[Back in the days of the Battlestar Osiris, I, like several others,
created multiple personal characters.  Some of us, including me, also
wrote a few stories under the names of the supposed creators of those
characters.]


	"A Matter of Principles"

	(By Sharon Monroe)
	(First printed with the pen name "Gene Hermsen")

     They never really had a chance.
     Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Starbuck were sent to investigate
some strange stellar radiation.  Bridge officer Omega's name was on the
roster as due for some survey work, to meet certain of his required
certifications for advancement, so he volunteered for monitor duty. 
What the three warriors didn't know was that there was a fourth person
on the shuttle - Boxey, stowed away in the rear with Muffit.
     They didn't expect to run into a disrupter field in the massive
asteroid belt that formed the only satellites for the star.  Nor did
they plan on the grappling beams that pulled them into what appeared to
be a massive spacecraft, camouflaged as an asteroid.  The men who
surrounded their shuttle had to be pirates; there was no other
explanation.  In the ensuing admittedly brief struggle, Starbuck
managed to slip away.  Omega was disarmed after a scuffle.  It took a
knock on the head to render Apollo harmless.
     Shortly thereafter, one of the men emerged from the captured
shuttle, carrying a squirming small boy.  The boy was screaming that
they'd killed Muffey, and daddy was going to make them sorry.
     Only centons later, the three prisoners found themselves in a
metal-walled cell.  The cell was barred on one side, rather primitive,
considering the apparent size and complexity of the ship.  It had
several metal bunks with thin mattresses, and a turboflush off to one
side.  It was a uniform gray color, very plain.  Apollo was dumped
unceremoniously onto one of the bunks.  Boxey was dropped to the floor
- and there was a muttered curse and growl when he bit the man who'd
been carrying him.  Omega walked in under his own power.  The child
quickly scurried to Apollo's side, still yelling threats through his
tears.
     Omega watched the guards walk away, disappearing around a corner
he couldn't see through the bars.  They were tall men, taller than he
was, which was rather disconcerting, all with black hair and similar
fair complexions.  They wore similar black uniforms, and marched in
unison.  There were formidable foes, extremely competent fighters,
perhaps soldiers.
     Then Omega turned to Boxey and Apollo.
     "They hurt my dad!"  Boxey's fear and anger had shifted from his
daggit to his father.
     "I know, Boxey. Just relax.  I don't think he's hurt badly, but I
want to check."  Omega was a warrior and a bridge officer; Boxey knew
he worked with grandfather.  He heeded the command and moved aside to
let the man examine his father.  Apollo groaned once under Omega's
probing fingers, then was still again.  "I think he's fine, nothing
broken, no evidence of concussion.  We'll see when he wakes up."
     "He better be fine," the child blustered.  "Or they'll be sorry! 
I'll make them sorry for everything!  They hurt Muffey!"
     "I know, Boxey."  Omega assumed the strangers would have had to
shoot the mechanical daggit before they could reach the boy.  "But just
relax now, I think your father's waking up, and you wouldn't want to
worry him, would you?  No, I know."  He turned his attention from
wide-eyed, now-sniffling child to his superior.  "Captain?"
     A groan.  "What...?  Where...?"  Apollo opened his eyes.
     "I'm not sure," Omega replied in a low voice, in case they were
being monitored.  "After they knocked you out, they brought us here,
wherever that is.  Starbuck's still free, I don't know for how long. 
And, Apollo, we had a stowaway."
     Apollo raised his head and saw Boxey, and immediately paled. 
"Boxey?  What in hades...?  You--"
     "Father!  You're all right!"  How could anyone resist the
heart-felt hug the boy bestowed?
     Apollo's anger melted.  He pulled his son closer.  "Omega, where
are we?"
     "In a cell.  I think I could find our way back to the shuttle if
we get a chance."
     Apollo studied the barred opening.  "Hmm.  I wonder what they've
got in mind for us."
     "I'm sure we'll find out soon enough, sir."
     Apollo looked at him sharply.  "Omega, you're a bridge officer, a
specialist.  What kind of background do you have in...resisting
interrogation techniques?"
     "Standard general Academy training, none of the advanced courses
that used to be required for pilots.  Bridge officers don't usually
survive the battles they lose, and survey teams generally work in
secured areas."
     "Sorry we didn't secure the place first," Apollo said, managing a
small joke despite his throbbing head.
     "Oh, I don't know.  Looks pretty secure to me," Omega responded in
kind.
     That brought a chuckle.  After a moment, Omega spoke again.  "I
wonder if they'll get rough," he said, too casually.
     "I don't know.  Some of these bunches don't care how much you
hurt, as long as you tell them what they want to know.  And we have no
idea what these people might want to know.  I don't know how much we
dare tell them, either."
     "Probably the less, the better."
     Apollo nodded.  "For now, at least.  Think you're...ready for it?"
     "I'll certainly try," was the honest response.
     "Will they hurt us, Father?" asked an anxious Boxey.
     Lords, Apollo thought, what if they threatened Boxey?  How much
could his son endure?  To what end?  There was almost nothing a little
boy could tell them, was there?  He didn't know...  "They won't hurt
you, Boxey," he lied.
     "What if they do?" the boy insisted.
     "Just remember you're a Colonial warrior, and don't do anything to
disgrace yourself," he said lamely.  His heart was pounding out of
control at the very thought.
     "I won't tell them anything!  Not if they tie me up and burn me
and threaten me and kill me!" Boxey declared.
     Apollo shuddered, unable to contain his fear even at the thought. 
"You'll be safe, Boxey," he said fiercely.  "I won't let them hurt
you."
     "I know, Father," the boy replied.
     Apollo hugged him close.  Boxey leaned his head against his
father's shoulder.  He was safe in the circle of Apollo's arms, and
nothing could hurt him there.
     Apollo and Omega knew they'd said too much in the hearing of a
bright and impressionable child.  By unspoken agreement, they waited
for Boxey to fall asleep.  Apollo stared at the far wall during that
time, heedless of Omega's concerned glances.  His lips moved in silent
prayer.  Lords of Kobol, don't let them hurt my son.  Keep him safe.
     Finally, Boxey slept.  Apollo lay him carefully on a mattress and
covered him with a blanket.  "How *will* they treat a child?" he
wondered aloud.
     "He's here with us," Omega noted.
     "I know.  Would they hurt him to get information?"
     "Do we resist if they threaten Boxey?"
     Apollo was shaken.  He took a deep breath.  "I don't know...  We'd
have to...I don't know if I could..."  A hand gently stroked the boy's
cheek.  "If they hurt Boxey, I don't know what I'd do."
     "It might make a difference if they don't know he's your son."
     Apollo looked up again.  "Maybe.  If they don't know it already. 
But we don't know what morals or ethics they live by, or what they want
from us.  Will they see him as just a child, or as a pawn in a game? 
Do they know he's important to me?" he finished more to himself.
     "To us, too."  Omega's voice was low.  Half the bridge crew were
aunts and uncles to their commander's grandson, their friend's nephew,
and Omega was one of them.  "Captain, I hope it doesn't come to this,
but if Boxey's life becomes the price, what do we do?  You're senior
officer.  What will your orders be?"  He tried to keep his expression
steady and emotionless, but his voice betrayed his worry.  He knew what
his oath required - but he also knew what his feelings would demand.
     "I'll have to think about it," Apollo replied, in an equally low
tone.  He knew his duty as well.  "We have our oaths to hold..."
     At that point, Starbuck joined them.  Four of the strangers
marched down the hall, supporting their stunned prisoner.  Two others
followed with drawn weapons, as if afraid that Starbuck might suddenly
wake up and fight back in spite of everything.  Motioning Apollo and
Omega back, they opened the cell door, dumped Starbuck just inside, and
retreated.  Omega quickly checked to make sure Starbuck had suffered no
injuries beyond a few bruises in whatever fight had resulted in his
capture.
     It was only centons before the warrior regained his senses.  He
was as stunned as the other two had been to discover that Boxey had
invited himself along on their mission, and was now in as much danger
as they were.
     By then, they could again hear marching feet.  The inhabitants of
the asteroid must have reached some conclusion about them, because a
squad of burly men arrived, under the direction of a man whose insignia
proclaimed him to be a leader.
     He stood for several centons, observing them, while the three
warriors shifted uneasily where they sat.  Finally, he spoke.  One of
their own languatrons translated.
      "You," he said, pointing at Omega.  "Your uniform's different. 
You must be the one in charge.  Come with us."  The man's voice was
even, smooth, but used to command.
     With a glance at Apollo, Omega stayed right where he was.  The man
gestured at the guards.  They entered the cell and manhandled the young
officer into the corridor.
     "No!"  Apollo jumped to his feet.
     "No, what?" the leader inquired.
     "I'm in charge of these men."
     "Oh?"
     Apollo realized he might have said too much, and was silent.
     A curious expression crossed the face of the black-haired
stranger.  "Very well.  I think you're lying to protect your superior. 
We'll question him anyway."  Then the squad was gone, and so was Omega.
     Starbuck and Apollo exchanged tense glances.
     "What now, Apollo?"
     "I don't know.  We wait, I guess, and hope it's not too bad for
him, or for us when our turns come."
     "We tell them nothing, I assume?"
     "Right.  We haven't any idea who these people are, or what they
want from us."
     Boxey slept.  Apollo and Starbuck waited in tense silence, not
knowing what to say.

* * * *

     Starbuck woke with a start at the sound of the cell door opening. 
Apollo was still awake, sitting next the sleeping Boxey.  Four guards
stood at the metal bars.  Omega entered, looking a little dazed, and
the door was slammed and locked again.
     When they were gone, he let himself slump onto the nearest bunk,
his shoulders drooping, and took a deep breath.
     "Well?" Apollo asked tensely.
     Omega looked up with a small smile and shook his head.  "Not
nearly as bad as I expected.  They asked a lot of questions, kept
coming back to some things.  They took blood and tissue samples, but no
drugs, that I could tell.  No torture.  I think they were getting
annoyed at the end of the session.  From the looks of it, I thought
they were just getting started."
     Apollo relaxed, a little.  "What kind of questions did they ask? 
Could you figure out anything about them?"
     "They wanted to know who we are, where we're from, what our
reasons is for being in this quadrant."  Omega shrugged.  "I didn't see
any women, but there was a boy who peeked in for a micron before the
leader of the squad sent him away.  They don't really seem all that
violent.  I got the impression they were more concerned about our
presence than with vicious plans for us."
     Apollo looked at Starbuck, considering.
     "Did they take you past the fighters?" Starbuck asked quietly.
     Omega shook his head.  "Nothing but corridors."
     "I saw what looked like fighters.  They captured me in their
launch bay, I think.  The fighters looked a lot like Cylon Raiders,
broad and disk-like.  I didn't get a close look at the interiors."
     Apollo and Omega stiffened in dismay.
     "Like Raiders?  Lords!" Omega muttered.
     "They may be holding us for the Cylons!" Apollo cursed.
     More footsteps sounded in the metal corridor, and all eyes turned
involuntarily to see who was approaching.  It was the dark-haired
leader, taller and broader even than the huge guards they'd seen.  They
remained silent.  The man observed them in equal silence.  He again
carried a Colonial languatron.
     The black eyes shifted to where Boxey suddenly stirred in his
sleep, muttering for his daggit.  Apollo rose instantly to stand
between Boxey and the stranger, face set almost challengingly.
     The man raised a thick eyebrow, smiling without humor.  "Your
concern for your son is admirable," he finally said.
     Apollo froze.  How did he know?  What was he intending?
     "You needn't worry, though.  We don't fight children.  They don't
belong in battles," the man continued.  "I don't know why you brought
him along."
     "We didn't expect to be attacked!" Apollo shot back, then bit his
tongue.
     "We guard our quadrant well.  We don't allow strangers to pass
through so easily."
     "You guard your quadrant well.  For whom?  Cylons?  Do they get us
next?" Apollo asked tightly.
     The busy eyebrow lifted again.  "So many questions.  But rest
assured, we don't war on children.  Even if we have to dispose of the
rest of you, we won't hurt the boy.  It won't be the first time a
strange child has been taken into our society."
     The man turned on his heel and left.  Apollo ran to the bars. 
"Dispose of us?  Take in my son?  Why?  Who are you?  What do you want
from us?  Why?"
     The man gave no answer.
     Apollo turned back, shaking.  "They'll kill us," he said flatly.
     Starbuck and Omega were pale.  Boxey stirred again, but didn't
waken.

* * * *

     The next few days fell into a pattern.  The men were allowed to
sleep when they wished, except for the interrogation periods.  Food was
brought at regular intervals.  Also at regular intervals, guards would
arrive and take one of the warriors for interrogation.  There was never
any violence connected with this, only a few centars of intense and
rapid questioning, then a return to the cell that was slowly driving
them crazy.  Knowing what kind of ships were in their landing bay, and
with the strangers refusing to give them any information at all, the
Colonials continued to keep silent under the questioning.
     "You know," Starbuck said moodily as he finished a piece of fruit
four days after they arrived, "our baseship will be out of range by
now.  They probably think we're dead."  By unspoken agreement, none of
the mentioned the words "battlestar" or "Galactica."
     "They'd have searched for us," Omega said, staring at the wall. 
But he'd seen enough of these situations from the bridge; he knew as
well as the others that the search couldn't last long.
     "They couldn't risk staying too long," Apollo reminded them
quietly, stroking Boxey's cheek.  The boy was sleeping again.  There
wasn't much for an active child to do, but Boxey still seemed to be
sleeping an awful lot.
     "Then we'll spend the rest of our lives here, however long that
turns out to be," Omega said dismally.  "What are they waiting for?"
     "Maybe they think we'll crack.  Maybe they're waiting for their
allies or overlords to come and claim us."
     Familiar footsteps echoed in the hall, coming closer.  Their usual
guard was approaching.
     "Whose turn is it?" Omega asked when the four men reached the
door.
     The biggest man gestured at Starbuck.  With a sigh and a glance at
Apollo, Starbuck left the cell.  They'd discovered early it did no good
to put up a struggle.  These guards could've decked a Noman with no
trouble.
     "Apollo, something's got to happen before long."  They'd also
stopped using ranks.
     "I wish I knew what," he replied with a sigh.
     Boxey woke with a small cry.  Apollo picked him up.
     "Bad dream, son?"
     Boxey nodded, snuggling closer.  "Dad, I don't feel good."
     Apollo checked his temperature with a frown.  "I think you've got
a fever," he said, "and your pulse seems a little fast.  Do you hurt
anywhere?"
     Omega knelt on one knee next to them, concerned.
     "I feel hot and sticky."
     The cell wasn't hot.  It was on the cool side of comfortable.
     Boxey's condition rapidly worsened.  Two centars later, when the
guards returned, Boxey was slipping into delirium, calling for his
mother and his daggit.  Apollo helplessly rocked the crying child.  The
boy's fever had risen dramatically, and Apollo was scared.
     The dark-haired commander of the strangers, whose names they still
didn't know, opened the cell, holding his weapon ready.  His
tough-looking men tossed Starbuck forward.  The warrior quickly picked
himself up and stood back.
     "Wait!"  Apollo called when the group showed every sign of
departing immediately, as always.
     The commander turned and looked at him inquiringly.  "You have
something to say?"
     Apollo glanced down at the boy in his arms.  "He's sick,
feverish."
     "What of it?"
     "You said you don't make war on children.  He needs help!  What's
wrong with him?"
     The stranger shrugged.  "Are you ready to answer our questions?"
     "He's sick!" Apollo insisted.  "How can you leave him in this
condition?  You said you'd take him into your society, how can you let
him die?"
     The man's voice turned icy.  "If necessary, we will take him in. 
However, right now, you are potential enemies, and the boy as well,
until you prove yourself otherwise.  If you want us to consider some
other treatment of yourselves or him, you must be prepared to
cooperate."
     "I can't!"
     "I have my people to consider.  Have a pleasant day."  He spun on
his heel and strode away.
     "Wait!" Apollo called again, but the man was gone.  The warriors
didn't see the spasm of pain that crossed his face; he didn't turn
back.
     Apollo was frantic.  "They can't just leave him here, sick, like
this?"
     "Not if we cooperate," Starbuck said quietly.
     Apollo had his first good look at his friend.  "What happened?"
     A massive purple discoloration marred the left side of Starbuck's
face, and some blood still stained his swollen lip.
     "I got a little carried away," he replied sheepishly.  "I think
they were getting tired of it."
     "So the gloves are off," Omega muttered.
     "What was that?" Starbuck asked.
     "They're starting to get violent, and the price of medical help
for Boxey is our submission.  What now, Apollo?"
     He refused to look up.  "I don't know."

* * * *

     The interrogations ceased.  Apparently the strangers decided
pressure through a small boy was sufficient, Apollo thought bitterly. 
In the next two days, Boxey's condition deteriorated.  He alternated
between fever and chills, constantly calling for Serina and Muffit.  He
no longer even seemed to recognize Apollo or Starbuck.  He rejected
food, and would barely take a few sips of water.
     The other two watched Apollo's agony in silence.  He stopped
eating as well, and couldn't be coaxed into conversation.
     "Apollo, this isn't helping him," Starbuck said, trying to
convince the captain to at least eat something.
     Apollo merely shook his head.  "I'm not hungry."
     The commander of the strangers stopped by occasionally to inquire
about their health in what seemed an unnecessarily facetious way to the
captain.  The guards seemed to pass by more frequently -- no doubt
waiting for an "I surrender," Apollo thought.
     "They've made it very clear the only way they'll help him is if
they tell them everything they want to know," Omega reminded him.
     The captain shook his head.  "We don't dare.  We owe it to the
fleet."
     "If they're already out of range, what can these people do?" Omega
asked helplessly.  "They won't be able to catch up to us.  If they're
with the Cylons, they'll know who we are and where we're from just by
our uniforms.  Even if they kill us afterward, Boxey may live.  Maybe
we're being stubborn for no reason."
     "We don't dare," Apollo repeated despairingly.  "We're warriors. 
Boxey, why did you have to come along?  They're letting you die and I
can't help you..."

* * * *

     In a small monitoring room somewhere else in the asteroid, the
tall, black-haired commander and a slightly shorter, dark-haired woman
watched a monitor.
     "Sig," the woman said tearfully, "how can you let that little boy
suffer?  It's a childhood disease!  We could have him well in a day or
two!  The others have already taken the vaccine in their food, the boy
was already sick - but we can help him!  Where's your compassion?"
     The man's face twisted slightly.  "I know, Madga.  But what of my
duty to our people?  We still don't know who these men are, what they
were doing here, who they might be with.  I can't risk our people's
lives on them."
     "But the boy..." the woman continued.  Madga lifted dark eyes to
her husband's.  "He's so young, he can't be an enemy.  How can letting
him die do anyone any good?"
     He looked away.  "We've been over this too many times the past few
days.  We don't know who they are.  If the metal beings find us, we'll
all die.  I can't endanger all our people.  I know you're a doctor, you
feel it, you hate to see a child suffer, especially after our own son
died, but remember who and what we are."
     "Yes, I know who we are.  We're outcasts, refugees, the last
survivors of a world that died millennia ago, so long ago we don't even
remember exactly where it was.  We've lost our home, we've lost most of
our technology, we are alone.  But the child, Sig, the *child*!  He's
dying!  He *will* die if we don't help.  Maybe saving him will prove to
that stiff-minded 'captain' that we mean them no harm, if they are no
threat to us.  At least think about it, Sig!"
     "Madga, sometimes your heart bleeds too much.  I can't fight your
heart and mind both.  I have to think.  In the meantime, take a guard. 
Take the boy to our medical center.  Heal him if you can.  I'll try to
decide what to do with the others."
     The woman's smile was glorious.  She leaned over to kiss her
husband, who hadn't become as cruel as she'd begun to fear these last
days.  She ran lightly from the room.

* * * *

     "He's dying."  Apollo's voice carried through the cell, quiet and
despairing.  "Even if we called them now, they couldn't save him."
     "Apollo..."  Starbuck was helpless.
     It did look like Boxey was dying.  The boy's pulse had slowed, his
fever was dropping again, but he'd been unconscious for centars. 
Apollo shook Starbuck off, remaining on his knees next to his son.  It
was all he could do for him.
     "We could still try..." Omega stood tensely next to Starbuck,
watching, wishing there was something he could do that wouldn't be a
betrayal of the fleet.
     Apollo shook his head in despair.  "There's nothing we can do. 
Boxey's dying.  Our people are gone.  They'll kill us soon.  Then it'll
all be over.  It won't be long..."
     The footsteps in the corridor weren't just the usual patrol's. 
There were lighter steps among them.  Omega glanced over to see a tall,
dark-haired woman at the door, dressed in light gray, with several of
the men in black next to her.  She was as tall as he was, but looked
small among the guards.  She gestured two of the men into the cell. 
They approached the bunk where Boxey lay, gesturing Starbuck and Omega
back with their weapons.  Apollo didn't move.
     "Is it my turn for battering?" he asked tonelessly.
     One man leaned over and picked up Boxey.
     Apollo's eyes widened.  "No!  You can't take him!  What are you
doing?"  He jumped to his feet, prepared to struggle for custody of his
child.  They weren't taking Boxey away!  What would they do to him?
     But Apollo never got a chance.  The other man dropped him before
he could say or do anything more.  He fell without a sound.  The weapon
swerved to cover Omega and Starbuck's startled moves forward.  The
other guards at the door also pointed their weapons ominously.  The men
in the cell left rapidly, the one with Boxey nestled comfortably in his
huge arm.  The child stirred once, clutched convulsively at the man's
sleeve, then sighed, unconscious again.
     "Wait!  Don't do this!" Starbuck called as the men stepped out and
the door closed.  "Where are you taking him?  Please, don't take him,
at least tell us..."
     There was no response.  Without the languatron, the group probably
didn't even understand what he was asking.  The group disappeared. 
Starbuck banged on the bars, still yelling in frustration and fear
while Omega checked Apollo.
     Finally, Starbuck turned around.  Apollo still wasn't stirring,
though Omega had lifted him to the bunk.
     The bridge officer looked up.  "Unconscious, but he doesn't appear
injured in any way.  Probably a stun weapon."
     "Not injured?"  Starbuck banged his fist into the wall.  "Damn
them!  What do they want with Boxey?  He's just a kid!  He's sick!"
     "Maybe they don't plan to hurt him - we've never seen a woman
before, we've never seen the kind of clothes she was wearing."
     "Then why wait 'til now?  Why put a price on helping him?  We
haven't said we'll tell them anything!" Starbuck declared.
     "Maybe she's medical-"
     "More likely garbage disposal, come to collect the body," Starbuck
said bitterly.
     Apollo came to, calling Boxey's name.  There was nothing they
could tell him.  Apollo turned his face to the wall, and pulled the
blanket over his head.  Starbuck's lips twitched, and a tear crept down
his cheek.  Omega turned away to sit quietly in the corner.  The
silence lasted for centars.

* * * *

     "How is he?" the commander asked.  His wife smiled back at him.
     "We reached him in time.  He's sleeping peacefully now, though
I'll want to keep an eye on him for a few days before he can leave the
medical center."  She gently brushed back stray with her fingers.
     "And then?"
     The brightness in her eyes dimmed, and her smile faltered.  "What
do you mean?"
     "His father still sits in our brig.  He hasn't said a word since
we took the boy.  We'll have to take him back."
     She looked down at the sleeping boy.  "Why take him back at all? 
Before long, he'd accept us.  Do what you have to do with them.  Or let
them escape.  If they think the boy is dead..."
     Sig shook his head.  "The child isn't ours, Madga.  We can't do
that.  We'll trace their flight path, see where they go.  If they don't
go back, we may still bring the boy here again."
     "But if they think he's dead--"
     "It's not right.  We're not his parents.  You've seen his father -
he won't go without the boy, without proof of what happens to him.  And
what happens when the child asks for him?  What would you tell him?"
     Her head dropped.  She stroked the child's cheek, smoothing a lock
of soft, brown hair.
     Boxey smiled in his sleep.  "Momma," he called softly.  Even in
another language, Madga understood it, and yearned to hear him address
it to her.
     "How can we *not* want to keep him, Sig?" she whispered.
     His heart wrenched.  "I know what you're feeling, but he's not
ours.  Take him back."  The tall man sighed.  "Believe me, Madga, it's
for the best.  We'll have another of our own.  Let the 'captain' have
his son back.  Having watched them these days, I wish...I wish we could
have met under other circumstances.  I think, in another time, I would
have liked that man.  We might even have been friends..."
     Commander Sig turned away, wouldn't look back.  He couldn't resist
his wife's tears, and knew he had to.  Besides, there was a bit of
electronics work he had to finish.  The tracking device should be
quietly hidden, but not so secreted that the tallest of the strangers,
apparently their communications and electronics officer, couldn't
eventually find it.
     And by the time it was found, the asteroid spaceship would be long
on the move.  Sig wasn't risking his people being found by an enemy. 
But the more he observed, the more sure he was that these people were
not enemies of him and his people.  He would let them depart in peace -
all of them.

* * * *

     "Apollo," Starbuck said unexpectedly from his post at the door,
"we've got company."
     "Oh?" Apollo's voice was a monotone.
     Omega joined Starbuck at the door.  "The leader."
     Then a light patter joined the heavy tread of the guards, and a
little brown-haired boy joined the tall men.
     "Apollo!" Starbuck called, excited.
     But he'd heard.  The boy's voice brought him to the door, ignoring
Starbuck's handclasp.
     "Father!"  Boxey reached through the bars for a silent hug. 
Apollo didn't trust his voice.
     The leader watched silently.  "I trust you see, now, Captain, that
we mean you no harm."  He unlocked the door, and Boxey skipped in to
join the warriors.
     "You're alive!" Apollo whispered.
     Boxey looked confused.  "Shouldn't I be?"  His words were lost in
another hug.
     There was something encouraging and fond in the stranger's eyes. 
He suddenly turned and walked away, his guards following.
     "Now will you wake up?" Starbuck asked.
     Apollo looked up with a ready retort; the smile and hastily wiped
tear on Starbuck's face stifled it.  Omega was also smiling broadly,
but had to turn away, biting his lip to control a sniffle.
     "Okay, let's see what we can do," Apollo said simply.
     Starbuck leaned back on the bars.  "Well..."  He fell backward
with a yelp, through the door that someone hadn't slammed tight enough
to lock.  The others stared in shocked surprise as he scrabbled up from
the floor.
     "A trap," Apollo muttered.  "It has to be.  They're letting us
escape, to see what we do..."
     "Are we going to let them down?" Starbuck asked, back on his feet
and looking both ways down the corridor for anyone who might have heard
him tumble. 
     "No," Apollo said determinedly.  "Let's see how far we get."
     Omega recalled the way back to their shuttle, as they confirmed
several corridors and three unconscious guards later.  It was a good
thing Boxey could play a sick child well enough to lure the guards'
attention, although Apollo hated each time.
     "Too easy," he said darkly when they managed to launch without
being discovered or stopped.  A half-hearted pursuit by a handful of
craft was quickly shaken.
     "What do you figure they've really got in mind?" Starbuck asked,
sitting next to him in the co-pilot's seat.
     "I'm not sure."
     "Try this."  Omega came forward with a handful of wiring.  Boxey
had convinced him to try and repair Muffey.  This collection of wiring
and circuits was alien to Muffet's circuits.
     "Tracking device?" Starbuck suggested as Apollo studied it.
     Omega nodded.  "That's what it looks like.  Wired inside the
daggit.  They must've figured we wouldn't look there, or that we
wouldn't realize that something was wrong in that mess."
     Starbuck chortled in disbelief, while Apollo shook his head,
wondering what they meant about the leader's true intentions.
     "I've already disabled it," Omega said.  He crushed his hand
around the wiring, further mangling it.  "They could have tracked us
back to the fleet."
     Starbuck whistled and turned back to piloting.
     "All we have to do is hope *we* can still find the fleet," Apollo
said.

* * * *

     Back aboard a hidden spaceship disguised as an asteroid, a junior
officer looked up at his commander.  "It stopped transmitting, sir. 
Either they found the tracker, or they've been destroyed."
     Sig nodded, outwardly scowling, inwardly relieved.  Any
responsibility for the strangers was now out of his hands.  Their fate
was their own.  "Very well.  Prepare to fire all engines.  Set in
course thirty-eight point two, vector seven.  We'll switch trajectories
on Code Three, then follow Course Orem.  Move, Sergeant."
     The sergeant moved.

* * * *

     Aboard the Galactica, Athena looked up in shock.  "Father!  A
signal!  From the shuttle!"
     Instantly, Adama was at the screen.  The last secton had been
hades, his son and grandson both missing.  Starbuck's face grinned back
at him from somewhere across space.  "Starbuck!  How...?  The others?"
     "All safe and accounted for, sir."
     "Where have you been for over a secton?"
     Apollo's voice cut in.  "We aren't sure, but we think they were
pirates, sir.  They took us prisoner, we escaped.  Why is the fleet
still in this sector?  We thought you'd be long gone, that we'd be
following you for days."  Unspoken was the rest of the sentence, 'if we
found you at all.'
     Adama unwound with a deep breath.  He'd nearly resigned himself
never to see Apollo or Boxey again.  "Tylium, Apollo.  We stopped to
stock up our fuel supplies.  We'll be underway again in a few days."
     Apollo nodded.  "We'll be aboard in a few centars, Commander."
     "Welcome home, son, welcome home."

* * * *

     The archivist looked thoughtful.  "I really couldn't say, Captain. 
They could be Colonial in origin, but without solid evidence I really
couldn't say."
     "So far from the Colonies?" asked a disbelieving Councilman.
     "It's possible.  Our war began a millennium ago.  Survivors of
some distant outpost, attacked, maybe fleeing to deep space.  I don't
think they're pirates, sir, it doesn't sound right."
     Adama glanced at Apollo, then back at the Quorum of the Twelve. 
The Council room was full.  Councilors watched in frowning silence. 
Apollo stood near the commander.  Starbuck and Omega sat to one side. 
Boxey was occupied with the repaired Muffey, and really paid no
attention to anything else that was going on.
     "Then it is my intention to attempt to contact them, tell them who
we are and what happened to the rest of the Colonies, and warn them
that Cylons may be in the quadrant, perhaps behind us.  And if they are
human, and of our worlds, somewhere distant in time, I suggest we
invite them to join us, or at the least, to share information that may
be of benefit to both of us."
     Apollo nodded, then replied crisply, "I can have a search team
ready within a centar."
     "Does the Council approve?"  Adama turned his attention to the
sometimes troublesome Council.  He knew he could count on Tinia and
several others to support him, but Uri was forging a faction again, and
might protest.  To his relief, no objections were raised.  He nodded,
and the young warriors - including 'cadet' Boxey -- left the chamber.
     "Next order of business?"

* * * *

     They found nothing.
     "I don't understand it," Apollo muttered into his com.  "How does
a ship that size just vanish?"
     "You're forgetting, Apollo, we didn't even see them. *They* found
*us*.  This belt is full of asteroids of about the right size.  And if
they do have mobile capacity, some kind of massive engines, there's no
telling where they might be.  They might have fled to a safer sector
already."
     Apollo gritted his teeth.  There wasn't time to search any more. 
The fleet had to get underway.  Whoever you are, he thought, I hope you
and your people are safe.  I don't believe you had anything to do with
the Cylons, not after saving Boxey.  I wish there had been time and
circumstances for us to talk, without worrying who was the enemy and
what was safe.  I think I'd've liked you, though I don't know why, and
I know my feelings are colored by my son's safety.
     Then he spoke aloud.  "Search teams, form on me.  Let's go home."
     They swept away across the debris of the asteroid system.

- The End -