The Sum of All Parts, Episode Three: Convergence By Carla Written for, Battlestar Galactica (1978) stories There is no copyright infringement intended by this story. It is for the purpose of entertainment only. 'There are those who believe that life here, began out there. Far across the universe with tribes of humans who may have been the forefathers of the Egyptians, or the Toltecs, or the Mayans. Some believe that there may yet be brothers of man who even now fight to survive somewhere beyond the heavens.' Chapter One Scene One The view of a star field seemingly retreats to a further relative distance as it is gradually framed by an ovoid view port inset in the exterior bulkhead of the main recreational area of the pleasure cruiser Rising Star, and three young men, one dark, one blonde, and one with light brown hair and dressed in varying styles and shades of casual clothing that constituted the typical civilian Colonial attire of trousers, tunics, boots and jackets come into view "Hey, Apollo!" Captain Apollo turned from where he stood between Starbuck and Bojay, near the currently empty stage in the center of the largest of the recreation areas of the pleasure cruiser Rising Star, to smile in recognition as Lieutenant Boomer approached the group. "Since you're all wearing civilian clothing, does that mean that your lovely wife will be attending the party with you tonight?" Boomer's assumed expression of innocence was belied by the twinkling of humour in his dark eyes. He was one of the few members of the Captain's squadron, indeed of any of the Galactica's warriors, that ever dared to have the temerity to even obliquely refer to the primary reason why the three warriors before him had opted not to wear their usual military garb to attend the festivities that were currently getting underway aboard the Fleet's most common center of social gatherings and large formal functions. Tonight's celebration was being held to honour the official sanction by the Council of the Twelve, the civilian governing body of the Colonial Fleet, of the plan put forth by the Fleet's Technical Support and Infrastructure Section to begin building additional ships in order to expand the residential capacity of the Fleet's population. The plans for the first of these proposed ships were to be unveiled for view by the steady stream of party goers that were arriving from the docking bays and into the Rising Star's main reception areas. Apollo adjusted his dark, Kobollian features into a wry, and slightly uncomfortable, expression as he reluctantly recalled the explosive argument that had broken out, between his wife and himself, in the corridor outside of the decontamination chambers on Alpha Landing Bay. He, Boomer and all of the other pilots who lived and worked aboard the Galactica were well aware that, to date, and to the man, when any of the launch bay technicians that had arrived that mid-daily cycle from the Main Access Junction for their shift rotation in the adjoining bay, roughly five centons after the ignition of Apollo's and Sheba's tempers, were prevailed upon to discuss the incident, they spoke of their experience with a distant tone of awe and something akin to fear. Several centons later, Colonel Tigh had stormed onto the landing bay and stonily ordered the couple to the Commander's quarters. Apollo shuddered slightly as he recalled the way that Adama had stood, arms gesticulating aggressively, verbally disciplining both Apollo and Sheba for their inappropriately public dispute. The two junior officers had each assumed a clearly arrogant attitude of attention before the white-haired warrior in the main chamber of his quarters. Over several long centons, the angry looks on the faces of the young couple had barely diminished, as the Commander's temper had begun to rival the volatility of both his son's and that of his son's wife. "Very well then, Father. If you want us to stop arguing, why don't you just give Sheba her own squadron to order around?" Apollo clearly remembered, and doubted that he would ever forget, the moment that his tongue and lips had betrayed him by releasing his thoughts in a loud and admittedly obnoxious tone, Adama had stepped forward with a look of furious outrage at his son's tone of voice, pointing an index finger upward and opening his mouth to respond to the younger man's insubordinate posture, but, before the words had taken form, Colonel Tigh's calming tone had interrupted them. "Commander," the Colonel had stepped into the center of the triangle formed by the position of the other three warriors' feet, "That's not such a bad idea." Adama had paused, reason suddenly returning to his reddened features as he had raised an eyebrow at his Executive Officer's words and crossed his arms, lifting a fist to rest under his chin and assuming a thoughtful posture. Within one daily cycle there had appeared a posting, on the roster, of a new consolidation of shift rotations into the Valkyrie Squadron, under the command of Lieutenant Sheba. Within two more daily cycles, nearly every female pilot on the battlestar had approached and petitioned Captain Apollo in his capacity as the Strike Leader and Squadron Commander, for a transfer to the 'Valkyries', as they were now commonly called. Not a single male warrior had enlisted to their ranks, and their accuracy and skill evaluations had soon registered as rivalling that of Blue, Red and Silver Spar Squadrons. In the interim between the establishment of the Valkyries and the eventual calming of the domestic dispute between the Captain and Cain's daughter, married at the time of the landing bay incident for not more than four sectons, the couple had taken to the habit of wearing civilian dress when they were in public together in an off-duty capacity. At these times, they were careful to scrupulously disregard their ranks as much as a Colonial Warrior's ever-present duty and vigilance allowed, and did not normally discuss matters of a military nature. The Captain and his wingman, usually Starbuck, still had occasion to fly patrol shift rotations with Sheba and her now regular wingman, Deitra, though these maneuvers were conducted with what both Deitra and Starbuck had been heard to describe as 'icily cold and painfully correct military protocol'. No warrior on the Galactica, with the exception of Lieutenants Athena and Starbuck, had ever dared to question Apollo and Sheba as to what had provoked the initial argument, or what dire threat of punishment the Commander had directed at the couple in warning them against a repetition of their combative breach of military decorum. Neither Apollo's sister, nor his wingman, when asked to describe the responses they had received from the Captain and his wife, would consent to share any information at all. "As a matter of fact, Boomer," Apollo responded, with resigned acceptance, to Boomer's characteristically dry and sometimes caustic tone, "Sheba, Athena, and Cassiopeia should be arriving at any micron. Would you care to stay and remark on their wardrobes as well?" "I'm sure they all look lovely, Skipper," Boomer smiled easily at his three friends, "but I think I'll meander over to the main viewing area and get a look at the specs on our first new ship before the crowd gets any thicker. I hear it's going to have a residential capacity of several dozen." "Thinking of putting your name in for a billet?" Starbuck interjected as he slowly twirled a match stick between a thumb and an index finger, "The residential plan is rumoured to include all the amenities. A far cry from the barracks," the blonde Lieutenant flashed a toothy grin at his fellow Blue Squadron member. "Well, I don't think I could bear to be away from you that long, my friend. What sort of trouble would you get yourself into without me?" "Wilker was saying that the ship is going to take a while to assemble, so I wouldn't pack any bags yet." the Captain scanned the large chamber with his bright green eyes, "It looks like it's going to be quite a party. I'm sure we'll catch up with you later, Boomer, once the girls get here." Boomer nodded and took his leave of the other three off-duty warriors. None of the four felt any sense of the quiet observer in the long, hooded cloak who carefully watched them from across the large chamber, through a decorative grill that discreetly covered the stark opening of the recreation area's main entrance. *** Chapter One Scene Two Baltar stood in the long and curving corridor of plain metal bulkheads and a seemingly endless series of unmarked and uniform hatchways and studied his left hand carefully, flexing each skeletal finger in turn and then turning the hand to study its other side. There was something that he was supposed to be doing right now, but his mind had been trapped in a strange fog. Magnets, that was it. There were magnets somewhere that needed to be covered up. It seemed to Baltar that he had been going to cover them with his hands, but the voice had told him to run to the aft launch bay and come to the other ship. He didn't dare disobey the voice. He couldn't quite remember why, but he knew that he was afraid of the voice, and that the voice was getting a new body soon. Baltar, my old friend. Baltar whirled around, pulling the voluminous sleeve of his tattered cloak down over the hand that had occupied his attention for what had seemed like centaurs. Do not despair, Baltar. All is well. Soon, the conquest of our enemies shall be at hand. You shall have your revenge over your isolation and abandonment, and I shall have dominion over those who have wronged me and taken what was rightfully mine. One of their number shall be taken. It matters not to me which one. Proceed to the bridge and enter the navigational co-ordinates that I will provide. Baltar didn't bother speaking. He never quite knew what to say, and any time he had asked questions, they had remained unanswered. The voice told him to do things, and he did them. Sometimes it seemed to him that his hands worked independently of his mind, as if they were not his hands, but someone else's. Soon, the voice would have hands. Maybe then, it could input co-ordinates and prepare the various chambers for company. The voice said that, soon, Baltar would have company. Company was coming and he had to prepare. The guest chamber was to be prepared with a large locking mechanism on its hatch. The voice didn't want guests wandering into dangerous areas of the ship and getting lost. The lock would keep them safe. As these disjointed thoughts ran sporadically through his mind, Baltar ran steadily along the corridor, his long cloak moving like a torn sail behind him, stopping only when he had arrived at the hatchway that led to the main bridge of the large vessel. Baltar liked this ship. It was clean and quiet, and the mattress that he slept on in the small chamber off of the main bridge was much softer than the one he had left on the basestar. Magnets. He had been going to cover the magnets. He stared at the back of his hand as it keyed in the 'open hatch' sequence on the door panel, and then looked up and into the now open hatchway to the bridge. He rushed inside and over to the navigational array to the left of the central command consoles and the upholstered chair that sat empty before them. Watching distractedly, he saw his hands reach for the controls under the main navigational display and begin keying in a series of numbers and symbols. When they had apparently finished their task, Baltar lifted them and stared at them blankly. Baltar. Baltar reflexively covered his hands with his sleeves and turned quickly, scanning the perimeter of the command chamber with his dark, bloodshot eyes. Baltar you are tired. Rest now. I shall awaken you when it is time. As always, Baltar obeyed the voice, and, with a last look at the main forward view screen and the unfamiliar star field that it currently displayed, he ran lightly over to the hatchway adjacent to the weapon control station behind the command chair and, opening the hatch, quickly entered the small chamber that contained his soft mattress. Drawing his cloak around him like a blanket, he curled up on the mattress and, within centons, was snoring softly, the thin fingers of his wayward hands twitching slowly in apparently random movements. *** Chapter One Scene Three "Pardon, my interruption, Miss," a young recreation officer, with the insignia of the Rising Star on his shoulder, proffered a small slip of neatly folded paper, with an elegantly subdued flourish, to one of three young ladies gathered together in the arrival area of the aft shuttle docking bay of the pleasure cruiser. The blonde woman in the brightly coloured and seductively revealing dress turned as the man in the dark grey service provider's uniform touched her elbow politely with an unobtrusive index finger, "I was asked by a Siress at the main viewing area to deliver this message to Medical Technician Cassiopeia. I am told that is you, Miss." "Oh, why thank you," the young woman accepted the paper and nodded as the recreation officer bowed discreetly and departed. Her companions, a dark-haired woman dressed in pale pink, and the other, with light brown hair complemented by an iridescent blue skirt and long-sleeved tunic, watched in curiosity as their friend unfolded the note and peered at several small handwritten lines of script. Their expressions became more serious, even concerned as the blonde woman inhaled sharply and frowned in surprise. "Cassiopeia," Lieutenant Sheba knitted her own brows as she searched her friend's face with her warm brown eyes, "What is it? Is it bad news?" "I have been bound to a secret," Cassiopeia said simply as she folded the paper in half, and then in half again, tucking it deliberately under the wrist band of her dress's billowing red sleeve. She turned and took two steps toward a nearby view port, "and the longer I keep it, the more wrong it becomes for me to do so," the slender blonde woman turned and gave first Sheba, and then Athena, a wry smile, wordlessly, and a little sadly, but clearly conveying that the secret was one that could not yet be divulged. She sighed and, with some effort, assumed a more cheerful expression, "but Sheba wouldn't know anything about secrets, now, would she?" the med-tech and the bridge officer laughed delightedly as they watched the reddening wave of colour sweep up the Valkyrie Squadron Leader's neck and face. "I'm sure Sheba doesn't know what you mean," Athena mirrored Cassiopeia's earlier wry expression, "but I do know that secrets can eat away at you. Why don't you try to find release from whatever promise you made and free yourself from your conflict?' "That sounds like something your Father would say," Sheba laughed in spite of her flushed face, "are you aspiring to a position on the Galactica as an honoured warrior-priestess?" the brown haired woman spoke in a teasing tone to her sister by marriage, linking arms with both her and Cassiopeia and pulling them gently into a walk along the wide corridor, toward the aft entrance to the main recreation area of the pleasure cruiser Rising Star. "Whatever inner conflicts any of us have to contend with will likely still be in evidence after we've been to the viewing of the plans for the first new ship." Sheba glanced first to her left at Athena, and then to her right at Cassiopeia, "Apollo and I have both got a whole shift rotation furlon together, with no important commitments to keep, and Boxey staying over with Corporal Lena and her niece. I want to spend this first evening cycle going to a party!" "And the second?" Cassiopeia giggled and flashed a white smile at the other two women. "And the third?" Athena chuckled softly with a smile of assumed innocence. "That's none of your affair," Sheba said with mock indignation, then shrugged and smiled happily, pulling at her friends' arms again, laughingly running with them, the three of them followed by the colourful folds of their long skirts, looking like flowers against the stark bulkheads of the exterior wall of the corridor. They were oblivious to the young man who stood watching them glide gracefully together out of sight around the curvature of the path formed by the corridor. He brushed a speck of lint from the insignia on the shoulder of his dark grey uniform, and straightened the small metal plate that bore a single word, a name, etched into its surface, John. *** Chapter One Scene Four Boomer stood, hands resting with thumbs hooked over his gun belt. He was on active duty patrol in four centaurs and had not felt the need to alter his dress for such a short period of attendance at the viewing ceremony. He would have time only for some of the formalities and the dedication that would reveal the proposed name of the Fleet's first newly constructed ship. The dark warrior stood looking thoughtfully at the technical specifications display under the small tent-like kiosk near the large artist's rendering behind the long ovoid platform where several members of the Council of the Twelve were already being seated, in chairs that had been arranged in two vertically staggered rows in anticipation of the politicians' arrival, and the arrival of other dignitaries and persons of note that had been involved in the evolution of the ship construction project. "It will require a lot of resources and specialized labour to build a ship of that complexity without a stationary space dock," Boomer turned his attention to the familiar sound of Doctor Wilker's voice. The young warrior nodded at the Chief Science Officer as the slightly built older man in the light coloured uniform tunic moved to stand beside the younger, more muscular, warrior. "It looks like your proposals regarding practical construction protocols were taken seriously," Boomer gestured toward the data displayed in the kiosk before them. then scanned the quickly filling chamber with his dark brown eyes, "and I don't see anyone protesting the prospect of more living area for the Fleet's population. It's not easy for those that share cramped quarters on some of the older cargo vessels." "If all goes according to plan," Wilker crossed his arms and looked dejectedly toward the only remaining empty chair behind those now occupied by all of the members of the Council of the Twelve, save Commander Adama, who had managed to beg off from taking part in the pageantry of the predominantly civilian event by pleading administrative military obligations that required his personal attention. Adama. That clever old strategist could have let me off the hook, as well, Wilker returned his attention to the young man beside him, "If all goes according to plan," he began again, "construction of the new ship should be completed within a yahren." "Looks like they're ready for you on the platform, Doctor," Boomer glanced over at the Inter-Fleet Broadcasting crew that were setting up discreetly in front of a small alcove at the end of the platform opposite the kiosk, and Sire Domra, standing in front of his own chair in the center of the group of Councillors, waving a beckoning gesture in the direction of the two men framed by the blue fabric of the opening of the display kiosk, "I don't think that Sire Domra is gesturing for me to fill that empty chair," the younger man gave the morose scientist a look of sympathy, knowing how little Wilker enjoyed participating in such functions. He was also well aware that the Doctor's primary reason for being here, and subjecting himself to public scrutiny, was to ensure that the agreed upon protocols regarding the new ship's design and construction would be instituted just as the Council had promised the intractable science officer during what had been some heated and near hostile negotiations between the Technical Section and the Civilian Government. "I suppose I'd better get it over with," the Doctor sighed dejectedly and began to step toward the vigorously gesticulating Domra, then paused and turned back to face Boomer once more, "Oh, and Lieutenant, if you have a chance before your next duty period," Wilker eyed the battle dress and sidearm that Boomer was wearing, "stop in on Calvin. Paye's been allowing him to study the specs on the new ship. It seems to center him enough to get him to cooperate during the radiation neutralizing treatments. His memory engrams appear to be responding. Paye says Calvin remembered you visiting him and discussing the effects of the magnetic ore that have incapacitated him. You may be able to help stimulate his recollection of the trauma that initially caused him to steal the ore from the lab to build that portable scanner shield. Paye and Salik both believe that a breakthrough like that might help to diminish the severity of his psychotic episodes." "Sure, Doc," Boomer nodded firmly, "I'll head over to the trauma care section after the dedication," the young warrior looked down at the display on his wrist chronometer, "If I duck out before the Council's collective speech making capacity reaches a terminal point of warm air generation, that should, hopefully, give me about two centaurs before I have to meet my wingman in the launch bay. According to the roster, it's a training patrol. I'm being teamed up with a cadet who needs one more mission evaluation by a ranking pilot before being assigned to a shift rotation with the Valkyries. I'll try my best to get Calvin to talk to me for a centaur, if he's feeling lucid today, and then head to the launch bay from there." Wilker mirrored Boomer's next nod with an air of gratitude for the pilot's offer to visit Wilker's former lab-tech, Calvin. The effects of the formerly sedate lab technician's exposure to the dangerously toxic electromagnetic radiation from one of the ore samples, collected by the Galactica's survey team before the destruction of the mysteriously Cylon-infested, artificially constructed planet that the Fleet had encountered almost half a yahren ago, had left Calvin with a tenuous grasp on reality. The fact that he had clearly recalled the details of a previous visit from Boomer, was an indication to the medical specialists that their patient's mind might be emerging from behind the fog of the radiation poisoning. Doctor Wilker then assumed a grim expression and turned back toward the chair and the public relations duties that awaited him on the platform. Boomer moved away from the kiosk, around the perimeter of the end of the platform, to stand in the front row of the observation area with the ever expanding crowd of people that had almost filled the main viewing area to capacity. *** Chapter One Scene Five "Cassiopeia!" Starbuck lifted his hand and called out in the direction of Cassiopeia's blonde hair. It's distinctive curls stood out amongst a majority of darker shades that graced the heads of other partygoers in the crowd that was expanding in numbers around him while he, Apollo and Bojay made their way, together, to the main observation gallery at the forward of the ship. The three young men, standing together in a loose, but roughly triangular formation beside the nearest access corridor that led directly to the main viewing area were dressed in civilian garb, but had not discarded the straight stance and wary postures that were distinctive among the ranks of the Warriors of the Colonial Fleet. Apollo's white teeth brightened his dark features with a smile as he saw his wife, with his sister and his friend Cassiopeia held such that her arms interlinked in theirs, approach him with her own, rarely seen, carefree posture. The watery blue tunic and skirt that Sheba wore glittered slightly under the soft lighting elements inset into the low ceiling of the short, but wide, corridor that would allow them a direct entrance to the viewing area. She smoothly disentangled herself from the crook'd arms of the other two women, and stepped forward to place her hand in his. They held each others' gaze for a micron, then turned their united attention toward the other four people in their group. "Let's get in there before the crowd stands still in this corridor," Bojay touched the small of Athena's back with the flatness of his left palm, and ushered the dark young woman gracefully, as one would lead a dance, through the congesting crowd with a beckoning wave to the others. "Come on, Apollo," Starbuck smiled merrily at his Captain, friend and wingman, turned to kiss Cassiopeia soundly on the lips, then returned his attention to the dark haired man beside him, "Bojay's right, the great and near great belong in the viewing area, not in the corridor," giggling mischievously, Starbuck and Cassiopeia followed in Bojay and Athena's wake. "You look very lovely this evening cycle, Sheba," Apollo said in a playful attitude of formality, lifting his wife's hand and kissing her fingers gently, "And you look very happy," he looked into her brown eyes, "It's nice to have a couple of daily cycles to ourselves," he exhaled a deep breath in an uncharacteristically relaxed manner and grinned cheerfully, "I've been looking forward to us spending some off-duty time together before evening meal with the family, day after tomorrow," He cocked his head in a slightly dramatic attitude, "then it's back to primary shift rotations, and staggered duty periods in the barracks, to relieve some of the single personnel waiting for their furlons." "I am only interested in the next two daily cycles, Apollo," she cocked her head and eyed him speculatively, "I've discovered that I am enjoying Adama's edict that we go out together, in all but periods of alert status or battle readiness, only in civilian clothing," Sheba gently pulled her hand from his to grasp his elbow instead, and leaned close to him, brushing her lips against his earlobe, "I've noticed that you can be a lot of fun when you don't have your rank insignia on your collar." "Careful," he turned and whispered amusedly into her nearest ear, "disobeying Adama's edict about discussing issues of rank in an off-duty setting could have us assigned to training the cadets in the flight simulator section until Boxey has elevated from the highest level of learning period." he kissed her neck lightly, "My father and Colonel Tigh have informers everywhere, you know." he smiled as he pulled her forward, her arm securely linked to his, through the crowd that was still pouring into the access corridor, following the direction that their four companions had taken. Behind the departing couple, a slender female figure that had stood quite still and quiet with her back to the Captain, leaning against the nearest wall of the corridor, unnoticed by either Sheba or Apollo, lowered the large, desert-style hood of her cloak. The youthful features of her face were strikingly symmetrical, with prominent cheekbones surrounded by an unruly mane of black hair. The cloak fell open at the collar, revealing the uniform tunic and flight jacket of a Colonial Warrior. There were no rank insignia in evidence on her collar, suggesting that she was not an officer, but an enlisted warrior, or a cadet. She smiled thoughtfully, her dark face releasing enough of its serious expression to allow a hint of amusement to escape from within the depths of her intensely green eyes as she watched the couple disappear from her line of sight to make their way through the constantly shifting crowd and into the main viewing area. *** Chapter One Scene Six "...and now, it is my great privilege, and pleasure, to represent the Council of the Twelve, the Technical Support and Infrastructure Section and the Science Section, in dedicating the launch of the first stage of construction of the first Colonial Fleet Residential Cruiser, to be named the Auricon," Domra nodded his grey head, signaling to the young recreation officer who stood ready to remove, with a flourish, the silky red cloth that had been covering the large metal plate with the designation of the new ship etched in simple block letters on it's reflective surface. The plate was to be ultimately mounted on a bulkhead near the navigation control of the yet-to-be constructed ship, the 'Auricon'. The young woman in the long concealing desert-style cloak that covered her pilot's uniform stayed near the back of the crowd, not far from the access corridor into the forward observation gallery. She leaned her athletic body against the corner formed as the edge of the corridor wall became the entryway. She looked down at the display on her wrist chronometer, took in a deep breath through her nostrils and breathed it out slowly between her lips. "Deep cleansing breath?" the young man in the recreation officer's uniform, hands clasped correctly behind his back, red cloth draped neatly over his arm, moved in closely to speak to the woman in a quiet whisper, "Did your father teach you to do that?" the young man had a truly amused smile and a perceivable twinkle in his eye. "As a matter of fact, yes, he did," the young woman's green eyes returned a measure of the twinkle in the eyes of the man in the grey uniform, then she glanced once more at her chronometer and sighed, "I would have liked to speak with them," she smiled wryly at her companion, "but don't worry, I won't be tempted again. I have to meet Boomer at the launch bay." "Yes, indeed," the recreation officer turned with the warrior in the cloak and walked with her through the corridor and into the main observation gallery, "You can get to the next shuttle departing from the Rising Star to the Galactica by simply walking this way," he reached over to take her arm...after a slight feeling of compression from the air surrounding her, the young woman's next awareness was of the two of them standing two decks down, in the small reception area adjacent to the port passenger shuttle boarding access. "Thanks for the lift, John," the pilot lowered her hood and peered at his face, "are you sure no-one recognized you?" "There are only two here who have seen me, and I presented them, at the time, with a much older version," he crossed his arms complacently across his chest, "and during the course of the dedication ceremony, they have each, in turn, stood as close to me as you are standing now, and did not recognize me," his expression became paternal, "See that no-one recognizes you." "How could they? They've not met me, yet," the young warrior resisted the strong emotions that welled up in her chest, then took another of those deep, cleansing breaths, and calmed herself, "Will you be here when Lieutenant Boomer and I get back from our patrol?" "We shall see how events unfold," he responded enigmatically, "Yours is not my only assignment, my dear," he allowed her a tone akin to affection, "There is another matter that requires my attention." "Very well, then," the young woman pulled her voluminous hood once again over her black hair and started for the access to the Galactica bound shuttle. "Artemis," the woman turned at the sound of the young man's voice, "do be careful, won't you? We can't have anything happening to you, or to Lieutenant Boomer." The woman smiled briefly into her companion's eyes, her dark face remaining in the shadows of her cloak, and then silently made her way through the boarding access to the shuttle. The young recreation officer took a deep, cleansing breath, and looked up dramatically at the ceiling of the small reception chamber, arms still crossed, "I know, I know," he uncrossed his arms and wagged a slightly rebuking finger at the ceiling panel, "but we all know very well that I can only work with what I am given. Artemis was the only logical choice. Her impulsive nature is irrelevant. Events are unfolding, as they will, and I must get back to my other assignment, as Artemis must get started on hers." The young man spread his arms with a slight shrug of his shoulders and, with a barely audible sound of rushing air, was gone, disappearing as though into the air, and leaving the reception area empty. *** Chapter One Scene Seven "So, Calvin," Boomer sat down in a chair near the work top where Calvin sat poring over a display of the latest specifications of the yet-to-be-built residential cruiser, Auricon, "Doctor Wilker tells me that you've been feeling a little better," the warrior pulled his chair closer to the work top so that he sat opposite the former lab-tech, "I have to leave on a patrol soon, so I can't stay long. I just wanted to ask you some more about the magnetic ore." Doctor Paye had, on Boomer's arrival at the medical complex, advised him to be direct with Calvin, in hopes of stimulating regeneration of the fragmented memory engrams in the patient's brain and thus reversing the toxic and perception distorting effects of the radiation. "The astral map wasn't the most important thing in the star chamber," Calvin paused in his study of the data display inset into the wall against which one width of the rectangular work top was built and focused his dark blue eyes on Boomer's face. He spoke in an expressionless tone, "it was the ore. It was constructed with an organically modeled matrix and programmed to crystallize. The planet was grown" "Calvin?" Boomer, encouraged by this string of apparently lucid speech, leaned forward and stared deeply into Calvin's eyes, "do you know why you're here, in the care section?" "Lots of nice people here," the dark blue eyes clouded over with a vague expression of vacancy, "they let me read the specs. I like to build things." "Calvin," Boomer tried another tack, "Do you recall building the portable scanner shield? Do you remember just before you took the ore out of the shielded storage section?" the young warrior leaned back into his chair, seeing that his questions were met with a blank stare. "The ore is a conduit for communication," Calvin's eyes focused once more and he reached out to grasp Boomer's forearm, where it sat on the work top between the two men, "It was a medium for him to attempt to destroy the Thirteenth Tribe, but the warrior-priests saw through his lies and stopped their work on the planet. They planted a jungle to grow over the entryways to the power generation devices below and programmed the emitters to give a false scanning signal," Calvin shot a worried look at the door, and gestured for Boomer to lean closer to him once again. When Boomer had come closer, Calvin leaned toward the Lieutenant's ear and whispered, "When Iblis moved through the artificially programmed matrix, it absorbed the electronically interpreted structure into its own basic construct, "Iblis didn't see me, but I saw him. He was going to strike Jain down and I pushed her, but she broke through the rail." Boomer lifted his eyebrows in wonder. This was clearly a breakthrough. Calvin was remembering the first of at least two serious acts of violence that he was believed to have committed, the injury inflicted on Agro-Tech Jain. Boomer knew full well that Starbuck was convinced that Jain had been influenced, at the time, by the insidious Count Iblis, the mysterious manipulator that Apollo and Sheba had, after their bizarre disappearance and reappearance just before the destruction of the concealed basestar that had terrorized the fleet for sectons, staunchly referred to as an incarnation of Mephistopheles. The strange and enigmatic alien had been with the Fleet for a time, so long ago, it seemed to Boomer, and had, if Starbuck was correct, influenced the agro-tech's mind and caused her to become obsessed with Apollo and Sheba. Boomer distantly recalled a time when he, himself, had been the target of the Count's mesmerizing power, then shook his head determinedly and returned his focus to the thin, dishevelled man who sat before him, across the work top. Calvin had suffered from the influence of the electromagnetic ore that has comprised the source of the power for the portable scanner shield that he had made from parts scavenged from Wilker's science lab. He had experienced a sudden psychotic break, at some point, theorized by Paye to be during a time when he, Calvin, had been involved in Lieutenant Starbuck's enormous wagering pool, an entity that had come to involve high stakes and wide-spread wagers on various aspects of Apollo and Sheba and their relationship to one another. Calvin's mind had retreated, somehow, into a delusion that he was an ancient warrior sent to save the couple from some un-named evil. Un-named, that is, until now. Boomer felt a cold chill of realization over the impact of what Calvin was providing with his disjointed speech, independent confirmation of the determined claims made by Starbuck, Apollo and Sheba, that Count Iblis, an evil being intent on the destruction of humanity, had returned to the Galactica in some disembodied form and influenced the minds of certain people in order to exact his revenge on those who had prevented him from fulfilling his agenda to control and then ultimately destroy the Colonial Fleet. "Ask the angel behind you, if you don't believe me," Calvin's eyes clouded with confusion once more, as he peered carefully over Boomer's shoulder, "he's brought a Valkyrie to help you prevent the disruption. You must rescue Baltar, help him the same way you're helping me, and get him back to the Galactica. Without him, the Valkyrie won't exist. Cain can give you the potion, but you have to destroy the Oberon," Calvin's unfocused eyes returned to the display monitor on the wall, "the specs for the new ship, we have to cover up the magnets." "Well, Calvin," Boomer rose from his chair, knowing from the experience of his previous visits, that Calvin had become unaware of the Lieutenant's presence, but speaking to him hopefully, all the same, "I have to be going now. I'll come and see you when I get back." Boomer turned to leave the term care section, pausing only to quickly brief Doctor Paye on the substance of his conversation with Calvin, and suggest that a report of it be submitted to the Commander, with Boomer's notice of intention to report to Adama upon the Lieutenant's return from patrol duty. He grasped wrists with the Doctor, then headed into the corridor and toward the lift access that would take him up to the Access Junction, from where he could take the short walk to the launch bay, and the wingman that waited for him. Calvin turned his bleary eyes and watched Boomer's back disappear through the hatchway, then lifted his face to squint at the man in white who stood before him. The man smiled and touched Calvin's shoulder, sending a feeling of warmth and well-being through the troubled man's senses, and then, as Calvin had seen him do on other occasions, he disappeared with a small sound of rushing air. *** Chapter One Scene Eight Cassiopeia scanned the recreation area with her pale blue eyes. unconsciously touching the note that still lay securely tucked in the band at the end of her flowing red sleeve. "Hey, Cassie," Starbuck moved from behind her and slid his arms around her waist, bending to kiss her bare shoulder, "you don't look like you're having a very good time. You've been scanning the crowds. Who are you looking for?" he gazed at the line of her jaw for a micron, then loosened his grasp on her and stepped to face her directly, taking her hands in his, "If there's something you need some help with..." "Oh, Starbuck," Cassiopeia sighed, and smiled at him sweetly, though sadly, then threw her arms impulsively around his neck, whispering in his ear, "If I were to conceal something, keep a secret from you, that could upset you? Would you be able to forgive me, even if it made you very angry, hurt you badly?" "Cass," Starbuck stepped back, without releasing her hands and looked at her with a frown of concern, "Does this have to do with, well, with Commander Cain?" Starbuck searched her face with his eyes, "It seems as though you've been preoccupied on and off ever since Sheba came home with that flinton," he pulled her hands together and held them to his chest, "It's alright to admit that you still have feelings for him, you know. We, neither of us Cassie, have any entitlement to point fingers at each others complicated personal lives." "Starbuck, it's not like that. Yes, I will always love him, but, no, I wouldn't leave you for him if he were to return. It's you that I'm in love with, that I want to be with, any way that can work between us," Cassiopeia looked deeply into Starbuck's eyes, "It was more the way Sheba gained renewed hope of seeing her father, how important it is to her, I just couldn't stop thinking of you and..." "Hey, Starbuck," Bojay appeared from behind Cassiopeia and threw an arm around each of the two blue-eyed blondes before him, assuming an expression of mock severity, "You two look serious, and that's not allowed. Captain's orders," Bojay removed his left arm from Cassiopeia's pale shoulder, and pointed toward the table at which Apollo, Sheba, and Athena sat, laughing as they watched the comic acrobatic performance being played out on the central platform. The two tiered row of chairs that had graced the platform during the dedication ceremony had been removed to make way for the various forms of entertainment that had been scheduled to appear throughout the course of the evening cycle's festivities, "Have your serious conversations tomorrow. Tonight we all have a good time," Bojay squeezed Starbuck's neck in a mock suggestion of a submission hold and smiled brightly at the two, gesturing for them to follow as he made his way toward the table. "Starbuck, I..." Cassiopeia opened her mouth, a sad look crossing her face. "Cassiopeia," Starbuck let go of her hands and placed his palms gently on either side of her delicately featured face, "Whatever it may be that's troubling your conscience, even if it's a secret that I'd be angry about, would never change the fact that I love you," the Lieutenant was relieved to see the light brightening once more in Cassiopeia's eyes, "Does that help?" "Yes. Yes it does," Cassiopeia smiled at him gratefully, "I hope that it's true in practice as well as theory." "Cass, whatever it is, we'll deal with it together, I promise," Starbuck lowered his arms and reached for one of her small hands, squeezing it gently with his own, "but, for now, we're out, in civilian clothes no less, in order to blend in with Apollo and Sheba," Starbuck could not avoid laughing at the reminder of Adama's edict that the Captain and his wife must appear only in civilian clothing, if they were to be in a public together during off-duty periods. Apollo had suffered the mirth of his wingman, as he had that of Boomer, for several sectons, now, and every Blue Squadron Pilot had made a habit of storing a spare flight suit and sidearm, along with the usual regulation back-up gear, in the utility cabinets adjacent to each of the launch bays, in the event of a full alert that might catch them unprepared for battle readiness, should they be socializing with the Skipper. Giles had put it succinctly, 'I just don't feel comfortable in my uniform around the Skipper when he looks so civilian.' Starbuck smiled at the thought, but it was true that Apollo was a different person without his uniform on, calmer, less volatile, definitely less authoritative, and much less argumentative with his new wife, "so let's set it aside for this evening cycle." "You're right, Starbuck," Cassiopeia struggled to put a more carefree look on her face, "it will wait for another day," she pulled at the hand that grasped her own and started leading him in the direction of the table that currently accommodated their four companions, "for tonight, we'll let it go. After that, remember your promise, because you might not be happy with me." "I couldn't imagine staying mad at you for long, my fairy princess," Starbuck flashed a toothy smile and lifted her fingers to his lips, kissing her knuckles softly, "now, shall we go and join the others for a while? Looks to me like you could use some fun." The two blondes smiled at one another for a several microns, looking deeply into one another's eyes, Cassiopeia feeling a little more hope that things would be alright, and Starbuck feeling concern, but also certainty that, for the usually ebullient Cassiopeia, whatever her secret was, it needed to be told in order for her to have peace of mind. He silently promised himself that, no matter what it was or how it affected him, he would not be the cause of that light disappearing from her eyes. *** Chapter One Scene Nine "Here, better drink your daily allotment of anti-toxin before we head up to make those repairs, Colonel Tolen." The young man looked up at the sound of his name. Even though it had been many sectons since the ranking bridge officer of the Battlestar Pegasus had received a field promotion to the rank of Colonel, the title still seemed unfamiliar, like a new jacket, more comfortable after it has been worn for a time. Tolen nodded as he took the plaston tumbler full of dull grey liquid from Sergeant Roman, the field medic that had been appointed as the battlestar's Chief Medical Officer, and downed it as one quick swallow. Tolen, indeed every member of the small crew, would continue to ingest their allotted quantity of anti-toxin, every daily cycle, until the supply ran out. After that, if they did not power down the magnetic shield that surrounded the ship, dementia would begin to set in. One member of the crew had come close to the brink of death in the early stages of the scanner shield installation, some sectons ago, before the cause of the radiation poisoning had been determined. The anti-toxin had been developed at break-neck speed, and since been distributed to every crew member at regular intervals and in carefully monitored allotments. It was the best thing, the only thing, available to help the sleep-deprived crew to stave off the perception altering effects of the radiation poisoning. Tolen smiled pleasantly at the Sergeant. Rank notwithstanding, with the small number of men that worked, in precisely co-ordinated shift rotations, to keep the Battlestar Pegasus operating under its current state of concealment, Tolen did not discourage familiarity among the crew. They were all tired and underweight, and weakened by the effects of the electromagnetic radiation that moved through their bodies when the scanner shield was operational. Tolen knew well that morale was a priority. As fervent as the skeleton crew of volunteers were in their intentions to follow their Commander anywhere he might choose to lead them, they still needed to retain some measure of hope that they would soon reunite with the Colonial Fleet. The electromagnetic scanner shield was generated by a mechanism that drew its power directly from the ship's main, and currently only, operational, generator. This energy was then filtered through a shielded storage chamber that contained at least twenty-five mega-kilons of the artificially seeded crystalline ore that the Pegasus crew had madly rushed to mine before the return of several entire platoons and ground force units of Cylon centurions to the planet that had been constructed, as Tolen had gleaned from holo-images he had hurriedly snapped of the writings in- and out- side the ancient temple that had contained the star chamber, put there by an anomalous branch of the Thirteenth Tribe, possibly an off-shoot, or sect of the Tenth Lord's last platoon of Warrior-Priests, who purportedly upheld the rule of law, kept the peace and supported the duly elected civil authority in conjunction with the variance of religious and military systems that each of their sects adhered to. These were a group of people that had been considered by many Colonial scholars and investigators of history, both civilian and military, to be the originators of the military clans that had run a ribbon of family lines and traditions through generations of Warriors and Public Servants that had once reinforced the fabric of the largely egalitarian Colonial society, before the Destruction. Now, the only two lines that remained were the two courses displayed on the vertical screen of transparent tylium in the lower gallery aft of the command platform of the Colonial Battlestar Pegasus. One was designated as representing the projected heading through space of the Battlestar Galactica. The other was an understated representation of the high speed marathon, through Cylon held territory, of the Battlestar Pegasus, crippled by its dependency on the toxic and structurally unpredictable ore, but unable to turn off the shield without risking detection by the basestar that the Pegasus crew knew well was still within scanner range of the battlestar's current position. Tolen and his shipmates also knew that the only chance that they had for survival, even before their revered Commander had ordered it begun, was the race out of the Cylons' scanner range, so as to intersect with the Galactica and her Fleet in time to have the Galactica's doctors synthesize a replenishment of the anti-toxin treatment that the Pegasus crew had formulated using the data banks in the near deserted medical complex of the now sparsely populated ship. It was their only chance, and it made their course of action clear. 'Get to the Galactica, or die trying.' These had been Cain's own words. "Thanks, Roman," Tolen returned the empty glass to the medic and keyed a series of commands on the console before him. "Commander, by your leave, Sir," the young Colonel tapped a signal key that would initiate a chiming sound over the audio system in the Commander's quarters. "Yes, Tolen," the gravelly voice of the hardened, battle-weary, but ever dedicated, Cain was unmistakeable to Tolen, his staunch right hand. "Sir, I'm heading up to the forward storage section with Roman. There's a small crack in the secondary bulkhead. We'll be up there welding an airtight girdle of decking plates around the stress points. It should take about 2 centaurs, Commander." "Very well then, Tolen, I'm on my way to relieve you now." "Very good, Sir. Tolen out." Tolen and Roman picked up the portable tech-kits that had become a standard piece of equipment for them, and for every other member of the crew. Maintenance shifts were carried out relentlessly, by all of them, including the Commander, in steady rotation. If they were to meet with the Galactica, they must keep the stress fractured Pegasus from breaking into pieces before then. *** Chapter One Scene Ten "So, Bojay," Sheba said, with an amused tone that she did not bother to conceal from her long-time friend and some-time wingman. She studied Bojay and Athena from her place at the ovoid table that the two currently shared with Sheba and Apollo, "When are you actually going to admit to the Commander that you're engaged to his daughter?" "Now, Sheba," Cassiopeia chided as she took her seat beside the Valkyrie Squadron Leader, smiling endearingly up at Starbuck as he slid the blonde med-tech's chair smoothly under her slender frame, his hands lingering on her shoulders before he took his own seat beside her, "I thought we were all putting our secrets and conflicts aside for the evening cycle," she gave Sheba a conspiratorial side-long glance. "What's that mean?" Bojay lifted his eyebrows at his sometime wingman and dearest friend, "Sheba, do you have a secret conflict that you'd like to share with the group?" Sheba and Apollo turned to share a look with one another, neither responding to Bojay's remark, and looking to their friends as if they were attempting not to laugh. "No conflict, Bojay," Sheba grinned at her husband, who leaned back silently into the upholstery of his chair and took a slow sip from the mug of ale that he had plucked from a passing server's tray while his wife neatly avoided Bojay's question. "I just think that evening meal with Adama would be a lot more comfortable if you didn't appear to be quite so, what's the word?" Sheba tapped her chin with an index finger, and then snapped it in an attitude of inspiration, with its neighbouring finger, against her thumb, "frightened, no terrified." "Don't be too hard on him, Sheba," Apollo laughed softly as he place his mug on the table before him, "You know very well that Father's been deliberately making him suffer." "If only there was a family member who could intervene on his behalf," Athena projected an accusatory tone toward her brother, "someone who could speak to Father in whatever archaic male language is required?" "Yes, Apollo," Sheba, indeed the entire group, eyed Apollo with expressions forming an incongruous mixture of reproach and merriment, "Why don't you speak with him? I've heard you and my esteemed Second Father speak archaic male quite fluently at times. Perhaps you could find some reason to be nice to Bojay that doesn't involve actually admitting that, when it comes to Athena, you are both excessively protective and resistant, to the point of denial, to the concept of her seeing anyone, let alone getting married. It's understandable, but it's a little restrictive." Apollo was initially taken aback by Sheba's directness regarding his rather complex family relationships, and his sister's as yet unspoken, but evident, intention to marry Bojay. However, he had admitted to himself that there were many layers and structures of conduct involved among the three warriors that constituted the triad of his immediate family, father, son, and daughter. He smiled at his wife, seeing her directness as a reminder that she was now his family as well, then turned to look into his sister's blue eyes, so like his own in intensity, if not in colour. "Very well then, Athena," the off-duty Captain assumed a tone that conveyed a discernable measure of sincere formality, "I will speak with Father. Though I am not certain that he is not still angry with me," Apollo turned once more to share a pained look with his wife, the other object of Adama's recent wrath. They both visibly shuddered as they recalled the fury with which they had been disciplined, by Adama, for their dispute in the landing bay, now several sectons ago. Aside from the dress restriction, the one truly public admonishment that the Commander had imposed upon the insubordinate couple was that they must each, independently of one another, spend at least three shift rotation periods per secton conducting Colonial Fleet Warrior Training instruction on the finer points of command strategies and self-discipline. Neither officer could recall a class so far that had not included at least one student who was unable to maintain a straight face throughout the entire period. The situation was made even more painful for the two, in that their own squadron members often attended these events in numbers of six or more so as to audit the training period, ostensibly, to refresh their own skills in self-control and leadership. Apollo and Sheba had each been suffering stoically, in the face of the outright, and contagious giggles of Valkyrie's and Blue Squadron members alike, counting the sectons until their teaching duties would be mercifully ended. "Sheba," Starbuck spoke in a distracted manner as he studied the inevitable fumarello that had appeared in his mobile fingers, "What were you saying about you having a secret?" Starbuck began his equally inevitable search for a match, but was interrupted in his pursuit by the sweetly smiling Sheba, who was reaching carefully along the table past Cassiopeia, and igniting her father's flinton, holding the small flame steady as Starbuck accepted the proffered light. Though Sheba had never smoked, she kept the flinton as a talisman, and reminder, of her legendary father, and had grown into the habit of carrying it with her at all times and keeping it fueled and serviceable. "I was talking about us all putting our various secrets and conflicts aside for the evening cycle," Sheba snapped the flinton's lid over the flame, extinguishing it, and slipped the small icon into a tiny pocket sewn into the sleeve of her tunic. The iridescent blue folds of material moved with her, in a rippling cascade, as she turned toward her husband, and then spoke sweepingly to the others at the table, "We should all walk through the 'Twelve Worlds of Horticultural Biospheres' exhibit, and then join the torch light procession, in remembrance of those who are absent in the flesh." Apollo set down his now empty mug and rose from his chair, taking Sheba's hand and pulling her gently to her feet. Stepping away from the table, his wife beside him, he smiled brightly at their companions. "Let's go and do that," Apollo's dark skin contrasted with the flash of a white tunic collar under the dark casual jacket that the young man adjusted and straightened before he turned to look at his blonde friend, "Starbuck, you can set aside your curiosity long enough to walk through a botanical exhibit, can't you?" Apollo laughed in an easy-going fashion that each person in the group had noticed taking prevalence in his typical off-duty demeanor, "We'll see you all over there," he called over his shoulder as he and his wife walked, arm in arm, through the crowd toward the greenery of the botanical exhibits. *** Chapter One Scene Eleven Commander Adama sat erect in the chair behind his desk, rubbing the fingers of his right hand absently on the work top. The white haired warrior stopped the movement of his hand and directed it instead to key in the 'play back' command on the work top console, beside the designation display identifying the recorded audio log of Lieutenant Boomer's visit with Calvin. Paye had, on the Lieutenant's recommendation, forwarded a record of the conversation directly to the Commander's desk console receiver. The Commander leaned forward with a thoughtful frown as he concentrated on Lieutenant Boomer's deep, mellow, voice, 'I have to leave on a patrol soon, so I can't stay long...'. Adama paused the play back function with the tap of a finger, and looked up from the work top to share a confused look with Colonel Tigh. The dark man had been standing near the main corridor entry, adjacent to Adama's desk, his arms crossed in front of him, his brows knitted in concern as well as confusion. "Commander, that was about six centaurs ago. It sounds from his own words, like Boomer was planning to make his way to the launch bay directly after his visit with Calvin, but there was no patrol due to launch until just a few centons ago," Tigh stepped forward to place his hands on the desk, leaning forward to share a grim look with Adama, "Lieutenant Jolly is certain that Boomer and he were to take that patrol together, but we can't find Boomer anywhere on the ship." "We'll need some verification of Lieutenant Boomer's movements before we start sounding any alerts," The Commander leaned back slightly in his chair, the muscles in his jaw clenching unconsciously, "Tigh, tell Jolly to bring me Blue Squadron's copy of the roster. Paye said Boomer spoke to Wilker on the Rising Star before he went to see Calvin. Get Corporal Komma over there to give Wilker that excuse he wanted to get out of attending the dedication ceremony. Tell Komma not to cause a stir, and have him check in, discreetly, with the Flight Commander while he's there. Apollo and Sheba are planning to stay over the evening cycle for the torch light procession. Have Komma ask whether Apollo made some last micron changes to Boomer's shift rotation. We may be simply looking at a clerical error, but it is not like Apollo, nor any of the other Squadron Leaders, to neglect to properly record a patrol on the main schedule. "Yes, Sir. I'll get right on it," Tigh nodded succinctly and hurried out into the main corridor, the door closing automatically behind him. Adama reached over and adjusted the play back function on the console once more, his expression becoming even more grim as he listened once more to the words that Calvin had spoken to Boomer, "Ask the angel behind you, if you don't believe me. He's brought a Valkyrie to help you prevent the disruption. You must rescue Baltar, help him the same way you're helping me, and get him back to the Galactica. Without him, the Valkyrie won't exist. Cain can give you the potion, but you have to destroy the Oberon." The Oberon, Adama paused the play back once more, and rose from his chair to cross the main chamber of his quarters, stopping in front of the view port, gazing out into the star field, and remembering the name of a ship that he had been certain had been destroyed, in front of his own eyes, at least thirty yahrens ago. *** Chapter One Scene Twelve The lighting elements inset in the ceiling over interior edge of the forward observation gallery of the pleasure cruiser Rising Star had been powered down. Through the darkened gallery, party goers walked with a steady stream of small, hand-held torch lamps, floating past the star field that cast its soft light through the transparent tylium of the observation panels in the outer bulkheads. "It looks to me like you've been having a good time this evening," Apollo spoke quietly to the brown haired woman walking at his side within the stream of the torch light procession, his voice subdued to blend with the gentle murmur of the crowd that moved with the two of them, through the observation gallery, toward the access to the main recreation area, "are you worried you won't have another furlon for a while?" the Captain squeezed Sheba's hand and laughed softly, in a gently mocking tone. "Can't a girl have a good time without an ulterior motive, Skipper?" Sheba whispered into Apollo's ear. "Hey, no ranks. Remember," he leaned closer to her, managing a stern tone at a low volume, "Adama and Tigh have informers everywhere." "Well then, we'd better give them the slip," Sheba giggled impulsively, tightening her grip on her husband's hand and stepped out of the flow of people now turning to step through the wide, low-ceilinged corridor that led into the large main recreation chamber. As evidenced by the music and flashes of vari-coloured lights that filtered out from the larger chamber and into the darkened main corridor, the first of two nights of festivities for the people of the Fleet, in celebration of the planned expansion of their living area, was already under way. The couple slipped through a nearby reception area, and turned down the narrow corridor that led to officers' section of the large block of guest quarters that had been reserved, by Colonel Tigh, for all warriors' convenience during the festivities aboard the Rising Star. The Colonel well knew that all of his pilots needed at least one or two evening cycles, on occasion, to let go of their responsibilities as far as they were able, given the uncertainty of the Cylon threat these last sectons. Though the people of the Fleet had relaxed somewhat, as had the alert status, after the concealed Cylon basestar had been destroyed and a general recovery had been made from the shambles left by the sealing celebration perpetrated, for a duration of seventeen daily cycles, on an unprepared population by Lieutenant Starbuck in honour of Apollo's marriage to Sheba, the possibility of a Cylon attack was never fully absent from their thoughts. "Are you sure you want to..." Apollo turned from the now open door of their appointed guest chamber in time to have his words stopped at his lips by a warm, and rather forceful, kiss from his wife. She tossed the portable torches aside, pushed against his chest with her flattened hands and backed him, both of them laughing softly, through the entrance and into the small chamber, the door closing with a slight whoosh of air behind them. "Are you sure you want to miss the end of the procession?" the Captain asked distractedly as he backed into the chamber, his wife helping him off with his jacket as the backs of his knees connected with the large cushioned day-bed that dominated the interior bulkhead. He landed on the cushioned surface, exhaling sharply as Sheba landed with her arms wrapped around his neck, her chest pressing into his. "I think I'd like us to stay here and have one uninterrupted evening cycle alone, maybe even one more day and night, if the Gods are kind, just you and me," Sheba rolled over from atop his chest and onto her side and leaned on her elbow, her head resting lightly against her shoulder and her long skirt rippling like water over her outstretched legs. Apollo mirrored her attitude and propped himself up on his own elbow, smiling into her warm brown eyes. "No regrets?" the Captain's dark face was brightened by a white smile, asking the question that had become a playful joust between them since the day they'd been sealed in Adama's office, some sectons ago. "Hades of a time to ask me, Apollo," Sheba laughed out her usual response, then reached for the nearby control and dimmed the lights of the small chamber as he leaned over to kiss her. *** Chapter One Scene Thirteen "Starbuck," at the sound of Athena's voice, the young Lieutenant turned from his seat at the gaming table, gesturing to the dealer that he was cashing out. "Athena, Bojay," he said with a smile, as he scooped his winnings into a small currency bag and attached it neatly to his belt, straightening his dark blue mid-thigh length coat, "I thought you'd slipped off like the Captain and his wife." "Speaking of slipping off, where's Cassiopeia got to?" Bojay slid his arm around Athena's waist as the two began to walk with Starbuck, ambling toward the entrance from the chancery to the main corridor. "She went to freshen up, but I suspect she might have stopped in at the main party area," Starbuck pulled a lint covered match from the small side pocket on the hem of the cream coloured tunic sleeve that peeked from under the overlaying sleeve of his jacket, "she's been a little preoccupied this evening," he brandished a fumarello from the larger pocket on the front of his jacket and snapped the match carefully against his thumbnail, pulling the fumarello into ignition with his lips, and then tossing the match into a nearby reclamation unit, "It's been one of those nights when everyone's sort of drifting in and out, doing their own thing," he tilted his blonde head at the couple beside him, as the three of them walked along the dimly lit corridor together, "Apollo and Sheba disappeared sometime during the torch light processional," Starbuck took a slow drag of his fumarello, "And I suppose you two are staying over, as well?" "No, Starbuck," Athena scowled dryly, but in good humour, "Not all of us have two or three day rotations to spend gaming and revelling, "I'm due on the bridge early in the daily cycle tomorrow and Bojay had a routine patrol shortly after that. Say, Isn't that Siress Blassie over there with Cassiopeia?" Athena pointed toward a rest area comprised of various vertical dividing partitions and lounging sofas that had been set out, near the entrance to the main recreation area, for those party-goers who might need to spend a few centons resting their feet or refreshing themselves with provided fluids without having to go all the way to the guest quarters. "Maybe Chameleon's come over to join in the fun," Starbuck's face lit up with a smile at the thought of his friend, the roguish old gamer with whom Starbuck had kept up more that a passing acquaintance. The Lieutenant made it over to the Senior Ship on his off-duty centaurs at least once every secton or so, to visit the old man. Starbuck knew well that Chameleon and Siress Blassie were not often far from one another these days. They had progressed from friends to something more, a comfortable romance that suited them both. "I think they went through this way," Bojay held fast to Athena's hand as the three warriors stepped cautiously into the small maze of vertical partitions, careful not to disturb any worn-out party-goers that might be resting within. The sound of female voices drew them on, "It doesn't matter who wrote the note. He's dying! He just has to tell Starbuck. I won't hide the truth from him any longer. Chameleon must release me from my promise not to reveal that he really is Starbuck's father," Cassiopeia's voice had become more clear as Starbuck, Athena and Bojay stepped out from behind the partition adjacent to the place where Cassiopeia stood speaking to the older, though very attractive, Siress Blassie. Both women started as the group came into view, exchanging a horrified glance with one another, and then standing with their lips parted, each staring directly at Starbuck's equally shocked expression. "Cass," he said blankly, "Chameleon is my..." the next words were prevented from forming by the sudden appearance of Corporal Komma, making his methodical way through the rest area with a quietly busy look on his face. "Ah, Lieutenant, thank the Gods I've found you! Can you tell me where Captain Apollo is?" the Corporal followed the direction of Starbuck's shocked stare to see Cassiopeia, near tears, struggling not to cry, "Have I interrupted something?" "Not now, Komma," Bojay moved forward and made to usher the enlisted man away, "Starbuck's a little busy right now." "I'm sorry, Sirs, but," Komma looked apologetically at Cassiopeia's stricken face, uncertain as to what was happening, but seeing her obvious distress, "now that I've spoken to Wilker, it's plain that Boomer's missing on some false patrol and now I've got to find the Captain and Lieutenant Sheba to verify the squadron rosters." "Komma," Athena cut in, grabbing the young man's arm and frowning into his face, "did you just say that Boomer is missing?" "Yes, Ma'am, it appears so," Komma escaped carefully from both Athena's and Bojay's grasp, "That's why I must find the Captain right away, and get him back to the Galactica to meet with the Commander and everyone else. Doctor Wilker's on his way to the shuttle to wait for us." "Cassiopeia," Starbuck was struggling to absorb first Cassiopeia's words and then Komma's, deciding finally to approach the med-tech first, "Is this the secret that you've been so torn up about?" he stood in front of her, stricken by the content of her words and by the devastated and fearful look on her face. "Oh, Starbuck," she began to cry brokenly, "I'm so sorry. I never wanted you to find out this way. I wouldn't blame you if you're furious with me right now," she lost all control and began to weep into her own upraised hands. "Cassie, please don't cry," Starbuck reached to stub out his still burning fumarello into a metal bowl on a nearby table, then turned back toward her, opening his arms, "I'm not exactly sure how to sort all of this out right now, but I do know that I made myself a promise that I intend to keep," he closed his arms around her trembling shoulders and whispered into her ear, "Bojay, Athena and I are going to get Apollo and Sheba and figure out why Komma here seems to think Boomer's missing. After that's all sorted out, you and I will talk this through," he kissed her gently, coaxing a tentative, and hopeful, smile from her lips, "I'm not furious with you. I know you, Cass. If you've kept this to yourself, then you had a reason. It's like I said, neither of us have any entitlement to point fingers at each other's complicated personal lives," Starbuck kissed her tearstained cheeks and looked toward Athena, Bojay and Komma, now waiting, rather awkwardly, for him to follow them, "you keep the guest chamber, get some rest, talk things through with Siress Blassie. Then, later, when I get back, we'll work this out, together, " he kissed her softly on the lips, relieved to see that some of the fear had left her face, then, squeezing her shoulders gently and giving her a small encouraging smile, he released his grip on her and rushed out with the other three warriors, leaving Cassiopeia and Blassie standing, shocked, staring at one another in blank astonishment. "Your young man has come a long way, hasn't he dear?" Blassie put an arm around Cassiopeia's waist and held her gently as the younger woman began to cry, in relief this time, on the older woman's shoulder. *** Chapter One Scene Fourteen "Now, let me get this straight, Doctor," Adama stood facing the group that Komma and Tigh had gathered to his quarters, leaning back on his desk top, though still maintaining an attitude of attention, "Boomer specifically told you that he had a training mission scheduled within three, possibly four centaurs of the time of your conversation," Adama glanced over at his son's wife, his ever observant warrior's eyes observing that she stood beside her husband in a casual dress uniform, while Apollo had donned flight gear on his arrival aboard the Galactica, as had the other pilots present, "and you're quite sure that he said it was a training mission for a Valkyrie Squadron recruit?" "I'm certain of it, Commander," Wilker's perpetually mournful tone betrayed a hint of uncharacteristic worry, "He specifically said that he would make time to visit Calvin before he had to be in the launch bay." "Sheba?" Adama turned and lifted an eyebrow at the Valkyrie Squadron Leader. "I don't see how that can be, Sir," Sheba reported clearly, standing at attention beside Apollo, "I've sent for Lieutenant Deitra, but I doubt if she would neglect to record a training mission, or any patrol for that matter." "What about the conversation with Calvin, Father?" Apollo gestured toward the console control with which Adama had played Paye's recording of the conversation between Boomer and Calvin, in the medical complex's term care facility, "Why would Calvin bring up a ship that was destroyed in a battle thirty yahrens ago?" "I don't know, Apollo," the Commander shrugged expressively, "It could mean something, or it could simply be a confused bit of information that was floating around in Calvin's disturbed mind." "He mentions Iblis, and angels, Sir," Apollo shared a glance of concern with his wife, both of them remembering their shared conversation with the alien, Diana, who had for a time disguised herself as a Galactica medical technician though she was purportedly a being associated with the Ships of Light that the Fleet had interacted some sectons age within the course of their near tragic dealings with the malevolent Count Iblis, "and he talks about the incident with Agro-Tech Jain and of the Valkyrie Squadron. It sounds like he's still obsessed with Sheba and me." "I'm not certain how it all fits together, Apollo. In any case," Adama scanned the faces before him. Tigh, Corporal Komma, Jolly, Doctor Wilker, Starbuck, Bojay, Athena, Apollo and Sheba, "We do know that Boomer is not on the Galactica, and one of our vipers is unaccounted for. Apollo, on top of the current security shifts from Silver Spar Squadron. I want several two-man patrols from Blue and Valkyrie Squadrons to spread out and try to pick up his trail." The Commander paused as he observed the enigmatic look that passed between Apollo and his wife. "Commander," Sheba spoke carefully, "I won't be going on this mission, Sir." "Now," Adama raised a hand and gestured in the couples' direction, "I realize that Tigh and I have been strict with the two of you about minimizing your on-duty contact, but this is hardly the time to be concerned about such..." "No, Father," the Captain interrupted the Commander, evoking a lift of eyebrows in both Adama and Colonel Tigh, making another quiet glance in Sheba's direction, "Sheba's not going on this mission, but not because of the regulations that you've enforced on us..." the Captain paused, choosing his words carefully, as if in fear of instigating another flare of tempers amongst himself, his wife and his Father. "Adama," Sheba stepped forward and smiled dryly at the white-haired warrior, picking up where her husband had left off, "as Strike Commander, it would be against regulations for Captain Apollo to allow a pregnant warrior to fly a viper. We were going to tell you, and the rest of the family, at evening meal tomorrow. I've made arrangements for the shift rotations, Sir. My wing-man, Deitra, will be taking over my active duties as squadron leader until later next yahren." Adama opened and closed his mouth several times, attempting to decide which of the mixture of emotions that moved within him would control the expression on his face. "I knew it!" said Bojay with a sudden smile, receiving a look from Adama that he found difficult to read. The Silver Spar Squadron Leader decided to remain silent in response, and adopted a more serious, and uncomfortable, expression. At that moment the door chime sounded and, at Adama's cry of 'Enter', Lieutenant Deitra moved gracefully into the Commander's quarters. "By your leave, Sir," the dark young warrior stood beside the Valkyrie Squadron Leader and nodded in deference as she faced Adama, "I've checked the rosters and the launch bays, visually, as Lieutenant Sheba asked me to. There were no trainees from the Valkyrie, or any other squadron due to fly patrol with anyone. I don't know where Boomer went, Sir, but his fighter has gone, and it wasn't on a training mission." "Commander," until now, Starbuck had been hanging back quietly, trying to absorb all that was happening. Cassiopeia's words kept repeating in his mind, He's dying! He just has to tell Starbuck. I won't hide the truth from him any longer. Chameleon must release me from my promise not to reveal that he really is Starbuck's father. He wavered wildly, albeit internally, between reactive anger and his determination to forgive Cassiopeia for her deception all these sectons, since the results of the biological testing that had, as he had been told at the time, ruled out the possibility that the old gambler and charmer, Chameleon, was Starbuck's father. Now, according to Cassiopeia's overheard outburst toward Chameleon's companion, Blassie, it appeared that the results had been positive after all. Starbuck struggled to integrate this change in his perceptions with the added information that Boomer was missing, "happy as we all are at Sheba's news, and as much as I'd like to be back on the Rising Star right now having a long talk with my girl, and with my, well,...I think the primary concern here is that we get launched and start looking for Boomer. If there is a trail to find, it will only get colder the longer we wait." "Of course, Starbuck, you're right," Adama scanned, once more, the faces before him, "Doctor Wilker, you and Komma get to Paye's section and see if you can get anything more specific out of Calvin. Apollo, get the patrol wings together, and ready them for launch. Sheba," the Commander allowed his son's wife a paternal smile, "I foresee that you will be seeing a lot of bridge duty for the next few sectons. You and Athena will report with Tigh and myself to the Command Centre. We must try to establish what route Boomer might have taken if he'd been forced or tricked into an unauthorized patrol. Though how such a thing could have happened is beyond me," Adama ushered the warriors in flight gear to the doorway, reaching to hold back Captain Apollo, with an arm to the young man's elbow, and a fond glance toward Sheba, who had paused with Athena, Doctor Wilker, Komma and Tigh, to allow the pilots first egress through the opening into the corridor. "I am pleased to hear that we'll be acquiring a new family member soon, my Son. We will have some proper congratulations after everyone gets back home safe and sound." "Thank you, Father," Apollo allowed himself a smile as he squeezed his Father's hand briefly, then removed himself gently from the older warrior's grasp and, with a quick kiss on his wife's cheek, was off and running down the corridor toward the launch bay, following behind Starbuck, Jolly, Bojay and Deitra, to meet with the rest of the active duty members of Blue and Valkyrie Squadrons, who were being summoned at that moment by an alert klaxon sounded remotely by Colonel Tigh, just before he stepped from the Commander's quarters and hurried, behind Adama, Athena and Sheba, as they proceeded at a quick march, along the corridor and into the Command Centre. *** Chapter Two Scene One Boomer stood, his back against the bulkhead opposite the door of the small chamber that housed him, staring blankly at the woman he had thought was his wingman. Cadet Artemis was the name that she had given him, upon his arrival at the launch bay. The two pilots had made brief introduction of themselves to one another and then headed off, with clearance from Core Command, on what Boomer had been led to believe was a routine training patrol, a simple exercise of evaluation for the Cadet. But now they stood together, in a small locked chamber, aboard a Cylon controlled ship. From his fighter, surrounded by Cylon raiders, just before a blast of light had taken his consciousness, Boomer had read the name on the hull of the ship. Oberon, he remembered thinking, but that ship was destroyed in the Battle of Altrua, at least three decades ago, then, nothing, until he had awoken in this chamber, Cadet Artemis leaning over him, with a look of concern on her strikingly attractive face. Her face. Something about it was so familiar. However, it was not the company, nor the chamber that preoccupied his attention so much as the condition of his uniform. "Why have our clothes changed colour?" Boomer ran his hand over the sleeve of his flight jacket, certain that it was indeed his familiar jacket, though changed in that it was now a striking shade of brilliant white, as was his entire uniform, "Cadet, do you know what's going on here?" The woman known as Artemis gave Boomer an incongruously happy smile, then checked herself and adopted a more serious demeanor. "Un...Lieutenant Boomer," the young woman in an equally whitened Colonial uniform stepped forward, holding out a cloth with a small bloodstain visible on it, "you're still bleeding, Sir. Sit down, and I'll check that head wound. Baltar's centurions banged us up pretty good bringing us in from the landing bay." "Baltar!" Boomer moved to sit on the bench seat under the roughly trapezoidal view port that was the room's only feature, besides the small turbo-wash adjacent to the, currently locked, hatchway, "He's here? Did you see him while I was knocked out?" "No, Boomer," the young woman pursed her full lips as she carefully dabbed at the deep scratch on the left side of the Lieutenant's forehead, "but I know that he's here. He's the reason we've come. I've been sent to help you rescue Baltar, and get him out of here, back to the Galactica. It's going to be difficult to explain, so I'll need you to trust in my word, as a Warrior of the Colonial Fleet, that what I'm going to tell you is the truth. It will sound fantastic, but I've been brought from your future, back here to your past, to prevent a mistake, an oversight that was made by the beings that have been guiding us to Earth. You visited them once, in an entranced state. You've heard the accounts from..." the young woman hesitated, blinked her green eyes and moved to step into the turbo-wash chamber. Pushing the control on the hand wash basin, she held the cloth under the resulting stream of cool water, wringing it out and returning to finish cleaning Boomer's wound, "You've heard the accounts from the three warriors of your acquaintance who recall interacting with the aliens aboard the Ships of Light. You've heard more than the officially recorded versions contained. You've heard the details that Adama recorded by hand in a personal journal, to keep as accurate an historical record as possible, in spite of the deception he felt obliged to use in omitting those details from the official record." "How can you know that?" Boomer grabbed her wrist, and pulled down the hand that held the damp cloth to his head, "There are only a certain number of people who are supposed to know about that journal. As far as I'm aware, you are not one of them." "Not in your time, Uncle Boomer," the young woman sat down beside Boomer, her wrist still firmly grasped in the dark Lieutenant's strong hand, and smiled at him, with a trusting open smile of familiarity, a smile that had made him certain, upon meeting her in the Galactica's launch bay, that he had seen her before, seen that smile. "Oh my God," Boomer breathed the words in an exhalation of shock as he realized that it was not the girl that he had recognized, but the smile. "I think you know who I am, Uncle Boomer," Artemis let out a breath of her own, one of relief, as Boomer released his grip on her arm, taking the blood-soaked cloth from her hand, and refolding it, as he dabbed tentatively at his forehead, checking the fabric to find that the bleeding appeared to have stopped. He tossed the cloth in the direction of the turbo-wash chamber and leaned back on the firm bench seat, crossing his arms across his chest and adopting a thoughtful attitude as Artemis continued speaking, "and now, I'm going to do my best to explain to you why we are here, together on the Colonial Forces Military Cruiser Oberon, on the eve of the Battle of Altrua, to rescue the greatest traitor that the Colonial population has ever known, in order that at least two of their greatest heroes be saved from an accidental oversight that was caused by a man named Calvin, and his portable electromagnetic scanner screen." *** Chapter Two Scene Two "Starbuck," Apollo pulled his wingman aside, grasping his shoulder, as the two men stood together on the launch bay decking, in the shadow of Starbuck's assigned viper, "On the way here from the Rising Star, Athena told Sheba and me what happened with Cassiopeia," Apollo felt awkward and a little reluctant in addressing his wingman's personal affairs. He remembered clearly the painful sting of Starbuck's angry reaction, a dramatic verbal ending of their friendship, when Apollo and Boomer had checked into Chameleon's background, those many sectons ago, after the old man had insinuated his way into a ride to the Galactica, by suggesting the possibility that he and Starbuck might be related. They had acted on suspicions that had been quite warranted, as evidenced by the Nomen that had acted in a plan to assassinate the old con man for his questionable dealings with them in the guise of his alter-ego, 'Captain Dimitri', and Starbuck along with him. Though Starbuck had ultimately retracted his emotional outburst and forgiven his friends, Apollo was reluctant to pry into what he knew was a deeply personal and conflicted subject for the oft-times cavalier young Lieutenant. Apollo, however, was also well aware of how deeply Starbuck's feelings for Cassiopeia ran, and felt the need to speak to his friend before launching their ships in search of Boomer. "If you want to stay, talk to her, talk to Chameleon,..." "Look, Apollo," Starbuck managed an awkward smile, seeing the love and concern in his closest friend's piercing green eyes, "I appreciate the offer, but you know I have to come with you. It's Boomer," his blue eyes cleared a little, as his awkwardness soon gave way to a small infusion of his gambler's charm, "besides, old buddy, while you've been busy getting married and increasing the population of the Fleet, I've been doing a little bit of evolving." "Evolving?" Apollo released Starbuck's shoulder and crossed his arms loosely across his own chest, looking into the blonde man's face, a bemused expression on his own, "How do you mean?" "I mean that I have come to realize that there are certain things that are too important to discard in anger, like a good friend," Starbuck now grasped the Squadron Commander's shoulder and shook it gently, "and the love of a woman like my Cassiopeia," he released his friend's shoulder and gestured toward his fighter, "Now, if it's all the same to you, Captain, how about we launch our vipers, go fetch Boomer out of whatever hole he's fallen into, and then, get back here so I can make peace with my girl, my Father and whomever's going to be collecting wagers on my new baby pool?" "I guess you really have been evolving, Starbuck," Apollo took a slow breath in and out and started walking past the aft of Starbuck's viper, adopting a warrior's battle-ready expression, "Now, let's launch these vipers. It wouldn't be one of your over the top intrusions into my personal life without Boomer along to hold you back a little!" the squadron leader gave a quick thumbs up and headed for his own fighter, poised at the opening of the next launch tube over. Within microns, both warriors were strapped in, and cleared for launch. At the signal from Core Command, the two vipers that were currently designated 'Alpha One' and 'Alpha Two' launched from the alpha deck of the Battlestar Galactica, to join the other six warriors that awaited their Strike Leader and his wingman, milling gracefully in their vipers, poised to search the direction through open space that the main computer, under Tigh's watchful eye, had evaluated as Boomer's most likely course. *** Chapter Two Scene Three "Tolen, nothing to report out here?" Commander Cain strode deliberately up the steps of the command platform, placing a firm hand on the younger man's shoulder, leaning in to speak quietly, out of earshot of the six other warriors who manned the large, dimly lit lower gallery of the Command Centre of the Battlestar Pegasus, "Roman tells me we've got enough anti-toxin for two, maybe three daily cycles. How soon do you estimate an intersection with Galactica's course?" "Sir," Tolen responded in an equally quiet tone, his expression grim, "Assuming the accuracy of our course projections, giving us the Galactica approaching the nebula at this galaxy's outer rim at the projected time and co-ordinates, and that we don't have any structural breakdowns, we'll be lucky if we make it in six days." "How soon will we be clear of Cylon detection? We can do without the anti-toxin if we can turn off that accursed scanner shield for a while," Cain let go of Tolen's shoulder and moved to stand beside the main command console, his mind working determinedly for a way out of the current dilemma, "There has to be a way for us to improve on our time just enough to make it to the Galactica. After all we've been through to get this far, I refuse to believe that we won't make it, Tolen." "Assuming that there are no more basestars between us and the Galactica, Commander," Tolen keyed in a series of equations on the console and tapped an index finger over the resulting display on the monitor above the control pad, "the computer estimates that we should be clear of all known enemy threats in about three days," the young Colonel straightened to look his Commander in the eye, "We're laying everything on our estimates being accurate, Sir," Tolen paused as he and the Juggernaut shared the same thought, "if we've erred, Commander, and misinterpreted the data regarding Galactica's primary course, or we encounter another basestar, shielded or otherwise..." "Tolen," Cain's eyes were unblinking, his posture straight, and his quiet voice projected the will to quash Tolen's doubts, and his own, "We've done all that we can, from interpreting the writings on that astral map we found in the temple on that magnetic nightmare of a planet, not to mention carrying all that toxic ore up to the ship at full speed, to drawing the Cylons away from the Fleet, and making our way through Cylon held territory beneath this accursed scanner shield. Now, I'm not a particularly spiritual man, Tolen, as you know, but my friend Adama is, and it's my belief that while he's taking a toric course, as we have been, he must ultimately return to his original heading. Constantly returning to that heading is the only tangible means he has of finding the Thirteenth Colony, and it's the only means that we have of finding the Fleet." The two men stood regarding one another for a micron, maybe two, then the Juggernaut turned back toward the steps of the command platform, pausing briefly to look into Tolen's serious young face, "Maintain our current status and heading, Tolen. Have Roman hold back a minimal amount of anti-toxin in case somebody has a psychotic reaction to the radiation. When we've used up the rest, then turn off the shield. We'll find out soon enough after that whether we've eluded the Cylons or not." "Aye, Commander," Tolen said simply. Cain pursed his lips, and, gazed briefly at the scepteron that he had been holding in his free hand, gesturing with it as he had spoken, as was his habit. The polished hardwood baton topped with the stylized form of a winged equine in solid auricon had been a gift from his crew, after a battle that could have ended in a much earlier destruction of the Colonies, had it not been for his sharp strategic warrior's mind. The scepteron had been a gift from his crew, and he had carried it for almost three deca-yahrens, since shortly after he'd taken command of the Pegasus, since before his daughter's birth. It had become more than a symbol of command and respect for him. It had become a talisman, a reminder of his oath as a Colonial Warrior and a symbol of his determination to get the last of his crew to the relative safety of the Colonial Fleet, and himself back to his daughter. "Carry on, Tolen," Cain lifted the edges of his mouth and managed a small smile for his young Executive Officer, "I'll be in my quarters if you need me," the older man made his way back down from the command platform, tucking the scepteron neatly under his arm and making his way out of the Command Centre. *** Chapter Two Scene Four The atmosphere in the Command Centre was busy, though subdued. Every member of the crew knew the feeling of helplessness and dread that came over them whenever one of their own was unaccounted for. Boomer's mysterious disappearance had gone from rumour to confirmed fact in a matter of centaurs. Hope competed with sick fear in the gut of every man and woman who steadfastly performed their bridge duties, all of them glancing, more often than they normally would, at the main view screen, where the vision of the seemingly empty space forward of the Fleet hid the answer to their communal question, How will we find him? Will we find him? "Athena, I think I should call for Corporal Lena and have her bring Boxey to your Father's quarters," Sheba straightened her posture from where she had been leaning, beside her husband's sister, over the display of the tactical communications console at the foot of the command platform, If I know my fellow pilots, our news has spread from the launch bay right down to whomever is preparing the banner for Starbuck's inevitable baby pool." "You go ahead, Sheba," Athena rolled her shoulders as she straightened her own back, stretching her stiffened muscles, "Lena works some of my off-duty shifts, so I know her schedule pretty well. She and her niece usually have morning victuals in the commissary," Athena glanced at the display on her chronometer, "You can probably catch them there. It's likely that they're just sitting down to eat about now. I'll let Father and Tigh know where you've gone. We're just waiting to hear back on the first patrol sweep. There's not much you or I can do to help until we have more data. I'll have you called on Unicom if anything develops." "I guess I'll be getting used to bridge duty, like Adama said," Sheba smiled resignedly at the dark woman beside her, then allowed herself a look of amusement, "I did, however, get Apollo to agree that I would be returning to active duty once his child is on solid food." "Oh, and how did my esteemed brother reach that height of enlightenment?" Athena crossed her arms and chuckled softly, lifting an eyebrow at Sheba. "His solution, in order to bypass the otherwise inevitable intervention of various edicts from Adama and Tigh concerning our child rearing methods, and to maintain some sort of peace at home, is that he, as Flight Commander, will abdicate any independent authority over the matter so long as both Doctor Salik and Colonel Tigh have cleared me for a return from maternity furlon to active flight status." "Is every decision between the two of you going to be a carefully negotiated military campaign?" Athena could not stop the laughter that escaped from her lips at the thought of her brother's impressive strategy in avoiding the wrath of his spouse. "Whatever works," Sheba shrugged with assumed innocence, then crossed her own arms over her chest and adopted a more serious stance, "It's going to be different now that everyone knows. It was kind of fun keeping the baby a secret for a while, with only you and Cassiopeia knowing for sure. Now, all the guys will be treating me differently." "Don't worry about it, Sheba," Athena turned to study the main view screen, as she had many times since entering the Command Centre about two centaurs earlier, "They'll be back to their usual ovine-like behaviour once the novelty wears off," her expression became more serious, as Sheba's had, "Speaking of Cassiopeia, well, I hope she's alright." "I know. I'll go and find her after I've talked to Boxey," Sheba checked her own chronometer display, "I'd better get to Boxey before he runs into any of the pilots or launch bay techs near the crew quarters," Sheba looked up at the view screen, as she also had been doing for the last two centaurs and whispered earnestly, "Please be alright Boomer," she shared a momentary glance of fear with Athena. The two warriors, sisters, then masked their fear as they had learned to do from early ages, with the stoic determination of Colonial Warriors, and of the daughters of Colonial Warriors. "Boomer will be alright," Athena said in a clear, firm voice, grasping Sheba's shoulder briefly, "like I said, I'll have you called on Unicom if anything develops." Sheba nodded, this time sharing a hopeful smile with the dark haired woman beside her, and hurried out to the corridor that led to the Access Junction, to find her son before the news of the expected arrival of his first sibling, and of Boomer's disappearance, found him. *** Chapter Two Scene Five "You expect me to accept this story of yours, Cadet?" Boomer paced liked a caged Scorpian mountain felix, his route the interior perimeter of the small chamber that, if any aspect of his companion's fantastic story was to be believed, was located on the Colonial Military Class Cruiser Oberon, a ship that had been destroyed in a bold strategic maneuver by the legendary Commander Cain, about thirty yahrens ago, according to Boomer's best memory. The Battle of Altrua was a well documented military event that had been studied in detail in the military strategy seminars at the Colonial Military Academy when Boomer himself had been a cadet. "Actually, It's not 'Cadet', Uncle Boomer," the woman called Artemis, from where she sat on the firm bench seat under the chamber's view port, gave Boomer another one of those warm smiles that reminded him eerily of another face, faces, that were quite familiar to him, "I just used that rank to blend myself into the crowd. You wouldn't know every cadet in the Fleet, but you would know all of the officers by name. I couldn't afford you getting suspicious. I'm so sorry I've had to deceive you. I'm actually a Lieutenant, first level, Sir," the young woman's green eyes twinkled with what Boomer took to be genuine affection, and her strikingly dark and symmetrical features took on an assumed look of apology, not so different from the expression one might expect from a mischievous child caught misbehaving, as she stood at attention before him and formed a fist with her right hand, laying her right forearm across her chest in the ancient salute of a Colonial Warrior, "Valkyrie Squadron." "Of course, the future face of the Valkyries, is that it?" Boomer couldn't help smiling in spite of his skepticism. There was something about this mysterious young woman that he truly liked. He found her story incredible, but that face, and those expressions. How could she be anyone else but who she appeared to be? "You're not some kind of Cylon spy, are you? Conditioned to know everything about me and the Galactica?" "Uncle Boomer," Artemis stepped closer to him, standing on the tips of her toes to speak softly into his ear, again giving the impression of a mischievous youngster, "if I were a Cylon spy, would I know that you give a percentage of your pay to the children on the orphan ship? Would I know that you hide a percentage of Uncle Starbuck's winnings from him when he's had too much too drink? Would I know that you've been having a little fling with a certain Valkyrie named..." "Alright! Alright!" Boomer backed up and looked down into the green eyes that still twinkled at him with that unmistakeable air of familiarity. He felt his own face relax into a cautiously friendly expression, "Let's assume for a centon that I believe any of this crazy story. Precisely what is it that we're supposed to do in order to save the future? Save Baltar from an evil, time travelling spirit that's controlling his mind through the radioactive toxins that have poisoned him? If we've actually travelled thirty yahrens into the past, aboard the Oberon, on the eve of the battle no less, then why can't we just try and get to the bridge to contact the nearest Colonial listening post and warn them about the..." Boomer's expression became one of sudden shock, with the impact of another memory from those Academy seminars on the Battle of Altrua, "the dozens of Cylon centurions that were stored, are stored, waiting to be activated, aboard this ship, and the raiders that they're all sitting in." "That's right, Uncle Boomer," Artemis' expression became deadly serious, "If Iblis is successful, he will use Baltar as his instrument of evil to transport the Oberon forward to your time, and through a vast distance, to appear directly forward of the Battlestar Galactica, firing its laser cannons and launching enough Cylon raiders to destroy it, and the Fleet in a matter of centons. That is the event that I've been recruited, we've been recruited to prevent. It was never meant to have happened, and if it does, then the tens of thousands of people in the Colonial Fleet will have ceased to exist, their possible future wiped away because Baltar was transported here by Iblis, in violation of the natural laws that his former people have adhered to for generations," the young woman sighed deeply, breathing in through her nostrils and out, slowly through her mouth, "at least that's what John told me." "John?" Boomer grasped the young woman's shoulders with his strong hands and peered intently into her eyes, "I've heard that name before. Can you tell me where?" "My..." Artemis hesitated, then returned Boomer's look with an equally intent glare of her own, "Apollo and Uncle Starbuck encountered him in the course of their experiences on the planet called Terra. They told you all about it after they got home. You all sat in the Officer's Club, and teased them about seeing strange men in white suits, and how that could get them ordered into catharsis therapy, but you believed their story," the young woman's lip trembled slightly as she continued to stare evenly into Boomer's dark eyes, "because you knew that they were telling the truth, the same way you know now that I am being truthful. Please, Uncle Boomer," tears gathered in the corners of her bright green eyes, "you just have to believe me. If we are not successful, then it will mean annihilation for almost everyone you care about, including my parents, and me." "I'm beginning to accept the possibility that you might be who you say you are," Boomer's tone softened, in spite of his doubting nature. Boomer was, for the most part, a pragmatist. He believed what was in front of him. Yet, he found himself here, with this girl who looked, sounded and behaved so much like..., "Let's assume that I agree to cooperate with this mission. How do you propose that we get Baltar off of the ship and back to my space and time, while you head off home to your, hopefully intact, place in the continuum?" "We're not going to take Baltar off the ship, Uncle Boomer," Artemis reached up to wipe away her tears with the back of her hand, regaining some of her earlier good humour, and smiled once again, this time in determination, "It will appear to everyone here that the ship has been destroyed, but we're going to allow Iblis to take Baltar, and the ship, back to your space and time. When we get there, if all goes well, we should be just in time for the Pegasus to arrive with a small emergency reserve of the anti-toxin that will reverse the effects of the radiation, and enough torpedoes from their last raid of a Cylon outpost to finally destroy the Oberon and all of the Cylons aboard her. Boomer realized that he still held the slender, but athletic, girl's shoulders and loosened the grip of his fingers on the brilliant white material of her flight jacket's sleeves. He continued to stare into her clear eyes for several microns, then opened his mouth to speak... His words were stopped by the dull sound of metal on metal that seemed to be coming from the other side of the chamber's hatchway. The two warriors moved to stand with their backs to the bulkhead that formed the back of the bench seat. The hatch in the opposite bulkhead slid open and a shockingly thin and shabbily dressed Baltar stepped through the hatchway, a friendly smile dominating his emaciated and rather skeletal features, and two Cylon centurions waiting attentively behind him in the corridor. Boomer was taken aback by the man's appearance. This Baltar was not the same man that he remembered. "Ah, Lieutenant Boomer! How wonderful that it's someone I already know that's stopped in on me. You must have a tour of the ship! And this lovely lady," the scrawny figure in the tattered cloak approached Artemis, his smile retreating into a scowl as he studied her from head to toe, as if assessing her appearance, "You are not supposed to be here. You don't belong here, my dear. What are you up to?" "Uh, Baltar?" Boomer spoke quickly as he stepped between Artemis and Baltar, "will you take me on that tour of the ship? We'd, uh, love to see what you've done with the place." "Why, of course!" Baltar beamed with delight as he gestured to Boomer to follow him back out the hatchway. Taking Artemis' hand and giving it a squeeze, Boomer pulled her with him as they followed their intended abductee into the corridor and past the centurions, who fell into pace behind them. The two Colonial Warriors from different times shared a look and a common thought, This may be our chance. It was at this moment that Boomer realized that he had made a conscious choice not only to believe the girl's story, but to help her to carry out her plan. Lords of Kobol, if you're out there, and you actually care about any of this, whatever time or place you're in, Boomer glanced back at the two heavily armed, centurions behind him, then at the serious young warrior beside him, just get us all back where we belong, without any harm coming to the Fleet, and when this is all over, all I ask is to be back on the Galactica having a nice relaxing turbo-wash. *** Chapter Two Scene Six "So, how was your sleepover with Lena and Persephone?" Sheba keyed the 'open door' sequence to the Commander's quarters and smiled down at the boy who stood beside her. "Good, there were two more kids from learning period there." Boxey answered, walking through the now open entry to the main chamber of Adama's personal domain, a place that had become as much a home to him in the two yahrens since he had become Apollo's son by marriage, as the quarters that he shared with his father and second mother, "but I thought I was staying over another day and night. Why did you and Dad come back from the Rising Star a day early? Wasn't it any fun?" the boy bounced, as only a boy of eight yahrens could, onto the bench seat that skirted the wall under the chamber's ovoid view port. Sheba moved, the door swishing to a close behind her, to sit on the adjacent seat to the little boy's right and leaned toward him with her hands clasped across her knees. In the half a yahren that she had been married to Apollo, she had made a determined effort to be a mother to him. It was a role that she did not feel came to her naturally, but Apollo had assured her time and time again, that the boy did not see her as an interloper, trying to take his mother's place. The Captain was, as Sheba well knew, convinced that Boxey would be pleased about the baby, particularly since it was a subject that the boy had brought up before. Apollo had gently tried to convince her, holding her in his arms those many nights that she'd cried in frustration at what she saw as her various failed attempts and inadequacies at mothering, that it was Sheba's own insecurities, that caused her to be so fearful in building her relationship with her new son. He had carefully suggested that she feared Boxey would resent her the way she herself had once resented her Father's former lover, Cassiopeia. A lifetime ago it seemed to her, as she looked down at Boxey's quietly curious expression. "Sure, it was lots of fun, but I'm afraid that your Dad and some of the other pilots had to cut our grown up furlon time short to..." she hesitated, knowing that there was never any easy way to prepare a child for a potential loss, and chose her own Father's method, a direct approach, "Boxey, I'm afraid that your Father and the others are out looking for Boomer. There was a mix up over what time he was supposed to be home, and they're just flying their vipers out to find out what's happened." "It's alright, Sheba," Boxey stepped over to sit beside her, taking her a little by surprise as he pulled her left arm over his shoulders and embraced her waist impulsively with his small arms. "You don't have to pretend you're not worried about Boomer. I know Daddy and Grandpa still think I'm a little kid," he lifted his head to gaze up at her earnestly, "but I'm almost nine yahrens. I know how dangerous it is to be a warrior. Besides, Boomer can fix anything. Even if his viper is broken, he'll still make it home, and not even a whole ship full of old Cylons could stop him." Sheba let out some of the worry she had indeed been trying to hide from him, in the form of a reflexive sob, and tightened the embrace of her arm around his small frame, brushing his hair from his brow with her right hand. "You're right, of course. Boomer will be just fine." Sheba pursed her suddenly dry lips and swallowed hard, "There's another thing I need to tell you. This is good news. At least, I hope you think it is." She pushed her concern for her fellow pilot as far aside as she could, and managed to smile once again, "We were going to tell you tomorrow, after evening meal with your Grandfather and Athena, but we had to tell them early, because, well,..." in spite of Apollo's consistent reassurance during their time together, from the mission to the artificially constructed planet where the Captain had asked her to be sealed with him, roughly a yahren ago, to the previous evening, a few mere centaurs ago now, when they had enjoyed almost all of one rare night completely alone together on the Rising Star, until an atypically unnerved Starbuck, with Komma in tow, had come to fetch them with news of Boomer's disappearance, she still feared Boxey's angry rejection of her. It was an insecurity that was taking some time and effort for her to overcome, and she hoped that her next words to the boy would be a large step toward a victory over her fear. "What I'm trying to tell you, Boxey, is that," she inhaled deeply and then exhaled the words before they could take hold of her lips and refuse to come out, "Your Father and I, we're having a baby. Later next yahren, you're going to have a little brother or sister." Sheba inhaled once again, slowly, and caught the breath in her throat, holding it, as a barrier against the threat of her fears escaping, threatening once again to overwhelm her. "A brother?" Boxey's expression was difficult for Sheba to read, his small brow knitted in a thoughtful attitude, his eyes wide with what she hoped was excitement, even anticipation. "Or, maybe a sister," she spoke softly as her tensely held breath escaped slowly with her words, "What do you think about that, Boxey?" "When Mommy told me that Apollo was going to be my Dad," Sheba watched the boy's expression, wondering if she'd know how to handle what he was about to share, "she said that they were going to have more kids, brothers and sisters for me," the little boy's arms tightened their grip on her, his voice betraying an underlying sadness that was always there when he discussed Serina, something Apollo, and Sheba, had encouraged him to do. They had done their best to make it clear to him, early on in their relationship, that he was to feel no hesitation in sharing thoughts of his lost mother, or in his conviction that her living spirit still occupied a place in their lives, "You know, when Daddy met us on Caprica, after the Cylons shot at us, and the buildings all burned, and the first Muffy ran away, it was just after his little brother went away." "Yes," Sheba said quietly, not certain where Boxey's thoughts were taking him, "your Dad told me about that." "Maybe having a little brother is what made him such a good Dad." "I'm sure it probably helped for him to have some experience." Sheba relaxed a little, feeling encouraged. Boxey had not compared her with Serina, but had in fact given each of them, his first and second mothers, their individual places in his heart, as Apollo had often encouraged him to do. "Sheba, do you think that the baby will be confused because I have another mom?" "Well, I hope not," she waited, still uncertain, keeping her answers short and allowing the boy to express his thoughts to her. "I think," Boxey paused, a sudden smile appearing to wipe away the attitude of deep thought, "I think maybe it would be less confusing for my little brother, if I called you Mom. Would that be okay?" Sheba's heart, it seemed to her, had stopped beating for a micron, as her mind absorbed what Apollo's son had just said to her. Her eyes filled with tears as she reached to hug the boy firmly, a sense of relief sending a warm rush up through her chest "If you'd like to call me Mom," the tears returned and carried out their earlier threat of flowing down her cheeks, as she pulled back from the embrace and once more pushed the hair from his brow with a gentle hand, managing a tremulous and heartfelt smile, "I think that would be just fine." *** Chapter Two Scene Seven "As you can see," Baltar gestured with an emaciated arm, indicating one of the many identical hatchways that spanned the length of the corridor that he, Boomer, Artemis and the two heavily armed Cylon centurions now traversed, "the other guests are still sleeping. Shhh," he moved his index finger to his lips and leaned toward Boomer in a conspiratorial manner, "we don't want to wake them up yet. Not until it's time for the party," Baltar then clutched Boomer's shoulder with a skeletal claw, digging his untrimmed nails into the white fabric of Boomer's flight jacket, throwing an inquisitive and wary look in Artemis' direction, "I wasn't informed that you were bringing a friend. Is she coming to the party, or did she just drop you off? We can send her out the airlock, if you don't want her to stay," Baltar smiled, his stale breath assaulting Boomer's senses, "I know that you've come to help me get the party started, we must escape just as the Pegasus fires, but I think she might be a spy. It says that she doesn't belong here. Is she hiding behind the magnets? We've got to cover them up, you know. Fortunately, the other party guests won't be affected. The magnets don't..." Baltar's voice trailed off as he began to study the hand that still clutched Boomer's shoulder. Releasing his grip, Baltar lifted his hand, moving it close to his own face, and peering intently at the palm and then the back of it. He started suddenly and whirled about with a flurry of his tattered cloak, glancing wildly around as he moved, as if searching for the source of a sound that only he could hear. Covering his hands quickly with his sleeves, he shouted in the direction of the ceiling, "Yes, yes, of course!" Returning his attention to Boomer, Baltar once again adjusted his features into a sly smile, "Come along. No tour would be complete without a peek at the bridge," he whispered loudly in Boomer's direction, "it's where I spend most of my time." With that, Baltar began to walk quickly along the corridor, the centurions gesturing, with their laser rifles at the ready, for the two Colonial Warriors to follow him. Boomer and Artemis shared a backward look and a thought as their warriors' instincts gauged the possibility of incapacitating the centurions behind them. Looking into Artemis' eyes, Boomer shook his head in what any warrior, cadet or lieutenant, would clearly see as an order to take no action. The young woman returned the gesture, after a speculative glance at the centurions' laser rifles, with a slight nod. The centurions pushed the two of them into a faster pace as they continued to follow Baltar. Boomer would have been convinced, even without Artemis' previous intelligence, that Baltar was suffering the after effects of prolonged exposure to the type of radiation that had poisoned Calvin's mind. Calvin, Boomer well knew, had only used a small, palm-sized chunk of the raw ore to power his portable scanner shield. Baltar, on the other hand, may very well have been aboard the concealed baseship that had terrorized the fleet for so many sectons, before it was destroyed by the Galactica's lasers half a yahren ago, just before Apollo and Sheba had been married in a field combat sealing ritual in the Commander's office. If Baltar had been aboard that ship, surrounded by the electromagnetic scanner shield that had concealed the Cylons from the Galactica's scanners for sectons on end, then he may have suffered prolonged exposure to megons of unshielded and deathly toxic ore. He was in much worse shape than Calvin, obviously delusional, and barely conscious of his surroundings. If Artemis' mission was to be accomplished, then Boomer knew that he would have to use the knowledge that he had gleaned from working with Wilker and his lab-techs to help Doctor Paye in his efforts to cure Calvin, and from his conversations with Calvin himself, to find some way to get Baltar, and his centurions, under control in time to remove the traitor from the Oberon. This was to be accomplished after they left this timeline, camouflaged by the apparent destruction of the Oberon at the pending Battle of Altrua, and after their arrival, with the Oberon, in Boomer's proper time, directly in front of the Galactica, and right in the crosshairs of the Pegasus' targeting scanners. Just a walk in the agro-ship park. What could be easier?, Boomer glanced once more at the young black-haired woman by his side, All I have to do is take the word of a self-proclaimed Valkyrie from the future who looks just like..., Artemis turned briefly and returned his gaze with her piercing green eyes as his mind worked methodically and resignedly through the logistics of his current situation, take her at her word that I'm here in the past to help Baltar, who is allegedly not only sick but under the influence of an evil entity that has a grudge against the Fleet and Apollo in particular, the greatest villain in future Colonial history, to perpetrate a fraud on every Colonial Warrior that was at the Battle of Altrua, including Adama and Cain no less, and believed that they had seen the Oberon destroyed. Then, we have to get our astrums off this ship before the vast number of deactivated centurions aboard her are reactivated and launched and get ourselves, and Baltar, out of the way so that Cain and Adama can destroy the Oberon for the second time. Meanwhile, Artemis is to rely on the very aliens that spawned Iblis to begin with and have admitted to having made some error of judgment that has actually allowed events to converge into this mess, to get her back to her own future time without anyone other than me, and now Baltar, having known of her existence in this time and space, Boomer tried one of those deep cleansing breaths that he's seen his Captain perform on more than one stressful occasion. It didn't seem to help. "Here we are," Baltar called in a musical voice, as though he were a recreation officer conducting a tour aboard a pleasure cruiser, "this is my favourite place. We can see all three battlestars from here. It's a lovely view, don't you think?" "Oh my God," Boomer breathed quietly, his mouth opening in awe as he and Artemis and their Cylon guards entered the command chamber behind Baltar. It's true, he looked at Artemis, who stood beside him staring at the main forward view screen, obviously struggling to maintain her stoic expression, We're actually here, in this place and time, Boomer returned his own gaze forward to the large screen where both warriors could plainly see, in stark contrast to the star field framed within its perimeter, three Colonial battlestars in a standard chevron formation, closing in on the Oberon from what Boomer estimated to be a relatively close range. There they were, looking much as Boomer had imagined that they would appear when he, in a now future time from his own past, had studied this moment in those seminars at the Academy, The Atlantia, the Pegasus, and the Galactica. *** Chapter Two Scene Eight "Alpha One, this is Alpha Two," Starbuck's voice came in over the communication array on the console in the cabin of Apollo's viper, worry plainly evident in his voice, expressing some of the same frustration and fear that all of the Galactica's pilots were struggling with over the circumstances of Boomer's mysterious disappearance, "Shall we make any course corrections before we have to turn around?" "To where, Starbuck?" Apollo's voice was controlled, but to the conditioned ear of his best friend and wingman, it betrayed an edge of desperation, "We're only here because the Galactica's computer figured this was the most feasible search pattern." "Captain, Beta Two here," the current Valkyrie Squadron Leader, Deitra, interjected over the multi-ship network frequency that the two men had been broadcasting with, "Just heard from Gamma Wing. They're coming up behind us. They report nothing in their grid, Sir. Bojay and I have seen a whole lot of empty space so far, too. There just don't appear to be any significant signals between us and the nebula at this galaxy's rim. Maybe the other search wings have found him already, Sir. We won't know until we're all back in communication range together." "That's right, Deitra. Boomer could be back in the barracks having a nice relaxing turbo-wash by now." Apollo sighed quietly and studied the scanner displays before him on the console, "Alright everyone," the Captain's voice came in over multi-ship in a reluctantly decisive tone, "we've reached our search range limit. Let's merge the wings into the last search segment for the return trip to the Galactica." Apollo pushed the control stick in his left hand steadily forward, and into a gentle curve that was manifested in the movement of his ship. Coming around in a graceful arc, the Captain and his wingman took the central position as the first two of four pairs of wingmen moved to form one larger formation, spread out to optimal lateral scanner range in a curved blade of scanner signals, every pilot hoping fervently that Boomer would be found, and struggling to control the despair that had begun to build in their hearts. They all knew well that they had no trail to follow, no nearby planets, no place for Boomer to have disappeared to in the vast area of open space comprising this sector of the galaxy that the Galactica was currently traversing. If one of the four groups of eight pilots that had spread out into a three-dimensional ovoid search pattern with the Galactica as its central vertex did not find Boomer within the time that it would now take them to return to their starting point with barely enough fuel to land, then there would simply be nowhere left to search. None of them wished to vocalize the feelings that they all knew so well. It was one of the most difficult reality of being a Warrior of the Colonial Fleet, the prospect of losing one another. Apollo knew that there would be time later to grieve if Boomer did not return, and he was unwilling to allow the thought to occupy him. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand, optimizing Boomer's chance of contacting them with a maximum search range. If Boomer was somewhere within the last unilateral search quadrant, then they should be able to detect his presence between here and the Fleet. "Skipper," Jolly's voice came in on the multi-ship, "Gamma One here. Delta wing is on the way. They haven't found a thing, Sir, but there's something on my long range scan display. Greenbean's picked it up, too. It's not registering any stable mass. It could be some sort of spatial anomaly, but I can't tell for sure. It's still pretty far off yet." "Right Jolly, we'll watch our scanner readings until it's within visual range. It's the most tangible thing we've found, so let's keep our eyes on it. All wings, continue along standard unilateral search vector. Let's not miss anything. Boomer needs every chance that we can give him." "Aye, Skipper. Gamma Wing in position." Jolly responded to the Strike Leader's order for himself and his wingman, Greenbean. "Aye, Captain. Beta Wing ready." Bojay's voice came in, verifying for the Captain that he and Deitra were also in their assigned positions within the arc of the scanner array formed by the six vipers. "Delta Wing here, Sir," , Lieutenant Giles' voice broke in on the open channel as he and Lieutenant Barton, the last of the four search wing pairs, moved to join the viper formation. Apollo watched his scanner display, glimpsing Jolly's spatial anomaly at long range, Lords of Kobol, please let that anomaly be a good sign. *** Chapter Two Scene Nine "Cassiopeia?" Sheba entered the main Life Station hatchway and approached the blonde med-tech who sat poring over a display on the main diagnostic station console. "Sheba. How are things on the bridge?" Cassiopeia managed a hopeful smile, "Is there any news about Boomer?" "No. No yet." Sheba controlled her voice carefully, but was unable to hide the dread that had begun to rise within her and the other warriors and support personnel that worked aboard the Galactica. The common thought that occupied all of them was that the search teams would be on their way back about now, and there had as yet been no communications regarding the missing pilot. Sheba shook her head and willed to one side her worried thoughts of Boomer and the pil