The Legacy of Honour
By Lisa Zaza
November 1, 2011
     
     Starbuck dropped into a chair beside Boomer, pulling a fumarello out
of his flight jacket and clamping it firmly between his teeth.  The taste
was like an old friend, offering familiarity and comfort, yet demanding
nothing in return except perhaps to be lit.  It was such a little thing,
really.  
     He patted down his flight jacket, pulling out a match and striking
it on the arm of his chair for the sake of expedience, ignoring the
disapproving glance his buddy tossed him.  The match flared to life,
burning hot and bright for the briefest of moments as Starbuck gazed into
the fire.  Momentarily mesmerized, he silently puffed on his fumarello,
drawing in the intoxicating vapours.  For a centon he was back in
Serenity, the ground shaking beneath his feet like it was the end of the
world, as they stood in the torch-lit street facing down a hoard of
stampeding Borays.  The heart of the flame flared, pulling him further
into his recent memories, and he was once again standing  in Nogow's
lair, surrounded by the porcine-like beings, negotiating for the
terrified Belloby's release, trying to talk his way into convincing the
Boray leader that they really weren't so different after all.  The long
and the short of it was he'd done it.  Suddenly, the flame licked his
fingers.  With a flick of his wrist it was dead, extinguished for all of
eternity, nothing left but a smouldering wispy trail.
     "Drink?"
     Boomer hadn't bothered to wait for a reply before signalling the
barkeep to send over a round.  Some things were a given, and after their
mission to the little agro community to obtain planting seed for the
Fleet after two Agro ships had been destroyed and the third had lost its
air lock, a drink was definitely in order.
     "To your , uh...poor character," Boomer said, raising his refreshed
glass to his friend.
     "I'll have you know I've spent yahrens perfecting it," Starbuck
replied in mock indignation, picking up on the reference to Apollo's
words in the Serenity saloon. 
     "And a fine job you've done," Boomer quipped.  "Just ask Siress
Belloby."
     Starbuck winced in memory at what had almost befallen the boisterous
woman.  Bogan had said that the Borays had taken their "females" in the
past, but none had been in evidence in Nogow's lair.  It didn't bode well
for the missing women.  Wild porcine in the colonies were known to eat
flesh, did the Borays as well?  It was horrifying to even contemplate,
but other possibilities were equally repugnant.  It was no wonder that
Belloby had kissed him so effusively later in the saloon.  Starbuck
caught Boomer's amused glance and grinned good-naturedly.  Oh well, at
least she'd bought him a drink afterwards.  
     "Siress Belloby recommended me for a commendation," Starbuck said
aloud.
     "Commendable of her," Boomer replied, taking a long drink, before
leaning closer to his friend.  "I'm still trying to figure out how you
managed to convince Nogow to trust you."
     Starbuck shrugged.  "Boomer, if I put my mind to it, I could talk a
novice Kobollian Priestess into skinny dipping with me at the Sacred
Arian Wellspring the day before taking her final vows."  
     Boomer raised his eyebrows.  "Are you claiming...?"
     Starbuck grinned, taking a sip of his drink.  Now that was a path
down memory lane that was more worth pursuing, and certainly evoked more
pleasant emotions in him.  At least...
     "I don't know how you do it." Boomer shook his head, rolling his
eyes.
     "It's a gift." Starbuck shrugged, looking up to see Apollo standing
at the entrance, scanning the room.  He held up a hand, drawing his
friend's attention to them.  The captain frowned, before heading towards
them.  "Here's Apollo."
     "He doesn't look too happy."
     Boomer was right.  Apollo's frown quickly turned to a glower the
closer he drew to them.
     "Why do I get the feeling he's not here to tell me they're going to
decorate me?" Starbuck quipped, his gut twisting into a knot.  Even with
the planting seed they'd managed to get from Serenity, they were still
down two agro ships, and repairs hadn't been completed on the third.  In
a situation where food supplies were already tight, the disaster had only
been ameliorated to a certain measure.  
     "Better get those delusions of grandeur out of you head, before
Apollo does it for you," Boomer commented, sitting more erect as a
similar tension affected him.
     "Take away my delusions of grandeur, and there wouldn't be much
left," Starbuck returned, his anxiety rising with each step his captain
took.  What the frack had happened now?
     "There's a disconcerting amount of truth in that statement,
Starbuck," Boomer rambled.
     "I might be shallow, but at least I'm honest," Starbuck replied.
     "Shallow and honest: weren't those qualities part of the recruitment
ad of 7339?"
     "1738."
     "I stand corrected.  That makes all the difference."
     "You're sitting actually, but why quibble...?"
     "Did you actually just say 'quibble'?"
     "According to Greenbean, it was the Colonial Lexicon Word of the
Day..."
     A micron later, Captain Apollo was standing in front of him, his
features like a Scorpian firestorm as he glared at the lieutenant. 
Suddenly, Starbuck had the idea that this newest disaster was one of a
more personal nature.  The problem was he couldn't think of a single
thing that he'd done lately that would warrant his commanding officer's
apparent anger.  
     "What's going on?" Starbuck managed, swallowing hard when Apollo's
green eyes flashed dangerously at him.  He hastily added, "Captain. 
Sir."
     "Commander Adama wants to see you, Lieutenant.  Now."


     Apollo was uncharacteristically silent as he escorted Starbuck to
Commander Adama's office.  The lieutenant's tentative attempts to probe
the strike captain as to the nature of the situation were inexorably shut
down with a clipped tone and patented glower reminiscent of Academy
disciplinary hearings, which didn't exactly invite further conversation. 
Usually breaches of conduct, derelictions of duty, or indiscretions were
handled by an officer's direct superior, and for Starbuck to be taken to
the top of the chain of command for disciplinary measures, it could only
mean he was in a mong load of trouble. 
     Make that a mega mong load.
     Once again he wracked his brain, trying to come up with something
that could have enraged his friend to this extent.   Surely to God this
wasn't about dating Athena and Cassiopeia concurrently?  After all, he'd
been doing that with his usual alacrity and trademark indecision for
several sectons by this point.  Adama had been too much of a gentleman to
even allude to it, at least as long as the younger man hadn't done
anything to overtly hurt Athena, and although Apollo had mentioned
Starbuck's "commitment issues" in passing, he as well, had cut the
wayward warrior some considerable slack on his indelicate social
activities, keeping his nose out of his friend and sister's personal
lives.  No, that couldn't be it...so what had he done to earn his friend
and commander's ire?  Anxiety settled around him like a cloud of doom and
his internal klaxon was screaming by the time he reached his destination.

     With an annoyed look that Starbuck was not only in his way, but also
apparently still consuming valuable air, Apollo reached across him,
activating the entry chime.
     "Apollo..." Starbuck appealed to his friend a final time.
     The captain sighed, his angry fa‡ade slipping for a moment. He shook
his head slightly. "Damn, Starbuck.  How do you manage to get yourself in
these situations?  I know there has to be some kind of explanation,
but...frack, Starbuck!  I can't for the life of me figure out what that
would be right now!  Mutant genetics?  Good Lords!"
     Starbuck opened his mouth to further press his friend for
information.
     "Enter!" barked the voice from within.
     At this point Starbuck's heart officially dropped into his boots, or
so it seemed to him. Then again, maybe it was all some kind of practical
joke at his expense.  That was about his only hope.  Unfortunately,
Commander Adama wasn't exactly known for being a knee-slapping jokester. 
Surely if Starbuck had done something that merited the dressing down that
he knew was coming, then he should know about it, or at the very least
have an inkling of an idea.  However, he was at a complete loss as to
what he was about to walk into when the door slid open before them.
     Although military decorum was considerably relaxed on the Galactica
in the aftermath of the Holocaust and with so many new people joining the
ranks, the trained Colonial Warrior recognized when it was time to revert
to the more traditional behaviours that had been drilled into him back at
the Academy.  He marched into the office, his gaze quickly sweeping the
room, absorbing the presence of the young civilian woman seated to the
right on the longseat beneath the viewport.  A kerchief covered most of
her head, and what he could see of her downturned face was smudged with
dirt.  Her drab brown robe was tattered, and it covered up her slight
form modestly.  She carried a small bundle in her arms, swaddled in a
cloth of the same material as her cloak, and it took him but a micron to
realize it was a sleeping baby.  Tucked in beside the woman was a small
tote bag packed to capacity, also cut from the same worn cloth. He'd seen
countless numbers of women just like her when he'd pulled inspection duty
through the Fleet, but he didn't recall this one in particular.  Had she
reported him for something?   It had to be some kind of misunderstanding. 
Hopefully, they could clear this up quickly so he could get back to his
ambrosa.  Abruptly, he came to a halt and stood at attention before
Adama's desk, Apollo at his side.
     "Lieutenant Starbuck, reporting as ordered, sir." One glance at the
look in Adama's eyes, and his heart-until now at the lowest point in his
footwear-took that opportunity to retreat further, finding an opening
into another dimension.
     "Yes," Adama replied, slowly rising to his feet, his gaze
scrutinizing the warrior almost contemptuously.  With a single glance,
Adama had the ability to make a decorated war hero feel like he was a
complete bilge rat.  Then an almost paternal concern transformed the
older man's features, as he gazed on the figure seated a few metrons
away.  "I believe introductions are unnecessary, Lieutenant."
     "Hello, Starbuck," she whispered timorously.
     Briefly, her eyes met his before she bowed her head timidly, looking
back at her lap.  His breath caught in his throat and his mouth went dry,
his mind denying what his eyes had suggested to him.  It simply couldn't
be...
     "Thank the Lords of Kobol that you are alive," she said quietly, her
face downcast.  "We are indeed blessed..."  She said something else, but
by then her tone was so low that he couldn't hear her.
     His heart pounding, Starbuck crossed the meagre distance that
separated them, his mind struck dumb as he tried to rationalize her
presence.   He shook his head mutely, unable to comprehend how she could
be sitting here in front of him. And the baby...
     "Look at me," he said coarsely, realizing he sounded harsh as she
cowered in reaction to his tone.   Adama cleared his throat noisily from
behind his desk in warning.  Apollo actually crossed the room to stand
like a sentinel beside her. Looking at the pitiable sight before him,
Starbuck could understand their protective posturing as well as their
anger. 
     Clearing his throat, he dropped to a knee in front of her, getting a
whiff of stale body odour that he had detected often on the freighters
more suited to cargo than human occupation.  Starbuck reached a hand out
slowly, and she shrunk back from him before drawing a rasping breath and
apparently willing herself into some frozen state of acceptance for
whatever was going to happen next.  It made him feel a little abashed,
but he persevered, ever so slowly pushing the kerchief back until it
dropped onto her slender shoulders, revealing shoulder-length dull and
unwashed tawny hair.  He swallowed down the lump in his throat, before
repeating more calmly, "Look at me."
     Once again she lifted her chin, and those wide blue eyes were full
of uncertainty.  Her cheekbones were sharply defined and the hollows over
her collar bones told the usual tale of substandard nutrition in the
Fleet, about to be made worse by the recent destruction of the Agro
Ships.  There was a haunted look in her eyes that made him uncomfortable;
it made him want to walk away...or run.  That look was typical of most
survivors of the Destruction that were still struggling to get by, and he
knew as well as anyone that some ships had better living conditions than
others.
     Still, when he looked beyond the malnutrition, the trauma and the
fear in her eyes, he could still see the vivacious and beautiful woman
that she had once been.  He could still remember her fearlessness, her
determination, her natural sensuality, her lust for life, and her passion
for taking care of the unfortunate and downtrodden.  She was taking rapid
shallow breaths, belying her nervousness, or was it illness, as she
forced herself to sit still beneath his scrutiny.  What had happened? 
Why hadn't he known?   Starbuck closed his eyes, covering his face
shamefully with a hand, while he tried to reconcile the impossibility.
     "Honour?" he finally rasped her name past the guilt and astonishment
that threatened to choke him.
     "Lieutenant," Adama said behind him.  "This young woman tells me
that she's your wife."  The very tone of the commander's voice made him
wince. "In fact, Lieutenant, she has both a certificate and a holoptic of
the two of you on your sealing day, some fifteen sectars ago, only a few
sectars before you were transferred to the Galactica.  Yet, as I'm sure
you're imminently aware, your personnel file has no record of your
marriage, nor have you deigned to mention it to any of your friends
or...acquaintances, at least as far as I'm aware.  Your wife and child
have been living in squalor, Starbuck, even before the Destruction." 
There was a long pause.  "Now what do you have to say for yourself,
Lieutenant?"

    "But I...I didn't know!" Starbuck protested.
     It wasn't much of a defence, but in the face of Adama's derision, it
was the only one he had.  He could see the incredulity in his esteemed
commander's face.  Slowly, Starbuck rose to his feet, turning away from
Honour and her baby, bowing his head and raking a hand through his hair,
as conflicting and turbulent emotions tore at him. 
     "How could you not?" Adama countered.  "In my experience, when it
comes to wives and children, husbands generally are aware, Lieutenant."
     No, it didn't look impressive.  After all, a married man should be
over the moon with joy that his long-lost wife had returned from the
dead.  Hades hole, a happily married man would have had a handy holoptic,
a treasure trove of stories, and an instinctive habit of taking second
glances at all the women who resembled his late spouse.  A case in point
was Apollo.  Instead, not only had Starbuck failed to recognize Honour at
the outset, but at this moment he felt well and truly trapped, much like
a Viper in a deadly Pinwheel Attack.  After all, one of them was supposed
to be dead right now, and through the admittedly cryptic mercy of the
Lords of Kobol, he had believed it was her.  Long ago he'd come to terms
with Honour's supposed death-had in fact been a little relieved by it, as
pathetic and deplorable as that sounded, even to his own mind.
     "Starbuck?" Apollo prompted him, still waiting for a convincing
explanation expectantly.
     The commander's son had a faith in Starbuck that might not be
entirely merited, as far as the lieutenant was concerned.  But then
Apollo had come from another world where villains were beyond
understanding, and heroes were beyond contempt.  For his part Starbuck
had tried to do the right thing by Honour, his own Kobollian upbringing
as well as four yahrens at the Academy instilling within him with a
strict morale code, which over his life he had redefined to his own
advantage more often than not. 
     "We were sealed on Hoedus," Honour said tentatively, sensing that
somehow Starbuck had been struck mute, lost in reflections of the past. 
     Adama raised his eyebrows at the young woman.  "Hoedus?  What were
you doing on Hoedus, Child?"  He paused, coming up with the most
plausible explanation.  "Were you in the service?"
     Hoedus had been a military base of operations on the outermost edge
of the Acamar Quadrant.   The battle there had been one of the Colonies'
greatest defeats in living memory.  Sudden and concurrent Cylon attacks
at several remote outposts had refugees fleeing the quadrant, while
command organized a convoy to provide a military escort out of the
warzone.  Unfortunately, a badly-timed communications breakdown had
resulted in isolated civilian ships missing the rendezvous, and Colonial
forces were splintered as they tried to respond to demands for assistance
while engaging Base Ships on two fronts.  Not only had they lost two
capital ships and several secondary vessels, but the outpost itself had
been blasted off the face of the planetoid leaving no survivors, as the
Cylons relentlessly increased their territorial claim and expanded their
empire.  Afterwards, sorting out the missing from the dead had been a
logistical nightmare, since most civilian and military records in that
quadrant had been incinerated along with the hopes and dreams of the
settlers.
     "No, Commander.  I was a Novice on a Mercy Ship," Honour replied
softly, obviously uncomfortable at being the centre of attention.  
Assigned to the spiritual support of the ranks, Mercy Ships were the rare
exception to civilians being allowed in warzones. 
     "A...a Novice?" Adama choked out in disgust, his face reddening as
he again turned the force of his ire on Starbuck. 
     Starbuck winced.  He'd forgotten her penchant for telling the
complete truth, no matter how inconvenient.  Yeah, it really couldn't get
much worse at this point, especially from the authoritative or Kobollian
perspective.  The highborn and devout in the room would find it
inexcusable that the "mere warrior" had been messing with a priestess in
training from a Kobollian Mercy Ship, never mind getting her pregnant,
marrying her, and then evidently abandoning her.  Dear Lord, if the deck
could open up and swallow him whole at this moment, it would be
preferable to suffering Adama's wrath.  Then again, it was pretty damn
likely that the Lord was on his commander's side in all this.  He'd be
better off negotiating with Diabolis. 
     "Sagan's sake, Starbuck, say something!" Apollo demanded, grabbing
his friend by the shoulder and jerking him around to face them, his eyes
boring into Starbuck's.  Then he relaxed his insistent grip on the
lieutenant's flight jacket, squeezing his shoulder briefly before adding
more calmly, "C'mon, buddy.  Tell us what this is all about."
     Starbuck nodded at his friend, taking a step back from him, giving
himself a little space.
    "At the last centon, I was redeployed from the Polaris," he told
them.  "My unit suddenly had escort duty over Alcor."  He gave himself a
moment before continuing and noticed Adama wince.  To put it mildly, it
had been an utter disaster.  "When we got there, it was already too late. 
The settlement had been attacked; the main city had been incinerated, and
just about everything that could fly had been destroyed.  But there were
still isolated pockets of survivors hiding in the Willowwacks.  We were
ordered to find them and evacuate them.  The trouble was...some of them
didn't want to be found."    
     It had never occurred to na‹ve young warriors that settlers would
fight for the right to remain on their land, preferring death over
defeat.  A sense of urgency to mobilize survivors had contributed to a
heated scene where civilians had turned their weapons on their rescuers,
guys that were merely following orders.  Perhaps these pioneers had only
wanted to drive home a point, intending simply to reaffirm their decision
to stay or to scare off the young men.  Regardless, in an isolated part
of Alcor their commanding officer was killed and the rest of them were
pinned down, forced to defend themselves until cooler heads prevailed. 
The conflict had taken precious days to resolve, and by the time an
uneasy truce was obtained, irreparable damage had been done to the ships
left behind, emergency beacons and communications completely destroyed. 
Then, fearing retribution, the neo-colonists had suddenly turned on the
warriors once again.  This time they cooled their heels in a makeshift
brig while two opposing groups argued about whether or not they could
hide all evidence of what had transpired, including several fightercraft
and a shuttle.  It had seemed crazy at the time that the Willow Wackos,
as Starbuck still remembered them, actually believed that they could
offer the rescuing troops a chance to either join their numbers or accept
lifetime imprisonment-until such time that they would elect to become a
settler.  They had incredulously believed that they could quietly secede
from the Colonies, remaining invisible in that battered and isolated part
of the system.  At the time, the obvious choice was to accept a position
in the community, and then find a way to transmit an emergency signal
requesting help.  That opportunity didn't arise for a solid sectar, and
it had taken a further secton before the sweet rumble of Colonial engines
signalled the end of their unreal adventure.
     "We'd all been recorded as missing in action, Commander.  As you can
imagine, the data correction process was a nightmare.  You wouldn't
believe how long it took me to officially get reinstated for active duty. 
For some reason, my file in particular was a problem," Starbuck told
them, glancing down at the young woman who had by now pulled her kerchief
back in place, a trembling hand covering her face as she listened to his
tale.  "During that time, I did try to find Honour, but couldn't actually
find any record of her being at Hoedus."  He drew in a deep breath,
sensing Apollo's steady gaze on him. His friend had heard selective
stories about the Willow Wackos on long-range patrol, where solitude had
a way of loosening a pilot's tongue.  Of course, the event on Starbuck's
military file had been abbreviated to an inadequate line or two, and the
strike captain had been curious about it.  Given Starbuck's unwillingness
to talk about it and the file's extreme brevity, he'd concluded that the
paucity of information was official.  "Anyhow, I had hoped she left the
base on the Mercy Ship.  The Kobollian Order wasn't very helpful,
insisting that there were privacy laws in place, and that only official
documentation supporting evidence of our sealing or an order from the
Arch-Prior bearing his seal would get them to check their records.  In
short, they didn't believe me.  Of course, I had nothing substantial to
offer to verify my story.  It's doubtful our 'sealing' was even
officially recorded, since a day later the base was incinerated.  My only
other option was to try and track down what had happened to the Mercy
Ship.  I finally found out it was listed as having been destroyed
somewhere near Propus."  He sighed, once again raking a hand through his
hair, watching as Honour absorbed his words.  Finally, she looked up at
him with her wide blue eyes.  "I thought you were...dead, Honour.  I
swear," he told her. 
     She dropped his gaze.
     "I knew there had to some kind of reasonable explanation," Apollo
said, nodding.  Still the captain was still studying his friend
expectantly, probably wondering why Starbuck had never mentioned his
deceased "wife".   There would be time for that story later, to be sure,
but the lieutenant was determined that it wouldn't take place in front of
either Honour or Adama.
     "Yes, I see," the commander said, somewhat appeased.  "And then?"
     "Yeah.  Good question," Starbuck replied, taking a seat beside the
young woman.  "What happened, Honour?  How could you just...disappear
like that?  Why didn't you contact me?  You must have known I'd be
looking for you. We were having a baby, for Sagan's sake."
     The tremble in her hand was even more detectable by now.  She looked
at him, her eyes glistening, her pallor a sharp contrast against her
cloak.  "I..." She breathed the word heavily, like she'd run a race,
while the baby shifted on her lap, starting to awaken.  "I...I'm afraid
I'm not feeling very...very well..."
     "Shall I call a med tech?" Adama asked her, a paternal note of
concern to his voice.
     "No...I just...I think I need to lie down.  I'm feeling a little
light-headed. I'm sorry."
     "Have you eaten anything, today?" Apollo asked her. 
     "I..."  She looked surprised at the suggestion, then crinkled her
brow as she considered it.  "I honestly can't remember.  I was a little
distracted getting ready to make my way to the Galactica," she said,
obviously embarrassed by her admission.  "I'm sorry...I was a little
nervous about all this.  When I received word that Starbuck was still
alive...I...well, I...I'm not really sure what I thought would happen. 
But I felt...optimistic for the first time in a very long time."  She
smiled briefly at Starbuck, before shifting the baby onto her shoulder as
it began to whimper in her arms.  She began to sway from side to side in
a gentle rocking motion.  "I didn't mean for Starbuck to get into any
trouble, Commander, Captain."  She nodded at each of them in turn.  "None
of this was truly his fault.  He's a good man, but I'm sure you must
realize that, knowing him."
     "Starbuck's not in any trouble," Adama reassured her, looking
searchingly at Starbuck once again.  "At least not under the
circumstances.  Lieutenant, take Honour to the Life Station..."
     "The Life Station?" Starbuck's head snapped up.  Oh, he could see it
now. Honour, I'd like you to meet Cassiopeia. Cassiopeia, this is
Honour...my, uh...wife.
    "I'm fine, really.  I don't need a med tech," Honour protested,
holding up a hand. 
    "You're sure?" Starbuck asked, nodding at the same time, as if
reinforcing her words.  The last thing he wanted to do right now was end
up in a confrontation with Cassie. 
     "All the same, I want you both thoroughly examined," Adama said. 
"Our physicians are among the finest in the Fleet, Honour, and to be
frank, you don't look all that well right now."
     "If you insist, Commander Adama," Honour replied submissively, with
a slight shrug.  She pulled the strap of her tote over her shoulder,
shifting the baby once again before she slowly stood up, weaving slightly
on her feet. 
     Starbuck hastily stood, taking her arm to steady her, before
relieving her of the tote bag.  It was heavy, as if she had all of her
worldly possessions within it. 
     "Thank you," she said warmly, pausing for a moment as the baby began
to burble.  Honour's face lit up at the sound, and she murmured
nonsensically to the tot for a moment.
     "What a happy child," Adama commented with a smile, as the baby
laughed gleefully.
     "She's my biggest joy, Commander," Honour replied.  "Although,
she'll be hungry soon, so we might need to stop to feed her.  Is the Life
Station far?"
     "Not far," Starbuck replied, as she turned the baby around in her
arms so he could get his first real look at his daughter.  She had a full
head of wavy blonde hair and huge blue eyes that seemed to take up most
of her face.  Her almost toothless smile was infectious, as she waved her
hands in front of him, burbling, cooing and laughing.
     Honour giggled.  "She's flirting with you, Starbuck."  
     "Not only is she beautiful, but she has impeccable taste," Starbuck
replied wryly.  
     "Do you want to hold her?" Honour offered.
     "Uh...well..."   
     "Don't worry, she's not breakable," Honour reassured him, passing
the tot over and helping Starbuck settle her in his arms.  "She doesn't
play strange with people."
     His daughter was enchanting.  His nervousness at holding her
disappeared quickly when Tara wrapped her tiny little hand around his
finger, clinging to him, squealing in apparent joy.   It was the decisive
turning point where all his doubts and fears about what would happen next
magically disappeared, leaving him feel suddenly optimistic.  He grinned
at Honour before gazing back down at his daughter adoringly. 
Starbuck-rake, womanizer and heartbreaker-had a daughter.   It
was...unbelievable...and maybe just a little ironic.  "What's her name,
Honour?"
     "Tara."
     "Tara?  Doesn't that mean..."  He swallowed down the sudden lump in
his throat, as Tara started burbling Da Da Da at him.  His heart melted. 
He was in love.
     "'Star' in Arian," Honour replied, "she was called after her father,
of course."
     Starbuck smiled tenderly at his wife.  Not only did he suddenly have
a daughter, but for the first time that he could remember, he had a
family. 


     Starbuck was getting more than a few peculiar looks from passers-by
on the way to the Life Station.  It was a bizarre situation, no question,
but as he walked down the corridors of the Galactica, carrying his
daughter and listening to Honour regale him with humorous stories of the
child's first steps, he realized that it was time to act like a man and
to accept responsibility for his family, as well as for deflowering an
innocent Kobollian Novice the night before she was supposed to take her
final vows to commit to an ancient, sacred sisterhood.  Beyond her worn
cloak and thin, unkempt appearance, Honour had an aura of fragility; her
lingering naivety and haunting beauty made him want to protect her. 
Aside from that, she hadn't complained once about her thin circumstances
or accused him of any wrongdoing, seeming to accept her lot in life as
one of the few thousand Colonials "fortunate" enough to have survived the
Holocaust.  However, there was still that niggling question of what had
happened to her after Hoedus, and why she hadn't contacted him.  Knowing
Honour, as he did, there had to be a legitimate reason...but he still
needed to hear it from her.
     "Honour, after Hoedus..." he interrupted her story, his feet
dragging as the entrance to the Life Station drew closer.  Ahead of them,
two hangar crewmen were heading towards them, visibly startling at the
sight of the infamous Colonial Warrior holding a baby and escorting the
thin, dishevelled woman.  Ignoring their obvious curiosity, Starbuck
shifted Tara in his arms as she played with a buckle on his flight
jacket, sucking and gnawing on it like it was a candied treat.  Babies
were slobbery things.  "I don't understand how..."
     Honour put a hand on his arm, suddenly stopping in the corridor,
looking up at him and nodding.  It was as though she could read his mind
and understood his concerns as she subtly guided him out of the main
stream of traffic for some privacy. "Starbuck, I swear, I thought you
were dead.  That's what the Service told me when I enquired and finally
applied for survivor benefits, just like you and I discussed before we
were sealed."
     "But I thought you were going to wait for me on Hoedus?" he replied
as Tara began reaching for the pin on his collar.  He intercepted,
offering her his already slobbery buckle.
     "If I'd done that, I'd be dead right now," she reasoned as she let
out a long sigh.  "After you launched, the Mercy Ship made ready to ship
out.  I had planned to stay and wait for word of your...return." She
hesitated at her choice of words.  She had known as well as he had that
he might not be coming back from that mission. 
     "Go on," he said.
     "New rumours started flying around that base faster than Viper
pilots," she continued.  She had a faraway look in her eyes, as if she
were back on Hoedus. "We heard that the Cylon forces were closer than we
thought, and that the base was in real danger. Besides that, we realized
we could help others in the outlying planetoids. The High Priestess
convinced me to leave with them, Starbuck. Please understand," she said
plaintively, "I had to think of our baby."
     "Obviously, you did the right thing, Honour, but...where did you go
then?  After all, the Mercy Ship was destroyed..."
     "I had to tell the High Priestess about my condition as well as our
sealing," she admitted, chewing lightly on her lower lip. 
     "Oh," he replied, wincing.  Had this woman kept anything secret in
her entire life?  Was secrecy even in her nature?  "How did she take the
news?"
     "About as well as she did six sectons prior to that when I admitted
we'd made love in the Arian Wellspring," she replied with a mischievous
smile and a sparkle in her eyes, reminding him of the strong-willed and
sassy beauty that he'd flirted with on Aries, when his unit had been
seconded for planetside duty, and had worked side by side with volunteers
from the Kobollian Order to rebuild a city almost completely destroyed by
seismic activity.
     "You told her that?" he asked, aghast. It was a wonder that he
hadn't been struck down by lightning, instead of delayed on Alcor and
declared missing in action. 
     "You don't lie to the High Priestess of the Kobollian Order,
Starbuck," she replied earnestly. "Besides, I couldn't take my final vows
after..." She bowed her head as her face flushed prettily.  "Well," she
smiled fleetingly, "I wasn't certain that a life of chastity and
contemplation was right for me after...our tryst."
     "Ah."  Otherwise, he held his tongue, knowing instinctively that he
shouldn't be proud of that.  He was, alas, only a man.  
     "The Priestess was wise in the ways of wayward young women,
Starbuck, mostly blaming my weakness on a certain wayward young man." 
She smiled briefly.  "On Aries, she suggested that I...reflect on my
actions, and decide whether or not I had purposely acted to delay my
Confirmation."  She lifted her chin, meeting his eyes again. "Penitent, I
remained with the Order, continuing to do the work that I love, and then
realized I was pregnant.  I wasn't quite sure what I should do then.  Of
course, our paths crossing once again at that juncture made me realize I
was being guided from the Heavens, so I sought you out.  It was an answer
to prayer, Starbuck."
     His memory of their meeting on Hoedus was vivid.  He'd just
inadvertently overheard a conversation between the base commander and
executive officer that implied they were about to embark on a one-way
mission. He'd been somewhere between denial and the inexplicable belief
that he could make some kind of difference when Honour had found him,
dropping her news on him like a fifty megon load of cold, bone-chilling
reality. A couple of centars later, they were standing in a dusty office
before a public official with the necessary witnesses, his mind somewhat
at ease that if he was going to die on that mission, that at least Honour
and their child would be provided for with his survivor benefits.  Upon
launching, he hadn't been sure what was more terrifying, the battle
before him or the situation behind him.
     "So you left Hoedus on the Mercy Ship, but what then?  And if you
were getting survivor benefits, how come the Service never put the fact
together that they were paying a wage and a benefit for the same
very-much-alive warrior?" he asked, the baby beginning to fuss in his
arms.  Abruptly, Tara started to squawk, no longer distracted by shiny
buckles or collar pins.  It was about the time that non-baby people
usually wanted to give the baby back, and not surprisingly he felt
impelled in that general direction.
     "Oh, she must be hungry," Honour said, immediately digging through
her tote, still attached to Starbuck, and pulling out liquid primaries. 
"I can't believe she lasted this long after her nap.  You must have
captivated her, just like you did her mother."  She smiled up at him,
taking the baby and doing a near-impossible juggling act as she started
to feed the tot.  "Is the Life Station nearby?"
     "Yeah," he said, taking her arm and steering her in that direction,
"it's just around the next corner."
     And as luck would have it, so were Cassiopeia and Athena.


     Apollo stood staring at the hatch long after it had slid shut behind
Starbuck and his instantaneous family.  He shook his head in disbelief,
finally turning to face his father.
     "Starbuck, a father, and sealed to a devout Kobollian.  I still
can't believe it," he said.
     "Nor can I," Adama said, quirking his eyebrows. "Although in some
ways the former is much easier to imagine than the latter."
     "That's true."  Apollo smiled at his father.  
     "Perhaps I was too hard on him," Adama added regrettably.  "He
certainly made every reasonable effort to find out what happened to her."
     "We were both hard on him."
     "No," Adama shook his head.  "You, at least, gave him the benefit of
the doubt."
     "You know, despite his reputation..."
     Adama met his eyes, indicating he knew exactly what Apollo was
talking about.  As far as relationships went, the warrior had a tendency
to keep things somewhat casual, usually dating more than one woman at a
time, evidently so it was clear that no one liaison was exclusive.  Adama
had presumed it went back to his roots as an orphan, where the young man
had been raised accustomed to relationships being temporary, and now he
could see that Starbuck's experience with Honour would solidify those
expectations.
     "Despite that," Apollo continued, "when it counts, Starbuck doesn't
leave people behind.  Siress Belloby, Cadet Cree, myself more than once,"
Apollo replied.  "I couldn't picture him knowingly abandoning his wife
and child...even if in some ways he just wanted to know if he was still
legally committed to someone."  
     "Legally?  Not emotionally?"
     Apollo shrugged.  In truth, he wasn't certain about that, although
he could once again be selling his friend short.
     Adama sighed.  "I'll have Colonel Tigh update the Fleet Records to
reflect Starbuck and Honour's sealing."
     "And I'll update his personnel file.  What about quarters, Father?"
     "As I'm sure I've heard Starbuck say before, Apollo, I think you're
getting ahead of yourself.  Neither Honour or Starbuck have indicated
that she'll be moving to the Galactica.  Give them some time to adjust
and to figure out exactly how they're going to fit back into one
another's life.  After all, over a yahren has passed since they were last
together."
     Apollo nodded slowly.  "Probably wise...but not the way that
Starbuck usually does things."
     "Oh, I know."  


     Starbuck's first thought was that it was unnatural for Athena and
Cassie to be anywhere together, unless Athena was at the Life Station as
a patient, which admittedly raised an element of concern.  But then why
would they be standing in the corridor and not in the actual health
centre if this visit was purely professional?  Athena didn't look ill or
injured in any obvious way, so he quickly ruled out that possibility. 
His second thought was that the more time he wasted trying to figure out
why the two women were talking face to face, the more likely he was to be
exposed as a married man with a baby.  It wasn't so much that he didn't
want them to know exactly; it had more to do with wanting to be somewhere
more appropriate when they found out...like on a long-range patrol, for
instance.
     Yeah, the more he thought about it as he gazed into the wide and
curious eyes of Cassie and the more suspicious ones of Athena, the more
he realized that what had to happen here in a timely fashion was that
Honour and Tara needed medical treatment.  After all, his wife and
daughter's health had nothing to do with his relationships with Cassie or
Athena.  In fact, turning this into a discussion about him would be
downright selfish, the way that he saw it.
     "Cassie!  Athena!" Starbuck exclaimed, trying to figure out what to
do and say next.  He needed a smokescreen, and Honour once again weaving
on her feet couldn't have been better timed.  He put a supportive arm
around his wife, guiding her towards the Life Station entrance. "This is
Honour, and baby Tara, from the Arian Freighter."
     "Starbuck?" Cassie said in surprise, staring at the unlikely
threesome.
     "What's...?" Athena began to ask.
     Now, it's a well-known fact that women can't think straight while
distracted by handsome, charming and fast-talking men.  As near as
Starbuck could figure, it was a sort of sensory overload that usually
left the ladies befuddled just long enough for him to make good his
escape.  On record, it had proven to be successful about eighty-five per
cent of the time, the ploy's success rate dropping when it had already
been pulled on the subject, or in this case subjects...uh...er...
     Oh, what the frack, it was worth a shot.
     "Lords, am I glad we ran into you, Cass," Starbuck pressed ahead,
inserting just the right amount of relief into his tone. "Honour came
close to fainting when she was talking to Commander Adama."  By now he
had made it past both the women and into the busy medical clinic, looking
around for a free bio-stretcher.  They were right on his tail, like a
couple of Cylon Raiders trying to manoeuvre for a target lock.  "He
insisted that she come to the Life Station for an examination," he
continued, keeping up a continuous stream of conversation to minimize the
chance that Honour might announce their relationship at an inopportune
time, but mostly while he was still there. "Is there some place she can
at least lie down until someone can see her?  I know you're busy, but..."
     It took about a micron for Cassie to recognize there was actually
some legitimacy in his words, as she looked at the ashen Honour.  At this
point, Athena hung back a little, also sensing there might be some truth
in what he had said. Truth was a powerful tool, the key being how much to
impart at the right time.
     "Right this way," Cassiopeia said, leading them to an empty
bio-stretcher. "Honour, I'm Cassiopeia, a med tech," she explained as his
wife sat down. "Has this ever happened before?  Do you have any medical
history that I should be aware of?"
     "Well..."
     Starbuck started walking backwards, planning his retreat. "Well,
duty calls," he announced with his commlink in hand for proper cover.  "I
better report back to Commander Adama, on the double.  Thanks, Cassie,"
he said as the med tech started to run a biomonitor over her patient.
"Honour, you're in good hands," he reassured her, before turning to
almost careen into Athena. 
     Starbuck instinctively gripped Athena by the arms to prevent himself
from barrelling into her, dropping his commlink in the meantime. The
commander's daughter startled, looking at him sceptically, probably
detecting his eagerness to escape the Life Station and the overabundance
of past and present romantic interests in one room.  She bent down to
pick it up, and then stared at it a moment, narrowing her eyes at him
before handing it back.  It was turned off, and now she knew it as well
as he did.  His mouth went dry.  His heart sped up.  She opened her mouth
to say something.
     "Athena," he hurriedly inserted, once again filling the precious and
fragile silence as she paused, her eyes searching his, looking for
answers...or weakness.  "Uh...bye."  He released her as he fled into the
corridor.
     "Starbuck," she muttered under her breath.  "What are you up to
now?"


     "Well, well, well, if it isn't the return of Starbuck," Boomer
announced as the lieutenant dropped into a seat across from him back in
the Officer's Club.  Boomer gestured at the barkeep.  "The way the
captain was looking at you, I figured you'd be either clapped in irons,
or stripped and modulled by now."
     "You don't know how close you are to the truth, buddy," Starbuck
said as a large tankard of grog was placed in front of him.  
     "Come again?" Boomer asked, watching as his friend lifted the brew
and drank deeply.
     Starbuck closed his eyes, sighing as the liquid went down.  While he
had stood there in Adama's office, flanked by the perfect physical
embodiments of the traditional Kobollian household, there had been a
brief period when this whole "family" concept had seemed like a great
idea.   While he'd held Tara, he'd reminded himself that he'd always
liked kids, having spent more than his fair share of time around them
growing up in orphanages.  The older children were encouraged to fill the
role of "big brother or sister", often helping to ease a difficult
transition for those that had lost their families in the war.  Heck, that
time he'd entertained Boxey with Blue Squadron, drinking fruit juice and
taking the kid's mind off his missing father with a few hands of Pyramid
had come naturally to him.  However, there was a vast difference between
"Big Brother" and "Father" or "Husband", and his near confrontation with
Cassie and Athena had once again filled his head with doubts and fears
about his renewed relationship with Honour.  Other than a couple centars
of unplanned, unexpected passion stolen on Aries, they really didn't have
much in common, other than their daughter.   Honour was a devout,
selfless and generous woman who had dedicated her life to helping the
downtrodden and unfortunate.  On the other hand, he was a self-absorbed
Viper jock who wanted to keep as much distance as possible between the
downtrodden and himself, for fear that he might rejoin their ranks
someday.  
     "I'm married."
     Maybe he should have waited until Boomer had swallowed.  As it was,
in complete astonishment Boomer spewed a vaporous cascade of grog most of
the way across the table, and was currently inhaling whatever hadn't been
forced past his lips.  Starbuck took a gulp of his drink as his friend
stopped wheezing and gradually started breathing again.  Meanwhile, the
barkeep wiped up the table with a jaundiced eye on them both.  
     "Married?  Of all the crazy...What the everliving frack...?" Boomer
gasped in a low voice, looking around as if he was betraying some kind of
national secret.
     Which, of course, meant Starbuck had to dredge up the past once
again, bringing his friend up to speed on how he had ended up married,
had been presumed dead, had deduced Honour was the one who was actually
dead, and had put it all behind him, all before he had been assigned to
the Galactica.
     "You never said a word about any of this!" Boomer pointed out. 
"You! You!" 
     "You make it sound like I can't keep anything to myself," Starbuck
said evenly, draining the rest of his tankard.  
     "When it comes to conquests, buddy, you're not exactly discrete,"
Boomer replied, raising his eyebrows. 
     "I'm tact, personified," Starbuck argued. 
     After all, he'd never said a wayward word about how he had
inadvertently ended up dining with both Athena and Cassiopeia on the
Rising Star, securing two separate suites at great expense, and barely
managing to avoid detection by the women until he was well away on his
mission in Recon Viper One.  All in all, the mission had been a welcome
reprieve from his more demanding social exertions.  
     "Tell that to Cassiopeia and Athena," Boomer returned, rolling his
eyes briefly before leaning forward to stare hard at the brash
lieutenant.  "I've heard about Hoedus, Starbuck."  He paused a long
moment, letting his grim features and the lull speak for him.  Battles
won were regaled in history; battles lost were mourned in silence.  "You
didn't think you were coming back, did you?  That's the single biggest
reason you sealed with that poor woman.  You figured you were as good as
dead, and would never have to live up to any of your responsibilities. 
You'd never have to be accountable for your actions." He took another
loud gulp. "Like with every other woman you've dated; it's all about
Starbuck."
     Starbuck dropped his friend's eye, not liking what he saw there.
     "No, you never had any intention of being around to raise that
child...to hear her utter her first words...or take her first steps,"
Boomer continued, a passionate intensity infiltrating his tone.  "I had
sisters, Starbuck," he hissed.  "I don't know whether I should be
completely disgusted with you, or somewhat appeased that you at the very
least made it official, so they'd get your survivor benefits."  He
pounded the table once with his fist and their tankards vibrated.  "And
the reason you tried so hard to find out if she was dead was because you
wanted to know for sure that you were off the hook!  It wasn't out of any
actual feelings you had for this woman!  It was just you being selfish!"
     It was pretty damn close to the truth and in his heart Starbuck knew
it.  The version of the story he'd offered to Adama and Apollo had been
the high gloss variation in which he'd come out the other end looking a
little more remorseful and responsible.  Yeah, back then he'd been so
damn scared of fatherhood and marriage that he'd actually felt some
relief when he'd "confirmed" Honour's death after Hoedus.  Not
surprisingly, Boomer had a way of cutting through the felgercarb and
seeing the naked truth for what it was.  In a way, it was almost
cathartic laying it all on the table.  
     "I know, Boomer," Starbuck groaned, leaning forward, elbows on the
table, dropping his head and raking both hands through his hair.  "So
maybe now you understand why I never brought it up.  It wasn't exactly my
best day."
     "Young and stupid," Boomer said, bitterness dripping from his words. 
"Seven thousand yahrens of civilization and we're still screwing up on
the basics..."
     Through a few strands of hair, Starbuck looked over at him. 
Boomer's jaw was clenched into a scowl, his knuckles white as he gripped
his mug.  His eyes darted around the room, looking everywhere except at
Starbuck.  Now a guy who made a hobby out of reading people's actions
might infer that he'd struck a chord...if the guy wasn't too absorbed in
his own guilt and misery.  "Are you trying to tell me..."
     "We're talking about you, Starbuck.  Not me," Boomer replied curtly.
     "Yeah, well...I'd hate to confuse the issue," Starbuck returned,
raising an eyebrow, wondering if maybe he wasn't the only one playing his
hand close to his chest. "Especially if it meant deflecting any of the
condemnation rolling my way."
     "You're not the first; you won't be the last," Boomer murmured after
a pause, lifting his tankard.  "Tell me...did you miss the constant
service reminders about contraception?  Didn't they even specifically
mention your name in the header?   'Lieutenant Starbuck, pay attention,
this means you!'"  He sat back in his chair again, taking a drink,
composing himself in the way that he knew best.  "Let me guess...you had
a date and missed that lecture..."
     "No," Starbuck replied, shrugging off the steady stream of gibes. 
"However, I did miss the part about how the sacred Arian spring water
rendered protection useless."
     Boomer snorted aloud, shaking his head slightly, a faint smile on
his lips.  He leaned forward further, his forearm resting on the table. 
"Starbuck, the sacred Arian Wellspring was known twelve worlds wide for
its miraculous powers of fertility."
     Starbuck winced.  "Twelve worlds wide, huh?  I didn't know that."
     "Oh, I was willing to bet on that."  Boomer glanced at his chrono
before looking back at the lieutenant.  "So what now?  What are you going
to do?"
     "I wish I knew."
     "You don't know, huh?" Boomer asked, pushing himself up from the
table, the chair behind him loudly grinding across the floor, as he
leaned on the table with both hands, dark eyes cutting into Starbuck. 
"Then I'll tell you.  You be a man, Starbuck.  You rise to the occasion
and be there for your wife and your child.  That's what you do."
     Starbuck sighed heavily.  Everybody was telling him what he should
do, his conscience berating him just as loud as his friends and
superiors.  Still, it just didn't feel right.  Shouldn't doing the right
thing make a guy feel all...virtuous or...something?   Shouldn't the
choice be obvious?   The course of action inevitable?   It was almost
like he was...like he was waiting for something.  An escape route?   Or
maybe a sign of some sort...
     Then it came from above like a message from the Lords of Kobol,
themselves.
     "Lieutenant Starbuck.  Please report to the Life Station.  Your wife
is waiting for you.  Lieutenant Starbuck.  Please report to the Life
Station.  Your wife is waiting for you."
     The Lords were apparently hard up these days, doing voice-overs on
the Unicom, while tormenting their errant son.


     Smack!
     The lingering burn on the left side of his face was worse than the
pain of Athena's open palm when it had slapped him half the way into next
secton.  Lords of Kobol, that woman had a temper, but as he watched her
storm away down the corridor, Starbuck couldn't help but admire her
tenacity, not to mention the exaggerated swing of her hips as she
endeavoured to put as much distance between them as possible in the next
few milli-centons, lest she shoot him dead with his own laser.
     Athena in a rage was a woman of few words, and right now, as far as
he was concerned, the fewer the better.  However, as the saying went,
actions spoke louder than words.  In her case, it was definitely true. 
He'd rounded a corner nearing the Life Station to come face to face with
her, her eyes blazing with hostility and her hand poised for the strike.
     It was one of those moments in life where a guy knew he'd better
take what was coming to him, or else he'd perpetuate the inevitable
punishment as well as that feeling of impending doom that had settled
over him, as surely as the squadron of Cylon Raiders that had once
swallowed up his lone Viper coming out of the Void near Kobol.  Besides,
if this was the extent of Athena's revenge, then it was one Hades of an
improvement over that steam burn he'd received during a passionate moment
with Cassie in a launch tube a few sectars ago.  Then again, he'd never
actually confirmed she'd been responsible for that manoeuvre, but his
instincts were fairly accurate about such things, and the next time he'd
see her at Carillon, she'd been surprisingly possessive when both she and
Cassie had ended up in a felix fight over him in the chancery.  
     "Do you want to report her for striking a fellow officer,
Lieutenant?" a voice asked from behind.
     Starbuck winced, turning slowly to face Colonel Tigh.  The executive
officer looked far more amused than serious about the proposition.  "No,
sir.  I, uh...pretty much had that one coming."
     "Well, I'm glad to see that we're in agreement about that,
Starbuck," Tigh replied, nodding at the warrior, before looking down at
the data pad he was carrying. "For your information, I updated Fleet
Records as per Commander Adama's request.  Honour's marital status was
changed from widowed to sealed, and I'll register you as the child's
father with your approval."  Tigh paused a moment, seemingly uncertain
about how to continue.
     "Sir?"
     "There was actually no mention of your name in either of their vital
statistics records, which is perplexing, don't you think?"
     "She thought I was dead, Colonel," Starbuck explained.  "Just like I
thought she was dead."
     "Still, when the census was done, we did ask for names of deceased
spouses and parents to try and compu-link familial ties throughout the
Fleet.  You'd be surprised how many surviving family members have been
found that didn't realize each other were alive."
     Starbuck considered that a moment.  Why wouldn't Honour insert his
name as her deceased spouse or Tara's father?  His supposed death didn't
make him any less a husband or father, even if he had never fulfilled
those roles.  Once again it occurred to him how strange it was that the
Service hadn't eventually picked up on the inconsistency when she had
applied for his survivor benefits and then he had later resurfaced after
his ordeal in the Willowwacks of Alcor.  "What exactly are you getting
at, Colonel?" 
     "Are you certain that the child is yours, Starbuck?  There are
tests..."
     His jaw dropped, hanging open for a long moment before Starbuck
could respond.  If anybody besides Tigh had said it, he would have
flattened him.  As it was, his body stiffened and his hand curled
involuntarily into a fist.  He took one aggressive step forward, before
bringing himself under tight control.  When he could get the words out,
his tone was acerbic, expressing the outrage he was feeling about his
superior officer suggesting such a thing about his wife.  "Honour's not
exactly the kind of woman that sleeps around, Colonel," he spat out
between clenched teeth. "She was a Novice in the Kobollian Order, for
Sagan's sake!"
     "I didn't mean to imply..." Tigh quickly amended, retreating half a
step, raising his hands before him, the data pad between them.  "I do
apologize, Lieutenant.  I didn't intend to offend you or your wife...it's
just..."
     Starbuck's eyes narrowed.  He couldn't believe this!  
     "There are a few inconsistencies that I happened to notice," Tigh
pressed ahead," and I thought it might be worth mentioning.  But..."  He
frowned as he studied the clearly angry lieutenant.  "I can see now that
I was out of line.  I'll make the necessary amendment to the records. 
I'm sorry, Starbuck."
     Starbuck nodded curtly at him before the colonel turned, heading
back the way he had come.  In a huff, the Colonial Warrior resumed his
course towards the Life Station, mentally putting Tigh's accusations
behind him and preparing himself for his next confrontation, this time
with an embittered Cassiopeia.  Lords, but it was going to be a long day.


     Smack!
     "You Boray!  You...you Porcine!  How could you not tell me that
you're sealed?" she shrieked hysterically, her hand fanning out to her
side, obviously getting ready to slap him again.  Her blue eyes glistened
with emotion; her blonde hair was dishevelled, as if she had been tearing
at it in her angst.  Her entire body was taut with rage.
     As big as a Battlestar was, it clearly wasn't big enough for
Starbuck.  He'd let her slap him once outside the Life Station, figuring
he owed her that, but twice...that would just be stupid.  Quickly, he
intercepted the incoming strike, his face still stinging from her
first...as well as Athena's...and Noday's...
     "I'm sorry, alright?" Starbuck said, noticing they were attracting
unwanted attention, some of it clearly enjoying his discomfiture. 
Probably, he could have sold ducats..."I was married for all of a centar
before I shipped out on a one-way mission, and up until now, I thought
she was dead!  I didn't know I was still sealed!"
     "Liar!" she tore into him, wrenching herself out of his grip,
shoving him away with the flat of her hands against his chest.  "You're a
selfish, deceitful, mong-licking Barge rat!  I should have known!  Mother
was right!"  She stood stock-still for a moment, her form trembling with
the intensity of emotion coursing through her, fists white-knuckled in
front of her.  Abruptly, she let out a shrill scream before pivoting
sharply away on one foot, and stomping away from him, her hair swinging
from side to side on her rigidly straight back.
     "Mother?" Starbuck repeated in shock, watching her angry retreat.
     "I guess what they say is true," Greenbean said, sidling up to him
with a smirk. "Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor Hades a
fury like a woman scorned."
     "Tell me about it," Starbuck returned, his hand rubbing the burning
flesh of his cheek.  He'd been in triad games that were less brutal.
"Mother?" he murmured again.
     "Miriam's very close to her mother," Giles added, joining them, his
gaze also following Miriam's retreat.  "You're really sealed, huh
Starbuck?  I heard the news but I didn't believe it. You sly daggit..." 
     "I didn't know...!" Starbuck again protested.  Why wouldn't anyone
believe him?
     "Of course, you didn't!" Giles returned hastily, before adding more
quietly.  "I'd play it the same way if I were you, pal."  He elbowed
Greenbean.  "As a measure of support for our good buddy, Starbuck, I
think we should console each and every one of the ladies that he's
casting aside...presuming he's casting them aside.  After all, being
married is one thing, being monogamous is another, especially considering
the circumstances.  Eh, Bucko?"
     "Giles..." Starbuck growled in warning.
     "Most of all we need to support Starbuck through what will surely be
a difficult time of transition," Greenbean pontificated, nodding
pointedly towards the Life Station entrance, and the two women ultimately
awaiting him within its walls. "Personally, I believe in selfless acts of
comfort, especially for a friend."  He patted Starbuck on the shoulder,
before turning back to the flight sergeant.  "Tell you what, Giles, you
take the blondes, I'll take the brunettes."
     "Take?" Starbuck asked.
     "He means console," Giles replied with a grin.  "Right, Greenbean?"
     "Right. That's what I mean."
     "Do I have the misfortune of being the first...uh, consolation
prize?" Cassiopeia's voice drifted over to them from the entrance of the
Life Station.  Arms crossed, eyes glaring, posture set in stone, she
looked none too pleased.
     "Uh..." coughed Greenbean, straightening his lanky form, taking a
step back. "Well Cassiopeia, we..."
     "We were just...well...you see, Starbuck actually..." stuttered
Giles, stepping behind Starbuck.
     "Greenbean, Giles, unless you're here to volunteer for our Fleetwide
Prostate Focus Study, which I suspect might be very unpleasant for you
both with our bio-scanners down, then you'd better move along.  You're
obstructing the Life Station entrance," the med tech continued, her tone
cool, yet professional.
     "Prost..." There was a collective male whinge within the radius of
earshot.  
     "See you, Starbuck," Greenbean said, beating a hasty retreat, almost
tripping over Giles in his urgency.
     "Bye!" Giles blurted, skittering away.
     Starbuck was tempted to go with them, taking his prostate with him. 
He had narrowly avoided this confrontation once when he had first dropped
Honour and Tara off, but now he supposed it was time to take his...er,
lumps.  Truthfully, he'd rather face an entire squadron of Cylon Raiders,
single-handed.    
     Without his Viper.
     Unarmed.  
     In the nude. 
     He sighed deeply, turning to finally face Cassiopeia. 
     

     Most women were somewhat predictable, especially in matters of the
heart, but Starbuck had to admit that he didn't quite know what to expect
from Cassie, and that's what scared him the most.  She was strong-willed
and resilient, once surviving the horrors of the Ovions, and never
looking back.  Yet, for a vivacious and beautiful young woman, she had a
surprising patience, wisdom and maturity, probably acquired through her
socialator experience.  While Athena hadn't spoken to him for a secton
when she'd heard about the three Tennas on Arcta, Cassie had only smiled
knowingly, seemingly expecting it of him.  Yet, after the exchange only a
moment ago with Greenbean and Giles, it reminded him that with a few
carefully chosen words, she could still send brave Colonial Warriors
fleeing for safety.  Which side of her was he in store for now?
     "Cassie..." he started reluctantly, looking up and down the
corridor, seeing that the spectators who had watched his set-to with
Miriam were by and large dispersing.  "I..."
     "Your wife is ready, Starbuck," Cassiopeia replied evenly, glancing
down at her data pad.  As always, she looked every bit the professional
in her med tech uniform.  "Her blood sugar was low, which accounts for
her light-headedness.  Thankfully there doesn't seem to be any underlying
medical etiology.  Of course, I understand that conditions on the Arian
Freighter aren't very good, and that nutritious primaries aren't exactly
in abundance, especially after the Agro Ships were destroyed." 
     He paused an excruciating moment, waiting...waiting...probably for a
slap up the side of his head that would leave him needing a biomedical
scan at the very least.  It didn't come.  Instead, she looked back down
at her data pad, making some kind of entry, her lustrous blonde hair
falling forward, hiding her face from his scrutiny.
     After all his agonizing, it was a little surreal.  
     No recriminations.  No accusations.  No hysterics.  Not even a wry
comment about calling a fire fighter for his already flaming face.  Only
a calm, professional demeanour as he stood there mouth agape and
speechless, especially after his confrontations with Athena, Noday and
Miriam.
     So why did he feel even worse than he would have if she had torn a
strip off of him?  More than any other woman he had ever known, Cassie
had a way of keeping him slightly off balance.  She could slip under
carefully erected emotional shields that he had spent a lifetime
perfecting.  Inexplicably, his chest ached and he felt a little sick as
he watched her glistening eyes meet his ever so briefly, before dropping
to examine her data pad once again.  Bit by bit, his selfish defences
crumbled, until he was left vulnerable, exposed to the munificence of her
silent endurance. 
     "Cass..." he breathed, feeling like bilge louse on agar.  
     "It's amazing Honour's baby is so healthy, considering," Cassie
inserted, her tone rising ever so slightly before she brought her voice
under rigid control once again.  "I can only imagine Honour would do just
about anything to keep little Tara well fed and sheltered, like every
other underprivileged mother struggling to raise a family, especially on
her own." She paused a long moment, and the sudden silence was obtrusive. 

     "I, uh..."
     Cassie looked up at him briefly.  "I was on a ship like that once. 
I remember the mothers crying for their children...desperate people..."
She shivered involuntarily. "Remember?"
     "I remember," he replied, still astounded that instead of lambasting
him, she had instead found a common bond and empathy with Honour.  Time
after time, this woman always managed to surprise him.  He took a step
forward, wincing when she reacted by hastily retreating a pace.  "Cassie,
I'm sorry."
     "I know you are, Starbuck," she replied, pushing back a lock of her
hair, regaining her composure.  "Honour explained about your sealing. 
She's very...forthcoming...to the point of indiscretion, actually."  She
smiled thinly.  "I think I know you well enough to understand what
happened." 
     He wondered if she realized how trapped he had felt, that his
marriage was more a gesture of responsibility in what he considered his
last centars, something he felt forced into, rather than an actual act of
love.  Should he tell her?  Did it even matter at this point?
     "I think I understand her too," Cassie said quietly.  "You might
have met your match."
     It was an odd thing to say.  He shook his head in bemusement, afraid
to ask.
     She sighed, seeming suddenly weary.  "We gave them something to eat,
found both her and the baby some fresh clothes, and let Honour have her
first turbo wash in sectars.  She says she's feeling much better," Cassie
rambled, standing aside and motioning for him to precede her.  "She's
ready to be discharged."
     "Thank you," he said humbly, not knowing what else to say.
     "I'd do the same for anyone else," she replied with a delicate
shrug.
     "I know you would," he replied, awed by her compassion and
understanding, feeling about two centimetrons tall next to her.  "I
really am sorry, Cass."
     "Go, Starbuck," she replied with a quaver in her voice.  She raised
her hand, pointing within the health unit.  "Your wife and daughter are
waiting for you."


     Starbuck sucked in a ragged breath, pausing with his hand on the
door to the private cubicle that his wife and daughter were occupying in
the Life Station, garnering both his resolve and his wits before he could
get up the courage to enter.  Cassie's handling of the whole scene was
resonating with him, making him reflect all too late that he hadn't
realized what he had with her until it was as good as gone. 
     It had been a day of self-discovery to put it mildly, and only half
way through it he was wondering how a guy could go from hero to heel in
the space of a couple centars.  Then again, it wasn't his professional
conduct that anyone was questioning.  It was his moral code, or lack
thereof. 
     It was easy to blame it all on circumstances; Hades Hole, he'd been
doing that all his life.  Things just happened to him, having nothing at
all to do with his behaviour, or so he'd believed up until now.  After
all, there were two kinds of luck in life, both good and bad.  For the
most part at some point the Goddess Fortuna would inevitably come to his
rescue after rubbing his nose in a set of disagreeable circumstances for
her own personal amusement.  Not that he'd ever learned anything from
that or really cared, as long as it worked out in the end.
     No, Starbuck had never bought into that masochistic Kobollian
personal edict of guilt and recrimination, despite having it force fed to
him on a shovel for most of his young life.  Going through life wallowing
in regret was no way to live.  For as long as he could remember, his
credo had been that you only went around once, so you might as well enjoy
it.  But he'd never expected it to be at someone else's expense,
especially someone he cared about.
     Maybe even loved...
     He held his breath for a long moment, struggling against the wave of
emotion crashing down upon him.  His eyes prickled threateningly and he
swallowed down the lump that was trying to choke him, while an image of
Cassie fighting back tears burned itself into his consciousness.  Oh, it
was a fine time for epiphanies, too little too late!
     "Starbuck?  Is that you?"
     It occurred to him suddenly that he was standing there with the door
cracked part way open, his feet frozen to the spot.  Pushing open a
door...why was it so difficult?  Because you're closing another one,
Idiot!  That's why!
     "Starbuck?" Honour called again, this time pulling the door open,
finishing what he couldn't.
     Gone were the stinking rags and unkempt hair, leaving behind a
breath-taking woman.  She was clothed in a traditional robe, and her
shining tawny hair hung loosely on her shoulders.  The illuminators above
highlighted subtle tints of red and gold in her silken lengths that he'd
forgotten about until now.  There was colour back in her cheeks, and her
wide blue eyes seemed to smile with pleasure as she studied him.  Then
she frowned ever so slightly, reaching forward and taking his hand, much
as she would a child, drawing him inside. 
     The door clicked shut behind him as his heart pounded in his ears.
     "Are you alright?" she asked in a small, uncertain voice, pausing
only a moment to check on Tara who was playing with some toys on the
floor.
     "Me?" he asked.  The question seemed so out of place, considering
the circumstances. "What makes you think I..."
     "You look so...lost," she replied, reaching slowly upward and
stroking his face with her fingertips, her touch feather-soft. 
"Starbuck, I don't remember you ever being anything less
than...overconfident.  It was as though you'd never doubted a single
thing you'd ever done in your entire life."  She smiled gently at him. 
"How I envied you that."
     "You sure that was confidence?" he asked her, suspecting strongly
now that it had more to do with ignorance and training.
     "I was then," she replied, sighing, dropping her hand, and pushing
her long, wavy hair back from her face.   "I suppose we have a lot of
catching up to do."
     "I guess so."

     "Starbuck," she said, beginning tentatively, "all this time you
thought I was dead...you probably have a full life...a girlfriend...and
here I was so excited that we'd found you, I never even thought to ask. 
I'm so sorry, Starbuck."
     He bit his lip. After all she'd been through, she was apologizing to
him? 
     "Do you want to have the test done?" Honour blurted out, raising a
hand to her mouth as she waited for his answer.
     "T-test?" he echoed in shock.  "What are you...?"
     "There's a test that will prove you're Tara's father; Cassiopeia
mentioned it, as did several others," she replied, her face flushing with
embarrassment. 
     "Cassie suggested...?"  Why would Cassie suggest it to Honour and
not him?
     "She said it would be more of a formality for their records, but
that she'd need your consent, as well." Honour nodded, frowning
thoughtfully.  "I'm glad the other med tech took over our care.  Poor
Tara just cried and cried when Cassiopeia was examining her...I don't
think she likes children very much."
     He raised his eyebrows in surprise.
     "Anyhow, it made me realize that you must be wondering...and I don't
want you doubting me, or thinking that I'm using you..." Honour's voice
faltered, thickening with emotion as she turned away from him, bowing her
head, her arms wrapping around her middle.  
     "Using me?" he replied, cringing that he'd brought another woman to
tears so soon.  "I never thought..."
     "Others obviously do.  You were the only one, Starbuck..." she
continued throatily.  "My first, my last...but there's no way that you
could know that...and if you want to make sure...then I...I think we
should do the test...if you really want to, that is."  Her shoulders
shook slightly, and her voice was now thick with tears, barely coherent. 
"I want your mind at ease.  I know you don't have..." She sniffed loudly,
her hand surreptitiously wiping away tears that she didn't want him to
see.  "You don't have much faith in women..."
     "Is that...is that really what you think?" he said hoarsely, her
words cutting him more deeply than anything that Cassie had said a few
moments before.  Truthfully, even when Tigh had raised the matter of
Tara's paternity, it hadn't occurred to him that Honour would be less
than honest about any of this.  There were only a few people in his life
that he'd believed were morally beyond deceit, and at this moment, he
added her to his mental list.  Obviously, having her fidelity and
integrity questioned by Life Station staff as well as by her own husband
was humiliating to her in the extreme.  It was adding insult to injury,
and it made him feel even worse when he thought about Cassie's apparent
part in it. However, to ease his presumably suspicious mind and erase any
future scepticism on his part, Honour would not only go through with it,
but she'd actually suggested it.
     "We're mostly playthings, aren't we, Starbuck?" she said
matter-of-factly.  "For a little while we get to bask in the glow of your
light."  She drew a deep breath, her voice getting back some semblance of
control, before she straightened her back.  "You have something so
irresistible...so addictive.  You have the ability to make people happy
just being around them, both men and women.  Always the centre of
attention, radiating joy and laughter, that's how I remember you.  It's a
rare gift, Starbuck."  She hesitated a moment, squatting down to take
something from Tara's hand, before replacing it with a toy when the child
squawked in protest.  "I remember...I never felt as alive as I did when I
was with you."  She looked up at him briefly, smiling as she stood again. 
"And when you turned the power of that magnetism on me...I was lost.  And
I treasured every moment of it, Starbuck.  I really did."
     "What do you want from me, Honour?" he asked, his voice raw.  In a
jumble of confused emotions, it just came out that way.
     "Whatever you're willing to give.  I just want you to know your
daughter, Starbuck.  She's such a blessing in my life," she replied,
again looking down at Tara.  "But, I don't want to impose..."
     "Impose?" he replied, not able to conceive that she'd think of it
that way.  "Honour, you're my family!  My only family!"
     She looked back up at him, hope once again lighting her mien.  "You
mean that after the test, we might possibly...?"
     He shook his head, stepping forward and taking her hand.  "There
isn't going to be any test, Honour.  I never doubted for a centon that
Tara was mine.  If you're agreeable to it, I want you both to move to the
Galactica, just as soon as we can get you quarters..."  It was the least
that he could do and it was way overdue.
     She caught her breath, looking at him wide-eyed.  "But..."
     "At first, you and Tara can live separate from me while we all get
to know each other once again."  He noticed she seemed to relax at that. 
He wasn't the Boray that everyone took him for.  "Then maybe someday-when
we're ready-we can move into family quarters."
     "Really?" Honour squealed, throwing herself into his arms, embracing
him.  "Oh, Starbuck!"
     He held onto her tightly, soaking up the warmth of her happiness for
a selfish moment, waiting for it to penetrate the inexplicable numbness
that had swept over him.  He tried to rationalize that he was married to
a beautiful, selfless woman who just happened to be the mother of his
child.  He could do this.  He could be a husband and father.  After all,
it came naturally to most of the male population, why not him?  Centons
later, Honour was plunking Tara back into his arms, and collecting her
pack of belongings. 
     "Where are we going now?" she asked, a new spring in her step as she
did a final check to make sure she had her worldly goods.
     "We'll see if there are any quarters available," he replied, opening
the door easily this time, while he balanced his daughter in his arms. 
He stood aside, letting Honour pass.  "Don't get your hopes up too high,
though.  This is a military vessel, and civilian billets are as tough to
get as Cylon mercy.  Even the best of the civilian ships have waitlists. 
You might need to share with someone for a while."
     "We were sharing with a hundred on our deck on the Arian Freighter,
a pile of girders our only privacy," she replied, leading him across the
Life Station.  "Anything here will be an improvement.  Hopefully, I can
make some kind of contribution, maybe help other single mothers..."
     Not surprisingly, she paused in her thoughts of future
humanitarianism to graciously thank the health unit staff for their care
and consideration.  Starbuck looked around for Cassie, but it seemed she
had made herself scarce.  He supposed he couldn't really blame her.
     Then, as if to disprove his thoughts, Cassiopeia appeared from
another cubicle, hesitating as she spied the small family getting ready
to leave.  She actually stumbled, her face suddenly stricken at the sight
of him with Honour and Tara.  Then she forced herself forward, crossing
the short distance between them, her professional demeanour back in
place.
     "Take good care, Honour," she said solemnly, before smiling down at
Tara in her father's arms.  "That goes double for you, Sweetness.  I can
see you already have your father wrapped around your little finger, and I
don't think you'll have any trouble keeping him that way."
     "True," Starbuck replied, noticing Cassie wouldn't meet his eye.
     Abruptly, Tara surged forward in Starbuck's arms, arms outstretched,
reaching for Cassie, as she burbled happily.  He tightened his grip on
the tot, afraid he was going to drop her.  Lords, but she moved fast!
     "Thank you, Cassiopeia," Honour said with a small smile, inserting
herself between them, before turning the warmth of her smile towards the
rest of the staff.  "Bless you all for the work you do here."
     "We're glad we could help," Cassie replied with a nod.  "Take care
of them, Starbuck."
     "I will," he replied, feeling Honour tug him forward, eager to begin
her new lease on life. 
     He made it to the threshold, and then paused.  How many times had he
heard you should never look back?  Then again, how many times had he
actually listened to such superstition, considering it nonsense? 
Watching his wife's slender form move slowly down the corridor, he risked
it, one small peek back over his shoulder.   
     Cassie's eyes met his and she smiled at him, her eyes glimmering
sadly.  Tenderly, she kissed her fingertips, blowing the kiss his way. 
The gesture was so subtle and it happened so quickly, he wondered if he
had imagined it.  Then she bowed her head and turned away.
     "Starbuck?" Honour called back to him.
     "Coming."    


     "Replenishing the seed for our lone Agro Ship, as well as commencing
force growing still doesn't erase the fact that two of our Agro Ships
were destroyed, along with many highly skilled, and need I say,
irreplaceable crew," Sire Anton reminded the assembled Council members. 
"Word has leaked out among the people.  As much as those in this council
chamber hate to acknowledge that there are indeed 'have' and 'have-not'
ships in the Fleet, there is a sense of unease rising among our, shall we
say, lower class populace, which I have not seen the like of since the
Destruction."
     "Very true, Sire Anton," Siress Tinia agreed, rising from her seat
to secure the floor.  "Fellow Council Members, only this morning it was
reported that a woman on the Mastodon Freighter took not only her own
life, but that of her infant child, leaving behind a handwritten note
that spoke in bitter detail of her despondency." 
     "She murdered her own child?" Adama asked aghast, unable to
comprehend a mother doing such a thing.  A murmur ran through the rest of
the assembled council members.
     "Yes, Adama.  Sadly, she seemed to think it was an act of
compassion, ending her daughter's life, rather than continuing to exist
in squalid conditions that she described as not fit for raising a
God-fearing child in the Kobollian tradition." Tinia paused in the
stunned silence.  "Family Services is, of course, looking into to the
situation, as is Colonial Security."
     Adama closed his eyes, letting out a disheartened sigh.  As much as
they tried to guarantee that all their people had the basic necessities
of food, medicine, and shelter, some of the passenger ships seemed to
have on-going problems with fair distribution of food and other supplies,
resulting in people going without.  The reality was that simply because
someone was in a position of power didn't necessarily mean that they
would use it magnanimously. In contrast, rumour had it that, in some
cases, isolated ship owners or captains were running their vessels like
little fiefdoms, treating their passengers like vassals, with all the
respect that implied.  In these cases, supplies and food were commodities
distributed or withheld based upon labour performed or services rendered. 
However, with little in the way of an alternative living arrangement,
most living in those situations kept silent, rather than face potential
consequences from their "overlords". 
     "Has Social Protection reviewed the distribution process on the
Mastodon Freighter?" Sire Geller asked.
     "According to my records, yes," Tinia replied, taking her seat. 
"They found nothing amiss, although basic hygienic facilities were
recorded as inadequate for the population, which is no surprise. 
Captain..." Tinia glanced down at a data pad for a reference. "Captain
Skiron is proceeding on schedule with his plan for renovations and
upgrades to the ship's plumbing and recycling equipment, which he
submitted during the review.  Sadly, the Foundry ship is barely keeping
up with the fabrication and delivery of needed materials, even when
resources are available. However, other than this single incident, there
have been no legitimate complaints of consequence."
     "And this woman who committed suicide," Anton paused, "what was her
name?"
     "Hope, Sire.  From...Taura."
     "Hope," Adama repeated sadly, the irony heart-breaking.
     "Did Hope have any history of mental illness of which we're aware?"
Anton asked.
     "None, although clearly she wasn't in her right mind this morning,"
Tinia replied.
     "But is this just an isolated but tragic incident, or is it
indicative of an insidious problem on the Mastodon Freighter, and
possibly other ships in the Fleet?" Adama asked.  "Also this morning
another young woman and her child appeared in my office, looking
half-starved and filthy.  They were from the Arian Freighter."
     "The Arian Freighter," Tinia repeated, looking down at her data
tablet. "That's unconventional.  Was she there to issue a complaint,
Commander Adama?"
     "No, as it turned out we were actually able to reunite her with her
husband, in fact, one of my warriors.  Due to an as yet unclear
miscommunication at Hoedus, they'd believed each other to be dead."
     "Hoedus?" Anton first shook his head, and then slowly nodded. 
"Fortunate for her, indeed.  How refreshing to hear a story of happiness,
instead of loss."  He stroked his chin thoughtfully.  "How very
refreshing."
     "Yes," Adama agreed aloud, privately thinking it was more a story of
abject shock on the part of Starbuck, rather than happiness.
     "Adama, would this woman consent to speak with Family Services about
conditions on the Arian Freighter, I wonder?" Tinia asked.  "It would be
advantageous to get the perspective of someone who is moving off ship,
presuming that's the next step?"
     "That she transfer off ship?  I should think that would be next, but
possibly not right away, depending on the availability of quarters.  We
could certainly ask her if she'd agree to an interview.  I had the
distinct impression that she would help in any way she could, especially
if it could be a benefit to others."
     "Excellent.  What is her name?" asked Tinia, waiting to make an
entry on her pad.
     "Honour."
     "And pray tell, Adama, who is the lucky warrior?" Anton asked.
     "Lieutenant Starbuck," Adama replied.
     "Ah, one of our brave young men from the Nova of Madagon mission. 
How delightful," replied the aged councillor with a warm smile.   "An
honest to goodness hero finding his wife and child, believed long dead. 
Just the kind of feel-good story our people need to hear on the tail of
another Cylon attack.  I'll have my aide contact the Comp-Tel Ship to
organize an interview, if you'll inform the good lieutenant and his
wife."
     "An inspired idea, Anton.  Accentuate the positive while we further
investigate the conditions on some questionable ships.  You have my
support," Geller said.
     "It's a public relations dream," Sire Montrose said contentedly. 
"You have mine as well."
     "And mine," Tinia agreed.  "Meanwhile, Adama, perhaps you can step
in and help expedite some quarters for Honour on the Galactica.  It would
help two-fold with her being completely honest with Family Services, and
would set the stage nicely for the image of the happily reunited
traditional Colonial family."
     "Of course."
     As good as the idea seemed in theory, somehow Adama couldn't help
but wonder how it would be affected by the fact that the "traditional"
family in question was Starbuck's.  The boy had a way of complicating the
straightforward.  Experience was telling him that he needed
reinforcements that he could count on to insert his unpredictable officer
into this Council weaved IFB special feature, lest it turn from a
heartfelt and inspiring family segment into a slightly debauched comedy.


     "Nothing?"
     "Nothing.  At least nothing appropriate for family quarters,"
Corporal Faxon replied stone-faced, glancing at his screen once again. 
"Sorry, Lieutenant."
     He didn't sound that sorry.
     "Nothing appropriate?" Starbuck echoed.  "Then you have something?"
He leaned forward over the desk, his hands resting on it.  "They don't
need much, Corporal.  Anything would be an improvement over the sorry
excuse for a passenger barge they've been living on."
     From behind the barrier of his desk in the austere cubicle, Faxon
glanced over at Honour, who was swaying gently on her feet, rocking Tara
in her arms.  Her pretty face was pinched with concern, her eyes close to
welling over.  A man would either have to be made of stone or have the
regulations manual rammed up his astrum to be immune to their tragic
plight.
     "Please don't make us go back there..." Honour whispered quietly. 
"Please..."
     The corporal's lips pressed together in a thin line, his gaze
dropping back to his computer screen.
     "C'mon, Faxon," Starbuck pressed, "she doesn't mind sharing, and
there are only two of them.  On a base ship this big there must be some
place..."
     "We don't need much," Honour nodded hopefully. 
     "I'm sorry, Lieutenant," Faxon replied, this time avoiding looking
at Honour as he raised a hand behind his head to rub his neck.  "There's
already a waitlist.  I can add them to it, but right now there's nothing
available.  Service personnel take priority over civilians, you know
that.  I'd like to help you out, but I can't.  It wouldn't be...ethical."
     "I'm not trying to get you to compromise your integrity, Faxon,"
Starbuck assured him, straightening up again.  "I'm just saying that
there must be some place that we can convert into temporary quarters that
nobody else was earmarked for already.  Someplace no one else wants.  No
harm, no foul."
     Faxon frowned at him, crossing his burly arms over his thick chest. 
"Lieutenant..."
     "Just a place to sleep for now; that's all they need," Starbuck
continued, raising his hands innocently to meliorate the situation.  "I
bet you know the status of every compartment, storage locker and cubicle
on the Galactica off by heart, Faxon. After all, you were the guy
responsible for finding quarters for how many new recruits and refugees
when we started bringing them aboard faster than we knew what to do with
them.  People are still talking about how you're one of the few guys who
knows his job well enough to turn complete chaos into order, armed with
nothing but a holoptic memory and a keyboard."
     "I wasn't the only one..." Faxon began modestly, his fleshy cheeks
flushing slightly. "Corporal Komma..."
     "But you were the one with the ideas," Starbuck enthused.  "I'll
never forget Commander Adama telling me over dinner one night how
satisfying it was to know that there were warriors like you, Faxon, that
weren't limited or inhibited by the rigid constraints of doing things the
traditional way.  Yeah, I still remember him saying to me, 'Starbuck,
sometimes results are more important than procedure, especially when real
people are involved'."  He paused in his story to briefly point a finger
at the non-commissioned officer.  "You're an ideas man, Faxon.  That's
what the Service needs more of."
    Faxon's jaw dropped.  "Commander Adama said that about me?" 
     "Sure he did.  People like you and him realize that in times like
these, we need to come up with new ways of doing things.  After surviving
the destruction of our civilization, you know as well as I do that what
seems impossible is probably something that just hasn't been thought
through well enough.  It's a new world, and we need to find new ways. And
there's always a solution, we just have to figure it out.  Right?"
     Faxon nodded grudgingly.  Starbuck had his attention, but he needed
more than that.  He needed "buy in". 
     "Now, don't get me wrong.  I don't want you to break any rules or do
anything I wouldn't do myself to help a lady and child in need.  Like
you, Faxon, I took an oath to serve the Colonial Nation, to protect her
women and her children," Starbuck said, turning to look at Honour and
Tara.  The image of mother and child pulled on his heartstrings
insistently, inspiring him with an irresistible desire to protect his
family.  He needed Faxon to understand that...he needed Faxon to feel an
empathy with them.  Starbuck held out a hand, and Honour stepped forward
to take it.  He pulled her in close, putting an arm around them both.  "I
just found out that the wife I thought was dead is actually alive,
Corporal.  I can't begin to describe what that's like.  But she came to
me half-starved, filthy and in rags."
     Faxon nodded slowly, absorbed in the oratory.
     "And this beautiful little girl is my daughter, Corporal.  Like you,
I swore an oath that I'd provide a nurturing environment in which to
raise all Colonial children."  Starbuck snorted in disgust.  "Nuturing. 
Have you heard about conditions on the Arian Freighter, Corporal?  It has
one of the densest populations in the Fleet with a completely inadequate
infrastructure.  There's a small commissary for thousands of refugees. 
No privacy.  No place for a child to play.  And the turbo flushes..."  He
saw Faxon grimace.  "Yeah.  They've had three outbreaks requiring
quarantine in the last two sectars." Starbuck shook his head in dismay,
remembering how Honour and Tara had looked when he had first seen them in
the commander's office.  "I can't in all good conscience take them back
there, Corporal.  Sagan's sake, help me out here.  I'll do anything you
ask.  Anything at all."
     Faxon sighed, looked at him contemplatively for a long moment.  Then
his fingers crept forward finding his keyboard.  The soft tapping was a
glorious sound, signifying hope.  "Anything, huh?"
     "Whatever you ask.  Say the word," Starbuck repeated, realizing he
meant it.  What had begun as a classic attempt to get his own way had
concluded in a sincere plea for help, one warrior to another.  Faxon
wasn't a pilot, but all Colonial Warriors lived by an unspoken code
upholding honour, allegiance and brotherhood.  Sometimes they just had to
get past several pages of the regulation manual to remember it.
     "I meant that you'll be satisfied with anything, not that I want
something," Faxon clarified, eyes locked on the screen.  "We take care of
our own, Lieutenant."
     "Bless you," Honour breathed in relief. 
     "Don't get your hopes up, there's not much..." Faxon replied.
     "A nook, a cranny, even an out of service turbo lift, anything..."
Starbuck coaxed him, sucking in a breath, holding it hopefully.
     Faxon chuckled, his concentration now rapt on the field on his
screen.
     Starbuck glanced down at Honour who was looking up at him almost
reverently.  Her emotions had travelled the spectrum of elation to
devastation from arrival to when Faxon had first told them he had
nothing.  She clearly hadn't counted on Starbuck's persuasive tactics
followed by his even more convincing earnestness.  Evidently, there was
nothing he wouldn't do if it would get his wife and child decent
accommodations.  Now...onto the logistical side of things, whose bunk
could he steal?  He smiled as an image of Flight Sergeant Ortega abruptly
came to mind.
     Beep!
     The noise had come from Faxon's computer, indicating an in-coming
message. 
     "Just a centon, Lieutenant," he said, his concentration never waning
from his screen.
     Starbuck sighed, raking a hand through his hair anxiously. 
Situations like this often counted on maintaining the momentum.  He was
so close.
     "What's this?" Faxon said aloud, glancing up at them before looking
back down at his screen.  He raised his eyebrows, then he half-smiled,
sniffing in apparent amusement.  "Looks like this is your lucky day,
Lieutenant."
     "It is?" Starbuck asked, confused.  Not so far, it hadn't been.  Not
by a long shot.
     Faxon smiled, leaning forward almost conspiratorially.  "I guess we
have a place for your wife, after all."


     "Ohhh!!!" Apollo groaned aloud, shaking his head in denial that his
father could ever ask something like this of him.  "Starbuck and Honour
as the joyously reunited couple?  Father, you know the circumstances! 
This isn't exactly the inspirational happily-ever-after story for the IFB
that the Council is looking for!"  He blew out a short, forceful breath. 
"This is Starbuck!"
     Seated on the edge of his desk, his arms crossed, Adama nodded in
apparent agreement.  "That's why I need your help, Apollo.  Starbuck
listens to you.  He heeds your counsel."
     "Starbuck?"  Apollo snorted in disbelief.  Was he actually hearing
this?  "Starbuck doesn't heed anybody's counsel, Father, especially when
it comes to women.  He does whatever seems right at the time, for what he
thinks is the right reason."  He shook his head again, and then looked up
at the ceiling." I can't believe that the Council talked you into this."
     "Apollo, early in the cycle, a woman on the Mastodon Freighter took
her own life." He handed Apollo his data pad.  "And, Lords help us, that
of her child.  A girl. Scarcely a yahren old.  She left a note speaking
of her despondency."
     "Dear Lord," Apollo murmured, eyes glued to the report, trying to
imagine how sick...how desperate someone had to be to do something like
that to their own child.  The woman's note was rambling; barely coherent,
sure proof of a mind falling to bits.  He couldn't comprehend the
circumstances that would have to arise for him to even fathom doing harm
to Boxey.
     "Yes, I felt the same way, son," Adama said quietly, the sorrow on
his features bespeaking a father's understanding.  "Sire Anton is
correct; we need some way of raising the spirits of our people...of
giving them hope."  He stood, gesticulating with one hand. "These little
vignettes into the lives of real people might be just what we need,
especially in light of the destruction of two of our Agro Ships.  If
they're successful, Inter Fleet Broadcasting might expand the idea to
focus on some of our warriors exclusively..."
     "But Starbuck?" Apollo repeated.  "Isn't there somebody else?
     "Apollo, I can't just pull happy reunion stories out of my dress
cape!" Adama replied in exasperation.  
     Apollo smiled at the absurdity of the commander's words, a vision of
Adama as a stage prestidigitator floating past his mind's eye.  "Alright. 
I understand.  So...you want me to make sure that Starbuck doesn't do
anything...untoward."
     "After Serenity, foolish is the word that came to mind, actually,"
Adama replied with a smile.  "I'm hoping that between you and Honour, you
can keep him in line.  It's a five centon segment on the Primary Report. 
That's all."
     Apollo sighed, nodding.  "I'll do my best."
     "That's all I ask," Adama said, briefly gripping Apollo's arm,
before walking him to the threshold.  "He's in the stateroom."

 
     "Dear Lord..." she murmured demurely.
     "Holy frack!" he exclaimed simultaneously. 
     Dumbfounded, Starbuck and Honour stood on the threshold of the suite
he'd been given the entry code for, gasping in astonishment at the
amenities within.  It wasn't just any old officer's quarters; it was an
entire suite of rooms, even bigger than the commander's own quarters!  
Honour's mouth was hanging open in complete shock as she looked around at
the opulence that Starbuck would lay odds she'd never seen the likes of
before, even in pictures. The d‚cor was bordering on ostentatious, the
one element missing being a fat, unctuous bureautician to wallow in the
splendour of the rich fabrics and colours, accented by fine Aquarian
glassworks and Cancerian figurines, both marble and bronze.   
     What the frack was it doing on a Battlestar?
     "There must be some mistake," Honour said hesitantly, her fingers
stroking the kerchief covering her hair. "This is..."
     "So lock the hatch and don't tell anyone," Starbuck returned,
striding forward into the room and turning around in a quick circle, his
daughter in his arms.  Tara giggled gleefully with the motion, and
Starbuck treated her to another spin, addicted to the wide, mostly
toothless smile of the tot and her infectious merriment.  He held her in
front of him, tossing her lightly into the air, listening to Honour's
gasp of warning and Tara's squeal of delight.  He laughed out loud.  "You
like that, huh, Tara?  You must be a thrill seeker like your old man." 
     "Why doesn't that surprise me?" Honour asked, her smile one of
pleasure as she finally ventured into the suite, her pack still slung
over her shoulder.  "Seriously, what is this place?  We could house three
or four families in here!"
     "A well-kept secret, that's what it is.  After all, I didn't know it
was here," Starbuck replied, putting Tara down on an ornate carpet. She
immediately grabbed a tassel and popped it into her mouth, cooing with
pleasure as she masticated around the fibrous material. 
     "Tara!" Honour said sharply, swiftly moving to intervene.  She
picked up the little girl, substituting a rag for the soggy tassel. "Be
warned, Starbuck, she puts everything in her mouth that isn't battened
down."
     "Reminds me of one or two warriors I know," he replied. 
     Honour giggled, smiling at him.  "You always could make me laugh."
     "It's a gift.  Especially, when my superiors expect me to do manual
labour," he replied, thinking back to their shared time together on
Aries.  While helping to rebuild a city devastated by seismic activity
was apparently "character building", according to his unit's commanding
officer, it hadn't necessarily been Starbuck's forte.  Actually, after a
solid sectar he'd realized that he was much better at blowing things up
than he was at rebuilding them.  By and large, his fellow warriors agreed
with him.  Still, blowing things up was rewarding unto itself, especially
if it was Cylon in nature.  It also took a lot less time.  Face it,
Bucko, you're an immediate gratification kind of guy.
    "I don't know how you did it..." she said softly, putting Tara down,
turning back towards him.
     Starbuck looked over, detecting something amiss in her tone of
voice.  Honour licked parted lips, swallowing almost convulsively before
she dropped her bag to the floor with a thud, never taking her eyes off
him. She took a first tentative step towards him.  Then she took another.
     "I...uh..." he stammered.  Somehow, he hadn't expected this.
     Time seemed miraculously suspended while she drifted across the room
towards him, the alluring sway of her hips not hidden by her shapeless
robes.  She had the sensual grace of a dancer, captivating him with her
virtuous beauty, while mesmerizing him with the smouldering lure in her
deep blue eyes.  Idly, she tossed aside the kerchief covering her head,
lifting up her thick, tawny mane with both hands, and finger-combing the
lustrous lengths, before letting it cascade in waves across her
shoulders.  Then she stopped in front of him, a feral smile on her
enticing lips. 
     In the space of a few heartbeats she had changed from Kobollian
Novice to erotic siren; he was taken completely off-guard.  Honour
plucked at his tunic where it was tucked into his pants, lowering her
sultry gaze, a mix of coquettish innocence and wanton declaration.  Her
sweet perfume intoxicated his senses, making the rest of the world simply
disappear around them.  She put him in mind of a jungle felix, wild and
sensual.  Predatory.  His mouth was suddenly dry.     
His heart pounded in his chest.  Every nerve ending tingled.  He wanted
to consume her, yet he didn't dare move for fear it was all a dream.
     "Hold me," she whispered huskily, tilting her face upward, her
seductive gaze promising him so much more than a simple embrace.  She
said it again, almost a command.  He felt himself responding, almost
against his will.
     "Honour..." he breathed, his arms creeping around her, pulling her
soft willing curves against him.  Her hands were already under his tunic,
her teasing, tantalising touch on his flesh.
     "Ah hem!" Someone loudly cleared his throat.
     They startled like two guilty teenagers caught making out on her
mother's longseat.  Honour pulled out of Starbuck's embrace, turning her
back on the intruder, regaining her composure.  
Starbuck reflexively turned towards the hatch.
     "It was open," Apollo explained, hovering on the threshold, looking
more than a little surprised and embarrassed at what he'd walked into. 
     Turning away, Starbuck let out a ragged breath, raking a hand
through his hair.  He took a moment to tuck in his tunic as he willed his
body back under control.  About now, the captain would be making his
apologies and beating a hasty exit, leaving them again alone. A long
moment of uncomfortable silence stretched into another when that didn't
happen.  Honour picked up Tara, settling her on a hip, cooing to the
child, once again the pristine image of motherhood.  She was like two
different women, one so high-principled and virtuous, the other more
erotic than a high-level socialator...
     He winced at the guilt that suddenly shot through him. 
Cassiopeia...
     "The commander sent me, Starbuck," Apollo said, this time taking a
step into the suite. 
     "Oh." 
     At least it explained why Apollo hadn't left.  His friend was
looking at him strangely, his gaze swinging back and forth between him
and Honour.
     "At a loss for words?  Felix got your tongue?" Apollo teased him.
     "Just about," Starbuck repeated wryly, letting out a slow breath and
trying to shake off the conflicting emotions doing their best to
overwhelm him, and close to victory.
     "Starbuck," Honour protested indignantly, her tone subdued as she
affixed the kerchief back into place over her hair.
     "Sorry," he murmured, sucking in one more breath before turning to
face Apollo.  "Duty calls. Uh...what did the commander want, buddy? 
Long-range patrol to Eternia?"
     "We wouldn't do that to you at a time like this," Apollo replied,
trying without much success to contain his apparent mirth.
     "Don't want the ranks accusing you of favouritism, after all,"
Starbuck mused aloud.
     "Exactly."
     Apollo ventured into the centre of the room, turning to soak up the
ambience.  He slowly looked around, his eyes drinking in the lush d‚cor. 
"Wow," he said.  "This is incredible."
     "Then you didn't know about it either?" Starbuck asked him,
welcoming a chance to divert all attention from him and Honour.
     "I knew it was here.  The only time we had the occasion to use it
that I know of was when the Orion Chancellor was aboard."  Apollo paused
in thought.  "That was before your time."
     "So it's for statesmen and the like?" Honour asked. "Not actual
crew."
     "Yes," agreed Apollo.  "President Adar used a similar stateroom for
his quarters aboard the Atlantia."
     "Which raises the question, why did Faxon give me the entry code? 
Did he, uh...overstep his authority?" Starbuck asked, knowing full well
he had probably encouraged that.
     "Not exactly..." Apollo hesitated, glancing over at Honour.
     Starbuck sighed, turning to his wife.  "Easy come, easy go?"
     "That's alright," Honour replied.  "The Lord takes care of His
children.  Something will come up." She bowed her head, cradling her
child, planting tender kisses on Tara's blonde hair.
     Apollo frowned.  "Actually, this isn't an error, but it is a
temporary solution.  Honour and Tara can stay here for now.  But there's
a small catch, buddy."
     "A small catch?" Starbuck echoed, feeling like he was missing
something.  There was 
always a catch.   "How do you mean?"
     "It's tailor-made for you, Starbuck."  Apollo grinned.  "You'll get
to be the centre of attention, after all."
     "The centre of attention?" Honour said nervously.  "How so?"
     "Well..."
 
 
     It had seemed so simple, a request in exchange for extravagant,
albeit temporary, quarters aboard the Galactica.  If Honour could frankly
discuss the Arian Freighter conditions with Family Services and then
spare five centons with Starbuck for a special IFB segment explaining how
they had met, been sealed, separated and then reunited, that was all the
Council wished.  There had been only one problem.
     "May I think about it and let you know, Captain Apollo?"
     Starbuck's mouth had dropped open in shock.  
     "Uh...is there something that you're worried about, Honour?" Apollo
had asked.
     She had ducked her head, considering her reply for a moment.  "I
still have friends on the Arian Freighter, Captain.  I don't want to do
them more harm than good."
     "I'm sure the enquiries would be handled discreetly."
     "I wish I had your confidence, Captain Apollo, but I have experience
otherwise."
     "What about the IFB?"
     "That's impossible."
     "I don't understand.  Why?"
     Apollo was still shaking his head, thinking back on it.  Both he and
his father had been so sure that helping Family Services and inspiring
the Fleet with her reunion story would be something that Honour would be
thrilled to do.  However, apparently having her image replicated through
the IFB was something forbidden by the Fundamentalists of the Kobollian
Order, dating back to an ancient writ in the Book of the Word. 
     While her explanations on the surface seemed reasonable, there was
something that just wasn't sitting well with Apollo about Honour.  Beyond
a doubt he could trace that uneasy feeling to the moment when he had
almost walked in on the wholesome Kobollian Novice turned fiery vixen,
completely spellbinding a man who was no stranger to the allure of the
opposite sex.  Lords, even Apollo had felt an involuntary carnal stirring
under the force of her undeniable sensuality, and he hadn't been the one
directly in her sights.  It seemed so immoral or depraved.
     Then again, maybe he just needed to get out more.
     The truth was he had come full circle, from the judgmental captain
to the supportive friend, but had then shot off on another trajectory,
finally worried about Starbuck.  Was he overreacting?  Hades hole,
Starbuck had probably been champing at the bit to ditch Apollo and have
Honour to himself, especially in light of her erotic show.  Yet the "two
faces" of Honour seemed so paradoxical, that Apollo couldn't help but
wonder if her nature was more duplicitous than he wanted to believe, even
if only for Starbuck's sake.
     He sighed, realizing his prejudice might stem from his own Kobollian
upbringing where Priestesses in training would never in a million yahrens
swank like a bawdy streetwalker, oozing promiscuity and affecting every
living male within sight...
     "Apollo?"
     Apollo startled, pulled from his troubled thoughts at the sound of
the familiar voice.  "Colonel?"
     "Might I have a word?"
     "Sir?"
     "It's about Starbuck."

     
     While Starbuck had been relieved when Apollo had left them alone to
talk, he hadn't quite imagined his conversation with the unassuming and
docile ex-Kobollian novice would go like this.  
    "I can't," Honour said, defending her refusal to acquiesce to the
commander's requests.  "You don't understand."
    "No, I don't understand!" Starbuck exclaimed, wincing when Tara
started to whimper at his tone of voice.  
     Honour was at the toddler's side in a moment, scooping her up and
cradling her.  Gone was the sexy siren that had captivated Starbuck so
completely before Apollo had arrived.  In her place was the fragile
mother that he had seen earlier in the commander's office.  Why did he
suddenly get the feeling that she was hiding behind their child?
     "Please don't yell; you're upsetting Tara," Honour said quietly.
     "I'm not yelling," Starbuck replied, sucking in a breath between
gritted teeth before blowing it out again.  "You told Apollo that your
Order doesn't permit you to replicate your image, yet you know as well as
I do that you have a holoptic of us in your bag from the day we were
sealed."  He threw up his hands in frustration.  "What's the difference,
Honour?  Some obscure subsection specifying how much of your soul is
damned to Hades Hole if you defy holy writ just a little bit?  Let me
guess, you have soul to spare?"
     She looked up at him, and he was sure she looked surprised for an
instant before she turned her back on him, shushing their child.  Her
voice, when it came, was thick with emotion.  "That's hurtful, Starbuck. 
Why are you doing this?"
     "Because I happen to believe that we should do what Commander Adama
asked."  He waved a hand at the luxurious accommodations.  "It's the
least we could do, actually!"
     "And of course it has nothing to do with him being your commanding
officer?" She looked at him, accusingly. "Or that his son and you are
obviously friends, buddy?" she scoffed, actually trembling in anger. 
"You're putting their wishes before our welfare, and belittling my
religious beliefs!"
     "That's ridiculous!  You're being irrational!" he returned, angry at
her accusations.
     Tara's whimpers suddenly escalated, turning into a sharp wail that
would send the very daggits of Hades Hole careening back to the
underworld.  He cringed, wanting very much to go with them.  Then regret
began to rear its ugly head...
     "Please leave," Honour said over her shoulder, while Tara screeched.

     "But..."
     "Get out!" she shrieked shrilly.


     "Apollo, the more I learned, the more I realized that there were a
few things that bothered me about the sudden appearance of Starbuck's
wife," Colonel Tigh said, walking down the grey, stark corridors of the
Galactica.  "For instance, as I understand it, Honour claims that she
applied for survivor benefits after Starbuck went missing at Hoedus.  If
that's true, then why wasn't he eventually notified of his wife's obvious
existence after he was rescued?"
     Apollo nodded.  "Starbuck said something about the nightmare of
being reinstated after being officially recorded as missing in action." 
Apollo slowed his step, shaking his head.  "I admit that surprised me. 
He even mentioned his file being a particular problem."
     "A particular problem?" Tigh repeated.
     "That's what he said."
     "More so than his fellow warriors?" Tigh asked.
     "So I gathered.  He said it took him a while to get reinstated to
active duty, during which time he was actually trying to find out if
Honour had survived."
     "I see.  If only we could retrieve some of those records to find out
what the hold-up was."
     "Isn't that information on Starbuck's file?" Apollo asked.
     Tigh shook his head.  "No, I'm afraid not."
     "Isn't that unusual?  Our files are supposed to record everything. 
You can't change your socks without a notation in there.  Shouldn't we
have record of whether or not anyone collected benefits on Starbuck's
behalf during that time?"
     "We should.  We should also have record of the Colonial Service
notifying Honour that Starbuck was alive, and that all benefit payments
were being stopped...but we don't."
     "I don't understand.  Why not?"
     "I wish I knew, Apollo.  It's almost as if that part of his file had
been erased."
     "Erased?  What makes you think that, Colonel?"
     Tigh frowned, hesitating.
     "Sir?" Apollo prompted him.
     "Well...according to the computer's redundant time index record,
Starbuck's file was tampered with somewhat recently."
     "Come again?" 
     "Just before the infiltration mission on Arcta."  Tigh paused in the
corridor as they drew closer to the Colonial Security Office.  "It occurs
to me that it really isn't that difficult to breach security and alter
official documentation, as long as one has access to our computer system,
as well as some basic skills.  I suppose we just figured no one would be
brash enough to try it."
     Apollo closed his eyes briefly, almost able to see the scene play
out.  Yeah, he could just imagine it: Starbuck manipulating his way onto
a mission, while grumbling in his usual way when later he "discovered" he
was assigned to participate.  It was classic Starbuck: the reluctant hero
they all knew and loved.  Why hadn't he seen it before?  Probably because
you were distracted by a deadly weapon trying to destroy the Galactica
and the Fleet...Feeling more like a school boy than a strike captain, he
still felt the instinctive need to defend his friend.  "Colonel, are you
inferring that Starbuck...?"
     "Over Arcta?" Tigh raised his eyebrows.  "Most likely, although I
can't prove anything.  However, I had an enlightening conversation with
Corporal Komma."
     "Komma?"
     "He was the on-duty technician when the computer was putting
together the task force.  Komma recalled leaving his station in
Starbuck's charge when a Kobollian priest that he'd known as a youngster
was passing by."  His lips tightened sceptically.  Clearly he wasn't
convinced the story was entirely accurate.  "Don't try to defend
Starbuck, Apollo.  He wanted on that mission for one reason: to recover
the missing cadet under his command.  I still remember him getting close
to insubordination on the Bridge when he made his report.  He was upset
about losing those boys, and I could hardly blame him.  He wanted to go
down to Arcta so badly that he would have done anything to get there."
     "But..."
     "I'll deal with that another time," Tigh continued.  "While I don't
agree with his methods, I do understand his motivation."
     Apollo nodded.  He understood what it was to suffer the ravages of
guilt, doubt and "what if" after losing a warrior under his charge. 
While he recognized that Starbuck had broken regulations, privately, he
admired his friend's resourcefulness, determination and allegiance, not
to mention his Diabolis-may-care attitude about getting caught.  Thinking
back, Apollo had racked his brain trying to think of some way to get
Starbuck back after losing him in the Void before Kobol.  In that case,
there had been no recourse.  His emotional wounds still raw from losing
his mother and Zac, the strike captain realized now that his bitter
disappointment might have eaten him alive if it hadn't been for Serina's
support...He took a deep breath, putting an abrupt stop to his dark
musings. 
     "What about the part of his records regarding his survivor benefits,
Colonel?  You don't think Starbuck would alter those, do you?"
     "Honestly, I can't see how it would be an advantage to Starbuck to
erase those, unless he's trying to hide something that I can't for the
life of me figure out.  As well, according to all the acquired data, the
current record of that time period hasn't been altered since Starbuck was
transferred to the Galactica."
     "Then you're suggesting that someone else altered those records?"
Apollo surmised.
     "It's possible."
     "But who and why?"
     "I don't know.  Not yet anyway."  He waved a hand towards the
Colonial Security Office.
     "There's more?" Apollo asked.
     "I'm afraid so."


     He'd shared some of his most exhilarating moments with her.  Sleek,
sexy, she responded equally to Starbuck's touch whether he lovingly
coaxed her or pushed her to her limits of endurance.   She didn't get
jealous.  She didn't have secrets.  Her mood was never labile.  She was
predictable, almost to a fault.  She always forgave him his vices and
never expected more than he was willing to give.  But over and above
everything else that he truly appreciated about her, he always knew where
he stood with her.
    "Lords of Kobol, why can't women be more like Vipers," Starbuck
lamented, blowing out a puff of smoke as he climbed up onto his bird,
sitting on the edge and looking off across the launch bay.  
     A wife, a daughter, the family that he had been conditioned to wish
for since he was a child, yet he was far from "happy" in the
"happily-ever-after" sense.  If a guy took the time to analyse his
feelings-precisely as long as it took to light his smoke, if anyone was
wondering-then the truth was he hadn't felt this trapped since the last
time he'd been captured by the Cylons.  Exploring that line of thought,
at least with Cylons a guy knew where he stood.  They wanted him dead,
and at this point, he actually respected that.  After all, the feeling
was mutual. 
     Sworn enemies, they understood one another. 
     With Honour, however, one centon she was as fragile as a delicate
blossom in a harsh, frigid, breeze, and the next she was pulling his
clothes off.  Then finally when he hadn't succumbed to tears and had
stood up for what he had believed in, she had turned into some kind of
harpy, determined to burst his eardrums, driving him away with her vile
screeching as effectively as a Cylon phalanx.  A sceptical guy might
start to wonder if she was hiding behind her divergent, if oft times
mutually exclusive roles as devout Kobollian and mother, but why?  What
did she have to hide?  His head was spinning, trying to keep up with her
pendulous mood swings.  Add to that the constant barrage of expectations
that everyone else seemed to be firing at him, telling him how he should
act and feel, what he should do...well, it made a Viper pilot want to
jump into his bird and leave them all far behind.
     Sighing, Starbuck climbed into his cockpit, taking another drag of
his smoke, his head slumped back against the headrest.  He could picture
it now: one man, one Viper and the whole galaxy out there in front of
them to explore.  Lords, it was like a beautiful dream, racing at full
turbos through a sparkling starscape, away from all his troubles.  He
could discover a brave, new world.  Call it the Planet Starbuck.  He
could live out his life according to his own rules, doing, thinking and
feeling without anybody telling him it was selfish or wrong.  He could
run away...
     Oh yeah, he could be selfish, irresponsible, and every other
negative adjective associated with him since he was a young man. 
Obviously there was something wrong with him to even entertain the idea
of abandoning his wife and child.  He shook his head, wishing now that
he'd taken Honour up on doing the paternity test when she'd offered.  But
he couldn't go back on that promise, not now.  It would be dishonourable,
ignoble, contemptible...also descriptions associated with him of late. 
     Damned if you do, damned if you don't...damned in general, Bucko...
     Yeah, he was feeling lower than a bilge water rat.  He tried to
shake off his funk, hating just how sorry he felt for himself.  After
all, he was as much an optimist as he was a cynic, and yes the two could
exist concurrently.  He was living proof.  You're blowing things all out
of proportion, Bucko.  Lord Sagan, if you can't trust the woman you
married, who can you trust?  
     No, he needed to turn things around again, and get back on track. 
He should probably do something to make up for their fight.  He wasn't
going to say he was sorry. After all, he wasn't. But if he could think of
something meaningful...thoughtful...something she would appreciate enough
to forgive his smart astrum remarks about her beliefs, well, at least it
would be a good way to ease the way to his wife letting him back in her
door  .  But what would that be...?
     He smiled.
     As ideas went, it was probably one of his better ones.  He grinned,
clamping his fumarello between his teeth and pushing himself up out of
the cockpit.  Honour would love him for this, and after all, wasn't that
what marriage was all about?


     "So this is the scene of the tragedy," Sire Anton said, shaking his
head in the Reclamation Centre of the Mastodon Freighter.  He sighed
loudly as he stared up at the huge vat of chemicals used in diluted
quantities for breaking down solids in the waste water before it was
filtered.  It had to be at least six metrons tall and half as far across.
From what he'd been told, it had an access port about a half metron
square on one end, presumably for testing the acidity.  They'd been
informed they could go no closer, since, aside from the ordinary dangers,
Colonial Security was investigating it as a crime scene.  Indeed, it was
visibly cordoned off. 
     "She...stepped right into it, carrying her child, leaving her note
behind," the attendant, Dex, explained. 
     "How...absolutely horrific," the old Councilman replied. "Her
baby..."
     "Yes, Sire Anton.  Normally, it's secured, but she used a pry bar to
break the locking mechanism.  The alarm didn't go off."
     "Why not?"
     "Maintenance isn't all it could be, Sire," Dex continued, looking
around at the people gathered to see the popular and well-known
bureautician supporting his people.  Short, thin and bald, and slightly
stooped over, the lines in Dex's weathered face were deeply creased in
sorrow at the loss of life in his workplace.  "Of course, no one ever
thought..." His words trailed off and he shook his head mutely.
     Anton put a hand on his arm.  "Of course you didn't, my boy.  Who
among us could foresee such a...such a dreadful end?  Did the young woman
have any other family?"
     "No, sir.  Just her and the child.  They kept to themselves."
     "Perhaps that had something to do with her despondency," the
Councilman mused.  "A shared burden is an easier one to bear." He turned
to direct his comments to the group at large.  "Something we should all
keep in mind during difficult times like these."
     There were a few murmurs and nods. 
     "We plan to improve security to this area, Sire, making sure that
nothing like this ever happens again," Dex informed him. 
     Anton nodded.  "Any plan that improves the safety of both our
workers and our civilians is a welcome one, Dex."
     "Sire," Erastus, his aide, stepped forward, with an eagerness and
energy so indicative of the young.  "It's time to go to the commissary
for the memorial service."
     "Yes, of course," Anton said, turning to squeeze the attendant's
forearm.  "Dex, I thank you for taking the time out of your important
work to take an old man on a tour of your facility.  May the Lords of
Kobol bless you and keep you well, guiding you through this difficult
time."
     "And you, Sire Anton," the attendant replied respectfully, watching
him depart, many of those gathered continuing to follow them.
     "Erastus, have we heard from Lieutenant Starbuck yet about whether
or not he and his reunited family have agreed to the IFB interview?"
     "No, sir," Erastus replied, feeling as though he was being swept
along in the crowd, they were so close.  As usual, nothing fazed the
venerable sire.  "However, Zara has been personally checking in
regularly, impatiently awaiting an answer."
     "Hmm, I'll prod Adama again.  He sounded certain that this Honour
would agree to our terms.  We very badly need a story like this right
now.  People need to know that there's good along with the bad.  They
need to be able to put themselves in Honour's shoes and identify with her
difficult journey, ending in a joyous reunion with her long-missing
husband."
     Erastus smiled.  "That's not half bad, Sire.  Perhaps Inter Fleet
Broadcasting will use it."  Someone tugged at his robe from behind, and
he half-turned in irritation before returning his attention to the sire.
     Anton smiled in delight.  "Do you think so?  Of course, we'd need to
work in the child...the separation...the struggle..."
     "Yes, sir.  And the fact that they both thought the other dead."
     "Ah yes, that as well." Anton paused, seeing the Kobollian priest
ahead of them and lifting a hand in greeting.  He pivoted back to his
aide, stopping in stride as people funnelled past them.  "Erastus, the
delay could be as simple as them needing to move Honour's things from the
Arian Freighter to the Galactica.  Tedious reality could be coming
between me and my public relations inspiration.  It could very well be
that Adama is expecting our dedicated war hero to carry his wife's
belongings over in his Viper."  He chuckled at his own wit.  "See if
there's anything we can do to hasten the process; there's a good man."
     "You can count on me, Sire."
     "I know, my boy."
     In a billow of his Council robes, Sire Anton moved down the
corridor, on to the next matter at hand.  Erastus couldn't help but
smile, impressed at his seemingly limitless energy. Then a burly figure
in a dark robe pushed him aside roughly, without a word, as he hastened
away.  Erastus couldn't help but notice how from his impressive bulk, his
dark, billowing robes seemed to swallow up the white ones of Anton's, all
but obliterating them until he swept completely past.  Then he was gone.

 
     "As you know, the Council wants Honour to speak with Family Services
in regards to conditions aboard the Arian Freighter," Colonel Tigh said,
taking a seat in the Colonial Security Office and motioning for the
strike captain to do the same.  "I discovered during a routine background
check on her that, coincidentally, Family Services hasn't actually ever
been able to successfully contact her since she registered during census. 
In fact, on three separate attempts they failed to find her at all while
aboard the Arian Freighter."
     Apollo frowned, glancing at the Security Officer briefly.  Proctor
was looking over the data on his computer.  "Routine background check?"
the captain asked.
     Tigh shrugged.  "Starbuck is an officer entrusted with high-level
classified military information.  It's routine, Apollo."
     He nodded.  Routinely it was done so quietly behind the scenes that
he'd almost forgotten about it.  The Colonial Service didn't want any
potential embarrassments or security risks.  "Of course."
     "We do have testaments from another passenger that says Honour was
simply off helping others in need during that time," Proctor inserted,
looking up.  
     "You don't believe that?" Apollo asked.
     "It certainly fits with her history," Tigh replied.  "The Kobollian
novice from the Mercy Ship.  But..."
     "But..."
     "Intriguingly, it was the same woman all three times that vouched
for Honour," Proctor replied, pointing to the data.  "Her name is Ondine. 
Arian.  Widowed mother with four children.  Husband was reportedly a fire
fighter, killed on duty while part of a rescue operation in a Health
Centre during the Destruction." 
     "And?"
     "On the last visit, one of the Family Service workers filed a report
questioning the authenticity of Ondine's identity," Proctor replied. 
"She was certain that the woman was in fact a single mother from Taura
whom she met while doing her training there."
     "Does that really matter, Proctor?" Apollo asked.  "After everything
that's happened?"
     "Not enough to pursue it then, considering the case load," Proctor
admitted.  "However, the woman in question was apparently charged for
fraud on Taura. That doesn't exactly make her the ideal spokeswoman for
Honour here and now."
     From his training in the codes at the Academy, Apollo was more than
aware that most of this was conjecture and hearsay.  All the same, his
gut was telling him they were on to something.  "But you don't know for
sure."
     "That's right.  We never investigated it.  We had enough on our
plates, and as you probably are aware, Captain, she isn't the first
person from the Colonies to use the Destruction as a chance for a fresh
start."
     "So, where do you think Honour was, if not in her quarters on the
Arian Freighter?" Apollo asked.
     Proctor didn't answer.  Instead he asked, "Did you hear about the
tragedy on the Mastodon Freighter this morning, Captain Apollo?"
     "The young woman that killed herself and her child.  Yes, of course. 
It's all over the Fleet, sadly."
     "Her name was Hope.  Her daughter was Lara.  It's a case that stands
out for me, mainly because it reminds me of another tragedy a couple
sectars ago on the Foundry Ship," Proctor said, raising his eyebrows in
question.
     Apollo shook his head, unfamiliar with it.  "I don't think I
recall..."
     "Another young single mother hurled herself and her baby girl into a
2600 degree pit of molten tylinium, leaving nothing behind but a suicide
note."  
     Apollo grimaced, letting out a grunt of disbelief.  "Same modus
operandi.  This can't be coincidence."
     "There's more.  Her name was Faith," Tigh told him.  "Her daughter
was Sarah."
     "Hope, Faith, Honour.  Lara, Sarah, Tara."  Apollo shook his head in
bewilderment.  "Are you suggesting...?" He hesitated, trying to sort the
bizarre set of facts into some semblance of order.  Had the women
actually committed suicide or had something or someone, driven them to
it?  Was it in fact termination?  Is that why Honour didn't want to be on
the IFB?  Was she hiding from someone or something?  "What are you
suggesting?  Is Honour related to these other women?  Is she in danger?"
     "I wish I knew for sure, Captain," Proctor replied.  "Right now I
have every available officer trying to come up with a possible witness on
the Mastodon Freighter.  We're talking to people who knew Hope and her
daughter, trying to figure out why she'd do this, what would drive her to
it.  Meanwhile, I'm going to personally ask Honour if she knew the other
two women.  I'm hoping she can shed some light on all of this if we offer
her protection..."
     "We should tell Starbuck," Apollo said.
     "Don't you think we should get our facts straight before we burden
Starbuck with this, Apollo?" Tigh countered.  "Doesn't he have enough on
his mind just now?"
     Apollo drew in a deep breath, nodding in resignation.  After all,
Honour was on a secure military vessel.  It was the safest place in the
Fleet.  "I suppose you're right, Colonel."
     "What if Honour won't talk?" Colonel Tigh asked Proctor.
     "Well..."
     "Then we go back to the Arian Freighter," Apollo finished.  "In
fact...I'm going to get Boomer and go over there now.  I'd like to ask
around about Honour, maybe even find this Ondine..."
     Tigh smiled.  "I was hoping you'd see it that way."
     
     
     "Who?" the woman asked through yellowed crooked, gapped teeth, her
frizzy grey-brown hair enveloping her face like a short-circuited aura. 
She tucked it back as if it was acting as some kind of sound barrier
between them.  Then she turned her head, cupping her hand to her ear. 
"Eh?"
     "Honour," Starbuck repeated a little louder this time over the
ambient noise of the engines.  He couldn't help but wonder if her hearing
had been permanently affected by the constant din.  "Mid-twenties, thin,
brown hair, blue eyes, very Kobollian, very helpful..."
     The woman shook her head before an angry squawk from her skirts
distracted her.   She reached down, separating two children who were
poking at each other, using her voluminous dark skirts as some kind of
playhouse.  "Never heard of Honour.  Would have thought you warriors had
honour enough blasting tin heads without needing to come looking for it
on a passenger freighter."  She snickered.  "Especially this one."
     "Uh...yeah."  He smiled to let her know he detected her little
attempt at humor.  "She was living here with her baby.  A little girl
named Tara, just over a yahren old." 
     "Doesn't ring a bell.  What do you want her for, anyhow?  Just in
case I come across her, you understand."
     It occurred to him that she might just think he was up to no good,
at least in some kind of official capacity.  "I'm not looking for her. 
I'm married to her."  No one else would find that simple statement of
truth as ironic as he did after his and Honour's last exchange.  "We were
just reunited for the first time since before the Destruction.  I wanted
to pick up the rest of her things and hopefully connect with a few of her
friends.  I know she won't want to lose touch with people she's known
here."
     She stood there sizing him up for a long moment, then finally
grinned, giving him the full benefit of her dental decay.  "You have an
honest face.  Give me a centon and I'll ask around.  Old Lil knows
everyone."
 
 
     Usually, an interview of this nature would take place in the
Colonial Security Office; however, Honour hadn't done anything wrong that
they were aware of.  In an effort to make her feel more at ease in order
to gain her trust and cooperation, Proctor had instead chosen to speak to
her in her new quarters on the Galactica.  She had been polite when he'd
appeared without warning, bidding him forth across the threshold,
offering him refreshments that were on hand in these seemingly
well-stocked quarters.  She was the epitome of courtesy, confused by his
presence, but willing to hear him out.  
     Throughout his monologue Honour had sat very still, her attention
seemingly more on her tiny daughter playing at her feet than the Colonial
Security Officer's words.  She gave every indication of being the
attentive mother and devout Kobollian that had been represented to him by
other sources.  Still, he found her difficult to read.  She appeared to
internalize her reactions and emotions.  He wasn't sure if that was her
reserved personality or if she was using her daughter as a sort of
defensive barrier against his scrutiny.
     "Why haven't Family Services been able to contact you, Honour?"
Proctor pressed her after a lapse that he was beginning to find
uncomfortable.  Normally, it was the person he was questioning that would
feel the need to fill a conspicuous silence.  In fact, that was one of
his tactics in interrogation.  "I get the feeling it's more than just
coincidence."
     "Do you?" she returned quietly, bowing her head and picking up Tara. 
She cradled her child against her, slowly rocking back and forth, the
motion apparently comforting to both of them.
     "Generally, they're able to help single mothers in need."
     "I'm not a single mother...at least not anymore," she murmured
quietly, her eyes downcast.
     "But you didn't realize that until somewhat recently.  Isn't that
true?"
     Her hand lightly touched her kerchief and she hesitated before
responding.  "There were many others in far greater need than I."  She
looked up at him again, her conviction giving her strength.  "My faith
gives me more comfort than any resource worker could."
     "I see."  It was a little disturbing, especially when Proctor could
see how painfully thin she was.  However, the tot was obviously healthy
and happy.  How much had Honour sacrificed to keep Tara that way?  "So
you didn't feel you needed their services?"
     "That's correct."
     "Why didn't you simply tell them so?"
     She dropped her eyes again, shrugging. Apparently, that hadn't
occurred to her.
    "Did you know the two women I spoke of, Honour?  Faith and Hope?"
Proctor asked.
     She glanced at him briefly for a moment, before setting her fussing
child down on the floor.  She seemed to be struggling to decide what to
do or say next, her now empty hands wringing her robes in silent
agitation.
     "We can help, Honour.  Tell us what's happening, and we can protect
you both," Proctor said, finding himself very much wanting to do that as
he gazed on the solemn lone wisp of a woman.
     Sorrowful blue eyes met his for a moment, and he was struck by the
fear he saw there.  She drew a deep breath before abruptly standing up
and turning away.  She watched her daughter play with an old rag doll, as
she seemingly considered his words, weighing them.  She looked so
vulnerable, as though a strong gust of wind could knock her over.  
     "Honour?" Proctor prompted her again.  "For the sake of your
daughter, let us help you..."
     "He's a maniac," she said so quietly, he almost missed it.  "I tried
to disappear, but now I realize our only escape is in the
hereafter...like Faith and Hope's..."
     "Then you did know them.  It doesn't have to come to that," Proctor
reassured her, leaning forward in his chair.  "Just tell me who he is.  I
promise you that he won't bother you again."  
 
 
     "Honour, huh?"  The crewman that Apollo and Boomer had been directed
to on the Arian Freighter snorted aloud.  He tossed his head, his brown,
layered hair taking on a life of its own as it fell perfectly back into
place.  "She's popular all of a sudden.  Makes me want to look her up
myself, see what the big attraction is."
     Apollo narrowed his eyes, glancing at Boomer briefly.  Apparently,
the wiry fellow considered himself somewhat of a lady's man.  "Someone
else was asking about Honour, Barion?"
     "Not someone, so much as some two," Barion grinned, chuckling to
himself.  "Two men: one about ten centons behind the other."
     "When was this?" Boomer asked.
     "Within the last fifteen centons, I guess."  Barion pointed to the
pile of accumulated data on his desk.  "Been wading through this, so I'm
not really sure."
     "Who were they?"
     "The last one was a Colonial Warrior, like yourself," Barion replied
with a shrug.  "A lieutenant, I think."
     "Did you get a name?" Apollo asked.
     "Yeah.  Starbuck."
     Boomer raised his eyebrows, meeting Apollo's eyes.  After being
filled in by the captain, he found himself regretting his earlier harsh
words to Starbuck.  After all, if he hadn't slammed his friend with a
dose of stone-cold reality, explaining the mysterious concept of
"responsibility", maybe Starbuck would have searched him out before
venturing over here on his own.  "What's he up to?" he said to Apollo.
     Apollo shook his head.  "I don't know.  I would have thought he'd be
with Honour."
     "What about the other guy?" Boomer asked the crewman.
     "Said he was with Family Services," Barion told them.  "Didn't give
a name, at least that I can remember, just flashed his designation
status, as usual."
     "What did he look like?"
     "Big bruiser.  Looked like an Orion Hasher in his downtime,
actually.  Not the usual type.  He was dressed all in black, and wore a
long, dark cloak.  Not exactly inconspicuous."
     "And where did you send him?" Apollo asked.
     "Same place I sent your friend, Lieutenant."  Barion replied,
tapping at his datapad.  "Deck eighteen, Omega Section."


     "Someone's leading you a merry chase, Warrior," Old Lil said in a
gruff voice, her cloudy blue eyes vivid in her wizened face, even in the
dim light of the Arian Freighter.   A delicate black shawl covered her
wispy grey hair, and a shapeless coarse robe hung loosely on her. The
ancient woman slowly stepped forward with her cane, squinting up at him,
her bent and twisted body not hampering her determination to look him in
the eye.  She crooked a gnarled finger at him, beckoning him closer with
an unspoken authority that he reacted instinctively to.
     "Call me Starbuck, Mater," he said, sensing this woman was deserving
of respect. Starbuck leaned down a little closer to the old dame, picking
up the distinct aroma of Leonid Balm on her.  His distinct impression of
kindness and wisdom in her reminded him of several matrons he'd known
over the yahrens during his time at the orphanages of Caprica. 
     "Only if you call me, Lil," she replied with an engaging smile that
could lighten the dourest of days, even in space. 
     "All right.  What makes you think I'm being led on a chase, Lil?"
Starbuck asked, wondering if maybe she wasn't quite as sharp as he'd
first presumed.  After all, it looked like she and Sagan had played in
the same sand box, Sagan being the younger of the two.
     "I may be old, but I'm not crazy," Lil told him, as if she had heard
his thoughts.  "This Honour of which you speak doesn't exist.  At least
not here." 
     "But...that's...not possible," he replied, shaking his head.  After
all, he had living proof that she existed back on the Galactica.  "She
lived here.  She boarded a shuttle with her daughter from this very
freighter at the start of today's cycle.  They have her listed on the
ship's manifest!"
     Lil simply shook her head sadly at him.  "I have no reason to lead
you astray, Starbuck.  She doesn't bide here."
     "But..." he murmured, straightening his frame and raking a hand
through his hair as he tried to make sense of it.  He couldn't.
     "I know every man, woman and child on this deck and every other,
Alpha to Omega Sections.  I know the bridge crew, the engine crew, the
galley crew, and all those in between.  Trust me, boy, I know or knew
everyone who's called this pile of corrosion with an engine on it home,
since we fled the Colonies.  I don't know Honour," Old Lil said, reaching
forward shakily to lightly squeeze his hand. 
     "I don't get it...I mean, how..."
     "But I do know someone who might."


    Getting information out of Honour was like coaxing a scared turtle
out of its shell.  The woman had obviously been terrorized and
traumatized by this "maniac" who had allegedly killed two women and
children in the Fleet, covering up both incidents with enough skill that
they appeared to be suicides.  The subject obviously had enough relevant
experience and knowledge to confound Colonial forensics during their
exhaustive investigation.  Based on his yahrens of experience in the
Caprica City Civil Security Force, it made Proctor suspect that if Honour
could identify the man, that he might already know the killer, at least
by reputation.
     Proctor had given her a moment to get herself a cold drink of fruit
juice and to try to compose herself, but if anything, on return to her
seat she looked more pale, actually verging on sickly, than she had
before.
     "I'm sorry," she said quietly, adjusting the kerchief over her head,
tucking a few damp tendrils of hair back inside.
     "Don't be," Proctor replied, pulling out his datapad.  "I know this
must be difficult for you, but we'll get you through it."
     She nodded.  "Thank you, Officer."
     "Who is he, Honour?" Proctor asked again.
     She ducked her head once again, her hands compulsively wringing her
robes.  "He's a serial killer, responsible for the termination of twelve
poor souls during a two yahren period on Aries."
     "Jephte?" Proctor gasped.   His memory thus jogged, he remembered
the Arian cases well.  Before news of the upcoming Armistice had driven
it from the news-vids, it had been the lead story on half of the
colonies.
     The killer struck every two to four sectars, selecting a victim or
victims, but in each case the murder at first appeared to be a suicide. 
Open and shut.  Sometimes single women, sometimes sealed, then one
finally accompanied by a very young child; it took over twelve sectars
before the authorities realized they were dealing with a serial killer,
and not some mysterious suicidal sect that they were investigating when
an eerie similarity to an obscure passage in the Book of the Word was
revealed.  
     Jephte had been a chieftain of the tenth tribe of Kobol during the
most bloodthirsty period recorded in the annals of mankind.  God bade him
lead a holy war against the Molech, a people who had fallen from favour
for their wicked ways.  Yahrens of bloody battle ensued, and finally the
day came when what finally remained of two mighty armies faced each other
across a blood-soaked battlefield.  Weary, Jephte wanted an end to the
hostilities.  It was time for his artisans of destruction to pour out
God's indignation, breathing His fiery wrath upon the enemy.  The Molech
were to be fuel for His fire, their blood was to flow throughout the
land.  Swords were drawn for slaughter, burnished to consume and to flash
lightning through the hearts of the enemy.
     No, it wasn't on the agenda for the usual Holy Day teachings.
     Determined that God's will would finally be done, Jephte swore upon
his honour that if God should grant him victory over his enemies, then he
would sacrifice for His glory whatever or whoever came out of the doors
of his home to meet him when he returned in peace.  Victory did come,
after such carnage and butchery as even he had rarely seen, but at the
cost of humanity.  After the Molech army had been destroyed, the enmity
of Jephte's army turned on the nearest Molech villages.  Women and
children were terminated, burned alive, to appease a vengeful God. 
     Then when the day finally came that a weary, tired Jephte had
returned to his home, what first came out of his home was his twelve
beautiful daughters, arm in arm.  Having fought over who would be the
first to greet their heroic father, they had laughingly decided to greet
him en masse.  He had dropped to his knees, groaning, tears streaming
down his face, tearing off his armour in anguish, proclaiming, "My
daughters!  My heart is breaking!  What a tragedy that you came out to
greet me, for I have made a vow to the Lord and cannot take it back!"
     Proctor wracked his brain, recalling the names of Jephte's
daughters: Grace, Glory, Chastity, Destiny, Bliss, Melody, Harmony,
Charity, Joy, Faith, Hope, and Honour.  In order of their age and two to
three sectars apart, in ancient times they had been burned alive,
sacrificed for the glory of God, or perhaps as an example of his
displeasure.  Theologians had, of course, theorized that Jephte paid
through the lives of his daughters for his army's sins against the women
and children of Molech. 
     Lacking any credible leads and as a result of the story, the serial
killer on Aries had been labeled "Jephte".  Now that Proctor thought
about it, nine women, three with children, had been terminated before the
Destruction.  Faith and Hope had been terminated within the last couple
sectars, leaving only Honour's death to complete the cycle.  There had
been a link between Faith, Hope and Honour, but it wasn't anything to do
with them being single mothers or relatives.  They simply had been called
after one of Jephte's daughters, the Martyrs for Humanity in Kobollian
theology. 
     Profiling on "Jephte" had indicated an organized offender with above
average intelligence, with a consistently high degree of control over his
crime scene and a solid knowledge of forensic science.  Proctor recalled
the fear that had swept over Aries and the growing rage with the Arian
Civil Security Force when they failed again and again to apprehend the
killer. And, as if to add insult to injury, taunting letters began to
arrive, mocking the authorities for their failure to find the killer,
daring them to catch him.  The severity of the crimes even had
bureauticians rehashing the debate over the long-abolished death penalty. 
Every husband, brother, father, and son familiar with the case would have
cheerfully volunteered as executioner if "Jephte" had been brought to
justice.
     "Yes, Jephte..." Honour whispered, shuddering involuntarily.  "Who
else could it be?"


     "Jephte?" Apollo repeated over the comm unit on the Arian Freighter,
after being contacted by the Colonial Security Officer.  Like virtually
everyone else in the Colonies that hadn't been living under a rock, he
had heard of the infamous Arian serial killer.  The mere name ignited
feelings of disgust and outrage that he equated with only one other
human: Baltar.  Apollo glanced at Boomer, seeing disbelief and derision
written on his friend's face.  Evidently, Boomer shared his opinion. 
"Are you sure, Proctor?  Isn't he dead?"
     "Dead is where he should be, Captain, but instead he's somewhere in
the Fleet.  He's killing these women because of their names, Captain
Apollo!" Proctor said.  "I don't know how well you know your Book of the
Word, but..."
     Evidently, he didn't know it that well. In fact, if memory served,
Apollo hadn't cracked the cover of the Holy Book since he'd regularly
attended Temple with his family before going off to the Academy.  After
all, he had been far more interested in his beloved works of space travel
and exploration as a young man. Now, after the Destruction, unabridged
copies of the Book of the Word were few and far between, and Apollo was
an example of the general population drifting further away from a devout
practice.  It wasn't that he didn't believe, in fact, he made sure Boxey
went to worship every Holy Day.  It was simply that Apollo didn't have
the luxury of the extra time needed to do it himself.
     "He's a monster.  How could anybody do something like that?" Boomer
asked after the security officer outlined what he'd learned from Honour.
     "Sociopaths don't have a normal understanding of right or wrong,
Lieutenant. They certainly don't have any empathy towards their fellow
man, and actually disassociate themselves from their victims, treating
them more like objects that people," Proctor explained. "Concepts like
sorrow or pity are alien to them."
     "Sorry, Proctor, but I have a hard time even trying to empathize
with an animal like that," Boomer returned acerbically.
     "To catch them, Lieutenant, you need to understand them," Proctor
replied.  "Know thy enemy.  Didn't they teach you that at the Academy?"
     "Actually, they taught me to kill my enemy," Boomer muttered with a
dark look at Apollo.
     "Maybe he's doing this as some kind of protest against our people
veering away from some basic Kobollian values," Apollo answered after his
own contemplation, feeling an inexplicable need to make some sense of it.
     "Exactly," Proctar agreed.  "Sociopaths like Jephte usually have a
motive in one of four categories: visionary, mission-oriented, hedonistic
or power and control.  Sometimes they overlap.  Our sociopath is
obviously trying to get us to remember some Fundamental teachings from
our Holy Book." 
     "About our treatment of women and children?" Boomer scoffed.  "Maybe
it's obvious to you, Proctor. To me...that's just plain ridiculous. I
don't get it. Women have had the same rights as men in Colonial Society
for millennia."
     "Don't expect it to make sense to you, Lieutenant," Proctor warned
him.  "He's a sociopath, after all. Their minds are operating in an
alternate universe. Our one slim hope, and I emphasize the word 'slim',
gentlemen, is that Jephte usually has what we call a 'cool down period'
before he terminates his next victim," Proctor said.  "We should have a
little time."
     "Maybe.  Have you heard back from Family Services?" Apollo asked. 
At the beginning of their conversation, the strike captain had requested
that Colonial Security verify that the man searching for Honour just
ahead of Starbuck was indeed there officially on the behalf of the
Colonial department.
     "Just a centon, Captain," Proctor replied, turning away from the
screen for a moment, obviously asking one of his subordinates who had
been pursuing the matter.
     "I still can't raise Starbuck on his personal communicator," Boomer
reported with a scowl, putting his back on his belt.  They needed to warn
their friend.  Or was it already too late?  If Starbuck happened to
stumble upon Jephte completely unaware of whom or what he was up
against...

     "If Starbuck's here for personal reasons then he might have it
deactivated...or it could be interference that deep inside the ship,"
Apollo replied, trying to fight back the rising wave of anxiety. 
     "Apollo..." Boomer said tensely.  
     "I know, Boomer.  But first let's make sure we're not tearing
through this ship with lasers drawn only to find out we're traumatising
some caseworker, not to mention hundreds of innocent civilians.  The
Council would have our heads."
     Boomer sighed. "Right." He pulled his communicator back off his
belt. "I'll try Starbuck again."
     "Captain!" Proctor was back.  "Family Services isn't on the Arian
Freighter today.  That man isn't one of their workers!  I'm contacting
Captain Kamda on the bridge to send you back-up!  This could very well be
our opportunity to apprehend Jephte!"
     "We're on our way, Proctor!" Apollo replied, his hand already
seeking his weapon.
     "And Captain!" Proctor added hastily, before they could turn away. 
"As a reminder, unless you're at point blank range, a stun setting could
possibly affect anyone in a ten metron radius.  Even on the lowest level,
the stun setting has been known to kill a small child."
     Apollo glanced at Boomer. Jephte had terminated innocent women and
children, and those were only the ones they knew about. Did a monstrosity
like that deserve to live out the remainder of his yahrens on the Prison
Barge, being supported by the very populace that he had once hunted
among?  As much as his head was telling him it was so, Apollo's sense of
moral justice argued against it. Still, he was a Colonial Warrior, sworn
to protect and uphold the very laws that at this moment seemed sadly
inadequate.
     "Do you understand, Captain Apollo?" Proctor asked.
     Apollo understood only too well.  If their places were reversed,
Proctor would be shooting to kill if he could get Jephte in his sights. 
Apollo couldn't help but think about the serial killer's innocent victims
at a time like this...how they were somebody's wives, sisters, children,
terminated for no more reason than the name they were given at birth...
     "Captain?  Are you receiving?" Proctor asked insistently.
     "Loud and clear," Apollo replied, severing their connection.  He
slammed a fist against the bulkhead, shaking his head briefly, trying to
ignore the voice of reason at the back of his mind.  "You heard, Boomer;
lasers on kill."
     Boomer nodded, quickly turning towards the hatch.  "I heard!  Let's
go!"

 
     So what exactly did it say about a relationship when a guy was more
willing to trust an old woman he'd met for the very first time over his
own wife?  All the doubts and inconsistencies in Honour's story were once
again racing through Starbuck's brain-granted some might claim that would
be a short trip.  He reminded himself that he had come to the Arian
Freighter looking for a way to make amends for the rash and thoughtless
things he had said to Honour in her new quarters.  With only good
intentions in mind, as always, while searching for her former friends he
had inadvertently run into someone who had once again stirred up his
misgivings, whipping his genetically-encoded commitment anxiety syndrome
into a new frenzy, thereby filling his head with diabolical plots
orchestrated by a timid, victimized and devout mother of one.
     His one, he reminded himself.
     The truth was that at this point in his life and career he didn't
want to be married with a child.  It might be selfish to the extreme, it
might be immature, but it was still the truth.  He had pictured himself
settling down one day, maybe on Earth.  The war would be a distant
memory, he would come home from work to his wife and family every night,
secure in the knowledge that evil had been eradicated, and humanity would
continue to thrive, and that he'd played a small part in that victory.
     One look around him at the squalid conditions and misery on the
Arian Freighter confirmed his misgivings about raising a family in space. 
The air here was fetid.  The conditions were cramped.  A few blank faces
stared back at him, but most averted their gaze.  Yeah, there had been
reasons that he thought the way he did.  Kids needed fresh air, a place
to run, something to keep them out of trouble. The sterile and controlled
environment of a ship, especially a capital warship on virtually
round-the-chrono alert, was no reflection of a civilization. Yet the
Council of the Twelve had no idea how long they'd be out here on this
journey to a possibly mythical planet.  It could be a generation.  Maybe
more.
     Reality was like a sharp bite in the astrum, and he could readily
admit, at least to himself, that as much as everyone else wanted him to
face up to his responsibilities, frankly he'd rather find an escape route
out of this pinwheel attack.  He just couldn't see himself and Honour
staying the course together.  Sagan's sake, they'd barely survived their
first trip down the launch tube.  It was only a matter of time before
they crashed and burned, hurting their little girl in the process.  
    The more he thought about it, the more he knew that he'd probably be
a better father to Tara if he could do it from the officer's quarters. 
At this point, Tara wasn't used to him living with them anyhow, and if
anybody knew that you couldn't miss what you never had, it was Starbuck. 
He could start their relationship with a clean slate, not trying to live
out a lie with Honour.  His heart just wasn't in it, after all.
     Starbuck let out a long sigh, rounding the corner and heading
through the junction that should take him to Ondine's designated living
space.  He still wasn't quite sure what the connection was between this
woman he was seeking out and Honour, but Old Lil seemed certain that
Ondine would shed some light on the mystery...with the proper financial
recompense, of course.  He spied the landmark Old Lil had told him about,
a temporarily erected coarse green curtain that was functioning as a
door.  Deftly, he stepped aside as six small children shot out from
another enclosure, suddenly darting past him, giggling hysterically.
    Then a strained voice cried out: "I don't know where Honour is! 
Honest, I don't!  Please, let me go!"
    
 
     "Excuse me, sir," the newbie Security Officer, Saryn, interrupted
him as he severed his connection with Captain Kamda on the Arian
Freighter. 
     Kamda's available crewmen were just now receiving orders to converge
on the designated area of the passenger ship to clear out the civilians,
cover all exits and cut off any chance of Jephte's escape. 
Unfortunately, Proctor didn't have any of his own officers in place,
having pulled manpower to focus on the investigation on the Mastodon
Freighter, but Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Boomer were two of the
Colonial Service's finest warriors, and a good substitute in this crisis.

     "What is it, Saryn?" he asked her.  She looked about fourteen
yahrens old with her fresh face, wide brown eyes and the juvenile way she
tied her dark hair back from her face.  The daughter of an old Civil
Security Force buddy, he'd taken her on against his better judgment. 
     "Preliminary reports are back on the Mastodon Freighter accident,
Sir.  I thought you'd want to know as soon as possible..."
     "That they're dead?" he returned, sighing.  He reached for the
telecom once again to update Colonel Tigh on the situation.  "Yeah, I
figured that."
     Saryn leaned against his doorway, crossing her arms, and raising a
delicate eyebrow almost derisively.  It was the sudden chill in the air
that made him look up at her again.  His sister used to look at him like
that...when he was being a first class Boray.
     "Preliminary reports show no signs of human remains, Proctor," Saryn
informed him.  
     "Come again?"
     "There are no bodies."


     Starbuck jerked the curtain back, revealing a light brown-haired man
in a dark cloak squatting down over a woman curled into a fetal position
on the deck.  He was gripping her by the shoulders and shaking her.  Both
looked up at him in surprise, her with relief, him with surprise.
     "Let her go!" Starbuck demanded, stepping inside the cramped
makeshift "quarters". 
     A three tiered bunk and a couple of small sleeping mats was all it
took to occupy the entire space.  Beaded, fringed and brightly colored
fabrics were hung on a line around the perimeter of the room, in an
apparent attempt to decorate the space.  It looked like some kind of
exotic bazaar where peddlers would sell their wares.  Admittedly,
Starbuck didn't know what kind of situation he'd walked into, but
regardless it was coming to an end now.  "You need to learn to pick on
someone your own size, pal."
     A cruel scowl settled on the goon's features, and he released the
woman, straightening up to his full height, which was a hand's breadth
over and above Starbuck.  Size-wise they weren't exactly evenly matched,
and the bruiser smiled, taking obvious pleasure in that, especially in
the close quarters.  He flipped his cloak back over one shoulder,
revealing a burly frame, out-bulking the Viper pilot by an easy thirty or
forty kilons.  Then he looked Starbuck over derisively, settling into a
professional Hasher's stance.  He frowned, pulling at the clasp at his
neck as his gaze briefly settled on the warrior's weapon.  
     "Or...in the absence of any more genetically mutated lummoxes,"
Starbuck added, resting his hand suggestively on the butt of his laser,
"you could pick on me."
     "This is none of your affair, Warrior," the oaf replied, setting his
jaw determinedly.  
     "That's where you're wrong," Starbuck replied, dropping the smile. 
His training had taught him that using verbal skills could assuage a
potentially hostile situation, but it occurred to him that he'd never
really excelled at those techniques.  It was probably why they'd made him
a pilot. "Seems to me you're looking for my wife, Honour; that makes it
my affair."
     The goon hesitated for a moment, taken aback. 
     "You obviously don't know who you're dealing with," Bruiser said. 
His gaze shifted towards the corridor for a moment as the sound of
approaching footfalls grew louder with each passing micron.  He suddenly
looked worried. 
     "Then we're even," Starbuck replied.  "Neither do  y-"
     The billowing bulk of the cloak suddenly filled the space between
them as the lummox roared aloud, charging.  The woman screamed.  Under
normal circumstances, Starbuck would have met an opponent head on;
however, it was a good general guideline to never run face first into a
landram.  Instead, he ducked to his right, using the cover of the cape to
his advantage.   Ducking low, he made himself less accessible as a
target, and then pivoted sharply around, using his hands on the deck to
keep his balance before kicking out. 
     The big man tripped over Starbuck's boot, briefly tumbling to the
deck in a jumble of cloth and limbs, before nimbly finding his feet
again.  Bruiser again assumed a Hasher's pose, hunched over, arms
extended, meaty hands outstretched like claws, aching to grab a piece of
the agile warrior.  So much for the old proverb "the bigger they come,
the harder they fall".
     "Hold it or I'll shoot!" Starbuck barked, pulling his laser, hoping
like Hades he wouldn't have to use it.  Embroiled in a war against
Cylons, he'd been conditioned to believe that every human life was
sacred.  If he used the stun setting, he'd probably knock out all three
of them in the tiny space, not to mention whoever else was racing down
the corridor this very centon.  An image of those six little kids came to
mind, and he started to change the setting to "kill", not wanting to
inadvertently hurt any innocents in adjoining areas that he couldn't see.
     That was when he learned that Bruiser could fly.  The big man
launched himself at Starbuck with surprising speed and agility, tackling
him.  His weapon crushed between them, Starbuck careened backwards
through the voluminous curtain of fabric, expecting to be slammed against
the wall.  Instead, his shoulders brushed through some kind of opening,
before he pitched further downward, Bruiser on top of him.  They
plummeted downward into darkness.
     "Oh fraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa..."


     Apollo burst into the tiny living space, laser drawn, to see only
one occupant: the woman he'd heard screaming.  A trail of brightly
coloured fabric was disappearing down some kind of a chute in the
bulkhead, the loud drawn out expletive accompanying it sounding further
and further away with every passing milli-centon.  Somehow Starbuck or
Jephte or maybe both had ended up either falling or diving down this old
cargo chute.  The remnant of some kind of inadequate cover jutted out of
the opening, apparently a deterrent to small children, but no hindrance
to the full weight of an adult male or two.  The captain stumbled to a
halt, turning towards the woman.
     "What happened?  Who went down there?" Apollo demanded as Boomer
flew into the room behind him.
     "Two men!" she replied, stifling a sob as she sat with her back
against the wall, curled up into a ball in the corner of the room.  Her
hair was disheveled, tears poured down her cheeks.  "One a warrior...the
other..." She broke off, coughing.  "The...the other one tried to kill
me!" she shrieked hysterically.
     "Jephte!" Boomer exclaimed.
     The next thing Apollo knew, the lieutenant was diving towards the
chute, apparently intent on following the serial killer.  It took him
aback.  Generally, Boomer was the epitome of common sense.  Impulsive and
reckless were characteristics one more usually associated with Starbuck.
     "Boomer!"  Apollo leapt forward, tackling Boomer around the waist,
and hauling him to the deck before his hips and legs followed the rest of
him into the chute.   "Are you crazy?  We don't know if it's safe!  We're
on the eighteenth deck!"  It was still a long way to the keel.
     "Right," was the succinct reply, with a slight echo.
     Apollo could feel the tension leave Boomer's body, which he hoped
signalled the return of sanity.  He grabbed his friend by the belt,
pulling hard to haul him bodily back to safety before climbing off of
him.
     Boomer rolled over, looking at the captain, chagrined.  "That was
stupid.  Sorry."  Even so he cast a longing look back down at the chute. 
"I guess I lost my head...but the idea of Starbuck down there with
him..."
    "Starbuck can take care of himself, Boomer," Apollo reassured him.  
     Boomer raised his eyebrows incredulously.  "Our Starbuck?" 
     Yeah, it would have been funny if their buddy had been there with
them, instead of plummeting through an archaic and obsolete duct system
with a killer for company.  
     "The Arian Freighter is an old break bulk cargo ship, Boomer.  It
was about a day away from becoming scrap when the Destruction
necessitated its return to service," Apollo said, squatting down at the
chute entrance and running a hand over the surface.  It came away covered
in grime, cobwebs, and rat mong, which, despite the state of his hand
hygiene, was actually a relief.  At least there was no sign of blood or
injury.  Yet.  "These old chutes used to be utilized for transporting
storage barrels or crates hundreds of yahrens ago when most small cargo
was still moved manually on Aries.  Lord knows what kind of shape they're
in, Boomer."
     "I'll comm Captain Kamda and find out," Boomer said, back to his old
self again.  "He can check the schematics and tell us where it comes
out."  He glanced at the woman.  "Your attacker.  Did he have any
weapons?" 
     She shook her head, her features pinched.  He had just used his
powerful hands.  Relatively, it was good news, although they both knew
that Jephte wasn't exactly known for his deftness with a laser.  The
killer excelled at overpowering his victims and then making them
disappear.  
     Apollo clapped a hand on the lieutenant's shoulder before regaining
his feet.  He could hear footfalls coming down the corridor.  Apparently,
their back-up had arrived, like them just a little too late.  He turned
to face the woman again. "Are you Ondine?"
     Wide-eyed, she nodded, blinking furiously through her tears. 
     "I'm Captain Apollo from the Galactica.  This is Lieutenant Boomer. 
We need to ask you a few more questions," he told her gently.
     "I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt!"  She cracked like an ovum
under the weight of his cunning interrogational technique.  "It was just
a few extra cubits to help with the kids, I swear!  I'll do whatever you
ask!  I promise!"
 

     Starbuck plunged downward through the darkness into the unknown,
Bruiser clinging to him like an Arian Constrictor.  Speeding out of
control through the pitch black, it was as terrifying as it was
exhilarating.  Then again, probably only an adrenaline junkie or Viper
pilot would think so.  Unexpectedly, the duct disappeared beneath them
and they started free-falling, tumbling head over heels through the air. 
Until...
     Whomp!  Starbuck hit the ground, slammed flat on his back on the
deck.  
     Whomp!  Then he was squashed like a mushie.
     Dazed and aching all over, it took Starbuck a moment to realize that
something was wrong, terribly wrong.   As much as he tried to draw a
breath, he couldn't!  His mouth gaped open, longing for air that just
wasn't there.  Micron by micron, his chest tightened painfully until it
felt like there was a vise around it, denying him critical oxygen.  His
chest heaved once, twice, thrice to no avail.  He broke out in a cold
sweat of dread, his lungs refusing to function. 
     Crushed alive by the blackness, tortured sounds of his desperate
choking filled his ears for what seemed like an eternity, as panic
enveloped him.  Instinctively he tried to claw at his throat, but he
couldn't budge his arm.  He couldn't move!  He couldn't breathe!  His
head began to swim as his vision greyed at the edges.  Oblivion
beckoned...but as usual Starbuck was waiting for a better offer...
     Suddenly an enormous weight shifted off of him, about the same time
that Starbuck managed to squeeze an agonized wheeze past his windpipe. 
He was forcibly rolled onto his side, his arm twisted violently behind
his back to immobilize him.  Helpless to resist, he drew a ragged rasping
breath into starved lungs, sounding like a rusty ventilator on its last
power cell.  Then a rough hand started frisking him, never letting up on
the pressure on his arm. 
     Dimly, it occurred to him that Bruiser was probably searching for
his weapon.  After all, he'd been holding one topside...but dang if
Starbuck could remember where the heck it had gone.   He'd lost his laser
somewhere between falling down the chute, crashing into the deck, and
Bruiser flattening him.  To make matters worse-if that was indeed
possible-it was as dark as a crypt down there.  He couldn't see a thing,
but he could hear a telltale scurrying and squeaking close by.  The air
was damp and a fetid smell filled his senses...
     "Now listen up," Bruiser growled into his ear, his voice a deep
baritone, "because I'm only going to say this once..."


     "But that's not possible," Proctor shook his head at his fellow
officer to emphasize his words over her preliminary report on Jephte's
victims in the Reclamation Centre on the Mastodon Freighter.  "There
should be some remains left.  Some calcified bone fragments, at the very
least."  He paused to think it over, wondering if the chemical content of
the vat was capable of completely disintegrating two human beings. 
"Shouldn't there?"
     "According to the techs, yes," Saryn replied, rechecking her
datapad.  "Remember, that stage of the treatment is concentrated on
accelerating the breakdown of organic waste.  We had every expectation
that we'd find remains of the woman and baby."
     "But we didn't."
     "Uh uh.  Something smells here, Sir...no pun intended."
     "No bloody kidding!" Proctor exclaimed.  "So our nice tidy theory
about Hope being Jephte's eleventh victim doesn't hold water..."
     Saryn shook her head.  "Nope.  Not only that, I took the liberty of
further checking out the previous incident on the Foundry Ship.  It was
exactly the same modus operandi, as you know, the only difference being
that two people either jumping or being thrown into molten metal,
depending on the scenario, could completely eradicate any evidence of
human remains.  Under those expectations, apparently we didn't even
check.  However...thermal monitors on the Foundry Ship should have
detected a temperature variance, however slight, at the time of the
alleged deaths."
     Proctor raised his eyebrows at the young woman in surprise.  "And?"
     "There was no recorded temperature variation, sir.  Plus, looking
back I noticed that the chem-sensors showed no sign of anything else.  No
organic gases, nothing you'd expect from an incinerated body."
     "Meaning?"
     "Meaning our nice tidy theory about Faith being Jephte's tenth
victim is also leaking badly."
     "Frack!" Proctor exploded.  It had all fallen in place so perfectly:
Honour's questionable background check, the tie in with Faith and Honour,
the missing link of Jephte.  His Security Force had been poised to bring
in the most despised domestic killer of their time. Was he so anxious to
catch a serial killer that he was willing to see villains where there
were only ghosts?   "Then this manhunt we've just launched..."
     "Has to be stopped, sir," Saryn replied.  "Or at the very least, the
warriors and crew on the Arian Freighter need to know that whoever this
guy is, that they're most likely not after Jephte.  All we can legally do
is bring that man in and question him for impersonating a Family Services
Worker."
     Proctor nodded.  "Good work, Saryn.  I'll deal with the situation on
the Arian Freighter.  I want you to go speak with Honour again.  Console
her that Hope's demise appears to be a hoax.  I'll be curious to hear
about her reaction."
     The young officer looked both surprised and pleased.  "On my way,
sir!  Thank you, sir!"
     Proctor reached for his comm unit as she turned to go.  He had to
stop the turn of events he had naively set in motion.  Foremost in his
mind was a disturbing image of one of the warriors or crewmen on the
Arian Freighter prematurely shooting this mystery man, thinking they were
ultimately performing a service for the Colonial Nation.  Foremost on his
conscience was that he would be responsible. 


     "So Honour has never actually lived here on the Arian Freighter?"
Apollo confirmed with Ondine.  "She only paid you to say she did at the
space dock on Aries?"
     "Yes, Captain.  I registered her for census myself," Ondine said,
rubbing her crossed arms self-consciously. "She was never here."
     "You impersonated her?"  
     "Yes."
     Now that she mentioned it, he could see some definite similarities
in their appearances.  They were the same height, had the same eye and
hair color, the same build, all the physical data that would be
integrated into Fleet Records.
     Apollo inclined his head, waiting for her to fill the silence that
had fallen between them.
     "Well, you see I...I just put a kerchief on my head and took the
neighbour's youngest along," she said quietly, her story gathering
momentum along with her confidence.  "Made sure I had a different agent
than I did when I registered as myself.  Honour told me how to go about
it.  Her cubits got us extra rations for over two sectars.  I don't
regret it.  Not for a single micron."  Then she frowned, slowly putting a
clenched fist to her mouth.  "Or at least I didn't until he showed up
here looking for her...I thought I was a goner, Captain.  He was a raving
lunatic!  I can't believe it was Jephte in the flesh!"
     Jephte in the flesh.  Obviously, she'd heard Boomer use the name
when they arrived.  Apollo groaned internally at the thought of that
rumour flying around the Fleet.  Hopefully, they would find the serial
killer in short order, putting an end to any potential hysteria that
hadn't taken root yet.  
     "What ship did Honour register on, Ondine?  Where was she living if
not here?" Apollo asked.
     "I don't know.  I never saw her again, Captain."
     "But you continued to lie for her.  After spending about two centars
with her on Aries, she not only talked you into making a fraudulent
declaration once you arrived, but she convinced you to keep misleading
officials," Apollo said incredulously, paraphrasing what she'd told him
earlier.  "Why?"
     "You won't like it," she warned him.
     "Tell me anyway."
     "While we were waiting to see if we'd even get off Aries, we talked
some, me and Honour.  People do when they think they might die, you know. 
Anyhow, Honour told me her husband was abusive.  She'd been trying to
avoid him since before the Destruction.  The mere idea of joining the
Fleet, knowing he would probably be there too, scared her to death.  I
know he's a friend of yours, but..."
     "Abusive?"  Apollo almost choked, feeling like he'd been blindsided
by a landram.     
"Starbuck?"
     "She never told me his name.  Just said she was afraid he'd hurt the
child when he got tired of hurting her.  Said she'd die before she let
that happen," she said indignantly.  "I'm a mother; I understood.  Like
she said, we single mothers need to stick together.  If we don't watch
out for each other, nobody else will.  That's the truth.  Imagine having
an abusive husband as well as a serial killer after you!  That poor
woman!  She needs every friend she has!"  
     "Are you trying to tell me that you think that the decorated
Colonial Warrior who just saved you, a complete stranger, from a 'raving
lunatic' would actually abuse his wife and infant daughter?" Apollo
challenged her misconceptions, while trying to keep a lid on his anger. 
"Do you really believe that?"
     "I suppose when you put it that way it does kind of seem out of
character," she replied uncertainly.
     "This other man..." Apollo pressed.  
     "Jephte," she supplied.
     "We're not entirely sure of his identity, Ondine," Apollo corrected
her.  
     "I heard your lieutenant call him Jephte," she pointed out.
     "That's just a remote possibility," Apollo lied.  "Did you get any
indication of why he was looking for Honour or what his relationship to
her might have been?"
     "Executioner?" she replied, looking at him as though he was a bit
slow.  "You know, Honour, one of the original twelve daughters of Jephte. 
Right?"
     He took a slow, deep breath.  "Yes, I..."
     "Apollo!" Boomer interrupted, poking his head back in from the
corridor where he'd been using the nearest comm unit.  "The chute comes
out in a sealed compartment on Deck Twenty-Five, Psi Section, close to
the old service turbo lift.  The last five metrons of that chute was
taken for scrap a while back.  It's a straight drop to the bottom! 
Captain Kamda said he has a team on the way already!"
     "What?  Boomer, they were supposed to wait for us!" Apollo replied.
     "These guys are frothing at the mouth at the idea of getting Jephte,
Apollo.  I think we have a seventy-fourth century lynch mob on our
hands!" 
     "Frack!  And Starbuck's right in the middle of it.  Let's go!"
 
 
     "No luck, Chief Proctor, they must be out of range.  Either that or
they're in the ladderwell, already on their way down to Deck
Twenty-Five," Captain Kamda reported from the bridge of the Arian
Freighter.  "Regardless, there's nothing I can do."
     "Captain Kamda, if you don't find some way of communicating with
Captain Apollo and your crew, I don't like to think about what might
happen when a group of vengeful men tear open that access hatch,
expecting to find Jephte, but instead find two men in the wrong place at
the wrong time!" Proctor berated him, getting the sense that the Arian
Freighter captain didn't want to cooperate.  "If you're obstructing
justice, Kamda..." 
     "Hardly!  You told me we were after that shard-born microphallus,
Jephte!"  
     "Uh...our conclusions may have been erroneous," Proctor admitted,
looking up Kamda in the Fleet Records, inputting his access code.  "I
need to talk to Captain Apollo!"
     "That's unfortunate, Proctor.  Listen up, this is a corroded old
bucket rescued from the scrapyard, not a battlestar.  What you need to
understand is that outside of the bridge, reliable communications are
largely achieved by tapping the next guy on his shoulder.  I believe
we're due for our communications upgrade sometime next deca-yahren.  This
particular Colonial demographic is low on the Council's priority list."
     "This isn't funny, Captain!" Proctor exclaimed, as data finally
rolled across his screen.
     "No, but you have to keep things in perspective, Proctor.  After
losing billions back home, I suppose one more poor soul doesn't make that
much difference.  I wouldn't worry about the warrior, Proctor.  Even with
their rampant amentia, my jobbernowls can still recognize a uniform. 
They'll know which man is which." The levity in his tone was
inappropriate to his station.  "You know, you could probably salvage the
situation by just reporting that the man they lynch is Jephte, whether he
is or not.  Not only would it make my passengers feel like I'm looking
out for them, but it would make Colonial Security look good...for a
change."
     "I don't operate that way, Kamda," Proctor said, looking over the
man's professional history.  
     "That's because you're just another cog in the wheel, Proctor.  I'm
sure Sire Anton and his fellow Council members would see my logic. 
They're always looking for a way to turn bitter-root into nectar for the
IFB."
     "Dear Lord, can you hear yourself, man!  Have you lost your sanity?"
Proctor accused him, starting to look through his personal history.
     "I've found it.  Do you know how many of my men volunteered for this
based on the belief that they were finally ferreting out that fimicolous
beast, Jephte?  I sent revenge, retribution and hatred down there, blood
on their minds!"
     "You had no right...!" Proctor exclaimed, the words dying a death on
his lips as he read Captain Kamda's deceased daughter's name. 
Charity...Jephte's eighth victim.  He closed his eyes in despair.
     "I had every right!" Kamda exploded.  "This is my ship, Proctor!  My
realm!  I am its lord and master; its people are under my charge!  They
swear fealty to me; I swear to protect them!  In the name of God and in
the memory of my daughter, I will not let justice go undone one more
day!"


     "There's no way out!" Bruiser yelled, his rising panic getting the
better of him, as he stumbled around blindly in the dark, desperately
searching for egress.  "Hades Hole!  I have to get out of here!"
     Sitting mutely on the deck, Starbuck's head was still reeling from
what Bruiser had revealed.  It was so...completely bizarre that it could
only be yet one more chapter to be added to his colourful life's story. 
In reflection, it wouldn't be a bad follow-up to kissing three beautiful
clones or ultimately forging allegiances with Borays that had been trying
to skewer him only centars before.  Yeah, the way things were going, next
he'd be riding unicorns...
     "We're trapped!" Bruiser hollered, his fists pummelling solid metal. 
"Oh man, this is it!"
     "Shut up!" Starbuck snapped, trying to think.
     They'd both heard the loud clapping of footfalls coming down the
corridor just before they'd inadvertently fallen down the old cargo
chute, losing Starbuck's weapon somewhere along the way down.  As he'd
lain there on the deck forced to listen, Bruiser's story had made an
inordinate kind of sense, and the incredible relief the warrior had felt
at its conclusion had only been diminished by his rising anxiety when
he'd realized where that now left him. 
     Single. Unattached.  Free.
     And at the bottom of a lightless shaft, with unknown aggressors
bearing down on him.
     Currently, the big man's behaviour was screaming that Bruiser really
thought that at any moment a group of misled vigilantes would be bursting
through the sealed hatch, murder in their eyes, lasers blazing. 
Instinctively, Starbuck knew the man was telling the truth.  The
lieutenant tried to get past his astonishment and forced himself to think
rationally.
     "Okay, we've got four walls, two ways out, one too high to reach,
the other locked from the outside," Starbuck said aloud.  "Anything
else?"
     "Plus it's pitch black, we can't see in front of our faces, and you
lost your weapon!" Bruiser added from a few metrons away.  "There's
nothing here!  Not even scrap to use as a weapon!"
     "I suppose throwing barge rats at them when they come in the hatch
is out of the question?" Starbuck said, instilling a little levity.
     "Is that supposed to be funny?" Bruiser replied flatly.  
     "Well, in case you haven't noticed, we don't have a lot of options,
Bruiser," Starbuck replied. "You got any bright ideas?"
     "Horace."
     "Huh?"
     "My name is Horace.  If we're going to die here, you might as well
know that."
     "I'll keep that in mind if I'm still around to write your epithet,"
said Starbuck.
     "Don't count on that.  If she can take out two of us at once,
then..."
     "We're not going to die," Starbuck exclaimed, his voice raised
angrily.  His destiny was to die in a Viper defending the Colonial
Nation, not as a result of a misunderstanding.  They needed to do
something unconventional.  Unexpected.  But what?  
     "Well, maybe you're not, but I am.  I suppose even boneheads can
tell a Colonial Warrior from a scapegoat...I can't believe she outsmarted
me!  Even knowing it was coming..."
     That was it...
     "Hmm, Horace...I think I have an idea, but you're probably not going
to like it."  Yeah, it was crazier than negotiating with Nogow to become
the Marshall of Serenity.  Still, it might just work.  It certainly had
the element of surprise going for it...
     "Try me."


     "Commander, we have a situation evolving on the Arian Freighter,"
Colonel Tigh reported, Proctor still on the comm.  Quickly, the colonel
briefed Adama on the unfolding events that had started with a background
check on Honour and had somehow escalated into a rage driven manhunt for
a serial killer that likely no longer existed.  Apollo, Starbuck and
Boomer, of course, were right in the middle of it.
     "Starbuck," Adama murmured quietly.  "How does he manage to...?" he
curtailed his remarks, turning to the comm unit, an image of Chief
Proctor displayed there.  "How far is Colonial Security from the scene,
Proctor?"
     "There's a shuttle landing on the Freighter now, Commander, but as I
said to Colonel Tigh, I had been depending on Captain Kamda's
cooperation, not his defiance and obstruction of justice according to
Colonial Law.  We'll need back up, because evidently Kamda thinks he's
above our laws.  Logistically, we have two situations: the immediate one
that Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Boomer are walking into, and then
later when we take Kamda into custody.  I doubt he'll come easily after
listening to his earlier ravings.  This could blow up into a full scale
standoff, us against Kamda's crew."
     "Let's hope you're wrong about that," Adama said, trying to find the
empathy to understand how a father would feel after suffering the loss of
his child to a killer.  It was an eye for an eye.  Would revenge ease
Kamda's paternal guilt over not being there to protect his daughter from
Jephte?  Would feeling he had avenged his daughter's death be enough to
bring him back to some semblance of sanity before the situation escalated
further?  Could one man's hatred sustain his crew into prolonged chaos or
would they finally come to their senses before termination entered into
the equation?  He prayed that Apollo and Boomer could somehow intervene
before it came to that.  "Tigh, assign Red Squadron..."
     "Yes, sir!"


     "Isn't there something in the manual about not chasing angry mobs?"
Boomer hollered down the ladderwell to Apollo, hearing the increasingly
raucous and angry sounds of Kamda's men below them.
     They had tried reasoning with the crewmen briefly, at least the ones
who had bothered to wait for them.  However, the Arians seemed to have
lost all perspective on the fact that they were there to enact Colonial
justice, if indeed they ever had any to begin with.  Arming themselves
with makeshift bludgeons, they were consumed with rage, acting like
barbarians, Hades-bent on bringing back the death penalty...without
tribunal.  Was it some kind of deranged attempt to exert control over a
situation where they could command the outcome, unlike the Destruction? 
Was it some kind of psychological displacement?  Was the man identified
as Jephte about to pay for Baltar's crimes and the mistakes of a foolish
Quorum of Twelve?  
    Apollo and Boomer had to stop that from happening!
     "Technically, I don't think a dozen men qualify as a mob, Boomer!"
Apollo shouted back up, taking the rungs two at a time.  
     "Have I ever told you how much I hate technicalities?" 
     "Then you might want to seriously consider leaving the Colonial
Service!" Apollo rejoined.
     "I'm seriously considering it now!"
     "Tell that to Starbuck!"
     "Fine!" Boomer yelled back after a micron.  "We save Starbuck first,
then I'll quit the Service!"

     
     Saryn pressed the entry chime on Honour's temporary quarters a final
time, finally keying in the override code.  The door slid open and she
paused there at the threshold, listening.  It was silent.
     "Hello?  Anybody here?" she called out, slowly stepping inside.
     It took her a moment to recover from the opulence, a stark contrast
to the rest of the Battlestar.  It was like walking into another
universe, and it seemed somehow vulgar that this kind of luxury was
commonplace for the highborn.  It took her a moment to get over her
indignation and start looking around with her professional mask in place. 
What struck her most was that not a thing was out of place.  It looked as
if no one had been there, most certainly not a one yahren old tot and her
mother. 
     It took her only a few centons to verify what she had suspected. 
She did one final sweep before crossing to the telecom.
     "Sir?  This is Saryn.  Honour's gone."


     "Don't open that hatch!" Apollo hollered on the run, the sound of
his heartbeat thudding in his ears, as his boots pounded the deck as fast
as his feet could carry him.  "That's an order!"
     "Hold it!" Boomer also yelled, hitting the deck from the ladderwell
just a micron behind the captain.
     At a glance, there had to be approximately fifteen people amassing
about fifty metrons away.  The mob looked ugly, frenzied by their own
hatred and fear, finding courage in numbers and ignorance as they
presumably struggled to open the huge, grungy old cargo hatch.  At this
distance, Apollo could only hope that the archaic portal on this damp
lower deck would be rusted shut, barring them from Starbuck and "Jephte",
and preventing impending disaster.  However, that still left his good
buddy sealed in a compartment with a potential serial killer.  Neither
scenario looked especially good for Starbuck. 
     A loud clunk and drawn out squeak signalled an opening hatch.  There
was a flickering of the overhead illuminators, and then bright light
streamed out from within the compartment, along with a tide of barge
rats.  The crewmen weren't daunted.
     "Halt!" Apollo demanded, pulling his weapon and redoubling his
efforts.  Thigh muscles burning, he poured on the speed, hearing a
guttural cry of despair from Boomer behind him.  Using stun, they would
open fire on adult civilians only as a last resort.  "Cease and desist! 
That's an order!"
     Instead, the cacophony momentarily peaked as the riotous pack surged
forward towards the access.  Then the clamour abruptly died down, and a
few began backing off, uncertainly lowering makeshift weapons they had
acquired as they first hesitated and then retreated.  
     "What in Hades Hole...?" someone exclaimed.  
     "Oh frack!  Now wait a centon!  I thought that..."
     "We all did!"
     There was confusion.  Unease.  It didn't bode well.  Overall, Apollo
had the distinct idea that whatever had deterred them had far more to do
with what they'd found inside, rather than the warriors bearing down on
them, weapons drawn.  
     An icy chill swept over him.
     "Drop your weapons!" Apollo choked out as he arrived at the scene,
dreading what he would find within.  
     The crewmen looked at him and Boomer as though they were happy for
the distraction.  They dropped the bludgeons they carried, raising their
hands innocuously and backing away obediently, leaving room for their
equally bewildered compatriots to exit the cargo compartment.  
     "Break it up!" Boomer ordered them, disbanding the crowd before they
could regroup.  He glanced wearily at the open hatch.
     "I didn't sign on for this," a crewman muttered, escaping the
compartment, "whatever it is." 
     "Apollo..." Boomer murmured in anxiety.
     "Back me up," Apollo ordered.
     "Right."
     Apollo took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the worst. 
Armed, he brushed past the dispelling men, squinting against the
brightness of the industrial lighting coming from within the compartment. 

     He blinked as his sight adjusted, then his eyebrows shot upward in
abject shock.  "Starbuck?"  He let out a breath of relief as he cried
over his shoulder.  "He's okay, Boomer!"
     "Apollo!" a relieved sounding Starbuck cried out.  "Thought you'd
never get here, buddy!  That was a little too close for comfort.  You
just might be losing your touch, Captain. " 
     Apollo slowly lowered his weapon, smiling in disbelief.  "And you're
losing you mind, Lieutenant...not to mention..."
     "I don't believe it," Boomer interjected over Apollo's shoulder as
he beheld the sight before him.  
     "What?" Starbuck asked innocently.
     His face smudged with grime, the brash lieutenant grinned at them,
standing akimbo exuding his usual self-assurance and
nonchalance...despite the fact that both he and "Jephte" were clad in
nothing but their briefs.  The mob had apparently been dumbfounded upon
finding two very vulnerable and near-naked men, instead of a frothing,
crazed killer and a Colonial Warrior doing battle.  It had stopped them
in their tracks, effectively throwing cold water on fiery emotions. 
Malignant intent and rage had impotently dissolved into confusion and
embarrassment, just long enough for Apollo and Boomer to arrive and
intervene.  
     "You're out of uniform, Lieutenant," Apollo couldn't help but rib
him, loosely holding his weapon at his side.  There wasn't the least
amount of avarice directed at "Jephte" from Starbuck.  It gave him the
distinct impression that he was missing something.
     "Well, this is hardly the Officers' Ball," Starbuck returned with a
shrug.
     "Which raises the question," Apollo returned, "what is it exactly?"


     Cassiopeia slipped her ultrasonic scanner in her pocket, making her
way through the crowd gathered in the makeshift reception room on the
Calibri Freighter.  She was overdue for this java break, but that wasn't
anything new for a Colonial med tech, her diet plan consisting of "too
much to do, no time to eat".  As she headed for the commissary, it
occurred to her that if she hadn't volunteered for this extra duty that
she would have been meeting Starbuck about now.  However, his sudden
entanglement with that woman had brought their romantic liaison to a
grinding halt.  She tried not to dwell on it; after all, Starbuck had
about as much experience as she did with monogamous relationships.  Then
again, it was one of the things that endeared him to her; they both
seemed to be starting out on even ground, neither of them having
unreasonable expectations of the other.  In a life filled with
uncertainty, it had been nice to meet a man willing to take each day as
it came, especially one who came in such a handsome package.  
     Cassie sighed, pushing her hair back from her face.  She'd
recognized sincere regret when Starbuck had said his goodbyes.  There had
been true vulnerability in him that had resonated with her, allowing her
socialator training to overcome her more female instinct to slap him
across the face.  It had taken all of her self-control to not proceed on
her own, performing genetic tests on the child to put her own scepticism
to rest.  Furthermore, it had required far more effort than she cared to
admit to not blurt out her suspicions about Honour, even as that little
voice in the back of her mind screamed out that there was more to woman
than met the eye.  
     She'd seen Honour's type before: scheming, malicious, two-faced.  
The way that Honour manipulated a situation led the med tech to believe
that at some point she had had some socialator's training.  Cassie
doubted that Honour had completed her training, making it to convocation. 
Somewhere along the line one of their esteemed pedagogues would have
realized that while Honour certainly had the intelligence to become a
socialator, that she lacked the simple heart that was necessary for the
traditional and respected designation.  
     All the same, if she had mentioned any of this to Starbuck or
anybody else for that matter, it would have come across as jealousy.  It
was a no win situation, and Cassie had grace enough to cede the first
round to Honour.  The next round, well that would be a different matter. 
     So much for not dwelling on this, Cassiopeia...
     Angry at herself for allowing her mind to wander where it would, she
abruptly rounded a corner, instantly regretting it as she stumbled into a
young man carrying a tot.  
     "Oops, sorry!" Cassie said, her hands extended to soften the impact. 
Controlling her shock, she recognized Starbuck's "wife" and "child", more
from a visceral reaction than from any obvious visual clues.  
     Honour's hair was shorn so close to her head that she looked like a
young teen carrying his sibling.  Oversized and tattered pants and tunic
completed the transformation, a tightly cinched belt hinting at
malnutrition.  Smudges of dirt disguised a face that could be considered
"too pretty" to be male.  Shadows of what had to be grease were smeared
on the jaw line, giving an illusion of facial hair.  Yahrens of
socialator training kicked in, and Cassie bent down, recovering the pack
of belongings that Honour had dropped when they'd collided.   She paused
only briefly in indecision before taking the initiative, knowing she
wouldn't regret it.  
     "S'okay," the imposter replied, her voice muffled and lowered in
tone as the baby fussed in her arms.  "No harm done, lady."
     Cassie stood back up, handing the "young man" the pack.  She was
careful to cover any trace of recognition as she glanced at her chrono. 
"There's a clinic today.  Maybe you should bring the little one.  Your
sister?"
     "Yeah.  Maybe."   The reply was noncommittal, as "he" took the pack
and brushed past her.
     Cassie chewed her lip a moment in thought as she turned towards the
commissary.  Something had to have happened, but what?  Had the second
round of this rivalry presented itself so soon?  The question was what
should she do about it?


     "The woman that you all know as Honour, I first met and sealed with
just over five yahrens ago in Prior's Clovelly, a sleepy little village
on Piscon where I was a commercial piscator," Horace told those gathered
in Commander Adama's office.  The big man stood in front of the viewport,
his attention diverted between the starscape and those present. "I came
from a relatively small community, insular and very traditional.  I have
to say that she was the most exciting woman I'd ever met. Beautiful,
witty, sexy, smart...her persona back then was a lot different than it is
now, probably a lot closer to the real woman, although she still
professed to be a devout Kobollian."
     "Evidently, going to Temple doesn't make you a Kobollian anymore
than sitting in a launch bay makes you a Viper," Starbuck inserted,
abruptly cutting off the bitter stream of words as all eyes turned his
way.  Along with a sense of relief that he was once again free, came a
sharp sting reminding him that he had been set up, not once but twice,
both times falling for Honour's story naively.  He still couldn't believe
that a woman could be so manipulative and underhanded, her motivation
completely monetary, and more often than not deadly.   He raked a hand
through his hair in agitation, feeling as though he had narrowly escaped
a fate he had been totally unaware of.  Apparently, his scanners were
down.  It was unsettling to realize how easily he'd been duped. 
"Sorry...I'm done now."
     "Don't be sorry," Horace said in a strained voice.  "I know just how
you feel, Lieutenant. I loved her once too."
     "Well...I, uh..." Starbuck stuttered uncomfortably.  Since that
morning he had run through a gamut of emotions, swinging from one extreme
to another.  At one point, he'd had every expectation that he, Honour and
Tara would join the ranks of ideal Colonial families, at another, he'd
wanted to throw in the towel and just try to be a decent part-time
father.  Yeah, somehow he had the idea that Horace had a little more
emotional investment in his relationship with Honour.
     Adama exchanged a look with Tigh before sitting down wearily in his
chair.  "Her persona, you said, Horace?"  His voice was hoarse and he
cleared it, while rubbing the back of his neck.
     "Belle-her real name, or at least the one that I know best-changes
identities like most women change their minds," Horace replied, sitting
down on the longseat beneath the viewport, and leaning forward, elbows on
thighs.  "She moves from one relationship to the next, exclusively
picking men with high risk jobs that are either orphaned or have no close
family. Then she seals with them, and finally profits from their survival
benefits and/or estates when they die.  In more than one instance I
suspect she helped them on their way to the Hereafter."
     Adama let out a breath of surprise.  "That...that gentle, nurturing,
God-fearing..."
     "She-devil," Horace replied flatly.  "She uses my daughter as a
smokescreen, hiding behind her supposed maternal obligations whenever the
going gets tough..."
     "Your daughter?" Apollo stated with a glance at Starbuck.  His
friend was studiously studying the floor.  
     "Not Starbuck's," Tigh said.  
     Starbuck glanced at the colonel briefly, remembering how the officer
had suggested getting a paternity test.  Tigh met his gaze for a micron,
a strange look of empathy on his usually stern features before he
returned his attention to the former piscator.  
     "No, Colonel.  She's mine," Horace reaffirmed.  "I'm sure of it."
     "But Tara is only a yahren old," Boomer said.  "You said you knew
her several yahrens ago."
     Horace sighed.  "Just like Starbuck at Hoedus, I also survived my
first encounter with Belle, unbeknownst to her at the time.  I was lost
at sea during a storm, swept overboard when my personal safety equipment
failed."  He frowned, looking over at Starbuck.  "Most people don't know
this, but piscators were once ranked as having the most dangerous
civilian designation in the Colonies, until advanced safety equipment
designs changed that.  I never considered it at the time, but I have a
sneaking suspicion that if I could go back and check my gear, I'd find it
had been tampered with."
     "That's premeditated termination, isn't it?" Boomer asked.
     "Only if you can prove it," Horace replied.  "Regardless, not only
did my safety line break that day, but my electronic tracking system
failed.  Thankfully, the Lords were watching over me, but then they've
favoured me most of my life, and believe me, I've tested their
generosity."
     "Something else you and Starbuck have in common," Adama added with a
fond smile at the young lieutenant.  "Go on, Horace."
     "I ended up washing up on an islet off the usual shipping lanes.  It
took over two sectars before I finally made it home.  That's when I found
out that not only had Belle left, but she'd dissolved all my assets,
leaving me destitute."
     "In two sectars?  That was quick," Tigh said.  
     "She was very efficient," Horace said.  "As I said, she'd done it
before."
     "Were you suspicious?" Tigh asked.
     "Not at the time," he replied.  "In fact I was beside myself with
worry for her wellbeing.  I heard from friends that Belle was devastated,
that she claimed that wherever she looked she saw me.  Finally, she left,
deciding she was better to make a new start.  My best friend said she was
going to contact him, so they could stay in touch, but she never did.  I
had no way to find her, and my funds were limited so I couldn't hire an
investigator.  Meanwhile, her trail grew cold.  I stayed in Prior's
Clovelly hoping that somehow, someway she'd return.  She didn't."
     "Then you met her again?" Tigh asked.
     "Almost three yahrens later." Horace nodded.  "The Agro Ministry had
just finished another Forced Grow Cycle in the Craggy Forest Reserve in
the Kootenay Region, and it was time to harvest.  I'd been working with
the company on and off for over eight yahren, so they hired me as a crew
boss during our usual piscator typhoon season and sent me across planet."
     "You're a lumberman too?" Boomer asked.
     "Piscators could make a living yahren-round if they were willing to
relocate from planet to planet, but I was a Piscon Boy, born and bred. 
Most of us diehards had another designation during the typhoon season and
conservation periods, travelling inland to work camps in the forest or
agro industries.  Anyhow, our luck turned one day and we lost a greenhorn
named Mufferaw in a fluke accident.  The guys said his mind wasn't on his
job, which made me wonder what the heck he was doing out there to begin
with.   It was the first time I'd ever lost a man on the job, so I made a
special trip in to Ominica on the Forestry Transport to tell his new
bride. It just didn't seem right to do it over the telecom."
     "His bride was Honour?" Boomer saw it coming.
     "Belle," Horace corrected him.  "But she went by Bellissa, saying it
was actually her mother's proper name.  I was over the Lillium Moons with
joy when she opened the door, but of course, she was struck dumb that I
was standing there in the flesh.  Well, it made sense to me at the time. 
I'd be shocked too if my dead spouse came back from a watery grave to
inform me my latest was also dead, killed in an accident.  My heart went
out to her in her grief; she seemed so fragile, so delicate."
     "Sounds familiar," Starbuck commented, shifting from foot to foot.
     "I'm sure it does.  To make a long story short, we slowly rekindled
our relationship, which isn't an easy thing when a lumberman is away in
camp for two sectars at a time. We rebuilt our lives together and she
came up with this idea of starting a Lumberman's Foundation.  She said
that she needed something meaningful to do, something that would make a
difference. Mainly, it was supposed to help workers and their families
through tragedies of all kinds.  I supported her, of course, and I was
impressed how tirelessly she worked to organize it all.  She was a smart
lady, with a real head for business, and I was very proud of her.  It
quickly turned into a planetwide initiative in the forestry industry,
Belle one of the main organizers of the fundraising.  Then, on my way
back to camp one day, our transport crash-landed.  Luckily, no one was
seriously hurt."
     "Malfunction?" Tigh asked.
     "Negligence," Horace replied.  "The pilot had overindulged in
recreational intoxicants, and some of them were still in his system.
Anyhow, we'd just made it back to camp when we got word of the quake in
Ominica.  Not surprisingly, while we were crash landing, we hadn't
noticed the tremors."
     "Quake?" Tigh echoed.
     "Four hundred and thirty-eight people were killed, dozens more
reported missing.  Massive fires broke out, and the resultant damage was
devastating.  Many bodies were never identified.  I counted Belle's
amongst them.  I'd lost her twice." 
     "Then?"
     "To make matters worse, I ran into Belle's physician a couple days
later.  He wished me condolences on my family.  It turned out that she
had been about six sectons pregnant and hadn't told me."  He paused for a
moment.  "Then about a secton later I got word that the Lumberman's
Foundation had been defrauded.  Every last cubit in it had been
electronically transferred to various accounts off-planet.  As it turned
out, they were totally untraceable."
     "That sounds like a lot of currency," Tigh suggested.  "Did you
suspect her?"     
     "Not at all," Horace replied.  "It was about two sectars after that
I was approached by an investigator named Mycroft.  He'd been chasing
Belle for well over four yahrens by then, but she'd always managed to
stay a couple identities as well as a couple crimes ahead of him.  That's
when I learned that the sweet, considerate and loving woman I sealed with
was actually a cold-blooded sociopathic murderess and defrauder.  I soon
came to understand that she tried to kill me twice, the first time taking
my assets in Prior's Clovelly and the second time defrauding the
Lumberman's Foundation in Ominica.  Mycroft had interviewed the pilot of
our downed transport and he'd claimed that he'd shared a brief drink with
Belle while they discussed a similar foundation idea for bush pilots. 
Mycroft was certain Belle had drugged the man, trying to kill me again,
not caring who else went down on that transport with me.  I had a
sizeable survivor's benefit through the Ministry, you see."
     "And the quake..."
     "Coincidence," replied Horace, "but perfect cover because by then
she'd already defrauded the Foundation and electronically transferred
funds that weren't discovered missing for at least another secton. I
ended up joining forces with Mycroft, determined to confront her and get
custody of our child.  I saw all his accumulated data, saw how easily she
changed her nature to suit her mark or the circumstances, saw how
heartless she really was.  I still can't believe it at times. She's like
two different women, one an angel, the other a monster. I couldn't
understand what motivated her, why she seemed to hate men so much. Later,
we pieced together that she was born of an unwed mother, her paternal
father a serviceman who would have nothing to do with them, leaving them
in abject poverty.  Later, as a young woman, she followed in her mother's
footsteps, becoming involved in a series of short-term relationships,
most of them with warriors on furlon that would string along a pretty
girl with empty promises just to have their way with them."
     Starbuck winced.  Had he been one of those insincere young men
unintentionally stringing along young women with empty promises?  Had he
ever tried out an "I love you" more to see if it fit than because he
really meant it?  Was Honour choosing him as her next mark a sort of
divine retribution for his foolish young days during his pursuit of fast
women and cheap thrills?  Was there something of Honour's former
servicemen-boyfriends in him that she recognized and had decided to
avenge?
     "There were other men before you and Starbuck, Horace?" Boomer
asked.
     "Other marks.  Four that Mycroft felt confident about, another two
that he wasn't certain of," Horace replied.  "Three of those were also
Colonial Warriors, the fourth a fire fighter; Mycroft's own son."  Horace
frowned grimly.  "She preferred warriors, especially pilots, since the
Colonial Nation was good enough to provide survivor benefits.  And, of
course, the Cylons were far more efficient at killing her husbands than
she was."
     That was it, Starbuck decided, taking two steps forward and dropping
heavily into an empty seat.  He'd laughed with her, flirted with her,
made love to her, sealed with her...had entertained the thought of
forging a future with this...crazy man-hating woman.  
     "You okay?" Apollo asked, squeezing his shoulder from behind.
     "I feel like an angel of death just visited...but found me
marginally lacking for membership in the Great Hereafter," Starbuck
replied quietly.
     "Sorry, Lieutenant," Horace said, abashed.  "This is a lot to
absorb, I know."
     "I'm just thanking my lucky stars that she was a better defrauder
than she was a murderess," Starbuck replied, his attempt at humour
falling flat.
     "I second that," Horace replied.  "If it hadn't been for your quick
thinking on that freighter, I doubt I'd be standing here telling my
story."
     "Yeah well, when you have nothing to use to defend yourself,
sometimes shocking the pogees out of your opponent is the only choice
left," Starbuck said.
     "When you told me to take off my clothes, you shocked the pogees out
of me too," Horace replied with amusement.
     "Starbuck often has that effect on people," Apollo said.
     "So obviously Honour was after Starbuck's survivor benefits when she
told him she was pregnant and sealed with him at Hoedus," Boomer said. 
"But she had every expectation he would die on that mission..."
     "So did I," Starbuck murmured.  "Lords..."
     "And since she was already sealed to Horace..." Apollo pointed out,
still standing guard over his friend.
     "Then their sealing was invalid," Adama concluded gruffly, rubbing
his temples, his eyelids heavy. 
     "Even so, she probably managed to get survivor benefits until
Starbuck came back from the Alcor Willowwacks," Apollo said.  "That's
probably what the hold-up was in getting you reinstated to active duty,
buddy."
     "But why wouldn't they let him know he had a wife out there?" Boomer
asked.  "That doesn't make sense."
     "She had to have known someone working for the benefits department,"
Horace suggested.  "Either that or she scammed someone into deleting that
information.  She might have found a sympathetic clerk...told her that
her husband was abusive..."
     "Now that you mention it, Honour told Ondine that Starbuck was
abusive.  That's one of the reasons Ondine was covering for her when she
was setting up her identity on the Arian Freighter," Apollo said.
     "So the two women who were reported dead, Faith and Hope...they were
actually Honour's other identities?" Tigh asked.  
     "Yes," Horace replied.  "Obviously, she had to have spent some time
on those ships, moving from one identity to another, probably having
people covering for her as well, like Ondine."
     "What happened to Mycroft?" Tigh asked.
     "After finally figuring out she'd been hiding with the Kobollian
Order, Mycroft and I had caught up to Belle on Aries on the eve of the
Destruction.  For twenty-four centars she was actually in custody,
genomic analysis confirming that the baby was mine. Then the Cylons
attacked."
     In the chaos, Belle and her child had managed to escape, but at the
time Horace hadn't known if she'd survived the tragedy of the rest of the
night.  Mycroft had been killed, mowed down on a strafing run.  
     "Sounds like she has a sick sort of luck on her side," said Boomer.
     "You won't hear me disagree.  Belle must have had a plan in place
from the time she arrived in the Fleet to set me up as Jephte, the Arian
Serial Killer.  She must have known I'd survived, just as surely as she
knew that I would never give up trying to find her and the baby."  Horace
stood up, turning slightly to look out of the viewport again.  "I didn't
recognize the significance of the names Faith, Hope and Honour quickly
enough.  Instead I was just following the trail of bread crumbs she was
laying down for me.  My desperation to catch up to my daughter got the
better of my common sense, and before I knew it I was on Captain Kamda's
ship, everybody figuring I was Jephte, the most evil serial killer of
modern times."  Horace shook his head.   The Aerian captain had since
then been relieved of duty, suffering from Post-Destruction Stress
Syndrome.  "When I finally figured it out, it was already too late.  When
Starbuck walked in on Ondine and me saying that Honour was his wife, I
figured that she'd sent him to finish me off.  Only he didn't have that
same look to him that I did...that crazed desperate look.  Well, then I
heard the footfalls stampeding down the corridor and I knew if I didn't
get out of there, I was a goner."
     "Near enough," Boomer admitted with a glance at Apollo.  "The way
she manipulated us into believing that you were Jephte was..." He shook
his head, at a loss for words as memories of his own incensed emotions
returned to him.
     "Diabolical?" Tigh suggested.  "It was an intricately weaved.  The
extent of the planning she went through is...astounding.  She picked a
figure that many Colonials would have seen the death penalty resurrected
for."
     "God forbid we return to those barbaric ways," Adama said quietly,
clearing his throat again.  "Capital punishment is the most premeditated
of terminations.  It is revenge, not justice."
     "Speaking of barbaric, that's Belle," Horace replied.  "She's as
shrewd as she is unscrupulous.  And she still has my daughter.  She's not
fit to be a mother.  I've seen her actually pinch my daughter to make her
scream, just so she could deflect questions and control situations.  We
have to find them."
     "We'll find them, Horace," Adama assured him.  "We have security
personnel briefed all over the Fleet.  Every docking lounge is on the
alert for a woman and child answering to their descriptions..."
     "That might not be enough, Commander.  She knows how to cover her
trail.  Believe me; I've been on it for yahrens.  I know you all want to
help, but every centon that we sit here talking, the further away she
gets."
     Beep!
     Adama activated his telecom, Chief Proctor filling the screen. 
"Yes, Proctor?"
     "Commander, we've found Honour and the baby on the Calibri
Freighter!"


     "It's not personal, Starbuck." Honour shrugged nonchalantly from
behind the clear barrier of the cell doors in the Galactica's brig. "It
never was." 
     When he'd entered the brig to confront her, he almost hadn't
recognized her with her recently cropped hair and boyish clothes.  Gone
was the vulnerable and nervous victim, replaced by an aloof and callous
fugitive, flipping disinterestedly through Inter Fleet Broadcasting
stations for lack of anyone to hustle.  Word had it that some astute
security officer had recognized Honour, slipping some kind of electronic
device with a transceiver into her pack to track her later.  Why he
hadn't apprehended there and then, the lieutenant didn't really
understand.
     "How can it not be personal?" Starbuck replied, shaking his head at
the preposterous claim, pacing in front of her cell.  He turned to face
her.  "You set me up like a pyramid hand. You sealed with me, or at least
you made me think you did.  You told me that Tara was my daughter, and
the whole time you were just biding your time, waiting for me to cash out
my cubits on my next patrol!"
     She shrugged, unconcerned, finally looking over at him. "Oh c'mon,
we had a few good times along the way. You're a fighter pilot;
inevitably, you're going to die, Starbuck. Why shouldn't someone in need
actually benefit from that?"
     "What?" he choked.  She hadn't denied a word of it, indeed had
admitted it openly, as if it were a virtue.  Lords, she'd practically
berated him for holding it against her! She hadn't even asked about Tara,
apparently unconcerned as to the tot's whereabouts.  The child was with
Family Services for now, while Horace filed for custody.  "You don't have
any grasp of the fact that what you've done is wrong, do you?  Horace and
I could have been killed on the Arian Freighter after Captain Kamda sent
his vigilantes after us.  The way I hear it, you're responsible for the
deaths of several men..."
     She smiled slightly at that, meeting his gaze briefly before
returning to stretch out on her cot, her attention back on the IFB.  She
was unmoved, uncaring.  After all, death paid well in her eyes. 
     "Starbuck, did you know that the maximum life expectancy of a
fighter pilot that makes it past his first three sectons of combat is
only eighty-seven logged centars," she said conversationally, plumping
her pillow behind her head. "By my calculations, that makes you overdue.
I guess my timing was a bit off.  A shame."
     Starbuck felt a cold chill run down his spine, his mortality staring
him in the face at the same time as a horrified revulsion suffused him. 
She had a complete lack of remorse or guilt, and no empathy for her
fellow man. Somehow he thought that if she could offer some regret or
even some account of why she'd chosen him, he would be able to deal with
this easier. Instead, like a harbinger of doom, she'd shaken him to the
core.  Without another word, he turned and paced briskly towards the
hatch, hearing her lilting laughter mocking him as he fled the cellblock. 

     Walking out of there, it felt like a smothering cloud of malignancy
was clinging to him, suffusing his very soul.  He shook his head, still
incredulous at the predicament he'd ended up in.  He shouldn't have come
here.  He shouldn't have confronted her.  He didn't want to know that
there were humans in the universe as unfeeling as Cylons.
     "You okay, buddy?"
     "Great."
     Starbuck beat a path straight past the waiting Apollo, brushing
aside the hand that reached out to him, rushing down the corridor as if
the very daggits of Hades hole were on his tail.  Admittedly, he didn't
have the greatest track record with women.  It seemed to him that the few
that he had actually let close had either died or rejected him at some
point, Cassie being the sole exception.  But never before had one
unnerved him like Honour did, throwing his mortality in his face as if it
didn't matter to her any more than what was on the IFB.  Did he really
deserve that callousness?  Why had he been so clueless about her true
nature?  Was he really such a poor judge of character...or did he migrate
towards this woman of dubious nature because he could lump himself in
that same category?  It made a guy question a whole lot, the least of
which being the logic of having a serious relationship.  Especially if
Honour was right and he was living on borrowed time.
     He stepped onto the turbo lift, pressing a level randomly, not even
having an inkling of where he wanted to go.  Shifting his weight, he
rocked on the balls of his feet repeatedly, waiting eternal microns
before the lift came to a stop, offering egress.  He bolted forward,
pacing down another corridor, the clapping of his boots on the deck
echoing in his brain, chasing him further and further from the heartless
woman that wanted him dead, and had figured that his number was up.
     He didn't even know how he ended up there, standing on the threshold
uncertainly, not sure whether to stay or go.  He held his hand in front
of the entry chime for long microns, unable to get up the courage to
follow through.  His fingers curled into a tight fist as he struggled
with turbulent emotions, unaccustomed to being besieged from within. 
After all that had happened, he had no real right to be here.  He should
be in the Officer's Club drowning his sorrows in cheap grog amongst
undemanding and shallow company, like any other self-respecting Colonial
Warrior.  He hung his head, raking his hand through his hair, turning to
go.  This was wrong.  All wrong.
     "Hello, Starbuck."
     Inexplicably, his chest tightened at the sound of Cassiopeia's
voice, and he closed his eyes, feeling an unexpected intensity assault
him.  Her tone had been neutral, not dripping in accusation or sarcasm. 
All the same, he couldn't think of a single intelligent thing to say to
explain his presence.  As far as she knew, he was married to Honour,
situating his wife and child in their new quarters.  
     "I...uh...I shouldn't have come..." he stuttered, unable to meet her
gaze.  He moved to brush past her, much as he'd done with Apollo.  
     Unlike the captain, Cassie wouldn't let him go.  She put a hand on
his sleeve, stepping in front of him just enough that he would have to
push her aside to pass by.  They both knew he wouldn't do that.
     "I heard about what happened with Honour," she said softly, glancing
at her chrono.  "I have extra duty tonight.  Commander Adama is ill. 
He's..."
     "Ill?  Nothing serious, I hope?" he replied.
     "Aquarian Influenza.  I'm sure he'll be fine, but of course, his age
is a concern," she replied.  "You have patrol in the morning?"
     He nodded, trying to remember.  "With Boomer. 0600."
     "Come inside for a few centons?"
     He hesitated.  Her offer was more appealing with the humiliating
burden of explaining himself suddenly gone.  How she had found out about
Honour, he wasn't sure, but he was just as certain that it didn't really
matter.  Ten to one, rumours loosely based on the day's events would race
around the Battlestar at the speed of sound-the sound of gossiping
personnel, to be more accurate.  The door slid open and gentle but
insistent hands guided him inside before he could decline her offer.  She
activated the lights, dimming them a micron later as the door closed
behind him, shutting out the world.
     Austere as most quarters on the Battlestar were, Cassie had a flare
for mixing textiles, colour and scents to lend an exotic quality to the
usually dour space.  There was a tranquillity here that was rare on the
Galactica.  Starbuck held his breath as she slowly circled around him,
stopping in front of him, her hands resting on his waist.  She looked at
him searchingly, only sincere concern on her beautiful features.  Then
she took a half step forward, embracing him warmly, pressing against him,
but not saying a word.
     Letting out a deep breath, he gave in to the closeness.  He could
feel knotted muscles begin to relax as her hands crept under his flight
jacket, slowly rubbing a soothing path up and down his back.  She smelled
faintly of antiseptic wash, with the sweet underlying scent of lavender
in her silken hair.  He raised a hand to finger its luxuriant lengths,
sighing as the weight of the twelve worlds seemed to ease itself off his
shoulders.
     "Don't let her get to you," she whispered in his ear.  "This isn't
your fault."
     "But..."
     "Shhhh," she whispered.
     Then she kissed him.
     If Honour was the harbinger of his doom, then Cassiopeia was the
herald of his salvation.  He pulled her to him, finding again in her
sweet embrace everything that was good and right in life.  All that
Honour had stripped bare, Cassie gave back to him, breathing new life
into him.  All lingering traces of immuring gloom were vanquished by her
vitality.  When they came up for air, she was breathless, he was reborn.
     "Maybe I...uh... shouldn't have done that," Cassie laughed lightly,
her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling as she smiled provocatively at
him.
     "Oh, no," Starbuck disagreed, grinning at her, his hand at the small
of her back, keeping her close.  "You most definitely should have." 
     "Oh?  Are you sure?" she teased him, her fingers brushing his hair
from his eyes.  "I probably should have given you a little time to think
with all that happened to you today."
     He shook his head 'no'.  "Actually, thinking is overrated."
     "Really?" she purred.  "And time?"
     "Time is short and not to be wasted, especially for a Viper pilot,"
he replied. "After all, did you know that the maximum life expectancy of
a fighter pilot that makes it past his first three sectons of combat is
only eighty-seven logged centars?"
     "You made that up!" she accused him playfully.  "You'll say anything
for a little sympathy."
     "Guilty as charged," he said, reclaiming her lips for another
passionate kiss.
     Yeah, he'd come full circle in one day, from philandering Viper jock
to husband and father, and then back again.  Along the way he'd learned a
little about women, and a lot about himself.  If he took anything away
from his experience with Honour it was that he was truly in no hurry to
settle down or have a family.  In fact, if the legacy of Honour drilled
home anything to him, it was the fact that commitment and fatherhood were
downright dangerous.  

Fleeing from the Cylon tyranny, the last Battlestar, Galactica, leads a
ragtag fugitive Fleet on a lonely quest, a shining planet known as Earth.