DISCLAIMER:  The Characters of Battlestar Galactica belong to Glen A.
Larson. No copyright infringement is intended.

Baltar's New Vestimenta
By Erin Gieg
September, 1999

     Once upon a Battlestar, or should I say, a basestar, there lived a
selfish old leader by the name of Baltar.  Now, Baltar was exceedingly
vain, and so was always on the look out for new duds.  He would parade
around the enormous basestar, all the while with his chin and nose in the
air, expecting the Cylon legions to care.  One cycle, two new Cylons were
assigned to the basestar, and as soon as they arrived, they came directly
to the bridge.  
     "We *must* see Baltar," one of them said to Lucifer.  
     After giving the IL-series Cylon a message, Lucifer came to Baltar
with their strange proposal.
     Apparently, these two Cylons were tailors, imagine that!  They
claimed that they could create the most wonderful clothing, er,
vestimenta that ever was.  This was, of course, just in time for the
annual Tyrant parade that was to be held on the planet Caligula.  Baltar,
of course, his greedy little heart beating a little faster at the thought,
very much coveted the Tyrant of the yahren award, which was to be won at
the awards ceremony after the parade.  
     "Haha!" He roared, "Bring them in!"  He didn't even stop to wonder
how in the worlds two promising Cylon centurions had become tailors
instead.
     Lucifer rolled his eyespots and went to call the tailors in.
     When the two came before Baltar, they described the vestimenta that
they could make for him.  I won't bore you with details, suffice it to
say, it sounded pretty darn good, not to mention the fact that they would
appear invisible to anyone who was stupid or dull.
     Baltar, his skeptical self put on hold, immediately agreed to their
proposition.  It sounded wonderful, and besides, he could use any help he
could get, if he was to win the Tyrant award.
     "Lucifer, take these geniuses to their new quarters and make sure
they get *all* the supplies they need.
     The next cycle, the tailors ordered in a large fabric compiler.
     Every cycle, after DHL delivered their device, they would sit in
front of the compiler and pretend to weave.  Evening, after everyone had
left the pair, the Cylon pretenders laughed together about the enormous
scam they were pulling.
     "Starbuck, when do we get to take these uncomfortable helmets off?"
Greenbean asked.
     "Get used to it," Starbuck said, "I know the red light is hard to
see through, but just think of the end result!"
     Greenbean chuckled quietly.  
     "Yes, that is going to be worth it.  But I still can't help wishing
we didn't have to live in these tin cans.  What an assignment."

     Soon, Baltar got to wonder how the vestimenta were coming along.
After all, the Tyrant awards were only cycles away.  Finally, he got so
impatient that he sent Lucifer to go see the tailors.  Lucifer watched
them as they pretended to weave, but keeping in mind that anyone stupid
or dull could not see the fabric, he decided to keep the absence of the
stuff confidential.  Not to mention the fact that Baltar would like
nothing better than to see his IL-series sidekick deposed.  
     Starbuck spoke in his Cylon-enhanced voice.
     "Isn't it wonderful?  What more could we add to it?"
     "Indeed," Lucifer droned.
     Back on the bridge, Baltar asked, "So, how is it?  Will it be
prefect for the parade or not?"
     Lucifer opted for telling part of the truth; "You would not find
anything like it anywhere else."
     Baltar, pleased, sat back in his throne and grinned fiendishly.
     Finally, the cycle arrived.  The shuttles and raiders landed on the
planet and Baltar strutted forth onto the surface, followed by Starbuck
and Greenbean in their Cylon disguises.  Other centurions carried the
trunks with Baltar's new vestimenta in them.
     Baltar puffed up his chest, stuck his nose in the air, and strutted
all the way to his change room.  Seeing the door to the room, complete
with large gold star, he gasped.  
     "They love me, they really love me!"
     Lucifer groaned internally.
     The tailors came in and opened the trunks with reverence.  They took
out the imaginary vestimenta and turned toward Baltar.
     For once, the tyrant was speechless.  Not wanting to show himself to
be inept, and remembering the 'stupid' clause, he kept silent.
     "Please undress so that we can help you with your new vestimenta."
     Baltar turned red as a beet, but complied anyway.
     The mock Cylons handed him one piece of vestimenta after another,
explaining which was which, so that he wouldn't put them on wrong. 
     "Please tell us," Starbuck said, on the verge of uproarious
laughter, "What do you think?"
     Baltar came out from behind his screen and said, "Oh yes, they are
wonderful.  You can't feel the weight of them."
     Lucifer nodded at Baltar in approval, all the while chortling
inside. (Well he would if he could)
     "Let's get this show on the road!"  Baltar said, and exited the
change room to take his place in the parade.  
     The parade began and the rows upon rows of Cylons along the way were
strangely silent.  Okay well maybe not so strangely, but their little red
headlights stopped moving, so there!  
     Baltar wondered at this odd behavior, but didn't think much of it
when he reached the stadium where the Tyrant awards were to be held.  He
quickly took his seat, and none too soon, as the Imperious leader was at
the podium, reading off the names for best tyrant of the yahren.  Baltar
squealed in glee when his name was chosen, and raced up the aisle.  He
stood in front of the podium and faced the crowd of Cylons and other
tyrants. Suddenly, a voice came as if out of thin air.
     "Baltar is *naked*," a small voice shouted in amazement.
     Back at their private box, Apollo grabbed the microphone from Boxey. 

     Baltar turned beet red yet again, *all of him* (that you could see,
anyway, as he had jumped behind the podium at the proclamation), and was
glad for the first time that he had had the presence of mind to wear his
underwear.

				THE END