Found
by Rita G. Mac Auslan (mommacita1@juno.com)
November 9, 1998

Hi All!

Here is the start of a new story.  Part 2 follows.  For those of you under
18, this is for you, too, but be aware it may be intense - read the
warning.

Enjoy!  And PLEASE give me feedback!

rita

WARNING!  This story has intense scenes involving memories of  physical and
other types of torture.  Sanna's rating:  PA;  Rita's rating: PG-13.  There
is no graphic sex or violence, but it may be inferred  by the astute
reader.

This story takes place after G80 and makes reference to characters, but not
episodes, from G80 and characters, but not story lines, from the novels.

Commander Troy defied the conventional restrictions placed on the commander
of the fleet.  Since he had taken command of the Galactic upon the death of
his grandfather, Troy had turned the warriors under his command into an
attack force.  Colonel Boomer had remarked that he was more like the
legendary Commander Cain than either his grandfather or father.  Troy
considered that high praise from the cautious veteran.

Under the leadership of Strike Captain Dillon, the Galactica's forces
harried the Cylons, teasing their fighters into deathtraps and disabling
their outposts.  The had even "liberated" several baseships.  But today was
Troy and Dillon's crowning achievement.  They had lured Baltar's baseship
into a trap and disabled it.  When Dillon had reported the presence of
human prisoners, Troy immediately joined the invading warriors, leaving
Boomer in command of the Galactica.

There was only token resistance within the baseship.  The Cylons had been
demoralized by the seemingly indestructible warriors.  When Dillon dragged
Baltar before Troy, Troy looked down at him with disgust and ordered Dillon
to take him straight to the prison barge.  Then Troy took command of the
forces liberating the human prisoners - all Galactica warriors, some
presumed dead for yahrens.

As the warriors shot off the cell locks, the prisoners crowded to the front
of their cells.  Troy walked down the cell block reassuring the anxious
captives.  As he grasped hands with a gaunt cadet, h noticed that one
prisoner had not rushed forward.  Instead, the tall older man stood, alert
but relaxed, in the rear half of his cell.  His sharp eyes took in
everything.  He seemed to be standing guard over a bundle in the back
corner.

Troy approached the cell door, curious at the calm demeanor this prisoner
showed.  Then the man swung his head around to face Troy full on, narrowing
his eyes to view him more clearly.  Troy inhaled sharply in sudden
recognition.  "Father!  Apollo!" he cried.  There could be no mistake.
Aside from greying at the temples and a pallor from his yahrens in prison,
Apollo had not deteriorated.  Now Troy could see the Captain's bars on the
ragged uniform he wore.  He whipped out his sidearm and shot off the door
lock.

As he pulled the door open, Apollo half-whispered, "Boxey?" in disbelief
and rushed into his son's arms.

"Troy" vanished and "Boxey", who had fled to a deep corner of his mind when
his father and Starbuck had not returned 20 yahrens before, took his place.
"Father," he repeated, burying his head in the older man's shoulder as they
embraced.  They remained holding each other as the cells around them were
opened.  The Commander's men were astonished at the emotional scene.  The
Commander they knew was cold, almost emotionless.  Only Colonel Boomer and
Captain Dillon dared be familiar with him.

The two might have remained in each other's arms indefinitely if a moan
from the bundle in the corner had not startled Apollo back to reality.  He
disengaged himself from Boxey and knelt beside  the pile of rags.  Gently,
he pulled back the top layer of cloth.  Looking over his shoulder, Boxey
could see a tousled head of straw-colored hair.  "Starbuck," Apollo
whispered, stroking the hair, "Starbuck, we've been rescued.  Try to sit
up."  He put his arm under the man's body to prop him up.

Boxey sucked in his breath again.  The face that looked up at him was
almost skeletal.  But the unfocused ice-blue eyes were alert and aware.
And filled with pain.

"Must be dreaming," Starbuck murmured, grimacing  as he struggled to obey
his Captain and sit up.  He shivered convulsively and Apollo moved to wrap
his body more tightly.

"He's always cold," Apollo said over his shoulder to Boxey.

Boxey could see that, while Apollo's uniform was threadbare and worn,
Starbuck's was tattered, almost shredded, affording him no warmth and
little covering. He turned abruptly to one of his warriors and shouted,
"Bring the spare uniform from my kit, on the double!"  The man obeyed
instantly.

Apollo was trying to reassure Starbuck when Boxey turned back.  "It's no
dream, Starbuck.  Look.  Do you know who that is?"

Starbuck looked up at Boxey, squinting in an attempt to focus his weak
eyes.  He brushed the hair from his face in a gesture achingly familiar to
the younger man.  "A Commander," he finally replied.

Apollo looked up sharply.  In his joy at being found by his son, he hadn't
even noticed his rank.  "Then my father . . ." he faltered.

"Grandfather died almost two yahrens ago."  Boxey replied quietly.  "In
your . . . absence, I was given command of the Galactica."

Apollo nodded once and his head drooped.  Starbuck shifted position
painfully and put a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder.  He looked up
again at Boxey and frowned.  "You're . . . Boxey?" he asked.

Boxey nodded.  A warrior ran in then with a fresh uniform.  Boxey took it
and dismissed him.  Apollo was still lost in his own thoughts.  Can I help
you into this?  You'll be warmer," Boxey asked.

"If you don't mind, Commander," Starbuck replied laconically.

"Just Boxey, Starbuck."

Starbuck tried to shrug, but convulsed in pain.  When the wave of agony
passed, he smiled grimly at Boxey.  "Can't move my legs at all, so you'll
have to do that part.  Just tear what's left of my uniform off.  And don't
worry about hurting me," he added weakly as Boxey hesitated, "everything
hurts anyway."  He leaned back against the wall to let Boxey unwrap the
lower half of his body.  Boxey tried not to show his horror at the ruinous
scars that covered Starbuck.  Starbuck in turn concentrated on not crying
out as Boxey's gentle movements tortured him.

Starbuck eased his arms into the jacket and said, "Better.  Definitely
warmer than I've been in a long time."

Boxey looked around to hide his emotions and saw a warrior waiting just
outside the cell.  At his raised eyebrow, the warrior said, "Sir, you're
the last.  Do you require assistance?"

Boxey was about to accept the offer, when Apollo's firm voice sounded
behind him.  "No, thank you, Sergeant.  I'll carry the Lieutenant myself."

The officer saluted.  "Yes, sir, Captain.  If you'll follow me, then,
sirs?"

Lifting Starbuck, Apollo stepped out of the cell, Boxey close behind.  As
they made their way to the launch area, Apollo spoke softly and
affectionately.  "We've got a lot of catching up to do - Commander."

***

Apollo refused to put Starbuck down in the shuttle.  In the back of his
mind was the fear that Starbuck would release his tenuous hold on life if
Apollo let go of him for even a micron.  He continued to reassure Starbuck,
who slipped in and out of wakefulness, that he was not hallucinating, they
were really on their way back to the Galactica.  "It's really over,
Starbuck.  We're going home.  Hang on just a little longer, buddy."

"Home," Starbuck repeated.  His eyes cleared for a moment and he nodded.
"I've waited this long, guess I can hold on a little longer."  He shuddered
as a wave of pain went through him, then seemed to relax.  "Okay, Apollo, I
won't let go yet.  Not when we're this close."  He closed his eyes and
sighed.

"What happened?" Boxey asked.  "No one else is in such bad shape."

"No one else is stubborn enough to take that much torture and refuse to
die," Apollo answered.  "I was losing him though.  After the last round . .
."  Apollo's voice failed.  He looked down at Starbuck's face, peaceful for
the moment, and continued.  "He hasn't been able to eat solid food in a
long time.  Lately he can't even keep liquids down."  He sighed.  "Well, if
it's too late to save him, at least he'll die at home."

"No!" Boxey's voice was fierce.  "Life Station will save him.  He can't
have lasted all these yahrens for nothing."

"I hope so."  Apollo had seen too many prisoners die and watched Starbuck
deteriorate for too long to allow himself much optimism.  He stroked
Starbuck's head and looked up.  "Tell me what's happened.  Earth, Father.
There's so much I don't know.

For the remainder of the trip back, Troy summarized the last 20 yahrens.
How the fleet found Earth and left again to protect its relatively
primitive society.  How Adama had aged after than, and ultimately died.
Troy's own yahrens as Commander, turning the fleet into an aggressive
attack force.  "But I'm glad that's over," he concluded.  "The fleet is
yours, Father.  It needs an experienced Commander to make long-range plans.
I can't do that.  So the whole fleet's lived day-to-day with no goals for
almost two yahrens.  It's time for a plan - a dream - something I can't
give them."

Apollo shook his head uncertainly.  "Father was the one with the dreams.
Well, we'll see.  We'll talk about it later.  How close are we?"  He looked
anxiously at Starbuck, felt his pulse and listened to his uneven breathing.

Troy frowned as he, too, turned his attention to the limp form of his hero.
"We'll be landing shortly," he said after checking with the pilots.  "Full
med team's in the bay.  I didn't tell the bridge you were on board.  I
thought you might want to surprise Aunt Athena and Boomer!"  He grinned
impishly.

Apollo returned the grin.  "You would!"

***

Apollo allowed Starbuck to be strapped onto a gurney for the trip to Life
Station, but insisted on accompanying him there.  While the other released
prisoners were given medical checkups in the landing bay, followed with
debriefings of varying lengths and degrees of intensity, Apollo
categorically refused to leave Starbuck.

Starbuck was roused to consciousness by his examination, although Dr. Salik
and his assistants were as gentle as possible.  Through a haze of pain, he
watched Apollo pace next to his bed and argue, first with Salik, then with
Troy, who tried to drag him out of the room by main force, then gave up in
disgust.  Weakly, he reached up and caught Salik's sleeve.  The doctor bent
towards him to hear his concerned whisper, "Is Apollo okay?"

"Damned if I know.  He won't leave to be examined or debriefed."

"Thought so."  Starbuck closed his eyes against a surge of pain.  When it
passed he continued, "Let me talk to him?"

Salik hesitated, then shrugged.  He was going to have to hurt Starbuck in
order to complete the examination.  Better for all concerned if Apollo
wasn't there.  "All right.  IF anyone can convince him to leave, it'll be
you."  He turned to Apollo and raised his voice.  "Captain?  You can have a
few centons with the Lieutenant now."

Starbuck forced the pain from his mind and put some strength in his voice
as Apollo approached.  He knew he couldn't keep up the facade for long, so
he spoke bluntly.  "Look, buddy, you got me here alive and so far I've
stayed that way.  But if you don't get yourself taken care of, you're going
to drop dead, which, I promise you, will not aid in my speedy recovery.  So
go with the pretty med tech and don't come back until Salik tells you to."

"Starbuck, what if . . ."

"What if I die while you're out of the room?  Two things:  you wouldn't
have been able to save me anyway, and . . . I . . . won't be in pain - I
hope."  Starbuck sank back, exhausted.  He continued in a whisper.
"Please.  Get out of here.  Let the doctors . . . see if they can . . . do
anything."  He closed his eyes.

"Okay, I'll go."  Apollo turned to Salik.  "I want to be called if . . ."

Salik put an arm around Apollo's shoulders sympathetically and led him to
the door.  "With any luck I won't have to call you.  But I will, if need
be."  He shut the door firmly behind Apollo and turned back to the
examining console.  "Starbuck, this is going to hurt.  Anesthesia would
kill you for sure, so we've got to do it this way.  Don't hold it in - yell
all you like."

"Pain's nothing new.  Go ahead."  Starbuck's answer came out in a sigh.

Salik signaled the med techs to hold Starbuck still as he continued the
examination.

In a cubicle across the station, Apollo heard Starbuck's first scream of
pain and tried to get up.  Two burly med techs held him back as a shaking
Cassiopeia continued examining him.  "He'll be all right, Apollo.  Dr.
Salik has to do this to complete the exam.  That's why he wanted you to
leave."

Apollo continued to struggle until the screams grew weaker and finally
ceased.  Pulling free of the med techs, he loomed menacingly over Cass, who
cringed.  Suddenly, Apollo sat back on the examining table.  "Don't you
see, Cass?  This is what I've been going through for most of 20 yahrens.
How can any of you understand?  I couldn't help him then and I can't help
him now."  Apollo put his hands up to his face and sobbed silently.  Cass
put her arms around him and signaled the other med techs to leave.

The door opening startled both of them.  Salik entered looking tired.
Apollo, red-eyed, looked at him wordlessly.  Salik leaned against the
cubicle wall and folded his arms.  "Starbuck's luck is still with him."

Apollo let out the breath he had not realized he was holding.  Cass
squeezed his shoulder and smiled.  Salik continued,  "Most of his pain
comes from broken bones that were never set.  Easily mended.  There's
muscle atrophy, of course, and he's badly undernourished.  Both of those
will improve with time and therapy.  His eyes will probably remain weak.
We may want to implant lenses at some point.  I've already repaired the
internal injury to his stomach wall, but he'll have watch his diet:  small
meals, nothing too spicy . . .  though I doubt he'll follow the regimen
unless he's changed drastically."  Salik paused, and Apollo grinned
ruefully and shook his head.

"The most serious problem is going to be energy."  When Apollo looked
queryingly at him, Salik explained, "Strength, stamina.  All of you
prisoners are weakened by lack of nutrients and exercise.  In Starbuck's
case, it's extreme.  HE won't regain his strength completely and he'll have
to learn to pace himself.   His muscles have been damaged - including the
heart muscle.  If he pushed himself too far he will kill himself."

Apollo grimaced, thinking of how impetuous Starbuck had remained even these
last few yahrens.  "How much will he be able to do?"

"Eventually, normal warrior duty with proper rest between duty periods.
And I don't intend to release him from Life Station until he can handle at
least light duty, because he will anyway."

Apollo smiled and nodded in agreement.  "Have you told  him?"

"Once.  And he'll hear it repeatedly by the time he leaves.  Now, let's
look at your exam results.  Your son is wearing a groove in the hallway
waiting to turn command over to you, so we'd best be sure you're up to it."

***

The first thing Starbuck was aware of was that he was no longer in pain.
He enjoyed this for several centons before realizing he also could not
move.  He seemed to be lying on a soft surface, almost floating.  He'd felt
like this before . . . the white lights.  Those superior beings from
another dimension had not denied being angels;  had implied that he had
been dead in a sense.  If he opened his eyes now, would he see that glowing
whiteness?

"'Bout time you woke up."

The voice was not inside his head.  And it was neither asexual nor
emotionless.  Starbuck opened his eyes and tried to focus on the figure
bent over him.  "Cass?"

"Good.  You can hear, speak, and see at least a little."  Cass kept her
voice level and professional, although she wanted to reach out and hug him.
"What can you see?"

"You're blurry.  I recognized you more from your voice."

"Doctor says your eyes will improve with time."

"I can't move."

"You're not supposed to.  We reset your broken bones and abraded the worst
of the scar tissue.  You're sealed in a foam solution to heal.  How do you
feel?"

"Don't know.  Haven't been without pain in so long.  Good, I guess."
Starbuck briefly considered saying something more personal to Cass, but her
distant manner put him off.  She's had 20 yahrens without you, bucko, he
reminded himself.  And so has everybody else.  Get used to it.

***

A secton later, when Starbuck had been transferred to a cushioned life
support bed, his lower body still immobilized,, Cass approached him again.
"Feeling rested?"

Starbuck pushed aside the viewer he'd been using to strengthen his eyes and
catch up on what he'd missed.  "Not sleepy, if that's what you mean."  He'd
trained himself to use the same casual tone she did and avoided looking
directly into her eyes.

"Apollo and Box - Troy already drop by at least once a day."

"That's command privilege," Cass laughed.  "Salik can't stop them unless
it's life-threatening.  But he says you can have other visitors now, for a
few centons at a time.  Until you get tired.  And you've got a whole
waiting list."

"Who?" Starbuck was genuinely curious.  He didn't even know which of his
old buddies were still alive.  Apollo had told him about Boomer - a
colonel, aide to Commander Adama and now Troy.  Athena was widowed with two
kids.  Apollo said she'd been sealed to Bojay.  That meant Bojay was dead .
. . he hadn't thought about that.

Let's see.  Boomer and Jenny - they have enough children toi need their own
ship;  but I told them 'adults only' until you're stronger."  Cass decided
to help Starbuck out by telling him some of the more personal changes among
his friends as she read the list.  "Hera:  she doesn't have any children -
still thinks the fleet's no place to raise them - but she did find someone
to settle down for life with.  Jolly - he's on his fifth redhead, I think."
She continued, as Starbuck nodded, occasionally smiled, or expressed
surprise at something she said.  Finally, she said "And, of course, Athena.
She . . ."

"I know about Athena," Starbuck cut in a little too sharply.  "I mean,
Apollo told me about her . . . and Bojay.  Some of the others you didn't
mention - Giles?"

"I'm sorry, Starbuck.  There's no good way to tell you who's not around
anymore.  I hear Apollo went through the casualty lists to . . ."

Starbuck closed his eyes for a moment.  "Right.  But they can't all be . .
. What about Sheba?"

"Right here!"  came the familiar voice from the door.  "I've been on deep
space probe - just got in.  Quite a pleasant surprise to be debriefed by
Commander Apollo!  When he told me you were here, I came rigjt down.  May I
come in?"

"Please."  Starbuck noticed the Captain's bars on her lapels as she came
close enough to peck him on the cheek and give him a careful hug.

"Anyone else you want to see - maybe later today?"  Cass asked as she
headed for the door.  "Athena?"

"No.  Not Athena."  Again, Starbuck was aware of having spoken too
abruptly.  "I . . . I'd like to see Boomer."

"And Jenny?"  Cass tried to figure out where the problem lay:  families?
lovers?  Not women;  Starbuck was obviously delighted to see Sheba - the
first time she'd seen him look happy since he'd been rescued.

"Sure, if she wants."

Lovers, decided Cass.  Including me.  "I'll call them.  Sheba, if Starbuck
starts to tire . . . "

"I know, I know, if he yawns, I leave."

"Right."  Cass managed to keep the smile on her face untilshe was behind
the closed door.

Starbuck stopped in front of the Commanders' quarters and pressed the entry
signal.  The door opened immediately and he hobbled in leaning heavily on
his crutch.  Apollo and Troy were seated in the meeting area.

"You sent for me, sir?"  Starbuck asked, not quite sure whether to address
Apollo or Troy.  Part of his mind played with the possibilities arising
from having two Commanders on board:  ambiguities . . . miscommunications .
. . opportunities.

It was Troy who responded.  "I sent for you, yes."  Noticing Starbuck
painfully trying to maintain parade rest, he added quickly, "Have a seat,
Colonel."

Starbuck glanced over his shoulder to see whether Boomer was standing
behind him.  Then he looked back, confused.  Apollo helped him out,
addressing Troy.  "He just got out of Life Station.  He doesn't know yet."

Troy grimaced in embarrassment at his father's grin.  Starbuck looked from
one to the other with suspicion.  Apollo hoisted himself from his chair and
went to his desk.  "Well, since Boxey let the felix out of its container  .
. . "  He walked over to Starbuck and removed his Lieutenant's bars.

Starbuck flinched back involuntarily and nearly lost his balance.
Steadying him with a hand on one arm, Apollo placed Colonel's insignia on
Starbuck's lapels.  Starbuck looked down at them, then back at Apollo,
speechless.

"You didn't think I'd be the only one getting a promotion, did you?"

"Didn't think about it at all," Starbuck admitted.  "I figured you'd get
command:  it's your right and you deserve it.  But I'm . . . I WAS just a
viper pilot, and I've been on ice for 20 yahrens.  This . . . " he gestured
at his collar.  "I didn't do anything to earn it."

"Yes, you did," Apollo assured him in a quiet tone.  "Many times over.  All
the times you goaded Baltar into working you over and forgetting about me."

"I guess I would like to sit down."

As Apollo helped the shaken Starbuck to a chair, Troy spoke up.  "Actually,
Colonel, I didn't ask you here to get my father to give you your promotion.
I asked both of you here for an entirely different reason.

Starbuck and Apollo exchanged bewildered looks.  Troy unlocked a small
drawer and withdrew two sealed scrolls and what appeared to be a
much-handled hand-written letter.  "When Grandfather died, Colonel Boomer
gave me this letter and the scrolls.  Grandfather had prepared them some
time before and entrusted them to Boomer.  I'll read you the letter, which
is addressed to me.

'The scrolls that come with this letter are, as you can see, addressed to
your father and Starbuck.  Probably you think my writing to them is the
action of a senile old man.  If so, humor my final request to you:  Keep
these scrolls for Apollo and Starbuck.

'Boxey, I have never believed they were dead.  Gone from us, yes, perhaps
forever.  But not dead.  I feel I would know if either had died.  So, it is
conceivable that the gods may see fit to return them to us one day.  If so,
I wish to finish some business with each of them.  There are things I
should have said.  Since you are reading this letter, you know that now
these scrolls are the only way.  I wish I could have lived to see them
again, but obviously that was not to be.

'I trust in you to deliver these scrolls should the opportunity arise, as I
believe it will.

'Your Grandfather, Adama'"

Troy folded the letter and returned it to the drawer.  Then he handed each
man the scroll addressed to him and turned away to afford them privacy as
they read.

***

Apollo unsealed his scroll immediately.  As he read the spidery
hand-written letter, tears coursed unnoticed down his cheeks.  The letter
was brief.  But for Apollo it said what he needed to know, as Adama had
hoped.

'My son, the only thing I have never told you in words is that I love you.
If you are reading this, then the Great Powers understand human need as I
have always believed and have granted me one last opportunity.  Apollo, I
have always been proud of your accomplishments.  Know that, whatever our
differences and disagreements, I have always loved you.  Wherever I am now,
I still love you.  I pray you will learn from my poor example and express
your love for Boxey more openly than I did mine for you.

'Son, I have a final request that you may not be able to fulfill.  If
Starbuck is still alive, let him know he belongs to our family.  Try to
break through his barriers.  I tried, but not hard enough.  that is my only
other regret.  If yo can, grant this request for me.'

As he finished reading the last ;portion of the letter for a second time,
Apollo looked over at Starbuck.

***

Starbuck held the scroll almost fearfully.  With his own father, Chameleon,
having come in and out of his life so traumatically, Starbuck had envied
Apollo's relationship with Adama.  Adama had Starbuck's deepest respect
and, more than that, filial affection.  At times Starbuck thought he had
sensed that affection being returned.  But he had not been willing to risk
being wrong.  He knew without opening the scroll that it contained the
proof - or disproof - of his belief.  In the intensity of emotion, he
nearly crushed the unopened scroll.  His hand shook as he broke the seal.
The handwriting was spidery and his weak eyes had trouble focusing.  He
managed the first few lines.

'Son - no Starbuck, this isn't meant for Apollo.  I have long thought of
you as my son.  Unfortunately for both of us, I never found a way to tell
you.  It seems to me that whenever our informal relationship was reaching a
point where I could, you drew back.  But perhaps that is my perception
only.  In any case. it no longer matters.'

Starbuck choked back a sob and bowed his head over the letter, now crumpled
in his hands.  Trying to read the rest was an impossibility.

Apollo rerolled his scroll carefully and set it down.  He approached
Starbuck and placed a hand on his shoulder.  "You okay, buddy?"

Starbuck managed a nod.  Regaining some control, he handed the letter to
Apollo.  In a whisper he asked, "Will you read it to me?  I can't and I
want to hear the rest."

"Are you sure you want me to?  Father meant these to be private."

"No, I'm sure.  I'll never get through it with my eyes."

Apollo scanned the letter, much longer than his.  Explaining things to
Starbuck had always been difficult for Adama, he reflected.  He looked up
at Boxey, who was studiously ignoring them.  "Son?  Would you mind leaving
us for a little while?  Why don't the three of us have dinner here in about
a centare?"

Boxey looked at the two older men, both obviously in the throes of
emotional turmoil.  "No problem," he said, rising.  "I should check the
bridge anyway, in your absence.  Boomer's probably wondering what's become
of us."  He left quickly.

Apollo sat facing Starbuck and asked once more, "Are you sure you want me
to read this?  Scanning it, I can see it was meant just for you"

"Please.  I want to hear it."

"Okay."  Apollo read in a steady, quiet voice.  He forced himself not to
look at Starbuck nor to react to his father's words.  After the first few
lines, the letter continued.

'So, my son, despite your reckless and devious nature, or perhaps because
of it, you are close to my heart.  You should know also that Apollo looks
on you as a brother, as does Athena.  Perhaps they have told yu themselves,
being less circumspect than their father.  That Boixey adores you, I am
sure you know.  For Athena and Boxey this still holds true, although you
have been missing for over 15 yahrens now. For Apollo - only you can know;
I can only pray/

'You have needed a family and we have needed you.  You stood next to me
when I told Sheba to consider herself part of my family.  How much I wanted
to turn and include you then.  I felt you would not allow it.  Forgive me
if I was wrong.'

Starbuck made a whimpering noise, then took a deep breath.  Apollo stopped
reading and glanced up, but Starbuck waved for him to continue.

'While you are forgiving, forgive yourself.  You have always blamed
yourself for Zac's death and Serina's.'

Apollo's voice caught.  He cleared his throat and continued.

'I do not blame you, nor has anyone else ever suggested you were in any way
responsible.  Those were two tragedies of war.  You could not have
prevented them.  Let go of your guilt.

'I thank you for the many times you have saved my life, my family's lives,
and even the whole fleet at the risk of your own.

'Accept the thanks and the love from me now as you wouldn't or couldn't
before.  Boxey once expressed surprise that I had never held you on my lap.
I wish I could have held you as a son needs to be held by his father.  This
I regret.

'Continue taking care of our family, Starbuck.  And let them love and care
for you in return.

'Adama'

Apollo put the letter down, knelt in front of Starbuck and pulled him
forward into a tight embrace.  Starbuck returned the embrace and leaned his
head on Apollo's shoulder, sobbing silently.  After some time, Starbuck
straightened and pulled away slightly from the comforting grip.  Squeezing
Apollo's arms, he whispered, "Thank you."  Then he reached for the letter,
carefully rolled it, and put it in an inner pocket.

The two men sat quietly for another long while.  Finally Apollo said, "We'd
better clean up for dinner.  Boxey'll be back any centon."

***

Starbuck hesitated at the entry to Boomer and Jenny's quarters.  As he
reached for the signal to announce himself, the door slid open suddenly and
two small forms raced out, nearly knocking him over.  One of them called
back over his shoulder, "Sorry mister - mama's at the fooder - g'wan in!"

Starbuck steadied himself against the door jamb and called, "Jenny?"

Jenny appeared from a side alcove, wiping her hands.  A smile lit up her
face when she saw Starbuck in the doorway.  "Come in, come in.  Boomer said
you'd be by.  Why didn't those children tell me you were here?"  She pulled
him into the room.

"Ahh, they seemed to be in something of a rush," Starbuck replied, smiling
back.  "I hope I didn't disturb you.  Boomer did send for me."

"No, no.  He does his paperwork in the office here."  Jenny indicated a
closed door to her right.  "Have you eaten?  I'll bring you something."

"Thanks, Jenny, but no.  I've already eaten."  Starbuck gestured toward the
door.  "May I?"

Jenny shook her head ruefully.  "You men, all business.  Of course, go
ahead.  But I will see you at the naming?"

"I . . . hadn't planned . . . " Starbuck stammered in embarrassment.  "I'm
not sure of my duty schedule yet."

"Well," Jenny eyed him closely, wondering what was bothering him.  "I hope
you can be there.  We don't see enough of you as it is."

Starbuck shrugged and changed the subject.  "I'd best go in."  He turned
toward Boomer's office, avoiding her eyes.  Jenny shook her head in dismay
and went back to the fooder.

Starbuck knocked and opened the door at Boomer's response.  "You sent for
me, Colonel?"

"Only way I could get to see you," Boomer rumbled in response.  "Besides,
you need to be debriefed before I can clear you for active duty.  Sit
down."

Starbuck sat in the chair opposite the desk and tried to prepare himself
mentally.  He'd hoped to avoid the debriefing.  He would have to be
complete and honest, but some of his memories didn't bear close scrutiny.
Rather, he corrected himself, HE couldn't bear the close scrutiny.

Boomer watched his friend's face.  "That bad?" he murmured.  Starbuck
nodded shortly.  "I thought maybe you'd prefer privacy.  We can edit before
we submit the final report that way."

Starbuck straightened and stared over Boomer's right shoulder at the wall.
"Thank you, Colonel.  I appreciate the consideration."  He spoke stiffly,
formally.  "Some of the memories are still . . . vivid."

Boomer put down his stylus and walked around the desk, putting his hand on
Starbuck's shoulder.  "Easy, buddy.  Relax."

Starbuck nodded again, less rigid.  "Where do you want me to start?"

Boomer sat back down, started to reach for the switch that activated the
recorder, then changed his mind and left it off.  "Just talk to me, we'll
worry about the formalities later."

Taking a deep breath, Starbuck began in an even voice.  He recounted the
recon patrol, how he saw Apollo surrounded and forced onto the basestar,
that he followed the ships in and hid until the Cylons had taken Apollo
away.  "That's when I made my first mistake," he grimaced at the memory.

"What was that?" Boomer prompted gently.

":I didn't take out the guard at the bottom of the access tube before I
started down.  He got me in the leg."  Starbuck described his initial
meeting with Baltar emotionlessly.  "He had my leg patched up so he could
torture me more effectively - not for information - just for his pleasure.
He wanted me to beg for death."  Starbuck's voice turned hard.  "I wouldn't
give him the satisfaction."  He paused, then asked in a strained tone, "How
much detail do you need about that?"

Boomer looked up to find Starbuck staring at him.  "Apollo gave us - ahh -
specifics - about sessions later on that he was forced to observe.  Were
there any significant differences?"

Starbuck shook his head.  "None.  It was always the same.  More and more
pain until I couldn't scream anymore.  Or until I passed out.  Maybe
longer, but I didn't care after that.  it was always the same,"  he
repeated, his eyes glazing over with remembered pain.

"I . . . don't need any details, then."  Boomer broke in hastily to snap
Starbuck out of his daze.

Starbuck blinked rapidly and returned to the present.  "Sorry," he
muttered, running his hand through his hair.  "What else do you need to
know, then?" he asked in the futile hope Apollo hadn't mentioned their
subsequent periods of separation.

Boomer seemed to sense Starbuck's desire to end the debriefing.  "Apollo
reported several short periods of time when you were separated again -
before you were permanently locked up together.  That's the only other
missing information."  Boomer gave his friend a way out.  "Was that just
more of the same?"


Starbuck hesitated.  Apollo had figured out what had happened, Starbuck was
sure, but had only reported the separations.  Boomer, too, seemed to know
something different had occurred.  But he was giving Starbuck the
opportunity to let it pass.  Starbuck acknowledged Boomer's unstated offer
with a smile, but shook his head.  In a whisper, he replied, "No, it wasn't
more of the same.  Not at all."

Apologetically, Boomer prompted him, "What happened, Starbuck?"

Starbuck closed his eyes and mumbled something inaudible.  Boomer asked him
to repeat it.  "We need to know, Starbuck."

"I know.  I'm trying."  Starbuck's teeth were clenched.  His knuckles were
white where he gripped the arms of his chair.  When he finally spoke, his
voice was mechanical, almost disembodied.  "I was kept by the Cylons in
their living quarters.  They played with me - like a toy - or a pet.  They
experimented on me.  They wanted my reactions - my responses.  When I
couldn't react or respond anymore - when all I could do was lie there -
when all I wanted was oblivion - they took me back to Apollo."  Starbuck's
eyes were open, but blank.  "I had to go on living then.  I couldn't die
and let them get at him."  He smiled grimly.  "But they couldn't get to me
after that, no matter what they did.  There wasn't anything left for them .
. . for anyone."

Starbuck stopped speaking, but his eyes continued to stare sightlessly
ahead.  Boomer looked at him, wondering what horrors he was reliving.
Almost fearfully, he queried, "Starbuck?"

That broke the spell and Starbuck collapsed, shaking, barely able to remain
in the chair.  He forced himself to look in Boomer's direction, but was
unable to meet his friend's gaze.  He settled once again for staring over
his shoulder.  He tried to speak, but the only words Boomer could make out
were " . . . more details?"

"No." Boomer shook his head vehemently.  Starbuck's face relaxed, his
shuddering became less violent.

Boomer reached behind him for a bottle of ambrosa and two glasses.  He
poured them, then wrapped Starbuck's hands around one and helped him get it
to his mouth.  That steadied him and he whispered, "I'm alright now."

Boomer knew better, and took his own drink in slow sips, watching Starbuck
closely.  Finally, he put his empty glass down and refilled Starbuck's.
"I'm going to start the report now.  You stop me if I get anything wrong."
Starbuck nodded and Boomer began dictating.  Starbuck listened attentively,
but did not interrupt as Boomer summarized until Boomer said, " . . . at
which point he was taken to the Cylon living quarters . . . "  Starbuck
stiffened.  Boomer continued, " . . . where he was held in captivity for an
estimated quarter yahren, during which time his captors continued to
torture him.  At the end of that period, he was returned to the common
prison area."

Starbuck relaxed and Boomer, watching him as he concluded by referencing
Apollo's debrief report, also relaxed.  "Thanks, Boomer."

"For what?" Boomer was gruff.  "I need someone to lead Blue Squadron.  Have
you requalified on the viper yet?"


Apollo pressed the entry signal to Starbuck's quarters and was relieved
when Starbuck answered promptly.

"What brings you around, Commander?" Starbuck asked, surprised to find
Apollo at te door.

"You.  You haven't been out of your room much.  And Dr. Salik reports
you're not eating regularly.  Are you feeling all right?

"I'm fine.  I don't get hungry very often is all.  Out of the habit, I
guess."  Starbuck shrugged and motioned Apollo to a chair.

"Get back into the habit, Starbuck."  Apollo said severely, sitting. 
"Your health depends on your taking care of yourself."

"I know, I know."  Starbuck dropped his eyes.  "Didn't think anyone would
notice."

"Notice what?  That you're turning into a recluse?  Of course people have
noticed.  I chalked it up to your being bored with me after 20 yahrens." 
Starbuck looked up and smiled tentatively.  Apollo met his eyes and
continued.  "But it's not just me.  Your friends wanted to give you time
to get your bearings.  But you haven't given anyone any openings.

"They've got their own lives," Starbuck muttered, looking away again.

"And?" Apollo prompted.

Starbuck shrugged.  "What you said about getting my bearings.  I, I can't
seem to figure out - who I'm supposed to be.  There's no one to get my
bearings from.  The only thing I'm comfortable with is being back in a
viper."  He closed his eyes.  Silently he added, when I'm in my viper, I
know exactly what's expected of me and how to do it.  He opened his eyes
again.  "I'll be all right.  I'll make a point of eating properly.  Maybe
even do a little socializing.  Jenny and Boomer invited me to Jamania's
naming ceremony."

"Good."  Apollo put a conviction he didn't feel into his voice.  Starbuck
had to find his own way.  All Apollo could do was be available to listen.
 "Now, how about some dinner?"

"You're not too busy?"  Starbuck was clearly pleased, but surprised. 
Apollo realized with a pang that he had NOT been available lately.  He
wondered whether Starbuck's other friends were equally occupied. 
Occupied enough that Starbuck would feel he was intruding?  Adama's final
request came back to him.  His father had always made time for those he
loved, despite being Commander of the Fleet.  Apollo promised himself he
would be more sensitive to the needs of his loved ones, too.  Not only
Starbuck, what about Sheba?  He'd been practically ignoring her

"You are too busy."  Starbuck kept his voice carefully neutral.  Apollo
realized he had gotten lost in his thoughts.

"No, not at all.  Matter of fact, this is something you can help me
with."  He grinned at Starbuck's skeptical look.  "I'll explain on the
way to diner," he added, taking Starbuck's arm and leading him out the
door.  "It's about Sheba."

***

Starbuck sat gazing in wonder at the tiny brown fist clamped around his
finger.  Absently, he patted the bottom that fit snugly in his other
hand.  Jenny had deposited Jamania with him soon after the ceremony,
moving so swiftly that Starbuck had no time to protest.  He suspected the
move was calculated to keep him from leaving.  Indeed, he had gone over
to Jenny to thank her and excuse himself.  Instead, e ha settled into
this cushioned alcove and allowed Jenny to "see to my guests" as she put
it.

Jamania was now intent on pulling Starbuck's finger into her mouth.  She
showed amazing strength for her size.  Starbuck wondered if she were
hungry as he allowed her to pull his finger close enough to be licked by
her tiny pink tongue.  A small form appeared in the entry to the alcove,
proffering a baby's bottle.  "Mama thought you might need this"

Starbuck extracted his finger and reached for the bottle.  As Jamania
opened her moth to squall, he popped the nipple into her mouth.  She
gurgled once, then began to suck greedily, wrapping her arms around the
bottle.  A deep chuckle made Starbuck look up.  Boomer stood in the
entry, an affectionate arm around his son.

"You're a natural, bucko!" he announced with a grin.  Starbuck smiled
and, somewhat embarrassed, turned his attention back to the contented
baby in his arms.  He was frequently silent these days;  not quite sure
what to say, he tended to say nothing.  Boomer refused to be put off. 
Sending the small boy back to the party, he squatted next to Starbuck and
stroked his daughter's hair.

"Heard a rumor you're causing confusion in Command," Boomer remarked,
looking obliquely at Starbuck.  He was rewarded by an all-too-infrequent
grin, followed by a look of pure innocence.

"What can you do, Boomer?" Starbuck asked plaintively.  "You ask a
question and get two different answers.  Now, as senior officers, we're
expected to carry out routine activities without explicit instructions. 
I can ask for clarification,.  But I'd look the fool if I asked a third
time, so I have to do the best I can with conflicting commands.  What
would you do?"

"Probably, I wouldn't have been clever enough to ask the question twice
in the first place," Boomer grinned.

"Well, I just wanted to be sure I understood the answer.  Turned out I
didn't.  Good thing I asked."

"Oh, yeah.  Just happened to ask for clarification from a different
Commander than the one who said 'no' the first time."

"A Commander's a Commander.  Warriors used to get shuttle priority during
off-hours.  And I did explain the precedent to Troy."

"Right.  Neglecting the minor matter of Adama's rescinding that status."

"A side issue I forgot to mention."  Starbuck handed the now-sleeping
baby to Boomer and stretched kinked muscles.  "Besides, I must have some
purpose on this barge.  Maybe it's to keep the Commanders on their toes."

Boomer shook his head.  Still, he reflected, Starbuck was having fun and
doing no harm.  Maybe he was doing some good.

"Hi there."  Both men looked up to see Athena framed in the entry.  "My
kids are busy wrecking the place with yours, Boomer.  Thought I'd drop in
and remind myself of how pleasant they were when they were this size." 
She bent over Jamania's head to deliver a soft kiss.  Starbuck stirred
uncomfortably and got to his feet.

"I was about to leave anyway," he murmured.  "Early launch tomorrow."  He
slid past Athena with no further pause and disappeared in the direction
of the hall door.  Athena sighed, looked at a small object in her hand,
then put it carefully in her pocket.  Boomer rose, balancing the baby,
and put a consoling hand on her shoulder.

"He'll come around," he said comfortingly.  We've just got to give him
time."

"Will he?" Athena asked, still looking after Starbuck.  "I'm not so sure
anymore.

***


Starbuck and Greenbean finished their patrol and walked to the Officers
Lounge together, Greenbean slowing his long-legged lope to match
Starbuck's slower, uneven gait

"I don't know, Greenbean," Starbuck said, shaking his head.  "That
anomaly on our scanners still bothers me."

"It had to be meteor showers.  That's why they came and went like that."

"Hmm, maybe, but they were a shade too regular for me."

"The timing?  I wasn't keeping track.  Oh, Commander's waving at you."

"Where and which one."  Starbuck tried to focus his eyes and looked in
the direction Greenbean pointed.

"Over near the viewport.  Both of 'em."  Greenbean grinned.  He like
watching Starbuck maneuver around the two Commanders to get what he
wanted.  "But it's Apollo who's waving," he added in unspoken recognition
of Starbuck's weak eyes.

"Thanks, I see them."  Starbuck sighed, recognizing the third figure at
the table.  "Dillon, too.  Catch you later."  He patted Greenbean's
shoulder in parting and headed toward the threesome.

"How was the patrol?"  Apollo asked as Starbuck joined them.

"Something," Starbuck hesitated, glancing at Dillon.  "Nothing I can put
my finger on, but we had some ghosting on our scanners.  Greenbean thinks
it was meteors, but I don't know."  He trailed off, noticing Dillon's
skeptical expression.

"I'll go with your intuition any day."  Troy encouraged Starbuck to
continue, not seeing Dillon's frown.  Apollo nodded in agreement. 
Starbuck described the intermittent scanner images.

"What do you recommend?" Troy asked.

"Well, I'd like to send out a long-range patrol to investigate further."

"Good idea."  Troy turned to Dillon, who quickly put on a neutral
expression.  "Set it up."  Dillon started to object, then bit back his
words.  Starbuck's 'lucky guesses' were legendary.  He nodded instead.

"I'll take care of it right away.  Colonel, can you give me approximate
coordinates?"

"Sure, I started recording the data as soo as I noticed the regularity of
the interval."

"Good."  Troy was pleased to see his two friends working together.  They
so often seemed at odds.  He stood.  "I've got to go get cleaned up. 
Aunt Athena invited me for dinner and she specified I be appropriately
dressed and on time.  Says I set a bad example for the kids."

Apollo and Starbuck exchanged looks and burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Troy demanded.

Apollo controlled his laughter long enough to explain.  "It's just that
your aunt used to accuse Starbuck and me of being - how did she put it?"

"Poor role models," Starbuck supplied

"Yeah, that was it.  Poor role models for you.  Guess she hasn't changed
much."  The three men exchanged grins.  "Well," Apollo continued, "I
think I'll join you.  I'm taking Sheba to the Rising Star tonight.  We've
got a lot of catching up to do."

"Get a private room," Starbuck suggested, winking at Troy.  At Apollo's
glare, he spread his hands innocently and added, "Just trying to help. 
There are fewer distractions if you're screened off from the rest of the
diners."

Apollo grinned and conceded his point.  "See you two later," he called as
he left with a chuckling Troy.

Dillon watched them go, then turned to Starbuck.  "What say we go over
that data then have some dinner ourselves?"

Starbuck hesitated.  "Well, I."

"Unless you've got other plans."

"No, it isn't that."  Starbuck seemed to come to a decision.  "Okay,
sure.  Let's go over the data now.  But I'd like to rest a bit before
dinner.  How about meeting here at the start of the next duty period?"

"Sure, that's fine."  Dillon wondered at Starbuck's request, but
remembered his uncertain health and put it out of his mind.  They went to
the Ready Room to plan the long-range patrol.

***

Dillon, like many of the surviving children, grew up in Adama's ragtag
fleet.  He fueled his imagination on stories of the daring and devious
Liutenant Starbuck.  He had, in fact, modeled himself on Starbuck.  His
luck with the ladies and at cards was not quite on a par with that
attributed to Starbuck, but he was becoming a legend himself as a
fighter.

Now, as he sat across from his idol in the nearly deserted Officers
Lounge, Dillon was having difficulty reconciling legend with reality.

Starbuck shifted uneasily as he watched Dillon with hooded eyes.  He was
no longer used to having admirers and was uncomfortable with the
expectations everyone had that he would resume being the hot-headed rogue
he had been 20 yahrens ago.

It was easy enough for Apollo, returning to his lover, his sister and his
son.  A son who immediately turned command over to him without a qualm. 
Starbuck had the feeling Boxey didn't enjoy command and had jumped at the
opportunity to resume the more active Strike Commander role.  Apollo was
healthy and ready to take over the fleet.  With Boomer as his
second-in-command to hlep him over the rough spots, the fleet couldn't be
in better hands.

For Starbuck it was a different story.  He came back to no one.  Having
successfully avoided making any romantic commitments, he was unsurprised
to find that the women in his life 20 yahrens before had mourned his loss
for a time, then picked up their own lives.  They had been glad to
discover he was alive, to be sure, but each had her own life - in which
Starbuck had no place.  His buddies, too, had their own lives and
families.  His life, on the other hand, seemed to have been placed in
suspension.

The young man opposite him was clearly disappointed in Starbuck.  His old
friends, while more understanding, also expected him to bounce back now
that he had recovered physically.  Only Apollo seemed to understand.  He
tried to temper his own joy and provide Starbuck with a sympathetic ear. 
Starbuck in turn tried not to lt his confusion intrude on Apollo's
happiness.  But what purpose did he serve now - why and for whom was he
living?

Starbuck lifted the glass of ambrosa in front of him.  Drink had never
helped him before and didn't now.  At least that hadn't changed.  He
looked across at Dillon.  "Why don't you spit it out and get it done
with.  You won't hurt my feelings and I promise not to pull rank on you."

Dillon looked startled, but didn't pretend not to understand.  "I, well,
you're just not what I expected.  Not what the stories said."

"Look, kid, I've been a Cylon prisoner for almost half my life - the most
recent half.  I had to re-evaluate my attitude to survive.  And I almost
didn't anyway.  If your attack had been a secton or two later, I probably
wouldn't have been there."  Starbuck paused and looked into his glass. 
Which might have been better for all concerned."

Dillon scowled at him.  "That isn't what I meant.  I didn't really expect
you to start conning everyone in sight or hop back into your viper as
soon as you were released from Life Station - and you did that anyway! 
But you don't even see glad to be free."

"Don't I?  No, I suppose I don't   I am though.  I just can't . . ." he
trailed off, making a vague motion with his hand.  His voice became
jaunty.  "Wonder how sick I'd get if I took a few puffs of a cigar?"

Dillon looked at him, surprised at the sudden change of topic, then
grinned and, drawing two cigars out of his sleeve pocket, offered one to
Starbuck and tossed him a lighter.

"Much obliged.  Haven't had one of these in well over 20 yahrens.  Lung
damage from a Cylong wound."  Starbuck inspected the glowing cigar tip
and turned serious again.  "You've got questions.  Something about me
bothers you.  That makes me uncomfortable.  So ask your questions."

"I guess I can always drag you to Life Station if you keel over," Dillon
returned.  "Okay, I do have questions.  You're having trouble adjusting .
. . to being back, whatever.  Why isn't Commander Apollo?"

"Two reaosns.  First, we're different people.  We react differently. 
Always have.  He's always been more relaxed, doesn't plunge in as deep,
doesn't have as far to come back to  I've always gone in head first. 
Sometimes needed help getting out at all."  He paused.  "Then, too, we
had different experiences on the baseship."  Starbuck took an
experimental drag on the cigar.

Dillon blew out smoke and added, "And on this ship?  I mean, Apollo had
family to come home to."  Starbuck shrugged, then nodded, reluctant to
admit the truth.  

"Yeah, that, too," he said softly.

Dillon realized he had touched a sore spot and tried to change the topic.
 "You said you had different experiences.  You two were in the same
cell."

"Last few yahrens, we were.  I think that was Apollo's punishment -
having to tak care of me and watch me get . . . worse.  Before that,
well, they'd force him to watch me get tortured.  Baltar had it in for me
because I'd gotten away from him before.  And I think he feared Commander
Adama enough to go easy on his son.  Just in case we got rescued." 
Starbuck paused as their food arrived.  He took a final puff on his cigar
and ground it out regretfully.

"Why didn't Baltar just kill you?" Dillon asked between mouthfuls.

"Oh, he told me right off he intended to make me die painfully.  Didn't
even pretend to interrogate me."  Starbuck shrugged and took a sip of
ambrosa.  "Somewhere along the line he decided he'd rather have me live
painfully instead."  Another shrug.  "An easy was to get at Apollo, I
suppose."

"How long were you separated?"

"I don't know."  Starbuck frowned.  "Maybe a yahren.  Maybe more.  Apollo
would know.  I'm not sure when they started forcing him to watch the fun.
 It was a while longer before we shared a cell.  He started taking care
of me and sometimes Baltar would threaten him.  And for a while they'd
separate us between . . . times.  At the end they started leaving us
together."  Starbuck reached for his cigar and relit it.  Taking a puff,
he asked, "You really want to hear this?"

Dillon nodded.  "It explains a lot.  Didn't you fight them?"

Starbuck grinned humorlessly around the cigar.  "How do you fight four
Centurions working you over while you're strapped down.  I fought when I
could:  from when they'd come to get me until they secured me.  Didn't
help.  Didn't seem to make any difference at all.  Baltar wanted me
beaten whether I cooperated or not."  Starbuck took the cigar out of his
mouth and coughed.  "Enough pleasure for one nigh," he announced with
another cough.

Dillon, alarmed, began to get up, but Starbuck waved him back into his
seat.  Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he controlled the
coughing spasms.  "What else do you want to know?"

"They didn't hurt Commander Apollo?"

"Not that I know of.  They would have soon, though.  I wasn't anymore fun
for them."

Dillon put out his cigar and glared at Starbuck.  "How can you just sit
thre and talk about this?"

Starbuck land forward and said quietly, "Talking isn't the problem. 
Living with it is the problem.  You see,"  Starbuck pushed back his
chair, "I wasn't planning on having to live with what happened."

He got up abruptly and limped quickly out of the club.


Sheba and Apollo sat across from each other in a private alcove of the
Rising Star's exclusive restaurant.  Apollo toyed with his glass and
lookd everywhere but at Sheba.  Finally she cleared her throat.  He lookd
up and grinned sheepishly.  "This isn't easy.  Don't forget, I haven't
been on a date in 20 yahrens."

"You weren't much better at it then."  Sheba softened hre words with a
smile.

"Hey!  That's not fair!  I was never at a loss for words back then."

"No," Sheba agreed.  "You almost always brought Starbuck along to talk
to.  If I was lucky, Starbuck's love-of-the-secton wouldn't be totally
brain-dead."

"Aww, c'mon, Sheba.  Starbuck isn't that bad.  This private room was his
idea."

"Figures," Sheba laughed.  "So you couldn't escape?"

"Something like that."  Apollo shook his head.  "He said 'fewer
distractions'.  I think he just wants me to get straightened out with you
so I'll stop asking him where you stand."  Abruptly, he looked directly
at her.  "Where do you stand?"

Sheba tried to evade the question.  "On what issue?  Over the last 20
yahrens I've taken quite a few stands."

Apollo let her get away with the misinterpretation.  "We do have a lot of
time to make up for.  Tell me about the 'stands' you've taken."

Sheba took a deep breath and then launched into a summary of her life for
the time Apollo was missing.  It became obvious to Apollo that, while
she'd finally accepted her father's disappearance as permanent, she'd
supported Adama in his belief that Apollo and Starbuck were alive - and
reachable - somewhere.  Sheba had been a great comfort to Adama, as well
as helping Cass and Athena work through their grief.  She touched on her
promotion to Captain, brushing it off as "by default - somebody had to
take over the squad when Boomer replaced Tigh."

Finally she finished.  "And you?" she asked Apollo.  "What happened.  Why
are you alive?"

"Mostly, I'm alive because of Starbuck.  I was captured and he followed
the raiders back to the baseship.  He took the brunt of Baltar's anger." 
Apollo's eyes filled with anguish.  "Sheba, I spent the first couple of
yahrens in isolation, being taunted by Baltar.  I didn't know whether the
fleet still existed.  I didn't know if Starbuck - or any of you - were
alive.  Then Baltar moved me in with the otehr prisoners and I got word
about the fleet.  And he started taking me wit him to watch . . .
Starbuck.."  Apollo closed his eyes briefly.  "That's how he tortured me
- through Starbuck.  When he saw how well that worked, he 'let' me tend
Starbuck's injuries.  There wasn't much I could do for him and Baltar
knew it."

"Starbuck says you kept him alive."

"Through willpower, maybe.  I had no supplies.  Nothing.  All I could do
was try to mak him comfortable and talk to him."

"That must have been enough."

"Maybe.  Sometimes it seemed h forced himself to stay alive only to
protect me."  Apollo shook his head as if to shake out the painful
memories.  "He's still not all right."

"He's adjusting.  At least he's not hiding in his quarters anymore.  What
did you talk about?"

"Mostly about you."  Apollo looked into hr eyes and repeated his original
question.  "Where do you stand?"

Sheba turned serious.  "I waited 20 yahrens for you.  Does that answer
your question?"  As though embarrassed by her directness, she dropped her
gaze.

Apollo resumed breathing.  "I waited 20 yahrens to hear that."  He
reached across the table and took her hand.  "I hoped, but I couldn't be
sure.  Starbuck was sure you'd wait . . . and hope.  But I kept thinking
of Croft, Bojay . . ."

Sheba covered his hand with her other one.  "Shh.  It doesn't matter.  I
used Croft to try to make you jealous."  She laughed.  "He knew it.  Said
it wouldn't work - he was right, wasn't he?"  Apollo looked up, grinned
and nodded.  "Bojay.  Bojay was like a brother.  He cold never replace
you.  He didn't try.  He couldn't replace Starbuck either.  But he did
comfort Athena.  She came to really love him I think."

"I know.,  She's told me about it."

"But, my dear Commander, you are stuck with me.  I couldn't lt go.  You
had to come back."

"I'm here now."  Apollo's whispr brought them into each other's arms.  He
pressed the privacy signal, then continued to reassure Sheba that he was,
indeed, here now.

***

Dillon was startled by Starbuck's abrupt departure.  All he wanted to
know was what had happened to change Starbuck from the daring, dashing
pilot of legend into this sad shell.  He went over their conversation as
he strolled back to his quarters.

When he invited Starbuck to join him for dinner, Dillon had done so
eagerly, for several reasons.  First, he wanted to get to know his idol. 
Second, he wanted to nip their incipient rivalry in the bud.  He had
groomed himself to be like Starbuck - why wre they so often at odds
professionally?  Third, he wanted to find out which of the several
different sides of Starbuck that he had seen - competent veteran warrior,
quiet drinking companion of the older warriors, maverick senior officer -
was the real Starbuck.

Starbuck hesitated before accepting, but, at Dillon's urging, agreed to
meet him at the Officers Club.  He set the time quite late, but Dillon
didn't find that remarkable at the time.  Now, he realized, Starbuck
preferrd solitude and chose a time when the Club would be largely
unpopulated.

Troy, catching Dillon before he ran to Athena's for dinner, cautioned him
not to expect too much.  Now that had been strange, and had put Dillon on
his guard, although he wasn't sure for what.  Dillon thought he
understood now what Troy was trying to tell him.  Starbuck was no longer
a hero, but a withdrawn, bitter victim of the Cylons.

Dillon reflected that Starbuck had tried to meet him halfway.  Tried to
be honest with him.  In fact, he was surprised at Starbuck's willingness
to talk about his imprisonment and torture.  What he wouldn't do was talk
about how it had changed him.  Starbuck's way of dealing with the
physical ordeal was to distance himself from it.  That way, he could
discuss it clinically, almost emotionlessly.

But Dillon felt something else had happened that Starbuck wouldn't
discuss.  Starbuck called it his 'attitude'.  He changed the subject
whenever the conversation turned to his feelings or exactly how he had to
change to survive.

His parting words disturbed Dillon most.  What did Starbuck mean, he
hadn't planned to live with what happened?  Then Dillon thought he knew: 
Starbuck was afraid.  To survive he had become passive, accepted his lot
as defeated prisoner.  Now he was afraid of the Cylons.  And ashamed of
his fear.  Somehow the Cylons had destroyed whatever it was that made a
warrior able to fight.  Starbuck can't fight anymore, Dillon decided.

So Starbuck could not be relied on.  Dillon toyed with the idea of
telling Troy, who seemed to suspect it in any case.  He decided against
it.  Starbuck need not be publicly humiliated for not surviving 20
yahrens of torture intact.  And that was what would happen if Dillon
officially reported to Troy.  Troy would investigate and ultimately be
forced to remove Starbuck from any active position.

Dillon could find ways to keep Starbuck out of dangerous situations, out
of combat altogether if necessary.  Starbuck tired easily, for one thing.
 For another, as ranking squadron leader, the bulk of administrative work
could legitimately be turned over to him.

Dillon felt satisfied that he had resolved the problem.  He wondered
briefly whether he should tell Starbuck.  No, he would not confront
Starbuck.  After all, he wanted to protect him, not cause him more pain.

Surely Starbuck would understand if Dillon quietly worked around him.  He
was obviously aware of his own shortcomings.  With Starbuck's tacit
cooperation, Dillon could keep him from endangering missions.

He would put his plan into effect immediately.  That way, he reasoned, no
one would be hurt and the fleet's safty would not be jeopardized.

***

"C'mon, Starbuck.  You've gotta meet Jolly's latest."  Greenbean was
literally pulling the protesting Starbuck toward the Officers Lounge.

"I'm much too tired.  You know Salik's been on my case about not getting
enough rest.  I really should . . ."

"Just one drink," Greenbean interrupted.  "It'll relax you."

"I gt any more relaxed, I'll fall down," Starbuck retorted.  He
hesitated, hearing th noice from the crowded Officers Lounge even at this
distance.  Greenbean tugged at his arm and Starbuck stumbled.  "See?"

Greenbean laughed, but did not release Starbuck's arm.  Starbuck gave up
the fight and made an effort to keep up with Greenbean.  They entered the
Officers Lounge togethr and joined Jolly and Cree at a table.  With them
were two women.  Starbuck correctly guessed that the one with flaming red
hair was "Jolly's latest".  She introduced her companion, seatd to
Starbuck's right, a dusky brunette with startlingly gold eyes, as
Alienne.  The drinks were ordered and conversation resumed.  Much of it,
in their part of the Lounge at least, revolved around the general
consensus that Dillon needed to be taken down a notch.

Starbuck, although privately agreeing, kept his opinions largely to
himself.  As the red-head clucked sympathetically at Jolly's long list of
grievances, Starbuck felt Alienne's catlike eyes examining him.  He
turned toward her and smiled.  After all, there was more than one way to
relax.

"Like what you see?"  he asked.  Her response, in the affirmative, was
more purr than language.  His smile deepened.

"You're very interesting, Colonel."  He cocked an eyebrow.

"How do you mean?  Artifacts are 'interesting'.  Do you think I belong in
a museum?"

"Oh, no, not at all.  Only dead things belong in museums.  You are
interesting because," she shrugged sinuously.  "I don't know - you change
with each person you talk to .  It is interesting to watch."

Starbuck considered that.  "All right.  But each person is different - so
shouldn't I be?"

"Mmm.  An intriguing perspective.  Each person is different, yes.  That's
what makes us individuals."  Starbuck nodded.  Alienne continued slowly,
thinking as she spoke.  "But you aren't just different from everyone
else,  you are different for each person you interact with.  You see?"

"Maybe.  Kep going."  Starbuck was fascinated by her analysis.  The
others drifted away, Greenbean pleased, if surprised, that Starbuck chose
to stay.

"You are not one unique person, but a different unique person to each
individual you meet."

"You mean I treat different people different ways?  I think most people
do."

"That's true, but not what I meant.  You respond to different people's .
. . expectations of you - maybe you show them the person they think are
are? - instead of responding to th preson as you really are.  You see?"

Starbuck understood all too well what she was saying.  To find out where
he fit in now, he tried to fill the roles others xpected of him.  It was
lik ewearing a series of masks, he reflected, to see which one was
closest to his own face.  Not realizing he was speaking aloud, he said,
"But who am I really?"

"i don't know."  Alienne shook out her dark mane of hair.  "I suspect
there's some truth in each of the views you present.  But I . . ."

She was abruptly cut off by Dr. Wilkes' rushing up to the table. 
"Starbuck!  I've been looking all over for you."

"Looks like you found me."  Starbuck replied amiably, but with a pained
look on his face.  Alienne giggled softly.  Wilkes turned toward her with
a startled look, as though he'd just noticed her.

"Oh, sorry, miss."  He turned back to Starbuck, pulling up a chair as he
resumed speaking.  "I've been reading the summary report of your
debriefing . . . "

Starbuck's face became a pale, blank mask.  Alienne, deciding she didn't
want to see this version of Starbuck, cleared hr throat and rose.  The
throat-clearing sounded like a warning growl.  Wilkes ignored it, but
Starbuck rose apologetically and took her hand.  "It's business, love. 
And Dr. Wilkes tends to be rather, ahh, single-minded about it."

Alienne smiled.  "It's all right.  But if you'd like to continue our
discussion sometime, you can find me on the Leona Freighter, level two."

"I would and I will."  He squezed her hand gently before releasing it. 
"Thank you."  He sad back down as Alienne left and turned cold eyes
towards Dr. Wilkes.  "Something about my debriefing disturbs you?"

"No, no, not disturbs," Wilkes corrected.  "Intrigues.  I believe you may
have information we've not had access to before."

"About Cylon torture techniques?"  Starbuck's voice was as icy as the
stare he directed at Wilkes.

"No, no, no.  Perhaps Paye or Salik would be interested in those.  I mean
the Cylons themselves.  You lived among them!"  Wilkes almost squeaked in
his excitement.

"I was kept in their living quarters, yes."  Starbuck's toneless response
was a stark counterpoint to Wilkes' eager voice.

"Good.  Yes.  Then you must have seen them without their armor.  You
know, they disintegrate at death - we've never been able to figure out
why.  So we have no knowledge of their physiology."  When Starbuck
remained silent, Wilkes asked urgently, "You did view them without their
armor on, didn't you?"

"I saw them."

Greenbean, having seen Alienne leave, was heading for the table to find
out what had happened when he stopped short, alarmed by the blank look on
Starbuck's usually expressive face and the mechanical tone of his
response.  He looked around for assistance and spotted Boomer just coming
in.  He rushed to intercept him.

"What's up, Greenbean?"  Boomer asked as Greenbean, signalling
frantically, came within earshot.

"Look over there," Greenbean pointed at Starbuck and Wilkes.  "What could
Wilkes be saying?  I've never seen Starbuck look like that.  Gives me a
chill even from here."

"I have."  Boomer's voice was grim.  "Let me handle this.  Why don't you
bring us some drinks?"  

Greenbean nodded and Boomr strode to the table in time to hear Wilkes
repeat insistently, "If you saw them, you must know what they look like. 
This is very valuable information.  You must describe them to me."

Starbuck didn't answer.  His body was so rigid, Boomr thought it would
shatter if touched.  Pullin gout a chair and straddling it, he asked with
exaggerated casualness, "What does who look like?"

Wilkes turned in surprise.  Briefly, Boomer considered saying "boo". 
Then Wilkes recovered.  "Why, the Cylons, of course.  You debriefed
Starbuck, Colonel.  I'm sure you must have realized the value of his
experience."

"As you say, I was the debriefing officer.  Have you read the full
debrief?"

"No, just the public summary."

Greenbean came up just then with three drinks.  He slid one to Boomer and
put one in front of Starbuck as he sat down with his own.  "What public
summary?" he asked.

"Of Starbuck's debrief," Wilkes snapped impatiently.  "Never mind.  The
description's in the full debrief you say?  I'll read it next duty shift.
 Gentlemen."  He left abruptly, annoyed at the disruptions to his
investigation.

Starbuck shuddered once, then leaned forward to hunch over his drink. 
Greenbean looked from one Colonel to the next, still not sure what had
happened.  "Mission accomplished?" he asked.

"Just about," Boomer replied.  "Thanks for the assist."

Starbuck roused himself to smile weakly and nod at Greenbean.  "Yeah. 
Thanks.  I appreciate it.  He really caught me off guard."

"Ahh, Greenbean, I don't think you want to hear the rest of this
conversation," Boomer suggested.  "Don't mean to brush you off, but . .
."

Greenbean held up his hands.  "Hey, it's okay.  If you say I don't want
to know - I don't!  Time for dinner anyway."  He finished his drink in a
swallow, snapped off a casual salute, and left.

Starbuck looked at Boomer obliquely.  "Can wwe get that description into
the debrief by next duty shift?"

"We can if we start right away."

"Greenbean said it's dinner time.  Won't Jenny -?"

Boomer cut him off.  "Don't worry about that.  You worry too much about
interfering in other people's lives . . . since you got back.  Anyway, I
don't want to be made a liar, so . . ."  He looked directly at Starbuck. 
More gently, he asked, "Can you dictate that description?"

Starbuck was silent for a moment, looking into his glass as though it
held the answer.  Finally, he returned Boomer's gaze.  "I don't know
Boomer.  That was the worst of the whole time.  Even . . . what they . .
.look like . . ."  He looked away and shook his head, then brushed the
hair out of his eyes.  In a stronger tone of voice he finished, "But I've
gotta do it - to get Wilkes off my back - and you out of a mess."  He
stood.  "Let's go."


The four women sat comfortably in sofas around the living area in
Cassiopeia's apartment.  Yahrens ago, Sheba had nicknamed them
"Starbuck's Fan Club".  They had supported each other against Starbuck's
wiles and amorous deceits in the beginning, then consoled each other at
his loss, encouraging one another to go on living - and loving - while
keeping Starbuck alive within the close circle of their memories.  Sheba
had never actually fallen in love with Starbuck, but looked on him as a
mischievous younger brother - the kind who somehow always came through in
a pinch.  She was the most outspoken in her belief that Starbuck - and
Apollo - were still alive, asserting, "Starbuck wouldn't let Apollo die. 
Not Starbuck.  He'll get them both back somehow."

It was the belief Cass clung to as well.  Yet both applauded Hera and
later Athena for finding new lives.  Sheba was especially pleased that
Bojay, too, found happiness.  And both went on loving the missing
warriors and believing in miracles.

When Bojay, by sheer force of will, brought his wrecked viper into the
landing bay and lived long enough to see Athena and their children once
more, Cass privately told Sheba, "That's how it will be with Starbuck. 
He won't go without saying goodby.  He'll make it back somehow."

Sheba nodded and added, "Apollo, too.  They'll find a way home - if only
to say goodby."

Now the women gathered in private celebration and consultation.  Hera
toasted Sheba:  "Well, your prophecy came true.  Except it was Apollo who
kept Starbuck alive and brought him home."

"Or what's left of him," Athena added quietly.  "I keep wishing he were -
I don't know, like Boxey's old daggit."  At their bewildered looks, she
explained.  "I mean so we could find the module he's misplaced, insrt it,
and he'd be good old Starbuck again."  The others noddd.

"He's so . . . tentative."  Hera concurred.  "As though he's waiting for
something, but doesn't quite know what it is."

"Or like he knows what it is, and doesn't want to face it," Athena said
darkly.  Reluctantly, Cass nodded her agreement.

"In a way, it's typical Starbuck," she sighed.  "He thinks he knows how
things are, so he goes with his assumptions and doesn't test them."  She
shook her head.  "I wish someone would tell him he might be wrong."

Sheba had been thoughtfully silent.  From what Apollo had told her, her
prophecy had been completely accurate:  Starbuck had kept Apollo alive,
nearly at th cost of his own life, by focussing Baltar's attention on
himself instead of Apollo.  She argued with Apollo to let the fleet know
what a hero Starbuck was.  But Apollo refused.  While he was still in
Life Station, Starbuck had made Apollo promise to let the past die. 
Sheba thought they wre both making a mistake - and making it harder for
Starbuck to find a new life.  So many people assumed Baltar had destroyed
Starbuck's spirit and treated him accordingly.  No one seemed to realize
the pity was hurting him.  But until now Sheba, too, had remained silent
out of loyalty to Starbuck.  Misplaced loyalty, se decided, and spoke up
abruptly.

"You're all wrong.  What's hurting Starbuck is us - all his friends.  We
keep waiting for him to make the first move.  And - you know Starbuck -
he'll do nothing rather than risk being wrong.  He just plain doesn't
know what we expect."

"You know," Hera said slowly, "you may be right.  On patrol, it's like
he'd never been gone.  He knows how to command a squadron and he does it
- right down to calling me 'hotshot' when I get out of line.  But when we
climb out of the cockpits - bam!  It's like a door slamming shut."  She
paused, then continued, almost thinking out loud.  "He doesn't know how
to approach me now that I'm sealed, so he doesn't even try."

"I get the same treatment," commented Athena.

"But so do I," protested Cass.  "And I'm not sealed or widowed or
anything!  I'm the same as I was 20 yahrens ago - still waiting for
Starbuck!"  This last came out almost as a wail and Athena put her arm
around the distraught blonde, while Hera patted her hand.

But Sheba merely looked thoughtful and asked, "Now how do we let Starbuck
know that?"

***

Starbuck awoke in the middle of a silent scream.  Cold sweat covered his
body.  He was on a floor, wrapped carefully in blankets, in a darkened
room.  His first thought was one of despair - the rescue had been a
dream.  His head ached and his mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with
cotton.  The Cylons had been at him again.  No, that was what he'd been
dreaming.  Then what was the reality?  No answer was forthcoming from his
fogged brain.

He sat up cautiously.  He was stiff, but in no great pain.  Disoriented,
he frowned and tried to separate dream from true memory.  As his eyes
adjusted, he made out furniture.  Faint light outlined a closed door. 
While he watched, the light brightened, blinding him.  Throwing a
shielding arm in front of his face, he called, "Apollo?"

"No.  Boomer.  I set up a motion sensor.  How do you feel?"  The speaker
closed the door and started across the room.

"Not a dream?" Starbuck murmured, still cringing back from long habit.

"What?"  Boomer's voice was concerned.  He lit a desk lamp and squatted
next to his friend.

Seeing Boomer's face clearly, Starbuck relaxed.  He ran a hand through
his hair and grinned sheepishly.  "Nothing.  I'm just a little confused."
 The probable cause of his headache occurred to him.  "And very
hung-over."

"You should be.  I poured almost a full bottle of ambrosa into you to
calm you down."

"What happened?"

Boomer chose his words carefully.  "You had some, ahh, difficulty
describing Cylon, ahh, physiology."

The previous evening came back to Starbuck, clear in memory until it cut
off abruptly.  He frowned.  "I blanked out - couldn't do it?"  It was a
question.  His memory stopped with Boomer's hand on the recorder.  He
looked up at Boomer.

Boomer avoided Starbuck's eyes.  "No, you gave a . . . complete
description.  Of what Cylons look like."  He paused and swallowed hard. 
No, he couldn't lie to Starbuck.  It would be kinder to him, perhaps. 
Certainly easier for both of them.  But Starbuck would sense the
deception.  "And of their . . . activities.  With you."

"No!" Starbuck dropped his head into his hands.  Boomer forced Starbuck's
head up again and held his eyes.  "It's not recorded.  I deleted the
whole account and dictated a clinical description."

"But you know . . ." Starbuck couldn't finish.  He wanted to run and
hide, but Boomer held him by the arms.  All Starbuck could do was drop
his head again.

"I know why you have nightmares.  Look at me!"  Boomer's tone threatened
violence if Starbuck didn't obey.  Starbuck didn't want to see what was
in Boomer's eyes, but the thought of being physically coerced by his
friend was even more distasteful.  He raised his head, not quite meeting
Boomer's eyes.

"I couldn't have gotten through . . . what they did to you.  I know this
as fact.  But you survived.  Makes me feel a little less cocky, knowing
that."

Boomer's somber tone gave Starbuck a faint hope that he was not just
offering a comforting lie.  Enough of a hope for Starbuck to look at his
friend closely, seeking verification in his face.  Although Boomer met
his gaze evenly, Starbuck dropped his eyes again, still not able to
believe Boomer could know and not find him . . . pitiable at bes.  "I
didn't come out whole," he whispered.

"No," Boomer agreed.  "Don't see how you could have.  But I wouldn't have
come out alive."  No response.  One more try, Boomer thought.  "And
you're getting there You're becoming 'whole' again."

"Sure," Starbuck rejoined bitterly.  "That's why you had to put me into a
drunken stupor last night."
Well, at least I got a response, Boomer thought.  "Listen," he said
aloud, "it was that or call Dr. Salik."  Starbuck's head jerked up in
alarm.  "And it wasn't just for you."  Boomer gestured at the desktop,
where two empty liquor bottles lay.

"I'm sorry."  Both men spoke at once.  Boomer's hand on Starbuck's
shoulder assured Starbuck that his friend understood all that both of
them were apologizing for.

A sharp rapping on the door announced Jenny.  "You drunken bums ready for
breakfast?"  At their affirmative nods, she turned to set places for
them, calling over her shoulder, "Fine example you veterans set for the
warriors under your command."

Boomer grinned and shook his head, helping Starbuck to his feet.  "You
know Jenny.  She doesn't mean anything."

Starbuck waved away his friend's concrn.  "Just means sh was worried
about us.  Nice to know people care."  Boomer nodded and, seeing Starbuck
was stady on his feet, went through the door.  Starbuck paused in the
entry and looked back at the tangled pile of blankets.  He shuddered as
the memory of a cell with a similar pile of blankets superimposed itself
on the scene.  His first waking thoughts returned.  Was his grip on
reality so tenuous?  Without realizing it, he spoke aloud.  "Maybe
Dillon's right:  I do fear them.  What if I panic in action?"

"He's not.  You won't."  Boomer cut Starbuck's introspection short.  "He
wasn't there.  Lord willing, no one else will ever be."

Starbuck nodded shortly and turned abruptly away from the room full of
memories.  Brushing his hair out of his eyes, he determinedly changed the
subject.  "I'm starving.  Is Jenny a decent cook?"

***

"He's been through a lot," Apollo was saying to Troy as Dillon joined
them at breakfast.

Apollo had decided Sheba was right.  He had to at least bend his promise
to Starbuck or he would be doing him more harm than good.  Answering
Troy's questions seemed the least deceitful way to proceed.  Apollo had
been trying to help his son understand Starbuck's silences when Dillon
entered.  He hesitated then: Dillon seemed rather close-minded whre
Starbuck was concerned.  But Dillon sat down quietly, not wishing to
interrupt, and Apollo continued.  "I only know some of it.  Don't forget,
I was in isolation for two yahrens.  After that, I still didn't see
anything of Starbuck for quite a while.  And no one knew anything but
rumors - bits and pieces of overheard gossip from the guards.

"But where was he?" Troy asked.

"Initially, he was in isolation.  Same as I was.  Only he was held there
longer.  And he was tortured."  Apollo's words came out staccato. The
differences in their treatment were difficult for him to discuss without
feeling the same guilt he had lived with for 20 yahrens.  "Then we shared
a cell.  They'd take him away to be tortured.  Sometimes take me to
watch.  Sometimes just take him."   Apollo fell silent.  He'd said too
much.

"Where?"

"I don't know.  I'd ask what had happened and he wouldn't say.  Only once
did he talk about it."  Apollo closed his eyes reliving that night.  "The
tin cans woke us all in the middle of sleepshift.  They moved the second
bunk into my cell, making as much noise as possible."  He laughed grimly.
 "So I knew they were bringing Starbuck back. They always took the bunk
out when they took him alone - to frighten me, I think."  He took a deep
breath.  "Anyway, they dragged Starbuck in and dumped him on the floor. 
He was in horrible shape, but he hadn't been beaten.  I got him onto the
bunk and tried to find out what was wrong, where he was hurt.  But he was
delirious and kept pushing me away.  Finally, I gave up and just braced
him with pillows and blankets.

"In the morning he was lucid, but he still wouldn't let me touch him." 
Apollo paused and shook his head.  "I lost my temper and ordered him to
tell me where he'd been and what had happened.  I mean," he looked at
Dillon and Troy for vindication, "I'd taken care of him after beatings,
and sometimes he just asked to be left alone.  But this was something
else.  He literally wouldn't let me help him."  Apollo fell silent,
reluctant to continue.

"What did Starbuck say happened?" Troy asked quietly, knowing Starbuck
wouldn't refuse to respond to a direct order, no matter how unreasonable.
 Dillon kept silent, believing he knew.  This was when Baltar had broken
Starbuck.  By the time Apollo saw him again, Baltar must have known
Starbuck was 'safe'.

Apollo looked at the two younger men as though measuring them.  Still
doubtful, he hedged.  "He didn't answer directly."

"What did he say?"  Troy's motivation differed from Dillon's.  Rather
than corroboration of his own views, Troy sought to understand his
father's experiences and Starbuck's.

"He asked," Apollo finally replied, "if I remembered the wild felines
Sire Uri used to keep as pets.  He could do anything to them, because
their claws and fangs had been pulled so they couldn't hurt him.  I told
him I remembered.

"Then he said," Apollo paused and swallowed hard before continuing.  "
'That's what I am to the Cylons.  Baltar gave me to them as a pet.  To do
whatever they wanted."  Then he wrapped himself up in the blankets and
curled against the cell wall.  He wouldn't move or speak for three days."

Dillon had heard enough.  He was sure he'd taken the course that would
cause the least harm to everyone.  He shook his head regretfully and
sincrely whispered, "Poor Starbuck.  We're lucky he survived at all." 
The other two men, not guessing his thoughts, agreed.  

Dillon excused himself to prepare for patrol.  He had left when Troy
asked, "And he never said anything more?"

"No.  And I never asked, even though he was taken away for long periods
and came back like that several more times.  Whatever happened at those
times, though, it didn't have the effect Baltar had planned.  Instead of
breaking Starbuck, it made him taunt Baltar even more.  He was intent on
keeping Baltar away from me."  Apollo was deep in memory now, unaware he
spoke aloud.  Troy didn't interrrupt.

Th tin cans had brought Starbuck in from 'standard' torture only a few
centons before.  I had put him on the bed.  He was unconscious and when I
straightened him out, I was sure his lgs were broken - again.  Then
Baltar came in.  Two of his guards waited just outside the cell, which
was unusual.  He didn't even look at Starbuck.  He came up to me and
announced that it was my turn.  When he turned to signal the guards - I
wasn't going without a fight - Starbuck was between him and the cell
door.  I didn't think he was even conscious.  I still don't know how he
stood up.  But he did, on hand on the bedrail.  He could hardly opn his
eyes, they were so badly swollen, so was his mouth.  But that didn't stop
him.  'What's the matter Baltar?  Am I too tough for you?'  He infuriatd
Baltar until Baltar signalled the Cylons to take him instead of m.  I
wasn't about to let them do that, but Baltar stunned me with his laser
pistol."  Apollo shook his head.  "I wish I knew what he thought he was
protecting me from.  I could have taken the abuse bettr than he could at
that point.  I wish I knw."

"Are you sure?"  Troy didn't know why he asked, but instinctivel felt it
was right.  "Starbuck didn't want you to know.  Are you sure you want
to?"

Apollo thought about it.  Thought about the look in Starbuck's eyes at
times.  "No.  Maybe not."

***

Resting, Starbuck reflected ruefuly, was easier than he had thought. 
First of all, when he came off a duty period, he was too tired to do
anything but find his bunk.  Second, his friends all had families and
interests that occupied them most of the time.  Finally, there was the
infernal paperwork that seemed to come with the title "Colonel".  That
alone, thought Starbuck, made him need reest.

Resting, however, did not preclude thinking.  Dillon's attitude continued
to bother Starbuck.  Clearly, Dillon resented Starbuck's rank.  At best
he was patronizing and condescending.  At worst, he came close to
insubordination.  Starbuck reviewed their one attempt at understanding ac
other.  Perhaps walking out had not been his only option.  Somehow, he
felt, he should have gotten past his own hurt to come to terms with
Dillon.  He sighed wearily.  It was too late now.

Dillon, as aide to Strike Commander Troy, used Troy's rank to back his
own reckless decisions.  Starbuck commanded a squadron and so could
modereate the ordrs that came, supposedly from Troy.  The other squadron
leaders looked to Starbuck for guidance and followed his lead.  This only
further irritated Dillon.  He now openly ignored Starbuck's
recommendations and suggestions.  When pressed, he used Commander Troy's
position to force his view.  Starbuck knew if he continued to oppose
Dillon, Dillon would accuse him of insubordination against Troy.

Starbuck turned restlessly in his bunk.  He realized this was not what
Salik meant by resting.  Placing his fingertips against his temples and
closing his eyes, he tried to empty his mind. He smiled wistfully,
recalling Cassiopeia patiently teaching him this technique.  It had
gotten him through many difficult periods during his imprisonment.  His
reverie was interrupted by the door signal.

Wondering who would bother visiting him, Starbuck sat up and thumbed the
door open.  His eyebrows rose as the other squadron leaders trooped in,
followed by Boomer, who keyed the privacy screen on.

"Sorry to intrude on your sleep period, but this won't wait."  Boomer
swung his leg over chair.  The others sat or squatted in a rough
semi-circle.  Sheba came to sit next to Starbuck on the bed.

"Dillon."  Starbuck made it a statement.  "Did I miss a staff meeting?"

"Oh, no," Jolly snorted.  "He didn't dare do this in person.  He just
postd the orders this time:  in the Ready Room, the Officers Club . . ."

"Everywhere he knew you wouldn't be likely to see them," put in
Greenbean, handing Starbuck a printout obviously torn from a
wall-posting.

Starbuck rubbed his eyes, then scanned the paper, gleaning enough
information to redden in anger before his eyes blurred.  "Tell me the
details," he said, tight-lipped.  Boomer related them in clipped tones.

"Are these Troy's orders?" Starbuck asked.

"No.  They're over Dillon's signature," Jolly replied.

"In that case," Starbuck ran his fingers through his hair, "it's time to
pull rank."

"My feelings exactly."  Boomer pulled a carefully folded papr out of his
pocket.  "I've taken the liberty of countermanding th bridge crw's
orders.  It requires your signature to countermand the warriors' orders."

"Where do I sign?" Boomer pointed and Starbuck scrawled his name. 
"Lieutenant Greenbean, I authorize you to have this reproduced and posted
appropriately."

Greenbean saluted smartly, took the signed paper, and left.  Starbuck lay
down behind Sheba and closed his eyes.  "I really need to rest.  Somebody
wake me when the felgar hits the blower."


Apollo glared over his desk at the two Colonels facing him, one in the
blue of command, the other in a brown and tan warrior's uniform.  Behind
them, Sheba, also in warrior's garb, leaned against a table.

"Do you mean to tell me that you refuse to follow Commander Troy's
orders?"

"Now, now, wait a centon."  Starbuck motioned placatingly.  "Boomer may
have overstated that a little."  He glanced sideways at his buddy, who
shrugged.  Apollo noticed Starbuck's voice was a little ragged as he
continued.  "The actual orders came from Captain Dillon.  Tat doesn't
change the fact that they're foolhardy."

"He's right," Boomer put in.  "I've been telling Commander Troy that
since he took over  They've been lucky, but you can only stretch luck so
far."  Boomer's voice was calmer than Starbuck's, but just as determined.

Apollo chose to ignore the insubordinate comments about his son and
addressed Starbuck.  "Nonetheless, COLONEL, if the orders came from
CAPTAIN Dillon, why didn't you just override them?"

Starbuck's tight control broke.  He didn't even bother to inform Apollo
that they had attempted to do just that.  He leaned both hands on
Apollo's desk and shouted, "A command from Dillon is the same as a
command from Troy.  I don't outrank Dillon any more than 'Commander'
Croft outranked you 20 yahrens ago!  These insignia," he swiped at his
lapels, "are just a decoration as far as they're concerned - maybe as far
as everyone's concerned.  I'm just another pilot to them - if that."  His
voice cracked with bitteness and he turned away.  Sheba reached out to
him, but he pushed her arm away and limped t face the rear wall.

Apollo fell back into his chair, stunned.  "Are we running two competing
commands here?  Is that what you're telling me?"

"Maybe we are," Boomer replied evenly.  "And maybe we should have come to
you sooner.  But we wanted to try to work it out ourselves  We came to
you now because this latest scheme is past foolhardy - it's suicidal."

For a moment Apollo heard Colonel Tigh's voice in place of Boomer's.  He
felt out of place - arbitrating disputes was his father's job, not his. 
He shook his head ad returned to the present.  "Explain the situation to
me," he said in a resigned voice.

Starbuck had regained control over himself and approached the desk again.
 "We have sighted three Cylon baseships on our log-range scanners in
sector gamma-5C.  We are fairly certain they are searching for, but have
not yet located, the fleet  We have initiated closed formation drill and
standard force-field cover.  Captain Dillon has ordered the three active
squadrons to prepare for frontal attack on the baseships."  Apollo's eyes
widened.  "The squadron leaders have protested this mission to me and
Colonel Boomer.  Captain Dillon has refused to review his orders and
Commander Troy concurred."

Apollo said, "I admit that this sounds extraordinary, but you have not
given me sufficient cause to countermand Commander Troy's order.  What
evidence do you have that I can act on?"  Even as he spoke, Apollo noted
how tired Starbuck looked, his face showing the strain of having pushed
himself beyond his energy resources again.  Time after time, Starbuck
went beyond his physical limits for what he felt was right.  That he did
it this time told Apollo more than the briefing Starbuck gave.

"Captain Dillon states that he has information indicating the presence of
the Imperious Leader on one of the baseships.  On the basis of his
intelligence information, which we have not been granted access to,
Commander Troy invoked command privilege and ordered the mission to
proceed."

Starbuck paused.  When Apollo did not speak, he glanced at Boomer and
Sheba.  Both nodded and came to stand on either side of him.  Time to
play the high card, Starbuck thought.  Unconsciously, all three officers
came to full attention as Starbuck continued formally.  "Sir, I cannot in
good concience obey this order.  I will not commit the warriors of Blue
Squadron to this mission.  I speak for Captain Jolly of Red Squadron
also."

"Silver Spar Squadron also declines this mission.  I speak for Lieutenant
Greenbean of the Commander's Strike Wing as well," Sheba picked up
immediately.

Boomer followed.  "The bridge officers on all duty shifts will not
participate in this mission.  All shuttle pilots refuse extra duty."

Apollo looked from one to the other.  Finally, he said, "I take it this
protest cannot merely be noted and logged."

Starbuck responded.  "Correct, sir.  I take full responsibility for the
actions of warriors and squadron leaders.  You may assume they are acting
under my orders when they do not perform."

"Starbuck -" Sheba interrupted, but he shook his head.

"We agreed, Sheba.  One person takes responsibility.  I'm the ranking
officer;  this is my job."  Sheba nodded and fell silent.

"Starbuck."  Apollo's voice was a near whisper.  "You're taking
responsibility for a mutiny.  That means a court martial."

"Only if you refuse to review the order also, Commander."  Boomer spoke
up.  "As Commander of the Fleet, you do outrank Commander Troy."

"You're asking me to question my son's judgment."

"The survival of the fleet is at stake.  Question his judgment and
limited experience, or tell Starbuck and me that our opinions and
experiences ar worthless.  I guarantee Starbuck won't stand alone at his
court martial."

Apollo sat silent for a long time.  Then he looked up at his old friends.
 He addressed Boomer:  "Summon Commander Troy and Captain Dillon,
Colonel.  Then you and Captain Sheba are dismissed."  When they left,
Apollo turned to Starbuck and said, "Sit down before you fall down.  This
is going to be a long, hard night."

***

Troy entered to see Starbuck and Apollo sitting silently on opposite
sides of Apollo's disk.  Starbuck stiffened as Dillon came in behind
Troy.  Apollo rose and stood behind Starbuck, a restraining hand on his
shoulder.  "Why don't we all sit down.  I think we need to talk some
things out informally, before it's too late."  He took the seat next to
Starbuck, squeezing his shoulder before he let go.  He motioned Troy and
Dillon to the chairs opposite.  Noting Dillon's glare at Starbuck, Apollo
said, "This isn't meant to be a showdown.  I . . . we," he gestured at
Starbuck, "want to prevent just that."

"So do we, Father," Troy replied quietly.  "This is off the record?"

Apollo smiled.  "For now.  And I hope we can keep it that way.  Dillon?"

The younger man appeared to be sulking.  "I suppose."

Troy's brow furrowed.  "Exactly what is going on here?  I seem to have
missed something."  He looked from one man to the next.  Dillon's sulk
deepened and he scowled.  Starbuck sighed and looked at his hands. 
Finally, Troy queried, "Father?"

Starbuck shifted uncomfortably.  "No, Commander, let me.  It's really my
problem.  Mine and the Captain's."  He shifted to face Dillon directly. 
"Dillon, I'm not your rival."  Dillon snorted derisively.  "No, really. 
We've both been acting that way, but we shouldn't.  Look, I didn't ask to
be promoted over you.  I didn't refuse it, but I didn't ask for it
either.  So there it is.  You consider me a disappointment - or worse.  I
don't live up to my legend.  Well, I've met a few legends and only one
lived up to it - Commander Adama."

"It's not that," Dillon blurted out.  "You have no guts anyome.  The
Cylons broke you."

"Dillon!" Troy and Apollo both reacted at the same time.  Starbuck, who
had been expecting some response of that sort, just looked down at his
hands again.

"No, it's all right.  Maybe it's true."  He looked up again.  "I do know
this, though.  I don't want to fight you for control of the squadrons,
but I feel forced to.  You discount any opinions I have on the basis that
I'm a . . . coward.  Even if I am, my experience should be worth
something.  Is worth something.  Not because I outrank you.  Not because
I'm older than you.  Not even because I fought the Cylons for yahrens and
was the best.  My experience is worth something because I learned from it
and you haven't had time to do that yet.  I intended to keep the fight
between us.  But now you're endangering the fleet.  It stops being
personal there.  Always has with me."

"Yeah," Dillon sneered.  "You found an excuse to go crying to your buddy.
 That's all this is."

Troy was out of his seat before anyone could stop him.  He stood over
Dillon in anger.  His voice was icy.  "Nobody talks to Starbuck that way.
 Not in front of me.  Not even my best friend."  He turned his back on
Dillon and faced Starbuck.  "I owe you an apology.  I listened only to
Dillon's version of things.  I never asked you for your side.  I know you
well enough to know you wouldn't volunteer it unless the fleet really is
endangered by this plan.  Please tell me."

Starbuck marshalled his arguments as he looked with affection on the
young Commander.  He should have had more faith in Boxey's objectiity, he
realized.  "Box - Commander, a frontal assault is sure defeat for several
reasons.  First, we'd be outnumbered three to one, five to one if it
really is the Imperious Leader's ship - that one carries two extra elite
squads.  Second, their scanner will piack up such a large force in plenty
of time to meet us with their raiders.  And third, we leave the fleet
undefended.  The Cylons are inhuman," he shuddered as he recalled just
how inhuman.  "But they're not stupid.  They'll see us coming, scramble
two of their baseships' raiders to meet us and send the third tracing our
ion trail back to the fleet."

Dillon's voice was still sneering.  "Aso what do you suggest we do,
'colonel', turn tail and run?"

"You never asked me," Starbuck replied quietly.  "No one did."  He looked
at Apollo then, who looked down in chagrin.  "No, we have to attack.  But
we need to be more subtle.  I have an idea, but it requires you full, and
willing, cooperation, Captain."

Dillon still sounded suspicious, but his voice also held curiosity and
possibly a trace of respect.  "What's your plan?"

Starbuck decided to take the question at face value.  He hunched forward
in his chair.  "Wel'll need an elite attack force.  I have in mind a
two-pronged attack, so we'll need two leaders:  Dillon, if you're
willing, and - me.  Then we'll need some diversionary action, a
small-scale version of your frontal attack, I think.  But we leave the
bulk of the squadrons here to protect the fleet.  If you're right about
the Imperious Leader being aboard one of the baseships, that one will
fall back under the attack.  One baseship will veer off towards the
fleet, and the remaining one will support the defense."

Dillon was leaning forward now, too, his knees almost touching
Starbuck's, he face reflecting his admiration for his hero.  This was the
Starbuck who had lived in his imagination for yahrens.  Troy, too, was
caught up in the excitement of the plan, hearing and seeing Starbuck as
he remembered him from childhood.  Only Apollo sat back, his eyes on
Starbuck's face, a look of concern on his own.

When Starbuck finished outlining the plan, he and Dillon began to refine
it, working out the details of the assault on the Imperious Leader's
baseship, with Troy contributing ideas as they went.  Apollo remained
silent, his attention focused on Starbuck alone.  Only he noted the
tension in Starbuck's body, the taut set of his jaw, the nervous eye
movements that belied the eagerness Starbuck put into his voice.

When the plans and timetaboe were set, Troy and Dillon rose to leave.  As
Starbuck started to follow, Apollo held him back.  "Are you sure you want
to do this?  Go back into a baseship?"

Starbuck looked into Apollo's eyes.  "I'm sure I don't.  But I'm also
sure I have to."

"To prove something to Dillon?"

"To prove something to myself."

***

Starbuck entered his quarters to find Sheba and Boomer waiting for him. 
"I didn't know senior officers' rooms were public areas now," he
remarked.  "Things sure have changed while I was away."  Noting the
remains of a meal, he added, "Been waiting a while?"

Sheba grinned and Boomer muttered, "We got hungry.  Saved some for you,
though."

"Thoughtful, since you used my fooder,"  Starbuck returned, taking a
plate from the tray and beginning to eat.

"Well, what happened?" Sheba said impatiently.  

Starbuck signaled that his mouth was full and Boomer observed, "He
doesn't seem injured, so they didn't get into a fight, and he still has
his sidearm and isn't in shackles, so they didn't arrest him."

"Okay, okay," Starbuck said, swallowing.  "Turned out Box- I mean Troy -
didn't know what was going on completely.  He heard me out.  Kinda
weakened Dillon's case.  Anyway, when they heard my alternative, even
Dillon agreed to go along."

"You alternative?" Boomer asked suspiciously.

"You didn't think I'd go in without a plan, did you?"

"Care to let us in on the plan, old friend?"

"Yeah, well, I was going to, but things started happening so fast -"

"Out with it, Starbuck.  I already know there's something I'm not gonna
like about it."

"Give him a chance, Boomer."

"Yeah, give me a chance.  Anyway, it's been changed a little from what I
had in mind.  Should still work though.  And it's all approved by BOTH
Commanders."
"And you're still not telling me what it is.  I tell you, Sheba, when
this fellow starts conning his best friends, it's past time to start
worrying."

"No, look, this really has a chance of working.  And the risks are a lot
lower to the fleet and the squadrons."

"Now, Starbuck, now!"  Boomer was bellowing.

"Yeah, yeah.  Well, the way it sits now, Red and Silver Spar squadrons
will go out on routine patrol."  Starbuck picked up speed as he spoke. 
"Red will double back and hide on the far side of the fleet.  Blue
Squadron and the Strike Wing will be ready to launch.  That covers the
attack the Cylons'll make on the fleet.  Silver Spar will 'discover' the
baseships and attack.  We figure one baseship will support the raiders'
defense.  A second will support the attack on the fleet.  And the third,
the one with the Imperious Leader, will fall back.  Silver Spar will
provide the distraction while Troy and a hand-picked team - "

"Troy?" Boomer interrupted, but was ignored.

"- takes out the baseship's scanners in a quick run.  We've got to have
the best shots for that run;  they'll only get one sweep.  When the
Imperious Leader's squadron comes out to investigate, Troy's team will
lead them away toward either Silver Spar or Red - whichever is in the
least trouble."

"Whichever?" Sheba attempted.

"Then Dillon and I - " Starbuck paused for the expected explosion.  But
his friends were to stunned to utter a sound, so he continued hurriedly. 
"Dillon and I will scoot into the landing bay.  We'll take out the
control center, kill the Imperious Leader, and return to the Galactica as
victorious heroes."  Starbuck quickly took a mouthful of food as he
finished.

"Dillon and you!?" His friends found their voices simultaneously.  Boomer
continued, "Are you crazy?  You just got off a baseship after 20 yahrens
and you volunteer to go back in?  And the Commanders approved it?  I may
be the only sane person on this ship!"

"Boomer," Starbuck turned serious.  "I know the risks.  I've got to do
this.  Try to understand."

"Oh, I understand.  I understand that 20 yahrens didn't change you one
bit.  Your death wish is still as strong as ever.  You're giving the
Cylons another chance at you."  Starbuck blanched at that and looked
frantically at Sheba, then recovered when he realized she hadn't caught
the innuendo.  Boomer continued very deliberately, "You're not up to this
- not physically, not mentally.  What are you trying to prove?"

Sheba watched the interplay.  She saw Starbuck's face change color, but
wasn't quite sure what caused it.  When Boomer finished with his final
insult - for insult it was, no matter how true - she saw Starbuck's jaw
tighten and caught the glisten of tears in his eyes as he turned away. 
She spoke firmly.  "Boomer, that's enough.  This is something Starbuck
has to do.  The least we can do is support him - if we're really his
friends."

That stopped Boomer.  He went over to Starbuck and turned him around. 
Looking into his eyes, he asked in a soft voice, "Is that the way it is,
buddy?"  At Starbuck's short nod, he continued, "Okay, then, you do it. 
Just remember to come back to us this time."  He hugged his old wingmate
and left.

Sheba did the same.  At the door, she hesitated, then turned and said,
"Cass still does relaxation therapy, you know.  She lives alone -
corridor H-3."

***

Cassiopeia had matured from soft prettiness into radiant beauty.  Her
calm, cheerful demeanor made evryone around her feel at ease.  When it
had become obvious that Starbuck would not be returning, she spent some
time mourning, then put those dreams aside and picked up her life, both
professionally and socially.  Although she had had many suitors over the
yahrens, she had never been sealed.  When asked why she remained alone,
she smiled wistfully and said, "I guess I've just been spoiled."  If
Athena or Hera were present they would exchange glances with hr briefly
before changing the subject.

When Apollo and Starbuck were rescued, Cassiopeia, as chief med-tech,
supervised Starbuck's care personally.  Although her heart raced each
time their eyes met, she was careful not to make any overtures.  After 20
yahrens, she couldn't be sure how Starbuck would react.

Starbuck, for his part, assumed Cass, like his other former lovers, had
built her life without him.  He respectd her privacy and treated her as a
friend, but kept his distance as he did with evryone.  Always expecting
rejection, his barriers were evn higher since his return.  But now he
found himself at the door to her quarters.  After a moment's indecision,
he pressed the entry signal.

Cass came to the door, her face reflecting her surprise at finding
Starbuck there.  After a moment of staring at each other, Starbuck broke
the silence.  "Am I disturbing you?  If you're busy, I can - "

"No, I'm not busy.  I'm glad to see you."

":I didn't mean to intrude on your - " Starbuck faltered, then took a
breath and plunged on.  "I need someone to talk to.  I couldn't think of
anyone else and Sheba said - well, that doesn't matter.  I - I - can't be
alone - right now.  But, if this isn't a good time, I'll just -"

Cass took his arm and pulled him gently into the room.  "This is a fine
time.  And you're not intruding.  Come inside and we'll talk,"  or not
talk, she thought, but didn't say aloud.

As though he had heard her last thought, Starbuck smiled faintly and put
his arm tentatively around her.  "I missed you, Cass."

***

Dillon arrived at the launch bay early.  He still felt uneasy about
Starbuck playing a key role in this mission, but saw no way to do
anything about it.  He was also feeling somewhat hurt at being cast as
the villain.  He had been trying to help Starbuck, frack it!  He couldn't
very well explain that now.  Why in the seven halls of Helion hadn't
Starbuck gone along?  Dillon shook his head in dismay.  At least I'll be
going in with him, he thought.  If he freezes, I'll take over.  He
checked his weapons' charges and reached for his helmet.  He was
surprised to see Starbuck's already gone.  "Well, at least I know he's
going to show up," he muttered as he walked to his viper.

"Thought I wouldn't?" came Starbuck's voice from his right.  Dillon
scowled.  He looked over to see Starbuck kneeling at a storage locker and
packing demolitions into his flight kit.  His jacket lay beside him;  his
helmet was already perched on his viper's nose.  Casually, he flipped the
bag into his cockpit.  Dillon winced at the thought of tossing explosives
around so cavalierly.

"You're here early," he commented to cover his distress.

"Demolitions make some folks nervous, so I always try to get 'em packed
and out of sight before anyone else shows up."  Starbuck had noticed
Dillon's reaction to his calculated move.  He bent to pick up his flight
jacket and shrugged into it.  "You're early, too."

"Always a little jumpy just before a launch," Dillon replied.  He
gestured at the cockpit whre Starbuck's flight kit had landed.  "I'm not
afraid of explosives or anything - "
"Didn't think you were."

"But I haven't been trained - " he trailed off.  Why did he feel so
defensive all of a sudden?

"That's why I'm handling them."  Starbuck grinned.  "I have access to the
personnel files, too.  Don't worry about it.  I'd rather have someone who
knows his limitations as a partner than a hotshot who thinks he can do
anything."  He shook his head ruefully.  "Must be getting old.  I was
never given to philosophizing before.  That's Apollo's specialty. 
Usually after he fishes me out of some mess or other.  Comes with the
lecture.  Maybe it's contagious."  Dillon knew Starbuck was trying to set
him at ease.  He half-resented it, but was somehow grateful at the same
time.  He didn't have much chance to think about it as the rest of the
first-phase mission crew trooped into the bay.

Starbuck casually saluted Troy and turned to give his viper a final
inspection.  Troy let him and Dillon go about their business as he gave
the rest of the team their final briefing.

Starbuck finished his inspection and was about to climb into the cockpit
when Sheba trotted in.  With Troy leading Silver Spar, Starbuck had asked
her to take command of Blue Squadron.  She reported that the squad and
Greenbean's Strike Wing were suited up and waiting in the Ready Room. 
Starbuck thanked her for hr report, mildly curious as to why she
bothered.  As he turned back to the viper, Sheba hesitantly caught his
arm.  He faced hr with a quizzical look.  She held something out to him. 
"Athena wanted you to have this."  He took the small medalion and looked
closely at it.

"Bojay's Silvr Spar insignia,"  he said at last.  "Why?"

"It was his good luck charm, remember?"  Starbuck nodded.  "Well, when he
made it back here that last time, he told Athena to keep it for you -
just before he died.  I guess Adama wasn't the only one who knew you'd
come back."  Sheba shook her head.  "I used to think Athena sealed with
Bojay because you were gone and he was so like you.  He must have sensed
that, too.  Though I think she had grown to love him for himself over the
yahrens.  Anyway, he was content to have her, whatever her reasons were. 
She's been trying to get you alone to give this to you since you got
back, but she says you avoid her.  So, anyway, here it is."

"Tell her," Starbuck struggled for words.  "Tell her I'll bring it back. 
I promise."

"I'm glad to hear that."

Troy, standing on the edge of his cockpit in the viper next to
Starbuck's, cleared his throat loudly.  Sheba blushed, gave Starbuck a
quick peck on the cheek, and left the bay.  Starbuck tucked the emblem
into his tunic pocket and climbed into his cockpit.  Reaching for his
helmet, he turned to Troy and said in his best innocent cadet voice,
"Ready whenever you are, Commander."

Troy sat back and gave the launch order.

***

Jolly launched with Red Squadron first.  As though they were headed on
deep space patrol, they flew in wing formation, heading out beyond the
fleet.  When they were out of any possible scanning range, they arced
back to pace parallel to the Galactica, with the fleet shielding them
from possible Cylon detection.

Troy launched with Silver Spar Squadron next.  Dillon and Starbuck
launched with them.  Troy dispersed the squad into star formations,
typical of a patrol sent out to investigate an unidentifiable blip on the
long-range scanners.  They headed at right angles to the fleet's course,
in the general direction of the three baseships.

***

The first inkling the Cylons had that the fleet was in their sector was
the appearance of a five-viper patrol, led by Ensign Brie, on the
starboard scanner of on of the baseships.  They sent out a three-ship
patrol to investigate.  Brie reported the Cylon raiders over the open
commline and then engaged them.  Her patrol dispatched them without
casualties.  The baseship Commander scrambled the rest of his raiders at
about the same time Troy used the open commline to regroup the squadron. 
When the raiders appeared, Silver Spar was arrayed in battle formation to
meet them.

Seemingly panicked, Troy radioed the Galactica for further support.  By
this time, the Imperious Leader was monitoring the humans'
communications.  As Starbuck had hoped, he ordered the second escort
baseship to close on the Galactica, using Troy's signal to locate it.  At
the same time, the Imperious Leader ordered his own baseship to drop back
and hold its squadrons in reserve.

On the coded channel, Troy notified Hera and Dietra to join him in
strafing the retreating baseship.  In the confusion of the battle, they
wre able to approach undetected and take out the scanners surrounding the
Cylong landing bay  As one side of his ship became blind, the Imperious
Leader ordered his squadrons out to investigate.

At the fleet, Blue Squadron and the Strike Wing had prepared for launch
as soon as Silver Spar had vacated the launch bay.  Apollo gave the
launch order at the first scan of the approaching basestar.  Red Squadron
left its hiding place to cut off the baseship from its mates.  Caught
among the three groups, the raiders were disposed of easily, while their
mothership was lured to within the Galactica's missile range.

Jolly ordered Red Squadron to fall back to support Silver Spar as soon as
the Galactica began providing fire support.  Troy's rear scanners showed
their approach.  As the raiders launched, he, Hera, and Dietra led them
toward Jolly's group.  No one noticed two of Silver Spar's vipers, which
had remained on the periphery of the initial battle, change course and
land in the Imperial Leader's ship.



Starbuck and Dillon popped their canopies almost simultaneously. 
Starbuck was out of his viper first, flight bag in hand.  He tossed his
helmet back into the cockpit and approached Dillon.  "The entry to the
central core is there.  One centurion guards it.  We have to go all the
way down, then head to the gravitational center of this 'star.  That's
where the throne room'll be."

Dillon nodded.  "Glad you know your way around. We found Baltar cowering
in an alcove.  When we took baseships before that, we blew them up,
unless we knew they had prisoners.  Prison level is through that hatch
over there, so we always came in and out there."

Starbuck glanced at the hatch Dillon indicated and tried to repress a
shudder.  "No need to go down there this time.  This ship has no
prisoners.  And we're more likely to meet guards that way.  It's near -
it's near their living quarters."

"I didn't know that.  No, there's no need."  Dillon HAD in fact checked
Starbuck's debrief report, as well as his personnel file.  Those, and
Apollo's partial disclosures, did nothing to reassure him about
Starbuck's stability.  Now, as he noticed Starbuck tense, he thought, got
to keep him calm.  "Where's the control center?"

"Computer control's right at the base of the central core.  We'll take it
out on our way back."

"Power plant?"

"Too dangerous.  It's heavily guarded and located at the other end of the
ship.  We wouldn't be able to get out before it blew.  You'll have to
settle for killing the Imperious Leader and disabling the control
system."

I don't like leaving the ship intact."

"You can blow it up from outside after we're done.  A single laser
torpedo in the right hole makes a lovely little nova.  I'll show you
where to toss it when we leave."  A chill of foreboding ran down
Starbuck's spine.  Was he making plans for a future he might not have?

"I don't know - " Was Starbuck hedging because of a real danger to the
mission or was he afraid to go too deep into the baseship?  Dillon
couldn't decide.

"Look, you wanna argue about it until a guard patrol comes by, or shall
we get started?"  If Dillon was worried about Starbuck's state of mind,
he was taking the wrong approach.  The longer they stayed in the landing
bay, the stronger Starbuck found the urge to jump back into his viper and
take off.  He didn't wait for Dillon's reply.  Shouldering his flight
bag, Starbuck drew his pistol and headed for the hatch leading to the
central core.  Dillon sighed and followed him, drawing his own weapon as
he approached the hatch.

Cautiously, Starbuck raised the hatch.  As he had predicted, one
Centurion paced at the bottom.  "I'm not taking any changes this time," 
he muttered, hoisting himself to the edge of the hatch.  "Brace my legs,"
h whispered over his shoulder as he tilted to lean down the hatch.  With
Dillon holding his ankles, Starbuck extended his pistol in both hands. 
Aiming carefully, he killed the Centurion with one burst.  He righted
himself, then hesitated as he was about to step on the first rung.

"Want me to go first?" Dillon tried to keep his voice both neutral and
friendly.

"No."  Starbuck took a deep breath and forced himself onto the ladder. 
"No, it's okay.  Swing down next to me.  We'll go down straddling the
ladder and cover each other.  And don't talk 'til we're at the bottom -
the echoes carry everywhere."  Dillon nodded and joined Starbuck on the
ladder.

At the bottom, Starbuck took a moment to orient himself, then pointed in
the direction of the control room.  "Through there, then left," he
whispered.  "The tincans make an awful racket moving through the
corridors, so we'll hear them coming.  Plenty of alcoves to hide in. 
don't shoot unless you're spotted."  At Dillon's scowl, he grabbed the
younger man's arm.  "We want to get to Imperious Leader unnoticed.  Once
we've killed him, you can shoot at anything you want."

"Okay, okay.  I see your point.  Let's go."

Dodging Cylons and relying on Starbuck's memory - which at times
threatened to take him over - they made their way to the Imperious
Leader's command center.  Starbuck narrowed his awareness to the task of
getting them there and did not allow himself to think about anything
else.  Dillon followed him closely.  He saw that Starbuck had been right.
 One shot would end the mission as they went through areas full of
Cylons.  Finally Starbuck halted and raised his free hand.

Dillon joined him to look into the doorway of a circular room, with a
raised dais in the center.  Cylon officers surrounded the dais, all
facing inward with their heads tilted up.  On the dais sat the grotesque
Imperious Leader.

"We can't go in with hand weapons!" exclaimed Dillon in hushed tones,
awed and slightly frightened by what he saw.  "We'll be killed before we
get close."

"Depends on the hand weapon," Starbuck replied.  He was riding an
adrenaline rush he had thought might not come.  It washed away his fear
and sharpened his perceptions.  That it also caused his heart muscle to
work overtime did not concern him.  He felt completely comfortable now. 
Dillon heard the change in his confident voice and turned in time to
watch Starbuck open his flight bag and assemble a shoulder-held laser
bole launcher with quick, sure motions.  Dillon went pale.  Laser boles
were almost as dangerous to the user as to the intended victim.

"Get over here," Starbuck whispered.  He knelt on one knee in an alcove
just inside the doorway.

"What do you want me to do?" Dillon knew he sounded like a green cadet.

"Feed me the laser boles."

"Me?"

"Would you rather aim this thing and fire them?"

"No, but - "

"Just pluck them and slap 'em into my hand.  I packed three and we'll use
them all.  We should be able to escape in the confusion.  Just don't
pluck one until I hold out my hand for it, okay?  Get the first one
ready."  Starbuck flattened onto his stomach and aimed at the bulbous
head of the Imperious Leader.  He brushed at his hair and steadied the
launcher in position before reaching for the first bole.

Dillon plucked the bole from its detonating strip and dropped it into
Starbuck's outstretched hand.  As the high-pitched whine became audible,
Starbuck closed his fingers around the bole, loaded the launcher, and
fired in what seemed like one smooth motion.  The Imperious Leader's head
and most of his upper body vanished in the blinding flash of light.

Starbuck didn't pause to admire his work, but quickly swung the gun left,
aiming at the dais support.  He stuck his hand out for another bole,
loaded, and fired.  He repeated this on the right.  Then, abandoning the
launcher, he scrambled to his feet, grabbing the flight bag in one hand
and drawing his pistol with the other.  Dillon followed.

Cylons passed them without notice in the initial uproar.  As they neared
the entrance to the control center, however, the Centurions appeared to
become more organized.  The door was well-guarded.

"Now what?" Dillon asked.

"Now, you can shoot."

They shot their way through.  As the two guards at the door fell, two
more came through, guns at the ready.  They, too, became victims of the
warriors' deadly accuracy.  Gaining the door, Starbuck and Dillon
discovered a side corridor, from which the sounds of roused Cylons grew
louder.  Starbuck faltered looking down the corridor, but Dillon, ahead
of him, didn't notice.  "That's where they're coming from!" he exclaimed.
 "wonder why so many of them are down that hall."

"Living quarters," Starbuck responded.  Dillon turned at the odd, tight
tone and noticed that Starbuck had gone pale and was leaning against the
bulkhead for support.

"Are you hit?" he asked, concerned.  Starbuck shook his head.  He
acknowledged his fear and quickly worked around it.

"I can't - go there.  But Th. corridor's only wide enough for two Cylons
abreast.  Can you cover it while I set the charges?"

Dillon was taken aback by Starbuck's blunt honesty.  But he saw the plan
would work.  He nodded agreement.  "Go on.  I can take care of this."

Dillon covered Starbuck as he placed the demolitions and set their
detonators.  twice Dillon shot down Cylons as they tried to enter the
control center.  Then the source of noise shifted.  A patrol was coming
down the central core.  Dillon positioned himself at the bottom to pick
them off while Starbuck set the last timer.  As he raised his pistol to
shoot the lead Cylon, Starbuck startled him by hissing, "Wait!"

"Wait?"

"Make sure they're all in the core with the hatch closed first.  That way
we won't have any surprises."  Starbuck's voice still sounded strained,
his face was drawn and blank.  Dillon was dubious, but Starbuck's
strategy had kept them alive this far.  He waited.  When Starbuck handed
him a second pistol, Dillon could almost feel the effort it cost Starbuck
to keep his hand steady.  Starbuck drew both of his own pistols.  "Now!"

Ricocheting energy charges made the core look like it held a laser net. 
When the light died, the two warriors were crouched among six fallen
Cylons, none of whom moved.

"Let's get out of here," Dillon said.  "Those charges will go off any
micron."

"Right behind you."  Starbuck paused to holster his weapons and pick up
the not-quite-empty flight kit.  Then he began climbing.

***

As Starbuck and Dillon reached the launch bay, Starbuck yelled, "You
check the vipers;  I'll mine the entryway."  Dillon nodded and continued
into the bay.  Starbuck slung off his pack and began assembling the
explosive charges.  Checking that Dillon was clear, he set the detonators
and ran around a corner out of range of the explosion.

Starbuck felt the shock wave through the wall he was leaning against. 
Peering around the corner, he saw the bay was completely sealed off by
rubble.  He nodded in satisfaction.  As if in response to the successful
completion of the mission, his body sagged against the wall.  He found he
had no strength left to stand and allowed himself to slide down the wall
to a sitting position.  Maintaining even that seemed almost too much
effort.

Dillon raced up to him.  "One of the vipers has been dismantled!"

"That's all right," Starbuck replied faintly.  "I'm not going anywhere."

"Are you hurt?"

"No, just out of energy.  Dr. Salik warned me to pace myself or this
might happen."  Starbuck found himself out of breath.  "Go on in the good
viper."

"No way.  Apollo and Troy will take turns keel-hauling me if I come back
without you.  C'mon, I'll get you over to the viper.  You can ride in the
observation seat."

"No good.  Just leave me."  Starbuck pushed Dillon away weakly, then
remembered something.  "Wait.  Here, take this."  He fished in his pocket
for the Silver Spar medallion, turned it over in his hand, then held it
out to Dillon.

Dillon saw his opportunity.  Pretending to reach for the medallion, he
turned the motion into a hug, pulling Starbuck up and onto his shoulder
in a fireman's carry.  Starbuck started to protest, then gave up and
allowed Dillon to carry him to the viper and boost him onto the wing.  He
crawled into the cockpit observation seat with what seemed to be the last
of his strength.  Although he was fully conscious, he felt like he could
move no further.  Dillon put Starbuck's helmet on him to aid his
breathing.  Then he readied himself and launched.

When they reached communications range, Dillon contacted the Galactica. 
"Blue Leader to Galactica, do you read?"

Apollo's voice responded immediately.  "This is Galactica.  What is your
status, Blue Leader?"

"Mission successful.  Require medical assistance upon landing."

In the background Dillon heard a female voice asking in alarm,
"Starbuck?"

"Medical team will be waiting in the bay.  Landing coordinates being
transmitted now.  Dillon what's the problem?"  Apollo's voice lost its
cool formality as he asked.

"Starbuck.  He collapsed.  He's not injured, just - frack!  Galactica,
I've got a problem!"

At the panic in Dillon's voice, Apollo became formal again.  "State the
nature of your problem, Captain."

"I don't know!  Some of my systems aren't responding!  I can't set
course.  The other viper was dismantled.  They must have been tinkering
with this one, too."

"Easy, Dillon.  Can you route around the problems to get manual control?"

"What?  How?  I wouldn't know where to begin."

Troy, standing next to Apollo, whispered, "We don't have time to go
through technician's training with the pilots anymore.  We need to get
them battle-ready as quickly as possible."

Apollo nodded grimly.  "Then we may lose them both."  Troy winced.

Meanwhile, Starbuck had marshaled a small amount of energy.  He leaned
forward to whisper to Dillon, "Climb out of there and let me slide in.  I
used to be pretty good at hot-wiring these things.  Be damned if I'm
going to kill the Imperious Leader only to die drifting in space with
you!"  Running out of breath, he jerked his head back toward the
observation seat and Dillon, shaking, climbed over him into it.

Starbuck eased himself into the pilot's seat and surveyed the controls
quickly.  He chinned on the commlink with the Galactica.  "Galactica,
this is Starbuck.  Put a technician online.  I need to know how much of
this felgar I can rip out to run a manual override through."

"Starbuck!" Apollo sounded relieved.  "I thought you had collapsed.

"Yeah; well, later.  If I live that long.  Where's that technician?"

"Right here, Starbuck."  Athena's familiar calm voice sounded in his ear.
 "Start by pulling out the Cora unit."

"Got it.  Where should I plug the connectors to get manual scan control?"
 Their familiarity with each other's methods made the work go faster. 
Finally, Starbuck was able to say, "Okay.  Give me the landing
coordinates verbally and let's see if I can orient this crate."  The ship
responded to Starbuck's ministrations somewhat clumsily.  The pilots and
bridge crew breathed a collective sigh of relief when Starbuck announced,
"Course set.  Request permission to land."

"Permission granted.  Land when ready."

"Is that medical team still in the bay?" Starbuck's voice sounded weaker.

"Still there."

"Good.  I think I can land this bucket, but it's about all I can manage. 
I'm close to blacking out."

Despite his misgivings, Starbuck continued to work the jury-rigged
controls with his customary skill, reaching past the control panel to
manipulate the ship.  Dillon watched in awe.  The landing was bumpy, but
on target.

Dillon climbed out of his seat and popped the canopy as Cassiopeia
climbed onto the wing.  Looking down at the barely conscious Starbuck,
she murmured, "When will you ever learn?"

Starbuck grinned weakly and whispered, "You wouldn't have anything to do
if I did."  Feeling safe, he closed his eyes and let the darkness take
him.

***

Author's Note:  I need input on what follows.  It's not very good, I
know.  But I wanted to explicitly resolve the Dillon/SB issue.  Any ideas
on how to fix it or whether I should just chop it off and let SB end the
story in Cass's arms is appreciated.  Thanks - rgm

"How'd you get us inhere and why hasn't Security made their regular
rounds?"  It was after-hours, but somehow Starbuck had obtained a set of
keys (codes?) to the Officers Lounge.  Dillon was once again marveling
over his hero's abilities as they sat under a dim security light.

Starbuck grinned and shrugged as he poured another round of ambrosa. 
"Save cubits one way," he hefted the 'complimentary' bottle, "spend 'em
someplace else."  Somehow, Dillon didn't believe Starbuck had stooped to
mere bribery.  Starbuck manipulated a keypad and a locked drawer popped
open.  "Cigar?" he offered.  Dillon gave up trying to figure out how he
did it and accepted.

"You know, you miss a lot in the shipboard Academy.  Not just
technician's skills."  Dillon grimaced at the memory.  "But some of this
stuff, too.  A long tradition of passing these, ahh, abilities down from
cadet to cadet has been broken.  Maybe I should request permission to
teach a course."

Dillon choked on his drink.  "Ask whom?  Apollo or Troy?  I'd love to
hear their responses."

"Nah, you just have to know how to phrase it."  Starbuck waved his cigar
in a grand gesture.  Then he stared at the glowing tip and let the facade
drop.  Completely serious, he said, "You should have left me on the
baseship when you had the chance, Dillon."

Dillon was taken aback by the abrupt change of topic and tone.  "What? 
Why?  I was wrong about you.  And you proved it.  I'm glad I was wrong."

"Not what I meant."  Starbuck took a small, careful puff of the cigar. 
"I'm in your way.  We owe allegiance to different Commanders - that's a
problem in itself - and we're expected to lead the same group.  The older
warriors know me better and some of the younger ones grew up with my, uh,
'legend'.  When I disagree with your ideas, it splits the whole command. 
To top it off,"  he paused briefly, "I outrank you."  He looked straight
at Dillon and waited for his reply.

"I would've agreed with you until a secton ago.  Now, well, I think we
can work it out.  We really do think a lot alike.  I don't know half the
things you do.  But about some things you're 20 yahrens out of date.  As
for your outranking me - you should have pulled rank more often.  For
now, I only have two problems with you."  He puffed on his cigar. 
"First, when you catch up on those 20 yahrens, I won't be any use to you.
 But, then again, someday you'll retire and then I can be in charge."

Starbuck relaxed again.  "I was hoping you'd see it that way, but I had
to be sure."  He was going to say more, but was interrupted by the lights
coming on.

"Thought I heard voices."  Boomer spoke from the entryway.  "I should
have beefed up Security as soon as you got out of Life Station, bucko."

Starbuck filled another glass and handed it to Boomer.  "This room
couldn't be more secure.  Two - now three - senior officers guarding it."
 He put on his most sincere face.  Boomer raised his glass in mock-toast
and drank.

Two female cadets looked in.  "Is the bar open?" one asked.

"Why not?" answered Boomer.  At Starbuck's raised eyebrows, he added,
"I'm not Colonel Tight, Starbuck, I just have his job."  Starbuck smiled
and nodded as Boomer went to tend bar.

"What's your other problem with me?" he asked, turning back to Dillon.

Dillon waited until the two cadets had passed out of earshot, having cast
lingering and admiring glances on Starbuck.  In a plaintive voice, he
asked, "Well, sir, do you think you could spare one or two of the younger
ladies in the fleet for me?"

The End