Battlestar Galactica: Saga Of A Star World
                      by Eric Paddon

                  From The Adama Journals

   In only a centar's time, I am due to leave for the Battlestar
Atlantia and a meeting that will bring us one step closer to the
culmination of what human civilization has hoped and prayed about
for nearly a millennia.  The end of the war between our race and
the Cylon Empire.  That after a thousand yahrens of fighting, we
will at last know the reality of what has only been an alien
concept to all of us: the vision of living in a universe at
peace.  Where our energies can at long last be devoted to
achieving the full potential of our resources.
   For more than six sectars now, since Count Baltar of Piscera
first presented the stunning news to the rest of the Council of
Twelve that the Cylon Empire was prepared to sue for peace on
terms they had been implacably opposed to for hundreds of
yahrens, there has been an air of festive jubilation throughout
all of the twelve planets that I doubt no other living soul has
seen the likes of before.  It continues to rise with each passing
day that brings us closer to the moment that is now at hand.
When the combined Colonial Fleets constituting eight battlestars
will rendezvous with all baseships of the combined Cylon Fleets.
   The President's personal diplomatic ship, the Star Kobol, has
already been sent ahead to the rendezvous point to act as the
formal meeting site where the armistice will be signed.  Under
the terms agreed to through Count Baltar's negotiations,
President Adar will shuttle to the Star Kobol from the Atlantia,
as will the Cylon Imperious Leader from his baseship.  The treaty
shall be signed, and the thousand yahren war at last will be
over.
   It is a day we have all hoped and dreamed of seeing come to
pass in each of our lifetimes.  And yet, I find that as we are
but mere centars away from this great achievement, terrible
sensations of doubt and danger fill my heart.
   I remember how when Adar made the formal broadcast that an
agreement had been reached, he declared with pride that "humanity
is about to enter a golden age not seen since the days before the
Exodus of humanity from the mother planet Kobol to the twelve
worlds."
   Yet even as untold millions cheered that announcement, it
would have been wise to remember that the Golden Age of Kobol had
begun with such promise, and ended with great tragedy.  Our
forefathers had entered an age of no war, and the ability to
develop a technological society that promised to make all forms
of disease and injustice totally obsolete.  And with those
accomplishments had come a foolish pride in man's ability to
believe that he had conquered all of the obstacles that could be
thrown at him.  A belief that he alone was the master of the
universe, who had no further need of the sense of humility and
faith in the Almighty first laid down to us by the Lords of Kobol
at the dawn of creation.
   And then came following the Golden Age, the dark times that
led to the end of Kobollian civilization.  The slow death of
their sun and the gradual extinction of the mother world's
ability to sustain life.  The stubborn refusal of the Ninth Lord
to admit that his planet was dying, and that there was nothing he
could do to preserve his great power.  The deaths of so many
millions of innocent people before the ruling tribes took matters
into their own hands, and carried their people across the stars
to settle on the twelve worlds.  And how in an act of repentance
to God for the arrogance of their pride, they destroyed all the
technological knowledge of the civilization they had come from.
Forcing humanity to start afresh, and develop their new society
at a responsible pace.
   It has been said that today, in the seventh millennia of human
existence in the colonies, we are conceivably back to the very
levels of technological skill and achievement that were present
in the mother civilization.  The combination of that, in a new
era of peace, supposedly will lead to an even greater Golden Age.
   Yet I wonder.  I have seen enough of human arrogance in our
society to be reminded that we are equally capable of seeing the
same kind of corruption and foolish pride that destroyed Kobol
come down on ourselves as well.  And I remain haunted by the
thought that that sense of foolish pride in man's ability to
accomplish that which is impossible is what's really behind this
too-quick drive to accept the Cylon peace offering at face value.
   History has taught us for the last thousand yahrens that the
Cylons are a race that could never be trusted on anything.  Their
deceit and deception was what launched the thousand yahren war,
and because their soulless, robotic minds have scarcely changed
in all that time, it is difficult for me to comprehend that they
could have suddenly changed their ways overnight as the result of
the military setbacks they suffered following the Battle of
Molocay.
   Why then are we so quick to believe them and trust them?
   I fear that it may be the result of the very kind of
complacency and false pride in the human capability to achieve a
mythical Utopia that has driven Adar and the rest of us.  We all
yearn to be part of a new Golden Age for ourselves where there is
no limit to what we can do and achieve in terms of material
success and tranquility.  We have known that without peace, we
can not begin to have any hopes of achieving that lofty goal for
ourselves.  And so, when a possibility of peace is now presented
to us, we become quick to accept it, because it brings us closer
to that vision of Colonial civilization that we want so much.
   Is it possible that this desire to achieve something that
proved too much for our forefathers to handle, will somehow
result in the very destruction of all that we have accomplished,
as surely as it did for them?
   This remains my greatest worry as the hour fast approaches....

                      Chapter One

   The volume of traffic coming in and out of the Caprica City
Aerodrome was ordinarily quite heavy.  More than 1000 space
transports and sky buses were known to use the facility each day
bringing vast numbers people to and from the various twelve
planets of the colonies.  So heavy had the volume become in the
last ten yahrens, that a large number of renovations had been
made to the complex in order to keep up with the demand, and it
seemed as if there would be no end to the renovation process, as
more advanced transports were developed.
   As night slowly came over Caprica City though, the activity at
the Aerodrome was anything but normal.  Few transports were
leaving this evening, because it seemed as if the entire
population of Caprica wanted to stay home and take part in the
celebrations that were only centars away from erupting in full
force.  The deserted atmosphere was enough to annoy any of the
personnel on duty at the Aerodrome, all of whom would have
preferred to be at home celebrating themselves.
   The Aerodrome itself was divided into two distinct sections,
one for civilian traffic, the other for military traffic.
Civilian forces of Caprican Security were in charge of operations
for the former, while Colonial Security forces handled all
matters on the other side.  While entry to the civilian wing of
the Aerodrome was totally unobstructed, the military entrance was
scrupulously guarded by Colonial Security at all times by two men
who would check the credentials of everyone desiring entry before
letting them pass.
   At this particular moment, the two guards on duty at the main
entrance found that they'd been spending almost all of their
shift looking impatiently at their chronometers instead of
checking credentials.
   "Three more centars," Sergeant Danzig mused aloud, "I get the
feeling it's going to seem more like three yahrens."
   His partner, Sergeant Ortega snorted in disgust, "At least
you'll be out of here in three centars.  I have to stay on and
cover for Leffler."
   Danzig looked at his curly-haired, blonde partner in
amazement, "Now why in Hades did you agree to that?"
   "Because I need an extra eight centars pay," Ortega didn't
look back at him.
   "I see," Danzig nodded as he instantly understood, "How much
did you lose at the chancery this time?"
   "None of your fracking business!" Ortega snapped, and refused
to say anything else.
   Typical, Danzig thought.  He'd worked with Ortega for several
sectars and he'd never met a more dislikable person.  The blonde
sergeant seemed to have a perpetual chip on his shoulder about
things that made him perpetually surly and unpleasant.  From what
little he'd been able to learn about his partner, he knew that
Ortega was virtually friendless and more apt to spend his spare
time gambling his salary away in the various chanceries
throughout Caprica City.  Reportedly, Ortega was thousands of
cubits in debt as a result of his heavy gambling.  He had also
been known to get into fistfights with other warriors in Caprica
City bars, and as a result had received several demerits on his
record that had kept him from being assigned to flight duty,
where warriors earned much higher pay, and the opportunity to be
promoted to officer status.
   Small wonder then, that on the night when just about every
other person on the planet and in all of the colonies would be
home with their loved ones celebrating, a person like Ortega
would find himself working instead.
   Wanting to get away from his dislikable partner, Danzig said,
"I'm going inside for a micron for some hot java.  Want some?"
   "No thanks," Ortega still didn't look at him, "Not unless
you've spiked it with Sagitarian brandy."
   The older sergeant shook his head in disgust and stepped
inside the building that lined the perimeter of the Aerodrome's
military entrance.
   As Ortega continued to stand on guard, the blonde sergeant was
startled when he saw a hovermobile travelling at excess speed up
the road that led to the military entrance.
   Boy, this guy acts like he's in a hurry, he thought as he
moved into position to wait for the vehicle to come to a stop
alongside him.  It was a sleek, expensive model of hovermobile
that had the air of importance all over it.  Definitely the kind
of vehicle that would take Ortega a lifetime of service to be
able to afford.  Which was one reason why he felt driven to
gamble as much as he did.
   For a brief instant, Ortega wondered if the hovermobile was
going to ignore the checkpoint altogether and speed past him.  If
that happened, the forcefield barrier would kick into effect and
turn the expensive hovermobile into a pile of junk.  He finally
let out a sigh of relief when he heard the whooshing sound of the
air brake being applied, and the vehicle abruptly came to a stop.
   Ortega came up to the driver side window and peered in,
"Identification?"
   Under the floodlights, the sergeant could easily see the face
of the driver.  He seemed to be in his mid-thirties, with salt
and pepper hair and slightly thick eyebrows.  His clothing was
civilian, but reminded Ortega of the kind of expensive cuts of
tunics he'd seen in the downtown shop windows in Caprica City.
   The man hastily pulled out a golden colored badge, and
Ortega's eyebrows went up when he instantly recognized in the
bottom corner, the formal symbol of the Council of Twelve.
   "Charybdis, personal pilot to Count Baltar of the Council of
Twelve," his voice sounded slightly out-of-breath and anxious,
"The Count's shuttle is standing by on the landing strip.  I'm
supposed to fly him back to the Atlantia so he can take part in
the Armistice ceremony."
   "I don't care who you are pal, I have to run you through the
normal check.  Give me a centon to call the Control Center and
confirm that."
   Ortega had barely moved a foot away from the hovermobile when
the man suddenly called out with great urgency, "The Count is
already delayed too much as it is!" he said, "In another twenty
centons time, we won't be able to catch up with the Fleet.
You'll have much to answer for if you cause the man who
negotiated the treaty with the Cylons to miss the ceremony!"
   "That doesn't mean felgercarb to me, pal.  I've got my
orders."
   "Would five hundred cubits make a difference?"
   Ortega stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around, looking
at the man called Charybdis with interest.  He was holding out
several bills of currency that Ortega right away recognized as
hundred cubit bills.
   "Just let me through now and it's yours," the man said.
   Ortega felt a sensation of exhilaration and disbelief go
through him.  That would literally pay off half his gambling debt
right away.
   "Okay pal," he said as he took the bills from the man's hand
and stuffed them in the hip pocket of his uniform pants, "Go
right ahead."
   Ortega pressed the button that deactivated the forcefield of
the checkpoint barrier.  The hovermobile started up again and
roared off in the direction of the landing strip.
   The hovermobile disappeared from view just as the door to the
building opened and Danzig re-emerged.
   "I heard a hovermobile pull up," he said, "Who was it?"
   Ortega looked at his partner and smirked, "Who else?  Someone
anxious to do a lot of partying tonight."
   Danzig's expression grew quizzical, "His ID check out?"
   "He showed me what he had to," Ortega kept smirking as he
moved away from him and went back into position.


   Charybdis pulled his hovermobile off onto the auxiliary lane
adjacent to the Aerodrome landing strip.  He could see the
shuttlecraft already in position, waiting as it had been doing
for the last several centars, for him to return.
   Charybdis got out and didn't even bother to remove the control
key from the hovermobile's ignition.  He already knew that he
wouldn't be using the vehicle ever again.  He sprinted onto the
landing strip tarmac, and went up the hatchway that had been left
open.
   As he made his way up to the cockpit, he could see that his
lone passenger had been sitting in the co-pilot's seat with an
impatient aura.  The passenger was a middle-age man in his early
fifties with a slightly receding hairline, and dressed in the
formal white robes of a Council member.
   "My apologies, Count Baltar," Charybdis said as he settled in
to the pilot's seat, "There were some minor delays but it's all
been taken care of."
   "You're sure of that?" Count Baltar demanded in a low tone of
voice.
   "Absolutely," the pilot was emphatic, "Your clearance code as
a member of the Council was all that I needed to get in.  The one
guard on duty was no trouble at all in eliminating."
   "No chance of his disappearance being discovered?"
   Charybdis shook his head, "The entire complex is like a ghost
city with everyone preparing for the celebrations.  His relief
isn't due until 0800 tomorrow morning.  By then, it will make no
difference.  And even if someone does show up beforehand, it will
be all but impossible to undo the virus I programmed.  Rest
assured Baltar, the defensive scanners and screens for all of the
twelve planets are quite inactive right now."
   "Including Picsera?" he looked at him with concern.
   "The only way to program an effective shutdown, was to include
all of the planets, sir," Charybdis said, "Not that that should
make any difference."
   "You're right," Baltar nodded, "Our agreement is quite clear
on that matter.  At any rate, from this point on, it enters a new
phase."
   The pilot started up the switches that moved the shuttle into
a takeoff position.  Within centons, the diplomatic craft was off
the surface of Caprica, on a course heading for the Colonial
Fleet and its impending rendezvous with the Cylon forces.


   "....And now with the signing of the Armistice only mere
centars away, the level of anticipation and excitement throughout
all of Caprica has been steadily rising.  Caprican Security
forces anticipate crowds as high in the hundreds of thousands to
line the streets of downtown Caprica City when the moment of
peace finally comes, and a sound of celebration and joy never
before heard in the annals of Colonial history.
   "The Broadcast Network of Caprica will begin live coverage of
the ceremonies direct from the Presidium at 0100 this morning.
This reporter will be on hand to provide you with details on all
of the preparations leading up to the instant when a thousand
yahrens of conflict between humans and Cylons finally comes to an
end.
   "This concludes tonight's broadcast of the BNC Evening
Report."
   The light shining on the stunningly attractive female news
anchor went off, indicating that they were off the air.  She rose
from her seat and let out a sigh of relief.
   "Congratulations Serina," the technical operations chief
Heller, smiled and flashed a thumbs-up sign, "The last Evening
Report to air during wartime."
   "It's still so hard to believe," Serina said as she gathered
some of the papers lying on the table, "I don't know if I'm going
to be able to keep my composure when it comes time to broadcast
from the Presidium."
   "You'd better," Heller noted, "As Caprica's most popular news
anchor, you're going to be the guide for millions and millions of
Capricans watching the ceremonies.  Not to mention all the
Gemonese who like to look in on our signal because of you."
   "This is the one night of my life I wish I was a non-entity,"
Serina brushed back a lock of her dark brown hair that fell to
her waist, "That way I could just spend the night enjoying the
proceedings with Boxey."
   The operations chief came up to her and took her hand in a
friendly, fraternal gesture, "You and Boxey are welcome to have
dinner at my house, and relax a bit before we have to report for
duty again.  My wife always enjoys having you both over."
   She shook her head with regret, "I'd love to Heller, but I
have to get to an important appointment right now.  I have a
feeling it's going to take up all my time before I report to the
Presidium."
   "What kind of appointment?" he frowned.
   Serina hesitated slightly, "It's....something personal,
Heller.  I'm afraid I can't mention it."
   "Anything wrong?" an edge of concern entered his voice.  He'd
always envisioned himself as a kind of father-figure to her.
   "I just can't say, right now," she said with finality, "Maybe
tomorrow, or next sectan, after all the festivities die down."
   Heller decided not to press the matter, "Okay, Serina.  But
remember, whenever you need help, I'm always available."
   "That's kind of you, Heller," she smiled back in gratitude as
she placed all of her things in her shoulder bag, "See you
later."
   Serina left the main studio and walked down to the turbo-lift
at the end of the hallway, which would take her down to where her
personal hovermobile was waiting.  Ordinarily, she had a driver
assigned to her by the BNC to take her to and from work, but on
this evening, she had given her driver the night off so he could
spend time with his family, and also because she didn't want
anyone else to know about where she was going now.
   Serina took her hovermobile out of the Broadcast Center's
parking complex and eased it on to the Caprican City streets.  To
her relief, there was little traffic at the moment.  Along each
street, she could see that large banners reading PEACE had
already been put into place in anticipation of what was to come.
   After she had gone several blocks, Serina pulled her
hovermobile into the darkened parking lot of the Caprica City
Medical Annex, where a large cross-section of physicians from
both the Caprican Medical Center and the independent
practitioners maintained their private offices.  The building was
all but dark, except for a light in one corner window on the
fifth floor.  She knew right away that was where Dr. Maxson's
office was located, and where she'd be keeping her appointment.
   The reason she had chosen this particular evening for her
appointment was because she knew that the Medical Annex would be
completely deserted, and she could be assured that no one would
be around to recognize her and ask any questions about what
Caprica's most famous news anchor was doing there.
   Serina stopped her hovermobile and before exiting, activated
the automatic tele-com her vehicle was furnished with.  After a
half-centon's wait, she heard a middle-aged female voice answer.
   "Hello?"
   "Thalia, it's me," Serina said, "I just wanted you to know
that I'm going to be late picking up Boxey.  I hope you don't
mind."
   "Not a bit," Serina's next-door neighbor said with her
customary cheeriness.  She literally adored Serina's six-yahren
old son the way a favorite aunt would, which was why Serina was
always grateful she had Thalia to turn to, whenever her work
would take her away from home, "That boy and his daggit never
cause any trouble for me.  Right now, we're about to have another
go-round at table ball."
   "He's a terror at that," Serina smiled, "Just make sure he's
bathed and dressed right for the ceremonies.  I'll call you again
when I'm on my way over."
   "Okay Serina.  See you then."
   Serina put her telecom back in its slot in the hovermobile and
sighed with a slight air of relief.  Thalia's dedication to
looking after Boxey whenever she needed someone to, was one of
the few things she knew she could really count on.  Thalia was a
middle-aged widow who had never had children of her own, and
always looked on that as the biggest regret of her life.  It was
little wonder that when Serina moved into the house next to her's
in the Caprica City suburbs, that Thalia was anxious to extend a
hand of friendship to Serina and her little boy.
   Well, Serina thought to herself as she entered the empty lobby
of the Medical Annex and went over to the turbo lift, if this
turns out to be what I think it's going to be, I'm going to have
an even bigger reason for being grateful I have a friend like
Thalia.
   The turbo-lift took her up to the fifth floor.  When she got
out, she saw a darkened and empty reception area, where the only
light came from a tiny crack under the door at the end of the
hallway, which led to the office of Dr. Maxson, her personal
physician of the last two yahrens.  Maxson was one of the doctors
at the Annex who was an independent practitioner, as opposed to
being associated with the Caprican Medical Center, and that was
the only kind of doctor Serina would ever associate herself with.
Seven yahrens ago, during the difficult time leading up to
Boxey's birth, she had gone through an unpleasant experience with
the Caprican Medical Center staff and had vowed never to get help
from there again.  She much preferred the intimacy of dealing
with an independent practitioner.
   Serina found herself taking her steps toward the door with
slow, hesitation, as if somehow it could stave off the dreaded
news she was expecting to hear ever since Maxson had first
dropped his not-so-subtle hint during her physical check-up two
sectans earlier.
   She lightly tapped on the door, "Dr. Maxson, it's Serina."
   Serina could hear a shuffling noise from inside, and then a
firm voice say, "Come right in, Serina."
   The BNC news anchor stepped forward and the doors slid open.
Maxson's office was typical of most Caprican doctors who had
achieved moderate, but not spectacular success as an independent
practitioner.
   Dr. Maxson was a reasonably pleasant looking man in his late
thirties, who's only noticeable vice was his propensity for
smoking fumarello cigars.  The smell of his office indicated that
this was the place where he liked to indulge in his passion,
since Serina knew how strict the medical codes were about smoking
in any place where direct medical treatment was performed.
   Right away, Serina noticed that Maxson's ordinarily cheerful
visage seemed much more grave than usual, and she could feel her
sense of inner dread only increase.
   "Hello Serina," he said, and she instantly noticed how his
voice matched expression, "Thank you for coming."
   "You said you'd finished running all your tests, when you
called me yesterday," Serina decided not to waste time, "Dr.
Maxson, in my profession I'm a firm believer in cutting through
all the preliminaries and getting right to the point.  Tell me
exactly what all those headaches I've been having for the last
two sectars mean."
   The doctor took a breath and it seemed as though he didn't
want to say the obvious, "Serina, I....I don't know how to tell
you this but...."
   "I'm dying, aren't I?" she bluntly cut in.
   Maxson seemed to flush in embarrassment, "Serina....I ran your
brain scan results about a hundred times, and it clearly
indicates a malignant tumor.  I...I wish I could tell you it
wasn't, but...."
   "How long do I have?" Serina remained stoic and blunt.
   The doctor bit his lip, "Serina, if you'll let me finish.  I
can get you started in a radon therapy program that might be able
to do something about it..."
   "Dr. Maxson," her voice grew cold, "How long do I have?"
   "Untreated, we're talking about six sectars, maybe a yahren,"
Maxson tried to put some reassurance back into his voice, "But as
I was trying to say, with a radon therapy program under my
supervision, there's a chance it can be treated and change all
that."
   "Radon therapy," she repeated his words with indifference,
"I've read about that.  Almost two sectars of constant
hospitalization and treatment."
   "It offers a chance, Serina," Maxson said, "I can't guarantee
total recovery if you do it, but it's the only option you have."
   "What sort of percentage are we talking about?" Serina refused
to let up, "Five percent?  Ten?"
   "Twenty actually," the doctor put a hand on her shoulder,
"Look Serina, I know it means a lot of sacrifice on your part,
but it's the only way."
   The reporter calmly exhaled, "I'd have to literally bankrupt
myself to get that kind of treatment.  That kind of therapy costs
a thousand cubits a day at least."
   "Serina," he said, "Your first concern shouldn't be over how
much money this is going to cost.  You have to think about your
health first, and about whether or not Boxey is going to be
without the only parent he's ever had.  If you take this
treatment, you have a chance.  If you don't take it, you will
die."
   "But if it's a gamble I take that doesn't pay off, then I
leave my son without a parent and financial security," she said,
"Two sectars of unsuccessful treatment and I end up losing all
the money I've set aside for him," she took a breath, "I'm not
sure that kind of risk is worth it."
   "Come on Serina," he said, "You can't mean that.  Your first
obligation to Boxey is to try and beat this thing, no matter what
the cost."
   Serina didn't respond.  She absently moved away from him,
folded her arms and looked out at the lights of Caprica City.
   "How ironic," she sighed, "We're about to enter a new era of
peace where all kinds of opportunities will be available for us,
and I won't be around to enjoy any of it."
   "That doesn't have to be the case," Maxson came up to her,
"Serina, please.  You can't give up on a chance to live."
   Serina didn't say anything for more than a minute as she
continued to look at the night lights, gleaming on all the
pyramid shaped towers of the downtown section.
   Finally, she let out a reluctant sigh as though she were
accepting the inevitable, "When could I begin treatment?"
   "In less than a sectan," Maxson said, "I can make it very
discreet.  You only need to show up at my clinic for daily
treatment, without having to stay there full-time."
   She turned around and smiled weakly, "Well....that way I could
keep working."
   "You know I can accommodate you on that a lot better than the
Caprican Medical Center can."
   "I know that," she nodded, "Look um....I think I need to spend
a couple days talking this thing over with some people, and I
won't get a chance to do that until after I finish covering all
the news relating to the Armistice.  Can you wait until then?"
   "Absolutely," the doctor sounded relieved, "Whenever it's
convenient for you to start, Serina."
   "I'll get back to you later," she picked up her bag, "I have
to pick up Boxey and get down to the Presidium."
   "I'll be watching," Maxson said, "Goodnight Serina."
   "Goodnight Doctor," there was an air of sad resignation in her
voice, "I'll be in touch soon."
   As soon as she was alone in the hallway, the popular news
anchor who had achieved so much fame and success in only four
yahrens closed her eyes and slammed her fist against the wall.
   "Frack," she said aloud in a low whisper, "Frack, felgercarb
and shit."
   And then, knowing she had to summon all of her professional
instincts to the forefront for the job that lay ahead, she
straightened herself and took the turbo-lift back down to the
ground level.


   Far away from the activity taking place on Caprica and the
rest of the twelve planets, the presidential craft Star Kobol
was waiting at the rendezvous site where the Colonial and Cylon
Fleets would come together for the signing of the Armistice
ending the thousand yahren hostility.
   The Star Kobol was ordinarily manned by a crew of more than
one hundred, which chiefly came from the personal staff of
President Adar, the Council's ruling head.  For now though, with
most of Adar's staff aboard the Battlestar Atlantia with the
President, the Star Kobol only had a skeleton crew operating, as
they waited for both Fleets to arrive.
   With the rendezvous more than several centars away, the
captain of the Council Ship was spending her time making causal
rounds of the activity on the bridge.  She was determined not to
let any of the excitement over the pending Armistice ceremony,
and the fact that both the President and the Cylon Imperious
Leader would be on board the ship to sign the treaty, distract
any of her crew from their responsibilities.
   She suddenly noticed a frown come over the face of the
communications officer, who put his hand to his earpiece and then
slowly removed it.
   "Something wrong?" the captain asked.
   "I don't understand it," the communications officer said, "All
of a sudden we've got indications of some heavy electrical
jamming on all of the bands."
   "Jamming?" the captain lifted an eyebrow and knelt over the
console, "From what?"
   "Unknown.  Can't tell at this point if it's some magnetic ion
storm or whether it's....deliberate."
   "Captain," the duty officer suddenly spoke up, "Scanner
indicates large number of contacts heading this way."
   "What kind of contacts?" the captain made her way over to the
other side of the bridge.
   "Can't tell yet.....no wait a micron.  Preliminary scan
indications are that they're definitely Cylon fighters."
   "That's not possible," the captain frowned, "The rendezvous
isn't scheduled for at least another two centars.  They shouldn't
be here now.  Can you raise them?"
   "Negative, Captain," the communications officer said with an
edge of concern, "Too much interference going on."
   "Activate main viewing screen."
   The duty officer flicked a switch and the large bridge monitor
came on.  Slowly, the bridge personnel could see the indistinct
shapes in the distance become steadily larger, until they finally
recognized the circular, curved contours of Cylon fighters.
   "What in the name of Kobol is this about?" the captain mused
aloud.
   Before any of her subordinates could utter a response, they
were all horrified to see telltale blue streaks emerge from the
fighters, aimed directly at them, which then crashed into the
hull of the Star Kobol with massive force.


   It took less than ten centons for the shuttlecraft carrying
both Charybdis and Baltar to put Caprica and the rest of the
colonies behind them, and assume a fast-track course that would
take them to the position of the Colonial Combined Fleet, where
eight battlestars were gathered in preparation for the moment of
rendezvous with the Cylons.
   "Tell me something Charybdis," Baltar said out loud, "Was
there one micron where you almost considered not going through
with the operation?"
   The pilot didn't look at him.
   "I would appreciate some honesty, Charybdis," Baltar said with
gentle reproach.
   Finally, the pilot who had come to admire Baltar in the same
way that a son would for a father, forced himself to look at the
Council member.
   "I won't lie about it, Baltar," he said, "Sitting in front of
that computer terminal made me wonder for a micron if I should
have been broadcasting a warning signal to all of the colonies,
instead of programming the sabotage of their defense systems."
   "Which would have accomplished absolutely nothing but the
signing of your own death warrant, Charybdis," Baltar's voice
grew blunt, "The only way any of us can survive is totally uphold
our end of the bargain."
   "It's still not an easy thing for any human being to do," he
said, "Especially since it's the greatest possible crime any
human is capable of committing."
   The Council member suddenly flashed a somewhat malevolent grin
and began to chuckle, "Oh my dear Charybdis, you must learn not
to think of things in terms of outmoded concepts of so-called
morality.  The only code any human being can follow is the one of
pure, unadulterated pragmatism, where he must weigh only the
advantages to himself that he might be able to gain.  Given the
situation as it exists, the only choice any of us have is to take
the path we have all followed.  And the end result will bring
many rewards for us."
   The pilot slowly nodded with an inevitable air, "You're right
sir."
   "Of course I am," Baltar said with self-confidence, as he
looked ahead and saw the shapes of the Colonial battlestars come
into view in the distance, "It won't be long now.  Radio the
Atlantia."
   Charybdis nodded and flicked a switch, "Atlantia core command,
this is Gamma 4 shuttle, bearing Count Baltar of Piscera for the
Council meeting.  Request immediate landing clearance."
   "Affirmative Gamma 4 shuttle," a female voice responded, "You
are cleared to land in Beta Bay."
   "Thank you, Atlantia," the pilot said and flicked the switch
off.
   As the presidential battlestar drew closer, Baltar's
expression and tone grew deadly serious, "Let's go over the
procedure one last time.  Are you listening?"
   "Perfectly sir," he nodded.
   "Very well.  You are to stay in the shuttle for the entire
time, with the engines programmed for emergency launch the micron
I return.  Under no circumstances do you leave the shuttle or
show yourself to anyone at any time.  I will give you the
coordinates for the rendezvous point after I return."
   "Understood," Charybdis nodded.
   Baltar looked around and took in the sight of the eight
battlestars that now surrounded them.
   "Behold the mighty Colonial Fleet," he said aloud, "Look on it
well, my dear Charybdis.  After today, it's like shall never be
seen again."

                  Chapter Two

   Of the eight battlestars that comprised the combined Colonial
Fleet, the Battlestar Atlantia had the distinction of being both
the oldest, and perhaps the most renowned and beloved of all
Colonial warships.  The Atlantia, along with her long-destroyed
sister ship the Pacifica, had been the first battlestar class
ships constructed after the outbreak of the thousand yahren war
with the Cylon Empire and had proudly carried the Colonial colors
in more than 3000 major battles.  Over time, as newer battlestars
were constructed, the Atlantia's role as a lead combat ship had
become more diminished to the point where she had become more of
a ceremonial command ship that provided little more than
tactical, screening support on the rare occasions when she still
went into battle.  Even so, the Atlantia's proud legacy was
admired by each succeeding generation of humanity, and many young
warriors always considered it a high honor to serve aboard her.
   It was only fitting in the eyes of everyone, that President
Adar, the elected ruler of the Council of Twelve, had chosen the
Atlantia as his base of operations for the conference that would
at last bring the thousand yahren war to an end.  Once the
Armistice was signed and hostilities ceased, the Atlantia was
slated for decommissioning, where it would be turned into a
military museum permanently berthed on Adar's home planet of
Gemon.  Even now, the ceremony for when the venerable battlestar
would be removed from active military service had become the
first much-anticipated event of the peacetime era.
   As President Adar rose from his seat at the head of the
Council table in the Atlantia's Conference Room, he found himself
looking over his eleven fellow members of the Council of Twelve
with a distinct sense of pride that he was about to be making his
speech about the momentous occasion that lay at hand.  By far,
this event, and this day, would represent the capstone of his
stellar career, that had included two terms as President of the
Gemonese civil government, eighteen yahrens as Gemon's delegate
to the Council of Twelve, and the last six as President.  He
could now look ahead to stepping down, and enjoying the rest of
his days in contented retirement in his mansion in the Gemonese
mountains.  Secure in the knowledge that his passionate
commitment to the principles of justice, freedom and peace had
made a genuine difference in the course of human civilization.
   A hush came over the other eleven members of the Council, as
they waited to hear Adar speak.  Each member represented his own
native colony in setting national policy for the entire Colonial
nation, and in addition to providing each colony with an equal
voice, was comprised of a diverse cross-section of various
interest groups.  The merchant class, the labor class, the
wealthy elites, the judicial class, and the military.  When the
Council of Twelve had been established 2000 yahrens ago, after
the twelve planets had chosen to unite under one national
government, the Charter of Governance had stated that active
members of the military could not serve on the body.  The
outbreak of war with the Cylons a thousand yahrens later, led to
a realization that the military was entitled to have a voice on
the body, so the Charter had been amended to allow a maximum of
two military members to serve on the Council.
   The military's representation on the present Council came from
the delegates of Aquarius and Caprica, both of whom were active
battlestar commanders.  From Aquarius, it was Commander Fairfax
of the Battlestar Columbia.  From Caprica, it was Commander Adama
of the Battlestar Galactica.
   Unlike the other members seated at the council table, the aura
of festivity and good cheer did not seem to shine too brightly on
the faces of either Fairfax or Adama, and Adar made a mental note
to speak to the both of them later about it.  He had a tendency
to think of all of the members the way a father might for his
children, and was always determined to see to it that every one
of them was left satisfied by any of his Council decrees, or by
any of the resolutions he pushed through the body.
   "Noble delegates," he began in that soft, gentle tone of voice
that had made him an endearing figure throughout his political
career, "I realize you are all anxious to get back to your ships
before our rendezvous with the Cylons.  But I think it
appropriate to toast the most significant event in the history of
mankind."
   Adar paused slightly as he lifted his elegantly designed
crystal chalice, which was filled with his favorite vintage of
Gemonese ambrosia, and cast his eyes across the table so that he
could look over each member of the Council.
   "I would like to raise my chalice....to you.  Not merely as
the Quorum of Twelve, representing the twelve colonies of man,
but as my friends.  The greatest leaders ever assembled."
   At one end of the table, Commander Fairfax found himself
summoning a good deal of inner reserve to keep from letting out
an inappropriate chuckle.  Greatest leaders indeed, he thought.
Seven yahrens on the Council, in addition to his regular duties
as Commander of the Colonial Seventh Fleet, had left him with a
low opinion of virtually all of his colleagues.  Unlike himself
or Adama, who had won their seats thanks to their distinguished
military records, most of the non-military members on the Council
struck him as the kind of men who had bought their way into power
through less than honest methods.
   It certainly did not help matters that the one member of the
Council who was about to receive most of the accolades from Adar,
was the one who repelled Fairfax the most.
   "As we approach the seventh millennia of time in Colonial
civilization," Adar went on, "the human race will at last know
peace.  Thanks to you."
   "To peace," there was a general murmur from the members as
they downed their glasses.
   "And of course," the President said, as he motioned slightly
to the Council member at his immediate left, "A special
recognition is owed to our brother, Count Baltar of Piscera.
Who's tireless efforts these past six sectars, have been
invaluable in bringing us to this momentous occasion."
   Several of the civilian members of the Council began to
instinctively clap in approval.  To keep himself from joining in,
Fairfax brought his chalice back up to his lips to take another
sip of ambrosia.  He had no intention of ever applauding Baltar
for any reason.
   At the other side of the table, Commander Adama's sense of
dignity forced him to join in the applause in a restrained
manner.  Inside though, he felt the same conflicting feelings
going through his fellow Council member and fellow battlestar
commander.
   Whoever would have thought, Adama said to himself, that a man
who'd been thrown out of the Colonial Military Academy for
cheating on exams; a man who became the wealthiest merchant in
the colonies through God only knows what kind of graft and
corruption, is the one History will remember for bringing about
the treaty of peace with the Cylons.
   There was something about the whole thing that made Adama feel
so leery and ill-at-ease.  But then again, he knew that it wasn't
just the fact that Baltar had been responsible for negotiating
the treaty.  Even if it had been a skilled diplomat that he
respected, he knew that his feelings of unease would probably be
just as great.
   Instantly, his thoughts turned to his wife Ila, and how he
wished she were with him at that moment to offer a word of
reassurance.  He truly could admit to himself that the only time
his mind had been at peace in the six sectars since the Armistice
had been announced, had been during his last furlong on Caprica
when the entire family had been there.  When Adama could be
reminded of how the end of hostilities would finally enable him
to come home for good, and make up for all the yahrens that Ila
had been forced to endure with him away from home.
   Ila, he said to himself as the formal part of the meeting came
to an end, and the Council members started to rise from their
chairs, I wish I were with you tonight.  But it won't be much
longer now.


   At that particular moment, the subject of Commander Adama's
thoughts was sitting on the back porch of their elaborate house
on the western seashore of Caprica, with its breathtaking view of
both the ocean, and the winding coastline that extended back more
than fifty kilometers.  Night had already fallen, and Ila always
enjoyed coming out to look at the lights of the quaint resort
towns going on along the coastline to the north, while taking in
the fragrant breeze that rolled off the ocean.
   On this night, the night when there would be unprecedented
celebration, the tiny points of light representing the seaside
towns had some serious competition.  This time, Ila could see the
glowing orbs of numerous sailing vessels taking up position off
the coast, where they would soon set off large amounts of
fireworks to signify the precise instant when word of the war's
formal end came through.
   And then it will all be over, she sighed as she brushed back a
lock of her blonde hair that had gone slightly silver in the last
several yahrens.  And at long last, Adama comes home for good.
   She and Adama had been married for more than thirty-five
yahrens.  In every sense of the word it had been a happy
marriage.  So happy that it always brought a sense of envy to the
people who knew them.  When they'd met, Adama had been only two
yahrens out of the Colonial Military Academy, serving as an
Ensign aboard the Battlestar Cerberus, while she was a first
yahren instructor at the Caprican Fine Arts Institute, where she
specialized in both Music and Drama.  Right away, they had
discovered that they were a perfect match for each other.  Not
just because there was an intense physical attraction between the
dashing, black-haired warrior and the beautiful blonde teacher.
That had certainly existed from the outset, but it had taken the
element of intellectual attraction to make them both realize that
they were meant for each other.  They were both highly gifted
people, well-learned in a broad range of subjects who were
capable of conversing on just about any topic for centars on-end.
It was through those conversations they'd first shared that Ila
realized that Adama was not the kind of man who might insist on
seeing his wife assume a role of total subordination and
dependency on him, while Adama had realized that Ila possessed
such a headstrong quality that would make her fully capable of
handling the inherent difficulty of being married to a combat
warrior who would have to spend most of his time away from home.
   Their thirty-five yahren marriage had produced three children.
First had come a son, Apollo, followed by a daughter, Athena, and
then seven yahrens later another son, Zac.  Even though Ila had
been forced to take on the difficult burden of raising her
children almost singlehandedly for so many yahrens, the three of
them had all grown-up idolizing their father and had chosen to
follow in his footsteps by going into military service.  And now,
the three of them now served with their father aboard his ship,
the Battlestar Galactica.
   Occasionally, Ila had felt a sense of disappointment within
her that none of her children had chosen to follow in her
footsteps, with a career in the arts or in teaching, and had all
been quick to embrace their father's profession.  It had taken a
considerable amount of soul-searching and reflecting for her to
realize that the fact they'd all done that, meant that she had
succeeded in the more important task of making their father's
presence real to them during all the times that Adama had been
away when they were growing up.  Ila had been determined from the
outset to not let Adama's long absences make him a stranger to
the children during those precious times when he did come home,
and that had meant impressing on all three of them, an
understanding of how important and special their father's kind of
work was.  Over time, she could look back and realize that the
decisions of Apollo, Athena, and Zac was as much a tribute to
her, as it was to Adama.  As he had told her once, "They might
idolize me Ila, but only you could have made that possible."
   As the children grew older and assumed more responsibility
over their lives, Ila had gradually turned her restless intellect
to areas that went beyond her work in teaching and the arts.  She
had branched out into politics, serving two terms on the Caprica
City General Council, and then was appointed to fill an unexpired
term in the Caprican Presidium, the main legislative body that
governed the entire planet's affairs, where she helped pass
important legislation that led to the restoration of several
historic landmarks on the planet.  She could have easily stayed
on in the body and won election to a full term in her own right.
But Ila had by then grown weary of the world of politics and
decided to retire back to the house she and Adama had purchased
more than twenty-five yahrens ago, just before Apollo's birth
when they had decided a house would be better than a downtown
Caprica City apartment for raising a family.
   Ila now devoted her time to her first loves, writing (she had
already had several plays published and performed by local
theater companies) reading, and music.  She approached them with
an intensity that made her not miss teaching or politics at all.
   The only thing left in her life that she desperately wanted,
to lend it a sense of completion, was waiting for Adama to retire
so the two of them could spend the rest of their days together
making up for lost time.  Once she had that experience, she would
regard her life as fulfilled in every sense of the word.
   Soon, she whispered to herself.  In only a sectar, it would
finally happen.  At long last, I'll finally have you all to
myself.
   All to myself....
   She frowned slightly and wondered where it was she'd heard
that phrase before.  It had a peculiar ring of familiarity to it.
   Of course, she thought, poor Bethany.
   Her best friend from childhood, Bethany, had been Caprica's
most renowned stage actress.  She had also been the wife of the
most famous warrior in all the colonies, the legendary Commander
Cain of the Battlestar Pegasus, who's exploits as a war hero
literally put all other warriors past and present to shame.
Because of that, she'd been forced to go through the stigma of
dealing with an absent husband in the same way that Ila did.  But
on those occasions when Ila had caught up with her old friend,
who had singlehandedly juggled her career as a performer while
raising a daughter, she had always sensed that Bethany was having
far more trouble coping with the absences than she did.  A
perpetual look of sadness always seemed to line her face, and the
only time it ever brightened was when Ila heard her go into an
almost rambling discourse about how she yearned for the day when
Cain would finally come home for good, and she could have him all
to herself.
   Three yahrens ago, she'd learned in horror that Bethany had
been stricken with a dread disease called Gamma Syndrome that
left her in a delirious incoherent state for more than sectan
before the release of death finally came.  Repeatedly, she'd
moaned for her husband to come to her, but Commander Cain, true
to habit, was off on a combat mission at the time, and didn't get
back until after his wife was gone.
   Barely a yahren after that, the legendary Cain was lost when
the entire Colonial Fifth Fleet disappeared without a trace at
the Battle of Molocay.
   Oh Bethany, Ila sighed, Why couldn't all this have happened
five yahrens sooner, for your sake?
   In the distance, she suddenly saw one brief trail of fireworks
go up into the sky.  She knew that someone on one of the little
boats moored off the coast had prematurely set one of them off.
The formal ceremony was still a good three centars away.
   Someone's anxious, she said to herself.  Just like me.
   At least she could feel content knowing that the days and
nights of loneliness for her were fast waning.


   Aboard the Battlestar Galactica, Ensign Zac was hurriedly
making his way into the Officers Bunkroom.  He was only four
sectars out of the Colonial Military Academy, and because the
peace talks had already begun at the time of his assignment to
the Galactica, he had yet to take part in any meaningful
assignments as a viper pilot.  Even though Zac was as anxious as
any other warrior to finally see the war come to an end, there
was a part of him that felt frustrated about not having been able
to show his worth as a warrior yet.  Especially when it came to
the one person he'd been trying to impress the most for many
yahrens.
   Right now, he had just one chance left before the rendezvous
with the Cylons to demonstrate that.  And he was determined to
take advantage of it.
   "Starbuck?" he said slightly out of breath as he entered,
"He's coming, what are you going to say?"
   Lieutenant Starbuck, who was out of uniform and smoking one of
his beloved fumarello cigars put a hand on Zac's shoulder, "Now
Zac, just calm down.  Why are you so nervous?"
   The black-haired ensign grimaced slightly, "You know Apollo.
He still thinks of me as his little brother.  The kid who always
annoyed him trying to emulate everything he did."
   "Well you're acting like that right now," Starbuck noted,
"Anyway, it's just a routine patrol to scan ahead and make sure
there isn't anything that might foul up the rendezvous.  Why is
it so important to you?"
   "Look," Zac drew up his shoulders, "I'm a warrior.  I earned
that.  I want to prove that to him.  Just once, I want to be able
to show him that I can handle these kinds of responsibilities.
From the day I told him I was going into the Academy, he's been
thinking that sooner or later, I wouldn't be able to handle it."
   Starbuck felt a sense of uneasiness come over him.  For over
five yahrens, he'd been the wingmate to Zac's elder brother
Captain Apollo, the commander of the Galactica's Blue Squadron
group, and was well-aware that the relationship between the two
siblings had not been particularly close.  In the last several
yahrens, he'd also become seriously involved with their sister
Athena, and had heard other firsthand accounts about the general
lack of closeness that existed between Apollo and Zac.
   "Look, uh Zac this may not be the best time---"
   "It's a peace envoy!" Zac protested, "We fly past the old
Cimtar moon, contact the Star Kobol for information, and then fly
back.  What possible trouble could there be?"
   "That's not the point---" Starbuck started.
   "Starbuck, you promised!"
   Just then, they heard the door slide open and saw that Captain
Apollo had entered.  Like Zac, Apollo had inherited the black
hair and facial characteristics of their father Commander Adama.
The only noticeable difference was that as a veteran of more than
six yahrens of combat duty, Apollo's face seemed more lined with
the maturity gained from combat experience.
   "Starbuck, what are you doing?" he frowned at his wingmate's
half-dressed state, "We're supposed to be going on patrol."
   "Well ah...." the light-haired lieutenant, who was ordinarily
filled with a boisterous, brash demeanor seemed at a loss for
words.
   "He can't make it," Zac suddenly spoke up, "Starbuck's not
feeling well."
   "Oh?" Apollo looked at Starbuck suspiciously.  The lieutenant
looked more as if he were preparing for an afternoon of total fun
and relaxation, as opposed to recuperating.
   "Yeah well, it's ahhh...." Starbuck trailed off and looked the
other way as he lightly tapped away the ash of his cigar.
   "Well that's kind of short notice," Apollo noted with more
than a hint of sarcasm as he kept looking away from Zac, "I mean
with everyone not wanting to go on this patrol, and wanting to
stay and celebrate the Armistice.  I wonder who I'm going to be
able to find?"
   Zac felt himself stiffening with more than just a trace of
anger inside.  Just like when they were kids, it always seemed as
if Apollo wanted to keep jerking him around about letting him
take part in all of his activities.
   "Apollo?" he calmly spoke up.
   "Oh.  Yes Zac?" Apollo looked at him slyly, "You have a
suggestion?"
   "Oh come on," he allowed a faint trace of exasperation to
escape, "I've studied all the coordinates from here to the Cylon
capital.  My ship's ready to go!"
   Apollo suddenly broke into a grin and patted him on the
shoulder, "Well that's lucky, isn't it Starbuck?"
   "Yeah," Starbuck matched it and nodded, "That's a real stroke
of luck."
   "Well brother," Apollo said, "I guess you'll have to pull
Starbuck's patrol."
   Zac looked at him as though he didn't believe his ears.  He
was so certain that Apollo would find a way to keep him from
going.  But on this occasion, his brother had finally given in.
   He impulsively let out a loud whoop of exhilaration and then,
looking as ecstatic as someone who'd just struck it rich, dashed
out of the Bunkroom.
   Apollo chuckled slightly and turned back to Starbuck, "Were we
ever like that?"
   "I don't know," Starbuck took another puff, "I can't remember
that far back."
   "Far back?" his best friend snorted, "Five yahrens is hardly
'far back'."
   "Not when you've been through as much as we have," Starbuck
said, "Listen, maybe I ought to go along after all."
   "No," Apollo shook his head, "I think he's going to be just
fine.  Probably time I give him a fair chance at flying anyway.
After all, it's not like we're still at war."


   "Section 12, Launch Bay Alpha, stand by to launch fighter
probe," the voice of Flight Corporal Rigel, stationed on the
bridge came through the helmets of both warriors.
   "Acknowledge input, recorded and functioning," Zac said as the
canopy of his ship locked into place.
   "Vector coordinates coded and transferred," Rigel continued
with the pre-flight check.
   "Acknowledged and ready to launch," Apollo said as his canopy
also sealed shut.
   "Core systems transferring control to probe craft.  Launch
when ready."
   And then, the two pilots powered up the systems of their
sleek, fighters.  Once all the lights came on, it was only a
matter of pressing the red button marked "Turbo" on the control
stick, and they would be thrust down the launch bay tubes and out
into the openness of space.
   Apollo was first.  Zac followed an instant later.
   For Apollo, the moment of emerging from the cramped confines
of the battlestar into the openness of space was something that
had ceased to amaze him after more than seven yahrens of active
duty.  But he knew that for a young flyer like Zac, it was
something that could produce a strange sensation of awe and
wonder.
   True enough, his younger brother was feeling that experience
as he looked about at the infinite number of stars that filled
his vision.
   "I forget how different it is out here," the young ensign
spoke up.
   "This is nothing," Apollo said, "There's an old celestial dome
on top of the Galactica's thrusters that gives you a view even
better than you get from here."
   "I thought all of those things were removed," his brother
slowly pulled up alongside him.
   "Apparently they've missed one during all the refits they've
made over the yahrens.  The equipment up there is in really bad
shape.  I'm thinking of spending some time restoring it."
   "For what?"
   "For what comes later," Apollo said, "Remember, once the war
is over, we can finally get back to deep star exploration.
That's the real challenge ahead of us, Zac.  That old dome could
come in real handy for that."
   Apollo would feel that way, Zac thought.  As good a warrior as
he knew his brother was, he'd always sensed that Apollo had only
joined the military out of a sense of duty.  If there had been no
war to fight, he felt certain that Apollo's path would have lain
elsewhere.  Star exploration, and studying ancient civilization
was something he'd always known appealed to him, just as it had
also appealed to their father.
   "Okay, let's head for Cimtar and check things out." Apollo
spoke up.
   The two of them hit their main turbo engines and hurtled far
away down the path that the Colonial Fleet would soon be
crossing.


   In the Atlantia's landing bay, Charybdis continued to sit
alone inside the shuttle with a mounting sense of impatience.
From his chronometer readings, there was going to be very little
time to spare.
   He wished he could have forgotten all about Baltar and just
left right now.  But he knew that his commander had already
anticipated that he would consider that idea, and that was why he
had kept the coordinates for where the safe zone would be to
himself.  The only guarantee that Charybdis had of surviving what
was coming, was to wait for Baltar to return and tell him where
to go.
   "Come on," he muttered aloud, "Hurry it up!"


   Several decks above in the Council Room, the members had
scattered about and were engaged in pleasant conversation with
one another.  All except for Adama, who stood off to one side
alone, in front of the view screen where the rest of the Fleet
filled his vision.
   He cast a glance back and saw to his distaste that Adar had
his arm around Baltar.
   "Baltar my friend," the president was saying, "This Armistice
would not have been possible without your tireless work.  You
have secured for yourself, a place in the history books."
   Baltar smiled and shrugged with an air of total modesty, "That
the Cylons chose me as their liaison to the Quorum of the Twelve
was an act of....Providence.  Not skill."
   A very strange twist of Providence, Adama noted with distaste.
Six sectars ago, Baltar had been conducting business in his
capacity as the Colonies leading merchant and trader, when the
merchant vessel he'd been on had run into a Cylon convoy and been
captured.  Only centars after the ship had been captured though,
the Cylons had released the vessel unharmed, and Baltar had
returned to the Council of Twelve to inform them that he had been
captured for the purpose of being told that the Cylons wanted to
sue for peace.
   Yet there had always been something too pat about the way the
Cylons had made their offer.  Why had they chosen such an
undistinguished member of the Council such as Baltar?  Why did
they simply not issue a direct communique to the President?  And
why hadn't Baltar turned over any transcripts of his
conversations with the Cylon representatives?
   It all had the feeling of something too good to be true from
Adama's perspective, as he saw Baltar and Adar shake hands
warmly.  The Piscean delegate then left the chamber, leaving Adar
and Adama as the only two left in the room.
   Slowly, the President came up to the Caprican delegate with a
look of regret, "I see the party is not a huge success with all
my children."
   Adama inwardly winced whenever he heard Adar resort to that
term.  As much as he liked and respected him, he could never
understand why the Council President had to think of himself as
some kind of benevolent patriarch leading all the colonies around
by his hand.
   The commander of the Galactica sighed and looked out the view
screen again, where the Columbia and the Ricon, which Adama had
served on in his younger days, loomed in the foreground.
   "What awaits us out there, is what troubles me," he said.
   Adar shook his head with the same air of paternal sadness,
"Surely you and Fairfax don't still cling to your suspicions
about the Cylons?"
   Adama lowered his head slightly.
   "Adama, they asked for this Armistice.  They want peace!"
   "Forgive me Mr. President," the Caprican delegate looked him
in the eye and gathered his strength, "But they hate us with
every fiber of their existence.  They've been programmed that way
for more than a thousand yahrens, as part of a belief in some
vision of order across the universe run by soulless, efficient
machines.  We've threatened them because we love freedom, we
love....independence, to question, to resist oppression.  To
them, it has always been an alien way of existing.  They will
never accept it."
   "But they have," Adar said, feeling once again like a parent
trying to gently reproach a recalcitrant child, "Through Baltar,
they have sued for peace on terms that conform to everything we
have asked for, for nearly five hundred yahrens.  They have
already shown us signs of goodwill, by giving us all of the
locations of their hidden outposts along the Colonial frontier
and abandoning them!  What more proof did any of us need?"
   Adama wanted to issue some kind of retort about how there was
no way of telling that the Cylons had revealed all of their
outposts when they had made that stunning gesture several sectars
ago.  But he felt as if he were past the point of arguing any
further.  One of the keys to Adar's enduring popularity had been
his ability to charm just about anybody with goodwill and
gentleness.
   "Yes," Adama finally said aloud with resignation, "Of course
you're right."
   Adar smiled thankfully at him and moved off to the other end
of the room.  A centon passed, and Adama finally exited the
chamber.
   As soon as he was out in the corridor, he was pleasantly
surprised to see that Commander Fairfax was still there.
   "Adama, I'm glad I waited," the commander of the Columbia came
up to him as they started walking down the corridor, "I wanted to
get a chance to talk to you alone."
   "Out of the President's earshot, no doubt?" Adama smiled wryly
at the man who'd been one yahren behind him at the Colonial
Academy.
   "Exactly," Fairfax said, "The last thing I wanted to hear was
some gentle reproach over my alleged paranoia."
   "Meaning your doubts are as great as mine are?"
   "I'd almost think they were more great," Fairfax tugged at the
blue cape of his formal uniform.  Protocol required that as a
member of the Council, the traditional tan warrior's uniform was
not to be worn during the formal meetings.  Adama had been off
flight status for more than twenty yahrens and never had any
problem with the regulation, but he knew that Fairfax, who was
only five yahrens removed from his last combat flight as a viper
pilot, detested it.
   "Never mind the both of us," Adama said, "What do you suppose
our old friend Cain would have thought, if he'd lived to see this
day?"
   The Aquarian delegate let out a hearty laugh, "Oh Lords of
Kobol, I can just envision him opening fire on all the Cylon
basestars as soon as we reached the rendezvous point.  He'd have
really raised a ruckus with the President and the rest of us if
he'd still been here."
   "It certainly would have caused complications," Adama
conceded, "And yet, I almost can't help but wonder if his
presence would have been what the both of us needed to get Adar
to act with a little more caution about this whole business."
   "True," Fairfax admitted as they stepped into the turbo lift,
"We have rushed into this whole thing a lot faster than I would
have been willing to.  His voice would have carried some weight,
no matter how crazy some of our colleagues think he was."
   As soon as the turbo lift started down toward the landing bay,
Fairfax turned to Adama and said, "Isn't it odd though?"
   "What?"
   "That the Cylons suing for peace would come just at a time
when our military morale was still reeling from losing Cain and
the Pegasus and the entire Fifth Fleet at Molocay?  What exactly
had we been doing to the Cylons to put them in a frame of mind to
settle on our terms?"
   "A good question," the Caprican delegate nodded, "And it's one
of the things that has been troubling me immensely from the day
Baltar made that announcement to us."
   "Well, maybe we're just two stubborn soldiers who don't like
to confront the possibility of a universe where there's no more
war," Fairfax sighed, "Maybe deep down, all of us are just like
Cain and we truly love this business of never-ending fighting."
   "Maybe," Adama smiled thinly as the lift came to a stop and
the door opened.  The two of them walked across the tarmac to
their respective shuttles that would take them back to their
battlestars.
   "Well Adama," Fairfax smiled and shook hands with his friend,
"Here's to the new chapter of human history.  May we both be
proven to be the insufferable paranoiacs Adar thinks we are."
   "Of course," Adama returned it, "The Lords be with you."


   All throughout her drive back from the Medical Annex, Serina
had been slowly trying to gather all of her inner strength, so as
not to drop any hints about what Maxson had told her to anyone.
Tonight was supposed to be a night of celebration, and by all the
Lords of Kobol, she was going to get in the spirit of things.
   She pulled her hovermobile up alongside the house that her
success as the BNC's leading news anchor had earned her.
Already, she knew that one way or another she wasn't going to be
able to keep that house.  If it wasn't from dying, it was going
to be from selling it to raise cubits for the cost of the
treatment she was going to have to go through.
   Serina got out of her hovermobile, and let herself in.
   "Thalia?" she called out, "I'm home."
   "Mommy!" there was an ecstatic sound as Serina's six yahren
old son Boxey emerged from the playroom at the west end of the
house and dashed up to her.  Right behind him, came the boy's
beloved pet, a brown daggit he called Muffit or Muffy.
   "Hi Boxey," Serina picked him up and tenderly kissed him, "And
how's my little boy tonight?"
   "Great!" he couldn't conceal his excitement, "Are you going to
take Muffit and me to the big party?"
   "I certainly am," she smiled brightly, "And you're going to
have a lot of fun."
   Just then, the somewhat plump, middle-aged Thalia, who lived
next door and always looked after Boxey when Serina was away,
emerged from the playroom and came up to them.
   "You made it back just in time," she smiled, "I couldn't take
losing another game of table ball so I turned on the video-com.
It's got him all anxious to get downtown for the celebration."
   "Thanks for looking after him Thalia," Serina said with
gratitude as she set her son down.
   "Anytime," she said cheerily, "You know how much I adore him."
   Serina nodded.  Thank God she could depend on Thalia for that.
If anything, that could assuage her biggest fear arising from
Maxson's revelation to her.  If she didn't live through what was
coming next, she knew that Thalia would be there to take care of
Boxey.
   "Say goodbye to Auntie, Boxey," Serina said, "We have to get
going now."
   Thalia knelt down so Boxey could reached out and give her a
quick kiss on the cheek, "Goodbye, Auntie."
   "Goodbye Boxey," she said, "Have fun."
   Serina opened the front door and Boxey dashed out to the
waiting hovermobile.  Muffit let out a yelp and promptly
scampered after him.
   "I sometimes wonder if that daggit is his real best friend."
Thalia said as she made her way to the front.
   "I've wondered that myself," Serina admitted as they both
stepped outside and she prepared to lock the house up, "I should
have a talk with him some day about how it's more important to
find friends among people instead of daggits."
   She then realized that she'd completely forgotten for the
moment, all about her condition.  Damn, she thought.  Thinking in
terms of 'some day' wasn't going to count for much from her
standpoint.  She had to start taking some immediate action.
   "Thalia," she said, "There's something I'm going to have to
talk to you about tomorrow.  Can you meet me downtown for lunch?"
   "If you need to talk, I can always just have you both over for
dinner."
   "No," Serina shook her head, "Boxey can't be there.  It has to
be between you and me."
   "What for?"
   "I can't explain," she said, "Not until tomorrow at least.
Can you do it Thalia?  It really would mean a lot to me."
   The plump woman nodded, "Okay Serina," she said, "The Piscean
restaurant okay?"
   "That's fine," Serina said with relief, "1200 tomorrow.  I'll
see you then."
   "Goodbye," she waved as Serina went back out to her
hovermobile, and then Thalia turned to go back to her own house
next door.
   As Serina got into her hovermobile and started it up for the
drive down to the Presidium, her sense of gratefulness that she
had a friend like Thalia to count on, only deepened.  Whatever
happened to her, she knew that Boxey would be safe.

                      Chapter Three

   Further and further, Apollo and Zac flew their vipers on the
heading that brought them toward the old moon Cimtar, an isolated
rock with a lethal atmosphere of poisonous gas that made it
totally inhospitable for human life.  A hundred yahrens earlier,
the humans had tried to establish a listening post on the planet
through a specially constructed facility, but when the life
support systems had malfunctioned, the entire crew had been
killed, thus leading to the decision to abandon the moon
permanently.  In the yahrens since, it had stood desolate and
alone.
   Funny that the rendezvous point would lie on this heading, Zac
mused as he activated his scanner.  He then frowned when he heard
a loud crackle go through his headset.
   "What the---" he said aloud.
   "You got that static too, Zac?"
   "Yeah, I sure wasn't expecting that.  I'm not getting any
trace of an ion storm or anything like that."
   "We should be in close enough range to contact the Star Kobol.
Maybe they know something about it," Apollo said and then pressed
his communications set, "Star Kobol, this is Blue Squadron patrol
of the Battlestar Galactica.  Please acknowledge."
   There was nothing but more static.
   "Star Kobol, this is Galactica Blue patrol.  Please
acknowledge," Apollo repeated.
   Still nothing.
   "Well now that's odd," Zac mused aloud.
   "Wait a centon," Apollo flicked several more switches so his
computer could analyze things more clearly, "Whatever's causing
that static and keeping the Star Kobol from answering us appears
to be some kind of jamming."
   "Jamming?" Zac's eyes widened, "From what?"
   "Therein lies a mystery," Apollo said, "And we'd better find
out what it is."
   They accelerated their turbos again, and a centon later, the
Cimtar moon came into view.
   "Apollo," Zac said as he checked out his scanner, "Whatever
this jamming is, it's playing havoc with my scanners, but I'm
getting some reading of a couple of targets just in orbit above
the moon."
   "I've got it too," Apollo nodded, "Zac, hold your position for
a centon.  I'm going to check it out."
   The captain went to his turbo again and left his brother
behind, as he drew his viper closer to the moon.  The massive
cloud cover from Cimtar's atmosphere of poisonous gas always kept
the planet shrouded in a thick mist, big enough to conceal all
kinds of small ships from view.
   Lords of Kobol, please don't let it be space pirates, Apollo
said to himself.  The last thing he wanted to do was have to
tangle with some group of renegade smugglers on an important day
like today.
   Apollo's craft penetrated the outer layer of mist, and he
switched on his attack computer to get a handle on where the
object lay.  After a centon's wait, he finally could see a
distinct shape form on him computer through the cloud cover.
Another centon went by and it soon became visible to the naked
eye.
   "Well look at that," he said aloud as he saw a long,
cylindrical craft come into view.
   "What is it?" Zac radioed back.
   "I'll tell you in a flash," Apollo said as he activated the
switch that tapped into his warbook manual.  A centon later, the
full data on the classification of the ship ahead of him was
displayed on his terminal.
   "Warbook says it's a Cylon tanker," he frowned slightly,
"Scanner says it's....empty."
   "Apollo," an edge of alarm crept into Zac's voice, "That
doesn't make any sense.  Why would the Cylons have a ship
operating well past the rendezvous point?"
   "That is a good question, isn't it?" Apollo nodded, "And if
the jamming is tied into this tanker's presence...." he trailed
off.
   "Apollo, I have a funny feeling about this."
   "Well we came to look, so here goes," Apollo said as he took
himself on a heading past the freighter.  Amidst the swirling
cloud cover, he could make out another, slightly bigger ship.
   "There's the other ship, tucked in nice and neat," he said
under his breath, "I wonder what she's doing."
   But as soon as Apollo activated his scanner, he got nothing
but an indecipherable mass of jumbled symbols on his monitor.
   "Well that clears up the mystery of who's doing the jamming,"
he said aloud, "It's coming straight from there."
   "Warbook says she's a freighter," Zac chimed in.
   "My foot, if she's jamming us she's hiding something.  I'm
going around her."
   "Apollo---" Zac protested.
   Apollo ignored his brother's protest and took his craft on a
heading deeper into the mist that covered the upper atmosphere of
Cimtar.
   "Nothing out of the ordinary as far as I can tell," Apollo
said as he looked about, "I don't see why they'd be setting up
all that electronic jamm---"
   Apollo stopped as his eyes darted to what lay beneath him.
The clouds had parted for a brief instant, and he could have
sworn he'd seen something move.
   "Apollo?" Zac radioed with concern, "Apollo, what's happened."
   The mist thinned out a bit more, and Apollo's jaw fell open
when he saw a large wall of Cylon fighters, as far as the eye
could see.
   "Holy Frack!" he blurted in horror as he hit his turbo and
made a full u-turn back the way he had come, "Let's get out of
here!"
   "Why?" Zac's bewilderment increased.
   "I'll tell you later!" Apollo said as he hit his turbo to the
max.



   Aboard the lead Cylon fighter sat three Cylon centurions who
piloted the craft.  Their silver plated armor designated them as
the equivalent of first-brain Cylons, who performed only drone
work on behalf of the Empire.  Soulless machines who spent their
lives committed to one task only: the extermination of all other
life forms.
   "Colonial viper in quadrant," the lead pilot said in a voice
that was low, mechanical and monotonous to human ears.  "Stand by
to intercept."
   The lead four fighters of the column then separated from the
main group in pursuit of the intruder.


   Zac continued to watch in dumbfounded amazement as he saw
Apollo's fighter emerge from the cloud cover of Cimtar and back
above the empty tanker into space.  An instant later, he then
understood things completely when he saw four Cylon fighters
right on Apollo's tail, firing their telltale blue streaks of
laser fire.
   "I see what you mean," the young ensign gritted his teeth as
he pulled his ship into a banking maneuver and came up alongside
Apollo's ship.  He then realized that he'd made a tactical error
in doing that, and had only put himself in the line of fire of
the four Cylon ships as well.
   As they outran the first bursts of fire, Apollo managed to
say, "Now we know why the Star Kobol's not answering.  It's an
ambush.  And they've got enough firepower to destroy the entire
Fleet."
   The two of them went into a slow roll maneuver to try and
dodge the fire further.  Apollo activated his automatic distress
transmitter and then his face fell in chagrin when he realized
that his signal was being jammed.
   "We can't even contact the Fleet, and there's no way we're
going to make it showing our backs to them," the older warrior
gritted his teeth, "I count four on my scanner.  How many of them
can you make out?"
   Zac checked out his scanner, "The same.  Four."
   "I can already guarantee that there's more than that back on
Cimtar.  But in the meantime, we can get clear of here a lot
quicker if we take care of this bunch."
   "How?"
   "Think back to procedure six-A from simulation, brother,"
Apollo said, "When I count three, hit your reverse thrusters and
maximum breaking flaps.  We'll give them a little surprise."
   "Got it," Zac chided himself for forgetting, "Standing by."
   "One, two, three!"
   Abruptly, the two vipers went into a full reverse motion that
caused the four Cylon fighters to zoom past them.  The hunted had
now become the hunters.  It was a maneuver that only Colonial
pilots had been able to master.
   "Turbos full.  Forward thrust, now!"
   Slowly, the two vipers moved up behind the four fighters into
an attack position.  They both activated their attack computers,
and could see the individual targets start to come into range.
   Finally, the fighter on Apollo's computer started to blink,
indicating that it was locked onto his sights for a perfect shot.
   "Right here, you creeps," he said with contempt as he pressed
the red fire button on his control stick.
   And then, in a burst of red laser fire, the Cylon craft was
incinerated.
   Zac had moved into position behind the other three fighters.
He decided to go after the center one first.  He summoned a good
deal of inner calm as he saw his target blink, and then he
pressed the red button.
   With that, Ensign Zac scored his first kill as a combat
warrior.
   "Not bad, little brother," Apollo said with pride, "You take
the one on the right."
   The captain moved off to the left and it took him only a
matter of microns for his seven yahrens skill as a combat pilot
to kick in and take care of the fighter with no trouble at all.
   "All right," he gritted his teeth in satisfaction, "One more
and we can get the frack out of here.  How's it coming Zac?"
   "I'll have him in a micron," the young ensign said as he sized
up his target and opened fire.
   His shot missed.  And then, to his startled horror the Cylon
fighter did its own, more methodical version of a reverse thrust
that caught Zac completely off-guard.
   "Zac, look out behind you!" Apollo blurted as he hit his turbo
to get back to his brother's position.
   "I can't lose him, he's right on my tail!" Zac shouted as he
felt a blast hit the rear of his craft, causing his speed to drop
slightly from its maximum level.
   "Hang on, I'm coming!" Apollo tried to sound reassuring as he
brought himself on a side-vector toward the Cylon fighter, which
was still doggedly pursuing Zac.
   "Hurry Apollo!"
   "Steady," his brother sucked in his breath as he switched on
his attack computer.  A lateral shot was often much more
difficult, and required more intense precision.
   To Apollo's relief, he found that he had been able to summon
it, as the Cylon fighter vanished in a burst of fire.
   "Nice shooting, but they hit my high engine," Zac said as he
caught his breath and looked at his computer readout, "I can't
make my top speed."
   "That's okay little brother," Apollo said as he came up
alongside him, "We've got all of them.  The day they can outfly
us with a ten-to-one advantage---"
   "Apollo!"  Zac suddenly blurted as he checked his rear
scanner, "Your rear scanner!"
   His brother looked down and then shook his head in dim horror
as he saw the words "CONDITION RED" flashing, along with the tell-
tale blips of more Cylon fighters than he'd ever seen in his life
before, exiting the atmosphere of Cimtar.
   "Oh frack," he whispered, "A thousand-to-one.  That's not
fair."
   "Then this whole peace thing is a fraud, isn't it?"
   "Yeah," Apollo nodded, "It means there isn't going to be any
peace.  There might not be much of anything if we don't get back
and warn the Fleet."
   There was a brief pause as they both took in the realization
that all the hopes, dreams and aspirations they'd been feeling
for a post-war universe were to remain that way forever.  And
then Zac's voice went up to the firmest level Apollo had ever
heard before.
   "Do it!" the young ensign said, "I'm short an engine and I
won't be able to keep up with you.  With all that jamming,
they're not going to know what hit them unless you get back there
fast!"
   "Zac, I'm not going to leave you," his brother said gently,
but equally firm.  He couldn't contemplate the idea of leaving a
member of his own family behind in a situation like this.
   "I'm putting my foot in the turbo and I'll make it ahead of
them," Zac retorted, "Now go on.  You've got to warn the Fleet.
I'll be all right."
   Apollo found himself growing slightly emotional as he heard
his brother's words.  For five yahrens, since Zac had announced
his intentions to become a warrior, he'd been anything but
supportive or encouraging.  In fact, he knew that he'd totally
patronized him with a hidden belief that Zac didn't have the
mettle to handle it.  Now, he knew that he'd done his brother a
terrible disservice.
   "You can fly with me any day, little brother," he said with
all the sincerity he was capable of summoning, "Take care of
yourself."
   Inside, Zac felt himself smiling.  For the first time, in all
the yahrens he could remember, he had finally won Apollo's
respect as an equal.
   "I will," he replied, "See you at the club."
   Reluctantly, Apollo hit his turbo engine and sped away from
Zac's damaged fighter on a heading back toward the Colonial
Fleet.


   "Galactica control, this is Commander Adama returning from
Atlantia.  Request permission to land."
   "Permission granted," Rigel's voice echoed through Adama's
headpiece, "ETA in five centons."
   As the landing bay of Adama's ship drew closer, he removed the
headpiece and turned to the attractive, dark-haired woman who was
piloting the shuttle.
   "So tell me Athena," he said, "On this momentous day, how do
you feel?"
   Adama's only daughter almost smirked, "Relieved beyond
belief."
   Her cheerful expression managed to pierce the sense of unease
he'd been feeling throughout his entire time aboard the Atlantia.
Athena, like all of his children had inherited more of his facial
characteristics, as well as his dark hair (which in Adama's case
had turned snow-white many yahrens ago) but the one thing she had
inherited from her mother was her perpetually sunny disposition.
He didn't think he could ever recall a time when he'd seen
pessimism or gloom cross her face.
   As if she'd been reading his mind, she then said aloud, "What
do you suppose Mother's doing tonight?"
   "I wish I knew," he sighed, "You know how she hasn't gone out
much since all her close friends like Bethany and Zakiya died or
moved off Caprica.  Whatever it is though, in another sectar I'll
be able to do it with her."
   She looked back at him, "You are serious about retiring,
Father?"
   Adama smiled warmly, "I made your Mother a promise a long time
ago, Athena.  That if a miracle came to us, and this war came to
an end, I'd resign my commission as soon as I could and come home
for good.  I have no intention of going back on it.  She's
suffered my absences long enough."
   "I understand," his daughter nodded, knowing from the yahrens
growing up while he was away that her mother yearned desperately
for that elusive day to come, "Still, it's a little hard for me
to think of the Galactica under someone else's command."
   "Colonel Tigh is a good man, Athena," Adama said, "I think
after ten yahrens as my executive officer, he's entitled to
finally get a command of his own."
   "I know that," she said, "It's just that you've been commander
of this ship for my whole life.  In a way I...well this almost
sounds silly, but I've kind of thought of the Galactica as almost
belonging to us in a way."
   "It isn't silly," her father smiled, "Every commander forms
those kinds of attachments to a ship.  Especially when it's
something as special as a battlestar."
   Athena maneuvered the shuttle into a straight-on approach to
the port landing bay and then frowned slightly as she heard some
communications go over her headset.
   "Something's wrong," she said.
   "What?"
   "If I heard right, they just put the entire ship on alert."
   "Alert?" Adama frowned, "That doesn't make any sense."
   Just then, the shuttle entered the battlestar's landing bay
and came to a stop on the tarmac.  The commander and his daughter
wasted little time getting unhitched from their belts and out of
the shuttle.
   Several centons later, they both entered the Galactica's
bridge.  The executive officer, Colonel Tigh, was standing on the
command level, located on the upper deck.  Tigh was a friend of
long-standing to Adama, first as his wingmate on the Battlestar
Cerberus many yahrens ago, and the last ten as his second-in-
command aboard the Galactica.
   "Colonel, what's been happening?" Adama inquired with concern.
   Tigh leaned over the railing and looked down at the commander,
"Our patrol investigating the course ahead of us ran into
trouble.  We picked up some signals but they're being jammed."
   "Any indications of what's been causing it?"
   "None," Tigh shook his head, "It could be smugglers or pirates
or..." his voice trailed off, as if he were unable to form the
next word on his lips.
   Adama knew right away what his second-in-command was thinking
and nodded.  He went over to the communications console where
Athena had already settled into position, "Get me the President."
   An instant later, Adar's face filled the screen.  To Adama's
distaste, he saw that Count Baltar was standing alongside him.
   "Yes Commander?"
   "Mr. President, our advance patrol appears to be under attack.
As a precautionary measure, I would like to launch intercept
fighters."
   Before Adar could reply, Adama saw Baltar lean over to the
President and say in a low tone of voice, but which was still
distinct over the monitor, "Oh I should think that's highly
inadvisable in view of the delicacy of our situation."
   Adar slowly nodded, and Adama found his incredulity deepening.
How was it that Baltar had been able to ingratiate himself so
much with Adar?  Evidently, he'd underestimated the degree to
which the President had placed so much trust in Baltar's advice
and counsel.
   If only Sire Anton were still around, Adama found himself
thinking.  Adar's long-time chief aide had retired to private
life more than two yahrens ago.  Ever since then, it seemed as
though Adar had been without the kind of long-time advisor who'd
be unafraid to challenge the President on important matters.
   "Quite right Baltar," Adar cleared his throat and looked back
at the monitor, "Commander, as a precautionary measure, I must
insist upon restraint.  If this turns out to be an encounter with
some outlaw traffic, we could jeopardize the whole cause of peace
by displaying fighters when we are so close to our rendezvous."
   Adama couldn't believe what he was hearing.  From a tactical
standpoint, Adar's concern was totally groundless, since the
report concerned something happening at a point well-short of the
planned rendezvous site at the Star Kobol.
   His sense of propriety kept his temper in check, "Mr.
President, two of my fighters are under armed attack."
   "By forces unknown," Adar emphasized, "You are not to launch
until the situation is more clear."
   "Mr. President," Adama's voice rose slightly, "May I at least
ask that you bring the Fleet to a state of alert?"
   "I will consider that, Commander.  Thank you."
   Abruptly, the transmission from the Atlantia ceased and the
monitor went dark.
   "He'll consider it?" Tigh could scarcely keep his anger and
bewilderment in check.  Tigh was a rare exception among
Colonials, a man who thoroughly disliked President Adar.  More
than once, Adama had heard Tigh ask him in confidence why he
never organized the other members to oust the kindly Gemon from
the Presidency. "Has this whole peace conference made him that
soft in the head?"
   "Tigh," Adama said gently, "Restrain your feelings for now."
   The executive officer slowly exhaled, "My apologies, sir."
   "Commander," Athena spoke up, "Message on com-line Alpha from
Commander Fairfax."
   Adama lifted an eyebrow.  The Columbia's commander was
contacting him on a scrambled channel.
   "Put it on."
   An instant later, Fairfax's agitated visage filled the screen.
Adama noted that the Aquarian delegate had changed back into his
tan, combat uniform.
   "Adama," Fairfax said, "Do you have any idea what in Hades is
going on?  Our whole interstellar communications line is going
out with the worst jamming I've ever seen.  I tried talking to
the President about it, but he just said it wasn't anything to
worry about.  Or at least that gallmonging daggit Baltar told him
that it was nothing to worry about."
   "I just got through talking to him myself," the Galactica
commander said, "Whoever's causing that jamming has also been
evidently attacking our advance scout probe.  But he has
forbidden us to launch an intercept probe to investigate."
   The Columbia commander's eyes bulged with even greater
disbelief, "What?  That's crazy!  Adama, there's something very
rotten about this whole business.  I say we should both launch
interceptors right now!"
   "It's been expressly forbidden Fairfax, and I don't think we'd
be doing the situation any good with such a flagrant disregard
for orders.  The no-launch order applies to you, me and all the
other ships.  However..." he trailed off slightly.
   "Yes?"
   "This might be a good idea if we were to both order a battle
stations drill, Commander.  Perhaps our warriors could use a
break from all the celebration they've been indulging in."
   Fairfax suddenly broke into a small grin, "Yes, I think that
would be a good idea.  I'll get on it right away."
   The screen went dark and Adama turned to his executive
officer, who's expression was still grave.
   "Well Colonel?"
   "Adama," Tigh said, "I didn't get a chance to tell you this.
But the patrol is under Captain Apollo's command."
   Adama seemed non-plussed, "Well, if I can't have confidence in
my first-born son, who can I depend on?"
   "There's something else you should know," Tigh added, "Zac is
with him.  It's his first patrol."
   Adama slowly turned around and seemed to tense slightly.  As
the baby of the family, Zac had grown-up with a lot more
attention and smothering from his mother, and there were times
when Adama had wondered if his youngest son had the same kind of
resolve in what it took to be a warrior that he knew Apollo had,
and which he had also seen enough of in Athena.
   "Thank you," he managed to keep his voice level and moved away
to the other side of the upper deck.
   "Commander, if the transmission from them is being
deliberately jammed, then we won't know what these things are
until they're practically on top of us."
   "Agreed," the commander nodded, "Proceed with that order for
battle stations drill, Colonel."
   "Yes sir," Tigh said with some measure of relief.


   After turning over his patrol to Zac so he could "recuperate",
Starbuck had promptly gotten dressed and gone over to the pilot's
ready room to get some of his fellow warriors into a quick
pyramid game.
   His closest friend next to Apollo, Lieutenant Boomer, promptly
turned him down.  Boomer had played enough pyramid games with
Starbuck over the yahrens to have more than a passing suspicion
that his friend's methods might not always be honest.
Fortunately for Starbuck, he was able to find three willing
warriors in Sergeant Giles, Lieutenant Greenbean and Sergeant
Jolly.
   After a centar's play, Starbuck had only been breaking even in
the competition.  But now, the pot was at it's highest level of
the session, and he was about ready to spring his trap.
   "Call," Giles said, "Three-quarters and the capstone."
   "Very good Giles," Starbuck grinned, "But alas, not good
enough.  You may never see another one of these," he then set his
cards down, "A perfect pyramid."
   Giles's eyes widened in disbelief, while Greenbean tossed his
cards down in disgust.  Watching the proceedings, Boomer found
himself chuckling and feeling grateful that he wasn't involved.
   "Unless there's a better hand, gentlemen, the pot is mine,"
Starbuck took a slow puff on his fumarello, as though he were
trying to milk out the moment of triumph to the max before he
raked in his winnings.
   Suddenly, the red-alert klaxon went off with a loud piercing
wail, and the entire room was bathed in the red glow of the alert
lamp.
   All the other warriors in the room scrambled out of their
chairs and bunks as they grabbed their helmets.  Abruptly, Giles
reached down and scooped up a large chunk of the pot.
   "Sorry Starbuck, guess we got to replay that hand later."
   "Yeah, unfortunate," Greenbean added as he shoved the amount
he'd contributed into his tunic.
   "Wait a centon!" Starbuck shouted as the two warriors grabbed
their helmets and started following the other pilots out, "You
can't do that!"
   "Sorry Starbuck, duty calls!"  Giles shouted back before he
disappeared out the door.
   "Lousy little snitrod," Starbuck said under his breath as he
gathered up the remaining cubits on the table before picking up
his helmet and leaving the room.


   "Commander," Bridge Officer Omega came up to Adama, "Long-
range scanner shows a large number of ships headed this way at
high speed."
   "Can you scan for identification?"
   "Negative sir," Omega shook his head, "The jamming is
affecting our ability to take long-range analysis."
   "Commander," Athena spoke up, "Single patrol craft is
returning.  Should be aboard in a few centons.  Unable to
communicate directly for now."
   Adama felt himself tense again.  It meant that one of his sons
had made it back already, but for whatever reason, the other was
still out there.
   "Have that pilot brought up here as soon as he's aboard.  In
the meantime, get me the President."


   Without his high engine operating, Zac's viper felt like a
wheezing animal struggling to move along.  Even so, he was more
than halfway back to the Fleet now and had still been able to
stay out of visual contact range with the massive pursuit force.
   But one glance at his rear scanner told him that that
situation wasn't going to stay unchanged for much longer.
   "Come on baby," he whispered, as he tried to coax his viper
along, "Not much longer."


   Soon, the President's cheerful visage filled the screen, where
once again, Baltar was still standing by his side.
   "Mr. President, a wall of unidentified craft is closing in on
the Fleet."
   "Possibly a Cylon welcoming committee," Baltar smiled
brightly.
   The exasperation inside Adama had now reached the boiling
point, "Sir, may I suggest that we launch a welcoming committee
of our own?"
   Before Adar could reply, Baltar had taken him aside again,
"Mr. President, as you saw a centon ago in Commander Fairfax's
most ill-tempered message, there remain many hostile feelings
amongst our warriors.  The likelihood of an unfortunate incident
with all those pilots in the air, is a prospect too dangerous to
consider."
   Adar nodded, "Commander?"
   Adama's voice went up, "Sir, did Count Baltar suggest that our
forces sit here totally defenseless?"
   "My friend," Adar said gently, as Baltar slowly moved out of
the picture behind him, "We are on a peace mission.  The first
peace man has known in a thousand yahrens.  I am not about to let
that be jeopardized for any reason whatsoever."
   "Mr. President!" Adama's voice continued to rise, "If this is
a Cylon welcoming committee, then why have they so flagrantly
disregarded procedure?  We are well-short of the rendezvous point
at this time!"
   "Commander, your tone is very disquieting," Adar's tone grew
displeased, "I have already warned Commander Fairfax that he can
be relieved of his command if he persists with his desire to
display hostility at this time.  Do not force me to make the same
warning with you."
   "Mr. President, have you at least spoken with Commander Daxia
to ask for his recommendations on the situation?" he said in
reference to the Atlantia's commanding officer.
   "Commander Daxia knows his place with regard to the chain of
command, Commander Adama, as do the commanders of the other
battlestars." an edge of frost entered Adar's voice. "It
disappoints me that the military's only representatives on the
Council do not have that same respect for our most honored
tradition."
   Adama couldn't believe that Adar was being so dense at this
critical time.  It was as if he'd become Baltar's puppet.  From
Adar's perspective, Baltar had presented him with the great gift
of peace for eternity, and there was no way that the President
could ever feel compelled not to trust him.


   Starbuck got off the tram that led to the launch bay and
sprinted across the tarmac to where his viper lay.  His ground-
crew CWO Jenny, a darkly attractive woman, was in a state of
bewilderment.
   "What's going on?"
   "I don't know," Starbuck said as he climbed inside the
cockpit, "Must be some kind of aerial salute for the President
when he signs the Armistice and then kisses the Imperious Leader
on both cheeks."
   "The idea of kissing a machine is the most revolting thing
I've ever heard," Jenny made a face.
   Starbuck threw her a characteristic smirk, "Come on Jenny,
don't knock what you've never tried."
   She shook her head in disgust, "Get your astrum out of here,
Starbuck!"
   She detached the ground cable from the viper and dropped back
to the tarmac.  Starbuck finished with the systems check and then
the viper moved into launch position, as the cockpit canopy
locked into place.
   All Starbuck needed now was an order to launch.


   In the distance, Zac could make out the imposing forms of the
Colonial Combined Fleet coming into view.  As he expected, the
Atlantia was in the lead position, followed by the Columbia and
the Ricon, with the Galactica flanking the port side of the
column and the Solaria on the starboard flank.  Further back, lay
the Acropolis, the Bellephron and the Excelsia.
   Behind him though, he realized that a more formidable force
was practically on top of him now, as he saw the first streaks of
blue laser fire cross his line of vision.
   At this point, it was clear that the Cylons would have to stop
the jamming locally in order to clear the frequencies for their
attack formations.  If that were the case, then maybe he could
finally signal the Galactica.
   "Blue flight two in trouble!" he radioed, "Request emergency
approach!"


   On the Galactica bridge, Athena felt a lump go into her
throat, when she heard the voice of her younger brother come over
the monitor, accompanied with an ominous scanner reading flashing
the words "CONDITION RED."
   Tigh dashed back to Adama who was still engaged in his testy
exchange with Adar, "Commander, one of our ships is under attack
from the main force approaching the Fleet."
   Adama wheeled back to the monitor, "Mr. President, your
welcoming committee is firing on our patrol!"
   For the first time, Adama saw the President's look of resolve
crack.
   "That....can't be.  Baltar, what..." he turned around to look
for the Piscean delegate, but saw nothing, "Baltar?  Baltar.
He's left the bridge!"
   Adama felt a sense of dread go through him as he finally
pieced things together.


   The Fleet was so close he could practically reach out and
touch the great warships that loomed ahead.  But as Zac saw and
felt the force of more laser explosions around him, it almost
seemed as if the distance to the Galactica landing bay was as far
as it had seemed back at Cimtar.
   He felt the force of another blast literally sail over his
cockpit.
   "Patrol to Fleet!" he hit the radio and said in a panic,
"Patrol to Fleet, I need help!"
   And then, a blast caught Zac's viper right in the center fuel
tank, and he was unable to say anything else ever again.


   Athena's mouth fell open in horror as the panicked
transmission filled the bridge and the scene played itself out on
the scanner.  In an instant, she knew what it meant.  The little
brother whom she'd been deeply close to, and whom she'd been
overly protective of from the micron he'd been assigned to the
Galactica just four sectars ago, was gone in the blink of an eye.
Whereas Zac's relationship with Apollo had always been one of
friendly distance, with Athena it had been much more open and
personal.
   "No," she felt herself tremble as the tears formed in her
eyes, "No!"
   Adama remained stoic, only allowing himself to close his eyes
for a brief instant as memories of Zac's life flashed in front of
his eyes.  The only time he had ever been home for the birth of
any of his children had been Zac, and that was one of the most
cherished memories of his entire life.
   Now, he had also been present to witness his death as well.
   "What was that?" Adar's voice suddenly came through again.
   The Galactica commander turned around, and for the first time
felt nothing but contempt for the man who'd been his friend for
so many yahrens.  Adar's naivete and unwillingness to listen to
reason, had indirectly led to Zac's death, and he was about to
let him know that in no unspoken terms.
   "That was my son, Mr. President."
   At the other end of the bridge, Athena had broken down into
almost hysterical sobs.


   Deep inside the Atlantia, a smug Baltar was sprinting as he
made his way across the tarmac and back into his shuttle.
   "Launch, Charybdis!" he shouted, "There isn't a micron to
spare!"
   "I need the coordinates, Baltar!"  his pilot looked back in a
mixture of both relief that he'd finally shown up, as well as a
sense of anger that he'd been forced into this nervewracking
waiting game.
   "You'll get them in a micron.  Just get us off this ship now!"
   Charybdis nodded and powered up the systems.  In a micron, the
shuttle was away and clear of the Atlantia.
   "Very well," Baltar settled in the chair next to Charybdis,
"Proceed to coordinate heading delta seven-two-eight-three.  We
wait there for two centars, and then it will be safe to return to
the colonies."
   Charybids shot a glance to his left and saw that the attacking
columns of Cylon fighters were less than a centon away from
intercepting the Fleet.
   "You played that a little too close, sir."
   "I had no choice," Baltar said, "The phalanx was discovered by
the Galactica's advance patrol.  I had to keep talking to that
fool Adar and deflect all the urgings to launch and bring the
Fleet to alert preparedness.  Fortunately it paid off.  None of
those battlestars will be in a state of preparedness, and with
that level of firepower raining down on them, it will all be over
quite quickly."
   Charybdis pushed the throttle of the shuttle to the max, and
in a matter of centons, the Colonial Fleet had been left behind
them.
   "The die is cast, Charybdis," Baltar said solemnly, "We have
crossed the point of no return, and come tomorrow we shall know
the meaning of power as we have only dreamed of before."
   "Indeed," his pilot nodded and then looked at him, "Sir, since
it no longer makes any difference, was there a specific reason
why you did not give me the coordinates beforehand?"
   The man who had now committed open treason against the
Colonial state laughed, "Of course, Charybdis.  I love you as I
would my own son.  I see in you, much that is like myself.  And
it is precisely because of that, that I would not have trusted
you with those coordinates for even a micron."
   "I thought as much," Charybdis smirked, "Perhaps one day,
Count Baltar, I will be more worthy of your trust."
   "Perhaps," Baltar smiled back, "Perhaps."

                      Chapter Four

   The attacking phalanx of Cylon fighters ordinarily would have
been no match for the firepower of the eight battlestars had the
great ships been at full battle readiness.
   But when the attack began, most of the ships were caught in a
state of total unpreparedness.  Except for the Galactica and to a
lesser extent the Columbia, none of the battlestars had their
pilots, their fighters, or their weaponry in a state where they
could be utilized quickly.
   By far, this would prove to be the deadly difference in the
outcome of the battle.


   "Launch all fighters!" Adama barked as he moved over to the
other side of the bridge, "Positive shield now!"
   The Galactica's bridge shield closed shut just as Adama saw a
barrage of fire erupt from several approaching Cylon fighters.
   "All batteries, commence firing!"
   Omega flicked several switches, and the battlestar's laser
turrets went into on-line positions.
   Beneath them, the Galactica's fighters, which thanks to the
battle stations drill had been in a launch ready position, came
to life and exited the mighty battlestar to join in the battle.
   "All fighters away, sir," Omega reported.
   "Were any of the other ships able to launch?"  Adama asked
with concern.  Even though his mind was still raging with grief
over the death of Zac, especially as he tried to confront the
prospect of how he could ever tell Ila about it, he had to block
out those feelings completely for now.
   Tigh grimly shook his head, "Only the Columbia seems to be
getting her first load of vipers off.  The rest of them have been
caught totally flatfooted."
   The enormity of the situation now hit Adama with full force.
It was clear that none of the other battlestar commanders had
taken the same precaution that he and Fairfax had in bringing
their ships to a battle ready condition.  It would leave all of
them helpless, sitting ducks against the onslaught.
   All of it because, to use Adar's words, the commanders of the
Ricon, the Solaria, the Excelsia, the Acropolis and the
Bellephron had too much respect for the "chain of command."
   "Lord help us all," he whispered.
   The Galactica commander was then distracted when he saw his
eldest son dash on to the bridge with a look of concern.
   "Father," Apollo's voice was out of breath, "It was a Cylon
ambush.  I had to leave Zac out there.  He's disabled.  I want to
lead him back in."
   Adama looked him in the eye with a grave, but firm air, "That
won't be possible."
   "Father, he doesn't stand a chance if I don't go back and---"
   Apollo stopped as he looked into his father's eyes and
realized that there was an unspoken message in them.
   His gaze absently shifted over to Athena's console.  His
sister was carrying out her duties as best as she could amidst
the turmoil, but he could see that there were tears still
streaming down her cheeks.
   "Zac?" Apollo whispered forlornly.
   "His ship was destroyed just short of the Fleet," Tigh spoke
up, deciding to relieve Adama of the burden of having to say it
himself.
   Apollo turned away from his father, as though he didn't want
him to see the look of tortured grief on his face.  At that
instant, Adama wished he could have taken Apollo in his arms and
comforted him, but that had never been his way when dealing with
his children.  And the seriousness of the situation also dictated
that any comfort they could offer each other would have to wait
for now.
   "Commander, urgent priority message from Commander Fairfax on
the Columbia!" Athena spoke up, trying to choke back the sob that
was rising in her throat again.
   "Put it on," Adama nodded as he reluctantly turned away from
his son and went over to the monitor.
   When Fairfax's visage came on, Adama could see something he'd
never seen in his colleague before.  The look of panic in the
eyes.
   "Adama!" Fairfax said with alarm, "None of the other ships are
able to do felgercarb at this point!  They've all been caught
with their astrums down because they didn't have the guts to take
some initiative."
   "I can tell," Adama nodded, "How are you coming with your
fighters, Fairfax?"
   Before Fairfax could reply, there was the muffled sound of an
explosion in the background.  The Columbia commander ignored it
for the moment and resumed speaking.
   "Right now, I've only managed to get 30% off.  I can get more
of them off, if you can get some of your boys to shield us for a
few centons.  And if you can maneuver yourself around, that would
be most helpful too!"
   "I'll see to it immediately, Fairfax," Adama nodded, "Right
now, it seems as though you and I are the only ones who can put
up a fight."
   "What were we both saying about wishing that Cain were still
here?" Fairfax smiled with no mirth as the transmission ended.
   How true, the Galactica commander thought.  It now made
perfect sense as to why the Cylons had waited until after the
death of the legendary warrior known as the Juggernaut, to launch
a deadly trap such as this.
   Adama moved back over to the railing and barked out, "Helm,
assume new course bearing eight degrees starboard, mark one!
Divert attacking fighters away from the Columbia!"
   As the battlestar assumed its new heading, Adama went back
over to where Tigh and Apollo were still standing.
   "This is serious, Captain," Tigh said, "We have to know how
many basestars we're dealing with."
   "No basestars," Apollo said bitterly as he moved away from his
father and the executive officer, "Just fighters.  Maybe a
thousand."
   Adama and Tigh both frowned as they followed him down the
steps to the lower levels of the bridge.
   "That's not possible, Captain," the executive officer said,
"Fighters couldn't function this far from Cylon without
baseships.  They don't carry enough fuel."
   "I said no baseships!" Apollo wheeled around and angrily
snapped, too upset to care about any displays of insubordination.
"Nothing but fighters.  I wouldn't bother trying to raise the
Star Kobol.  Chances are, she was already gone before we even
encountered the fighters."
   "How can you account for that, Apollo?"  Adama demanded in a
more even tone of voice.
   His son slowly exhaled, "We um, we picked up an empty tanker
at Cimtar.  It's my guess the Cylons used that to refuel after
flying from wherever their baseships are."
   Tigh tried to digest that piece of information, "But why
operate this far from their home planet without baseships when it
isn't necessary?  If it's true that they've destroyed the Star
Kobol so she couldn't alert us, they still would have been well
out of our range at Cimtar."
   "Unless...." Adama started and then the expression that he'd
been determinedly keeping stoic ever since the attack had began
suddenly was replaced with one of sick horror.  "Unless it was
necessary for them to be somewhere else!"
   "Somewhere else?" Tigh asked and then the same expression of
horror came over him, "Oh my God!"
   "Get me the President!" Adama dashed back up to the upper
level of the bridge.


   As soon as Starbuck and the rest of the Galactica pilots were
away, they were all horrified to see the massive levels of Cylon
fighters bearing down on them.  And then they were more horrified
to discover virtually no fighters from the other seven
battlestars hooking up with them.
   "Holy Frack," Starbuck said under his breath as he went into a
roll pattern and then took out two fighters bearing down on the
Galactica.
   What was so frustrating about the scene, was that Starbuck
knew that if all the battlestars had been able to launch their
fighters as the Galactica had done, the outcome of the battle
would be a total mismatch in favor of the Colonials.  This
attacking force amounted to no more than the equivalent of three
Cylon baseships worth of fighters.  Eight battlestars at the
ready with all their fighters away would have had no trouble
dealing with such an attack force.
   A battlestar that wasn't at the ready though, was as effective
as an animal stuck in the mud with a predatory bird flying
overhead, waiting to strike down for the kill.
   In the corner of his eye, Starbuck saw two massive columns of
fire erupt from the Bellephron and the Excelsia.  The battlestars
at the rear of the column were already feeling the worst of the
effects.
   But there was nothing Starbuck or any of the other fighters in
his squadron could do about it.  Their responsibility had to come
to the Galactica first.
   "Boomer!" Starbuck called out, "Take care of those two on the
Columbia's rear flank!  I think the Galactica wants us to screen
her to get her fighters off."
   "Will do," the black warrior who had been in Starbuck's class
at the Academy along with Athena, and had served aboard the
Galactica since his graduation, moved up alongside Starbuck.
Together, they chased down the two fighters threatening the
Columbia.
   In an instant they had taken care of the two Cylons, and saw
with relief that the battlestar was getting more of her fighters
launched.
   "Come on," Starbuck muttered under his breath, "Get off you
guys, get off!  We can still turn this thing aroun---"
   A bright flash of light behind Starbuck suddenly caused him to
look back in horror.  A massive explosion had just erupted from
the Atlantia's mid section.
   "They're going for the Atlantia!" Boomer said with alarm.
   A wave of anger filled Starbuck as he saw the one battlestar
people looked to with more patriotic pride than any other, take
another major hit.  Even though he'd been on the Galactica his
whole career, he like so many other warriors, knew how special
the Atlantia had been throughout her service that dated back to
the very early days of the thousand yahren war.
   "Jolly, Greenbean, follow me," he radioed, "The main attack is
on the President's ship.  It looks like she needs help the most."
   "Are you sure about that, Starbuck?" the corpulent Sergeant
Jolly responded with urgency, "Take a look at the Excelsia."
   Starbuck glanced off to his right.  The battlestar at the rear
of the column had become a massive inferno.
   "Forget it Jolly," he said, "The Excelsia's had it.  There's
nothing we can do for them.  Shift focus to the Atlantia."
   Another explosion erupted, as Starbuck saw the viper of
Jolly's wingmate, Corporal Danel fall victim to Cylon fire.
   "Frack!" Jolly slammed his hand against the cockpit monitors.
   "There's nothing you can do about it Jolly," Starbuck
admonished, "Just concentrate on the matter at hand, or you'll
end up just like him."
   "Starbuck!" Greenbean radioed, "Quick scan shows several of
those fighters are loaded with solonite.  Clear suicide run
indicated."
   "Can you figure out their trajectory?" Starbuck replied
urgently.  A fighter packed with a lethal substance like solonite
had the potential to do damage far greater than an ordinary
barrage of laser fire could ever do.
   "Negative."
   "Well figure it out, fast!"
   Suddenly, they were forced to squint when another explosion
erupted from the Atlantia's port landing bay.
   "I think we just missed it," Boomer said grimly.
   It was now fast becoming clear to the Galactica pilots that
the most beloved battlestar in the Colonial fleet was on the
verge of being doomed.


   Adama's concern was so great that when the connection was made
with the Atlantia, he almost didn't take notice of what was
happening aboard the battlestar, as several fires glowed in the
background and the alarmed voices of the bridge personnel tried
to keep the situation from getting worse than it had already
become.
   Adar simply stood at his command console, a look of stunned,
horrified disbelief on his face.  He looked far older than his
eighty-plus yahrens.  He scarcely seemed to take notice of the
connection that had just been made with the Galactica.
   "Mr. President," Adama said, letting some of his fear slip
through, "I request permission to leave the Fleet.  I have reason
to believe that all of our home planets face imminent attack."
   There was no response from the President of the Council of
Twelve, who's long proud career of more than fifty yahrens public
service had been rendered meaningless in a matter of a few
centons.
   Another explosion erupted, and in the background Adama could
hear the panicked voice of Commander Daxia shouting, "Open up all
boraton valves and flood every compartment!  Flood every
compartment!"
   Adar suddenly burst into tears, "How...how could I have been
so completely wrong?" he sobbed as he leaned against the rail, "I
have led the entire human race to...to ruin."
   For just a brief instant, Adama allowed himself a sense of
pity for Adar.  He had known him long enough to know that at
heart, the president was a good and idealistic man, who had
become the victim of evil men, working for an evil regime,
exploiting his idealistic dream of a universe at peace.  Surely
Adar deserved a better fate than this.
   "Mr. President, please listen to me," Adama allowed the brief
instant to pass, "All of the colonies are at risk----"
   Before the Galactica commander could finish, there was another
massive explosion from just behind Adar.  A Cylon fighter on a
suicide run had just slammed into the Atlantia's bridge.
   A column of fire belched across the bridge and Adama could
hear the horrible sounds of crewmen screaming as the flames
engulfed some of them.  Adar slowly turned around to look at the
scene of carnage beneath him, when another Cylon fighter crashed
into the bridge again.
   The Atlantia's bridge was now exposed to the vacuum of space
and there was a loud roar as the pressure escaped from the ship.
The force was so tremendous that it blew Adar completely off the
upper level of the bridge and out of the picture completely.
   Adama couldn't bear to look at the sight any longer.  He
turned away from the monitor and barked, "Negative shield!"
   The main viewing screen opened up to show the burning Atlantia
still moving forward slightly.  And then, an instant later, the
oldest, and most beloved of Colonial battlestars that had proudly
survived more than 3000 battles in more than eight hundred
yahrens of service, exploded in a giant fireball.
   For what seemed like an eternity, but what was only a matter
of a few microns, there was a silence of stunned horror from all
the members of the Galactica's bridge crew.
   "Oh my God," Adama whispered as he finally broke it.


   The same look of stunned horror was also on Starbuck's face as
he saw the fireball dissipate, to be replaced by the sight of
nothingness where the Atlantia had once been.
   Boomer felt his eyes tearing up slightly and had to blink
several times to stop it.  The first time he had ever been
motivated to become a warrior as a child, growing up on the back
streets of Caprica City, had been when he'd stolen a copy of the
military journal Soldier's Review from a local market and had
read with awed fascination, an account of the Atlantia's stellar
career.
   "Guys," a downcast Jolly radioed, "The Excelsia just went too.
And the Bellephron is only microns away from going."
   "What do we do now?" the anger was rising in Greenbean's
voice, "It looks like they're going after all the older
battlestars first."
   Starbuck shook himself out of his stupor, "At the rate this is
going, we've got to stay close to the ones that are least
damaged.  Move back on the Galactica and the Columbia."


   "The Bellephron's been destroyed," Omega reported as the level
of frantic activity returned to the Galactica's bridge.  The
bridge officer was still too numb from witnessing the Atlantia's
destruction to let news of another battlestar's destruction
affect him, even though he knew at least five people stationed
aboard her.
   Adama moved back to the upper level of the bridge where Tigh
was standing in front of the navigation board.  The commander
stopped for just a micron to pound his fist against the cushioned
railing in frustration.
   "Commander," Tigh said as he pointed to the board, "Our long-
range scanners have picked up Cylon baseships in three quadrants,
each one conforming to a prime location for attacks on all of the
outer, middle and inner colonies."
   "Then all of the home planets are at risk," Adama said as he
suddenly saw visions of familiar sights all over Caprica flash in
his mind, and with them, the awful realization that they might
not soon be there, "Even if their defensive scanners pick them up
beforehand, the level of fighters from our ground garrisons
couldn't beat back that kind of assault."
   "That's what it looks like," Tigh nodded grimly.
   The Galactica commander stared at the board for what seemed
like an eternity and then drew his shoulders up.
   "We have no choice," he said, "If there's to be any hope of
blunting that attack, the ground garrisons need our firepower for
some support.  We have to get there as soon as possible."
   "Adama," Tigh grabbed him by the shoulder, "The rest of the
Fleet----"
   "Will have to make do," the commander said with finality as he
then turned around and barked out, "Helm, bring us around!  We're
withdrawing.  Full speed for home."


   The feelings of stunned horror and anger felt by all of the
Galactica's pilots suddenly gave way to bewilderment as they saw
the largely undamaged Galactica suddenly pull out of the column
of surviving battlestars and leave the area at her maximum speed.
   "What the frack?" Starbuck blurted.
   "I see it," Boomer shook his head in disbelief.
   "Where's she going?"
   "Don't ask me, the commander's calling the shots."
   "It doesn't make sense," Greenbean said, "She's the only
battlestar putting up a good fight.  If she leaves the area,
there's no place for us to land.  Not in the shape these ships
are in."
   Just then, another massive explosion erupted behind them.
   "So much for the Acropolis," Giles grunted, "That just leaves
the Columbia, the Ricon and the Solaria."
   "Try raising them," Starbuck said with anger over the
Galactica's withdrawal, "Thanks to Adama, one of those ships is
going to have to survive if we're going to have a place to land."


   Aboard the moderately damaged Columbia, the same feelings of
anger were exploding in full fury on the face of Commander
Fairfax.
   "Where the frack is that gallmonging Adama going?" he raged,
"He knows I need his firepower to keep this ship together!  Raise
him now!"
   "I'm sorry sir," a young bridge officer just out of the
Academy named Cree said, "The Galactica won't answer our signal."
   "Frack, felgercarb, and shit!" Fairfax slammed his fist
against the railing, "All right, if that yellow snitrod won't
help us, then we'd better help the only other ones who'll fight.
Plot new course for the ones giving the Ricon and the Solaria all
that trouble."
   "Sir," the Columbia's executive officer spoke up with urgency,
"That might not be a wise course of action.  If we maintain our
position we can conserve our strength, but if we throw ourselves
into what they're getting, we put ourselves at risk."
   "Better that we die fighting to save our fellow ships than go
gallivanting across the stars like cowards!" Fairfax shouted
back, "We know something about putting up a good fight, don't we
gentlemen?"
   Frack, he's lost it, the executive officer thought with
horror.
   But then again, he reflected further, could he really blame
him?
   And with that, the only battle-worthy battlestar left at the
scene, assumed a new heading that would take it into the heart of
the firepower raining down on her two remaining sister ships.


   Far away, three Cylon baseships had slowly moved into the
solar system containing the inner planets of the twelve Colonies
of man.  Aboard one of the basestars, was the one Cylon who for
more than a yahren, had methodically planned all that had just
happened to the Colonial Fleet, and was about to happen to the
Colonial home planets: The Cylon Imperious Leader.
   In this race of machines, the Imperious Leader ruled supreme
over an Empire that for a thousand yahrens had been committed to
the total destruction and elimination of the human race.  It was
a command that had been passed on through the centuries to each
new generation of robot centurions constructed as well as the
succeeding generations of Imperious Leaders.
   This particular leader however, had an air of ruthlessness
that made him more evil than any of his other machine
predecessors.  Not only did the current Imperious Leader have an
obsessive hatred of the human race, he also felt the same hatred
for all other alien species.  Ultimately, his long-term goal was
to extend the might of the Cylon Empire all the way across the
known universe and eradicate all other lifeforms in its path.
   But the tenacity of the human race in fighting against the
Cylons for a thousand yahrens had always been the stumbling block
toward any hopes of implementing that vision of Cylon order.  And
that was why the Leader had concentrated all of his efforts into
bringing about the events of this day.
   It had required enormous levels of patience, methodical
resolve, and intensive analysis of the human psyche.  It had led
the Cylon ruler to the conclusion that underneath the tenacity
humans displayed in fighting the Cylons, there existed a weak-
hearted desire to see the war simply come to an end, as opposed
to a total victory.  That the humans yearned so much to be left
to their wasteful lives of self-indulgence, that they would
gladly give up the struggle in an instant if it were possible.
   This had led Imperious Leader to reason that if this attitude
truly did exist in the human psyche, it might be possible to
smash them once and for all through the false promise of a desire
to sue for peace.
   To carry out the plan, Imperious Leader knew he would need a
willing recruit from within the ranks of humanity, who might be
able to turn traitor against his own people for a price.  After
another intense study of the important figures in the Colonial
government, he had finally found such a man in the form of
Piscera's delegate to the Council of Twelve, Count Baltar.  When
Baltar's merchant ship had been captured by the Cylons six
sectars earlier, it had been to make Baltar an offer Imperious
Leader was certain he would not be able to refuse.  His
reasoning, as he had expected, proved to be correct.  And now, in
the time since, Imperious Leader had been martialing the forces
of the Cylon Empire together in preparation for this great day
when the Empire would triumphantly bring the thousand yahren war
to an end.
   Sitting high in the throne chair of his command baseship, the
mechanized thoughts of his three computer brains (he was the only
Cylon to have this particular trait) were then distracted by the
sound of two Centurions entering the throne room.
   "By your command," one of them said.
   Imperious Leader's throne chair turned around so he could look
down on them, "Speak," he said in a deep, powerful voice that for
more than a thousand yahrens had been the voice programmed into
all of the Cylon Imperious Leaders.
   "All baseships are now in range to attack the colonies."
   The Cylon ruler, allowed himself a moment of emotional triumph
before he spoke again.
   "The final annihilation of the life form known as man," he
savored each word, "Let the attack begin."


   Only centons after the order had been given, massive numbers
of Cylon fighters from each of the basestars launched and split
off into headings that would take them to all of the twelve
planets.
   The lead squadron from Imperious Leader's ship assumed an
approach heading for the planet that lay closest to them.  The
planet Caprica.  Where at that precise instant, a woman named Ila
sat on the porch of her seaside house, unaware that her youngest
child was now dead; where a security guard named Ortega
maintained his watch at the Caprica City aerodrome, unaware that
the man called Charybdis who had bribed him to get past the
checkpoint earlier, had played a major role in the destruction of
many great warships; and a news reporter named Serina had just
arrived at the Caprican Presidium with her son, unaware that the
appointment she had just made with Thalia for lunch the next day
would never be kept.  They, along with millions of others, were
waiting for a night of celebration to begin.  With no inkling
whatsoever in any of their minds that the night was to gain
infamy for a far different reason.

                       Chapter Five

   Serina was somewhat amazed by how light the crowds were in the
colonnade lining the Caprican Presidium.  Though the formal
announcement of the Armistice was still over three centars away,
she had been certain that the levels would be fast approaching
the maximum levels that Caprican Security had been predicting for
sectans.  As it was, she estimated that there were probably only
a little more than two thousand people lining the walkways of the
buildings surrounding the Presidium, instead of the ten thousand
that the area was capable of accommodating.
   Must be the weather, she said to herself as she decided to
wrap the thin hood of her dress around her head.  A cold front
had moved over Caprica City and lent a bit of unseasonable chill
to the air, which she found very uncomfortable.  Serina had grown
up in the warmer regions of Caprica where the temperature never
once dropped below freezing, and she had never gotten used to the
first dreary cold season she'd spent in Caprica City.  As a
result, she always made a point of taking her extended vacations
from her work during the cold seasons so she could be away just
at the micron the snow began to fall.  From time-to-time she'd
had to put up with Boxey complaining about this, since he'd never
experienced a real snowstorm in his life, but he usually stopped
complaining once they arrived in the southern regions and Serina
set him loose among the numerous amusement areas located there.
   Slowly, she moved into position in front of the Presidium,
where a giant sign arranged in flowers that spelled PEACE had
been set up on the knoll.  Her vantage point gave her a perfect
view of the pyramid shaped spires that comprised the heart of
Caprica City to her right, with the fifty foot high obelisk
called "Bithia's Needle" (named for one of the first monarchs to
rule Caprica when the planet had first been settled seven
thousand yahrens ago) standing tall at the far end of the
colonnade that opened out into the downtown.  To her left, she
could look up at the crowds gathering on the walkways of the
Plaza that would soon break out in a loud noise of celebration.
   As she took out her microphone, she cast a glance up at the
walkway and saw her son standing with his arms folded on the
railing, with his brown daggit at his feet.  She smiled and waved
to him, which caused Boxey to do the same in return.
   "Serina," she heard Heller's voice from inside the broadcast
control center come through the tiny earpiece she was wearing,
"Stand by.  One centon to airtime."
   She nodded and then spoke into her microphone, "Test.  Am I
coming in clear?"
   "Perfectly," Heller radioed back, "Get into position.  No,
back a couple feet to your left.  We don't want the PEACE sign
obstructed in the camera one shot.  Okay, camera two for
downtown, camera three for the Plaza shot, camera four for the
Presidium tower when it lights up as soon as the Armistice
becomes official.  Oh and of course, camera five for those lovely
close-ups that send your biggest fans into rhapsodic palpitations
of ecstacy."
   She rolled her eyes slightly and then made a quick face at the
camera for Heller's benefit.
   "Boy, I'd give a million cubits to see you do that on the
air," she could practically hear Heller's grin, "Okay, thirty
microns.  Opening animation is already rolling.  Announcer cue.
Stand by.  Sky-cam shot of downtown.  Ten, nine, eight, seven,
six, five, four, three, two, one.  Go!"
   "Serina here," she began with her traditional salutation that
had practically become a catch-phrase throughout Caprica,
"reporting live to you this evening from the Caprican Presidium,
where the Broadcast Network of Caprica will be bringing you
continuing coverage throughout the night, as millions of
Capricans await the news that the thousand yahren war between
humans and Cylons has at last come to an end."
   In the broadcast center, Heller gave the order for a close-up
of the news anchor, and then leaned back in his chair that the
technical personnel had mockingly referred to as his private
throne.
   "We're off and running," he said under his breath, "Tonight's
the night we make broadcast history."


   As the Galactica continued its frantic dash across the stars
to get back to the colonies, a new air of tension started to take
hold over the bridge, as each person wondered if they'd be able
to make it back in time, and would it make a difference.
   Omega suddenly stiffened when he saw a new reading come over
his monitor, and he promptly got up and made his way over to
Adama.  The Galactica commander was standing at the rail looking
out at the viewing screen as though he were trying to will the
colonies to come into view at that particular moment.
   "Commander," the Bridge Officer kept his voice low, "Long
range scanner now picks up wave after wave of small attack craft
headed for all inner planets."
   Adama slowly turned to face him, his expression unchanged from
the stern air he had assumed centons earlier.
   "Any indications of ground assault intercept?"
   "Not at this time sir."
   "Keep me posted."
   As soon as Omega had gone back to his station, Tigh and a
still-shaken Apollo came over to where Adama was standing.
   "There's another thing that's not making sense," Tigh's voice
had a higher edge than normal, reflecting the inner anguish over
the day's events that he was trying to keep under control, "The
long-range scanners on all of the colonies should have picked
them up by now and had the interceptors airborne."
   "If they see anything," Adama said flatly, "If I'm right Tigh,
the treachery we've seen in our own ranks that's destroyed our
Fleet has also seen to it that the colonies will be as caught off-
guard as we were."
   Before either Tigh or Apollo could comment, Omega had returned
again, "Commander, we're now getting indications that the
electronic jamming has stopped."
   "Dear God," Apollo whispered, "They're clearing the air for
their electronic guidance systems."
   "That means the attack has started," Tigh said.
   "Actually no," Omega said as he led them over to his station,
"We're now picking up the local broadcasts, and they're all
acting quite normal as though the celebration's still going on."
   "Normal," Adama said flatly as he realized that his latest
suspicion had been vindicated again, "I was right.  The long-
range scanners and defensive alert networks have been sabotaged.
If they'd been able to pick them up sooner, there'd be a panic
going on already.  Can you put one of these transmissions on?"
   "Yes sir," Omega nodded and pressed a button, "Picking up the
BNC."
   Just then, the monitors throughout the bridge were suddenly
filled with Serina's image, which most of the bridge personnel
immediately recognized.  Adama had been interviewed by her
several times in the last five yahrens, as had Colonel Tigh.
   As they watched the broadcast unfold, Apollo felt his anguish
and sadness being replaced with a grim sense of irony.  He had
watched Serina's newscasts quite often when he'd been home on
furlong, and had become one of her biggest fans.  There were
qualities of intelligence and beauty that shined in Serina so
much that the perpetually single Apollo, who had dated few woman
in his lifetime, had once vowed to himself that the only kind of
woman he could envision getting serious with, had to have
qualities similar to Serina.
   I always figured there was plenty of time to look for someone
like her, he thought to himself.  Just like there was time to
patch things up with Zac later on.
   Apollo almost wished the scenes of destruction that he knew
were imminent, would get started.  It almost seemed too cruel to
the psyche to see such images of total normalcy and pending
celebration at home, when he already knew that the familiar
sights of Caprica would not be there much longer.


   "....Preparations continue through the night here at the
Caprican Presidium, where at this particular centon," Serina
glanced over her shoulder at the small number of people who had
wandered into the area in back of her where the PEACE sign made
for a gorgeous image on the video-com, "It is somewhat deserted."
   "Camera five shot now," Heller's voice piped through her ear.
   "We anticipate though, that in the next couple of centars,
well before dawn, there will be at least thousands more gathered
here in downtown Caprica City to joyfully help usher in a new era
of peace.  For now, details on the scheduled rendezvous between
the Combined Colonial Fleet and the Cylon Fleet at the
Presidential ship Star Kobol are not yet coming through due to
heavy electrical interference that is currently affecting all
interstellar communications.  As soon as those problems are
cleared up though, we do intend to bring you live transmissions
of the precise instant when President Adar and the Cylon
Imperious Leader will both meet face-to-face to sign the formal
treaty of peace.  And when that occurs, we expect to see signs of
celebration and triumph never before witnessed in the annals of
human his---"
   Serina abruptly broke off when she heard a loud crackle go
through her earpiece.  For an instant, she wondered if the power
circuits inside the broadcast center had overloaded.
   But then, she heard the sound again and realized to her horror
that it wasn't coming from her earpiece.  It had come from an
explosion on the other side of downtown Caprica City.
   "Oh my God!" Serina dashed across the colonnade toward
Bithia's Needle to get a better look at the downtown view while
the small number of spectators in the Plaza followed at her
heels, "It's a....it's a tremendous explosion somewhere downtown
not far from the Presidium!...I....It looks to be not far from
the vicinity of the Pyramid Towers Hotel near the Entertainment
District...."
   Abruptly, another orange fireball erupted, and then a rumbling
shockwave as several windows in the Presidium Tower above them
shattered.
   And then, the horror in Serina's eyes widened when she saw
hundreds upon hundreds of moving objects gliding across the night
sky at tremendous speeds.
   "Ladies and gentlemen, Caprica City is under attack!" she
shouted into the microphone as she suddenly saw wave after wave
of the people who'd gathered on the Plaza walkways start to
descend the steps and crowd through the Presidium colonnade.
"This is horrible!  People all---"
   Suddenly, three Cylon fighters flew directly over the
colonnade on a strafing run, coming so low that they were barely
two hundred feet above Serina's head at one point.  A heavy
barrage of laser fire crashed into the Presidium Tower, causing
large chunks of debris to fall into the colonnade below.
   Abruptly, Serina stopped broadcasting as she looked back at
the Plaza walkways, where she'd seen her son only centons before.
   "Boxey!" Serina screamed at the top of her voice, no longer
caring about her duties as a reporter, "Boxey!"
   She felt a wave of relief go through her when she saw her son
dashing down the steps into the colonnade.  Initially, Muffit was
right at his feet, but then got tangled up in a crowd of six
other people trying to get down the steps.
   "Boxey, over here!" Serina threw down her microphone as she
heard the deafening roar of two more Cylon fighters fly overhead,
continuing their lethal assault of laser fire.
   Boxey suddenly picked up his pace, leaving his beloved daggit
far behind, as Serina simultaneously dashed up to her son and
snatched him into her arms.  She frantically carried him as she
made her way back across the colonnade, and past Bithia's Needle.
Her first instinct was to get out of the open and back toward the
cluster of buildings in the downtown section adjacent to the
Presidium where some underground shelters were located.
   Suddenly, another laser blast struck the area just twenty feet
from where Serina and Boxey were, and she instinctively changed
directions and went back towards the wall of the Presidium Tower
itself, thinking that she could find some temporary shelter from
the ornately carved overhang.
   As she held Boxey in her arms, her son suddenly became aware
that his pet was nowhere to be seen.
   "My daggit!" he suddenly began to cry, "Where's Muffit?"
   Serina almost felt like laughing at the irony of the whole
thing.  The entire universe was falling apart around her with God
only knew how many people dead or dying, yet the first concern
she was being asked to deal with as a mother was her son's
missing daggit.  She never realized how she'd underestimated the
amount of devotion Boxey had to the scruffy brown animal she'd
given him as a present for his fifth birthday, until now.
   "It's okay Boxey," she whispered tenderly trying to cover her
fear, as she clasped his head against her chest, trying to keep
him shielded from the carnage unfolding about them, "He'll show
up.  Don't worry."
   Just then, another Cylon fighter made a low pass over the
colonnade and suddenly fired directly at Bithia's Needle.  The
proud obelisk that dated back more than seven thousand yahrens to
the first days when the planet had been settled suddenly began to
topple.
   As it fell, Serina's eyes widened in horror when she saw the
familiar sight of Muffit scampering across the colonnade, before
the obelisk landed directly on top of the brown daggit.
   "Don't worry Boxey," she whispered again as she kept her son's
face hidden from the sight, "Don't worry."
   As she continued to press her back against the wall, she
suddenly saw a familiar face dashing across the colonnade.  It
was Heller, who stopped in his tracks and began gesturing
frantically to her.
   "Serina!" he shouted as he flailed his arms, "Get away from
there!  The whole thing's going to come down in a few microns!
We've got to get to the shelter in the next block!"
   Serina seemed too petrified with fear to move away.  Finally,
the BNC news director ran over to her, and grabbed her by the
hand, leading Serina and Boxey across the colonnade that was fast
becoming a shattered remnant of its former glory.
   Another explosion erupted behind them.  Serina darted her head
back to see that the large floral sign PEACE was engulfed in
flames, as were the flagpoles surrounding the knoll that carried
the colors of the Colonial nation as well as those for each of
the twelve planets.
   What a strangely appropriate sight, she said to herself.  All
our hopes and dreams.....all our aspirations....our very pride as
a nation and people.....all going up in flames.
   And then, she felt Heller's tug again as he dragged Serina and
Boxey out through the colonnade's exit, and into the main
downtown streets.


   Strangely enough, the BNC cameras continued to record the
scene long after Serina, Heller and all the other BNC reporters
and technicians had abandoned their equipment.  Far away, on the
monitors on the bridge, everyone aboard the Galactica found
themselves as helpless spectators to the scene of cherished
landmarks, and great cities all over the planet going up in an
unholy inferno, and taking with them untold thousands, perhaps
untold millions of human lives.
   More than half the people on the bridge could bear it no
longer and began to openly weep.  Adama didn't even bother trying
to stop any of them.  He almost felt on the verge of doing it
himself.
   Especially since he had no way of knowing if he had just been
dealt another personal tragedy to deal with.  That in addition to
Zac, he may have just in the last few centons lost the closest
person to him in his whole life.
   "There's no hope, Commander," Omega finally spoke up, his
voice cracking, "Every city on the planet is in flames.  The
attack's now underway on all middle and outer colonies as well."
   Amidst his inner anguish, Adama managed to ask, "What about
Piscera?"
   "Already in flames, Commander," Tigh said weakly, wondering
why Adama had asked about the third of the middle planets.
   "I see," Adama sighed.  That information temporarily
sidetracked his thoughts about the role Baltar had played in this
tragedy, but he was sure there was an explanation for it.
   "Commander," Tigh cleared his throat, "There's no point in
maintaining this heading.  If we keep on course, we'll run
straight into all those withdrawing baseships.  We have to hold
our position for now and stay out of their range."
   "Agreed," Adama nodded as his shoulders sagged.  Never before,
had his posture been so slouched and weak, "Bring us to dead stop
for now.  Resume course only when the baseships have moved back
out.  They.....should in all likelihood pull out long
enough....to get their occupation forces ready."
   As soon as the words 'occupation forces' came out of his
mouth, it proved too much for Athena's psyche.  She collapsed
into sobs as loud as they'd been when she'd seen Zac's viper
destroyed.  The sight of the planet in flames flew in the face of
all the cheerful optimism she'd been maintaining about the peace
initiative from the very beginning of its announcement.  Unlike
her father, she'd had no hint of suspicion to think that a day
like this could have happened.  In this case, inheriting her
mother's spirit of optimism and cheer had set herself up for more
emotional trauma than there could have been in either Adama or
Apollo.
   Apollo slowly moved over to his sister and placed an arm on
her shoulder.  Their father was still playing his customary role
of not wanting to show any outward emotion, even in the face of a
tragedy such as this, so he knew that he had to be the one to
step in for now.
   Especially since he had no way of knowing if Starbuck was
going to come back to provide it for her.
   "Oh Zac...." she whispered between her sobs, "And...all the
others.  They...trusted us to protect them and...." she then
broke off and shook her brother's arm off, as though she didn't
want to feel anyone's comfort at that moment.
   Apollo made his way over to where his father was standing,
staring off into space with a glassy-eyed, vacant expression.
   "Father," Apollo said, trying to get his normal timbre of
voice back, "Father, we've done all that we could.  Even
if...even if we had made it back in time, we just would have been
signing our own death warrants."
   "Would it?" Adama didn't look at his son, "Would it really
have?"
   The commander then let out a sigh and moved back across the
upper deck toward where Tigh was standing at the navigation
board.
   "We are within shuttling range of Caprica, aren't we Colonel?"
   "Yes," Tigh said with a heavy air.
   "Then prepare my shuttlecraft for immediate launch," the
commander's voice was still heavy and hollow, "I plan on going
down to the surface of....Caprica."
   Tigh felt himself coming back to reality, "Commander, with all
due respect, that is out of the question.  If the Cylons should
pick you up, you wouldn't stand a chance."
   "If it comes to that, then you will rendezvous with the
survivors of the Fleet," Adama moved away from Tigh and started
to descend the steps to the lower levels of the bridge, where a
determined Apollo stood in his way.
   "Father," he said firmly, "If you must go to the surface of
Caprica, then let me take you in my fighter.  In all likelihood,
you're the last surviving member of the Council.  If you run into
a withdrawing Cylon, then at least you'll have a chance."
   "I must insist on that, Commander," Tigh spoke up.
   Adama's head was still turned down, his eyes glazed and his
shoulders slouched.  Clearly, he had no stomach for any
arguments.
   "Very well," he said weakly, "Make the necessary arrangements.
I'll.....meet you in the launch bay in.....ten centons."
   His son nodded with empathy and left the bridge.
   "Commander," Omega signalled from the other side of the
bridge, where he was standing alongside Corporal Rigel's station.
   There was a slow, heavy shuffle in Adama's steps as he made
his way over.  In all the yahrens that Tigh had known the
commander, he had never seen him look so old.
   "Yes Omega?" his words remained empty and hollow.
   "Numerous viper craft are now approaching sir.  We've cleared
them for landing in both Alpha and Beta bays."
   "How many?"
   "Sixty-seven sir," Rigel said, "Twenty-five of our own."
   Adama winced at that statistic.  That represented more than
seventy percent casualties from his own viper forces.  The amount
recovered in all barely added up to a third of the normal
complement for a battlestar.
   "How many battlestars?"
   Omega looked at the monitor and froze, "None."
   "What?" Tigh spoke up in bewilderment.
   The Bridge Officer slowly rose, "We're the only surviving
battlestar."
   Another stunned silence came over the commander and the
executive officer.
   "My God," Tigh finally managed to break it.
   Slowly, Adama made his way back to the other side of the
bridge.
   "Can this really be happening, Tigh?" he whispered under his
breath, "A centar ago, we were a Fleet of eight battlestars
representing twelve planets that had built themselves into the
most vibrant, thriving civilization in the history of mankind.
And now....." his voice trailed off.
   Tigh lowered his head and brushed a tear away from his eye,
"Adama, I....I wish I knew what to say.  I keep thinking that
somehow, this all has to be a bad dream."
   "If it is, it's one we'll never awaken from," the commander
sighed, "Soon....we'll have to regroup what's left of our people
for a new course of action."
   "And what's that going to be?"
   Adama slowly shook his head, "I don't know right now.  I
think....soon, I'll have an idea."
   Tigh seemed to understand what was going through his friend's
mind.  Before the commander could regroup himself, he had to go
down to Caprica to settle the one question that was raging
through his mind.
   "I'll be leaving now, Tigh," Adama started to move away,
"Notify me directly if anything important develops."
   The executive officer suddenly stopped him, and then
impulsively grabbed his hand in a gesture of fraternal
solidarity.  The two of them had been through so much over the
yahrens, first at the Academy, then aboard the Cerberus and the
Ricon, and finally the Galactica.  And they both knew that their
need to assist each other and put their many yahrens of warrior
training to use, would never be greater than it would from this
day forward.
   For the first time, Adama allowed himself a faint smile as he
gratefully returned the handshake of his old friend and left the
bridge.


   As Caprica became engulfed in flames, the attacking waves of
Cylon fighters began to disengage from their runs over the planet
and return to their baseships.  Slowly, the Cylon warships began
to pull back from the solar system of the twelve worlds, as they
began their preparations for when they would land their ground
units and take possession of the planets for themselves.
   For a time, the skies were empty over all of the twelve
planets.  Those that were in the night cycle at the time of the
attack were already experiencing a false dawn of sorts because of
the raging intensity of the fires all over the surface.
   That was particularly true of the third planet among the
middle group of colonies, Piscera.
   As the first glint of sunlight came over the planet, a lone
shuttlecraft assumed standard orbit.  It's two passengers had
just completed a scan of the planet, and were in a state of
shock.
   "There is no mistaking the readings, Baltar," Charybdis was
saying, "Piscera has been destroyed along with the rest of the
colonies."
   "Impossible," Baltar whispered, trying to conceal his rage,
"My bargain with the Imperious Leader guaranteed Piscera's
safety.  This cannot be!"
   "You can see for yourself, Baltar," his pilot switched on the
monitor, which showed Piscera's capital city in flames.
   "What's happened?" the Council delegate raged, "Has some
incompetent commander disregarded orders?"
   Charybdis cast an idle glance at Baltar, and for the first
time realized that he and Baltar had both been duped by the
Cylons.  The Cylons had played the same game of deception and
deceit on them, with a promise of Piscera being spared for Baltar
and his entourage to rule as supreme dictators, as surely as
Baltar and he had duped the rest of the Colonies.
   Maybe this is poetic justice of a sort, Charybdis said to
himself.  We commit the greatest crime against humanity, and it
turns out to be all for nothing.
   But to Baltar, a lowly merchant who had bought his way to
power and been frustrated by his inability to go any further in
his quest for absolute power, the dream of ruling his home planet
with an iron hand had been so great and so real to him, that he
could not let go of the delusion that it had to be all some kind
of mistake, and that the Cylons he had bargained with would
rectify it.
   "Plot course for the Imperious Leader's baseship, Charybdis,"
he said, "He knows my identification code.  I want to have a talk
with him."
   Charybdis looked at the man he had loyally served for ten
yahrens in dubious bewilderment.
   "Sir," he said, "I think that at this point there's no purpose
to be served in going to the Cylons.  It's clear that they've
reneged on the agreement, and if we try to approach them, we'll
end up suffering the same fate as everyone else."
   "Impossible!" he shouted, "Impossible!  I have met with the
Imperious Leader.  He gave me his word!  I will not stand for
this."
   "Baltar," Charybdis grabbed him by the arm, "Face reality!
We've been doublecrossed.  Everyone else in our operation who
helped plan this is dead!  We have nothing left to gain from the
Cylons except escape!"
   "To what?" Baltar shouted back as he shook his pilot's arm
away, "I can't show my face to anyone and avoid being strung up
from the first spice tree with a rope about my neck!  I'm the one
who gave them a treaty that they know turned out to be bogus!"
   "You've been a smooth liar before Baltar, lie again!"
Charybdis retorted, "Tell them you were duped by the Cylons too!
Chances are, you'll be able to get away with it."
   "No!" Baltar roared, "No!  I must see the Imperious Leader and
set things straight with him!"
   Charybdis shook his head in incredulity.  He was now convinced
that Baltar was thoroughly mad.  There was little point trying to
argue the matter with him any further.
   But if Baltar was determined to go down defiantly pleading his
case to the Cylon ruler, he had no intention of being alongside
him.
   "Baltar," he said calmly, "Let's not be rash for now.  It
makes more sense to land on Piscera at the pre-arranged point and
wait for the occupation force to arrive.  We've already met the
command centurion who was going to be our liaison to the Empire
in the future government.  It might be better to go through him
first."
   The Council delegate paused to chew his thumbnail in
reflection.
   "Very well," he said, "Take us down to the rendezvous point.
We'll wait."
   You'll wait, Baltar, Charybdis said to himself as he took the
shuttle into a descent mode.  I have other plans.


   After Adama and Apollo had left the Galactica for its journey
down to Caprica, the battlestar had continued with its recovery
of the vipers who had survived the terrible battle that had
destroyed the rest of the Colonial Fleet.
   "The count is now up to eighty-one, Colonel," Omega said,
"Most of the late arrivals appear to be survivors from the ground-
based garrisons in the colonies."
   "We have to take aboard every last one, Omega," Tigh said, "I
don't care what shape they're in, we need all we can get."
   "Colonel," Athena spoke up, "I have contact with Lieutenant
Starbuck."
   Tigh made his way over to her station, "What's his situation?"
   "Not good," Athena said, trying to avoid thinking about what
might happen if Starbuck didn't make it back.  For three yahrens,
she and the brash lieutenant had had a serious relationship that
ordinarily might have blossomed into a marriage by this point if
Starbuck had been anyone other than himself.  He had always had a
reckless reputation for enjoying women, drinking and gambling
before Athena had met him, and it always seemed as though he were
reluctant to formally cut all of his ties to that kind of
lifestyle and carry his relationship with Athena one step
further.
   "Galactica core command to Blue Leader Two," Athena radioed,
using Starbuck's formal designation as Blue Squadron's deputy
commander, "Repeat again, your status."
   There was a loud crackle that Athena and Tigh both knew came
from sparks inside the viper and not from static interference on
the transmission.
   "I'm in big trouble, that's what," Starbuck snorted in
disgust.
   "How can we assist you?" for the first time since the disaster
had began, a note of hardened professionalism had taken over in
Athena's voice.  She knew that if she allowed any of her concerns
to leak out just a bit, it could reduce her to emotional hysteria
all over again.
   "I took three hits to my navigational control.  My landing
gear won't function and I can't apply full braking flaps.  In
short Athena, I'm sailing along out of control."
   "Copy," her voice was flat and emotionless, "I have your
internal blueprint on-line for systems check.  Ready to offer
assistance."
   "Look never mind the trainee felgercarb Athena, I'm in
trouble!  Big trouble." the anger in Starbuck's voice rose.
   "You will be, if you don't shut the frack up and start letting
me help you," Athena retorted acidly, "Now unless you want to
splatter your brains all over the landing bay, you go through the
checklist with me now!"
   Her boyfriend let out an exasperated sigh, "Copy."
   "Starting checklist now," Athena said, "Fuel status?"
   "Dry."
   Athena then punched several buttons on her computer monitor,
"Close your alpha circuit and alternate to left servo circuit."
   "Copy," Starbuck's voice returned to a professional level,
"Alpha circuit closed and alternating to left servo circuit."
   An instant later, Tigh and Athena heard him sigh, "No further
response on flaps.  My throttles are still open.  Braking flaps
still only at 50 percent."
   "Try Omega circuit," Athena said, feeling her resolve start to
crack slightly.
   "Omega circuit----" there was a long pause as they waited for
word of the result, "Does not respond."
   Athena looked up at Tigh.  The executive officer then leaned
over and said, "Starbuck, this is Tigh.  We'll have to bring you
in on full throttle in the starboard bay.  Crash team will stand
by with full boraton tanks at the ready."
   "Okay," Starbuck said, "Just warn them about what's coming.
This isn't going to be a neat landing."
   Athena suddenly threw off her headset and bolted up from her
station.  Before Tigh could stop her, she had dashed off the
bridge in the direction of the turbo lift that would take her to
the landing bay.
   "Should I have security stop her, Colonel?" Omega spoke up
gently.
   "No," Tigh shook his head, "I think she's entitled to it.
We're all entitled to get a little leeway....for now."
   He then turned back and looked at the monitor which showed
Starbuck's viper coming in at an alarmingly fast rate.
   "He'll be coming in like a missile," an edge of alarm entered
Omega's voice.  "If he doesn't get in cleanly...."
   "Don't say it Omega," Tigh abruptly held up a hand, "Don't say
it."


   Athena sprinted out of the turbo-lift as soon as it opened on
the landing bay level.  She instinctively started across the
tarmac, but Jenny grabbed her by the arm and stopped her.
   "Stay back, Athena!" the ground crew CWO shouted, "He's liable
to lose it.  You'll just put yourself at risk."
   Several members of the Galactica's fire team had moved into
position on all sides of the landing bay with their boraton hoses
at the ready.
   And then, Starbuck's viper came in travelling at a speed more
than five times faster for normal landing speed.  With no landing
gear deployed, the viper ricocheted against the surface and
bounced violently around as Starbuck applied all of the braking
power that he had.
   Finally, just twenty feet from the end of the landing bay, the
broken craft came to a stop as a column of sparks and flames
erupted from the rear and underside.  The fire crew instantly
activated their hoses and soon, the craft was immersed in the
thick fire control foam and mist that was many times more
effective than water for putting out a fire.
   Starbuck wasted little time opening his cockpit and leaping
out to the tarmac, getting hit with several clumps of boraton
spray in the process as he angrily stalked away from his ruined
fighter.
   Athena shook herself loose from Jenny and then dashed up to
her boyfriend.
   "Starbuck, are you okay?"
   He looked at her with an expression of pure venom, "Oh yeah,
Athena, I'm fine.  No thanks to your gallmonging father!"
   He then stalked off into the compartment adjacent to the
landing bay, while Athena ran after him.
   "What are you saying about my father?" she called out with
anger, "Starbuck, do you have any idea what's just happened?"
   Starbuck stopped in his tracks and wheeled on her, "Oh yeah,
Athena.  I know what's happened.  We go out there to keep the
Cylons off your backs, and then all of a sudden you go off on a
little cruise across the stars while the rest of the Fleet gets
atomized!"
   He started to move off down the corridor, and this time Athena
grabbed him by the arm, pulling him back.
   "Listen to me Starbuck!" her voice was cracking, "You've got
to listen!"
   "What's there for me to listen to?" he snapped back, "You've
never been a viper pilot, Athena.  You should see this baby from
the air when it starts to move away at top speed.  A real
beautiful sight.  Except when it happened to be the only decent
battlestar left!  But oh boy Athena, what a sight you missed
after you guys left us behind.  Because you left, the Columbia
decided to get some delusions of grandeur and try and draw fire
away from the Solaria and the Ricon, which she wasn't in any
condition to do so.  And after the Ricon and the Solaria went up
in beautiful fireballs, the Columbia suddenly disappeared on us
too!  There we were, all those vipers getting shot out of the
stars trying to do something with no organization whatsoever,
because your fracking father left us all in the lurch!"
   "Shut up, Starbuck!" Athena practically screamed, "In the name
of the Lords, shut up and listen!  The colonies are gone!"
   The anger faded from Starbuck's face slightly as he looked at
her in disbelief.
   "What do you mean gone?" his voice lowered just a bit.
   "All the colonies have been destroyed!" she didn't let up,
"Our homes, our families, our civilization, it's all gone!  And
we tried to get back in time to prevent that, but we
couldn't....we, we couldn't...."
   She then began to sob again as she impulsively ran off down
the corridor, unable to say anything else.  Leaving Starbuck
standing alone, in a state of shock as the magnitude of what
she'd said hit him in full force.
   It was a long time, before the brash lieutenant found the
strength to start moving again.


   As soon as Apollo brought his modified viper into the
atmosphere of Caprica, he could see that dawn was just starting
to come over the planet.  A mist was rolling off the ocean along
the western seashore, but through the cloud cover, Apollo and
Adama were both able to see the intensity of the fires still
burning strongly.
   Neither of them found that they had the strength to say
anything, as Apollo brought his viper in on a heading over the
ruins of Caprica City toward the coastline twenty kilometers
away.  Where the home he had grown up in was located.
   "The main road over the hillside looks to be in good enough
shape," Apollo finally broke the silence.  "That should put us
right within a couple dozen metrones of the house.  I'll set her
down there."
   There was still no response from his father in the back seat
of the viper as Apollo gently and carefully brought it in on an
approach heading.
   Finally, the viper came to a stop along the main road that
lined the famous ocean drive along Caprica's western shore.
Anyone riding a hovermobile along this road always had a choice
of two spectacular views.  The first, was of the breathtaking
vista of the ocean and the shoreline extending back fifty
kilometers to the seaside resorts.  The second was the rolling
green hills that extended more than ten kilometers back to the
outskirts of Caprica City.
   Now, those two views were permanently marred by the sight of
fires still burning in the distance, an ugly thick cloud cover
caused by the smoke rising all over the planet.  And most jarring
of all.  The sight of all the elegant houses that lined the road
and overlooked the seashore in a total state of ruin.
   As soon as they got out of the viper, they both stopped in
their tracks when they saw a familiar sight amidst the ruins and
rubble.  The sight of a Caprican spruce tree that Adama had
planted himself in the front lawn of their house more than twenty-
five yahrens ago, which had grown and blossomed full each yahren.
Now, that tree stood all alone as the only undamaged thing on the
lot where the elegant house had once stood proudly.
   In an instant, they knew that any hope of finding this part of
Caprica shielded from attack, and where they might have found Ila
waiting for them in the home's shelter was gone completely.
   Apollo abruptly turned his head away from the burned-out ruins
of the house.  He didn't want to see the place he had grown up in
like this.  Too many memories of that house as it had been were
going through his mind, and he didn't want to have any of them
superseded by the sight of what it now was.
   "Father," he said quietly, "I'm going back to the viper.  I'll
be there if you need me."
   There was still nothing from his father other than a faint
nod.
   As Apollo made his way back to the viper, he turned around and
saw Adama going inside the remains of the house.  The weariness
with which Adama took his steps almost put Apollo in mind of the
same kind of stunned forlorness he had seen on President Adar's
face in the last transmission from the Atlantia.  The only thing
missing at this point were the tears.
   It was almost too much for Apollo, as he turned away again and
kept his eyes focused on the sunrise that was coming over
Caprica.
   A nice, brisk day, he thought to himself.  The kind of day for
a pick-up game of triad with the other kids from primary school,
or for going downtown to the Shopping District.  Just like he had
done so many times growing up here.
   He turned his head and saw the first glow of sunlight touching
the waters of the sea.  Nearby, he could see that the stairway
that led to the winding path down to the beach below had been
blasted away completely.  More memories flooded Apollo's mind as
he tried to recall how many times he had walked down that
staircase so he could take long walks along the beach, clearing
his mind of all the things young children tried to get their
minds off of, like schoolwork or the latest scolding he'd
received from his mother, or wanting to get away from both his
sister and brother after a sibling quarrel of some sort.
Inevitably, Apollo always found that a long hike up and down the
shore, sometimes going as far as the first coastal resort town
fifteen kilometers away, was a great way to get in touch with
himself and put his life in perspective.  Always, he came home
invigorated with a greater sense of how good it felt to just be
alive in spite of whatever problems he may have gone through.
   Right now, he found himself wishing he could take one last
walk to try and get some sense of perspective back, if he was
going to be able to move on from this horrible tragedy.


   Aboard the Galactica bridge, Omega had taken over Athena's
station and had begun a communications sweep of the entire region
to try and see if there were any more ships left for the
Galactica to recover.  The only thing keeping him from becoming a
quivering mass of hysteria like so many other people on the
bridge was the fact that as someone who'd lied about his age and
enlisted in the Colonial Service at age sixteen to get away from
a life of misery in a Gemonese Reformatory, he had very few
emotional ties left in the Colonies to get upset over losing.
   He suddenly heard something in his earpiece he hadn't expected
to hear and frowned.  Thinking it might have been his
imagination, he ignored it at first, when he heard it again,
coming through more loudly.
   Omega felt his heart start to pump faster as he pressed
several buttons on the computer terminal.  When he saw the
readout, his eyes bulged in amazement.
   "Colonel!" he called out.
   Tigh came up to his station, "What is it?"
   "Colonel, I'm picking up something.  It's an emergency beacon
signal from a battlestar!" his voice rose.
   For the first time, Tigh felt a tiny bit of despair lift from
his mind, "Are you sure?" he kept his tone cautious.
   "I'm positive," Omega nodded and then motioned to the screen,
"It's the Columbia.  She's still alive."
   "The Lords be praised," Tigh said with relief that at last,
there was some good news to report, "Concentrate all scans on
that signal!  I want her location pinpointed now!"
   A centon later, Omega had the location plotted on the
navigation board.
   "Sector delta one-two-seven," the bridge officer said, "She's
evidently at dead stop and drifting."
   "Can you raise them?"
   Omega shook his head, "Negative.  Just getting the emergency
beacon."
   Tigh sucked in his breath and looked at the flashing light
that indicated the Columbia on the navigation board.  Adama had
left him in command for now, and he had to exercise his best
judgment.
   "Helm, set new course for the Columbia's position.  We have to
see what shape she's in."
   Slowly, the battlestar began to move forward from it's dead
stop position.
   It took them five centons before the only other surviving
battlestar came into view on the main bridge screen.
   "Dear Lords of Kobol," Omega whispered, "Would you look at
that?"
   It almost seemed like a miracle to the observers on the bridge
of the Galactica that the Columbia hadn't exploded long ago.  The
battlestar was listing at a heavy starboard angle because it's
entire port landing bay pod, which ordinarily ran alongside the
whole middle-third of the battlestar, had been severed away
completely from massive laser fire.  Her entire surface was
riddled with blackish scars from front to back with several
gaping holes at various points along the superstructure.
   "The vacuum of space must have smothered all the fires.
That's the only possible reason why she didn't go completely."
Tigh couldn't keep his eyes off the sight, "Any indications of
survivors?"
   The Bridge Officer made some computations.  "Several
compartments still holding their integrity and have minimal
emergency power operating.  Only indications of possible life
forms is on the bridge.  But it's totally inaccessible from the
starboard landing bay."
   "I wouldn't dare risk landing any shuttles on there anyway,"
Tigh shook his head, "What about the emergency hatches?"
   Omega nodded, "The ones above the bridge are accessible."
   "Okay," Tigh drew himself up, "We're going to have to send in
a shuttle with a rescue team to land on the hatch and get in that
way.  They'll carry out any survivors who are there.  Notify the
Life Station to stand by."


   The front door had been blasted away, and most of the walls
were gone, yet somehow Adama still felt he had to go through the
doorway as if it were the only respectable way he could enter the
house he and Ila had bought nearly thirty yahrens ago, just after
she had become pregnant with Apollo.  At the time, they had lived
in a fashionable apartment in the downtown section of Caprica
City that offered all kinds of easy access to the Shopping and
Entertainment Districts.  As much as Ila had loved that
apartment, and the ability to live in such an exciting part of
the city, she had known from the outset that it would never be a
proper place to raise a family.
   And so, they had both made many sound investments, building up
a stockpile of money that enabled them to make the down payment
on a house.
   He closed his eyes as his mind went back to the day long ago,
when he and Ila had gone househunting.  Almost immediately, Ila
had found herself drawn to the houses along the seashore.  It
offered the best of both worlds from Ila's standpoint.  Only ten
centons by hovermobile from her work and all the excitement of
Caprica City, while far enough to be removed from the worst
features of city life, where she could raise her children with
total peace of mind.
   When they had found this house, situated high on the cliff
above the ocean, with its beautiful panorama of the coastline,
Ila had fallen in love with it and found herself pleading with
Adama that they look no further and take this one.  Although the
price was somewhat higher than Adama would have liked, he
recognized that Ila's feelings had to come first, and so they had
bought it on the spot.
   Despite his long absences from home, Adama had come to love
the house as much as Ila, and on each of his furlongs, was always
anxious to help her out in redecorating and redesigning it.  In
addition to planting the spruce tree in the front, he had also
helped convert the spare bedroom it had come with into a playroom
for Apollo.  When Zac was born seven yahrens later, they had to
turn it back into a bedroom in order to placate Apollo and give
him a room of his own.  And then, there had been the ballroom
which Ila disliked intensely from the outset, since she had no
desire to ever throw parties at her house.  She had wanted her
husband to have a part of the house that he could escape to
during his brief periods home, and Adama never forgot the time
she had surprised him one furlong by proudly presenting him with
a ballroom that had been converted into a private study and
library for him, filled with his vast collections of books and
ancient texts that he loved to spend many long centars immersing
himself in.
   All that care they had put into that house for so many
yahrens, wiped out in an instant.
   As Adama walked through the remnants of the main foyer, he
didn't even try to delude himself for an instant with the forlorn
thought that Ila was still alive.  All of her closest friends on
Caprica like Bethany and Zakiya had either died or moved away
long ago, and ever since, Ila felt little desire for taking part
in any public activities.  No, she would have preferred to
celebrate the Armistice by staying at home, perhaps watching the
fireworks from the deck outside that overlooked the sea and the
winding coastline leading back to the resort areas.  Thinking
more, no doubt, of his impending retirement in just another
sectar.
   He ventured another several feet toward the back of the house
and saw that the entire outside deck had sheared away and fallen
more than two hundred feet to the beach below.
   The inner resolve he'd been summoning inside of him ever since
he'd seen Zac die before his eyes and realized that the colonies
were at risk began to crack as he backed away and made his way
over to where his study had been.
   The entire roof of the house was gone in this section, and it
was clear that this part of the house had been on fire at one
point.  His entire collection of books, ancient texts and
archival collections on both paper and computer disks that he'd
assembled since childhood was gone completely.  The desk that Ila
had given him as a tenth anniversary present lay smoldering off
to one side, reduced to burned slag.
   Amidst the burnt ashes and ruins, only one thing remained
intact.  By some miracle of fate, the sealed chest containing
Adama's most cherished personal mementos at the opposite side of
the room near the doorway was relatively undamaged.
   He warily went over to it, knelt down and forced the lock
open.  Inside, were the formal letters of commendation he had
received throughout his career from all the commanders he had
served under.  Several private diaries he had kept in his younger
days aboard the Cerberus and the Ricon, recording his battle
experiences.  The special award of the Caprican Presidium,
presented to him upon his election to the Council of Twelve as
Caprica's delegate, twenty yahrens earlier.
   Slowly, he rummaged his hands through the chest as he saw more
of the familiar, personal objects.  The letters Ila had sent him
over the yahrens, and which he had always been careful to save.
Even though interstellar communications had advanced to a point
where it was not too difficult to stay in direct touch with one's
family at home, Ila always preferred having a handwritten letter
sent off to one of the planets where Colonial battlestars usually
put into for space liberty during their tours of duty.  Her
artistic personality made her feel that no advance in technology
could take the place of a handwritten letter in terms of
conveying intimacy over such a great distance, and it only took
one letter for Adama to realize how right she was.
   He finally came to the holopictures that were spread across
the bottom of the chest.  Pictures of old friends long gone, like
Commander Cain and Bethany.  His first commander aboard the
Cerberus, old Odysseus.  His father.  His mother.  An Academy
class picture from his graduation.
   And then he came to the images of his immediate family, all
mounted and carefully arranged chronologically in a special
album.  Ila and him together at their wedding.  Standing in front
of the house on the day they had moved into it.  A beaming Ila
holding her new baby Apollo in her arms.  Then the slow
progression of time, as Athena was born and finally Zac.  Images
of all of them together right up to the last family gathering
four sectars ago, when Zac had graduated from the Academy and
received his commission as an ensign, and assignment to the
Galactica.
   After the group pictures, he had neatly arranged the
individual photos in a chronological arrangement of each of his
children from infancy to adulthood.  And finally, the images of
Ila as she progressed from her twenties to her fifties, and
always growing more beautiful with each passing yahren in Adama's
eye.
   The flood of memories and regret finally proved too much for
Adama as he gently detached the most recent image of Ila, and
held it in his hands.
   "I'm sorry Ila," he whispered as he broke into tears, "I was
never there when it mattered."
   For the first time since he was a child, he found himself
sobbing.  Not just for Ila and how she had devoted a lifetime of
sacrifice and service while waiting patiently for a day that had
never come, but for Zac as well, and how his hopes and dreams of
winning the respect of both his father and his brother had been
so tragically snuffed out.  It seemed so terribly ironic to him
that Ila and Zac would have been the ones to go together.  When
Zac had been born, Ila knew automatically that he would be the
last of their children, and because of that realization she had
smothered him with attention and affection more openly than she
had done with Apollo and Athena, as though she wanted to savor
every last experience of young motherhood she had left.  Her
treatment of Zac had carried a price in that it had often left
Apollo filled with a hidden jealousy of the attention Zac
received, and while it never developed into outright hostility,
it had left a sense of distance between the two brothers when
they both reached adulthood.
   So great was his grief, that he didn't notice or hear Apollo's
voice at first from behind him.
   "Father?" Apollo gently repeated and tapped him on the
shoulder.  It was a painful struggle for Apollo to come inside
the ruins of the house he had grown up in, and even more painful
for him to see his father like this for the first time in his
life.  To see his father kneeling down in sobs went totally
against the image of the proud, sometimes stern, but always
caring figure of authority Apollo had known all his life.
   Adama slowly turned around and got to his feet, as he placed
the picture of Ila back in the album and clasped the book to his
side, "Oh....I'm sorry, Apollo," he struggled to get his voice
back to normal, "I ah....I ah was just gathering some things."
   Apollo felt that if he didn't get the subject back to other
matters, he might lose control himself, "Father, I saw some
torches beyond the hills.  I think there are some survivors who
saw the viper land and are headed this way."
   Adama slowly wiped his eyes and seemed to get some of his old
bearing back, "I....suppose we should go out and meet them.
Just...let me get what I can carry.  This album of the family,
and.....maybe one or two other items."
   He reached inside the chest and picked out several of Ila's
letters, and then rummaged for a moment trying to find one other
thing.
   "Father," Apollo said, wanting to leave the ruins of the house
as quickly as possible before it overwhelmed him, "Maybe it's
possible that Mother wasn't here."
   Adama finally found what he was looking for.  A small audio
recording of a testimonial dinner honoring Ila's retirement from
the Caprican Fine Arts Institute after more than twenty-five
yahrens on the Faculty.  All of her friends and former students
had been there to give little speeches of praise and tribute to
her fine work as a teacher, and then she had given a speech of
her own thanking all of them, and expressing from the heart what
her career had meant to her, and what she had hoped to
accomplish.
   It was one of those special moments in her life that Adama had
not been able to be there for.  That was why the audio recording
had been made, so he could at least have been in attendance after
the fact.  And now, it was the one memento of her existence that
he wanted to keep close to him for the rest of his life.
Something that preserved not just her voice, but her great
intelligence and sense of pride in her work.
   "She was here," Adama sighed with an air of finality as he
placed the recording in the pocket of his tunic, "She was here,
Apollo.  We....we just have to accept that, and move on."
   He turned to face Apollo, who seemed on the verge of
collapsing.  He smiled weakly at his son, and then they came
together in the most intimate father-son embrace they had ever
shared.
   When it was over, they finally felt strong enough to leave
their house for the last time.

                    Chapter Six

   Far away on Piscera, Charybdis had landed the shuttle at the
scheduled rendezvous point next to the capitol building of the
Pisceran civil government.  It was at this place that Baltar had
planned on meeting with the commander of the Cylon occupation
force and then appearing triumphantly on the steps of the capital
building's front to proclaim himself as the unchallenged ruler of
Piscera, and how his shrewd bargaining with the Cylons had spared
the middle colony alone from annihilation.
   One look at the capitol building, with it's dome blown off,
and the ornate carvings of it's facade lying in crumbled ruins on
the steps, was enough to remind Charybdis of how that moment of
glory Baltar had been dreaming about for so long, would never
come.
   Yet as he shot a glance at the Piscean delegate's eyes, it was
clear that Baltar still clung to some incredible hope that he'd
be able to set things straight with the Imperious Leader.
   He had no intention of waiting to see if Baltar would succeed,
which he knew was an impossibility.
   "Baltar," Charybdis said as he shut the engines of the shuttle
off, "There's no telling how many centars we'll have to wait
before the Cylon force shows up.  I'd like to take a little time
to check out my house on the other side of town and see if it's
still intact."
   "Yes, do that if you like," Baltar muttered, still in a dazed
shock that his careful planning had gone awry, "I'll be waiting."
   Charybdis couldn't believe his good luck.  He had been
prepared for the possibility that Baltar would try to stop him
and force him to stay aboard the shuttle.  If it had come to
that, he was ready to kill the arch-traitor on the spot.
   He pressed the button that opened the hatch.  The sunlight
from outside streamed through, and with it, the acrid smell of
burning wreckage.
   "I'll be less than a centar," the pilot said with an air of
nonchalance, "In the meantime, I think I'd better use one of the
spare lasers from the storage locker.  For all I know, there
could be some looters running about."
   "Of course," Baltar was still staring off into space.
   Charybdis shook his head in amazement as he went back to the
rear of the shuttle to get the laser.  Once he had it, he calmly
made his way out the hatch.
   He took his steps slowly and casually at first.  It was only
when he turned the corner and was out of the shuttle's view that
he began to sprint as fast as his legs could carry him.
   After more than a half-kilometer of sprinting, he stopped in
front of a sewer grate along the capital's main avenue.  He
removed the six hundred cubits in notes that he still had in his
wallet, and after pocketing the cash, calmly tossed the leather
folder containing all of his identification cards down the grate.
   Charybdis knew that somehow, somewhere there would be
survivors of this catastrophe gathering.  Even though he knew his
name had just entered the history books with the stain of
treason, he had to take advantage of the fact that practically no
one outside of Baltar's inner circle knew him by sight.  That
meant gathering what he could in the brief time he had to assume
a new identity.  Preferably that of a total non-entity.  With all
the destruction that had taken place, a thorough background check
would be next to impossible.
   Slowly, he made his way down the avenue.  At one point, he
stepped on a large piece of ceremonial bunting that had collapsed
to the ground, yet still had the large word PEACE embroidered
across the front.  Without noticing it, his boot had left a large
scuff mark right across the word.
   Alongside him, he could see the smashed ruins of Piscera's
finest shops and restaurants.  All of them the favorite spots of
the civil government's members who worked in the capitol not far
away.  Having frequented them enough times over the yahrens, he
was certain he'd find all that he would need, right there.
   He spotted the Solaria Restaurant, which had always prided
itself on the high quality of its menu, as well as its reputation
for where so many important deals were struck by government
officials over quiet lunches of roasted Piscean squab, broiled
fish from the western sea or some other delicacy the restaurant
was renowned for.  Drawing his pistol to the ready, Charybdis
cautiously pulled at the door.  It came off its hinge
immediately.
   The pilot went inside and saw that the restaurant had been set
up with many colorful, festive decorations in preparation of a
celebration that had never come.  They had now been added to the
unholy mixture of upturned chairs, smashed tables and broken
dishes that littered the scene.  Along with the dead bodies of a
number of restaurant patrons.
   Without batting an eyelash, Charybdis went through the pockets
of several of them.  He found more than three thousand cubits in
various denominations that he promptly stuffed into his pockets.
Close examination of the identification cards on each of them
revealed several members of the Piscean Legislature and even the
Deputy Minister for Trade.  Those were names much too prominent
to take a chance on using.  What he needed was the identification
card of a total non-entity.
   He then glanced over at the bar, where an entire wall-rack of
elegant chalices and choice bottles of ambrosia had come crashing
down shattering their contents into many broken pieces.  Lying
spread out under the remains of the wall rack and on top of the
counter, was the bartender.  Charybdis made his way through the
debris up to the counter and glanced down at the corpse.  It
belonged to a man roughly the same age as his, with the same salt
and pepper hair.
   A faint smile curled the corners of his mouth as he lifted the
wall rack unit away from the bartender's body.  After going
through his pockets, Charybdis found a wallet containing over two
hundred cubits and an identification card.  The bartender's name
was Pallan.  There was an address for an apartment on the other
side of the city.  Single.  No children.
   The smile widened on Charybdis's face as he calmly placed the
wallet in his pocket.  This would do perfectly.  A restaurant
bartender with no immediate family would be almost impossible to
trace.
   "Thank you, my friend," he said aloud, "Your life was not so
insignificant after all."
   And with that, the man who had entered the ruins of the
restaurant as Charybdis, personal pilot to Count Baltar and
saboteur of the Colonial Defense Network, walked back out onto
the street determined to play the role of Pallan, one-time
restaurant bartender for the rest of his life.


   Slowly, the procession of twenty odd people made their way
across the green hills on Caprica City's outskirts toward the
coastline.  Since emerging from the bomb shelters after the
attack on Caprica City had ended, this particular group of people
had been slowly making their way westward, hoping to find one
isolated community that had survived unscathed.
   All throughout the night, they had journeyed the twenty-odd
kilometers out of Caprica City's burning ruins in shock, carrying
torches as their only means of illumination as they drew closer
to the coastline.
   As dawn began to break over their heads and the western shore
loomed just over the horizon, they could see one solitary viper
come into view.
   "One fracking viper!" Heller suddenly exploded in fury.  "Just
one lousy fracking viper while the whole Cylon armada attacks!"
   "Easy," Serina grabbed the BNC news director by the arm,
"Maybe there's someone there who can tell us why...."
   "Who gives a frack anymore?" another man spoke up, "If it's a
warrior, I'll tear his fracking head off!"
   "Just shut up!" Serina snapped in frustration as she brushed
away some of the dust that had been clinging to her face from
walking through the debris-filled streets, "We've been through
enough for now.  Losing our tempers won't help make things
better."
   Her words seemed to have a calming effect on the crowd and
they fell silent.
   Maybe they were right, she sighed with irony.  Maybe I did
have the power to shape public opinion.
   "Mommy?" Boxey spoke up forlornly as she continued to lead him
by the hand.
   "Yes, Boxey?" she looked down at him.
   "Can't we go home?"
   Home, she sighed again.  Their exodus out of Caprica City had
taken them within ten blocks of her house in the suburbs at one
point, and Serina didn't even bother stopping to investigate.
The entire neighborhood was slowly burning itself out after a
raging inferno that destroyed every house in five kilometer
region.
   There couldn't have been anything left.  Nothing.  And
Thalia...
   Serina knew that Thalia would in all likelihood have gone to
bed even before the attack began.  The plump widow was always an
early riser by nature, and had no fondness for nightlife.  It was
in fact, one quality that she admired most in her, and why she
had been absolutely convinced that she'd be perfect to look after
Boxey.
   Dear God, she thought to herself.  Boxey.  If Thalia's gone,
then who's going to look after him?
   She was already resigned to the fact that there would be no
recovery for her.  God only knew where Dr. Maxson had been when
this catastrophe happened.  And even if he was still alive, she
certainly knew that there were no medical facilities left that
could provide any treatment for her.
   My child all alone with no one to care for him in just a few
sectars from now, she thought.  That's not fair.  It's just not
fair.
   "Mommy?" Boxey spoke up again, "Can't we go home?"
   Serina squeezed his hand more tightly and shook her head, "No,
Boxey.  We can't.  We have to look for other people."
   "Will we find Auntie?"
   "I don't know," she lied.  She had just managed to get his
mind off Muffit by keeping up a lie that the daggit would come
running back to him later on, and she wasn't about to say
anything else for now that would make him upset.
   Closer and closer the crowd came to the viper.  They could see
a solitary man standing next to the flying machine.  A man
wearing a warrior's uniform.
   "Well, well, well," the second man said loudly, full of
sarcasm and anger, "A Colonial warrior.  Sworn to protect and
defend us from all possible dangers."
   The man then charged at Apollo and grabbed him by the
shoulders, "Where the frack were all of you fancy flyers while
the whole planet went up in flames?  Where were you?!"
   Apollo was almost too weak from the ordeal inside the ruins of
his home to protest.
   "Let him alone!" Serina spoke up harshly.  And once again, her
words seemed to have an impact, as the man released his hold on
Apollo.
   She drew close to the warrior, her expression grave, "We all
want to know," she began as she felt the tears welling up in her
eyes, "We waited.  We watched.  We kept hoping and praying.  But
none of you ever came.  Why?"
   It was then that Apollo suddenly recognized her voice as that
of the famous news anchor on Caprica.  The woman he had secretly
admired for many yahrens.
   "Most of us are dead," he barely forced his words out. "The
Fleet is all but destroyed.  There wasn't anything we could do."
   A stunned hush came over the crowd.
   "But where did you come from?" Heller spoke up, "Your
insignia's not from Caprican Defense."
   "From the Battlestar Galactica," Apollo's voice was still
weak, "We were the only battlestar to survive."
   The look of shock was greatest on Serina's face.
   "But....what of the President and the Council of Twelve
and....all the other colonies?"
   "All destroyed," Adama suddenly emerged from the other side of
the viper, where he had gone off to contemplate for several
centons.  Instantly, Apollo was struck by how his father's voice
seemed to have regained all of its firmness and aura of
authority.  And how it had made a clear impact on the crowd.
   "Commander Adama," Serina said with awed respect.
   "Yes Serina," Adama nodded.  As Caprica's delegate to the
Council of Twelve and the second most famous warrior to come from
the planet (behind the late Commander Cain), Serina had
interviewed him on many occasions over the last several yahrens.
   "What happened Commander?" Heller demanded in a calmer tone,
"How did this happen?"
   "We are the victims of betrayal and sabotage," Adama said in
the most forceful tone he was capable of, "And yet in many ways,
the victims of our own complacency."
   The sense of shock kept the crowd silent for a full centon,
before Serina spoke up again.
   "It's true then," she said, "Our civilization is destroyed.
We're defeated.  Doomed."
   Adama didn't respond at first.  Instead, he turned away from
the BNC reporter and made his way up the slope so that he could
look out at the view of the sea and the coastline.
   "Commander!" Serina took a step towards him, "We must fight
back if we are to survive!"
   The Galactica commander had his arms folded and his back to
the crowd.  Since forcing himself to walk away from the ruins of
his house for the last time, his mind had been racing along at
light speed trying to formulate some kind of plan.  For he knew
that as the only survivor of the Council, and as the commander of
the only surviving battlestar, the survivors would all be looking
to him for guidance.
   Dear Lord, he prayed silently.  At a time when I wished for my
career to come to an end, You have bestowed upon me the greatest
task any man has ever been asked to shoulder.  Insuring the
survival of all that there is left of humanity.  Grant me the
wisdom to do that which is right, as I accept that terrible
responsibility.
   For the last five centons, an idea had been forming in his
head.  An idea that seemed too incredible to conceive of.  An
idea that entailed so much risk, and would ask so much in painful
sacrifice for the survivors who were left.  Yet as he prayed to
the God he had honored all his life, he found himself growing
more and more convinced that it was the only possible course of
action open.
   "Yes, we are going to fight back," he said firmly, his back
still to the crowd, "But not here.  Not now.  Not in the
colonies.  Not even in this star system."
   Apollo felt himself frowning.  He literally had no idea where
his father was going at this point.
   "What are you saying, Commander?" Heller stepped closer, "Are
you saying we abandon our homes forever instead of fight to
preserve that which has been ours for seven thousand yahrens?"
   Adama finally turned around to face the crowd.  Against the
backdrop of the ocean view, his imposing robed figure almost
carried the aura of a religious prophet who had just received a
Divine Revelation.  To Apollo, it represented a stunning
transformation from the man he had seen only centons ago, on his
knees weeping like a child for his wife and son, and all the
other things that had been lost.
   "There is nothing left for us here," Adama spoke in a tone of
utter solemnity, "Nothing left for us to fight for or to
preserve.  Soon, the Cylon occupation forces will arrive and they
will have us hopelessly outnumbered.  It would only represent
senseless suicide for us to try and prevent that, and we will
have only helped the Cylons finish off their evil ambition of
eradicating us as a people."
   "But then what do we do?" Serina spoke up, "Where do we go?"
   Adama looked over the crowd and felt another surge of strength
fill his body.  A strength that he knew had come from someplace
other than within himself.
   "Let the word go forth," he began, "to every man, woman and
child that survived this terrible Holocaust.  Tell them to set
sail in every vehicle that will carry them to the stars.  Every
intercolony passenger liner, freighter, tanker, even intracolony
buses and air taxis.  No matter what size they be, let them carry
the people of every colony and every creed on the beginning of a
journey towards a new hope."
   An awed murmur seemed to come over the crowd, as the impact of
his words settled in on them.
   "The human race has one chance left," Adama went on, "But
first, we must all come together and gather ourselves for what
lies ahead."
   He paused to survey the reaction of the crowd.  All of them
seemed to stare in transfixed wonder at him, as though he had
succeeded in furnishing them with a ray of hope.
   "Commander," Serina said, "When shall this journey begin?"
   "Immediately," he stepped down from the ridge, "Let it begin
immediately.  We have at best, twenty four centars before the
Cylon occupation forces will arrive."
   "But how do we get the word out?" one of the men in the crowd
spoke up.
   "The Galactica will broadcast a signal on all frequencies
explaining where the rendezvous is to take place," Adama said,
"And if there are any facilities here that are still intact, we
should make use of them to further spread the word."
   "Commander Adama," a subdued Heller spoke up, "There is an
auxiliary BNC station located in Galatia, just five kilometers
from here.  It's located deep underground and should have been
able to survive the attack.  I'd be glad to help you broadcast
your message from there."
   "A wise suggestion," Adama nodded, "Serina, would you assist
me in the broadcast?"
   The BNC anchor nodded, "With pleasure, Commander.  Lead the
way."
   The commander turned back to the crowd, "I urge the rest of
you to make your way to the nearest facilities with available
ships.  There's little time to prepare.  The rendezvous point
with the Galactica will be broadcast shortly."
   As the crowd slowly began to disperse, Adama made his way back
to Apollo, "Apollo, try to raise the Galactica direct.  I need to
talk to Colonel Tigh."
   Apollo nodded and started to boost himself up into his viper,
when suddenly Boxey, who had been eyeing the sleek fighter during
the entire time with fascination bolted from his mother's side
and came up to him.
   "Can I ride your fighter, Mister?" he asked.
   Apollo looked down at the little boy with faint amusement,
"Sorry son.  A viper's no place for a little boy like you."
   "He's going to have to learn how to fly them someday, if we're
going to survive this journey, Captain," Serina said with a trace
frost as she came up to them and took her son by the hand.
   Apollo looked at her with a sense of incredulity.  For five
yahrens, he'd watched Serina's newscasts and often had daydreams
about what he might say if he ever met her.  It seemed like some
incredible cosmic joke that a tragedy like this would be the
occasion for meeting Serina for the first time.
   "Okay," Apollo smiled warmly and suddenly boosted him up into
the viper cockpit, "Come on son, you can have a look inside from
the backseat.  Just don't touch anything."
   As soon as Boxey was seated in the backseat, he looked about
with wide-eyed fascination, "Wow, this is really one neat
machine!"
   "I know what you mean," Apollo kept his smile and tone warm as
he settled in his seat, and activated the communications switch.
   Below, Serina was looking up at them with intense fascination.
The last thing she had expected to see was that kind of kindness
and consideration from someone who'd just gone through such a
terrible ordeal like the rest of them.
   "Galactica, this is Blue Leader, please acknowledge.
Galactica this is Blue Leader, please acknowledge."
   "We copy you, Blue Leader," Omega's voice came through
clearly, "Any information to report?"
   "Commander Adama wishes to speak to Colonel Tigh.  Please
standby."
   As Apollo detached the extension microphone from the console,
he heard Boxey speak up, "That let's you talk to people millions
of star miles away?"
   "Even further than that," Apollo said as he extended the
microphone down over the side so Adama could talk into it.
   "Tigh?" Adama spoke into the microphone, "What's your status?"
   "All clear for now, Commander," the executive officer's voice
replied, "We have one piece of news to report.  It concerns the
Columbia."
   "The Columbia?" Adama's eyebrows went up, "What of her?"
   "It turns out she survived the attack, but in very bad shape.
We just sent a Rescue Team over to look for survivors."
   "Did you find any?"
   "They haven't yet reported Commander.  We should get news
within the next ten centons."
   "Is she flightworthy?" Adama felt his body tense.
   There was a long pause and then Tigh let out a heavy sigh of
regret, "Negative Commander.  If you could see her, you'd see how
hopeless it is to think of saving her.  Maybe a yahren of non-
stop overhaul at a spacedock might do it but....." he let his
voice deliberately trail off.
   "I see," Adama said gravely, "It's your judgment that she'll
have to be scuttled?"
   "I don't see any other way, Commander," Tigh said, wishing he
could have found an excuse to say otherwise.
   "Very well.  But do not carry that assignment out until I've
returned to the Galactica.  In the meantime, I want you to begin
broadcasting an important message to all of the colonies on every
available frequency......"


   A centar later, Adama found himself in the underground BNC
facility located in one of the nearby coastal resort towns.  It
had been built underground many yahrens ago as a safeguard
against potential weather damage from storms rolling in.  Now, it
was being put to use for the first and last time as the result of
a far different kind of disaster.
   "Stand by," Heller motioned to Serina, who was standing in
front of the camera, "And go."
   "Serina here," the most famous news anchor on the planet began
gravely, "At this time, the Broadcast Network of Caprica asks all
of those who can hear this signal to stand by for an important
message from Commander Adama, the last surviving member of the
Council of Twelve."
   She stepped out of the picture and allowed Adama to enter.
   "People of the colonies," he began with the same solemnity he
had expressed to the crowd, "We have been through a tragedy none
of us in our greatest fears could have envisioned.  A tragedy all
the more monstrous and heinous, in that it was made possible
because of treason within our ranks.  Specifically, from Count
Baltar of Piscera.
   "At this time, I know that all of your hearts are filled with
the desire for revenge and to fight for what is left of your
homes.  But such action this time will only serve the Cylons
cause in giving them their best chance for exterminating that
which remains of our once proud and noble civilization.  If we
are to continue as a united people, and to survive for the long-
term, we must make the most painful sacrifice possible.  And that
is to leave our homes behind forever.
   "I realize that this is not easy to ask of you.  It involves
the greatest possible wound to our national pride in abandoning
that which has been ours for seven thousand yahrens, since our
ancestors left the mother world Kobol to settle on the twelve
planets.  But just as the people of Kobol were forced to deal
with the painful reality of leaving their home and moving on, so
too must it be with us.
   "All survivors are to take only what they can carry with them
and report to the nearest aerodrome facility, or to any facility
where there are ships capable of space travel.  All ships are to
proceed and rendezvous with the Battlestar Galactica in sector
delta eight, mark zero-six-four-five.
   "The details of where our journey will take us to ultimately,
will be made available after the rendezvous and after we have had
time to elude the immediate danger of Cylon pursuit.
   "For now, I ask all of you to summon your faith and trust in
the blessings and guidance of the Almighty, and of the Lords of
Kobol, that even in this grave hour, we will not be abandoned.
And that there will still be hope.
   "The day of the Holocaust has ended, and the day of the Exodus
has begun.  May tomorrow lead us to a brighter future for us
all."
   Adama then stepped away from the camera, and an emotionally
filled Serina resumed her position.
   "Thank you Commander Adama," she summoned all of her
professional instincts as a reporter to the forefront to keep
from breaking down.  She wanted her last broadcast to be with
dignity.  "The BNC will repeat this message every ten centons for
the next eighteen centars on automatic relay, at which time our
active signal will cease operating.  We urge all of you who can
hear us still, to heed Commander Adama's message.
   "This concludes the final broadcast of the Broadcast Network
of Caprica."


   Because the Cylons had begun their attack on Caprica over the
most populated regions of the planet, the Caprica City Aerodrome
had more warning time to put much of their contingency plans for
an attack into effect.  The procedure called for all hangar
facilities to be lowered into the ground, protecting all civilian
spacecraft from damage, while the fifty odd vipers stationed on
the military side of the aerodrome sprang into action.
   On this night, the protection of the civilian spacecraft had
been a stunning success.  The scrambling of the military defense
force had been an utter failure.  To the weary survivors emerging
from the underground shelters, they saw the incongruous sight of
an aerodrome that boasted a relatively intact civilian side, and
a devastated military side.
   Among the survivors of the attack, was the man who had chosen
to take an extra shift of guard duty in order to pay off his
large gambling debts.  Along with the other Colonial Security
Guards, he had listened to the announcement from Commander Adama
and before he had any time to fully digest its full meaning, the
base commander was barking out new orders.
   "All right men!" he shouted, "Listen up good!  All ships in
the civilian hangars are to be made ready for launching.  You're
to fill each and every last one of them up to maximum capacity.
Probably even beyond maximum capacity.  Above all, first priority
is to be given to loading women, children and the injured.  Now
get to it!"
   As Ortega headed out to the Hangar that contained six large
passenger ships, including the luxury cruiser Rising Star, the
only thought going through his mind amidst all the destruction
and tragedy, was that his gambling debt had finally become
irrelevant.


   After finishing the BNC broadcast, a hovermobile had taken
Adama back into the ruins of Caprica City, and then out to the
aerodrome where a shuttle dispatched by Colonel Tigh was waiting
to take him back to the Galactica.
   As they reached the aerodrome entrance, the commander felt a
knot in his stomach as he saw massive crowds of people trying to
get inside and out to the hangars where the ships were being
loaded.  From what he'd heard, there were no more than twenty
available ships to take passengers.  In all likelihood, room for
no more than ten thousand people at best.
   It was clear from the size of the crowds, that there was at
least two to three times that number waiting for a chance at
survival.  For once the ships left, they would be all alone to
face the non-existent mercy of the Cylon occupation forces that
would soon arrive.
   Adama felt himself lower his head as he tried not to look at
the scene.  Trying to cope with the realization that the majority
of that crowd would soon be dead, was almost too much for him to
handle.
   Slowly, the hovermobile moved through the throng out to toward
the damaged landing strip of the military side.  And Adama found
himself forced to look up when he heard the sounds of pounding on
the windows.
   He looked up and saw a frantic young woman of only twenty-five
or so, holding a tiny infant in her arms.
   "Commander Adama!" she screamed, "Please help me find a space
for my baby!  Please!  I can't get to the hangars!"
   Abruptly, the driver of the hovermobile pushed down on the
accelerator and the vehicle managed to get past the crowd and out
onto the landing strip.
   As soon as it reached the shuttle, a weary Adama emerged and
walked over to the ramp.  Before entering, he stopped to look
back at the throng he had just come through, where the frantic
woman had been.
   "God forgive me," he whispered sadly as he finally forced
himself to turn away and enter the shuttle.
   Once the shuttle was away, Adama steadfastly refused to look
back as Caprica receded from view in the distance.


   Several centars had passed since Charybdis had left Baltar
alone in the shuttle next to the Piscean capitol building.  But
only in the last few centons was the realization finally setting
in that his pilot would never come back.
   That's twice I've been a fool today, the traitor thought.
First trusting the Cylons to keep their word, and now trusting
Charybdis to come back.
   It was clear that in every sense of the word, Baltar was now
totally alone.  There was no doubt that all of his subordinates
who had been waiting here on Piscera were now dead.  His palatial
estate on the outskirts of the capital city was probably in
ruins.
   He found himself wondering about his family.  In particular,
his wife Ayesha.  After two marriages that had ended in divorce,
he had finally found a woman who'd admired his obsessive lust for
power and wealth.  A woman who's own desire for wealth kept her
from discouraging her husband from engaging in countless illegal
schemes that increased his wealth as a merchant, and had also
helped literally buy his way into political power as a member of
the Council of Twelve.
   When he repeatedly talked of how he felt too confined as just
one member in a body filled with incompetents, Ayesha's first
instinct was to agree with him completely.  Indeed, she had once
openly said to him that the only way the colonies could ever be
run efficiently was under an absolute dictatorship, headed by
someone like him.
   It had been an appeal to his ego and vanity that had stuck
inside him for yahrens.  And so, when fate dictated that his
merchant ship was captured by the Cylons, and they presented
their offer to make him absolute ruler of Piscera in exchange for
his help in destroying the rest of human civilization, he found
himself jumping at the chance.  Not only did it represent an
opportunity for the kind of power he had always wanted, it also
represented what he truly believed was the only chance for any
part of human civilization to survive indefinitely.
   For many yahrens, like Adama, he had watched human
civilization grow too smug and sure of its accomplishments, and
losing the desire to fight the Cylons to the long-standing goal
of absolute victory.  Like Adama, he had sensed a weakness
setting in that would ultimately make humanity anxious to give up
the fight, if presented under the right circumstances.  And if
that were the case, then Baltar believed that human civilization
was doomed, and that a Cylon victory was inevitable.
   From his standpoint, he had done nothing wrong in selling out
to the Cylons.  It had been a decision rooted in both the
pragmatic belief that he could save a portion of human
civilization from something that was bound to happen anyway, as
well as the pragmatic belief that he alone, as absolute monarch
of the surviving colony, could do what was best for them.
   But that of course, had only been mere rationalization to
obscure the lust for power that really rested at the heart of
Baltar's instincts.  Without that obsessive power lust that had
existed from the outset of his life, and which Ayesha had helped
to encourage even further, his first instincts would surely have
not led him to the path of insuring the destruction of nearly
fifteen billion people.
   Now, as he sat alone in a shuttle next to the burned ruins of
the building he had planned to exercise his power from, Baltar
found himself wondering why it had all come to this.  His dream
of ruling Piscera was gone, his home was no doubt gone, his
underlings were dead or had abandoned him, and there was little
doubt in his mind that Ayesha, whom he had planned on making his
queen to fulfill her own ego-driven lust for power, was dead too.
   From time to time, he saw numerous small vessels flying
overhead escaping the atmosphere.  It was clear that a number of
survivors were trying to get off the planet as quickly as
possible before the occupation force arrived.
   He would wait for them to come.  And then they would take him
to the Imperious Leader, and finally this matter would be
straightened out once and for all.


   As soon as Adama was aboard the Galactica, he wasted little
time getting to the bridge.
   "How's the Exodus proceeding?" he asked.
   "We estimate nearly two hundred ships have joined up with so
far.  It's not likely there'll be that much more."
   "We'll have to get underway soon," the commander mounted the
steps to the upper deck, "What's the situation on the Columbia?"
   Tigh took a breath, "Our rescue teams found only two survivors
on her bridge.  From all indications, they would have been dead
if we'd arrived another centar later."
   "Any identification on them?"
   "One was a bridge officer trainee named Cree," Tigh said, and
then seemed to pause for effect, "The other was Commander
Fairfax."
   Adama stopped in his tracks, "Fairfax?"
   "In somewhat bad shape, but alive," the executive officer
nodded, "As soon as he was aboard and brought to the Life
Station, he started going into a violent fit when they had to cut
off his uniform to treat his injuries.  He's been under sedation
for the last six centars."
   "Thank the Lords he's alive though," Adama said, "We'll be
needing his judgment later on.  You did say that the Columbia
would have to be scuttled?"
   Tigh nodded, "Take a look at her on the monitor."
   He motioned Adama over to Omega's station and played back the
image of the Columbia as it had been when they'd first come
across the battlestar.
   "My God," Adama whispered, "She put up such a brave fight to
live.  It seems so unfair that it would have to come down to
this."
   There was an uneasy silence from the executive officer.
   "Very well," Adama sighed in reluctant resignation, "It has to
be done.  Have a viper squadron assembled and instruct them to
scuttle the Columbia."
   "Commander," Tigh said, "We have quite a few of the Columbia's
pilots on board.  Their strike leader, a Captain Killian, came up
to me a few centars ago and said that if the ship had to be
scuttled, it ought to be by their own squadrons fire."
   "Understood," Adama nodded, "They should have that privilege.
But...." he trailed off slightly before speaking again, "Make
absolutely certain that Commander Fairfax isn't informed of this.
I'll notify him personally when I get a chance to talk to him
later in the Life Station."
   "When will that be?"
   "Not until after we get this rag-tag fleet of ours underway,
and I've had a chance to tell the people as a whole where we are
going."
   "And where are we going, Commander?" Tigh called out as Adama
started to walk away.
   He stopped and smiled at his friend, "All in due time, old
friend.  All in due time."



   And the word went forth through every outpost of human
existence.  And they came.  The Aeries, the Gemons, the Skorpios,
the Virgos, the Piscons and the Sagitarians.  In all, two hundred
and twenty ships representing every colony, color and creed in
the star system of the twelve worlds.  A total of some 70,000
survivors from a civilization that had once comprised more than
fifteen billion.
   The human race might have one more chance.  But first it would
have to survive the alliance.  The elements.  And the unknown
dark and sinister threats that lay ahead.

                     Chapter Seven

   Athena felt as though she would collapse from both mental and
physical exhaustion, after all that she had gone through over the
course of the day.  She had desperately wanted to go down to the
surface of Caprica one last time, as if she needed to see the
destruction and carnage firsthand to truly come to terms with it.
But Adama had been adamant that she not leave her duties on the
bridge coordinating the arrivals of the 220 ships that had joined
up with the battlestar.  Only two small units of viper pilots had
been permitted to go back down to the twelve planets to lend some
assistance to the major loading operations that were taking
place.
   They got their chance to say a proper goodbye, she thought
bitterly as she started to take off her tan flight uniform.
Apollo and Father could go down and pay their last respect to
Mother and come to terms with seeing our home gone.  Why couldn't
I have had that chance?
   She finished removing her uniform, and had started to reach
for the dark blue bridge uniform in her locker, when she was
startled to hear the sound of a voice from around the corner.
   "Athena are you in here?" Starbuck called out with concern.
   Remembering that she was only wearing her thin, skintight
pressure suit, she impulsively pulled the door of her locker in
front of her body.  Right away, she realized that by doing that,
she'd already been scarred by this whole thing more than she
realized.  In the three yahrens that she'd known Starbuck and
been going seriously with him, he'd had plenty of opportunities
to see her in a more undressed state than she was now.
   "I'm in here, Starbuck," she said quietly.
   Her boyfriend emerged and then awkwardly blushed when he saw
her standing behind her locker door.
   "Oh," he turned his back to her, "I'm sorry.  I ah, I've been
looking for you since Boomer and I came back."
   Athena felt her lips purse slightly.  She had a hunch she knew
exactly why Starbuck had taken one last trip back to Caprica.  To
settle one question that had been an obstacle in their
relationship ever since it had began.
   "Listen Athena," it was clear that the ordinarily brash
lieutenant was fumbling with his words, "I wanted to apologize
for what I said and how I treated you back in the landing bay.
It's just....well I'd seen too many of the guys in my squadron
burned up and then...." his voice choked slightly, "And seeing
all those other battlestars go up in flames one by one.  I....I
just guess I was looking to.....take it out on somebody.  I wish
it hadn't been you."
   She shook her head slightly, "It wasn't important Starbuck,"
her voice was understanding, yet to Starbuck's ears sounded
strangely flat, "Right now, I don't know what is anymore."
   He turned around and forced himself to look at her face,
"Look, I'm sorry about Zac and your mother.  I...." he took a
step forward and lowered his head as if in shame.
   "Starbuck, you don't have to say anything," right now Athena
wished he would leave.  She knew exactly why Starbuck was coming
to her at this terrible moment in time, and her inner psyche was
in a state where she knew her answer would not be the same as it
might have been only a day earlier.
   He took a step toward her, "Zac pulled my patrol just so I
could stay behind for a lousy pyramid game."
   "He wanted to go, Starbuck," she said, "Besides, even if he
hadn't, there's no guarantee he'd have made it through the
battle."
   An uneasy silence hung between them for almost a centon, as
Athena kept her face forward while Starbuck kept shuffling his
feet and alternating his gaze between her and the floor.
   "Is there anything else you wanted to say, Starbuck?" she
gently prodded.
   "Athena," he began awkwardly and then started to pace up and
down the room, never keeping his attention on her, "This is a
time for....sticking together.  Maybe it's time we finally
talked.....about things."
   "Us?" she sighed, "Is that what you mean?"
   Starbuck bit his lip and lowered his head.  His back remained
to her.
   "Well," he said as though he were summoning all the strength
he was capable of, "After three yahrens, it is kind of overdue
isn't it?  I mean.....God knows Athena, I've been putting it off
for a long time because of my.....well because of my nature.  You
know that."
   "Aurora's dead, isn't she?" Athena decided to go ahead with
her instinct, "That's what you were checking out when you and
Boomer went down to Caprica for the last time?"
   Starbuck slowly exhaled, "All right I admit it, I did check.
Can you blame me for that?"
   "No," Athena shook her head, "No I can't blame you for that.
I know she meant a lot to you before you and I started going
together, and because you never completely cut your ties to her
was why we've....put off other matters for a long time."
   The silence hung in the air for another centon.
   "Starbuck," Athena said with sad resignation as she lowered
her head, "I know what you're trying to say.  But right now.....I
just don't think I can.  I've.....not only lost Mother and Zac,
I've lost my whole faith in God and everything else I used to
believe in.  I....don't think any of us have any kind of future
anymore."
   "Hey, don't say that," Starbuck tried to sound reassuring but
still found it difficult to look her in the eye, "Things are
gonna be all right."
   Athena looked back at him, and wished desperately that he
would find the strength to face her.  It would have said a lot to
her about how serious he really was deep-down.
   "Look," he went on, "If we can handle what we just went
through, we can handle anything."
   She felt a lump rising in her throat.  A part of her dearly
wanted to say yes, but there were too many scars in her as a
result of what had just happened.
   "Later maybe," her words came out more abruptly than she might
have liked, "But....things are still fresh in my mind.  I
mean....you know that Zac and I were a lot closer than he was
with Apollo."
   Starbuck felt hurt inside.  For many centars, since he'd flown
over the burning wreckage of where his one-time girlfriend Aurora
had lived, he'd been trying to summon the strength for this
moment with Athena.  Feeling absolutely certain in his heart that
the only possible good that could have come out of this tragedy
was that it might at long last, force him out of his old ways of
behavior when it came to women.  That at long last, this was some
kind of Divine wake-up call to settle down with Athena at long
last.  Especially at a time when he was certain that she'd need
his support more than ever.
   And here she was, basically rejecting him.
   "Look," he said, trying to salvage what was fast turning into
a disaster for him, "I said I was sorry."
   "Starbuck," she closed her eyes in sadness, "I don't want to
care about anyone right now.  Especially you." her voice started
to choke slightly, "Zac couldn't wait to get out there and get
all shot up, and finally prove to Apollo he was just as good as
him.  But you....." she trailed off and sighed, "You're even
worse than Zac."
   "I think of it as an obligation, Athena," an edge of
defensiveness entered his voice.
   "No you don't," she let out a mirthless chuckle, "You like to
pretend that they're dragging you out of a pyramid game by your
bootstraps.  But I've known you long enough to know that you
can't wait to get out there in that machine of yours.  And you
have to keep doing that more than ever now that we're about to
do....whatever it is my father has planned for us."
   Starbuck stiffened slightly.  As much as he knew that Athena
was probably still in a state of painful trauma from what she'd
gone through, her words were cutting through his pride like a
knife and making him feel inwardly upset that she wasn't willing
to realize how much they needed each other.
   "Well," he forced his words out, "I guess we see things
differently.  I guess.....I think that we ought to hang onto the
things that matter most when something like this happens, and you
feel better playing it safe for now."
   "I guess that's it," she didn't bother challenging him.
   "Look, I said what I came to say, and.....I guess there's
nothing further to talk about."
   And then, he abruptly turned and walked away from her.
   As soon as he was gone, Athena gently rested her head on the
edge of her locker door and wondered if she had just made the
biggest mistake of her life.
   He has to understand, she said to herself as though she were
trying to rationalize why she had brushed off what she knew had
been an offer to go ahead with their unofficial plans for getting
sealed.  He has to understand I need time.
   Whether Starbuck would give it to her, was something she would
have to wait to find out about.



   "Squadron is in position, Commander," there was an air of
formal solemnity in Tigh's voice.
   Adama stood fixed on the upper deck of the bridge in full
dress uniform.  His gaze locked on the main viewing screen which
showed the scarred, devastated Columbia drifting aimlessly
through space.  All around the bridge, everything had come to a
stop as each crewman stood at attention to watch what was about
to transpire.
   "Inform them to commence run immediately," he said with the
same level of formality.
   A centon passed and they could see the streaks of viper craft
move across the screen toward the Columbia, and then the red
bursts of laser fire.
   Impulsively, Adama felt his arm go up in a rigid salute of
honor to the crippled battlestar as the laser bursts crashed into
the Columbia's shattered hull.  Almost immediately, Tigh and the
rest of the people gathered on the bridge did the same.
   Their arms remained in salute as they saw two new fires erupt
from the Columbia.  And finally, the gallant battlestar that had
managed to survive the terrible Cylon onslaught gave up the ghost
and went the way of its six sister ships.
   When the last embers of the explosion had died away, Adama
finally lowered his arm.
   "Let history record," he said aloud, "That amidst the tragedy
of the terrible Holocaust, no ship distinguished herself more
bravely and courageously in battle, than did the Battlestar
Columbia."
   And with that, the Galactica commander turned and left the
bridge with the sense that the last chapter of the Holocaust had
been written, and that the journey forward could at last begin.


   A centar later, Adama stood in the largest open area on board
the Galactica, the Main Conference Hall which could accommodate
up to one hundred spectators.  At the far end of the room,
situated on a riser that overlooked the rest was a large circular
table that lay in front of both a navigational chart similar to
the one on the bridge, while to the right was a large observation
window looking out into space.  The conference table had been
brought in only in the last few centars, as Adama had decided
that a newly constituted Council of Twelve would be holding its
meetings in this room, once the members had been selected.
   For now though, as Adama looked over the hundred-odd people
who had gathered as representatives of all of the 220 ships, and
all of the different colonies and races that comprised Colonial
civilization, he was the sole voice of authority who's judgment
on where they would be going was all that mattered.
   As soon as Adama made certain that his wireless microphone
that would carry his words to all the ships of the Fleet was
activated, he began his announcement that 70,000 people had been
anxiously waiting for since the departure from the colonies had
begun.
   "We are gathered here," he began, "As representatives of each
ship in our Fleet to answer that single question: Where shall we
go?"
   Slowly, he began to move back and forth across the top of the
riser in the way a high priest might while delivering a sermon.
   "The Book of the Word tells us that we, the twelve colonies of
man, descended from a single mother civilization on the planet
Kobol, which seven thousand yahrens ago set out from their dying
planet to carry the seed of humanity to new colonies in the
distant stars.
   "We, the 70,000 odd survivors of this recent Holocaust
represent all of the colonies of the House Of Kobol, save one."
   A distinct murmur went up from among the crowd.
   "Yes," Adama smiled to the crowd, "The Book of the Word also
speaks of how the House of Kobol was in fact comprised of
Thirteen distinct tribes that journeyed out to the stars.  And
that the Thirteenth tribe took a completely different path from
the one chosen by their brethren.  They journeyed to another
world, far out in the distant universe and were not heard from
again.  With the result being that only scholars of the ancient
writings ever recalled the existence of the Thirteenth tribe and
the planet they chose to settle on."
   Watching from the sidelines of the room, Apollo could feel his
jaw fall open slightly.  He knew exactly what his father was
leading up to.  On so many occasions while he'd been growing up,
he would stay up late with his father and listen to him tell
fascinating stories of ancient human civilization that always
captivated his imagination.  Stories of the lost Thirteenth tribe
of humanity, and the distant planet that supposedly was a
Paradise filled with resources far in excess of anything that the
twelve worlds had possessed.  They had always left Apollo wishing
there was no war to compel him into military service, and that he
might have taken another path as a scholar.
   "It is my intention to seek out that remaining colony, as the
last best hope for humanity's continued survival.  For only
there, could a society have developed in a manner similar to our
own.  And only there, might there exist brothers of man who have
the capacity within them, to help us fight back one day against
our enemy, the Cylon Empire."
   "Commander Adama?" a voice spoke up from the front row of the
crowd.  He saw immediately that it was Serina.
   "Yes Serina?"
   "This thirteenth colony.  This other world.  Where is it?
What is it called?"
   Even now, she still asks questions with the same instinct as
any good reporter would, he thought to himself.
   "I wish I could tell you that I know precisely where it is,"
he said as he moved back over in front of the giant observation
window so that he was framed against the backdrop of space,
"Unfortunately I can't.  But I do know that it lies far beyond
our star system, perhaps on the very opposite edge of the galaxy
itself.  And that the planet is called....."
   Adama paused for effect as the heads in the crowd perked up.
   "Earth."

   Far away, the Cylon Imperious Leader had spent the last day
allowing his three computer brains to revel in delight at the
reports of mass destruction on all of the twelve worlds.  The
fact that he alone, among all the Imperious Leaders of the last
thousand yahrens had been able to bring it about only made his
delight all the more worth savoring.
   From his standpoint, all of his predecessors had lacked the
necessary component of total ruthlessness in their thinking, and
that had been why they'd never been able to come up with the
ingenious plan of deception that had made this great day
possible.  They had far too much respect for human ingenuity and
their capacity to fight.  Only he, the present Imperious Leader
had come to power with a total hatred and disrespect for all
things associated with humanity, and that had been why he alone
had been the only Cylon ruler who could have sensed an instinct
to trap his hated enemy with a false proposal of peace.
   And with humanity finally destroyed and crushed completely, he
could move on to the tasks of exterminating all other alien
civilizations.  Soon, the universe would operate entirely under
the order of the Cylon vision of total efficiency, with no
intelligent races left to challenge them.
   "By your command," he heard a voice from behind him.
   The throne chair turned around and Imperious Leader saw that
the Cylon who commanded the baseship when he was not aboard had
entered the chamber.  Unlike the typical drone centurions, this
was a Cylon of the IL class.  Whereas centurions only possessed
one computer brain and were programmed for routine work, IL
Cylons possessed two computer brains and had the capacity to
reason and think in approximately the same way that human beings
did.  It was part of the next progressive step toward any hope of
becoming an Imperious Leader one day, and receiving the unique
gift of a third computer brain.
   "Speak, Commander Serpentine," he said, "And report on the
final assault."
   "Our occupation force has moved into position and begun
landing," the IL called Serpentine said, "According to the
garrison commanders, the human survivors on each of the twelve
worlds all tell similar stories.  That a handful of survivors
from each colony were able to escape in small ships."
   "What ships?" the leader scoffed, "How far could they go?
They would not have either food or fuel for a prolonged voyage."
   "True," Serpentine admitted, "But according to some of the
prisoners, before they were properly disposed of, the ships
intended to rendezvous with a single warship."
   "A warship?" for the first time an edge of displeasure entered
the Leader's voice.  From his standpoint, there should have been
no Colonial warships left at all after the assault, "Surely you
don't mean a battlestar?"
   "Unfortunately yes," the IL Cylon said matter-of-factly,
"According to the prisoners, it was the Battlestar
Galactica under the command of Caprica's Council delegate,
Commander Adama."
   "No," the Leader nearly seethed, "This cannot be.  This is an
inexcusable outrage!"
   "Be that as it may, Your Eminence," Serpentine kept his tone
deferential, "The information appears to be quite genuine.  The
debriefing of our pilots from the assault on the Colonial Fleet
indicates that the Galactica pulled out of the battle before they
ever had a chance to lay a finger on her."
   There was a long silence for a centon.  Serpentine couldn't
help but think that if the Cylon ruler possessed a biological
anatomy as opposed to a machine-like one, he would have heard the
sounds of heavy breathing to indicate total displeasure and
anger.
   "Where is Baltar?" Imperious Leader finally spoke up.
   "On Piscera," the IL Cylon said, "He was waiting at the
planned rendezvous point.  According to the garrison commander,
he was in a most foul mood and demanded to see you at once."
   "Then I shall soon indulge him.  He will see how displeased I
am with him.  In the meantime Serpentine, begin preparations for
the pursuit and destruction of the Galactica."
   "You wish to lead such a pursuit yourself, Your Eminence?" the
baseship commander was puzzled, "Surely this is a task beneath
you.  Do you not desire an immediate return to Cylon and enjoy
your personal triumph?"
   "What triumph?!" the Leader thundered angrily, "There is not
and can be no triumph until all last traces of this miserable
race are eradicated, as surely as we eradicated the Delphians
last yahren!  I will not rest until it is accomplished!  Now see
to it that Baltar is brought here immediately and make those
preparations now!"
   His words had an immediate chastening effect on the IL Cylon.
   "By your command," Serpentine bowed meekly and bid a quick
exit from the throne room.


   As soon as Adama had finished his address to the Fleet, he had
left the Conference Hall to perform what he knew was not going to
be a pleasant task.
   He entered the Life Station and saw to his relief that the
large numbers that had been there earlier in the day had
slackened off somewhat.
   "Hello Dr. Paye," he said as he came up to the Galactica's
Chief Medical Officer, "Are things finally becoming manageable
again?"
   "For now, they are," the white-haired doctor who had been
stationed aboard the Galactica for twenty yahrens said, "All of
our own personnel who suffered injuries, as well as the pilots
from the other ships we recovered have been released."
   "Do you think it's possible you can begin treating some of the
more seriously injured people we've taken aboard on the other
ships?"
   "I think so," Paye nodded, "But I'm going to need a lot of
extra assistance for that."
   "You're already in luck, Doctor," Adama said, "I've been
informed by Colonel Tigh that one of the survivors we've taken
aboard is Dr. Salik, the former Chief of the Canceran Medical
Institute."
   The white-haired doctor's eyebrows went up, "Yes, I know him.
He's one of the finest doctors there is.  He practically wrote
three of the standard medical texts all by himself."
   "I've made arrangements to have him brought aboard the
Galactica and set up operations for coordinating proper medical
treatment for our entire population.  This is not intended as a
sleight on your ability, Dr. Paye, but in the interests of
efficiency, I'm appointing him Chief Medical Officer of the
entire Fleet.  You'll still be in charge of operations here on
the Galactica, but----"
   Dr. Paye shook his head disarmingly, "Commander, I understand
completely.  You need the absolute best to handle the kind of
situation we're in now, and the last thing I'd think of doing is
letting my pride interfere with that.  Salik is a hundred times
more qualified for that position than I ever will be."
   "I'm glad you see it that way," Adama said and then looked
about, "Can you tell me what Commander Fairfax's condition is?"
   "Coming along fine, as a matter of fact," Paye led Adama over
into the next room, "A broken leg and a major head injury, but
the operations were a success.  His young bridge officer, Cadet
Cree was in a bit more serious shape, but he's coming along fine
too."
   "I'd like to see him," Adama said, "Is he able to talk now?"
   "We've had him under sedation for awhile as per your order,
but yes, he should be able to talk."
   "Good," the Galactica commander felt some tension rising
inside him, "If you don't mind Doctor, I'd appreciate it if this
would be in private."
   "No problem," Paye nodded as he motioned Adama toward the
doorway that led to the next room, "He's in there."
   When Adama entered he saw that his fellow Council member and
battlestar commander was awake and staring off into space with a
largely vacant expression.
   "Fairfax?" he said gently, as he took a step forward.
   There was no response from the Columbia commander.
   "Fairfax?" Adama repeated as he came up alongside his bed,
"Are you feeling all right?"
   Very slowly, Fairfax tilted his head in Adama's direction and
an air of incredulity came over his face.
   "You're asking me if I feel all right?" it seemed as though he
could barely force his words out from all the anger he felt
inside, "How do you think I feel?"
   "I'm sorry," Adama said with empathy, "I know what you have to
be going through."
   "Do you?" there was an air of bitterness in his voice, "Do you
really?  How many of your crew did you get to watch die after you
decided to leave me in the lurch like you did?"
   Adama uncomfortably swallowed, "Fairfax, I left the scene
because I had to take a chance that I could get back to the
colonies in time and save them from destruction."
   "Which you obviously didn't," the bitterness was thick in
Fairfax's voice, "So there I was, left all alone to try and see
if I could save the Ricon and the Solaria."
   "You put up a brave fight," Adama said, "The fact that the
Columbia survived the engagement speaks volumes of your ability."
   "And what are you doing to get my ship back in working order?"
   Adama closed his eyes and lowered his head.  This was going to
be more difficult than he ever imagined.  He knew how deeply
attached Fairfax had been to the Columbia, in the same way that
he was to the Galactica.  But because Fairfax had never married
and been wedded to the service his whole life, the attachment ran
a lot deeper with him.  There were times when Adama almost
wondered if Fairfax thought of the Columbia in the way a father
might have feelings for a son.
   "I'm sorry Fairfax," he said, "The Columbia was beyond
saving."
   The commander looked as though he'd taken a blow to the chin.
   "I wish to God there could have been another way," Adama said,
"Having a second battlestar available would have boosted the
morale of our people in more ways than I can imagine.  But the
Columbia was a dead hulk that couldn't reach the speed of the
slowest ship in our convoy.  And with all the problems we have
facing us in having enough resources and manpower to help what's
left of our civilization survive, there was no way I could divert
anyone to try and work on her.  Not when it would have taken a
yahren of repair time in a spacedock.  Which is a luxury none of
us are ever going to have again."
   Fairfax slowly clenched his fist and began to dig his fingers
into the mattress of his bed.
   "You scuttled my ship?" his words came out as a hiss, "First
you took it upon yourself to leave me in the lurch, and then you
take it upon yourself to destroy her?"
   "I take responsibility for that," Adama said, "But if it's any
consolation, the Columbia died with a lot more dignity than any
of the other ships in the Fleet did."
   "And that's supposed to make me feel better?" Fairfax's voice
rose, "What did you even bother saving me for, if you weren't
going to save my ship?"
   "Because you're needed more than ever, Fairfax," for the first
time Adama's voice grew blunt.
   "For what?" Fairfax's head sunk deeper into his pillow, "I'm a
battlestar commander with no battlestar left to command, thanks
to you.  What am I supposed to do now?"
   "You're also the only other survivor of the Council," Adama
pointed out, "I plan on reorganizing the body very soon, and I
need you to serve with me."
   "To Hades Hole with the Council!" Fairfax said with venom,
"What good did they ever do except elect a bunch of gallmonging
snitrods like Adar to take us all down the garden path of ruin?
The only reason I ever let myself get appointed was because there
wasn't any other military man with the pogees willing to serve
with all those twits.  Well now I can see they were right!  I
don't want to serve on that fracking worthless piece of
felgercarb ever again.  I want to command!  And you took that
only chance from me!"
   The Galactica commander felt his patience starting to wear
thin.
   "Fairfax," he drew in his breath, "I'm going to let that go
for now.  But as soon as you're released from the Life Station
and pronounced fit for duty, I expect you to report to me
immediately.  If you'd take one centon to look past all your self-
pity, you'd realize that all of us have lost things that matter
far more than what was taken from you.  But the only way we're
going to have any chance of surviving for the long-haul is to
accept our new roles in the way things are now.  And if you're
not willing to do that.......Well I guess you're not as much of a
patriot as I thought you were."
   The commander of the Columbia said nothing, and resumed
looking at the ceiling, as though he were trying to shut-out
Adama altogether.
   "I came down to offer my condolences to you on the death of
your crew, and on the loss of your ship," Adama said, "And now
that I've done that, I have nothing more to say.  Good day,
Commander."
   Adama turned away and started to exit the room.
   "Adama," Fairfax called out.  There was a deflated edge in his
voice.
   The Galactica commander slowly turned around, "Yes, Fairfax?"
   "If you're reorganizing the Council, you can count on my
presence," he said quietly, "They told me it was a life
appointment anyway."
   "For both of us," Adama smiled thinly, "I'll look forward to
working with you."
   And then, the commander of the Galactica left the room to
allow the commander of the Columbia one last chance to collect
himself for the burden of what lay ahead.  Had Adama lingered in
the room, he would have seen his fellow commander burying his
face in his pillow, quietly sobbing over the loss of the one
thing that had meant more to him than anything else in his life.


   Most of the representatives from the ships who'd come to hear
Adama's speech in the Conference Hall had left the Galactica as
soon as the commander had finished.  One of the few exceptions
was Serina.  As soon as the speech was over, she wasted little
time making her way over to talk to someone she'd been anxious to
speak to again ever since she'd left Caprica.
   "Captain Apollo?" she called out as she saw Apollo prepare to
leave the room.
   The Galactica warrior turned around in clear surprise when he
saw that it was Serina who had called out to him.
   I don't believe it, he thought.
   "Yes?" he tried not to sound nervous, "Is there anything I can
do for you, Serina?"
   "Well....as a matter of fact, there is," the BNC anchor said
somewhat awkwardly, "I know you must have quite a few important
duties and responsibilities to take care of, and I wouldn't want
to impose on you or anything like that---"
   This is unreal, Apollo thought to himself in amazement.  She's
saying the kind of thing I always figured I'd end up saying if I
ever met her.
   "---but by any chance will your duties be taking you over to
the Rising Star in the near future?"
   Apollo scarcely knew where to begin.  For five yahrens, he'd
watched Serina's newscasts and developed the same kind of hidden
crush that others might develop for a girl in one's primary
school class.  Never telling anyone else about it, and always
contenting himself to the realization that it was just a silly,
idle dream that could never become a reality.
   And here was that same woman, whom he'd met only once as a
result of the worst tragedy of his life, asking him if he could
see her.
   "Well," he cleared his throat, "I do plan on volunteering for
duty to check for solium leaks in a number of ships, just to make
sure they're all flightworthy and can stand up to the long
journey ahead.  I don't see why I can't work the Rising Star into
my itinerary, although it'll be at least a half sectan before I
can get over there.  We have to make sure we've put the Cylon
pursuit behind us for now."
   "I understand," Serina nodded, "And I promise not to take up
too much of your time once you do come over.  I'm located with
the group they crowded into the recreation decks."
   Apollo tried to conjure up a mental picture of the Rising
Star's triad court, aquacade and casinos turned into makeshift
quarters for hundreds of refugees.  He'd been on the luxury ship
several times in the past, and it seemed like too incongruous a
sight to consider.
   "I'll remember," he said, "If there's anything I can do to
help, that's no problem at all."
   "Thank you, Captain," Serina sounded relieved, "I appreciate
that a great deal.  I'll wait at your convenience."
   "Of course," Apollo was still in a state of dumbfounded
amazement as she turned and disappeared down the corridor.
   Well Apollo, he said to himself as he headed back to the
Officers Quarters, Maybe there'll be some bright spots emerging
from this whole tragedy after all.


   As soon as Serina had left Apollo, she felt herself heaving a
sigh of relief.  She knew she'd been taking a big chance going up
to him and asking for an out-of-the-ordinary favor, but after the
way she'd seen him act so kindly to Boxey on the surface of
Caprica, she was convinced she had to take that chance.
   Ever since she and Boxey had boarded the Rising Star with
scores of refugees, and had gone through the traumatic period of
leaving Caprica behind forever, her son had been in a mood of
continuous depression.  Once the Rising Star had taken off, he'd
finally realized that his beloved pet daggit was never coming
back, and that seemed to be too much for his six-yahren old mind
to handle.  Especially with the added realization that he'd never
be seeing his house, his classmates at primary school, or his
beloved Auntie Thalia ever again.
   If he's this way now, she kept thinking to herself, then how
in the name of Kobol will he ever handle being all alone without
me?
   To Serina, it seemed as though she had to play one desperate
hunch to find someone Boxey might be able to connect with.  And
the only person she found herself thinking of was the warrior
called Captain Apollo.  The sight of him smiling at Boxey and
taking time to show him the inside of a viper cockpit was
something she couldn't shake from her mind.  Especially since
that one brief moment in time was the only one that Boxey had
seemed to brighten up just a little bit.
   Maybe he'd brighten up again if he saw Apollo.  Maybe Apollo
could come up with something new to get him out of his mood.
   And if she was right, then maybe she'd be able to find the
strength to take an even bolder step with the warrior who'd
managed to captivate her completely in just a few short centons.
One that might allow her to find the peace of mind she was so
desperately seeking.
   She finally located the Galactica's Life Station, and
cautiously made her way in.  Dr. Paye was in conference with
another man, several inches shorter than him, with a receding
hairline.
   "Excuse me," she said aloud, "Could I speak to someone in
charge?"
   The shorter man looked up, "Can we help you with something,
miss?"
   "Well....yes," Serina made her way forward, "I need to talk to
a doctor about a.....serious problem."
   "You've come to the right place," Paye said, "I'm Dr. Paye,
the Chief Medical Officer.  This is Dr. Salik, formerly of the
Canceran Medical Institute.  He's going to be taking over the
whole operation shortly though."
   "I think I'll handle this, since this appears to qualify as
our first civilian case, Dr. Paye," Salik said, "You keep
attending to Commander Fairfax and Cadet Cree."
   The white-haired doctor nodded and moved away into the next
room.
   "Now what can I do for you?" Salik asked pleasantly.
   "Doctor, my name is Serina.  Since you're from Cancera, that
probably means nothing to you...."
   "Actually, I recognized you immediately," Salik folded his
arms and smiled, "We could pick up your signal quite clearly on
Cancera.  Believe me, most of us felt you and the BNC reported
the news with a lot more straightforwardness than Zara and the
CCS ever did."
   "Thank you," she smiled weakly, thinking of how distant and
remote her life as a news journalist was fast becoming to her
after only one day away from the colonies.
   "Anyway, what seems to be the problem?"
   "Dr. Salik," Serina sighed and lowered her head, "This is
somewhat difficult for me to explain.  But just a couple of days
ago, my personal physician diagnosed me as having a malignant
tumor in my head that would require radon therapy if I was going
to have a chance at survival."
   The middle-aged doctor's smile became a frown.
   "I know this is probably a silly question for me to ask, since
I'm pretty certain that this sudden Exodus made it impossible to
get all the medical equipment and facilities needed to set things
up, but you see......I have a six yahren old son, and.....I
really owe it to him to see if I have any remote hope at all of
getting some kind of treatment for my condition."
   Salik slowly drummed his fingers on the nearby table.
   "Serina," he said, "Who was your doctor at the Caprican
Medical Institute?"
   "I didn't have one there," she said, "My doctor was an
independent practitioner."
   "Oh?" he lifted an eyebrow, "Any particular reason why you
went to one of them?"
   "It's a complicated story that I'd rather not go into," Serina
said.  The memory of the shabby treatment she'd received from the
staff at the Institute when she was an unwed woman of twenty
about to give birth to a child, had left a deep hostility in
Serina toward the Caprican Medical Institute in general as a
cold, impersonal organization filled with self-righteous pain in
the astrums.
   "Very well," Salik said, "Which independent practitioner
diagnosed you?"
   "Dr. Maxson.  He had an office in the Caprica City Medical
Annex.  I'd been going to him for more than five yahrens."
   This time, both of Salik's eyebrows went up.
   "You did say Maxson?" he asked gently.
   "Yes," Serina nodded, "Did you know him?"
   "I was....familiar with him," Salik seemed to be choosing his
words carefully, "He diagnosed you personally?"
   "He did."
   "And he told you you'd be needing radon treatment?"
   "Yes."
   "Under his supervision?"
   "Yes," she started to frown at the way he was asking his
questions.  It almost sounded as though there was faint note of
incredulity in Salik's voice.  "Why is this important?"
   "Oh....I just want to familiarize myself with the case," Salik
said disarmingly, "Nothing more.  I take it that you have no idea
if Dr. Maxson is one of the survivors?"
   "I have no way of knowing," Serina said, "All I know is that I
haven't seen him on the Galactica or on the Rising Star."
   "Well even if he were, I doubt I'd have your medical records
available anyway," Salik rubbed his forehead, "Tell me Serina,
what were you experiencing before you were diagnosed?"
   "Just....some very bad headaches I'd never gone through.
Nothing more.  That's why it was a bit of a shock to me when he
gave me the diagnosis."
   "I'm sure," he nodded, "Look Serina, I think it might be wise
if you let me take a brain scan of you right now so I can have
some data to work with.  You don't mind, do you?"
   "I suppose I shouldn't," she said, "Will it take long?  I've
left my son alone on the Rising Star and would like to get back
to him as soon as I can."
   "I can have you out of here in less than a centar, Serina,"
Salik smiled, "If you'll follow me, I think we can get started."


   Several centars had passed since Imperious Leader had issued
his decree to have Baltar brought before him.  When two
centurions finally emerged flanking the arch-traitor, the Cylon
ruler could see a look of twisted anger on the Piscean's face.
It only served to increase the Leader's inner contempt for Baltar
as the lowliest member of the lowliest of races.
   Yet when Baltar came to a stop in front of the throne, the
Leader's first words were uncharacteristically pleasant.
   "Welcome Baltar," he said, "I have grave news.  A handful of
Colonials prevail.  But we will soon find them, and complete the
task for which you so ably helped to set in motion."
   "And what of our bargain?" Baltar responded angrily, "Piscera
was supposed to be spared!  The last thing I expected to see when
I returned was to find my own colony decimated and all of my
people dead!"
   "Ah yes," the Leader said with a note of mock regret, "I am
afraid that I have now altered the bargain."
   "How can you change one side of a bargain?" the Piscean
delegate spluttered.
   "My dear Count Baltar," Imperious Leader took on a patronizing
tone, "There is no other side.  For a thousand yahrens, we have
been committed to one goal only, the total annihilation of your
species.  It is an edict that leaves no room for compromise, be
it the offer you falsely presented to your people, or of the kind
you willingly made with me.  You have missed the entire point of
the war if you have failed to perceive something as simple as
that."
   For the first time, Baltar's anger faded and was replaced by
something the Cylon ruler instantly recognized as nervousness,
and fear.  And most of all, craven cowardice.
   "But I..." the traitor suddenly felt himself stammering, "But
I have no ambitions against you.  You know this.  I was quite
clear that Piscera alone would never be a threat to your
dominion."
   "Could you think me fool enough to trust a man who would
willingly see his own race destroyed?" Imperious Leader retorted.
   "Not destroyed!" some of the anger returned to Baltar's voice,
"Subjugated!  Under me!  You know that is all I ever desired for
myself.  You know this!"
   "And which made you the perfect vehicle for my plans, just as
I had foreseen.  But now, my dear Baltar, you must learn the
painful lesson that from our standpoint there can be no
survivors, subjugated or otherwise.  So it was with the
Delphians, so must it be with humanity.  So long as one human
remains alive, the Alliance is threatened."
   The edge of panic returned to Baltar's face, "Surely....surely
you don't mean, me?"
   And this man envisioned himself as a leader? the Cylon ruler
thought with disgust.
   "We thank you for your help Baltar, but your time is at an
end."
   Abruptly, one of the centurions flanking Baltar unsheathed his
long sword as though he were to behead the traitor on the spot.
   "No!" Baltar shouted as the other centurion suddenly grabbed
him by the back of his hair and pulled him so that his neck lay
exposed to the sword that would soon fall down on him, "You need
me still!"
   "I think not, my dear Baltar," the Leader said coolly, "You
have more than outlived your usefulness to me.  Although....."
his voice trailed off as he watched the first centurion raise his
sword high into the air, waiting for the signal to bring it down
and perform the act that would separate Baltar's head from his
shoulders.
   "Wait," the Leader abruptly spoke up, "Not now."
   The centurion suddenly stopped in mid-motion and put his sword
back into his holster.
   "I think it would be such a waste to have you disposed of in
such a remote place as my throne room is," Imperious Leader said,
"Centurions, remove Baltar to the command baseship of the
occupation force.  Inform the commander he is to be kept in
confinement for eventual public execution, as soon as the
renegade fleet of the Battlestar Galactica is disposed of.  Let
the man who betrayed humanity be given the privilege of being the
last member of his species to die."
   All kinds of thoughts were racing through Baltar's head as he
felt the two centurions drag him out of the throne room.
Foremost among them was the desire for revenge against the Cylon
Empire.  The desire for one chance to turn the tables on this
race of doublecrossing machines and set things right again.
Soon, he vowed, they would know the meaning of his own wrath for
reneging on a bargain with him!
   As soon as the centurions had removed Baltar from the room,
only a centon passed before Imperious Leader had a new visitor,
in the form of Commander Serpentine.
   "By your command," the IL Cylon said, "We have received some
new information that has enabled us to pinpoint the location of
the Battlestar Galactica and her fleet of civilian ships."
   "Excellent!" the Cylon ruler exclaimed, "This is good news
indeed."
   "All fighters are ready to mount the final assault on her, as
soon as you give the order."
   There was a brief pause before Imperious Leader spoke again.
   "No," he said, "That would be much too easy.  These last
remnants of humanity are not entitled to the quick and painless
deaths experienced by those they left behind.  Let them think
they are safe for now.  Let them be tortured with the same sense
of false hope and false security that they knew these past six
sectars in anticipation of 'peace.'  And only then, when they
believe they are safe, shall we finally dispose of them."
   "But Your Eminence," Serpentine protested, "How can we
guarantee such an outcome?"
   "That will not be difficult," the Leader said boastfully, "I
have studied Commander Adama's tactics for many yahrens.  He has
long been the most formidable opponent we have ever faced, with
the possible exception of the late Commander Cain.  I am certain
I know exactly where he shall be taking his Fleet of refugees in
order to receive needed supplies of food and fuel."
   "And that place is?" the IL persisted.
   "Where the Alliance is already quite strong, thanks in part to
our recently departed friend Baltar," the Leader said, "Prepare
to set course immediately."

                 Chapter Eight

   Two full days had passed since the Galactica and her rag-tag
Fleet had begun it's slow, difficult journey away from the
colonies.  During that time, Adama had made a point of keeping
the Galactica's rear view monitor switched off.  Inside, he
didn't think his emotional psyche could stand the thought of
being able to look back at the twin stars containing the solar
system of the colonies dwindling slowly to a dim point of light.
It only would have made the burden of realizing that he would
never see home again linger too strongly in his mind.
   Forward was the only direction he could concentrate on now.
Towards a destination that only existed in the form of a hope.
That the Book of the Word which he had followed all his life
spoke the truth about the existence of a thirteenth tribe and a
shining blue planet called Earth.
   God help me if I'm wrong, he thought to himself as he sat
alone in his quarters.  For if I am, there is truly no hope left
for our species.
   "Commander?"
   He looked up and saw a stoic Tigh enter the room.
   "Hello Tigh," Adama's voice sounded drained, "Anything to
report?"
   "Viper patrols report all clear.  No indications of Cylon
pursuit."
   "Good," the commander nodded, "That gives us some precious
time to get some semblance of order in this Fleet.  To start
delegating responsibilities among the different ships and the
people we have."
   "Speaking of which, Commander," Tigh placed a sheet of paper
on the desk, "This is the list of top military and political
personnel from all the Colonies who survived."
   Adama picked up the sheet and looked at it.
   "Hmmm," he mused aloud, "More impressive than I expected.
Forming a new Council from this list shouldn't be too difficult."
   "You can also add Commander Kronus's name to the list too,"
Tigh said.
   The Galactica commander's eyebrows went up, "Kronus?  Alive?"
   "Yes," Tigh nodded, "And anxious to be given a new
assignment."
   "That doesn't surprise me," Adama leaned back in his chair.
Kronus had been commander of the Battlestar Ricon for more than
forty yahrens until his retirement from active duty three yahrens
ago.  Five of those yahrens had seen the young Lieutenant Adama
(and then Captain Adama) serve under Kronus, first as a squadron
leader, and then as the commander's chief aide.  Although he
never had much of a personal relationship with Kronus (the
commander's most famous trait was his cold, aloof personality),
he had long respected his ability.
   "We'll have to come up with something significant," Adama went
on.
   "The new Council, perhaps?"
   Adama shook his head, "That's the one assignment I can't give
him.  Commander Fairfax intends to resume his seat, and with my
presence that fulfills the limit on military members who can
serve."
   A somewhat exasperated sigh emitted from Tigh as he lowered
his head.  It was the strongest emotional reaction Adama had seen
from his executive officer since the Holocaust began.  Because
Tigh had the luxury of being a widower with no family, he'd been
able to weather the blow with less difficulty.
   "Adama," he said quietly, "At this point, I think that's one
restriction we shouldn't live under any more."
   "Tigh," Adama's tone grew slightly blunt, "This may be a state
of martial law right now, where my word reigns unchallenged.  But
one thing I am not going to do is abuse that power by tearing up
the Charter of Governance.  It says quite explicitly that the
military is limited to two seats on the Council, and that such a
provision can only be altered by a two-thirds Council vote."
   "Adama," an edge of bitterness crept into Tigh's voice, "The
last thing we need are more career politicians and bureaucrats
from the same class of people who led us down the path to
destruction."
   Adama looked at his long-time friend and calmly sucked in his
breath.
   "Tigh," he said, "We've all been through a lot of suffering
and tragedy these last few days.  We want to find someone to
blame, and poor Adar and all the other members of the Council who
died in this Holocaust are certainly the most convenient targets.
But to use that as an excuse to condemn a system that served us
well for more than 2000 yahrens and helped make our civilization
what it was, is hardly going to help matters."
   The gentle reproach of his words seemed to make their mark on
the Executive Officer.  Slowly, some of the anger seemed to pass
from Tigh's face.
   "I'm sorry," he said, "You're right."
   "We've just finished the difficult task of putting our homes
behind us for good," Adama noted, "And with that, the bitterness
must be put behind too."
   "That's not going to be easy, Commander," Tigh sighed, "Right
now, everyone I know is wishing they could find Baltar or one of
his operatives, and have him shoved out an airlock."
   "An unlikely prospect.  We know Baltar's not among our ranks,
and I have a hunch that all of his operatives are probably dead."
he leaned back in his chair, "At any rate, we'd never be able to
track them down if they were still alive.  Baltar ran a very
shady type of operation.  His henchmen were always in the
background.  I don't think any of us would know one of them by
sight."
   "Do we know how they pulled it off?" Tigh asked, "They had to
be the ones responsible for sabotaging the colonies defense
network."
   The commander smiled thinly, "That's one part of the story
I've already managed to piece together.  The sabotage could only
have been carried out by a sophisticated expert in electronics.
And of all the people in Baltar's inner circle, only one man
could have done that.  A man called Charybdis."
   "Charybdis?
   "Yes," Adama nodded, "And what's more telling is that
Charybdis was Baltar's personal pilot.  The man who had to make
certain he got off the Atlantia just in time before the attack
began."
   "But how does that confirm him as the saboteur?"
   "That information came from a surviving crewman at the Caprica
City Aerodrome Control Center.  It seems that at 1500 on the day
of the Holocaust, a Council shuttle carrying Count Baltar of
Piscera, made an unscheduled stop on Caprica while enroute to
the Peace Conference.  But the shuttle never pulled up to the
terminal.  It just sat there for three centars on the runway.
The crewman doesn't quite know the specifics of what that was all
about, but he does say that Baltar radioed back at one point that
he was waiting for his pilot to take care of 'personal business'
in Caprica City." Adama slowly shook his head, "Charybdis didn't
have a single relative on Caprica.  And since all of Baltar's
other operatives were on Piscera at the time of the attack, that
makes Charybdis the only one who could have pulled the whole
thing off."
   "So it would seem," Tigh grunted, "And if he's still alive,
there's no way of nabbing him, or anyone else from Baltar's
operation?"
   "Not a chance," Adama shook his head, "I don't have a single
holopicture on file of any of them.  If they managed to slip on
board one of our ships, I'm pretty sure they'll be able to remain
safely anonymous for the time being."


   On the lowermost level of the Rising Star, more than two
hundred people were spread out along the ship's triad court.
Ordinarily, this was a place where four people engaged in the
most intensive form of athletic competition known.  Now, it
served as a place of temporary shelter for people who had lost
everything they had but the clothing on their backs.
   "Your name please, and your planet of origin?" Ortega said
nonchalantly as he held a clipboard and knelt beside a dark-
haired woman in a tattered green dress.
   The woman didn't look up at him and said nothing.
   "Miss, your name please and planet of origin?"  Ortega felt
his patience wearing thin quickly.  The sooner he got this job
done, the sooner he could see about using some of his newly
acquired funds to buy his way into the excitement going on in the
Rising Star's upper levels.
   Finally, the dark-haired woman slowly raised her head,
"Aurora," she said, "From Caprica City."
   "Thank you," Ortega made the notation and moved over to the
next person huddled on the triad floor, a heavyset man with curly
hair.  As soon as Ortega realized who it was, he allowed himself
a slight grin.
   "Name and planet of origin, mister?"
   "Chella," the man said simply, "Caprica."
   "Chella?" the wry edge in Ortega's voice heightened, "That's
interesting.  You sure it's not---"
   "Chella!" the man repeated with angry emphasis, "Do I need to
tell you anything more?"
   "No," the blonde warrior made his notation on the clipboard,
"But I have a feeling you may need to be showing me a lot more in
the not-too-distant future."
   As Ortega moved off to the other side of the court, he knew
right away that the man who called himself Chella was muttering a
profane epithet at him.  But that didn't matter to Ortega.  He
knew that he held all the cards as far as the man called Chella
was concerned.  As well as another man aboard the Rising Star who
was calling himself Elias.  The two of them had both paid Ortega
considerable sums of cubits to be moved ahead of more than a
thousand women and children in the lines at the Caprica City
Aerodrome, and unless they wanted to risk being arrested for
illegally gaining access to the Rising Star, they had no choice
but to cooperate with Ortega and do exactly what he told them to
do.
   He knelt down beside the next person he saw.  This was an
elderly looking man with white hair, who despite his age seemed
to be rather agile.
   "Your name and planet of origin, sir?"
   "Chameleon.  From Caprica."
   "Thank you," Ortega made the notation and moved over to the
man seated five feet away.  This man was considerably younger,
with a full-head of salt and pepper hair.
   "Your name please and planet of origin?"
   The man didn't look up, "Pallan," he mumbled.
   "I didn't hear that sir," Ortega said as he kept looking at
his clipboard.
   Finally, the man forced himself to look up at the warrior.
   "Pallan," he said more distinctly, "From Piscera.  I'm a
bartender."
   Ortega made a notation on the clipboard and then said with a
grim chuckle, "I think it'll be awhile before you start handing
out choice ambrosia again---"
   Abruptly, the blonde sergeant stopped when he looked into the
man's face for the first time and a slight frown came over his
face.
   "Something wrong?" the man's voice was even.
   "No," Ortega was looking at him very carefully, "No.  Ah, tell
me Mr. Pallan, have you ever been on Caprica?"
   "I said I was from Piscera," the man called Pallan quietly
retorted, "I transferred here with a group of Piscerans who
escaped in an airtaxi."
   Ortega kept looking at Pallan for a full centon as he tried to
figure out why the man seemed familiar to him.  He finally shook
his head and got to his feet.
   As soon as the warrior had gone, Charybdis allowed himself a
sigh of relief.  The last person he'd expected to see again was
the guard he had given a hasty bribe to at the Caprica City
Aerodrome.
   But every instinct he possessed was telling him that his
relief from the one man who could conceivably connect the name
Charybdis to his face was not going to be permanent.


   Elsewhere in the Fleet, Starbuck and Boomer found themselves
getting off a shuttle that had just docked with an ancient
Gemonese freighter.
   "Would you look at this?" the blonde lieutenant looked about
in amazement, "This ship was built for ferrying heavy machinery,
and they're trying to make it carry people now?"
   "With the shape we're in, people might as well be cargo now,"
there was a distinct edge of bitterness in Boomer's voice.
   Starbuck stopped and gave him a tap on the shoulder, "Hey," he
said gently, "It's been three days now, Boomer.  Let it go."
   "More easy for you than me, Starbuck," Boomer said, "You're an
orphan.  You didn't have to see a boyhood home with all your
living family members inside reduced to ashes."
   "Maybe I didn't," Starbuck retorted, "But we've all suffered
in one form or another, and I don't think it helps to keep
dwelling on it."
   Boomer slowly exhaled and nodded as they went through the
doorway that led to the freighter's main engine room.  While
Starbuck had gone off to find out what had happened to his one-
time girlfriend Aurora, Boomer had paid a quick visit to the
backstreets neighborhood of Caprica City he had grown up in.  The
lower-class district had taken some of the worst hits of the
attack and there hadn't been a single thing recognizable.  The
local general services store, where he'd once stolen mushie bars
and picture journals when he'd been a kid.  The rows of
hovermobiles parked along the streets that spawned his interest
in electronics when he learned how to single-handedly hotwire
them.  The alleys in back of the apartment dwellings where he and
the other neighborhood children would get together for a pick-up
triad match, using the apartment walls as their makeshift court.
   As soon as Boomer had seen the devastation, he didn't even
bother trying to look for his aunt or his two cousins, who still
lived in the neighborhood.  There was no way any of them could
have had a chance.  About the only thing he took solace from was
the fact that it had been quick and painless.  Not like when his
older brother had been stabbed yahrens earlier in a street brawl
and spent the last several centars of his life slowly bleeding to
death.
   "Anyway, it's time to start counting our blessings," the wry
edge that was part of Starbuck's lighthearted nature returned to
his voice, "This isn't the worst duty in the Fleet to get
assigned to, just asking a lot of questions of the survivors
loaded on.   I heard that they're sending some poor guys from Red
Squadron crawling around on the outside of an old skybus looking
for solium leaks."
   The wry edge in Starbuck's voice made Boomer smile in spite of
his lingering bitterness.
   "I wonder how they missed us for that detail?"
   They looked up at the catwalk overlooking the engine room and
saw that Apollo was motioning an electronic measuring device over
the engines.  Several other crewmen were doing the same in other
parts of the engine room.
   "Uh oh," Starbuck said, "I don't think I like the looks of
this."
   Apollo then spotted the two of them and set his instrument
down, "About time you two showed up," he called down.
   "Uh, Apollo," Starbuck called back uneasily, "Would you mind
telling us what you're looking for."
   "Solium leaks."
   "That's what I thought," Starbuck said as he and Boomer looked
at each other in unison and nodded, "Bye."
   They inched their way back toward the doorway when Apollo
suddenly climbed down the steps from the catwalk to the floor.
   "Halt!" he barked.
   The two lieutenants stopped in their tracks.
   "Apollo," Starbuck started, and when he saw the glare on his
face decided to amend himself, "Captain...."
   "Don't argue with me Starbuck," he said, "Get to work.  Now!"
   "Around solium?" his eyes widened, "That stuff is dangerous.
Especially on a ship like this that shouldn't even be flying."
   "Well there really wasn't much choice, was there?" Apollo
retorted, "How many people in the colonies got left behind for
lack of ships?  People who are facing the Cylon occupation forces
right now at this very centon?"
   "Okay Apollo," Starbuck said, "You've made your point."
   "I hope so," his voice rose,  "Because you'll help survey each
and every ship in the Fleet for damage.  And that includes solium
leaks.  Unless of course, you want to search for them on the
outside with Red Squadron!"
   As Apollo moved off down the corridor, Boomer turned to
Starbuck and gave him an annoyed rap on the shoulder, "Just keep
talking, old buddy, and you're going to get us in real trouble."
   Starbuck threw out his arms in exasperation as he followed
Boomer and Apollo to the other end of the engine room, "Ten
thousand light yahrens from nowhere, our planets shot to pieces,
people starving everywhere and I'm going to get us into trouble?"
   "Hey look, all I'm saying---"
   "As far as I'm concerned we might as well just live for today.
We might not have many left."
   "Just play pyramid and drink ambrosia up to the end, right?"
   "Quiet!" Apollo barked as he reached the doorway leading out
of the engine room to the deeper regions of the Gemonese
freighter, "Let's get to work.  These guys have the engine room
under control, so we'll be moving on to the first passenger
zone."
   The three warriors descended a ladder that led to the
compartment underneath the engine room.  Starbuck was only
halfway down when he heard the first sounds of voices moaning
from the room beyond.
   When they entered the compartment, they were all caught off-
guard by the sight of more than two hundred people crammed into
little cubicles along the sides of the room that had clearly once
been storage compartment bins.  Now, they had become makeshift
shelters for the young and old alike.  Their clothes already
showed signs of growing ragged and dirty, their faces smudged.
Their expressions drained from shock and hunger.
   "Apollo," Starbuck whispered in wide-eyed horror, "Is it like
this everywhere?"
   "That's what I've heard," Apollo muttered back.
   Suddenly, a bedraggled woman on one of the upper cubicles
reached out and clutched Apollo's arm as he came past, "Where's
the food?" she shouted, "They promised us food and water and we
haven't had any for two days!"
   Apollo had to gently pry her hand away, "You'll have food and
water soon.  Please be patient."
   "Why isn't it here?" a middle-aged man spoke up as the
warriors continued to inch their way forward, "What's happening?
Have we been left behind?"
   "No, you haven't been left behind," Apollo said with hasty
reassurance, "We're taking care of the situation as fast as we
can.  For now, you just have to be glad you're alive and not back
in the colonies facing the occupation forces.  Now if there's
anyone who's in need of Life Station treatment aboard the
Galactica, please step forward now.  We'll be transporting you
back on shuttles."
   As Apollo and Starbuck moved forward, he saw an elderly couple
in tattered robes dart forward speaking a language he knew he
didn't understand.
   "Wait a centon, wait a centon," Apollo threw up his arms,
"Does anyone hear speak Gemonese?"
   No sooner did he finish when a young, blonde woman in her mid-
twenties suddenly emerged from one of the cubicles.  Her face was
smeared with dirt, and she kept a shawl wrapped around her head.
Yet in spite of her disheveled appearance, Starbuck was struck by
the fact that this was clearly a very attractive woman.  Perhaps
even a beauty of the first order.
   "I understand Gemonese," she sounded depressed, "The woman
says her husband is feverish."
   Apollo then noticed she was holding her left arm at an odd
angle.  "What's wrong with your arm?"
   The young woman lowered her head, "It's nothing.  There are
others in greater need than me."
   "Get her out of here!" a middle-aged woman ten feet behind
Apollo and Starbuck spoke up angrily, "She should be jettisoned
with the dead."
   The two warriors turned around and glared slightly at her as
they helped the young woman to her feet.  Apollo pulled her shawl
off and Starbuck's eyes widened when he saw that she was wearing
a revealing, low-cut red dress that was typical of only one
profession.
   "No place for refuse here!" the middle-aged woman hissed,
"Dirty socialator."
   Starbuck had finally had enough.  "Lady, if you don't shut the
frack up, you're the one who's going to get jettisoned out of the
nearest airlock!"
   The forcefulness of his tone caused the middle-aged woman to
slink back into her cubicle.
   "Come on Miss," Starbuck said gently as he took her by the
good arm, "I'll help you down to the shuttle."
   "Thank you," the young woman was amazed by all the kindness
being shown to her.
   As Starbuck led her and the Gemonese man toward the exit at
the other end of the compartment, a middle-aged man suddenly
stepped down and came up to Apollo.
   "Captain, the reason why we're all on edge right now, is
because we think it's a sin for us to be starving while all the
politicians and bureaucrats aboard the Rising Star are
luxuriating in their private sanctuaries."
   "I don't know what you're talking about," Apollo said, "No one
is living in luxury, I can promise you that."
   "You're lying, Captain," the man retorted as Boomer made his
way up to them, "I saw Sire Uri hoarding all kinds of food for
his private parties aboard the Rising Star.  And when I tried to
force my way in, his henchmen threw me out and made certain I
ended up reassigned to this stinking freighter among all the
borays of humanity."
   Apollo turned and looked at Boomer in bewilderment.  The dark-
skinned warrior motioned him over so he could whisper to him.
   "The Galactica gave us a quick rundown before Starbuck and I
left," he said, "Core Command is aware of the problem."
   "Then I can tell these people that food and water is on the
way?"
   Boomer shook his head, "They are aware of the problem.  That's
all they'd say."
   "What are you saying?" the middle-aged man spoke up.
   Apollo sucked in his breath and placed a hand on the man's
shoulder, "Relief is on the way.  You have my word as a warrior."
   The woman who had made the taunting remarks earlier suddenly
stuck her head back out and laughed sarcastically, "Your word as
a warrior?  A lot of good your word did for us!"
   Her bitter laughter continued to echo inside Apollo's head as
he followed Boomer out of the compartment.


   Adama continued to look over the names that Tigh had furnished
him with.  It was from this list that he would have to single-
handedly choose a new Council of the Twelve all by himself.
   The first two names had been easy.  Sire Montrose of Cancera
had served with distinction on the Council for nearly twenty
yahrens before retiring three yahrens ago, and it would have been
foolish not to make use of his talents.  Likewise, Sire Anton had
more than ten yahrens under his belt as the late President Adar's
chief aide before retiring to private life.
   That left eight more vacancies to fill.  One-by-one, he
crossed off several names while leaving the more viable
candidates unmarked.  Sire Domra of Skorpia had been Presiding
Officer of the planet's Legislative Assembly, and that seemed to
merit selection, even though he was well aware that Domra had a
reputation for being a bit of an egotistical dunce.  Sire Geller
also had a relatively undistinguished background as one-time
Trade Minister of Sagitaria, but once again the stature of the
office he had once held made Adama realize he'd be asking for
trouble if Geller didn't get an appointment.
   The next five names came from the ranks of regional
administration on the twelve planets.  Sire Feo.  Siress Tinia.
Siress Lydia.  Sire Hanlon.  Siress Eudoxia.
   One opening left.  And by far, the most difficult choice for
him to make.
   For several centons, he literally agonized over the decision.
Every instinct he had indicated that it would be a foolish
selection.  And yet he couldn't help but recall how the man in
question had once stood for all that had been in good in Colonial
society and culture.  And how the man had also been an asset to
Ila's career for many yahrens.
   Indeed, only one night ago he had found himself listening to
the audio recording he had saved of the testimonial honoring
Ila's retirement from the Fine Arts Center.  And this particular
man had been one of many who'd given a speech praising her fine
work.  Hearing that speech had left Adama with the distinct
impression that he owed him something for that.
   With some hesitation, he placed a check mark next to the name
of Sire Uri and reached for the unicom to make his announcement.


   "You know I really can't blame them," Apollo said as he
maneuvered the shuttle away from the Gemonese freighter on a
course that would take them back to the Galactica.  "They lost
everything they had.  They have to blame somebody."
   "I'd prefer they save their wrath for Baltar, or for the late
members of the Council," Boomer said bitterly, "It's not like we
didn't do our jobs, for sagans sake."
   Apollo decided not to argue with his friend as he activated
the communicator, "Galactica Core Command this is Alpha shuttle.
Request clarification of food distribution problem."
   There was a brief hesitation before he heard Rigel's voice
reply, "Alpha shuttle, there is no additional information
available at this time."
   "What are you talking about?" Apollo snapped back in
annoyance, "I just left a ship filled with starving people.  They
want to know what's going on, and so do I."
   There was a pause at the other end, and then Apollo heard
Colonel Tigh's voice, "Captain, I'm sorry but we've got nothing
new to report other than what you were briefed on earlier today.
We have three ships being converted for agricultural use, and
another ship for livestock breeding.  It's going to be almost a
full sectan before those ships are on-line to begin an orderly
system of distribution."
   "I'm aware of that, Colonel," Apollo said, "But I'm hearing
reports that some other ships have hoarded reserve supplies of
food and are keeping it for themselves.  What about that?"
   There was another pause before the executive officer answered,
"Nothing more to report at this time, Captain.  Galactica out."
   "For the love of...." Apollo shook his head in disgust as he
heard the signal break, "Boomer did they give you that too?"
   "Yep," the dark-skinned warrior nodded, "Just a vague
acknowledgment of the problem.  Nothing more."
   He slowly exhaled, "I'm getting a very uneasy feeling about
this."
   "I've had it all day, but what can any of us do about it?"
   Apollo didn't respond initially as he appeared to be
contemplating a next move.
   He then pulled at the control stick and the shuttle abruptly
changed directions.
   "What are you up to?" Boomer frowned, "We've got people who
need to get to the Galactica Life Station."
   "Just one quick trip to the Rising Star and I think we can get
this whole problem cleared up."


   In the back of the shuttle, Starbuck cautiously made his way
through the throng of passengers crowded in, to the young blonde
woman who had attracted so much attention on the shuttle.
   "Miss?" he said gently.
   She looked up with some trepidation at him.
   "It's gonna be okay," Starbuck went on as he pulled out his
clipboard, "Could I just have your name and your planet of
origin?"
   She took a breath, "My name is Cassiopeia."
   "Cassiopeia," he nodded, "That's a beautiful name.  It means
'faerie queen' doesn't it?"
   "Yes" she faintly nodded, "I was born on Aeries.  My last
place of residence was Gemon though."
   "Okay," Starbuck made another notation, "Your occupation?"
   The woman called Cassiopeia looked him in the eye, "I'm a
socialator."
   "That's....what I figured."
   An edge of defensiveness entered her voice, "It's an honorable
profession.  Practiced with the blessings of the elders for four
thousand yahrens."
   "Relax," he held up a hand, "I'm not like.....one of those
people back on the freighter when it comes to that."
   "I noticed," she smiled weakly for the first time.
   "Who was she anyway?"
   "That woman is a member of the Otori sect amongst the
Gemonese.  They don't believe in any kind of physical contact
between genders except when sanctified by the priests during the
high worship of the sunstorm, which only comes every seven
yahrens."
   "Hmmmm," Starbuck mused, "No wonder those little buggers are
such good card players.  They need to perfect themselves at other
kinds of recreation."
   His comment suddenly caused her to laugh lightly.
   "I....never thought of it that way," Cassiopeia said.
   "Well, there are always many different ways of looking at
things," Starbuck made another notation, "Do you have any family
that survived?"
   She lowered her head again, "No," she said, "No family.  My
father was an Aerian merchant.  He died ten yahrens ago.  He was
all I had left."
   "I'm sorry," Starbuck said, "No close friends, or anything
like that?"
   Again, there was a slight hesitation before she answered,
"No."
   "Well in that case Cassiopeia, you can consider me your first
new friend."
   "Thank you."
   "Anything I can get you?"
   "No," she shook her head, "You've been very kind."
   "It's always my nature to be kind to beautiful women,"
Starbuck grinned, "I wouldn't think of making an exception in
your case."
   "I suppose not," Cassiopeia said thoughtfully, "What's your
name?"
   "Lieutenant Starbuck," he said, "And as soon as we get you
treated in the Galactica Life Station, maybe we could....." his
voice trailed off with barely a hint of suggestion.
   She smiled faintly, "Get together?"
   "If it's okay with you," he said as his voice dripped with
charm, "You know I've heard that socialators are whizzes when it
comes to massage techniques.  And as a matter of fact, I've been
having some really bad stiffness in my back lately."
   "Maybe I can arrange an appointment with you," she felt
herself growing intrigued with the warrior with each passing
micron.
   Just then, Starbuck heard Apollo's voice go through his
headset, "Starbuck, could you get up here for a micron?  Change
in plans now."
   "Okay," Starbuck acknowledged and then turned back to
Cassiopeia, "Gotta go now.  Just remember the name.  Starbuck."
   "I'm sure I will," she smiled as she watched him disappear
forward.
   As soon as he was gone, Cassiopeia let out a sigh of gratitude
and relief that she'd been able to find someone willing to be
that kind to her.  The only thing tempering that gratitude
though, was that it had to be a warrior.
   Dear Lords of Kobol, she thought to herself.  After all I went
through with Cain, I said I'd never get close to a warrior again.
Is that about to change?
   The more she thought about it, the more she realized that
after all she'd been through in the last several days she no
longer cared about any vow she'd made two yahrens ago after Cain
had been taken from her.
   If Lieutenant Starbuck was interested in her, she had no
intention of rejecting his interest.


   "Core Command, this is Alpha shuttle," Apollo radioed,
"Changing course to rendezvous with starliner Rising Star.
Shuttle will proceed on to Galactica with patients for Life
Station."
   Starbuck entered just in time to hear the end of Apollo's
transmission, "Hey what are you up to?  If you don't mind my
asking," he said casually and then added, "Sir."
   "I want to see what's at the bottom of this conspiracy of
silence," Apollo said, "If someone on board the Rising Star is
hoarding food supplies, I want it taken care of now.  You fly
this thing back to the Galactica as soon as Boomer and I are
off."


   Ten centons later, both Apollo and Boomer were both aboard the
Rising Star, where the corpulent Sergeant Jolly met them in the
main storage facility with some grim news.
   "What do you mean the food here's contaminated?" Apollo said
disbelievingly, "Weren't these crates checked before they were
loaded aboard?"
   "For radon yes, but not pluton poisoning," Jolly said, "They
were all up against a deadline down there before the ship took
off from Caprica.  Looks as though some of these came from
foodstore warehouses that got exposed to pluton bombing."
   "Pluton breaks down the structure of food," Boomer noted,
"That means all the food in these crates are worthless?"
   "We don't know that yet," Apollo cautioned, "Jolly, have your
crews go through every container.  Chances are some of it was
shielded enough from the bombs to be saved."
   "We've gone through three ships since last night," the fat
sergeant said "This isn't looking good."
   "Salvage anything you can," Apollo ordered as he and Boomer
moved over to the ladder at the far end of the compartment that
led to the Rising Star's upper decks, "Even small scraps will
help.  But keep a lid on the problem because if these people find
out we haven't got any food we'll have a mutiny on our hands."
   "Which explains the runaround we've been getting from Core
Command," Boomer grunted as he began mounting the rungs, "They've
been worrying about the same thing too."
   As soon as Boomer and Apollo reached the next level and closed
the hatch, they were both startled to see Serina suddenly emerge
from around the corner that led back to the recreation areas.
   "Captain Apollo!" she called out.
   Apollo stopped in his tracks and felt his heart skip a beat.
In all the haste to deal with the food situation, he'd completely
forgotten about the promise he'd made to her two days ago aboard
the Galactica.
   "I heard you were coming aboard Captain, and....well I just
wanted to be sure that you'd remembered what you promised the
other day."
   "Ah yes," Apollo blushed slightly and nodded as Boomer looked
on quizzically, "Well to be honest Serina, I've come aboard the
Rising Star for an important assignment right now...."
   "I only need to borrow you for a centon," there was only the
faintest edge of pleading in her voice, "I promise it won't take
much time."
   Lords of Kobol, I'd be a total equinian astrum if I said no,
Apollo thought.
   "Okay," he said and turned to his fellow warrior, "Boomer, why
don't you go on ahead to the elite class and check on that rumor
concerning Sire Uri.  I'll join you later."
   "No problem," Boomer said as he disappeared down the corridor
in the other direction.
   "Okay," Apollo straightened himself and tried to push all the
butterflies out of his stomach, "What can I do for you?"
   Serina led Apollo down the corridor that led back to the
recreation areas, "Well....it concerns my son, Boxey.  You met
him on Caprica when you let him see the inside of your viper."
   "Oh yeah," Apollo nodded, "I remember.  How's he doing?"
   "Not very good," they entered the door to the Aquacade.  The
section of the liner that was normally used for water sports and
swimming had been drained of water in order to make room for the
crowds of people, "He hasn't moved for three days.  You see, he
lost a little daggit that meant everything to him and....well I
had to keep up the lie that he'd show up eventually, but once the
ship got underway he realized his daggit wasn't coming back and
he's been depressed ever since.  I...well I thought you might be
able to help."
   Apollo was slightly taken aback as they made their way through
the crowds spread out on the floor.
   "Well I appreciate that, but if he won't respond to you, I
don't know what I can do."
   She turned around and looked him in the eye, "Well I saw how
kind you were to him on Caprica and how he seemed to sparkle when
you showed him your viper, and....well that's the only time he's
been okay since.  I....kind of figured that you're pretty good
with children."
   Apollo bit his lip slightly, "Well....I did have a kid brother
but...." he then awkwardly cleared his throat, "Look, I'll be
glad to talk to him.  Where is he?"
   "Over there," Serina pointed to the corner of the room, where
Boxey lay spread out on several blankets with his head propped up
against a small pillow.  The little boy had a largely blank
expression on his face.
   "Good morning," Apollo smiled brightly as he knelt beside
Boxey, "Hope I'm not interrupting anything, but I'm in charge of
finding young men to try out as future fighter pilots.  And as I
seem to recall, you've got a fondness for vipers."
   Boxey slowly tilted his head to look at the tall warrior but
said nothing.
   "Now let's see.  Your name's Boxey, right?" Apollo then made
some quick notations on his notepad, "Just what I thought," he
grinned and patted the little boy's head, "You're right at the
top of my list.  You know I've been looking all over for you?
You should have gotten in touch with the commander.  We're really
short on pilots."
   "I'm too little to be a pilot," Boxey finally spoke for the
first time.  His voice was sullen and morose.
   Apollo didn't let Boxey's tone dampen the enthusiasm he tried
to project, "Well maybe right now, but do you know how many
yahrens it takes to become a full-fledged Colonial warrior?"
   "I don't know."
   "Well you have to start when you're very small.  Or you won't
get these until you have gray hair," he motioned to his insignia
pin on his uniform jacket, "I'll bet you want to own a pair of
these."
   He looked him in the eye and there was an edge of anger in his
voice when he said, "I want Muffit."
   Serina felt herself tense.  It almost seemed as if this last
desperate hope of hers was coming up empty.  If Apollo couldn't
connect with Boxey, then how could she ever find anyone capable
of looking after him?
   "Well, I don't know.  There's not much room for a daggit in a
viper cockpit."
   "He's gone.  He ran away."
   "Well, maybe we can find one of Muffit's friends."
   "I asked," Boxey looked up at the ceiling, "There aren't any
daggits."
   Apollo took a breath and decided to try a new tact, "I'll tell
you what," he said as he removed his insignia from his jacket and
pinned it on Boxey's tunic, "As a Colonial Warrior First Level,
you are entitled to the first daggit that comes along."
   Boxey absently fingered the metal pin and for the first time
the anger and depression seemed to fade from his face.
   "But only on these conditions," Apollo's voice became a
mixture of gentleness and firmness as he lightly brushed his hand
over the little boy's cheek, "That you promise to get your rest,
close your eyes, eat all your primaries," he paused slightly,
"and stop chasing girls."
   A faint smile seemed to briefly come over Boxey's face as he
closed his eyes and kept his hand on the insignia.  Several
centons passed and the little boy finally drifted off into sleep.
Serina found herself smiling for the first time in many days as
well, as Apollo got to his feet.
   "Thank you," she said with deep gratitude as she followed
Apollo back out into the corridor adjacent to the Aquacade, "I
was right about you being good with kids.  You and your brother
must be very close."
   Apollo stopped and absently looked at the floor, "Well,
actually.....we weren't.  We used to ah...well we used to spar
quite a bit."
   Serina blushed in embarrassment, "Oh.  I'm sorry I didn't
know, I....." she trailed off and tried to collect herself, "All
this time I've been bothering you with my personal problems and I
never....."
   Apollo found himself smiling again at the irony of how it was
Serina acting embarrassed around him, when he'd always envisioned
that it would be the other way around if they ever met.
   "Look," Serina said, "If you'd rather not be involved---"
   "Don't be silly," Apollo smiled mirthlessly as they reached
the turbo lift, "What's a warrior to do after he's lost the big
one?  Might as well try and win a few of the little ones."
   "That's not a little one in there, Captain," Serina said.
   "I know," Apollo nodded as the doors opened and he stepped in,
"Look, I promise to check back later, okay?"
   "Sure," she nodded, "Captain, thank you."
   He smiled back at her as the turbo doors closed shut.  And for
the first time, Serina got the impression that there was a lot
more to Apollo's kindness than she'd realized.


   When Apollo reached the upper levels of the Rising Star, which
housed its most luxurious accommodations, he spotted Boomer in
front of a door that was being guarded by a black-shirted guard
from Council Security.
   "What's going on here?" Apollo calmly demanded.
   Boomer threw up his arms in exasperation, "We've got ourselves
a black-shirt who won't let us into Sire Uri's private party."
   "Is that a fact?" Apollo glared coldly at the guard, "Since
when did Council Security take an interest in Sire Uri?"
   "Sire Uri has just been appointed to the new Council of Twelve
and is subject to Council Security protection, Captain," the
guard spoke up.
   "Really," Apollo's voice dripped with sarcasm, "Is our new
Council member aware of what's going on in the lower decks, and
all the other ships in this Fleet?"
   "Look Captain, I'm only paid to do my job----"
   "And right now, your job is going to be that you step aside
and let us go in."
   The guard bristled, "This is a private accommodation secured
by Sire Uri and his party, Captain.  You don't have the authority
to--"
   "Want to bet?" Apollo calmly pulled out his laser pistol and
pointed it at the guard.  Boomer instantly did likewise.
   The guard stiffened in anger but wasted little time in
stepping aside from the door.  Apollo leaned over and activated
the switch that opened it.
   When the two warriors entered, they heard sounds that had not
been heard at all since the Holocaust.  The sound of laughter and
wild partying.  Throughout the room, there were more than two
dozen people indulging in large quantities of food piled up on
several tables.  Apollo and Boomer also noticed how a number of
the men in the room had their arms wrapped around scantily clad
women.
   "Good thing we let Starbuck go back to the Galactica," Boomer
couldn't help himself, "He'd have loved to get in on this."
   Apollo shook his head in disgust and made his way over to the
center of the room where he saw Sire Uri seated behind one of the
tables with a young woman at his side.  The bald sire had once
been a strikingly handsome man in his younger days, but it was
clear that he had allowed many yahrens of indulgence to take a
toll on his body.  As soon as he saw the two warriors, a dark
cloud came over his face.
   "I trust you have an explanation for this intrusion?"
   Apollo didn't bat an eye as he came up to him, "Would you like
to make a statement before I place you under arrest, Sire Uri?"
   The bald sire chuckled with a malevolent air, "I'm glad you
know my name.  At least you'll know from where the blade fell."
   "I'm going to give you about a micron to get on my shuttle
back to the Galactica," Apollo said coldly, "After that, I'll
just turn the six levels of starving passengers beneath you
loose, and you can take your chances with them."
   "Oh Captain," Uri's voice dripped with the charm that had made
him famous in his younger days, "Why don't you put your hostility
aside and join us in our prayer of gratitude for our deliverance?
It was such a difficult task to elude the Cylons during the
immediate period following the evacuation, and now my friends and
I are merely celebrating the fact that the immediate danger has
passed."
   Apollo's face twisted in disbelief.  How in the world did this
man get selected to the new Council?
   "In case it's eluded you, Councillor," he stepped forward,
"There are dozens of ships in this Fleet filled with starving
people who will soon die and make our 'deliverance' totally
meaningless.  While hunger hasn't yet taken a life, it's only a
matter of time now."
   He turned to his fellow warrior, "Boomer, notify Core Command
that we have found some stores of food that will be distributed
as far as they go."
   "I protest, Captain!" Uri said angrily, "These stores are my
property, taken from my estate on Caprica before the Exodus.  It
belongs to me and my guests, and unless you have a Presidential
decree I see no reason why I must comply with this outrage."
   "Excuse me Sire Uri, but as a newly appointed member of the
Council of Twelve, I believe your oath states that your first
duty is to the people you represent," Apollo drew closer, "And
somehow, I don't think the people will think much of you as a
representative if you engage in a conspiracy to deny them food at
a critical time."
   Uri's face flushed slightly.
   "Come to think of it," Apollo's eyes focused on the young
woman who had hold of Uri's arm, "What does your wife think of
your refusal to share food with others?"
   "My wife?" his face further reddened.
   "Siress Uri," Apollo said, as he remembered a plump woman his
mother had invited over to the house several times for casual
lunches over the yahrens, "I don't believe I've seen her aboard
the Rising Star."
   Uri absently looked at the floor, "My wife was visiting
friends on the other side of Caprica City at the time of the
attack.  I believe she survived the attack but unfortunately she
did not arrive in time to make the voyage."
   Some of Uri's guests who had not been aware of this piece of
information suddenly began to look uncomfortable and embarrassed.
   "My sympathies," Apollo said trying to not let any sarcasm
enter his voice, "I share your bereavement.  Siress Uri was an
outstanding woman."
   "Yes," Uri didn't look up at him.
   This time, Apollo didn't bother to hide the sarcasm, "I'm sure
she'd be moved by your period of mourning."
   This time, the new Council member looked up at Apollo with an
expression of pure anger.
   "Captain," he got to his feet and struggled to regain some
face that had been lost, "May I state categorically, that at no
time was I ever appraised of any problems in food distribution
for those of us confined to....less pleasant quarters.  If indeed
it is true that some stores are contaminated, then the least I
can do is alleviate that situation.  I give you my permission to
take whatever stores you need for the short-term."
   Apollo tried not to laugh.  He knew he had backed Uri into a
corner, and the bald sire was simply trying to come up with a way
of extricating himself from it now that he'd been caught red-
handed and humiliated before all of his cronies.
   "Very well, Sire Uri," Apollo nodded, "Your generosity is most
appreciated.  Boomer, have Jolly come up here with a crew and
distribute the surplus stores throughout the ship."
   Boomer nodded and just had time to take note of the angry look
on Sire Uri's face before he left the room.


   A centar later, Apollo and Boomer were on the lower decks
headed back to the Rising Star's docking area.
   "For a micron, I thought you were going to overplay your
hand," Boomer said, "Arresting a new Council member wouldn't have
made things easy for your Father."
   "I'd have done it," Apollo said, "As far as I'm concerned,
diplomacy takes a back seat when you're dealing with starvation."
   "I can tell you this," Boomer said, "He's going to make things
difficult for you in the future.  When I left the room, I saw a
look that I hadn't seen since a street gang leader pulled a knife
on me when I was fifteen."
   Apollo glanced at his friend, "At this particular micron
Boomer, one fat, bald sire with a greed complex is the least of
my worries."

                    Chapter Nine

   Slowly, Dr. Salik inserted Cassiopeia's broken arm into a
transparent tube that enabled him to extend it without causing
any further damage.  Once it was in position, he activated the
laser powered fuser device.  For several centons, she felt a
tingling sensation go through the areas that had been causing
intense pain for so many days now.
   Finally, Salik switched the device off and slowly removed her
arm from the tubing.
   "There," he said, "How does it feel?"
   Cassiopeia slowly flexed it with amazement, "It feels like
it's never been broken."
   "The bone's been fused whole.  It should be stronger than
before."
   The socialator got to her feet and gave the fuser an admiring
look, "Is this a DL3 Model Fuser?"
   Salik lifted an eyebrow in amazement that she would be
familiar with that term, "Why yes, it is.  How would you know
that?"
   "Well," Cassiopeia ran her hand over the device, "To be
honest, I spent a yahren at university as a med-tech trainee.
That was before I decided on....another career."
   "Really," Salik took note of her low-cut dress which already
explained what her other career was, "How good were you?"
   "I could have made a career of it," she flexed herself, "I
just...felt my path lay elsewhere."
   "Let me tell you something," Salik said with dead seriousness,
"If you ever have second thoughts about your present occupation,
don't hesitate to get in touch with me.  We could use all the
extra help we can get running this operation."
   She looked about the Life Station and saw all the other people
being treated by assorted med-techs, "Is your situation that
bad?"
   "Let's just say it could be better."
   Cassiopeia bit her lip and slowly nodded, "I.....just may
consider your offer.  Thank you Dr. Salik."
   "Anytime," he smiled back as he moved off to tend to another
patient.
   The blonde socialator flexed herself again as she went out
into the corridor.  To her delight, she saw that Starbuck was
still waiting outside.
   "Look!" she dashed up and threw her arms around him, "They
fixed it!"
   "That's great," he grinned.
   She then let go of him and her expression suddenly grew
downcast, "You're just here to take me back, aren't you?"
   "Well," he shrugged, "It isn't easy to find a ride around
here, you know."
   She leaned her head against the bulkhead railing, "I'm not
exactly anxious to return to that ship, you know."
   "I figured that," Starbuck said with understanding, "Look,
maybe I can check around and see if there's anyplace else you can
stay.  There are 219 other ships in the Fleet to stay on."
   Cassiopeia gave him a crooked smile, "Would you be this kind
if I weren't a socialator?"
   Starbuck took her by the arm, "Look," he said, "Forget about
my little jokes back on the shuttle about Gemonese card players
and all that felgercarb.  Believe me, I just want to help.
Nothing personal."
   "Nothing personal," she looked him over, "A warrior decides
he'll go out of his way to look for choice quarters for a
socialator, and there's nothing personal?  Sorry Starbuck, but
that's one line I've never heard before.  It's always something
personal."
   "Not with me," he held up his arms, "I swear!"
   She laughed and threw her arms around him again, "Okay," she
said, "But I think you're making a terrible deal."
   As she disappeared down the corridor, Starbuck found himself
admiring her movements until she was totally out of sight.
   That is definitely one woman worth getting to know.


   "Long range patrols reporting in," Rigel said as she saw both
Adama and Tigh enter the bridge.  "Captain Killian says no
indications of Cylon pursuit on any vectors."
   "Well Commander?" Tigh looked at Adama.
   "That's certainly good news," the commander admitted, "It
looks as though our escape has been a total success."
   "Assuming we don't make any mistakes."
   Adama smiled wryly at his old friend, "Assuming the new
Council makes no mistakes, you mean?"
   "I promise to keep an open mind for now."
   "As am I," Adama sighed, "We meet in two centars to plot our
next move."
   "Good luck with it."


   When Adama tapped the ceremonial gavel to bring the first
session of the new Council of Twelve to order, he found himself
filled with tension as to how this was going to go.  He had
placed a lot of faith in the abilities of the ten men and women
he had personally chosen, and he prayed that his judgment would
be vindicated in how they reacted to his proposal.
   "As you are all aware," Adama began, "The long-range objective
of this Fleet is to seek out the distant planet called Earth as
the only viable hope our people have in terms of surviving for
the long-haul.  But in order for this journey to succeed, we must
first seek out a supply base of food and fuel that will sustain
us for a long-enough period until our own resources in this Fleet
can furnish our needs."
   "And where do you suggest we proceed?" Sire Anton spoke up.
President Adar's one-time chief aide had been anxious to take
part in the new Council even before he'd received his appointment
from Adama.
   Adama motioned to the navigation map behind the Council table,
"My proposal is that we proceed to the planet Carillon, as the
best hope for finding the food and fuel that we need."
   A low murmur went up from the Council members.
   "Carillon?" Sire Uri spoke up, "Surely you are not serious,
Adama."
   "I am, Sire Uri," Adama said, feeling a sense of distaste in
his mouth.  Ever since Apollo had briefed him on what had
happened aboard the Rising Star, he had already begun to regret
his appointment of the man, "The planet was the source of a
mining expedition five sectars ago that reported large quantities
of tylium."
   "But Carillon was abandoned because that same expedition
reported that it was too impractical to set up a full-fledged
operation so distant from the Colonies," Uri rose from his
Council chair and went up to the board.
   "True," Adama nodded, "But at this stage, Sire Uri, the matter
of distance from the Colonies is no longer relevant."
   "I beg to differ," Uri refused to let up, "Carillon is too far
away.  We will never make it because of the food disaster."
   Adama resisted the urge to point out that Uri's hoarding of
food that had nearly resulted in his arrest, had partially
contributed to the crisis they now faced.
   "There is no other destination," he said firmly.
   "Ah, but there is," Uri pointed to another corner of the
board, "We can stop here on Borallus.  We know that everything we
need is there.  Food, fuel and water."
   "And undoubtedly a Cylon task force, Sire Uri," Commander
Fairfax spoke up for the first time, "Only last yahren,
intelligence was quite clear that the Cylons had set-up numerous
outposts on all the asteroids leading into the Borellian
quadrant."
   "An old intelligence report from a military that could not
accurately plot the state of Cylon task forces before this
Holocaust does not impress me, Commander Fairfax," Uri resumed
his seat, "The simple fact remains that it is the most logical
place for us to stop."
   "Precisely why it would be fatal," Fairfax acidly retorted.
   "Possibly fatal," Uri refused to be intimidated, "Is it not
surely fatal to continue on to such a remote and distant place as
Carillon is?"
   "I'm willing to take the chance," the former commander of the
Columbia held his ground, "Because even if a Cylon task force is
not there, I don't exactly relish the thought of having to ask a
planet full of Borellian nomen for supplies when they hate us
with as much passion as they do the Cylons."
   "Commander Fairfax," Sire Domra angrily spoke up, "Borellian
nomen are no less human than you or I."
   "Technically yes," Fairfax said, "From a practical standpoint,
they are useless as allies."
   "Gentlemen, I believe we are all getting sidetracked," this
came from Siress Tinia, one-time governor of the largest
territory on Virgon, "I think the immediate issue of debate
should be over which potential destination is closer and more
convenient for our Fleet.  And under those guidelines, I feel
that Sire Uri's point with regard to Borallus is most compelling.
Journeying to Carillon means at least a full sectan of flight
time before we reach the system, and at least several more days
before the resources can be adequately harnessed for use.
Borallus is accessible within only five days flight time."
   "With all due respect Siress Tinia, a savings of two days
flight time to Borallus won't amount to felgercarb if the whole
Cylon Fleet is there waiting for us!" Fairfax's displeasure
increased.
   "I think you exaggerate, Commander Fairfax," this from Domra,
"The Cylon Fleet is surely preoccupied with other important tasks
at this micron, such as the distasteful process of transforming
our former home worlds into disgusting examples of Cylon order."
   "The bottom line is that Borallus represents the only viable
way for us to go," Uri re-entered the discussion.
   "There is another way!" another voice suddenly spoke up
loudly.
   The members of the Council turned around in startled amazement
as they saw Apollo come up the riser to the Council table.
   "If I might have a centon of the Council's time," he said as
he went over to the navigation map, "I support Commander Adama's
rejection of Borallus."
   "Surprising," Uri said acidly as the memory of the humiliation
he'd endured at Apollo's hands aboard the Rising Star went
through him, "What else would the commander's own son think?"
   Apollo ignored the barb, "Borallus is a deathtrap as lethal as
the one we left behind in the Colonies.  And we don't have the
armament to fight our way in and out.  But there is another way
to Carillon that can get us there in half the time."
   That got the Council's attention, "We're listening, Captain,"
Tinia said.
   "Instead of taking the intended route," Apollo made a sweeping
circular motion on the board, "Which takes us a whole sectan to
journey, I propose going directly on a straight heading through
the Nova Madagon."
   A dark cloud passed over Adama's face, and several other
members of the Council.
   "Not patrolled and a savings of four days flight time to
Carillon."  Apollo finished as he moved his hand in a straight
line across the board to the tiny circle denoting Carillon in the
far corner.
   "Captain," this came from Sire Anton, "I may not be a military
expert, but I do know that the Cylons don't have to patrol that
particular area because they mine it.  They lay mines to make
passage that way impossible."
   Adama was in a state of bewilderment over his son's sudden
proposal, "It would be impossible for a fleet of cumbersome ships
to even attempt to go through a narrow passage like that."
   "I agree," Apollo conceded, "The Fleet could not traverse the
channel unless it had been cleared first."
   "And how would you propose doing that?" Anton smiled gently,
as befitting his perpetually genial expression.
   Apollo cast an idle glance at the far end of the room where
Starbuck and Boomer were both standing at the main entrance.
   "Well," he said, "I suggest I find one or two volunteers to
join me in flying ahead of the Fleet in vipers to blow the
minefield apart with laser torpedoes."
   Adama could no longer contain his anger, "Out of the
question!" he said as forcefully as he could, "Out of the
question!"
   Sire Uri leaned forward in his seat.  Clearly, he enjoyed
seeing such disunity between the father and the son.
   "Brilliant," he said, "Brilliant.  If it must be to Carillon
as you insist Adama, then this is the way.  I say we support the
Captain."
   Adama angrily looked about the table trying to find someone
else to speak out against the proposal.  He found that none was
coming.
   "I have to agree," this came from Fairfax, "Speed is of the
essence, and I have full confidence that Captain Apollo and his
team are up to the challenge of clearing the minefield."
   "Then we are all agreed?" Uri looked about the table, and then
fastened his eyes on Adama.  The Commander's anger was still
evident, but he clearly realized it was pointless to say anything
else.
   "Good for you, good for you," Anton beamed at Apollo, "My boy,
as grave a plan as it is, it appears to be our only hope.  You
have the blessings and full support of the Council of Twelve."
   The other eleven members broke into spontaneous applause.
Apollo bowed slightly and then walked back to the other end of
the room where an uneasy Starbuck and Boomer were both waiting.
They knew right away just who the two additional "volunteers"
were going to be for the dangerous mission that lay ahead.


   A centar later, an angry Adama had summoned his son to see him
in his quarters.
   "And just what do you think you were doing volunteering for a
mission like that?"
   Apollo was dumbfounded by the anger in his father's voice.
   "Father--"
   "Sire Uri must be laughing up his sleeve," Adama abruptly
turned away from Apollo and began pacing in the other direction.
   For the first time in all the yahrens he could remember,
Apollo decided not to let the angry tone of his father intimidate
him.
   "What's worrying you more?" he retorted, "The mission or your
being made to look foolish by Uri?"
   Adama wheeled around and looked at him with an expression of
coldness that instantly made Apollo realize he had stepped out-of-
line.
   "I'm sorry," his son said without lessening the forcefulness
of his voice, "I know better than that.  But there was no choice.
You didn't seem to have a viable plan.  You just had Fairfax
arguing for Carillon and no one else.  It was either Uri's way or
mine!"
   "You see?" Adama raged, "Now he's got us doing it.  Turning
one against the other.  If Uri weren't such a prima donna, I'd
say let him lead!  Let him be the new President and take us down
the path to ruination all over again!  But we must not allow
ourselves to be fractioned when there are so few of us left.  A
single voice is imperative!"
   "And if I hadn't stepped in, it would have been his!" Apollo
shot back, "And he's the worst kind of leader imaginable.  I saw
his little orgy on the Rising Star, it was absolutely sickening!
Why in Hades name did you even pick him for the Council in the
first place?"
   Adama lowered his head in shame and moved away.
   "We were friends once," he said without looking at his son,
"You should have known him during the Renaissance days of
Caprica.  He was one of the best.  A builder....an architect of
dreams....He, he literally breathed new life into the arts with
his generosity.  And your mother...."
   "What about Mother?" Apollo looked at him in disbelief.
   Adama let out a sigh of regret, "Uri was one of the most
important people in your mother's career at the Fine Arts
Institute.  He took a liking to her work and helped advance her
on the Faculty, and even though she knew he was a bit vain she
never forgot him for that.  And....you should have heard the
testimonial he gave for her when she retired----"
   "You picked Uri because he once did Mother a favor?" Apollo's
eyes widened, "Lords of Kobol Father, has that become the
criteria by which you judge people now?"
   Adama looked back at him with a hardened expression, "The Uri
who helped your mother and bankrolled the Renaissance was a good
man, Apollo.  I.....thought the urgency of the situation today
would have reignited that spark inside him that went out a long
time ago.  I can see I was wrong.  Even after all this
destruction and tragedy we've gone through, he's still the man
who just sits and decays himself with drink and remembrance."
   The anger faded from Apollo's face as he took a breath to
collect himself.
   "No wonder our civilization fell apart," Adama shook his head,
"The best people we had threw away their greatness and made us
vulnerable."
   An uneasy silence filled the air before Apollo finally spoke.
This time, his tone was much gentler.
   "Father, looking back is contagious," he said, "Decay and
corruption go hand in hand with defeatism and lack of action.
Uri moved in because you failed to act with a viable alternative
to his plan."
   "I haven't been looking back!" the anger returned to Adama's
voice, "For the last sectan since I gathered all these people
together I've been trying to look forward, and that's how I
arrived at my solution to have us seek out Earth.  Reconsider
what you just said, Apollo!"
   "It seems as though you became a little too sure of yourself,
Father," Apollo held his ground, "You figured they'd yield to
your judgment automatically out of gratitude?"
   Adama bit his lip slightly and Apollo realized he'd finally
struck to the heart of the matter.
   "Father, it's not going to be like that," Apollo said, "As
sure as you think you are that God's given you the insight into
what we have to do, you have to show a lot more savvy than you
were showing at that Council meeting.  Besides," he paused
slightly for effect, "The copy of the Book of the Word you gave
me when I was a kid says that the Lord always helps those who
help themselves first."
   Adama went over and sat down in the large chair behind his
desk.  The fire had gone out of him completely as he folded his
hands in contemplation.
   "Apollo," he said quietly, "Get your plan ready.  Report back
to me when you're through."
   "Yes sir," Apollo said with total deference as he saluted and
left the room.
   Once he was alone, Adama opened the drawer of his desk and
pulled out the holopicture he'd been trying not to keep on
display for now.
   "Ila," he whispered softly, "Why couldn't you have lived?"


   "Oh Captain?"
   Apollo stopped in the corridor and saw that Dr. Wilker, the
Galactica's Chief Scientist was signalling him.
   "Yes Dr. Wilker?"
   "I wanted you to know that I've finished with that little
request you asked me to take care of."
   His eyebrows went up, "So fast?"
   The scientist grinned, "They don't call me a miracle worker
for nothing, Captain."
   "I guess not," Apollo returned it, "Thanks a lot, Doc.  I'll
be back in a centar."


   Thirty centons later, Apollo was back aboard the Rising Star
for a trip to the Aquacade level.  Serina was pleasantly
surprised and delighted to see that he'd returned.
   "Serina," Apollo was bubbling with enthusiasm for the first
time since they'd met, "I've got some good news that might
interest Boxey."
   The former BNC anchor only allowed herself some guarded
optimism, "Do you think so?  He's only been just a little bit
better since you left."
   "Well this will solve all his problems," Apollo didn't let up
as he came over to where Boxey was sleeping.
   "That's a tall order."
   "I'm a big boy," he smiled back at her.
   As he knelt down and gently roused the little boy, Serina felt
her heart skip a beat.  From what she was seeing, every instinct
she'd been having about Apollo from the micron she'd first seen
him was being vindicated.
   Why did I have to have a malignant tumor? she thought to
herself.  He almost seems like the kind of man I should have met
five yahrens ago.
   She then chided herself for feeling selfish.  Right now, her
first concern had to remain with Boxey, and whether she'd be able
to act on her hope that Captain Apollo held the key to her son's
future.
   Especially since Apollo was the only viable hope she had left.
   "Come on Boxey," Apollo gently whispered, "You're going to
love this.  You're on your way to the Galactica for a special
mission."


   "Dr. Wilker," Apollo smiled as he led Serina and Boxey into
the Galactica's main Science Lab, "Here's the young officer I've
appointed to lead your new project."
   "Terrific," the Chief Scientist gave Boxey a warm smile as he
got to his knees and looked him in the eye, "The captain's been
telling me a lot about you, Boxey.  We've got something special
in mind for you."
   Boxey didn't acknowledge him at first.  Had it not been for
the gentle encouragement Apollo had been whispering in his ear
throughout the entire shuttle trip from the Rising Star, he might
have felt tempted to say something nasty in the way he'd seen
other children do in primary school to the teachers.
   "As you know Boxey, we will soon be landing on various alien
planets and it's important that we be safe.  Ordinarily we'd use
trained daggits to stand watch at night while our warriors slept
in their encampments."
   As soon as Wilker said the word 'daggit', Boxey's ears perked
up slightly.
   "But we didn't have any daggits.  So we just had to see what
we could come up with here in our astro-robotics section.  And
we've decided to call the first one, Muffit Two."
   Wilker motioned his arm to the other side of the room, where
on cue, an orange-colored robot that resembled a daggit emerged
and made its way over.
   An incredulous smile came over Boxey's face as he watched in
fascination.  The orange fur was purely synthetic, attached to a
metal body that was lined with numerous metal collars from head
to tail.  Instead of the loud, noisy bark that real daggits were
noted for, the robot daggit barked in a quiet, synthesized tone.
   Serina let go of Boxey and the little boy gingerly made his
way over to the robot.  Somewhat cautiously, he reached out and
petted it.
   "Naturally, the first one will have to be carefully looked
after," Wilker said with an edge of pride that his latest
technological creation was already proving to be an instant
success.
   Boxey looked back at him, "That's not Muffit.  It's not even a
real daggit."
   "No," Wilker said softly, "But he could learn to be just like
a real one, if you would help us.  He could even be a lot more
smarter, and do everything you ask him to.  That would make him
even better than a real daggit."
   The robot suddenly let out the equivalent of a growl and
instinctively, Boxey turned around and gave the same command his
mother had seen him give to the real Muffit so many times, "Stop
that!"
   Abruptly, the robot went silent.  Piqued, Boxey went over to
the other side of the room and as soon as he turned around and
slapped his leg, Muffit Two promptly hopped over to him.
   "We used the holo image of Boxey you gave us to train the
robot," Wilker said to an impressed Apollo and Serina, "He should
respond completely to his commands."
   They watched for another centon as Boxey continued to test out
his new pet.  When the little boy finally extended his arms and
hugged Muffit Two with delight, it was clear that he'd been won
over completely.
   "I owe you one, Doc," Apollo said.
   "Anytime," Wilker smiled back, "After all we've been through
it's nice to finally make someone smile again."
   Once the Chief Scientist had disappeared into the next room,
Serina impulsively kissed Apollo on the cheek.
   "That's one I owe you, Apollo."
   The warrior was taken aback by her sudden display of
affection.
   "Uh....yeah," he awkwardly cleared his throat, "Well you can
consider us even."
   As they continued to watch Boxey happily play with his new
pet, Apollo cautiously wrapped his arm around Serina's waist.  He
felt a large sense of relief when she didn't resist.
   The only thing going through Serina's mind was the wish that
she could have given Apollo a bigger display of affection.  But
she was soon going to have to level with him soon about the state
of her own health and the last thing she wanted to do was set
Apollo up for another personal tragedy.
   Damn, she thought to herself.  Of all the times for me to
start falling in love with someone.


   In the centars since Apollo had left, Adama had failed to
budge from his chair.  The sting of his failure before the
Council was still fresh in his mind, and to his horror it was
causing him to do exactly what he'd vowed not to do.  Brood over
the things left behind.
   "Father?"
   He looked up and saw that Athena had entered the room.
   "Hello Athena," he barely acknowledged her and resumed his
contemplative posture.
   "Are you all right?" his daughter came up to him with a look
of concern.
   Adama slowly exhaled, "If anyone amongst us can say that he's
all right, after what has happened, I recommend him for catharsis
treatment."
   He slowly sipped a mug of hot java.  Even though it was a
scarce commodity aboard the Galactica, he found he didn't care at
that point if he used up the whole supply.
   "That's not the warrior I'm used to," Athena decided she had
to try and cheer him up, "What ever happened to the joy of living
to fight another day?"
   "'The joy of living'," he mused aloud, "That thought's been
weighing too much on me these last few centars.  The fact that
I've lived through this ordeal when there are untold billions who
deserved it more."
   "Father, you can't mean that," Athena took him by the arm.
   "You didn't see what I saw on Caprica, just before I left for
the last time," Adama sighed, "All those people at the aerodrome
crowding frantically to get a space on one of the ships.  And
there I was in a private hovermobile being taken through all
those crowds at the far end of the field where my private shuttle
was waiting.  I had to see all their faces up close.  Faces of
people I knew would never find a place on any of the ships.  And
they knew it too.  All of them....desperate.  Screaming and
begging for a chance to get aboard and live."
   He took another sip of his java.  And Athena slowly felt her
own sense of depression over the loss of her mother and Zac
returning.
   "There was one woman with a baby in her arms," he went on,
"She started pounding frantically on the side of the hovermobile
when she saw me.  Begging me to get a space for her because she
knew she couldn't get to the hangars in time.  And I couldn't
bear to look her in the eye because I knew there wasn't anything
I could do.  If I stopped for her, at least a hundred more people
would have been rushing me.  I had to....look the other way and
tell the driver to move on."
   "Father," Athena knelt beside him and tried to chase all the
demons running through her mind, "Father please.  Don't burden
yourself over this."
   "The Cylon occupation forces are there now," Adama didn't seem
to notice her, "Doing God only knows what, to all those people
who didn't make it.  Including that woman and her baby.  Just a
sectan ago she had her whole life to look forward to.  And
now...." he shuddered, "Compared to what they're going through at
this very micron, your mother and Zac were the lucky ones."
   "Stop Father," Athena quietly pleaded, "We're long past the
point where any of that matters anymore.  70,000 people are alive
because they looked to you for guidance, and you've got to keep
guiding them."
   "God, I don't want the responsibility anymore," Adama sunk
deeper into his chair, "Let someone else do it.  Take this burden
from me."
   Athena got to her feet and slowly shook her head in
dumbfounded amazement.
   "This isn't like you," she said, "Hearing you talk like this
makes you seem like the coward Starbuck and all the other pilots
thought you were when you pulled the Galactica out of the
battle."
   Adama finally looked up at his daughter and seemed stunned by
her remark.
   "Father, you're not going to get any sympathy from me," her
voice grew slightly brusque, "You're the one who's said that the
only hope for humanity lies on some distant planet called Earth.
You've sold them on that and if you suddenly abdicate
responsibility it's only going to take the people a micron to
forget all about Earth and do something foolish.  And the next
thing you know, the 70,000 people who thought they had one last
chance to live won't have anything left at all.  If your
conscience is so troubled now, how would you be able to handle
that?"
   For the first time, the downcast expression seemed to lift
from Adama's face, as though his daughter's words had managed to
jolt him back to reality.
   "I've got nothing else to say," Athena went back to the door,
"I want to help you make your dream of finding Earth a reality
because it's the only thing left you've given me hope for.  But
if you quit on it, you've made the rest of my life and Apollo's
and everyone else's totally worthless.  If you value the people
you've still got left, you'll stop drowning yourself in a sea of
self-pity."
   As the door opened and she prepared to step out into the
corridor, she heard her father call out, "Athena?"
   Athena stopped and looked back at him.
   "I think you just threw me a life preserver Athena," he smiled
thinly at her, "Thanks."
   His daughter managed to smile back at him as she left the
room.


   "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with the idea of getting private
quarters for myself," Serina said as she and Apollo walked down
the corridors of the Galactica after leaving Boxey in the Science
Lab to keep playing with his new pet.
   "Look," Apollo said gently, "I insist.  There's plenty of
extra space here on the Galactica and you and Boxey shouldn't be
crowded in on the Rising Star's Aquacade floor.  Besides," he
smiled, "I'd think your reporter's instincts would love the
chance to be close to where all the big decisions are being
made."
   She smiled faintly, "Assuming I resume my career at some
point."
   "I imagine at some point there'll be some kind of video-com
network to provide information for all the people in the Fleet,"
Apollo said, "You're the only person I can envision for that kind
of job."
   "I don't know," Serina sighed, "I keep getting the feeling
that I've done my last broadcast."
   "Why?" he frowned slightly.
   Serina stopped and lowered her head slightly, "I....can't
explain right now.  Maybe later."
   "Is something else bothering you?" Apollo took her arm, "Tell
me.  Whatever it is, you know I want to help."
   "Yes, I do know," she admitted, "And I'm really grateful for
that, Apollo.  More grateful than you could ever imagine."
   "Just doing my job," he said warmly, not wanting to admit that
the real reason why he'd been anxious to help Serina was because
of the long-standing crush he'd had on her.
   "Well," she took a breath and decided the time had come to
test the waters just a little bit, "There is something I do want
to talk to you about eventually, but it can wait.  You've got the
whole plan for getting to Carillon to work out and I wouldn't
think of distracting you any further from that."
   Apollo suddenly slapped his hand against his forehead, "Lords
of Kobol thanks for reminding me!  I promised my father I'd give
him a full report on that."
   "Better see to it," she smiled.
   "Right.  Talk to you later, Serina."
   As soon as Apollo had gone, Serina decided the time had come
to check on the next problem she had to deal with.  The problem
of her illness.


   No sooner had Apollo told him that he'd "volunteered" for the
Nova Madagon mission then Starbuck decided that the time had come
to cash in on the promise the beautiful Cassiopeia had made to
him earlier that day in the Life Station.
   For only a brief micron did a twinge of guilt go through him
about Athena.  But to his way of thinking, he had given Athena a
chance to take their relationship to a new level and she had
thrown the offer right back in his face.  It had left him with a
bitter taste in his mouth ever since and made him question
whether or not they had a relationship that could ever amount to
anything meaningful.
   Funny, he thought.  It almost seems like my whole thing with
Athena is ending up just like it did with Aurora.  A couple
yahrens of fun, and then when it came time to make a big decision
I was the one who got spurned.  Maybe I'm just the kind of guy
who was never meant to be sealed.
   By the time he'd hooked up with Cassiopeia and escorted her
down to the launch bay to show her his viper, he'd pushed all
thoughts of Athena completely out of his mind.
   "There she is," Starbuck motioned proudly as he took a puff on
his cigar, "The finest flying machine ever devised in the history
of mankind."
   "It's beautiful!" Cassiopeia bubbled with enthusiasm and then
suddenly went into a dancing motion, "Born to dance among the
stars."
   The sight of her in her low-cut dress doing an impromptu dance
caused Starbuck's heart to skip a beat.  Unlike Athena or Aurora,
who had both been sensible and serious at the core, Cassiopeia
seemed to have a more relaxed, carefree personality that he found
most intriguing.
   "Yeah," he chuckled, "It's bumping into them that has me
worried."
   "So tell me Starbuck," she said as she walked around to admire
the front end of the viper, "Why did you volunteer for this
mission?"
   "Well," he shrugged, "Someone had to do it.  I just figured--"
   "Come on," Cassiopeia smiled sweetly at him, "Your friend
Apollo made you do it, didn't he?"
   Starbuck took an amazed puff on his cigar, "You certainly have
a way of cutting through the felgercarb."
   "It almost seems as though you've been subsisting on
felgercarb throughout your career," her tone grew more
flirtatious as she pulled the cigar out of his mouth, "Don't you
ever take that smoldering weed out of your mouth?"
   Starbuck was taken aback when she suddenly put her arms around
him and kissed him passionately on the lips.  This was the first
time he could ever recall a woman making the first move on him.
   "Wow," the ordinarily brash warrior said when she let go of
him, "I had this wonderful speech all prepared."
   "About this being your last night here?" she kept smiling as
she brushed her fingers through his hair, "About possibly not
seeing another night as beautiful as this one?  Or another girl
as beautiful as I am, ever again?"
   Starbuck's disbelief only deepened.  He had planned on
utilizing a charm act that he had patented to perfection yahrens
ago and this was the first time he could ever recall any woman
beating him to the punch.
   "Well," he grinned somewhat sheepishly, "That speech is a
little better than the one I had prepared.  Would you mind if I
borrowed it on some future occasion?"
   "Only if you pay me for services rendered," Cassiopeia smiled
back as she kissed him again.
   "Uh, Cassiopeia," Starbuck gently pushed her aside, "Do you
mind if we don't spend too much more time in the Launching Bay?
You never know when the ground crew's going to come in here for a
routine inspection."
   "Can you think of any place more private?"
   "Uh...well come to think of it, I can't think of any place
private in the whole damned Fleet.  Not my quarters, not your
quarters with the other women--"
   "There's always the launch tube over there," she smiled coyly
and motioned her head.
   Starbuck's eyes widened, "How'd you know about those?"
   "This isn't my first time on a battlestar," she said
cryptically.
   "Yeah but those are all dark and cold...."
   "That's what makes them so perfect," Cassiopeia stuck his
cigar back into his mouth and gingerly retreated toward the
launch tube opening, beckoning to him with her finger all the
while.
   Starbuck shook his head in disbelief and then cast a quick
gaze upward.
   "Lord," he whispered, "I'll do anything you ask tomorrow.
Just please don't call an alert tonight."


   Since leaving her father, Athena had gone back to the Bridge
hoping she'd find Starbuck there.  Seeing Adama's downcast
attitude had shaken her up considerably, and it had caused her to
reassess the way she'd treated Starbuck when he'd come to see her
the other day.  Even though she hadn't changed her mind about the
issue of getting sealed, she knew that Starbuck deserved a lot
more from her than what she'd given to him.
   "Colonel," she came up to the executive officer, "Have you
seen Lieutenant Starbuck by any chance?"
   "No," Tigh said and then snapped his fingers, "Wait, I did see
him earlier on one of the monitors.  He was down in the Launch
Bay checking out his ship for the mission tomorrow."
   "That would seem to make sense."
   "I'm sure he's long gone by now and getting a good night's
sleep," Tigh said, "You'd better do the same since you'll be
guiding them through tomorrow."
   "In a few centons," she said as she went over to her station
and activated the switches that allowed her to tap into the
cameras monitoring the Launch Bay.
   One-by-one she glanced at the different images.  They only
showed a deserted and empty Launch Bay.
   Then, on a whimsical hunch she decided to press the button
that would call up the monitor for inside the launch tubes.  It
was only used on the rare occasion when maintenance crews
performed repair work to the tubes, and logically speaking there
wasn't any reason for her to think that Starbuck would be inside
there.
   When the image of the launch tube came up, Athena suddenly
flushed a deep red.  Starbuck was locked in a passionate embrace
with a young blonde woman in a low-cut red dress.  Already, she
was fumbling to get his uniform off.
   "That lousy Skorpian snake," she whispered under her breath.
Two days ago Starbuck was professing to be a more mature man who
was open to carrying a relationship further than he'd ever been
willing to go.  But here he was demonstrating what a sham that
had all been.  It was all too clear to Athena that he hadn't
valued their relationship as much as he'd professed to, because
he certainly should have been understanding enough to realize
that she needed some time to recover from what she'd just gone
through.
   Instead of being patient, here he was chasing the first skirt
he'd seen since their conversation.
   "I'll fix him," Athena said as she pressed the button marked
STEAM PURGE, which was used only to clean the launch tubes of
leaking fuel residue.
   Abruptly, a jet of steam filled the entire tube causing both
Starbuck and Cassiopeia to bolt up with loud screams and scramble
out as fast as they could go.
   Watching, Athena allowed herself a wicked smile of
satisfaction.


   "What in the name of Kobol....?" Cassiopeia tried to collect
herself as she and Starbuck escaped back into the coolness of the
Launch Bay.
   "Holy Frack!" Starbuck almost collapsed to the floor, "Frack,
felgercarb and shit!"
   "All right fly boy.  Steady yourself," the blonde socialator
started rubbing her arms which felt slightly scalded, "Looks like
you got it where it hurts most."
   "Yeah, frack!  I don't think I'll be able to sit down for a
sectan."  Starbuck winced as he rubbed his posterior, "That felt
like walking through a Nubian sun."
   "What caused that?"
   Starbuck slowly shook his head, "I think someone was trying to
tell me something."
   "Guess I shouldn't be keeping you up then," Cassiopeia said as
she leaned over and gave him a light kiss on the cheek, "I'll see
you again after the mission.  Good luck, Starbuck."
   "Cassiopeia wait!" Starbuck called out as she left the Launch
Bay.  He felt too sore and scalded to go after her.
   Still rubbing the seat of his pants, Starbuck cast another
glance skyward, "You've got a funny sense of humor, Lord."


   "Dr. Salik?" Serina inquired gently as she entered the Life
Station.
   The short Canceran was stretching himself after a long,
exhausting day of work on numerous patients who'd come in for
treatment.
   "Oh Serina," he said when he saw her, "I'm glad you came by.
I was going to send for you tomorrow."
   "You've looked at my brain-scan results?"
   "Yes," Salik nodded, "I have.  They're exactly what I
suspected they'd be."
   "I see," Serina had long ago resigned herself to the fact that
she was dying, "So how much time would you say I have?"
   Salik slowly shook his head and let out a chuckle that caused
her to frown.
   "Doctor, what are you laughing at?"
   "Serina," he looked up at her and smiled crookedly, "Assuming
you take care of yourself, there's no reason why you shouldn't
live another hundred yahrens."
   A look of shock came over her face.
   "You're not dying, Serina.  As a matter of fact, you don't
even have a tumor.  Just a little pressure from some ordinary
migraine headaches that a couple tablets a day should solve in no
time."
   "But...." she could barely get her words out, "But how
could...."
   "The micron you told me Dr. Maxson was your physician, I had
reason to think you'd been sold a bill of goods," Salik said, "As
head of the Canceran Medical Institute, I served on the Board of
the Colonial Medical Association.  About two sectars ago, we
commissioned an internal investigation of a number of independent
practitioners that we had reason to believe were cheating their
patients.  Deliberately misdiagnosing them with illnesses and
diseases they never had so they'd be forced to fork over large
sums of cubits for medical treatment they didn't need.  Maxson
was at the top of the list of those under investigation."
   The shock and incredulity only deepened on Serina's face as
she sat down in a chair.
   "You look like you could use some ambrosia," Salik said
sympathetically.
   She shook her head, "More like Sagitarian brandy." Serina
looked up, "But why?"
   "Greed," Salik said, "I have a feeling that you weren't the
only patient Maxson was pulling this stunt on.  No doubt he was
stockpiling a little nest account for himself and was preparing
to disappear to some out-of-the-way luxury spot with a new
identity once he'd amassed enough cubits.  If we'd had some more
hard evidence of what he was up to, we would have moved in on him
a long time ago, but our investigation hadn't reached that phase
yet."
   "The gallmonging slimy daggit," she said under her breath,
"Two yahrens I trusted him and he....."
   "I know," he put a hand on her shoulder, "I know.  But as
noble as our profession is, even doctors can end up going bad
too."
   "He must have been getting a real kick out of it," Serina
thought back to how Maxson had been gushing with concern over her
well-being just centars before the Holocaust, "Fooling a reporter
like me no less."
   "Just put it behind you," Salik patted her shoulder, "Be glad
you've got your life back and don't have to worry anymore."
   A thoughtful expression came over Serina as the impact of
Salik's words began to sink in.
   Of course, she thought.  I don't have to worry about who'll
look after Boxey anymore.  And I don't have to hold back with
Apollo any longer.
   She got to her feet and to Salik, she almost seemed like a
woman who had just been reborn.
   "Dr. Salik," she said, "Thank you.  And please do me a favor.
Don't ever tell anyone about this."
   "Your secret's safe," the Canceran doctor smiled back.

                  Chapter Ten

   The next morning, Apollo, Starbuck and Boomer were all up
early as the centar for their mission drew near.
   Apollo escorted the other two over to the other end of the
pilots quarters where an auxiliary navigation board was set-up.
   "Okay, here's the final briefing before we get moving," Apollo
pointed to the screen, "The Nova Madagon is actually a misnomer.
It's not really a nova but a starfield so bright that our
cockpits have to be sealed in order to prevent blindness."
   "Great," Starbuck grunted as he shifted his still sore body
about to ease the lingering discomfort, "That means we have to
trust a fracking computer guidance system to help us see where
we're going.  Not the way I like to fly."
   "We've got no choice.  We navigate by scanners and sweep
everything out of our path with turbo lasers."  Apollo turned
around and then noticed his friend's awkward posture, "You okay
Starbuck?  You're fidgeting around like a daggit on a sunspot."
   "Well, it's my bio-pulse lines," he said, "It's really a bad
time for me to be cooped up in a cockpit."
   "Starbuck's being polite," Boomer grinned as the three of them
moved away toward the exit, "It seems he got himself a nice
little steam burn last night."
   Apollo shook his head in mild disgust, "I don't think I want
to ask you how you got it, because I need you on this mission."
   "Oh sure," Starbuck said, "Ninety-plus flyers on board and I'm
the one you deemed indispensable."
   "I didn't choose you and Boomer without a great deal of
anguish," Apollo said as he put a hand on his friend's shoulder,
"If it'll do any good, let me assure you that if we fail, no one
will survive.  The rest of our friends must sit in anticipation
of our skill."
   "Or lack thereof," Starbuck said as he grabbed his helmet and
followed Apollo and Boomer out.


   Aboard the bridge, the red glow of the approaching Nova
madagon had started to cast it's shadow over the entire room.  If
Adama hadn't known better, he almost would have thought a Red
Alert had just been sounded.
   "Estimated time to entry point to nova starfield in exactly
ten centons," Omega reported.
   "Stand by to launch fighter sweep," Adama said, "Positive
shield now."
   The bridge shield slowly closed, restoring the interior to a
normal color.
   "How's it coming, Adama?"
   The Galactica commander looked down and saw that the Columbia
commander had entered and was mounting the stairs to the upper
level.
   "We should know soon enough, Fairfax," Adama said, "This is
going to require a lot of precision flying."
   "They should be up to it," Fairfax said, "Of course if you
didn't have any confidence in your son, I'd have gladly
volunteered myself."
   Adama turned and looked his friend in the eye, "Yes, I almost
think you would."
   There was no response from the Columbia commander, who merely
lowered his head slightly to avoid Adama's direct stare.


   "Ready?" Apollo looked over at the other two vipers as his
canopy came shut.
   "Ready," Boomer echoed as his canopy closed as well.
   The captain noticed a slight hesitation on the last of the
three vipers, and despite the tense pre-launch atmosphere, he
couldn't help smiling to himself.  He used a slightly irritated
tone when he called to his friend over the comline.  "Starbuck?"
   "Well," there was an air of reluctant resignation in the brash
lieutenant's voice, "I'm not ready, but let's get this over
with."
   As soon as Starbuck's canopy had shut, they heard the voice of
Rigel come through their helmets. "Core Control transferring all
systems to advance probe.  Stand by to launch."
   "Standing by," Apollo said with crisp efficiency as they
waited several more microns.
   "Advance probe, you are go to launch!"
   Apollo fired up his turbo first and assumed a lead position.
Starbuck and Boomer tucked themselves in on each side of him as
soon as they were away.
   "Blinders in place?" Apollo radioed.
   "I can't see a thing in front of me, so they work just fine,"
Starbuck said, "And it makes me feel about as confident as going
aboard a basestar by myself.  I read five microns to penetration
of the Nova."
   "Advance patrol, this is Galactica core command," Rigel
signalled to them.  "We are presently standing by with all
scanners to assist in navigation in case your systems fail."
   "Thank you Core Command.  Will radio for help if we need you."
Apollo suddenly felt the sweat break out on his forehead.  They
had begun to feel the effects of the intense Nova that lay
outside.  He pushed the lingering thought out of his mind about
what would happen if the shielding failed or became ineffective.
Maybe Starbuck was right after all about protesting this mission,
he mused.
   "Skin temperature readout one-zero-zero and rising," Starbuck
said aloud, then added with a casual tone, "After last night and
today, I don't think I'll ever use hot water in the turbowash
again."
   "Speaking of which..." Boomer began with mock seriousness,
dropping the broad hint that he was indeed curious about the
events of the previous evening.
   "Save it for later, you two," Apollo cut in, feeling annoyed
that they were acting up like that.  He knew that the mission was
tense, and he would normally allow banter during a patrol.  The
Nova didn't allow for that, because if they made even one
mistake....
   He realized that he was nervous at what lay ahead, and hid it
with a tone of command.  "Activate your scanners to locate the
minefield."
   As soon as Apollo hit his forward scanner he saw an intensely
bright field of red that totally obscured everything that lay
ahead and around him.
   "Oh, oh..." he heard Starbuck mutter.
   "Either of you picking up the minefield?" he asked, already
knowing the answers he was going to receive.
   "Negative," Starbuck shook his head, wishing he could wipe his
brow, but his helmet prevented access to that part of his face.
Annoyed, he pursed his lips and blew air up under his helmet.  It
didn't have much effect, and he began to feel his hair plastering
to his forehead.  He was going to have one bad case of "helmet
hair" when this mission was over.  "My scanner's burning up."
   "Mine's gone altogether," Boomer said.
   "I was afraid of that," Apollo sighed.  "Galactica Core
Command, we'll be needing that help.  Transferring scanner
control back to you."
   "Affirmative advance probe," Rigel said, as though she were
already expecting it and had her finger on the appropriate
button, just waiting for the micron Apollo would give the
request.  "We'll guide you through to each mine as they show up
on our scanners."
   "Great," Boomer said under his breath, but clearly enough for
his companions to hear.  "If they miss a mine, then it's one of
us who'll be the first to know."
   "All right, let's just listen up and wait."  Apollo didn't let
his voice betray any of the tension he was feeling.  If he had
felt uneasy about flying in blind with only his scanners, he was
now positively on edge with giving up that control to the
Galactica.  To himself, he prayed that they knew what they were
doing.
   "First mine coming in range," Rigel said, "Captain Apollo,
stand by to fire on our signal.  Will give a countdown to fire
time on each."
   "Standing by," Apollo replied, instinctively placing his thumb
above the red fire button on his control stick.  He held his
breath as he waited for the command.
   "Five, four, three, two, one, mark!"  At Rigel's emphasis, he
pressed down on the button with a good deal of pressure.  It
wasn't necessary to use the added force, but it helped relieve
the tension slightly.  Letting his breath slowly out, he waited
for it to continue.  "Target not destroyed.  Readjust five
degrees to port and countdown from five."
   "Adjusting five degrees to port," Apollo said, feeling the
sweat forming on his palms, and for an instant, he was afraid
that his hand might slip off the control stick.  Wouldn't that be
a great morale booster? he thought, waiting again for the order.
   "Five, four, three, two, one, mark!"  Again, Apollo pressed
down on the red button, this time getting an affirmative reply.
"Target destroyed.  Next target is nine degrees to port of
Lieutenant Starbuck's heading."
   "Your turn, Starbuck," Boomer chimed in.
   As the blonde lieutenant made the adjustment in his heading,
he heard an odd noise inside the cockpit.  As soon as he looked
up, he felt his heart fall into the pit of his stomach.
   "Frack!" he said aloud, seeing a pinprick of red light
illuminate the interior of his cockpit.  "The nova field is
burning through my canopy."
   "Just keep firing, Starbuck," Apollo cautioned.  "Don't worry
about your canopy, and don't let it distract you from the
mission."
   "It's not your cockpit that's turning into a barbecue," he
muttered, but the countdown from Rigel interrupted him.
   "Five, four, three, two, one, mark!"  With his eye on the
burning canopy, Starbuck pressed down on the fire button, hoping
that unlike Apollo, he wouldn't miss.  "Target destroyed."
   Slowly, the process repeated itself with each of the three
vipers as they managed to clear away an additional twelve mines
between them.
   All the while, Starbuck saw the burn increasing in his canopy
shield and wondered how much longer it would hold out.


   Behind them, the Galactica had been the first ship in the
Fleet to enter the Nova region.  On the bridge, the air of
tension began to slowly give way to one of tentative optimism.
   "It's working, Commander," Tigh said as he kept his eye on the
navigational scanner, "They've cleared a path wide enough to
accommodate the whole Fleet."
   Athena looked up from her monitor and grinned.  She knew that
her father had a key phrase that he often used when emphasizing
the way a pilot should behave, and she used it now. "Now that is
precision flying."
   She didn't need to look behind her to know that Adama was
smiling slightly.


   "Last three targets in range," Rigel continued to radio, "Each
viper to handle them individually.  Captain Apollo, assume
heading to vector two-one-seven, Lieutenant Boomer to vector one-
seven-nine, Lieutenant Starbuck to vector zero-eight-eight."
   Starbuck felt several chunks of the shielding to his canopy
fall on his leg as they flaked away from the intense burning.
The red glare of the Nova was even more visible now through the
crack, and he wondered if he'd be exposed to the terrible
prospect of seeing the shield collapse completely and be greeted
to one last sight of intense redness before permanent blindness
set in.
   "Five, four, three, two, one, mark!"
   As soon as Starbuck had finished he promptly accelerated his
turbos as fast as they could go.  As the Viper sped along, he
began to notice something odd about the cockpit.  He blinked a
few times until he realized that the red was gone.  He looked up
to see that the burn on his canopy had ceased, and instead of the
red glow that had been there for the past several centons, he
could see the reassuring blackness of normal space pushing
whatever stains of red remained.
   "That's it!" he let out a triumphant sigh of relief, "We're
through!"
   "Yaaahoooo!" Boomer whooped.
   "Congratulations, volunteers," Apollo grinned, and he laughed
as they shot back with their own insults.


   "We're out of the Nova, Commander," Omega called out with
visible relief.
   "Let's have a look," Adama said as he tightened his grip on
the rail, "Negative shield."
   The bridge shield opened up and revealed the sight of a
solitary dark, grayish planet.
   "There it is," the commander whispered, "The planet Carillon."
   Instantly, a chorus of cheers went up among all the personnel
on the bridge.
   "Congratulations," Fairfax smiled and shook Adama's hand,
"Phase one of the journey is a success."
   The Galactica commander smiled warmly at the Columbia
commander, "Let's hope the Lords are with us through the next
phase as well," he turned back to Tigh, "Recall fighter probe
immediately and begin preparations for landing expedition!"
   "Yes sir!" the executive officer grinned.


   When Apollo returned to the Galactica, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a beaming Serina waiting for him in the corridor
outside the Landing Bay.
   "Well done, Apollo," she said proudly, "You're rapidly proving
to me that you're a miracle worker in more ways than one."
   Her voice seemed more enthusiastic than it had been at any
time since he'd first met her.
   "Thank you," Apollo smiled back.
   "So what do we do now that we're at Carillon?"
   "Send down teams to look for tylium," they began walking down
the corridor toward the area where Apollo had found private
quarters for her, "We're going to need all we can get, to keep
moving this Fleet forward."
   "I can imagine," she nodded.
   "By the way," Apollo stopped walking, "What was it you wanted
to talk to me about after we reached Carillon?"
   Serina almost felt like laughing.  This had been the moment
she'd planned to talk to him about her illness, and to broach the
subject about looking after Boxey.  And now it was something
she'd never have to tell him about.
   "Well...." she took a breath, "What I wanted to ask you was
another favor.  About my going down to Carillon with the landing
teams."
   Apollo's eyebrows went up, "You?  Go down to Carillon?"
   "Why not?"
   "Well the reason's obvious, Serina.  You're a civilian."
   "I don't think any of us are civilians any longer Apollo," she
said firmly, "In a ways, we're all warriors now who have to make
the same kinds of sacrifices."
   "Yeah but---"
   "But what?" her tone grew pointed, "It's not like I'm asking
to walk into a combat zone.  Besides, I think your Father might
appreciate the fact that a prominent journalist like myself wants
to be in a position to let the people know how committed he is to
doing what's best for them.  It just might be what's needed to
keep a few potential rivals in check," she skipped a beat, "Like
Sire Uri for instance."
   Apollo shook his head and laughed, "Your logic is impeccable.
I promise to talk to my father about it."
   "And I don't think it'll take him more than a micron to
agree," she smiled back, "Boxey and I will be waiting."


   A centar later, Adama was in his quarters making an entry into
his personal journal.
   "And so we have arrived at our first stopping point in this
long journey toward a distant goal and a distant dream, hoping to
find the supplies that we need to sustain us for the next phase.
   "Landing operations on Carillon have commenced.  Our mineral
storage ships are in place, and our landram parties are now on
the surface and proceeding toward what we believe is the site of
the old mining expedition.  Red Squadron viper patrols are
presently vectoring our ground teams in toward this area, as the
terrain of Carillon is not easy to navigate.
   "Because I feel his talents would be wasted without some kind
of command opportunity, I have placed Commander Fairfax in charge
of the overall operation.  And, at Apollo's request, I have also
given permission to have Serina accompany the expedition as a
civilian observer."


   Captain Killian, one-time commander of the Columbia's Blue
Squadron group had been adjusting to life aboard his new ship
with considerable difficulty.  Like Commander Fairfax, he had
been attached to the Columbia for many yahrens to the point where
the battlestar had truly been a home to him.  Since performing
the distasteful task of leading the group of fighters that had
scuttled the Columbia though, he had slowly begun to put the
bitterness and anger behind him and accept his new
responsibilities as strike leader for the Galactica's
reconstituted Red Squadron.  Now, as he led a group of several
vipers over the darkened, rock-strewn landscape of Carillon to
take scan readings, he found to his relief that his attention was
more on the job at hand, and not on the bitter memories of what
had happened before.
   "Red Leader to Ground Base," he radioed, "Now finished with
scan of vector six-three-oh-three-eight.  I read clear
indications of life forms just beyond these coordinates."
   "That's interesting," Fairfax rubbed his chin from his command
position aboard the mineral storage ship Nebulae.  The battered
freighter had landed on the planet to receive any shipments of
tylium found on the planet, "Either there's some high-level
energy yielding substance or they left some kind of caretaking
operation behind when they abandoned this place.  Thanks for the
report Red Leader, and continue monitoring."
   "Yes sir," hearing his old commander radioing orders to him
only made Killian feel all the more better.
   The Columbia commander adjusted the frequency on his headset,
"Ground Base to Beta Landram.  Proceed to vector 63038 to
investigate possible life forms or energy source."
   "Affirmative Ground Base," Boomer's voice crackled back
through a faint burst of static, "We'll have it checked out in no
time."
   Fairfax leaned back in the captain's chair and took a survey
of the cramped confines of the freighter's bridge.  The peeling
paint, the traces of rust and the slightly musty smell was a
stark contrast to the sparkling cleanliness of the Columbia's
bridge.
   A sectan ago, I was the commander of the Colonial Seventh
Fleet, he sighed.  And now, the only thing left for me to command
is a dingy freighter on a minor ground expedition.
   God, I feel so useless.
   "Red Leader to Ground Base," Killian's voice came through
again, "Scanner reading now puts Alpha Landram on heading to
intercept mine coordinates within five centons."
   "Affirmative Red Leader.  You've done a great job Killian, but
I think we can coordinate everything from here now."
   "Thank you sir," there was an edge of pride in his voice,
Returning to base."
   He's probably taking it a lot easier, Fairfax thought as he
wondered what his one-time squadron commander was thinking.  At
least he can still do the job he's best trained for.  Flying a
viper group.  Just like Adama can still command a battlestar for
as long as he wants to.
   As Fairfax adjusted the frequency to relay the information to
the landram carrying Apollo's team, he wondered if he'd ever be
able to completely adjust to the prospect of never commanding a
battlestar again.


   "Not much to see," Starbuck mused as he guided the landram
across the rocky surface of Carillon toward the designated
contact, "I wonder what this planet looks like in the daytime?"
   Boomer suddenly let out a small chuckle.
   "Starbuck," he said, "This is the daytime.  Carillon's too far
from the sun to experience anything more than twilight conditions
at midday."
   The blonde warrior's eyes narrowed in disbelief.
   "Oh," an edge of apprehension entered his voice as his eyes
darted around the darkened landscape, "Lovely.  No wonder they
abandoned this place.  The crews must have gone crazy."
   "If you'd been stationed here, I can think of at least a dozen
ways you'd have turned the perpetual darkness into an asset,"
Boomer needled, "No one would ever notice your sleight-of-hand
tricks in a pyramid game."
   "True," Starbuck admitted, "And I can think of one other
advantage too, such as----"
   He then stopped when his eyes were distracted by something he
hadn't expected to see.  The sight of a bright light in the
distance.
   "What the frack?" Starbuck said aloud, "Here we are talking
about darkness, and now there's some kind of light up ahead?"
   "Can't be the other landram," Boomer was puzzled, "What could
possibly be---"
   And then Boomer broke off as the light grew more distinct.
They were clearly floodlights of some kind surrounding several
elegantly designed buildings.
   "I don't believe it," the dark-skinned warrior murmured in
disbelief, "That doesn't look like any kind of mining complex.
That looks more like some kind of resort area."
   Starbuck brought the landram to a halt and the two warriors
cautiously got out with their laser pistols at the ready.  In the
distance they could hear the sounds of people laughing and music
playing, though the intensity of the floodlights kept them from
seeing clearly.
   "If I didn't know better, I'd swear this was something out of
the Gemonese Gold Coast," Starbuck said, referring to the most
luxurious resort area in the colonies.
   Suddenly, they heard the sounds of footsteps coming toward
them from the building's entrance.  The two of them assumed a
firing position and then were startled to see an attractive
blonde woman in an exotic black evening gown and a large
feathered hat emerge from the swirling glare of the floodlights.
As soon as she saw the two warriors with their pistols at the
ready, she let out a startled yelp.
   "Don't shoot me!" she blurted, "What do you want?"
   "Wait, wait," Starbuck hastily held up a hand and lowered his
weapon, "Don't be afraid, uh, you're from Taurus, right?"
   The woman looked at them suspiciously, "I'm a Tauran, how did
you know that?"
   "The dialect.  Uh, listen.  What is this place?  What are you
doing here?"
   "What am I doing here?" her nostrils flared slightly in anger,
"What are you doing here?  Colonial warriors sneaking around a
resort like this with your weapons drawn!"
   "Sorry," Starbuck put his laser back in his holster.
   "This resort's legal!" she said defiantly, and then suddenly
grew cautious, "Isn't it?"
   "Well ah, actually we're not sure of that," Starbuck said,
"How did you get here?"
   "I came in a skybus.  Now is there anything else you need to
know?"
   She suddenly dashed off down the path toward another cluster
of buildings in the distance.
   "Has she been sniffing plant vapors or something?" Boomer said
under his breath as they followed and caught up to her.
   "Wait just a centon," Starbuck said as he stopped her, "Could
you tell us something about this skybus?"
   "My travelator took care of all of it," she said brightly,
"There were a hundred of us from all the planets.  We came here a
sectar ago."
   "A whole sectar?" Boomer's eyes widened in disbelief, "How can
you afford staying here so long?"
   "It hardly costs anything at all!  And I've been winning so
much since I got here.  Just now I won a thousand cubits in the
chancery!"
   She suddenly flashed a large handful of gold coins that caused
Starbuck's eyes to light up in amazement.
   "You won those cubits here?"
   "All in here!  Everyone's doing it!  It's incredible!" she
giggled, "If you're here to shut it down, you're going to have to
fight the whole star system."
   "Miss," Boomer said calmly, "Have any of you been getting news
about what's been happening at home?"
   "No, but what does it matter?" she said, "This place is so
wonderful, none of us would want to go back to the Colonies."
   You've already got your wish, Boomer thought with grim irony.
   "Oh!" the woman put a hand to her head, "I have to go!  I'm
meeting someone for a lovely moonlight cruise!  Two moons in the
sky, how romantic!"
   As she disappeared down the pathway, Starbuck and Boomer
carefully made their way back to the main building that the woman
had identified as a chancery.  As soon as they entered, their
jaws fell open when they saw more than several hundred people
clustered about various gambling tables.
   "I don't get it," Boomer said, "How cut off can these people
be?  They don't even know about the Colonies being gone!"
   "And there's something even more peculiar," Starbuck noted,
"How come we haven't heard about this place?"
   "Of course," a mocking edge entered Boomer's voice, "I forgot
that you pride yourself on knowing every gambling chancery in the
galaxy.  Wherever there's a game going on, you have to know about
it."
   They spent the next several centons surveying the scene and
the various people who were not only partaking in the merriment
of gambling, but also in large quantities of food and drink.  For
an instant, Boomer was reminded of the scene in Sire Uri's
quarters on the Rising Star, and how this scene made that orgy
seem like a mere trifle by comparison.
   Starbuck's bewilderment was slowly turning into awed
fascination and amazement.
   "The odds must be incredible here, Boomer.  People are winning
a fortune!"
   "Yes," Boomer kept his tone cautious as he noticed how the
clothes on some of the people seemed to fit them a bit tightly,
"And they're obviously well-fed.  We'd better find out who's in
charge here and then get word back to Fairfax at Ground Base.
Chances are, there's some food surpluses here that we can have
shipped up to the Fleet."
   "Hold it Boomer," Starbuck grabbed him by the arm, "The last
thing these people may want to find out is that there's a
battlestar on their front door."
   "Felgercarb," Boomer said, "I've yet to find one gambling den
that didn't depend on military pay vouchers to keep it's doors
open."
   "Boomer," Starbuck whispered confidentially, "Until we know
who these people are, we ought to keep in mind that one of them
could easily turn informant and have the whole Cylon Fleet on
it's way.  We're a lot better off not tipping our hand about the
destruction of the colonies and how we belong to the last band of
survivors fleeing the Cylons.  Let them just think we're from
some minor military outpost for now."
   Boomer looked at him dubiously, "I'm getting the feeling that
you're just looking for an excuse to play a few hands and see how
good these odds really are."
   "Maybe," he smiled wryly, "But sitting in on a hand or two and
finding out what's behind this place couldn't possibly hurt."


   "Red Squadron reports you're getting very warm, Captain,"
Fairfax's voice came through the landram's interior, "Activate
your short-range monitors and start taking readings."
   "Affirmative Ground Base," Apollo said as he switched on the
computer, "Already registering trace readouts of level 4."
   "Good," Fairfax said, "As soon as you come across the deposit,
get to work on it.  Ground Base out."
   "Can I do anything to help?" Boxey spoke up from the back of
the landram.
   Apollo turned around and smiled at the little boy.  Initially,
he had been reluctant to have him come along with his mother, but
he'd already sensed that Serina would have been adamant about not
leaving her son behind while she came down to Carillon so he had
promptly acquiesced when she said she was taking him along.
   Besides, the last thing Apollo wanted to do was do anything
that would alienate or antagonize Serina.
   "You sure can, Boxey," Apollo said and pointed to the short-
range monitor he had activated.  It currently showed a read-out
of 4.88.  "Your mission is to keep your eye on that read-out.  As
soon as it gets up to ten, that means we're on top of rich tylium
deposit."
   "Yes sir!" Boxey almost sounded like an eager cadet in an
inspection line as he inched his way forward to look at the
monitor.
   Serina threw Apollo another smile of gratitude which he
silently acknowledged.
   "Why do we need to find all the tylium?" the little boy asked.
   "We can't afford to stay in one place too long," Apollo
answered, "The tylium gives the other ships in our Fleet the fuel
they need to keep moving, and that way we stay ahead of the
enemy."
   "Why do they want to hurt us?" Boxey asked with a curiosity
that had been burning inside him ever since he'd gone through the
attack on Caprica.  "What'd we ever do to them that would make
them blow up Caprica and everything else?"
   Apollo let out a sigh.  "It's not what we did to them, Boxey.
It's what they fear we could do.  You see, they're not like us.
They're machines.  Created by living creatures a long, long time
ago."
   Boxey looked at him quizzically, "If they're machines, why
can't we just turn them off?"
   He let out an ironic chuckle, "Boy, I wish we could.  But
these machines aren't that simple.  You see, some machines are so
advanced they can function better than a lot of living
creatures."
   "They're not smarter."
   "In some ways they are," Apollo tried to summon everything he
could remember when his father had first explained the nature of
the war to him when he was just a child, "They're programmed to
think a lot faster than we do.  On the other hand, they're not as
individual.  We can do a little more of the unexpected.  It's
about the only advantage we have."
   "Why did we make them?" Boxey was fascinated by his
explanation.
   "We didn't," Apollo said, "Another race did.  A race of
reptiles called Cylons.  After awhile, the Cylons discovered
humans were the most practical form of creature in this system,
so they copied our bodies.  But they built them bigger and
stronger than we are.  And they can exchange parts so they can
theoretically live forever."
   Boxey looked at him thoughtfully, "Maybe the Cylons who
created these machines can turn them off."
   "There are no more real Cylons," Apollo shook his head, "They
died off a thousand yahrens ago just before the beginning of the
war between our people and the machines, which we still call
Cylons.  We've heard stories down through the ages that the
machine Cylons turned on their creators and destroyed them
completely."
   The little boy stopped to contemplate all of the information
before he finally asked another question.
   "Will that happen to us too?" there was an edge of concern in
his voice, "Will our drones and machines take over?"
   "We are very careful not to make our drones quite that
intelligent or independent," Apollo said reassuringly.
   A loud mechanical bark suddenly emitted from the robot daggit
Muffit Two in the back seat of the landram, which caused all of
the people to laugh.
   "Present company excepted, Muffit," Apollo chuckled as Boxey
petted the daggit, and he then lowered his voice to a
confidential tone,  "As a matter of fact Boxey, you should have
him checked out.  He's been listening in a little too closely."
   Watching the easy exchange between Apollo and Boxey only made
Serina feel all the more secure and confident.  And it only
intensified her own inner belief that she was fast falling in
love with the Galactica warrior.


   The more time he spent inside the chancery, the more uneasy
Boomer felt.  The sight of so many people enjoying such easy
success, and enjoying quality ambrosia and rich food at
outrageously low prices was something that seemed a little too
good to be true from his standpoint.
   From the idle conversations he'd struck with some of the
guests, none of them had any inkling about the fact that their
home planets were now burning ruins under Cylon occupation.  But
he did notice one odd trend.  Not one person had been here longer
than one sectar.
   Odd, he thought.  If this place is as good as it seems,
wouldn't there be some long-term residents by this point?
   He saw Starbuck hunched over in rapt attention over a
glittering High/Low table and gently tapped him on the shoulder.
   "We've got to talk Starbuck," he said quietly, "Away from this
activity."
   "Right now?" Starbuck seemed slightly crestfallen as he took a
puff on his fumarello.
   "Yeah now," Boomer said firmly, "Over in the next room."
   Reluctantly, Starbuck followed Boomer over to the lounge area,
where the raucous sounds of loud music were playing.  They could
hear a strange harmonious blend of voices singing.
   "Must be a pretty big group to sound like that," Starbuck
mused.
   When they entered though, they were both slightly surprised to
see that the singing came from just a small group of three female
singers.
   "They must have really big lungs," Boomer said as they sat
down at a table in the middle of the room.
   Starbuck squinted to get a better look and then his eyes
widened, "You better believe it, Boomer.  Look, they've each got
three sets of eyes and mouths!"
   "What?" Boomer frowned and then stared over, "Frack, you're
right.  Now that's something you don't see every day.  A whole
bunch of Tucans."
   "Bunch of what?"
   "Tucans.  From the planet Tucan.  Located somewhere in the
same star system as Borallus and all the other planets that
produced odd variations on the human lifeform."
   Starbuck shook his head in amazement, "I must have skipped
them in my alien civilizations class."
   "Never mind them for now though," Boomer looked away from
them, "At least out here no one can read our lips."
   "Who'd want to do that?"
   "Whoever might be up to something in this place."
   "Well," Starbuck pulled a bag out of his jacket pocket and
emptied its contents on the table, "One thing I can say about
this place is that it's not crooked."
   Boomer looked down in amazement at a pile of more than two
thousand cubits in gold.
   "You got those gambling?"
   "Sure.  That crazy woman was right.  You can't lose."
   "That's what's wrong with this place," Boomer said
skeptically, "You ever been in a gambling chancery where you
couldn't lose?"
   "No," Starbuck shrugged and shifted his attention back to the
singing Tucans, "But then again, I've never been here before
either."
   "Starbuck, I think we ought to finally get back to the landram
and report all this."
   His friend didn't respond.  His gaze was still locked on the
Tucans.
   "Starbuck?" he gave him a nudge.
   "You know Boomer," Starbuck took a puff on his cigar, "I was
just thinking.  We could make an even bigger fortune if we put
those girls on the Star Circuit.  I'm talking really big money."
   Boomer looked at him as though he felt Starbuck had just
inhaled the most lethal dosage of plant vapors that the human
body was capable of withstanding.
   "Starbuck," he said, "Did you get a steam burn on your astrum
or on your brain?  There's no Star Circuit left.  We're all
drifting about aimlessly in space searching for some distant
planet that might not even exist while the whole Cylon Fleet is
out to exterminate us, and you're suddenly talking about wanting
to sign up a singing group?"
   Starbuck looked back at him and then shook his head
sheepishly, "Frack you're right, I am sounding like an equinian
astrum.  I think the whole atmosphere of this place is getting to
me."
   "I can see why though," Boomer looked about, "For someone of
your temperament, this is better than Heaven.  But I'm telling
you, there's just something not right about this place."
   Suddenly, the Tucan song reached its finish and the last note
caused the glass on their table to shatter completely.
   "Blasted war," Starbuck sighed with regret, "They could have
been my ticket out of the military."


   "Alpha Landram to Ground Base," Apollo radioed, "Read-out is
now 8.33 and rising.  We're not far from the deposit."
   "Okay," Fairfax replied, "Stay with it.  The agro team just
finished gathering all the plant samples back here for transport
to our agro ships.  It'll be nice to get some fuel to ship back
as well."
   "What's Beta Landram reporting?"
   "I haven't the slightest idea," an edge of displeasure entered
the Columbia commander's voice for the first time, "They haven't
reported back for more than a centar now, and won't answer their
com-line."
   Apollo and Serina exchanged puzzled glances with each other.
   "Any indication why?" Apollo asked.
   "None.  As soon as you get done pinpointing things at the
deposit site, I'll be sending you over to their last reported
position.  But not before."
   "They could be in danger, sir," a note of concern entered
Apollo's voice.
   "Not necessarily, Captain.  It could be they found something
to check out on foot.  Don't worry about that for now though,
your job is to pinpoint the tylium deposit site."
   "Yes sir," Apollo acknowledged, "Alpha Landram out."
   "You seem worried," Serina noted.
   "Yeah, well," he shrugged, "Starbuck and Boomer are the best
warriors I've ever worked with.  It takes something really
extraordinary to get them into trouble."
   "In Starbuck's case, only a girl or a pyramid game can get him
into trouble," Sergeant Jolly chimed from the back end of the
landram.
   "What's a pyramid game?" Boxey asked.
   "That's something you'll have to wait to learn about, Boxey,"
Apollo chuckled, "Don't forget about your mission."
   "Yes sir!" the little boy said and fastened his eyes on the
monitor again.
   A centon later, the number finally hit ten and registered a
loud beep which caused Muffit to bark loudly.
   "Quiet Muffit, I see it," Boxey scolded his pet, "That means
we've found the tylium."
   "Well done Boxey," Apollo smiled.
   "That's a pretty hot reading, Captain," Jolly unhitched his
belt, "We're probably on top of the mine now.  I think I'd better
go out and have a look."
   "Okay Jolly, keep your eyes open."
   But as soon as the corpulent sergeant opened the door, he was
startled by Muffit leaping out and scampering off into the dark.
   "Muffit!" Boxey called out with alarm, "Come back!"
   "Don't worry Boxey," Jolly said hastily as he stepped out,
"I'll get him and bring him back."
   "Let me go too!  I can get him to come back quicker!" he
turned and looked pleadingly at him mother, "Please Mommy, let me
got get him!"
   Serina took a cautious breath, "All right, Boxey.  But only if
you stay close to Sergeant Jolly.  Don't run off by yourself for
any reason."
   "I won't, I promise!" Boxey said as he leapt out and quickly
caught up to Jolly.
   "Easy Boxey, easy," the fat warrior tried to sound reassuring,
"We'll get him back in a centon."
   Serina let out an amazed sigh at how quickly Boxey had become
attached to his new pet in even more ways than he'd been with the
old one.
   "Precocious, isn't he?" Apollo gently inquired.
   "Yes," she nodded and then looked at Apollo, "Thank you."
   "For what?"
   "For saving my son's life.  I don't think he'd have ever
smiled or laughed again if it hadn't been for you."
   Apollo felt his body tense, "You're getting things a little
out of proportion, aren't you?"
   "No," she shook her head, "That boy means everything to me.
And he's had to suffer from the micron he was born." she took a
breath, "Starting with a deadbeat father he's never even met."
   "Serina," Apollo said gently and squeezed her hand, "You don't
have to talk about it if you don't want to."
   Serina looked him in the eye with determination, "I do want to
tell you, Apollo.  Because I want you to understand why I'm so
grateful to you.  My son has never had a father-figure at any
time in his life.  His father was a man I met and dated during my
next-to-last yahren at university.  It so happened that one of
our dates coincided with the night that I came of legal age, and
he talked me into celebrating the occasion by going to a Red
Light District bar where we both proceeded to have too much
ambrosia.  A centar after we left the bar, we were both so drunk
that we ended up doing something that neither of us would have
set out to do.  Well....the end result of that one night of
misguided passion was that I became pregnant."
   "And he wouldn't take responsibility?" Apollo felt slightly
embarrassed that she was putting herself through this.
   "No," she sighed, "He just went into a panic.  The only thing
he did was demand that I get a termination.  Well that was
something I had no intention of doing.  I've always believed that
termination is an evil practice, and I wasn't about to make an
innocent child suffer when it was the parents who had made the
mistake.  I told him flat-out that I was going to have the baby
and that we both had to take responsibility for it."
   "So what happened?"
   "He took the cowards way out and just ran away," Serina said,
"I think his whole problem was that he was afraid of the wrath of
his parents coming down on him for doing something so foolish as
getting a classmate pregnant."
   "What happened to him?"
   "I don't know," she shook her head, "He did a good job of
dropping out of sight.  I haven't seen or heard from him since
the night I told him I was going to have the baby.  For all I
know, he could have died six yahrens ago, or he could still be
alive among the survivors of the Fleet.  Not that I'd care a
daggit's felgercarb if he were."
   Apollo was amazed, "That must have been agony for you.  Having
a baby and still continuing your education."
   "I know," she nodded, "It was brutal.  But I was determined to
manage both of them no matter what the cost, because I wanted to
be able to support my son honestly, and not have to take any
handouts from the government.  I literally doubled up on my
classes while I was pregnant, so I could be finished with school
and get a job by the time I had the baby.  If this had happened
during my first yahren at university, I never would have been
able to handle it.  But by a miracle, I managed to graduate with
honors and get my first job at the BNC a sectan before Boxey was
born."
   Apollo was almost speechless.  All these yahrens he'd admired
Serina from afar, and until now he'd never known how strong her
character really was.
   "So that's the story of how I got to where I was," Serina
sighed and looked out the window, "Not as tragic as it could have
been, but still a rough road to travel."
   He suddenly squeezed her hand, "It's okay," he said gently,
"Don't let it bother you.  The way things are now, nothing that's
gone on before really counts for much."
   Serina forced herself to look back at him.
   "As far as the human race is concerned," he squeezed her hand
even more tightly, "We're all starting over."
   She suddenly leaned toward him and they came together in a
passionate kiss and embrace.
   "Apollo," Serina whispered, "I love you."
   Apollo almost trembled inside when he heard her words.  It
seemed like the most incredible twist of fate imaginable that a
tragedy like the Holocaust would lead to something like this.
   He smiled awkwardly and reluctantly let go of her, "I think
we'd better get back to work now."
   "Of course," she smiled back.
   "Jolly?" Apollo activated the com-link, "How's it going out
there?"
   There was no immediate response.
   "Jolly?" Apollo repeated.
   "Sorry Captain," the fat warrior finally responded, "I haven't
got much time because we still can't find the daggit.  Boxey's
getting a little on edge."
   "Great," Apollo rolled his eyes, "Keep looking Jolly.  That's
your first priority before checking out the mining site."
   "Yes sir."


   "Muffit!" Boxey called out as Jolly kept inspecting some of
the small ridges to see if the daggit might have gotten stuck in
one of them.  "Muffit, where'd you go?"
   "No sign of him here, Boxey," Jolly said, "Let's move on."
   Suddenly, they both heard a familiar sounding mechanical bark
coming from the other side of a large rock formation.
   "He's over there!" the little boy started running off in the
direction of the sound.
   "Uh, Boxey wait!" Jolly started after him.
   As soon as Boxey reached the other side, he saw his new pet
sitting there looking up and bobbing it's head up and down.
   "Darn you daggit!" he scolded, "Come here."
   But before the robot could move toward him, Boxey suddenly
felt something touch him on the shoulder.  At first he thought it
was Jolly, but then he realized that it was not the touch of a
human hand, but something rough and clawlike.
   He wheeled around and saw something that was by far the
ugliest thing he'd ever seen in his life.  The sight of a large
insect-like creature with gigantic eyes.
   Before the little boy could cry out, the creature had clamped
it's giant hand firmly over his mouth and started pushing him
along toward the opening of a giant, nearby cave.


   "What do you mean they've disappeared?" there was pure
incredulity in Fairfax's voice.
   "I mean they've been gone for more than twenty centons, and
Sergeant Jolly's not answering his com-link," Apollo said.
   "Frack," the Columbia commander muttered, "That's four people
disappearing on us.  This has gotten too far out of hand."
   "Well Serina's on the verge of getting frantic sir, and we
really want to start looking around."
   "Not until I get there," Fairfax said sharply, "I'll take one
of the agro-teams's landrams out and let them hold the fort down
here.  I want to know what's happening on this planet."


   It took thirty centons for Fairfax's landram to arrive at the
spot where Apollo's still lay stopped.  Once the Columbia
commander had emerged, Apollo and Serina wasted little time in
getting out to begin the search for Boxey and Jolly.
   "If anything's happened to Boxey I'll never forgive myself,"
Serina tried hard not to let the panic come through her voice.
   "It'll be okay," Apollo tried to sound reassuring.  But
already he was filled with just as much apprehension as she was.
   "Captain!" Fairfax barked, "Over here."
   The two of them came up to him.  He was staring at the massive
opening of a large cave in the distance.
   "Think maybe they could have wandered into there?" Fairfax
asked, "According to the readout, that's the source of the tylium
deposits."
   Before either of them could respond, they suddenly saw several
large creatures emerge from behind the rocks surrounding them.
Apollo and Fairfax tried to get their laser pistols out but it
soon became clear that they were completely surrounded, and the
group of insectoid creatures had their own weapons squarely aimed
at the three humans.


   The creatures forced them into a walking procession inside the
cave and then confiscated their weapons.  After riding a turbo-
lift down an unknown number of levels, the three humans were
taken along a tram through some intricately designed corridors.
   Fairfax finally broke the silence, "This set-up's a lot more
intricate than I figured.  And I don't seem to recall any mention
of alien life forms on this planet in all the intelligence
reports I ever saw."
   Serina's expression remained one of tight-lipped silence.
   "Your opinion on whether you think these people are friendly
or hostile, Captain?" Fairfax leaned forward in his seat and
inquired of Apollo.
   "Hard to say, sir," Apollo said with total caution, "We should
know soon enough."
   The tram came to a stop in front of what looked like a giant
walkway.  The creatures forced the three humans to resume a
walking procession.
   The walkway soon opened out into the main chamber of the mine.
Apollo and Fairfax were both taken aback by the size and depth of
the area.  It seemed to extend as far into the depths of the
planet as the eye could comprehend.
   "Would you look at that?" Apollo said in amazement, "It's
probably the largest tylium mine in the whole galaxy!"
   Fairfax was no less awed, "With this much mining at the
planet's core, they really have to be careful.  A few well-placed
laser blasts could make the whole planet go up like a nova."
   "I don't care about any of that," Serina suddenly broke her
silence and snapped, "I just want to know what's happened to
Boxey."
   "Sorry," Apollo said gently and protectively wrapped an arm
around her waist, "I get the feeling that they may be leading us
to him."
   "To join him as their prisoners?" Fairfax snorted as they came
to the end of the walkway and entered another corridor.  This one
was designed in more elegant, ornate shades of gold as opposed to
the more drab color schemes of the other corridors.
   At the far end of the hall, they saw one of the creatures
seated in what seemed like a throne chair.  Unlike the others,
this one wore numerous layers of colorful cloth across its green
body.  To one side, another creature stood at attention.
   "Must be their leader," Fairfax said, "Do you have a
languatron handy, Captain?"
   "Right here," Apollo pulled out the device that was capable of
translating more than ten thousand known languages into Colonial
Standard and handed it to the Columbia commander.
   A high pitched screech emitted from the leader.  An instant
later, the languatron was translating its indecipherable sound
into a feminine sounding voice.
   "Welcome to Carillon," the leader was saying, "I am Queen
Lotay of the Ovion people."
   "Commander Fairfax, representative of the Colonial Council of
Twelve and the Battlestar Galactica," Fairfax took a step forward
and kept his tone tactful and diplomatic.
   "You are impressed?" Queen Lotay asked.
   "Confused would be more like it," Fairfax said, "We've lost
several members of our party including a little boy."
   "He is safe," Lotay said, "We found him and have brought him
here.  Would you care to join him on the upper levels?"
   "Yes we would!" Serina spoke up anxiously.
   "We shall arrange it for you."
   "Could we also have our weapons returned to us?" Fairfax
delicately prodded.
   "As soon as you are off the mining levels we shall do so,"
Lotay said, "We do not permit fully operational lasers to be
carried about so close to the planet's core for safety reasons."
   The Ovion queen clicked the claws of her hand together and
motioned several of her aides to escort the three humans to
another turbo lift at the end of the room.  As soon as they
entered, the queen rose from her throne and followed them in.
   "Your Highness," Fairfax said as the lift began to rise, "It
was our understanding that the Colonies had established a mining
expedition here some time ago, and yet there was no indication of
any contact with your people."
   "We were aware of your expedition, but we made no contact with
them," the queen said as the languatron continued to translate,
"Only more recently have we chosen to reveal ourselves to the
travelers from your society and welcome them in friendship."
   The doors then opened and the three humans were startled to
see a scene of festive partying inside a massive banquet room.
Spread out on several soft couches were Starbuck, Boomer, Jolly
and Boxey, all indulging in large quantities of food and drink.
"Mommy!" Boxey suddenly bolted up from a cushion and dashed up to
Serina.  As Serina hugged her son, she noticed that his mouth was
sticky with the residue of several mushies, his favorite dessert.
   "Ah, Captain!" Starbuck got up as soon as he saw Apollo, "Good
fortune seems to be smiling on all of us."
   "So much that you go off and don't report back in,
Lieutenant?" there was an edge of coldness in Fairfax's voice as
he stepped forward.
   Starbuck blushed slightly when he saw the Columbia commander
glaring at him.
   "Well ah...." he said sheepishly, "We got lost you see..."
   "Never mind," Fairfax shook his head as he looked about the
room in amazement.
   "From the looks of it, the Ovions seem to have quite a set-up
here, sir," Boomer spoke up as he sipped a container filled with
ambrosia, "It's like nothing we've ever dreamed of.  They've got
everything we need here and plenty of it.  They say they're happy
to share it with us."
   Fairfax looked back at the Ovion queen, "Is this true Your
Highness?"
   "Absolutely," Lotay bowed, "Carillon is rich in resources that
are of little value to us but of great value to you.  We are most
happy to let you partake of our surpluses.  Our philosophy has
always been based on the principle of sharing, to achieve total
contentment and fulfillment.  What you ask for, we shall
provide."
   "Sounds like Paradise," Serina said as she continued to hold
Boxey tightly in relieved gratitude.
   "Yeah," there was a slightly uneasy tinge in Apollo's voice as
he continued to look about at the massive quantities of excess
food being gorged on by the people in the room, "It does."

                     Chapter Eleven

   "Two days have passed since Commander Fairfax's incredible
report to us of the discovery of the Carillon mining operation
and resort complex," Adama said as he spoke into the voice
recorder for his journal, "Since then, more representatives from
the Council, including Sire Uri and Sire Anton have visited the
planet and been given full tours of the complex.  They have
offered glowingly optimistic reports on---"
   The chime sounded and Adama set down his microphone, "Enter."
   A somewhat cautious Tigh entered the room carrying a slip of
paper which he handed to the commander, "This message just came
form Sire Uri on Carillon."
   Adama read it aloud, "'The Ovion people have extended to the
survivors of the Colonies every measure of goodness and support
we might have hoped for.  It is now possible to foresee the
entire Fleet able to resume our voyage within a sectan."
   The commander let out a sigh and got up from his chair, "Well
Colonel," he said as he went over to the porthole, "Yet another
optimistic report."
   "Too optimistic," Tigh said with unease, "Since he went down
there and saw the whole resort complex, Uri's had everyone in the
Fleet breaking in the bulkheads to get down to the surface."
   "Well," Adama mused as he looked out, "Perhaps some small
numbers in an orderly rotation would be a good idea.  Lord knows
we have people that could use some relief."
   "It isn't going to be that way."
   The commander turned around and frowned.
   "Uri says there's enough down there for him to eventually give
full authorization permits to half our population."
   Adama's eyebrows went up, "Half the population?  That's more
than 35,000 people!"
   "He says it's not a problem."
   "It most certainly will be a problem!" Adama said, "He's
proposing a total logistical nightmare.  You tell Uri that he can
authorize all the permits he wants to, but I don't want more than
a thousand people at a time on the surface."
   "Yes sir," Tigh nodded, "I'll tell him.  Though I'm sure he
won't like it."
   The Galactica commander slowly shook his head and went back to
his chair.
   "We've come so far so quickly," Adama mused, "There's been
little time for reason.  Instead of celebrating we ought to be
asking more questions.  What is the curious secret behind the
existence of this amazing outpost of pleasure?  There are many
such oases for intergalactic travel, but none so far off the
known arteries of trade.  And none so curiously close to a tylium
mine."
   "According to Fairfax, the people who travelled here from the
Colonies last sectar all responded to some advertising put out by
the Piscean Commerce Ministry."
   That caused Adama's head to perk up, "The Piscean Commerce
Ministry?"
   Tigh nodded.
   "That's interesting," Adama folded his hands in contemplation,
"Very interesting.  Only within the last few sectars could there
have been any knowledge in the Colonies that this resort even
existed, and it all originated on Piscera."
   The executive officer frowned, "Why is that interesting?"
   "I'm not sure," Adama said, "But it might be a good idea if I
were to look over the old intelligence reports on the original
mining expedition."
   "I'll have them brought up for you," Tigh nodded, "In the
meantime, do we still go ahead and allow those authorization
permits to be issued?"
   Adama sighed in resignation, "I suppose I'd be inviting a
revolt if I tried to stop it.  So long as the military situation
remains stable for now, we might as well go ahead, but maintain
the one thousand limit at all costs."


   "Can you believe this place?" Serina said as she and Apollo
walked about the confines of the chancery, "Nothing but good food
and drink.  Endless pleasure and fun.  There's no limit to what
you can choose."
   "Do you have any particular kind of fun in mind?" there was am
almost mischievous edge in Apollo's voice that she'd never heard
before.
   "I don't know," she looked back at him and matched his
mischievous tone, "Boxey seems pretty occupied with all the other
children on the lower level.  What did you have in mind?"
   "Anything you want," he wrapped his arm around her waist,
"Absolutely anything you want."
   Serina let out a contented sigh, "Give me a centar and I'll
let you know."
   They continued walking past a pyramid table when Serina
suddenly stopped in her tracks.
   "Something wrong?" Apollo frowned.
   "No," she shook her head and then smiled reassuringly, "But
could you be a dear and get me a glass of ambrosia?"
   "Sure.  Got a particular vintage in mind?"
   "Virgon red would be perfect," she said, "I'll wait here."
   As soon as Apollo had disappeared into the crowd of people to
head back to the bar located on the far side of the room, Serina
cautiously made her way back to the pyramid table she'd just
passed.  A moderately handsome man smoking a fumarello was
hunched over the table, with a large pile of cubits in front of
him indicating his success.
   "Dr. Maxson, I presume?" she said in a low, nonchalant tone
that still had just the barest hint of contempt.
   The man froze slightly and then slowly turned around.  As soon
as he realized who it was, he seemed to visibly flinch.
   "What's the matter, Doctor?" the contempt increased in
Serina's voice, "Don't you have anything to say to one of your
old clients?"
   Maxson decided not to put up any kind of facade, "Okay," he
said quietly, "I take it you've had another diagnosis lately."
   "Oh yes," she nodded, "I have."
   The doctor bit his lip, "What are you going to do?"
   She looked at his pile of winnings, "As I remember correctly,
Dr. Maxson, the penalty for criminal malpractice amounted to five
yahrens in prison and a fine of well over fifty thousand cubits.
But because I don't want to be accused of carrying a grudge, I
think that nice little pile of about five thousand cubits will do
just fine."
   "Okay," Maxson said hastily, "Take it.  Take the whole thing.
Just don't turn me in."
   Serina felt a sense of satisfaction at seeing the crooked
doctor squirm as she piled up the gold coins into one of the
small bags at the side of the table.
   "I have no intention of turning you in, Dr. Maxson," she said,
"Why bother seeing you thrown in prison for trying to cheat me
out of my house and life savings when the Cylons beat you to the
punch?" she then looked him in the eye, "But if I were you, I
wouldn't think of resuming your practice."
   "I won't," he said with relief, "Anything else?"
   "There is," a satisfied smile came over her face as she
slapped him savagely across the chin.  Maxson staggered backward
several steps and almost collapsed on to the pyramid table.
   As several other people helped Maxson to his feet, Serina
disappeared in the crowd to the other end of the room where
Apollo had just re-emerged from the bar.
   "Here's your ambrosia," he handed her an elegant chalice, "The
line was a little longer than I figured."
   "It's all right," she smiled and sipped her drink, "I managed
to keep myself occupied."
   "Doing what?"
   She pulled out her bag of cubits, "I won five thousand cubits
at a pyramid table."
   Apollo's eyes widened, "That fast?  How'd you do that?"
   "Trade secret, my captain," she winked at him and extended her
arm, "Now suppose you and I get away from all this activity?"
   He smiled back and took it, "My pleasure."


   At another table, the man who now called himself Pallan was
also experiencing a considerable run of luck.  But unlike Dr.
Maxson, Charybdis was already anticipating the fact that he would
not be able to hold on to his winnings for long.
   What fools these people are, he mused to himself.  They think
this place is a Paradise.  If they only knew what really went on
here.
   His mind went back to a time more than five sectars ago, when
Baltar had taken him aside in his office and presented him with a
full intelligence report on what the inhabitants of Carillon were
really up to.  It had so sickened Charybdis that he'd almost ran
from the Piscean delegate's office to get to a turboflush as fast
as he could.
   The one thing he knew for certain was that he wasn't about to
take any chance lingering too long on the planet.
   His thoughts shifted to another matter when he noticed Ortega
indulging over at the bar.  He decided the time had come to make
a preemptive strike.  The blonde sergeant was the only man who
had the potential to cause trouble for him and the sooner he
neutralized the problem, the better.  He calmly gathered his
winnings of more than ten thousand cubits and made his way over.
   "Good evening Sergeant," he said nonchalantly as he sat down
in the stool next to him.
   Ortega looked up and frowned, "Oh yeah," he slurred faintly,
"You're that Piscean bartender I met on the Rising Star.  Pallan,
right?"
   "That's right," Charybdis said curtly, "But I believe you were
asking me if we'd ever met on Caprica before."
   "Yeah," the curly-haired sergeant nodded, "That's right.  You
do seem familiar."
   "Then we might as well have a clearing of the air right now,
Sergeant," Charybdis said, "Could you give me a centon of your
time alone?  Namely, outside."
   "Why should I?"
   "If you want ten thousand cubits without having to play a
single game here, you will."
   Ortega's head perked up, "You've got my attention."
   The two of them left the bar and made their way outside the
chancery entrance, where the two moons of Carillon shined
brightly in the perpetual night sky.
   "Here," Charybdis suddenly shoved his bag full of winnings at
him, "Ten thousand cubits.  And I'll get you a share more of
anything else I make for as long as we're on Carillon, if you
forget all about where it is you've seen me before."
   The sergeant looked at him in dumbfounded amazement.
   "Maybe you haven't figured it out yet," Charybdis went on,
"But sooner or later, Adama is going to issue some kind of report
that will allow you to piece things together, and I'm not about
to take any kind of chance."
   "Boy," the blonde sergeant was almost at a virtual for words
as he pocketed the bag, "What can I say?"
   "Nothing," Charybdis said coldly, "You can either profit from
your silence, or you can end up dead."
   "Who am I to argue against such generosity?" Ortega held up
his hands, "You've got yourself a deal, Mister Pallan."
   "Good," Charybdis started to head back into the chancery,
"Let's both agree to stick to it."
   Incredible, Ortega thought as he saw the man he knew only as
Pallan re-enter the building.  That guy sounds like he's
desperate.  Just like those guys Chella and Elias.
   If that was indeed the case, then he had no intention of
letting Pallan's generosity stop with his winnings on Carillon.
Just as he wasn't about to let Chella and Elias stop with the
bribe money they had given him to get aboard the Rising Star on
Caprica.


   Adama was on the verge of getting ready to go to bed when Tigh
returned with another report.
   "The first fuel shipments from Carillon have now arrived in
the Ovion transports," he handed him another slip of paper.
   The commander looked over the report and frowned, "A somewhat
limited quantity in light of the size of their operation, isn't
it?"
   "Indeed," Tigh nodded, "But it doesn't seem to be bothering
the support personnel on our freighters.  There are so few of
them left at this point, that the only thing they complain about
is not being on the surface.  Their spirits are as depleted as
their numbers."
   Adama shook his head and sighed in amazement, "Everyone seems
to have forgotten all about our flight from the Cylons.  The
beauty and wiles of Carillon have our people totally spellbound."
   "I almost can't blame them though," the executive officer
said, "When you go through something as traumatic as we all did
in losing our homes forever, there almost seems to be some kind
of instinct to reach out for something that makes the pain go
away.  For whatever reason, the Ovions are doing just that."
   "That's the interesting part," Adama said, "If the Ovions are
willing to be so generous with us now, then what was preventing
them from making contact with the original mining expedition?
And why did they never seek diplomatic relations with the Council
at any time when we could have given them full military
protection against the Cylons?"
   "You think the Ovions are hiding something from us?"
   "I don't know what to think right now," the commander leaned
back and held his arm over his forehead, "I suppose I should
sleep on it for now and see if my pessimism is still there in the
morning."
   "Goodnight Commander."


   As more of the Galactica's people arrived on Carillon to
indulge in the luxuries of the resort complex, sleep and
precaution were the furthest things on the minds of any of the
guests.  Such was the case with Sire Uri, who had reserved a
private table with several other members of the Council of
Twelve.
   "Have you ever seen anything more impressive, Domra?" Uri
asked his fellow member.
   The former chief of the Skorpian Legislature shook his head as
he gnawed greedily at a roasted fowl's leg.  "No I haven't, Uri."
   "It represents everything we need in order for our race to
survive," Uri's tone was emphatic as he sipped a glass of his
favorite beverage, Skorpian bourbon, "Certainly a far better
opportunity for our people than Adama's vision of searching for
an ancient legend far across the galaxy."
   "My dear Uri," Sire Anton chuckled as he sampled the fresh
Virgon berries that tasted sweet and ripe, "Your tone would seem
to imply that you gathered us together for some old-fashioned-
politicking."
   "Indeed I have," the bald sire smiled, "Tomorrow morning, I
plan on summoning the Council to formally consider my proposal."
   "Give us a preview, Uri," Sire Geller leaned forward in his
cushioned chair, "I'm most interested."
   "It comes down to this," Uri motioned about the room, "We have
here the food and the necessities to feed our people.  We have
the support of a culture quite content to be subservient to our
needs.  We are far away from the Cylons so as not to pose a
threat to them."
   Uri then paused for effect and seemed to raise his voice just
a bit, "And would not if we destroyed our war machines."
   Anton looked up and then realized that Uri had raised his
voice for the benefit of Apollo, who had just walked by Uri's
table, arm-in-arm with Serina.  As soon as the bald sire had made
his statement, Apollo stopped and looked at the Council member in
disbelief.
   "What's this?" he asked.
   "Ah, our young warrior," there was only the faintest trace of
sarcasm in Uri's voice as he got to his feet and came up to them,
"I was just pointing out to my brothers on the Council that the
Cylons destroyed our planets because we were a threat to their
order.  But here, on Carillon, we pose no threat.  Or would not,
if we disposed of our ships and our weapons."
   Apollo and Serina both exchanged dubious glances.
   "Now what do you think of my proposal?"
   The warrior looked him in the eye, "For your sake, Sire Uri, I
hope it's only the grog that's made you come up with that idea."
   Uri flinched slightly at the insult but then recovered himself
as Apollo and Serina moved off.
   "Tonight it might very well be the grog, Captain," he said,
"But there's always tomorrow."


   At another end of the room, Commander Fairfax was indulging
himself in his third serving of roasted meat, garnished with
Piscean vegetables.  Since the Columbia commander's arrival on
the planet, he had not once left the resort complex, allowing
himself to indulge in all the pleasures it had to offer.
   He'd found that the many centars of activity at the gambling
tables had provided some much-needed therapeutic relief to his
psyche, after all the anguish he'd gone through over the loss of
his ship.
   So much so, that Fairfax found it increasingly difficult to
face the possibility that he and everyone else would have to
leave this place.
   You want to have us journey all the way across the unknown
reaches of the universe for a myth, Adama?  he thought to
himself.  Why should we?  This is surely the place where we can
consolidate our strength.
   "Commander?"
   Fairfax looked up and saw Sire Uri standing over him.
   "Yes, Sire?" he said pleasantly to his fellow Council member,
"Is there anything I can do for you?"
   "As a matter of fact there is," Uri sat next to him, "I've
been having some productive talks with our brother members
concerning a proposal of mine I intend to make at a special
Council meeting tomorrow morning.  It concerns our future as a
people."
   "What kind of proposal?" Fairfax said as he took another bite
of his meat.
   "A proposal that we forget this fanciful notion that a brother
tribe of humanity exists far across the universe and holds the
key to our people's survival.  That instead, we take advantage of
the generosity the Ovions have provided us, and settle
permanently here."
   Fairfax stopped eating and pushed his plate aside.
   "Do I have your interest?" Uri smiled coyly.
   "You do," Fairfax said, "Completely.  I happen to think you're
right."
   "As do most of our brethren on the Council.  At the very
least, a simple majority," Uri paused, "However, the proposal to
settle on Carillon would not be without its difficulties.  Not
the least of which, is how we would settle the problem of what
happens once the Cylons discover where we are."
   "We consolidate ourselves," Fairfax said, "Turn this planet
into a secure base that we can defend."
   "No," Uri shook his head, "That is totally impractical,
Commander.  I'm sure your own tragic experience last sectan with
the Columbia is enough to make you realize that from a military
standpoint, we can not secure ourselves from inevitable
destruction against the numbers the Cylons possess."
   His eyes narrowed slightly, "What are you proposing, Uri?"
   "If we are to settle on Carillon, we must send a signal to the
Cylons that we present no threat to them that would make them
inclined to waste their resources destroying us," the bald sire
said, "The only way we can do that is to throw down our arms and
destroy our arsenal."
   The Columbia commander stared at him with incredulity for a
moment.
   "You can not be serious," Fairfax said.
   "Deadly serious," Uri leaned forward, "We will lose this oasis
of food and plenty if we attempt to transform it into a military
bastion.  The only way we can ever keep this precious gift the
Lords have seen fit to give us after our destruction, is to let
the Cylons know that we intend to mind our own business and not
threaten any challenges to their dominion elsewhere."
   "Uri," an edge of coldness entered Fairfax's voice, "What
you're proposing is all-out surrender."
   "Not at all," Uri kept his tone nonchalant, "What I am
proposing is the only hope humanity has to enjoy life again.  If
we continue to follow Adama's foolish quest for a nonexistent
planet across the stars, then we will surely die.  And we will
surely never have the opportunity to enjoy the pleasures of life
as Carillon now offers to us."
   "Agreed," Fairfax nodded, "But surely we could settle here on
Carillon and still maintain a viable defense force.  When it
comes to trusting the goodwill of the Cylons Uri, I think their
record speaks for itself!"
   "In an ideal world, you would probably be correct Commander,"
Uri said, "But as you're aware, we no longer live in an ideal
world," the Councilman paused, "We live in a world where only
Adama and his handpicked successors will ever know the thrill of
a battlestar command again."
   Fairfax flinched slightly and calmly went back to his meal.
Uri felt a sense of satisfaction go through him as he realized
that his remark had made its intended effect.
   "Can I count on your support at tomorrow's meeting,
Commander?"
   The Columbia commander didn't look up, "Have you gotten the
other members to agree with your scheme on the weapons?"
   "I have already secured a quorum," he said emphatically, "They
already recognize that the proposition of staying on Carillon
carries no other alternative."
   "Then why do you even bother politicking me?" he forked
another bite into his mouth.
   "As a military man, you carry considerable influence," Uri
said, "It would certainly be enough to neutralize objections from
Adama."
   Fairfax looked back at him, "I suppose if I were to object
strenuously at this point, it would get me nowhere?"
   "It would certainly not facilitate matters," the bald sire
kept his tone pointed.
   The Columbia commander sighed, "Then I suppose I have no
choice at this point."
   "Excellent," Uri grinned, "Thank you very much Commander."


   Since his unexpected run-in with Serina, Dr. Maxson had bid a
hasty retreat from the chancery and decided to turn his attention
elsewhere.  Instead of money, he was now interested in the
numerous young women on the dance floor one level down.
   As he took in the scene, the embarrassed sting he'd felt at
seeing Serina again managed to disappear completely.  The only
thing on Maxson's mind now was how Carillon offered everything he
had dreamed of obtaining through illegal means.  Unlimited funds
and comfortable living.  For more than ten yahrens, he'd
literally chafed at how limited his income as an independent
practitioner had been, and how it denied him the opportunity to
have the kind of lifestyle he'd always wanted.  It had angered
him inside to the point, that he decided to achieve his dream
through deception and dishonesty.  Charging his patients for
expensive operations and treatments they never needed.  Secretly
amassing those funds in hidden bank accounts, waiting for the
moment when he would take all of his ill-gotten gains and
disappear to some luxury resort with a new face and identity, and
be able to spend the rest of his life in comfort.
   He had not left his office in the Caprica City Medical Annex
when the Cylon attack had begun, but he had gotten down to the
bomb shelter in the building's sub-basement before the Medical
Annex was levelled completely by a direct hit.  All throughout
the attack, he had not grieved for his people or his nation, but
had instead cursed at Fate for doing this to him, just at a point
when his dream had been within grasp.
   In the sectan since the attack, he had bitterly languished in
his small cubicle aboard a cramped skybus wondering why this
trick had been played on him.  The arrival at Carillon though,
and the discovery of its magnificent resort, had totally
rekindled his spirits.  He was now getting the chance to indulge
in all of the pleasures of food, drink and gambling that he'd
wanted from the outset.  The only thing left was to take
advantage of all the beautiful women dressed in their exotically
colored gowns that he'd seen since his arrival.
   After more than a centar's effort, he finally found a woman
receptive to his overtures.  A somewhat giddy brunette in her
late twenties, wearing a tight pink dress and a matching plumed
hat.  It only took four drinks at the bar and two sessions on the
dance floor before she finally invited him down to her private
lodging.
   To Hades Hole with Adama and that whole nonsense about Earth,
he said to himself as he took his designated conquest by the arm.
I'll never leave this place.  It has everything a man could ask
for.
   They stepped into the turbo lift and shared a drunken kiss as
soon as the doors closed.
   "Push level three," she giggled, "That's where my lodging is."
   Without letting go of her, Maxson reached over and pressed the
button.  Slowly, the turbo lift began it's descent.
   "Did you say you were a doctor?" the woman slurred faintly as
she relaxed in his embrace.
   "I used to be," he leered at her.
   "I need help.  I've been eating like a wild Aerian porcine so
much, nothing fits me anymore.  And we've only been here three
days."
   "I'm sure I can do something about that," he began to nuzzle
her neck.
   "Mmmmmm, I just hope it's something better than dancing.  I
felt like a total klutz out there and----" she abruptly broke
off.
   "Yeah?" Maxson seemed oblivious as he kept nuzzling her.
   The giddiness disappeared from her voice, "Uh, I told you to
press level three."
   "I did."
   "Well we just passed it."
   Maxson frowned and let go of her.  He looked back at the wall
unit and saw the lights of level four blinking, indicating that
they had just passed that.
   "Something's wrong with this turbo lift," he started to bang
his fist against the buttons, "We're heading all the way to the
bottom.  Down to the mining levels."
   "Gee, I said I'd go someplace quiet and private with you, but
that's not what I had in mind."
   "Well, there should be someone down there who can help us get
back up.  I don't think it's anything to worry about."
   "I wonder what's down there?" she mused aloud.
   The doors opened and they stepped out into the dimly-lit
corridor.
   They had only gone two feet when they both froze in horror at
a sight that was truly more horrible than anything they had ever
seen in their lives.  A sight that Maxson immediately understood
the meaning of from his yahrens of scientific training.
   The woman's bloodcurdling screams would be the last sound the
crooked doctor ever heard.

                   Chapter Twelve

   All of Adama's attempts to sleep had proved futile.  After a
centar of restless tossing and turning, he turned his light back
on and went back to the office area of his quarters.
   As he went over the reports, he was briefly distracted when
Tigh entered the room.
   "I was about to turn in but I saw on the bridge monitor that
you were still up," the executive officer said, "Anything wrong?"
   "I couldn't sleep," Adama sighed, "My mind's been tied up in
these old intelligence reports on Carillon for yahrens it seems.
I've been trying to reconcile them with what we've been learning
about Carillon since we got here."
   "Have you found out anything significant?"
   "My memory's been refreshed on something I'd completely
forgotten," Adama looked up, "The original mining expedition was
headed by a Piscean consortium run by Baltar and his
subordinates.  It was their report that deemphasized Carillon's
importance as a viable base for mining tylium.  Our intelligence
is based completely on that one report from the very people who
ended up betraying us."
   Light slowly dawned on the executive officer, "And now we find
one of the largest tylium mining operations in this part of the
galaxy."
   "Exactly," Adama threw down the sheaf of papers he'd been
going through and got to his feet, "And isn't it odd that not
long after one of Baltar's consortiums states emphatically that
Carillon is useless from a mining standpoint, that the Piscean
Commerce Ministry suddenly starts issuing reports to travelators
all throughout the Colonies about this magnificent resort
complex?"
   "Another tie-in with Baltar, you think?"
   "It seems much too coincidental," the commander nodded and
began to pace, "And there are other mysteries.  The agricultural
samples we brought back from Carillon indicate that the Ovions
couldn't possibly have enough of a local food source to sustain
the number of workers they need for their operation.  They must
be bringing it in from who knows how far away."
   "And yet they have more than enough food to give to us," Tigh
noted, "Some of our people are getting downright obese."
   "Yes," Adama grunted, "And from all indications, there appears
to be no connection whatsoever between the Ovion workers
underground and the resort area on the surface.  Now why would a
society such as the Ovions, with all that abundance they make
available for the resort, not show any willingness to partake in
the abundance themselves?"
   "Maybe they keep a low profile for the benefit of the humans?"
Tigh mused, "After all, the Ovions aren't exactly the kind of
alien race the average human would feel comfortable co-mingling
with."
   "But why go to all that trouble?" Adama shook his head, "There
must be some connection between the two operations that we
haven't figured out yet."
   The executive officer decided the time had come to broach the
subject he'd been hesitant to raise.
   "Do you suspect a tie-in with the Cylons?"
   Adama went back to his chair and sat down, "Where Baltar's
involved, I suppose I suspect everything," he rubbed his temples,
"You haven't heard any reports of anything.....odd or out of the
ordinary happening?"
   "No sir," Tigh shook his head, "The people are having the time
of their lives.  There've been no complaints at all."
   "If I only had something to go on," there was an edge of
frustration in his voice.  "Something that would get the people
to realize that the sooner we resume our journey, the better."
   "At the rate things are going Commander, prying the people
away from Carillon is going to be next to impossible," he paused,
"I think maybe for now, you should try and get some of that sleep
you've been missing."
   Adama smiled thinly, "I'll take that under advisement.  Don't
hesitate to notify me if something does happen."
   "Yes sir," Tigh nodded and departed.
   As soon as he was alone though, Adama did not head back to his
sleeping chamber.  Instead, he assumed a posture of total
contemplation trying to piece every known scrap of information
together and come up with a plausible theory.
   If the secret of Carillon represented something as bad as he
feared it might be, he prayed that he'd be able to discover it
before it was too late.


   In contrast to the evening of troubled, restless concern that
Adama was going through on the Galactica, Apollo and Serina were
enjoying the most tranquil evening of their lives on Carillon.
   "I'm glad Muffit knows how to keep his eye on Boxey or I might
not have left him alone in my lodging," Serina sighed as Apollo
held her in his arms.  The two had spent the last centar making
passionate love to each other and were now relaxing in the
blissful aftermath.
   "I told you that Wilker was a genius," Apollo smiled and
kissed her lightly, "Course if you're concerned and want to go
back, I don't mind."
   She looked up at him in faint amusement, "You don't?"
   "Not a bit," he said seriously, "No matter what happens
between us, I have no intention of letting Boxey take a backseat
in your priority list."
   Serina shook her head in amazement, "Every instinct I had
about you was so right," she said, "You're the most tender,
compassionate human being I've ever met."
   Apollo ran his fingers through her waist-length dark brown
hair and smiled.
   "You know," he said, "Back in the landram you were thanking me
for saving Boxey's life because you never thought he'd smile or
laugh again.  Well by those standards Serina, I need to thank you
even more for saving my life.  Because of you, I've been coming
to terms with losing Zac and my mother a lot easier than I might
have otherwise.  You're....filling a void in my life in more ways
than I could have imagined, Serina."
   "You really mean that?" her eyes widened.
   "I mean it," he kissed her hand, "If you ever get a chance to
talk to Starbuck or Boomer or any other warrior who knows me
well, they'll be the first to tell you that I am usually a shy,
reserved person with all the social instincts of a cold Skorpian
fish."
   "I never would have guessed," Serina smiled, "Not after the
way you danced up a storm on the floor last night."
   "Only because I was with you," Apollo said, "For you, I'd do
anything, Serina.  I'm madly in love with you."
   She said nothing at first, but her expression indicated how
deeply his words had touched her heart.
   "You know," Serina finally summoned the strength to speak, "We
should probably start talking about.....other things, shouldn't
we?"
   "Soon," Apollo promised, "Real soon.  A pleasure center like
Carillon isn't the place to start dealing with more serious
matters.  We need a little time to sort things out after the
Fleet get's underway again."
   "Do you think we'll still leave Carillon?" she rested her head
on his shoulder, "What if Sire Uri goes ahead with that crazy
scheme he was talking about?"
   "Let's just hope it's the grog," Apollo said again.
   Serina slowly rolled on top of his body and her expression
suddenly grew mischievous.
   "Very well my captain," her voice became a sensuous whisper,
"So long as it isn't the grog in your case."


   Several centars passed before Adama finally was able to force
himself back to bed.  It seemed as though he'd barely gotten to
sleep when his alarm chime sounded.
   He forced himself to answer it, "Yes?"
   "Adama, something unexpected just happened," the monitor
showed a good deal of annoyance on Tigh's face, "Sire Uri just
returned from Carillon and has asked for an immediate meeting of
the Council."
   The commander came to a sitting position, "Does he give any
indication why?"
   "He only describes it as a matter of the highest concern."
   "This could mean trouble, Colonel," Adama rubbed his neck,
"Notify them that I'm on my way."


   Ten centons later, Adama entered the Council chamber and saw
to his distaste that he was the last member to arrive.
   "What is the purpose of this special meeting?" he said with an
edge of coldness as he settled into the President's chair.
   "To issue a proposal, Adama," Uri spoke up, "A proposal that I
believe represents the only sane course that is open to our
people."
   Adama eyed the bald sire with suspicion, "Very well Sire Uri.
If we can now consider ourselves to be in session, you are hereby
recognized."
   Uri smiled and got to his feet, "My brothers," he began with
the customary parliamentary term that applied even to female
members of the Council, "Our hasty attempt to outrun the Cylons,
spawned in the midnight of desperation, seems foolhardy in the
light of day.  To ask the people to resume a journey far across
the vast reaches of the galaxy in search of a mythic legend
called Earth, would certainly be a cruel injustice in light of
all that is now available to us on Carillon.  I believe that it
is imperative that we enter into direct talks with Queen Lotay
and her ruling advisors to discuss the prospect of settling our
people permanently."
   Adama kept his expression stoic.  He had already been
expecting to hear this sooner or later.
   "Sire Uri," the commander said, "As far removed as Carillon
has been from our conflict with the Cylons, it is impossible to
assume that any 'settlement' would not be discovered sooner or
later by our enemy."
   "I quite agree, Adama," Uri nodded, "And that is why I also
propose that the problem of the Cylons can be settled through a
simple appeal to justice and mercy."
   Adama almost bolted out of his chair in bewildered anger as
soon as he'd heard Uri's words.
   "Justice?" his voice was almost a hiss from the anger that
raged inside him, "Justice from the Cylons?  Is that what you
actually said?"
   "Hear me out Adama--"
   "Hear you out?" the commander got to his feet, "It has been
but a sectan since the Cylons displayed the most despicable
treachery of recorded history.  More than fifteen billion people
dead and a civilization that we spent seven thousand yahrens
building wiped out in one night alone.  And you dare to shame the
memories of those who died by saying we must appeal for mercy to
those responsible for that?"
   "Adama, I protest your tone!" Sire Domra interjected, "If you
wish to debate Sire Uri's proposal, then do so in a manner more
befitting that of a member of this solemn body."
   Adama glared coldly at Domra and reluctantly resumed his seat.
   "Adama," Uri smiled with a faintly malevolent air, "I mourn
our losses no less than you or anyone else.  But our first
concern as members of this body must be to the people who are
still living.  And after going through the tragedy of losing all
that they had, they are surely entitled to a more hopeful fate
than that of being crammed inside old freighters like cargo on an
endless journey to something that may not even exist."
   Adama slowly shook his head and looked around the Council
table.  To his amazement, he noticed a markedly subdued
expression on Fairfax's face.  The Columbia commander almost
seemed as emotionally drained as he'd been when Adama had first
visited him in the Life Center to tell him of his ship's
destruction.
   Something is seriously wrong, he thought to himself.  Why
isn't he objecting just as strongly as I am?
   "My brothers," the commander said calmly, "The Cylons have
told us that they would not stop until every human had been
exterminated.  Now why should they believe that we are now
willing to accept that which we have always found to be
unacceptable?  To live under Cylon rule?"
   "Because we would destroy our arms," Uri said in a tone
similar to that of a teacher giving primary class lessons to a
child, "To prove that we are willing to live in peace."
   "Peace," Adama shook his head in disbelief, and wondered for a
brief instant if the spirit of the late President Adar had
somehow been reincarnated, "In the name of such a vain hope, you
would have us destroy our only means of defense."
   "Or attack," Uri countered, "You pride yourself on being a
student of history, Adama.  Surely even you recall how our
conflict with the Cylons began a thousand yahrens ago.  This
senseless war began when we intervened in their conflicts with
other nations, and sidetracked ourselves from fulfilling our full
potential as a people."
   Adama finally could stand it no longer and got to his feet.
What angered him most, was to see how none of the men or women he
had believed worthy of serving on the new Council were joining in
his protests.
   "Sire Uri," he said with all the restraint he could summon,
"Our war with the Cylons began because we chose to help our
friends and our neighbors whom the Cylons wished to enslave.
Perhaps you regard it as ignoble that we helped the Hasaris win
back their nation that the Cylons had taken by force, but I do
not."
   "And at such a terrible cost to ourselves, Adama," Uri refused
to bat an eye, "A thousand yahrens wasted in a war that only
resulted in eventual disaster for us.  A war that is no longer
winnable in any sense of the word for us.  If we were to merely
mind our own business, then there's every reason to believe that
the Cylons will leave us alone."
   Adama looked back at the other members of the Council, "Do you
all feel this way?"
   "I believe Sire Uri has stated his case most eloquently,
Adama," Domra said, "I am willing to give the proposal my
support."
   The Galactica commander's eyes locked on to the Columbia
commander.  Fairfax's head was lowered, as though he wanted to
avoid looking at Adama.
   Adama decided it was fruitless to try and reason with the
Council at this point, "When I selected each of you to serve on
this new Council, I did so because I had faith that you would all
be willing to work alongside me in a cooperative effort to assure
the survival and safety of our people," he said, "But I also did
so in the belief that the lessons of what had happened to us all
last sectan would be first and foremost on our minds.  Now I see
to my shame that I misjudged each and every one of you."
   Several of the members visibly flinched, but still remained
silent.  They all knew that Adama was a lone dissenter at this
point.
   "If you have all come to this Council to turn your backs on
the principles of our forefathers and the Lords of Kobol, from
whom our civilization evolved," Adama's tone was full of anger
and bitterness, "Then you do so with my utter contempt."
   And with that, Adama turned and left the chamber in an angry
flourish.  As soon as he was gone, a visibly uncomfortable
Fairfax got to his feet and followed him out.
   "Warriors are the last to recognize the inevitability of
change," Uri resumed, "We have a choice.  Life or death.  The
choice should be obvious."
   "Is there any objection at this time?" Sire Anton looked about
the chamber.
   "I would say this," Sire Montrose spoke with caution, "An
issue this grave should be decided by the people as a whole, and
not simply as the result of our say-so."
   "I'm inclined to agree, Montrose," Anton nodded, "But as we've
just seen from our two brothers, the military won't be easy to
convince."
   "I think they can be won over if the proposal is made within a
proper setting," Uri said.
   "How may I ask, do your propose to present such a delicate
matter to them?" Anton's ordinarily genial eyes seemed a bit more
piercing than usual.
   Uri put his hands on the table, "At a celebration to decorate
the three brave young men who led us to safety through the
perilous straits of Madagon," he said, "One of them is Adama's
own son.  A ceremony honoring him, would be enough to demonstrate
that no disrespect to Adama himself is intended."
   Anton's genial expression almost instantly returned, "Ah yes,
brilliant," he nodded, "Just the tonic our people need at this
centon.  Some old-fashioned, down-to-goodness heroes."


   Adama was halfway down the corridor when he heard Fairfax's
impassioned voice call after him.
   "Adama wait!"
   The Galactica commander turned around and glared at the
Columbia commander with contempt.
   "Only now, you suddenly find your voice?" he said, "You once
accused me of running out on you in the midst of battle.  Well
where in the name of Kobol were you when I needed your support?"
   "Listen to me Adama," Fairfax came up to him and took him by
the arm, "I'm no more in favor of destroying our weapons
unilaterally than you are.  But when it comes to the question of
whether we stay on Carillon or go off in search of this idea
called Earth, then I have no choice but to go along with them.
As soon as you come around to that, then we can work together and
change their minds on the weapons issue."
   "No choice?" Adama's eyes widened in disbelief, "There most
certainly is a choice, Fairfax.  And I find it amazing that you,
of all people, wouldn't begin to understand that."
   He stormed off down the corridor, and Fairfax had to run in
order to catch up with him.
   "Wait a micron!" the Columbia commander angrily grabbed him by
the arm, "Wait a fracking micron.  The only thing I think I
do understand, is that you're prepared to risk all of our lives
in the name of pursuing some ancient myth that also let's you
hold on to the prestige of a battlestar command."
   "And just what do you mean by that?" Adama glowered at him.
   "What do you think I mean?" Fairfax matched his expression.
   "I think you're as naive as they are," Adama shook his head,
"Our future doesn't lie in some resort complex wasting ourselves
away in food and drink.  We'd never have the spirit or will to
fight again if we submitted to that kind of fate."
   "Only if their vision prevails unchecked!" Fairfax flailed his
arms, "I need you working with me before I can get a coherent
plan in place that will lead to a sensible solution.  Settle on
Carillon, but keep our weapons.  Until I have your support on
that, it'll have as much effect as our concerns had on Adar!"
   "You don't have my support, Fairfax," Adama said coldly, "And
I have nothing further to say to you."
   Before the Columbia commander could protest again, he was
gone.


   Since arriving on Carillon, Cassiopeia had spent almost all of
her time wandering through the chancery looking for Starbuck.
She had heard him comment more than once about his fondness for
gambling, and it seemed inconceivable to think that the
lieutenant would not be somewhere trying his luck at all the
games.
   She still couldn't get over the irony of how she found herself
drawn to an outwardly brash warrior, just as it had been with
Cain.
   Funny, she thought.  What would he think if he ever knew that
I was once the lover of the most famous warrior in the Colonies?
   After more than two yahrens, it all seemed like such a distant
memory to her.  She had been living on Caprica at the time and
had gone into a nightclub with her best friend, a fellow
socialator named Rayena, when they'd come across a middle-aged
warrior with wavy brown hair, sitting alone at a table drinking
heavily, his eyes red from crying.  Instantly, Cassiopeia's
instincts as a socialator had kicked in, with a desire to provide
some comfort and support to someone who clearly needed it.
   What she hadn't anticipated was that the warrior was Commander
Cain.  Commander of the Battlestar Pegasus and the Colonial Fifth
Fleet.  A man who's heroism in battle had been renowned
throughout the colonies since his earliest days as a warrior.  A
man known simply as the Juggernaut for his total sense of calm
and firmness in battle.  But on this occasion, the Juggernaut
seemed more like a shattered, broken man.
   Two sectars earlier, Cain's wife Bethany, renowned as one of
Caprica's finest stage actresses, had died of a dread disease
called Gamma Syndrome.  A disease that literally caused a person
to waste away in a state of delirium for endless sectans before
death finally came.  Cain had been away on patrol with the Fifth
Fleet and been unable to get back in time before his wife's death
and it had left him devastated beyond measure.  His thirty yahren
marriage to Bethany had been an endless history of never being
there for her, and the guilt over not having been there when his
wife had needed him most had been too much for his system to
handle.
   On that night, Cassiopeia had offered herself to Cain
according to the ancient practices of what a socialator was
supposed to do.  What she hadn't counted on was that her
experience with Cain would develop into something that
socialators had always been taught to avoid at all costs.
Getting involved in a long-term relationship.  But that was what
had happened with Cain.  She had fallen in love with the
Juggernaut, and Cain had been so grateful to her for restoring
his old sense of confidence that he had no intention of letting
go of her.
   The relationship did have its negative consequences though.
And for Cassiopeia, nothing had been more negative than the
hostile reaction she'd received from Cain's only child.  His
daughter Sheba, who was just out of the Colonial Military Academy
at the time, and on the verge of being assigned to serve with him
aboard the Pegasus, had hated Cassiopeia from the outset.  Sheba
had seen the young socialator as a usurper who had provided the
very kind of emotional comfort and support that she herself had
wanted to give her father.
   It had been an awkward situation for well over a yahren before
Cain, Sheba and the Fifth Fleet went off to take part in the
Battle of Molocay.  A battle that had ended tragically when the
entire Fifth Fleet had disappeared without a trace.
   Cassiopeia had been devastated by her lover's disappearance.
After losing someone she had loved and felt so close to, she
didn't think it would be possible to go back to her normal duties
as a socialator again.  But after leaving Caprica for a fresh
start on Gemon, she slowly managed to put the hurt of losing Cain
behind her and get back to the kind of work she did best.  The
only change she'd made was that she had vowed to never get close
to any warrior, ever again.  The thought of meeting someone like
Cain was a prospect she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to handle.
Yet here she was now, with her whole universe turned upside-down
again with the destruction of the Colonies, and she now found
herself drawn to a warrior once again.
   Maybe it's because I've been through too much pain and agony,
that it shouldn't matter any longer, she thought.  The way things
are now, civilians are just as much at risk as warriors are.
   And maybe it's because there's even a little bit of Cain in
him too.
   She smiled in delight when she finally spotted Starbuck,
totally engrossed in the activity of playing at a High/Low table.
   "Let 'em ride," Starbuck was saying to the dealer, when
Cassiopeia moved up to him and placed her hand on his arm.
   "Hello Starbuck," her voice was deliberately warm and
sensuous.
   Starbuck turned around and his eyes lit up, "Hi."
   "Your steam burn feeling any better?" she smiled coyly and
wrapped her arms around him.
   "Yeah," he grinned, "And now that you're here, this really is
my lucky day."
   "In more ways than you can imagine," she touched his cheek.
   "Have you seen the accommodations here?" he asked
suggestively, "Definitely more private than a launch tube.  Total
guarantee against any rude, sudden shocks."
   "Maybe I should go see about finding something for us," she
smiled, "Wait here and I'll be back in a centon."
   As she moved off, Starbuck kept his eyes trained on her before
she was swallowed up in the crowd.  When he turned back to the
table, he saw the dealer giving him a funny look.
   "Are you going to play sir?" he asked.
   "I hope so," Starbuck kept grinning.


   Cassiopeia had not been the only new arrival on Carillon
anxious to find Starbuck.  The same determination was also going
through Athena, as she entered the chancery's main hallway.
   Ever since the Fleet's arrival at Carillon, and her learning
of the magnificent resort complex, Athena had been feeling an
intense wave of guilt inside her over the way she had brushed off
Starbuck's attempt to open up to her.  Perhaps, she reasoned,
there was still a chance to love and care for someone after all.
Perhaps Starbuck had been right when he said things would finally
get better.
   If that were the case, she knew she had to make amends with
the man she had loved for more than three yahrens, and the sooner
the better.  She had gone to the trouble of finding the one
civilian dress she owned that she knew had always been his
favorite.  A white, low-cut sleeveless gown made of the finest
Caprican silk that left very little to the imagination.  She
could still remember how horrified her mother had been when she'd
first seen her wearing that gown, since it all but indicated that
Athena was hoping to get more out of her date with Starbuck than
a simple evening of dinner and dancing.
   It worked once before, she thought.  It ought to do the trick
again.
   When she saw Starbuck hunched over the gaming table, she took
a deep breath and made her way up to him.
   "Is this seat taken?" she smiled coyly and whispered
sensuously.
   Starbuck seemed caught off-guard as he turned around.  When he
saw Athena, he immediately blushed in embarrassment.
   "Oh....ah...well, it's ahh..." he shot a glance at the dealer
who's expression had grown somewhat incredulous.
   "Starbuck," Athena gathered her strength, "I came because I
think I owe you an apology."
   "You do?" he was in such a state of inner panic, that his mind
had totally blanked out the confrontation in the locker room
several days ago.
   "Well yes," she put her arms around him and kissed him on the
cheek, "I mean, I did hurt you the other day.  Admit it."
   "Ah well...." Starbuck shot a glance at the other end of the
room, "Well I suppose you could say that."
   "I want to make amends," Athena said seriously, "Are you
willing?"
   "Uh, actually right now, I ah...."
   "Starbuck," she let go of him and eyed him with suspicion,
"Didn't you once tell me that I was the only woman you'd ever had
any real feelings for?"
   "Well," Starbuck looked the other way, "I ah....I may have
said that."
   "You may have said that?" Athena's eyes widened and she began
to wonder if she'd made another miscalculation, "I guess I
misjudged you again."
   She started to storm away from him and Starbuck suddenly
grabbed her by the arm.
   Frack, felgercarb and shit, Starbuck thought.  I ought to just
let her walk away, but I can't.  We've been through too much.
   "Look....um Athena," he said as he tried to recover himself,
"What I meant to say was that I've been shutting out all those
feelings from my mind to avoid any more pain than I've already
suffered."
   He then impulsively kissed her on the cheek.  Instantly,
Athena relaxed and put her arms around him again.
   "Oh no," Starbuck whispered under his breath when he suddenly
saw Cassiopeia re-emerging from the crowd, "Am I in trouble."
   Starbuck shot a glance at the dealer, who seemed to be deeply
interested in seeing how the warrior was going to get himself out
of this fix.
   "Hello," Cassiopeia said politely as she came up to the two of
them and then shot a mildly annoyed glance at Athena, "I believe
you're occupying my space."
   Athena suddenly flushed, "Your space?"
   Cassiopeia ignored her and smiled suggestively at Starbuck, "I
have good news.  I got us the key to the Royal Suite."  she
dangled the gold key in front of him.
   "Why thank you!" Athena suddenly snatched it from her hand,
"We do appreciate it."
   "Uh, listen girls," Starbuck held up his arms, "I've really
got a big hot streak going on right now and....."
   "So I see!" Athena's nostrils flared.
   "Yes," Cassiopeia's expression was less hostile, but she was
clearly annoyed as well, "I do too.  Well you two have a good
time.  And incidentally Lieutenant," an edge of coldness entered
her voice, "The next time, it's strictly office rates if you want
anything from me."
   Great, Starbuck rolled his eyes.  A socialator's office rates
usually amounts to two hundred cubits a centar.
   "Look girls," he said trying to salvage what had become a
disaster, "There's no reason why we all can't be mature about
this whole thing and......"
   "Say Starbuck!"
   The blonde warrior looked up and wanted to drop to his knees
in thanks when he saw Boomer making his way over to him.
   "Boomer!  Good to see you."
   "Yeah, well I'm glad I caught you.  We've both got orders to
return to the Galactica immediately."
   "Oh really?" his eyes lit up, "What for?"
   "Dress uniforms," Boomer said as he looked at Athena and
Cassiopeia with amusement.
   "Dress uniforms!" Starbuck exclaimed, "Now isn't that a great
idea.  It's silly to be around here in a fancy place like this
wearing a ratty old battle suit.  Certainly not fair to either of
you, right girls?"
   "Of course," Cassiopeia nodded sarcastically.
   "And one never accepts the highest award of our people, the
Gold Cluster, in a battle suit," Boomer almost felt like he was
on the verge of breaking up into hysterical laughter at
Starbuck's plight.
   "Oh, you hear that?" Starbuck grinned sheepishly and looked at
Athena and Cassiopeia, "The Gold Cluster!  Now that really means
I've got to get ready, girls.  Sorry we all couldn't have a nice
get-together and learn more about each other, but you know how it
goes."
   "Oh yes," Athena coldly nodded her head, "When it comes to
you, I definitely know how it goes."
   "Until next time, girls," Starbuck blew them both a hasty kiss
and followed Boomer out.  He was so glad to get away from the
both of them that he didn't even bother to pick up his winnings.
As soon as they were out of the chancery, Starbuck heaved a sigh
of relief, "Whew, thanks for saving my life Boomer.  That's the
most brilliant piece of doubletalk I could have asked for."
   "I wasn't doubletalking Starbuck," Boomer grinned, "We do have
orders to go back to the Galactica for dress uniforms, and we are
getting the Gold Cluster."
   His eyes widened in disbelief, "You're kidding."
   "Not a bit," Boomer slapped his hand on his friend's shoulder
as they headed toward the exit, "In the eyes of the Council,
you're a brave hero.  But don't worry, I promise not to tell the
truth about what a coward you really are."


   Cassiopeia didn't bother exchanging more than a curt nod of
the head to Athena before she decided to escape from the activity
of the chancery.
   Damn him, she thought to herself.  The least he could have
done was *tell* me that he was seeing other women.
   As she made her way over to the bar for a drink, she let out a
sigh of regret.
   Maybe he's more like Cain than I realized, she mused.  That's
just the sort of behavior Cain always said he used to engage in
before he met his wife.
   Perhaps she'd try to learn more about the enigma that Starbuck
was later on, once her angry mood had worn off.  For now, the
brash lieutenant was the last thing she wanted to think of.
   "Excuse me, your name's Cassiopeia isn't it?"
   She looked up and saw that a middle-aged, white-haired man had
sat down in the chair next to her.
   "Yes it is," she frowned, "Do I know you?"
   "Not really," he said, "My name's Dr. Paye.  I'm the
Galactica's Chief Medical Officer.  I caught a glimpse of you a
few days ago when Dr. Salik was treating you in the Life
Station."
   "Oh yes," Cassiopeia nodded, "Yes, I remember seeing you now."
   "The reason I wanted to talk to you, was because Dr. Salik
mentioned that you had some experience as a med-tech trainee."
   The socialator lifted an eyebrow in surprise, "Well yes, I do.
But I had no idea he remembered my saying that."
   "Trust me, anyone who can know at first glance what a DL3
Model Fuser is, automatically attracts the attention of any good
doctor," Paye smiled, "And he and I wanted to let you know that
if you're interested in putting some of that knowledge to use,
we'd be more than happy to have you working on our team."
   "As a med-tech?" she looked thoughtfully at him.
   "Absolutely," Paye nodded, "We really need all the help we can
get."
   Cassiopeia got up from her seat, "Well.....it's been such a
long time since I gave medicine much thought, but...."
   "Are you that much locked in to your current occupation?" the
white-haired doctor got up from his chair.
   "Not as much as I thought I was," Cassiopeia confessed as the
two of them started walking in the direction of the turbo lift.
   "Don't hesitate to get in touch with me or Salik," Paye said
and then noticed the direction they were heading in, "Going to
the turbo lift?"
   "As a matter of fact, yes," she said, "You too?"
   "Might as well," the Chief Medical Officer shrugged, "A man my
age shouldn't indulge this much anyway."
   "Spoken like a true doctor," Cassiopeia smiled as the doors
opened and they stepped in, "Level four please."
   Paye smiled and pressed the button as the doors slid shut.
   "That's my level too," he said as his eyes then wandered down
her curvaceous figure, "You...ah, aren't by any chance in need of
some company are you?"
   Cassiopeia rolled her eyes slightly but decided to let him
down gently, "I'm....kind of companied out, Doctor."
   "I understand," he held up his hands in embarrassment, "Sorry,
I..."
   "That's okay," she smiled reassuringly, "I'm not offended,
it's just----"
   She broke off and her expression turned into a frown.
   "What's wrong?"
   "We just went past my level."
   Paye turned around and looked at the wall panel, "Well now
that's odd, we're going all the way down."
   "I didn't think that was allowed," a feeling of unease came
over Cassiopeia, "I wonder what's down there?"
   The turbo lift came to a stop and the doors slid open.
   Cassiopeia suddenly screamed as she saw four Ovion workers
shoving the young woman who had been with Dr. Maxson into a row
of tiny cubicles.  In an instant, the Ovions had turned in their
direction and suddenly grabbed both the young socialator and the
white-haired doctor before they had any chance to think of
getting away.
   "What are they doing to us?" Cassiopeia screamed before the
Ovion's insect claws came down firmly over her mouth.

                    Chapter Thirteen

   The Galactica's main Launching Bay seemed completely dark and
deserted as Tigh rode the turbo lift down to the tarmac.  Once he
got off, he carefully looked about.  He could see one viper in
position on the launch tube, but with only the overhead
spotlights on, it was next to impossible to see anything clearly.
   "Commander?" he called out cautiously.
   The canopy on the viper abruptly popped open, revealing Adama
sitting inside.
   "Just like old times, isn't it Tigh?" he smiled down at the
executive officer, "The good old days of flying together off the
Cerberus under old Odysseus."
   Tigh let out a wistful sigh, "Yes, I remember.  Our vipers
weren't quite as fancy, but we gave them a good run."
   "Yes," Adama nodded and then his tone grew serious, "You
didn't tell anyone we were meeting?"
   "No."
   "Good."
   Tigh frowned, "Is there some reason why you and I aren't
supposed to be talking?"
   "Pick up that ground crew communicator," Adama motioned to the
table behind the viper, "And then climb into the next ship."
   The executive officer's frown deepened, "What for?"
   "Just do it," Adama smiled as he closed his canopy again,
"Quickly."
   Tigh picked up the headset and put it on, as he moved over to
the viper next to Adama's.  It had been so many yahrens since he
had last hoisted himself into a viper cockpit, that it took him a
centon of exertion before he was finally inside.
   "You're patched into my internal com-system," Adama's voice
came through the headset, "We are completely isolated.  No one
can hear us."
   "Yes, I understand," Tigh said as he closed the canopy of his
viper, "But why would anyone want to?"
   The commander sighed, "It grieves me to think we have to take
such precautions here on the Galactica.  But Sire Uri's men are
expecting me to make some bold move over his disarmament plan.
When I went back to my quarters, I discovered that while I'd been
away at the Council meeting telling them all to go to Hades,
someone had planted a monitoring device."
   "Incredible," Tigh shook his head in amazement, "I had no idea
he was that ruthless."
   "Uri still harbors bitterness over the fact that he had to
relinquish a considerable portion of his private luxuries when
the food crisis erupted," Adama said, "Now that he's discovered
such an incredible bounty of the only things that matter to him
any longer, he's determined to hold on to them at all costs.
That's why he doesn't want to see anything go awry with his plans
for getting the population to agree to staying on Carillon
permanently."
   "Do you have some kind of plan?"
   "What I'm about to propose is somewhat risky," Adama
cautioned, "You don't have to go along if you don't want to."
   "Commander," Tigh said firmly, "If you say we should do it,
naturally I say we should do it.  Now what is it we're supposed
to do?"
   "Tigh," Adama lowered his voice to a more grave level, "When
would be the most devastating time for a Cylon strike?"
   "Almost anytime," Tigh snorted, "With half our warriors
already down on Carillon, and----" he stopped abruptly as an
uneasy realization hit him, "And when all of our warriors are
going to be down there for the celebration!"
   "Yes," the commander nodded, "Remember how they were able to
annihilate the entire Colonial Fleet.  They caught them all in a
state of total unpreparedness.  No vipers at the ready.  Unable
to withstand any kind of assault.  And if we weren't able to
recall our warriors from the surface, then we'd surely suffer the
same fate the rest of the Fleet did."
   "So you think there's more to Carillon than just generosity?"
   "I believe this has all the makings of the same kind of trap
we were lured into but a sectan ago," Adama said firmly, "Only
this time, I believe the Ovions are playing Baltar's role.
That's why it is imperative that we get our pilots closer to our
ships.  Or perhaps the other way around.  Get our ships closer to
our pilots."
   "But how do we get all our ships down to Carillon without
attracting attention from the Council?  If Uri or one of his
allies notice large numbers of vipers leaving the Galactica,
they're bound to start asking questions and put a halt to it."
   "We can launch several at a time as if they were part of our
regular patrols."
   "But the Council has ordered all of our warriors to be at the
party," Tigh pointed out, "We couldn't have all of our vipers in
close proximity to the resort complex, or else they'd notice."
   "The warriors will be there," Adama said, "In a manner of
speaking."
   "I don't follow you."
   "Uri doesn't know all of our warriors on sight.  Nor do the
rest of the Council members.  He'll be counting uniforms, not
men."
   "He'll be counting uniforms?" Tigh repeated.
   "Yes.  And what I want you to do is collect all the warrior
dress uniforms you can possibly lay your hands on and fill them
with whomever you can find.  Mechanics, kitchen personnel, even
civilians and get them down to that party."
   "Yes, I see your point.  But what do I tell these men?"
   "Tell them they're on a secret mission," Adama said firmly,
"Which is the truth."
   "I'll do my best," Tigh nodded, and then abruptly snapped his
fingers, "Adama, I just remembered something.  You haven't taken
Fairfax into your confidence, have you?"
   "No," Adama shook his head sadly, "At this stage of the game
Tigh, I can't even take him into my confidence.  He might be
against the disarmament scheme, but he doesn't want to leave
Carillon either." he sighed, "I think the shock of losing the
Columbia still hasn't worn off for him.  He's having too much
trouble adjusting to a situation where he can never have a
command as important as that again, and that's why he's more
anxious to settle down.  I can't afford the risk that he could
blow everything to Uri and his allies."
   "Red Squadron is comprised of all the refugee pilots from the
Columbia," Tigh pointed out, "Fairfax would be able to spot any
imposters wearing his battlestar's insignia in a micron."
   "Yes, some of Red Group's pilots will have to go to the party
as scheduled," Adama nodded, "But confine it only to the senior
members that he knows personally like Captain Killian.  I think
we can safely switch most of Red Group's junior members as well
as all of Blue Squadron."
   "Except for Apollo, Starbuck and Boomer."
   "Yes," Adama admitted, "But with well over eighty to ninety
percent of our pilots in a state of readiness, we should be all
right."
   "I'll get to work on those uniforms," Tigh said.
   "I'm depending on you, Tigh," the seriousness of Adama's tone
deepened, "If I'm right, Uri and the Council won't be the only
ones counting uniforms at the party tonight.  The Ovions will be
counting as well.  And somehow, they'll get word to the Cylons
that all of our pilots are totally cut-off from us, and that they
can expect to dispatch us with the same ease they did seven other
battlestars last sectan."
   The executive officer nodded.  "I understand.  And...I hope
you're wrong."
   The commander smiled thinly, "We'll know soon enough."


   "So tell me Starbuck," Boomer hadn't stopped needling his
friend throughout the entire trip back from Carillon, "Any hints
at all on which one of the girls you'll go with?"
   "That's enough Boomer," Starbuck said with annoyance, "Drop
it."
   "Anything you say," Boomer grinned, "At least it's nice to
know that no matter what happens to any of us, some things will
always remain consistent."
   Maybe that's true, Starbuck admitted to himself as they
entered the door to the pilots quarters.  Just like it was
juggling Athena and Aurora, maybe it's going to end up being just
the same from here on in.  Maybe I was never cut-out for finding
just one woman.
   As soon as they were inside, the two warriors stopped and
frowned when they saw the executive officer at the other end of
the room, going through several lockers.  More than a dozen
uniforms were slung over his shoulder, and it was clear that he
was removing more.
   "What are you doing, Colonel?" Starbuck gently inquired.
   Tigh abruptly spun around and almost turned red in spite of
his dark complexion.
   "I didn't mean to startle you," Starbuck said with total
deference, "Can we give you a hand?"
   The executive officer summoned all the authority and anger to
his voice that he was capable of, "If you ever do that again," he
pointed sharply, "You're on report, Starbuck!"
   Starbuck and Boomer both exchanged befuddled glances as Tigh
finished removing the last of the uniforms from the locker and
slung them over his shoulder.
   "And another thing," the anger and authority in his voice
didn't diminish, "You can tell the rest of your playboy pilots
that this won't be the last flash inspection I'm going to make."
   The blonde lieutenant's mouth fell open slightly in
bewilderment.  In five yahrens of service aboard the Galactica,
he had never seen Tigh act this way before.  Neither had Boomer.
The one characteristic of Tigh they had always taken for granted
was his cool, reserved demeanor.
   "And if I ever find uniforms in this condition again," the
executive officer barked as he started to leave, "You're all in
trouble.  When Commander Adama sees these, he will go absolutely
crazy!"
   So stunned were Starbuck and Boomer by his uncharacteristic
outburst, that they didn't turn back to their lockers for well
over a centon after Tigh had gone.
   "It's ah, gotta' be the pressure," Boomer finally broke the
ice as he removed his flight jacket, "Those bridge officers
haven't been down to Carillon once.  It must be getting to them."
   "Probably the first time they've ever learned the meaning of
the word," Starbuck grunted as he removed his jacket and pulled
out the dress uniform.  "Bridge officers never have to worry
about getting shot at while flying skinny little vipers."


   Apollo had gotten the order to return to the Galactica later
than Starbuck and Boomer had.  After his intimate evening with
Serina, he had spent the early part of the day in the children's
area with Boxey trying to establish some bonds that went deeper
than simple gratitude over furnishing him with a new daggit.  To
his delight and relief (as well as Serina's), the little boy
proved receptive and enjoyed spending a centar with Apollo
playing compartment bulwarks and table ball.
   Throughout the shuttle ride back to the battlestar, Serina was
the only thing on his mind.  But unlike his idle daydreams of her
in yahrens past, this time his thoughts of her were rooted in a
concrete reality.
   Who'd have thought it, he almost sighed to himself.  From the
ashes of the greatest tragedy in my life comes the greatest joy
I've ever known.
   Before going down to retrieve his dress uniform, he decided to
stop by his father's quarters first.  To his surprise, Adama
wasn't there.  He then decided to try the bridge where he found
his father on the upper level in a somewhat pensive mood.
   "Father?" he gently inquired as he came up to him.
   Adama suddenly broke into a smile, "Apollo," he clasped his
son's shoulder, "Glad you came by."
   "Aren't you getting ready for the party too?"
   "No," he said with a faint trace of awkwardness, "Ah, Colonel
Tigh wanted to go to the celebration so I thought I'd relieve him
this evening.  Simply a favor."
   Apollo didn't bother hiding his disappointment, "I might have
thought you'd like to see your son getting a Gold Cluster."
   Adama sighed with regret, "It's well-deserved Apollo.  But
that's precisely why I cannot accept it as anything but another
one of Sire Uri's ploys."
   Apollo felt somewhat hurt, "How can saluting his greatest
rival's son be a ploy?"
   His father glanced at the floor and skipped a beat, "I just
have the feeling he'll use the occasion to make his proposal
about destroying our arms and settling permanently on Carillon."
   Apollo suddenly cursed at himself inside for thinking that it
had only been the festivity that had made Uri come up with his
ridiculous scheme.  Now it was clear that the sire had been
deathly serious, and seemed determined to implement it.
   "How could he hope to pull that off?" he tried to recover
himself slightly.
   "I think he and his allies are hoping that the cascade of
emotions will do all the damage before anyone realizes what
they've done."
   "But you can stop that, can't you?" Apollo asked with concern,
"You're the one who saved all the people.  Surely your voice
carries more weight with them."
   "Can I?" he smiled wryly, "Haven't you heard?  I'm the one
who'd rather keep them in terrible conditions while searching for
some ancient myth instead of letting them enjoy pleasure and
comfort."
   "Even if some people do believe that, you have to speak out!"
Apollo protested.
   "What would it accomplish?" Adama sighed, "Unless I were to
revoke the Charter of Governance and put us all under a state of
one-man dictatorial rule, there's very little I can do."
   "Father, what else can I say to you?" Apollo seemed stunned,
"You've been more than a father to me.  You've....been someone I
could look up to and trust and respect.  My ideals rise and fall
on your standards"
   It was a struggle for Adama to keep his expression stoic.
Especially since he knew deep down that what Apollo had just said
was not only a tribute to him, but also a tribute to how Ila had
determinedly raised him to honor his father in spite of the long
absences and separations.
   "This isn't like you, Father," Apollo went on, "What's
happened to you?  Help me to understand."
   He put his hand on his shoulder, "You'll understand, my son,"
he said evenly, "In time.  For now, you just go on to the party
and do me proud."
   Apollo could think of nothing else to say as he turned and
left the bridge.
   As soon as he was gone, Tigh emerged from behind one of the
bridge columns where he'd stayed hidden the whole time Apollo had
been present.
   "I know that wasn't easy for you, not telling him," he said as
he came up to Adama, "Perhaps you should have."
   "No," Adama said firmly as he moved over to the railing, "If
I'd told him then I wouldn't have been able to keep him from my
side.  This has to be my gamble alone, Tigh.  If I win, we all
win.  If I lose.....well, there's no point in letting my son be
dragged down with me in the aftermath."
   "Uri would destroy you," Tigh nodded.
   "I'm not wrong, Tigh," Adama's confident level increased, "We
stand on the threshold of our first real test of survival.  And I
intend to make sure we come through it." he paused, "How did you
fare on collecting those uniforms?"
   "I ended up with well over a hundred," he said, "The men I
chose to use them are all heading down to Carillon in small
groups."
   "Let's hope they play their roles well."


   As soon as he had changed, a somewhat troubled Apollo wasted
little time catching the next shuttle back to Carillon.  Unlike
his trip to the Galactica, where his thoughts had been
exclusively on Serina, this time they were focused on the
question of what lay ahead for humanity.
   He another warrior sitting across from him wearing a dress
uniform as well, and he suddenly frowned.  The man was wearing a
uniform with the insignia of Apollo's own squadron on the
Galactica, yet he was totally unfamiliar to him.  Even more, the
uniform seemed two sizes too big for him.  The collar hung
loosely around the man's neck while the sleeve was so long it
almost obscured his hand.
   Apollo stared at him for several centons as the shuttle
entered the atmosphere of Carillon, trying to wonder who the man
was and why he was wearing a uniform with Blue Squadron insignia.
The longer he stared, the more he realized that the man did
strike a chord with him.  But it wasn't as a pilot or a warrior.
   "Excuse me," he cautiously came over and settled next to him,
"Your name's Heller, isn't it?"
   The man looked up and blushed slightly, "Oh, yes.  Yes it is."
   "I thought you looked familiar," Apollo nodded, "We met on
Caprica last sectan.  You were Serina's technical director at the
BNC right?"
   "Yes," Heller nodded, "I was."
   "Well um....out of curiosity, how come...?"
   "The uniform?" he grinned sheepishly, "Well to be honest
Captain, many yahrens ago I served a tour of duty aboard the
Galactica.  I stayed in the Reserves for a couple yahrens after
that before I finally decided to make an honest living instead."
   "I see," Apollo smiled, "You must have been a formidable-sized
warrior then."
   "Haven't worn the thing in yahrens," Heller said, "After a
couple of helpings tonight though, I might be able to finally
fill it out again."
   "Happy eating," Apollo laughed and went back to his seat.
   But the captain's mind was hardly satisfied by the
explanation.  Even if Heller had been telling the truth about
being an ex-warrior, it made no sense that he could have been
able to bring an old uniform with him after the Holocaust.
   What could it mean though? he wondered.
   The shuttle came to a stop just outside the resort complex,
and Apollo made his way off.  He instantly looked about to see if
Serina and Boxey had come to meet him, but was surprised instead
to see Athena making her way over.
   "Hi," he waved to his sister, "Over here."
   "Hi Apollo," her tone sounded less than enthusiastic as she
came up and they embraced, "Congratulations on getting the Gold
Cluster."
   "You almost look like you're in a hurry to leave."
   "Actually, I'm taking the shuttle back to the Galactica," she
said, "I've discovered I've lost my appetite for celebration."
   "How come?" he frowned.
   "I'll tell you another time," her tone indicated that she
didn't want to go into any detail, "In the meantime, you enjoy
yourself."
   Before Apollo could reply, his sister had gone up the ramp and
disappeared inside the shuttle.
   There's another oddity for the day, he thought to himself.
   "Apollo!"
   He looked up and his expression brightened when he saw Serina,
looking absolutely stunning in her light blue gown that left both
her shoulders exposed.  Boxey, with Muffit by his side, was
smartly dressed in a dark red tunic with a small brown cape
hanging from the back.
   "Hey," Apollo smiled as Boxey ran up into his outstretched
arms, "Good to see you.  How'd you fare at the bulwarks table
after I left?"
   "I didn't lose a single game," Boxey grinned, "Thanks for the
advice."
   "Hey you're talking to an old pro when it comes to games.
Someday, when I get a chance I'll let you graduate to the next
level, which is mastering three-dimensional triad," Apollo set
him down and leaned over to kiss Serina, "You look terrific," he
said in a low tone that only she could hear.
   "And the guest of honor looks absolutely delicious, if I do
say so myself," she whispered back, "Congratulations."
   As they headed into the main banquet area, located behind the
chancery, Apollo casually said, "I ran into your old friend
Heller on the shuttle."
   "Did you?" Serina looked up in surprise, "I haven't seen him
since the day after we all came aboard the Rising Star.  How is
he?"
   "Well he seems to be in good spirits like everyone else,"
Apollo said, "But he'll need a tailor for his uniform."
   "His uniform?" Serina frowned.
   "He was wearing a dress uniform at least two sizes too large
for him.  Said he hadn't worn it in yahrens when he served a tour
of duty on the Galactica."
   "Apollo," Serina said in amazement, "I don't know what he told
you, but I know for a fact that Heller never served a day in the
military."
   "You're sure of that?"
   "I'm positive."
   "That's what I figured," Apollo looked back into the crowd
with an edge of concern, "Now why would your old friend Heller
suddenly decide to start play-acting as a warrior?
   "Maybe the grog's gotten to him," she took him by the arm,
"Look, I wouldn't give it any thought.  Heller's as gentle as a
Libran calf.  It can't mean anything significant."
   Her tone caused him to relax, "Okay," he smiled as they
entered the banquet area.  Amidst all the dancing and music, it
seemed to Apollo as if there was double the amount of food he'd
seen earlier.
   "Isn't this something Boxey?" Apollo was impressed by the
scene as he lifted Boxey up again, "Our hosts have certainly been
generous."
   "I don't like them," the little boy said flatly.
   "What?" he looked at him with surprise.
   Serina laughed, "I told him the Ovions wouldn't approve of him
bringing Muffit to the celebration."
   "Oh?" Apollo's tone grew sly, "Well, in that case we certainly
put one over them, didn't we?  So far, they haven't said a word."
he set Boxey down and turned back to Serina, "Any sign of Boomer
or Starbuck?"
   "Over there," Serina motioned, "It seems that Sire Uri's
caught up with them."
   "So it would seem," Apollo noted with slight distaste as he
saw his two friends sit down at the head of the room next to Uri
and the other members of the Council, "Tell you what, let's just
mingle about for a few centons before joining them."
   Boxey absently stroked his pet and then was startled as Muffit
suddenly hopped away.
   "Muffit!" Boxey bolted after the robot as it entered the
children's area at the back of the room, "Darn daggit, come
back!"
   "Great," Serina sighed, "Maybe the Ovions had the right idea."
   "He'll be okay," Apollo smiled, "Probably just leading him
back to all the other kids."
   "Probably," she seemed to relax.


   "Except for your captain, I deduce from the uniforms that most
of your warriors are here," Sire Uri noted as he surveyed the
room.
   "Well," Starbuck grinned as he lit a fumarello, "I always like
to think I'm the kind of guy who knows how to draw a crowd."
   "Especially when it comes to certain women," Boomer noted
dryly as he looked out and focused on one of the scantily clad
dancers.  He then frowned when he noticed two warriors in ill-
fitting dress uniforms standing alongside the dancer.
   "Starbuck," he nudged the blonde warrior.
   "What is it Boomer?  Can't you see I'm talking to the great
and the near-great?"
   "Well when your head comes down from the stars, could you tell
me who those two guys are?"
   Starbuck looked out and shrugged, "Darned if I know.  They
sure have lousy tailors though.  But from the way they're hanging
around that dancer, they do appear to have exquisite taste."
   "Starbuck," Boomer said, "You ought to know them."
   "Why should I know them?"
   "Cause they're wearing the insignia from our squadron."
   The brash lieutenant looked at him and frowned and then looked
back at the two warriors.  Their eyes met and concerned
expressions seemed to come over the two men.  Abruptly, the two
warriors started to head back toward the turbo lift at the far
end of the room.
   "They act as though they've been spotted or something,"
Starbuck said as he rose from the couch, "Don't start without
me."
   "Starbuck---" Boomer protested, but to no avail.
   Sire Uri frowned and leaned over to Boomer, "Where's the
lieutenant gone?"
   "To ah....find the captain, sir."
   "Excellent," Uri smiled, "We wouldn't want such a momentous
occasion to begin without all the guests of honor present."
   "Tell me something, Sire Uri," Boomer eyed him cautiously, as
he recalled how the scene in the Rising Star had disgusted him,
"Is there another reason why you're anxious to bestow awards on
two warriors who were ready to have you arrested?"
   "All in the past, my young friend," Uri said disarmingly, "All
in the past.  I'm the last person in the face of the universe who
holds any kind of grudge."
   I'll bet, Boomer thought.


   Apollo was still standing with Serina when he saw the two
warriors Starbuck had been watching go past him into the turbo-
lift.  No sooner were they inside, when Apollo saw Starbuck
dashing up to him.
   "Apollo, stop those two guys!" he called out.
   Apollo turned around but the doors had already closed shut.
   "What's bothering you, Starbuck?" he asked as the lieutenant
caught up with him, slightly out-of-breath from his futile chase.
   "Listen," Starbuck said, "Something's going on around here."
   "What?"
   Starbuck eyed Serina cautiously, "Ah, Serina do you mind if
the Captain and I have a private talk?"
   "Okay," she nodded, "I'll retrieve Boxey from the children's
area and get settled.  Don't be late and miss your own
coronation."
   "We won't," Apollo openly leered at her as she walked away.
His expression almost caused Starbuck to lose his train of
thought, since he'd never seen his friend act that way around any
woman before.
   "Apollo," Starbuck said, "Those guys were imposters."
   He abruptly turned around and his expression instantly
changed, "What do you mean imposters?"
   "I don't know," Starbuck shook his head, "Those two guys
aren't from our unit, but they're wearing our unit's clothes."
   Apollo froze, "There's more of them."
   "You saw one too?"
   "On the shuttle," Apollo nodded, "Serina's old director at the
BNC was wearing a Blue Squadron uniform.  And he lied to me when
I asked him why."
   "What does it mean?"
   "I don't know, but I think we'd better do some investigating,"
Apollo pressed the button that opened the turbo-lift.  The two of
them wasted no time stepping inside.


   On the far side of Carillon's single moon and safely hidden
from the Galactica's scanners, a single Cylon basestar lay
waiting for a signal.  Once they received it, the order that
Imperious Leader had been waiting to give for more than a sectan
would finally be carried out.
   For the last sectan he had seen to it that his basestar had
discreetly tracked the Galactica and her Fleet of ships to
Carillon and placed themselves in position to make the final,
sudden strike on the pathetic remnants of human civilization.
And just as the destruction of the Colonies had gone according to
plan, so too would it be with the destruction of the Galactica.
   He had accurately predicted that Carillon would be the
Galactica's destination, and realized how it presented the
perfect opportunity to tap into a secret treaty of alliance he
had recently forged with the insectoid race that inhabited the
planet, the Ovions.  While he had no intention of allowing the
Ovions to endure as a race for the long-term, he realized that
for now it was advantageous to make use of the Ovions as allies.
Especially since they had plans of their own with regards to
human beings.  It was also advantageous for now to depend on the
Ovions for furnishing them with rich supplies of tylium and free
Cylon workers for other important tasks related to the
destruction of the human race.
   Eventually, he knew he would give the order to destroy the
Ovions with the same ease with which he had ordered the
destruction of the Delphian race a yahren earlier, and the
destruction of the human race a sectan earlier.  For now though,
the more important task was to take care of unfinished business
with the humans.  And at last, he could sense that goal within
his grasp.
   "By your command."
   He turned his throne chair around and saw that Commander
Serpentine had entered.
   "Speak."
   "The Ovions have told our garrison commander that well over
200 warriors are in full attendance at the Carillon resort."
   "Almost their full complement," the Leader noted, "Excellent."
   "The commander assures us that the Ovions will be able to keep
them occupied until the end."
   "And those who are on Carillon and survive the Galactica's
destruction will soon wish they had died with their brothers," an
edge of malevolent satisfaction entered the Cylon ruler's voice,
"What the Ovions have planned for them is somehow more befitting
them."
   "Assuming that we are successful in our attack," there was a
faint edge of caution in the IL Cylon's voice.
   "What reason do you have for believing that we will not be
successful?" Imperious Leader's voice rose in anger.
   Serpentine knew that he was risking a great deal, but decided
not to hold back his concerns, "Your Eminence, I do think it
might have been more prudent had one of the other baseships in
our Fleet accompanied us to Carillon.  The firepower of two
baseships would have made our triumph a foregone conclusion in
every respect."
   "Our own ship is more than sufficient to the task!" the Leader
thundered, "The task of eliminating the rest of humanity is to be
my triumph alone!"
   "Your Eminence," Serpentine kept his tone patient,
"Irrespective of who carries out the assault, your greatness is
already assured.  I only point out that you need not have assumed
a risk to your own safety when----"
   "There is no risk!" he raged, "You saw how seven battlestars
were destroyed with swift ease but a sectan ago.  So shall it be
true of the Battlestar Galactica!  And if you dare to question my
strategy any further, I will soon see to it that I find a
commander who sees things exactly as I do!"
   The IL Cylon realized there was little point in going further.
It was clear that this Imperious Leader, in addition to his
tactical and strategic genius seemed to be afflicted too much by
what the human psyche would call pride, "Forgive my impudence,
Your Eminence," he bowed.
   "Accepted," the Leader's tone softened, "Bring all ships to
full readiness.  The last centar for the human race is fast
approaching!"

                       Chapter Fourteen

   Apollo and Starbuck had finished searching the corridors of
the two main lodging levels and had returned to the turbo-lift
finding no trace of the two men wearing warrior's uniforms.
   "No sign of anyone.  The whole place is deserted," Starbuck
said.
   "Everyone's at the party."
   "But those two imposters have to be down here somewhere, and I
say we keep looking for them until we get some answers," Starbuck
looked at the wall panel, "What say we have another look?"
   "For what?" Apollo shook his head, "They're not on any of the
lodging levels.  Where else should we look?"
   "How about the mining levels?" Starbuck proposed.
   "They're not accessible to humans."
   "And I've been wondering a good deal about that," the brash
lieutenant said, "What do you suppose is so important down there
that we can't see?"
   Apollo shrugged, "I wouldn't know.  I really haven't been
giving it any thought."
   "Now that's a switch," Starbuck chuckled, "You're the one
who's always suspicious about everything."
   "Yeah.....well, I've had other things on my mind lately."
   "Tell me about them sometime," he looked at the wall panel, "I
think we could re-rig this with little trouble and get it to take
us down to the bottom."
   Apollo looked at the panel and nodded, "You're right.  I know
how to fix that.  Just stand back."
   He pulled out his laser pistol and blasted away section of the
paneling, exposing the control circuit wires.
   "Assuming they run on the same principle as our own turbo
lifts, this should be no problem," Apollo said as he knelt down
and brought the circuitry together.  A shower of sparks erupted
at first, but an instant later the lift had started to move
again.
   "That's it," he grinned, "We've got manual control.  Where
to?"
   "All the way to the bottom," Starbuck said emphatically,
"Let's see what's happening the furthest from the guest rooms."


   Sire Uri impatiently glanced at his chronometer as he
continued to wait for Starbuck and Apollo to return.  From his
standpoint, his speech calling for the destruction of all weapons
could only have its desired impact in the context of a military
celebration, and with Adama's son present.
   At this point though, Uri was so anxious to get started that
he decided he could no longer wait.
   "Lieutenant Boomer," he leaned over to the only remaining
warrior on the couch, "I suggest you find your two friends and
tell them that I intend to begin with or without them."
   "Yes sir," Boomer nodded and got to his feet.
   As soon as he had left, the dark-skinned warrior heaved a sigh
of relief that he'd been spared the agony of having to sit
through Uri's speech.


   Apollo and Starbuck cautiously emerged from the turbo-lift as
soon as the doors opened on the lowermost level.  Right away,
they noticed how the lighting was darker and more eerily subdued
in contrast to that of the lodging levels.
   "Nice," Starbuck said with slight apprehension at the eeriness
of the scene.
   "Quiet," Apollo whispered, "There's hordes of Ovion workers on
this level.  We don't want to tip any of them off."
   He then motioned his arm forward in the direction of the
mining shaft.
   "Uh uh, Captain," Starbuck smiled wryly and shook his head,
"You're the leader.  I follow you."
   Apollo rolled his eyes slightly and started to move down the
corridor with his pistol at the ready.  Starbuck stayed right
behind him.


   "This night," Uri began in his most solemn tone, "We celebrate
a most special event in the annals of human experience."
   Serina didn't even bother listening in.  Not only had Apollo
and Starbuck not returned from their conversation, but now she
couldn't locate Boxey again.
   She finally spotted her son at the back of the children's
area.  His daggit had gotten loose from him yet again and was
sprinting into an open turbo-lift.
   Before Boxey could catch up with his pet though, the turbo-
lift doors slammed shut.
   "Muffit!" Boxey pounded on the turbo-lift doors, "Muffit!"
   An instant after he had started pounding on the doors, they
opened up again.  He wasted little time stepping inside.
   "Boxey, no!" Serina called out as she tried to make her way t
through the crowd, "Get out of there!"
   Too late.  The doors to the next turbo-lift closed.
   "Frack," she whispered angrily.
   "Hey Serina," Boomer caught up with her, "Have you seen Apollo
and Starbuck?"
   She turned around in frustration, "They went down to the lower
levels to check out something."
   "Those fake warriors," Boomer said under his breath.
   "Boomer," Serina took him by the arm, "I need your help.
Boxey just disappeared inside one of the turbo-lifts looking for
his daggit.  I don't know what level it's taken him down to.  Can
you help me look for him?"
   Boomer hesitated slightly, "I do need to find Apollo and---"
   "Boomer please.  I haven't the vaguest idea how to make my way
around the other levels, and if Boxey ends up in trouble again---
   "All right," Boomer held up his hands in resignation, "I'll
help.  Lead the way."
   "Thank you," she said with relief, "I appreciate that."
   As the two of them made their way over to the turbo-lift and
got inside, Serina was vowing to have a long talk with Boxey
about responsibility once they were back on the Galactica.


   Apollo and Starbuck had gone twenty feet down the corridor in
the direction of the mine shaft, when they heard the sounds of
hissing and clicking in the distance.
   "Ovion worker," Apollo whispered, "Take cover."
   They backed themselves up in a small crevice away from the
main corridor, waiting for the insectoid to come past, and hoping
it wouldn't turn to its left.
   As the sounds of the Ovion drew near, they suddenly heard
another sound in addition to the hissing and clicking.  A far
different sound of a back-and-forth mechanical whirring.  Apollo
and Starbuck immediately felt their hair stand on end.  The new
sound was something they recognized immediately.
   Slowly, the Ovion worker came by them.  Right behind the Ovion
were two Cylon centurions with weapons poised.
   To their relief, none of the three looked to their left and
noticed the two warriors crouching in the crevice.
   "Me and my big mouth," Starbuck whispered as soon they were
gone.
   "Well at least we know the secret of Carillon," Apollo
grunted, "Let's get out of here."
   "Wait," Starbuck grabbed him by the arm, "I don't think we
should go just yet."
   "What are you talking about?"
   "Apollo, we still don't know the connection between the resort
and this mining operation."
   "Yes we do," Apollo retorted, "The Ovions have lied to us and
are acting as fronts for the Cylons to lure us all in.  They're
probably furnishing most of the tylium from this operation to the
Cylons."
   "There's got to be even more to it than that," Starbuck said,
"And if you're right, then we can't leave this facility
operational.  The Cylon Fleet will have a limitless resource of
fuel to keep following us across the stars."
   "What are you saying Starbuck?" an edge of concern entered
Apollo's voice, "Are you saying we sabotage this complex with
some laser blasts?  You do that this far down near the planet's
core and you're talking about blowing up the whole planet."
   "Exactly," Starbuck nodded, "A blaster at full power in a few
well-placed areas of pure tylium at the planet's core has the
same effect as fire in a battlestar's solium storage room.  You
create the conditions for a supernova explosion."
   "Starbuck, we've got hundreds of civilians on top.  That
includes women and children!" he kept his voice a whisper but the
concern level was increasing.
   "You get up top and warn them," Starbuck said, "I won't do
anything until you've had a chance to get away."
   Apollo wondered if history was now repeating itself.
Starbuck's words had the ghostly echo of words he had heard going
through his helmet only a sectan ago near the Cimtar moon.  And
this time, the words were coming from a man he had regarded as
even more of a brother to him than his own flesh-and-blood.
   "Starbuck, I can't leave you down here," he said with
determination, "You'll never get out alive."
   "You don't have a choice," the lieutenant retorted.
   "Starbuck, I had to leave Zac behind," Apollo held his ground,
"I can't leave you too.  You go up and I'll set fire to the
tylium."
   "Apollo," Starbuck said calmly, "By the time we get through
arguing about this---"
   "Hold it!" Apollo held up a hand, "One of the centurions is
coming back."
   They ducked back into the crevice and carefully peered down
the corridor.  The lone Cylon had come to a stop in front of the
turbo-lift.
   "I think the lift is bringing someone down." Apollo whispered,
"Get ready to move."
   The doors slid open and Apollo's eyes bulged in horror when he
saw Boxey emerge, his eyes darting to his right, away from the
Cylon just five feet away.
   "Muffit?" the little boy called out.
   "Holy Frack," Apollo whispered and then bolted out into the
corridor, "Run Boxey, run!"
   The little boy's head darted around and saw that the Cylon had
unsheathed his battle sword and was prepared to bring it down in
full force.  Boxey started running just as a laser blast from
Apollo's pistol sailed over his head toward the Cylon.
   Apollo's first shot missed and slammed into the wall behind
the centurion.  The Cylon had just started to reach for his
battle laser when another frantic shot from the Galactica warrior
finally hit it's target squarely in the breastplate.
   Apollo grabbed hold of Boxey's wrist and the three of them
started back in the direction of the mining shaft.  They had gone
twenty feet when another centurion suddenly emerged.  It took two
quick shots from Starbuck before the Cylon was finally
eliminated.
   "I guess it's a little late to talk to these fellows?"
Starbuck decided to offer some gallows humor.
   "I guess so," Apollo nodded and looked down at Boxey with an
expression of almost parental anger, "Your mother's not going to
be happy with you for wandering off in strange places, young
man."
   "Muffit went into the turbo-lift," the little boy stammered
apologetically, "I tried to---"
   "It's okay," his tone became soothing as he held him tightly,
"It's okay.  Just be glad you're safe for now.  We'll get you out
of here soon."
   "This way, Apollo," Starbuck motioned.
   The three of them followed the corridor where they saw a
strange red glow emitting from the next room.
   "Must be the tylium shaft," Apollo noted.
   But as soon as they entered the room, they were greeted to a
far different sight.  The most horrible sight that either of the
warriors had ever seen in their lives.  Apollo turned Boxey away
and buried him in the folds of his cape.
   They saw several rows of neatly aligned cubicles.  Inside each
cubicle they could see several young Ovions feasting on long, pod-
like shells.
   The shells were opaque in color and in the red glow of the
outside lights offered a distinct view of what lay inside them.
And it only took the two Galactica warriors an instant to realize
that they were the outlines of human beings.
   "Oh my God," Starbuck whispered in horror.
   A low moaning sound seemed to emit from the cubicles.  The
revulsion inside both men intensified when they realized that the
humans inside the shells were literally being consumed while
fully conscious and awake.
   "Some of them are probably from our own ships," Apollo wished
he could force himself to turn away from the sight but he
remained transfixed on it, in the way that a spectator was drawn
to the sight of an explosion or accident, "No wonder no one ever
came back to tell the Colonies about this resort."
   Amidst the faint moans, they suddenly heard a hoarse, broken
rasp emitting from one of the cubicles, "Cap....tain?"
   Apollo pushed Boxey over to Starbuck and came up to the source
of the voice.  He looked down and saw half-encased in the pod,
the Galactica's Chief Medical Officer.
   "My God," he whispered, "Dr. Paye."
   "Cap...tain," the eyes of the white-haired doctor darted up,
"Help....Please....kill me.  Please.....end this."
   "I'll try to get you out, Doc.  Don't worry," Apollo put his
hands on the pod to try and tear it open.  But in spite of it's
opaque color, it was too hard and thick.
   "No....good," Paye rasped, "No....good.  Too...far gone.
They....slowly suck the life....out of you....in slow
gestation....for Ovion young.  Just...kill me.  Please.
In.....the name of the Lords.....kill me."
   Apollo felt his face contort with anguish at being unable to
do anything.  He finally nodded and fired his laser pistol into
the shell containing Dr. Paye.  It erupted into a wall of fire
that rapidly consumed its contents.
   Apollo stepped back from the cubicles and then in a fit of
anger unleashed a further barrage of fire into each cubicle where
there wasn't already a skeleton left.
   As soon as he was done he seemed to stagger back against the
wall, numb from revulsion.
   "The Ovions are living off us," Starbuck was still horror-
struck, "They've fattened us up in the resort like livestock to
prepare us for this."
   "And using the tylium they mine to give to the Cylons," Apollo
tried to catch his breath, "What a nice arrangement the Ovions
have made for themselves."
   From further down the corridor in the next chambers they
suddenly heard another mechanical sound, completely different
from the ones of the centurions.
   "That's Muffit!" Boxey suddenly bolted up from under
Starbuck's cape, where he'd been cowering to avoid looking at the
cubicles.
   "You stay here, Boxey!" Apollo scolded and grabbed him by the
wrist, "We'll get him back, but only if you stay with us!"
   The two warriors drew their pistols back to a ready position
as they moved into the next room.  They barely caught a glimpse
of another Ovion at the far end entering the room beyond.  From
another corner of the room, the orange robot finally emerged from
its hiding place, and upon seeing his master and the two
warriors, let out a beckoning growl as it disappeared into the
next room where the Ovion had gone.
   "No!" the sound of a hysterical woman screaming suddenly
filled the air, "No!"
   Apollo and Starbuck broke into a running pace as they dashed
over into the entrance beyond.  They saw Muffit scrambling toward
two Ovions who were preparing to slide a table containing a
frantic woman into another cubicle opening.  Starbuck's eyes
widened in shock when he saw that the woman was Cassiopeia.
   "Starbuck!" she glanced over and screamed, "Help me!"
   Muffit had bolted up to the lead Ovion and started gnawing at
the insectoid's cloth cloak, which briefly distracted the
creature.  Starbuck and Apollo immediately followed with another
barrage of laser fire that struck both Ovions right in the head.
The insectoid creatures collapsed to the floor and made no
movement.
   The blonde lieutenant quickly undid the straps on the table
and gently lifted Cassiopeia up.
   "You're going to have to try to walk, Cassiopeia," he said as
he set her down on her feet, "There's little time."
   "Oh Starbuck," she threw her arms around him, "Thank you."
   "You can repay me later," he smirked, "Now come on, let's get
moving."
   "Halt!" a low-toned mechanical sounding voice emitted from
behind.
   Apollo spun around and saw two more centurions emerge from
where they'd come in.  They quickly disposed of the lead one, but
the hasty shots failed to hit the second one, who continued to
march forward.
   "Come on, follow me!" Apollo shouted as he started running out
with Boxey by the wrist, "We've got to get to the mining shaft!"
   The fear at seeing the approaching Cylon caused Cassiopeia's
strength to come back as she and Starbuck ran as fast as they
could go.


   "We have now assumed attack position on Carillon's far side,
Your Eminence," Serpentine reported, "All of our fighters are
ready to launch."
   "Excellent," Imperious Leader said smugly, "Let the attack
begin."


   Aboard the Galactica, Athena had wasted little time getting
back to the bridge after her return from Carillon.  The
unpleasantness of what she'd been going through with Starbuck for
the last several days had driven her to the point where
performing her work duties marked the only time she felt secure
anymore.
   Damn him, she thought idly as she went about performing
several systems checks of her monitors.
   Just then, the blank screen of her monitor sprung to life with
activity.  More than a hundred small blips entered the far left
side of the screen, while the words "CONDITION RED" flashed in
bold letters across the main face of the screen.
   "Commander," she intoned with total professionalism, "Scanners
picking up a large body of objects closing rapidly."
   Adama moved over to the other side of the railing so he could
look down on her station, "Identification established?"
   "Already confirmed," his daughter said as she punched up
several buttons, "Attacking force of Cylon fighters, two hundred
fifty microns and closing."
   "It's started then," Tigh said as he felt the tension that had
been building up inside him give way just a bit now that the
truth had been established.
   "Yes," Adama nodded, "Get word down to our teams on Carillon
and have them move right away."


   "The main shaft is this way," Apollo said as they rounded a
corner and continued to run as fast as they could.  Finally,
after what seemed like an eternity to the two warriors, the one
woman and the one boy, the corridor came to an end and the
walkway overlooking the main shaft of the mining operation now
came into view.  A turbo-lift at the other end of the walkway
seemed to beckon to them like the light at the end of an
endlessly dark tunnel.
   "Run Boxey!" Apollo motioned the boy to go ahead of him, while
Muffit followed at his heels, "Get to the turbo-lift!"
   The little boy had reached the end of the long walkway when
the door suddenly opened and a bewildered Boomer and Serina
emerged.
   "Boxey!" Serina dashed up with arms outstretched as her son
ran to her, "Boxey, thank God!"
   "I'm sorry Mommy," he seemed on the verge of crying, "I'm
sorry Mommy."
   "That's okay," she cradled him protectively, "That's okay."
   "Captain, where have you been?" Boomer moved halfway down the
walkway to meet Apollo and Starbuck, "We've been looking all over
for you."
   "There's no time to explain, Boomer," Apollo was almost out-of-
breath, "There's an entire Cylon garrison down here, and we've
got to act fast."
   "What?" the dark-skinned warrior's face twisted in disbelief.
   "Just listen to me," Apollo said, "Right now, aim your lasers
at those points along the mine shaft walls, and down at the core.
Empty all the firepower you've got inside at the maximum
setting."
   "Captain, if you do that you'll---"
   "Blow the planet apart, I know," Apollo nodded, "Just do it!"
   "You heard him Boomer, do it!" Starbuck shouted as he motioned
Cassiopeia down to the end of the walkway where Serina, Boxey and
Muffit still waited.  The blonde lieutenant then pulled out his
pistol, leaned over the walkway railing and started firing down
toward the seemingly endless bottom of the shaft.
   A rumbling explosion erupted from somewhere far below, and
Starbuck kept his fire trained on the bottom.  Apollo started
firing at the walls of the shaft in a concentrated pattern.   The
walls burst into flames as the lethal combination of tylium and
laser fire mixed.
   Boomer had now joined in and was concentrating his fire on the
walls opposite from where Apollo was aiming at, and after more
fires erupted from the walls, switched his firepower upward.
   "Hurry!" Serina shouted from the other side of the walkway as
she pushed Cassiopeia, Boxey and Muffit inside the lift, "Let's
get out of here!"
   "We just need one more centon!" Apollo shouted back, "We're
almost done!"
   Starbuck kept firing down at the bottom of the shaft, never
once taking his finger off the trigger of his gun.  Finally, the
red laser streaks ceased to emit, indicating that he had drained
his gun of all its firepower.
   "That's it," he tossed it down the shaft, "I can't do anymore.
Let's get going before the garrison arrives!"
   Apollo nodded, "Okay, let's move!"
   The three warriors dashed back across the walkway as the fires
along the shaft's walls suddenly picked up in intensity.
   "Apollo!" Serina shouted in horror, "The Cylons!"
   The warriors barely had time to look back at the other end and
see a full procession of centurions emerge.  They accelerated
their running pace and made it inside the turbo lift just as they
felt several laser blasts whiz past them and barely miss hitting
them.
   The Cylons were halfway across the walkway with guns drawn
when a massive fireball erupted from below and destroyed the
walkway in the blink of an eye.  The wall of fire was the last
thing the humans saw before the turbo lift doors finally slammed
shut and the apparatus started its journey back up.
   "Thank God," Serina sighed as she and Boxey impulsively
embraced Apollo.
   "It's not over yet," Apollo only allowed himself to quickly
reciprocate, "They've already called out the whole garrison and
are probably sending their centurions back up through the other
turbo lifts.  We've got to move fast and get those people out of
that resort."
   "And off this planet before it goes completely," Starbuck
added as he held Cassiopeia and gave her a quick kiss on the
cheek, "We've probably got a centar or two before that happens."
   "The Galactica's probably going to be under attack any
micron," Boomer grunted, "How do we get back and help them out
with that?"
   "One thing at a time, Boomer," Apollo said, "One thing at a
time."



   "Enemy fighters, two hundred microns and closing," Rigel
reported.
   "Commander," Athena looked up, "Scanner reading of Carillon
indicates sudden readings of instability at core levels."
   Adama came over to the monitor and frowned, "What's causing
that?"
   "Best indication is that fires have broken out at pinpointed
sources of the tylium deposits."
   "Commander," an edge of alarm entered Tigh's voice, "You know
what that means."
   "Yes," the commander nodded, "Inform our ground teams to
converge on the resort and begin emergency evacuation procedures
for our people."
   "That means losing some time to mount our counterattack," the
executive officer pointed out, "We'll have to absorb the first
wave of these incoming Cylon fighters."
   "We have no choice Tigh," Adama said firmly, "If anything,
opening ourselves up for just a few centons should lull them into
an even more vulnerable position once our own fighters are ready.
In the meantime, positive shield and bring all batteries to
ready."


   For well over ten centons, Uri had droned on and on with his
speech about the need for humanity to recognize the value of
cherishing the important things left in life, and how the best
way to insure survival lay not in continuing a war that was
already lost, but to start afresh by setting aside old hatreds
and animosities.
   As he continued his oration, he noticed how the overwhelming
majority of the guests seemed impressed by his words, including
the other members of the Council.  For them, the Carillon resort
was truly the best thing any of them had ever experienced in
their lives, and if it was true that the only way to hold on to
it forever was to do exactly as Uri was proposing, then their
first inclination would be to agree.
   At the other end of the couch where the Council members sat,
there was a more subdued expression on the face of Commander
Fairfax.
   Well, the Columbia commander thought as he sipped his glass of
ambrosia, so much for my compromise idea.  The way Uri has them
eating out of the palm of his hand, there's no way they'll think
we can keep both Carillon and our weapons.
   Maybe that's all for the best anyway....
   He had to admit to himself that if he were forced into the
either/or proposition, even his first inclination would be for
Carillon.  With each passing day, the prospect of serving in a
military fleet where he could never command a battlestar again
was something more intolerable to his psyche than anything else
he could think of.  If the world could be reduced to a place
where there were no battlestars left at all, and where no one
could enjoy that exalted privilege of command, then perhaps it
would be much easier for him to put his personal bitterness
behind him for good.
   So be it, Fairfax thought as he downed the rest of his drink.
Let Uri have his way.  Let Adama rant and rave all he wants.  I'm
past the point where I feel like standing in the way any longer.
Or fighting for that matter.
   "....an opportunity to throw down our arms," Uri went on, "And
to prove once and for all, that peace begets peace, and love
begets love.  And so I---"
   The bald sire suddenly stopped when he saw the turbo-lift door
open at the far end of the banquet room and Apollo dashing
towards the podium.  Starbuck and Boomer followed him, while
Cassiopeia, Serina, Boxey and Muffit immediately headed for the
main exit.
   "Ah, I see our guests of honor have finally arrived."  Uri
smiled.
   Apollo ignored him and urgently brandished his empty laser
pistol in the air, "Everyone listen to me!" he shouted, "I want
everyone to move quickly and orderly toward the exits!  That is
an order!"
   "I beg your pardon, Captain!" Uri said with great indignation
that once again, Apollo was finding a way to make things
difficult for him.
   The warrior glared with contempt at him, "Sire Uri, there is
little time to explain.  We are all in great danger unless we get
out of here, and fast!"
   Some of the people seated at the tables started to uneasily
rise from their chairs.  At the other end of the couch where the
Council members sat, Fairfax had already gotten up with a look of
concern.
   "Stay where you are!" Uri's anger increased, as he
emphatically pointed to himself, "I am in charge here!"
   "All right then Sire Uri," the sarcasm dripped heavily from
Apollo's voice, "Let's see how well you fare when those doors
open and a whole Cylon garrison starts storming this complex!"
   A gasp went up from the crowd and some of them bolted up in
panic.
   Uri only seemed rattled for an instant and then his anger took
over again, "Captain, if this is your idea of a joke---"
   Before the bald sire could say another word, the second turbo-
lift opened revealing four centurions with laser guns at the
ready.
   "Do as the man says, he's in charge!" Uri suddenly pointed at
Apollo and sprinted off the podium toward the exit just before a
laser blast exploded against the wall behind him.
   A stunned Fairfax pulled out his laser pistol and started
opening fire at the Cylons while the rest of the Council members
managed to get off the podium and follow the panicked throng out
toward the main exit.  It only took four shots before the
Columbia commander had succeeded in taking out the lead group of
four.
   "Thank you, Commander!" Starbuck said with relief, "My
pistol's completely dry.  I don't know if we can handle any
more."
   What an imbecilic fool I've been, Fairfax shook his head in
shame as he felt a jolt of reality that hadn't been inside him
since before the Holocaust come back.
   "Listen up Red Squadron!" he suddenly shouted, "Get your
weapons ready and provide some cover for these people so they can
get the frack out of here!"
   "That could be a problem, Commander!" Captain Killian spoke up
as he pulled out his pistol and made his way through the crowd to
the back where the three Galactica warriors and the Columbia
commander remained, "From the way things look, most of my
Squadron isn't even here.  I've seen at least a dozen warriors
this evening wearing our group's insignia, but none of them are
Columbia pilots."
   "You too?" Boomer's eyes widened, "What are all these
imposters from Red and Blue Squadron doing here anyway?"
   "We haven't got time anymore to figure that out," Apollo said,
"If none of us are armed, then I suggest we clear out of here
too."
   As soon as Apollo finished, the turbo-lift opened again and
five more centurions emerged with their guns firing.
   "If that's an order Captain, I'm following it!" Starbuck said
as he and Boomer ran for the exit.
   Killian and Fairfax, the only two with functional lasers,
unleashed a barrage of return fire and knocked out the lead
Cylons.  But as several more lifts opened and more centurions
emerged, it soon became clear that there was little point in
trying to take them all out.  Along with Apollo, they made a
hasty retreat back into the chancery, which led to the main
entrance of the resort.  Most of the crowd had already reached
the doorway and had begun spilling out into the perpetual
Carillon night.
   "Getting outside might only buy us some time," Apollo said as
he looked back and saw at least two dozen Cylons entering the
banquet room, "They've probably sent up more centurions through
the main mining entrance."
   No sooner had Apollo spoken when they heard a chorus of
screams erupt from the outside, along with a steady barrage of
laser fire.
   "How perceptive of you, Captain," Fairfax grunted as he
stopped for an instant to fire back at the lead centurion in the
banquet room before he followed Apollo and Killian out.
   As Apollo had feared, more than thirty centurions had emerged
from behind the rock outcroppings adjacent to the complex.  A
number of civilians had been caught in the line of fire and
already lay strewn dead across the rocky surface.
   "Frack!" Apollo shouted, "What now?"
   "Look!" Killian pointed, "Landrams!"
   They looked into the distance and to their amazement saw more
than a dozen ground assault vehicles emerge from the darkness
with their turret guns firing back at Cylon columns.  Instantly,
the panicked civilians scrambled to the landram doors to get
themselves safely inside.
   "Talk about arriving in the nick of time!" Fairfax said with
relief as he and Apollo sprinted across to the nearest vehicle.
Starbuck and Boomer were already there.
   "Somebody tell me where all these landrams are coming from?"
the blonde lieutenant said with bewilderment as he opened the
door and allowed the Columbia commander to get in first, followed
by a number of civilians.  To Apollo's relief, he saw that Serina
and Boxey, who was holding Muffit tightly to him, were already
inside.
   "The landrams came courtesy of Commander Adama!" a voice
shouted from the top of the vehicle.
   Apollo and Starbuck looked up and saw Sergeant Jolly at the
turret controls opening fire at the chancery entrance, where the
second group of Cylons had started to emerge.
   "We're all filled up!" Fairfax's voice came over the
loudspeaker from inside the landram, "Let's move out!"
   Apollo, Starbuck and Boomer grabbed hold of the rails and
hoisted themselves up to the vehicle's roof just as the landram
moved away from the area.  Jolly kept his guns trained on the
chancery entrance and watched in satisfaction as more than a
dozen Cylons collapsed to the ground.
   Apollo got to his feet and frowned when he saw that the fat
sergeant was not wearing a dress uniform.
   "Jolly, how come you're in combat dress?  As a matter of fact,
how come I didn't see you at the party?"
   "The rest of Blue and Red Squadrons didn't get to go the party
sir," Jolly said as he swung the turret around and fired at the
second column of Cylons behind the rock formations, "I guess they
had to let you guys go so no one would realize that most of the
pilots weren't even there."
   "Well if you didn't go to the party then who were those guys?"
Starbuck demanded in exasperation.
   Jolly paused to reload the turret and resumed his barrage of
fire on the centurions, "Just about anybody the commander could
find to fill up the uniforms," he grinned, "You should have seen
the guy who got mine!"
   Apollo shook his head in dumbfounded amazement as he
remembered his encounter with Heller in the shuttle, "I think I
did."
   "Where are we headed?" Boomer hollered above the roar of the
laser fire.
   "All of our vipers and shuttles are parked about five thousand
metrones from here.  We'll be evacuating the civilians back to
the Fleet and then stand-by for further orders."


   "Enemy closing," Rigel reported, "One hundred microns."
   "Message from the ground force, Commander," Omega looked up,
"They report full evacuation of civilians from the resort complex
and are proceeding to the landing area.  Some casualties as the
result of firefight with Cylon garrison forces."
   "Order all warriors to return immediately," Adama shook his
head in relief and then turned to the executive officer, "Can you
imagine what it would have been like if Uri had his way and half
our entire population had been down there?"
   "Total chaos," Tigh nodded, "We wouldn't have had landrams and
shuttles capable of handling ten percent of the number."
   "We'll know soon enough if our luck continues."
   "Eighty microns and closing."
   "Battle speed!" Adama ordered, "Assume new course heading at
nine degrees starboard."


   The twelve landrams came to a stop in the clearing where more
than a hundred vipers and ten shuttles lay waiting to receive the
warriors and civilians who'd been evacuated from the complex.
   Apollo dropped to the ground and immediately opened the
landram door, "Okay everyone!" he barked, "All civilians get into
the shuttles as fast as possible."
   Serina and Boxey were the first ones out.  Apollo quickly gave
her a kiss on the cheek, "We'll talk later when it's all over,"
he then patted Boxey on the head, "In the meantime, you take care
of your mother."
   The captain then moved off to where his viper lay waiting.
   "Come on Boxey," Serina lifted her son into her arms and moved
over to the shuttle, while Muffit scampered behind.
   "Mommy?" the little boy was still looking back over her
shoulder at the vipers.
   "Yes?"
   "I wish he could be my Dad."
   Serina let out a wistful sigh and clasped her son more
tightly.
   He will be, she vowed to herself.  By all the Lords of Kobol
he will be.


   "You feeling okay?" Starbuck said as he helped Cassiopeia out
of the landram.
   "I'll be fine," the socialator said as she hugged him in
gratitude, "Thank you Starbuck."
   "All in a days work," he grinned as he reciprocated and they
shared a kiss on the lips.
   Their moment of bliss was interrupted when Boomer abruptly
yanked Starbuck away from her, "Come on Starbuck, orders just
came through to launch right now!"
   "Bye!" Starbuck waved at Cassiopeia as he sprinted off to his
fighter.
   A wave of emotions went through Cassiopeia.  Not the least of
which was the irony of how Starbuck had been there for her at the
two most critical moments of her life.  First on the freighter,
and now on Carillon.
   It can't be a coincidence, she thought.  It's almost as if he
were being led to me.  For something a lot more meaningful than a
client-socialator relationship.
   If that were true, then Cassiopeia was already certain of one
thing.  It was time for her to start considering a new career.


   Apollo had removed the cape of his dress uniform and had
already hauled himself into the cockpit of his ship when he heard
another voice call out to him, "Captain?"
   He looked down and saw Fairfax standing by his ship.
   "Commander, you'd better get yourself over to the shuttle."
   "No Captain," the Columbia commander shook his head, "My place
isn't with all those gutless Council cowards in a shuttle, it's
doing something I'm better trained for.  Is there an extra viper
available?"
   Apollo was stunned, "Sir I--"
   "Don't waste time Captain, is there?"
   "Yes but---"
   "Thank you," Fairfax went over to the ship next to Apollo's
and climbed in with little difficulty.
   Incredible, Apollo shook his head in amazement as his canopy
lowered and locked into place.


   As the attack force of nearly two hundred Cylon fighters
closed in on the Galactica, the command pilot of the lead Cylon
fighter could see the last remaining battlestar looming just
ahead in his field of vision.
   "Thirty microns to intercept," the number one pilot reported.
   "Inform our baseship that they have not sent out any
interceptors," the command pilot ordered, "We have taken them
completely by surprise."


   "...Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one,
zero."
   "All batteries commence fire!" Adama ordered.
   The Galactica's laser guns opened fire on the attack force and
took care of several fighters in the lead column.  The next wave
though, was able to score the first major hits on the warship.
   "Several groups have broken off from the main attack force and
are headed for the Fleet!" Athena reported.  "There's all kinds
of panic breaking out."
   "Tell them our vipers will be drawing them off soon," Adama
clenched his fist with determination, "It won't be long.  Omega,
what's the status on our vipers?"
   "All vipers manned and have begun launching from Carillon,"
the bridge officer reported, "Estimate time of arrival in three
centons."
   "Let's hope it's not three centons too late," Tigh grunted.
   "One Cylon fighter on collision course with port landing bay!"
Rigel shouted.
   "Assume new heading at ten degrees starboard!" Adama barked,
"If he's going to ram, let it be on an angle."
   The battlestar jerked slightly to starboard and then seconds
later, the bridge personnel felt the low rumble of a shockwave go
through their feet as the Cylon fighter crashed into the corner
of the Galactica's port landing bay.
   "Fire in the bay!" Tigh called out as the indicator lights
went red.
   "Get Fire Teams to concentrate full boraton pressure there,
immediately."



   "All ships in Red Squadron accounted for," Captain Killian
said as the first of the vipers cleared Carillon's atmosphere.
   "Same with Blue Squadron," this from Starbuck.
   "Excellent," Apollo said as he concentrated his scan on where
the battle was taking place, "Commander Fairfax, since you're the
senior warrior, do you wish to assume command of the formation?"
   "Not a bit, Captain," Fairfax shook his head as he drew up
alongside him and marvelled at how five yahrens away from his
viper hadn't dulled his flying abilities in the least, "You're
the Galactica's strike leader.  I'm just here for the ride.  You
lead us in."
   "Okay all fighters, listen up," Apollo radioed, "Let's move in
on the rear column of the main attack force.  They should have
their scan beams concentrated ahead of them on the Galactica and
the Fleet and not be expecting anything on their rear flank."
   "Are they going to be surprised," Starbuck was already
grinning with satisfaction.
   "Let's not get overconfident, Lieutenant," Fairfax said, "If
we don't take care of them quickly, we'll have to make a return
trip to Carillon and live on that rock."
   "No sir," Apollo said, "I neglected to mention that while we
were down in the mining levels, we set fire to the whole tylium
shaft.  In about thirty centons, Carillon goes up like a
supernova."
   The heads of numerous pilots perked up the instant they heard
Apollo's words.
   "Well Captain," Jolly broke the silence, "There's not a micron
to lose, is there?"
   "Not a bit," Apollo answered, "Let's get 'em!"
   Apollo, Starbuck and Fairfax went to their main turbos and
swooped down on the group of three Cylon fighters at the rear of
the attack force.  Starbuck opened fire first, taking out the one
in the center.
   "That was for the Atlantia!" he said as he moved off.
   Fairfax opened fire next and took out the one on the right.
   "For my ship, and for my men," he whispered.
   Apollo saw his attack computer blink as the last fighter in
the group became locked in his sights.
   "And here's one for Zac and for Mother," he said as his finger
pressed the trigger.


   In an instant, the bewildered Cylon pilots found themselves
under attack from more than a hundred vipers that they had not
been expecting to see.  Even though they numerically outnumbered
the Colonials two-to-one, the element of surprise and superior
Colonial flying skills turned the tide of battle into a hopeless
mismatch within a matter of centons.


   "Commander, all fighters from the attack force have broken off
from the Galactica and the Fleet and are trying to regroup
against our vipers," Omega reported.
   "Good," Adama nodded, "Tell them to stay on them until they're
on the run.  Get the starboard landing bay clear and prepare to
receive all returning shuttles."
   "Looks as though a lot of warriors chose to violate orders and
skip the party," Tigh grinned with satisfaction.
   "Yes," the commander returned it, "Make a note Colonel to
discuss discipline in the ranks."
   "Yes sir!"


   What started as a Cylon advantage of 200 to 100 had fast
become an even-strength contest of 100 to 95.  Odds that only
increased the Colonials ability to maintain the upper hand.
   After disposing of five more ships, Starbuck suddenly saw one
Cylon pull a reverse maneuver and get in back of him.  He now
realized that in an instant, he had gone from pursuer to pursued.
   "Starbuck, on your tail!" Apollo blurted.
   "Nothing to worry about---" he said nonchalantly as he
prepared to go into a roll motion.  Before he could begin, he saw
two laser blasts from the Cylon fighter barely miss his ship.
   "Felgercarb," he muttered as he finally executed his roll
pattern.  The brief delay caused by his reaction to the burst of
fire though, made the move less effective than he'd hoped.  The
Cylon remained on his tail.
   "Boomer, you give him a hand," Apollo radioed.
   "On my way," Boomer acknowledged and went to his turbo to get
himself in position for a lateral shot at the Cylon.
   "Don't take too long Boomer," Starbuck's voice seemed to go up
a half-octave.
   Boomer suppressed the desire to crack a joke as he sized up
the fighter on his attack computer and executed the lateral shot
that destroyed the pursuing Cylon.
   "Thanks for the assist," Starbuck said with relief.
   Boomer decided he could let his quip out, "I wouldn't think of
letting you miss your next dinner date."
   "Red Leader to Blue Leader," this came from Killian, "I'm on
course heading vector alpha, currently on to three," he paused as
he opened fire, "Ah, make that two.  Lead echelon shows signs of
starting to run."
   "Keep pouring it on Red Leader," Apollo said, "You guys are
doing a great job.  Don't let any of them escape."


   Ten centons passed and the rout in favor of the Colonials was
soon complete.  Of the nearly two hundred Cylon fighters in the
attack force, none were left.
   "Galactica this is Commander Fairfax," the Columbia commander
said with pride, "We've got em' all.  Not a single Cylon fighter
left in the stars."
   "That's good Fairfax," Adama said, only slightly surprised to
hear the commander's voice amongst the fighter pilots, "Well
done.  Bring everyone home for landing in the starboard landing
bay.  Repairs to the port bay will take another centar."
   "Adama, now that we've blasted their fighter cover out of the
stars, I suggest we regroup and find out where the Cylon baseship
is.  She has to be hidden somewhere behind Carillon if she was
able to get this close without being detected."
   There was a brief pause before the Galactica commander
answered.
   "Negative Fairfax," he said, "We must conserve our resources
if we're to find a home for our people.  Sending out our fighters
to tangle with a baseship would be foolish at this stage of the
game."
   "Father, this is Apollo," his son's voice cut in, "With all
due respect, I have to disagree.  We can't let that baseship go.
The Fleet can't move at our top speed, and they'd be able to keep
following us until more reinforcements arrive."
   "Apollo, I'm sorry but my decision is final.  All vipers are
to return to the Galactica immediately."
   "Adama!" Fairfax snapped, "In the last centar I had a chance
to see how foolish I'd been in not helping you out.  But by all
the Lords, if you don't let us take some decisive action we'll
end up facing a crisis bigger than the one we faced today."
   "Fairfax, I'm giving you a direct order," Adama said firmly,
"Return immediately."
   The Columbia commander didn't answer.  He immediately took his
viper into a roll pattern down toward the surface of Carillon.
   "Where are you going sir?" Apollo radioed as he decided to
follow Fairfax.
   "I'm about to take some initiative," Fairfax said, "You're
free to join me Captain."
   Just then, they saw a third viper pull up alongside them.
   "Uh...Apollo?  Commander?" Starbuck asked uneasily, "What do
you plan on doing?"
   "Glad you decided to join us Lieutenant," Fairfax smiled,
"Since Adama's worried about losing resources if we send our
fighters up against the baseship, then the only recourse we have
is to destroy her ourselves."
   "Ourselves?" Starbuck's eyebrows went up, as he wondered if
he'd just made a big mistake, "How are we going to do that?"
   "Captain, how long do you estimate before those tylium fires
at the planet's core kick in?" Fairfax asked Apollo.
   "Right about now sir," Apollo said, "I'd say she'll go
altogether in about ten centons or less."
   "Then the key is to force the baseship down so that when
Carillon goes, the baseship will go with her."
   "But how do we do that?" Starbuck repeated.
   "Quite simple," Fairfax said, "We move down close to the
surface so we stay off their scanners.  Next, prepare to remove
all scramblers from your communications so the Cylons will be
able to hear everything we say."
   "What good is that going to do?" Starbuck persisted.
   "You'll see," Fairfax grinned, "When we take the scramblers
off Lieutenant, you're going to be Red Squadron, Captain Apollo
you'll be Blue Squadron, and I'm going to be Yellow and Green."
   "Huh?" Starbuck's bewilderment increased, "I'm going to be Red
Squadron and Apollo is going to be....."
   Apollo broke into a grin and nodded, "Yes sir, I get it."
   "I don't." Starbuck protested.
   "Just follow our lead Starbuck," Apollo said, "You'll get it."
   The three vipers dropped to a heading that kept them only one
hundred feet above the dark, rocky surface of Carillon.


   "Commander," Tigh's expression grew somewhat grave, "Three
vipers didn't return with the rest of our fighters.  They're
overdue."
   Adama felt himself tense, "Is Commander Fairfax one of them?"
   "Yes sir," the executive officer nodded, "Along with Captain
Apollo and Lieutenant Starbuck."
   His expression remained neutral, "I see," he said, "Very well,
keep me informed."
   Tigh moved back to the lower level while the commander went
over to the railing and wrapped his hands around it as tightly as
he could.
   Lords of Kobol, he thought.  I've already lost more than I can
handle.  Don't let me lose Apollo too.


   "Remove all scramblers and switch to Cylon frequencies now!"
Fairfax barked.
   After a brief pause, the Columbia commander suddenly resumed
talking in a heavy Aquarian drawl.
   "This is Green Leader to Red, all ships in formation and ready
to attack.  Your boys all set too?"
   Starbuck's incredulity was so great that it took him a brief
instant before he finally answered, "Uh...yeah.  We're all ready.
Every one of us."
   "Yellow Leader to Green Leader," Fairfax suddenly switched to
a completely different accent, "We're aching to get some licks in
on that baseship.  About time those gallmonging tinheads learned
what it feels like when a capital ship blows."
   The Columbia commander then returned to the Aquarian accent
without skipping a beat, "Copy Yellow Leader.  They'll know in a
micron."
   Apollo suppressed the desire to break into applause at
Fairfax's performance, "Blue Leader to Green.  Don't let Yellow
group get all the glory.  I've got a whole squadron ready to chip
in too."
   Starbuck was shaking his head in amazement when he suddenly
saw a plume of fire erupt from the surface and shoot into the
air, directly in the path of his approaching viper.
   "Whoa!" Starbuck abruptly twisted himself to the right to
avoid getting seared in the blast.  He managed to avoid it with
only a few feet to spare.
   Fairfax and Apollo looked back with concern, "Starbuck, I've
reactivated my scrambler," Apollo said urgently, "You okay?"
   "Yeah," Starbuck mumbled as he remembered to hit his own
scrambler switch, "I'm okay.  I almost wound up in a miniature
Nova Madagon though."
   "That means the planet is starting to go.  We've got to keep
moving though until we make sure we've forced the baseship down."
he took his scrambler off again, "Blue Leader to Green.  Almost
had a mishap among Red Group.  They're packed so close together
they almost collided with each other."
   "Understand Blue Leader," Fairfax nodded in understanding, "It
is a bit thick out here."


   Inside the baseship's main command center, Serpentine had
already heard all of the unscrambled exchanges come through over
the loudspeakers in the complex.  He wasted little time getting
over to Imperious Leader's adjacent throne room.
   "By your command," he injected a note of urgency in his voice.
   "Speak Commander," the Cylon ruler said, "You have come to
report on the destruction of the Galactica?"
   "No Your Eminence," Serpentine said, "We have picked up
disturbing indications of four squadrons of Colonial vipers
bearing down on us."
   There was an uncharacteristic silence from the throne chair
before Imperious Leader spoke again.
   "Surely our fighters are close enough to defend us?"
   "Negative," the IL Cylon said, "All of our fighters are still
engaged against the Galactica at last report."
   Again, Imperious Leader seemed to hesitate before answering.
   "Have us retreat closer to the surface of Carillon.  Their
scanners will not be able to detect us."
   "Your Eminence," Serpentine raised the urgency level in his
voice, "It might be more prudent if we were to go to immediate
light speed and retreat from the quadrant as swiftly as
possible."
   "Such a course of action would only expose us to the attack
force!" the Leader thundered, "Do as I command!"
   The IL Cylon wondered if underneath the Leader's angry bravado
there existed a hint of what the human mind would call fear.
   "It shall be done, Your Eminence," he bowed and left the
chamber.


   "Yellow Leader to Red," Fairfax said as the three vipers
continued on course.  Beneath them, they could see the effects of
the tylium fires manifesting on the surface as it now seemed to
glow an almost molten red.  "I have your group in visual contact
and am slipping in to five-ship column pattern for lead attack."
   "Affirmative," Starbuck nodded and then decided it was time
for some initiative on his part, "Uh Yellow, Green, I just picked
up word from two other groups requesting permission to join us.
Purple and Orange Squadrons.  They've been doing nothing but
recon probes for sectans now and would just love to get some
licks in."
   Fairfax's eyes widened, "Purple and Orange?" he kept his tone
casual.
   "Uh negative Red Leader," Apollo spoke up, "Let's not get too
carried away.  We've got all the manpower we need to knock out
one baseship."
   "Affirmative," Fairfax nodded, "Tell Purple and Orange groups
they'll just have to wait their turns and buy us all a round of
drinks at the Club."
   "Gee and they were really looking forward to it," Starbuck
sighed.


   Athena's expression was dubious as she took her headset off
and turned back to her father, who was conferring with Tigh
again.
   "Commander," she said, "All of a sudden we're picking up
attack signals from Yellow, Green, Purple and Orange Squadrons."
   Adama frowned, "We don't have any squadrons with those---" he
cut himself off as it slowly sunk in.
   "I think our three missing vipers are now accounted for," Tigh
said.
   The Galactica commander nodded in disbelief, "Lord help them
all."


   It had reached the point where Serpentine no longer felt like
wasting time getting over to the throne room.  He punched up the
monitor in the command center that tied in directly to the
Leader's chamber.
   "By your command," he said, "The vipers continue to advance.
Possibly as many as six squadrons now."
   "Issue a recall signal to all our fighters," for the first
time, it sounded as if the Cylon ruler's voice had cracked
slightly, "Have them return at once to defend us."
   "We have received no signal from any of our fighters,"
Serpentine said, "We are receiving fragmentary indications that
all of them have been destroyed."
   "Destroyed?" there was shock in the Leader's voice, "How is
that possible?  We took them completely by surprise!"
   What a pompous fool, Serpentine thought with disgust.  It
almost seems disgraceful that this Leader had to be the one who
carried out the destruction of the Colonies.
   "Apparently it was not as much of a surprise as we had hoped,
Your Eminence," an edge of frosty disrespect now entered the IL's
voice.
   "Retreat us closer to Carillon!" Imperious Leader shouted,
"Below the scanners!  It will protect us."
   "Our garrison commander reports that fires have broken out on
Carillon," Serpentine raised his voice, "The situation is rapidly
deteriorating there.  Our best hope for survival is to go to full
speed and get away from this planet.  Not retreat to it!"
   "I said lower!" the Leader thundered, "Do it or they will
destroy us!  If you do not carry out the order you will be
relieved and executed at once!"
   Serpentine was silent for a moment as he toyed with the idea
of defying his Leader.  It was finally with the greatest
reluctance that he nodded his bulbous head in resigned defeat,
"By your command."
   The baseship's momentum toward the unstable surface of
Carillon steadily increased.



   "Scramblers on!" Fairfax barked, "If our gambit's paid off we
should start picking her up any micron now."
   "Commander, I've got her!" Apollo jumped in, "Approximately
twenty-thousand metrones dead ahead.  Visual contact in five
microns."
   "What do we do then?" the concern returned to Starbuck's
voice, "Ram her?  She'll soon realize it's all a trap and try to
get clear."
   "We won't let her," the Columbia commander said with
determination, "This baseship is going to die no matter what."


   The baseship's command centurion turned to Serpentine, "We
have started to pick up attacking ships on our scanners."
   The IL Cylon glanced at the scanner and his circuitry almost
froze from shock.
   "There are indications of only three ships!" he shouted.
   "Visual contact confirmed," the command centurion said, "Only
three ships approaching."
   "It's a deception!" the IL Cylon raged at how he had allowed
an incompetent fool like the Imperious Leader to intimidate him,
"Open fire and retreat from the planet at once!"


   "Commander," Omega looked up, "Telemetry from Carillon
indicates the surface is reaching vapor point."
   Adama and Tigh moved over to the other side of the upper level
in front of the main view screen, "Negative shield, now!"


   No sooner had the three pilots spotted the basestar when a
barrage of blue laser streaks suddenly emitted towards them.
   "They're opening fire on us!" Starbuck said with alarm, "Our
deception's been discovered Commander.  It's time we pull out
before the planet goes."
   "Not yet!" Fairfax shook his head, "She's trying to reach
escape velocity and get clear of the planet.  We can't let her do
that!"
   "But there's nothing left we can do sir!" the concern now
entered Apollo's voice, "Let's get clear of Carillon and hope
they don't make it in time."
   Amidst the laser streaks, they saw the baseship start to rise
from the surface of Carillon, getting higher and higher with each
passing micron.
   "There's your answer, Captain," Fairfax said, "At the rate
she's going, she stands a good chance of making it.  There can be
no margin for error when the stakes are as high as they are."
   The Columbia commander activated his turbo and began a new
heading directly towards the rising baseship.
   "Commander, what are you doing?" Apollo blurted.
   "I'm going to take out her main navigational thrusters!"
Fairfax shouted as his craft rose, "You two have done all you
can!  Get clear of the planet now!"
   "Sir, you don't have enough firepower for that!"
   "I will if I drop on them, viper and all!" his voice continued
to rise, "Captain, tell Adama I wish him Godspeed finding Earth.
He'll have an easier time of it if he doesn't have another
jealous commander hanging over his shoulder who might keep
undercutting him!"
   "Commander, no!" Apollo shouted, "Don't!"
   But there was no further response as Fairfax's viper picked up
speed and moved on an upward arc toward the baseship.
   Finally, Starbuck and Apollo watched in horror as the viper
slammed directly into the lower rear portion of the baseship with
all it's guns firing.
   Abruptly, the baseship's upward momentum came to a stop.  The
suicide hit had completely destroyed its main navigational
thrusters, forcing it to remain at it's present level of
altitude.
   "That did it!" Starbuck shouted, "That did it!  Let's get out
of here!"
   With no further prodding needed, the two remaining vipers went
to maximum turbos and rocketed away from Carillon as fast as they
could go.


   The jolt from the suicide hit was so violent that it almost
knocked Imperious Leader out of his throne chair.  He had felt
the baseship start to rise and was on the verge of contacting
Serpentine for information, but now that the ship had come to a
virtual stop, he had resumed his posture.
   Abruptly, the doors to his chamber slid open and he saw
Serpentine glide quickly up to the base of his chair.
   "Report?" the Cylon ruler demanded.
   "You imbecilic fool," Serpentine's voice dripped with
contempt, "You just had to insist on eliminating the Galactica
all by yourself with no further help from our Fleet.  And now in
your panic, you've managed to destroy us."
   "This will not be tolerated!" the Leader shouted, "I'll have
you executed immediately!"
   Abruptly, the IL Cylon pulled out a laser pistol and fired
directly at him.  The Cylon ruler fell out of his chair and
collapsed to the floor in a motionless pile.
   Serpentine had only a fraction of an instant to savor his last
action before the baseship was engulfed completely in a massive
fireball.


   "She's going to explode!" Adama had his eyes locked on the
grayish mass of Carillon on the view screen.  Already, several
jets of fire had erupted from the planet, indicating that the end
was fast approaching.
   And then, the end came for the planet Carillon and all of the
Ovions and Cylons still on the surface as the planet exploded in
a red-white fireball more massive than anything anyone on the
Galactica had ever seen in their lives.



   "That's it," there was a drained tone in Apollo's voice as he
saw the last embers of the exploding planet die down, "She's
gone.  It's all over."
   He exhaled and pressed his transmitter, "Galactica core
command this is Blue Leader.  Come in please."
   "Apollo, thank the Lords!" there was uncharacteristic emotion
in Adama's voice as he expressed his relief, "You're all right!"
   "Yes sir," Apollo kept his tone professional, "Starbuck and I
made it.  The baseship has been destroyed.  And----" he hesitated
for an instant, "I regret to report that Commander Fairfax is
dead."
   There was a brief silence from the other end as the reaction
to this piece of information set in.
   "I....see," the emotion had rapidly disappeared from Adama's
voice, "That's most unfortunate.  You....can brief me on that
when you return."
   "We will," Apollo nodded, "We'll be aboard in a centon." he
then switched frequencies, "Okay Starbuck.  Let's go home."
   "Some home," Starbuck sighed forlornly, "A piece of metal in
the middle of nowhere."
   "It beats just plain nowhere," Apollo said simply, "At least
until we find Earth."
   "Yeah," Starbuck nodded, still haunted by the sight of
Fairfax's sacrifice, "You think we'll ever find it?"
   "We'll find it," for the first time an edge of optimism
returned to his friend's voice, "Some day."
   Nothing more was said as the two vipers glided into the
landing bay and came to a stop.  For now, they had returned home.

                  Chapter Fifteen

   "Before we begin the order of business for today," Adama began
solemnly the next day as he brought the Council of Twelve to
order, "The Chair would first like to acknowledge the sorrow we
all feel over the losses suffered yesterday at Carillon, in
particular the loss of our brother member, Commander Fairfax.
Our former delegate from Aquarius, and former commander of the
Colonial Seventh Fleet and the Battlestar Columbia sacrificed his
life in a valiant effort that insured the destruction of a Cylon
basestar, and thus made possible our ability to escape Cylon
pursuit for now."
   "Mr. President," a subdued Anton rose from his chair, "At this
time, I move that the Council as a whole unanimously award
posthumously to Commander Fairfax, the highest honor reserved
only for the greatest of warriors, the Star of Kobol."
   "So ordered," Adama nodded, "Formal ceremonies will take place
at the memorial service for our dead this evening."
   The commander then pulled out a slip of paper, "The Chair also
acknowledges formal receipt of the resignation of Sire Uri from
this body, and that nominations to fill both his seat and that of
Commander Fairfax will take place no later than two days from
now."
   "Mr. President," again Anton rose, "I have at this time a new
proposal which has been co-signed by six members of the Council
in addition to myself."
   "You are recognized to state your proposal, Sire Anton," Adama
motioned in polite deference.
   "My brothers," the one-time aide to President Adar seemed more
serious in demeanor than he usually was, "Yesterday we all
witnessed how perilously close we came to disaster just one
sectan after beginning our flight from the colonies.  And it is
with regret that I must acknowledge my role in this near-debacle,
as well as the role all of us played in deluding ourselves into
thinking that Carillon offered a quick and easy solution to all
of our problems."
   He turned to Adama, "Adama, you chose us all to be members of
this body in the hopes that we would offer sound advice and
support to you.  However, it is all too clear now that we failed
you miserably in that task.  We have surely demonstrated that at
this time, so soon after the destruction of our civilization, and
when so much difficult sacrifice remains ahead of us as we
attempt to evade our enemy and search for a new home, that we,
the membership of the Council of Twelve are not up to the task of
governing with full autonomy over the people."
   Sire Domra, who was not a party to anything that Anton had
been planning, suddenly turned red and got to his feet, "My dear
Anton," he said, "Surely you are not suggesting that the Council
as a whole should be dissolved?"
   "Not at all," Anton replied coolly, "What I am proposing Sire
Domra, and which my six co-signers agree with, is that for the
time being, the safety of our people dictates that the military
should have a freer hand.  I therefore propose that from this day
forward, a state of Martial Law exists, and that the role of the
Council temporarily revert to that of an advisory body for now."
   "You propose forfeiting our most solemn and sacred rights?"
Domra grew more flustered, "What you're suggesting amounts to
establishing a dictatorship!"
   "We have already seen in the past twenty-four centars how
Commander Adama's judgment is far more acute than our own,
Domra," Anton retorted, "At this stage, what matters more is the
preservation of our civilization at all costs.  And for now, the
sacrifice needed to insure that means that we must swallow our
pride and temporarily cede authority to those who are far more
capable."
   Anton turned back to Adama, "Mr. President, in ceding this
additional authority to you and the military, the only
stipulation my co-signers and I ask, is that the vacant seat of
Commander Fairfax on this body be given to a civilian, as opposed
to a member of the military."
   "I see no reason for objecting to that stipulation," Adama
said, "Shall we now put the matter to a formal vote?"
   The vote was taken by a show of hands.  The final tally was
eight to two in favor, with only Domra and Sire Geller opposing.
   "The motion is carried," Adama tapped his gavel and then got
to his feet.  He regarded what he had to say next as his most
important speech since he'd first spoken of his intentions to
search for Earth.
   "My brothers," he began, "We have all emerged from this
tragedy much wiser than we were before, but in that new wisdom
may we also feel for the first time again a measure of hope of a
different kind.  A hope rooted not in finding quick and easy
solutions, but a hope rooted in the belief that the neverending
spirit of human ingenuity and determination to do great things,
remains strong in our ragtag Fleet of survivors.  That we will be
able to tap into those gifts once again to meet the challenge of
finding our brethren on Earth, and finding a place to test our
full potentials as a race again.  And, the Lord willing, a place
where we will ultimately be able to fight back against our
enemy."
   "Hear hear," Sire Montrose and some of the other members
muttered in approval.
   "The path before us is one filled with uncertainty and
difficulty that none of us can begin to envision," he continued,
"Let us all be worthy of meeting the challenge."
   "You have our full support and our blessings, Adama," Anton
smiled, "Now that the unpleasant tragedy of Carillon is behind
us, let the journey to a new hope begin anew."


   Two centars later, Adama was back in his quarters.  When Tigh
entered, he found the Galactica commander in a contemplative and
pensive mood.
   "Commander?" the executive officer gently inquired.
   Adama looked up, "Oh hello Tigh," he said, "Anything to
report?"
   "Nothing significant for now," Tigh came up in front of the
desk, "Is something bothering you?"
   He rubbed his temples and leaned back in his chair, "I just
finished looking over the casualty report for Carillon.  The
names of all the people who were lost.  It's.....not pleasant."
   Tigh's face tightened, "I see," he said, "I understand Dr.
Paye was one of the casualties."
   "Yes," Adama nodded, "A terrible loss.  He served us well
for....Lords how long was it?  Fifteen yahrens?"
   "Twenty," the executive officer said as he sat down in the
chair across from Adama's desk, "He was already here when you
took command and brought me on as exec."
   "I'd completely forgotten," Adama sighed, "That seems like
another lifetime ago."
   "I know," Tigh nodded and glanced at the floor, "My wife had
died a sectar earlier and you literally saved my life by getting
me a new assignment aboard the Galactica."
   Adama didn't respond.  This was the first time in yahrens that
he could recall his old friend referring to his late wife in
passing.  Tigh had married in his late-thirties after many
yahrens of perpetual bachelorhood, and because he didn't want to
spend so much time away from his bride had left flight status as
strike commander of the Cerberus, and accepted a desk job in
Caprica's District Headquarters office.  But after only four
yahrens of marriage, his wife had been killed in a skybus crash
and it had literally devastated him.  To ease his depression he'd
gone back to flight duty aboard the Cerberus but it was clear
that his judgment as a combat flyer was not what it had once
been.  After suffering major injuries in an emergency landing,
he'd been taken off flight status permanently and seemed on the
verge of resigning into a lonely, premature retirement when his
old friend Adama had asked him to become his executive officer on
the Galactica.  It was a gesture that Tigh always regarded as the
one that had saved him by restoring a sense of purpose to his
life.
   "We're fortunate we have someone of Dr. Salik's experience to
take over Paye's duties," Adama changed the subject and went on,
"We're not so fortunate when it comes to replacing Commander
Fairfax."
   "You're not blaming yourself for his death, are you?"
   "It's crossed my mind," Adama conceded, "Based on Apollo's
action report, I almost get the feeling that he was going to ram
that baseship whether it was necessary or not."
   "Which means he hadn't conquered all of his own demons about
adjusting to a life without the Columbia," Tigh said, "That's not
something you can blame yourself for."
   "I'm not so sure," Adama mused, "Perhaps I should have taken a
gamble and brought him into our confidence before the battle and
not treated him like the rest of the Council."
   "Perhaps, perhaps not," Tigh said firmly, "And for all we
know, maybe it makes no difference.  Maybe the baseship couldn't
have been destroyed without ramming it and Fairfax did it out of
pure self-sacrifice.  But Adama, that's just one of those enigmas
we'll never be able to answer any more than we can answer all of
the enigmas surrounding the destruction of the Colonies.  Like
you said, the only thing we can do is just put it behind us and
move forward."
   "Yes," Adama nodded, "All too true." he rose from his chair
and sighed, "Fairfax, Paye, the rest.  They're the first
casualties of a journey that could take.....Lord knows how long.
Sectars, yahrens, a generation, perhaps a whole millennium.  Who
knows if any of us will live to see the end of it."
   "But our people will see the end of it," Tigh injected an edge
of confidence in his tone, "I've known you long enough to have
that kind of confidence in your ability."
   Adama came over to him and clapped a hand on his shoulder,
"Encouragement like that is what I need most to keep going," he
smiled, "Thanks for being the most loyal friend I've ever known."
   "I owe you nothing less, Adama."


   Elsewhere in the Galactica, Apollo had taken Serina to the
only part of the battlestar that offered a large measure of
privacy.
   "What is it?" Serina looked about the room as she removed the
earplugs they had worn up the ladder.
   "It's a celestial dome," Apollo smiled as he sealed the hatch
they had climbed through to get into the room.
   Her eyes fastened on the rusted, corroding equipment, "It's so
run down."
   "The breakthroughs in scan technologies made them obsolete a
hundred yahrens ago." Apollo came over to the small bench at the
far end of the room and sat down, "There used to be a half-dozen
of these chambers on the Galactica and all the other
battlestars."
   "What for?"
   "Because they give you the most unobstructed view of any place
on the whole ship.  It made them perfect for star navigation
tests."
   Serina sat down next to him and looked up at the dirty, gray-
colored ceiling that curved around, "What view?"
   "You can't see anything because the control systems for those
panels covering the dome don't work." Apollo said, "I've been
planning on fixing the systems for awhile to see if I could get
this facility functioning again."
   "For what?  If it's so obsolete, then what's the point?"
   Apollo sighed, "I don't know," he said, "Before the Holocaust,
I'd been planning on fixing it to see if it could come in handy
for deep star exploration.  Now...." he trailed off.
   "Now?" Serina smiled faintly, "It almost seems as though it
could still be used for that.  Especially since we have no idea
where it is we'll end up."
   "True," he nodded, "When I have some time to myself, I'll get
back to work on fixing this place."
   "If we ever have time to ourselves again," Serina continued to
gaze at the ceiling, "The way things are now, with all the
sacrifice and struggle just to stay alive."
   Apollo smiled and wrapped an arm around her.
   "Even amidst all of the sacrifice, we'll still be able to find
time for ourselves," he said, "The simple joys of life go on even
in a place like this."
   She smiled back and rested her head on his shoulder.
   "Apollo," she said, "You said on Carillon that when we got
back, we'd.....talk about other things.  Is that why you brought
me up here and sent Boxey off to the Rejuvenation Center?"
   He nodded, "It is."
   "I see," Serina said, "About us?  About whether we decide to
continue what....began on Carillon?"
   "Yes," his expression seemed to tighten up.
   Serina noticed and gently poked her finger against his cheek,
"You're blushing, my captain," she teased.
   "Yeah....well," he said awkwardly, "This is kind of new for
me."
   "It's new for me too," her voice was reassuring, "Since my bad
experience with Boxey's father, I've always played it safe," she
paused, "But playing it safe is the last thing I want to do now.
Especially when I've received too many reminders in the last few
sectans about how short life can be."
   She looked him in the eye, "If you have a question you want to
ask me, then let me make things easier for you.  Boxey wouldn't
object because he adores you, and my answer would be a firm yes."
   Apollo chuckled and placed his hands on her head.
   "Spoken like a true reporter who always excelled in cutting
through the felgercarb," he said, "Just one reason why I fell in
love with you even before we met."
   They shared a passionate kiss for more than a centon before
Serina resumed resting her head on his shoulder.
   "How much can you see when the systems work?" her eyes
wandered up to the ceiling.
   "Just imagine a million stars all around you," he said, "Like
riding alone in space in the hand of God."
   She closed her eyes and smiled as her mind summoned a mental
image of Apollo's description, "Mmmmm.  I can see it," she said,
"Tell me which star is Earth's."
   "I wish I could point to it," Apollo said with regret, "But
it's there.  Somewhere among all those tiny points of light."
   Serina said nothing at first.  If she still had all of her
journalistic instincts, she might have asked him a skeptical
question about how he could be so sure that something that only
existed as a mere legend in an ancient text could possibly be so
real, and represent the only thing left for humanity to place its
hopes on.  But with each passing day, Serina had found herself
thinking less and less like a reporter who had to ask tough,
skeptical questions.  Now, she wanted desperately to latch onto
something that offered hope.  And once she'd found something to
have hope in, throw all her energies into making that hope come
true.
   Already, Serina was certain of two things about her future.
That she would spend the rest of her life as Apollo's wife, and
that any future career of hers would be in something other than
journalism.
   Maybe I could even enlist as a warrior, she mused for more
than the first time since the return from Carillon.
   "I wish I had a glass of ambrosia," she finally broke her
silence, "I suddenly feel like making a toast."
   "Oh?" Apollo smiled wryly, "To anything in particular?"
   Serina opened her eyes and looked up at him, "To us," she
said, "And to Earth."
   He kissed her again and it was a long time before either of
them felt like leaving the run-down chamber.

                      Epilogue

   It seemed like an eternity to Baltar since Imperious Leader
had ordered him removed from the Leader's chambers to await
eventual execution.  So great was his fury and rage that the
traitor's mind had scarcely taken note of his being transported
in a shuttle to one of the other basestars, where he'd been
tossed into one of their cold, dark prison cells.
   The only thought that filled his mind was a desire for revenge
against the Cylons.  A desire to make the Imperious Leader learn
to regret the consequences of doublecrossing him.
   There was almost nothing for him to do in the cold cell except
huddle in a corner and let his mind run amuck with fantasies of
how he could pull his desire for revenge off.  To make the Cylons
pay for doublecrossing him and destroying all his dreams of
wealth, power and glory.
   Only briefly, did he stop to think of his people and his wife,
Ayesha.  How they had died as a result of his actions, and
because he had foolishly trusted the Cylons to keep their word.
It didn't take him long to realize that thinking of them was too
much for his psyche to bear.  It only served to make him feel
guilty and bring home the shame of his actions to his tortured
soul.
   It's a sign of weakness to think of them, he thought.  Don't
think of them at all.  Forget them.  Think only of revenge.
Revenge.
   Especially since he knew that if Ayesha were alive and able to
speak to him now, her first instinct would be to spit in his face
and express nothing but hatred for him.  No amounts of pleas
about how he'd done it for her, and wanted to make her a queen of
all humanity would have done any good with her.  For all of her
ambition and greed, this was one idea she never would have
contemplated.  He'd known that.  That was why he'd never summoned
the nerve to tell her about it in advance.
   Already, he'd had one nightmare of seeing Ayesha lying in the
gutter of a prison cell next to him with a look of pure, cold
emotionless hate on her once-beautiful but now battered face.  He
couldn't bear to think of her any longer, because he knew it
would mean more nightmares and more guilt.
   And so he had rechanneled all of his emotions to the single-
minded goal of achieving revenge against the Cylons.  It was the
only thing that literally kept him alive as the cold, dark days
of isolation progressed in his cell.  Only twice a day was a
small container of water shoved inside the door, with no food
provided at all.
   Finally, on the eighth day, his cell door finally opened and
two centurions promptly dragged him out without saying a word to
him.
   As he felt their powerful mechanical arms drag him down the
corridors of the basestar, a sense of inevitability about his
fate began to take hold.  Like a frightened child, he began to
sob hysterically as his mind easily pictured the sight of a
centurion holding the long blade of a battle sword above his
neck.  And then bringing it down in full fury to separate
Baltar's head from his shoulders.
   The centurions herded him into a familiar looking room.
Baltar barely took an instant to glance up and see the sight of
Imperious Leader perched on his throne.
   Finally, the centurions let go of him and Baltar collapsed to
the floor.
   "You are Baltar?" the Leader spoke in a courteous tone of
voice.
   Baltar felt like laughing.  Only a sectan and he's forgotten
already?
   "As though you didn't remember, Your Eminence!" he placed a
heavy amount of sarcasm on the title as he slowly came up to a
kneeling position.
   There was a brief pause before the Cylon ruler spoke.
   "It would seem that my predecessor has left me with a
difficult choice."
   Baltar forced himself to look up at the throne and felt his
inner hysteria give way to befuddlement.
   "Your....predecessor?"
   "Was destroyed by your peers at Carillon," the Leader sighed,
"A victim of the human desire to live."
   Bewilderment went through Baltar.  Imperious Leader dead.  The
object of all his hatred gone forever.
   If he were to have any chance at all, Baltar realized that the
last thing he needed to do was antagonize this new leader.
   "I, I tried to warn him!" Baltar said with deference, "I...I
could have prevented him from----"
   "So it would seem," the Leader said as if in resignation.  He
then gazed down at the traitor, "Since the task of ruling the
Empire fell to me, I have spent much time examining your epistle
Baltar.  In light of the fact that the humans have been able to
escape from our detection, perhaps it is possible that you could
help lead us to them."
   Baltar slowly got to his feet as he felt a sense of
incredulity that this turn of events was taking place.
   "Why, why yes!" he smiled, "Yes Imperious Leader, that is
true.  I, I think as they do.  I, I know where they will go and
what they must do."
   "I find your reasoning quite logical," the Cylon ruler said,
"At this very micron, circumstances have forced me to disperse
much of our Fleet across the reaches of the galaxy and I have
been less than pleased with the lack of progress from my
commanders.  Perhaps it is possible that they lack the necessary
qualities of leadership needed to locate them, that you alone
might possess."
   The traitor felt a relieved smile come over his face,
"Then...I am to be--"
   "Spared." Imperious Leader finished the sentence for him.
   Baltar felt the surge of relief coursing through him to the
point where he felt as though he'd been reborn.
   "To serve the Empire!" he said boldly.
   "Indeed," the Leader nodded, "I shall place you under command
of this very basestar.  The affairs of running the Empire are so
great that I have no intention of being as rash as my predecessor
was, and searching for the Galactica myself.  The entire
complement of centurions aboard this ship will be completely at
your disposal."
   At that instant, the doors behind them opened and an IL Cylon
entered the room.
   "Lucifer," the Cylon ruler spoke, "Take Baltar down to the
lower levels and provide him with some sustenance and fresh
clothing.  See to it that he is fully briefed on the situation.
I shall be leaving to begin my return to Cylon within a centar."
   "By your command, Your Eminence," the IL called Lucifer bowed
and came alongside Baltar, "If you will accompany me, Count
Baltar?"
   With some trepidation, Baltar began to follow Lucifer out of
the throne room.
   "It will be a pleasure to work with you, Baltar," Lucifer said
as they entered the outer corridor, "This should prove to be a
most fascinating and rewarding experience."
   "Indeed," the traitor managed to nod.
   Incredible, Baltar thought to himself.  This is exactly the
turn of events I've been hoping for.  I now have a chance to
extract my revenge against these demons.
   If he had any hope of making his fantasy a reality though,
then two things needed to happen.  He needed to first do just
what the Cylon ruler wanted him to do, and locate the Battlestar
Galactica and her rag-tag fleet of survivors.
   And once he had accomplished that, it would be a matter of
finding the right opportunity to make contact with Commander
Adama and put his plan of achieving revenge against the Cylons
into effect.
   Provided that Adama was willing to take the risk of trusting
him again.

The End