GALACTICA 1984: EARTH STANDS STILL by Eric J. Paddon Based On Characters Created By Glen A. Larson This is a work of fan fiction and is not intended to infringe on any copyright laws. From The Adama Journals Four yahrens ago, our long weary quest through the stars ended with the discovery of the lost thirteenth tribe of humanity, the planet Earth. But the discovery did not bring about the hopeful conclusion that all of us had carried in our hearts ever since we left our destroyed home planets behind thirty yahrens earlier. We learned that our enemies, the Cylons, had been discreetly following our trail waiting for us to lead them to Earth so that they might unleash their final assault on humanity. And we learned that our brethren on Earth had forgotten their links to us and had become a planet hopelessly backward and primitive from the standpoint of ever fighting back against the Cylons. Under the guidance of our gifted mental genius Dr. Zee, we have spent the last four yahrens trying to do what we can to remedy the situation. The Galactica and the surviving 185 ships of our Fleet have been forced to continue journeying in a random pattern through space so as not to reveal Earth's location to the Cylons. At the same time, we have made our presence known to only a few people on Earth, mostly scientists who have been able to use our knowledge to facilitate the advance of some new technologies that will hopefully speed the rate of Earth's development. Even so, we have been forced to exercise great caution in what we can reveal of our knowledge to Earth. A climate of fear grips the planet, with the two major superpowers, the United States of America and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, locked in a bitter Cold War struggle that could one day lead to a war of terror that Earth has never known the likes of before. We have been forced to guard ourselves against the danger that the sudden development of new technologies could be appropriated for military uses that might escalate the superpower tensions. It is frustrating because on the one hand it means delaying even further the day when Earth might be ready to assist us in the fight against the Cylons, but when we are forced to look at the possibility that Earth conceivably faces more imminent destruction at the hands of their own people, then it becomes clear (as Dr. Zee continually reminds me) that we simply have no other choice. That has not however, prevented others from expressing their dissent. The madman Xavier continues to elude us, determined as he is to use the device of time travel to create an Empire in Earth's past and never caring for one micron about the danger his actions could pose for Earth's present. Fortunately, Xavier's most recent effort met in failure and it seems unlikely that he is capable of trying again in the short-term as he is now stranded somewhere on Earth and blocked from the technology on the Galactica that he needs to make another attempt. I have been forced to face less dangerous, but no less compelling dissent from the members of the Council of Twelve. In particular, I have found myself recently locked in a bitter quarrel with a man who was once my closest friend, Sire Tigh. My one-time Academy classmate, squadron wingman, and executive officer is now my enemy. It is his belief that the Galactica must openly intervene in the affairs of Earth and make fully known the danger they face from the Cylons. Only such bold action can mobilize Earth to do what must be done to defend itself with immediate speed. While I have always understood the reasons for why he feels as he does, the time is simply not right for such a brazen act of recklessness. And so, the man whom I once vowed to trust my life with many yahrens ago has now been plotting with members of the Council to force me out as President, and to cease taking any further advice from Dr. Zee. The end of my friendship with Tigh has made me cognizant of how after all these many yahrens I find myself alone. I have suffered the greatest tragedy that any man could ever have bestowed on him by outliving not only my wife but all my children as well. My beloved Ila, gone in the Holocaust raid on Caprica. Zac my youngest son, killed in action as the Holocaust began. Athena my daughter, killed ten yahrens ago when a fierce battle with the Cylons forced us to use inexperienced pilots who were simply not up to the task. And Apollo, my eldest. Of whom I had planned to see take my place one day as the Galactica's commander and finish the quest that I felt sure I would not live to see. Killed six yahrens before Athena in another battle as well. I've often found myself praying to Almighty God and the Lords of Kobol and asking why I was fated to live so long and carry this terrible burden of responsibility longer than I ever expected to. The only reassuring answer I can think of is that I will be needed for some final task that will enable me to go to my grave with the secure knowledge that the future for the Galactica and for Earth will be a hopeful one. And so I sit and await the challenge of that task, whatever it might be. Chapter One Troy leaned forward as he studied the formula equation on the computer screen. Finally, after a moment's concentration he then typed out some new equations on the screen. "There," he said when he had finished, "I think that should do it." Dr. Alfred Mortinson of the Pacific Institute of Technology squinted through his thick glasses at the new data and slowly shook his head in amazement. "Yes," his tone was full of wonder, "Of course, it should have been obvious a long time ago. These calculations will make nuclear fusion a reality for mass energy production." "And that should open up a whole avenue of new opportunities for Earth," Troy slid his chair back from the computer terminal and got to his feet. Mortinson broke into a smile and shook Troy's hand, "I can't thank you enough Troy. The things you and Dillon and all your other friends have done these last four years with my colleagues around the world have probably speeded the timetable on some technologies that would have taken a hundred years otherwise." "That's the whole idea, Doctor," Troy smiled back but remained characteristically nonchalant, "The more time we save, the better for our people, and the better chance Earth will have to defend herself." "Yes, so you've told me many times before about the Cylon Empire," he shook his head slightly, "Of course I sometimes wonder if at the rate we're going now, the U.S. government and the Soviets might beat the Cylons to the punch." As he finished, Mortinson motioned his hand to the table next to the computer terminal where a copy of the New York Times lay with the stark headline: PRESIDENT WARNS RUSSIANS THAT FURTHER ACTION IN CENTRAL AMERICA WILL LEAD TO 'GRAVE CONSEQUENCES' On top of the newspaper, the cover of Time had the picture of both the U.S. and Soviet Presidents separated by a jagged line with the caption: EYEBALL TO EYEBALL? "Tell me something Doctor," Troy said as he eyed the journals, "As an American, what's your opinion of the whole Cold War? Do you think there's any legitimacy to any of the reasons why your country and the Soviets are always quarreling with each other?" Mortinson smiled without any mirth, "I know some rather radical colleagues of mine who'd answer your question by saying that there's no legitimacy to it at all, and that America is to blame for electing men like our current president who supposedly use fear as an excuse to avoid making peace." "And do you think that way?" He shook his head, "No I don't. I'm not saying that my country has always been in the right, but the Cold War is not something that can be looked at as two sides that are equally to blame. My radical colleagues seem to forget that the Soviet Union is a brutal dictatorship that would like to exert domination over the world if it could be done easily. They might not be anxious to have a war with us, and I believe we have to do what we can to prevent war from ever happening, but I don't think that includes letting them get away with anything they want in the name of a phony peace." "I'll keep what you said in mind, Doctor," Troy said, "Your perspective is something I know Commander Adama values." "I'd like to meet him someday," the scientist's voice had the faintest edge of pleading and Troy tried not to chuckle. He was used to hearing Mortinson drop veiled hints about his desire to go with them into space and see the wonder that the Galactica truly would be to him. Like before, the Galactica warrior let him down gently. "Someday, you probably will Doctor. And we'll let you know exactly when the time will come." Mortinson smiled and decided not to press the point, "Thanks again Troy," he shook his hand again. "You know how to get in touch with me if you need me again," Troy said as they exited the lab and entered the hallway that led to the elevator. "Of course," the scientist nodded, "Jamie's number is at the top of my address book. Give her my regards." "I will," the elevator doors opened and Troy stepped in. Before they closed, he turned back to face Mortinson. "Oh and one other thing Doctor. The same guidelines as before apply. This has to look like it was your discovery, so get set to take all the credit that the world's going to give you." "I'll try not to feel guilty about it," Mortinson's grin widened as the doors closed shut. Troy went out to the Institute parking lot and with perfect flawlessness, settled in and started the Chevrolet that he and Dillon shared. After four years on Earth, handling an automobile was one of many things that the Galactica warriors were able to master with ease. He drove with total caution as he came on to the crowded Los Angeles freeway. The early experiences he and Dillon had gone through when they first arrived on Earth with their too-conspicuous motorcycles had taught them valuable lessons on how to keep as much of a low profile as possible. Fortunately, he and Dillon were both locked into a routine for whenever they came to Earth. Their vipers were always left in an empty cave forty miles outside Los Angeles with their invisibility screens active for up to three months. A phone call then brought their friend, news reporter Jamie Hamilton out to pick them up, and from there they set-up their base of operations at her apartment in the city. A security pass from Dr. Mortinson gave them both free access to the Pacific Institute, and Jamie's position as a top reporter gave them access to other important avenues of research as well. He had to admit that after four years he felt a sense of being at home whenever he came to Earth. Even if Earth was still as remote as could be from the home he remembered as a child on Caprica, he still found it infinitely preferable to what he'd gone through on the Galactica for thirty years. A major traffic jam caused Troy to bring his car to a stop two miles short of his exit that would take him to the United Broadcasting Studios where Jamie worked, and where she and Dillon were both awaiting him for lunch. To pass the time, he turned on the radio. "....Although the New Hampshire primary is a foregone conclusion for the President, he nonetheless took the opportunity today to reiterate that Soviet activities in Central America are being watched with the 'greatest concern.' Speaking before a crowd of over 1000 enthusiastic supporters, the President vowed that 'Firm action based on a policy of peace through strength is the only guarantee that aggression in our hemisphere will remain unchecked.'" Troy loosened his tie slightly as he thought further about the political crisis. As much as the basic idea of humans in conflict with each other repelled him, he had to admit that there was a lot of validity in the basic premise, if it was in fact true that the Soviet regime was as brutal as he'd been led to believe. "...In other news, the Soviet news agency TASS reported that over 30 people in a village some 100 miles north of Moscow claimed to see a UFO last night. According to TASS, the villagers spoke of seeing a flash of light moving at well over the speed of sound and travelling in an upward direction. But TASS also noted that the Soviet Air Force has indicated that the UFO was probably nothing more than a meteor shower." Troy turned off the radio and broke into hysterical laughter. That could only have been Lieutenant Kip, the warrior assigned to Russia, heading back to the Galactica for a monthly briefing. He made a mental note to tell Kip about the news story the next time he saw him. Finally, the traffic eased up and Troy pulled off the freeway. Five minutes later, he pulled up by the gate in front of the UBC studio and flashed the visitor's pass Jamie had given him, to the guard. "Okay Mr. Troy," the guard politely motioned him to go. As Troy drove away he couldn't help but think how good it felt to not have to go through those stupid games with the stun gun to get past guards and policemen anymore. He parked in a space in front of the studio and made his way inside. The modernized lobby was decked out with fountains and plants and lent a certain atmosphere of grandeur that always impressed Troy. Beyond the lobby was an open atrium where an elegant cafe's tables were set up under the skylights. Right away, he noticed Dillon sitting at a table, awkwardly tugging at the collar of his new brown suit. "Hey buddy," Troy smiled and sat down at the table, "You're looking sharp." The blonde lieutenant grimaced slightly as he shook Troy's hand, "It was Jamie's idea. I'll tell you, the last thing I'll ever understand about Earth is how wearing these kinds of clothes makes you more important." "Hey it's no different than a dress uniform." "Exactly," Dillon interjected, "Those are just as bad." Troy laughed and signalled to the waiter. He ordered a martini, while Dillon demurred. "So how did it go with Mortinson?" "Perfect. Nuclear fusion just took a giant step forward." Dillon shook his head in amazement, "I was six yahrens---sorry, years old when I first learned about that." "I remember," Troy chuckled, "My dear Aunt Athena, may the Lords rest her soul, was teaching us that term and as I recall you didn't get a passing grade the first time." "Hey, I had an excuse. I'd spent the whole night before riding in the back of Captain Bojay's viper on one of his short-range patrols. That was the first time I was ever inside a viper cockpit." The waiter arrived with Troy's drink. He took a slow sip of satisfied pleasure, "The best ambrosia on the Rising Star has nothing on this." Dillon shook his head slightly, "Not to me. I've tasted Skorpian sewer water that was better." "Dillon, you'll never change," Troy sighed, "After four years you still haven't learned how to fit in on this planet." He uneasily lowered his head, "You're probably right about that. I guess when you come down to it, there's only one thing about this place I've come to love." Troy skipped a beat before responding, "Jamie?" "Yeah," his friend didn't look up. "You told her how you feel?" he said as he drained the rest of his martini and set the empty glass down. "Oh....not really. I guess I haven't summoned the nerve." "Why don't you?" Troy prodded. "Because we come from two different worlds," Troy suddenly burst into laughter. "I don't think it's funny," there was an angry look on Dillon's face. "I'm not laughing at the situation buddy, I'm laughing at your odd choice of words," Troy wiped his eyes. Dillon paused to think for a moment and then shook his head with a mild chuckle, "You're right, I think I ought to rephrase tha." "By all means." "Well what I mean is, I love her but I just don't think I can commit myself to someone here. I'm not planning on staying on permanent duty here on Earth. Sooner or later I want to get back to the kind of work as a warrior that I'm more cut-out for, and that means going back to the Fleet permanently." "I think I understand," Troy nodded, "You wouldn't think of having Jamie go back with you, and therefore..." he trailed off, knowing that no more needed to be said. "Yeah," Dillon grunted with a large measure of regret. Just then, the vivaciously attractive Jamie Hamilton came up to their table and sat next to Dillon. "Hello Troy," she smiled at him, "How's our friend the Doctor?" "Doing fine. And basking in his new discovery which I think you'll be getting an exclusive interview about sometime in the near future." "That should be interesting," Jamie nodded, "The only problem is that with all the foreign policy crises going on, I don't think there'll be much room on the broadcast for science news," she then pursed her lips slightly, "And that jerk who produces it would probably think it was too dull and guaranteed to drive our ratings down if we focused too much on it." "This planet has much to learn about the things that really matter," Dillon said as he signalled the waiter to come over. After he and Jamie gave their orders, she let out a sad sigh, "Right now though, I'm afraid that the whole tension with the Russians is really going to be dominating the news for awhile." "That's what I figured," Troy said, "And that only makes things more frustrating for our people." "So you've told me," she said, "From what I've seen of the Galactica, thirty years of being cooped inside the one ship can't have been all that pleasant." "Jamie, you haven't even seen the worst of it until you've been aboard one of the civilian ships of our Fleet. We're talking about 185 ships barely one-tenth the size of the Galactica, all of them filled up with people for the last thirty years." "A lot of angry people, getting angrier every day," Dillon added, "Did we ever tell you about the little problem on our governing Council?" Jamie shook her head slightly, brushing back a lock of her long black hair, "I don't think so. You did tell me about your Council of Twelve, but nothing about a problem." "They're a bunch of idiots who always think they know more about what's best for the Fleet," Troy's tone suddenly grew harsh, "Empty-headed fools who would have led us to destruction if they'd been calling the shots after we left our home planets. That's why I've never given a moment's thought about why Adama prefers Dr. Zee's counsel to theirs." Jamie found herself smiling, "Sounds just like the complaints our President makes about the Congress. Only he's got 535 men and women to second-guess him instead of twelve." "Maybe you're being a little too harsh, Troy," Dillon said gently, "After all, this time you can't say that the Council's reasons for complaining are bogus." His friend calmly exhaled as he took a sip from his second drink, "Yeah, I suppose so. It's just that when I see a man my grandfather trusted for thirty years turn against him and take up this crusade to openly intervene in Earth's affairs, it makes me feel a lot more bitter." "You're going too fast for me," the beautiful reporter held up a hand, "Who are you talking about, and why does this Council want to intervene in Earth affairs?" "It's a long, complicated and tragic story," Troy finished off his second drink, "Everytime I think about it, it gets me mad or depressed." "Sire Tigh, formerly Colonel Tigh, used to be the Galactica's executive officer," Dillon carefully explained, "He was Adama's right-hand man for twenty-five years. They were an absolutely inseparable team, and the best of friends as well." "But he's not anymore," Jamie said, already knowing where this would lead to. "Not since Dr. Zee rose to maturity and Adama began taking his advice," Dillon said. The waiter came by with the salad for the three of them. Silence took hold for the next several minutes as the three ate. "Was it resentment?" Jamie asked when she finished and pushed back her plate, "Jealousy over a loss of influence?" "Yep," Troy said with a trace of bitterness, "There was a big falling out, and it ended with Tigh resigning his commission and running for a vacant seat on the Council for the sole purpose of being able to challenge Adama at any chance he could get. Well he had such a good reputation as a great warrior..." "Which he deserved," Dillon cut in, "Let's be fair about that." His friend nodded, "He won by a landslide. For the last five yahrens, he's been the biggest source of aggravation next to Xavier," Troy then shook his head in disgust, "My grandfather never should have allowed the election of new Council members to revert to the people." "And he's behind this intervention idea you mentioned?" Troy swallowed the last bite of his salad and nodded, "It's become his pet project. Right now, Lieutenant Kip our Soviet observer is on his way back for routine debriefing, and you can bet a million dollars that when he's through, Sire Tigh will bring the subject up again." Aboard the Galactica, Adama entered the chambers of the young mental genius Dr. Zee to discuss the very thing that Troy was surmising millions of miles away. "You have heard from Lieutenant Kip," the boy said as Adama entered. "Yes," Adama was no longer surprised at Dr. Zee's ability to read his mind. Long ago, he had begun to develop an inkling of where this "child of the stars" had truly come from, particularly after the boy had shared details of a remarkable dream he had once had. And if his hunch was correct, it explained everything. Still, Adama was reluctant to raise that subject with Dr. Zee. The time did not seem right for that...yet. "His report on the Soviet government's recent behavior is not good," Dr. Zee said matter-of-factly, "The more they continue to cause trouble in Central America, the longer the state of Cold War continues with the United States." "The members of the Council are all analyzing his report," the note of concern entered Adama's voice, "We meet in two centars to discuss the matter." "And no doubt, Sire Tigh will use this as the opportunity to make an open call for intervention in Earth affairs. He has been reluctant to make a formal motion up to this point, but after reading Lieutenant Kip's report, he will no longer feel restrained." The commander let out a sad sigh. "I've been forced to deal with troublemakers on the Council ever since we fled the colonies," he said as he began to pace up and down in the chambers, "Starting with Sire Uri and Carillon. And every time I could always rely on Tigh for support. And now, to be in another dispute against a man whom I'd always been able to depend on..." "Your feelings for Tigh are commendable Adama," the boy genius was sympathetic but firm, "But you must hold them or they will be not only prove your undoing, but Earth's as well." Adama slowly nodded in understanding before he turned and departed. Troy parked the car in front of Jamie's fashionable apartment complex but did not turn off the engine as both she and Dillon got out. "Aren't you coming in?" Jamie frowned slightly. Troy smiled and shook his head, "No, I think I'll hit the County Library and catch up on some more reading. I'll be back around eight." "Have fun," Dillon said dryly as the car drove off. As they entered the lobby and made their way to the elevator that would take them to Jamie's apartment on the fifteenth floor, the beautiful reporter said aloud, "The way Troy spends so much time at the County Library, I sometimes think he should just sleep there." "That's always been part of his nature," Dillon said as the elevator doors opened and they stepped in, "Reading up on history and ancient civilization. Before we discovered Earth you could always find him in his quarters reading the texts on the early history of the colonies and Kobol." "He always did strike me as a bit of an egghead." Dillon frowned at her, "A what?" Jamie laughed, "An intellectual. A devoted scholar." "Oh," the Galactica warrior shook his head, "Sorry I'm still not up on all the slang." "I guess that's the difference between him and you," Jamie's tone grew gentle, "You're more the strong, silent type. The man of action who's not as comfortable learning all these little details." He threw her a crooked smile, "Are you holding that against me?" "No," she put her hand on his shoulder, "I've always had a thing for strong, silent types ever since grade school." The doors opened before Dillon could respond and they crossed the hallway to her apartment. "Troy got his reading habit from his father," he said as they entered, "Captain Apollo was probably one of the finest warriors who ever lived, but he was also the kind of person who'd have rather been an explorer or a scholar if there hadn't been a war with the Cylons." "What exactly happened to him?" Jamie asked as she kicked off her high heels and settled into a chair, "I've never heard Troy or Adama ever say a word about him." Dillon settled in the chair opposite her and undid his tie, "It was a mission sixteen yahr.. years ago. A mission that I don't know the details about because the report is still classified in the Galactica's main computer." "Does Troy know?" "I don't think he does. He was just entering his cadet training at the time, so he might have known what the mission was about, but as to how it happened he's never given me an inkling about whether he knows or not," he shook his head slightly, "It was really hard on him though. He lost his mother when he was six, and to lose his only other parent as well...it really took a lot out of him and the commander as well. Apollo's death was a tragedy for a lot of people. Especially..." he suddenly broke off. "For who?" Jamie asked. Dillon suddenly blushed in embarrassment, "Uh-oh, I'm afraid I almost revealed a secret that I made a promise never to let out a long time ago. You'll have to forget that last part, Jamie." "Why?" her frown deepened, "I don't know any of these people. You can trust me." "I can't," he shook his head, "I only know it because Troy confided in me one night with the stipulation that I never reveal it to anyone else. I have to keep that promise. So please Jamie, don't try to pry it out." She sighed and settled deeper into the plush velvet backing of the chair, "All right Dillon, I promise." After a brief silence, Jamie decided it was safe to speak again, "Has Troy ever found the time for women?" "Troy?" Dillon chuckled, "Not really. It's a mixture of the personal tragedies he's gone through, and his commitment to his work that's kept him unattached all this time. Course it's been that way for a lot of warriors as well. The kind of life we've lived hasn't provided much incentive to sit back and find time to have a family." "How about yourself?" she asked with a hint of suggestion in her voice. It did not go unnoticed, "Oh..." he seemed to fumble for words, "I guess it's the same with me. I used to think that staying unattached might give me a life of bachelor excitement with the ladies, just like my idol Lieutenant Starbuck did, but after a while I sort of got tired of trying to live up to that image. I haven't had anything serious since long before we discovered Earth." "But you haven't closed the door on anything for the future, have you?" the suggestive edge increased in Jamie's voice. He smiled and seemed to relax, "No." She rose from her chair and slowly made her way up to him, settling herself on his lap and putting her arms around him. "I was hoping you'd say that," she whispered seductively, "I was really hoping you'd say that." Dillon faintly nodded but said nothing more as their lips met in a passionate kiss. Adama sat in his quarters and felt the tension inside his body mount as he gazed at the chronometer. The Council meeting was less than ten centars away and he wasn't looking forward to it at all. He heard the bell chime and it took him awhile before he bothered to respond, "Enter." So lost was he in his anxiety, that he didn't even bother to look up at the person who then entered. "Hello Adama," a familiar voice said. Adama looked up and visibly stiffened when he saw a sad-faced Tigh standing in front of his desk. The clothes were now the white robes of a Council member instead of the familiar blue uniform of a Colonial colonel and the hair had thinned and whitened somewhat, but otherwise Tigh had changed very little in the last thirty years. "Sire Tigh," the commander's voice was stiff and formal, "Is there a reason for your coming here before the meeting?" "Adama, drop the formalities," said Tigh with mild exasperation, "I came here because I want to avoid another public row between you and me. I came here because I still cherish the friendship we shared for so long and I want to prevent things from getting worse than they are now." "No doubt by getting me to agree with your proposal for direct intervention in Earth's affairs," Adama remained unemotional in his tone. "Shouldn't it be obvious now that you've seen the same report from Lieutenant Kip that I've seen?" "Earth's situation is difficult," he conceded, "But what you would have us do would be an invitation to Earth's very destruction." "How can you be sure of that?" Tigh angrily raised his voice, "Just because some mutated child freak told you so?" "The last several yahrens have vindicated Dr. Zee's judgment in all matters pertaining to Earth," his one-time friend refused to match his tone, "I see no reason why I should suddenly now cease to take that advice." Tigh shook his head in disgust, "If you wish to spend the rest of your life as Dr. Zee's trained dagget then that's your business. But I think the Council and the people should have the right to determine their own future." "Can you really be serious?" a note of incredulity entered Adama's voice, "Thirty yahrens you spent by my side, and yet you've learned nothing from past history?" "Adama," the former executive officer softened his tone, "This isn't thirty yahrens ago. The Council isn't made up of self-centered fools like Uri, Domra or Montrose anymore. All of whom I admit were menaces to our well-being who only wanted to sidetrack us from our goal of finding Earth. Times are different now, Adama. We have an expanding population that can not afford to live like animals crowded in rusted derelicts for the next three hundred yahrens travelling in a wide circle in space. We must reveal ourselves to Earth and insure that our people can have a place to live while we simultaneously increase the rate of Earth's technological growth." Adama slowly turned away from him, "You may save your remarks for the Council meeting." "Before the Council, I'd be forced to humiliate you," Tigh raised his voice, "In the name of all that's holy Adama, don't make me do that." The commander swivelled his chair back. This time, his visage was angry. "Then in the name of all that's holy Tigh," he whispered harshly, "Withdraw your motion and drop this foolish crusade. You make yourself no less a menace to Earth's well-being than the renegade Xavier does." "We're not talking about a madman scheme to tamper with the past like Xavier wants!" Tigh shouted, "We're talking about a practical approach to accelerate the timetable and end the misery for our people! Why is that concept so hard for you to grasp?" "I cannot reject Dr.Zee's counsel on this matter," Adama said with finality. "To Hades Hole with Dr.Zee!" Tigh threw up his arms, "Why can't you show that you still have a mind of your own about things?" His one-time friend let out a dismal groan. "The only reason why I follow Dr. Zee's counsel is because he has provided wisdom and good judgment on a number of difficult crises these last five yahrens," he then paused for effect, "The very kind of judgment that I used to depend on you for." "Except when it came to Dr. Zee," Tigh was calmer now, "From the micron we found him floating in a pod in space I thought there was something wrong with him and I still do." "Why?" Adama asked point-blank, "After fifteen yahrens, the only thing you've suggested to me is jealousy over the loss of your influence." The former executive officer drew up his shoulders and took a breath. "All right Adama, I'll finally come out with it and admit what I think Dr. Zee is. You won't like it. You'll call me crazy and probably have me humiliated for carrying things too far..." "Tigh," Adama said bluntly, "What you say to me now will remain in this room. You have my word on that." He slowly nodded, "I still trust your word. Very well, Adama. You remember Count Iblis?" Adama gave him a blank stare of incomprehension. Slowly though, the light came over him and he settled back in his chair. "Old friend," he said with disbelief, "You surely can not be serious." "I am Adama," Tigh said, "I'm not saying I think he is Iblis, but I think he could be from the same race of outcasts." "On what basis do you say this?" Adama's anger was gone completely, "What has Dr. Zee done to suggest that he is an outcast?" Tigh bit his lip and seemed unable to go on. "I have a right to know why you feel this way," the commander said, "Continue." The former executive officer slowly exhaled. "Promises that provide short-term success, the total control exuded over others, an insistence to follow only his course of action though not directly commanded. It's a pattern that is too familiar to something else we both witnessed, Adama. And we both know how it nearly destroyed us." "Dr. Zee has been with us for fifteen yahrens," he said calmly, "If any of this were true, why not act sooner?" "For a simple reason," Tigh said, "The last experience with Iblis only teaches the outcasts to be more subtle this time. To not act too quickly." Adama shook his head in sadness. "Old friend, I often prayed for you so many yahrens ago that you would one day abandon your agnostic views and accept the truths told to us in the Book of the Word. But I scarcely believed you would carry your newfound convictions to this ridiculous extreme." "Adama--" Tigh started to protest. "We have nothing further to discuss," Adama's voice was calm but final, "I shall speak to you later when the Council meets." Tigh angrily straightened himself. "Good day, Commander," he said coldly. And with that he turned away and was gone. Chapter Two "Feel any better?" a thoroughly contented Jamie whispered as she lay in bed nestled in Dillon's arms. The Galactica warrior absently stroked her long brown hair, "A lot. Enough to get my mind off this crazy situation with Adama and the Council. Knowing Sire Tigh, he's going to pounce on this Central American business as an excuse to call once again for open intervention." Jamie sighed and faintly shook her head, "The Day the Earth Stood Still." "Huh?" Dillon frowned. "It's an old movie," she said, "A science fiction story about an alien visitor who landed his ship in Washington and called on the superpowers to get rid of all their nuclear weapons and make peace or else his superior race would bring down their wrath upon the Earth." Dillon shook his head in amazement, "Sounds exactly like what Tigh wants. How did the story end?" "Oh it ended happily, with the alien's will being enforced by some kind of robot. A lot of people love it but it always bothered me from the day I first saw it when I was a kid." "How come?" "Because the movie forgot to answer the question of whether it was ethical to enforce the dictates of a so-called 'superior' race upon the Earth," she said, "The old ends-justifies-the-means way of thinking. There was something about that that just bothered me." Dillon pursed his lips slightly. "Since you see parallels with what Tigh wants to do," he said, "Then what do you really think would happen if the Galactica intervened?" Jamie looked him in the eye, "I think that after the euphoria died down, your people would soon realize that to keep Earth in line you'd have to act like dictators. You'd produce a ton of resentment among a lot of people who'd view your intervention as a forfeiture of their free will and independence." "A perception that wouldn't exist as long as we keep our role hidden." "Exactly," she nodded, "There's a spirit of individualism among Earth people that would have to be eradicated in order for Tigh's scheme to work. And if you tried to enforce it..." she trailed off. Dillon grimly nodded, "Open warfare. Earth versus the Galactica." "That's why I think it's important that you and Troy do whatever you can to not let that ever happen. Earth's not ready to confront your people." "Jamie," Dillon resumed stroking her hair, "There is unfortunately a large difference between knowing what's right and doing what's right. I know you're right, but 10,000 people cooped up in the ships of our Fleet are probably never going to be able understand it." "When we're talking about 10,000 as opposed to four billion, I think it makes the choice even more obvious." "Not if you're one of the 10,000," he gently replied. Jamie rolled over slightly and sighed, "Then I hope Adama proves to be a better persuader in front of your Council than this Sire Tigh is." Troy had spent more than an hour roaming the shelves of the Los Angeles County library searching for something worthwhile to read. With the political discussions he'd had with Mortinson still fresh in his mind, he found himself gravitating toward the section on Soviet history. Just then, a massive multi-volume set by one author seemed to stand out more than any of the other books. The title sounded impressive enough that Troy picked up the first volume. He settled into one of the plush leather chairs nearby and opened the thick volume that was entitled, The Gulag Archipelago. Written by a gentleman named Alexander Solzhineytsin. It was well over several hours later that Troy was still sitting in his chair, thoroughly enraptured by the contents of the book, as well as several others by the same author. "Sir?" Troy didn't respond to the voice. "Sir, it's closing time. You have to gather your things and leave now." He looked up and saw the genial but firm face of a security guard staring at him. "Oh, I'm sorry," Troy got to his feet and straightened himself, "I lost track of time." "Happens all the time," the guard nodded. Clutching the book tightly to him, Troy made his way for the circulation desk. Since Adama had left his chambers several hours earlier, the mental genius Dr. Zee had resumed his neverending analysis of the situation. Summoning his superior intellect to its fullest capacity in the hopes of finding new answers that would alleviate the situation. Just then, the boy was distracted by strange sounds. Sounds that came from outside his chambers. It took him a moment to realize that they in fact came from outside in space. Puzzled, he went over to the porthole and could see a bright light going past at tremendous speed. "They always seem frightening at first, don't they?" Dr. Zee spun round in startled disbelief at the sound of the voice. And his disbelief intensified when he saw who it was. "You're...Starbuck?" "That's me," the onetime Galactica warrior who'd been lost in battle fifteen yahrens ago was dressed in a white garment strangely similar to his own, "Oh they don't let me use that name anymore, but I've always had a soft spot for it." "That dream I had," Dr. Zee tried to connect things, "It really was true." "Yeah it was," the image of the one who had been Starbuck nodded, "I'm your so-called 'spiritual father.' The one who sacrificed himself so you could live and be picked up by the Galactica when I was marooned on that planet, long ago." "Well then who...that is, what am I? Why are you here?" Starbuck smiled, "You're part of a rather unique race of beings in the universe. But there'll be plenty of time to discuss that later, after you've come with me." "Come with you?" the boy's bewilderment deepened, "What for?" At that point, the smile faded from Starbuck's expression. "Your task here is done," he said firmly, "You were destined to be found by the Galactica so you could provide critical advice to Adama at a dangerous time, when Earth was first discovered. But the situation is now at a stage where your help is neither necessary, nor for that matter, beneficial." There was stunned silence from Dr. Zee. "We haven't made this decision lightly," Starbuck continued, "But it's come to our attention that there have been some areas where, how shall I say it, you have not acted with the full level of maturity that we had hoped to see. While you succeeded at giving Adama the necessary advice for dealing with the immediate problem of Earth, we did not want to see discord sown between Adama and the members of the Council. Especially with Sire Tigh. In your zeal to give Adama the right information, you didn't show the right level of tact." "I did what was essential for Earth's survival," the boy protested. "So you did," Starbuck tried not to sound too reproachful, "But the situation has reached a point where Adama, Troy, Dillon, Jamie Hamilton and all the others who've recognized the basic wisdom of what you've shown them should be able to handle the situation themselves from here on in." "Adama depends on me in more ways than you realize," he didn't let up, "He'd be totally lost without my guidance." At that point, Starbuck's expression suddenly grew cold. "Kid," he said, "Let me tell you something about Commander Adama. Thirty yahrens ago, all of our planets were smoldering wrecks, all of the other battlestars had been destroyed, and Adama singlehandedly gathered 7000 people together in 220 rickety ships and on his own initiative and wisdom got us started for Earth. And I served under him for fifteen yahrens of that hellish journey where we had more trouble thrown at us than you could ever imagine, which included seeing his son and daughter die, and losing two other people, myself included, who meant a lot to him. Once Adama's committed to an ultimate goal, he knows how to take care of himself no matter what. And he'll be just fine even if you aren't here anymore. If you're to perform new challenges for the future, the first thing you need to learn in addition to some tact, is that you're not indispensable. No one is. Granted, that lesson escaped me quite a bit when I was here, but it's something I try to live by now, if I'm to be effective at the tasks I've been chosen for." The mental genius seemed intimidated into silence. "Come," there was an aura of almost parental authority in Starbuck's voice. "But...shouldn't Adama know?" "He doesn't need to be told," Starbuck said, "He already knows the truth about where you came from. As it is, we have little time to waste." The boy warily nodded. He stepped forward and took Starbuck's outstretched hand. And then, as the lights continued to zoom past the porthole, the two faded from the room and were gone. They had been gone only a few seconds when the sounds of Adama's approaching footsteps filled the room. "Dr. Zee?" the commander's voice had an edge of concern, "Dr. Zee?" But no one was there to respond. Confused, Adama walked about the chambers, trying to come to terms with the strange absence of his long-time adviser and confidant. Just then, something caught his eye at the porthole. He made his way over and was just in time to see the last of the lights go past and fade out. Adama let out a deflated sigh. In an instant, he understood. Completely. Troy was in an anxious state-of-mind when he returned to Jamie's apartment and used the spare key she'd given him to let himself in. "Dillon, we've got to get moving," he said as he closed the door behind him, "The sooner we get back to the Galactica, the better." There was no immediate response. "Dillon?" Troy repeated as he made his way about the apartment. He noticed the door to Jamie's bedroom slightly ajar. Cautiously, he made his way up there and peered in. When he saw both Dillon and Jamie lying fast asleep in each other's arms, he chuckled lightly and backed away from the door. He then gently closed it and then gave a firm, loud rap with his knuckles. "Uh, Dillon?" Troy called out in a loud but nonchalant tone, "You in there?" He could hear a loud stirring sound erupt inside, and the distinct sound of Dillon muttering, "Frack Almighty." Troy stifled the urge to laugh as he could envision the sheets being thrown back and Dillon setting a record getting dressed. A moment later, the door opened. A half-dressed and disheveled Dillon emerged and promptly closed the door behind him. "Lords of Kobol, couldn't you have phoned?" he muttered. "I never had a reason to call ahead, buddy," Troy grinned and gave him a playful nudge to the shoulder. "I guess not," Dillon was blushing with embarrassment. "You don't have to say anything," he said, "It's none of my business. I didn't see a thing." His friend nodded and readjusted his belt, "What's up?" "We're headed back to the Galactica," he said, "If there's any kind of Council meeting taking place over Kip's report than we have to get back there right away." "You sure?" "I am," Troy was emphatic, "I'll wait downstairs. You get Jamie ready to drive us out." "Okay," Dillon nodded again and quickly reentered the bedroom, again hastily closing the door. Troy smiled and shook his head in amazement as he left the apartment and made his way to the elevator. Thirty minutes later, a hastily dressed Jamie was driving along the Ventura Freeway on the first leg of the journey that would lead to the isolated spot of the California desert where both Dillon and Troy's vipers were hidden. Since they'd left her apartment, she'd been listening with rapt attention as Troy explained his plan to her and Dillon. "Do you really think you have to do this?" Jamie asked as Troy finished, "Wouldn't your Soviet observer Kip have made the same point in his report?" "I don't think so," Troy shook his head, "First of all, Kip never would have had a chance to read the book over there." "How naive of me not to remember that," she flushed slightly with embarrassment as she pulled off the freeway and began heading for the back roads that led to the desert. "And second, Kip really doesn't get much of a chance to learn the whole picture about what the Soviet system really means. He's had to work in conjunction with scientists who are confirmed members of the Party and the whole rotten infrastructure. The only dissident he might have talked to is Andrei Sakharov, and he just got put under arrest for all intents and purposes." "So it's up to us," Dillon sighed, "I only hope we can make the Council understand what's at risk here." "They'll have to understand," Troy sounded defiant, "Especially Sire Tigh. If he has any sense of justice left inside him, then he'll have no choice." "And if he doesn't get the point then it's only going to mean trouble," Dillon grunted. Thirty minutes later, Jamie pulled off to a side road just a hundred yards from where the vipers lay hidden by their invisibility shields. Troy was quick to get out, but Dillon waited a minute before following him. "When I get back there's a lot more I'd like to talk to you about, Jamie," he said to her as he impulsively squeezed her hand, "A lot more." "I know," she smiled back with empathy, "I'll look forward to that. But in the meantime, keep your attention on convincing the Council and not on us." "With you that's no easy task." He leaned forward and lightly kissed her on the lips. "Come on Dillon," Troy called back to him. Alertly, Dillon got out and took one last look back before sprinting over to where his fellow warrior was waiting. Jamie continued to smile with encouragement and empathy. The beautiful reporter watched as the two Galactica warriors disappeared into the nearby cave. A moment later, she could hear a whirring sound of the two vipers emerging from the cave, but the still-active invisibility shields prevented her from seeing them. The sleek fighters finally became visible for just a split second as they roared to life and shot up into the heavens, and the beginning of their journey far into space where the mighty battlestar waited. And then, after saying only "Good luck," Jamie finally started up her car to begin the long journey back to Los Angeles. For the better part of an hour, Adama had been sitting in his quarters totally lost in thought. Trying to come to terms with the fact that the one person he had come to depend on for guidance was now totally, and irrevocably gone. The brief glimpse of the lights had been all that he had needed to understand why Dr. Zee was no longer there. The hunch he had first developed about Dr. Zee's origins after the boy had shared his dream about Starbuck with him had proven to be true. But now those wondrous beings of light who had long ago saved the Galactica from the wicked outcast Count Iblis and given them the general coordinates for Earth, had taken their progeny back, and in the process had left Adama feeling totally alone and adrift. Why? his soul let out a silent cry of anguish. Why, at this extremely critical time did Dr. Zee have to be taken from him? Who else could provide him with the insight needed to convince the Council and the people that Earth still needed to be treated with gentle caution only? The chime sounded, and a somber Colonel Boomer then entered the room. "Commander," the executive officer's tone was somewhat awkward, "I think you might want to know that we just heard from Troy and Dillon. They're on their way back." Adama frowned and slowly turned around to face him, "Why?" Boomer shrugged, "I'm not too sure, Commander, but Troy says he thinks they can provide some help at the Council meeting later today." "I'll need it," the commander grunted as he again turned his chair away, "In more ways then I could have ever imagined." Boomer bit his lip. He had never felt comfortable in his role as Tigh's successor and never seemed sure of whether he could ever be open with the man he had served under for more than thirty yahrens since he'd been a green cadet. When the executive officer finally spoke, he chose his words carefully, "Is it really true about Dr. Zee?" "Yes," Adama didn't look at him, "Wherever he is now, he's not coming back. I know it." Boomer slowly sucked in his breath, "Adama." That got the commander's attention and he turned around. Boomer never addressed him by name. "Adama," the executive officer struggled to continue, "Believe me, I've never been like Tigh, Xavier or any of those others who thought there was something evil about Dr. Zee, or that there was something wrong in what his recommendations were about Earth policy. If he hadn't been here when we found Earth, then I know we would have acted on impulse and landed the Fleet and fallen right into the trap the Cylons have been waiting yahrens for to spring on us. His counsel was wise, but...." his voice trailed off. "Go on," Adama's tone was neutral. Boomer sighed, "But Adama, I really think the reason why people like Tigh and then Xavier started speaking out was because it seemed more and more like you'd lost your decisiveness. These weren't people who'd been trying to undercut you from the day we fled the colonies like Domra and Uri were, these were people who'd looked up to you as the greatest warrior who ever lived. The man who single-handedly saved what was left of human civilization and brought us all the way across the galaxy against odds that were too impossible to comprehend. The more you listened to Dr. Zee's counsel, however correct it was, the more you gave the impression of a fallen idol to them. That's why they're so hostile. If you had come to the same conclusions independently and argued them with the same forcefulness you did when you told us all that we had to go seek out Earth, then I don't think there'd be a controversy right now." Adama was silent. His expression still neutral. "Adama," Boomer continued, "I know the last ten yahrens have been difficult for you ever since Athena was killed. When she died, and Tigh started developing his paranoia that led to the big falling-out, you basically lost all the people you'd ever depended on for emotional support and guidance. And I know you promoted me to executive officer because I was the last surviving warrior from the Old Guard, and you were hoping I could fill the same kind of role that they did for you, and I'll be the first to admit that I let you down." "Boomer--," Adama tried to mildly protest, but the executive officer pressed on. "No Adama, let me finish. I never lived up to your expectations because I'd never planned on having this job. This was supposed to be Apollo's job, and when he died you then planned it for Starbuck, and then after he was lost it was meant for Athena. In the back of my mind, I never thought I was worthy of filling their shoes, and I'm afraid that held me back from giving you the kind of counsel you were looking for. So that's why I never blamed you for turning to Dr. Zee on principle, because in the end, he turned out to be the only one filling that role of counselor that you desperately needed." The commander remained silent as he digested Boomer's remarks. He put a hand to his beard and began to absently stroke it. "Perhaps you're right," Adama said as he looked downward, "And now that I've had a few centars to think about it, I suppose Dr. Zee's greatest failing was a lack of...of...." he tried to find the right word. "Tact," Boomer said. "No, not tact. Maturity. But it's not as if Dr. Zee should have been blamed for that. He was a mere child of an extraordinary race who hadn't learned to grasp or control the full scope of his powers," he paused briefly, "Maybe if that strange wonderful race of beings had sent an older man, there wouldn't have been a backlash. Someone like a... benevolent version of Iblis." "Adama," the executive officer gently chided, "You never would have trusted someone like that for the same reason why you never trusted Iblis from the beginning. And even if you ended up trusting such a person, could you have related to him the same way you were able to relate to a child like Dr. Zee?" The commander smiled thinly, "I suppose not. A child who almost in a way became a substitute for the kind of father-son relationship I'd had with Apollo, was probably why they'd arranged it that way." "Perhaps," Boomer conceded, "But whatever the case, I think that if the Ship of Lights was responsible for Dr. Zee's coming, then they chose to take him away because they now feel it's time for you to reassert some authority that will put the Council in it's place and end this standoff between you and Tigh." "How?" Adama's question was pointed, "All I have at this time, with just one centar before we convene, are the same arguments that Dr. Zee gave me for the last four yahrens. Just repeating them isn't going to sway Tigh whether Dr. Zee is still here or not." Boomer calmly exhaled. "Boxey's on his way back and he says he's got something that might help," the executive officer was equally pointed, "And if that's really the case then it'll be with something done without Dr. Zee's help. If it's a good argument, then Tigh can't play the Zee factor as an excuse." The commander looked up at Boomer and his expression grew thoughtful. Finally, he rose from his chair and went over to the framed image of the Earth that had been presented to him several years before. "Earth now stands still at a crossroads, Boomer," he finally spoke, "The outcome of this Council meeting will determine whether Earth moves forward at the only pace she can go, or whether she meets with total destruction." Chapter Three Eleven of the twelve members of the Council of Twelve sat around the table, each filled with varying levels of impatience. The meeting had been scheduled to begin twenty minutes earlier, but so far, it had yet to come to order. "He's late," the annoyed tone of Sire Darcy, who hated Dr. Zee even more than Tigh, finally spoke up, "Probably receiving instructions from Dr. Zee on how his hand should be held this time." Tigh cast a less-than-pleasant glance at his Council ally but said nothing. "A quorum is already present," this from Sire Kort, who was also Tigh's ally, "There is no reason why we should not begin now." "If your arrogance means that common courtesy for the President of the Council can no longer be extended, then I for one wish no part of this," the silver-edged tongue of Siress Tinia, the oldest member of the Council and a strong Adama supporter, jumped in. Tigh slowly gathered himself and spoke calmly, "I agree. My fellow members, there is nothing that can be decided here unless Adama is present. We shall wait at his convenience." As the former executive officer settled back in his chair, Siress Tinia shot him a mirthless half-smile, "Probably the last thing you and I will agree on at this meeting." Tigh returned it, "Probably." There was no warmth in his tone. The dislike he'd felt for Tinia ever since that affair with the Eastern Alliance and Baltar's aborted escape from the prison barge had never completely faded over time. Another five minutes passed, and then the doors slid open. Adama entered the chamber, followed by Boomer, Troy and Dillon. The commander's grandson carried two large books under his arm. Tigh and several other members frowned slightly as Adama sat down at the head of the table. Adama's bearing was much more firm and erect than it had seemed for a long while. His expression more determined and confident, exuding a sense of authority that they remembered well and had not seen for so long. It took Tigh an instant to realize that part of that seemed to lie in the fact that Adama had shaved off his beard. The face that stared at them from the head of the table resembled more the great leader they thought had been long gone, and not the more passive one they had come to despise. "My apologies for the delay," the commander spoke, "Some late consultations with Captain Troy and Lieutenant Dillon were necessary. Their presence at this meeting will be explained later. In the meantime, as President of the Council of Twelve, I declare us to be in session, and open the floor to the members for discussion on any topic they choose." Even the voice was firmer than it had been for yahrens, and Tigh almost hesitated in rising from his seat. When he did, he cleared his throat and proceeded with equal firmness. "Mr. President," he said, "All of the members have recently had the opportunity to consult the report of Lieutenant Kip on activities within the country on Earth known as the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, or Russia. I think it is safe to say Mr. President, that many of us find this report to be very disturbing. For the last five Earth yahrens, relations between the Soviet Union and the United States have continued to deteriorate, and according to Lieutenant Kip, the Soviet government now plans to increase their military activities in Central America for the express purpose of seeing how far they can go without risking some form of reprisal from the United States. At the same time, the United States is governed by a president who seems less interested in seeking peace and stability with the Soviets, and more interested in seeing how far he can push them with belligerent rhetoric and a military arms buildup without incurring reprisal. "What all of this indicates to me, my brothers, is that the situation on Earth is reaching a dangerous point where sooner or later, there will be some kind of global war between the two superpowers. A war, which if fought, will have no winners since it would be with crude nuclear missiles that while primitive by our standards, would wreak devastation throughout the entire planet. According to the calculations based on Lieutenant Kip's reports, as well as previous reports from the United States by Captain Troy and Lieutenant Dillon," he shot a momentary glance at the two warriors, who remained neutral in their expressions, "Such devastation would set Earth back more than two hundred yahrens at a minimum in her development, and conceivably as high as one thousand." Several low whistles and disapproving grunts emitted from the Council members sympathetic to Tigh. Troy had to refrain from showing any kind of disgust since he regarded their reaction as nothing more than theatrical show. "We have been told before by some," Tigh continued and inflected a note of pointed sarcasm on the last word, "That patience is needed for the long-term, and that our assistance in bringing Earth up to our level of technology must be as gradual as possible. While I respect the fact that an outright landing would be destructive to Earth in that it would bring about an inevitable Cylon strike, I am afraid that the present situation on Earth dictates that our current policy will only prove equally destructive to Earth's well-being and progress." "We have seen what such sentiments as yours have led to before, Sire Tigh," Tinia interrupted, "Our former brother Xavier, who like Baltar before him, was a trusted member of this Council. And like Baltar, he chose to violate all known forms of human decency with a mad scheme to tamper with Earth's past and give assistance to the most monstrous regime Earth ever knew, that of Adolf Hitler's Germany." "I resent your insinuation, Siress Tinia," Tigh shot back, "You, and everyone else at this table know that I joined all of you in voting to expel Xavier from this body, and that in fact I spoke strongly in favor of the resolution condemning his time-travel activities. Leaving aside the fact that his support of Hitler's barbaric regime was despicable, I don't believe for one centon that we can ever take the risk that changing Earth's past will somehow bring her up to the technology she needs right now. If I ever felt it could, then I certainly wouldn't go back just forty yahrens, I'd go all the way back to the day the scout ship from Kobol landed here and find out what went wrong that set Earth on a different path from the one the colonies took." Which, Adama silently mused, was one question he wanted to see answered some day when the situation was more stable. He then felt his grandson nudge him slightly, "He's done it," Troy whispered. "What?" Adama whispered back as he continued looking ahead. "He just gave us what they call on Earth, the trump card." "What does that mean in a language I understand?" he cast a quick glance at Troy. "Think of someone playing pyramid who thinks he's about to win but doesn't realize his opponent has the top hand." "Ah," Adama nodded as light came over him in understanding Tigh began to pace up and down alongside the Council table, "None of us who desire a change from the present policy believe in something as dangerous as time travel, or as reckless as an outright landing. But in consultation with Sires Darcy and Kort, I have devised a proposal that I believe will serve three important functions. One, ending the state of tension on Earth. Two, revealing ourselves to the people of Earth in a manner that will preserve Earth from Cylon attack, and simultaneously allow for the gradual settlement of Earth by our people. And three, an acceleration in the advancement of Earth technology." "What is your proposal?" Adama leaned forward, and spoke up for the first time. Tigh motioned to his leading Council ally and sat down, "Sire Darcy." The red-haired Councilman rose from his chair and went over to a computer monitor situated behind the end of the table, where he activated several switches. "We have come to the conclusion," he began in his somewhat whiny voice, "That intervention in Earth affairs can only be accomplished through a dramatic display that will immediately make Earth aware of the situation in the clearest manner possible." Just then, two faces appeared on the screen. One was a somewhat elderly, but still reasonably handsome man in a dark suit, while the other was smartly attired in a U.S Army uniform that held many decorations. "This is the President of the United States, and his chief military advisor, General John Vecsey, the Chairman of the so-called Joint Chiefs of Staff," he then clicked another button and two more faces appeared. Both looked stern and severe, one in a less than elegant suit, the other in a tan uniform that held many decorations as well, "And this is the premier of the USSSR and his chief military advisor, Marshal Vladimir Pavlov." Darcy turned back to face the Council members, "It is our belief that these four men should be brought aboard the Galactica, so that they may see first-hand exactly what the situation is." "How?" Tinia spoke up, "Are you saying these leaders should be abducted?" "If it comes to that, yes," Darcy was firm, "Only by bringing them into space, only by bringing them aboard this battlestar, and only by showing them firsthand the gravity of the situation can this state of tension be ended on Earth." "I see," the elderly siress brushed a lock of silver hair back, "And how would such an abduction be carried out?" "The logistics have all been worked out," Darcy then summoned the computer to display several maps, "Our primary warrior teams will journey to Washington and Moscow respectively. Captain Troy and Lieutenant Dillon will be responsible for the President and General Vecsey, while Lieutenants Kip and Ryan of the Soviet detachment will handle the Premier and Marshal Pavlov. The use of the Wilker 2 invisibility screen should allow for easy infiltration of the appropriate complexes. Once the targets are encountered when they are alone, the use of an appropriate tranquilizer device, coupled with the activation of the invisibility screen around them as well, will enable their taking to be a total success." Troy noticed Dillon staring at the Councilman with a thoroughly dubious expression. He gave him a supportive nudge, "Go ahead," he whispered. "Sire Darcy," Dillon stood up, "Forgive me for interrupting, but as long as Captain Troy and I are here, I think we're entitled to ask some questions on this." The short sire cast a glance at Tigh who politely nodded. "Very well, Lieutenant," Darcy resumed, "What do you wish to know?" "Well Troy and I have visited Washington. Only as tourists, mind you, and not part of any kind of intelligence gathering mission, but frankly I don't for the life of me see how this plan could ever work. What you're asking is to find some way to spirit the President out of Washington totally undetected for a long enough period of time to get back to our vipers." "The cover of darkness should take care of that contingency, Lieutenant," Darcy shot back, "Rest assured, it has all been programmed to the last possible detail. We've factored in the number of guards within the White House and what avenues of entrance and exit you'll need to take." "You can look for all the excuses you want to, Lieutenant," Sire Kort spoke up with a taunting edge, "They've all been addressed by the plan. It can not fail. However much that may disappoint you, it can not be denied." Dillon glared at him for a moment, but the sire's words had stopped him cold. Adama finally motioned him to sit down and he calmly resumed his seat. "Are you finished, Sire Darcy?" Adama gently inquired. "Not quite." "Continue," the commander's tone remained polite. The red-haired councilman returned to the board, "Once these leaders are aboard the Galactica, we will tell them all that is possible about the situation regarding the war with the Cylons." "And then?" Siress Tinia remained on the skeptical attack. Tigh motioned Darcy to sit down and took the lead, "And then, Siress, we see to it that the Cold War is ended." "How?" Tinia refused to let up. The former executive officer rose from his chair, "No sane man will fail to understand the gravity of what Earth faces once we show them all the facts. The President and Premier will understand. And then, they will end the Cold War for us. We will send one of our medium-sized ships in the fleet to land on Earth, carrying both the President and Premier, and together they will make a joint broadcast to the people of Earth." "And you think that will accomplish everything?" Tinia shot back. "Why not?" Tigh retorted, "A dramatic display such as that will end all possible arguments." "What if enough people are not convinced?" the silver-haired siress raised her voice, "Do you then suggest we impress them by opening fire on them?" "You raise an absurd possibility, fomented only by the likes of Dr. Zee," Darcy sneered at her, "You know very well it can not come to that." "I have made no consultations with Dr. Zee," she held her ground, "And my dear Sire Darcy, it is not an absurd possibility when you consider the fact that in the time between the abduction of these leaders and their return to Earth, there is going to be a state of chaos and pandemonium throughout the planet. Both sides will no doubt accuse the other of being responsible for these disappearances, and the end result could see war break out before you even have time to implement your alleged scheme that will bring superpower peace." "That is why speed shall be of the essence in the implementation of this plan," Tigh resumed, "I concede that it carries that risk. But it is a risk within the context of achieving peace. No action on our part means no peace, and an inevitable war as it stands." "Sire Tigh," Adama gently spoke up. The commander leaned forward, and Tigh's eyes widened in amazement. It was the type of gesture he'd always known Adama to make years earlier whenever he was ready to move in with an argument that succeeded in ending the debate in his favor. A long-forgotten mannerism of the Adama of old, that Tigh had admired and loved. "Yes, Mr. President," Tigh's tone was deferential and courteous. "Sire Tigh," Adama began, "Sire Darcy. All of you who feel the same. Let me state for the record, that I acknowledge that you all speak from sentiments of patriotism and good intentions on what you think is best for our people. However," he then cast a glance around the entire table as his voice took on a more firm inflection, "However, when it comes to the safety of Earth, your good intentions take on a dramatically different connotation. Ultimately, and I say this with no disrespect intended to those I have long regarded as my friends, what you propose represents something that on one important level is no different from what the renegade Xavier was condemned for." Darcy and Kort opened their mouths to protest, but Adama held up a hand to indicate silence, "Now hear me, my brothers. I do not accuse you of unholy desires of Empire, rooted in conscientious support of a barbaric regime such as Nazi Germany. But I do accuse you of unconscientiously condoning barbarism in it's worst form." "You're speaking in riddles, Adama," there was obvious disrespect in Darcy's voice that made Tigh wince, "Pray come to the point, if in fact there is a worthwhile point to be made." Adama smiled thinly and seemed to relax, "Sire Darcy," he said, "For argument's sake, I will not dispute the technical soundness of your plan. I am quite certain that it can be carried off. But I'm curious as to why you have never given any consideration to the ethical soundness of your plan." "I, and all of us have done exactly that," Darcy retorted, "The ethical factor is obvious. The well-being of our people dictates--" Adama gently shook his head and cut him off in a gentle tone, "No, no Sire Darcy. You make the mistake of seeing the ethical questions only in terms of our own people. I'm talking about the ethical questions from the standpoint of Earth." Darcy frowned, "I don't follow you, Adama." "I expected as much," there was only a hint of contempt in the commander's voice, "If you had spent as much time learning the nuances of Earth history instead of the access routes to the White House and the Kremlin, then perhaps you would be able to follow me." The red-haired councilman flushed and resumed his seat. Tigh almost didn't know whether to speak up in defense of his ally or to start applauding. It was a virtuoso performance that he had not seen in a long time, and one that he found himself admiring even now. "Let me submit this question to all of you," Adama looked around the table at each member, "You are all familiar with how Xavier's decision to lend support to the Nazi regime was without question, morally reprehensible. And I am certain that you are all familiar with the basic history of how the Second World War involving the Nazi regime came about." "Yes, Adama, we are all familiar with that," there was an impatient note in Sire Kort's voice, "I myself made it a prerequisite during his trial." "Then I don't think I have to impress upon you the point, that if there is such a thing as a just war, the Second World War was that. No less than our own fight against the Cylons." "We all concede that, Adama," Darcy grew more exasperated, "Now will you kindly come to the point?" "Mr. President," Tinia interrupted, "I would like to point out that Sire Darcy and Sire Kort are in violation of Council regulations. I believe they clearly state that the President of the Council is to be referred to only by title." The red-haired councilman was clearly flustered. He tried to stammer a reply but Tigh grabbed him by the arm and motioned him to be silent. Adama only cracked a faint smile, "I appreciate your regard for Council regulations, Siress Tinia, but I think it is a minor matter." The silver-haired siress faintly smiled back at him. "As I was saying," the commander resumed, "I don't think any of us can deny that the Second World War was clearly a just war. With that in mind, I'd like to ask this. Suppose Fate had dictated that our discovery of Earth take place not in the year 1980, but in the year 1937? A time before hostilities had broken out, and a time when there was a state of what could be called Cold War tension with the United States and Britain on one side, and Germany and Japan on the other." Tigh seemed to sense where Adama was going first, and said to himself, Brilliant. "Knowing what we do of the barbarism of Hitler's Germany and Imperial Japan," Adama went on, "What sort of ethical questions would be raised if Sire Darcy's proposal were implemented in 1937?" He let his words sink in for a long minute, and then the silence was broken by the sound of a dismal groan emitting from Darcy. "The question can not be evaded, Sire Darcy," Adama refused to let up, "However much you may dislike the answer. If you had called for an intervention in 1937, then you would have had us say to Earth that the differences between Germany and the Western Allies were petty and insignificant. That there was in essence, a moral equivalence between the two that made it necessary for the issues separating them to be put aside and forgotten." The commander's voice was slowly rising in timbre and firmness. And no one was willing to speak up or interrupt him this time. "You were all here at Xavier's trial, when you saw the images from places called Dachau, Buchenwald, Auschwitz, Belsen, and scores more. Savage butchery even more excessive than some of the known methods of Cylon torture. Would you have dared think for a centon that there was a moral equivalence between the practitioners of this barbarism, and those who fought the war to eliminate their butchery? That a Cold War could be ended by abducting Franklin Roosevelt and Adolf Hitler and sweeping away the differences in one global broadcast?" The power of his words left all the Council members silent. Not because their minds had been changed, but because the way Adama spoke was a total surprise to them. The passive, weak Adama was gone and the authoritative, decisive leader had returned. "Mr. President," Tigh finally spoke with courtesy and respect, "None of us would dispute that. But the fact remains that this is 1984 and not 1937, and the Nazi regime no longer exists. The scenario you so eloquently describe is not applicable to today's situation." "Is it really?" Adama mildly retorted, "Tell me Sire Tigh, what exactly do you know about the Soviet regime?" "I acknowledge that it is a dictatorship," Tigh raised his voice only slightly, "But it is not as odious as the Nazi regime. The stakes involved today are not the same as they were in 1937." Adama settled back in his chair, "Then at this time, I ask that Captain Troy step forward. I think, my brothers, when you hear what he has to say, then you will see that the stakes are in a real sense quite similar." Troy rose from his seat and set the books down on the table. "Members of the Council," his voice was firm, "What I have before you now are some of the most remarkable examples of modern Earth literature. All written by one man named Alexander Solzhenitsyn." The largely blank expressions on the faces of the Councilmen indicated their unfamiliarity with the name. "Alexander Solzhenitsyn is a native Russian," Troy went on, "Currently he's living in exile in the United States because the Soviet government decided that it could no longer tolerate the promotion of his books and the things he stands for. More than any other Russian, Solzhenitsyn has been able to describe what it's like to live under that system and the things it represents. These books are a graphic illustration of why in the final analysis, the Soviet Union and its system can not be regarded as any different from the kind of government that Hitler's Germany was." He paused slightly and looked about the table, "If it can be shown to all of you that the Soviet government falls into that same category, then I think the ethical flaws in Sire Darcy's proposal would become self-evident, would they not?" "Perhaps," Sire Kort chose to be tentative, "But you would have to demonstrate that the Soviet Union is more than just a mere dictatorship, Captain." "Yes," Darcy jumped back in, "You would have to demonstrate much more." Troy nodded, "Then with the Council's indulgence, I would like to read some passages from Solzhenitsyn's work. This is from his first book, entitled One Day In The Life Of Ivan Denisovich." He then opened the first volume on the table and began to read aloud in a resonant tone. For the next ten minutes, the Council heard the vividly written description of life in a Soviet labor prison, or gulag, during the regime of Joseph Stalin. Of how scores of Russian people deemed as a threat to the communist order had been systematically rounded up and sent off to cold, distant and brutal places far in the interior of Russia with foreboding names like Magnitagorsk and Siberia. How the inmates were told to work in brutal conditions to build massive industrial projects that ultimately, when finished after much forced human sacrifice, had turned out to be wasteful, inefficient and ineptly managed. "I am certain," Troy closed the book, "That not one of you could dispute that what Solzhenitsyn describes is any less repugnant than the images of the Nazi concentration camps." He looked about the room and saw that Tigh's expression had grown somewhat uncomfortable. Sire Darcy though, was having none of it, "I'll certainly concede that Captain, but as you yourself pointed out, that book refers to a practice that took place during the regime of Stalin. I repeat what I said before, it is not applicable to the present situation." Troy allowed himself a faint smirk, "In that case, Sire Darcy, this next work of his may interest you. It's a memoir of his last ten years in Russia before being sent into exile as a troublemaker. I might point out that the regime he describes here is made up of the same group of men that the current Premier belongs to." And then, the Council heard equally vivid accounts of how despite pledges of "de-Stalinization", and despite an end to the worst excesses of Stalin's Great Terror, the climate that had made the camps possible remained the same. "'The same treacherous secrecy,'" Troy read as he finished describing the period leading to the author's exile for speaking out on the past crimes of the Soviet regime, "'The same fog of injustice, still hangs in our air, worse than the smoke of city chimneys. For half a century and more the enormous state has towered over us, girded with hoops of steel. The hoops are still there. There is no law.' "'Soviet Law has forgotten all about the sin of bearing false witness--and simply does not regard it as a crime. A legion of false witnesses thrives in our midst, they go sedately on their way to honorable old age, bask in a golden sunset at the end of their days. Ours is the only country in the world and in history to pamper perjurers. "'Then again, Soviet Law does not punishing murdering judges and murdering prosecutors. They all enjoy long and honorable careers, and live to be noble elders.'" As Troy continued to speak, no one on the Council, be they supporter or foe of Adama, dared think of interrupting him. The powerful eloquence of the words they heard was having a clear effect on all of them. Behind him, even Adama, Dillon and Boomer, all of whom had known what was coming, found it hard not to be emotionally moved by the words. "'Our whole country was infected by the poisons of the Gulag. And whether it will ever be able to get rid of them someday, only God knows. Can we, dare we, describe the full loathsomeness of the state in which we lived, not so remote from that of today? And if we do not show that loathsomeness in its entirety, then we at once have a Lie.'" Finally, Troy closed the last volume and set it aside on the table. He looked about at the emotionally drained expressions of the Council members and waited a moment before speaking. "I think there's little else that needs to be said," the commander's grandson said, "The leaders may be less demonic than Stalin was, but they nonetheless remain committed to the principles of the Lie. The Lie that says it is the destiny of History for all the people of the world to live under communism whether they like it or not, and to perpetuate that amongst their own people, they have engaged in a neverending practice of barbarism that can never be justified." He then directly looked at the side of the table where Tigh, Darcy and Kort sat together. His expression was grave. "Would you have us mock the principles for which people like Solzhenitsyn have suffered for, and say that we must declare both sides in this Cold War to be morally equivalent?" Darcy opened his mouth as if to say something, but the red-haired councilman was unable to find any words. Tigh had lowered his head and was now absently looking at one of the books set aside. "I don't think so," Troy shook his head, "Just as it would have been unethical to intervene in 1937, so too would it be today." "Captain Troy," Tigh's tone was drained as he didn't look up, "You have made the argument most eloquently that there is no fundamental difference between the Nazi regime and the Soviet regime. But you still haven't answered one question that concerns me above all others." The former executive officer then looked up at Troy, "Where does it all end?" his question was soft, but pointed. "It took a terrible war to eliminate Hitler, and cost the lives of millions. Are you suggesting that in the interests of ethical propriety, we should sit back and wait for the war to be fought that will eliminate communism? How many lives must die in that conflict? How much damage to Earth must be wrought before this Cold War can be won for the side that deserves to win?" "A fair question," Troy conceded, "And the answer is that I think the signs indicate that it can be won without another war." "Oh come now," Darcy finally felt secure enough to speak up, his tone filled with disgust, "With both sides on the edge in Central America, with a President who's rhetoric seems open to the prospect of war? Can you be so naive, Captain Troy?" "Not at all, Sire Darcy," Troy refused to stoop to his level of tone, "It is you, who have been naive in understanding the dynamic of the Cold War. The President's policy of firmness is not aimed at provoking a direct confrontation. It is merely a tactic designed to contain the imperialist desire of the Soviets. That has been the American policy since the end of the Second World War nearly forty years ago, and it has been quite effective." "But how does it end?" Tigh repeated softly, "How does such a policy bring anything other than stalemate at best?" "There is another dimension to it," Troy answered, "In addition to containing aggressive Soviet intentions, the American policy is also rooted in the belief that eventually, a communist state that can not make use of its military might, must collapse as a result of its own internal deficiencies." "Are there any such deficiencies?" Sire Kort sourly inquired, "Judging from Mr. Solzhenitsyn's eloquent descriptions, the Soviet regime would appear to be implacable for generations to come." "Only because they've been ruled by leaders who have had no qualms about using force against the people," Troy said, "But at this time, I refer you to one section of Lieutenant Kip's report that has gone somewhat unnoticed by all of you. The section dealing with future leadership." The Council members paused to consult their copies. "You can see what it says," Adama spoke for the first time since relinquishing the floor to Troy, "'It is clear that the present Premier represents in all likelihood the last leader who will come from the ranks of the Old Guard that has ruled for the past thirty years since the death of Stalin. Upon his death, it seems likely that Moscow will then pass the torch of leadership to a younger generation, among which the potential candidates include Politburo members Mikhail Gorbachev and Boris Yeltsin.'" "So?" Sire Darcy was unimpressed. Adama motioned Troy to be seated. His grandson nodded, and the Commander once again leaned forward with a pointed expression. "Each new generation of Soviet leadership has been apt to use less force against their own people than the previous one," Adama said, "Stalin silenced the dissenters by murdering them. The present leadership silences them through imprisonment and exile. The next generation may be forced to be even less harsh." "Why?" Tigh asked. "Because their system does not work," Adama replied, "As an economic system, communism is a bankrupt idea and subsists only on the principle of the Lie. Terror and force remains the only glue that holds the system up. If new leadership emerges that is less inclined to use force against their people, and is less inclined to expand their military operations elsewhere in the world because of America's firm posture of containment, then the conditions could soon be ripe for the very destruction of the system." "I don't follow you Adam--Mr. President," Darcy hastily corrected himself as he shot a glance at the smiling visage of Siress Tinia. "It's even simpler than the formula dictated by your plan, Sire Darcy," the commander responded, "One. A firm posture by America of the kind their President is advocating leaves Russia less inclined to expand her influence. Two. New leadership emerges that realizes that if they can not expand their influence in the world, then they must look to their own internal problems and confront the menace that communism has inflicted on their people. Three. All efforts to address these internal problems can only be achieved by undermining the principles of the Lie. Four. Once the Lie is undercut, the people will feel free to question the system even more. Five. With new leadership less inclined to use force against the people who question the system, then the system becomes inevitably doomed." Adama paused to let the members digest his words. "It...has a certain, logical eloquence to it," Tigh admitted, "You suggest then Mr. President, that the best thing to do is to wait and see if events follow this course?" "I do," Adama said firmly, "I believe that our patience will be rewarded sooner than we realize. And once that situation is resolved, then we will be able to assist Earth at a greater level and bring us closer to the day of settlement." The former executive officer had a thoughtful expression as he began drumming his fingers on the desk. "It...does merit consideration," he finally said, "Perhaps, coming as we do from thirty yahrens of patiently awaiting to find Earth, we can learn to draw from that patience again." Darcy and Kort were both flabbergasted. "Tigh," the red-haired councilman leaned over in disbelief, "You can not be serious. This is more drivel filled in his head from Dr. Zee." "Yes," Sire Kort hissed, "Are you now on the side of the one who's taken away our free will?" The mention of Dr. Zee made Tigh flinch slightly, and he looked back at Adama as if he were reconsidering what he had just said. Adama looked him in the eye and spoke with as much authority as he could muster. "Dr. Zee has nothing to do with anything that has been presented at this meeting," the commander said, "This was entirely arrived at independently by Captain Troy, Lieutenant Dillon and myself." "You expect us to believe that?" Darcy sneered, "For ten yahrens, everything he's said has dictated your actions. And only now, you say it is not true?" The commander rose to his full bearing, and in an instant, Tigh did not need any convincing. "I give you my word as the President of the Council of Twelve," he said coldly, "And I think that should count for something, Sire Darcy." The red-haired councilman was clearly intimidated as he sunk back in his chair. "Members of the Council," he looked about, "I will admit to you all, that...personal circumstances in my life left me less willing to exercise the duties of command and responsibility that I had administered before in yahrens past. It is because of that, that I believe Dr. Zee was sent to us to provide the critical advice needed at a time when I was not capable of arriving at such judgments independently. I regret that my reliance on Dr. Zee led to friction in my relations with some of you, but I will make no apologies for heeding his advice. Had it not been taken, then I think all of us in the Fleet and on Earth would be dead at the hands of the Cylons." He then skipped a beat, "But Dr. Zee is no longer here." There was a startled stirring from the members. "For better or worse, the remarkable race of beings that sent him to us, have taken him away. And I suppose I've learned a valuable lesson about the need for me to reassume the authority I've shirked for too long. At any rate," he looked around to each member, "Do not oppose me because of the past associations with Dr. Zee. Let only the merits of my argument dictate your conscience." He then sat down. The Council had been silent at many other points throughout the meeting, but this time, the silence stemmed entirely from shock. Tigh warily rose. "Mr. President," his voice was filled with regret, "I withdraw my earlier motion, and I move to adjourn." "Are there any objections?" Adama cast his eye at Tigh's allies. Sire Kort dimly shook his head, while Darcy motioned his hand in obvious defeat. "So ordered," Adama tapped his gavel, "The Council of Twelve stands adjourned." Slowly, the members began to file their way out. Siress Tinia was the first to reach Adama. She smiled and lightly kissed him on the cheek. "The Lords bless you, Adama," "They have," he returned her smile as she then turned to depart. "Congratulations Commander," Boomer patted him on the shoulder. "Thank you Boomer," he said, "I'll join you on the Bridge later." Adama then rose to shake hands with Dillon, and then he embraced his grandson. "Thank you Boxey," he whispered, "Your father would have been proud of you." Troy could barely hold the tears back from his eyes, "I'm just glad I could help." "Well get yourselves a couple of drinks in the Officers Club." his tone brightened, "On me. When I'm done on the Bridge, I'll join you." "Is that an order?" Dillon smiled. "You'd better believe it." Once they'd left, Adama found himself virtually alone in the chamber. All except for Tigh, who hadn't moved from his seat. Several moments of uneasy silence went by as the two one-time friends simply sat and looked at each other. "I'm sorry Adama," Tigh's voice was filled with regret, "By all the Lords, I am sorry. Please forgive me." "Consider it done," Adama was gentle. "I guess there's nothing left for me to do but submit my resignation," Tigh sighed, "You'll get it within a few centaurs." Adama smiled and put his arm around Tigh's shoulder. "Old friend," the commander said with warmth, "I don't want you to do anything of the kind. I want you to stay on this Council and be a pillar of strength to me here, as you were when you were my wingmate, and then my executive officer." Tigh smiled weakly, "After today, I don't think I'm qualified for the job." "You did what you thought was best," a chiding tone entered his voice, "Don't be hard on yourself. What's done is done. Just as it is for me as well. Both of us have made our share of mistakes and the only thing we can do is move on to the new challenges." The former executive officer rose from his chair. "I'll take what you said under advisement," Tigh sighed, "Right now, I've got a lot of thinking and a lot of soul-searching to do." "Of course," the commander nodded, "And whatever decision you make Tigh, I hope we can resume the friendship we once had." "I've wanted nothing else," Tigh could only whisper. They shared a fraternal embrace and finally left the chamber together. "That was even more emotionally draining than running up against a Cylon patrol," Dillon said as he and Troy relaxed in the Officer's Club. "A lot was riding on it," Troy sipped his drink, "A pity that Mr. Solzhenitsyn will never know how much he helped us." "Level with me though," his friend said, "Do you think the long-term picture is as optimistic as you make it out to be?" "We should know sooner or later," Troy said, "Whatever the case may be, at least we've guaranteed that Earth will work it out themselves without any misguided attempts at settling things from a 'superior race.'" Dillon chuckled as he thought back to the conversation he'd had with Jamie. "A toast then," he raised his glass, "Here's to the day the Earth stood still, and was able to move on." The commander's grandson grinned and raised his, "As they say on Earth, I'll drink to that." Epilogue: From The Adama Journals And so, the crisis I had dreaded with the Council has past. Instead of the outcome I feared, our policy of nonintervention and hiding remains in force. And to my delight, the friendship with Tigh that I had cherished for so long, has begun anew. After only a day's thought, Tigh has heeded my advice to stay on the Council. While the recent outcome has not satisfied the desires of greater hotheads such as Sire Darcy, the loss of Tigh from their ranks effectively neutralizes them as a viable bloc of opposition on the Council. The newest report from our Soviet observer Lieutenant Kip indicates that the present Premier is near-death, and that the turn to new leadership, in all likelihood under the man called Mikhail Gorbachev, is all but imminent. Perhaps we have at last reached the point where the Cold War will soon shift from perpetual stalemate, to the beginning of a process that will mean victory for the cause of freedom and liberty. Troy and Dillon have returned to their work in America. I know that their support, as well as that of Boomer and Tigh, leaves me with a sense of confidence I haven't felt for many yahrens. Because of all that has happened, I can only view Dr. Zee's departure from our midst as a blessing to us all. That strange child of the stars was certainly destined to help us. But the child has left us for no doubt, greater responsibilities in this universe that defy our comprehension. Just as he has probably been forced to grow up in one sense of the word, so too has his departure forced me to grow up in another sense. And yet, in spite of the good that has come from his leaving, I know I can not help but feel a sense of sadness. For the first time since the loss of my children, I had someone I could relate to in the same way I had done with Apollo and Athena. And like my children before, he too is gone. I shall carry his memory, as I do theirs, for all the rest of my days. The End