TRANSITIONS

                    A Battlestar Galactica story
                         by Maggie Hutchison

                        Started in March, 2000

TRANSITIONS

     One secton from now, we will mark the first anniversary of the
destruction of the Twelve Colonies by the Cylons.  At that horrible
moment, when we let our guard down only briefly in the vain hope for
peace... peace after a thousand yahrens of war... twelve worlds, twelve
civilizations, twelve cultures both unique and intricately intertwined,
were reduced to a rag-tag Fleet of nearly 220 space-bound ships.  My mind
and my heart still go numb when I think about what we once were... and
what is left of a race of billions of human beings... We must keep
looking forward, onward... have faith that we will find our brothers of
the Thirteenth Tribe.  My heart and faith tell me that we can succeed. 
Our glimmering ray of sunlight after the horrendous, destructive
tempest... is Earth.
     It has been one and a half sectars since our victory against the
lone basestar.  My emphatic hope is that it will be our last encounter
with the Cylons.  We can only guess, but I feel that the basestar was
part of a widely scattered, outer-perimeter defense.  That it was purely
chance that our paths crossed.  That it was alone, and that we destroyed
it before it could send any signals back to the Cylon Empire.  Even if it
did, I pray that we were so far from our old system that it would take
sectons, or even sectars, for the signal to be received by anyone.  We
have no way of knowing for certain and can only hope that the Lords of
Kobol have guided us to freedom from our enemy.  For now, we must
continue on and put as much distance between ourselves and the location
of our last encounter with the Cylons.  It is too soon to let down our
guard or to become complacent.
     Fuel-wise, our condition is stable, for now.  We have a sufficient
supply from the very successful mining expedition of the asteroid field
we encountered only a secton after the defeat of the basestar.  With
careful conservation, we should have enough to last for at least three
sectars.  We are, of course, constantly searching for more resources.
     Unfortunately, I fear that we face a new and dangerous foe -
ourselves. We have been fleeing for nearly a yahren now - nearly a yahren
of being confined to what at times seem like prison cells to us all. 
Nearly a yahren of living in cramped quarters, enduring food shortages
and fuel crises.  For most of our journey, the constant threat from the
Cylons kept us united and gave us a reason to fight for our survival. 
But now... as the threat seems to grow distant, I fear our unity is
starting to weaken, to crumble bit by bit.
     In the past three sectons alone, we have faced an attempted mutiny,
strict food rationing following a near-disaster on one of the agro ships,
a riot aboard the passenger ship, Sagittarius, and an attempted
mass-suicide.  Both the riot and the suicide attempt were led by a
mentally ill man, who, under other circumstances, would have been
receiving the proper treatment and probably would not have been a threat
to anyone.  That he could so easily find people to join his *Il Fadim*
group and so easily ignite the fears that led to the riot illustrates how
desperate people are becoming and how fragile is the resolve of some.  We
cannot let our human frailties be our downfall.  We must do all that we
can to preserve our unity and the will to survive, to persevere, and to
continue onward.
     In light of all this, I have started an all-out campaign to
strengthen our unity as a Fleet, and to let every citizen know and
believe that he or she is valued and has a voice.  Amazingly, the Council
of Twelve, led by Siress Tinia, has for once agreed with me.  We feel
that the people need more than just the representation based off of the
former homeworlds, that they need more opportunities to be heard. Each
ship is in the process of choosing a representative to act as a
spokesperson, a representative, who can bring any concerns to the
attention of the Council or even myself.  The goal is more open
communication throughout the Fleet so that the problems that in the past
were left to fester unattended will be dealt with.  Of course, we have
the potential for ending up with an inefficient string of bureaucracy. 
May the Lords of Kobol guide us away from that!
     We have also doubled our efforts to help the less fortunate among
the Fleet, to act as an extended family, to encourage all to give what
they can.  And that especially includes the efforts from all of our
artisans, musicians, athletes, and other creative souls.  We need them to
help boost our morale, to feed our hope and nourish our spirits.  As we
approach the end of this latest forced-rationing, I am hoping that the
upcoming Triad demonstrations and clinic for the children of the orphan
ship will be a first step in overcoming our latest struggles...
     We *must* pull together.  We *must* persevere... to have our
civilization crumbled to pieces by our own hand would be far more tragic
than the holocaust that we endured the previous yahren...

Chapter One
     Lieutenant Starbuck sat on the edge of his bunk, feeling
uncharacteristically pensive.  His flight jacket lay across his lap and
he gazed absently at the chronometer that was perched on the stand beside
his bed.  A sigh escaped slowly as he ran a hand through his feathered,
light-brown hair.  He closed his blue eyes and straightened his spine
when he felt the all-too-familiar tightness building in the still-healing
muscles and tissues in the middle of his back.  With another extended
breath, he slowly lifted his shoulders, then let them roll back and down
again, feeling the tension ease.  With his back still erect but relaxed,
he felt the impending cramp abate, thwarted.  He sat still and opened his
eyes.  He was alone in Blue Squadron's billet.  All others were either on
duty or off at morning nutrition break.  He was still on medical leave,
which meant too little to do and too much time to fill.  And too much
time to think.
     Hands still resting on his knees, not yet ready to move, Starbuck
absently rolled an unlit fumarello between his fingers as his mind
drifted back over the recent events.  For him, the past three sectons had
been deeply personal.  And he was not sure anymore whether the infamous
"Starbuck luck" was a blessing or a curse.  In the first case, he had
stumbled onto a plot by the captain of the Zodia, one of the ships used
for vehicle maintenance, a plot to hoard supplies so that a group of
twelve dissidents could break from the Fleet to settle on an inhabitable
planet.  Using Captain Connly's considerable computer skills, they had
altered records for the Zodia and another small ship, the Leonis, to
receive almost twice the allotment of food and other supplies. Through
his own curiosity and impulsiveness, Starbuck had found himself in the
middle of it all, and had come within microns of a laser blast to the
head.  It was Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Boomer's persistence,
investigative skills, and unwavering faith in their friend that had
thwarted the plot. Yet he had to wonder what would have happened had he
not discovered that Connly and his small group had altered the computer
records before they attempted to break from the Fleet.  The "Starbuck
luck."  His purely coincidental discovery had kept 70 civilians and crew
members from being taken as hostages, essentially, had Connly and the
captain of the Leonis actually succeeded in absconding aboard the Leonis. 
And where would they have gone?  Their destination and goal had been a
recently explored planet with a less-than-hospitable environment.  Not
anyone's idea of a dream world.
     Glancing back at the chronometer, the lieutenant realized that
Boomer and Apollo would probably be in the launch bay right about now,
going through the pre-flight check as they prepared for the next
long-range patrol.  His patrol.  Boomer was temporarily assigned as the
captain's wingman.  Starbuck curled his lip in a slight grin as he mused
that even sitting for centars in a viper with the steady whine of the
engines in his ears, broken only by the casual conversation with a buddy,
would be greatly preferable to this. His two friends, however, he
figured, were probably glad to have him immobilized and out of trouble,
at least for a while.  Even Starbuck was not sure how he had managed to
end up in two life-threatening situations in less than a secton, in a
time when the Cylons were possibly lost for good and life in the Fleet
should have been settling down, tensions easing up.  Spirits lifting.
Should have been...
     In the two days following the Zodia episode, Starbuck had been
caught up in the ensuing tribunal and sentencing of the twelve mutineers. 
The three most deeply involved had been sentenced to the Prison Barge. 
To avoid a demoralizing effect on the Fleet, however, the remaining nine
had been given strict probationary terms and reassigned to different
positions in the Fleet.  The overseers had tried to balance the need for
stern justice with the realization that many shared some of the same
feelings of weariness and frustration that had led to the plot in the
first place.  In the last centars of the tribunal, when Connly had been
given the harshest sentence of all for attempted termination, along with
all of the other charges, Starbuck had stared into the vacant eyes of a
man who had once been as loyal and as devoted to the survival of the
Fleet as any warrior.  The look on Connly's face had been haunting,
disturbing.
     And then, only three days later, with the people still coming to
terms with what had just happened, a critical breakdown on one of the
agro ships had caused the loss of a third of its harvest.  Until the
crops on the other two agro ships were ready to be harvested, the Fleet
had been forced to implement strict rationing of the remaining food
reserves.  To placate the fears and concerns of the people, Adama had
sent teams of warriors to the ships to listen to all citizens, to let
them vent their frustrations.  Unfortunately, this had been when the
"Starbuck luck" had taken a decidedly unlucky turn.
     Starbuck absently chewed the unlit fumarello, fingering it, as a
face invaded his thoughts.  Sherok.  The man was a paranoid-schizophrenic
who had not received his medication for sectars and had led a fanatical
group called the *Il Fadim*, Sagittaria for the "Chosen Ones," aboard the
passenger ship Sagittarius.  His rantings that the commander was
concealing a larger disaster had incited a riot at the time Apollo,
Boomer, and Starbuck were to meet with the people in the ship's landing
bay.  Starbuck had been caught in the middle of the chaos and had been
badly injured.  He had been dumped and left for dead in an internal
maintenance passage of the Sagittarius.  His savior had been another
resident of the Sagittarius, Copernicus, a man with a neurological
disability.  This strange man who lived mainly in his own world and felt
overwhelmed by others had rescued him not once, but twice.  First,
Copernicus had found the him lying unconscious in the corridor, had taken
him into the shelter that passed as a home for the man, and had gone for
help.  Then, when Sherok and his followers had discovered Starbuck before
help could arrive and had decided to include him in their twisted plan to
commit mass suicide, Copernicus had saved him yet again.
     That had been just over a ten days ago.  Starbuck stood slowly,
gripped the fumarello with his teeth to free his hands, and carefully
slipped on his flight jacket, easing it over his shoulders with slow,
cautious movements.  He had suffered a moderate concussion and a severe
back injury and spent three days confined to the lifestation.  While most
of the damage had been repaired, and special enzyme and biomedical
therapy had accelerated the healing process, his muscles were still quite
sensitive and prone to cramping with sudden movements.  Doctor Salik had
said that it would take three to five sectons for everything to heal, and
probably longer, even with the physical therapy, before he felt as strong
as before.  A secton after being released from the lifestation, slow,
steady movements had become a habit.
     Starbuck ran the hand through his hair again and stifled the yawn he
felt.  Most of the time, barring sudden movements, he felt little pain,
but sleeping had become difficult, and not only because of the effort of
finding a comfortable position.  Almost every night since the ordeal on
the Sagittarius, it seemed, he had experienced nightmares.  The dreams
were always variations of being trapped and totally helpless, unable to
move, paralyzed in the face of imminent death.  A complete loss of
control.  Sometimes Sherok was a part of the dreams, sometimes not.  The
frustrating part was that, when awake, the episode truly did not bother
him that much; after all, he had been in life-and-death situations more
times that he cared to count.  He had been captured twice by the Cylons,
had been in innumerable battles, and had even walked right into the heart
of a Cylon basestar.  As a Colonial Warrior, facing death came with the
territory.  He was more troubled by the fact that he was having the
dreams, not by the dreams themselves, he told himself.  For some reason,
his subconscious did not seem to want to let go of that one moment ten
days ago.  After experiencing the dreams while still in the lifestation,
Doctor Salik had offered medication to help him sleep, but Starbuck did
not want to rely on  chemicals to resolve his problems.  Even with the
pain, he used the analgesics and muscle relaxants only when absolutely
necessary.  He did not need more drugs to put his mind at peace.
     And since it seemed so illogical to him that he would be having
these dreams at all, he did not talk about them, once he had been
released from the lifestation.  Not even to Cassiopeia.  They were a
tiresome annoyance, that was all, since combined with sore muscles, they
made getting a good night's sleep a challenge.  Starbuck's fingers, in a
subconscious habit, searched for his holster as he recalled a
conversation with Cassie when she had asked why he was so tired.  With no
laser needed since he was on leave, Starbuck instead gripped the bottom
of his flight jacket, fingering the bottom fastener to busy his hands as
he remembered...

<<<...Cassie disappeared into the tiny room that served as a
kitchen/pantry area for her roommate and her, saying, "Sit tight!  I'll
be right back!"
     Assuming the most comfortable position for sitting, Starbuck sat
straight against the back of the chair that Cassie had pulled away from
the small, shared desk.  Once more, he noted briefly how small the room
was for two people: two areas, a "kitchen" with barely enough space for
one person, and the main area with bunk beds, desk, a couple of shelves,
two narrow closets, a compact, handmade armchair with an end table, and a
dining table that was barely larger than the desk, along with two more
chairs.  Fortunately for Cassie and her roommate, a med tech also, they
worked opposing shifts, so they did not spend  much time jostling around
each other in the tiny space.  Very few individuals, usually only
commanders and the captains of other ships, were afforded the luxury of
private, single accommodations.  Occasionally, the privacy offered to
married couples sent tempting thoughts through Starbuck's mind... if
Cassie were less straightforward, having her shift switched to where they
had no time alone might even be enough... Starbuck quickly banished that
errant thought.
     "Hey, hotshot," Cassie's voice broke the silence.  "You can't go to
sleep without sampling our evening feast."
     Starbuck ran a hand over his face, realizing that he had indeed
drifted off.  He groaned at the thought of yet another meal of rations -
carbohydrate bars, protein cubes, and high-nutrient discs - as if varying
the shape made the mud-colored, bland emergency-issued provisions any
more palatable.  Starbuck opened his eyes finally to see Cassie standing
in front of him holding a plate with a double portion of the rations. 
His gaze, however, slid past the meal to the delicate, pale blue fabric
behind it, a sleeveless, flowing nightgown that wrapped around her body,
accentuating the barely concealed curves beneath, ending midthigh to
reveal scrumptiously posed legs.  As his gaze flowed down to the
perfectly etched ankles and slender feet, Starbuck whispered, "I'm awake
now!"
     With the grace of a dancer, Cassie moved around and behind the
lieutenant, caressing his neck with her free hand. Leaning close, she
draped her arms around his shoulders, plate in one hand, the other
teasing his hair.  She ran a finger down his cheek, then plucked a
protein cube from the plate.  Nestling her lips near his earlobe, she
offered him the ration.
     Despite everything, Starbuck could not stop the yawn that crept out
as he took the ration.  Cassie moved around to look him in the eyes. 
"Hey," she said gently, "are you still having that much trouble
sleeping?"
     Starbuck shifted his gaze as he answered, "You know - every time I
roll over in the middle of the night I hear from a million sore little
muscles that I never knew I had.  And not to mention how hard and lumpy
those Fleet-issued mattresses are!"
     He looked back to see her bite her upper lip in thought.
     "Look," she said quietly, "Why don't I ask Dr. Salik for a sleep-aid
- just to get you a couple good nights of sleep.  You look so tired."
     Before he could stop himself, Starbuck snapped, "I don't need any of
that felgercarb to help me sleep!  I'm fine!"
     Cassie raised an eyebrow.  "Listen to yourself," she said softly.
     Starbuck took a deep breath.  "Cass... I'm sorry.  You're right. 
I've not been sleeping well.  But I'm just not ready to rely on
chemicals... it must be the ingrained warrior instincts for always being
alert.  The thought of being basically knocked out... I'm not ready for
that."  He gave her a steady look this time.
     Cassie chewed for a moment on her lip, looking as if she were about
to say something else, but she did not.  Instead, she put the plate down
and gently grasped his hands, guiding him carefully up and out of the
chair.  She led him the short distance to the beds and eased him down
onto the edge of her lower bunk.  Still angry with himself for the
outburst, Starbuck said nothing, but managed a weak smile as she lightly
kissed his nose, then helped him to lie on his side with his back to her. 
Adding pillows for support, she sat on the edge and began a slow,
soothing, circular massage at the base of his skull, gradually working
her way down his neck to his shoulders.  Even through the uniform, the
gentle but firm kneading was so calming, so relaxing...>>>

     Starbuck brought his mind back to the present.  A glance at the
chronometer showed him that he still had about ten centons before he
needed to leave.  He was meeting someone.  He smiled at the memory of
that night as he sat back down on his bunk. For the first time in a
while, he had awaken the next morning without remembering any dreams. 
And since then, Cassie had not pressed the issue.  Instead, she had shown
him how to use pillows and blankets for support and had taught him a
couple of deep-breathing, relaxation techniques that seemed to help.  Not
for the first time, Starbuck felt a deep affection for, and maybe even
connection with, the intelligent, fair-haired Gemonese who had entered
his life during the turmoil of those first days after the holocaust.  She
was the first woman he had known who gave him his space and very seldom
pressured him to do anything.  Occasionally, lately, he had let his mind
consider something more permanent.
     Ten centons had nearly passed, and Starbuck stood slowly again. 
Almost time to meet with Tarnia and Copernicus.  It would be their second
meeting; three days ago, he had gone to the Sagittarius.  Since his
memories of the actual incident there had been shrouded by being
semiconscious and in pain much of the time, he had hoped that returning
to the ship to traverse the dark corridors of the nightmares and to meet
with Copernicus would help vanquish the dreams.  He had gone alone for
several reasons, mainly because too many people visiting Copernicus would
have been stressful for the man, but also because he wanted to face the
setting of his ordeal on his own terms.  Before meeting with Copernicus'
friend and aide, Tarnia, Starbuck had visited the location of his
confrontation with Sherok, spending at least thirty centons gazing at the
walls and floor of the dark, deserted maintenance area and letting his
mind freely relive and explore all of the memories.  So far, three days
later, the dreams continued.
     Ah, well, Starbuck sighed. It was time to go, and he had had enough
reflection for now; he needed to shake off the pensive mood.  After all,
Apollo was supposed to be the serious one.  Give it more time, Bucko,
just a little more time...
     Discarding the now well-chewed fumarello, Starbuck decided that it
was time to head out for his meeting with Copernicus, who was supposed to
have transferred the previous day to the Galactica.  This was part of a
plan to repay the man for all that he had done.  Starbuck had learned
from Tarnia that Copernicus was a genius with electronics and gadgets,
that he had an incredible mind for mathematics, science, and computers. 
Living with a neurological disorder that scrambled his ability to process
all of the sensory input his brain received had prevented him from
developing or fully utilizing his capabilities.  He had difficulties
communicating, understanding social intricacies, and could be very
obsessive with everything from his daily routines to his interests.  To
deal with the overload of stimuli that bombarded his senses, he often
withdrew into his own internal world.  To be comfortable and able to deal
with the outside world, he needed stability, structure, and familiarity. 
To an uninformed person he might seem eccentric, mentally deficient, or
just downright weird.
     Starbuck, after learning how much Copernicus had done for him, had
had several long talks with Tarnia, who was Copernicus' lifeline, his
support, and his fervent advocate.  He had also done some of his own
research in the Galactica's library files about Copernicus' condition. 
Armed with his new knowledge and understanding, and impressed with
Tarnia's own abilities as a caregiver and counselor, Starbuck had gone to
the commander.
     Standing erect more for comfort than as a formal pose, Starbuck
stood in front of Adama's desk after handing him the data pad and stated,
"Sir, I'd like for you to consider transferring Copernicus and Tarnia
here to the Galactica."  He then described his reasoning in detail,
including everything he had listed on the data pad, and more: how Tarnia
could be an invaluable addition to the lifestation team, and
Copernicus... well, he deserved the chance to learn how to realize his
potential.  Working in Dr. Wilker's research lab seemed to Starbuck to be
the perfect place for him.  By the end, his voice had taken on a
passionate tone that, as he finished, he realized may not have been the
appropriate way of addressing the commander.   Fidgeting slightly, he
added, "Uh, that's all, Sir."
     Adama, impassive as always when in the role of decision maker, read
through the pad silently, giving no indications of his thoughts one way
or the other.  Finally, Adama had looked up at the lieutenant, a raised
eyebrow his only reaction, and said, "I assume you have discussed this
with both Tarnia and Copernicus?"
     Starbuck nodded, nervous despite the familiarity he knew existed
between them.  Even with his own children, Athena and Apollo, Adama
assumed the role of commander and impartial leader when on duty or when
necessary.  Even though he regarded the lieutenant as almost an adopted
son, he would never let emotions color any decision that affected the
functioning of the Galactica.
     Adama said, "We'll have to request a position for Tarnia in the
lifestation."
     "Already arranged,"  Starbuck said, adding, "assuming that you
approve it, sir."
     Adama continued, giving the lieutenant another impassive look, "And
what about Copernicus?"
     "Sir, I've spoken with Dr. Wilker.  He said that he is always
willing to add to his team.  Apparently, he's having trouble with a
project, so he seemed open to adding a fresh perspective."
     Adama let one corner of his mouth creep up a milimetron.  "And what
about living quarters?"
     Starbuck shifted slightly.  "Well, actually... I'm working on that."
     Adama had stood to come around from behind his desk, closing the
distance between them and put a hand on his shoulder, putting the
commander role aside for a moment.  "Starbuck, I can see that this is
very important to you, and you've already put a lot of thought and effort
into this..."
     To his delight, the commander approved an immediate transfer for
Copernicus and Tarnia, dependent upon the availability of living
quarters.  With nothing else to do, Starbuck had used his creative
talents to locate a place for Tarnia and a suitable location for
Copernicus.  Tarnia would share a room with two med techs, and Copernicus
would be permitted to convert a storage room that was conveniently
situated close to Dr. Wilker's lab.  Starbuck figured that, with Boomer's
help with some of the details, they could easily modify the small room to
be a habitation, since he knew that Copernicus required little in the way
of personal furnishings.  In his sparse "residence" on the Sagittarius,
he had had only a makeshift bed, a crate, and an extensive supply of
electronics and equipment.
     Thus, Tarnia and Copernicus had been scheduled to make the transfer
from the Sagittarius to the Galactica just the previous day.  Due to a
physical therapy appointment and a mandatory briefing, Starbuck had not
been able to see either or to assist with the move, as he had hoped. 
Starbuck had seriously considered missing the therapy appointment, but he
had already "forgotten" two others previously.  And Cassie had given him
an ultimatum:  be there, or she would have Dr. Salik confine him to the
Life Station for one day to complete all of his missed sessions.
     "Remember," she had told him, serious, brows creased, "if you don't
follow through on these sessions, you can't be cleared to return to
duty."  Starbuck had given his word that he would be there; he knew that
Cassie was not bluffing.
     This morning, though, he had arranged to help get the two settled,
work on Copernicus' quarters, and familiarize them both with the workings
of the Galactica.  Starbuck knew that this was a huge step for Copernicus
and not an easy one.  For this to work, the man would need his support,
as well, and he was ready to offer all that he could.  He owed him that
much.  Starbuck still had two days, at least, on medical leave, and then
he would be returned to light duty only; thus, he had the time to offer
to Tarnia and Copernicus.
     Starbuck was deep in these thoughts when he pressed the release to
the squadron's exit.  The door swooshed open.  He crossed the threshold,
his mind elsewhere, and nearly collided with Dr. Wilker.  Starbuck froze,
taking a deep breath to remain steady and not trigger any cramps.  The
scientist took a quick step backwards, pointed an accusing finger at him,
and said, "I want a word with you, Lieutenant."
     Starbuck instantly noted Dr. Wilker's furrowed brow and tight, thin
lips.  "Sure,"  he said calmly.  "What can I do for you, Doctor?"  He
knew, however, what the scientist wanted, and he knew why.  In his
eagerness to help Copernicus, Starbuck had glossed over the details when
first speaking with Dr. Wilker.  In a flash of clarity, he realized that
he had gone into his "persuasive mode" without thinking ahead and had
simply represented Copernicus as a near-genius at electronics and
inventing, leaving out some very important information.  Obviously,
Tarnia and Copernicus had visited Dr. Wilker during the previous day, and
the scientist had seen a vastly different image than the one Starbuck had
presented.
     "Just what are you trying to pull, Lieutenant?" the scientist asked,
stressing every other word as he spoke and jabbing the air with his
hands.  The only other time Starbuck had seen the doctor this flustered
was when his lab was destroyed by the Cylons in their last encounter with
the lone basestar.
     Starbuck kept his face calm and puzzled.  "I don't follow you,
Doctor.  Could you please explain?"
     "You told me that that new man, Copernicus, was an electronics
whiz!"  Wilker paused to catch his breath.  "You can't be serious!  He
came by the lab yesterday - he's - he's - he's a nut!"
     Starbuck had enough experience now with Copernicus to imagine how
the encounter must have gone.  In a new environment, he would have
totally tuned out Dr. Wilker, needing instead to focus his energy on
making sense of the unfamiliar surroundings.  Starbuck could picture
Copernicus rambling on to himself and wandering aimlessly through the lab
as the scientist followed him around asking a multitude of unanswered
questions.  It was apparent that either Tarnia had not had time to
explain the situation, or that Wilker had not understood her.  Probably a
little of both.
     The lieutenant met Dr. Wilker's gaze and stated evenly, "He's
different.  And, no, I wasn't completely honest with you.  But he _is_ a
genius."  When the scientist looked ready to argue, Starbuck held up a
hand and said,  "Wait.  Let me show you something, and _you_ can decide
for yourself."  He motioned for Dr. Wilker to follow him back into the
squadron's billet.
     In spite of everything, the doctor was curious.  Putting aside the
list of arguments that he had formulated in his anger on his way to find
the lieutenant, Wilker nodded, and said, "All right.  Just what is it you
want to show me?"
     Starbuck led him back into the quarters to his bunk.  Moving slowly
and cautiously, he knelt and opened his footlocker, pulling out a device
and handing it to Dr. Wilker after maneuvering back to his feet.  The
object was about the size of his hand, was roughly cubical, and was
obviously hand-crafted.  It had a slot for inserting several data discs,
four small speakers, and numerous function buttons.  Wilker examined it,
turning it around, and finally asked, "So what does it do?"
     Starbuck pushed a button, and the crystal-clear sounds of a
Sagittarian orchestral piece began playing.  He explained, "It's a
digital device that records, copies, and plays music files.  You can also
program variations of files, or even original pieces, using the data it
has stored!"  Starbuck found the device fascinating.
     His enthusiasm was contagious, because Wilker held the device,
slowly turning it, examining it, his anger fading rapidly.  He explored
the function buttons, quickly figuring out the programming sequences. 
Finally, he looked at Starbuck a bit skeptically, and asked, "Are you
saying that Copernicus created this?  How?"
     Starbuck grinned, knowing that he had almost hooked the doctor, and
said, "He collects and hordes discarded electronics.  He created this out
of all the spare parts he had!"
     He watched in silence as the scientist played with the device,
quickly becoming absorbed in altering the musical variations.  After
about five centons, the doctor seemed to remember the reason why he had
originally come in search of Starbuck.  The frown returned.  "Look,
assuming that Copernicus did create this, how is he supposed to function
in my laboratory?  He wouldn't listen to me or even look at me!"
     Starbuck let out a long breath.  "His friend, Tarnia, will help him
adjust, and I want to help, too.  He just needs time.  I'm not sure how
long it will take, but if you can be patient with him, I'm sure we can
figure out something that will work for both of you."  Starbuck let the
smile fade and looked Dr. Wilker squarely in the eyes.  "I owe my life to
him.  And he deserves this chance.  Tarnia can explain it much better,
but he has a wealth of potential that's just going to waste.  Up to now,
all he's been doing is repairing broken equipment for people and
tinkering with the spare parts.  And if he can do this with simple hand
tools..."  He nodded to the device and let his voice trail off, leaving
the rest to the scientist's imagination.
     Dr. Wilker slowly handed the device back to Starbuck, considering
everything.  Eventually, he said, "All right.  All right.  I'll talk with
his friend, and I'll give him some time.  The Lords know I could use some
creative help in the lab.  I've got a big project, but we're getting
nowhere."
     Starbuck could not hold back a big grin as he escorted the doctor
out into the corridor once more.  The relief he felt was almost palpable,
and it ignited the optimism that the events of the past several sectons
had dampened.  Normally able to find the positive side to any situation,
lately Starbuck had caught himself slipping into the pensive moods more
and more, and the forced inactivity, coupled with the annoying dreams,
had only exacerbated his somber feelings.  Now, he had a focus, a goal,
and he intended to give his full effort to repaying this mysterious,
brilliant man who had saved a total stranger.  Starbuck, still grinning,
shook his head as he watched Dr. Wilker disappeared down the corridor. 
It was time to find Copernicus.

*****

     The converted storage room to anyone else would have seemed cramped,
but to Copernicus, it was comforting, an enclosed space, a safe cocoon. 
Already he appeared to be adapting and seemed to be at ease in his new
home.  Starbuck, leaning back against the wall, watched as the tall, thin
and wiry man sat amid a scattering of equipment, spare pieces and tools,
intently working.  Although only in his forties, he looked older; he had
scraggly, unkempt hair and a beard, both mostly grey, but sprinkled with
streaks of jet black, and he wore a faded and tattered brown tunic and
pants.  In the far corner sat his old mattress, blankets, and a crate:
his furnishings from the _Sagittarius_ .  He also had a large storage
locker, which Tarnia said she had kept for him, that held clothing and
the rest of his personal items.  He did not own much, for he spent almost
all of his waking hours repairing, tinkering with, and creating gadgets
and electronic devices.
     Tarnia also stood watching the silent Copernicus.  She was close to
Copernicus in age, probably a bit younger.  She had short, dark hair and
clear blue eyes.  She was about the same height as Starbuck and she wore
a simple blouse and skirt over her strong, stocky frame.  While not
petite, she has definitely not overweight, and her build gave her a look
of strength.  Starbuck could imagine Tarnia using it to her full
advantage when needed.
     Starbuck's gaze drifted back to Copernicus, who was totally involved
in his work, apparently oblivious of his guests, humming softly to
himself.  Starbuck was struck suddenly by how content the man seemed. 
During his visit with Copernicus and Tarnia on the _Sagittarius_ , he had
first noticed how involved and excited Copernicus could become.  If not
lost in concentration, Copernicus would talk in an eager, loud voice
about his current project.  He seemed to radiate a simple, unadulterated
contentment.  Glancing at Tarnia, Starbuck caught her eye and knew that
she had been watching, studying him.  He flashed her a grin and asked,
"Is he always this happy?"
     She sighed, a bit wistfully, and answered, "He lives mostly in the
present, in the moment.  He can experience the full range of emotions,
from anger and despair to great joy, but it usually will be based off of
what is happening right then and there.  He has a superb memory, but I
think because of his neural-processing problems, he doesn't view past
events with the same emotionality that we do - he knows what happened and
can describe things in great detail, but in a detached manner, like
reading a textbook."
     "Really?"  Starbuck said.  A number of comments came to mind, but,
instead, he said nothing further.  Aware that Tarnia was still observing
him, he shifted a bit, pulling away from the wall and keeping his
expression neutral.  He tried to sort out what he was feeling as he
considered Copernicus.  It seemed so incongruous.  Most of the time, he
appeared withdrawn, separate from the reality everyone else had to face,
alone but content in his own internal world; yet he had reached out to
help a complete stranger.  Why?  Why bother?  Tarnia had said that he was
aware of far more than it seemed, and that he could surprise even her, at
times, with the clarity of his thoughts and perceptions.  "Incredible"
was a word that kept coming to his mind.  Starbuck gave up trying to
figure it out as he let his gaze drift back over the tiny room.  Sitting
on one of the selves, along with a stack of discs, he noticed a music
device, similar to the one Copernicus had given him, and he moved over to
examine it.
     Keeping her attention on the lieutenant, Tarnia said, "He listens to
music - specific orchestral pieces - when it's time to sleep and when he
needs to rest or calm himself down.  And he'll listen to them over and
over.  It seems to refocus him."
     Starbuck nodded, watching as Copernicus quickly and intently worked
on what appeared to be a small, hand-held computer.  An uneasy feeling
nudged at the him as his encounter with Dr. Wilker replayed briefly in
his mind.  Starbuck had been so focused on the idea of helping the man
that, even to himself, he had ignored some of the realities of
Copernicus' condition.  To be able to function in the lab, he would have
to be able to follow certain procedures and be able to cooperate with Dr.
Wilker and his other assistants. Good intentions were not going to be
enough; this was going to take hard work and persistence from everyone. 
And even then they might not be successful. But - Starbuck refocused his
own thoughts - they had to at least try.
     Turning to back Tarnia, Starbuck asked quietly, "Do you think the,
ah, facilities will work out okay for him?"  This part had been the
weakest point of the arrangement, since storage closets did not come
equipped with turbowashes, and such.
     Tarnia chuckled briefly.  "It should be fine.  As you know, one of
the sanitation facilities for Dr. Wilker's lab is right across the hall. 
It has everything, including a turbowash and medical supplies, even,
since as a laboratory, they need to be prepared for accidents and
emergencies."  Tarnia looked at the lieutenant with an amused smile. 
"He'll spend very little time there.  I mean, if I didn't schedule it
into his routine, he'd probably never take a shower!"
     Starbuck gave her a puzzled, look.  "You schedule even that?"  In
the course of their discussions, she had explained that they used
schedules to create a consistent and predictable routine for him, but she
had never gone into the specifics.
     Tarnia pulled a data pad from the shelf near the musical device and
handed it to him.  It showed a daily schedule.  Tarnia said, "We've gone
over this numerous times so he'll remember to do it.  Today and for the
next secton or so, I'll be here to walk him through it - it takes about
that long for a routine to become habit for him."  Tarnia's lip curled as
Starbuck read through the list.  She watched as he stared at a couple of
the items.  "Yes.  We even schedule 'relief' breaks.  I mean, he gets so
involved in his creations and work that he doesn't listen to his body's
signals.  Without a strict schedule, he might not even eat sometimes."  
Starbuck handed the pad back to her, still a bit amazed. Tarnia added,
"Of course, our biggest concern for today will be talking with Dr. Wilker
so I can elaborate on that part of the schedule; we need to decide what
he'll start out doing in the lab."
     She stopped suddenly and gave Starbuck a pointed look.  "We are
counting on your assistance with this, Lieutenant.  It's very noble of
you to help us, and all, but it's not going to be easy.  I wouldn't have
agreed, though, if I didn't think that he were capable of succeeding...
he's just never had the chance before..."  Tarnia turned her attention
quickly back to Copernicus, still working intently on the floor, still
seemingly oblivious to their conversation.
     Starbuck, however, had caught the glistening in her eye and the
catch in her voice.  He moved closer and lightly touched her shoulder.
She shifted her gaze back to him.  "Look," he said, "I've learned enough
to know that I can trust your instincts with him, and I want you to know
that I'll do everything possible to make this work.  I don't know what
you may have heard about me..."  Starbuck's mind flashed back to all of
the stories that had been on the Interfleet Broadcasting Network, or
simply IFB, after the incident on the Zodia.  Somehow, he had become
their prime subject lately, and even he did not recognize some of the
gossip they had dredged up about him and his reputation.  He continued,
"But my friends will tell you that I am stubborn and determined when I
want something.  And you can count on me."  He gave her a steady look,
tempered with a slight smile to ease the her tension.
     Tarnia nodded, her doubts shielded once more by her own
determination.  "I'm a pretty good judge of character, Lieutenant.  And I
know you're being honest with me.  And I'm very grateful for what you're
doing.  Not many people ever bother to make the effort to really get to
know Copernicus.  Your misfortune has been our gain."
     Starbuck looked at her and asked hesitantly, "How did you meet
Copernicus.  I mean, why...?"
     Tarnia finished the question,  "Why do I care for him?  Why is he so
important to me?"
     Starbuck nodded, hoping that he was not overstepping any boundaries. 
Tarnia did not seem upset by the question, though.  She answered, "I had
a brother a long time ago.  He was three yahrens older than me and very
much like Copernicus.  In fact, that's how I first got to know
Copernicus.  They had the same teachers and assistants in school.  We
lived in a small town not far from the Sagittarian capital.  Anyway, when
I was fourteen and my brother was seventeen, our town was blasted by the
Cylons.  Our school took a direct hit.  My class was on the far side and
was damaged the least, but the older kids... I went to find my brother in
the confusion afterwards... Only Copernicus and a couple of others
survived.  Ironically, Copernicus lost his parents in that raid - the
town was pretty much destroyed... So he's my adopted brother, really,
even though we never made it official.  My family decided to find
something positive to do in light of the tragedy, so we took him in.  And
even before the raid I had decided that I would focus my life and my
career on helping my brother and others like him."
     "Wow."  A brief coldness had stabbed at the pit of his stomach.  A
vision of parents lost... Starbuck quickly shook it off.  Looking at
Tarnia, he felt a growing respect for her strength and dedication.  He
knew that she had supported and protected Copernicus both before and
after the Holocaust.  And he knew that, after surviving the initial
escape from Sagittarius, she had fought fiercely on his behalf to insure
that he would survive.  Now he knew why.  He also had the distinct
impression that after yahrens of deciphering Copernicus, she could see
through just about anyone... Starbuck shifted restlessly.
     Tarnia decided it was time to change the subject and proceed with
their current goal.  "Anyway, Lieutenant, it's time to tackle Dr.
Wilker!"  As she continued, she gave him a grin that he would even call
mischievous as she outlined for him what they needed to do over the next
couple of centars in Dr. Wilker's lab.  He was also getting the feeling
that she enjoyed a good challenge, such as the one that awaited them.
     Even under peaceful conditions, protecting and guiding Copernicus
would have been a difficult task, yet she seemed confident and satisfied
with her role.  When Starbuck considered how many additional challenges
the endless, ruthless war must have presented, he felt a sense of awe.
     And her enthusiasm was contagious.  Starbuck shook his head and
grinned, "You know, maybe we should get you into a viper.  I don't think
the Cylons would stand a chance with you around!"
     Tarnia returned the grin.  "Well, you're my 'wingman' today, so we'd
better get moving." 

Chapter Two

     Captain Apollo stretched, pulling his elbows back and rolling his
shoulders to work out the kinks from sitting for three centars in a
cockpit. Using his fingers, he tried to brush the matted feeling from his
dark hair as he tossed his helmet to his viper technician.  Giving up, he
tugged at the bottom of his dark-brown suede flight jacket and looked
back to see the mechanics already attending to the post-flight
maintenance as they inspected the sleek, long-nosed viper.  He grunted
slightly as he felt his calf muscles return to life after being
essentially immobile for so long, and he walked slowly, still stretching,
waiting for his interim wingmate, Lieutenant Boomer, to join him before
heading to the bridge to brief the commander about their patrol.
     As his feet automatically led him towards the turbolift, Apollo's
thoughts quickly turned back inward, as they had quite often during the
uneventful patrol, only to be broken by Boomer trying to fight his own
boredom.  The captain's green eyes took on a distant look as he let his
mind wander.  The meeting would take maybe, say, five centons, he
reflected, and then he could head back to his quarters to loosen up with
a cool turbowash.  And catch up on some reading before his adopted son,
Boxey, returned from Instructional Period.  The Colonial history files -
he had been reviewing and rereading all that he had ever learned in
school and at the Academy, and more.  He was convinced that the Fleet was
on the right course, and that they would eventually find Earth.  His
belief had been fueled by the transmission received on the old gamma
frequency in the celestial dome shortly before their most recent
encounter with the Cylons.  For some time prior to that moment, Apollo
had visited the old celestial chamber that sat high above the Galactica's
great thrusters whenever possible.  The dome had once been used by
navigators over 500 yahrens ago to take astronomical readings but had
long since been abandoned.  Apollo had found a safe haven there, a quiet,
solitary window to the universe where he felt as if he were "riding in
the hand of God" when the shields were withdrawn, and only the
transparent tylinium shield remained.  He felt enveloped and embraced by
the star field.  He had repaired the transceivers and other equipment and
would spend centars, when possible, just listening and gazing into the
infiniteness.  He had known that the Fleet's first contact with Earth
would be through its transmissions and signals.
     Most of the people who knew of the transmission, including the
commander, believed that it had been a lure from the lone Cylon basestar
to direct them into a trap.  But not Apollo.  The captain had a gut
feeling, an unidentifiable sense, that they were wrong.  He was convinced
that the signal had originated from deep space.  From Earth. 
Unfortunately, the only copy of the transmission had been lost when Dr.
Wilker's lab had been destroyed during the battle with the basestar.  But
although they had heard nothing else, even with the modifications to the
transceiver that Boomer had installed afterwards, Apollo still felt that
it had been a sign, maybe from the Gods themselves, that they were making
progress.  That there was hope.
     For a time following the Holocaust, with so many killed or left to
perish, and then with the death of his beloved wife of such a brief time,
Serina, Apollo had felt a hollow emptiness inside, even a bitter anger,
where once he had accepted a belief in the will of the Gods.  How could
they have allowed such total destruction?  But after the encounter with
the mysterious Ship of Lights, the vague, hazy remembrance of something
extraordinary occurring... and the revelation of the possible coordinates
for Earth, Apollo had felt an indefinable sense, a renewed feeling of
faith, and he trusted his instincts.
     So he was going to be prepared for when the day came that they
finally discovered Earth.  He could think of only one way to do so: to
study their own history and to have an understanding of all of the events
that shaped their own lives, leading up to the terrible Holocaust. 
Perhaps then, he would have an understanding of the different directions
the history of the Thirteenth Tribe might have taken.  Analyzing and
studying the history of twelve different Colonies should give him an
insight to the human mind.  And if not, he still found it fascinating,
especially the history of the development of space flight and
interplanetary travel.  When he needed to clear his mind, he loved to
stretch out on his bed after Boxey was asleep and read about the exploits
and legends of the early explorers for the Twelve Colonies.  With eyes
closed as he drifted off to sleep, he would imagine them all as
explorers, settlers, not war refugees.
     "Hey, Apollo!"  Boomer's voice broke through his reverie as the
lieutenant walked up beside him.  "Let's get the briefing over with.  I
feel the need to burn some energy after that patrol.  Maybe a good
workout in the training room."  Boomer ran both hands over his short,
black, tightly curled hair, then flexed his arms outward, working out the
stiffness, also.
     Apollo quickly pulled his thoughts back to the present and gave
Boomer a relaxed smile as they stepped up onto the launch bay turbolift. 
"Not for me, but thanks.  And it suits me just fine that we've got
nothing to report.  The longer that holds true, the greater the odds that
we've lost the Cylons for good!"  They fell into silence as the lift
ascended with a loud whine that made conversations more effort than they
were worth.
     Boomer glanced at the captain as the two-centon ride to the bridge
continued.  He noted the easy, relaxed expression on Apollo's face and
felt his own sense of relief.  After so many sectars of being pursued, of
constant alerts, of a stress that he had thought would never end, it was
such a great pleasure to be able to find and follow some ordinary,
uneventful routines.  The state of alert had been lifted two sectons ago,
for the first time in nearly a yahren.  One great pressure, at least, had
been lifted from the shoulders of the warriors.  Finally, the viper
pilots could loosen up, find some individual pursuits, regain some
semblance of a more normal life, as normal as possible under the
circumstances.  In some ways, it was  a novel experience for everyone -
not in a thousand yahrens had they felt this degree of freedom from the
Cylon oppression.  Now, if they just weren't packed like canned pisces in
these ships, light-yahrens from their homeworlds, still facing food and
fuel shortages and other crises...
     Boomer smiled to himself as the turbolift whined its last several
metrons to the bridge.  He looked back towards Apollo and shook his head
slightly as he noticed that the captain seemed to have drifted back into
his own thoughts.  He was always pensive, Boomer reflected, but lately
his friend seemed more at ease than he had seen him in a long time.  The
rock-steady, serious, reserved face that he presented when on duty, and
often when not, had been tempered more and more with the witty humor and
good nature that he usually kept hidden.
     With a mild jolt, the turbolift stopped, and quiet filled their ears
for a micron before the door opened onto the bustling bridge of the
Galactica.  As always, the bridge was highlighted with the myriad of
lights from the long ring of consoles that arched around the raised
command center, and everyone was absorbed in their duties; little
extraneous conversation was ever heard.  But unlike times in the past,
when a sober seriousness had weighed in the atmosphere, the general
attitude mirrored Apollo's: a cautious optimism.  Looking around, Apollo
and Boomer spotted the commander near the command console with
Lieutenants Bojay and Sheba.  They had returned from their patrol about
ten centons earlier, having scouted the quadrant ahead of the Galactica,
and were in the middle of their briefing.
     As they approached, they heard Bojay report, "We went as far in
front as we dared, and our sensors still picked up nothing."
     Commander Adama looked thoughtful, but not worried.  He stood, hands
behind his back, gazing out the wide viewport at the star field ahead of
them for a moment.  Apollo noted, as he had on many other occasions, just
how strong an influence his father's tall, calm figure radiated.  His
royal blue bridge uniform, along with his wizened face and silver hair,
only accentuated his formidable presence.  Apollo's admiration could
never diminish.  At last, the commander turn back and said,  "Well,
that's not surprising, since we're between star systems. Based off of the
extrapolations of our old star charts and readings, as well as from
current observations and findings, we should reach the next solar system
in about another sectar.  Until we are closer, it should be fairly quiet
sailing."  The commander noticed the new arrivals and waved them over.
     The two warriors nodded to their friends as they approached. Apollo
said,  "Nothing to report from Patrol One, I assume then?" 
     Bojay answered, "No.  Not even a stray asteroid.  Not a peep from
the scanners.  How about you and Boomer?"
     Apollo shifted his gaze to his father as he stated, "Patrol Two
found nothing.  It was equally quiet, and we were finally out of the
viper's scanner range of System Omicron."  Having long since surpassed
the limits of previously-charted space, each new solar system they
encountered received a standard Colonial designation.  Omicron had been
the site for their most recent, and perhaps final, battle with the
Cylons.
     Adama absorbed this information with an impassive expression. 
Eventually, he said, "All of this is good news.  But we must weigh our
optimism with caution."
     Apollo sensed a preoccupation, something, in his father's mood.  He
asked, "Commander, is there anything else?"
     Adama turned his gaze back to the viewport and the quiet star field. 
"I've been in contact with several ships.  All but five have elected
their Fleet representatives.  And some are already accumulating a long
list of complaints and suggestions.  I'm meeting with the Council of
Twelve later today."  Adama shifted his gaze back to his warriors.  "I'm
calling a mandatory briefing for tomorrow at 0900.  I'll be presenting
all concerns and items that come up today, as well as a new program we
wish to implement as soon as possible."  Adama's face softened with a
faint smile.  "Until then, why don't you all take a break before the game
tonight?"
     The Triad semi-finals.  Boomer gave his captain a playful,
challenging look, dark-brown eyes sparked with the excitement, and said,
"That's a good idea.  I know you and Barton need all the practice you can
get.  Me?  I am ready!"
     Apollo shook his head, going along with the friendly teasing.  "Even
though we're still the odds-on favorites?"  He and Boomer were good
friends, but had been rivals on the Triad Courts for the six sectars
since the leagues had been organized.  With little other distraction
available, the people of the Fleet had embraced the competition with a
hungry passion.  To avoid the rise of illegal activities, controlled
wagering was allowed and even encouraged; it would have happened anyway. 
The commander and the council saw no reason to deny this aspect of human
nature.  He had sternly warned the people, though, against excesses or
unsportsman-like behaviors.  There were limits to his tolerance.  Both
the Colonial Security and all warriors had been warned to keep a close
watch for such activities, but so far, no evidence existed of the crass
behaviors that could arise; all seemed to be enjoying themselves while
following their favorite teams.
     Tonight's game would be the first in the second round of the men's
championship.  The Triad league had opted for twelve-secton seasons, and
the second one had culminated just over thirteen days ago, with the
championship rounds for both the men and the women starting the previous
secton.  Tonight, Boomer and his partner, Sergeant Greenbean, would face
half of the reigning championship team:  Apollo, along with his temporary
partner, Barton.  A general feeling of regret that Starbuck, his regular
partner, had been sidelined for the next several sectons, was overridden
by the overall excitement generated when Apollo and Barton had soundly
defeated their first opponents.  In competitive, aggressive sports such
as Triad, injuries and replacements went with the territory; that the
lieutenant's injury had occurred outside of the Triad Court made little
difference to the diehard fans.
     Apollo, however, felt the regret.  While Barton  had proved to be a
good, solid partner, he missed playing with Starbuck.  He and Starbuck
were able to connect, to read each other, and to effortlessly anticipate
the others' moves.  That just did not happen with Barton, or with anyone
else.  And Apollo knew that the current conditions were not easy for his
energetic, impulsive friend.  Had the injury actually occurred on the
Triad Court, it might have been easier for them both.  As it were, few
people knew all of the details of the incident aboard the Sagittarius ten
days ago; only the necessary information had been released to the general
population via the IFB.  The people had a right to know, but the council
and the commander also had a duty to maintain control in the Fleet. 
Coming right after the forced rationing, the commander's main goal was to
avoid any further such fear-spawned incidents.  So the Triad fans knew
that Starbuck had been injured in the line of duty, but little else.
     The communications console in front of Omega beeped loudly before
Boomer could make his retort to Apollo.  Along with other duties, the
bridge officer monitored the command channels.  He looked up at the
commander, who was standing off to his right, and said, "Secure message
from the Prison Barge, Sir."
     The four warriors watched as Adama donned a headset and activated
the channel.  As always, they could read nothing from his expression as
he listened to the message, and all waited with patient curiosity. 
Finally, the commander said, "Handle everything discreetly, please.  I'll
make a statement for the IFB and the Fleet shortly."
     Apollo did not like the feeling that was gnawing at him as he
watched his father remove the headset and rub the bridge of his nose:
always a sign of frustration or weariness with a task at hand.  Before
they could speak,  Adama motioned for the four to follow him off the
bridge and into his office.
     Once inside, the commander leaned against the front of his desk as
the others stood waiting, wondering.  "Some... unpleasant... news," he
finally said.  He sighed as he continued, "Connly, former captain of the
Zodia, overpowered his guards, seized a laser, and shot himself in the
head."
     A stunned silence reigned for a moment. Despite everything they had
endured, there had actually been little violence within the Fleet over
the course of the past yahren.  Ortega's murder by Charybdis, one of
Baltar's associates and a traitor as well, had been one of the first
incidents since the Holocaust.  And only one of a few instances of a life
being taken. The news would spread through the Fleet, with the help of
the IFB, and the gossip and sensationalism would permeate the atmosphere
for a short but intense time, until the emotions faded to a more vague
sorrow.  A reminder of the human spirit's frailties.
     Boomer asked finally, "How will this affect the people, Sir?"
     Adama had been pondering that question.  "It's tragic that he felt
the need to take his own life.  I don't know."  He shook his head.  "For
some, it will simply give them something to talk about for a while, a
little excitement.  For others... the effects could be more profound.  We
just can't tell."  Adama sighed.  "And I need to contact his relatives -
if he had any -- before issuing a statement to the IFB."
     Adama was about to continue when the expression on his son's face
caught his attention.  "What is it, Apollo?"
     Sheba and Boomer turned to the captain, noting also the pensive,
concerned look that had settled over him as he had listened to the
commander.  After a moment, he said, "I think I should tell Starbuck,
too, before it's broadcast all over the IFB."
     Adama looked puzzled.  "Why is that?"
     Apollo was chewing his lip, thinking, remembering.  He said slowly,
"Back during the trial, I got the feeling that Starbuck actually felt
sorry for Connly.  I can't explain it exactly... but I got the impression
that something was bothering Starbuck.  Of course, he denied it whenever
I asked.  But still... it's not what he needs to hear right now."
     All eyes were on Apollo as the commander asked, "Is there something
I should know?  What's your assessment of his present condition?"
     "From what I can tell, all of this forced inactivity is making him
moodier than I've seen him before.  You know how impatient he is at times
like this, and this is the longest time he's been restricted from duty in
over four yahrens.  And Cassiopeia tells me that he's not sleeping well. 
Something about nightmares, but he won't discuss it with her or with
anyone.  This is not going to help things."
     Apollo met his father's gaze as the commander nodded, thinking,
considering this information.  Apollo, also, was remembering -- a
conversation he had had with Starbuck, before Connly had been convicted. 
 He had found Starbuck alone in the corridor outside of the tribunal
chamber, his face furrowed in a deep frown, lost in his thoughts.  The
look was so uncharacteristic of his friend that Apollo had interrupted,
reaching a hand out to his shoulder.  He had tried to ease the tension by
saying, "Hey!  It'll be over in a couple of centars, and you can forget
about this whole thing!"
     Starbuck had not even tried to smile, so intense were his thoughts. 
He had stared at him with a fire in his blue eyes and said, instead, "You
heard Connly's service record read.  He was a dedicated freighter pilot
before the Holocaust, and many of the people of the Zodia credit him with
helping to pull their lives together afterwards.  How could he change so
much?  How could he waste so much talent and skill..."   His voice had
trailed off.
     The unspoken question had hung between them: "Why had he fallen
apart?"  Not really knowing what to adequately say, Apollo had answered,
"It happens.  It just happens sometimes."  He had placed both hands on
his friend's shoulders, looked into his troubled eyes, and said, "Hey,
this isn't the Starbuck I know.  Remember?  You're supposed to cheer *me*
up. Drag me off to the OC or over to the Rising Star to lose all my
cubits." A faint smile had flickered across Starbuck's face as he
hesitantly looked his friend in the eyes.  Apollo added, "Try not to
dwell on it.  Okay?  Come on - let's get something to eat before it
continues."  He had led Starbuck off, and the lieutenant's mood had
slowly shifted back to its cheerful self.
    When, to no one's surprise, Connly had been sentenced to at least 10
yahrens aboard the Prison Barge for leading the conspiracy and for
attempted termination,  Apollo had been at Starbuck's side in the
tribunal.  And he had seen Connly stare directly at Starbuck as the
former captain had been led away. To anyone else, the lieutenant's
reaction would have been unreadable; Apollo had sensed a troubled
stirring beneath his friend's expressionless exterior...
     The commander's voice snapped the captain back to the present. 
"Apollo," he said, "By all means, if you think that this news will upset
Starbuck, go find him before he sees it on the IFB."
     "Yes, Sir."  Apollo looked over at Boomer.  "Come with me?"  Boomer
nodded.  Apollo turned towards the others.
     Although Bojay had once been friends with both Starbuck and Apollo
before being transferred to the Pegasus, much had changed since then,
with the passage of the yahrens; their interactions now were mostly on a
competitive level.  Feeling a bit awkward with the present situation,
Bojay said, "Look, I'd better go take care of the official report for the
patrol.  Catch you guys at the game tonight."  Apollo nodded and Boomer
gave him a thumbs up as he departed.
     Apollo looked at Sheba, not quite certain what to say.  Sheba's
confession, after Starbuck and he had come up with the daring, even crazy
plan to use the traitor Baltar's Cylon fighter to penetrate the enemy
basestar and disable its sensors, flashed disturbingly and briefly to
mind, as it seemed to often do these days.  The two warriors had been
aboard the fighter preparing to leave on their seemingly suicidal
mission, when both Sheba and Cassiopeia had entered, their faces tense
and serious.  Cassie had curtly request a moment of Starbuck's time --
alone -- leaving the lieutenant with Apollo. Unexpectedly, Sheba had
confronted him, laying bare her true feelings with a few painfully
heartfelt words and a surprising kiss, and then leaving him disoriented
and staring blankly at the hatch through which she had disappeared before
he could even begin to think of a response.  Since that confusing moment,
Apollo had been trying to sort out his emotions.  He did not want to
exclude her, but was uneasy about bringing her along.  He just was not
sure...
     Sheba gave him a gentle smile.  She sensed the disturbance that her
revelations had caused.  But although Apollo had not denied any feelings,
he had not admitted to any yet either; Sheba knew she needed to give him
time but remain persistent.  On this occasion, however, she suspected
that she should back out, uncertain of her bounds,  knowing how closely
connected Apollo and Starbuck were, and how intimately Boomer and they
dealt with their personal issues.  She said, "I'll see you later.  I have
some things I need to do."
     The captain nodded, watching as Sheba quietly left, feeling the
confusion bubble for a moment to the surface before he focused back onto
the task at hand. Then he motioned for Boomer to follow him.  As they all
had departed, Adama watched his warriors, his son and his friends,
wondering briefly what might be going on, then turned his attention to
the somber task of notifying Connly's relatives.

*****

     "I beg your pardon.  You can't be serious?"  An expression of
disbelief hung over Dr. Wilker's face as he stared at Copernicus.
     Copernicus, face calm, almost expressionless, looked up at the
scientist from the computer terminal and repeated, "I have finished the
book."
     Lieutenant Starbuck, watching the exchange, tried to suppress the
laugh he felt building as the doctor continued.  "But that was a
third-yahren textbook.  You just started it a centar ago!  How could you
possibly be finished?"
     "I have finished the book," Copernicus repeated again, voice even,
his eyes gazing unwaveringly at the scientist.  He sat still, waiting,
expectant.
     Wilker turned in exasperation to Tarnia, who was seated at a
different terminal, engaged in her own studies for her new position in
the lifestation.  She made no attempt to hide her amusement as she
explained, "He probably skimmed the text and was familiar with most of
it.  You see, he reads technical journals - frequently.  And he has an
exceptional memory."
     "I frequently read technical journals," Copernicus said. Then he
added, "I am ready for the next one."
     As part of his new responsibilities, Copernicus would spend time
reading and studying to fortify his knowledge of mathematics and the
sciences and expand his potential as one of Wilker's assistants.  As a
random starting point, the scientist had chosen the third-yahren,
university-level astrophysics text, figuring that it would keep
Copernicus occupied for at least a secton, if not longer.  He would never
have believed, and still was not convinced, that he had read all of the
material in a centar!
     Wilker just stared at the man for a moment and shook his head. 
Finally, he said, "Well, if you can read a third-yahren astrophysics text
in a centar, surely you can remember how to access and download the next
one!"
     Copernicus grinned like a child on his natal day and quickly
proceeded to the next level of his studies.  The impression of an eager
child persisted, in spite of his unkempt, almost beggar, appearance as he
quickly accessed the desired program.  His enthusiasm lit his face and
sparkled in his blue eyes. The subtleties of  concealment and deception
were foreign to him; his face always mirrored his true emotions.  Almost
immediately, he was absorbed in his reading, oblivious to all else.
     Starbuck chuckled, drawing an irritated glance from the doctor, who
then returned silently to his work area across the lab.  He and two
assistants had a mock-up of a prototype generator on a table, surrounded
by a myriad of parts and pieces, and three different computer terminals
devoted to the present project.
     Looking around, Starbuck decided that the lab actually looked better
than it did before the destruction a sectar ago.  After taking a direct
hit, the hull had been breached and almost everything that had not burned
from the explosion had been lost into the vacuum of space.  Amazingly,
crews were able to seal the breach and rebuild the structure in less than
two sectons.  Using equipment from the Electronics Ship, Dr. Wilker had
restocked his lab.  Now, it was as if the destruction had never happened,
almost.
     Feeling a growing dull but persistent ache in the middle of his
back, Starbuck stood up slowly from the terminal where he had been
playing a computer simulation and stretched cautiously.  He moved to peer
over Copernicus' shoulder.  On the screen in front of the man was a
three-dimensional representation of a theory that Starbuck could not even
begin to identify.  The model slowly moved through all of its different
perspectives, shifting inside and out, turning, rotating.  Copernicus,
leaning forward, seemed mesmerized by the image.  As he watched it, he
moved his head so that he was gazing at the image from the corner of his
eyes.  Slowly, he brought his hand up, fingers in front of his face,
waving them slightly, changing his viewpoint, his perception of the
image...
     Starbuck watched for a moment, fascinated both with the computer
model and with Copernicus' unique interaction with it.  Gradually,
though, his mind drifted back over the past three centars.  It had gone
well, he thought; he was encouraged that Copernicus would be able to
adapt to his new home and responsibilities.  When they had arrived, Dr.
Wilker had shown Copernicus his corner in the back of the lab.  Until he
adapted and seemed capable of functioning with the others, he would have
two duties: studying and doing routine repairs.  Since it was his
expertise, Copernicus would handle repairing the various items that the
Galactica's crew kept bringing down; even though the doctor insisted that
his lab was for scientific research, not for simple electronic repair
jobs, the people continued to bring in their broken items, asking,
insisting that it was much simpler than shipping it over to the
Electronics Ship, where it was likely to sit for sectons.  Or to end up
lost forever, never to be seen again.  Wilker had found it easier to
assign one of his assistants to the task, rather than argue against the
entire ship's crew.  Thus, he could now happily hand that job over to
Copernicus.
     And the man had greeted the prospect with the same enthusiasm that
he attacked his studies.  Starbuck had hung back, listening and observing
as Tarnia, Wilker, and Copernicus, to an extent, had discussed his
responsibilities.  Wilker had explained his ideas to Tarnia, who, much
like a translator working between two different languages, in turn
rephrased them for Copernicus.  Copernicus then repeated his instructions
and duties several times, as he processed and internalized the
information.  At one point, Copernicus had unexpectedly turned to
Starbuck, stared straight into his eyes, grinning innocently as he said,
"I fix things!"  Starbuck, startled, had stared at him in silence,
absorbing the words as Copernicus turned his attention back to Tarnia.
     Following that, they had walked through Copernicus' schedule and
routines, literally.  Restless, Starbuck had gladly accompanied Tarnia
and Copernicus as they traveled the routes and corridors that he would be
likely to traverse on the Galactica, going from the lab to his quarters
to Tarnia's quarters and back, repeatedly.  Tarnia had explained, "As
you've seen, he's afraid of change, and even small changes in his routine
can be very stressful.  He needs to be guided through the transitions. 
Until he's familiar and comfortable with his surroundings, they can be
over-stimulating for him.  When he's on sensory overload, that's when he
loses control, and he'll either withdraw completely or throw a screaming
fit." 
     Watching as Copernicus walked with his hand gliding on the wall and
his eyes wide and gazing around, Starbuck had said softly, "Change is
hard for a lot of people, and no one wants to feel out of control..."
     His voice had trailed off as a vague, disturbing remembrance stabbed
at his conscious mind, and Tarnia had shot him one of her penetrating
looks.  The lieutenant had quickly changed the subject.  By the end of
the seventh round trip, Starbuck was actually feeling the exertion,
feeling the dull ache, and was relieved to sit back down to observe the
next step. 
     Tarnia again rehearsed Copernicus on his duties and schedule for the
lab, asking him questions and nodding, seeming pleased with his responses
now.  He was more relaxed, more animated, repeating instructions several
times in a louder, quicker voice.  And frequently, he had gazed at
Starbuck as he spoke, seeming to want to share his enthusiasm with his
new friend.  The lieutenant had nodded his agreement, not knowing what
else to say, as Copernicus directed his statements, his repeated phrases,
at him and not Tarnia or the doctor.  While the verbal interaction was
unskilled, Copernicus' intent to reach out and include the warrior was so
clear, so open and honest.
     Starbuck had watched all, fascinated, beginning to understand how
the man functioned, seeing the stark contrast to his outward awkwardness
and the brilliance that he knew existed within.  Dr. Wilker, however,
remained skeptical.  At one point, the scientist had stopped to watch
Tarnia and Copernicus, and had muttered beneath his breath, "I don't see
how this can possibly work."  
     Ignoring the protests from his muscles, Starbuck had stood quickly
and moved squarely in front of Wilker, saying angrily but quietly, "Look,
you promised to keep an open mind for at least a secton.  This is just
the first day!  That's the trouble with you and everyone else - you just
see this person who can't talk very well and doesn't act like the rest of
us.  And you assume that he's an idiot.  Well, in my book, anyone who can
create the kind of things that he does,"  Starbuck jabbed a finger in
Copernicus' direction, and drilled Wilker with his gaze, "Deserves better
than that!  Listen, he's a genius and probably beyond either mine or
*your* comprehension!"   The doctor had been taken aback with Starbuck's
intensity, apologized, and had withdrawn back to his area of the lab.
     The lieutenant gazed once more at the computer model slowly rotating
on the screen in front of Copernicus, then glanced at Tarnia.  She was
absorbed with her own reading.  Starbuck noted that things seemed quiet
enough.  He really did not need to stay.  He shifted on his feet, feeling
the physical strain, feeling restless, feeling the growing irritation
that so little activity would be so tiring still.  He considered going
back to the computer simulation that had occupied him for the previous
centar, but really had no interest.  
     Abruptly, Copernicus turned and said, "Do you like it?"
     Startled, Starbuck asked, "What?  Like what?"
     Copernicus pointed to the screen.  "That.  Do you like it?"
     Having no true idea what the model was supposed to represent,
Starbuck, said, "I, uh, well, it looks very interesting!"
     Copernicus smiled at him and launched into a long explanation of the
computer model and the theory behind it.  After the first several
sentences, Starbuck gave up trying to follow what he was saying and
instead, marveled at how fluid his speech was at this moment.  He had
learned that Copernicus had two modes.  When discussing a familiar topic,
he sounded just like a textbook or a lecturing professor, and perhaps he
was quoting word-for-word, or not, but he would go on and on, no
hesitations, no pauses. Otherwise, he stuttered and stopped frequently,
searching for the words he wanted, or he repeated and echoed what he
himself or others said.
     Glancing around, Starbuck caught Tarnia, amused again, watching
them.  He gave her a silent, beseeching look.  She said, "You already
know this; don't worry about interrupting, or you'll be there all day!"
     Sighing, Starbuck said, "Copernicus!"
     No reaction; the stream of astrophysics continued.
     "Copernicus!"  He said it louder and more distinctly.  "Copernicus!" 
 The man stopped abruptly, his mind shifting from his internal thoughts
to the external world again as he looked at Starbuck.  The lieutenant
continued, "I need to leave.  I'll see you tomorrow."
     "Okay.  Goodbye. Goodbye!  I am glad you come tomorrow.  I am glad
you come!" Copernicus grinned broadly.  
     Starbuck, gazing at the unabashed sincerity in the man's face, felt
a deeply warm feeling and returned the smile easily. "I'll be here,"  he
added. 
     Coming over, Tarnia offered Starbuck her hand, saying, "Thanks,
Lieutenant.  I think we can handle it from here, so don't feel like you
have to spend so much time with him.  But do visit!"
     Starbuck felt awkward; he still wanted to help but was not sure what
more he could do, and he was getting restless.  He wanted to build on
this growing friendship, but how to relate to someone so difficult to
talk to?  Feeling relieved at Tarnia's words, yet a bit guilty, Starbuck
was about to respond when they heard the door to the lab swoosh open.  A
moment later, Apollo and Boomer entered, faces serious.  Starbuck knew
instantly that they were not there for a social visit, even as he grinned
and asked, "Hey!  Apollo, Boomer!  What's up?  Anything exciting to the
rear of the Fleet?"
     "Uh, no,"  Apollo answered. He looked at the quiet faces of Tarnia
and Copernicus, nodding a greeting.  "Still quiet.  Not a flicker on the
scanners.  Starbuck..."
     "Look, if you're here because it's time for mid-meal, I agree!  I'm
hungry enough to actually want to eat those rations.  What have we got
left - two more days?"  Even as he spoke, his mind was racing.  Just what
was going on?
     Boomer cut in.  "Starbuck, we've got some news that we thought you'd
want to hear from us first."  Apollo put a hand on the lieutanant's arm
to guide him towards the short passage between the lab and the door, away
from the others.
     The stillness in the room as even Wilker and his assistants paused,
silent, left a ringing in the ears.  His feet moved automatically.  All
thoughts stopped momentarily, and Starbuck felt the pounding as his
heartbeat accelerated.  What could possibly be going on?  With
difficulty, he kept a neutral expression when they stopped next to the
entrance.  "Okay.  I'm listening," he said finally.
     "The commander just received word from the Prison Barge.  Connly's
dead," Apollo said quietly.
     Starbuck felt stunned.  The words crashed into him as surely as if
he had just collided full force with the wall. Cold, unidentifiable
sensations flashed into his consciousness.  Scenes, memories, emotions,
the look on Connly's face as he had been led away from the tribunal.
     "Starbuck, are you all right?"  Apollo's voice broke the sensations
and brought him again to the present. 
     Pushing the feelings back, regaining control, he answered, "I'm
fine.  I just wasn't expecting that...  What happened?"
     Starbuck appeared calm and expressionless as the captain explained
what little he knew, but Apollo noticed the slight tightening in his jaw,
the intensity in his eyes.   After a moment, Starbuck said, "Not exactly
the news to brighten your day..."
     "Are you okay?"  Apollo asked again.  He added, "I know this whole
episode with Connly has not been easy for you -"
     "I'm fine,"  Starbuck interrupted.  "Why wouldn't I be?  It's not as
if I really knew the guy.  And remember, these things just happen
sometimes. Tragic, but life goes on."
     Apollo said quietly but firmly, "Starbuck, it's us."  He moved
closer, arms folded, lips tightened, his green eyes focused on his
friend.  "I know something's bothering you.  If there's anything you want
to discuss, you know you can."
     The lieutenant shifted, pulled back. He turned to see that
Copernicus, with Tarnia at his side, was watching them from across the
lab. He was staring fixedly at Starbuck, expressionless, yet his eyes
seemed to drill into him.  Feeling more and more unsettled, the
lieutenant found it increasingly difficult to hide his uneasiness, his
confusion, so he said, almost desperately, looking back and forth from
his friends to Copernicus, "I really am hungry.  Why don't we -"
     The man suddenly started forward, moving towards the warriors. 
Tarnia, surprised, reached out to stop him, but he brushed her off and
continued.  She trailed after him, looking embarrassed.  Approaching the
group and ignoring all social conventions, Copernicus interrupted
abruptly, loudly, and said, "You are not happy.  You are out of focus." 
Starbuck looked at him in bewilderment as he continued, "I'll be right
back."  He disappeared in the direction of his living quarters.
     Staring at the closed door where the man had exited, Starbuck
struggled desperately to stay calm.  Finally, he said, "Out of focus?" 
He looked over at Tarnia, avoiding his friends' anxious, worried faces.
     Tarnia said apologetically, "I'm sorry.  Copernicus has very
sensitive hearing when he concentrates..."  She looked both uncomfortable
and concerned, too.
     Apollo's mouth was a thin frown as he watched his friend.  His own
frustration was growing; it was obvious that the lieutenant was in
denial, but he was not sure how he could help, not understanding the
source of the reaction.  Any act of self-termination was shocking and
tragic, but Starbuck's feelings seemed to go beyond to a much more
personal level.  What was the connection?  What was going on in his
friend's mind during the tribunal, and what was it now?  Apollo did not
understand.  Glancing at the others, he sighed and noted that Boomer,
too, looked troubled.
     Before anyone else could speak, Copernicus returned just as quickly
as he had vanished.  He carried a disc and his musical device, along with
a pair of headphones adapted from an old headset.  Inserting the disc
into the device and attaching the headphones, he handed it all to
Starbuck, saying, "This will help you focus again.  When I am out of
control, this music helps me.  Try it."  Eyes wide, Starbuck just stared
at him.  "You are not happy," he repeated.  "You are out of focus."
     He felt his defenses crumbling, felt confusion at his own feelings,
and he struggled to maintain the facade that Copernicus had seen straight
through.  Taking the device, eyes lowered, avoiding all around him,
Starbuck simply said, "Thanks."  After another intensely uncomfortable
moment, a burning desire to leave took over.  Grabbing Apollo on the arm,
he said, "Come on.  I'm hungry. Let's go."  He released the captain's arm
as he waved with the music player at Copernicus and Tarnia.  "Uh, I'll
give it a try, but we really ought to be going now.  I'll see you
tomorrow!"  Not waiting for either Apollo or Boomer, he headed, almost
running, out of the lab.
     The two warriors, frustrated, shook their heads and followed in
their friend's wake after quickly thanking Copernicus and saying goodbye. 
Tarnia, feeling the tension still floating in the air, looked at
Copernicus after they had gone and said quietly, "You're right.  He's
definitely 'out of focus.'"

*********

Chapter Three

     "Ladies and gentlemen, in just five centons the defending champs,
Gold Team, Captain Apollo and temporary partner Sergeant Barton, will
attempt to defeat this season's first place winners, Blue Team,
Lieutenant Boomer and Sergeant Greenbean.  Barton, of course, is filling
in for Lieutenant Starbuck, who is on the disabled list for several more
sectons.  The victors will advance to the Triad Championship Game."  The
voice of IFB announcer Zed echoed through the Triad arena, as well as
through every vidscreen in the Fleet that was tuned to the impending
game.  The roar of the crowd rose like a wave at his words, then receded,
to be punctuated intermittently by the whistles, shouts, and cheers of
eager fans.  Even for the spectators, the fortunate few to have a live
view of the game, waiting in the arena seating above the Triad Court,
vidscreens were positioned at various locations to provide a full range
of coverage.  Replays, slow motion shots, close ups - every possible view
the diehard Triad fan could want.  The added coverage for the spectators
was an experiment at enhancing the overall Triad experience.
     Zed's face was replaced by a slow scan of the spectators eagerly
awaiting the entrance of the two teams.  "I'd have to say that I see an 
equal number of  gold colors as blue - no clear favorites among the fans
present today!"  His words immediately spawned a  shouting match as each
side tried to drown out the other.  As the videocam continued to scan the
audience, the people waved excitedly, or hooted, or mouthed a friendly
message to the viewers.
     The camera paused as it captured a particular group of spectators. 
"We see that Gold Team has the support of the sidelined champ, Lieutenant
Starbuck, here to lend a mental hand, at least!"  Zed's voice seemed to
emphasize every other word as he spoke.  Starbuck, unlit fumarello in
hand, arms across the seats on either side of him, sat flanked by
Cassiopeia on one side and Lieutenant Sheba, bridge officer Rigel, and
the commander's beautiful dark-haired daughter, Lieutenant Athena, on the
other.   Surrounding them all were some of the women Triad players, most
notably, Dietra and Brie, the reigning champs.
     As the camera paused and zoomed in closer, he leaned over to lightly
kiss Cassiopeia on the cheek, then waved with the hand he had draped over
her shoulder, fumarello and all.  To his left, Sheba was talking quietly
with Rigel and Athena until she noticed the view on the vidscreen. 
Stopping, she looked away, uncomfortable, as Zed's voice boomed out: 
"Our defending champ certainly found a prime seat to watch from - we've
got a number of the defending and challenging teams from the women's
teams gathered to watch, as well!"
     Starbuck grinned and waved again as the camera moved on to focus on
the other champions, Dietra and Brie.  Zed's voice continued above the
noise of the crowd as he expounded on their record and hopes for another
victory in the next secton.  The view dissolved back to the court as a
horn sounded.  "Ladies and gentlemen, the challengers - Lt. Boomer and
Sgt. Greenbean!"  A  roar erupted as the Blue Team fans attempted to
prove that the professional wagerers were mistaken about who was favored
to win.  On the court, Boomer and Greenbean trotted out, waving with both
hands high in the air and saluting the crowd and their fans.  Beneath
their black helmets, their faces were confident; beneath the protective
padding and skin-tight uniforms, their bodies radiated a belligerent
readiness.
     Zed's commentary continued, but to the lieutenant became simply a
part of the background noise.  Starbuck, focused on the court below, felt
the roar of the crowd and applauded with the rest, feeling the
anticipation, the excitement, even though it was not from his usual
vantage point.  As the spectators quieted expectantly, Starbuck, still
caught in the intensity of the moment, jumped slightly when he felt the
light brush of Cassie's arm.  Relaxing, he smelled the sweet scent of her
fragrance as he placed the unlit fumarello between his teeth.  He glanced
at her face, noticing a radiance in her blue eyes, and an eagerness in
her smile as she awaited the entrance of Gold Team.  Was she more at ease
now that he was not playing?  She seemed to be absorbing the excitement
and truly enjoying the moment.
     Sheba, too, sat forward on the edge of her seat, waiting
impatiently.  She wore a soft, silky maroon dress instead of her uniform,
and Starbuck could not help but notice how softly her brown hair fell
over her shoulders... what on Kobol was Apollo waiting for?
     Slipping his hand down Cassie's arm and intertwining his fingers
with hers, he felt her squeeze and move closer.  Maybe this wasn't so bad
after all.  Just having her so close, just being with one person.  She
had been so patient lately, so calming.  The sudden knowledge that they
had connected on a far deeper level pulled at him.  Maybe it was time to
consider...  Hesitantly,  he opened himself to these thoughts -- the idea
of something more permanent.  He felt a muted yearning that he had, for
so long, silenced and denied.  The eager need, though, was shadowed by
the familiar claws of fear that he was so used to fighting against.  The
fear of emotional intimacy.  Of the huge responsibilities that the
heart's commitments bring with them... and the terror of exposing the
dangerously frail and tender core of his soul.  But when he momentarily
let himself imagine a future shared with her, he felt a paradoxical and
unfamiliar new contentment rise from within. It was unlike anything he
had felt before. 
     Briefly, he gazed at the assortment of feminine faces surrounding
him, all staring raptly at the Triad Court below.  More than a couple
were faces from his past, sparking fleeting remembrances of bodies united
in physical passion and brief gratification, but that had been over half
a yahren ago or longer, he realized.   He chewed on the fumarello as he
enjoyed the surprising feel of the moment: a different, almost strange
sensation, as if the warmth of Cassie's presence had reached into the
cold, most untouchable fringes of his soul.  For a brief instant, he
consciously allowed himself to pull aside the fears and the barriers and
felt what he knew no name to define. Completeness.
     "And the reigning champions - Gold Team, led by captain Apollo and
represented by Sgt. Barton!"  Zed's booming voice was drowned out. 
Apollo and his partner trotted out to the deafening uproar, grinning and
waving to the crowd.  
     The jolt was more than Starbuck had anticipated.  The frustration
and longing to be down there on the court burst through, shattering the
fragile layer of contentment as he watched Apollo.  The determined
captain's muscles were tight and ready beneath his red and white uniform,
and he bounced and flexed to loosen his arms and legs in preparation for
the start of the game as he entered.  Starbuck felt the adrenaline rush -
followed by a building tension, a feeling of impotence, from being forced
to watch from the sidelines only.   
     And then he caught sight of the grinning face of his blond
replacement.  Starbuck's legs carried him to his feet, applauding with
the rest of the crowd, but in his mind the roar seemed to die abruptly as
he focused on one sight.  Barton.  Although he had watched the first game
on a vidscreen during his last night in the Life Station, something was
different this evening.  Somehow, the feel, the smells, and the emotions
of the live game seemed to jar his thoughts as his mind momentarily
jumped back to the last time that he had played against Barton - and his
former rival, Ortega.  
     For a brief micron, scenes from the subsequent events flashed
through his head.  Ortega's leering face, challenging him.  Apollo's
impassive but blunt statement that Ortega was dead.  The heavy, awful
feeling as the commander spoke the words, "To the brig."  The tight,
claustrophobic cell.  The agony of knowing he was innocent but seeing the
doubt in everyone's faces.  The overwhelming desire to escape.  The fear. 
The panic.  The pleading look in Apollo's green eyes as Starbuck pointed
his laser at his friend as he attempted to launch, to flee.  And the
sudden realization of the absurdity, the hopelessness -- the terror -- of
what he had been about to do.   
     Starbuck, trembling, shaken, willed his mind back to the present,
forcing his gaze to Apollo down on the court and gripping the fumarello
in his hand, clenching it tightly until his fingernails bit into his
palm, sitting back down automatically as the crowd prepared for the start
of the game.  He welcomed the sharp pain in his back as he dropped
roughly into his seat.  He took several deep breaths, exhaling slowly,
eyes closed, as he tried to calm his racing heart and recapture the
shattered atmosphere, the excitement of the crowd and the game.
     Cassie glanced over at Starbuck, catching his grimaced look, seeing
the red, sweatiness of his face.  "Hey, you okay?"  She gripped his other
hand once more, squeezed.
     "Yeah.  Just a cramp, that's all."  He exhaled again, then forced a
smile as he felt her hand slide behind his back to rub, soothing the
muscles and slowly calming his nerves.  The jumble of intense thoughts
receded, but the mood was broken; instead of excitement and anticipation,
he felt mostly a building headache from all of the tension.
     The roar of the crowd heightened, rising deafeningly, insanely. 
Below on the court, the combative game started as the players locked
arms, hands to elbows, tugging, pulling, yanking, trying to anticipate
the direction of the ball before it was ejected onto the court.  Thigh
muscles rippled, faces grimaced, tendons bulged.  Sweat beaded and
splattered and eyes radiated an unbridled aggression.  They needed  to
win.  They needed to defeat.  To conquer.  Abruptly, the ball shot out
and the circle disintegrated into an aggressive tangle of bodies
scrambling for possession as the play started.
     Nearly all eyes were on the players below as Boomer quickly snagged
the ball and made a rebounding pass to Greenbean.  In the audience,
Cassiopeia, still looking at her companion, watched another battle,
instead, as she continued to massage the middle of Starbuck's back.  She
could feel the intensity in the tightness of his muscles, could see the
deep concentration in his eyes, could sense the turmoil as he longed to
be down on the court with his team, defending his title, with his
partner.  And she knew that he was trying to control these feelings, to
accept his position, to take it all in stride.  But over the past ten
days, as the physical injuries healed - slowly, too slowly for his
restless nature - the growing frustration and tension were gradually
winning the struggle, regardless of how strongly he denied it, even to
himself.  Cassie sensed that the dreams Starbuck was having were both a
product of this struggle, as well as a part of the cause.  She sighed and
made a silent prayer that they could survive the stress just a few more
days; once he could get back to his normal duties, all of this would fade
into the past, she hoped.
     Turning her attention back to the game, Cassie watched the
aggressive fight for victory, fierily fueled by the deafening roar as
Apollo grabbed the ball off the deflection when Boomer's shot narrowly
missed the goal.  He twisted in midair to pass to Barton a micron before
Greenbean gripped him around the waist to pull him down.  Barton leaped -
and missed the ball by a fingertip.  Boomer had repositioned himself and
caught the ball, twirled, and whipped off an open shot at the goal.  The
ball did not even graze the sides as it entered the hole.  Part of the
crowd cheered.  The other voiced strong dissatisfaction at the missed
catch.  Starbuck pounded his knees and shouted angrily in Barton's
direction, "How the frak could you miss that!" 
     Cassie glanced at Starbuck's tense profile: the clamped jaw, the
creased brow, the tight lips.  It was going to be a long game.

*****

     Cheers, curses, gleeful cries, angry shouts, ecstatic screams,
outraged howls, all connected by the intense flow of adrenaline, gripped
and permeated all souls - participant and spectator alike - and the
battle raged on, with neither team able to secure the advantage.  As the
end of the first half approached, the score was tied, 2-2.  Loyal friend
became fierce foe as Boomer and Apollo, jumping for the careening ball,
slammed roughly into each other, shoulder to shoulder.  Without conscious
thought, Boomer jammed an elbow into his captain's ribs, knocking him
away enough that the lieutenant could snag the ball, twist as he fell,
and hurl the pass at his partner.  Boomer landed in a heap on top of
Apollo, barely noticing the loud, pained grunt as he knocked the wind out
of his opponent.  Scrambling up, he saw Greenbean's shot sail into the
goal a micron before the buzzer sounded the end of the first half. 
"Yes!" he cried, jumping up and down and pumping the air with his fists. 
     As the bell marking the successful goal rang out amid the clamor of
cheers and angry, frustrated shouts, Starbuck leaped to his feet,
shouting, "What?!  He was fouled! Where's the penalty call?!"  He pounded
his thighs with his fists as he continued hotly, "What a blind bunch of
equine astrums!"  He was glaring at the officiator's booth as he
continued, "Wake up and pay attention, you idiots!"
     The camera, which had been scanning the audience to highlight the
contrasting reactions, caught sight of the furious lieutenant and eagerly
zoomed in.  Acutely aware  of the view on the vidscreen and the stares
from the surrounding people, Cassie and Sheba both reached up to pull
Starbuck by his jacket back to his seat, saying in unison, "Sit down!"
     "Didn't you see that?!" he yelled, jabbing a finger at the court
where Apollo was slowly climbing to his feet, puffing, holding his
bruised side as he struggled to catch his breath.  He moved slowly to the
corner of the court with Barton to recuperate and drink some fluids
before the start of the second half.  Then Apollo, too, noticed the scene
displayed on the monitor.  Looking up to where his sidelined partner
still gestured angrily, he glared at him before sitting down in
exhaustion, shaking his head.
     "It was a fair block," Sheba insisted, placing a hand on Starbuck's
shoulder.  It was not easy watching Apollo in pain, either, but she also
knew that it came with the game - and Boomer's move, while rough, had
been clearly legal.
     Still outraged, the lieutenant shook his arm free and shouted hotly
at his friend.  "Are you serious?  Just whose side are you on?  There's
no way that score should have counted!"
     Sheba, insulted and hurt, quickly felt her own anger rising and was
about to respond when Cassie cut in, "Starbuck, relax!"  
     She put a hand on his arm and touched his back again, pressing
firmly on the center vertebra.  She met his blazing gaze with a steady
look of her own.  The silent but unmistakable message to calm down
finally penetrated his ire as Cassie pressed and twisted a bit, the
pressure on his back triggering a release.  Opening and closing his mouth
a couple of times, panting almost, as the fire subsided, he glanced at
Sheba and her angry frown.  Looking away, he mumbled, "I didn't mean
to... I mean... sorry..." His voice trailed off.
     Sheba's face soften.  "Forget it!"  She ignored the lingering hurt
and tried to make her tone playful.  "Hey, we've still got the second
half - anything can happen!"
     "Yeah, of course."  Starbuck stared at his teammate and replacement
sitting in the corner of the arena, and felt the angry frustration fading
into painful resignation.  And the growing headache began to pound at the
base of his skull.

*****

     After ten centons of relative calm, the crowd once again swelled to
a roar as the second half commenced.  Competing chants for each team
punctuated the atmosphere as the ball shot out into play.  With a renewed
vigor, the players feigned, sparred, jostled, and battered each other for
possession of the ball.  More than once, it was evident that Barton was
not matching Apollo's expectations either; the expressions on his face,
more and more, frequently reflected frustration as his temporary partner
missed passes and shots that would normally have been trademark moves for
Gold Team.
     And Blue Team was quick to capitalize on the mistakes.  As the
period progressed, slowly Boomer and Greenbean lengthened their lead. 
Feeling the imminent victory, tasting the salty sweat of the impending
defeat of their rivals, the two fought viciously: hammered ribs with
elbows, smashed with body blocks against the wall, slammed fists and
shoulders into heads.  At one point, Greenbean snared the ball on the
rebound after a missed shot and drilled it into the goal triumphantly. 
Apollo turned to pound the wall again in agonized frustration, his eyes
squeezed tightly shut, face twisted.  He shouted with each pound of his
fists: "Frak!   Frak!  Frak!"  The score was now 7-4 in favor of Blue
Team.
     For the fans of Gold Team, the mood was black, the tempers short,
the shouts intense, outraged, and unforgiving as they jeered the missed
opportunities.  Some simply sat in disgust, staring numbly at the action,
tears of frustration stinging their eyes while forced to witness
helplessly the painful course of the defeat.  The contrast with the
euphoria of the Blue team fans was stark.  They whooped and cried,
dancing on their feet, with each successful move.  And it was evident
that Barton was feeling the pressure, because the louder the spectators
yelled, the harder he tried, and the worse his moves became.  He was
sweating, shaking from more than just the exertion.  The seemingly
inevitable outcome of the game was written on the pained and tormented
faces of many.
     In the stands, Cassie watched one such face with a sense of
resignation.  Starbuck sat tensely in his seat, glaring at the action on
the court below, rumbling curses under his breath like the stirrings of a
volcano.  His thin layer of self-control was being pounded by the inner
enraged and impotent frustrations.

********

     In the quiet of the commander's office, Adama sat with his close
friend, Colonel Tigh, watching the game on the vidscreen.  At witnessing
Blue Team's latest goal, the colonel ran a hand down his face and gave an
exasperated, pained sigh.  Technically, they were both on duty, but given
the quiet status of the Fleet, no one complained when the two had
withdrawn to watch the game.  In fact, the bridge crew were "performing"
their duties while watching the game, as well, with all intership
monitors tuned to the IFB.  Colonel Tigh, a die hard Triad fan and
unabashed supporter of Gold Team, had long since given up pacing and
glaring at the vidscreen to slouch moodily on the long sofa that sat
against the wall in Adama's office.  
     Adama gazed at his friend in amusement as he sipped a cool seltzer
and lounged with his feet propped on his desk, simply enjoying the easy
atmosphere of not being on constant alert.  Unlike Tigh, he watched the
games with a passing interest, mainly because of how important they were
to Apollo, Boomer, Starbuck, and all of the players, as well as most
people in the Fleet.  As an emotional and physical outlet, the games were
invaluable to the well-being of the Fleet.  They were cathartic, because
even expressions of anger were healthy at the appropriate times, so that
the oppressed, high-pressured lives of the Fleet's population could find
a regulated and organized release.  The pent up, concealed emotions would
be what tore their fragile society.
     Although sympathetic to his friend's frustration, Adama also could
not pass up any opportunity to rib him a bit, especially since, most of
the time, they had to maintain their detached, professional faces while
on the bridge.  Private times such as this were all too infrequent.  So
Adama's mouth twitched in a smile as he said, "It would appear that
Apollo's partner is no match for Boomer and Greenbean..."
     "He can't even catch a simple rebound!  He -- "  The indignant
colonel stopped as he noticed Adama's eyes gleaming in satisfied 
amusement.  He had done it again: sparked a reaction with a few quiet but
carefully chosen words.  Tigh sank back in his seat and gave his friend
an openly exasperated look that clearly stated without words, "Must you
be so annoying?"  
     "You must admit that it's nice to see Boomer and Greenbean winning
for a change,"  Adama continued in a more serious tone, trying both to
ease Tigh's intensity and put the proper perspective on the games. 
"Apollo's going to be disappointed," he continued, his thoughts drifting
a bit.  "But it will give them something to discuss until the games start
again the next season."
     Regaining his objectivity, Tigh added, "Well, given Barton playing
instead of Starbuck, Boomer and Greenbean are still going to have to
prove themselves to a lot of people."  He gave a big sigh and turned his
attention back to the vidscreen, feeling sufficiently calmed to watch the
final centons.
     Adama nodded but said nothing.  Instead, he gazed thoughtfully at
the monitor as the game played on.  Even through the distant view of the
camera on the vidscreen, the commander could read his son's frustration. 
As a father, Adama's heart ached whenever one of his children was in
distress.  But a part of him also recognized just how unfair this was
going to be for Barton.  As a commander, he felt a responsibility for all
of his warriors, and having a more detached perspective of the game
allowed him to see something that most, in the heat of the moment, were
probably going to miss: Apollo had not adapted to playing with a
different partner, but instead, he had expected Barton to step into
Starbuck's place and play like his friend.  Adama knew, because he knew
his son, that Apollo's expectations had sabotaged the game as much as
Barton's inability to play not with his style, but as someone else.  

*****

     The numbers on the game clock read twenty microns.  Nineteen,
eighteen,... the score was 8-4.  Boomer grabbed the ball from a
misdirected pass from Barton and spun to aim yet another shot at the
goal.  As his opponent turned, Apollo caught sight of the confident,
triumphant grin on his face - and snapped.  His features distorted in
fury, the captain rammed himself full force into Boomer, shoving with
both fists as they slammed against the wall.  As he let his body smash
against the lieutenant's, carried by the momentum, he wanted Boomer to
hurt, to feel the pain, to feel the agony.  He wanted desperately to
change the reality...
     The officiator's buzzer cut through the roar, the indignant cries
and howls of the crowd, signaling the penalty.  "Apollo, unnecessary
roughness.  Free shot, Boomer."
     In the audience, Starbuck erupted, leaping to his feet.  "What the
frak are you doing?" he screamed at Apollo.  "Don't you realize that move
is going to give them yet *another* shot?  Where's your
'I'm-Captain-Apollo-and-always-in-control' self-control?"  He sat back
down abruptly, oblivious to the stares from all around, his fury
subsiding again to the angry, molten glare.
     On the court, the captain's chest was heaving, gasping for breath,
as he climbed to his feet, and he was visibly trembling.  He backed up
from his fallen opponent, angrily brushing off Barton when he tried to
help.  Fighting to regain control, he stood, breathing heavily, hands on
hips, staring at the floor and seeing only the painfully fresh memories
of the constant mistakes replaying through his mind.  Boomer stared at
his friend as he climbed slowly, stiffly to his feet and moved to take
the penalty shot.
     "Cool it, Apollo!"  Boomer growled loudly between breaths, fighting
to keep his own temper in check.
     "Well, *you* aren't exactly playing lightly tonight, either!" Apollo
spat out the words as he watched Boomer prepare for the free shot.
     Distracted, Boomer's throw narrowly missed the goal, and the ball
bounced off to the right.
     With one final, desperate burst of energy, Apollo leaped and grabbed
the ball. Viciously, he drilled the pass at his partner.  Barton managed
to catch the ball against his chest, turn, and fling it at the goal.  It
sailed through the hole as the buzzer sounded. 
     Game over.  Blue Team victorious 8-5.  The crowd exploded in wild
cheers, shouts, and whistles.  Apollo and Barton stood apart, breathing
heavily, each avoiding the other's gaze, as Boomer and Greenbean whooped,
leaped, and ecstatically embraced each other.  The celebration continued
for several centons as they circled the court, hands held high, saluting
the cheering crowd, riding high on the jubilant feelings.  Finally, the
euphoric wave subsiding a bit, Boomer slowed to catch his breath. 
Glancing at the captain, his eyes locked for an instant with Apollo's. 
In that micron, time froze; he saw not a defeated opponent, but a friend,
a close friend, in anguish.  The victory was suddenly tempered with
regret at the price.

*********

     They had showered and changed in silence, each avoiding the other's
gaze.  Apollo watched Barton's back for a moment, while the sergeant
slipped on his flight jacket and ran a hand through his blond hair,
sighing heavily, and staring blankly, wearily, at his locker, motionless,
for a moment.  Even from behind, the tenseness in his jaw was evident as
he clenched and unclenched his teeth and breathed in deep, slow,
controlled breaths.
     After the post-game interviews with the IFB, and the ridged,
pleasant exterior they had forced for the cameras, both had rushed to
escape to the locker room and to try to put the game behind them. 
Thirty-five centons later, as the immediate passion faded, Apollo was
left with the jagged, biting edge of frustration and the heavy feeling
that he had let Barton down, somehow.  Though not as intense, Apollo
still felt anger.
     But shame, too.  Shame at his lack of control.  He could eventually
deal with the loss, he thought, but as he pulled himself back from the
events of the game, as he was able to take a more rational look at what
had happened, he realized the unfairness of his behavior on the Triad
Court. 
     The captain ran a hand down his own face and brushed the strands of
wet hair back over his ears.  The silence, as he slowly slipped on his
jacket, was broken only by the muffled murmuring of voices from the crowd
in the corridor outside the locker room.  Inside, it was oppressively
still.  He glanced again at Barton, who had reached for his holster. 
Apollo needed to make amends.  Barton was a good player and a good pilot
for Red Squadron.  He just could not leave with this tension between
them.
     "Barton," he finally called to the sergeant's back, forcing the word
out.  
     "Hm?"  Barton turned to glance at the captain, then looked quickly
down at his holster as he adjusted it around his waist.
     "Look, I owe you an apology." Apollo fought the awkwardness and kept
his eyes on Barton, who looked up to finally meet his partner's gaze. 
The captain continued, the words coming more easily now.  "I acted like
an astrum, and I didn't give you a chance out there.  It's just that -"
     "Hey, forget about it!"  Barton's mouth turned up in a faint, weary
smile.  He would expect no less from the Blue Squadron strike commander. 
Apollo's eyes radiated sincerity.  Barton said with a sigh of
resignation, "I knew it wouldn't be easy trying to replace Starbuck -
I've seen you guys play first-hand, remember?"
     Apollo felt a sudden easing in the atmosphere.  The tension had been
broken; although the defeat was still a heavy weight, the personal
mistakes and missed plays still fresh with each, a layer of resentment
had been swept aside.  He smiled in genuine relief.  "I'll buy you a
drink in the Lounge later as we help Boomer and Greenbean celebrate,
okay?"
     "Sure."  Barton straighten after making the final adjustments to his
holster's leg strap, his confidence returning.  "You know, I don't think
I've seen you that rattled before in a game."
     Apollo let out a quick breath, still acutely and painfully aware of
the evening's events.  "Don't remind me!  This was *not* what I'd call
one of my better -"
     The sounds of the crowd outside abruptly spilled into the locker
room as the door slid open.  Both turned to see Starbuck, characteristic
grin in place, step partway in as he said loudly, "Hey!  If you guys are
finished comparing missed points, let's go commemorate our defeat!"
     Apollo felt a flash of irritation, followed by the sudden wish that
he could just head back to the Galactica on the first empty shuttle, and
leave the embarrassing game behind.  He stared angrily at the lieutenant,
unnerved and annoyed.  "*We* are coming," he said in a low voice.  "Just
hold on."  He turned and touched Barton on the shoulder briefly in a
silent apology.  "Don't forget I owe you that drink."
     The flight sergeant, noting the captain's strained expression and
feeling disconcerted, as well, with Starbuck's flashy impatience, nodded
and said, "Yeah... just go on without me.  I'll be there shortly." 
Apollo returned the nod, then followed his friend out the door.  
     Trailing behind Starbuck as he crossed into the noisy corridor,
Apollo glanced around at the assortment of people.  Cassie and Sheba were
leaning against the wall opposite the locker room, looking relaxed and at
ease.  Cassie had the twitch of a smile and looked amused at her
companion's impatient behavior.  Sheba's eyes seemed to sparkle when she
saw him approaching, Apollo noticed.  
     In addition, a handful of spectators remained, and, to his left,
several paces down the corridor, Boomer and Greenbean were talking once
more to an IFB reporter.  The captain grimaced inwardly at the sight. 
Although the reporter and the cameraman had their backs to him, Apollo
recognized the reporter: Rivaldo.  The man was pushy, unscrupulous, yet
the most popular reporter among the masses because he always twisted any
story to make it overly sensational and melodramatic.  The captain caught
Boomer's eye over their shoulders.  The lieutenant glanced quickly and
briefly skyward to signal his growing impatience with the current,
interminable proceedings.  
     Starbuck, too, chewing on another already-battered fumarello,
glanced at Boomer and the IFB setup, then switched his gaze back to
Apollo as they stopped in front of Cassie and Sheba, waiting for Boomer
and Greenbean before heading over to the Rising Star Lounge.  Apollo
caught his friend's eye and tried to convey a silent admonition that he
was in no mood for the banter.  He noticed, in that instant, that
Starbuck's smile did not reach his blue eyes; Apollo knew that, as usual,
such a subtly staged set of appearances was actually hiding a whole
different drama in behind his friend's outward mask.
     And the lieutenant seemed oblivious to Apollo's warning look as he
teased, "Well, buddy, not one of our finer moments."  
     "Starbuck, not now, please!"  Apollo stared sternly at him again,
his voice growing slowly louder.  
     Starbuck tapped his friend on the shoulder as he continued, "Maybe
they should make a vidlesson with this game on how *not* to play -"
     "Drop it!  I'm not in the mood for this!"  Apollo pulled back,
fighting the anger unsuccessfully. 
     "Calm down, Apollo!" Sheba interjected quietly but firmly, aware
that the crowd still gathered was throwing glances at them.  She
hesitated, wanting to move towards him, uncertain of what his response
would be. 
     Normally, he could, at least, put up with Starbuck's jokes when the
timing was inappropriate, or the lieutenant was perceptive enough to
stop; neither was happening at that moment.  A missed connection.  The
captain's irritation was mounting quickly.  Apollo glanced at Sheba and
Cassie, who were looking a bit unsure and troubled by the exchange. 
Sheba's brow was creased and she chewed her lip.  Cassie stepped forward
to place a gentle hand on Starbuck's chest, trying to distract him.  The
IFB interview droned on in the background, and a few passers-by gave
sympathetic looks or said, "Nice try!"  Apollo forced a weak smile for
the fans and ignored the IFB.
     Starbuck's grin faltered momentarily. "Well, how else am I supposed
to deal with the destruction of our reputation?"
     "Starbuck!"  Cassie knew that the frustration beneath those words
went beyond the Triad defeat.  Unfortunately, Apollo was becoming the
focus of his inner turmoil, a turmoil spawned by feelings from recent
events that had been denied, repressed, and buried deep within. 
     Apollo's face had become deliberately impassive.  "Look, you keep
saying 'our.'  Well, I don't remember seeing *you* on that court." 
Apollo stood very still and said, in a low, cold voice, "This was *my*
game and *my* screw up!"
     The smile finally faded as Starbuck pointed the fumarello in the
captain's direction.  "Oh, I understand."  He ignored Cassie's attempts
to hold him back, to dissuade him, as the outward calm crumbled. "No
wonder this was such a screwed up game.  I don't believe you saw anyone
else but yourself out there."
     Apollo said nothing, but the slight paling in his face, the brief
flickering of his eyes, and the tensing in his jaw, indicated the words
had hit hard.  He stared at his friend, silent, his eyes cold and
challenging.  
     Like the waters pressing and spraying through the cracks in a dam,
the repressed emotions had to find a release.  Starbuck could not stop. 
"Actually, there're lots of things you seem not to see."  He shot a look
at Sheba, whose face went red.  
     "Quit it now, Starbuck!"  Cassie said firmly, and he glanced at her
finally.  "What are you -"
     "Are you through?"  Apollo's words cut off her remark.
     "Look, buddy, we all need to face our truths now and then.  You
looked like you thought you were all-powerful out there. Do you always
have to be in control of everything?"
     "And what would you know about control?  This is hardly the image of
you these days."  The words were barely above a whisper. 
     Starbuck's face reddened.  Apollo's impassive exterior only
exacerbated the inner rage.  "Well, at least, I don't see myself as
picture-perfect, as one of the Lords of Kobol."  His rational mind was
screaming at him to stop, but the pressure was too much.  He continued,
biting off the last two words, "You seem to think you can replace the God
who's forsaken us."
     Without another word or look, Apollo turned on his heel and walked
off in the opposite direction, leaving them standing there.  Sheba
glanced at Starbuck, her face grim, and hurried after Apollo.  Several
passers-by had stopped to stare.
     Starbuck, his mouth a thin line, avoiding all eyes, stared at the
fumarello as the furor and frustration boiled for a few more moments.  As
the flood of emotions subsided, he threw it at the floor in disgust. 
Disgust at himself, mostly.  "Felgercarb!" he muttered.  He looked
hesitantly up to meet Cassie's concerned gaze, then closed his eyes and
rolled his head back.  He felt tired now, so tired.
     "Why don't we just go back to the Galactica?" Cassie whispered after
a moment.  
     He felt her hand on his arm and opened his eyes again. "I wonder if
Boomer and Greenbean -"
     Starbuck turned as he spoke and found himself face to face with the
IFB reporter.  The videocam stared straight at him.  The mental gears
ground to an abrupt halt as they struggled to regain control and switch
directions.  He forced the grin back.  A quick glance behind the IFB crew
showed Boomer and Greenbean watching, arms crossed, faces bemused. 
Starbuck said, "Well, there won't be much celebration left if we don't-"
     Rivaldo ignored him, cutting him off. "So what does the former champ
think of tonight's defeat for Gold Team?"
     Out of the corner of his eye, Starbuck could see that Barton had
emerged from the locker room and was standing just to the right of the
door.  The lieutenant refocused back on the camera and answered
automatically, feeling oddly disconnected, as his voice said the
appropriate words, yet his mind was racing to find an escape.  "It'll
give us something to fight for next season."
     Starbuck tried to move in Boomer's direction, but the reporter stood
squarely and firmly in front of him, continuing, "How different do you
think the game would have been had you been playing?"
     The lieutenant glanced uncomfortably again at Barton, who was
watching and listening, his face expressionless.  "I'd like to think it
would have been different, since we've played together much longer.  Now
-"
     Rivaldo seemed to sense every move Starbuck made to end the
interview and promptly interrupted again with another question.  "How
difficult was it to watch from the sidelines as your team lost?"
     The light from the videocam glared harshly in his face.  Starbuck
took a deep breath, shifting on his feet, feeling the frayed hold on his
temper slipping again.  "It was hard, okay."  His voice came out louder
than he intended.  "Now we would like to just go on."  He glanced at
Boomer and Greenbean, who were visibly enjoying his predicament, not
aware of just how shaky his control was.  He tried once more to move
forward.  "Blue Team deserves their toast, so if we could just be --"
     The man stood firm and looked the lieutenant directly in the eyes. 
Normally very perceptive, Starbuck was too frustrated to notice that the
IFB reporter's smile had taken on a cold, hard edge.  His voice still
held the same casual tone as he asked, "How do you feel about the suicide
of Captain Connly?" 
     The abrupt shift in the conversation threw Starbuck totally off
guard.  All he could manage was "What?"
     Rivaldo blazed ahead.  "Since you were the one who uncovered the
plot by Connly and prevented the mutiny, how do you feel about this
latest turn of events?  Do you hold the view - as some do - that it's for
the better, since that's one less mouth to feed in the Fleet?"
     It took a micron for the true meaning of the reporter's last
statement to sink in.  Starbuck stared at him, blinking, then the dam
burst.  The tumult of anger, frustration, and deeply denied feelings came
crashing through.  
     "Starbuck, don't!" Cassie shouted.
     With a hard shove from both hands, Starbuck knocked the reporter to
the ground, furious. "You frakking idiot -!" he sputtered.
     Despite the burning pain in his back caused by the sudden movement,
Starbuck had every intention of grabbing the reporter and hauling him to
his feet.  Boomer and Greenbean, blocked by both the camera and the
fallen man, rushed to find a way to intercept their enraged friend.  A
look of panic swept across the reporter's face as Starbuck swiftly
advanced on him, and he scrambled backwards.  A cheer and shouts of
encouragement went up from the people who had been standing around and
watching the proceedings.
     Starbuck was oblivious to them. He was milimetrons from reaching the
reporter, when a pair of hands grabbed him by the left arm and hauled him
back.  He turned his head to see Barton holding him, yelling, "Starbuck! 
Calm down!"
     The effect was anything but calming.  Illogically, his rage
refocused on the man who had replaced him in the game.  He swung with his
free right arm, intending to knock Barton away from him, but more hands
grasped him tightly.  Boomer had finally pushed past the cameraman and
the backpedaling reporter to reach the lieutenant.  He gripped his friend
tightly from behind, wrapping his arms over Starbuck's, and growled into
his ear, "Stop it! Stop it!  Get a hold of yourself!  Everyone in the
Fleet is watching this!"
     Starbuck swung his head around to see the videocam a mere metron
from him.  Boomer's words and their implication finally penetrated his
rage.  As other emotions swamped the anger, the tight cramping from the
protesting muscles in his back grabbed his attention, too.  Groaning, he
sagged back against Boomer.  "Oh, Lord!"  he mumbled, both from the pain
and from the realization of what he had just done.

*****

     The post-game interviews had indeed been broadcast live throughout
the Fleet.  Commander Adama and Colonel Tigh had been relaxing and
enjoying a few more centons of quiet before returning to the bridge.  The
vidscreen still flashed scenes and droned on softly, while the two
friends sipped the last of their drinks and just talked.  Tigh had been
recounting one of his experiences from his younger days as a Triad
player.  He was engrossed in his tale, imitating old moves, when he
noticed a deepening frown on Adama's face.  Puzzled, he followed the
commander's line of sight to the vidscreen.  He focused on the monitor in
time to see Boomer grabbing a hold of Starbuck and pulling him away from
Barton.  With the volume low, neither had heard the exchange, but Adama
had seen all too clearly one of his warriors displaying unacceptable
public behavior.
     "What in Kobol's name does he think he is doing?" Tigh stared in
disbelief.  
     He quickly turned up the volume.  The reporter's voice emanated
through the vidscreen as the camera captured Starbuck's grimacing face.  
"... appears to be caught up in the wild emotions of this evening's
game." 
     The angle broadened to include Boomer and Cassiopeia.  Cassie had
her hand on Starbuck's shoulder, staring at him in concern while he
breathed in deep, puffing breaths.  Boomer had released his friend and
was motioning to the camera.  His voice could be heard in the background
under the reporter's words as he said sternly, "That's enough, okay!  Can
we just go on in peace?"
     The camera swung back to the reporter, who gave a wide, satisfied
grin, saying, "That's all for tonight's post-game interviews as this game
goes down as one of the more intense - both before and  after!"  The
screen darkened as the camera faded out.
     Tigh jabbed the off switch and turned to see Adama still staring at
the blank screen, his hand to his chin and his lips a thin, frowning
line.  He finally looked at Tigh and said, "Have Lieutenant Starbuck
report to the Galactica and my office immediately.  Let's find out what
that was all about."
     "Yes, sir!"  

*********

     "Apollo!" 
     From behind, Sheba's soft voice had reached through the captain's
determined stride.  He turned around and saw her slender figure standing
at the end of the illuminated corridor.  Starbuck's last words,
stridently echoing in his mind, seemed to fade away. 
     A little startled, Apollo could only think of how ambiguous Cain's
daughter was.  She was such a paradoxical blending of strength and
tenderness.  Even when she was not wearing her uniform, her pointed,
belligerent posture cautioned anyone that she was a daredevil warrior. 
Yet, the vulnerable delicacy of her traits and an indelible femininity,
overshadowing her manners, imbued Sheba with an almost ethereal grace. 
But it would be a mistake to believe in the simplicity of her obvious
extremes; Apollo knew better.  He knew he did not know how to deal with
her.  Still remembering that last meeting, alone with her aboard the
Cylon fighter, he hesitated. 
     Sheba measured his resistance and, in a few microns, her warrior's
instincts told her that the captain's barriers were fraying.  His
hesitant manners indicated for her to approach.
     She moved towards Adama's son and smiled warmly at him.  The bold
Blue Squadron leader blushed awkwardly.  "Where are you going?" she
finally asked, an almost palpable tension hanging between them. 
     "Well, Boxey was watching the game with the other kids.  I'd better
pick him up now that I won't be celebrating ..." 
     "You'll spoil Boomer's victory night, Apollo," she said, cutting him
off abruptly.  Seeing the slight tightening of his jaw, she realized how
critical she must have sounded.  Softening, she rested a hand gently on
his shoulder.  Moving even closer, her body's warmth, a simple physical
contact, made the captain even more embarrassed and confused.  He quickly
averted his eyes.
     "I don't want to spoil anybody's night, Sheba.  It was Starbuck
who..." 
     "We're not talking about Starbuck, Apollo!"  She cut him off again. 
"I'm not questioning Starbuck's behavior.  I'm questioning yours." 
     "My behavior?"  Apollo was slightly unnerved with her pointed
remark.  Sheba never simulated emotions, she would not know how to do it. 
She was as transparent as tylinium.  
     "I thought we could be a bit more accepting of our differences, here
in the Fleet." Especially you, of all people.  On the Pegasus..." 
     "We're not _on_ the Pegasus!" Apollo retorted, stressing the words,
but already regretting his impulsiveness.
     "Yes...  I know."  Sheba lowered her eyes now for the first time, as
she twinged at the memories of her father and the Battlestar Pegasus,
forever lost for her now.  
     Again, that unexpected shift of emotions mesmerized Apollo,
confusing him as to how to react to her.  Taken aback, he sighed and
spoke softly.  "I know you're having a difficult time, Sheba.  Just
forgive me.  I'm not myself tonight."
     Sheba raised her eyes to find the captain's attractive face close to
her.  His sharp green eyes, framed by thick black eyelashes, in exotic
contrast, were of an intense gaze.  How many times had she seen this same
gaze, piercing through her lonely dreams?  Lonely dreams she used to
drift to, in her quarters aboard the Galactica's endless nights.  But he
spoke of different things then...
     Now he was tormented, heightening the seriousness of any ordinary
situation, as always.  But she could distinguish a slight glimmering of
awareness sparking in those eyes.  He knew of her dreams.  And she didn't
mind being that exposed.  
     "Then, you just come back to yourself right now!  Forgive Starbuck,
or, at least, ignore him, and don't spoil our night," she pleaded with
what sounded more like an order to Apollo's ears, instead.  Her wide,
dark eyes were no less captivating to him, as well.
     He sighed deeply again, but Sheba's authoritative demeanor made him
repress a chuckle.  She was not Serina.  She was a contrasting
kaleidoscope of many emotions.  Tightly locked into his grief, wearing it
like a shield, Apollo could not allow himself to expose his shredded
heart again.  Warriors were supposed to protect what was fragile, not to
give it away.
     "I'll come back to myself, Sheba!" he conceded.  "As long as I'm
given a chance to cool off, okay?"
     "But what is it that Starbuck said to you to make you so edgy?  I
know that this game's struck some nerves, but it doesn't become you to
overreact the same way Starbuck did!" she demanded.  
     The captain shook his head helplessly and glanced at the corridor,
tentatively thinking to walk away.  But the pleasant sensation of Sheba's
hand, touching his arm again, held him back, "He just shouldn't have said
that..." he muttered.  
     "Said what?" 
     "That I'm always trying to control everything as if I were playing
God!"  Apollo's voice grew louder and exasperated, the defensiveness
revealing the soft spot.  Sheba said nothing, expecting that, once he had
started, he would release his emotions.  "And you know what?  He's right! 
I've been spending every micron of my life feeling so obsessively
responsible for everyone else's lives aboard this fleet, that I myself
feel like that!" he said while pacing around the floor.  "Just like I
were trying to make up for an absent God, who seems to have forsaken us
in the first place, just like Starbuck said!" he finally stated with
sharp, self-irony.
     "Apollo! We all feel responsible for each other's lives.  We don't
want to perish!  Your father, more than anyone else, carries this whole
fleet's weight on his shoulders.  But even he knows that there's only so
much one can do..." Sheba said thoughtfully, her mind flashing back to
vivid scenes of her father's battles and of so many others of human
bloodshed and heroic deaths.
     "Sometimes, you seem to take it too personally, Apollo.  You take
too much upon yourself and that scares us all."  She stared at him,
reading in his troubled eyes that he did not want hear it.  But she
continued, "I can never tell whether you are trying to get yourself
killed, or if you believe you're invincible...", she trailed off,
suddenly, realizing that her words, in so many ways, expressed the same
meaning as Starbuck's.  
     The captain leaned his back on the wall, squeezing his eyes shut.  "
I know what you all think.  But it was not like that anymore, Sheba... 
At least, it wasn't until that frakking Triad game."  He exhaled deeply,
assaulted by a myriad of different emotions.  "I'm tired."
     Sheba shuddered.  As much as she dreaded the strong-willed captain
dooming his life in another suicidal mission against all odds, she also
feared his certain death, should he ever give up one day.  To her relief,
his next words were not a fatalistic statement of defeat.
     "The Celestial Chamber, Sheba.  The peacefulness I've been
experiencing when I'm all alone up there in the dome.  It's made me
realize how tired I am of fighting as if I were trying to overpower some
sort of destiny.  It's not like playing God anymore," he confessed. 
"There have been moments where I know, with all my heart, that I don't
need to.  We are not alone.  We are not doomed."
     Sheba could only stare at Adama's son, now sounding like a visionary
double of his father.
     "Something different has been happening when I am up there..."  He
seemed hesitant to continue.
     "Something different?" Sheba probed.
     Apollo diverted his eyes, embarrassed, while he visibly struggled
for adequate words.  "I don't know how to explain that...  but I swear
that I sensed something...  someone..."
     Sheba nodded slightly, encouraging him to go on.
     "I felt a...  a Presence there with me, Sheba," he finally blurted
out, and added with an almost confidential tone, "Whatever it is, it was
communicating with me.  Not through words, but through feelings. 
Powerfully enough to make me give in and understand.  For the first time
in my life, I felt I could really trust.  Just trust that we can rely on
something else beyond ourselves..."
     He opened his eyes, wide and green and almost passionate.  Sheba
noticed the same glitter in them that she had already seen in Adama's
very own messianic eyes.  "It was like...  like I didn't have to be in
control of everything anymore.  For the first time, since the Destruction
days, I really felt that I could finally let go of it...  I mean, simply
deliver it all and just have faith.  Like...  like instead of driving
destiny all by myself..." 
     "...You were riding in the Hand of God," she continued
sententiously, lost in her own thoughts.  The warrior just stared at her
again, thunderstruck.  "No wonder Starbuck made you lose your temper out
there, Apollo.  He just aimed at the right target!" she added, still
thoughtful.
     "Yes...", he replied, shaking off his trance.  "It seems that his
powers of observation haven't lost much.  I was having delusions that
things could be different.  I was back to being omnipotent at that Triad
Court.  He's right," he sadly stated, disgusted at himself.
     "Apollo," she pointed out, "you still are now!  Give yourself a
chance to fail!"  Her laconic statement of truth making him look at her
without amusement.  "And give it to Starbuck too.  He didn't know you'd
be so sensitive about this!"
     "Oh yes, he did!" the captain retorted.  He glanced quickly away
from Sheba's warning glare.  Starbuck's earlier taunting still hurt.
     "You're not being fair to him, Apollo."
     "Well, if he didn't, better keep it that way.  People will think I'm
nuts.  The practical one having messianic surges now!" the captain
chuckled bitterly at himself.
     "I believe you," Sheba said bluntly, silence punctuating her words. 
He looked at her, bewildered at her faith in him.  Apollo felt a strange
sense of relief, her deep sincerity filling in with substance the sketch
of sensations he could barely grasp.
     "Apollo," she approached again.  "You must trust me that I trust
you, too.  We all have learned to live within our walls.  No harm can
reach us through them..." She smiled sadly.  "But no love can, either."
     The dark-haired warrior was taken aback again, as if shot by a
laser.  "Who taught you that?  It wasn't possibly Cain!"
     "Yes, it was.  His loss did."
     Apollo felt tempted to embrace her.  But when he finally brought
himself to touch her, he could only rest his hand on her shoulder,
squeezing it tenderly.  "I guess I've just come back to myself again," he
chuckled.  "I'm coming back to commemorate with you."
     Sheba let out an exclamation of joy.  Her face irradiated a
childlike contentment as she slightly leaned on his touch.  Apollo was
enchanted, but not that confident that Cain's daughter would always be
like that.  He had seen that angel in battle.  She was implacable.
     "But I won't promise I'll put up with Starbuck tonight", he
cautiously warned, his voice still revealing grief.
     Even though what Starbuck had said was very close to truth, Sheba
believed that the impulsive lieutenant was not aware of what he had done. 
A fragile flame of faith was fighting for existence and to not be
extinguished in the captain's heart.  He desperately needed to trust that
there was a powerful hand above their heads.  They all needed to.
     Even Starbuck.
     Sheba wondered if, beyond the lieutenant's misplaced intent to taunt
his captain, he might also have given release to his own concerns about
his best friend's self-righteous attitudes.  The self-proclaimed
womanizer and wagerer, with his nonchalant and selfish facade, never
disguised his complete devotion and loyalty to his friends, though.  Much
especially, when Apollo was concerned.  Apollo, by his turn, was no less
devoted to that extraordinary bond, too.
     For all of the refugees, in their lonely quest among hostile stars,
the war, and its poignantly cruel realization of how elusive human life
really is, revealed a new dimension to the significance of relationships. 
Love and fear, magnified to unbelievable proportions, were giant enemy
forces in mortal combat for survival, then.  For each and every
individual from that endangered species, friendships and bonds,
overcharged by the eminence of death, implied urgent needs of
perpetuation.  An endless, exhaustive, constant alert and safekeeping.
     Like a magnet forever polarized, Apollo and Starbuck's friendship
was such a bond to be kept perpetuated like that.  It knew no limits and
recognized no other force.  Hence, its mythic strength.  Along with
Boomer, the incarnation of temperance, that balanced Triad had formed an
alliance capable of challenging the armies of Hades.
     Sheba decided to appeal to that bond.  As she took his hands in
hers, a slight electrical current passed through their bodies.  She
whispered lovingly, "Apollo, you know that something is wrong with
Starbuck.  You can't let him down.  He needs help."
     Sheba had guessed correctly.  The captain immediately seemed to put
aside his brooding, while he frowned in concern.  He kept his thoughts to
himself, though.  "Come on, let's celebrate the victory I've given to the
Blue Team!"
     "The victory you've given?" the warrior lady teased, hands on her
waist.  "Has it ever occurred to you that you didn't give anything, but
that Blue Team just, plain and shamefully, defeated you?"
     Apollo was puzzled at her mockery.  "I don't understand these
riddles of yours, Sheba..."
     Triumphantly, she nodded her head, facetiously inviting him to move
on and follow her.  "I knew you wouldn't!  Let's go, all-mighty Apollo!"
     "Wait a micron!"  The captain, still absorbing her remark, suddenly
halted.  "You won't start that, I mean, calling me a Lord of Kobol, too,
will you?"
     Sheba smiled mischievously, "There was a Caprican philosopher from
ancient times, I remember.  He used to say that the loved one's face is
the deity's altar upon which we used to pray, before Creation of time..." 
She pulled a charming doubtful face, pretending to decide whether to say
the next words.  "In a way, yes...  you're one of the Lords of Kobol..."
she shot.
     "Sheba!"
     With her amused eyes on him, and while walking backwards, laughing,
apparently enraptured to get such awkward reactions from the stoic
captain, she fired again.  "To me..."
     Gazing at her, disarmed and perplexed, Apollo could swear he
hallucinated for a few microns, as he saw another face disguisedly
shimmering throughout Sheba's, a vanishing face made of white light.  He
shook off the feeling.  The dark-haired captain gave up and smiled at
himself resignedly.  Her compliment -- he decided to take it as one --
softening Starbuck's harshness on the same subject.  Frowning again,
though, thinking about Starbuck, he hurried after her.
     They had barely reached the corridor's corner, when Boomer, looking
anxious, appeared in their way.  His voice was low but filled with
concern.  "Apollo, Starbuck is in trouble."
     Apollo stared at the lieutenant.  Disbelief tinged with astonishment
was the prevailing feeling that surfaced, followed by annoyance and
exasperation.  Only Starbuck could find trouble in less than ten centons. 
He suppressed a sigh as he asked, "What do you mean?  What happened?" 
Sheba had stopped next to the captain; her face reflected his sentiments
as she gazed from Apollo to Boomer, puzzled.
     "That reporter -" Boomer ran a hand over his hair, then continued,
"He started pressing Starbuck in a interview, and Starbuck knocked him
down.  Barton and I kept it from getting any worse."
     They had started walking back towards the locker rooms.  Apollo
remained silent, absorbing the information.  Before they rounded the last
corner, Boomer stopped and turned to face his friends.  He sensed his
captain's disapproval and displeasure, though Apollo's face was
impassive.
     In a quiet voice, he softly emphasized, "Starbuck was reacting to an
insensitive remark the reporter made about Connly's death."  He saw
comprehension flicker across his friend's face.  He continued, "The whole
incident was being broadcast live, and the commander has asked for
Starbuck to report to his office - immediately."
     Sheba shook her head.  "By the Lords..."
     "At least, Greenbean and Barton were able to chase away the
spectators and that IFB crew," Boomer added, his face distorting in
distaste at the thought of the reporter.
     Apollo closed his eyes briefly, taking a long, slow, deep breath. 
"Let's go," was all he said finally, walking past Boomer, around the
corner.
     The corridor in front of the locker rooms was quiet, empty finally,
except for Starbuck and Cassiopeia.  Starbuck's face was furrowed in what
was quite obviously pain as he stood rigidly against the wall, eyes
closed, breathing in long, controlled breaths.  Cassie was pacing back
and forth, looking nervous and impatient.  She stopped and looked
expectantly at the three as they approached.  "The next shuttle leaves in
ten centons," she said uneasily.
     Starbuck opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Apollo and
the others approaching.  His gaze slid past Boomer and Sheba, but locked
with Apollo's for a brief moment before shifting away.  In that fleeting
instant, though, Starbuck perceived a coldness, the lingering hurt in his
friend's eyes.  The realization stung.  "Look, Apollo..."  The words
would not form to express the sharp regret he felt.  He knew that it
would take more than a few passing jokes and beseeching smiles to repair
this damage.  "I didn't mean..."
     "Let's just forget about it..." Apollo said,  cutting him off.  The
words "for now" hung in the air, unspoken, as the captain paused, pushing
aside the resentment as he faced the lieutenant again.
     Sheba and Boomer both absorbed the interaction silently, and Cassie
shifted from foot to foot, her nervousness at the impending meeting
impossible to suppress.  Starbuck's apparent resignation and outward calm
only intensified her anxiety.  The irony that she was more worried than
he was struck her, as well.
     "Come on."  Apollo motioned for all to follow, knowing that his duty
now was as captain and superior officer, more than friend, but also that
that duty included support, as well as impartiality.
     As the five headed towards the Rising Star's departure lounge,
Starbuck recognized and accepted Apollo's official demeanor.  Apologies
and discussions would have to wait.  For now, he had to deal with the
consequences of his public loss of control.  It was not the first time he
had had to face his superiors, but Starbuck always felt like a daggit,
when having to explain his deeds to them.  'Like a mongrel daggit,'
Starbuck thought, already mentally rummaging through his wagerer's bag of
tricks, ready-made sheepish smiles and charming ways.  He knew, though,
that they never worked on the wise commander and his colonel, but he
believed he would not give up trying.  'Question of survival,' he weakly
smiled, justifying himself, as he always did, while a strange and
unexpected feeling of resignation seemed to, disturbingly, take over his
spirit.
     "Well, I hope that Greenbean and Barton, at least, enjoy their
celebration," he said just loud enough to elicit an unsmiling glance from
the others.

********

Chapter Four

     Starbuck heard the door slide closed and sensed that Apollo, present
as his captain, was standing several paces behind him, as he came to a
stop in the middle of the commander's office.  Without glancing around,
he noticed that Adama sat impassively behind his desk, gazing at him,
fingertips touching together lightly.  Colonel Tigh, his face serious,
his displeasure evident, stood off to the left next to the vidscreen. 
Boomer, Sheba, and Cassie waited outside.  Boomer had wanted to support
his friend, but the colonel's firm look had warned him not to press the
issue.  So Starbuck stood, alone, waiting, vaguely annoyed that even
Apollo was following protocol at this moment, but fully aware that it was
his duty.
     Quickly, Starbuck's mind ran back over the other times that he had
had to face the censure of his commanding officers.  For someone known as
one of the Fleet's best warriors, the number was surprisingly high. 
Somehow, although he was loyally devoted to the commander and his duty as
a Colonial Warrior, his impulsive, rogue nature often landed him in
trouble.  When confronted with defending the lives of his friends or the
Fleet's refugees, he was unwaveringly dependable and unquestionably
dedicated; he would willingly sacrifice his own life, if it would save
others.
     Yet, a part of him was ingrained to rebel against authority, after
so many yahrens of surviving on his own, alone, in the streets of
Caprica.  Or in the foster homes where the adults either did not care, or
worse, were openly abusive.  Or where he refused to open himself to them,
even if they did truly care.  Or in the cold, stark, sanitary,
emotionless orphanage, an institution where the children were little more
than commodities to be fed, clothed, and shipped on, when possible.
     Thus, he still lived by his own rules when it came to dealing with
the Military and Authority.  And as a survival mechanism, he had learned
to embrace adrenaline-filled, risky challenges, whether a high-stakes
Pyramid game or a toe-to-toe shoot out with the Cylons; he had learned to
live for the moment.  And live with, if only grudgingly, the consequences
as they came - if unable to connive or beguile his way out of the
situation.
     Most of his official dressing-downs had resulted from sophomore
pranks played on his fellow warriors, schemes that skirted the
regulations, and fallout from his Pyramid wagers, which seemed to run
either incredibly well -- or incredibly poorly.  Mostly, he had had to
listen to Apollo, his immediate superior officer, or to Colonel Tigh, who
always faced him with a cold glare that barely concealed his
exasperation.  The consequences usually were several sectons of extra,
undesirable duties.
     The only other time he had officially faced the commander had been
after a not-so-friendly OC competition between some warriors and Colonial
security guards had erupted into a fight.  Then, Starbuck had instigated
a drinking game, fully intending to ruffle the blackshirts' feathers and
to emphasize the pilots' superiority.  However, he had not counted on
short tempers leading to an all-out brawl.  The commander and the colonel
had been rightfully livid, and the consequences had been costly for all
involved.
     This time... this time was different.  Aware of the disapproving
faces of his superior officers, duty overriding friendship at the moment,
and feeling the physical strain, as well, Starbuck felt acutely alone and
unable to pull even the slightest of remorseful smiles; instead, he
remained impassive and at attention, all emotion carefully locked away.
     Tigh's voice snapped his attention back to the matter at hand.  "I'd
like you to watch something, Lieutenant."  The colonel's voice was a
quiet, controlled politeness that reflected his dissatisfaction.  He
pressed a button, and the screen flashed on.  Starbuck watched with an
ironic fascination, experiencing a vague sensation of relived actions, as
the interview replayed from the viewpoint of the camera.  And the same
emotions resurfaced briefly as he listened to the insistent reporter. 
Although he knew that his reaction had been out of line, the only regret
he felt now, as the recording ended and he had to live with the
consequences, was that his weak back muscles had prevented him from
actually striking the man.
     "That scene has been playing repeatedly over the IFB since it
happened, Lieutenant."  Starbuck shifted his gaze from the dark vidscreen
to the colonel, but said nothing.  Tigh continued, "Officially, you know
we cannot tolerate such unruly public behavior - regardless the
circumstances.  I don't need to remind you that, as a warrior, you are
one of the few role models available for the people - especially the
children - in the Fleet.  And one of our duties, now that everyone's
lives are so restricted and confined, is to do all we can to support the
morale."
     Surprisingly, Tigh's face softened a little and he approached,
stopping to lean against the commander's desk, arms crossed.  His
movements were meant to lessen the formality of the moment.  He smiled
dryly as he said, "Unofficially, I'd have to say that your little
incident will probably even boost the morale, at least for a while."
     "Sir?" Starbuck was perplexed.  This was not the chewing out that he
had expected and knew he deserved from the colonel.
     Tigh shook his head.  "Appropriateness aside, your reaction was very
human, Lieutenant.  You did what others have felt like doing in the face
of some of the impertinent questions the intrafleet media has been known
to ask.  And a little sensationalism can be good for morale, as well."
     "But..."  He narrowed his eyes to illustrate the shift back to his
official duty.  "That comment is not to leave this room."  The colonel
straightened, his demeanor cold and serious now.  His voice was barely
above a whisper as he spoke.  "Just before you arrived we received a
communique from the Council of Twelve.  Apparently, most of them were
watching the game and interviews, as well.  They were questioning Adama
as to whether he considered your behavior 'appropriate public relations.' 
In case you've forgotten that 'irrelevant' part of your theoretical
training, Article 5, Section III, of the _Colonial Warrior's Duty and
Ethics Manual_ deals with expected and appropriate behavior.  Need I
quote that for you?"
     Starbuck felt his face redden, despite his effort to maintain the
detached mask.  The embarrassment was heartfelt.  The last thing he
wanted to do was give the Quorum any reason to doubt the commander's
efficiency.
     The colonel looked steadily from Starbuck to Apollo, who had
remained silent and listening.  "Such an incident is *never* to happen
again.  Understood?"
     The captain nodded slightly and coldly.  But he was carefully
studying Starbuck's unusual reactions.
     "Understood," Starbuck said quietly, uncharacteristically ashamed
and taken aback.
     Tigh did not soften, though, and gave him the full benefit of his
most disapproving glare as he pronounced after a moment, "Lieutenant, you
will be docked a secton's pay, and will make a public apology for your
actions.  In fact, you'll have the perfect opportunity tomorrow, and I'll
request that it be a part of the proceedings when introductions are made
before the Triad demonstrations start."
     Tomorrow.  Both Starbuck and Apollo had forgotten what the next
day's schedule held and both groaned inwardly.  Far from forgetting the
nightmare that this Triad game had seemed to have become, they would be
once more in front of the IFB cameras, in the role of former champions. 
They and a majority of the Fleet's Triad players were to present a
demonstration and clinic for the children of the Orphan Ship.  And the
event would be broadcast for all of the Fleet, the goal being to not only
bring cheer to the orphaned children, but to help bolster the human
spirit of all.  While both had supported the idea wholeheartedly, the
timing could not have been worse, it seemed.
     "Yes, sir." Starbuck managed not to sigh.  He had felt less than
enthusiastic, recently, knowing that he could not actively play, but he
also recognized the importance both of his presence, as a part of the
championship team, and of the need, now, to publicly correct his
behavior.
     Tigh looked from Starbuck to Apollo to Adama.  His gaze lingered on
the commander, who nodded slightly, the captain noticed.  The colonel
straightened and said, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to attend to
some other matters."  He turned and exited without waiting for any
response from the two warriors.
     As the door closed behind the colonel, leaving the two alone with
Adama, Apollo sensed his father's concern and remained silent, waiting. 
His own feelings at the moment were a dichotomy of lingering anger
towards and growing worry for his friend.  His father knew Starbuck well
enough to know that his overreaction with the reporter was a symptom of
something else, a deeper problem.
     Starbuck shifted on his feet, uncomfortable for more than just
physical reasons, as the commander slowly rose from his chair.  Their
relationship went well beyond lieutenant and commander, but they rarely
spoke of it.  That Adama viewed him as much a part of his family as
Athena, Apollo, and Boxey, needed no words.  Yet, he felt a pointed
awkwardness whenever events forced him to openly acknowledge this bond. 
After so many yahrens without a father, he still did not know how to
react when Adama assumed that role with him.  Starbuck glanced around and
finally kept his gaze on the floor.
     "Let's suppose that that had been Apollo on the screen," Adama said,
choosing his words carefully as he stopped between the two warriors.  He
was fully aware of the lieutenant's discomfort, and wanted to avoid
triggering the self-defense mechanisms that Starbuck so often sprang into
place, when forced to face his own personal concerns.  Avoidance and
escapism were his first reactions, and Adama, as well as Apollo, knew
that quite well.  He continued in a casual tone.  "You know that I would
be very concerned about why he had behaved that way.  I would do all that
I could to help him work through whatever the problem might be."
     A feeling of love and admiration swelled within, as Apollo watched
his father's tender approach towards the evasive lieutenant.  He had used
his fatherly diplomacy skills many times before with him, too, and with
all of his children.
     The commander placed a light hand on Starbuck's shoulder, and the
lieutenant glanced up to meet his gaze briefly.  "Whatever it is that's
been upsetting you, Starbuck, you must know that you're not alone.  That
we're here to help you," he said quietly.  "We've all been through so
much, and have had no time to deal with all of our personal tragedies." 
The commander, who carried the weight of all the human survivors on his
shoulders, allowed, for a brief instant, the infinite sorrow to reflect
in his dark, eloquent eyes.  Not only had he suffered his own personal
losses, but he had selflessly sacrificed his own needs for the wholeness
of the Fleet.  It was no wonder he was the epitome of strength for all
warriors.
     Starbuck felt suddenly chagrined by not being able to master his
emotional turmoil, having a role model so close.  Adama sensed the man's
trouble and seemed to read his thoughts.  "You shouldn't be ashamed of
your feelings, Starbuck," he said with gentle authority.  "You must face
them, instead, and tell us what's going on with you.  So that we'll know
how we can help."
     "Commander..."  The lieutenant glanced briefly at Adama, then
Apollo, before looking away, acutely uncomfortable.  He stood with his
hands on his hips, motionless, staring at the wall, unseeing.  A part of
him was searching desperately for an answer, an explanation, trying to
form the right words.  Yet the barrier was too great; it left him
impotently unable to respond, to say anything.
     Adama let his hand drop from the lieutenant's shoulder and walked
casually away, giving him more space, waiting.
     After several uncomfortably silent centons, Apollo approached his
friend for the first time.  Concerned by this uncharacteristic lack of
reaction and the growing awareness that the trouble was deeper than he
had first imagined, the captain put a hand on the lieutenant's arm. 
"Starbuck?"
     Starbuck, beginning to feel trapped, snapped his gaze to Apollo and
shrugged him off, before looking away again.  Despite his regret, the
lingering tension from their previous disagreement only exacerbated his
inability to face, let alone explain, any of this.
     "Starbuck!" Apollo, startled by the reaction, looked to his father,
then at his friend.  His patience gave way to uneasiness and his voice
took on an unintended harshness.  "Look, we just want to help.  Ever
since the business with Connly, you've been moody.  And it's perfectly
understandable why you'd be bothered by that episode with Sherok..."
     "No it's not!"  Starbuck cut him off.  The intense frustrations from
everything that had happened that night finally broke through his last
remaining defense.  "You can't possibly understand!  I don't even
understand it!" He spat the words at Apollo.  "And maybe you should worry
about your *own* problems before trying to correct everyone else's." 
Starbuck finally turned away, breathing deeply, grasping for control
again.
     "Come on, Starbuck!  Cut the felgercarb!"  Apollo felt his own
frustration from the entangled feelings of deep concern, resentment, and
anger rising quickly.  "Father and I are just worried about you.  Can't
you see that?"
     "I - Look, just drop it!  Okay?"  A pleading edge had overtaken the
anger.  Starbuck stared at him fixedly for a moment, then switched his
gaze to the wall.
     Apollo was hesitant, wanting to say more, but sensing the futility,
for now.  He finally just shook his head, in exasperation and defeat, and
looked at his father.
     Adama barely suppressed a sigh as he witnessed the deterioration of
any chance for further meaningful conversation.  So much like brothers
were those two at this moment.  He had seen it among all of his children
at different times, the hurtful words exchanged, actually hiding real
concern and love.
     One more point, however, needed to be said, both as the lieutenant's
commander and as the father he felt himself to be.  "Starbuck," he said
quietly but firmly, "I recommend that you talk to one of the ship's
counselors."  Starbuck flashed him a sharp glance, as the commander
continued, "You know very well that the annual warrior exams include a
psychological evaluation, as well as a physical.  This is no different,
really, since we want to be sure you are fit to return to active duty. 
In fact," Adama shifted his gaze to his son, giving him a knowing look. 
"I think it might be prudent to recommend that all warriors undergo the
complete evaluations as soon as possible.  It is certainly overdue. 
Everyone has experienced so much in the past yahren, and we are only now,
finally, able to allow ourselves the time to heal."
     Apollo felt acutely uncomfortable under his father's comprehending
eyes.
     Adama returned his attention to the more immediate problem. 
"Starbuck," he said, "I leave the details up to you, but consider it a
part of your overall final examination before you can be returned to
active duty."
     "Yes, sir," was all the lieutenant said, but the words were clipped,
as he retreated behind the formality.
     "Now, I think you both could use some rest.  You are dismissed."
     Without looking at either, Starbuck slowly, deliberately, forced the
calm exterior back in place, then exited the office quickly, not giving
the captain another chance to approach him.  Apollo, seeing the futility
of any more attempts at discussion and feeling his own exhaustion seeping
through, hesitated a moment longer, before saying simply, "Goodnight,
Father."  He followed his sullen friend through the door.
     Once out in the corridor, Starbuck barely glanced at his waiting
companions.  He knew he owed them a explanation - and apologies.  But the
need to escape was just too great; he walked briskly off towards the
turbolift.  Apollo, feeling discouraged, stopped after he crossed the
threshold to stare wordlessly at Starbuck's back as he disappeared around
the corner.  While the last echoes of the lieutenant's footsteps faded
away, a somber silence settled over the four friends...
     Alone in his office, as the door closed behind his son, the
commander did sigh, finally, and closed his eyes. 

********

     The door to Cassie's quarters closed behind them.  Starbuck stopped,
his back against the entrance, finally just letting the throbbing, dull
ache from strained muscles wash over him.  And he welcomed the physical
discomfort, for it gave him a focus, a distraction from the tumult of
emotions from that evening.  Yet, gradually, even the pain was eclipsed
by the memories and sensations that kept surging through his mind: the
intensity of the game, the anger and the frustration, the harsh words
with Apollo afterwards, the deep regret now, the stupidity of losing
control at the reporter's insensitive question, and the embarrassment,
the deep, deep shame of facing the commander afterwards to explain
actions he couldn't even explain to himself.  He felt drained, haggard,
and unable to face anything at the moment.  He inhaled slowly, eyes
staring blankly at the ceiling, then exhaled wearily.
     They had barely spoken as he and Cassiopeia headed back to her
quarters.  After avoiding his friends, he had walked hurriedly,
determinedly, away. He had felt propelled by the swelling need to escape
this endless and disastrous evening.  And he had felt a rising anger as
he strolled, faster and faster, towards the turbolift.  Anger at Apollo. 
Anger at himself.  At everyone and everything.  At no one.  He had
stopped, finally, forced to wait for the turbolift and wondering vaguely
where he really wanted to go.  Not back to the billet.  No, he did not
want to face anyone, not at the moment, because he knew the hold on his
emotions and temper was tenuous, at best. And there were sure to be
pilots still awake and ready to comment on that blasted Triad game.  So
where?  The fact that they were centons away from curfew slipped briefly
into his mind, but was quickly overridden by the bitter knowledge that it
really only applied to those on active duty.
     "Starbuck, wait!"  Cassie's voice, loud, echoing down the empty
corridor.  He stood, hands on hips, staring at the floor, listening as
she approached but not acknowledging her yet.  Not yet, just another
moment to be certain that he was in control again.
     "Starbuck!"  The noisy hum indicated that the lift had arrived, but
he waited, then turned to face her, finally, as she stopped next to him,
panting, out of breath at having had to chase him down.
     "Cass, I'm sorry..."  He trailed off, not finding the adequate
words.
     "Where are you going?" she asked quietly, panting a bit, still
winded.  She gazed steadily at him.
     He shrugged, looked around, before saying at last, "I don't really
know.  I should be getting back."
     "Come with me?" she asked gently. 
     He had, eventually, looked into her eyes.  And something deep within
them, something beyond words, had reached out to him.  For the moment, he
had given in to that feeling, saying nothing, as she had activated the
turbolift door.
     He had followed her in, watching in silence, as she pressed the
button for her level, not the squadron's.  When the turbolift doors
opened again, they had headed down the quiet passage towards Cassie's
quarters; the only sound had been their footfalls reverberating on the
cold metal floor.  And as they had walked, Cassie had replayed the events
of the evening in her head, analyzing, feeling a growing concern along
with the unavoidable realization that Starbuck's troubles ran deeper than
even she had been willing to admit to herself.  She was worried.  And she
was angry, both with Starbuck and with herself, because she knew they had
ignored the issue for too long.  Perhaps if she had just been more
insistent when the dreams had continued for more than a couple of days...
But regardless of the reasons, she could ignore it no longer, not after
his boorish behavior both during and after the game.  She had to confront
him openly, drive past the barriers, and find some answers.
     Cassiopeia stopped in the center of her tiny compartment, took a
deep breath to brace herself, expecting to confront his wall of
resistance, and, ready for battle, if necessary, turned to face her
companion.  Instead, she saw the anguished look on his face as he leaned
against the door, the depth of the pain evident in his troubled blue
eyes.  His defenses were down.  Perhaps there would be no battle...  She
changed her tactics as she approached him.  Maybe instead of challenging
him to accept help and demanding that he respond, she needed to keep
those walls down, and let him see that there was no shame in accepting a
helping hand.
     "Starbuck," she said softly, placing her hand on his chest to gently
get his attention.  "I think it's time we talked."
     He seemed not to notice her at first, so inwardly focused was he. 
"God, what an astrum I've been!" he said, still staring at the ceiling,
yet unseeing.  "Why?  What was I doing?  Apollo -"  He broke off and
looked directly into Cassie's eyes, with a gaze that penetrated like a
laser with its intensity.  "I just don't get it!"  He bit off each word
with a sudden bitterness.
     Cassie let her hand drop.  "What?" she asked quietly, yet probing,
"What don't you get?"
     "Any of this!"  His voice was angry, almost shouting.  He walked
past her, pacing briefly, then threw his hands out.  "Apollo, that
reporter - what was I thinking?"
     "That's what we need to find out," Cassie said evenly.  "We just
need to know what..."
     For a moment, he seemed to genuinely search for an answer, to reach
within, then the wall seemed to go up again as he suddenly pulled back. 
"Do you think I'm losing it, too?  The commander says I need to see a
counselor.  Do you think so, too?"
     Cassie gently took his hand in hers, trying to calm him down.  She
carefully considered her words, knowing that he could either close back
up and reject all help, or he could let her in.  Her approach was
critical.  Finally, slowly, she said, "I just think that we've all been
through so much in the past yahren, and we've all just blocked it out. 
Or locked it up in a remote corner of our minds, so that we can go on. 
Starbuck..." She paused to catch his gaze again, to pull him back gently
as she gripped the other hand, too.  "I've had so many nights that I've
just cried and cried... for all of those we had to leave behind, for the
worlds we'll never see again, for -"  She gulped back a sob, not having
intended to release so much, but all at once feeling bombarded by her own
memories, memories that resided deep within her heart.  The jolt was
unexpected, and she looked away, blinking to fight back the tears.
     Surprised, Starbuck brought his hand to her chin to gently guide her
gaze back.  She bit her lip and said nothing as she struggled to regain
control.  "What is it?" he whispered, concerned now.
     Cassiopeia closed her eyes for a moment, making a silent decision,
hoping that what she was about to tell him would help him to open up. 
The experience was not one that she denied, but she also never talked
about it.  And she had never revealed this part of her life to Starbuck
before.  Perhaps now was as good of a time as any...  She hoped it would
help him. She hoped she would get through it without breaking down
herself.
     Cassie chewed her lower lip again as she opened her eyes once more
to stare into her companion's worried, troubled face.  "Starbuck..."  She
paused, not quite sure how to begin, but wanting to find the way to show
him that it was okay to open up, to let others in...
     "What? What is it?"  He looked at her, confused and distressed by
her intense reaction and hesitation.
     "Let's sit down," she said finally, guiding him to the only place
they could really sit closely - her lower bunk.  Once seated, she turned
to face him, then looked away as she began, "I've never told you about my
family -"
     Starbuck's own pain had receded a bit as he deliberately focused his
mind on Cassie and what he knew about her past, and as he wondered what
she had to say.  "I know you flew with your father," Starbuck interrupted
softly, "on an Aerian  merchant freighter, and then after he died,
you..."  He hesitated before continuing, "became a socialator."
     Cassie studied his face for a moment, saw the true concern and
puzzlement reflected in his eyes, and felt the need to continue.  "Yes,
that's part of it... but I've never told you about my mother and my
sisters..."
     Starbuck's expression took on shades of bewilderment.  "Sisters? 
Mother?  I thought you'd said she died when you were a baby?"
     "That was the easy, uncomplicated explanation."  Cassie took a deep
breath and exhaled as she proceeded.  "My father wasn't widowed.  They
just separated when I was six.  We lived on Aeries, but he flew his
merchant route and was gone for sectars at a time.  He and my mother - it
was a disastrous pairing, really.  She was Gemonese, and they'd been
sealed when they were young, too young.  She never felt comfortable in
the different culture and grew more and more bitter and resentful at
being left alone.  So my father stayed away longer and longer...  And he
had a violent temper, so when he was home, they fought -- viciously
sometimes..."
     "Cass, that must have been awful."  Starbuck held her hands in his,
not sure of what to say.
     "It was, it was," she said, a bit wistfully.  "But he was always so
kind and loving to me, especially after my two sisters began to see him
only through my mother's eyes...  I just wanted to please them both... 
but after a bitter, violent argument - one of many they'd had over the
yahrens - he finally swore he'd never return.  I couldn't stand the
thought of not seeing him again, and I begged him not to go...  or to
take me with him."  Cassie took another deep breath to keep calm.  "And
he did - take me with him.  Out of spite for my mother, and to hurt her. 
My sisters...  they were older than me...  used to fight with me about
our father.  They wanted to protect Mother, and never understood my
loyalty to him... And he knew that, so he took me with him."  The
tenseness in her face, the pain in her eyes, reflected her resurfacing
sorrow.
     "He used you to hurt your mother?"  The implications of her words
slowly sank in as he tried to picture her as the young girl, the child,
torn between her parents, then torn away, torn apart...  "What happened?" 
He finally asked.  "My God - you were only a child!"
     "I never saw my mother or sisters again, except -- "  Cassie said,
barely above a whisper, the tears shimmering in her eyes, despite her
efforts.  "We never went back.  I flew with him from then on, from planet
to planet, never staying in one place for more than a secton.  And he
tried to be my teacher, making me study, always keeping an updated
library in the ship's computer.  I learned a great deal..."  She paused,
and a dark shadow seemed to cloud her eyes.  "But a merchant's life can
be very rough.  We visited some very poor places.  And I had some
different life lessons, too..."  She looked away, edging back from his
touch.
     Starbuck felt a chill run through his body as he wondered what she
meant, but he could not bring himself to ask.  Instead, he cautiously put
an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close again, wishing he could
shield her from the unspoken experiences.  They sat for a moment in
silence.
     Absorbing the warmth as she rested her head against his shoulder,
she slipped her arm behind his back to pull even closer, feeling his
concern and love, drawing it around her like a blanket before she could
continue.  When she spoke, her gaze was distant.  "And then he died
eleven yahrens later...  I went back to Aeries to look for my mother and
sisters, but-"  A tear finally trickled down her cheek, and she wiped it
away quickly, and looked down, staring at the floor but seeing distant
memories.
     Soon she continued, "I couldn't find them - anywhere.  So I went to
Gemon to look there.  I never did find my sisters, but I found my mother,
finally...  and she refused to speak to me.  Refused to even acknowledge
me...  I don't know why - "  Cassie stopped, gulping back the sob.  "I've
never understood, except to figure that her hatred and bitterness were so
great, and burned for so long, that they just consumed any love she'd
had..." 
     "My God, Cass..."  Starbuck had his own memories of rejection, but
those had been foster parents, people he had not really known and had
tried hard *not* to know.  Not his blood relatives.  He had no
recollection of his real parents and no memories of that fateful night in
the Caprican Thorn Forest, over thirty yahrens ago, when the Cylon
massacre had left him an orphan.  He had to have been no more than three,
because he would have remembered, remembered something, had he been any
older...  surely...  Starbuck felt an unidentifiable coldness as his own
reflections melded with the horror he felt as he tried to comprehend
someone rejecting her own child.  "My God..."
     Cassie, however, felt the intensity fading as she simply experienced
the sensations, letting them flow through her and recede into the past,
the pain being replaced by the closeness, the warmth of the present
moment.  She could sense Starbuck's genuine concern and compassion, as
well as his feeling of impotence at not being able to do anything more
for her.  This was a battle that had been fought many yahrens ago...
     Feeling stronger, she eventually continued.  "I was alone, then.  So
I found refuge with a Gemonese woman my father had known.  And she taught
me a great deal.  Despite what most people think, you know that a
socialator is an honorable profession: a healer, really, a practitioner
of ancient arts that have existed throughout the millennia, and it
involves much more than what most outsiders think.  I am very grateful to
my teacher and would not change that part of my life."
     Starbuck caught the faint defensive edge to her words, and turned so
he could face her.  "Cass, I know that.  Have I ever said anything
disparaging about your life as a socialator?"  Images of his initial
actions flashed through his mind, so he amended his question, "I mean,
outside of my normal, crudely bad jokes?"
     Cassie had to laugh.  He was abashed because knew that he had acted
like so many other males did when encountering  a socialator.  But she
also knew that he had never meant it in a negative way.  Yes, he had been
attracted and intrigued by her title, but his had been a romancer's
fascination, as opposed to the scorn and belittlement that others had
given her.  She also remembered his first gentle words to her, aboard the
shuttle as she and the other wounded were brought to the Galactica for
treatment.  He had asked her name, then mentioned kindly that it meant
"fairy queen,"  and his quiet comments and tender approach had helped to
calm her fears.  Some would say that it had been purely and totally a
selfish come-on, even before he knew for certain her profession, and a
subtle way to gain the conquest.  But she had looked into his eyes and
seen the true concern beneath the charmer's facade.  And even after he
was enticed by her role as a socialator, he had never pushed or treated
her with intentional disrespect.
     She studied his expression now, for a moment, seeing a mixture of
concern, confusion at her reaction, and embarrassment.  But he also
seemed more at ease, the anguish gone.  Even she had forgotten her
primary intent as she had gotten caught up in her past emotions, but
perhaps now, he would be more receptive.  She needed to try.
     Cassie was about to comment on his original motives when they had
first met, to offer a teasing jab to keep the mood light, when he closed
his eyes and straightened his back.  His face furrowed as first one
spasm, then another, ran through his muscles.  "Frak," he muttered. 
"Lords, I'm tired of this!"
     "Here," she said quietly, a slight smile on her lips.  "Let me help
you."  He did not protest as she slipped his flight jacket off, then
carefully pulled his tunic over his head.  Tossing the garments on the
floor, she said, "Lie down," and eased him face down on the mattress.  
     For a while, she silently and skillfully massaged the aching
muscles, feeling the knots loosen and relax.  Starbuck's groans
eventually turned into comfortable murmurings.  Finally, she decided it
was time to shift back to her original goal, to lead him towards a
recognition that he needed to end the denial.  "Starbuck."  She gauged
her next words carefully.  "My experiences with my parents - as painful
as they were -- are a part of me, and I accept that now.  Even if I don't
talk about it or share it.  You're the first one I've told in a long,
long while."
  "Thanks for that, Cass,"  he said, his voice reflecting a heartfelt
sincerity.
    She could not see his expression, but she could feel that he was much
calmer.  Maybe he would accept a few more probing questions now.  "If I
had tried to ignore this, it would have torn me a apart, Starbuck.  We
just can't deny our experiences."  She paused.  "That's why I'm so
worried about you right now," she said cautiously.  "Something is
troubling you. You need to find out what it is."
     She felt him tense again and heard the frustration return to his
voice.  "I just don't know.  I don't understand it!"
     "You've buried whatever it is," she said gently.  "And, as painful
or as frightening as it may be, you need to bring those feelings back
out..."  As she spoke, she skillfully rubbed the pressure points along
his spine, key areas for releasing tension, trying to ease his
resistance, if possible.  Almost without thought, her knowledge and
training as a socialator guided her.
     Although Starbuck said nothing, she could sense the confusion, the
indecision, in his silence, so she continued, "You've been... moodier...
since Connly's trial.  What was it about him that bothered you?"
     "I - He -"  He was struggling for words.  His answer when he finally
went on, though, still reflected his unwillingness to talk about it. 
"I'm not sure.  I don't know."
     Cassie sighed inwardly.  She sensed that she was not going to make
much more progress, at least not this night.  The walls were just too
strong.  She would try one more suggestion, though.  "Starbuck, you
mentioned that the commander wants you to talk to a counselor.  I think
that's a good idea --"
     She felt the his muscles go rigid, almost.  He rolled onto his side
to look up at her as he said, "I'm not about to talk to some stranger -" 
He did not mention that the commander had already ordered him to take the
psychological exam.
     "What about Tarnia?" she asked, interrupting.  "She's a qualified
counselor.  She had lots of training on Sagittarius but just never used
it after the Destruction, since she was more concerned about Copernicus. 
You could talk to her."
     "I don't think -"
     His stubbornness was finally fraying her patience.  An edge of
frustration slipped in as she said, "Look, you know the regulations as
well as I do," she said, having deduced what the commander must have said
to him.  "If Adama recommends that you talk to someone, you will *not* be
cleared for duty until you do.  And you're supposed to have your final
examination tomorrow.  Let's talk to her then."
     "Maybe," he grumbled.
     She decided to leave it at that.  At least, he had not flat out
refused.  She pushed him gently back down and continued her skillful
massaging.  After a few moments, she felt him relaxing again, felt the
tension fading.  A few more centons passed, and he seemed to be actually
drifting off to sleep.  A quick glance at the chronometer on her bedside
stand showed it to be 0130.  The fatigue seemed to settle all at once as
she remembered that she had a full twelve-centar shift tomorrow, and her
roommate would be returning at 0800.  One thought dominated her as she
pulled off her boots and nudged Starbuck over, snuggling next to him on
the narrow, one-person mattress: one thought - sleep!

*******

     Drowning.  Drowning, being pulled beneath the surface as the swells
rush over the head and the current drags down, down, down.  The crushing
pressure against the chest.  Suffocating... but it is not water.  Pulled. 
Being pulled, pulled in all directions.  Hands.  Hands grabbing, pushing,
tearing.  And arms.  Elbows. Legs, feet, bodies.  Bodies jolting and
jarring.  Pushing, flailing against the maddening throng, helplessly,
futilely, for protection, to escape.  The panic swells from within and
explodes into terror as the chaotic mass of angry, hysterical people
overwhelms.  The frenzied, raging mob aboard the Sagittarius.  The noise
is deafening.  Senses scramble under a fierce barrage of pounding,
kicking, trampling, suffocating, crushing sea of bodies.  A swirling
human kaleidoscope as the mind twirls dizzily.  Then a sharp, blinding,
piercing pain rises with the deafening roar and crescendos into an
explosion of nothingness.
     Darkness.  And cold, a cold that penetrates to the bone, numbing. 
Trying to move, and a sudden, fierce fire burning through the center of
the back and radiating out through every nerve.  A soundless cry of
agony.  Gasping, gasping... the pain fades and eyes open.  All is a
blurry, grayish black, shadowy... then tiny, flickering yellow flames
break the darkness, eerie pinpoints.  The shadowy blackness floats,
swirls... Fear swells with the struggle to make sense of it, to
comprehend, to regain control.
     A shape hovers above, a bearded face beneath a shroud, eyes
reflecting the yellowish orange flames.  Desperately looking away... No,
don't, don't look.  Don't look!  But the gaze is locked, frozen, on the
shadowy image above.  The face smiles, coldly, cruelly, as a laser drifts
into view, slowly aimed to kill... Sherok, the madman, with icy, vacant
eyes that sear to the very core.  Paralyzed, arms and legs cannot move;
eyes can only watch, watch in a fascinated, terrified horror as the
finger slowly presses the trigger.  "You will die."  The voice is cold,
flat, mechanical.  Human, but not.  Gasping, short, panic-filled breaths
as the heart races.  Sweat burns eyes as it slowly trickles down.  The
mind is screaming, "No, no, no, no!"  But the words soundlessly choke in
the throat.
     And light explodes as eyes squeeze tightly shut.  Breathing stops. 
A deafening silence.  A void...
     Then a voice.  Different.  Desperate, yet unnervingly calm.  "And if
it weren't for you, my plan would've worked.  If it weren't for you.  It
would have worked."  Exhaling sharply as lungs burn from the held breath,
and eyes open to see a different face.  And the barrel of a laser leveled
at the head.  Captain Connly, eyes cold, distant, detached, inhuman,
almost.  "We only had two more days to go.  No one suspected anything. 
We would've just disappeared before the Galactica knew anything and
headed back to freedom.  But then you..."  The rising fury, burning
through the icy exterior.  Connly smiled as he slowly, slowly turns the
laser against his own head.  "No! Wait! That's not the answer!"
Desperately, desperately trying to grab the captain's arm, to grab the
laser, to stop him.  Stop him!  No!  Hands grasp the laser as his finger
squeezes the trigger.
     The high-pitched, numbing sound of a laser at close range bursts
into a blinding flash.  Then darkness.
     Another voice.  Different, too.  Tense and agitated.  "Starbuck,
it's me!"  Startled recognition sparks a shudder.  The feel of cold metal
in a hot, sweaty, shaking palm.  Eyes open to see a familiar face framed
through the sites of the laser pistol as it aims at the captain's heart. 
At Apollo.  The lifeline, the anchor.  Apollo, no...!  For an instant,
the comforting, solacing face blurs into the taunting, snarling image of
Ortega.
     Escape! Escape... just fire the viper's turboes and be free... But
hands will not.  There is nowhere to go, nowhere.  The realization burns
with cold terror.  The feeling of desperation is overpowering.  An
inescapable suffocation from being trapped, trapped with no way out. 
"Stay back, or I'll fire!" a voice screams.  The words echo painfully
through the mind as eyes gaze in horror at the calm, yet beseeching look
on Apollo's face.  So steady and reassuring... But there is no way out. 
No escape, no hope.  For anyone.  A bone-chilling calmness, devoid of all
emotion, overwhelms the terror and grips the soul as the mind yields to
the all-encompassing despair.  Vision freezes on the image of his closest
friend, the astonished look of disbelief, as the finger pulls the
trigger.  No!  Oh, God, no!  How could you possibly?  No, no, no!
     And light explodes.
     Cold.  The ground is cold.  And wet.  Dewy wet.  The smell of damp
earth.  Then the overpowering stench of smoke and burning flesh sears the
nostrils.  Child's eyes open to see a scorched laser pistol, dimly
visible in the pre-dawn light, the metal twisted and smoldering, lying in
the cold, dewy grass.  Cries, piercing, wailing cries.  So many of them.
Small hands press tightly against ears to shut out the terrifying
screams.  Explosions vibrate through the ground and through the soul.  A
shower of flashing laser fire rips through the dark, and a myriad of oval
attacking ships swirl through the starry, deep violet sky, seeming to
brush the dark red light of dawn behind them.  Dawn dripping blood in the
Thorn Forest of Caprica.
     Paralyzed by the fear, the all-consuming panic envelopes his small
frame.  Huddling, curled tensely and rigidly, eyes squeezed shut, trying
vainly to escape... The intense, agonized, wordless cry for parents...
     And suddenly warmth.  Warm hands lifting, embracing, his face
pressed against a chest.  The steady, rhythmic beating of a heart
drowning out the screams and cries.  So warm, a radiance against cheeks. 
Held tightly, tightly and securely.  Rocking and swaying as the body
moves.  So safe, so safe at last.  Tears flow in hot streams down the
cheeks in a feeling of intense relief.  A familiar scent swells and fills
nostrils, washing away the pungent, smoky smell; the sweet, maternal
fragrance permeates and envelopes the senses.
     Then a jolt.  And jarring.
     Feet begin to run.  The heart beats faster.  Breaths come in gasps.
Pounding, pounding, jerking, shaking.  The vibration through the chest of
a rising, moaning cry pierces through his head.  It crescendos into a
shrill scream.  The fragile, comforting cocoon of security disintegrates
as a low, icy, mechanical sound swells louder and louder.  The fangs of
fear bite through his heart.
     "You will die."  The voice is cold, flat, inhuman.
     And light explodes. 
     A dizzying rush, falling.  Impact!  A sharp, shocking, stabbing pain
radiates from the back out through arms and legs, as the heavy, heavy
weight of a body falls on top of his tiny frame, suffocating...  And
darkness.  Then a voice, low, cold, and mechanical.  Still stunned, he
grabs desperately but is too weak to grasp as his mother's weight is
lifted off and a blinding beam strikes his eyes.  And behind the white
beam, the oscillating, scanning, red lights, mesmerizing, traumatizing...
The cold, emotionless voice: "This human is too weak to survive.  Do not
waste the energy on killing it."
     Blinding darkness as the lights vanish and the enemy turns away. 
The dull thud as her body drops close.  It is warm, still warm, so
warm... and the terrified young boy huddles close, desperately clinging
to the fading warmth, wailing shrilly, hollowly, as an indefinable,
barren feeling envelopes him, and slowly, slowly, the chill penetrates to
the bone... and through the soul.

*************

     Lieutenant Starbuck awoke gasping, disoriented, the dream a
dreadful, frigid feeling just beyond his grasp...

Chapter Five

     In Apollo's quarters, Sheba sat on the couch, waiting as the Blue
Squadron's captain said goodnight to Boxey in the next room. She could
hear, indistinctly, the captain's voice softly lulling the little boy to
sleep, echoed by the child's own lazy and scattered murmurs.
     Every possible end of cycle that Boxey could spend with Apollo, he
would prolong the sleepy chats with his father endlessly, struggling to
not deliver himself to the dangerous absentmindedness of the dreamworld. 
He would greedily hold his father with him as long as he could, until the
last vestiges of consciousness finally rocked him away, but still
confident that Apollo was close by, alert and watching.  Assured that he
was safe.  That Apollo was safe.  That everything was all right.
     He needed that illusion.
     Sipping slightly from her cup of ambrosa, Sheba suddenly felt a
little embarrassed to be present there, witnessing the intimacy of their
moment.  At the same time, though, she also felt frustrated at her
embarrassment.  She did not want to feel like that, like an intruder. 
She could never deny to herself how much she wanted to be a part of
Apollo and Boxey's lives or how much she feared that she would never
never be.
     Letting her eyes wander around the room, she familiarized herself
with the captain's shy attempts to personalize his standard-issued
quarters.  The place was different from her father's quarters on the
Pegasus, which had been overly embellished with his martial decorations,
honors and replicas of Classic Period warfare objects.
     Apollo's personal space, however, revealed the suppressed and
idealistic identity of a man of peace.  Judging by his meticulous
attentions to the unexciting military furniture and the accurate
disposition of the few art objects placed around the room, all from the
Caprican Restoration Period's style, she could tell that his natural
preciosity of character extended itself to aesthetics as well.
     'For Platon's sake!' Sheba sighed helplessly. His ideal of purity
had certainly became an eccentricity, and she could bet all of her cubits
that he was a follower of Unfeasible Love.  She'd never stand a chance.
     Her gaze locked onto the bookcase that sat within arm's reach,
perpendicular to the sofa.  The books disposal, in contrast, hurriedly
stuck into the shelf, with some of them purposely misplaced for easier
identification and consult, indicated that he was a chaotic, avid reader.
     Philosophy, anthropology, history, mythology and theology seemed to
be his latest obsessed interests, along with some poetry, she deduced,
after leaning over to examine more closely the books' titles on the
shelf. Her heart tightened, wondering why he had invited her to his
quarters, when he seemed so involved with his particular world.
     She reached out for a book, randomly, trying to occupy her thoughts
and to avoid higher expectations as to the surprising invitation, after
that troubled night, when Starbuck had abruptly departed and the little
group of friends had awkwardly broken apart.  Sheba's heart had broken
then, too, when she saw Apollo's face saddening again as he stood still
in the corridor, laconically gazing at Starbuck, while his best friend
turned his back on him and walked away from all of them.  She had
approached the captain, then, and placed her hand on his arm,
reassuringly.  Apollo had turned around, awkwardly, and simply invited
her to come with him. She could not have refused. She wanted to, feeling
acutely uncomfortable.  But she just could not.
     Difficult times would do strange things to people's hearts and
minds.  Despite the hygienist cosmogony of the humankind's predators
outwards, the Cylon Empire, war games would be played inwards as well. 
That was how war was like.  A radioactive usine, where high-pressured
particles collided in dangerous chain effect.  Everybody was fissile
then.  Individuals, races, and species would madly repulse, attract, bond
together or clash against each other in that damn cosmic furnace that
Hades had made.
     It had been tense like this, since the two proud warriors had first
met, eye to eye, aboard the now doomed Pegasus, under command of her
father, the only power aboard that battlestar.  The initial rivalry
between both ship's crews, like a tension cable stretching the
polarization, fueled an undercurrent attraction between the two proud
warriors.  But Sheba seemed to be the first one of the two to acknowledge
the true nature of those contradictory feelings.  Perhaps, she was not
the first one, she thought to herself bitterly.  Perhaps, she was the
only one...
     Time spent aboard the Galactica, a different and new home for her,
ruled by entirely opposite power politics, had been a challenging
adaptation to her combative nature.  The loss of her father, the most
impressive masculine figure ever impacting her moldable soul, changed her
destiny dramatically, and Sheba, like anyone else, feared what destiny
still had on hold for her.
     She absently turned the pages of the book in her hands, thinking of
Cassiopeia's last friendly words when she opened up her heart to the
experienced Gemonese ex-socialator.  Cassie was adept at human feelings
and romantic affairs; she had wise eyes for men and she would surely know
what Sheba's naivete of a first love could never tell her.
     "He loves you, Sheba," Cassie had stated firmly, almost making
Sheba's hesitations vanish.  But the young woman could not overcome what
appearances said to her.  Despite her own intuition that Apollo's
feelings matched her own, the captain's illogical denial was enough to
make her convictions feel like mere self-delusions most of the time.  She
turned another page of the book, sighing sadly, feeling her heart sinking
and almost regretting that she had accepted the invitation of that night. 
She was fooling herself.  Cassie was wrong.
     When a flat picture marking a page slid into her hands,
unexpectedly, a last argument for her pessimistic reasoning slapped Sheba
right on the face.  Apollo and his former wife were embracing in it,
tenderly, in front of what seemed to be the rocky basis of the Sphinx and
the pyramidal ruins which Sheba knew to be Kobol's.  The blessed dead
planet of their ancestors, the cursed bloody sands where Serina's life
had been blasted away by a Cylon's lasergun.
     That was it.  In her hands, the faced image of the ghost perpetually
haunting Apollo, holding him away in that remote dimension of memories
suspended in time.
     "Lords!" Sheba said under her breath, fully realizing, now, how
ravishingly beautiful Serina really was!  The female warrior regretted
never having been initiated into the feminine secrets of seduction and
the bewitching arts.  She was aware that she was an ordinary beauty, and
now she doubted, painfully, that she would ever be enough for Apollo,
when confronted with Serina's image of incomparable exoticism.
     She felt her eyes sting when that sudden thought struck.  Just like
with anybody else on that fugitive fleet, Sheba's own inner battle for
survival was still to be won, too.  That was, after all, the stuff of
what every war was made.  Love or hatred, strength or  weakness.  Whether
you win or loose.  Nothing in between, except for the void.  That
emptiness replete of density: resistance.
     Apollo emerged quietly from Boxey's room, silently leaning against
the doorway, observing Sheba at a safe distance. In his eyes, a
shimmering of reverie... How beautiful Sheba was!
     She kept her head lowered, examining a book, Apollo noticed, unaware
of his presence at the doorway.  Once again, he felt that recurrent need
to decipher that woman to himself.  Her light brown hair fluidly draped
over her shoulders, hiding her face and half covering the tip of her snub
nose.  Definitively arrogant, the captain smiled at himself.  While many
female warriors were either overly masculine or excessively feminine to
his taste, Sheba's character and manners were of a refined balance,
unfamiliar to him. Bittersweet.
     He knew that her ability to allow herself to show off weakness was
actually another demonstration of her unique bravery.  Sheba was that
kind of warrior who stood up to face not only enemies outside, but their
own inner armada of emotions as well.  Apollo knew so many warriors who
would spend their lives focusing on each and every possible distraction
that, for Kobol's Mercy, would keep them from the horror of looking
inside to the shadowy mess of conflicts that they carried within.  He
could see them all delivering themselves to the benumbing of the senses,
greedily playing cards and welcoming the semiconsciousness wrought by the
ambrosa and the flesh aboard the Rising Star.  He could see them, whether
noisily ranting about their last sexual adventures and battle deeds in
the OC or aboard their vipers, enraptured by adrenaline.  He knew it,
because, even though he was almost unresponsive in the opposite end of
their spectrum, encapsulated into his own shell, he was also one of them,
too.  In all instances, blessedly narcosed.  Constantly alert to remember
something: forget, just forget.
     Apollo hit the panel code and the door behind him slid shut, making
his friend jolt with surprise.  He was just about to tease her for having
caught the proud warrior off guard, expecting to see that defiant stare
Sheba usually cast at anyone daring to contradict her.  When she looked
at him, though, she had a strained face.  Apollo immediately glimpsed
Serina 's picture in her hands and approached.  Gently and almost
indifferently, he took the flat picture out of her hands and slid it back
into the book, closing it.
     "A Book Without a Title by an Author Without a Name," he read its
name out loud, holding the book with both hands, thoughtfully.
     Sheba sipped her glass of ambrosa again, trying to fake easiness. 
"Quite an unusual title," she brought herself to say.
     "Well, the author is unusual, too," the captain answered casually,
pouring himself a glass of the spirit, and sliding next to her on the
coach, staring at the book's cover.  "He is supposed to be nameless, but
he was a Scorpion viper pilot who lived in the Second Century of the
Millennium War.  After being thought as MIA in a battle, for over three
centars, he reappeared mysteriously, reporting that a strange event had
happened to him while he was gone..." Apollo hesitated.  "Well, he just
came back... changed.  He denied his former life, name, and titles and
deserted the Colonial Service."
     The captain's apparent indifference to Sheba's still lingering
embarrassment was helping her to feel at ease again.  She sipped her
ambrosa slowly too, now curious about the book and the author Apollo
seemed so interested in.  "He was a Colonial Warrior, Apollo.  He can't
be nameless."
     "Yeah, his name was actually Maldek, Sheba.  But he proclaimed
himself a nameless man," he answered, stealing a glance at her,
appreciating the smell of her light perfume, which was much more subtle
than the one Serina used to wear to mark her presence, he noticed.  He
wanted nothing but to protect Sheba's feelings.  "But I always think of
him by his name, Maldek, anyway," he continued shrugging, "though his
being nameless was part of his belief system.  All based off of the weird
experience he said he'd had..." Apollo added, shaking his head
reflectively.
     Sheba was following attentively now.  "Which was...?"
     Apollo shuddered slightly, biting his lips and staring at an
invisible spot behind her; his typical indicative gesture signaling that
his mental scanner had locked on a target.  "He reported that during the
time he had been presumed missing in action, he had actually been
abducted by a mysterious race of beings..." the captain answered,
carefully measuring his words.  "Or... as he himself puts it, raised to
The Merkabah."
     Before Sheba even had the time to ask, he replied, "Another concept
for what some of our colonies' cultures have been calling The Celestial
Home of The Gods, The Lords' Kingdom, The Mansion of the Yahrens...  you
know..."  He shrugged again.  "The way I figured it out, The Merkabah
could be any far remote, unknown vehicle, vessel or realm through which
an advanced form of life expresses itself for us."
     "Oh..." Sheba's brown eyes widened and stared, considering his
words, as she slowly drank a good dose from her glass.  "A type of
morphogenetic field, the way we'd perceive them," she added, noticing
Apollo's dumb surprise at her witty comment.  "This warrior-prophet did
desert the military, then?"
     "Yeah... the Colonial War Council decided to absolve his desertion
because he was diagnosed a harmless lunatic, psychically damaged by the
stress of the combats..." he trailed off, deviating his look and absently
staring at nothing again.  "You know, not all of us make it..."
     Sheba and Apollo remained silently connected in thought, for a few
microns, feeling that familiar pain that war and loss evoke.  The pain
was the same.  Pain is a cohesive force, sometimes.  Pain for themselves,
for the Colonies and for the thousands of human lives lost in that insane
struggle for survival.  They felt fear, too, fear that they themselves
would, one day, not be able to hold back the pain anymore.  Unspeakable
fear that any one of them might succumb, give up,  and mentally reach the
breaking point, like Connly did.
     Sheba broke the silence.  "What happened to this man, Apollo?"
     "He proclaimed himself a prophet, as he believed that he had had
a...  transcendental experience and was gifted with the blessing of
prophecy.  According to his words, he had met Deus..."
     Sheba raised an eyebrow, questioningly, and Apollo smiled.  "From an
ancient Scorpian dialect, 'Deus' could be equated to the word 'God,'
Sheba," he explained.  "But, 'Deus' is not the same as the prevailing
God's concept amongst our main cultures, or what we most commonly
understand by that word...  not exactly..."
     "Not exactly?" Sheba repeated, trying to follow down the captain's
reasoning.
     "Well...  'Deus', in that ancient Scorpian dialect, would mean
something similar to 'Made of Many Is', roughly translated to standard
Kobolian.  It implies the idea of One Transcedental Consciousness made of
many.  Every and each one of them in diverse levels of awareness...  He
also refers to the same concept as The One Who Sees Through Many Eyes or
The One Who Speaks Through Many Mouths, too," Apollo looked at her and
she nodded assertively.
     It was rare that the warriors aboard the Galactica could find time
for such philosophical speculations, or even divagations, when so many
other survival premises were made priority in their fugitive subsistence. 
Albeit different.  From Apollo's discourse, Sheba had already had many
tranquil moments like that in the past, with her father, Cain, on the
Pegasus.
     On her home battlestar, under her father's military autocracy, with
no civil population depending on them, life had turned to a giant and
unique disciplinary game of war with its own rules.  Cain was the Great
Doctrinator then, and the haughty commander simply loved to paint himself
as a role model, educating people around him about his very own life and
war's philosophies.  His indoctrinations were legendary too, known as the
so-called "Cain's barracks discourses."
     She missed those moments badly, and she drank in Apollo's words,
moved by that same thirst that she tasted so bitterly every time she woke
up, gasping, in her quarters, still alarmed that she wasn't aboard her
home on the Pegasus anymore.  That she was on the strange Galactica now. 
Without Cain.
     She laughed at herself, wondering what Cain would have to say, if he
ever heard that his daughter was now in Adama's son quarters, drinking
ambrosa after curfew, talking about a warrior from the second century of
the Millenium War, who, beyond a deserter, proclaimed that he had met
God!
     Or rather, Deus...
     She drank a little bit more from her chalice, relaxing, her thoughts
coming more freely.  "Hmmm...  The One Who Sees Through Many Eyes...  The
Imperious Leader thinks through three brains too...  and the Cylons serve
him as a single mind entity...  What if..."
     "No!" Apollo promptly admonished, if gently.  "I wasn't meaning any
literal reference to morphology or genetic engineering of soulless
clones, Sheba!  Maldek was referring to the many levels of *spiritual*
consciousness, he was referring to soul groups, not to the Cylons'
cybernetic group mind!"
     His passionate correction made Sheba suspicious.  Apollo was really
involved by that self-proclaimed pariah prophet and his book.
     "Though, I'd admit that, in a way, the Cylon Civilization is a
rough, material attempt of the brain centered intellect to try and
emulate this same concept, as the theologists and philosophers have
postulated," the captain conceded.  "The Cylons are a perverted and
artificial simulacrum of this spiritual template of unicity I'm talking
about...  'The Forged Metal's Beast', as Maldek named them.  They did it
all wrong, basing their sick engineered evolution on the cybernetic
unification of the brain's faculties, ignoring the soul's, denying
individuality's free-choice and imposing change artificially, from the
outside in..."
     Sheba nodded in agreement.  Wondering about Deus'concept, though,
she guessed if Apollo would possible be correlating Maldek's visions to
another, more personal and still cloudy past event that had happened to
the three of them: to her, Apollo, and Starbuck...  A knot in her
stomach, however, made her feel hesitant and unwilling to hear or talk
about that.
     She studied Maldek's picture illustrating the book's first page.  A
very handsome young warrior, she thought.  The Scorpian's bluish dark
hair was long, framing the most penetrating dark eyes and aquiline traits
she had ever seen.  Maldek had certainly been a magnetic figure in his
times.  "Did this man preach then, after he came back to civilian life?"
she asked casually.
     "Yes, sure!" Apollo answered.  "He had gathered a bunch of
followers, summoned by his visions.  They peregrinated around the twelve
worlds seeding his revelations, and they wandered on the Caprican
deserts, too.  This book is a compilation of Silent Scribbles,
namelessly, who preserved his words."
     "And when did he die?"
     "There's no verifiable register found, Sheba.  His followers
separated and continued preaching around the Colonies, though they were
not given much importance.  The book says that he didn't die, but that he
was raised to 'The Celestial Home of the Gods,' or rather, to The
Merkabah, for eternity...  At least, that's what they say," he shrugged. 
"There's no way to check it out.  Not for the grace of any religious
sientificism," Apollo snickered, amused at his own irreverence.  It must
be the ambrosa, he thought.
     "But when he said that he met Deus, it means that he believed he met
a bunch of gods or what we'd understand as one god?" she asked frowning,
taking the mysterious and intriguing book in her hands again.  Through
the vapor of the ambrosa, every little detail on its cover gained another
perception, sharper than before.
     "Both.  One and many at the same time, Sheba," the captain smiled
roguishly.  "Unicity in diversity.  For The Prophet Without a Name and
his sect, God or gods are all human labels translating a transcendent
concept."
     Sheba gestured in agreement, and the captain continued, visibly
enjoying his lecture.  "He used to say that such translations depended on
where you are, as an observer, looking at the whole of reality. 
Figuratively, as if you were sitting on a few milimetrons section of a
giant spiral," Apollo said, drawing a spiral in the air with his free
hand, "and you saw a straight line only, from the perspective point where
you are sitting, but, if you raise yourself a little more above it, you
see a curb," he gestured excitedly.  "If you raise yourself higher,
you'll see the circle, and even higher, the whole spiral..."
     "Apollo!" Sheba admonished, surprised.  "This is basic scientific
knowledge!  Theory of the Variables, everyone knows it!  It's so obvious. 
What's new about that?" Sheba questioned impatiently, unable to keep
herself from pointing out the obvious, even though the ambrosa made the
obvious a discovery for Apollo.
     The captain bit his lips again, thwarted.  "I was using it as a
metaphor, Sheba!  What Maldek was trying to say, figuratively, is that,
what he understood as Deus and that which other cultures understand as
gods or God, giving it different names, faces and attributes, is always
the same concept, The Spiral, perceived differently by the variable of
perspectives, states of awareness, along the space-time continuum.  The
same Physics principles.  It's that simple!" he stated pointedly, almost
childishly hurt.
    "Okay, it does make sense to me," Sheba conceded.  "But, if I
understood that metaphor, we're all Deus too, not only the beings Maldek
met..." she insisted.
     "For Maldek's beliefs, yeah... we're all Deus, but we're not totally
aware of it, yet.  He probably called the beings he met as Deus, because
the very own meaning of the word, Made of Many Is, whenever pronounced,
implied that inner knowledge, that humankind is also part of that
Consciousness.  He called them Deus, probably, because he recognized
those being's as bearers of this knowledge and, obviously, because of
their greater width of awareness within The Spiral!"
     Sheba smiled amusedly at Apollo's idiosyncrasy and examined the
figure on the book's cover.  A complex winged sphinx with a Leo's body
and a female's face laying on a desert's sands.  It was gazing at a
bright yellowish sun, whose human's face was blowing burning winds and
whirling clouds of fire.
     The sphinx was gazing, too, at an astronomical zone behind the
pictured sun, where a constellation's zoomorphic outline delineated the
figure of a Leo.  Beside the sphinx, there stood three pyramids and a
river near by, closely mirroring, graphically, another constellation's
anthropomorphic representation, whose name, in translated standard
Kobolian, read "The Hunter."
     The biggest pyramid seemed to be the most important one, as it
deserved more careful details.  It was a tridimensional pyramid whose
basis's four apexes were encircled by a golden sphere, resembling a snake
swallowing its own tail.  It seemed to be dividing the whole cover's
concept in two opposite principles.  On the right, the sun, the Leo and
the light.  On the left, there was a pale reflexive moon and a draco
shaped constellation in the background, carefully pictured as if blended
with the darkness of the night.
     Sheba knew that, for many sects among the Colonies, the symbol of
the snake swallowing its own tail meant the beginning and the ending
point of all irreconcilable duality contained in the Universe.  It was
the Divine Paradox' s sacred emblem.  She wondered, tenderly, absorbing
the symbol's significance, if it couldn't mean their way back home, too.
     All constellations had each of their stars signed with strange
glyphs.  And each of their aligned dispositions, sketched from a planet's
surface point of view, were neither correlated with any of the twelve
worlds' astronomic charts, nor with any other planetary star system that
she knew of.  Sheba thought, then, that they might have been obtained
from some ancient stellar registers from their Kobolian forefathers'
bygone sun, as preserved so by the Elders, before its death caused the
First Exodus to the Twelve Colonies Solar System.  But when Sheba's
attention focused again on the bigger pyramid sketch, she realized that
her assumption was wrong.
Its vertical lines and its angles at the base, jutted out another drawing
pattern carefully inserted in the pyramidal outline, configuring out of
it another clear symbol.  The symbol of the ancient Kobolian cross, very
broadly known as being derived from the Colonial apocryphal registers. 
The cross that rotates around its own pole: The Gammadion Cross,
mythically associated with the spiral form of the galaxy in which nestled
the Thirteenth Tribe's home, Earth.
     "Was this man, this Maldek, just like an apocryphal prophet, then?"
she asked examining the cross.
     "In a way..." Apollo was paying close attention to her now, almost
tenderly grateful for her conceding and listening to him.  He had not
realized, until then, how much, how badly, he needed someone to listen to
him.
     The alcohol had Sheba's mind fuzzy now and she did not face him,
though she was aware of the captain staring intently at her.  "Do you
believe this man, then, Apollo?" she asked still admiring the book's
cover.
     The captain did not answer her question.  "You know...  I was
thinking about the gods, Sheba," he continued, following his own line of
thought, "as so described by the Elders who, reportedly, were visited by
them.  As Father says, if the so-called gods might be a far advanced
species seen as deities throughout the eyes of a more primitive, infant
species -- and Deus's concept would enfold this premise -- then, their
vehicle, their realm of existence, Maldek's Merkabah, could well be
translated, by us, into so many other things.  Things other than The Home
of the Gods, The Mansion of the Yahrens, only.  I mean, depending on any
specific individual's particular beliefs and culture contacting,
translating, those beings and their civilization's reality, whose
spiritual, mental and technological powers are eons ahead of us, they and
their Merkabah could have been perceived, all along our generations,
under many other disguises..."
     Sheba nodded assertively again.  Introspectively, she seemed to be
probing her own mind, now.  "I guess I understand what you mean, Apollo,"
she said.  "Their vessel, The Merkabah, as you say, would be so different
from our ordinary reality, that it could only be perceived by us, since
we translated it into our familiar parameters.  Spacecrafts, kingdoms,
The Celestial Homes...  One could even translate it as a planet or...  as
ships of light..."  She frowned  and shuddered thinking of strange
reminiscences from recent past.  "Perhaps, it might even resemble a
temple for some of us...  I wonder..."
     The captain bit his lips once more.  "You see?  It's quite possible,
then, that Maldek, the prophets from The Book of The Word, The Elders
and....  so many others...  were or have been having contact with some
sort of advanced form of life whose evolution's point in The Spiral just
sits above us, or rather, closer to a much broader view of the universe
than ours is," he muttered absently.
     Sheba had to admit to herself that Apollo's own theories about the
Warrior-Prophet's beliefs sounded rather convincing.  "Gods flying aboard
spacecrafts..." she snickered, the heat of the ambrosa already affecting
her behavior.  "Real spacecrafts, too, would look like strange birds to
the reality reference of primitive species, anyway.  Of course, I don't
take our ancient legends as literal.  I don't even take The Book of The
Word as being literal.  It was an interpretation of events...  My father
didn't believe it was literal, either."
     "I wonder if there was space for any other god aboard the same ship
with Cain!" Apollo joked, countering himself immediately at Sheba's
slight raising of eyebrows.
     While he turned to refuel his glass of ambrosa again, he felt her
hand fingering slightly on his back.  "I guess I heard the same about a
certain captain tonight," she said, sounding clipped but amused.
     "And I guess you yourself said the same, too, about that same
captain," he teased back, toasting at her.  "Although you sounded a
little bit more devoted, then."  He grinned, bewildered at how
comfortable he was with bringing up Sheba's feelings for him in the
conversation.
     Contrary to the reaction he expected, though, Sheba did not snap at
him, insulted.  Instead, she nodded slightly, half-smiling in admission. 
Apollo felt a wave of warm feeling reach out through his heart and soften
it.  The captain would never cease to admire how true she was to her own
feelings.  Her dignity made him feel ashamed of himself.  Their faces
were close and they remained staring at each other silently, for a few
microns.  Sheba saw that he was very serious now, and she almost felt
like drowning in that turbulent ocean of green gazing at her so
overwhelmingly.
     Apollo, likewise, could not counter the impulse that he felt to
brush, ever so gently, the soft hair back from her face.  He reached out
and touched it very slightly, not even minding, this time, the flashing
visual distortion flickering before his eyes, when he glimpsed again the
diffuse sketch of faces shifting on her traits.  From a disturbing
slanted pair of alien eyes to another, so adored that it could only be
Serina's, then back to Sheba's own concrete beauty and quizzical face.
     She was staring back at him, her hazel eyes, brown like longing lost
shades of the Caprican mountains, he thought, sighing nostalgically.  Her
soft body emanated exotic scents.  Her tender, warm and rosy flesh was
pulsating with life and heat.  So sweetly lush and tempting, it was too
close to him...
     "What else did the prophet in the book say?" Sheba asked brusquely,
breaking the eye contact, blushing and pretending obliviousness to his
intent gaze.  Her heart was zooming like a viper diving to kill as she
turned her face to the book again.  Cain's daughter was not willing to
sink in self-delusions now, the same way she was melting under the heat
of that frakking ambrosa.
     As if he had just touched steaming tylium, the captain quickly
pulled back his hand.  His own blood boiling, he struggled to cool off
and recollect his thoughts, still astonished at his own reactions.
     Until this moment, he suddenly realized, it seemed like he had been
living in cold suspended animation, abruptly revived, by force of
neurochemical laws.  Certainly, effects of the alcoholic nectar's heat
and Sheba's exuding magnetism saturating his quarters that unusual night,
he concluded.  With Serina, during those chaotic times right after the
Destruction, he had had rare moments when both could talk about these
things.  But they had been so preciously rare.  They simply were not
given time enough...
     "Apollo! Will I have to wait too long?" Sheba's voice cut in, while
she waved the book before his fluttering eyes.  She seemed as embarrassed
as he was, but she looked briskly happy, even more beautifully colored by
the reddish blush on her cheeks.
     "Sorry, Sheba..." he smiled apologetically and rubbed his forehead,
trying to concentrate on the book again.  "Well, he, The Prophet Without
a Name...  he speaks in riddles, allegorically, making the reader have to
think to interpret his words...  He avoids technological terms and direct
references to names and events, mostly...  Maldek sounds archaic in his
time."
     "Well, if he believed he was a prophet, he should, too."
     "He spoke the Prophet's Language, yeah," Apollo began to focus
again.  "The same as with The Merkabah and Deus' definitions, The
Prophet's Tongue, as he calls it, is the language that speaks of concepts
which we have no words for, or so he preached."
     "Oh, the handsome young lunatic was a walking languatron, then,
given that we don't have a translation device able to interpret alien
concepts we know nothing about!" Sheba chuckled.
     Apollo laughed at her logic.  "I guess you're right! You know,
Maldek said that when he was before the presence of Deus, he listened to
their voices while their mouths remained shut..." Apollo trailed off,
waiting for a reaction and perceiving her body slightly quivering at his
side.  "That they revealed to him all sorts of mysteries about the
creation of man and its destiny," he continued.  "I've found out that The
Man Without a Name, prophesized about the Destruction Day and The Great
Exodus following the Holocaust, Sheba, when The Children of Kobol would
be finally be betrayed and smashed by The Children of the Fulmen."
     "Fulmen?"
     "Actually, an ancient Scorpion word for 'Mace,' his sect's favorite
term for the Cylon Empire.  Dominion by smashing."  He closed his fingers
in a fist.
     Sheba stared at the captain's clenched hand.  "Brutal force.  He
doesn't sound like a freak to me..."
     Apollo nodded excitedly, and then continued his explanation,
speaking almost without pause.  "Maces forged of metal, he differentiated
these, symbolically, from the maces made of rock and animal skins, which
the Nomen's ancient tribes were so fond of and revere as a sacred object
in their rituals, even nowadays."
     He stopped briefly, just for a few milimicrons, to be certain that
Sheba was following his thoughts.  "In Maldek's figurative language,
maces made of animal skins, like the Nomem's, were akin to the domination
by use of instinctual forces, through animalism.  In the exact opposite
end, the Cylons, The Fulmen of Metal, would conquer, smashing by the use
of-"
     "Cold mind," Sheba completed his statement, her thoughts so
connected to Apollo's, that it seemed as if the boundaries between their
minds were hazy now.
     "Yes..." Apollo said in quiet amazement, reveling again in the
new-found comprehension bridging their souls.  He had once believed that
there was no one to share these things with.  What had been in that
ambrosa?  Why was he feeling so surprisingly fulfilled?  He did not
understand.  Sheba was an answer for a question he had never asked.
     They gazed at each other, smiling in that rare mutual contentment
that follows silent agreements, and both felt a surge of familiarity, as
if they had already known each other since long before they had ever met. 
Sheba and the room were too ethereal now, slowly swirling around the
captain's head.
     This time, he did not resist the impulse to make physical contact,
and he reached out his free arm through the void in between them,
bringing it around her shoulders, pulling her close and enjoying the feel
of her body, as she shyly snuggled against him on the couch.
     Sheba felt all tenseness in her body dissolve as her muscles relaxed
under the dark-haired warrior's virile and protective embrace.  A sweet
torpor of the senses making the realization of this yearned-for moment
almost unreal for her.
     She had sensed in his words all the intensity of emotions he had
been carefully guarding from even his closest friends.  If, before, Sheba
had felt like a stranger never totally allowed in that inner space of his
own, now, she felt an immeasurable joy that he was finally letting her
in.  Sheba knew that she had been admitted into his very own reserved
world.  The space where only too few could enter and belong there.  The
realm in which Apollo really lived.
     His Celestial Dome.
     "You know," she continued with languid voice, "it reminds me...  my
father used to say that too much reasoning made any tactics too
predictable.  He always liked to strike the Cylons in the most illogical
ways.  He also said that too much pondering made the Council a council of
-"
     "Sheba!" Apollo chuckled, instinctively resting his chin on her head
and smelling her hair like he used to do with Serina.  "I know very well
the adjectives that your father used to use, when referring to the
Council.  Cain certainly never followed any book of law other than his
own...  Well, perhaps that's why he was the greatest strategist ever born
in all the Colonies."
     Commander Adama's high moral and ethical standards, properly
instilled into his son's character, prevented Apollo from, most of the
time, addressing the Council with insulting words.  Even though he
himself might have thought of adding some of the choicest adjectives to
Cain's dictionary sometimes.
Despite his proclaimed admiration for Cain, though, very deeply inside,
Apollo could not totally agree with the proud commander's inherent
predatory philosophy.  Apollo was a warrior because he had no better
choice.  He was not an innate predator.  He was a warrior because he had
an extraordinary capability to concentrate all of his talents, mental
energies and organic forces to lock onto a target and fight the
impossible.  And because he was adept at that which he had been taught
since the day he was born into a hostile cradle of worlds in war:
Resistance.
     Under his arm, Sheba was smiling that fancy, proud smile of hers,
inevitable whenever her father was mentioned with deserved admiration. 
"On the night of Holocaust, the Council pondered and reasoned naively and
missed the obvious, my father said.  They did it all wrong."
     Apollo twinged at the memory of that tragic night, when Hades broke
loose to swallow up all of humankind, and the greatest bloodshed of
History in the Colonies unfolded horridly before their helpless eyes. 
Death was on the hunt, and all tribes of men had paid a high price for a
single wrong decision of the Council.
     Apollo squirmed in discomfort.  He always got restless like that,
every time he remembered learning of the trapped military immobilization
imposed by the Council before that overwhelming Cylon raid.
     The decision to hold back all fighters and avoid appearances of a
confrontation had led to no other battlestars, save the Galactica, being
able to launch their vipers, when the ruse had been revealed.  He gasped. 
He could not stand his own memories of the centars that followed that
fatal decision.
     The desperation as he raced to the bridge with news of the
deception, after leaving behind, in foul deadly battle, his own
inexperienced baby brother, Zac, ambushed alone and defenseless against
legions of Cylon fighters.  To find out that he was too late...
     The sudden realization of the true extent of Cylon's ambush, and the
torture of those anxious moments as he, his father, and the entire bridge
crew of the Galactica had watched the transmissions of  Caprica's
destruction on the monitors, while the battlestar raced towards their
homeworlds.  All of his warrior instincts bombarded adrenaline into his
system, readying him for combat, urging him to react, to dive in and save
the Colonies!  Yet, the shear devastating size of the Cylon attack force
had made a mockery of any such thoughts of resistance.
     Apollo suddenly pulled back, his body automatically fighting the
memory of inaction, and stood up nervously.  "Misguided good faith," he
whispered quietly, trying to placate the fury stinging within.
     "Stupidity!" Sheba muttered, missing the warmth of the contact and,
somewhat dizzily, standing up too, picking up the forgotten book on the
couch.  "Did he really prophesize the Destruction?" she asked, waving her
empty glass meaningfully at him.
     Apollo quickly shook the oppressive thoughts off and, moving himself
tardily, poured her another generous dose.  Then he took the book and,
without any difficulty, Sheba noticed, found immediately the page he was
looking for.
     Under the dimmed light in the quarters, Apollo moved to the side of
the porthole.  His handsome face was bathed by the pale light of the
starfield outside as he read slowly, sounding like he knew each word by
heart:
     "In the middle of the great night of Rejoicing at the Seventh, when
peace is poured in a broken chalice, beware!  Birds of Prey hide behind
the clouds, and The White Dolphins shelter the Dark Leviathan amongst
them.
     "The Tricephalos will order the End of the Days.  Like a dark
cluster obliterating the light of the stars, terror will rain down from
the twelve skies.  The Children of the Fulmen will triumph over The
Children of Kobol.
     "Cursed be the Forged Metal's Beast, because the mechanical abortion
of reason could give itself unnatural birth.  Because he is hungry for
flesh and blood and will come for the harvest.
     "Cry, Kobol!  Not even your newborns will be spared.  When the
Fulmen rises to judge, it smashes down to kill."
     Sheba moved to the other side of the porthole, thunderstruck.  "What
else did he say?"
     Apollo turned the page and, as easily as the first time, found
another text, pronouncing the words even before his eyes were reading
them:
     "All Hail, Holy Bennou, The Bird of Resurrection, carrying the
Immortal Seed of Man across the space! I've witnessed your awakening
through the flames of  Destruction, when you rose from the ashes before
your enemies!  I've seen you spread your incandescent wings, let out your
cry of war, and soar, defying the Death.
     "All Hail, Adam Kadmon, The Lord of The Wings escorting Holy
Bennou's solitaire quest to the Promised Star!  I've witnessed your
victorious crusade amid the storms.  In skies of hot winds and danger,
your legion of Winged Serpents are ferocious arrows of fire, lightening
and thunder!
     "All Hail, The Hallowed Arrival, The Day of the Redemption breaking
in New Kobol's firmament!  I've witnessed Earth's dumbfounded dawning,
when the Celestial Convoy finally alighted from heavens."
     "Apollo!" Sheba said astonished, her eyes fixed on a distant quasar
pulsing light- yahrens away.  "This man has seen Adama and the Galactica,
the Fleet and the warriors!  And he saw us 500 yahrens ago!  He says
we'll arrive on Earth one day...  Maldek's really saw into the future!?"
     Apollo now gazed at the dark immensity outside, too.  "The Man
without a Name says that those beings he met and unveiled him the unknown
live in a dimension outside our space-time continuum.  Past and future
would be overlaid realities for them there...  or, perhaps, probabilities
only! Basics of the Theory of the Variables, Sheba, remember?" he shot
back, smiling wryly.
     The captain, then, turned around and frowned.  "Maldek said that
Deus were faceless entities.  Diffuse, translucent sketches in anthropoid
form.  Their facial traits were not clear, except for their eyes..." 
Apollo spoke calmly but intently, measuring Sheba's reaction to each of
his words.  "Big, slanted eyes, Sheba.  Full of wisdom and knowledge,
looking through..."
     Sheba shuddered at a sparkling flash of memory of such familiar
eyes, piercing through her soul.
     "He said that, when you looked at them, it was like looking at every
man and woman and child ever born..." Apollo continued, barely
controlling his own conflicting emotions and searching for a shade of
comprehension in her eyes.
     Sheba's eyes fluttered slightly then.  Apollo had finally reached
the target he seemed to have been aiming at since the beginning of their
conversation that night.  Despite herself, Sheba smiled slightly, but
there was tacit complicity in her mirthless smile.
     How could there not be?  Both Sheba and Starbuck had had the same
fanciful experience as he had, not long ago, back on the Red Planet where
Apollo's final confrontation with the shadowy and evil Count Iblis was
still a nebulous and implausible reminiscence of both doom and
resurgence.  They felt strongly that they had seen the face of death and
depletion in Iblis' hands.  But the three of them also remembered that a
mysterious and fantastic race of beings, The Beings of Light, opposing
Iblis' dark hand, had come to unexpected rescue.
     Sheba quite remembered the strange ships of light following close to
the Galactica by that time.  She knew, now, that they were vigilant and
guarding them.  She also recalled them crowding the skies of Iblis' Red
Planet, all in scout formation, performing wonderful maneuvers, right
after when something...
     Something very important...  and painful had happened...
     She didn't remember what, but she had dreamed of visiting a temple,
then.  The lost and fuzzy memories of their encounter with them, though,
were undeniably permeated with strong emotional and  sensorial
impressions of awe, magic and miracle.
     A collective hallucination had been a discarded justification for
their outlandish adventure and its outcome, when they had tried to piece
together their incomplete memories later, unsuccessfully, and bridge the
illogical gaps.  Extraordinary events had surely happened to them, but
they had rarely talked about it since then, afraid to remove the blocks. 
Reason would play evasive tricks to defend itself from the unknown.
     Apollo was breaking their implicit pact of silence now, and Sheba
nodded in agreement.  He was deeply touched by that.  "I remember I felt
like that, too.  Looking at those beings' eyes was like looking at
everyone I've ever loved in my life," Cain's daughter confessed.  Her
dark eyes were emoting a tender longing and involving Apollo in a
familiar, compassionate way, the way that the entities of The Ship of the
Lights had once before done so, he realized.
     Soaring on the ambrosa, he leaned against the wall and listened to
her.  The same way as when he was alone in his Celestial Dome, he was
finding himself now in contemplative deliverance, but it was the first
time that he had shared such a personal moment with anyone else.  With
Sheba, among all people, he realized that he felt safe, permissive of her
intimacy.
While she chose another text in the book of the Dead Sun's Prophet and
read it out loud, he smiled, amused.  Her voice was a melodious, innocent
contrast to Maldek's apocalyptic discourses.  Apollo felt tranquil.
     "Light-yahrens away from this space and time, on a valley of two
rivers in the Gammadion Galaxy's Heart, there stands a Temple divided.
     "On one side, Leo stands vigilant.  He cocks His Solar Head and
frowns, listening to His Children's terror screams, lost and far from
home.  Their helpless cries for their Father are like wailings amidst the
bloodshed of the shadowy Kaly Yuga, The Long Cosmic Night.
     "From the top of His mountain, Leo roars ferociously at Draco on the
other side.  So enraged is He, that His howl shakes the very Temple to
its foundations and almost ceases The Gammadion Galaxy's spin.  His
raving is heard by every star:
     "Ahriman-Shaitan, Iblis who never submits!  May the blood of My
children fall over your damned head tonight!  Because Mine were harmed
when they dined on My Nectar and Ambrosa, from the top of My Mountain, I
now curse your infernal cave!  Throughout the yahrens without end, you
are cursed to crawl after My Human Creation, craving for My Solar Fire in
their souls, which you, Child of The Shadows, cannot have!
     "I am the Day and you are the Night, you are Dark and I am Light,
you are Wrong and I am Right; two can not rule over one Temple and only
one of the two rivers can kill My Creation's thirst.  I am the Lord of
The Sun-Wheels, I Am the Almighty Lord of Sabaoth, Whose Hand defends My
Children and stands implacably between you and Them.
     "Iblis Draco, I now declare the Jihad! You have aroused My Divine
Fury and I now summon My Light Legions to rise and march against the
umbrae of your ominous void.  Fear in your Cave, because this is The
Armageddon being declared. Ahriman-Shaitan, You alone have brought upon
your armies this Most Holy War!
     "And the perpetual war between good and evil was started anew.  It
will last infinitely, until the end of everlastingness.
     "This all shall be allowed, so that, twelve times dead, man shall
rise from his own ashes.  So that man knows what is at his right and what
is at his left; what is evil and what is good.  While the two rivers are
not an ocean and leos are not dracos, the one is not the other, and
neither can yet become The One."
     "Iblis..." Sheba trailed off, cautiously.  "Dracos and Leos.  It
seems that Maldek had glimpses at some sort of conflict happening beyond
the reaches of our understanding, isn't it?  Just like..."  She widened
her eyes as memory struck.  "Like what we were told by the Beings of
Light we met, Apollo!  I remember that!"
     The Captain touched her shoulder reassuringly, while Sheba's pieces
of memories seemed to surface and she, astoundedly, meditated on that
strange encounter.  "They told us that they fight a common foe, too... 
They fight Iblis, The Draco, Ahriman-Shaitan in Maldek's allegory.  If
that fits in the puzzle, what if Maldek's right when he also mentions The
Gammadion Cross?!" she added excitedly.  "The Sun-Wheel's emblem of the
apocrypha, the shape of the galaxy where Earth is believed to be located,
according to them!"
     "The Books of the Dead Sun, yeah...  Kobol's Sun," the captain
added, frowning while a shadow crossed his face.  For him, dead Kobol was
Serina's arid and desolate sepulcher, where his own heart had found its
precocious graveyard.  "The Dead Sun's Prophets, the pariah forecasters
who claimed that Kobol's children, and even every human, would ascend to
light and resurrection throughout death and shadows of the Chaos," he
continued gravely.
     Then, he stared at the book in Sheba's hands, pointing to its cover. 
"The Prophet Without a Name claimed that he saw Earth, too, spinning like
a little jewel in the fringes of one of the Gammadion Galaxy's arms. 
That The One Who Sees through Many Eyes...  Deus, those...  group soul
entities, possibly, took him to a desert region on Earth."
     "For Platon's sake!  And what did Maldek say that he saw there on
Earth, Apollo?" Sheba asked, looking for her glass and sipping again,
gazing at him curiously.
     "The Prophet Without a Name said that he saw three pyramid buildings
and a winged Leo Sphinx sitting on the sand.  It stands there, Maldek
preached, alert and facing the East where Leo' Sun-Wheel rises everyday,
guarding the Light for all of the Thirteenth Tribes of Man, until the end
of The Kaly Yuga, The Shadows Age.  The Earth Sphinx's traits show off no
restlessness!" Apollo spoke, sounding as if Maldek's words were his own. 
"There's no dread on the Sphinx's placid face.  Leo never fears..."  He
turned his face to gaze over at Sheba, and she looked undisturbed.  Once
again, a warm electric current pleasantly swept through his whole body.
     There was a majestic gravity of on the captain's features, too. 
Sheba understood it.  It was faith.  "The Sphinx on Earth sees everything
that ever was and that ever shall be.  It watches what no man can see,
the Celestial Rivers flowing distantly amongst the stars and the solar
ships sailing on them," Apollo continued.  "It listens to the planets and
is telling of silent secrets understood only by those who know how to
hear the Prophet's tongue.  The Sphinx says that, after death and
depletion of dark nights, we should always contemplate the sunrises,
where plenitude is, because resurrection and the certainty's serenity
burns in its flames..."
     "The certainty's serenity," Sheba repeated, looking at the cover
again, deep in thought.  So that was where Apollo's assured quietness had
been coming from.  He had finally found something to believe in.  "Then,
supposing that Maldek is right, the Great Pyramid and the Sphinx are 
really lined up to those constellations seen from Earth's surface in this
illustration."
     "Yeah, probably, the same as Kobol's buildings, which were
reportedly lined up to zodiacal regions in the stars.  As to Leo and
Draco's allegories though, they are two of the many faces of Deus, two
polarized principles constantly repeated all over Maldek's texts.  Both
sound like translations of thermodynamic laws, too, sometimes...  they
are described as inhabiting The Gammadion Galaxy's explosive nucleus,
Sheba.  The axis where The Divided Temple, akin to a black hole and a
quasar, rotate."
     "The faces of Deus...  and when we met Deus, we've seen those two
faces too, Apollo.  You, Starbuck and I saw Leo, The Beings of Light, and
we've all met the dark Count Iblis, Maldek's Draco, too!"
     "Leo and Draco's representatives, more properly, Sheba, yeah.  The
same way as we ourselves are representatives as well, in a lower scale. 
I mean, by The Dead Sun's writings, we're all Deus, remember?  If you
recall my Father's words, we're always caught in the fight between good
and evil...  we're all part of  this cosmic drama, but all in different
levels of awareness!" Apollo stated as he excitedly finished his glass of
ambrosa, still sounding relieved that Sheba was not avoiding to talk
about their strange past experience.
     "I understand..." Sheba said, laconically.
     "It seems to me, though, that Leo and Draco's allegories are still
pale depictions for two opposite principles of an even higher order form
than those we met.  I mean, Maldek's fables and many other legends and
religious scriptures, they all depict the most ancestral cosmic origin of
those two sources.  Those would be even more untranslatable into our
human concept and limited words.  That's why they can only be spoken
about in the Prophet's Tongue too."
     "The Beings of Light and Iblis were closer representatives of those
two opposite sources.  It's like meeting Deus face to face, for us..."
Sheba concluded.  "Should two polar principles in perpetual opposition
only merge by conflict?" she suddenly asked mischievously, stealing him a
gaze.
     Apollo shook his head, blushing slightly, and chuckled mirthfully as
he looked down at the floor.  "I guess not..." he muttered flattered. 
"While they're both part of Deus, antagonistic or complementary, there's
gotta be other less painful ways for the extremes to touch..." he trailed
off.
     "While the one is not the other and neither can yet become The One,"
Sheba echoed Maldek's words, amused at Apollo's shy ways.  "Iblis and the
Beings of Light," she continued then, in a serious tune as she rest her
cup on the table and came back to sit on the couch.  "You truly believe,
then, that they aren't gods or angels, but, really, a very sophisticated
species, as your Father says?"
     "I believe so, yeah.  To me, Iblis and his adversaries, the Beings
of Light, were a race whose long life' span and advanced level of
evolution has just brought them near to personifications of those two
original sources -- The Leo and The Draco --, whether forever battling or
denying each other; forever merging together too...  in the Center of
Everything.  That's what I believe..."  The captain half-smiled,
self-satisfied with his own assessments.
     Sheba grinned, after pondering gravely over his words.  "We battle
and deny one another, too," she said, chuckling at Apollo's weird stare
at her.  "Amongst our own species, and also with the others, I mean..."
she mended.  "And you're an expert at Maldek's philosophies, it seems. 
Perhaps, Apollo, you yourself have seen the same visions..." she prodded. 
"Is that what it's all about with you in the Celestial Dome?"
     The captain tightened his lips in an enigmatic grin.  He did not
answer.  It was not necessary.
     Leaning once more against the wall, close to the porthole, he closed
his eyes part way, feeling his senses swim.  Lulled by the dizziness, his
vision turned inward.  His thoughts drifted, then soared free for a brief
moment...
     Maldek's beloved Bennou, The Bird of Resurrection's image, spreading
its giant incandescent wings, flying out of the flames of destruction and
twirling in his mind again.  The resplendent Gammadion Galaxy spinning in
majestic tranquility, with its swirling arms open, waiting eternally for
them.  The Sphinx's undisturbed face looking at the sun and staring at
him: The Certainty's serenity...
     Without surprise, he started to recollect, steered by the pariah
prophet's visions, that which he had only peered at, when he used to be
alone in his Celestial Dome.  Sheba's nearness, he sensed, was like a
peaceful harbor, anchoring him safe while allowing him to drift away.  At
that time, he remembered...
     Iblis' curse aiming his lethal hand at Sheba...  Apollo,
instinctively, jumping to shield her.  A blast of a sick, sparking green
blowing off his cells.  A malignant green, luciferic.  And then,
overwhelming darkness...
     Starbuck's heard frantic cry was his last attempted grasp on life. 
Starbuck, his guardian, his safeguard!  His zealous buddy would not let
go of him.  He desperately tried to hold onto that mighty bond that
secured him to his earnest friend and to life.  He could feel Starbuck's
excruciating attraction force demanding, urging, battling to pull his
soul near again to him.  He could sense, almost palpably, the outraged
power of that stupendous friendship, like a magnetic field of love,
struggling to keep their nexus intact and forcing him back, unharmed.
     Useless.
     Gravity compelled him downwards violently, breaking off the link. 
Aghast, he felt his heart ripping apart when he was abruptly thrust
loose, and gravity dragged him away from that tenacious affection he knew
so well, mercilessly hurling him down, lost into the wells of the
unknown.  A fall.  A vertiginous dive into lightlessness...
     The Great Abyss.  The Draco's Cave.  All gravity of the universe
revolving and converging massively to that monstrous hollow outside the
space-time continuum.
     No...  The Gammadion Cross spinning in the wrong direction!  It was
as if the whole cosmos had decided to collapse against its own center,
right into that abhorrent and fabulous void.  He was hauled down into
terror, into the gross infrared primitiveness of life in its early Chaos,
before Order took place.
     Dissolution.  Uttermost panic.
     It was like descending into a state of non-beingness, trapped in a
Cimmerian and infernal womb.  Contraction only, restricting all
possibility of any expanding force...  A flashing awareness of how
darkness constrains itself, until collapsed and fragmented pieces of
itself are thrown out against the whole, reproducing themselves
endlessly, like cloning cells, to occupy the system.  Iblis Draco and his
armies.  The Cylons.  Negativity.  Diabolis, the Divider.  Fragmentation. 
A Temple divided in two.
     .....Deus?
     He resisted and his resistance was child of the first resistance
force ever known in Creation, The Oppositor's.  That was how it was like. 
Ahriman-Shaitan, The Principle of Inertia.  Immobilization.  The void
replete of denseness.
     He was dead and Hades was cold.
     Sudden doldrums, while he felt himself wafting about the epicenter
of that colossal black vortex, sheltered within that smothering and
engulfing womb, delivering himself to the welcome forgetfulness. 
Oblivious of the Holocaust and the war.  All recollection of Serina and
of all the dead and living forgotten at last...
     Repelling life and the risks of a sentient existence.  Anesthetized
forever from pain or joy.  Finally, benumbed and shielded.
     Doomed.
     The Draco hides in the eye of the void and he was crawling near,
soon approaching to feed on light and eat his heart away...
     The Fiat Lux.
     He would not have known what a miraculous force it was, except that,
all of a sudden, its light penetrated his shield of passive resistance
and jarred him awake from his deathly sleep.  It was like a distant blast
flaring through his immobilization that made him shudder, radiating heat,
shaking the imperious inertia in the void.  He heard hissing prays,
wailings and muffled cries, as he struggled to snap out of his dormancy. 
An elusive memory that was once part of his life did recognize those
rustles agitating storms on those nightly skies, darting like flashes of
lightening across his deep unconsciousness.
     The Winged Serpents, his loved ones! They were wounded and mourning
for him, offering to trade their lives for his, diving down into the void
for rescue and redemption...
     There was an outraged turmoil amidst that unlit ocean, when a
seditious spark of self awareness ignited in his heart and Love spread
like wildfire, washing through him, charging every cell in his soul. 
Love.  He loved them!
     Love, an insult here in this place...
     That insurrection caused darkness to slowly revolve back and retreat
as Light began to besiege and advance, forcing expansion in that
contracting cave.
     A bone-crushing thunder started to reverberate all around.  Leo's
Solar Head roaring and shaking Hades.  He frowned, glared, and opened
fire.  Claiming back His Divine Power over Life and countermanding The
Gammadion Cross, His Sun-Wheel, to reverse its deadly swirl.
     The Giant Spiral's whirling arms jolted and halted under Leo's
overthrowing charge, switching its direction and launching away the
vacuum in its mighty spin.
     Amidst the huge impact of that collision, his awed human soul felt
like a tiny speck of dust clashing against The Gammadion's scalding
nucleus.  In the heat of that fusion, Leo's  Radiant Crown was
radioactive, permeating through everything; invading, dilating,
illuminating and miraculously impregnating His Seed in the hollow of the
Universe.  His formidable Fire of Resurrection flaming like a rising
star.
    It was like all light of Creation decided to burst out and revolve
around its own center, expanding massively right out of that place,
furiously expelling shadows outwards and throwing up the void.  A sudden
awareness of how Light never fragments to occupy, but amplifies Itself
and becomes the Whole.  Positivity.  The One Made of Many Is.  The
Unifier...
     ...Deus!
     Without warning, he was struck by a beam of golden white light.  A
benign golden white.  Holy.  A rise.  A vertiginous Ascension into
darklessness...
     Absence of gravity hauling him upwards to the dazzling whiteness of
a Quasar.  Aloft, he was drawn aboard a huge vessel made of effulgent and
rarefied substance, pulsing like a giant beacon in the sidereal darkness
of space.
     The Merkabah...
     A familiar high pitch hummed in his brain, as if an invisible hand
was turning a cosmic dial and setting a modulation, adjusting him into a
distinct frequency.  Sudden hush then, when he was slowly held within a
comfortable wave length, and a Supernatural Moistened Presence seemed to
sink in and fill every little emptiness within.  He felt rocked in a
translucent cradle, floating in warm, illuminated waters, as ethereal
hands gently caressed him, calming and healing, lulling strange white
promises in his ears.  He could sense the vaporous human forms aboard
that crystalline craft when they crowded around him.  He did not need to
open his eyes to perceive them, as they seemed to move in a fluid,
suspended dimension in between worlds; their existences hanging inside
and outside all alternate realities.
     Through his closed eyes, he could see through theirs, and knew of
the exotic lands they had been to and the immaterial realms they had
traveled through.  Whenever he attempted to reach out for them, their
malleable forms shifted and he, alternately, felt as if he were looking
at all people he had ever known or would ever meet.
     The set of faces shifted to Serina, his brother Zac, Athena, Boomer,
his Mother Ila, his Father Adama, Boxey... where were Starbuck and Sheba?
Sometimes, in the weirdest shift, surprisingly dizzy, he thought he was
looking back at himself.  Tarnia and Copernicus also seemed to move near
by.
     Copernicus...  something special about him; he was so much like
those fantastic beings.  What was it about him?  Did he know how to speak
their untranslatable tongue?
     Maldek and all Prophets of the Dead Sun were there, too.
     He understood.
     The Great Omnipresent Spiral inside and outside the space-time
continuum.  Those beings made of liquified luminance and their whiteness
- they were the undifferentiated bridge, the pure translation of the
Primal Light, where all colored lifeforms of the spectrum came from. 
They were everyone and no one, all races ever created and none of them
too.  They lived in the present time of the past and the future.  They
were male and female, one and many at the same time.  Always both.
     They were Oneness.
     The snake swallowing its own tail...
     There was never a beginning, and there was never an end in that
point where life and death overlapped each other.  The dead loved ones
were glowing faces looking down at him so tenderly, now, speaking to him
of unveiled mysteries in the Prophet's Tongue.
     A lacerating pain in his heart, as realization struck.  Deliverance. 
He had to surrender.  He had to let go of them and of the retained
grieves, angers and fears of the war, and forgo his own defenses to the
vulnerability of the feelings, to the dangerous conflicts of a sentient
life.
     He realized and feared no more.
     Finally allowing himself to submerge deeper into that lit ocean of
liquid light where he was tepidly contained.  The repressed emotions
started to flow like a flood, as pain and joy, high pressured in the
depths, burst out, boiling and smelting the invulnerable shield of
resistance built upon his chest into a sanguine, sensitive and throbbing
membrane around his heart.
     When he emerged soaked from those fertilized waters, the savor of
the pathos tasted like absinthe and ambrosa in his mouth.  Something had
died and another something had been born at the same time, but he was not
sure what that something was.  He only knew that Leo's Hand  had halted
the Draco, and that Holy Bennou hovered over his head...
     He whispered his goodbyes to his dead loved ones then, knowing that
farewells and death do and do not exist.  A smashing weight was lift off
his breast and he felt a profound relief.  His dead loved ones kissed him
goodbye, blowing a gentle breath of life into his lips, and flowed away,
streaming in peace, back into the rivers of his heart, now bombarded with
a flood of hot blood, full force, back into the veins.
     "All right, yes...  if that's possible...  I'll trade my life for
Apollo's!"  A teary, dear female voice tided close, so full of love that
its undulation rocked him awake.
     Resurrection.
     From the feet to the head, the white, aqueous Primal Light laid its
hot waves of vital force through his body, and the organic engine
restarted its interrupted work...
     Vaguely confused, he sighed deeply as a drop of blood was shed into
his lungs and he moved slowly, feeling the stamina come back to the
muscles.  He opened his eyes to see how the deities looked on the
outside.
     They looked like a sobbing Sheba bolting into his arms.  "Apollo!
You're alive...  It's a miracle!"  Hanging onto her fervent embrace, he
saw a whimpering Starbuck a short distance behind her, aboard that
strange ship too; his eyes tenderly clasped on his captain, hesitantly
shy to approach and swallowing hard to repress his overwhelming emotions.
     Apollo felt like they were all moving in a gaseous, radioactive
realm, whose radiance of unconditional love emitting from everyone and
everything around made them feel lighter, ascended, fluid and easily
blendable into one.
     Sheba and Starbuck felt like living, sentient parts of his own soul
and body.  Their exalted emotions felt like his own. More than ever,
fingers of the same hand.
     "I don't know who you are, but whatever you want from me, you can
have..." the lieutenant's choked voice sounded tamely through the misty
atmosphere inside that dreamlike vessel, when he, too, offered his own
life in trade for the miracle of Apollo's resuscitation. While Sheba
cried convulsively and pressed the captain tightly to her body, Starbuck
stood pathetically alone among the ghostly forms around him.
     Apollo saddened as he felt a wounded and isolated Starbuck, both
deprived and greedy, looking like a forlorn little child before the
spiritual authority of the entities aboard that Ship of Lights.  He had
never sensed his friend so transparently exposed like that before. 
Brought at bay by love and surrender, the detached Starbuck was the most
affectionate man Apollo ever knew.  And he was the loneliest of all
too...
     Nothing was asked in return for Apollo's life, though.  The trade
had been just a bluffing abnegation test.  Their lives had never been the
bet at stake.
     Light never ever bargains.
     "Now, it's time for you to return..." The One Who Speaks through
Many Mouths declared, turning the radioactive face to the side and fading
away into diffused glistening dust.
     Apollo felt dizzy and sick to his stomach as the high pitch echoed
in his brain again, re-tuning him back out of The Merkabah to his
material life's frequency.  Back to the good and evil, realistic dream of
humankind's saga.
     
     "Apollo, snap out of it!" Sheba's worried call broke through the
noisy dial adjusting the syntony in his head.  He jolted back, his body
limp and his eyes glazed.  He tried to refocus on her tangible face,
replacing now the Being of Light's faded image that still lingered in his
mind.  He lay on the couch, with Sheba kneeling next to him.  She had
watched, startled, as he had sagged abruptly, but even under the swaying
effects of the liquor, she had managed to catch him before he fell to the
floor and had pulled him to the sofa.
     "Sheba..." he reached out to touch her, trying to reorient himself.
     "Apollo, are you all right?" she demanded, stroking his sweated
forehead and studying his face.  "You were just staring, like in a
trance..."
     "I guess...  I guess I took a trip..." he attempted a joke, looking
around, as if making sure that he was back into his quarters.  "How long
was I out?" he asked, confused.
     She frowned, still checking him over, relaxing only when the captain
half smiled and sat up, amused at her concern.  "Only a few microns, but
I thought you were having an apoplexy or something!  You really scared
me.  What happened to you, Apollo?" she demanded seriously, looking
divine to him in her gracious severity.  Her face glowing near, while she
pierced her slanted dark eyes through him.
     Oblivious to Sheba's question though, pensively, Apollo reached out
his right hand to hold hers, and, looking down at them, clasped together,
he said, "You know, Sheba, Maldek really sounds right to me.  The more
spiritually advanced a species is, the closer to a single unique
spiritual identity they must really tend to become..."  He lifted his
eyes to meet hers again and seemed to pursue a hidden meaning on her
traits.  "Perhaps, from another realm's perspective, much broader than
this one we live in, all people we love...  perhaps, even those we
don't...  they're all really individual expressions of the same one
greater essence, too," he added softly.
     Sheba still looked at him cautiously.  Apollo rarely answered
anyone's questions when he was deeply concentrating on his own thoughts,
anyway, but his ceaseless eloquence focusing on Maldek made her feel a
little concerned about his mental lucidity now.  She was relieved,
though, that Apollo seemed to be physically fine, despite his brief
blackout.
     Notwithstanding, he was so enchanting, soaked in that mellow
philosophical passion of his own.  His voice sounded husky and his eyes
were shining an uncommon green, fluid and sensual.  His hand holding hers
felt too warm and strong as the sharp sensitivity of the liquor still
flowed sweetly through her body.
     She enjoyed the sensation as she glanced down at their clasped hands
too, and felt herself enlured again to keep trailing on Apollo's
reflections.  "My memories of  The Ship of Lights seem like a dream...
like having been into a surreal temple in space.  I remember more...  I
remember when those beings said that we may become as they are.  Would
they be our future, then?" she asked thoughtfully, trying to reconcile
her own memories with his considerations.
     "From our linear time's point of view down here, figuratively,
yeah...  they'd be our future.  But from theirs, when I recall their
realm, now, certain limits and frontiers there were so...
undifferentiated... that past and future were almost a blurred,
simultaneous concept for them."
     "I guess I could almost say the same, too, from the little that I
recall from that place...  What I  know for sure is that I did feel that
they were not unlike us!  I'd agree that I did feel like we were
individual reflections of that same Intelligence.  A spiritual, sensitive
Intelligence, though, far different of what the Cylons material group
mind could ever, ever dream of!"
     "Cylons don't dream, Sheba!" Apollo laughed.
     "Thanks, captain, my fault," she grinned.  "You know, that place
still comes up as a temple in my mind..." Sheba sighed, shaking her head. 
"That's how I can only translate it, it seems.  The Ship of Lights, The
Home of the Gods or The Merkabah, they're just another label, Apollo,"
Sheba said assertively.
     "To each one, the label that serves them best, yeah.  The Merkabah
sounds accurate to me, because they and their 'ship' were not quite like
a place, Sheba...  'a place' is not the right word.  Maldek feels right
to me about this.  Rather than in a place, I feel more like we met
them... in a realm made of a different frequency state, just like when we
dream and our brain waves shift.  I even remember having thought that
some kind of a wave frequency was being modulated in my brain, before
they contacted me... as if our brain-wave length had to be heightened in
order to allow communication with them..."
     "That high pitch noise in the brain before we were taken aboard!"
Sheba exclaimed.  "It felt like radio frequencies shifting, yes! I guess
you're right about the brain-wave modulation, Apollo."
     The dark haired warrior smiled gratefully at her again.  "Their
extraordinary powers and evolutionary level, perhaps aeons ahead of us,
make us see them almost as deities, if compared.  Yet, I can't help but
feel them as advanced versions of ourselves.  Just as if...  just as if
they were the palm," he raised their clasped hands before her eyes, "and
we were the fingers of the same hand."
     "The Hand of God!" She whispered smiling.  "And Count Iblis...  Just
like we were talking about our having met both polarized sources, a while
ago, he was one of their own kind too," she continued, suddenly gravely. 
"I even remember we were told so, by The Beings of Light.  Then, if we
place him in this metaphor, Count Iblis would be..." she trailed off,
frowning.
     Acknowledging her abstraction, Apollo meaningfully raised his free
left hand now.  "Yes...  Draco also has many facades...  the hand on the
left is also a close metaphor for the sinister dissident we met.  One of
the many, if that matters.  The left, dark hand of darkness.  Absence of
life, love and truth.  Resistance of life, love and truth.  Opposition to
light..." he mumbled, lowering his head and stroking her hand tenderly. 
"I was in the dark and blind, Sheba.  But, now, I think I'm beginning to
see it..."
     Sheba glanced at her chronometer instinctively.  They did not have
much time left until the start of the next cycle, and she had no idea of
how they'd both face their military duty in their present condition. 
Sighing sadly, Sheba realized that she had enjoyed every moment of their
reflective intimacy that night; yet, none of their speculations really
answered the one remaining riddle, aching unsolved in her heart.
     Time to face the truth for her then, when she resolved that the
unanswered question was an answer in itself.  Apollo would never
correspond to her love.  Tripping on the unusual alcoholic release of the
senses, the ever so righteous and straight-to-form captain was only
enjoying the feel of her female company, propitiously close, just when he
needed so much someone to listen to him and  give him emotional support,
she concluded bitterly.  That was all.
     Sorely, struggling against the increasing sensuous attraction
charging on the air and pulsing between their bodies, she began to feel
slightly hurt in her pride.  She knew that Apollo was never the man to
try and take advantage of a woman's feelings, but she could sense the
lonely captain's needs urging for comfort and physical closeness. 
Powered by the ambrosa, they could both end up carried away on the tides
of lust and delusion that surreal night.
     Hesitantly, she came back to herself and broke their hands' contact,
pulling at the dark-haired warrior.  "Ah, so you can really see?" she
echoed his last words.  "Oh, fine.  At least, it's an advantage that one
of your senses is still working fine!  We're soon pulling duty and,
possibly, trying to find a way to avoid Colonel Tigh and Commander Adama
at the same time!  Apollo, for Platon's sake!  Are you sure you're okay?"
     "I'm okay, Sheba," he answered sluggishly, now snickering at her
distressed sense of responsibility.  "I guess I really needed that break
to think and share this much with someone else..."  He then eyed her
beseechingly, suddenly serious.  "It's just that, those microns that I
was out...  I've just remembered something...  something very important,"
he muttered.
Sheba stood up and stared down at him forlornly, as he still paid no
attention to her disquietude and continued almost irksome.  "You know...
thinking about what I've been recollecting, somehow, I have the
impression that those beings have encoded us information, when we were
asleep aboard their Merkabah... or their ship... or their temple, if you
will," he teased.  "That's why we suddenly knew the coordinates to Earth
that night in my Father's quarters.  That's it!" he added excitedly.  "We
were encoded with information set up to be triggered and remembered at
the right moment...  Otherwise, where in Hades, would all those things
popping up in my mind, right now, be coming from?"
     "From that frakking bottle of ambrosa, Apollo!" Sheba hissed,
feeling slightly edgy, knowing that one of them had to get back to their
senses and anchor the other down to their immediate reality.
     "Perhaps.  The Dead Sun's prophets believed that the ritual
ingestion of ambrosa would expand their disciples' minds too," he
continued, irreverently, as Sheba placed her hands on her waist and shot
him a stern gaze.  "Anyway, I've just remembered, or rather, I've just
translated through Maldek's views, now, what had happened to me aboard
the...  the Ship of Lights," he shrugged, seemingly, deciding to concede
to any available labels, "and what had happened before..."
     A strong, painful sensation kicked Sheba in the pit of her stomach. 
She didn't want to remember that, and Apollo, carefully perceiving her
distress, seemed to change the subject.  "I saw the Gammadion Galaxy too,
Sheba," he continued soaring on his thoughts, almost nonchalantly.  "And
I'm positive that I've seen flashing sights of Earth too!"
     Sheba widened her eyes, looking terrified.  "You what?" she asked,
wondering that, contrary to the alcohol,  Maldek's effects would not
evaporate from his system, later.
     "There was a moment when those beings shared their visions with me,
Sheba.  That's what I meant when I said that I believe that they've
encoded us with information.  I've seen, apparently, random, flashing
scenes of distant past and the Thirteenth Tribe's fate, when they got
lost in the void, parted from The Twelve Tribes' convoy on the Exodus
from Kobol," he frowned,  closing his eyes as if trying to see clearer
the pictures in his mind.  "The Thirteenth Tribe was really swallowed up
by the void's tunnel and traveled all the way through it to The
Gammadion's Galaxy...  I'm even positive that I caught glimpses of the
Earth's desert which Maldek talks about on his book."
     The captain concentrated again, nervously, knowing that the images
were there, but, despite his efforts, they still remained just out of his
conscious mind's reach.  He said finally, "Sheba, I just know that the
lost Thirteenth Tribe survived and waits for us on Earth.  I know we are
meant to have a future there, because those beings shared a fragment of
their knowledge with me...  Possibly, they shared it with you and
Starbuck too!"
     Sheba was silently staring down at him, diffidently delivering
herself to his persuasive reveries again.  Apollo truly believed every
word that he said, and he punctuated his speech, gesticulating in a
logical manner.  He was making use of some  of his typical reasoning
then, she thought.  His ways of revealing his visions were as practical
as his ways of coordinating a  suicidal strategy to strike down a Cylon's
baseship, she concluded.  In so many ways, the inconceivable had always
been a logical target for him.
     Would she love him so impossibly more if he were any different?
     Nevertheless, she acknowledged that, deep within her soul, there was
a strong recognition sense echoing his beliefs and agreeing with every
and each one of his words.  It was just as if he were telling her the
forgotten lyrics of a familiar song.
     "It's quite possible that your visions are really true, Apollo.  Our
ancient records agree with  what you're saying.  The lost Thirteenth
Tribe would have already begun the seeding on Earth then...  'Seed new
worlds...'  The Beings of Light said something about it too, but I don't
quite remember the words..."
     "They did say it, and I know I'm right.  Their shared visions showed
me fast glimpses of ancient space landing sites built on Earth's surface. 
There were incredible monuments and buildings there, giant glyphs made on
crops and deserts..."
     Sheba closed her eyes, too, for a few microns, almost as if evoking
remembrances of her own.  Would she have shared visions with those
entities too?  Or was she just sharing Apollo's?
     "Oh! It was such a fast sequence of pictures..." Apollo said rubbing
his forehead, disturbed.  "It was all simultaneous and confusing to me,
from those being's synthesized view of reality...  But I know there are
signs everywhere on Earth!  New Kobol looks like a whole complex data
bank registering The Thirteen Tribes' genetic memory and their outer
space's ancestry in its own celestial body's history!"
    "Is New Kobol then waiting for us, Apollo?  For what's left of us? 
Are they, too, looking for us now, perhaps?" Sheba asked, deeply moved by
hope.
     Apollo lowered his eyes, uncertain.  "Just how aware of their past
connection with their star brothers they are, I can't tell,  Sheba.  It's
another shadowy point to me, as I couldn't read a clear, assertive
confirmation from those beings' minds as to how New Kobol responded to
our existence.  I'm not sure if they remember their ancient forefathers
from space, now.  It was just as if there was a big gap of knowledge
about it, a void between us."
     Seeing Sheba saddening, though, the captain added, "We're brothers. 
Earth and the Fleet are fingers of the same hand, too.  No matter how
much unaware they are of us, they can't deny us without denying
themselves as well.  Truth is truth and, knowing it or not, New Kobol's
destiny is meant to acknowledge it!  Earth is right out there, Sheba,
waiting for us, forever!"
     "While forever lasts...  The Arrival Day," she said in dreaminess,
recalling Maldek.  Then, she asked softly, completely enthralled by his
feelings.  "Apollo, is Earth beautiful?"
    "Yes, it is," he sighed deeply.  Still behind the cloudy veils of his
memory,  he deeply absorbed the emerging surge of impalpable impressions. 
"New Kobol is beautiful, yeah!"  He lifted his eyes to meet hers again. 
Wrapped in her sapphire, transparent dress, Sheba was all neon to his
eyes.  "And it's blue..."
     Sheba instinctively folded her arms before her breast, aware of his
intent gaze stroking her form.  Her pride was as much in place as her
love for him.  Her mind, like a fulmen of metal, hammered logical
arguments against the whispers of her battered intuition.
     There were no plain evidences that Apollo corresponded to her
feelings.  He would never let go of Serena's ghost and her morbid place
in his haunted life.  Suddenly hurt again and cold, Sheba walked to the
porthole side, and there was no submissiveness in her demeanor.  She was
Cain's daughter and had already gone too far in her need of him.
Apollo immediately stood up, despite the dizziness, and followed her
close, apparently, resenting when she took cold distance.  "There's
more," he said almost in a desirous tone, approaching her as close as
possible, still nourishing of her physical warmth.  That was the trick,
Sheba thought ironically to herself.  If she left his quarters right now,
in the middle of his ecstatic philosophical climax, she wouldn't doubt
that he'd follow her like a puppy daggit, all over the Galactica.
     "More?" she asked almost indifferently, looking across the porthole.
     "I know what happened after when I challenged Count Iblis on that
Red Planet.  And you have to remember it too!" he said pointedly and
seriously, trying to break through Sheba's fears about the subject again.
     "Oh, no!" Sheba shuddered, squeezing her eyes.  She really did not
want him to have directed the conversation to that point.  There was a
sore spot about Iblis and Apollo's confrontation which she did not want
to acknowledge.
     But a split micron of memory tightened her throat and stung, as she,
suddenly, couldn't help but bridge the missing time.  It was like the
Galactica's hull fell over her head.
     "You were killed by him..." she whispered in a strangled tune,
shivering at the painful, insurgent image of the dead captain's body,
limply sprawled on The Red Planet' sands.  She recalled Starbuck's
desperate cries beside her, announcing the tragedy and snapping her out
of her trance under Iblis' spell.  She recalled the sound of the enraged
charges from the lieutenant's  lasergun, impotent before the dark Count's
insolent smile.
     It was a consuming feeling of immeasurable hopelessness, total
darkness and ultimate fear.  Who could fight Death, the implacable
disintegration and fathomable silence of all organic life?  Love could?
     "It was my fault," she choked.
     Apollo passed his arm around her shoulders once again, and tightened
his hold on her, quite aware that Sheba's innocence could never have been
blamed for any course that doom dictated.  "Not your fault, Sheba.  In a
way...  I was already dead.  I had died long ago, way back on dead Kobol,
when Serina died."
     Sheba nodded downheartedly, not minding to hold back the tears as
his declaration hurt almost as intensely as seeing him die again.  Now he
had admitted it.  Serina's shades would always steal Apollo's life with
hers to the gloom of a dead sun.  "I guess I understand what you're
saying, Apollo," she stated resignedly.
     "No, you don't.  How can you, when I myself only begin to understand
it now?" the captain corrected softly, his voice sounding excessively
affectionate.
     Surprised, Sheba moved under his arm to face him.  He had tears in
his eyes, too.  He reached out and picked up Maldek' s forgotten book on
the balcony, and looked for the page into where Serena's flat picture had
been discretely slid, when Sheba had first found it.
     She had noticed, then, how carefully he had returned it to the same
marked page, and how cautiously they both had handled the book, all night
long, to keep the flat marker from sliding out.  He took it out, gazed
fondly at it and, then, showed it to Sheba.  "What do you see?"
     "What else is supposed to be seen on it, Apollo?" Sheba sounded a
little outraged.  "I see you and Serina on Kobol!"
     "I used to see death and mourning.  But no more ..."
     Sheba stared at him perplexedly, as he placed the picture back into
the book, a sad farewell clearly eclipsing his traits.  "Now, I see love
instead, and I understand that it has many faces.  Many faces to the same
faceless essence, Sheba..."  He turned around to look across the porthole
tylinium as he reached out and delivered the closed book to her hands.
     "Mourn no more, Wounded Bennou!  Behind remain the ashes of
destruction and death, as behind had remained dying our ancestors' Kobol
and its unlit Sun.
     "Resurgence Times shall befall The Race of Man who refused to die. 
Human Spirit can never be killed as it can never die!  One is The One Who
Loves through Many Hearts' Immortal Face.  So beheld the truth, those
whose mortal eyes of undying love gazed at Deus and saw Eternity's Many
Faces.
     "Onward, to the skies of the future!  Full speed to New Kobol's
Dawn!  Leo is still The Lord of His Sun-Wheel.  He is Hand of The Father
where all life rides on, and all sphinxes on their deserts fearlessly
gaze at the Sun resurrecting every new day!"
     Apollo spoke softly, stealing a gaze at the gracious warrior by his
side.  Sheba looked placid.  The prophecy, seemingly, had appeased her
spirit too.
     "Since the first time I read it, I just can't stop thinking of the
hope in his words...  Serina once said to me, back on Kobol, that it was
comforting to know that there was more to life than burnt out stars and
ruins.  I also told her, just before she died, that she made me believe
in eternity as I couldn't believe that a spirit like hers could end..."
he trailed off, deep in thought.  His eyes were two liquid emeralds
burning in mystical fervor.  Sheba's heart skipped a beat.
     "The Prophet's Tongue, Sheba, sounds like all familiar voices of
Truth and Good that I hold dear in my life..."
     He stared off into the distance of space again, as Maldek spoke
through his mouth.  Apollo knew the prophet's book like the palm of his
hand, Sheba thought, listening to him silently.  Serina's picture was 
marking that page, and the vaticination meant hope in the future after
death and mourning.  It had a special meaning for Sheba, too.
     "In the middle of the endless night of lonely quest, prepare for
celebration amidst the wars.  Communion in Space.  The ambrosa shall
overflow in the chalice.  The Messenger shall arrive for Renewed
Covenant.
     "In the Name of Her Father, She shall hail.  He, who drives His Own
Chariot, rules over His Own Sun-Wheel and is there the only power that
there is.  He, The Living Myth Helios, whose Solar Hand is nether The
Leo's and also halts the Draco, He has winged sphinxes for His Own too.
     "Behold New Kobol stealing Helio's Fire and raising Her Armies
against the Enemy of Man.  Behold New Kobol's Eyes spying the space. 
Pour more ambrosa into the chalice! The Silver Bride shall descend from
Heavens."
     "The Silver Bride?" Sheba asked confused.  "Helios? What does he
mean by all that?"
     "Actually, I have no idea, Sheba.  I don't know if I could quite
correlate it to anything that ever happened in the past...  Prophecies
are easier to interpret after when they have already happened, but the
words could have been applied to many little things..."
     Apollo smiled.  "Helios is the apocrypha's name for Earth's Sun. 
Maldek could be meaning a sign from Earth...  perhaps, the signs we've
picked up at the Celestial Dome...  I don't know.  Yet, no matter what it
really means collectively, it has a special meaning to me, in particular,
anyway."
     Apollo stopped meditatively, without ever deviating his eyes from
the starfield outside.  For a few microns, Sheba remained static, sharing
non-verbal communion.  There might be more to life than dead stars and
ruins.  Serina was right about it, she pondered.  Then, curiously again,
Sheba frowned and looked for the marked page in the book.  She skimmed
through a few of the many rough illustrations on the page which she could
not understand.
     A couple of humans, the number 2,  Earth as the ninth planet,
fourteen hearts  surrounding the Gammadion Cross...  It made no sense to
Sheba's mind.  Her attention was drawn, though, to the sketch
representing two hearts melting together into a sun.  She continued
reading the text below them, in a low voice:
     "Behold My Arrival, spelling Celestial Revelations in The Prophet's
Tongue!  I am The Forerunner, I am the Messenger and I bear the sign of
Leo's Breath of Light with me.  I come to spark fire in the shadows, all
the way between New Kobol's present and Old Kobol's past.
     "My Winged Helmet bears My Father and Mother's Winged Emblem.  My
Golden Womb speaks of  Helios' Breath of Fire, whose winds blow tempests
of Life all the milky way from New Kobol's Heavens to plutonic rocks in
Hades..."
     Sheba stopped a little, frowning again and shaking her head.  Was
she still too drunk or did that prophecy sound weird to her ears?
     "I hail in sign of Universal Good Will, because all endings must
have a good start.  The snake swallows its own tail, the extremes touch: 
In collision course, Leo devoured the Draco's void and threw it up from
His Guts.  Breath of Light on the heat, Breath of Fire is born.  The void
is now pregnant of suns..."
     Sheba trailed off, sensing a logic behind the text, describing
thermodynamic laws, but she just could not figure out the Prophet's
Tongue.
     "See me dancing before you, see how beautiful I am!  Cover me with
Your Wings, Holy Bennou.  Take me as your Bride and I shall make a
miracle for you..."
     Sheba hesitated again, slightly embarrassed.  But Apollo, now
frowning pensively, held her fleeting gaze on to his, encouraging her to
go on and finish it.  She continued shyly:
     "Cover me with Your Wings and behold Leo's Quintessence of Ether
aroused.  I am My Mighty Father Helios' Very Own Daughter, I have the
power to halt the Draco and revert The Gammadion's deadly spin.  I shall
save you from the void and rise you from the ashes of Death.  I am The
Silver Bride sent for covenant and I will show you the way home to the
New Sun..."
     Sheba lifted an eyebrow, almost as if about to object to an idea
that came to mind.  Apollo's traits were a mix of surprise and wondering
amusement.  "What's..." She vacillated, gasping.
     Apollo was muttering something and choking the laugh uncomfortably. 
Then, he just looked down to the floor, for a few microns, shaking his
head.  When he looked up to her again, his face expression was still a
little amused, but his intent stare, now, revealed a quality of emotion
that Sheba had only seen there when he talked of Serina.
     The quintessence of Love.  She had never seen his eyes so wide open
like that.
     "So beheld the future, The Prophet of the Dead Sun?" he asked, no
hint of amusement in his eyes now.
     "What do you mean by that?" Sheba pleaded, visibly stirred up.
     "You've offered your own life in trade for mine aboard the Ship of
Lights..." the captain said in a hoarse voice, cupping her face with his
hand, deep commotion stirring his traits too.
     "I did," Sheba answered, making her voice sound firmly.  "And I'd do
it again."
     He could only stare, absorbing the extraordinary power of that
avowal.  Sheba tilted back her head, proudly, under his investigative
gaze, sustaining her silent resolution.  Her face, like a temple turned
to the East.  'Decipher me or I shall devour you', a sphinx gazing at the
Rising Sun.
     Beat by beat, Apollo felt his heart simmering and throbbing in his
breast, acutely sensitive to the soundless communication passing through,
like pulsing electromagnetic waves building static on the ether.
     He stroked down her long hair, holding a full dark golden brown lock
of silk in his hand.  Deeply within his soul, the heat was languidly
burning out, reaching every sensitive nerve under his skin.  Sheba's blue
dress and her fair flesh glowed with a strange luminescence to his
drunken eyes as the force of their attraction, like a powerful, rhythmic
magnet, drew his body to hers, overcoming any resistances.
     He tenderly leaned in, watching the astonished consent in her wet
eyes, and approached his lips to brush hers with a feather touch.
     She gasped.  And her warm, moist breath streamed through his
nostrils and mouth, blowing like a hot wind throughout his body.  Every
muscle, nerve fiber and cell seemed like charging with wondrous hurtful
delight.  His heart pounded fervid blood into the veins as Revelation
struck.
     It was like he had been blasted again by a potent beam of solid
light.  A benign blast of light.  Hallowed...
     He felt like falling, spinning and collapsing into his own center,
melting alive in thermonuclear fire.  Flaring all along his spine and
around it, like an incandescent coiled serpent, heat was meandering up, 
bathing all of his vital centers with its liquid fervidness.
     The floor seemed to fail under his feet and he leaned onto her,
resting his ardent forehead on the hollow of her neck, breathing in her
intoxicating essence and allowing the hot tears to stream down his face. 
His love for her, so cautiously and deeply shielded in the dark chambers
of his soul, hidden even from himself, now bursting out of its confines
and claiming its right to live.  Arising.
     Surrendering, at last, to the overwhelming emotions,  Sheba dropped
Maldek's book down to the floor and snuggled him close, passing her
fingers through the captain's dark, thick hair and kissing it softly. 
She cried too, rocking him slowly and hushing him tenderly.  He nurtured
hungrily on the feel of her female caresses and pulled her even closer,
holding her fresh body tightly against him.
     Sheba felt deliriously benumbed within his embrace.  Electric
current shocks ran rhythmically through their clasped bodies, as they
felt the power of all organic forces of Creation within ascending for
Light and charging, in collision course, for the bursting clash.
     Panting, she managed to pull off a little and still stare
questioningly at him.  His eyes had the pupils as dilated as hers, and
answered the riddle she yearned to know.  They spoke to her in the
Prophet's Tongue.  She failed on her feet, weak in his arms, and they
sank down to the couch.
     He looked down at her, reveling again in the blazing radiance she
seemed to emanate from her flesh.  Radioactive, The One Who Sees through
Many Eyes was looking at him right through her face.
     The Sphinx.  She was all females of the world and none of them at
the same time.  The Messenger, The Silver Bride sent for Covenant, The
Bearer of Light sparking fire in the shadows of dead stars and wars. 
More than anything, she was his Breath of Life and his salvation from the
void.
     For her, his surrender tasted mellifluously, like unruffled deep
lakes.  But it had the salty spice of the turbulent green oceans too. 
His loving was both the bitter belligerence of wars and the mild amnesty
of tranquil truce.
     For him, her deliverance was like the flowing nectar of unknown
celestial realms, foreign virgin regions still to be explored by man.  It
savored like an undistinguishable, but familiar liquor.  It tasted like
home.
     Apollo's quarters were now a surreal shade of fulgent, consuming
white light spinning around their heads, revolving around the igneous
center of their blended souls.  In the boiling nucleus of that swirling
spiral licking out Its flames, their bodies were melted into a fluid
stream of Fire.  They were safe in The Center of Everything.  In that
mysterious nexus point above time and space where suns eat voids and all
extremes in Creation touch.  Safely vulnerable...
     Fear what?  Leos never fear.
     The endless night was over.  From the top of his Sun-Wheel,
light-yahrens away in the Heart of The Gammadion Cross, Leo roared at the
Draco's cave as the Sphinx on New Kobol's desert placidly faced the
rising of Her Helios Sun.  Holding Sheba, divinely asleep in his arms,
Apollo closed his eyes, sighing deeply.
     He felt serene.
     It was like he had just come back from the cold distant land of the
living dead.  Like he had just been saved.  Breaking through all
resistance shields of armored armies, the Galactican warrior felt like
one of Maldek's Winged Serpents triumphing over the Armageddon.
     He kissed Sheba's heated face softly, and his heart pounded mightily
against his chest.
     A miracle.
     Solar Flood of Resurrection.  The Arrival Day.  Holy Breath of Fire
of the Second Coming.  He felt like he had landed on Earth.

Chapter Six

     Sometimes the dreams were so peaceful, so calming, visions of times
never really shared, reflections of future hopes that could never be
fulfilled.  A quiet day on the shores of the Belisan Bay, just outside
Caprica City.  Walking slowly through the cool, soft sand that seeped
between the toes and tickled the tops of the feet with each step.  The
quiet roar as the waves surged forward to embrace the earth, then pulled
back to nestle in the sea, before reaching out once again.  The salty,
fresh smells of the water mingled with the rich, earthy fragrances from
the land.  Looking out across the turquoise and gray waters, the light of
the setting sun painted splashes of warm, rich colors over both the sea
and the sky, creating an infinite illusion.  The deepening, darkening
hues of the sky and the sea flowing together without bounds, sealed by
the infusion of the sun's brilliant but fading colors.  The cool,
caressing breeze brushed his face as he walked.
     Beside him, his sister, laughing with that deep, quiet chuckle as
they both watched the children play, loudly, splashing, oblivious to the
beauty around them, but so utterly happy in their games.  So peaceful,
so, happy, so oblivious.  Oblivion a breath away...
     When Lieutenant Boomer awoke, he could still hear the laughter and
still see their content faces as he kept his eyes closed, savoring the
sensations.  They lived.  They lived on for him, timeless, ageless, in
his dreams.  Here, the sun never completed its descent into the black,
suffocating Hades that had consumed all humanity nearly a yahren ago,
after the Destruction.  The dreams were his escape, his tenuous anchor to
sanity, the only real peace to be found now.
     Gradually, though, the images faded into the actuality of the stale
smell of recycled air, the artificial stillness, broken by the rustling
of sheets, the grunts, the groans, the harsh breathing from the twenty
other warriors that shared this small space.  The regret, the fierce
longing to change the past, was fleeting, however.  Over time, he had
learned to deal with the reality that their lives, those of his sister
and her children -- and all of his family -- had abruptly ended during
the Destruction.  He learned to open himself to the sensations of anger,
despair, and helplessness.  To experience them, give in to them; then,
and only then, was he able to accept the past and its destiny, and pull
himself back to look to the future.  And in the present, Blue Squadron
was his family.
     Eventually, the burning hatred, the desire to *hurt* the enemy, had
subsided into the resolute determination that he and the others, crowded
aboard those 220 ships, the survivors of a once great and rich
civilization, would endure.  And flourish again.  Sometimes, the cold,
hard anger at the Cylons reemerged, but instead of blind hatred, it
fueled his undying belief - no, defiant promise! - that his people would
one day settle and rebuild, stronger and wiser because of the unspeakable
tragedies they had endured.  Maybe not tomorrow, but one day, one yahren,
maybe not even in his lifetime... but damned if he was going to allow the
Cylons any more victories by giving up or giving in to the grief.
     So, Lieutenant Boomer faced each new day with a feeling of calm,
quiet acceptance, interlaced with bitter determination.  And the promise
that he would do all that he could to help his people survive and to
elude the Cylons.  Had they already, he wondered?  Had they finally
evaded their pursuers?  And had the destruction of that basestar, a
sectar ago, been a defiant, final farewell to their enemy, as Apollo and
Starbuck had blatantly and boldly walked into the basestar's heart and
disabled their sensors?  Right under their Cylon noses, Boomer laughed to
himself.
     Oh, the burning desire to have been a part of that!  To have felt
firsthand the sweet revenge of proving that the human spirit was wittier
and more cunning than the cold machine logic and stale, predictable
tactics of the Cylons.  Still, the feeling that welled from within as he
and the other pilots had watched the basestar explode was akin to pure
joy, pure relief.  Release.
     Only the uncertainty of his two friends' fates had tempered that
moment, Boomer remembered: a twinge of fear and anxiety that had grown
into a dreaded foreboding amidst the exaltation, after the battle, as
fighter after Cylon fighter had approached the Galactica on suicide runs
-- last, desperate attempts to inflict as much damage as they could on
the battlestar.  He had stood vigil at the scanner, along with Commander
Adama, Tigh, Sheba, and Cassie, watching for the red dot that would have
marked an incoming Cylon fighter as belonging to Starbuck and Apollo. 
Boomer, himself, had constructed the device that would generate the
identifying signal.
     "Don't lose that transmitter," he had admonished Apollo and Starbuck
before the mission, "Or we'll have no way of telling you from the
Cylons."
     "If we do, we'll just waggle our wings!" Starbuck had responded,
jokingly.
     No, the victory could not possibly have cost them his two, dear
friends, Boomer had thought, prayed, as the last, lone fighter had
approached.  No red dot showed on the scanner.  But something had caught
Boomer eye as the monitor tracked the ship to within the Galactica's
firing range.  It's wings were moving up and down...
     Just as Adama was about to order the fighter destroyed, Boomer had
felt first relief, then shear joy, explode within as he realized the
fighter was waggling.  Waggling to signal its identify.  Apollo and
Starbuck.  At that precise moment, as he gleefully yelled for the
commander to stop, to not order the gunner to fire, he just knew that the
victory was complete.  And his two friends were coming home.
     Boomer pulled his mind back to the present moment.  Opening his
eyes, finally, as he lay in his bunk and, glancing around, Boomer could
just barely discern the gray forms of the other pilots, still sleeping,
in the darkened billet.  One bunk, however, to his right and below, was
empty.  He sighed, a deep sigh, as he wondered, again, what could have
transformed his optimistic, carefree friend into his current brooding,
troubled self.  Now, when the future finally seemed to show some promise,
some hope, that the Cylons were left behind, that they were poised to
break free of the ashes and find a new beginning.
     Everyone hoped and prayed that they had seen the last of the Cylons,
but what of the other forces out there?  Every once in a while, he felt
haunted by the memories of their encounter with Count Iblis.  The Fleet
had come perilously close to giving itself over to that unknown being. 
Evil being.  He had no doubts about that.
     Not only had he listened to Apollo, Sheba, and Starbuck's muddled
and strange explanation of their confrontation with Iblis - where Iblis
had revealed his true nature and Apollo had been struck down protecting
Sheba - but he could vividly recall, now, the power that Iblis had
wielded over him, during the Triad game.  He just knew, because the game
itself was as hazy as a dream, a nightmare.  Unreal.  He could watch the
replays of the game, see the intensity and ferocity on his own face, yet
have little recollection of the details of that moment.
     He remembered staring into the Count's eyes before the match had
started, at the precise moment that he had felt a longing to defeat
Apollo and Starbuck.  That feeling had suddenly and uncontrollably
swelled into a burning, cold, mechanical, all-encompassing drive to win
at any cost.  Then, all other memories after that point were surreal and
hazy.  It was as though Iblis' stare had penetrated deep within his soul
to blow life into the darkest and most barbaric parts of him.  That image
in the replays was Boomer, but not.  That convoluted, eerie period of
time, two whole centars, was a powerful reminder for him of Iblis' evil
potential.
     Similar feelings of an absence of memory and a lack of control over
events also haunted his soul as he tried to remember another incident:
what had happened after launching to intercept those white lights that
had appeared after the Triad game celebration, after drinking too much -
something he rarely did.  The white lights had been watching the Fleet
closely since Iblis had appeared, and he vaguely remembered trying to
fire at them as they flew all around him.
     Perhaps it was the effects of too much alcohol that clouded and
obscured in his mind what had really happened to him.  All he could
remember next was a high pitch echoing in his brain and the blinding
white light surrounding him.  His next memory was of waking up, safe, on
the red planet, and finding all the other missing pilots.  Inexplicable
malfunctions in all of the vipers?  Apollo, Sheba, and Starbuck had
assured him that the white lights were benevolent, that they had been
fighting Iblis, as well.  But Boomer had not come to terms with these
incidents.  Not yet.
     The most troubling, the most terrifying, aspect was knowing that
Iblis, whoever or whatever he was, had controlled and manipulated them so
easily.  Only Apollo had not been deceived by the mysterious Count and
had been able, somehow - how? - to free Sheba and defeat Iblis.  And only
because of his loyalty and unshakeable faith in his friend had Starbuck
been there to back up Apollo.
     Boomer wondered if he would ever know or understand what had really
happened during that strange time period, from when Iblis appeared to
when he had vanished, after Apollo, Sheba, and Starbuck had returned in
the shuttle to the Galactica from the red planet.  How had Iblis truly
been defeated and what other forces were involved in all of this?  And
where did those strange white lights fit into this?  His inability to
rationalize these events haunted him whenever he thought of them.
     He shook his head and turned his thoughts to the day that lay ahead. 
No patrols today.  A mandatory briefing with the commander, then the
midday Triad demonstrations on the Orphan Ship.  Although he and
Greenbean would make their entrance as the reigning men's champions,
Boomer found the title meant less to him than he had imagined.  It was
nice, that was all, and he held no negative feelings about the spoiled
celebration, either.
     Rather than bask in the glory, he was more eager to interact with
the children, to see the light in their eyes as they reveled in the
moment, the way only children can do, sometimes, in complete happiness. 
He had seen it before on the other occasions that he and some of the
pilots had visited the orphans and had let them explore the cockpits of
their vipers as they asked endless questions in awe.  He had seen the
happiness in the faces of those children, some bearing the awful physical
reminders and others only the unseen mental scars.  He could see in their
faces the reflection of his sister's children, of all children he had
ever loved, and of all who had perished.
     Whenever his schedule permitted, Boomer would round up whatever
pilots were free and spend a few centars with the children.  And usually,
if available, Starbuck would come along, too, and would act as carefree
and playful - and as mischievous -- as the orphans they had come to
entertain.
     Boomer sat up and rubbed his hands over his face, knowing that sleep
would be impossible now.  The chronometer read 0525.  Others would be
stirring soon, and another day would begin, another day of life within
the cold, metal confines that now passed for home.  The lieutenant tossed
his covers aside.  With luck, he would have at least fifteen centons of
peaceful silence, before the morning alarms roused the others and the
quarters were filled once more with the almost ever-constant din of
twenty men living in such tight quarters.
     Sitting for a moment on the edge of his bunk, Boomer inhaled very
slowly, deeply, feeling the breath expand in his chest and along with it,
a feeling of calmness as he pushed all of these thoughts back to where
they belonged.  The past was the past, unchangeable, and the future was a
set of infinite, indefinable possibilities.  It did no good to dwell on
either.  Only today mattered.  It was time to move on and start the day.
     After several more deep, relaxing breaths, Boomer quietly slid out
of his bed and pulled out his uniform, dressing quickly but silently.  He
had just pulled his belt through its last loop, when he heard the
squadron door open.  He looked up to see, without surprise, Starbuck
crossing the threshold.  He was about to jokingly question his friend
about the late, or rather, early, centar of his return, but he did not
have the chance.  Starbuck moved briskly and steadily towards the
turbowash, his gaze locked straight ahead, his movements precluding any
attempt at conversation.
     Boomer decided to let him go, since he had precious few moments of
quiet left before the others awoke.  And how he treasured these brief
periods of solitude.  They were relaxing but all too infrequent. 
Besides, he had a matter to attend to before the rush of the day carried
him on.  A message to answer.
     Over the past yahren, the few modifications that were possible,
given the severe limit of resources, had been implemented to make life a
bit more bearable within the Fleet.  One change had been giving everyone
access to computer terminals for intership communications.  The current
system was a far cry from the technology and freedom they had been
accustomed to on their homeworlds, but it was all they could afford under
such survival conditions.  Every ship had at least one terminal open to
all citizens.  Within the Galactica, each squadron had been given a
terminal for communications.
     Control was not unlimited, though.  To avoid having a buzz of
transmissions among the ships that would have been like standing on a
hill and waving a flag at their enemies.  Messages were saved and sent at
two specific times each day in short, coded bursts.  These times had
become highlights of the day for those who had friends or family on other
ships.  Only on special, rare occasions, such as the previous evening's
Triad game, were live and continuos broadcasts permitted.  Even though
they were transmitted through very narrow, short-range emissions, the
risk of detection was always a possibility.
     The morning transmission time was twenty centons away, and Boomer
wanted to be sure to not miss it.  Moving quickly to the back of the
billet, near the lockers and turbowash, Boomer pulled out the stool and
was mentally preparing his message as he sat down in front of the
terminal.  The simple display on the screen listed each pilot's name. 
Arrow keys moved the cursor up and down to select one's name, and a
password had to be entered before access was granted.  To save time,
given twenty men and one computer, anyone who had unread messages from
the previous transmission had an asterisk next to their name.
     As Boomer prepared to type his password, he scanned the other names,
out of curiosity, mainly, to see who had not had time to check their
messages.  Usually, only long-range patrols or unforeseen duties kept the
pilots from reading their mail; they had so few other luxuries.  Only one
name was marked with an asterisk, this time, but it caught Boomer's
attention.  Starbuck.  With no family and all of his close friends aboard
the Galactica, Starbuck almost never bothered to check the terminal
because he almost never received messages.
     Time was short now, so Boomer focused back on his own message. 
Typing in his password brought up his personal message files, including
the most recently received transmission, a short but enjoyable note from
a new friend, Ezekial.  Ezekial was a boy who was about the age his
nephew would have been, 11 yahrens.  He had so many mannerisms that
reminded Boomer of his sister's son, that it had been impossible to not
be drawn to this witty, cheerful boy.  Ezekial lived on the Orphan Ship. 
After visiting with him and the other children several times, Boomer had
encouraged him to write to him in between visits.  Thus, the two had
connected and forged a friendship.  Where this bond would lead, Boomer
was not sure.  For now, at least, he wanted to be Ezekial's mentor and
someone to whom he could reach out.
     Lights flipped on.  Voices interrupted the silence.  The others were
waking up.  Boomer typed his short note quickly, telling Ezekial that he
would look for him after the Triad clinic, that he would treat him to
dinner, since his schedule was open today.
     The lieutenant was just finishing up, sending his message to be
stored until the appointed transmission time, when Starbuck, freshly
showered, the previous day's uniform draped across an arm, exited the
turbowash.  Boomer gave his friend a close, critical look this time as he
reemerged into the awakening fraternity of viper pilots.  Giles was the
first to crack a joke about Starbuck's choice of sleeping quarters. 
Starbuck flashed a grin and played along with the teasing, encouraging
it, even.  Boomer, however, saw the dark shadows under his friend's blue
eyes and knew that he was just building a smoke screen to cover whatever
had really happened in the centars after he had walked away from Apollo,
Cassie, Sheba, and him.  He also noticed that Starbuck had avoided
looking in his direction while he dressed and traded jests with the other
pilots.
     "Hey, Bucko!" Boomer called.
     Starbuck paused, looked over at Boomer, grin still frozen in place,
but said nothing.
     "You got a message last night.  Thought you might want to read it
before the next transmissions come in."  Boomer knew who it would be
from, because Starbuck only had one connection outside of the Galactica -
Chameleon.  Maybe a few words from this crafty con man, who was so much
like Starbuck, would help to lift the lieutenant's spirits.
     For about a day, several sectars ago, it had actually looked like
Chameleon could be Starbuck's father, Boomer remembered.  For a brief
moment, the lieutenant had known what it was like to have a blood-related
family.  However, events had revealed that Chameleon had used their
shared link to Umbra and the Thorn Forest on Caprica as a cover to escape
from some Borelian Nomen that he had deceived.  Chameleon had used
Starbuck to get off the Rising Star and to find protection.  The bond,
however, that the two had forged, seeded by their uncanny similarities
and the proven fact that they were, at least, related within ten
generations, had survived Chameleon's confession.  They had continued to
visit one another, from time to time, since then.
     "Yeah?" Starbuck's eyes widened and his smiled softened in genuine
surprise and delight.  His reaction was so much like the orphans' when he
and the other pilots brought small treats with them, Boomer reflected. 
Open, honest happiness, with all other concerns temporarily forgotten.
     Boomer gave Starbuck a friendly smile and a playful jab on the
shoulder as he moved over, giving him what little privacy he could.  Best
to just forget about the past evening, thought Boomer, and to keep the
mood light.  He was quite aware, though, that it would not be that simple
with Apollo.  Although he had not heard their argument, Boomer knew that
the two close friends had exchanged some harsh words.  Starbuck would
have to face Apollo, at the very least, when the Triad clinic began after
the midday meal.  Whether those two would have time to resolve the issue
was another matter.  They would all be busy with the children and the
demonstrations.  Starbuck would suit up, at least, but he could not yet
play.  In addition, Boomer knew that Starbuck would have to make his
public apology for fighting with that reporter; the captain had briefly
explained the lieutenant's consequences last night, after Starbuck had
walked off and left the group standing outside the commander's office. 
Nope, reflected Boomer, not an easy afternoon for his friend.
     As Starbuck relinquished the computer terminal to the crowd of
warriors now awaiting the morning's transmissions, Boomer asked, "So
what's Chameleon up to?"
The smile was still genuine.  "He wants to meet at the Rising Star.  He
knows I've only got a day or two left on leave, and he thinks we should
get together and make the most of it.  Sounds like a plan to me!"
     "I see," Boomer teased, "So the two of you can see who loses the
most cubits?"
     Starbuck grabbed a towel that had been left on a bunk and threw it
at Boomer.  Boomer dodged it easily, but said no more.  Instead, he hoped
that his friend's light mood could survive the rest of the day.  And
perhaps a night out, away from everyone else, was what the lieutenant
needed.

************

     Starbuck and Boomer, along with several other pilots, slipped
quietly into the back of the throng of warriors gathered for the
mandatory briefing.  The commander had called the meeting in the main
conference hall, which was two rooms, really.  The warriors stood at the
back of the audience chamber that opened into the raised meeting area. 
The separating partition at the front had been drawn to reveal a
navigational display and the large council table, which was set against
the backdrop of stars that shown faintly through the observation port.
     Boomer and Starbuck were actually several centons late, but found,
to their relief, that the proceedings had not yet started.  Even Starbuck
was usually on time when it came to meetings with the commander, but the
lieutenant had fallen asleep earlier.  Boomer had let him rest, waking
him at the last possible moment.  All he remembered was sitting down on
his bunk to wait while Boomer used the turbowash, before heading out for
the morning meal.  Moments later, it had seemed, but actually over two
centars later, Boomer had been shaking him out of a deep, dreamless
sleep.
     The only true sleep he had had that long night, because after he and
Cassie had gone to bed, around 0130, the nightmare had invaded his sleep
all too soon, allowing him no reprieve following the disaster of an
evening.  Cassie had awaken, also, to find him gasping and obviously
shaken.  She had tried her best to calm him, but the nightmare had shaken
him to his core, even though he could not remember any of the images. 
But they were there, just below the surface of his conscious memory,
leaving him with a horrible feeling and a driving desire to stay awake. 
So he had pretended to relax and fall asleep as Cassie had cuddled close. 
He had concentrated on her soft warmth, the sweet smell of her hair
against his face, the smooth, comforting feel of her arm across his
chest.  Eventually, she had drifted back to sleep, peacefully, but
Starbuck had continued to stare into the darkness, using her closeness as
a shield from any further dreams.  And he had let her alarm, set for
0500, seemingly awaken them both.  Thus, he had returned to the billet,
once again, with very little sleep and the nagging, lingering
aftereffects of a nightmare.
     Now, as he scanned the faces of the other warriors, taking vague
note of who he saw, his stomach was also growling and rumbling at him,
letting him know that his last meal had been some time ago.  Before the
Triad game, the previous evening, he reflected, which felt as if it had
been a secton ago, since that meal had been emergency rations and had
been unsatisfying, at best.  When Starbuck had found out that Boomer had
let him sleep through the morning meal, Starbuck had complained loudly. 
Boomer, however, had narrowed his eyes, stared at him knowingly and had
flatly told him that he needed the sleep more than the food.  Although
Starbuck had continued to protest, he knew his friend was right; those
two centars had been his first solid sleep in a long while, and Boomer
knew that.  How could he not know, given the close quarters of their
billet?
     Even when Starbuck had chosen to ignore curfew regulations and spend
some of the nights with Cassie, Boomer was perceptive enough to know why
he came back still looking so tired.  And it was not due to any amorous
interactions, as Starbuck would have the other warriors believe.  The
others were so quick to accept his insinuated stories of long, passionate
centars spent with Cassiopeia.  Starbuck had to laugh to himself.  His
reputation as a "ladies man" was legendary, and he had actively worked to
keep it inflated beyond reality, at least among his fellow pilots.  Thus,
when it had finally become apparent that he was seeing only one woman, he
had had to dodge a barrage of jokes about it.  To keep his reputation
intact, he had carefully planted the idea that nights spent with Cassie
were filled with far more adventure than one could ever find with someone
else.  Although she had the reputation of a skilled medtech, her former
occupation of socialator was common knowledge, too.  Starbuck was careful
to describe her in nothing but the most respectful terms, but, with a
twinge of guilt, he had also let himself use and manipulate the others'
knowledge.  With just the right implications, he had not had to actually
say anything, but had let the others create the wild adventures for him,
while he just grinned and nodded mischievously.
     Boomer, however, was not fooled.  He would listen to the tall tales
but not participate.  Instead, he would throw Starbuck an ironic,
disapproving stare that stated plainer than words that he knew the truth;
he knew that the fabrications were a comfortable shield, and that the
nightmares continued.
     Yeah, Boomer knew...  and so did Apollo, Starbuck reflected, letting
his own thoughts float briefly and hesitantly beyond the wall that he had
deliberately built, stone by stone, over the many yahrens.  He was fully
aware that he was hiding, even from himself.  But to let himself look
inward, past that wall, was like standing on the edge of a deep chasm as
the wind blew against his back; the overwhelming fear of falling made him
withdraw and cling to safety.  'Oh, God,' he let himself think, 'Apollo,
Boomer, Cassie...they're right.  I'm too afraid to find out what's
causing these nightmares.  Too afraid of what I'll find... I can't let
this go on.  Not after last night.'  He could still hear the awful,
hurtful words that he had said to Apollo ringing in his mind.
     Abruptly, Starbuck's mind snapped back to the conference hall and
the faces his eyes had been absently scanning.  Apollo.  Where was
Apollo?  With keen attention now, he stared, taking note of everyone he
saw as his gaze swept across the standing warriors.  He let his gaze
sweep from the faces beside and behind him on his left, to the backs of
heads in front of him and on to those off to his right.  He recognized
many familiar faces, including several of the bridge officers.  Athena
stood up front with Omega next to her.  But the captain, who was always
punctual, never late, was not present.
     The murmur of voices hushed as the commander and Colonel Tigh
entered through the conference room, emerging from behind the drawn
partition.  At that same moment, Starbuck swung around instinctively at
the sound of movement and rustling behind him, near the rear entrance to
the audience chamber, off to his left.  It was Apollo.  Although the
captain was a couple of metrons back and was partially obscured by the
handful of warriors that stood between them, Starbuck instantly noticed a
subtle difference to his appearance and demeanor.  An unkempt look to his
hair and that glazed aura about his face.  Although Apollo seemed in
control, Starbuck recognized the slight furrowing of the brow denoting
the extra little bit of effort required to concentrate as the captain
focused on his father's opening statements.  By the Lords, Starbuck gaped
to himself, he's been drinking?!
     A sharp jab in the ribs from Boomer's elbow, followed by a brief but
painful cramp in his twisted back muscles, broke his concentration and
reminded him that staring to the back of the room would not go over well
with the commander or Colonel Tigh.  Turning slowly to face front, the
lieutenant still did not hear the commander's words or even feel the
fading spasm.  Instead, his mind was clinging to and analyzing the image
he had just seen.  Apollo had looked flustered and rushed, out of breath
from hurrying.  The captain's eyes, as he had briefly glanced around and
had nodded, ever so slightly, to his friend, however, had not reflected
concern or anger, but something else.  Something that Starbuck had not
seen in Apollo's eyes since before the Destruction and briefly
afterwards.  Happiness.  A deep, pervasive contentment.  Starbuck was
sure of it.  But why?  And how?
     It was not at all what he had expected, especially after the events
of the past evening.  Starbuck felt puzzled, almost bewildered.  He knew
that his own behavior had been inexcusably rude and hurtful.  Apollo
should have been - had every right to be - quite upset with him, still. 
Yet, in the milimicron that their eyes had locked, before the captain had
looked away, almost as if embarrassed, Apollo's gaze had conveyed
something much different.  He was not sure what, but it was nothing near
what he had expected.  It left him feeling unnerved.
     Boomer was jabbing him in the ribs again.  "Bucko, you ought to at
least *look* like you're paying attention!" he whispered at him, while
keeping his gaze straight ahead.
     "Of course!  I'm hanging on every word," Starbuck whispered back. 
Although facing forward, he had been staring at the floor this time, he
realized, so he looked up and forced his mind to tune in to the
commander's voice.
     "...changing role.  I won't describe the incidents of the past
several sectons, since we are all well aware of what has happened," Adama
was saying, his voice echoing through the large chamber.
     Although he was pacing slowly but purposefully back and forth just
at the edge of the steps that descended into the audience chamber, Adama
was staring steadily in the lieutenant's direction as he spoke those
words.  Starbuck looked up to lock gazes with his commander, briefly,
before Adama finally let his eyes return to sweeping the faces of his
warriors.  The jolt of that momentary, yet penetrating, contact riveted
Starbuck's attention.  So he also noticed when the commander's gaze
paused in Apollo's direction, and the briefest of frowns, then the
faintest of smiles, played across his face for a fleeting micron.  Only
Starbuck and, surely, Apollo would have noticed the almost imperceptible
changes.
     Still pacing slowly, his hands clasped behind his back, the
commander continued, "Your Oath as a warrior is to protect the people of
the Fleet from all threats and to ensure their safety.  Yet, keeping the
last of humankind safe from its enemies will demand more than just flying
patrols and scouting resources and fighting the Cylons." As he paused,
the silence indicated that he had everyone's attention.  He glanced
briefly at Tigh, who stood to the left beside the partition, two steps
down from the conference room, with his hands also clasped behind his
back, his eyes taking in everything.
     "We are faced with a more immediate threat now, I fear - ourselves. 
If we are to succeed in our duty as protectors, that role must expand to
include fighting human weakness, too, ensuring a safe and nurturing
harbor for all those souls who have entrusted themselves under our
protection, and defending the spirit of the human race against its very
own mortal enemy... hopelessness."
     Adama's voice, so strong and captivating, was the only sound, now,
in the conference chamber.  He continued.  "All of you, as warriors, can
understand that it is much too soon to know if we have escaped the Cylon
threat, but the people of the Fleet don't have the discipline to be
patient provided to us by our military training and experience.  They are
*tired.*  Some are losing faith and hope.  Some are getting desperate,
even.  They want a better life, and they may not have the will to wait
much longer."  The impact of Adama's last statements hung in the air
almost tangibly as he paused again and scanned the faces in front of him. 
His words were serious, and his expression was one of candid
determination.  "As time passes, we will face more volatile situations,
not fewer." 
     Adama stopped pacing to face the warriors and hold his arms out for
emphasis.  "So we - as Colonial Warriors - must understand that
preventive and positive measures are needed to combat the rising feelings
of restlessness, hopelessness, and even desperation.  We must encourage
unity and hope.  And faith.  And we must reach out to all people of this
Fleet.  That is why the Triad demonstrations, later today, at the Orphan
Ship are so important.  And that is why my next proposal needs to be
considered very seriously by each and every one of you."
     Adama paused to let his gaze sweep across the faces of his warriors,
yet again, and to let the ensuing silence add weight to his next words. 
"The children of the Fleet are our only bridge to the future.  Need I
tell you that without them, the human race will stagnate and die?  Yet,
hundreds must call the Orphan Ship their home.  They live without the
love, guidance, or support of any adult, save their determined but
overworked guardians, who each give all that they can to the 30 or 40
children under their care.  Each and every one of those children is a
vital link in the bridge to our future.  Each and every one of them needs
a special person who can be a guide to them, a source of support, an
anchor against losing hope.  Each child needs to know that he or she is
not just a face in the crowd and a just another mouth to be feed.
     "Thus, in an effort to preserve our future we are establishing a
mentor program for the children of the Orphan Ship.  We are going to
encourage every person in this Fleet who is able to - to reach out and
help one of these orphans.  Before I present this to the general
population, though, my hope is to build a beginning foundation for this
program from within our own ranks, from among the Colonial Warriors, who
are the protectors of this Fleet.  I do realize that this is no easy
task, because being a mentor would require a true commitment and would be
a long-term responsibility.  If you choose to do this, you must be
willing to give a part of your very being to supporting and guiding this
child.
     "And this challenge will not be for everyone." The commander paused,
and his gaze seemed to seek out a couple of specific faces, Athena in the
front, Apollo in the back.  His voice was much softer when he continued. 
"As a parent, I understand that..." The commander seemed to reflect for a
brief micron, his eyes flickering almost imperceptibly as he returned to
a determined, firm tone.  "Consider it.  Think about it.  Think about it
as you either participate in the Triad demonstration or watch it, as it
is broadcast later over the IFB.  Look at those children - our future,
our only hope for permanence - and consider the mentor program."
     Adama scanned the faces one final time.  No one spoke, but a
rustling and shuffling of bodies indicated that everyone had been
affected, one way or another, by the commander's message.  Some would
jump eagerly at the idea, some would feel open to the idea, though
uncertain, while others would balk.  But no one would ignore the message. 
"Okay, you are dismissed," he said at last.  With that, Adama exited,
followed by Colonel Tigh, who had graced them all with one final stare
that dared the warriors to *not* seriously consider the commander's
proposal, before also walking up the stairs and out through the
conference room.
     Starbuck sat still, considering what Adama had just said and trying
to define the uneasy feeling that was stirring within.  Acute discomfort
was only a part of it.  To his right, though, Boomer was nodding in
silent agreement.  His expression was confident and determined.  As he
turned to him, Starbuck could see the excitement shining in his eyes. 
"Boomer, did I miss something?"  He gave his friend a puzzled look.
     "Starbuck, that program was my idea!  I had a talk with Colonel Tigh
a couple of sectons ago and suggested we start something like this.  Tigh
let me know just the other day that the Council had approved of the idea
and that he and Adama would be presenting it at this briefing." Boomer
beamed at Starbuck.  "I've already given the commander my name."
     "Really."  Starbuck kept his tone neutral, but wondered why he felt
such a sense of anxiety at what he knew Boomer was going to say next.
     "You'd be perfect for this!" Boomer continued, patting his friend
enthusiastically on the shoulder, too excited to read his friend's
uncertainty.
     People were filing out around them.  Starbuck felt immobile as he
tried to formulate an answer that would satisfy Boomer, yet make no
commitment.  Yes, he enjoyed their visits to the orphan ship, but to
commit himself, especially right now..."Look," he said finally, "I'll
think about it." He smiled and tried to sound casual.  "I've got a lot on
my mind right now," he said, being surprisingly honest.
     "Yeah, sure." Boomer's own excitement had eased enough to register
Starbuck's uncertainty.  He decided that now was not the time to press
the issue.  Instead, he said, "Why don't we head to the commissary?  I
bet you're pretty hungry."
     "Um, I, uh...  need to talk to Apollo, first," Starbuck said,
fidgeting.  He felt the need to face Apollo jabbing at him from within. 
Starbuck turned to his left, looking behind him, expecting the captain to
still be there, at the back of the audience chamber, waiting.  But he was
gone.  "Hey!"  He turned to Boomer.  "Where'd he go?  He was right behind
us during the briefing!"
     Boomer stood, hands on hips, and scanned the few people who
remained.  "I don't know - wait!  There he is." Boomer pointed to the
front, near the partition that divided the conference room from the
audience chamber.
     Starbuck looked to see Apollo deep in conversation with Sheba.  At
that distance, he could not hear their words, but he watched their
expressions and gestures.  Quiet gestures, subtle, Apollo's hand on
Sheba's arm...  Starbuck studied the scene, noting the slightly less than
just casual space between them and the unwavering eye contact.  And the
expressions on their faces.  The slight curl to Apollo's lips.  The
radiance in Sheba's eyes and the glow in her cheeks.  And it clicked. 
Starbuck shook his head and laughed, loudly.
     Boomer gave him a quizzical look.  "And what's so funny?"
     Apollo and Sheba had not even noticed that they were being watched. 
"Nothing, Boomer, nothing." Starbuck was not yet ready to voice his
revelation.  He gazed at the pair for a moment, before making a decision. 
Although he knew he needed to talk to the captain, to apologize, he also
was not so eager that it could not wait.  Besides, he thought
mischievously, he needed time to digest what seemed to have happened
between Apollo and Sheba.  So, instead, he turned and headed for the rear
exit, saying, "Come on!"
     Boomer looked from the captain and Sheba to Starbuck, puzzled, then
followed.  Out in the corridor, Starbuck had stopped, waiting, an amused
expression on his face.  Boomer gave him one more inquiring stare.  "All
right!  What's going on?  What was that all about?"
     "You'll have to ask Apollo that," he answered, deliberately
unhelpful.  Boomer shook his head and sighed, deciding to drop the
subject, for the moment.  He would end up with a headache if he tried to
decipher it all right now.  "Let's go to the commissary," he said at
last.
     "Hey, Boomer!" Starbuck said, glancing at his chronometer.  "I'm
supposed to meet Copernicus for midday meal in a centar.  Why don't you
come too?"
     Boomer considered it, then asked, "Yeah, sure, but would that upset
Copernicus?  I mean, having an unfamiliar person around?" Boomer had not
really gotten to know the man, but he knew quite a bit about him, from
Starbuck.
     The lieutenant thought for a moment.  "No," he said, seriously.  "I
don't think so.  He'll be more likely to just ignore you."  Then he
flashed his friend a grin. "But then, you should be used to that!"
     Boomer groaned."Keep it up, buddy.  Just keep it up!"

*******************

     The commissary was not crowded, with just several small groups of
people gathered around at the long tables.  Most ate quickly, downing
their rations without tasting and only stopping to complain that the size
of the protein cubes, carbo bars and high-nutrient discs seemed to be
even smaller, although this was supposed to be the last day of the strict
rationing.  Most left unsatisfied and still hungry, despite the
assurances that the portion assigned to each was nutritionally adequate
and balanced for one meal.
     One more day, thought Starbuck, just one more day.  He and Boomer
were seated with Copernicus and Tarnia at a table in the back corner. 
Having missed the morning meal, the small pile of flavorless pieces that
lay on his plate would do little to quiet the rumblings in his stomach. 
But a missed meal was a missed meal - no extra portions at the next, even
though the computer kept track of who ate at which mealtime.  Under
emergency conditions such as this, at least in the ships where the
technology existed, all people had their palm scanned and voice
identification checked before they were given their allotted rations.
     Forcing himself to not devour the so-called food in front of him in
three large bites, Starbuck instead watched in fascination as Copernicus
slowly sliced all of his rations into four even pieces, careful to keep
each with its own group of either protein, carbos, or nutrients, in three
neat piles.  Next, he speared a protein piece with his fork, popped it in
his mouth and chewed the small morsel at least twenty times before
swallowing.  He did the same with part of a carbo bar, and then with a
section of the nutrient disc.  Finally, he took a small sip from his cup
of water before starting the process over again, in the same pattern -
protein, carbo, then nutrient, each chewed twenty times.  Starbuck knew
the number was consistent, because he had started counting as he watched
the man chew.
     Even with both Starbuck and Boomer staring at him, Copernicus seemed
oblivious to everything and everyone.  The two warriors had cheerfully
greeted Tarnia and Copernicus as they had arrived, but they had had to
say, "Hello, Copernicus!" several times, loudly and deliberately, before
he had looked at them, smiled broadly, and exclaimed, "Hello!"  He had
immediately withdrawn back to his internal thoughts after that.  As he
ate, his movements and actions were almost mechanical, without thought,
and his mind seemed a million metrons away.  In another world.
     Boomer finally looked at Tarnia and asked, "Does he always eat like
this?"
     Copernicus' protector smiled between her own tiny bites of rations,
and said, "Yep.  He's very methodical, and he's either totally absorbed
with his own thoughts, or he'll talk to you nonstop about - well,
whatever his mind is focused on at the time."  She grinned at the two
warriors.
     "But the piles...?" Boomer nodded towards Copernicus' orderly plate.
     "It has to do with making sense of the outside world," Tarnia
explained.  Everything can be so stressing to his senses, so he looks for
order and symmetry.  It's a coping strategy, really."
     "It's so interesting," Boomer commented with a smile, genuinely
fascinated.
     Starbuck, nodding in agreement, finally picked up a protein cube and
practically swallowed it whole, then gulped down several more.  They did
nothing to take the edge off of his hunger.  Exercising a little more
restraint, he nibbled at one of the bland carbo bars and continued to
watch Copernicus proceed with his orderly consumption of rations.  Taste
seemed irrelevant, since his thoughts were obviously elsewhere.  "So," he
said to Tarnia between bites, "How's it going in the Lifestation?"
     "Good, real good," she answered.  "It's nice to feel like I'm doing
more than just existing and surviving.  I hadn't been able to figure out
any work arrangements on the Sagittarius, over the past yahren, since the
Destruction, that would have let me keep an eye on Copernicus, too."
Tarnia paused to gaze directly at Starbuck before she said, "Thanks,
Lieutenant."  Her eyes conveyed the depth of feeling beneath those two,
simple words.
     "Uh, you're welcome."  Starbuck looked over at Boomer, who had
finished the last of his rations.  "I'd give anything for a thick, juicy
bovine cut right now!"  He fingered the last of his carbo bars.  "Or even
just a nice, chemically reformulated talon burger."
     Tarnia chuckled, partly at the abrupt switch in the topic of
conversation, and partly because they all shared that last sentiment. 
For nearly a yahren, now, most of the foods and drinks, all once taken
for granted, were only memories from a time before the Destruction.  For
a while, the people had complained and grudgingly ate the synthesized,
reformulated, chemically-altered food and drink that was now standard
fare.  Most of their food came from the versatile talon plant, which was
edible from flower, to leaf, to root, rich in nutrients and fiber, could
be force-grown in a couple of sectons, and could be used as the basis for
most of the food replications.  Now, in the face of strict rationing that
had eliminated even the talon-based products for two sectons, the people
more truly appreciated the luxury of their standard Fleet diet.
     Starbuck popped the last of his meal into his mouth and sighed, "I
might as well have gotten the same food by infusion, the good it did! 
I'm still just as hungry!"
     Abruptly, Copernicus stopped, looked unblinkingly at the lieutenant. 
"I do not want any more," he said, pushing his plate, which still
contained about half of his rations, towards Starbuck.  "You can eat it."
     The lieutenant could only stare.  "No! Look, I'm fine, Copernicus. 
Copernicus?"  Starbuck was about to push the plate back, but realized
that the man had tuned out again.  He was absently sipping the rest of
his water and gazing blankly at the wall.
     "Go ahead, Lieutenant!" Tarnia said with a wave of her hand.  "He
won't eat it, now that he's stopped."
     Starbuck hesitantly reached a hand out to touch the man's arm, and
said softly, "Copernicus?"  Copernicus' head tilted just slightly, he
blinked once, then shifted his gaze to the lieutenant to stare with eyes
that were so bright, so deep and penetrating, before looking away again. 
"Thanks," Starbuck whispered in simple but sincere gratitude, certain now
that he had heard him, even though his focus seemed distant.  Boomer
smiled as he watched his friend eat the rest of Copernicus' meal.
     As Tarnia had watched the exchange, Boomer had noticed, she had been
quietly but intently been studying Starbuck, observing him, her face
thoughtful.  Gradually, her expression had taken on more serious shades. 
For a moment, she seemed to consider something as she chewed her lip,
then she apparently reached a decision.  Finally, she said slowly,
"Lieutenant, I need to talk to you."
     "Yes?" Starbuck looked at her, puzzled.
     "Let me preface this by saying that I have learned, over the
yahrens, when dealing with Copernicus, that there are times for subtlety
and times for directness," she said slowly, carefully.  "There are also
times when the need to convey a point necessitates breaking a few social
conventions."
     "Oh?" Starbuck had no idea what she was talking about, yet, but he
had a suspicion that he was about to find out.
     Tarnia put her hands together on the tabletop, fingertips touching,
and leaned forward to stare at the lieutenant.  "What I'm about to say
now, is both as a friend and as a professional."  She paused to study
Starbuck's puzzled face, then continued, "I've gotten to know a friend of
yours in the Lifestation.  Cassiopeia."
     Starbuck shifted uncomfortably.
     "We had a conversation this morning," she said even more
deliberately.
     "Oh really."  The response was short and tense.  He knew exactly
what they must have talked about.  The exam.  The psychological exam.
     Tarnia sensed his rising anger, but continued anyway.  "I want you
to know that it is *my* choice to talk to you here and now.  Not
Cassie's.  She was only doing her job, as a medtech conferring with a
therapist."  She smiled faintly.  "I'm sure she would be mortified by
what I'm doing, but, as I said, sometimes it's just necessary to be
direct."
     Starbuck said nothing, but felt his face going red.  Boomer, also,
could feel the sudden tension in the air.  And maybe it was his
imagination, but although Copernicus was still staring away from them,
Boomer had the distinct impression that he was listening and absorbing
everything that was transpiring.
     Tarnia continued, "Cassie told me that you have to schedule a
psychological exam as part of your final evaluation, but she's afraid
you're going to put it off."
     "Now why would I do that?" he said curtly.  "I won't be cleared for
duty until I have it."  Normally, Starbuck would have smiled and tried to
charm his way out of answering such a question, or would have skillfully
changed the subject.  Tarnia, however, had deliberately confronted him so
that he was unable to use any of those defenses.
     "Were you really going to talk to me about it later today, when you
came in for your physical?"  She drilled him with a penetrating and
knowing stare.  "Or were you going to conveniently 'forget'?"  Whereas
Cassie, Boomer, or Apollo would have hesitated about being so blunt and
cornering him like that, knowing how explosive he could be, Tarnia had
carefully and intentionally put his back against the wall to force an
honest reaction.  The shear surprise of it, that a relative stranger
would be so bold, also served to defuse his anger.
     Boomer watched his friend fidget and look away before Starbuck
answered, "I - uh, well, maybe..."
     "I thought so."  Tarnia's tone was gentle, yet admonishing now. 
"I'm aware that Cassie cares a great deal for you.  And she knows you."
Tarnia paused before saying, "We can easily do the psychological exam
right after the physical.  It'll only take a centar, or so."
     "Yeah, fine." Starbuck sounded far from eager.
     "Lieutenant," Tarnia said, her voice soothing, gentle, "You just
can't put this off any longer.  And you can't ignore it, either.  I
wouldn't have brought it up in front of your friend, here," she
continued, nodding towards Boomer and giving him a soft smile, "Except
that I know he and all the others want to help you through this...  if
you'll just let them."
     Starbuck looked from Boomer to Tarnia, feeling the flush in his
face, still, but unable to hold onto the anger.  He finally said quietly,
"Talk about cutting through the felgercarb..."
     Before he had time to think of anything else to say, Copernicus
suddenly broke the awkward silence.  Gazing directly at Starbuck, he
said, "Yes, yes!  It might work!  If we can create a negative mass
field."
     "What?" Starbuck shook his head, not comprehending.
     Copernicus continued, "It just might be possible to create a
continuous propulsion effect by the juxtaposition of negative and
positive mass, assuming that the resulting field will create negative
inertia."
     "You've lost me, pal!"  Starbuck was both relieved and confused by
the interruption.  He looked to Tarnia for an explanation, the tension
from the previous moment dissipating.
     Copernicus continued to speak as if the lieutenant had been sharing
the discussion all along.  "If you have V as the gravitational scalar
potential for the combined system, then the negative mass, -m, is
located..." **
     Tarnia leaned over the table to whisper to the two confused-looking
warriors, "I believe Wilker explained that their major project is to find
some kind of fuel-less propulsion system for our space ships.  I think
that's what he's talking about - and probably been thinking about since
this morning.  It's a puzzle, a challenge.  Copernicus loves puzzles like
this!"  She grinned in genuine enthusiasm on behalf of Copernicus, who
was still describing his theory, oblivious to the others' reactions.
     Boomer laughed as his friend pretended to listen and nodded his
head, even though he had no idea what the man was talking about.  The
affection that gleamed in Copernicus' eyes as he gazed at Starbuck was
obvious.  So he demonstrated it the only way he knew how, to include him
in what had been -- and still was, really - an internal monologue. 
Starbuck, for his part, truly tried to look interested, at least, for a
few centons, before a glance at his chronometer showed that it actually
was time to leave.

**( From "The Challenge To Create The Space Drive" by Marc G.  Millis,
NASA Glenn Research Center.)

***************

     The Orphan Ship had been a cargo vessel before the Great
Destruction, used for transporting massive amounts of products from one
Colony to another.  Her freight had ranged from seed for the Virgon
farmers to sensitive military components for the Caprican Research
Institute.  Today, now, her holds were home to the most precious of all
cargo: 759 children, from six- to fourteen-yahrens-old, who had no
relative or guardian to care for them.
     Originally, several thousand orphans and lost children had been
housed aboard the cargo ship, amid make-shift and crowded conditions. 
Through intense efforts, all but the those remaining had either been
reunited with a family member or placed with a foster parent.  And by the
grace of the Lords of Kobol, almost all of the foster placements had or
would become permanent adoptive arrangements.  Many prospective parents
were ones who had lost children, perhaps a whole family, during the
Destruction, but only a few of the trial placements had not worked out.
     After nearly a yahren, though, the number of people looking to adopt
had dwindled as families and populations aboard the different ships in
the Fleet had stabilized.  As it was, even before the exodus into space,
the first to be adopted had been the babies, then the toddlers.  Now, the
youngest orphans were a small group of six- to eight-yahrens-old, mostly
boys, who were not the picture-perfect, loveable child that many people
had been seeking.  And the older the child, no matter how
well-dispositioned they might be, the less likely it would be to find a
permanent placement for them.
     The orphans knew that this cargo ship would most likely be their
home until either they reached Earth - or some other inhabitable planet -
or they turned fifteen.  At that age, provided they demonstrated the
appropriate level of maturity and responsibility, the child would be
granted "apprentice" status and allowed to pursue a guided but much more
independent life in the Fleet.  With help from the counselors on the
Orphan Ship and other ships, they would enter a training program of their
choice, begin working as a novice in that field, when possible, and move
to suitable living quarters, usually a group setting with others in their
training field.  And the options were wide and varied: teacher, medtech,
electronics technician, maintenance specialist, agri-specilist, even
artisan, provided the child demonstrated enough talent.  The most
attractive position, though, was becoming a Colonial Warrior,
specifically a viper pilot.
     Especially among the younger children, the pilots were their heroes,
their idols.  That many of the pilots were also Triad players only
increased their status in the eyes of their admirers.  Triad was the only
organized sport that existed now in the Fleet, the only one, out of the
many that had once filled the Interplanetary Broadcast Networks.  So much
of the people's culture had to be put on hold until a new home could be
found...
     Thus, the children of the Orphan Ship, as they entered and scrambled
to take their seats on temporary bleachers at the back of the ship's
large landing bay, greeted the Triad players with wildly enthusiastic
shouts, screams, and cheers.  The players all stood, grinning and waving,
in front of the demonstration area, which consisted of sturdy backboards
constructed to form two open-ended Triad Courts, each with tree walls,
facing the bleachers.  With all of the 759 children, their support staff
and caregivers, the IFB crew, the players and the other assistants and
technicians, the landing bay was packed to capacity, almost.
     And because many, but not all, of the Triad players were pilots,
Adama had limited the demonstrations to 12 of the 22 teams, not for
reasons of space, but for security.  All of the players, six teams from
the men's league and six from the women's league, had arrived earlier. 
The 24 players had had to change into their uniforms on the Galactica,
before taking a shuttle to the Orphan Ship.  The shuttle had then
departed to allow room for setting up the demonstration area.  Of those
24 players, eleven were pilots and would be unavailable, in the off
chance that Cylons attacked.  And while that chance seemed infinitely
small, the commander would never compromise the safety of the Fleet.
     While the players waved and smiled in greeting to the children, as
they clamored to their seats, Boomer watched his two friends out of the
corner of his eye.  Although the men and women's teams were interspersed
in one group, they all remained close to their partners: Boomer and
Greenbean, Dietra and Brie, Barton and Security Corporal Davies, and the
others, including the former champions, Apollo and Starbuck.  They waved,
they grinned, they even exchanged bantering comments; Boomer was relieved
to see that the harsh words from the previous evening had been forgiven. 
And while not completely certain, Boomer now had a clearer idea of what
else had transpired.
     After the meal with Copernicus, he and Starbuck had gone to the
billet to change for the Triad demonstrations.  Upon entering, the
lieutenant had paused briefly, looking visibly tense, before donning his
facade of nonchalance and strolling on in.  Apollo was already there,
along with all of the other male players, pilots and non-pilots alike,
since their Triad uniforms had been transported from the Rising Star to
the billet for this occasion.
     As they had approached, Apollo had looked up, his expression
serious, lips slightly pursed.  And he had gazed at his friend with an
unblinking expression that penetrated all pretext.  Starbuck had locked
eyes for a micron, long enough to read the message, then silently started
sorting through his Triad equipment, which lay on a bench next to the
captain.  After fidgeting with a strap for several microns, though, the
lieutenant had finally glanced up.  Boomer, pulling out through his own
gear, had watched and listened intently.
     "Ah, look, Apollo..." Starbuck spoke quietly, still staring at the
strap.  "I didn't mean - that is, I..."
     "It wasn't just you.  I overreacted, too."  Apollo was adjusting his
knee pads, being careful not to draw the other players' attention.
     Starbuck finally stopped and stared directly at the captain.  "I
acted like a frakking snit rad and I'm sorry."
     "I agree.  And I accept your apology," Apollo had said after a
moment.
     Boomer had frowned, puzzled, as he had noticed the slight curl to
Apollo's lip.  The confusion only grew as Starbuck, after another brief
micron of silence, had added, "Although, it seems like maybe I did you a
favor?" 
     "Yeah, I think you did."  Apollo had looked down, blushing,
pretending to tighten his knee pad but unable to conceal the smile.
     For several centons they had all concentrated on changing.  At last,
though, when neither one seemed willing to offer any further information,
Boomer had felt ready to explode.  Moving to stand between his friends,
he had asked in a whisper, "Okay.  I give up.  Just what are you two
talking about?"
     "Sheba," Starbuck had said with a wiry grin as he pulled his tunic
over his head.  Apollo had said nothing, but the gleam in his eye had
finally illuminated the picture for Boomer; he had forgotten that Sheba
and Apollo had left together the previous evening.  The sudden
revelation, unexpected, had washed away the heavy feelings of concern
that had been dominating him all morning.  Perhaps the day would be one
to enjoy after all.
     The new champion's reflections were interrupted as a blue-clad
figure separated from the group of Triad players, and Boomer refocused
his mind back to the present.  A moment later, the voice of Colonel Tigh
reverberated through the sound system, echoing through the landing bay. 
"Young ladies and gentlemen..."
     The hubbub of voices and restless bodies quickly quieted as the
children settled down to see their favorite players introduced.
     Tigh continued, "Please welcome some of our best Triad teams,
starting with Silver Team's Berta and Kassandra!"  The children cheered
and whistled as the two players trotted out, waving.  Grabbing a ball
from an assistant, Berta and her partner jogged onto the demonstration
court and took several centons to show off some of their rebounding
passes.
     Then Tigh's voice boomed out, loud enough to be heard over the
cheers, "Next, we have Red Team's Barton and Davies!"
     Berta and Kassandra passed the ball off to the next players, and the
show continued, with the colonel alternating between the women and men's
teams.  Eventually, all that remained were the final three teams.  "It is
my pleasure," Tigh paused, waiting for relative silence, then spread his
arms theatrically, before saying, "to introduce the new men's champions -
Blue Team's Boomer and Greenbean!"
     Boomer felt a warm, exhilarated rush as all other thoughts
dissipated.  Looking out across the sea of young faces, radiant and
joyful, all that matter was this moment, the here and now.  He was here
to give all he could to the children, to let them know that he and the
others cared, that their smiles and happiness were more reward than all
the cubits in the Fleet.  Waving with both hands, he and Greenbean ran in
opposite directions in front of the stands, and as he passed the far end,
Boomer spotted Ezekial waving wildly at him.  He flipped him a thumbs-up
before heading to the demo court.
     Several centons later, Tigh's voice announced, "And now, the
reigning women champions - Green Team's Brie and Dietra!"  Even before
the colonel had concluded his introduction, the two had quietly
approached the court.  Rushing forward, Brie intercepted the ball as
Boomer was completing a hard throw to Greenbean and made a side-arm pass
to her partner.  With all the grace of a dancer, Dietra spun around and
leaped, slapping the ball midair into the goal.  As she landed, she blew
a two-handed kiss to the crowd and playfully jabbed Boomer in the ribs. 
The children erupted into wild, gleeful cheers and laughter.
     Not to be out done, Greenbean snatched the ball away from Brie after
an official tossed it back into play.  Instead of passing it, though, he
simply stopped and held the ball over his head, grinning at the
considerably shorter Brie.  The pilot stopped, crossed her arms, and put
on an exaggerated pout.  However, the flight sergeant failed to notice
that Dietra had moved behind him.  While Boomer motioned for his partner
to throw the ball, Dietra jumped and knocked it out of Greenbean's hand. 
Brie sprang to life and dove for the ball, hitting it just before Boomer
could.  For several more centons, the two teams played with serious
concentration within the limitations of the three-sided court, neither
gaining the advantage.  Finally, just as it looked as if Boomer were
going to score, Brie and Dietra both wrapped themselves around him,
pulling him down.  The mock game ended with Greenbean looking on in
amusement while the two women sat on his partner's back, pinning him down
and waving at the screaming, laughing children.
     "Ah, there is one more team left," Tigh said after the noise had
subsided and the four players had vacated the demo court.  "The recently
de-throned champions are none other than Gold Team's -"  The colonel
paused as the two stepped forward.  "Apollo and Starbuck!"
     Still panting to catch his breath, Boomer watched as his two friends
waved to the children.  Unlike the other teams, though, Apollo and
Starbuck moved to stand next to the colonel, instead of heading to the
demo court.  As Tigh spoke to the crowd, his eyes were on the lieutenant. 
"Before we continue with more fun and festivities, Lieutenant Starbuck
would like to say a few words."  Tigh handed the portable audiophone to
the warrior and stepped back.
     Boomer was watching intently now.  Starbuck, one hand on his hip,
lips pursed, looked down at the floor briefly before gazing out at the
expectant faces spread in front of him.  "Uh, hi!" The words reverberated
through the hushed silence as the children waited.  "How many of you
watched the game last night?"
     Nearly every hand shot up.  Boomer thought he saw Starbuck wince.
     "Well, if you were watching the post-game interviews," he continued,
grinning at the crowd, "You saw me demonstrate how *not* to react with an
annoying, pushy reporter."
     The children laughed and applauded.  Boomer shook his head,
chuckling and groaning at the same time.
     "Look, I want you all to know that I regret what I did."  The smile
had abruptly faded from Starbuck's face, and the children had taken
notice.  "No matter what the reason, I'm sure your teachers have told you
that fighting is not the answer.  And they're right.  I acted without
thinking, and I'm sorry if you saw that."  Starbuck took a moment to gaze
across the young faces in front of him.  They were quiet this time,
listening.  When he continued, his voice was softly serious.  "And I want
you to know that there were consequences.  I know I was wrong, so I
accept them.  I apologize for the bad example I set.  I apologize for
acting, well, like an idiot with my friends and teammates."  He glanced
at his partner.
     "Finally," Starbuck said, his voice stronger, a defiant edge
creeping in.  "I apologize to Mr.  Rivaldo, esteemed reporter for the
IFB.  I have two regrets with you." Starbuck was staring directly at the
camera now.  His tone was deliberately calm and he spoke slowly.  "One,
that I gave you the satisfaction of that kind of reaction, which brought
me down to your low level.  And two, that you are so self-absorbed in
your quest for sensationalism that you would even consider asking the
kind of question that you asked me.  It was not worthy of any response. 
I'm sorry."
     Starbuck turned his attention back to the children, aware that the
mood was far too serious for the occasion.  Thus, he graced them with a
grin.  "Now, in case you're wondering just what the consequences were,"
he said, "Let's just say they were somewhere between pulling a secton's
worth of long range patrols and spending that secton scrubbing
turboflushes!"  With a wave, he handed the audiophone back to Colonel
Tigh.  The crowd clapped and cheered as he and Apollo returned to the
group.  Tigh was frowning, but his true reaction was indiscernible.
     And the colonel had no time to ponder the lieutenant's apology; it
was time for the main presentations.  Using a transparent net as a fourth
wall, the teams were to alternate between the two courts, playing a total
of four ten-centon demonstration games.  Match ups were chosen at random,
since only four each of the men's and women's teams would play.  The
first to perform were Brie and Dietra against Kassandra and Berta.  While
they played, the second court was used for warm-ups by the others.  Play
by play was provided by Apollo and Starbuck, since they could not
compete.
     "Uh, Kassandra passes to Berta - no, wait!  That's an intercept by,
uh... Dietra!"  The children laughed as Apollo struggled to keep up with
the action and remember to verbalize what he saw.  He and Starbuck sat on
seats in front of the courts, audiophones in hand, craning their necks to
follow the ball.
     "Oh, Dietra scores!" Starbuck cut in.  "What a jump!  What form!
What a--"  Apollo's elbow in his ribs cut him off.  "Hey!"  He turned to
Apollo.
     "Starbuck, this is for the kids, remember?"  Apollo had recognized
the look in his partner's eye and performed his own "intercept."
     "Oh, right.  Okay," he said, looking suitably embarrassed, as the
official tossed the ball over the net and into play.
     After a while, as Apollo became more adept at announcing the games,
Starbuck stood and turned to the children, taking on the role of
cheerleader, as he walked back and forth in front of the bleachers. 
Listening to Apollo's play-by-play, he was able to keep his attention on
them as he encouraged their shouts and cheers.  Soon, others, their games
complete, had joined him.  As the demonstrations ended, all of the Triad
players gathered in front of the children for a question-answer session. 
For nearly another centar, they did their best to answer all questions,
trying to choose fairly from the sea of hands.  They hated to leave any
of the children disappointed, but, at last, Colonel Tigh interrupted to
bring the proceedings to a closing.
     Players waved as the orphans were ushered out of the landing bay. 
Even amid the noise of the technicians disassembling the courts and
packing up equipment, the atmosphere was subdued, the excitement gone, as
reality crept back.  It was back to work, back to duty for most after the
shuttle took them back to the Galactica.  Apollo had rosters and patrol
assignments to work out.  Starbuck was wishing that he could skip the
impending physical and psychological exams and just escape to the Rising
Star, where he was to meet Chameleon later.  Only Boomer, who had brought
his uniform with him, was still smiling, still feeling the happy
emotions, as he headed off to change, then meet with Ezekial.

Chapter Seven

     The outside world was a chaotic, painful place.  Sounds.  Sounds
penetrated at random, from near, from far, he could never tell which. 
All he knew was that they would pierce his world, his thoughts, like an
electrical shock, making him cringe as the jolt ran through his nervous
system.
     Movement created a visual chaos, too, combined with the flashing
contrasts of dark and light.  When Copernicus did try to focus on the
outside world, it made him dizzy.  Images with no depth perception coming
at him.  Distorted.  Faces were shades of gray, usually, featureless. 
Unless all was still.  Then his mind could take a snapshot, and he could
see the world as he imagined others did.
     Even smells and touch could disrupt his world.  Certain textures
tingled his nerve endings and were actually painful as the synapses
fired, shooting off random signals.  And some odors perforated his
senses, turning his stomach and leaving a metallic taste in his mouth. 
Smells almost always turned into tastes for him, and vice versa.
     All of these sensory bombardments, together, created a barrier
between him and the outside world.  An impervious wall, almost, that kept
him isolated, locked within.  Almost, but not completely.  If the outer
stimuli were too strong or overwhelming, they could throw him into total
sensory overload; he would scream as his nerves seemed to explode and
frantically try to withdraw into the safe, comforting inner reaches of
his mind.  Secure behind the wall from the neural maelstrom.
     Sometimes, then, he felt as if his mind were disconnected from his
physical body, floating free, free to fly, to soar.  Thought without
limit.  Here, in his inner world, he could see and experience everything
totally, completely.  Not shattered into fragmented sensations. 
Logically.  He could feel the wonderful patterns and rhythms that bound
all life together: mathematics, physics, the equations that remained
constant, and music.  Music was a mathematical language.  Music could
envelope him completely and carry him to the inner most reaches of his
mind, where he felt as if he were sailing the currents of the universe.
     Still, the outside world was not completely hostile or impenetrable
for him.  It was as if the wall, though seemingly insurmountable, had
portals that let him connect with specific, limited parts of the outer
realm, one sense at a time.  Sometimes it was just a single sensation,
usually visual, that would captivate him and transfix his attention, like
a moth drawn towards a light source: a pulsing light, perhaps, or a
pattern in a picture.  Even though the sensation was usually soothing and
pleasant, it was like a repeating loop, where the image pulled him out,
then propelled him back, entrapping him, until something broke the
connection.
     However, if Copernicus concentrated, he could actually break through
the chaos and was able to function in the outer world.  If he  used his
peripheral vision, he could, at least briefly, pull the random images
together and focus them into a clearer view.  And actually see the
physical world.  Or he could hear accurately at a far greater distance
than most people.  He could tune into a conversation from across a room,
even, and comprehend it completely.  But the effort was tiring, draining.
     When he had experienced a place or environment long enough for him
to become familiar with it and to form a pattern in his mind, the
crossovers became much easier and more extended.  Stability, routines,
sameness and as little stimuli as possible allowed him to bridge the gap,
to be able to exist in both the external physical realm and his own inner
one.  To be able to move back and forth at will, and to reach out to
other people.  To bond and know that he was not alone.
     It was far from easy, though.  People were so random and illogical. 
They made no sense; they fit no pattern.  They threw him back into the
chaos, sometimes.  Reading both verbal and nonverbal messages at the same
time was virtually impossible for him.  It was far easier to not even
try.  It was much less stressful to simply avoid the effort.  But despite
everything, Copernicus was still human and subject to human wants and
needs.  To be alone, no matter how comforting, was not always enough. 
Like everyone else, he needed the fulfillment of sharing his world with
another.  Tarnia.  His savior, because without her undying support and
companionship, he would have lost any desire to exist long ago.  She was
an inseparable part of him.
     And for so long, she had been the only other human with whom he
could connect, and the only one who had cared enough to see beyond his
outward difficulties.  The only one who knew that when he screamed and
huddled tight, rocking, that he was not insane or mentally deficient, but
simply overwhelmed, assaulted physically by the stimuli that most took
for granted.  No one else had ever taken the time to understand the *why*
of his situation.  They had simply looked, reacted, and judged him from
their own perspective, oblivious of just how different their reality was
from his own.
     Until recently.  How strange, Copernicus had noted, that the great
misfortune of one could be a wonderful changing point for another. 
Lieutenant Starbuck had been thrust into his world, dumped, unconscious
and badly injured, at his dwelling aboard the Sagittarius.  Copernicus's
human need to help had propelled him to save the warrior, even though it
had meant putting himself at risk and extending himself beyond his limits
more than he ever had.  In return, he had gained a new friend and a new
life.  And a chance to truly grow.
     Now, on his third day aboard the Galactica, his third day at
actually holding a position, as Wilker's lab assistant, Copernicus could
feel the growth that had already taken place.  The new job gave his mind
a focus and a challenge that could be taken back within his own realm,
where he could unleash his full analytical abilities: where he could
visualize the problem, consider various options almost simultaneously,
and create the schematics for possible solutions, all without the
restraints of the physical world.
     The problems, as explained by Dr. Wilker, were far from simple. 
First and foremost on his theoretical research list was the quest for a
fuel-less but practical source of energy for all ships, to free the Fleet
from its dependence on tylium.  Second, was a faster-than-light drive
that could work with all ships, regardless of size.  So far, after
sectars and sectars of research, Wilker was no closer than before to
finding any solutions.
     Copernicus, however, had had a sudden inspiration during his midday
session in the lab, after the meal with Tarnia, Boomer, and Starbuck.  An
idea had gripped his mind and set it soaring with possibilities.  Nothing
concrete yet, but he could *feel* an answer was there, within his reach,
waiting to be revealed.
     Thus, as he headed for a pre-arranged meeting with Tarnia, his mind
was almost completely absorbed by his quest for solutions.  The meeting,
a music therapy break session, had originally been scheduled for his
quarters, but Tarnia would not be able to leave the Lifestation. 
Directly following her meeting with him, she had told him, she had
another important appointment with a new patient, one for which she
needed to be present ahead of time, even.  So she had decided to let
Copernicus come there, instead.  The route was straightforward, and they
had rehearsed it repeatedly over the past three days.  This would be his
first time traveling it alone, though.  Still, Copernicus was not
worried.  It was a learned pattern now.  Routine.
     Or, at least, it should have been.

*************

     "Ow!  You do that on purpose, don't you?"  Face down on the biobed,
Starbuck could not see Cassiopeia roll her eyes, but he accurately
pictured her expression, nonetheless.
     "If it didn't hurt at least a bit, it wouldn't make you feel better,
now would it?  Rules of medicine."  Cassie ignored the grunts of pain as
she continued to methodically knead his back muscles with the ultrasonic
probe.  "We're almost finished, and this should be the last time we need
to do this."
     After several more centons of relentless probing, the medtech
finally switched off the device and helped her patient to sit up, slowly. 
"Sit up straight," she admonished, "but try to relax."
     Hands on knees, Starbuck took several deep breaths, feeling the
waves of pain that sensitive nerves had created fading into a numb,
almost pleasant, tingling sensation throughout his back muscles.  He
watched as Cassie loaded the hypo gun with the first of three infusions -
the last of his treatments - of enzymatic tissue-healing chemicals.  The
initial injection burned, but the feeling lasted only a few moments. 
However, to be fully effective, he had to lie once more on his stomach
for half a centar, without moving, while a heat compress helped to
diffuse the medicament.
     "Hey, why don't we just take it easy this evening, since this should
be your last day on leave?" Cassie asked as she pressed the hypo gun
against his back, feeling him tense automatically.  "I get off at 2000."
     "Last day?  The doc said I won't be cleared to fly for another two
days," Starbuck said, wincing at the injection.
     "But you'll still be cleared for active duty.  We just have to be
sure that everything is healed enough to handle the pressures of a
launch."
     Starbuck snorted.  "So meanwhile, either Tigh or Apollo will give me
all of the felgercarb assignments, like taking inventory in the
commissary."
     "Well, then why don't we make the most of this evening," Cassie
asked again, "to combat the boredom of the next couple of days?"
     "Can't," Starbuck said, shifting around to lie back down on the
biobed.  "I got a message from Chameleon.  He wants to meet a the Rising
Star at 1825."  Cassie could hear the grin in his voice, even if she
could not see it.
     "Ah, so that's it.  Nothing, of course, can compete with the chance
to lose a secton's worth of cubits," Cassie said as she adjusted the
heating compress over his back.  Her tone was playful, yet a twinge of
unease was nagging at the back of her mind.  It always did when the
subject of Chameleon came up.
     Starbuck snorted.  "First Boomer, now you.  What makes you so sure
I'm gonna lose?  Between Chameleon and me, why, we should be invincible!"
     "Yeah, right, Bucko." Cassie gave him a pat on the head.  "Just lie
still now.  Take a nap, even.  Sounds like you've got plans for a late
night."
     "And a very lucrative one, too," Starbuck said, closing his eyes.
     Cassiopeia walked over to a computer terminal to work on records. 
Sitting down, she tried to concentrate, but her mind, however, refused to
focus.  Instead, a face and a conversation from several sectars ago kept
invading her thoughts.  Chameleon.  Blast him!  He had forced her into an
awkward situation.  She understood his reasoning, but she did not agree
with it.  She did not agree with concealing the truth from Starbuck, the
truth that Chameleon was his father.
     The scene played through her head as though it had happened just
yesterday.  Chameleon had been waiting outside the commander's office,
waiting to hear what the consequences would be for deceiving everyone
from the Borellian Nomen to Starbuck.  Except that he had not really lied
to the lieutenant, just used the truth to his advantage.  Everything he
had told Starbuck about losing a baby son in the raid on the Thorn Forest
of Caprica had been true, with maybe just a little embellishment.  How
ironic that the paternity test, against all odds, would turn out
positive.
     Cassie had never before felt the kind of intense elation that she
had felt then, upon learning that Chameleon was, indeed, Starbuck's
father.  She knew how very important that would be to her companion; she
knew that his need for a biological family, rational or not, had left a
deep, empty space within him.  Thus, she had rushed to tell them both,
eager to help fill that void.
     Bursting with excitement, she had approached Chameleon, saying, "The
tests!  They're positive! Positive!"
     "Positive?  You're sure?" Chameleon's pained expression had been
puzzling.
     "Yes, I've got it all right here," she had said, holding up the
computer and tapping the display with a finger.
     "But they have to be negative," he had said with a slight edge of
desperation.  How quickly the elation had turn into a deep disheartenment
as she had listened to Chameleon explain that Starbuck intended to give
up everything --- his friends, the Colonial service, even her --- if the
results were positive.
     "But you're his father," she had said, softly.  She had been too
overwhelmed by this unexpected reaction to think of the arguments that
had come to her later: that Starbuck was not thinking straight in the
passion of the moment, that given just a little time, he would realize
that he was overreacting.  That it was understandable that it would take
him some time to balance such an important discovery with the rest of his
personal life.
     She knew that Chameleon was only trying to do what he thought was
best, under the circumstances.  He was trying to protect his son from
making mistakes.  What parent did not do that?  But she was convinced,
now, that he was wrong.  Very wrong.  And she was caught in the middle,
knowing the truth but unable to say anything.  Not only had she promised
Chameleon that she would let him be the one to tell, but she was bound by
the ethics of her profession, as the medical technician who had performed
the tests.  She was bound by the code of confidentiality, since he had
insisted that she *not* tell Starbuck.
     In the sectars since that night, she had tried to persuade Chameleon
to reveal the truth, but she sensed that he was afraid, now, afraid that
it would destroy the growing friendship that the two were forging. 
Starbuck had quickly forgiven Chameleon after learning that the con man
had used him to gain protection from the Borellian Nomen, but this was
different.  How would Starbuck handle knowing that his own father had
chosen *not* to reveal that information to him?
     During the last conversation that she and Chameleon had had,
however, she thought that she had made some progress towards convincing
him to tell the truth.  She had called him to the lifestation after the
incident aboard the Sagittarius, when Starbuck was still sedated,
following the surgery to repair his damaged back muscles.  The effect of
seeing his son lying motionless, helpless, so vulnerable, had had a
visible impact on Chameleon.  Although he had said very little, she had
gotten the impression that he finally realized that "waiting until the
day his son got sealed" to reveal the truth just might be too long.  As a
warrior, Starbuck routinely risked his life.  In fact, they were all
living under precarious circumstances.  Who was to say if there would
*be* a someday?  Chameleon had nodded, face glum, as she had used this
argument with him.
     Cassie glanced back to where Starbuck lay on the biobed, eyes
closed, quiet, and the scenes from the previous evening flashed through
her mind: his reaction to the game, to Apollo, to the reporter.  And at
that moment, the realization hit her full force.  The computer card she
had been holding slipped through her fingers and dropped to the floor,
clattering against the hard metal.  One thought held Cassie immobile,
frozen, a wave of adrenaline surging through her system.  One thought:
Chameleon was going to tell, and now was the worst possible time.

*************

     Copernicus ambled down the corridor, one hand trailing along the
wall, his mind focused deep within.  Like a ship on autopilot, he stopped
at the turbolift, pressed the door mechanism, and waited for the lift to
arrive.  The door hissed open.  After a few moments, Copernicus reached
forward with his hand, feeling his way, seemingly, as he entered.  He
brushed the level indicators and let his hand sweep from the bottom up,
to the second of five levels, Beta Deck.  His present location was the
fourth level, Delta.  As the door hissed closed, Copernicus moved to the
back corner to wait.
     Instead of traveling the 15 microns it took to reach Beta Deck, the
turbolift stopped at the next level.  Three bridge officers entered. 
They were engrossed in their conversation as they palmed the indicator
for Alpha Deck and stood grouped in front of the door.  Within the
confines of the lift, their voices reverberated as they laughed and
joked.
     Copernicus turned his head slightly, pulled himself into the corner,
and slipped his fingers in his ears to block the painful vibrations set
off by the loud crescendos and decrescendos of their voices.  The
officers paused briefly in their conversation when the lift stopped at
Beta Deck and no one entered.  They glanced around, waiting to see if
Copernicus wanted off, but he made no move.  All of his concentration had
been directed to blocking the painful sensations in his head.  The door
hissed closed and the lift continued on towards the bridge.
     Five more microns and the door open again.  Prepared for their duty
shift now, the three officers strode quickly out into the short, curved
corridor that lead to the upper level of the bridge, heading for their
positions.  Copernicus felt his heart thumping against his chest as he
looked in confusion at the distorted scene through the open door.  It was
not the dark gray with intermittent phases of light that he knew as Beta
Deck.  The scene was different.  Yet a part of his scrambled mind told
him that he was supposed to exit the turbolift.  He moved mechanically,
following the passage until he encountered the bridge entrance.  He
paused for a moment, confused by the random patterns of light and dark
that were coming at him.  Feeling dazed, he took three more steps, enough
to clear the threshold, then stopped.  The vast expanse of the bridge,
which spanned two levels, seemed to swirl around him.  He froze.  This
was not right.  Not right.  Not right.  What to do?  What to do?  In a
distorted echo he heard voices.  Voices coming closer.  A wave of sound. 
No, a wall.  A swelling, resonating cacophony.  Then a figure, bluish
black, intertwined with the wall of sound.  And lights.  He squeezed his
eyes shut as the senses blended chaotically, wrapped his hands across his
shoulders, and slid to the floor, knees tucked under his chin.

******************

     "What's he doing here?"  The commander recognized Copernicus the
moment he stepped onto the bridge.  Adama, Apollo, and Tigh, standing at
the commander's console near Omega, had been discussing scouting reports
and duty rosters.  Adama had glanced up when the movement had caught his
attention out of the corner of his eye, as his mind stayed keenly aware
of all that happened on the bridge.
     "Who's that?" Tigh asked, following the commander's gaze and
becoming immediately suspicious.
     "It's Copernicus," Apollo said, puzzled more than concerned.
     "Starbuck's friend?"  Tigh had read the reports about the incident
on the Sagittarius, and knew that the man was now working in the
electronics lab with Wilker.  Although he had heard about the
neurological disability, he had no direct experience with it.  The
colonel knew, though, that his presence on the bridge was a security
breach, and he moved quickly to confront him.  Apollo followed close
behind.
     "Hey there! What are you doing here?" Tigh said as he approached
Copernicus.  When the man gave no indication that he had heard the
question, Tigh repeated, louder and more insistent, "Hey!  This is a
restricted area!  You're not cleared for the bridge.  What are you
doing?"
     Copernicus remained immobile, staring straight ahead.
     "Colonel, maybe we should ---" Apollo started to say, but stopped
because Tigh was too focused to listen.  Instead, the captain continued
to follow and observe.
     When Tigh was within a metron of him, Copernicus glanced at the
colonel, then suddenly sank to the floor, huddling, arms wrapped around
his chest and knees drawn up.  Tigh stopped, suspicion giving way to
confusion.  Kneeling next to him, he said, "Copernicus?"
     When the man kept staring fixedly, unresponsive, a concerned Tigh
gently placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to get his attention.  The
effect was as if a bomb had exploded.  Copernicus shrieked and bolted
away from the colonel, stumbling on hands and knees.  The shrill
screaming echoed throughout the bridge as all other activity ceased and 
the crew stopped to stare.
     "Get security!" Tigh shouted.  Two other officers moved to intercept
Copernicus.
     "No, wait!" Apollo grasped Tigh's arm.  The colonel stopped and
turned to glare at Apollo.  The warrior released his superior's arm but
motioned for the two approaching bridge crew to stop.  "Everyone back
off!"
     "Captain, what are you doing?  He's completely disrupting bridge
operations!"
     "He's right." Adama said, coming up from behind Apollo.  He also
signaled for everyone to stop.
     Tigh looked in exasperation from the commander to his son.  "This is
a security breach!"
     Copernicus had stumbled halfway around the upper level and had
finally stopped against a console, crouched low, hands over his ears.  A
moment later, the screaming stopped, and he sat, eyes glazed and staring
vacantly, gently rocking.  In the sudden silence, the crew remained
still, waiting and watching.
     "I know," said Apollo, "but we're just exacerbating the situation. 
We need to get Tarnia up here.  She'll know what to do."
     "Tarnia?" Tigh gave Apollo another skeptical looking, not
remembering who she was.
     "Copernicus' friend and caretaker.  She's been assigned to the
lifestation as a counselor."
     Tigh, lips tight, gazed for a moment at the huddled, rocking man,
then nodded.  "All right," he said, his quiet but firm voice carrying
through the silence.  "Omega, locate Tarnia and have her report here
immediately."

****************

     Cassie stared at her chronometer and tried to think of a way to
reach Chameleon before he met with Starbuck.  It was 1670 now, and the
next open transmissions time was not until 1800, only twenty-five centons
before Chameleon was supposed to meet with Starbuck on the Rising Star. 
Too late, much too late.  He would be boarding the shuttle right about
then.  The only way around the signal restrictions was to get approval
from the commander to send an emergency transmission.  But, Lords, how
could she ever explain it to Adama?  No, that was not an option.
     Only one other possibility remained: to travel to the Senior Ship
and catch Chameleon before he left.  If Doctor Salik would let her go. 
If she could get away right after Starbuck finished his session.  If
there was an available shuttle.  If, if, if.  Dr. Salik trusted her, and
she was certain that he would let her off with few questions asked.  But
what were the odds of finding a shuttle that was scheduled to depart for
the Senior Ship any time soon?
     She had to try, though.  She had to try, because a part of her mind
knew, was screaming at her, that Chameleon intended to reveal the truth
this time.
     Cassie jumped, startled.  The beeping of the intercom, located just
to her right, had broken the silence and her concentration. 
"Lifestation.  This is Cassiopeia.  Go ahead," she said after taking a
moment to refocus her thoughts.
     "Cassiopeia, this is Omega.  Is Tarnia there?"
     "Yes." Cassie glanced over to where Tarnia had been working, but now
stared at the medtech with a puzzled look.
     "Send her to the bridge immediately.  Copernicus is here."
     Tarnia's eyes widened and she was headed for the door before Cassie
had said, "Acknowledged."
     "Tarnia, wait!"  Starbuck sat up and tossed the heating compress to
the floor.  Tarnia paused.  "I'm coming with you," he said, grabbing his
tunic and slipping it over his head as he moved as quickly as he could.
     Cassie did not bother to argue that he needed to finish his
treatment; it would have been a wasted effort.  Instead, she followed
them both out of the lifestation.
     The scene on the bridge when the three entered appeared normal, at
first, with a steady hum of activity.  Then Tarnia spotted the commander,
Colonel Tigh, and Apollo standing silently halfway around the upper
level.  Hurrying in that direction, it was a moment before she could see
the huddled, rocking form of Copernicus pressed against the control
console.  Closing her eyes briefly and taking a deep breath, she moved
past the command group, not bothering to ask what had happened because
she knew it was irrelevant at this point.  Her job now was to remove
Copernicus as quickly and as quietly as possible; explanations could come
later.
     Starbuck and Cassie, however, knowing that they needed to stay out
of the way, stopped next to Apollo.  Before anyone spoke, the lieutenant
was quick to note the varied degrees of seriousness on the faces of his
three superiors as his gaze swept from one end of the group to the other. 
The captain was stern but concerned, the slight furrowing of his brow
reflecting his worry for Copernicus.  The commander, as usual, was
serious but stoic, all emotion locked well beneath his authoritative
exterior, his thoughts, at this moment, unreadable.  Colonel Tigh, on the
other hand, made no attempt to conceal his disapproval and anger.
     "What happened?" Starbuck spoke first, trying to delay the comments
he knew would be coming from the colonel.
     "Somehow, Copernicus wandered onto the bridge," Apollo answered.  "I
assume the confusion set him off, because when Colonel Tigh tried to talk
to him, he ran screaming, then stopped where he is now."
     Starbuck let out a slow deep breath and gave the commander and the
colonel an apologetic gaze.  "Copernicus was supposed to be coming to the
lifestation.  He must have gotten confused and missed his level.  I ---"
     "Lieutenant, we cannot have civilians aboard this ship that can't
handle the security restrictions.  And we can't have people wandering
onto the bridge 'by accident.'"
     "Sir, I realize that." Starbuck faced the colonel, keeping his
expression calm, despite the defensiveness he could feel building within. 
"He's still learning his way around.  It's harder for him.  He---"
     "If this had happened at a critical time, his behavior could have
jeopardized Fleet security."
     Starbuck glanced at the silent commander, not expecting support, but
wondering what his point of view was; the stern set to his jaw indicated
to the lieutenant that he was probably undecided, still evaluating the
situation from all perspectives as he listened.  Starbuck shifted his
attention back to Tigh.  "Colonel, this won't happen again."
     "Sir," Apollo added, "Copernicus is not a danger ---"
     "Whether or not he is a danger is not important, Captain.  We cannot
tolerate security breaches like this.  Regardless of his intelligence, if
he can't handle the restrictions, than he doesn't belong aboard a
military ship."
     Apollo saw the fire flash through Starbuck's eyes and discretely put
a hand on his friend's arm as he said, "Sir, he is a member of Dr.
Wilker's scientific team.  He's assigned to the electronics lab."
     "Yes, I know," he said curtly.  "But my first priority is to the
safety of this Fleet.  And he must obey the rules, like everyone else, or
he shouldn't be on this ship."
     The colonel's stern, skeptical look was too much for Starbuck.  The
lieutenant shrugged free of both Apollo's tightening grip and Cassie's
attempt to grab his other arm and took a step forward.   He ignored her
whispered plea to stop.
     "Copernicus is more intelligent than any one of us here!  You can't
just dismiss him based off of this one incident.  He's only been here
three days!  You don't know a thing about him!"
     "You're out of line, Lieutenant."  Tigh's eyes narrowed.
     "Starbuck," Commander Adama said firmly, "We are not trying to judge
him, but..."
     "No, that's exactly what the colonel is doing, Commander.  Just like
everyone else who's ever met Copernicus!"  He stabbed a finger in the
direction where Tarnia was quietly trying to talk with Copernicus, who
was still staring blankly and rocking, unresponsive.  "Colonel, you may
have read the report, but that's all you see, so you, like everyone else,
don't believe that he belongs!  Well, I've got news for you.  This 'crazy
fool' could redesign this entire bridge, while you probably couldn't tell
the difference between an alpha or a delta circuit!"
     "Starbuck, that's enough!"  Apollo had stepped between his friend
and his superior officer and drilled him with a warning gaze.
     "Lieutenant, restrain yourself, or I'll put you on report." Tigh was
fuming, barely containing his own anger.
     Starbuck closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.  When he
opened them, he stared at Copernicus and Tarnia, as he worked to regain
his composure.  The others remained silent, too, following Starbuck's
gaze.
     Copernicus finally blinked rapidly and looked at Tarnia.  A moment
later he gripped her tightly with both hands and slowly rose to his feet
with her assistance.  Still staring at her face, he walked with her
towards the exit.  As they passed the group, Tarnia said quietly,
"Commander, Colonel... I'll send you a report later." Then she focused
her attention back on Copernicus and escorted him off the bridge.
     Starbuck eventually shifted his gaze back to Tigh and Adama and
remained silent.  The commander straightened, the lifting of his chin
immediately bringing Starbuck to attention, and said, "Lieutenant, I
understand both sides of the issue here.  I know you feel that you owe a
debt to Copernicus, but Colonel Tigh has valid concerns."
     "I owe Copernicus my life, sir."  Starbuck's voice was barely above
a whisper.  "But, yes, sir.  I understand."
     The commander continued, looking at his frowning executive officer. 
"Colonel, I will leave the final decision up to you about what
consequences if any should result from this incident.  However, I'd like
to suggest that you reread the report, just to balance what we've seen
here, before making any decisions."
     "Agreed, sir," Tigh answered.
     "Now, Lieutenant," Adama said, ending the disagreement by changing
the subject, "What is the status of your final examinations?"
     "I, uh, well...  Cass?"  Starbuck squirmed, not quite sure what the
answer would be.
     Cassie sighed and gave Starbuck a sideways look before saying, "He's
completed the physical therapy and passed the physical exam.  Dr. Salik
said he is cleared for active duty now, with the exception of piloting a
viper.  He said the back muscles need two more days to assimilate the
latest treatment, and then he'll be cleared for full duty."
     "And the psychological exam?" Adama asked quietly.
     Starbuck fidgeted, aware of the personnel who were moving about,
performing their bridge duties.  He glanced from Apollo, whose face was
serious but his eyes offered support, to Tigh, who continued to frown,
obviously still angry, to the commander.  "Well, I, uh, was supposed to
be meeting with Tarnia right now.  I guess I'll have to reschedule."
     The commander glanced at his chronometer.  "Given the circumstances,
I'm granting you light-duty status as of this moment.  I suggest you
reschedule that appointment as soon as possible, though.  Perhaps Captain
Apollo can assign you some temporary tasks in the interim, to provide you
some incentive, while you're waiting to be cleared for full active duty."

     "Ah, first thing tomorrow.  I promise," Starbuck said, not sure
whether the commander was joking or not.  He glanced at Cassie and
shifted from foot to foot.
     "You're dismissed," Adama said finally.  Tigh graced the warrior
with one last glare that reminded him just how close he had come to
ending up on report.  Then he and Adama moved back to where they had been
working earlier.
     "Starbuck," Apollo said, catching his friend by the arm as he turned
to leave.
     "Hmm?"
     "I need to finish up some reports here with the colonel and my
father, but I should be free in another half-centar.  You want to join
Boomer, Sheba, and me, and some of the others in the simulators later? 
We're 'testing' the latest battle simulation before letting the cadets
have a go."
     "Tempting, buddy," Starbuck answered, "real tempting.  But I'm
headed over to the Rising Star.  Chameleon's got a new system to try
out."
     "Okay, sounds nice," Apollo said, giving Starbuck a playful rap on
the shoulder.  "And better his cubits than mine!"  He smiled as he moved
to rejoin the commander and the colonel.
     "Come on, Cass," Starbuck said, exhaling, feeling a mixture of
concern and relief - concern for Copernicus and relief that he still
seemed to have the commander's support, at least for now.  "I'll walk you
back to the lifestation.  And I want to check on Copernicus."
     "Yeah, sure."  Cassie was chewing her lip as they left the bridge. 
She would have to get back to finish her shift.  Any thoughts of trying
to reach Chameleon before he met with Starbuck had evaporated; she simply
did not have time do to anything, now.  Except to wait and hope that her
instincts were wrong.  Maybe Chameleon had watched the game and
interviews last night.  Maybe he would realize that Starbuck had a
fragile hold on his emotions at the moment and that now was not the time
for sudden revelations.  Maybe, she hoped.  But the sinking, hollow
feeling remained.

*********************

     Lieutenant Athena watched as Starbuck and Cassiopeia left, noticing
how his hand slid familiarly down her back as he leaned close to whisper
something to her.  Athena watched and marveled at how detached she now
felt.  The sight truly did not bother her, not anymore.  That had not
always been the case.  Before the destruction of the colonies, she and
Starbuck had dated off and on.  Athena had even started to wonder what a
permanent relationship with him might have been like.  Then, amid the
chaos in the aftermath of the Destruction, the lieutenant had chosen the
worst possible moment to propose to her, when the deaths of her mother
and brother, Zac, were fresh, burning wounds.  She had been so numb, her
mind and heart so desolate at that time, that the words she had silently
wished to hear from Starbuck, only days before, only fueled her
hopelessness.
     She had not known it at the time, but her rejection of him and
statement that she could not bear to love a warrior so eager to risk his
life had come from her very core.  The truth.  It had taken almost a
yahren for her to realize it, but she finally understood.  The insight
had come a sectar ago, when Apollo and Starbuck had been missing in
action briefly after the destruction of the basestar.  An odd mixture of
emotions had gripped her as she, along with everyone else on the bridge,
had waited for their Cylon fighter to return.  She had finally identified
the sensation as a detached resignation, along with the acute fear that
she might have just lost her only living brother and his best friend. 
She had let go of her deep feelings for Starbuck.
     Athena also marveled at the compassion that she had for the blonde
medtech, who had once been her rival.  She was a friend now, and she was
welcome to be the one who had to wonder about whether or not the bold
lieutenant would return from the next hair-raising adventure.  No, having
to worry about Apollo was more than enough.  She did not need any further
complications in her life right now.  She was content to include both
Starbuck and Cassie as friends, plain and simple.
     No more resentment, no more bitterness that Starbuck had started
pursing the then-socialtor only days after proposing to her.  No, she had
let it go.  And in doing so, she had also realized that Starbuck's
proposal had been made out of fear, a fear of losing her, ironically, and
a desperate attempt to find a way to escape the intense, overwhelming
sadness that had gripped them all at that time.  Whereas she had needed
to withdraw to survive, he had needed to reach out.  Yes, he had cared
for her, but it would never have worked, she understood now.  Had they
been sealed, he would have felt miserably confined, and the marriage
would have ended in disaster, she suspected.
     Still, Starbuck was Apollo's closest friend and very dear to her
father, as well.  She knew that; he was practically family.  Thus, for
them, as well as for her own piece of mind, she felt relief that she had
been able to resolve this issue.  After so much pain and tragedy, the
feeling, the sense of resolution, was comforting.
     Really, Athena reflected, not having a love interest was so less
complicated.  She could concentrate on her job, as well as her family. 
Her position on the bridge was more demanding than it might seem on the
surface, and it involved much more than just transmitting signals among
the ships.  Monitoring communications, both long range and short, was
vital to the Fleet's safety.  The computer could analyze signals detected
by the sensors, and even offer possible interpretations, but it still
often required human evaluation to determine whether a random signal was
significant or not.
     Athena had spent a great deal of the past yahren studying the
technical aspects of communications, expanding her knowledge and
expertise, and had even begun to branch out into navigation.  For a
while, after the epidemic had almost crippled the Fleet and many shuttle
pilots had been recruited as viper pilots, including her, Athena had
remained on active flight status.  For a while.  But the lure of the
knowledge she was gaining from her studies changed her mind.  She found
the science and technology fascinating, and had changed her status to
inactive so that she could concentrate on mastering her bridge position.
     Before the interruption with Copernicus had occurred, she had just
started a series of long-range scans, and she focused her mind back on
her task.  Long range scans consisted of a series of different scans
aimed systematically at different regions of the space around the Fleet. 
Although sensors used a variety of signals and frequencies, the types of
scans could be divided into two groups: "listening" or "searching."
Usually, they scanned the space ahead, hoping to avoid surprise
encounters with anything from asteroids, to solar systems, to Cylons, as
the case may be.
     Athena had already performed the "listening" scans of sector theta
epsilon, where sensors scanned for any detectable transmissions or
signals.  Now it was time for the "searching" operations, where a series
of different frequencies were directed into space.  Should the signals be
bounced back, the computer could determine the source's relative
position, speed, and size.  Usually, the centars spent scanning yielded
only the promise of empty space awaiting the Fleet.  Usually, but not
this time.
     Ten centons into the searching operation, Athena's computer beeped,
alerting her that the scans had detected something.  The lieutenant
quickly read over the computer analysis, then read it again, more slowly
this time.  A repeat of the same scan yielded the same results.
     Glancing up, she located her father, who was still at his command
console with Colonel Tigh and Apollo.  "Commander!" she called.
     All three looked expectantly at Athena.
     "Long range sensors indicate a small object moving at a velocity of
35,855 KPC.  It's current trajectory is on an intercept course with the
Fleet."
     "How small?" the commander asked as the three moved quickly to
Athena's console.
     "Approximately three metrons in diameter.  The scans almost missed
it."
     "Use a concentrated multi/variable-frequency scan to find out as
much as you can about it."  Adama stood behind his daughter, hand on his
chin, his mind running through the possibilities.
     Apollo, Tigh, and the commander gazed silently at the computer while
Athena quickly typed in the commands.  After several centons, the
analysis flashed onto the screen.  Athena read the results, such as they
were.  "It's either too small or too far away to determine if there are
any life signs.  Scans indicate the composition, though, to be some kind
of metal alloy.  We're also picking up a faint infrared signature.  And
that's it.  We're not close enough for any further determinations."
     "Metal alloy... infrared signature," Apollo mused, "it doesn't sound
like an asteroid."
     "No.  We'd better send out a patrol to check this out." Adama had an
uneasy feeling.  They were in between star systems.  What else could be
occupying this vast, lonely, empty stretch of space?
     "Captain," Tigh said, "You and Lieutenant Boomer go.  And I'm sure I
don't need to emphasize the importance of using extreme caution."
     Apollo just nodded as he exited.  A moment later, Omega's voice
sounded over the ship's intercom, "Lieutenant Boomer, report to Launch
Bay Alpha."

****************

     "Well, so much for the simulators."  Boomer sighed and pushed
himself up out of his chair.  He glanced at his half-finished cup of java
and looked at his companions with a resigned grimace.
     Sheba, Jolly, Bojay, Greenbean, Dietra, and Brie gave him a variety
of expressions as they watched the lieutenant prepare to leave the OC,
most of which indicated a "better him than me" feeling.  Greenbean and
Bojay lifted their glasses in a farewell toast.  The others gave
sympathetic smiles.  Sheba was the only one frowning, since she knew that
if Boomer had to report to the launch bay, then so did his wingmate,
Apollo.
     "We'll let you know if we find any flaws in the simulation,"  Bojay
said, grinning.
     "I don't think so, guys," Boomer said, pausing, a faint smirk on his
lips.
     "Why not?" Bojay's smiled faded.  He had been looking forward to the
friendly competition with the new simulator battle.  They had played the
others so frequently that the challenge was gone from them.
     "'Cause Captain Apollo is the one with the access code," Boomer
answered, "and if *I'm* supposed to report to the launch bay, then where
do you suppose Apollo is going?"  Boomer turned and strolled out of the
OC, grinning at the chorus of groans he heard behind him.
     "Wait up!"  Sheba fell into step beside him.  "What do you suppose
is going on?"
     Boomer suspected she already knew the answer to that question, but
he said anyway, "The usual.  Sensors have detected something and we're
being sent to investigate."
     "Sure ruined what would have been a fun evening," Sheba grumbled.
     Boomer glanced at the lieutenant but said nothing.  Yes, he
reflected to himself, still smiling, last night had not been a total
disaster, after all.  He was pleased that Apollo and Sheba had finally
made some progress, it seemed, on a relationship, on opening up to each
other.  He felt a contentment not just because they were his friends, but
because, after so much tragedy and destruction over the past yahren, all
moments of happiness were to be savored and enjoyed.
     Apollo was waiting near the lift when they arrived in Alpha Bay. 
Boomer noted that the captain was not surprised to see Sheba with him. 
"What's up?" he asked, serious now.
     "Long range sensors have picked up an unknown object headed right
towards the Fleet," Apollo said.  Nothing further needed to be said,
because both Boomer and Sheba would know what the patrol's assignment
would be.  Apollo nodded towards Sheba.  "I was hoping that you'd tag
along with Boomer."
     "Well, if you're going to skip out on the party tonight, I wanted to
know why, of course."
     "Duty calls," he said, "but I wanted to give you this."  He flipped
a small data disk at her.
     She caught it in one hand.  "What's this?"
     "The access code for the new simulation.  I'll leave it up to you
whether or not you share it with the others."  He smiled.
     "Right, fine...  I'd better get back now."  Sheba hesitated, then
turned and walked back towards the turbolift.  The look that had passed
between her and the captain had not been lost on Boomer, though; maybe
later they would feel comfortable exchanging farewell kisses, but not
yet.
     Apollo watched Sheba for a moment, then stared at Boomer, his
expression now focused and intent.  "Let's go."

Chapter Eight

     "Patrol One to Galactica.  We are approximately three centons from
sensor range of the target.  Will transmit a direct feed of all data
simultaneously.  Apollo out."
     "Acknowledged."
     At maximum velocity, it had taken them only 80 centons to reach
their current position.  The captain had used the time to brief Boomer on
what little they knew about the object.  Both had made few speculations,
then, to avoid any preconceptions, but the silent hope was that it would
turn out to be an asteroid or other kind of harmless space debris.  As
they approached sensor range now, all conversation had ceased and they
slowed to minimum velocity.
     "One centon to sensor range," Apollo said.  "We'll come to a full
stop to perform the scans.  Prepare to fire reverse thrusters to
neutralize all forward momentum."
     "I copy," answered Boomer.
     "20 microns... 10... 5...  now!"  Both pilots activated a
preprogrammed burst with the reverse thrusters to bring their ships to,
essentially, a standstill.
     "Okay, here it goes!"  Apollo flipped a series of switches to
initiate the preliminary scans.  A moment later, Boomer followed the same
procedures.  For several long microns their screens remained blank and
they waited.  Then, the details began rolling up their displays, and
while they were still too far out for visual contact, an outlined image
formed on the screens.  It was no asteroid.
     "By the Lords of Kobol..." Boomer said.  "What is it?"
     "Commander, are you getting this?" Apollo asked.  "It looks like a
probe of some kind..."  The image showed a round structure with two long
protrusions extending from it.  The two-dimensional diagram was difficult
to interpret, though.
     "We're getting it," Adama's voice sounded through their helmets.
     "Negative on any known explosive compositions," Boomer commented,
reading from his display.  "The infrared signature is being generated, it
appears, by a low level of radioactivity."
     "Run a tighter scan on the source of that radioactivity," said the
commander.
     Boomer's display focused on the end of one of the two apertures. 
"It's being emitted from the object's power source, according to this."
     "Yes..." Adama sounded thoughtful, even over the comline.  "A radio
isotopic thermal generator.  An ancient and inefficient propulsion
system.  Ancient...  Must be a leak in the shielding, though."
     "Oh, Lords..." Apollo felt an intense excitement building from
within.  "This doesn't match any know Cylon technology."  He stopped to
refocus his mind.  Too much was still unknown.  They had to remain
cautious.  "Okay, Boomer, let's do that final scan."
     "Will do."
     The last precaution that they could take before risking a closer
approach involved emitting a series of electromagnetic pulses designed to
detonate any possible explosive devices that might be awaiting them.  At
least, the pulses would trigger the vast majority of any known explosive
compositions; it was not a guarantee against other, more elaborate
destruct programs.  But then again, even the most detailed scans by the
Galactica's top demolition experts could not provide a complete guarantee
of safety.
     Apollo and Boomer counted the microns, barely breathing, waiting. 
Nothing.  After three centons, Apollo broke the silence.  "Negative on
known explosives.  Boomer, let's take a closer look!  We'll have visual
contact in two centons."
     Both pilots activated turbos.  With monitors on standby, they
watched their black, faintly flickering screens in anticipation as they
approached.  At last, sensors were able to lock onto the object, and an
image appeared.
     "Look at it..." Boomer said softly, feeling the excitement expanding
to a sense of awe.  The main feature was what appeared to be a large
receptive dish.  Protruding from the back were two narrow trusses, with
paddle-like objects on the end of the four-wire extensions.  Stretching
out in the opposite direct was a long, thin pole.  "That's a probe
configuration, if I ever saw one.  But where's it from?"
     "Well, we know that we're nearing a binary star system," answered
Apollo, pausing as he studied the readouts.  "Given that its current
velocity is sublight -- I mean, *way* below lightspeed! -- that might be
the safest guess.  If there proves to be evidence of intelligent life in
that system."
     "Let me check something." Boomer ran several calculations through
the computer.  Eventually, he said, "Its trajectory indicates that it
could, indeed, have come from that binary system, but..."
     "We can't be sure," Apollo finished.  "It's course could have been
altered by the gravitational forces of that system.  We probably won't
know until we are within scanner range of any planets."

******************

     "Build me." Starbuck pushed two of the hexagonal cards forward, then
relaxed back into his chair, taking a long drag on his fumarello.  The
dealer swept the discards into a pile and slipped two more cards above
the lieutenant's four other cards.  All those face up were green, the
second highest of the three colors.
     "No build for me."  Chameleon sat next to Starbuck, arms crossed,
the slightest of smiles on his face.  The hand in front of him also
revealed three cards of the same suit, purple, the highest of the colors.
     Starbuck glanced at his friend's hand, then studied his face for a
moment.  If the three unrevealed cards in front of him were also purple
and of the appropriate level, then he could have a perfect third-level
pyramid.  Then again, he could have nothing.  As the play moved around to
the two other players, Starbuck pondered which way the cards were likely
to fall.  With no computer in hand, the calculations had to be mental;
that had been the agreement between Chameleon and him.
     "Final bets," the dealer announced.
     Starbuck ran the odds through his mind one more time, clamped the
fumarello between his teeth, and deposited three even stacks next to the
cards in front of him.  "I'll hover with these."
     Chameleon did not hesitate as he matched the three stacks.  Then he
added a fourth.  "I'll meet the three hundred and raise it to four."
     The next person matched the bet, while the fourth decided his
chances were too slim and folded.  The dealer turned back to Starbuck and
raised an eyebrow.  Fighting the wave of doubt that tried to well up,
Starbuck slid another pile of cubits across the table.  He flashed his
most confident grin at the dealer as he nodded his readiness to continue.
     The dealer added one final card to the house hand, which showed a
perfect second-level pyramid, purple suit.  Any third-level hand would
beat the dealer; who won the pot depended on who had the highest hand. 
Starbuck, grin still in place, flipped his cards to reveal three more
green cards -- a perfect third-level pyramid.  The other player, not
bothering to wait for Chameleon, tossed his cards forward, knowing he had
lost.  Starbuck looked expectantly at his companion.
     Chameleon's face was impassive as he slowly turned over each of the
cards, revealing all purple, and all of the appropriate level.  A perfect
third-level pyramid, also, but of the higher suit.  Quietly, he raked the
cubits towards him.  "I believe that's three for me and one for you." 
His eyes reflected amusement.
     "Fine, fine!"  Starbuck dropped all pretense and frowned, eyeing the
few remaining cubits that sat on the table in front of him.
     "Let's take a break for dinner, hmm?" Chameleon said, scooping his
winnings into a pouch.
     "Okay," Starbuck answered, pointing the fumarello at him, "But
you're buying the drinks."
     "My pleasure.  And I'll also tell you where you miscalculated."
     "Humph!"  Starbuck pushed his chair back and pocketed the small
stack of cubits as he rose to his feet.  Under the current restrictions,
no food could be served in the chancery, so Starbuck made his way out
into the dinner lounge.  After surveying the room, he spotted an empty
table in the back corner and headed towards it.
     Within a centon of sitting down, a waiter approached the two.  "Will
you be dining tonight?" he asked.
     Starbuck nodded.  Then, instead of a menu, the waiter placed a
portable ID-scanner in front of them on the table.  First the lieutenant,
then Chameleon, placed their palms onto the pad.  For each, a flashing
green light indicated that they were cleared to receive their next -- and
final! -- allotted rations.  It also recorded the transaction as
processed; a second scan of their palms would have been met with a
flashing red light.  Fortunately, Starbuck reflected, the restrictions
would be lifted at 0000, and breakfast could be the feast after the
famine.  Talon-porcine patties and synthetic scrambled ovums never
sounded so good!
     "May I bring you gentlemen a drink?"  The waiter gazed from Starbuck
to Chameleon.
     "Two ambrosas," Starbuck said.  Not everything was restricted, and
he intended to enjoy at least a part of the dinner.  As the waiter left,
the lieutenant leaned back and shook his head at Chameleon.  "Okay.  So
how'd you manage to edge me out the last three times?"
     "My dear lad," Chameleon said, "You've got to remember that I've
been running these systems before you were even born.  I've had much more
time and experience at it."
     "Is that all you're going to tell me?"
     "There's not much more to say.  It takes practice, that's all. 
Practice at using your head instead of those computers you've been
relying on.  You've got to let the patterns flow and become a part of
your thinking when you're playing.  Second nature."  Chameleon smiled at
Starbuck.  "If it's any consolation, you're better than I was at your
age."
     "Really?"  Starbuck paused as the waiter returned with their scant
rations and two tall glasses of ambrosa.  It crossed the lieutenant's
mind that he had better watch his consumption level, because with those
meager portions of food, it would be barely a step above drinking on an
empty stomach.  Starbuck looked up to watch Chameleon take a long, slow
sip of ambrosa.
     As he set the glass down, he grimaced.  "Weak, too weak, but better
than nothing, I suppose."
     "Just what I was thinking."  Starbuck gazed at his companion
intently for a moment, brow furrowing, lips pursed.
     "What's wrong?" Chameleon asked.  "Why so serious?"
     "Ah, nothing..."  Starbuck took a long swig of his own ambrosa,
feeling the alcohol, although weak and almost flavorless, still burn in
his throat and through his sinuses.
     "Does it matter whether or not we're related?" Chameleon asked,
reading the lieutenant's expression and accurately guessing his thoughts.
     "Yes, no -- I don't know!  I suppose not."  Starbuck gave a wistful
look.  "It's just that, well, how can we seem so, you know..."
     "Alike?  Well, maybe just coincidence."  Chameleon stared for a
moment at the face, at the deep blue eyes, in front of him as he took
another slow drink of the ambrosa.  Cassie is right, he thought.  There's
a need, an empty space that only one thing can fill.  I thought that
being friends would be enough, but it's not the same to him.  A sense of
trepidation pulled at him.  He's my son, he mused.  My son.  Doesn't he
deserve to know that?

****************

     Boomer stared at the probe through his canopy and felt a sense of
deep amazement.  He and Apollo had reached its location, finally, had
circled it several times, taking detailed readings, and had then taken up
positions on either side, flying at a matching velocity.  The probe
remained silent, oblivious of their presence.  For how long, he wondered,
had it been sailing the vast seas of the universe?  Where was it from? 
From that binary star system?  Or some other system much further away? 
Wherever it was from, given its current sublight velocity, it could have
been in space for thousands and thousands of yahren, maybe more; at its
present speed, it would take it over 500,000 yahren for it to travel one
light-yahren.  The thought was awe-inspiring and humbling.  They might
never be able to meet the makers of this probe.  Maybe they could meet
their descendants.  And barring outside influences, the probe could sail
on indefinitely, as close to forever as one could come...
     "Commander, what are your recommendations?" Apollo's voice broke the
silence and Boomer's reflections.
     For a long moment that stretched well into a centon, Adama said
nothing.  Finally, his voice sounded through the comline.  "Bring it in. 
Attach the tow lines and bring it into Beta Bay.  We'll establish a
security screen around it and perform a thorough decontamination, first."
     "What about the radiation?" Boomer asked.
     Another pause while the commander studied the readouts.  Apollo and
Boomer did the same, once more, looking for anything important they might
have missed, anything that might be a danger to the Fleet, should they
bring in the probe.  Boomer had basically come to the same conclusion
when the commander answered finally, "The level is not high enough to be
a concern.  I'd say that the power source seems to be just barely
operational.  We should be able to seal the radiation leak without a
problem."
     "What will you tell the Council?" Apollo asked.
     The commander's sigh was audible, even over the comline.  "We are
obligated to inform the Council, but, at least, we can be fairly sure
that this will be kept strictly confidential until we know more about
this probe.  At which point, we will inform the Fleet of our discovery. 
The Council is fully aware of the new procedures."
     "So when do we bring it in?"  The excitement in Apollo's voice was
evident, despite his efforts to remain detached and professional.
     "We will need at least two centars to prepare the decon screening
and the security arrangements.  We'll contact you when everything is set. 
For now, maintain current positions.  Galactica out."
     "Acknowledged."
     Apollo turned to stare at their flying companion and tried to
contain the emotions that were building up inside; an indescribable
elation.  This was the second time that they had intercepted an alien
craft, but this was different.  He could not explain it, but something
was telling him that this was an extraordinary encounter.
     The first time had been the encounter with the ship from Lunar
Seven, when they had pulled the vessel from its course towards the planet
Paradeen.  In their enthusiasm, they had made countless mistakes in
dealing with the unknown ship and its occupants.  In addition, the
commander and the Council had disagreed, miscommunicated, and done
everything but work cooperatively.  It had not only come off as farcical
in the end analysis, but all had realized that their actions had almost
killed the Lunar Seven passengers.  Adama had vowed to not repeat such
blunders.  Working directly with the Council, he and they had established
specific procedures and guidelines to follow on any future "first
contact" situations.
     This time, though, was different.  The probe contained no life forms
to complicate the situation.  Procedures were straightforward: notify the
Council and keep them directly informed and involved, but all decisions
about Fleet security and *when* to release the information to the general
population were up to the Commander.  Period.
     Apollo took a deep breath, savoring the intensity of emotions.  This
was it.  This was the true reason he loved being a warrior.  Not to fly
and fight and defend.  No, he was a Colonial Warrior and viper pilot
because it was the closest he could come to being a space explorer.  At
one time, before the endless war with the Cylons, man had reached out to
the heavens, had sent out their own probes towards distant stars, and had
dreamed of contacting other civilizations and races.  Man had dreamed of
exploring the universe.  Then the unthinkable had happened.  Man had
reached out, only to encounter the Cylons, a race that viewed humans as
illogical, as a disease to be eradicated.  For over a thousand yahrens,
humankind had had to fight for the right to exist.  Since that time, all
science and technology had been devoted not to exploration and discovery,
but to war and preservation.  Over a millennium.
     So what tales could these people, these beings, tell us?  Apollo
closed his eyes in wonderment.  Where was this probe from?  What was life
like for them when this craft was built?  Even if the probe had been
created by a race that inhabited the binary star system, it would have
had to have been launched well over five hundred yahren ago.  So what was
their civilization like now?  Did they even exist at all?  Were they a
race that still thrived, after thousands and thousands of yahren, or had
they succumbed to the frailties and faults that had threatened the human
race more than once?  Apollo felt both great joy and an intense sadness
as these reflections floated through his mind.  Somehow, even after the
incredible encounter with Count Iblis and the Ship of Lights beings, even
after experiencing their awesome power and potential, this unobtrusive,
quiet probe was more relevant, its implications more profound, to him.

***************

     "Starbuck, surely you realize that genetics is only a small part of
having a family?"  Elbows resting on the table, Chameleon peered across
the top of his drink at his son.  He knew he needed to be honest with the
lieutenant, but he also knew that this required a delicate approach, that
he would need to use all of his persuasive skills to set the proper stage
for the truth.  "What about Apollo and the commander?  It's obvious that
they care for you a great deal -- like family.  In my lifetime, I've seen
countless blood relatives, many families, that couldn't get along, that
treated each other with far less compassion than I see between Apollo or
the commander and you."
     Starbuck concentrated on his rations, staring at his eating utensil
as he chewed, avoiding eye contact.  Eventually, he looked up.  "Look, I
know that.  I know that in my head.  But I've always just felt that a
piece of the picture is missing.  I mean, you, Apollo, Boomer, the
commander -- you all have a history.  I don't even know my real age! 
When was I born?  What was my name?  What did my parents do?  Did I have
any brothers or sisters?"
     Chameleon nodded, listening, wanting him to open up.  Starbuck, he
knew, seldom did this; he knew because Cassie had told him so much about
his son over the past sectars, as she had tried to persuade him reveal
the truth.  So much of what she had said had sounded so familiar.  The
genetic link was undeniable.
     Starbuck stabbed at the last piece of food but did not eat it.  "I,
I know it doesn't make sense, or really matter," he said, toying with the
tasteless morsel, "but I just feel like there's this...  this vast, empty
void, where everyone else has a family history."  He jabbed the last bite
into his mouth.
     "What if those missing relatives turned out to be thieves and
scoundrels?"  Chameleon gave a half smile, trying to lighten the
conversation a bit, to keep the mood serious but too much so.
     "Well, at least, I'd know!"  Starbuck gulped down the last of his
ambrosa.  "I don't care if they were the worst bunch of murderers and
cutthroats in the Colonies -- at least, I'd have a *reason* to say I
didn't know them!"
     "Look at it this way, then," Chameleon said.  "You can imagine that
they are whatever you want them to be."
     Starbuck grimaced at the attempted humor and nodded when the waiter
appeared with the decanter of ambrosa.  He watched as the pale-gold
liquid bubbled and fizzed as it filled the tall glass.  Inwardly, he felt
an odd mixture of frustration, tinged with what could only be described
as recklessness, bubbling like the ambrosa beneath the surface.
     Chameleon declined a refill and eyed the lieutenant.  "A good player
needs a clear head," he admonished when Starbuck gulped down several more
mouthfuls.
     "You've got all my cubits, remember?"  Starbuck put the glass on the
table, though.  He was, after all, supposed to be back on duty the next
day.
     "I've been meaning to ask you something."  Chameleon crossed his
arms and stared intently at the lieutenant.
     "What?"
     "I've always wondered...  Well, I know that learning about your
family is very important to you, so I've always been curious -"
     "About what?"  Starbuck raised an eyebrow at his companion's
hesitancy.  Although he and Chameleon had spent several evenings
socializing and gambling, over the past sectars, they had always avoided
the one subject that had brought them together in the first place.  Until
now.
     "Okay.  Just suppose that those tests we did had been, well... 
positive.  Suppose I *was* your father.  Would you really have given up
everything to be with me?  Remember that conversation we had in your
viper?  When you said that you were going to quit the service?"
     "I - "  Starbuck frowned, wondering, thinking.  He let his mind
float back to that moment.  Not unlike the present, he had been battling
the feeling of being out of control, as events and possibilities flew at
him faster than he could deal with them.  To find Chameleon, who *might*
be his father, after so many yahren of wondering, after eventually
accepting -- or so he thought -- that he would never know about his
family.  To see his closest friends doubting that possibility, when he
learned that Apollo had had Colonel Tigh run a security check on
Chameleon.  He had exploded at Apollo and Boomer because he had been
fighting and denying the more likely truth -- that the odds were against
Chameleon being his father.  At last, Starbuck answered, "At the time,
yes.  I was serious about what I said."
     "But at that time you also thought that I was a genetic tracer and
nobly trying to reunite children with their relatives."
     "True..."
     "The reality was that I was a dishonest conman who stooped so low as
to use you and your orphan background to escape from those Nomen. 
Knowing that, I've always wondered what you would have done, had... 
well...  had the results been positive."
     Starbuck stared into the ambrosa for a moment.  "I'm not sure," he
said finally, quietly.  What would he have done?  The answer was
nebulous, obscured.  He tried to picture the scene, the one where Cassie
had given them the test results, from that other perspective.  But the
emotions were just too intense to resolve into a clear image.  At the
time, he had been bombarded by the shock from learning the truth after
nearly being killed by the Borellian Nomen, the deep, deep
disappointment, the disgust at the way he had treated Apollo and Boomer. 
It had actually been easier just to push it all away and return to the
familiar role of orphan.
     "Okay, here's one more supposition."  Chameleon paused, feeling his
heart beating faster.  Starbuck looked up at him, puzzled, as he pulled
his mind back to the present.  Chameleon continued.  "Suppose the results
had been positive.  And suppose you were me.  How would you feel if you
knew you might cause your son to give up what you *know* he loves most --
his career and friends?"
     "Why are you asking me this?"  Starbuck had picked up his glass,
absently, but did not drink.  Something was tugging at the back of his
mind.  Or maybe he was just distracted by the jumble of memories and the
odd direction of Chameleon's questions.
     "I've just wondered what would have happened, had you been,
really...  my son.  I would have hated to see you do something as rash
and foolish as resign from the service.  And have known that it was
because of me.  How could a father allow that?"
     "But it doesn't matter, does it?" Starbuck asked, looking more
confused.  He sat the glass down and stared at Chameleon.  The nagging
sensation was ringing like an alarm klaxon now.  His own keen ability to
sense what was going on, even before it happened, sometimes, had kicked
in.  He used it with Apollo all the time, allowing him to seemingly read
his friend's thoughts.  He had developed these instincts on the streets,
as on orphan, and had honed them through his warrior training.
     "It's just that this has been troubling me, that's all.  Can you
humor me?  What would you have done -- in my place?  Would you have told,
right then and there, or would you have waited for a better time?" 
Chameleon felt the thumping in his chest and struggled to keep his face
calm and curious.
     "Okay..." Starbuck exhaled.  "I would probably have waited..."  His
mind was only half aware of what he was saying.  His voice trailed off,
and he frowned at Chameleon.  The man was sweating.  "Are you trying to
tell me something?"
     "I've just wondered what things would have been like if, well, you
really were my son."  Chameleon felt his control slipping.  He had had
everything, every word, planned out ahead of time.  Gone over the
possible scenarios in his mind.  He had talked his way in and out of so
many situations in the past that it was second nature to him.  But now,
he was feeling uncertain, afraid even, his will faltering.  What was he
doing?
     It was too late, though.  Everything clicked.  Starbuck read his
face as clearly as if he had shouted the words.  "My God.  What are you
saying?"
     "Starbuck, I -- I need to tell you -"
     "You've been lying to me all this time!"  Starbuck stood up so
quickly that his chair tumbled over.  At any other time, Chameleon's
reasoning and approach would most likely have worked.  Under normal
circumstances, Starbuck would have followed the clearly laid out logic. 
But not now.  His own words, his own admission that he would probably
have waited, crumbled in the face of one thought: Chameleon had lied to
him.  His own father had lied.  His father.  Chameleon was his father,
and he had not seen fit to tell him that.  For all these sectars, he had
been lying to him!
     Starbuck glared at the man, the stranger whom he thought he had
known, his father.  His head was spinning.  All the fury, all the
self-doubt and fear, that had been pent up the past eleven days and
eleven exhaustive, sleepless nights exploded.  "You.  Lied.  To.  Me."
Starbuck pounded the table with both fists, hard enough to topple the
glasses, then stormed out of the dinner lounge.
     Chameleon just stared, unable to move, at the empty door where his
son had disappeared.

******************

     "Patrols One and Two, zero-gravity conditions are enacted.  You are
cleared for Beta Bay."
     "Acknowledged." Apollo switched comlines.  "Boomer, you go in
first."
     "Kay-O.  Good luck."  Boomer glided into the bay.  Without the
typical pull from the ship's gravitational field, Boomer used his reverse
thrusters to stop his forward motion and bring his viper to a stop.  He
felt the tug as the viper's gear reacted to the magnetic field of the
floor, which was activated when the artificial gravity was not engaged. 
In addition, a shielding wall had been employed to create a contained
environment in that part of the bay, reducing their landing space by 40%. 
The enclosed conditions, at the moment, with both the gravity and
atmosphere deactivated, matched the space outside the ship.  Remaining
inside his cockpit, Boomer used his rear monitor to watch the captain
land.
     Apollo approached carefully, gliding in at minimal velocity, keeping
one eye on the bay in front of him and one eye on the probe beside him,
connected by the short tow line.  The angle of his approach was critical,
because he wanted to bring the alien craft in as carefully as possible. 
Slowly, slowly, he activated the reverse thrusters in short, precise
bursts until he appeared to almost be floating in the weightless, airless
bay.  Gradually, he eased his ship downward, until the magnetic field
caught hold of the landing gear and pulled the viper to the floor.  The
probe, drifting several metrons above the viper, continued moving forward
until it reached the end of the tether.  It recoiled a little, and then,
still being outside of the influence of the magnetic field, it settled
into a gently rotating hover about the viper.
     Apollo let out a held breath as he watched the probe through his
canopy.  Perfect.  Given its design, which was not exactly suitable for
landings, he had wanted to avoid damaging the delicate looking features
of the probe.  Finally he said, "This is Patrol One.  Go ahead with phase
two."
     "Acknowledged.  Atmosphere will be suitable for breathing in 70
centons."
     "I think I'll take a nap," Boomer said with an exaggerated yawn,
"Since we're already two centars into sleep period."
     "Oh, Boomer," Apollo said, still staring at the slowly drifting
probe, "I couldn't sleep if I tried!  It's just incredible to look at."
     "Yeah, I know what you mean," the lieutenant responded softly.
     Once the atmosphere had been restored to the secured area, Apollo
and Boomer were able to exit their vipers.  The radiation exposure would
be minimal and not hazardous in the amount of time it took to exit the
bay.  Apollo would have loved to have just floated up to examine the
probe, right then and there, but safety procedures required both them and
the probe to be thoroughly decontaminated.  Following the most basic law
of physics, all they had to do was aim at the containment wall and push
off from their vipers.
     "I'll race you!"  Apollo had popped his canopy and was watching
Boomer pull himself out of the cockpit.  Riding on the euphoria of their
find, he felt as giddy as their weightless environment.  Without waiting
for a response from his wingman, Apollo used the top edge of his canopy
and launched himself towards the wall.
     "Hey!"  Boomer, feeling more awkward and cautious, not wanting to
end up in the embarrassing situation of being stranded with nothing to
hold onto, watched the captain sail slowly by and, several moments later,
grab onto one of the numerous handholds protruding from the containment
wall.  Still feeling a bit wary, Boomer followed suit more carefully.
     It took another 50 centons before Apollo and Boomer were able to
exit, though; they first had to spend time in the decon/decompression
chamber that linked the shielding wall with the rest of Beta Bay. 
Finally, after normal pressure had been restored and decontamination
procedures completed, the captain and lieutenant stepped out of the
chamber.  In front of them stood a small group with expectant faces:
Adama, Tigh, Athena, Dr. Wilker, two assistants, and six Council guards,
including Sergeant Reese, who was the second-in-command of security.
     Apollo locked eyes with his father, after a quick sweep of who all
was waiting.  "It's beautiful," he whispered, "Like an ancient sailing
ship."  Apollo let his gaze slide to Athena.  Her smile expressed that
she understood; she knew her brother was fascinated with the history of
the Colonies' astronautical, aeronautical, and even plain nautical
technologies, anything that could sail or fly.
     "So what's next?" Boomer asked, feeling and savoring the excitement
and anticipation, like a child the night before his natal day
celebration.  "When can we get a closer look?"
     "We're all going to have to be patient," Adama said.  "First, to
avoid runaway rumors, I've placed strict security restrictions on the
Beta Bay and issued a non-communication order to all who know about this. 
As for everyone else, the reasons for the restrictions will be that Dr.
Wilker is performing delicate experiments.  The bay will be off-limits."
     Apollo surveyed the group again, feeling the euphoria fading
somewhat.  He noticed the armed security guards and felt a sense of
flashback as he remembered how the warriors and Council security had
clashed during the Lunar Seven incident.
     "There won't be any conflicts, this time," Adama said, following his
son's gaze.  As per established guidelines, the Council has deferred all
decisions to me.  We're going to keep this efficient and professional."
     Apollo still looked skeptical as he asked, "How long will the decon
take?  And what's the next step?"
     "Well, due to the volume of the bay, decon procedures will take at
least 15 centars," Adama said.  "In the meanwhile, Dr. Wilker and his
team will conduct all of the remote analyses that they can and devise a
way to restore the proper shielding on the generators.  Also, they're
going to recommend the best way to reestablish normal gravity without
damaging the craft.  Once we've sealed the radiation leak, determined it
to be safe, and have the appropriate environment, we'll all be able to
get a closer look.  But that probably won't be for at least 18 centars." 
Adama smiled at the disappointment on the two warriors' faces.  "As I
said, we're going to have to be patient.  Now, why don't you two, and
you," Adama turned to his daughter, whose shift had ended centars
earlier, "get some rest."
     "Aye, aye, Commander," Athena smiled and motioned for Boomer and her
brother to follow her.  With a sigh, Apollo decided that there was
nothing more that he could do at the moment.  Nodding to the commander,
he went with Athena and Boomer towards the turbolift.  At the same time,
Wilker and his two assistants immediately began organizing their
equipment, leaving the commander and Colonel Tigh with the security
group.
     "You are to monitor the bay continuously," Adama explained. 
"Colonel Tigh has assigned you to rotating shifts, in pairs, beginning
now."  He crossed his arms and gazed at the six men in front of him.  "I
am confident that you will keep this matter in the strictest confidence. 
I foresee no problems, but should any unauthorized persons enter the bay,
please direct them back out and inform Colonel Tigh.  Understood?"
     "Yes, sir."  The men nodded.
     Adama watched as Tigh pulled out his duty roster and read the
assignments.  Then the commander turned towards the confinement wall. 
Dr. Wilker and his team were busy setting up monitors and a variety of
equipment which could operate based off of visual data.  The wall had
three observation panels, and the commander gazed through one of them. 
The probe still floated above the viper, drifting almost imperceptibly
now.  The large dish pointed towards them.  Adama stared at it,
mesmerized, wondering about its origin and what all it had experienced on
its, undoubtedly, long, long voyage.  And he reflected on all that had
happened to his people in the past yahren, the Great Destruction, the
Exodus, the fight for survival, the differences between what they had
once known and what life was like for everyone now.  The vast majority of
contacts that they had made with other people had been with those who had
fled the Twelve Colonies.  Even the people of Terra had had records of
voyagers settling in their star system.  But what of this probe's home? 
Was it of alien or of human origin?  As he gazed at it, an odd,
inexplicable sensation of tranquility seem to wash over him, an almost
forgotten feeling.  Hope.

****************

     Cassie stared at the bottom of the upper bunk, waiting, wondering,
too tense to sleep.  She knew that Starbuck had not returned to Blue
Squadron's billet before curfew at 0000.  She knew, because she had
created a story to tell the other pilots about why she was looking for
him at that centar.  Her bold, late-night inquiry had been met with blank
looks.  They had not seen him all evening.  She had apologized, thanked
them, and walked slowly back to her quarters.  She had written a message
to Chameleon, but it would not be sent until 0600 in the morning.  She
would have to wait.  And wonder.  Where was he? 

*******************

     "Figures.  Colonel Tigh *would* put me on the first shift.  Didn't
bother to check to see who'd already *been* on duty.  They're all the
same!"  Sergeant Reese sat down on the crate that he had found and leaned
against the support column.
     "What do you mean?"  Corporal Stokard looked at his partner as he
paced back and forth.  Stokard had been a Council Security guard for
about five sectars now, and, for the most part, liked his duties.  He had
considered entering the Colonial Service, but the thought of trying to
fly even a shuttle craft made his stomach lurch.  Before the Destruction,
he had been a law enforcement officer, so he figured that security guard
would be close to his previous occupation, and probably safer; one of the
small, small benefits of their current refugee status was the reduction
of almost all crimes down to practically zero.  Hardly a fair trade off,
though, he reflected.
     From the day he had enlisted as a cadet trainee in the Council
Security Force, he had heard tales of the conflicts between the guards
and the Colonial Warriors.  In most of the stories, the name of "Reese"
almost always came up.  That he despised the warriors was common
knowledge.  Rumors as to *why* were numerous, and several were quite
credible, but in Stokard's mind, none fully explained the intensity of
his negative feelings.  Was there some major, unknown reason, or had all
of the little incidents just warped the man's point of view?  Or was his
mind just warped, Stokard wondered, grinning to himself.  At any rate, he
would probably regret probing Reese for further information, but it was
just his nature to be curious, morbidly curious, at times, even.
     "Frakkin' warriors!" Reese growled.  "I should be curled up in my
bunk.  Instead, I'm stuck watching a piece of space debris that's locked
behind a containment wall, anyway!"
     "I heard the commander say that that probe is not Cylon technology."
     "Who cares?"  Reese was in a particularly foul mood, even for him. 
"It's just a satellite, or something.  No life forms.  It's hardly worth
all of this 'top secret' security."
     "Um, did I hear that there was a big game going on tonight?" 
Stokard actually had not heard anything, but decided to take a guess at
why Reese was so irritated.
     "Maybe..." Reese admitted, his frown deepening.
     Bingo, thought Stokard.  So that's it.  He had heard several tales
about Reese and Pyramid Games, one of which, he suspected, had probably
done a lot to fuel the man's dislike of Colonial Warriors, and of one in
particular -- Lieutenant Starbuck.  The "event" had taken place shortly
after the Exodus began, or so the story went.  A group of security guards
and warriors were playing a game in the Galactica's OC.  At first,
Lieutenant Starbuck had been soundly beating everyone, security guard and
warrior, alike.  Then the tide had seemed to turn, with Reese winning a
streak of four consecutive hands.  Until the lieutenant had figured out
that Reese was cheating.  Instead of getting angry and revealing it
immediately, though, Starbuck had craftily used the knowledge to gain the
advantage back.  As Reese had grown more and more frustrated, Starbuck
had finally backed Reese into a corner where he had to openly admit that
he was cheating, something more embarrassing and degrading than just
having the lieutenant accuse him of deceitful sportsmanship, which he
could have denied.
     "Ah, well," Stokard said, "Look at it this way.  By working a double
shift, you'll earn overtime and have even more cubits to gamble away next
time."
     Reese scowled but said nothing further.  Instead, he crossed his
arms and closed his eyes.  Stokard decided that that little bit of
information had satisfied his curiosity.  Sliding over another crate, he
sat down, facing towards the turbolift and away from his partner.  Reese
was not the only security guard who felt resentment or -- what was it,
really?  Jealousy?  -- towards the Colonial Warriors, primarily because
many of the guards had been in the academy, but had not made the grade as
Warriors.  So whether it was true or not, some thought that the pilots,
especially, looked down on them.
     But for some reason, the animosity ran deeper with Reese.  The card
game incident may have been the catalyst, but Stokard knew, also, that
the debacle with the Lunar Seven visitors had certainly exacerbated the
resentment.  Then, Reese had been made to seem responsible for the
unauthorized launch of the Lunar Seven space ship, when he had had no
actual idea of what had been happening.  The truth had eventually been
deciphered, but not before he had appeared the fool in front of the
Council of Twelve.  Both Lieutenant Starbuck and Captain Apollo had been
involved in that one, and the fact that they were admired heroes by most
people in the Fleet only heightened Reese's anger and bitterness.
     Stokard sighed.  It was all so tiresome.  The pettiness was
annoying.  He did not care for it or about it.  He knew his limitations,
admired those who could do the job that the warriors did, and did not
complain about his less-than-heroic duties, such as pulling shifts in the
prison barge.  He was just thankful to have a useful position in the
Fleet.  Turning to look behind, he watched Dr. Wilker and his assistants
working intently with their instruments and scanners.  Maybe his partner
was not interested in the probe, but Stokard was glad to be one of the
few chosen to be involved in this project.  He, for one, found the
possibilities of this discovery fascinating.

*********************

     Frak.  His hand hurt like Hades.  Slugging metal walls would do
that, Starbuck reflected.  Not once.  Or twice.  But three times.  Three
times, as hard as he could, before the pain had finally penetrated his
rage.  And brought him back to reality.  A reality that he was struggling
to understand, to make some sense out of.  It still felt like one of his
nightmares, though.  And he was so tired now, so tired.  He sank down to
the floor, back against the cold steel of the wall, not remembering why
he had come here.  Why here?  Legs pulled up, he wrapped his arms over
his knees and put his head down, too exhausted to know what to do next. 
Or to really care.
     After what Chameleon had been trying to tell him had burst through
his mind, like an exploding missile, he had stormed out and just walked,
rapidly, away from all people, to the lower levels and the Triad Courts,
deserted now because they closed at 2000 on non-competition evenings. 
One thought had held him at that point -- to get the Hades away from
everyone before he totally lost it.  And he had felt it coming.  The
furor was so intense, so consuming, that he was not going to be able to
stop it this time.  He just wanted to run, to escape.
     Breathing in deep, ragged breaths, he had burst through the entrance
to the Triad Court and had let go.  Just let go.  Yelling, screaming,
cursing.  Sobbing.  And finally slamming his fist against the unforgiving
wall.  The pain had smothered the fury by the third strike, and he had
stopped, pressed his back against the side of the court, and just stood
for the longest time, trying desperately not to think, trying to shut out
the jumble of thoughts, images, feelings that were still churning beneath
the surface.  Instead, he had concentrated on the throbbing, knifelike
sensations in his right hand.  And intently avoided dealing with what he
had just learned.
     Eventually, a sliver of rational thought had crept through.  Time. 
What time was it?  He could not stay on the Rising Star or in the Triad
Court forever.  He had to get back to the Galactica.  And then what?  He
would worry about that later.  For now, he just did not need the extra
hassle of being stranded on this ship.  The last shuttle back to the
Galactica left at 2350.  It was 2330.  Taking several deep breaths, he
pulled himself away from the wall and had gone to the docking lounge.  It
had crossed his mind that Chameleon might be there, as well, waiting for
him.  He could not face him at that moment.  He shut out the thought.
     To his intense relief, Chameleon had not been in the docking lounge. 
Nor had anyone else he knew.  One small blessing...  He had been able to
maintain a relative stalemate with himself for the 15-centon ride. 
Outward calm, managed through slow, even breaths, and focusing on
listening to the chatter of the two women who sat near him.  That and the
constant throbbing in his hand, punctuated by sharp, acute pain whenever
he moved it.  Beneath the surface, though, the turmoil still boiled.
     Occasionally, as his mind had drifted from the shear exhaustive
effort of deliberately shutting off his emotions and had started to lapse
into sleep, chaotic thoughts had slipped through, visions really, images. 
Captain Connley's face, filled with pure hatred, as he pointed the laser
at his head.  The crazed lunatic, Sherok, ready to poison him as he lay
paralyzed with the back spasms.  Apollo glaring at him as he, himself,
could not stop the angry, frustrated words only the night before, after
the Triad game.  No control.  Out of control.  And just when he finally
felt like he was getting a handle on it all.  Chameleon.  He could not
fathom the words yet, only the deep, piercing feeling of betrayal,
knowing that the man had been lying to him.  No!  Stop!  He would not
give in again.  He was in control.
     His head had snapped up as he realized that he had been dozing.  His
hand, which was tucked inside his flight jacket, out of sight of curious
eyes, slipped, and the sudden movement sent a shooting pain up through
his arm.  He was awake now.  He concentrated on holding the injured hand
as still as possible and breathed through the intense but fading ache.
     When the shuttle had landed in Alpha Bay, aboard the Galactica, he
had exited and then stopped.  Where now?  Where?  He could still feel the
awful, overwhelming sensations threatening to erupt again, so he just
walked, letting his feet carry him as he concentrated on forgetting
everything.  Everything.  Everything was all muddled together now: the
insanity of both Connly and Sherok, the helplessness that had almost
turned to hopelessness in so many of his nightmares, and the shock, the
slap in the face from someone who now claimed to be his father.  If he
was his father, why did he lie to him?  Deny it?  God, what was happening
to him?  He felt his control slipping yet again, and that, more than
anything else, terrified him.
     He had stopped, finally, when he realized where his subconscious had
taken him.  To Delta Deck, next to the Electronics Lab.  To Copernicus's
door.  Hades, what was he doing here?
     Starbuck lifted his head to stare at his blood-stained, swollen,
discolored hand.  It throbbed and ached, and he could barely move his
fingers.  Not without excruciating pain, at least.  Cracked a few
knuckles, and more, he mused, not really caring.  Could go to the
lifestation and get it taken care of.  What would Cassie say -
     He had the sudden sensation that the floor had been pulled out from
underneath him.  Oh, my God, he thought.  Cassie.  Cassie's known all
along.  She did the tests.  She's known.  So who else, except me, knows
about this?
     "Frak!"  This was too much.  Too much.  His head was reeling now. 
He was beyond exhaustion and beyond dealing with any of this.  Eleven
nights with almost no sleep, filled with dreams that mocked his
self-confidence, his faith that he was strong enough to handle
anything...  He inhaled, gasps, really, eyes squeezed shut.  No.  He
would not let go.  He.  Would.  Not.  Lose.  Control.  Again.
     The door whooshed open.  Starbuck jumped, startled, and looked up to
find Copernicus staring down at him.  For several microns, the lieutenant
did not know if he were awake or dreaming.  All other thoughts relented
as he concentrated on figuring out just which side of reality he was on
at the moment.
     "Come in," Copernicus said.  "Come in.  Come in."  He backed into
his tiny  compartment, still staring at the lieutenant.
     Feeling like he was running on autopilot, Starbuck climbed slowly to
his feet and followed Copernicus through the door.  Once inside, he stood
and watched his friend.  Copernicus looked uncertain and glanced away
awkwardly, lost as to what he should do next, it seemed.  Starbuck,
feeling drained, detached, and numb -- oh, so numb -- now, gazed at him,
waiting, as if he were watching some drama unfold on an IFB vidshow, or
letting a dream play out.
     Copernicus finally seemed to reach some decision.  Moving more
purposefully, he went to his shelf and pulled out a small disk.  Pulling
his music device down off the shelf, as well, he inserted the disk and
held out the invention towards the lieutenant.  When Starbuck did not
move, Copernicus thrust the device out again in his direction,
insistently, and inched forward, not making direct eye contact.  The
quickness of his movements, little head jerks, deep breaths, reflected
his growing tenseness and the effort his actions were costing him. 
Finally, he shoved the device at Starbuck and let go.
     Instinctively, the lieutenant grabbed at it before it could fall,
fumbling, catching it in his left hand.  All at once, loud strands of
music emanated from the device; somehow, Copernicus had activated it
before letting go.  The man had retreated back to his bed, in the back
corner and now stared at Starbuck again.  As the sounds of strings and
wind instruments filled the compartment, starting out softly, then
swelling to a crescendo, Copernicus broke into a broad smile and closed
his eyes.  His previous tension had dissipated, and he seemed to melt
into the music, swaying and moving with the beat, oblivious now of his
guest.
     The volume was so loud that Starbuck could feel the bass tones
vibrating in his chest, but he did not know how to turn it down or off. 
And he did not want to, he realized.  The symphonic piece was slowly
enveloping him.  With a sense of surrender, he simply sat down where he
was, in front of the door, and put the music device down.  He closed his
own eyes, letting the melodic sounds, so vibrant and full of life, wrap
around him.  Slowly, slowly, he could feel himself relaxing, the tempest
of his emotions abating.  The effect of the composition, so loud yet
entrancing, was hypnotic, almost.  As the music washed over him and
through him, it broke through his defenses, as well.  He did not think,
but he felt.  Felt both the physical and psychological pain.  And he let
go once more, quietly, though, this time, no rage, just release.
Copernicus, lost in his own world and thoughts, did not notice the tears
or hear the sobs that gently shook the lieutenant's body.

Chapter Nine

     Apollo could not sleep.  He had returned to his quarters shortly
after 0100 and stretched out on his bed, hoping to relax.  He tried to
focus on his breathing, on letting his body go limp, on clearing his mind
of everything.  But as he lay quietly, hearing the soft sounds of Boxey,
who was sleeping in the bunk above him, his mind insisted on running
through the scenes from the patrol.  The images kept playing and
replaying in his head.  Like when Boxey had on one of his favorite vids
and would repeatedly watch his favorite part, the view he had had of the
probe, as they had approached and circled it, dominated his thoughts.
     The craft had been beautiful to him, beautiful.  So simple and
primitive in its technology, yet so graceful as it floated through the
universe.  A solitary probe sent out to explore the heavens.  It had long
ago lost contact with its mother world, yet it continued onward.  As
Apollo pictured the craft, a verse floated through his mind:
     "In the middle of the endless night of lonely quest, prepare for
celebration amidst the wars.  Communion in Space.  The ambrosa shall
overflow in the chalice.  The Messenger shall arrive for Renewed
Covenant."
     Yes, he reflected, the passage captured how he felt.  After so many
sectars of running from and fighting against the Cylons, this little
craft was a beacon of hope to him.  A reason to rejoice.  It represented
the wonders that awaited them far out in the universe.  The Messenger... 
The Silver Bride...
     Sheba, he reflected with a smile, as his thoughts shifted again,
would want to see the probe.  He felt an impatience to tell her, to share
the wonder.  Even Boomer had shared the amazement this craft had evoked. 
And Starbuck - an indefinable sensation brought his mind to a standstill. 
He had not spoken to the lieutenant since the incident on the bridge with
Copernicus, when, once again, he had left his friend in a troubled state. 
He hoped that the evening with Chameleon had served to help ease some of
his tensions.  Still, he could not shake the uneasy sensation.
     At last, the effort to remain still was too much.  Apollo rolled out
of the bed and slipped silently into the living area.  Next to his
collection of books was the computer terminal.  Dropping into the chair,
Apollo quickly accessed the Galactica's library files, and typed in
several key words.  Moments later, the titles of numerous files scrolled
up the screen.  The captain scanned them, not really looking for anything
in particular, but just wondering what he would find.  There!   A visual
record of the space probes from the Colonies between the yahren
3000-3500.  That sounded like a good starting point.
     Tap, tap, tap.
     It took Apollo several microns to realize that someone was knocking
on his door.  Puzzled, he walked over and pressed the release mechanism. 
The door whooshed open to reveal Sheba, who looked slightly nervous and
embarrassed.  "I, uh, was wondering if you were still awake," she said,
glancing away.
     "Aren't you breaking curfew, Lieutenant?"  Apollo gave her a stern
look.  He could not help himself; he still felt so giddy from their
discovery.
     "Uh, well, I thought..."  Sheba looked taken aback.
     "We've got strict regulations for a reason.  How can I maintain the
discipline if I let everyone just pick the rules they want to follow?"
     Sheba just stared at him for a moment.  Then she noticed the side of
his mouth twitching as he unsuccessfully tried to keep from smiling. 
Narrowing her eyes, Sheba crossed her arms and said, "Okay, so report me,
Captain."
     "I think ---"
     "Oh, that's enough!"  Sheba walked past him into his quarters and
plopped down on the sofa.
     Apollo closed the door and turned to face his visitor.  "Do come
in," he said, smiling, at last.  When his eyes locked with hers, though,
he saw that the hesitancy had returned.  She looked away again.  Apollo
simply gazed for a moment at the woman with whom he had shared the most
miraculous of nights just the previous evening.  Again, he felt amazement
at how she shifted between daring, brash warrior and tender, innocent
young woman.  That contrasting blend.  Yes, she was special, and she had
captured his heart and soul.
     "I, uh, just wanted to talk," she said finally.
     "Yeah, I guess we should."  Apollo quietly sat down next to her. 
Part of their night together was hazy, like a dream; part of it was as
vivid as a crystal clear Caprican day.
     For several centons, neither said anything.  Sheba stared down at
her hands, at her fingers, her mind searching for a place to start. 
After so much time spent vacillating between confidence and self-doubt,
wondering how the captain felt, if she could ever compete with the ghost
of Serina, she could not yet assimilate what had happened the previous
night.  Too much, she feared, had been clouded --- induced? --- by the
ambrosa.  A day later, she thought she knew what had happened, but she
could not truly accept it, or believe it, until she heard the words
again, from Apollo, with a clear mind.  Too much still felt like a dream.
     The captain gazed at Sheba's profile, and he could see the conflict
playing across her features as she frowned, bit her lower lip, and
stared, without seeing, at her hands.  He waited, not wanting to rush
her, giving her time to think, something he was sure that she had not
been able to do during the hectic centars on duty.  He could well imagine
her laying down in her bunk, alone, finally, and being bombarded by the
sensations, thoughts, and questions that she had held at bay throughout
the day, until she could stand it no more.  He understood why she would
feel uncertain, doubtful, even afraid, because a large part of their
experience together was nebulous for him, as well.
     But unlike Sheba, Apollo now *knew* how he felt.  While the
incredible journey that they had shared wove in and out between vivid
clarity and a realm beyond words and rational, conscious thought, the
Light that had filled his soul also illuminated his heart.  He knew.  He
loved Sheba.  Completely.  They were irrevocably connected and had been
since their experience on board the Ship of Lights.
     "Did what I think happen...  really happen last night?" she asked
finally, still staring in front of her.
     "Yes, Sheba."  Apollo put a gentle hand under her chin and turned
her face towards him, to gaze into her eyes.  "I love you.  I know that
now.  And this love comes from the very essence of my being.  My dear..." 
He grinned at her, "...you couldn't get rid of me, even if you tried."
     Sheba finally seemed to relax, to trust, at least tentatively, her
own feelings.  A smile spread over her lips.  "So I didn't just dream it
all last night?"
     "No..."  Apollo was gazing at her liquid eyes, so earnest and
beseeching, still hesitant.  Still afraid to believe.  "I promise."  He
leaned in, and they kissed, a slow, enveloping kiss that pushed aside
those remaining doubts, like the sun bursting through the dark storm
clouds.
     Sheba took a deep, deep breath when they eventually pulled apart and
finally gave an unrestrained smile.  Testing her own confidence, she put
on a feigned pout and said, "Took you long enough!"
     Apollo laughed.  He wanted, needed her to feel at ease.  He wrapped
his arms around her and pulled her close, holding her tight, just feeling
her warmth, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair as he leaned his
chin on her head.  He felt complete.  For the longest time, they held the
embrace, just savoring the sensations, enraptured by the moment. 
Eventually, it was Sheba who pulled back.  "Um, what about the
regulations?  Captain."
     Apollo sighed.  No, a relationship would not be simple; actually, it
would be quite complicated.  "Well, we probably need to talk to my father
about this.  While fraternizing with a superior officer isn't prohibited,
it's certainly discouraged.  Or was.  Those are pre- Destruction rules. 
Nothing has been 'normal' since we took to the stars."
     "Look," Sheba said, showing her old sense of confidence, finally. 
"I've always known that if you ever--"  She jabbed him in the ribs,
"--admitted that you loved me, that we'd have to be sure to maintain
professional behavior when on duty.  Will that be a problem for you?"
     "No, not unless..." His voice trailed off, and he frowned.
     "Unless what?"
     He took another deep breath and stood up.  "I won't lie to you," he
said, starting to pace.  "There's a part of me that will have a very
difficult time letting you do your job and take part in risky missions. 
But --"  He stopped, looked at her, and smiled at the disapproval that
was creeping across her face.  "I'll deal with it, okay?  You are a
warrior.  I know that.  And I wouldn't change one thing about you!"
     "Are you trying to convince me or yourself" she asked, still
frowning.
     "Both," Apollo admitted.  He paced a few more steps, then stopped,
grinning with what Sheba could only call a mischievous smile.  "Look, we
can worry about that later.  But since we're already breaking
regulations, let me break one more."
     Sheba gave him a quizzical look.
     "You remember that signal that Boomer and I were sent to
investigate?"  Apollo sat back down beside her.  He looked like a
ten-yahren-old who had been asked to keep a secret and now was bursting
to let it out.
     "Yes," Sheba nodded, feeling like she was stating the obvious.  Of
course she remembered why he had been sent out on patrol! 
     "Okay, technically, the commander has issued a security screen on
this, but since you already knew about the signal, I don't think I'll get
into trouble if I tell you--"
     "What?  For Sagan's sake!"  Sheba rolled her eyes in exasperation.
     "We found a probe.  A probe that's not Cylon, but from some other
civilization, somewhere else in the universe."
     Sheba stared for a moment, absorbing the information.  "Where's it
from?" she asked at last.
     Her eyes were shining; Apollo could tell that she found the news
intriguing, that she would share his excitement.  Before he began to
describe what all they knew, the captain had to treasure the perfection
of the moment; as he gazed upon her ardent expression, he felt enshrouded
by the love and the hope, together.  Perfection.

******************

     The music had ended awhile ago.  Starbuck took a deep breath and
exhaled slowly but did not move.  He felt drained, utterly, totally
drained.  Unable to feel, just numb, running on autopilot.  He stared at
Copernicus, sitting on the edge of his bed, eyes still closed.  But he
was not asleep.  His lips were moving.  His mind was working on
something, apparently.  All at once, Copernicus opened his eyes and
looked across at the lieutenant, his gaze intent and penetrating,
unblinking.  Then he slowly climbed to his feet and walked over towards
Starbuck.  When he was within a metron, he sat down, legs crossed, eyes
averted once more.
     Starbuck, still breathing slowly, made no move.  Copernicus darted a
glance at him, then said, "Better.  You feel better.  Better."
     Not a question, but a statement.  Starbuck thought about it, in a
detached way, like running a maintenance scan.  To his surprise, he *did*
feel better, at least a little bit.  He no longer felt the rage hammering
at him.  But what would happen when the numbness wore off?
     "Better.  You feel better," Copernicus persisted.
     "Yeah, I do," Starbuck said.
     Copernicus was silent for several more centons.  Starbuck could
tell, though, that he had something on his mind, and he was trying to
formulate the correct words.  The lieutenant waited, passively, still
unwilling and unready to move.  Eventually, Copernicus stole several
glances at him and said, "Viper.  I need to see a viper."
     Starbuck stared at him, the words not registering.
     "Viper.  I need to see a viper.  A viper," he repeated.
     "You what?" Starbuck asked, the words finally penetrating.
     "I need to see a viper."
     "But what for?" 
     Copernicus closed his eyes and rocked slightly, concentrating again. 
Finally, he said, "Engines.  The engine design." After another pause, he
added, "Fuel system."
     "But you've got all of the schematics you could possibly need in the
computer, don't you?"  Starbuck had no desire to move yet.
     "But I need to *see* it.  To *see* it," he said, an insistent edge
creeping into his voice.  "I need to *see* a viper."
     Starbuck glanced at his chronometer.  0360.  The bays would be
quiet, he supposed, but the thought of giving a guided tour, at the
moment, felt beyond his energy level.  He really ought to get some sleep. 
Lords, he was supposed to report for duty in less than four centars.  He
looked down at his battered hand, which seemed as numb as the rest of
him, for now.  Yeah, report for duty...  "Copernicus, I don't think --"
     "Please.  I need to *see* a viper.  Please."  His face was looking
more earnest.  The man was not about to give up.  No, not once he had
fixated on something.  Tarnia called it "perseveration." Once he decided
he needed something, that object or idea became a fixed obsession, an
overwhelming need, almost.  Like a viper locked on target, his mind would
focus on that one point until the desire was somehow satisfied.
     "Maybe later?  I --"
     "Please.  I need to *see* a viper.  Please.  Please."  His voice was
rising in pitch.
     "But the computer can show you everything, every detail --"
     "No.  A viper.  A real viper."  He was getting agitated now.
     Starbuck let out a slow breath.  He could not think of a way around
this.  "Why is this so important?"
     "I need to see the, the, design.  The feel.  The, the interface of
the systems."  Copernicus paused, then launched into a technical
description that sounded like it might have been from the maintenance
manual for vipers, at first, anyway.  Then the information stream seemed
to change to -- what?  Starbuck had no idea.  He caught the words
"modified propulsion system" but even in the right frame of mind, he
would not have understood what the man was talking about.
     "All right.  All right!"  Starbuck could think of no alternative
that would satisfy Copernicus.  And he was too tired to argue any
further.  Besides, he figured, he would not have to actually *do*
anything, once the man got to examine a viper.  What else did he have
planned, anyway?  Go back to the billet?  Go to the lifestation to get
his hand mended?  And then explain how it had happened?  No.  He felt the
jumble of emotions awakening and decided he was not ready to deal with
them yet.  Maybe this was as good of a distraction as any.
     Copernicus stopped, stared at the lieutenant, then broke out into a
grin.
     "Fine," Starbuck said.  "We'll go to where they do most of the
maintenance.  Beta Bay." 

*************

     "Apollo, it's beautiful!"  Sheba was staring at an image of the
probe that the captain had pulled from the Galactica's scan records. 
Using his identity code, he had been able to access all the information
that he and Boomer had provided while on patrol.  With the touch of a
key, the image rotated slowly around, giving a complete view of the
probe.  Sheba and Apollo watched in silence for several moments.  The
captain noted that this visual matched the one that kept playing through
his head, the view that he and Boomer had had as they circled the craft
for the first time.  For a moment, he thought he recognized the
configuration from some place else, but he could not remember the source.
     "I thought you might like it."  Apollo felt a warm, satisfied glow. 
She did appreciate it.  She did; she shared his wonderment at the unknown
probe.  He almost felt overwhelmed by these new sensations, the euphoria
of love unleashed, the anticipation of the discoveries that lay ahead. 
He could not help himself.  He leaned in over Sheba's shoulder, feeling
the soft strands of her hair brush across his face, the smooth warmth of
her cheek.  He kissed her ear, her neck, savoring the scent of her skin. 
His hands slid over her shoulders, down her arms, and across her chest,
her stomach.  Lords, it had been so long since he had felt the intensity
of emotions like these.
"Apollo!"  Sheba wriggled, awkward at first, but then let her own hands
grasp his and pulled his arms into an embrace.  Apollo's lips against her
neck, her ear, the side of her face, were so intoxicating. For how many
nights, alone in her bunk, had she dreamed of a moment like this one? 
The reality was far more captivating than her dreams, her fantasies, had
ever been, because they had always been tempered by the cold, stark
knowledge that the captain might never return her love.  But not now. 
Dreams had become reality.  She had no reason to hold back.  "Apollo..."

*****************

     Stokard peered through one of the observation windows at the probe,
careful not to get in Dr. Wilker's way.  The scientist had glowered at
him a couple of times already, but had said nothing.  It appeared that
the scientist had run all of the remote tests that he could, because the
team was packing up some of their instruments.  He had heard the doctor
say something about needing to get closer in order to find out anything
else.  But they still had over ten centars until the decon procedures
were completed, Stokard knew.  Wilker looked impatient and unhappy about
the wait.  Stokard wondered if the scientist was annoyed because the
commander had ruled against letting the them use decontamination suits to
approach the craft any sooner.  Why, he did not know.
     Reese was still sitting, slouched, on the crate, half awake,
probably.  Stokard had given up trying to start any conversations with
him.  He seemed to be enjoying his foul mood and his disposition had not
improved.  He had been alternating between dozing and complaining about
everything while he tossed his laser from hand to hand.  A real cheery
group, Stokard reflected.  He would be glad when their shift ended in
about two centars.
     Stokard noticed the sound of the turbolift several microns before
Reese did.  Wondering who was awake and wandering around at this centar,
he walked towards the lift.  As the ascensor lowered into view, Stokard
recognized Lieutenant Starbuck with someone who appeared to be a
civilian, older, a bit peculiar in the way he tilted his head.  Odd, he
thought to himself.  And even if the lieutenant had clearance for the
restricted area, he was sure that a civilian did not.  The warrior was
frowning at him, looking puzzled, as the lift came to a stop.
     Stokard was about to approach them when a hand on his shoulder
pulled him back.  "I'll handle this," growled Reese.  "You just wait
here."
     "I'm not sure that's a good idea."  Stokard did not like his
partner's tone of voice.
     "That's an order, *Corporal.*"  Reese turned to glare at him, then
moved quickly forward.  Stokard noticed he was still holding his laser
pistol, tossing it from hand to hand.  After a brief pause, he followed
behind anyway.

**********

     Starbuck stopped at the sight of the two security guards walking
towards them.  *Oh, frak!* he thought.  He did not need this.  As if to
provide accompaniment for his throbbing hand, a dull headache had begun
thumping in his temples as he and Copernicus had made their way to Beta
Bay.  He had been hoping to just sit and close his eyes, while his friend
examined the viper.  He turned to Copernicus.  "Wait here," he said with
a sigh.
     It was then he noticed that the guard in front was Reese.  By the
look of the smirk on his face, this was not going to be pleasant. 
Starbuck stopped and took a deep breath, just staring impassively at the
security guard.
     "What are you doing here?"  Reese's words echoed through the landing
bay.  "This is a restricted area."
     "Since when?"  Starbuck noted Reese's cocky stance and the way he
played with his laser after he had stopped within half a metron of the
warrior.
     "You and your friend need to leave!" Reese said, loudly.
     The reverberation of his voice pounded in the lieutenant's head; he
wondered what it was doing to Copernicus, but he did not want to take his
attention off of the security guard.  Already, Starbuck could feel the
annoyance building.  He knew Reese was goading him, but he was determined
to stay calm.  He kept his own tone low and even.  "What's going on
here?"
     "I said..."  Reese moved closer, now barely an arm's length away
from the warrior.  "This is a restricted area.  You need to leave."
     "Reese, I just want to understand what's going on --"
     "Well, if you don't know, then I don't need to tell you anything. 
Now leave."  He emphasized his words by trying to prod at Starbuck with
the pistol.
     Fighting the urge to shove in return, Starbuck, instead, took a
quick step back and turned out of Reese's path.  The laser just barely
brushed his tunic.  Reese stumbled forward, and his face turned red. 
Before he could say anything, though, Stokard grabbed his arm and
snapped, "Reese, that's enough!  Put that gun away, and just tell them
what the commander said --"
     The guard jerked his arm free.  "I said I'd handle this!  Now get
out of the way!" he yelled at his partner.
     Starbuck used the distraction to glance behind him.  Copernicus was
standing, slouched, hands over his ears, looking very tense.  No, it was
not worth upsetting his friend any further by continuing this pointless
discussion.  It was obvious that Reese was not about to tell him anything
useful.  Better to get Copernicus away from the noise and this annoyance
of a security guard.  He turned to let Reese know that they intended to
go.
     "Which part of 'leave' don't you understand?"  Reese was
centimetrons from the lieutenant.
     Despite his resolve to stay calm, the feel of his hot breath was
just too much.  He pushed him away and snapped, "We're going!  Now get
out of my face!"
     Reese grabbed his arm and growled, "Just give me a reason to use
this!"  He jabbed at Starbuck with the laser again, then pushed him
backwards as he let go of his arm.
     Only the stabbing pain in his injured hand, as he jarred it against
his thigh, stopped him from punching Reese; he was hanging on to his
temper by a thread.  Taking a deep breath, Starbuck turned to Copernicus. 
The moment he saw his friend's face, however, he knew that it was too
late.  Copernicus's eyes had grown wide.  Starbuck sensed the meltdown a
micron before the man dropped to the floor and broke into an ear-piercing
scream.
     "What the frak?" Reese yelled above the din.  He aimed the pistol in
Copernicus's direction and started towards him.  "Who in Hades is the
lunatic?"
     "No!  Don't you touch him!"  A panicked fear that Reese might hurt
Copernicus obliterated all rational thought.  Starbuck tackled the guard
as he moved past him.  Reese tumbled down, with the lieutenant landing on
top of him.  For a long moment, they wrestled and writhed on the floor,
adrenaline driving them both and effectively blocking all feeling in the
lieutenant's hand.  Then Reese whacked at the warrior's head with the
laser, trying to knock him off.  Starbuck, furious now, rolled to his
left, putting as much pressure as he could on the guard's gun arm.  The
laser clattered loose.
     Reese used the momentum, though, to end up on top of Starbuck.  But
instead of pulling back, now that he had the advantage, he continued to
fight, trying to hammer the lieutenant's head with his fist.  Starbuck
ducked, blocked, and fought.  The effort was draining.  After a few
centons, Starbuck found himself less and less able to defend himself, let
alone fight back.

*************

     The moment that Starbuck knocked Reese to the floor, Stokard had
pulled out his communicator.  He could not believe that the situation was
this absurdly out of control.  He shouted unto the small, black device to
be heard above the shrill screams.  "Fight in Beta Bay!  Send backup!" 
Then he hurried over to try to find a way to break it up on his own.  Out
of the corner of his eye, he saw Wilker and his team, looking
incredulous, staring at the commotion.

***************

     Sheba and Apollo sat on the sofa, arms wrapped around each other,
silent.  As emotions had calmed, they had been quick to straighten up, in
the event that Boxey should awaken.  Now, they were content to simply
bathe in each other's warmth, treasure the closeness.  No words, no
thoughts, just being together.
     Reality intruded long before either was ready.  The communicator on
Apollo's belt beeped.  With a long sigh, he disengaged his arms and
pulled off the device.  While mainly used on missions, Apollo, as a
captain and squadron leader, also carried one with him at all times to be
easily accessible in the event of an emergency.  Thus, Apollo was more
than just curious as he activated the communicator.  Sheba frowned, also
worried "This is Apollo," he said.  "What's up?"
     "There's an emergency in Beta Bay --a fight."  It was the
commander's voice.  Yes, he would know that his son would want to know
about anything that might concern the probe.  "We don't have any details. 
I'll meet you there.  Adama out."

***************

     Stokard stared for a moment as the two struggled, rolled, and swung
at each other.  Then, after his partner rolled back on top, he grabbed
for his shoulders, trying to pull him back.  "Stop!  For Sagan's sake,
stop!" he screamed in his ear.
     Reese scowled and shoved Stokard back.  The distraction had been
enough, though, for Starbuck to pull himself clear.  He was gasping for
air, exhausted, even the adrenaline not able to sustain him much longer. 
The pain was intense, especially in his back, as newly healed muscles
screamed in protest, and his head was pounding now.  He tried to scramble
to his feet, stumbled, and landed on his chest.  On top of the laser.  He
grabbed it with his left hand, just as he felt someone grab his arms and
wrench him upward.  He did not have the strength to resist.  The motion
flung him onto his back.  Somehow, he still held the laser, tightly,
aimed haphazardly above him.  Gasping, he stared up at Reese.  The guard
was glaring at him, panting, as well.  For the moment, neither moved.
     Stokard, thinking that the ruckus had ended, approached Reese. 
"Back off, okay?" he yelled.  He noticed that the screaming had stopped. 
It was quiet, except for the rasping breaths.  Then he heard the sound of
the turbolift.
     As the spasms coursed through his back muscles, Starbuck could not
have moved had he even wanted to.  He squeezed the handle of the laser in
reaction to the pain, not really aware of what he was doing, not aware
that he had wrapped his finger over the trigger, instinctively, out of
habit.  His eyes were locked with Reese's.
     "Give me that!"  The security guard, smirking in victory, grabbed
his gun by the barrel and yanked.  Unable to let go, Starbuck felt the
click of the trigger, as it engaged with the pressure, a millimicron
before the weapon fired.  The shrill shriek of the laser cut through the
silence.  The bright blue beam caught Reese squarely in the chest.  He
tumbled backwards and lay motionless as the laser clattered on the floor.

**************

     Apollo and Sheba had met up with the commander and three security
guards in the turbolift, as it whined slowly down.  Adama had given each
a long look but had said nothing.  Apollo wondered briefly if his father
was noticing the fact that he and Sheba were together in what should have
been nearly the end of sleep period, or the fact that she was not
cleared, officially, concerning the probe.  Or both.  But that could
wait.  Right now, numerous questions occupied his mind.  The noise of the
lift, however, made conversation too difficult, so the captain remained
silent.  Anyway, the commander had said that they did not know any
details.  He would have to wait until they arrived in the bay to find out
just what was happening.
     The turbolift finally descended to where they could see out into the
landing bay.  They spotted the fight immediately.  Apollo, mind analyzing
the details, noted the two involved: a security guard, Reese, who was
standing over a Colonial Warrior.  He had a laser pointed up at the
guard.  The warrior's face was not visible, but everything about him was
familiar.  The sheer implausibility of the situation prevented Apollo
from immediately making the identification.  The lift stopped and the
group, with the captain in front, hurried off.  Then he saw Copernicus,
who was crouched off to his left, rocking, hands pressed to his ears.  It
finally clicked.  "What?  Starbuck?" Apollo said.
     Apollo heard Reese, who looked winded and angry, say, "Give me
that!" as he grabbed for the pistol.
     And the laser fired.  
     Apollo froze, in horror and disbelief, as Reese fell backwards and
the gun dropped to the floor.  Sheba clutched at the captain's arm as the
scene played out.  Adama and the three guards rushed forward.
     "Oh, my God!" Sheba said, her voice barely above a whisper.
     For a long moment, Apollo stood, immobile, unable to move, one
thought screaming repeatedly in his head.  "This can't be happening!"

**************

     The vision was frozen in his mind.  Reese, enveloped in the bright
blue light, falling.  Falling.  Then darkness, as shock shattered
reality.
     A hammering barrage of sensations and chaotic images.  So familiar,
so tormenting, over the past eleven nights.
     Drowning.  Drowning, being pulled beneath the surface as the swells
rush over the head and the current drags down, down, down.  The crushing
pressure against the chest.  Suffocating...
     Darkness.  And cold, a cold that penetrates to the bone, numbing. 
Trying to move, and a sudden, fierce fire burning through the center of
the back and radiating out through every nerve.  A soundless cry of
agony.  Gasping, gasping...
     A shape hovers above, a bearded face -- no!  It is Connly.  Sherok. 
Ortega.  Reese.  All of them and none.  The Human face when reality
crushes the will to survive and twists the soul into a remorseless being. 
The face smiles, coldly, cruelly, as a laser drifts into view, slowly
aimed to kill...  Paralyzed, arms and legs cannot move; eyes can only
watch, watch in a fascinated, terrified horror as the finger slowly
presses the trigger.  "You will die."  The voice is cold, flat,
mechanical.  Human, but not.  Gasping, short, panic-filled breaths as the
heart races.  Sweat burns eyes as it slowly trickles down.  The mind is
screaming, "No, no, no, no!"  But the words soundlessly choke in the
throat.
     And light explodes as eyes squeeze tightly shut.  Breathing stops. 
A deafening silence.  A void...  Then the high-pitched, numbing sound of
the laser again, at close range, bursts into a blinding flash.  Then
darkness crashes down again.
     Another voice.  Different.  Tense and agitated.  "Starbuck, it's me! 
Starbuck!  Starbuck!"  Startled recognition sparks a shudder.  The feel
of cold metal in a hot, sweaty, shaking palm.  Eyes open to see a
familiar face framed through the sites of the laser pistol as it aims at
the captain's heart.  At Apollo.  The lifeline, the anchor.  Apollo,
no...!   For an instant, the comforting, solacing face blurs into the
taunting, snarling image of Ortega.  Connly.  Sherok.  Reese.  Escape!  
Escape... just fire the viper's turbos and be free... But hands will not. 
There is nowhere to go, nowhere.  "Stay back, or I'll fire!" a voice, his
own voice, screams.  The words echo painfully through the mind as eyes
gaze in horror at the calm, yet beseeching look on Apollo's face.  So
steady and reassuring... Vision freezes on the image of his closest
friend, the astonished look of disbelief, as the finger pulls the
trigger.  No!  Oh, God, no!  How could you possibly?   No, no, no!
     And light explodes.
    Cold.  The ground is cold.  And wet.  Dewy wet.  The smell of damp
earth.  Then the overpowering stench of smoke and burning flesh sears the
nostrils.  Child's eyes open to see a scorched laser pistol, dimly
visible in the pre-dawn light, the metal twisted and smoldering, lying in
the cold, dewy grass.  Cries, piercing, wailing cries.  So many of them. 
Small hands press tightly against ears to shut out the terrifying
screams.  Explosions vibrate through the ground and through the soul.
     And the visions repeat, shatter, splinter, hammer in the skull.
     The exploding light.  The faces.  Then darkness.

************

     Apollo, at last, made himself move.  With Sheba at his side, he
rushed over.  The commander and the three guards were watching as Reese's
partner bent over him, feeling for a pulse.  Apollo held his breath, not
daring to look at his friend, yet, but staring at Reese.   The captain
finally saw that the guard's chest was not scorched, the way it would
have been had the laser been set to kill...
     "He'll be fine."  Stokard stood up.
     Of course.  Standard procedure had lasers set on stun.  Apollo let
out the breath in a relieved sigh.  He heard the commander calling for
medical assistance.  For Tarnia.  He heard the commander asking what had
happened.  Yes, what in Kobol's name was going on here?  He still did not
believe what his head told him that he had seen.  Reese grabbing the
laser.  Starbuck pulling the trigger.
     Starbuck?  Apollo and Sheba knelt quickly next to their friend.  He
was still, unconscious, looking deceptively peaceful, but the telltale
signs of the fight were beginning to show in purple, molten patches on
his face.  Sheba turned to look at Apollo; her face reflected the
bewilderment that he felt.

Chapter Ten

     Adama knew to reserve judgment until he had all of the facts.  The
visual evidence had told him that one of his best warriors had violated a
secured area and shot a security guard, who had been assigned to keep
unauthorized people out of the landing bay.  For the moment, he put that
information aside, on file in his mind, and proceeded to analyze the
situation.  He, Apollo, Sheba, and Colonel Tigh sat quietly in the
lifestation, reading the official reports from Stokard, Dr. Wilker and
his team, while the doctor and medtechs, including Cassiopeia, ran scans
on the two.  Both were still unconscious; although, the effects of
Reese's laser stun would be wearing off soon.  And Adama wanted to be
prepared to confront him about his side of the story.
     The commander had informally questioned Stokard in the landing bay,
before the medical team had arrived.  But once Tarnia had made it there,
shortly after the medtechs, Adama had wanted to clear the area as quickly
as possible.  He had instructed the three security guards to take the
observers' official statements and have the reports sent to him in the
lifestation.  Next, he had told Stokard, Wilker, and the assistants to go
get some rest, while two of the other security guards remained on duty. 
As for the probe, Adama had informed Wilker, much to his disappointment,
that further tests would have to wait, for now.
     After sending Apollo and Sheba along with the medical team, Adama
had approached Tarnia and Copernicus.  The two sat on the floor, but the
man seemed calm.  "How is he?" the commander had asked.
     "He's okay," Tarnia answered.  She looked around the bay, which was
now quiet and almost empty.  She chewed her lip for a moment, then looked
back at Adama.  "Commander, I'm sorry..."
     "Don't be," Adama stated firmly.  "First of all, we don't know what
all happened here.  But we do know that Copernicus was here with
Lieutenant Starbuck.  As for the bridge incident," he gave her a soft
smile, "That's how we learn.  From our mistakes."
     "Thank you," Tarnia said softly, touched by Adama's understanding
and kindness.  "Thank you."  She stood up and helped her friend to his
feet.  "Um, Commander?"
     "Yes?"
     "Copernicus told me bits and pieces of what happened.  And why.  I
think, once we get back to his room, that we'll be able to prepare a
statement for you."
     "I would greatly appreciate that."  Adama looked thoughtful for a
moment.  "He might be able to give us just the perspective we need to
understand what happened here.  Oh, and when you finish," he said, his
mind still reflecting on the events, "could you report to the
lifestation?  I think I know someone else who needs to talk to you."
     Tarnia just nodded, her face somber.  They had all left the landing
bay.  Adama had glanced back at the containment wall as he had boarded
the lift.  How quickly, he mused, had the excitement and hope stirred by
the probe been tempered by the stark reality of their situation; a entire
race of people, refugees, trying to hold onto their sanity until a new
home could be found.
     Once in the lifestation, Adama had called for Colonel Tigh.  And at
Apollo's urging, he had alerted Cassiopeia.  Both had arrived at almost
the same time.  Cassie had looked tired and troubled; Adama wondered what
she knew, if anything, that might shed some light on why the lieutenant
and Copernicus had been roaming around in the middle of sleep period.
     "Starbuck got into a fight with Reese," Apollo had told both the
colonel and Cassie.  "And Reese was shot by his own laser, on stun."
     Cassie had closed her eyes and inhaled, before donning her
professional demeanor to go and assist the doctor, without a word.  Tigh
had frowned deeply, looked over to where both men were being examined,
before asking for the details.  Adama, Apollo, and Sheba had still been
explaining what they knew when security had called to indicate that the
official reports were ready and had been downloaded into the computer. 
Using data pads, they each had copied the information, then silently
proceeded to read the accounts.
     Adama sighed.  All four reports matched what Stokard had already
told him.  Reckless, juvenile behavior on the part of both men.  That
Reese had approached Starbuck, looking for a fight, and that the
lieutenant had given in.  Lords, he wished that he could just put the two
on report of a secton and dismiss the case.  Two details, however, made
the matter much more serious than just the occasional brawl: that Reese
had been on duty in a restricted area, and, even more troubling, a laser
had been fired.
     Had the matter not involved Council Security, Adama could have
handled it as strictly an internal military issue.  However, since the
conflict had crossed over civilian lines, it became much more delicate
and complicated.  Law dictated that because a civilian law enforcement
agent was involved, the matter had to follow the Security Council
channels, which meant presenting all evidence and statements to the
Council's Chief Opposer to review.  The C.O.  would then hold a
preliminary hearing to announce whether or not formal charges would be
filed.  The law was meant to ensure an outside, unbiased perspective to
maintain the balance of power between the military branch and civilian
government.
     Officially, the Fleet was operating under martial law still, which
meant that Adama did not, technically, have to follow Council
regulations.  But his own code of ethics prevented him from doing
anything that might hint at partiality.  No, in the interest of unity
between the Colonial Service and the civilian Fleet, he *had* to follow
the Council law.
     Adama looked up at the others.  Tigh's mouth was a thin line.  "What
were they thinking?" the colonel said, shaking his head.
     "It boils down to one question, in my view," Adama said, rubbing his
forehead.  "Intent."
     "There's got to be an explanation," Apollo said quietly.  The awful
image of his friend firing the laser burned in his mind.  Accidental or
intentional?  Lords, his eyes had told him one story, but his mind, his
heart refused to believe it.  Starbuck could *never* shoot someone like
that, not even in anger.  Not even...  No.  He could not accept it, even
though he had watched it happen.  But what, then, was the truth?  Only
one person could answer that question.
     "If I might interrupt?"  It was Dr. Salik.  Four expectant,
questioning faces turned towards him.  "Sergeant Reese is beginning to
awaken.  You should be able to talk to him in about five centons," he
said.
     "What about Lieutenant Starbuck?" Apollo asked.
     "He's still unconscious."  Salik frowned.  "And we're not sure why. 
His apparent injuries should not have led to unconsciousness.  Strained
back muscles, because the previous injury had not yet healed completely,
minor bruising and contusions.  Oh, and I repaired a broken hand, that I
doubt he got from hitting Sergeant Reese."
     "What do you mean?" Apollo felt both his worry and his confusion
intensifying.
     "The injury was consistent with striking a solid, immovable object,
not a person, and striking it hard."  Salik pursed his lips.  "Anyway,
we're running further tests to try to determine why he's still
unconscious."
     "He's been under a great deal of stress lately.  Could that have
anything to do with it?" asked Apollo.
     "It might."  Salik paused for a moment, thinking.  "Along the lines
of Combat Stress Syndrome, perhaps.  That would be consistent with the
volatile behavior.  I'll let you know what the tests reveal.  I should
have the results soon.  In the meantime," Salik looked over to where
Reese appeared to be stirring, "It looks like the sergeant is waking up. 
Give him about three more centons to get oriented, then it should be fine
to talk with him."
     The four moved over to stand beside the security guard's biobed. 
With the commander and Apollo on one side and the colonel and Sheba on
the other, they watched as he groaned and blinked open his eyes.  He
stared and squinted in confusion, then sat up slowly, obviously trying to
figure out where he was.  Holding his head with both hands, he closed his
eyes and groaned.
     "Headache, Sergeant?" Adama said curtly.  He was in no mood to
coddle the guard.  He actually wanted to shake him up a bit.
     "Huh?"  Reese squinted and finally recognized the commander.
     "Do you remember what happened?"  Colonel Tigh was equally abrupt.
     "What?"  Reese swung his head, a little too fast, in the other
direction and winced.
     "Do you remember what happened in the landing bay?" he repeated.
     "I, uh, landing bay?"
     "Think, Sergeant!" Tigh snapped.  "You and Stokard were on duty, in
Beta Bay, guarding the restricted area."
     Reese rubbed his forehead and appeared to concentrate.  "Beta Bay. 
Yeah, I remember..."  He suddenly sat up straight on the biobed and
looked from Adama to Tigh.  "I -- I remember, sirs."
     "Please tell us exactly what happened between you and Lieutenant
Starbuck," Tigh said.  "And, Sergeant?"
     He looked from the commander's silent, stern stare to the colonel's
disapproving frown.  "Yes?"
     "Keep in mind that we have already talked with Stokard and the other
witnesses -- Dr. Wilker and his assistants.  So we expect there to be no
big discrepancies between your description and theirs."
     "Yes, sir..."  Reese took a deep breath.  His face was red, with
tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead.  Still, he gave a factual
but basically honest account of what had happened.  He knew that anything
less, at this point, would just cause more trouble for him.
     "Did you provoke Lieutenant Starbuck?" Tigh asked, after he had
finished.  Reese had hinted at his actions, but the colonel wanted him to
openly acknowledge them.
     "I, uh, guess so."
     "Why?" Apollo asked.  He was angry and did not try to conceal it.
     Reese stared at his bed.  "I was, uh, tired and, uh... not happy
about having to work a double shift.  So I took it out on him."  He
glanced up at the four faces.  While the commander and the colonel were
still intent but unemotional, the lieutenant was glaring and the captain,
arms crossed, looked ready to explode at him.  Reese looked quickly away.
     "And who started the fight?" asked Tigh.
     "That was Starbuck!" Reese stated defensively.  "I admit that I said
some things that maybe I shouldn't have, but he attacked me.  I wasn't
even looking at him at the time!  *He* started it."
     "After you did your best to goad him," Sheba reminded him dryly. 
Reese stared back down at the bed.
     "Yes, the others concur that Lieutenant Starbuck started the actual
fight," Tigh stated.
     Reese knew better than to say anything else.
     "Do you have any idea why he attacked you?" Tigh continued.  "What
were you doing at that moment?"
     "I, uh..."  He had to think about it.  What was it that had just
happened?  Then he remembered.  "Oh, I know.  That crazy man started
screaming -"
     "Copernicus," Apollo stated.  "His name is Copernicus."
     "Uh, him.  He started screaming like he was having an attack, or
something.  I was just going to see what was going on.  That's when
Starbuck jumped me."  Reese paused then added, "I was just doing my job!"
     "That's debatable," Tigh said.  Reese turned red again.  The colonel
looked at the others.  Apollo and Sheba both were frowning intently,
their anger still evident.  Adama was standing with arms crossed, lips
tight.  The colonel turned back to Reese.  "Sergeant, please think about
this next question."  He paused.  "Did Lieutenant Starbuck intentionally
fire the laser?"
     "I...  I don't know." He tried to picture the scene in his head. 
"He was staring right at me... but I don't know."
     "All right, sergeant."  Tigh suppressed a sigh.  He had provided no
new information, and the key question remained unanswered.  "For
unprofessional conduct and fighting while on duty, you are confined to
quarters until further notice.  I'll be filing a copy of the report of
this incident with the Head of Security.  He will determine what the
consequences should be.  You are dismissed to barracks as soon as Dr.
Salik discharges you."
     "Yes, sir," Reese responded, quietly, staring down at the biobed.

*********

     They had just completed a detailed cranial scan and were awaiting
the computer results.  On the other side of the lifestation, the
commander and the others were questioning Sergeant Reese; although, the
interview seemed to be breaking up.  Cassiopeia gazed down at her
patient.  He looked so calm, so peaceful, but she knew better.  Shut
down, she mused, complete mental shut down due to stress and fatigue. 
For the moment, they had no other explanation.
     How, she wondered, had he gotten from an evening on the Rising Star
with Chameleon to shooting Reese in the landing bay?  Maybe she would
know shortly.  Just as soon as the 0600 transmissions download was
complete, she intended to check her messages.  That would be her first
step, to see what he could tell her, if anything.  In addition to the one
she had sent early last evening she had prepared another message for him
after returning from her visit to Blue Squadron's billet.  All it said
was that they needed to talk, as soon as possible, and then she gave her
visitor's code, which gave him permission to travel to the Galactica.
     Regardless of what any messages might say, she had decided that she
needed to talk to Apollo.  It was obvious that something had happened
over on the Rising Star.  It was time -
     Starbuck groaned.  He rolled his head from side to side, slowly, for
several moments.  He seemed to be waking up.  Cassie glanced at the
monitor that showed his vital signs.  Brain activity had been dominated
by theta waves, a sign of being in a deep sleep.  That appeared to be
changing.  She looked back at Starbuck.  He was mumbling under his
breath, eyes still closed.
     Suddenly, his heart rate accelerated.  And then he gasped, mouth
open as if unable to breath.  Eyes shot wide open.  And a sudden,
terrified, unseeing look seized him.  He arched his back and let out a
deafening, blood curdling cry, screaming the word, "No!"
     Dr. Salik rushed out from his office.  Everyone else froze and
turned to stare.  A ringing silence dominated as the scream ended, and
the lieutenant dropped back to the biobed gasping again, eyes staring,
unblinking, straight ahead.
     "Starbuck!"  Cassie put a hand on his shoulder, shaking, trying to
rouse him, to get his attention.  Without warning, he grabbed her arm
with both hands and pulled her down, gripping so tightly that she groaned
in pain.  "Starbuck, let go!  Wake up!" she said through gritted teeth as
she struggled against him, to pull her arm free.
     "No!  Don't!  No!  I can't!  I can't!  No!"  His voice held a rising
wave of panic as the words repeated over and over.  Cassie felt his
fingernails digging into her flesh as he squeezed her arm tightly against
his chest, as if hanging on for dear life.  Then he took a deep breath
and went slack.  Cassie twisted around to see Dr. Salik standing over the
bed, hypogun in hand.
     Cassie pulled her arm free, exhaling to calm her nerves and rubbing
the stinging welts he had left behind.  She gave Dr. Salik a wide-eyed
questioning stare, barely noticing that Adama, Tigh, Apollo, and Sheba
had rushed over.
     "What was that all about?" Apollo asked, looking from Starbuck's
still form to Cassie's shocked face to Salik, whom remained unshakeable. 
He felt a biting frustration at his powerless to help his friend.
     "By the way the brain waves reacted," Salik explained, glancing at
the monitor, "I'd say he had what we call a 'night terror.'  Like a
nightmare, only it comes not from the REM state -- the normal dreaming
state -- but from a deep, deep sleep.  Or from deep within the
subconscious."
     "Oh, God," Cassie whispered.  She was still shaking, trying to calm
down.  She gazed at Starbuck, who was still and placid, once more.  "How
much sedative did you give him?" she asked.
     "Enough to keep him out for about six centars."  Salik looked at the
concerned group around him.  "He needs rest, plain and simple.  I'll
probably keep him like this for at least a day, to give his body time to
heal and his mind some uninterrupted peace and quiet.  Plus, we've got a
small problem that we need to take care of."
     "What's that supposed to mean?" Apollo felt a chill run through him.
     The doctor motioned for everyone to follow him into his office. 
Once inside, he sat on the edge of his desk as the others turned tired,
distressed faces towards him.
     "First, let me assure you that the problem is not life-threatening,
but it may explain some things," Salik said.  "The scans revealed a
minute bone fragment lodged in the lieutenant's cerebrum, in the frontal
lobe.  It's in the general area that affects memory and behavior -"
     "How'd that get there?" Apollo asked, his voice rising.  Frustration
had given way to open anxiety.  Too much had happened in the past 12
centars.
     "After the incident on the Sagittarius," Salik explained, still
patient, "He sustained a thin skull fracture in the forehead region, as
well as a moderate concussion, among other things.  We repaired the
fracture -- or so I thought.  Apparently, I missed a tiny shard of bone. 
I suspect it has been the catalyst for the problems the lieutenant has
been having lately, such as nightmares and the volatility."
     "But you can remove it?" asked the commander.
     "Yes.  That's not a problem.  There is, however, a small amount of
recent bruising, which is why, I believe, that he's been unconscious.  I
would guess that the jarring his head took in that fight caused some
minor damage.  Nothing that can't be easily treated, though."
     "So he'll be okay?"  Apollo managed to look both relieved and
anxious at the same time.
     "Removing the fragment should help," Salik said, looking from one
face to another.  "But it only exacerbated tensions and emotions that
were already there, I suspect.  I should have my final evaluation for you
later today, after we operate, but I can give you a fair idea of what
it'll say.  Combat Stress Syndrome, triggered by the physical injury."
     "We'll need your report," Adama said, glancing at Tigh, then Apollo,
Sheba, and finally Cassie, "as soon as possible.  Because a weapon was
involved, I have to submit all evidence to the Chief Opposer by 1200. 
And since it will be impossible to talk with Lieutenant Starbuck, your
evaluation will be key in determining whether or not he decides to bring
him up on formal charges."
     "I should have it by 1100," Salik said.  "I'll be doing the
operation at 0700."
     "So..."  Apollo paused, deciding what he wanted to say.  "What's
going to happen after you bring him off the sedative?  Will he be
better?"  He glanced at Cassiopeia.  Her sullen expression was not
reassuring.
     "I'll be honest with you, Captain," Salik answered.  "The recovery
will take time.  I suspect that the nightmares may end, maybe, and he
should be able to sleep better.  But he will still have to deal with
everything, all of the stress and emotions, that were triggered."
     Sheba watched the concern wash over Apollo's face and moved closer,
putting a hand on his arm.  He looked haggard now, and she understood,
because she felt it, too.  To have been flying so high, only a few
centars earlier, so filled with hope and love, and the promise of a
brighter future, only to come crashing down as the grim reality, the
uncertainty of the present moment, took hold.  To watch as despair, the
demon of their present situation, battered another soul.
     Adama let out a long breath.  "All right, then," he said, "We need
to let the doctor do his job, and we need to proceed with ours."  He
looked at Apollo and Sheba.  "Tigh and I will handle the reports for the
Security Council.  I want the two of you to get some rest."
     "But -" Apollo started to protest.
     "No.  Do I need to make it an order?"  Adama gave his son a stern
but concerned look.  "The doctor has said that Starbuck will be okay,
relatively speaking.  And he'll be sedated for the next day, anyway. 
You'll serve him better by taking care of yourself and getting on with
your duties."
     "Yes, sir."
     "Apollo?"  The commander's tone was softer, more fatherly.  The
captain gazed at him.  "I'll contact you as soon as Dr. Wilker is allowed
to proceed with the probe.  And I'll give him the go ahead, once the
colonel and I have submitted the reports to the Chief Opposer."
     "Okay," Apollo answered quietly.
     The group filed out of the doctor's office, Apollo and Sheba, with
arms entwined, Adama, Tigh, Cassiopeia, and finally Salik.  The captain
cast a glance at his friend as they walked past the biobed.  He lay so
quietly, once more, the first peace he had had, it seemed, in nearly
twelve days.  Across the room, Reese sat on his bed, fidgeting, waiting
for Dr. Salik to release him.  And two more faces greeted the group,
Tarnia and Copernicus.
     "Apollo, Sheba," the commander stated when he saw his son's
expression, the clear intent to stay and speak with Tarnia, "Go."
     "Father, I want to talk to -"
     "Apollo, I know you do, but I also know that you'll do Starbuck no
good if you wear yourself out.  Also, I *am* aware that you have not had
much sleep these past two nights.  Rest should be your top priority right
now."
     "I -"  The captain stopped.  Adama was gazing steadily at him, but
there was a glimmer in his eyes.  It was a telling look.  While he might
not know the details, his father had read, and understood, the
significant change in both Apollo and Sheba.  "All right," he said at
last, knowing that to argue would get him nowhere, anyway.  He and Sheba
headed out of the lifestation.
     Cassie, standing next to the lieutenant's biobed, watched them leave
with a sigh.  She had hoped for a chance to speak with the captain, but
discussions could wait, would have to wait.  She had not even had time to
check the transmissions for word from Chameleon.  Even that would have to
wait.  At the moment, they had an operation to perform.  Dr. Salik
dismissed Reese, then looked at Cassie.
     "Are you up to this?" he asked, speaking quietly, as he walked up to
her.  "Professional judgment, please.  It may be a straightforward
procedure, but I don't want an assistant who's not able to give me 100%."
     Cassiopeia took a moment to consider how she felt.  Her gaze
wandered over to where the commander and Colonel Tigh were seated and
talking with Tarnia and Copernicus.  Copernicus was staring fixedly in
Starbuck's direction.  She looked down at the lieutenant again, chewing
her lower lip.  How did she feel?  Exhausted, worried, anxious about how
she could ever explain Chameleon's role in all of this -- if she ever had
time to understand what his role was -- drained.  "I would let Marna
assist," she said finally.  "Can I observe?"
     Salik smiled, satisfied with her honesty.  "Of course."

*********

     "Copernicus insisted on coming," Tarnia said as the four sat down at
a table in the back.  "He wants to tell you what he remembers.  I've also
got it all right here."  She handed a data pad to the commander.
     "All right," Adama said, looking at Copernicus.  The man was staring
across the room.  He followed his gaze.  He was staring, almost without
blinking, at Starbuck.  "We would certainly want to hear anything he can
tell us.  Especially since he's the only one, right now, who knows *why*
they were even in the landing bay."
     Tarnia put a hand on Copernicus's shoulder and said quietly and
slowly, "Tell them.  Tell them what you told me."
     Copernicus shot a glance at Adama and Tigh, before continuing to
gaze across the room, but his brow creased as he concentrated on what to
say.  "My fault," he said at last.  "My fault."
     "Why do you say that?" Colonel Tigh asked.
     "Viper.  To see a viper.  My fault.  My fault."  He frowned even
more.
     "I figured out that he asked the lieutenant to take him to see a
viper," Tarnia said in response to their confused expressions.
     "Why?  And what was Starbuck doing with Copernicus at that centar? 
In the middle of sleep period?" asked Tigh.  He and Adama had been
wondering about this since the beginning.
     "Copernicus had decided that he needed to examine a real viper in
order to solve a problem he had with the research they were doing,"
Tarnia explained.  "And when he wants something, he can be very, very
persistent."
     "But it was 0400!"  Tigh was tired; it was becoming more difficult
to hold onto his patience.
     "Came to my door," said Copernicus.  "0055.  Tired, so tired.  Out
of control.  Pain.  So tired, so tired," Copernicus said.  Tigh opened
his eyes in surprise, because the man's tone had changed.  It was as
though he were feeling each emotion, as he said the words.  Although he
still stared across the room, his expression mirrored his tone.  "Pain,"
he continued, slowly.  "Out of control.  Tired.  So tired."  His tone
changed again.  "Come in.  Come in.  Come in.  Music.  My music helps me. 
Music helps me."
     Adama and Tigh exchanged glances.  He appeared to be reliving the
incident, running it through his head and providing commentary, from both
points of view.  They nodded at Tarnia, and she encouraged him to
continue.
     "Music is heaven.  Is peace and calm.  So calm.  So calm now.  No
pain.  No pain.  Peace.  It's okay.  It's okay, now.  You help me?  Help
me?  Help me?  A viper.  I needed to see a viper.  A viper."  Copernicus
suddenly swung his gaze to the commander and Tigh.  "My fault.  My
fault."  He looked troubled.
     "Copernicus," Adama said, wanting to reassure the man, "It's not
your fault.  I don't think Lieutenant Starbuck knew that the landing bay
was under a security screen.  It's not your fault.  Under normal
circumstances, there'd be no problem in taking you to see a viper. 
Okay?"
     Brow furrowed, Copernicus stared into the commander's eyes.  His
gaze was intense, unblinking.  The commander repeated, slowly, "It's not
your fault."
     Copernicus looked unconvinced.  He returned his gaze back across the
room.
     "What happened in the landing bay?" Tigh asked, gently.  When the
man did not respond, he repeated the question.  Tarnia finally touched
Copernicus's arm and asked the question one more time.
     The man frowned again.  He appeared to be concentrating, remembering
again.  "Loud." he said, wincing.  "Loud.  Loud voice."  He put his hands
over his ears, but continued.  "And anger.  That man is angry.  Why is he
angry?  Why is he angry at us?"  Copernicus was whispering now, but his
face was intense.  And he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands
against his ears.
     "Give him a moment," Tarnia explained.  "He's remembering the
events.  This is the way he told it to me, and it's all recorded on the
data pad, this way, and with a summary, to explain.  And the best I can
figure, the next part is from the lieutenant's perspective."
     "What do you mean?" asked Tigh.
     "You'll see in a moment.  I've noticed that he seems to be able to
connect with Starbuck sometimes, with what he is feeling, and I think he
did that this time."
     The commander and Tigh looked back at Copernicus, who had opened his
eyes wide.  "What's going on here?"  His voice was a very close imitation
of Starbuck's.  He paused, then said, "Reese, I just want to understand
what's going on -"  He frowned, paused, long enough for the unspoken
dialogue to take place, then glared.  "We're going!  Now get out of my
face!"  Copernicus grabbed his ears again, and said, quietly still, but
intensely, in his own voice, "No!  No!  Too loud!  Afraid!"
     "Good Lord," Tigh whispered.  "That sounded like Starbuck,
verbatim."
     Tarnia nodded.  "He has an extremely accurate memory.  And the
ability to mimic things he hears.  It's called 'echolalia.'"
     Copernicus huddled down in the chair, eyes closed, but then he
continued.  "Anger!  Anger!  No!"  He winced.  It was not clear from
whose point of view he was speaking, not yet.  "No!  Ow!  Pain, the
pain."  He was gasping, panting.  "Can't move.  Can't move.  Too tired. 
Can't move.  Pain!"
     "I really think this is from the lieutenant's perspective," Tarnia
whispered as Copernicus paused.
     "It would certainly match the condition in which we found him," said
Adama.
     All at once, Copernicus sat up and turned to Colonel Tigh.  "Why did
that man grab the laser?" he asked in a calm voice.  "And why did he pull
like that?"  He sounded puzzled and detached, so different from the
emotion of only a moment earlier.  "Why did he pull the laser like that?"
he asked again.
     "I don't know."  Tigh almost smiled, feeling the first bit of relief
since being called to the lifestation.  If Copernicus's interpretation of
the events were true, it went a long way in clarifying their unanswered
question.  Tigh had already reached a private conclusion, though, and he
hoped that the chief opposer would have sense enough to comprehend it,
also; regardless of the lieutenant's intent, one just does not grab a
laser by the barrel and pull it out of someone's hand.  "Is there
anything else?"
     Copernicus shook his head, suddenly looking exhausted.  He gazed
back over to Starbuck and noticed activity around his bed.  Two medtechs
had approached.  They spoke quietly, nodding.  Then Copernicus watched as
the two moved Starbuck's biobed towards one of the operating theaters. 
He started when he seemed to realize what was happening.  He gripped
Tarnia's arm and stared at her with a worried look.
     "What's going on, if I might ask?" Tarnia said.
     The commander explained the lieutenant's condition.  "Copernicus,"
he said at the end, putting a hand on the man's arm.  "He'll be okay. 
He'll be okay."
     Copernicus gazed at the commander, still looking anxious.  "We'll
let you know when you can come visit, all right?" Adama smiled.
     Tarnia smiled in return.  "Thanks, Commander."

************

     Cassie ran a hand across her face and stifled the yawn that had been
trying to escape.  So simple and straightforward, yet delicate and
deadly, should the physician slip with the laser, the micosurgery had
taken two centars.  Dr. Salik had worked slowly but skillfully, and
Cassie had enjoyed watching his confident artistry.  But now, with no
more distractions to occupy her mind, she felt the exhaustion settling
over her.
     As she walked by the biobed, she paused to gaze at their patient --
one last distraction before checking her messages and tackling the
problem of figuring out how to explain Chameleon to Apollo.  Starbuck,
his eyes closed and lips lightly parted, looked tranquil, despite the
nasty, swollen bruise that had formed on his left cheek and temple. 
Running her fingers under the locks above his forehead, Cassie felt the
smooth area where Dr. Salik had had to shave the hair to perform the
procedure.  No, he would not be happy when he awoke about a day later. 
She smiled to herself as she pictured the scene; the bruise would be at
its most colorful, and, despite the fact that the missing hair was well
hidden and the incision invisibly sealed, he would still complain.  Or
maybe not, Cassie corrected herself, the smile disappearing.  That would
be his reaction under normal circumstances; she could not predict what
might happen this time.
     "How is he?"  Tarnia had approached quietly and had observed the
emotions playing across the medtech's face.
     "He'll be fine, in time.  I think." Cassie looked up and did not
bother to hide her concern.  In the brief period that she had known
Tarnia, she had come to trust her, to feel comfortable with her, enough
so that Cassie believed that she, of all the counselors on staff aboard
the Galactica, could guide her companion through his turmoil and lead him
back.  But it would take time.  The physical injury -- that tiny, tiny,
fragment -- had been the catalyst, like a magnifying glass that had
sparked a brush fire.  But the flames it had raised would not simply
vanish; nor could they be ignored or denied.  The Lords knew how he had
already tried to do that.  No, Tarnia would need to gently probe to the
source, then help bring the right perspective back to everything again. 
How much time that would take, she did not know.  Cassie closed her eyes
and sighed.
     "What about you?"  Tarnia put a hand on the medtech's arm.  "Are you
all right?"
     "I'll be fine, too," Cassie answered.  "But there's a level to all
of this mess that the commander, and even Apollo, aren't aware of. 
Somehow, I need to explain it to them, I think.  I don't know.  I need to
check my messages..."
     "Perhaps I can help?" said a voice from the lifestation entrance.
     "Chameleon!" Cassie exhaled.  "Yes.  We definitely need to talk."

*************************

     The quiet but persistent beeping of the door chime finally aroused
the captain from his deep slumber.  Reluctantly, he sat up and rubbed his
hands across his face and through his hair to wake up.  A glance at his
chronometer showed that he had actually gotten almost two and a half
centars of sleep.  Not long enough, he reflected, but it would have to
do; he was surprised that he had slept at all, in fact.
     After returning to his quarters earlier, he had arrived just as
Boxey had been waking up.  Forcing all concerns aside, Apollo had
concentrated on simply being a father as he had played with Boxey, fixed
a quick morning meal in their quarters, then taken him to his first
instructional period.  Upon returning, he had felt too awake to sleep, so
he had laid down on his bunk, intending just to close his eyes and rest. 
The wakefulness had obviously been an illusion, because he barely
remembered putting his head on the pillow, before hearing the insistent
door chime.
     Climbing to his feet, the captain ran a hand once more through his
dark hair and frowned at the sound of his determined visitor.  Apollo
pressed the activation panel, and the door slid open.  Lieutenant Boomer
greeted him with crossed arms and an intense face.
     "What's up?"  Apollo was awake now.  He motioned for Boomer to
enter.
     "Just what happened last night?" the lieutenant asked, stopping
after crossing the threshold, as the door closed behind him.
     "There was some trouble in the landing bay after we left," Apollo
answered, studying the lieutenant's furrowed brow and pursed lips. 
"What's going on?"
     "Did this 'trouble' involve Starbuck and Reese?"
     "Yes."  Apollo did not like the feeling that was building inside. 
As they both skirted the issue, probing to find out what the other knew,
the captain had a fair idea about what Boomer had to say.  "How do you
know about that?  You went back to the billet to rest, right?"
     "Well," Boomer said with a sigh, "The rumors are spreading faster
than the Aquarius Flu.  I went to midday meal in the commissary, and it
was packed with both warriors and blackshirts -- now that the rationing
is over.  Anyway, it seems that two of the guards were monitoring the
surveillance cameras to Beta Bay."  Boomer paused, watching the captain's
reaction, the narrowing of his eyes and the tightening of his jaw.
     "And what do they say happened?"  Apollo could easily picture the
scene, the tale the guards would be telling in front of such a large
audience.  They would have seen but not heard the events over the
monitor.
     "They say," Boomer said slowly, "That Starbuck entered the
restricted area, argued with Reese, then attacked him.  And then shot
him."
     Apollo let out a slow breath.  "That's partly what happened."
     "The blackshirts were also dredging up Starbuck's behavior with that
reporter," Boomer continued, "and gloating about how he's obviously unfit
for duty."
     "Frak."  Apollo closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.  After a
moment, he explained to Boomer what he had seen and what the reports
stated.
     "Well that's just lovely," Boomer said, after Apollo had finished. 
"Because regardless of what really happened -- or how much Reese did to
provoke Starbuck -- the blackshirts are going to believe what they want
to, since they 'saw the whole thing.' And," Boomer added, "they are
already griping that nothing will be done, even though he shot Reese.  It
was not a pretty scene."
     "Sounds like we'd better talk to my father," Apollo said, "before
they start a fight in the commissary.  Plus, we've got enough nonmilitary
personnel aboard this ship that this whole thing could end up all over
the IFB, if something isn't done quickly."  The captain paused,
wondering, briefly, if he ought to change uniforms, but time was against
them.  "Let's go!" he said and headed out the door.

******************

     "I'll be in touch as soon as I reach a decision.  Solon out."
     As the face of the chief opposer faded from the commander's
viewscreen, Adama sank back into his chair, rubbing the bridge of his
nose with two fingers and allowing the wave of both frustration and
exhaustion to wash over him for a moment.  He was alone in his office,
and private moments, the chance to just let the emotions flow, were so
rare for him.  Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths and let his
thoughts drift.  Eventually, he brought himself back to the present
moment.  He had transmitted all reports and visual records of the landing
bay incident to the C.O.  That matter was out of his hands, for now. 
Solon had stated that he wanted to talk to the lieutenant, and would not
make any decisions until he had that opportunity; thus, the case was on
hold for a day, maybe longer.  So, he reflected, time to move on.  Time
to see to our 'visitor,' then.
     He pressed a code on the viewscreen keypad.  Microns later, Wilker's
face appeared.  "Yes, Commander?"
     "I've read over the report of your initial findings.  What's your
next step, once the decon is finished?" Adama asked.  The obvious
anticipation on the scientist's face brought a faint smile back to the
commander.
     "First we need to seal the radiation leak, but that can easily be
done with a remote drone.  And we designed some struts to serve as
supports, so that we can reestablish the gravity to the bay without
damaging the craft.  They're ready now.  So once the decon is finished,
we'll be able to proceed with that."
     "Good, good," Adama said.  "Proceed with the containment of the
radiation leak, and then we'll meet you and your team in the bay at
1800."
     "Yes, Sir!  Wilker out!"
     The screen went blank again, and Adama sat back more easily this
time.  All indications were that the probe was a vessel of exploration
from an unknown civilization, a friendly beacon to help foster a little
hope that not everyone in the universe was out to exterminate them. 
Lords, the commander reflected, they were only four days away from the
one-yahren anniversary of the Great Destruction.  To try to help balance
the incredible and horrific memories he knew it would evoke, he and the
Council had decided to emphasize the future and the strength of human
spirit that all had shown since that time.
     Marking the precise time that the Cylons had begun their massive and
destructive assault, Adama would commence the ceremonies with a short
discourse and prayer, followed by twelve centons of silence, one for each
of the Colonies, to allow everyone a few private moments to pray or
reflect or simply grieve.  But after that, the day would be a celebration
of the human will to survive.  Immense festivities were planned,
stretching their resources as much as they dared.  The goal was to
highlight and rejoice in all that mankind still had left, as well as to
proclaim that the Cylons would never kill the human spirit.
     The door chime beeped.
     "Enter."  Adama gazed at the entrance to his office.  The door slid
open, and Apollo and Boomer strode inside.  The commander noted their
winded expressions, evidence that they had been in a hurry.
     "Father," Apollo said, taking a deep breath, "We've got a situation
brewing between the security forces and the warriors."
     "How so?"  Adama stood up.
     Boomer explained what had been happening in the commissary.  "That
was about 30 centons ago," he said as he finished.  "It just felt like
people on both sides were itching for a fight.  I probably should have
called the colonel right then, but I was preoccupied with what I was
hearing about Starbuck."
     "Well, we'll do that now."  Adama paged the bridge.  "Colonel Tigh,
contact the Head of Security, then have him meet us at the commissary. 
I'll explain when we get there."
     "Acknowledged.  Tigh out."
     It took only four centons to go from the commander's office to the
commissary, which was located on Gamma Deck.  They had met up with the
colonel at the turbolift and had briefed him along the way.  As they
approached the wide double doors, the two oval glass panels revealed that
the commissary was still crowded, not unexpected, since now was one of
the three most frequent break times for midday meal.  Adama, his
expression stern, used both hands to push open the doors without breaking
his stride.
     The noise was like a blast of steam, loud and forceful, as Apollo
and Boomer entered behind the commander and the colonel.  The captain
immediately heard the provocative tone to the phrases being exchanged
above the normal, casual conversations.  Adama stopped to quickly assess
the situation.  Many seemed to be trying to ignore the verbal commotion,
except for a group of warriors and security guards near the back -- the
source.  As people noticed the commander and colonel and stopped to
watch, the dispute became more audible.  Being several metrons away and
embroiled in their argument, the group had not noticed, yet, the
visitors.  Adama, Tigh, Apollo, and Boomer stopped to listen.
     "You warriors think you're above the Council laws," a guard was
saying.  He was seated at a table with a group of about seven or eight
security officers, and all were facing an equal number of Colonial
Warriors at an adjacent table.  Several from each group were standing and
looked ready to fight.
     "Look, blackshirt, why should we believe what you're telling us?" a
pilot said.  He jabbed a finger at the guard in front of him.  "And if he
*did* shoot him, then he frakkin' deserved it!"
     The guard answered with a scowl, "No, this time your hotheaded
lieutenant crossed the line."  Both Apollo and Boomer moved to intervene,
but Adama put a hand out to stop them.  The guard, still unaware that
they were being watched, continued, "Even the commander can't support
someone who shoots an unarmed man-"
     "Nor will the commander tolerate security breeches."  Adama's deep
voice sliced through the commotion and brought silence to the large hall. 
He waited, allowing the effect of his presence to radiate through the
group in front of him, as warriors and guards scrambled to attention.
     "Nor will I," said another voice from behind the commander.  Captain
Fulton, Head of Security, approached with unconcealed anger on his face. 
Adama nodded his approval as the captain stepped past him to confront the
group.  "This is a disgrace to the people you serve -- all of you!"
Fulton glared from warrior to guard.  "The commander and I have discussed
the tensions that have arisen between the two corps -- the warriors and
Council Security.  And all of you know that both the commander and the
Council have been working very hard, *very hard,* to resolve their
differences and present a united front to the people."
     The captain stopped to glare once more at the group, before
continuing.  "Then to learn that two of my officers would knowingly
discuss events that occurred in a restricted zone, with the intention of
further exacerbating these tensions -- inexcusable!  I'm putting every
one of you on report."
     All were silent.  Some looked red-faced and embarrassed, others
looked angry, still, and some stared straight ahead, faces blank, bodies
at full attention.  The commander let his own disapproval show on his
face as he looked at the warriors and guards.  His gaze sweep from one
end of the group to the other before he spoke.  "I am deeply disappointed
in all of you..."  His slow, quiet tone was more piercing than had he
raised his voice.  "That you would disregard your vow to uphold the
security and safety of the people of the Fleet for the sake of petty
disagreements and jealousies.  Because that's what you are doing here. 
Creating tensions, starting rumors, feeding animosities that have no
place in this Fleet to begin with."
     The commander paused to give each an icy stare.  "Never mind that
the incident being discussed occurred in a restricted area -- and that
such events should have remained confidential.  I have faith that Captain
Fulton will properly deal with those two individuals.  The rest of you
are equally at fault for letting this continue at all.  No one here has
the facts.  No one here *really* knows what happened.  But by fueling the
flames of this dispute between the two forces, you jeopardize the unity
of this Fleet.  Our people need hope and security from those that are
their protectors -- not pettiness and divisiveness."
     Adama raised his voice just enough to be heard by everyone within
the commissary.  "I will consider any further discussion of this incident
as a security breach, and I will issue a ship-wide statement to reiterate
what I have said here."
     The commander paused again, this time to consider his next words. 
He gazed briefly at the floor before he looked back up and spoke again. 
"In the interest of maintaining the unity here among the two forces --
warriors and Council security -- I will also inform you that all evidence
in this matter has been turned over to the chief opposer, as per Colonial
law, for investigation.  Any decisions regarding consequences shall be
his and not mine.  Colonel?"
     Tigh stepped forward to glare at the warriors.  "Each of you is also
on report.  I'll deal with you later.  Dismissed to barracks!"

***************

     Apollo and Boomer followed Adama back into his office, leaving Tigh
once more to command the bridge.  Before doing so, Adama had issued the
brief but blunt intraship statement: that Beta Bay was a restricted zone
until further notice, and any discussion of events occurring in that area
would be a security violation.  The commander hoped that they had
effectively contained the rumors and speculations and restored the
relative peace between the two forces.
     As the door closed behind them, Adama leaned against his desk, arms
crossed, gazing thoughtfully at an image of the Galactica that hung on
the opposite wall.  Apollo and Boomer waited.  Finally, the commander
looked at his warriors.  "The Council and I have made too much progress
in creating a unified, supportive front to let an incident like this one
refuel the old mistrusts," he said.  "Both Starbuck's and Reese's actions
must have strict consequences, which is why, once Solon makes his
decision, I will support it fully and will issue a formal, ship-wide
announcement."
     "When do you think Solon will make that decision?" Apollo asked.  He
understood his father's decision, but the uncertainty, not knowing how
Solon would interpret this matter, left a cold knot in his stomach.
     Adama sighed.  "He told me that he would ask Doctor Salik to inform
him as soon as Starbuck is awake and able to answer questions.  So we
won't know anything for a day, at least."  Adama studied the worried
faces in front of him.  "There's not much more that we can do, for now."
     "Father, what do you think is going to happen?"
     "Apollo," Adama said quietly, "I trust Solon.  I believe that he
will consider every detail and make a fair decision in this case.  That's
just my feeling."  He gave a slight smile.  "For now, let's not dwell on
what *might* happen.  Besides, I've given Dr. Wilker the go-ahead on the
probe.  We'll get our first close-up look at 1800.  Why don't we-"
     The door chime sounded.
     Adama raised an eyebrow.  "Enter."   The three turned to look
expectantly at the entrance.
     The door slid open to reveal Cassiopeia.  She was hesitant, coming
only partway in, stopping on the threshold.  "Colonel Tigh told me that
Apollo has here with you," she said.  "Do you have time to talk?"  She
shifted her gaze from the commander to Apollo to Boomer.
     "We do," Adama answered.  "Come on in."
     Cassie moved on through, followed by Chameleon.  Apollo and Boomer
exchanged glances, wondering what was going on.  Noticing the anxious
look on the man's face, the captain assumed that it concerned something
that had occurred while Starbuck was on the Rising Star.  Maybe now they
would learn why the lieutenant had gone from a night out with Chameleon
to visiting Copernicus.  Apollo had yet to understand that part of his
friend's fateful evening.
     "Why don't we all sit down," the commander said.  He motioned, and
Apollo and Boomer pulled up two chairs in front of his desk, then sat
down on the sofa along the wall.  Cassie hesitated once more, then sat
down as Chameleon nodded to her.  Adama leaned back in his chair.
     "I'm assuming, Chameleon," he said, glancing at Cassie, "that you
know what has happened with Starbuck."  When Chameleon nodded slightly,
eyes averted, Adama continued.  "Perhaps you can tell us about the
lieutenant's state of mind when he was with you?"
     "Uh, yes, sir."  Chameleon took a deep breath.  "Commander, I have
to tell you something else, too, but I need you to bare with me."
     Adama frowned at the vague statement and glanced over at Apollo,
then Boomer.  Both also looked puzzled.  "Of course," he said.  "Go
ahead."
     Chameleon gazed at a spot on the commander's desk as he spoke. 
"Last night, I tried to explain something to Starbuck, but he didn't take
it very well."  He looked up to meet the commander's gaze.  "Let me try
to explain the same thing to you."  Chameleon, following the course of
logic that he had used the previous evening, first described his
reasoning, then finally got to the point.  "In other words, those test
results were positive.  I am Starbuck's father."
     A stunned silence reigned for several moments.  Then Apollo, his
face furrowing, abruptly stood.  Boomer stood also, to put a hand on the
captain's arm.  Apollo shook him off and pointed a finger at Chameleon. 
"You knew that you were Starbuck's father and you didn't tell him?"  His
face was furious now.  "I don't get it either -- why you'd even consider
hiding the truth!  You *knew* how important that was to him!"
     "Apollo, hold on," Boomer said, placing himself between the captain
and Chameleon.  "Let him speak."
     "Yes," said Adama, who was staring at Chameleon with narrowed eyes. 
"I want to hear more."  He looked at Apollo, who was standing, hands
squeezed tight in frustration.  "You say you were afraid that Starbuck
would overreact and resign from the service, so you wanted to wait for a
better time."  Adama gazed at him, eyes narrowing even more.  "It's been
sectars since that incident.  Why did you wait so long to tell him?"
     Chameleon glanced at Cassie, who remained stony faced, staring at a
spot in front of the commander's desk.  "I'm not sure... but I didn't
think he was ready at that time, not after I'd just told him that I
wasn't his father."
     Apollo was still glaring at the man.  Too much had happened in so
short a time for him to hold on to his normally calm exterior.  Not now,
not after seeing the end result of Chameleon's revelation.  It made sense
now.  If he, himself, felt this angry, he could only imagine what
Starbuck had felt after hearing Chameleon's words.  Apollo took a deep
breath, studying the way Chameleon had sunk down in his chair, eyes
averted, fingers tapping nervously together.  And something else clicked. 
"I think," the captain said slowly, "that you were more afraid for
yourself than for Starbuck.  I think *you* couldn't handle the truth."
     Chameleon turned to the captain.  "Look, I'll- I'll admit that
that's part of it, but- " he said.  He seemed ready to argue, but his
voice faltered.  He looked away again, gazing at the floor.  "Yes..." he
said eventually.  "You're right.  I was afraid, afraid for...  myself." 
He swallowed at the admission and clenched his jaw for a moment, before
going on.  "I- I've lived so many yahrens on my own, taking care of
myself.  I...  I wasn't used to thinking about someone else.  Just me. 
I -- I've never formed a lot of attachments since what happened way back
on Umbra."  He glanced up briefly, then looked away again.  "When Starbuck
told me, when we were alone in the launch bay, that he wanted to resign
and -- and make up for lost time, I -- I didn't know what to do.  I never
dreamed that he'd...  he'd give himself over so...  completely to me." 
Chameleon stopped and covered his face with his hand.  "My own son..." he
said softly, barely above a whisper, "And I certainly never deserved any
such devotion..."
     "Apollo," Boomer said, "Regardless of why he waited, he did tell
Starbuck."  He gazed at Chameleon.  "And he *is* his father."
     Apollo finally let himself ponder that information and remained
silent.
     "I assume you now know that he's been under a great deal of stress,
lately," Adama said glancing at Cassiopeia, who nodded.  "And while I
understand your reasoning, at least in part, about waiting to tell, I
don't agree with it."
     "Well, that's why Cassie has been after me ever since that day. 
Once I'd decided to withhold the truth, I was afraid to correct the
situation and tell him."  Chameleon locked eyes for an instance with the
commander, before averting them again.  "I don't know what it's like to
be a father, Adama.  I never knew... and I still don't even know where to
start."  He took a deep breath.
     "All you needed to do was give your love, Chameleon," Adama said,
glancing at Apollo with a brief glimmer of tenderness.  He turned his
gaze back, frowning.
     "You did it, Adama." Chameleon said, catching the look that had
passed between father and son.  "You were more of a father to Starbuck
than I could ever have been -- or be."
     "I'm not enough." Adama said curtly.
     "Yes," Chameleon said quietly.  "I realize now how wrong I was."
     "Well, what's done is done," Adama said.  He looked up at Apollo,
who was standing, hands on hips, listening with a skeptical expression on
his face.  Boomer also continued to stand, arms crossed, lips pursed. 
"What did you do after Starbuck left?" the commander asked.
     "I just sat there for several centons.  I didn't know what to do,"
Chameleon said.  "I finally went to the shuttle bay to see if he was
there.  When I learned that I had just missed a shuttle for the
Galactica, I assumed that he had been on it.  I waited and took the
return shuttle to the Senior Ship -- had to, or I'd have been stranded on
the Rising Star."
     "Well, this does shed some light on Starbuck's state of mind," Adama
said.  "And whenever he came back, he eventually went to see Copernicus,
instead of returning to the billet."  The commander described what
Copernicus and Tarnia had told him.  
     All four listened intently.  And as he listened, Apollo began to
pace.  Despite everything, despite the reasons behind Chameleon's delayed
revelation, one fact remained -- the man was Starbuck's father.
     "I'm not sure I understand, yet, what actually happened in that
launch bay," said Boomer, "but we all remember how explosive Starbuck was
back when he found out that we ran a security check on Chameleon, and
that was under 'normal' circumstances."
     "Chameleon," Apollo said, stopping finally to stand near his father,
"This is going to take time -- for all of us -- but most especially for
Starbuck.  Lords!"  Apollo threw his hands in the air and gazed up in
exasperation.  "If I find it this hard to accept and forgive you, I can
only imagine what Starbuck will be facing..."  He looked back at the man,
who suddenly seemed old and frail, hunkered down in his chair, eyes
reflecting... what?  The silence stretched on for nearly a centon. 
"Look," the captain said eventually, "You seem truly remorseful.  I see
that.  I do.  But you -- your actions helped trigger Starbuck's collapse. 
You caused it, partly... and you can..."  He paused, and he seemed to be
convincing himself as much as Chameleon.  Then he gazed at the man.  "You
can help him heal, too.  He *needs* his father.  He *needs* you."  Apollo
pointed a finger at Chameleon.  "And I expect you to be there.  Be there
for him as he works through all of this.  He's going to need his friends
and his family.  You."
     Chameleon nodded.  He started to say something, but the words caught
in his throat.  "Yes," was all that would come out.
     "Apollo's right," Adama said.  "And it will take time and patience." 
The commander rose and walked over to Chameleon, standing in front of him
with arms crossed.  "I've cared for Starbuck, for a long time, as if he
were my own son, Chameleon.  If you're willing to repair the damage done,
I'll help you out whenever you feel you need the guidance.  Yet, your own
heart will have to be your true guide.  Love and experience will teach
you...  teach you both, father and son."  Finally, he offered him a hand. 
Hesitantly, Chameleon stood and grasped the hand.  "And when the time is
right," Adama continued, "We'll make the proper toasts."

Chapter Eleven

     Wearing the awkward but effective magnetic boots in the weightless
environment, a viper tech had carefully disconnected the tow line from
Apollo's ship and slowly moved it away from the probe.  Using remote
technology, the scientist had been able to seal the radiation leak, so
they could safely approach the probe, now, without protective suits. 
Next, Wilker's two assistants had set up the supports.  Using the tow
line to guide it, they gently pulled the craft down until it rested on
its new 'legs.'  Once assured that the supports were positioned
correctly, they exited back through the airlock so that the artificial
gravity could be reestablished within the containment field.  Dr. Wilker
studied his instruments as the gravity was slowly reactivated.  He knew
there was the possibility that the pressure could damage the craft, so he
was ready to stop the process at the slightest indication of structural
stress.
     Behind him, a small but eager group waited and watched.  Adama,
Tigh, Athena, Apollo, Boomer, and Sheba gazed through the viewports as
the slow procedure continued.  For Apollo, the excitement of the moment
was unparalleled to anything he had experienced since the Great
Destruction.  Only one factor tempered his joy - the absence of his
friend.  At least, he reflected briefly, saying a silent prayer, Starbuck
was safe and resting peacefully, for now.
     Staring back through the viewport, Apollo gazed at the craft.  It
was beautiful, so much like some of the ancient probes that had been
built by the Colonies well before the start of the Thousand-Yahren War. 
Dr. Wilker, based off of his own knowledge and earlier readings, had
theorized that it contained at least ten different types of
instrumentation.  Several were evidently telescopic in nature; others
were indefinable, as of yet.  The main apparatus's function was obvious
to everyone.  The large dish had been its antenna for transmitting data
back to its home world.  The two long trusses, Wilker had explained,
contained the vessel's power source, radio isotopic thermal generators,
one on each end.  Other devices and equipment nestled in a cluster on the
back of the dish.
     The way the supports had been set up, the edge of the dish rested at
approximately shoulder height and the craft pointed upwards, with its
trusses and another long, narrow device jutting safely outward, well away
from the floor.  The scientists would easily be able to examine and
explore every aspect of the craft.  Apollo wanted to simply look at it,
touch it, and, knowing that it had probably been constructed many, many
hundreds of yahrens ago, wonder about its creators.
     After 40 centons, Wilker stood up and faced the group.  "Well, we're
ready!  Normal gravity has been successfully restored.  Uh, Commander?"
     "Yes?"  Adama turned from the viewport.  He had been staring at the
probe and had almost not heard the doctor.
     "Not to be rude, or anything," Wilker said, hesitating, "but we'll
be better able to work if there are fewer distractions.  I realize that
you all are equally interested in this probe..."
     "Don't worry, Doctor," Adama said, smiling.  "We'll only take a
small amount of your time to examine the craft.  Then, we'll leave you to
your work.  All right?"
     "Okay, that'll be fine," Wilker nodded.  "It'll take about 20
centons to set up our equipment, anyway."  He motioned to his assistants
and they began hefting the devices into the containment wall's airlock.
     After they had gone through, Adama gave a grin that revealed his own
enthusiasm.  "Shall we?"
     Feeling like a child on his nova-yahren, Apollo followed behind
Sheba.  Another few centons and they were inside the containment area. 
Dr. Wilker and his team were busy arranging their equipment and still
bringing more inside.  The six warriors approached the craft, slowly,
spreading out to walk all around it.  Apollo grasped Sheba's hand
tightly, feeling the joy from the certainty that she shared his
enthusiasm.  All other thoughts and concerns faded for the moment as he
simply gazed at the craft.
     "Apollo," Sheba whispered.  "I feel so...  so...  at peace, as I
look at it.  It's almost weird."
     "I feel the same way," Apollo answered.  He squeezed her hand as
they moved closer, walking up to the edge of the dish.  It was
constructed from a thin, white material with a metallic framing. 
Cautiously, Apollo ran a finger along the edge.  It was smooth and cool. 
The captain put his palm against the inside of the dish.  "I wonder where
it's from," he said, his voice barely audible.
     "Who were they?" Sheba asked, feeling the edge with both hands.
     Apollo walked slowly to his left, studying the center apparatus of
the dish.  "If it came from the binary system, we might find out more in
another sectar.  Otherwise," he paused to gaze into Sheba's face, "we may
never know."  For a moment, regret eclipsed joy, but only for a micron.
     "Won't we?"  Sheba frowned, puzzled, almost sensing an answer.  She
shook off the feeling.  "Imagine," she said, smiling again, drinking in
the excitement from Apollo's emerald eyes, "What if they are a
civilization that has not known endless war.  Maybe they have made far
greater technological progress than we have."
     "Maybe.  And maybe-"
     "Good, Lord!"  The startled cry from Colonel Tigh broke through the
quiet of the bay.  "Look at this!"
     Adama, Apollo, Sheba, Boomer, Athena, and Wilker hurried around to
where the colonel stood, next to one of the trusses.  
     "Take a look," Tigh said, pointing.
     Nestled above the metal frame of the truss and under the edge of the
dish was what looked like, at first glance, a small, golden panel. 
Apollo leaned in closer.  It was not a panel, but a plaque, a plaque with
inscribed illustrations, a message from the probe's creators.
     "Oh, my..." Apollo whispered as he saw the images.  Everyone stood
in silence as the significance of the panel sank in.  While there were
various symbols and illustrations, two graphics immediately stood out.
     "By the Lords of Kobol..." Adama said.
     Drawn in front of a profile sketch of the probe itself were pictures
representing the race's creators -- a male and a female.
     "They're human!  Human!"  Sheba gripped Apollo by the arms.
     "They are, indeed," said Wilker, his voice reflecting the amazement
felt by everyone as he gazed at something he would never have expected: a
clear image of a man and a woman, nude.  The man's arm was raised in what
might have been a greeting.
     Apollo could only stare as the image before him blended with a
vision in his mind, the illustration from Maldek's book.  They were the
same, he realized, even though the sketch in the book was only a crude
representation.  "Sheba," he whispered, "Do you recognize it?"
     "Lords of Kobol..."  Sheba remembered the illustration, too.
     "And look at this!" Athena interrupted their thoughts.  She pointed
to another sketch, below and to the left of the humans.  It clearly
showed a system of planets and indicated the origin of the probe, because
an arrow was drawn to trace the flight path of the craft.  It had come
from the third planet and had looped past the fifth.
     "Count the planets, Father."  Apollo was squeezing tightly on
Sheba's arms, as well.  He already knew how many there were; he had gazed
at these same images, the sketches in Maldek's book, countless times
before, wondering what the Prophet's drawings had meant.  Now he knew. 
"Count them," he said softly.
     "Nine.  Nine planets..." Adama breathed.
     "I guess it's not from the binary system, then..." Boomer murmured,
knowing full well what the illustration meant.
     "What's that?"  Tigh pointed to a sketch in the upper left corner. 
It showed two circles, with a short, vertical line within each, as well
as ones that intersected the top of the circles, which were connected by
a horizontal line.  
     "My guess would be an atomic particle.  It looks very much like a
hydrogen atom."  Wilker looked like he would explode from the excitement. 
But everyone understood; they felt the same way.
     "Hydrogen," Apollo whispered to himself.  "The Silver Bride would
bring Her Father's emblem on Her helmet...  Helio's Breath of Fire..." 
His voice rose.  "Earth.  It's from Earth!"
     "And it's just like those beings told us," Sheba said.  "A system
with nine planets and one sun.  So Earth is the third planet..."
     "But it wasn't on course with the coordinates we've been following,"
Boomer said, frowning a bit.
     "It's quite possible," Wilker explained, "that the gravitational
pull from the binary system -- or some other celestial object -- has
altered its course."
     "But, Father..." Apollo said, thinking, "it was still on a direct
course for the Fleet.  How, in all of infinite space, did it end up right
in our path?"
     Adama was frowning, too.  "And if it's been traversing the universe
at the velocity at which we found it," he said, "then it's been traveling
for thousands and thousands of yahrens."
     No one said anything for a moment while each pondered the
implications of that fact.  Apollo felt a hollowness growing in the pit
of his stomach that tempered his elation.  "This is an artifact from
Earth's past, but what can we expect to find now?" he finally said.
     With Apollo on one side and Athena on the other, Adama put a hand on
his children's shoulders.  "Nothing has changed.  We've always been faced
with the uncertainty of Earth's civilization and what has become of it. 
But," he added, the exhilaration returning, "we now know -- have concrete
evidence!  -- that Earth is not just a myth.  We have something real to
take to the people."
     Wilker cleared his throat.  "Um, if we might be allowed to proceed?" 
He looked expectantly at the commander.
     "Of course!"  Adama motioned to the others.  "Let's give the
scientists some room.  The probe isn't going anywhere."
     Boomer and Athena reluctantly tore their gazes from the probe and
nodded.  Boomer crossed his arms, waiting.  Athena sighed, but knew that
they needed to let Wilker do his job.  She watched her brother with a
smile as he continued to stare at the craft.
     "Just a moment longer..."  Apollo leaned in closer to gaze at the
golden plaque, the message from the Thirteenth Tribe.  Sheba moved with
him, also wanting one last look, before leaving.  Her grip on his arm was
tight from the excitement.
     Despite its apparent age, the plaque was shiny and unblemished.  He
drank in the pictures, the astronomical symbols not yet comprehensible,
the clear illustration of Earth's solar system, the silhouette of the
probe, and the images of the humans.  A man and woman from Earth.  Apollo
reached a hand out to feel the engraved lines.  Gently, his fingers
brushed the outline of the humans.
     And a white light exploded.
     Apollo squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the dazzling glare. 
He felt only one sensation, bizarrely, as the light penetrated even his
eyelids: Sheba's warm body against his.  The physical feeling suddenly
expanded, transformed, until he felt disembodied, but still in contact
with Sheba, her consciousness...  and another, another familiar presence.
     Then a whine, a high-pitched frequency, that grew in intensity until
the pain was unbearable.  The light seemed to spin, and he felt dizzy,
nauseated.
     Then silent darkness, deafening with the sudden absence of sound.
     He was alone.  But not alone.
     Apollo blinked, opening his eyes slowly.  They still burned from the
intensity of the light and he shut them again.  Instead, he concentrated
on what his other senses, against all logic, were now telling him, bit by
bit, as if layers were being peeled away.  Wind, he felt wind, first, a
breeze, against his cheek and through his hair, against the side of his
body.  And then the salty, cool smell of an ocean, mingled with the
musty, rich scent of the soil after a rain storm.  The unmistakable roar
of waves rushing in and pulling back out pulsated through his head.
     Apollo opened his eyes.  Slowly, slowly, he let his gaze drift out
and around.  He stood amid the stubbly, short brush at the crest of a
small hill.  Sloping downward, the weeds gave way to a golden brown sand
that reached out into an emerald blue-green ocean.  The call of soaring
birds filtered in and out as the waves crashed upon the beach and washed
back out.  He turned slowly, gaping in amazement.  To either side, the
land gradually curved out, creating a crescent shape.  In the distance,
the land rose quickly into mountains.  The sky had a golden yellow glow
that was quickly fading into the dark colors of a sunset.  The sun was
sinking behind the mountain ridge.
     Quickly, too quickly, and more rapidly as he watched, the day
evaporated into the velvet of night, the stars sprinkled above.  Then
even the stars faded.  Darkness again.  And isolation.  No sensations at
all, for a brief moment.
     The light of day burst out once more, like watching a vid in fast
motion, and Apollo noted the new and different sensations even before he
could see again.  A forest, a mountain forest.  Tall, thin, dark green
trees that reached towards the sky, a snow-capped peak towering above
them.  The air was cold.  And thin.  Much different than at sea level. 
He was in a clearing, a high altitude meadow.  He heard quiet, gurgling
sounds behind him and he turned to see a small river.  The view was
inspiring, breathtakingly pure.
     Once more the light faded, more quickly this time, and he heard the
high frequency whine return, faintly though.
     He felt disconnected, now.  Disembodied.
     He was flying, soaring, above the land.  A desert, a great desert
that stretched as wide as an ocean.  He sailed above the rolling dunes,
until the outline of a city broke the horizon.  The landscape changed
below him.  He was over a populated area.  There were buildings and roads
and other unnatural structures.
     Manmade.
     He was soaring above Earth.  He knew it.  He needed no explanation;
he just knew.  The scenes were changing quickly now.  He saw snapshots
from all around Earth, from all periods of time.  Urban areas, rural
regions, vast fields, decaying, neglected streets.  People who were
suffering, people who were living lavishly.  Shrines, cathedrals,
palaces.  Simple, primitive villages, modern, amazing cities.  People
reaching out and living together, fostering love and strength.  People
divided and destroyed by war.  He was meant to glimpse it, feel it, but
not yet comprehend it fully.  That would have to wait until later.  They
would learn more, he realized, in time.  He just knew.
     He was back over the desert, sailing above the sand.
     And then he saw them, The Great Pyramids.  And he saw The Sphinx. 
The symbol of Light watching over mankind, guarding their destinies.
     The certainty's security.
     Above, shone the three stars from The Hunter -- Orion, as it was
called on Earth -- how did he know the name?  How could he possibly know? 
Yet, he just knew that the pyramids were astronomically aligned to The
Hunter's constellation as a reminder for Humankind's connection with
their origins.  He soared towards the Pyramids.  The monumental legacy of
the Thirteenth Tribe, even if the inhabitants were not aware of it.  Not
aware?  Again, as with the name of Orion, the knowledge came from deep
within and from without.  Apollo just knew that they had forgotten their
origins...
     As he sailed past the first pyramid, he saw again the great Sphinx's
head with benevolent eyes that gazed right through him.  At one point in
their timeline, those placid eyes were staring right at Leo's
constellation rising...  Leo was now silhouetted by the rising sun in the
east.  A greeting from Maldek.
     He flew over the head of the Sphinx, then straight up, through the
clear sky, into the heavens, to the darkness of space, accelerating,
beyond all imagination.  Yet he felt nothing now.
     Then the whine, the high pitch, piercing the mind, the retuning of
his brainwaves that was so intense that all exploded into nothingness.
     Silence.
     Stillness.  Peace.
     Apollo felt the warmth from her body pressed tightly against him. 
His arms were wrapped around her and she was embracing him, holding him
so securely.  He could feel the pulsing of her heart against his chest.
     "What happened?  Are you all right?"  A voice, distant, still.  His
father's.
     "Apollo?"  This time the words were close.  Apollo opened his eyes
finally, slowly, blinking, to find himself gazing into Sheba's face.  Her
expression reflected how he felt.  Confused.
     "What in Kobol's name happened?"  The captain turned towards the
voice as a hand grasped his shoulder.  It was Boomer, looking very
concerned.
     "I...  I'm not sure.  Sheba?"  He pulled back, releasing her, but
still gazing into her eyes.  "Were you there?  Did you see it?"
     Sheba swallowed and nodded.
     She had had the same experience.  How had he known?
     Everything was still hazy, vague.  Apollo looked at the commander. 
"What happened?"
     "You touched the plaque," Adama said, frowning as he studied his
son, convincing himself that he was all right, "And then you and Sheba
went rigid for several microns -- like you had received a shock.  Then
you relaxed and were just staring at the probe, unresponsive, for at
least two centons.  Sheba was the same, holding you, but staring off
vacantly."
     "All readings from the probe," said Dr. Wilker insistently, "are
unchanged.  Whatever happened was *not* caused by the craft."
     Apollo shifted his gaze back to their visitor from Earth.  "Yes...
it was," he said.
     "What?" said Boomer and Tigh, almost simultaneously.  "Is it
dangerous?" asked Tigh, looking at Wilker.
     "No, no," answered Sheba.  "It wasn't the probe itself, but a
message being passed through it."
     "What do you mean?"  Adama looked puzzled, thoughtful, as if he were
on the verge of understanding.
     "Father, it's a long, long story...  but..." Apollo looked at Sheba. 
"You must believe us.  When we met the Beings from the Ship of Lights, we
were given much more encoded information than we could remember at that
time, or afterwards... Right now...  right now, Sheba and I... It
happened again...  It did.  We visited..."
     "We were taken for a ride..." Sheba said.
     "...By the Ship of Lights' Beings, to Earth...  We've seen Earth!"
     Adama could only stare at the two.  "That's a story I'd like to hear
later," he said after a long silence.  He placed his hands on the two
young warriors' shoulders, gazing piercingly at each.  "What have you
seen?"
     "We've seen Earth." Apollo said.  "We know it's out there.  Some of
the details I can remember very vividly; others are clouded.  But we do
know one thing."
     "That the Beings have sent us this probe as a..."  Sheba paused,
searching for the right word, "A gift, I guess, to let us know that Earth
awaits us."
     "A gift?" asked Tigh.  His face reflected confused disbelief.
     "Yes," said Apollo.  "Or maybe as a Messenger," he said, smiling at
the reference that only Sheba would understand.  "I don't know how it
happened.  I don't know what it's original course or position was... The
Beings..." He paused as he searched his mind for the right words.  "I
can't explain it, but I know that we were meant to find it."  Apollo's
smiled widened.
     "So, if what you're saying is true..."  Adama considered the
situation for a moment, then nodded to himself.  "If what you say is
true, that perhaps something or someone altered the probes course, as you
seem to be implying - so that we would encounter it -- then we can't
judge Earth's relative position or distance based off of its velocity or
coordinates when we intercepted it," Adama said.
     "That may be true," said Sheba, "but it is meant as a sign that we
are on the right course."
     "A beacon, perhaps, beckoning us onward..." added Apollo.  A phrase
came to his mind.  "Onward to the skies of the future, full speed to new
Kobol's dawn..." he whispered to himself.
     Everyone stared at the Earth craft in silence, feeling a renewed
sense of awe.  Finally, Adama looked at both Apollo and Sheba.  "How much
do you remember?"
     "Parts are very clear.  And some things I didn't *see,* but just
*know.*"
     "What do you mean?" asked Adama.
     "Well," Apollo said, "I know that Earth has forgotten about its
origins.  The evidence remains - ancient civilizations' records all over
the planet.  Complex buildings and structures, underground tunnel
systems, drawings and dead languages - all containing the truth, but they
simply lost the references to be able to decode any of it properly.  Many
civilizations have risen and fallen...  and cataclysms of planetary
proportions have buried past generations' knowledge...  They have just
forgotten.  With no parameters to decode the legends, the records remain
lost to them.  They have no memories, now...  no memories of the
Thirteenth Tribe."
     "But the pyramids, Apollo!"  Sheba was radiating delight.  "I saw
them!  They have Pyramids -- and a Sphinx -- that look just like the ones
on Kobol!"
     "Yes..." said Apollo.  The vision of Leo still shone in his mind,
filling him with a warmth.  Hope.  "As He's the Lord of His Sunwheel..." 
His voice caught in his throat, and he stopped.
     "He is the Hand of The Father where all life rides on..." Sheba
whispered, continuing the phrase.  Her eyes sparkled with tears when she
gazed up at Apollo again.
     "Then I suggest," said Adama, bringing them all back to the present
moment, "We give Wilker and his team the space they need to examine the
probe, while you and Sheba make a full report on what you remember.  This
will be invaluable for our records.  You can use my office."  It was only
with great effort, however, that Adama was able to contain his emotions
and maintain his professional demeanor.
     Wilker and Tigh exchanged glances.  The scientist had been shaking
his head throughout.  Yet, the detail and certainty with which Apollo and
Sheba spoke made it difficult to totally dismiss their claims.  Tigh,
also, was torn between disbelief and amazement.  Boomer and Athena, on
the other hand, had watched and listened in wonderment and awe.  They
believed.  They had both been present at the evening dinner when the
trio - Apollo, Sheba, and Starbuck - had suddenly recited the
coordinates for Earth.  They did not question, now, the statements they
made.
     As Adama motioned for everyone to leave, Wilker, despite the
mystical revelations from Apollo and Sheba, looked more than pleased that
he would finally be allowed to continue his work, unencumbered by
spectators.

***********************

     He was winded, feeling the exertion, as he pulled himself up the
steep, rocky path.  Almost there, he thought, as he paused and inhaled
slowly, deeply, feeling the air fill his lungs and press against his
chest.  He exhaled gradually, completely.  After several more breaths, he
felt the dizziness from the high altitude receding, and he felt strong
enough to finish his ascent.  Looking up, he could see the trail
disappear over a rocky ridge, the final leg of his journey to the summit. 
Behind him, the path wove back and forth across the alpine meadow, around
the delicate grasses and clusters of flowers.  He had left the shade and
fresh scents of the coniferous forest over a centar ago.  But although
the sun shone down, the air was crisp and chilly.  The temperature would
quickly dip even lower, now that the light was beginning to fade.
     Pulling the collar of his flight jacket around his neck, Starbuck
continued upward, taking broad steps up the trail, which was steep,
despite the winding switchbacks.  After a few more centons, he saw the
crest, the summit.  The view of the snow-spotted and rocky mountain face
gave way to an endless expanse of sky, so blue, laced with long wisps of
clouds and with the telltale tinges of pink beginning to wash into the
edges.  Over the distant ridges of other ranges, he could see where the
flat plain of the valley merged with the horizon, so far away.
     He was standing at top of the world.
     Starbuck sat down on the rocky ground and just stared, enraptured by
the beauty and the solitude.  It was so quiet, so still.  The cry of a
bird of prey could be heard in the distance, but little else broke the
silence.  The breeze was gentle but held a chilly bite to it.
     The sun was sinking behind the ridge to his right.  The sky was
darkening into the purple of dusk, and the fading orb lit the sky with
its deep reds and oranges.  So quickly now, the sun disappeared.  As the
darkness slowly descended, Starbuck gazed all around him, feeling the
tranquility of the moment, savoring it, drawing it inward.  Clinging to
it.  It was so calm, so peaceful, so vastly beautiful.  Timeless and
limitless.
     He knew it.  He was on Earth.
     The light of day gave way to a brilliant star field above, different
than how it appeared from within his viper or even from the Celestial
Dome.  It had been so long, so long...  since he had seen the stars from
Caprica.  The stars twinkled through the atmosphere, as if in greeting.
     He closed his eyes, feeling so peaceful, unlike anything he could
remember.  Then he felt a chill.  And he knew, regretfully, that it was
time.  Time to let go.  Time to go back.  The chill came not from the
cold night air but from within.  He fought it back, trying to reclaim the
serenity that had filled him all day, as he had made this journey. 
Alone, but not alone.  He could not explain it to himself, but from the
beginning, he had felt...  a presence.  Familiar at first.  He could have
sworn he had felt both Apollo and Sheba.  Later, the feeling had become
more of a vague sensation of...  security.  He did not know how else to
describe it.
     He looked around to savor the moment one last time, but it was too
late.  The chill of the night had faded.  The wind had ceased.  He felt
disconnected.  He was enveloped in nothingness.
     He squeezed his eyes tightly shut again and tried to just be, but a
wave of deep sadness kept lapping at him.  Had it been real?  It had felt
so real, so real.  But it had to have been a dream.  A dream, nothing
else.  Earth did not exist for them yet.  But...what did?  He could not
remember.  All of the visions that kept flitting in and out of his mind
had a surreal feel.  He could not remember which were reality and which
were not.  An edge of panic was seeping in.
     He tried to relax, to just breath, to recall the last image from the
dream's journey.  Did it matter if it were real or not?  It had felt
real, and it was a part of him, now.
     The panic had abated.  But he could sense the old, familiar fears
just beyond his reach, like an awaiting predator.
     Eventually, he became aware of the firmness beneath him.  He was
lying down.  In a bed.  Where?  His eyelids were still too heavy to open. 
So he listened.  Too quiet to be the billet, so where?  His mind still
stubbornly refused to reveal anything; he could not remember where he had
been or what had been happening.
     The sheets were soft and warm against his skin.  And he heard voices
now, but he could not focus on the words, not yet.  He tried to move, and
for the first time, he felt the pain, the familiar biting ache in his
back and the throbbing in his head.  He moaned and tried to open his
eyes.  The light was too bright, too bright.  It sent a wave of pain
through his temples.
     "Can you hear me?"
     Who?  He opened his eyes just enough to let his eyelashes shield him
from the light, blinked several times, then closed them again.  He had
seen a face, a familiar face.  Doctor Salik.  So he was in the
lifestation.  His mind spit out that information, but nothing else.  He
still could not think of a reason *why* he would be there.  Except for
the pain.  The throbbing had localized itself to the left side of his
face, and his back was strained and tense.
     "What's going on?" he heard himself asking, his voice a ragged
whisper.
     "Just lie still," the doctor said.  "You've been under sedation for
a day, so it will take a little time for things to make sense."
     Yeah, an understatement, Starbuck thought to himself, eyes still
closed.  He felt like he had a hangover.  And his face hurt.  Maybe he'd
been in another brawl in the OC...  like that time when the joking
between some pilots and security guards had gotten out of hand.  The
blackshirts had no sense of humor.  Reese, especially, had acted like-
     Reese.  The memory came crashing back to him.  Reese.  He had shot
him.  The panic burst from its hiding place and gripped him tightly.
     "Oh, frak!  Oh, frak!"  Starbuck's eyes snapped open, and he tried
to sit up.
     "Calm down!  It's all right."  The doctor's strong hands eased him
back down, held him against the bed.  "Take it easy!"
     "No.  Oh, God, no!"  A cramp in his back kept him from trying to sit
up again.  "Oh...  frak!"
     "Starbuck, it's okay!"  Cassie's voice.  "Everything's okay!"
     "But -- Reese!  Oh, God...  What have I done?"  The image of the
guard, the look of shock on his face as the blue beam penetrated his
chest and knocked him down, was burning in Starbuck's mind.  Kept
repeating.
     "Reese is fine.  Reese is fine," Cassie said softly but insistently. 
She was bending over him.  She put one hand under his left ear and
brushed the other over his right cheek, through his hair, trying to calm
him.
     No!  I shot him!  Shot him!  I didn't mean to..."  The panic washed
back a bit, just a bit, as he remembered, randomly, more of the details. 
He lay staring into the medtech's face, still gasping, still feeling the
awful horror.
     "Take it easy.  Calm down."  Her voice was gentle and soothing. 
"Reese is fine.  Reese is fine."
     The words finally penetrated.
     "He's fine?"  He did not dare believe, not yet.
     "The laser was set on stun," said a different, familiar voice. 
Apollo.  Starbuck turned his head to his left to see the captain, Sheba,
and Boomer.
     "Stun?  Oh, God...  then he's not...?"  The gasping turned into
long, deep breaths.  Relief struggled with disbelief.  Confusion still
dominated.
     "No, he's fine." Apollo smiled.
     Starbuck closed his eyes and sank back into the pillow.  "Oh,
Lords..."  He tried to absorb the information, to let it replace the fear
from believing the worst had happened.
     "How do you feel?" Sheba asked eventually.
     "I don't know," he answered, opening his eyes and turning his head
to look at her.  "Everything is so confusing and muddled.  I mean, I had
the most vivid -- dream, I guess.  But I don't really remember what's
happened."  He looked back to Dr. Salik.  "How long have I been out?"
     "You were sedated for a day."  Salik went on to explain why.  Cassie
had to smile when Starbuck ran a hand up through his hair as the doctor
described the procedure.  Salik ended by saying, "It's not surprising
that your memory has been affected, and I can't tell you when or how much
you'll be able to remember.  Maybe all, maybe none, or maybe bits and
pieces over time."  Salik glanced at his chronometer and frowned. 
"You'll have to excuse me now," he said.  "Unfortunately, I am required
to inform Chief Opposer Solon that you're awake."
     "The chief opposer?"  Starbuck tried to sit up, then sank back down
again, grimacing from the muscle spasms.
     Salik glanced at the disapproving looks Apollo, Sheba, and Boomer
were giving him.  "Look, Lieutenant," he said, "I'm sorry to have to drop
this on you so soon, but Solon was very insistent.  He made it quite
clear that I *had* to inform him as soon as you awoke."  Salik paused,
arms crossed and lips pursed as he studied his patient for a moment.
     "What's he talking about?" Starbuck asked, his voice rising as he
stared at his friends.
     "Starbuck," Apollo said softly, "take it easy.  The meeting with
Solon is standard procedure when a weapon is fired and a civilian -- in
this case, a Council security officer -- is involved.  And we--"
     "Lieutenant," Salik interjected, "while I must inform the C.O.  that
you're awake, by no means do I have to let him speak with you at this
moment.  I can refuse on the grounds that you are not yet stable enough,
mentally, to be questioned."  He cast a look at the others.
     "Doctor," Apollo said, giving him an intent gaze, "I'm surprised
that you would even consider letting one of your patients be questioned
so soon after waking up-"
     "Trust me.  The chief opposer and I had a lengthy discussion about
this."  Salik shook his head, remembering that interaction, it seemed. 
"And you're correct.  I would never permit such an interview, if I
thought it would negatively affect any patient of mine..."  He paused,
switching his focus to Starbuck, who looked confused and tense. 
"However, Lieutenant, the truth is that I can't guarantee what or how
much you'll remember now or later.  My professional evaluation is that
you are stable enough at this time to speak with him - as much as I
dislike the thought of formal interrogations taking place here in the
lifestation," Salik sighed.  "So I'll leave it up to you.  Do you want to
talk with him now...  or wait until later?"
     Starbuck looked glum.  "Lords, I might as well get it over with..."
     Salik nodded.  "That might be a wise decision.  While he did not say
it in so many words, I got the impression from Solon that any delays in
being permitted to speak with you would be met with strong opposition, if
not legal action.  And it's my personal opinion that you don't want to
face the C.O if he's already in a negative frame of mind...  Now, if
you'll excuse me?"  The doctor gave a bemused look and headed for his
office.
     "Wonderful, just wonderful..." Starbuck muttered, eyes closed.
     "How much do you remember," asked Boomer quietly, "about what
happened in Beta Bay?"
     "I can remember parts of it," he said.  He glanced briefly at his
friends, then turned his gaze to the wall.  "Frak, it feels so much like
a dream -- a nightmare!  -- that I'm not sure if I can trust my
memory..."  His voice faded, and all remained silence for a moment. 
Finally, he glanced once more at his friends.  "I'm not sure I can think
straight, yet...  my mind's still on this dream...  this -- it had to be
a hallucination!  -- I had while I was unconscious..."
     "Hallucination?" asked Apollo gently, frowning a bit.  "What are you
talking about?"
     Starbuck sighed.  "I had this dream that I was on Earth, but it was
so vivid, so real, and, and *long.*"  He went on to describe the
experience, the images of his mountain journey.  He was so involved as he
spoke, the images still fresh in his mind, that he did not notice the
growing excitement in the quick looks that Apollo and Sheba exchanged
several times.  For Starbuck, it all remained so concrete, as if he had
only just returned.  He still struggled to remember that it could not
have been real.  Not possibly.
     "It must have been a side effect of the sedative," Cassie said as he
lapsed into silence again.  She looked puzzled.  "Although, usually, you
would not expect dreams while sedated.  Usually, the patient just wakes
up with no memories from that period."
     "Starbuck," Apollo said, glancing again at Sheba as he spoke, "I
think there's something we need to talk about-"
     Brisk movement through the doors to the lifestation interrupted the
captain.  Solon approached, looking serious and intent.  He nodded to
everyone.  "Good morning," he said, ignoring the cautionary looks from
the three warriors.  Instead, he got straight to the point.  "I have some
business to conduct, so I will have to ask you to give us some privacy,
please."
     "As his commanding officer, I'd like to be present," Apollo said,
frowning and confronting Solon's authoritative stance with his captain's
demeanor as he noted the anxious look that crossed his friend's face.
     Solon shrugged.  "That's acceptable.  But I must ask the others to
leave."
     "Come on," Boomer said to Sheba, deciding it would be better not to
argue with the chief opposer.  "We'd better get back to our duties,
anyway."  He gave Starbuck a sympathetic look.  "We'll check in later."
     As Cassie arranged the bed so that the lieutenant could sit up more
comfortably, Solon pulled up a chair and sat down.  Apollo continued to
stand, arms crossed, his stance clearly meant to be protective.
     The chief opposer waited until Cassie had moved off before giving
Starbuck a steady but impassive gaze.  "Now, Lieutenant," he said, "I
understand that you have been under both physical and mental duress over
the past several sectons.  Dr. Salik has explained that to me.  But," he
continued, "I would like to hear your point of view about what happened
between you and Sergeant Reese, and why.  Firing a laser, whether by
accident or intentionally, is a serious matter."
     "He knows that," Apollo said firmly.  A brief flicker of annoyance
crossed Solon's face, but he kept his gaze on the lieutenant, ignoring
the captain's words.
     "Yes, I know..." said Starbuck, his voice a whisper.
     "Tell me what happened," Solon said.
     Starbuck looked from the captain to the chief opposer.  Then closed
his eyes to concentrate.  After nearly a centon, he opened his eyes and
stared at the foot of his bed.  "I was taking Copernicus to the landing
bay so that he could examine a viper," he explained slowly.  "It had
something to do with the research he's working on for Dr. Wilker.  When
we got to the bay, Reese and another guard were there."  He shook his
head.  "I don't know what in Hades is going on there, but it must have
been important..."
     "I'll explain it later," the captain said, gently.
     Starbuck frowned but continued.  "Anyway, I tried to ask Reese what
was going on, but he acted like a-"  He glanced at Solon.  "He did his
best to be uncooperative."
     "Did Sergeant Reese threaten you with his laser?" the chief opposer
asked, his voice still neutral.
     Starbuck let out a long breath, frowning, as he tried to remember
the scene.  "He pointed his laser at me, yes," he said finally, "but it
was more annoying than threatening."  He paused to see if Solon had any
more questions.  When he remained silent, the lieutenant continued.  "I
didn't want to fight.  I tried to avoid it."
     "Then why did you knock Sergeant Reese to the ground?"
     Starbuck felt his heart thumping against his chest as he tried to
remember what had happened next.  The first part had been so clear --
entering the bay, seeing Reese, the verbal disagreement.  But then the
remembrance fragmented.  He knew he had not wanted to fight, had tried to
avoid it.  So what had gone wrong?  Finally, he saw an image of his
friend, hands over his ears, eyes wide with fear.  "Copernicus," he said. 
"He was frightened by the arguing.  He started screaming."  He stopped,
and the scene played through his mind.  "Lords," he whispered finally,
remembering the intense feelings of the moment, "I panicked.  I thought
Reese might hurt Copernicus, so I...  I attacked him.  I did attack
him..."
     Apollo approached and put a reassuring hand on Starbuck's shoulder.
     Solon was nodding, and the lieutenant could not tell exactly what
that meant.  "Go on," said the chief opposer.  "How did you get the
laser?"
     Starbuck concentrated, but he could not get beyond the final image
of the conflict that was frozen in his mind.  The fight itself was a
blank.  "I'm not sure," he said at last.
     "Did you point it at Sergeant Reese?"
     "Well, obviously, I did!" Starbuck snapped, the frustration
building.
     Solon ignored the outburst.  "Did you intend to shoot Sergeant
Reese, or not?"
     "Wait a micron!" Apollo said, starting at the sudden accusatory
question.  "You're pushing it too far, now."
     "Captain," Solon said, his voice even and unemotional, "if you do
not allow me to do my job, I'll have to ask you to leave--"
     "I -" Starbuck interrupted.  He could not picture the scene and was
breathing hard as frustration turned into a combination of anger and
anxiety.  Did he?  Did he deliberately shoot Reese?  He wondered if he
would or could.  He did not think so.  But it had happened, somehow.  It
had happened.  Had he been so angry that it buried all reason and logic? 
Had he lost all self-control... like Captain Connly?  Starbuck gripped
the sheets tightly as he balled his hands into fists.
     "It's okay, Starbuck," Apollo said, tightening his grip on his
friend's shoulder and glaring at the chief opposer.
     "Why did you shoot him?" Solon's voice had taken on a hard edge, and
he ignored the captain.
     Starbuck put his hands to his temples and closed his eyes.  He could
not concentrate.  "I don't know!"
     "He was angry.  He panicked - those are his own words.  Why are you
pressing him this way?"  Apollo clamped his jaw to keep from raising his
voice.  He knew he had to remain calm if he wanted to be able to help
Starbuck, but the direction of the questions and Solon's tone seemed
overly intimidating.  "It sounds like you're pressing for a confession to
premeditated attempted-termination here.  For Sagan's sake, he just woke
up and hasn't had time to even get his bearings!"
     "Captain," Solon said, his voice containing an angry edge now, "yes. 
I'm pressing.  For the truth - confession or plea of innocence.  And if
you don't understand that it's formal procedure according to the Code,
then perhaps you should refer back to your studies at the academy. 
Otherwise, I'll have to consider another possibility - that you are
asking for special considerations, if you should wish me to treat your
friend differently than any other person who found himself in a similar
situation."
     "I -" Apollo glanced down at Starbuck's pained expression and
stopped.  "All right," he said with a forced calmness, "I'm not asking
for any special considerations.  Except those due to *anyone* who's just
awakened after being unconscious for a day."
     "I am aware of the circumstances," Solon said, staring at the
captain without blinking.  "Now, either permit me to proceed, or I will
have to ask you to leave because of your interference."
     Apollo took a deep breath, but said nothing further.  It took every
mililitron of will power he had to pull back and resume his official role
of observer.  His hand, however, still rested on his friend's shoulder.
     "Lieutenant," Solon said, ignoring the captain's icy stare and
continuing as before, "did you intend to shoot Sergeant Reese?"
     Did he?  Did he?  Starbuck was inhaling in deep breathes.  His mind
felt frozen.
     "You panicked, and in your fear for Copernicus, you shot Sergeant
Reese," the chief opposer stated.
     Had he?  His heart was thumping in his ears.  How could he not
remember that, unless...?  He felt like he was pounding his head against
a stone wall.  And he felt the panic ready to explode.
     "Based on the visual evidence and witnesses' reports, Lieutenant,"
Solon said, his voice cold now, "one would tend to conclude that you shot
Sergeant Reese in the heat of the moment.  If you cannot give me a reason
to believe otherwise, I will be forced to make my decision based off that
and that alone.  So I ask you again.  Did you intend to shoot Sergeant
Reese?"  His tone was sharp, accusatory.  He shot a warning glance at
Apollo, who looked ready to intervene again.
     Starbuck dropped his hands and glared at Solon.  "No, I didn't
frakking intend to shoot him!"  He stopped, surprised.  The thoughts had
clicked, and he remembered, remembered the pain, falling on the laser,
being jerked around by Reese.  And then Reese had grabbed the gun.  "He
frakking tried to pull the laser out of my hand, and I couldn't let go! 
I couldn't let go!"
     "Starbuck, take it easy."  Apollo was still glaring at Solon,
though.
     The chief opposer seem almost pleased, however.  "So...  Reese made
a move first..." he spoke slowly, pausing and adding mellifluously, "And
it is your statement that you didn't intend to shoot him.  That the
weapon discharge was unintentional."
     "Yes!" Starbuck shouted in unrestrained anger.
     "It's all right," Solon said, rising to his feet.  "I apologize,
Lieutenant, for being so insistent, but I needed you to remember the
details."  He paused, watching the lieutenant's anger slowly recede a
bit, waiting until Starbuck looked directly at him again.  He met
Apollo's icy glare with a faint smile, as well.  "I think you'll agree
that there is a big difference between intentionally firing the laser --
like it looked -- and the laser simply discharging when Sergeant Reese
pulled on it --which is what I believe happened."
     "Yeah, I do remember..."  Starbuck ran a hand through his hair and
sank back into the pillows, grimacing from the tension and cramping that
the frustration had masked.
     "It was just too ambiguous," Solon explained, looking from the
Starbuck to Apollo, "until I got the report from Copernicus.  His report
gave me, indeed, a fair idea of what had actually happened.  But, to go
by his testimony alone-"
     "Look -" Apollo said as he saw Starbuck's face go red.
     "Hold on."  Solon held up a hand and cut off the captain's protest. 
"I've read the med reports about his...  his...  abilities to memorize
and reproduce events.  Yet, I had to pressure you, Lieutenant, because I
needed you to confirm his 'interpretation' of the incident.  And you
did."
     "So what does this mean?" asked Apollo, noting that Starbuck looked
ready to speak his mind.  He squeezed his friend's shoulder and flashed
him a warning look.  He wanted to divert any inappropriate comments from
him, because the captain, as well as Starbuck, could plainly see that
Solon had not believed Copernicus's report, even though it was more
accurate and detailed, it turned out, than that of any of the other
witnesses.  However, nothing would be gained by confronting him about it
now.
     "It means that the matter is closed," Solon answered.  "We'll hold
the official hearing later, but I will go ahead and make my report to the
commander -- that any and all actions to be taken against the two
officers involved will be at the discretion of their commanders."  The
chief opposer gave Starbuck a cautious but formal smile.  "Lieutenant, I
do apologize.  And I hope that you are soon feeling better."
     Starbuck did not smile in return.  "Yeah, thanks."
     Apollo watched as Solon exited the lifestation, strolling out as
purposefully as he had entered, without looking back at them.  The
captain turned to his friend, who lay quietly, grimacing and groaning
faintly, eyes closed, looking exhausted.  He needed to talk to him about
the probe, needed to explore his 'dream' some more, but perhaps that
should wait.  "Hey, buddy," he said, "I'd better get going."
     Starbuck gave him an unhappy look.  "But that'll leave me stranded
here -- again!  This is getting kind of old," he said, grunting from the
pain as he shifted in the bed.
     "Don't worry," said a voice.  It was Salik, who was approaching with
a smile on his face, Starbuck noted, the smug kind of smile that doctors
wore when they were about to inflict some type of torture, under the
guise of 'treatment.'  His fear was soon confirmed.  "Unfortunately,
Lieutenant, that fight, as you know, re-damaged your back muscles.  So we
now need at least three more therapy sessions before I can declare you
physically fit for duty again."
     "Wonderful," Starbuck sighed.  "But when can I get out of here?"
     "That depends," Salik said, looking more serious.  "Probably later
today."
     "'Probably?'  But you're the doctor!" Starbuck said with unconcealed
impatience.
     "Actually, that decision is not up to me, this time," Salik said. 
"Now, Captain, if you'll excuse us?"
     "What's that supposed to mean?"  He looked over at Apollo, since the
doctor seemed unwilling to elaborate.  Apollo's face revealed that he
knew the answer.  Starbuck glared at him.  "Tell me, please!"
     "The commander has decided that you should stay right here,"  He
pointed a finger towards the floor to indicate the lifestation, "until
you've spoken with Tarnia.  Professionally.  She'll determine when you'll
be released."
     "Oh," was all Starbuck said.  He watched as Apollo walked towards
the door.  "Apollo!" he called out, finally.
     "Yes?"  Apollo turned back, pausing.
     "Thanks..."  He wanted to say more but could not find the words. 
However, his tender blue eyes spoke of faith, commitment and friendship,
vowing -- to the one person closest to the brother and the family he had
never had -- the loyalty and the attachment that he rarely displayed or
admitted to anyone else.
     Apollo just smiled.  No words were needed.  Before he left silently,
his eyes returned the same avowal.

Chapter Twelve

     He had fallen asleep during the treatment.  As he awoke, he wondered
how he could have possibly been tired after having already slept for an
entire day.  But he definitely had that drowsy feeling of slowly
returning to reality.  He was still lying on his stomach, but, he noted,
the hot compresses from the treatment had been replaced by a blanket.  He
wondered for how long he had been asleep.  All was quiet, and he heard no
one.  A glance around also revealed no one within his line of sight.  He
wondered, with growing irritation, if he would be able to roll over. 
Maneuvering around was not easy, at the moment; although, both the
treatment and the medication Salik had given him seemed to have left his
muscles pleasantly numb.
     Eyes closed, he was contemplating the effort it would take to turn
over without getting entangled in the blanket, when he heard movement. 
Peering through partly opened lids, and catching a glimpse of the crisp,
new medical tunic, he recognized the his visitor before she spoke.
     "Need some help?" Tarnia asked.
     "With what?" He asked.
     "Would you like to roll over?"
     "Just how long have you been watching me?"  Starbuck frowned up at
Tarnia, then tried to ease himself over onto his right side.  He made it
onto the shoulder, but could not balance as not-so-numb muscles
protested.  Tarnia helped him on over onto his back.  "Thanks," he said
through gritted teeth.
     "Just for a bit, in answer to your question," Tarnia said, as the
lieutenant pulled himself upright.  She handed him another pillow,
helping him to get settled as she spoke.  "I suppose you know why I'm
here?"
     Starbuck sighed.  "Yeah, I do.  Apollo told me.  I'm stuck here
until you think I'm fit to be unsupervised again."  He gave a thin smile.
     "More or less, correct," she said.  "We've got a lot to talk about,
and everyone's concerned about the gaps in your memory.  Especially a
rather important incident that you have apparently not remembered, yet."
     Starbuck's smile faded.  "What incident?"
     "I can't tell you that.  I need you to try to remember, and I'll
help you."  Tarnia pulled a chair over and sat down.  She placed an
object on the floor, as well, but Starbuck did not notice.  "This might
take only a few centons, or it could take longer.  Are you ready?"
     "Hm, as ready as I'll ever be," he answered.
     "First, tell me how you feel," Tarnia said.
     "I've been better."
     "Okay, now tell me more.  What are you feeling right now?"  Tarnia
gave him a stern stare.  "And be honest.  Tell me anything that's on your
mind."
     "I think I've seen enough of this place to last the next several
yahrens.  Maybe I should transfer my gear here."
     "The longer you avoid the question," Tarnia said, her voice calm,
"the longer this will take."
     "I'm frustrated!" Starbuck said, finally.  "I can't believe that I
have to deal with this blasted back for another secton, now, and then I'm
told that I can't even leave here until -- until...  when?"
     "Probably later today, okay?" she said quietly.  "Depends on how
willing you are to work with me and how much progress we make."
     "Sounds like extortion to me," Starbuck grumbled.
     "Commander's orders, remember?  I think he knows you pretty well."
     "Yeah, right.  Fine."  He closed his eyes.
     "Just so you know," Tarnia said, "this is all confidential.  The
only thing that I actually tell the commander is whether or not you are
ready to return to service.  That's all."
     "Fine.  Go ahead," he said, eyes still closed.
     "Do you remember why you went to see Copernicus at such an early
centar?"
     Starbuck ran a hand down his face.  "No."
     "What do you remember about that night?  The first thing."
     "Copernicus asking to see a viper," Starbuck said slowly.  He
glanced quickly at Tarnia, then stared at nothing.  "I remember...  I'm
not sure.  It's like I was waking up, and I was with Copernicus.  He was
asking if I was better, and then he started talking about a viper."
     "You're afraid, aren't you?"
     "Who, me?  Of what?"
     "Starbuck, if we are to make any progress, you must stop holding
back."  Tarnia watched his jaw tighten.  "You have to accept what you are
feeling.  Don't fight it.  Just go with it."  She paused, then continued. 
"It's only natural that you would be frightened by the gaps in your
memory.  I'd imagine that it bothers you a great deal.  But remember
also," Tarnia said, waiting for him to make eye contact.  When he glanced
at her again, she went on.  "You've got a medical reason for the
incomplete memory.  You're *not* going crazy."
     "Well, it feels like it!" Starbuck said.  "I can't figure out
anymore what was real and what was a dream.  And the dreams seem as real
as anything... but my head tells me that it's impossible."
     "Well," Tarnia said softly, "that's why I'm here.  To help you sort
through it."
     Starbuck nodded slightly.  "Okay, okay...  I'll try."
     "Good!  Then let me ask you this.  What's the last thing you
remember before 'waking up' with Copernicus?  Have you thought about it
yet?"
     "No," Starbuck said quietly, "I've been trying to not think about
it, actually."
     "What happens when you do think about it?"
"I end up...  well, I keep remembering Reese.  It sort of blocks out
everything else.  Like I run into a wall when I think about that night,
and it throws me back to...  to..."
     "To what?"
     Starbuck took a deep breath.  "To this dream, this dream that I've
been having..."
     "Can you tell me about it?"
     The lieutenant's heart was racing.  He stared, unblinking at the bed
sheets, jaw tight.
     "You know," Tarnia said, "Dr. Salik told me that the dreams you were
having were probably triggered by the brain trauma.  They should get
better now.  But you need to accept them, deal with them, before you can
get past them."
     "I'm not sure," he said, at last, his voice a whisper, "that I can
describe it.  It - it's more just feelings and images."
     "Just do your best.  But you will need to think about it.  Relive
it, if possible.  And tell me what you see and feel.  Just start
anywhere.  And take your time."  Starbuck looked at Tarnia and, for the
first time, she could read the true emotions on his face.  The mask was
down, and she could see the fear in his eyes.
     "You know," he said, "this makes walking into a Cylon baseship seem
like a training mission..."  But he closed his eyes once more and, for
the first time, sought out the visions that had been haunting him.  And
he tried to describe what he saw, from the intense feelings of being
trapped by Sherok to the incredible fear as he felt himself aiming the
laser at Apollo, as he had actually done the time when he was under
suspicion of having murdered his rival, Ortega, during his aborted
attempt to flee from facing the tribunal.  But in the dream, unlike the
reality, he pulled the trigger...
     The images came at random, in more and more detail.  Starbuck
described what he could, often pausing for long periods to search for the
most accurate word.  Finally, the memories dissolved into the scene on
Caprica, in the Thorn Forest.  The childhood visions.  He stopped and
pulled back.  He had never before consciously recalled the early morning
raid.  But it was there, now.  He had relived it so many times in his
dreams that he knew it was there.  "No, oh, frak... I can't."  He looked
at Tarnia with a desperate, silent plea in his eyes.
     "Starbuck, you need to," Tarnia said, her voice quiet.
     He looked away.  He was trembling, but the words came finally, piece
by piece.  "Umbra.  It's almost morning.  The Cylons are attacking.  I... 
I must be about three.  I'm running.  The ground is shaking from the
Cylon blasts.  God, it stinks!  The burned grass and...  and dead bodies. 
Someone picks me up.  Oh, frak..."  The horrid image played through his
mind.  For several centons no words would come, then he said, "They
shot...  her."  He felt numb.
     "Who?" Tarnia spoke in a whisper.  Leaning forward, she put a hand
on Starbuck's arm.
     He turned terrified eyes in her direction.  "My mother..."
     For a moment, Tarnia saw her own memories of the destruction of her
school and the death of her brother, finding him, seeing his crumpled
body in the ruins.  She pushed her remembrances aside, though.  She had a
job to do.  "Starbuck, that's horrible," she said.  "I know how you
feel...  but, the pain will ease once you release it along with the
repressed memories."  She paused.  Starbuck was staring straight ahead,
his features rigid.  "You saw the Cylons kill your mother," she said,
reinforcing the images she knew he had been avoiding.
     "Yes..."
     Tarnia watched the lieutenant fight back the emotions.  "Don't," she
said.  "Don't resist the feelings.  Let them out.  Let them out.  The
only way to move beyond this horrible moment is for you to accept it... 
Deal with it.  This memory has been buried for over thirty yahrens -- but
it has never been forgotten.  You must face it."
     Starbuck looked wildly around, his mind lost in the remembrance. 
Then he threw his hands over his face.  The tears came with a sob and an
angry shout.  "Those frakking bastards!  They shot her!  Shot her... 
Frakking Cylons..."
     For a long while that stretched on for nearly 30 centons, Tarnia
said nothing, just letting him experience the emotions.  Eventually, he
lay with eyes closed, breathing in slow, deep breaths, the intensity
having faded.  She considered whether she should stop, whether she should
give him more time to process the memories.  No, she decided.  Being
confining to the lifestation was not going to help anything, but she was
not going to authorize his release until they had made more progress. 
She thought about the restraint the lieutenant had shown with Sergeant
Reese, at least at first.  He was stronger than even he realized.  Better
to continue on.  "You're angry at the Cylons," she said.  "Lords, aren't
we all?"
     He glanced at her, looking weary.  "Yes."
     "Is that the only reason you're angry?" she asked, probing again.
     "What do you mean?" he asked, confused.
     "Is there anything else that you are angry about?"  When he gave her
a blank look, she continued.  "Is it only the outrage at the Cylons for
killing your mother that you feel...  or is there more to it?"
     "More?  I don't know...  I don't know, except..."  Starbuck stared
at the ceiling.
     "Except what?"
     "Except..."  He paused, running a hand through his hair several
times.  "I just wish I knew more about my family.  I never knew them. 
Can't remember anything about my mother or my-"  He looked at her again,
the anger flaring in his eyes.
     "Go on," Tarnia said.
     "I wonder where the frak my father was!"  Starbuck pounded the
sheets with his fist.  "Why wasn't he there?  Maybe he could have saved
her.  Maybe-"  Starbuck stopped as he tried to sort out his thoughts, his
feelings, his memories.  Tarnia saw the confusion, the struggle as he
tried to understand the feelings.  Then she watched the comprehension
burst through the mental disarray.  His eyes went wide.  "Oh, my Lords... 
Chameleon."
     "Chameleon?" she said quietly.  "What about him?"
     Starbuck felt dizzy from the shock.  He ran his hand down his face
several times.  "The Rising Star.  The Pyramid games.  He kept beating
me.  We went to dinner, and he kept asking me strange questions.  He was
trying to tell me... Oh, dear God..."
     "Tell you what?" she asked softly, waiting for the true reaction.
     "My father - he's my father!" He gulped from the intensity of his
emotions.
     "Chameleon is your father," Tarnia said in affirmation.
     "Then why the frak didn't he *tell* me before?" Starbuck shouted. 
He stared piercingly at Tarnia.  His face was red, the tendons in his
neck bulging.  Pure emotion, pure anger.  Only his injury, she figured,
kept him from jumping out of the biobed.  He gripped his hair with both
hands and squeezed his eyes tightly shut.
     "I know that this a huge shock to you," Tarnia said slowly.  "But he
must have had his reasons for... not telling-"
     "He frakking lied to me!"
     "I've spoken with him," she said softly.  "He's very regretful--"
     "I.  Do.  Not.  Care."  He glared at Tarnia, spitting out the words. 
"He lied to me.  I don't care."  His voice was guttural, the words
catching in his throat.  He buried his face in his hands - as close to
escape as he could manage, at the moment.
     Tarnia remained silent.  Rational thought, she knew, would take
time.  Eventually, he would be able to deal with the truth, accept it... 
then forgiveness could follow, maybe even love.  But not at this moment. 
For now, she had to let the emotions run their course.  She watched as he
squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the sheets with both hands.
     "I - do -not - care!" he hissed, barely audible.
     Unable to physically leave, he pulled himself inward.  Starbuck
finally fixed his gaze across the room, away from Tarnia, staring but not
seeing.  The panting, uneven breaths were the only outward indication of
his anger.  The reaction, she reflected, was not that different from
Copernicus on sensory overload.  Practically the same, in fact, she
thought, as she considered all of the stress he had had to deal with in
just this one discussion.  Everyone had their limits; some, like
Copernicus, just reached them much sooner.
     As the mostly silent but intense battle continued, Tarnia picked up
the small object that she had brought with her and had placed on the
floor.  It was Copernicus' music device, and the idea had been his. 
Setting the volume on low, she activated the apparatus and held it on her
lap, waiting.  The strands of the piece that Copernicus had played for
Starbuck the other night quietly emanated.
     After nearly forty centons, the lieutenant, finally seemed to regain
some control, enough to allow himself to face Tarnia once more.  As if
breaking a trance, he suddenly pressed his palms against his eyes and
squeezed them shut for a moment.  Breathing in slow, deep breaths now, he
finally glanced at her.  Whether or not the music helped, she was not
sure, but she had figured it was worth a try.
     Starbuck looked at the device, staring.  "Why'd you bring that?" 
His voice was hoarse.  He cleared his throat.
     "Do you remember the music?"
     "Yeah... Copernicus played it for me."
     "He asked me to bring it with me.  You see, he relies on music --
this piece, especially -- to help himself calm down.  Or sometimes he
just listens to it over and over.  He says it brings peace to him."
     Starbuck said nothing, but he laid back against the pillows, looking
exhausted, and closed his eyes once more.
     Tarnia waited for several more centons before speaking.  "Do you
remember what Chameleon said to you?  About why he had not told you yet?"
     "Some felgercarb about trying to protect me!" Starbuck snapped,
drilling Tarnia with an angry gaze.  He looked away.
     "I've talked with Chameleon and your friends, and I think I
understand why he did it, for better or for worse.  In part, he *was*
trying to protect you-"
     "How?  By lying to me?"
     "No...  by trying to choose the best time to tell you.  But he also
admitted to me that he was just plain scared.  And yes, it was easier to
not saying anything."  Tarnia paused as the music reached a crescendo and
the vibrant waves filled the air, even with the low volume.  She noticed
that he was staring at the device, even though his thoughts seemed to be
elsewhere.  After a bit, she continued.
     "You know how it feels to be scared, don't you?  Afraid of love...
of the responsibilities, the intimacy and the vulnerability that
commitments imply...  You know that fear, don't you?"
     Starbuck swallowed hard, feeling the sting of the truth to her
words.  "Maybe..."
     "Perhaps you two are not that much different from each other,"
Tarnia, said, her voice serious, her tone pointed, even.  "Perhaps you
can know and understand you father's fears better than he understands
them himself.  If you know how it feels to be afraid of love."
     "I don't see how -" Starbuck choked back a sob.  "I don't see any
love if he couldn't tell me..."
     "Starbuck," Tarnia said, her tone more soothing now, "Chameleon
regrets not telling you sooner.  He says he made a mistake.  A mistake,"
she repeated, urging him to listen and understand.  "He knows now that it
was the wrong thing to do."
     "He can go to Hades -"  Starbuck stopped, the curse fading as his
rational mind finally regained a foothold.
     "Look beyond the anger and the feelings of betrayal now," Tarnia
said softly, almost in rhythm with the music.  "He's your father, and you
know it now.  He's your father, and he'd like to talk to you."
     "He's my father..." Starbuck repeated the phrase in a whisper.
     "Yes...  your father."
     Bitter anger visibly fought with the incomprehensible joy of the
truth for the first time.  The faintest of smiles broke through.  "Oh,
Lords...  I don't know what to think or feel anymore."
     "Starbuck, he wants to talk to you.  Are you up to it yet?"
     A look of anxiety crossed his face.  "I don't know.  I don't even
know where to start!"
     "Maybe if you start with finding out what *really* happened that
night on Caprica.  And go from there."
     "I don't know..."
     Tarnia ignored the weak protest and rose to her feet, motioning at
the entrance to the lifestation.  She could see that the reluctance was
more from a fear of dealing with more emotions than from his anger. 
After a moment, Chameleon entered hesitantly.  Despite everything,
despite the strong feelings of betrayal that stabbed at him, Starbuck
broke out into a broad grin.  Tarnia stepped back, setting the device on
the bed stand, as the man slowly approached, twisting his hands
nervously.  Starbuck was still beaming.
     "Look, son..." Chameleon had used that phrase from the time they had
first met.  And he had used it many times since then.  This time, the
word rang through the air, highlighted by the soft strands of music.
     "Son..." Starbuck repeated, as if trying on the word for size.  He
was staring at the bed.  His mind was slowly, slowly processing the
truth.  Eventually, he sifted his gaze to the man who now stood before
him.  "Father..." he said in an almost inaudible whisper.

*************************

     They talked for over three centars.  Emotions had ranged from loud,
angry, hurtful words to laughter to unconcealed, uncontrolled tears. 
Gradually, Starbuck seemed to admit that he understood why Chameleon had
withheld the truth from him.  But understanding was not the same as
forgiving, and both accepted that true forgiveness would take time.  For
now, they had established a truce, of sorts, knowing that the pain would
take time to fade and heal.  Starbuck had finally described his current
feelings as a clashing blend of both an incredible happiness and a deep,
bitter hurt - love and hate together.
     At last, reluctantly, Dr. Salik had requested that Chameleon take a
break, as it was nearly sleep period.  He was free to return in the
morning, but, for now, he wanted to see his patient get some rest.  After
consulting with the doctor, Tarnia had told Starbuck that he would be
released the next day, after a follow-up session and the promise that he
would continue with the program until she was convinced that he was as
healed as anyone could be, considering their circumstances.  He had
grumbled, but had been too exhausted to truly argue.  And he had slept. 
For the first time in nearly two sectons, he had slept, free from
medication and free from the dreams, a solid, long, restful sleep.
     He had not yet awakened, it seemed, when Cassie arrived for her
shift the next morning.  Intending to catch up on the files she had
neglected in the past several days, she paused, a slight smile on her
face, to gaze briefly at her sleeping friend.  When she moved to brush an
errant lock of hair across his forehead, though, a hand reached out to
grasp hers.  Cassie jumped, still remembering his panicked attack the
other day.  This time, however, his grip was firm but gentle, and he
opened his eyes slowly to gaze at her.
     "You startled me," Cassie said as her racing heart slowed.  She
caught the penetrating look in his eyes before he looked away again.  He
still held her hand, though.  "How do you feel?" she asked.
     "Like I've been through that high-g viper training about ten times."
     "You mean the simulator where you have to handle zero gravity and
then accelerate until nearly blackout point?"  Cassie squeezed his hand
lightly, placing her other on top, as well, and gazed at him through the
eyes of a close friend, not a medtech.
     "Yeah, that's the one."  Starbuck glanced up into Cassie's face,
then shifted his gaze again.  He wanted to say something, she could tell,
so she waited.  After a moment, he pulled his hand back and stared down
at his fingers.  "Cass..."  He stopped.
     "Take your time," she said softly.  Cassie felt a stirring of
unease, though, as he continued to stare away from her.
     "Cass," he said eventually, "you knew about Chameleon all along."
     "Yes, I did," she responded quietly.
     "You knew...  Why didn't you tell me?"  He gave her a quick, pained
look.
     "Starbuck, I promised Chameleon that I wouldn't.  I -- I didn't see
how going against Chameleon's wishes would help the situation."  She put
a hand on his arm, but he shifted away.  Cassie bit her lip.  "I never
wanted to hurt you."
     "Look, my head knows that.  It does.  It knows you were caught in
the middle.  But..."  He looked up into her eyes and finally held the
gaze.  "I...  It still hurts.  A lot."
     "Starbuck," she whispered, "I know.  And you've still got a lot to
deal with right now."
     He looked away again.  "I just...  I just need some time to figure
it all out..."
     "Starbuck, it's okay."  He did not see her chew her lip again before
continuing.  "I understand."
     Movement through the entrance caught their attention, and both
looked up to see Apollo and Sheba.  The relief the distraction brought
was almost palpable as Starbuck broke out into a grin and focused on his
visitors.  Cassie nodded to the two, then moved off to return to her
duties.  The unease had swelled into a biting fear, but she pushed it
back.  She had known that her awkward position might be difficult for him
to accept, but she had to trust that, with time, he would understand.  If
their relationship was as strong as she thought it was, then it would
surmount this hurdle.  If not, then, well...  She shook off the thought
and concentrated on her work.
     "How do you feel?" Apollo asked, stopping next to the biobed. 
Starbuck noted how close Sheba stood next to the captain, almost
touching, but not quite.
     "Like I'm going stir crazy!"  He pulled himself up to a sitting
position, slowly, working through the stiffness and cramping.  Had Sheba
not been present, he would have gotten up right then and there.  Instead,
he kept the sheet carefully wrapped around him as he sat on the edge of
the bed.  "I *need* out of here."
     "Soon, buddy, soon," Apollo said, smiling.  "Look, Father asked me
to tell you some things, before Tarnia releases you.  I know she's coming
by soon, too."
     "Oh?" Starbuck raised an eyebrow at him.
     "First, your status -"
     "Status for duty?"
     "Yes.  According to Dr. Salik, you will be physically fit to return
to light duty in two more days."
     Starbuck sighed.  "But?"
     "No 'buts,'" Apollo said.  "Just a condition."
     "Which is...?"  The lieutenant looked from Apollo to Sheba, puzzled
a bit by the underlying feeling their looks kept conveying.  He was
missing something, he could tell, but what?
     "On the condition that you continue meeting with Tarnia until she
terminates the sessions, and," Apollo pointed a finger at him, "if you
miss even one, you'll be taken off the duty roster."  The captain's smile
had faded.
     "The commander's serious, isn't he?"  Starbuck frowned and looked
away.
     Apollo nodded.  "Very.  I know you're not aware of this, but your
incident in the landing bay aroused some serious tensions between the
warriors and the Council Security.  Starbuck," Apollo said, his
expression solemn, "you know as well as I do how important it is to
maintain solidarity in the Fleet.  If the people perceive any kind of
dissension among their protectors, it could jeopardize the fragile
stability that exists right now.  I mean, we've seen how easily peace can
turn to chaos."
     Starbuck remembered that clearly.  The riot aboard the Sagittarius
had precipitated all that had happened to him in the past two sectons. 
He ran a hand through his hair.  "So, there's more, isn't there?"
     Apollo handed Starbuck a compupad.  "Father will be issuing the
following statement later today about the landing bay incident.  It's
only a ship-wide announcement, and is not for the general populations,
but I wanted you to read it first."
     Starbuck glanced at Apollo and Sheba, who still stood quietly in
front of him, waiting, before he activated the small computer.  He read
the message silently as it scrolled up screen.  "Both the Council and I
consider it vital that the two forces -- Colonial Warriors and Council
Security -- maintain proper and professional conduct at all times to
ensure the safety of this Fleet.  Most of you are aware that an
altercation occurred in Beta Bay between Sergeant Reese and Lieutenant
Starbuck that resulted in the discharge of a weapon.  While the discharge
was ruled accidental by Chief Opposer Solon, neither the Council nor I
will tolerate such disorderly behavior.  Both officers will be on
restricted duty with no privileges for two sectons, confined to quarters
when not on duty, and docked a third of their pay for the next two
sectars."  Starbuck let out a low whistle as he finished reading.
     "I'm sorry," Apollo said as the lieutenant handed him the compupad
without a word.  "But it was either that or explain -- in detail -- the
medical reasons behind your actions.  We figured you'd rather do it this
way."
     Starbuck was staring at the floor.  "Yeah, I guess I would."  He
glanced up, a bemused look on his face.  "So, in other words, I should be
in no rush to get out of here, because I'll just be confined to quarters
for the next two days, anyway."
     Apollo nodded again.  "That's true, but once you're allowed to
return to duty, we've got something you'll want to see."
     Starbuck caught the gleam in his friend's eye.  Sheba, too, was
smiling.  She walked over and leaned against the biobed, next to the
lieutenant.  Apollo was still standing in front of him, looking ready to
burst with the contained excitement.
     Starbuck shifted on the edge of the bed and gazed from one to the
other, perplexed.  "What?  What's going on?  And does it have something
to do with the reasons Beta Bay was restricted?"
     Apollo activated the compupad again and punched in a command.  He
then handed it back to the lieutenant.  "Take a look," he said.
     Starbuck studied the small but clear image of the Earth probe. 
"What is it?" he asked quietly.  He had an odd sensation, though, as he
gazed at the picture.  A feeling of familiarity...  he did not understand
it.
     "Starbuck," Apollo said, his face alight with enthusiasm, "this
craft is from Earth!"  He explained the details, from how the Fleet had
picked up the weak signal to when they had finally been permitted to
approach the probe.
     "Earth?  It's from Earth?" Starbuck said in a whisper.  He gazed at
the small image on the compupad screen in amazement.  "But how do you
know it's from Earth?" he asked.  He felt almost dizzy from the
revelation.  And puzzled; the strange feeling persisted.
     Apollo took the compupad and pulled up another picture to show him. 
"We found this plaque attached to the probe," he said.  He and Sheba
explained all they knew about the drawings on the plaque as Starbuck
stared, wide-eyed at the image.
     "Apollo..." Starbuck gazed from one face to the other.  "I know this
is impossible, but...  I've seen this plaque before."  It suddenly came
to him.  Before the mountain journey, he had seen other visions, other
places.  They were a vague remembrance at the moment, except he clearly
remembered now how it had all begun - he had been gazing at an image of
this very plaque...  "In a dream," he whispered.
     Apollo grasped Starbuck's shoulder and stared into his eyes. 
"Buddy, it wasn't a dream."
     "What do you mean?"  Yet, Starbuck could sense the answer before the
captain spoke again.
     "It was an... extraordinary experience outside of this dimension..."
Apollo started hesitantly, feeling awkward as Starbuck stared at him,
widening his eyes.  He exhaled, looking around helplessly, trying to find
other words.  "And I understand it now... that, that other presence I
felt..." Apollo said, almost as if talking to himself.  He gazed into his
friend's eyes.  "You, me, Sheba...  we were taken on a journey by the
Ship of Lights' Beings to Earth," he said quietly.  "We were there
together, even though we seemed to be alone.  I -- I could sense you both
while I was there."  Starbuck was staring intently at his friend.  "Do
you remember the ocean?"
     "Yes," Starbuck whispered.  "I do.  I'd forgotten..."  He closed his
eyes, the sights he had seen returning almost randomly to his thoughts. 
"Yes, the ocean, and mountains, and -- and -"
     "The Pyramids?" Apollo asked.
     "Yes!  I remember them now!"
     Apollo explained what had happened when he had touched the plaque
while examining the probe in the bay.  He also described all that he
remembered seeing before his consciousness returned to the Galactica.  
     "The probe is a beacon, a gift," Sheba said, her face glowing, "from
the Ship of Lights' Beings!"
     "And our journey to Earth...  our 'dreams'... were another gift,"
Apollo said, "a way to inform us about Earth, I think."  He gripped
Starbuck's other shoulder in his excitement.  "Starbuck, we've been to
Earth!"
     The lieutenant put his hands on Apollo's wrists and gazed steadily
at him.  "I know.  I remember now."  He suddenly burst out laughing,
feeling caught up by the sheer amazement of what the captain was telling
him.  "Now *that's* what I call being taken for a ride!"
     Apollo pulled back and spread his arms.  "It was fantastic!"
     Still chuckling, Starbuck stared at his two friends, taking in the
pure joy in their expressions, and he tried to comprehend what had truly
happened.  He had convinced himself that it had been a dream, despite the
sensory messages to the contrary from his subconscious.  Now, it all made
sense.  "I remember," he said in a whisper, closing his eyes, feeling the
experience.  "I remember now, almost as if I could touch them...  the
pyramids...  Then I was back in the mountains, and I felt this -- this
need to, to...  climb, to follow this trail that was in front of me." 
Starbuck stopped because he felt his voice about to waver.  Only a brief
time ago, he had been in the grips of a waking nightmare, or so it had
seemed, but now...The enormity of the truth was almost overwhelming.
     "It's as if, once you'd been brought to Earth," Sheba said, her
voice full of wonder, "that the Beings let you stay there in respite
until you had to wake up.  Another gift... for you, Starbuck!"  She
lightly brushed a fallen strand from his forehead.  His eyes were wide
with wonder, his expression much different than the usual front he so
often displayed.  Sheba realized that she had only seen the lieutenant
this open and revealing on one other occasion... aboard the Ship of
Lights.
     "Oh, Lords, it was incredible!"  Starbuck tried to describe his
journey again, this time with the knowledge that it had been no dream. 
He spoke with an open, honest enthusiasm that mirrored that way both
Apollo and Sheba felt, and he spoke with none of his usual conman's
embellishments; he was still trying to reconcile the sudden turn of
events that had taken him from what had seemed to be a waking nightmare,
convinced that he had killed Reese, to the incredible knowledge that he
had truly been to Earth...  Earth... it had been *no* dream.  "I wonder
when we'll find it...  find Earth?" he said as he finished.  He felt
numb, but a good kind of numb, this time, from the amazement at what
he -- at what all three -- had experienced.
     Apollo sighed.  "It may still be many, many yahrens before the Fleet
finds Earth.  Perhaps it won't even be our generation.  But, at least, we
know it's there."  Without thinking, he hugged Sheba tightly.  "We *know*
it's there!"
     Starbuck broke into a laugh again.
     "What's so funny?" Apollo frowned at him.
     "You two!" he answered, smiling broadly.
     "What?"
     "It's just good to see that you've finally cut out the felgercarb
and admitted that you love each other!"  Starbuck grinned at his friends.
     "And we have *you* to thank, too." Apollo said, winking.  He shook
his head.  "If you hadn't acted the way you did after that Triad game -
if we hadn't been at each others' throats that night - then Sheba and
I..."  He let his voice trail off and just smiled.
     Starbuck laughed again.  "Well, then, maybe being confined to
quarters will be worth it, knowing that--."
     "Starbuck," Sheba interrupted, her face suddenly serious.  She
grasped his hand and gazed into his eyes, wanting to get the words out
before he retreated once more behind the humor and jokes.  "Thank you,"
she said softly.
     Starbuck glanced at Apollo, then looked away.  "Well, at least,
someone here has to be brave and make commitments, don't they?"
     Apollo caught his friend's brief but pained look and knew who else
was on his mind.  Chameleon and Cassie.  "Look," Apollo said, wrapping
his hand around both Sheba's and Starbuck's, "we're committed.  We're
family.  So is Father, Athena, Boomer, Tarnia, Copernicus and...
Chameleon.  And so will be Cassie or the woman you'll someday choose..."
     Starbuck gazed down at their intertwined hands, both smiling and
blinking back tears.
     "Family," Sheba said softly.  "Fingers of the same hand, Starbuck."

EPILOGUE

     The following secton was far from easy.  Restricted to quarters for
the first two days, and released only for meals and trips to the
lifestation, Starbuck had once again been faced with the prospect of too
much time to just sit and think.  And with all privileges revoked for two
sectons, he was not permitted visitors.  Adama, however, did not have the
heart to enforce that regulation, not in light of Chameleon's revelation. 
Instead, the man was granted a special pass to visit Starbuck in the
billet.  Two days of confinement became a time for father and son to get
to know each other and to work through the tensions.
     Still, Starbuck had found himself shifting between extremes, at
times, and confused about what he really felt at others.  Time, Tarnia,
assured him, would bring everything back into some kind of perspective. 
When he caught himself feeling pensive, though, Starbuck had not one, but
two methods to combat the negative feelings.  Depending on how he felt,
sometimes he would pull out Copernicus' device, set the volume on high,
and lose himself in the music.  Other times, though, he preferred to just
close his eyes and remember the peace, the all-encompassing serenity,
that he had felt during his mountain journey.  His visit to Earth. 
Earth.  That thought alone could set his spirits flying high once more.
     On the third day, when he was finally permitted to return to light
active duty, time had stood still for all, for this day marked the First
Anniversary of the Great Destruction.  As many as possible, including the
Council of Twelve representatives, had gathered in Beta Bay to listen to
the commander.  Adama began the ceremonies with a beautiful oration, as
only he could make, beginning at the precise time the Cylons had
commenced their horrendous attacks on the Colonies and the Fleet.
     Then followed a solemn observance with twelve centons of silence,
one for each of the worlds.  A small group of survivors, representatives
from each Colony, had slowly marched in with the flag of their world,
while musicians played a medley composed of sections from each Colony's
National Anthem.  The bearers formed a crescent in front of the assembly,
and a gong sounded to mark the beginning of the observance.  The first
flag, for Aquarius, lowered as the ripples of the tone faded into a sober
silence.  And thus it continued for twelve centons.  The only sounds had
been the quiet, aching sobs from many in the assemblage and the deep
reverberation from the gong as time passed.
     As the twelfth centon had moved on into the thirteenth, however, the
small symphony began playing the Aquarian National Anthem, softly, at
first, then crescendoing to fill the bay with the vibrant and patriotic
refrains.  All who knew the words had sung, loudly, through tears and a
swelling feeling of defiance aimed at their enemy.  The physical world
may have been shattered, but the people - their culture and spirit -
would survive.  While each anthem played, the bearers positioned their
flag in a stand, then returned to the assemblage.
     As the strands of the final anthem had faded, Adama had looked out
across the faces in the Galactica's Beta Bay and stared into the vidcam
to reach out to all, across the Fleet.  Turning, he had pointed to the
containment wall that stood behind him and behind the row of flags. 
Slowly, he had explained how faint signals had led to the encounter with
an alien probe.  He then showed an image of the craft's plaque.  Most did
not need his explanation to know what the pictures and symbols meant; the
clear picture of the man and woman, side by side, sent waves of shock and
amazement throughout the Fleet.  Humans, it had been built by humans.
     "I firmly believe," Adama said, then paused, as the containment
walls were slowly pulled back to reveal the Earth craft, "that this probe
is a beacon, a messenger, sent by divine powers to let us know that..." 
He paused again to stare at the unobtrusive vessel.  "That we *will* find
Earth.  She is not a myth, but the true Promised Land of our forefathers,
and she awaits her brothers and sisters from the stars.  Yes, she's out
there, right now, sending out probes to space and reaching out to the
Children of Kobol."
     An excited, emotional wave passed through the gathered people. 
People embraced, some cheered, some cried, some stood hand in hand,
praying.  All stared in wonderment at the craft.
     Adama had choked back his own emotions to continue.  "From death and
destruction, today, we see hope give birth to a new tomorrow for us and
the generations to come.  This probe is the alliance between the old and
the new worlds.  This is the probe of the convenant that has come to hail
our way back home."  Adama raised his arms and his strong voice filled
the bay.  "Let us feast in honor of Earth's messenger, because I declare
this day, until we land on Earth, to be celebrated from now on as 'The
Day of Atonement,' and the Messenger to be forever remembered as the
'Ship of the Covenant.'!"

******************** 

     Granted a one-day reprieve from his restrictions, Starbuck had been
at the front of the gathered group in Beta Bay, surrounded by the other
warriors, close friends, and two special people -- Tarnia and Copernicus. 
Copernicus had stood, hands over ears, staring without blinking, almost,
at the containment wall, but seemed to listen intently to the commander. 
For both Starbuck and Copernicus, it was their first glimpse of the real
probe, as the containment wall slowly retracted into the sides of the
bay.  Apollo noted how they both stared, enraptured, when the craft
became clearly visible.
     After the commander concluded his oration, the crowd had slowly,
slowly filed out of the landing bay to continue the planned festivities
and other activities.  Many had continued to stare at the probe, crowding
close to the line of flags that stood before it.  An awed reverence
seemed to keep most from coming any closer, though.  Eventually, only a
small group remained -- Adama, Tigh, Apollo, Athena, Boomer, Cassiopeia,
Chameleon, Starbuck, Tarnia, and Copernicus.  Even security had been
dismissed; the bay was quiet now.  Copernicus lowered his hands from his
ears and continued to stare at the probe.
     "Come on!" Apollo grabbed Starbuck by the arm and pulled him towards
the craft.  The others watched, but of the group, only Sheba, Boomer, and
the commander, in addition to Apollo, knew that Starbuck had shared the
vision of Earth.  Only they knew how significant this event was for him,
to finally see it.  The Messenger, Apollo thought to himself, the Silver
Bride sent for Covenant.
     "Wait!"  The lieutenant had been watching Copernicus's reactions and
recognized that he was fascinated, totally absorbed, by the craft. 
Apollo let go, and Starbuck approached the man, who was still gazing
fixedly at the probe.  "Copernicus?" he said, touching his shoulder and
speaking clearly.
     For a long moment he did not move, but then he turned wide eyes to
the Lieutenant.
     "Copernicus," Starbuck said, "come see the probe with me!"  He
motioned him forward.
     Apollo stood in front of the group as they watched the two walk
slowly towards the Earth probe.  Adama, Tigh, Boomer, and Athena watched
in quiet amusement, all pleased to see the happiness, for a change, in
the lieutenant's face.  Tarnia, taking in the interaction, felt more joy
than she had in a long, long time, as she watched Copernicus with a
friend - a true friend.  Chameleon also felt a new and most welcome
sensation - pride, pride and love, as he watched his son.  His son...  he
mused.  Cassie, standing next to Chameleon, felt a sharp pang as she
noted the ease with which Starbuck and Copernicus interacted, the bond
that clearly existed now, a deep connection...
     When he was within arm's reach of the probe, Copernicus stopped and
continued to just gaze at it.  Starbuck walked around, running his hand
along the edge of the broad dish until it sloped up and out of reach. 
The lieutenant was studying it, trying to observe every detail.  When he
got to the plaque, he stopped.  Apollo and Sheba had described it, but it
was still a shock to see the human images gazing back at him.  "Lords of
Kobol..."  Starbuck felt overwhelmed.  He stared at the illustrations. 
Then he heard a voice.
     "Pioneer."
     "What?"  Starbuck jumped.  He had been so absorbed by the plaque
that Copernicus had come up beside him unnoticed.  "What did you say?"
the lieutenant asked.
     "Pioneer," Copernicus repeated.  He had his head tilted and he was
gazing from the corner of his eye at the pictures.  "Name.  It's name. 
Pioneer 10."
     Starbuck blinked.  "How could you possibly know that?" he asked.
     Copernicus did not respond; he was too focused on the plaque to
listen or to answer.  He stared at the illustrations, moving his head
slowly from side to side, then back and forth, fascinated.  Slowly,
slowly, he reached out a tentative hand, pulling back hesitantly before
finally touching the picture of the probe that was drawn behind the two
humans.
     All at once, he stiffened.  He jerked slightly, then relaxed.  He
stared transfixed, immobile.
     The others had been gradually approaching, observing, talking
quietly among themselves.  Almost simultaneously, they noticed
Copernicus's reaction and stopped.  Adama and Athena immediately
recognized the trance that seemed to hold Copernicus.  "Look, Father!" 
Athena pointed at the man with one hand and grabbed the commander's arm
with the other.
     Copernicus stood staring straight ahead.
     Boomer and Tigh took a moment longer to realize what was happening. 
"I don't believe it..." Tigh whispered, shaking his head as if to clear
his vision.  "It's happening again, isn't it?"
     "Yes..." Boomer whispered in awe, gazing at Copernicus's face,
expressionless except for his wide-open eyes.  His eyes seemed to radiate
a depth.
     Chameleon and Cassie did not understand what was happening.  Cassie
stopped and inhaled sharply.  "What in Hades is going on?"  She wondered
if he were having a seizure and was about to rush forward.  But it did
not look like a typical seizure.  She felt baffled.
     Tarnia felt her heart leap in concern and moved quickly to aid her
friend, but Apollo grasped her arm and pulled her back gently but firmly. 
"Wait.  He's okay!"  Apollo and Sheba had known instantly what was going
on.  Instinctively.  They just knew.  They motioned for Chameleon and
Cassie to approach.  "He's okay," Apollo repeated.  "Please trust me!" 
His ardent gaze eased Tarnia's tension a little.  She stopped, Cassie and
Chameleon beside her, to watch.
     Apollo and Sheba walked over to Starbuck.  "What'd he say?" the
captain whispered.
     "He said," Starbuck gave his friends an incredulous look, "that it's
name is Pioneer 10..."
     "Pioneer 10," Copernicus stated again in a loud voice.  The others
stared.  "Launched in the early 1970's --Anno Domini, Earth's time line,"
Copernicus continued, his voice strong and pedantic.  "Pioneer 10 and 11
were the first spacecraft to travel through their system's asteroid belt,
first to fly by the planets named Jupiter and Saturn, and the first human
artifacts to venture beyond their solar system."
     Apollo, Sheba, and Starbuck exchanged glances.  Everyone shuddered. 
They all - Adama, Boomer, Tigh, Athena, and even Cassie, Chameleon, and
Tarnia - knew that they were witnessing an extraordinary phenomenon.
     Tigh struggled with his disbelief.  "What?  Does he believe that
he's a Caprican psychometrist or a Scorpian object reader?" he whispered
to Boomer.  "It seems he was overly impressed by the ceremonies and all
the mystic stuff he heard today.  Now he's channeling all the books he's
read..."  Even the colonel, though, did not believe his own words. 
Copernicus's eyes were too open, to revealing...
     Athena and Boomer frowned at Tigh's skepticism, but kept their eyes
fixed on Copernicus as a wave of elation washed through them.  Athena
looked at Starbuck for a moment and their gazed locked briefly.  His eyes
mirrored the excitement and awe that she was feeling.
     "Apollo!" Sheba whispered, gripping Apollo's arm.  "for Plato's
sake, he's in contact with..."
     Apollo nodded, smiling and looking upwards as if to an invisible
presence above.  "Yes, he knows their language.  He speaks The Prophet's
Tongue..."
     Adama was wide-eyed.  "The Ship of Lights' Beings..."

*********************************

     That had been three days ago.  Starbuck remembered Tarnia's worried,
then incredulous reaction when she saw what had happened with Copernicus. 
When the connection had been broken, Copernicus had turned to her and had
exclaimed in a loud, joyful voice, "Earth!"
     It had taken several centars, after retiring to the commander's
office, to explain to Cassie, Tarnia and Chameleon what had happened with
Copernicus when he had touched the probe.  It had been difficult, at
first, for Tarnia and Chameleon because they were the only two who had no
knowledge of the experiences Apollo, Starbuck, and Sheba had had with the
Ship of Lights' Beings after the deadly encounter with Count Iblis. 
However, as they listened and learned, they understood.  For Tarnia,
especially, the knowledge gained from Apollo, Starbuck, and Sheba finally
clarified some strange events that had happened with Copernicus in the
past.
     In addition, the discussion spawned an even greater understanding
for everyone.  As they talked, Apollo, Sheba, and Starbuck discovered
that they remembered more and more about what had actually happened both
on the red planet and aboard the alien ship.  For Apollo and Sheba,
memories that had been vague, even after their night of revelation, were
now much clearer.
     For Starbuck, who could finally remember the events aboard the Ship
of Lights, it brought a great relief - a relief from a stress of which he
had not even been consciously aware.  He had known all along, had felt
the truth, but could never get past the nebulous blockage of his memory. 
Perhaps the Beings had suppressed the reality to protect them, but as he
reflected on it now, he was convinced that those obscured visions -
present but just beyond his grasp -- had only added to his recent mental
confusion.
     And that confusion remained, but he also, finally, believed that he
would gradually, over time, bit by bit, make some sense out of it all.
     At one point, Apollo and Sheba had been describing the moment aboard
the Ship of Lights when Apollo had been brought back to life and had been
trying to express the incredible depth of feeling evoked.  As Starbuck
listened to his friends speak, remembering vividly the intensity of the
emotions, as well, Starbuck had glanced at Chameleon and Cassiopeia.  He
caught the medtech staring at him, before she looked away.  In that brief
instant, though, he saw the hurt in her eyes and felt a flash of
comprehension.  She understood his confusion and pain, accepted it, and
was willing to accept whatever choice he might make.  She *would* allow
him the freedom and time to decide, to understand his true feelings. 
While those feelings for her were still too confused to understand, one
emotion did warm his heart.  Gratitude.  She truly did offer her love
without conditions, and for that he was grateful.  
     Copernicus, Chameleon, Cassie, Sheba, Apollo...  so many paradoxes.
     Destruction giving birth to hope.  For Apollo, from his actual death
and rebirth had come the final burial of Serina's memory and the budding
love of Sheba.  Starbuck saw and felt the contradiction: To know that his
own collapse - the hurtful words and out-of-control behavior - had
allowed his dearest, closest friend to break those final barriers and
consummate a true love.
     Not only that, but he could not help but be astonished at the
paradox of his relationship with Copernicus; how the man for whom the
physical world was chaotic and painful had helped to pull Starbuck out of
his own inner turmoil.  And he had taught him how much could be gained
from simply following one's true feelings.  The man was incapable of
complex emotional masquerades; Starbuck was the master.  Yet, the
lieutenant felt a deep gratitude to him.  It was Copenicus's simplicity
that allowed him to see straight through the felgercarb.  Starbuck
reflected that he knew of few other people who were as content as
Copernicus to just live and deal with life as it came -- without the
complicated social and emotional games.
     Starbuck also saw the tangled web of contrasting emotions
surrounding both Cassie and Chameleon.  Love and hate, trust and
betrayal.  Would he gain a father but lose faith in the one he had
thought he loved?  It was too soon to know...
     But more than anything, Starbuck was amazed at how the greatest gift
had come at his darkest moment.  Nightmare seemingly turned to reality,
but not, while what could only - in his rational mind - be a dream proved
to be real.  It highlighted in a spectacular way the simple lesson he had
gained; he could only control his fate, or, at least, his reactions to
his fate, by allowing himself to let go, to trust in himself, to have the
faith that he could survive and go on.
     Paradoxes.
     The most astonishing revelation, though, came bit by bit from
Copernicus.  He had shared the trio's vision of Earth, and more.  And he
had shared contact with the Ship of Lights' Beings during Count Iblis'
time within the Fleet.  Tarnia was finally able to explain odd moments,
during that period, when he had seemed to withdraw, then later stare at
her with a penetrating gaze as he quoted what had sounded like mystical
gibberish, at the time.  His mind, it seemed, was an open receptacle for
their benefactors.  Ironically, they would probably never know all that
he had experienced because it far surpassed his verbal abilities.
     At the end, Adama had reluctantly had to end the discussions to
return to duty.  But, as he had gazed around his office at those gathered
before him, Tarnia, Copernicus, Cassiopeia, Chameleon, Boomer, Tigh,
Athena, Starbuck, and Apollo, he had promised a proper celebration for
the near future.  Everyone here, he promised, must attend, everyone. 
They were all bound by extraordinary events that wove in and around them
all, from the wondrous intervention of the Ship of Lights' Beings to the
simple but deep bond between Starbuck and Copernicus.  They were family. 
All of them.

******************

     Starbuck gazed out of the Galactica's main viewport, remembering
that amazing day.  And he felt, for the first time in a long, long while,
content.  At peace.  Officially, he was supposed to be dictating a report
for Adama, but he had taken a break because he knew Apollo's patrol was
due to return soon.  One more secton on restriction, Starbuck reflected,
then life might actually be back to normal, such as 'normal' was.  But
compared to the previous few sectons, he could hardly wait.  One more
day, even, and he was cleared to fly his first patrol.  Starbuck felt as
restless as a graduating cadet.
     Athena, monitoring communications, interrupted the lieutenant's
thoughts.  "Commander," she called to her father, who was talking to
Omega over at the command console, "there's a message for you from the
Prison Barge."
     Adama raised an eyebrow.  "Patch it through here," he said.
     Starbuck watched absently, as the commander listen to the communique
through his headset, but his mind was still engrossed with the events
from what was now called Day of Atonement.  He did not notice Adama
frowning in his direction.
     "Understood," Adama said into his audiophone, "I'll pass on the
message, but I make no promises.  Adama out."  He looked over to where
Starbuck was once again lost in his thoughts as he gazed out the
viewport.  "Lieutenant," he said.
     Starbuck turned, expecting the commander to send him back to making
his report.
     "I need to speak with you in my office."
     Starbuck raised an eyebrow, but followed Adama off the bridge.  When
the door had slid shut behind them, the commander turned to face him,
hands behind his back, face serious.  "Okay," Starbuck said, getting an
uneasy feeling, "What's up?"
     "I have some news for you.  And a request.  You are free to decline,
of course.  The decision is yours."
     "What's this request?" Starbuck asked, puzzled.
     Adama let out a long breath.  "That was the captain of the Prison
Barge.  He wanted to inform me that Sherok is being released-"
     "What?"  Starbuck felt like the wind had been knocked from his
lungs.  Images flashed through his mind of the bearded man, eyes filled
with a crazed coldness as he leveled the laser at the lieutenant's head,
calmly ready to kill both him and the deluded followers.  "Released?"
     "Yes," Adama said quietly.  "The doctors have verified that he is
now under the proper medication and is not a threat.  They have no reason
to hold him.  They plan to return him to the Sagittarius.  He will be
closely monitored, though, to be sure he continues to receive the
appropriate treatment and medications."
     "So what's the request?" Starbuck asked, not sure that he wanted to
know.
     "Sherok has asked to speak to you," Adama answered.  "He wants to
apologize."
     Starbuck remained silent for several moments, staring at the floor,
pondering these new events.  Finally he looked up.  "I'll go," he said.
     "You're sure?" Adama asked, studying the lieutenant intently.  "You
don't have to."
     "No, I want to," Starbuck said, and he meant it.  "I want to hear
what he has to say."
     "All right, then." Adama was still frowning, still concerned, but he
accepted the lieutenant's decision.  "I'll inform the officials to expect
you later today."

******************

     Being under medical supervision, Sherok had been kept separate from
the other prisoners.  His 'cell' was actually a small, adequately
furnished room in the back of the infirmary wing of the ship.  The man's
doctor greeted Starbuck with a smile and a handshake when the lieutenant
arrived, stepping hesitantly through the infirmary door.
     "This way, this way!" the doctor said, motioning for Starbuck to
follow him.  Apparently, he must have recognized him and was not going to
bother with introductions.  Starbuck, ignoring the dryness in his mouth
and the tenseness in his stomach, forced a smile and followed behind the
quick-paced physician.  In no time, they had stopped in front of a door. 
"It's okay.  Go on in.  He's expecting you," the doctor said, as if he
were about to visit a close friend, not someone who had tried to -- and
almost succeed at -- killing him.
     "Thanks."  Starbuck kept the smile in place.  He hesitated, took in
a long, deep breath, then activated the door mechanism.  The door
swooshed open.  Starbuck strolled inside.  And stopped.  The door slid
closed behind him.
     "I'm...  thank you for coming, Lieutenant."
     Starbuck let out the breath and gave a genuine smile.  Sherok sat at
a table.  He was clean shaven and his hair was short and neatly combed. 
His face reflected anxiety and uncertainty -- the same feelings that had
plagued Starbuck throughout the shuttle ride to the Prison Barge. 
Starbuck was suddenly happy that he had come.  Pulling out another chair,
he sat down, facing Sherok.  "Hello," he said, still smiling, "I'm glad
you're feeling better."

THE END