly irregular pattern.  She
glanced over at Boomer, who lay sleeping, his breathing slow and easy,
and then looked down to gaze at her other patient.  Lords knew she should
be sleeping, as well, but sleep was elusive.  Every time she tried, she
ended up tossing and turning; she found more success simply dozing at her
desk for a centar or so, then checking on the two warriors. 
They had removed Starbuck from the life pod earlier that day.  In the low
lighting, he looked calm, peaceful, despite the bandage that covered the
left side of his face, despite the oxygen mask.  A light mist clouded the
mask as he breathed on his own; the bio-monitor registered a steady
pulse.  He was making steady progress, she told herself.  Tremendous
progress, really.  Right on track.  
The "Starbuck Luck," she mused to herself as placed her palm on top of
his right hand, which lay across his chest.  She could feel the gentle
rise and fall as he breathed, feel the warmth from his hand.  He had,
technically... died.  His heart had stopped.  Hades, he'd lost enough
blood so that there'd hardly been anything left for it to pump!  They had
brought him in on complete life support, with minimal brain activity. 
Given his experience, he ought to be in the morgue right now. Yet... the
bio-monitor showed all vital functions gradually improving, gradually
creeping back towards normal.
The theta wave pattern troubled Dr. Salik, though.  Cassie gazed at the
monitor, watching the irregular spikes and squiggles.  Something was
going on there, but what...?

******
Move.  He needed to move.  Had to move. Had to...It had been centars
since his pursuers had passed on by.  He had to get out and find a
safer... warmer... place.  But he could feel nothing, nothing, not arms,
nor legs, not even the frigid mud against his skin.  
Open eyes...  Open!  He struggled to raise leaden eye lids, struggled to
see, but the night had fallen; he saw only blackness.  
Tight, constricting nothingness.
His heart exploded in panic, thumping wildly against his chest, in his
ears. He must move!  But he could not, not one millimetron.  Breaths came
in gasps.  He tried to squeeze his eyes shut, tried to feel his fingers,
to see them, to will them to... move!


*****
"Doctor!" cried Cassie, as an alarm sounded over Starbuck's bed. 
With almost light-speed quickness, the Galactica's CMO was there, eyes
tearing across the instruments. He frowned, grunted, then scowled. 
Cassie felt the fear leap into her throat as she stepped back.  "What is
it?"  Starbuck's chest heaved as he seemed to struggle for air and his
pulse rate had nearly doubled.
Salik did not answer.  He grabbed the hypo from his pocket and injected
the spray into the lieutenant's neck.  Then in one, fluid motion, he
exchanged the hypo for a portable scanner with his other hand.  "Come on,
come on," he muttered as he held the device above Starbuck's bandaged
temple.
Cassie bit her lip as she switched her gaze to the bio-monitor. After
nearly a centon, the readings for respiration and heart rate leveled off
again.  Salik studied the scanner for several more microns before
switching it off and dropping it into his pocket.  He stood staring at
his patient, hands on hips, his brow furrowed.  "What is it?" Cassie
asked again quietly, glancing at the still-sleeping form of Boomer. 
"What happened?"
Salik let out a long breath.  "He had a flight/fright reaction to an
internal response - probably a dream or a memory.  I gave him a mild
sedative to calm him."
"But that's good, isn't it?"  Cassie asked, still fighting down the lump
in her throat. 
Salik crossed his arms.  "Well, yes, it is.  In fact -"  The doctor
turned and gave Cassie a tired smile.  "He's showing more and more signs
of possibly waking up soon.  It could be any time..."
"But...?"  The medtech felt her stomach tighten.
"The scanner indicates some swelling in the temporal lobe and," Salik
paused to meet Cassie's gaze.  "moderate damage to the tissues in that
region.  We need to keep him calm to avoid further complications."
Cassie stared at the floor.  "Will he..."  Her voice cracked and she
swallowed hard.
"There's no way to know until he actually wakes up," the doctor said
softly, "but the theta-wave readings... well, he'll likely face some
challenges in the sectons ahead." 
"Frak," Cassie muttered.  She felt her calm, her professional exterior
slowly cracking, like a weakened damn with the deluge pressing against
it.... she turned and ran, out of the Life Station into the deserted
corridor, where she slammed her back against the wall and sank to the
floor.  The sobs escaped in gasps as she squeezed her eyes shut, pulled
her knees up, and buried her face in her arms.  One thought repeated
through her mind: no, not now, not when... not now, not now...  
She felt a hand on her shoulder.  Slowly, she looked upwards to see Salik
gazing at her, his face soft, concerned.  "Cassie, what is it?" he asked.
She said nothing as she stared into his eyes, fighting back a fresh wave
of tears.
"Cass...  I know you care for Starbuck, but... I just sense that there's
something else going on."  He knelt down and squeezed her shoulder,
staring into her eyes.  "Is there?"
The medtech looked away.  Slowly, she let her hands slide down to rest on
her belly.  "Yes..." she said after a long moment.  "There is... "  She
met his gaze again as the tears streamed down her cheeks unabated.
Salik slipped his arms around her and pulled her close.  "I kind of
thought so," he whispered, more to himself, as Cassie sagged against him
and let her emotions flow.

*****
The cold rain dripped through the cracks in the makeshift shelter and
down his neck as he counted off his options on three fingers: one, stay
in Caprica City and hide like a rodent, in miserable places like this...
the civil dump, two, get as far away from the 'Brotherhood'  as possible
by leaving the city, or three...turn himself in, as a runaway, and let
the system protect him.  
Ha! Now that was a joke - the 'System' had tossed him from foster
families to orphanages and back.  The 'System' had driven him to the
streets.  Returning would be worse than trying to evade the 'Brothers' on
his own.  No... he had no choice but to get out, to flee.  The thought of
running like a frightened venison left a bitter taste in his mouth, but
he had to be realistic.  If he stayed around Caprica City, they'd find
him, sooner or later.  They outnumbered him... oh... 12 to 1.
One other option flashed briefly through his mind, but he quickly
dismissed it, too.  Join the Colonial Service?  Frak, no!  Sure, it
looked thrilling to be flying one of those Vipers, and he'd not be cold
and hungry half the time, and if he really wanted to impress the women... 
 but to put up with all that military felgercarb--  no way!  Besides, he
wasn't sure if he could pass for 18 yahrens yet... his true age was a
mystery, but the official records stated that he was 16.  No, forget
it... at least for now.  He couldn't risk having them toss him back into
the 'System.'  
So he needed to disappear.  On foot, it'd take him several days to reach
the next big city, if that's where he intended to go. It was a sure bet
that they'd be watching the main route out of town. So he'd have to slip
out a different way, in the middle of the night, most likely...
He shivered and hugged his legs to his chest, squeezing back against the
soggy boxes, trying to escape the constant drizzle.  A little food first
might be nice, though, he reflected as his stomach rumbled loudly,
painfully, if he had to walk for days.  He knew of an eatery that had an
unlocked back entrance... it'd be risky, but... it'd been over a day
since he'd last eaten anything.  He'd stock up on whatever he could grab,
and then get out, get away... where things had to get better; frak, they
couldn't get much worse...

*****
  "How long have you known?"  Salik asked.  
"About a secton, that's all."  They were in the doctor's office now,
where Salik had gently led her after the flow of tears had subsided. 
Cassie felt drained, exhausted, but also relieved, relieved to have
finally told someone... "I ran the standard tests after I began to
suspect.  They all came up positive."  Cassie gave the doctor a weak
smile.  "The advantage of being a medtech, I suppose."
"And I needn't ask if you ran the standard set of early prenatal tests,
then?"  
Cassie sighed, and the smile faded into a resigned look.  "I did.  And
until these past two days, I'd been carefully monitoring my nutrient
consumption."
"So when were you going to tell...?"  Salik prodded gently.
"I..." Cassie stared at the floor.  "I was going to tell you once I told
Starbuck, and I was trying to think of the best... 'approach' before I
broke the news to him."  She looked back to the doctor.  "I'm just not -
just wasn't sure - what his reaction would be..."
The doctor sighed and gave the medtech a sympathetic look.  "Cass, you
may not want to hear this right now, but... I think this pregnancy is a
good thing."
Cassie gazed at Salik, frowning.  "Good" was not how she'd felt back when
she saw the results of the first test.  
"We may not be in the best of circumstances, running like hunted animals
across space into the unknown, but this Fleet needs new life and new
hope.  This is the first step in rebuilding the human race. Our people
need to know that they have a future. Something to live for, now. Not
some nebulous point in the future."
Cassie stood and went to gaze out the window in his office door,
considering his words. For nearly a centon, the only sound was the
beeping of the redundant biomonitors, and her own heart thundering in her
ears. Finally, she turned back with a faint smile.  "You're right," she
whispered.  "When I read the results of that first test... and the
second, then the third... I felt terrified and lost.  I couldn't - and I
still can't - imagine what Starbuck's going to say.  If you even think
the word 'commitment,' he bolts like a startled antelon.  A child is the
biggest commitment possible. And me, what am I? Just a...a used..."
Salik uncrossed his arms, and put a fingertip on her lips.  "Cass, he's
not stupid.  And I don't want to ever hear you say that about yourself,
again. Ever. We all have a past, but that's where it is, and where it
belongs. In the past." He grinned ever so slightly. "Do you think I was a
saint, when I was your age, hhmm?" Cassie tried to smile back. "Besides,
as the old saying goes, 'it takes two-'"
"Yes, I know... and you know what?"  Cassie gazed into the doctor's eyes. 
"Beneath the fear, I did - I do - feel... a joy.  And, and... I think,
maybe... after the initial shock wears off..."  Cassie chuckled to
herself.  "I think Starbuck will make a great father -"  She stopped and
stared back out the window, at the form lying deathly still on the
biobed.  If he wakes up, if he's okay...
Salik sensed her thoughts.  He walked over and embraced her, feeling a
very paternal concern for Cassie.  "You've said it yourself, remember? 
This is Starbuck.  Survivor of hundreds of sorties and battles against
the Cylons. The very god of luck, himself. He'll get through this."  He
paused, turned her to face him, then added, "and I think you're right
about him.  If you give him time to absorb the news, to accept the
situation, I think he'll make a damn good father."

******
He slunk back into the shadows as the door to the eatery opened; a figure
emerged to drop a sack in the refuse disposal and then disappeared again. 
He waited, counted to ten, then pushed away from the wall, moving with
careful, silent steps. A peek through the window revealed no one. 
Slowly, he pulled the door open.  Slowly, slowly... until he could slip
inside.  Taking a deep breath, he felt his stomach rumble, and his mouth
water, at the smells of food. Lords, he was hungry! He shook open the
sack he carried and crept towards the storage room.  The sounds of
cheerful voices and clattering utensils echoed in his ears as he crossed
the short distance, flipped open the door and slipped into the storage
room.  Quickly, he scanned the shelves, and crammed something
tasty-looking into his mouth, swallowing rapidly, then stuffed several
loaves of bread, bags of rolls, meat, sausages, and any other items that
would fit into his sack, then turned to leave.  Peeking through the door,
he saw no one, so he slid it open -
Just as a waiter walked in.  The man yelled for him to stop and lunged
towards him.  Starbuck ducked and dashed towards the back door.  A hand
snagged his shirt.  He twirled, breaking the grip, and flung himself out
the exit.  As he disappeared into the night, the angry shouts of the
waiter faded behind him.  
After racing through several back streets and alleyways, he stopped and
sank to the ground to catch his breath  His chest heaved, and  his heart
pounded in his ears.  Still ferociously hungry, he reached into his
satchel, and grabbed the first thing he came to, stuffing his mouth. He
chewed, swallowed, and chewed again, until he felt marginally better.
Finally, he glanced around to take stock of his surroundings.  And how
safe he was.  Not very, he decided.  The light from a street lamp shown
at his feet, and he was metrons away from any sort of cover.   Better
move, he told himself.  Tired and aching limbs rebelled at the thought,
though.  After running and hiding and lying in frozen drainage ditches
and not tasting a bite of food in nearly two days, not to mention
water... water would be most welcome right now. Too bad he hadn't had
time to lift some ambrosia -
No, frakking move!  He pushed himself up, scraping his back against the
cold stone wall. As he limped on exhausted legs back into the shadows,
one thought shouted at him:  there was no way he could just walk out of
the city... not right now.  And he could not afford to wait, to spend
another day hiding from the 'Brothers.'  They knew the city better than
anyone; they knew where fugitives could go... no, he had to get out. 
Now.  But how?
Fatigue gripped him, though... his eyelids drooped and refused to stay
open.  He stumbled against the wall, slumping to the ground, too tired to
go on... 


******
"Well?"  
Dr. Salik glanced from the scanner to his impatient-looking patient. 
"Just cool your engines, Lieutenant," he said with a wry smile.  "Almost
everything looks good.  Your leg is healing properly and should only
bother you for a couple more days.  All your other wounds have responded
nicely to the bio-therapy."
"You said 'almost.'"  Boomer eyed the doctor.  He sensed something
beneath doctor's attempted humor.  Something was troubling the CMO.
"Take a deep breath," said Salik in response to the unvoiced question.
Boomer inhaled deeply - or tried to.  About halfway into the inhalation,
he broke into a fitful cough.  Salik shook his head.  "Just affect
effects," Boomer said between coughs, "of the smoke... right?"
Salik sighed.  "I wish it were that simple."  He raised his eyes to meet
Cassie's gaze as she watched from Starbuck's bedside.  
All visitors had been sent out midmorning to allow the doctor to perform
Boomer's examination.  After three days in the Life Station, immobilized
in the bio-bed, the lieutenant was ready to get up and about, ready to
get back to the squadron barracks, even if he would be on medical leave
for at least another secton, maybe more.  Boomer had noted, though, that
his lungs were slow to clear; he was prone to painful bouts of coughing,
which seemed to tear through his chest, but he had assumed that it was
the lingering effects of the smoke.  But... "So what is it, Doc?" he
asked.
"I knew this was a possibility, given your exposure -"
"What?"  insisted Boomer.
You're showing," Salik said slowly, chewing his lip, "the first signs of
tylium poisoning. Persistent pneumonia. "
Boomer felt as though he'd been socked in the gut.  Everyone knew that
tylium has not only highly explosive but also highly toxic, but in all
the centars since their ordeal, he had never considered this possibility,
even though - now that he thought about it--   he had been exposed to the
smoke and fumes of burning tylium for over fifteen centons... "Frak," he
muttered.  "So what now?"
"Well," he said, "I'll run further blood tests to confirm it.  Then, if
the tests verify my suspicions, we'll start aggressive chemo and
hyperbaric therapy.  With luck, that'll clean your system out, and block
any further cellular degradation."  Salik let out a long breath.  "I'm
sorry, Lieutenant. But I'll need to keep you here for at least another
couple of days."
"Oh."  Boomer sank back onto his pillow. "Yeah, sure..."  Frak, he hadn't
expected this.  Yet... all cadets learn to take every precaution to avoid
any exposure to tylium fumes.  The chemical, if inhaled, will penetrate
into the bloodstream, where it corrupts the red blood cells... eventually
accumulating in the victim's bone marrow.   "Frak..." he muttered out
loud.
"It's treatable, Lieutenant,"  Salik said, arms crossed, studying his
patient.  "We just have to be patient."
"Yeah..."  Boomer gazed over towards Starbuck.  Cassie was busy arranging
his blanket, adjusting IV lines, staring at the bio-monitor-- looking
anywhere but at Dr. Salik or Boomer.   He caught Salik's eye and
whispered, "What about...?"
Salik frowned and nodded.  "Quite likely.  I'll be running the blood
tests on both of you."  He stared at Starbuck's monitor  for a moment. 
"We've got him on antibiotics, too, because scans are showing a slight
decrease in lung capacity."  He turned his attention back to Boomer and
said firmly, loudly, "But it is treatable.  Remember that."  He paused,
waiting... until Cassie finally met his gaze.  "Both of you, remember
that, okay?"

******
No!  Wake up!  You cannot stay here! Starbuck forced his eyes open; yet,
he knew that he'd dozed off. For how long?  It felt like ages, but the
night was still black, morning still distant.   A sense of urgency filled
him, but what to do...?  Calm down and think logically, he told himself.
Okay, first thing, he decided, looking down at himself and wrinkling his
nose as he took a whiff, he needed new clothes. His mud-caked, wet,
smelly old rags stood out like a Cylon in a bathtub. He looked up and
down the alley and saw a sign above a back entrance. Perhaps
fortuitously, it was a clothiers. Thanking his luck, he proceeded to find
a way inside, around the laughingly simple alarm, and go in search of new
garments. After a while, cleaned up and dressed in something the
Brotherhood would never, he hoped, recognize, he slipped back out the
store the way he had come, his pockets also somewhat heavier, the store's
cashbox somewhat lighter. 
Finally, food sack in one hand, Starbuck picked a direction at random and
crept to the end of the alleyway.  He peered out first one way, then the
other.  Several hovermobiles lined the main street in front of apartment
buildings. The light from the overhead lamps shone an eerie green through
the falling mist, reflecting off the shining, damp vehicles.  If he could
just... if just one were unlocked...
Hefting his bag of food with one hand, he crouched and crept out towards
the hovermobiles.  Keeping low, he tried the handle on the first craft. 
Locked.  He swore and crawled on to the next one, moving slowly,
carefully, listening with each step.  His ears caught the sound of a
motor approaching.  He froze, then pressed himself against the next
hovermobile.  The craft roared past.  
Once the noise had faded back into the silence of the night, Starbuck
slipped a hand up to test the handle.  He lifted... and the door clicked
open.  Not believing his good luck, he grinned and pulled himself into
the vehicle, lying across the seats to stay out of sight.  He pulled the
door shut behind him and tossed the food into the backseat.  Now... to
start her up... no problem!  He twisted around until he was prone beneath
the steering column and popped open a panel.  Without a light, he would
have to rely on his memory to visualize the circuits inside.  Red on the
left, green on the right, and yellow in the middle... now, he just needed
to -
A voice cut through the silence.  "Going somewhere?" His heart stopped.
"You're dead, you filthy piece of daggit mong."
Before he could react, both doors to the hovermobile whipped open. 
Starbuck moved on instinct.  Gripping the steering handles, he lashed out
with his legs towards the driver-side door with as much force as he
could.  Feet connected with a solid  whump, there was a grunt of pain,
and he scrambled in desperation.   Out from under the steering column,
out the door - hands grabbed his shirt, his arm.  And whipped him around,
shoving him.  He stumbled forward, saw Riesgo, grotesquely overdressed as
always, standing a short distance away, a steel bar gripped in one hand
as he tapped it against his other.  
Starbuck stumbled to his knees.  A quick glance showed 'Brothers' on all
sides of him, encircling him, as the lupines might trap their prey.  They
held various weapons poised.  Escape would be next to impossible.  
He crouched like a sprinter, ready to move, and stared up at Riesgo. The
group took a collective step forward, their murderous intent radiating
from every movement, every look, every sadistic grin.  The leader's lip
curled into a satisfied snarl.   "No one--" he said, spitting out the
words, "betrays - the Brotherhood."
The pack took another step forward; they were shoulder to shoulder now. 
Riesgo lifted the metal bar above his head, taking yet one more step,
into the circle, as the Brothers closed ranks behind him. Instead of
swinging the weapon, he suddenly kicked out with his steel-tipped boots. 

Sensing the motion, though, Starbuck dodged, scrambling around, behind
the leader, still crouching low.
Riesgo growled and this  time swung the bar.
Starbuck sprang forward, under the swing, to tackle his attacker around
the waist.  He was outnumbered.  The leader out-weighed him by a good
thirty kilons.  All he had in his advantage was surprise.  To do the
unexpected.  Then, just maybe, perhaps, he'd get a chance to break free. 
His weight knocked Riesgo off balance.  The two tumbled backwards, into
the tight circle.  The members caught their leader and pushed him
forward.
He tried to slip off his opponent before the other could catch his
balance, but the leader, enraged and fast, swung again.  The blow
connected with Starbuck's right shoulder.  He dropped to the ground,
writhing in pain.  
Breathing in ragged gasps, Riesgo stood above his prey.  His face was
bright red and the veins popped out on his forehead.  "You - you frakkin'
snitrad - you'll die.  Die."  He lashed out with a boot, smashing the
point into Starbuck's ribs.  "But not now, astrum.  Not yet."  Another
vicious kick to the stomach.  
Starbuck retched and almost lost it. Hugging his middle, knees tucked up,
he glared up at his tormentor but said nothing.
"But here's a taste of what's to come, you piece of daggit mong."  Riesgo
pulled the bar back with both hands, above his head -
And froze at the sound of several hovermobiles approaching rapidly from
both directions of the street, seemingly out of nowhere.  Before the gang
could react, three craft suddenly lit their bright headlights, blinding
everyone.  Sirens blared.  A voice over an intercom shouted, "Colonial
Security! Freeze!  Nobody move!"
The gang, of course, scattered.  
Starbuck grabbed his head and flattened himself to the ground as laser
bolts shot out.  Several voices screamed in agony, feet pounded across
the pavement around him.  A hand brushed his shoulder.  "Don't move,"
said a concerned voice.  "We'll be back." 
Starbuck didn't respond.  The melee faded into the background as the
security force pursued the gang members, and he lay on the pavement,
seemingly forgotten... an afterthought.  He poked his head up, fighting a
wave of nausea from the stabbing pain in his stomach. He squinted against
the glaring lights of the police hovermobiles, doors hanging open,
engines still running...
He closed his eyes for a moment, lost in confusion.  How... why... ?
Then it hit him.  The hovermobile he'd tried to hotwire had been unlocked
on purpose.  It had had a silent alarm.  A trap to catch thieves.  He
didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  He squinted again at the unattended
vehicles... and grinned. "Thank you, by the Lords of Kobol..."  he
whispered as he pulled himself to his feet.  His right shoulder screamed
with the movement, his stomach burned.  He ignored it.  Looking back and
seeing no one, he slipped into the nearest hovermobile and pulled the
door shut.  Dimming the lights, he backed the craft up slowly, trying to
get a feel for it.  The security vehicles were bigger and bulkier than
the ones he tended to "borrow" in the past for fun.  Still, in a few
centons, he was cruising down the street, right arm tucked against his
chest, left hand handling the steering control with ease.  He might not
have his bag of food, but he had his ride out of town.  This time he did
laugh out loud.  And whooped in relief.  "Yes!  Frak you, Riesgo!  I hope
they blast your astrum!"
He had traveled maybe five kilometrons and had almost reached the outer
limits of Caprica City when the radio beeped.  "This is Colonial Security
to occupant of Craft Beta-Five.  Bring the vehicle to a stop.  Now.  And
no one will be hurt."
Starbuck swore as he glanced into the rearview mirror.  Sure enough, two
hovermobiles trailed him.  And one was closing dead ahead.  "Frak, frak,
frak!" He spotted a side street and yanked the steering control.  His
craft roared to the left.  Sirens suddenly screeched through the night as
the Security vehicles followed him.  
"Craft Beta-Five!  Cease and desist!  Now!" the voice crackled over the
radio.  Starbuck snapped it off.  
He was on the edge of the city now, running parallel to the river that
bounded the southern limits.  Not a good position.  He had to get back
into the city if he hoped to evade -
A laser bolt blazed past his craft, and he swerved, bumped off the road
momentarily, then steadied the hovermobile.  Another blast grazed the
left side.  A third struck his left stabilizer.  
"Holy frak!"  He yanked the controls as the craft spun and wavered. He
needed two hands on the controls.  But pain coursed through his right arm
when he tried to move it.  He lost what little control he'd had.  The
craft, with only one stabilizer, spun crazily and rammed into - and
over-- the guard railing that separated the road from the embankment to
the river.  
Starbuck screamed and flung his left arm up as his world whipped around. 
Without restraints, he was tossed like a rag doll, banging against the
top, into the door, into the seats... he squeezed his eyes tightly shut
and gasped and cried with each jarring jolt. His head whirled, his
stomach leaped as the craft went airborne.  The building roar in his ears
drowned out the impact as the hovermobile smashed into the water. 
Consciousness exploded into nothingness.

***** 
Part 11

"May I join you?"  The voice was hesitant, unsure.
Captain Apollo looked up from where he had been studying his hands to
meet the elderly man's gaze.  "Yes, of course, Chameleon," he said
softly.  He nodded towards the vacant seats next to him and studied the
elderly man for a moment.  He had dark circles beneath his eyes, and he
looked older, more frail.  
Chameleon smiled briefly in greeting at Boomer and Jolly, who were
engaged in a quiet card game, and then walked to the foot of Starbuck's
biobed, avoiding the Captain's eyes.  "Any change?" he asked at length. 
"Not really," Apollo answered, following the man's gaze.  Starbuck's face
looked pale and gaunt under the oxygen mask.  He was still, too still,
the only sign of life being the steady beeping of the biomonitor.  "The
doctor has him under a mild sedation because of... some bad dreams, he
thinks, but that makes it harder for him to fully wake up."  The Captain
chewed his lip.  "The doc says not to worry, that his injuries need more
time and rest to heal, but..."
"Yeah, I know."  Chameleon sat down near the Captain and let his gaze
settle on his fingertips.
Apollo let out a long breath but said nothing further; everything that
needed to be said had been.  The idea was still new, still a bit
uncomfortable to him, but the Captain had accepted Chameleon as
Starbuck's father, and once the anger, which had been fueled by anxiety
and frustration, had faded, Apollo had accepted the man's reasons for
concealing the truth about his paternity. Had understood, even, as he had
remembered how intensely Starbuck had reacted upon learning that Colonel
Tigh had run a security check on Chameleon.  Starbuck had exploded with
icy fury at Apollo, declaring the "end of a friendship."  Yet, Apollo
knew how his friend's emotions could run so intensely one moment, like a
stream in spate, then more reasonably the next.  He had not taken
Starbuck's words at face value but, instead, had known he would just need
time to cool down.  Chameleon, Apollo had told himself, would not have
known Starbuck well enough to understand his hotheaded, impulsive nature. 
Would not have realized that it was unlikely that Starbuck, in the end,
would have actually resigned from the service, especially after learning
that the "genetic tracer" story had been so much felgercarb.  Chameleon's
concerns and fears were genuine and sincere, Apollo had realized, even as
he wondered which parent the Lieutenant had inherited that quicksilver
temperament from.
The Captain also understood why the man would feel hesitant, even
ashamed, of his background. Apollo had to admit, he would have himself,
had he had a history like Chameleon's. As the meeting with the Commander
had ended, Adama had stood and offered his hand to Chameleon.  As the two
had clasped forearms, Adama had stated, "Given our current plight, I
think we all should look forwards towards new beginnings and not
backwards into a past that was destroyed along with our homeworlds." 
Adama had held the grip as he added, "Starbuck needs all of us, now."
Chameleon, head bowed, had nodded, and then looked towards the Captain. 
All of Apollo's anger had washed away into a deep concern for his closest
friend's future-- hope marred by fear and helplessness as they could do
nothing but wait.  He had risen and also taken the elderly man's hand,
saying simply. "Agreed," pretending he did not see the tear in the old
man's eye.
Since then, Apollo had been at Starbuck's bedside as often as his duties
permitted.  Often Sheba had been with him, often bringing work with her. 
And Chameleon almost never left, except when ordered by Salik or Paye, to
go get some nourishment or rest.   
Everyone knew about Chameleon, now, even Boomer, who had listened with
wide eyes and open mouth as Apollo explain everything to him as soon as
the Warrior was sufficiently alert to both take in the information, and
to dictate to the Commander and Apollo a verbal report of events aboard
the Lyra..
A soft rustle interrupted the Captain's reflection; he glanced up to see
Cassiopeia replacing an empty fluid bag and adjusting the IV flow
regulator, quietly, as if to avoid intruding.  As she turned to leave
without a word, Apollo reached out and touched her hand.  She stopped,
then gazed down at the Captain, her eyes tired and worry-filled.  
"Hey," he said, "stay for a moment."  Despite his apologies for his
initial, critical reaction, Apollo still felt a lingering tension, a
subtle hesitancy between himself and Cassie.  Between Cassie and the
others, even.  And it bothered Apollo.  He had not known how to reassure
the medtech that he had, truly, forgiven her for her part in Chameleon's
deception. He was used to dealing with, disciplining, and even chewing
out pilots when called for, but a medtech...and a friend...But then a
crazy - maybe stressed-induced - idea had sprung to mind.
"I can't..."  she started to say.
Apollo held tight to her hand and guided her into the seat between him
and Chameleon.  "I had a thought," he said.  She gave him a confused
look. He smiled slightly as he made sure that she was settled and then
patted her hand.  "Wait here, okay?"  He stood.
Cassie furrowed her brow but said, "Okay.  What--?"
Apollo had already strolled over to where Jolly sat beside Boomer, lost
in concentration as he studied his cards.  He slapped the Warrior on the
back to get his attention and grinned at Boomer.  "I've got an idea," he
stated, loudly, for all to hear.  He snatched Jolly's cards from his
fingers, eliciting a "Hey!" from the flight sergeant. 
"That was a three-quarter pyramid!"
Apollo ignored him.  Instead, he nodded towards the head of Boomer's bed. 
"Grab an end, will ya?"  The Captain gripped the foot of the biobed,
waited for the frowning sergeant to get into position, and then the two
rolled Boomer over until his bed was next to Starbuck's.  By then, Boomer
and Jolly were both grinning, finally getting an inkling as to what their
Strike Captain was up to; Chameleon and Cassie stared at the three as if
they had lost their minds.  
"Okay, gather 'round!"  Apollo said, motioning with a sweep of the arm
for the others to form a circle with the chairs around the two beds. 
Jolly helped Chameleon and Cassie scoot their seats until Cassie sat at
Starbuck's elbow, and the elderly man was at the foot of the biobed. 
Apollo scooped the cards out of Boomer's hand.  He looked around at the
group, shuffling the deck.  "Enough of this gloom and doom; it's probably
driving Starbuck crazy, anyway.  We need to lighten up - and what better
way than a couple of rounds of Pyramid?  Hmmm?"  Apollo grinned at the
group, then started tossing the cards out to deal.
A smile crept across Chameleon's lips as he glanced from one face to
another.  Even Cassie managed a bemused look as she picked up her cards. 
Apollo caught her eye and smiled gently.  
Jolly snorted.  "You should have let me keep my other hand!"
Boomer smirked.  "Wouldn't have mattered.  I -"
"Oh yeah?  I was winning." Jolly looked up at Apollo. "Since this is for
Starbuck, who's buying the ambrosia?"
"No alcoholic beverages in Life Station," said Cassie, quoting regs, and
trying to hide a smile.
"Let's just worry about the current hand," said Chameleon, his voice
sounding stronger, "and let a master show you how it's done."
Apollo listened to the banter, felt the mood easing, tensions lifting, at
least for a while, and smiled.
******
The sounds washed in and out of his consciousness.  Muffled voices,
whispers, echoes, shadows in his mind.  recognizable, yet not.  A
crescendo of laughter, soft murmurings.  And one voice... a tone
different yet so familiar...  comforting once upon a time... a lifetime
ago.
He was floating, drifting.  His mind vaguely wondered why... and
where...?  But mostly it wafted with little conscious thought.
Yet that sound... that voice...  something stirred within, and a thought
stretched outward, wondering, seeking... to reach some semblance of
comprehension.

*****
"Hit me!" said Jolly, as he perused his cards. He was feeling a sense of
elation. Not only was Boomer back with them, and Starbuck's vital signs
slowly creeping upwards, but he was getting to play Pyramid without fear
of interruption. Little chance of a scramble to the launch bay, and
despite the lack of "something with flavor", the ice water at his side
wasn't too bad. He was getting closer with each hand, and unless
Chameleon pulled a surprise on him... 
     "Half Pyramid!" said Boomer, displaying his cards. Well, there goes
another couple of cubits, he mused.
     "Same here," said Cassie, smiling at the recumbent Warrior. "Guess
I'm better at blood samples and surgery."
     "And I've got a three quarters," announced Apollo.
     Yes, yes!!!! exulted Jolly. Almost.....
     "And I've got a perfect..." began Chameleon, but then his voice
trailed off.
     Jolly, a jesting oath on his lips, looked up from his cards to see
the man staring; he followed his gaze and felt his heart skip a beat. 
The cards fluttered from his fingers, near winning hand forgotten. 
"Starbuck!" he whispered.
     From behind the oxygen mask, two blue eyes, blinking rapidly, gazed
out at the group.
     "Starbuck!"  Apollo, grinning, almost laughing, sprang to his feet,
tossing his cards aside.
     Jolly stood more slowly and stared at his friend; the relief was
almost tangible as it washed over and through the group.  The flight
sergeant felt himself grinning, too, afraid, almost, to believe-
     Starbuck stared, shook his head, squinting at the faces around him. 
Then his eyes went wide, and his breaths came in gasps.  His heart raced,
the rapid beep-beep, beep-beep sending the bio-monitor alarm screaming.
     Dr. Salik appeared from nowhere, seemly.  "Cassie, get everyone out
to the waiting area!" he said as he carefully yet quickly pushed Boomer's
biobed out of the way.
     Renewed fear burst the momentary elation.  Jolly, feeling once more
as if the wind had been socked from his chest, kept his gazed locked on
his friend as he followed Apollo and Chameleon out of the Life Station. 
He watched as Starbuck started to struggle, pulling himself up with his
good arm and ripping out IV lines.  Salik inject something into
Starbuck's neck just as the door hissed shut.  Jolly stared blankly at
the sealed portal, the last glimpse of his friend's eyes burning in his
mind - and the fear, the unrestrained terror, he had seen in them.

******
Part 12

     Dr. Salik, nodding to himself, glanced first at his chronometer,
then up at the bio-monitor.  "Yes, that looks promising..."  He took a
deep breath, scratched his unshaven chin, and looked at Cassiopeia. 
"Now," he said slowly, "it's important to remember that it may take time
for him to re-orient himself."  His eyes flicked briefly towards the
sealed door.  "That's why I've asked everyone else to be patient and why
we've moved him into the isolation room, for now."  His eyes settled back
onto the medtech.  "I think you understand that we need to assess a few
things first before we can allow visitors again."
     Cassie nodded.  She did not need the doctor to list the possible
problems caused by damage to the brain, especially in the temporal lobe;
they had been hovering in the back of her mind since the ordeal began -
the concern, the fear of what might be, festering with each passing
centar: difficulties with recognizing faces or spoken speech, behavior
changes, memory loss... She'd spent a lot of time nose-deep in every
neurological text she could find since Starbuck had been deemed out of
danger. Cassie felt a hand on her shoulder and realized that she had been
staring at the floor.
     "Are you ready?" Salik asked quietly.
     Cassie inhaled deeply and nodded again.  She watched as the doctor
took a hypo from his pocket, injected the stimulant into Starbuck's neck,
then stepped back to wait...wait for the chemical to take effect... just
a couple of centons.  Starbuck looked peaceful, yet unnaturally pale as
he rested in the bio-bed, blanket pulled midway up his chest and various
tubes running from his body.  The monitor above the bed beeped and
blipped as it read his vitals from the numerous wireless sensors pads
that had been placed on his chest, neck, and scalp.  He still wore a
breather to pump more purified oxygen into his ravaged lungs, and his
head was wrapped in a protective bandage that covered his right ear and
concealed all of his longer-than-regulation-length hair - or what was
left of it.  Despite everything, Cassie had to smile slightly as she
imagined his reaction to learning that half the hair on his head had been
shaved, with the other part hastily snipped to fit under the bandage.
     The smile quickly faded, though.  What would his reaction be?  Would
he remember...?
     Cassie focused on the bio-monitor, noting his - no, the patient's,
her patient's - readings.  She stared at the board, watching the subtle
changes as the microns passed: heart rate increasing gradually,
respiration becoming deeper, and the growing pulses, flickers, changes in
the brain wave signatures.  The flowing pattern held her transfixed. 
Life, all signs of life, growing stronger.
     A gasp. 
     Cassie let out a long breath, then looked down... and into a pair of
confused blue eyes.
     Starbuck blinked, squinted, trying to focus. Then his gaze darted
around the room. For a few microns, his eyes hovered over the medtech,
his lips twisting in a faint grin; the look was pure Starbuck, and for an
instant, it was so intense that it almost made her feel naked.  But then
he blinked again rapidly and furrowed his brow, a look of confusion
sweeping across his face.  The bio-monitor echoed the quickening
thump-thump, thump-thump of his heart.
     Cassiopeia glanced questioningly at Salik who shook his head in a
silent indication for her to wait, to be patient.  She could read it in
the doctor's face - just give him time.
     At last, Starbuck's eyes settled on Salik, and his heart gradually
slowed its racing pace.
     The doctor smiled.  "Welcome back, son."  He spoke slowly and in a
calm, even tone.  "Do you know where you are?"
     Starbuck narrowed his eyes suspiciously, and continued to stare at
the doctor but made no attempt to speak.
     "You were injured in a fall," Salik continued.  "Badly. You are in
the Life Station."  He paused, studying his patient, trying to gage how
much the Viper pilot actually comprehended.  Starbuck still made no
attempt to respond.  "Do you remember what happened?"
     Cassie felt her fingernails biting into her palms as she fought back
a mixture of impatience at the escargon pace of the one-sided discussion
and a growing fear at why Starbuck wouldn't'-- or couldn't--  answer. 
She chewed her lip and stayed quiet, however, studying the warrior's
face, trying to discern what was going on.  His eyes seemed alert, his
expression confused and... wary.
     Salik let out a slow breath.  "You hit your head," he said.  "I need
you to try and answer some questions, to check your memory."  He paused,
his mouth creeping into a frown as the Viper pilot continued to watch him
silently.  "Can you hear me?"
     Cassiopeia sucked in her breath and stared at Starbuck, waiting,
waiting for a response - anything - to indicate that he understood.  The
warrior narrowed his eyes again, pursing his lips.  Finally, he nodded.
     Cassie released the breath and closed her eyes for a moment.  A
glance at Salik saw the smile back in place.  "Okay, good," he said.  "If
you can't speak right now, just nod or shake your head."
     Starbuck nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly.
     "Do you know your name?"
     A pause... then another slow nod.
     Salik's smile broadened.  "Do you know where you are?"
     Starbuck's eyes glanced around the isolation room yet again, noting
everything, then down at the tubes running from his left arm and over his
torso where his right arm was bandaged and secured in a tight sling
across his chest.  For almost a centon, he stared at the mended limb,
then up at the bio-monitor panel.  Finally, his eyes settled on Salik
again. He shook his head.
     "That's all right," the doctor said.  "You took a very nasty fall,
and you probably don't remember everything, not yet, anyway--"
     "I remember."  His voice was a breathy whisper, barely audible
beneath the oxygen mask, and he swallowed hard with the effort. He tried
to sit up, and Salik let him. Slowly, Starbuck made it to a sitting
position on the bed. He looked down at himself, and let out a faint grunt
of annoyance.
     Cassie felt the relief wash over her, and she broke out into a
smile. While his lungs and oral tract were as ravaged by the tylium fumes
as Boomer's had been, it seemed his ability to speak was no more
impaired, and his reactions, so far, were pure Starbuck. Salik, too,
looked pleased.  "Good, good--"
     "But why the frak-- " Starbuck rasped, then paused to clear his
throat. He coughed a few times, then took another deep draught of air. 
"Why the frak am I in a military medcenter? And what is this felcercarb?"
He clawed at the oxygen mask on his face, but Salik pushed his hand away.
     Cassie's smile froze, and her relief burst like a soap bubble.  He's
remembered... what?
     Salik rubbed his forehead.  "I'll explain in a moment," he said at
last, "but I need to understand just how much you do - and don't--
remember.  Try to humor me, even if I ask what seem to be silly
questions, such as..." The doctor studied his patient for a moment before
saying, "What's your name?"
     "No."  Starbuck shook his head.  "Try a different question," he said
in the raspy whisper.
     "Okay, do you know who I am?"
     "Why the frak should I?"  His voice broke into a harsh cough.  "I
don't," he said eventually, fighting the spasms with an obvious
frustration, "make it a habit to hang out around military medcenters." 
He added a faint grin, visible beneath the breather, even as he choked
back another wave of coughs.
     Salik rocked back on his heels but, otherwise, remained impassive. 
"Okay, son" he said, "why don't you tell me what you remember."  Salik
cast an even look at Cassie.  "And we'll try to fill in the gaps."  The
doctor paused again and smiled gently.  "We just want to help you."

     Starbuck cocked his head and stared at Salik, studying him.  His
eyes darted to Cassie,  around the tiny sterile room, finally settling
back on the doctor.  "I've heard that one before.  Doctor. No offense,"
he said slowly, "But I've got my own concerns."  He stopped to clear this
throat and took a careful breath, looking agitated.
     Cassie glanced at Salik, who nodded.  Then she reached over to the
table next to his bed and handed Starbuck a water container with a thin
straw for sipping while the doctor removed his face mask.  As Salik
started to slide the nasal breather in place, however, the Warrior jerked
his head away.  Salik gave him a stern look.  "If you want to get better,
you need to let me do my job."  He held the thin tube with nasal inserts
up for him to see.  It's either this or the mask."
     Starbuck said nothing but allowed the doctor to complete the task of
sliding the nasal breather in place.  The pilot took a long, thirsty sip
of water before Cassie pulled the container gently from his hand.  "You
have to take it slowly," she said, giving him an apologetic look.
     "Now," Salik said quietly, "what's the last thing you remember?"
Starbuck shook his head.  "Nice try, but as I tried to say..." He
whispered, fixing the doctor with an unwavering stare.  "I'd prefer to
let you do the talking.  It's nothing personal, just a highly developed
sense of self preservation."
     Salik exhaled, and Cassie noticed the muscles in his jaw tightening. 
"Okay," he said finally.  "How about this.  Can you tell us what yahren
it is?"
     Starbuck closed his eyes  and sagged against his pillow, looking
suddenly exhausted.  And vulnerable, thought Cassie, wondering what in
Kobol's name had him so reluctant to talk.   After a few moments, he
opened his eyes and gazed up at the doctor.  "What yahren? Okay," he
said, his voice barely audible.  "I can tell you that.  It's 7335...
right?"
     Cassie managed to keep her expression neutral, but she couldn't
control a sharp gasp, and she felt her own heart racing.  It echoed the
increasing thump-thump of  Starbuck's heart on the bio-monitor as he
stared up at Salik, awaiting a response.  He looked drained and confused.
     Salik pursed his lips.  "No, it's not,"  he said at last. 
Starbuck's eyes went wide and the bio-monitor alarm pierced the silence
of the room. "But we'll sort it all out later.  Right now, you need to
rest and stay calm."  He pulled a hypo from his pocket.  "This is just a
sedative."  He slipped it against the lieutenant's neck before he could
protest.  In less than a centon he was asleep once more, but Cassie had
not failed to see the deep look that crossed  Starbuck's eyes before they
had closed : raw fear.

     Cassie exhaled and closed her eyes as she and Salik exited the
isolation room. 
     "Are you all right?"  She opened her eyes to see the doctor giving
her a concerned look.  "The last thing I want is to put you under too
much stress."
     The medtech nodded.  "I know... I'm okay."  Salik had been reluctant
to allow Cassiopeia to be with him at all, but she had insisted, arguing
that her presence might spark Starbuck's memory, might help reassure
him...And she had insisted that she was a professional, that she could
handle it.  Besides, waiting around with the others would have been just
as stressful - if not more so.  So Salik had agreed to let her-- and not
one of the other medtechs-- assist him.
     Salik put a hand on Cassie's shoulder, meeting her gaze.  He smiled
gently.  "Okay then.  Let's go talk to the others and let them know where
things stand.

**********
Part 13

     "7335? That's what he said?"
     "Yes, Commander." Salik folded his arms and frowned around at the
small group who had gathered in Adama's quarters for the briefing. "I
believe that he's remembering an incident, some sort of trauma, that
really happened during adolescence. More than just remembering, however.
He's actually living it, as a present reality. But whatever it was, it
was16 yahrens ago."
     "Frak," Apollo muttered, pacing beside Adama's desk as Cassie,
looking tired and glum, gazed up at him from the couch.  "So no wonder he
didn't recognize us and panicked," he muttered.
     The commander let out a slow breath. "Yes..." He rubbed his chin,
thinking. His eyes wandered briefly to Chameleon, who sat on the other
short couch, watching all of his son's friends but staying quiet and
reserved.
     Salik gazed from face to face. "We'll have a better chance of
helping the lieutenant if we can identify what those events were.
However," The doctor shook his head. "the Galactica's medical database
has nothing - no records whatsoever- from before Starbuck's first yahren
in the Academy, beyond his date and place of birth."  Salik cocked an
eyebrow and stopped to stare at the commander, but he appeared lost in
thought.
     "And I think know what it is that he's remembering," Adama said at
length.
     "You do?" Apollo stopped pacing. "But, Starbuck's almost never
talked about that time in his life, Father. He'd always get evasive as a
Raider if I ever asked about his life before the Academy, and I don't
remember--"
     "He never told anyone else," said the Commander, quietly. At once,
all eyes were on him.
     "Father..." Apollo's voice trailed off. 
     Adama rose from behind his desk and moved to stare out the oval
portal gazing at but not seeing the pinpoint pricks of stars. "Apollo, do
you remember that... incident, back in your second yahren at the Academy,
where both you and Starbuck were involved in a tavern brawl and ended up
in the brig for two days?"
     "Yes," Apollo answered slowly, "But what's--" He glanced behind him
to see Cassie staring at him, mouth open. Quickly, he turned back to the
Commander.
     "The events of that night," Adama said, turning from the portal to
look first at Chameleon and then at his own son, "are connected to the
incident that I believe Starbuck is remembering." 
     Confused,  Cassie looked from Apollo to Adama. Chameleon's brow was
creased with concern as he watched and listened. Salik stood frowning,
waiting.
     Adama let his gaze sweep across the faces to settle on Apollo. "You
were there. Why don't you tell us what you recall about that night." The
Commander held up a hand before the Captain could say anything. "Once
you've done that, then I'll explain the rest - what happened 16 yahrens
ago and how the two events were connected."
     Apollo took a deep breath. "All right," he said slowly. He closed
his eyes, trying to remember the details. And trying to block the
emotions that came flooding back. "Starbuck and I both happened to have
day passes from the Academy, so he convinced me to spend the evening with
him, so we went out - first to the usual hangout for most cadets, but
then Starbuck got bored and wanted to try the Pyramid tables at this new
place that had just opened. So..." Apollo shook his head "I let him talk
me into it."
     "Some things never change," whispered Cassie, a faint smile crossing
her lips.
     The Captain snorted and locked eyes briefly with her. "Yes, I
suppose so. Anyway, this new tavern - it was called the..."
     "The Dancing Serpents," supplied Adama.
     "Yes, that was it. It was located near the Center City, a bit
further then the cadets typically ventured, but Starbuck had the turbobus
routes memorized, so we made it there in less than a centar." Apollo
paused as he stared at the floor, remembering. "The Dancing Serpents was
just a typical dive - loud, crowded, filled with fumarello smoke and
blaring music. We bought drinks and Starbuck snagged the first empty seat
that opened up at one of the Pyramid tables. I sat at a nearby table and
watched." Apollo stopped and rubbed his forehead.
     "Go on," prompted the Commander. All were quiet, listening.
Chameleon's expression, Adama noted when he glanced at him, was troubled,
worried.
     Apollo started to pace again. "After Starbuck had been playing for
about a centar, I had gotten bored and had been watching the other
patrons, just out of curiosity, since they were a pretty mixed bunch.
That's when I noticed that these three guys kept staring at Starbuck.
They kept whispering and pointing and watching him." Apollo paused to let
out a long breath. 
     "What happened next?" asked Adama quietly. All eyes were fixed on
the captain.
     "Eventually, those three worked their way into the game at
Starbuck's table. Starbuck told me later that he knew something was up,
and I do remember he kept his eye on them, but..." Apollo closed his eyes
again. "They were cheating. And flaunting it, trying to provoke him. And
you know Starbuck..." Apollo chewed his lip. "He finally lost his cool
and confronted them. One of them called him something, I couldn't hear
what, and he called the guy a piece of 'daggit mong the maggots would
wretch over'. And then they pulled knives."
     Both Chameleon and Cassie gasped. 
     "I jumped up, and threw my drink at one of them, to try to distract
them and to try to help. And thank the Lords that Starbuck was fast."
Apollo's face was grim. "We fought. For our lives. The leader of the
three was good with a knife. Very good. And it was apparent after the
first centon that they wanted him dead - and me, too, after I joined in
to help him."
     "So what happened?" asked Chameleon in a whisper.
     Apollo glanced at the elderly conman. "Colonial Security arrived and
the three fled. And escaped." The Captain gave a mirthless smile. "Then
the Shore Patrol turned up, and Starbuck and I were tossed in the brig
for 'disorderly conduct and conduct unbecoming a Colonial Warrior.'"
     "Was anyone hurt?" asked Cassie, incredulous as she stared at
Apollo.
     "Miraculously - outside of some bruises and a few minor gashes from
the knives - no. But we were held in the brig for two days while Colonial
Security interviewed people and established that we had truly been acting
in self defense. After that," Apollo said, shrugging, "we were released
and all the charges were dropped. The only condition was that we stay out
of the Center City for the rest of the semester."
     "So what happened to the thugs?" asked Chameleon.
     Apollo shook his head and gazed at his father. "I don't know...
officially, as far as I ever knew, they never caught anyone, and the
matter was dropped. Or, at least," Apollo was watching Adama, "it was
never mentioned to me again, by anyone. Even at the Academy." The Captain
cocked his head. "So what really happened?" he asked his father.
     The Commander let his gaze sweep across the faces to settle on
Chameleon. "There are eerie similarities to the story you told us,
Chameleon. But quite a different ending." The elderly conman stared at
the floor. Adama continued. "Those three 'thugs' were connected to a gang
in which Starbuck had gotten involved three yahrens previously--"
     "Did you say Starbuck was in a gang?" Apollo stared at his father.
     "Yes," Adama stated flatly. "And the reason I know all of this is
because during those two days that you and he were confined to the brig,
he tried to drop out of the Academy. Demanded to be let go, in fact."
     "I never knew that..." Apollo whispered, his face ashen.
     "Starbuck was determined to protect you, Apollo," Adama said
quietly. "He wanted to get out of the service and run. To make sure that
the gang members would never come after you. He and I had a long talk
during the second day of your confinement..." Adama pursed his lips as he
remembered. All waited silently. Eventually he continued, "By then, I had
become very fond of Starbuck, as you know, and I knew he would make a
talented Warrior. So, since I was fortuitously home on leave at the time,
I pulled some rank, and arranged to speak to him, privately. At first, I
was angry at him for getting my son involved in a violent brawl, then
when I learned the facts..." He shrugged. "I had no intention of letting
him simply quit the Service. Of course, he didn't tell me the real
reason, not right away. But, eventually, I was able to basically guess
the motivation behind his attempted resignation." 
     "So what did he tell you?" asked Apollo.
     "Once it was clear to Starbuck that I would not let him resign,"
Adama said, "he told me everything. He said that approximately a yahren
before he entered the Academy, he had gotten involved in a gang - this
was after he had run away from a bad foster placement and had been
determined to make it on his own." Adama stopped to study the faces
around him, especially Chameleon's. The elderly man bit his lip and shook
his head, obviously aware of the similarity to his own involvement in the
mob at basically the same age. 
     After a moment, the Commander went on. "Starbuck was drawn in by the
gang's 'promise' to protect him. When he realized that they robbed and
murdered - for sport as much as for profit- he tried to get out, to run
from them. He spent several sectars on his own, successfully evading
them, but eventually they caught up with him--"
     "My God..." Cassie's voice was a soft whisper.
     "Yes," said Adama quietly, "but it would seem that the 'Starbuck
Luck' - as odd as it is, sometimes - was at work even back then." Adama
gave a faint smile. " He was trying to escape from Caprica City, but they
spotted him. Ironically, he had been in the process of hot wiring a
hovermobile that had a silent alarm. So the local security showed up at
just the right moment to prevent the gang members from killing him. And
then he stole one of the security vehicles--"
     "Starbuck stole a police hovermobile?" Apollo stared at his father,
mouth open. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Chameleon's fleeting
grin.
     "Yes. His intention was to just get out of the city. But, of course,
they pursued him. And when he wouldn't stop, they fired at his craft with
their lasers, trying to disable the vehicle."
     "Lords of Kobol..." muttered Cassie.
     "They knocked out a stabilizer and Starbuck's craft crashed into the
Caprican River."
     Apollo looked incredulous. "How could he have possibly kept this off
his record? If the police obviously pulled him from the river--"
     Adama shook his head. "They didn't. I don't know exactly what
happened, but Starbuck said that he when he woke up, he was on the river
bank outside the city, the hovermobile was nowhere to be found, and his
right arm had been badly injured. He had just started off down the road -
away from Caprica, even though he cold barely walk - when the Cylons
attacked."
     "I remember that," stated Apollo, "from the news broadcasts. A small
patrol evaded the defenses in attempt to ram the city - in one of their
periodic suicide attacks. They crashed into the outskirts..."
     Apollo's voiced trailed off as he made the connection. "Holy
frak..."
     Adama nodded. "Yes. Two Cylons crashed into the sector along the
river and two crashed just south of Caprica City as they attempted to
evade the defense squadrons. There were civilian casualties, and..." The
Commander paused to gaze at the faces around him once more. "...instead
of being arrested for stealing a police hovermobile, Starbuck was taken
to the nearest med center as a victim of the Cylon raid. In the aftermath
of the attack, security never made the connection. Shortly after he
recovered, he decided to join the Academy, for several reasons, but
mainly because he was tired of running and always having to watch his
back."
     Apollo was shaking his head. "My God...I never knew..."
     Adama let out a long, slow breath. "No," he said as he looked from
Apollo to Chameleon, who was staring at the floor. "He deeply regretted
his involvement with the gang, and wanted to make a fresh start in the
Academy. And once the friendship with you developed, he was afraid that
if you ever knew, you'd--"
     "That's--" Apollo started.
     "Yes, I know that was crazy, but you were the first person in a long
time that he had come to trust and rely upon. So after that night in The
Dancing Serpents, when the gang members had recognized him and tried to
kill you both, he was determined to protect you."
     "By running?" Apollo asked quietly.
     "Yes. But after our talk, after he finally told me the truth, I
convinced him to stay in the Academy. But I had to promise to not reveal
his past to you or to anyone else. I found it a fair deal."
     "Until now," said Cassie, softly.

**********

     Adama once more studied the tired, worried faces around him,
settling his eyes finally on Salik, who stood with his arms crossed and
his lips pursed, pondering all that he had heard. "What do you suggest,
Doctor?" the commander asked quietly as he returned to his desk and sat
down again.
     "Now that the Lieutenant is awake," Salik said slowly, "the
neuro-scans and brain wave signatures should give me a better idea of the
extent of the damage... and as to whether his memory is likely to return
on its own.  "The doctor paused, locking his gaze with the Commander's. "
Or not," he said into the silence. "Right now, all I can tell you is
that, for Starbuck, his current reality is that he's an adolescent
criminal who's been running for his life from a gang of thugs, and has
just survived a crash into the Caprican River..." He shook his head.
"Given that and his general attitude towards authority, it would explain
why he's been reluctant to talk at all."
     "So what can we do?" Apollo's voice reflected frustration and
concern.
     Salik put a hand to his lips, pinching them in thought and staring
at the floor. "I'd say..." he said slowly, after a moment, "that someone
he can trust needs to explain the situation-gently-to him."
     "But he--" Apollo began.
     "I know. He doesn't 'know' any of us... Except, perhaps..." Salik
shifted his eyes towards Chameleon, lingering there briefly while the
elderly man frowned and looked away. Then he tuned his gaze towards
Cassie, before returning to Apollo. "Tell me, Captain, am I correct in
understanding that you and Starbuck became friends during your first
yahren at the Academy?"
     "That's right," answered Apollo slowly.
     "If I may be so forward in asking," said Salik, a faint smile on his
lips, "you two seem quite... different, opposites in many ways. How is it
that you became such close friends?"
     Apollo lowered his gaze but was smiling, too. "You mean, how did the
straight-laced son of a well-known Commander hook up with a kid from the
streets, who obviously had a talent for getting into trouble, even back
then?"
     "Well, yes," responded Salik.
     Apollo chuckled as his thoughts turned inward, even as he looked at
his father. Adama closed his eyes and shook his head, but a smile still
touched his lips. "I was barracks supervisor for the group of cadets
Starbuck was inducted with. I admit I spent more time on him that almost
anyone else. Snap inspections, junk on the bunk, uniform check, lights
out... If there was a way to skirt the regs and just stay inside,
Starbuck would find it." He paused, and could hear Cassie's soft chuckle.
"After he'd been there about, oh...maybe a sectar or so, I got a tip that
he was sneaking out of barracks after dark. I laid a trap, but never
caught him.At least not right away. After a few times, I finally did
catch him, out of barracks after lights out, and laid it on thick."
     "And?" asked Adama.
     "Well, you know that face. In fact, that was a nickname of his among
the younger recruits. The Face. He acted as if he were the very soul of
innocence, but I pressed him. It turned out, he wasn't being
irresponsible. He was actually on to something nefarious."
     "Something criminal?" asked Chameleon.
     "Yes. It turned out that one of the other cadets was slipping out of
barracks after lights out, and stealing things. Money had turned up
missing from the purser's office, test answers were stolen, that sort of
thing. It seems, one of Starbuck's pyramid partners lost a lot, but was
never short of cubits."
     "So, he was investigating," said Salik. "I see."
     "Yes. It seemed his...criminal talents were useful in the cause of
justice." Apollo smiled slightly, at the memory. "I was... dubious at
first, but I agreed to go along, and I called Security. Sure enough, we
caught the other cadet breaking in to the medical storage area. Turns out
he had a buyer lined up for stolen drugs. Starbuck's testimony was
instrumental in his conviction and expulsion, and we sort of...well,
clicked after that."
     "And the rest of it?" asked Adama. "I heard rumors that he was
running a floating Pyramid game most of the time he was at the Academy.
     "Well," said Apollo, and he turned to hide his smile from his
father.
     Unfortunately, Cassie  caught it, and he had to let out a laugh. "He
was, and I will confess to more than one...bending of the regs, in
joining in."
     Cassie  gave the Captain a disbelieving stare. "Did your father..."
she glanced at the Commander, "know about this?"
     "Yes, eventually." Apollo answered, hand covering his mouth. "He
happened to be on furlon the secton we got caught and got dressed down by
the Commandant pretty good." Apollo grinned at the memory. "Mother had
already invited Starbuck to join us for a family dinner-- it was Zac's
birthday-- and tensions were rather high that evening, but..." The
Captain's voice trailed off as his face turned reflective.
     The Commander sighed and shook his head. "Ila had already
practically adopted the wayward cadet, and-although I wouldn't admit it,
even to my self at first-she pointed out that I had had my... " Adama
caught his son's eye. "'wilder' moments when I was that age."
     The smile was gone from Apollo's face, though. He turned towards
Salik. "So what does this have to do with what's going on now?"
     The doctor crossed his arms and studied the Captain for a few
microns before answering. "Having to deal with the fact that one is
sixteen yahrens in the 'future' would be traumatic for anyone. It won't
be easy trying to explain it to Starbuck, but," Salik said , pausing to
let out a slow breath and looking around at the faces, "given that the
Captain is someone he came to trust rather quickly not too long after the
incident with the gang, he might-*might*-be more receptive to him." Salik
focused once more on Apollo. "If you take it slowly and try to win his
trust... again."
     The Commander glanced at his chronometer as silence settled over the
group. "It's late," he said quietly. "But as of tomorrow, Apollo, you can
take whatever time you need. I'll have Tigh rearrange the duty roster.
Giles can take over your training flight."
     "Thank you. Commander," said Salik. He looked around at the tired,
concerned faces, settling his gaze on Cassiopeia. "And for the time
being, it would be better to keep things quiet in the Life Station, limit
all visitors--"
     "What about Boomer?" asked Apollo.
     "I'll run some more tests in the morning," said the doctor, "but as
of today, he's doing well enough to be released. He'll just need to
return once each day for the bio-chemical treatments." Salik gave a weary
but hopeful smile. "So far, they seem to be working to counteract the
effects of the Tylium poisoning. So far. But it's too soon to be totally
certain."
     "When will we know?" asked the Commander as he rose and walked
around his desk.  Cassiopeia and Chameleon had stood, as well. They
paused, waiting.
     "We should know in about a secton whether the treatments will be
successful," said Salik.
     "And if they're not?" asked Apollo.
     "Then we'll need to perform a bone marrow transplant. And hope that
does the job."
     Adama closed his eyes and let out a slow sigh before ushering the
group from his office. As the door closed behind Apollo, the last one
out, he ran his hands down his face and murmured, "May the Lords of Kobol
protect these souls..."

**********
Part 14

     "How're you doing?" asked a quiet voice.  "Feeling any better,
Lieutenant?"
     Starbuck, lost in thought,  turned  his head slightly  at the sound
but said nothing as he studied the face of the medtech.  The man smiled
gently, probably trying to be reassuring, then focused on checking the
various tubes still attached to his patient.  Starbuck watched him in
silence, wondering for the umpteenth time just *why* he was in a military
medical center, and more importantly, just *what* did they intend to do
with him?
     And what was this felgercarb about it not being 7335 anymore...it
made no sense, no sense.  And he could usually figure things out with
just a few clues.  But not this time.  Not this time.  So he pushed that
bit of information aside, for now.  Still, He felt lost and disoriented,
which, in turn, left him feeling very much on edge.  Either they were
biding their time and intending to send him back to the security forces
when he was better, or... maybe they honestly didn't know who he was. But
why not? true, he'd had no ID on him, not genuine anyway, but surely his
fingerprints and retinal scans were on file with the police as well as
the fosterage authorities. Could these military types be that dumb? If
that were the case, then he damn well intended to keep it that way. The
less they knew the better. And maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to
give them the slip.
     Except, he noted dryly, he was fairly well secured to the bed by all
the tubes.  The medtech, Starbuck saw, was replacing the IV unit.  Clear
fluids, probably nutrients, he figured. Or maybe antibiotics, if that
doctor was telling the truth, and he'd been in some kind of accident.
     The nasal tube provided pure oxygen.  And a third tube... he glanced
down at the line that snaked out from under his sheets.  Frak, he could
certainly do without *that* one.
     "Hey..." he tried to say, but his voice was a barely audible croak.
     The medtech turned towards him, though.  "Let's try some fluids,"
the man said, reaching over for the water container.  He held the spout
up to Starbuck's lips. Though it wasn't ambrosia, it might as well have
been. He never thought plain ice water could taste so good.
     After a few sips, he brushed it aside.  "Look, ah..."  His voice was
slightly better.
     "Jay.  My name's Jay." The medtech smiled again, warmly.  "Can I do
something for you?"
     "Look," Starbuck started again, glancing down at the catheter tube,
then back at the IV and O2 tubes.  "Can't I at least get up to use the
turboflush?  I mean..."
     Jay gave him a sympathetic look.  "You've been through a lot - you
lost a lot of blood, fractured a collar bone and an arm, and suffered a
serious head injury.  Even if you're feeling better, you have to move
around as little as possible."
     "But, I--"
     "However," continued  Jay, "Dr. Salik is firm believer of getting
one back on one's feet as soon as possible."
     "Then can you...?"
     Jay pursed his lips and studied the bio-monitor.  Then he pulled a
scanner out of a pocket and studied it as he held it near Starbuck's
right temple.  "Sit up, slowly and carefully," he said, eyes glued to the
scanner.
     Starbuck pulled himself to a seated position.  The room spun, and he
felt winded, even from the minimal exertion, but he damn well did not
intend to let the medtech know that.  Frak it all.  "Well?" he said when
Jay continued to stare at the scanner.
     "Okay," the man said at length.  "How do you feel?"  He switched his
gaze to Starbuck's face.
     "Wonderful.  Swell. Never better," he muttered.
     "The truth, please," said Jay, , smiling and shaking his head,
gazing once more at the device.
     Sensing that this was some sort of test, Starbuck sighed.  "Okay...
I feel like daggit mong.  So what does that thing say?"  He jabbed a
finger at the scanner.
     Jay pressed a button and slipped the device back into his pocket. 
"We'll give it a try - on one condition." he raised a finger.
     "Yes...?"  Starbuck frowned at him.
     "Dr. Salik's in a meeting, but he left instructions that if your
vitals are stable enough, that you can have very - and I mean *very*--  
limited mobility.  With assistance.  You have to promise to keep your
head as still as possible."  Jay crossed his arms and gave the lieutenant
a serious look.  "I'll give it to you straight.  You've got considerable
cranial swelling, and that puts a lot of stress on the circulation. 
Sudden movements could cause a vessel to rupture."
     "Ouch..." whispered Starbuck.
     "Yeah, more than 'ouch.'  It'd probably kill you  within centons." 
Jay smiled again.  "But, so long as you move slowly and let me help you,
I think we can try a brief trip out of the bed.

*******

     Slow and steady movements. Slow and steady. Starbuck closed his
eyes, remembering. It had taken fifteen centons, but he had made it, to
the turboflush and back. Frak, but he'd never have imagined that
relieving oneself-getting there and back, at any rate-- could be such an
arduous task. His legs had felt like rubber and his sense of balance had
been nonexistent. His head had throbbed with every movement, which in
turn had sent his stomach churning. Step, pause, step, pause... He had
felt more exhausted than he could ever remember after making it back to
his bed. But he had made it.
     One less tube to deal with, now.
     Starbuck stared around the tiny darkened room. It was the middle of
the night, he figured. And he'd slept for several centars he determined
from the chrono on the wall over a bank of equipment, knocked out by the
pain medication that they pumped into the IV, but even that could not
overcome the growing restlessness-or was it desperation?-- that he felt
building within. He had to do something. He couldn't just wait for them
to notify the authorities. And every passing centon, he was convinced,
brought him one step closer to either ending up in jail-or back in the
foster system. But, he'd been here for what, close to a day was it? why
had no one from the authorities shown up? Certainly, given his theft of a
police street cruiser...
     No, frakking mong, no. He had to do something.
     At the very least, he had to figure out just where he was. And when.
He could not place it, but something, a feeling, an intuition, kept
telling him that things are not as they seemed... I'm not remembering
things, but what? Everything felt... wrong. Something wouldn't stop
eating at him, something he should have...
     "If it's not 7335 anymore, then when is it?" he whispered to
himself.
     The room they had put him in offered no clues. It was as featureless
as possible-down to not even a mirror in the turboflush, which struck him
as weird. And not a single window. Still, he could tell something, even
if it were on a military base. This medical center must be near the power
plant, he decided. The constant, steady vibration he felt when he was
still and quiet told him that much. If he could get to it... But how? He
couldn't even make it to the turboflush without help. He couldn't begin
to...
     No... Even if it killed him, he had to do something.
     His gaze traveled from the IV line attached to his left wrist up to
the fluid cell. Both it and the O2 supply were affixed to a mobile rack.
It could travel with him. And he could lean on it for support. Carefully,
with his good hand he explored the sensor diodes attached to his head and
his chest. So what was their range, he wondered? He could move around his
room, he was fairly sure, without setting off an alarm, but what would
happen if he tried to leave? At what point would the bio-monitor lose the
signal? Frak and mong, but there was only one way to find out. He was too
weak to even hope to actually escape, but if he could learn something,
anything, about where he was...
     Slowly, he pulled himself upright. A chill ran through him as the
blanket slid down to his waist, his only upper covering being the bandage
that secured his right arm across his chest. After the room had stopped
spinning like a carnival ride, he pushed the blanket away and pulled his
legs over the edge of the bed. He tried wiggling the fingers sticking out
out the bandages, and they seemed to work. he carefully flexed the
muscles of his arm. Pain shot through him, but at least he wasn't
paralyzed. Wincing , he sat for several more centons. He had to keep his
breathing and heart rate even, he knew, or he'd trigger the alarms. So
with tediously slow and measured movements, he grasped the IV rack and
slid his feet towards the floor. And stopped as another chill ran through
him and a hacking cough seized him. Pain coursed through his injured arm
and his head. The room tumbled and his vision blurred. He could hear the
heart monitor thumping at an increasing rate. No, he thought, no...
     He closed his eyes and forced himself to relax, somehow. After an
eternity, it seemed, the coughs subsided, his breathing eased, and his
heart rate slowed. He opened his eyes cautiously, then decided that he
had better equilibrium with them closed. Okay, he thought to himself,
okay... despite the chill from being dressed in nothing more than shorts,
he felt a sweat break out on his brow as he braced himself against the
rack, leaning forward bit by bit, easing himself off the bed and onto his
feet.
     It took, he estimated, nearly ten centons to cross the three metrons
to the tiny room's exit. He kept his eyes closed, except to peek often
enough to be sure he was on course and not about to trip over anything.
Frak, he thought. He felt so weak, so helpless. Vulnerable, like a
newborn infant. And that, more than anything spurred him to continue. The
very idea of being helpless stirred a deep resentful anger inside of him.
Taking a slow, deep breath, then a second, he shifted his hand from the
IV rack to the door panel and pressed. The exit slid open. And he found
himself staring at the rows of bio-beds and monitors. Rows of equipment
and computers. What seemed to be the medical monitoring station sat
directly facing his door-but it was, at the moment-unoccupied.
     That won't last for long, I'm sure, Starbuck thought to himself.
What the mong is this place... It just didn't look like any kind of
medical center ward he'd ever been in, and he'd been inside a few. More
like... he didn't know what.
     A voice caught his attention. He froze, turning slowly in its
direction, to his right. It was a video monitor. Another patient, who
seemed to have drifted off to sleep lay in a bed near it, oblivious to
the noise. Starbuck squinted at the screen and eased himself forward to
where he could both see and hear... what? It sounded like a news
broadcast. A female voice...
     "... efforts to repair the damaged freighter, Lyra, continued today.
The official statement is that it is expected to be operational again
within two days. In the meantime, the Fleet remains at a stand still.
Officials aboard the Galactica report that until we are underway again,
Viper patrols to ensure our safety have been doubled... "
     "What the frak..." Starbuck gaped at the images flashing across the
vidscreen: scenes of a convoy of space ships, all different types and
models, some frighteningly ancient, and a Battlestar, then the bridge
with its Commander... and sleek Vipers hurtling off into space. A shot of
two uniformed Warriors flashed onto the screen, one handsome and dark
skinned, the other... hauntingly familiar.
     "Commander Adama?" Starbuck whispered aloud. Like virtually everyone
in the Colonies, he recognized the famous Warrior. But...he looked
so...old. And the Galactica. What the frak was this about "the Fleet"
being at a standstill? Last he'd heard anything, that particular ship was
in port after a long cruise. He'd seen some of her crew in town the other
night. He rubbed his chin, trying to make his swirling brain think, and
felt the stubble on his face. What the Hades Hole? A beard? How the
fra...
     The door slid open, and a med tech entered. "Lieutenant."
     Starbuck startled at the sound of the voice, twisting around quickly
- too quickly.  The room spun, and his stomach heaved.  He heard the
shrill tone of his monitor in the distance as he squeezed his eyes shut
and gripped the IV rack, fighting the vertigo.
     Hands grasped his shoulders.  "Let's get you back to bed--"
     "No!" Starbuck jerked himself sideways.-- which created the effect
of a sudden drop off a cliff.  He tumbled backwards  to the floor in a
loud, crashing heap as the IV rack clanged against the biobed.  The jolt
sent explosions of pain through his skull and through the still-healing
muscles in his arm.  He gasped and then choked on a cry as a spasm of
coughs coursed through him.  His world  swirled out of control, even with
his eyes closed.
     "Whoa, Starbuck, take it easy..."  A voice, deep and soothing. 
Hands gently propped him up; an arm across his chest steadied him, as the
coughs subsided.
     He swallowed hard, forcing back the rising bile, as the spinning
slowly lessened and the coughs eased back into ragged breaths.  Starbuck
blinked, opening his eyes, and found himself staring into the dark,
worried face of the man he'd seen lying in the biobed. He also gradually
realized that he was gripping the man's arm so tightly that his own
fingers were beginning to ache.   Letting go, he tried to  pull away...
weakly.  The physical sensations had subsided, but his mind, his
thoughts, were locked in a tumult of confusion.  Lieutenant?  Who?  The
man in the bed?  But the medtech had been staring at him.  And where the
frakking mong was he?  And when?  What in Hades Hole was going on--?
     He felt the pressure of the hypo on his neck and  the sting as it
injected the sedative.  After a few more microns, the chaos faded into
oblivion.

*******
Part 15 

     Tight. His chest still felt tight. Tight and uncomfortable, as if
something were squeezing in with each breath he took. Lieutenant Boomer
finally gave up trying to sleep and pushed himself to a sitting position
in the biobed. He looked up at the instruments on the nearest bulkhead.
The chronometer read 0500 - almost the start of the "day" cycle.
     Well, he reflected, he had slept like a baby for part of the night,
at least. Until waking to see the terrified look on his friend's face.
After that, despite being tired, he had tossed and turned, unable to find
peace either physically-- as each little discomfort seemed to intensify -
or mentally. Frak, thought Boomer as he tried to imagine how it would
feel to lose over 15 yahrens of one's memory, and then be faced with
reconciling the perceived world with reality. It would challenge even the
most stable person's sanity, he figured. Just wait till he learns that
the Colonies are all shot to hell, and we're on the run like frightened
lepons.
     Boomer's gaze drifted to the short corridor that led to the
isolation wards, one of which housed his oldest buddy. Incapacitated and
sedated. Trapped in the past and both wary and fearful of everyone,
including his closest friends. Friends he didn't even know. Isolated and
alone, Boomer mused with pursed lips. Not the brash, joking, carefree,
indomitable spirit he was so used to seeing. And all because of some
golmonging  fraking madman - another Human. A fellow survivor. Someone
who should have been as one with them. Not because of their common,
eternal enemy, the Cylons.
     Boomer cursed beneath his breath. He cursed a lot.
     He, at least, was getting out of the Life Station later that
morning, provided his latest scans continued to show improvement. He took
an experimental breath, sucking in sharply and as deeply as possible. And
felt a biting pain as if trying to breath in a vacuum, almost. As he
exhaled the shallow gulp of air, his irritated lungs erupted into a spasm
of coughs. He grabbed the cold water at his bedside, and swallowed,
trying to soothe his throat.
     Frak, felgercarb, and mong, he mumbled to himself as the wave
eventually subsided. No, he would definitely not recommend inhaling
tylium fumes. The effects of the poisoning were proving to be even worse
than he might have imagined. Like all cadets, he had taken the warnings
that were drilled into their heads during the Academy training seriously,
yet with the air that the instructors were going for the overly dramatic.
Exposure to Tylium fumes might be dangerous, yeah. So was hard radiation,
but seriously, barring massive battle-damage, what was the likelihood of
that happening, given the extraordinary amount of precautions always
taken...
     Nothing is foolproof, echoed the words of his first flight
instructor from the Academy. Nor madman proof.
     That thought hung heavily on his mind as he lay back, suddenly
tired, and unable to keep his eyes open. He curled onto his side,
breathing in shallow, uneven breaths. A myriad of thoughts, of memories,
cascaded through his head as he drifted to sleep. 
     It was hot, wretchedly hot. The sun beat down on their heads as they
jogged along the training course. Sweat dripped from faces and hair,
stinging eyes. Boomer blinked and shook his head to clear his vision. The
dusty trail stretched ahead to the horizon and beyond. To his right
stretched a brown, dried-up plain. Straggly trees lined the edge of a
ravine and a steep slope to his left, leading, he did not doubt, down to
a cracked and long-dry riverbed. The trail hugged the tree line as if to
taunt them with the lack of shade. And as of yet, he could see no end ,
no relief in sight.
     His throat burned as he gulped in each breath. His legs felt like
leaded weights. But still he ran on. Had to. To stop, to quit, to give up
would mean six more sectons of basic cadet training. Uuh, uh. No thanks.
This final secton-long survival training was their last requirement
before graduation, before being permanently assigned to a Battlestar,
before being a true part of the Colonial Service. Personally, he was
hoping he'd end up being posted to the Atlantia, where he'd done alot of
his cadet training. It would be good, he mused, to see old friends again,
to see the old ship again. Starbuck, however, had said, over Pyraimid of
course, that scuttlebutt had it they were headed somewhere else. In the
end, though, it did not matter. As long as he made it, and could get out
there, get into a Viper cockpit, and start defending the Colonies. Avenge
the deaths of so many.
     No, he would make it if it killed him.
     "Hustle, will ya!" said a voice from behind. "You're slowing my
pace!"
     "Too slow for you?" Boomer didn't need to turn to know his buddy's
hot face wore a grin. "Wouldn't want," he said between gasps, "to bore
you." with that, Cadet Boomer surged forward, drawing upon a reserve he
didn't know he had. He let his stride lengthen, felt his breathing
synchronize with the pounding of his feet. It almost felt like flying as
he reveled in the endorphins. He would have laughed out loud had he had
not been running so hard.
     A figure pulled even with him, pearly-whites flashing annoyingly in
the sun. "Race ya!"
     "Starbuck, you're--"
     The ground suddenly exploded in front of them, turning the path into
a wall of rocks and dirt. The force knocked them backwards, pounded them
with debris, and sucked the breath from their bodies. Another explosion.
And another!
     "Starbuck!" Boomer screamed to be heard above the din. He cracked
his eyes open and saw him struggling to his feet, only to be rocked back
by yet another explosion.
     "What the frak--" Starbuck's bewildered cry was cut off by the
deafening roar of engines as three craft screamed out of the sky.
Directly towards them.
     "Run!" Boomer somehow yanked himself to his feet and grabbed
Starbuck by the sleeve as the ships cut loose with streams of laser fire,
blazing burning trails in the ground. He pulled his friend off the road
and over the embankment. Head first. They tumbled down, down... crashing,
bouncing against the trees and rocky ground. The world spun chaotically.
His stomach heaved. Hands clawed at the loose earth, scrambling to slow
his decent and regain control. Then pain exploded through every inch of
his body, it seemed, as he crashed to an abrupt halt against a jagged
boulder...
     An impenetrable blackness in which he floated, rocking - roughly,
abruptly, as a ship on choppy waters. And with each perceived motion, a
skull-splitting hammering that radiated from behind his ears to squeeze
his brain. Eventually, awareness returned enough for Boomer to crack open
an eye - for a micron only, as a wave of nausea suddenly threatened to
overwhelm him. He squeezed his eyes shut and gulped, concentrating on
easing the horrible sensation. Gradually, the feeling passed. He became
aware of a gentle push on his shoulder and a voice, far off... no, not so
distant, as his foggy mind tried to focus on it...
     "Boomer!" 
     "Wha...?" He opened his eyes carefully, blinking, fighting to
maintain the tenuous hold he had on the control of his stomach. A blurry
shadow finally coalesced into the familiar - if concerned - face of
Starbuck. "What happened?" The words were a dry whisper.
     "Cylons," said Starbuck. "Got through the defense perimeter,
somehow." He glanced upward, listening. "Seem to be gone, now. I think I
heard Viper fire." He paused again, then added, "Hope they got the gol
mongers."
     "Frak..." Boomer tried to scan their surroundings. A careful glance
around showed that he lay sprawled against a jutting boulder, amid dry,
scratchy brambles and brush, at the bottom of the ravine - yes, he
remembered the explosions, the laser fire, and diving over the edge of
the trail. His gaze settled on his buddy's face - and finally noticed the
raw scrapes, abrasions, and caked blood. "You look real pretty..." he
muttered, cracking a faint smile.
     Starbuck snorted. "And I'm all a-quiver to see your smiling face as
well." He shifted and groaned.
     Boomer noticed that he was cradling his left arm. "You okay?"
     "Me? I'm fine," said Starbuck. "What about you? Can you move?"
     Boomer took a slow breath and closed his eyes, trying to assess how
he really felt - and what damage he had actually sustained. He knew - he
hoped - that it only seemed like every millimetron of his body hurt...
"Banged my head," he said at length. Then added, after another pause,
"And twisted my left knee pretty bad. Hurts like Hades. But... I think
the rest is just bumps and bruises."
     "Can you sit up?" asked Starbuck.
     Boomer took another slow breath. "Yeah, give me a hand." Boomer did
not fail to notice that his friend kept his left arm tucked against his
chest as he helped maneuver Boomer into a seated position, propped
against the rock. The cadet eyed the other. "Okay. Now it's you're turn."
     "What do you mean?" Starbuck made a point of scanning the slope.
     "How are you - really?"
     Starbuck sighed. "Just fine! Except for some bumps and bruises--"
     "And?" Boomer growled. His head hurt too much for guessing games. 
     "And probably a broken bone or two in my left arm." He shifted
again, wincing. "That's beside the point, though," he said, looking
uncharacteristically serious. "We gotta climb back up that hill - or one
of us does-- so any help that might've been sent out will know where to
look. Otherwise..." He sighed, staring up the ravine. Neither man
bothered to point out that they needed water, as well. And soon.  "I
doubt they'd know to look down here."
     Boomer studied his buddy for a moment. He saw the signs that most
would miss - the slight grimaces, the uneven breaths, the careful way he
moved. He was hurting. A lot. Probably a fractured rib there, too, mused
Boomer to himself, but Starbuck, he knew, would never admit it, not even
to Boomer. 
     "Can you stand?" Starbuck asked, interrupting Boomer's reflections.
     Boomer sighed.  "Do I have a choice?" he said, finally.  He took
several deep breaths, then, bracing himself against the rock, struggled
to stand up.  An intense, blinding  pain shot through his leg, and he bit
his lip to keep from crying out. He felt a hand grasp his arm, and
suddenly he was upright, balancing against the bolder.  He sucked in
several breaths and nodded his silent thanks to Starbuck, who stood
huffing and puffing beside him.
     Ignoring the pain, he looked around.  Starbuck was right. They had
to get back up the hill, a feat neither was likely to achieve in their
present state, Boomer noted as he glanced at his friend's face and stiff
posture. Turning away from the steep slope, Boomer looked down the long
gully. The land flattened out somewhat, a killometron or so downstream
from here. The bottom of the old wash seemed reasonably passable... if
they kept along it until they reached a lower slope...
     "Well, we can't just stand here..." said Boomer, determined.  He
took a tentative step and found that the pain was almost bearable if he
didn't bend his knee.  He nodded towards the dry riverbed.  "Come on!"
     Starbuck silently offered a shoulder to lean on, while taking up a
steady stream of  chatter, as if nothing out of the ordinary had
happened..  After a hundred paces or so, supporting each other, Boomer
stumbled, and Starbuck looked him over. Shaking his head, he looked
around and found a large branch with a crook at the end that would serve
as a passable crutch. "Try this, Boomer."
     "I'm..."
     "Hey, I'm the only one who gets to lie about their condition,"
retorted Starbuck. Boomer rolled his eyes but said nothing; they both
knew that neither one would admit that he felt like he'd been blasted out
of the launch tube without his ship.
     Slowly, with Starbuck's help, he climbed back to his feet. The world
spun crazily for a moment  as his head pounded and his stomach did flip
flops, but then the sensation subsided.
     "Not much further, Boom Boom," Starbuck said quietly.  "Once we get
back on the trail, there's an emergency commpost about ten killometrons
away."
     "That's...off base property."
     "So sue me."
     They resumed their journey, but before long, they stopped, sniffing
the air. Smoke. Tylium  fumes, Boomer could tell, and fairly close. Now
what could be...
     Just around the next bend, they saw it. The still-smoking wreckage
of a Cylon Raider. The engines were smoldering, as was the remaining
paint on the fuselage.
     Not to mention the Centurion standing next to it, looking  right at
them. 
     "Frak!" Starbuck snatched his friend's arm and pulled him back.  Or
tried to.  Boomer shook him off, staring , transfixed by the  Centurion's
oscillating  red eye and the whirring sound...
     "Will you  frakking move!" Starbuck yanked again.
     Boomer heard himself echoing his buddy, but his legs suddenly
refused to budge.  He felt paralyzed.  And mesmerized.  All else -
Starbuck's frantic pleas, the glare from the hot sun, the pain-- faded
back as he gazed at the Cylon.  He could only watch - in horror and in
fascination - as his enemy raised his weapon.  Slowly, deliberately,
taking a step forward, the bayonet aimed straight at his chest.
     Terror swelled, a wave enveloping him, as the centurion paced
closer, one deliberate step at a time, in a staccato motion.  Black sear
marks across his metallic surface bespoke battle damage-- probably
slowing his programming, a part of Boomer's mind noted with  a detached
fascination.  The world had narrowed to a pinpoint - reality was the
approaching Cylon, dagger end of its laser poised to skewer him.  Yet,
Boomer stood frozen, could only watch, even as a voice in his mind
screamed at him to move.
     His eyes shifted from the red glow of the oscillating eye to the
gleam of the bayonet.  Watched as the Centurion pulled his arms back,
poised to thrust.  One more step.  One more.
     Thrust!
     He was falling.  He flailed, felt his fingers bump against
something, and grabbed.  One hand, both hands - grasped a hold, gripped
in desperation.  His body jerked - pain ripped through his arms.  He
crashed against his side, bounced.  Still he gripped, gripped... a
ladder.  Surrounded by darkness.  He sucked in air in frantic gasps as he
looked up, up the narrow shaft. Up.  Into a narrow beam of light that
reflected off the metallic gray walls. A figure bobbed in the light as it
descended towards him.
     "Help!" he tried to yell, but no sound came out.  His strength
threatened to desert him. He scrambled, pulling himself up until his feet
found a rung but could go no further.
     The figure approached.  Shadows obscured his features.  Logic told
Boomer it must be help, must be his rescue!  Yet, a fear gripped him as
he watched.  Something in the way the man moved, something in his
countenance was wrong, wrong...
     The figure twisted, and a shaft of light illuminated his face. 
Boomer locked his gaze with the man - with cold, lifeless eyes - as the
figure raised an arm, a laser in his hand.  A faint smile crept across
his lips as he pulled the trigger.
     Recognition struck in the instant the laser beam seared through him.
     He screamed, twisted, tumbled--
     "Lieutenant!"
     Boomer's eyes snapped open. He gasped, sucking in air in desperate
breaths as the terror faded. It took nearly a centon for him to realize
that he was curled on his bio-bed, fingers clutching his sweat-drenched
sheets.
     A hand touched his shoulder. "It's all right." Dr. Salik's voice was
quiet.
     Boomer whipped his head around, every muscle tensed, then relaxed as
he recognized the Galactica's chief physician. The vivid images of the
dream still held the lieutenant in swirling tendrils as they echoed
through his mind. So real, it had felt so real...
     "The bio-alarm sounded when your heart and respiration rates
accelerated," Salik said, his voice matter of fact. He paused to study
his patient's face. "Do you want to talk about it?"
     Boomer considered the question, then shook his head. However, as he
finally unclenched his fingers from the sheets, he said, "It was several
disasters all rolled into one."
     Salik handed Boomer the glass of water from his bedside but said
nothing further.
     The lieutenant took a long, slow sip, savoring the cool liquid as
the memories washed back, like waves as the tide receded, gradually
losing their intensity. He glanced at the doctor. "How's Starbuck?" he
asked at length.
     "Sedated, for now," Salik answered. "That little jaunt he took last
night out of his room did nothing good to help his head injury." he
sighed and shook his head. "So - given his memory loss and how stressful
that is - I've decided it'll be better if I keep him under sedation until
the internal damage heals a bit more."
     "How long?" Boomer asked, frowning.
     "At least three more days." Salik sighed. "We've made many strides
with our medical capabilities, Lieutenant. We can mend broken bones and
replace almost any limb or organ without too many complications.
Routinely, almost." Boomer caught the edge of frustration in the doctor's
voice. "But when it comes to the human brain, we're back in the dark
ages. Sometimes it seems like we're dancing around fires chanting with
beads and rattles. Its complexity still defies most of our analyzes."
     "But..." Boomer hesitated to ask; yet, he needed to know. "He will
heal, won't he?"
     Salik pursed his lips. "For the most part," he nodded. "The most
serious of the swelling should subside in another day or so, and that'll
take a lot of the pressure off the healing blood vessels and tissues."
     "But?" Boomer eyed the doctor.
     "But there are no guarantees." Salik shook his head. "Only time will
tell what functions, if any, are impaired, as well as whether he'll
regain any or all of his memory. Thank God there's no hematoma."
     "Frak," muttered Boomer, staring absently at the bed sheets.
     "You, however," said the doctor after a silent centon heavy with
unspoken thoughts and prayers, "are a different story. Your leg has
healed nicely, and I strongly suspect that when I do the scans, that
they'll show continued improvements with respect to the Tylium
poisoning." Salik said nothing further as he pulled the equipment in
place.
     Still feeling more than a little unsettled, Boomer sighed and lay
back on the bed.  "It was...back in our Academy days. The final three day
survival ordeal. Starbuck and  I were on one of those endless runs with
our unit, and there was an attack."  
     Salik stopped and gazed down at his patient.  "Go on," he said
quietly.
     "Some Cylons slipped through the perimeter defenses."  Boomer said
after a moment, remembering the dream - and how accurate it had been at
that point.  He continued, "We were strafed, and ended up rolling down a
steep bank, into a rocky, dry ravine to get away. We were both hurt, and
had no weapons, communicators, or water. We were hobbling back to base,
when we found what was left of a wrecked Cylon fighter, with one
Centurion still functional." Boomer took another sip, and closed his
eyes, taking a calming breath. "It attacked us."
     "What happened?"  Salik probed gently.
     "In reality,"  Boomer said, opening his eyes to glance at the
doctor,  "we were rescued by the Colonial security forces that had been
tracking the downed Cylon, but in my dream..."   He stared passed the
doctor, focusing inward again.  "In my dream, things changed.  I was in
the Lyra's maintenance shaft, and that madman, Dominius, was there..." 
Boomer's voice trailed off.
     "That's when you woke up," said Salik, matter-of-factly.
     "Yeah. It was...kinda intense, Doc."
     "Well, it was just a dream. Dominius is dead, and can hurt no one
anymore, Lieutenant." Salik gave Boomer  a gentle smile and began
adjusting the instruments. "Now, lay still while I run these scans. 
Shouldn't take long."
     "Hm." Boomer let out a long, slow breath and gave a thin smile. "No
offense, but it'll be nice to get out of here."
Salik held up the portable scanner, and plugged it into the instrument
bank. "Then let's proceed."

*********************************
Part 16 

     Adama frowned, as he read the document in front of him. He looked it
over twice more, then up at Colonel Tigh.
     "Is this all?"
     "All so far, sir," replied the Galactica's exec. "We're not really
set up to spy on our own people, but this is what the computer dug out.
In the five sectons before he died, Dominius was in repeated contact with
the people on this list. Thirty-eight telecom messages, to seven diffeent
codes. Over twenty responses. And, I discovered from Zeibert, he was seen
on the Rising Star with two of these people at least twice."
     "How deep does this go, Colonel?" asked Adama, but Tigh knew it was
rhetorical.. Adama picked up another document, a sheaf of old photos with
text, and flipped slowly through them. "This symbol."
     "You found it?" asked Tigh.
     "Yes," said Adama, and turned the pictures towards him. "I knew I
had seen that tatoo somewhere before. More than once in fact." He fell
silent as Tigh perused the old photos. They were of ancient cave art,
dripping stone walls covered in a variety of mysterious iconography.
Among images of violence, dismemberment, and murder, there it was. The
same emblem of a pair of outstretched hands, each palm filled with
people.
     "It's incredible, Commander."
     "Yes. Of course the images are faded, the artwork crude, but it is
doubtless the same symbol." He pointed to the autopsy photo of the tatoo
on Dominius. 
     "Where did you find this, sir?" asked Tigh, looking through the
pictures some more.
     "An old book, Tigh," said Adama, and rose, moving to a small shelf
across the room. He handed it to the exec, and Tigh opened it. It was
yellowed, the cover worn, and the author's name raised an eyebrow. "
'Academician Adama?'"
     "My grandfather, Colonel. He was a celebrated scholar and
archaeologist in his day. Considered something of a maverick, in some
circles. His translation of the Djed recension of the Book Of The Word, 
caused no small ripple in academic circles." Adama looked at Tigh. The
somewhat chagrined expression told him he'd ventured beyond Tigh's depth.
The other had been first, and foremost, a Warrior, his entire life, with
scant time for other pursuits. "Anyway," Adama hurried on, "this volume
recounts his discovery and excavation of an enormous complex of caves on
Virgon, before my father was even born, which he believed was the site of
the first landing by the refugees from Kobol in the Colonies. He found
signs of advanced technology having been deliberatly destroyed and then
buried there, and, these symbols. Along with... along with unmistakeable
signs of Human sacrifice." He tapped one of the old photos in the book.
"I remembered it suddenly. My grandfather used to regale me with tales of
his adventures when I was small. No more than Boxey's age. Some evenings,
we would look through this very book, until my mother would make me go to
bed. It was his magnum opus."
     "But that would make the symbol...over seven millenia old, sir."
     "Yes."
     "Dominius was reviving some ancient symbology? It makes no sense." 
Tigh handed the old volume back to Adama.
     "Not reviving, Colonel. Joining. His tattoo was less than a yahren
old, according to the analysis. This...cult, is still alive and active,
after all these ages."
     "That seems incredible, sir."
     "Even so. And, I tell you this, Colonel. I have seen it two other
places."
     "Where?"
     "Once, when I was a fresh recruit. Couldn't have been more than, oh,
a secton into the Academy. I saw someone with this emblem tattooed on
their chest. An instructor."
     "Who was he?" 
     "A Sergeant Attalus. Strange man. I remember he disappeared a few
sectons after I first met him. He was found dead a secton or so later.
His throat slit. It was never solved."
     "My God. Alright, what do we do now? If there is some sort of danger
from whatever group uses this symbol...but we can't go through the Fleet,
stripping people naked, Commander. That will tip our hand."
     "And rather cause an uproar.  No..." Adama thought a moment.  "We
need to proceed with the utmost caution. We have no proof, only a
theory."  He paused and rubbed his temple.  "Yet, we need to know, need
to see if the tattoo was limited to Dominius alone.  Or connected to
others he knew."
     "How then, Commander?"  Tigh shook his head. 
     "A medical exam."  Adama said suddenly.  He looked at Tigh.  "You
need to make a flash inspection of engineering, Colonel."
     "Flash inspection?"
     "Yes. During which time, there will be a...minor leak. Everyone
exposed will have to be examined by Life Station, of course. Including
you."  Adama gave a dry smile.  
     "I see, Commander. Very clever."
     "As you can see, one of the people Dominus called repeatedly is
assigned to Engineering."
     "He'll be easy. The rest...an aide to Sire..."
     "Yes. We must go cautiously, Colonel. We daren't alarm any other
members of this group.  If there are other members-- we don't know that. 
But, if the Lyra could be sabotaged, so could the Galactica.  And while I
don't like being deceptive with my own crew, the security of the Fleet
comes first."
     "Yes, sir." Tigh turned to go. "Commander?"
     "Yes?"
     "You said you saw this symbol two other places."
     "Yes I have." 
     "And the other place?"
     "In the crypt. On Kobol."

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

     "You sent for me?"
     Cassie looked up from the files that she had been sorting to see
Chameleon take a hesitant step into the Life Station. She gave a tired
smile. "Yes. Dr. Salik asked me to notify you and Apollo." She paused,
looking down to exit the computer program with which she'd been working,
then moved around from behind the medical console. "Starbuck woke up this
morning," she said softly, catching the elderly man's eye. "Dr. Salik and
Jay and Richards are in with him now, going through some additional
tests."
     "That's good, right?" Chameleon had stopped about three paces into
the center. "Cassie?"
     Cassie approached and took his arm, steering the man towards the
waiting area seats. "Yes, it's good. Dr. Salik--" As she started to
speak, to run through the medical explanations and such, it occurred to
her suddenly that this was the first time that she had been alone with
Chameleon in the nine days since the incident aboard the Lyra. Her voice
caught in her throat.
     Chameleon studied her face. "So why aren't you in there with them?"
He grinned, trying to keep the mood light but sensing her discomfort.
     "One of the numerous side effects of trauma to the brain - to the
temporal lobe, in particular-- is, as might be expected...behavioral
changes."
     "Such as...?" The smile slowly faded.
     "Difficulties focusing, increased aggression, at times, and
a...well, lack of inhibitions  have been reported in the literature."
Cassie shook her head and gave a mirthless smile.
     Chameleon gazed at the wall. "And, ah... this seems to be the
case... now?" He wasn't quite sure how to discuss the subject with
Cassie. He knew her, at least sort of, but not well enough to bring up
intimate details.
     "Yes. Starbuck awoke this morning after Salik weaned him off the
sedatives. I was in the process of checking his vitals." Cassie chewed
her lip, her smile sardonic. "He caught me by surprise. Under other
circumstances, I'd have to call his behavior...rude, even harassing." 
     "Ahhh..."
     "So," said Cassie with a quick chuckle. Too quick, Chameleon
thought. "Dr. Salik deemed it best if, for now, he and the male medtechs
preform the medical exams."
     "I see." Chameleon studied her face. She actually seemed amused. 
But also worried... as were they all. "This can't be easy for you," he
said at length. "Do you know if he remembers any more?"
     Cassie shook her head, and then looked up at him, eyes wet. "Nope,"
she said, "Still the memory of a 17-yarhen old." 
     Chameleon was about to remark on the "normal" behaviors of many
adolescent males but stopped. A tear glistened in the corner of her eye.
"I'm sorry," was all he said. He slowly pulled her close and she buried
her face in his shoulder. As her body shook with silent sobs, Chameleon
held her. 
     Finally, she pulled back and wiped at her eyes. "Sorry," she
mumbled, looking away. "Sorry."
     "For what?" Asked Chameleon. 
     "I...uh, I mean..." she wiped her eyes again. "I got your suit wet."
     "It's alright. It's drip dry." God, he thought. Act your age, you
fool! She doesn't need your flippancy right now. You sound like...just
like your son!  "I know how hard this must be for you," he said quietly
catching her eye. "I know how much Starbuck cares for you. And you for
him."
     "It's just--" She stropped and looked away again.
     "Yes?" Chameleon probed gently. Something was on her mind.
Something... he could sense a deeper layer to her turmoil.
     Cassie took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I'm pregnant." Her
voice was barely audible.
     "Oh." A slow smile spread across Chameleon's face, and he scooped
her into his arms again. Old  fool! How ever did you miss that? "But,
Cassie...that's wonderful!"
     His reaction had startled her. "It is?"
     "Yes!" He said. "And don't ask me to explain it. It's just - it's
just..." He held her at arms length to gaze into her eyes. "Trust an old
gambler's instincts," he said, his face glowing with a genuine smile.
"This is good." And he hugged her again.
     Cassie finally pulled back. "I--" She wasn't sure what to say.
Chameleon was still grinning. "Look," she said quietly, hesitantly,
glancing at the entrance to the Life Station, "Only Dr. Salik - and now
you - know. And I want to keep it that way. For now. I think... I
think..."
     "That Starbuck should know before the others?" Chameleon asked
gently.
     "Yes. I had just found out, two days before the Lyra incident... I
was going to tell him that day, when he got back..."
     Chameleon gave her one more quick hug. "Of course, of course. I
understand--" he whispered.
     "Is everything okay?"
     Cassie jumped at the sound of Apollo's voice and swung her head
around to see the Captain and Sheba standing just across the threshold to
the Life Station.
     Cassie stood up, quickly wiping away any remaining tears.
"Relatively speaking - yes. Everything's fine." She motioned to them.
"Come on over and I'll--" She stopped. She heard voices coming down the
short passage that led to the isolation wards. Dr Salik, Jay, and
Richards.
     "... tries one's patience." Jay was saying.
     "Yes, but it also shows that he's getting stronger. Ah." Salik
switched his gaze from the medtech to the group staring in their
direction. He gave a quick nod, and Jay and Richards headed off to,
presumably, complete other tasks. The doctor smiled at the group. "Good,
you're here." 
     He glanced at Sheba, Cassie noticed, but said nothing. While
Chameleon was Starbuck's only "next of kin," technically, Starbuck had
chosen - soon after the Exodus had begun, when the doctor had been trying
to organize Fleet medical records - to list "people to notify" as
"doctor's discretion." And , really, in the past couple of sectons,
especially after the defeat of the lone basestar, Apollo and Sheba had
been together - a lot. Along with her and Starbuck. Kind of a foursome. A
close-knit group. Hanging out after triad games and patrols, either in
the OC or, more frequently, in the Celestial Dome where the four could
talk... stop! Cassie realized that Dr. Salik was speaking, and she pulled
her thoughts away from the memories.
     "... awoke this morning," he was saying. 
     "And?" asked Apollo.
     Salik smiled at the Captain's impatience. Starbuck had been under
sedation for three days - three long days, as far as his friends were
concerned, he knew. "Why don't we all have a seat in my office." He
motioned for them to follow. Once all were seated a moment later, Dr.
Salik leaned against the front of his desk, arms crossed, and gave a
reassuring smile. "Let me explain things first," he said, "and then I'll
answer your questions."
     Apollo fidgeted but nodded.
     "First, Starbuck is doing better. His recovery is on schedule - if
not ahead, even. The swelling has gone down, and the cranial scans show
the damaged area to be healing. Most of his other injuries are much
better, in fact." Salik paused as he went through the mental list. "His
arm and shoulder are almost completely healed, so we've removed the
protective bandages, and his blood and electrolyte levels are almost back
to normal. Thus, he is much stronger, physically, than when he was awake
the first time."
     "And the effects of the Tylium poisoning?" Apollo asked.
     Salik's smile faded a bit. "Yes, I was coming to that." He pursed
his lips. "Not so good. The extra filtration removed the last of the
tylium from his system, yes, but his lung capacity is not increasing and
respiratory improvement is minimal, even with the chemo-radion
treatments. Still, we need to give his body some more time--"
     "How much more?" Apollo demanded, frowning.
     "No more than three days. If he doesn't show marked improvement by
then, well... we'll have to seriously consider the bone marrow transplant
option. However, the procedure is not all that difficult and has an over
85% chance of being successful." Salik paused, letting that piece of news
sink in. 
     "Full recovery?" asked Apollo cautiously. 
     "From the Tylium poisoning, yes. However..." Salik looked from face
to face. "With the lieutenant's memory, I can offer no guarantees. Not
even probabilities." He shook his head. "Currently, he does not seem to
remember any more than he did before. And all we can tell from cranial
scans and tests is that the traumatized area of his skull is healing. But
there was damage." He watched the expressions in front of him sink, but
he also knew they wanted - and needed - the truth. He turned, and slide a
plate of Starbuck's cranium into a reader. It showed all the internal
structures of his head, the injury site highlighted. "It's a small area,'
he resumed, pointing, "but there were cells destroyed. So his brain will
need to compensate - if possible."
     "But, is it possible for him to regain his memories?" Sheba asked.
     "Yes, it's possible. Memories tend to be stored in redundant
locations. Not unlike an operator storing computer data in one or more
backups, just in case. So it's quite likely that the missing memories
have a "back-up" location in a different part of that lobe or even the
opposite temporal lobe." He sighed and let his eyes sweep across the four
faces. "Or not."
     "Well, can I talk to him?" Apollo looked frustrated and impatient.
     "Yes. In a moment, in fact," said Salik. "But."
     Apollo eyed the doctor. "What?"
     "There appear to have been some behavioral changes, maybe..." Salik
glanced at Cassie. "Unless he was just an incredibly rude and
insufferable teenager."
     Despite everything, Apollo, Sheba, and even Cassie had to laugh.
Salik looked at Chameleon. The old mobster look chagrined.
     "I only knew him as a small child. But even then, if Starbuck wanted
something, he'd find a way to get it. And, yes, hecould be...unrefined."
he looked at the rest. "All right, rude and insufferable." He couldn't
help smiling at his old memories, despite the situation.
     Apollo shook his head, a smile on his lips. "Sounds normal..."

********

     Apollo stopped in front of the door to the isolation ward and turned
to Sheba. "Maybe Dr. Salik is right. Perhaps you'd better wait outside."
     "Is that what you want?" Sheba searched his face. "But I don't mind
being there. To back you up. Provide a more objective view point. I
mean..." She let her hand brush his. "It won't be easy for you."
     "Yes, but, it's not like going into combat against Raiders, Sheba.
Besides, Salik said that..." Salik had described Starbuck as
uncooperative, surly, and convinced that he was being held in a military
hospital until the police came to arrest him. Not the most conducive of
atmospheres in which to build trust.
     "Are you worried about how Starbuck will react to me? Trust me."
Sheba gave a crooked smile. "I've heard and seen a lot, what with being
on the Pegasus. There, I was just 'one of the guys,' sometimes." She
paused. "But it's up to you. Whatever you think is best, I'll go along
with."
     Apollo took a deep breath. Initially, Dr. Salik had said that having
Sheba with him when he talked to Starbuck might be a good idea, to
provide some support - for both Warriors. Apollo had to face a friend who
neither knew him or trusted him. He could do it, he told himself. It was
no different than when he had to shut off his emotions on any mission.
Like when he and Boomer had been ordered to destroy Starbuck's recon
Viper so many sectars ago. No different, except... this wasn't a blip on
the computer screen. This was a face-to-face discussion with an
adolescent stranger - who was his buddy. Yet Starbuck...he had to deal
with - and accept - that he had lost 16 yahrens worth of memories,
including those of the destruction of the 12 colonies and Humanity's
exodus into space. Yes, having backup for this would be good... "All
right, Sheba," Apollo said. "Let's do it."
     Sheba smiled and squeezed his hand. "Right!"
Apollo knocked and waited. Nothing, so he knocked again, louder. 
     "Either let me the Hades out of here, or frak off."
     Apollo raised his eyebrows. "Probably the best greeting we're likely
to get." He took another deep breath and pressed the mechanism. The door
slid open. "Hello," he said as he stepped across the threshold. Sheba
followed, stopping at his side.
     Dressed merely in a pair of military-issued briefs, Starbuck sat
propped against pillows atop the covers on his bed. The IV lines were
gone, as was the bandage that had been wrapped around his head. Instead,
a large sterile pad was secured to his right temple. Unkempt hair, ragged
from the necessary but hasty and lopsided trim hung over his left eye.
The bruises were fading, and his skin tone seemed much closer to a
normal, healthy pink. Yet, he looked thin, thought Apollo, gaunt--.
     "Sorry, but I left my best suit at home in the closet. Stop
staring," Starbuck growled. "Oh, and get out, too. I've got nothing to
say to the you or anyone else." He waved them away, turning his head and
ignoring them.
     "Actually," said Apollo quietly, "you don't have to tell me
anything. I just... hope that you'll listen." He glanced at Sheba. "We're
just here to help. I'm Captain Apollo, and this is--"
     Starbuck seemed to notice the lieutenant for the first time. A slow
grin spread over his face. "Now *you* can question me all you like." He
ran his eyes up and down Sheba, like a real expert,  making her feel for
a moment as if she were naked.
     She blushed and felt an involuntary shiver run up her body, but
clamped down on the sensation. No wonder he has such...luck with women! 
"I didn't know they let girls be Warriors!" He patted the bed side.
"Here, have a seat, sweet lady..." 
     "Sheba," she said with a neutral smile. "Lieutenant Sheba. And I
think I'll stand, thank you."
     "Can we talk?" asked Apollo. 
     But Starbuck's eyes were still riveted on Sheba. "Why don't you
interrogate me, Lieutenant? As you can see, I have nothing to hide."
     Sheba kept her smile in place. "We're not here to interrogate you--"
     "Frakking shame." Starbuck was positively leering at her. He pulled
himself upright, sliding his legs over to sit on the edge of the bed,
facing the two Warriors..
     "We just want to talk. To explain--" Sheba broke off. And a hot
blush shot up her cheeks, again, making her thankful for the subdued
light. Despite her resolve to remain calm, regardless of what he said or
did, she could not help but notice his decidedly... male reaction... as
he turned towards her and Apollo.
     Apollo turned around to whisper to Sheba, "Maybe you should go--"
     "Frak no!" Starbuck jabbed a finger at Apollo. "I've been locked in
this room for, for... God knows how long. I've been drugged, had to eat,
breath and piss through tubes, been poked and prodded and tested and told
that I don't frakking know what yahren it is--" He paused to catch his
breath but choked instead, doubling over in a violent spasm of coughs.
     "Take it easy!" Apollo grabbed the water container that sat on the
small bedside table and offered it to him. "She'll stay, okay?" 
     Starbuck grasped the container and took small sips as the coughs
continued. After almost a centon, they subsided. Starbuck inhaled in
shallow breaths and slowly swallowed more water. He cast his eyes at
Apollo and Sheba; for a brief moment, the look bespoke fear and anguish.
But for only an instant, as he quickly averted his gaze and frowned down
at the floor. "What do you want?" he finally whispered.
     "To talk," said Sheba, "just to talk." She sat down beside him and
placed a hand on his shoulder. "We know you don't remember us, but..."
She smiled softly. "We are your friends."
     Starbuck stared for a moment at Sheba, a faint grin on his lips, a
brief glimmer in his eye as he tried to remember, but it faded quickly.
He glanced at Apollo. "But... you're Colonial Warriors. Why would I...I
mean...?" He looked away.
     Apollo pulled a chair around and sat facing his buddy. "There's a
great deal that you don't remember. A lot of yahrens, in fact."
     "Look," Starbuck said, the defensive edge creeping back into his
voice, "you all must think I'm either crazy or incredibly stupid if you
think I'll believe that it's all these yahrens in the future."
     Sheba shifted to where she could look the lieutenant in the eye,
pulling away just a bit. Starbuck reached out suddenly and grabbed her
hand. "Don't get up," he said, his voice a whisper. He released her hand.
"I mean - It's just that..." He glanced at her again, his eyes briefly
playing over her, but the look was more subdued. "If a lot more Warriors
looked like you, I'd join in an instant." 
     Sheba shot a quick look at Apollo, who had a bemused expression on
his face, then smiled at Starbuck. "But you have to know, to realize,
that you're... a bit... older than you were." She handed him the small
mirror she'd brought with her. He took it cautiously, and then looked in
it. Only those who knew Starbuck well could see the utter shock in his
eyes at what he now saw. The extra yahrens, a few lines, the unshaven
chin...
     Starbuck dropped the glass, then stared at his hands, turning them
over slowly, flexing his fingers, then ran his hands over his face, his
chin... "Okay," he admitted in a whisper. "So some things don't... quite
add up."
     "What's the last thing you remember?" Apollo asked.
     Starbuck frowned at the Captain, eyes narrowing. 
     Whether it was in thought or distrust, neither Warrior was sure.
Sheba placed her hand on his shoulder again, squeezing lightly. "Try to
trust us," she said softly. "And trust your instincts. And your eyes!
What do they tell you?"
     Starbuck switched his gaze to Sheba; she didn't need the
bio-monitors to tell her that his heart and respiration rates increased
every time he looked at her. A crooked grin stretched across his lips and
he put his hand on top of hers, gasping it tightly. "My instincts tell me
you're--"
     Apollo loudly cleared his throat and Sheba laughed, interrupting. "I
mean about where you are, what's going on." 
     Still holding Sheba's hand, Starbuck stared at Apollo, a smirk on
his face and a glint - a challenge, even - in his eyes. "She your girl
friend?" he asked.
     "Yes." Apollo met his friend's gaze and kept his expression neutral-
somehow. Inside, his own heart was racing. In all of the sectons since
Sheba had opened up to Apollo and had kissed him, before the mission to
disable the basestar, neither he nor Sheba had really discussed where
they stood. They spent time together. They enjoyed each other's company,
but they were friends. Were they more than friends, too?
     Sheba didn't miss a beat either. "We're together, yes," she said.
"Now, just tell us whatever you--" 
     Eyes locked on Apollo, Starbuck suddenly pulled Sheba forward by the
wrist and kissed her firmly on the lips, sliding his arms around to
embrace her and to keep her from pulling away. Apollo jumped to his feet
but was torn by indecision and stood staring.
     Shocked, Sheba did not react for a micron, but as he tightened his
hold, she slid her arms up against his chest and pushed - gently at
first. Starbuck gripped her more tightly and refused to break the kiss.
"Sorry, buster..." she mumbled out of the corner of her mouth. Then
shoved him-- hard.
     Starbuck tumbled back onto the bed as Sheba sprang to her feet,
panting and turning away to wipe her sleeve across her lips. Apollo
pointed a finger at his friend. "Just what was--" he started to say, his
face going red, but stopped as Starbuck erupted into laughter - a
laughter punctuated by rough bouts of coughing.
     "Got ya!" grinned Starbuck, who propped himself up on the pillows
again and grabbed the water container. 
     Apollo ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. "Okay,"
he said when he was sure that he could keep his voice calm. "May I ask,"
he said, "what that was all about?"
     Starbuck was still laughing and coughing. He took a long sip of
water, studying the Captain's face before he answered. "I'm sorry..." He
cleared his throat and made sure that his lungs had settled down. "But,
you were just looking..." Starbuck gave a broad grin. "... way too
serious. Captain."
     Apollo let out a slow breath. How totally Starbuck! The little... 
"Do you know what I think?"
     Starbuck glanced at Sheba, who stood with hands on hips and a
bemused expression on her face, looking between the two men. "No, what?"
he said at length.
     "I think," Apollo answered slowly, hand on hip, looking like he was
about to give a mission briefing, "that you are doing whatever you can to
avoid the truth. And that, my buddy..." He paused and shook his head.
"That is something that Lieutenant Starbuck excels at - avoiding painful
or emotional situations."
     Starbuck suddenly looked chastised. He dropped his gaze to the
sheets and muttered, "Look, I'm sorry..."
     "Why don't we start over?" Sheba said gently as she sat down, again,
on the edge of the bed - out of arm's reach from the wayward Lieutenant. 
     Starbuck shifted his gaze from Sheba to Apollo and back. "Right..."
he said quietly, then stared at his fingers.
     Apollo sat down and tried to read his friend's face. "What's the
last thing you remember?" he asked at length. "Before waking up here."
     "Crashing into the Caprican River in a police hovermobile." He kept
his eyes averted. "That's why I... I just assumed... that..." His voice
trailed off.
     "That happened 16 yahrens, two sectars, and four days ago," Apollo
said gently. 
     "Frak," muttered Starbuck, who was still resolutely examining his
fingers.
     "I know this must seem incredible to you," continued the Captain,
"but just a couple of sectars after the crash you remember--"
"That did happen, right?" Starbuck glanced up, a hint of desperation in
his eyes. "The wreck?"
     "Yes, it did. But just a few sectars after that, you joined the
Colonial Service."
     Starbuck snorted. "So I wasn't thrown in jail?"
     "No," said Apollo, and he explained how the teenaged Starbuck had
ended up in a hospital after the Cylon raid on Caprica. "There were so
many wounded, and the local precinct station was hit, so no one connected
you with a police call, or anything. You were just another wounded
citizen."
     "Let's say that I accept this," said Starbuck after Apollo had
finished. "I still don't see why I'd ever join the Colonial Service--"
     "Why not?" asked Apollo.
     "Because I, well... because--"
     "Because Starbuck follows no one's authority but his own?"
     Starbuck stared at Apollo. His neck stiffened a moment, and there
was a microcenton's defiance in his eyes. "Yeah," he said slowly,
"something like that."
     Apollo chuckled. "Would it help to know that you spent a large part
of your first year at the Academy finding every 'legal' way possible to
skirt the rules and do things your way?"
     Starbuck, his expression unreadable, looked from Apollo to Sheba and
said nothing. But he seemed to be mulling over Apollo's words. "It's
just..." he said after nearly a centon. "It's just that I feel like I'm
in a... a crazy vid, or something. I mean--" Starbuck frowned, chewing
his lip. He picked up the water bottle, took a sip, and then slowly
crushed it in his hand, as he stared off into space. Apollo could tell
from the clouded look in his eyes the effort it was taking for him to be
this open with them. "I mean... everybody else knows more about me than I
do." He looked down, and dropped the bottle.
     "I'm sure it's got to be really strange," said Sheba. She reached
out to touch his shoulder, cautiously.
     Starbuck stared at her hand, then at the Lieutenant. "You're brave,"
he muttered with a faint grin. "You trust me? I could tell you
stories..."
     Sheba looked him in the eyes and smiled. "And I've heard most of
them. But, yes, I do now. But," she said, giving him a friendly smack on
the arm, "if you try anything like that again, I'll deck you.
Understood?"
     Starbuck gave her a crooked smirk. "Of course." The grin faded,
though, as he slid his gaze past Sheba, past Apollo, to stare at nothing.
"So, you two going to tell me what's been going on the past 16 yahrens?"
     "Tell you what," said Apollo. Starbuck glanced at the Captain. "If
you listen - and try to keep an open mind, because I know it's all going
to sound incredible - I'll see about getting you some time out of this
place. Take you on a tour, maybe." He paused, waiting for his friend to
look up again. "What do you say?"
     Starbuck let a slow grin spread over his lips. "Deal," he said at
last.

***********
Part 17 

     The buzz slowly penetrated and suffused the sun, the sky, and the
endless flowers surrounding him, and Adama turned. He looked up, and the
whole gorgeous scene dissolved into the darkness of his quarters, and the
flashing telecom by his bed. As the tendrils of fantasy passed away into
the night, the buzzer sounded again, and he raised up on one arm, uttered
a slight curse at the time displayed on his bedside chrono, and lifted
the device. It was Tigh. At once, his tiredness vanished as he returned
to the here and now. The Galactica's exec had something, and had called,
as ordered, regardless of the hour.
     Adama was at his desk, still in his robe, when Tigh entered. The
Colonel was dressed as a maintenance worker, hard hat and all, and Adama
had to smile at the precautions his old friend was taking. Tigh had even
taken a very circuitous route to his COs quarters, lest news of the Exec
and the Commander holding secret meeting in the wee centars should become
noised about, and possibly reach the wrong ears.
     He's been watching way, way too many old holovids, Adama thought,
but said nothing, as Tigh began his report. 
     "I had to bring Corporal Komma in on this, sir, but I swore him to
secrecy, and afterwards erased the computer logs." Tigh looked the
commander in the eye. "And I trust him." Adama nodded. He lay a hardcopy
in front of Adama, and began tracing lines with his fingers. "The red are
all calls made by Dominius in the five sectars before his death. The blue
are calls back to him. The green are calls made by those he called to
others. And the orange are the most heavily used lines. As you can see, a
pattern has emerged." Tigh rotated the paper slightly. It looked to Adama
like a crawlon's web, with many lines converging on the center of the
diagram. He studied the hardcopy for several centons. Some calls could be
discounted. One to the Galactica's engineering staff, two to the foundry
ship, another to the Celestra, all about parts for the Lyra. But the
rest...
     "And this number?" Adama asked, of the one in the very center of the
web. According to what had so far been discovered, it had been called, in
the last five sectars, over three-hundred times! Even Adama, as Commander
of the Fleet and President of the Council of Twelve, didn't get that many
calls. 
     "Oddly enough, sir, that took some doing. Komma had to do some very
intense hacking to track that number down. However, it is a private suite
aboard the Saggitarius." Adama nodded. He'd been aboard the Sagittarius
only once, during an inspection tour shortly after the Gamoray operation.
The very hindmost ship in the Fleet was equipped with scanning equipment,
directed aft, to augement the Fleet's other eyes and give them a few
precious centons extra warning. The original ship so posted, an old,
delapidated mothball-fleet minesweeper named Century that had somehow
been missed by the Cylon attack on the Colonies, had been damaged by
Cylon fighters during the battle wherein the Pegasus had saved the Fleet,
and new eyes aft were needed. The Sagittarius, a huge private yacht of
almost orgiastic luxury but with a decent sensor suite, was put in her
place, and augmented over time as parts and personnel permitted. Her
Captain, an old ex-Warrior with prosthetic legs named Remus, was an
acquaitance of Adama, though he knew little of the ship's owner, Squire
Penda of Virgon, a man before the Holocaust who had been of enormous
wealth, and it was reputed, influence. 
     Penda had been a shadowy mover and shaker in Colonial politics for
yahren, first coming to prominence, out of utter obscurity, as an aide,
first prominent Virgon Sire Tennar , later to President, Adar before his
election to the Presidency, and still later to Sire Uri, then most
recently on Sire Geller's staff. No one seemed to know just what it was
he did in his role of "aid", no one who would talk, anyway, but the man
was rumored to be someone whom it was unwise to annoy. Adama recalled,
back as the Fleet was being organized and resources evaluated - during
their desperate flight from the Cylons-- that he had argued and even made
what might have been deemed threats when the Commander had mandated that
all suitable space aboard any ship, be it commercial or private, must be
used to create homes for the thousands and thousands of refugees. In the
end, Penda had been permitted to retain the title of ship's proprietor,
thus acknowledging that, if and when the Exodus ended, he would regain
full ownership of his yacht. Of the man, Adama knew very little. It had
been with little (public) persuasion that he had permitted refugees to
berth aboard his yacht (reserving the upper and most sumptuous decks for
himself), though Adama had found his sudden explosion of compassion, as
well as his smiles on the IFB just a bit...plastic, as he had the man's
hospitality during the Commander's visit. The Sagittarius had since been
replaced on scanner duty by a repaired and refitted Century, and Penda
had returned to his low profile.
     Yet, it was he to whom hundreds of calls, on a line so secure even
Adama had had to have systems hacked to find it, had been made in recent
sectars, including those from a man who had sabotaged a ship, and
threatened the lives of hundreds of refugees. Like a crawlon, in the
center of her web, Adama mused, looking at Tigh's chart once more.
Slient. Watchful. Deadly.
     "What else, Tigh?"
     "I had to bring one of the Engineers in on it, sir, and he's sworn
to secrecy as well. The 'leak' was minor, but we had to be checked out in
LifeStation, as you said. Of the twenty-nine people examined, two had the
tatoo. And, both are on this chart, sir. Large numbers of calls to and
from Dominius, as well as Squire Penda."
     "What do you have on the two in Engineering?"
     "Corporal Komma is still compiling, sir, but so far..." he slid more
papers onto Adama's desk, "Technician Second Class Chola was recruited
into the service from the Merchant Marine after we fled the Colonies. He
had wide experience with fuel pump and control systems, and has an
exemplary record. His background is foggy however, with no surviving
records beyond the Merchant Marine papers he was carrying when he
escaped. The other is Specialist First Class Jubal. He's was assigned to
various Fleet warships out of the Academy, posted to the Galactica during
her last refit, shortly before the Holocaust. Like Chola, a mostly
spotless record."
     "Mostly?"
     "He was cited for illicit use of drugs, just before the Holocaust.
No hearing was held, and disciplinary measures were foregone due to the
emergency. He was also tossed out of the Astral Lounge on the Rising Star
last sectar for a drunken brawl."
     "Oh yes. I recall something about that."
     "And, believe it or not, Starbuck was the one who broke it up."
     "Starbuck?" Adama mused a few moments. "You suggest a connection?"
     "I'm not sure, sir. And we've only checked out these few from
Engineering. There are over five-thousand people on the Galactica we have
yet to check. But Dominius was also in the Astral Lounge at the time, at
the same table in fact." He waited a few beats. "As was Squire Penda."
     "Lords of Kobol. How deep does this go?" Adama rose, and went to the
port, looking out at the stars. Hands behind his back, he turned over all
Tigh had brought to him in his mind, trying to find some connection, some
common link that would explain it all. Tigh was right, there were still
so many to check out. So...but, Siver Spar Squadron's yahrenly physicals
were coming up. Yes. He'd talk to Salik, and see to it that everyone that
came in for a medical reason from now on be surreptitiously examined for
the tattoo. "Anything else?"
     "Not so far, sir. And," Tigh sighed in frustration, "no actual
evidence of any crime, either. Nothing we could actually detain anyone
on, Commander."
     "But it is there, Colonel!" said Adama, turning to his Exec. "As
surely as I am looking at you, I know there is something afoot.
Something...something evil! I feel it."
     "So do I, sir. But how do we proceed without tipping our hand?"
     "I don't know, Tigh. I..." Adama stopped, and after a moment, Tigh
recognized the gleam in his CO's eye. Adama had an idea. "Adama?"
     "I think it's time I visited the Sagittarius again, Colonel. Don't
you?"


     Starbuck blinked and shook his head. He stared, squinting even, at
the entrance to the Galactica's Officer's Club as an odd sensation
coursed through him - almost like an electrical shock or punch to the
stomach, and it stopped him in his tracks. He knew this place, KNEW IT!!-
yet he didn't. Like a name on the tip of the tongue that hovered just
beyond memory's reach. The feeling was maddening, too, and it had been
striking him more and more frequently, especially this day. At random
moments, a sight, a face, a smell or sound, would evoke the
almost-remembrance. And then it would as quickly fade into obscurity
again. 
     As it did now. Gone. Starbuck closed his eyes and took a deep
breath. Frak, frak, frak... yes, it was a good thing. It meant his memory
was trying to return - to surface, as it were. He knew that his
perception of being only 17 yahrens old, or so, was an illusion; he could
accept that now... but it left him with no reality, only the feeling that
he was walking in a endless cruel dream. He ran a hand through his hair
and down his face. I'll be fine, he told himself, if I don't go mad
first...
"Ready?" Apollo asked in a quiet voice. 
     "Almost," answered Starbuck. The Captain had learned, over the past
two days, to let him ride out these sensations. Captain Apollo. Starbuck
glanced at him. He felt comfortable with the Warrior, felt he could trust
him - even if the man seemed way too serious and... stuffy... at times.
But he had an honest, open quality about him that appealed to Starbuck -
and must have been what had drawn him to the cadet so many yahren's ago,
he told himself. He gave it to you straight, and Starbuck liked that. But
he also had a daring - maybe even reckless - side that he managed to keep
under control... most of the time. Starbuck knew this from the stories
that he and the other Warriors had told him yesterday - if he could
believe them. But... something within told him to trust the man.
     Taking one more deep breath, Starbuck straightened up, tried to
assume his usual Diabolese-may-care air, and strode across the threshold
and into the O.C. With the nod of his head, Apollo directed him to a
vacant table in the corner.
     "Wait here, and I'll get us some drinks," said the Captain, and he
turned towards the bar.
     Starbuck snorted. "Drink? Fruit juice, you mean. That's not a drink.
Even at seventeen I knew what a real drink was!"
     Apollo smiled. "Sorry, buddy. Doctor's orders. No alcohol until this
Tylium business is under control."
     Starbuck scowled but said nothing further, sliding into a seat as
the Captain headed off to the bar. At mid-cycle, with most of the crew
either on duty or resting after the night cycle, the OC was nearly
vacant, except for what appeared to be some technician sitting in the
opposite corner with a tall java mug in one hand, a compupad in the
other, and his nose buried in a pile of forms. For a moment, the
Lieutenant stared around at what should have been a familiar setting -
I'd definitely spend lots of time here, mused Starbuck. It looked like a,
well, a bar, but a higher-class establishment than those he usually - or
rather, used to... a long time ago - snuck into. 
     Starbuck stared down at himself, at the Colonial Warrior uniform
that he wore - Lieutenant's clusters and all. This was him, now. He was
one of the hotshot pilots, the fighter jocks, or so they had told him.
And that wasn't so hard to believe - the mere thought that he could
actually race through the stars in a Viper sent shivers down his spine.
That was him, he knew, even if he couldn't remember it. He had a
suspicion that the thrill of flying, and that alone, had probably let him
endure all of the military felgercarb. Discipline! Orders! Ha! From his
weird point of view, as he thought about it, that-- putting up with too
many rules and regulations and kissing the boots, and other things, of
Colonels and Commanders - was what had kept him from seriously
considering enlisting. 
     At least, from when he could remember. True, he could have enlisted
at age 16... with consent from a guardian, because of the golmonging idea
that one was not a legal adult until age twenty. Frak, half of his foster
guardians probably would have loved to ship him off to the military - if
they'd thought he would actually make it through the program and not end
up back on the streets or in jail.
     "So why'd I sign up?" Starbuck had asked Apollo. 
     That had been a little over a day and a half ago, after the Captain
had convinced Dr. Salik that he was strong enough for a stroll down to
the launch bay. Sheba and Apollo had led the wide-eyed Lieutenant through
the corridors of the Galactica (a battlestar!), down to the launch bay,
and over to what he said was his Viper - his! Sheba had had to depart,
then, to go on patrol with a Warrior named... Jolly. Apollo, then, had
just let him gawk and admire the ship, his name stenciled on the fuselage
just below the canopy seal, climbing aboard and trying to imagine that he
could fly this baby in his sleep. If only, he had wished - then reminded
himself that he could. Or so they said. Frak! If he thought about it too
much, he would lose what little but was left of his mind!
     Finally, he had cleared his throat and had asked. Why...? And how?
He had been underage by at least a couple of yahrens.
     Apollo had told him - that he'd finally gotten tired of running from
the gang members, so he decided to take that step - to become a Colonial
Warrior. As for how? Apollo had laughed and said that his father hadn't
explained that part to him. But he could guess. "What do you think you'd
do?" the Captain had asked. "If you'd decided that you were joining the
Academy, I'm sure nothing as mundane as needing guardian approval would
slow you down."
     Starbuck considered the question for a moment, then grinned at
Apollo. "I'd have just forged my last foster parent's signature. I had it
down pat, anyway."
     "I thought so." the Captain had laughed.
     After that moment, Starbuck had finally felt a little more
comfortable, at least with Apollo. It felt right being with him. Starbuck
could sense that they balanced each other - Apollo the sensible one and
he the wild one. Thus, he had finally relaxed a bit, had let the Captain
tell him about the missing 16 yahrens. 
     "Gone, all of them?" he had asked in a whisper when Apollo had told
him the fate of the Colonies. He had felt stunned, even if he couldn't
remember any of it. It was a shock that he could forget that. He was
still trying to accept it, even after being shown all the vid records
they had of the event. The destruction of the Atlantia. The transmissions
intercepted from the Colonies during the mad race home. The evacuation of
the pitifully few survivors aboard what functional relics they could get
to fly. Carillon. Apollo let him watch as much as he wanted, silent and
unbelieving. To Starbuck, it just felt like one more weird part of this
really strange and never-ending dream. 
     "Who? Count...Baltar?" he asked, as the inevitable question of how
came to be answered. Starbuck just sat for a moment, staring  at the now
darkened vid screen,  the shock, the rage behind his eyes visible only to
those who knew him so well. How could anyone, any Human being, do
such...monstrously evil things? "I...saw him once," said Starbuck at
last. "Some public speech. Nasty looking little runt!" he spat, then
closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. He asked of Baltar's fate, and Apollo
simply told him that they didn't "know what finally happened to him",
deciding that their role in releasing the foul traitor might not set too
well with Starbuck, just as he was growing to trust again. later, but not
now.
     The first flash of recognition had come a bit later, as Apollo was
taking him back to the Life Station, as per Salik's orders. Maybe it was
because he had started to let down his defenses, as the doctor had put it
later. Maybe. But for whatever reason, a sudden sense of...
familiarity... had hit him as they had stepped off the turbolift. Like a
triad tackle, it had stopped him cold, taken his breath away, and had
left him rattled as the feeling had passed just as quickly. He had sank
to his knees, gasping, and feeling disoriented. 
     Apollo, his face filled with concern, had helped him to the Life
Station. Salik, however, had been delighted, once they explained what had
happened. "That's a first step - a big one!-- in getting you memory
back." The doctor had grinned at them. "It means that the memories are
still there, most likely, but just have to be accessed through some
different neural pathways."
     "Right," he had muttered, feeling confused and exhausted and glad
that someone was happy right now, whatever a neural pathway was...he had
just wanted to sleep. 
     The following day, Salik had released Starbuck-- with the condition
that he return to the Life Station every 2-3 centars to have his
condition evaluated and that he still spend the nights there to be
monitored. Not exactly freedom, but he was no longer confined to the
isolation ward. So Apollo had continued his tour of the Galactica,
showing him all of the areas that he would normally frequent, including
Blue Squadron's barracks and the bridge. Along the way, they had
encountered numerous people that knew him, that greeted him, slapped him
on the shoulder, joked with him. All strangers, as far as he was
concerned, but it felt good to be apart of the comaraderie. Lieutenant
Starbuck had friends. He had a...family! Starbuck belonged! Had made a
name for himself even. With a grin, he had decided that he could get used
to this, whether or not he remembered it. 
     The only time that he had felt intimidated was when he met the
Commander on the bridge. Starbuck had sucked in his breath at the sight
of the older but recognizable figure. Commander Adama. Even a a
youngster, he had seen many pictures and stories on the semi-legendary
Warrior. He was a legend to the young Starbuck.. A hero. Probably the
only one that he had had at that age,-- besides Commander Cain. 
     "Starbuck!" The Commander had actually beamed when he had turned to
see the Lieutenant standing just behind Apollo. "How good to see you up
and about! You had us really worried for a while. How do you feel?"
     "Fine," he had muttered, and had been relieved when they had finally
left the bridge. It had unnerved him to have such a great man walk up to
him and talk to him in familiar terms. 
     Like talking to...God.
     When he had explained - or tried to explain it, at least - to Apollo
a bit later, as they entered the Life Station, the Captain had laughed.
"You're probably used to being yelled at or chased by 'authority
figures.'"
     "Ha ha." Starbuck had glowered at the Captain, annoyed rather than
amused, and had marched into the Life Station without looking. Straight
into Cassiopeia. As they collided with an "umph," he had automatically
grabbed her to keep her from falling, pulling her against him without
thinking. And into a sudden rush of familiar sensations - the sweet smell
of her hair mingled with the touch of spice in her perfume. Familiar and
comforting. He squeezed her against him tightly, his eyes closed,
muttering, "Oh, Cass..."
     And then it vanished, the moment of clarity, the glimpse into
reality. A portal slammed shut yet again, like the clang of a prison
cell. He pushed her back to arms' length to stare at her, feeling as if
he had been kicked in the head. He knew her, he knew her... yet, she was
a stranger. "Felgercarb!" he had muttered, barely noting her astonished
face, and had let go, brushing past her and an open-mouth Salik. He had
retreated to the isolation ward. Once alone, he had scrunched his eyes
closed and pounded his palms against the wall and kicked a chair into
it's afterlife until the anger had drain away into tears of frustration.
Spent, his hands bruised and burning, he had sank to the floor.
     Eventually, Dr. Salik had entered the room, kneeling down beside
him. No lectures about "this is normal and good, things will get
better"-- Starbuck would probably have slugged him, had he tried.
Instead, he said quietly, "Did it help?"
     The Lieutenant had glared at him for a brief moment, then gave a
long sigh. "Yeah, but now my hands hurt like Hades..."
     Salik had given him a local painkiller and recommended that he take
a break (doctor's terms for "let me give you a sedative," Starbuck
realized a bit later). Still, he had been too exhausted to argue. Even
the little bit of exertion he'd had that day, of getting out and walking
around, had left him tired and shaky and short of breath.
     Thus, he'd said a quick goodbye to Apollo, had avoided looking at
Cassiopeia, and had crashed into a deep, drug-aided sleep. Until almost
the next morning. As the sedative had worn off, dreams had invaded his
mind - a tangled web of what might have been true memories and obvious
fantasies. 
     Still, he had awakened feeling better, restless and ready to get out
again. They'd been planning to spend time in the O.C. that past evening,
but had never made it. So Apollo had promised him they'd head that way
after he took care of the duty roster - with the Lieutenant's help.
     "You think studying all those names will jog my memory?" he had
asked, raising an eyebrow. "Sounds incredibly dull." 
     Apollo chuckled. "And your opinion hasn't changed in 16 yahrens."
     However, as they walked to the Squadron Leader's office, as they
worked, as they dropped by Blue Squadron's billet again, the memory
flashes started. After the first centar, Starbuck knew to stop, take
controlled breaths, and to keep himself calm while the sensation passed.
The feeling was so unsettling, though, that he could not be sure if he
remembered more afterwards, or not. He remember the flashes, the sounds
or smells or images, the faces that flitted across his mind, so close yet
so mockingly far, but were they actual memories, or just reflections of
things should remember? He didn't know, couldn't be sure. And if he
thought about it even briefly...
     Apollo was watching him, he finally realized, waiting. Starbuck
grinned at him, clamping down on the unsettling feeling that he wasn't
gaining memories-- but slowly losing his mind. He glanced at the mug in
the Captain's hand and the vessel in front of him and wrinkled his nose.
"Ah, you didn't... fruit juice?"
     Apollo smirked at him. "The only time I've seen you drink java was
after really nasty hangovers."
     Starbuck jabbed a finger at him. "You are enjoying this far too
much."
     "What?" Apollo raised his eyebrows.
     "The fact that you know more about me than I do."
     Apollo feigned an innocent expression. Then his face grew more
serious. "So," he asked, "feel up to some company?"
     Starbuck gave him a quizzical look.
     "One of the perks of being in charge of the duty roster." Apollo
grinned again. "I made a few adjustments so that a bunch of the gang
could join us in, oh..." He glanced at his chrono. "About 30 centons."
     Starbuck took a cautious sip of the juice, wrinkled his nose, then
said, "A party, huh?"
     "Except that no one will be drinking anything more than java or
juice, since they'll all be on duty - technically."
     The Lieutenant chuckled. "Okay, so long as I don't have to play tag
with Taggs." He stopped, rigid, then looked up at Apollo. His mouth
silently formed the word... Taggs? He brows scrunched in concentration,
as he fought to hold on to a tiny crawlon web of memory. But as he
grabbed frantically at it, it retreated back into the dark, mocking him.
"Taggs?" he asked again, aloud this time.
     "A pilot. KIA during the Gamoray operation." Apollo waited, but it
seemed Starbuck had recalled all he was going to for the moment. "Hey,
buddy," said Apollo, hand on Starbuck's shoulder. "You've remembered
something. That was a flip joke you used to make. It surfaced. Other
things will."
     "But..."
     "No buts." Apollo said, managing to both smile warmly and give  his
"captain" look at the same time, "It just takes time.  For now, let's
just enjoy the moment."  He took a slow sip from his mug., then gave a
loud sigh.  " It's not often that either one of us has had time like this
in the past yahren to just lounge around and talk."
     Starbuck grinned "Ah, but the moment would be even better if we had
some real ambrosa..."
     Neither Warrior, as they talked, had noticed that the lone
technician had quietly slipped out.
********

     Somewhere else on the Galactica, in a deserted, seldom-used
corridor, someone picked up a telecom, and keyed in a number. He waited
as it buzzed and buzzed, but at last, there was a voice on the other end.
     "Yes?"
     "Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Starbuck are in the Officer's Club. 
I heard the Captain say that a bunch of their friends will be joining
them soon."
     "When?"
     "In about...thiry centons."  A pause.  "It's sooner than we had
planned, but I thought this might suit our  needs."
     "Indeed," said the voice.  "You know what to do."
     "Yes."

*******
Part 18

    Adama watched the Sagittarius draw closer, as his shuttle wove it's
way through the Fleet. He patted the small package he was carrying, and
felt his mind go two ways. One, he felt like a cunning hunter, skillfully
laying a trap for his prey. The other part felt like a heel, lying and
using the IFB to do it.
     Ah, politics...
     "On approach now, Commander," said Croad, piloting the shuttle.
Adama acknowledged him, and looked again at the ship. The Sagittarius'
landing bay was small by military standards, most of the ship having been
given over to luxury appointments, but Adama didn't really care about
that. All he wanted was to get aboard, get the job done, and then get the
Hades Hole out of Serenity.
     Squire Penda was a man of over sixty, slightly over medium height,
with golden-blonde hair now turning to grey. His eyes, piercing blue, had
the effect of lasers when he wanted them too, his glare something very
disturbing to try and endure. His face, once that of a handsome, film
actor type of man, was now showing the signs of a life of
self-indulgence, as was his waistline. But he was still quick and agile
in his movements, as he demonstrated to Adama as he welcomed him, and the
crew from IFB in his private quarters, quarters a visiting Ambassador
would not have had at the Presidential Compound on Caprica, or a Fleet
Admiral on a planetside base. Given the conditions most of the survivors
of the Colonies were forced to endure, it was bordering on the immoral
for such Sybaritic excess to be the province of a single individual, and
it made Adama angry. However, seeing that Penda had so openly and freely
given so much to others, Adama had no grounds to do anything about it. 
     For now.
     Penda offered his guests drinks, and warmly answered Zara's rather
pointless questions. He smiled, even flirting with her a bit, and shook
hands with Adama, as the Commander presented him with a plaque,
handsomely carved from Virgonian elm from Penda's native world, with a
auric plate on it, inscribed with words praising the Squire for his
efforts on behalf of others, his selfless devotion to his fellow
survivors, and so on. As Adama had hoped, the Squire, a man of enormous
vanity, hung it at once upon a wall amidst myriad other trophies, photos,
and valuable antiques, which he had to show off to Zara and her
cameraman. After this, they chatted for a while longer, Zara lapping it
up like her last meal, and then, with regrets he tried so hard to make
look real, Adama had to go. Penda understood, and saw his guests to the
shuttle bay.
     After the Commander was gone, Penda returned to his quarters, and
looked at the plaque again, smiling. He kept on smiling as he went to his
bar, poured himself a large drink, and then ordered dinner from his
valet. His repast was, unlike those being consumed several decks down,
sumptuous and replete with delicacies such as few men even before the
Holocaust could avail themselves of. As he stuffed his self-satisfied
face, Penda congratulated himself on how completely and utterly both the
IFB and that fool Adama had been taken in. Soon, soon it would be time
for his next move. He looked at his chrono. Yes. Any centon now.


     "Well?" asked Adama in a hushed voice, as they shuttled back to the
Galactica. Zara and her crew were in the back, out of earshot.
     "Comin' in loud 'n clear, sir," replied Croad.
     "The plaque?"
     "And the one I planted in the head, sir," nodded the guard from
Proteus Prison.
     "Excellent." 

********

     "Three-quarter pyramid! Anyone beat that?" Starbuck grinned smugly
as he spread his cards out for all to see and leaned back in his chair,
propping his feet up. He stared around the table from face to face. 
     "I'm out!" said Giles disgustedly, tossing his cards down.
     "Me too," echoed Greenbean and Jolly. 
     Bojay met the Lieutenant's gaze, and put on an air of triumph. "Just
a three quarter pyramid?" he asked, grinning. "Well, check this out!" He
slowly spread out his cards. Except for the quiet murmurs from the
handful of other patrons, silence enveloped the O.C. as the otehrs
studied his hand. In addition to the five players sitting around the
octagonal game table, Apollo, Sheba, Boomer, Athena, and Cassiopeia sat
in chairs gathered around the group. They peered over shoulders. The
silence lasted only a micron, though.
     "Bojay, you don't even have a cornerstone!" Jolly snorted as he
picked up his own cards and flung them at him. The other did likewise,
and the room erupted with laughter.
     "Same as always, Bojay!" chuckled Starbuck, "full of hot air! I--"
He froze. 
     The grin on his face dropped into a furious frown as once again, an
almost-memory surfaced for a micron, taunting him with its remembrance,
then flitted away. The laughter had stopped as abruptly as if someone had
flipped a switch. Starbuck looked up to see all of his friends - or
rather, strangers who were supposed to be his friends-- all staring at
him. He slammed his fist against the table, making the cubits bounce, and
pushed himself to his feet, turning his back to everyone. Even more
irritating was the wave of dizziness that washed over him with the sudden
movement. Starbuck staggered a bit and leaned against the bar for
support. 
     Apollo and was at his elbow in a instant, but he brushed him off.
"I'm fine!" he growled through gritted teeth. Then, noticing the circle
of concerned faces, he took several slow breaths and said more loudly,
"Really, I'm fine." He forced a smile.
     "Another round of drinks, then!" Giles grinned and waved to the
barkeep.
     Starbuck wrinkled his nose. "Count me out. No more of that fruit
juice."
     Everyone laughed - nervously, at first, but then the awkwardness
faded, and they were back to joking and teasing each other. Greenbean
scooped up the cards to deal another round. "You in, Buckers? Or do you
want to let some the rest of us win?"
     "Yeah," said Jolly. "Geesh, you actually play better without your
memory! When was the last time he actually had this many winning hands?"
He grinned around at the group.
     "Uh..." Boomer chimed in, "never!" The others laughed. "Must be a
side effect." 
     "Well," quipped Starbuck, "then maybe I don't want my memory back."
He paused, as Cassie slid next him where he was still leaning against the
bar. "I'll give you all a break, boys and girls. Play without me," he
said, gazing at the med tech with open and unabashed admiration that
actually made Cassie blush.
     "Starbuck!" she said, but she was smiling, too.
     Boomer slipped into the Lieutenant's seat to join the next game, and
the attention focused, to Starbuck's relief, away from him. Athena, he
noted - now there was a hot babe!-- stood behind Boomer's chair, hands
resting lightly on his shoulders. It didn't take a genius to see where
her interest lay... And Sheba? He glanced at her to see her laughing
quietly and nudging Apollo in the ribs as they watched the others. Yeah,
he recognized two love avians when he saw them! 
     He turned his attention back to the beautiful, blonde Cassiopeia.
She was watching him with an intent expression, studying him, looking way
too serious. "So," he said, grinning at her, "is it true that you and me
are rounding?" 
     Cassie's expression wavered briefly, as if she were not certain, at
first, how to respond, but then her lips curled into a coy smile. "You
bet, fly boy." She ran a finger down his cheek, and Starbuck felt as if
he would blast out of his boots. "Maybe we can have our own private party
later and get to know each other..." She nuzzled his cheek and let her
tongue dart across his ear lobe. "... all over again."
     Starbuck took a deep breath to steady himself. In all of his
seventeen yahrens or so of memories, nothing matched this. Sure, he'd had
every teenaged boy's fantasy of taking the beautiful women to bed - in
fact, that had been one of his primary (and, yes, unrealistic, he knew)
visions of what life as a Warrior might be like. But this... he stared
with open lust into Cassiopeia's eyes, and she gazed back at him, her
expression alluring, inviting, playful... This was real. This was his
lover. Frak, how could he not remember the times - and she assured him
that there had been plenty of times - when the two of them had...
     As he gazed at the medtech, enraptured, another voice, a new voice,
finally filtered through his licentious thoughts. 
     "Mind if I join you?" the voice said. "Apollo had said there was a
get-together, but I was delayed."
     Starbuck still stared at Cassie, but something had caught his
attention. What? He had no idea. But his mind was drawn to that voice. 
     "Aw, come on," said Jolly with a mock whine, "we just got done
losing to Starbuck, and we thought we'd get a break!"
     "Gentleman, you haven't played pyramid until you've played with
Chameleon!" The old card sharp chuckled amiably. "Let an old pro show you
how it's really done!"
     Wham! It was as if a crack in the dam had suddenly ruptured. All of
Starbuck's memories began flooding back. All of them. He remembered
everything - Apollo, Cassie, Athena. The past yahren fleeing from the
Cylons and searching for Earth. The Great Destruction and the yahrens
before that. The Academy. He knew who he was, where he was - and more.
     The blood pounded in his ears; the feeling was overwhelming. He took
rapid breaths as a face, a vision, flashed through his head. He squeezed
his eyes shut, and grunted as if in pain. A scene from long ago- he
didn't know from when, but he knew, in that instant, that it was real. A
thin, wiry man with light brown hair and sparkling blue eyes sat down at
a table in the local pub, flashing a grin as he said - as he said every
time he joined the game there, "You haven't played pyramid until you've
played with Chameleon..." As his young son gazed on...
     Starbuck turned around slowly, deliberately, holding onto a chair
for support. His heart was beating against his chest as he locked eyes
with Chameleon, who had stopped in his tracks, suddenly aware that
something had changed. The Lieutenant vaguely heard Cassie asking what
was wrong. But he was oblivious to the other faces staring at him, at the
deluge of concerned questions. "Chameleon," he whispered, staring in
disbelief. But the face was the same, if much older.
     "Starbuck?" the man asked. "Is everything okay? You look pale..."
     "I know who you are," he whispered. He felt light headed, and his
breaths were coming in uneven gasps, making it difficult to speak. "I
remember--"
     "That's great!" The room erupted into shouts and cheers. His friends
crowded around him, slapping him on the shoulders, on the back, not fully
understanding as they congratulated him. 
     "How much do you remember?" Apollo had stepped in front of Starbuck,
breaking the line of sight with Chameleon, and he looked at the captain
in confusion. "What?"
     "What all do you remember?" he asked.
     Starbuck focused on his friend for a moment. "Everything. I remember
everything..."
     "That's wonderful!" Apollo clasped his friend by the shoulders. But
then the Captain's grin faded as he finally noticed Starbuck's distress.
"You okay?"
     Starbuck stared blankly at Apollo as his mind struggled to process
everything, including one new bit of information that had suddenly been
jumbled in with the rush of returned memories. Without saying a word,
Starbuck pushed the Captain aside and took an unsteady step past him. He
gazed once more at Chameleon, who still stood where he had stopped.
"You..." he said, his voice barely audible as he pointed a shaky finger
at the man, "I remember. I can remember."
     "That's great," said Chameleon weakly. The others had finally
noticed that something was wrong and had stopped to stare at Starbuck. 
     "I can remember," he repeated. "You. I remember you. Your voice
hasn't changed..." The Lieutenant took a deep breath. "Not a bit. You
sound the same. Just like you did that night. That night you went away.
Left us...the Cylons came.. So why--" his voice caught in his throat, and
he coughed to clear it. "So why did you lie to me?" It was a whisper, but
the tone was still filled with raw pain.
     "Starbuck, I..."
     "All of you!" Starbuck abruptly whirled to face his friends. "Did
you know? You had to know - why--" He was staring around from face to
face, his eyes blazing, crazed, even, overwhelmed. He caught sight of
Cassiopeia, who had slunk back against the bar, her face ashen white as
she stared at him. Her expression told him all that he needed to know.
"You knew," he muttered. "You had to. You ran the tests." He suddenly
looked close to tears. "Why, Cass, why...?" He choked back a sob. "Why in
Kobol's name would you lie to me about this?"
     "Starbuck--" she began.
     "It was me," said Chameleon, loudly.  "Not Cassie.  I--"
     "No!"  Starbuck roared, his face crimson, the veins in his neck
bulging.  He swung around from face to face.  "You frakking lied to me,"
he yelled, at everyone, at no one.  Then he locked eyes with Chameleon. 
"You.  Frakking. Lied." He jabbed a finger at him to punctuate each word
and stared in fury, gulping down breaths, coughing, as his self control
hung by a shred.
     "I just... I just didn't want you to--"
     "No!"  Starbuck took two paces so that he was nose to nose with
Chameleon, staring at him, seething.
     Behind him, Bojay and Jolly had quietly ushered most of his friends
out.  Only Apollo, Boomer, and Cassie remained, knowing that nothing
anyone could say, at this moment, would matter.
     "Frak it all!"  Starbuck shoved Chameleon, hard, and stormed out of
the O.C.  "Stay the Hades out of my life, damn you!" he shouted over his
shoulder.
     The man stumbled and tumbled back into the chairs around the
deserted game table.  Boomer dashed to help him.  Apollo shook his head,
then rushed out after his friend.  Cassiopeia stood frozen against the
bar, still in shock from the sudden turn of events, as the barkeep stared
in amazement and horror at the scene he had just witnessed.

******

     "Sir?" said Tigh, entering his COs quarters. Adama gestured towards
the data pad on his desk, and went back to staring out the window at the
stars. Tigh picked it up and activated it. As he read, his brows
knitted,he scowled, then looked up at Adama. "It's incomplete."
     "But another nail in his coffin, Tigh," said Adama, turning back. 
"We have him, on the record, communicating with someone here on the
Galactica, ordering 'the go-ahead. Then, in the next sentence, 'Adama
will suffer.'"
     "Do we arrest him now, sir?"
     "I'm not sure. If we do, before anything happens, then we risk
having his followers rise up. Or worse, having no grounds on which to
hold him.  But if we wait too long..."
     "I see, sir. But if I may say so, we should strike first."
     "How so?"
     "Remember the Cylon base we discovered, on Mutlek, thirty-seven
yahren ago?" He waited while Adama mused. "We stumbled on it. I was all
for waiting for back-up. But you said we should go in, despite having
only ten fighters, and rely on surprise."
     "Yes. Yes, I remember," smiled Adama. 
     "And we won. And now, like then, we should go in. Strike before our
opponent knows we're on to him."
     "And of course, not inform the Council."
     "Naturally."
     "Alright, Colonel. We--"
     Adama was cut off by a rumble, in the deckplates beneath their feet.
The room rocked, and a klaxon began to scream. 

******

     "Starbuck, wait!" Apollo rounded the corner of the corridor at a
full sprint, expecting to see his friend disappearing past the far turn.
Instead, he almost tripped over him. The Lieutenant sat in a heap on the
deck, all energy spent. Sweat poured down his pallid face and his eyes
looked dazed, unseeing. He was gasping and wheezing, his chest heaving as
he tried to suck in air through shallow, rapid breaths.
     "Lords of Kobol," the Captain muttered as he knelt next to his
friend. "Starbuck, can you hear me?" Bleary, unfocused eyes turned his
way. "It's okay," Apollo said as he glanced around, looking for an
emergency panel in which he would find a breather. He saw none. He put a
hand on Starbuck's shoulder. "Just hang in there for a centon. I'll--"
     KA-BOOM!
     The door to the OC vanished in a ball of flame, the explosion
rocking the deck and knocking  Apollo on top of Starbuck. Fire and debris
ripped past the turn in the corridor. Instantly, the emergency klaxon
sounded, and the lights flashed red.
     "Holy frak!" the Captain cried as he untangled himself from
Starbuck. "That came from--"
     "What was it?" whispered the Lieutenant. The sudden adrenaline rush
had cleared his senses, and he struggled to get to his feet.
     "No, stay here!" commanded Apollo, hearing cries and shouts from
within. He sprinted back towards the O.C.
     Starbuck ignored him. Still breathing in wheezing gasps, he
nonetheless moved as fast as he could, until he stumbled across the
threshold to the club. And froze in his tracks.  The scene inside was
horrible. Through the smoke, he could see several forms towards the back,
on the floor and slumped across tables. The ceiling was hanging down in
tattered chunks, hot cables were sparking, and debris was scattered
everywhere.  He caught a glimpse to his right of Apollo, who was shouting
something as he lifted -Boomer?-- out of a jumble of debris and
furniture.  For a micron, Starbuck gaped at the horrid scene, too shocked
to move. 
     Then someone screamed. A woman's voice. His Warrior training kicked
in, even as the putrid, black smoke hit his lungs.  Gagging, sputtering,
coughing, Starbuck still managed to reach for an extinguisher and pull
the pin. Through  the dark haze, he saw her, writhing in the fire.  He
pulled back on the lever, and the boraton foam smothered the flames.  As
the smoke abated, he could see the form of the woman.  She was still, her
clothes charred and burned, and she--
     Recognition finally hit his dazed mind.    "Oh my God!" Coughing and
retching, his lungs burning, Starbuck scrambled forward desperately, but 
his legs gave out beneath him. He tumbled down.  Someone behind him
shouted his name, and strong hands grabbed his shoulders, pulling him up. 
And back.  He tried to protest, but a roar filled his ears...he felt his
heart hammering, felt his chest  being squeezed as if in a vice as he
gasped for air. Everything suddenly narrowed to a pinpoint.  "Cass..." he
mouthed as oblivion took him.

*********

     Commander Adama, lips pursed, brow furrowed, stopped as he crossed
into the Life Station to survey the scene before him.  And how he hated
these moments-- bodies charred, limbs ripped, the doctors struggling like
demons to try and save them.  Usually, however, they came after a
grueling battle against the Cylons.  But not this time.  The eight 
casualties  that either lay in the biobeds or sat, still looking stunned
while they waited to be evaluated by a medtech, were the victims of a
human - human!-- attack.
     Four were cadets, two men and two women, with whom he was not
familiar. Three were huddled around the prone form of the fourth.  To the
left of them, Lieutenant Boomer sat next to Chameleon on a biobed. The
older man's face was covered in blood, one arm was held rigid as if in
pain, but he seemed alert.  Boomer, his right arm wrapped in a temporary
sling, looked tattered and weary as he stared at the floor or glanced
occasionally at the warriors gathered around them - Jolly, Giles, and
Greenbean-- who, Adama knew, had assisted in the evacuation of the
wounded. Next to them, Sheba, Apollo, hair singed and face smeared with
soot, and Bojay stood solemn and silent around Lieutenant Starbuck, who
lay, unmoving, with a breather covering his face.  Still, Salik had
informed him, by the grace of the Lords of Kobol, while most were
battered and bruised,  they were not seriously injured.  With two
exceptions. His eyes paused on the lone form that lay shrouded, the one
fatality. Pansa, the barkeeper. DOA. The sight made the bile rise in his
throat. 
     "It's disgusting," muttered Tigh beside him, his voice rasping,
thick with anger. "If only we had figured it out sooner. Maybe--" He cut
off the thought.
     "Yes..." was all the commander said.  He took a deep breath, holding
firm to his professional detachment, as he noted that the eyes of the
others flickered frequently to him, then to the door behind which the
doctor and his team worked to save the final victim: Cassiopeia.  She and
the barman had been the closest to the explosion.
     "Somebody," said Jolly, his voice low and brittle. "Somebody is
going to pay! By God, I swear it, someone is gonna PAY!" He capped the
sentence by bringing his fist down on wall next to Boomer's biobed,
rattling equipment.
     "Hey, Jol, calm down," Greenbean began, but the rotund Warrior
turned to him, teeth gritted. 
     "He's saved all our lives. How many times? None of us would be alive
today if it weren't for Star.. Star..."  He broke off, burying his head
in his hands, the sobs coming like laser blasts. Even when another
medtech entered to begin the evals, he didn't stop. "There could have
been a lot more people in there!" he said. "We could have been in there -
Should have been in there! What kind of sick person does this?" He took a
deep, jagged breath as he glanced from Starbuck's prone form to the
closed doors. "If she doesn't--" He broke off, burying his head in his
hands once more.  Normally Jolly lived up to his name, and could take
even the tragedies with a calm acceptance; no one could ever remember
seeing him like this. Yet, they knew why.  The aftershock of knowing that
a person - someone with the clearance to be aboard the Galactica, no
less--  had tried to kill them all was mind numbing.  All of them had
seen the horrid results: Pansa torn and burned almost beyond recognition,
and Cassiopeia, a friend... His buddies put arms around Jolly, trying to
comfort their comrade.
     A moment or two later, Athena came in but stopped in horror at the
sight of her brother. Lt. Croad was behind her, and he handed a data pad
to Adama. The Commander read it, and the temperature in the room dropped
about twenty points. The Commander stared at it for a long time, eyes
narrowing, face rigid as death. Slowly, he handed it to Tigh. The
Colonel's hand began to shake as he read it, his face somehow even more
filled with fury than before. 
     "Someone is going to pay," said Adama, almost in a whisper. He
looked around, then at Tigh. The Colonel nodded, then moved to follow his
CO out of the room. He almost stumbled as someone bumped into him.
     "Wha...?"
     "My apologies, Colonel" said Chameleon, letting Tigh hold him up,
while he reached down with his good arm to retrieve the fallen data
reader. "I hate to impose, but could you help me to the turboflush,
please?"
     Tigh grunted an assent, and did so. Once he was alone in the tiny
cubicle, Chameleon looked at the data chip he'd purloined from the reader
under Tigh's nose, and slipped it into a secret compartment in his boot.
Then he looked at himself in the mirror, face like stone.
     "Yeah. Someone's going to pay."
     He stayed in the turboflush long enough to make it look good, then
returned to the main ward, his mind hard at work. He barely noticed it
when a medtech guided him to a biobed to examine him and to take care of
his arm and other bumps and scrapes.
     Jolly had settled down and kept mumbling, "Sorry," to those around
him.  He, Giles, Bojay, and  Greenbean had pulled up chairs to wait,
because none of them intended to leave a micron before they knew how
Cassie was doing.  Bromus and Liel, the attending medtechs, had not even
bothered to suggest that anyone wait outside.
     "Hey, forget it," said Boomer, who sat propped up on the biobed,
waiting for Bromus to return to heal his broken arm.  It was a hairline
fracture, and once mended, would feel as good as new.  But for now, it
throbbed like Hades.
     Boomer glanced at the worried face of Athena, who was leaning
against the wall between his bed and Starbuck's, and  was about to make
another comment, when a moan caught his attention.  Boomer turned to gaze
at his buddy.  The lieutenant was coming around.  Starbuck  moaned again,
rolled his head from side to side, then struggled to sit up.  Apollo and
Sheba, still next to him, gently pushed him back.  "Take it easy," said
the captain.
     Starbuck stopped and blinked, squinting at the two faces, and tried
to speak, but all that emerged was an inaudible croak.  He cleared his
throat and tried again.  "What...?"
     "Do you remember the explosion?" asked Sheba quietly. Her eyes
darted around to see all the concerned faces watching. Though not badly
hurt, much of her hair was singed, and her uniform would soon be for the
recycler.
     "I--" The lieutenant glanced quickly from Sheba to Apollo.  He
frowned, then sat bolt upright.  "Frakking Hades!"  He tried to scramble
off the table, nearly knocking off his breather, but Apollo held him
back.
     "Just hold on.  It's okay.  It'll be okay."
     Starbuck grasped his friend's shoulders but stopped struggling. 
"Cassie.  What happened to Cassie?"  he whispered, searching Apollo's
face to the answer.  What he read sent a chill through his gut. "No..."
     Apollo locked his gaze with the lieutenant's.  "She's not dead," he
said slowly.  "But she was badly injured.  Dr. Salik is working on her
right now.  We'll know more soon."
     Starbuck released his hold on Apollo and sank back against the wall,
staring at nothing.
     "How do you feel?" asked Sheba after a moment.
     The lieutenant turned to look at her, started to speak, but then
just shook his head, closing his eyes.  "Like mong," he finally
whispered."I felt better in the swap on Atilla."
     Sheba could not help but notice how rough and wheezing his breaths
were.   She didn't want to say it, but he looked like mong, as well.  She
put a hand on his cheek to offer comfort but pulled back in surprise. 
"He's burning up!" she whispered fiercely to Apollo.  "That can't be from
breathing smoke after the explosion.  I thought--"
     The captain bit his lip and shook his head.  "No," he said so that
only Sheba could hear, and Starbuck, if he were listening, but he
appeared to be dozing.  "I talked with Salik this morning.  All of this -
the fever, the wheezing, the weakness - it all means that the Tylium
poisoning is getting worse.  A lot worse."
     "So what's going to happened?" Sheba asked, quietly, her eyes
brimming with tears of frustration and anger - at everything that had
happened both that day and two sectons previously, when Starbuck and
Boomer had been caught in the middle of the disaster aboard the Lyra.
     Apollo glanced around at the silent solemn, faces of their comrades
before answering.  Giles was staring at the floor.  Jolly sat staring at
his fingers.  Bojay paced back and forth like a caged feline.  Greenbean
sat backwards on the chair, straddling the seat, head resting on his
hands as he watched Bojay pace. Boomer, who was gazing at Apollo,
listening, it seemed, sat cross-legged on the biobed.  And  Athena,
Apollo noted absently, had moved closer to the Warrior.  She gave Boomer 
a quick, gentle smile as she slipped her hand over his, before gazing
back at Apollo. She, too, it seemed, was waiting for her brother's
response.
     The captain let out a slow, deep breath.  "The doctor said the next
step would be the bone marrow transplant.  His marrow's ability to make
functional heme protein for his red cells is being slowly destroyed by
the residual tylium. He--" 
     Heads swung up at the sound of an opening door.  But it was just
Chameleon, leaving the treatment room as he flexed his now mended arm,
with Bromus behind him, headed towards Boomer.  "You're next!" he said. 
Boomer squeezed Athena's hand and slipped off the biobed to follow the
medtech.
     Apollo watched Boomer's path cross with Chameleon's and frowned as
the older man didn't even look up when he nearly bumped into the
lieutenant.  Instead, he headed straight for the exit, his face skewed in
deep concentration.  That's odd, thought the captain.  "Chameleon!" he
called, puzzled. "Chameleon!"  he repeated, louder, when the man either
didn't hear him or ignored him.
     "What - yes?"  The older man finally stopped to stare at the
captain.
     "Where are you going?" he asked, his voice filled with confusion.
"I'd think that you--"
     Chameleon glanced at the doors, then back at Apollo, his expression
wavering. "I have some... business I have to finish," he said at last.
"It won't wait."
     "Let him go," came a hoarse but fierce whisper. Apollo turned to see
Starbuck propped on an elbow, glaring at his father.
     A pained look washed over Chameleon's face. "Starbuck, look, I'm
sorry... I'll explain. I promise--"
     "There's nothing to explain," snapped Starbuck. "What could possibly 
be more pressing? And you certainly shouldn't feel obligated to stay on
my account, even if Cassie--" He stopped abruptly and took a ragged
breath through the breather as his eyes clouded. "You... I can understand
not telling me, but Cass..."
     Chameleon's face went hard and he jabbed a finger at his son. "Don't
blame Cassie--"
     Starbuck struggled upright.  "But she knew," he said slowly, staring
at nothing for a moment, his brow furrowing.  Then he glared at the older
man.  "You both knew. And lied--" He began.
     His face crimson, Chameleon suddenly took three quick strides,
shouldered past Apollo, and grabbed the Lieutenant by his tunic. He
yanked him to his feet like a rag doll. "Now you listen to me, boy!" he
said with a passion, an intensity, left everyone in the room staring at
him in shock. "It's me, just me, that lied to you. I made Cassiopeia
promise not to tell you." He glared unto Starbuck's stunned eyes, his
body shaking, his knuckles white as he gripped his son's uniform.  "She
wanted to tell you - of course she did!-- but I convinced her to wait, to
let me do it. And now she needs you, Starbuck..  She needs you more than
ever right now."
     "Well, I don't--" The lieutenant had regained some of his own ire.
     "She's pregnant, you dolt!" Chameleon shouted, and Starbuck's eyes
went wide. The words rang through the silence as everyone  watched the
confrontation between father and son. "You think an old man can't
recognize the signs? Yeah. You did her, so now you need to stop acting
like a spoiled equus' astrum, and do some growing up, boy! Act your
frakking age, Starbuck, and stop feeling so damned sorry for yourself!"
     He paused to take a deep breath, and when he continued, his tone was
softer, calmer, pleading even. He let Starbuck go, and the Lieutenant
sank back down on the bed, dazed, his face ashen.  "Please, don't blame
her, son. Blame me. I had my reasons. And maybe I can somehow explain
them to you, but..." He glanced at his chronometer. "I really have to go.
It's urgent."
     With that he turned and strode for the exit, leaving a stunned
Starbuck to gape after him.  Before he crossed the threshold, however, he
turned and locked eyes with his son. "Please, be there for Cassie. She's
going to need you. Your child's going to need  you." And then he was
gone.

*************
Part 19

     Chameleon's footfalls echoed against the metal deck through the Life
Station, even after he had disappeared and the door had hissed shut. For
nearly a centon, no one moved nor breathed, it seemed; all stared in
astonishment and disbelief at the closed portal, trying to get their
minds around all that had transpired. And all that had been said.
     Finally, a calm, deep voice broke the stunned silence. "I think
she'll be all right."
     All heads swung around to see Dr. Salik standing just outside the
entrance to the surgical unit. His scrubs were wrinkled and
blood-stained, his face exhausted, but he wore a tired smile. He gazed
around at the faces, watching their expressions flow from shock to a
weary relief. His eyes settled on Starbuck, who had pulled himself
upright again, but looked close to total collapse; his breathing, even
under the mask was raspy and labored, his complexion was pallid, and his
eyes glazed from the shock of all the events and from the fever. "How is
she...?" he managed to say in a breathy whisper.
     "Damn near lost her twice. Her heart stopped once, but she should be
okay, now." he said, noting the questioning look in the others' faces.
"In a couple of sectons with lots of rest and support." He walked slowly
over to the Lieutenant, easing him gently back down onto the biobed, and
began checking his vitals even as he continued to speak. "She had burns
over 60% of her body, but we were able to treat them, so they should heal
with little or no scarring. She also had several shrapnel injuries from
the flying debris. The worst was a piece that pierced her chest, just
missing her lung and her liver. That's what took us so long to remove and
to treat. It was very close to the heart." 
     "But you said she'll be fine?" asked Sheba, not daring to believe
the good news after the horror of the past centars.
     "Yes," he repeated. "Dr. Paye is with her now and keeping a close
eye on everything."  He paused, frowning at the medical scanner as he
studying the readings of the Lieutenant's chest, but then continued. "But
it'll take time for her body to heal, even with the biochemical
treatments, and," he said slowly, turning his gaze towards Starbuck, "as
Chameleon said--"
     "How much did you hear?" asked Apollo, surprised that no one had
seen or heard the doctor enter. But then again, all eyes had been riveted
on Chameleon's dramatic display.
     "Enough," answered Salik. He had inserted an IV line to Starbuck's
left wrist and activated a fluid cell so quietly and efficiently that
even the Lieutenant had not noticed. "And, yes," he added in response to
the look on everyone's face. "She is pregnant. About two sectars along,
that's all." He locked eyes with his patient. "She was going to tell you,
but never got the chance, because she found out right before disaster on
the Lyra."
     "How...?" Starbuck started, but speaking had become too difficult.
"Will she...?"
     Salik could read the question in his eyes, though, as he deftly
exchanged the breather for an oxygen mask. "The baby is unharmed," he
said quietly with a gentle smile. "But that's all the more reason why
Cassie will need you." He paused. "So it's high time we knock out this
Tylium poisoning, once and for all." 
     "Can you?" asked Boomer. He had emerged from the treatment room in
time to catch most of Salik's explanation. He wasn't sure, exactly, what
else he had missed, but while Bromus had been mending his arm, he had
heard raised voices. With a quick scan of the ward, he had to guess that
it had involved Chameleon, given that the old man was no longer present.
That could wait, though. One look at Starbuck sent a chill through his
gut. He lay on the biobed, eyes closed, his face ashen, and his chest
heaving as he tried to breath. He looked... deathly ill. 
     "Yes," answered the doctor. His eyes flickered to his bioscaner.
"But," he added, keeping his tone matter-of-fact, "the sooner the better.
Breathing in all that smoke after the explosion has exacerbated the
condition." 
     Boomer bit his lip and frowned, silently cursing Dominius once more.
He had been fortunate, the doctor had informed him just that morning; his
latest scans had shown almost no trace of tylium left in his system, and
he felt almost back to normal. When he had asked why he was better and
Starbuck wasn't, the doctor had pointed out that his friend had had the
added trauma of severe fluid loss, which had further reduced his ability
to fight the effects of the poisoning. And, it seemed, Boomer had some
sort of natural resistance to the toxic material that Starbuck did not,
further protecting him.
     Salik motioned to Bromus, who had followed the Lieutenant into the
main ward, and gave him some brief instructions. The medtech nodded and
hurried off. The doctor turned back to the concerned group. "I need for
everyone to leave, for now," he said quietly but firmly. After a moment,
he added, "And I need Chameleon." 
     "Chameleon?" Jolly asked, giving Salik a puzzled look. He, Giles,
Greenbean, and Bojay had climbed to their feet, preparing to leave, but
paused at the doctor's last statement. The Warriors glanced at the exit
trough which the man had disappeared only centons earlier. 
     "I've already run the tests," Salik explained. "Starbuck needs a
bone marrow transplant, and the only truly compatible donor is his
father." He turned towards Apollo. "If you can handle notifying Chameleon
that I need him back here right away, I'll make final preparations for
the procedure." He paused, then added, "As soon as possible. The
degeneration in just the past couple of centars is much worse than I
would have expected."  He locked eyes with the captain.  "If we don't
knock this thing out, and damn soon, within the next 24 centars, it'll be
too late."
     "Count on it!" responded Apollo through gritted teeth, motioning for
Sheba and Boomer to follow him out as he burst into a sprint. 
     The door whooshed shut, and a heavy silence permeated the Life
Station.  Dr Salik gazed for a moment at his patient, and for the
briefest micron, let his professional mask drop.  "Frak," he muttered. 
In the desperate rush to save Cassiopeia, he, Dr. Paye, and the other
medtechs had all missed the telltale indictors - if they'd even been
present earlier-- that the Tylium poisoning had jumped to the critical
stage.  "Chameleon," he whispered, "we need you back here.  Now."

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

     Chameleon moved as quickly as he could down the corridor, without it
seeming like he was running. He stopped at a junction, to catch his
breath, and calm himself. As his pulse rate dropped back down, he looked
down at his boot, wherein lay the purloined data chip. 
     Lords of Kobol, How? After all these yahren? No, I can't be
mistaken, not about him. Those eyes. I know those eyes...
     "May I help you, sir?" asked a Warrior, someone in a Corporal's
uniform that Chameleon had never seen before. 
     "Uh, yes. Can you direct me to one of the public comm centers,
please? I just left Life Station, and I need to call someone on my ship,
but I'm afraid I'm rather lost on a Battlestar." He smiled his most
charming smile, and it did the trick. 
     The young man led him to a junction in the corridors, then to
another. There, where four corridors met, were small booths, set into the
bulkheads. Inside were standard communications sets, with both handsets
and vid screens. Chameleon thanked the Corporal, and moved to one of
them. As he hoped, the unit had a data chip reader/recorder, just like
the public communits in the Colonies. Making sure he was alone in the
deserted junction, he reached into his boot, and drew out the chip. He
slid it into the nearest machine.

*******

     "But Penda is both influential, as well as the head of this cult,
sir," said Tigh, as they headed back to Adama's quarters. "If we move too
openly, we risk a possible uprising among his followers."
     "Exactly why we don't move quite so openly," replied Adama, at last
catching sight of his door up ahead. "We play it cool, as Starbuck would
put it." The door slid open, and they went inside.
     "What's your plan, sir?"
     "We have to get him alone," said Adama, sitting down at his desk.
"If we hit him on his own ship, he could send a signal out before we knew
it, and God alone knows how many murders or acts of terrorism we'd have
on our hands. And he must be disgraced publicly as well. No hint of this
being done in a corner, Tigh. We hardly need another special on IFB."
     "Agreed, Commander. So...  He is on Sire Gellar's staff at last
report," said Tigh.  "I say we let Gellar know what's going on.  Then he
can call a staff meeting in Council Chambers, perhaps? "
     "Exactly. He would have no reason to refuse, nor any reason to be
suspicious." Adama punched a few buttons. "I want Croft and his team to
be concealed about the Council Chamber, ready to move. Once we play the
scans we got from the bugs aboard the Sagittarius, no power in the
universe can save Penda from disgrace, and conviction." Adama punched a
few more buttons, then reached up. Let me see that data pad again, Tigh."
     "Right here, Commander." He handed the unit to his CO, and Adam
turned it round, and pressed the button.
     "It's blank!" said Adama, brows furrowing. He tried again, but still
the screen was empty. He turned it over, and...
     "Gone?" said Tigh, taking the unit back. "The chip is gone? But it
was there, when we were in the Life Station, just a few centons ago, sir.
You saw it."
     "Yes, but what could have..."
     "Who did you give it to, Colonel?" 
     "Why, no one. I didn't even set it down anywhere. All I...I dropped
it, when..." He locked eyes with Adama.
     "Chameleon!"

 
     There were a number of shuttles in the Battlestar's huge bays,
waiting for clearance to depart for their various ships, or holding for
incoming traffic. From his hiding place amidst a group of civilians
awaiting their rides, Chameleon listened to the PA announce an incoming
patrol, which would delay the departure of the shuttle back to the Senior
Ship. He smiled. That suited him just fine. Like the rest, the small
private shuttle from the Sagittarius, due to land in four centons, would
have to hold, while the Viper patrol landed. Looking about him, he took
stock of his fellow civilians.
     "Oh, my apologies sir!" he said, with just the right amount of
obsequiousness in his voice. The other man, a hulking civillian worker
aboard the Battlestar waiting for his own ride back to his billet, tipped
his hat to the old man, and let it go. He turned away, and missed the
smile on Chameleon's face. Chameleon turned back, pated the satchel he
was carrying, watched the Vipers land, then the target of his plan a few
centons later.
     Now, where's the head?

******

     Adama, intent on getting back to the Life Station, had taken only
two steps from behind his desk when the door signal pinged.  But before
he could respond, the portal swooshed open and Apollo rushed through,
words spewing from his lips. "Father, we've got to find Chameleon!"  He
stopped, panting, shoulders heaving, staring at his father.  Behind him,
Sheba and Boomer looked equally breathless.
     The commander frowned and pursed his lips, his mind working rapidly. 
"Chameleon's not in the Life Station?  I would have thought... then where
is he?"
     "I have no idea, Father," said Apollo. "That's just it.  He left
there, right after he was through having his arm treated. Just behind you
and Colonel Tigh. He...said some things to Starbuck, then looked at his
chrono."
     "He said he had something urgent to take care of," added Boomer.   
     Adama nodded, still frowning.  Yes, I'm sure. Then he put a hand on
his son's shoulder.  "Apollo, what is it?"
     With barely a pause to breathe, the Captain explained what Salik had
told them - and why they needed to find Chameleon.  Now.
     The commander let out a long, slow breath, closing his eyes briefly. 
Then he turned to Tigh. "Colonel, I want all Security personnel on the
lookout for Chameleon."
     "Yes, sir."
     "But keep it low key, please. No announcements over the circuit, no
pictures on every screen. All we need is Zara gumming up the works, and
letting him know he's wanted."
     "Why?  What is it he's done, Commander?" asked Sheba and Boomer at
once.  Apollo gave his father a questioning, confused look.
     "It isn't what he's done, people." Adama said slowly. "It's what I'm
afraid he may do."

*********

     The cargo compartment aboard the shuttle was cramped, even by Fleet
standards. But, Chameleon reflected, he'd been in tighter places
(literally!), and every ship had to adapt to the needs of the fleeing
survivors. If lubricants, industrial solvents or ancient grime from a
boraton drum got on the obscenely expensive Hasari spice carpet, well, so
be it. For now, the cramped surroundings suited his purposes very well.
He was virtually invisible to the shuttle's scant crew, which meant he
was virtually invisible to their master. Checking out the drums...
     Ah, perfect!

**********

     Penda sat, cold drink in hand, and indulged in a few centons of pure
sulk. He'd just gotten a message from Sire Gellar, that there was to be
an emergency meeting of the Sire's staff in a centar, aboard the
Galactica. Lousy timing, he told himself, just as he had a glorious
evening planned. But, he sighed, duty before pleasure. If Sire Gellar
wanted a meeting, so be it. His spies had not yet brought him word of
what was so fracking important, but given Gellar's truly cosmic
brainpower, it certainly couldn't be all that much.
     The things one must suffer on the road to power, he mused, as he
finished his drink, and got up. He looked at the chrono on the wall. The
shuttle deadheading it back from the Galactica would be here in just
under twenty centons. Just time for a quick turbowash before heading out.
     Sadly, the breathtaking blonde down on deck four would just have to
wait to get her rent...adjusted.

*********

     Chameleon was, for one of the few times in his life, glad that he
hadn't been born a hulking specimen of Humanity. The empty barrel he was
hiding in, smelling, nay reeking of machine oil, was a tight fit, even
for one of his wiry dimensions. His study of the schedules had,
naturally, paid off well. This shuttle, delivering cottage industry
products to the Battlestar, was deadheading back, hence the empty barrels
and containers. Once aboard the Sagittarius, he could easily slip away
once the cargo hold was emptied.
     He peered out through the lifted top of the container. The pilot was
bent over the controls, the Sagittarius dead ahead in his viewports. He
could hear him ask for clearance and receive it. A few centons later,
they had swung around the luxury ship, and disappeared into the landing
bay. Chameleon patted the satchel, feeling comforted by the lump of the
laser pistol within. As he contemplated the action ahead, he felt the
shuttle lurch slightly. The yacht's own gravity had taken over, and they
were aboard at last.
     "Lords of Kobol," he whispered, "guide me."
 
 **********

     "And Chameleon is the only hope?" asked Sheba, in Life Station. She
stood next to Apollo, who was staring, stony-faced, down at his friend. 
     "It is for Starbuck," replied Salik. "The tylium is destroying his
ability to manufacture healthy red cells. More and more of those being
produced are defective, depriving him of oxygen. "Salik paused a moment,
as he inserted the blood pack into the machine, for transfusion into the
sick Warrior. "Now, in most bone marrow cases, we'd clone new marrow,
from the patient's own stem cells. A perfect genetic match, no
rejection."
     "Why not here?" asked Apollo.
     "Time," answered Salik. "While we can clone most tissues and organs
from the patient's DNA, it is still a slow process. To grow enough marrow
to actually be able to transplant it would take about three sectons,
minimum.
     "How much time does Starbuck have?" asked Sheba, voice low and
brittle.
     "A few days, at the most. All these transfusions are just staving
off the inevitable, Sheba. By the end of the secton, barring a miracle,
Starbuck will die."
     "You're sure? I mean..."
     "It's a generous estimate," replied Salik, understanding Sheba's
questioning of the prognosis.
     Apollo took a deep breath, trying to comprehend, to accept, the
doctor's words when only that morning Starbuck had seemed so much better.
Yet, it was also hard to believe everything else that the ensuing centars
had brought: sabatoge here aboard the Galactica, one man dead, and
Cassiopeia alive only through the quick and expert actions of both Salik
and Paye. And a child.... Apollo snapped his attention back to the
doctor. "But how can that be? He was doing so well just this morning."
     The doctor chewed his lip. "That's the unpredictability of Tylium
poisoning, I'm afraid. It can hit the critical stage in the blink of an
eye, it seems. The victim's body, detecting the falling level of oxygen
in the tissues, will suddenly kick in with a rapid production of red
cells - which only serves to greatly exacerbate the problem" Salik
paused, studying the monitors for a moment. Then he continued, "Now, I
have actually begun the culture to clone the marrow for him, just in the
extremely unlikely event I'm wrong. But, we need Chameleon, and we need
him fast."
     "And there's no other possible donor?" asked Apollo, his voice a
thin whisper.
     "No. Starbuck has a very rare tissue/blood type combination. The
only other possible donor would be his child. And that, of course, is
impossible."
     "Damn Dominius," muttered Apollo, hands scrunched into fists,
looking down at his dying friend. "DAMN HIM!" 

**********

     "Given us the slip?" said Adama, trying to keep it bottled in for
now. "How in Hades Hole could one old man give Security and everyone else
'the slip', Colonel?"
     "It seems Chameleon somehow managed to..acquire the ID badge for
someone else. A man named..."Tigh consulted his data pad, "Cramer. A
civilian worker aboard the Galactica. He's part of the crew that
maintains our life-support and air filtration systems. He berths aboard
the Celestra the rest of the time."
     "And?"
     "And, he recognized Chameleon's likeness as the man who bumped into
him down on the landing deck, waiting for a ride back to his ship.
Somehow, Chameleon managed to filch Cramer's ID badge, and replace it
with his own. Cramer used it to get aboard his shuttle, but never
bothered to look closely at it. They all look alike if you don't examine
the likenesses too closely, sir. And he's used it countless times."
     "We'll have to do something about that. And?"
     "When the call went out for Chameleon, the computer traced him to
the shuttle heading for the Celestra. By the time we figured it out,
Chameleon was gone."
     "What about Cramer's ID badge?"
     "No record, Commander. It hasn't been used since Cramer logged off
his duty shift, over six centars ago."
     "That old renardus. I see where Starbuck gets his... All right,
Colonel. Forget subtilty. I want an all-points out for Chameleon. Inform
Sire Solon I want a warrant issued for his arrest. Use the open channels.
He is to be detained immediately, and returned to the Galactica."
     "What charge, sir?"
     "Theft, Colonel." Adama thought for a moment. "But I will wager you
a month's pay, Colonel, that I know where he's heading."
     "The Sagittarius ?"
     "Yes. After all, he most likely saw-- then stole-- the data from
your pad."
     "And our computer sweep shows he activated a public data reader
right after leaving Life Station. All those chips are interchangeable,
Commander. If he read that file..."
     "Then he knows that Squire Penda ordered the bomb planted. It's not
a huge leap to realize that he was most like behind the incident on the
Lyra, either. So, because of Penda, both his son and his grandchild's
lives are hanging. He wants revenge, I would be willing to wager,
Colonel. One can hardly blame him, I suppose. But we know what sort of
person he used to be, what sort of 'code' he lived by. We must stop him.
If he kills Penda..."
     "Then we may never learn how deep this cult goes."
     "Exactly, Colonel." Adama thought a moment. Prepare my shuttle,
Colonel. Transmit the warrant to me there."
     "Sir, you're going..."
     "After him."

*****************
Part 20

     Having once held a job as a cargo handler, Chameleon decided he now 
understood the point of view of the freight, too. Whoever was offloading
the barrels and crates was about as gentle as a Cylon. He held himself
rigid against the barrel walls, and decided he'd kill the cargo handler
later. Once the stuff was off-loaded, he peered out of his temporary
prison and found himself in a small storage area filled with other
containers. Carefully, he lifted the lid entirely off  and set it aside,
then climbed out. he looked down, studying himself. His clothes were
ruined, smeared with machine oil from inside the barrel, but he didn't
care. he briefly wondered if his old suit discarded aboard the Galactica
had been found yet.
     Oh well, dirty greasy clothes will only help you fit in better,
Cham. Pretty soon, it won't matter.
     He was just replacing the lid when the door slid open, and someone
entered. he turned away quickly, hoping to pass.
     "Hey, what are you doing here?" asked a gruff voice. Chameleon
mumbled something by way of answer, but it didn't seem to satisfy the
other. "Hey, buster!" said the other, griping Chameleon by one shoulder
and spinning him around, "I asked you what the Hades you were doing in
here. You know that Squire...Hey! You're not one of the maintenance crew!
Who are..." He never finished, crumpling to the floor as Chameleon's
laser did it's work. He stuffed the weapon into his coveralls, searched
the other's pockets for his ID tag and switching them, then drug the limp
form behind some crates, tossing a tarp over him. He looked down at his
pistol. STUN. There was a time when he would never have just stunned
someone. Had the years and events truly changed him, or was he still that
person who killed without a second thought? He shoved such thoughts out
of his mind, and left.

******

     Penda sat, combing his hair in the mirror. Or rather what was left
of it. Though narcissistic and self-centered to an enormous degree, Penda
was undeniably not the man he once had been. Lean, muscular, and a real
ladies man, he had, via years of drink and self-indulgence, become
somewhat wide in the belt, with thinning hair, reddish nose, and baggy
eyes. Still, his ego still saw himself as Squire Stud, and all his
primping in the mirror served only to stroke his self-love. 
     As it did his insatiable lust for power. He reflected, as he
primped, on plans gone wrong. As president Adar's right-hand man, he had
been assured of a rise in rank to Sire, and the Presidency eventually,
upon Adar's assassination. Then, Baltar's treason had ruined everything,
and he found himself part of this miserable fleet of refugees. Sire Uri
had been useful in getting back into the stream of things, until the fool
nearly got them all killed at Carillon. Though he loved indulging his
many appetites as much as the disgraced Councilman, Penda understood, as
Uri never had, when to reign it in, and when not to. When he wormed his
way onto Gellar's staff, he resumed his plans, wheeling, dealing, and
when necessary intimidating those who needed it. Gellar, the Council's
Mr. Clean and Pure, never realized what a serpent he had at his side. The
fool! And the absurd cult suited that purpose well; loads of stupid,
desperate people, willing to grasp at anything that might ease their
sufferings. He'd known about the cult for yahrens of course, having once
been an initiate himself, but only here did it present him with the
opportunities for power.
     And power he would have. Once Gellar was gone, and he rose to the
Council, he could then make use, not only of the dirt he had collected on
virtually every member, particularly Sires Domra and Antipas, but with
loyal cult members in vital positions, he could become not just defacto
ruler of the Fleet, but ruler in open fact. They would cease this stupid
search for the fantasy world of Adama's, and settle somewhere that
actually existed. A shuttle accident, he mused? or perhaps some illness
of the elderly? Whatever. Then, with a real world to rule and hold...
     Too bad about Dominius, he told himself, as he rose, and pushed the
button for his valet. A good man, but unbalanced. Ill too, from what his
spies had told him. A dying man. Perhaps it was that illness that had
caused him to move several sectons too early, and torch the Lyra before
everything was in readiness. They'd never know, but the incident had
forced him to accelerate things as well. Adama, Apollo, and the other
main group of pathetic synchophants that always hung around the Commander
had all been scheduled to be removed, but unforseen survival of those
Warriors on the Lyra and the encounter with Dominius had meant questions.
Way too many questions, with some of the answers coming dangerously close
to home. Killing both Warriors, in the presence of numerous other people,
was a desperate attempt to stall things, until he was ready. He hoped it
would be enough.
     He pressed the button again, wondering why his valet was so slow to
respond. He wasn't angry. yet. But it was unlike Glyn to be tardy,
whenever...
     "Ah," he said, as he heard the door to his quarters slide open.
"Dallying with the ladies again, Glyn? I was beginning to think you
weren't going to..."
     He stopped, as he turned and saw the man who had entered. Tall and
thin, he wasn't Glyn, nor was he dressed as a valet. In fact, his clothes
were smeared with grime, and his face as well. Still, neither oil nor
time could hide the memory of who it was. Certainly not the why of his
presence. Penda looked down at the laser the man held, then up at the
face he remembered from so many yahren ago.
     "Chameleon!"

***********

     "Colonel?"
     "Incoming traffic, Commander," replied Tigh. "Cree's patrol,
followed by the supply shuttle from the livestock ship."
     "I see." said, or rather growled, Adama. "Minimum time until we can
launch?"
     "Seven centons, sir."
     "Any response from the Sagittarius?"
     "None, sir. Her comm channel is silent."
     "Damn! Just...damn!"
 
 
     "You recognize me Fadlan, after all these yahren," said Chameleon,
voice as cold as death. "I suppose I should be flattered."
     "Oh I never forget a face, Cham," said Penda, trying to play it
cool. "Certainly not yours. Older, grayer. But still the same face we all
knew and loved." He walked slowly towards the wet bar, and held up a
bottle of obscenely expensive Hasarian ooka fruit brandy. Chameleon shook
his head slowly. "You really should, Cham. You've no idea how much it
cost me."
     "In lives as well as cubits no doubt, Fadlan. Or should I say Penda?
Your new identity was practically foolproof, I admit. All these yahren I
thought you were dead."
     "As I wanted people to think. Operating in my new capacity was so
much easier as Penda of Virgon, than Fadlan of the Poros family." He
raised his glass in toast. "Don't you agree?"
     "What happened?"
     "I was going to ask you the same thing, brother. After all..."
     "Don't brother me, you boray. You and I..."
     "We were members of the same Family, Chameleon. Made members. We
were bonded. Like one." Penda/Fadlan took another sip. "You betrayed
that. You knew what the consequences would be."
     "You were going to murder my family. I..."
     "You..."
     "To Hades with the Poros! My wife and baby were no part of that,
Fadlan. They had no part in any of that world."
     "She shared your bed, the baby shared your blood. They shared your
guilt as well. That's how it is, Chameleon."
     "Not in my world, you puke."
     "Well, the Cylons sort of settled matters that evening, didn't they,
Farmer Cham?" Fadlan smiled, and it wasn't a nice one. 
 
 
     "Commander!" said Croad, in the shuttle's pilot's seat. "We're
getting something from the bugs on board the Sagittarius."
     "Give it to me," ordered Adama.
     "...wife and baby were no part of that, Fadlan. They had no part in
any of that world." 
     "She shared your bed, the baby shared your blood. They shared your
guilt as well. That's how it is, Chameleon."
     "Not in my world, you puke."
     "Fadlan?" said Tigh. "Who's he talking to?"
     "I don't know, Colonel. But I suspect...Get me Corporal Komma, in
the Library Section," he said to Croad. 
     "Sir!"
 
 
     "How did you get away anyway?" asked Fadlan, moving away from the
bar, Chameleon's laser still pointed at his chest.
     "I'm not sure. After the first Cylon blasts, all I remember was
waking up, and seing my house in flames. The limo with you and Poros in
it was still burning. I just assumed."
     "Logical," nodded Fadlan. 
     "But a mistake nonetheless. And you?"
     "Much like you. I remember the explosion, then came to in a stand of
tall grass by the road, found the car burned out, and not a living soul
in sight. I must have leapt from the car at the last millicenton, I don't
know. Poros and Chester were beyond my help, but aside from burned hair
and clothes, and some considerable pain, I seemed alright, so I limped
back to town, and lost myself."
     "You certainly didn't lose Poros' money."
     "Well with him dead, why let it go to waste? I hacked a few
accounts, recovered a few stashes, and umm...disappeared."
     "And the face?"
     "A plastic surgeon I knew was only too willing to help. He'd done
the Boss any number of favors before. Helping various people disappear.
He did this, then I helped him disappear. Permanently, I'm afraid."
Fadlan sat down on his huge leather sofa, and crossed his legs.
     "And your new identity?"
     "A little research turned up the name of someone who'd died as a
child in a Cylon raid. With the right palms greased, and the right data
bases hacked, I...reinvented myself. I spent most of my growing up on
Virgon anyway, so the accent and background knowledge were as easy as
mushies." He kept smiling, and his calmness puzzled Chameleon for a few
moments, till he remembered what a cunning customer Fadlan could be. 
     "If you are waiting for your henchman to come and kill me, Fadlan,
don't hold your breath."
     "Oh?"
     "He's out in the corridor, and not likely to respond, along with
your valet. I also shot out the comm suite up on the flight deck. No
messages. Don't worry. I put her on autopilot, but it will be some time
before anyone comes calling."
     "Well, that was very unkind of you Chameleon, I must say. To treat
an old friend like that after all these yahren." He smiled again, and
Chameleon was tempted to burn him down right now.
     "Well, I never was much on the social graces, Fadlan. Now..."
     As he spoke, a door slid open, one cunningly hidden until now as
part of the wall, to the left of the sofa. In a blur, a man emerged, and
a laser bolt sizzled past Chameleon, burning him as it went. But the old
man was not so slow as it might seem. He returned fire almost at once.
His first shot missed, burning a hole in the wall mere centimetrons from
Fadlan's head. The next sizzled it's way into the gunsel's chest, and
with a gurgled cry of pain, he went down. Fadlan took advantage of the
distraction to draw a weapon from his sleeve, but a shot from Chameleon
fried a huge hole in the sofa next to him, and he dropped it. The room
reeked with the stench of fried leather and flesh, but Chameleon didn't
care. He stepped back, and motioned for his old enemy to get up. 
     "Might I ask where we're going?" asked Fadlan, much of his smugness
gone now, as Chameleon frisked him, gun to his head.
     "You might. But who said I had to answer? Come on."
     "Look, Chameleon," said Fadlan, a hint of desperation coming into
his tone, "There's no reason we can't come to some sort of.. well, deal.
I can make you a very rich..." He stopped as Chameleon blasted the floor
at his feet, mere millimetrons from his toes, so close Fadlan could feel
the heat. He looked back up, and saw a face as clod and unfeeling as
death.
     "I said let's get moving." 
 
 
     "We have clearance now, sir," said Croad.
     "Launch!"
     
**********

     "How did you find me, anyway?" asked Fadlan, moving slowly towards
the door. "I did a better than fair job making sure no one could find
me."
     "I recognized your picture."
     "No way. Plastic surgery, hair..."
     "You can change the shape of your nose. Your jaw. Your hair color.
Your skin paled a bit. Even the pitch of your voice. But not your eyes,
Fadlan." Chameleon locked gazes with his one-time partner in crime.
Fadlan looked down at the floor, then back up. "Yeah. You never forget
the eyes, Fadlan. Not the eyes of someone who looked into yours, and told
you they were going to kill your wife. Your son. And laughed."
     "But how..."
     They know all about you, Fadlan. Commander Adama, Colonel Tigh, all
of them. They had this place bugged up the astrum." He pulled a small
(stolen) reader from a pocket, and tossed it at the other. Fadlan hit
play.
     "Excellent," Fadlan heard himself say, the small screen replaying
the captured video from the hidden sensors. "Once the two Warriors are
dead, there will be nothing to link us to the Lyra affair. If the bomb
kills more than just Starbuck and Boomer, so much the better. It will
have that fool Adama looking in twenty different directions for clues."
     "Shall I call you when it's done, sir?" asked the voice on the other
end of the commline.
     "Of course not, Nils. A bomb on the Galactica will get all the
coverage it needs, once that bitch Zara at IFB gets wind of it!" Fadlan
laughed. "Once the Warriors are dead, we can breathe a bit easier."
     "Yes sir."  
     It clicked off, and Chameleon yanked it back from his foe. "Imagine
my surprise, my shock, when I saw the image of you, on the screen of
Colonel Tigh's reader in Life Station. No way in Hades would I ever
forget your eyes. So I relieved the Colonel of it, and made sure." His
gaze, one which had set many men to trembling once upon a time, now had
the same effect upon Fadlan.
     "Okay," he said, obviously nervous, "but why do you care, Chameleon?
I never touched your wife or son. The Cylons took care of that. Hades, I
didn't even know you'd survived, or were on the Fleet. Why come after
me?"
     "I was in the Officer's Club, when the bomb went off." Fadlan's eyes
narrowed. He was clearly confused.
 
 
     "Sir," said Croad, "incoming message from Corporal Komma." Croad put
it up on the shuttle's monitor.
     "Yes, Corporal?"
     "Against all odds, I found an entry for the name you wanted, sir." A
photo came up, of a young man, with slicked-back black hair and somewhat
swarthy skin, with a police ID number under his face. Handsome in a mean
sort of way, the thing that struck Adama most forcefully were the eyes.
They were cruel, as if they had been intended for a shark, and someone on
the assembly line had gotten careless. Vicious, even, Adama decided. This
was one nasty piece of work, this Fadlan. "Fadlan, member of and enforcer
for the notorious Poros Crime Family on Caprica. Seventeen arrests for
everything from bribery to murder, only one conviction, sir. Served two
yahren for assault. Was indicted, along with his boss, Godfather Poros,
on multiple charges of everything from statutory rape to bank fraud to
murder, when he disappeared in 7322. His boss was found dead after the
Cylon raid on Umbra, but the other corpse could not be identified, and he
is still listed as wanted. The Poros Crime family collapsed shortly
therafter."
     "Thank you, Corporal."
     "Anything else, Commander?"
     "Yes, Corporal. Please but make a back-up of that file for me, and
forward one to Opposer Solon's office."
     "Sir."


     "Starbuck is my son!" said Chameleon, in a voice so low it almost
qualified as a whisper. The other's eyebrows went up a notch. "Yes,
against all the odds, he survivied the raid, survived the damned
fostering system, became a Colonial Warrior, and ended up on the one
Battlestar to escape the Holocaust."
     "Starbuck?" Fadlan was obviously surprised. "Your son..?
     "You got it, Fad," said Chameleon, using his old nick name for
Fadlan that the other hated. In his native dialect, Fadlan meant
abundant, full, or blessed. Shortened to just "Fad", it meant "fat".
"Like a gift from God to an old man, I got my son back. And while I might
forgive an attack on me, I draw the line when it comes to my family."
     "Look, I..."
     "I am going to kill you, Fad, and believe me, there is no bribe in
the entire universe you could pay that would make me forget what you've
done. I know it was you who convinced old man Poros that I was trying to
kill him, when I was loyal. Loyal!! It was you who killed the friend I
wouldn't as a test of loyalty. And now it's you who tried to kill my son
and grandchild."
     "Grandchild? But Starbuck isn't..."
     "Cassieopiea, the  senior med tech on the Galactica. She's carrying
my grandchild, and may well yet die thanks to your bomb. So, you can see
you have alot to answer for."
     "I..."
     "You said it yourself, Fad. Guilt..." Chameleon turned as the door
to Fadlan's suite opened, and someone in a crewman's uniform entered. The
fellow stopped, and Fadlan used the opportunity to take a swipe at
Chameleon. The laser flew from his hand, discharging at the same time. It
blew a hole in the floor, then clattered there itself. The crewman cried
out in alarm, and Chameleon was knocked down by a blur. When he recovered
himself, Fadlan had the laser in his hand, pressed against the other's
head.
     "Hold it, Chameleon! Hold it, or I blow his head off!"
     "You can't get away, Fadlan! You'll never get off this ship!"
     "Just watch me, you fracking..."
     Fadlan didn't get to finish, for the crewman, a boy of scarcely
fifteen yahren, suddenly raked his boot down one of Fadlan's legs. Fadlan
cried out in pain, then got a back kick that grazed his knee. He loosened
his grip, but managed to get off a shot before backing out the door.
     "Are you alright?" asked the boy, of Chameleon. "What the Hades was
that all about?"
     But Chameleon did not answer. He moved to the corpse of the dead
gunsel, and grabbed up his weapon. Racing past the youth, he was through
the door, and was gone.

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

Part 21

     Dr. Salik stared with pursed lips at the monitor above the biobed.
Pulsating green lines marked the beating of two hearts. One followed a
slow but steady thump-thump pattern. The other fluttered in a quick
thump-thump-thump rhythm, maintaining a solid 140 beats per centon. Good,
mused the doctor, smiling to himself. All readings looked acceptable, at
least. He gazed down to the quiet form on the bed. She looked peaceful,
with her quiet face framed by golden strands of hair. Her breathing was
easy, he noted, as he watched for a micron the slight but steady rise and
fall of her chest. The only telltale signs of her ordeal were the silver,
protective bandages that covered most of the left side of her body, from
her cheek on down, and the uneven cut to her hair where the doctor had
trimmed off the singed strands. 
     Salik gave a long slow sigh and said a silent prayer of thanks; she
would be fine. The baby should be fine. The internal injuries would heal,
and with the aid of the protective, biomedical bandages that formed a
temporary second skin while expediting the regeneration of her own
epidermal cells, her burns would heal quickly with little, if any,
scarring. In a secton, all should be well...
     He hoped.
     He switched his gaze to the biobed next to Cassiopeia's, and closed
his eyes briefly, biting his lip. The breathing mask pumped pure oxygen
into a system that rapidly was losing its ability to transport the vital
element through his blood stream. The respirator kept his breathing at
constant pace, but his heart rate had increased even further as it fought
to overcome the deficit that even the steady flow of transfusions could
not stave off much longer. The doctor did a mental check as he glanced at
nearly empty blood packet. 10 more units, thats all they had of the O
negative blood type. In the ten days following the disaster on the Lyra,
Salik had been building up the supply, knowing that the Tylium posioning
in both men could turn critical... as it had with Starbuck, but with only
57 available donors, they could only stock pile a limited amount. And
now, Lieutenant Starbuck was using the units much more quickly than they
could collect new ones. In two days, even if he pushed the donors to
their physical limits by drawing more blood much, much sooner than the
standard 50-day period, the supply would still be depleted. 
     "Damn you, Chameleon," he muttered. "Where are you?"

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

     "Hey, why don't we go get some rest?" Giles put a hand on Jolly's
shoulder as the other Warrior turned to search a passage they had already
explored. Three times. With no trace of anyone. They were a deck below
the engine level, in a corridor lined with locked storage compartments. 
     "NO!" Jolly's words exploded from tight lips, his eyes blazed at his
friend. "I'm not resting until that piece of mong is caught. He will not
get away!"
     "No, he won't," said Giles quietly. "But with all shuttles on hold,
and Colonial Security doing an organized sweep. What more can we do?"
     "Not give up," growled Jolly. "If I have to search very millimetron
of this ship ten times over, then I will." He jabbed a finger at Giles.
"I. Will. Not. Stop."
     "Okay," said the other. "I want to find that boray, too, if--"
     Jolly's com-unit beeped. The stocky Lieutenant grabbed the device.
"Jolly here. Have you found something?" Giles noted that his friend's
knuckles were white as he gripped the com-unit.
     "Affirmative," said the voice of one of the Colonial Security
guards. "Reconstructed video records from the O.C. identified a probable
suspect. Transmitting image now." 
     Jolly stared at the picture and the name listed below it, then
thrust the device at Giles. "Let's go!" he snapped, not waiting for his
friend. 
     Giles glanced quickly at the image: cropped black hair, brown eyes,
non-distinct features, really. His name was Nils, a Corporal, a computer
technician and ship statistician. Pocketing the com-unit, Giles hurried
after the lieutenant. Once more, they searched each storage compartment,
overriding the security lock with the command key that the head of
security had issued them, following Jolly's demand that they be included
in the search teams. Each time, again, they found nothing out of place. 
     Continuing to the next lower level, the two Warriors worked in
silence. And with each passing micron, Giles had the growing feeling of
resignation that their suspect had already made good his escape during
that critical time period between the planting of the bomb and the
shutdown of all shuttles. He would have been crazy to stick around... but
he had to be crazy to have planted the bomb in the first place. Giles
sighed and hurried after Jolly once more. 
     The aft part of this deck housed energizers and control panels for
the ship's gravity system, and auxiliary electrical systems in an open
chamber at the end. Which meant several nooks and crannies to search but
fewer actual hiding places. There was also a seldom used maintenance
airlock. The two Warriors approached the area quickly, their boots
clanking loudly on the metal plating of the corridor. Suddenly Jolly
stopped, hold a hand up for Giles to freeze. In the ensuing quiet, both
listened intently. The shorter warrior was about to ask his companion
what he had heard, when a sharp, metallic bang broke the silence. Both
sprinted ahead, Jolly in the lead. They reached the place where the
corridor widened into the open chamber, and Jolly swung his head first
right, then left--
     "STOP!" 
     A man, unmistakably technician Nils, had propped a ladder against
the wall and had climbed up to a ventilation panel in the ceiling. He had
already popped the cover and started to scramble up. Jolly dove for the
ladder, knocking it out from under him. Nils grabbed the sides of the
open panel, his feet dangling and thrashing as he struggled to pull
himself up. With a growl, Jolly grabbed a leg and pulled. The technician
crashed to deck with a loud umph as the blow knocked the wind from his
lungs. Before Giles could stop him, Jolly reached down and yanked the man
to his feet like a rag doll. "Why you filthy piece of mong!" He swung his
arm back.
     "No, wait!" Giles grabbed at his friend's wrist.
     Jolly shook him off. And swung with all of his strength and pent up
anger. His fist smashed into the tech's nose, which exploded in a shower
of crimson blood as he tumbled back crashing against the wall and
slipping slowly down. He landed in a messy, unconscious heap. 
     "Wait!" screamed Giles again as Jolly took a step forward. He
grasped his buddy's arm with both hands. "let Security take him!"
     Jolly swung an enraged face at his friend. "NO! I'm going to kill
him. After all that he did!"
     "He not worth losing your commission over!" Giles spat the words in
Jolly's face. "Now, calm down!"
     "I--" The Lieutenant took one more step towards the man, then
stopped. The silence rang in their ears as Jolly stared at the suspected
bomber, breathing in raspy gasps. "Fine," he finally muttered. "May he
rot on the Prison Barge."
     Giles pulled out the com-unit to notify Colonial Security of their
find, while Jolly pulled out his laser, training it on the unconscious
technician, and watching with a grim satisfaction as the blood streamed
down his face. 
     Five centons later, three guards arrived with a medtech and a
stretcher. The guard in the lead, a corporal, stopped in his tracks at
the sight of the crumpled, bloody heap. He turned to gaze at Jolly,
noting the red splatters on his face and uniform. "Just what happened
here?" he asked.
     "He fell when I pulled out the ladder," stated Jolly, his voice
even.
     The guard took a deep breath. "And then what happened?"
     The Lieutenant stared him in the eye. "The deck was hard."
     The corporal gazed at his two comrades for a moment, then said
slowly, "As far as we're concerned, he...yeah. Right, Lieutenant. He
smashed his nose when he hit the deck." The two nodded, and the guard
turned to Jolly. "I see nothing to report."
     The Lieutenant smiled faintly. "If that's how you see it-- " he
started, but never finished. A shaky, yet venomous whisper grabbed
everyone's attention.
     "Companions of Diabolis." Nils stared up at the six, his eyes
narrowed, as he pulled himself to a seated position. "We will yet
succeed." His lips curled in a snarl, and in the poor illumination, with
blood smeared across his face, the technician looked crazed, bestial.
"May you all rot in Hades!" Then, before anyone could react, Nils pulled
a knife out of his boot, a long, sharp dagger with a serrated blade.
"Eternal Afterbliss!!!" he screamed. And so said, the murderer plunged it
with both hands into his own chest, straight into his heart. With a last
gurgling gasp, his eyes bulged and bloody froth bubbled from his mouth,
then he flopped over, and was still.
     Jolly shut his eyes and looked away, feeling exhausted and
nauseated. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to gaze at his
friend. "It's over," Giles said softly, "at least with him."
     "No," said Jolly, looking down at the corpse. "For him it's just
starting. Come on, let's go."
 
****************

     Fadlan ran along the corridor, ears alert for the sounds of pursuit.
At the T end of the corridor, he can to the lift door. It opened
automatically, and he at once started with shock, as he found the
motionless forms of his valet, and one of his guards. He didn't bother to
check and see if they were still alive. He just backed out, and headed
for the maintenance ladder well down the corridor to the right. As he
reached it, he could hear Chameleon's footfalls in pursuit. He moved down
a few rungs, then held position. The sounds of Chameleon stopped, and
there was only the vibration of the ship's engines, and his own labored
breathing. Then, Chameleon popped out from behind the corner...
     And was gone again as quickly, missing being hit by Fadlan's laser
blast by a hands breadth. He pressed himself back into the bulkhead, and
contemplated his next move. As he pondered, he realized that he actually
didn't mind dying. It was Starbuck, Cassiopeia, and the baby that
mattered now, not one old conman who'd never done a decent thing in his
life.
     Except produce Starbuck, a voice in his head seemed to say.
     "What's the matter, Chameleon?' called Fadlan from around the
corner. "Out of breath already?"
     "Don't you wish, Fad!" replied Chameleon, and snapped around the
corner as quickly as he could manage, firing. He fired several times,
making Fadlan keep his head down, and hoping for a quick hit. He heard
the other cry out, and a thud. He stopped, and dared a step closer. The
smoke was clearing, and he could see the ladder well now. The bulkhead
behind was pocked with laser hits, and one of the rungs had been shot
off. Couldn't have hit it better if I'd aimed! He stepped to the edge,
and looked down. The severed rung lay at the bottom, but there was no
sign of Fadlan below. 

**********

     "Commander," said Croad, at the controls, "there's no response from
the Sagittarius, sir."
     "Approach control?"
     "Nothing, sir. I'm getting her ID beacon and autopilot locks, but no
one is answering hails, and her landing bay hasn't responded to our
signals."
     "Can you take her in manually?" asked Adama.
     "Yes sir. It'll take a bit longer, but I can manage it alright."
     "Very well."
     "Commander," said Tigh, next to Croad. "I'm picking up energy
discharges aboard the Sagittarius."
     "What kind?"
     "Weapon's fire, sir. There's a firefight going on over there."  

********

     "Mong!" swore Chameleon, as a laser volley streaked up the ladder
well at the first sound of his boot on a rung. As he'd suspected, Fadlan
was trying another of his tricks. Recovering quickly, he sent several
shots down the tube, ripping the deck up, sending debris flying, and
knocking out the lights. As soon as he let up on the trigger, he could
hear footsteps running away. 
     "You can run, Fadlan," he said softly, as he descended the tube,
"but where will you go? You can't hide forever."

*****

     Fadlan had, ever since beginning his life of crime in the "family"
so many yahren ago, prided himself on never overlooking leaving himself
an escape route. An an young upwardly mobile enforcer, he'd had a secret
tunnel under his house. As Squire Penda of Virgon, his villa had been
honeycombed with passages that led to multiple escape routes. Even his
private apartments here on the Sagittarius had been fitted with concealed
panels, and he knew every millimetron of the ship. Of course, the fact
that there was no place to go outside of the Fleet was a problem he had
been unable to plan for. Still, he steps led him towards the escape pods
for the vessel. 
     Which was what Chameleon expected him to do. He had "worked" for too
many yahren with Fadlan not to have learned how the man thought, and what
he could be expected to do. Chameleon also benefited from the fact that
deck plans for the Sagittarius were posted at strategic points throughout
the ship, as per regulations, in the event of emergency. 
     "You won't get out that way!" said a voice, and Fadlan froze for a
micron. In the tiny bay on the ship's port side sat four small escape
pods. As he keyed open the hatch to the bay, Fadlan turned to see
Chameleon not ten metrons away, at the corridor's opposite end. "Besides,
where in Hades Hole would you go, Fadlan? The Fleet is all there is."
     "Look, Chameleon, I..."
     "Drop it! Drop the weapon, Fadlan." He pointed his own weapon
directly at Fadlan's head, and the sweating gangster slowly held out the
weapon, and dropped the laser onto the deck. "Now kick it over here."
Fadlan raised one foot. "Gently Fad. We wouldn't want it to maybe go off
and have us an accident, now would we?"
     "Please Chameleon. I didn't know Starbuck..."
     "And you wouldn't have cared if you had, Fad. Like you said. My
blood, my guilt. Well, I'm proud of my son, and what he's become. Not
some stupid punk like me who thought that family ties meant that your
life was the only way. Someone who made something of himself, and
protects people. Even people like you, from the Cylons."
     "I..." squeeked Fadlan, both sweating and shaking now.
     "Are going to die, you puke. Remember what you used to say, right
before you iced someone? 'Nothing personal, you understand. Just
business?' Well," said Chameleon, and extended his arm with the gun. 
     And almost dropped it as Fadlan kicked his own weapon with
surprising force. The pistol hit Chameleon's leg and he leapt back.
Fadlan attacked, crouching and springing like an animal, grasping both
arms, and the two men went down on the deck. Fadlan struggled to tear the
gun from Chameleon's grasp, and the old con man fought just as hard to
keep it. It went off, blasting a light fixture overhead, and the two old
enemies rolled to the side, slamming into a bulkhead. Momentarily, Fadlan
got on top, and struck Chameleon in the face with his elbow, as both sets
of hands still held on tight to the weapon. Chameleon cried out, which
elicited a cruel sneer from Fadlan.
     But it was short-lived. Chameleon raised one leg, and slammed it as
hard as he could into Fadlan's lower back. It was an awkward position to
fight from, but Fadlan's girth helped him. After three slams with his
knee, Fadlan loosened his grip, and Chameleon bit down hard on one hand.
Fadlan yelled, and let go, and Chameleon was able to throw him off with
another sharp jab. As Fadlan rolled away, he gripped the laser, and
scurried away as best he could to gain some distance. As he strove to his
feet, Fadlan hit the pad to open the pod bay. Chameleon fired, barely
missing the man, and followed him as fast as his old body would let him.
He pointed inside the tiny bay before the hatch could seal shut, and
fired again. Then another shot. 
     The room lit up like a yule tree, as Chameleon's shot ripped into
the control panel for the escape pods, sending the console up in a
volcano of sparks and smoke. He recoiled for a moment, and the damage
spread throughout the system, circuits throughout the bay burning and
shorting their way in sequence. After what seemed like centars, the bay
went silent, acrid smoke slowly billowing out the hatchway. Chameleon
waited a few moments, as the ventilators tried to clear the air, and then
cautiously risked a look inside.

*******

Part21C

    "The landing bay is empty, Commander," said Croad, as the shuttle
lined up to enter the yacht's bay. "All I get on the instruments is the
scanners. No one is answering at all."
     "Chameleon?" asked Tigh.
     "Who else?" replied Adama.

******

     Chameleon gingerly moved closer, peering into the tiny bay, as the
smoke gradually cleared. There was an eerie silence, and he moved in a
little bit more. The far wall was blackened and still smoldering from the
after effects of Chameleon's laser hit, and only the emergency lighting
was active. Cautiously, he moved further in, and caught the smell of
singed fabric. Apparently Fadlan had not escaped entirely unscathed.
     But escape he had. In the far left corner of the bay, squeezed
tightly between the bulkhead and one pod gantry, was a ladder, leading up
to a hatch in the ceiling, a small piece of fabric caught on one rung. At
the base of the ladder was a rack of life masks, one missing. Chameleon
helped himself to another, and the acrid burning in his nose subsided at
once. He looked up into the square opening, and heard...
     Something pop. Behind him, another circuit had erupted in flame, and
the main hatch suddenly slammed shut. The sound of latches giving way
came next, and the old man shimmied up the ladder as fast as his long
legs could carry him. Fadlan might be hiding up there, but Chameleon
decided that he would rather face him, then face vacuum. He shot through,
and frantically searched for the hatch control. He found it, an old-style
mechanical lever, and yanked back as hard as he could.
     Even before the hatch began to shut, he could hear the bay door
below blow open, and both pods and air rush out into the void. The
screaming suction yanked him towards the hatch, but it slammed shut,
barely in time to save him from getting a limb snapped off. The
atmosphere quieted, and he sloughed to the floor, on his back, and
indulged in a few centons of deep quiet breathing.

*********

     "Frack! Hang on!" cried Croad, as he banked the shuttle hard over.
Everyone grabbed something as the shuttle went into a dive, screaming
away from the Sagittarius, trying desperately to  miss both the yacht's
hull, and the escape pods heading directly for them. As it was, a loud
scraping clang reverberated through the shuttle's hull. Microns later,
something else banged on them, but the ship was soon under control once
more.
     "What in Hades...?" began Tigh.
     "Pods, sir. She suddenly dumped her escape pods all at once. We were
so close, they nearly caught us."
     "What's our damage?" asked Adama. He waited a few moments, as Croad
ran diagnostics.
     "Warning," said the computer. "Hull integrity compromised.
Atmospheric pressure at 98% and dropping."
     "Cracked one of our ports, sir," reported the pilot, looking back
towards the passenger area. "We're losing pressure."
     "Make for the Sagittarius, Croad," said Adama, as the computer
notified them that the pressure had dropped another two percent. "We
don't have the time to return to the Galactica."
     "Yes, sir. It'll be tough, sir."
     "We have no choice."

********

     That was bloody close! You're in no kind of shape for this!
Chameleon told himself, as he tried to regain some strength. What in
Hades do you think you are? Some kind of young super-stud athlete?
     Starbuck is in worse shape.
     That thought gave him a renewed burst of strength and purpose, and
he righted himself. The hatch had led up into a service crawlway, and he
was was able to move along it, albeit uncomfortably, on all fours. His
height made traversing the tunnel a slow affair, and he tried to avoid
bumping into any of the equipment. As strength returned, so did his sense
of purpose, and one thought, burning in his brain.
     Fadlan. 

*********

     Fadlan cursed, as he came to a stop, panting hard. Unlike Chameleon,
who had kept in fairly decent shape through the yahrens, his life of
self-indulgence and excess was catching up with him. Sweat poured off of
him as he tried to settle his breathing, and he cursed again. he hoped
the wrench he'd dropped on Chameleon had found its target, but with that
wiley devil, one could never be sure. How in Hades he had survived this
long was a mystery to Fadlan, but he didn't stop to ponder it for long.
He heard something behind him, and peeked out from behind a support beam.
All he could see was a shadow, but a shadow one could not mistake for a
micron.
     Frack! 

*********

     "Anything yet?" asked Adama, into his commlink.
     "Nothing yet, sir," came the reply from the head of the security
detail. "We've checked out the auxilliary control room, the galley, and
the cargo area."
     "Well, nothing here either," said Adama, in Fadlan's lavish
apartments. The dead gunsel was still draped over the sofa, and Croad was
questioning the uniformed boy. "Except a corpse."
     "Sir?"
     "Neither Chameleon or Fadlan it would seem. The corpse was shot to
death, though."
     "Are you okay, sir?"
     "Yes. This man's been dead for a while it seems."
     "Well, be careful sir."
     "I shall. Out." Adama switched channels. "Colonel?"
     "Commander? We can't get into the pod bay yet. It's still open to
space, and the inner hatch is sealed. But I can see through the port."
     "And?"
     "It looks like there was a firefight inside, sir. All the
instruments are shot to Hades. Looks like a scrap yard in there."
     "Any sign of our quarry?"
     "No sir. And the shuttle's scanners detected no life forms aboard
the pods, or bodies in space."
     "How soon can you get inside?"
     "We're trying to access the pod bay controls remotely, sir. But with
all the damage inside, we may have to seal it from the out...ah!"
     "Got it?"
     "Yes, sir." Tigh looked to one of the Sagittarius' crew, who had
been working on the outside control pad. Inside, he could see the bay
doors close. A few moments later, the green light over the door flashed,
and the hatch opened. The Colonel took a step inside. "Laser blast
points, sir. There's no question there was a fight down here."
     "Any clue as to where they went, Colonel?" The tech touched Tigh on
the arm, and indicated the ladder and hatch in the ceiling. "Possibly,
sir. I'm going to check it out."
     "Very well, Colonel. Keep in contact."
     "Sir."
     "Now," said Adama to the young crewman. "Tell me what happened
here." He gestured towards the corpse on the couch. "Did you see who
killed this man?" 

*******

     At last catching his breath, Fadlan once more risked a look from
behind cover. Chameleon was still approaching, and approaching
cautiously. Fadlan looked down at his right leg, and swore. Chameleon's
laser shot had come uncomfortably close to the mark, missing him by mere
centimetrons. With a wry grin, he recalled how Chameleon had always been
a crack shot, rarely missing his target. Of course, the targets hadn't
been running through ships careening through space on the way to Lords
knew where, and Chameleon's eyesight had been a bit better in those days.
But the near-miss had still burned his skin, and right now it hurt like
bloody Hades. He daren't even reach down to loosen his boot, which
pressed into the skin. Damn!
     He cursed his lack of a weapon also, and looked about his tiny
redoubt. There was nothing here that he could use, not another wrench,
not a piece of metal, nothing. Not that any of those would do him a lot
of good against a laser pointed in his face. He listened to the other
approach, his footfalls growing clearer against the noise of the
machinery as he approached. Soon, Chameloen'd be close enough to spot him
in his pitiful hideout, and then...
     "Fadlan!"

 ********

     "What is it?" asked Brie, rolling her sleeve back down after
donating another unit of blood for Starbuck's transfusions. Almost as
soon as Dr. Paye had done with her, an alarm had gone off.
     "Cardiac," said Salik, beckoning the other doctor to follow. "Full
arrest." Brie watched them go, then watched moments later as another
medtech joined the rest in the inner room. She felt a hand go into hers,
and only faintly recognized Jolly next to her on the right, and Barton on
the left. They all waited, like a silent herd, till after what seemed
like centars, Paye came out, dripping with sweat.
     "Well?" asked several voices at once.
     "His heart stopped," he said, trying to hold his own emotions in
check. "We got him into a support chamber, and he's on total life
support. But it's only delaying the inevitable." 
     "What about those cloned cells?" asked Barton.
     "Nowhere near far enough along to...to do any good. He'll just..."
     Jolly growled, and looked up at the ceiling. Starbuck, you always
were the luckiest of us all. Cylons. Pyramid. The ladies. If anything
happens to you old buddy, I'll see that your kid is taken care of, even
if I have to adopt him myself. Please God, don't let...
     "Lieutenant Jolly?" asked a voice. He turned to see someone in
Council Security uniform at the door.
     "Yes?"
     "Sire Solon is ready for your deposition now, sir."
     "I..."
     "We'll let you know if anything happens, Jolly," said Brie. Barton
nodded in agreement, and Jolly, reluctantly, left the room. 

*********

     "The game is over, Fadlan," said Chameleon, stopping, laser raised,
not five metrons from where the other stood cowering. Once more, Fadlan
desperately looked about him, for something, anything, to use to defend
himself. Except for an air vent in the bulkhead behind him that looked
too small for him to fit through, there was nothing. And he doubted
Chameleon would give him time to try it. Chameleon's voice was calm, and
that frightened Fadlan more than any shouting would have. He remembered
from many yahrens ago, with vivid clarity, the times when Chameleon would
use that tone of voice. It had set grown men to trembling, pleading,
sobbing. He'd always envied Chameleon that.
     Now, it just scared the mong out of him.
     "Come out. Now. Unless you want me to just blow your foot off,
Fadlan, and let you bleed to death." Fadlan could hear the click of the
laser setting being changed. No doubt, run up to it's highest setting.
Seeing no other options open to him at this moment, Fadlan slowly moved
out from behind the support beam, and saw...
     Ah.
     "Come on, Chameleon. Can't you just..."
     "No."
     "But it wasn't me! I didn't set fire to the Lyra! Dominius was..."
     "Dominius didn't order the bomb planted in the Officer's Club on the
Galactica. You did. A man is dead. My son may already be dead, and my
daughter-in-law and grandchild too. You are the one who is going to pay,
Fadlan."
     "They'll put you away for this, Chameleon," said the other. "You'll
never see the light of day again. The prison barge..."
     "You seriously think that I care, Fadlan? I'm an old man. There are
fewer days for me ahead than there are behind, anyway. But you...You and
this sick, putrid cult you run. Worshiping murder and death, and making
it an offering to Iblis...No one who does that deserves to live!"
     "And what do you know about it? Freedom of worship..."
     "Does not include the freedom to kill other men. And not holding a
regular job gives one a lot of time to read." Chameleon glanced down at
his weapon, then back up at Fadlan. "Goodbye, Fad. Don't think it hasn't
been a kick, because it hasn't!" He leveled his weapon...
     "Hey! You up there!" cried a loud voice, and he turned. In that
instant, Fadlan reached up and grabbed the support bar welded to the
inner side of the structural beam. With all the strength he could manage,
he raised himself up, and kicked at his distracted foe. Chameleon's laser
went off, and then went flying back down the feluswalk, and the old
conman went down. With a surprising grace for one so unfit, he leaped
over his stunned foe, and ran.
     But Chameleon was not out of it yet. He recovered quickly, and gave
chase. Fadlan reached the laser just as Chameleon reached him, gripping
his legs. Chameleon's nails dug into Fadlan's fat flesh, pulling cruelly
on his ankles as he strove to reach the pistol. But reach it he did, and
turned...
     To get a fist in his face, then strong hands around his own.
Chameleon had a hold of him, and would not let go. Fadlan tried to bend
the weapon down to target Chameleon, but the wirey old fellow had stayed
in better shape. Chameleon yanked over hard, slamming Fadlan's hand into
bare metal, then smashed his forehead into the other's nose. The pistol
went off, blasting into the conduits and cable trunks over their heads,
and some lights went down. Twice Chameleon slammed him like this, and he
heard the other's nose break, and felt the blood spatter. Then he cried
out in pain, and Fadlan's boot raked his leg, and he loosened his grip.
Fadlan spit blood in Chameleon's face, and that was enough. He tore
himself loose, and regained his feet.
     But not the laser. It lay under Chameleon's shoulder, and he had no
time to wrestle for it. Footfalls could be heard approaching, and so he
ran.
 
 
     "What the..." said Tigh, as the entire Sagittarius shook, and the
lights went down around him. He had been about to enter the access tunnel
from the pod bay when it all went dark.
     "Main power," said the tech with him. "Something's happened in the
energizer room!"
     "Let's go. I'll inform the Commander."  

*********

     "Stay back!" ordered Chameleon, regaining his feet. A member of the
Sagittarius' crew had entered the energizer room, just in time to catch
sight of two people fighting it out in a restricted area. One he
recognized after a moment as Penda, but the other was a stranger. But
now, the owner of the ship was gone, and this man...
     "Look, buster, I..."
     "Where does this go?" asked Chameleon, holding the laser. He didn't
actually have it pointed at the man, but the crewman decided there was no
point in antagonizing him. "Come on. Where?"
     "It comes out one deck down. In the recycling section. I..."
     Chameleon didn't wait for more. Putting one leg into the opening, he
steadied himself, then lifted the other. With a blur, he was gone,
leaving the poor crewman to wonder whether or not he really ought to cut
back on the plant vapors.


     Chameleon emerged feet first into a chamber both dim, and humid. The
vent grill at the bottom of the shaft was smashed out and so did not
block his way. He settled to his feet on the floor, a floor covered with
rubber mats to prevent slipping in the damp. He crouched, looking around
for Fadlan, and held the pistol tight. Somewhere off to his left, he saw
a figure on the other side of a rack of machinery, and tensed. It drew
closer, and then...
     Passed. It was only a worker, pushing a heavy canvas cart.
     Apparently, they also did the laundry down here. He smiled, shaking
his head, reflecting how things come around. He recalled, long ago,
chasing someone through a laundry back on Caprica. Whoever would have
thought, huh? He waited until the worker was out of sight, then broke
cover. He headed the other way, Fadlan's wet footprints on the mats easy
to follow. He did so until he came to an entire row of the carts, the
prints vanishing in the middle of them. He checked the nearest cart. Only
laundry. The second held plastic bags full of garbage, if the aroma was
anything to go by, ready to be separated and recycled. He was about to
check a third, when he spied movement once more.
     Ducking under a cart, he watched a worker approach, and pull the
laundry bags from one, and then dump them on a conveyor belt. Carried up
the inclined conveyor, they moved along until they were snagged by a
hook, and carried to another part of the facility. From the number of
carts filled with the dirty washing, Chameleon decided it must be laundry
day on the Sagittarius. The worker moved off somewhere else, and
Chameleon straightened up, looking around, trying to see clearly through
the steam, when he felt something on his shoulder.


     "Where?" asked Tigh, not sure he was hearing right. "That vent?"
     "Yes sir," replied the technician. "I didn't see what happened to
Squire Penda, but the skinny guy wanted to know where that vent led to,
so I told him. He had a laser after all. What in Kobol's going on here?"
     "Did he threaten you with it at all?"
     "Well, no. But I wasn't going to argue with the old guy..."
     "Where does it go?" pressed Tigh.
     "Down to the recycling bay, Colonel. Both the ship's laundry and
garbage are processed down there. It's mostly automatic, we only have a
skeleton crew."
     "What about passengers?"
     "A few work there, but it's mostly off-limits to them."
     "Let's go," said Tigh to his men. "I'll inform the Commander.


     Chameleon turned, only to see stars as Fadlan smashed him in the
face with something. Stunned and disoriented, he fell back, till he
slammed up against a cart. He tried to raise his weapon, but Fadlan
kicked his hand, sending the laser flying. The murderous cult leader
stepped back, and looked at Chameleon. As his vision cleared, Chameleon
could see his old foe, one hand on a hip, the other holding the weapon
trained directly on him. Infuriatingly, Fadlan's old smile was back.
     "Tables turned a bit, have they old friend?" sneered Fadlan. "I
admit I like these odds a bit better."
     "You may kill me," said Chameleon, the taste of blood still on his
tongue, "but you'll never get away with it. "The Galactica knows
something is wrong by now."
     "Oh, really. Should I be shaking?"
     "When I came aboard, I shot out your commsuite on the flight deck. I
stunned your crew. Sooner or later, they'll send someone to check."
     "And find what?" laughed Fadlan. "You'll be dead, and sadly no body
will ever be found." He gestured towards the recycling area. 
     "Are you forgetting the scans of you, ordering your man to plant the
bomb on the Galactica? Adama has the originals, Fadlan. Whatever happens
to me, you are dead! With the death penalty reinstated, you'll have no
chance of a life sentence."
     "I'll take my chance, you old fool. Do you think I hadn't
anticipated something ever making it needful to disappear? I'll..."
     Fadlan turned, as the sound of running feet came to their ears. His
annoyance turned to surprise, when he saw a small child, running along
the deck. The same little girl that Chameleon had seen and spoken to
earlier. As if on cue, her older brother was soon in evidence, chasing
her. He touched her on the arm.
     "You're it!" shouted the boy, then the two skidded to a halt, at the
sight of the two adults, one with a weapon. "oh, I didn't..." began the
boy, but Fadlan snarled back: "What are you doing here? Get out! Do I
have to talk to your parents again? You know this area is off limits to
passengers!"
     "Well, I didn't..." the girl began, but a shot of energy sent the
gun flying from Fadlan's fingers. He cried out in pain, and turned, to
see Chameleon, with another pistol, aiming at him.
     "Did you think I'd come after you with only one weapon, Fad?" he
asked, almost smiling. He patted his bulky worker's outfit. "You should
have remembered me better than that."
     "Chame..."
     "You had all of the Colonies until they closed in on you. Then you
had this ship until it closed in on you until there was only this room.
And now this room too is closing in on you." He stepped a bit closer.
"There's no escape, Fadlan." He looked to the children, still rooted to
the deck. "Go. Go back to your folks, please."
     "I..." began the boy, when Fadlan, with a surprising swiftness,
grabbed the girl, and drew a knife from his cloak. Holding it to her
throat, he snarled at his foe.
     "Get back, Chameleon. Get back and let me go, or I'll slit her from
ear to ear!' Chameleon hesitated a moment, and Fadlan shook the squirming
girl. "I'll do it you old fool! Don't think I won't!"
     "Oh I believe you, Fadlan. Indeed I do. But then women and children
always were your favorite places to hide behind."
     "You don't believe me, do you?" shouted Fadlan, and Chameleon could
hear the desperation creeping into his voice. "I'll gut her. Right here
in front of you. Just like..."
     "Just like you were going to do to Starbuck?"
     "Yeah!" hissed Fadlan, eyes bright with fury and madness. "Just
like. Sliding my blade in, till I can feel his bones, and feel his heart
burst apart. His screams and struggles. You bet, Chameleon. Look! I'll
show you how it's done!"
     "Hurt her and I'll blow your face off, Fad!" said Chameleon. 
"Without her, you..."
     "Frack you!" screamed the boy, who Fadlan seemed to have entirely
forgotten. Exchanging glances with Chameleon, he had grabbed up a wrench,
seemingly huge in his small hands, and raised it as high as he could. He
swung down, missing Fadlan's head entirely, but striking a glancing blow
to one shoulder, and down his back. Fadlan stumbled, crying out in pain,
and the girl bit his hand as hard as she could. He screamed, dropping
both her and the knife, and staggering back. Before he could do more, the
girl scampered away, and Chameleon ordered them to get away.
     "Stop!" bellowed a voice. Chameleon at once recognized it as
Adama's. He turned, and saw the Commander, with several others, at the
hatch at the far end of the chamber. He momentarily did so, and paid for
it. Picking up the wrench, Fadlan  swung, hitting him across the left
side of the face. Chameleon staggered, but somehow kept his feet. Fadlan
swung again, missing, but driving Chameleon back and forcing him to drop
the weapon. Once again Fadlan struck, face twisted with fury, and this
time he connected with a vengeance. Chameleon buckled to his knees, and
Fadlan moved in for the kill.
     But Starbuck's old man wasn't about to cash in his chips just yet.
He rolled as best as his battered body would let him, and Fadlan fell. He
jabbed the other with an elbow, then a knee. Fadlan grunted, and
retaliated with a fist. Both men regained their footing, and Fadlan swung
the wrench at Chamaleon. Chameleon jumped back, and then could go no
further. Fadlan brought it down on Chameleon's shoulder, and both could
hear the old bones crack. Chameleon buckled, trying not to scream, and
Fadlan raised the wrench for a killing blow. With pain coursing through
him, Chameleon heaved forward like a bull, knocking Fadlan down, and
jumped on top of him. He pummeled him with his remaining fist, sending
blood flying from his face, until the other forced him off. He got to his
feet...
     And saw that he had no weapon. He turned, saw that Adama was moving
through the tangled rows of pipes, bins, and equipment in their
direction.  He obviously had only moments, and hobbled towards his one
remaining avenue of escape. He jumped onto the conveyor belt for the
laundry bags, letting it carry him away. In all the steam and confusion,
he could get out of the room, and make it to his other secret chamber.
There, after a lettle attention, he could slip into the disguise already
prepared, and...
     "Fadlan!" screamed Chameleon, and the thug turned. he saw his old
foe, once more armed, limping on one leg and with right arm dangling,
aiming his pistol at him again. Or trying to. Right now, Chameleon could
barely stand, let alone shoot. Still, he ducked on the side of caution,
and saw Adama reach the old man, along with several others. There seemed
to be some sort of struggle, then a bolt of laser energy sailed his way. 
    It missed him by a hair's breadth, and he ducked. He heard the burst
as it struck something behind him, and smiled. Once more, fate had smiled
on him. Chameleon had now been disarmed, and he could...
     "What the...?" he cried, as the conveyor suddenly accelerated to an
insane speed. He toppled, then tried to regain his feet, as the belt sped
along, seemingly out of control, the drive chain flailing about like a
whip. Confused, he turned around, and saw one of the metal hooks, used to
snag the laundry bags, racing towards him, as out of control as the belt
itself. Fadlan barely had time to realize his danger when the hook...
     Adama turned, at the sound of the horrible scream the came from the
belt. The crewman with him yanked back on the master control, shutting
the whole belt down, and they all looked up in horror. 
     Fadlan was struggling, like a fish, against the hook that had caught
him. Screaming and writhing, he was trying to push the hook away, but
only succeeded in ripping himself open. Tigh swore, as did several of the
others, and Chameleon rasped out a "Don't look!" to the children, as
Fadlan struggles at last succeeded in freeing the hook from it's mount. 
He tottered a few moments on the belt, face twisted in agony, till he at
last toppled off the edge, his screams at last ending in a horrible
crunch as he hit the deck below. Tigh rushed to the scene, Adama behind
him, but knew there was nothing he or anyone could do for the man. Fadlan
lay face up, his body a disemboweled mass of bloody horror, bent across
the edge of one of the bins, body half in, half out. The hook, broken off
it's chain by the struggling, still transfixed him, and his still-open
eyes were fixed in horror. Tigh slowly closed them, and shook his head. 
Perhaps, he mused, it was fitting that Fadlan had ended his life in a
garbage bin.
     "Lords forgive me," whispered Chameleon. Adama turned from the
hideous scene to look at him, but the old con man had passed out.

Part 22

     "Take a look for yourself. Everything is just fine!" Salik grinned
ear to ear, much like a proud father, as he handed the scanner to
Cassiopeia.
     The med tech, attired in a pale blue dress and sitting cross legged
on the biobed, pushed the replay button on the device. The image of a
tiny embryo appeared. After only about eight sectons, it was
approximately a centimetron in length, and the early formation of
features-arms, legs, and organs-- was clearly visible. The most riveting
aspect, however, was the strong and steady beating of its tiny heart.
Cassie gazed in teary-eyed silence at the video looped for several
centons. "Incredible," she whispered as she held the scanner to her
chest, rocking back and forth for several moments. At last she handed the
scanner back to the doctor.
     "May I see?"
     Salik looked around to his other patient and nodded, handing
Chameleon the device. Then he turned back to Cassiopeia. "How do you feel
today?"
     "So much better!" She stretched her arms above her head and slipped
off the biobed. "That last treatment did the trick. I feel even better
than before the 'accident.'" She lightly brushed her finger tips over the
fading pink patches of skin that lined her arms. In another secton, they
would be completely gone. Of course, her hair would take a bit longer.
     "Might this have something to do with your joyous feelings?" asked
Chameleon, holding up the scanner. He winked at the medtech.
     It had been four days since his struggle with Fadlan and the
subsequent bone marrow donation. Battered, bruised, suffering from a
fractured arm and shoulder, bleeding internally and semi conscious,
Chameleon had been rushed back to the Galactica for the procedure. Under
other circumstances, Salik would have waited for the man to recover and
regain some strength, but that had not been a option. By the time
Chameleon had arrived in the Life Station, his son's Tylium poisoning had
gone beyond critical. They had been counting centons, with Starbuck on
complete life support and total synthetic replenishment of the oxygen and
nourishment in his system.
     Thus, they had whisked Chameleon into the operating chamber as soon
as the medtechs had crossed the threshold to the Life Station. For seven
agonizing centars, Starbuck's friends had waited and hoped and prayed.
The Bridge had been unnaturally quiet, even some pilots had been slow to
launch for their assigned patrols. Cassie, looking back, felt fortunate
to have been still sedated during that period. In the end, Salik and Paye
had emerged exhausted, scrubs bloody and sweat-drenched, Hopeful but with
the caution that it would take another three days before they would even
consider easing Starbuck from the life support. And then... only the
Lords of Kobol knew what the future would bring.
     Still, the "Starbuck luck' seemed to be holding, as it had so many
times before. In the course of the next three days, the Lieutenant made
steady, some even said miraculous, progress, so much so that they had let
him awaken on his own by the end of the third day.  Given that the
previous three sectons, however, had been filled with one trauma after
another, Salik had kept the Lieutenant in isolation from everyone,
determined to "ease him back into reality," as he had put it. Now, on the
fourth day, Dr. Salik had informed everyone that Starbuck would be ready
for visitors, soon, after a couple more tests.
     Cassie smiled at Chameleon and inhaled deeply. Yes, she did feel...
extraordinarily happy, more so than anytime in a long, long while. And
seeing the image of that tiny life form-her baby, hers-- filled her with
an incredible... joy. No words seemed to adequately describe the
sensation rippling through her. For over a yahren, their lives had been
one disaster and tragedy after another. The Holocaust, relentless Cylon
pursuit, hunger, plague, bizarre and demonic creatures. This-- seeing the
strong and steady heartbeat-- was like a window had been thrown open and
the world had been flooded with warmth and brightness. And hope. Cassie
grinned even wider and threw her arms around her child's grandfather.
"Darn right that has something to do with it!" she said as she hugged the
old man against her.
     After a centon, she pulled back, taking the scanner to replay the
image yet again. Chameleon watched and was about to make a comment when
the doors to the Life Station swooshed open. Both looked over to see
Adama, followed by Colonel Tigh, Sire Solon, Apollo, Boomer, and Sheba,
strolling across the threshold. The Commander's expression was
unreadable, and Chameleon felt himself tensing. In the four days since
his battle with the murderous Fadlan, he had heard nothing about what the
consequences of his actions were to be. He got the distinct impression
that that was about to change.
     The group stopped near the old man's biobed, and Adama smiled as Dr.
Salik approached them. Chameleon tried to read the smile, but couldn't.
As he waited for the boom to fall, Adama just took Chameleon's medical
report from Salik, read it over, and then handed it back to him. With a
tone that Chameleon was sure Starbuck must have heard a thousand times,
Adama at last spoke.
     "Feeling any better?"
     Chameleon blinked. Whatever he had expected Adama to say, that
hadn't been it.
     "Uh, yes, as a matter of fact, I am, Commander," he replied,
deciding that if he hadn't opted for the military, Adama would have made
a terrific Godfather. "My arm and shoulder are almost back to normal,
now."
     "Well, that's good, Chameleon," said Adama, drawing a chair up to
the biobed. He didn't sit in it, though. He motioned for Sheba to take
her seat, then drew up others. Only when they were all seated did he
follow suit. If Adama's plan was to make him tense, it was working like a
charm.
     "I guess it's time to pay for the soup," said Chameleon, as Adama
looked at him.
     "One might put it that way, yes." he took a deep breath.
     "I..."
     "Broke quite a number of laws, Chameleon." Adama looked at Solon,
who handed him a data pad. Clicking it on, Adama began to read.
"Where shall one start? Theft of identity papers, theft of military
property, to wit two lasers, Colonel Tigh's data chip, and a suit of
hangar crew clothing. Five counts of assault, to wit stunning various
personnel aboard the Sagittarius, damage to private property, to wit
destroying the commsuit aboard the Sagittarius. One count of homicide, to
wit the dead man in Fadlan's quarters, identified as one Nitti. Numerous
charges of damage to various and sundry parts of the aforesaid
Sagittarius, jettisoning the life pods and knocking out power to several
decks of the ship..."
     "That was an accident, Commander. I didn't mean..."
     "Please. Attacking Fadlan, and bringing about the death of Fadlan by
your actions..."
     "Guilty," said Chameleon, quietly. "I admit to all that. But, I
would do it again, Commander. Sire Solon. All of you." Chameleon looked
away, as if struggling with something within himself. "I would do it all
again, for my son."
     "Starbuck was in no danger from Fadlan here, in Life Station," said
Tigh.
     "And how long would it have been, before Fadlan would have planted
another bomb, or bribed someone to poison his medicine, or sabotaged
Starbuck's Viper? He was a murderer, many times over, Colonel. You did
not know him as I did. He was a sadistic piece of filth, who killed for
the pleasure of killing. He was like an octopon, with tentacles that
could grow in any direction. I will not feel regret for what I have
done."
     "Somehow I expected that response," Sheba said quietly to Apollo.
The Captain nodded.
     "And, I won't make a spectacle out of a Tribunal, either, and bring
embarrassment to Starbuck and Cassie," said Chameleon. "I'll plead
guilty. I'm old enough to know when it's time to take my medicine."
     "Well, said Adama, "that's good to hear, but it doesn't end there.
You see, there doesn't have to be a Tribunal, in this case."
     "No Tribunal?" said Cassie, brows furrowed. "But doesn't the law
require it?"
     "Normally that is so, Cassiopeia," said Solon, his deep rich voice
lending an aura of authority to every word. "But, in this rather
convoluted case, there are extenuating circumstances that could serve to
exhonorate Chameleon of any criminal liability."
     "How so?"
     "Well, to put things as non-technically as I can, what Chameleon did
ended up serving the greater good."
     "Well, yeah. This Penda..I mean Fadlan was an escaped killer and
all, but I'm still in the dark somewhat."
     "Fadlan wasn't just aboard the Fleet under an assumed name, Cassie,"
said Apollo. "He was part of an ongoing criminal conspiracy."
     "The bombing?"
     "That, yes," said Boomer. "We have recordings of him ordering the
bomb planted. But, from what's been found aboard the Sagittarius, he was
doing more than just living it up. He was running a black market in
stolen foodstuffs, and we found a secret drug lab aboard."
     "Drugs?" said Cassie.
     "Yes. Methanon, black market prescription drugs, and a small
hydroponics room, devoted to growing hallucinigens."
     "I see."
     "And that wasn't all," said Adama. "He wasn't just bluffing when he
told Chameleon that he had a way of disappearing. One of the secret
passages from his quarters led to the billet for one of the ship's
passengers. Someone named Milton."
     "Only a search of all records gave us a photo ID of Milton that did
not match," said Tigh.
     "It seems that at some point, Fadlan murdered the real Milton, and
by slipping into those quarters from time to time, established another
identity amongst the passengers, in the event he needed to vanish once
more," said Adama. "We found all sorts of false papers, stolen money and
personal effects valued at over a million cubits, and a make-up kit
worthy of the greatest actors."
     "Several of Fadlan's criminal co-conspiritors have already been
arrested," continued Solon. "From what we have learned so far, the
torching of the Lyra was just a step in a plot to use the Il Fadim cult
to eventually assassinate Commander Adama as well as the entire Council,
and gain control of the Fleet."
     "The military would never have gone along with it!' declared Sheba
angrily, eyes flashing like Cain's. "No way!"
     "With Colonel Tigh, and other senior officers implicated, they might
have," said Solon. He held up another data chip. "Oh yes, Fadlan's plan
was extensive, and ran deep. Worthy of Baltar almost. Only things went
wrong when Dominius sabotaged the Lyra several sectons too early. Perhaps
his growing illness had affected his mind in some way. Whatever, it
forced Fadlan to accelerate his plans, and when the investigations began
to move in his direction, he ordered you all killed in the Officer's Club
bombing."
     "Who all is in custody?" asked Cassie.
     "Two Warriors, both in maintenance positions aboard the Galactica,
I'm sorry to say a clerk in my office, and one worker on the Agro Ship
One. Two others got wind of things, and committed suicide before we could
arrest them. This...cult!"
     "But how does this all nullify the charges against Chameleon?" asked
Salik.
     "Oh, yes. Well," replied Solon, "as I said, Chameleon committed
actionable offenses, but they were in the pursuit of the greater good.
Fadlan did assault him, as we saw from the scans in his suite, the man
Chameleon killed was shot in self-defense, and he did take a hostage,
who's life Chameleon helped to save. Had we moved in on Fadlan as
originally planned, he might have learned through his informants and
escaped, as well as his operatives, and the plan to kill the Council
might have remained in place. The spy in my office actually tried to warn
him, but Chameleon confronting Fadlan when he did made that impossible."
     "Add to that that Fadlan had only death to look forward to," said
Apollo. "With all the arrest warrants outstanding from his criminal days
in the Colonies, and the murder of Milton on top of this, he would have
been executed for certain."
     "To put it shortly," said Solon, "by risking his life to bring a
criminal to justice, Chameleon activated a very old, seldom remembered
statute in Colonial Law. His actions, committed in the pursuit of someone
who conspired against the State, entitles him to a full and complete
pardon, of all crimes, if the Head of State chooses to grant it."
     "You...you mean that I'm...I'm not..." stuttered Chameleon.
     "It is within my powers, under Article Seven, Section Four,
Paragraph Twenty-nine of the Colonial Constitution," said Adama, "to
pardon you of all offenses committed in this matter, if you formally
request it of me."
     "Well?" said several voices, after a long silence from Chameleon.   
     "Uhmm...well..."
     "Hey, everyone!' said Paye, sticking his head out into the room.
"Guess who's awake?" 

********

     Starbuck held his hand up against the overhead lights, absently
studying his fingers as his mind drifted, like a simian leaping through
the treetops, from one thought to another, replaying almost at random
scenes from the past couple of sectons. He wasn't even sure which
memories were real and which were only dreams. The memories from time of
the incident on the Lyra to now were like a patchwork quilt of
recollections and blank gaps-- periods of time, days even, where he had
no memories. Times when he had either been unconscious or sedated, he
knew, but it was unsettling, still. The oddest part, he mused, though,
was remembering how it felt to not remember. 
     Now, he basically could remember everything. Everything. Every
dream, every event (from when he wasn't unconscious), and a series of
what had been-- according to Dr. Salik - suppressed remembrances from his
childhood. And he remembered her. His mother. He could see her face as
she laughed at the dinner table. Could hear her gut-wrenching screams for
him to run - run!-- the night she died, cut down by the Cylon laser
blasts. 
     And Chameleon. He looked the same, beneath the passage of time. Same
eyes and the same grin. Of all of the newly recovered memories, the one
that stood out the most was one of a holographic image his mother had
kept on a table in the kitchen. In it, she beamed as she cradled her
baby, and Chameleon looked every centimetron the proud father with his
arms embracing his wife and child. The image both tore at Starbuck's
heart and brought bittersweet tears to his eyes. It bespoke what might
have been... what was forever lost, but he was grateful to, at least,
have the memory, now.
     Yes... Chameleon. His father. Father. Starbuck clenched his teeth as
the anger surged momentarily but then washed back to be replaced by a
confused jumble of both indescribable joy and intense bitterness. Why? He
wondered for the ten millionth time in the past day. Why? Dr. Salik
insisted that things would be clearer when he had a chance to speak with
the man. For now, he needed to just trust that there had been reasons,
serious reasons, for Chameleon to convince Cassiopeia to conceal the
truth.
     Give him a chance, the doctor had said. And her. Cassie. Fair
Cassiopeia. The Faery Queen. He had already forgiven her the moment he
realized that he might have lost her in the explosion in the OC. Lost her
and the child. His child. Cassiopeia...
     Had Dr. Salik - who had a dominating presence almost as strong as
that of Commander Adama-- not been there in his first waking moments
following the transplant operation, he was convinced that he would have
gone mad. The chaotic rush of memories when he first awoke, only a day
ago - although it seemed much longer, now-- had been overwhelming. He had
fought like a maniac, nearly undoing the good doctor's expert laser seals
from the surgery, until Salik had finally (in exasperation, he figured)
gripped him by the chin, stared into his eyes and ordered him to stop and
behave like an adult. Yes, he owed his sanity to Salik.
     When he had eventually calmed down enough to where he could listen,
the doctor had both lectured him and then calmly informed him of all that
had happened, asking questions to see what Starbuck remembered and
filling in missing information. Things like how Boomer had saved his life
on the Lyra and had struggled but overcome the Tylium poisoning. About
Dominius and how the investigation had led to Fadlan. And how Chameleon
had ultimately saved the Fleet with his foolhardy actions in going after
the madman. And then he had saved Starbuck's life through donating his
bone marrow. Finally, the doctor had reassured the Lieutenant that Cassie
would be fine, and so would the baby.
     Baby. His child. Starbuck let his arm drop to the bed and gazed at
the ceiling. His lip curled in a faint smile even as he bit it to stop
the trembling. Or he might cry like a baby. The thought made him laugh,
and then he sighed. Lords, but he was tired of being wired up like a
drone - he figured he'd being hearing the constant beep-beep of his heart
monitor in his sleep long after he was finally released - and feeling as
weak as a newborn. But, when it came right down to it, he did feel better
(if only slightly) than any at other time since the damned explosion on
the Lyra. At least, his head seemed clearer. As for the rest...well, he
could finally breath without gasping for air and all of his appendages
worked. It was a start, at least, even if he couldn't stay on his feet
for longer than five centons at a time.
     "Just give it time, son." Dr. Salik's voice echoed through his mind.
Time. Ah, yes. The magical, key word. Time. In time he'd feel like his
old self. In time he'd understand why Chameleon had chosen to lie to him.
In time he'd see for himself that Cassiopeia really was all right. In
time--
     "Are you ready for some visitors?" Dr. Paye's voice cut through
Starbuck's stream of thoughts.
     The Lieutenant blinked and looked at the doctor, who was standing on
the threshold to his tiny isolation room. He pursed his lips, suddenly
aware that the heart monitor had doubled its rate, echoing the thumping
in his chest. "Yeah," he said at length. He had already informed Doctor
Salik with whom he wanted to speak  first, before he could face everyone
else. "Send them in, please."
     The surge of conflicting emotions seemed to cancel each other out,
he noted drily, because he felt a detached calmness settle over him as he
waited, expression neutral, staring at the entrance. After nearly a
centon, two figures appeared at the door. Cassiopeia and Chameleon.
Cassie stopped in her tracks as she caught sight of him, her eyes opening
wide like an antelon caught in the headlights. For a brief moment, he
thought that it must be because he looked as wretched as he felt - until
she finally muttered, "Oh, Starbuck. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I should
never--"
     The Lieutenant burst into a wide grin as relief flooded through him
- relief that there she was. She was fine. And relief that her reaction
was one so simple to fix. He held his arms up. "Come here," he said.
     Cassie stared for a moment longer, confused by his reaction... not
daring to believe... then broke into her own tearful grin. "Starbuck..."
she whispered as she gently moved towards the outstretched arms, trying
to be cautious not to hurt him, not knowing how weakened he might be
still, and afraid that she might inadvertently injure him if she moved
too quickly--
     Starbuck grabbed her as soon as she was within reach and pulled her
in, squeezing her against his chest and burying his face in her hair,
breathing in deeply as if drawing life from her sweet fragrance.
"Cassie," he murmured as his lips sought her ear, her cheek. "There's
nothing to forgive. I thought I'd lost you..." Lips met lips and words
dissolved into a passionate kiss that left even     Chameleon blushing as
he stood on the threshold, waiting and pretending not to be watching.
     Eventually, Starbuck pulled back to gaze into her tear-filled eyes
with his hands on her shoulders, unwilling to let go. "When I saw you
lying there after that explosion," he said quietly, "covered with
blood... I was convinced that you were dead. And I realized..." He pulled
her back in, enveloping her in his arms once more, so that she would not
see his own tears and savoring the feel of her soft, warm skin against
him. "I don't want to lose you. Ever."
     "Starbuck..." The words caught in her throat. But, then... no words
were needed now. She slid her hands up to his cheeks, caressing them, and
gazed into his crystal blue eyes, seeing, connecting with, feeling the
depth of his emotions and desire, then melted into one more long,
desperately passionate kiss.
     Chameleon averted his gaze to stare at the floor, pondering whether
or not he should just come back later, even though he knew that Starbuck
had requested to see him, but feeling entirely out of place in this
touching reunion, and so relieved to see that his son  had enough sense
to forgive Cassie. He started towards the door,  and--
     "Chameleon." 
     The man froze, analyzing the tone of voice before looking back. It
had been cool but not hostile, neutral, reserved more than anything else.
Controlled, he decided. Chameleon put on his own card face as he finally
looked up to meet his son's gaze. "I can explain," he said. 
     Starbuck sat with his arms wrapped around Cassie, staring at him,
his expression unreadable. "Please do explain," he said in the same tone.

     The old man took a long, deep breath. "Look, I need for you to
listen, listen to everything, before you pass judgment on whether I was
right or wrong."
     "I can do that." Starbuck glanced away, and Chameleon could tell
that it was costing him a great deal of effort to remain neutral. "Sit
down." The Lieutenant nodded towards a chair near the biobed.
     The old man pulled the chair up next to the bed and steeled himself.
He stared at the floor as he began. "First, let me say that I now admit
that my reasons for not telling you the truth were more... selfish...
than anything else." He glanced up to meet his son's gaze, then quickly
looked away. "At first, when you said that you were willing to give up
everything to make up the time we had lost, it scared me. I knew that my
'little lie' had gone way too far, and I knew the Fleet could not afford
to lose a pilot with your skill and experience, just for one old man. But
then later..." Chameleon pursed his lips. "Later, when I convinced Cassie
not to tell..." He willed himself to meet Starbuck's gaze again. "I knew
it was wrong, but I... I didn't want to deal with the commitment, not
with - I didn't-- " He stopped, the words he'd so carefully thought out
jumbled in the back of his throat.
     Starbuck cocked his head slightly but said, "Take your time. I said
I'd listen, and I will."
     Chameleon studied his fingers, taking slow breaths to regain his
composure. Starbuck's willingness to hear him out only reaffirmed his
feelings... "Son," he said at last, "I couldn't let Cassie tell you the
truth because you deserved - still deserve-- far more than the likes of
me as a father."
     "If you hadn't been the scheming conman you were, I wouldn't be me."
     Chameleon's shot upward at the surprising statement. Starbuck had a
slight grin on his lips. 
     "I've thought about it, too, you know." Starbuck added.
     Chameleon bit his lip. "No, you don't understand," he said, his
voice cracking. Starbuck's smile faded as he read the... fear... in his
father's eyes. "I wasn't just a foolish old conman. I was worse. Much
worse."
     "Go on." Starbuck's tone was neutral again. He cradled Cassie
against his chest, and the medtech's expression, Chameleon noted, was
tense, too.
     The man ran his tongue along his lips, took one more deep breath,
and focused on a spot on the floor. "You see, a long time ago, I used to
work, if you can dignify what I did with such a word, for the Poros
Family..." A quick glance up showed that Starbuck had not failed to
comprehend the significance of that statement. "I had an uncle who worked
for them, a made member, and he introduced me to The Family when I was
fifteen, after my parents died." Chameleon cast another quick look at
Starbuck, but the Lieutenant had pulled his game face down again. So he
squared his shoulders and continued, telling his son all that he had told
Commander Adama and the others. As he spoke, his own detachment kicked
in, and he eventually felt like a reporter describing someone else. Or
maybe an Opposer presenting the case against him. He laid it all out, all
the gory details, and, for once in his life, he realized, told the
complete, honest truth.. And it had never felt better. Even as he spoke,
he reflected that regardless of how Starbuck chose to react, he could
accept it and feel at peace. Finally. After over thirty yahrens.
     When he eventually finished, some thirty centons later, he sat back
in his chair and stared at his son, like a confessed criminal calmly
awaiting the verdict. For a long, long while Starbuck said nothing, made
no reaction, no move, even. Cassie, still wrapped in his arms, gazed up
at him, chewing her lip, and finally pulled away quietly. He did not even
seem to notice as she slipped out of his arms and sat on the edge of the
bed, watching both him and Chameleon. At last, he said, "Dr. Salik told
me that you knew the madman that masterminded the attack on the OC."
     "Uh, yes," responded Chameleon. "Fadlan."
     "And that you saved the Fleet from further destruction at his hands
by stopping him."
     "Yes. So I've been told. But that's not why--"
     "And that you almost died both from battling him and by insisting on
the marrow donation right afterwards."
     "I suppose that's correct. But-- "
     "Chameleon, I--" But Starbuck stopped. And Chameleon sucked in his
breath, awaiting the worst. Instead, though, the Lieutenant suddenly
turned to Cassiopeia. He put a tender hand on her chin, then let his
fingers slip down her throat, her chest, coming to rest on her abdomen as
he lay his palm flat. "There's a child," he said softly, speaking to his
father as he gazed into Cassie's eyes, "that needs its family - all of
it." His voice cracked, and his face dissolved into a teary smile. "Get
over here, you old...grandfather. The only thing that matters now is this
little child. And that it has what we didn't. A real family." He rubbed
noses with Cassie, and they all broke into a relieved laughter as
Chameleon moved to embrace the two - his son and his grandchild's mother.
     Make that three.

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

     A secton and a half later, the afternoon after Starbuck was released
from Life Station, he got a call from his father. Though recovering, he
was not yet cleared for flight status, and had been going over the
after-action report of events on the Lyra with Boomer, reconstructing all
they could recall with Apollo, easing himself back into work, when the
telecom buzzed. Chameleon wanted to see him as soon as it was convenient.
     Heading down to the guest quarters Adama had let Chameleon use while
his son convalesced, Starbuck kept wondering what was wrong. Was his
father ill? Had the after effects of his fight with Fadlan finally caught
up with his old body? Did he have more horrible secrets of his past to
reveal, things only Starbuck could know? A hundred things, as dizzying as
a Cylon pinwheel attack, kept buzzing through his head, until he reached
Chameleon's quarters.
     "Come in!" smiled the old man, waving his son inside. Starbuck
obeyed, and took a seat. He looked around. Being a warship, the Galactica
didn't sport the sort of accomodations to be found on the Rising Star,
but it sure beat the mong out of the cramped, glorified shipping boxes
folks got on the Senior Ship, nicknamed, none too kindly, the Wheelchair.
"Like a drink?"
     "Well..." said Starbuck, thinking of his medical restrictions. 
     "I won't tell Salik if you don't," smiled the old con man. Starbuck
chuckled, and took a small ambrosia. "Come on. Sit."
     "What's up? Are you alright?"
     "Fine. Still a little stiff and sore, paying for my foolishness, but
otherwise okay. I...just wanted to talk, Starbuck. Tell me, where did you
get that name anyway?"
     "The foundling home where I was taken after I was found. I couldn't
remeber my name, so they gave me one. What is my real name, by the way?"
     "Templeton, actually." Chameleon saw his son's reaction, and smiled.
"Yes. I agree. Starbuck suits you better."
     "So."
     "Right. I didn't call you over just to jabber. I have something for
you, son. Something I have held on to for yahrens." He rose, and went to
the small shelf next to the bed. He removed from it a small wooden box,
stained and gouged with age, but reverently kept. Returning to his son,
Chameleon set it in front of him.
     "What is it?"
     "A treasure. Things so important to me, I've never shown nor shared
them with anyone, since the night Umbra was destroyed. These are worth
more to me than all the money I ever..."
     "Stole?"
     "Uh, yes. Anyway..." Chameleon loosened the antique clasp on the
box, made of rare Taurian cedar, and opened it. Inside, Starbuck could
see three small objects.
     "What are they?" he asked, almost afraid to touch them.
     "These," Chameleon said, as if he were in a House of Worship, "were
your mother's. This," he said, lifting a small book from the box, "was
her pew copy of The Book Of The Word. See?" Opening the cover ever so
gently, he showed Starbuck the faded signatures of his mother's parents,
inscribed inside. 
     " 'To Gabriella, with love, Mom and Dad.' My mother's name was
Gabriella."
     "Yes. And this book was one of the few things I rescued from our
house, the night Umbra was destroyed." Starbuck looked again, and saw the
burned spots on the small volume, the charred page edges. Opening it a
little further, Chameleon showed him a faded photo. 
     "Our sealing picture, son," he said. Like the book, it was scorched,
but surprisingly intact. "The only other pictures I have of her are in
here." He indicated his heart. 
     "She was..beautiful," said Starbuck, feeling a tear begin to swell.
"I never...and yes. She does remind one of Cassie."
     "I didn't fudge about that, son. Never when your mother was
concerned." Reverently setting the book down, Chameleon picked up a small
ring. 
     "Is that...?
     "Yes. Your mother's betrothal ring, Starbuck. And here, her sealing
band." He set the antique jewelry down into Starbuck's upturned palm. 
     "How..? I mean..."
     "When I went into what was left of the house, all I found of your
mother was...." He shook his head as tears began to fill the old eyes, as
for a moment he once again saw the images of another time and place. "I
took them, unwilling to leave them for looters. These items are all that
I have left of your mother, son. I've kept them through the yahren, and
through the Holocaust. I'd rather have died than lose them." He sighed,
wiping a tear away as he looked down into the box. "Now, they belong to
you, Starbuck."
     "Me? But I..."
     "I want you to have these things, son. The picture and the
Scriptures of course. but the rings, too. For Cassie to wear your
mother's betrothal and sealing bands would be the most fitting thing.
I've thought about this, and my mind is made up. Please." He held out the
box to his son, and with a slow nod, Starbuck took it    
     "Now, the circle is complete, Starbuck. I know your mother would be
so proud of you. Warrior. Hero. My...the gangster's son." The old man
gave up, and let the tears roll. Starbuck embraced him, letting the wave
crest and break. When he was still, Starbuck let go, and Chameleon looked
at him. "After you and Cassie are sealed, you'll have to come and see me
on the Sagittarius."
     "Sagittarius?" asked Starbuck, brows furrowed. "Why there?"
     "Well, it seems it belongs to me, now."
     "What?" Starbuck asked, clearly taken aback. "You own the ship?"
     "Yes. It seems that the same Colonial law that absolves me, because
of Fadlan's treason, also entitles me to half his property. All the money
and food and drugs he stole have been returned to their owners, or given
to the people who needed it most. That left the ship, and Commander Adama
presented it to me, free and clear, as part of the Judgment."
     "Well, that's wonderful! I mean, what a turn. You won't have to go
back to the Wheel...uh, senior ship again."
     "Yes, but I don't know the first thing about running a ship. In all
my life, I've never stol...owned anything that big. I'll need help, and
you could show me the fine points, and select new crew, since most of the
old one is in jail." He saw Starbuck thinking it over. "After your
nectarluna of course. That comes first."
     "I'll talk to Cassie, and we'll see. Ha! My father, the shipping
magnate! Maybe we can spend it aboard the Sagittarius?" 
     "You don't need me on your nectarluna, son. But afterwards..."
     "We'll see." Starbuck rose, and collected the heirlooms. "Dinner
tonight, in the Officer's Mess?" He saw the old man hesitate, and clasped
Chameleon's arm. "Please. Father."
     "Yes. Son."


THE END