The sixth story in the Red Squadron Series.  Somewhat like a season
finale.  This story takes place immediately following "Weight of
Command" and about the same time as "Murder on the Rising Star."

Heroes and Victims
By Tice Leonard

 "Well," said Lieutenant Dietra, "Except for the continuing
shortages of spare parts, that sums up the squadron business.  I think
Lt. Det had something else."  She looked to her squadron commander for
confirmation.  He nodded.
     "Brie, would you get the door?" he asked as he stepped to the
podium.
     Ensign Brie was a little puzzled.  It wasn't normal to lock the
door to the mission room during a squadron meeting.  She did as she
was told, and retook her seat.
     "It seems that there are rumors and stories flying around about
Sergeant Marsh's death."  Det was stone cold.  His voice demanded
attention.  His easy speech and gentle tone was replaced by stern
grumbling that sounded like a father not quite scolding a child, but
very precisely putting him in his place.  "The official word is that
Marsh's fighter was damaged during the battle.  He attempted to
respond to the Galactica's recall signal, but was unable.  He turned
back into the raiders to cover our landings.  He did so without
orders, but his heroicism will be remembered."
     The speech sounded rehearsed.
     "Lieutenant, that's not what happened," said Lt. Cree.
     Det paused, looked down at the podium, then up through Cree. 
"Yes, it is.  And that is just what you will tell anyone who asks you
about it.  Do not embellish the story, do not give any details.  Stick
to the official version."
     Everyone gathered shared the empty silence.  Red Squadron alone
had lost four warriors in the last three cycles.  Mort, Loon, Ramey,
and Marsh.  Recon Viper Two had been sacrificed to give four others a
chance to survive.  
     Of all the twisted war stories anyone had, no one on theGalactica could remember one quite arped as a distraught warrior
committing suicide by attacking a retreating formation of Cylon
raiders.  It was a real blow to morale of all the Viper squadrons.
     "Now, if that's all?..." Det said.  He looked around.  No one
dared move.  "Dismissed."

     Dietra met Rigel in the rejuvenation center.
     "Sorry I'm late," said Dietra.  "The meeting ran long."
     Rigel nodded.  "It's okay, Stella said she was going to drop by
the dispensary for me and get my medicine."
     "Are you okay?"  Dietra asked.  Rigel had been sick off and on
since Dr. Salik had been forced to take her baby.  Her body was trying
to recover from the shock of the rapid fetal development that had
taken her from five to thirty sectons' growth in a matter of centars.
     "Yeah," said Rigel.  "Just a little weak."
     Dietra took her hand.  It went without saying that she was
horribly sad.  She had lost her unborn child and her lover in a single
day.
     "Well," Rigel said.  "If you're ready, let's go."
     They made their way through the battlestar's corridors toward
Stella's cabin.  They knocked and were invited in.  
     The room was dark.  Stella was burning some sort of green smoke
on a table near the door.  She sat at a round table with three chairs
around it.
     She motioned for them to sit.  "Have you ever had a plotting
done, Dietra?"
     "No."
     "Well, first, I'll need you to chose three cards," said Stella.
     Dietra did, and gave them to Stella without looking at them. 
Next she spun a number wheel, and recited her birth date and time.
     Stella consulted her charts and turned white at what she saw.
     "What is it?"  Stella asked.
     "I...I don't know."
     "You're lying," said Dietra.  She crossed her arms and felt the
warmth in her cheeks.  "What do you see?"
     Quickly, Stella consulted a frayed book and looked up blankly at
Dietra.  "Your soul is a battleground."
     Dietra nearly fell out of her chair.
     To Rigel, it was no real surprise.  Dietra had actually gotten
worse over the last few sectons.  When she had first become a Viper
pilot, she had been aggressive, and demanding, but that had given way
to outright violent, and finally erratic and moody.  She was more
hostile now than some prisoners on the prison barge.
     "There are forces inside you that are tearing you apart."
     "How do I stop it?"  Dietra asked.
     "I don't know," said Stella.  "I just do plottings.  I never
dreamed I would need to delve this deep into it.  I barely know what
to make of the-"
     Dietra grabbed the table and flipped it over.  Cards and books
spilled everywhere. She stood over Stella and spread her hands like
she meant to strangle her.
     Then, Stella rose.  She stared deep into Dietra's eyes.  The
enraged warrior froze.  She felt a hand push her back into her seat.
     "Seek out the forces.  Meditate on them.  To beat them, you must
find the name of each power.  By knowing their names, you can strip
them of their hold on you." Stella strode around the circle of chairs,
and stood behind Dietra.
     "Good and Evil," said Dietra.
     Stella grabbed the back of Dietra's chair and leaned over her
shoulder.  "If it were that easy, you would have solved the puzzle
already.  This is a personal journey for you.  To survive, you must
win.  You must know yourself."
     Dietra was spooked.  She stood, and reset the table.  She
scooped up the cards and books, placing them gently on the table.  She
retook her seat and waited for Stella to continue.
     "Meditate.  Only when your voices are quiet, can you find what
you need.  Hear me, I can help you no more."  Stella sat quietly.  She
was poised on her seat.
     Rigel snapped her fingers in front of Stella's face.  When she
didn't respond, she patted her cheek.  "This is REALLY weird!"
     Dietra and Rigel quickly left the room.
     "What was that all about?"  Rigel wondered.  "I've never seen
her get that psycho."
     "Thank you," said Dietra as she walked away quickly.
     Stella came to her senses a moment later and wondered where the
two had gone.

     Det locked the door behind him as he slipped into the
Galactica's main corridor.  The door wouldn't hold the Interfleet
Broadcasting reporters for long.  He sprinted down the hall toward the
stairwell that lead to the bridge offices.
     He was late for a meeting with Colonel Tigh.
     As Det stepped into the office, Tigh rose from his desk.  It was
a breech of protocol for the lieutenant to enter without knocking,
even if the door was open, but the colonel understood.  He tapped the
wall switch and closed the door before Det could even make his way to
a seat.
     "It's worse than we thought," said Tigh.  He turned around, and
walked back behind his desk.  "Those reporters are everywhere. 
They're hounding anyone who was in the air when Marsh died."
     "They're asking a lot of questions," said Det.
     "And how are your pilots taking it?"  Tigh asked.
     "As per orders," said Det.  "They know the official story, and
they're sticking to it."
     "Still, I'm very concerned," said Tigh.  "I'd like to send the
whole squadron to the Celestra for a secton, until this blows down
some."
     "I understand," said Det.  "Lt. Cree came up with an idea, that
just might work."
     "Oh," said Tigh.  "I'd be interested in hearing that."
     "The new promenade on the merchant ship Pathmain is about to
open.  His idea was that we hop over there to keep order during the
opening."
     "That's one idea," said Tigh.  "But the new promenade will be a
media circus on its own.  There will be more reporters there than on
the Galactica."
     "Exactly what Cree is thinking," said Det.  "Hiding in plain
sight.  Shove the warriors into the limelight.  Put them out there
like nothing is going on.  Things will quiet down with everything else
happening."
     Tigh considered it.  And then thought some more.  There was a
twisted logic in Cree's thinking.  He might go far in this fleet. 
Political infighting and maneuvering were the norm now.  Using a trick
like this might just save a lot of face for Red Squadron.
     "Very well," said Tigh.  "But if things heat up over there..."
     "We'll head for the Celestra for an electronics check
immediately."
     "Good," said Tigh.

     "You're going to love it," said Cree to Dietra and Brie.  "I've
got a place over there.  I put every credit I had saved since I've
been on the Galactica into it."
     "You've got a place over there?"  Brie asked while she smirked. 
"What kind of place?"
     "You know," said Cree.  "A nice TASTEFUL club.  Singing,
dancing, a little card playing, vintage ambrosa.  It's the best club
in the fleet!"
     "It sounds like my kind of place," Dietra said unimpressed. 
"How did you save that much money?"
     "Well," said Cree.  "I had to bring on a few investors."
     "And when did you find the time to put together a club?"  Brie
asked.
     "Umm,  well, my business partner is handling most of that."
     "Business partner?"  said Dietra.  "Who might that be?"
     "Lt. Starbuck."
     Brie looked down and turned her face to hide her outright
laughter.
     Dietra grinned, more at Cree's poor thinking rather than what a
club Starbuck would plan might look like.  "You invested money with
Starbuck?  What were you thinking?"
     "Hey," said Cree.  "It's the hottest thing going.  There's a
waiting list as long as my arm to get in, and that's only opening
night!  At three cubits a head just to get in, add drinks, the shows,
and the gambling takes..."
     "Starbuck's really got you going, doesn't he?"  Brie said.
     "And," said Cree, "as part owner, I can get you all in on the
big night for just half price!"
     "Half price?"  Dietra said.  "Have you blown a brain nerve?  I'm
not paying-"
     "Okay," said Cree.  "Gratis.  No charge, but drinks..."
     "Fine," said Brie.  She put her hands up to stop Dietra from
tearing Cree apart.  "We'll come check out your place.  But I think I
see why you asked Tigh to send us over there."
     Cree turned bright red.
     "Who's singing opening night?"  Dietra asked.
     "Well, I'll have to check on that," said Cree.
     "Hands on management," said Dietra.  "I like that."

     It was an elaborate ruse the colonel had devised.  At 0912
centars, the Galactica's bridge called a red alert.  All the warriors
in the Viper squadrons made for their ships, but only Red Squadron
launched.
     At a lightning pace, the ten ships flew away from the battlestar
and out of sight.  With crisp, military precision, they turned and
headed back into the fleet.  One by one they set down on the merchant
ship Pathmain, and exited their ships quietly.
     Det called a meeting right there in the landing bay, where he
reminded his pilots not to talk to the media.  They would be here in
force, but with the landing bay now crowded with Vipers, there would
be no more arriving.  Those who were here already were not the star
reporters who had been assigned to dig up the dirt on Red Squadron. 
They were the "cubs" given the duty of covering the opening of the new
entertainment complex on the promenade.
     "Stick to the story, and enjoy yourselves," said Det.  "We're
here for three or four days, until the Marsh story cools down."
     Cree kept looking off toward the main exit, and Det sensed that
the others were ready to get on with it.  He waited just a micron, to
exercise his power as their commander, then released them. 
"Dismissed."
     His pilots were away like shots from nine cannons.
     Dietra and Brie tried, and failed, to get away from Cree as they
made for the hatch. 
     "Come on," said Cree.  "Let's go check on my place."
     Dietra rolled her eyes.  "I haven't been on leave of any sort in
quartons.  If your club is as bad as I think, I'm not spending a
micron there."
     "Deal," said Cree.  "I think you're going to like it."
     "Dietra," said Brie, "let's give it a look."
     "Okay," said Dietra.  "A millicenton, then I'm outta there."
     "Fine," said Cree.  "One drink."
     Dietra was skeptical.
     "One FREE drink?"  Cree asked.
     "The good stuff?"  Brie asked.
     "The best," said Cree.
     Dietra waved him on.  "Lead the way."
     The corridors were crowded.  Dietra wondered what the fleet
safety marshall would think of the masses huddled together in such a
tight space.  Surely this violated every occupancy ordinance in the
book.
     Then Dietra saw why it was so crowded.  The grand entrance to
the promenade was blocked by a yellow security line, and six Council
guards with stun rifles stood in front of it.  The people pressed
together, jockeying to be the first to cross into the beautiful new
attraction.
     "I hate crowds," said Dietra.
     "This is a part of history," said Brie.  "When we get to Earth,
you'll be able to tell your kids that you were there when the
promenade was opened."
     "I think I'll tell them how bad it stinks," said Dietra.
     There was a definite odor of people.  Not everyone here was from
Colonial society.  Many had no doubt been let over from some of the
under privileged ships, to relieve overcrowding.  Most of the work
force had been built up from exactly those refugees.
     A huge timepiece, built just for this occasion by the Colonial
Merchants' Association, ticked away the last few microns.
     In a frenzy, the crowd counted down.  "Ten, nine, eight,
seven..."
     Brie elbowed Dietra.  She was adding her voice to the spirited
review.  Dietra reluctantly mouthed off the last few numbers.
     "...six, five, four, three, two..."
     The Council guards stepped back, and cut the security line. 
They prepared for the onslaught.  The mob rushed through the entrance
to the battle cry of, "ONE!"
     Dietra grabbed Brie, and pulled her against the wall with her. 
It seemed like hundreds of people brushed past the two, on their way
into the promenade.  Brie watched them, sharing their excitement.
     Only when the danger of being trampled had passed did Dietra
release Brie.  "Be careful," she said.  "This isn't the Galactica."
     "Oh, Dietra," said Brie.  "They're just happy.  It's like being
back on the colonies."
     "I know," said Dietra.  "And that scares me."
     "Come on," said Brie.
     They stepped through the threshold into the wonders that lay
beyond.
     The ship's main cargo hold had been opened up, and rows of
stores, shops, and clubs had been built along the sides.  It looked
something like a shopping plaza built on the uppermost deck of a
freighter.  The hallway was wide and comfortable, maybe twenty metrons
wide, and nearly as tall.  It was painted a brilliant gleaming white,
and lit to sunlight proportions.  Plants abounded.  A huge vormose
tree had been planted in the center of the promenade, and was the
center of attention for some.
     "Where did they get a tree?"  Dietra asked.
     "Haven't you been following the news?"  Brie asked.  "It was
brought over from one of the private yachts almost six sectons ago. 
It's the only tree in the fleet!"
     "Great," said Dietra.  "How many people were left behind so we
could have a tree on the entertainment strip?"
     "Follow me," said Brie.
     Pathmain, until just a short time ago, had been a livestock
ship.  Food shortages had forced the commander to order the animals
slaughtered, and eaten.  Every measure of agricultural produce had to
be saved for human consumption.  It took seven measures of food to
produce a single measure of meat from the livestock.  That kind of
waste was impossible to tolerate.  The few animals that remained had
been moved to a smaller ship, and were reserved for various religious
sects, and very special occasions.
     The shopping rows were long.  The Pathmain itself was built like
a battlestar landing bay.  Long, and with clean lines, it was the
perfect design for this grand venture.  As far as the warriors could
see, bright lights and fancy gilded signs dominated.
     Some were more popular than others.  The mushies specialist near
them was nearly empty, while the play objects store across the hall
was packed to the gills.  
     "Toys?"  Dietra asked.  "Don't we have something better to do?"
     "No," said Brie.  "Not everyone is as sour as you."
     As they turned to get just a little further into the promenade,
Brie spotted Cree.  He was stopped dead in the middle of the walkway,
staring up at a red neon sign that said just one single word.
     "'Starbuck's'?"  Dietra asked.  "I thought it was your club."
     "Yeah," said Cree.  "Well, I guess my partner decided 'Cree's'
wouldn't bring in the people."
     The club was crowded.  The music pulsated out into the hall.  It
was dark inside, and jealous would-be patrons craned their necks for a
look inside.
     "It looks like a success so far," said Brie.
     "I hope so," said Cree.  "I've got a lot of money tied up in
there."
     "And just where did Starbuck get the money to invest in this
place?"  Dietra asked.  "The last I heard he was having trouble paying
off the money he owed on all those bets he covered when I kicked his
astrum in the simulator."
     "Well," said Cree.  "he borrowed it."
     "Let me guess..." said Brie.
     "If this place is a hit," said Cree, "he'll pay me back in just
a few sectons."
     "And if it goes belly up?"  Dietra asked.
     Brie socked her in the chest with her elbow.
     "Let's go in, shall we?"  Cree said. 
     Dietra and Brie linked arms with Cree, and strode toward the
door.  They were stopped by the maitre de, but he recognized Cree, and
the two women on his arms certainly made him look like some important
Colonial investor.  He apologized, and showed them to the best seat in
the house.
     Dietra found herself watching the barely dressed woman on the
stage.  "Starbuck has really outdone himself this time."
     Brie ignored the stage show, but ordered her free drink from a
cute your waiter.  "I like it.  It's like that place on Carillon."
     "Yeah," said Dietra.  "And since Starbuck and Apollo blew that
one up, they don't have to pay any royalties on the design."
     "First rule of business," said Cree.  "Eliminate the
competition."  Cree jumped to his feet as his squadron commander made
his way down the aisle and pulled out a chair.
     "They charged me a cover," said Det.  "I thought I was doing you
a favor by coming here."
     "Sorry, Lieutenant," said Cree.  "I'll get it back for you."
     "Don't worry about it," said Det.  "I'll just have one of those
free drinks you promised Dietra and Brie."
     Cree's face dropped.  "Yes, sir."
     "How about one Aerian Ion Storm?"  Det said.
     Brie could not hold back her laughter.  She slapped Cree on the
back and said, "The second rule of business: be careful when you give
away free stuff."
     The Aerian Ion Storm was a very expensive drink, made from
several fine liqueurs.  Back on the Colonies, one could run as pricey
as seven cubits.  Here in the fleet, when you could get the
ingredients, it might run upwards of twenty.  Not a bad deal for the
three cubit cover charge Det had paid.
     "I'll see to it," said Cree slowly.  He left his friends and
made for the bar.
     "I hate to say it," said Dietra, "but I think Cree's going to do
alright off this venture."
     "Look at the people lined up around the block just to get in!"
said Brie.  "The gambling take alone will be worth..."
     "It had better be," said Det.  "I did some checking, and Cree
had to take out a personal loan against his Colonial Service pay for
the next five yahrens just to finance this place.  If it goes, he's
going to be in worse shape than Starbuck is."
     "Five yahrens?"  Dietra asked.  "The kid had guts."
     "Or no brains," said Brie.
     Her comment was lost to Det as he glanced toward the stage
dancer.  He stood, slowly, and moved just a bit closer.  He rubbed his
eyes once, then mouthed a name.
     "Calista?"
     The woman moved in rhythm to the music, tantalizing the crowd
with her movements.  She turned, readying herself for the act's
climax, when her eyes found Det.  She turned quickly, and glanced back
at him over her shoulder.
     Several more dancers flooded the stage, and vibrated in the same
fashion the lone woman had.  The audience exploded in a sea of
applause at the added attraction.  The single dancer drifted casually
off the stage.  Det followed her behind the curtain.
     "Calista?  Is that you?"  Det asked.
     The woman stopped.  She forced her face into the best smile she
could muster, and turned.  Her eyes were full of fear and
embarrassment.  She even looked like she was sad.
     Det softened.  Yahrens of old feelings came washing back.  He
covered the distance between them in a few simple steps.
     The warrior was unsure whether to smile at seeing an old flame
or gawk at her.  His mouth twitched between the two conflicting
emotions.  His eyes remained firmly locked with hers.
     "Det," the woman said.  "this is the last place I'd ever thought
to find you."
     "I could say the same about you," Det answered.  "What's
happening?"
     "Things are tough," said Calista as she placed her hands over
her chest.  The red sequined dress she wore did little to cover her
body.  She was suddenly blushing.
     Det sensed her discomfort, and gently brushed her out of the
way, and into a dim corner.  "I just never thought..."
     "What?  That mousey Calista would be a stage girl at a cheeky
club in the worst club scene since we fled the Colonies?"  There was
an anger in her voice.  Det hadn't meant to run her down.  He had only
meant that this was very different from the woman he had met on
Caprica so long ago, and the woman he had almost chosen to be his
wife.
     Ouch, maybe that was it.  Almost was still 'not.'  How could Det
have known all the ramifications of that night so long ago?  Maybe an
older, wiser, Det would have made a better choice.  
     "No...well...yes," said Det.
     Calista's eyes dropped, and she put her arms around Det.  "Me
neither."
     Holding his ex-lover now was an altogether new experience for
Det.  She was not the woman he had broken off with six yahrens ago. 
She was a newer, stronger, and definitely more exciting woman than he
had ever known.  This stage girl bit was strange for him, but since
the Destruction, everyone had changed.  He couldn't even say he
disapproved of her choice.  One did what one had to do to survive.
     "I've missed you," said Det as he pressed her close to him.
     "Every day I wondered how you were," said Calista.  "I checked
the survivors listing the centon I was brought on board the Leon.  I
was so happy to see you had made it.  A squadron commander, no less!"
     "You looked me up?" asked Det.  "Why didn't you come find me?"
     "I had...other involvements."
     "Oh," said Det.  A woman like Calista didn't stay alone for
long.  Even if she had wanted to, her charm, warm personality, and
knock-out looks would attract an army of eligible men straight to her.
     "Besides," said Calista, still clinging to the sleeves of Det's
warrior jacket.  "You never found me."
     "I...was afraid," said Det.  "I mean I left you for Rutia.  I
think I regretted that the micron I did it."
     "You think?" said Calista, laughing to hide the hurt.  "She was
right for you."
     "No," said Det.  "I left her, too."
     Calista pulled away.  She looked up into Det's eyes with a
longing that matched his own.  "Why?  She had it all. Upbringing,
wealth, political connections...everything I would never have."
     Det shook his head.  Old wounds hurt the worst.  "It wasn't
right."
     "Are you alone now?" Calista asked.  She heard what she had
said, and checked it.  "I mean, is there someone waiting for you, out
there?"
     "No," said Det.  "Just my squadron.  All they saw was me running
off after a beautiful stage dancer."
     Calista grinned.  She gave Det a slow peck on the cheek, and
said, "Let me change.  I'll buy you a drink - somewhere else, and we
can talk."
     "Yeah," said Det.  "I'd like that."
     Calista squeezed his hands as she moved away.
     Det smiled after her, lost in a world he had forgotten.
     "Here's your drink, Lieutenant," said Cree as he strode up to
Det.
     "I'm sorry," said Det.  "I'm going to have to pass."
     "What?"  asked Cree.  "But this...Never mind.  You like her?"
     "I did once," said Det.  "We were almost married.  I haven't
seen her in yahrens."
     "Well, good things happen here," said Cree.  "That's a good
motto.  I'll have to use that in our advertising.  Good things happen
here."
     He tried, again, to shove the drink into Det's hand.
     Det backed away, and with a look, sent Cree back out from
backstage.

     "I've never seen that before," said Brie.
     "Seen what?" asked Cree as he returned with Det's drink.
     "Our commander running off with a stage girl," said Dietra.
     "Yeah," said Cree.  He flagged down one of his waiters.  "Hey,
you!  Come here."
     The young man scurried to Cree's table, and stood ready to
serve.
     "Who was that stage girl?"
     "Her name's Calista," said the young man.  His long black hair
was tied into a knot behind his head.  That was supposed to be the new
style, but Cree thought it looked ridiculous.  Never mind that,
Starbuck's was a trendy place, and if that was style, it was good.
     "I don't remember signing her on," said Cree.
     "I think it was a last minute thing," said the waiter.  "She
came in this afternoon and the manager hired her on the spot."
     "Good call," said Cree.  "Remind me to give him a bonus."
     The waiter nodded and moved off to take more orders.
     "You're a hit," said Brie.  "If the lieutenant likes it, it must
be great."
     "Well," said Dietra.  "I'm out of here."
     "But you haven't had your drink yet!" protested Cree.
     "Apply it to Det's there," said Dietra as she indicated the Ion
Storm.  "You can't afford my taste."
     Dietra left the club.

     Calista had always been a woman of many different moods.  Before
she had been the mythical woman in red, but now she was sedated in a
soft brown tunic and a white skirt.  Her hair hung down like a golden
cascade across her shoulders.  Those big brown eyes sparkled like twin
suns.
     Det regretted the day he had chosen Rutia.
     Calista's choice of a spot was a nice little establishment off
the main drag and not even in one of the stores.  There were rows of
tables lining this end of the corridor, where one could sit and enjoy
meaningful conversation, free from the many passers-by, and the loud
music from several clubs like Starbuck's.
     "You left Rutia?"  Calista asked.
     Det put his drink down, and leaned back in his chair.  "Yeah."
     "Why?"
     "We set a date for our sealing," said Det.  "I had even taken
the time off, but the closer the day got, the more she changed."
     "How?"
     "She wanted me to drop out of the service, and join her father
in his cabinet," said Det.  "She grew more distant, and strange. 
There was a difference when we were together.  It was like she was
grooming me for a spot on the Council."
     "Oh," said Calista.  "What a shame."
     "No, really," said Det.  "Can you see me on the Council?"
     "No," said Calista, "but my dreams were always too small."
     Det sank just a little.  He had told her so once, during an
otherwise magical outing to the far colonies.  She had commented how
she wanted to marry, have kids, and just watch them grow up.  He life
would be complete with a dozen or so grandchildren playing all around
her.
     Back then, Det had wanted to set up an import company on
Caprica, and sell rare merchandise on all the Colonies.  The profits
from that venture could set him, and his family, for generations.  It
would just take some time right then.
     But, as a man grows older, the starry-eyed dreams of youth give
way to more important things.  Wealth, power, and a bit of fame could
never replace what he had lost with Calista.  Happiness and eternal
love were the only pursuits worth spending that much time on.  The sad
part is, it takes so long to figure that out.
     Now, they were both a little older.  Det had come to the
conclusion just a little too late.  Maybe there was still time.
     "I never saw her coming," said Calista.  "Suddenly, Rutia was
all over you, and you were gone."
     Det closed his eyes.  This really hurt.  He had told her, back
then, all about how his childhood sweetheart had come back from
boarding school on Aquaria, and that her father had proposed a sealing
between the two.  At the time, they had laughed it off, but Det had
secretly held onto the idea.
     He spent sectons bouncing, discretely, between the two, until
Rutia had asked for a sealing date.  Initially, Det had planned to cut
it off with Rutia, and stay with Calista.  Until her father had shown
him the family accounts.
     There was the capital he had needed to set up his company. 
There was the leverage he needed to get started.  There was another
gorgeous woman who wanted nothing more than to see him succeed.
     While Calista asked so much of his time, Rutia was glad to let
him work long hours on his ventures while she spent daddy's money
having a good time.
     The choice had seemed so obvious then.  Now it just seemed
stupid.  Even if the Colonies hadn't been wiped out by the Cylons, Det
thought that this day would have eventually come.
     He hoped that he would have made the right choice, even in that
alternate universe.
     He opened his eyes and stared deeply into Calista's.
     "I was young, and a fool," said Det.  "I never loved anyone or
anything like I loved you."
     "I was so afraid I might run into you, here," said Calista. 
"When I heard Red Squadron was coming over, I nearly ran."
     "Why?"  Det asked.  He reached for her, but she pulled away.
     "Because I still love you."
     Det stood, and moved beside her.  He craddled her head in his
arms, and kissed her hair.  Young men are fools, he thought.
     "I never stopped loving you," said Det.  "I just couldn't see
it."
     "I should have run," said Calista.  "I should have gotten as far
from you as I could."
     "But you didn't," said Det.  "We're together now, and it will
take a while.  But we will be happy."
     "Will we?"  Calista asked.  "Will you run from me?"
     "Never again," said Det.  "I'm right here until the end."
     Calista smiled, and stroked his arms.  "I have always loved
you."
     Det released the woman, and studied her face.  She tilted her
head back.  Det leaned down and kissed her. 
     Calista wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him in
closer.  Their lips locked in a deep display that could have taken
place six yahrens ago.  The time and the pain vanished.
     Their hearts were one again.

     "It's a peace charm," said the sales clerk.
     "I've heard of them," said Dietra as she examined the small
charm on a chain.  The gold glittered in the bright light of the
store.  She held it up to her chest, and checked how it looked.
     "Go on," said the clerk.  "Try it on."
     "Okay," said Dietra.  She unclasped the chain, and slipped the
necklace around her neck.  She looked closer at the craftsmanship.
     "It was made by a fifteen-yahren-old boy on the orphan ship,"
said the clerk.
     "Child labor is illegal," said Dietra.
     The clerk shook her head.  "Not child labor.  It's his hobby. 
He uses the money he makes selling them to buy things for the orphans
on the ship."
     "That's really sad," said Dietra.  
     "I know," said the clerk.  "But with the state of the fleet,
hand outs for the children are way down."
     "Well then," said Dietra, "I'll take it."
     "Fine choice," said the clerk.  "Would you like a box for it."
     "Nope," said Dietra.  "I'll wear it like it is."
     "Okay," said the clerk as she took Dietra's cubits.
     Dietra left the store and looked up and down the halls.  There
were still people everywhere.  Not that she had expected any
different, but she still hated crowds.
     She tucked her new necklace into her uniform, and made for the
lodging facilities.  Red Squadron had a suite reserved for the next
few days.  Right now, a good night's sleep sounded really good to her. 
She moved steadily toward the elevator.
     Dietra never saw the big man who left the store behind her until
she got to the elevator.  She tapped the button to bring the lift down
to her.  She exchanged a tight smile with the man as they stepped into
the car.
     As the door closed, Dietra tapped level three, and asked the man
his floor.  He answered by hitting her over the head with a large club
he had stashed in his sleeve.  Dietra fell to the floor.

     "I think I'll go take a look at the stock," said Cree.  "I hope
Starbuck ordered enough ambrosa to last all night."
     "With the way this crowd is drinking," said Brie, "you may be
running short."  Brie herself had had three in the last centar.  She
was really getting into this club thing.  She had danced with every
man who had asked, and that had been a few.
     Cree left the table, and went behind the curtain that lead to
the "drink tank."  
     Yet another good-looking man tapped Brie on the shoulder.  She
couldn't hear what he said, but he took her hand and was looking
toward the dance floor.  Brie jumped up and followed him out.

     "Do you remember a while back one of your patrols happened on a
planet where the settlers needed a sherif?"  Calista asked.
     "Serenity," said Det.  "Yeah, I remember it."
     "Did you ever get down there?" 
     "No," said Det.  "The commander and part of Blue Squadron went."
     "Oh," said Calista.  "I was just wondering if you knew what it
was like."
     "I heard it was nice," said Det.
     "Wouldn't it be great if we could have stopped there?"
     "No," said Det.  "The Cylons would have hunted us down and
killed the lot of us.  Our only hope is to keep moving."
     "Our only hope," said Calista.  "It's just so hard on some of
us."
     "It's hard on all of us," said Det.  "But if our race is to
survive-"
     "Survival and living are two different things," said Calista. 
"What about the children?"
     "I know," said Det.  "I think about it sometimes.  They're stuck
here, pinned in like animals.  Never a chance to run and play."  Det
took a drink.  "It's hard enough on us adults.  I can't imagine being
a child stuck here day after day with no hope."
     "Exactly," said Calista.  Her eyes brightened.  "Imagine if we
could give them that!"
     "What did you have in mind?"  Det asked.
     "Have you heard of 'The Children's Colony'?" Calista asked.
     "No," said Det.
     "It's a movement dedicated to furthering the lives of our
Colonial orphans.  They work to bring a little light into their lives. 
They petitioned the commander to allow some orphans, those who chose
to go, to be set off with a number of adults to set up a colony on
Serenity."
     "I remember that," said Det.  "The commander said it was
suicide."
     "Not anymore than this trek across the universe toward God knows
where,"  Calista softened.  "Listen to me.  I sound like a recruiter."
     "Are you with the movement?"  Det asked.
     She shook her head.  "No.  They get just too radical sometimes. 
I just support them in spirit.  It's not fair to the children to spend
their formative years here on these ships."
     "I wish there was more I could do," said Det.  "Mine is just the
job of keeping the Cylons off our backs."
     Calista took his hand and smiled so sweetly at him.  "I know. 
And you do a great job.  Everyone is thankful for what you do."
     Det couldn't help but nod.
     "What would you have done about Serenity?"  Calista asked.
     Det moved back.  This was a test of some kind.  That was
obvious.  Maybe it was a weenie way out, but Det chose a diplomatic
solution.
     "I don't want to disagree with the commander," Det said.  "He
had his reasons, and it's too late now.  Serenity is far behind us."
     "True," nodded Calista.  "But if another planet comes up?"
     "I doubt the commander's opinion will change," said Det.  "We're
still being chased by the Cylons.  But maybe a more convincing
argument could be found."
     Calista seemed to be pleased with Det's worming around the
question.  She took his hand again and ordered another two drinks. 
Det felt like the time between them had faded to nothing.  He was
happy once again.

     Cree flew back through the curtain, and waved for Brie to come
over to him.
     Brie reluctantly left the two young men she was dancing between
and asked, "What?"
     "Look in here."  Cree took her hand as he lead her back into the
drink tank.  There were quite a few cases of drinks, rare and common
brands, types, and vintages.  Cree was not interested in those.  He
pulled her back into a small pantry just beyond the tank.  He thrust
the unlocked door open, and pointed inside.
     "What on...?"  Brie asked.
     "Energizers, power cells, magna lifts, you name it," said Cree. 
"If our Viper squadrons are running short on it, it's here."
     "Starbuck is into black market military supplies?"  Brie asked.
     "Doesn't sound like Starbuck," said Cree.
     Brie looked thoughtful.  Starbuck had just been cleared of a
murder charge, but there were a lot of people who still thought the
brash lieutenant's character was less than exemplary.  Brie was one of
them.
     "I don't even think Starbuck has a key to this locker," said
Cree.
     "Who would?"  Brie asked.
     "Me, the manager, and probably the head waiter."
     "Maybe you should ask some questions," said Brie.  "If Council
security comes by and finds this, you might be the next warrior to
face tribunal."
     "You're right," said Cree.  "Stay here and watch.  If somebody
comes, I want to know who."
     "I'm off duty, Lieutenant," said Brie.  "This is your mess."
     "Except that you know about it now.  You'd be held up as
accessory after the fact."
     "Me?"
     "You," said Cree.
     "Frak," said Brie.  "Go ask your questions, but hurry back. 
I've got a cute supply captain out there waiting for me."
     "I'll be quick," said Cree.
     He rushed out of the room, and Brie slipped behind a stack of
grog cases.  She tucked in her chest, and wedged her way between the
boxes and the wall.  It was uncomfortable, but she didn't want to be
caught with the stolen items any more than Cree did.

     As Cree bounded through the dance floor, he bumped into Sergeant
Ajax.  "Nice place you have here, Lieutenant."
     "Thanks," said Cree.  "Follow me."  Cree ran on, out of the
club.  Ajax held fast right at the threshold.
     "Hey, I just paid three cubits cover!"
     Cree slapped his leg in frustration, ran back inside, grabbed
the fare box, pulled out a dozen or so cubits from it, and handed them
to Ajax.  "Come on!"
     Ajax readily followed.

     Even Dietra's dreams had become violent.  She wrestled with
demons in her head as she lay unconscious across the bed.  Every where
she turned, a new evil lurked.
     She passed through a forest.  Vines covered the path.  She drew
her laser pistol and aimed it ahead.  She could hear the humming of
the Cylon patrol she knew was all around her.  Though the brush was
thick, she could not hide in it.
     A twig snapped behind her.  She spun, and fired.  Her weapon was
drained.
     There was another to the left.  She looked, but no one was
there.  She scanned the dark woods.  She was very alone.
     Then, an icy hand touched her cheek.  Stella appeared before her
with the repeated message, "Find their names.  Only then can you
silence the voices."
     Stella vanished, and was replaced by an image of the peace charm
Dietra had just purchased.
     In her dream, Dietra collapsed.
     
     "Where are you going?"  Ajax asked.
     "To the landing bay," said Cree.  He had thought about
confronting his staff about the stockpile of parts, but that might
prove risky.  If either one or both of the men were involved with some
underground movement, his question would tip them off to his
discovery.  They might go to violent lengths to defend themselves.
     His best shot was to contact the Galactica, even if it meant
bringing a platoon of Council guards over to the Pathmain.  His club
would no doubt be shut down, but he was a warrior first, and a
business owner second.
     Frak, it was hard doing the right thing.
     The two burst onto the observation bridge.  Cree looked down,
out of habit, to check on his fighter.  Some mech was up underneath
the Viper, with his legs hanging out.  From this vantage point, it
looked like the ship had fallen on him and crushed him.
     "What's he doing down there?"  Ajax asked.  "Did you ask for a
maintenance check?"
     "No," said Cree.
     Ajax started to call out to the man.  Cree cupped his hand over
the sergeant's mouth.  "Wait a micron.  Let's go see what he's up to."
     The two warriors quietly moved to the grated stairs, descended,
and tip-toed to the platform beside Cree's ship.  Cree cleared his
throat.
     The man dragged himself out from under the Viper, and wiped his
hands on his pants.  "Can I help you, Lieutenant?"
     "Ah, yes," said Cree.  He rested one hand on his hip, and the
other hung beside his pistol.  "What's going on?"
     "Just a quick inspection," said the man.  He tossed his long,
black hair over his shoulders.  "I don't get a chance to look at a
Viper very often.  She's a real beauty."
     "Thanks," said Cree.  "If you wanted to look under the hood, you
should have asked."
     "I'm sorry," said the man.  "I just saw it there, and I couldn't
help myself."
     There was a loud clang as something hit the floor under Cree's
fighter.
     Cree bobbed his head, indicating Ajax should check it out.  The
man's eyes followed Ajax as he crawled under the ship.  Cree stared
into the man's face.  He was familiar.
     "Your energizer's fallen out," said Ajax.  "Someone's
disconnected it and..."  He popped out from under the Viper.  "He's
trying to steal it."
     Cree pulled his blaster.  "What are you trying to pull?"
     "I'm just checking it out," the man insisted.
     "I bet he could get 600 to 1000 cubits for this on the black
market," said Ajax.
     "I know you," said Cree
     The man froze.
     "You work at Starbuck's.  You told me about Calista," said Cree. 
"Why are you dressed like a mech, working on my Viper?"
     There was a strange feeling in Cree's stomach.  He held the gun
on the man, but looked sidelong at Ajax.  "What are the odds that just
before Det goes to the club for the first time ever, his ex-girlfriend
takes a job there?"
     "A set up?"  Ajax asked.
     "She's with him right now," Cree said.
     "Daggit grease," cursed Ajax.
     "Let's get to the office," said Cree.  "We'll have him paged."
     Ajax grabbed his pistol, and took charge of their prisoner. 
Cree took one step, and the lights went out.  Cree stared up as the
emergency back-ups kicked on.
     "Frak," said Cree.

     Only the soft candle light from the tables illuminated Calista's
face.  "You always did have a flair for the romantic...when you wanted
to."
     "I wish I could take credit for it," said Det.  "But it wasn't
me."
     Calista smiled.  "I have to check on something.  I hate to
leave, but I'll be right back.'
     She stood and made for the public call station.  She pulled a
small communications set from her purse, and tapped the relay grid. 
"Mordeci, what the hell's going on?"
     "A slight glitch," came the answer.  "Bona's been captured."
     "By who?"  Calista asked.
     "Some hot shot from that Viper crew.  Cree, I think.  Anyway,
they're taking him up to the main level."
     "Don't let them out of your sight.  If he talks, this whole
thing will collapse like a house of pyramid cards."
     "He won't talk," said Mordeci.  "What about that Det guy?"
     "Don't worry about that," said Calista.  "I've got him right
where I want him."

     "What the frak?"  Olson said as he watched the panic that ensued
on the promenade deck of the merchant ship Pathmain.  He turned to his
camera man, Wills, and excitedly barked his orders.  "Get me a live
feed to IFB Central NOW!"
     Wills nodded, lethargically, and switched on the camera.
     "Are we on?"  Olson asked.
     "Yeah," lied Wills.
     Olson assumed a statuesque pose, and began speaking.  "Good
evening, people of the fleet.  I am reporter Olson, here on the
Pathmain, where the power has just gone out."
     He indicated for Wills to pan the camera around and show the
panic, which was already beginning to dissipate.
     "Are you sure you want to broadcast this?"  Wills asked,
switching the camera off, and setting it at his feet.
     "What are you doing?"  Olson asked.  "Roll tape!"
     "For what?"  Wills asked.  "You don't have a story.  Nothing is
happening.  You want to go live and say what, we're standing here in
the dark?"
     Olson swallowed hard.  That was why the boss had paired him with
an experienced camera man.  Olson was a pup reporter, sent to cover
the opening of the plaza center.  His instincts were good, but he
lacked a little on the execution end of things.
     "Oh," said Olson.  "You're right."
     Wills smiled, and nodded.
     "Let's get up to the control center and see what we can
uncover."
     Wills cocked his head.  "Maybe we should go straight for the
power generators...?"
     "Better," said Olson.

     Brie heard the power die.  The soft whine of the lights faded,
and the faint vibration of the engines that reverberated through the
floor disappeared.  She started to pull herself from behind the crates
where she hid, but a noise stopped her cold.
     "Hurry," said one voice in the darkness.
     "Take it easy," said another.  "We've got three centons."
     "No time to waste," said the first voice.
     Brie was still only partially hidden by the drink cases.  She
was thin, but the crevice between the crates and the wall was thinner. 
She could muster the strength to shove herself back in, but if she
made a sound, the game was over.  
     Foot steps were all she could hear.  Her ears rang with the
sudden silence from the club.  The deafening music was gone, and her
brain was filtering out the sounds of the miffed dancers.  Someone was
manually working the pantry lock.
     Brie's hand went for her blaster.
     "Cover the door," said the first voice.  "I'll load the lift."
     Brie heard the sound of a magnetic sled activating.  Lifts were
small platforms with magnetic engines on the bottom.  They could lift
great weight, and be pushed with a minimum of effort.  If someone was
going to move the stash of equipment in the pantry, that would be the
easiest way.
     Brie could end this now, assuming she could get out and cover
both men with her gun.  The problem was, that if one was at the
locker, and one was at the door, she could not cover both.  She
couldn't see, and she didn't know if they were armed.
     For now, she was going to have to wait.

     "Keep walking," said Cree to his prisoner.  The landing bay was
lit only by faint emergency lights.  His eyes were open wide, trying
to let in as much light as possible.
     "I wasn't trying to steal your energizer," said the waiter.
     "Save it for Captain Apollo," said Cree.  "We'll see about that
cache of supplies you have back at the club."
     "I don't know about that," said the waiter.
     "Save it," said Cree.
     "Look," said the waiter, "What if we cut you in?  You're
strapped for cash.  We can work something out."
     "Shut up," said Cree.  He drove the blaster into the man's back. 
"My friends need those parts.  You're not getting off."
     "Yes, he is," said a man as he jumped from the stairs to the
platform behind them.  He held a small pistol aimed at Ajax's chest. 
"Let him go."
     Cree looked to Ajax, and tripped the power setting on his
blaster from stun to wide field stun.  Ajax knew what Cree was
thinking.  He nodded, and waited.
     Cree fired.
     All three men fell to the floor, knocked out by the blaster's
stun effect.  Cree took the other man's gun, and dropped it in his
empty holster.  Then, he checked to be sure that the two prisoners
were out cold.
     "Cree to Det," said Cree into his radio.  "Are you there,
Lieutenant?"

     Det looked up as Calista called someone.  His radio relayed
Cree's call.  "Right here, Cree.  How's business?"
     "No good right now, I bet," said Cree.  "But I've got bigger
problems."
     "What?"  Det asked.
     "I caught some guy going through my Viper," said Cree.  "He was
after my energizer."
     "What were you doing in the landing bay?"  Det asked.
     "Sir," said Cree, "I need some help down here."
     Det's mind switched from romance to alert mode.  How was Calista
making a call from the public channel when the power was out?  What
was Cree up to?  Any trouble from him might bring Interfleet
Broadcasting on them like a plague.
     "I'll be right there," said Det.  He keyed off the radio.
     "Sorry," said Calista as she returned to the table.  "I had to
take care of some business."
     She slipped her personal radio back into her purse.  That solved
the mystery for Det.  "That's okay," he said.  "I've got to go check
on my friend at the club.  Cree's...a little wild.  He might get into
trouble without some cooler heads around."
     "Running out on me again?"  Calista asked.
     "Not hardly," said Det as he stood and kissed Calista's red
lips.  "I'll find you later."  He tossed a few cubits on the table to
cover his bill.
     "I'm in room 2324," said Calista.  "Drop by when your friend is
under control."
     "I will," said Det.  He kissed Calista a second time, and moved
back toward the main hallway.
     Calista watched him go, and made another call.  "Mordeci, come
in."
     There was no reply.
     "Mordeci."
     Calista slapped the table, and ran off down the hall.

     One of the voices had said three centons.  According to Brie's
chronometer, it had been almost two since the lights had gone out. 
That left one.  One centon to do whatever these two men were up to.
     From what she could gather, the lift had been loaded, and a wall
panel had been removed.  From what she could remember about the old
livestock ship, the central feeding troughs had been used as
structural supports, and had been left intact when the ship had been
rebuilt to house the shopping plaza.  If they were still hollow, the
lift could be slipped inside, and a man could push it through unseen.
     "Okay," said the first voice.  "Close this panel."
     It was now or never, Brie thought.  She tried to lunge out from
the crates, but her right leg was hung up.  Silently, she tried to
untangle it.
     She heard the wall panel slip back into place, and the drink
tank door close.  She gave one good yank and fell free of the crates. 
She pointed her blaster up and around, listening against the darkness
for any sound.
     The lights returned, and she saw that she was alone.
     Quickly, she felt the wall for the loose panel.  She could not
pry anything out with her hands.  If they were magnetically sealed,
they might have popped off when the power was out, but would now be
held firmly.
     "Sorry, Cree," said Brie as she reset the blaster power to full. 
She fired once, blowing a gapping hole in the wall panel.  Sure
enough, it was hollow, and large enough for a man to crawl through.
     Brie crouched down and looked inside.  There was nothing in
either direction.  The hollow passage was a maze.  She had no hope of
finding the man by herself.
     "Dietra," said Brie into her radio.  But as she looked at it,
she realized that it had been smashed.
     "Felgercarb."  She was going to have to do this alone.
     She ripped open one of the drink cases, and took one bottle out. 
She smashed it against the wall, and took one long shard of glass from
the remnants.  She shoved it under the door, and wedged it in as far
as she could with her foot.
     That would hold the door if someone tried to come after her.
     Brie took a deep breath, and crawled into the feeding trough.

     Det entered the landing bay at a run.  "What's going on?"
     Cree pointed to one of the men on the floor.  His feet and hands
were bound with cargo twine.  "This one was taking my energizer."
     "He works for you," said Det.
     That made Cree feel really stupid.  Det had recognized him right
off, but Cree had failed to.  Cree went on.
     "Just after we caught him, the power went out, and then this one
jumped us."
     "Is Ajax alright?"  Det asked.
     "He's stunned," said Cree.  "I did it."
     "Kill them all let God sort them out?"  Det asked only half
joking.
     "It was the only way," said Cree.
     "Okay," said Det.  He knelt over his fallen friend and tried to
wake him.  "Get these guys out of the way.  Call Council Security, and
have them locked them up."
     "Lieutenant..." said Ajax as he began to stir.
     "Can you stand?"  Det asked.
     "Not yet," said Ajax.  The stun effect was beginning to wear
off, but he still could not feel anything below his shoulders.  He
rolled his head around, and checked on the prisoners.  "Nice shot,
Cree."
     Cree nodded, smugly.
     Det whipped out his radio.  If there was going to be shooting,
he wanted more guns.  "Det to Dietra.  Come in."

     Dietra lay sprawled out on a bed.
     A small man scurried over to the desk top where her radio lay. 
He picked it up, tapped the grid, and responded.  "Hello?"
     The answer was confused.  "I need to speak to Lt. Dietra."
     The small man's eyes darted around the room, and spied the open
turboflush door.  "She's in the turbo shower.  Can she call you right
back."
     "Who is this?"  the voice demanded.
     "I'm her date, who is this?"
     "Her date?"  the voice asked.  "I am Lt. Det, Dietra's squadron
commander.  Now put her on immediately."
     "I'm sorry, Lt. Det," said the small man,  "I don't take orders
from the military.  She's in the shower, and I'll relay your message
when she gets out."  He tapped the grid again, and ended the
communication.
     With an eager hand, the little man turned the radio over, and
slid back the power cell cover.  It took only a little tap to dislodge
the batteries from their cradle, and the device was inoperative.  It
could neither be used for communicating, nor to track Dietra's
location in the passive mode.
     With his work done, the man surveyed his prisoner again.  She
was lovely, this ebony warrior.  He wished they had met under more
favorable conditions.  Maybe, they could have talked, and maybe he
could have, one day been her date.

     Dietra was aware of nothing.  Her mind was at total rest now. 
Still, her ears had picked up on the word 'shower' twice, and her mind
had begun to connect it to something.
     She was again in the forrest.  The air was thick with the mist
from a light rain.  She could hear the sound of droplets against the
leaves high above.
     Voices were approaching.  If they caught her, they would take
her back.  She was too young and weak to run much further.  She
tripped over a log and landed face first in a pile of wet leaves.
     "There she is!"  said one of the voices.
     Anger and fear built up inside Dietra.  She jumped to her feet,
but slipped on the wet ground.  She fell again.
     A big hand grabbed her arm, and jerked her to her feet.  "I've
got her," said the man...his name was Pug.
     "Get her back to the house," said another voice.  "Her family
will be here soon to collect her."
     Dietra kicked and flailed her free arm at the man.  He only
laughed at the little girl's weakness.  "You're not the first kid to
try an escape from the juvenile center.  You didn't get as far as
most.  Better luck next time."
     Dietra continued to kick, and yelled for her father.
     But, her father had died...on the freighter.  That's why she was
here.  She was waiting for her Aunt Donna to come and get her.  Donna
was a mean old woman.  She treated Dietra like a slave.  Now that her
father was gone, she was going to have to live with her.
     Fear welled up inside her, and she felt a wave of strength she
had never known before.
     Her foot found Pug's shin.
     The man screamed in agony, and dropped the girl.  She wasted no
time in continuing her flight.  She ducked around a tree, and slid
down an embankment.  She looked up to see Pug, holding his leg, and
hearing the words he yelled at her.
     "You're just a little girl!  You won't get far!"
     As Dietra turned, she slammed into her father.
     His arms were open, and he reached for her.  Dietra cried openly
as she tried to get to him.  She felt herself pulled ever further away
by a strange and powerful force.  Her arms wouldn't move, and her legs
were so heavy.
     Again, she heard Stella implore her to find the names, and end
their power.
     Dietra's mind went blank.

     There was no response from Dietra, or Brie, but Massey, Falon,
and Pactor were heading for the club.  It was best to keep his group
together, in case Interfleet Broadcasting showed up.  There was more
going on here than met the eye.
     "Can you walk?"  Det asked Ajax.
     "I think so," said the sergeant.  He pulled himself up using the
railing, and tested his legs.
     Det was satisfied.
     Council security was carting off the two prisoners, and Cree was
trying to explain to the two guards why. 
     "Just hold them for me," said Det, flashing his rank and
position to rattle the council guards.  "I'll be along later with a
full report.  If you have any problems, you can deal with my superior,
Colonel Tigh."
     That name sent a flash of distaste through the men's eyes. 
"That won't be necessary, sir," said one of the men.  "We'll hold them
for you."
     "Thank you," said Det, returning to Cree.  "Why were you in the
landing bay, anyway?'

     Brie could barely see.  The crawl space was dark, but just a
touch of light filtered through the translucent magnetic panels that
covered the old feeding trough.  She had no idea where the maze lead.
     She did, however hear the faint clanging sound of someone
crawling ahead of her.  She was getting a little closer all the time. 
She strained to get a fix on it, but the sounds from the shops she
passed behind prevented her from making a clear assessment.
     Her blaster was checked.  It was set for the maximum stun
setting, and she held it in her right hand as she crawled.  She had
turned the trigger response down to minimum, to keep it from going off
by accident in the tunnel.  She was sure she could still pull it fast
enough to drop anyone she might run into.
     At the juncture ahead, she could see the choices.  One was a
small, narrow passage.  It veered off ninety degrees to the left. 
That would take her somewhere near the power cells.  The other was a
wide, and straight run, that went toward the landing bay.
     It made sense that if one was going somewhere with the stolen
parts, the landing bay would be the destination.  She pressed on,
breathing just a little easier in the wide passage.  Her breathing was
heavy, maybe a little too loud now.  She opened her mouth wide, and
took deep, slow breaths to mask the sound.
     Then, Brie had a sudden flash.  The power cells.  The power had
gone out.  She backtracked the ten metrons she had made down the wide
passage, and turned down the narrow one.

     Energy pulsed through the massive conduits from the reactor to
the rest of the ship.  Two female technicians helped the men drag the
magnetic lift from the hollow passage way.  They resealed the grated
hatch that covered the exit, and slipped a cloth cover over the stolen
equipment.
     "Sure as clockwork," said one of the men.  "Now, get this to the
landing bay.  If anyone asks-"
     "I know," said one of the women.  "I don't miss Colony
meetings."  She cast a look to the second man, who scowled at her.
     "Just go," said the first man.
     The two women made for the door, which slid open before they got
to it.
     Olson and Wills entered, with camera rolling.
     "I'm Olson, with Interfleet Broadcasting.  Can you comment on
the problem?"
     He thrust his microphone into one woman's face.
     "We had a coupling blow out," she said calmly.  "We just weren't
ready for that kind of energy consumption by the plaza.  It's been
replaced with a more powerful module."
     The first man groaned inwardly.  She was not sticking to the
script.  She was supposed to give NO DETAILS.  The story she had just
passed to this IFB flunky was full of holes, and she had only said
three sentences.
     Oh, well.  There was always Plan B.
     "Here," he said as he pointed to a power coupling.  Olson jumped
at the opportunity to sink his teeth into the story.  The women
slipped out under the crushing gaze of the second man.  "This is the
new part.  We replaced it right after the first one blew out."
     "Great work," said Olson.  "What was that, five centons?"
     "Three," said the man.
     Wills pointed.  "Hey, that's not a new coupling.  It's worn on
the edges."
     The first man kicked the floor; the signal for the second man to
stand by with his blaster.
     Their well-rehearsed plan would have worked, except for the stun
blast that erupted from the grated vent.  The two men fell, and a
Colonial warrior kicked her way out of the narrow passage.
     "What the-"  muttered Olson.
     "Save it, Newsboy," said Brie.
     "And you are?"  Olson asked.
     "I said 'save it!'"
     Olson backed off like a child who had burned his hand on a pot.
     "Was there anyone else in here?"  Brie asked.
     "Yes," said Wills as he held his camera low.  It was recording,
and he deftly kept it aimed at Brie's face, despite it's weird angle,
held near his hip.  "Two women just left.  They were carting out a
blown power coupling."
     The way he stressed those last three words told Brie that he
suspected they were up to more than they had said.  The two men on the
floor must have been the ones from the club.  They had passed the load
off to two others.
     "You two call security and have them stop those two women. 
They'll be heading for the landing bay," ordered Brie.
     "Go call," said Olson.
     "Both of you," said Brie.  
     "Let me tag along," said Olson.  "Let me tell the REAL story."
     Brie thought about stunning the boy and saving him from the
shooting that might start later.
     "Call security," said Brie.  She rushed out the door.
     Of course, the corridor was empty.  

     The two women pushed the magnetic lift down the hallway.  They
were less than a few microns from reaching the landing bay, when they
passed a man pushing a similar lift.  They all three stopped,
exchanged pleasantries, and slowly shifted positions.  After a few
microns, they resumed walking, having switched lifts.
     "STOP!"  yelled a security guard as he rounded a bend in the
corridor.
     The ladies halted, as ordered, while the man, a short and almost
slimy sort, continued on to the landing bay unmolested.
     After a cursory search of the lift the women pushed, they were
released.  The second phase of the heist had been completed.

     Dietra stirred.  Her head was throbbing.  She could not see
straight.  Despite her current situation, she felt at peace.  
     Why was that?
     She looked inside herself for the answer.  She could feel a
familiar presence beside...no - INSIDE her.  It had always been there,
but she had never been aware of it.
     With a sudden flash of recognition, she put names on those inner
forces that were at war inside her.  The first was her father.  The
second, much more sinister and dominating, was fear.  It was fear that
had driven her for so long.  Fear of the unknown, fear of the Cylons,
and fear of being forever alone.
     Suddenly, much of the anger that had for so long dominated her
character vanished.  She felt a quiet inside that she had never known. 
Stella had been right.  If she put names on the forces, she could over
come them.

     Cree tried the door to the drink tank again.  It was jammed shut
from within.  That figured. 
     He was through playing around today.  He flagged down the floor
mechanic and asked for a slab of blasting compound.  The man forked it
over for the warrior, without a second thought.
     Cree went back to the stuck door, and pushed a small finger's
worth into the crack between the door and the frame.  He pressed the
igniter into the soft clay, and set the rest on the floor.
     He had several centons before the timer ignited.  He would come
back for it.  Cree stepped into his club and announced that they were
closed.

     With things back to nearly normal, Det made his way back to the
promenade.  With any luck, he could meet up with Calista, and resume
what they had started.  An air of normalcy was returning to the
crowded venue.  The people of the Fleet were used to power outages. 
Most of the aging ships used outdated parts, and new ones were hard to
come by.  The momentary panic of a centar ago was mostly forgotten.
     "Det!  Over here!" came Calista's voice.
     Det turned and found her sitting just outside of Starbuck's.  He
made his way back to her side, and was just about to sit when his name
was called over the ship's internal paging system.
     "I'll be right back," he said as he turned toward the pubic call
boxes.
     He stood before the call screen, tapped his name and a short
numeric code on the small keyboard before him.  Dietra's face
appeared.  He looked like hell.
     "Dietra," Det stated simply.
     "Lieutenant, I don't know what happened.  Somebody banged me on
the head in the elevator.  I've been out for centars."
     Det nodded.  "I tried to call you.  Your 'date' said you were in
the shower."
     "I didn't have any date."
     Det nodded again.
     "When I came too, my radio was broken.  Someone stole the power
cell."
     "What in Hades is going on, here?"  Det asked.
     Calista's voice rang in Det's ear.  "Tell her to meet us in the
landing bay in five centons."
     Det cast a look around.  Calista was smiling that wicked smile
that had set his heart to fancy as a younger man.  She was also poking
a tiny pistol in his side, concealed under her blazer.
     "Who's that, Lieutenant?"  Dietra asked.
     Calista spoke before Det could.  "I'm an old friend.  Meet us in
the landing bay as soon as you can.  We have the most wondrous thing
to show you."
     Calista cut the call.
     "What are you up to?"  Det asked.  "Is it the Children's
Colony?"
     "Right, Det," said Calista.  "Let's go."
     As they walked toward the landing bay, no one watching would
have ever guessed that they were any more that two old lovers holding
hands discreetly.

     "What did security say?"  Olson asked into his wrist-held radio
as he ran behind Brie.
     "They've got a team on the way," said Wills.  "Be careful. 
Maybe you should let the lady handle it."
     Brie scoffed at the exchange.  Dietra would have jumped through
the radio and strangled the cameraman.
     The two sprinted around a corner, and Olson slid up to the
sliding door control.  
     "NO!" shouted Brie.  She grabbed the boy by the back of his
tunic collar, and slammed him against the wall.  He was well out of
view from inside the bay as the doors slid open.  Brie held him, with
her body pressed against his, until the doors closed once again.
     "You can't just go blasting in there," said Brie.  "We'll get in
there another way."
     Olson followed Brie's eyes to the vent duct in the ceiling.

     Dietra stepped into the landing bay un aware of anything being
wrong.  She was dazed and confused, but the inner peace was so
soothing, that she found it hard to be suspicious of the pleasant
woman and her squadron commander who had invited her to...
     Now what was it she had said.
     Calista was waving at Dietra from the open hatch of one of the
waiting shuttles.  Dietra made her way toward the ship.  She climbed
the boarding ramp, and took a look inside.
     The shuttle was staffed by children.
     Not one of the dirty little faces she saw was more than eleven
yahrens old.  Two of them carried blaster rifles, and one was pointed
at Lt. Det.
     "Lt. Dietra reporting as ordered, Sir."
     "Sorry you could make it," said Det.
     "I think I am, too," said Dietra.

     "Dietra?"  Brie muttered.  "What is she doing?"
     "Who's Dietra?"  Olson asked.
     "Stow it, Newsboy," said Brie.  She peered out through the
massive vent overlooking the entire flight deck.  The single shuttle
parked in the center of the floor was preparing for departure.  Even
if the weapons were not on board, it was a fair bet that something
fishy was going on inside.
     The security squad burst into the bay.
     "Help has arrived," whispered Olson.  "I wish I had my camera."
     "Careful what you wish for," said Brie.
     Wills entered the bay right behind security, camera rolling.
     "Oh, no," said Olson.
     Once the shooting started, it was hard to say how long it
lasted.  One thing for sure, it wasn't long.  The security force fell
stunned on the floor of the bay.
     Brie locked her sights on one of the short men standing under
the shuttle and fired, picking him off cleanly.  While the second man
searched wildly for the source of the shot, she dropped him as well.
     "Now what?"  Olson asked.
     "I don't know," said Brie.
     She grabbed Olson's wrist radio from him and called into it,
softly.  "Cree, get down here now.  Cree?  Can you hear me?"

     Calista glanced out the shuttle's window.  Det caught his guard
following her with his eyes.  The warrior lunged, stripping the boy of
his gun, and smacking him with a right cross to the chin.  Det felt
bad in the back of his mind about striking the boy, but it couldn't be
helped.  Given his situation, he'd have done it again.
     Instinctively, Det scanned for the second rifle.  He found it in
Dietra's hand, and the second boy laying feet up in the shuttle's
rather comfortable lounge chair.
     Det turned to Calista.  He waved his gun toward the exit. 
"Let's go."
     The other, younger children cowered in the corners of the
shuttle's flight compartment, some crying.
     "You don't know what you're doing," said Calista.  "These
children want to leave.  They want to make a new start.  All we're
doing is helping them."
     "I won't discuss this with you," said Det.  "You've lied and
cheated, and made me a fool."
     "You'd have done the same," said Calista.  "If you had ever set
foot on the orphan ship."
     "To the door," said Dietra.  Det sensed less fire in her belly
than he might have expected.
     Calista dropped her tiny pistol on the seat, and made for the
exit.
     "Let me go first," said Dietra.  "To make sure it's safe."
     "Okay," said Det.

     Cree set the blasting compound back down, and slapped at the
ignition charge.  It was now kicked up to three centars.  He would be
back in plenty of time.  He locked the door behind him as he made for
the landing bay.

     Brie could feel the sweat on the back of her neck.  She bounced
the sight on the end of her blaster barrel from left to right across
the bay floor.  Nothing was moving.  A dozen people lay stunned on the
floor, but no one seemed to be left mobile.
     She gasped as Dietra emerged from the shuttle with a blaster
rifle.  Behind her was Det's ex-girlfriend, the one he had picked up
at the club.  And there was Det, with a rifle.
     The woman didn't look like a prisoner.
     Confusion, doubt, and feelings of betrayal welled up in her
heart.  Brie slid the power setting to maximum field, and maximum
stun.  She would hit everyone on the landing bay floor with one shot,
but her gun would be drained.
     Det rested a hand on Calista's shoulder as they descended the
ramp.  She smiled and took his hand.  That was all Brie needed.

     "You were always such the hero," said Calista as she stepped
from the shuttle's hatch.  "But do you know about the real victims
here?"
     "I know you meant well," said Det.  He rested his hand on her
shoulder.  "But we have to stay together, if we are to continue to
survive."
     Calista smiled and took his hand. "I suppose you'll have them
lock me up with your uncle Baltar."
     "I will try to help you," said Det.  "But you've really made a
mess-"
     Det's trained eye immediately jumped to the flash of light from
the air vent.  Even before the stun blast knocked him from the ramp,
the intense lumination burned his eyes.  He dropped the blaster to the
ground, and fell back.

     "I'm sorry, Lieutenant," said Brie as she helped him take a seat
back in Cree's club.  "I just thought you and that woman were-"
     "I know," said Det.  "You did the right thing.  It looks like
all my warriors just want to shoot everyone.  Maybe I should schedule
you all for several sectons of blaster range training."
     Cree hid his head.
     Dietra looked around at the empty club.  "Did you make any money
tonight?"
     "A lot," said Cree.  "I figure that I can break even on this
venture in just a few sectons."
     "That's great," said Det.  He still could not focus his eyes. 
The Pathmain's doctor had assured him that the problem would pass. 
Still, he was restricted from flight duty until further notice.
     "What about those drinks?"  Dietra asked.
     "Yeah," said Brie.  "Did you ever get that door open?"
     "Door..." said Cree.  "Oh, no..."
     The pilots of Red Squadron jumped to their feet and burst
through the exit door without saying a word.  Dietra and Cree all but
carried Det as they made their flight.
     "Get down," said Cree as he cowered behind a bench.  He covered
Det's face with his shoulder.
     All said, the noise wasn't that bad.  The dust and debris that
flew from the inside of the club wasn't a real mess, either.  At least
not on the outside.
     Inside the club was a different story.
     The blasting compound had all ignited.  It had blown the
pantry's door clean off, and vaporized it.  The explosion was a low-
grade one, intense heat at the flashpoint, but little heat and fire
elsewhere.  It was the shrapnel from the exploded wall and ceiling
that had done the damage in the club's main floor.
     "How bad is it, Cree?"  Det asked.
     "Don't anybody say anything when we get back," said Cree.
     Dietra laughed.  "Starbuck is going to hang you by your-"
     "Save it," said Cree.  "I've got an idea."
     "Give it up," said Det.

This story is a work of fan fiction, and is not intended to infringe
on the copyrights of Universal, ABC, Glen Larson Studios, or any other
corporations involved with Battlestar Galactica. It is intended solely
for distribution on the Internet, and the enjoyment of those BSG fans
who read it. 
Please direct feedback to me at TiCeL@aol.com
I hope you enjoyed it.