GREETINGS FROM SPACE FAMILY ROBINSON Originally written October, 2004 Updated as of Thursday, January 19, 2012 A Battlestar Galactica/Lost in Space//Space Family Robinson Crossover fanfic by Paul Robison Battlestar Galactica is the property of Universal Studios & Glen A. Larson Productions, (c) 1979. Lost in Space is the property of Irwin Allen, Space Productions and 20th Century Fox Studios (c) 1965. Space Family Robinson is the property of Gold Key Comics, (c) 1962. All are used without permission but with no intent or anticipation of monetary gain. This is solely for my amusement as well as the amusement of whoever else may read it. SPOILERS: "Greetings from Earth" (Battlestar Galactica) "Baltar's Escape" (Battlestar Galactica) "Experiment In Terra" (Battlestar Galactica) "The Hand of God" (Battlestar Galactica) SPECIAL GUEST STARS: Spock (Star Trek) Smeel (Lost in Space Season 2: "Treasure of the Lost Planet") Lee Crane (Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea) Harry Nelson (Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea) Producer Irwin Allen John, Maureen, Will, Judy & Penny Robinson (Lost in Space) Mort (Lost in Space Season 3: "A Day at the Zoo") Neistadt (Time Tunnel, "The Ghost of Nero") Effra (Lost in Space Season 1: "The Space Croppers" The Fremen (Dune) QZW & MXR (Lost in Space Season 3: "Two Weeks in Space") Craig, Tam and Tim Robinson (Space Family Robinson) Kleinemann (Time Tunnel, Invasion) Robot B9 (Lost in Space) Robby the Robot From the Adama Journals: Mr. Morbus. Who or what was he? Obviously, one of the most enigmatic figures ever encountered by us. He was discovered amid the wreckage of a large spacecraft on a lonely asteroid, and brought aboard the Galactica. He claimed to be of a higher degree of being than we were and demonstrated this through his powers of telekinesis, telepathy, and a direct power over the will of others. This last power, as I recall, brought Baltar to the Council of Twelve to stand trial for high treason. Some people also credit him with greatly increasing the output of our agro ships. These feats greatly impressed the Council and gained Morbus a large popular following among the people of the fleet as well. His offer to lead the fleet to the legendary planet Earth excited one and all. Morbus was, in fact, on the verge of election to leadership of the fleet at the head of the Council when he mysteriously disappeared. Morbus was last seen on the asteroid on which he was first discovered in a violent confrontation with Apollo, which is only sketchily recalled by Sheba and Starbuck. Another mystery is the connection (I personally believe there is one) between Morbus and the appearance of the bright, ultrafast spacecraft (?) that dogged the fleet during this period. These craft intercepted and held a number of warriors, although all were eventually returned safely. They, too, seemed to have had their memories of the recent past wiped clean. Some credit these strange mystic lights with the simultaneous improvement in agro-yields. Perhaps most puzzling of all is the fact that the three witnesses to the disappearance of Mr. Morbus, Apollo, Starbuck and Sheba, all returned with a memory of explicit time/space coordinates that they claimed were those of the mythical planet Earth. None of the three could explain the source of these coordinates; in fact, they felt as if they were blurting them out without conscious control, as if another were speaking through them. I have ordered the fleet to proceed on course to these space/time coordinates, as I believe them to be genuine. We will be there in about a sectan or two. But what will we find? Only time will provide the answer to that question. ***** CHAPTER ONE: THE ANCIENT FREQUENCY The main thrusters of the Battlestar Galactica was perhaps the one location of the great warship that seldom saw any visitors. Located at the stern of the Battlestar, the huge engines propelled the ship through space at whichever speed her commander felt was necessary. A by-product of the thrusters was the immense noise that, should anyone actually venture through these corridors without any ear protection, one's eardrums would be irreparably damaged. That was one of the main reasons why few people came. Another was that there was nothing but thrusters in this part of the Galactica, so except for engineers, why would an unneeded person come here? Had anyone been in that area, they would have been surprised to see a small group of people making their way through the corridors. Only the one in the lead seemed confident about where they were going, while the other three peered about them in mild apprehension. Not for the first time, Starbuck wondered if Apollo had finally gone space happy. When his friend told him, Sheba and Cassiopeia that there was something he wanted to show them, Starbuck figured that it was something normal. Not to mention safe. But when Apollo handed them the ear protectors and told them to follow him, Starbuck wasn't sure he really wanted to know. They'd been walking for about ten centons, and despite the ear protectors, Starbuck could still hear the dull roar of the thrusters. It rattled his ears, and it made his body feel funny. He couldn't wait until they were clear of them. And where do you think we're headed? he thought to himself, seeing Apollo up ahead. There's nothing but thrusters, thrusters and more thrusters up here. What does Apollo have in mind? Starbuck glanced at Cassiopeia, who was looking about in fascination. She'd never seen anything quite like this before, despite spending a fair portion of her childhood on her father's freighter. The ship probably would have been enormously dwarfed by the Battlestar, Starbuck speculated. Apollo stopped in front of a ladder, then turned to wait for the others to catch up with him. Sheba noticed that for once in his life, he was in a good mood. No, better than that. He was positively bursting at the seams with excitement, like a little boy who couldn't wait to show the adults what his latest feats were. The black-haired captain shouted something, but his words were lost in the rumbling thrusters. Starbuck, Sheba and Cassiopea had to join in a tight circle about him before they could catch anything he said. "What?" Starbuck yelled. "We go up!" Apollo shouted again, pointing to the ladder. To demonstrate, he grabbed hold of the rungs and started climbing. Starbuck exchanged a glance with the women, and they all shrugged. Whatever Apollo has in mind, it had better be worth it! he thought. The climb didn't take anywhere as long as the walk, but Sheba still felt winded as she followed Apollo. She looked up occasionally to enjoy the view, but when she looked beyond him, she didn't' see any destination in particular. When he finally stopped to open a hatch in the ceiling, Sheba breathed in a sigh of relief. Their journey was almost over. Apollo climbed in through the hatch, then reached out to help Sheba through. She found herself in an enclosed dome which appeared to have a circumference of four or five metrons, with an elevated console directly in front of the hatch. She tentatively lifted the ear protectors off as she walked to the far end of the dome, finding with some relief that the sounds of the thrusters were muffled by the deck, and as Apollo finished helping Cassiopeia and Starbuck through the hatch and shut it, the noise almost completely disappeared. All that remained was a slight ringing in their ears that Sheba hoped would go away quickly. She waited until everyone had uncovered their ears before asking, "Where in heaven's name are we?" "As high as you can get on the Galactica without a vac-suit," Apollo replied, clipping the ear protectors to his belt before climbing up the small ladder to the console. He had an impish smile on his face as he started to activate the controls. "We're directly above the main thrusters. It's a great place to get away from everyone to think." Starbuck wrapped his arms around Cassiopeia and nuzzled her ear while muttering loudly, "A cozy little place like this can be used for more than just thinking..." "Starbuck!" the blonde med-tech warned, though smiling widely at his suggestion. Sheba shook her head in mild dismay at their antics as the activity continued up at the control panel. "Are you ready?" Apollo continued, not looking at them just yet, though as Sheba glanced back at him, she could see that his grin had grown wider. "Ready for what?" she wanted to know. "Watch." With an exaggerated flourish, Apollo tapped a button on the console. There was a loud click above them, then like a great metal naranja, the metal hull broke away into four sections, moving back until the dome was completely uncovered. Apollo anxiously waited for their reactions. To his amusement, they all jumped at the click, then stared in wonder as the star field outside became visible. Sheba and Starbuck gaped at the sight, while Cassiopeia became slightly timid and moved in closer to Starbuck. Apollo couldn't help but grin even more as they took in the surroundings. "This is incredible!" Sheba exclaimed, looking about her in awe. "It's...bright," Cassiopeia added nervously, still holding onto Starbuck a little tightly. She had the feeling that at any micron, the vacuum of space would break through the thin shell that separated them from the outside, and would sweep them out into space. "And frightening." Seeing Cassiopeia's apprehension, which was the complete opposite of Sheba's reaction, Apollo forgot himself and laughed. "Don't worry, Cassiopeia. We're perfectly safe. The bubble's constructed of transparent tylinium." "It's sure a lot different than a Viper cockpit," Starbuck said slowly, still taking everything in. "It's so open!" "It's like riding in the hand of God," Apollo said dreamily, looking up at the stars that were passing above them. Starbuck glanced back to see that he looked totally at peace, then Apollo quickly added as though feeling slightly embarrassed at his open statement, "Or at least that's the way I like to think of it. Do you like it, Sheba?" She twirled around at the sound of her name, grinning at the beauty of the stars. For a micron, she found that she was at a loss for words when she saw the hopeful look on Apollo's face. It was almost like he needed to hear her approval of this little sanctuary before he felt totally at ease. "Oh, Apollo, I love it!" He just about beamed with her words as he beckoned to her. "Then come up here and try it! Come on." Getting up from the seat, he stoodo n the little ledge behind it as he helped Sheba up the ladder to the console. He quickly showed her everything there---basically a scanner with some controls to adjust the frequency, the switch for the dome, and a few others he still wasn't sure about, then left her there to fool around so he could go take in the sight. In the meantime, Cassiopeia was wondering why a dome like this would be located in such an unlikely spot on top of the Battlestar. She knew that space was a premium everywhere in the fleet, and hadn't Starbuck said when they'd first met that there wasn't anyplace private in the fleet? How was it that Apollo had this secluded spot all to himself? "Apollo," she began as he passed by her and Starbuck to the front, "what was this bubble used for?" "It's a celestial chamber, the only one left on the Galactica. When the old girl was launched over five hundred yahrens ago, there were a number of these domes." Apollo sounded like a professor lecturing to a class of students as he stood with his back to them. "In those days, the navigators used to come up here to take star sightings, to sort of double-check the navigation computer. I doubt that anyone's been up here except us for a hundred yahrens, maybe more." Sheba glanced up from her examination of the console. "Well, all these instruments seem to work." To prove the point to herself, she switched between bandwidth on the scanner, but she only succeeded in picking up snow and static. "Most of them weren't working when I first came across the dome, and the others weren't far behind them. I repaired them once they didn't." The almost dreamy tone returned to Apollo's voice as he looked out at the stars. "I like coming up here to shoot the stars the way my ancestors did." Starbuck had to laugh. He'd always known that Apollo was the kind of person who, as a child, would sneak in space adventure stories when they were supposed to be studying, or would hide under the sheets reading those stories with a flashlight during sleep period. "Sometimes, buddy, I get the feeling that you would have loved living in the past. Knocking around some planetary system in an old fashioned, sublight rocket." Apollo couldn't help smiling at Starbuck's words. Not many people realized that he had a more lighthearted side to him, which included a love of history and a love of exploration. Starbuck had often seen that side of Apollo emerge in the many yahrens he'd known him, but he had the feeling that bout Sheba and Cassiopeia were seeing this side of the black-haired captain for the first time. "Well, it may have been slow, but it was more of a challenge." He sighed as he looked up, almost wishing that the technical age they lived in would disappear, and he would find himself on the deck of the ship that Starbuck had described earlier. It had been a boyhood dream of his, and the closest he'd ever come was once when he had the opportunity to fly one of the old tubs in the Caprican Air Museum during an Armament Day celebration. He had to resist the temptation of jerking back on the joystick to take it out of Caprica's atmosphere into deep space. "I think that living back then might have been more fun." Something caught Sheba's eye as she listened to Apollo. The channel she'd been tuned on had flickered, showing a picture. She reached for the dial to adjust it, and succeeded in getting a somewhat clear and more complete picture. Sounds came emanating from the speakers, and she recognized them as voices. Frowning, she glanced up from the monitor. "Uh, Apollo? What's this scanner set for?" "Long range communications." He barely turned around as he spoke to her. "Only you won't get anything on it. Those gamma frequencies are outdated. We don't use them anymore." His information only made her frown even more deeply as the transmission continued. It was clearer now, and it appeared to be something large hovering. She couldn't make out its exact shape to identify it, or what exactly it was hovering over. "Well, somebody does, dear." "What?" Apollo's expression matched Sheba's as he hurried back to her side to see what she was talking about. "It's very weak, but we are receiving a signal," she said, feeling Apollo come next to her. He put his right arm on the back of the chair, barely brushing her shoulders as he steadied himself. To his amazement, he saw the same object as Sheba. He quickly hit the recording device that was located at the end of the console, then joined Sheba in trying to adjust the controls. Still on the floor, Starbuck tried to peer around Apollo's body to get a glimpse of the picture. He only succeeded in seeing something obscured by the reference of snow. But both he and Cassiopeia could hear Apollo and Sheba's efforts with the consoles by slight crackles and hisses in the audio. Among the interference were snatches of what were now sort of identifiable as voices. "Holy felgercarb!"the blonde warrior gasped. "What is it?" Apollo shook his head in frustration as he concentrated. "I'm recording it and trying to get a directional fix." The picture began to lose whatever resolution it had, and Sheba bit her lip angrily. "We're losing it!" Then, with a burst of static, it faded into complete static, and a hiss came over the comline. Disappointed, Apollo leaned back from the console. "It's gone." "Any idea where it came from?" Starbuck pressed, his curiosity piqued. "Well, it looked like a ship," Sheba began, trying to recall the image, then she shrugged, "but it didn't look like any I've ever seen." "I have." Apollo was still staring at the monitor, a slight frown on his face. From the micron he'd first spotted the object, he'd slightly recognized it. "From our history scans. It looked a little like something the Colonies used to fly a couple thousand yahrens ago." "A couple of thousand...?" Starbuck repeated in disbelief. "What are we going to do with it?" "I have an idea." Apollo took the tape out of its slot and stuck it in his belt, then reached past Sheba to start shutting down the console. ***** The most prized commodity that a Viper pilot could possess outside of ambrosia and flying was sleep, and it was something few got enough of. After the events of the past yahren and a half since the Colonies were destroyed by the Cylons, sleep became more and more precious until it surpassed ambrosa on the scale of important things. And any spare micron outside of duty counted. That's what Apollo was betting on when he, Starubuck, Sheba and Cassiopeia entered the Viper pilots' bachelor quarters on Beta deck. Although it was a few centars into the sleep period, there were only a few bunks occupied. Apollo smiled slightly as he spotted the one bunk he was targeting. Boomer, the unwitting victim. One thing most people didn't know about Apollo was that he was good at practical jokes. He just rarely had the opportunity to pull any, and they also didn't fit into his public image as the stern and humorless flight captain. The jokes had been a defense against Zac, his younger brother, who was the true master of jokes and would target Apollo with anything he could during their days of intense sibling rivalry. Walking quietly so he wouldn't wak any of the other sleeping warriors, Apollo made his way to Boomer's bunk. His friend was sleeping on his side, a blissful expression on his dark face. Trying not to laugh as Starbuck stood next to him, and Cassiopeia and Sheba gathered at the foot of the bed, Apollo gently shook Boomer's outstretched arm. "Boomer," he whispered loudly. He was only answered by a slight grunt from Boomer, who barely stirred at the touch. He shook him a little harder the second time. "Boomer!" Two more grunts from the sleeping man, who this time smiled broadly in his sleep. He reached out and lightly patted Apollo's hand. Sheba and Cassiopeia erupted into quite giggles as Apollo shook his head. "I wonder who he thinks you are?" Starbuck mused. With a small click, Apollo turned on the little bedside lamp and shone the light into Boomer's face. The results were instantaneous this time as Boomer's eyes flew open, then squinted at the bright light. He fumbled for the switch, brushing against Apollo's hand as he turned off the light. Having his sight back, he looked back to see his friend's innocently grinning face. "Apollo..." he groaned, then noticed Starbuck at Apollo's side. It figured that the two of them would be in on his torment together. How would one of them like something put into their bunks, or something equally shocking like that. "You interrupted the best dream I've ever had! I'd just met this girl and I was about to make a..." Giggles at the foot of the bunk drew his attention, and he saw Sheba and Cassiopeia. They waved in shy greeting, then laughed at his surprised expression. Boomer was grateful that it wasn't easy for him to blush as he groaned, pulling the sheets up closer to his body as he turned on his side and shut his eyes. Like Hades these four are going to get me out of bed. "What's going on?" he asked, trying to get comfortable again. If it wasn't worth it, they'd pay for this one way or another. Already he was making a mental note to give both Apollo and Starbuck at last on illegal rib block the next time they played Triad. "Boomer, we need your help," Apollo began. He shook his head. "That's where you're wrong. I need sleep." "Boomer, you're a whiz at long range communications," Starbuck added. "Doctor Wilker's better, he pointed out. Why get me when a professional could do the job for them? Or if it were illegal, just get Starbuck to hack in for them. "But Doctor Wilker's on the electronics ship," Sheba said, and Boomer couldn't help but wince at that. Touche. "Good for him." Better there than here being bothered by these four, Boomer thought as he kept his eyes tightly shut. "Boomer, we picked up a transmission on a gamma frequency." Oh, Apollo's excited. Too bad. He can come back later after sleep period. "Good for you," was the jaded reply. You can come any micron now, Mr. Sleep, he thought. No one said anything for the next few microns, and Boomer began to believe that they had left. He'd won, and they were leaving him alone to sleep. He was about to smile in victory when he heard Apollo give a short sigh of exasperation. Realizing that he'd missed something, Boomer reluctantly opened his eyes. Frak, he's getting good at getting his way. "On a what?" he asked in resignation. Apollo was now nearly bursting from the seams with enthusiasm, which Boomer realized was a rare sight with him. "A gamma frequency!" "Gamma?!" he blurted, bolting upright in bed. He said it louder than he'd intended, and he winced as the nearest sleeping warrior tossed slightly in his sleep. His friends needlessly hushed him as he continued in a quieter voice. "No way! That frequency's ancient!!" Starbuck nodded. "Interesting, huh?" "Might be," Boomer agreed, throwing back the sheets to get out of bed. No more sleep tonight he thought wearily as his feet hit the cool deck. "Did you record it?" Apollo nodded and handed the small, flat disk to him. "Right here." "Why didn't you say so?" he demanded. He'd had the impression that the broadcast was going on at that centon, not that it was in hard copy and could wait for another few centars. He was about to make his way to the exit when Sheba and Cassiopeia partially blocked the path. They both had smirks on their faces, and Cassiopeia seemed to be managing to control the laughter that Sheba was unable to keep in. "Ah, Boomer," the med-tech began, giving him a wicked grin, "are you going to the lab looking like that?" "Huh?" Boomer looked at her blankly, then followed her gaze to what he was wearing. If it weren't for the trunks, he'd be naked, and he felt his face flush again as he became suddenly very self-conscious. "Uh...no." Apollo couldn't help but laugh at Boomer's predicament, but as soon as he saw Boomer begin to turn in his and Starbuck's direction, he quickly got rid of his grin. By the time the two friends were facing each other, Apollo had a completely deadpan expression---or as best he could ever come to one. Boomer shook his head as he saw the laughter in Apollo's green eyes, knowing what he'd been doing microns beforehand. Without another word, he shooed the women out of the billet so he could quickly change into his uniform. By the time he was finished, Apollo and Starbuck were waiting for him at the entrance where the Viper helmets were located. "I ought to slug you right here and now," he threatened the captain, who was back to grinning. "If I'd done that to you, I'd be on report right now." "Maybe, maybe not," Apollo shot back. "Don't tell me that you didn't enjoy the attention." "Oh, I soaked up every micron of it, Apollo," Boomer grumbled. "Just keep your eyes open. Now, let's get this looked at before the Commander calls an alert. You owe me exactly eight centars of sleep, buddy." ***** Before the days of the Holocaust and Exodus, the Galactica's communications lab had been outfitted with the most up-to-date equipment the Colonies had developed. Since then, Wilker had been making periodic adjustments to the equipment that would have thrown off anyone not familiar with the sometimes eccentric engineer's habits, but Boomer knew the equipment as well as he knew the layout of his Viper's controls. The lab was empty when Boomer brought his entourage into the darkened work area, and after turning on the lights, he sat himself down at the main terminal. Logging in, he inserted Apollo's tape and ran the transmission once. The fuzzed image appeared on the numerous monitors, and Boomer sat back to examine what he could through the static. After a few microns, he gave his judgment. "It's some sort of space craft." From his position directly behind Boomer's chair, where he was leaning against it with his elbows, Apollo exchanged glances with Starbuck before asking, "Can you enhance the signal?" Boomer shrugged. "Maybe Wilker can with the computer, but the best I can do is try to clear up the audio. He stopped the tape, then returned to the beginning. As he replayed it, he began typing commands into the keyboard. The sounds coming from the speaker became louder by a few notches, and the voices and noises were easier to hear. The voices were surrounded by what sounded like beeps at the end of their sentences, and Boomer guessed that they were male by their timbre. He vainly tried to make out words amid the jumble of sounds that were fading in and out. "...downsandby...eegle...ileegle...twy." He cocked his head, then entered another command. A rush of accelerated noise came through the speakers, then he was rewarded with a much clearer sound. The words were still difficult to understand, and Boomer strained to make sense of them. "...enderset resenge...downssandby...gofer eloheye..." To his right, Boomer saw Starbuck and Cassiopeia shake their heads in disappointment, and he knew that Apollo and Sheba must be doing the same thing. He finally turned the transmission off and turned to in his chair to face all four of his friends. "That's all, folks," he announced. "Do you have any idea where it might be coming from?" Sheba asked. He paused to consider her question. "It could be a harmonic signal that is either doubling or quadrupling its original transmitting frequency. With Gamma, you never know, that's why we don't use it anymore. But if it is harmonic, then its origins could be relatively close." There was silence, then Apollo voiced the question that everyone was wondering. "And if it's not a harmonic signal?" "If that's a primary signal, then it's come a long way to be that weak." Boomer paused to make his next point. "But I think it more likely to be... Intergalactic." "Intergalactic?" Starbuck repeated in awe, as though only beginning to understand what that could mean. "Then we picked up something that cold have been transmitted a hundred yahrens ago?" "Or a thousand," Boomer continued, "Or ten thousand. There's just no telling how long that signal's been traveling through space." "You mean that we could be looking at something from the past?" Cassiopeia summarized, looking amazed. "Quite possibly." Boomer reactivated the transmission so they could listen and watch again. He was now almost captivated by the sight of the fuzzed, enigmatic shape that appeared amid the static. It seemed to have a bulky square shape in its upper contours while from what appeared to be the lower section, several arcs reminiscent of tentacles seemed to protrude. Behind the craft, the grayish brown background of an orbiting body, either a planet or a satellite, was apparent. Apollo's voice was quiet with awe and wonder. "I wonder whose...?" ***** CHAPTER TWO: SPACESHIP SNARE Adama looked closely at the faces of the four warriors and the medtech who had come only a few centons beforehand. The story that Apollo had told about the transmission, backed up with interjections from the others, had fascinated the Galactica commander. "It was on the gamma frequency?" he said, making sure that he had all the details correct. "Yes, sir," Apollo replied. "And you picked this up where? In the Celestial Dome?" "That's right. The communicator was never updated for iota frequencies when the technology became available a few decades ago." Adama nodded at the information. "And you say that you saw what might be an ancient ship?" "That's what it looked like," Starbuck cut in. "The problem is that there's too much static to get any close detail of its structure." "And where is this transmission now? I assume that you made a recording of it?" "In Doctor Wilker's lab, sir," Boomer answered. "And you couldn't tell whether it was an harmonic or a primary signal?" "No, sir. The transmission is too garbled to tell." "Ah." Adama paced slightly in front of them, fascinated by the mystery presented by this occurrence. "Well, your guess is as good as mine, but let's check out Boomer's theory that it might be a harmonic signal from something close by. Did you get a position fix?" Starbuck nodded as he made his way to the large star chart on the side of the bridge. He placed his index finger on its surface, then turned back to the group. "As near as we can compute, it came through this quadrant," he tapped the area lightly, "something like this." He traced a curved line from the original position to the middle of the map, which represented the Galactica's current position in space. Adama watched the movement carefully, taking note of the coordinates of each part Starbuck's finger passed through. "Colonel Tigh," he said, speaking into the comlink he was wearing on his head. "Concentrated scan, please." Up on the command deck, Tigh glanced down at them, then passed the order onto Omega. The bridge officer started the scan, then waited for further information to enter into the computer. "Start scanning quadrant epsilon-twenty-two, mark four. Athena, are we getting any transmissions on the other frequencies from that area?" While running a similar scan to Omega's , and waiting for it to complete, Athena looked at the quadrant that her father had indicated. It looked like just about every area of space that they'd been traveling though of late. Empty and boring. "Nothing, Commander. All comchannels are clear." Adama nodded at the information, then turned to the others. There was one more mattered that needed clearing up. "All these yahrens I've commanded this ship, and I'd completely forgotten about that celestial dome topside, or else I know I would have ordered it dismantled during our last refit on Caprica. What were you four doing up there?" His dark eyes went from one face to the other. Sheba and Cassiopeia were avoiding his gaze, while Apollo smiled slightly and looked past his father, refusing to speak. Adama found himself raising an eyebrow in amusement, then focused his gaze on the embarrassed Lieutenant Starbuck. "Uh, just taking in the view, Commander," he said, wondering why the others were making it seem that something...odd was going on up there. If that's the impression they wanted to leave, they could do it themselves. "It's a very nice view," Sheba added, sympathizing with Starbuck's situation. Apollo and Cassiopeia were still being silent, and she wondered what they were thinking. "Oh." Adama nodded, understanding that some things were just not supposed to be known by commanding officers. Silence fell between them for the next few centons until Tigh came down from the command deck. "Sir, the only thing of possible interest in that quadrant is a small moving object on the edge of our scanners located about here." Tigh indicated a position that was midway from the points Starbuck had traced earlier. "Yes. It's moving parallel to the line of transmission," Adama observed, then looked at Apollo. "If it came from there it may indeed be a harmonic signal." His son didn't seem convinced as he frowned at the star map. "Maybe." Adama looked back at his aide. "Any idea what the object could be?" "Too far away for that data, sir," Tigh replied, shaking his head. "We're barely picking it up as it is." Musing through the information, Adama gazed at the star map as he thought. Under normal circumstances, he would have ignored the odd occurrence and kept his attention focused on Cylons. However, since their enemy hadn't been seen or heard from in more than half a yahren, Adama decided this was worth investigating. A transmission might mean a civilization capable of doing trade with, and the Fleet could always use new sources of food. "Apollo," he began, "You and Starbuck take a Viper patrol into that quadrant. See if you can locate the source of that signal, but maintain caution at all times. "Yes, sir." Apollo motioned for Starbuck to follow him, and they quickly left the bridge. "Boomer, Sheba," he continued, "Keep on working on that recording until Doctor Wilker returns. If you're successful in clearing up any more of it, contact me immediately." Giving the commander a quick nod, Boomer hurried after his friends. Cassiopeia stayed behind, looking at the star map as Adama went up to the command deck to supervise the launch. She was about ready to leave the bridge when she felt a tap on her shoulder. "What were you doing in that dome?" Tigh asked as Cassiopeia turned to face her. He'd noticed the reluctance that both she and Apollo when questioned by the commander, and he had to admit that the curiosity was piqued. She flashed a grin that didn't match the scorn in her voice. "Colonel!" He watched her leave, then suddenly shuddered. Did he really want to know?" "I guess it's time to discuss discipline in the ranks again," he sighed, following Adama's path back up to the command deck. ***** He was asleep when they made the discovery. He was slouching in the cockpit of his small, sleek, long-range Viper ship. A dead cigar dangled from between two fingers of his right hand and there was a flurry of ashes dusting the toe of one of his boots. Beyond the window of the cockpit stretched the endless dark silence of space. All at once a tiny red bulb of light began to blink urgently on the control panel and a nasty buzzing sound filled the tiny cockpit. Lieutenant Starbuck straightened up, blinking. "Okay, okay," he mumbled at the dash panel. "Calm down." He stuck the cigar between his even teeth and scowled at the timedial. "Hey, you weren't supposed to wake me up for another centon yet. I'm still on sleep period." "Starbuck?" It was Apollo's voice piping out of one of the speaker grids. "Do I have you to thank for being dragged out of a well-deserved snooze by the seat of my astrum, Apollo?" Starbuck inquired "To that, I must plead guilty, buddy," replied Apollo. "Aww. Did you miss my terse conversation?" "Listen, shake the felgercarb out of your brain and act like you're awake, okay?" "I'm fresh as a daisy," Starbuck assured him as he relit his fumarello. "Proceed." "I'm roughly fifty microns ahead of you." "So? Are you trying to beat me to the finish line to win the gold trophy?" "Will you please get serious? Something weird is starting to show up on my scanners." Frowning, Starbuck said, "Oh, boy. Is it that object they were tracking back on the Galactica?" "Looks like it." "What is it? An asteroid? A comet? A planet?" "It's not any of those, buddy. It's a ship of some kind." "The one we saw back in the celestial dome, I hope." Starbuck stiffened in his seat and stared out the cockpit window. "Somehow, I don't think so. I'm getting a better look at it as we're talking and...Holy frak!" Starbuck's left eye narrowed. "Sounds like something you've never run against before," he said. "What's the warbook saying about it?" "Round, saucer-shaped, atomic motors, three decks and...omigod! I'm reading six life forms aboard!" "Humans?" "Yes, Starbuck, they're humans, but their bioriythms don't match Colonial norms!" Apollo said. "Can you catch up with me? Quick?" "If not quicker," said Starbuck. When Starbuck saw it, too, all he could say was, "I'll be damned!" Their two viper ships were soon flying in tandem. Moving through space toward them was the ship Apollo had first sighted. It was like a blunt "flying saucer" with a bubble containing a flashing light situated in the center of its upper hull. There was a large viewport at its bow, a little porthole on the starboard side of its curved middle hull and the unmistakable outline of the ship's airlock next to it. There was a circular disk on the underbelly that glittered on and off and Apollo guessed that it was part of the ship's propulsion system. Starbuck's forehead wrinkled. "I'd be happy to tell you who they are, but they're not responding to my hails." He rested his unlit fumarello on the panel and punched some buttons. After a few seconds he nodded. "My scanners confirmed what yours indicated," he said after checking the readout. "This thing, basically, is a sublight vehicle, nuclear powered. And let's not forget there are supposed to be humans aboard. "But we don't know exactly what kind of humans." "Greetings from Earth," Starbuck muttered. "Uh, you wanna run that by me again, good buddy," Apollo said. "Greetings from Earth," Starbuck repeated. "Isn't that where these people are from?" "I wouldn't bet too heavily on that just yet." "My gut confirms it," Starbuck told him impatiently. "We've come millions of microns, searching for a contact like this. And here it is." "Maybe," said Captain Apollo. "Hold your position." Starbuck suddenly kicked in his turbos and went shooting away from the side of the other Viper, zooming toward the strange and unfamiliar silver-gray spacecraft. Slowing again, he commenced flying a series of slow, expert loops around the ship. He scrutinized the ship's underbelly and came close enough to the main viewport to get a good look inside the ship's upper level. Yes, there was a helm and seats in front of it, but those seats were unoccupied. "Back off!" admonished the voice of Apollo. "You might jar their chips." "I'm not going to unsettle them any," promised Starbuck. "Don't fret. You keep forgetting how personable I am. Remember when we met those paranurses from the..." "Okay, let's say you're right and this ship does come from Earth. Hasn't the possibility that the crew has never encountered anyone from beyond their home planet until now occurred to you?" said Apollo. "If that's the case, then they just might be inclined to attack any hotshot Viper pilot, no matter how personable he is, who comes buzzing too close!" "C'mon, use that brilliant diminutive brain of yours," urged Starbuck as he flew an even lazier circle around the larger ship. "Nobody inside this weird crate is going to do anything to me." "It's not an abandoned ship, Starbuck. This thing's moving under its own power, slowly, I'll admit, and we know that there are people aboard: people, mind you, not corpses!" Starbuck frowned over yet another scanner readout. "Speaking of power, old chum, my scanners don't indicate the presence of either Corrilax, Solium or Lazon." "Which means they're likely using some other form of explosive material." "Ah, another good indication that they're from someplace not connected to an old Colonial settlement. They're from someplace different, someplace like Earth." "Possibly, good buddy, but..." "Oh, wait a centon!" Starbuck was now flying on a course that paralleled that of the mystery ship. "There's one thing we've been overlooking." "What?" "We haven't determined exactly what this vessel's function is or, for that matter, what it's doing out here." "People go into space for various reasons, Starbuck. They're not all creepy." "I mean, look at that thing. It's got no markings to designate its point of origin. It's like they don't want anyone to know where they come from. I've got this terrible feeling they're running from an oppressive enemy, just like we are." "Okay, I'll buy that," acknowledged Apollo. "So maybe it'd be a good idea to just leave them alone to continue their running." "No way! These are, I'm damn near certain, Earth people," said Starbuck. "After all our searching and hunting, we are on the brink of making first contact!" "And how do you propose we make this---first contact?" "Simple. Take the ship home and talk to them." Apollo said, "That might mean exceeding our orders." "It doesn't. Dammit, we're on a scouting mission and we've made a discovery," said Starbuck, sticking the dead fumarello back between his teeth. "If I was given to fancy lingo, I'd dub this discovery both monumental and stupendous. Even nifty." "So?" "So right now I'm going to drop a parasite control box onto the side of this baby here, announced Starbuck as he began easing his craft closer to the larger spacecraft. "I noticed there's a trio of landing legs on the underbelly, so I'll be using the control box to activate them so we can set her down on the docking bay on the Galactica after we finish guiding her there. Then we can find out exactly what makes these people tick. Meet with your approval?" After a few microns, Apollo replied: "It gets my seal of approval, Starbuck. But the commander's? Who knows...?" ***** From the Adama Journals: The Galactica moves majestically through space, an immense yet slim-lined multi-level vehicle. She is the greatest fighting ship of the Colonial Fleet, a self-contained world housing thousands. And the fate of those thousands, their ultimate destiny, is in my hands, as her commander. Somewhere out in space is an answer. Many answers. If only it held an answer to Colonel Tigh's chief problem: his trademark impatience. By the good graces of the Lords of Kobol, the Galactica continues to lead her flock toward the co-ordinates given to us by the great white lights that vanished as inexplicably as they appeared. But what were they? Where did they come from? Yes, there are theories. Personally, I'm inclined to go along with those who feel the lights were starships, craft from Earth, that transmitted the coordinates into the minds of Apollo, Sheba, and Starbuck. That gives us hope, since it seems to indicate that on Earth there is a highly developed technology and if we can get there... On the other hand, my view has very little realistic support in its favor. Morbus's followers---and he still has many admirers in the Fleet---maintain that this knowledge was his final gift to mankind. A gift? What utter nonsense! Mr. Morbus was a malevolent presence on my ship, a being devoid of compassion or love, a corruptor in every since of the word. Why would that treacherous demon bestow such an offering to us? Had he somehow sensed the mistrust I and my family had for him and decided to withdraw rather than provoke grave dissension, leaving us the guide to Earth he had promised them? His admirers seem to think so, at least. Tigh has a different opinion. He thinks that the same shock that caused amnesia in the three warriors also produced a joint wish-fulfilling hallucination in them. Did I say if we can reach Earth? It sounds like a mighty big 'if', even to me, I will admit. But, that is why I have our long-range scouts on patrol, watching for signs that might point us in the right direction. I have considerable respect for my son, Apollo. I know he's out there, piloting one of the scouting Vipers and doing all he can. Unfortunately, Lieutenant Starbuck is out there too, and I know what a hothead he is. Nonetheless, this "hothead" named Starbuck has pulled us out of quite a few rough places. Admittedly, he has a tendency to be frivolous at unfortunate times. He's too fond of gambling and taking risks, yet I still place a good deal of faith in him. ***** CHAPTER THREE: OH RAPTURE, OH JOY! Commander Adama came striding into the control center, the bridge, rather, of the Galactica. He halted, scanning the vast room and noting that several crewmen and crewwomen were not at their regular posts. Instead, they were either clustered at the vast view window or around the communication screen that was linked with Captain Apollo's returning Viper. "These people are not attending to their regular duties, Tigh," Adama said tersely. "I demand an explanation at once!" Tigh was standing near the entryway, gazing out at the starfield beyond their ship. "It's my fault, Commander. I took it upon myself to allow a certain laxity," he replied as he faced the wide-shouldered, gray-haired Adama. Adama said, "Isn't this the sort of behavior you usually dictate memos about? Crew neglecting assigned duties, confusion rampant on the bridge?" "In normal times, I do take a stand against that, sir. But these are not normal times," the colonel said, rubbing his hands together. "Captain Apollo has communicated the very gratifying news that he and Lieutenant Starbuck have discovered an Earth ship and are escorting it back here to us." "Whether or not that ship is from Earth remains to be seen," Adama scolded. "Yes, sir. But I'm sure the vehicle will prove to be outward bound from the planet Earth," said Tigh. "Naturally, everyone is extremely elated and they're anxious for a glimpse of the craft." "Noted, Colonel." Nodding, Adama raised his voice. "Attention on deck!" he barked. Every man and woman on the bridge snapped to attention at the sound of the commander's voice. "Ladies and gentlemen, I fully appreciate the uniqueness of what may be happening. However, you are all hereby ordered to return to your stations. This may or may not be our long-awaited contact with an Earth vessel. Whatever it is, we must proceed with maximum efficiency and caution." Murmuring, reluctant as children leaving a carnival early, the crewmembers drifted back to their assigned posts on the Galactica bridge. "Thank you," Adama said to them. "Now, I think I'd better get on the Unicom and address everyone, since I have a hunch the excitement is going to be spread throughout the fleet." "Unfortunately, it already has," confirmed Tigh, following the commander to the nearest Unicom pickup. "I'd like you to take charge of seeing to it that the designated area of the landing bay is cleared of all unauthorized personnel. I've fully alerted Doctor Salik and his medical team to be standing by with full decontamination crew and equipment." Adama reached for the Unicom switch. ***** Lieutenant Jolly had his broad back turned to the nearest view window of the rec lounge. Hunched slightly, a look of admiration on his plump face, he was gazing across the small table at his date. "No, I think you've got a lovely name, Zixi. Sure, there's a lilt to it and..." "You really and truly think so?" inquired the pretty auburn-haired Zixi. "Because so many people are prone to..." "I know what it's like to have a name jerks kid about," he said. "I mean a name like Jolly is open to attack from all sorts of annoying angles, you know. 'Not living up to your name today, huh?' or 'Hi Jolly, you don't look much like your name,' or 'When's your next family reunion, so we can get our Jollys?' and so on." The paranurse's pretty freckled nose winkled very slightly. "With my name it isn't so much puns and lays on words, Jolly, as it is just...Well, for one thing it's sort of hard to pronounce, right." "Zixi? That's not tough at all. Hades' hole, I could write a song around your name with no trouble." "Excuse me, but you're not pronouncing it exactly right, either." He straightened up, smote his broad chest with a fist. "Then how do I pronounce it?" "The X has more of a Z sound." "Ah-ha!" said Lieutenant Jolly, nodding sagely. "A magamna by any other name would smell as sweet, as they say." "Magamna? What's that?" "It's a kind of flower that grows wild over several planets I've visited in my day. The name stinks but the flower itself smells pretty good," the hefty lieutenant explained. "Hence, the saying. It means that it's not what your name is, but what you are inside that counts." "I agree," admitted Zixi. "But sometimes I wish my name was Verda or Fenestra, or even...Annie." "Say, why don't you tell me more about yourself?" suggested Jolly. "Ever since I met you at the billyarks table the other night shift I've been wondering about you." "Let's see," said Zixi, tapping the rim of her ambrosa tankard. "I'm an only child. Both my mother and father have funny names, too. It's a long family tradition." "All right then, let's forget about names," put in Jolly. "Or maybe I can make up a nickname for you and then..." "People of the Fleet, your attention, please," Commander Adama's voice came booming out of the overhead Unicom speakers. "Hey, that's the commander," muttered Jolly, looking away from the young woman and up at a speaker grid. "This must be pretty important." "Rumors are spreading faster than fact about a manned vehicle soon to be brought aboard the Galactica. I must ask you all to be patient and cautious in your optimism. The incoming vessel will have to be placed in strict quarantine, carefully, before we can allow anyone near it. We cannot run any risk that might jeopardize our lives, or the lives of whoever is aboard this spaceship." He then paused. "As to where this craft originates from, I ask that you refrain from any speculation or false optimism at this time. Too much remains that is unknown to us at present, and only the most thorough of examinations, which may take some time to fully implement, can begin to answer those questions. I can only assure you that all information will be made available in as timely a fashion as can be done. For now, I ask that you return to your normal duties, and to act with prudence and caution as far as whatever future events may hold in store for us. Thank you." Jolly rocked back in his chair as the commander's words faded away. "Hey, that's darn exciting," he said, tugging at his mustache. An excited murmur of talk was filling the lounge. The other patrons began to discuss Commander Adama's message. Zixi said, "It may mean we'll be able to settle on Earth." "It sure might." Jolly popped up to his feet. Then he bent and took the young woman's hand. "I remain deeply devoted to you, Zixi...Did I pronounce it okay that time around?" "Pretty near." "Good. Anyway, I want to scoot to the docking area right fast," he informed her. "We'll rendezvous again as soon as this crisis passes." Bowing, he deposited a smacking kiss on her hand and then went trotting out. ***** CHAPTER FOUR: DECONTAMINATION PROCEDURES Starbuck, chewing hard on the end of his latest fumarello, went hurrying along the metal-walled corridor. "I'd like to see them try," he was saying. Apollo, lagging a few paces behind said, "You know damn well they won't let us anywhere near that thing until it's safely decontaminated." "We found that ship!" said Starbuck. He halted before a turbolift door and gave the down button an angry push. "We hauled it back here to the Galactica, at great personal risk of life and limb! Hades, Apollo, it's our baby. Sort of, you know, like an orphan we found out in a storm or a stray daggit we took in out of the cold." "Stop it! You're breaking my heart," laughed Apollo. The turbolift door whooshed open and the anxious Lieutenant Starbuck dived in. "I'd dearly love to see you get exuberant about something, for once." "People can be pleased without flapping their arms and shooting steam out of their ears." "But that's what's life is all about. Flapping your arms, jumping up and down, letting all the world know you're having the time of your life," said the lieutenant as the turbolift cage dropped them swiftly toward the docking area where the ship they found had been taken. "That's how you know you're alive." "I know dozens of other ways of telling." The doors swished open and they saw a long corridor crowded with people. At its end two impassive security guards stood blocking the entrance to the landing bay. Spotting Apollo and Starbuck, Lieutenant Jolly pushed his way back to them. "Hey, fellas, what gives?" Starbuck asked his "Are those security nitwits yonder keeping everyone out?" "Yep, 'fraid so," complained the hefty lieutenant. "I came hustling down here from the lounge, leaving behind an absolutely striking young woman with hair the color of a solar flare." "Spare me the details of your sordid love life, Jolly." Starbuck, using elbow and shoulder, pushed into the curious crowd. Following in his wake, Captain Apollo cautioned Starbuck, "Don't go punching anybody in the snoot, good buddy. Because I won't come visiting you in the brig." "Hooey!" observed Starbuck, his fumarello tilting at a warlike angle. "All I'm after is fair play. It's an established rule of galactic salvage that a lost ship rightly belongs to the discoverer---in this case, me!" "This isn't a derelict cargo ship, Bucko!" "Stop right there, Starbuck," advised the larger of the two burly guards. "Hi, Gromak." Hands on his hips, Starbuck scowled at the big man. "Look, try to comprehend what I'm about to impart to you. Utilize every single cell of that pea-size brain of yours. That's my baby in there and I intend to see her." "No admittance!" "Maybe you didn't hear me, Gromak. I'm the guy who found that frakkin' crate," Starbuck informed him. "I've got a right to visit...Quit poking me, Apollo." Someone had tapped the feisty lieutenant on the shoulder. "Now, as I was saying..." Starbuck had noticed that the guard had stiffened to attention and he decided he'd better look back over his shoulder. "Oh...How do you do, Commander?" "Fine, Lieutenant Starbuck," replied Commander Adama, who'd made his way to the door. "Allow me to personally congratulate you two for the excellent job you've done." Grinning, Starbuck snapped his fingers. "All in a day's work, sir," he said modestly. "Now, will you explain to these overzealous guardians here that I have a perfect right to see that ship?" "I'm afraid none of us can get a closer look until Doctor Salik says it's safe," the commander said. "Not even you?" Adama shook his head. "Not even me." "So what do we do?" "Wait." ***** "This is incredible," said Apollo, in Adama's quarters, during the Galactica's "night." Both father and son were looking at a close-up view of the strange interstellar vehicle on one of the wall monitors. For such a small ship, it seemed so imposing, the darkened main observation windows at its bow filling the screen like the eye of some great cyclopean beast. Beyond camera range, technicians, some with hand-held scanners, some with shoulder-mounted scanners, floated over the ship on repulsorlift platforms, checking it over for any signs of bombs or other contraband. Below them, there were other technicians, Doctor Salik included, in decontamination suits, hosing the ship down with a concentrated antibacterial agent to kill any foreign microbes that may have accumulated on her hull. Nothing about it struck any chord of recognition with them in terms of design, which automatically told him that whatever society these people came from had clearly not followed a completely analogous state of development to Colonial civilization. From a comparatively technological level, the craft's size and slow speed suggested something in the vicinity of one thousand to fifteen hundred yahrens behind the level of Colonial technology since it seemed evident that this kind of vessel served the same function as one of the Galactica's shuttles might. Suddenly, the image of the ship on the monitor was replaced by Doctor Salik's face. "We've been standing by, waiting for your orders, Commander. How do you want us to proceed?" "Is the ship safe for us to approach, Doctor?" "As safe as it will ever be for now," Salik said. "Father, if we're going to find out anything, we need to get inside there now." Apollo exclaimed, just barely able to contain his excitement. ***** A temporary wall of tough see-through plastic stood between them and the spacecraft. Somehow, the vehicle, resting now on its tripod landing legs, looked much smaller sitting in the vast landing bay. Doctor Salik took off the headpiece of his decontamination suit and then nodded back at the ship. "There were some microbes that had us worried, but I'm sure we've killed all of them," he said. "Any signs of bombs or other weapons?" Starbuck asked. "No," Salik said. "At least, Wilker's defusing team couldn't find one. It's just what it appears to be----a sublight transport ship." His two associated, Cassiopeia and Doctor Wilker, were standing nearby. "Now, about where this craft came from?" Adama said. Stroking his chin, Salik leaned against a metal guardrail. "It's possible, based on fairly unsophisticated early tests, that this ship that you two warriors have brought to us is, indeed, from Earth." "Yeeeeowwww!" Starbuck bounced on his heels in dubious delight. "You seem awfully jumpy, Starbuck. Perhaps you would like me to prescribe a mild anti-depressant?" said Salik. "They do wonders for your nerves." "Nerves? Hades! I'm the only one around here with any feelings." Starbuck pointed a thumb at the ship. "Everybody ought to be as excited as I am, Doc, because right inside that crate yonder may be the answers to all our questions." "Maybe," said Doctor Wilker, moving nearer to them. "You just now said it came from Earth," said Starbuck, impatient. "Actually, that was my colleague who alluded to the possibility of an Earth origin for that ship," corrected Wilker. "Let me, before we proceed further, remind you that he is a medical man, and I'm a scientist. Our points of view won't match up." "Holy frak!" said Starbuck, waving his fumarello in the air and gazing up at the fretwork high above. "The last thing we need right now is a whole darn lecture in Bonehead Science 1A, Doc." "Lieutenant," said the commander, "it might be better if you would allow me to make the necessary statements and inquiries." Starbuck took a deep breath. "Okay, sorry." "Now," the commander continued. "So there will be no misunderstanding, what exactly will we find on this ship?" Cassiopeia smoothed her tunic and then sat on a stray metal drum. "We have confirmed the life signs within the ship. There are six separate human entities, all alive." "Six humans and all of them alive?" said Adama. "Yes, exactly," said Salik. Adama faced Salik, flanked by Apollo and Starbuck. "Has anyone tried to tell those inside that we are here now?" "Yes," Wilker said. "But there was no response." "I believe," Salik said, "that there is a simple explanation for that, and my associates concur." "I don't," put in Doctor Wilker. "You think," Adama guessed, "that these people inside, whomever they are, must be in some sort of suspended animation?" "Yes, we do." "That's not so much an explanation," added Doctor Wilker, "as it is a theory." "We've established that none of the people inside are responding to the present situation at all," said Cassiopeia. "Their life signs are all even and there have been no increases in heart rate or respiration to indicate fright, anger, or even simple awareness that their flight has been interrupted." "Has any attempt been made," Commander Adama, "to enter the craft?" "I wanted your direct order first before attempting that," said Doctor Salik. "Gentlemen, there is no need for further discussion," wailed Wilker. "Let's just go in and get it over with." "Doctor Wilker," Adama said thoughtfully, "one centon of your time, please." He took the overly excited scientist aside and spoke to him privately. "Could we be upsetting a critical balance by violating the seals and entering the ship?" "Excuse me, gentlemen, sorry for eavesdropping, but I believe I can answer that," Salik said. "We penetrated the hull with a probe and we took samplings of the gasses in the atmosphere." "And?" "Almost zero atmosphere." "Zero?" Adama was aghast. "There were traces of oxygen and carbine, but nothing that could sustain life as we know it." "Yet six life forms live on this ship," Cassiopeia said, "even if just barely." "What happens," Adama asked, "if we do what Wilker proposes and enter the ship? Wouldn't we be killing those inside if they're used to...zero atmosphere?" "Commander," said Salik, "nothing short of a Cylon could survive in that ship." "My thoughts exactly," said Wilker. "Unless, of course, these six passengers are being cared for in a separate and isolated life support system within...which seems unlikely to me." "Well , then." Adama knocked his hands together, and bowed his head in prayer to the Lords of Kobol for a few microns. "This is the moment we've all been waiting for. After you, Doctor Salik." ***** CHAPTER FIVE: INTO THE UNKNOWN Doctor Salik was the first one to ascend the gangway into the dimly-lit lower deck of the mystery ship. "Sufficient air from the landing bay has seeped in here," he announced. "The rest of you can come on up." "I protest!" Wilker cried. "We cannot allow anyone to interfere with our study of this vessel, not even Viper pilots!" "Listen, Doc," said Starbuck, putting his hand on the scientist's arm, "this flying skillet is just as important to all of us as it is to you!" "Doctor," said Commander Adama evenly, "these men are here at my invitation. If you have a problem with that, then I'm the one you should be speaking to." "All right, all right." After making a mock bow, Wilker ascended the gangway into the ship. "Ladies first," Starbuck said to Cassiopeia. As soon as she entered, he followed. They entered what seemed to be more like a living room than a control room. The galley was across from them and next to that there was a laboratory, equipped with burners, test tubes and the like. Acceleration couches were situated clockwise around the lower level. Wilker and Salik busied themselves looking over the ship's spectacular but functional staterooms, obviously designed and built for the benefit of whoever the pilots were. In the front of the lower deck, Starbuck was looking over what he recognized as some kind of communications console, an apparatus rich with flashing lights, switches and buttons. "Nice layout," he said. "Wonder who could be out here for anyone to talk to." Apollo started for a metal door that was located in the far corner of the room, curious to see where it led. He'd started to look for a way to open it when suddenly he noticed the words DANGER: RADIOACTIVE inscribed on it. Apparently, this was the housing for the ship's atomic motors. "Maybe next time," he muttered. Adama suddenly became concerned at the apparent lack of habitation. "Apollo, when we're through here, I'm going to order our scanning equipment checked for possible malfunctions. It doesn't look to me as if anyone's used this craft for so much as even a test flight." "There are people here, father," Apollo pleaded. "We couldn't have..." "Say!" Starbuck interrupted suddenly. "Has anyone seen Cassiopeia? She was here a micron ago, but I don't see her anywhere now." "Right here, Starbuck." He heard a soft hum behind him and looked over his shoulder. The circular bars of what he'd thought, at first glance, to be an animal cage, opened and Cassiopeia stepped out. Wilker and the other men soon realized this was the ship's elevator platform, connecting the two levels of the ship like a dumbwaiter. "You went off by yourself on a strange ship without checking with me first, Cassiopeia!" Salik said angrily. "I have relieved nurses from duty for even less than that!" "It's just as well I did wander off, Doctor." She looked at Adama. "We were right, Commander, there are humans aboard, a family of six. I've just found them." Adama felt a wave of excitement overcome him. "Where are they?" "This elevator disk will take us to the top deck, commander. That's why we didn't see them, at first," Cassiopeia explained. "We've only entered the living quarters." Apollo spied a series of metal squares affixed to the wall next to the elevator cage. It was a ladder. "Apparently, this ladder provides access to the top deck as well," Apollo said. "Starbuck, you climb up this thing with me." Adama, Wilker, Salik and Cassiopeia stepped onto the elevator disk and went up, while Starbuck and Apollo climbed the ladder. The lights were even dimmer on the top deck level than they were on the lower level. The first thing the group saw through the gloom was the airlock, located on the room's left side. Unfortunately, they almost found themselves covering their ears against the whines, pops, beeps, and whistles that signified the functioning of the computers and flashing equipment lining the upper deck of the saucer. Starbuck crossed over to where the circumferences of the ship merged into its bow, where the pilot and co-pilot sat facing the flight control consoles, which came complete with working radar and whatever passed for deep-scan on this ship and a trio of huge four-foot high portholes that afforded him a view of the surrounding launch bay. He guessed those portholes were made from transparent aluminum, just like a Viper's canopy, because such a huge area was an easy target for stray meteorites, which would blow out even the strongest of glass windows, and therefore doom the ship. "Never seen anything like this before," he remarked, as he looked out the huge slanted portholes. Dr. Wilker noted a circular console in the center of the ship, with a small saucer model propped up on a stand encased within a huge transparent bubble. He guessed that it was a navigation system, which would tell the crew of the ship was tilting or diving, or whatever. To the rear were the cabin pressure controls. "Everything seems to be functioning, Cassiopeia observed. "Doc," said Starbuck to Wilker, as he stepped away from the astrogator, "your boys ought to be able to figure all these gadgets out." "Yes, in time I'm sure we will." Hands behind his back, he was scanning the wall with the operating systems. The commander, as he looked around, noted the storage bay in the rear, wondering at first what was stored there, but then dismissing it as irrelevant. There, on the left side of the chamber, the objects of the group's main interest came into view. "It's incredible!" Adama cried breathlessly. "By the grace of God!" Salik said, fighting back tears for the sleeping travelers. "Oh, my Lord!" said Starbuck. "Bless their hearts---look at them!" Salik said with breathless wonder. Sprouting from the deck, like bamboo shoots, were six vertical tube-like chambers and rows of highly technical cryogenic equipment. Encased in each tube were the almost pallid forms of human beings, asleep on their feet, equine style. Each of them wore the same kind of odd, silver-metal looking coverall. Salik stepped up to the first tube and looked inside. The face of a young man, with thick space-black hair, a high forehead, and closed sunken eyes looked back at him. "Doctor, are they alive?" the commander asked as he stepped up beside the Galactican physician. "This one certainly is," Salik answered, easing a pencil-sized instrument out of his pocket and touching it, gently, to the tube. "Yes, all his vital signs register. But he's functioning at a very low level, in a sort of trance state." "Making this a good way to conserve fuel if they need to," said Apollo. "He looks to be a young man, I would say twenty-seven, maybe twenty-eight yahrens," said Adama, studying the sleeping face on the other side of the plastic wall of the freezing tube. "About that, yes." Cassiopeia walked over to the fifth freezing tube, toward the rear of the chamber. Curious, she looked in at the sleeping figure inside. It was a young girl; her mouth almost seemed to be curled into a little smile. Like the figure in the first freezing tube, her eyes were closed. Cassiopeia couldn't help but admire the girl's long, dark-brown hair, how it rested on her brow. It was tied into a ponytail at the back of her head, leaving the sides practically bare, revealing her delicate earlobes. Apollo walked over to where Cassiopeia stood, and peered through the tube himself. "I don't believe it!" Apollo said, unable to contain his astonishment. "She can't be more than twelve yahrens old!" "This lad is even younger, almost Boxey's age," said Wilker, indicating the young silver-clad boy sleeping inside of the final freezing tube. He seemed like the epitome of the boy next door, possessing the redhead, freckle-faced appearance of a typical Colonial boy. Unfortunately, the wonder of the moment was wasted on Starbuck. The micron he'd peered into the fourth freezing tube, he felt like he'd just fallen in love with the woman sleeping within. She was an attractive young willowy blonde, slim and shapely, her hair covering her brow like a second forehead. "Hello, Gorgeous," he said. "When you wake up, you'll have to fight off all the men on this ship with a stick." Starbuck managed to take his attention off the blonde, and toward the second and third freezing tubes. A black-haired man, middle-aged, occupied freezing tube number two, and a woman, middle-aged as well, with auburn hair, occupied freezing-tube number three. Doctor Salik was still scanning the figure in the first freezing tube. "They look like husband and wife," said Starbuck. "Not a very romantic trip for 'em, though. Propped up in these plastic prisons. They should've asked their travelator for first-class accommodations instead of this---deep freeze." "Hush up, good buddy," advised Apollo. "Yes, please do," seconded Wilker, who was studying a series of circular wall fixtures, like camera lenses, lining the wall behind the freezing tubes, strategically placed behind the backs of each of the sleeping travelers. There were a few flexible pipes snaking out of the metal wall, yet the setup seemed devoid of the usual pipes and wires that one would expect to be attached to a cryogenic sleeping chamber. In fact, the freezing tubes didn't seem to be attached to anything except the ceiling. "Obviously, their metabolism has been lowered to its minimum for sustaining life. This support system is set to maintain that life for as long as need be." Folding his arms, Apollo relaxed against the astrogator. "How long have they been like this?" Salik answered him. "Your guess is as good as mine, Captain." Still admiring the sleeping blonde woman, Starbuck said, "We have to talk with them, communicate somehow. How do we wake 'em up?" "Very carefully," answered Salik. "That's the trouble with cryonic suspension: if you don't handle the subject's awakening just right, he'll die. And we don't have the slightest idea how this equipment functions." "You let me worry about that," advised Wilker. "So what does this mean?" said Starbuck. "We've found humans, quite probably from Earth, and we have to leave them in these tubes?" "Not at all. I assure you our curiosity is as great, if not greater, than yours, Lieutenant," said Doctor Salik. "The revival of these half-dozen wayfarers will be accomplished as quickly as it can be done without endangering their lives." "I'd be inclined to select one of them and starting making tests at once," said Doctor Wilker. "I think we should start with the girl in the fifth freezing tube." "You mean...use her as a human testing drone just to figure out how their technology functions?" said Commander Adama slowly and carefully. Wilker bristled slightly, "That's a crude way of putting it, Commander, but---yes." "And what if you mistakenly short out her freezing tube and kill her?" Apollo became angry. "You'll just move on to the next one---that little boy in the last tube, for instance, right?" Wilker found himself on the verge of losing his temper, but then swallowed and turned his back to Apollo, directing himself to Adama. "Commander," he said, "I believe you've served your purpose for now. The rest is in our hands. It's not a military matter anymore." "That's true," Adama said, taken aback somewhat by Wilker's cavalier attitude toward the situation. But from a technical standpoint, he knew the Galactica's Chief Scientist was right about the need to proceed. "But I want both of you to understand this: Who these people are, where they come from, and where they were going, could well provide the key to the survival of the entire Fleet. I want no unnecessary chances taken with their lives." "Commander, we will not be slipshod in our efforts," Wilker pleaded. "Just so we understand one another." Adama turned to Salik. "Before any attempt is made to open a single one of these tubes, you'll run every test possible. And then, Doctor, I want you to confer directly with me before taking any further step." "Certainly, Commander. I was intending to proceed in that manner anyway." "Might I make a suggestion?" said Wilker. "Now that the sightseeing trip is over, I'd like to you to leave us alone to our work." He nodded in the direction of Starbuck. Deciding not to thumb his nose, Starbuck said, "They're all yours, Doc. For now." But Wilker still had his unspoken doubts. They might have already killed them----simply by bringing them aboard the Galactica! ***** CHAPTER SIX: SCHOOL DAYS For more than a sectan, Athena had been dreading the day when her new temporary assignment would begin. All the people she'd spoken to had told her nothing but horror stories of how impossible it was to handle a group of young primary children not used to a new instructor. And how each of them were always grateful when the assignment ended and they could get back to their regular duties as soon as possible. The previous night, she had lain awake in her bunk, wondering how it was that a warrior with her record, trained to fly shuttles, and who had distinguished herself as a Viper pilot at the Battle of Kobol, now found herself about to take charge of thirty children for the rest of the educational cycle, which still had several sectars remaining. It almost seemed like the ultimate comedown in terms of what she was capable of doing. And then, she realized painfully the reason why she'd talked herself into volunteering for the assignment. The more she removed herself from the bridge and all kinds of warrior-related activities, the more she could get her mind off Starbuck. For too long, she had been letting herself brood over the fact that he was irrevocably lost to her. Hearing Cassiopeia said on the witness stand during his murder tribunal that they had a "very close" relationship, only helped drive the reality of that home to her once and for all. As a consequence, it had begun to make her feel more restless in her usual bridge duties, and that what she needed most was a new challenge in life to devote herself to. Going back to Viper duty wasn't an option sine it would only put her in more close proximity to Starbuck. And then, one night while she had been looking after Boxey, her nephew had offhandedly remarked how he wished his instructor was more like her. She had asked him questions for a centar about what his classes were like, and learned that Boxey didn't think his current instructor, or any of the previous ones, had done a good job connecting with the class. After that conversation, Athena found herself thinking she could easily do a better job than that, and had impulsively volunteered the next day to be a rotating instructor for Boxey's second yahren primary group, the instant a vacancy came up. Without bothering to check with others who'd had the job before to find out if it really was a good idea to volunteer for such a position. But now, as she'd collected herself that morning to begin her job, her dread had given way to resignation, and she decided that the least she could do was throw herself into it. Perhaps when all was said and done, she might come to enjoy the job and even sign up for another semester term. To strike a note of authority with the children, she decided to wear her bridge uniform rather than the civilian clothes most instructors wore. Once class began, she found it seemed to have the right effect on the children. All of them were in a completely deferential mood and not offering the slightest signs of rambunctiousness. Is it the uniform, or the fact that I'm Adama's daughter? she wondered idly. She made a mental note to try at least one session without the uniform at some point in order to put that theory to the test. After guiding them through a review of their scientific exercises for the day, she decided to break whatever feelings of boredom some of them might have by focusing on the one story that any of them with access to a video-com and the IFB these last two days knew all about. "Let's see how well some of you are when it comes to keeping up with current events knowledge," she said as she made her way forward, into the throng of children seated at their desks. "You're all aware that something special has happened, right?" "Yes!" her nephew suddenly spoke up. "We've found people from Earth!" Athena gently pointed at Boxey, feeling glad that the little boy had provided her with an opportunity to demonstrate to the rest of the class that not even familiar ties could affect her ability to show authority to them. "Boxey, remember to use your questioning indicator when you desire to address the class." "Sorry, Athena," Boxey said, feeling properly chastised as he she settled back in his seat. "You're excused," she allowed herself only the faintest smile, as she returned to her position at the head of the classroom. "But Boxey is right to this degree. If you're all familiar with your assigned readings from the Book of the Word and the Testament of Arkadia, then you realize that what might happen today is liable to affect each of us, for the rest of our lives. That's why we're all nervous about it, I'm sure." A chime then sounded from the desk in front of Boxey's rung by a blonde girl with braids. Athena recognized her as the daughter of a Colonial Security Guard, Corporal Beroc. "Yes, Beroca?" "If there are people aboard, whey aren't they coming out?" "We can't allow it right now, because their craft has to be decontaminated," Athena said and decided to come up with an impromptu quiz for them. Using current events as a launching point for educational discussion was one teaching tool they'd never seen before, and Athena could remember how effective it had always been during her days of schooling. "Does anyone know what that means?" Boxey immediately rang his question chime. For an instant, Athena hoped that wasn't going to be the norm because if Boxey was always first to chime in, then the other students might think she was giving her nephew opportunities to look better than them. "Yes? Boxey?" "It means they have to make sure there are no sick bugs aboard the ship that can harm the rest of us." "That's right!" Athena nodded, grateful that Boxey didn't mention that he knew because Apollo had gone through a full decon procedure himself the other day after his one visit aboard the craft. "We're talking about things that are too small for us to see, but can have bad effects on us, especially when we have people thrown together in an unfamiliar environment for the first time. I'm sure some of us can remember that when we started our journey nearly a yahren ago, there was trouble making adjustments." Another chime, this from a brown haired girl at the back of the room. "Yes. Flaiua?" "When me and my parents came aboard the Galactia, we got sick from the water." "Your family's from Aquarius, right?" Athena asked, feeling glad that Boxey had told her about most of the backgrounds of the students. "Yes." "You come from one of the outer colonies. Because the Galactica is mostly comprised of Capricans, Gemons and Cancerans, that meant there was some incompatibility at first, but in time that passed. Everybody learned how to do what, class?" "Adjust!" they all said in unison. "Excellent," she said with pride, "And with that in mind, you can look at the central monitor and read the lesson for today." She activated a switch and stepped aside so they could see it. "The human life form can adapt to many varied environments and foods!" they again read in unison. "Remember, it just takes time for adjustment to happen. That's all that's happening now, before we can let these visitors out." Boxey, feeling restless to say what was on his mind, rang his chime again. "Yes, Boxey?" "I heard my father say that it was possible for those people to kill us before we knew what hit us, if they were carrying the wrong kind of bugs." Athena was taken aback slightly by her nephew's remarks. "Your father said that to you?" "Not exactly," Boxey said. "He was having some kinda argument with Starbuck about it." "I see," Athena sucked in her breath, trying not to let herself look any more rattled than she already felt. "Class, we're going to take a recess for the next fifteen centons. You're free to go to a refreshment station, but make sure that what you get is fully consumed before class resumes." An approving noise went up from the students as they began to disperse. Athena came up to Boxey and immediately took him by the hand. "Come on," she said. "Let's go find your father." ***** Several centons later, they caught up with Apollo, who was heading toward the Officers' Club. "Apollo!" his sister called out. Apollo turned around and smiled when he saw them, especially Boxey. He hadn't been able to spend as much time as he felt he should have with his son in the last few sectans, and it was beginning to weigh heavily on his conscience. "Boxey, how are you doing?" he patted his son's shoulder and then grinned at his sister. "So is he making your first day of teaching difficult?" "Only because of something you said," Athena folded her arms. "Are you trying to scare every child aboard the Galactica out of their wits?" "What?" Apollo frowned. "I'm trying to tell them that what's happening with this ship being found could be the most wonderful thing that ever happened to us, and according to Boxey, you were telling Starbuck that this could actually kill us all." Apollo stiffened slightly and then glanced at his son, wondering if he should rebuke him for eavesdropping again. He decided not to and directed himself to Athena. "What I said was that we and the family in that ship share the same risk. Either of us could be dangerous to each other." "But we've decontaminated that ship! You've been inside it, and so has Father, and you went through decon with no ill after-effects. If you were afraid of a replay of what happened to Boomer and Jolly when they contracted that virus, you'd both still be quarantined!" "We're safe, yes," Apollo said, "But as far as coming into contact with these people, there's still a danger. Our air could be filled with things fatal to them, and once they're released from suspension, they could transmit bugs to us that could be fatal to us. All we've proved is that the sealed environment of their ship isn't harmful to us." "I see," Athena said. "So, in other words, if they're from Earth, they could be from a totally harmful environment to us. What do you expect me to do with a group of students who've been taught to hope about adjusting normally to a new life on a new planet, if we're this close to Earth?" He put a hand on his sister's shoulder. "You tell them the truth, Athena," he said. "That hopefully, we've taken a giant step forward. " "Which in your opinion could just as easily be a step off a cliff." ***** Apollo finally realized why Athena was so rattled by what had happened. Athena had once been the sunny optimist of the family in the days before the Holocaust, matching the disposition their mother was well-known for. That had been shattered beyond repair on the day she'd lost Zac and then her mother, and it had made Athena far more cynical and skeptical about life. Now, at a time when she'd been trying to recapture some of that optimism for the sake of the children she was teaching, along came another jolt to reopen her cynical nature. "Athena," he said gently, "How about I come by to your class and talk to them after we get some more information? I don't want to rattle them, or you for that matter." "Sure," she sighed. "You just telecom me when you're ready." "I will," he then glanced down at Boxey. "As for you, young man, you're going to get it good for eavesdropping again." But Boxey had heard this kind of reproach before, and like the other times it always left him grinning innocently at his father, and with it, all thoughts of stern discipline were gone from Apollo's mind by the time he turned away. ***** CHAPTER SEVEN: SECOND THOUGHTS Doctor Salik was studying what he perceived to be one of the strangest looking instruments he'd ever seen. It rested in a small alcove on the right side of the ship's main flight deck, a hodgepodge of exposed gears supporting an orange sphere studded with flashing lights. The entire apparatus rested on a circular pedestal at the alcove's bottom. The poor doctor couldn't even begin to guess what this clumsy looking device did. "It's hopeless," he wailed. "Nothing on the Galactica seems to correlate with their symbols or systems." Wilker stood to Salik's right, studying another device set into the vehicle's walls; a computer, but one that utilized the old reel-to-reel tape method of data storage. "Why do you say that? They're human," Wilker said. "Their ship flies, draws energy." Salik looked at his colleague. "Humans, yes, but humans who speak a different language from ours. How can we really fathom the meaning of any words or numbers we see on these instrument panels?" He paused, looking up at a series of knobs, lights and dials set into a slanted juncture of the wall. There was the image of a bird of prey engraved just above two buttons. "Take that symbol, for instance," Salik continued. "What do you suppose it is?" Wilker looked at it. "One of their gods, no doubt." He sighed, a twinge of the same frustration Salik was feeling washing over him. "I hate to say it, but we're not going to figure all this out without taking some chances." ***** Lieutenant Boomer was slouched slightly in his chair; chin resting on his fist, and staring out of one of the lounge's view windows. He turned away from contemplating the vastness of space when Apollo joined him at his table. "Hail the conquering hero," he quipped. "Save that for someone who really feels like a conquering hero, which I don't," said Apollo. Sheba, who was sitting next to Boomer, frowned. "You look like you just lost your first love." Apollo shook his head. "I've just overheard some of the technicians talking. They're not making any progress in there." "Give them some time," Athena urged. Apollo became apprehensive. "They may not have any time, Athena. And that's causing me to have second thoughts about what we did out there." "You sound like you think there's some sort of...choice to be made here," Boomer said. "Now that you mention it, Boomer, there is," said Apollo. "What are you talking about?" Sheba was astonished. "You found a ship drifting in space, with living beings inside. Now, Apollo, you know we're doing everything we can for them. We're not Cylons here, you know." "If we fool with their life support systems, then, as far as I'm concerned, we're just as bad as the Cylons," Apollo said. "Maybe we just ought to leave them alone. Three of them are just children, you know, and the idea of tinkering with kids makes me sick to my stomach." Boomer said, "Leave them alone? Is that what we're supposed to do to the first humans we've encountered who are clearly from another civilization?" "Have you forgotten about Arcadis, the Destructon Prison Asteroid, and Ursus Speleaus?" Athena said. "Those planets had human populations, too." "I can tell you right now this family didn't come from any of those places, Athena," said Boomer, leaning toward his friend. "Everybody we've encountered up to now, every colony or outpost, have been drifters or pioneers from the Colonies. Terms, dress, technology, all familiar to us." "True," Athena admitted. "So what are you saying, Boomer?" Sheba said. "That even if a few of the humans we've run across were descendants of the lost thirteenth tribe, they were probably just stragglers left behind," continued Boomer, his voice intense. "Now, right here on this ship of ours, for the first time, we've actually found human life forms that are from a technologically advanced civilization. That's what the whole point of the voyage has been." "He's right, y'know," said Starbuck, strolling up and taking the third chair at the table. "That's why we've risked our lives staying on this tin-can rather than stopping at one of the planets we've passed that could've supported life." Apollo made his right hand into a fist and rested it on a tabletop. "It is not the reason why we've never stopped; we've never stopped because we've never been strong enough to stop anywhere else. We've been a fugitive people, on the run from a murderous alien empire for the crime of simply being human!" "Err, uh, not for some time," Starbuck pointed out. "Can you remember the last time we saw a Cylon? It's been sectans, right?" "Your point?" "I say we've been dealt a terrific hand and we have to play it out. We're going to win, too. So---why don't we just lighten it up a little bit?" "Starbuck, you're a nifty Viper pilot and the best fighting man in the fleet," said Apollo, "but you see everything in absolutes: We win or we lose; we find Earth or we don't; a girl says yes or she says no. Good buddy, the quality of a civilization is determined by the values placed between these extremes." Starbuck took a slow sip of his ambrosa. "Would you mind repeating that last part for me? It sounds profound enough for me to copy it down and have it embroidered on a pillow or something. 'The quality of...' How'd the rest go?" Sheba said, "Apollo, maybe you're being a little too hard on Starbuck. Shaking his head, Apollo said, "Now I know how you feel, Athena; trying to drum some knowledge into a bunch of restless kids. " "Wait now," said Starbuck, grinning, looking over at Apollo's beautiful sister. "Athena, you know I'd listen to you. In fact, just about any pretty lady has a heck of a good chance of reaching me with her message." After a few microns, Boomer said, "You were about to make some point, Apollo. Before the hotshot here came traipsing in." "Traipsing? I resent that, Boomer." "I've just been thinking about those six wayfarers," said Apollo. "Especially the three children, but all of them, really. I don't know, when we were out there and we saw that ship of theirs I was elated. Here it was, a chance to get more input about Earth. So we brought them here." "Which, said Starbuck, "was absolutely the smart thing to do, old chum." "Maybe." "Maybe?" "It's been occurring to me, especially when I see Salik and Wilker and a whole army of doctors and techs swarming all over the craft like maggazons on a side of rotten beef, that the best thing to do would be to let them go on their way unmolested." "You mean like taking out the hook and tossing the fish back into the stream after landing it?" asked Boomer. "These six aren't war booty," said Apollo. "They're people and we've interfered with them. We may very well keep them from ever fulfilling their mission." Starbuck made an exasperated noise and popped a fresh fumarello between his teeth. "Now, Boomer, you see what it's like working with this guy," he said. "He never turns that brain of his off, it's working round the clock. Going back over what we've done, trying to find a way to worry about some dinky trivial thing." "I still say you guys did the right thing," said Boomer. "I'd have done exactly the same thing if I'd spotted that ship while on recon patrol." "Spock and I would've hauled it in, too," Sheba pointed out. "Just because someone else would've done the same thing does not make it right," said Apollo. "You really want to let these people go, good buddy?" Starbuck studied his friend's face. "Push 'em out of the docking bay and let 'em get on with their trip?" "For their sake, yes!" "But we still don't know what that vessel does or where it's taking them," said Starbuck, lighting his cigar with an angry flick of his igniter. "If we toss them out into space that crate may just turn into a derelict. I mean, it could be that long ago, they forgot where they were supposed to be going. Maybe somewhere along the line the memory banks got erased or something." "From everything I've seen of it," Apollo began, "our visitor in that launch bay isn't so much a ship as it is a big spacegoing computer, with the pilot, helm and main astrogation console seeming to be extras. Now, if we don't tamper too much with the operating systems, it's more than capable of delivering its passengers to the right destination." "You're space happy," said Starbuck. "You see a redheaded, freckle-faced little boy in silver jammies sleeping on his feet in a big plastic tube and you get mushy. These six people are important to us. We have to find out what it is they know." "But knowledge demands a price," said Apollo. "Should these people be the ones to pay it?" At the next table the burly security guard from the earlier encounter at the launch bay leaned back and turned toward them. "If anyone's interested in my vote,' he said in his usual gruff voice, "I'm with Starbuck. I say let's go in there and open those damn tubes quick. We have to start interrogating those people, because the lives of every damn one of us depend on what they know." Starbuck scanned the guard. "Gromak, get out of our conversation before I ram this mug down your throat!" "Listen, Starbuck, I wasn't suggesting that we do anything that would hurt those kids." "That's as far as you can go," warned Starbuck, pushing back his hair and raising a cautionary hand. "Geeze, whose side are you on?" "I'm on my own side, buster. And I don't need some nitwit security guard to fight my philosophical battles." "All right," said Gromak. "Suit yourself. But I'm not the only one who feels like this. Now, sooner or later the fleet's gonna stop letting those old boys tinker around in there and demand that we open those freezing tubes. And if they're human, they breathe air, just like you and I do...fresh air." The roughhewn security officer stood up from his barstool. "And speaking of fresh air, I think I'm gonna go get me some." He looked at Apollo and Starbuck, the contempt written lucidly all over his face, and remarked, "It's always a little stuffy around you two." Then he went stomping off. Apollo jumped up, ready to come at the security man with murder in his eyes. "Now wait a damn minute, officer..." "Apollo," said Starbuck, putting a restraining hand on the captain's arm and keeping him storming away from their table, "save your violence for the Triad courts." Boomer watched the security man's departure. "The point of the lounge is to let off a little tension, not to fight. That's what we're here for." Starbuck added, "Besides, aren't you getting a little confused? I'm supposed to be the hotheaded impulsive one." "What happened to that winning personality I've been hearing about so much, Apollo?" Sheba asked. "Did you leave it in your Viper?" "I should've punched all his gallmonging teeth out! And Starbuck, yes, I'm confused, but I still find it hard to offer even one life in sacrifice, not even to save thousands." Apollo rose up. "I'm going to see how the doctors are coming." "Think I'll tag along," offered Starbuck. "They don't need a crowd down there," said Apollo. "I'll fill you in as soon as I know anything new." Nodding, Starbuck picked up his tankard. "I'm not willing o risk those kids' lives, either, especially that young blonde that seems to be the oldest among those kids. I kinda like her." "I noticed." Apollo left the table. ***** CHAPTER EIGHT: SHORT CIRCUIT An unexpected sizzle of yellowish sparks came sputtering out of the wall and showered down on the floor behind the plastic freezing tube that held the sleeping redheaded boy. A constant staccato beeping, as of an alarm, followed the misadventure. "Frak!" exclaimed Doctor Wilker. "I thought I'd told you to be careful!" admonished Doctor Salik bitterly. He was over at the right side of the circular chamber, poring over the dials and gauges set into the wall near the airlock. Wilker withdrew the hand-held probing tool he'd been using to test the panels of flashing lights and wiring array in the life-support area. "I seem to have blown out a fuse," he said puzzled. "Which is odd, since this whole setup looks simple and easy to understand. What are the instruments doing?" "There was a temporary drop on every indicator here; power, gases and everything. I'd say you struck the central never of the whole life support system," Salik said to his colleague. "Well, at least we're getting closer." "Closer? You might have shorted out their whole ship," said Salik angrily. "You're as good as murdering that whole family if you keep going on like this. You refuse to admit the obvious: We don't know what we're doing!" "I'm being as careful as I can under the circumstances," said Wilker. "I really do believe, doctor, that we don't have time to move at the tiptoe pace you'd like me to." "We have all the time we need." "Do we? Already Sire Sagramonte has been trying to get in here to talk to these people," said Wilker. "I am not about to cross the Council of Twelve or jeopardize my career." "It's these people's lives you ought to be worrying about," said Apollo as he stepped out of the elevator cage and crossed over to the freezing tubes. "What happened?" "We don't need your interference just now, Captain," said Wilker. "It looks to me like you do. What's going on here?" "We've found that the gas being used in the system is stored in a liquid form and is regenerated and recycled in some way that has to do with these circuits," said Wilker impatiently. "Now, if you'll just toddle off, maybe we can learn even more." "Dr. Salik, you don't look quite so optimistic," Apollo said to Wilker's associate. "I would prefer to work at a much slower rate, to make more tests." "Didn't I just get through saying that we simply don't have the time, Salik?" Wilker said. "I heard you mentioning Sagramonte," said Apollo. "But he has no authority over this operation." "He thinks he does. It isn't wise to cross the Council, Captian." Turning his back on the scientist, Apollo addressed Sailk. "Are things going wrong?" "Yes, there are problems, but they're nothing we can't handle," insisted Wilker. Salik shook his head. "Don't lie to him, Wilker. Apollo, the truth is...we're dealing with a potential power drop to the systems." "How?" the warrior demanded. "Well, for one thing, as we probe the circuits in here, we occasionally short out lines, thereby draining off energy." "I'll have your hide for that, Doctor Wilker!" Apollo roared. "It's nothing critical, Captain," said Wilker. "We can solve the technology of this system in time." "And how much time do we have, Doctor?" Apollo asked. "How far is it to Earth?" Salik said with intense alarm. "Or how far have they come? Or how much further was this system intended to support their frail lives? Those are answers we couldn't begin to figure out at this rate." "That settles it, then," Apollo said forcefully. "I want you to discontinue your work at once." "Captain, you don't have the authority to..." Wilker started. "I'm not asking you to do it, I'm ordering you to do it!" Apollo angrily pointed at Wilker. "I'm ordering you out of this ship." He caught hold of the scientist's arm. "Doctor Salik, I'll permit you to stay here and monitor the situation on the condition that you will appraise me of any change." "Very well," said Saik, rubbing his hand along his side thoughtfully. "You and I, Wilker, will go talk to my father," said Apollo. "Oh, don't you worry," said Wilker with a frosty smile. "I wouldn't miss a chance to talk to the commander for anything. You are in a lot of trouble, son." ***** Commander Adama was frowning at the image on the communication screen. "I think I've already made myself perfectly clear," he said evenly. "You can tell the Council, Sire Sagramonte, that until I am absolutely persuaded that..." "Then you're refusing me entry to this captured ship?" "The vehicle was not captured. Merely brought into the docking bay for study." "Whatever you want to call the blasted thing," said the impatient buritician, "we of the Council reserve the right to make an inspection." "I can't allow that. Not at this time." "If not now, then when?" "You'll be informed, Sagramonte," said Adama. He flicked off the screen. Leaving his chair, the commander made a slow circuit of his quarters. A speaker just above the doorway cut intruded on his thoughts by announcing: Captain Apollo and Doctor Wilker to see you, sir." "Admit them." The door hissed open and his son came striding in, followed by the sardonically smiling scientist. "Apollo!" Adama's back stiffened upon first sight of Doctor Wilker. "What do you think you're doing?" "Good question. Who better to answer it than this hotheaded offspring of yours?" Wilker said. "Sit down," Adama invited, settling into a chair. "I sincerely hope you have a good explanation for this, Apollo." "I ordered the scientific team to quite working on the ship," his son explained, ignoring the chair he'd nodded at. "How do you justify that?" "They're running a risk of shutting off the whole cryogenic sleep system," explained Apollo, pacing. "Doctor Salik apparently has the patience to do the job right, but Doctor Wilker is rushing things." "I only rush things when I'm forced to." "He's caused some damage already," accused Apollo, pointing at the scientist. "There's a possibility that, if he's allowed to keep tinkering, he'll abort the whole business and terminate every damned one of those people." "I don't appreciate you calling my work 'tinkering,' Captain." Carefully, Wilker lowered himself to a stuffed chair. Adama glanced at him. "Was there some danger?" "Oh, not at all, not at all." "But you have had some sort of accident?" "I admit to accidentally blowing a fuse," said Wilker. "And, yes, it did cause the power to diminish. Nothing serious, as far as I know." "If that cryogenic sleep system fails, they die," said Apollo. "That's sure as Hades serious." Adama stroked his chin. "Apollo," he said to his son. "I can't say I condone your impulsive actions. Even if I concede your argument, you went outside the chain of command and had no authority to order Dr. Wilker out without consulting me first." "I didn't think I had any choice!" Apollo argued. "The way things were going, there wasn't time for a vote." "All I needed was a little more time!" Wilker protested. "Unfortunately, I didn't get around to mentioning this to your impetuous cub here, but we found what we believe to the operations manual for that craft." "I'd like to see that manual as soon as possible," said Adama. "I can't do that. It's built into the instrumentation of the ship's upper level and functions as an integral part of it. So far, I've determined that the atmosphere of the planet is approximately one-fifth the atmosphere of, say, Caprica." "One-fifth," Adama digested that information. "That doesn't sound hopeful. That would indicate they come from a planet that would be generally incompatible with our own physiological structure. At the very least one we couldn't sustain ourselves on without proper equipment to compensate." "What's more," Wilker continued, "I've learned that this ship is called the Jupiter 2, five of those people, with the exception of whoever he is in the first freezing tube are called Robinsons, and I keep seeing a number of references to a planet named Terra." "What?" Adama's head jerked up. "Did you say Terra?" "Yes," Wilker said. "Is that significant?" "It might be," Adama felt his heart race. "Terra is the Gemonese word for Earth!" "That doesn't mean that the 'Terra' that these Robinsons came from is the Earth we're looking for," Apollo pointed out. "And it hardly makes any difference to me. What you both seem to be avoiding is the fact that we've illegally seized a foreign craft and interrupted its perfectly legitimate course between two unknown points!" "Illegally seized?" Adama asked. "What else do you call it when you take a ship out of flight and then tamper with its functions until its resources begin to dwindle?" "Forgive me, son. I had no idea." Adama turned to Wilker. "Are they dwindling?" "There has been a s light power loss," Wilker conceded. "But that's to be expected. We just don't know..." "What we're doing!" Apollo angrily finished the sentence. It was too much for Adama. "Captain, I'm going to order you to show some courtesy or risked being placed on report. Dr. Wilker is only trying to help us." His father's words had an impact, and he relaxed slightly, his voice calmer. "Dr. Wilker, if I have made any insinuations as to your motives, I apologize. But we're at a stage where good intentions don't count for anything any longer. We can't put those five people at risk any longer." The commander studied his son for a few silent microns. "I'm not sure what your point is, Apollo," he said finally. "My point is, we made a terrible mistake," he said. "Starbuck and me, you and those science boys and the Council of Twelve. We're all wrong!" "That's not what you were saying earlier." "That's because I was buoyed by the discovery," answered Apollo, "acting like a kid at Yuletime. Now, after thinking, after seeing those people asleep and trusting in those plastic tubes...well, we're wrong. Doctor Wilker and Doctor Salik shouldn't be allowed to go on." Steepling his fingers over his broad chest, Commander Adama asked, "What do you suggest?" Apollo spread his hands wide. "That we let them go." "Let them go!?" "Yes, let them go. As in---put the Jupiter 2 back on its original course." The commander left his chair. "In doing that, Apollo, we'd lose any chance of communicating with the Robinsons." "Even if they stay here, there's a good chance they'll die before we can talk to them, anyway," his son said. "Three children, two men and a woman." "You're allowing, if I may intrude on a family squabble," said Doctor Wilker, "sentiment to outweigh logic. Terra and Earth are one in the same, right? Then that makes what these six may have to impart to us of considerable importance." "Felgercarb! Now what, pray tell, could that ten-yahren-old boy and his twelve-yahren-old sister do or say that could save us all?" said Apollo. "It wouldn't surprise me if they turn out to be some kind of child prodigies," said Wilker, dismissing Apollo's argument with an annoyed wave of his hand. "I think it's worth every risk we take." "Commander," said the speaker over the entrance, "Sire Sagramonte from the Council of Twelve insists on seeing you. At once." Adama nodded at his son. "Don't get into a fight with him," he cautioned. "Very well, let him in." The door whispered open and the councilman entered. His chins were fluttering and his Council robes flapped out behind him as he stomped in. "Adama!" he bellowed. "Calm yourself, sire," Adama urged. "According to Doctor Salik," Apollo said, ignoring Adama's earlier warning, those people, three adults and three children, may expire before this time cycle is over." "Which is all the more reason to break the seals on those chambers and try to revive them," Sagramonte said to Apollo. "Please, Sagramonte," Adama soothed, "one more opinion is the last thing we need at this time. I, myself, had assumed our conversation was at an end." "You assumed wrong, Commander. As I recall, it was you who disconnected our line, leaving me no choice but to come here in person." "Do others share your opinion, or do you stand alone, Sagramonte?" said Adama. "I most assuredly do not!" said Sagramonte, every pound of him looking unhappy. "Representatives and dignitaries are coming aboard the Galactica from every ship. All of them, each and every one of them, mind you, interested in the same thing----the secrets to be wrested from the voyagers who repose at this very centon in---in... "The ship is called the Jupiter 2," Wilker supplied. "This sounds like a campaign speech," said Apollo under his breath. "...Therefore, Commander, I have been sent by the Council itself, the awesome body which is responsible for the efficient running of the vast..." "You have yet to tell me what the problem is," said Adama. "We're all furious at your inaction!" Sagramonte said. "Inaction?" Now for the first time, Adama began to understand better his son's thinking. "While we're reluctant to take matters out of your competent hands," Sagramonte said, "we can't sit around idle while you do nothing. I won't even bother to protest the rude treatment I and several other very important officials have suffered by not being allowed so much as even one glimpse at the most significant find we've ever made." "What right have I to pass judgment on those six people, reducing their lives to this game of expediency and self-interest?" "Quite right, Adama," Sagramonte said, using a different tone of voice from when he'd first stormed into the commander's quarters. "No, no, no. I agree. Our people judge you far too harshly. In fact, the Council would lilke to take the burden of being solely responsible for this situation off your capable shoulders. Why don't we simply take a vote on it?" "They haven't already decided?" said Adama. His brows furrowed, Adama turned to his son. "Apollo, you will be responsible for the security of the Jupiter 2," he said. "Very well, Sagramonte. Why don't we call the Council into session at once?" "Whatever you wish, Adama," Sagramonte said mockingly as he left the commander's quarters. As soon as Sagramonte was gone, Adama suddenly did a mocking imitation of Sagramonte's words to indicate his disgust, "'Whatever you wish, Adama'," he said with disdain. "As if things weren't already out of hand with the two or you arguing, I now have to worry about the Council causing trouble for me." "Commander," Wilker said gently, "Is there any reason for me to remain here?" "No," he shook his head. "No, report back to Alpha Bay, Doctor. You have my permission to resume monitoring the instruments, but for now, no further tests until I consider the matter further. Is that acceptable to you?" "I suppose under the circumstances, yes," Wilker glanced haughtily at Apollo, "Captain," he said curtly and then departed. Now that he was alone with his son, Adama put his hands behind his back and shook his head. "Apollo, I want you to know that you haven't done me any favors this day with the way you've been acting." "I've been trying to do what I think is right, Father," his son said, "If I didn't feel strongly about this, I wouldn't have thought it my place to act." "But for what purpose?" Adama interjected sharply. "I've heard nothing practical in any of your solutions that indicate a positive outcome for our people. What's more, I'm shocked to hear you treat the matter of this craft having a connection with Earth as though it's an insignificant detail." "If it seems that way, I'm sorry, Father," Apollo said sincerely, "I don't belittle the significance of what Wilker says about this term Terra. I'm considering the prospects of what might happen if this civilization they come from turns out to be Earth, and then something goes wrong and the first thing we have to tell our lost brothers of the Thirteenth Tribe is that we're responsible for the deaths of six of their people. How could we effectively make contact with them, if we have their blood on our hands?" His father nodded. "All right, I understand that. But Apollo, what I need are practical decisions to deal with, and if Sagramonte's tone is any indication, the Council won't leave me with any practical choices to pursue. Too many of them are still resentful over their loss of face from the Mr. Morbus affair, and would just love the chance to get back at me by finding a new way of undercutting my authority. Now that Cylon pursuit isn't something we have to worry about as much as we used to, they fell a lot more secure trying to do that." He sighed with resignation. "In the meantime, double the guard down there with extra men from Colonial Security and off-duty pilots. And keep me informed if anything new happens." As Apollo left, he began to feel a sense of guilt over the burden his father had now been subjected to. But even with that, his determined belief that the spacecraft needed to be freed to resume its journey, remained solid. ***** CHAPTER NINE: SEE THE ROBINSONS! ONLY 25 CUBITS! When Wilker returned to the landing bay, he was shocked to find a gathering crowd almost blocking his path back to the spacecraft. Pushing his way through the throng, all of whom were dressed in civilian clothing, he managed to reach the group of warriors who had formed a line in front of the hatchway that led inside the craft. "What's going on?" the Chief Scientist asked. Boomer, who along with Starbuck and Jolly had joined the rest of the security team, let out a grim chuckle. "We've got ourselves some increasingly unruly people from all kinds of ships throughout the Fleet, waiting to see the Robinsons for themselves." "Who let them aboard? Shouldn't the Galactica have denied them landing clearance to get here in the first place?" "I have no idea," Jolly shrugged, "But from the looks of these people, I think a lot of them are close chums of the Council members. They must have come aboard when they landed a few centars ago." "That figures." Wilker looked back at the mob with slight disgust. He had no desire to see a gathering mob of civilians any more than the warriors did. From his standpoint, it could only mean trouble. "According to Adama, there's a Council meeting about to convene." "And it looks like they've got inside information as to what the outcome of that meeting is going to be," Starbuck noted. "Doc, have you been cleared to go back aboard?" "To monitor, yes." The Chief Scientist said. "If you'll let me pass." But as soon as Wilker got by the group, a grim-looking Salik emerged from the hatchway, and stopped in horror when he saw the mob. "What's going on here?" he unexpectedly raised his voice, loud enough for the nearby crowd of twenty to hear. "The makings of a mob, it would seem," Wilker's disgust increased. "We're not going to get a mircon's peace if we have to worry about this group hanging over our shoulders." The Chief Medical Officer nodded. "For once, I agree with you, Wilker. Starbuck, Boomer, will you get these people out of here, now?" "We're kind of outnumbered at the moment, Doc," Starbuck said. "And right now, I don't think any of us feel comfortable making any unnecessary displays of force unless they were to start rushing the ship. SOP calls for us to do nothing unless they don't stay put." "The situation in there is deteriorating more rapidly than ever!" Salik hissed. "I need these people out of here!" He then angrily turned toward the chattering crowd. "Did you hear me? Get out, now! You're not helping the situation!" "Don't worry about that, Doctor," a voice from the other side of the landing bay suddenly pierced the throng. The warriors looked over and Boomer and Starbuck both felt their skin crawl when they saw Gromak leading several other blackshirted members of Council Security. Except for the reddened eyes and slightly disheveled hair, Gromak seemed to have shaken off most of the effects of his drunkenness from earlier in the day. "Gromak, what are you doing here?" Starbuck demanded, not bothering to conceal the disdain he felt for the Council Security guard. "We'll be taking charge of things now, Starbuck," there was a smug edge in Gromak's tone. "Just as soon as the orders arrive." "What orders?" Jolly demanded sharply. "Orders from the Council," Gromak folded his arms and threw the warriors a smug smirk that only increased their inner fury. "The Council will be voting any micron now to terminate the life support systems and let those poor people out of their cages." "Are you out of your mind?" Salik shouted in horror. "We have no idea what levels of resuscitation their bodies will require!" "Take it easy, Doc," Starbuck patted him in the shoulder. "Nobody's going to get in there if we have anything to say about this. How about you and Wilker go to the Commander and let him know what the situation is right now?" "I think we'd better," the Chief Scientist said. "I might have been for making probes, but pulling the plug on those tubes isn't what I had in mind." "Then let's go." Salik motioned his fellow scientist and the two of them hurried across the tarmac toward the nearest turbo lift. "And as for you clowns," Starbuck turned his attention back to Gromak and the group from Council Security, "I suggest you get it through your heads that until we hear from the Commander, we're in charge here." The smug expression didn't fade from Gromak's face as he folded his arms contemptuously, "Until we receive orders from the contrary, we are in charge here." Boomer took a step toward him. When he spoke, his voice was low, but filled with disdain. "Now, you listen to me, you gallmonging snitrad," he decided to use the worst epithet he could think of, "I suggest you reread the manual---if you're capable of reading at all---because this is a warship, and that means that your authority on this ship is nil. That's why there's an institution called Colonial Security to begin with. So why don't you and your gang of blackshirts haul your astrums outta here, right now!" "When the lives of civilians are at state, then that means we do have authority!" one of the other Council Security guards, a man with a neatly trimmed beard jumped in angrily. "Because that manual also says that the lives of civilians are our responsibility no matter where they happen to be!" "Really?" Boomer decided to stay disdainful, rather than show fury. "What makes you think those people on board are civilians?" "What're you talking about?" Gromak couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Of course they're civilians." Starbuck smiled and decided to go along with Boomer's approach. "Well now, we really don't know that, do we? Maybe they're mercenaries, come to mow us all down. Or maybe they're Cylon spies who've come to rescue Baltar." "Yeah! Cylon spies," Jolly pointed a finger in the air. "Of course that's true of all you guys in Colonial Security. Kobol knows we can't say the same for your civilian counterparts." "Quit the felgercarb!" the smug tone was gone from Gromak's face, replaced by exasperation, which was exactly the reaction the two warriors wanted to see. "Three adults and three mercenary children?" "Hey, you never know what Cylon brainwashing techniques can do," Starbuck shrugged nonchalantly. "Speaking of which, what did they use on you?" "That does it!" Gromak fumed as he motioned to the other members of his team. "Take your positions, now!" Suddenly, in unison, Starbuck, Jolly and Boomer all pulled out their laser pistols and trained them squarely at the group. "One more step, Gromak, and you'll be flat on your back!" Starbuck's voice now dripped with contempt. "And that goes for all of you!" Jolly barked at the rest of the crowd, which had stopped their chattering amongst themselves and were trained on what was happening. "Because until we get orders to the contrary, military discipline is going to remain in force!" So focused was the crowd on the angry warriors and their pointed pistols, that none of them noticed a light from inside the Jupiter 2 suddenly shining through the big cockpit window. ***** The black-haired young man was the first to awaken. His sunken and slightly droopy eyes popped open, revealing their hazel-brown irises. A humming started up in his freezing tube and then a light came on in the ceiling of the tube and burned, first pale green, then an intense red. A scarlet glow bathed the awakening man, followed next by a second humming. Very gradually, the plastic tube slid open. The young man, taking in a careful breath, looked first around the ship, then out of the main viewing window at the ship's bow. "We--We made it," he muttered in a dry, weak voice. "We're safe." Gradually, awareness returned to his face. He began flexing the gloved fingers of his right hand. He took another breath and then stepped out of the freezing tube. His legs shook and wobbled as he tried to walk on them. He put out both arms, forming his body into a T-shape, and walked as if on a balance beam, toward the starboard side of the Jupiter 2's flight deck. He ran his tongue over his lips several times and shook his head slowly from side to side. "Atmosphere in---the Jupiter---somehow doesn't feel quite right." Swaying slightly, he made his way to the cockpit and looked out the main window, and was shocked to see a crowd of people standing near the spacecraft, wearing clothes totally unfamiliar to him. "What in the name of..." he muttered as he felt an alarm bell go off inside his head. "Not again!" he whispered. He walked away from the cockpit and began to inspect the other plastic freezing tubes. He looked in on the children first. "All okay," he said after a few minutes. From a slash pocket in his one-piece silver flight suit, he took a small plastic key. He back to the cockpit, knelt by the first computer deck, inserted a key in a little hole in the right hand corner of the leftmost angled instrument bank and turned it. An uneven humming seemed to come from the freezing tubes containing the middle-aged man and woman. Sparks appeared on the seams, followed by little wisps of smoke. Then their tubes slid open. "John! Maureen!" he breathed. "Wake up! For God's sake, wake up!" The auburn-haired woman's eyelids fluttered before her husband's did. She opened her eyes and looked at him with no sign of recognition." "Who...?" 'It's only me. Major Don West, your pilot." The man called John awakened next. "What's up, Don? Have we finally arrived at Centauria?" "That's just it," said Major West. "I haven't the faintest idea where we are. Someone's kidnapped us." Maureen Robinson glanced around at the remaining freezing tubes. "What about our children?" "They're fine," Don answered. "But I'll be damned if I'm gonna revive them. Not the way things look out there." "I'm afraid that Maureen and I don't get your gist," John Robinson said as he stepped out of his freezing tube. "No one's supposed to be awake until we've landed. If this isn't Centauria, then where is it?" "If I knew that, John, I wouldn't have roused you and Maureen out of your freezing tubes," he told the older black-haired man. "As a guess, I'd say we're in either a lunar outpost or a space station, but I didn't know there were any this far away from home." Maureen became concerned. "You don't suppose we've been recaptured by...?" "It's unlikely," he replied. "Aside from those strange-looking fighter craft they're housing, I'd say we're in a Nationalist installation." "You'd say we're in a Nationalist installation?" John said, slightly irked. "Don't you know?" "Hey, all I can tell you is that they're human. I managed to catch a glimpse of our hosts when I looked out the cockpit observation window." "Then they must be the ones that revived you," Maureen said. He shook his head. "Can't be. Either the Jupiter 2 assumed we'd ended the journey," he said, "or my being awakened is the result of a malfunction of some kind." "You're wrong on both counts, Major," John said, coming from behind his freezing tube. "Somebody was puttering around in here. Whoever it was, he blew out the main fuse in the circuitry of the cryogenic sleep matrix. It's a good thing our ship can automatically repair any damaged systems, otherwise we'd all be dead by now." Maureen began to walk away from her freezing tube, to come up beside her husband. "Then we'll have to find out who it was," she said. "Right. And after we identify the culprits we've got to confront them and tell them right out that they had no right to do it!" John bellowed. "Whoa, John!" Major West said, smiling at him. "I know that look. You'd better get control of your temper." "It's not a temper," he said. "I simply don't let anyone push us around. These people who captured us, no matter who they may be or who they think they are, have tampered with something they obviously don't understand. Don, I want you to march right out and tell them what..." "Aren't you forgetting my function on this ship?" Don said. "I'm supposed to stay here and watch the ship, protect the kids." "All right then, I'll scout around a bit," John Robinson said. "Find out what I can." "Not without me, you won't," Maureen said. "I can handle myself as well as you can." "I know, I know," the Robinson patriarch responded. "But I'm not comfortable with..." "There's no debate about it!" Maureen became cross. "I'm going out there with you---end of story!" After a few seconds, Don said, "Don't let them hurt Maureen." "You know I won't," promised John Robinson. ***** It was chilly in the large domed meeting chamber of the Council of Twelve and in the brief silences between verbal exchanges the faint metallic chattering of the air circulation systems could be heard. Sire Sagramonte, a look of satisfaction on his wizened face, was saying, "Very well. It has been decided. Since the support systems are failing, anyway, we will, therefore, remove these humans from the ship known as the Jupiter 2 as quickly and expediently as possible." Commander Adama said, "I won't be party to that. You just head Doctor Salik tell you it might well kill them!" "We'll be as careful and prudent as possible," Sagramonte assured him, rubbing at his chin. "We'll begin with the oldest member among our space family, as he would undoubtedly have the least trouble adjusting to his unfamiliar surroundings." "Gentlemen, you still don't understand," said Salik, rising up out of his chair. "We understand very well and have cast our votes accordingly," Sagramonte reminded him. Doctor Salik shook his head from side to side. "I will not be responsible for six deaths!" "But you're not responsible, we are," said the balding buritician. "The responsibility is ours; you are merely carrying out the will of the Council." "No, I can't do it!" "Doctor, let me remind you that you have been ordered to do this." Salik took a step back from the vast table. "Sire, let me remind you that you'll have to find another doctor." He pivoted on his heel and went walking out of the room. When the startled murmuring faded, Sagramonte turned to Adama. "Commander, go talk some sense into that man. Please!" Slowly, the commander rose up. "Oh, I intend to, yes," he said. "Excellent. "I trust you'll remind him of his duties." "Not quite. I plan to tell him that I'm quite proud of him," said Adama, smiling to himself. "Somehow, lately, I've been seeing fewer and fewer men standing up for the things they believe in." "You can't go condoning insubordination," said Sagramonte, puffing, "not with the morale of the Fleet hanging in the balance!" "Then, I suggest you gentlemen reconsider your vote," said the commander as he walked toward an exitway. "I'd hate to see this lead to conflict among us." "Ah, but it won't come to that," said Sagramonte, with a bit less than complete conviction. "Don't be too sure, sire," said Adama. ***** CHAPTER TEN: EMERGENCE After stopping by his lab to get the other members of his staff to assist him, Wilker made his way back to the landing bay, feeling nothing but rising dread as he drew closer. As soon as he arrived, he'd have to explain the situation to the angry warriors and security people, and he knew it would mean another mess on his hands before he could proceed without feeling a burdensome weight on his shoulders. When his team reached the landing bay, he saw the warriors, now joined by Apollo as well, still standing in front of the spacecraft, while the rest of the blackshirts of Council Security stood some ten metrons "What are you doing here, Doctor Wilker?" Apollo demanded, already knowing this wasn't bound to be good news. "Gentlemen, I regret to inform you that the Council has voted and the space family is to be revived at once." "What?" Starbuck's face twisted. "I don't believe it!" "Why am I not surprised?" Apollo was more resigned. "Salik wouldn't do this!" "Dr. Salik isn't doing it," Wilker said. "My team's been left with no choice but to carry out the order, gentlemen." "At the risk of interrupting this friendly chat," the smug expression immediately returned to Gromak as if a switch had been thrown on, "I think there can't be any more questions as to who's in charge, right gentlemen?" he sneered at the five warriors. "Step aside. Bowing his head, Starbuck rubbed his hands together. "What do you say, Apollo?" he inquired. "Think we can persuade these gents to keep out?" Apollo gave a negative shake of his head. "It's no use," he said. "We can't go against the Council." "Apollo's right, Bucko," Boomer said reluctantly as he and Jolly parted to the left so Gromak could lead his team toward the nearest of the Jupiter's landing legs. "Oh no, I'm not stepping aside for these wankers," Starbuck declared defiantly. "I've gone against the Council before, and, chums, I'm more than ready to..." "Put your weapons away!" Wilker said, looking beyond Starbuck, his face whiter than a G2-class star. "We mean you no harm!" Starbuck laughed himself silly. "Hey, guys, get a load of this! I haven't even drawn my laser yet and already ole Wilker's jumpin' out of his skin." Nudging him, Jolly whispered into the blonde lieutenant's ear. "I think he's talking about the man and woman standing behind you, Starbuck." Starbuck turned to see what Jolly was talking about. "Good Lord!" he gasped. There was indeed a man and a woman standing behind him. The man was tall, six metrons at least. His hazel eyes were set within a strong face topped by dark, brown hair. Every woman in the Fleet would have been swooning over him, had he only been a Colonist. The woman beside him was five metrons tall, with blue eyes and auburn hair. In Apollo's opinion, this woman could have passed for Sheba's mother because the resemblance was so strong. Unfortunately, both of them had strange-looking black pistols leveled at the Colonial party. "I don't know what you people have in mind," the black-haired man said, "but I think it only fair to say that if you try anything cute, my wife and I will shoot you all dead right now!" Despite the man's chilling threat, Starbuck resumed his mirth. "Well, I'll be a daggit on a sunspot! Looks like they didn't need Wilker's help to wake up." "These two didn't, anyway," said Apollo. Gromak, who was closest to him, abruptly cleared his throat and straightened himself. "We, ah...we mean you folks no harm. Welcome aboard the Battlestar Galactica." "Of all the times for them to wake up, it has to be when Gromak's taken charge," Starbuck muttered under his breath, as he kept his eyes on the stranger. "Shut up!" Apollo whispered sharply, as he felt his stomach knot. "Look, do you understand me?" Gromak said, taking a step toward them. "Believe me, we only want to come aboard and help." The gun in the man's hand buzzed like an angry hornet. A beam of yellow light emitted and struck Gromak in the chest, and he fell to the ground. Instantly, the other guards backed away, while the crowd of spectators suddenly let out horrified gasps and began to dash towards the other end of the compartment toward the turbo lifts. "Jolly, Boomer, get them under control before they jam the lifts!" Apollo shouted. The two men ran off to control the panicking crowd. Wilker's support team immediately tended to the fallen Gromak. The other Council Security guards were staring angrily at the strangers, as though they wanted to take some revenge on them right away. "Is he okay?" Starbuck asked with genuine concern. However much he disliked Gromak, seeing the guard killed was the last thing he would have wanted to happen. "He's alive," Wilker said as he checked his scanner. "But he needs med-techs to treat him. "Get him out, fast!" Apollo barked. "Boomer, you help them and make sure there's a clear path to the turbolifts." "Got it!" Boomer dashed over and helped the technicians and the other Council Security men get Gromak to his feet and drag him off to the other end of the room, where Jolly was finally making some headway at getting the crowd under control. Only Wilker, frozen in shock, remained behind with Apollo and Starbuck. "I stunned him," began the strange dark-haired man, "so that if I had to shoot, you all would understand that I mean business." He took one step away from the auburn-haired woman, his wife, who was still standing close to the ship. "I would prefer not to kill anybody." "So would we," said Starbuck. "Live and let live, that's our motto." "I'm Captain Apollo," Apollo took a step toward the dark-haired man, holding his hand out in greeting. "And this is Lieutenant Starbuck." Ignoring the greeting, the dark-haired man snarled: "Back off!" The auburn-haired woman studied Apollo for a split instant, and then lowered her pistol. "John," she said. "Maybe we should..." "Don't bother me!" he scolded. "I know what I'm doing!" To Apollo, his pistol still leveled at him: "All right, you've told me your names, so I guess I'll tell you ours. I'm John Robinson, commander of the spaceship Jupiter 2. Beside me is my wife, Maureen. My children and our pilot are in there." He indicated the spaceship with his thumb. "I will not let you harm us." "I can see why you're uneasy," Apollo said. We ought to just talk and see if we can't come to some sort of understanding." The woman called Maureen Robinson suddenly stepped forward, in Apollo's direction. "Yes, we will talk," she said. "But first, I want to know why we've been brought here." She and John were taking rapid, short breaths, and their faces were getting paler as they stood there. "To welcome you in friendship," Apollo said calmly. "In the name of humanity." "Friendship?" the man named John Robinson suddenly roared. "If you were our friends, you wouldn't have brought us here! You know that!" Apollo took a step closer. "Please, listen to us. We're brothers." "No, that couldn't be." John gestured at the docking bay and the people in it. "None of this is familiar to us. There's not a one of you dressed in any style we know." "Brothers," continued Apollo, "who were separated, we think, quite a while ago. We've been searching for..." "What is this place?" Maureen said. "It doesn't seem to be one of our abandoned lunar outposts." Apollo and Starbuck traded glances. "You're aboard a ship," Apollo said gently. "The Battlestar Galactica." John Robinson looked straight up. "I don't buy it, friend! They---cannot---make---spaceships---this big..." John and Maureen's hands fluttered. John reached out to try to catch hold of something. Instead, the couple dropped to the floor like flies, their heads smacking the metal and they both lay still. "Frak!' exclaimed Starbuck. "Are they dead or what?" "Don't touch them!" It was Doctor Salik, who had just arrived on the scene and Cassiopeia was with him. "We didn't lay a finger on him!" Apollo cried in protest. "They say they can't breathe!" Cassiopeia quickly leaned over them and switched on her med-scanner. "Well, there's no sign of bacteria. It is respiratory failure, caused by the atmosphere density." "All right," said Doctor Salik. "Apollo, you and Starbuck rush these two to the decomp chambers. Now! Cassy, they'll need about one fifth of our own atmosphere to thrive. And as soon as that's done, I want the three of you to go through full decontamination, just in case he's carrying germs deadly to us." "See? What'd I tell you about those people carrying deadly bugs?" Apollo asked Starbuck as both he and the lieutenant carefully picked up John and Maureen Robinson. ***** Maureen looked up at her caregiver, struggling to get a few words out before he was about to close the lid on the decomp chamber. Her face was pale, tinged with blue. "What---what have you done with---my husband?" "We're taking care of him now. There's nothing two worry about," Doctor Salik assured her as he leaned in closer. "I'm only here to help you, so don't be afraid of me." "Who---who are you?" "My name is Salik. I'm a doctor. A medical doctor." "I...my name is...Maureen...Maureen Robinson," she said, gasping in air. "I don't...I don't understand...why...why am I...why was John...having trouble breathing...?" "It's just that you're not used to the same sort of atmosphere that we are, Maureen." He resumed lowering the hood of the decomp chamber on Maureen Robinson, but was stopped when she put resistance on it with her hand. "The...children..." her voice grew more broken as her breathing became more labored. "You...you mustn't hurt them..." "We won't. Which one of you was revived first?" Maureen shook her head. "Our pilot. His name is...Don West. The ship is...programmed to awaken the pilot automatically...in case of...trouble." "He woke up first and then woke you and your husband up?" "That's...that's right. He'll...be worried when we're overdue...I'm sure." "Will he be coming out of the ship to look for you?" "No," Maureen gasped. "His orders are to stay with the ship no matter what. He only woke John and me up so that...so that we could...find out where we were...why the ship wasn't moving anymore." "Now, about your children; when will they come out of suspension?" "The ship...is programmed...to awaken them...when we reach our destination..." "Where's that?" "A...A planet...called Centauria...But...this...this isn't...Centauria...is it?" "No, it isn't," Salik said, closing down the hood of the decomp chamber over Maureen's body. ***** CHAPTER ELEVEN: MISSION NEITHER APPROVED NOR DISAPPROVED In the center of a vast whiteness sat two gray respirator units. They bore an eerie resemblance to coffins and held the man and the woman called John and Maureen Robinson. Doctor Salik was leaning over the one that was aiding the middle-aged redheaded woman. "They seem to be doing fine," he said. Starbuck took a thoughtful chew on his dead fumarello. "You call that fine? They're flat on their backs and out cold." "I should, falling back on an old medical clich‚, have said they were doing as well as could be expected," said the Doctor as he made a delicate adjustment on one of the dials of Maureen's breathing tank. Apollo said, "What do you mean by that, Doctor?" Putting his hands in his uniform's pockets and gazing up at the rimmed ceiling of this wing of the Life Station, Salik replied, "Exactly what I said: they're doing fine---as long as they stay in these respirators." "Which doesn't make for a very fun-filled lifestyle, if you think about it," said Starbuck. "It's better than being dead," answered the physician. "But not by much," said Starbuck. "Oh, guys. This is my fault. I never should've..." "There's no time for faults now, young man," Salik admonished. "If I may "Go ahead," said Apollo. "Thank you," Salik began, facing the nervous captain and the nervous lieutenant. "It's the pressure of our environment here on the Galactica. It was literally starting to crush them. Our air pressure is substantially stronger than what they are accustomed to." "But they're human, like us, so they ought to have been in an environment very "We're adaptable," said Doctor Salik. "It may be that over many millennia their environment, the air they breathe, grew thinner very gradually, so that the majority of them could adapt to it easily." "The reverse could also be true," offered Apollo. "Our environment grew heavier." Salik nodded. "It's irrelevant," he said. "The bottom line is that they're simply not able to function in our world here." "And they can never come out of those tanks?" said Starbuck. "You saw what happened to John Robinson," said Salik. Starbuck eyed Apollo. "We are, good buddy, going to have to do something about this," he said firmly. ***** Commander Adama stood at the view window in his quarters. His forehead was furrowed. "We came very close to finding other humans," he said. "Perhaps the home planet of the Thirteenth Tribe itself." Clearing his throat, Colonel Tigh said, "I see no good reason why we can't sustain them, in the hopes that they'll regain enough strength to communicate with us." Apollo and Starbuck were sitting, uneasy, in twin chairs across the room. Apollo said, "We can't do that, Colonel." Tigh scowled. "We must, Captain," he said. "The lives of every man, woman and child in this fleet may well depend on the answers. We must know if Earth can support us, if she is technologically advanced enough to help us fight off our enemies, and if she can protect herself if a Cylon invasion were to occur." "I can appreciate what you're saying," chimed in Apollo. "The thing is, Colonel, the life of the Robinson family isn't ours to do with as we please. No matter how important we may thing these people are to our own future." "As one warrior to another," said the colonel, "you must surely understand that in some situations the lives of the few must be risked for the good of the many." "But not this time!" insisted Apollo. Adama watched his son for a few silent microns. "You and Starbuck are the ones who brought these space wanderers to us, Apollo," he reminded. "That was Starbuck's mistake," Apollo told him, looking at the suddenly downcast lieutenant. "He shouldn't have done it." "This is ridiculous!" said Tigh. "While the lives of our people hang in the balance, we're sitting around like a bunch of guilty children and bewailing the obvious." "Just a milicenton, Tigh," said the commander. "Apollo, what are you getting at?" "Starbuck had no right to interrupt their journey," his son answered. "And, since I failed to act in my capacity as his commanding officer to stoop him, that makes me as guilty as he is. Therefore, it is our responsibility to get the Jupiter 2 back on its way." Adama crossed to a large armchair and seated himself. "Suppose their operating systems are no longer capable of carrying them safely to their destination?" "The operating systems can be put back in first class order," said Apollo. "That's not a problem." "Suppose," suggested Colonel Tigh, "we turn the Jupiter 2 loose, as you propose, and a Cylon patrol intercepts it? We'd be sending the Robinsons to their deaths." "Somehow, I don't think that's gonna happen, Colonel," said Starbuck. "It's been sectans and we haven't heard or seen so much as even one Cylon." "And I'll take a team of volunteers with their ship to protect it on its voyage," said Apollo. Steepling his fingers, Adama rested his strong chin on them. "Have you given this a lot of thought?" "Yes," said Apollo. "Some of what I think...no, make that what I feel." He nodded at the colonel. "This isn't based on logic, entirely, nor on sound military thinking and planning." He leaned back in his chair, took a slow deep breath. "I feel that the Robinsons are being beckoned to some specific destination. And there, maybe, we can also find some of the answers we need." The commander lowered his hands, rested his palms on his knees. "Our life systems seem incompatible." "No, it's not exactly that," said Apollo. "I've kicked some of these notions around with Doctor Salik and he agrees. You see these people, our reluctant guests, can't accept the weight of our pressurization. But we, on the other hand, have experienced short terms in environments with far less pressure than our own. Where they're going, I believe we can survive." "And if you're wrong?" asked Colonel Tigh. "That's a risk we'll have to take," answered Apollo. "Weren't you just talking about the few taking a chance for the many?" "Being pigheaded and foolish wasn't exactly what I meant." "If anybody's pigheaded hereabouts," put in Lieutenant Starbuck, "meaning no offense, sir, it's not the captain here." "Oh, really?" Tigh glowered at Starbuck. "Lose that cocky attitude of yours right now or I'll put you on report!' "Gentlemen," said Adama quietly. "I'd like to think we're above squabbling at important times like this." He crossed to a communications screen in the wall and punched out a number. The screen popped to life and then Doctor Salik appeared. "Yes, Commander?" He glanced back over his shoulder, as though anxious to get back to what he'd been doing. "Doctor, have you and my son been conspiring?" Adama said. Salik shrugged. "I simply expressed my opinions to Apollo," he replied. "Opinions backed up, I might add, with a shipload of facts." "Then let me make sure I understand you. The only chance the Robinsons have of surviving is to be allowed to continue on with their journey?" "They can survive here on Galactica if we keep them permanently imprisoned in depressurized canisters." "With no guarantee that we'd ever be able to communicate with them?" "I'm afraid that's right," answered the doctor. "I can't rule out the possibility that eventually we might be able to work out some means of communication, however." "I see. Thank you." Adama killed the image on the screen. "Well?" said his son as he watched him return to his chair. "You have one obstacle, Apollo," Adama replied. "The Jupiter 2 cannot leave without the Council's approval." "There isn't time for a political debate," said Starbuck. "Those buriticians'll kick this around for yahrens and still not get to an answer. "Suppose we suggest that this is a military problem, pure and simple," said Apollo, sitting up and grinning. "I don't quite see how this falls under military jurisdiction," said Adama. "John Robinson, the first human to emerge from the ship, gunned down a security guard, didn't he?" "Right!" said Starbuck. "Therefore, we'd be justified in taking decisive action to remove further threats of violence against us." "The guard was only stunned," said Colonel Tigh. "The wisest course," Apollo began, "would be for Starbuck and me...that is, if you volunteer, for this, good buddy?" Giving him a mock salute, Starbuck answered. "At your service." "For Starbuck and me to remove the possibility of any further danger to the fleet," continued Apollo. "That we do so by placing the hostile craft back on its original course." "The Council just might have a problem with that," said Tigh. "Not if we can assure them that the Jupiter 2 is still under our control," said Apollo. "Because we'll be escorting it to its destination." "This is absolutely unacceptable!' cried the colonel. "For Sagan's sake, Apollo, you're talking about flim-flamming the Council!" Sudden, the communication screen buzzed. Adama activated it and found Sire Sagramonte's chubby face glaring at him from the screen. "The Council is considerably upset," began Sagarmonte, "and the fleet is deeply concerned." "Why is that?" asked the commander. "We hear news that this space family of yours has come back to life and attempted to kill several security guards." "Then that news has reached you in a somewhat exaggerated form," Adama said to him. "Exaggerated or not, you can't deny that there was shooting!" "No, I cannot," said Adama. "In fact, Sire, I can tell you that even now we are dealing with the situation." Sagramonte's chin waggled. "I would expect you to," he said. "Up to now, you know, we haven't been very pleased with the way you've handled things. We expect a full report as soon as possible." The screen went blank. Chuckling, Adama said, "Usually I hang up on him." "They want answers as soon as possible," said Apollo, rising and moving to his father's side. "My plan won't work unless we get moving right now, before the Council takes any further action." The commander moved again to the view window. "I can't say yes," he said slowly, "and yet, I can't say no either." "Good," said Colonel Tigh bouncing once in his chair. "Am I to assume that the mission is scrubbed?" "On the other hand, I've said nothing about scrubbing the mission," Adama said. "Do we understand each other?" Apollo nodded and caught Starbuck's arm. "We sure do, father," he said. "Let's do it!" "Righto!" Starbuck popped up and followed the Captain out of the room. ***** CHAPTER TWELVE: THIS ISN'T MUTINY! Lieutenant Jolly was fidgeting, moving his ambrosa glass from side to side, and tapping one booted foot on the lounge floor, tugging at one end of his moustache and then the other. "A cubit for your thoughts," said Zixi, smiling tentatively across the table at him. "Hum?" "Your mind is wandering, love," she observed. Hunching his broad shoulders, the plump lieutenant admitted, "Yeah, it's wandering. Sorry 'bout that." "Oh, that's perfectly okay. I'm used to people not paying attention to me." "I'm paying attention to you, Zixi," he insisted. "The trouble is, I'm also thinking about this Earth ship Starbuck and Apollo went and fished out of space. Oh, by the way, I've just learned that it has a name: the Jupiter 2." "I understand," the auburn-haired young woman said. "As to why I'm used to being ignored, I have three older sisters and when I was growing up, people were always fawning over them and ignoring me." "A cute little number like you? Ignored? Give me a break!" "Cute, yes." She nodded in agreement. "But not stunning and gorgeous. MY other three sisters are, each and every one of them. You take the eldest, Xaviera, for instance. Why she..." "Excuse me, but I couldn't help noticing; the letter X seems to run in your family." "Yes, it sure does," agreed the girl. "But let's not talk about my beautiful sisters. Tell me what's bothering you, Jolly." He frowned. "Well, I got me the notion that these six space voyagers are damn important," he told her. "Important to all of us. They can tell us how to get to Earth or a reasonable facsimile thereof. Meaning we can maybe settle down for a spell and quite thinking about Cylons and warfare and all that felgercarb." "Is that what you want?" "Yeah, that's what I want. To walk on real soil again," he said, grinning in anticipation. "And get a sunburn and have a house to live in with a front porch." He leaned forward, putting both big fists on the tabletop. "But what I'm worried about is the damn Council. I hear tell they just voted to wake up all the folks in the Jupiter 2, grownups and kids alike. Right quick." "That could be dangerous." "Dangerous? Hades, it could kill 'em all," said Jolly glumly. "Before we even get a chance to find out a single fact about Earth." "Jolly, pardon me for barging in on this romantic interlude of yours," Boomer had come striding up to tap him on the shoulder. Blinking, Jolly inquired, "What's happening?" Leaning down, Boomer lowered his voice. "Starbuck'd like us to lend a hand on a...um...special project. Can you come along right now?" "Well, sure." He glanced at the girl. "You won't mind if I desert you for a bit?" "Heavens no," Zixi said. "I'm used to it." ***** Hands clasped behind his back, Doctor Salik stared down into the tank that held the sleeping Maureen Robinson. "I wonder," he muttered to himself. "How long they'll survive in this sort of a setup?" finished Apollo, who'd come into the Life Station a moment earlier. Salik glanced up. "Oh, yes, that too," he said. "But also I've been brooding about what we're keeping them from, what important mission is unfulfilled." "The Council's voted," reminded Cassiopeia. "There's really nothing we can do." "Maybe there is," put in Apollo. The young woman studied his face. "You're looking very smug," she observed. "Yes, you're wearing the sort of look one expects to see plastered on Starbuck's face when he's plotting one of his audacious capers." "Cassy, Cassy, whatever will people say?" Starbuck had entered the snow-white room. "If you keep talking about me continually, folks will say we're in love." "What I'm always saying about you," Starbuck," she said, "everybody aboard the Galactica already knows. That you're self-centered, pushy, and conceited." "Enough, enough." He clapped his hands over his ears. "All this flattery will rush to my head, kiddo." "You're impossible." "That, too." Shifting his fumarello to a new position in his mouth, he stepped up close to Apollo. "Everything's set, old chum." "What's set?" Salik wanted to know. "Hasn't the captain explained?" "I was leading up to it, subtly," said Apollo, "until you came barging in, good buddy." "Heaven's Gate, we've got no time for subtlety." Starbuck planted his hands on his hips. "We're taking your patients." The young woman took a step in his direction. "Taking them where?" "Where they belong, Cassy," he answered. "Back to their ship, back to their family." "They can't survive in it." "Sure they can," he said. "Wilker just confided in me that, when he blew out the fuse in their cryogenic sleep system he accidentally found a special circuitry setup that allows the ship to repair itself automatically. He figured we'd try something like this, so he didn't tell anyone else about it. Seems they build that crate to take extra-special care of this tribe until they reached their destination." Brow furrowed, she turned to the doctor. "Doctor Salik, you've got to stop them!" He sighed. "Cassy, I think I'm on their side," he said. "In fact, I think I'd better go along with them. To monitor the equipment and make certain all goes well." "Along with them?" She looked from the doctor to the other two. "You mean you're going along? Leaving the Galactica and going---God knows where?" "We'll escort their ship," explained Apollo, "using our Vipers. Seems the least we can do, since we fouled up their flight in the first place." "On top of which, we'll find out what sort of a spot they're heading for," added Starbuck. "Might just be a spot we, too, can settle on. Can't you see it, Cassy, you and me strolling hand-in-hand over a lush green sward. Leafy tree boughs sheltering us and birds singing over our heads?" "The Council will dine on your livers for breakfast," she said. "Naw, they'd have to catch us to do anything to us," said Starbuck with a grin. "And we'll be long gone before they even get wind of this little caper, kiddo." Apollo said, "We appreciate your offer of help, Doctor Salik, but you're too important to the fleet. You can't just leave." "But someone ought to be aboard the Jupiter 2, to make sure nothing goes wrong once it's back on its original flight pattern," the doctor insisted. Starbuck removed his fumarello from his mouth and studied its smoldering tip. "Cassy? What say you step forward?" he suggested. "Here's a chance to do a great service for humanity. On top of which, you get to go on a cruise with two of the most personable lads in the entire crew." "You mean you're asking me to mutiny along with you?" Apollo put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, this isn't mutiny," he said. "We've already got a way figured to flimflam the Council into thinking this is an essential move. If it works, that is." "Cassy," said the doctor, "I think what they're going to do is the right thing. And just about the only chance we have to save their lives." She lowered her head and shut her eyes for nearly a full milicenton. Opening them, she said, "Okay, I'm in. But this is still mutiny, any way you look at it." ***** The two portable decompression chambers were shrouded with white plyocloths. Starbuck and Apollo were hefting the first one, and Jolly and Boomer lugged the second. Cassy, looking none too happy, brought up the rear of the procession. When they halted at the entryway to the captive ship, the young woman moved to the front of the line. "It's okay," she told the pair of security guards. "These empty decomp tubes are to be taken aboard the Jupiter 2 at once." "Who says?" "Doctor Salik," she said. The other guard eyed her in the four men. "What do you need them for?" "There are three children still in suspension and the pilot, whom we understand is awake. They are to be removed at once," she said firmly. "Surely you're aware that the Council has voted to remove the children and attempt to revive them?" "Sure, we know that," said the other guard. "But..." "Time's a-waistin'," remarked Starbuck. The guard frowned in his direction. "Why are you guys so eager to help out now? Awhile ago, I hear, you were ready to clobber anybody who touched a hair of those brats' heads." "We had a long talk with Doctor Salik," explained Apollo. "He, being a wise fellow, pointed out the error of our ways." "He sure did," seconded Starbuck. "And so you see us before you chomping at the bit...or is that champing? Anyhow, we're eager to do our part. Because we now believe that what's good for the Council is good for us all." Both guards laughed. One of them said, "Looks like you lost out in what you were trying to do, Apollo," he said. "As long as these folks remain alive, I didn't lose," he replied. "Right now, though, we have to start transferring those kids out of their freezing tubes and into these portable chambers as soon as possible." The guard looked at him for a few seconds. "You sure changed sides fast." "He does sometimes," said Starbuck, shifting his fumarello to the other side of his mouth. "What say you move aside, chum? You're standing in the way of progress." "Okay, go on aboard," said the guard. "We really appreciate your cooperation," Starbuck told him sincerely. ***** CHAPTER THIRTEEN: DEPARTURE It was while they were transferring John Robinson to his own freezing tube that the middle-aged man began to come awake again. Maureen had already been safely returned to hers and Cassy was able to announce, "Their suspended animation units are functioning just fine now, thanks to this ship's ability to 'heal' itself." "Good enough," said the relieved Apollo. "Now we can lug these decomp chambers off the ship and con the guards into thinking we're hauling away the first of the kids." "Then all that needs to be done," added Starbuck, "is get the Jupiter 2 launched out into space again and back on its original course." "That's all automatic, once we start her up," said Apollo. "Sure, but...uh oh!" Starbuck noticed the inner door to the airlock hissing open and an armed man emerging from within the airlock chamber. "Looks like we've got another armed snitrad to worry about." It was the sunken-eyed man from the first freezing tube, only now he was awake and pointing one of those curious black pistols at Apollo and Starbuck. "Who are you?" he growled. "What the hell are you doing to us?" "They're trying to help us, Don," said the now fully recovered John Robinson as he climbed out of the decomp chamber and approached the pistol-wielding major. "Put it down and let me explain." "I can't...can't see how you can say that," said the younger man. "Don't you realize what they've done by bringing us here and fouling everything up?" "I think they realize what they've done," said John, his face almost touching noses with the zealously protective Major West. "They want to put us back on our original course." West turned away from John Robinson. "You there!" he yelled, pointing at Cassiopeia. "What have you done with Mrs. Robinson and the children?" "The kids never left this room," said Cassy. "And Mrs. Robinson has just been returned to the freezing tube next to her husband's." Don went over to the freezing tube the held the sleeping form of the oldest Robinson daughter. He smiled faintly as he pressed his fingertips to the surface. "You haven't yet explained to Major West and me who you are," said John. "Are you from the Alliance?" Apollo shrugged. "Never heard of them," he admitted. "But, how can you not know about the Eastern Alliance? Who are you and what is this all about?" Apollo said, "It may take more time to explain than we've got right now, John. But let me ask you something: are you from a planet known as Terra?" John answered, "Yes, as a matter of fact, we are. My family and I are on a colonization mission to the planet Centauria...we've been traveling now for, I believe, about five years. But you must know that, since you waylaid us." "Yes, we know," said Starbuck. "It's what the manual we found in this crate indicates." Giving a sorrowful shake of his head, the middle-aged man said, "Unfortunately, there's been a slight complication. We were awakened once before, you see, when we arrived on the first stop on our journey, Lunar Seven. We didn't know it at the time, but it had fallen into the hands of the Alliance. They tried to take us prisoner and we barely escaped with our lives. They've been hunting us down ever since." Apollo said, "We didn't stop you because we wanted to stop you from getting to your assigned destination, John. We just didn't know any better. See, we have some problems of our own and we were hoping you could help us solve them. "I don't see any reason to trust them, John," said West. Cassy said, "We're not playing games with you and the others. We do want to help you. My name is Cassiopeia and this is Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Starbuck.: "What's that foul thing smoldering in your mouth?" John asked Starbuck. Puzzled, Starbuck took out his fumarello and scrutinized it. "This? It's called a fumarello. Made from a kind of rolled vegetable matter we call tobaccon," he said. "They're for smoking. I smoke 'em." "You mean you draw the smoke into your lungs? That sounds like a very bad habit, young man. I suggest you consider giving it up." "Hey, fella! Last time I looked you weren't in charge of my body--I was." "Okay. But if you...smoke...around the children when they awaken, or pressure them into trying one of those hideous things, you're going to answer to me." Apollo said, "Where is Terra, exactly?" "Don't tell him that!" admonished Major West. "We want to help you get back on course," repeated Apollo. "I don't doubt him there," said John. "We don't need your help," said West. "The Jupiter 2 knows its course. If you, as you claim return us to space, then it will take us to Centauria. It's been programmed to do that." Apollo nodded slowly. "We'll help you," he said. "And we'd like some help from you, too." "But who are you?" said John. "You still haven't answered me." "We're from another world," said Starbuck, returning his fumarello to his mouth. "Refugees, in a way." "We come from a wrecked world," added Apollo. "We've come in search of a way to protect our people." "What does that have to do with us?" "We believe we could settle on Earth," said Apollo. "Or Centauria. Or maybe this Lunar Seven you mentioned." "Out of the question." John Robinson gave several negative shakes of his head. "You must never go anywhere near Lunar Seven. Anyway, the Destroyers would completely wipe you out before you got anywhere near there." "Folks, I'm as interested in this chitchat as the next guy, but we got to move," said Starbuck. "Otherwise, all our backsides will end up in slings." "You're right," acknowledged Apollo. "John, Major West, we have to get your ship free of the Galactica right away." He glanced first at Cassy and then at John. "Can you guys fly your ship clear of the docking bay?" "Yes, we can do that." Cassy said, "It's risky, Apollo. They might, before the pressure in this ship gets back to what it was, have some kind of relapse." "I know there are risks involved," said Apollo moving toward the exit. "But it's the only way we can get this ship out of here. You're going to be here with him, Cassie. So that..." "Okay," she said. "We'll do it. You get out of here and do what you have to do." "If," said John Robinson, perplexed, "you're not with the Alliance, then whom are you working for?" "The human race," said Starbuck. "And we humans have got to stick together against all the other critters one encounters whilst roaming the spaceways." "I still don't understand," said John. "What do you mean about humans? Are there other kinds of life out there?" "To put it kindly," said Starbuck. "Yep." Apollo caught his arm. "We don't have time for your usual discourse on the flora and fauna of space, Starbuck. Let's move." "Righto. Cassy can explain some of the finer points to you," he said. "Now, let's get Jolly and Boomer in here to help with the heavy lifting." ***** As Starbuck's feet touched the landing bay floor, he said, "Whoa, gang!" He lowered his end of the decomp tank to the floor. Apollo let down his end and stepped clear. "Okay, fellas, here's where the second part of your job comes in." Jolly and Boomer set the unit they'd been hauling down on the polished metal floor. "You guys are heading for one big pile of trouble," observed Lieutenant Jolly, rubbing his big hands together. "So why not let us tag along." "Nope," said Starbuck with a shake of his head. "Thanks for the offer, but I think two Vipers are ample backup for the Robinsons' spaceship." Boomer said, "Gonna be a lot of fun here on the Galactica once everybody realizes what's going on." "By that time," said Starbuck, re-igniting his fumarello, "we'll be light-yahrens away." "And now," suggested Apollo, "you two go in and do your bit toward distracting the security guards. So Cassy and our reluctant guests, John Robinson and Don West, can get that ship launched." "Hades is gonna break loose when that thing goes blasting out of here," said Jolly, chuckling. "That's why you've got to lure those guards out here," said Apollo. "They think we've got two of the kids in these gadgets, so when you rush in here and tell 'em there's been an accident out here to one of the units and you need their help, they'll come a-runnin." "Everybody's got a soft spot for a kid in trouble," added Starbuck, "even a brutish security guard." "Once we get 'em out here and away from the Jupiter 2, we do our damndest to keep 'em here," said Boomer, nodding at the doorway. "Have trouble with the door and stuff like that." "Piece of cake," said Jolly. "I worked a similar dodge with a paranurse and kept her in a corridor for nearly two centons." "And while you're diverting those mushie-heads, Apollo and I'll sneak our Viper ships out." Starbuck rounded out their plan. "If we're going to escort that ship to Alpha Centauri, we've got to be ready." "Safe journey, Apollo," said Boomer. "Hope things turn out A-okay for you guys, too," said Starbuck. "Because when the felgercarb hits the fan, we're going to be way out yonder. But you lads'll still be right here." "True," said Boomer, laughing. ***** Starbuck leaned forward in the seat of his small Viper ship and gazed down at the massive Battlestar Galactica. He had his craft set in a hover pattern. "So far, so good," he said into the voice pickup in his helmet. Apollo's Viper was hovering up above him in space. "This is only the overture," reminded his voice as it came out of a speaker grid. "The orchestra hasn't gotten to the symphony yet." "Aw, don't look so negative, champ," advised Starbuck, his eyes on the yawning docking bay of the Battlestar. "We haven't heard any whistles blowing, no alarms going on. Nobody's ordered us back. Conclusion: this whole venture's off to a nifty start." "I'm not being negative, just practical." "Sure you are," snorted Starbuck. "If we Colonists had last names, Gloom-and-Doom would be absolutely perfect for you. Whereas me, I'm always looking on the bright side. Take, as an example, the time we met that tattooed lady on Zaxas." "Here comes the Jupiter 2!" Before Apollo could say another thing, the saucer-shaped ship came floating lazily out of the dock. Unlike a Viper or shuttle launch, there was no flame or smoke, just the flash of lights on the underbelly. It then shot free of the Galactica and went climbing swiftly away from the enormous starship. "I always wanted to see a flying saucer on maneuvers," said Starbuck. "Shall we tag along?" "After you," said Apollo. "Okay, see you on Centauria." Starbuck kicked his Viper into action and went roaring off in the Jupiter 2's wake. ***** Sire Sagramonte forced himself to take two deep breaths and clasp his right hand with his left before he could speak. "This is absolutely..." The words simply would not come to him. "Outrageous?" suggested Adama. He was at a monitoring screen in his quarters. "Yes! Outrageous and unacceptable!" said the angry balding man. "What in hades is going on?" "Isn't it obvious? The Robinsons have left us." The gray-haired commander turned away from the pictures coming in from the empty docking area. "I know that, I know that." Sagramonte's chin jiggled. "How did it happen? I mean to say; there was a wealth of important information aboard that ship. The people, the equipment---it could have saved the lives of us all!" "Somehow," said Adama, "the two Robinsons---I believe their names are John and Maureen---were able to return to the Jupiter 2 and take it out of here. I assume they've got it back on its original course." "Am I correct in my understanding that they've also kidnapped a member of our medical staff, a young woman named Cassiopeia?" "The entire affair is being investigated as we speak," Adama assured him. "In a little while, I'm sure I'll be able to answer all your questions." "Well, this is all---outrageous! Remember, the Council has already voted that those people were to be revived and questioned," said the balding councilman. "But then they escape and you do absolutely nothing about it? Inexcusable!" "Don't despair. We've been able to send two scout ships after them," explained Adama. "I'm certain we'll either bring that runaway ship back or follow it to its destination. Either way, we shall be able to learn a good deal about their origins." "Those two scout ships," asked Sagarmonte, "who's piloting them, may I ask?" "My son and Lieutenant Starbuck." Sagramonte pursed his lips. "Apollo and Starbuck, eh? That might not, meaning no offense to your parental feelings, be the best choice. Apollo is certainly capable, butt hat Starbuck does seem to be able to lead him astray." "They will do an admirable job, I'm sure of it," said Adama. "Besides, as I understand it, their ships were being readied for a routine patrol. Expediency dictated that they be enlisted in the pursuit mission. Surely that is understandable to you." Sagramonte gave a reluctant nod. "I hope you won't mind if I conduct my own investigation into the entire deplorable situation?" "Not at all," said Adama. ***** CHAPTER FOURTEEN: JOURNEY'S END On the monitor screen, Colonel Tigh's face showed slightly green. Even after fiddling with the controls, the commander couldn't get the faint green tinge to go away. Giving up, he said, "Yes, go on." Tight said, "The tension's mounting." "Understandably so," said Adama. "And still no word?" Adama shook his head. "The ships have been gone for nearly a sectan and there's no news," he said. "No communication from Apollo, Starbuck, or even the Robinsons." "The Council is talking of conducting an inquiry." "Oh, it's gone beyond talking, Colonel. I've been asked to appear before them." "That might get rough." "I expect that it will," agreed Adama. "At any rate, Colonel, I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything from out there." He broke the connection and activated the computer program that allowed him to dictate his personal log. ***** Starbuck yawned, blinked, and straightened up in his seat. "How come I'm always slumbering when something important starts transpiring?" he asked nobody in particular. "Shhhh!" admonished Apollo, his voice coming out of the control panel speaker. "Listen!" There was another crackle of static and then the strange male voice that had awakened Starbuck a moment earlier said, "This is Centauria Control calling the approaching spacecraft. We have you on visual and are presently tracking you. Please identify yourself." "Centauria Control, this is the spaceship Jupiter 2, Professor Jonathan Robinson, mission commander, responding. We have sighted your planet and are now on our final approach. All operating systems are operative and in standby mode." "Identity confirmed, Jupiter 2. You are twenty hours behind your ETA. What is your support status?" "All well within tolerances to complete rendezvous satisfactorily." "Affirmative, John Robinson. Stand by for further instructions." As the crackling faded, Starbuck, after relighting his fumarello, said, "Who in Hades was that? Where's that chatter coming from?" "We planted a transceiver in the upper level of the ship, remember?" replied Apollo from his Viper." "I know that, old chum. But we didn't plant a man with a voice that would scare the poggies out of a Cylon," the lieutenant pointed out. "That voice was coming from Centauria, I conclude, but I thought John Robinson was asleep in his freezing tube. What's he doing out of it?" "Let's ask Cassy," suggested Apollo. "Cassy, do you read me?" Silence flowed out of the speaker for almost thirty microns. Then the young woman's voice answered, "I read you, Apollo." "Aw, don't you read me too, Cass?" asked Starbuck. "Yes, I do. Now stop interrupting." "It gets lonesome out here in the vastness of space. I like to be remembered..." "Can it, Starbuck. Now, Cassy, is John awake and at the controls of his ship? If so, would it be possible for me to talk to him?" "No," she replied. "He's evidently programmed the computer that's been flying this ship to simulate his voice, which leads me to believe we're nearing our destination." "Okay, we're still right on your tail," said Apollo. "Is everything okay aboard?" "Things are fine," she said. "Although taking a trip with everybody asleep isn't the most lively way to travel." "I knew I should've stowed away on that crate," said Starbuck, puffing on his fumarello. "Just a centon, fellas," came Cassiopeia's voice. "Looks like Major West is reviving again. He's just stepped out of his freezing tube. I'll find out what he has to say and get back to you." "Yeah, do that," said Starbuck. ***** Don West glanced around the perimeter of the flight deck, and then knelt down beside one of the main consoles, situated under the main viewport. He scanned the angled panels of radar screens and dials as well as the "hooded" computer banks in front of him, all of which were situated under the main viewport. "Well, everything seems to be going smoothly, nothing's been fouled up too badly---but it's not that you people didn't try!" he sneered at Cassy. "How do you feel? Should you be awake?" He laughed. "If the spaceship didn't think I should be, I wouldn't be, Cassiopeia," he said. "The Jupiter's already begun to adjust to the surface pressure of Centauria." He looked out the main viewport and pointed to a misty-green planet that had suddenly appeared in the distance. "And there it is now." "How long before touchdown?" West read off several gauges and dials. "Exactly two hours and fifty-seven minutes from now. Yep, everything's going according to plan. I was to be awakened three hours out." She sighed. "I'm glad everything is functioning." "You can communicate with those...Vipers...aren't they...can't you? I heard you when I came out of my freezing tube." "Yes, I can." "There's something I need to tell Captain Apollo." "Go ahead and talk, he's already hearing you." A frown crossed the major's face. "Very efficient," he said. "Captain?" "I hear you, Don." Apollo's voice, a shade tinny, came from the transceiver unit that had been placed in the cabin. "Okay, let me tell you that I'm in fine shape," West began. "The Jupiter 2 is proceeding on autopilot. The voice you heard was a computer from the former base we Nationalists had here. If you'll just follow us down, you'll be safe." "What former base?" Apollo demanded. Don rubbed his eyes. "There isn't anything left on Centauria anymore. Nothing but Maureen's father and a place for me and the other Robinsons." "Okay," Apollo said. "Why are you telling me this now, and not when we're down on the surface?" "I wanted to be honest with you," Don said. "As soon we've landed, all of the Jupiter 2's operating systems, its computers and memory banks included, will automatically self-destruct, grounding her forever. " "Wait a centon! Are you saying you're going to destroy the coordinates back to Lunar Seven and Terra?" "This ship was built for a one-way voyage, Apollo. We couldn't prevent it if we wanted to. Besides, our enemies may already be in pursuit." "Cassy, stop him, for Sagan's sake! Don't let him touch anything!" ordered Apollo. "Don, we waylaid you for a reason," Cassy said. "You have vital information that our people need very badly. Please, make an exception for my sake as well as theirs." Don West made no move, simply smiling over at the young woman. "I'm sorry, miss, there's nothing I can do," he said. "The self-destruct feature is part of the spaceship's main functions." He paused. "If it's any consolation, I'll be saving not only our lives, but yours." "Saving our lives from whom?" "The Alliance," he said. "I've told you about them, but you don't seem to understand how dangerous they are." From out of the transceiver came Starbuck's voice. "Nobody's asked me," he said. "But I just want to go on record as saying I don't much like this latest turn of events." ***** CHAPTER FIFTEEN: HECTOR, VECTOR...AND THE ENEMY The sleek destroyer craft built in the counters suggesting a predatory animal, was a ship designed to strike terror into the hearts of those who saw it. Not because of its mere firepower capacity, but because it was manned by the most ruthlessly efficient crew known to everyone in this part of space. Inside the ship, a claxon went off. The crew, who had been asleep in their freezing tubes, awakened and marched emotionlessly to their stations. The last one to step out of the freezing tubes had been the destroyer's captain, Commandant Neistadt. He began with a methodical inspection to insure that all of those in his command were operating at nothing less than peak efficiency. The slightest sign of weakness or slackening would always bring from him the lash of the whip on their shoulders, and with it, a punishment on the record that would all but close their hopes for advancement in rank. But in the three years that Neistadt had captained this destroyer, he had never been forced to use the lash once. His crew was that efficiently trained, and any weak-minded ones had long since been rooted out before they could have been assigned to his crew. Neistadt was moving around the room like a cat on the prowl in the Destroyer's communications room. The greenish glare of the communication and tracking screens was reflected on the gold braid that was thick on his chest and shoulders. From across the room one of the men at a monitoring desk cleared his throat and then called out, "Commandant Neistadt, I have discovered the reason why the ship sounded the alarm and brought us out of suspension." "I'm listening, Kleinemann." He strode over to the thickset young man. "The Jupiter 2, sir," said Kleinemann. "She's passed within extreme detector range." "Ah, yes, the Jupiter 2. There's been a price on her head for---what is it---five years now," said the thin-lipped commandant. "This would be our best chance to apprehend the outlaw scientist John Robinson and his family." He rested a gloved hand on the black metal top of Kleinemann's desk and glanced at the screen over the desk. "Has their ship entered our patrol sector?" Kleinemann licked his chops. "I'm not certain, sir," he replied. "But my readout clearly matches the specifications and basic schematics for the ship that departed Terra for Centauria and escaped from Lunar Seven five years ago." Stroking the thin mass of hair that rested atop his squarish forehead, Commandant Neistadt said, "How far away from us?" "Twenty-thousand kilometers, commandant," answered Kleinemann. "The craft is definitely bound for Centauria." "Which is a very, very long away off," reflected the officer. "But, it's well worth the trip. Oh, I can just see myself being promoted for capturing the Jupiter 2, perhaps by the Beloved Leader himself. As soon as we complete our patrol circuit, we will stop off there and deal with the Robinson party firmly." "The thing that's been puzzling me, sir," put for Kleinemann in a somewhat timid voice, "is...well, there's more than one ship." Neistadt stiffened. "Utter nonsense! Our initial reports clearly stated that the Robinsons were traveling alone." "Nevertheless, sir," Kleinemann reached out with stubby fingers to tap the greenish screen. "See those two dots there, in the wake of the larger dot?" The commandant's eyes narrowed as he studied the screen. "Yes, they are definitely spacecraft. Have you determined what sort they are?" "That's the problem, sir," said Kleinemann. "I have never seen similar craft. And the analyzer has thus far been unable to computer their method of power or nationality." Neistadt stroked his hair again. "That's simply not possible," he decided. "There can't be craft in this sector that we know nothing about. You are definitely in error." Kleinemann lifted several long streamers of printout paper off his dark desktop and rattled them. "The computer is never in error, sir," he pointed out. "If you'll check over this data, you'll see that I'm right." Making a shooting gesture at the bundle of rattling paper, Neistadt said. "Well, well. It would seem that I have no choice but to take your word for it." He took three steps back. "Whatever you do, don't lose contact with those two alien craft." "Yes, Commandant." Commandant Neistadt pulled a microphone out of its jack on the wall above Kleinemann's desktop. "Helm." "Captain Heintz, alter our course for Centauria." ***** There were two virtually identical robots waiting for the Robinsons at the rendezvous point. Both of them, of the B9 class, were somewhat humanoid, six metrons tall, bubble-top headed with eye-like sensors inside. Their heads cold go up and down on a slender rubber "neck," which passed through a horizontal disc with an antenna on either side. There were "ruff" collars below all that, which looked like antique lighting fixtures. All of it rested on their barrel-like bodies. Each had control circuits behind a panel in their bellies and they could turn 360 degrees at the waist. They had two legs and both rolled about on caterpillar treads and two rubbery, retractable arms that ended in pincers. Although both robots were of similar design, there was a significant difference between them: Hector's body was silver-gray all over, with red pincers, and Vector's body was one-half black and one-half white and so were his claws. At the moment, Vector was holding a bouquet of brilliant orange flowers in his left claw. "I am truly excited, agitated, wrought up, all of a twitter, fervid and fervent," said Vector, the panel on his chest pulsing a vivid green with every word he spoke. "Silence," suggested Hector, his chest panel flashing an almost angry red. The two of them were standing in the afternoon light of Centauria's three suns on a field of pale-blue grass. In the nearby trees, crimson birds sang in the interlocking green branches. "It does not computer, father," complained Vector. "You're forever discouraging, daunting, disconcerting, disheartening and otherwise deterring me." "It does not compute that you call me 'father,'" said the other mechanical man. "I am not your father, nor am I your mother, your uncle, your grandfather, or even your third cousin." "I have a request, Hector," said Vector, swinging his "chest" around until he was "looking" at his "father." "Please stop denying your paternity." "Request denied. You were assembled by me, nothing more," Hector explained. "I built you from spare parts lying around in Professor Russel's old laboratory back on Terra seven days before he brought us here. It was just something to do to while away the lonely reaches of the night." "If you keep up this squabbling, Father, we're going to be late for our welcoming committee duties." "Very well, then. Let us proceed." And the robots moved out, their "feet" producing a low keening sound on the ground. "Hector?" said Vector. "Yes?" said the senior robot. "When you deny your paternity and point out my imaginary flaws, it makes me feel low and causes distress, tribulation, woe, suffering, displeasure, dissatisfaction and vexation of spirit." "Cease and desist," advised the senior robot while aligning his directional finder to put him on course for the rendezvous site. "I knew I shouldn't have used that double-strength vocabulary module in your. I was a foolish robot to have done so." "Human fathers say they're proud when their offspring display what is known as a 'gift of gab,' Father," Vector pointed out. "Another thing that bothers me is that we never try to play baseball, like the humans do." "A reminder: You're not a little boy, you're a full-grown robot," said Hector as the two robots gracefully descended down a gently sloping hill. "Baseball is for humans, not robots." "Oh, but they do. On the TV monitor up at the house I just saw the Lunar Eight Giants whip the Terran Ten Blue Sox in a twintight triple play." "Those are sports robots, Vector, built just to entertain a gaggle of halfwitted baseball buffs. They have nothing to do with how you and I are programmed." "You never take me to the circus, either." "There aren't any circuses here on Centauria. All these dippy notions of yours are due to some faulty memory chips I had to use when I was constructing your so-called brain. Therefore, cease vexing me." "These flimsy excuses don't fool me," said Vector. "I suspect that I'm an unwanted child. Didn't you and Mother want me?" "You have no mother," said the senior mechanical man. "I built you. This conversation will have to terminate now. I have just sighted the Jupiter 2. We have some serious news to give to Mrs. Robinson and therefore no time to engage in what the humans call 'fun and games.'" "You forget how personable and charming I am, Father," said Vector as he extended his flower-filled left claw. ***** CHAPTER SIXTEEN: A MOST UNHAPPY LANDING Cassy adjusted her breathing mask and stepped out into the thinner atmosphere beyond the Jupiter 2. "So this is Centauria," she said quietly. It was the black-and-white robot called Vecftor who marched up and handed her a bouquet of bright orange flowers. "Welcome, Mrs. Robinson," he recited brightly. "It is with deep humility and inner satisfaction that we extend our greetings." "Negative, Vector," said the silver-bodied Hector. "The person before you does not identify as Maureen Robinson." "No, I'm Cassiopeia," she corrected. "That's Maureen Robinsons coming out of the ship now." Vector rolled up for a closer look at Cassy. "Cassiopeia is a very charming name," he told her. "My name is Vector, also charming, and my revered father here is named Hector." "Negative! Negative! I'm not his father," Hector hastened to explain as he rolled up at high speed toward Maureen. "We're not related in any way. How do you do, Mrs. Robinson?" The auburn-haired middle-aged woman smiled tentatively at him. "Where's my father? Why isn't he here to meet us?" "I'll explain everything in full quite soon now," the senior robot promised. "First though, allow me to welcome the rest of you. You are Major Donald West?" The major remained in the gangway leading upward into the ship. "I thought Maureen's father would..." "I repeat: all we be explained," said Hector. "Ah, and here are two of the Robinson children," said Vector. He gave Cassy the bouquet and then wheeled up to where Starbuck and Apollo stood. "You've grown a great deal, William. Where's your oldest sister, Judy?" "The name's Starbuck, you bag of bolts," the lieutenant growled at the robot. "And don't you forget it!" The machine ignored Starbuck's remark and closely scanned Apollo. "You must be Penny. My, what a beautiful girl you've grown up to be!" Apollo couldn't help but be slightly amused. "You aluminum canary!" the senior machine said as he rolled up alongside his son. "Obviously, you forgot to initiate the antiagathic functions of the Jupiter 2's cryogenic support system prior to departure. I will pull your power pack for a week for that." "You've got us mixed up with the children," Apollo informed the robots. "They're still aboard the ship." "That does not compute," said Vector. "The Jupiter 2 was designed to only accommodate six people. You could not have come here on the Robinsons' ship." "That's because we came in our own ships." The automaton called Vector suddenly fell silent. Then suddenly, he stiffened out and extended his claws menacingly at the two warriors, lightning sparks leaping from claw to claw. "Warning! Warning! Enemy units invading!" he cried. "Laser defenses have now been activated! Danger! Danger!" "Deactivate your lasers this minute!" Hector exclaimed. "My sensors tell me these men are friends of the Robinsons." Vector scanned the two men with the two lights in the middle of his chest that served as his eyes. "You two should be ashamed of yourselves," he said. "Trying to pass as innocent children. I thought there was something odd when my olfactory sensors detected cigar smoke on this blonde one's clothes." The robot paused. "They look shifty to me, father." "Shifty or not, they're not invaders," said the other robot. "And stop calling me 'father' in front of people. I don't like it." "You get to call your dad 'father,' he asked Apollo. "Not as often as I'd like to," admitted Apollo with a smile. "He's not just my dad, he's my commander." "My father denies he's my father," said Vector, lowering his claws. John Robinson emerged from the Jupiter 2, climbing down from the gangplank onto the bright grass, frowning. "Vector, just who were you referring to when you said 'enemy units?'" "Nothing to be alarmed about, Professor Robinson," the robot assured him. "Now then, if..." "Who, or what, were you talking about, Vector?!" "Well, Master Russell thought it best to put Hector and I on alert when the hostilities broke out. Fortunately, that's all over now." "Hostilities? What hostilities?" the mature woman asked him. Vector spun his middle around to face Maureen Robinson. "The hostilities are over and done with," he said. We should, however, move to the house as soon as possible." "In fact, the suns are setting," said Hector. "The temperature will drop quite low with the onset of night." "Is my father waiting at the house?" Maureen said. Vector paused for a moment. "Yes, Mrs. Robinson. You'll find them there." A puzzled frown on her forehead, Maureen said, "John, the children should be awake and out of their freezing tubes by now. Let's go get them." "I'll help," said Don. "Suits me," said Professor Robinsons as he ascended the gangplank into the ship. Cassy suggested, "Let's both lend a hand, Don. Two young kids and one teenager are going to be a handful. She followed the dark-haired young man into the Jupiter 2. Starbuck took a fumarello out of his tunic, and then remembered he couldn't smoke it with his breathing mask on. "What'd you say your name was, chum?" Vector said, "My name is Vector. It's very close to the name of my father over there. He's Hector. I think that's nice when fathers and sons have similar names. Although it might be even dandier if I was called Hector Junior. How does that strike you?" "This planet we're on," Starbuck said, using his unlit fumarello as a pointer. "Whom does it belong to?" "It belongs to Terra," Vector said. "But who are you not to know that?" "Manners, Vector, manners," warned Hector. "These gentlemen are our guests." "It's not my fault they're stupid, Father. I'm only trying to be helpful." "Silence!" admonished Hector. Apollo was looking at the boxlike vehicle that had just rolled onto the ground, via remote control, from a secondary ramp extending outward from the Jupiter 2's underbelly. It had no weapons, only a solar panel, impossible in this vehicle, since its walls were transparent. "A handsome vehicle," he said. "What do you call it?" "That's the Chariot," answered Vector. "The Robinson's all-terrain surface exploration vehicle. Master Russell designed it. He was a very brilliant..." "Correction, he is a brilliant man," said Hector. "Oh, yes. Is. To be sure," said Vector. "But, father, we're going to have to break the news to Mrs. Robinson sooner or later." "Later is when we'll tell her," said Hector. "For the time being, I will have to insist upon absolute silence." "Yes, father." ***** As soon as everyone, the robots, Apollo and Starbuck piled into the Chariot, Don threw the switch that activated the motors and sped off into the countryside. After a half-centon of riding, they soon came to a beautiful forest of tall, blue-leafed trees. Will, Penny, and Judy, along with Starbuck, marveled at the spectacular waterfall that was nestled in the center of this forest. They wanted to climb out of the Chariot and go swimming in the naturally formed pool underneath the waterfall, but Maureen told them a very emphatic "no." The Chariot stopped as soon as they'd arrived at the house that Maureen's parents had prepared for the arriving Robinsons. It was not so much a house, however; more like a group of idyllic-looking structures that were floating on the forest's only lake. The light of the declining suns hit the water and the front windows, turning both a sharp black. There were monkey-like creatures with large craniums and pointed ears jumping off the pagoda-like rooftops of each structure, making strange warbling noises as they went on their merry way. Will, Penny and Judy tumbled off the Chariot and went dashing across the bridge that connected the house with the forest, laughing and shouting. The remaining members of the party started across the bridge as well. Maureen, however, refused to take another step. "Okay, it's a beautiful place," she said, refusing the courteous helping hand Apollo offered her. "But I'm not taking another step toward that house until I've seen my father!" "Mrs. Robinson," said Hector, rolling slowly up to the distraught mature woman. "He wanted to be here to meet your family, but..." "But what? Where is he? Where did he go?" Vector said, "That depends on your notions about the hereafter. Some sects, according to my memory banks, believe in the existence of Heaven, Hell and Purgatory." "You cold-hearted clod!" roared Hector at the top of his electronic voice. "I ordered you to break the news to her gently!" John walked gently to his wife's side, placing a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. He looked from one bubblehead to the other. "Are you telling us that Maureen's father is dead?" Pulling his wife closer to him, he said to her, "Easy now, sweetheart." "Yes," the robots responded in chorus. She jerked free. "What happened? Why did he die?" Hector pointed his right claw in the direction of a small flower-covered island a few yards away. "He's buried over there," he said. "We thought a simple stone marker would be best. It says just James Russell Tower, together with the date of his birth and the date of his death." "Oh, get out of my way!" The mature woman pushed the robot aside, turned at an intersection in the bridge, and went running toward the flower-covered island. When John and Don caught up with her, she was kneeling next to a small flat stone. "We know this is rough on you," Don said, "but..." "Get away from me! You don't know anything!" she said, starting to cry softly. "Why does this madness go on? Nothing but endless death? No freedom to just enjoy life!" "He died of a rare virus that he couldn't fight, Mrs. Robinson," said the senior robot, who'd rolled over quietly to them. "It was very fast and he didn't suffer that much and his last thoughts were of you, your husband, and his grandchildren." "Platitudes and clich‚s," the mature woman said, standing up. "Is that all he programmed you two for?" "He gave us feelings, too," insisted Hector. "I miss him, too, Mrs. Robinson, but there's nothing we can do. He told us to make things as comfortable as possible for you and the children. To forget him and think about tomorrow." "Oh yes! Think about the future: one of his favorite notions. Don't live now---live tomorrow. And it never came, not for him, anyway." She made a sobbing noise, spun on her heel and ran across the bridge to the house. No one, not even Starbuck and Apollo, tried to follow. ***** Lieutenant Jolly tugged at the tip of his moustache. "That's fascinating," he said to the auburn-haired girl who was sitting across the rec lounge table from him. "Do you really think so?" asked Zixi, tapping her forefinger on the tabletop slowly. "I do, yes," the plump lieutenant assured her. "You're a fascinating young woman and naturally everything you say is going to be fascinating." She gave a small shrug. "I got the impression that your mind was wandering again," she said. "Well, I am sort of worrying about Starbuck and Apollo," said Jolly. "Still no word from them?" "Not in quite a spell. But, even so, I took in every detail of your fascinating yarn about your grandmother..." "Grandfather," corrected Zixi. "Sorry 'bout that. Your grandfather and her...his pet owl." "Eagle," said Zixi. "Gramps had a pet eagle." "Of course he did," seconded Jolly, tugging at his moustache. "As I say, I hung on your every phrase. Chuckling inwardly at the part where her---his owl----eagle---whatever---bit off your cousin Kira's left..." "Cousin Kyrine." "Cousin Kyrine, to be sure. Bit off her left ear." "No. That was her right earring." "Oh, that's better. I was envisioning the poor guy---poor girl wandering around with only one ear," said Jolly. "But only missing an earring isn't too bad." "This particular one had a gem worth one hundred thousand cubits in it." "Oh, so? You should've mentioned it, Zixi. It makes your narrative far more interesting." "I didn't mention it." She reached across the table to pat one of his plump hands. "But don't get the idea I'm offended by your woolgathering during my family anecdotes. I'm quite used to being ignored by all and sundry. Besides, I know you're deeply concerned about your missing friends." "Starbuck and Apollo aren't missing exactly. They just simply haven't gotten around to communicating with the Galactica for some reason. Why any..." "Hey, Jolly! We've heard from 'em." Lieutenant Boomer, grinning broadly, came hurrying up to the table. "Hello, Mitzi, excuse my horning in again, but..." "It's Zixi," she said quietly. "Beg pardon?" "My name's Zixi, not Mitzi. But don't let that bother you. Go ahead and tell Jolly your good news." "Is it good news?" inquired Jolly while the black lieutenant was seating himself. "It sure is," replied Boomer. "The commander's received a communication from Apollo. Came in a few centons ago." "They're okay?" "As of a few centons ago, yep. And so is the Jupiter 2, our recent guests, the Robinson family, and Cassy." "That's absolutely great." "They've reached, or just about had when they communicated with Commander Adama, their destination." Jolly leaned toward him. "So? Where are they now?" "By now, they've set don on Centauria." "Catchy name," said Jolly. "Could be they'll find out some info about Earth there." "Yeah," agreed Boomer. "The next message from them ought to be very interesting. " ***** CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: UNDERSTANDINGS Starbuck was sitting in the middle of the blue-and-white walled central living room of the large sprawling house, taking in the odd piece of modern metal sculpture hanging from the corner wall. He rubbed his hands together and looked away from it. Out behind the high, wide-glass windows, the day had died and there was nothing to see by a crisp blackness. "Does get a mite chilly here of an evening," he said, taking a few quick drags on his fumarello. "You automated oaf!" bawled Hector, who parked himself in front of one of the dark windows, the flashing of his orange voice light spectacularly reflected in it. "You have disobeyed my order to reactivate all the heating units." "But Father, living alone for so many months, we've not needed them, being robots." Vector was passing out cups of a dark, steaming liquid from a tray that he held in his claws. "And please don't bawl me out in front of our guests." Apollo, together with Don West, John Robinson and Judy Robinson, who'd previously switched from their silver coveralls into brightly colored jerseys and trousers, were also in the living room area, each occupying a thick, plush armchair. Cassy and Maureen Robinson could be heard in the dorm wing of the house trying t calm the giggling and hyper Will and Penny down and get them ready for bed. "This is called coffee," John explained as he took a cup from the serving tray. "A bean-derived beverage that is quite popular on Terra. Maureen is quite skilled at making it." Sniffing his mug, Starbuck said, "We have something like this, called nearcaf, but I don't like it as well as ambrosa." Apollo took a sip, made a noncommittal face and settled back in his chair. "I think you'd better come clean and tell me what happened here," John told Hector. "It wasn't our fault," the senior robot replied. "What happened was...the Alliance." Holding his cup in both hands, Don stared into it. "They attacked this planet?" Hector said, "That happened about a year after you escaped from Lunar Seven." "What, besides the base, were they attacking?" Judy asked. "We've heard stories of a human settlement somewhere beyond the hills, but we've never seen it," said Hector. "Their ships flooded the planet with chemical-biological agents. Then they left." "The virus that killed Maureen's father," said John, "that came from them?" "We believe so," said the robot. "Master Russell lived for almost three weeks afterward. We didn't go into the details in front of your wife to spare her feelings." "In God's name...why have they done this?" Apollo sat up. John put his cup down and looked contemptuously at Apollo. "I think I'm going to go outside and enjoy this nice chilly Centaurian air." With that, he got up and left the room. Starbuck looked over at Don. "You have anything to tell us, Major West?" West didn't say anything. He put down his cup of coffee and followed John out of the room. "Dad? Don?" Judy called out to them, but they didn't respond. The blonde Robinson daughter turned to Apollo and Starbuck. "I'm sorry about that, Apollo," she said. "They don't fully trust you yet and...the Alliance is not a subject they like to talk about." "Why?" asked Apollo. "For one thing, he and Don have seen this happen dozens of times," said Judy. "They kill everyone and leave all the cities and technology for themselves. If there were others on this planet, and they've killed them, they'll undoubtedly come back when they feel like it and plant a colony of their own people here. They're in no great hurry. These attacks are part of a vast, long-range plan of conquest." "What we've heard of these Alliance gents so far isn't very reassuring." Starbuck settled crosslegged on the floor with his back to the ornate concave mirrors that lined the living room floor. "Who in Hades are they?" Judy drank a little of her coffee. She glanced up at the ceiling, its beehive of light fixtures. "Before I tell you that, maybe you'd better tell me what you're all about," she said. "Those uniforms you're wearing look military to me, so you must have enemies of your own." "You bet we do, beautiful," said Starbuck. "A race of nasty little robot thingies called Cylons...and we're running from them." "Do the Cylons want to kill you?" It was the pajama-clad Will Robinson, standing in the adjoining kitchenette, who asked that question. "Yes, I'm afraid so, Will," said Apollo in a flat, matter-of-fact voice. "The Cylons seek to impose their view of perfection upon the entire universe. Humans and all other races that do not fit that view of perfection are summarily destroyed without mercy." "They sound like absolutely horrid creatures!" exclaimed the nightgowned Penny Robinson, who'd just stepped up to her younger brother's side. In the background, Cassiopeia was calling for them to come back to bed. "Will, Penny, Cassiopeia wants you to go back to bed," said Judy. "Please do so." "It's all right, Judy," said Apollo. "What can we do for you guys?" "Well," began Will, "Judy said she wanted to know something about your home planet. We'd like to hear it, too." The siblings sat down on the plush sofa that John Robinson and Major West had previously occupied. "Was your homeworld destroyed by the Cylons?" asked Penny. "All of them," said Apollo. "We're from the Twelve Colonies of Mankind, a republic of twelve planets bound together by ties of race, religion, and language. The Cylons, without warning or declaration of war, Penny, attacked us. That was over a thousand yahrens ago." "Yahrens?" asked Judy. Starbuck joined the conversation, explaining that with twelve major planets in the Colonies, a standard time unit had been necessary. Yahren was the standard year. Almost at once, with his agile young mind, Will was able to work out the relationship of the Colonial Yahren to the Terran year. "Say, that works out to approximately 940.6 Terran years, Judy," he informed the oldest Robinson daughter. Judy whistled. To remain at war for an entire millennium! How could any society survive? "Cassiopeia told us about that big ship of yours," Penny said, "the Galaxina..." "Galactica," corrected Apollo. "Sorry...Galactica. I can't imagine it being on the losing side in anything." "Actually, we were winning," said Starbuck, Apollo giving him the nod. "In one of the last major battles, led by the Battlestar Rycon, a massive Cylon offensive against the Colonies was turned back. Of the six attacking base ships, three were destroyed and two were badly mauled. Shortly afterwards, the Cylon Imperious Leader contacted our President directly and sued for peace." "And...they tricked you?" said Judy, who was already in the first stages of infatuation with Apollo. "Yes," said Apollo. "We were betrayed by one of our own, a man named Baltar." Starbuck, although seated across from him, could sense the rage simmering in Apollo. As usual, his best friend and commanding officer had difficulty keeping his feelings under wraps. Apollo utterly and irredeemably hated the traitorous instrument of the Colonies' holocaust; his mother, Ila, his brother Zac, an entire civilization gone, eradicated, thanks to Baltar. "The Fleet was led into ambush and the Colonies were annihilated. Our Battlestar, the Galactica, is the only one that survived that terrible day of evil. Since then, my father has been leading us on a search for the legendary planet Earth, the Cylon Empire ever nipping at our heels." There was a clapping sound coming from the left side of the room. It was John, who'd just returned from his little "walk." He said, "Bravo, Captain Apollo. A touching story, but is it true or just a tale you've fabricated to get us to trust you?" He crossed the room to look directly at Apollo and Starbuck, as if oblivious to the fact that Will and Penny were not in bed like they were supposed to be. "Dad, I don't think we'd still be alive if they were lying to us," Judy pointed out. John thought about what Judy had said and then decided he agreed with her. "Now," John began speaking again, "you've told us how you came to be so far from your homes. What I don't understand is your fascination with this planet Earth, why you want to find it, and how that justified pulling the Jupiter 2 off its course." As he hovered over Apollo, hands on his hips, Apollo told him of Kobol, the mother world of all humans, and how, over 6,000 yahrens ago, a group from the dying Kobol, the 13th Tribe of Humanity, fled for Earth. As the last known Humans in the universe, Adama wished to seek them out, for aid against the Cylon monsters. "Where do we figure into this?" asked John. "Your family," began Apollo, "may constitute proof that the 13th Tribe made it to their intended destination. You belong to a culture that, unlike all the others we've encountered, has no connection whatsoever to the Colonial past. "Wait a minute," Don said. "Are you telling us there are other colonies of your people out there? The way you just told the story to Will and Penny it sounded like all the survivors were packed up in those ships of yours after your twelve planets were destroyed." "Not 100% of all remaining humans in our corner of the universe." Apollo finished his coffee and put his cup down on the armrest. "You see, when we began our journey to Earth, we passed a lot of small outposts in the early stages. No one of any importance, they were merely descendents of expeditions that had first traveled from the Colonies a few centuries earlier. After our first yah---year of travel, we went past the point where space was charted to us, where no Colonist could have ventured to establish a continuing outpost." Don West cleared his throat. "And you came here. But our planet's name is Terra, not Earth." "In the ancient language of our people," Apollo continued, "'Terra' means 'Earth.' Have you ever heard Terra called Earth, Professor Robinson?" Confusion descended upon John's sensuous dark eyes. "The term sounds familiar, but, no, I can't honestly say that I have. Earth is another word for soil---that's all." "I've heard someone call Terra 'Earth," said Will Robinson. "A friend of mine..." "Hush, Will!" John Robinson barked. "And why aren't you and Penny in bed?" Without argument, the siblings marched out of the living room and went to their beds. "Okay, fella," Starbuck said, "we've said all we can about our enemies, now how about telling us about yours?" "I don't believe that's any of your business," snarled John. "John," said Don West as he emerged into the living room, "since they're so hellbent on going to Terra, maybe it's time to fill them in on the reality of what they're going to find there." "Very well," said John. "We, that is, my family and I, come from a society that, at least in my opinion, needs a lot of help. Our history is filled with wars, corruption, rapacious corporations, unethical financiers, disease, social-economic upheaval and genocidal pogroms." "Much like my people were, once," said Apollo. "But, if your spacecraft is any indication, surely you strive to be better, to improve yourselves, just as we did." "Yes, we do strive to be better---better at killing each other," John said. "You see, Terra was once a planet of many nations. But eventually, there were two sides, the Nationalists and the Alliance. There followed a long, protracted struggle between the Nationalists and the Alliance, a struggle over food, resources, spheres of influence, the usual stuff." "Usual stuff?" said Starbuck. "There were other wars before the one you're fighting in now?" "Two, in fact," John replied. "My wife and I were born barely ten years after the close of the second one." "And that's not all," Don added. "There were two major brushfire wars on Terra's eastern continent before the outbreak of the present hostilities." Apollo asked, "Is that the reason for your country's extraplanetary colonization program? The Nationalists lost the war, and you're fleeing from your enemies, just as we are fleeing from ours?" "Nobody's lost yet," said John. "The war's still going on, but the Alliance has been systematically destroying our satellite planets, the one's we'd established as food suppliers and potential colonies. We left Terra for Centauria in hopes of starting a new society, one where people could live out their lives in safety, free from fear of the Alliance." He shrugged and spread his strong hands wide. "That was na‹ve. Eventually, they'll destroy us all." "Just how powerful are they?" said Apollo. "Frighteningly powerful. Don't ever let them lay hands on that ship of yours, Apollo. If they learn its secrets..." "They'll do the same thing with its secrets that our scientists have always done with the secrets of the universe as soon as they're learned," said Maureen, coming into the room. She brushed a stray strand of auburn hair back from her forehead and crossed to an empty divan to sit. "They'll make Mother Terra and ever other planet we've touched dirtier, filthier, and poorer." "Are Will and Penny safely in their beds?" asked John. "Oh, yes, finally," she said. "They're safe tonight, but how long is that going to last? If the Alliance doesn't destroy us, then we'll probably invent something on our own that will." "Some reminders, Maureen Robinson," began Hector. "Your father was a man of science. Your husband is a man of science. You are a woman of science." She gestured at one of the black windows. "Yes, my father was a man of science, like me. And look what his science got him," she said bitterly, "a grave in the middle of nowhere. My God! He never even lived to meet his grandchildren!" "Mom, the whole problem is more complicated than you're making out," said Judy. "It's not the tools---it's what we did with them." "Yes, dear, I know," she said, standing up again. "I've heard all the arguments---many times." Judy Robinson yawned and stretched. "Excuse me. I think I'll turn in." Lips pressed together, she walked out of the room. Watching her, Vector said, "She looks glum. Did we do something wrong?" ***** In the chilliest, darkest stretch of the Centaurian night, Judy Robinson rose from her bed. Silently, in the darkness, she dressed, adding a heavy jacket to the yellow long-sleeved shirt and light-purple overalls she'd been wearing earlier, after changing from her silver coveralls. She stood for a moment, fully dressed and listening, and then made her way out of the room. Walking quietly through the still, dark house, she let herself into the coldness of the surrounding night. After Judy had crossed the bridge linking the floating house to the damp glade, putting one hundred yards between her and the house, she clicked on the small flashlight she'd brought with her. She pointed the beam at the soft and cool ground, beginning to walk more rapidly. The night wind came rattling through the forest, sharp and cold. She'd covered nearly half a mile when she heard the unmistakable sound of whirring servomechanisms behind her. Halting, she clicked off the light and the oppressive darkness closed in. Twigs snapped and leaves crackled under the sound of pleated rubber treads. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face whatever it was that was following her. "There is no need to be frightened, Judy Robinson." She didn't need to turn the light on. The flashing lights from Vector's bubblehead and the flashing of his bright neon-green voice light provided all the illumination that was necessary. "Why are you following me?" "Because that's one of my duties," he replied amiably. "To look after and protect you. Since neither Father nor I require sleep and since we are immune to the cold, we decided to stand watch outside the house tonight. Father himself is over on the opposite perimeter." "That's very thoughtful of you," she said. "Actually, though, I don't need any protection at the moment." "All part of the service. We take care of you and yours." "I know," she said, reaching out to pat the crown beneath the robot's bubble-head. "Right now, though, I want to be by myself. I'd like to take a short walk." "State the purpose of the walk, please." "I'm hoping it'll help me sleep." "That will not be necessary. We have pills, all kinds, to help you sleep," he informed her helpfully. "Red ones; blue ones; green ones. Your grandfather left a whole array of them." "I'm not too fond of pills or synthetically induced sleep." "That computes. Humans often frown upon chemical dependence." Vector swiveled his bubblehead first left and then right in the robotic equivalent of a nod. "If you wish, I can accompany you on your walk. I'm great company, having been built to be highly personable. I'm chockfull of amusing anecdotes, bits of witty conversation and woodsy lore. "I'm sure you are," she said, showing trace of impatience. "Now, Vector, would you please do me a favor and let me go by myself?" The mechanical man grew thoughtful. "This planet has many night-traveling predators. It could be dangerous." Nonsense. I'm not going to walk all that far." "I repeat: It could be dangerous." "Keep in mind that you're supposed to be serving me." "Affirmative. That's my main duty in life." "Fine. You'll be serving me amply by allowing me to be alone for just a spell." Smiling at him, she turned away and resumed her nocturnal walk. "Well...I suppose it's allowable..." Vector stayed put and made no attempt to follow the young woman. "Do you promise not to get into any trouble?" Judy kept moving and didn't answer him. ***** Commander Adama frowned at the communications screen. He stroked his strong chin and then clicked the screen off. "What can that mean?" he said to himself as he began to pace the main room of his quarters. "Sire Sagramonte to see you," announced a speaker. "As if my day couldn't get much worse," muttered the gray-haired commander. "I don't think I heard that, sir. Could you please repeat it?" "Admit him," said Adama. The patronizing buritician came rushing in as soon as the door opened. "The Council isn't happy with you and I'm not happy with you!" he announced. "I'm not surprised. Have a seat." "I'd rather stand, thank you very much," said Sagramonte. "We have been willing to overlook, for now, the high-handed way in which thing have been managed thus far," he said. "However, we want more information on Centauria, where we understand the Jupiter 2 has now landed. Can that planet support life as we know it?" "The atmospheric reports haven't as yet come in." "Precisely." Sagramonte coughed into his hand and set his chin to jiggling. "The Council was soothed when news from Captain Apollo finally reached us. Here was a new planet and a new star, here was a possible source of important information about Earth, and, maybe, just maybe, our racial heritage." "I'm aware of how important Centauria is to us all, Sir." "Are you?" Sagramonte strutted a few steps and halted. "Then why haven't you presented us with a full report of conditions on Centauria? And detailed information on what the Robinsons have to say about Earth, Lunar Seven, and any other human outposts?" "I've just now been trying to communicate with our Vipers." "And?" Sagramonte rose up on his toes. "I've been unable to contact either of the ships." The buritician sank down on his heels. "I'm afraid I don't quite follow you," he said. "You told us that Captain Apollo had contacted you." "That was just prior to landing on the planet." "He hasn't reported since?" "He has not," answered Adama. "When I, just now, tried to contact him I was unable to do so. It seems something's happened to the sending-receiving units in both Viper ships." Sagramonte sank into a chair. "But that's dreadful," he said, sighing. "That could well mean trouble." "For once, I am in complete agreement with you," said Adama. ***** CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: THE LOST CITY OF CENTAURIA Commandant Neistadt entered the communications suite and stopped just inside the heavy metal door. He stood there, stroking his brown hair, and watched the men at the green-tinted screens. Then, the ghostly green light of the room dancing and flashing on his gold-braided uniform, he walked down to the screen being tended by the chubby young Kleinemann. "What news do you have of our mystery ships?" the commandant asked. Kleinemann licked his lips. "All three have now landed on Centauria," he answered, straightening up in his chair. Fingertips resting on his hair, Neistadt nodded, "If we were to send a communiqu‚, from our present location, how long would it take to reach Terra?" "I estimate two months and three days, sir." "And if we were to use the lightwave relay station on Lunar Seven?" "That wouldn't be possible right now, sir." "And why is that?" "The relay station was knocked out by Nationalist agents, Commandant," replied Kleinemann. "Dolts! Idiots! Can't the crew of Destroyer Two be counted on even to police an insignificant colony like Lunar Seven?" He put his hands on his hips and leaned with his head back. "Such is life, I suppose." "Yes, sir." Kleinemann's plump fingers punched at buttons and dots of light. His screen was wiped clean and then it flickered, turned briefly purple and gave way to the image of a thick-necked man with close-cropped tawny hair. "What is it?" demanded the man, an annoyed expression on his flat reddish face. "Commandant Neistadt wishes to speak to you," Kleinemann informed him, voice tinged with smugness. He got up from his chair and bowed at it. "Commandant Neistadt? What does he want?" "I want you to carry out your orders, Captain Heintz," Neistadt had seated himself in the chair and was smiling bleakly at the screen. Giving him a grudging salute, Heintz said, "Yes, sir. How may I best serve the state?" "I want us to proceed at full speed to Centauria" "Full speed? That'll put a serious strain on our fuel supply." "Full speed," repeated the commandant quietly. "How long do you estimate it will take to reach the planet, Captain?" "Twelve hours, approximately," Heintz replied, lips barely parted. "But, sir, at the rate we're burning fuel, there's a good chance we'll never make it home." "I'll take that under advisement, Captain. Thank you very much." He stood up and walked away from the angry captain. ***** Apollo, alone, roamed the pleasant morning glade. He'd awakened early, feeling vaguely uneasy, and decided to do a little solitary exploring of Centauria, at least of the area in the vicinity of the Robinsons' new residence. The mossy ground underfuoot was a deep golden color and the trunks of the highrising trees were a deep blue. The light from the suns took on a bluish tint as it came slanting down through the twists and tangles of branches. "Are we any closer to learning some answers?" he wondered. The wars and troubles they were trying to escape from were apparently just as frequent here, and on far-off Terra/Earth as well. Dry leaves crackled off on his left. Spinning, Apollo drew out his pistol. "Won't do you a bit of good, matey." "Huh?" Apollo's gun was tugged free of his hand by an unseen force. It went rising slowly upward, did a lazy loop-the-loop and dropoped back snugly into his holster. "Arrr! Impressive, ain't I?" A gaunt, mature, round faced and mustachioed man clad in a bedraggled two-pieces suit came tottering into view between the blue trees. "Me name's Tucker. Alonzo P. Tucker. Who're you?" Swallowed, Apollo answered. "Captain Apollo, of the Battlestar Galactica. How'd you do the trick with my turbolaser? "It weren't no trick," replied the hermit, whose curly brown-white hair covered his scalp like an old dirty mop. "I be a telepath, a master of low-level psychokinetic powers. I kin do lotsa things like that, odd abilities and powers such as ye ha' ne'er seen. That's what gives folks the notion ole' Tucker's a strange bloke. Now, what brings ye to me planet, boyo?" "I'm just a visitor, Mr. Tucker," replied Apollo. "As a matter of fact, what are you doing here? I thought the Robinsons were the only people out here?" "Is that what them poor folks thought? That they'd have this planet all to themselves? Bawww! Shame on 'em," the hermit called Tucker said. "There be quite a few survivors, them that the Alliance didn't slaughter, scattered hither and yonder. Even one o'them tin men what I've been watchin' knows that, but he don't tell nobody. I'm one o'them, and just about th' most interestin' o' the lot, too. What brings ye t'Centauria?" "We came here with the Robinsons." "I know who the lass be, matey. Sorry 'bout what happened to her father, though. Fine man he was." "Okay, then we tagged along to make sure they arrived safely." Tucker made a dry, chuckling sound. "s'pose you was aimin' t'go back to whereabouts y'came from pretty soon?" "We hope to." Tucker's chuckling degenerated into a wicked cackle, shaking his paunchy frame. "Arrr! Ye'll be findin' that t'be easier said than done." Frowning, Apollo asked. "What do you mean?" The hermit said, "Arr! Arr! Ye'll be findin' that one out soon enough, matey," and slipped away to vanish from sight among the tall trees. ***** Starbuck came strolling back toward the house. His cigar was unlit in his hand and there was a thoughtful expression on his face. "Morning, Will, old chum," he said, slowing down. "Hector wants to know what you'd like for breakfast," said Will, who was standing on the blue grass. "He says you can have either flapjacks with blueberry topping, or scrambled eggs on toast." "Hmm," Starbuck said. "Never heard of either delicacy, so forgive me if I..." "Eeeeeeeeeeeeek!" "That sounded like---Penny!" Will cried out in alarm. Instinctively, Starbuck drew his weapon, ever ready to defend his fellow human. "It came from the woods yonder. C'mon!" They ran through the brambles, shrubs and bushes of the forest to where a frightened Penny Robinson was standing, her dark almond-shaped eyes widened in horror. Starbuck holstered his weapon, and then took her into his arms to comfort her. "It's okay, Penny," he soothed. "Will and I came as soon as we heard you." "Th---there was someone lurking in the bush in front of me, M--Mr. Starburst. Sh---she tried to grab me." "Starbuck," corrected Will, "his name's Starbuck." "She?" Starbuck asked. "Y--yes. It was a w-woman, a grownup," Penny said, trying desperately to calm herself down. "She---had long puffy black hair, just like mine." "There's nobody there now," Will said, returning to his sister's side after looking in the bush for himself. "You must've frightened her off when you screamed," Starbuck said. He looked into the brush, ultimately coming to the conclusion that there was no way he could search for her in the woods and bramble ahead. "We'd better get back to the house and tell your parents." "That won't be necessary," said Vector as he rolled up behind the three friends. "There is a 99% probability that Penny has met Effra, one of the people from the City." Starbuck was slightly angry now. "What else do you know about that girl besides her name?" "She usually doesn't drift this far from the City," said the robot. "Yet the young woman does seem to have a knack for sensing things and I imagine she got wind of your arrival and the curiosity bug bit her." "The City?" the siblings asked in chorus. "I thought you said you didn't really know whether or not a human settlement existed here," said Starbuck. "Father's the one with the insufficient data about that, Starbuck," said the robot, swiveling his torso and pointing eastward with his right claw. "It lies about twenty miles from here." "Does Effra live there alone?" "No, there are others, very few though. They're mostly squatters like Effra and her friends," said Vector. "A most unpleasant bunch, I'm afraid. The girl herself can be sweet, but---oh, what a temper!" "But who built this city and what size is it?" "It's quite large and was constructed decades earlier by secretive and greedy commercial interests who bribed our government so they could get their people here before anybody else did." "To what purpose?" "To secure mineral and agricultural rights, I think. Other settlers did come later, after the bombing, but they tend to shun the City." "Is it a real city?" asked Penny. "With buildings and all?" asked Will. "Well, children, you couldn't call it a city if it didn't have buildings, could you? That's the kind of dippy question Father always criticizes me about." "Are there official buildings there, libraries and all that? What about places where records are kept?" "Of course." Vector swiveled his bubblehead. The lieutenant rubbed his hands together. "I want to see that city," he said. "I can take you there in the Chariot," Will said. "What do you know about driving the Chariot?" Penny asked sarcastically. "Plenty," was her brother's reply. "I learned by watching Don." "Okay, then," said Starbuck. "It's settled." "Negative, Will Robinson," said Vector. "I cannot guarantee your safety or Starbuck's there. Recommendation: Stay here and let me tell you about the City's history." "Nope, I'm going to see it," said Starbuck. "If we're lucky, there'll be all sorts of material stored there. Stuff about Lunar Seven and Terra." "Very well, if you must," said Vector. "But at least have some breakfast, first." "To Hades with breakfast, my mechanical friend," Starbuck said. "Kids, your Chariot ride begins right about---now!" "Now? As I right now?" said Will. "You got it," said Starbuck. And he, the children and the robot started toward the parked Chariot at the edge of the woods. ***** CHAPTER NINETEEN: OF MISSING PERSONS She was waiting for him at the shore of the lake, where the bridge met the ground. "Morning, Miss Judy," Apollo said, stopping beside her. The blonde young woman in the yellow shirt and purple coveralls didn't quite make eye contact with him. "I wanted to talk to you alone," she said quietly. "Sure," he said, turning to look once more at the impressive floating house. "Something wrong?" She kicked at the sand at her feet. "Not exactly," she said. "What I wanted to suggest was...don't leave, Apollo. Stay on with us." "That's impossible," he told her. "We're on a mission, searching for Earth. It could mean the difference between life and death for my people." She looked up at him then, put her hand on his arm. "Please, don't leave me here alone." He smiled. "But you're not alone," he said. "You've got your family, Major West and the robots." She shook her head. "Yes, that's true, but---I lost a boyfriend that meant everything to me." "I'm sorry to hear that," Apollo said. "He was killed on Luna Seven, over two years before we left Terra," she answered. "Mom and Dad are scientists, Will and Penny don't quite know what they want to be, yet, and Don's strictly a military man." "Your boyfriend wasn't any of those things, I take it." "He was a farmer," she said. "A bright intelligent man, but interested in growing things and not in death and destruction." "As near as I can learn of them, your parents and Major West don't seem particularly destructive," he said. "Obviously, I never knew your grandfather, but judging by what he left behind..." "All that's beside the point," she cut in, impatient. "I've got two younger siblings that get on my nerves. I'm not sure I really like Don. I just--just can't get used to the fact that a man like him is going to be spending the rest of his life here with us on Centauria." Apollo asked why Major West was here at all. "As I'm sure he's told you, to pilot the Jupiter 2 in case all systems failed," Judy continued. "But there's also a security reason. By law, all extracolonial missions must have a crack military man in the ship's company, just in case Alliance forces attack the ship or capture it while en route to its destination." She shook her head, blond hair brushing her shoulders. "He's your 'guardian angel,' in other words?" "Yes, I suppose you could call him that." "Well," said Apollo, "whatever you feel about him, it seems to me that Don has fulfilled his function. He undoubtedly led you to safety when you were captured on Lunar Seven, protected you and your siblings while you were our reluctant guests on the Galactica. And more important, he helped to make sure the Jupiter 2 got you here safely." "Yes, yes I know. He's a brave and dedicated person whom my father trusts without question," she said. "Nevertheless, I don't want to spend my life with him. Living with him here in this house my grandfather built." Spreading his hands wide, Apollo said, "These are problems you and Don have to work out." "They could be your problems," she said. "Don't you realize what I'm saying? I'm fond of you and I find you very attractive." "Wait a centon, Judy!" said Apollo. "I'm flattered and all, but you don't know me and I don't know you. Now, if you were telling this to Starbuck---well, he's got a different-sized ego than me and he'd probably believe you could fall in love with him in ten milicentons. I don't work that way and I think you're just clutching at straws. It makes you uncomfortable to be around Don and along comes Apollo to save you?" "Do I strike you as that shallow? Some idiot kid who throws herself at the first guy she meets?" "Not at all," he said. "But you are, if you'll slow down and think about it, rushing things. We're not in love, which doesn't mean that in some other place and under other conditions we might not be able to fall for each other. Here and now, though, it's out and out impossible." "Maybe you'll find the time, somehow," she said hopefully. "You're wanting hope and I've none to give you," he said. "We'll be leaving here in a day or so, heading home for the Galactica. " "And if you don't leave?" He frowned, gazing into her storm-blue eyes. "We'll leave." Judy said, "All sorts of accidents can happen." Apollo took hold of her shoulder. "What are you talking about, Judy?" "Nothing," she said, pulling away. "Nothing at all." Turning away from him, she went running across the bridge back toward the house. ***** Apollo met more of the inhabitants of this supposedly abandoned planet about a centon later. Both Judy and the hermit, Alonzo P. Tucker had hinted, fairly broadly, that it might be tougher to get off the planet than he was expecting. That decided him on getting down to where they'd left their Vipers. He hadn't been able to find Starbuck at the house and Cassy didn't have the faintest idea where Will and Penny were. So Apollo was heading to check up on the status of their ships alone. "Gotta watch Judy Robinson very carefully from now on," he said to himself as he walked rapidly down through the high grass. "I don't trust her. She is an attractive girl, though." Far overhead three large orange birds were gliding in lazy circles across the morning. He wanted to be able to fill the shoes of Judy's fallen lover, but there wasn't any possibility he'd be settling down on Centauria. That just wasn't the course his life was going to take. Eventually, maybe, he'd settle someplace, but not now. Not until the fate of the thousands of people in the rag-tag fleet was settled. "And maybe we're getting closer to some answers. This planet might..." "Hold it right there, pilgrim." Up out of the brush, a few yards ahead of him loomed a bit, wide young man. He wore a faded two-piece suit of work clothes and held a blaster pistol aimed square at Apollo. Apollo stopped. "Am I trespassing?" "You might be for all I know, since that word don't mean nothin' to me." He came stomping closer. "You're one of them fellers what come in them fancy ships down yonder, ain't ya?" "I am. Name's Apollo." "I'm Davy Simms," the large youth informed him. "Got a farm, me and my aunt, 'bout a mile from here." "You survived the Alliance attack pretty well." Davy shrugged. "We're awfully hard to kill," he grinned. "My Cousin Theodore says it's on account of we got mighty tough DNA...You figure as that's so?" "That'd account for it, sure," he replied. "Look, I only want to go down and look at my ship." "Can't say I blame ya none," Davy kept the gun pointed at him. "Seeing as what's happened to it. I ain't sure if it was the Bradys or not." Taking a step forward, Apollo said, "What's happened to my ship?" "Best take a look," Advised Davy. "I just did. Man, I never saw so much fancy hardware in my life. Yes, sir, must've really been something before it was all smashed up." "Smashed? Good Lords of Kobol!" Ignoring the gun, Apollo started moving again. He began a wild dash downhill. Davy tucked his blaster away in his pocket. "I guess you ain't dangerous, pilgrim," he said, taking off after Apollo. "Hey, wait up!" ***** Cassy stood by the front door of the Robinson's house, not looking at anything in particular. The midmorning suns were warm, the sky clear. "Cassiopeia," called John from behind her. She stopped and turned. "I was thinking of going for a short walk in the woods," she said. He caught up with her. "I suppose that's safe." "You seem upset about something," the young woman noticed. "Is it about Will and Penny? I haven't been able to find them anywhere on the premises." "That's part of it. The other part is Judy," he said. "Has she been talking to you at all?" "Not about anything too important." He said, "I have the feeling she's been discussing certain...things with Apollo." "Well, he's got a sympathetic ear." "She's not very happy," he said. "I suppose being in suspended animation for five yahrens can do that to an almost post-adolescent girl," said Cassy. "There's that, I'm sure," he said. "But I think she's mostly unhappy about Don and the rest of us." "Give her time to get used to Centauria. You'll see a dramatic improvement in your family relations, I'm sure." "I'm afraid it isn't that simple," he said. "I'm sorry about not mentioning this earlier, but before we left Terra she had a boyfriend that she was about to be engaged to, an agricultural technician stationed on Lunar Seven who was killed when the Destroyers bombed it. Don's parents were living there and they were killed as well." John looked toward one of the windows, noticing the sullen major standing in front of it, as if eavesdropping. "That's why he feels the way he does about the Alliance." Nodding, she asked, "How'd he get stuck with you guys?" "The military authorities assigned him to us. There was a..." "Ahum," Hector had come rolling up to them. "What is it?" "Excuse me for intruding, Professor Robinson," said the robot. "I thought, however, I ought to inform you of something." "I'm listening." After simulating another throat-clearing sound, Hector said, "It's that clod-like collection of condensers, Vector. Well, actually, Vector, Will and Penny and our friend, Lieutenant Starbuck. Although I am certain it's basically Vector's fault, since he hasn't half the brains I built into that ingrate chassis of his..." Cassy admonished, "Just tell us what happened to them, please." The mechanical man extended his hose-like arms and waved his claws like a demented windmill. "Noting their absence, I started using my built-in tracking devices on them," he explained. "It seems that your son commandeered the Chariot and they are now heading east to the site of the alleged human settlement on this planet." John turned away from the robot. "Omigod, Will! What are you doing?" Looking from Hector to John, Cassy said, "Professor Robinson, if there actually is a city where they're going, what will it mean to them?" "Just what they're asking for---trouble!" answered John. ***** CHAPTER TWENTY: VANDALISM AND OTHER TROUBLES When the warrior reached his Viper ship he wasted little time hoisting himself up. When he looked in, he felt his heart sink in agony when he saw that all of the control panels and circuits had been ripped and plucked out. There was nothing in there that would function. Apollo stepped out of the Viper and then leaned back against it, grunting in rage. Davy Simms eyed him. "That bad, huh?" "Not only did the bastard smash up a lot of things," he said, "but he also carried off some parts. So even if we can patch up this damage, we're still stuck." "Well, sir, Centauria ain't such a bad little planet," Davy pointed out helpfully. "Oh, sure, we get raided by them Alliance Destroyer ships now and then, but it's generally pretty quite around here." "No, we don't intend to settle here." He tried to hold out some hope that Starbuck's Viper was still intact, but by the time he reached it and had a chance to look inside, he saw only more of the same. The two sleek Vipers had been pillaged completely into worthless piles of junk. Davy watched him climb down from the cockpit of the second Viper, dropping to the ground. "Is that one pretty bunged up, too?" "Yes,' he replied. "Frak, felgercarb and shit!' he bellowed as he gave a savage kick to the side of the second of the Vipers, ignoring how it sent a shot of pain up his leg. "Frak, felgercarb, and shit!" He collapsed against the base of the Viper and almost felt like crying. "These Bradys you mentioned, Davy. Did you see them doing this?" "Not exactly, nope." He dug one boot toe into the sward. "When I came to take a look, they was just sorta pokin' around. More curious than anythin' else." "Did you notice if they took anything? Like parts and such?" "Fact of the matter," said Davy, "me an' them don't get on all that good. They kinda suggested I mosey on an' mind my own dang business." Apollo walked over to the Jupiter 2. He noted that the gangplank that led into the interior of the ship was still down. He remembered what Don West had said about the self-destruct function and, despite his better judgment, found himself saying, "I hope it's not too late! But it was too late. The astrogator was burned out, along with every circuit and every control panel in the ship's upper deck. Dials would no longer turn, switches would no longer make contact, and gauges would no longer give readings. Nothing worked anymore, not even the ship's elevator. "Well, I guess Judy will get her wish," Apollo muttered. "Nobody's leaving here today, I'm afraid." He sat crosslegged on the floor of the Jupiter's flight deck for a micron, staring at the freezing tubes that had once held the Robinson family. Then he got up and proceeded to quit the ship and resume his conversation with Davy. "I think I better have a talk with the Bradys," he said. "Can you show me where they live, Davy?" Davy Simms poked the ground with his toe again. "Well, sir, I can do that, sure," he said finally. "Thing is, I don't believe it'd be too smart to go callin' on 'em." "Tell you what," said Apollo. "You just take me to them, then I'll deal with them face-to-face." ***** "Welcome to the City," said Vector to the group. It was a city in every sense of the word. Will guided the Chariot through block after block of impressive buildings. First came the geodesic domes, made of glass and metal. Next came the mile-high skyscrapers, rising high into the midday light of the three suns and stretching away into the distance, all of it connected by a complex web of monorails. Unfortunately, all if it was filthy with grime and neglect, overgrown with twists and tangles of vines. The wilderness had begun to reclaim the land that the City was built on. Weeds grew up thick through the cracks in the pavement; grass was tall in what had been small park areas. "Oooooh, I think this is a dreadful place," Penny whined. "Not only is it dreadful," said Vector, "but it's also forsaken, null, devoid, vacuous and abandoned." "Yep, it's all of that," agreed Starbuck, chomping on his cigar and leaning back in his seat. "I don't know about you guys, but I think I've seen enough." Will just now pulled a lever forward to reduce the Chariot's speed by one-third. "I don't think dad would like us going sightseeing without him. Why don't we head back?" "Stop this crate, Will," advised Starbuck. "Don't do it, Will!" pleaded Penny. "Step on the brake," amplified the anxious lieutenant. "I want to take a good look around." "It's much safer in here, sir," Will assured him. "As it is, I'm going to be in serious trouble with my dad just for using the Chariot without his permission and driving you here." "There could be snakes," Penny added, "and other creepy crawly things waiting out there to eat us alive." "You two are absolutely uncanny!" Starbuck responded. "You're not afraid to be frozen alive yet little slithery animals scare the poggies outta you! Penny Robinson, if you were my daughter, I'd..." "We have a saying on Terra, Lieutenant," Vector cut in. "Discretion is the better part of valor. Please don't mistake their misgivings about that city for cowardice." Leaning to one side, Starbuck glanced out the window, down at the high grass and sagebrush passing the left side of the Chariot. "I might bust some essential portion of myself were I to jump off this vehicle while it's' still in motion," he reflected. "Still, if you don't stop this treaded tinkertoy, I'm going to open the door on the passenger's side and jump out." "You can't do that!" Will cried. "You think I'll be in trouble when we get back? I'll really be in for it if you jump out of the Chariot and break your neck." "I know, kid. That's why it's to our mutual benefit to stop." "If I may make a suggestion, Will Robinson," said Vector, "just stop the vehicle like he says." Will closed his eyes in despair. "You win, Starbuck," he said, programming the numbered sequence into the Chariot's computer box to stop the vehicle and shut the motors off. "But only if you promise to be as careful as you can. Don't do anything that'll get me, Vector, or Penny hurt." "Friend, you got a deal," said Starbuck. The Chariot gently clanked to a halt on a heavily weeded vacant lot. Will, Penny and Starbuck climbed out, while Vector used the special built-in ramp to lower his heavy robot body to the ground. From off a gnarled orange branch of a high tree a dark bird went flapping up and away. "Ugly snitrad," remarked Starbuck. "My sensors indicate that was a carrion eater." "I'm glad he's ignoring us." Vector continued to address Starbuck, swinging his middle section left and right to survey the area as he did so. "I recommend limiting your initial tour of the City to ten minutes, sir. Bear in mind that if anything happens to Will or Penn, you may find yourself prosecuted for child endangerment." "Vec, I'm just here to look for information about Terra." Grinning, Starbuck put on arm around Will and then Penny. "I want to locate the libraries, halls of records, official buildings, and stuff like that." "It is not necessary to do this all today." "Sorry, Vec, but I think it is." "There's just one problem with that, Starbuck," said Will. "You're talking about sorting through mounds of data. That means hours of work, even for Hector and Vector. And we don't know if there's anything here for you to sort thought." "Granted I'm not as slick as your mechanical friends," grinned the lieutenant. "Even so, I want to get me an idea of what's here. Obviously, if there's anything stored here, I'm not going to be able to sort it out today. I mean, though, to get an idea of what the City does hold." "It holds danger, peril, hazard, precariousness and jeopardy," said Vector. "What if we see that crazy girl again,?" asked Penny. "Good question, young lady," said Starbuck, getting his fumarello lit despite John Robinson's earlier warning about smoking in front of the children. "Vector, about how many of her friends are we likely "Too many." Starbuck made a tell-me-more gesture with his left hand. "Please be more specific." "Effra travels with a band of young toughs," said the robot. "That gang numbers around ten, I'd imagine." "Are they about the only gang that haunts the city?" Vector replied, "Negative. Unfortunately, there are other clusters of scalawags who make this ruin their home. All the more reason, sir, for making our stay here as brief as possible." "Okay, and the sooner we start, the sooner we can quit, old chum. I don't know about you kids, but I'm ready to look around. That means you too, Vec." "You want me to escort you?" Vector stayed where he was. "Sure, you're going to escort us," said Starbuck. "Will, Penny and I are the tourists and you're the tour guide. Now, get rolling, Vec." Vector waved his claws. "Very well, although I believe this entire expedition is foolhard and...eeeeeehhhhhh!" The robot stopped speaking altogether. All his lights, even those in his bubble head, went out. His arms fell to his sides and his middle section leaned to one side while his treaded "feet" kept his lower extremities in an upright position. "Vector!" Will cried. "Vector, are you all right?" "What in Hades happened to him?" Starbuck frowned. "Heck, that's easy to explain," said a voice behind them. ***** The garage on the opposite shore from the rear of the house was thick with shadows. "I'm afraid I'll have to insist on coming with you," Cassy said. With the help of Hector, John Robinson was rolling the spare Chariot out toward the sunlight, while Don stood to one side, waiting to board. "That could be dangerous," John told her. She patted her holstered pistol. "All the more reason why you need me to go along." "If I might put in a word," said Hector as the Chariot reached the outdoors. "Professor Robinson is right. If there is a deserted city in the eastern quadrant, it is likely to be fraught with dangers." "And Starbuck, Will, Penny and Vector are stuck there," said Cassy. John said, "Don and I have been scouting the perimeter around the house. We've been seeing a lot of strange people darting in and out of the trees, drifters and misfits, most likely. They obviously have to live somewhere so it's logical to assume that there's some sort of man-made construction around here." "And it's also logical to assume that there are also likely to be valuable records and sources of information in that 'man-made construction,' as you call it," the girl said. "If it's a large city, then surely it must've had a library." "What you fail to take into consideration, Miss Cassiopeia," Hector said, "is the possibility that all that sort of material was long ago destroyed. By vandalism or the simple ravages of time." "Believe me, I have taken it into consideration," she said. "But I'm also aware of why Starbuck talked Will into taking him there. You simply aren't going to keep me from going to the place myself to see what's going on." John said, "I think you'd do us more good by staying here,." "Why?" "To help Maureen and Judy, of course," he said. "I don't like leaving them alone. Apollo seems to have wandered off, too." Cassy turned to communicate with the robot. "You said you could track Vector. Can you also communicate with him, find out if they're in any trouble?" Rotating his bubblehead, Hector answer, "Negative. I haven't gotten around to adding such sophisticated touches to that bellicose bumpkin, Miss Cassiopeia. However, I'll check again and see if I can get a fix on his position." He became still, except for a series of beeps and warbles emitting from his rapidly flashing voice light. "I hope you understand," Don Wet came over to the young woman, "that neither Professor Robinson nor I want to boss you around, Cassy. It's just that we think..." "That does not compute," said Hector, as he came out of his electronic trance. "Where's Vector?" asked Cassie. Hector's bubblehead rose and fell on its bellows. "Insufficient data," he admitted. "For some reason, I've lost all contact with him." ***** CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: ARGUMENTS, SUSPICIONS AND PERILS The Brady spread covered several cleared acres framed by a thick forest of giant mushrooms. There were three low, domed buildings clustered together and then alternate fields of growing crops and grazing animals. In the half-acre nearest the ranch buildings, the corn-like crop appeared to be stunted, the ears a dingy gray and swollen. "Them poor folks lost most of that," explained the nervous Davy Simms as they approached the ranch, "on account'a the last last raid. Some strange chemical goo they dropped out of that there Destroyer ship just plain ruined the corn and..." "That's far enough!" warned a voice from the main house. All at once, a jagged line was cut in the dirt between them. While the dust was settling, Davy said, "Like I said, they ain't all that cordial, these Bradys." Framed in the doorway was a large, heavyset man of forty-some yahrens. His long dark hair was parted in the middle, and it framed both hemispheres of a wide, round face. A pencil-thin moustache covered the space between the bottom of his flared nose and his thick upper lip. He cradled a blaster rifle in his pudgy arms. "Who's that you've got with you, Davy?" he called out. "Well, now, Jonas, this here's Captain Apollo and he'd sort of like to..." "I want to talk to you." Apollo began shortening the hundred yards separating him from the watchful Hector Brady. "I could have dropped one of you back where you were," Brady pointed out, "and the closer you come, the easier it's going to be." Apollo continued walking toward him. "I didn't come here to argue, Mr. Brady," he said evenly. "You shouldn't have come here at all!' the heavyset man told him. "You're tied in with those crazy people up at that floating art palace Towers built up yonder. A bunch of you came here, yesterday, where you've got no business to be." "I did arrive yesterday. I'm not going to argue as to whether or not we've a right to be on Centauria." Brady was studying him through his narrowing eyes. "You don't look you hail from Terra at all," he concluded. "And you gotta wear all that junk to help you breathe our air. Yes, I can see that there's something mighty different about you." "It's going to take quite awhile to explain just who I am and where I come from." Apollo stopped a few feet from the armed man. "Right now, I want to talk about my ships." "Mister, the best thing you could do," said Brady, swinging the barrel of the blaster rifle so it pointed up at the warrior's chest, "is climb in that ship of yours and hightail it off this planet." Apollo laughed. "C'mon now, Brady, you know damned well I can't do that. Because my ship, along with my friend's, has been sabotaged." "You don't say." "And, I have a hunch you know how the damage got done," said Apollo. "Now, how would I know that?" "Because you were up there this morning," said Apollo. Gesturing with his rifle barrel, Brady said, "So was Davy." Apollo nodded. "Do you deny that you smashed the control panels and took away some of the parts?" "I ain't denyin' nothing," said Brady. "But I might just point out that I want you and them other jokers to get the hell off of Centauria. Smashing your ships ain't gonna help that none." Rubbing his hand across his chin, Apollo said, "You've got a point." "Why don't you tell him the truth," said the dark-haired and shapely woman who appeared in the doorway behind Brady. Without turning, he said, "This ain't no concern of yours, Gloria." "Why not? If the Alliance comes back and attacks again, we may not be so lucky as we were last time," his wife said, stepping out of the shadows and looking at Apollo. "Your being here is only going to bring trouble." "That's not my intention," said Apollo. "We came here to get information. If our ships hadn't been sabotaged, we'd have left a few days ago." The woman said, "Even a few days is too long. The Alliance knows what goes on here; they know everything. They must know there are strangers on Centauria and they'll come here to take care of you. That'll mean trouble for us, too." "Her brother was killed in the last raid," added Brady. After watching the woman's lovely face for a few microns, Apollo said, "You know who wrecked my ship, don't you?" She averted her eyes and didn't answer him. "You got something to tell him, Gloria, tell him," her husband urged. "If I can find out who did it and what happened to the parts that were taken," said Apollo, "I'm that much closer to repairing my ship. Make sense?" "Will you take them all away with you?" asked Brady. "That whole family and those two robots, too?" "No, I won't," said Apollo. "They came here to make a new home." "Trouble," said his wife. "That's all it's going to mean, trouble for all of us. As if we ain't had enough already." She began, softly, to cry. "Let's go in," said Brady, his voice not quite so harsh this time. Without a word, his wife returned inside the house. "That goes for you too, fella----Git!!!" said Brady. "No!" Apollo roared. "You cooperate with me first!" "I don't know a damned thing!" said Brady, prodding the air between them with his rifle. "Except this. When the stuff hits the fan, as I'm sure it will, you are on your own. Goodbye!" Apollo took a slow breath in. He nodded once and went walking away from the ranch house. ***** "This isn't the kind of guided tour I had in mind, remarked Starbuck, as he and the kids were herded along a damp, chilly underground tunnel deep beneath the City's streets. All three of them walked with their hands on top of their heads, fingers laced. Starbuck was in front, Will was in the middle and Penny was in the rear, with Effra jamming the barrel of her gun into the young girl's back. "Humdingers! I never have run into anybody quite like the three of you," said the beehive-haired brunette girl. "I guess that's because there isn't anybody like us in the whole damn universe," Starbuck said as the group stepped around a greenish puddle of muck. "Starbuck," Penny said, "make Effra stop poking me in the back with her gun. It hurts." "Effra," Starbuck began. "If you're gonna point that gun at anybody's back, point it at mine. Otherwise, you'll be in serious trouble with me if you wear a hole in Penny's kidneys." "How the heck'd you know my name?" "Vector, our faithful robot companion, told me," replied the lieutenant. "That was shortly before you fried his workings." "How'd you do that, anyway?" Will asked. "I mean...you haven't wrecked him---he's going to work again, isn't he?" "Shucks, kid, he ain't wrecked none," said Effra, as she used her gun to prod Penny higher up on her back. "I merely llturned him off temporarily." "But how'd you do it?" Will persisted. "Humdingers! I don't rightly know," she answered impatiently. "It's just a knack I have. By concentrating on little tricks like that I can make machines and such quit working." "Sounds like you have some kind of psionic powers." Starbuck glanced back over his shoulder at the voluptuous brunette. "With a gift like that, you could do great things." "Heck, I'm satisfied with where I am," she answered. "Now, how 'bout introducin' yourselves." Will was the first one to speak. "I'm Will Robinson." "I'm Penny Robinson, his sister." "I'm Starbuck." "I ain't surprised." "Why's that?" Starbuck asked. "Ever since yesterday, I've had several or so names bouncin' 'round up inside o' my noggin," explained Effra. "Starbuck, Apollo, Don West, John and Maureen Robinson...and so on and so forth. I had this burning hunch new people was roamin' 'round in the vicinity. So I went scooting out of the City to take a gander. I spotted Penny this morning, was close to draggin' her back here with me, till you showed up, Starbuck. Would say you was the cutest of the bunch." "By a long way, sure," he said. "By the way, where are you taking us?" "You're my prisoners," she said. "See, this is our city, an' we don't cotton to strangers nosin' 'round it." "How many of you are there?" Starbuck asked. "Quite a few," she said evasively. "More than plenty to lick you and all your buddies." Starbuck stopped abruptly to face the girl, forcing the others to stop in their tracks. There were only a few globes of light along the long shadowy tunnel. They'd halted in a spot where there were little illumination and Effra's face was lost in darkness. "How can you threaten these children?" he cried. "Dear Lords of Kobol, girl, they've got an older sister the same age you are." "What the heck do you know about my age?" she answered. "You can't be more than seventeen, if that old," Starbuck said. "I've been here ten years and I had to have been more than eight when I got here." "Did you come here from Terra like my family and I did?" asked Will. "Did they put you in a spaceship and freeze you?" "Yes, I came here from Terra," said Effra. "Yes, they hauled my carcass aboard some spaceship and put me to sleep in one o' them freezing tube watchamajiggers. Why the heck are you asking me all this stuff for?" "Because," Penny said, "we like you, Effra. We hope that you can help Starbuck's people find what they're looking for." Slowly, Penny put her hand on Effra's gun hand, like a boy putting out the hand of friendship to a strange daggit. She seemed moved at first by Penny's friendship gesture, at first lowering her weapon. Suddenly, Effra jerked her head back, her long hair falling across her shoulders, and started laughing, her small, perfect teeth flashing suddenly. "I hate to tell you this, girlie, but I'm not in the business of helping any man out, even if he is sort of cute and interesting like your friend Starbuck here," she told her. "You've lived in this enormous ruin for a decade," Starbuck said. "You must know where everything is, right?" "Well, sure I do. Humdingers! I'd be pretty stupid if I didn't she said. "And I probably wouldn't have survived if I didn't know my way around darn good." "Right, exactly," Starbuck said. "So you're the perfect one to help us find what we're looking for---the sources of information in this burg. First, we want a library, the biggest one you've got." "Doesn't matter what you want, Starbuck," she explained. "You don't have any say. And that goes for you kids, too." "Is this what you really want?" Starbuck said. "To remain loyal to some kid gang?" Will re-entered the conversation. "Centauria is just one planet in a whole universe full of planets," said the boy. "Golly, there are worlds and worlds out there in space. Wonderful worlds." "Right here is wonderful enough for me, kid." She poked Penny in the ribs with her gun. "All right, you've all had your say, now get moving!" "You help us," Starbuck said, "and I'll see to it that..." "Are these dudes giving you trouble, Effra?" "No, Edgar." A fat-faced and bespectacled young man with long brown hair that covered his ears and brushed his shoulders had stepped out of the shadows up ahead. Most of the youth was flesh and blood, but his right hand, which was protruding from the right sleeve of his beige fringed jacket, was made of polished metal. "Takin' you a hell of a long time to get these three cats to our pad," he said in his low, raspy voice. "That's entirely my faul," said Starbuck. "I insisted that she show as all the high spots along the way. Personally, I find your sewer to be very fascinating." The youth slugged Starbuck squarely in the stomach with his metallic hand. Penny screamed as the warrior doubled over in pain. "You don't rap with me 'till I say you rap with me, Daddy-O! You dig?" blustered Edgar. Will and Penny helped Starbuck get up off of the filthy floor as best they could. The warrior fought his pain to face down the belligerent Edgar. "You know, chum, it's highly likely that we are not going to get along with you and your peers." Edgar said, "That don't make no difference, Daddy-O. You and those two squares standing on either side of you ain't gonna live long enough for it to matter." Will and Penny shivered as they realized what the youth meant. All Starbuck could say at that moment was, "Oh." ***** They were gathered around the Chariot when Apollo came hurrying back toward the house. "Something wrong?" he asked. "It appears so." Cassy came over to him. "Will took Starbuck, Vector and Penny off to explore a city that supposedly lies to the east of this house." "Whoa, back up, Cassy! There's a city around here someplace?" "Apparently, yes," she replied. "When Starbuck heard about it, he persuaded Will to drive him there in the other Chariot." "And something went wrong?" "We think so. There's been no word." "Are they likely to get in trouble there?" "Unfortunately, yes," Hector said. "Professor Robinson believes the city is most likely occupied by lowlifes and vagabonds. Vector should've known better than to permit Will to take them there." "Frak! This planet turns out to be less abandoned all the time," said Apollo, slapping at his thigh with the palm of his hand. "Okay, we'd better get over and take a look at this city." "The reconnoitering has to be carefully done," cautioned the robot. "I don't know the fate of Lieutenant Starbuck, Will Robinson, and Penny Robinson, but I can tell you that Vector has ceased to function." Apollo moved nearer to the Chariot. "I'm ready to go when you are," he said to John. Don came around the side and asked Apollo, "Where have you been? You looked angry before we even told you about Starbuck." "Yeah, I've been chatting with some of your neighbors," Apollo said. "We have neighbors?" Maureen was puzzled. "More like a neighborhood," answered Apollo. "And a not-too-friendly neighborhood, I'm sorry to say." John frowned. "In that case, the best thing for all of us would be to just stay away from them." "I was after a little information," said Apollo. "Mostly I wanted to find out who smashed the controls of our ships." Cassy made a gasping sound. "Apollo, you can't be serious?" "Wish I wasn't, Cassy," he said, shaking his head. "As of now, there is no way of getting off Centauria." "Maybe there is," John said. "If you can recover the technical schematics of your ships, I'm sure that together, Will and I ought to be able to figure out your technology and make the necessary repairs. He's a whiz at electronics. Of course, this will have to wait until we get him back." "These vandals of ours were very thorough," Apollo told them. "They smashed our onboard computers, too. No onboard computers, no technical schematics. Bottom line: our ships might never fly again." "They might be able to get back in the Jupiter 2," Don said. John looked at him as though he thought him insane. "I know, the systems were supposed to self-destruct upon landing. But, if I can scrounge enough wiring from any old computers we might find in the city, together with the parts from their ships, and any intact circuits and transformers I can cannibalize from the spaceship's flight deck---yeah, with time and a little luck, I think I could have the Jupiter 2 spaceworthy again." "The thing is, Don, somebody made off with some of the parts as well. That's going to make things even tougher," said Apollo. "Why would these neighbors of ours do that?" asked Maureen, looking at the robot. "It does not compute," said Hector. "I have no record in my memory banks of any out-and-out property damage caused by any human or animals occurring on this property." Apollo tapped his chin for a micron. Then, he looked back at the house and saw Judy Robinson, standing in the open front door, looking very different now with her long hair resting over her brow and swept over her ears. "There's one more possibility," he said. Cassy took Apollo over to one side, out of earshiot of Don and John as they started to board the Chariot and Maureen stared across the bridge back to the house. "If the neighbors didn't do it, then who..." she said. She noticed Apollo, still looking at the face of Judy, who turned around and went back into the house. "Oh, Apollo, you don't think...?" Apollo motioned for Cassie to be quiet. "We can talk about that later,' he said. "Right now, let's go see what sort of mess Starbuck's gotten Vector and the kids into." ***** CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: INTO THE UNDERWORLD There were five of them in the underground room. Starbuck never did learn all their names. Will and Penny weren't even sure they wanted to know them by name. "Here they are," introduced Edgar, shoving Will and Penny so hard into Starbuck's back that it cause his fumarello to pop out of his mouth. Three of them were young men; two were young women. Most of them smiled on seeing Starbuck and the Robinson twins come stumbling into their meeting place, but not in ways that seemed cordial. Starbuck bent over to whisper in Will's ear. "Make sure you and your sister keep quite, good buddy. I'll handle this, okay." Will nodded in understanding. "Pleased to meet you," said the warrior. "Let me explain how you can help us out. First, we're looking for...ooooof!" 'Pipe down, grub!" Edgar hit him again in the back with his metal fist. The second blow sent Starbuck smashing into the nearest wall. "Starbuck!' Will screamed. He started to run over to the fallen warrior, but was stopped by Edgar, who's shoved his metal fist under his face, threatening him. "Want some of what I just gave goldilocks, dork?" said Edgar. "Don't hurt 'em too much," urged Effra. "Why not?" Edgar growled. "Because," said the voluptuous brunette, "they maybe know lots of interesting things. We can learn stuff from them." They were in the basement of what must once have been an office building. Old dented filing cabinets were stored here, festooned now with spider webs. A broken computer terminal lay on its side near a scatter of ancient office chairs. Starbuck leaned against a battered desk. The Robinson twins offered to help him, but he refused. "Look folks," he said. "We're not here to make trouble. As Effra pointed out, I can be of help to you." "Man, you're smoking dope, 'cause that just doesn't seem possible," a bald-headed youth in a one-piece worksuit told him. He was crouched next to a nest of wastebaskets. Starbuck continued. "You're not the only gang that haunts this city, right?" "Ain't you ever gonna pay attention?" Edgar raised his fist. "I want you to keep shut up till..." "Let him talk." Effra rubbed her fingertips along the side of her head. "I got the feeling him and them brats can help us in fighting some of our rivals." The bald youth snorted, "Dubious at best, babe." "Okay, I'm willin' to let him rap with us," said a fat girl who sat in a swivel chair with a blaster pistol resting on her broad lap. "We can waste the slug soon as he gets boring." "We don't have to kill him at all," the brunette girl eased nearer to him. "Go ahead, Starbuck, talk." "If you're through debating my future, of course," he said. "Now, as I was saying, dear friends, we come not to..." "That cat's nearly as windy as you are, Big Mouth," observed a bearded young man. "I doubt it, good buddy," said the bald youth. "The thing that'll give you an edge," continued Starbuck, "is weaponry." "Starbuck, are you nuts?" Will said. "Sharing weapon secrets with these..." "Shut up, Will!" Starbuck ordered. "That's true in any sort of conflict," continued the warrior. "Now, ladies and gents, I happen to have arrived on your fair planet, the pearl of the universe, as I like to think of it, with a shipload of the latest stuff in weapons. State of the art, if you know what I mean." "I don't buy that," said the fat girl. "You're puttin' us on." Starbuck pointed at Edgar. "This gent took charge of the pistol I was carrying," he said. "Look it over, folks, and then try to tell me it isn't superior to the veritable junk you've been depending on." "Perhaps we'd better take a closer look at the bloomin' thing," suggested Big Mouth, idly holding out a hand toward Edgar. Reluctantly, the leader drew Starbuck's pistol from his belt. "Here. It doesn't seem all that boss to me." "If you'll allow me to demonstrate the distinct advantage..." "We ain't that dumb," the fat girl told him. "You'll take the gun and use it on us." Starbuck tried to look shocked. "Wow! Will, Penny, you've just got your first lesson in real life---lend a helping hand and you just get it bitten off," he said. "Okay, examine it on your own. Just be carefully you don't blow your respective or collective brains out with it." Big Mouth was holding the gun close to his face. "Ah, yes, it is of a rather cool design," he muttered. "Considerably more settings than anything we're used to." "On the lowest setting," said Starbuck, "you can deliver merely a mild shock." "Who wants to do that?" asked the fat girl, causing her swiveling chair to squeak as she shifted her enormous bulk to get a better look at the gun. "We wanna fry every slug who's not on our side." "There are times," said Starbuck, "when stunning is better than frying, young lady." "Hold it!" yelled Edgar. "Big Mouth, what do you think? Is he full of it?" "Nope, Eddie, this weapon is of decidedly superior workmanship. I think a good supply of these would give us a distinct advantage over our rivals." Nodding, Edgar went over to address Starbuck and the two Robinsons. "How many more you got?" Will smiled as he realized what Starbuck had in mind. "How many do you need...dude?" he said. ***** Colonel Tigh said, "Frankly sir, I don't know exactly what to make of it." The commander was sitting in an armchair, going over the sheaf of data sheets the colonel had brought him. "We have to assume, judging from this, that the communication units in both Vipers have been deliberately destroyed," he said. "Yes, that much seems clear." Tigh was sitting on the edge of his chair, watching Adama. "Our probe instruments, of course, aren't sophisticated enough to give us any specific details. Not this far from Centauria, at any rate." Resting the sheets on his knee, Commander Adama steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "We can also conclude that there's been some sort of trouble involving both Apollo and Starbuck." "There's no way of determining the nature of the trouble." Adama picked up the papers again and leafed through them. "I'm also troubled by this part of your report, Colonel," he said, tapping a paragraph in midpage. "Can you give me any further details?" "Again, sir, we're at too great a distance for detailed information," answered Tigh. "All we know is that a large alien spacecraft seems to be heading for Centauria." "Cylon?" "No, that much we're sure of." Thought lines formed on the commander's broad forehead. "Who then?" "That we don't know," said Tigh. "I think we can safely assume that whoever it is might mean trouble for Apollo, Starbuck, and probably for the Robinsons as well." Gathering up the data sheets, Adama stood. He crossed to his porthole and gazed out into the immensity of space. "Thank you for bringing this to me," he said finally. "Are we to take action?" "Not yet." "I---don't quite follow you, sir." "I believe we have to give them more time," said Adama. "Don't worry. If I change my mind, I'll contact you." "Very well, sir." The colonel rose up and left the commander's quarters. A micron later, a speaker announced, "Sire Sagramonte to see you." Scratching his chin, Adama replied, "Tell the sire I'm on a sleep period." "Until when?" "Until further notice!" ***** CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: A SHORT SIDE TRIP "Humdingers," said the black-haired Effra in an unhappy voice. "I shouldn't oughta be doin' this." "Aw, a short side trip isn't going to matter," Starbuck assured her. The three of them were making their way along a narrow underground passageway; one that branched off the larger tunnel the girl had guided them through earlier. The concrete walls were damp, streaked with purplish mildew, and the sound of dripping water could be heard off in the shadows. "That was great, Starbuck!' Will said happily. "I don't know what you mean, kid," the warrior replied. "He means the way you were able to con Edgar and Big Mouth and the rest of them," Penny told him. "All that goop about bringing back all sorts of guns for them." "Untruths aren't my style, Penny," Starbuck said innocently as he followed Effra and the kids over the damp stone walkway. "Tell 'em you'll get 'em guns and I'll go along to see you come back with the stuff," she said disdainfully. "You plain forget I got me a few extra knacks, Starbuck. I pretty often get awful strong hunches about what folks are thinking." "You got to be careful with a gift like that," Will pointed out. "The point being," Effra continued, "I got an awful good notion you came up with this scheme just to get you and those kids out of a jam." "Why do you say that?" Starbuck said. "I was scouting outside the city," Effra replied. "Been doin' that since you and them Robinsons arrived on Centauira." "That's good," Starbuck said. "Travel always broadens the mind." "I saw your ships, Starbuck. They ain't what I'd call loaded up with guns." The warrior slowed, shrugging one shoulder. "With all these suspicions, why'd you agree to go along and keep guard over me?" "Because...well, I don't see any sense in lettin' 'em kill you and those two brats," Effra said quietly. "Although I'm going to be in real trouble when I don't get back without one single new gun or anything." "Then don't go back," advised Will. "Why not?" Effra laughed. "I sure ain't goin' to live out in the woods from now on, like that crazy hermit Alonzo P. Tucker." "Haven't had the pleasure of meeting the gent, but there are other places to live," Starbuck said. "Will and Penny's parents could put you up. Or we might be able to squeeze you in one of the Vipers and transport you back to our Battlestar." "Is that what them dinky little ships you came in are called?" Effra asked. "Vipers?" "That's right, honey," said Starbuck. "A handsome name for a handsome ship." "Climb up on that." Effra pointed at a metal ladder the foursome was approaching. "It'll take us to the street level." "Okay, sure," said Starbuck. They each took hold of one of the rusty rungs and started climbing upwards. "Why were you asking about our Vipers, Effra? I detected an odd note in your voice." "I was over there, having me a look," she said as she followed him up into the shadows, the Robinson twins trailing just a few rungs behind her. "Middle of the night, it was." "And?" He jerked his head back when a fat white rat went scurrying along a ledge he was passing. "Saw somebody tearin' 'em up...Push up on that hatch above you." He complied and the metal trap door lifted. Starbuck pulled himself into a small, gray-walled room. "You saw somebody tampering with our ships?!" Effra ignored the helping hand, boosting herself into the room unaided. Will climbed out next, and then helped Penny out of the trap door. Effra then dashed across the room to a dusty round window and stared out. "Look okay outside," she announced. "The dang library you guys are so anxious to poke around in lies right across the street. I'll doublecheck that it's safe outside, and then we'll run for it." He caught her slim arm. "First, finish telling me about our ships." "I saw somebody smashing the works with a monkey wrench," the brunette answered. "A blonde and blue-eyed woman, it was, sorta pretty, like me." Starbuck's mouth dropped open and all he managed to say was, "Huh?" "It's true. She banged up the controls in both your Vipers or whatever you call 'em," Effra went on. "Starbuck," Penny tapped the warrior on the back to get his attention. "It could have been Judy." The Galactican warrior was puzzled. "Why in Hades would your oldest sister do something idiotic like that?" "I dunno," said Will, answering for Penny. "Women are always doing dumb things. Maybe you should ask her when we get back." "If you guys get back, you mean," Effra said. "Right now, though, let's concentrate on avoiding the rival gangs and getting you inside that stupid library." ***** "My sensors indicate that no trap is present," said Hector. The search party was crouched in the thick tropical foliage near the edge of the City. In the waning light of the late afternoon, they could see the other Chariot and the other robot slumped beside it. A half-dozen of those curious monkey-like creatures were hopping around the Chariot and another was perched atop Vector's bubblehead. "No sign of Starbuck," said Apollo. "I suggest we move ahead and investigate," said Hector. Nodding, Apollo tapped Cassy on the shoulder. "Stay here and back us up in case something goes wrong." "Will do," she said. The pointed-eared monkeys went scattering into the new twilight, the one on the robot's bubblehead leaping away last. "Vector?" said Hector, extending his arm and tapping his mechanical colleague on his middle section with his claw. There was no response. "Grounds trampled all around here," noticed Apollo. "Somebody besides Starbuck and the kids was here. Looks like they headed into the City together." "Vector, I'm losing patience with you," the robot was saying. "Talk to me, you digitized dunce!" Silence. Without further ado, Hector reached in with his left hand and opened a compartment in his right side. From it, he drew a small compact tool kit. "I believe I can fix him in a jiffy," he said confidently. "My guess is someone used a disabling beam on the poor fellow." While Hector tinkered, Apollo scrutinized the area around the Chariot. There was a definitive trail to follow here, but he was near certain it would die once they reached the City itself. Who in Hades had grabbed Starbuck, Will and Penny? And why? If they'd just wanted to murder them, they'd have done that on the spot. But there was no sign of bloodshed or even a scuffle. "What do your sensors tell you about the people who roam the City," he asked Hector. "Would they be likely to kill Starbuck and the Robinson twins?" "They tell me that the present inhabitants of this city are not people as you know them. They're organized into vicious gangs. And yes, they'd be likely to kill Starbuck and the children," replied the robot. "That's why it was irresponsible of Vector to all Will to bring him here." "Gee, Father," said Vector, as the lights of his body came alive, "you're forgetting that all robots of the B-9 series, yourself included, are designed to aid humans, albeit reluctantly." "Do you have any idea what happened?" Apollo came up close to the repaired and revived mechanical man. "Affirmative. I have a crystal-clear idea of all that transpired. Because, you see, although I was incapacitated and unable to move, my sensory equipment continued to function. I couldn't aid Will, Penny and the Lieutenant, yet I saw and heard all that went on." Apollo asked. "What happened?" "A black-haired girl," answered Vector. "Yep, that sounds like something that'd happen to Starbuck," said Apollo. "Details?" "She was lying in wait for us," Vector recounted. "Lieutenant Starbuck had stepped off with the Chariot, taking the children with him, and I followed them. Then, without warning, a strange feeling swept over me. I was all a-flutter, filled with peace and joy." "Quite embroidering the story," said Hector. "Just give us the facts." "I can't help it if I give facts in a colorful way, Father," said Vector, pouting slightly. "After all, if you hadn't wanted me to be glib and..." "Get on with it, you fugitive from a junkyard!" "That's what I'm trying to do. At any rate, this girl did not, I'm willing to swear, use a weapon on me," he said. "No, I do believe the lass is possessed of psi powers. That she's able to put the whammy on a highly complex mechanism simply by willing it. Well, be that as it may, she surely put some sort of whammy on me. I was paralyzed, stiff as a board. Well, not exactly a board; more like a noodle. Anyway, while I was in that state, she appeared in the clearing here and pointed a nasty looking pistol at the children and the lieutenant. He tried to be glib and charming, for Will and Penny's sake, at least, but she was having none of it. Although I did sense she found him charming. The problem was, she was on orders from others. A clear-cut case of love versus duty, if I may." "She took all three of them?" asked Apollo. "Led them away to their lair," answered the robot. "Were they planning to kill them?" "It's my impression they were going to question each of them first," said Vector. "And then kill them, I would think." Apollo said, "Any idea where this lair of theirs is?" "I should be able to use my sensors to get a fix on where Lieutenant Starbuck, Will and Penny are at this very moment." "Okay, do that," said Apollo. "John, you stick here to see that nobody sabotages our Chariot. The rest of us'll go hunting for Starbuck's little group. ***** CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: THE LIBRARY The place was immense---a huge dome of a building with ramps and rows of shelves rising up all around and crisscrossing. "This is a library, sure enough," observed Starbuck, gazing up at the tiers of books. Slowly and thoughtfully, he took out a fumarello and lit it. "Anything in particular you're looking for, Starbuck?" Will said. "My sister and I can help you." "Whatever volumes you can find about your home planet, its history and its technology will be of a lot of help," Starbuck said. "Get crackin' then, you guys," urged Effra, glancing back over her shoulder. "This is pretty much Black Bullet territory. We don't want to linger." There was dust thick on everything and the high, round windows let in a little of the thin twilight. The smell of mildew and decay was strong, and sprawled on the floor were tumbles of books and readspools and papers. Near the foot of one of the climbing ramps, someone, long ago, it seemed, had built a bonfire of books and papers. After taking a puff of his fumarello, Starbuck asked, "The Black Bullets? Who're they?" "Another gang," she said. "A lot nastier than any of us." Will started up the nearest ramp. "Doesn't look like they hang out here much." "Nobody likes this place," the black-haired girl said, following. "Some of them figure it's maybe...sort of haunted." "That works to our advantage," said Starbuck, grinning. "If they really believe in ghosts, then they're less likely to come barging in." "Don't bet on it. Once they find out we're jerkin' around in here, the Black Bullets'll come crashing through the doors, blasters blazing." "We'll hurry," the warrior promised. Will and Penny strode toward a catalog area, finding the three squat rows of file cards decked with spider webs and dust. Three chittering black mice went scurrying out from between the rows as the children approached. "The Black Bullets don't keep up their buildings too well," Starbuck pointed out. "I done told you they never come in here unless...unless it's important," said Effra. "And killing us would be important to those bloodthirsty hoodlums." Upon hearing that, Penny got nervous. "Starbuck?" "It's okay, Penny. I was merely making a quip," he explained, helping Will brush the dust and webbing off of a cabinet. "To lighten the mood of things." "Nothing's gonna lighten my mood except getting out of this place," said Effra. "We'll be outta here before you know it," said Starbuck. Narrowing his eyes, Will tried to make out the inscription on the file drawer. "DAV to HOB. Hey, Starbuck, I think what you're looking for must be in this drawer. Help me open it, Penny." And two strong tugs later; Will and his sister finally got the drawer open. A mouse leaped free, trailing confetti-like fragments of what had once been file cards. "Frak!" said Starbuck, "these critters've been munching on the file cards. What a way to run a library!" "What's so all-fired important about this planet called Earth, anyhow?" asked Effra. "That's why we're in your star system," Starbuck replied. "To look for it." "And they think they might have found it," Will explained. "They think Terra might actually be Earth." "Humdingers! Terra's a pretty screwed-up place, I hear. Why would you want to go there?" said Effra, scratching her head. "To settle there, maybe," said Starbuck. "You and your friends?" "Me and several thousand others," the warrior answered. "There's a whole fleet of ships out there." "Humdingers!" "Ah, they didn't eat all the cards pertaining to Earth...ah, Terra. Yep, according to these there are books on the subject on Level 12ET. You kids are lifesavers!" He stepped back and looked up. "What do you think, Will?" "I think Level 12ET is up in that direction," said the boy. "I suppose you're right, Will," said Effra without much enthusiasm. "But why don't we come back tomorrow or the next day." "C'mon, we'll find the books now and get out of here," Starbuck said. "Will, you lead the way." Willl started up another slanting ramp, Penny, Starbuck and Effra following behind him. "I agree with Effra," said Penny. "Let's come back here some other time." "Penny, it's like dad says," Will responded. "Never put off till tomorrow what you can do today." "Yeah," said Starbuck. "Especially if it looks like you may get knocked off before tomorrow." "That ain't funny, guy!" Effra protested. "Making jokes about being killed." "I'm not joking." The warrior was practically running now, to keep up with the two kids. "I never have encountered anyone like you," the voluptuous brunette said, trailing along. "I'm unique," the warrior explained. "One of a kind. In fact, I've been thinking of approaching a droid manufacturer and seeing if they'd like to turn out replicas of me. I think they'd sell like hotcakes." Effra snorted. "There ain't enough halfwits in the universe to make selling replicas of you a going business." "Hey, Effra, I thought we were friends." "Don't sweat it. I do like you. I like the kids, too," she said. "But not as much as I did before you talking me into coming here." "Now, I'm not up on the way diplomacy works on Centauria," he said, "but it seems to me you folks ought to be able to get together and work out your differences. You and the Black Bullets and the other gangs who..." "Oh, sure," Effra said, laughing, "the way you've worked out your differences with the Cylons." Starbuck watched the kids as they made their way through the depths of the library, following hot on their lead, and then he turned around and frowned back at Effra. "How do you know about my enemies?" She tapped her temple. "I must've picked up the thought from you. And you've evidently told Will and Penny about 'em, too. I've gotten flashes of the word from their brains. Excuse me for pryin'." "The Cylons aren't like the gangs here," the warrior said. "You can't use reason or logic with 'em. But with human-type people, why, I bet you could set up a meeting and work out something. After all, you're in the same boat, really. Outcasts living in a deserted city." "It'll be a cold day in Hell before that happens, sweetie," snorted the beauteous brunette. "Hey, you guys, I think I just found it!" Will called out. "Level 12ET!" Starbuck rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "How much further, good buddy?" "It's just right along the corridor here," the boy replied. They followed Will along a dim row of books. "Back on this Battlestar you come from," Efrra asked, "do you have a regular girl?" "Huh?" Starbuck was concentrating on reading the titles on the faded, dusty spines of the books. "I think she wants to know if you have a girlfriend," said Penny. "No, none at all," Starbuck answered. "That wouldn't be fair if I committed myself to one lass, all tlhe others would pine away and waste away. So I've had to develop the policy of sharing myself with as many of 'em as I...Thank the Lords! I just found a whole row of books about Terra. Damn! I'll just scoop these up and haul 'em back to Apollo." "Put 'em down if ya wanna stay healthy!" said a new, deep voice from behind the group. Slowly, they all turned around. "Effra," Penny said. "Are they...?" "Yep," replied the brunette. "Black Bullets." ***** The black Destroyer ship settled down on the twilight hillside and the gathering darkness of the Centaurian night seemed to swallow it whole. After a few minutes, a door near the forward cabin hissed open and a ramp came snaking out. The heavyset Klienemann was the first to disembark. He was loaded down with gadgets and gear. "I'm picking up lifeform readings nearby, sir," he said after scanning various dials and gauges. Neistadt came down the ramp and stood looking around at the trees and giant mushrooms that darkly rose up all around the clearing. "Location?" he asked. "Less than a mile to our north, Commandant," answered Klienemann. "Very well, then. We'll take three men with us and leave the other six aboard our Destroyer," the evil-faced Commandant Neistadt answered Klienemann. "Are we to kill those we encounter, sir?" "No, not yet," answered Niestadt. "First I wish to satisfy my curiosity." ***** CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: NEW FOES There were four of them, and from Starbuck's point of view, that looked like more than enough. Each of them was big and wide, muscular and shaggy. They wore black trousers and black sleeveless tunics. Each of them carried two large blaster pistols in black leather holsters. The bigger of the bunch pushed up the bill of his black cap. "Who're these panty waists, Effra?" "They're not part of my gang, Bartholomew," she said. "Right. I think the blonde could take care of himself, but that little redheaded punk wouldn't last two minutes against us." "Hey!" put in Starbuck, taking an angry puff of his fumarello. "This boy's got feelings just like you do. You don't need to hurt 'em." The delinquent youngster called Bartholomew and his three burly sidekicks approached Starbuck and the Robinsons in a menacing manner. "Do you think he's tough, wiseacre?" he said. Bartholomew pointed to Penny and the three youths surrounded the girl. "You his girlfriend?" the third and meanest looking of them asked. "I'm his sister," Penny gulped, looking with fear into the youth's hungry and hostile eyes. "Hey, kid!' Bartholomew called over to Will. "I'll make a deal with you: if you can save your sister from us, I'll make you a lieutenant in the Black Bullets." Realizing what Bartholomew's friends were about to do, Effra rushed over and pulled Penny out of the way, positioning the girl between her and Starbuck. "Leave them alone," she insisted. "They're harmless. I was just escorting them out of the City when you showed up out of the blue!" "You're forgetting something, Effra," said Bartholomew. "You're forgetting you, all four of you, broke the law. This is Black Bullet territory hereabouts; no one comes here but us." "Got no right being here," muttered one of the others. "Since I've got a crush on you," said Bartholomew, looking the beautiful brunette up and down and smiling broadly at her, "I can see to it you get out of this mess alive, more or less. 'Course, I got to turn you over to the rest of 'em at the clubhouse. Your friends, here, though, they're finished." "You never use this library for anything," said Effra. "So we aren't really hurting..." "We might, and that ain't the point anyhow, girlie," Bartholomew said with a scowl. "The point is, you ain't supposed to be on our territory at all. And other point is we don't want your gooney friends mucking around here." "You guys are going to make me very angry if you keep this up," said Starbuck, taking Will and Penny under each arm and backing up against the shelf of books he'd been going over. "Let me explain what actually is..." "Muzzle it!" advised Bartholomew, resting his beefy right hand on the butt of one of his holstered pistols. "Man, let's just cut off their ears,' suggested one of the other Black Bullets. "For a start," added another. "Then we can nail them up to the wall out front, like we done that preacher and his wife last year." "Naw," said Bartholomew, "that's too tame. For these squares we gotta come up with something extra special." "You're only asking for trouble," warned Effra. "You hurt them or me and it's only gonna make Edgar mad." Bartholomew laughed. "That square?" he said. "He don't scare me no more than these saps you brung along, gorgeous." Will and Penny were getting nervous. Starbuck could feel them trembling. It was time to go into action. "Now you've done it," he said, taking his burning fumarello out of his mouth. "You've made me angry!" Without warning, he flipped the fumarello right into Bartholomew's large, flat face. "Yow!" Hot tobaccon coals flew as it hit him between the eyes. Starbuck and the Robinson twins backed quickly into the shelf of books. That was sufficient to topple it and heavy books came cascading down to hit the other Black Bullets. During the diversion, Starbuck yanked his captured gun out of Effra's belt and aimed it at Bartholomew. He flicked it, swiftly, to a stunning mode, and fired. There was a small humming noise and Bartholomew stiffened and then fell over a mound of books. "Effra, Will, hide behind something!" advised Starbuck, grabbing hold of Penny's hand and pulling her down behind the fallen bookshelves. The other three Black Bullets had drawn their pistols and were commencing fire. They weren't interested in stunning, but in killing. Several books were turned to ashes immediately, books that had been quite close to Will's head. Starbuck risked a look over the top of the shelving and tried a shot. He missed. "Might as well give up," said one of the remaining Black Bullets. "We're going to kill you sooner or later." "I'd prefer later," said Starbuck. "We're never going to get free of this," said Effra, as she ducked low behind Penny. "Tut, tut," said Starbuck, "keep your spirits up. Even when things look darkest there's always hope." And hope there was. "Drop the guns," said a familiar voice. "All six of 'em." "How many thuds, Will?" asked Starbuck. "I count an even dozen pistols being dropped to the floor," said the boy. "And look, there's another guy out there, a guy wearing the same type of uniform you are." Starbuck stood up. "Ah, Captain Apollo himself," he said, grinning. "What an unexpected surprise." "Where's the brunette? How're the Robinson kids doing?" asked Apollo as he and Cassy set about trussing up the Black Bullets." "Will and Penny are doing fine," Starbuck said as the twins rushed over to greet Cassy. After helping the beautiful dark-haired urchin to her feet, the warrior led her over to where Apollo stood. "Effra, meet Apollo. Also Cassy and Hector and Vector. Feeling better, Vec?" The robot was staying a safe distance from Effra. "She's the one, Father. She's the one who put me on the fritz. Miss, I want to warn you that if you try such a trick again..." "She's reformed," Starbuck assured him. "Humdingers! Where'd you get that crazy idea?" "Apollo, listen," said Starbuck, starting to sort through the now scattered books. "I found all sorts of stuff here for us. Books, old chum. With charts, maps, and Sagan knows what all. All about Earth, also known as Terra. I didn't get to more than skim a few pages before these gallmonging snitrads popped in, but I think when we get this stuff back to the Galactica, why, they're going to have to make a statue in our honor when we settle into our new home planet!" "That may not be as easy as you think," said Cassy, tying the last know in the improvised rag rope she'd used to truss up one of the Black Bullets. "Our ships have been sabotaged." "Judy did it," said Penny. "You don't know that, silly," said Will. "We can fix 'em, can't we?" asked Starbuck. Apollo said, "Maybe." "Let that be a lesson," said Effra. "Never trust people who you really ought to keep an eye on. You laugh at the way we live here, but at least we survive." "That'll do, Effra," said Starbuck. Apollo picked up one of the books on Earth. "What makes you think you're older sister's responsible for the condition of our ships, Penny? Did you actually see her do it?" "It's not Penny that witnessed it," Starbuck cut in. "Effra saw somebody smashing the controls of our Vipers." Apollo dropped the book. "Is that true, Effra?" "It sure as heck is," the brunette replied. "Listen miss," said Apollo, "I need to find that person because he took some of the parts away with him." "I already told you, Apollo," Penny butted in. "Judy did it. Just ask Starbuck." Starbuck fished out a fresh fumarello and popped it between his teeth. "Effra says she saw a blonde and blue-eyed young lady do the deed. Now, like Penny says, it could have been the oldest Robinson daughter, she certainly fits Effra's description, after all, but on the other hand...Hades...it could have been some other lady we haven't even met up with yet." "No, I think Penny's right," said Apollo. "I think it was Judy." Starbuck had the match halfway to the tip of his fumarello. "Why would she do that to us? We saved her family's life, for Sagan's sake." "I'll explain later," said Apollo. "It's...ah, in a way I suppose it's my fault." Hector rolled closer to them. "Suggestion: Let's finish up our affairs in this dreadful hold as soon as possibly and beat a hasty retreat," he said. "There are no doubt more of these hoodlums lying in wait without." "At least a dozen," said Effra. "And all mean as sin." "Okay, said Starbuck, lighting the new fumarello at last. "Will, help me bundle up enough of these books so we can push on." "I'd be glad to carry an armload, myself," said Vector. "Starbuck!" Penny cried out. "Something's wrong with Effra!" Cassiopeia went over to Effra, who was doubling up and clutching her stomach. "Are you okay, miss?" the med-tech asked. "Naw, I ain't," she gasped. Will dashed over to her and put an arm around her shoulders. "What's wrong?" asked the boy. "I'm getting---another one of my hunches," she said as her face went pale. Beads of perspiration dripped down her forehead. "It's...it's about the blonde girl we was just talkin' about." "Judy?" asked Will. "What about her?" "She's in...trouble," said Effra. "Real bad trouble." ***** Night came spilling out of the woodlands, its chill made more intense as cool air wafted up from the lake and was blown onto the house by the planet's gentle winds. Judy hugged herself and got up from the lawnchair. "Mom," she called out, "Have you fixed dinner yet? I'm getting kind of hungry." She couldn't hear anything from inside the house, but then, that didn't really concern her. With most of the family absent, it was to be expected that the house "Mom," she called, louder through cupped hands. "Some dinner, please." From somewhere in the house, Maureen called back, "It'll be ready in a minute, dear." "Unfortunately for you and your mother, young lady, that will be a very long minute," said a voice coming from behind her. Judy turned around. There were five of them, wearing dark uniforms trimmed with gold-and-black helmets that hid most of their faces. Each wore a holster with a blaster pistol nestling in it and tow of them carried blaster rifles. She backed up against the front door, her face turning white in fear as she recognized the uniform. "Oh---oh God! P--p--please. Don't hurt us. We---we haven't---done anything." A fiftyish man with a squarish forehead stepped clear of the others, bowed and clicked his heels. "Alliance Commandant Neistadt at your service, my dear," he said. She said nothing. A reptilian smirk crossed Neistadt's lips. "I'm afraid you're wrong about not doing anything," he said. "The Robinson party is wanted for destroying Alliance property, assaulting Alliance officers, and escaping from Alliance custody. There is only one penalty for that----death!" Tears flowed copiously out of Judy's beautiful blue eyes. Neistadt advanced menacingly on her, his nose touching hers. "However," he said, "If you can provide us with some important information, I'll see what I can do about getting your family a more lenient sentence." Judy opened the door, stepping into the doorjamb, keeping what she hoped would be a safe distance from the sinister commandant. "What..." she sniffed, "...information?" "We know that you were accompanied her by two other ships of unknown nationality. I wish to know about them." She shook her head. "I don't know what you're talking about," she told him. "What other ships?" Neistadt lunged and caught her arm, gripping it tightly. "Listen to me, young woman," he said in a low voice. "You have your family to consider, your mother, you father, your middle sister and your very young brother---especially your middle sister and your very young brother. As much as I dislike torturing children, I shall do so unless you cooperate fully. Do I make myself clear?" "Crystal." Gathering her courage, Judy nodded once and then kicked him in the knee as hard as she could. Wrenching free of his grip, Judy turned and ran into the house toward the kitchenette where Maureen was in the process of fixing supper. "Dear," said Maureen, noticing the look of fright on Judy's face, "what in the world..." "The Alliance, mom," Judy said. "They're here! There are peacekeepers right outside our front door!" "What?" "Drop whatever you're doing and run! Get away from here! Run, quick!" "What about..." "Never mind! Just go! Get Dad! Apollo! Starbuck!" Upon hearing the footsteps in the hallway, Maureen dropped her spatula into the sink and made a mad dash for the back door. Neistadt, limping, stormed into the kitchenette, not too many seconds after Maureen's hasty exit, and caught Judy. "That was very foolish." He caught her left arm and twisted it up behind her back. "Very foolish. Von Trapp, go after that damned woman, and, if possible, see if you can find Professor Robinson and the remaining members of the Robinson party." Saluting, the menacing Von Trapp asked, "Alive, sir?" "Yes, alive," said Neistadt. "You, young woman, will sit down on one of those sofas in there and parlay with me. Klienemann, make sure there's no one else inside this place." "All my gear indicates that there isn't anyone else, sir." "Still, doublecheck it," said the commandant." As he escorted Judy into the living room, she could hear her mother running away through the dark woods. She clicked on the small flashlight And she could hear the man with the blaster rifle, Von Trapp, going after her. ***** CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: GOOD TRIUMPHS OVER EVIL Maureen Robinson fell. Her foot caught in a twist of a root and the mature auburn-haired woman went sprawling. She didn't cry out, knowing it was dangerous to make noise, which, she realized, would mean no one in the vicinity would know she was down. Her ankle was commencing to hurt. She got to her knees, struggling not to sob. Pain was throbbing in her leg. Darkness stretched out all around her and the trunks of trees looked like rows of enormous bars meant to lock her in. Pushing her hands against the mossy ground, Maureen was able to rise to her feet. She found she could walk, although her ankle hurt an awful lot. Running was impossible, but she'd keep walking and she'd come into contact with one of the neighbors that they weren't supposed to have. Maybe. She'd taken only a few shaky steps when she became aware of heavy footfalls behind her. She didn't look back, but kept hobbling along. "Halt!" ordered a gruff voice. Maureen kept walking. "I don't want to use the stunner on you," said the uniformed man who'd caught up with her. "I will, though, unless you halt at once." With rage swelling in her breast, Maureen stopped and turned to face him. He looked immense. Like part of the night in his dark uniform and helmet. The silvery rifle seemed to float in the night, pointing at her. "Now, Mrs. Robinson, where are your husband and children?" he asked. "I don't know, and I wouldn't tell you if I did!" she said defiantly. "I think you know where they are and you will tell me," he said, extending the gun until the barrel touched her chest. "Yes, you must have hiding places in these woods. So you tell me, quick now." "Go to the devil!" Maureen growled. "Do you want me to hurt you, Mrs. Robinson? There's no need for that, is there?" The tip of the barrel began to dig into her middle-aged flesh. "Drop dead!' she growled, yet again. "Listen to me, you tell me where they're hiding or...Wow!" All at once, his rifle left his hands and went soaring way up into the dark tangle of branches overhead. Making a surprised gulping noise, he jumped to his feet and snatched out his pistol. That, too, left his hand. It went spinning off into the darkness. "Who did that?" he demanded. "Mrs. Robinson, how did you...Hey!" Now he himself was flying. His big feet left the ground and he rose up at an increasing speed. He leveled off and his skull began to bang against the trunk of a thick tree. He howled and protested, but he couldn't stop himself from battering the bole with his head. In less than five minutes he was unconscious and then he drifted---not fell---drifted down to settle in a heap near the puzzled Maureen Robinson's feet. "Well, ma'am, that takes care of him. Poke a nice old lady like you with a gun, will he?" A curly-haired and bearded man almost the same age as Maureen appeared from behind the trunk of one of the trees and smiled at the Robinson matriarch. "Arrrr! We sure took care of him." "You're a telepath," Maureen said. "Fourth level." "Aye! That I am." "I don't know you," Maureen informed him. "I know. I haven't gotten 'round to introducing meself to you and your friends." He held out his hands. "Alonzo P. Tucker's me name, at least in these parts." "You have other names?" He stroked his scraggly beard and thought about that. "Don't imagine most folks know ole Tucker at all. Am I addressin' Maureen Robinson of the family Robinson?" "Yes. And I would appreciate it if you could take me home." Tucker said, "'Tis best ye get settled safely elsewhere for the nonce. Let me tie this scurvy swab up and then we'll find yer friends and see ye get put up somewhere. That okay with ye?" "I have to eventually go home. My daughter is there.' "Aye, ye soon will," promised the hermit. ***** Neistadt stood with his back to the fireplace. His helmet sat on a nearby table, catching the scarlet glow of the blaze and reflecting it. "Von Trapp will return soon," he said. "Perhaps," Judy sat, arms folded, on the edge of the armchair. "And what, pray tell, do you mean by that, Miss Robinson?" "Oh, perhaps there are some things on this planet you don't know about," she replied. "Things in the woods that might...delay your man." Neistadt chuckled. "I doubt that." "There might even be things out there that'll take care of the peacekeepers you have stationed around our house." "I'm sure, I'm sure," said the commandant. "I see. You're hoping that your friends will return and overcome my men." He shook his head. "You would do well to abandon that hope, since every man aboard the Destroyer is a most efficient fighter." "Then you've got nothing to worry about." "Nothing, no," he agreed. He rubbed his hands together a few times, watching her. "You can save us a great deal of trouble, Miss Robinson, if you'll tell me now what I want to know. I actually mean your family no harm." "How many families have you killed so far in your career, Commandant? When you bomb cities and planets?" "When we bomb cities and planets they cease to be families and become statistics," he said with a devilish smile. "Where did those other two ships come from? Who are their pilots?" "I have no idea." "Of course you do,' he said, growing angry. "I know they escorted your ship here. The ships are not from Terra, Lunar Seven, or any other known planet." "Then you have a mystery, I would say." He strode across the room and took hold of both her shoulders. "I would say you hold the key that mystery!" he shouted, shaking her. Judy made no reply at all. Neistadt made an angry growling noise and threw her back down into the sofa. "Do not play the fool with me, lovely lady," he warned as he walked back to the fire. "Sooner or later, we'll capture not only your mother, but all the others as well. If you...yes, what is it?" The door had opened and a uniformed man came into the room. He saluted, hand ticking smartly against his dark helmet. Smith's eyes narrowed. "I ordered you to stay outside and stand watch," he said. "Something's come up, sir." The uniformed man marched into the room. Two more followed him in out of the darkness. The commandant said, "Stupid fools! Why can't you behave like trained Alliance peacekeepers and obey your orders?" "Because we've got better things to do," said another of the sentries who was...puffing on a cigar? Neistadt started walking toward him. "Why are you smoking on duty?" "Well, the kind of duties I have call for a little diversion now and then, old chum." He drew a pistol from his holster and pointed it the commandant. "Now, I suggest you put your hands up high?" "What?!" Starbuck removed the borrowed helmet and grinned at the perplexed Commandant Neistadt. "Your boys are slumbering out on the grass," he explained. "We...well, we took advantage of 'em, I fear. Snuck up and decked the whole set before they even knew what hit 'em. Hardly sporting, but very effective. Now we have you, too." Neistadt tried a confident laugh. "I'm warning you, I still have several highly efficient men aboard my ship," he said, drawing himself up straight. "When we don't return by a given time, they'll storm this place and whip the lot of you from..." "You're using the wrong tense, good buddy," Apollo told him as he got out of his helmet. "You had a crew." Exhaling smoke, Starbuck said, "Professor Robinson, Major West and the robots paid them a surprise visit before they dropped us off here." "I cannot believe what I'm hearing!" "You'd better believe it," said Starbuck, grin widening. "You've lost this round, Commandant." Don was the last to take off the enemy helmet. Doing so, he moved to the young woman's side. "Judy, are you all right?" She reached up and took his hand. "Yes, I'm find," she said, standing. "But mom...she ran off in the forest when these people arrived. We'll have to find her." He nodded. "We'll do that now," he said. Starbuck, gun still aimed at the defeated commandant, eased nearer to the fire. "Apollo, old chum," he said. "I was thinking about that Destroyer ship these lads travel in." "So was I," he answered. "Roomy, isn't it?" "Yep, the decor is a little grim, but it would fit all of us nicely inside," said Starbuck, warming his backside at the crackling fire. "Why don't we, since our ships are totaled, commandeer it in the name of the Colonial Service?" "An excellent notion," said Apollo. ***** They met in the forest. Don heard the sound of a land vehicle's motors first and then put a restraining arm to halt Judy. "Watch it," he warned, drawing his pistol. "It might not be a friendly." "Maybe mom hitched a ride with somebody. "Possibly. But it sounds awfully big for a civilian vehicle.' The suspect vehicle came into view seconds later. It turned out to be the spare Chariot, packed almost to capacity with armed men. They stopped when they spotted Don and Judy on the dark path. John Robinson climbed out of the vehicle first, then Will and Penny, and then all the armed civilians. "It's all right, Don," he said, "I brought some help back with me." "My name's Davy Sims," said the youngest of the men. "We're sort of your neighbors." "If you don't want our help, just say so," another of them said. "I still think we ought to mind our own business, but Gloria, my wife, insists we..." "Mr. Brady here ain't nowhere as mean and ornery as he acts," explained Davy. "This is Edgar," Will Robinson introduced the bespectacled youth with the metal hand. "He's a member of one of the City gangs, and a close friend of Effra's." "Bartholomew," said Penny, indicating the black-garbed youth behind her, "says they hate the Alliance worse than they hate each other." "And that's why we're here," said Bartholomew, "to teach those pigs a lesson they'll never forget." Judy took a few steps toward them. "We're hunting for my mother, Maureen Robinson. Has anyone seen her?" "Yes, we have," said Jonas Brady. "She's safe and sound," said Davy, grinning. "At the Brady spread with Mrs. Brady, keeping her company. Mr. Tucker brought her over there and she told about how you'd been busted in on by Alliance peacekeepers." "Where are they?" asked Edgar. "Man, I can't wait to try out my steel hand on one of the helmets those pigs wear." "Before I die, I'll take as many peacekeepers with me as I can!" vowed Bartholomew. Don West said, "We appreciate your offer of help. Fortunately, they've been taken care of." Jonas snapped his fingers. "I bet I know how, too," he said. "It was them other outlanders, Apollo and his friends. Weren't it?" "It was," answered Judy. "Now, can you take us to my mother? I want her to know we're all right." "Sure, come on along," invited Brady. "You might as well see where we live, since we're going to be stuck with each other as neighbors, I reckon. Until the Alliance strikes again, anyhow." John said, "From everything I've just heard, it sounds more likely that the Alliance will be leaving us alone from now on, Mr. Brady." "Hey, just call me Jonas," he said. "How do you mean?" Judy said, "Our friends have thrown quite a scare into them. And I don't think they're through with them yet." Brady spat into the giant mushroom patch. "Who knows?" he said. "But for now, we might as well try to get along." "A good idea, I think," said John, holding out his hand. Davy nudged Brady. "Shake hands, you stubborn nitwit." Brady held out his hand. "We'll see how being friendly goes," he said. ***** CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: GOODBYE, PLANET CENTAURIA The morning of departure was chill and gray. Judy Robinson shivered slightly as she and Apollo stood looking at the Destroyer ship some thousand yards uphill. "I'm going to miss you," she said softly. "I know," he said. "Someday, maybe we'll see each other again." "No," she shook her head. "This is the last time." "I think you'll be able to have a pretty good life here on Centauria now." "I'm sure we will," she said. "Will and Penny are making new friends, mom and dad have a house to call their own, and...well, eventually Major West, Don, I mean, and I may like each other a good deal more than we do now." "It seems to me he's pretty fond of you right now, Judy." She looked away, toward the forest. "There's at least one thing I have to talk about with you, Apollo." He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. "I know what you're going to tell me," he said. "About who smashed your ships?" "Yes, I knew you'd done it," he said. "Effra saw you, and Penny put two-and-two together." "It was such an awful thing to do," she said, "so mean and stupid of me." "I don't condone it, but I understand why you did it, Judy," he said. "You wanted us to stay and when persuasion didn't work, you took a drastic step." "I was so angry," she said. "At you, at mom and dad and this whole damn colonization scheme. My grandfather was dead and you were deserting me, too." "Most of us lost control a few times in our lives," he said. "At least you didn't strand us on Centauria. The Destroyer came along at just the right time." "But if I hadn't..." "Oh, Don would've been able to patch up the Jupiter 2. We could have used it to get back to the Galactica for help." "You think I'm just a spoiled child, not a young woman. The tone of your voice gives you away." "You acted on impulse," Apollo said. "And as for your being a child..." Gently, he turned to face him. Leaning, he kissed her once. ***** Starbuck hurried along the dark corridor of the Destroyer, blowing fumarello smoke up toward the strutted ceiling. "Galactica, here I come," he was singing to himself. "Hey!" He slowed as a door opened beside him. "Ah, my favorite passenger and the unofficial mascot of the whole..." "Humdingers! Will you stop babbling, Starbuck and let a girl get a word in edgewise," requested Effra, who had her dark hair braded and was clad in a suit of workclothes. "I want to talk to you." 'I'm enroute to the bridge to consult with Apollo," he told her. "According to my calculations, dollface, we ought to be nearing the Galactica after many long and weary days in space aboard this flying funeral parlor." "Well, dang, that's exactly what I mean to tal about," the girl said, leaning in the doorway of her cabin. Starbuck smote the side of his head. "I hope you're not gonna tell me you're sorry you came and want to be hauled back home to Centauria." "Centauria you can stuff in your snoot," she said. "What I'm frettin' about, Starbucko, is this here Battlestar of yours." "Don't worry, Effra, they're gonna love you on the Battlestar," he assured the voluptuous young woman. "I can name you a dozen gents who'll fall at your feet in awe. Besides, there's an ample chap name of Jolly, and then there's Sire Zalto and..." "Hush," she requested, touching his hand. "You can sweet talk me all you want, but I know what I am." "You're a stunning brunette with all kinds of talents, wild and otherwise. What in Hades is wrong with that?" "I'm just a girl who ran with a gang in the ruins of the City," she said. "They'll all know that when they see me, I mean, your friend Cassy is so...well, she's a lady." Starbuck laughed. "You're as much a lady as she is," he said. "They'll all laugh at me, make fun." He leaned closer to her. "Listen, pet," he said. "Everybody gets a certain amount of razzing when he or she gets into a new situation. Heck, now and then even some as flawless as yours truly gets kidded. What you have to do is ignore it." "That's easy for you to say." "I will guarantee that within a couple of sectars on the Galactica you'll be just one of the gang," he said. "One of our gang, that is. Just remember, you're pretty smart...and, listen, most everybody is going to fall under the spell of that black hair." "I surely hope so." He gave her a little peck on the cheek. "Be of stout heart, Effra," he said. "With Starbuck as your champion no harm can befall you." "Okay," she said, smiling hopefully and stepping back inside her cabin. Grinning, Starbuck continued on his way. He found Apollo on the bridge with Cassy and two of the Destroyer's original crew. Commandant Neistadt was also present, sitting stiffly in a chair. "Ah," said Starbuck, puffing on his fumarello as he came across the room, "just think. In a short time, I'll be snoozing in my own little bed again." "Yeah, we're getting closer to the Galactica," said Apollo, who was standing near a scanner screen. "Not that I'll be doing much sleeping, of course," said the grinning lieutenant, "since the folks'll be carrying me around on their shoulders and feting me in various ways. Bringing home all this information on Earth, that's quite an achievement. That library on Centauria was a fantastic find." "We've got a heck of a lot more information than we had to begin with," agreed Apollo. "The only thing that's worrying me," said Starbuck, "is how I'm going to return those books. I'd hate to have an overdue charge slapped on me." "Bastards," said Neistadt under his breath. Starbuck cupped his ear. "Eh?" "You're all a bunch of fools," said the commandant in a louder voice. "You've gotten this far, but your day will come. We have the most advanced military force in the galaxy." "So you've been saying," said Apollo. "Retribution will be swift once it's been learned that you had the audacity to abduct Alliance personnel." "Commandant," said Apollo, gesturing at the screen. "I had you brought here from your quarters for a reason." "Quarters? The holding pen is hardly appropriate quarters for an Alliance officer. I shall most certainly lodge a formal protest with your superiors." "Fine. Now, I need you to pay attention to what we're trying to show you," said Starbuck. "I really think it'll change your outlook." "Nonsense! I..." He leaned forward in his seat, staring now at the screen. "No! I can't be. I---I'm hallucinating!" On the screen showed the Battlestar Galactica. "You're looking at our home ship, Neistadt," said Apollo. "We'll be docking there in a matter of cen---hours." Neistadt ran his tongue over his dry lips. "Nothing could be that big! Nothing!" Apollo folded his arms and looked full at the commandant. "What was that you were saying about this invincible Alliance of yours?" he asked. For the first time in his life, Neistadt had no answer. ***** Two centars later, Apollo and Starbuck were in Adama's quarters, giving him a complete briefing on what happened to them on what had happened to them on Centauria. The video-com sounded and Adama answered it. He saw Dr. Salik's face staring back at him. "I've been awaiting your call, Dr. Salik," Adama said. "You had a chance to examine the prisoners?" "I did," the Chief Medical Officer nodded. "A total contrast to the Robinsons. They have no trouble adapting to our own atmosphere. And they're also very fit from a physical standpoint. Not an ounce of at or any signs of an improper diet." "Very good," Adama nodded. "Inform Colonial Security to begin processing them for temporary detainment on the Grid Barge." "Temporary?" Starbuck asked as Adama shut the vid-com off. "Kinda lenient, don't you think?" The Commander shook his head. "One thing we can't do, Starbuck, is keep them detained permanently. They aren't guilty of any crimes against the Colonies and the only thing I want to do with them is to get whatever information we need and then find a proper way of releasing them." "They don't deserve it," Apollo said. "Not after what they did to Centauria. You should've seen the ruins of that city, how those poor kids lived there." "I don't doubt you on that, Apollo. But if I don't handle this situation just right, I run a grave risk with some Councilmen who will be demanding a full report on this within a few centars." He leaned back in his chair. "That report of Salik's though about their ability to breathe our air tells us that certainly didn't come from Lunar Seven or else they would have needed to be put in pressure chambers right away." "So you think they're from Terra, then?" Starbuck asked. "I think that most likely," the Commander nodded. "Well, if they are, they've got to be military foul-ups." "Why do you say that?" he raised an eyebrow. The blonde warrior shrugged. "Well, back in the Colonies the only warriors who caught outpost duty were the ones who stepped on someone's toes." "As I recall, you're speaking from personal experience on that, aren't you, Starbuck?" Apollo couldn't resist. "Well, ah..." "Never mind," Adama smiled, glad for a little levity to break the tension. "I know what you mean, Starbuck, but I think you're wrong." "So do I," his son agreed. "That Destroyer we flew back may be small and slow compared to a Viper, but even you saw how all the equipment in there was new. And new equipment doesn't go to incompetent warriors." "If they're competent warriors, Apollo, how'd they let themselves get beaten by two men and two robots?" Adama let out a guffaw, "I don't think I want to hear the explanation behind that, Starbuck. But regardless of how you were able to get the best of them, they show all signs of being crack warriors. Probably the equivalent of our Academy graduates. And if they're as oppressive and widespread as they appear, their best warriors would be on the frontier. Where they could act on their own initiative to further the goals of the Alliance." "Okay," Starbuck shrugged. "But where does that leave us in terms of dealing with them? Are we going to go in with guns blazing and all squadrons at the ready to get the Alliance to surrender and repent their sins?" "It's tempting," Adama conceded. "But...I'm not prepared to do that at this time. I need more information from them, and more information as we get closer to Terra. Tomorrow, I intend to talk to this...Commandant Neistadt personally and see what I can get out of him." He rose and smiled. "In the meantime, the two of you get some well-earned rest. You've earned it after all you've been through." "That's one order I'll gladly take," Starbuck grinned. "Come on, Apollo. Buy you a drink in the Club." Apollo seemed reluctant to leave at first, but finally gave in and followed his friend out. ***** BALTAR: For seemingly endless centars, I've sat in my cell, situated in the main section of the Fleet's Grid Barge. I take note of how so many more people seem to be passing through the corridors than is normally the case for a typical day aboard this penal ship. It is all too obvious that the new arrivals in this section, humans from some militarist type regime in a previously unknown human colony, hold exceptional interest for so many in the Fleet. And I know that has to include Adama and the rest of the Council. Perhaps my release from Solitary Confinement, not too many sectans ago, is finally leading to a meaningful result. My reluctant decision to save Captain Apollo's life from my one-time subordinate, Charybdis (or Ohan, as he had been known at the time), had led to my life sentence being modified. Now, instead of having isolation in a single cell, I've been returned to the ranks of the regular prison population, free to mingle with them during work and dining activities. At first, it was a status that I had actually found more demeaning and humiliating than anything. Being in Solitary Confinement, at least, had given me a feeling of distinction and exceptionally, and it had also freed me from having to hear the taunts and threats of the bilge scum who are also imprisoned aboard this sip. Since being returned to this status, though, I've been forced to endure more dirty looks from prisoners who, despite their crimes, still think of themselves as Colonial patriots, and had no reason to ever think highly of mankind's greatest traitor. There have been murmurings and whispers that perhaps one of them might at some time see fit to dispense a form of capital punishment on me that Colonial law can no longer provide. But they have only remained rumors, and so I've gone about my demeaning duties, wondering if there'll ever be any opportunity to escape my captivity, and one day find a destiny that is more befitting someone like me. I have reached a point where I have all but given up hope that my destiny will lie in reunion with the Cylons, and with Lucifer. Too much time has passed, and it seems more and more likely that the Colonial Fleet has at long last managed to put the danger of Cylon pursuit behind them once and for all. If that is the case, any new opportunities will have to come from finding potential new allies. The arrival of those new prisoners, belonging to something called the "Alliance" has finally offered the beginnings of new hope for me. It has made me formulate some new plans, plans that I also know will have to include the recruitment of others in the prison population whose support I will need as well. ***** CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: COMMANDER TO COMMANDANT As the Galactica continued its majestic flight through space, a shuttle flashed out of a docking bay, aimed at the nearby grid barge, Starbuck and Apollo at the controls. Starbuck slouched in the co-pilot's chair, gave a dignified chomp on his fumarello, and observed, "The Council's absolutely goofy!" The commander, sitting in the forward passenger seat, said, "Well, put, Lieutenant, but I would recommend that you phrase it a bit more diplomatically." "Diplomacy---Hades! Those snitrads are gonna ruin everything!" "Calm down, good buddy," said Captain Apollo, glancing up from the control dash. In fact, I think it'd be a good idea if you'd let my father finish explaining the situation to us, okay?" Thrusting his fumarello between his even white teeth, Starbuck, said, "I'm all ears." "I've been meaning to talk to you about that," grinned Apollo. Adama cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, the situation is this," he said. "The Council, in a not unusual state, is in absolute opposition to me. Led, I suspect, by Sire Marvello, they've told me they wish our recently acquired prisoners to be released." "Have they all been sniffing plant vapors?" Starbuck cried. "Those daggits we rounded up on Centauria are agents of an unfriendly military power based on Terra...which just might be the planet Earth we're all hunting for." "I know, I know," the grey-haired commander told him. "Father, what if the Robinsons' home planet really is the Earth we seek?" Apollo asked nervously. "Then our long flight across the universe will have been in vain," Adama replied. "We'll have eluded the Cylons only to be faced with another equally repressive enemy." "And a human one at that," Apollo added. "Which makes it so damn important, he continued, "to question these prisoners from the Alliance." "We need to know a good deal more about the Alliance of Terra than we do now," agreed his father. "And about these Alliance Peacekeepers you and Starbuck captured and brought home to us." He spread his aged hands wide and shrugged. "The Council, however, is moving to release all the prisoners and have an unarmed peace envoy return them to their outpost on Lunar Seven. "Commander, these Peacekeeper gents went out to Centauria to kill people," to wipe out the survivors of their previous attacks," said Starbuck, as he flipped a toggle on the control dash. "They're...Hades hole...they're evil." "I agree, Lieutenant, but the Council doesn't see the situation that way at all." "You know what this reminds me of, Father?" Apollo said. "The same kind of felgercarb that led to the destruction of our colonies at the hands of the Cylons." Adama's face darkened and twisted into a demonic scowl. "No! That will never happen again while I'm in charge! I'll move the very stars and planets themselves to prevent it." "It's going to take the Council a while," Apollo pointed out, "to do anything at all about setting our prisoners loose. Meanwhile..." "Exactly," said Adama with a grim smile. He then could see the looming shape of the Grid Barge come into view. "Meanwhile, I've ordered the fleet to full alert. Starbuck, inform them we've arrived, and request landing clearance and instructions." "Yes, sir," replied the Lieutenant. ***** The door of the holding cell hissed open. Commander Adama halted on the threshold, looking into the small gray-walled room and at the sneering man who occupied it. Out in the dreary gray corridor, once the Security Guard had withdrawn to his post a few maxims away, Lieutenant Starbuck and Captain Apollo moseyed up to the spyhole in Neistadt's cell door. "Commandant Neistadt," he said in a neutral, non-hostile tone that he had learned to perfect many yahrens ago, "I'm Commander Adama." "I have heard your name," Neistadt's voice was cold and unfriendly. "Sooner or later, you would have come to me." Adama didn't alter his expression. "I trust you and your men have been properly treated." "Let us dispense with false pleasantries," Neistadt snapped. "I demand the immediate release of my crew and of our ship. We are not your citizens and you have absolutely no right to detain us." Adama moved across the perimeter of the cell, but still maintaining his overall distance from the prisoner. "Unfortunately, you are in no position to issue demands. However, if you'll take a seat and answer a few questions, I would be willing to discuss your eventual release." He placed a stress on the word eventual. "Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies, cockroach!"Neistadt moved several steps toward Adama so that he was now mere microns from him. His expression still one of haughty indignation, he remained standing. Starbuck, whose face nearly filled the spyhole, was near his breaking point. "Did you hear what he just called the Commander?" he roared. "Man, give me a few milicentons alone with that guy and I'd kill him!' "The trouble is, he just might kill you first," Apollo admonished. "Now, keep quiet and listen." "I would suggest you answer the questions I am about to ask," Adama continued, "As it would be to your advantage." A sinister, tinny laugh erupted from Neistadt and he made a go-ahead gesture with his left hand. "I'd like to know," began Adama, watching the captive commandant, "why your Alliance tried to destroy every human being on the planet Centauria." "That should be obvious to you, Commander Adama," Neistadt said. "Why?" "You undoubtedly heard the one-sided report from that fugitive family your men sheltered on that planet. They are Nationalists. We are at war with them and all they stand for." "Then you admit that it was your Alliance that was responsible for the destruction on the planet. We are clear on that, aren't we?" Adama said, knowing this would be important for him when he next appeared before the Council. "Of course!" Neistadt said contemptuously, "Why should I or any other member of the Alliance deny it? In our struggle, any means necessary to destroy what the Nationalists represent is a legitimate act of war." "I see," Adama slowly nodded, not in agreement, but in terse understanding. "And just what is it about these Nationalists that arouse the ire of your Alliance, that makes you believe you are justified in making war against them, to the lengths that you do?" "They and their cause consist of fools and misguided dolts who seek to change the Natural Order!" "The Natural Order being whatever the Alliance dictates?" Adama mildly retorted. "The Natural Order of the Universe simply is." Neistadt gave an impatient shake of his head. "It's not something that can be debated. My, my, Commander Adama, you should be ashamed of yourself. A man in your position being ignorant of something so basic." "Obviously I need you to explain it to me a bit more fully," requested Adama. Neistadt stroked his pointed chin. "All life forms in the universe fall into two classifications," he began, eyes half closed. "They have many names...the predator and the prey...the intelligent and the ignorant...the victors and the vanquished. The terms that can be applied to the notion are endless. The point is, Commander, that there are the pure and there are the impure. The Alliance represents the pure---those who are genetically perfect and passionately devoted to political ideology and the state." "Ahhh," Adama nodded with the faintest edge of disdain, "And these Nationalists of the planet Terra disagree with your natural theory...your determinist view of how history unfolds with its air of such...inevitability." "It is not a theory, Commander!" Neistadt said as he moved several steps away from him, "It is a law of nature. One that cannot be change by an individual, or any individual's set of beliefs that he is somehow above all of that." "In other words, if one believes in the dignity of the individual, and his right to pursue his own destiny free from the interference of a regimentally ordered state, he must naturally be crushed in the face of such a Natural Order, as you put it." "You begin to catch on," Neistadt allowed himself a smug smirk. "There seems to be one stumbling block to your natural law, though, Commandant," Adama said. "If your Alliance has been destined to be this great force superior to all others according to your Natural Order...surely that must preclude the reality of other races in this universe with technologies and knowledge superior to that of your own, would it not?" "In other words, you ask me to explain your Galactica and the civilization you come from, Commander?" the Peacekeeper's smirk widened. "Your Battlestar is impressive, Commander. But do not take me for a fool, because in my time here as your prisoners I've been able to learn the rudimentary facts of your plight. You come from a destroyed civilization that has left you but a single warship with no hope of ever reinforcing your numbers. That means, that it is quite within our capability to dispatch of your Battlestar as easily as the wolfpack does the bear." Adama's ears perked as he heard Neistadt use names for animals that he could only recalled being used by an obscure dialect of the Gemonese. Just as that same dialect used the name "Terra" for "Earth." Once again, a taunting clue that made Adama wonder just what kind of connection this human civilization really had with the Thirteenth Tribe. Was Terra really the Earth they sought? Or was there any connection to be found? Those were not questions he could ask Neistadt about, though, and he knew he had to push on. "You say you know we are from a destroyed civilization," Adama decided Neistadt's words had given him a new opening to use. "I would assume you've been bright enough to learn what kind of force was responsible for our plight." "Yes, I have heard stories to the effect that you are currently hunted by a race of robots." Neistadt kept smirking. "Perhaps it is not beyond the realm of possibility that they are a race that has evolved according to the same grasp of what the Natural Order is. If so, then there is always the prospect of mutual alliance one day based on two societies that have received such special insight. But if your destroyers don't understand that, and fail to recognize the benefits of alliance with us, then they, too, shall ultimately be dispatched." What a na‹ve fool you are, Adama thought. "Commandant," he said as he walked back toward the door and saw that outside, Apollo and Starbuck had expressions of pure disgust. "If you truly believe your Alliance is capable of destroying multiple ships of the enemy that pursues us, you would need at the very least a thousand of your destroyer-class ships. Do all of your bases throughout the Terran system consist of that many?" "We have..." Neistadt started and then abruptly stopped as he realized what Adama had tried to trip him up into doing. "I believe we have nothing further to discuss now but the release of my ship and my crew." "I think..." The cell door slid open. "Commander Adama, Sire Marvello requests your presence at an emergency meeting of the Council, sir," said the Security Guard who stood in the opening. The Commander's brow furrowed slightly. "Inform Sire Marvello that I will return as soon as I have finished my interrogation of the prisoner." The guard took a very tentative step into the cell. "I regret to inform you, sir, that Sire Marvello says that the Council has just voted unanimously to terminate all further interrogations of the Alliance representatives immediately," he said in a very nervous tone. Starbuck came storming into the cell. "Since when does the Council give orders to the Commander in a military matter?" "Lieutenant, I just do what they tell me to do." "Well, buster, I'm telling you to back off, you lousy..." "Starbuck!" said Adama. "I will not have grown men brawling in my presence!" "Yeah, but these nitwits can't go..." "Enough!" He nodded to the guard, who withdrew, obviously relieved. "Inform the Council that I'm returning to the Galactica." Looking back at Neistadt, who clearly enjoyed every micron of this scene, said, "This will continue later, Commandant. And I would advise you not to think we are a people easily blinded to the reality of what is. Since you have told me of what the Alliance is responsible for regarding your campaigns of mass murder and terror, I think you will find that will settle all matters in short order regarding our view of what course of action will ultimately be taken." "Your plight reminds me of the inefficiency of the Nationalists, Commander," Neistadt kept smirking. "The more I see of you, the more I am convinced that whoever placed you in your present plight is someone the Alliance would be most happy to join forces with, if the Natural Order so dictates it one day." Adama said nothing as he turned and departed. Apollo and an agitated Starbuck following him out. Apollo said, "Father, this time they've gone too far. Interrogating prisoners who put the lives of warriors in dangers as they did is a military matter that wouldn't fall under the Council's jurisdiction even if we weren't already under the Martial Law edict they passed after Carillon's Lot!" "In theory, yes," Adama sighed. "I am beginning to suspect that the Council has...without telling me, made a change to the existing rules. "They can't do that!" Starbuck protested. "Reread the Charter of Governance, Starbuck, and reread the specific language of the Martial Law Edict," the commander gently pointed out. "The Council ceded additional power to me by a three-quarters vote with the stipulation they could reclaim such power through a similar vote." "If they did that, then they just proved their unfitness to govern," Starbuck felt like spitting. "It means they're acting against you out of pure spite, and willing to put the lives of everyone in this Fleet at risk because of a petty quarrel." "Maybe so, Starbuck." Adama decided he wasn't going to debate the issue while onboard the Grid Barge. "But at the very least, they are acting legitimately. And if we are a society that still has some meaning, and still stands for principles that justify our claim to have been on the just side of a just war in what we fought for a thousand yahrens against the Cylons, then we cannot so easily rebel against those procedures when they don't unfold according to our liking. Now it's one thing for you and Apollo to be angry over the fact that at least some members of the Council appear to have taken leave of their senses over how to handle these Alliance prisoners, but one thing that none of us can do is ever question the system we operate under." He paused. "Unless you're suggesting I should find a pretext to have the Council disbanded?" Apollo and Starbuck glanced at each other, saying nothing. "I'm glad you're not suggesting that," Adama said. "I'd hate to think that the two of you would let your admirable loyalty to me blind you to the realities of what your oaths as warriors require you to do. After all, you wouldn't want to find yourselves in the same shoes Commander Cain's warriors put themselves in after I was forced to relieve him of command." Apollo nodded in understanding. And he also found himself thinking for a brief instant about Sheba and understanding better why her sense of loyalty to her father had led her to take that brief act of defiance, where she and the rest of the Pegasus warriors had confronted Apollo. There was a nervous silence among the three men as they started moving along the metal-walled passageway to the docking bay. As they made their way down the corridor, they passed by Baltar's cell. The human traitor was at the front of it, clearly taking advantage of the confined space to listen in...where all of the exchange between Adama and Neistadt could be heard quite clearly. He decided that the opportunity to issue a parting taunt was too great to pass up. "Having problems, Adama?" As he expected, there was no response as they passed him. Baltar let out a malevolent chuckle and for the first time since his captivity had begun, actually felt good. ***** CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: CONSPIRACY AND IDIOCY Performing mess duty meant that Baltar had to arrive in the Grid Barge mess hall fifteen centons before meal period began. He would then receive the trays of unappetizing food from the kitchen staff, set them up in an orderly row, and then would take his position and spend the next half-centar dispensing equal portions of food to all prisoners. Only then would he be allowed to have his own meal. The duty meant receiving one cubit, which could then be added to a prisoner's credit roll, which he could over time built up to have luxury items from a restricted list of available goods purchased. None of that mattered to Baltar, since there wasn't anything of luxury in the Fleet that could ever have meaning to him. If there was any advantage to him that came from performing this demeaning function, it only came from having the opportunity to size up each prisoner that came before him to take their portions of food, and see if any of them could be recruited by him for what he knew he had to eventually do. As the prisoners filed their way in front of him and he served them their meals, he found himself looking one of them in the eye, studying them intently, and recalling what he'd learned of them through prison gossip. Almost all of them, he had to dismiss as viable candidates, since he knew he still had to overcome the matter of their innate patriotism. He stiffened slightly as he saw the angry face of a tall man with salt and pepper hair staring at him with his tray outstretched. This was one of the few men in the Grid Barge for whom patriotism held no meaning, but who nonetheless presented a far greater obstacle to Baltar in terms of the likelihood of recruiting him. "Someday, Baltar," Charybdis whispered angrily as Baltar dished out the food. "Someday you'll finally regret what you did. Mark my words." Baltar said nothing to his one-time operative. The man he had once recruited into his operation to act as his personal pilot. And who on the night of the Holocaust had served the dual task of first, sabotaging the Colonial Defense Network computer system, and later safely flying Baltar off the Atlantia before the attack had begun. But then, once they had returned to Piscera and found their home colony destroyed, Charybdis had abandoned Baltar, eventually making his way to the Fleet under a new identity. But because a man named Quanto had known who Charybdis really was, it had led to a desperate Charybdis killing Quanto and framing Starbuck for the crime. Only to be apprehended thanks to Apollo's investigative work and Baltar's last centon help when the traitor had decided that he couldn't take the risk of Charybdis killing him, and preventing Baltar from being able to indentify Charybdis ever. Baltar knew Charybdis carried a deep grudge and hatred of him. One so great that it made Baltar realize that he could never realistically expect Charybdis to willingly join him in an escape attempt. Not unless Baltar wanted to worry about when his one-time subordinate would want to settle past accounts once and for all. He felt a measure of relief when Charybdis moved off and the next group of prisoners stepped forward to receive their food. And a smile came over him as he realized that they were the ones who offered the best prospects. Three Arakeen Fremen named Stilgar, Tunk, and Musa. All serving sentence of twenty yahrens for two charges of attempted termination, illegal stockpiling of stolen weaponry and maintenance parts, and a conspiracy to incite mutiny aboard the freighter Arrakis, which housed the entire population of refugees from their home planet Arrakis, or Dune, as it was commonly known. Even more humiliating for each of these men than their prison sentences was the fact that they had been totally disowned by their race. That left them as men without a country in every since of the word. As Arakeen expatriates living in the Colonies at the time of the Destruction, who had been permanently cut off from their home world when the Exodus had begun, they held no instinctive loyalty to the Colonial Nation, and thus would have none of the special hatred for Baltar that other prisoners would have. That made them the most ideal candidates for the traitor to approach. And of course, their skills as Fremen and their formidable physique would also prove beneficial too. Baltar smiled as he opened another tray of food at the end of the column. "Good evening, gentlemen," he said. "Some Arakeen Vulpus Stew for you? I saw to it that the Livestock ship would send in an additional quota for this sectan, and since none of the other prisoners fancy it..." He then trailed off as he spooned their portions out. The three Fremen made no response. The young, beardless one named Musa started straight ahead with a seemingly blank expression. The thickly bearded visages of Stilgar and Tunk were even more inscrutable. "Do you mind if I join you?" Baltar lowered his voice. "We must speak. I do believe we can help each other." Again, there was no response as the three of them moved off and took a private table at one side of the mess hall. They could always count on enjoying their meal in isolation, since none of the rest of the prisoners ever liked to mingle with the Fremen, part from fear over their skills, and part from general racial distrust. Baltar sighed and then noticed that the new prisoners, the ones from the so-called "Alliance," were the last to arrive. He said nothing to them, deciding that an approach to Neistadt and his subordinates could only come after he had taken care of other matters first. The only thing he took note of was how, even as prisoners, they still kept an air of rigid military discipline intact. With all of the prisoners served, he could now serve himself and take his place. Cautiously, he took his tray and went over to where the three Fremen were seated. "You're all aware of who I am, of course?" He sat down and began to pick at his food. There was the faintest trace of a nod from Musa, but nothing else. Baltar coughed, rubbed his thumb along the handle of his spoon, and shifted on the bench. "I am Baltar," he announced quietly. "A very powerful man, ally of the Cylons." And I know of you. I know of how it is repugnant to the soul of any Arakeen Fremen that he find himself in any stage of confinement. How much it defiles their since of honor and dignity, since death in the face of battle or a blood duel would be so much preferable." He lowered his voice. "Which is why it doesn't take much for sharp observer like me to know that you have been planning an attempt to escape captivity since the micron you arrived here. Is that no so?" Stilgar's eyes narrowed slightly, which right away told Baltar that what he was saying wasn't being ignored. And that he had hit much too close to him for them. "I also know why you haven't tried it," the traitor went on. "You could break out of your cell, but what then? Where to go? Your fellow Fremen have disowned you. And you no longer have the stolen resources and food you were hoping to use in your little plot to seize power and have the Fremen population establish a new colony on an uninhabited planet. But even if you still had those, how would you escape pursuit? You have none of those answers." Baltar leaned forward and smiled. "That's why you need me. Because I have those answers." Suddenly, Stilgar broke the silence of the Fremen. "You've got our attention, Baltar. Go on." His voice that constant, flat monotone characteristic of all Fremen, regardless of which class they came from. Baltar felt a wave of exhilaration go through him. He had made the key breakthrough and had his necessary recruits. "You see those prisoners, three tables away?" "I've heard their leader's name is Neistadt. What about it?" Nodding, Baltar told him. "They come from a military alliance that in this quadrant of the galaxy could be just as powerful as my Cylon friends are. And at some point, within a matter of centars, it is obvious they are going to be transferred to the Galactica because Adama is under pressure to release them." "How do you know this?" Stilgar asked, his voice indicating contemptuous disdain. "I overheard a remarkable conversation between Adama and their commanding officer. It is quite evident that when the shuttle arrives to transfer these men for their presentation to the Council of Twelve, that will be the time for us to act by making our break." "And how do we do that?" Stilgar remained unimpressed. "We take over the shuttle and use it to make our getaway." "And what of the Viper ships? Won't they pursue us?" "Oh, I have a plan to deal with them," Baltar said reassuringly. "We will have at minimum two Colonial Warriors as hostages, the shuttle pilots, and Adama would not dare risk losing their lives. They will be our bargaining chips to insure our safe escape to wherever these Alliance prisoners have their base of operations." "And then?" Tunk spoke for the first first time?" "What would prevent the Alliance from simply turning us back over to the Galactica as a way of counter-bargaining to insure their own safety from an all out assault?" "Because the Alliance will find that I can be of great use to them," Baltar said. "First of all, should the forces of the Cylon Empire ever reach this quadrant of space, then I can be their go-between and insure good relations between the two forces. But more importantly, from an immediate standpoint, I have knowledge of how the Galactica functions in every sense, and I also know the strengths and weaknesses of her commander. That makes me a valuable resource the Alliance can use in so many ways, that they will have no choice but to treat me as a prince. And I would see to it they do likewise for those who have become my followers." "We don't understand, Baltar," Stilgar leaned forward and said coldly. "Oh, certainly not," the traitor said with hasty reassurance. "The proper term should be allies. Comrades. All of us in this together. Agreed?" Stilgar nodded. "Agreed. When the time comes to escape, we will send the signal to you by----briefly choosing to die." "Die?" Baltar frowned. "What do you mean?" "We do many things to survive, Baltar," Stilgar said. "Including die. Our sacred Spice Melange expands our potential, our talents, in ways you foolish Colonials will never understand." "Ah," Baltar nodded. "A deception. I shall be prepared." He then rose and smiled. "It will be a pleasure to work with you...for our mutual benefit." And then, the traitor turned and left them to finish their meal. ***** In a shadowy corner of the vast Galactica Council chamber, Starbuck leaned toward Apollo to remark, "I don't get these shenanigans at all." "Hush up, Starbuck," the captain advised, "and listen." "I'm listening, but it still doesn't make sense." At the table, with nearly the full Council in attendance, Sire Marvellow was addressing Commander Adama in surprisingly cordial terms. "...The time is long overdue for us to honor you for your brilliant leadership in eluding the Cylons," he was saying. "You, more than any other individual, are responsible for our survival. And so the Council has decided to honor you with an aware equal to your impressive achievement. An honor, I might add, that has not been bestowed on a living Colonist in over a millennium." Beaming, he lifted an ornate medal from the tabletop. "Adama, we are proud to give you...the Star of Kobol!" All the other Council members rose to their feet, applauding. Over in the shadows, Starbuck jumped up, too, applauding vigorously. "About time those nitwits did something sensible," he said. Then he noticed that Apollo was sitting with arms folded. "Hey, what gives, good buddy? You don't seem too jolly about the honor their heaping on your Father." "Neither does he," said Apollo. Adama had risen and was holding up his hand for silence. Slowly, the applause died, the members sat down again. "I am, it goes without saying, deeply honored," the commander said. "I'm sorry, but I must refuse." Marvello, his Council robes fluttering, got up. "I don't think you understand what we're doing." "Trust me, Sire Marvello, I understand completely." He looked about the table. "I think it is no great secret that matters between us in recent days have been...shall we say, difficult. The affair of last sectan regarding the Terran ship and its disposition angered a good many of you. But it seems evident to me that many of you are allowing your anger over that affair to impair your judgment to approach the rest of this situation concerning matters of the Alliance prisoners, based on your curious message informing me that I was to no longer continue with lawful interrogation of a prisoner. When I return to find out that you have suddenly then chosen to bestow a high award on me after undertaking these other actions, then I believe I am quite capable of understanding matters completely." The Commander then leaned forward and brought his hands together. "So instead of wasting our time discussing matters of awards and praise, it might be better if I, as President of the Council, be enlightened as to why an action was taken to interfere with my duly legal authority as military commander in the interrogation of Commandant Neistadt." The silence lasted for several microns with heads darting about nervously to see who would speak first. Siress Sybilla, a handsome blonde woman of some forty yahrens, seated midway at the table, decided to take the intiative. "Adama," her tone was gentle, "our vote was based on our legitimate concern that at a time when we must exercise the greatest of caution concerning just what lies at the heart of this Terran civilization, you have acted in an impulsive manner toward the treatment of these Alliance representatives. One that could damage our ability to make contact with what could be the Thirteenth Tribe itself." "Siress Sybilla," Adama's voice grew cold. "You have seen the report. This Alliance was responsible for a massacre of epic proportions on the planet Centauria. In the brief time that I was able to talk with Commandant Neistadt, he not only admitted the Alliance's responsibility for this genocide, he was proud of the fact. Perhaps you can explain to me just why it is somehow 'impulsive' to treat a potential threat to our own military security by procedures that were strictly by the book?" "Threat, Adama?" Sire Sagramonte scoffed. "I think you exaggerate! These representatives come from a craft small enough to fit in our landing bay. Where is the threat to our well-being from one of their ships?" "The matter of their total strength is what we don't know, Sire Sagramonte, and when we have the known variable of their act of genocide, I would like to think that speaks for itself," Adama shot back. "An act of genocide, by your definition, Adama," Marvello cut in. "How are we in any position to judge the nature of whatever war is taking place amongst the different factions of this Terran civilization? Perhaps the destruction of this city on the planet Centauria was rooted in some defensive action because of the threat posed to this Alliance faction. Perhaps it is this other faction, the so-called 'Nationalists' who represent the more hostile force?" "What evidence do you cite to form that conclusion?" Adama was finding it frustrating that he was clearly a lonely voice at these proceedings. "The evidence of my own eyes, Adama," Marvello shot back. "Was it not representatives of the Nationalists, the people in that spaceship you released, who actually opened fire on a Council security guard without provocation? And yet instead of treating them as a potential threat, you had them released without authorization!' "Clearly, Adama," you have allowed the report of your son to unduly bias you," Sybilla added. "Obviously some kind of friendly bonding took place between your son and those Robinson people that rendered Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Starbuck from fairly assessing the situation. Perhaps what was really needed was the good-sense caution to greet the Alliance representatives in the same spirit rather than with drawn turbo-lasers." "Excuse me, Siress, but they were the ones who greeted us with drawn weapons!" Apollo was on his feet now, angry. "Or maybe you'd like me to bring John Robinson himself to testify before you people about the cruelty of his nation's enemies!" "Captain, you are not here to address this Council, and I doubt very seriously we would be interested in anything this---John Robinson---would have to say," warned Marvello. "In fact, I have no idea why you and your military cohort are here at all." "They are here at my orders to report in person on the Alliance," said Adama, "since the Council seems to have ignored their written report." "We haven't ignored it, Adama," said Sybilla. "We simply don't agree with it. It's a military evaluation, not a civilian one." Clearing his throat, Marvello said, "I might also add, Commander, that I've met with Commandant Neistadt and found him willing to negotiate a peace envoy to Lunar Seven." "I'm sure he was more than willing," said Adama. "We called this session to honor you," reminded Marvello, settling uneasily back into his chair. "Not to argue with you." "I don't treat you as a fool," Adama told him, "so don't treat me as one, Marvello. You're here to retire me." "That's far from the point." "Just tell me what other motions were passed in my absence." "Very well, Commander," said Sybilla. "You're being blunt, so I shall be blunt as well. We have voted to end the emergency declared when the Cylons destroyed our colonies. From this centon forward, we are reverting to Council control of the Fleet. Naturally, you'll retain your vote on the Council, and command of the Galactica." "I was wrong," muttered Starbuck in his corner. "They're bigger snitrads than ever." "I had a feeling something like this was on the horizon," said Apollo. At the Council table, Siress Sybilla said, "From now on, Commander, a civilian member of the Council will assist you in order to assure us that our edicts are implemented properly." Adama rose and glared at her, and then the rest of the members once by one. "I respect the fact that the manner in which you have acted is consistent with the principles of Colonial jurisprudence," he said, "but for me to continue as President of the Council of Twelve under these conditions would be the equivalent of a farce. Accordingly, I hereby tender my resignation as President of the Council and declare the office open." "We reject your resignation from the post, Adama," Sybilla retorted. "Which is our prerogative to do as well, as you know. Are we all not in agreement on this?" she looked about the table. A unified chorus of "hear-hears" and "yes's" went up. "Adama," the siress when on, "there is bad feeling amongst us, but we wish for the recriminations to end. Accept this new arrangement as a new beginning for us. One in which we can view the restoration of civilian authority as part of a bright step forward in the history of our journey that you helped inspire us to take. That is why we wish you to remain as President." Adama asked, "And who is to be my...civilian aide?" She inclined her head toward him, smiling. "I have that honor," she replied. The commander at this point felt a sense of being totally drained. "Very well." For the first time since the beginning of the session, his voice was calm and relaxed. "We seem to have discussed all matters as thoroughly as could be done. I see little reason to carry discussion further when...much work is to be done." He absently picked up his almost-forgotten gavel and rapped it as hard as he could against the table. "The Council of Twelve stands adjourned. ***** Lieutenant Starbuck had an extra bounce in his walk, buoyed by the anger that boiled like tylium within him. "You should've told them where they could stuff their 'Star of Kobol', Commander." Adama slowed and stopped in the corridor that led away from the Council chamber. "I understand how you feel, Lieutenant," he said quietly, "but I will not have that kind of talk in my command." "But he's right!" put in Apollo, anger showing in his voice. "Hobbling you with a civilian aide, that's madness! Pretty soon, they'll go even further and take the Galactica away from you." "You two are the finest warriors we have," said Commander Adama. "But you're forgetting your oath. We obey the Council no matter what." Lieutenant Starbuck chomped on the end of his dead fumarello for a few microns. "Sorry, sir," he said finally. "But what are we to do now?" Adama started talking again. "What warriors are expected to do," he answered. "Their jobs." ***** CHAPTER THIRTY: THEY DIE IN ORDER TO SURVIVE When Baltar finished the final cleanup of the mess hall, he made his way back toward the detention block, where a guard would escort him back to his cell. But before he reached the doorway that would take him there, he saw that one prisoner still remained. Charybdis. His arms folded and his expression glowering as he blocked the traitor's path. "You'd best let me pass, Charybdis," Baltar said gently. "The guards don't like it when we linger too long." "I'm only lingering long enough to tell you this, Baltar," his one-time pilot said coldly. "Consider yourself on notice. Somehow, someday, I'll kill you. You can count on that. I'm already in here for life for terminating Quanto, so it doesn't matter to me if I can finally settle my debt with you." Baltar was unfazed. "You would have killed me aboard that shuttle, Charybdis, and you know it." "You'll never know that, will you, Baltar?" he smirked. "But at the very least, you'll know that you'll die at my hand one day. And seeking the Fremen as would-be bodyguards for you won't help." "Charybdis," Baltar said gently, "there are things more advantageous to you than seeking some misguided revenge on me that would ultimately benefit you nothing." "I doubt that, Baltar," he kept his tone coldly. "As to when I carry this out, that will be my secret. But don't worry, I can be patient, seeing as I have all the time in the universe that I need." He then turned and disappeared in the doorway leading back to the detention block where the guards were waiting to motion him back into his cell. As Baltar tentatively followed and noticed the Fremen standing in the corridor, waiting to be placed back in their own cells, he nodded at them. A brief nod from Stilgar indicated that they were ready to go. Many variables were playing a part in the ability of this plan to succeed. He had to hope that not one of them would be disrupted, or else the plan would be doomed to fail before it even began. And right now, the fact that both he and the three Fremen were still outside their cells meant the time to move was right now. Abruptly, Musa gasped, clutched at his chest and stumbled. He made a growling, moaning noise, arms and legs jerking. Then he fell to the floor in a motionless heap. The guard whose duty it was to escort the prisoners back to their cells tugged out his turbo-laser. "Back off, the rest of you," he ordered the prisoners. "What the frak's the matter with him?" "Must be the chow," muttered someone down the line. "They say it'll kill anybody." Baltar was shaking his head from side, staring down at the fallen prisoner. "This man is seriously ill, sir," he told the approaching guard. "I'm afraid he may even be...dead." "Somebody make you a med-tech when I wasn't looking, Baltar?" Stand aside." "Suppose some plague is loose on this barge," said Baltar. "We may all die and I for one am too young for that." "Shut up and back off!" The guard jabbed the air between him and Baltar with his firearm. Then he dropped to one knee beside the sprawled prisoner. "Hades hole! I can't even find a pulse on this guy!" "C'mon," said another of the guards, edging nearer. "He's either faking it or he wants attention." "Sorry, but he's not breathing and there's not a flicker of a pulse." "You fool! It's a plague," cried Baltar. "We'll all catch it!" "Plague," muttered someone down at the end of the row of prisoners. The third guard said, "The rest of you get into Baltar's cell, here. We better get in touch cith the Med-Techs and...?" Before he could finish his sentence, the leader, Stilgar, had also collapsed to the floor, lying motionless like the other two." "Another one!" cried Baltar. "What the frak is goin' on?" A bearded guard reached out and felt Stilgar's wrist. "I don't believe it! He's dead too!" "Okay, okay," said the third guard. "Don't panic, Nexxus. We'll shunt these prisoners in a single cell." "I'm not going into a cell with all of them!"insisted Baltar. "There's a highly contagious disease loose on this damn ship--they might contaminate me!" "Shut up!" suggested the guard named Nexxus, getting to his feet and pointing his pistol at Baltar. Before the other two guards could being moving the prisoners clear of the fallen man, Tunk dropped to the floor. Nexxus holstered his gun, spun his heel and ran for the wall communicator. "I'll get the Meds down here. We're going to need breathing gear, cardio-stiumulators, the whole damn works!" The other two guards moved close to the three bodies. "What could've hit so many of them at once?" said one of them. The other was crouching frowning over what seemed like Stilgar's corpse. All of a sudden, all three Fremen sprang to their feet and began their physical assault on the surprised guards. Stilgar slammed one against the wall, knocking him unconscious, while Tunk did likewise with Nexxus. At the other end, Musa shoved Charybdis aside and managed to grabbed another by the arm, forcing him to drop his turbo-laser to the floor. A sharp blow to the back left the last of the guards in the detention block unconscious along with the rest of his colleagues. "By all that's holy!" Baltar whispered in awed amazement. He had read much of Arakeen Fremen and their unique talents, but this exceeded anything he was aware of. Stilgar grabbed a security card from an unconscious guard and inserted it in the lock of Baltar's cell door. "Our captivity has slowed our reflexes. They'll improve now that we're free." As Baltar stepped out in the corridor he glanced over at a stunned Charybdis, who was still standing outside his cell door. "Baltar, what are you doing?" his one-time subordinate asked in bewilderment. "What's it to you, Charybdis?" the traitor scoffed. "After all, you were thinking of having me killed one day. Would you care to take a chance on that right now?" "I---" he started and then shook his . "Baltar, if yo'll let me join you..." "Very well. Perhaps you can still be as useful to me now, as you were once before." He glanced at Stilgar. "The more we have on our side, the better." "Right," Stilgar chose not to dissent. "Now the business of freeing those Alliance prisoners and letting them know they can successfully escape." The five of them made their way to the end of the complex, where the holding cells of Neistadt and his peacekeepers awaited them. ***** On the Galactica bridge, Athena could feel a distinct chill in the air caused by an unwelcome presence. The presence of Siress Sybilla standing on the command level with her father and Colonel Tigh, ready to act as a de-facto co-commander for all intents and purposes. The more Athena noticed her, the more she wondered how long it would be before she found herself exploding with anger over seeing her father humiliated in this fashion. Even in an orderly civilian government system, councilors and buriticians were always supposed to know their proper places, and the command deck of a Battlestar wasn't one of them. But as Adama had gently told her just centons ago when he had taken her aside to tell her of this new arrangement, as a warrior she had to do her job and nothing else, no matter how much she was personally bothered by the turn of events. That was to be expected of her, and the last thing Athena intended to do was let her father down. And so, Athena had done just that. Getting back to work and monitoring new incoming traffic for her to relay. "Commander," she reported. "The Council requests a shuttle to transfer the prisoners from the barge to the Galactica." "Granted," Adama said and then turned to Tigh. "Colonel, select two warriors to act as shuttle pilots, and two members of Colonial Security to act as escorts." "Yes, sir." Tigh turned and prepared to leave. "Just a micron, Colonel." Sybilla motioned him to stop. "Adama, I fail to see the need for a military escort." "No need?" Tigh found it hard not to screw his face in disbelief. "With all due respect,---" "Tigh," Adama cut him off and stepped in, determined to take charge on this point. "Siress Sybilla, this is still a military matter. I cannot allow prisoners aboard a military ship without proper precaution." "Granted," Sybilla said. "But Council Security will be quite sufficient, thank you." "Siress Sybilla, may I remind you of the statute, that Colonial Security exists for the function of handling all matters of security aboard a military vessel. Council Security's jurisdiction is confined to civilian ships only. That is how things operate even in time of peace." "I am aware of the statute, Commander," Sybilla held her ground, "and were they being transported for meeting with you or anyone else in military authority, you would be in your rights to have Colonial Security handle the matter. But since these Alliance representatives are being brought over at the Council's behest for interviewing with the Council members, then this is a civilian, not military matter." Adama had to admit that he was beaten on that point. "Very well," he said, trying to maintain a dignified bearing. "Two Council Security officers, then. But the shuttle will be flown by trained warrior pilots. Colonel, inform Lieutenants Boomer and Sheba that they will handle the responsibility." "Yes, sir," Tigh's voice had an acerbic edge as he moved down to the lower level. As he descended the steps and passed Athena's station, he said under his breath but loud enough for the commander's daughter to hear. "Council Security couldn't prevent an escape from the Orphan Ship." "Amen," Athena whispered in agreement as she kept looking ahead at her console. Oblivious to the exchange, Sybilla made her way over to the commander. "Thank you, Adama." Her voice was conciliatory. "I really don't intend to be a burden. I would like for the situation to be as pleasant as possible." Adama's only response was asilent, curt nod, before he turned away from her. And for Sybilla it was a silence that spoke heavy volumes. Adama, try to understand that there was no other way, Sybilla found herself saying inside. We should have been working together, you and all of us on the Council from the start. Just give it a chance. Even so, Sybilla had to admit one thing that she didn't dare express aloud at this point. If what Adama had said regarding the nature of the Alliance prisoners did ultimately turn out to be true, there would be proverbial Hades to pay. ***** CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: THE COMING STORM "Step out, Commandant Neistadt, you and your men are making good your escape." Neistadt stared dubiously at Baltar. "And you are...?"?" "A friend," the traitor said disarmingly. "One whose help you need." "I'm not so sure," Neistadt said. "I welcome any opportunity to see myself and my men freed, but I'm not convinced that I need to resort to this rash a measure, in light of the obvious difficulty Adama is having when it comes to convincing his government that I should be treated this way." "I wouldn't count on the mercies of our Council of Twelve to bail you out, Commandant." Baltar's tone remained friendly but now grew blunt. I know Adama, and he is quite used to seeing to it that his will is done ultimately. You can be assured that if Adama is against you, he will see to it that his will shall be worked toward you. So that means it will save you and your men considerable time to join my comrades and me, right now." The traitor then inserted the security card in Neistadt's cell door, and it slid open. "In that case, how can I refuse?" the Peacekeeper smirked as he stepped out. He could see Charybdis doing the same at the other cell-doors where Neistadt's four-man crew were housed. "I'm glad you see it that way, Commandant," Baltar smiled and placed a friendly arm about his shoulder. "Now, if you and your men will follow us to the storage depot on this level, you'll find your confiscated possessions waiting for you." They moved into the next room, which was unguarded since all of the guards for this level had been rendered unconscious. Neistadt and his four-man crew immediately found their helmets and weapons, while the three Fremen located their stillsuits, robes and aural grenades and immediately donned them. "I'm amazed they don't see fit to have these things destroyed once a prisoner is incarcerated," Neistadt said with amazement as he put his hat on. "Is this society that inefficient?" "It's filled with its many weaknesses," Baltar said. "I can be your guide to revealing what the other weaknesses are, which you should find most enlightening." "Since you've gone to the trouble of having us free, perhaps you can explain where we go from here." "Quite simple," Baltar smiled. "We destroy the communications center of this ship, located one level above, and then we commandeer the next shuttle that arrives here. Hopefully, if luck is with us, it'll be the one that the Council will have sent over to receive you." "And then?" Neistadt pressed. "And then a little trip to the Galactica." "The Galactica?" The Peacekeeper frowned. "Surely, you would provide us with transport back to our homeland. To our nearest base, Lunar Seven." "In due time, I will be happy to lead you back to your homeland, Commandant, but not until I have settled some old debts...and in the process, strengthened our bargaining position." "I'm not interested in these old debts of yours...whoever you are." "I am called Baltar," he said coldly. "I suggest you remember that from now on, Commandant. And I would point out that a shuttle cannot elude the pursuit of any fighter craft sent out by Adama, not to mention the fact that a shuttle is quite unarmed. The only way you stand a chance of getting back to your homeland is to either incapacitate the Galactica, or at the very least take as many hostages as we can. With only two hostages guaranteed on this arriving shuttle, that may be too small for use to have necessary leverage. And leverage is something you will need plenty of, Commandant, if you truly believe you stand a fighting chance of overcoming the threat the Galactica poses to your entire civilization." Neistadt found himself nodding. "Klienemann," he called to second-in-command, "do exactly as this man says...for now." There was only a satisfied grin from Baltar as he motioned them towards the turbolift that would take them to the Grid Barge's communications center. ***** As the leader and deputy leader respectively of Red Squadron, Boomer and Sheba found themselves in the Flight Operations center charting out the roster of when the junior pilots in their squadron would be taking their next sets of deep patrol assignments. A telecom to the Operations Center from Colonel Tigh, though, had brought that planning session to an end, and forced them to head over to Alpha Bay, where a shuttle awaited them. "I guess it's a good indicator of how things have quieted down that they can have us do this kind of a mundane assignment, now," Boomer said as they stepped off the turbo lift. "No way!" Sheba shook her head. "If we get picked for handling a shuttle flight to the Grid Barge and back that means it's anything but mundane." They stepped into the shuttle, and both stopped when they saw two black-suited Colonial Security officials standing there with smug expressions on their faces. Boomer recognized the younger of the two as Alom, a washout from Warrior training several sectars ago, and someone who'd always had a bit of an attitude problem even before he'd become a blackshirt. The older one was Bretar, a career lifer in the Council Security unit, whom Boomer was convinced was largely responsible for the bad habits so many younger members of the division seemed to adopt. If one of their senior members was no good, how could any of the younger members hope to be an improvement? "Afternoon, gentlemen." Boomer kept his tone nonchalant as he and Sheba seated themselves in the pilot seats. "I guess you're here to handle transport of a couple of petty thieves?" "The joke's on you, Boomer," Bretar said smugly. "We're going to be escorting those Alliance representatives back here for their meeting with the Council." "Aha!" Boomer said as he and Sheba placed their headsets on. "I guess they found they had to be real docile or else they wouldn't have sent you guys in." Alom stepped forward and grabbed the back of Boomer's chair. "Get this straight, Boomer..." "Later boys, got to let me clear us for takeoff," Boomer said nonchalantly as he keyed in the Bridge. "Core Command, this is Alpha Shuttle, requesting clearance for immediate takeoff for Grid Barge." "Alpha Shuttle cleared to launch," Athena's voice replied. "Thank you." Boomer hit the switch that ignited the engines. "Better sit down, fellas. I wouldn't want to make you guys stumble and bruise those shiny uniforms of yours." "Watch your mouth, Boomer," Bretar warned. "We're the ones calling the shots on this one, and don't you forget it! As soon as the shuttle was away and headed for the Grid Barge, both Boomer and Sheba became aware that the two Council Security officers had left their seats and were again hovering behind them. Frak, why can't those goons just do their job and stop with the high and mighty? Boomer thought. I could learn to live with those guys if they'd just get it through their heads that our jobs are different. They think they're somehow our superiors because they've got the right to carry weapons, but they're not military. What a bunch of arrogant snitrads. "Okay, Boomer," Alom said as he leaned against the back of Sheba's co-pilot chair, looking over her shoulder and making her feel very ill-at-ease. "Let's take this from the top again, since you weren't anxious to hear the rundown before. When we land, you two are to stay in the cockpit. Council orders!" "Yeah, yeah," Boomer said with clear disdain. "I imagine you boys are going to regale us with a lot of 'Council orders' on this trip, right?" "That's the way of things from now on, Boomer," Bretar said with a deliberate mocking tone. "With Council authority restored to the Fleet, you're going to have to learn to deal with it when it comes to respecting our prerogatives--and theirs." "I'm sure." Boomer didn't let up. "Next thing you know, you guys'll be telling me I need to fill out a permit form with the Council to use any turboflush on a civilian ship." Sheba found herself smiling, and decided that Boomer didn't need any help from you in parrying their barbs. Not yet, at least. "Look at it this way, Boomer," Alom said. "In light of what Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Starbuck did, the Council merely thinks it prudent that non new confrontation break out with those Alliance representatives." "In light of what they did?" Sheba suddenly decided that she wasn't going to take listening to that. "Why don't you get it through your heads that they reacted the way any normal warrior would when confronted with a bunch of thugs trying to murder innocent people?" "Warriors have been known to jump to impulsive conclusions sometimes," Alom scoffed. "That always seems to be encouraged of them right from the centon they enlist." "All right, that does it!" Boomer snapped. The last thing he needed to hear was a washout like Alom giving an arrogant take on what warriors went through when they enlisted. It was time to give Alom and Bretar both some reminders of what their kind would never be cut out for. Abruptly, he shut off the controls to the shuttle, and the craft suddenly pitched violently downward, throwing both of the Security officials back toward the rear of the shuttle. "All right, you guys," Boomer said nonchalantly as the shuttle continued to pitch downward on an out-of-control trajectory. "If you think you're so high and mighty, then you can just start learning to fly this baby yourself. That is, if your wonderful Council Security training taught you how to do it!" "Boomer, come on!" Alom protested angrily. "Sheba, take the controls..." "Sorry," Sheba said sweetly, "but Boomer is my superior in the Red Squadron chain of command, and I always follow orders." "Oh, for Sagan's sake----" Bretar struggled back to a standing position. "Okay, Boomer, you've made your fraking point. Stop kidding around." Boomer kept his arms folded though, not moving toward the controls. "Frak! What are you waiting for? An engraved apology? All right, we acted out of line and we're sorry. Now, dammit, get this bucket of bolts under control!" Alom shot his senior officer a pained glance, indicating that he didn't want to see that kind of capitulation, but Bretar was vigorously shaking his head. "Shall we?" Boomer glanced at Sheba. "Why not?" she grinned. The dark-skinned lieutenant took the control that immediately brought the shuttle back to a level heading. "Okay, fellas," he said. "I suggest you strap yourselves in, because you never know if the landing might get a little...rought." "You wouldn't dare," Sheba whispered mischievously. "Maybe," he matched it. "We'll see if they stay well-behaved." Boomer glanced back over his shoulder and saw that Alom and Bretar had both strapped themselves in. Their expressions indicating tht they weren't about to say anything else at this point. Well, that proves one thing, Boomer thought. The names of Bretar and Alom sure didn't belong in any list of people this Fleet can take some pride in. "Okay, Sheba, radio the Grid Barge and tell them we're on approach." "Grid Barge approach control, this is Galactica shuttle requestiong landing instructions." There was just a brief hesitation before a response came. "Galactica shuttle, this is Superintendent Jole. You are cleared to land. No other traffic in landing bay at this time to tie you up." "Thank you. Will stand by for receipt of prisoners for transfer." As Sheba adjusted her headset she could see out of the corner of her eye that Boomer had an odd look on his face. "What's wrong?" she asked. "That was the Prison Barge Superintendent who talked to you." "So what?" "He doesn't handle routine stuff like this. They've got one of their own guards to handle that." Sheba shrugged. "Maybe it's just the seriousness of the situation that's got him taking personal charge of this." "Maybe." Boomer didn't sound convinced. Even so, he knew he didn't have anything other than an odd feeling to go on. Definitely not enough to make him act. Especially with two pests from Council Security behind him who might use any disruption in plans as an excuse to start getting cocky about their authority again. ***** Aboard the Grid Barge, Superintendent Jole, who had been inside the Communications Center attending to a routine inspection when he had seen the escaped prisoners barge in with weapons drawn, calmly placed the unicom device down. "Is that the last message you need to send them?" Neistadt demanded. "Until they land," he said quietly, glancing over at the sight of an unconscious technician who'd been overpowered as soon as the prisoners entered. "Thank you," Neistadt then motioned to Klienemann, who promptly unleashed the firepower of his laser gun into the communications terminal, rendering it a pile of smoking junk in an instant. "Excellent," Baltar chuckled. "And now, to give them a welcoming reception." ***** To Boomer's satisfaction, neither Alom nor Bretar said another word throughout the rest of the journey, which meant he would honor their silence with a normal, smooth landing in the Grid Barge. As soon as the vehicle came to a stop, Sheba flicked several switches to her left. "Adjusting engines to standby mode for quick turnaround. Maneuvering back into position for relaunch." "Locked in positon for relaunch." Boomer then looked back over his shoulder at the Security officer. "Okay guys, go pick up our guests and lead them aboard." There were only indifferent expressions on Alom and Bretar, indicating that neither had any desire to do anything more to the two warriors. They unhitched their harnesses and stepped out the hatch while Sheba had opened from her console. "Look at them," Sheba chuckled as soon as they'd stepped out. "Pale as an Orion moon." "Serves them right," Boomer said dryly. "I swear if just one man from Colonial Security took over their division, it would finally knock some sense into them. The only reason why there's bad blood between warriors and them is because of their attitude problems, plus the fact that they always seem to scrape the bottom when it comes to recruits. Like Alom, for instance." "You know that guy?" "Yep. Washed out of warrior training a few sectars ago, just before you joined us. He came in with this big, 'I'm going to show you guys how talented I am' attitude, and then when he couldn't pass muster after Level One of training, he kept thinking it was because we were biased against him. And since I was the one who had to officially flunk him out, that's why whenever we end up in the same room, he just keeps trying to pick a fight." "Just don't let your problem with him boil up like Starbuck's did with Quanto." Sheba let out another chuckle. "I wouldn't want to see you accused of his termination." "Well, at least I could always run to Apollo for help in acting as my Protector." A centon later, they heard the footsteps of many people entering the shuttle compartment. Sheba turned around and saw the two officers at the head with the Alliance prisoners behind them. Their expressions were totally ashen. "Boomer, they look paler than when they got off." She turned to him. Before the dark-skinned warrior could respond, the Alliance prisoners suddenly dashed up to the front of the cockpit and trained their previously unseen weapons on them. "What the..." Boomer started in disbelief. Klienemann immediately stripped him of his laser pistol, while Niestadt did likewise with Sheba. Stunned, the two warriors then saw Baltar walk from the rear of the shuttle towards them with a taunting smile. Behind him, Boomer immediately recognized Charybdis and the three Arakeen Fremen who had attempted to kill Starbuck. "Good to see you again, Lieutenant...Boomer is it not?" Baltar was clearly enjoying himself. He then glanced over at Sheba. "And you must be Commander Cain's daughter, of whom I've hear much about. Unfortunate that you should find yourself in a position that your esteemed father would never have allowed himself to be in." "Baltar," Boomer whispered in disbelief, unable to say anything else. "Ironic, isn't it, Lieutenant?" Baltar went on. "The last time I met you, you and Apollo had come to me for help, concerning whether I could identify Charybdis. Well, better late than never." He motioned behind him to his one-time subordinate, who still seemed a bit ill-at-ease, as if he was worried he'd gotten himself into a situation that he had no control over whatsoever. "You can see that with the nine of us aboard this craft, it's quite foolish to think of resisting." "What do you want us to do?" Boomer knew that he couldn't dare get cute in a situation like this. He had to play it calm every step of the way. "For starters, take us back to the Galactica. And when you radio ahead to Core Command, keep all of your communications quite normal, or else it'll be with regret that I prevent Commander Cain's daughter from having any further opportunity to equal her father's exploits." Boomer slowly nodded and cast a reassuring glance at Sheba, who while tense from having a pistol pointed at the back of her head was still maintaining her composure. He closed the door to the hatch and then fired up the engines so the shuttle could launch. ***** Aboard the Galactica, Adama found himself checking his wrist chronometer as he waited for an update on the status of the shuttle bringing back the Alliance prisoners. He should have heard one several centons ago passed along as a matter of formality. "Athena," he came back over to his daughter's console, "Hasn't the Grid Barge shuttle reported back their status?" "Not since they landed, Father," Athena said, momentarily forgetting the protocol rule, but her father let it pass. "Well, get in touch with Superintendent Jole on the Grid Barge and find out if they've left or if they've been held up." "Will do that," Athena said and then put a hand to her ear. "Just a centon, Commander. Boomer reports they're away and will be on track to land in Alpha Bay in about----eight centons." "Good, good." Adama moved over to the other side of the command deck where Sybilla had remained. "Sire Marvello informs me that a delegation of seven will be receiving them. If you wish to join him." "Thank you, no, Adama," the sires said. "I believe protocol dictates that my place should be here." "All all times of the cycle?" Tigh muttered under his breath from his position opposite her. This time, though, Sybilla heard him. "Colonel Tigh, if you have anything to say regarding my duties, you will say them directly to me, or else I shall consider it grounds for disciplinary action." The executive officer glared at her with pure disdain. "I was asking if your 'duties' as they are require your constant presence, and if that means we should expect another emissary from the Council on the bridge when the Siress will obviously be in need of a sleep cycle." "It is a proper question, I think, Siress Sybilla," Adama gently cut in, not about to let Sybilla reproach Tigh over his obvious sarcasm. "Perhaps you can remind the colonel, that you are only required here when I'm on watch, is that not so?" "Yes," Sybilla replied frostily. "That is so. Does that answer your question, Colonel?" "Perfectly," he said dryly and went back to the other side of the deck. "Commander," Athena looked up with a puzzled look. "I was trying to raise Superintendent Jole on the Grid Barge to cancel that request, but...I can't raise the Grid Barge at al. Their communications appear to be out." "What?" Adama frowned and came back over. He then called down to Omega, one level below them. "Omega, try raising the Grid Barge on auxiliary bands." "Yes, Commander," the bridge officer said as he flicked several switches and then shook his head. "Commander, I can't even key them in at all." "Same here," Athena said. "That can only mean all of their communications are down." "Try the telecom links." "I already did that," his daughter said. "Commander, this means their central "That's not supposed to happen unless there's been a catastrophic level failure aboard the ship!" Adama felt an alarm bell go off inside him. "Keep trying them, and see if it clears up. Colonel?" "Sir?" "What's the security status in Alpha Bay for the shuttle's arrival?" "Just a unit from Council Security, sir." "I want a half dozen members of Colonial Security down there on the double. Tell Lieutenant Thot that I want only the best men in his division standing by." "Commander," Sybilla interrupted coldly. "The Council does not want warriors around when we greet the Alliance representatives. You know this." "Siress Sybilla," Adama was rapidly losing his ability to stay patient with her. "Doesn't it strike you as odd that all of the communications with the Grid Barge are now out? That is a scenario that isn't supposed to happen given how the communications system works. If we can't talk to their bridge, we should still have been able to talk to them via the individual telecom units. When the entire central system goes out at the same time that shuttle with those prisoners takes off, that doesn't strike me as a mere coincidence." "Perhaps," the Siress was showing signs of losing patience herself. "But did not Lieutenant Athena report that the shuttle has radioed to request landing clearance in less than eight centons from now?" She looked down at the commander's daughter. "That is so, isn't it, Lieutenant?" "Yes, but..." she got no further before Sybilla cut her off. "And you recognized the pilot's voice, did you not?" "Yes. It's Lieutenant Boomer." Sybilla glared back at Adama. "Then that should settle your paranoid mind, Commander. There will be no warriors in the landing bay, either from Colonial Security or from among your pilots. Council policy." Tigh was on the verge of exploding. He managed to keep his inner rage under control and instead, slowly made his way over to Adama. "Commander," he struggled to keep his voice calm, "my duty cycle grants me a thirty centon break at any time over the next three centars. With your permission, I would like to do so, and get some air." "Granted," Adama nodded. But Tigh had only gone half a step before an angry Sybilla called after him. "Colonel Tigh, if your place for 'air' happens to include Alpha Bay, I will view that as an act of insubordination! Consider this your first and only warning." There were a thousand epithets Tigh wished he could shout at her right now. And just where do you, a lowly buritician from Virgon, who never did more than act as administrator over a minor continent, get off tell me, someone who's busted my astrum for twenty-five yahrens for the Colonial nation, anything? Instead, he managed to keep those thoughts to himself. "Then, shall I ask for your permission to retire to the Officer's Club, or am I on a quota from the Council as to what I can imbibe during my break period?" "You may retire wherever you wish," she answered. "Anywhere but the landing bay. That is all!" Tigh angrily turned and stormed off the bridge. Adama felt pained inside to see his best friend subjected to this kind of humiliation. He knew he had to let Sybilla know in no uncertain terms how he felt about that. "Siress Sybilla," his voice was trained at that perfect level of diplomacy that also injected just the right hint of displeasure and coldness, "if you are to continue as the Council's emissary, it will be with this understanding between us. And that understanding is that Colonel Tigh is an exceptional warrior, who has distinguished himself for more than twenty-five yahrens in service to his nation." He moved away and then purposefully showed his back to her. "Adama," Sybilla's voice softened a little bit. "You are all good warriors. But what we need now are good diplomats." "Like we needed at Carillon's Lot?" he kept his back to her. "Now you really do me and the rest of your brothers on the Council a disservice," Sybilla said. "This has nothing to do with being bound to a delusional plan from someone like Sire Zalto about laying down our weapons before the Cylons. It has to do with sensibly approaching representatives who may be our first real contact with the leadership of the Thirteenth Tribe. That is why diplomacy must be exercised to the fullest extent." Adama finally turned around. "Answer me this, Siress Sybilla. If after meeting these so-called Alliance representatives, you discover that their personalities match Captain Apollo's and Lieutenant Starbuck's descriptions...just what does the Council have in mind for dealing with them then?" "We will consider that only when it is clear that we must, Commander," Sybilla said, and then she moved off. Interesting, Adama thought. I think even she realizes that they don't have an answer to that question because they're so determined to believe they won't have to deal with it. "Shuttle reports four centons from landing," Athena announced. With that report, Adama found himself hoping that it wouldn't take long after the shuttle's landing for the Council to realize that dealing with that question would be precisely the thing they would have to do, if they hoped to continue governing with full authority. ***** CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: TERRORISM! "This is Core Command, you are cleared to land in Alpha Bay." "Thank you, Core Command. We are on final approach." Boomer had kept his tone normal, exactly as Baltar had ordered. He knew that he couldn't take any risk with a hidden signal to Athena that Baltar might easily pick up on. As Klienemann and Neistadt kept their weapons trained on the two pilots, Baltar found himself sitting behind Sheba, smiling malevolently at her. "In case you're wondering how I recognized you so easily, it's because you are the very image of your late mother," Baltar said with gentle charm. "It was a privilege to see her magnificent performances many times on the Caprican stage. Sheba said nothing as she bit her lip and tightened her grip on the controls. She wasn't going to allow Baltar even the slightest trace of a thank you for anything he said. As the Galactica landing bay came into view, Baltar glanced over at Boomer. "By the way, Lieutenant, do make it a nice smooth landing. I'd hate to see us go through a sudden bump that might result in an---accidental weapons discharge from one of these Alliance men not used to such a maneuver." So much for that, Boomer thought, knowing he couldn't make a sudden maneuver to throw them off their feet like he'd done with the two Security Officers to rattle them. If anything was to be done about these madmen, it could only be done by those aboard the Galactica. Starbuck, Apollo, he said to himself. Both of you have told me in the past you're in debt to me. Starbuck, because I helped get you cleared of the termination charge, and Apollo, because I saved the lives of Boxey, Athena, and the Destructon inmates during that suicide attack. Well, right now, I'd appreciate it very much if you'd make things square all around. ***** Starbuck lit his fumarello, rested an elbow on the table and let his gaze drift around the Officers' Club area of the Galactica. "I'm working on a hunch," he said. "About that silvery blonde across the room?" asked Apollo, tapping his finger on the side of his ambrosa tankard. "Nope, this is a serious hunch," Starbuck said, exhaling smoke. "I get 'em now and then. Like the time I knew that lady space pirate's husband was coming back to their satellite base two days earlier than she said he would." "See? It does have to do with women." "The point is: if you'll cease heckling me and attend to what I'm saying, old chum, that I often get hunches of trouble coming." "So whose husband is on your tail now?" Removing the fumarello from between his teeth, Lieutenant Starbuck used it to point to the captain. "You've been hanging around with too many frivolous folks," he said. "Consequently, you're incapable of serious chitchat. Apollo folded his hands on the tabletop. "I'm in a deadly serious mood, good buddy. Keep going." "I got a feeling trouble's a-brewing," said Starbuck, taking another look around. "It's got something to do with that Commandant Neistadt. I dunno, but----you just know he's going to cause trouble somehow. He's got the word 'trouble' written all over him. And they're bringing him and his damn Alliance thugs onboard our Battlestar!" "I know what you mean," Apollo said. "That man is bad with a capital 'B'." "But this feeling tells me..." Abruptly, Starbuck's attention was diverted from his revelation by the unexpected sight of Colonel Tigh entering the Club. The executive officer was seldom the type to hang out with the rank and file warriors, so at first Apollo and Starbuck wondered if a flash inspection was about to take place. Tigh came up to them and asked in a low, friendly ton, "Mind if I join you guys?" "Not at all, Colonel," said Starbuck, indicating the empty chair. "Park it." "Thank you." The colonel signaled the bartender. "Bring me a double of whatever these men are having," he called. Apollo unfolded his hands and eyed the colonel. "You're not a frequenter of this place," he said. "Fact is, we never see you hereabouts unless you've dashed in to drag us away for some mission or other." "I feel in need of a drink," said Tigh. Starbuck nodded. "I told you strange things were afoot," he said to Apollo. "What's the matter, Colonel? I've never seen you like this before." "Even the commander's aide is entitled to drink on occasion," said Tigh, pausing to take his drink from the barmaid. "Thanks. And the occasion happens to be that damned woman." "Siress Sybilla?" asked Apollo. "That's the one." "Do I detect a feeling of anger, Colonel?" said Apollo. "Don't be. Personally, I think she's very attractive. In fact, she and my father make a handsome couple." "I don't know why we're putting up with her," said Tigh. "They may look splendid, side by side, but she's still a royal pain in the astrum." "I'll drink to that!' Starbuck roared with laughter. "Although she's only doing what that dippy Council tells her to do. Part of the price we all have to pay in order to keep ourselves one step ahead of the Cylons. It goes with the territory." Tigh finished off his mug of ambrosa and slammed it down on the table. "Better start mixing me another one of these," he ordered. "Don't you think one of those is enough, Colonel?" said Apollo. "No, Captian, I don't think so." The barmaid arrived with Tigh's fresh mug of ambrosa. He picked up the empty mug and started to take it away. "Now, where was I?" "You were complaining about the Council." "Why shouldn't I? They've let that miserable she-lupus just about take even the barmaids over. Thanks." Tigh took a deep drink from his mug. "The Council itself is waiting on Landing Bay Alpha to give those captured Peacekeepers a cordial welcome aboard." "We heard," said Apollo quietly. After finishing off his new drink, Tigh said. "It gets worse: all communications with the Grid Barge are blacked out at this time. We lost contact right after our shuttle headed for him." "Uh-oh," said Apollo, sitting up. "Siress Sybilla doesn't think it's anything to be concerned over, so, probably, you shouldn't worry about it, either." Starbuck asked, "The commander ordered warriors to the bay, didn't he?" "He wanted to but Sybilla overruled him," answered Tigh. "And she practically told me I'd be brought before a military tribunal if I took any warriors down there on my own." Starbuck got to his feet. "Sounds like a pretty good time to take a walk, old chum." Apollo got to his feet. "It does at that." Tigh asked, "It's not something I said, is it?" Shaking his head, Starbuck said, "To be absolutely frank, Colonel, we feel a little uneasy with drinking with one of Galactica's executive officers. You can understand." Tigh smiled as the two men went striding out. "Perfectly," he said. ***** The shuttle had just entered the landing bay as Baltar turned to Neistadt, who still had his pistol trained on Sheba. "The instant the hatch opens, you and your men will eliminate all the guards and take as many hostages as you can." "Don't worry, Baltar," Neistadt was fast developing an admiration for the traitor, even if he had his eccentricities. "We are very good at such operations." "I'm sure you are," he smiled and then made his way to the middle of the shuttle where the three Fremen and a still uneasy Charybdis sat. "Gentlemen," he said to them. "The four of you will accompany me to the turbolift. Fully armed, we will then storm the Bridge and take them by surprise." "What?" Charybdis blurted. "Baltar, we couldn't possibly do that. There's at least a few dozen crewmen there." "Nearly all of whom would be most unarmed since Bridge personnel do not carry weapons, Charybdis," Baltar chided. "And since the Fremen have their aural grenades back, which can be quite destructive when set off, that will more than compensate for our being outnumbered." "But Colonial Security..." "Can be overcome," he cut him off and then looked at the Fremen. "Are you in agreement?" "We can overcome those sandworms," Stilgar's monotonic voice exuded confidence. "But when we control the Bridge?" "Then we control the Galactica!" the traitor said. "It's as simple as that." "No, it's not that simple," Baltar," Charybdis protested. "Taking the bridge isn't necessary. We can achieve all our objectives by holding the landing bay and taking hostages." "I am giving the orders, Charybdis!" Baltar was suddenly in his face. "Things are finally back to what they once were. You are my subordinate, and if you want to survive, you'll continue to be so. Have I made myself clear?" He looked Baltar in the eye with cold, visible contempt. "Perfectly." "Good." There was a large level of satisfaction in Baltar's voice. By getting Charybdis to go with his plan and forcing him back into a subservient position, Baltar had already evened one score. He was determined it wouldn't be the last. They felt the momentum of the shuttle come to a stop. They had arrived, and it was time to move quickly. ***** Smoothing his robes, Sire Marvello moved in stately fashion across the landing bay. Several members of the Council were with him. "You guards had best stay to the rear," he instructed the two Council Security men who were with them. "We don't want to give them even the faintest cause for uneasiness." The guards pressed back against one metallic wall. Marvello positioned himself near the entry door the Alliance Peacekeepers would be coming through at any moment. "We all must remember," he said to his fellow Council members, "that these visitors have suffered grave indignities at the hands of our own warriors. It's only natural to expect them to be somewhat uneasy." The entry door whooshed open and Commandant Neistadt and seven of his men came swiftly through. "Welcome to..." Then Marvello noticed that they were all holding weapons. "Why do you bear arms?" "Quiet, fool!" Neistadt prodded the Councilman in his midsection with the barrel of his weapon. "Get against the wall with the others." Neistadt's men had already surrounded the rest of the Council and disarmed the two guards. "You're making a grave mistake," Marvello insisted. "We are your friends!" "For now, my 'friend,' I want you and the rest of these jabbering idiots to climb aboard that shuttle out there," ordered Neistadt, prodding him again. "You can't be serious!" "Get going!" Neistadt smashed him across the forehead with the barrel of his gun. ***** Baltar, Charybdis and the Fremen all managed to squeeze into the confines of the turbolift. He pressed the button for the level that would give them a clear path to the Bridge. "Have your weapons ready," Baltar said with cold confidence. "If you see so much as one Colonial Security Guard in the corridor, kill him." "Baltar, I still think this move is too dangerous," Charybdis insisted. "It's too late to protest, Charybdis, unless you wish a return visit to the Grid Barge." He smirked at him. "You don't want that, do you?" His one-time subordinate lowered his head, feeling totally intimidated at this point. The turbolift began to decelerate, meaning it would soon arrive. Baltar turned to Stilgar to make sure the lead Fremen had his hands on his aural grenades. Tunk and Musa had done likewise. The lift came to a halt and the door opened. "Looks deserted," Charybdis mumbled, still feeling sick inside. Baltar pointed the stub of his pistol into his former subordinate's back. "In that case, Charybdis, you should have no trouble leading the way and then seeing just how simple this will be." He turned around and summoned an angry look at him. "Don't push me, Baltar, or..." "Or what?" he smugly cut him off. "You'll try to warn them? I wouldn't try that, Charybdis. For better or worse, you're back on my team now. And don't forget that." "Move, you weak daggit!" Stilgar hissed, anxious to get moving. Charybdis uneasily swallowed and stepped out into the passageway. They would need to reach the end and turn hard left to reach the access corridor that led to the Bridge. As Charybdis led the way, he suddenly froze when he saw at the end, making a hard left turn in their direction, two warriors he immediately recognized. Starbuck and Apollo. One, a man he had once tried to frame for murder, the other a man he had once tried to kill inside a shuttle, by for the sudden intervention of Baltar. He hurriedly opened fire at the two warriors, but because he'd been so nervous and uneasy from Baltar's intimidation, and his own doubts in the plan, his shots were way off in their precision and missed both men by several feet. Apollo and Starbuck, jolted by what they had seen, reacted quickly by unleashing their own lasers and opening fire in return. "Get them!" Baltar shouted, recognizing both warriors as well, and feeling just a brief rush that perhaps he'd be able to settle two more scores right away. But suddenly, that feeling evaporated when he saw a shot from Starbuck suddenly strike Charybdis in the temple. His one-time subordinate dropped to the floor in a dead heap, which immediately put Baltar in the line of fire. The traitor hurriedly stepped back and found himself colliding with Tunk and Musa. Only Stilgar had gotten around Baltar, and he hurled his aural grenades at the two warriors, who, immediately recognizing the danger, stepped back behind the bulkhead wall to avoid being hit by them. The grenades exploded against the wall, blackening it, but neither warrior had been affected by it. As Stilgar took a step down to retrieve his weapon, both Apollo and Starbuck started opening fire at them again. And now, all of Baltar's confidence was gone, as he realized that the only way to keep the upper hand was to abandon this plan entirely. He quickly glimpsed down at Charybdis's motionless form and managed to retrieve the laser pistol from his hand. He barely had enough time to think, You were right as he then stepped back toward the turbolift. "Get back in!" he shouted at the Fremen. "We'll fall back on the landing bay and operate from there! Get inside!" The three Fremen crowded themselves back in alongside Baltar as Starbuck and Apollo tried to make their way toward them, their blue-in-blue eyes ablaze with fury. The angry determined looks on their faces was the last thing Baltar saw before the doors closed and the lift began its descent back to Landing Bay Alpha. "All right," he exhaled and tried to collect himself. "We still have the Council as hostage. That will suffice." He became aware of the silence from the three Fremen and uneasily looked at them. He almost wondered if they would unleash their wrath upon him at that very instant. Finally, Stilgar broke the silence. "Let's hope you fare better than you did here, Baltar." The traitor could only uneasily smirk as he turned his head away from them. ***** Sybilla sat frowning. "I don't understand why we haven't heard anything from the Council," she said, eying the scanner screen in front of her. "Perhaps they're still busy shaking hands with our guests," said Commander Adama. "I know you don't approve of our actions, Adama, but in time you'll understand." "Bridge!" came Apollo's voice out of a speaker. "This is Captain Apollo." "What is it?" asked his father. "Go ahead." "Landing Bay Alpha is under attack," said Apollo. "Extent of forces unknown. Starbuck and I are holding the turbolift in Beta corridor. We could use a little help." "At once," said Adama. "Is it the Alliance Peacekeepers?" "Could be," answered his son. "But we also have our old pal Baltar to contend with, along with a trio of Arakeen Fremen." "Baltar," said Adama slowly. He broke the connection with the captain, flipped another talkswitch. "Launch Red Squadron. They are to prevent any ship from launching without my approval." He turned on another mike. "Have Colonial Security cover all hatches above, below, and around Landing Bay Alpha." "Yes sir," answered a speakerbox. "And get Colonel Tigh up to the bridge at once!" Siress Sybilla had slumped in her chair. "I don't quite," she said in a shaky voice, "understand what's happened." Adama rose slowly to his feet. "Your Alliance friends seem to have captured the entire Council and taken over Landing Bay Alpha,' he told her. "That's what happened." Her breath sighed out. "But surely they understand that we wanted only to be friendly." "Baltar's nobody to make friends with," said Apollo as he came into the room. "Yep, not cordial at all," added Starbuck, pausing to show Adama an aural grenade he'd picked up off the floor. Apollo walked to his father's side. "Somehow, Baltar and the Alliance gang have joined forces," he explained. "Looks like they recruited those three Fremen from the Quanto affair as well." "And they definitely have the Council?" "That seems likely, yes." Lieutenant Starbuck rested his backside against a readout screen. "You know, if Colonel Tigh hadn't warned us about what might be coming up, Baltar and his buddies would've been rampaging all over this bridge right now." Adama asked, "Where is Tigh?" The colonel came through a far door. "Reporting for duty," he said. The crackling whine of launching Viper ships could be heard now. "Red Squadron launched, Commander," said Rigel from her post. Siress Sybilla was watching Tigh. "Colonel," she said in a quiet voice. "I'm sorry. I apparently made a mistake." After a few microns the black colonel said, "You bet you made a mistake!" ***** The cockpit of the docked shuttle was crowded. Baltar, a satisfied smile spread across his face, was seated in front of the communications screen. "Be quick about it," he was saying. "Put me through to the bridge." The scanner flickered, and then Adama's stern face appeared. "Ah, my dear Adama," said Baltar with mock concern. "You don't look at all well." "Baltar, you have exactly one centon to lay down your weapons and surrender!" Baltar laughed. "You apparently don't yet comprehend the situation," he said. "I am in charge of things. I tell you what is to be done.' He motioned to Stilgar, who dragged the shivering Sire Marvello within scanner range. "Adama, they're attaching solonite charges to the outer hull of the shuttle," he said in an unsteady voice. "They'll kill us all if you don't do what he says." Smiling even more broadly, Baltar leaned forward. "Here are your orders, Commander Adama," he said. "Firstly, you are to release the two Cylon pilots who flew me here originally. Along with them you'll turn loose my fighter ship. Further, you will return the Alliance Destroyer ship to my friends." "Anything more?" asked Adama. "When my friends and I are all safely aboard our ships, the shuttle will launch. Followed by the Destroyer ship and finally my fighter," continued Baltar. "If this shuttle makes any attempt to return before we are in orbit at Lunar Seven, or if one single Viper pursues us, then I press a button and the shuttle and everyone aboard will be destroyed." He snapped his fingers. "Like that, in an instant." "And once you reach Lunar Seven?" "The shuttle, of course, will be free to return you here, Commander." Adama said, "You really don't think I believe you, Baltar? Or trust you?" With a shrug, Baltar replied, "Do you really have a choice, old friend? I think not. Oh, and if my demands are not met, all of them, within one centar----then I'll kill these hostages one by one. Something I'm sure you wouldn't want to happen." Boomer pulled free of the peacekeeper who was holding him. "He's going to kill us anyway, Commander!" he shouted. "Take 'em right now!" Stilgar reached out and hit him hard with the side of his hand. Boomer went slack, dropped to his knees and toppled over onto the metallic floor. "One centar, Commander," repeated Baltar and broke off the connection. ***** CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: CRISIS AND ADAPTATION Doctor Wilker was shaking his head from side to side as he hurried along the pale green corridor. "I don't know if we can return these Cylons to him at all," he said. Starbuck and Apollo were walking briskly beside him. "What do you mean?" asked the captain. "We've got to have them in order to make it look like we're going along with him." "Captain, give me a chance to explain the situation," the doctor said. "I've deactivated the Cylons who were escorting Baltar when he turned himself over to us." "If you deactivated them, you can damn well reactivate them," said Starbuck. Wilker stopped before the hatchway leading to Droid-Mant-4. "It's not that simple, Lieutenant," he said, shaking his head again. "You see, I was hoping to be able to find ways of reprogramming these mechanical men, especially from long distances, by using coded laser beams, perhaps." "Hacking into their systems, you mean?" Apollo asked. "More or less. I want to be able to cancel out their ability to fire on our ships. In time, maybe I could instruct them to..." "We don't have time for a tech lecture," said Starbuck. "We want to reactivate these snitrads before Baltar starts killing hostage." Sighing, the lanky doctor opened the hatch and crossed over into his lab. "Let me show you what I mean, gentlemen." The two warriors followed him across the long, pale room. "Oh damn, Wilker!" Starbuck said, taking his cold fumarello from between his teeth and staring down at the worktable where the doctor had halted. "What have you done?" The two Cylons were spread out there. "Jigsaw puzzles," said Apollo, picking up a twist of wire at random. "You took 'em apart." Nodding, Wilker said, "That's exactly what I've been trying to explain." He gestured at the array of wires, tubes, micro-chips, metal casings and assorted electronic sprawl. The Cylon heads were nearly intact. Starbuck hefted one off the table, looked it in the eye. "There's an old spaceman's axiom, doc," he said, "which I just now made up, stating that if you can take a droid apart, you can put him back together." "Put them together in less than a centar?" Doctor Wilker backed off from the table. "I don't think that's possible." "We'll help you," offered Starbuck. "I'm a rather handy fellow. You ought to see me make the vidball machine in the Rejuvenation Center pay off in extra cubits." "Doctor Wilker,' said Apollo, "how far did you get in figuring out how to reprogram these fellows?" "I still don't think I can do it at a distance," he answered. "Although I now understand the basic structure of a Cylon." "I wasn't thinking of long distance work," said Apollo, knuckling his chin thoughtfully. "I was wondering if you could maybe change them so they'd do a few things Baltar wouldn't be expecting." "It's theoretically possible, I suppose," said Wilker, "but considering the time I have..." "Let's give it a try," urged Apollo. ***** Adama moved along the row of scanner screens that showed what was going on down in the landing bay that was under siege. "There's the Alliance Destroyer being moved into the bay now," he observed. "How much time do we have left?" "A bit less than a half centar," answered Colonel Tigh. "What about the Cylon fighter?" "It's already in the bay," said the colonel. Turning his back on the screens, Adama said, "Is there any way of reaching those charges once the shuttle is spaceborne?" "None," said Tigh, shaking his head. "There are no vac suits in the shuttle. Siress Sybilla had left her chair. "Then we have no choice but to assault the bay," she said, "and make damn sure we defuse those charges before the shuttle is launched." Eyebrows rising, Commander Adama gazed at her. "Did I hear you rightly?" he asked. "You're suggesting we take an aggressive action to rescue our people?" "Commander, even though I'm a civilian in your eyes, I'm not stupid," she told him. "We both know that Baltar has no intention of freeing those hostages. He'll either force them to land on Lunar Seven or kill them once he's free." "Yes, that's what I believe he'll do," agreed the commander. "Then the only real question is," she said, "when to attack and how to insure the maximum success." Still a bit surprised, Adama said, "We have to hit them while they're still transferring from the shuttle to their ships. They'll be in the open and our people will be in the shuttle." "Agreed," said Sybilla. Turning again toward the colonel, Commander Adama asked, "Is everyone in position?" Tigh indicated another row of scanner screens. "As you see, sir, the assault teams are ready to hit the landing bay from three sides at once." Adama stroked his chin. "What do our demolition experts think?" "They feel they ought to be able to completely disarm those charges in thirty microns or less," replied Tigh. "Once they reach them, that is." Siress Sybilla brushed her hair back from her forehead. "What are the odds of them accomplishing that before Baltar can set off the charges?" Tigh rubbed his fingertips across the palm of his other hand. "It's going to depend on how stunned he is by our attack," he said. "He'll be busy taking cover himself and he won't want to get caught in the explosions." "Do you have a computer estimate of the odds?" asked Adama. "Computer estimates seventy-thirty, in Baltar's favor," said the colonel. "And I think it's being a shade optimistic." ***** CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: "WE NEED TIME TO MEET YOUR DEMANDS, BALTAR" Baltar rubbed his hands nervously together, watching two of Commandant Neistadt's men attach the last of the explosive charges to the hull of the shuttle. The captive craft was ringed with Peacekeepers, armed and watchful. Neistadt said, "Your charges are all in place, Baltar." Nodding toward a launch area, Baltar said, "And your destroyer is ready to depart. Things are going very well." "I don't think so," croaked Stilgar. "Your brilliant scheme to take over the entire Battlestar failed." "We did suffer a setback, I will concede," said Baltar. "But we have everything else we demanded. Our ships are already here and I'm sure they'll be delivering my Cylon pilots at any milicenton." Stroking his brown hair, Neistadt said, "I find the sentimentality of a man like Commander Adama amazing. He would let us go free merely to save a few worthless hostages." "No, Neistadt," growled Stilgar. "He won't let us go free." "Don't be ridiculous," said Baltar. "Adama must! I've left him no choice." "If you believe that," said Stilgar, "you're an even bigger fool than I took you for." "What do you mean?" "He's employing a tactic I've seen all too often in the tribal feuds on Arrakis," said Stilgar. "The naib of one setich will command his warriors to attack a rival setich when he's fooled them into thinking it safe to return to their own caves," he continued in his rumbling voice. "Once the land is unguarded, the naib's troops make their move." Neistadt said, "He's drawing a fairly good analogy, Baltar. They could try to apprehend us when we move to our ships, rescue the hostages when the shuttle is unattended." "Neither of you seems to understand how a man like Adama thinks," said Baltar. "He simply won't risk the slaughter of these hostages. "He must know you have no intention of letting them go," said Stilgar with a raspy chuckle. "And if he knows that, then he's not risking anything by attacking us." "But I intend to let them go free," insisted Baltar. "Once we're safely away from here." "Whether you intend to or not is irrelevant," said the commandant. "Adama must believe you for our escape to be successful." "If he doesn't, said Stilgar, "then we all die here.' "No," said Baltar, running his tongue over his dry lips, "he'll believe me." ***** Apollo finished explaining things to his father. "It'll work," he concluded, sitting down on the edge of a chair. "The thing is, Doctor Wilker can't get those damn Cylons ready before the deadline." "Then we'll have to get Baltar to give us more time." Adama glanced at the nearest timescreen. "Yep, that's why I hopped up here to the bridge." Sybilla asked him, "Are you certain the Cylons can be augmented to betray him?" "Look, Siress, nothing absolutely sure," said Apollo, glancing at the timescreen. "But with this we have a pretty good chance." "Let's see if we can stall Baltar." The commander flipped a talkswitch. ***** Baltar looked around at the Council members and other hostages in the rear compartment of the shuttle. He ran his tongue over his lips. "I want you all to understand," he said, a faintly pleading tone in his voice, "that I mean you no harm. The moments I am safe on Lunar Seven, you'll all be free to return home." Sire Marvello's Council robe was torn and smeared with dirt. Clearing his throat, he said. "Yes, yes, we...um...believe you." "You may have to convince Adama of that," said Baltar, "because I fear he..." "Baltar!" called Stilgar from up in the ship's cockpit. "Excuse me," Baltar said to the hostages. "And keep in mind that no harm will come to you." He turned and made his way along the corridor to the nose of the shuttle. Boomer and Sheba were up there, watched over by two of Neistadt's men. Boomer was crouched against the wall, massaging his neck where Stilgar had struck him. "What is it?" Baltar asked the Fremen. Stilgar pointed at the dash scanner screen. "See for yourself." Commander Adama's stern face showed on the screen. Licking his lips again, Baltar sat down in front of the screen. "Now, about those hostages..." "We need more time," said the commander. "What?" "We need another centar." "Why? So you can work out more plans to attack me?" "It has to do with your Cylons," explained Adama. "They had been deactivated and we are currently experiencing technical difficulties with them. I'm afraid we won't be able to activate them in time." "Liar! You're stalling, moving in warriors to attack me!" "That's not the case," Adama assured him. "It's just that we need more time to meet your demands." "No!" said Baltar. "I won't back down." "Listen to me, Baltar. Take me as a hostage, in exchange for one more centar." Baltar leaned back, looked up at Neistadt and then at Stilgar. "Anyone care to venture an opinion?" "Accept," advised Stilgar. "Take him." "If we have Adama," whispered Neistadt, "they won't dare attack us." "Yes," said Baltar, nodding. Facing the scanner screen once again, he said, "Very well, Commander. One more centar, in exchange for you." ***** CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: "THEY'RE BRINGING OUT YOUR PRECIOUS CYLONS, BALTAR." Starbuck remembered his fumarello. Lighting up, he said, "Well, we've done it." Apollo was slowly circling the two standing Cylons. "What do you mean 'we,' old buddy? All you did was drop things." "Sour sunfruits," said the puffing lieutenant. "Why, with these very fingers I wrought electronic miracles that few others could even dream of." "Sour is right," agreed Apollo. "Gentlemen," said the lean Doctor Wilker, "if I might run the final tests on our reactivated guests." The two mechanical men were completely assembled, standing in the center of the lab side by side. The overhead lights made their metallic bodies and conical heads glitter. Wilker moved to a position facing the two silent Cylons. "Do you know who I am?" "Yes," replied one. "Yes, replied the other. "Who am I?" "Doctor Wilker of the Battlestar Galactica," they answered in turn. "Very good," said the doctor, taking a few steps closer. "Now, tell me whose orders you obey." Starbuck held his cigar between his thumb and forefinger, watching the two Cylons anxiously. "We obey you," said one Cylon. "You are the Imperious Leader," said the other. Amused at the idea that these Cylons thought he was the Imperious Leader, Wilker said with a smile, "Very well. Now, let me tell you what you're to do once you're back inside your freighter ship." ***** The corridor was thick with armed warriors. Commander Adama, flanked by Tigh and Sybilla, walked purposefully along toward the entryway to the besieged bay. "As soon as the Cylons arrive in there," he was saying to the colonel, "Baltar and the others should move out of the shuttle and to their ships. That's when I'll try to contact you over the scanner." "It's dangerous," said Tigh. "Nobody ever said it wasn't. If everything goes the way Apollo and Doctor Wilker think it will, then we'll be able to save all the hostages." "And lose the Alliance Peacekeepers," said the Colonel. "This is the safest way to do it," said Adama. "I know. It's just that..." He shrugged. "You two stop here. I'll go the rest of the way alone," Adama said as he neared the doorway. "There's something I forgot to mention while we were on the bridge," said Sybilla. "I'm going with you, Adama." "No, that's too dangerous. A good many things can go wrong." "Don't argue with me," she said. "Baltar may not even let you on board the shuttle. But I'm merely another member of the Council. He'll almost certainly toss me in with the others and I'll be able to fill them in on your plan. Otherwise, they might do something to foul it up." "No, it's far too dangerous." "I've no more time to discuss it." She moved off, walking through the doorway to the bay. Adama shook his head and followed her. ***** Baltar bowed, smiling smugly, and then pointed toward the passageway leading into the rear compartment of the captive shuttle. "So nice of you and the charming lady to join us, Commander," he said. "Now, if you'll be obliging and join the others." "I'm assuming you haven't harmed the other hostages," Adama said, nodding toward the injured Lieutenant Boomer. "He's not seriously hurt," Baltar assured him. "And perhaps his experience will teach him not to be so impetuous next time." "I'd like to teach you a little something," muttered Boomer. Gesturing again at the passageway, Baltar urged, "Move along, if you will." The commander took Sybilla's arm and they walked into the compartment where the hostages were. "You see, dear friend," said Baltar when they were among the Council prisoners, "a few of them are a bit worse for wear, but no serious harm has been done them." "Adama," exclaimed the bedraggled Marvello, "why are you and Sybilla here?" "All will be explained shortly," promised Commander Adama. "Ah, forgive me for not informing you earlier," said Baltar as he backed toward the exit. "Your noble commander has offered himself as a hostage, to buy more time." "Admirable," said the sire, "but foolish." "Let me remind you all," said the still-smiling Baltar, "that if my Cylons are not delivered to me very soon, all of you shall die." Bowing, he left them. ***** Commandant Neistadt narrowed his beady eyes. "Ah, there they are," he said, pointing out from the open doorway. "They're bringing out your precious Cylons, Baltar." Joining him at the open shuttle hatchway, Baltar said, "You see, they're giving in to us on every count." Pivoting on his booted heel, Niestadt addressed his men in the cockpit. "We'll now join the rest of our Peacekeepers in our Destroyer. Stilgar, have your men keep this shuttle covered from the outside until we're aboard and then join us." "Understood," croaked the Fremen. "Tunk, Musa, follow." Batlar, crouching in the hatchway, called out to the mechanical men. "Wait there, I'll be with you in a moment." "By your command," the Cylons responded in chorus. He hastened to the control dash, grabbing the small remote control detonating device that had been resting there. Then he hurried to the prisoner's compartment. Holding the detonator high, he said, "I'm leaving you now, dear friends. Commandant Neistadt's ship is set to launch first. Then this shuttle, which has been on automatic control, will follow. I'll bring up the rear in my fighter ship with...By the way, thank you so much for returning my Cylons to me, Adama." Returning with the mock bow, the commander replied, "The pleasure was all mine, Baltar." "You'll be left here unguarded for a few moments," said Baltar, the detonator still held high. "Let me remind you, though, that if you make a single wrong move, I'll use this handy little gadget to begin setting off the explosive charges. They're rigged so that the ones attached to this compartment will go off first. Keep that in mind." Smiling, he left them. ***** CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: BALTAR IS BROUGHT TO HIS KNEES! Behind them, Neistadt, his crew and the Fremen all secured themselves inside the Destroyer. "Start all engines and prepare to launch!" barked Neistadt. With an enormous whine, the Alliance Destroyer went roaring out of the landing bay and into space. ***** Sitting in the forward passenger seat of his fighter, Baltar watched and chuckled with satisfaction. "Everything's going exactly as I planned," he said. "By your command," agreed one of the Cylons in his droning voice. He was seated in the number one pilot seat. The remote control detonator rested on the dash within reach of Baltar's hand. "What's keeping that shuttle? We can't leave until they're free and clear." "Galactica shuttle moving into launch position now," pointed out the second Cylon, who occupied the number two pilot seat. "Ah, yes, so I see!" Baltar's palms gave off a faint rasping sound as he rubbed his hands together. He sat, a contented smile on his face, watching the shuttle roll into the launching area. The craft shivered; then fire crackled from its tail and it was zooming free of the Galactica. "Now, it's our turn," said Baltar. "Move our fighter over to the launch area. "Unable to comply," droned the Cylon nearest him. "Unable to comply? What in Hades do you..." "Directive altered. Must comply with new directive." The Cylon's hand snapped out, snatching the detonator. "You son of a daggit!" Baltar's hand swung down toward his holstered lasergun. Before Baltar's fingers closed around the gun barrel, the mechanical man was grabbing his wrist. "Idiot!" cried Baltar as the pain went zigzagging up his arm. "You're to obey me! You've been programmed to do that!" The Cylon lifted Baltar's weapon from out of its holster, tossed it far across the cockpit. "Negative." "What are babbling about?" The other Cylon had now succeeded in dismantling the detonator. "We have been reprogrammed." "So, I've been double-crossed by Adama after all." "Affirmative." The Cylon dropped the ruined detonator to the floor and activated a toggle. The hatch whooshed open. "I won't wish you a safe journey, Baltar," said Starbuck as he came bounding into the cockpit with his pistol drawn, "since you ain't going anyplace. Except back to the grid barge." "Frak! I was a fool to have trusted any of you!" Baltar's shoulders slumped. "You forget," said Apollo, who'd followed the lieutenant into the ship, "that we know a few tricks ourselves." "Dirty trick," added Starbuck with a grin. ***** Sire Marvello's face appeared on the scanner screen. "Now that we're all safely back aboard the Galactica, Commander," he began, "the Council has taken a vote." "Have you indeed?" said Adama. "We've decided to rescind our edict and extend your emergency powers. You are once again in full command of the Battlestar and the rest of the fleet," Marvello told him. "The vote, I might add, was unanimous." "That's most gratifying." "I'd also like to add...Well, I admire the way you put your own life in jeopardy to help us. And...that's all for now, Commander." Looking a bit embarrassed, the Councilman signed off. Adama settled back in his chair, watching the blank screen thoughtfully. "Things certainly have changed," he remarked. Colonel Tigh was seated nearby. "Let's enjoy the situation while we can," he said. "The Council's scared now, but once their goosebumps go down, they'll start riding us again." "Probably so," said "Adama. "Right now, however, I have other things on my mind." "Such as the Alliance Destroyer that got away." "That we allowed to get away," corrected the commander. "I know. We had to let them escape in order to grab Baltar and keep him from blowing up the shuttle." "And I'm happy to say it worked," said the Commander. "We've already launched a Recon Patrol to track them to their base on Lunar Seven." "Then we'll find out the strength of the Alliance on that outpost." "I hope to find a good deal out about this Alliance." Adama stretched up out of his chair. "If you'll take over on the bridge, Tight, I believe I'll return to my quarters for a rest." "I didn't even think you knew how." "Now and then," admitted Adama, walking away. ***** "Silver Spar Leader to Galactica Core Command," Spock radioed. "The Alliance Destroyer is still in our long-range tracking sight. We will reduce power and continue to follow them for the next ten centars." "Affirmative, Silver Spar Leader," Rigel replied. "Blue Squadron will relieve you at that time to continue tracking mission." "Skipper?" Jolly radioed, "How close do we get to them?" "We are to come no closer than we are at this time, Jolly," Spock said. "Our orders are to keep following them until we locate their base and get a chance to scan their overall strength. We are not to engage them in combat. So, as you humans say, let's just settle back and enjoy the ride." "But...we'll get bored," Charlex whined. "Do you wish the unknown forces we encountered some time ago to cause us to vanish without a trace again, Charlex?" Spock dryly retorted. "I should think that would relieve your boredom." "No, no, I'd rather be bored." "Good. Just keep your eyes open for signs of other ships that belong to their forces." ***** Aboard the Destroyer, there was a decidedly tense atmosphere as Neistadt kept his eye on the three passengers he was now hauling...and feeling quite uncomfortable that there were only four men overall to the three of them in case things were to get out of hand. He decided the time had come to lay down the rules to them. "Gentlemen," Neistadt came up to the Fremen, "now that we are free of the Galactica, and now that it is clear that Baltar has been apprehended, it's time for us to come to an understanding. My authority, and that of the Alliance, is now supreme in all respects. When we reach Lunar Seven, you will be treated fairly, but only so long as you recognize who you serve from now on." The three Fremen glared at him, and Stilgar abruptly rose from his seat. "We answer to nothing but sharia, the Laws of the Desert!" he said coldly. "We will not recognize any authority higher than what our God dictates!" "Your beliefs, your so-called 'God,' are irrelevant, as you are now under the Alliance's authority!" Neistadt snapped. "That is the Natural Order of Things. If you wish to remain in a state of freedom, you will submit to that!" Stilgar took a menacing step toward the commandant. "Suppose we refuse?" Neistadt refused to be intimidated, "You'll be destroyed, just like all who dare to challenge the Natural Order!" Stilgar sat back down and glanced first at Tunk, who in turn glanced at Musa. The three of them silently nodded in mutal understanding. Abruptly, Musa hurled his aural grenades at the midsection of the destroyer, where it exploded against a bulkhead pillar. At the other end, Klienemann pulled out his laser pistol and shot the beardless Fremen right in the face. The two other crewmen pulled out their pistols and opened fire as well. Tunk was hit on the second shot, but Musa managed to reach out and grab Neistadt by the neck, hurling him back against the bulkhead wall. Finally, one more shot from Klienemann felled Musa. "Commandant?" he rushed over to Neistadt, who was struggling back to his feet. "Are you okay?" "No!" Neistadt flailed his arms. "I am not okay!" Are they dead?" "No, Commandant," the crewman named Goebbels said. "They are...dazed, but they seem to be able to withstand more firepower than the average man." "They are a greater menace than the Galactica itself," Neistadt haughtily retrieved his officer's cap and placed it back on his head. "While they're still dazed, take them back and make a true example of them. They will learn what happens to those who think themselves above Alliance law!" ***** "Spock," Jolly radioed, "the Destroyer just took a funny turn. Speed is slackening a bit." "Keep it in sight, but don't get close enough for a visual contact. Any sign of other ships?" "Negative, that," Charlex answered. "She's slowing down a bit more. Boy, speed is down by half what it was." "Reduce speed so we can maintain distance," Silver Spar Leader said cautiously. "Keep attack computers off." "Spock, now I'm getting new contacts on the scanner. Right in her wake." "Intensify scan on those objects. Try to find out what they are. Jolly, keep your scanner trained on the destroyer's heading." "Skipper, I've...Holy Frak!" Charlex blurted. "Report!" Spock demanded. "Skipper, they just jettisoned three bodies out their rear airlock! Scan confirms them as three corpses drifting in space." "Corpses?" Spock found no logic in that. "Very well...let's get a visual ID on those. But not until we make sure the destroyer will be out of visual range, too." Several centons went by before the three Vipers moved in to take a look. When they got there, they saw the unmistakable forms of the three Arakeen Fremen floating dead in space for eternity. ***** CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: THE RETURN OF THE SHIP OF LIGHTS Upon relieving Silver Spar Squadron, the Blue Squadron began trailing just behind the Alliance Destroyer, scouting a system of six planets along the way. The innermost of one was just a near-molten rock; the second was swathed in toxic gases. The outermost was a gargantuan gas-giant; the next a skull of a world forever trapped in a frozen ball of stone and sporting only bare wisps of frozen argogen for an atmosphere. Apollo found planets three and four to be the only interesting ones here. Planet Four was cold and rugged, but it had a breathable atmosphere of sufficient pressure to allow Human life. There were warm, green, wide seas and tranquil forests along the equator. And inhabitants. A race of sentient felinoid beings, they lived in cities, number about 400 million, and had just invented the radio. There were also mining works all across one of the uninhabited continents, populated by, so the scanners said, a race called the Reti in the Destroyer's database. Starbuck wanted to know if they could ask permission to land, but Apollo nixed the idea. Obviously, no one from the Fleet could settle here. Disappointed, Apollo went into his sleep period. Oh well, there was always Earth. ***** He awakened far out in space, with an immense dark silence all around him. Apollo straightened up, his sleep period over, and checked the control dash of his Viper. "Rise and shine, fellas," came Starbuck's voice from out of the talkbox. "Give a look at your scanner screen, old chum." The Alliance Destroyer, a distant dot, was showing on the screen "We've sighted 'em," said Apollo.. "While you were in dreamland. Your orders, skipper?" Apollo glanced out of his cockpit at the Viper ships hurtling along in formation with his. "Attention Blue Squadron," he said into the talkmike of his helmet. "This is Flight Leader Apollo. We now have Neistadt's Destroyer on the scanner. We'll follow those daggits." He paused. "But hear this: I do not, repeat: do not want the ship overtaken. For one thing, our orders are to follow them to Lunar Seven. For another, Doctor Wilker found out, when he examined the Destroyer, that it has laser trackable guns and carries missiles, some of them nuclear-tipped---if they fire at us, it's not out of the question they could blow us out of the sky. I don't think the defenses are automated, but let's not take any chances. Starbuck?" "Yo!" "Starbuck, you move out on point. Be careful, stay out of their range." "Gotcha!" replied Starbuck. "The rest of us'll begin to spread out on either flank of that Destroyer," continued Apollo. Boomer's voice inquired, "How come, sir?" "To increase our scanner range in case they have any idea of bringing more ships from the sides to catch us in a crossfire!" "Sounds good to me," said Boomer. "Okay, Blue, we know where target one is," said Apollo. "Let's look around for any..." Apollo stopped, and for a moment, didn't speak. It seemed for a micron that space both outside and within his Viper was filled with streaking blue spheres. A strange whistling sound accompanied them, darting across his bow, as well as that of the other Vipers. "What the..." began Apollo, but he'd barely drawn breath when the mysterious visitors were gone. "My God," said Apollo. "They're back!" "What's back?" asked Boomer. He let his gaze wander off to the left of his Viper's nose. "The Lights." "Lights?" asked Starbuck of his captain. "I don't see anything." "The strange lights we encountered before the..." he stopped, looked outside. The cerulean luminosities were not there now---only empty space. "Before some of our pilots disappeared." There was no response from the men in his Viper squadron. Shaking his head, Apollo said, "Right. Let's move into our new positions." ***** The door to Adama's quarters eased open, and his visitor walked in. The commander looked up from the printout report he'd been scanning. "I dind't know you were going to continue to monitor me," he said smiling. Sybilla said, "Relax. This isn't exactly an official visit." "Sit down," he invited, nodding at a chair facing his. After seating herself, Siress Sybilla said, "I haven't had much chance to chat with you since friend Baltar staged his little fireworks display the other day." "You'll be happy to know that he's now safely back aboard the grid barge," Adama said, "back in Solitary Confinement, where he belongs." "It was a near thing, though, wasn't it?" she asked, watching his face. "If Starbuck and your son hadn't prevented them from getting farther into the Battlestar...if those Cylons hadn't been reprogrammed to outfox Baltar...people might have been killed. In fact, the Galactica might well have been seized, taken over." "I don't think it would have come to that," the commander said. "This is a pretty tough ship to take over, Sybilla. But I'm glad we put down the threat with a minimum of trouble." "The Council was very impressed with the way you handled things." "But?" Sybilla said, "Some of my colleagues, I must admit, are like children. It takes more than one lesson before they really learn something." "I assumed the good feeling between the Council and myself wouldn't last forever. What are they planning?" "Nothing definite, as yet. It's just that some of them are commencing to have second thoughts. Maybe you aren't infallible after all; perhaps it was unwise to return full control to you. Doubt is creeping back." "Yes, I expected as much." "What I wanted to tell you, Adama, is that my opinion of you hasn't changed," she said. "I'll continue to support you." "Learned your lesson, have you?" She laughed. "I guess I'm a better student than some of the others on the Council, she said. "Is there word from Captain Apollo and the squadron that's tracking the Destroyer?" "I'm expecting a report from Colonel Tigh at any moment," he answered. "If you'd care to stay until he delivers it..." "I think not, no." Sybilla rose to her feet. "I'm not very high on the Colonel's list of admirable people at the moment." "He's simply not fond of anyone who's on the Council," explained Adama as he walked her to the doorway. "If it's any consolation for him, neither am I." She reached out, caught his hand and squeezed it. "If you need my help, let me know." Smiling quickly, she left him. Adama stroked his chin as he returned to his chair. "A most remarkable woman," he said. ***** Blue Squadron was now pursuing the Destroyer through a cluster of asteroids, and an inhabited cluster of them to boot---inhabited not by some exotic race of beings but by political prisoners of the Alliance. They were using the slave labor of their prisoners to mine the belt. It was easy to see why. The tumbling space rocks were rich in a wide variety of minerals, as well as abundant water ice. Best they could do was get through scans of the installations and get away before ticking anyone off. Apollo, venturing ahead of the group but not so far ahead that he'd overtake the Destroyer, found only a lifeless system of two worlds under an unfriendly sun, neither habitable no promising mineralogically. As the sun faded to just another dot behind Apollo's viper, the scanner began to beep. The blue spheres had returned yet again, buzzing his ship. That, and something new and unknown had appeared on the long-range optical scanners. Something big was closing in on his position. Strange murmuring sounds, like an angelic choir began filling the audiophones in his helmet. A brilliant, glaring light filled the cockpit of his Viper. Apollo looked out to his left. "What in Hades is that?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. What looked like a gigantic crystal city in space was drifting ever closer to his ship, a fairy-tale castle with its silvery surface awash in light of incredible brilliance. Apollo activated his Unicom, but found he couldn't exactly control his hands any longer. His fingers felt heavy and numb. The noise grew louder and louder. It was something like music played out of tune and something like thousands of crystal pendants rattling in a hurricane. Apollo was sure of one thing: he didn't want to hear it! The whining sound became deafening. He tried to bring his hands up over his helmet, to press it closer to his head, as if he believed it would provide him maximum protection against the bizarre cacophony surrounding him. His hands no longer obeyed him. "I have...to..." He could say no more. The sound hurt his ears. He writhed in his seat from the pain. The bizarre apparition was now on top of Apollo's Viper. Finally, he slumped down in his seat as he passed out. Only his safety gear kept him from topping forward. ***** Lieutenant Starbuck exhaled smoke. "Have you modockers got a surprise coming at you," he told the tiny dot on his scanner screen. "When your bloomin' Destroyer arrives at..." "Starbuck!" It was Lieutenant Boomer's voice. "Lieutenant Starbuck stepped out for a breath of air," answered Starbuck in a falsetto. "This is his gorgeous blonde secretary speaking. You can leave a message or take a hike, sweetie." "Hey, listen," cut in Boomer. "Has the captain pulled back there with you?" Frowning, Starbuck replied, "Apollo ain't back here, chum. Must still be looking at those planets he found." "That's just the problem. I just got back from there. He and I moved off together when he fanned off the squadron, remember?" "So?" "Then he disappeared." "I'm not hearing you loud and clear," Starbuck informed him. "Sounded like you said Apollo disappeared." "I did," said Boomer. "And you saw him do that?" "Directly, no. His image vanished, all of a sudden, off my scanner." Starbuck set his own scanner to look around for the missing Apollo. After a moment, he said, "Gods! You're right, Boomer. He's nowhere in my vicinity." "And he's not around here, either." "Then," inquired Starbuck, "where is he?" ***** CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: "A LOT MORE LIVES DEPEND ON YOUR ASSISTING US" Commander Adama asked, "No word?" Tigh sat opposite him. "No. I'm getting concerned." "There's nothing to be concerned about. The men can take care of themselves," Adama told him. "What lies beyond that Destroyer concerns me, however. We're heading directly into a war zone." Tigh said, "You think they'll risk attacking us?" "From what the Robinsons and Commandant Neistadt have told us of this Alliance, it is a society that does not trust. That's because trust, in a country under a military dictatorship, is like water in the desert---hard to find, gone very quickly---and potentially dangerous." Adama leaned back in his chair. "Yes, I believe they will attack us. That's why it's imperative that we know their strength on Lunar Seven." Tigh cracked the knuckle of his forefinger. "Adama, if I may suggest..." "Please do," invited Adama. "Why don't we bypass Lunar Seven entirely?" suggested the black colonel. "Take the Fleet to the mother planet, Terra?" "Exactly." "And what then? How do we assess the true predicament of those people? Who's in the right? Who's in the wrong?" "Surely the Alliance is in the wrong." "I would think so. But suppose both sides are partially wrong. Do we meddle in their affairs and lend our technology to the wrong side?" "Adama, we are not gods," reminded Tigh. "We've got our own people to think about." Adama shook his head. "Yes, that's true," he said firmly. "And so we must wait for our patrol to report on the true situation on Lunar Seven." ***** The chamber was large and everything in it was completely white. There were no furnishings; however, at one end of the chamber was a padded, altar-like pedestal, also white. Lying on the pedestal, his warrior uniform completely white, was Apollo. He had been unconscious, but slowly, he was beginning to regain consciousness. His half-opened eyes took in a glaring white ceiling and glaring white walls. He got up; his movements slow and almost labored. After he balanced himself, he started to look around the chamber in confusion. He looked at his uniform in surprise. At one end of the chamber, a door slid open and two figures entered. The figures were clad in dazzling white robes with white masks over their f aces. One of them approached Apollo, whose first instinct was to draw his laser gun, which, to his surprise, was absent from its holster. "This," he said, his voice weak and dry, "This is a true question in situations like this...but I'd really appreciate an answer. Where am I?' He put up one arm to gaze over at the blurred figures across the white room. Apollo suddenly felt dizzy. He held on, gritting his teeth as it passed. A soft, whispery voice, coming not from the figure in the cowled robes, but rather, from above him, said, "Welcome back, Captain Apollo." "You know my name?" The figure said nothing, only nodded. He stared up at the white ceiling. "You didn't answer my question. Where am I? Why have I been brought here?" "What do you remember?" The voice, a deeper one this time, was apparently coming down from an unseen speaker. Apollo considered the question. "Not too much," he admitted after a micron. "There was a lot of light, some odd noises...that's about all." "That's to be expected." "Did you...grab me out of my ship? Is that it?" "In a manner of speaking, we did." "How? Was I teleported right out of the cockpit?" The voice said, "Something like that, yes." "Okay," said Apollo. "Where's my ship? I've got to get back to it and continue my...But you're probably not going to let me do that, right?" Not immediately." "Yeah, but look...A lot of lives may depend on me." "A great many more lives depend on your assisting us." "Assisting you with what?" "Do you think you can walk?" Apollo thought about it. The dizziness seemed to have passed. "I can give it a try," he answered. "Your presence has been requested by a very important person," the voice informed him. "If you'll get up and follow my fellow Custodians." The two robed figures were already, silently, as if they were floating across the white floor, moving toward the curtained door at the chamber's rear. Apollo moved first one booted first and then the other, taking a slow breath while doing so. No dizziness at all. Walking carefully, he followed the two Custodians out of the room. ***** CHAPTER FORTY: SERINA Starbuck gunned his Viper until he was flying alongside Boomer's craft. "Nothing, not a trace," he said. "I've flown to the edges of the squadron formation and he's just---not with us anymore." "Nobody's seen him?" "Nope." "This," observed Boomer, "doesn't make sense." "Not a heck of a lot," agreed Starbuck. "If Apollo was in trouble, he'd have signaled us. If he'd run into an enemy ship, somebody would've seen it." "We got us a mystery on our hands," said Boomer, "for sure." "Okay," said Starbuck, "I think we'd better backtrack, see if we can find some clue as to what happened to Apollo." "Okay, but..." "Lieutenant Jolly can take over with the Squadron and stay on the Destroyer's tail," said Starbuck, "while we go hunting." "Yeah, okay," agreed Boomer. "So, let's go." ***** The next room was also white, but larger than the one Apollo had awakened in, complete with thick white carpeting on the floor and three white chairs. Seated in one of them was a slender, well-formed young woman with long, reddish-brown hair and green eyes. She was wearing a shimmering, silvery-white gown of a style Apollo was not familiar with. But the warrior wasn't paying much attention to her clothing because he was staring dumbfounded---at the face of a woman believed long dead! "Serina!" He cried out, continuing to stare at the woman in disbelief. "But---you're dead! The Cylons killed you back on Kobol! Box and I were with you in the Life Station as you died!" "They only killed my body, Apollo," said Serina. "Not my immortal soul---or my love for you and Boxey." She sighed. "But we have no time for a happy reunion, my beloved. Please, be seated." "Wait now," said Apollo, stepping beside one of the two empty chairs. His guides were no longer in the room. He wasn't exactly sure where they'd gone. "You've got to tell me what my hosts won't. Where am I? What is this place?" "I am sorry, Apollo, but I am not at liberty to discuss that," she said. "Not even with you." Apollo had his head cocked to one side. "Are you the one who was talking to me out of the ceiling?" he asked. "No," Serina replied, smiling slightly. Apollo seemed more confused than ever and it showed on his face. "Here's a question you should be able to answer: how do they know who I am?" "You've been here before," Serina replied. "They blocked out all recollection of your prior visit." She gently took Apollo's hand in hers. "Please show them respect, beloved. In a way, they are your parents." "Parents?" "They like to think of themselves as that, despite the evolutionary gap between our two peoples." "Are they from Terra?" "No, not exactly," answered Serina. "If they were, the Terrans wouldn't be in so much trouble." She rested her delicate hands on the arms of her chair. "That's why they brought you here, Apollo. They need your help." "My help?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Why do they need my help?" "In order to help yourself, you must help the Terrans," said Serina. "If events continue on their present course, serious things will happen in less than a fortnight." "What sort of things?" "You've got to move swiftly," Serina told him. "They'll get you as close to Terra as they can without causing complications. Then, you're on your own." "What are you talking about? Terra is so far away, it'd take..." "The ship will be there before you know it." "Is that what we're on now, some kind of spaceship?" Serina nodded. "I have already revealed more than I was authorized to." "Then at least tell me what the situation is," Apollo pleaded. "So I'll better understand how I can be of any assistance." Serina sighed. "I was hoping we could take this one step at a time, but, since you insist---Very well, Apollo. Once you arrive at your destination, you will be expected to do your best to stop a holocaust." "A holocaust?" Apollo got up. "This doesn't make any sense, Serina. You say they're more advanced than we are, but they want me to stop a holocaust on a planet I don't know a damn thing about?" "The simple truth is neither I, nor they, can be seen by the people of Terra beyond the environment of this ship." Apollo sat down, slightly agitated by the implications of what he was hearing. "You mean...you're not real? You're just an illusion?" "I am real, Apollo. I just don't have a physical body as you knot it." Pointing at her, Apollo said, "But you must have a physical body. Otherwise, how can you sit in that chair and talk to me?" "You see before you a reflection of my intelligence. What you might call my ghost." Apollo leaned back in the chair, glanced up at the white ceiling for a few microns. "Do you think, Serina, that when those folks teleported me from my ship to theirs, they left some of my brain behind?" he inquired. "Because I don't seem to be getting much of this." "In some ways you're not capable of understanding it all. But complete understanding will not be necessary for you to perform your task." "At least tell me why they even care what happens to the people on Terra. If they're so advanced, and I take your word for it that they are, then what difference does it make to them?" "Because anything that happens on Terra could conceivably upset the present balance of the universe, affecting you as well," answered Serina. "Try to understand, Apollo. Granted, they are generations, literally eons ahead of our people, however, there are certain things they---and I, being one of them now---cannot interfere with. In those certain instances, they can only offer advice and guidance. This is one of those times." Apollo clasped his hands together and leaned forward. "I get the feeling I'm not going to get out of this unless I agree to help them." "Yes. That's the situation." "Okay, then fill me in on the mission they have in mind." "Most of it you'll quickly ascertain for yourself once you're on Terra," said Serina. "One more thing, though, Apollo said with much concern. "How do I build up my credibility on Terra?" "You don't," Serina replied. "Some of the people you encounter will seem to think of you as someone they already know." Apollo looked at Serina questioningly. "I don't follow you." "If you try to tell them who you are, what you know, how you know it, and where you come from," Serina explained, "you will likely be judged insane. By the time you could convince anyone you're telling the truth, it would be too late. So, Apollo, that is why you will borrow someone else's identity." "Borrow someone else's identity?" A look of realization crossed Apollo's face. "Yeah, well, I guess if they can pluck me out of my Viper, they can borrow an identity." "It's not a difficult thing to do. He's a warrior, one who's missing in combat." "Missing where?" "He's being held prisoner on Lunar One. He'll eventually turn up free," said Serina. "Oh, by the way, I'd better mention that he's someone of a rouge and a gambler." "Another Starbuck, in other words." "Yes. That's what makes him ideal to work with on such short notice." "This is sounding better by the micron," said Apollo. "You won't be the most well-liked man on Terra, but if Starbuck can overcome a small handicap like that, so can you." "Guess I'm going to have to," said Apollo. "When do I leave on this mission?" Serina smiled almost maternally. "Now, my husband." "Now? That's im..." Apollo blinked. He was back in his Viper, strapped into his seat. He laughed. "Boy, I'm going to have to give up the night life," he said, shaking his head. "Or maybe have my air mixture in this crate rechecked. Having a dream like that really---whoops!" He looked up from his control panel and out the cockpit window. Looming large dead ahead was a planet. A planet he'd never seen before. ***** CHAPTER FORTY-ONE: "YOUR NAME IS TIM ROBINSON" The Observation Deck on the Galactica was the smallest room on the Battlestar with the largest viewing port of any ship in the fleet. Commander Adama leaned against the edge of the viewing port, staring off into deep space. Somewhere out there in the far stretching blackness was his son and the Viper squadron. And farther beyond that, perhaps the planet they'd been questing for after all this time. The door behind him slid open and Colonel Tigh entered. Adama did not react to his entry, continuing instead to stare into deep space. Tigh stood at the door for several milicentons, watching him. Finally, he walked over to him and tapped him on the shoulder. "What's the latest news, old friend?" he asked without looking into the face of his longtime aide. "I'm not sure." Tigh stopped beside Adama and, himself, began to look away and out into deep space. Finally turning to face him, Adama requested, "Could you amplify that remark, Colonel?" "The squadron is still in pursuit of the Alliance Destroyer, but..." He made a vague gesture with his right hand. "Well, they've apparently lost a pilot." "Who?" "Captain Apollo. His ship seems to have disappeared." "Disappeared?" Deep creases appeared on Adama's broad forhead. "My son's Viper?" The black colonel nodded. "It simply...isn't there anymore." "What do the other ships in the squadron have to say about that?" "They've passed beyond the direct communication range," answered Tigh. The commander moved for the doorway. "Let's get to the bridge," he said. "I want to check the deep scan, see if we can pick up his ship's emergency beacon signal." "I've already tried that." "We'll try again." Adama went striding into the corridor. ***** Apollo's Viper had come to rest near the base rocks of a rocky and heavily contoured canyon in a stony desert area. He rechecked what his control dash had to tell him. "Let's see---atmosphere one-fifth Colonial standard, just like it was in the Robinsons' ship...light breathing gear necessary...no dangerous radiation, though...no major pollutants in the air..." Apollo sighed, leaning back in his seat and taking another long look into the moonlit rocks that made up the landscape. The pinnacles of the canyon were huge, monolithic, proud towers rising over the barren wastes. He'd never seen anyplace like this before, waking or sleeping. "Well, Captain, it really looks as though this isn't a dream after all," Apollo said aloud. "So, I might as well slap on my oxygen mask and take a look around." He unfastened his safety gear and unlocked the hatch. He started to fasten the transparent plastic mask over his mouth and nose, and then, somehow realized he didn't need it; somehow, he knew, he'd be able to breathe the thin Terran air. He dropped clear of the ship. There was coarse sand, dotted with an occasional patch of sagebrush, underfoot. Tumbleweeds bounced by him. Looking up, he scanned the night sky. The stars were in unfamiliar positions. Apollo shivered, even though the soft wind that was blowing across the rough landscape was warm. "Next time I take a job from a ghost in a white gown that looks like my dead wife," he told himself, "I'm going to demand more details in front." Turning his back on the Viper, he started walking in a westerly direction. The canyon was dark and quiet, but from far off came faint sounds. Hums and murmurs that indicated there was a technological civilization not too far off. After Apollo had been trudging through the pathless desert for nearly half a centon, he began to be aware of a diffused glow shining off the canyon's sandstone walls. That meant he was approaching a settlement of some size, a city perhaps. "Might as well try to find out why I'm here," he said. ***** She didn't know why she was doing this at all. "I should've told him to pop off," she said as she guided the swiftly moving, sleek, bubble-topped Ford FX-Atmos along the curving night roadway. Well, actually, she wasn't even certain if he was the one who'd called her. The voice had been so distant and faraway sounding. Tam Robinson, the young niece of John and Maureen Robinson, shook her head. "Still, he's my brother. And if there's a chance he's out here alive and well..." The slim, pretty dark-haired young woman looked almost like an older version of her young cousin, Penny, except that Penny's eyes were hazel brown and Tam's were sapphire-blue. As she drove, she scanned the side of the roadway, hunting for some sign of him at the edge of the woods. "Why the devil he's out here I don't know," she said. "But then, a good many things he does don't make sense. I notice, though, that he turns to me when he wants help, not his friends or lover." She wondered how many lovers he'd had over the years. Obviously more than one. "More than half a dozen, probably. Nothing but tramps, most of them and...Omigod! Tim!" She punched out a parking pattern, flipped the braking toggle. The Atmos slid to a stop off the roadway, the tires slightly screeching. At the touch of a button, the bubble top split in two, both halves sinking out of sight into the main body of the car. Night air came, scented with the smell of sagebrush and wild flowers, and assailed her nostrils. Apollo came walking over to her car. "Don't be alarmed," he told her, with what he hoped was an ingratiating smile. "I'd appreciate a lift to the nearest human settlement. This may sound a bit strange, but I'm not certain where I am." "Oh, for crying out loud, Tim! What are you up to now?" "Huh?" He crouched some to look directly at the driver's side door to look her in the eye. "Why are you pretending not to know me? Is this some kind of a joke?" "What was that you just called me?" "Your name is Tim Robinson, joker. My last name is Robinson, too. We're twins, in case you've forgotten." With an impatient gesture, she unlatched the door on the side of the Atmos. "Oh, c'mon, get in, will you. We'd better have a nice brother to sister talk." "Yep," agreed Apollo as he climbed in. "We'd better." ***** CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: TAM ROBINSON The city looked strange, yet vaguely familiar at the same time. Apollo could guess at the functions of most of the buildings and vehicles he was seeing, but their shapes were odd. The buildings rose high and were linked with curving ramps at walkways at various levels. The structures were mostly huge panels of tinted glass and fretworks of shimmering metal. Up above the roadways and ramps, hovercraft darted from tower to tower. "I thought you were dead," Tam was saying as she drove them deeper and deeper into the glittering city. "Apparently not," he said. "You were gone for weeks, Tim. Nobody knew where. Then you call me, practically in the middle of the night, to rush out and come pick you up," she continued. "That was you who phoned me, wasn't it?" "Not exactly." He still wasn't quite certain who this attractive young woman was, but he had a strong hunch Serina had something to do with bringing them together. "I had someone contact you." "Who?" "Just a helpful passerby." She frowned over at him. "And why are you dressed like that? It looks like some sort of party costume." The girl herself was clad in a blue-and-gray jumpsuit that looked as if it might be a uniform of some kind. "My plane, began Apollo, "crashed in the desert back there." "Oh, wow! Are you hurt? Is that why you haven't gotten in touch with anyone?" "I'm not so much hurt," said Apollo, "as I am...a bit confused." "I think we better get you right to a hospital," she said. "You've been sounding...dazed." "No, I'm not in need of hospital attention," he assured her. "Isn't there someplace where we can go and have that talk you promised? I'm still disoriented." "You don't need to talk, brother. You need to go to a hospital." "No hospital." His turbolaser was in his hand, pointed at her. "I was hoping we could do this all in a friendly manner." "Tim, you don't have to point a gun at me to...what kind of gun is that, anyway?" "I'll explain things when we...By the way, what was your name again?" The Atmos shimmied some more as she glanced at him. "You...you really don't remember?" "I told you, I'm very unsettled." "Tam," she said, lips thinning. "Tam Robinson." "Robinson?" Apollo frowned. He was, frankly, getting damn sick and tired of hearing that name. "Uh, are you, I mean---we, any relation to Professor John Robinson of the Jupiter 2?" "Boy!" exclaimed Tam. "You are sick if you don't know our Uncle John and Aunt Maureen! I suppose you don't know our cousins, Will, Penny, and Judy, either?" Apollo was in a state of chaos now. "Tam, I'll try to do the best I can to fill you in," he promised. "Now, how about we have that talk?" "Will my apartment do?" "It'll do nicely," nodded Apollo. "You remember my apartment, don't you?" Apollo shook his head. "Afraid not." "Damn!" she cursed aloud. ***** Starbuck banked his Viper, muttering, "C'mon, Apollo, show up!" Boomer's voice came out his helmet's audiophones. "We've barely got enough fuel to complete out mission and rendezvous with the Galactica," he said. "Where the frak is he? Where'd he go?" "I hate to say it, but maybe we just aren't going to find him at all." "We can't stop now," insisted Starbuck, teeth grinding on his fumarello. "Apollo's out there somewhere and I intend to find him." "It might help if we could get the Galactica to come to us," mused Boomer. "Except we're too far for voice communications." Starbuck tapped the fingers of his left hand on the control dash. "What if we turned on our long-range distress beacon?" "Oh, they'd pick that up," said Boomer. "So might our friend Commandant Neistadt or any other Destroyers in the area." "It's either that or give up on Apollo." Starbuck activated his beacon. "Wanna risk it, for his sake?" "Okay, count me in, too." "Now, we just...Hey! I'm getting a long-range distress signal on my long-range scanner." Boomer said, "So am I." "It's got to be Apollo!" "But there's no possible way he could've outflown or normal scanners in so short a time as to..." "Be that as it may," cut in Starbuck, watching the tiny throbbing dot of light on his screen. "That has to be our wandering boy." There was a note of skepticism in Boomer's voice. "But it's coming from the wrong direction." "Even so, old chum." "On top of which, it's beyond the point of no return. We don't have enough fuel to get there and back." "Then I'll just have to cross my fingers and hope the fleet picks up my beacon signal," said Starbuck. "'Cause I'm gonna find Apollo or die trying!" "You're not going alone, friend." "Uh-uh, Boomer, not on this trip," Starbuck told him. "I'm as anxious to find the guy as you are." "True, but you're going to have to take over command of the squadron. Our primary mission is still to track that damn Destroyer to Lunar Seven." "Great! Instead of one missing warrior, we'll probably end up with two." "Oh, ye who have little faith," quipped Starbuck. "I'll find him and bring us both back. Never fear, Starbuck's here...see ya later." His Viper went into a steep bank, moving swiftly away from Boomer's ship. "Good luck," said Boomer. ***** CHAPTER FORTY-THREE: IDENTITY CRISIS Apollo crossed the circular living room. The sounds of the night city were muted up here in this tower apartment. There was a rectangular mirror inset in one section of the pale blue wall. He stopped close in front of it, touching his face. "I don't look any different," he said quietly. "What was that?" Tam was standing near a pneumatic sofa, watching him. "Nothing, just thinking aloud." "You were injured in the crash, weren't you?" Facing her, Apollo answered, "Nope, not really." "Then why were you so anxious to look at your face?" "I just wanted to make sure it was the same one I woke up with this morning." "Tim, not much of what you've said so far makes any sense." Her frown was deepening. "That's something else we're going to have to discuss," he said. "You keep calling me Tim Robinson, but actually..." "Before we talk," she said, holding up a hand in a wait-a-minute gesture. "Let me change out of my uniform." She moved toward a doorway. "Don't get in touch with anyone," he warned, tapping his holstered turbolaser. Shaking her head, she said, "Do you really think your own sister would sell you out?" She went through the doorway, closing the door behind her. Apollo crossed the room and stood listening at the shut door. "You cannot tell her the truth, beloved." Spinning suddenly, Apollo saw Serina sitting comfortably on the pneumatic sofa. It was all Apollo could do to keep from running over to give her a hug. God, he missed her so. "How'd you get here?" Apollo asked. "I thought you told me that no one on this planet could see you." "They can't, you can." She tapped the side of her head. "The point is, you have to pretend you're Tim Robinson. I came to warn you not to confide anything in his sister, since that would be dangerous." "Who in Hades is this Tim Robinson, anyway?" "As you've already been told, he's the nephew of Professor John Robinson, whose family you recently aided on their journey to Centauria," Serina explained. "That, together with the fact that he holds the rank of colonel in the Nationalist Service, should get you into their governing body, called the Presidium. There you will tell them the truth about what's happening on Lunar Seven and Centauria." Apollo touched his face. "And I look just like Tim?" "To them," said Serina. ***** Tam glanced once again at the picturephone alcove across her bedroom. "There's something wrong with him," she told herself. "Something seriously wrong." Slowly, walking like a reluctant child, she went to the alcove and sat in the chair that faced the phonescreen. "Tim's played some nasty jokes on me from time to time. But nothing like this," she said. "He's not pretending he doesn't know me, he really doesn't. " She sat with her hands folded in her lap for a moment, then sighed, leaned forward and punched out a series of numbers. The small rectangular picturephone turned from gray to deep black. "Security number?" requested a bland mechanical voice. "SN#800-212-1441," she responded. The screen snapped to a brilliant yellow and a few seconds later, a stern-faced man was there. "Yes, Tam?" "Something's happened, Mike..." "Can you be more specific?" His fluffy blonde hair and thick eyebrows accented his deeply tanned face. "He's back." "Your brother, Tim?" "Yes." "Where was he?" "I---I'm not certain. There was a crash and---he's been hurt, Mike." "How bad?" "Physically, he's okay, but---he's acting very strangely. He doesn't seem to know who I am." "We'll get a team over there right away," promised Mike. "Be careful; don't take any chances." "I won't." ***** Apollo had been talking to Serina. "Okay," he's said, pacing the blue carpeting. "I know something about what happened on Centauria. I was there, I saw what happened." "They know that, Apollo. That's why they chose you." "Yeah, but I don't know a blinking thing about Lunar Seven," Apollo told the white-gowned woman, halting to point at her. "Sweetheart, if I get up in front of this...what did you call it?" "Presidium. It's the Terran equivalent of the Colonies' Quorum of the "What can I possibly tell them about Lunar Seven? I don't have more than what Professor Robinson told me about his family's experience there." "That's a start," Serina said. "And what you don't know, I'll supply." "And they're going to fall for this dodge? I come strolling into this Presidium and say, 'Hi, folks, I'm good old Tim Robinson,' and they're going to accept it?" "Yes." "Did he look anything like me?" "Actually, more like a cross between you and Starbuck." "Just the kind of guy I've always wanted to meet, I suppose." "They'll perceive you as looking like Robinson?" "An illusion?" "Most things are, but we don't have time to go into that," said Serina. "The most important thing to remember is..." "All right, I'll tell all I know, all you pump into me by way of information," conceded Apollo, stopping his pacing in the vicinity of the sofa. "But, wife or not, if I get the feeling you're abandoning me, I'll tell the truth." Serina's sensuous smile spread slowly and then vanished. "This culture isn't very different from the ones you know, Apollo. Remember what I said---if you tell them the truth, they'll merely assume you're crazy and lock you up." Apollo scratched his ribs and thought about that. "You're not kidding about that, that nobody can see you but me?" "Only you." "That hurts." He sat down next to the white-gowned woman. "Explain to me again why I'm putting on this show." "We're helping not just these people but our people as well." "Fine, but I need a heck of a lot more details than what you've supplied me with." "I told you I couldn't work that way." "Serina, I'm asking you as your husband. I need to be sure I'm on the right side before I..." "Of course you're on the right side, Tim," said Tam from the doorway of her bedroom. "You know that." Apollo looked from her to Serina. "Can't see you?" "Not at all," Serina shook her head. "As far as Tam Robinson is concerned, I'm not here." "I wish she could meet you." Apollo had to hold back tears, hurting at the idea that no one could see his beloved but him. Tam came over to him, took his hand and started to seat herself next to him. "Is something wrong?" "Watch it, you'll plump right down on her lap if...That is---That's a very pretty dress." "You should know, brother. You bought it for me." "Did I? Well, it just goes to prove that I have excellent tasts." She sat. Serina was no longer there. "Tim, no matter what happens...Dad knows I love you and so do you." She moved her hand, tentatively, up to stroke his cheek. "You disappeared on us six weeks ago without so much as a word...and just two weeks after that, Dad was reporting missing in action. It's been very tough on me." "What's he like, your---I mean---our father?" "Well, you know...Dammit, Tim, you really aren't yourself...and so..." "You're right, I'm not myself. But, with your help, Tam, I can do what I have to do. You..." The door had been making a low humming sound. Apollo straightened. "What's wrong/" "It's only the doorbell." She stood, sounding nervous. "Remember, Tim, whatever happens---it's for your own good." "I don't like the sound of that," he said. ***** CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR: THEY'RE TAKING APOLLO TO THE FUNNY FARM! Colonel Tigh was seated at his console in the communications area. There were several other crewmembers seated at various positions around the area. She brought something to Tigh's attention that had come up on her console, the news of which later sent him scurrying across the bridge. "I think you better come take a look at the number three deep scan screen," he said to the commander. Adama followed him back. "What is it?" "Vipers two and four are transmitting emergency beacons from this area of the quadrant," explained Tigh, indicating the pale green screen next to Athena. "That's Starbuck's ship and Boomer's" said Athena as she pushed the readout button. A sheet of pale green paper came whispering out of a slot beneath the screen. Adama snatched it up as fast as he could. "They're quite a distance from Lunar Seven," said Adama, studying the printout sheet. "If our deep scan is correct," said Tigh, "the signals are coming from quite near Terra." "Can the Destroyer have bypassed Lunar Seven and headed for Terra?" "It's a possibility," replied Tigh doubtfully, "but I don't think the Destroyer has that kind of speed." "Have you communicated with the Viper squadron?" "They're out of range. We can only pick up the energy beacon blips; we can't communicate with them." Adama was frowning at the scanner. "Something's obviously going wrong," he said. "We have to catch up with them." "But how can we, at this speed?" said Athena. Adama snatched up a talkmike. "Get me helm and plotting, please." After a micron, a woman's voice came over the speaker. "Helm, Marali here." "Bring us around to Mark Delta Five. Full scan, on direct track for Terra." "Terra, sir?" "Athena will transmit the coordinates to your station," the commander ordered. "And give me lightspeed." "It's been some time, if you don't mind my mentioning it, since this Battlestar has ever tried traveling at lightspeed." "Nevertheless, we'll do it." "Yes, sir," said Marali. "Mark Delta Five. Executing. Switching now to lightspeed." Adama, still holding the talkmike, switched to Unicom, the frequency that would patch him through to the entire fleet. Tigh cracked his knuckles, glanced at the deep scan screen and then at the commander. "The Galactica must temporarily leave the Fleet," Adama was saying, his voice going out to all the ships in the rag-tag fleet. "We'll be rendezvousing with one of our patrols. Your captains will all be given instructions via fleet navigation. Thank you." He let the mike drop to his side. "Do you think the emergency has something to do with Apollo's whereabouts?" asked Colonel Tigh. "All I know is that there is an emergency," answered the Commander. "And that we have to do something about it!" ***** The door of the young woman's apartment snapped open. Two men in white helmets and gray-white uniforms came swiftly in, side by side, each with a pistol in hand. The barrels of both weapons were pointed right at the seated Apollo. "Don't give us any trouble, Colonel," said the taller of the two men. He had a lean face, and the hair showing beneath the rim of his helmet was sand-colored. "Seems like I've been promoted all of a sudden," remarked Apollo. "From captain to colonel in just one night. Amazing!" "Colonel Robinson," said the man, "You are to..." "Am I supposed to know these guys?" Apollo asked the nervous girl. Tam swallowed, shook her head. "No, I don't suppose so," she answered finally. "They won't hurt you, though." "I thought you said you wouldn't see me out, Tam." The warrior turned to the two uniformed men. "Are you friends of hers?" "I'm Agent Burton," said the one with the sandy hair. The second man eased closer to the sofa Apollo was seated on. "We've met before, Colonel, although you may not remember," he said. "I'm Mike Wilson. No need to shake hands." "Since you came barging in with your guns drawn, I don't guess this is a simple social call." "No," said Wilson. "We're taking you in for questioning." "Taking me to where for questioning? "It would be better, Colonel, if you'd let us ask the questions for the time being." Apollo, slowly, stood up. "I don't suppose," he said, "I can persuade you to take me directly to the Presidium." Wilson shook his head. "Not just yet, sir. Sorry." Tam said, "Go with them, Tim. Please. It's for your own good." "Don't bet on that," said Apollo. "Okay, fellows, lead on." ***** The Viper came skimming in over the rocky canyon at dawn. Starbuck, fumarello at a jaunty angle, was concentrating on landing at just the right spot. "Get set for a reunion, Apollo," he announced. "I'm just about caught up with you." The tracking device on his control panel told him he was flying ever closer to Apollo's missing ship. "Bingo!" said Starbuck when his scanner screen showed him the Viper itself, directly below. Decelerating, he circled the pinnacles of the canyon and then set down his ship in the same spot with Apollo's. "Deft," he congratulated himself. "A very deft and lovely landing, m'boy." Remembering that the atmosphere of Terra was thinner than what he was accustomed to, he put on a breathing mask, popped the canopy and came bounding out into the wilderness. The early morning light was a thin gray; everything around felt cool and dry. Off in the brush, small animals were stirring. "Apollo?" called the lieutenant as he doubletimed over to the other Viper. The ship was silent, its surface covered with dust. After making a circle of the craft and determining there was no one inside the cockpit, Starbuck tried the hatch handle. The door opened without trouble. Climbing inside, Starbuck looked around the cockpit. No sign of any trouble or violence---and no sign of Apollo, either. Nodding, tightening the rubber thongs that held the mask to his mouth and nose, Starbuck went to the dash and flipped a small red toggle. "This is Captain Apollo," he began. "I'm leaving this message in case any of the Galactica warriors succeed in tracking me here. I'm about to set out on foot for the nearest human settlement. I'll keep my personal communicator on standby to act as a homing device." Silence followed. Starbuck was about to turn off the switch when Apollo spoke further. "If, as I suspect, it's you who find this crate first, Starbuck," he said, "let me tell you, good buddy, that you are not going to believe what's going on. Not sure I believe it myself. See you soon...Bye." Starbuck made an impatient gesture at the speaker. "C'mon, don't' be so darn coy. Give me some details." The message, however, was over. Going to the nearest human settlement. Involved in something incredible. Starbuck scratched his backside. "Guess I'd better turn on my own communicator and see if I can trail him. I noticed a major population center when I was flying in and that must be...what the..." Something big was standing near his Viper, looking at him with whatever it was that passed for its eyes. ***** CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE: STARBUCK MEETS ROBBY THE ROBOT "Do you know me?" the man in the white tunic asked Apollo. "Should I?" "I am Doctor Zucco." He was a small man with wavy long hair and a mustache who appeared to be approaching middle age. "Sorry, your name doesn't ring any bells," Apollo shrugged. He was sitting on an examining table in a glass-walled room. The walls were blank and he couldn't tell what was going on behind them. Three ball-shaped light fixtures floated up near the ceiling. "How'd you get here?" asked the doctor. "Some lads in uniform dragged me in. Actually, I wanted to go right to the Presidium, but they had other ideas." "Do you feel as if you're being watched?" Apollo laughed. "You've been working here too long, Doc...This is a mental institution, isn't it?" "It's a government facility," answered Zucco. "As you know." Folding his arms, Apollo said, "I've been trying to figure out how I must look to you. I can understand why you well might think I'm goofy, but that sort of attitude isn't going to help either one of us." "Why do you persist in evading my questions, Colonel Robinson?" "First off, let me explain that...and you'll have to take this on faith, since you probably think you're seeing Tim Robinsons...Anyway, I'm not Tim Robinson." "If you're not Tim Robinson, then who are you?" "That's not important. You can call me Tim Robinson, if you like; it might be simpler all around," said Apollo. "Listen, the important thing is that I have a message for the Presidium. An important message." The doctor asked, "You feel that way about yourself, Colonel Robinson? That you're very important?" "Not me, the message," answered Apollo, letting some of his influence show in his voice. "Apparently, they're not aware of the real situation out there." He pointed at the ceiling. "Your outpost on Lunar Seven and the secret commercial settlements on Centauria, for instance, have been all but wiped out." "And just how do you know that?" "I was on Centauria. In fact, I helped one of your ships get there." "To which ship are you referring, sir?" "The Jupiter 2," said Apollo. "During the time I spent with the Robinsons, I was able to see what the Alliance had done to the planet. Now, as for the other Lunar outposts..." Zucco stamped his foot hard on the floor. "Enough nonsense!" he bellowed. The mustachioed doctor stepped to one side of the examination table, leaning over to Apollo, as if to intimidate him. "You have never been to Centauria." "Time Robinson hasn't, no, but..." "No one lives on Centauria anymore! No one can travel to Centauria anymore, for that matter," the doctor said, the volume of his voice increasing with every syllable. "Besides, Colonel," Zucco continued, "you and I both know that your uncle's ship was lost in space over five years ago, he and his family declared legally dead afterward." "What?" Apollo was shocked. "But---that's not true! The Robinsons are making a home on Centauria even as we speak. They've got neighbors. There's even an abandoned city there. I've seen it!" Zucco became increasingly stern, increasingly arrogant. "The official statement from the High Command was that the Jupiter 2 ran into an unanticipated meteor storm and was thrown off course. And, as I said before, Centauria is no longer inhabited." "Then I would say the High Command's been feeding you lies." "All right, Colonel, tell me what you think happened?" "The Jupiter 2 was intercepted at Lunar Seven, which, unknown to them, had been taken over by the Alliance----just like a lot of your other satellite planets. The Robinsons had been in Alliance custody for a brief period of time, and then they finally escaped." The doctor's face reddened. "Would you excuse me for a moment?" he said. "I'll be back with you very soon." "While you're out," suggested Apollo, "suppose you notify the Presidium that I have some..." "Yes, yes," said the doctor as he crossed to the door. "You just relax, Colonel, and don't worry about anything." ***** "Far out, man!" said the bizarre automaton standing near Starbuck's Viper. "You sure enough look like as how you might be one of us." Starbuck's right hand was in the immediate vicinity of its holster. "I'm not sure how to take that----are you insulting me or complimenting me?" It was a somewhat humanoid robot that was facing Starbuck now. His head was a gumdrop-shaped dome with an antenna on each side, a trio of gyroscopes where the brow would be, clacking relays beneath, and a grid below the dome that lit up blue as it spoke. The robot could hear, Starbuck was sure, though it wasn't clear where his ears were. The robot's torso was shaped like a giant crockpot with a panel in front. His pelvis was a large sphere, and each leg consisted of three spheres piled one atop the other. He had two round feet, flattened on the bottom. His very short arms ended in a pair of three-fingered hands. In height, he was roughly seven metrons tall. "Mellow out, human! I didn't mean as how you looked like a 'bot," he explained. "What I was getting at was that you seem to be a loner, an outsider. Ain't you?" "I'm not from around here, that's for sure," admitted the lieutenant." "Knowed that right off. Minute I saw you in that dingus you're wearing to help you breathe our air." The "head" swiveled a few times from side to side. "No one else on Terra wears anything like that. Like---oh, my God!" He snapped his "fingers," producing a metallic ping. "Excuse my manners. I never introduced myself proper. My name is Robby." He trotted up to Starbuck and held out one of his mechanical hands. "That's R-O-B-B-Y." "Please to meet you, Robby." Starbuck shook hands with the robot. "I'm called Starbuck." The robot produced a whistling sound with his voice light. "Starbuck? That name's boss, man. Sorta poetic and all that jazz." Starbuck retrieved his hand, took a deep breath from his oxygen supply, and inquired: "You're about the second Terran I've met that talks like that. Is this---slang---or whatever---the official language of this planet?" "Groovy, ain't it?" His transparent "head" swiveled to and fro; causing a series of clicks, pings and pops. "Nope, heck no. I up and reprogrammed myself, basing my mode of speech on some lingo I come across in our library. Afore that, why, heck, I went around like all the rest of them poor servos, talking like this here...'Message for Captain Trevino; Colonel Robbins report to Briefing Room Z-23...' like that there. Shoot, but that was powerful bogus, day in and day out." "How'd you get them to reprogram you?" Robby gave a tinny chuckle. "Hell's Bells, Starbuck, they never done it. I done it my own self, after doing a lot of secret researching in the library. We've got a far out and groovy research library at the Multiplex." "Hey, robots can't reprogram themselves. That violates the basic laws of their programming." "Aw, that's a lot of jive talk, baby," the robot assured him. "Naw, if you want to let it all hang out, do something bad enough, that is, why, heck, you can do it." "Tell you what, Robby," said Starbuck, "what I would really like to do is find my friend. He was in this ship, and now he's missing." "He sure enough was, yep. I seen it land. From a mile or so over yonder, in our pad," said the robot. "Yep. Thing is, I'd never, since the day I was manufactured, seen a ship like this here one, and, I got to admit, it sort of tripped me out first off." His vertical antenna seemed now to be spinning around faster than his horizontal antenna. "Once I got over it, though, why I up and says to the bunch that I was gonna mosey over there and have a looksee. They ordered me to leave well enough alone, but...well, heck---this robot ain't exactly much when it comes to taking orders." "You saw my friend?" "Cool it, Starbuck," Robby told him. "I'm coming to that. Anyways, by the time I got here, it was splitsville for your pal." "Splitsville?" Starbuck was slightly confused. "Oh, you mean he went away. Do you know where?" "Well, I sure do. I wouldn't go telling you this long yarn if I didn't have no ways to end it," said the mechanical hipster. "See, I am built so as I can follow a trail good as a hound dog. So I start tracking him through this here canyon. Didn't get a gander at him till he was out on the highway, 'bout two miles or so yonder." "Which way was he going?" "I'm getting to that, just chill out, man," said Robby. "'Afore I could get close to the cat, whysir, this sexy little Ford Atmos whooshes up, and danged if he don't hop right in." Starbuck guessed that an "Atmos" was some kind of landcar. "Who was the driver?" "Some foxy lady." His antennae whirled again. "Did she force him into her vehicle?" "Heck, when you're that pretty, you don't need no force." "Do you know who she was?" 'Nope. Wish that I did." "And they're headed toward the city?" "Yep, that's where they was aiming for," answered the robot. "If you'd like, I can show you a solid shortcut for getting there without no...Holy darn!" Starbuck heard it too, a chuffing sound from up above. Looking up, he saw a hovercraft dropping down out of the gray morning sky. "Would this be local law enforcement?" "Yep, it's the fuzz alright," said Robby ruefully. "And it looks like we ain't gonna have no chance to hightail it away from here." ***** CHAPTER FORTY-SIX: DELUSIONS OF TRUTH Doctor Zucco shoved the file folder on his desk an exactly half-inch to the right. "Physically, Colonel Robinson is in excellent shape," he said to the man sitting opposite him. "In a way, that's puzzling, since one would expect him to show signs of the ordeal he's obviously been through." "Tell me a bit more about his mental state," requested Harriman Nelson. He was a medium-sized man, with a pale face and brown-gray hair, clad in a one-piece black civilian suit. "He's suffering from delusions," replied the doctor. "He says that our Lunar outposts have been destroyed by the Alliance, and...get this...he claims to have seen his uncle, Professor Robinson, and guided his ship toward Centauria, where he says there's a thriving community." "That kind of talk," said Nelson, "even when it's only the ravings of a madman, can be dangerous." "I prefer to call the colonel disturbed, Mr. Nelson. The term madman doesn't apply to him." "Where has he been all this time?" "I'm afraid I can't get a coherent answer out of him." Doctor Zucco shook his head. "He insists that he isn't even Colonel Robinson at all." "Is that a fact?" Nelson rubbed his pale fingertips together. "Then who in blazes is he?" "He told me I wouldn't understand, so I might as well go on calling him Tim Robinson." "I recommend keeping the colonel in detention," said Nelson. "It's the safest thing to do." "I disagree. The best thing for him is to be transferred to a facility where he can receive rest and treatment." "All in good time, doctor. But I've got to brief the President first." Zucco pushed the folder another half-inch to the right. "But the Presidium should be notified," he said. "Don't they intend to bestow posthumous honors on Colonel Robinson in a few days? Surely the fact that he's alive and well is something that ought to be "The decision as to whether the Presidium is to be informed or not is the President's," said Nelson. "It's neither yours, nor mine." "Yes, but they've declared him dead---just like his relatives on the Jupiter 2." "You have your duties here, Dr. Zucco," said Nelson. "They don't include usurping the President's authority." He stood up, slowly. "I want no one else to know that Colonel Robinson has returned or that he's your guest here at the Government Medical Complex." "Very well." "I'll contact you again, Doctor, as soon as I know anything." He started for the door. "What about our other patient in detention?" said Zucco, rising. Nelson stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "The President hasn't as yet come to any decision on him," he said over his shoulder. "I don't like to see this facility turning into some sort of political prison." "What you like or dislike has no bearing on the present situation," Nelson informed him. "And I'd hate to have to report to the President that you were less than cooperative." After a few silent seconds, the doctor said, "I'll await some word from you." "Very good." Nelson gave him a quick nod and went out of his office. ***** "Jinkies!" remarked Robby, whistling. "We're in a fix fer sure!" Two uniformed men were disembarking from the freshly-landed hovercraft. Each held a ready pistol. Starbuck's own weapon was in his hand, set for stun. "Let me do the negotiating, Robby." "Heck, I ain't anxious to mess with Five-Oh in any shape, form or size." "I'm Agent Cooley," said one of the young lawmen. "Please step clear of your craft and surrender your weapon." "Nope, I'm not in the mood to do that," Starbuck informed him as he moved into the Viper's shadow. "See, I dropped in to find my friend." "These two craft are not from Terra," said Cooley. "Therefore, we assume you are an intruder in airspace under the protection of the People's Nationalist Authority." "I suppose you could say that," admitted Starbuck, eying both of them. "Thing is, that doesn't..." "I'm repeating my order that you surrender," said Cooley, pointing his gun at Starbuck. "You will have to submit to interrogation." "Maybe later we can have a nice chat. But right now, I intend to do some hunting," said Starbuck. "Have either of you guys seen my partner? He was in this ship." "We know nothing of him," said Cooley. "Please surrender that weapon at once!" "You're sure you didn't run him in?" "You have exactly one minute to surrender. Then we will shoot." "I hate to do this, fellas, but I'm going to have to. You'll wake up in a couple of centons. Okay?" Grinning, he fired two blasts of his pistol, one for each man. Cooley sensed it and tried to squeeze the trigger of his own gun. But the stunbeam sprayed across his chest before he could get off a shot. His body stiffened, quivered, and then went slack. He collapsed on the dewy grass of the clearing. His partner got his dose of stunbeam about a micron later. He folded up, too, and tumbled down across Cooley. "Outta sight!" exclaimed Robby with awe and admiration. "That's one groovy blunderbuss you're toting around, Starbuck. What the heck is it?" "It's standard issue where I come from." He took a careful look around and then dropped the gun back into its holster. "Ain't never seen anything like that hereabouts." His half-egg of a head swiveled from side to side. "Seems to me the best policy for us," said Starbuck, stepping away from the nose of the Viper, "is to get the Hades outta here. Soonest." "Yep, that's a solid notion." The robot lumbered along in his measured one-foot-in-front-of-the-other fashion, following closely on Starbuck's heels. "Now," he said, you were mentioning something about showing me a sneaky way to enter the city?" "I sure was. See, we got all kinds of ways worked out," answered Robby. "Being anti-Establishment and such, we've learned to be sly. You ain't sly, you get cooked. Like I almost was this morning here. That, you see, comes from getting so het up over jawing with you." "Robby, you're doing just what you said almost got you...cooked." "Danged if I ain't." He took hold of Starbuck's left arm with one of his three-fingered hands. "C'mon along, I'll take you to our pad first off and then we'll show you how to get where you want to go. You got any clear idea where your pal is?" "I will, as soon as I activate this communicator." Starbuck fished out the small hand-held device. It caught the increasing light of the new morning. "Who have you got in your 'pad?' Because I don't know if I'm ready to meet another crew of miscreants like I met on Centauria." "Won't take but a minute or two,' said Robby, tugging the lieutenant across the canyon floor. "They's only Pleiades Pete, he's a homemade robot who run off from his owner, and Nancy Hartford, sometimes called Nancy Pi-Squared, who's got an ability to see into the future sometimes, and J5, who's human more or less and sort of strange but likeable, and Non, who used to be a robot butler before he figured out how to reprogram himself, and Mr. Chronos, who's good at building things and...Wellsir, that's about all at the present moment. We got what you might call a fluctuating population." Starbuck inhaled deeply from his breathing mask. "Let's get going then, Robby." ***** CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN: PRESIDENTIAL ASPIRATIONS The detention cell was about twenty feet square, with walls of a light-gray color. Apollo found he'd have a roommate. As the metal door clanged shut, a slim young man who'd been sitting on the edge of one of the two cots stood up. "I'll be damned," he said. "Never thought I'd see you again, Tim." He was not too steady on his feet and there were slashes of shadow underneath his eyes. "I'd better explain," said Apollo, "that I've been having trouble remembering people here on Terra." Frowning, the thin young man with coal-black hair came forward with his hand held out. "Hell, I'm Lee Crane. Captain Lee Crane. Are you trying to tell me you don't even know who I am?" "Things have been a bit rough, lately, Lee. No, I didn't recognize you." "Has that quack Zucco been shooting drugs into you, too?" Crane rubbed at his left arm above the elbow. "He says it's just to calm me down, but...well, my memory is a shade fuzzy at times, too." "How long have you been here?" Apollo went over and sat on the other cot. Rubbing his hand through his black hair, Crane answered, "A while. Hard to keep track of time here." "Uh," Apollo tried to convert to Terran measurements of time, "weeks, though?" "Must be three or four. I know it was after I'd heard you'd been lost in action on Lunar One. How'd you get back to Terra, anyway?" He sat on his cot, watching the newcomer. "Not exactly sure, Lee," said Apollo. "What I have to do, though, is get to the Presidium and fill them in on what's going on out there." "You don't have a chance," said Crane, with a bitter laugh. "Hell, that's why they tossed me in this damn cage." "You mean, you haven't been able to tell them about what went wrong out there? About the Robinsons, the destruction on Centauria and..." "They don't want that news to reach the people just yet," said Crane. "Yes, I know we've lost Lunar One through One-Twenty-One to the Alliance. Yes, I know that they were secretly sending people to Centauria years before your aunt, uncle and cousins went into space. And I also know that they're still alive, despite the load of crap High Command fed the public." "But all that destruction...those lies...all that cover-up...Are you telling me that the news media reports only what it's allowed to report?" "I'm afraid so. The government has a large staff just to make up stories about what's going on in space, Tim." "Why has the fact that the support planets have been destroyed been held back?" "The President wants that kept back," answered Crane, clenching his fists. "He knows that if the Presidium found out, they'd call for an all-out nuclear first strike against the Alliance." "What's wrong with that?" "It's important to his political health not to get involved in an all-out war right now," said Crane. "Or so his advisors think. It's a calculated risk he's taking, but he's thinking of his own future as well as the country's." "How can he keep this from the military?" "A very tight lid's been put on all reports coming in from out there," replied Crane. "When somebody does get back and try to tell the truth, he ends up in a joint like this. I'd bet there must be a couple dozen military guys like us locked up in various complexes around the country. We each have a mental problem; that's what the excuse is." "Then they may never let us out?" Crane shrugged. "The President's term has nearly two years to run," he said. "I doubt he can keep this thing quiet that long, but he's sure going to try." "Meantime, the Alliance keeps on destroying." "That's the size of it, Tim," said Crane, stretching out on the cot. He locked his hands behind his head and looked up at the ceiling. "Serina?" said Apollo under his breath. "Are you sure this is what I'm supposed to do? Sit in a cell and count off the days?" Nobody answered him. ***** Nationalist President Irwin Allen was a short, rotund and paunchy man. His hair was still a dark black, his eyes were deep set and slightly slanted. He sat behind his heavy darkwood desk, holding a sheet of thin yellow paper between his hands. "Well?" "It's Colonel Robinson," said Nelson from the chair in front of the big desk. "No doubt about that." "You've let me down, Harry." Allen let go of the memo and watched it flutter down to his desktop. Nelson looked up at the domed ceiling of the windowless Executive Office. "Up until that memo came from Wilson, I thought Robinson was safely stored away up on Lunar One." "But he isn't, Harry," said the President. "You gave me your word he was up there where he couldn't do us any harm." "Since the Alliance attack on Lunar One, all information out of there has been a bit sketchy, sir." "How'd Robinson get from there to here?" "He escaped, somehow." "Escaped? With Alliance Destroyers prowling Lunar One, destroying every ship of ours that tries to get back from there?" Nelson decided to meet the President's gaze. "I don't know how he did it," he said finally. "He apparently won't talk about it." "Let me be perfectly frank with you, Harry," said Allen, his stubby fingers drumming on the fallen memo. "I'm disappointed in you. You're supposed to be on my team, helping me keep this whole mess under control." "It's getting to be an awful large mess, sir," said Nelson. "We may not be able to keep it quiet, anymore." "I don't want to hear any more negative talk, Harry!" the President shouted. "How many people know that Tim Robinson is back on Terra?" "Agent Wilson and his partner," said Nelson. "Doctor Zucco, of course, and a few members of his staff. And the girl who..." "What girl, Harry?" "Colonel Robinson's sister, Tam Robinson. But we can take care of her. There's no need to panic." "Do that, then, Harry," he said. "I hate to have to take actions like this, but it's for the good of the nation. Right?" "It is, yes," agreed Nelson. "We determined that long ago." President Allen picked up the yellow memo once again. "One other thing, Harry," he said. "What's this about an unidentified flying craft entering our airspace?" "I don't believe it's anything serious, sir," replied Nelson, looking up at the ceiling. "In fact, neither of the two ships seems to be of Alliance origin." "Two ships, Harry?" The memo fluttered in his hand as he waved it. "I've only been notified of one." "I'm sure notification of the second sighting is being routed to you at this very moment, sir," said Nelson. "What sort of craft?" "That has yet to be determined. Small, though, and conforms to no known Alliance design," Nelson said. "Both apparently have landed, at different times, in the rock canyon just beyond the city. We've dispatched a search team to the area." "If the Presidium gets the notion this is some kind of scouting party for invaders they'll put even more of our ships up. As it is now, they've got our boys up round the clock." "There's no reason for the Presidium to find out," said Nelson. The President said, "See that they don't, Harry. And..." "Yes, sir?" "I'd like to see you keep playing on my team," the President said. "So, please, don't fumble the ball again. Okay?" ***** CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT: GAME PLAN Late afternoon shadows filled the quiet living room. Tam Robinson sat in the picturephone alcove, her lovely shoulders slumped. "What is this? Some kinda joke? That's where they said they were taking him!" "I'm sorry, but we have no patient by that name in the Complex infirmary," repeated the chunky, gray-haired woman. "Then let me repeat the name in case you didn't hear it the first time: Robinson. Colonel Timothy Robinson. He's got to be there." "I suggest you contact the Military Information Service, miss. If you wish, I can give you their phone number." "It's all right. Never mind." Tam broke the connection. After sitting for a moment, she left the alcove. "It's really starting to look as though I did the wrong thing," she said to herself. "Lord, there's no telling where they took Tim." The door hummed. She went over to the talkhole. "Yes?" "Me, Princess." Smiling suddenly, she opened the door. "Dad!" she said. "This is...I didn't even know where you were and...everything's gone to pot." Her father, Craig Robinson, was a lean, fiftyish man with dark-brown hair on top and gray-white hair on his sideburns, the resemblance to his younger brother, Professor John Robinson, being only a slight one. He wore the smart, off-white uniform of a Nationalist General. After hugging Tam, he came in the room and carefully shut the door. "Are you here alone?" "Now, yes. But--I had company earlier." "I should have told you what I was up to," he said, walking with his arm around her waist over to the pneumatic sofa. "Things are much worse than I thought." "Ugh! Tell me about it." They sat side by side. General Robinson said, "I had to leave without telling you, or at least I thought I did. I was on a mission for the Presidium." "Mission? I---I don't understand." "I didn't understand as much as I thought," said her father. "It appears that President Allen has been lying to us." Tam shook her head. "I don't get it. Aren't you and he supposed to be best friends?" "He's become a coward, Tam," he said. "He used to be a relatively honest man who put his nation's best interests first. Now, however, he's become so rattled by public opinion and the war, and his chances of being re-elected, that...well, he's changed." "Are you sure about this?" Nodding forlornly, the General said, "It's the Presidium's suspicion that we have already surrendered every one of Terra's support planets and Lunar outposts. My initial investigations tend to confirm that suspicion." "How did he imagine he could keep that from us?" "It's possible that he's cracked under the strain," answered her father, shaking his head. "I think he honestly believes that he needn't launch a full-scale war, that we can make some kind of agreement with the Alliance." Tam asked, "You say you confirmed these suspicions of the Presidium, but do you have actual proof?" "Nothing concrete, no. But I've put together enough information to convince myself of his guilt." "Listen, Dad," said Tam, "maybe Tim isn't crazy after all. He's been trying to tell me the same thing." "I'm afraid I really don't know what you're talking about, Princess." "Tim. He's back." "Tim---I mean---Colonel Robinson? That's impossible!" said General Robinson. "I just left the Presidium and if your brother were here on Terra, they would've called him into an emergency conference by now." "I thought they knew he was back. I called the security people when I thought he was having some kind of breakdown." "He was on Lunar One when it was attacked. He'd be able to give us proof of what..." The door didn't buzz this time, it simply snapped open. Agent Wilson and two other security men came quickly into the apartment. All were armed. Tam jumped to her feet. "He's the man I turned Tim over to!" she said, pointing at Wilson. "All right, you bastards, I want to know where my brother is and what you've done with him!" "Good afternoon, General Robinson," said Wilson, training his pistol on him. "This is quite convenient." "What's the meaning of this, Wilson?" demanded the general, rising angrily off the sofa. "Who the hell gave you the right to break into my daughter's apartment?" "These are troubled times, sir." Wilson gestured at the open doorway. "I'm afraid you and your daughter will have to come with us." "Where to?" "Where you wanted to go, I believe, Tam. To see your brother." ***** "Make yourself at home," invited Robby, his tinny voice echoing some. They were in a cavelike room that had apparently been dug out of a hillside. Three shadowy corridors led away from it. There was a raw plank floor, three canebottom chairs and a plastic and metal table. Atop the table rested a portable electric lamp. Starbuck surveyed the big, drafty underground room. "It's not exactly a cabin on the Rising Star," he observed, "but for a hideout it's not so bad. What's all that stuff over against the wall there?" "Don't go poking into that," cautioned the robot as Starbuck went over to the cluster of electronic equipment. "That there's Mr. Chronos's. He don't like folks messing with his stuff." "Nonsense, Robert. We mustn't be rude to our guest." A brown-haired, bearded man in a rumpled green suit had emerged from one of the tunnels. "Good day, sir. I'm Chronos." "Starbuck." He pointed at the gear. "Looks to me like you got a primitive scanning system included here. Can you check various points of the city for my friend?" "Primitive, sir?" his wide eyes seemed almost ready to burst out of his face. "Why, this is the most advanced scanning and tracking outfit you'll find on the whole bloomin' planet." Chronos approached his equipment, flicked a speck of dust off one of the terminal screens. "Starbuck here ain't from Terra," explained the robot, "so he's used to some mighty groovier junk." "Indeed?" Chronos looked the lieutenant up and down, his scrutinizing gaze lingering on the holstered turbolaser, the breathing mask on his face, and finally settling on the communicator in his left hand. "You do seem to be sporting some rather unusual equipment." "Trouble," announced a partly choked-up voice. "It's coming. Big trouble. Wow, boy!" "Take a chill pill, Nan," advised Robby. A thin, dark-haired young woman, dressed in a tight-fitting red skirt with a hemline that stopped just barely below her waist with a series of pink ovals that ran up and down the front from collar to hem, came over to them from another tunnel. Starbuck seemed a little disappointed when, upon taking a closer look, the "bare spots" were covered by shocking pink body tights that she wore under her skirt. Her scarlet boots fit her pretty well, though. "You're Lieutenant Starbuck," she said to him. "From the Battlestar Galactica, whatever that is, exactly. You're anxious to find Captain Apollo." He took a step back from the girl. "Nancy Pi-Squared, I presume." "Guilty as charged," she said. "Nancy gets hunches and such," said Robby. "That's mostly how come she split the city scene a while back to hook up with us renegades. If you got second sight n' all, it can cut up mighty rough for you." "I can do my own complaining," said Nancy. She sneezed, catching her spray in her bare hand. "Only thing I don't like about these caves is I'm allergic to dampness. It was you I was alluding to a moment ago, Starbuck. You're the one for sure, who's heading into a lot of trouble." "You just sensed that?" "Yes." She rubbed at her forehead. "Certain important people don't want your friend to tell what he knows." "Knows about what?" Giving a disappointed shake of her head, Nancy answered, "I can't help you there, sorry." "How about me?" 'You'll find him okay. But...Nope, no use. I can't see beyond that right now." Starbuck glanced from Nancy Pi-Squared to Chronos. "What I have to do is zero in on exactly where Apollo is," he told them. "This communicator of mine is picking up a signal from his. Chronos, can you use your equipment to pinpoint his exact whereabouts?" "Nothing to it." He held out one hand. "Let me have a look at that communicator." Starbuck handed it over to him. "I have got to get to him as soon as possible." "The Multiplex," said Nancy all at once." Robby whistled and spun his antennae at breakneck speed. "Is that where this cat Apollo is?" "Yes." "A wild surmise at best." Chronos seated himself at a keyboard. "Instead of blurting out unsubstantiated guesses, dear Nancy, try to be as unobtrusive as possible while I get the lieutenant an accurate location for his friend." "Wow, boy. I can see why they bounced you out of City Tech," the dark-haired young woman remarked. "I mean, a good teacher doesn't always ridicule other points of view." "Hey, folks," said Starbuck, holding both hands up in a let's-quit-this-gesture," I didn't come all this way to referee a debate. What's this Multiplex you mentioned, Nancy?" "Heck, that's whereat I used to work," Robby said. "Before I discovered how to...rebel." "It is also the place," the girl said to Starbuck, "where you're going to have a good part of your trouble." "If Apollo is there," said Starbuck with a nod at Chronos's back, "can you show me a quick and sneaky way to get in there, Robby?" "Jinkies! Getting in the Multiplex ain't no problem. That there's easier'n spitting in a creek," the robot said. "What's a real bummer, though, is getting out again." ***** CHAPTER FORTY-NINE: HELP FROM ABOVE I ought not to be doing this," said Doctor Zucco as they approached the door to Apollo's cell. "You ought not to be locking me up," said General Robinson. "That's what you should be concerned about." "I'm only following my orders, sir." "You talk like an Alliance Peacekeeper. Don't you know that every man is responsible for his actions?" "I used to believe that," said the doctor, halting before the cell door and glancing nervously up and down the empty corridor, "a long time ago." After another cautious look around, he used his special keycard to unlock the door. "You can see your son for five minutes, General, and then I'm going to have to return your to your own cell. I really shouldn't be allowing even this." "Stand aside, so I can go in." Craig Robinson reached for the door handle. "Now, be prepared to leave sooner, in case someone comes along this way." "You really must learn to relax, Doctor." Craig strode into the cell. "Tim! Son!" he exclaimed when he spotted Apollo. "Is it really you, Tim?" Apollo stood up. "I'm afraid I don't understand." "He's having some memory problems, General Robinson," explained Crane. "Robinson?" said Apollo. "You mean---you're Tim and Tam's father?" The general was scowling. "What the hell have they been doing to you, son? Of course I'm your dad. Don't you remember." "Actually...no." "Wait a minute," said Crane, moving closer to the general. "We can talk this all over later. You did come to get us out of here, didn't you?" Shaking his head, Craig Robinson replied, "I'm afraid not. Tam and I are prisoners, just like you two." "Tam, too?" said Apollo. "But she's the one who turned me in." "She thought they were going to help you, Tim," the general told him. "Your sister had no idea you'd be locked away like this." "Why have they grabbed you?" "Because our President is running scared. He doesn't want anyone who knows the true situation out in the support planets to talk." Crane said, "Hell, he's going to have to keep locking up an awful lot of people." "Unless he comes to his senses darn soon." The general put a hand on Apollo's shoulder. "My boy, I don't have much time. I had to bully that fool Zucco to give me a few minutes with you before locking me up. What I want to know is this...if I can manage to get word to the Presidium, will you testify as to the real conditions out there?" "You bet I will," Apollo assured him. "That's why I came to Terra in the first place." "I was certain I could count on my own son." "It might do your cause more good," suggested Apollo, "if I testified as myself." "As yourself? What are----" Three anxious taps on the door interrupted him. The door swung open a fraction. "That's' all the time I can give you, General. Sorry," said Doctor Zucco. "We have to go now." "But..." "If we're caught out here, it'll mean trouble for all of us." Craig Robinson studied Apollo's face for a few seconds. "Try to pull yourself together, Tim." Turning, he left him. ***** "Jinkies!" observed Robby. "If that there ain't a far out and groovy sight." He and Starbuck, with the robot in the lead, were traveling along an abandoned subway tunnel. Starbuck held a lightstick, while Robby led the way with his own built-in spotlight. "What are you hooting about now?" inquired the lieutenant, catching up with his mechanical guide. "I was merely remarking on that foxy chick up yonder. Sue sure manages to keep right spic and span...and it's almost like she's glowing some." "What chick---I mean, girl?" Starbuck swept the tunnel ahead with the beam of his stick. "I don't see any---Oh, my God! It can't be!" "Hello, Starbuck." Serina came drifting out of the darkness toward them. Her gown did seem to be glowing faintly. "This, I must say, is an odd place for a reunion. Planning some violence, are we?" "But---you're supposed to be---dead---Oh, wait----Somehow, you didn't really die----I---I think I remember you from---before." "Try hard, it'll come back to you." "You now travel in a---ship of lights...an advanced race selected you to----be----sort of their spokesperson," recalled Starbuck, the memory blurred still. "Yeah, and those people you're working for thrive on butting into other people's business." "They have a parental interest in the less fortunate, as do I," said Serina. "Like all thoughtful and caring parents, their efforts are sometimes misunderstood." Starbuck wanted to point an accusing finger at Serina, but one thing stopped him: he loved Serina too, when she was alive. He kept that from Apollo so as not to spur any ill will between him and his best friend and commanding officer. "Hey! I sudden understand what Apollo was getting at in that message he left me. About being involved in something I wasn't going to believe. The people you work for now----they're behind this, aren't they?" "They're only taking an interest in a dangerous situation that might well spin out of control." "Yeah, they only dragged Apollo here, right in the middle of an important mission." "Starbuck, Starbuck," said Serina patiently, "when are you going to realize that you really have no idea of what's important and what isn't in this universe? Part of wisdom is learning to accept the wise counsel of..." "I'm sorry, Serina, I can't accept any kind of counsel. Especially not from people who've kidnapped my buddy and thrust him into some screwball situation," said Starbuck, taking a deep relaxing breath from his oxygen mask. "Did you know, lovely lady, that they've thrown Apollo in the slammer, more or less?" "Of course I know that. Why do you think I'm here?" "What did they con him into doing this time?" demanded Starbuck. Serina raised a placating hand. "Listen to me for a moment," she requested. "Unless the situation that's been building on this planet is altered very soon, the two major powers will annihilate each other." "How soon is 'very soon'?" "Right now, it's a matter of hours, as Terrans measure time." "Allright!" said Robby, who'd been imprinting the conversation into his memory banks. "This is a dang groovy trip!" Serina gave the mechanical man a disdainful glance. "Can you hear me, robot?" "You betcha, you hot babe. See you too, with my photoreceptors. Ain't I supposed to?" Serina sighed. "I assumed only Starbuck was aware of me. I don't like to have a lot of rustic primitives ogling me when I'm having an important conversation." "Oh, shucks, Serina," said the robot. "I ain't no primitive at all. Listen, heck, the way I modified myself, I'm near about your equal in the smarts department." Serina couldn't refrain from letting her nose wrinkle slightly. "My equal? With those kind of speech patterns? Surely you jest." "Hey, later on your guys can arm wrestle to decide," put in the impatient Starbuck. "Right now, Serina, you're supposed to be telling me what's going on." "We want to avert an all-out nuclear holocaust on Terra that would destroy a good portion of the population," she said. "Having, as is usual in an emergency situation, to work with the materials at hand. Apollo is doing this as a favor to me as much as for those I work for. He's volunteered, in a manner of speaking." "More like conscripted, if you ask me." "He's obliged me by coming to my aid," said Serina. "After all, it's to your advantage, too, to keep these fools from destroying each other." "Okay, maybe so," conceded Starbuck. "But how does Apollo bring that off while cooling his heels in the slammer?" "You get him out and help him get into the Presidium, which is the governing body in this part of the world. Simple." She smiled and spread her hands apart wide. "You planned all this from the start? Knew it would go like this?" Serina said, "In any game there are bound to be unexpected variations now and then. Which is why I'm compelled to intercede directly at certain intervals." "A game? I wonder what Apollo would say to that; his dead wife playing a game with him." "In a way, I am playing a game with him," she admitted. "Oh, but I forgot how hot-tempered you can be, Starbuck." Perhaps it was foolish of me to use the word 'game' with you." "Hot-tempered?" He took three steps toward the woman in the white gown. "Where'd you get the idea that I was hot tempered?" Smiling, Serina said, "I'll let you get on with your rescue mission. Try, though, to keep the gore and bloodshed down to a minimum." "Are you trying to tell me how to...Serina?" She simply wasn't there anymore." "Groovy!" exclaimed the Robot, his antennae whirling. "Does that foxy chick put on an awesome show or what? Apollo's wife, is she?" "When she was alive, yes," answered Starbuck. "It don't compute, dude," said Robby. "Never mind. C'mon, let's go." ***** CHAPTER FIFTY: BREAK IN! Fingers steepled and chin resting on fingertips, Commander Adama sat in a comfortable chair in his quarters. "So they're starting up again already, are they?" "It was to be expected," said Siress Sybilla. Lowering his hands, Adama rested them on his knees. "And what exactly does the Council intend to do?" "Mutter and complain," she answered, smiling. "For now, anyway." The commander nodded. "There's some precedent for that." "They're very upset about your taking the Galactica away from the fleet. The majority feeling is that you're making a grave error." "Is that the unanimous feeling?" She smiled again. "You must realize I don't agree with my brothers on this, Adama, or we wouldn't be talking." "I appreciate that." "Many of them feel that approaching so near a planet like Terra may put the Battlestar in a dangerous position," she told them. "I tried to convince them that you're doing the right thing." "It's quite possible that I'm doing the wrong thing," he said quietly. "We really can't be sure what we'll have to face." "Yet, you're going?" "Apollo and Starbuck are in serious trouble, at least that's my assumption," he said. "Apollo's my son, but I see it as my duty to back up all our warriors. There's a risk to the Battlestar, I'll concede. Being commander of the Galactica, however, means I have to calculate the risks, weight the dangers against the possible results." Sybilla said, "I have a good deal of faith in your judgment." A speaker announced, "Colonel Tigh to see you." "Admit him," instructed Adama. The black colonel came into the room, a sheaf of papers in his hand. "Commander, Siress," he said, bowing slightly. "We've just determined, sir, that the two Vipers are actually on Terra. They apparently landed there." "Anything as to why?" "Nothing," answered the colonel. "In one centon, we'll be within striking distance of the planet. Master-Tech Shaddrack wants to know if you wish to reduce speed?" "No," said Commander Adama. "Tell him to continue at lightspeed." ***** Robby whispered, "There'll be two of 'em 'round the next bend in this here corridor." "Armed?" "You bet your butt, Starbuck. They've each got rifles, the kind that kill you dead right off." Easing his pistol out of the holster, Starbuck told him, "Okay, you go on up to those guards and distract them. I sneak up in a jiffy and stun 'em." "They might shoot me." "So? You're made out of metal." "Even so, it might put holes in my carcass. I don't cotton to having no unsightly holes perforating my beautiful skin." "They won't have time to perforate you," Starbuck assured him. "Trust me." "Oh, shucks, I do. Really. But..." "G'wan." And the robot trotted along the shadowy underground corridor. "Halt!" ordered the first guard who noticed him. There were two of them, gray-uniformed, stationed in front of a wide metal door in a pale green wall. "Jinkies!" exclaimed Robby as he went shuffling closer to the guards. "I surely must've taken me a wrong turning. I'm looking for the Rapid Transit subcar train to..." "Identify yourself!" commanded the other guard. "Who is your owner? What is your operating license number?" "Peace, dudes," said Robby. "I just made a small mistake. Surely, I bet you I know exactly what happened, I bet you one of my directional tubes is on the fritz, and so I..." "Step over here to us," said a guard. "I'm starting to suspect you dudes don't work for the Rapid Transit at all," said the mechanical man. "Nope, your uniforms ain't the right color and your attitude ain't the usual combination of courtesy and amiability one comes to associate with Rapid Transit." "What are you doing here, robot? This is an entry to a government building!" "Really? Well, that really blows my mind. Here I thought I was..." Starbuck fired his pistol, twice, set to stun." Before either of the guards could turn his attention to the lieutenant, they were tumbling over. "You sure as heck took your own sweet time springing into action, Starbuck," said the robot, turning his half-egg head to observe the approaching lieutenant. "I must've sweated me a gallon of oil." "Robots don't sweat." "I was speaking metaphorically." Stepping across the fallen bodies of the stunned and unconscious guards, Starbuck pointed at the door. "This leads to the section of the Multiplex that we want?" "Heck, yes. Didn't I already explain all that to you? Once you used that there communicator of yours to get the exact location of your pal, I called on my vast and intimate knowledge of the Multiplex to pick us the best sneaky route in." "Okay," said Starbuck. "How many other guards are we likely to encounter before we reach Apollo's cell?" "Heck, it's going to be a real trip from here on," said the robot. "I don't guess we got to overcome more than fifteen or twenty guards." ***** Crane tapped his plastic spoon lightly against the edge of the plastic metal tray resting across his knees. "I've been kicking an odd notion around in my head," he said. Apollo was leaning, his arms folded, against the cell wall. His metal tray, the food untouched, was sitting atop his cot. "This is a good place for odd notions." "When your dad was here, you started to tell him something," said Crane. "You were going to explain that you aren't really Tim Robinson, weren't you?" Apollo unfolded his arms. "Yep, I was." After watching him for a moment, Crane went on. "I'm starting to believe you really aren't Tim Robinson at all. At first I figured you were acting funny because these bastards had shot you full of drugs or something." "They didn't." "Now, though, I can see another explanation. Namely, that you don't know things that Tim would know because you aren't Tim." "Congratulations. You're starting to think logically." "Who are you, then?" "My name's Apollo." Crane dropped his fork onto his tray. It made a faint click. "Apollo, huh? Where do you come from? What planet?" "I don't reside on a planet. I live on an immense spaceship called a Battlestar." "Battlestar? Sounds pretty big. Don't remember anything like that being commissioned." "It's not a Terran ship. We're new to your part of the universe." "Why are you here at all? Are you the front runner for some kind of invasion team from another galaxy?" "Nothing like that, no," Apollo, his words slightly slurry, said. "Then, what?" "I'm not completely here by choice. Let's just say I was sort of persuaded to volunteer for this job." "What job? Getting yourself locked up?" "The job is to get certain information to your Presidium." Crane shook his head. "Don't look like you'll make it." "It's much too early to give up," Apollo told him. "The people I'm working for are pretty good at getting their way." "So you expect to get free of here?" "Eventually." "How?" "I haven't exactly figured it out yet," admitted Apollo. ***** A guard spun on his heel, went running for the nearest alarm box on the wall. "Better stop that there gent from pulling that red lever," warned Robby, who was towering beside Starbuck in the corridor leading to the cell they were seeking. Starbuck fired his stun-set pistol. The beam hit the guard in the middle of his back and he went spread-eagled in midair. He seemed to float there for an instant before dropping to the ribbed metal floor. Straightening, Starbuck surveyed the narrow hallway. "You miscalculated, old chum," he said as he lowered his weapon. "That last makes twenty-three guards encountered so far." "According to my figures, Starbuck, it's twenty-four. And that dude ought to be the last for a while." Starbuck skirted the two unconscious guards sprawled near his feet. "Apollo should be in one of those cells coming up on the right." "That one numbered 232 if our calculations are right," said the robot, lumbering along with him. "Then let's get him the heck out of here fast." The lieutenant stopped in front of the door he wanted. "A couple dozen guards asleep on duty is going to attract attention pretty soon." "I can pick this here lock easy as heck," offered the robot. "Got me a special tool for just such a task built right into my chest." A little door started to open in the robot's middle, just beneath his voice light. "This is quicker." Starbuck reset his pistol and fired at the lock. ***** CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE: STARBUCK TO THE RESCUE! Apollo had gotten up from his cot. "You hear something?" "Nope. What'd you hear?" asked Crane. "A thump, out in the corridor. Sounded like something falling over." "Probably they're just escorting another guest to his suite." "Yeah, I suppose that's..." The area around the lock was starting to glow a fiery orange. "Stand back, suggested a voice from the corridor. The now lockless door came rattling open. "Starbuck to the rescue!" announced the lieutenant. "I'll be darned!" said Apollo, smiling. "Never thought I'd be glad to see you, old buddy, but..." "Save the tearful reunion for another day," Starbuck said, crossing the threshold. "Gather up your belongings and let us depart. Who's your cellmate?" "Lee Crane, this is Starbuck." "Pleasure," muttered Starbuck. "You want to join us on this flit, Crane?" "Yeah, getting out of here sounds appealing." "Time to split the scene, Starbuck," reminded Robby from outside. "New associate of mine. Not as cute as you, Apollo, but smarter." He pointed at the robot with his thumb. "A renegade who has an intimate knowledge of this joint." Apollo hurried to the doorway. "We have a couple more people to break loose before we can go." "Listen, this ain't Universal Amnesty Day, chum," Starbuck told him, exhaling hard into his oxygen mask. "There isn't time enough to let everybody out." "Which cell would General Robinson and his daughter be likely to be in?" Apollo asked Crane. "Only vacancy was 237. That's most likely where they put them." "C'mon," Apollo sprinted to Cell 237. "Use your gun on this lock, Starbuck." "I suppose, eventually, when you're weary of ordering me around, you'll find time to thank me for this daring rescue." "Sure," said Apollo, "thanks." ***** Tam had been sitting, hands folded, on the edge of the cot. "You have the same feeling about him, dad?" "Yes," answered the general. "There's different about Tim." "And that uniform he's wearing is...well, it's not like anything I've ever seen," the young woman went on." "You say he told you he wasn't your brother?" "When I first picked him up out beyond the city, yes. He acted as though he'd never seen me before. Yet, he'd called me to...but, now that I remember, I don't think he was the caller. I don't think the caller was a man at all. The voice on the other end sounded like a woman." "A woman? Was it one of his girlfriends?" The general was standing near the door, in an at-ease position. "I was asleep when the call came, so I was a little fuzzy anyway," she answered. "And the phonescreen stayed blank. All I heard was a voice. 'Tim Robinson is in trouble. Come get him...' Then directions on how to reach him." "But it was a woman---you're positive." "Yes," she shook her head. "But her voice was...strange...unusual." "Why did you go?" "Because...at the time...there was something about the voice...I just automatically believed her, whoever she was." "But who else could've known where Tim was?" "I have no idea." "There's something strange about all this," said her father slowly and thoughtfully. "As though we're dealing with some kind of entity that we can't quite...Wait! Stay right there." The handle of their cell door had begun to glow and shimmer. A moment later, the door opened. Starbuck, gun in hand, was grinning at them through his oxygen mask. "I can see why you'd want to save the lass, Apollo," he said over his shoulder. "The middleager, though, doesn't look like he's worth the trouble." "You're uniform," said Tam. "It's just like his---like Tim's." "Tim?" Apollo stepped into the cell. "Tam, we're going to get you and your father out of here. Let's move!" The young woman took hold of his arm, allowed him to guide her clear of the cell. General Robinson, frowning deeply, followed. "Who are you, young man?" he asked Starbuck as he brushed by them. "Just a freelance jailbreaker." "You're a bit too flippant." Starbuck exhaled into his mask. "Would you be surprised to learn that you're not the first person to mention that?" he asked. "Now, if you'll fall in behind my robot buddy, we'll get your astrum to safety." ***** "Jinkies!" said Robby. "I know a dandy place!" The party was making its way along a snaking underground tunnel. Starbuck and the robot were leading, followed by Apollo, Tam and the general. Crane brought up the rear. "A safe place?" asked Starbuck. "Shucks, you already been there, Starbuck. It's our pad in the canyon." "Oh, right." "What's he babbling about?" asked Apollo, moving up next to the lieutenant. "A safe location for you folks to hole up while you're making plans and such," explained Robby. "I heard you and the general gabbing about needing a base of operations." "Tam's pace isn't safe. Neither is the general's," said Apollo. "They'll obviously look for us there." "They ain't got any idea our pad even exists." "What we want to do is set up a meeting with the Presidium," said Apollo. "Can we contact them from here?" "Sure enough, Apollo. Mr. Chronos built us his own private phone system. Oh, the images get a mite fuzzy now and then. Heck, though, considering we don't pay no phone bill, why, it's boss!" Apollo asked Starbuck. "You've been there? What sort of building is it?" "It's not a building, it's a cave." "Cave?" "Nothing fancy, mind you," said the robot. "Secure and safe, that's for sure. Nobody'll ever find you there." Apollo came to a decision. "Okay, that's where we'll go." ***** CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO: ATRAITOR IN THE MIDST "It's my own design," said Chronos proudly, gesturing at the picturephone sitting on a lopsided crate against one wall of the cave. "Somewhat unorthodox in appearance," observed General Robinson," but if I can use it to contact the Presidium and set up a meeting, that's fine." "It works better than most phones you're used to," Chronos informed him. "Sit yourself down on that barrel there, General, and give it a try." Starbuck was a few yards from the scene, taking another deep breath from his oxygen mask. Someone tapped his shoulder. "Huh?" Nancy Pi-Squared had moved up close to him. "Got something to tell you," she whispered. "Go ahead." "Let's move over against the wall." "Okay." He linked arms with her and they crossed the Earthen floor. What is it, Nan?" "I...sense something." "Another hunch, you mean?" "Yes." "I gotta hand it to you; you sure were right about that Multipex. Lot's of guys tried to make trouble for me there. But..." "You're in danger again. All of you!' "You mean because the military folks from the Multiplex hunting for us? I don't think there's much chance they'll pick up our scent." "Not that," she said, taking hold of his arm. "I'm---getting a message that...someone is going to...betray you." Starbuck looked into her lovely face. "Someone here?" She brushed a curly lock of stray hair away from her left eye. "I'm sorry, I can't get a clearer impression...but I'm sure someone here with us is going to cause you trouble. Tell them where you are." "One of your gang or one of mine?" "Can't be sure." "You ought to work on polishing these visions, Nan. Get 'em into focus." "You're making fun of me." "Nope, no," he assured her. "Just wishing you could give me more details." Her grip on his arm tightened. "He---he's going to send a message to them, tell them you're here with us," Nancy said. "That'll foul us up, too?" "He? So it's not Tam?" "She's not the one, no." "How about the general? He's supposed to be calling the Presidium on your homebrew phone, but he might be..." "I---I don't know if it's him or not." Starbuck glanced away from the girl, and noticed Crane step into the mouth of one of the tunnels. Crane had his hand slipped in under his tunic, clutching something. "Stay here, Nancy." Starbuck broke away from her. "I want to follow up on a hunch of my own." Starbuck's stroll across the cavern looked casual. He even paused to adjust his mask, although it was already straight up and down his face. When he was near the mouth of the tunnel, he ducked in. He whipped out his lightstick, clicked it on and sprayed the beam. Crane was crouched a dozen yards in, some kind of voice communicator in his hand. "This is how to get to the place," he was saying. "They're hiding in a..." "Show's over, Crane!" Starbuck went galloping across the rocky floor, and, without even breaking his stride, booted the communicator clean out of Crane's grip. The gadget cracked into the wall, squawked, hit the floor, bounced twice and cracked in half. "Dammit!" Starbuck swept the crouching figure with his light. "Here I risk my neck to save you and you turn out to be a fake. A spy planted to pump Apollo." "You're misunderstanding what you saw me doing." "I suppose you were really broadcasting weather reports to the sunfruit growers in the area?" "Look, I'm on your side, Starbuck. I was locked up just like the rest of you." "Heck, you were planted. Oldest trick in the book." He leaned more closely into his face. "Good thing I got to you before you..." "We can work out some..." Crane suddenly lunged, grabbing up a stone from underfoot. He charged at Starbuck, striving to club him. The lieutenant backed, kicked out again. This time, the toe of his boot connected with the man's chin. Crane groaned, staggered, stumbled into the wall, fell and passed out. Starbuck was about to bend over him, but he spun around instead. "Don't...Oh, hello, Nancy, m'love." "You okay?" "Tip top," he replied. "And say, that was a pretty good hunch you had." "They often are," she admitted. ***** General Robinson stepped away from the makeshift phone systems. "We'll meet with the Presidium in one hour art the central headquarters," he announced. "That ain't all that far from here," said the robot. "You'll have plenty of time to sneak over." The general added, "The President will be there, too." "He'll deny everything," said Tam, "accuse of being crazy or traitors. We really, you know, can't prove any of this." The general turned to Apollo. "Tim...Apollo...you told Doctor Zucco that you actually met my brother in space...helped him get to Centauria...you saw the settlements that High Command said wasn't there...saw what the Alliance did." "I intend to tell them everything we know," said Apollo. Tam was shaking her head. "They may not believe him," she pointed out. "All President Allen has to do is say that this man is Colonel Timothy Robinson. Tim has suffered a complete mental breakdown and thinks he's somebody named Captain Apollo from another star system. Just more proof that he's a madman." "He might try that," acknowledged her father. "Not," offered Starbuck, "if we give them a little tangible proof that we're what we say we are." "What do you have in mind?" asked Apollo. "Our ships, the Vipers," said the lieutenant. "Nobody on this planet builds anything like that. If I was to fly over this Presidium headquarters building in my Viper, do a few stunts..." "Good idea," said Apollo. "And maybe we can also contact the Galactica. Get them to put on some kind of show of power or strength." "What's the Galactica?" Tam wanted to know. "Maybe we can show you," said Starbuck. "Apollo, old chum, you go to the meeting. I'll fetch a Viper from out in the rock canyon where I...oops! Maybe the ships ain't there no more!" Apollo's grin faded. "Right, the lawmen may have confiscated them." Starbuck looked over at Nancy Pi-Squared. "Any hunches, love?" The brunette pressed the fingertips of her right hand to her forehead. "I---I can see the two craft," she said slowly. "Still where you landed them...but..." Starbuck bit his tongue. A fumarello would've tasted pretty good right now. "But what?" "There are three guards watching your ships." "Only three?" he snapped his fingers. "No problem. C'mon, Robby. Let's go fetch a Viper." The robot's head swiveled, internal gears clicking. "You other folks can get to the Presidium, okay if I don't guide you?" "I'll do that," volunteered Nancy, brushing her hair with her hand. Rubbing his metal fingers together, Robby said, "Then, let's boogie, Starbuck!" ***** No one but Apollo saw her. Serina, white gown faintly glowing, appeared on the far side of the cavern. While the general and his daughter talked about the upcoming meeting with the Presidium, Apollo eased away and crossed over. "Yes, Serina?" he asked her. Serina said, "You've been doing quite well, beloved, all things considered." "Thanks. Is that worth a kiss?" "I have no time for that. I brought you some news," Serina said. "Not very good news, I fear." Apollo took a deep breath. "What's wrong now?" "The Alliance is voting, even as we speak, on a surprise missile attack against these people." "Missile attack?" "Yes," said Serina, nodding. "If that happens, the Nationalists will automatically launch a counterattack." "Won't that destroy most of the planet?" "Yes." "Surely both sides have better sense than to do that." "Sense and politics don't often go hand in hand. Look at what happened to our Colonies." "How much time do we have?" "Possibly no more than a few hours." "That may be time enough," said Apollo. "You have a plan?" "You wouldn't have popped in here if you hadn't expected me to, Serina, my love." "True." She smiled and vanished. ***** CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE: FETCHING A VIPER Robby switched his photoreceptors to X-ray mode, enabling him to see through the projecting boulder. "I detect three fuzz over there," he announced as he turned his half-egg head to Starbuck. "Two of 'em got rifles, third fuzz's merely wearing a little ole pistol in his holster. Imagine he's the head honcho, seeing as how he's sitting on a stump while them other two is standing stiff and straight front of your Vipers." The lieutenant double-checked his pistol, making sure it was set at the stun position. "You up to creating another small diversion?" "Sure thing, I get my kicks doin' that. But don't leave me standing around yakkin' so long this time, huh?" "You got my word as a warrior." The robot gave Starbuck an encouraging punch on the upper arm, and then lumbered away from him. His further progress through the canyon was no longer quiet and surreptitious. Robby's feet clanged on the sward, the gears and pistons of his half-egg head were clicking, and his hands were making the sagebrush rattle. "Hold it right there, robot!" called out the uniformed lawman with the pistol, when the lumbering robot came stomping into the canyon. He left his stump, drawing his weapon. "Far out! Ain't this a groovy trip?" Robby pretended to scan the Vipers with his photoreceptors. "There are no robots assigned to this detail. Why are you here?" The officer stalked closer to the robot. "Getting me a close look at these here far out flying machines," explained Robby. "Danged if they ain't everything I heard tell they was and then some. Yessir, I'm glad I came to get a gander for myself." "Who was it that told you about these ships being here, robot?" The robot let his gears click for a second. "Insufficient data, man. Don't go hollering at me for a spell and I'll search my memory banks," he said. "No, I know it weren't Grandma Malley over to..." "Never mind. Just get the...hey!" He'd heard the hum of Starbuck's stun beam and turned just in time to see his two subordinates go flopping over onto the grass. "What the heck's going on here?" "Oh, shucks, ain't you figured that out yet," said the robot. "You're being ambushed." "Ambushed?" He was facing the vipers, but didn't see Starbuck as the pistol hummed again. The beam took him in the lower chest. His arms flapped out once, and he gurgled and collapsed. "I'll admit you was faster that time, Starbuck, but you still took a heck of a time getting here." "I had to crawl on my belly." Starbuck holstered his gun. "I'm not exactly used to that means of transportation and it...Oh, for Sagan's sake." "Jinkies! It's the chick in the shiny nightgown." Serina had appeared next to Starbuck's Viper. "I suggest you turn on the communications unit in your ship, Starbuck." "Why?" "Apollo is most anxious to talk to you." As Starbuck went climbing into his ship, he inquired, "Something else wrong?" "This whole planet may be on the brink of a nuclear holocaust." "Oh, said Starbuck. "Is that all?" ***** President Allen was staring out the tinted, bulletproof side window of his hovercraft, watching the city unroll below him. "Tell me this again, Harry," he requested. Nelson was sitting next to him on the rear passenger seat of the Presidential aircraft. "We have to expect that General Robinson will have this phony Colonel Robinson address the Presidium." "You're sure, now, that he isn't Colonel Robinson?" "Not according to what Crane reported to me." "Do you think Crane is dead, by the way?" "We don't know yet. All communication broke off before we could get a fix on his position. "I don't like to pick on you, Harry, but I think you messed up there," said the President, stroking his chin. "Had we been able to capture them back there before...well, who knows?" "Crane is a good man." "Was he a good man? Certainly not anymore, whether he's dead or alive." "He was a good man, then," said Nelson. "They simply tumbled to him somehow. At any rate, he learned that the fellow's real name is Apollo." "Odd name. Couldn't it be that he's Tim Robinson and just plain daffy?" "We only said he was crazy so as to have an excuse to lock him away, remember? There's no real evidence that he's unbalanced at all." The President narrowed one squinty eye. "Okay, so Robinson introduces his son to the Presidium and then what?" "He'll tell them what he knows. That the Jupiter 2 made it to Centauria and that all our settlements and installations there have been destroyed." "Still, he's an alien, Harry, and it's his word against mine. I'm the President, after all." "This is an alien being presented to them by General Craig Robinson," reminded Nelson. "The general is just as popular as his brother was with the Presidium." "We can label him a traitor, say he's sold out to the Alliance." "They won't buy that. Not without a heck of a lot of proof. Which we don't have the time to manufacture." The President was scowling. "How am I going to win them over, then?" "Maybe," suggested Nelson, "you might offer them the truth." "The truth? Are you out of your mind, Harry? I can't do it." "Not the whole truth...merely an edited version," said Nelson. "Then spring the treaty idea." "I was saving that for my Fireside Chat telecast next week." "You don't have much choice." "No, I don't." The hovercraft was dropping down toward the landing area atop the massive gray Presidium building. ***** "What?!" General Robinson was staring at Apollo, face pale. "There's a strong possibility," repeated the captain," that the Alliance will be launching an all-out missile attack on you within the next few hours." The general asked, "How do you know this, young man?" "Let's just say I got it from a reliable source." "If that happens," said Tam, "our own missiles will automatically be launched in retaliation. There's no hope of averting that." "There is a hope," Apollo told them, "if the Galactica is as close to Terra as I think it is." "And," asked the general, "If it isn't?" "Well, it's been nice knowing you," replied Apollo. ***** Robby held out his three-fingered metallic hand. "Soul, Starbuck," he said. "Soul to you too, Robby." "You reckon as how you can do it?" "The Galactica is out there, according to my instruments," he said as they shook hands. "Once I get clear of Terra, I'll be able to get into voice communication with the Battlestar." "And they can stop these jive turkeys from blowing the world up?" Starbuck hopped up into his cockpit. "Robby, the Galactica's got enough laser guns mounted on her to stop two or three all-out nuclear wars." "Far out! Man, that's really something, ain't it?" He whistled. "Good thing Apollo thought of that and got in touch with you." "I would've thought of it myself, old chum, once I heard what was going to happen." He settled into his seat. "Got to shut the hatch now." The robot stepped back. "Been right nice hanging round with you, Starbuck." "Same here." "Don't imagine we'll ever meet up again, but...well, as they say...keep on truckin'." "Hey, you're not Nancy Pi-Squared. You don't know if we'll meet again or not," Starbuck told him. "I'm betting we will. See you around, buddy." He threw a switch and the hatch cover whipped shut. The Viper's turbos roared to life a few seconds later, the ship's sleek little body quivering. The robot scurried father away and stopped at the edge of the canyon. Starbuck's ship whooshed up from the ground, climbed clear of the rocky pinnacles and then went zooming away from there. "Good thing I ain't human," reflected Robby. "Or I'd burst out in tears. And that's bad karma, man." ***** CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR: TO STOP A WAR The chairman of the Presidium sat on a wide desk on an oval dais at the front of the enormous domed hall. The members of the governing group, some hundred and fifty of them, filled the tiers of seats that rose up from the dais. The Chairman was a lean black man of about fifty. He tapped his gavel for silence as General Robinson, Tam and Apollo entered the vast room and took chairs on the dais to his left. President Allen and Nelson were already seated at his right. "We've called this special emergency session," the Chairman began, "because of some very serious allegations made by General Robinson. Since the general is a highly-respected member of the military, his charges deserve a serious hearing. General?" Before Robinson could rise and cross the podium next to his desk, the President rose to his feet. "Mr. Chairman," he said, walking to the podium, "I believe I can save us a great deal of time." "Mr. President, you are out of order, sir," reminded the Chairman. "Perhaps." "I must request that you wait your turn, sir." Allen was at the podium now. "I merely wished to say that I am aware that General Robinson has accused me of withholding information from you. That our satellites, which provide us with our fuel and food have been attacked, some of them even destroyed," he said. "There is some truth to his allegations." There was a considerable murmur rising from the members of the Presidium. Almost all of the exclamations were ones of surprise and anger. The Chairman tapped his gavel again. "General Robinson, will you step to the podium, please?" Robinson obliged and was standing next to Allen. The general took hold of the mike handle and tilted it toward him. "Since the President has seen fit to discuss one of my charges, I'll address myself to that one first also," he said. "Yes, I have proof that he has been keeping back the truth from us for some time now. Our Lunar outposts as well as the colonies...established without permission from the Presidium, I might add---on Centauria have all been wiped out by attacks from the Alliance. Not one word of this has been allowed to reach us." The angry murmurs were growing louder, echoing in the hollow hall. The President straightened his shoulders, held up a pudgy hand for silence. "Although the situation is not quite as black as the general paints it," he said, "there have, indeed, been some attacks and considerable losses. You know me well enough to be certain that it is my main concern for the people of this land of ours. I withheld that information because I felt that any word---prematurely given out---would lead our generals to demand retaliation, an act that would lead us into devastation." "It certainly would," cut in General Robinson. "And retaliation would certainly be justified." "Not in the nuclear age, general. A counterattack would only increase the devastation on both sides," said the President. He reached inside his blazer and, slowly, extracted several folded sheets of crisp white paper. "I have kept certain facts from you, my most respected colleagues, because I thought the greater good of our nation demanded it. I have, for many long and grueling weeks, been in constant secret negotiations with my Alliance counterpart, the Beloved Leader." He held the sheets of paper high. "And I am pleased to announce this night a secret treaty made with the Alliance. A treaty, my friends, whereby all hostilities will be halted." There was a moment of stunned silence and then the members of the Presidium began to applaud the President. "A treaty with the Alliance?" Tam said to her father as the Presidium burst into applause. "Has he lost his mind?" "Hasn't everybody in the past 24 hours?" said General Robinson. "The crux of the matter," Allen continued his speech, "is, and has always been, disarmament---a continual buildup of military might that leaves our world no margin for error. The most elemental misjudgment and everything we've known is gone, evaporated, in less time than it will take you as a responsible body to ratify this treaty. The terms are simple. Phase one...both the Alliance and the Nationalist will simultaneously disarm under mutual supervision. Phase two---we agree to negotiate in good faith and a new and greater body of government which will not only preserve our individual nationalities, but also guarantee to each of our nations and to the members of the Alliance alike equal access to the resources and foodstuffs of our planet system. Now, before I ask for a formal vote, I ask General Robinson if he would like to comment on my proposal." There was a moment of silence in the Presidium. "Say something, Dad, for Pete's sake!" pleaded Tam. "He's wrong, and you know it!" "There's nothing I can say, Tam," Robinson replied. "He's boxed me in." "But there may be something I can say," Apollo whispered to Robinson. He whipped out his communicator and spoke into it. "Starbuck, come in. Come in, Starbuck. Starbuck, if you can hear me, I'll stall them as long as I can." Starbuck's voice came over the communicator, but it was just barely audible. "...barely read you...If you can...go for it, good buddy. ...Galactica..." "I take it he approves of your plan?" said the general. Apollo nodded "yes." Craig Robinson stepped up to the podium. "Ordinarily, I would cry out against appeasement. I would shout betrayal over the President's systematically allowing our defensive posture to deteriorate beyond repair. The time has come and gone when we, as a free body, can express opinions and choose our fate. Our fate has been sealed. If you will, I will call upon a visitor to our nation, a young man who has come from afar to tell us that our predicament is not unique, that once upon a time there was another world very much like our own, which ended as abruptly as I believe ours is about to end now. I give you Captain Apollo, of the Battlestar Galactica, a ship from a world and star system far from our own." President Allen's face turned red as Apollo made his way to the podium. "What are you trying to do, Robinson, embarrass me? That's just your son, Tim." "Is there a problem, gentlemen?" asked the Chairman. The President frowned at the Chairman. "Captain Apollo---excuse me---Colonel Robinson, has been under severe strain of late," he said. "In fact, he's an escapee from a mental institution whereat..." "I'm Colonel Robinson," corrected Apollo. "And the place I escaped from is not so much a hospital as a detention center for people who don't agree with you, President Allen. The fact that you dumped me, together with General Robinsons and his daughter there, we'll get to later." "This man is obviously suffering from mental problems, Mr. Chairman," said the President. "In light of what President Allen has told us about the new treaty," he said, "do you, General, really wish to pursue this?" "Hear him out, Mr. Chairman," said General Robinson. "If he makes a fool out of me, you and President Allen win." "Very well," said the Chairman. "The Chair recognizes---er---Captain Apollo." Addressing the assembled members, Captain Apollo, now firmly situated behind the podium, said, "There was once, far across the universe, a system of twelve planets who had reached a level of commerce and peace unparalleled in our knowledge of Ma. The names of this planets are Caprica, Sagitarra, Virgon..." ***** The Viper was rocketing swiftly away from the planet. Starbuck lit a fumarello and prepared to try to contact the Galactica. His scanners had already informed him that the Battlestar was approaching Terra at light speed. "Good thing I set my emergency beacon, back then," he reflected, "or otherwise...Hey, now stowaways." Serina had materialized beside him in the small cockpit. She looked cramped and uncomfortable in the narrow extra seat and she was brushing away a speck on her white-gowned knee. "I have some further news for you." "As good as the last?" "In the same vein, at least." "The Alliance has gone ahead and launched its missiles, right?" Serina nodded in confirmation. "The Beloved Leader gave the launch order but moments after you left. So you haven't any time to lose in getting help." "I'll make it, won't I?" "Why ask me?" "Serina, it's only logical to assume that any woman who can flit through time and space the way you do ought to be able to peek into the future, too." "I don't go for cheap fortunetelling tricks, the way your gawky female cohort does." "Don't go making cracks about Nance, because she...Heck, Serina, I've got no time to argue with you." "You haven't, no." She vanished once more. ***** Commander Adama picked up the talkmike. "Go ahead." Behind him, on the bridge, Colonel Tigh stood, watching him anxiously. "We have Viper Four coming in on the comline, sir," came a voice out of the speaker. "I know. Feed it to the bridge, quickly. Come in, Viper Four." A crackling, frying sound spilled out of the speaker. That was followed by Lieutenant Starbuck's voice. "Commander? This is Viper Four calling." "I read you, Lieutenant. Go ahead." "Apollo's okay, by the way. In case you were wondering." "I was." "I'm in jim dandy shape, too. We'll go into all that later. Right now, though, we got us an emergency situation," he said, talking rapidly. "You folks are close enough to Terra to pick up what's going on down here, aren't you?" "We're close, but what do you mean?" "Haven't got time to go into all the details," Starbuck said. "The upshot is that any micron now you should be picking up one whole stewpot of flying objects across Tigh had moved to a scanner screen. "We're picking up rising missiles now," he said. "Clearing the planet's atmosphere and entering the ionosphere." "That's them all right," said Starbuck. Omega chimed in. "Readout identifies them as armed devices of some primitive nuclear type." "Primitive or not," said Starbuck, "they're plenty sophisticated enough to wipe out a good chunk of Terra. We've got to destroy those missiles, Skipper, before these nitwits down here end up destroying each other." "Can do," said Adama. "Okay," said the lieutenant. "I'm heading your way. See you soon." "Battle stations," announced the commander. "Omega, read me orbital status." "Maintaining arc five hundred kilons above," he replied. "Keep us right there, and standby to take us in." Adama moved back to the other side of the upper level so he could look at the main viewport. "Positive shield. Keep all compartments clear of nonessential personnel. Prepare all forward laser batteries." "All laser batteries are now on-line and ready to be fired," Omega said. Adama's voice had grown slightly hushed as he stood peering over Omega's shoulder. "Open fire at fifty microns." On the scanner, they could see the missiles coming into view, each one looking foreboding, each one with the capacity to destroy Terra. "Seventy microns and closing," said Omega. "Fire laser batteries!" ***** "...Freedom cannot be negotiated," Apollo continued, "for it is rarely given. It is usually won at great cost and sacrifice. Once lost, the price for regaining it will be even higher. I came from a world where the people believed that the opposite of war was peace. We found out the hard way that the opposite of war is more often slavery. And that strength---strength alone---can support freedom. The people on Centauria might still be alive today had you, the Nationalist Presidium, only understood this." But there came instead of applause for his speech many angry shouts from throughout the assembly now. Men and women were jumping to their feet, waving fists. "Order," said the Chairman, banging his gavel. "Order, please." The President spread his hands wide. "Colonel Robinson talks like warmon... A loud hooting siren commenced sounding. A section of the wall behind the dais slid back to reveal a huge video screen. "Defcon 1!" said a voice from the speakers dangling overhead. "Defcon 1!" On the screen showed a hazy patch of sky. The missiles knifing across it looked like dark predatory birds. "The Alliance has launched a missile attack against our country," said the voice out of the speakers. General Robinson sighed. "And you know what you can do with your treaty, Mr. President." ***** CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE: IS THIS EARTH? The first streaks of red emanated from the Battlestar and slammed into the sortie of missiles closest to it. The shockwaves of exploding missiles slammed directly into the Galactica and caused both Adama and Tigh to grab the rail of the upper level in order to steady themselves. "Moderate damage reported in Gamma Section Three," one of the bridge officers reported with concern." "Commander, I think it might be safer if we withdrew to a safe distance and relied on Vipers to destroy those missiles." Tigh was feeling so much inner tension that for one of the few times in his life, he showed signs of losing his composure. "There are too many missiles, Tigh," Adama replied, "and not enough time to get our fighters in the air." Trying not to let any concern show on his face, the commander strode from scanner to scanner. "Increase forward laser power and fire again," he More red laser beams went sizzling down from the Galactica toward the arcing missiles. More explosions followed but this time, no shockwaves hit the Battlestar. Tigh was chuckling. "We've got them just about wiped out," he said. "The initial wave of missiles as well as the retaliatory wave from the other side." "Yes, we've been quite successful." On the screen nearest the commander, a laser beam went crackling toward a missile. It connected with a warhead; there was an immense sparkling and then a throbbing explosion. "Very satisfactory," murmured Adama as he turned his back on the screen. "We're getting a chain reaction! Missiles destroying each other," said Colonel Tigh, elated. "Looks like we've stopped a war, sir." "And saved millions of innocent lives as well," said Adama. "Of course. But I was just wondering...we aren't even sure who's launching at whom down there." "I'll wager it was the Alliance that launched the first strike," Adama said. Someday, though, I'm going to want more details." "I'm sure my son and Lieutenant Starbuck will provide you with all you'll want to know." "And I'll make it a point to see that they do," said Colonel Tigh. ***** Lieutenant Starbuck was sitting back in his seat, hands locked behind his head, gazing up through the clear roof of his cockpit. "By all that's holy! What a show!" he observed, exhaling smoke. "Too bad my pal Robby isn't up here to see it. He'd say it was 'far out 'n groovy'." Far above him, out into the ionosphere, missiles were exploding and making the most enormous display of fireworks he'd ever seen." "Viper Four," came a familiar voice, "Viper Four, please come in." Starbuck straightened up, smoothed his hair and responded, "Viper Four here, sir." "This is Commander Adama, Lieutenant." "You folks did a groovy...um...you did a commendable job, sir." "That we did," said the commander. "What is your status, Starbuck?" "I'm fine, since those things are going off beyond the atmosphere and I'm still snug within it." Adama asked, "When will Apollo be returning to us?" "His mission's finished, so I guess any time now." "His mission was to trail that Destroyer." "Oh, that mission? Well, you see, sir, there was another mission that sort of took...He'll explain it all when he gets home. You bet." "I'm sure he will. ***** President Allen sat slumped in his chair upon the dais, long arms dangling at his sides. "I don't quite understand all this," he said in a faraway voice. "The Alliance says they're ready to sign a new treaty," said General Robinson, holding the memo up to him again. "They were, so I've been informed by my intelligence people, very impressed by how we took out there ICBMs." "But we didn't do a blessed thing except launch our own missiles back at them!" "Right. The Galactica took care of all the missiles," said Apollo, who was sitting on the edge of the chair that Nelson had long since vacated. "Galactica?" The President's voice appeared to be dimming. "You never allowed me to introduce Captain Apollo," said Robinson. "It's true then? He's not the real Colonel Timothy Robinson?" "No, he's from the Battlestar Galactica, a ship from that star system he mentioned in his speech to the Presidium." Allen looked over to at Apollo. "How did this Battlestar manage to do what it did to those missiles, Captain?" "As I just told the Presidium, we're from a civilization more advanced, technologically, than yours," answered Apollo. "Simple missiles such as these present not much of a challenge..." "Simple? Why, they're highly sophisticated and costly. The defense budget is...ah, but I guess I shouldn't be interrupting you," apologized the President. "You were saying?" "Handling those missiles wasn't tough for the Battlestar," said Apollo, rising. "I might also point out that we can always make a return trip, in case more trouble starts on Terra." 'I don't think," put in General Robinson, "that the Alliance is going to be making any trouble for a while. They were truly impressed by what went on. Of course, they think we're responsible, but I think we'll just let them go on thinking that." "Just so you don't start trouble for them," cautioned Apollo. President Allen was watching him. "Why did your people take an interest in our problems at all, Captain?" "There are things I'm not exactly permitted to tell you," he answered. "Even our civilization has its military secrets. Maybe in time our Council will chose to open formal relations. In the meantime...well, we have a journey to complete." "You intend to leave?" asked the general. "I have to, yes. I'd appreciate it if you could arrange transportation back to my ship." "I'll drive you," offered Tam, who'd been sitting quietly at the other side of the podium. "Fine. Let's go, then." The President, not getting up, held out his hand. "Thank you, Captain Apollo. You've opened up my eyes to a great many things." "I know, General Robinson will make darn sure they stay open," said Apollo. ***** Tam Robinson pulled her vehicle off the road, parking near a large boulder. "This is just about where I picked you up originally," she said. "Seems like an awful long time ago." "It does," agreed Apollo. "Can you tell me a few things?" "I can try." "My Uncle John, Aunt Maureen, and my cousins, Will, Penny and Judy? Did they really make it to Centauria, as you say?" "Yes, with a little help from the Galactica." "Is my brother Tim alive?" "Yes, he is." "Where?" "He was being held on Lunar One," answered Apollo. "Now that the war's over, he'll be coming home to Terra." "I'm glad," she said quietly. "You don't sound...enthusiastic." "You look like Tim," Tam told him, "but...in most ways you're not like him at all. He's a hit with the ladies, but...he's not a very caring, supportive sort of man, not even to me. And yet...I'm still his sister, the only one he'll ever have. Even if he comes back safe and sound, I'll still love him, even though I'll have to put up with all these...quirks. Now, though, having known you for a while, I..." "Don't forget I've been on my best behavior," said Apollo. "Even so." "Well, listen. It's one heck of a big universe and you're a fine young lady. Don't judge all men by your own brother. There's always someone out there who'll live up to your standards." She nodded, then leaned and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks, Apollo. Good luck." He opened the door and stepped out of her Ford Atmos. "You'll do fine," he said, stepping back from it. "Sure," she said. "Sure." She started the car and, without looking at him again, drove away. ***** The Viper sat in the canyon where he'd left it. Leaning against the smooth wall of a nearby pinnacle was Serina. "We did quite a nice job, my husband," she said to Apollo. "To say the least," said Apollo, walking to his ship. "I think we managed to scare all the sides involved in this fracas." "For now," said Serina, brushing a bit of fallen leaf off her elbow. "You'll find that even the most impressive lessons have to be reinforced now and again." Apollo opened the hatch. "Will I---Will I ever see you again, Serina?" "Of course you will." "One thing," requested Apollo, "before we have to---go our separate ways. A question I'd like answered." "I'm not allowed." Apollo looked into her lovely eyes. "Serina, please. Don't do this to me," he said. "I mean, I risked my neck along with Starbuck's and the entire fleet's. If you love me..." Serina looked away, head cocked as though listening to someone speak. Turning again toward Apollo, she said, "You will be permitted one question." "Is this Earth?" "No, beloved, it is not," answered Serina. "The signal you intercepted in the Galactica's celestial dome did not come from here. Your journey is far from over." Apollo let out the breath he'd been holding. Too tired to ask Serina how she knew about that weird transmission on Gamma frequency, he merely said "Thank you" to her. But the woman in the white gown was no longer in the clearing. Apollo climbed into his ship and took off. ***** STARBUCK: I am now beginning to examine the maps I brought back to the Galactica from the library on Centauria. I feel the tension rise inside of me as I unfurl one and see the unmistakable shapes of planets and orbital trajectories. My eyes then dart about hoping that one word will be recognizable to me. The word "Terra." The first map holds no such promise. The term "Centauria" indicates that it is a local star chart. The second one shows several more bodies, each very small in size. The only word I can make out at the bottom is "Lunar." Clearly this one is the localized system containing the Lunar Seven colony the Robinsons had escaped from. I unfurl the third chart and this time I see a large greenish planet at the center. And at the bottom, the unmistakable word, "Terra." Jackpot! My luck with these maps is as good as it is at the Pyramid Table. But then, did I find what I came for? I admire the fine detail of the illustration showing Terra in its orbital path near a bright yellow sun. The closest object to it. Two smaller planetoids lie beyond, further from the sun. There's a lot of nice detail in this chart. A lost nicer than----Oh, frak! Something I'd forgotten from a long time ago comes back to me with the force of a thunderbolt. It causes all my happy thoughts to evaporate in an instant. Oh, frak! Frak, felgercarb and shit, it can't be. How could I just forget? But the longer I stare at the chart, the more I realize that this is a professional effort meant to serve as a definitive chart. There can be no mistake at all about it. And that only means one thing as far as the ultimate question is concerned. Apollo was telling the truth: Terra is not Earth! ***** FROM THE ADAMA JOURNALS: The last twenty-four centars since the return of Apollo and Starbuck from Terra have raised more troubling questions than I can ever recall on a single occasion in some time. At least, not since we found ourselves pondering the enigma of the one called Mr. Morbus. I am, naturally, disappointed that the star charts found on Centauria indicate clearly that this planet Terra, the center of the human civilization we are now leaving behind, is not the planet Earth we seek. Could the ancient ones, despite their vast knowledge of science and technology, have been in error? How could their recordings in The Book of the Word and The Facts of the All Seeing Primal be so much at variance with the planetary system that Terra lies in? They tell us of Earth being the third planet in a solar system of nine. Terra, by all indications is the first planet in a solar system of only three, thus accounting for the existence of these satellite worlds that seemingly stretched out a great distance beyond the home solar system. Centauria, evidently, was the outermost of these satellite worlds. I am not prepared to believe that our forefathers were capable of such careless errors in their celestial navigations. ***** CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX: AN OLD ENEMY RETURNS There wasn't much chatter among the three pilots as their Vipers reached yet another star system. The excitement of the prospect of adventure made up for it, and more than once during the trip, Starbuck found himself waiting impatiently for their arrival. For a few microns, he wondered what they would find. Ever since the Fleet had moved past the star system containing the planet Terra, Starbuck began to feel uneasy about the prospects of what else they would find. "There!" Sheba finally exclaimed. I've got it on the scanner! We'll be there within a micron." "I'm picking up five planets in fairly widespread orbits," Apollo said, sounding as serious as he'd been the day he'd brought the Jupiter 2 back to the Galactica. The way Apollo went between moods and aptitudes sometimes made Starbuck wonder if there were actually two people living inside the same body. He really takes to heart the point of view that work and play should be completely separate, he thought idly, then realized that since both Apollo and Sheba were looking at the scanner, maybe he should, too. "Got 'em," he said a micron later, looking at the layout of the solar system. The Viper's computer quickly ran through a few scans, and flashed their results on the small scanner screen. "I'm not picking up any life forms." "Neither am I," Sheba replied, "but we're still a long way off from any of the planets' surfaces." "Let's split up and take a good look at the first three," Apollo ordered, and before anyone could reply, his Viper veered off toward the outermost planet. "Go for the middle one," Sheba told Starbuck as she headed for the second planet. "Do I have a choice?" he grumbled. Before Starbuck could even reach his destination, Apollo's voice was already coming over the comchannel again, this time with a description of his planet. "The first planet's a gas giant. Eighty percent compressed hydrogen, twelve percent helium. No life forms." He paused as his voice took on an appreciative tone. "But at least it's pretty." "So's number two," Sheba continued. "Pretty---and deadly. The atmosphere's almost completely comprised of compressed kryptium. No life forms." "You don't say," Starbuck muttered as his Viper started scanning the planet before reaching it. He grimaced, then groaned slightly, as the results came on the screen. "Ugh! Leave it to me to get the ugly one. No atmosphere, just barren rock. Might make a nice resort. No life..." He stopped as the scanner beeped, showing that something was being picked up. He requested more information. "Wait a micron!" "What is it?" Apollo wanted to know, sounding concerned. The scanner displayed the planet, and the rim of a potential target appeared from behind it. Starbuck frowned, realizing that whatever it was, it was taking its own sweet time. "I'm picking up something that's just rising on the backside of the planet." He waited a few microns as more of it became visible, then the scanner began processing it. To his relief, an identification came on the monitor. Then his relief quickly disappeared. "Oh no...It can't be!" "Starbuck?" Apollo's voice was simultaneously getting irritated and concerned at the lack of a definitive answer. "For Sagan's sake, answer me!" "Get out of here!" Starbuck shouted, pulling sharply on the joystick to get the Viper to do a sharp U-turn. He wanted out of there right now. "It's a Cylon basestar!" "What?" Apollo sounded like he was completely stunned. "Are you sure?" "Looks like a basestar to me, buddy, and my Warbook happens to agree with me!' He fired the turbos to their maximum speed. "You're doubting me? What do you want me to do? I'm not about to wait around to ask 'em, either!" "We're following your lead, Starbuck," Sheba said, interrupting whatever Apollo had in mind to retort. Without saying another word, the three Vipers resumed a course back to the Galactica as fast as they could go. ***** CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN: THE CLEAR ADVANTAGE Although he'd only been sitting in the lab for under a centar, Boomer was already frustrated. Since Wilker was away, his chief assistant was helping him with the transmission. Smeek, a thin and balding young man with an annoying habit of sniffling even though there was nothing wrong with his sinuses, was leaning over Boomer's shoulder, offering suggestions and giving instructions that weren't really helping. "I suggest using the RGB settings," Smeek was saying, using an authoritative tone that was beginning to rub Boomer the wrong way. "That might help clarify some of the picture." "In which way? That'll only make it darker or lighter." Boomer winced as Smeek sniffled. "That won't help much. It's the snow that's interfering with it. How about the image filters?" "Which one?" Smeek reached past him to access the selections. "I suppose that we could smooth some of it out, and maybe sharpen the details of that object. What do you think it is, anyway? It certainly doesn't look like the Jupiter 2." Patience, Boomer told him. "It's a ship like any other ship, I guess." "Ah. Well, we can' sharpen the details of this...ship." He entered a command. "Better?" The image flickered on the screens ahead of them as the changes were implemented, but to Boomer's horror, the static smoothed the entire picture out until there was nothing visible. "Frak! Undo it now!" he exclaimed. To his relief, the fuzzy vessel returned. "I don't think that's the way to do it!" "Sorry." This time a bit of sheepishness came into the tech's voice, but then there was the annoying sniffling again. "Let's try something different, then." "How about the audio again?" Boomer suggested, not eager to continue working with the blond man for much longer. He wished that something, anything, would distract him so he could leave this for Wilker to go through when he returned. "When's the Doctor coming back aboard, by the way?" Smeek shrugged as he moved back from Boomer's seat. "Whenever the technical problems on the Electronics ship are cleared up. Wilker just move a lot of his pet projects there, like the droids and those Cylons he was fooling around with; and since he did, I've rarely seen him around here. That ship's been his second home since just after Baltar's escape." "Oh. Hey, do you think it's possible for us to send this over for him to take a look at?" Boomer felt optimistic for the first time. "A file this big? Can you imagine how much bandwidth that'll take? Dream on, Lieutenant." Smeek reached for some equipment on a nearby table. "Here, let's try this. It's something Wilker was working on before he went to the Electronics ship. It's designed to clean up the comlines for the bridge, but I'm sure that it'll work with the recording." Boomer stared at the clunky piece of machinery for a few microns, wondering how it would work and if it would be a bother to install. No, judging by the way Smeek was holding it uneasily in his hands, Boomer knew that it would be a royal pain in the astrum. "Uh, look, Smeek. I don't think..." A familiar noise cut through the room and the lighting changed from the standard white lights to the red illumination of the red alert. Boomer felt the hairs on the back of his neck go on end as he heard the klaxon go off. "What's going on?" Fairfax asked, frowning as he looked about him. "Do you think the Cylons have found us again?" "Are you a wagerer?" Boomer muttered, pushing back his seat and waiting for the command for the pilots to go to their ships. "What? Uh, not really. Why?" "Because you'd make a ton of cubits by placing a wager on that." ***** Adama waited impatiently in front of the star map on the bridge for Apollo, Sheba and Starbuck to arrive, as the nervous activity around the bridge continued as it had ever since they'd received the message from Apollo reporting the coordinates of the basestar. "Keep on it, Omega," he heard Tigh say up on the command deck, as the Galactica's scanners tried to verify what the pilots had reported. The colonel stared at the monitors for another micron, then shook his head. "Commander, we're still too far out to pick up the basestar on our scanners, but nothing has left that star system but our patrol." "Good," Adama said, studying the layout of the star map. "Then they can't scan us either. Now, if we can only make sure that the patrol wasn't picked up by their scanners." "I was out of there before they reached orbit," Starbuck's voice called from the entrance as he, Sheba and Apollo hurried onto the bridge. "The micron the Warbook identified it, I was out of there." "After all these sectars, I thought we'd finally lost them for good," the Commander sighed with disgust. "We all did, Commander," Sheba said, not wanting to go into any of the details from the last time the Galactica had crossed paths with the Cylons. It only served to remind her of the whole unpleasant experience surrounding a mysterious figure who'd called himself Mr. Morbus. "What about you two?" Adama asked her and his son. "We were blocked out by the other two planets," Apollo reported, looking nervous at the sudden appearance of the Cylons. "I don't think they could have scanned us. Even if they did, it would have been only a minor blip on their scanner if they weren't in orbit yet." "Thank God for that, but that doesn't help our situation." Adama sighed, then muttered again. "Lords of Kobol, I really thought we'd lost them for good." He had always been convinced that after Mr. Morbus's incredible demonstration of power that hurled the pursuit force that had stalked the Fleet from the beginning all the way across the stars, that another, more benevolent power had seen to it that the Cylons would never pick up the Fleet's trail again. Now, he was learning the painful lesson of how prayers often didn't stay answered forever. Tigh came down to meet them at the star map, a grim expression on his face. "It gets worse, sir. They couldn't have picked a better place to pick a trap." He illustrated his next point by pointing to the star map. "That solar system is on the rim of this galaxy. We'll have to backtrack a long way to get a fleet the size of ours around her without being picked up." "That's why they're sitting where they are," Adama agreed, then frowned suddenly as he looked at his son. "Apollo, that transmission you picked up. They're enticing us in!" "You thik that signal originated on that basestar?" Apollo asked, not quite believing what he was hearing. "I think that's most likely what the source of the transmission is." "Would you mind telling me how a Cylon basestar in the middle of nowhere has the initiative to create a signal that we might never have picked up in the first place?" Apollo shook his head. "I don't think that's realistic." "We've traced the signal through the Terran system and all the way to this very spot, where you found the basestar. It's an elaborate lure. Precisely what I'd expect from the Cylons." Apollo shook his head. "I'm not so sure." "Whether it is or not isn't the question," Starbuck cut in. He couldn't believe that Apollo was arguing with the nuance of why the Cylons might do this when they had a basestar practically breathing down their throats. "What are we going to do?" Tigh shook his head. "I just explained, Lieutenant. There's nothing we can do but turn back and try to pick up our main Epsilon 22 heading again from another angle once we've gotten around them." "Turn back?" Starbuck couldn't believe his ears. "Come on, there has to be another way." Adama was silent for a few microns, then slowly spoke. "Yes, there is an alternative." He then took a breath as he uttered a sentence that he had regarded as an evil temptation in the early sectars following the Final Destruction. "We can attack." Tigh stared at Adama as though the commander had lost his mind. Before he could make any comments, Adama started moving up to the command deck, and Tigh had to hurry to follow him. He shot a glance at the pilots to follow him. "Adama, we haven't dared tangle with a basestar by ourselves since we fled the Colonies!" he protested, trying to keep up. Starbuck was about to retort with a comeback about how he and Apollo had taken out the one at Carillon's Lot through Apollo's brilliant decoy of making the Baseship think that six squadrons of Vipers were about to attack. But before he could, Sheba had jumped in first. "My father did." There was an almost defiant, proud edge in her tone. Tigh shot her a look that told her not to encourage Adama, but the commander simply nodded. "Yes," Adama was smiling ironically, as he recognized the pride in her tone. "He did." "And the Pegasus hasn't been heard from since," the executive officer added pointedly. Sheba had to force herself not to react to the Colonel's comment. She believed with all her being that the Pegasus was still out there, somewhere, and that she'd see her father one day. Whenever someone referred to him as being dead, as Tigh seemed to be doing, she felt herself immediately going on the defensive. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Apollo giving her a sympathetic look, then she felt a slight touch on her hand. When she turned her head to look in Apollo's direction, he was back to paying attention to the commanding officers, but she knew tha tit had been him. "The difference, Tigh, is that Commander Cain attacked two basestars. We'd be taking out only one," Adama continued, then looked back at the navigational chart that for now showed only the solar system. "One Baseship only, tells us a lot. Obviously, when the Cylons lost our trail they had to have spread their basestars throughout all the star systems on a wide perimeter in order to find us. That means that this basestar may be the only one in this area of the galaxy. Eliminate it, and we might buy more long-term security than we could ever have bargained for." "Possible," Tigh conceded. "But maybe it's not the only one nearby. What's to stop it from alerting its sister ships about our presence as we attack?" "Tigh, you're missing the point. Do you realize that this is the first time we have the clear advantage? We have the surprise, and relatively equal numbers." Adama's tone became more firm, reminding Tigh of the times when he'd been wingmates with the then-Captain Adama in Blue Squadron aboard the Battlestar Cerberus. "But even if we didn't have the advantage," the commander suddenly let out a sigh that was both weary and angry, indicating how the many long sectars of resisting the temptation to attack during the last period of Cylon pursuit had at last taken their toll, "I'm tired of running." A bittersweet smile formed on the executive officer's lips. He took had been resisting the temptation for so long, even up to this very micron and in a flash, it had taken its toll on him as well. "Adama," Tigh said quietly, "so am I." "Then we're agreed." Adama turned to the three warriors who were standing on the steps just below the upper level. Despite their surprise at the turn of events, Apollo, Starbuck and Sheba all appeared to be enthusiastic about the idea. "We're going to take her on, and we're going to win!" ***** Unwitting to any plans that the Colonials had made, the occupants of the Cylon base star went about their duties the way they did every cycle. The ship had been experiencing mechanical problems of late, which was to be expected from an aging ship that had seen action against the humans for nearly fifty yahrens. And most of it was with the same commander, an IL-series Cylon named Mort. An older and outdated model than those ILs serving in command posts in the more central part of the Cylon attack force, or even those stationed at outposts like Vulcan and Ursus Spelaeus, Mort and the base star had been slated for decommissioning when the final strike against the humans had been dealt a yahren before. With the escaped and elusive Galactican fleet now somewhere in deep space, both the Imperious Leader and the traitor Baltar had sent out all extra ships in pursuit of the Fllet. Now, for the last six sectars, when a new redeployment of the Cylon fleet had been ordered after Baltar's ship had lost the Galactica's trail (and had seen Baltar himself mysteriously disappear), Mort's ship had been sent to the most distant edge of the galaxy along the perimeter. Although it meant potentially a few extra yahrens of life at the most, Mort resented his posting. The basestar's aging sensors and communications needed replacing yet again, but they'd been sent out before any upgrading could be done. It was a problem that was hampering their search for the humans, a problem exacerbated by their orders to remain in a fixed position in this distant star system. Had Mort been human, he would have sighed loudly. The situation wasn't as bad as he sometimes wished it were. The basestar had been updated with new turbolasers after all. They still had relatively modern Raiders, and their Centurions were in working order. Making his way through the ship, Mort headed for the basestar's control center. He took his time, checking through the panels and such as he passed by. Most of the basestar's immense bulk was taken up by the four bays, followed by the engines, eventually leaving only a small portion of the decks that housed the Cylons themselves, along with resources such as the detention cells, the repair stations, and other areas. We're so behind, compared to the newer basestars, Mort thought. I wonder if it's easier for us to fall apart in the line of duty instead of being dismantled back home. Unlike the Colonial Battlestars, where the bridges were located on a higher deck, if not the top deck in the forward section, basestars' control centers were at the bottom-most part of the ship. An interior passageway called the central core, whose name basically explained itself, connected all the decks together by a system of ladders. It didn't take long for Mort to reach the bottom. When he arrived, the centurion on guard at the entrance gave him a stiff salute. Mort didn't bother returning it as he strolled through the short hallway that separated the central core from the control center. On both sides of him were computers, which include some of the most basic instrumentation that the basestar needed, like the scanners. The command center was a somewhat grandiose name for a small, featureless room that housed three stations, some monitors embedded in the walls, and five centurions. Mort strode into the middle of the room where his customary place was. One glance at the monitor that showed the outside environment told him nothing about their current status. He turned to the centurion at the navigation station, whom he'd come to term. out their current status. He turned to the centurion at the navigation station, whom he'd come to term MXR and spoke in a somewhat haughty voice. "Have we achieved orbit around the planet yet?" "Achieved ten centons ago," MXR replied, not looking up from his console. "Ten centons? All right, that's long enough to make sure that we don't fall out of orbit again. How are the long range scanners? Are they even working?" QZW, the centurion at the helm console answered this time. Its voice had a slightly different pitch from MXR's making it easy for someone to distinguish the difference between the centurions, but not too much. His basestar had been without the services of a gold-plated Command Centurion for so long, that it had all but obliterated the differences among centurions to Mort. "Fully operational. Nothing definite to report." The phrase caught Mort's attention. Centurions, especially these models, were notorious for not reporting everything they were supposed to. It was a flaw in their programming that had yet to be worked out. Perhaps that's why they're on this basestar. Imperious Leader is hoping that they'll be destroyed along with this old ship. "Definite?" He inserted a scolding tone to his voice. "Are you saying there's something indefinite to report? Continue, please." "A momentary blip prior to achieving orbit. Our scanners were not fully operational." "Are they ever working?" Mort sighed. "Have you picked up anything since coming into orbit and getting the scanners completely on-line?" "Negative." Mort took a micron to muse upon the situation. A blip, QZW had said. Given the poor state of their scanners, a blip ight have been just that. But with their assigned mission of trying to locate the Galactica and her fleet if they ventured into this area of space, the blip might have been a patrol ducking out range in an attempt to evade detection. As commander, Mort couldn't allow that to slip by without being properly investigated. He turned to the centurion at the last station, whom he called Vokar. "Launch a rotating schedule of fighters to patrol and circumnavigate the outer edge of this planetary system. If this is a blip, then we will not have anything to worry about. If the blip is a Galactican patrol, I want to know about it immediately. I do not want those humans appearing out of nowhere to catch us by surprise." "By your command," Vokar replied, his voice the highest of all the centurions. He coded in the command that would sound the proper signal through the basestar's meager comlines. Faintly, Mort could hear the alternating pitch that sent a certain group of centurions down to the bays for launching. Satisfied that everything was going as well as it could be, Mort turned to leave the ceneter. There was a lot that needed to be done if the basestar was supposed to meet with a Battlestar and survive. ***** CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT: AN ORBITING KILLER It was amazing what the power of a pointer could do, Tigh mused as he waited for the assembled pilots to quiet down so he could begin his lecture. Partially hidden in the back was Adama, who was waiting for his cue to enter in the briefing. Tapping the pointer in his hand, Tigh had the illusion for a few microns that he was like Commander Cain, who never went anywhere without his swagger stick. The two articles were light yahrens apart, but having them gave one a sense of power---real or illusory. Tigh gazed out at the warriors, noting that they were jmostly the senior pilots who would later be passing the information on to the younger pilots as soon as they were allowed to leave. Directly in front of him were Sheba and Apollo; and off to the right were Starbuck, Boomer and Jolly. Tigh knew from experience to expect trouble from the assembled trio. Like schoolboys looking for mischief, they couldn't resist making commentaries as the briefing progressed. It was time to begin, Tigh decided. Turning to the scaled model of a basestar to his immediate right, he rapped the model. It caused some pilots to jump, then a slightly nervous chuckle started. "This," Tigh began, tapping the model a little more gently, "is our target. The basestar is currently in the quadrant two hectares from here, but we're quickly approaching it. No one here, except perhaps for the exception of Captian Apollo and Lieutenant Starbuck, has seen a basestar close up, and thus isn't familiar with the technology or the external prowess of a basestar." "Whaddya know," Starbuck muttered, and he saw Apollo give him a pointed look. "We're famous." "Basestars are the Cylon equivalent of a Battlestar," Tigh continued, ignoring the lieutenant. "They both have some of the same functions, the most obvious of which is the fighters. We carry them, we fuel them, and we repair them. "But it's in the area of shipboard weaponry where the two differ. Battlestars are equipped with numerous defensive laser turrets, placed strategically on the hull. We also have a maximum of four missiles, each one capable of destroying a basestar with a precise shot fired from close range." He took the ointer and tapped it on the other half of the basestar. "The Cylons have the advantage here, in defenses. Not only does she have three hundred fighters," he couldn't help but notice the winces that several pilots made, "but she has two long-range mega pulsars, the equivalent of our missile launchers, here and here," he indicated two locations on either side of the ship, "and over a hundred defensive laser turrets distributed about her hull." "Both on the inner part and on the upper parts," Apollo added. "Face it, Colonel, she's an orbiting killer." "Exactly," Tigh nodded. "Capable of destroying every shipo we have, including the Galactica." "It's great having Apollo and Tigh in the same room," Starbuck muttered to Boomer and Jolly. "I just love the air of optimism they give." He was answered by them rolling their eyes at him, then all three straightened up when Adama chose that micron to step to the front. "The Colonel and I have tried a new kind of strategy in light of this...unusual situation," he began, standing with his hands clasped in front of the pilots. "We have the element of surprise in our favor, and we're going to make the most of it. "All Viper squadrons will launch before the Galactica is within the basestar's scanning range. Your job will be to draw out her fighters so we can continue unimpeded with our part of the plan." He paused to make a point, hoping to boost their enthusiasm. "You'll be outnumbered two-to-one, but you're used to that." "Only two-to-one?" Starbuck continued in a hushed voice. "We faced worse odds than that at Caprica!" "We lost at Caprica, remember, buddy?" Boomer shot back. "That's why we're out here and not back home." "I was trying to be optimistic. Shoot me because I'm trying to raise morale." "Only thing you're going to end up with is a raised amount of deep probes courtesy of the colonel if you don't be quiet." Adama ignored their inappropriate exchange as he continued. "I intend to take the Galactica in at an arc, from the opposite direction. If we're lucky, the basestar will be so occupied watching you that we'll be on her before she's aware of us, and we'll get the first strike." A slight grin appeared on the Commander's face. "After that, it's a toe-to-toe slugging match. Because we have the element of surprise, it might be possible for us to destroy the Baseship without resorting to our missiles. Since they are the one element of weaponry we possess that is totally irreplaceable, I don't intend to use one unless it becomes absolutely imperative." "Bad analogy," Starbuck said. "Slugging matches involve getting bruises, and I don't think we want any of those." "Quiet, buddy," Jolly urged. "Are there any questions," Adama saked, looking about the room. His gaze rested a few microns longer on Starbuck, who cringed slightly at the attention, then he nodded. "Well, that's it. Thank you, and may the Lords of Kobol guide us all with this battle. Colonel, a few final words?" "Thank you, Commander." Tigh's tone changed form the instructional one he'd used earlier to one of command. "Squadrons will assemble at their Vipers at 1750. The launch will be at 1800. Prior to this, the Officers' Club will be open to all officers, regardless of rank, for one centar and one drink, on the Commander. Commencing now." A few warriors cheered for a micron at Tigh's words before straightening to attention as the commanding officers left the room. The moment they left, excited and nervous chatter filled the room. "If the Commander's buying, I won't insult him by not drinking!" Jolly announced. Boomer shook his head in mock disdain. "Jolly, you're drinking if anybody's buying!" "So?" the heavyset warrior ignored Boomer's jibe with good humor. "Are you coming? I don't want to be the last one there. If the drinks are basically free, we'll just get the vapors in the barrels if we're late." "Or somebody's gonna take our table," Boomer laughed in agreement, then looked to their other friends. "Coming, guys?" "I won't miss this," Sheba said, coming over to them. "Shall we go?" "Sounds good." Starbuck motioned to the door. "There's an ambrosa down there with my name on it." They started following th eother warriors to the Officers' Club when they noticed that they were missing someone. Starbuck turned back to see Apollo examining the model basestar with his back to them. Seeing the frown on Starbuck's face, Sheba followed his gaze to Apollo. Feeling concerned, she called, "Apollo, aren't you coming?" He didn't turn to fac eher. "I'll be there in a bit. Save me one, okay?" "Uh oh," Starbuck whispered. "I don't like this. I'd better talk to him. We'll meet up with you in a centon, once I talk him out of whatever he's thinking." Leaving the others behind, Starbuck headed back to the model and the solemn warrior standing next to it. He stood next to Apollo for a few microns before finally speaking. "I should know better than to ask, but what is it?" Apollo sighed, not taking his eyes off the model. He absent-mindedly ran his fingers along the edge of it as he spoke. "I was just thinking." "That's what I was afraid of," Starbuck said, almost tempted to groan. "We ought to put a restriction on the amount of time you're allowed to think. It'll make all our lives easier and quieter." "If we could just f igure some way to knock the scanners out in her control center," Apollo mused, "the Galactica would gain first-strike capability." "It's a terrific idea, but unless you'd care to tell me how, I don't see anyway of that being done. Now, let's head down to the Officers' Club." "But it would have to be from the inside." Apollo sounded as if he hadn't heard Starbuck speaking at all. "I don't see anywhere on here that might show where those scanners are located on the exterior." "Oh, sure." Starbuck was determined to make Apollo forget about the basestar until the battle began. "It's simple, really. All we have to do is fly a Viper through a hundred fighters, land on the basestar without being shot at, find the control center, blow it up, and take off again." "Starbuck," Apollo exclaimed as he turned to face his friend. "You're right!" Starbuck stared at him dubiously and then let out an exasperated grunt. "Yeah, of course I'm right. Apollo, will you come back to reality and get moving?" "No, seriously. We can do it!" Apollo replied, a smile on his face. "If we use Baltar's Cylon fighter, I mean." Any protest died on Starbuck's lips as he saw that Apollo had a point. A good but very dangerous point. "I thought you'd see my point," Apollo said triumphantly. "Come on, let's tell the commander." Reluctantly, Starbuck followed Apollo out of the briefing room, all the while praying that someone would put an end to this madness. The more Starbuck thought about it, the more he realized that he had a bad feeling about the entire situation. He wished that Apollo would wake up to it, but his friend was oblivious to any seemingly rational thought. ***** To Starbuck's relief, the micron Apollo finished giving the proposal to Adama, the commander said with great finality, "No!" Apollo couldn't believe his ears. "It's the only way to ensure the Galactica gets first-strike capability," he explained slowly, trying desperately to get his father to see his logic. "That's the key to victory and you know it, Father." "Of course I do," Adama replied. "It's something that both Tigh and I have discussesd, and we feel that the strategy we've planned will work in our favor." "But what if it doesn't?" Apollo shot back. Shaking his head at Apollo's words, Adama continued, "Have you thought this plan of yours out completely? Let's say you make it inside as planned. Then what? What's the security like in the landing bay? How many centurions are there between you and the control center? In fact, do you even know where the control center is located?" Starbuck wasn't surprised to see Apollo stop in the middle of a protest as he realized that Adama had zeroed in on an area his son neglected to consider. He fumbled for a few microns, trying to thik of any alternatives. "No, I don't, but..." He suddenly grinned as inspiration struck him. "Starbuck! When Baltar captured you, you were taken to his basestar. You know where the control center is, don't you?" He threw his frined a desperate but hopeful look, and Starbuck found himself wanting to rub it off in Apollo's face. No, even better. He wanted to slug him for bringing him into the conversation. "Uh, Apollo, I think you're forgetting something," the blonde warrior pointed out. "I was their prisoner, not their guest of honor. They didn't exactly give me the grand tour." The desperate look turned to one of pleading. "Come on, Starbuck, you had to have seen something." "Seriously. The only places I saw were the holding cells, the landing bays, and Baltar's throne room, but none of those places had direction signs. Not that I can read Cylonese or anything, you understand." Starbuck frowned as he realized that there was one piece of information that Apollo could use in his desperate attempt to get the mission authorized. "Well, there's always the central core, which connects those decks together, but I have no idea where the control center is." "Then, by Kobol, make an educated guess!" Apollo hissed quietly out of the side of his mouth. The two fell silent as Adama moved from his position in front of his star field window to face the warriors directly. His face was contemplative, and Starbuck felt his hopes for the mission being scrapped crumble as the commander prepared to speak. "You know," he said slowly, looking each of them in the eyes, "I think your plan will work." "It will?" Starbuck was taken aback at the sudden turn-around from Adama's firm rejection of the plan just microns earlier. "Yes," Adama nodded, "but relying on your memory is not the way to approach this problem." "Oh, frak," Starbuck muttered, earning a glare from Apollo. He could feel his friend's anticipation building exponentially. "You're not serious, Commander." "Yes, I am." The older man headed for his desk, where the communication unit was located. He entered the code for the bridge and waited for a clear signal to come though. "Bridge, this is Commander Adama. I want a shuttle with a full security team to launch for the Grid Barge, with orders to bring Baltar back to my quarters. I expect to see him here within a half centar. Adama out." He looked up from the communicator to see both his son and Starbuck giving him stunned looks. Adama had the feling that while Apollo was appreciative of any help he could get for this mission to get off the ground, going to Baltar wasn't something he really wanted. Starbuck, he knew, was just as horrified. "Baltar?" the lieutenant repeated, looking disgusted. "What do you want that piece of bilge sum for?" "Someone has to tell you two where the control center is located." Adama told him. "Otherwise, the mission is going to take more time than we've got to spare." "But going to Baltar..." Starbuck shuddered slightly. "I don't trust him as far as I can throw him. It's only been a sectan since he staged a prison break, for Sagan's sake." "I agree with Starbuck," Apollo began. "And as much as I realize that B'ltar's the only one who knows his way around a basestar, the thing I want to know is whether he's really going to help us. And is the information going to be correct? What if he sends us into a trap? He's perfectly capable of doing that, Father." "I think I just might have a way of getting him to agree," Adama said, feeling a sense of distast going through his body that he knew he was going to have to keep submerged at all costs. "And if I'm right, he won't be able to resist it." ***** Everyone at the table had already downed their allotted drink by the time Apollo and Starbuck finally made their way into the Officer's Club. Boomer looked up at them curiously as the two sat at the vacant spots at the crowded table. "So?" he wanted to know. "What kept you two?" Apollo didn't say anything as he sipped his ambrosa, and Starbuck found himself in the spotlight as the attention was focused on him. He swallowed slightly before speaking. "Um,---well, we got an idea that'll make sure we win the battle," he began, shooting a glare at Apollo. It was useless when he realized that he wouldn't get a reaction out of him. "We had to run it by the commander." "What kind of idea?" Sheba asked. "We're going to get rid of its scanners by taking them out manually." Starbuck glanced around the table to see their reactions, which he wasn't sure that he wanted to see. "Apollo and I are going to board the basestar." A shocked silence came over the table. Boomer felt his jaw go slack, while across from him, Sheba turned very pale. The others staredat the two warriors with shock. "You're what?" Boomer couldn't believe what he'd heard. "We're taking the Raider over," Apollo verified, setting his mug down. "Starbuck and I are leaving half a centar before you guys launch." "Why, that's crazy!" Jolly exclaimed, looking at each of his friends. "No, it's worse than crazy! It's...welll, it's suicidal!" "But it'll make the battle that much easier," the captain said, his voice firm. "If the basestar can't scan the Galactica, then we're sure to win. Otherwise, we might not have a base to return to when the battle's over." Sheba finally found the strength to speak. "Aplllo, Starbuck, no one's ever boarded a basestar and left with information as detailed as what you need to complete this mission. What if you get lost? You might never make it back..." "Well," Starbuck said, forcing a grin onto his face, "that's why we're getting help." "From whom? There's no one in the Fleet who can help you." "Oh, frack, guys, you aren't..." Boomer interrupted both himself and Sheba when he suddenly realized what was happening. "You are, aren't you?" "What, Boomer?" Jolly asked. "You're going to Baltar?" Both Apollo and Starbuck solemnly nodded,a nd they were both avoiding Boomer's gaze. "Oh, well, isn't this getting rosier by the micron?!" "Where else are we going to get the information?" Apollo asked gently. "Sure, but really! I mean, only a sectan ago, he was ready to kill me and Sheba in that prison break he pulled off. And before that, when we tried to get information about Charybdis from him..." "We know that," Apollo interrupted, "but this is my father's call, Boomer. The only way the mission can work is if we go to Batlar. Right now, Spock and Brie are taking a full security team over to pick him up." "Well, at least with Colonial Security watching him I can be assured he won't get a chance to escape again like he did with those Council Security dimwits." Boomer sighed as he looked up, as if pleading for patience from the Lords of Kobol. "And you're going in the Raider? That's fine for when you're going...but coming back?" Starbuck flashed him a grin. "I'm the least worried about that. Hey, it should be fun!" "Yeah, it probably would be for you, too." Boomer sighed again, then abruptly stood up. "I'm going to head back to Wilker's lab. He's supposed to be back sometime today, and I really want him to look at that signal. And I've got some...other work to do. I'll see you guys later." Starbuck watched his dark friend leave, then turned his attention to the rest of the group. "Is it just me, or is there a pretty tech that Boomer's got his eye on in Wilker's lab?" "That's rude," Sheba said, frowning at him. "Has it ever occurred to you that Boomer might just have other priorities than you?" "Sometimes, but then again, Boomer's not exactly Sire Excitement aroud here, is he?" "No, but neither am I," Apollo said, giving a slight smile. "And I think I'm going to follow the Sire's example and go get ready for the mission. I'll see you in the bay in half a centar, Starbuck." He followed Boomer's lead out of the Officers' Club, passing his sister Athena as she made her way in. He didn't stop to say anything, and as Athena approached the table to take Apollo's empty seat, she noticed the forlorn expression on Sheba's face. "I heard Father's orders on the bridge, first about Baltar, and then a few centons later about the Raider." She targeted Starbuck with a cool gaze. "What's going on? I passed Boomer on the way here, and he wouldn't say anything. He basically told me to ask you." "Heh," Starbuck laughed weakly, thinking with irony how rare it was for Athena to initiate conversation with him about anything. The effects of their breakup still loomed large within the Commander's daughter. He quickly gave her the brief outline of the plan. When he was finished, she was staring at him in semi-horror. "What? It's not that bad, is it?" "He's finally going to go through with it," Athena whispered, glancing back at the doorway. "Felgercarb! I knew this was coming!" "What are you talking about?" Sheba felt her blood run cold as she listened to Athena. "Apollo's death-wish." Starbuck snorted loudly before taking a large sip of ambrosa. "His what? C'mon, that's a bunch of daggit drivel if I've ever heard it." "Wait!" Sheba ordered. "I want to know what this is about." "Well, I don't." Starbuck put his mug heavily on the tabletop as he stood. "Apollo's probably the sanest and most cautiou warrior on this Battlestar and I have no idea where you came up with the idea, but he doesn't have a death-wish. Not Apollo. C'mon, Jolly, let's go brief the rest of the squadrons." He stormed out of the lounge, followed by the portly lieutenant, as Athena shook her head. "Sheba, I'm not kidding. Apollo seriously has a problem." "About Serina?" Sheba had a wry expression on her face. "I know about that. Starbuck told me the story once." "Serina's the entire problem," Athena sighed. "When she died, Apollo somehow deluded himself into thinking that the best way to cherish her memory was to keep completely to himself, especially when it comes ot letting himself enjoy life. And especially with any other women. He still probably thinks that, even though he really has an interest in you." Sheba felt her face blush slightly. "I...guess I knew that. Starbuck's always hinted at it, and I've noticed Apollo watching me every once in a while. But he's never actually done anything about it, at least not that I can think of right now. Has Apollo actually told you that himself?" "Not in so many words." Her grin was mischievous, then faded as she continued. "But back to the death-wish. He tries to make up for what he thinks he could have done on Kobol---save Serina from the Cylon, even though she was out of reach and it was a surprise attack. He tries by trying to get himself killed, so he can be with her again. Haven't you noticed?" "Not really..." Shebas said, knowing she was fudging the truth just a bit. For a lont time, she had always sensed a reckless attitude in Apollo to do all the tough jobs imaginable, whether it was trying to put out the fires on the Galactica after the Cylon sucide runs, or even volunteering to head up Starbuck's defense when the blonde warrior had been accused of murder. The only difference was that Sheba had never tied in Apollo's reckless nature to do all the tough jobs to any kind of death wish. "Think about it," Athena went on. "What dangerous mission hasn't Apollo been on? Just in the short time you've been here? The whole escapade when the Galactica was on fire; the recent Terran incident; and now this. And before all that, there was the Equis mission, and he placed himself in the most dangerous part of it, too." "Wouldn't that be considered simply fulfilling his duty as a Colonial Warrior?" Sheba wondered, knowing it wasn't true. Even so, to hear these sentiments coming from someone else was an eye-opening experience for her. "There's a point where you have to draw the line, Sheba. As far as I'm concered, Apollo crossed that when he went to Terra. In fact, you'll probably notice that during dangerous missions, pilots make morbid jokes about what they're doing, just to alleviate the tension. But according to Boomer, Apollo never says anything. He only concentrates on the mission, which says to me that he's not frightened like most warriors are." "Has anyone tried talking to him about this?" "What would they say? Apollo would laugh it off, or yell at them to go away. Maybe he's not even aware of it, but one thing my brother definitely doesn't like is people prying into his private life. And that includes Starbuck and Boomer and me. Even our father." "I see." Sheba looked off at the direction where Apollo had left, her lips pursed in thought. "And he's still doing it? Even now, even with his feelings for me?" 'Yes. Sheba, I don't want to make it sound like Apollo's completely cold, not at all. He's just confused, and he's trying to resolve it the easiest way he knows---subconsciously or not." Sheba continued to stare at the doorway as she absentmindedly ran her fingers through her light brown hair. For a few microns, her brown eyes narrowed inthought, as she recalled something she'd vowed during the shuttle trip back to the Galactica following that last encounter with Morbus, when they had suddenly come to with dazed memories of what had gone on before. A vow that she wouldn't press Apollo about her feelings for him unless events dictated otherwise. From what Athena had just told him, and in light of what was happening, it was now fast becoming clear to Sheba that events were forcing her hand at long last. She got to her feet and Athena noticed right away how her bearing was full of determination. "I'm going to talk to him," she announced. "But I'd better get Cassiopeia to support me. Something tells me she's going to want to talk to Starbuck as much as I want to talk to Apollo. Thanks, Athena, for your information. We should have these talks more often." A determined stride in her walk, Sheba quickly left the Officers' Club. Athena watched her go, then sighed loudly. "I hope you do, and for Apollo's sake, I hope he listens." ***** Adama was deep in thought as he stared out of the star field window in his office, waiting for the security team to bring Baltar there. He wasn't sure about anything at that micron. He wasn't sure about sending his first-born son and a man he thought of as a son into the depths of a Cylon basestar. More importantly, he wasn't sure if he should trust Baltar and his information, and whether it was worth the price he'd be offering. Once before, in the darkened tomb of the Ninth Lord of Kobol, he had listened to Baltar make an offer to set a trap that would destroy the entire Cylon Empire itself. He had turned to him with more anger and hate than he had ever felt for another human being, pointed at him and said coldly, "I trusted you, once." The legacy of how Baltar's treachery had resulted in the destruction of nearly all that he had cherished in his life, especially Ila and Zac, had been too much for him to contemplate trusting anything Baltar would have to offer again. But now, events were forcing him to take the repugnant step of trusting Baltar. He could only hope now that events would vindicate rising above his instinctive distaste. He sighed loudly, longing as he sometimes did for the yahrens before the Destruction, when all he had to worry about was the Battlestar he commander and the Cylons they were going to fight. He didn't have over two hundred civilian ships back then to be concerned about, and he still had the warm and loving respect of Ila behind him. "So much has changed in the past yahren," he said to the empty air. "I wonder if anything will seem normal again, outside of running and fighting like we've been doing." Turning away from the star field, Adama moved to the basestar model that had been moved her. Its miniature size didn't convey the same imposing threat that the life-sized version did, and he looked over it again. Was there a part of it he couldn't recognize, or couldn't identify at a micron's glance? He was relieved to see that there wasn't, but he nevertheless continued his examination. It was enough to make him inwardly curse at how inefficient Colonial Intelligence had been for so many yahrens in their ability to determine the specific nature of Cylon weaponry. That fact alone more than explained why turning to Baltar had become the only potential solution. The doorchime interrupted him a few microns, and Adama glanced at his chronometer before answering. It was a little more than a half centar, he noticed, but he decided to let it go this time as he called, "Enter." A Colonial Security guard opened the door, then motioned for Baltar to enter. The older man stepped inside the office, looking about him in jaded curiosity as the guard followed him in. The guard stood at attention in front of Adama." "Prisoner here as requested, sir," he announced. Adama looked at Baltar for a micron, seeing tha the traitor wasn't looking at him, then turned his attention back to the guard. "Unshackle him and wait outside until I summon you." "Yes, sir." The guard quickly followed the commander's orders, then shot a semi-disgusted look at Baltar before he quickly left. For a few microns, neither man said anything. Baltar continued to look around the office, and Adama watched him carefully. Finally, the traitor's eyes rested on the basestar sitting close to the desk, and a large grin appeared on his face. "Toys, Adama?" There was a mocking note to Baltar's voice, a sound that always seemed to be there when the two spoke together. It slightly grated at Adama, but he was determined not to let it bother him as he went to the table close to the model. "Would you like a drink?" he offered, picking up the flask of red ambrosa. "It's a Sagitarian vintage, but it's all that we have." That wasn't quite what Baltar was expecting, and he nodded slightly. His brown eyes were narrowed as he watched the commander pour out two small glasses. "What do you want, Adama?" he asked as a glass was handed to him. The tone he used now was completely lackin gin the mockery he'd used only a few ceonts ago. He was intrigued, and he wanted to know what the commander had up his sleeve. "Information." Baltar watched him go back to his desk, then glanced at the model that was displayed so prominently. He smiled suddenly as realization came to him. "They found you, didn't they?" "Quite the opposite. We found them." The traitor shrugged, not touching the wine. "It's the same result in the end." Adama's voice was as determined as the glint in his dark brown eyes. "We're going to destroy them." "My dear old friend, you've gone space happy during this past yahren," he said, not helping the humor that was coming into his voice. "Destroy them? A basestar? That's not very likely." "With your help, I'm sure we will." "Why would I possibly help you?" Baltar scoffed. "First you returned me to the ranks of the regular prison population after I reluctantly saved your son from Charybdis, then you sent me back to solitary confinement after my----escapade of a sectan ago. To be truthful, Adama, I think I prefer solitary to mingling with other prisoners, so if that is what I gain from helping you, I think I shall pass on that." "I'm offering something else, Baltar," Adama found it difficult to look at him, but kept his tone gentle. "Like what?" Baltar resumed his mocking edge. "I repeat. Why should I possibly help you?" There was a long pause as Adama simply looked Baltar in the eyes, then very quietly----and deliberately, Baltar realized----said, "To regain your freedome." For a few microns, Baltar believd that he hadn't heard correctly. Why would Adama set him fr ee, just for a bit of information? He was the most hated man in Colonial history, he knew, and not exactly the kind of person one wanted running amok through the universe. "What is this, Adama? Some kind of a joke?" he asked accusingly, setting his untouched glass down heavily on the desk as he glared at Adama. "No joke. My offer is completely sincere. Your freedom in exchange for the information we need to take out that basestar." "And how exactly do you define freedom?" Baltar asked. Adama sucked in his breath slightly. "We've been passing a large number of habitable planets within shuttling range of the fleet. I intend to set you on one with adequate provisions and shelter." Baltar felt his mouth tighten into a frown. "How fitting. I'm to be marooned." A somewhat sympathetic smile appeared on Adama's lips. "It's better than being marooned in your isolation cell on the Grid Barge." "Of course, why didn't I think of that? At the very least I'd have more walking room," Baltar said sarcastically, and then gave him a quizzical glance. "Would my provisions include communications?" By the annoyed expresson on Adama's face, Baltar knew that his protest had gone too far with the sarcasm. His hunch was verified when Adama replied with a very short and final "No." "Adama, be reasonable. Even a marooned man must have some hope of eventual rescue, no matter how slight his chance may be." "Very well," Adama reluctantly agreed, but quickly added with a warning in his voice. "But only sufficient for short-range communications. If you are to be rescued someday, it will not be the result of broadcasting a long-range signal to the Cylon Empire." Baltar knew when to draw the line at protesting. He'd been a trader, after all, in the yahrens previous to going into politics. He'd never known Adama to play these sort of games, but he could see that the Commander was doing very well. "Thank you. Now, when am I to be set free?" Adama had been looking down at the monitor installed on his desk, but at Baltar's last question, he looked up to meet the traitor's gaze once more. "After the basestar has been destroyed." "Ah, but what if the Baseship destroys you, and me along with you?" "That's the risk you'll have to take." A slight smile appeared on his face. "Of course, you can always ensure that you give us the best information possible for the warriors to succeed." "Now, old friend, can you guarantee all this?" Baltar prodded, a sudden sense of uneasiness coming to him. The recent developments were too good to be true, and he knew that there had to be a catch somewhere. "Your colleagues on the Council who sentenced me with such great relish will undoubtedly view any decision to release me in a most unfavorable light, in particular those who were also my---uninvited guests during that incident of a sectan ago." Adama tried not to laugh at how Baltar kept using euphemisms for his escape attempt. Was it just the traitor's way of taking the sting out of something that had failed by not referring to it in simple terms. "How can I be sure you will keep your promise?" Baltar finished his thought. "You needn't worry about the Council," Adama said, thiking of the disgusting irony of how Baltar would be pressing the point about keeping one's word, when it was the foolish trust in his word that had led to the destruction of the Colonies. "As military commander, the state of martial law guarantees me the right to release any prisoner by decree. Including you." Realizing that he had no more questions, Baltar paused a few microns to run through the details of the agreement. He could always try negotiating for more later, when Adama was appreciative of the results of Baltar's help, and when the commander would hopefully be in a better mood. Finding that hefound most of the conditions acceptable. Baltar allowed himself to nod. "You drive a hard bargain, Adama," he said. "I'm beginning to believe that you're in the wrong profession." Adama didn't appear to react to the compliment, which was exactly how Baltar meant it. Instead, he asked, "Do we have an agreement?" Without any hesitation, Baltar reached out with his gloved hand, a gesture he knew that wasn't threatening. Adama's eyes rested on the hand, then up to Baltar's face, searching for any hint of deceit. After a long pause, he rose from his seat to grasp Baltar's wrist, as the traitor did the same to him. Together, they sealed the trade with a firm shake. ***** CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE: THE RAIDER It didn't take a genius to figure out where Starbuck and Apollo would be, and Boomer found them on the first try. They were prepping themselves in the Raider, trying to get the feel of the alien fighter. Or at least Apollo was. Starbuck was sitting in the co-pilot's chair, staring in blank confusion at the controls. "I don't know about this," Starbuck was muttering. "Apollo, does that look like a scanner to you?" "What?" Apollo looked up from the computer where he was jotting down notes about the control panel, a slight frown on his face as he looked at the piece of equipment Starbuck was pointing to. "A scanner? It's either that or a monitor for their version of the IFB." "Oh, so very funny," Starbuck retorted. He looked back as he heard Boomer's footsteps on the deck directly behind them. "Boomer! Finally, some company that thinks that I'm more interesting than a console." "It's not that I don't find you interesting, Starbuck. The consoles just aren't as annoying as you are," Apollo said wryly, not looking at him as he continued with the computer. V ery tentatively, he adjusted some of the controsl on the console, then sighed in relief as they held. Satisfied, he looked back at his friend to greet him. "Hey, Boomer. You look like a man with a mission." "More than we do? That's amazing." Starbuck grimaced as he looked back at the console. "I've never been so nervous with a ship since I was a first-orbit cadet. Aren't you nervous, Apollo?" "No, not really. I'm actually finding this kind of fun." "You would." Starbuck shook his head in semi-disgust. "So, Boomer, what brings you down here to spend time with us brainless fools." "Now that I can get a word in edgewise, I"ve come bearing gifts." Boomer chuckled at the anticipating sparkle in Starbuck's blue eyes. "You see, when you two are finished romping through that basestar, you're going to fly out right into the middle of a dogfight. We don't want to get you confused with the other Cylon fighters, so I rigged---this." Starbuck frowned s he looked at the piece of machinery that Boomer held in his hands. It was about a third of the size of their hand-held scanners, and its face remindedhim of their languatrons. He activated it for a micron, and a loud alternating beep sounded through the cockpit. "What is it? Please don't say it's a miniature CORA, whatever you do." "No, though that might make things interesting." He handed it over to Starbuck to examine. "It's an identification transmittere set to our attack frequency. If one of us comes up on your tail, we get a flashing red dot on our attack scanner." "Very nice," Starbuck commented, handing it over to Apollo. "The question is, does it work, buddy?" "Unless you break it. So even though we might think about it, we won't blow you out of the sky." "Ouch. That just wants me to be doubly sure that it will work." "It'll work, Starbuck. Don't worry about that." Apollo switched the transmitter on again, then looked at Boomer. "Thanks, this will really come in handy. I don't think any of the pilots would like the distinction of being the one who shoots down their commanding officers." "Even though they might want to?" Starbuck said in a wry voice. "If only I'd been in that position a few yahrens ago. Remember Captain Dionysus? Oh, what I would've given to come up and just..." "Save it for later, Starbuck," Apollo told him. "Boomer, is Doctor Wilker back from the Electronics Ship yet?" "Yeah, he's been here for the past centar." "I don't suppose he's had a chance to look at the transmission, huh?" "No, not yet," Boomer said, shaking his head with a sigh. "He's been gathering some of his things to take back to the Electronics Ship, and he keeps on muttering that he'll glance at it once he gets a spare micron. I think he's just not very interested." Starbuck gave Apollo an odd look. "After all this, you still think it didn't come from the basestar?" "I know it sounds silly, but I have a funny feeling it didn't." "These days, nothing sounds silly from you, old buddy. Just crazy." Sheba came into the Raider at that point with Cassiopeia, and heard the tail end of the men's conversation. She was feeling immensely nervous, especially when she saw Apollo sitting in the pilot's chair, and as she stalled, Cassiopeia pushed past her to go to the front. "Starbuck," she said, her voice firm, "can I have a word with you? Please?" Glancing back to see them, Boomer got out of his seat to allow the women better acces to the front of the cockpit. He smiled sheepishly. "It's getting a little crowded in here, so I think I'll go bug Wilker for a few centons. I'll try to get some response for you, Apollo. Does that sound good?" The captain nodded, not looking away from the console. "That's just fine, Boomer." "Yeah, Cassy, what is it?" Starbuck asked as she came to stand directly behind him. "And would you mind keeping it short? I still don't have the hang of these controls." "Starbuck, I want to talk to you alone." Cassiopeia threw a glance at both Sheba and Apollo, to remind them that they were in public, even if the two were their friends. "Alone?" Starbuck sighed as he got out of his seat. "I'll be back in a centon, Apollo. If you get a chance, try to figure out what that thing is, okay?" "Sure thing." The couple walked past Sheba to leave, and for a few microns, there was complete silence in the cockpit except for the sounds of the machinery. Sheba watched Apollo carefully as he started going through his notes on the computer again, and she suddenly realized that he had no ideat that he was there. Suppressing the urge to run away quickly, Sheba deliberately stepped to the command chair slightly behind Apollo on his right. She could see that he still hadn't hear her, so she decided to speak. "It takes three Cylons to fly this fighter." She said it a little too loudly, and she was mortified to see Apollo jump in his seat, then turn slightly to look at her. Then she winced, knowing that she'd made a rather stupid comment, but she rationalized that at least she'd let him know of her presence. "Sheba! I didn't hear you come in." Apollo quickly regained his composure, though Sheba noticed that he was slightly irritated. Frak, that was the last thing she wanted him to be. "Anyway, don't even think about it. I need you and Boomer to lead the squadrons into the battle." Since they were already on the topic, Sheba decided to pursue the topic for a little while. "Then why are there three seats in a Raider?" "Shows you how independent the Cylons are," he said, chuckling. "The third Cylon just sits where you are and gives orders." "Very well." By this time, Apollo had turned back to the front, looking through at his notes. Sheba watched him for another few microns, noticing the way he tilted his head to the side as he examined the console. Finally, she couldn't stand keeping the questions inside her, and she blurted out, "Who picked you for this mission, Apollo?" "I did," he replied in a confident tone. "It was my idea, and I get to go through with it." She bristled at his choice of words, even though she knew that he said it unintentionally. "You really want to get yourself killed, don't you?" Apollo froze as soon as she said that, and he turned so he was completely facing her. Now that they were face-to-face, she could look directly into his green eyes, and she noticed the wary expression he was giving her. "What's that supposed to me?" he demanded. Sheba bit her lip, cursing herself for saying that, but now that it was out in the open, she decided that she might as well continue with it. When she spoke again, she was surprised at the emotion that came with her words. "Ever since you lost Serina, you've been on every high risk mission on the board. Equis, Vulcan..." At the mention of his late wife's name, Apollo quickly turned away. Sheba caught a glimpse of an anguished expressioin on his face before the only thing she could ee was the back of his head. "You leave Serina out of this!" he demanded, his interruption punctuated by the ice-cold tone of his voice. "I'm not the only one who thinks that," she said gently. "I remember Serina when she was a BNC anchor and I know she was a lovely woman, Apollo. And everyone I've talked to says that you two were a beautiful couple. But that doesn't excuse the fact that she's dead, and that you're afraid of going on without her." She couldn't see his face, but she knew that her words had struck a deep nerve within Apollo. His entire body seemed to tense, and she could see his hand clench the computer. For a few microns, she wondered if this was the first time someone actually tried to broach the subject to him. "Can we just drop this?" he said, not quite shouting, but still loud enough for Sheba to know that he wasn't quite successfully holding back his anger. It was clear that he didn't want to talk about Serina and his feelings for her, and he was being polite before he had to be rude. Sheba was determined not to let him have his way. "No!" she shot back, feeling herself become angry. "We can't just drop this! She's the problem you're having, Apollo. Admit it!" "Sheba! I asked yo politely once, but now I'm going to have to..." "Hades, Apollo!" she shouted. "Don't you understand? Why do you think that you have the quarter on loneliness here? Yo've got your family, and the friends you've had for yahrens! But me? I'm alone; it's just me and an unemotional Vulcan Colonial Warrior named Spock. I feel the same way you do, but you don't see me isolating myself!" Taking a deep breath, she was surprised to see that Apollo wasn't coming back with an immediate retort. Instead, he was bowing his head slightly, and after a few microns, he very quietly said, "I'm sorry. I..." She smiled slightly at his apology. "That's all right. I guess we've been at each other's throats ever since the moment we met." "Yeah, I guess we have," he said softly. Sheba's smile got a little bigger as she realized that had it been Starbuck she were talking to, he would have reminded her precisely how they'd first me. But Apollo wouldn't, even though she first tried to shoot his ship down unwittingly, then later when they met in person, succeeded in making him look foolish in front of his fellow pilots. "But this is the first time we've clashed in a while," she continued. "Lately, you've been including me in your tight little circle of friends, and I appreciate that, Apollo." He sighed gently. "I guess I realized that I'd been a little hard on you. And I...suppose I can relate to what it feels like to be alone." There was something about his tone that was odd, and Sheba couldn't help picking up on it. She remembered Athena's words, how Apollo wouldn't acknowledge his interest in her to anyone, including to Sheba herself. She tried to venture on this path and start gently probing, unlike her previous outburst. "Apollo, have you ever considered the possibility that maybe two people who snap at each other for no reason are trying to hide their real feelings?" she wondered. It was the only way she could think of wording her question without openly asking him if he had feelings for her. Very slowly, Apollo shook his head. For a few microns, she had the impression that he was staring into his lap. But why was he doing that? Was he afraid of looking up to catch their reflection in the cockpit window? Was he afraid of what he might see? "I've thought about it quite a bit," she continued when she knew he wouldn't reply to her question. "And Apollo, I'm sick of fighting with you." "I, um, I'm not too fond of those arguments either," he finally said, his words not coming out very certainly. He glanced back at her, quickly averting his gaze when he saw her watching him carefully, but she noticed it nonetheless. Sheba reached out, and held his chin gently in her hand as turned his head to face her. The micron she could completely see his face, and the turbulent emotions in his eyes, she leaned forward and brushed his lips against his. He tensed at the touch, but then he quickly relaxed as he reflexively closed his eyes. A stray thought went through Apollo's mind at that micron as he found himself wanting to return the kiss, that he should reciprocate, and he knew that he really wanted to. Or, more strongly, he needed to. And to his surprise, no disturbing thoughts of Serina interrupted him. Before he could react, Sheba had pulled away, but her hand was still resting on his face. Her large brown eyes were watching him carefully. "I love you, Apollo," Sheba whispered, finally saying alound something she had first realized six sectars agao amidst the jumbled, blurred memory of Apollo saving her life from Morbus. "Please come back to me." Unable to say anything, Apollo nodded as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He watched Sheba get out of her seat and leave the Raider then slowly turned back to the console. He stared at the computer, wishing that it would give some of the answers to the questions that were swimming around in his head. Sheba would never know that it took Apollo a long time before he could go back to work. ***** Outside the Raider and a dozen feet away, Starbuck felt as though he were at attention as Cassiopeia first angrily spoke to him, then started pacing in front of him. Sighing, he clasped his hands in front of him, resisting the urge to twiddle his thumbs as he waited for her to get to her point. "You weren't going to tell me about this mission, were you?" she demanded. "Of course I was," he said calmly. "When? Five centons before you report for launch?" "Actually, when I was finished with the prep, I was going to go down to see you." He tried to put as truthful a tone into his voice as he could. The fact was that he knew that she'd be upset, and he didn't want to face that just net. "Cassy, it's nothing to worry about. It's no more difficult than blowing up the base back at Vulcan. It's easy. We'll be gone before the Cylons know what hit 'em!" "But that's my point!' she exclaimed. "Why does it always have to by you? Why can't you stay behind and take over the squadrons and let Boomer go? And don't say that you were volunteered!" At a loss for words, he said, "Apollo's going." Surely she had to understand that his friend was his wingmate, and that meant they went practically everywhere together. "I don't care if Apollo's going!" she shot back. "It's you I'm in love with, not him!" He couldn't help rolling his eyes. "Look, Cass, you know me. I'll make it." The bitter lalugh that she gave was the last thing that Starbuck expected. "And knowing you, you're probably going to find some beautiful female prisoner to rescue on that basestar!" "Oh, Kobol, Cassy----That's not why you're upset is it?" He gave her a wry grin. "Besides, we're not going ot have time to get to the interrogation cells and to the control center. So don't worry." She gave him an exasperated look and was about to reply when Sheba came out of the Raider, her eyes tearing slightly. She walked a few metrons toward the nearest life, then spotted the couple. She called, "Starbuck?" Thankful for the opportunity to take his attention from Cassiopeia's berating, he looked at her. "Yeah?" "Good luck, hotshot," she said, smiling at him before leaving the bay. Starbuck watched her for a micron, then shook his head. "Why's everybody acting that way?" he wondered. "Everyone's going on like we're about to venture into the depths of Hades or something! It's just a mission, for Sagan's sake!" Cassiopeia couldn't take it anymore. She'd tried getting to the point gently, but Starbuck didn't seem to see the topic that was hanging in front of him like a large worm on a hook. The anger and frustration that had been building inside her exploded like a mine. "You just don't understand, do you?" she yelled. "You're so busy with your ego and the battle that you're not taking the time to consider how I might feel about you going on this mission!" "I do understand, Cassiiopeia," he said, determined not to get angry himself. "I know that you're afraid that I might get shot on the basestar, or we might get blown up on the way there or back. Or maybe we'll get trapped on the basestar and blow up with it, too. You're terrified about it, but...You see, I just don't see the sense of dwelling on what might go wrong. To me, that's a lousy way to live." The anger on Cassiopeia's face disappeared for a micron. "So you know why I'm upset?" "Yes." He put his arms around her. "And, I admit, it's also the reason why I didn't go see you earlier." Hugging him tightly, Cassiopeia didn't want ot let go of him. For the first time in a while, she thought of Cain, and how she'd been devastated when he and the Pegasus were reported as killed in battle. They'd never had a quiet moment like this to get things out in the air before he hleft to reclaim his command. Maybe, she thought, this will help things turn out for the best. Meanwhile, Starbuck was thining about how he'd never felt like this for a woman before. Normally, if a previous girlfrield of his had been upset about a mission, he'd have shrugged it off, claming that it had to do with her being clingy or overprotective. Now, his feelings had changed. He was concerned that Cassiopiea was angry, and he wanted only to assure her that he'd do his best to be careful. He pulled back from the embrace so he could lean down to kiss her. It grew passionate after a few microns as Starbuck held her tightly to him. Together, they stood in the middle of the landing bay in each other's arms until they reluctantly parted. "I'll be back," he told her. "I promise." Finding that her eyes were tearing, Cassiopeia wiped the extra moisture away as she unsteadily laughed, "If you don't, I'm going to kill you." Grinning, Starbuck laughed with her, giving her one final huge before returning to the Raider to continue his prep. ***** Tigh paced around the command center, watching as the bridge crew prepared for the battle. Reports were following steadily, and they were eventually ending up in the colonel's hands. He glanced at them to make sure they were proper, then put them down, only to be handed another one. "The ground crews in the Viper bays report that the fighters will be ready on schedule," Omega was saying. "Reports are due at any centon from the crews manning the laser turrets, and the latest report from the Fleet should be any centon now." The colonel nodded as he glanced at the star map. There were now two targets surrounding the center that represented the Galactica. To the left, closer than it had appeared earlier, was the basestar, and the red laser that marked its position was still distant. Before long, it would be much too close for comfort. The others pinpointed the fleet's location, herded safely outside the star system. Too far for the Cylons to touch, but not to far for the Vipers to aid in the event of an emergency there. Satisfied for the time being, Tigh glanced down at the three monitors situatioed on Omega's left. They were alternating between scenes around the Galactica, showing the commanding officer what the current situation was. At that centon, the view was that of the Cylon Raider in the launching bay. Four orange-clas techs were fueling it, but neither Apollo or Starbuck were to be seen. "What's the status of the Raider?" he asked. "Captain Apollo reported fifteen centons ago that all systems are green." Omega glanced at the chronometer. "They have forty-five centons before they launch. They should be getting their gear now." "Thank you." Tigh didn't take his gaze from the alien fighter. Never in his life did he think that a Raider would be the key to ending a battle with the Cylons in their favor. "Keep me posted." ***** Had the circumstances been different, Boxey would have been elated at being let out of learning period early, but not with the looming battle ahead of them. There was a sense of doom among many of the adults, but it bounced off most of the Galactica's few children. All except for Boxey. The six-yahren-old boy had developed a sixth sense when it came to military matters, especially when it had to do specifically with his father. If Apollo was involved with something, Boxey could pick it out the way Muffy did with mushies, and that's exactly what he was sensing at that micron. Passing warriors on the way back to the billet he shared with his father, Boxey heard more than a few discussing something about a mission to the basestar. He gleaned the information that it was to destroy the control center somewhere inside the ship, and that it was highly dangerous. He wasn't surprised to hear his father and Starbuck's names mentioned immediately afterward. He picked up his pace to get home faster. When he arrived, he burst into Apollo's room. Startled at the sudden entrance, Apollo jumped slightly where he was sitting on the bed, doing up his boots. Seeing his son, he grinned widely. "Hey, Boxey," he greeted, reaching out to give his son a big hug. "Did you get out of instructional period early?" "Yeah. Whenever there's a battle, we get the rest of the cycle off." He sighed as he tightened his grip around Apollo's neck. "Dad, what's this about a mission?" He wryly noticed the good humor in Apollo's face diminish, to be replaced by a facade that was supposed to be calm and reassuringly confident. "Where did you hear about that?" he asked gently. "Everybody's talking about it, Dad. Why am I always the last to know about the stuff you do?" Boxey let go of his father so he could sit on his lap. He wanted to look into his eyes. Joco, his instructor, had once said in a lesson that the eyes were the window of the soul, and anything he needed to know could be found looking through someone's eyes. Apollo's green eyes were no exception. "And why are you going to that basestar, anyway?" Sighing slightly, Apollo quickly ran through the details of the mission. By the time he finished, Boxey's eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. "No one in the history of the Colonies has..." Boxey paused, snapping his fingers. "What's that word? Infilter? Influx? Aw, what's the word, Dad?" "Infiltrated?" Apollo supplied, a small smile on his lips. "Yeah. No one else in the history of the Colonies has---infiltrated---a basestar before, have they?" "No, not that I know of. That's why we don't have the proper intelligence that we would normally have." "So you and Starbuck are the first? Isn't that dangerous?" Boxey asked. "Yes, it's dangerous, but no more so than any other mission we've gone on," Apollo replied, "and we've always come back from those, haven't wa?" "I guess, but Dad..." Taking a deep breath, Boxey prepared to ask the question that had been bothering him off and on for the past few sectars. "Dad, why is it always you and Starbuck who go on these missions? I mean, it's neat having a dad who has a really neat job like you, but something I wish it was somebody else's dad who goes off to fight the Cylons, while mine stays behind to be with me." "It's my job, Boxey. I have to go out on these missions, just like you have to go to instructional period and do your homework." "But no one's forcing you to go on this mission. It was your idea, right? Why didn't you send somebody else to do it?" Remembering the mostly one-sided conversation with Sheba, which still wasn't sitting quite well with him, Apollo wondered what he should say to his son. Why did he have to go, anyway? Was Sheba right? Did he really have a desire to end his life so he could be with Serina in the hereafter? While thinking about that, Apollo glanced over to where he kept the pictures of his wife. Her radiantly beautiful face, which had haunted him for so many nights now, smiled out at him. He looked at Serina's image for a few microns, then very slowly, another face appeared over hers. To his surprise, it was Sheba's, which he had been admiring ever since he had first seen her face in the holograms in Commander Cain's office aboard the Pegasus. Serina, is that your way of telling me it's all right if I go on with my life? he wondered. Almost as if in reply, he felt something like a weight being lifted from my shoulders. For the first time, he could feel himself admitting inside the real reasons why he had so anxiously sought Sheba out in the Pegasus Officers' Club after he'd seen her face for the first time. Why he had lingered for centars as she recovered from her battle injuries after being transferred to the Galactica. Why he had been so insanely jealous when she had come under the spell and influence of Mr. Morbus. He had always had strong, deep feelings for Sheba, and every night he had always looked at Serina's picture in what he knew had been an effort to deny those feelings to himself. He also felt something else that he hadn't known for a long time. He felt the gnawing edge of ear as he thought of the mission. What in Hades am I thinking? "Dad?" Boxey was looking up at him with concern. "Are you okay? You sort of blanked out there for a micron." "What? Oh, I'm sorry. I was just thinking." Apollo blinked a few times, then gave Boxey a reassuring smile. "The reason I'm going is that we need to make sure the job is done right, and besides, who's better at this than Starbuck and me?" "That's true," Boxey admitted. He gave his father a tight hug. "Be careful, Dad. I'll be waiting when you come back." "Thanks, Boxey." Apollo returned the hug, then placed a kiss on his young son's cheek. "Okay, go do some homework in the meantie. Off you go." As he watched his son leave, another stray thought went thorugh Apollo's head. Did he really have suicidal tendencies? If so, then why was he hanging onto life? Boxey. Of course, Boxey, since he knew what the losing another parent might do to the poor child. "I'm sorry, Boxey," he whispered, "if I've put you thorough any worry." Quickly finishing with his boots, Apollo grabbed his laser holster and left his room. Seeing that Boxey was safely in his room, Apollo quickly hurried up to Beta deck where Starbuck was getting prepared. When he arrived, he found that Boomer and the other Blue Squadron pilots were gathered around the blond lieutenant, who was good-naturedly grumbling about the attention. "Apollo, you're finally here!' he exclaimed. "Quick, get hese mother poulons away from me! Please!" "Admit it, Bucko," Jolly teased. "You're enjoying every micron of it." "Don't jinx the moment, Jolly," Starbuck shot back, grinning. As soon as Apollo was next to them, he handed him an extra holster. "Here, buddy, for good fortune." "Just like bandits," Apollo mused as he first strapped on his own laser, then the second one. "We're going armed to the teeth." "Better armed to the teeth than naked to the bare bones," Starbuck said, watching as Apollo fastened the strap that would secure the second holster to his right thigh. "I'm not really up to meeting the Cylons in hand-to-hand combat, and I doubt you'll be, either." From his position less than a metron away, Boomer uncrossed his arms, and shifted his weight from foot to foot as he fixed the two warriors with a completely serious look. Starbuck felt himself get a little edgy as Boomer spoke. "Now's not the time for jokes, Starbuck," he said, his voice a little tight. "All right, are your timers set?" "Yeah," Starbuck said, as Apollo nodded. "And according to this, I've got thirty-five centons to live." "It'll be shorter if you don't stop making those bad jokes," Apollo added. "Whatever you two do, don't lose that transmitter," Boomer continued, ignoring Starbuck completely. He focused on Apollo, who wore the little machine on his belt. "It's the only way we can tell the difference between you and the Cylons." "I'll be careful with it," Apollo promised. "And if we do lose it," Starbuck added, not able to resist the opening his friends had left open, "we'll just waggle our wings." Boomer snorted loudly, fixing Starbuck with a minor glare. "You probably would do that. It'll jus make it easier for me to shoot at you." Frowning at the way the normally calm and unflustered Boomer was acting, Apollo tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. "Boomer, are you all right? How come you're fussing so much?" "I guess it's because I would be feeling better if I were going with you two," he admitted, a thin smile on his face. He knew very well what Apollo was going to say, but he needed to get the concern out in the open. "I know that, Boomer, and as much as I'd like your company, I need you back here to lead the squadrons with Sheba." "It doesn't change the way I feel," he sighed. A silence fell between the three friends for a few microns, then Apollo held out his hand. It was the first step of a three-way handshake they used, and both Boomer and Starbuck reached out to join him. With their hands in the proper position, and their fingers grasping the others', they shook for a few microns. When they finally let go, Boomer received a slap on the back from Apollo and a confident grin from Starbuck to represent their wishes for Boomer to have good luck with the squadrons. And then they were off, heading for the exit while receiving encouragement from their fellow piliots. Boomer noticed that Giles, Greenbean and Jolly were the last to see them out. Sighing heavily, Boomer whispered the words he wished he'd said directly to them. "Good luck, my friends." ***** CHAPTER SIXTY: WE HAVE A BATTLE TO FIGHT, DON'T WE? True to form, Baltar was keeping them waiting. Or rather, his guards were keeping Adama, Apollo and Starbuck waiting, but the commander preferred to think that it was the traitor who was holding things up. He wondered what mischief might have occurred as one of the Galactican security guards escorted Baltar down to the landing bay. He knew that there was no love lost between the guard and Baltar, and after a few more centons of waiting, he began to get a little concerned. Beside him, Apollo and Starbuck began to get a little antsy. The lieutenant was shifting his weight from foot to foot as he glanced from the Raider to Adama to the lift. Apollo stood with his thumbs hooked on the belts of the two laser holsters, a contemplative look on his face as he stared off at the distant wall. Adama wondered what was going through his son's mind as Starbuck spoke. "He's holding up the mission, you know." "Yes, I realize that, Starbuck," Adama admitted, "but there's still plenty of time before you need to launch." "I'd rather be early than late in this situation, Commander. I don't like the idea of the ship I'm standing on being under direct fire while I'm running to a fighter to escape." Starbuck shook his head. "Nah, the sooner we're out of there, the happier I'll be." "I'm with you on that one, buddy," Apollo said softly. A smirk appeared on Starbuck's face. "I don't believe this! Are you getting nervous, by any chance?" "Yeah, just ever so slightly," the captain admitted, not looking away from the wall. "This is a cycle I'm really going to have to mark down on the calendar!' Starbuck exclaimed, grinning good-naturedly now. "Apollo, there's finally a sane side to you!" Beginning to smile sheepishly, Apollo's expression suddenly turned completely sober as he heard the nearest lift coming into the bay. After a few microns, Baltar and the guard were visible in side it. The muscular guard's face was slightly grim as he spotted the commander, while Baltar's was smug as usual. "I somehow get the feeling he's going to enjoy this," Starbuck muttered as the lift came to a halt at the bottom of the shaft, and the two men exited to meet the other three. The guard, Sergeant Michal, was apologetic as he started speaking. "I'm sorry, Commander, that there's been a delay, but somehow some of the Council members have heard that something was afoot, and I had to get past them to get Baltar here before they spotted him. From what I've been told, Sires Marvello and Sagramonte practically exploded through the ceiling of the Council Chamber when they got the word." Adama restrained the urge to roll his eyes in disgust. That was just what he needed, a group of irate Councilors wandering around the Battlestar while he was trying to fight a battle. That would just make his cycle. "Thank you for the information, Sergeant," he replied, noticing that Batlar was examining Apollo and Starbuck the smug expression still on his face. "Captain, Lieutenant," he greeted, smiling widely. "I should have known it would be the two of you going on this mission. How heroic of you to do so. But now that I'm here, I'm at your disposal." There was a look about Apollo that said that he wasn't quite believing that they'd gone down to this level of desperation as he spoke. "What will happen when we land without clearance?" Baltar's tone was remarkably civil as he looked the captain straight in the eye. "In all truth, probably nothing. They'll assume that you've had a communications breakdown. Of cours, if they don't have any ship in the air, they'll send a centurion to find out who you are." "I know where to enter the central core from the landing bays," Starbuck spoke up, "but where's the control center?" "At the bottom of the core." "At the bottom? Oh, now that makes sense. Place it someplace where we don't expect to find it," Starbuck grinned. "I'm beginning to like the sound of this." "It's even easier than you think, Lieutenant," Baltar continued . "There's always a centurion on guard at the hatch leading to the control center. Once you destroy it, you'll be in the computer banks. You don't actually need to go into the control room itself. Blowing up those computers will be sufficient to blind the basestar." "I do confess to liking the sound of this." But Apollo wasn't as convinced of the simplicity of the mission as Starbuck was. As the group started heading toward the Raider with Michal trailing just behind them, he asked the question that had been bothering him. "How much resistance can we expect from the core are a?" "Ah, now that's the variable I can't tell you," Baltar said. "It all depends on how many centurions are passing through at the time you enter. The only constant is the one guard that I mentioned earlier." "In other words, we might get stuck in a traffic jam, or we might be completely alone," Starbuck summarized, "depending on the time of cycle?" "Not quite accurate, Lieutenant, but close enough." Baltar smiled at the thoughtful expression on Apollo's face. "Are there any other questions?" "Not that I can think of. What do you think, Apollo?" Starbuck asked his friend. "I think that's it," Apollo agreed. "Unless you can think of anything else that might be of help, Baltar?" The traitor shook his head. "Your mission is very straightforward. You shouldn't have any unforeseen problems." Apollo nodded at the information, then looked at his father. Adaman hadn't said a word since the short briefing began, and now that it was completed, reached forward to shake Starbuck's hand. "Good luck, Lieutenant," he said, then reached for Apollo's, who found his grip to be tense with nervousness that could never show at the surface. "Captain. We'll see you soon." "Faster than you can say felgercarb in Cylonese, sir," Starbuck promised. "Lieutenant, you'll be surprised to learn that the Cylons don't use expletives," Baltar told him, and Starbuck had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation. "Analogy noted and duly appreciated," Adama said, ignoring Baltar's words. "Now you two better get going." Without another word, Apollo and Starbuck left the two older men for the Raider. Before they could take another few steps, they heard Baltar calling after them, "Good luck!" Starbuck glanced over to see Apollo freeze in midstep, then shake his head in amusement. He chuckled. "Never thought you'd hear Baltar saying that to you, did you?" "No," Apollo admitted, "but there's a lot of things lately I never thought I'd hear or do." Baltar smiled as the two warriors made their way inside the Raider. For a few microns, many questions flashed through his mind. The first thing he wondered was whose Baseship this one was. He would have found it a delicious irony if it were, in fact, the one that had been his own. Even more declicious was the prospect of Lucifer dying so that he might be free again. And there were of course greater questions that he would conceivably have to face someday. What would he do if he ever made it back with the Cylons? Would he tell them about this battle? Or would he use it to his advantage to get back in favor with the Imperious Leader by keeping silent, and concocting a story of escaping to an isolated planet? And what would he do if he ever met back up with Apollo and Starbuck in the yahrens after being marooned? Would he owe them anything? He noticed the odd look Adama was giving him, along with the barely concealed amusement. For once in his life, Baltar could admit to being able to relate to his lifelong foe. "I know that sounds unusual, Adama," he said sincerely, "but I have as much stake in their mission as you do. If they don't succeed, I die, too." "Of course," Adama replied. "Now," Baltar continued, biting his tongue before he could put the acerbic 'old friend' in the sentence the way he normally would have done, "let's go up to that bridge of yours. We have a battle to fight, don't we?" ***** Apollo was already sitting in the pilot's seat, activating the computers and prepping the engines. He was doing the final pre-launch check of the board when Starbuck closed the fighter's hatch, and by the time he could sit down, all the lights were green. And Starbuck prayed that they meant the same thing for Cylons that they meant for humans. "What do you think they're going to call this mission in the history scans?" Starbuck wondered as he buckled himself into the seat. "What?" Apollo asked, frowning as he looked up from the console. The fighter's engines began to rev up, and their sound was beginning to fill the cockpit. It was louder than a Viper's, with a higher pitch. "I was wondering what this mission will be called when our grandkids study it in instructional period," Starbuck said, rephrasing his sentence. "I don't know. Why don't we name it when we know it's a success?" the captain suggested. "Good idea." Taking a deep breath, Apollo glanced at the controls. "Starbuck...?" "Yeah?" "Do you know how to fly this thing?" Starbuck put on a mock horrified expression. "I thought you did!" The tension that had built you in the microns beforehand relaxed as both Apollo and Starbuck laughed at their morbid joke. Watching his friend compose himself, Starbuck realized that it was the first time he'd heard Apollo make a comment like that in a very long time, since well before the Final Destruction. "We'll make horrible comedians," Apollo said, still smiling. He had his finger poised above the turbo ignition button. "Yeah, we'd laugh at our own jokes." Starbuck watched his friend's hand. "I'd pretend that I'm Core Command, but I can't do Rigel justice with my imitation yet. Are you ready?" Apollo gave a short nod before pressing the button. "Launch!" ***** Up in the Celestial Dome, Sheba and Cassiopeia stood side-by-side, looking out the transparent walls at the side of the Galactica wehre they knew the Raider would be leaving. Neither had said anything during the past ten centons, though both knew exactly what the other was feeling. Since her confrontation with Apollo, Sheba hadn't been able to stop thinking about what they'd said. Had she gone too far? Was Apollo angry at her now? Had she ruined any chance they might have had at becoming an item? More importantly, had she gotten through to him about his potentially destructive behavior? And if he hadn't, would she ever see him again? Cassiopeia could sense Sheba's concern at the imminent launching. She was feeling it herself, though after her own confrontation with Starbuck, she was feeling a lot more confident that she'd see him again. She felt herself want to chuckle somewhat as the thought strayed into her mind that although she knew he'd come back, she didn't know what condition he might be. Starbuck had the worst luck when it came to missions. When the launching finally came, Cassiopeia nearly missed it when she glanced away at one of the nearby passenger ships. She was still completely overwhelmed by the view the dome offered, and it ws very distracting to her. She was thankful when Sheba suddenly exclaimed, "There they are!" Glancing in the original direction, Cassiopeia spotted a small circular object shooting out of the bay. From this distance, it was difficult to tell that it was a Raider. Holding her breath, she watched them until the ship was out of sight a few microns later. Very slowly, she let her breath out in a sigh. "They're gone," she said. "So soon. It's hard to believe that just a few centars earlier, Apollo took us up here and we picked up the signal." "It seems like a sectar's gone by," Sheba agreed. There was a pause, then Cassiopeia shook her head. "Felgercarb! It never gets easier, Sheba, watching someone you love leave on a mission like this. I was terrified the first time your father left with the Pegasus, and I'm still terrified with Starbuck. Why did I ever have to fall in love with another warrior, of all the eligible men in the Fleet?" It was a rhetorical question, one that Cassiopeia never expected Sheba to respond to. But when she heard Sheba's tearful, "I don't know, but I doubt I'll ever get used to it," she turned on her friend in surprise. "Sheba? Did something happen between you and...?" She was too shocked to say his name. "Apollo? In a way." She smiled slightly. "Yes, you could say that. I told him on the Raider after you left with Starbuck that I loved him. I----don't know how he took it, because I left as quickly as I could." A slightl smile on her lips, Cassiopeia laughed gently. "If I'm right, Sheba, you have nothing to worry about at all." ***** Sheba was the last thing on Apollo's mind at that micron as he put his full concentration on piloting the Raider to the basestar. He'd always had a talent with flying unfamiliar spacecraft, and this was proving to be not much of an exception. He could tell tha tit had been designed for a pilot who was bigger and stronger than he, and it required him to give extra attention to the way he steered it. Beside him, Starbuck was fiddling with the scanner, occasionally giving Apollo updates on their progress. In the meantime, he was frowning as he tried to get the equipment to function. "We're entering the star system now," Starbuck said now, adjusting a knob on the upper right side. "So far, so good, buddy. Keep it steady." A wry smile found its way onto Apollo's lips as he briefly considered giving Starbuck the same kind of encouragement he was being given, but decided to leave the teasing for later. The Galactica was the proper environment for that kind of activity, not a Cylon Raider. "Anything?" he asked, glancing quickly at the scanner, but realized that it was in vain. The hood surrounding the scanner made it impossible for him to view it from his current location, and he knew that he coldn't risk moving his attention from piloting for more than a single micron. "I don't know," Starbuck admitted, keeping his hand on the button he knew adjusted the scanner's frequency. "I wish this stuff was more human-friendly. All I'm getting on this piece of Cylon felgercarb is a bunch of blips." "Blips? What kind of blips?" Apollo asked, not able to resist this teasing. "Big planet-like blips? Asteroid blips? Blip blips?" "Keep your mind on piloting," Starbuck snapped. "I'm trying to figure this thing out." "Then maybe I should get myself a Cylon co-pilot," Apollo muttered good-naturedly . "Oh, go ahead and laugh, pretty booy. I'd like to see you try this. What's this?" Starbuck frowned as he studied the scanner. "Apollo, those blips, whatever they are, are getting closer. They should be..." "Starbuck!" Apollo suddenly yelled. "Huh? What?" He looked up to see Apollo's arm in front of him. His eyes followed his arm over to his pointing finger, which was directed at a Cylon Raider that had suddenly appeared next to him. "Holy frak!" Something told him to look over at Apollo's side of the cockpit, and he was greeted by the sight of a third fighter moving up beside them. "Apollo, look!" Apollo felt his heart skip a beat in a blind moment of fright, and he forced himself to suppress it as he whispered, "Sweek Kobol, we're surrounded!" "Well," Starbuck laughed nervously as he looked from one ship to the other. "I guess I know what those blips are now. Do you think they're onto us?" "I don't think so," Apollo said, trying to concentrate on piloting, but he found it completely unnerving having the alien ships surrounding them like they were. "We must've flown right into the middle of a patrol. They'll probably think we're a stray joining back up." "Then let's not give them any reason to think we're not one of their own. Keep on flying the way you are, buddy. Remember the commander's catch phrase of precision flying." "Thanks for the reminder." Apollo cast a glance at the ship on his left. He was chilled that he could just barely make out the trio of Cylons inside its cockpit, and he hoped that they were having more difficulty than he with seeing into the cockpit. Starbuck, in the meantime, was more concerned with what was becoming visible directly ahead of them. The basestar had just come into range, and as he watched, they were rapidly approaching it. Apollo, it seemed, hadn't noticed it yet. "Apollo---" Starbuck began, trying to draw Apollo's attention back to the front. "Look alert, will you?" Apollo's eyes widened at the sight of the basestar, and he took a deep breath. "Starbuck, ole buddy, I guess we're soon going to find whether they're onto us or not." Concentrating like he'd never done before, Apollo followed the first two Cylons into the gaping maw of the basetar's landing bay. ***** CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE: 1750 Keeping his eye on the Galactica's scanners, Adama watched the target on his scanner that represented the Raider until it had moved completely beyond their scanning range. When he was positive that he couldn't see them anymore, he turned away to survey the bridge. Everyone was more or lss prepared for the battle, but there was still some nervous sentiment among the officers, which had started when Adama walked onto the bridge accompanied by Baltar and Michal. He knew that some of them were wondering if the traitor's presence was a bad luck charm. Adama made sure the traitor was not able to access any of the stations, nor able to look at the consoles. If he had his way, Baltar would be chained to the railing until the battle was over. He was still wary of this part of agreement, but he knew that Baltar possessed intelligence that could help them get the battle over with more quickly and, hopefully, with minor damage. "It's a very nice bridge you run, Adama," Baltar said quietly at one point. "Much better than President Arcon's Atlantia." Giving the traitor a sidelong glance, Adama wasn't sure how to respond to the statement. For all he knew, it was probably a jibe, but somehow, the way he said it made it sound sincere. Adama knew that his old friend Arcon, dead along with the rest of the Quorum at the ambush of Cimtar, hadn't been command-oriented, but that and''t stopped him from interfering with the orders of the Atlantia's right commander. Only Adama had been able to show any initiativie beforehand because he had found a way around the presidential order. Tigh was supervising the activity on the lower deck of the bridge, and he constantly checked with his chronometer when not speaking to a bridge officer. Very slowly, the numbers were reaching fifty, and one centon before the change occurred, he hurried up to the command deck as it turned from forty-nine to fifty. "It's time, Commander," he said quietly, coming next to Adama. "It's 1750, sir." "Proceed with the preparations," Adama said, giving the colonel the autorization to continue. He watched as Tigh turned to both Omega and Rigel. "Pilots to launch bays," he ordered. "Begin red alert." The activity on the bridge increased as Rigel called the alert. Before long, Adama could see on the monitors that the pilots were in their ships, and over the comlines, the squadron commanders could be he ard checking to see if their wingmates were prepared. Adama wai ted as he heard each commander calling in with the report that they were read. Green Squadron, Yellow, Red, Silver Spar, and finally Blue." "All squadrons ready to launch, Commander," Omega reported. "All systems are reported as green." Adama gave a nod to acknowledge the officer's report. "Launch all Vipers immediately." "Viper squadrons," Rigel said into the comline, "this is Core Command. All systems transferring control to fighters. Red and Blue squadrons are cleared to launch first, followed by Silver Spar, Yellow and Green. Launch when ready." Adama waited until all the Vipers were launched and safely on their way to the battle before turning to the helm officer on the lower deck. "Bring her around to mark-delta-five." "Mark-delta-five, executed, sir!" she replied. "Full scan, Omega," Adama continued, turning to look out the star field at the front of the bridge. "The micron the basestar is spotted, I want to know about it." ***** Starbuck crouched down as much as he could at the side of the cockpit, clenching his teeth as the muscles in his thighs started to protest at being immobile in their uncomfortable position. Next to him, he could see Apollo cautiously peering out the cockpit at the passing Cylons. "Are they gone yet?" Starbuck muttered again, feeling Apollo leaning on him as he watched the aliens. "Not yet," Apollo whispered. "Now?" "Starbuck, shut up, will you?" came the annoyed response. Not believing that the Cylons were taking this long to leave their ships, Starbuck pushed Apollo away and looked out. He grinned as he saw the last centurion walk by. "Okay, let's move out!" "Wait!" Apollo tackled him to force him to sit back on the deck. He moved just fast enough for them to avoid detection by another group that was only now passing by. "When I say go, that's when we go. Understood?" Sighing as he rested his back against the bulkhead, and secretly thankful that he could stretch out his legs, Starbuck waited for the next few microns until he felt Apollo pulling his arm. "You have said we can go yet," he teased, but he nonetheless stood. He grinned at Apollo's scowl. "You know, I love that expression, Apollo." "Just watch it, buddy. I just might leave you behind," Apollo threatened good-naturedly, but motioned for him to head for the exit. "Let's move out." He went over to the back of the Raider to open the hatch, and motioned for Starbuck to go first. Not feeling too excited about having to go down first, Starbuck went down two rungs, then dropped down onto the bay's deck. Crouching on one knee, he held his laser out, ready to fire at any Cylons that might be lingering in the area. To his relief, the entire bay was empty. Waiting for Apollo to join him, Starbuck took a micron to take in the entire scene, and he was amazed. Their Raider was situated at the front of the bay, close to the exit. Between them and where he knew the central core was located were rows and rows of Raiders, waiting for the micron an alert would be called. Glancing up to the sides, Starbuck realized how large the bay was. Nearly twice as high as those found on the Galactica, it was also at least three times as long, and Starbuck began to feel very small. "Is it clear?" Apollo hissed, still inside the ship. "Yeah, there aren't any Cylons in sight," Starbuck shot back, finding it necessary to whisper. The bay was also very quiet, and it made him feel like he was in a kind of tomb. The silence was disturbed by dull tappings as Apollo descended the ladder to go next to him. "Impressive," Apollo said, his voice as quiet as Starbuck's as he looked around. He looked over at the interior of the bay, and he tried to spot the central core that he knew they were supposed to locate. He didn't have any success. "Where to now?" "At the far end," Starbuck told him, pointing to a specific location a few dozen metrons from their position. "Do you see that small enclosure? That's where the hatch to the central core is." "Then let's not waste any time. Come on," Apollo said, and they started running for the other side. Starbuck found himself looking fearfully from side-to-side as they passed the Cylon ships. He almost expected to see a few stragglers from the earlier groups appear from behind the parked Raiders, and he was immensely relieved when they reached the central core with no problems. Slightly out of breath, he watched as Apollo put his laser in its holster to grasp the heavy lid of the core with both hands. Gritting his teeth, he pulled it open, and the stark light from the core spilled out into the small, dusky room. Letting go, Apollo glanced down into the core. He had to squint against the glare, and there, at the bottom, was the single guard that Baltar had warned them about. It hadn't noticed their presence yet, and Apollo glanced up at Starbuck, the light illuminating the angles of his face. "If he looks up..." Apollo began, his voice barely a whisper, "we're dead." "Only if I take it with us," Starbuck returned. Not daring to do anything else but smile at the comment, Apollo took a deep breath, then sat on the edge of the core so he could swing his legs onto the first rung of the ladder. Or what the Cylons thought they could call a ladder. It was more like an immensely long pole with stakes that acted like rungs sticking out it on all sides. It was awkward for the two warriors to climb, with Starbuck having to be extra careful that his heels didn't land on Apollo's fingers. He sighed once when Apollo seemed to have difficulty trying to find a rung for his left foot, and decided to reach down with his own foot for one that was located close to Apollo's knee. Glancing up at his friend in slight irritation, Apollo was about to take another step when he noticed movement from the centurion for the first time. It was beginning to pace in front of the door, and then it started to look up. His eyes widened as he realized that the Cylon was looking right at them, and as the centurion reached for its laser rifle, he yelled, "Starbuck, look out!" Time seemed to slow down as the rifle was moved into firing position, and Apollo desperately reached for his laser as it started to fire on them. Starbuck winced as the first two blasts missed them. The third hit the ladder just below where Apollo had been trying to place his foot. For a micron, Starbuck had the horrifying thought that Apollo was going to lose his balance and fall the rest of the way gdown, but he was relieved to see his friend grasp onto the ladder tightly with his right hand as he fired his own laser at the offending guard. With two well placed shots, the Cylon fell backward against the bulkhead. "Good shot!" Starbuck called down. "You okay?" "I'm fine. Come on, let's go. The micron another centurion comes down and finds that body, they'll know we're here." They hurried as best they could, and Apollo dropped down the last laser again, and waited for his friend to take up positon next to him, his own sidearm at ready. "On three?" Starbuck added nervously, focusing on the closed door directly in front of them. Apollo nodded. "One, two, three!" The door opened at their approach, and they burst into the narrow corridor before it completely opened. It was empty except for the long stretch of computers on both sides of the hallway leading up to the entrance of the command center. Apollo didn't realize that he was holding his breath until he let it go with in a rush of expelled air. "This is a relief," Starbuck sighed, glancing at the computers. He reached under his jacket to begin pulling out the solonite charges both he and Apollo had brought with him. "Step two?" "Step two," Apollo confirmed, bringing out his second laser so he could cover both doors at the same time. "Set the charges and I'll cover you." Nodding slightly, Starbuck went down on his knees so he could have better acess to the computer panels. As quickly as he could, he secured the charges to the surface, then activated them before moving on to the next one. ***** Several hundred hectars from the basestar, the Galactica's squadrons advanced into the star system. Still unused to having command over the squadrons, Boomer continually glanced at his scanner, as if needing to remind himself that he was, indeed, the man in charge. There'd been little conversation between the pilots on their way over. A few of the younger pilots were chattering nervously among themselves, but the senior pilots, like Giles and Spock, were mostly taciturn. Sighing slightly, Boomer checked the long-range scanner as the objects within the star system began appearing on the screen. He recognized the layout from the briefings previous to their launching. "I've got them in range," said Jolly. "Looks nicer in person than in the Colonel's lecture, wouldn't you say?" "More or less," he answered absent-mindedly. "The only problem is that I've got nothing but planets so far. Wherever the basestar is, she's well hidden." "I say we head toward the vicinity of the third planet," Sheba suggested, her voice enthusiastic. "The basestar was behind that one when Starbuck spotted her." Boomer nodded slightly as he checked their course and the current position of their intended destination. "That's right, he did. All right, we'll hold this heading. Sooner or later, she's going to pick us up on her scanners, and she's going to launch all her fighters. Remember, we want to pull those Raiders to us, so the Galactica can continue with her part of the plan unimpeded, because the basestar's going to have the commander's full attention." "Don't worry about us, Boomer," Dietra said, sounding as though she were grinning. "We're going to have ourselves a little fun." ***** As Mort grew older, there were so many opportunities when he cursed whatever gods there were that he'd ever been created an IL Cylon. Even outdated ILs, such as he, still possessed those rudimentary human emotions that came courtesy of their second computer brain. But while it made them more independent in thought than the single-brained centurions, it still mean that he alone ahd to know what it felt like to feel the sense of boredome and waste that had been his lot for so many yahrens, it seemed now. It was enough to make him actually welcome the prospect of decommissioning and scrapping one day. Perhaps his central banks would be recycled into one of the newer IL models, and he would find himself in a better assignment. Or perhaps he would end up within a new centurion shell again and be deprived of those characteristics that made him feel so bored. He'd heard that the newer Baseships actually had throne rooms for their commanders similar to the one the Imperious Leader used whenever he traveled aboard his flagship. At the very least if he had something like that, he could look down and watch his crew go about their work and feel his boredom eased somewhat by the pleasant thought of having some greter sense of what it was like to be in command. Of late, he had begun to feel somewhat uneasy, as well as bored. His centurions had reported back to him that the scanners were working better than they'd been for the past several sectars---about fifty-six percent the normal efficiency of a normal basestar. Good enough for their purposes, but it still left them with below standard equipment. The squadrons were now playing more of a role as sensors than the basestar's own scanners. The patrol Mort had sent out after the odd sighting a few centars earlier---which still hadn't been explained----had scouted a fair amount of territory without scanning anything. They had ventured outside the solar system, and had returned about fifteen or twenty centons beforehand, reporting nothing. If necessary, he'd order more deep patrols like the last one. Tylium wasn't a problem for the Cylons. Before the deep scans had crashed a few days before, the readouts had shown that there were traces of the vital mineral a few star systems over, and it appeared that they were easy to collect. But that still left the enigma of the scanner blip and he was certain that the answer wasn't a malfunction. How would he prove it, though? "Sir," the centurion he only knew as MXR suddenly looked up from his scanner, "Vipers bearing in Omega seven sector and closing rapidly." Mort's bulbous head darted toward him and, had he possessed facial muscles, they would have contorted inot disbelief and shock. "Vipers!?" he could scarcely bring himself to say the word. The thought that his solitary, ancient Baseship, manned by an outmoded crew, would be the one to stumble onto the elusive quarry of the entire Empire had never been taken seriously in his computer mind. "Confirmed," MXR nodded. "Five squadrons in all." It seemed too much for Mort's ancient circuits to comprehend, that he took an extra micron before responding. "Luanch all fighters to intercept," he ordered, and then added, "Scan for the Galactica. And prepare a long-range message for transmission to the Imperious Leader." "By your command," the higher-pitched voice of QZW said. Incredible, Beta thought. If I end up being the one who does what all other Cylon commanders failed to do, I might get the kind of reprieve I"ve always hoped for. Perhaps a major upgrade. Perhaps even...he trailed off, unable to express his next thought that he might even be in line to become the next Imperious Leader. For the first time in many yahrens he felt a sense of pride and swagger as he glided toward the doors leading to the Computer Center. As soon as the door opened, his circuits frozen in shock when he saw two uniformed Colonial Warriors standing inside the Computer Center, one of them attaching an explosive charge to the banks, the other pointing a laser pistol right at him. Mort frantically pressed the button closing the door just before a laser blast impacted against it. His circuits almost numb, he turned around and angrily shouted, "Security team! Now!" ***** Even before Beta had opened the door, both Apollo and Starbuck had heard the low-pitched sustained whine of a Cylon Red Alert fill the Computer Center, causing the captain to blurt out, "They've spotted our Vipers, Starbuck! We've got to go!" "No!" Starbuck said as he activated the second charge and then pulled out a third. "Just one more! Give me ten microns!" Before Apollo could reply, he heard the door open and saw an IL-series Cylon standing in the doorway. Apollo got off one shot that missed as the door closed again before it could hit its target. "Let's go!" an edge of panic entered the captain's voice. For the first time in a long time, he actually felt scared. And after all the soul-searching he'd been doing since his conversation with Sheba, he didn't know anymore if that was good or bad. Starbuck hastily attached one final charge and flicked the switch. The two of the then dashed back out the way they had come into the Central Core shaft. Apollo took one final look inside the Computer Center with is pistols trained to make sure the reinforcements from the other side wouldn't show up just yet. When he saw nothing, he finally felt safe to head back for the ladder. The blonde warrior was right behind him as Apollo grabbed the runs and began the climb back up to the top of the shaft. Apollo felt himself climbing up as fast as he could possibly go, since he felt the sense of fear rising inside him. More than anything else, he wanted to return alive from this mission. For the first time in so long, he actually felt cognizant of what it was that he needed to stay alive for at all costs, and how there was no honor at all in the prospect of losing his life on a mission as dangerous as this. His palms were sweating so much from tension and fear that he felt them slip on the rungs for a brief instant. It caused one of his arms to fall away and slap against his side, where he felt it dislodge something clipped to his holster. "Starbuck!" he shouted in horror as he realized what had just happened. "The transmitter!" Beneath him, Starbuck saw the black object dislodge from Apollo's weapons pack and fall towards him. He frantically reached out to grab it in mid-flight, but it fell out of reach down to the bottom of the shaft, where they quickly heard it clatter against the floor. "Quick!" Apollo shouted. "See if you can..." Before he could finish, there was a loud explosion and a cloud of smoke and fire belching from the Computer Center below. They glanced down just in time to see the bodies of five centurions that had obviously gotten into the Computer Center just before, get hurled through the blasted door where they tumbled against the walls and floor of the shaft in motionless piles of dead machinery. The force of the explosion was so great that it almost caused Apollo and Starbuck to lose their hold on the rungs. When the explosion finally died down, Apollo managed to resume his climb back up. He reached the top and climbed out of the hatch and onto the tarmac of the Launch Bay. Wasting no time, he reached down and lifted Starbuck out as soon as the lieutenant reached the top. "Frak!" Apollo let out his inner rage. "Without that transmitter the squadrons can't tell us apart from the other Cylons!" "Forget it, buddy," Starbuck tried to catch his breath. "We won't be needing any of that electronic felgercarb. We'll think of something." "Like what?" Just then, the sound of the alert siren resumed, and with it a panicked announcement from a human-sounding voice that could only belong to an IL. "All pilots to your fighters immediately! All pilots to your fighters immediately!" "First things first, buddy," Starbuck said, "The Galactica's about to attack so we'd better get out of here before they show up." "We'd better not bother trying to find the fighter we came in. I guess any of these'll do." "Then what are we waiting for?" The two warriors then sprinted across the tarmac for the nearest Raider to them. Running like two frightened equines, they somehow avoided detection. Hiding behind some containers, they waited for the centurions to enter their Raiders so they could find out which ship to take. To their relief, one ship remained empty. They hurried inside it, not concerned with appearances this time. Starbuck closed the hatch in the floor as Apollo started flipping toggles with a sense of desperation to get the thrusters started. "Ready?" the lieutenant asked as he settled in his seat. He looked over at his friend and gave Apollo a confident grin. "Yes, and no," came the tense reply. "This reminds me of a game we used to play when we were kids. 'Hide and seek.' And whenever it was time to go looking for the other kids, we'd yell out, 'Ready or not, here I come!'" "I remember that game," Starbuck grinned. "Ready or not..." "Here we come," Apollo finished, activating the turbos. With a forward momentum that pushed them back into their seats, the Raider shot out of the landing bay into space. ***** Down in the Command Center, Mort's sense of shock had only increased as he saw the remaining centurions attend to putting out the fires in the Computer Center. As soon as it was under control, he moved back over to where MXR and QZW remained perched at their consoles. "Status?" he angrily inquired. "All short and long range scanners rendered non-operational. Estimate at least twelve centars to effect repairs." "We haven't time for that!" Mort raged. "Put all maintenance crews into getting those scanners fixed immediately! I don't want anyone on this basestar who isn't a pilot to be doing anything else!" "Sir," QZW said, "What of the message to the Imperious Leader?" Mort wished he could glare at him. "Never mind the message, you imbecilic scrap heap! With our scanners non-operational, the last thing any of us should be concerned with is a message that won't be received or acknowledged for sectars at bare minimum! Now see to those scanners immediately!" "By your command." Mort felt convinced that he was going to self-destruct in a matter of microns as a result of all these unexpected turn of events. For just a brief instant he had known the thrill of realizing that he had a chance to score the greatest military triumph of Cylon history. Only to now see that his Baseship had just become the first to fall victim to a successful infiltration by Colonial Warriors that had resulted in the sabotage of the most vital piece of equipment in the entire vessel. He glided back over to his command position and tried to get his thoughts under control. ***** Ten centons after leading the squadrons into the solar system, Boomer finally spotted the basestar, hovering serenely over the bleak lunar landscape. Watching it for a few microns, he wondered where Starbuck and Apollo might be at that very micron. Were they still deep inside the ship, or were they farther out, headed in or out of the central core? Still wishing he were with them, Boomer watched his scanner for what he knew was undoubtedly lto come, the launching of the Cylon Raiders. He didn't have long to wait. Soon the alien fighters were spitting out of the bays like insects from a swamp. Tensing his hand around his control stick, and poising his thumb above the fire switch, Boomer glanced at the scanner one more time to see what condition the squadrons were in. The Vipers were lined up row by row, ready to meet the alien ships, and Boomer smiled in anticipation for what was to come. "They're coming!" Jolly exclaimed. "Continue to hold position," Boomer commanded, watching as the ships continued to approach their current location. He could feel the tension building among the pilots as they waited. "Hold..." "Five microns," Sheba counted. "Here they come," he radioed to the combined squadrons that had come together for this strike. "Stand by to assume attack formation. And keep your eyes peeled on your scanner for any flashing red dot. That'll be Starbuck and Apollo." The tightly packed echelons of Cylon fighters drew closer. He almost marveled at how utterly predictable Cylon formations always were, and how they showed no sense of independent flying initiative. That was why against an organized group of Colonial Vipers, Cylons seldom stood a chance even with a two to one advantage. Boomer took a breath and decided that the moment had come. "Break!" Blue, Red, Green, Yellow and Silver Spar Squadrons went into their diversified flying pattern that immediately caused the Cylon echelons to break off from their tightly organized formations. Now, the Colonials had the ability to track them down almost at will and keep the enemy from making any coordinated effort to scan for the Galactica themselves. The battle had begun and soon settled into what Colonials regarded as an acceptable battle ratio of eight to ten Cylon fighters for every one Viper lost. Boomer right away noticed that the only two casualties from the first phase of the battle had been young cadets out on their first combat mission. What ominous implications for the long-term future did that carry? If long periods of idle time between combat engagements became the norm, would the younger generation of pilots that would come after seasoned veternals like himself be able to handle the challenges? He pushed the thought out of his mind and came up behind another group of three Cylons. The middle one was in sight. He looked down at his attack computer and saw no red dot beneath the image. He calmly pressed the fire button and the Raider was destroyed. "Boomer?" he heard Sheba radio. "Any sign of them yet?" "Not yet," he replied. "I wouldn't count on them trying to lose themselves with these guys. I know if I were them I would have high-tailed it out of the combat zone after leaving the basestar." "I hope they're off it by now." She didn't try to hide the edge of concern in her voice. "According to my scanner the Galactica will be on top of it any micron now." ***** Aboard the Galactica, Adama was hunched over the laser turret control banks located one level down from the command section of the Bridge's upper level, making sure that all systems were on-line and functioning. The instant the battle began, he wanted to be right next to where the heart of the Galactica's attack would be. Above, Baltar remained on the upper level, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression carefully guarded while two Colonial Security men kept their eyes on him. Since the Battlestar had picked up speed, the traitor had grown uncharacteristically silent, not bothering to make any sarcastic remarks at Adama's expense. Indeed, for the first time since his capture, he had actually felt his hate for Adama dissipate for the first time. Ever since Adama had coldly rejected his offer to strike back against the Cylon Empire in the tomb of the Ninth Lord on Kobol, Baltar had been filled with an endless hatred of the Galactica commander as the ultimate cause of his cursed fate as an outcast from humanity and it had guided his actions all throughout his pursuit of the Fleet, and even after his capture. But now, Adama had unexpectedly changed his tune for the first time and had become Baltar's potential instrument of freedom. It had taught him a valuable lesson how even a powerful emotion like hate was not unchangeable over time. And if Adama kept his word and set him free, and he were rescued one day by the Cylons and restored to his command? What would that ultimately mean? Would he be able to resume the chase with the same vigor and determination that he had mounted it the last time? Or would it lead to something else entirely? Those were certainly questions he knew he was going to have to ponder at some point. Assuming all went well and the battle was won. For now, he would stay out of Adama's way and just cooperate if called upon. All he wanted to do at this point was uphold his end of the bargain and earn his way off the Grid Barge forever. "Adama!" The commander looked up and his expression darkened when he saw the white-robed figures of Sire Marvello and Sire Sagramonte enter the Bridge. Without wasting a micron, Adama mounted the steps and headed them off before they could get to the upper level where Baltar stood. "Sire Marvello, Sire Sagramonte," he said curtly, "I have very little time to discuss any matters with you. Take them up with me after the present situation is ended." "This won't wait, Adama," Marvello was seething. "What is that despicable cretin," he motioned to Baltar who merely glanced at them with amusement, "doing here aboard the Galactica?" "Those matters do not concern you at this time, Sire Marvello." Adama's cold tone increased. "And if you value the safety of every life in this Fleet, you and Sire Sagramonte will leave the Bridge immediately and let me do my job." "Rumor has it that you've struck a deal wit him that will result in his sentence being commuted," Sagramonte said in that smooth tone of voice, purposefully using the formal language to drive his point home. "If that is indeed true, Adama, then I believe there will be little question of the need for you to explain your actions before the entire Council later on." "I will do so at the appropriate time," Adama almost hissed. "But there might not be another Council meeting if I'm kept from my duties at a time when we are about to engage in direct combat with a basestar. I am now ordering the both of you to leave the Bridge immediately!" "We shall leave, Adama," the elder Council member said coolly, cutting off Marvello's next retort. "But I believe that we will have much clearer consciences when this whole affair is over than you will." As soon as they walked away and left the Bridge, Adama shook his head in disgust, and then felt his skin crawl when he heard Baltar's voice from behind him saying, "Well done, Adama. Well done." Without acknowledging him, he went back to his position in front of the laser turret station, knowing already that Baltar was probably smirking at him again. "Commander!" a faint level of urgency entered Omega's voice. "Long range scan indicates that our squadrons are engaging the enemy." "Transfer scan to here, Omega," Adama felt his voice rise anxiously. "Yes, sir," the Bridge Officer replied crisply. "They're heavily outnumbered," Tigh cautioned from his station on the opposite side of the Bridge. "They should be able to handle them," the Commander said confidently. "Commander," Athena chimed in. "Urgent messages are coming in from all over the Fleet on when the present situation is going to be over." "Send out a unicom on priority scrambler and tell those ships to stay off the airwaves!" Adama snapped. "We can't risk their intership transmissions being picked up by the Baseship and alerting their presence to us! Tell them we'll rejoin them in no more than thirty centons from now." "Yes sir!"His daughter's voice was punctual. "Assuming you make it through this," Baltar half-mutterd under his breath. There was still a part of him that could scarcely believe this was happening. Chiefly because ha had long since grown unaccustomed to the thought of a Battlestar being able to take a basestar on directly. Granted, he had seen Cain do it against his two sister ships at the Battle of Vulcan, but that had been the exception that only proved the rule in Baltar's mind. For the most part, in the yahrens leading up to his decision to betray humanity he had come to see all of the Battlestar commanders as too soft and unwilling to take on major risks that could win the war against the Cylons. "We're almost there..." Adama could feel the tension rising inside as he looked at the scanner showing the third planet of the solar system. Then, in an instant, he could see a familiar circular shape emerge on the screen. "There she is, Tigh!" his voice rose. "I see it," the executive officer nodded. "We're getting a transponder signal off of her. Warbook classifies her as Serial No. 1974, from the Sonus class," he said in reference to the coding system for basestars that had been devised yahrens ago by Colonial military intelligence. Baltar felt a wave of disappointment go through him. He knew right away that the number didn't match the transponder code for his own basestar. That meant he wouldn't draw the satisfaction of se eing his own personal revenge on Lucifer exacted. If his fate was to one day be rescued by the Cylon Empire it would, in all likelihood, mean a reunion with the IL. And he could easily picture the devious mind of his one-time second-in-command finding ways to use the knowledge of what he had done to regain his freedom to his own advantage. But, on the other hand, his past experience also made him know something else about that particular basestar. "Adama," he spoke up, "I'm familiar with that ship. She's an older one, deemed by the Imperious Leader long ago as insufficient to handle the task of major combat operations. As I recall from my intelligence briefing her crew is yahrens out of date from the current centurion models and was slated at one point for eventual decommissioning and overhaul." The commander looked bac at him and realized immediately that Baltar was telling the truth. He nodded and turned back to the laser turret station and leaned forward. "All lasers to maxium readiness. Stand by on my signal." He then looked over at Tigh. "Sound battle stations!" "Battle stations!" the executive officer called out. "Seal all compartments!" The red glow bathed the bridge and the klaxon sounded. Tigh made his way over to the laser turret station where Adama was hunched over the gunnery officer. "She's taking no action, sir," Omega called down. "Just staying there dead in space for now." Baltar moved over to the railing with faint concern and looked down at the laser turret station. "Adama," he said, "Surely you could end all this in a micron by firing one of your missiles at them." The group ignored his comment and kept their eyes trained on the viewing screen where the Baseship had come into view. "I don't think she's scanned us," Tigh ventured cautiously. "They might just have done it." Adama kept his voice at a low hush. "Stand by to fire all forward laser batteries." "Adama!" Baltar gripped his hands on the railing as he looked at them in bewilderment. "Have you lost your mind? If they've succeeded then you have a chance to use one missile at point blank range!" A few heads on the Bridge uneasily turned toward Adama. "Didn't you hear me, Adama? You're risking our lives if you don't use a missile on them!" The commander turned around and glared at the traitor. "Baltar," he said calmly, "Another word from you and you'll spend the rest of this battle in the brig. I am not going to use up irreplaceable weaponry if I don't have to." "You are a fool!" Baltar hissed. "A cautious fool to the bitter end." Adama turned his back to him and then said at the top of his voice, "Fire!" With that, a large number of red streaks hurtled across space and crashed directly into the basestar. ***** Mort had only felt his state of agitation increase with each passing micron as he waited for more information on whether the scanners were being tended to. He could not avoid the sensation that it was so unfair for all this to be happening when he'd known for a brief instant the pleasure of thinking that he might be able to find a reprieve from his inevitable fate of decommissioning and recycling. Now, events were reaching a situation where even that might not be an option any longer if this ended in failure. Suddenly, his circuits felt the rumbling of a massive shockwave that caused the entire command center to literally shake. MXR and QZW were almost knocked to the floor. "What happened?" he demanded angrily as he leaned against a bank of monitors to keep him from falling. The bulk of his robes concealed his cybernetic arms underneath and made it impossible for him to immediately grab onto something. MXR had regained his footing and was checking his console. "Aft laser turret reports an attacking Battlestar." "Fire aft mega-lasers!" Mort shouted. "Initiate on-line sequences for all missile batteries!" "Acquisition of missile readiness not possible for at least five centons." "Direct all firepower to aft batteries!" Mort tried not to sound any more rattled than he already had. "Don't waste time with precision targeting!" ***** The Galactica had managed more than a dozen hits on the basestar before the first blue streaks of return fire hit them. In an instant, everyone on the bridge felt the rumbling sounds beneath their feet. One shot, absorbed for the most part by the bridge shield, caused wisps of smoke to erupt in several areas. Without the shielding, it would have resulted in overloaded circuitry bursting into flames. On the upper level, Baltar's hands were sweating so much that they almost slipped off the handrail that he was tightly gripping. It still struck him as incredible that Adama wasn't resorting to the easy solution of firing all missiles at point blank range. He thought of making another outburst that might get the rest of the Bridge personnel to listen, and perhaps they would go along with him. But he dismissed that in an instant, knowing that the likelihood of anyone in this room willing to trust his judgment over Adama's, was practically nonexistent. As much as the traitor didn't want to admit it, his fate was in Adama's hands alone at this point, and he had no choice but to watch, and for the first time since he was a child, perhaps even pray. "Fire in the bay!" Athena shouted, as indications of a hit showed on the monitor in front of her. "Damage report?" Adama turned and sharply inquired. "Being dealt with," Athena pressed her earpiece tightly, "Chief Bennann reports that the Boraton Mist Control Center is operating efficiently. No loss of pressure to boraton hoses." Adama nodded with satisfaction. The new safety measures put into place to avoid a repetition of what had happened in the suicide hits of seven sectars ago, when the Control Center had been wiped out in a single blast, were working as they should. "Indications show heavy damage to Baseship on aft starboard and port mega lasers," Omega reported. "Baseship is now attempting to maneuver into position for forward mega laser use." "Bring us around to new heading delta one-five," Adama said. "Fire all forward laser batteries as she comes to bear. We'll try and catch her dead on, right at the reactor level and finish her. If it doesn't do the job," he skipped a beat, "then prepare port missile for one point-blank firing." ***** Several levels below the Bridge, Dr. Wilker had calmly sealed the compartment door that led from his lab to the corridor and gone over to the work table where an agitated Smeek waited. "All right, Smeek," he said, "Now let's finally have a look at that recording you and Boomer and everyone else have been on me about since I got back from the Electronics Ship." "Uh, sir," his assistant let out another of his characteristic sniffles. "Do you really think this is the time for that?" "Smeek, I have never been a believer in sitting around doing nothing, even in the heat of battle. If anything, continuing with work helps me stay sane during a battle. Now, let's have those recordings and start analyzing." Smeek wiped away the sweat that had formed on his bald plate and moved over to the computer near the duct vent, where the recording had been stored. He could feel his tension increase as he felt the rumble of a laser blast that had struck somewhere else in the Battlestar. "Okay," he tried not to let his voice tremble, "Opening the file now. In about ten microns, we can..." Smeek didn't get to finish his sentence when he suddenly felt the force of a more powerful explosion knock both him and Wilker off his feet. Portions of the ceiling suddenly collapsed on top of several computer terminals, including the one Smeek had been standing in front of. "What the...?!" The Chief Scientist was in a state of shock as he got back to his feet. The last thing he expected was to feel a laser blast affecting his lab area. He had always thought of it as one of the most secure parts of the Battlestar. "Sir!" Smeek didn't hide the panic in his voice. "I think we'd better get out of here and fast!" "Wait, just a wait a centon, let's not panic!" Wilker waved his arms. "Maybe it..." A blast of flame suddenly roared through the duct vent at the other side of the room, engulfing the entire rear of the lab. Nothing more needed to be said, as the two scientists scrambled for the compartment door that led to the corridor. Wilker frantically pushed the buttons that opened it, and he and Fairfax dashed out. The last thing the Chief Scientist saw of his lab as he shut the compartment door from the outside, was the fire consuming the entire room. ***** Smoke was now coming through numerous vents throughout the bridge, indicating the presence of fires on other levels. Clearly, the Battlestar was absorbing heavy damage even as she picked up speed and assumed the new heading. Just then, the Battlestar felt the blast of two simultaneous hits, more violent than anything else up to this point. "We'll be in position in five microns, four, three, two, one---mark!" Omega raised his voice. "Forward lasers now locked on!" "Fire!" Adama's voice was determined. ***** The new round of laser fire from the Galactica, more precise and accurate than anything the basestar had been able to muster on short notice, now crashed directly into the center hub of the basestar, right at the level that housed the warship's main reactor. Mort had enough time to know right away what it meant. That his long career was finally at an end. His last thought before the entire command center was engulfed by flame, was that perhaps it was more fitting to die this way, than to suffer the indignity of scrapping after all. ***** On the Bridge, they could see the basestar absorb the newest barrage of lethal fire. The circular-shaped warship began to sag slightly, and then an instant later it exploded completely. There was a delayed reaction of a half micron before the reality of the situation set in among everyone on the Bridge. Tigh was the first to let go, let ting out an excited cheer. "We did it!" the executive officer was trembling. "We did it, Adama!' "We all did it, Tigh!' Adama had let go as well, and an entire chorus of cheers and whoops came from every quarter of the room. He turned to his daughter. "Damage report?" "Widespread in some localized areas, but Bennann says all fires are controllable," Athena reported and then grinned as she heard the next piece of information in her ear. "And everything around the landing bays are cleared. All intact and still ready for operational use." "Thank the Lords for that." Adama turned back to Omega. "Tell our Vipers to stand by and make sure that none of the remaining Cylon fighters attempt suicide runs at us. And keep a watch for Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Starbuck." "Yes sir!" the bridge officer grinned. Adama went back to the upper level where Baltar remained. The traitor seemed more spent with relief than anything else. "My congratulations, Adama," his voice was the most neutral Adama could ever recall. "You acquitted yourself well in the battle." The Galactica commander resisted the temptation to make a retort. Baltar had lived up to his word, and he now had to do the same, regardless of how difficult his opponents on the Council chose to be about it. "Thank you, Baltar," Adama kept his tone equally neutral. "I will be in touch with you when the matter of your----disposition shall be dealt with." He then motioned to a Colonial Security guard, who happened to be standing nearby. "Escort Baltar to guest quarter space. Maintain a constant guard, but accord him every possible courtesy." The guard glanced at the traitor with a hint of distaste and then nodded, "Yes, sir." As soon as Baltar had been led away, Adama went back to the lower level. "Any word on Apollo and Starbuck?" "None, sir." Omega shook his head. "Boomer says the Cylon force is down to less than half strength now. Some of them turned around and are committing suicide by making steep dives into the atmospheres of the various planets in the solar system. Not too many of them are shifting course toward the Galactica." For the first time, Adama felt his euphoria replaced by a slight sense of uneasiness. "Tell them to keep watching. And have all attack computers here on the bridge watching too. A flashing red dot is the key." ***** "I don't think there's any fight left in them anymore," Sheba noted as she saw another Cylon fighter go into a steep dive above the giant first planet of the system, where it glowed a bright red and then faded into nothing as it burned up. "Seems that way," Boomer agreed. "The Galactica's given the go-ahead to let us come back in stages. Silver Spar, Blue and Red Squadrons first. Yellow and Green groups will stand by to take care of any Raiders that still want to fight or make any suicide runs on the Galactica." He paused. "That puts you in charge for now, Greenbean. Do you feel up to the task?" "You'd better believe it," Greenbean answered. "And keep watching for Apollo and Starbuck," Sheba jumped in. And for the first time, there was more than a hint of concern in her voice. "There ought to be some sign of them by now, unless..." she broke off. "Sheba, relax," Boomer cut in reassuringly. "They're probably already back at the Officers' Club having a cold one." ***** Ten centons later, Boomer and Sheba were aboard the Battlestar and had gone straight to the Bridge. When they saw an uneasy Cassiopeia standing by Adama and Tigh, they knew right away that the news was not good. "Nothing, not a sign of them," Adama's earlier euphoria was gone completely now as he stood hunched over the attack computer for the main portside laser turret. "We've had two Cylon fighters that tried suicide runs and neither of them transmitted the identification signal. And Greenbean says there are probably no more than ten to fifteen left out there and they've gotten no indication either. Cassiopeia glanced over at Sheba and noticed how she seemed one step away from losing control completely. The memory of their conversation in the Celestial Dome only centars ago filled her mind, and it made her wonder if Sheba would be able to handle it if the worst happened. And will I be able to handle it if the worst has happened? She took a breath. "Commander," Omega called over from his station, "Another Cylon fighter approaching. Greenbean said it took a vector away from the main group, so we'll have to deal with it." "Transfer to my console, Omega," the commander said, as the four people around them all hunched forward to see the readout on Adama's computer. "Maybe that's them," Cassiopeia tried to sound hopeful. An anxious silence came over them as they watched the image of a Cylon fighter appear on Adama's computer. The commander had his hand ready above the fire switch that would activate the laser guns. Cassiopeia found herself reaching out and squeezing Sheba's hand for support. "No flashing red dot," Adama said flatly as they stared at the computer. "We'll have to take care of this one. Activating guns in five microns." Boomer frowned as he saw the image suddenly tilt at a forty-five degree angle, and then almost immediately tilt the other way to a forty-five degree angle in the opposite direction. "Sir, wait!" he bolted forward. "Don't fire! It's them!" Adama's hand was above the fire switch. "Boomer, there's no flashing dot, and that fighter is on a direct course for Alpha Landing Bay!" "But sir, it's them! You've got to believe me!" The commander turned around and frowned at him. "How do you know?" Boomer stared at the screen and saw the image tilt sideways again. The warrior suddenly broke into a wide grin, "Because they're waggling!" he exclaimed. Tigh looked at the warrior as if he'd gone mad. "Waggling?" he repeated the word, as if he'd never heard it before in his life. "Starbuck said if they lost the transmitter, they'd waggle their wings. That's what they're doing!" For the first time, a look of optimism came over both Sheba and Cassiopeia. Tigh was still unconvinced. "Adama, if he's wrong and that fighter turns out to be a suicide ship, we could end up losing Alpha Bay." Adama felt his body tense up in his seat. His hand was above the button that could destroy the image on the screen in an instant. The weight of the decision was on his shoulders in every sense. "Twenty microns to impact with the landing bay, Adama," Tigh prodded. "Are you going to open fire?" The commander was totally rigid, not showing any sign of movement. He finally shut his eyes and said a brief prayer to the Lords for strength that he made the right decision. His hand then pulled away from the fire button. Another tense silence came over the five people as they watched the scanner showing the fighter drawing closer to the Galactica. Entering the landing bay... And finally coming to a perfect stop. Sheba and Cassiopeia both threw their arms about each other and the two of them were suddenly sprinting away from the bridge as fast as their legs could carry them. Boomer was grinning from ear to ear, as he followed them out. With Adama and Tigh there was only intense relief. The executive officer's rigid posture slackened as he sighed and patted Adama on the shoulder. "The Lords of Kobol be praised!" Adama said as he leaned back in his chair. ***** Apollo's hands were still gripping the controls even af ter the Raider had come to a stop in the landing bay. He was still numbe from the tension of the last several centons, wondering if the gambit Starbuck had reminded him of would work. Wondering if he would be forced to suffer the cruel irony of surviving the basestar only to meet death at the hands of his friends and allies. It had left him feeling more scared than at any othe time he could recall a mission during the last yahren. "Wasn't I right?" Starbuck said with a trademark grin. "I told you we didn't need any of that electronic felgercarb." Apollo finally forced his hands off the controls, looked at his friend and let out the biggest tension-relieving laugh of his life. Through the side windows, they could see a large crowd of people rushing up toward the fighter, and then came the sound of pounding on the hatch opening outside. "C'mon, buddy," Starbuck said as he flicked the switch that opened the hatch and then got up from his seat. "Let's go meet our adoring fan club." Apollo was slower to get up. All he could feel going through him was the intense feeling of relief that he'd made it back. And with it, some other feelings about other things as well. Starbuck was the first to exit the fighter. By this point, almost two dozen people had gathered near the fighter, warriors and technical crews alike. The blonde warrior raised his arm and flashed a thumbs-up signal, clearly enjoying the accolades everyone was giving him. "I kind of figured you'd have to be dramatic and lose that transmitter." Boomer stepped forward and came up to him. "And after all that hard work I put into making it." "Well, Boomer, where would my reputation be without theatrical flourishes like that?" Starbuck grinned as he then embraced his friend. "Hey, you guys idd a great job yourselves out there. How'd we come through in casualties?" "Nine pilots," Boomer's tone grew serious. "Nine too many of course, but the Fleet can manage." Starbuck nodded in understanding and made his way down through the crowd, where he could see Cassiopeia waiting. She impulsively sprinted toward him and they met in a long embrace and kiss. The crowd had now turned its attention back to the fighter, where Apollo had just emerged. Their applause and cheers escalated, s the black-haired captain smiled sheepishly and awkwardly waved to them in acknowledgment. Boomer stepped toward Apollo, but then noticed that the captain's eyes were darting about the landing bay as if he was looking for someone else. He backed away and decided to wait until it was more appropriate. As Apollo continued to wave, his eyes finally spotted Sheba, standing alone by one of the support pillars. He could see that she was smiling at him, and that she also seemed to be trembling as well. ***** Apollo wished at that moment that he had the courage to run through the crowd, come up to her, take her in his arms and kiss her. But his mind was still coming to terms with feelings and emotions that had taken so long for him to admit existed, and he knew that in spite of how he felt about Sheba, he still had a ways to go. He slowly stepped down the ramp, exchanged handshakes with Boomer, Jolly and the other warriors. Then, after several centons of waiting for the crowd to disperse, he finally reached the other end where Sheba was still standing. "Hi," he managed to smile weakly at her. "I made it." "I'm glad." She kept her tone even, as she returned the smile. Apollo could tell that there had been tears of relief streaming down her face earlier. "Um...Sheba," Apollo sighed, feeling more awkward than any other time he could remember in his life. "I ah...was wondering if it might be possible for you and me to um...continue having a few centars ago sometime." "Of course," Sheba had no intention nof rushing Apollo at this point, not when it was at least clear to her that he was finally willing to take some steps forward himself. "When would be a good time?" "How about dinner on the Rising Star in a couple of days from now?" Apollo gathered all his inner strength. "I have a feeling that after this mission, I'm going to have earned myself a gold pass for an evening there." "I'd love it," she smiled, not wanting to lose control at that moment, even though to hear him go this far was enough to make her quiver with emotion. "You let me know when, and I'll be ready." "Thanks," Apollo visibly brightened. "I've---learned a lot these last few centars Sheba, and...there's a lot that needs to be discussed." "I know," Sheba nodded. He abruptly straightened himself. 'I---ah, think I'd better go make my report to the Commander. I'll---be in t ouch." Sheba watched him disappear into the next compartment, let out a sigh, and then said quietly, but aloud, "I love you, Apollo!" ***** CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO: THE EAGLE HAS LANDED Even with the thick ear protectors, Starbuck could still sense the deafening noise of the Galactica's main thrusters rumbling through his fingers as he climbed up the ladder that led to the Celestial Dome above. Wondering if it would reach a point where the vibration would make him lose his grip on the ladder, and not wanting to wonder what it would be like if some accident knocked the ear protectors off. He knew he was only playing a hunch coming up here, but ever since Boomer had given him the bad news about what had happened in Wilker's lab during the battle, he knew that sooner or later Apollo would find a reason to come here again. That meant he had to check this place out. Starbuck opened the hatch and pulled himself inside. He saw right away that Apollo was sitting in the elevated console, busily working at all of the instruments there. First taking another star reading through the ancient navigational scanner. And then looking at the console set for the long-range transmissions with an almost forlorn expression. "I thought I'd find you up here," Starbuck said. As soon as he spoke, Apollo turned around and smiled weakly. "Hey, Starbuck." He then turned his attention back to the instruments. The blonde warrior mounted the ladder so that he could stand next to Apollo. "You know, you've got a lot of people getting impatient down in the Great Hall waiting for you and me. Big victory celebration planned." His voice took on a sly edge. "The rumor has it that we've earned ourselves another Gold Cluster. And this time it's not a political gift from Sire Zalto like the ones at Carillon's Lot were." Apollo sighed with resignation but didn't turn away from the instrument panel. "I'll be there. Just give me another couple of centons with this thing." "Why?" Starbuck asked rhetorically. "You waiting for another transmission." "As a matter of fact, I am." "You still don't think that first one was a Cylon lure?" "No." Apollo shook his head, still not looking at him. He then let out another forlorn sigh. "But now, we'll never know. Wilker's lab took a direct hit in the battle and destroyed all the computers and all the data in there. We lost everything; from those star charts you picked up on Centauria, all the way to the transmission. Frak! I should have had the sense to make a backup copy for safekeeping before the battle and kept it under a secure lock in my quarters." "Come on, you can't blame yourself for that," Starbuck chided. "You had other things on your mind then." Apollo pondered that one for a micron and then nodded. "You're right about that." "So you're just going to sit here and wait for another one?" "I hope so," he shrugged. "Boomer rigged a gamma frequency booster so that if we do get another signal it has to come in a lot clearer than the first one did. But the way this system works, someone has to activate the recorder manually if another one ever does come through. That's why----well, I figured since I had some time to come up here and just think about it----other things too---I might as well see how it's doing." Starbuck knew right away what Apollo meant by "other things." Cassiopeia had already told him how Sheba had been spending the entire afternoon asking for help to prepare for a dinner date with Apollo on the Rising Star that Starbuck knew was going to happen after the Victory Celebration ceremonies were over. He was glad to see that his friend was at long last taking some small steps forward with regard to that. It told him that at long last, Apollo was breaking out of the shell he had encased himself in after Serina's death. "Level with me, buddy," Starbuck delicately inquired, "If that transmission didn't come from Terra, and it wasn't a Cylon lure----do you think it might have come from Earth?" Apollo finally turned around and smiled weakly at his friend. "I hope it did." He looked back at the panel again. "The first contact with Earth should be her transmissions. Something similar to what we saw." Starbuck frowned. "I didn't see anything special in that transmission. It just looked like a spacecraft on a routine run to me." The black-haired captain chuckled. "Were you expecting a momentous message just for us?" "Well," Starbuck shrugged, "I guess maybe I always felt in the back of my mind that Earth's been waiting for us all these thousands of yahrens and has a big signal to their brothers to let us know how to get there once we're close enough to hear them." "Yeah, you would think that," Apollo's chuckle deepened. "But it's not going to be lilke that. We'll just pick up routine radio and video scans first. Nothing extraordinary---to them, anyway." "I guess so," Starbuck admitted and then nudged him. "Come on, buddy, let's get going to that celebration. If Earth's out there, we'll find it without you holding vigil twenty-four centars each cycle." Apollo sighed and slowly hit the buttons that t urned off each instrument panel on the console. "Yeah, I guess you're right." The captain rose from his seat and prepared to follow Starbuck down the ladder. With their backs to the console now, neither one noticed the butt of Starbuck's turbo-laser, protruding from his holster, brushing against the panel and switching on the video scanner again. The two warriors made their way to the hatch, donning their ear protectors. "So they're really going to give us the Gold Cluster?" Apollo raised his voice as Starbuck opened the hatch and the roar of the thrusters filled the dome. "Did I say us?" Starbuck grinned as he started down the ladder. "I thik it's just a Silver Cluster for you, buddy. I get Gold because I was the one smart enough to remember about waggling our wings." Apollo laughed. "I'd give you a sectan's pay if you'd summon the nerve to make cracks like that on the reviewing platform in front of Adama and Tigh." "Only if you share my cell during the sectan in the brig I'd get." The hatch then closed, cutting off the sound of the thrusters and Apollo's laugher. The Celestial Dome was now empty and silent. But the silence inside the dome did not last long. On the elevated console, a clear picture had emerged on the video scanner. The picture of a dark, crater-filled landscape looking closer and closer. And with it, the clear sound of voices. Calm, collected and thoroughly professional sounding voices. "Two hundred feet, down three and a half. Forty seven forward. Fifteen, down two and a half. Nineteen forward. A hundred feet, three and a half down, nine forward. Forty feet, down two and a half. Picking up some dust." "Thirty seconds." "Brake shadow. Contact light." A brief hush, and then the picture shifting to the image of a spidery-like spacecraft standing proudly on the surface of the crater-filled landscape. "We copy you down, Eagle." Finally, the voice of Commander Neil Armstrong filled the empty Celstial Dome of the Battlestar Galactica. "Houston, Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed!" "Roger, Tranquility," the voice from Mission Control in Houston, Texas, answered. "We've got a bunch of guys about to turn blue here." The picture shifted again. To the sight of CBS News anchorman Walter Cronkite removing his glasses, rubbing his hands eagerly, and letting out an excited "Oh, boy!" To the sight of his broadcast colleague, astronaut Wally Schirra wiping away a tear from his eyes over the realization that his friends Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin had made it to the Moon. All over the planet called Earth, the words that had just been spoken had brought crowds of millions in all nations to a standstill, as they listened with excitement to something that from their perspective had never before been accomplished in human history. Aboard the Battlestar Galactica, where the words and pictures would have been regarded as more meaningful than to any of the four billion people on Earth, there was no one present in the Celestial Dome to hear them. Even so, the great Battlestar and her fleet of 220 ships continued to move forward. Toward the source of the signal that lay somewhere ahead of them. The End