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 sliding open and shut. A levered handle
and an entry panel that controlled its access were also visible. He
paused, holding up a hand to Saraesa, trying to get her to hold back, and
let him check it out. Typically, she looked beyond him, also seeing the
beckoning light, and then shook her head at him in silent argument. Her
lips tightened, stubbornly set, and she gave him an insistent push to
urge him onward. 
     Starbuck sighed, then set off again.
     He'd never met a woman quite like her. Fiercely independent, and
completely immune to his obvious charms, with a quicksilver tongue that
could flay a lesser man to shreds. A confusing mix of "come hither", and
"back off, Bub!". The sort of woman that he could never fully understand,
but was nevertheless drawn to.  
     Like an insect to a crawlon's web. 
     He paused at the closed door, putting an ear to it and hearing muted
voices within. It could be some kind of guard house. Frack, it could be
just about anything. He couldn't make out what was said, or even get a
feel for how many sentries were within. Cupping his ear, he shook his
head at Saraesa to indicate the same. She nodded, pointing towards the
end of the corridor, looking anxious to leave the closed door behind
them.
     Finally, a further access hatch going downward and another closed
door with a viewing window greeted them. There was a soft glow coming
from the viewing window that bathed them in light, making them
increasingly jittery now that they were more visible to the naked eye.
Optical sensors would have picked them up regardless, however, a false
sense of security was preferable to none at all. Starbuck blew out a
breath, and slowly approached the window. He peeked up from the bottom
edge, not surprised to see an array of screens curving around and above
the main station, all displaying areas of the Base under surveillance.
Other than that, only a connecting door was visible to an inner chamber.
A lone occupant was visible, monitoring the station.
     Lords, if he could get inside, and gain accessibility to the entire
surveillance network, the rest of the mission would be a comparative
joyride. He almost laughed aloud when he saw that the door on his side
was slightly ajar. Well, he could obviously gain access without ever
touching the entry panel, but without a weapon, how could he...? 
     The sentinel rose slowly from his seat, and headed for the adjoining
room within. The little Cylon's room?  Starbuck narrowed his eyes,
quickly studying the area.  There was no time to waste.  He pulled off
his jacket, getting ready.  He'd have to time it to the milli-centon, or
he'd end up in serious trouble.  However, if the Goddess of Luck was with
him...
     "Give me the fork," he whispered to Saraesa, holding out his hand
for it. It was the only weapon or tool that they had, and he knew for a
fact that she was still carrying it. 
     Her expression was both curious and reluctant. She obvious didn't
want to part with it. "Why?" she returned as her blue eyes followed the
progression of the occupant within. It took her all of a micron to assess
the situation, then realization lit her features and she looked at him in
horror.  "Just what the frack are you thinking?  Of all the harebrained
ideas!"
     "Now!" he hissed impatiently. There wasn't time for another debate.
     She shook her head, like a schoolmarm casting judgment on a child,
before handing it over.  "You're crazy, Warrior. If you get caught, I'm
going for the hatch," she warned him, washing her hands of the scheme.  
     "Do what you have to," he quietly replied, wrapping his jacket
sleeve around the handle of the tylinium tool, and then switching it to
his left hand. Cautiously, he turned the levered handle, and pushed the
door open slowly. "I'm doing what I have to." 

Part 29

     Getting up again after the massive hatch closed, and the Cylon
patrol left, was about the most challenging thing that Apollo had ever
done.  The throbbing in his leg was excruciating, and he eyed the
backpack hesitantly, knowing that while the hypospray was out of local
anaesthetic, a similar supply of effective analgesic was still only an
arm's reach away. It was a dilemma. While the pain relief would be a
godsend, he really didn't want to be dealing with solenite while under
the influence of narcotics.
     Supporting any weight on his right leg was almost unbearable, but
somehow Apollo forced himself to keep moving, setting the final few
charges and activating them remotely to complete the circuit. It took
every bit of concentration he had to keep focused on the task before him,
and not rip open the med kit.  He gritted his teeth, refusing to let out
the groans that fought to escape.  It was as though his own pain was now
the enemy.  He would not surrender.  He was a Colonial Warrior, and would
not allow his own weakness to overcome his need to achieve his objective. 
  Sacrifice was part of the job. Mastering weaknesses and refusing to
give in to them were expectations.  He was trained for this.
     He sniffed humourlessly, trying to remember any other inspiring
words that various instructors and superior officers had drilled into him
over the yahrens, which Starbuck would dismiss as "so much felgercarb"
when worst came to worst.  Still, the reality was that the reasons didn't
matter.  Finishing the job was what they did, and they would do it for
God and the Colonial Nation until they drew their last breath. 
      Enough? Ready now?
     "Yeah," he murmured to himself, at last finished. He extended his
arm, this time reaching for the pack with a shaking hand and pulling out
the hypospray one more time. His fingers felt almost wooden as he
selected the setting for analgesic, and pressed it against his skin. 
      Whoosh!
      He closed his eyes, feeling the drug wash over him like a warm,
welcoming wave of comfort, keeping the agony at bay, at least for a
little while longer. He needed to get out of the launch bay, making sure
that he was far from the solenite. He glanced at his chrono. It was less
than a centar before the attack would begin and this base would be blown
to Hades Hole. He had less than that to find Starbuck and get out of
there. 
      He ignored the sudden wave of dizziness that swept over him, and
the aching thirst that demanded to be slaked.  Later.  Pulling on his
pack, he began to slowly and determinedly retrace his steps, trying to
figure out where Starbuck would head if he had indeed escaped, and how
his friend would get there if there was a Base-wide search out for him,
and sections were sealed off. Logically, he would try to rendezvous with
Apollo, but how?  Glancing upward as he reached the rope connected by a
grapple, it hit him. 
      He wouldn't!
     "Oh yes, he would," Apollo murmured with a smile.

Part 30

     Starbuck heard the door to the adjoining room click closed, and then
he sprang upright, racing across the room, and taking a running jump
before he stabbed the fork into the door's entry panel to seal the sentry
within. Sparks shot out of the panel, and despite the fact that his
intent was to let go of the tylinium tool before his feet touched the
ground again, a fiery jolt of pain shot up his arm. Fleetingly, he
realized he could taste it on his tongue, and feel it in his chest.
      Oh great, Starbuck. Electrocute yourself!
      How he came to be sitting on his astrum under the smouldering
panel, his back against the door, he wasn't quite sure. Suddenly Saraesa
was leaning over him, her eyes blazing into his.
     "Damn you!" she cursed. "I told you it was stupid. Lords! Colonial
Warriors! No wonder we're in trouble! Of all of the idiotic,
mong-for-brains, felger-licking..."
     "Crazy, actually," he returned after a moment. He flexed his left
hand, and stared at it dumbly as she pulled up his sleeve, examining his
arm. A faint red streak ran up the underside of his arm, disappearing
under the sleeve of his upper arm. It was tingling, burning, and kind of
numb in places, but he could move it well enough. "You said, 'crazy'."
     "Okay, so it's a toss up. Stupid or crazy, I'm not sure which any
more," she rejoined, startling as a muted sound from within the sealed
off compartment was followed by a determined shaking of the door. "And if
you make any cracks about 'always wanting to be a conductor', I'll
personally..."
     "Hey, I'm insulated from such low-brow humour. Besides, it worked,"
he interrupted, feeling the force that the sentinel was putting against
the door. At least ten centimetrons thick, there was no way it could be
broken down. Not even by a Cylon. The sentry was locked in, the prisoner
of a fried entry system. The station was Starbuck's...for the moment. He
started to push himself upward to take a look at the monitors, and
grunted quietly in frustration as his limbs refused to cooperate. The
breath hissed out between his teeth as a fire raged up his arm again.
He'd definitely received a good shot of the current when he'd mutilated
the access panel with the tylinium utensil.
     "You could have been killed, Starbuck," Saraesa told him flat out.
She put an arm around him, helping to support him as he struggled to his
feet and headed for the surveillance station.
      He smiled, suspecting an underlying concern. Maybe the Starbuck
charm wasn't lost on her after all. "I think I'm touched."
      She grumbled, "Yeah, I think you're touched too. In the head."
     "Yet, you came back, Saraesa," he reminded her, his eyes running
over the monitors that seemed to be watching every metron of the Base. He
steadied himself against the console, and started using the guidance
system to direct the vid feed. First he checked the Brig and
interrogation rooms, looking for any stray members of the teams. All
clear. The Control Centre seemed to be fully operational. The munitions
dump was quiet. Casually, he scanned through the Base, trying not to let
on exactly what he was up to. To Saraesa it had to appear random. Now, if
he could spot Apollo in the launch bay...He zoomed in on a length of rope
attached to a gangway, then quickly panned the perimeter. Cylons, Cylons,
and more Cylons. "I thought you were going to haul astrum, and get out of
here."
     "Well, don't take it too personally," she shot back, following his
progress on the monitor. "I thought if I could get a look at my ship, and
find out where exactly she was..." Her words trailed off and she leaned
closer, studying the monitor intently, as he panned in on an unfamiliar
sleek little fighter in the bay that looked like it was built more for
speed than fire power. 
     "Is that it?" Starbuck asked, watching her closely as she sucked in
an audible breath.
      She brushed her hair irritably from her face, frowning when she
noticed that it had been partially disassembled and thoroughly searched.
"Frack..." she murmured quietly, before slamming a fist down on the
console, and adding vehemently, "God dammit!  Look what they've done to
her!" 
     "You're no smuggler," he mused aloud, looking her over with new
eyes.  She actually had a ship.  However, that fighter wouldn't hold the
kind of cargo that a smuggler generally carried.  
      She smiled slightly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"Is that what you thought...Warrior?"
     "Smuggler or a Cylon spy," he replied honestly. "It was a toss up."
     She blew out a short breath.  "Did it ever occur to you that I
thought you might be the spy?"
     He sniffed derisively.  "Me?"
     "Yeah," she smiled slightly.  "But Cylon spies don't generally go
around electrocuting themselves."
     "A shame really," he rejoined with a grin. 
     "Yes," she smiled in agreement, looking him over dubiously.  
     Two people with their own agenda, neither trusting the other, but
willing to work together, at least in the interim.  It was time to lay
all the cards down on the table.  Well, except the one up his sleeve. 
"What then?  Who are you really?"
      Saraesa frowned, considering him a moment before replying,
"Bureaucratic envoy."
     "Are you serious?" The stunned surprise must have been etched on his
face.
      "Absolutely." She nodded, then asked, "Do you have a way out of
here? Off this planet?"
      He sucked in a breath. This was it. Trust worked both ways. "Yeah.
But I need to do something before I get out of here. And that's not
negotiable." He still hadn't spotted any signs of Apollo, but there were
certainly signs that he'd been in the launch bay. Only the Lords of Kobol
knew where he was now.
     "But you won't tell me what," she added, studying his features, and
taking a step closer. "You don't trust me completely, do you?"
     "Give me a reason to," he challenged her.
      Her voice was solemn and barely above a whisper when she spoke. "We
have allies out there, Starbuck. Allies that the Colonial people aren't
even aware of yet."
     "Well, seeing as how you were a prisoner, then the Cylons must know
about these..."
      She shook her head. "They didn't get anything out of me! I swear. 
I may not be a Colonial Warrior, but I've had training in resisting Cylon
torture techniques." Then she turned away, letting out a deep breath.
"Besides...the military alliance arranged between us and the Darthinians,
and the information on their military strength..."
     "Darthinians?" he repeated, looking at her back doubtfully.  
     "I know.  You've never heard of them.  But there was a time when our
people hadn't heard of Cylons either," Saraesa replied.  "Starbuck, all
the critical details-including a personally recorded message from Doyenne
Uhari-are in a small data crystal concealed in the cockpit of my ship."
Then she turned, looking back at him. "We have to retrieve it if there's
any chance in Hades Hole that I can still get it to the President."
      "Doyenne Uhari..." Starbuck murmured, glancing back at the screen,
trying to weigh the likelihood that this was true.  Lords, he wished
Apollo was here.  If anyone would have heard of these negotiations, he
would have.    After all, Commander Adama's son...Then again, would 
Adama confide in his son about such delicate bureaucratic matters? "How
can you be sure that the data crystal is even still there?"  
     "Because the panel is virtually undetectable. And if the compartment
is forced open, or the wrong code is entered, it triggers a detonation
sequence.  If the ship is still in one piece, then there's no way they've
found the crystal."
     "Saraesa..." he sighed.  "It's in the middle of a Cylon landing
bay." A landing bay that had probably been rigged to explode at this
point, but he still wasn't ready to tell her that quite yet.
     "I didn't say it would be easy." She smiled then, taking another
step closer until they were almost touching.  "Too tough for you,
Warrior?" she arched an eyebrow in silent challenge. "Hmm?"
      He put a hand at the small of her back, pulling her against him. 
There was an undeniable chemistry between them, that would be incredibly
distracting in any other circumstance.  But you're not distracted now,
are you Bucko?   "I eat Base Ships for breakfast."
      Saraesa grinned, pausing a moment to brush his hair from his eyes
with her fingertips, before looping both arms around his neck. "Then I
guess I have the right man."
      With a rueful grin, he looked right and then left. "Darlin', you
have the only..."
     "Shut up and kiss me, Honeybunch," she shot back, pulling him
towards her.
     He was only too willing.  Starbuck placed his hand behind her neck,
purposely entangling it in her dark,  silky hair.  He'd been dying to do
that since he met her.  Tenderly, he kissed her.  She looked at him
curiously, and then expectantly, licking her bottom lip and taking a
halting breath.  Yeah, she was surprised.  He smiled at her, before he
captured her lips again.  
     Gentle, coaxing, teasing, then with increasing ardour, they clung
together as a spark flared to a flame.  Both knew there was little time,
and that knowledge only intensified their passion, as they stole precious
microns for mutual pleasure.  It was an unexpected freedom, an escape
from the rigours of duty, and the intense heat of the moment left them
breathless when they finally drew apart.
     Starbuck blew out a ragged breath, weaving his fingers through hers
as he studied her flushed features.  She looked more beautiful than ever,
devoid of her usual sarcastic and cynical fa‡ade.  He started to say
something, but an inarticulate gasp was all he could manage.  So he
grinned roguishly instead.
     Saraesa smiled.  "That was nice."
     "Oh yeah..." he agreed, then startled as the occupant of the
storeroom crashed against the door.  The sentinel was losing his
patience.
     "Starbuck!" Saraesa cried suddenly, pointing towards a surveillance
vidcam mounted in the corner, recording their every move.  A pinpoint red
light shone from its mounting.  
     "Frack..." he muttered, pivoting back towards the control panel, as
the door crashed again, and a faint voice rumbled from within the
adjacent room.  They really needed to cover their tracks, assuming no one
else was monitoring this frequency.  If Colonial Warriors were caught
here...His fingers flew across the controls, and his eyes scanned the
monitors.
     "There!" Saraesa called, pointing to the screen that displayed them. 
"Can you delete the vidfeed?"
     "I'm going to try, but surveillance isn't exactly my forte."
     "Well, it's one of mine," Saraesa informed him, pushing him
insistently aside.  "Let me.  You knock out that vidcam."
     "I'm on it," he replied, heading that way, his limbs a little slow
to respond.
     "Oh...and don't use the fork, Starbuck," Saraesa inserted, her tone
teasing. "The vidcam looks like it's hard wired into the network, and is
probably hotter than a sunburnt Cylon."
     "Right," he nodded, grabbing up a chair and smashing it up into the
corner.  The vidcam crumbled, and the red light within faded to black. 
The chair faired slightly better.  "Done."
     "A delicate solution," she grinned, observing his handiwork.   A
staccato tapping continued to fill the room.  "Alright, that's the
surveillance data erased.  Now, let's see what's what..."
     "What are you...?" he started to ask before she pointed to another
monitor. 
     Starbuck groaned aloud when he observed the star of the show.  His
chest tightened convulsively as he raised a shaking hand, pointing it at
the adjoining door.  "Is that the storage room?  This storage room."  Oh,
Lord...
     "Uh huh."
     "Oh...frack!" he cursed, pounding a fist into the console.  "I don't
believe this..."
     "Let's go.  What's done is done, and we've been here too long."
Saraesa grabbed his hand, dragging him towards the corridor.
     "But..." he glanced back at the door.  He winced as it shook again. 
"I'm dead."
     She gave him a determined push towards the hatch.  "Well, stick with
me now, Starbuck, and I'll give you some more mouth to mouth later to
revive you." 
     He smiled slightly, bending down to crank the hatch.  "It might take
advanced life support.  You have no idea how dead I'm gonna be." He
pulled the tylinium door open and looked below.  All clear.
     "Ooh, you work fast..." she laughed.
     "Life is too short to spend in regret." Just keep telling yourself
that, Bucko!  He descended the rungs quickly as she followed him down. 
It could be attributed to good planning, or more likely dumb luck, but
they had come out above the landing bay.  Still, they were too exposed on
the ladder, even tucked away as they were in what appeared to be a
fighter maintenance area.  Suddenly, the blast of a pulse rifle filled
their ears.  Starbuck's hand reflexively reached for his empty holster.
     "Surrender-Humans!"
     "It's too short to spend in the Brig too!" Saraesa yelled down as
she spotted the centurions through the cluttered bay. "Let's get the
frack out of here, Warrior!"
     "Jump for it!" he shouted.

Part 31

     It was unbelievable.  Only Starbuck could find a beautiful woman
while being taken captive in a Cylon Base.  His squadron leader gets hung
up in a tree, rips his leg open, and has to climb atop God knows how much
ducting while doped up and in pain. But Starbuck gets the girl!!!!! 
     At least some things remained the same in a changing universe!
     The thoughts had barely crossed Apollo's mind when he heard the
pulse rifle, and saw the laser fire darting across his visor's screen. 
He pulled his weapon, abruptly giving Starbuck and his newfound friend
some covering fire from his vantage point far above them.  Cylons were
storming in their direction...making it almost prescient that Apollo had
hung onto a couple of spare solenite charges.  He adjusted the timer
delay, and threw one.
     "Starbuck, hit the deck!" he shouted, as he ducked behind a girder,
and counted. Two, one...
     A moment later, Apollo was assessing the damage, impressed by the
blast radius identified by the scanner display on his helmet's visor. 
Cylons were down all around them.  Starbuck and the girl, on the other
hand, appeared unharmed, taking shelter behind the shell of a fighter. 
Apollo grabbed the rope he'd already anchored, and began repelling
carefully downward.  The leg was alternating between burning and
throbbing, but it was nothing that the squadron leader couldn't handle. 
Starbuck was on the move, picking up the nearest pulse rifle and checking
its condition.
      "Good timing, Apollo!" Starbuck called out, grabbing up a second
rifle and tossing the first towards the girl. "Do you know how to use
that, Saraesa?"
     "Do Cylons rust, Sweet Cheeks?" Methodically, she checked the
weapon, adding, "So, is this the non-negotiable thing you had to do? Find
your friend?"
     "That depends," Starbuck replied, meeting Apollo on the run as both
warriors swept the area with their weapons. He glanced at Apollo's leg,
taking in the expanded bloodstain, wincing slightly before asking, "Is
everything set?"
     "Yeah," Apollo replied with a nod, glancing at his chrono. "Forty
centons, Starbuck."
     The blond warrior nodded, synchronizing his own timepiece. "Forty
centons, check. What's the word on the others?"
     "Signals received. They're ready."
     "That's good news.  Are you okay?" He looked down at his friend's
wound. "How's the leg, buddy?"
     "Just fine. No problems."
     "So that big ole blood stain that's filling your boot is..."
Starbuck shrugged slightly, "inconsequential?"  He raised an eyebrow, as
he pulled insistently at Apollo's backpack.
     Apollo smiled, shrugging the pack off.  It was good to have his
friend back at his side.  "Pretty much. After all, what are a few mangled
limbs among friends?"
     "Yeah, right," the blond warrior returned wryly.  Then the girl
sauntered over.  Starbuck opened his mouth, looking as though he was
about to launch into a long tale, as he raised his hand like an orator of
yore.  Then a sudden look of indecision settled on his features before he
dropped the hand and merely said, "Apollo, Saraesa. Saraesa, Apollo."
     Apollo inclined his head, wondering how she had come to be here, but
knew that Starbuck would eventually fill him in on the
details...pertinent and otherwise.  
     Saraesa nodded briefly.  "I hate to dispense with the pleasantries,
boys, but under the circumstances...I need to get to my ship."
     "Your ship...?" Apollo started.
     Suddenly, a klaxon blared, making them all jump.  
     "Intruder-alert!  All-available-centurions-report-to-launch-bay! 
Engage-enemy!" the comm system seemed to roar.
     "Frackin' bloody Hades Hole!" Saraesa tensed, her hand tightening on
her weapon.  Then, with a quick look left and right, she abruptly took
off on the run.
     Starbuck shrugged at Apollo, almost apologetically, as he pulled the
pack onto his shoulders. "She says she's a bureaucratic envoy carrying
top secret data crystals for the President concerning an alliance with
these people called the Darthinians. The data crystals are supposed to be
hidden in her ship."
     "Do you believe her?" Apollo asked, a mixture of excitement and
scepticism running through him.  Darthinians?  It was possible...but was
it probable?  He'd seen an out-of-place ship while making his way to and
from the exterior hatch, but it had seemed superfluous to the mission
objective at that time.  But now...
     Indecision settled on Starbuck's features, and he let out a sigh. "I
guess I'm afraid I want to believe her, more than I do believe her."
     "Ahh," sighed Apollo.
     The warrior shrugged.  "Does that make sense?"
     "Coming from you, Starbuck, yes," chuckled Apollo, slapping his
friend on the shoulder.  "I don't know how you do it..."
     "Yeah?  Well, sometimes I don't know either..." He glanced
uncertainly at Saraesa, watching her serpentine path through the bay. 
"This one's trouble, Apollo..." He shook his head slightly.  "But I have
to admit...I kind of like it." He grinned suddenly, his eyes almost
sparkling with satisfaction.
     "She looks very...persuasive," Apollo added, breaking into an uneven
jog alongside his friend.
     "You don't know the half of it, buddy," Starbuck replied.
     "Halt-Humans!" 
     "Damn! Why do they always say that?" 

    Part 32

     It was in the field manual; when a Cylon said, "Halt!" if at all
possible you did the opposite.
     In this case, the Cylons were only just now penetrating the landing
bay, filing through the hatch in single file, just as they always did. 
The odds were in the favour of the warriors.  It would take a crack shot
among the wildly moving centurions to actually hit Starbuck or Apollo as
they raced towards Saraesa's fighter to meet up with the alluring and
intriguing young woman as she presumably retrieved vital, top secret data
crystals meant for the President's eyes only.  Only metrons away now...
     Then the burst of a pulse rifle firing from behind them filled
Starbuck's ears about the same time that Apollo hit him hard from behind,
and they both crashed to the ground.  The breath whooshed out of Starbuck
lungs, and he rolled over, dislodging Apollo from atop him as the
dark-haired warrior grunted in pain.
     It took Starbuck a micron to ascertain they were both relatively
unscathed, at least from any new injuries, as he struggled to draw a
breath.  Then he grabbed the back of Apollo's jacket, scrambling
backwards on his astrum, using Saraesa's fighter for cover as he pulled
his friend under the fighter's fuselage and to its other side.  The
blessed sound of returning fire from the cockpit above them heartened the
warrior.  Saraesa was still with him, and dropping Cylons.
     "The weapons..." Apollo grunted, his face twisted into a rictus of
agony as he writhed on the deck, his hands enveloping his bloodied thigh.
     Starbuck nodded, scurrying below the fighter's belly again to
retrieve their scattered weapons while Cylons continued to head towards
them, unmindful of the inherent danger, or more likely programmed to
ignore it.  Even as he looked up, another of the enemy cyborgs went down. 
Lying on his belly, Starbuck sent up a silent prayer of thanks for her
marksmanship, and joined Saraesa in the onslaught on the advancing
centurions, squeezing the trigger, and feeling the familiar bursts of
power surge through the Colonial weapon.  Still, despite more than a
dozen of their number destroyed or damaged, the centurions kept
advancing.  They needed something more powerful than mere hand weapons if
they were going to make any kind of impact on an enemy that outnumbered
them so substantially.
     And twenty to one was fairly substantial, Starbuck decided.
     "Starbuck!" Apollo called from behind.
     Squeezing the trigger, and watching with a growing frustration as
the fallen centurion was replaced by three more, Starbuck hazarded a
glance back at his friend.  In Apollo's hand was a solenite charge.  With
a grin, Starbuck twisted around, reaching out and grabbing the explosive
as it skittered across the deck towards him.
     "If you didn't smell like gore, sweat, and your Dad's aftershave,
I'd kiss ya," he shouted over the din as he adjusted the setting from
'timer' to 'impact'.
     "I'll pass, thanks," Apollo retorted, looking more like his old self
as he crawled towards Starbuck's position.  Once again, he'd pulled it
together enough to continue.  "Toss me my laser!  I'll cover you!"
     "You got it!" Starbuck quickly engaged the safety, sliding the
weapon towards his squadron leader with a single fluid motion.  A moment
later, Apollo was alongside him, picking off Cylons with his usual skill
and alacrity. "Saraesa!" Starbuck called up when the laser fire from the
cockpit seemed as though it had disappeared.  "I need cover!"
     "I can't open the frackin' compartment!" she returned from the
cockpit, her voice shrill and desperate.
     "Later!  I need cover!  NOW!"
     "Do you have more solenite?" she asked, her tone suddenly hopeful.
     "Yes, but..."
     "Let me throw it!  I'm in a better position..."
     "And I'm willing to bet you throw like a girl!" he countered. 
"Cover me!"
     "You bloody conceited, chauvinistic porcine..." she exploded, just
before a barrage of covering fire started up again from her position. 
Centurions toppled to the deck as she exorcised her wrath with the Cylon
weapon.
     Definitely worth noting, Bucko.
     "You can sure pick 'em!" Apollo yelled above the laser fire.  He
targeted yet another centurion, and it shuddered in place before
collapsing a milli-centon later.
     "Well, my choices were kinda limited in the Brig, buddy," Starbuck
riposted, climbing to his knees.  "Matron always said that prison wasn't
the most ideal place to pick up girls."
     "I can see you heeded her advice," Apollo yelled back.
     "Yeah, well, she also told me that I'd probably meet my soul mate
there," Starbuck quipped. He arched his arm behind his head, ready to
throw.
     "It's the last one, Starbuck." Apollo told him.  "Make it count."
     The charge left his fingers and sailed through the air as Starbuck
spotted the Cylon weapon aimed for his chest.  Sudden terror gripped him
by the throat as he twisted to his side, and hurled himself towards the
deck. 

Part 33

     For Apollo, it was like watching a horror-vid in slow motion.  One
moment, Starbuck was catapulting the solenite charge towards the enemy,
and the next, the beam of a Cylon laser was heading straight towards him. 

     "No!" Apollo yelled, as he instinctively tried to exert himself in
Starbuck's direction to push him out of the way.  Instead, burning agony
ripped through his leg, and he pitched forward, falling flat on his face.
     The sound of Apollo's own scream, torn from his throat, and the
all-encompassing and agonizing feeling of his leg being sundered by the
very daggits of Hades Hole, all but eclipsed the next few moments.  When
the red mists of suffering began to lift, and the squadron leader's head
started to clear, the identity code on his visor relayed that the digital
image staring down at him was...
      "You're alive..." Apollo murmured in disbelief.
      "Oh, good," Starbuck returned, his tone light.  "I was wondering
about that." He glanced towards the destroyed Cylon task force, raking a
hand through his hair.  "We decimated them, buddy.  But I'm guessing that
reinforcements are on the way." Then he looked back at his friend,
expelling an audible breath before warning Apollo, "This will probably
hurt you more than me, but we have to stop the bleeding."
     It abruptly occurred to Apollo that the indifference he was feeling
had to be due to blood loss.  After all, Sarbuck was talking about his
bleeding.  Some time between the solenite charge wiping out the Cylon
task force, and Apollo's head clearing, Starbuck had taken down his leg
bandage.  Even worse, his friend was planning to do something about his
wound.
     "What are you going to do?" Apollo asked, groaning aloud as he
sprang upward, then immediately regretted it as the fire in his leg raged
again.  "Frack..." he gasped, lying back.
     "Your choice, buddy.  Either I end this whole farce, or I cauterise
that bleeder in your leg with argentum nitrate." 
     Apollo pulled off his helmet, wiping the sweaty hair from his
forehead.  Sure enough a steady trickle of blood was running down his
leg.  They had come so damn close.  He refused to quit. 
     "Do it," he said quietly.  
     Starbuck looked at him doubtfully.  Apollo's tone hadn't exactly
been convincing.
     "You guys alright?" came Saraesa's voice.
     "More or less," replied Starbuck.
     Apollo grasped his friend's forearm, looking him in the eye.  "Do
it, Starbuck."
     Starbuck sucked in another breath between his teeth, before raising
the hypospray and injecting it against Apollo's skin.  
     Whoosh!
     It had to be a dosal dub.  Or maybe it was a...a double dose. 
Apollo wasn't quite sure which.  However, the warm and wonderful feeling
of narcotic induced relief washed over him, lapping against him gently,
rocking his battered body in the soothing lull...until a tidal wave of
firestorm crashed against his leg, and the stench of burnt flesh filled
his senses.

Part 34

     Starbuck wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, finding his
feet and reeling away from Apollo, finally coming to lean against the
fastness of Saraesa's fighter.  He just had to get away for a moment. 
Had to focus on something else.  Like how to get them out of there, for
instance.  He shuddered as an image of Apollo's hideous leg flashed into
his mind.  It was etched there, like a brand.  His stomach lurched again,
and he fought down the recurrent waves of nausea.
     "Are you okay?  Did it work?" Saraesa asked, her arms creeping
around him from behind, offering comfort, and surprisingly, no criticism.
     "Yeah..." he breathed, as her breath tickled the back of his neck. 
"The bleeding stopped.  For now."  He leaned his forehead against the
cool metal of the fuselage, drawing a few steadying breaths, as his
heartbeat slowed from light speed to rapid fire.  Apollo had thankfully
lost consciousness, just before the meagre contents of Starbuck's stomach
had spewed across the deck, as the stench of his best friend's burning
flesh and the sound of his tortured scream assaulted his senses.  
     Way to go, tough guy...
     He glanced back at his friend, knowing he had to tightly wrap up
that partially blackened, raw, puffy, purple-tinged leg again before
Apollo awoke.  It was a perfect textbook example of what happened when an
injured warrior didn't take himself out of the game.  And Starbuck had
been the perfect accomplice, letting Apollo convince him that he would be
okay.  "I hate field medicine."
     "Well, thankfully for Apollo, you appear to be pretty good at
it...or at least willing to try.  But that leg doesn't look good,"
Saraesa frowned.
     "That's putting it mildly," Starbuck returned, squeezing her hand
slightly before releasing it, and reluctantly turning back to his duty.  
It wouldn't be long before the Cylons sent another assault wave against
them.  He knelt down beside Apollo, grabbing a field dressing and looking
down at the ugly wound again.  Then he started wrapping it tightly,
grimacing as Apollo moaned softly and insensately while his leg was
manipulated.  "Easy, buddy.  Won't be long." 
     "Starbuck...can I borrow the laser?" Saraesa unexpectedly asked.
     "Huh?" Starbuck replied, stopping in his movements to look up at
her.  She still had a pulse-rifle in her grip.  "Why?"
     "I can't get the compartment in my fighter open."
     He raised his eyebrows.  "So...you figure on blowing it open?" 
     "I'll laser it open on a low setting.  Like a surgeon cutting open
his patient."
     "I thought you said if the compartment was tampered with, that the
ship would blow." He glanced at her ship.  "Some kind of auto-defensive
system."
     She smiled slightly, stroking her chin lightly with her index
finger.  "I lied." 
     "You lied..." he repeated monotone.  After all that had already
happened, strangely it didn't seem all that surprising.  Then again,
maybe he was just too numb to care...
     "I needed to give you reason enough to come to the launch bay," she
explained.  "I had to get to the data crystals."
     The mission is the prime objective...
     "I was already coming..." he glanced down meaningfully at Apollo. 
His friend was still unconscious, but the steady rise and fall of his
chest was reassuring in itself.
     "I didn't know that." She shrugged.  "You weren't exactly upfront
about what was going on."
     "Then that makes two of us," he replied, finishing the bandaging and
climbing to his feet.  He handed her Apollo's weapon, aware that he still
hadn't filled her in to a large extent.  "You get your data crystals.  I
need to find us another way out of here.  I'm wagering there's about an
ice cube's chance in Hades Hole that we'll be able to get out of here
through the base." He glanced around, his eyes sweeping the bay, and then
he saw it.  Perfect!
     "Oh, I recognize that look.  What are you thinking?"
     "Just stick with me, darlin'.  I'm full of surprises," he told her,
heading across the tarmac.
     "I'm coming to realize that, Honeybunch," she called back as she
climbed into her cockpit.

Part 35
     Apollo blinked, his eyelids dragging across the gritty surface of
his eyes, as he startled awake. He tried to focus as biting smoke and
irritating dust wafted through the landing bay, making the air thick and
almost unbreathable.  Speaking of unbreathable, the stench of vomit
permeated the area.  He'd obviously lost his mushies at some point...but
strangely the acrid taste hadn't lingered in his mouth...His ears were
ringing, as though something had exploded, besides his throbbing head. 
For a fleeting micron he wondered if his solenite charges had gone off
already and he'd missed it...but that couldn't be.  Could it?  Rolling to
his side, he groaned as his leg burned in pain, reminding him vaguely how
he had come to be unconscious.  He glanced at his chrono, squinting while
trying to check the countdown, as his eyes began to water
uncooperatively.  
     "Are you okay?"
     Even with her jacket half obscuring her face-held there as a
makeshift filter-he realized it was the girl.  Strangely enough, she was
now wearing the Colonial backpack, and waiting somewhat patiently despite
the chaos around them.  He had to conclude she had recovered her hidden
data crystals from her ship, and that they were safely concealed upon her
person.
     "I'm fine.  Did you get the crystals?" he asked, just to make sure.
     She nodded, "Got 'em."
     He looked around, trying to gather his thoughts.  Across the bay,
the dust and debris were twice as dense closer to the wall...and
something looked like it was ablaze, but the air was so thick, he
couldn't see the actual damage.  Then the flames fizzled out
anticlimactically.
     "What happened?" Apollo croaked, his throat as dry as the Borellian
Plains, as he coughed.  "Is it the air strike?  The solenite?"  He waved
his hand in front of his face as he gingerly sat up, trying to clear the
air enough to see.    
     "There's an air strike coming?" Saraesa repeated, pulling her jacket
from her face, the shock and alarm registering clearly on her features. 
"Wait a centon...what solenite?  How much time do we have?"
     "Where's Starbuck?" Apollo countered, suddenly aware that not only
was his fully equipped helmet missing, but so was his friend.
     Saraesa pointed a finger towards the devastation.  It looked as
though a mega pulsar had been fired at that corner of the landing bay. 
Then again the surrounding damage-or at least what he could see of
it-looked as though the explosion had happened from within.  Apollo's
breath caught in his throat, as he tried to imagine how Starbuck had
ended up in that disaster...or more likely had caused it.  His eyes
skimmed the blast area, searching for a sign of the Colonial Warrior.
     "Where is he?" he cried, more insistently this time.
     In the hazy distance, the indistinct image of a man jogging towards
them miraculously appeared.  Apollo wiped irritably at his eyes as the
image sharpened, and the familiar form of his friend materialised, as he
tossed aside what could be a Boraton canister.  He could hear Starbuck
coughing harshly as he neared them.  Microns later, the filthy warrior
was squatting down beside him, the visor obstructing his features.  The
lower half of his face, his throat, his hands...all exposed areas of his
skin were black from the smoke.
     "We can get through." Starbuck's voice was raw as he coughed again.
"But we need to move fast." 
     "Here," Saraesa pressed one of two life masks into his hand. 
"You're going to need it."
     Starbuck nodded, tilting his helmet ever so slightly to secure the
life mask.  "We'll have to share.  Let's go." Then he glanced at the
stomach contents on the deck nearby, wrinkling his face in distaste.  "By
the way, how's the stomach?"
     "It's...okay now." Apollo swallowed down his embarrassment, as his
friend shrugged the issue off as though it hadn't happened.  But
what...?" Apollo started to ask, as Starbuck secured a life mask on him.
     Then, without so much as an explanation, Starbuck put an arm around
Apollo, and hauled him to his feet.  Bearing weight on his leg was almost
enough to make Apollo toss his mushies again, as burning fire shot up his
leg once more.  He gasped in pain, while in one fluid motion, Starbuck
pulled him over his shoulders in a fireman's carry.
     "Hey!" Apollo protested, as he felt Starbuck adjust his weight on
his frame.  "I can walk!" he told Starbuck indignantly.
     "I'm through listening to you, buddy.  If I'd just called for an air
evac when you ripped up your leg to begin with, you wouldn't be in this
mess," Starbuck replied, heading for the smouldering ruin on the double. 
"Saraesa, stay close.  I doubt you'll be able to see anything in this
smoke without the visual imaging system, and if we're going to buddy
breathe..."
     "Oh, don't worry.  I don't plan to stray far," she returned,
grabbing a hold of his jacket on his left side.
     "Starbuck, what the frack happened here?" Apollo yelled.  
     "We needed a way out, and opening the hatch was contraindicated.  I
made a door," Starbuck returned.  
     "You did what?"
     "Hey, I asked you at the time, and you didn't object, so I figured
I'd just go ahead..."
     "I was unconscious!"
     "...Then I fired up a laser energizer in a fighter.  It blasted a
hole clean through the compound.  The very best part, buddy, is that the
Base's emergency system sealed the blast doors when the fire started, so
the centurions can't even get through...at least for the moment," he
explained exuberantly as he wound his way through debris.  "We only have
twenty-five centons to rendezvous at the pick-up point, or get to that
shuttle we spotted on the way in..." he lapsed into a harsh cough as the
smoke infiltrated his respiratory system along with the oxygen.  He let
the rest go unsaid as he began navigating his way through the worst of
the damage with Saraesa drawn in tightly to his side, and Apollo over his
shoulders, his head almost between them.  
     It was pure Starbuck, crazy, but brilliant.  
     Apollo would have laughed if Saraesa hadn't suddenly started
coughing as though she was trying to dislodge a Battlestar from her
throat.  Starbuck abruptly stopped, removing his life mask with his free
hand, and quickly placing it on the girl.  "Easy now.  Just breathe." 
His male chauvinistic tendencies seemed to have transposed into an
untimely chivalry.
     "Take mine," Apollo interjected, trying to pull his mask from his
face, as Starbuck opened his mouth to protest.  "Starbuck, for Sagan's
sake, you're my feet and my eyes!  Take it!"  If anybody needed a life
mask, it was Starbuck.  "That's an order!"
     The convulsive coughing that suddenly wracked the blond warrior's
frame seemed to tip the scale in Apollo's favour.  Starbuck grabbed up
the life mask, holding it to his face, and breathing deeply, even as he
lurched ahead once again, with Saraesa alongside.  His coughing began to
subside, but not cease, and Apollo abruptly recalled that Starbuck had
already made this trek once without a life mask to see if the way was
passable.  True to character, he'd been too impatient to wait for the
proper safety equipment in his urgency to get them out of the Base.
     The air grew so dense with acrid fumes that Apollo had to shut his
eyes against the stinging as they trudged on.  Smoke was still pouring
from a wrecked fighter.  It couldn't be much longer.  His chest was
burning with tightness, and he began hacking and coughing, inadvertently
gasping more foul toxins into his system.  Suddenly, the air around him
began to cool.  He blinked open his eyes as he felt the gentle kiss of
the rain on his face.
     "We made it..." he croaked.
     Then, with a yelp of surprise, Starbuck pitched under him, and they
plunged downward into the darkness.

Part 36

     The ground vanished under Starbuck's feet, and for an instant he'd
thought that he'd inadvertently started a landslide as he pushed Saraesa
hard to the side.  But as his astrum hit the wet, slippery mud, and the
back of his head collided with the ground, sending his loosely fastened
helmet flying off into the darkness, he tried to thank each and every
lucky star that peeked out from the black cloud of the night sky that he
had merely slipped and fallen, taking a spill down a slick and miry
hillside that seemed to go on for endless metrons.  
     He tried to hold tight to Apollo, knowing that the last thing his
friend needed was to roll down a mountainside just now.  Then they hit a
natural dip in the sludgy chute, and they were abruptly airborne. 
Starbuck's hands flailed for the brief micron it took to lose Apollo, and
when he landed flat on his back, the impact stole Starbuck's last breath,
leaving him gasping for air like a piscis out of water.  A micron later,
his head collided with a rock the size of a planetoid, and when he
finally came to a stop in the murky, gooey dampness at the bottom of the
hill, he lay there in a daze, feeling the soothing pattering of the rain
on his face.
     "Starbuck!  Apollo!  Are you guys okay?"
     It was Saraesa.  By the sound of her voice, she was quite a ways
back up the hillside.  Which was just as well, since he was still
struggling to draw a breath, and was having trouble making anything above
his toes respond to his mental commands.  Somewhere nearby, Apollo was
probably lying in a crumpled heap, in even worse condition after their
latest wild ride.  He opened his mouth to call for his friend, realizing
abruptly that the squadron leader hadn't responded to Saraesa's call. 
However, only an incomprehensible gurgle came out.
     "Apollo!" Saraesa called sharply.
     Her voice was closer this time, maybe only a half dozen metrons
uphill, at best, so she had to be moving quickly in the darkness.  By the
sounds of it, she had found Apollo.  Difficult to tell with mud oozing
into your ears, Bucko.  Starbuck would have held his breath, waiting to
hear his best friend's response, but he hadn't really started breathing
quiet yet, at least that he could recall.  His lungs felt near to
bursting, and he managed to squeeze a painful gasp of air into his chest.
Then another. One more. Each breath became easier, and slightly deeper,
until he was reasonably sure he had relearned the art of respiration. Now
if he could just move. Or talk. He tried to lift his head to overhear
what was happening uphill...
     A jagged pain shot through the back of his skull, making him feel
like he would toss his mushies again.  It was a small comfort that there
was nothing left to toss, although his stomach was making a valiant go at
it, nonetheless.  Momentarily, he felt guilty for insinuating to Apollo
that it was he who had vomited all over the landing bay.  It had seemed
amusing at the time, but now, in retrospect, it was just a cheap shot
between friends.  He'd have to fess up...over a game of pyramid and a
grog, the very next time they were on furlon together.  Then, as Starbuck
tried to turn his head, the throbbing reached a new height.  He closed
his eyes tightly against the pain, hearing a faint moan, and vaguely
realizing it was his own.  
     He just wished it didn't sound so bovine.
     "Starbuck!  Are you okay?"
     Yeah, it was Apollo's voice, but all the same, when he opened his
eyes, he was somewhat surprised to find his friend leaning over him. 
Apollo was in no shape to be scurrying over mountainsides with that leg.
Saraesa leaned in from his other side, concern in her lovely eyes. Oh,
and a hint of impatience, as she grabbed Starbuck's wrist, and glanced at
his chrono. Once again, he opened his mouth, trying to form the word
'yes'.  Then it hit him that he was probably wrong.
     "Easy, buddy," Apollo told him, his hands lightly running over him,
searching for injuries.  "You're going to be okay.  Saraesa, find the
biomonitor."
     "Hades Hole, what is it with you guys?" Saraesa inserted.  "You're
fine, Starbuck's okay...I'd hate to see your definition of bad."
     "Cute," said Apollo, voice strained. "Really cute."
     Saraesa glanced at Apollo, cocking her head to the side, as she
pulled off the backpack and started rooting through it, pulling out
equipment, and discarding it.  "Are you guys brothers, or just friends?"
     Apollo smiled slightly, as his fingers made their way behind
Starbuck's neck. "Both. In a way."
     Well, it was a nice sentiment, and he knew that Apollo meant it,
because the squadron leader never said anything he didn't mean.  If
Starbuck took a milli-centon to think about it, he felt the same.  Not
that he knew what having a real brother was like, although in his limited
experience, they seemed to spend more time scrapping and arguing, than
doing anything really fun.  All the same, he would go to Hades Hole, and
claw his way back up out of it again for Apollo, without hesitation. 
There weren't many people that had earned that kind of loyalty from
Starbuck in his lifetime.  
     Apollo's fingers were combing through his mucky hair, his face only
twenty or so centimetrons from his own.  Starbuck closed his eyes and
gasped with pain as the fingers found the spot that had collided with the
rock.  
     "You hit your head?" Apollo confirmed.
     Starbuck tried to nod, but his head was going supernova with the
meagre effort.  His mouth watered unpleasantly, trying, no doubt, to put
something in his stomach that he would just have to throw up again. 
"Yeah..." he managed to gasp, sounding more like a wheezing whistle than
a man.
     "Is this it, Apollo?" Saraesa asked, handing him an electronic
device.
     "Frack," Apollo muttered a moment later, as he slammed the medical
analyser into the palm of his hand.  "It's dead."
     "Can you move, Starbuck?" Saraesa asked, her features stiff, and her
tone subdued.
     "Give me...centon," Starbuck murmured.  His voice sounded thick and
muffled.
     "What?" she asked.
     "Give him a centon," Apollo repeated, grabbing his friend's hand. 
"Squeeze my hand, Starbuck." Concern-real concern-radiated from Apollo's
eyes. 
     "Umm, okay," Starbuck breathed, his voice stronger, but still raw.
"Maybe two centons. Let's not rush into things."  
     The thought that he might not be able to do it was more terrifying
than Starbuck was willing to admit.  He felt the cold hand in his own,
and saw Apollo trying to will him to move.  Starbuck's body felt asleep,
but he wasn't sure if it was from exhaustion, the numbing cold, or from
hitting his head.  With more effort than it should have taken, he managed
to weakly squeeze Apollo's hand.  
     "Nothing to it..." he murmured. 
     "Then squeeze the other one," Apollo replied, nodding his
encouragement.
     "Apollo...we're running out of time here." Saraesa told him.
     Apollo's eyes flickered from Starbuck, to the girl, and back. 
"Squeeze my hand, buddy."
     This time it was a little easier.  It was as if, slowly, Starbuck's
motor control was returning.  
     "That's it," Apollo encouraged him.  
     "Apollo, if there's an air strike coming, and we're caught on this
mountainside..." Saraesa began, her tone more insistent, as she stood up.
     "What do you want me to do?" Apollo snapped, glaring up at her. 
"Leave him?"
     It felt like Starbuck had been sucker punched, as he looked up at
his friend.  Leave me?  Somehow it never occurred to him he would die as
a result of 'friendly fire', left behind because he was a hindrance to
the mission.  He closed his eyes, swallowing the huge lump in his throat
that threatened to choke him.  His chest seemed to tighten inexplicably,
even though he had told himself time and time again that he would bravely
and graciously sacrifice his life in the name of the Colonies.  Well,
brave and gracious both looked a whole lot different when a guy was lying
helplessly up to his astrum in the muck and mire...
     "I have to get these data crystals to the President, Apollo."
Saraesa returned, her voice cold.  "I can't do that if I get blown up in
an air strike."
     "Sagan's sake, Saraesa!  He helped you escape a Cylon Brig!" Apollo
returned angrily.
     "That's what Colonial Warriors are sworn to do," she reminded him
sharply.  "Just as I'm sworn to deliver the details of the alliance with
the Darthinians, no matter the cost!" As though conjured from mid air, a
medallion suddenly appeared in her hand.  There was no mistaking its
origin.  It was a Seal of the Lords.  Just like the one Apollo had seen
countless times on his father.  There was no longer any doubt that
Saraesa was truly an envoy, representing the President and Council.  "I
don't like it any more than you, but it's our duty, Apollo.  We have
about twenty centons to find our ride out of here and get airborne,
before this whole mountainside is blown apart.  There's no chance in
Hades Hole that you can carry Starbuck with that leg of yours all torn
up, and I need you to lead me to the ship.  There's no other way."  She
held up the medallion, aware that its presence was like an edict from
their ultimate commander.  "You have to leave him."

Part 37

     Apollo had been told countless times by men that he admired-his
father, Academy instructors, and various mentors that had shaped and
influenced the way he thought over the yahrens-that to at times  he'd
have make difficult choices in his career, choices that wouldn't be
popular among his men, but would ultimately serve to protect or advance
the interests of the Colonial Nation.  Looking back, he realized he'd
developed a certain amount of confidence that if such a situation arose,
that he would find himself able to handle it with an aplomb that he'd
either cultivated or inherited.  Now, as he sat there with just such a
choice flung in his face, he felt sick with guilt and uncertainty,
instead of prepared and confident that he would do the right thing.  This
was different than he'd ever imagined.  This was...Starbuck!
     "He's my best friend..." Apollo told Saraesa, his emotional pain and
turmoil even more evident than the anguish currently residing in his
right leg, as it throbbed more insistently after his slide down the
mountainside.  Thankfully, after riding Starbuck like a mud sled most of
the way down, he'd managed to grab hold of a small tree, stopping his
descent after they had separated, instead of carrying on to the bottom
like his friend had.
     "You'd put Starbuck's interests before that of an entire nation of
people?" Saraesa asked, her voice growing even sharper.
     Apollo glanced down at Starbuck as her words hit home.  His friend's
blue eyes flickered open, staring up at him intently as he grimaced
against his pain.  Then his gaze flickered briefly over Saraesa, but his
expression was guarded.  Unreadable.
     "Go..." Starbuck choked out, his arm rising shakily as he gripped
Apollo's jacket. If it was possible, he paled even more with that slight
movement.  But the death grip on Apollo's fatigues was worth noting.
"She's right. Get the frack out of here..."
     Maybe if Starbuck had begged him to take him along, it would have
been different.  Maybe not.  But seeing his friend's bravery in the face
of virtually certain death seemed to be the deciding factor that clicked
a confusing jumble of contradicting and vacillating thoughts into place. 
That, and Apollo felt the grim determination in Starbuck's grip.  Will
and determination like that was what would save the warrior, if Apollo
could only refocus that energy..."I'm not leaving you, Starbuck," he
replied stiffly as Starbuck looked at him in a kind of surprise that was
as disconcerting as it was gut wrenching.  He was willing to bet those
were words the former orphan hadn't heard often in his lifetime.  "Come
on, buddy. We need to get you moving. We have to get out of here.  All of
us."
     Apollo leaned forward, putting his arms around Starbuck's shoulders,
and pulling him upward to a sitting position.  Immediately, Starbuck
started heaving, his entire upper body shaking with the effort, and
Apollo waited for the tortured retching to finally cease before he tilted
his friend's chin up and stared into his eyes.  
     "All right now?" he asked.
     "Are you...kidding?" Starbuck gasped, wiping feebly with a muddy
hand at his watering eyes and nose, his sweaty face a mask of pain.
     "You know, you could work with me on this..." Apollo grumbled
pointedly. Saraesa sighed impatiently and loudly above them.
     Starbuck groaned, as his body convulsed, once again trying to
evacuate a stomach that was obviously empty.  He spat out the resultant
saliva, and wiped at his mouth, managing to smear even more mud on his
face.  Either Starbuck had a concussion, or the head injury was even more
severe than Apollo had first imagined. 
     "Do you want me to end this?" Apollo asked quietly.  How many times
had Starbuck suggested that they do the same because of Apollo's leg
injury?  Truthfully, neither of them wanted to be the one to concede
failure because of weakness.
     "Don't you frackin' well dare!" Starbuck exploded vehemently, his
face contorting as he raised a trembling hand to the back of his head.
     "Then get up!" Apollo returned, tylinium in his tone.
     Starbuck nodded ever so slightly, his breathing rapid. 
"Up...right...let's go."
     Saraesa squatted down then, meeting Apollo's gaze across his friend,
as she positioned herself under Starbuck's left shoulder.  She shrugged
as they both looked at her in surprise.
     "Well, if you're determined to bring him along, then you're going to
need my help.  All together now," she said pragmatically.  "On three. 
One, two, three!"
     Together, they pulled Starbuck to his feet, supporting him as the
warrior weaved, and his knees buckled, while he gasped and retched again. 

     "You know...this might be a good time for drugs," Starbuck rasped,
as he managed to straighten his knees, while clutching tightly to Apollo
and Saraesa. 
     "Not with a head injury, buddy," Apollo returned regrettably,
feeling a building pressure in his injured leg.  He couldn't give in to
the comfort of narcotics this time.  He'd have to tough it out.  It was
now up to Apollo to lead them back to the shuttle, and get them out of
here.  His and Starbuck's roles had abruptly reversed.  He secured his
grip on his friend, trying to get his bearings as he pulled his scanner
off his belt and checked their position in relation to the Colonial
shuttle they had seen.  If they hurried, they just might make it before
four squadrons of Vipers turned this Base into a raging cauldron of
broiling cataclysm. 

Part 38

     Just a little further, just a little further...
     It was Starbuck's mantra as he stumbled along in the darkness, each
step precipitating a lancing pain through the back of his skull, which in
turn caused another session of dry heaves.  This new agony totally
eclipsed all his other nuisance pains acquired since this mission had
begun, although the jolt of electricity his arm had taken was beginning
to burn with a new intensity that he was finding it difficult to ignore
any longer.  The whole package was complete and utter misery, and in
reality could be only marginally better than a quick and violent death
beneath the strafing runs of four squadrons of Vipers. 
     Or so he kept telling himself.
     "Almost there, buddy," Apollo encouraged him.
     "If you give up now, Darlin', I'll personally kick your astrum from
here back to Caprica City," Saraesa added with her usual panache. "If
they'll have you."
     Starbuck simply couldn't rally the strength required for a comeback,
and that in itself was more disheartening than all the pain and
suffering.  He'd love to give Saraesa the full benefit of his most
caustic wit, since she had tried to dump him on a mountainside, and leave
him to an untimely death.  His legs were on auto pilot, trudging along
between the other two, not even aware where his next steps would fall. 
His eyes were half-closed, and too bleary to focus anyhow.
     Just a little further, just a little further...Lords, he would give
just about anything to just be able to lie down for five centons!
     "There it is," Apollo announced, more than a little relief in his
tone as he spotted the transport.  By now he was limping heavily,
favouring his injured leg heavily.
     "Wait a centon," Saraesa inserted suspiciously.  "What's a Colonial
shuttle doing here?"
     "What do you think?" Apollo returned dryly, as they broke through
the vegetation.
     Saraesa hesitated, and Starbuck floundered as his left side sought
to stop, while his right followed Apollo's lead, and kept on going. 
Inevitably, he collapsed to the ground somewhere between them, groaning
wretchedly as the sudden jarring caused his stomach to react convulsively
once again.  Too weak and exhausted to move, he lay there spitting out
the accumulation of acrid mucous in his mouth, as the back of his head
threatened to split open and release the demons ricocheting around his
skull.
     "You know damn well that this is the colonel's shuttle, Apollo!"
Saraesa exploded.  "We can't take the colonel's shuttle!  It's against
the rules!"
     "Oh?" Apollo challenged her.  "Show it to me in the handbook,
Saraesa."
     "Okay, so maybe it's not written specifically," Saraesa conceded,
"but it's certainly implied!" 
     "Just like infiltrating the Arduum's observation level, and
utilizing the surveillance system is generally considered to be against
the rules?" Apollo inserted.  "Yet you and Starbuck did that too."
     Yeah, it was all out in the open.  It was a sure sign that Apollo
was exhausted when he was flagrantly breaking the rules of the Arduum. 
Warriors were not to even utter the words during the exercise.
     "It was his idea!" Saraesa returned defensively as Apollo knelt down
beside Starbuck.  "By the way, I know he conveniently forgot to mention
it, but we also ended up locking the colonel in a storage locker. 
Namara's going to have us cleaning turbo flushes with our toothbrushes
until graduation."
     "You did what?" Apollo replied, aghast.  Then he started laughing
aloud.  "Star-buck!"
     "Hey, you're both breaking the rules by...by talking about the
colonel and the Arduum." Starbuck gasped as his stomach finally stopped
heaving.  He took a couple deep breaths before he continued.  "But since
I'm easily led astray...there was no other way, Apollo.  Besides, I
didn't realize until later that it was Colonel Namara..." He still
remembered the sudden feeling of impending doom when the surveillance
vids displayed Namara's flushed and angry visage, as he tried to escape
the tiny room that his cadets had locked him in.
     "I'm not criticising you, buddy," Apollo replied reassuringly.  "I
agreed with you from the beginning.  They've drilled into us in officer's
training from day one at the Academy, that we utilize every opportunity
to our advantage.  The Arduum is no exception.  Yeah, we might have
reinterpreted a few rules, but we still achieved our goal and finished
the mission."
     "Well, I for one would like to finish the mission alive..." Starbuck
told him, after having a few blessed moments of rest.  He glanced in the
direction of the shuttle, and then up at Saraesa, holding her gaze.  "If
you don't mind."
     She didn't flinch.  "It wasn't personal, Starbuck."
     "Really?" he managed to drawl.  "I guess I have a hard time
believing that."
     "I was just doing my duty.  You were a liability."
     "Yeah?  That's not the first time I've heard that, lady..."
Bitterness dripped from his words.
     "Starbuck, don't," Saraesa inserted, taking a step forward, holding
out her hand and then dropping it after her eyes met his icy blue ones. 
She spoke hesitantly.  "I've never had a...a friend or colleague...that
would take the chances that you two do for each other..."
     "Little wonder," Starbuck returned, feeling a twinge of guilt when
she dropped his gaze, and turned to look back at the shuttle.  After all,
it was just an exercise.  But it felt so damned real with everybody role
playing, and both he and Apollo getting injured...The terror he'd felt
was certainly real.  "Hey, you were in a tough spot..." He shrugged, not
really knowing what to say.  The damage had been done, and it wasn't like
they would be seeing anything of each other after this assignment.  He'd
never laid eyes on her before the Arduum, and probably never would again
afterwards.
     She turned guardedly, and nodded at him briefly.
     Starbuck sighed, and glanced at his chrono.  The solenite charges
that Apollo had planted were figuratively exploding as they spoke, as the
Control Centre, fuel bunkers and munitions dumps simultaneously erupted. 
All over the Cylon Base, the mass devastation would be registering in the
Arduum's network, and Cylons would be responding accordingly.  Hopefully,
by dying.  They would never even detect the massive air strike moving in
that would finish them off.  "On the lighter side, we started this whole
thing out by stealing the colonel's ride, and I just can't resist the
irony that we're doing it again.  We have to take his shuttle."
     "How's that?" Saraesa asked from metrons away, as she slowly turned
and made her way back to them.
     A little more reluctantly this time, she moved in beside him as she
and Apollo hoisted Starbuck up to his feet.  He sucked a sharp breath in
between his teeth, and held on to them tightly as his head began to swim,
and his knees started to buckle once again.
     Just a little further, just a little further...
     "You tell it," Starbuck groaned to Apollo.
     "Starbuck and I were in town on secton-end a couple days ago,"
Apollo began to explain as they half-dragged the warrior towards the
shuttle.  "He'd already had a few warnings about being out past curfew,
and was going on report if they caught him again.  Anyhow, we lost track
of time, and the next thing we knew we were scrambling for a way back to
the Academy."
     Starbuck smiled slightly, as he regained his feet, trying to focus
on the memories of that night, instead of the throbbing in his head. 
Apollo was editing out all the best parts with his recounting of their
adventure.  Gambling, womanising, and carousing from one hot spot to the
next...truthfully, they'd had way too much to drink as they celebrated
Apollo's natal day in the heart of Caprica City's nightlife.  It had been
Starbuck's responsibility to make sure they made it back on time...and
then somewhere along the way it had ceased to be important to him whether
he was put on report yet one more time for exceeding curfew.  Grog and
ambrosa often had that effect on him, he'd noticed.
     "Starbuck spotted a military transport and somehow talked me into
believing that we were simply doing our duty by returning it to the
Academy, since it obviously belonged there to begin with," Apollo
continued as they boarded the open shuttle, none of them surprised that
it was unguarded.  In the universe of the Arduum, it didn't exist.  It
merely transported the Sentinels of the Academy training exercise here to
observe the cadets involved, as they carried out their various
assignments.
     "And the transport belonged to Colonel Namara?" Saraesa guessed with
a wry chuckle.  "I never met him until I was chosen for the Arduum.  He's
an imposing man."
     "Uh huh," Apollo nodded, as they set Starbuck down in a seat.  "Of
course, the sentries on duty at the Caprica Academy gate reported it to
the colonel when he arrived hopping mad in a civilian hack a couple
centars later."
     "Busted," Starbuck murmured with a smile.  It had been worth it.  It
had been an outstanding night, and the added adventure of actually
getting back before curfew had been the piŠce de r‚sistance.
     "Is that what you two are doing in the Arduum?" Saraesa asked, as
she took the co-pilot's seat.  
     A technologically advanced simulated Academy training exercise, the
Arduum was usually reserved for upper classmen, and considered a defining
field test before graduation.  All cadets were outfitted with control
helmets and visors that digitally identified "Cylons" and "Colonial
Warriors". Sensors in the clothing of participants registered "shots"
fired by sim-compatible weapons, and the data was then rendered as a
"kill", "injury", or "miss".  Once "in the game", participants weren't to
deviate from their assigned role, or interfere if they were "killed". 
Points were awarded for leadership, teamwork, marksmanship, map reading
and land navigation, communications, tactics, combat, field engineering,
field medicine, innovation, and physical conditioning.  Cadets were both
monitored and evaluated throughout the exercise by Sentinels through
networked surveillance systems in the Base.  In the event of serious
injury, it was permissible to concede defeat and request assistance, but
doing so would result in failure.  Failure was "death".  Oh, and bonus
points were awarded in the event that the mission was a success.
     Apollo nodded, taking the pilot's seat, and settling into it with a
groan of relief.  Slowly, he stretched out his leg.  "Yeah, somewhat. 
Colonel Namara decided to throw us to the daggits, and assigned us a
mission that had a low probability of success."
     "Especially hung over," Starbuck added, belting himself in as the
rear hatch began to close.  He felt his body sinking into the seat, and
ignored the fact that he was covering Namara's command position with mud. 
"Anyhow, he told us if we didn't avail ourselves well, that we would be
up for expulsion from the Academy." He still couldn't believe that an
immature, drunken prank had almost lead to their expulsion, and
technically still could.  Colonel Namara really needed to get a sense of
humour.  "Is the scanner array in this bird wired into the Arduum's
network?"
     "No," Apollo replied as he looked over the instruments, while the
engines hummed to life.  "I'm not reading any telemetry from the Base."
     Centons later, they were airborne, and heading out, in the opposite
direction of an approaching attack force.
     "I'm reading Vipers!  Coming in en masse from the east.  No response
detected from the Cylon Base," Saraesa reported.  "Looks like we made it
out before the strike, and your mission is a success.  One more Cylon
base is about to be blown to Hades Hole!"
     "What was your assignment?" Apollo asked.
     "Totally unrelated," she admitted.  "I'm from the Tauran Academy. 
Just as I said, I was supposed to get these data crystals back to Caprica
City." Then she smiled.  "As far as I know, there's no such race as the
Darthinians.  Has a nice ring to it though, don't you think?"
     "Where did you get the Seal of the Lords?" Apollo asked.  "Is it
real?"
     "It's just a copy," Saraesa replied.  
     "Damned convincing," Apollo replied.  
     "It's supposed to be," she replied, glancing back at Starbuck.
     "What's the ETA to the Academy?" Starbuck asked, his head tilted
back against the seat, and his eyes closed.  He might actually catch
forty winks before they arrived...if Apollo let him.
     "About a centar, Starbuck, but don't fall asleep," Apollo returned. 
"How's the head?"
     "My head feels like an ovum that was just cracked open," Starbuck
returned honestly.  And his left hand had gone numb, and his arm was
beginning to swell up.  But that was another story.  "How's the leg?"
     "If it gets any worse, I'm going to jettison it out the jump chute,"
Apollo returned.  Then he frowned as the comm began to crackle to life. 
"Oh oh..."
     "This is Colonel Namara of the Arduum Base.  I order the mong-raking
miscreants that are in that transport to return to base immediately! 
That's my shuttle, goddamn it!"
 
Epilogue
    
     Colonel Namara had rescinded his order that the three cadets return
to the Base once it was pointed out to him that a four squadron air
strike was about to commence, and the manoeuvre might be disrupted by the
return of a shuttlecraft that the Viper pilots were supposed to ignore
because in the reality of the Arduum, it didn't exist.  When Saraesa,
with her characteristic outspokenness, then opened communications again
to report that both Apollo and Starbuck were seriously injured, and
needed immediate medical attention, the threesome were directed to the
landing field at the Caprica City Academy.  
     A medical unit and hoverstretchers met them on the tarmac, and
Apollo and Starbuck were both transferred to the infirmary.  It wasn't
much longer before Apollo was in surgery, and Starbuck was admitted for
treatment of a severe concussion.  Shortly thereafter he followed Apollo
to surgery when they realized he had an electrical burn to his left arm
that varied from second to third degree in intensity, an with infection
setting in rapidly.
     The next day...
     Starbuck pushed the little button that the med tech had given him,
sighing as he was infused once again with a little bit of heaven.  The
burning pain that had been creeping up the arm with the regeneration
sleeve on it was driven back like the hounds of Hades Hole, and the
throbbing in his head that Dr. Alpheus said there was nothing they could
do about, also retreated until it was a comparatively gentle pulsation at
the back of his skull.
     It made a guy wonder...if one dose was good, what would a second do?
     He hit the button again, merely out of curiosity.  A faint beep from
the bio-pump reminded him of what Med Tech Zhi had already said.  There
was a lockout mechanism to prevent him from overdosing.  He sighed again,
this time in annoyance.  It also prevented him from using the analgesic
pump to depart the infirmary on a narcotic induced trip to Elysium.
     "Are you that sore, or just bored?" Apollo asked him from the next
biobed.
     Starbuck opened his eyes, glancing over at his friend.  Apollo's
right hand was resting lightly on his bulky leg dressing while
intravenous antibiotics infused into him from a bio-pump.  The squadron
leader was similarly outfitted with an analgesic pump.  Starbuck grinned
at the contemplative look Apollo was giving him.  "Bored."
     "You really shouldn't fool around with..." Apollo abruptly shut his
mouth, rolling his eyes in self-mockery.  "Oh, wait.  What am I thinking? 
Colonel Namara is inevitably going to show up here, thundering in
self-righteous anger, no doubt, to tell us whether or not we're going to
be expelled, so obviously you're going to pick now to follow Morpheus
into insensibility."  
     "Well, I was raised never to overstay a welcome," smiled the other.
     "God's teeth, Starbuck!" growled Apollo. "Our careers are hanging by
a thread, and you spout flip..." He sighed. "Can't you be serious for
five microns in a row?"
     Starbuck rolled over towards his friend, raising an eyebrow. 
"Apollo, I entered a restricted zone to bypass the Cylons and sneak a
look at the surveillance network, I inadvertently locked Colonel Namara
in a storage locker, we missed our rendezvous for pick-up, and we stole
the Colonel's shuttle." He waited a beat. "Serious enough for you?"
     Apollo considered that before he nodded slightly.  "You have a
point.  In that case, I noticed the last time that Zhi was updating your
medical file that you can bypass the six-centon lockout in the
programming mode.  The access code is 007."
     Starbuck grinned, suitably impressed with the acumen of his friend. 
It was so typically Apollo.  Although he would never actually bypass the
programming to use the medical pump for recreational purposes himself,
he'd already observed that it was possible, and had figured out how to do
so...probably because he was wondering when Starbuck would get around to
trying.  "You're coming along nicely. I've just about finished your
training."
     "Thanks, I think," Apollo replied dryly.
     Centons later, the infirmary doors were thrust open, and Colonel
Namara burst into the room, his flint grey eyes combing over the area for
all of a milli-centon before he spotted the bedridden cadets.
     "There you are..." 
     It seemed more like a snarl than a statement, and for a milli-centon
his lips seemed to curl back over his teeth. Any instant now, Namara
would start frothing at the maw, and hurling thunderbolts at the
offending miscreants.  If it wasn't for the cold fear that suddenly
gripped Starbuck, drying out his mouth, and twisting his guts, it might
have been funny.
     Starbuck pushed the little button that the med tech had given him
again.
     "Starbuck..." Apollo murmured warningly as the pump beeped.  
     Namara marched towards them, his back ramrod straight, his boots
clapping menacingly on the shiny infirmary floors.  It was like a wave of
oppression, a tsunami of pure doom, rolling towards them, bent on their
ultimate humiliation and destruction.
      Or maybe you shouldn't have taken that last hit of painkiller,
Bucko...
     Namara came to a halt between their beds, looking from one cadet to
the other, his features unreadable...other than the complete look of
disgust and derision that dominated the face of most senior officers, of
course.  Both young men reflexively snapped to attention, or as close as
they could come to it in bed.
     "At ease, cadets," Namara snapped.
     Starbuck gulped, taking a deep breath and waiting to hear his fate. 
His biomonitor began beeping, alerting the medical staff to the pounding
of his heart, and the sudden rush of adrenaline that made him want to
race outside, find the colonel's current ride, and take off to the
outermost edge of the Colonies to live his life as a hermit...at least
until he opened his own chancery, recruited a chorus line of beautiful,
topless woman for entertainment, and founded a sanctuary for socialators
(who were being persecuted in at least one Gemonese community by members
of the Otori Sect, but that was another story altogether).
     "I won't belabour this, cadets.  I know you're anxious for a
decision," Namara told them, his voice crisp as he stood with his feet
spread at shoulder width, and his hands lightly resting on his hips.
Crisp? No, actually his voice was brittle, and would likely shatter at
any moment.  He was military through and through, from his closely
cropped hair to his highly polished boots, to his uniform trousers where
you could cut your finger if you touched the creases.  "I told you going
in that if you performed well in the Arduum, that you would prove
yourselves worthy of continuing to serve in the Colonial Service, despite
your...irresponsible behaviour while on leave in Caprica City.  You
successfully completed your mission, and carried on despite a litany of
injuries, utilizing some...He drew a deep breath, and rose up for a
micron on his toes, before exhaling. "Some rather creative initiatives,
such as infiltrating the Arduum's surveillance network, locking me in a
closet, and blowing a fracking big hole in the side of my landing bay
with live, Arduum-prohibited artillery in order to get out."
     Starbuck winced under Namara's penetrating scowl.  He'd conveniently
forgotten about that.  He glanced over at Apollo.
     "Eyes on me, Cadet!" Namara's voice snapped him back to attention.
"Your squadron leader can't help you now, son." He took a step closer to
the blond warrior. "You think it's amusing, don't you, Starbuck.  That I
threw you into an Academy exercise that you should have been flailing
through with your level of training and expertise, and you came through
it smelling like a summer rosa."  His eyes narrowed dangerously.  "Hmm?"
     "Begging the Colonel's pardon, sir," Starbuck replied haltingly, 
"this rosa is black and blue with a concussion and a third degree burn. 
I won't be winning any blue ribbons at the Caprican State Fair...sir."
     Namara's scowl deepened.  At any moment, the man's teeth would
crack.
     "In Starbuck's defence, sir, and my own," Apollo inserted quickly,
"we discussed our strategy at the outset and both agreed that since the
rules we...uh, bent regarding the Arduum were more of an understanding,
rather than actually written down, that we were well within our rights
to..."
     Colonel Namara turned on Apollo, laughing harshly.  "Sagan's sakes,
son, you should be a protector, not a warrior." Then he blew out a
breath, shaking his head.  "No, forget I ever said that.  I'm proud to
know I'm contributing to the man you will become when you graduate from
this Academy, Cadet Apollo."
     Apollo closed his mouth in stunned surprise, before finally
replying, "Thank you, sir."
     "That goes for you too, Cadet Starbuck," Namara rounded on the
other.  "All I can say is I'm glad we signed you up, before you turned to
a dedicated life of larceny and formed your own criminal syndicate."
     "Uh...I don't quite know what to say to that, Colonel..." Starbuck
stammered.
     "I imagine not," Namara chuckled.  "Men, I've been overseeing the
Arduum for nigh on five yahrens now, waiting and wondering when some
cadet would come along with enough balls to break the rules, and rely on
pure guts, creativity, and determination to win this thing!" He nodded at
them both approvingly.  "War isn't about following the rules mindlessly,
it's about using every opportunity at your disposal to beat the enemy. 
To outmanoeuvre, outthink, and out-savvy him." Then he smiled slightly. 
"So, when you're released from the infirmary, you'll both be returning to
classes, that little black mark that precipitated all this fun and frolic
erased from your permanent records." 
     "Thank you, sir," Apollo saluted.
     Starbuck followed suit.  "Yes, thank you, Colonel Namara."
     Namara saluted smartly, the epitome of the finely polished warrior. 
"And after classes you'll be reporting to the hangar to begin cleaning
and waxing each and every Colonial class ship that we have docked there. 
Once you've completed that small duty, you can recommence your secton-end
leaves." He smiled as they groaned in concert, then Namara leaned close,
till his gaze filled Starbuck's vision.  "And if you ever take my
transport again, no, if you ever so much as look at it...you'll be down
on your hands and knees in the parade square, scrubbing it with your
toothbrush until it sparkles."
     "Uh, sir...the parade square is cement.  It never sparkles,"
Starbuck couldn't help but add. Apollo groaned.
     "Ever hear of eternity, Cadet?" Namara asked with a raised eyebrow.
     "I understand it's a long time..."
     "And I can make it seem even longer, Starbuck." Namara added.  "Do
we have an understanding?"
     Starbuck blew out a breath between his teeth.  "Yes, sir."
     "Good." Namara glanced at his chrono.  "Now, I believe Cadet Saraesa
was waiting to wish you both well before she returned to the Tauran
Academy." He glanced over his shoulder to see the attractive young woman
waiting somewhat hesitantly at the door, and marched towards her.  "Come
in, Cadet.  I'm just heading out."
     "Thank you, Colonel," she saluted him and he returned it smartly
before leaving the infirmary.  Then she glanced at Starbuck almost shyly,
before slowly walking over.
     "Uh..." Apollo murmured, grabbing his crutches and scooting his
astrum to the side of the biobed as Med Tech Zhi arrived in time to
disconnect him from his intermittent IV therapy and attach his portable
analgesia pump to his infirmary gown.  "I think this is my cue to take a
walk.  Have a safe journey home, Saraesa."
     She smiled at him, appreciating his discretion, as he slowly, but
surely, started moving away from them.  "Thanks, Apollo."
     Saraesa had crossed Starbuck's mind a time or two hundred since he'd
been admitted to the infirmary.  He'd never met a woman quite like her
before who kept him on his toes constantly, but when she had readily
suggested abandoning him to Apollo, it had knocked him for a loop.  Who
was the real Saraesa?  The firebrand that had exchanged verbal spars with
him, exuded a sensuality that he had found irresistible, and had seemed
fearless, even in a Cylon Brig, or the single-minded obsessive warrior
who would stop at nothing to succeed at her mission?  As she took a step
closer, he could readily admit to himself that he wasn't looking forward
to a final dramatic scene with her.  
     He pushed the little button that the med tech had given him, hoping
to ease his pain.
     "Hi," she murmured.
     "Hi," he returned unenthusiastically.
     "How are you feeling?"
     "Fine."
     "Fine as in, 'I have a third degree burn, but it's not worth
mentioning', or fine as in, really fine."
     He smiled slightly at that.  The firebrand was back.  "Really fine."
     "I'm glad," she nodded, looking around uncomfortably. 
     "I hear you're heading out," he mentioned, to fill the sudden,
uneasy silence.  "When?" Then as she dropped his gaze and shuffled
uneasily from foot it foot, it occurred to him his timing had been
unfortunate.  "I didn't mean that quite the way it sounded."
     "Of course you didn't," she returned dryly, glancing at her chrono. 
"Thirty centons.  My shuttle's on the tarmac now."
     "A lot can happen in thirty centons."
     She looked at him curiously.  "Oh?"
     "Sure."
     "How's that?" she asked.
     "Well," he swung his legs over the edge of the biobed, "I could wish
you well, and say it's been interesting..."
     "Or?" she asked, crossing her arms protectively in front of her.
     "Or we could kiss and make up." He turned on his best smile.  The
one that could win over the greater majority of the female half of the
population within 1.8 milli-centons when it was turned up to full power. 
Truthfully, he hated parting on bad terms with any woman, and was willing
to at least give her a chance to explain herself...if she chose to.
     She smiled fleetingly before raising her eyebrows at him.  "I didn't
think you'd be able to forgive me for what I did...almost did."
     "I've been thinking about what you said." Starbuck shrugged
slightly.  "About never having a friend that would risk it all for
you..." He chewed his lip for a moment.  "There's been a few times in my
life where I wasn't fortunate enough to have friends like I've made here
at the Academy."  He paused, as she studied him intently, seeming content
to listen for a change, rather than argue or debate.  It was truly
amazing.  "I've spent most of my life looking out for yours truly," he
tapped his chest.  "And it wasn't until I met Apollo that I learned what
friendship and loyalty were all about."
     "You were an orphan, weren't you?"
     "How did you know that?" he asked.
     "Searching all your life for a place to belong...and when you find
it, you'd do anything to defend it." Even though she was looking right at
him, she seemed to be seeing far beyond him.
     "You're an orphan too," he realized.
     She nodded.  "Look, Starbuck...I didn't come here to compare hard
luck stories...I just wanted to explain why I did, what I did."
     "Go on."
     "I just wanted you out of the game, Starbuck.  You needed to get to
a medic.  Sagan, both of you did!  But you were both too stubborn to
concede defeat, even at the risk of your health.  It just didn't seem
justified to me.  It was a fracking exercise, goddamn it.  It wasn't
worth your lives."
     "We had more on the line than the average warrior, Saraesa,"
Starbuck reminded her.  "If we failed, we might have been expelled from
the Academy."
     "I didn't know that then..." she met his eyes imploringly, impelling
him to understand. "By the time you explained it, the damage was done."
     "So...this was all about you...you being worried about me?" he
asked.  Of course, he could be misinterpreting her, and she might be
about to slam him with a real zinger...
     "I was willing to try anything to get you some medical attention. 
The truth is, I was scared senseless that you were going to die out
there.  You're both crazy!  It's like you have a death wish!" she
exclaimed.
     "Oh, darlin'..." he smiled, reaching out a hand, and grabbing hers. 
He pulled her to him, enfolding her in his arms.  "You know, generally
leaving a guy on a mountainside to die is a bad way to tell him that you
like him."
     She laughed humourlessly, resting her head against his chest and
sighing as her arms crept around him.  "Kind of like throwing rocks at
each other when we were kids."
     "Yeah," he murmured, kissing her head, and running his fingers
through her silky hair.
     "Honeybunch?" she murmured, leaning back slightly to look up at him.
     "Hmm?"
     "Aren't you going to kiss me goodbye?"
     He grinned.  "How about I kiss you 'so long' instead, and then I
borrow the colonel's shuttle to come visit you next sectar?"
     "Sounds good," she replied with her smile that could sink a thousand
ships, as her arms crept around his neck, and their lips met in a tender
kiss.
     Meanwhile, a few metrons away, Apollo groaned at the tail end of the
conversation he had just overheard, and then pushed the little button
that the med tech had given him...hoping to ease his pain.

The End

Thanks to Senmut, my beta reader extraordinaire, for all his timely adds,
edits, and inspirations.

Lisa Zaza