On the Line
By Lisa Zaza 
casazaza@shaw.ca

Part 1
 
     "Shuttle to full stealth mode, now," ordered the colonel. The pilot
threw a bank of switches, activating the ship's full ECM suite.
     "Full stealth mode.  Aye, sir."
     Apollo checked his equipment for a final time, before glancing
across at Starbuck.  His friend looked tense as he adjusted his helmet in
the rear of the shuttle, then pulled it off again, letting out a
frustrated sigh and shaking his head.  Apollo remembered the feeling
well.  Occluding your usual senses and adapting to seeing through a
digitally enhanced image, it had made him feel more machine than Human,
especially when the headband would never adjust properly. Add to that a
night jump at ten thousand metrons.  In the pitch black.  Into enemy
territory.  Their objective: penetrate a Cylon base unobserved, disable
the hangar doors to prevent any defending Raiders from taking off. A
second team was to knock out the scanners and antenna array, rendering
the enemy both blind and deaf, and a third to touch off the Cylon fuel
and ammunition stores, causing complete chaos as well as considerable
damage. Then, they had to make it back to the rendezvous point for pick
up all within four centars.  
     Or get blown to Hades Hole if they got caught in the air strike
instead.  
     "Tell me again, Starbuck," Apollo said, even though it was carved
into his brain at this point.  Reviewing the plan would tighten their
focus.  And get Starbuck's mind off the helmet that was so obviously
distracting him.
     The warrior nodded, tossing the helmet in his hands and getting a
steely look from the colonel for his efforts. "We free fall with oxygen
to two thousand metrons to hopefully avoid detection, as well as minimize
our exposure in case we do get spotted...the whole time trying not to
freeze our astrums off.  Then we pull our cords, and hope we don't break
our necks with the sudden shock of the chute opening at that velocity."
Starbuck shrugged. "Simple." Then he smiled wryly,  "Assuming we don't
get hung up in a tree, splatter on some rocks, get shot by a Cylon, or
break something when we land. Oh, and here's my favourite part.  That's
just the first five centons." With the help of another warrior, he hefted
his pack onto his back, weaving slightly under the weight.  "Assuming I
even make it to the jump chute under all this frackin' weight..."
     Apollo nodded.  They both knew the drill.  They'd run through it
repeatedly since yesterday until they'd explored every possible thing
that could go wrong.  All their cumulative training, every micron of
experience would be put to the test.  "The chute, guidance system,
oxygen, optical enhancer, scanners, communications, weapons, explosives,
med kit, rations, survival gear...sixty kilons." Apollo widened his
stance as the considerable weight of his pack was loaded on his
shoulders, and the straps adjusted automatically. The damn packs were
almost as heavy as each man.  "Thank the Lords we'll be leaving some of
it behind."
     "Don't lose sight of what's on the line, Apollo.  Starbuck." the
colonel inserted solemnly, standing akimbo watching their progress. "If
the Cylons even get a whiff of our presence in this sector..." 
     "No pressure," Starbuck murmured quietly. 
     "We'll be over the drop zone in two centons," the pilot yelled back. 

     "Conditions?" Starbuck called forward.  There wasn't a single star
sparkling in the sky, which didn't bode well. "Visibility?"
     "Deteriorating," the pilot replied.  "Thunder clouds rolling in.
Scanners picking up rising electrical activity. Winds are picking up.
Gusts of up to 64.37 kilometrons per centar. And the temperature is
dropping rapidly."
     Starbuck winced, shaking his head as he turned to glance out a
porthole.  Murky blackness surrounded them.  In the distance, a bolt of
lightening momentarily lightened the murk.  "Oh, perfect..."  He glanced
towards the heavens moodily.  "You know, after a lifetime of striking
bargains, I'm beginning to get the idea that God has a warped sense of
humour. This wasn't the lightening of the moment I was referring to a
centar ago, by the way..." He closed his eyes, letting out a long breath.
     "Forecasts reported the weather was going to get worse, not better. 
If we don't go in now, Starbuck..." Apollo let out a breath, glancing at
his friend's back.  A sudden downward flow of air turbulence could
plummet them to their death.  A sudden gust could whip them kilometrons
from the targeted landing zone, blowing their schedule all to Hades Hole. 
Still, to be chosen for this mission was quite an honour, even under
these circumstances...They had the skill and the training, and together
they were almost invincible.  If anybody could do it, they could. "We'll
lose the advantage of darkness, not to mention the opportunity..." He
trailed off.
     "Status report on Beta and Gamma Teams?" the colonel called forward.
     Muted voices forward indicated the co-pilot was confirming the data
as they flew below Cylon scanner range.  "Beta Team reported on target
and proceeding.  Gamma Team's away."
     "Yeah, but they're further west of the storm, and less likely to get
fried..." Starbuck murmured, glancing out the viewport again.
     "Yeah," Apollo returned.  It was risky.  
     "Colonel!" shouted the pilot, as an alarm sounded and lights blinked
on the panel. "We're over the drop zone, but we have a targeting sensor
failure. Our lock on the drop zone will be lost in less than...fifty
microns."
     If they didn't go now..."Starbuck?" Apollo probed.  
     The other man let out a deep breath.  "It's up to you, buddy.  I got
you into this mess..."
     "Not without a measure of complicity on my part..." Apollo replied
honestly, stepping forward to squeeze Starbuck's shoulder.  They both had
to be one hundred percent committed to the mission, and while he was more
than familiar with the reluctant hero that was his friend, he needed to
tap the unwavering dedication that lay just below the protective crust of
insouciance and sarcasm.  "What's it gonna be?"
     Starbuck turned to regard him.  He raised an eyebrow as sudden
amusement lit his features.  "Are you actually asking me if we should
jump or go home?"
     "I guess I am," Apollo smiled.  "I've found that with you, the
phrasing is key."
     "Well, you know I always jump..."
     "I was counting on it."
     "So is Humanity," added the colonel as they quickly moved towards
the jump chutes.

Part 2

     Starbuck clenched his teeth together to control the chattering as
the wind tore at his body and pack.  He resisted the urge to tuck his
arms in tight, conserving body heat, knowing the aerodynamic posture
would only increase his rate of descent.  In these conditions, he didn't
want to make things any worse.  About two-and-a-half centons of free
fall.  It was like being immersed in frigid water.  If he really wanted
to, he could check his gear to see what the temperature was.  He knew
from his training it was approximately minus thirty-one to minus
thirty-four, and any slight deviation from that wasn't worth the effort
of checking. The Cylon base would have to be built in the planet's winter
hemisphere. Of course. Why couldn't they ever build a base near a
tropical beach, with palm trees and beautiful blue water?  Huh? Why?
     "Fr-fr-fr-frack..." he chattered through lips that were numb. 
     "C-c-c-old," Apollo replied through the helmet comm from somewhere
ahead of him.
      Oh, what I wouldn't do for a hot turbo wash, and a warm, beautiful
woman.  Starbuck sighed, getting back on track, while trying to make
heads or astrums of the optical feed through the full-face helmet. 
Optical and acoustical enhancers with built-in scanners.  It would give
him night vision and improved hearing, while concurrently showing him how
close-or in this case-far off, the mark he was to zeroing in on the
landing zone.  It showed up as a blip and 'x' on a grid pattern, and
typically, he was the blip.  He couldn't get a visual of Apollo, who'd
jumped first, but knew he could track the other's signal-as well as Beta
Team's-with the newest designed global coordinator system, also built
into the helmet.  A quick check revealed his friend's position on the
grid.  The GCS unit utilized recently placed military satellites,
emitting intermittent low-level wavelons on an alternate frequency only
when accessed.  Not only would their practicality now be tested out in
the field-the acid test as it were-but so would how detectable the signal
was to existing Cylon scanners in orbit.  It was the first time this
newest version had been field-tested, and they were the guinea porcines.
     He glanced at his altimeter, willing his brain to adapt to the
closed-face helmet that was like sticking his head into a scanner,
eclipsing his own senses in favour of purely electronic ones. It made him
wish that, like Apollo, he had worn the dang thing while on duty the
previous day, giving him a chance to acclimatize to the change. But then
his friend had looked damned ridiculous...and with the hangover that
Starbuck had had, he was in no mood for the ridiculous.  Then there was
the fact that he had always brushed off what he called "electronic
felgercarb"...
     Sometimes you have to play the game by the rules, Bucko, as much as
you hate to contemplate it.
     Four thousand metrons.  He could detect the slight variation in
temperature as he dropped closer to the mark. The cold had gone from
near-lethal to utterly unbearable. The gradual increased density of the
air should slow his descent slightly, from about two hundred and ninety
kilometrons per centar down to a comparatively sluggish
one-hundred-and-ninety-three.  Flying without a Viper.  He vaguely noted
it wasn't what he had signed on for.
     How do you get yourself into...?
     An obnoxious beeping started in his helmet, warning him to prepare
to deploy his chute.  It was somewhat reassuring that if his oxygen
system had failed, that this klaxon in his ears was supposed to rouse him
from an anoxic, unconscious state to give him a final chance to thwart a
previously foregone conclusion that he would end his life as a mushie.
     Starbuck looked at his altimeter again, counting down the metrons. 
Fifty, forty, thirty, twenty, ten...He deployed his chute, bracing
himself for the resulting shock as his body performed an abrupt reverse
thrust without a pressure suit or cockpit enveloping him protectively as
it opened.  In a Viper it was exhilarating.  Here it merely indicated he
had just become a slow moving target, almost helpless if a Cylon fighter
or ground patrol was to spy him as he started drifting towards the
landing zone.  However, they had chosen this "off the beaten path"
location, deducing there wouldn't be any Cylon patrols hacking their way
through the thick forestation.
     Deducing. It was a military word for "high hopes" base on
intelligence.
     Intelligence. It was military for "what had not been proven to be
inaccurate" quite yet.
     He altered course, pulling on his cords, and then cursing as a
crosswind caught his chute.  He needed to clear the trees if he was going
to get down in one piece.  Satellite imagery had identified a small
clearing about the size of three or four Triad courts squeezed together.
Coming down from the edge of space, it would be like trying to land on a
cubit in the middle of a runway.  With this wind, it would be even worse. 
The margin for error was something he didn't want to think about.  There
was too much to lose.

Part 3

        Zeroing in on the landing zone, that little clearing was a
beautiful sight, even through an optical enhancer.  Still, it was still
going to take precise timing and skill to clear the trees.  Apollo pulled
on his cords, steering slightly west and correcting his trajectory as he
was buffeted once again.  So far it was nothing he couldn't handle.  
     Then something hit his chute with a loud screech, the sharp noise
penetrating his helmet, but also sending him plummeting into a tailspin.
     "Starbuck!  I'm in trouble...!"
     His stomach was already in his throat as he hit the trees, the sharp
cracking sounds of branches breaking, and the whiplash slaps against his
body overwhelming his senses and filling him with panic as he plunged
downward.  Instinctively, he held onto his straps, willing the chute to
snag onto something-anything-that would suspend his fall as he held his
breath.
     "Apollo!  What's going on?" the voice was urgent.
     It was like getting the mong kicked out of you by a huge thug as you
helplessly just let it happen.  And while the branches were breaking his
fall, Apollo wasn't sure what else they were breaking as his body was
wracked with pain.  He gasped and groaned, more in shock than any acute
awareness of his injuries.  Still he dropped like a stone.
     "Apollo!  Come in!"
     Abruptly, the descent stopped.  Apollo's body jolted tortuously,
tearing another gasp from him as he felt himself twist brutally. He
dangled in the air, trying to collect his wits and calm his laboured
breathing.  Above him he could hear the creaking of the branches,
straining under his weight.  
     Alive.  You're alive.   
     "Look, buddy, either you talk to me right now and tell me what's
going on, or I'm going to tell your father about what really happened to
his '32 Futura in yahren two at the Academy..." Starbuck ranted over the
comm, the anxiety in his voice detectable.  "I can hear you breathing. 
You must be alive.  You'd frackin' bloody well better be..." A deep
breath.  "Still alive!  Apollo!  Talk to me!"  
     Apollo licked parched lips.  There was a burning pain down his right
leg that made him fleetingly wonder if it had been ripped off. 
Determinedly he looked down, assessing the damage and more importantly
the number of legs.  One...two...Good news, considering.  He drew a deep
breath before finally grunting through clenched teeth.  "Could...use a
little..."
     Crackkkkk...!
     His guts jumped into his throat as he plummeted downward.  His body
jerked as he abruptly recoiled, bounced roughly, and then finally swayed
gently in the wind.  The lulling motion should have been comforting,
instead, it put him in mind of a dead man swaying on the gallows. 
Slowly, painfully, he looked up.  His rigging had snagged another branch. 
He let out a rasping breath, finally able to draw one, feeling as though
he was all of a sudden living on borrowed time.
     "Apollo!  Are you there?" Starbuck's voice was breathless.  He was
on the run.
     " Yeah..." A branch above him creaked again.  "Don't take too
long..."  

Part 4
     
     It was a long way up...
     The thermal imagery showed Apollo dangling helplessly, roughly eight
metrons above the ground.  His rigging and chute were tangled above him. 
It was too far to release the harness from the rigging and just drop to
the ground without injury.  Conversely, it was also too far to fly up
there without a Viper.
     "How bad?" Starbuck called up while dropping his pack.  He could
feel the sweat pouring off him after his frenzied race through the
underbrush while tracking Apollo's signal.  His friend had come down
between two enormous trees.  They each had to be over five hundred
yahrens old from the girth of the trunks.  Lords, but he hoped he didn't
have to climb up there...
     Just then, a branch cracked.  Apollo dropped a couple more metrons
until he jerked to a stop with a loud groan.
     "Apollo?!"  No answer.  Just crackle on the circuit. "Apoll..."
     "I'm okay.  I...I don't think anything's broken..." Apollo replied a
little hoarsely. It was plain he was hurting. 
     "Except every branch you took out above you," Starbuck replied
lightly, assessing the debris on the forest floor and then above him.  
     "How far up am I?"
     "Too far.  You'd break your neck."
     "Thought so," he replied.  Then, "Tell me you're not going to try
climbing up here...I still remember you assuring me that the only
climbing you like to do is into a Viper or onto...onto a barstool."
     "I'd get Crawlon Man to do it, but apparently, his senses aren't
tingling..." Starbuck returned, although Apollo was right.  He wasn't
exactly afraid of heights, he just didn't like the idea of plunging to
his death...And yes, there was a difference.  However, there didn't seem
to be a lot of other choices, speaking of plunging to one's death.
     "If I released one side of my harness..." Apollo suggested.
     "You'd probably slam into the tree trunk on your other side."
Starbuck paused, picturing just that. "Did I ask you if you hit your
head, by the way?"
     "My head is fine," Apollo returned emphatically. Then he shot back,
"What happened to that eternal Starbuck optimism?"
     "A day in the Brig.  That's what happened," Starbuck retorted, not
bothering to mention that wondering if one's best friend was going to
survive the next few centons had a habit of dampening the most fervent
optimism.  Suddenly, something dripped onto his shoulder.  He bit his lip
as another drip followed it microns later.  Reluctantly, he pulled off a
glove and touched the wetness.  He rubbed the stickiness between his
fingers.  Instinctively, he knew what it was, even with the helmet on. 
Blood.  He swallowed down his apprehension, keeping his tone light as he
started rummaging through his pack.  "Ring any bells?"
     "Sets off a few klaxons, actually," Apollo rejoined after a moment. 
"I'm trying my best to put it behind me...but I can't get the sound out
of my brain of your voice asking me, 'What's the worst thing that could
happen?'" 
     Starbuck couldn't help but smirk at that. A quick comeback meant
Apollo was holding his own.  "I'm sure it could have been worse.  The
colonel's imagination is limited by the regulations, after all."  He
stood up and adjusted the magnification on his visor, trying to get a
better view.  The foliage was obstructing the way.  "Are there any good
sized branches up there nearby?"
     A momentary pause and a rustle from above.  "Yeah.  Just to my
right.  Why?  What are you thinking?" He sounded worried.  
     "I could fire a line up to it with the grappling gun.  Then you
could grab the line when you swing that way, if you release just your
left buckle.  You could rappel down..."
     Apollo groaned. "Oh, you've been dying to try that thing out since
you packed it.  Looks like something I got in a cereal box as a kid." He
cleared a voice that was rough.  "Listen, if I can't see you without the
thermal imaging, then you can't see the branch to loop it around.
Besides, unless it's secured properly, it might not hold my weight,
Starbuck."  
     "Yeah?  Well I told you to watch your mushie intake, buddy," he
returned dryly, pulling equipment from his pack as he thought about it. 
Even injured, Apollo was typically pragmatic. "Do you have any ideas?"
     "I have an idea that I'd like to get down from here..." came the
immediate reply.
     "Smart astrum," Starbuck returned, shaking his head as he tried to
pick out a route up the tree.  He was definitely out of options.  "Then I
guess I'll have to climb up and secure the line myself so we can get you
down." He looked upward.  "Where are you bleeding from, and how bad is
it?  Give it to me straight, Apollo." He realized he was holding his
breath, awaiting the answer. 
     There was a momentary pause as Apollo either assessed his injuries,
or decided to come clean about them.  "My right leg is torn up...I think
it's superficial though."
     Starbuck blew out a breath of relief as he stashed his pack under
some ground cover.  If it was minor, he could patch Apollo up, and they
could possibly get back on schedule.  Apollo would push himself to the
limits, absolutely despising the idea of being a liability to any
mission.  Still, playing medic was right up there with climbing trees on
Starbuck's list of skills he was rumoured to be qualified for, but would
rather avoid.  Inserting the usual bravado into his tone of voice, he
called up, "Keep an eye out for Cylons.  I'm coming up."
     "I'll just hang out here then..." Apollo replied deadpan, before
adding, "Be careful."
     The rumble of thunder punctuated his remark.

Part 5
     
     Another gust of wind swung Apollo to the side as a flash of
lightening lit up the night sky through a hole in the canopy.  Probably
the one he'd created.  By now the shock had worn off, and his battered
body was feeling the effects, intermittently wracked with the shakes. 
His right leg was throbbing and burning from where some branch had torn
through his camouflage fatigues into his flesh.   However, he couldn't
let it stop him from completing the mission.  His leg had to be fit
enough to get him through this. It had to! Go on a mission, you finish
the mission.
     He would accept nothing less.
     Not far away, he could hear Starbuck's steady progress up the tree. 
Murmured curses marked his passageway as the other man drew closer and
closer.  Meanwhile, Apollo tried to tune his senses-both real and
mechanically optimised-to the forest below them and act as a sentry, just
in case of a Cylon patrol.   Detection would be akin to death.  But
capture and interrogation would come first. The Cylons were finicky about
that. 
     So far, all he'd spotted was some wildlife. Four-footed beasts, and
something that resembled a bird, though it had flitted past too quickly
to make anything of it.  If he hadn't been in so much pain, suspended
metrons above the ground and likely to fall to his death at any moment,
he might have actually enjoyed the rare sounds and sights of nature in
the magnificence of the wilderness. After all, hiking and climbing just
to get away from it all was something he used to do for pleasure.
     He could detect Starbuck's slightly laboured breathing, the warrior
was so close.  His friend had wasted no time getting up there, climbing
with a reckless urgency that betrayed his deliberately casual tone. 
Apollo craned his neck again to see Starbuck beginning to shimmy out
along the thick branch he had been aiming for.  He held his breath as the
warrior moved slowly but surely towards him, finally straddling the
branch and slipping a length of rope from over his head and shoulder.
     "Starbuck, are you secure?" He didn't look it as he looped the line
around the branch.
     "In what?" he replied. "My last mental fitness exam said I was
well-adjusted, with no serious problems. Of course, I rigged it..."
     "To the tree!"
     "Oh, right. No, not yet."
     "If you fall..."
     "I'm not going to fall."
     "I wasn't going to miss the meadow," Apollo reminded him.
     "Point taken." With that, Starbuck secured a belay carabiner on his
harness to the rope.  "What happened, anyhow?"
     He almost hated to admit it.  "Some kind of bird flew into my
chute."
     "Turbulence, downdrafts and lightening...and you're telling me you
were taken out by a bird?" He sounded amused as he continued to
manipulate the equipment.
     "It was a big bird..." Apollo rationalized.  Actually, it was kind
of funny.  He'd be sure to laugh uproariously once he was down on terra
firma.  
     "Must have been." Starbuck sat there quietly a moment, drawing a
deep breath.  "No doubt working for the Cylons. How's the leg?"
     "Sore." He rested a hand on his left release buckle, preparing to
swing towards the rope that was only a couple metrons away.  He felt
slightly light headed, but was sure he could do this.  And the sooner,
the better. "Are you ready?"
     "Wait a centon.  I'm coming down there."
     "I can do it.  I'm okay," Apollo told him.  Every extra micron he
waited was too long.
     "Uh huh." 
     But Starbuck was already lowering himself into position.  Microns
later he was swinging alongside, even as a gust of wind hit and the
branches started creaking in protest again.  
     "That leg doesn't look too good, buddy," Starbuck said as he
adjusted his position.
     "Probably looks worse than it is.  Especially with the optical
enhancer," Apollo returned. "Are we going to do this, or not?"
     "Come to Starbuck..." he quipped, holding out an arm dramatically. 
"Three, two, one..."
     Apollo hit the release, holding his breath as he abruptly swung
towards his friend. He reached towards Starbuck's harness, even as his
friend clutched at his. Apollo gasped with pain when they connected, his
injured leg colliding with Starbuck. He was unprepared for how it took
his breath away, and he clutched at the warrior feebly for a moment, his
fingers almost losing their grip on the other's harness.
     "I've got ya." 
     Apollo groaned, as he willed his rising nausea to quell.  Throwing
up in a full-face helmet was something he'd rather avoid.  Apparently,
the leg was worse than he thought.  He steadied his ragged breathing,
vaguely aware that his harness was now attached to Starbuck's, and in
tandem they were slowly abseiling towards the ground.  Starbuck was using
the trunk of the tree, just within reach of his feet, to steady them.
     "You okay?"
     "Just great..." he rasped, again grabbing tightly hold of Starbuck's
harness, as though he could somehow hold sway over the descent.  It was
slightly unsettling that someone else was totally in control right
now...even if it was his best friend.  And, of course, it didn't help not
being able to see Starbuck's face.  With the helmet on, he looked more
Cylon than Human.  Truthfully, control was something Apollo didn't
surrender willingly under most circumstances, if he could possibly avoid
it. Command was in his nature. 
     As if somebody on high-with a warped sense of humour-was reading his
mind, abruptly they heard the familiar drone that drove fear into a
Colonial Warrior's heart and tylinium into his spine...and made a guy
wish he wasn't swinging metrons over the ground, face to face with
another warrior, at a clear disadvantage and about as far off being in
control as he could possibly get.  His helmet began pinging an alarm, and
he refocused. Enemy detected, it flashed in his eye. Enemy detected.
     Apollo reached for his weapon, determined to even the playing field.
 
Part 6

     Starbuck locked off the belay device, holding tightly to the rope as
he heard the Cylon patrol drawing closer.  Yeah, it didn't matter how
many times he heard that droning sound, it still caused his heart rate to
quicken and made his mouth dry as dust.  His first instinct was to draw
his weapon, as Apollo had, but in this instance it was imperative they
remain undetected.  Besides, he was clinging to a rope, supporting both
of them, and knew better than to let go with his brake hand.  Strangely,
dangling like a slowly moving target well above the Cylons' optical
sensor range had just become an advantage. However slight.
     Quickly and smoothly, he began to pull up the slack from beneath
them.
     "What...?" Apollo murmured quietly, then hesitated, before nodding
emphatically.
     Pulling up the line would essentially erase them from view. Unless
the centurions too noticed the debris on the ground from Apollo's
descent.  Unless they stumbled onto Starbuck's pack hidden in the
underbrush. Unless they looked up.
     Okay, so the plan wasn't perfect.
     Starbuck coiled the rope over a shoulder and then waited anxiously. 
The patrol was almost upon them.  The droning was louder and with the
night vision he could see the lead centurion cutting a path through the
vegetation with its bulk, occasionally using its sabre to decapitate any
offending branches.  It struck him that the methodical mutilation and
destruction with the weapon was symbolic of the Cylon Alliance's
unwavering advance on the Colonies, and all organic life in general. An
unstoppable drive to kill, and kill, and kill. 
     Which made him again want to shoot them, despite the mission.
     It went against the grain of a Viper pilot, this stealth approach. 
Dangling there quietly, being acutely aware of even the sound of his own
breathing as the Cylon patrol of five centurions passed by through the
foliage, his goal was to be undetectable, invisible.  To let them pass
by.  It was so drastically different from engaging and destroying the
enemy in space.  His every nerve was alive, every sense was acutely tuned
in.  He felt as though he would explode from the tension, or scream.  It
required incredible patience and self-control, which weren't exactly his
strong points.
     Or so numerous officers had pointed out to him since he had first
set foot in the Academy what seemed like a lifetime ago.  
     One Cylon veered from the path, just enough to send it directly
below them.  Starbuck held his breath even as his thermal imaging traced
the direct line of one more drop of Apollo's blood as it fell, coming to
land on the Cylon's armour.  The sound shouldn't have even been audible,
but it rang through his imagination with the clarity of a Red Alert.  He
was sure his heart stopped beating as he waited that long, tortuous,
inevitable moment...
     For the Cylon to look up.  
   
Part 7

     Apollo was pulling his trigger before the Cylon even had a chance to
fully raise its weapon.  An explosion and a flash on his screen confirmed
he'd hit his target, even as he was drawing a bead on the next one.  He
felt himself sway slightly towards the tree and corrected his aim, not
knowing what Starbuck was up to.  Another flash meant another dead Cylon. 
All the same, the two of them were far too vulnerable hanging there
mid-air.  
     "Colonial-Warriors."  The leading Cylon pointed towards them. 
"Take-one-alive."
     "Just one? " Apollo muttered, not having the greatest confidence
that they would be discerning about how alive their prisoner would be.
     "I don't like those odds," Starbuck rejoined.  He drew his knees up
towards his chest, until his feet were flat against the tree trunk, and
his body lateral in the air.  "Hang on, buddy.  I wanna try something."
     "Wha...?" Apollo gasped, urgently trying to aim his weapon at one of
the other three centurions, as they simultaneously pointed their pulse
rifles at him.  Then abruptly Starbuck pushed off the tree, releasing the
belay device, and they were skyrocketing through the air, swinging in an
increasingly wide arc.  It didn't escape him that a Cylon volley had
narrowly missed them.
     "Frack!" Apollo exclaimed, his final shot also going wide as his
night vision showed the foliage flying by.  He knew that sooner or later
they would run out of rope, and then they'd hit the ground.  Hard. 
     THUD!
     He gasped as his leg exploded with agony when he hit the ground. 
The pain paralysed him for a brief moment before he could take stock of
their situation.  They wouldn't be given any points for grace, landing
flat on their backs in a tangle of arms and legs, joined by their
harnesses.  The foliage came alive as a bevy of birds burst from their
disturbed nocturnal nests, fleeing in all directions.  It was complete
chaos, and the perfect cover!  Apollo gritted his teeth, sucking in a
deep breath to gather his resolve and release his pack, as Starbuck
released the carabiner that attached their harnesses.  Rolling towards
his friend, Apollo grabbed Starbuck's arm and raised a restraining hand,
well aware of the other's tendency to jump the gun occasionally.  At this
point the Cylons weren't sure of their location, and if the warriors
regrouped and attacked together, they would have the advantage.  
     "Don't shoot until you see the reds of their eyes," Starbuck quipped
grimly and quietly as the last of the birds cleared the area and a few
feathers drifted down from above them. Something furry scampered across
his gun arm. He flung it away into the leaves.
     Apollo nodded as they both froze. They listened acutely to the
sounds of the enemy and watched the thermal imagery through their face
shields, showing the remaining centurions congregated about five metrons
away.
     "They-have-gone-to-ground-in-the-underbrush.  Sweep-the-area."
     "By-your-command."
     Apollo moved his leg forward, gritting his teeth.  Stubbornly, he
ignored the serpentine path of sweat beneath his helmet that was
determined to distract him.  He had to be ready to attack the enemy with
Starbuck.  He tensed as they drew closer.  He touched Starbuck's
shoulder, holding up one finger.  His friend nodded, his laser in his
hand, waiting.
     One Cylon began slicing through the underbrush with the sabre on the
end of its pulse rifle.  The others quickly followed suit, tearing up the
foliage.  It was strategy that had proven successful for flushing out any
living creature, including Colonial Warriors.
     Two fingers.
     Realistically, he knew that Starbuck would have the better chance at
eliminating two of them.  It was simply going to take Apollo longer to
get into position with a leg that was already screaming abuse at him.  He
signalled Starbuck, hoping his friend picked up on the military sign
language that they had both been taught in the first yahren of their
Academy training.  Starbuck could take the two on the right, he'd take
the one on the left.
     Starbuck signalled back at him...and then made an obscene gesture
towards the Cylons.  He was more than ready.
     Three fingers...

Part 8
 
     On Apollo's signal, Starbuck bolted upright, barely pausing to sight
the Cylon furthest to the right before he fired.  As luck would have it,
the centurion moved right into his line-of-sight at that moment, and he
hit it, a flash on his screen confirming its destruction.
     A handy piece of electronic felgercarb, to be sure.
     More from instinct than reason, he dropped back to the ground,
rolling further to the right as pulses blazed through the night, both
Cylon and Colonial.  He ignored the one that blasted through his previous
position, preferring not to dwell on it.  The alarming thing about Cylons
of the centurion class was that they tended to soldier onward through
anything, not particularly concerned about their own safety, as they
proceeded with their objective of wiping out the opposition, or securing
a prisoner.  
     At any cost.  
     Not surprisingly, he could hear the final centurion advancing on
them, and he glanced over to see Apollo also prone on the ground.  Unlike
Cylons, they had a concerted interest in remaining alive, and not just to
complete the mission, although that's not what the handbook said.  Apollo
signalled him again and he forced himself to concentrate on the hand
motions, even more clearly defined by the night vision as the tiny
sensors in their gloves relayed wavelons that were received and
translated in his visor, all part of the new satellite system. Then he
grinned, as he realized what Apollo was up to.  
     After all, Cylons were as dumb as a storage container of circuit
boards.
     Nah. Dumber.
     He drew a steadying breath, feeling a strange calm sweep over him. 
The calm overcame the twisting guts and tylinium butterflies doing back
flips in his stomach, while firing their pulsars. He watched Apollo lob a
stone in the other direction.  Heard the resulting noise that was
supposed to draw the Cylon's attention. Then he lurched back up, sighting
the last Cylon standing.
     But instead of being turned the other way, the Cylon was now
sighting him.
     "Surrender-Human!"
     "Frack!" he shouted as he squeezed his trigger and simultaneously
leapt out of the way, as death stared him in the eye.
     
Part 9

     "Frack!" could only be bad news.
     Apollo forced himself back up to one knee as he saw Starbuck
lurching away to his right, and a crossfire of laser volleys darting
across his vision.  The Cylon was still standing, Starbuck's shot only
winging it.  Apollo aimed and fired, before the centurion had a chance to
focus on him.  He breathed a sigh of relief as the enemy dropped in a
heap.  Then Apollo turned towards his friend.
     "Starbuck!" There was no movement from where the warrior had landed.
     The answering voice was breathless as he started rustling in the
underbrush.  "Am I alive or dead?"
     Apollo smiled slightly.  "Alive." Then abruptly, he realized the
possible connotation of the remark, "Are you okay?"
     "Me?  Just great.  Nothing stirs the blood like being shot at by
Cylons that can outthink you." He stood up from where he lay. "What's
with that?  They're supposed to be predictable.  That wasn't predictable,
buddy."
     "I'll report him to the Imperious Leader for having original
thoughts," Apollo replied wryly, sitting down heavily on a fallen tree
trunk, and stretching his injured leg out in front of him.  Now that his
adrenaline had ebbed, he was feeling the effects of using his injured
leg.  His mouth began watering and he felt hot and sweaty as nausea
washed over him. 
     "You do that," Starbuck replied, slowly making his way over to the
Cylon.  He gave it a nudge with his boot, apparently making sure it was
really deactivated.  Then he passed it by, going to retrieve his pack. 
"How's the leg?"
     "You tell me," Apollo replied after a moment.  It was throbbing. 
"Hurts like Hades..."
     "Guess I'll be playing med tech..." Starbuck ventured, dropping down
beside him with a med kit.  He drew an audible breath as he looked at the
leg, then gasped, "Frack..."
     "Starbuck, you're not exactly filling me with confidence here,"
Apollo told him. "Haven't you learned any bedside manners from..."
     "Well...it's, uh...all green...and..." he let out a breath,
"...pulpy looking." He cleared his throat. 
     "That's the night vision, Bucko," Apollo returned, wincing as the
warrior tore back the fabric of his pants to get a better look at the
wound.
     "I know that, but this close up it still looks..." Starbuck broke
off, shaking his head. "Gross."
     "Yeah," Apollo had to agree.
     The gash had to be thirty centimetrons long and two to three
centimetrons across at the widest point, extending internally from near
the top of Apollo's right thigh to just above his knee.  Congealed blood
covered the tissue which eviscerated through the jagged tear.  Blood had
seeped into his uniform pants, and down into his boot.  The mere thought
that bits of him were popping out beyond where they should be made the
bile rise in his throat.  The greenish tone that the night vision cast
didn't help, giving it the appearance of rotting flesh.  Apollo jerked
off his helmet, gulping in deep breaths of fresh air to steady his
roiling stomach.  The cold wind felt good on his face.  The fresh air was
medicinal.  The rain that managed to spatter through the forest canopy
was revitalizing.  
     Or so he kept telling his stomach.
     "You gonna puke?" Starbuck asked tentatively.
     "I'm...thinking about it," Apollo returned, glancing at his friend,
only to find he had also removed his helmet.  He could barely make out
the warrior's features in the darkness. "You?"
     "Not this kid..." Starbuck returned, sitting back on his haunches
and drawing a couple deep breaths, despite his claim.  Not for the first
time during their friendship, his actions contradicted his words. 
"Better get this over with..." He began fishing around in his pack.
     Apollo grabbed his wrist.  "What are you gonna do?"
     "You don't trust me?"
     "I trust you." Apollo assured him.  And he did.  Starbuck was one of
the most talented Colonial Warriors he'd ever met, most of his "skills"
coming second nature.  However, his abilities as a medic were as
questionable as Apollo's own.  "I just want to know before you...do it."
     Starbuck smiled.  "Ah.  I see." He opened the med kit.  "Oops. 
Sorry.  I just opened the med kit."
     "Funny..." Apollo returned grimly, hearing the amusement in the
other's tone. "You're a regular riot. Ever consider going into show
business?"
     "I prefer to put myself in more of a managerial role." He paused for
effect.  "Now, I'm gonna put my helmet back on so I can see...then again,
maybe it would be better not to.  At least for me."
     "Starbuck..." Apollo growled.
     The other warrior pulled on his helmet, adjusting it.  "First I'll
scan your leg to make sure it's not broken.  Then I'm going to use the
hypo to freeze the surrounding area.  At least it should deaden the pain. 
Then I'll inject an antibiotic to ward off any infection."
     Apollo nodded, relieved that their witty repartee was over for the
moment.  He just wasn't up to it right now.  The scan only took a centon
and, as he suspected, was negative for a fracture.  A moment later, a
barely detectable jab preceded a pleasant numbing sensation.  The
procedure was repeated at intervals until the throbbing had ceased, and
soon his anterior thigh felt like a frigid piece of dead flesh.
     "Do you feel that?"
     "What?" Apollo asked, suddenly realizing his eyes were tightly shut. 
Watching somebody work on your tortured flesh wasn't exactly enthralling
stuff.
     "I'll take that as a 'no'," Starbuck returned with a satisfied nod. 
"Alright, I'm going to clean it." He didn't sound too happy about it.
     "You're doing a good job," Apollo encouraged him, knowing that few
warriors had the stomach for field dressings.  Hades Hole, he'd hated
that part of their training.
     "Yeah, right." The tone was doubtful.
     Apollo risked a glance.  The gore was quickly washed away with the
usual irrigation and field disinfectant, but he could barely see the
wound in the dark.
     "Frack..."
     "Would you stop saying that!" Apollo returned, his guts reflexively
twisting.  "What?"
     "You have part of the tree sticking out of your leg!" Starbuck
replied in a tone of voice just shy of utter horror.  He sucked in a
breath between his teeth, shaking his head.  "Maybe we should comm? 
Air-evac you out of here?"
     "Can't you just remove it?" Apollo asked.
     "I'm not a medic!" Starbuck leaned closer to inspect the site of the
injury more minutely. "I'm not a logger, either."
     "Starbuck, you know what's on the line here.  If we don't complete
the mission, we'll be..."
     "I know..." his friend replied, pulling off his helmet again, and
raking a hand through his hair. "Failure is not an option, as the
commander likes to say. A lot." 
     The motion was familiar, and hopefully comforting.  "Feel better
now?" Apollo teased.
     "Funny," Starbuck returned, running his fingers through his hair
once again as if he was rubbing some kind of talisman.  "I really don't
want to do this."
     "I'm equally unexcited at the prospect, if that makes you feel any
better."
     "Oddly enough, no." He blew out a short breath.  "If I pull that
piece of wood out of there, and I damage a major blood vessel..."
     Apollo looked again.  His friend was right.  There was a major
artery in there somewhere, and it was a miracle the hunk of wood hadn't
ripped it to shreds. "We deal with it if it happens.  We apply pressure
and comm for an evac.  If we had to, you could use your laser to
cauterise it."
     "Oh, lucky me!  Do you really want to spend your last centons with
me leaning on your groin?  Or firing on it?" Starbuck asked him
dubiously.
     "You have a real gift for proposing the most disturbing mental
images, Starbuck..."
     "Just trying to prepare you for the worst, Apollo..."
     "What happened to your optimistic...?"
     "A day in the brig..."
     "Yeah, right.  I remember," he sighed.  "You have to do it.  There's
no other choice."
     "Actually, I can think of several, but none of them that would work
to our mutual benefit."
     "My point exactly," Apollo replied.  He reached forward, grabbing
his friend's forearm. He was close enough to be able to look him in the
eye for the first time since they had been aboard the shuttle.  "Look, it
won't be long before the Cylon Base realizes its patrol is missing. 
They'll send out reinforcements to investigate.  Every centon counts
here, buddy.  We have to move out." He waited a moment as Starbuck let
out a breath, uncertainty still on his features, and reluctance in every
aspect of his mien.  "This is a two man mission.  Doing it yourself would
be suicide." Starbuck slowly nodded.  He realized that.  "Now do it."
     "Just remember, this was your idea..."

Part 10

     "Pliers?" Apollo choked out as Starbuck pulled them out of his pack.

     "It's either that or my teeth..." Starbuck quipped, once again
adjusting the definition on his optical enhancer while fortifying his
courage.  
     "Let me think about it..." Apollo returned dryly, his knuckles white
as they gripped his thigh above the wound.
     Starbuck nodded as he grabbed his weapon, adjusting the laser to its
lowest setting, turning it into a makeshift sterilisation tool for the
pliers.  He blasted the metal jaws for a solid centon before he was
satisfied.  Then he placed his weapon down beside him, just in case he
did need to use it for cauterisation. 
     This was it.  
     "Ready?" Starbuck asked.
     "And if I said 'no'?" Apollo returned.
     "Then I would have to conclude that shock and loss of blood have
affected your judgement, and I would go ahead anyway." There was no going
back now.  "I'm pretty sure it's in the manual somewhere.  Retreat is
failure.  Failure is death.  Death is final.  Finality is
endless...Something like that, anyhow."
     "The manual?" Despite his state, Apollo managed to dredge up a snort
for old times sake.  "You mean that barely thumbed book you tucked
between your issues of Buxom Beauties and Triad Pro?"
     "Oh.  Is that where it is?"  Starbuck tapped his temple
dramatically.  "Hmm.  Are you the one who swiped  Miss Septimus?"
     "Starbuck! Get it over with!" 
     "Ah, now he's ready..." 
     Starbuck grasped the jagged piece of wood with the pliers, not
daring to look at Apollo.  His friend seemed to be holding his breath in
expectation, which actually seemed like a darned good idea.  It took but
a micron to pull the wood out of there, and to Starbuck's pleasant
surprise, there was no life-draining spurt of blood signifying a
haemorrhage. Blood slowly pooled in the wound, and he irrigated it again
just to make sure it was all right. 
     "Well?" Apollo asked.
     "Looks okay," Starbuck returned, feeling at least half of his
tension ebb with his words.  "But there are still some small fragments
lodged in there, buddy."  He knew what would happen if they stayed and
festered, but he certainly wasn't equipped or qualified to remove them. 
However, if he and Apollo could manage to get in and out of the Base
without too many more complications, then Apollo would be back in the
Life Station long before any serious infection could set in.  
     If it was any other two Colonial Warriors, he wouldn't bet on it,
but in this case...
     "Derma-Seal?" Apollo asked.  
     "Yeah," Starbuck nodded, reaching back into the med kit. Spraying
the liquid adhesive bandage on to the wound would stop the bleeding, and
temporarily seal it. A few centons later, the glutinous resin was already
dry, and he was wrapping a sterile field bandage tightly in place. 
"Done."
     Apollo nodded, gingerly bending his knee, and pulling his leg up
towards him. "Nice job."
     "I couldn't have done it without you," Starbuck returned, putting a
supporting arm around the warrior to help him up.
     "I guess not..." Apollo grunted wryly as he stood.  He weaved
slightly getting his balance. "Feels like half my leg is missing."
     "Well, when it comes back it's going to hurt like Hades Hole on a
hangover." Starbuck checked his chrono, then glanced back at his pack.
His bulky, overfilled, stuffed-to-the-limits pack. Apollo had one just as
big.  It simply wouldn't work. "If we have any chance at pulling this
off, we need to travel light and fast, Apollo."
     "And?"
     "One pack.  On me.  Essentials only." After all, up until now
whenever they went on a mission, all they had needed were their
instincts, lasers, scanners...and good looks.
     "Essentials, huh." Apollo smiled slightly as he considered Starbuck. 
"What exactly do you consider essential?"
     "Solenite.  Lots and lots of solenite."
 
Part 11

     They had made good time moving cross-country, and had reached the
Base within a centar.  It was so well concealed from ground level, that
if they hadn't had definitive intelligence pinpointing the location, they
might have walked right past it.  Apollo adjusted the magnification on
his helmet, scanning the inconspicuous terrain, looking for telltale
signs, while trying to ignore the encroaching pain that was wrapping its
way around his leg once again.  The freezing was wearing off. He might
need an analgesic shot before this was over, but that could leave him
unable to walk, or even function. Maybe...
     "See anything?" he asked Starbuck. The other was studying the Cylon
base intently, in a variety of wavelons, looking for a way in. 
     "Not yet, but they don't exactly tip toe.  It should be relatively
easy to see where their foot patrols leave from," he replied, dropping
his pack with an audible sigh of relief.  He pulled off his helmet,
wiping his sweaty face with the arm of his jacket before reaching for a
couple energy drinks in the pack. He handed one of the slim foil packets
to his friend. "Here.  It's Berry Express, your favourite."
     "Thanks," Apollo replied, taking it but continuing to scan the area. 
Starbuck had hefted the heavy backpack over terrain that he had mentioned
more than once wasn't really suited to one injured Colonial Warrior and
his pack equine.  He deserved to slake his thirst.  "Inconvenient, having
to take off the helmet to drink or eat."
     "Don't put it in the evaluation, or they'll come up with some
hideous alternative," Starbuck rejoined.
     Apollo smiled, shifting his weight off his right leg.  "Such as?"
     "Oh, I don't know.  Some kind of hypo administered energy
boost...concentrated javeine, maybe."
     "Stimulants."
     "Yeah."  Starbuck finished the drink, sighing before he pulled back
on his helmet.  "Only after about five hundred inter-departmental memos,
then more memos.  Then they'll form a committee to select a panel to
oversee the project...We'll have our statues up in the Hall of Heroes
before the first prototype is ready."
     "Statues, huh?  Will they immortalize us because of suggesting
stims, or for something a little more...heroic?"
     "Well, probably for suggesting stims, but by then we will have saved
Humanity at least four or five times over, so it really won't matter all
that much..." Starbuck returned.  "Your turn."
     Apollo followed suit.  He shouldn't have been surprised to find his
hair plastered to his head with sweat, but he was.  Still, the energy
drink tasted like the nectar of the Gods as he gulped it down in a few
swallows.  He paused, as Starbuck began adjusting settings on his helmet
again.  "See something?"
     "Yeah." Starbuck instinctively leaned forward.  "It's camouflaged,
but it sure looks like a shuttle."
     "Launching?" asked Apollo.  "I don't hear anything..."
     "No. And, are you ready for this? It's one of ours."
     "What?" Apollo replied, pulling his helmet back on.  "Give me the
coordinates." He zoomed in as Starbuck relayed the position of the
Colonial transport.  "Those are definitely Colonial markings.  What in
Hades Hole would a Colonial shuttle be doing outside a Cylon Base..." And
then it hit him.  "Ohhhhh..."
     Starbuck chuckled quietly beside him.  "Yeah.  Exactly." He leaned
down and grabbed the backpack.  "I'm guessing if we go check her out, we
might just pick up the trail of those Cylons.  This-way-to-the-Base," he
mimicked the mechanical drones.
     "I'm guessing you're right," Apollo agreed.

Part 12
 
     Apollo was breathing hard again by the time they descended a steep
hill taking them down towards the shuttle.  Starbuck could easily detect
the limp that indicated the freezing had worn off, and his friend's pain
was returning in all its fury.  Typically though, Apollo was doing his
best to stoically ignore it.
     "Hold up a centon," Starbuck told him, pausing behind an immense
boulder, and undoing the straps that secured his multi mega-ton pack. It
slipped to the ground, and once again his back and shoulders thanked him
for his mercy.
     Apollo turned back reluctantly, leaning heavily against the boulder,
and then as if surrendering to the pain and the realization that it was
time to do something about it, he slowly slid downward.  His hands again
wrapped around his leg, tightly clenching it as he sat on the ground. 
"Frackin' leg..." he spit out.
     "Yeah..." Starbuck dug through his pack, pulling out the med kit
once again.  He held it up.
     "Just freeze me again.  I don't want any narcotics on board..."
Apollo waved a hand before him almost defensively.
     "I'll have to cut through the bandage..." Starbuck explained.
     "Just inject through it, it will be quicker..."
     "It won't work..." 
     "How do you know?" Apollo asked.
     "Because I tried it once and caught several layers of Hades Hole for
it." The warrior shrugged as he started slicing through the bandage,
pausing when Apollo jerked in discomfort.  "Against the skin, Starbuck,"
Starbuck mimicked in a nasally voice, trying to distract his friend. 
"It's a sonic penetration unit, not a battering ram..." 
     "Ah..." Apollo returned, half groan, part reply.  He looked as
though he was about to launch himself towards the nearest moon without a
Viper as Starbuck started injecting freezing once again at intervals
along the wound. 
     "Believe me, buddy.  If there's an easier or quicker way of doing
almost anything, I've thought of it," Starbuck told him.  The wound was
looking okay.  At least for now.
     "Pragmatism 101," Apollo hissed, still breathing hard.  
     "Med Tech Zhi called it Advanced Lazy Astrum," Starbuck replied with
a reminiscent grin.  "He awarded me an honorary degree in it."
     "I thought you majored in Advanced Lazy Astrum..." Apollo returned
lightly, his body relaxing slightly.
     "Well, since it came so naturally to me..." Starbuck rejoined as he
started applying a fresh field dressing.  "Why do you think I decided to
be a pilot?  Get to sit on my lazy astrum in the cockpit, instead of
hauling backpacks as big as you around the countryside, dodging Cylons."
He looked at his friend's leg. "And trees. I can't imagine being assigned
to ground missions like this one as a regular gig.  No thanks."
     "Think of it as a personal challenge."  This time Apollo sounded
more like his old self.  The freezing was working again.  "Rise to the
occasion."
     "I'd rather do it in a Viper.  I can rise higher with less effort."
Starbuck finished the wrap and stood up.  He reached down a hand. 
"Ready?"
     Apollo nodded, taking the hand up.  "Yeah." Still, he tottered a bit
as he regained his balance.  He took a few halting steps, trying out the
leg.  "There's a happy medium somewhere where the pain isn't slowing me
down, but I can almost feel my leg again."
     "Yeah, that's called 'just the right amount of narcotics'.  You
might want to try it." Starbuck held up the hypo again, selecting the
narcotic setting.  "Comfortable, but still able to function.  How about
it?"
     "I don't like drugs." Apollo shook his head vehemently.  "They
affect my judgment."
     "When have you ever let drugs affect your judgment?" Starbuck
countered as he replaced the hypo and med kit, then hefted the pack onto
his back with Apollo's help.  He grunted under the weight. 
     "Just before we were picked up by Security," Apollo reminded him. 
"You know...before the Brig."
     "Alcohol is a different classification of drug."
     "Self-induced stupidity, is what alcohol is."
     Starbuck chuckled.  "Only if you can't handle it.  Besides...it was
fun."
    Apollo sniffed.  "Yeah, probably too much fun..." He motioned down
the hill.  "Okay, I'm alright now.  Let's get moving." 

Part 13

     Sure enough, they picked up a well-trampled trail near the Colonial
shuttle, which led to a hidden and secure entrance to the Cylon Base. 
Hidden, in the sense that it hadn't been obvious to them to begin with,
and secure, in that a solid tylinium hatch, at least two metrons thick,
sealed off the Base from would-be invaders.  Apollo perched atop a rock,
looking down on the entrance about four metrons below, wondering just how
they could penetrate the interior without being detected.  Behind him, he
could hear Starbuck scaling the rocks, his notoriously heavy pack
creating a new level of difficulty for the warrior.  He glanced back over
the outcrop of rock at his friend who had almost reached the top. 
Abruptly, the sound of crumbling rock, and falling debris preceded a
whispered expletive from just below him.  
     "Frack..." 
     Apollo shot out a hand, grabbing a hold of Starbuck's forearm as his
friend clutched at an outcrop desperately while his feet scrambled for a
solid piece of rock to hold his considerable weight.  "I've got ya..."
Apollo grunted. "Starbuck?"
     "Really?" Starbuck rasped, as more rock crumbled beneath him.
     Using pure adrenaline, Apollo jerked Starbuck upward, reaching for
his harness and pulling on that too.  He groaned with the exertion,
letting his breath escape through clenched teeth as he gained centimetron
by centrimetron on the slipping man.  Finally, Starbuck found solid
purchase for his feet, and came to a blessed stop.  The only audible
noise was the sound of their laboured breathing, and a few bits of rock
falling to the forest floor.
     "Thanks...I needed that," Starbuck grunted, slowly climbing the rest
of the way up.
     Apollo kept a hand on his friend's harness, still pulling upward,
just in case the rock gave away again.  "Apparently, there's a weight
restriction on this particular hunk of rock," he whispered.
     "Well, I didn't see it posted," Starbuck griped. "The colonel
slipped up in our briefing, it seems."
     "Shh!"
     A massive, heavy clanging sound filled the air as below them the
hatch opened. Both warriors pulled their weapons, and then froze,
waiting, listening to the sound of the enormous motors powering the door. 
Apollo couldn't help but wonder if somehow they had been detected.  A
scanner they had missed?  Perimeter guards? Maybe the patrol they took
out had been missed, failing to report in? Something they had overlooked,
despite meticulous recon?.  Finally, the first Cylon appeared from within
the stronghold.
     Apollo held his breath...
     
Part 14

     A Cylon foot patrol of six centurions filed out slowly in single
file, heading through the narrow pass that hid the entrance of the base
from unsuspecting eyes.  Not once did they look up, or even to the side.
Like all Cylons of their class, they maintained vision dead ahead.
Evidently, the warriors' position was secure for now, even if this group
of centurions was going to investigate the whereabouts of the missing
patrol. It was a steep drop from where the men were perched to the ground
below. The problem being that they would have to wait for the last Cylon
to disappear from sight before they could start to make their way down,
and by then the hatch would be undoubtedly closing...
     Abruptly, Apollo's fingers were in his face signing let's go!
     A milli-centon later, Apollo was grabbing the rope that Starbuck had
tucked into a pocket on the pack, and was securing it to an outcrop. 
Quietly he lowered the rope over the rock face, testing his weight on it
before giving Starbuck a nod and beginning to repel down. Thankfully, the
clunky centurions were creating their usual din and didn't seem to be
noticing the Colonial Warrior, at least for now.
     Microns later, Apollo had hit the ground safely. Getting his
balance, he pulled his weapon, checking for any stray Cylons.
Astoundingly, the Cylon patrol was still disappearing into the distance,
and the hatch into the base was still open. He waved at Starbuck, urging
him downward as he undid the rope from his harness.
     Now the thing about Apollo is that the guy took enthusiasm to a new
and scarier level than anyone anywhere ever thought possible. Most people
had told Starbuck a time or two that he was rash, however, he was
generally only rash in a fun and adventurous way, not in a jump into a
ravine full of Cylons way...at least until he met Apollo.
    As he had countless times before, he now found himself following his
friend, feeling the adrenaline rushing through his veins, the
anticipation sharpening his senses. It was more effective than any
nutrient bar...and didn't weigh anything or need to be stored in his
pack. He quickly looped the rope through his carabiner, securing it so he
could belay his descent if necessary. A micron later he was once again
horizontal in the air, his feet following a path down the side of the
cliff as the rope passed swiftly through his hands. He startled, coming
to a stop and glancing downward as he suddenly landed amidst brambles
sticking out from the cliff side. Multiple prickles penetrated his pants,
and he sucked in a breath of frustration that he hadn't been looking
ahead. A quick jerk to free himself, and he repelled over the few bushes,
moments later landing quietly on the ground.   
     Apollo nodded at him to hurry as Starbuck undid the rope from the
carabiner.  Then his friend grabbed a hold of it, tossing it up where it
caught in the bramble bushes, out of sight of any but the most observant
Cylon.
     At that exact moment, the heavy mechanical grinding of the hatch's
motor starting up again impelled them towards the closing blast door.
They exchanged a quick glance then started running for the massive
opening that would give them access to the Base. Starbuck pulled his
weapon, unsure what would be meeting them on the other side of the
enormous barrier.  They were going in blind, and had to be prepared for
anything.

Part 15

     As Apollo darted through the opening of the two-metron thick hatch a
few paces ahead of his friend, he idly noticed that it was a sliding
mechanism, with three large cylindrical tylinium bars that bored into the
correlating guide holes in the rock wall, instead of something that swung
open and shut, as was typical of Cylon construction. When he cleared it,
the time to consider the engineering feat abruptly ended as he saw the
two centurions standing at the control panel for the hatch. Almost as
one, they began to look up...
     There was little else to do. Apollo took aim and fired, dropping the
first one before it even had a chance to see him.  Cursing the lack of
any cover, he dove for the ground, rolling and coming up on one knee,
drawing a bead as the flash of a laser volley flew over his shoulder.  He
feinted left and then lurched right, his leg reminding him of what an
idiot he was for doing so, as pain lanced through his thigh despite the
freezing.
     Then he noticed a strange electronic humming had filled the air, but
he couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from, or when it had started. 
He was sure he hadn't noticed it when he had first entered the
base...maybe.  The sound frequency pitched sharply.
     Starbuck yelped from behind him.
     There was no time to look, never mind figure out what was happening,
and Apollo fired off another shot from where he half lay on the ground. 
The remaining Cylon dodged behind the control panel, taking aim again
with his pulse blast rifle. The laser narrowly missed him, the bolt
exploding behind him as it struck something, and for an instant he was
blind as the signal in his visor was interrupted by the energy wavelon. 
He startled, instantaneously taking stock, wondering if he'd been hit,
even as he was rolling away, trying to minimize himself as a target and
at the same time keep a hold of his weapon.
     "Apollo!  I need some help here!"
     Starbuck's voice was urgent.  Still in the game, Apollo blinked as
shapes, forms and data readouts came back online.  Once again he deked,
before twisting his body around and firing on the Cylon.  A milli-centon
later his visor was registering the kill, as the centurion slumped over
the control panel.  He sighed with relief, even as he drew a ragged
breath and turned to see what had happened to Starbuck.  He gasped in
horror when he saw what had happened.
     Desperately, Apollo lunged for the control panel.
     
Part 16

     It had just gone through Starbuck's mind that he was never going to
live it down that Apollo could run faster with an injured leg then he
could with two perfectly good ones, when the force field suddenly
surrounded him.  And he hit it hard, yelling as voltons of energy surged
through him before knocking him flat on his astrum.
     As if that wasn't bad enough, when the fireworks that were shooting
across his vision finally stopped, and his visor cleared microns later,
from flat on his back he realized that the massive hatch was slowly
closing in on him...and he was trapped in a two-metron wide force field,
with absolutely nothing he could do about it.
     Terror paralysed him for a micron, reaching up and grabbing him by
the throat as he scampered back on his astrum from the encroaching door. 
He could hear laser fire being exchanged, but only caught a glimpse of
Apollo rolling along the ground, and then out of sight.  Here Starbuck
was with a pack full of solenite, and it was utterly useless, unless he
opted to blow himself up instead of waiting to be crushed by a fifty
kiloton door.  Then again, when the solenite was compressed against the
rock wall, it would undoubtedly ignite, making a hole in the wall big
enough to fly a Battlestar through.  For a moment, Starbuck even
contemplated firing his laser...but immediately his imagination
superimposed an image of the trapped laser volley ricocheting off the
force field until it found a nice, receptive, soft Human to absorb it.
     Not a good idea.
     "Apollo! I need some help here!" he yelled, loudly enough that even
the colonel should be able to hear him.  Why in Hades hole was there even
a force field there?  Did the Cylons really think they needed extra
security in addition to the hatch?  Then again, who had just been trapped
like a fly in a crawlon's web?  He looked around urgently, trying to find
something he could wedge between the door and the wall that could resist
the massive, crushing vice that was narrowing in on him by the micron.  
     There was nothing.  
     "Apollo!"
     With shaking hands, Starbuck undid the clasp that secured the
backpack, letting it settle to the ground as he forced his still
quivering legs to support his weight, and stood up.  His whole body
tingled from the force field, and he could feel random spasms shoot
through him.  He pulled the heavy pack along with him, and he soon found
himself reflexively pressing up against the wall, absolutely stunned that
this could really be happening.  Would it be better to shove the pack
away from him...or would it even matter how far away from exploding
solenite he was in a two-metron confined space?
     Well, you always wanted to go out with a bang, Bucko...
     He sucked in his breath as the metal door began to press against
him.  He could hear the contents of his pack crunching under the
pressure, and closed his eyes, just waiting for the inevitable explosion. 
A slow and persistent pressure thrust him into the rock, grinding against
him mercilessly.  It frackin' hurt!
     "Apollo!" he rasped.

Part 17

     As he pushed the inert Cylon aside, Apollo realized that the
controls were nothing like he had ever seen before. Lights flashed in
obscure patterns that could only mean something to a mechanical drone,
and he glared at the one on the ground, briefly resenting its mute
refusal to give him any assistance.  Moving on, he studied the control
panel urgently, trying to make sense of how it worked.  He needed to stop
the closing hatch, and only hoped there was some kind of mechanism to do
so.  His hands hovered uncertainly over the alien panel as Starbuck
gasped desperately for help only metrons away.  He had to do something,
and he had to do it now!
     Eenon meenon minon mo...
     He hit the largest switch hoping desperately that Cylons respected
scale as much as Humans.  The grinding of the hatch's motor abruptly
ceased.  In a micron, he had dashed towards the door, stopping himself
just shy of the force field, feeling his skin prickling in reaction to
the energy wavelons.
     "Starbuck!  Are you okay?"
     His friend's breath was coming in short gasps from where he was now
wedged against the stone, and his eyes were panic stricken.  Starbuck
took a moment before he nodded briefly, then licked his lips as he looked
at Apollo beseechingly.
     "It ain't gonna matter much...if you can't get me out of here..." he
grunted.
     "I'll get you out," Apollo promised, surveying the situation. 
"Where's the pack?" Notorious for its instability in its rawest form, the
Solenite charges were unpredictable at best right now.  
     Starbuck swallowed visibly before replying.  "There's a slight
alcove in the rock...very slight.  It's on the other side of me." He
shook his head ever so slightly, his anxiety clear.  "I heard the metal
twisting under pressure, Apollo.  I don't know..."
     Apollo nodded soberly.  "Don't worry..." He smiled bravely.  "We've
been in tighter spots."
     "Speak for...yourself..." Starbuck returned pushing futilely against
the massive door that held him captive.
     "I thought you worked best under pressure..." Apollo retorted,
glancing back towards the control panel and the passage that led into the
base for any signs of approaching Cylons.  As much as they were supposed
to be penetrating the Base quietly, in hindsight, exchanging laser fire
and blowing away sentries probably wasn't the best way to go about it. 
Had the Cylons had an opportunity to report their presence yet?  They
certainly had had the time to activate the force field that caught
Starbuck.  He had to free Starbuck immediately if they were to have any
chance of evading any Cylons responding to an alert.  Apollo glanced
upward.   A large system of ducts and pipes were visible, no doubt to
decrease the humidity and to conduct energy.  Maybe...
     "As much as I'm enjoying us shooting the breeze, buddy..." Starbuck
interrupted his train of thought, "I think we're running out of time."
     "I know," Apollo replied soberly.  "But the controls aren't in
Colonial Standard, Starbuck."
     Starbuck paused slightly before a calm resignation settled on his
features.  "So you don't know how to open the hatch again or turn off the
force field." One hand clenched into a fist, betraying his true feelings. 
"Thoughtless of those Cylons.  Well, I'm all for the tried and true
method of pushing buttons and throwing switches until it does what you
want."
     "Yeah, but..." Apollo's guts churned and his stomach flip-flopped. 
He'd just received permission to risk crushing his best friend into a
Colonial Mushie with an encore of blowing them both to the deepest levels
of Hades hole.
     "Hey, what's the worst thing that could happen?" Starbuck said
flippantly.
     "There you go again..." Apollo replied, once again taken back to the
errant adventure that had landed them into this mess to begin with.  It
was so typically Starbuck.  Full turbos ahead and damn the mega-pulsars! 
Well, if Starbuck could rise to the occasion, so could he.  He nodded
curtly, holding his friend's gaze for a moment longer before returning to
the control panel.  The next flip of a switch could decide both their
fates.  He took a deep breath, preparing for the worst, but praying for
the best.  Then he hit the switch that for the moment gave him a warm,
fuzzy feeling...hoping it wasn't a deceptive Cylon spy.

Part 18

     The sound of the powerful motor restarting, which controlled the
massive hatch, sent a stabbing bolt of iciness into Starbuck's heart and
soul.  The next microns would either free him, or squash him slowly and
tortuously into a bloody, pulpy mass, provided the explosion of the
solonite charges left anything for the hatch to squash..  He reminded
himself optimistically that he might just have a few centimetrons to play
with, because while he was wedged tightly against the wall, he was
reasonably sure he hadn't broken either skin or bone...as yet.  Besides,
his helmet and visor were still intact as the electronic felgercarb
flashing across his vision reminded him.
     Then all too soon, the hatch came to life and the crushing pressure
started anew.
     "Wrong way!!!" Starbuck yelled before closing his eyes, silently and
fervently praying to God and every Lord of Kobol that might be on duty
just now for one more chance.  He felt like a tube of dental cleanser
that was being squeezed for its last dab, as his last breath whooshed out
of his lungs.  Terror and horror battled for supremacy as his body
reached its limits of malleability.  He would have screamed if he had the
breath to do it...
     The crushing pressure stopped, even as the massive motor still
hummed.
     Starbuck painfully drew a tiny gasp of air into his starving lungs,
as a loud, cracking noise penetrated his mind.  For a moment he wondered
if this was his first splintering bone that would precede the snapping
and mashing of the others.  His stomach heaved at the thought, and he
willed his rising gorge to quell.  Daring to open his eyes, he abruptly
realized from the absolute blackness that his helmet had been crushed and
rendered useless...which actually explained a lot about why his head felt
as though it was going to implode!
     Then the gallmonging motor roared to life again, striking
uncertainty and fear into every fibre of his fragile mortal existence as
he tortuously awaited an outcome.  He almost sobbed in relief when the
pressure abruptly receded and the massive tylinium door began to open. 
Instinctively, he kept a hand against the metal, reassuring himself it
was still drawing further away from his bruised body, and that Apollo had
obviously figured out the controls.  Gradually, and a little shakily, he
peeled himself off the rock behind him.
     And pitched forward, dropping to the ground like a stone.

Part 19

     As soon as the force field was down, Apollo sprinted towards the
fallen Starbuck as fast as his injured leg could carry him.  There was a
crack running down two sides of the younger warrior's helmet, but Apollo
could hear him gulping in breaths and letting escape the occasional groan
as his shaking hands pulled frantically at his visor.  He was alive. 
Apollo let out a breath of relief when it dawned on him that in addition
his friend's standard fatigues weren't saturated with a deadly crimson,
as he'd half expected.  He'd take Starbuck's cry of "wrong way" with him
to his grave, and forever curse turning that mong-raking dial to the left
instead of the right. With half an eye on the potentially volatile
backpack of solenite only a metron away, he squatted down, and proceeded
to hook his hands under Starbuck's arms.  His friend jumped in surprise,
letting loose a yell, one hand moving reflexively towards his holster. 
His vision and hearing were obviously impaired by the damaged helmet.
     "Easy, buddy. It's me. I've got to get you away from that solenite,"
Apollo explained, nodding instinctively when Starbuck relaxed in his
grasp. Quickly, he dragged his friend into the Base and away from the
direct line of the blast of the battered solenite charges.  Truthfully,
he knew that if it suddenly blew, they would undoubtedly be caught in the
blast, but he still intended to cut the risk to both of them, even if it
seemed pointless.  Gently, he set the other down, running his eyes over
his friend, looking for injuries.  Of course, the biomonitor was in the
pack, so he'd have to do it the old-fashioned way. 
     "What hurts?" Apollo asked, taking a micron to reset the force
field.  Admittedly he didn't know how effective it would be if the
solenite blew, but even a Cylon force field was better than nothing. 
     Starbuck mumbled something incoherent in reply.  He was shaking like
a leaf.  Probably in shock.  Methodically, Apollo checked for injuries,
finally noticing Starbuck was breathing fast.  Maybe too fast.  Apollo
wasn't sure when exactly hyperventilation became official, but Starbuck
seemed to be striving towards it.
     "Slow down," Apollo told him, putting a hand on his chest.  "You're
breathing like a rabid daggit."
     "Is that a...a comment on my breath?" Starbuck gasped, as he pulled
at his helmet again with both hands.  "Help me get it off...it's crushing
my fracking skull."
     "It usually helps if you undo it..." Apollo brushed aside the
shaking fingers, helping undo the helmet and removing it.  The thermal
imaging in his visor didn't display any evidence of blood, and again he
found himself relaxing slightly.  "Better?"
     "Yeah." Starbuck raked his hands through his hair, his breathing
slowing noticeably.  Then he picked up his helmet, turning it over in his
hands, observing the damage of the crushing pressure, and probably
considering what could have happened.  Abruptly, he struck out, kicking
one of the Cylons hard before shaking his head and sucking in a breath
through his teeth.  "Astrum-wipe..." he muttered darkly at the centurion. 
It refused to answer.
     Entrusted to hit a couple switches and turn the dial the right way,
instead he'd almost killed his best friend.  Apollo's guts churned as he
pulled his own helmet off.  Lords of Kobol, nothing could be worth living
with that kind of guilt for all of eternity.  He tried to remember the
inspiring reasons he was here...like fighting for the survival of
Humanity.  Oh yeah.  But it all seemed like military claptrap in the
light of what had almost happened.  "Sorry..." he breathed.  An
inadequate word, at best.
     Starbuck glanced at him, taking a moment to compose himself.  In
microns, a contemplative mien and a wry smile replaced the previous
anxiety.  It was a remarkable transformation, and for the life of him,
Apollo wished he could pull it off as smoothly.  Was it playing endless
card games that made Starbuck a master of assumed insouciance?  Or
something else?
     "Don't be an idiot." He reached out and slapped Apollo on the
shoulder.  "I'm alive.  There's not even a scratch on me.  We're still in
the game.  Nothing else matters." Starbuck shrugged nonchalantly.
     Apollo pursed his lips, appreciating the effort, even if it was
ninety percent bravado and the rest pure felgercarb.  "Do you really
believe that? I thought winning was what mattered."
     "I'll discuss the subtler points of that with you over a tankard of
grog when all this is over. And we've won." Then Starbuck smiled. 
"You're buying, by the way."
     "The next thing you'll be telling me is that this was all a
carefully orchestrated ploy to get me to buy you a drink."
     Starbuck grinned.  "For that, you can throw in a fumarello.  One of
the good ones, not those cheap weeds that you erroneously believe come
from the same curing house as my Vita's."
     "You're on," Apollo nodded, standing and putting out a hand to his
friend.  "Can you stand?"
     Starbuck gripped his hand, accepting the sudden pull upward.  He
winced slightly, but otherwise seemed okay.  "How much time do you think
we have?" 
     "Not much." Apollo glanced at his chrono.  Again, he looked upward,
pondering a possible plan.  "You know, if we can manage to get that
grappling gun that you're so fond of..."
     "Well, as long as we're picking through the pack, can we risk
salvaging the charges that weren't damaged, as well as the rest of our
stuff?  Maybe leave the others here for the Cylons...as a parting gift?"
     Apollo drew a deep breath, shaking his head at Starbuck.  "If the
casings are compromised, Starbuck..."
     Starbuck nodded soberly.  "I know.  Kaboom." He waved a hand towards
the hatch.  "But so far they haven't blown, and my old munitions
instructor once told me that these things are made to withstand the most
incompetent of warriors..." he grinned wryly at Apollo's look of dismay,
"And so here we are..."
     "You're out of your mind," Apollo told him.  Only Starbuck...
     "Out of my helmet actually.  Lords, but it's good to see through my
own two eyes again," Starbuck retorted, striding towards the hatch.  "Can
you turn off the force field?"
     "Starbuck, I'm in command.  If anybody's going to pick through a
pack of battered solenite charges, it's me."
     Starbuck shrugged, almost as if he'd expected the opposition.  "Have
it your way, buddy."

Part 20

     Starbuck chewed on an unlit fumarello as he watched Apollo ever so
slowly and tediously pull items out of  the backpack one excruciating
millimetron at a time.  A wrong move or a sudden jerk could blow the
solenite, the pack, the compound and the mission. And of course, it could
really spoil things for them, too. Admittedly, maybe his friend was the
better man for this job that required nerves of tylinium and the patience
of Lord Sagan himself.  Nerves, Starbuck had, but with his body battered
and turning enchanting shades of yellow and purple following his close
encounter with the Cylon hatch, his patience was wearing a bit thin.
     "How's it look?" he asked Apollo, while finishing hard-wiring into
the control panel the latest and greatest piece of electronic felgercarb
that Colonial Research and Development had come up with, and they were
supposed to test on this mission if the opportunity arose. While the
other warrior was playing with solenite, Starbuck was manning the control
panel.  An access hatch that remained open long after the patrol had left
would eventually be investigated, and inevitably the Cylons would check
in to find out why. 
     "Centurion-report," the disembodied voice demanded from the comm. 
Fortunately, these Cylons were a little on the lazy side.  
     "Here goes nothing," Starbuck murmured quietly as he pulled his
fumarello from between his lips, turning on the vocal modifier prototype
and activating the Cylon comm suite.  Apollo turned sharply, waiting to
see the outcome as Starbuck spoke into the mic.  "By-your-command. 
Patrol-has-left-as-ordered." It was eerie hearing the Cylon drone,
knowing the words were his own.  Actually, between the helmet and this
new vocal modifier, he was beginning to feel more Cylon than Human. 
Fight fire with fire...
     "Core-Command-detects-access-hatch-remains-open.  Explain."
     "Negative-Core-Command.  The-hatch-is-closed," Starbuck replied,
smiling slightly. That would scramble their diodes.  He glanced at Apollo
who was now gingerly lifting the pack from beside the massive open door,
and moving it slowly into the compound.
     "Our-data-does-not-corroborate."
     "Stand-by," Starbuck stalled, shutting off the comm.  Apollo nodded,
and a moment later he was joining his friend.
     "Most of the charges are intact," Apollo informed him. "It was the
long-range communicator that was mutilated beyond repair."
     "Most of them?"
     "There are a couple that are slightly bent from the pressure, but I
couldn't detect any solenite leaks."
     "Just as well.  I didn't exactly want to raid their munitions dump
for more explosives wondering if our task force was in the process of
rigging it to blow." Instinctively, he pulled his communicator off his
belt, checking for the signals that would verify the other two teams had
completed their missions.  So far they hadn't received those
transmissions.  He shook his head at Apollo.
     Apollo motioned towards the control panel.  "Now what?"
     Starbuck grinned, reaching forward to activate the comm again. 
"Core-Command,
physical-assessment-of-the-hatch-corroborates-the-data-previously-
reported.  The-hatch-is-closed."  The flashing lights of the vocal
modifier peaked and fell in tone with his voice.
     "Our-data-does-not-corroborate." A pause.  "Stand-by. 
Running-diagnostic."
     "By-your-command," Starbuck signed off.  It wasn't that difficult. 
A succinct phraseology with a liberal dappling of "By-your-command's."
Anybody could be a centurion if he put forth a little effort.
     Apollo clapped Starbuck on the shoulder briefly in approval before
digging through the pack and pulling out the grappling gun.  He pointed
upward where the massive air ducts ran overhead.  "What do you think?"
     Starbuck smiled at the brilliant simplicity of the plan.  "I think
you should stand back and let me try it."
     Apollo chuckled, shaking his head.  "It was my idea."
     "Ah c'mon, buddy!  You know I've been dying to test it!"  Starbuck
winced slightly.  "Besides...it would ease my pain."
     "I can't believe you're playing that card, Starbuck!" Apollo replied
with a puff of breath.  "What happened to 'There's not a scratch on
me!'?"
     Starbuck smiled, holding out his hand for the grappling gun.  "It's
a daggit eat daggit universe.  I thought you would have realized that by
now."
     Apollo merely stared at him, his features still obscured by the
helmet, his posture erect.
     Starbuck sighed, dropping his hand.  "Hey, I was raised in an
orphanage, competing with a hundred other kids for the privilege to do
anything first. Generally stuff like the chow line and the turbo flush.
Old habits die hard, I guess." His friend shuffled from foot to foot as
he considered that.  Rarely did Starbuck discuss his upbringing.  "You go
ahead." Starbuck shrugged.  "After all,  you're probably the better shot
with the visor's attack sequence activated.  And I'm still waiting for
Cylon Central to check in to tell me their diagnostic is done, and the
door is still reading as open anyhow." He clamped his fumarello between
his teeth again and crossed his arms, leaning against the panel and
affecting a bored stance.  "I'd hate to be distracted by doing anything
fun."
     "Actually, I'm the better shot even without the attack computer,"
Apollo returned with a teasing tone.  He raised the grappling gun
slightly, eying the largest duct above them, then hesitated as he studied
his friend.  "I'm actually feeling guilty about this.  Are you
manipulating me, Starbuck?"
     "Not very effectively, apparently," Starbuck returned with a
chuckle. "Obviously, I need more practice. Wanna go back and start this
conversation over? I could try some new lines."
     "One of these days I'm going to figure out exactly how that mind of
yours works..." Apollo returned, lining up a shot. 
     "Join the endless line of women who have told me the same..."
Starbuck rejoined, following his friend's line of sight as Apollo pulled
the trigger.
     The grappling hook penetrated the thick tylinium of one of the
retaining bands holding a huge length of ducting in place with a
resounding thunk.  It was somewhat reassuring that their weight would be
supported by tylinium, as opposed to the organic matter of a tree, as
Apollo had pointed out in the forest.
     "Nice shot," Starbuck told him.  If they'd penetrated the duct by
mistake, it would have introduced a whole new set of complications as it
was detected by the Cylons.  He glanced at his chrono, suddenly wondering
why Core Command hadn't checked back in.  The diagnostics should be
concluded.
     "This-is-Base-Commander-Surgut.  Open-the-hatch," the comm demanded.
     "By-your-command," Starbuck spoke into the comm, activating the
controls that would open the hatch all the way.  The huge motor came to
life once again for a long, clamorous centon.  "Hatch-is-open,
Base-Commander."
     "Close-it," the Cylon officer replied.  "Once-completed,
shut-down-system-and-reinitialise."
     "By-your-command."
     It was the natural progression in a "secure" environment, and the
final procedure before sending out maintenance.  If the diagnostic
failed, turn the damn thing off and on, and try again.  How many times
had Starbuck done the same thing while dealing with uncooperative
equipment in a similar environment?    
     "What do you think?  Should we leave a solenite charge behind to
explode when they come to find out why these two aren't responding?"
Starbuck asked as the hatch closed and he cut power.
     Apollo hesitated a moment.  "As tempting as that is, we're trying to
go undetected as long as possible.  An exploding tunnel just might give
us away." His tone was light.
     "So would finding dead Cylons."
     "We're going to get rid of the evidence."  Apollo pointed upward. 
"I'll rig a pulley when I get to the ducts.  We'll drag up the Cylons and
dump them there." He jerked a thumb at the overhead machinery. "It'll
look like they've abandoned their post."
     "Well, admittedly it's a slightly more subtle solution.  Call me
crazy, but I can't resist blowing up Cylons.  It's in my nature,"
Starbuck rejoined.
     "Yeah, I noticed that about you," Apollo returned.  "Don't get me
wrong.  Generally, I find it to be one of your more endearing character
traits.  Besides..." he motioned back towards the hatch,  "a back door
might come in handy if we need another way out."
     "Hmm, good point.  Especially with that Colonial shuttle so
temptingly nearby..." Starbuck grinned.  It would be the perfect ride out
of there if they were running late...which they were.
     "Don't even think about it..." Apollo warned him, his abrupt tension
obvious in his body language.
     "It would be beautiful!" Starbuck replied with a chuckle.  "Perfect
irony."
     "Stick to the plan, Starbuck," his friend replied in a no-nonsense
tone.
     "Hey, doesn't the Colonial Service encourage independent thinking?"
     Apollo sniffed, appearing to think that over for a moment before
clapping him on the shoulder.  "It does at that.  'Finish the mission
successfully, preferably getting out alive.'  I believe those were our
orders." Then he grabbed the rope that dangled from the grappling spear
far above.  "Secure the rope, would ya?"
     "Aye, sir," Starbuck returned with a sloppy salute as he
reinitialised the system again.  A moment later the Base Commander
informed him that all was again operational and signed off.  It was a
simple matter of removing the vocal modifier again, and then Starbuck
pulled down hard on the rope, reducing the slack as Apollo continued the
challenging vertical climb up the rope, favouring his right leg
noticeably.  A few centons later, he had disappeared from view, pulling
up the rope to rig it to a pulley, before once again sending it down to
pull up their pack.  The network of dehumidification and power ducts
would be the perfect way to get around unseen.  A beautiful chance to
exploit a definite flaw in the Cylon defence.  
     Starbuck began retrieving the downed centurions, dragging them into
position to hoist them out of sight. Lords, these suckers were heavy!
Personally, he'd rather just shove them between hatch and wall,
activating the massive door to crush them into oblivion.  However, he
could see that if that somehow prevented the hatch from closing properly,
they'd be right back where they started with a patrol of Cylons on their
way to investigate.
     Abruptly, a blast of laser fire filled the air startling him.  He
couldn't be any more vulnerable, out in the open, dragging along a Cylon. 
He dropped the centurion, instinctively reaching for his weapon.
     "Do not-move-Human!"      

Part 21

     The sudden sound of firing Cylon pulse rifles just about made Apollo
lose his balance atop the air duct.  Caught up in securing the backpack
of solenite and preparing to lower the rope down to haul up the destroyed
centurions, he was caught unawares.  He abruptly pulled his weapon, but
hesitated to fire, as he took in the scene below.
     Starbuck had been mid-draw, and turning to exchange fire with the
Cylons, but fortunately a quick assessment on his friend's part at the
patrol of six centurions made him reassess the situation.  Apollo held
his breath, knowing that if Starbuck let off even one shot, he'd be dead
in a micron as six Cylon weapons sited him.
     "Lay-down-your-weapon!" the lead centurion ordered as they fanned
out on approach, beginning to surround the warrior. Within four microns,
they had the entire passage blocked.
     Starbuck's laser was hanging loosely in his grip, his hands
partially raised as if in indecision.  C'mon buddy, drop it.  A captured
warrior could be freed.  A dead warrior wasn't coming back.
     "There-is-no-escape-Human! 
Lay-down-your-weapon-now-or-we-will-open-fire," the lead Cylon declared.
     "All of you?" Starbuck asked, his voice steady considering the
situation.  His released his Colonial laser, and it clattered to the
surface.  "Isn't that overkill...pardon the pun."
     "Silence!" the centurion ordered. He turned and spoke to the soldier
nearest to him. "Search-the-area!"
     "By-your-command."
     Apollo drew a deep breath, weighing the possibilities as the
centurions spread out looking for evidence.  If he fired on the Cylons
and revealed his position, not only would the mission be a bust, but
Starbuck would likely end up dead as a result.  The risk was too great,
the potential benefits meagre at best.
     Below, a centurion patted down Starbuck, removing his scanner and
communicator.  The mechanized soldier glanced briefly at both before
handing them to his squad leader.  A moment later, another had returned
with Starbuck's damaged helmet which the commanding Cylon examined
closely
     "Are-you-alone?" the centurion demanded of Starbuck.  
     The warrior glanced at him letting long microns pass before finally
replying, "No, I'm surrounded by a half dozen tin-heads, Chrome Dome. 
How did you guys get this duty out here in the middle of nowhere?  Did
you end up with reconditioned parts?  Too out-of-date for assignment to a
Base Star?"
     Apollo closed his eyes briefly and shook his head.  Starbuck...Name,
rank and serial number were supposed to be the standard reply to any
questions posed by the enemy.  To his credit though, Starbuck's eyes
remained trained on the Cylons.  He didn't even glance upwards.  He was
probably expecting Apollo would be making his way out of there, onward to
the hangar and the completion of their mission while he stalled for time.
     "Silence!"
     "That's the thing about you guys.  You're always contradicting
yourselves.  Tell me, Metal Mouth, how am I supposed to remain silent and
answer your questions at the same time?"
     That's Starbuck!  If you can't confound them with logic, baffle them
with bovine-mong!
     The centurion suddenly advanced on the warrior, jabbing him with
something which Apollo didn't recognize that looked like a baton. 
Abruptly, Starbuck yelped, dropping to his knees and then curling into a
ball and slumping to the ground.  Fury engulfed Apollo, and his trigger
finger tightened reflexively, even as he realized from the visor's
tracking system that Starbuck was still alive, and apparently uninjured. 
Evidently, the Cylons had created a weapon to coerce Humans into
submission.  Or warriors like Starbuck into taking them more seriously.
     "Things-will-go-better-for-you-if-you-cooperate."
     "You mean...it could get worse?"
     The lead centurion jabbed him again, and Starbuck jerked violently,
grunting aloud. "You-will-cooperate, or-you-will-be-punished." 
     "Wh-what...the frack is that?" the warrior sputtered, as he was
pulled to his feet by two centurions.  He clearly needed their support.
     "Laser-baton," the centurion deigned to answer. 
"Take-him-to-the-Brig.  I-will-question-him-there."
     "By-your-command."
     "Prepare-the-brain-probe."
     "By-your-command."
     "Tell-Base-Commander-Kaluga-that-we-have-found-a-Human,
and-to-begin-searches-of-all-facilities."
     "By-your-command."
     As they half pulled, half dragged Starbuck along, Apollo glanced at
his communicator, seeing the signal that indicated the munitions dump had
been penetrated and was almost ready to blow.  He glanced at his chrono,
knowing that his first priority should be getting on with the mission. 
It would only be a matter of time before the team assigned to the Control
Centre was also ready.  But knowing that Starbuck would soon be
interrogated, probably using this laser-baton as a crude torture device,
had him truly torn as to his next course of action.
     If their positions were reversed and Apollo had anything to say
about it, he'd demand that Starbuck would carry out the mission, and
hopefully attempt a rescue if time allowed.  Meanwhile, Apollo would use
all his own training to try to escape and steadfastly refuse to reveal
any information to the Cylons about the unfolding mission, as a Colonial
air strike prepared to amass, determined to decimate this pivotal Base. 
They were warriors after all, and the Cylons were the enemy. The job came
first, and sacrifice was not only an expectation, but a foregone
conclusion.  
     But all that rhetoric didn't make his difficult decision any easier
as Starbuck was marched out of there surrounded by Cylons. 

Part 22
 
     Starbuck tried to shake off the support of the centurions, bent on
getting to the Brig under his own steam, but they had no intention of
letting him go.  Part of him still couldn't believe they had used the new
fangled weapon on him, but the parts that were still tingling in reaction
to the voltons that had shot through him were reconciling him to the
notion that maybe he should stick to the regulation responses in the
future, and take this whole exercise a little more seriously.
     Do ya think, Bucko?
     In what seemed like mere microns, as he pondered what exactly he was
in for during the inevitable interrogation and brain probing, they
arrived at the Brig.  He'd been trained for this, he reminded himself. 
Resisting Cylon torture and interrogation methods.  An insistent Cylon
hand dropped on his shoulder as the hatch opened to the cellblock, then
he was shoved forward roughly.  He sucked in a breath as his stomach flip
flopped nervously.  Admittedly, a little of his cockiness had worn off
with his rising anxiety, and he managed to bite off the retort that was
battling to leap off his tongue and get him in a whole lot more trouble.
     If a guy in his situation could be in any more trouble than he
already was.
     The Cylon that had admitted them then opened the sole cell door,
giving Starbuck the idea that either they didn't get much company in
these parts, or that they didn't keep their prisoners alive all that
long.  Quickly, he looked around memorizing the layout and the fact that
there was only one guard whose actual post was outside the Brig...which
logically meant they had to be already guarding somebody.  It didn't bode
well for the mission.
     Unless there was always a guard. Hmm...Maybe...
     Once again he was shoved forward, and he stumbled as he reacted in
surprise to the current occupant of the cell.  She was taller than the
average woman, with raven hair that cascaded in waves down her shoulders. 
Her vivid blue eyes looked him over openly and curiously, appearing to
measure him up.  The black jumpsuit she wore left little to the
imagination, accenting a curvaceous figure that would be more
appropriately suited for the centrefold of Buxom Beauties or Colonial
Curves than for any Brig, Cylon or otherwise. Surprisingly, he didn't
know her.  She wasn't part of the team...and by her relaxed posture as
she lounged on the only bunk, his instincts were telling him she was no
Colonial Warrior.  
     "Well, well, what do we have here?" she murmured as the cell door
slid closed behind him.  Like a felix, almost lazily, yet gracefully, she
rose from the bunk, coming over to meet him.  Her eyes raked over him,
and her fine eyebrows arched slightly as she completed a circle around
him before coming to a stop.  "Who are you?"
     "Starbuck," he replied, looking at her just as frankly.  She was
almost as tall as he, with almond shaped eyes and full lips framed by a
face-as the old nautical saying went-that could launch a thousand
ships...or more likely sink them.  He smiled and said a silent thanks to
the Goddess of Luck that his capture had taken this unexpected twist.
     "Those are fatigues that you're wearing." She reached forward,
fingering his jacket.  "Oh yeah. I'd bet my ship and everything on it
that you're a Colonial Warrior." 
     "Really?" he answered noncommittally.  "What kind of ship?"  Was she
a smuggler, he wondered?  Some sort of privateer, perhaps?  Or just some
hapless Human who had wandered too close to the Cylon base?  Her Colonial
Standard was perfect, and her accent was tantalisingly familiar, but he
couldn't place it just now.
     "Now what's a Colonial Warrior doing way out here?" she ignored his
question. 
     "I could ask you the same question..." he retorted.
     "Not really," she replied with an enigmatic smile.
     "Oh? And why not?"
     "Because I'm not a Colonial Warrior." 
     There was an impish smile on her face that both intrigued, and
annoyed him. How in Hades Hole could one be so...nonplussed at being in a
Cylon brig? "What's your name?"
     Her head cocked a bit to one side as she regarded him for a moment. 
She seemed to consider whether or not to tell him, before finally nodding
at him in a carefree attempt at courtesy.  "Saraesa."
     "Saraesa..." he murmured.  "That means 'beautiful breeze', doesn't
it?"
     She raised her eyebrows in surprise, then smiled a little mockingly,
"Is that supposed to impress me?"
     "It usually breaks the ice at parties," he replied with a smile.  
     "Oh, I see." She looked around the cell. "I must have misplaced the
band."
     He decided that he liked her flippancy, robust enough to match his
own. Then, he heard the outer Brig door close as the centurions left the
cellblock.  "What are you doing in a Cylon Brig in this quadrant,
Saraesa?"
     "Waiting for a big, strong Colonial Warrior to come and help me
escape," she purred, smiling lasciviously.  Then she too looked through
the translucent door to make sure there were no Cylons observing or
listening before she grinned and pointed upward. Well out of reach for a
single person, but just accessible for one boosting another, a
ventilation duct invitingly awaited them.  The grill covering it looked
scratched and marred.
     "What about the grill?" Starbuck asked.
     In a heartbeat she reached behind the bunk, removing what was once a
fork, before it had been used to stab and tear at a tylinium grill as the
bearer took running leaps of faith to weaken its defences.  
     "You boost me up.  I'll open the grill," she told him.  It was the
obvious solution, except...
     Starbuck glanced upward.  "Then you climb inside...and I get up
there...how?"  Her eyes narrowed slightly, which didn't exactly fill him
with confidence.  All the same, he didn't have much time before the
Cylons started their interrogation, and he really wasn't looking forward
to seeing how well he did at Advanced Torture Resistance.
     "I'm stronger than I look, Warrior.  If you can jump high enough,
I'll pull you up," she informed him. She paused a moment when he sniffed
sceptically. "Let's get a move on.  I'm guessing those Cylons will be
back to start tearing apart your brain before long.  That should be
motivation enough to do things my way if you want the benefit of my
considerable seniority here as a prisoner of the Cylons.  By the way, did
you get here under your own power, or as part of some infiltration team?"
     "Infiltration team?  Why would you think that?" he asked, unwilling
to reveal anything just yet.  For all he knew, she could be some kind of
Cylon spy, bargaining for her own freedom by probing him for information. 
A mercenary?  "I'm a scout.  Part of geotechnical survey team, sent to
map out this quadrant."
     "Good try, but I don't think so." She chuckled.  "It's the fatigues. 
They're definitely military, unless geologists have gone in for Early
Camo this season.  And that's not a standard pilot's uniform, and the
only other way a Colonial Warrior could end up here is if he was captured
out on patrol," she informed him, again looking through the cell door. 
"You must be part of some mission.  I'm guessing that my time is running
out.  I need to find my ship and get out of here. Let's move!" she
demanded.
     "You don't happen to have a slightly less bossy friend around here
who's just as cute, do you?" he asked.  "I think I picked the wrong
cellblock."
     "I see. Assertive women intimidate you," she suggested mockingly.
     "I haven't met a woman yet that intimidated me," he smirked.  She
tensed in return, looking like a venomous serpent about to strike.  
     And drop dead gorgeous too.
     "Boost me up," she ordered him again, pointing at the duct
impatiently.
     "I'll tell you what..." he smiled, nodding upwards.  "I'll boost you
up to pry off the grill...but then you're coming back down here to give
me a leg up to the duct...since you're stronger than you look." He smiled
wryly.  "At least I know that I can pull you up behind me." He took a
step closer to her and added in warning,  "If I even get the gist of an
idea that you're going to try to climb into that duct ahead of me, I'll
pull you right back down on your shapely astrum."  
     She frowned at him. "You want me to boost you up?  I thought you
Colonial Warriors were supposed to be gentlemen."
     "It's preferable, but not mandatory." He waited a beat. "Well?"
     "Fine," she said, hands on hips and looking up. Then she gazed at
him coolly. "But keep your hands where they belong, Warrior Boy, and off
of my 'shapely astrum'. Got me?"
     "Oh, I've got ya, alright.  A time and place for everything,
sweetheart," he retorted, stepping toward the duct.

Part 23

     The mission had taken on a new and pressing urgency since Starbuck's
capture.  As much as Apollo knew that his first priority was to set the
solenite charges in the Cylon hangar, a mental image of his friend being
interrogated by the Cylons loomed in his subconscious, demanding he
ignore the constant throbbing and the growing blood stain of his injured
leg, and get on with his mission so that he could return to help
Starbuck.  
     Sweat trickled down his back, and his breathing was laboured as he
grunted under the weight of the backpack.  His heart pounded in his
chest, feeling as though it would burst through at any moment with the
strain he was under. Why, by all the Lords, had they brought so much
stuff anyhow?  
     Because it's the regs, and you thought that maybe we might possibly
need it, should the unlikely situation arise, Starbuck's voice abruptly
informed him as clearly as if he was there. 
     He was probably right.
     With a self-derisive snort, Apollo stopped, shrugging off the heavy
pack and opening it up.  Between electronic felgercarb, solenite,
detonators, and survival gear, there was still enough crap in there to
keep a small platoon alive for a secton.  
     And you're the one who convinced me to carry it all the way to the
Base, oh wise and meticulous Squadron Leader.  
     Unless Apollo was sure he was going to use it in the next centar,
the superfluous gear was going.  This time he was ruthless as he sorted
through the pack.  Idly, he wondered what Starbuck would say if he knew.
     Not that I'm one to say "I told you so", Apollo, but...
     He could almost see Starbuck's easy grin, rimming a smouldering
fumarello, as he ribbed him.  Lords of Kobol, he hoped his friend was
okay.  What he wouldn't give to have Starbuck giving him the gears in
person just now, instead of merely daydreaming about it.
     Then it hit him, that he was spending altogether too much time with
Starbuck's voice in his head.  It could mean one of two things; Starbuck
was mentally projecting his thoughts, or Apollo was losing it.
     Oddly, he found himself preferring the latter.
     He sat down heavily, pulling his helmet off.  His hair was soaked,
and plastered to his head.  It occurred to him he was probably feverish,
and that he should take something for it.  Just like he should check his
wound, and numb the leg once more with the hypospray.
     Really?  Do ya think?
     "Oh, shut up," Apollo retorted quietly, not thinking of anything
more witty as a comeback.  You knew you were in trouble in a battle of
wits when you resorted to 'shut up'.  Starbuck would never let him forget
it...
     Oh right, Starbuck wasn't actually here.
     And you won't be either if you don't buck up and get back in the
game, buddy...
     Apollo grabbed the hypospray, wiping the sweat from his face as he
selected the setting for another dose of antibiotic.  He pressed it
against his skin, closing his eyes as the whoosh coincided with the faint
sting of the drug delivery.  More likely than not, it wasn't doing much
good, so he selected some Acetelon to treat his fever.
     Good idea.  Get some fluids into you too, then at least you'll be
thinking straight...
     "And you'll get out of my head," Apollo retorted, grabbing a bottle
of liquid nourishment and sucking it back.
     Hey, it's not like I like being here.  It's way too neat and orderly
for my tastes.  I'm surrounded by righteousness and perfectionism, and
this overwhelming desire to be all things to all people.  If I don't get
out of here soon, buddy, I'm gonna get all honourable or something...
     "Too late, Starbuck..." he smiled, shaking the image of his friend
off as the drugs began to work.  With a sigh, he then injected some more
freezing into his thigh.  The resulting numbing was a relief.
     Apollo checked his communicator once again, seeing that the signal
had come through that the Control Centre too was now ready to blow.  The
other two teams would be heading for their rendezvous points, having
presumably completed their missions successfully.  For a moment, he
thought about contacting them, but if the Cylons detected his
transmission, it would be like painting a big target on his back, and his
compatriots'.  No, he had to pull this off without putting anybody else
at risk.  This was his and Starbuck's assignment.  Their responsibility. 
Their challenge.  
     A glance at his chrono told him he only had about ninety centons
before the planted charges would go off, ready or not, and the air strike
would begin.  He stood up, pulling his helmet back on, and then swinging
the considerably lighter pack onto his shoulders.  There was no time to
re-check his wound, or reinforce the bandage.  He was only centons from
the hangar now, and would soon be in position to start setting some
charges, presuming he could get past the growing presence of centurions
looking for him. 
     All he needed was a distraction...
      
Part 24
 
     Starbuck felt a little guilty when Saraesa quietly grunted under his
weight, as she grudgingly gave him a leg up to the ventilation duct she
had managed to pry open on its hinges only centons before.  Luckily,
guilt was for him a transient emotion, meant more for the likes of his
best friend, and hadn't wasted much of its time on Starbuck throughout
the yahrens.  He couldn't help but smile when he noticed...yeah, it had
already passed.
     In microns he had grabbed the top edge of the duct, pulling himself
upward and quickly taking his weight off the slender young woman. 
Starbuck blew out a breath as he easily manoeuvred himself into the duct,
and then turned over, lying prone to offer Saraesa a hand up.
     "Come to Starbuck," he quipped with a grin.  He beckoned to her with
his fingers.
     "And escape had looked so enticing until now," she replied wryly,
taking one more look around the cell, before backing up a couple metrons
and taking a running leap.  
     Their right hands connected solidly, and Starbuck pulled upward,
capitalizing on her momentum.  Her free hand gripped the shoulder of his
jacket, and she scurried onward hand over hand, agile and impressively
fit.  She used him like a Human ladder, ultimately grabbing his belt and
climbing over him.  He couldn't help but smile as he felt every
centimetron of her body as it squirmed over his in the close quarters.  
     A fella could get used to this...
     "You're enjoying this, aren't you, Warrior?" she posed, before
finally clearing his form and wriggling further into the duct.
     "Sure beats a Cylon Brain Probe," he chuckled, as he flipped over
and turned himself around so he could move head first. "How long have you
been here, anyhow?"  he grunted when he reached back to secure the grill
back into place, just about dislocating his shoulder in the process as he
struggled to reach it.  There, that's got it.  It was loose, but at a
glance, the Cylons wouldn't be able to tell. He hoped.
     "A secton, I think. Hard to tell.  They took my chrono away." She
paused to look back at him.  "A secton too long for my tastes, by the
way." Then she added briskly as she began to crawl forward, "Let's get
going." 
     "Where exactly?" he asked, for the first time feeling a bit bad
about giving her such a hard time, even though she had returned it in
kind.  Surviving a secton in a Cylon Brig was something most Humans
wouldn't live long enough to brag about.  If anything she deserved his
respect, not his scepticism.  
     "For me, the hangar.  If my ship is still in one piece, that's where
it will be, Warrior," she called back. 
     The hangar worked for him.  If he knew Apollo, come Hades or high
water, that's where his squadron leader would be.  Then he froze as he
heard the sound of the outer cell block door opening.  The Cylons had
returned.  "Go!" he hissed quietly, waving her ahead urgently.

Part 25

     Providing a distraction proved to be more difficult than Apollo had
at first thought. The most obvious course of action was to use a solenite
charge to draw the Cylons' attention, however, blowing something up in
the hangar or nearby would also announce his presence, ultimately
bringing even more unwanted attention. He needed something more subtle...
     The overhead ducts he was using as a passageway irritatingly took
him over central areas of the hangar, leaving him exposed if he repelled
directly down to ground level, but at least he could visualize everything
as strategic diversionary ideas formed, and were systematically rejected. 
To top it all off, he couldn't get rid of the fuzzy feeling that was
clouding his thoughts, probably indicating blood loss, or infection.  Or
both.  Well, at least he wasn't hearing things any more.  Then again,
"subconscious Starbuck" might have an idea that hadn't yet occurred to
him.
     The blare of a klaxon suddenly propelled the Cylons into action, as
they scattered to to their respective battle stations, in response to
their commanding officer's orders.  Instinctively, Apollo made his
decision.  He shrugged off the pack, grabbing the grappling gun from
within, and loading it, while methodically connecting a line. He quickly
pulled the backpack in place, and fired.  Due to the constant din, he
couldn't hear the firing mechanism or the grapple drive home as it
connected with a tylinium crossbar in the upper superstructure.  He
sucked in a breath as he tightly gripped the rope and then took a running
jump.
     He couldn't help but let out a whoop of joy as exhilaration swept
over him. It was like some kind of action scene from a favourite holovid
as the hero swung through the Cylon hangar, while below him centurions
scurried about in an oblivious frenzy. The Lords of Kobol were smiling
down upon him, and his triumph at hitting the suspended metal walkway
he'd been aiming for, more than overshadowed the pain of impact.
     Well, almost.
     Apollo let out a string of curses through clenched teeth as he
slowly pulled himself over the rail, collapsing onto the deck. Forcing
himself to ignore the agony in his leg, he pulled in the slack of the
line, tying it off on the rail.  He let out a frustrated breath as he
considered this newest problem.  If he fired his laser, he might sever
the rope, but more than likely he would just cause a ricochet effect,
damaging something that would get noticed, and once again calling
attention to himself.  He had to hope that the distracted Cylons wouldn't
look up and notice that anything was amiss as he infiltrated their hangar
right above their unsuspecting metal heads.  If he continued along this
walkway, he could access the massive motors that opened the hangar door,
and set timed charges that would permanently disable it.
     Of course, he would give just about anything to know why the klaxon
was going off. The Cylons below seemed to be diverting resources within
the Base.  Two platoons were lined up, and within microns were funnelling
out of the hangar.  It couldn't be the fuel or ammo dumps; he would have
heard them go up.  Whatever it was, it couldn't be an outside attack,
equally noisy, which led him to believe that either one of the other two
teams had been discovered...or Starbuck had escaped.
     And while the idea of the former caused him to cringe, he almost
whooped again at the latter.

  Part 26

      The klaxon was blaring in Starbuck's head, making an already
uncomfortable and dire situation even worse, as he scurried forward
through the duct as fast as he could go on hands and knees, feeling more
like a bilge rat than a Colonial Warrior. Luckily, Cylons weren't exactly
known for their adroitness, so he couldn't quite imagine them boosting
each other up to peak in the ventilation duct, even as they eliminated
any other possibilities for an escape from the tiny cell. Fleetingly, a
mental image popped into his head of dozens of centurions climbing down
on hands and knees, forming a classic pyramid, as Base Commander Surgut
climbed atop them. Just as quickly he pushed it back to that corner of
his mind that he reserved for self-amusement on long-range patrols or
during particularly long and painful briefings. 
     Abruptly, the klaxon stopped. The relative ensuing silence was
deafening, until he heard the thunk in the darkness, and Saraesa's cry of
dismay.
     "Festering fragments of fetid felgercarb!"
     "What?" 
     "Dead end!"
     "Huh?" he asked in disbelief.
     "Are you hard of hearing, or just slow on the uptake?" she snapped
in return. "I think it's a...a filter of some sort."
     In retrospect, it was inevitable that they would reach a filtering
system. Yeah, air, dust, moisture and pollutants-all very nasty to Cylon
joints and circuits-could enter it just fine, but it was impassible to
Humans. Yeah, they tended to be a bit on the big side for filters.
Still...filters had to be replaced at some point.
     "Look for an access hatch!" Starbuck called forward. "There has to
be some kind of access to reach it for maintenance."
     "I can't see anything!" Saraesa called back in frustration.
     "Are you blind, or just lazy?" he retorted, as he moved up alongside
her, cramming his body in next to hers, ignoring her grumbling
objections. The hatch would have to be nearby the filter housing, since
the unlucky centurions assigned to maintenance detail certainly wouldn't
be crawling in to reach it. He ran his hands over the smooth surface of
the duct, pausing when his fingers eventually found a ridge. "Ahh!" He
followed the outline, and pushed against the centre of it.
     It didn't budge.
     "Nice job. You obviously have more extensive experience with
contaminants than I do," Saraesa muttered.
     "And the experience continues," he muttered.  Then added, "Do you
ever shut up?" He pushing against the panel again to no avail. "Get out
of the way. I need more room."
     "Darlin', if it was up to me, I'd be far enough out of your way,
that you wouldn't see me for spacedust," Saresa drawled as she manoeuvred
further back into the duct.
     "Hmm...now there's an irresistible image that I can hold on
to...Honeybunch" he grinned, repositioning himself with his feet up
against the panel, before bending his knees and kicking it. 
     It dented, letting in a glimpse of light.
     "Ah, the subtle approach!" declared his companion.
     "Subtlety is overrated," he tossed back.  "Me?  I'm more of a 'blow
things up' kind of guy."
     "But enough about you," Saraesa rejoined, pointing at the panel. 
"Again!"
     He glanced back at her, before ramming it again. This time it burst
open, and the relative brightness made him blink.
     "Nice going, Starbuck!" Saraesa grinned at him.
     "Lords above! Was that...praise?" he gasped in return. He placed a
hand over his heart. "Oh, be still my beating..."
     "Oh Sagan, I can see your ego recharging as we speak," she returned
with mock dismay. "What in Hades Hole have I done?"
     "Yeah? Well don't get too worried about the size of my ego. The
Cylons will know where the closest access hatches are, and they're going
to be checking them. Fifty will get you a hundred this hatch had a
sensor." He hastily moved through the access panel, feet first. "And
they'll be sealing the corridors." Standing up, he took a look around
from the small platform he was on. A ladder from the ground level was
attached. No Cylons yet, but he could hear footfalls in the distance. 
     "There has to be some way out of here," Saraesa replied, climbing
out of the panel, and brushing off the hand he offered.
     "There is," he replied, pointing upwards.
     The ladder didn't end at the filtration system. Above them about
another six metrons was another hatch, sealed shut.
     "Is that what I think it is?" Saraesa asked hesitantly.
     "Only one way to find out..." he returned, suddenly weighing the
risks.
     "Do you realize what could happen if we get caught up there?" she
whispered frantically, gripping his arm.
     "Then, let's not," he replied with a reckless smile. "Get caught, I
mean."

Part 27

     The basic idea was sound.  Blow the hatch to the launch and landing
bay, preventing the Cylons from launching, or any active patrols from
landing and refuelling, for when the Colonials began their attack.  If
the other two teams did their jobs and blew the Cylon Control Centre,
munitions dump and fuel bunkers, then the attack would be over shortly
after it began.  Maybe it was a bit ambitious, and realistically Command
probably didn't expect all three teams to complete their missions, or
make it back out alive, but the beauty of the threefold strategy was that
any part of it succeeding would go a long way in helping the impending
air strike by crippling the Cylons. 
     Still, Apollo could have wept as the enormous hatch started to open.
     Now why he had assumed that the hatch would conveniently stay closed
for him, as he not only planted the solenite charges, but started rigging
them to ignite on activation...well, it had been short sighted to say the
least. He pressed himself back behind the metal beam that had been
sheltering him from sight, as the enemy patrol began to land one at a
time. His heart fluttered for a moment, as he wondered if the approaching
Battlestar had been detected, and this very group of Cylons was about to
warn the Base about the impending Colonial attack.
     Easy there, don't go off on a tangent...
     The routine patrols had been a part of the reconnaissance report,
according to what the colonel had told them in the mission briefing. 
Apollo closed his eyes, trying to remember the exact turn-around time for
this patrol to land, and the next one to take off.  He couldn't set the
charges until the hangar doors were closed again, and the majority of the
Cylon task force was sealed inside the Base.  The actual attack was to
coincide with the time that next patrol was low on fuel, and before their
replacements were finished fuelling and arming, and could launch. He
checked his chrono...
     Sweat dripped down his back, and seemed to run in rivulets down his
face.  Lords, if he perspired any more, he'd short-circuit the helmet,
losing the technological advantages. Not that they were doing him a lot
of good at the moment. The pain in his leg was like an immuring force,
impelling him to the deck.  The last dose from the hypo was already
wearing off, prematurely in his opinion, making him wonder if the drug
cylinder was empty. Apollo allowed himself to slump against the wall, and
slowly slide downward, gritting his teeth as he cradled his right thigh,
stretching it out before him. It was about then that his entire body
turned to mush, as he went limp with exhaustion and discouragement. 
     Oh, blessed respite.
     Never had so many things on a mission gone wrong. Never had he hoped
that somebody else-Starbuck being the obvious choice-could suddenly
appear and simply finish the job for him. After all, wasn't Apollo
overdue to be the guy that sat on the sidelines for a change, letting
someone else claim victory and glory?  Didn't he end up taking all the
difficult missions?  The impossible challenges?  The dangerous
assignments?  The one-way leaps into the roaring maw of Hades Hole,
mocking death?  Wasn't it about time that somebody came to his rescue? 
To bail him out when he was sitting there in agony, unable to continue?
Sagan, he was so damn tired.
     Sooooo tired...
     And he damn well knew he only had another fifteen or twenty centons
to get his head out of his astrum, and himself back in the game to finish
the mission.

Part 28

     The corridor was dimly lit, and curiously empty, but Starbuck
instinctively kept as low to the ground as he could without resorting to
crawling on hands and knees again. He glanced back to see Saraesa hanging
back reluctantly. She wasn't crazy about this idea, but there was no
other real choice available just now. It was either penetrate this level,
or wait for an inevitable showdown with the Cylons.
     He motioned to her to follow, and she hesitated a moment more before
she quietly closed the hatch behind her, and slunk his way. In her black
jumpsuit, in the shadows of muted light, she looked almost spectral as
she quickly covered the space between them. Her eyes locked on his, and
he found a inexplicable sense of expectation sweep over him, before she
stopped, squatting alongside him at the junction of a corridor.
     "Which way?" she whispered, her words barely audible. Then she
glanced up and down the corridors anxiously, looking for any sign that
she might have been heard. Strangely, there were no security vids in the
corridors, nor any other sort of internal sensors. Visible ones, anyway.
     Starbuck patted her gently on the shoulder, and pointed to the
right, using his internal scanners to guide him. That and an educated
guess based on what he figured had to be the most direct route to the
landing bay from his knowledge of the layout of the Base. While there
weren't many advantages to being captured, other than the fact that your
untimely death had been blissfully delayed, at least he'd managed to get
the grand tour. Although, the tour guides weren't as informative or as
friendly as he would have liked, and there were no refreshments offered.
     Saraesa nodded mutely, seemingly content to let him lead this time
around. It was interesting, he mused, that she seemed more afraid of
breeching this highly restricted level than she had been in the presence
of the Cylons. Once again, he couldn't help but wonder if she was a Cylon
spy. An attractive one-all parts present and accounted for, not to
mention a perfect...chassis-but with a mouth like a fishwife. 
     Again, he cautiously started forward, silently creeping along the
corridor. Every sense was attuned to his surroundings. If they were
discovered here, it would all come to an end in the blink of an eye. One
flash of a laser, and it would be game over. No questions asked. Failure.
Death. All that felgercarb.
     He could already imagine the chewing out that the colonel would give
him for taking this chance. For risking it all. But if you weren't
playing, you couldn't win, and "winning" was, after all, why they were
here in the first place. Not to mention that if he hadn't infiltrated the
upper level, more than likely he'd be back in the Brig right now. 
     Or dead. 
     He squinted slightly as he noticed a bright ray of light emitting
from the end of the corridor. Closer to him, he saw light filtering out
from beneath a closed door. Curiously, it was the old-fashioned style
that swung outward, instead of sl