A Visitor From Hades
By:  Paul Robison
May 2005

A Battlestar Galactica/Lost In Space/Star Trek Crossover

Battlestar Galactica is the property of Universal Studios & Glen A.
Larson Productions, (c) 1979.     Lost In Space is the property of Irwin
Allen, Space Productions and 20th Century Fox Studios (c) 1965. Star Trek
is the property of Paramount Studios (c) 1966

Prequels:

Flight Into the Unknown
Gun On Desert Planet Equis
Living Legend of Outer Space
The Cylons' Curse


Sequels:

Space Murderer 
Greetings from Space Family Robinson     
The Lord Of Nightmares  
Death to Jeremiah     


Special Guest Stars:

Morbus(Lost in Space, Season 2)
Mr. Spock (Star Trek)

Everything is used without permission but with no intent or anticipation
of monetary gain.  This is solely for my amusement as well as the
amusement of whoever else may read it. 


SPOILERS: "War of the Gods" (Battlestar Galactica)
     "A Visit to Hades" (Lost In Space, Season 2)
     War of the Gods (Adaptation) by Eric Paddon
     War of the Gods (Novelization) by Glen A. Larson and Nicholas
Yermakov
*****
From the Adama Journals:
     There was a once a time when the human race looked forward with
great eagerness to its first contact with non-human races.  No one truly
believed that we were all alone.  Somewhere out among the stars were
other intelligent beings, possibly like us, possibly very different. 
What could we learn from them?  How much could we share?  When the Twelve
Colonies were first established, the descendants of the Lords of Kobol
were all alone, but did not remain so for long.  We found other races,
other beings.  Some more advanced than we were, some more primitive.  We
welcomed contact with them all, envisioning a great universal brotherhood
of species, a coming together of all life forms.  Perhaps we were naive. 
Perhaps we were simply unrealistic.  The Cylons changed all that.
     It was almost a thousand yahrens before the date of my birth that
the Twelve Colonies and the Cylon empire first made contact, a day that
will live in infamy so long as one human remains alive.  We put out the
hand of friendship, and the Cylons attacked with a savage, unrelenting
fury.  It was a long time before we were even able to discern the reason
for their actions.  By that time, the Twelve Colonies and the Cylon
Empire were already engaged in a brutal war, one that would prove to be
the longest and bloodiest in our history, and one that was to end,
perhaps for all time, the glory that had sprung from the seeds planted by
the Lords of Kobol eons ago.  I have vowed that it will not happen, but
only time will tell.  I am, after all, one man and my enemies are legion. 
   
     The reason for the war is so simple as to be incomprehensible.  The
Cylons had judged us unfit to engage in interstellar travel.  Through
some twisted sort of logic, they believed themselves the rightful
guardians of the aesthetic order of the universe.  Fate had chosen them
to rule the stars, to regulate all inferior species---and to Cylons, all
species were inferior---and to eliminate any threat to what they
perceived as the established order.  The Colonies, of course, posed such
a threat.
     By the time that I was born, the war was already many yahrens old. 
It had become a fact of life to each and ever man, woman and child in the
Colonies.  It is to the credit of the human race that we did not become a
completely xenophobic people, but the word "alien" had taken on a whole
new meaning.  It was inextricably linked with certain base
emotions---suspicion and distrust chief among them.  We were never again
to encounter a new form of life without being on our guard.  Survival
was our prime consideration.  True, we did not shoot first and ask
questions later, but we had our guns out.
     Unfortunately, when dealing with the unknown, it is not enough to
have one's laser drawn.
*****
Chapter One:  Ghost Riders In The Night
     "Core Command to Silver Spar leader.  All launch systems transferred
and you are cleared to launch."
     As the canopy of Spock's viper fell into place with a click, he felt
a weird and wonderful bristle of contentment go through him as he
delighted in the title that Rigel had addressed him by.  It seemed like
old times again.
     "Acknowledged, core command, we are ready to lead Advance Probe out."
     That said, he started up the controls and within microns his viper
had roared off down the launch tube and into the starlit blackness. 
Three additional vipers that were assigned to his new squadron
immediately followed leading to a total of four Viper fighters streaking
across the trackless void.
     "Silver Spar group report," he commanded gently as he took his viper
into the lead position.  The affirming replies from Lieutenant Jolly,
Sergeant Charlex and Cadet Danning were dutifully prompt.
     "Very well," Spock said dryly, "Since this marks the first official
Advance Probe of the Galactica's brand new Silver Spar Squadron, may I say
that it will be an honor to be leading all of you on the first of many
such long, and hopefully uneventful, recon probes."
     "When we get back, you should memorialize the event by buying us all
a round of ambrosa at the Officer's Club, Spock," Jolly chimed in.
     "Vulcans do not buy rounds of ambrosa, nor do they ingest spirits,
Jolly," Spock replied icily to the fat lieutenant's quip.  "However, since
you seem powerless against your lust for free food and drink, I shall....
take your request under advisement."
     For the next two centars, the four vipers continued on their course
far ahead of the trajectory that the Galactica and her fleet of 220 ships
presently lay on.  Their pilots stayed vibrantly alert for any sign of a
threat to the fleet and their eyes seldom left their scanners as they
scouted for any presence of the enemy.  There was no margin for error
because thousands upon thousands of lives depended on them.  They each
felt a keen responsibility that was theirs alone each time they went out
on patrol.  The welfare of the last surviving inhabitants of the twelve
colony worlds was in their hands.
     With nothing to attract their attention, Spock found himself
pondering the logical benefits of leading a group with the name of Silver
Spar Squadron again, just as he had done for more than three yahrens
aboard the Battlestar Pegasus.  The decision to form a new Silver Spar
group for the Galactica had been Adama's idea.  The Commander had decided
that a flyer of Spock's experience needed to command his own group, even
if for now it could only be four vipers.  But as soon as the Fleet
developed the capacity to build replacement vipers, that would change and
Spock knew that in as little as a yahren's time from now, he'd be leading
a group almost as large as the one he'd led during his Pegasus heyday.
     Since the Pegasus's disap-pearance a secton ago, he'd idly thought
on many occasions about who'd taken his place and Sheba's in the
leadership of his old squadron.  He and Sheba had always intimidated the
rest of the Peg-sus's flyers with their sheer brilliance, and he wondered
if any one of them would be up to fulfilling the respon-sibilities of
whatever Cain was doing now.
     Spock could never let himself think for one micron that the Pegasus
was anything other than alive and well.  There'd been Lieutenant Acurol,
Flight Sergeant Pusmear, Ensign Rimes and Lieutenant Haesymu.  All of
them capable flyers, but all of them conditioned more for following
orders than giving them.  Which one would Cain have chosen?  Probably
Haesymu, he thought.  If the choice had been left to Spock, that's who he
would have picked. He would be, after all, the logical choice.
     Right now though, Spock knew he couldn't think too much about the
past or the future because the people of the Fleet had to live with the
constant reminder that they were a hunted people, and even though nearly
a secton had passed since the last Cylon attack, the time for feeling
secure had by no means come yet.  And so, he returned his attention to
the scanner, looking for any sign that the enemy's presence was somewhere
nearby.
     As the scanner continued to show the blank reading they all
preferred it to show, Silver Spar Leader finally broke the monotonous
silence that had permeated for most of the last two centars.   "Flight
Leader to Advance Probe," said Spock, speaking into the helmet mike that
he could turn on and off with a quick flick of his tongue.  "I think
everything looks okay for the Fleet in this sector.  Let's start thinking
about a last wide sweep and then heading for the Galactica.  Copy?"
     "Loud and clear," said Lieu-tenant Jolly.  He was the "top gun" in
the Viper formation, taking an advance scouting position well ahead of
the other streamlined craft and slightly in back of where Spock was
flying the lead position, "I'm making one final scanner sweep
of-----the---GODDAMN IT!"
     And then, the words of Silver Spar group's deputy leader were cut
off as a shining white light, brighter than several supernovas, suddenly
streaked in front of his cockpit, causing him to throw up his hands as a
shield from its searing glare. 
     "Spoooooock!" he shouted.
     It had also passed in front of Silver Spar Leader's cockpit, and
also those of Charlex and Danning.  They too, experienced a similar
reaction of abrupt surprise mixed with a slight edge of alarm.  They all
spoke at once over the comcircuit.  
     "Captain, I'm seeing spots in front of my eyes," Cadet Danning
hastily rubbed his sockets to alleviate the pain, "I can't even make
anything out on the scanner."
     "What---what was that scary thing?" Charlex blurted.
     "A degree of calm, if everyone pleases," Spock injected a note of
stern authority for the first time, even as he too, rubbed his eyes in an
effort to alleviate the sting the flash had caused, "There is no cause for
alarm. Whatever it was is gone now.  Just hold steady on course till you
can see straight again."   
     "I never saw anything like it before," Charlex slowly regained
his bearings as a flashback to a time above a desert planet called Equis
went through his mind, "I'm scared, Spock. It's some kind of new Cylon
weapon, I just know it is!  We're really in trouble, now!"
     "I would not advise jumping to conclusions at this time, Charlex,"
Spock grew slightly sterner,
     "If we're all okay, let's investigate this phenomenon.  We'll just
ease over in..."
     Rather than use his computer, Spock relied on dead reckoning in an
attempt to determine the origin point of strange lights.  Upon reaching a
conclusion, he indicated the desired direction with his pointer finger. 
"...that direction."
     "I think we'd better alert the fleet first, skipper," said Jolly.
     "There will be plenty of time for that later," Spock retorted.  On his
first patrol as a Galactica squadron leader, the last thing he was going to
do was allow any kind of panic, especially since he himself was not subject
to panic, being a Vulcan.  "We do not as yet know what we will be alerting
them about."
     Suddenly, another flash of light streaked over the four Colonial
vipers, with the same intensity as the first one.  Spock heard Jolly's
exclamation of pain and shock.
     "Unnnh!  I not only saw that, I felt it!  What in the name of all
that's holy could produce a flash like that?"
     Before Silver Spar Leader could reply, he heard Danning's nervous
voice cut in again, "Captain, there's more of them!  Left center!"
     "Fascinating," Spock said with amazement as he saw a whole
column of the white round streaks of light come towards them.
     Spock shook himself out of his brief stupor.  "Actuating automatic
fleet alert," he said.  He
knew it would be prudent to send a signal back to the Galactica just in
case whatever it was they would encounter would result in their failure
to return.  Now was not the time to start acting with the reckless daring
of his former commander.  "Switching to long range scanners."  
     "Captain," said Charlex, "left center relative..."
     Spock looked.
     A swarm of bright pinpoint lights was approaching from the distance,
moving with shocking speed.  It was impossible to even estimate their
number.   They seemed to expand before their eyes as they hurtled toward
them.
     "I have them sighted," Spock said. 
	"Whatever they are, they're coming
right at us and fast," Jolly stressed the last word as heavily as he
could.
     "Actuate attack computers," the squadron leader's voice regained
some of its firm edge. 
     The pilots switched in their attack and defense systems.  The
scanners automatically locked onto their target...except the scanners
said there was no target.  The turrets swept the area ahead of them,
seeking a target to lock onto.  The pilots had visual contact with
whatever it was, but the scanners didn't seem able to pick them up. 
"Stand by to intercept." 
     As Jolly consulted his target readout, he shook his head in further
disbelief, "I'm not picking them up on my scanner."  Jolly's voice came
back to Spock over the comcircuit speakers built into his helmet.  "Frak
Almighty, I'm not getting anything at all!"
     "Well they're there," said Spock, setting his teeth.  "And
they're not slowing down." An edge of exasperation entered Spock's tone,
"Stay with them."
     "It looks more like they're staying with us, sir," Danning jumped
in.
     The swarm of white lights grew rapidly.  Each pilot found himself
squinting, despite the polarization in both the shields of their helmets
and the canopies of their Viper fighters.  The glare was blindingly
bright.
     "Captain, I'm ready to take some pot shots at these things, whatever
they are," Charlex spoke.     
     "Negative.  Not yet," Spock said, His hands tightly gripped the
controls of his ship but he felt as if he were losing control of them
already. "Right now, we can't determine whether it's hostile, or if it's
just some kind of harmless astral phenomenon. I want all of you to
stay calm right now!"   
     Charlex resisted the urge to speak-up that he knew from personal
exper-ience that waiting too long to figure out whether it was hostile or
not, could make all the difference in survival.  He only had to remember
two cadets he'd trained with named Bo and Shields to be reminded of that.
     "By the time we find that out..." Jolly did not complete the
thought.  Spock knew exactly what was on the pointman's mind. With the
speed of the lights approaching them, it was doubtful if they would be
able to fire with any degree of accuracy.  Without the benefit of their
scanners computing the rate of speed at which the eerie light swarm was
traveling, it was impossible to lead them with their lasers.
     Then there was no time to think.  The lights were upon them,
streaking past the Vipers and crisscrossing, making a wide sweep around
the fighter craft.
	Spock look-ed over his shoulder as another
one zoo-med overhead, "Did anyone get a good look at them?"
     "No," Jolly said, "But I'll tell you this, whatever they're flying
can outrun us, and could probably outrun the Galactica's top speed."
     Charlex was on the edge of panic.  Spock heard it in his voice.  "Let's
Get outta here and warn the fleet!" 
     "As you were, Charlex," Spock said sternly, trying to keep his voice
calm.  He could not afford to have any of his men lose their nerve.  "I
sent out an automatic distress beacon already, just as a pre-caution. 
Besides, so far we don't know if there's anything to warn them about.  I
repeat, hold your positions and your fire until we can figure out a way
to get a fix on whatever that was.  Did anybody see anything?"
     "No," said Jolly.  "They just seem to have completely disappeared. 
I---no, wait.  They're moving up behind us!"
     Again, Spock looked back.  This time, the lights streaked past the
Viper formation once again with such speed as to make the fighters appear
to be motion-less in space.
     "Whoever the hades it is doesn't seem too interested in us," said
Jolly.  "Otherwise they would've probably blown us out of the stars by
now," the fat lieutenant continued, "Let's turn around and get our
astrums out of here."
     As Spock saw the clusters move away from them, he decided that this
was not the time to be getting too inquisitive about whatever these
things were.
     "Agreed, Jolly.  Apparently there is nothing more that we can do right
now.  Okay warriors, let's turn around and----"
     Before Spock could finish, some-thing caught his attention from
behind in the corner of his eye.  He looked back and this time, his mouth
fell open in a level of shock far greater than anything he'd ever
experienced in more than ten yahrens of service as a warrior.
     "Captain?" a note of fear had crept into Danning's voice, "Captain?"
     Spock was so frozen with very un-Vulcan shock that he couldn't even
whisper a reply. He stared up at the gargantuan white ship that had appeared
out of nowhere, coming up behind them. It was bigger, much bigger, than
anything his eyes had ever beheld in his life.  Its bulk would have dwarfed
any battlestar or Cylon baseship that had ever been constructed.
     "Spock, what in Hades is that?" Jolly's panicked voice filled his
helmet.
     "I see it," he barely managed to get his words out, "I
have no idea."
     "Captain, my instruments are gone.  I can't read anything!  What
the hades is that thing?" Danning was finding it impossible to hold back the
terror he now felt as he looked at his directional gauge and saw it
acting in a manner he hadn't even seen in his training days.
     "Mine are spinning like crazy!" Jolly's said.  "I'm caught in some
sort of field, I can't control my ship!"  His glance alternated between
his malfunctioning gauge and the sight of what lay behind them, as a new
element that added to the tension was suddenly injected; a loud,
high-pitched hum, steadily rising in intensity. "What's that noise...I
can't stand it...feels like my head is going to burst... I can't stand
it... the pres-sure..."
     "Sir, what do we do?" Charlex had placed a hand on his helmet as he
felt the intensity of the noise increase inside his cockpit.
     "Divide and run!" Spock shook his head and tried to get some of his
bear-ings back, "I want a four point peel-off on three!"
     "Spock, I just lost power on all my turbos!"  Jolly said, his voice
filled with fear. "I'm losing speed!" Jolly shouted as the increased roar
of the sound forced him to raise his voice.
     "Me too, Captain, ship won't respond!"  Danning felt the pressure
increase on his head and felt as though it was about to explode.  "I
can't do a thing!"
     "No good!" Both of Charlex's hands were clutching his helmet. "I can't
stand the sound! Somebody---make it go away!"
     Spock took another look at the ship that now dwarfed his field of
vision.  What was this thing?  What did it mean?
     "I think we've just run up against something worse than Cylons,"
Spock said, gritting his teeth against the pain.  "We've had it, Jolly."
     The pressure of the noise finally  became unbearable.  Silver Spar
Leader stiffened in his seat, holding onto his head, fighting to maintain
conscious-ness.  He couldn't do it.  His eyes rolled slightly and he
slumped back in his seat as unconsciousness overtook him at last.

*****
     
     On the lowermost level of the Rising Star, a crowd of more than 500
exuberant spectators had crammed the galleries overlooking the Triad
court below.  Beneath them, they were witnessing the most intense
athletic competition that any of those present could remember seeing
since before the Holocaust; a tight, even, furious match between the Gold
Team of Apollo and Starbuck and the Blue Team of Boomer and Sergeant
Castor. 
     The Triad games were always very well attended. The fleet had
precious few creature comforts, but refused to give up recreation.  In a
stress survival con-ditions as demanding as theirs, in which attack from
Cylons could come at any moment, in which the dull routine of daily life
could be interrupted, perhaps forever, by a searing blast of laser fire,
it was necessary for there to be some way for people to unwind.  One such
mechanism could be found aboard the Rising Star, once an intercolonial
starliner, now a ship that did double duty as a home for several thousand
refugees and a gaming center, complete with gambling chanceries,
entertainment lounges and sporting arenas.  Here, people could forget, at
least temporarily, the rigors of their existence and spend a few precious
centons gambling, enjoying a show put on by their fellow fleet members or
playing any one of several sports that did not require a large amount of
room.  The most popular of these was the game called Triad.
     People had their favorite teams and their favorite players, whom
they supported with great enthusiasm.  Those who did or could not, for
one reason or another, play themselves could easily experience the
vicarious thrills of the sporting fan, cheering for their favorites and
wagering on the outcome of the games.  It was one of those activities in
the fleet, which had a great effect on the morale of the refugees. 
     The game was played by teams of two, one defending, and one
attacking and it was determined by the flick of a cubit which team would
start off defending and which attacking at the start of each period.  A
member of each team stood confronting each other in the center of the
court.  In the rear of the defending team, against one of the walls,
would be a ball approximately the size of a human head.  It was made of
titan-ferrium, a hard, polymesh steel com-pound, which gave it peculiar
bouncing properties and at the same time added an element of danger to
the game, since being hit by the ball could result in serious injury.  To
minimize the chances of being hurt, the players all wore light
titanferrium helmets and polymesh gloves.  Other protective gear, which
was optional, consisted of a polymesh vest that covered the chest area
and dropped down to protect the groin, leaving the hips exposed, and
flexible boots that protected the shins and knees.  The soles of the
boots were molded from impact resistant astalanthalotex, a material which
had strong adhesive properties, enabling the players to "climb the walls"
of the Triad court, al-though they could not, in the strictest sense,
cling to the smooth surfaces for more than a fraction of a micron.
     The two forward team members of each team who stood at center court
at the start of each period had a line between them.  When the claxon
sounded to announce the start of the period, the offensive player had to
physically move past the forward defender to get the ball.  The defending
player could not cross the line in front of him, nor could he move behind
a line that was several feet behind him, between him and the ball.  In
effect, he had to prevent the offensive player from crossing a narrow
corridor he was protecting.  However, there were few rules specifying
what the defending player could or could not do to prevent the offensive
player from getting past him.  This frequently gave the start of each
period of play an aspect of a full contact sport.  In this sense, it was
much more than simple competition.  It gave the players, most of whom
were warriors in the championship league, a way of keeping in top
fighting trim.  There was no limit of time to determine how long the
offensive player had to get by the defender to put the ball in play,
although there was a definite time limit to each period.  Theoretically,
it was possible for entire periods to be devoted entirely to sporting
combat between two forwards only since the two remaining players could
not get into the game until the ball was in play.
     Once the ball was in play, however, the Triad game began in earnest
and it was played at a fast and furious pace.  Once the offensive player
had the ball in hand, he could aim it at any of three lighted circles
that appeared on any and all three walls.  These circles flashed on and
off at random, the succession regulated by a computer, and a circle had
to be struck while it was lighted to result in a score.  The circles,
when lit, bore numbers, which also were control-led in random sequence,
each number carrying a point value from one to ten.  The higher the
number, the more difficult the target, since the higher numbered circles
were illuminated for a shorter length of time than those which had lower
point values.
     The defending players had to attempt to anticipate the play of the
offensive team, so that they could cover a target circle and either
deflect the ball or regain control of it, in which case they became the
offensive team.  Passing was permitted in the game, but only if the ball
was rebounded off one of the walls.  An interception gave a defender
offensive status and the next scoring opportunity.
     On eight previous occasions, these two teams had faced-off and the
results had always been fairly easy victories for the Gold Team.  But on
this occasion, the outcome was less certain than it had been before.  For
the first time, Boomer and Castor were on the verge of defeating the Gold
Team.  They had just scored to take a 14-13 lead with barely a full
centon remaining in the final period.
     "This is it," Boomer muttered under his breath as the four players
gathered together in the circle formation at the center of the court to
wait for the Triad ball to drop into play again.  "Get control of this,
and it's finally it."
     Ever since the Galactica warriors had begun playing organized
Triad matches several sectars ago, Boomer had felt a sense of frustration
inside over never being able to beat Apollo and Starbuck.  As much as he
loved them as the two best friends he'd ever known, he had always
secretly wished that there could be just one thing in life that he could
say he excelled at better than them.  Long ago, he had resigned himself
to the knowledge that as warriors they were the best, and that he would
have to content himself with being in their shadow.  But Boomer had
always taken pride in his skill as a Triad player ever since he'd first
played the game on the backstreets of Caprica City, and long believed
that there were few who'd mastered the game better than him.  Losing to
Apollo and Starbuck once had been ego- bruising enough for Boomer. 
Losing to them again and again, and seeing them emerge as the team the
fans regarded as the best, was almost aggravating beyond belief for
Boomer's mind.  It had now reached the point where defeating them just
once would be enough for him.
     The four players clasped hands and began dancing around the center
of the court in their circle formation again as the claxon sounded and
rubber Triad ball dropped from the ceiling into the space between them.
     It caromed off the right side wall, leaving it open for either
Starbuck or Castor.
     As Boomer and Apollo moved back toward the other side into the
rebound positions, the dark-skinned warrior felt his heart rise with
excitement when he saw his muscular partner get to it first.
     As soon as his hands were on the ball, Castor spun around and then
launched it toward the corner where Boomer was in perfect position to
receive it on the first bounce off the wall.
     His hands clasped the ball and he felt the surge of excitement
inside him increase.  If he made this shot and scored another point for
his team that would put it out of reach.  There'd be no time left for
Apollo and Starbuck to win.  He'd finally beat them for the first time.
     The opening of the scoring circle loomed like an inviting beacon,
waiting for him to put his shot through for the score that would clinch
the vic-tory.  He decided that he would make that score emphatically, for
the benefit of everyone who'd come to watch expecting to see another
triumph for Apollo and Starbuck.
     Boomer began to move on a run around Apollo's blocking motions,
determined to leap high and slam the ball right into the opening with
authority.  It was a movement he'd patented to per-fection as a child,
and had earned him awed admiration from all of his childhood friends. 
Now the people watching would learn just who the real Triad player was!
     Boomer's timing was perfect.  His jump was right on the mark. His
out-stretched arm with the ball clasped in his hand rose high into the
air toward the opening until it was perfectly aligned with it.  And then,
as his body started to come back down, his arm began the sweeping
downward motion to the opening and released the ball.
     But instead of going in, the ball grazed the side of the opening,
which was just enough to cause it bounce all the way back out to the
center of the court.
     What the frack?  Boomer was so stunned that the ball had not gone
in, that he hesitated for a brief instant in getting back to his feet
after he'd come down on the floor.  That couldn't have missed.  It
couldn't have.
     The miss, and Boomer's hesitation in getting back into the play gave
new life for the Gold Team.  Starbuck fielded the ball after it had
ricocheted out and got off a perfect sweeping carom bounce to Apollo, who
was all alone in perfect position thanks to Boomer's brief delay.  As a
result, Apollo had a clean shot at the opening, which because of his
positioning was worth two points, instead of one.
     Just as Boomer thrust himself into a blocking motion, Apollo got off
his shot.  It landed in the center of the open-ing, resulting in two
points, and a 15-14 Gold lead just as the buzzer sounded indicating that
time had expired. 
     Apollo and Starbuck had won again by a narrow margin of ten points.
The two victors threw their arms up in the air in a sign of triumph, and
ack-nowledged the frenzied cheers of the crowd.  Starbuck was still
pumping his fists in the air with excitement as he and Apollo exited the
court first.
     Boomer was still in a state of near-shock when he felt a tap on the
shoulder from his partner. "Come on Boomer," Castor said dejectedly,
"Let's get moving.
     The dark-skinned warrior felt as if he were in the middle of a bad
dream as he finally walked off at a slow pace.  When they emerged in the
corridor outside, they could see Apollo talking with a jubilant Sheba. 
Starbuck was further down, slightly obscured by the security personnel
that had gathered there to keep the mob of fans from thron-ging around
their favorites, in spite of their efforts to hold them back.
     "Off the court, off the court," the head security guard kept
shouting, but to no avail.  "Come on, people, this is stric-tly
forbidden.  Let's get these guys out of here."
     "I'm heading for the turbowash, Boomer," Castor said as he started
to make a beeline for the corridor that led in the other direction.  The
burly Colonial Security Guard wasn't in the mood to talk to either of his
opponents at that moment, "Talk to you later."
     "Yeah," Boomer mumbled as he stumbled forward, just in time to hear
the end of Apollo's conversation with Sheba.
     "You were incredible tonight, incredible," Athena said, grinning
wildly. 
     "We just got lucky, that's all," Apollo said, his modesty showing.
     Starbuck laughed.  "Luck had nothing to do with it, partner.  I was
brilliant too."
     "I'll second that," Athena said.  "I think your excellence deserves
a re-ward."  The look she gave Starbuck was absolutely flirtatious. 
"What'll it be, warrior?"
     "Give me a few centons to change," he said.  "I'm sure I'll be able
to think of something."
     They linked arms and moved off the court together as the security
guards tried to make a path for them.  Hands kept reaching out and
slapping Apollo on the back.  
     "I don't know if I'd go so far as to say you were incredible," Sheba
was saying as she smiled and patted Apollo on the back, "But I might be
able to grant that you were reasonably proficient and buy you a drink."
     "My, my, my.  How generous of you," Apollo chuckled, "You've got a
deal. I'll meet you in the Officers Club on the Galactica later." 
     "Just be sure you wash down thoroughly," Sheba threw him a coy
glance as she turned away just in time to see Boomer approaching. 
     She patted him on the back in consolation before she headed back
toward the spectators tunnel.
     She had only moved ten feet toward the exit when she saw a
grim-faced Colonel Tigh approaching.  She promptly stopped in her tracks
as she realized that the Galactica's executive officer was not coming to
simply con-gratulate the winners and console the losers.  This could only
mean something serious.
     " Damn good game, Boomer!" Apollo put his arm around his friend, as
Starbuck moved back toward the both of them.
     "Damn good game, yeah." Boo-mer was all smiles outward, but he
didn't bother concealing the frustration he felt, "Just once, before I
grow too old for this felgercarb, I'd like to beat you two.  Just once."
     "Hey, don't sweat it, Boomer.  We all have our talents and
abilities. Maybe Triad isn't one of yours." Starbuck nee-dled. "Anyway,
what'd you expect from a natural-born athlete?"
     Boomer gave his friend a good-natured rap in the stomach with his
headgear. "Natural-born athlete my ass," he managed to grin.  "It wasn't
even your shot that won the game.  Just for that, you're buying."
     As the security guards struggled to keep the crowd under control,
Tigh broke through the press, a concerned Sheba trailing him.
     "I'm sorry but nobody's buying tonight," the executive officer said
blun-tly.  "An emergency meeting has just been called in the War Room,
imm-ediately."
     "Aw, give us a break, Tigh," said Apollo.
     "Yeah, have a heart, Colonel," Boomer added. "We're not even on
standby alert."
     Starbuck let out a groan, "For sagan's sake Colonel, we just ran
our-selves ragged in this game.  And I don't just want a drink, I need
one."
     "You'll need two drinks when you find out what's happened," Tigh
said. "Don't waste a micron in the turbowash.  I've had the Canaris
personally comman-deered to rush all of you back."
     "Well, Colonel could you at least give us a little preview?" 
Starbuck demanded.
     "Later," Tigh said curtly as he turned and disappeared back down the
tunnel.  Leaving Apollo, Starbuck, Boo-mer and Sheba alone to ponder what
this could possibly mean.

*****

     Thirty centons later, the four war-riors were on the upper deck of
the Galactica's bridge, staring intently at the giant Navigation Board
that Adama stood in front of.  From the micron Tigh had explained the
situation to them on the shuttle trip back from the Rising Star, the mood
on each of their faces had been downcast.
     "According to our telemetry, they disappeared here," Adama said as
he moved his hand across the lower left-side of the board and moved back
to the other side of the railing, "in this sector."
     "And there's been no trans-missions of any kind?" Apollo asked.
     Tigh and Adama exchanged looks.
     "We received one automatic distress signal from Spock's viper just
before it happened," Tigh said as he kept his hands clamped on the rail
of the topmost level, next to Omega's console.
     "Other than that, nothing," Adama finished, "The four of them have
just...vanished."
     Apollo licked his lips and took a brief glance back at the board,
"What kind of land mass is indicated in the area?" he asked with a
nervous edge. "Planets?  Asteroids?  Anything at all they could have
landed on?"
     Adama moved to the scanner, checking computer readings and
information tapes. "I don't know," he con-fessed as he shook his head
slightly and tugged at his left ear, "But our sei-smic readings indicate
that something has happened there within a time-frame that could have a
bearing on our missing ships."
     "Huh?" Starbuck frowned, "I think you just lost me, Commander.
What's the connection?"
     "We don't know if it is a con-nection," Adama said, "All we know is
that there are readings of some kind of massive space explosion or
disruption of some kind that happened relatively recently in or near this
same sectar.  We're still too far out though, to tell if the disruption
took place before or after they disappeared."
     "Then just about anything could have happened to them," Boomer said
glumly, and then stopped short of rattling off a list of potential
possibilities.
     "Yes," the commander nodded.
     At that point, Sheba, who'd been quietly standing off to one side
with a stiff-lipped expression, finally spoke up,
     "Commander," her voice cracked slightly, "Spock's like my family to
me.  He's all that I've got left from..." and then she trailed off,
unable to go any further. Not that she had to.  They all knew what she
was talking about, what must now be coming to mind.  Spock was the only
other person aboard the Galactica who served with Sheba on the Pegasus,
the scarred but well-oiled battlestar com-manded by her father, Cain. 
The Jug-gernaut.  No one knew if he was dead or alive.  Spock was her
only link to the past. They had flown together in the same squadron.  The
Silver Spar squadron now made its base aboard the Battlestar Galactica,
but none of the original members were left.
     "I know," Adama said in under-standing as he touched her arm. "I
know.  Get your gear and report to the launch bay."
     "Thank you, sir," she smiled weakly and then walked off the bridge
at a determined pace.  Apollo watched her leave and then slowly made his
way over to his father.
     "Father," he said quietly, "I don't think we should send her."
     "Oh?" Adama glanced at him, noting that there was a strange,
pro-tective note in his son's voice.  It took him a micron to realize
that the last time he'd heard that kind of tone had been almost a yahren
ago, when Apollo had asked him not to send out a squadron of
inexperienced pilots on a mission that had included Serina.
     "There's been no trace of her father or the Pegasus since they
disappeared a sectar ago," Apollo went on.  "And now with Spock
missing..."
     Starbuck moved in to join the conversation and shook his head.  "If
she's guilty of being too emotional about finding those four pilots, then
I'm guilty too," he said.  "We're all equally affected and motivated. 
Jolly is like a kinsman to me.  And after what happened at Arcta, I also
feel responsible for anything that happens to Charlex."
     "Well, then I guess we've got the right team for the job then,"
Apollo decided to admit the obvious.
     "And you can count me in, too," Boomer added.
     "Wait a micron," Adama held up a hand, "Boomer, you have to stay
be-cause I need at least one senior pilot on standby in case this turns
out to be a Cylon ambush of some kind.  For now, I'm going to just let
the three of you do it."
     "Very well sir," Boomer said, feeling that his ego had just taken
another bruising, "I'll have the other squadron pilots come down to
Oper-ations for a full briefing and let them know how things stand for
now."
     "Do that," Adama nodded, "It's best we not keep any of them in the
dark."
     As Boomer left the bridge, the commander turned back to his son.
"Apollo, I urge you to take no risks," he said firmly. "If they're not on
any of the planets in the area--"
     "I know," Apollo quietly inter-rupted, "They wouldn't have fuel
enough to be in continuous flight since they left.  If we don't find
them, we'll come right back."
     "All right," Adama nodded, "Good luck."
     They both pivoted smart about-faces and left the room together. 
Adama watched Starbuck and Apollo as they left, thinking how much they
both reminded him of the way he'd been during his youth.  He hoped
fervently that they would both have a chance to feel that way about their
sons when they became fathers.
     No sooner had Apollo and Starbuck both left, when Tigh came down
from the topmost level. "Com-mander," he said, "That seismic report.  I
don't like the implications of it.  It was much too sudden and abortive. 
It doesn't fit the profile for anything natural to be a core tremor.  If
it were an explosion, it...well it would have to be something else.  And
if I were to make a preliminary guess, I'd say that something massive
crashed with full force into one of the planets in that sector."
     Adama frowned slightly, "Well if there's a connection with Silver
Spar's disappearance, it's hardly likely that four Vipers would just
crash simultaneously," said Adama.
     "That's true," Tigh nodded, "And at any rate, that wouldn't begin to
acc-ount for the level of this kind of reading.  But there's the
possibility that they could have been on the ground when whatever it was
hit."
     "I suppose anything is possible," Adama turned back to the board,
taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. 
     "Let's withhold speculation for the time being. Hopefully we should
know soon enough."

*****

Chapter Two:  A Stranger In Scarlet

     Starbuck, Apollo and Sheba suited up and entered the cockpits of
their Viper fighters, went through the usual pre-flight checks and waited
for the signal to launch.  It came from Tigh over their helmet
comcircuits.
     They kicked in their tubos and hurtled down the launch tubes.  As
al-ways, there was that sudden pressure against their torsos as they were
slam-med back against their seats, as if held there by a giant hand. 
Then, there was the magical sensation that no one ever rally got over,
the wonder of that first moment in which the fighter ship cleared the
launch tube and hurtled into the deep velvet darkness of outer space.
     They shaped into triangle formation as they set their course to
match that taken by the lost recon patrol.  Each of them was alone with
their own thoughts.  It could have been any one of them.  Anything could
have happened.  They could have run into some freak meteor storm or
blundered into a Cylon patrol.  The possibilities were endless.
     Thirty centons into the mission,  a large measure of tension-filled
silence descended over them.
     Each of the warrior's had so much of a personal interest in the
outcome of what they would discover on this mission that none of them
felt in the mood for the normal kind of cockpit small-talk they would
have engaged in.
     With Starbuck, he kept thinking how ironic it was that once again,
he was on a mission to find out what had happened to Charlex, and if he was
still alive, just as he'd done at Arcta nearly a yahren ago, when
Starbuck had been on the verge of sacrificing the good of the mission so
he could get a chance to rescue the young cadet from a Cylon prison cell. 
In the time since, he'd been pleased to see Charlex mature considerably as a
warrior to the point where he'd been promoted to sergeant and he wasn't
about to accept the prospect that this time, the young warrior's career
had come to a permanent end.
     He also found himself thinking of Jolly.  He might have regarded
Apollo and Boomer as the two warriors he was personally closest to, but
Jolly was the only one he'd known since his childhood.  He and Jolly
shared the bond of being victims of the Umbra disaster, more than twenty
yahrens ago when a surprise Cylon attack had totally levelled and
destroyed Caprica's fifth largest city and left hundreds of young
children or-phaned, including Starbuck and Jolly.  The two had first met
in the orphanage for Umbra Victims, and when their paths had crossed
again many yahrens later at the Colonial Military Academy.
     Starbuck's memory of the fat child from the orphanage he'd enjoyed
playing games with, remained strong enough for him to make Jolly one of
the few people in his inner circle of friends.
     Jolly had told him at the Academy that he'd been able to track down
his real family over time.  Starbuck always envied his friend for that. 
So many victims of the Umbra disaster had been too young to remember
their families, and never know for certain if their parents had survived
the disaster or not.  Starbuck fell into that unfortunate category.  In
all the yahrens since, he'd never gotten any closer to knowing who his
real parents had been, thus making him a man with-out a past or heritage. 
It was the one part of his life that he would have gladly traded in an
instant.
     "We're approaching Quartus seven quadrant," Apollo suddenly broke
the silence, "Indications are of one planet only in the system.  If they
had to make a landing, this is the only place they could have ended up. 
ETA to scanning range in one centon."
     Starbuck slowly returned to his awareness of the blackness of space
sur-rounding him.  He shook his head and seemed to shudder slightly. "You
know," he said, "I don't why, but this part of space makes me nervous for
some reason."
     "That's because since we left Gomoray behind us, we've reached a
point of space that was never mapped by Colonial star navigation," Apollo
said, "From this point on, every star system, every planet we come across
has no name in Colonial records. It's all virgin territory for us until
we find Earth."
     "Kind of makes the whole enor-mity of the journey more apparent,"
Starbuck grunted.
     "There it is," Sheba quietly spoke up, "Planet dead ahead."
     They could see the reddish-gray planet looming up ahead of growing
steadily bigger and bigger.
     "Activating scanners," Apollo sucked in his breath as he hit the
switch on his main console. In a matter of microns, the important data
was flashing on his tiny monitor in bold, block letters: LIFE FORMS: 
0...LIFE FORMS:  0...LIFE FORMS:  0.
     "Zero life forms," he repeated dejectedly.  "You got all that?" said
Apollo.
     "Wish I could say no, but I gotta say yes," said Starbuck, seeing
the same reading flash across his own ship's scan-ner.  He sounded
suddenly weary.
     "I wonder why?" for the first time since they'd left, Sheba's
professional instincts seemed to kick in, "The atmo-spheric conditions
seem right.  There's no reason why the planet should be devoid of life."
     "I doubt that any explorers or travelers from the colonies ever made
it out this far," Apollo said, "Not unless they had a visitor leaving
Gomoray who's ship went a hundred-eighty-degrees in the wrong direction. 
This whole area of space is on the outermost periphery of what we
considered the Delphians' territorial domain, even though they never
bothered to explore it for them-selves.  That's why we don't have any
records starting with here."
     "Aren't you forgetting some-thing?" Sheba said, "Finding no trace of
any kind of human life doesn't bode well for the direction the Fleet is
traveling in to find the lost thirteenth tribe.  If they really did
traverse across the stars to this planet called Earth, then there have to
be some inevitable signs of human life somewhere along the way that have
no connections to the colonies at all."
     Apollo craned his head toward her viper in half-amusement.  In only
a sectar's time since she'd been thrust into the new experience of life
aboard the Galactica, Sheba had gone out of her way to learn as much as
she possibly could about the saga of the Thirteenth Tribe.  On all the
occasions he'd spoken with her since, he was amazed at how she'd embraced
the belief in Earth's existence with as much fervor as his father
pur-sued it with.
     But then again, he mused further, since being parted from the man
who'd been the center of her life; Sheba had been in desperate need of
having something to believe in, in order for her life to have any new
kind of meaning.  Embracing the belief in Earth as a hope for humanity
was the least she could have done under the circumstances.
     There I go again analyzing her, Apollo suddenly chided himself.  Why
in the name of Kobol do I keep doing that?  It seems like ever since she
came here I've been doing nothing but wanting to probe her feelings on
everything.  What is it about her that makes me want to do that so much?
     Before he allowed his mind to ponder that question, he abruptly,
deliberately, shut his mind off from those thoughts and returned to the
matter at hand.
     "One problem at a time, Sheba," he said, "Our first concern is
finding traces of Silver Spar patrol.  Let's head on in for a first
look."
     The three Vipers angled down toward the pale red planet and entered
its atmosphere, their engines roaring like angry beasts.  As soon as the
cloud cover dissipated around them, they were greeted to a strange sight
in the sky around them and the landscape beneath them.
     "Apollo...Starbuck...look at the color of the vegetation," Sheba
said in amazement. "It's all red."
     "Red...and probably dead too," quipped Starbuck.
     "Yeah," the same tone was in Apollo's voice, "I've never seen
anything like this before.  Try to find a place to set down and we'll do
some investigating on foot."
     "Hey just over that rise ahead," Starbuck quickly interjected with a
note of excitement, "Look at that."
     As the vipers streaked over the landscape, they were surprised to
first see the sky around them return to a normal color, and then beneath
them, a blackened scarred gully filled with massive pieces of some kind
of wreckage that Apollo didn't recognize.
     "Looks like something big hit this area," the flight leader said,
"So big it destroyed and burned out all the vegetation.
     That's why the sky's now a normal color again."
     "I got it on visual," said Starbuck.  "Just to the left of center. 
Some kind of wreckage.  Kobol, whatever it was must've been huge."
     "Let's swing around and go in," a determined edge entered Apollo's
voice as the three of them banked their vipers and came back into the red
areas beyond the gully where an open field came in to view.  Less than a
centon later, like giant birds sweeping in for a landing, the three of
them set down on the spongy red grass just beyond the crest of the
crater.
     Sheba was the first to pop up her canopy and drop to the ground. 
She quickly surveyed the area and sprinted across the field to where
Apollo and Starbuck had just gotten out of theirs, gathering together
beside Apollo's ship.  The red glow of the sky cast its strange tint not
only on the surroundings, but on each other as well.
     "This is the strangest light I've ever seen," Apollo shook his head
in disbelief at what seemed like something out of an old fairy-tale story
to him.
     "You two should see yourselves," Starbuck grinned at Apollo and
Sheba, "You both look like a bad contrast pic-ture on a hovermobile
operator's license come to life."
     "So do you Starbuck," Sheba smirked back at him, "And in your case,
you never looked better."
     The brash warrior chuckled as he realized that he'd been topped. 
After the way she had so expertly cut him down to size when he'd made his
subtle prop-osition attempt before the Gomoray commando mission, he
realized he should have known better.
     "Well at least the atmosphere readings check out," Apollo's eyes
wandered about the field and the nearby forests.
     "Comfortable to breathe in every sense."
     "And yet everything's so creepy," the smirk faded from Sheba's them
in their field of vision, expression as she stopped to take in the
surroundings.
     "But alive," Starbuck tried to reassert an optimistic note.
     "The wreckage is about five hundred metrones that way," Apollo
pointed to an area where the red glow's dissipation became apparent,
"Let's check it out."
     Several centons later, they had emerged in the more reassuring glow
of a normal-tinged sky.  But once they looked beneath them at what lay in
the gully far below, that reassurance promptly vanished.
     "Would you look at the size of that crater," Apollo said in
near-awe, "Whatever hit this place must have been as big as a
battlestar."
     "And that," Starbuck pointed, "looks like the remains of a very big
ship."
     They stared at the twisted, blackened remains of the massive craft
beneath them, trying to see if it registered any sense of familiarity
with them.
     "About the only reassuring thing I can say, is that that's obviously
not a viper, let alone four of them," Apollo said.
     "I wonder," Starbuck mused, "Are there any records of battlestars
disappearing without a trace since the war began?"
     "Yes," Sheba said as she looked at the wreckage with the same
transfixed amazement, "The Battlestar Callisto disappeared five hundred
yah-rens ago with no explanation while on a deep space intelligence
probe, but as big as that thing is, I doubt that it's a battlestar or
anything else Colonial for that matter."
     "Let's get a closer look," Apollo said as they started down the
sloping hillside.
     They had only gone twenty feet, when the three of them were suddenly
startled by a sound from behind them.
     "Hey, you three!" cried a deep baritone voice from the lip of the
crater.  "Stay away from there!  It's dangerous!"
     The three warriors all grabbed for their laser pistols as they spun
around, startled.
     An incredible vision confronted them.  Standing on the crest of the
crater, where they had stood only microns ago, was a man of slightly
above average height and he appeared to be human.  His face was oval
shaped, with sleepy-looking brown eyes and dark, but slightly graying
hair that topped his high fore-head.  A moustache and a goatee topped off
his facial features.   He had a regal bearing, all the more accentuated
by his amazing apparel.  He wore striking red boots, pants, and a jacket,
all of which were made of a metallic, satin-like material that sparkled
in the sunlight, making him seem more like someone who belonged in a
royal hall than amidst the squalid emptiness of a deserted planet. 
Despite the man's warning, he made no initial move toward them, and
remained standing still and composed on top of the ridge.
     "Where did he come from?" Sheba whispered in bafflement, "The
scanners said no life forms."
     And then, as the three warriors watched in total incredulity, he
slowly made his way down the slope to where the three warriors were
standing.
     By the time he reached to within five feet of them, he added,
"Proteon radiation. The crater is saturated with it."
     Apollo stared at the goateed man in the metallic-red jumpsuit, one
hand on his laser pistol, Starbuck and Sheba following his example.  "Who
in Kobol are you?" he said.
     The man noticed their actions.  "Don't be afraid. I'm not going to
hurt you," he said, raising his bushy eye-brows.
     The three warriors exchanged uncertain looks.
     Starbuck was the only one who still had his pistol out, and he kept
it cautiously trained on him.  "What is this place?" he said.  "And where
did you come from?"
     "You mean originally or just now?" the man countered again in a
gentle retort. "Really, young man, if you're going to ask me questions
you need to be more specific."
     "Look," said Apollo, "this word game isn't getting us anywhere."
     "The trouble is, my friend," said the man, a slightly mocking in his
voice, "I was here first.  You're the strangers."
     "We mean you no harm," Apollo said, adopting a diplomatic tone. 
     "You needn't worry," the man said again.  "I'm not a monster.  Look,
I have five fingers, two arms, one head, and, I assure you, no webbing
between the toes.  I'm as human as you are."
     "Who are you? Apollo repeated his first question.
     "Who are you?" the man coun-tered, this time with a slightly more
hostile edge in his voice.
     "I asked you first," said Apollo, slightly beginning to lose
patience with the stranger.
     "Uh, Apollo," Starbuck whisp-ered, "why don't we...er...humor him?"
     Apollo nodded, catching Star-buck's drift.  "I'm Captain Apollo, of
the battlestar Galactica, and these are my friends, Starbuck and Sheba. 
How long have you been watching us?"
     The man looked at Sheba, smiling.  "Sorry about that.  I couldn't
help but notice your attractive com-panion there.  Do you gents see
anything wrong with a man watching a beautiful girl?"
     Sheba found herself blushing, feeling just a little bit flattered.
"You still haven't told us who you are or where you came from?" she said.
     "Ah, I seem to have forgotten my manners." The man turned to Apollo
and bowed slightly. "My name is Morbus," he said finally. "Late of the
planet Lyre."
     "How did you get here?" Apollo said.
     "How does anybody get any-where?" Morbus answered sarcastically.
     Apollo quietly motioned Starbuck to lower his pistol.  As his friend
put it back in his holster, Sheba cautiously spoke for the first time
since they'd seen him. "That must've been your ship," Sheba said,
pointing to the wreck down in the gully without taking her eyes off the
stranger.
     The man's eyes gazed down and the grave aura of his expression only
increased. "It used to be." 
     "You're obviously human.  Do you need our help?" Apollo said.
     From where I stand, it looks like you're the one needing help," the
man said.  "My help."
     "Your help?" Starbuck refused to lower his pistol, "Are there others
like you?"
     The man's face suddenly took on a grave expression. "Not on this
rock-ball, I'm sorry to say."
     "But on this planet Lyre you claim to come from?" 
     "Thousands, friend.  Thousands."
     Apollo and Starbuck glanced at each other and saw each of them
thinking that the man could very well be unbalanced.
     "Your ship..." said Sheba, pointing at the burned hulk that dwarfed
them all.
     "Hmmm---what about it?"
     "How did it crash?"
     "It didn't crash," he said. "It was destroyed," 
     "By whom?" Apollo asked.
     "Destroyed by my enemies," he said simply, and then left it at that.
     "Do you mean the Cylon Em-pire?" Sheba gently prodded.
     "No, I don't," he replied flatly, and once again refused to go
further.
     Despite putting his pistol away, Starbuck refused to be as
diplomatic in his tone, " And just who are your enemies?"
     "You don't want to hear about them, believe me," the stranger said. 
"Can we move away from here?  I'd rather not be reminded of what happened
to my people." 
     Even before he had finished though, the man had already started to
move off back up the slop toward the path that led back to the top of the
ridge.
     Cautiously, the three warriors began to follow him.  Apollo pulled
out the portable scanner from his belt pack and quickly activated it.  As
he trained it on the man ahead, he frowned in dis-belief, tapping it
slightly with his hand.
     "Something wrong?" said Starbuck.
     "I---I don't get it.  I see him stan-ding there, but he doesn't give
off a re-ading," Apollo said.  "No brain waves, no pulse, nothing."
     Starbuck gave Apollo a wry look, then unstrapped his own scanner and
aimed it at the departing man.  The stranger was almost out of sight
behind the ridge.  He stopped in his tracks and spoke to them without
looking back.
     "Uh, excuse me," he said.  "I couldn't help but notice you gents
trying to use your scanners on me.  Well, don't bother.  The proteon
field here from the crash is much too strong.  It causes interference."
     He resumed walking, and again the three Galactica warriors followed,
leaving the massive wreckage of the ship behind them alone and forgotten
for now.
     They moved back into the reddish tinted area, and for a brief micron
Apollo felt a sense of unease go through him when he saw the mysterious
man bathed in the red glow.  He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but
the sight alone see-med like a warning flag that he should be wary of.
     He watched as the man came to a stop in front of a small pond on the
other side of the meadow where the three vipers were parked.  His
shoulders seemed to sag in weariness, causing Sheba to come over to him
and offer an arm in support.
     "I don't understand it," Starbuck mused quietly to Apollo out of the
corner of his mouth. "Who is this guy?" 
     Apollo didn't respond imm-diately.  His attention was still on the
man, and on Sheba.
     "Apollo?" Starbuck gently nud-ged him.
     "Sorry," Apollo shook his head, "I was just thinking."
     "And?"
     His friend took a breath, "I don't know.  I've got a very strange
feeling about him."
     "Tell me about it," the brash lieutenant grunted.
     "I don't know," said Apollo.  "But I somehow have the feeling that
we've stumbled onto something that could change our lives."
     Starbuck looked at his friend with amazement.
     "Change our lives?  Him?"
     "Him," Apollo nodded.  "He gives off an incredibly commanding aura."
     "What I don't understand is how he could survive that fiery crash
without a scratch on him. Especially if that ship crashing is the tie-in
to what the Commander was telling us about the massive seismic
disturbance the Galactica's scanners picked up," Star-buck said.
     "Which could connect somehow with Silver Spar Squadron's
disappear-ance." Apollo added. "I think I'd better do some delicate
probing of him."
     The two of them made their way over to the edge of the pond.
     "I'm feeling very weary," the man was saying to Sheba. "Like I'm
drained of all my energy."
     Sheba knelt down beside him.  She dipped her hand into the water and
bathed his forehead.
     "We have some emergency rations with us," Sheba's tone was gentle
and friendly, as she continued to hold him up by the arm. "We'll be happy
to share them with you."
     The stranger turned and smiled warmly at her, " Thank you, that's
very kind," his voice matched the grateful benevolence of his smile. "But
no thank you, it's not food I need."
     "Look," Apollo entered the con-versation, keeping his tone cautious
and diplomatic, "Mr, Morbus, how did you survive the crash?"
     The stranger did not look at him.  His eyes were focused on
something in the distance, a blank frown coming over his face. "I've been
wondering about that myself." He sounded apologetic. "I don't know why
but I simply can't remember."
     "You spoke of your people," Star-buck said.  "Some of them were
traveling with you on that ship?"
     The stranger nodded.  "Yes.  But, alas, my shipmates are now gone
from this dimension.  Gone on to other things..." His voice trailed off
as he turned away and looked off into the distance.
     Before any of the warriors could say anything else, he abruptly
turned around and started to cautiously pace in front of them, "But what
about you?  You must have people.  Will you be returning to them soon?"
     "Yes," Apollo nodded.
     The caution suddenly faded from Morbus's face and was replaced by an
expression of politeness.  "Could I...Could I please come with you?" 
     "We'd have to know a little more about you and this world you come
from, Lyre," Apollo said, as he tried to be firm without being
antagonistic.
     "I don't see why I shoulds share that information with you." Morbus
walked several steps away from them.  "They're light-yahrens ahead of you
and I doubt very seriously our peoples have ever contacted each other."
     "Yes, but if they are human, maybe there's some connection,"
Starbuck said hopefully, moving toward him.  "I mean---it's possible."
     "Anything's possible," said the stranger.  " In fact, it's possible
I could help you with your quest."
     "Oh?" Apollo raised an eyebrow, "What quest is that?"
     "Whatever it is you're looking for," the man in metallic scarlet
said simply and then looked off into the distance.  "I have infinite
knowledge of the universe.  If you desire my help, I think we had best be
going immediately."
     And then, the mysterious man called Morbus walked off in the
direction of the three vipers.
     "Well," Apollo said aloud to Sheba and Starbuck, "What's your
preliminary assessment?"
     "He's likeable," said Starbuck, "but he's also," he tapped his head
with his pointer finger, "crazy."
     "He might be," Apollo agreed.  "Then again, he might not be.  Why
the frak won't he tell me more about himself?"
     "Maybe he doesn't want to," said Sheba.  "What difference does it
make?  He's human.  And he's all alone."
     Apollo looked at Sheba and frowned. "I just wish I knew where the
frack he came from," Apollo kept his eye on Morbus's retreating form.
     "You keep asking that," Sheba seemed amazed by the level of
suspicion in his voice, "What does it matter?"
     Apollo looked back at her, equally amazed by her lack of suspicion,
"It should matter a lot, Sheba.  Especially since he's here for no
apparent reason, and we're still left with an unanswered question about
what happened to our missing pilots."
     "I don't even think you bothered to put the question to him," she
retorted mildly. "Not that he'd probably know a thing about it anyway. 
At least we know he's human.  And he's all alone."
     "Sheba, why are you suddenly so protective of him?" Apollo's
amazement deepened, "So far, he's been nothing but evasive with us."
     "He's probably just confused and disoriented," she held her ground.
"I think he's in shock from the explosion."
     "She's got a point, Apollo," Star-buck conceded.  "If he ejected
from that ship, the fall may have hurt him."
     "I don't buy it," Apollo shook his head, "He doesn't look any too
tattered to me.  His suit is neatly immac-ulate, and there's not a hair
out of place on his head. There has to be more to it."
     "Well," said Starbuck, shrugging his shoulders, "we can't very well
leave him behind."
     "Have you considered that he might be some sort of spy?" Apollo
sug-gested. "Someone who was planted here and knew we'd be coming.  Done
after whatever it was that caused Spock and the others to disappear."
     As soon as he mentioned the name of her only friend left from the
Pegasus, Sheba looked back at where Morbus was standing, as though she
were inwardly reproaching herself for not being cautious enough.
     Starbuck considered it. "He's only one man," he said.  "If we keep
our guard up, I just don't see what he could do."
     Apollo cast another glance at the mysterious Mr. Morbus and finally
nod-ded. "Okay," he agreed.  "But let's make sure he isn't carrying any
kind of homing device."
     "Good idea," Sheba said, her voice more cautious than it had been
before, "If this is one of Baltar's little tricks, maybe it'll backfire."
     "Starbuck, get yourself into orbit and radio the Galactica that we
need a shuttle.  And see if there's any further word from Silver Spar. 
If we're lucky, maybe they've turned up while we've been away."
     "Right," Starbuck nodded and headed off to where his viper was
parked.  At the same time, Apollo and Sheba went over to the other side
of the meadow where Morbus remained trans-fixed, looking up at the sky
from time to time.
     They reached the mysterious man just as Starbuck's viper powered up
and took off into the atmosphere to begin its return trip.
     "We're ready to leave now," said Apollo.  "Are you absolutely
certain you want to come back with us?"
     The stranger only smiled, nodded in the affirmative, and then moved
off into the center of the meadow.
     Apollo gave Sheba a sarcastic glance, "Overwhelmed with gratitude,
isn't he?"
     "Apollo," she gently chided, "That's enough.  We've taken all the
precautions we need to for now.  Let's not make things difficult."
     Apollo kept looking at her for a long micron as though he wanted to
say something else.  But before he could do that, Sheba had moved off in
Morbus's direction.
     As soon as they came to where Morbus was, Apollo and Sheba were both
startled by an entirely new sight.  There was the sudden sound of several
explosions in the distance and the red sky washed out to white on the
horizon.  White balls of light, impossibly bright, streaked across the
sky toward them at astonishing speeds.  It did not seem possible to the
warriors that anything could move that fast, yet the white balls of eye
searing light hurtled across the sky so quickly that they almost hurt
their necks trying to follow their progress.  They emitted a piercing
high-pitched sound that became deafening, the closer they came and as
they passed by overhead, both warriors doubled over and clutched at their
heads, covering their ears in an effort to block out the nerve-shattering
noise.
     The stranger, however, remained perfectly erect and didn't even
flinch in response to the sound.  There was a look of cold fury in his
eyes, which now seemed to blaze with an unholy light.
     "What is it?" Sheba moaned in near agony from the noise. "What's
happening?"
     As soon as she'd finished, the noise level slackened off and the
lights began to fade from view.
     "I don't know," Apollo took his hands down and looked at Mr. Morbus
in amazement. "But it didn't even faze him."
     "Behold, the enemies of my people," said the stranger, still looking
suspiciously at the now empty sky. "They whose intent it was to enslave
us until the end of time.  They're after me, and they won't stop until
I'm in their clutches again."
     "They're after you, Mr. Morbus?" Apollo took a step toward him. 
"What are you talking about?  How can some lights in the sky be after
you?"
     Morbus turned back and the warm smile returned to his face, "Oh,
Great Mother of the Egg, what am I saying?  The lonely dreariness of this
place must have caused my imagination to run amok.  Thank you, once
again, for taking me back to your people."
     "You're most welcome." Apollo straightened his jacket as he shook
off the rest of the unnerving noise's effect from his head.  "Lieutenant
Starbuck is signalling our ship to send over a shut-tlecraft that will
take you back to our ship.  It should be here in a matter of time."
     He moved away from them toward their vipers and seemed to cast an
admiring glance at the machinery.
     Apollo shook his head in amaze-ment, "He must be as mad as a
Scorpian hermit."
     Sheba suddenly threw him a disapproving glance, "For Sagan's sake
Apollo, do you have to be so rude?"
     "I'm not being rude," he kept his attention on Morbus, "That's just
the way he seems to me.  If he isn't a prime candidate for the Nuthouse,
he's holding something back."
     "Is your first instinct always to be unfriendly to people you don't
completely recognize?" she retorted in a cold tone that caused Apollo to
look at her.
     "What do you mean by that?" he asked gently.
     She drew herself up and defiantly shook her head, "Nothing," she
said, "Never mind."
     "No come on," he took her by the arm, "I want to know what you meant
by that, Sheba."
     Sheba took a breath, "If you must know, I'm reminded of how you were
ready to think that my father was a madman just because he pursued a
different line of strategic thinking from the one you preferred."
     Apollo rolled his eyes in disgust, "Oh for the love of... Sheba, are
you try-ing to tell me that after a whole secton of trying to..." he
broke off and suddenly walked away, too angry and hurt to say anything
else.
     It only took a micron for Sheba to catch up with him, "Apollo wait,"
she took him by the shoulder, "Apollo, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean..."
     He turned around and calmly exhaled, "Okay," he said gently.  "Okay,
let's forget that whole thing.  Let's both agree for now to just be on
our guard about this Morbus person and jump to no more conclusions until
the facts warrant it."
     "Agreed," Sheba nodded and extended her hand, "Truce?"
     He smiled and took it, "Truce."
     They came up to Morbus, and when Apollo spoke, his tone was more
polite than it had been at any other point.
     "Mr. Morbus, there's one question I neglected to ask you. Have you
seen any other people like us, or any ships like ours before or after you
came to be here?"
     "Other Colonial warriors?" Morbus thoughtfully mused, "No, I can't
say that I have.  I certainly don't think I'd be in this lonely
predicament of mine if I had seen anyone else."
     Apollo didn't bat an eyelash or lessen the politeness of his tone,
"Excuse me Mr. Morbus, but do you mean you know what kind of people we
are?  I don't think I mentioned the term Colonial warriors."
     The stranger broke into a disarming smile, "Yes, I understand what
you mean, Captain.  But the Twelve Colonies of Mankind are known to me. 
Remember,  I said my knowledge of the universe is infinite---including
the knowledge of your people, and of your quest."
     "And you say you can help us in that?" Apollo folded his arms.
     "It's not out of the question." He turned away from them, "I feel so
tired from my ordeal.  Is it asking too much if these questions---yes, I
know they're legitimate ones--- wait until I'm aboard your ship and have
had a chance to recover myself more?"
     "Certainly," Apollo said, "We'll let things go until then."
     As Morbus moved off again back toward the middle of the meadow,
Apollo shot a glance at Sheba and felt a tinge of unease at the look of
fascination on her face, as she kept her eyes trained on the stranger.
     He found himself dearly hoping that it didn't mean anything
significant.

*****

     The shuttle arrived twenty cen-tons later and came to a stop in the
mid-dle of the meadow.  Morbus wasted little time in boarding it.  As
soon as it was away, Apollo and Sheba took off in their vipers, and as
soon as they reached escape velocity from the planet, ren-dezvoused with
Starbuck's viper, which had been staying in a holding pattern during the
entire time.  The three fighters then assumed a protective flank around
the shuttle to begin escorting it back to the Galactica.
     "Dotha?" Apollo radioed the shuttle pilot, "How's our guest acting?"
     The voice of the young female shuttle pilot came back through his
headset, "He's acting perfectly normal Captain.  Just sitting  in the
back relaxing.  He hasn't said a word since he said hello to me, but he
does seem grateful that he's off that rock."
     "Okay thanks.  Let me know if he says anything, or if something
funny happens."
     "Are you expecting something to happen, sir?" Dotha inquired.
     "I'm not sure, Dotha," Apollo said, "I'm not sure."
     The flight leader then switched frequencies, "Starbuck, did you get
any word from the Galactica on Silver Spar group?"
     "The word was---that there's still no word, Apollo," Starbuck
sounded de-jected, "I hate to say this, but barring a miracle, I don't
know if I have much hope for them at this point."
     "So much for your vaunted optimism, Starbuck," Sheba suddenly
snapped, "I don't want to hear you say that."
     "Look Sheba, I'm only repeating facts."
     "I refuse to believe Spock's gone," she said, "Somehow, I think
things will turn out all right."
     "How?" Starbuck demanded, "Do you feel like telling me?"
     "I don't know," her voice trailed off, "Something I felt, when I was
talking to Mr. Morbus on the planet."
     "I didn't hear him say anything to inspire confidence on that point,
Sheba," Apollo said, choosing his words very carefully.
     "Maybe not," she said with slight awe, "And yet at one point, I
could feel it.  Being with him somehow makes me think that something
important and good for all of us is going to happen."
     Apollo promptly choked off the retort he was thinking of and kept
silent.  Starbuck was too incredulous to say anything himself at this
point.
     What's got into you, Sheba?  Apollo thought.  Is there any reason
why you want to trust him so willingly?
     The reassuring sight of the Galactica finally came into their field
of vision.  As each ship contacted the in-visible force field of the
landing bay, the black, box wired into its guidance system cancelled out
the field so that the craft could pass through the atmospheric shield as
though it were nothing more than a semi-permeable membrane.  There was a
pop-ping sound that accompanied the pas-sage of each ship through the
field as some of the atmosphere inside the ship escaped into space, but
the amount lost was infinitesimal and did not threaten the lives of the
ground crews who worked in the landing bay. 
     The ships lined up on their landing points and settled slowly to the
deck of the landing bay.  The ground crews rushed forward to secure the
craft and to being their maintenance tasks.
     As Apollo got out of his viper and dropped to the tarmac, he felt
his stom-ach knot slightly when he saw Sheba in-stinctively  head toward
the shuttle as soon as she was out of her viper.
     At that point, Apollo saw Colonel Tigh step off the turbo lift and
enter the landing bay, with Athena trailing him.  A look of concern lined
the executive off-icer's face.
     "Starbuck said you needed a shuttle, but there was no sign of the
others," Tigh said, "Would you tell me exactly what happened there?"
     "We didn't find Silver Spar, but we didn't exactly come up empty
Col-onel," Apollo said. "We found some-body."
     Before Apollo could go on, Sheba escorted the mysterious stranger in
the sparkling scarlet jumpsuit up to where they were standing, "May I
introduce our guest?" she smiled and motioned to Iblis, "Mr. Morbus, this
is Colonel Tigh, and Lieutenant Athena."
     "It's a pleasure to meet you, Colonel," said Morbus, bowing slightly
as he'd done before when he'd intro-duced himself on the planet, "An
honor, Colonel."
     The executive officer said nothing, and appeared to look him over
with a dubious expression.
     "I know your mind is full of questions," Morbus went on, "But as I
explained to Captain Apollo, I'm hoping to find somewhere to rest after
my ordeal."
     "I'll be glad to give you and my father a quick debriefing," Apollo
said to Tigh, "But I'm sure he'll want to talk to Mr. Morbus at length."
     Tigh slowly nodded, "Of course.  Sheba, once you and Mr. Morbus
finish de-con, proceed to the Life Station.  I'm sure Dr. Salik will help
you find suitable quar-ters for our guest."
     Sheba was still beaming as she motioned Morbus to follow her out of
the landing bay toward the decontamination chamber.
     Standard procedure dictated using it whenever a warrior came back
from a mission that had required him to land on an unknown planet.
     "As soon as you finish decon, report directly to the Commander's
quarters," Tigh said to Apollo, who was still staring at where Sheba and
Iblis had disappeared, "He'll have to fill me in later.  I'm only here
because I'm on my way over to the agro-ship to see if the crop levels are
at a point where some of the food shortages can be taken care of."
     "Trouble acting up again on that front?" Starbuck asked.
     "You better believe it," Tigh said, "Council Security reported there
was a near-riot aboard the Ranger last night over food supply shortages. 
We've had to double the detail on all of the passenger freighters."
     "Those dumb crasodies couldn't put down a riot of one school child
throwing a tantrum over no mushies for dessert," Starbuck snorted, "One
Colonial Security man like Castor is worth a hundred men like Reese."
     "Be that as it may, they're all we've got to handle the situation. 
You know what kind of an uproar would happen with the Council if we had
to send in Colonial Security men to handle a situation like that," Tigh
said as he started to move away, "I know I'll be interested in hearing
the report when I get back.
     Our guest seems...very interesting." Apollo mumbled a half-hearted
acknowledgment and then moved off to the decontamination center, leaving
Starbuck and Athena alone together for the moment.  Immediately, Starbuck
felt a wave of discomfort hit him.  Ever since his relationship with
Athena had fizzled out many sectars ago, he'd gotten the distinct
impression that Athena had been developing a cold hostility toward him.
     But to his amazement, when Athena spoke, her tone was anything but
antagonistic.
     "There's something bothering him," her eyes were still trained on
her brother, who had finally disappeared from view down the corridor, "I
know that look on his face."
     Starbuck decided it was safe to talk, "Well, I don't think Mr.
Morbus ex-actly inspires confidence in him---or me, for that matter."
     "But he seems to with Sheba," Athena noted, "And that appears to be
bothering Apollo already."     Starbuck chose his next words carefully,
"Athena," he said, "Have you ever gotten the impression that maybe
Apollo..."
     "Has some kind of interest in Sheba?" Athena finished without
looking at her one-time boyfriend, "I certainly have.  And what's sad
about it, is that he feels that if he ever admitted that to him-self, let
alone anyone else, he'd feel like he was violating Serina's memory. 
That's why he's been keeping it bottled up in-side him as much as he
possibly can."
     "You ever plan on telling him that?"
     Athena looked at him and her expression took on that cold aura
Star-buck had been expecting sooner or later, "I will not, and if he
means anything to you as a friend, you won't either.  If Ap-ollo's gone
soft on Sheba, then he has to either admit that to himself, or else
She-ba has to get the hint that he really does care and drag it out of
him someday on her terms.  The best thing I can do as his sister is just
steer clear of the whole thing."
     "The best thing?" Starbuck raised an eyebrow, "Are you really sure
of that?"
     "I am," her cold expression deepened, "I have known him longer than
you, Starbuck."
     Starbuck was on the verge of making another retort, but then decided
that he'd only be making things worse.  If it had been anyone but him,
Athena might not have been so hostile.  But the relative ease in which he
had gone over to Cassiopeia after their break-up had seemingly produced a
bitterness in Athena that wasn't apt to heal for a long time.  Which
Starbuck regretted, because he still cared deeply for Athena in a
non-romantic way.
     "I've got to do decon myself," Starbuck said calmly, "Can't keep
Apollo and the Commander waiting."
     He felt an intense sense of relief as he went through the
compartment door and heard it close behind him.
     Ten centons later, with their decontamination procedure finished,
Apollo and Starbuck were both in Adama's quarters giving him their report
on what had happened.
     "All right," he said.  "I want to hear about this man who calls
himself Morbus."  The commander was incred-ulous as he paced about the
room.  You said he was all alone on this planet."
     "As far as we could tell," his son said, "Along with the wreckage of
an immense ship of unfamiliar design."
     Adama stopped in front of his desk and looked directly at the both
of them, "What's your report on the wrec-kage?"
     "Well it was giving off except-ionally high proteon levels," Apollo
ex-plained. "We couldn't move into the area without returning to the
Galactica for special gear," Starbuck added.
     "Too bad," Adama mused in disappointment, "And yet he survived
despite the proteon levels?"
     "I can only speculate he ejected from the ship before she was
struck," Apollo said, wishing he could come up with a better possibility
than that.
     His father lifted an eyebrow, "Struck by the Cylons?"
     "Not according to him," Starbuck said.
     "Then what?" Adama prodded, "Did he elaborate?"
     "He wasn't making much sense about that," the blonde lieutenant went
on, "Who knows what condition his mind was in after going through the
encounter he'd been through."
     "Yet he specifically ruled out the Cylons?"
     "He did."
     "Father," a pointed, urgent edge entered Apollo's voice, "He seemed
to be very evasive.  I don't trust him."
     Adama paused to reflect for a moment before responding. "Very well,
then," he said as he sat behind his desk, "I want a complete report on
him from the Life Station.  Thought module, neuro lights, everything up
to and including ele-ctron thought regeneration."
     "Don't you think that some sort of, well, formal greeting might be
in order before we compel him to submit to all that?" Apollo said.
     "All right, all right," said Adama.  "Bring him up to my quarters as
soon as possible.  Give him as much time as he needs to rest and as soon
as he feels like talking I need to see him."
     The two warriors nodded and left Adama alone to his paperwork.

*****

     After finishing with the decon-tamination procedure, Sheba led
Morbus down the corridor in the direction of the Galactica's Life
Station.
     "We can stop here for some ultranutrients and a quick
lumination-regeneration treatment," Sheba said.  "They'll help you get
your strength up and get you through the debriefing."
     Morbus , who'd been seemingly paying little attention to her,
abruptly stopped in his tracks and said in a flat monotone, "No, no.  I
can't do that!"
     Sheba turned around and looked at him with surprise.  "Hey, it's not
that I don't appreciate your concerns," he smiled as the air of charming
warmth returned to his voice, "But I've got my own concerns."
     "We only want to help you," she said reassuringly.
     "Aw, I know that," said Morbus.
     "But you don't understand," a distant quality entered his voice. 
"What might be beneficial for your people could prove destructive to me."
     "They're the very latest----"
     "For your time," Morbus interrupted and then looked her in the eye,
"For your time perhaps.  But...as you sensed back on the planet...by the
pond, when you held me by the arm...I'm...quite...different."
     For almost a centon Sheba's gaze was locked on his smiling visage. 
Finding herself thoroughly captivated by his expression and the soft,
gentelness of his words.
     "How about showing me more of this ship?" said Morbus. "If it
wouldn't be too much trouble for you, of course."
     "I really should be getting you to..." Sheba stopped.  Morbus was
looking at her and smiling.  And she couldn't tear her eyes away from
his.  She seemed to be falling into them.  Falling into eyes whose pupils
seemed to blaze red hot like the fires of Hell.  Nodding affirmatively,
she said, "This way."
     With that, she moved away from the door to the Life Station corridor
and began leading him in the other direction toward the turbo lift that
led to the Bridge.

*****

     Damn, Athena kept saying to herself over and over again, ever since
her chilly tˆte-...-tˆte with Starbuck in the landing bay had ended, and
she'd returned to her station on the Bridge.  Just once, can't I get
through a con-versation with that man without treating him like a Piscean
plague?"
     And yet, whenever Athena tried to put the whole matter of Starbuck
into some kind of perspective, she found that it was impossible to be
anything other than angry at the man she'd once been on the verge of
marrying before the Holocaust.  It was true that she'd rebuffed his
awkward request to go ahead with those plans when he'd confrontedher in
the warrior's locker room, but to her way of thinking, she should have
expected that.  Coming so soon after the tragic loss of her brother Zac,
and her mother Ila, she found it impossible to think that Starbuck
wouldn't understand her reluctance to formally commit herself in
something as sacred as getting sealed.  At least not yet.
     What still rankled Athena, and what she could never in her heart
forgive Starbuck for, was his refusal to be patient with her. 
Inevitably, over time, she might have been able to overcome her
reluctance.  Surely he could have recognized that, and just waited her
out for a while, when the time would become right to move forward again. 
If he truly loved her, as he said he did on more than one occasion to
her, then he would have waited.
     Instead, it seemed s though he'd been ready to drop her in a micron
and move on to the next woman that crossed his path.  Which turned out to
be a young socialator-turned-med tech named Cassiopeia.  In doing that,
she felt a sense of betrayal that was impossible to forgive or forget,
even though she had nothing against Cassiopeia as a person.  To her way
of thinking, Starbuck hadn't given her a fair chance.
     She'd resigned herself to the fact that Cassiopeia had stolen
Starbuck's heart away forever.  As of yet though, she hadn't been able to
overcome her inner devotion to the man she'd once loved, to the point
where she might feel comfortable seeking someone else out.
     Damn you for making my life a fracking mess, Starbuck, she said to
herself as she went to the main communications bank on the far side of
the Bridge wall.
     "Omega?" she motioned to the young bridge officer, "could you come
over here?"
     "Just a micron," Omega adjusted his headset, "Colonel Tigh, your
shuttle is cleared to land in Alpha Bay.  Commander Adama wants you to
report to his quarters as soon as you're back aboard."
     The bridge officer then came down from his console on the upper
level of the bridge and joined Athena at the communications banks.
     "Run down the checklist for all of the communications systems," she
said.  "They're due for a full inspection now."
     For the next several centons, the two of them went over each
monitor, and each piece of communications circuitry, making sure that
each was in proper working order.
     "Looks to be running smoothly," Athena said.
     All of a sudden, the images on several of the monitors in back of
them were filled with snow and static.
     "What in the---?" Athena was caught off guard and then pulled her
earpiece out as she heard the annoying sizzle of static.  "Omega, what
the frack happened?"
     "Can't tell," the bridge officer looked befuddled.  "It doesn't seem
possible."
     At that moment, they were both distracted by the sight of Sheba
entering the bridge.  Behind her, Morbus followed her steps, looking
about the bridge with considerable interest.
     "This is our communications center, where we can maintain a constant
monitor on all the ships in the Fleet," Sheba was saying to the man, and
hten motioned toward the banks.  "Lieutenant Athena, whom you met
earlier, is in charge of this station."
     Athena looked up in surprise at the sight of the two people who had
provoked her hostile conversation with Starbuck earlier.
     "Nice to see you again, Lieu-tenant," Morbus smiled and bowed.
     "Yes," she dimly nodded.  "I'm,a ah, sorry our hands are a bit tied
right now.  We seem to be receiving some unexpected geomagnetic
interference.  The whole system was fine a centon ago."
     "Sorry to see that," Sheba said and then looked back at Morbus. 
"She's experiencing one of the many problems of space travel," explained
Sheba.  "Geo-magnetic fields, equipment failures. But I'm sure you
understand all that, don't you?"
     "Quite well, Morbus kept smiling. "Quite well."
     As Sheba led him away from the banks, Athena found herself thinking
about the potential ramifications.  She was so lost in thought that she
didn't initially feel Omega tugging at her sleeve.
     "Look at this," the bridge officer said in amazement.  "Now it's all
cleared up again."
     Athena looked back and her eyes widened in amazement at the sight of
the clear images on the monitors.
     Strange, she thought.  When he was here, they were all crazy.  And
now that he's gone, they're back to normal.  And why is Sheba just
leading him about in an area like this?
     "Omega," Athena said quietly, "get hold of the landing bay and see
if Tigh's landed.  I think he has to tell the Commander about this."

*****

     Adama was still absorbed in administrative paperwork when he saw his
door slide open and a concerned Tigh enter.
     "Ah, I'm glad you're back, Tigh," Adama said.  "What's the situation
on the agro-ship?"
     "Adama, I think something more serious just came up," the executive
officer said.  "As soon as I  was aboard, I got an urgent message from
Athena.  Our strange visitor just left the bridge with Sheba.  I've got a
Security team tracking them down now."
     Adama suddenly dropped his papers onto his desk.
     "Just left the bridge?" his voice was equal parts angry and stunned. 
"Good Lord, Colonel, what sort of ship are we running here?  A perfect
stranger comes aboard the Galactica and he's being shown sensitive
military control centers without so much as a hello, who are you?"
     Tigh stiffened in embarrassment.  At the moment, he was kicking
himself inwardly for not having stayed aboard and keeping an eye on
Morbus himself, instead of shuttling over to the agro-ship as he'd done.
     "It...does seem a bit out of the ordinary."
     "Out of the ordinary?"
     Tigh winced.  When Adama grew angry, heads rolled.
     "Sheba's the type of warrior who should know better. Why would she
do this?"
     "I don't know," Tigh said.
     The commander went over to the inercom and pressed the switch that
tied him into the communications network throughout the entire ship. 
"Attention, Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Starbuck.  Report back to my
quarters imm-ediately."
     Adama looked back at his old friend and seemed on the verge of
seething.  "I want some answers about that man, Tigh.  And I want them
now!"

*****

     "Down this way is the Rejuven-ation Center," Sheba motioned as she
and Iblis got off the turbo lift and began walking down the corridor. 
"The place where we spend much of our spare time relaxing.  It's not
much, but that's bec-ause the one we use now is a rather makeshift kind
of setup.  Our main Rejuvenation Center is one level up on Alpha Deck,
but that entire area was destroyed in a suicide attack a sectar ago.  We
still haven't finished all of the renovations on that level."
     Morbus stopped.  His eyes see-med to unfocus for a moment.  "It's
been fun to be with you, Sheba," he said.  "But I think it's time I had
that debriefing you mentioned with Commander Adama."
     "Oh," she almost seemed disap-pointed.  "Well, I'm sure if you feel
like waiting a while longer, they wouldn't object."
     "Maybe not," he said as his gaze into her face grew more piercing. 
"But take me to Commander Adama anyway."
     Again, Sheba found herself looking at his face with transfixed awe
for nearly a centon before she once again nodded and led him in the
direction he desired to go in.

*****

     As soon as Apollo and Starbuck heard Adama's less than pleasant
voice pipe through the Galactica demanding their presence, the two
warriors were decidedly uneasy about twhat they'd be hearing from the
Commander.  As soon as they arrived, and he told them what Tigh had
reported, their discomfort only increased.
     "Now where in the name of Hades is he, and how did he get free run
of the ship?" Adama demanded.
     Apollo was in a state of incredulous disbelief.   As concerned as
he'd been by Sheba's overpoliteness toward Morbus, he hadn't counted on
something like this happening.
     "Father, he started awkwardly, "I left him with----"
     But before his son could go any further, the door to Adama's
quarters abruptly slid open and Sheba entered, with Morbus right behind. 
The three men were so surprised by his entrance that they didn't notice
the burst of static that erupted briefly from the monitor outside the
door, and which quicly faded as soon as the goateed stranger entered the
room.
     "Commander Adama, I presume," Morbus was full of respect as he bowed
slightly.  "Morbus of Lyre, at your ser-vice."
     Apollo was a little stunned.  This was the first time Morbus had
made any kind of allusion to his world of origin.
     Adama's angry expression softened so he could show some cour-tesy to
Iblis' greeting, "Thank you."  He then turned back to the three warriors,
"I want to see each one of you, later.  Make sure you're in one place so
we don't have to look all over the ship for you."
     The pilots stiffened.
     "Is the Officer's Club accep-table?" said Starbuck.
     "Predictable would be a better choice of words," Adama said
sarcas-tically, "but yes, it's acceptable.  I know you won't leave there. 
Dismissed."
     One-by-one, Sheba, Starbuck and Apollo filed out of the room,
leaving Adama and Morbus alone.
     As soon as they were in the corridor, Starbuck heaved a sigh of
relief, "Man, I don't think I've ever seen the old man so...unsettled."
     "Yes, what is his problem?" Sheba said.  She had left with them. 
Adama had said nothing to her, but the look that he had given her spoke
volumes.  "Did we desert him or something?"
     Apollo decided not to be nonchalant with her.
     "Actually, I don't think you can blame him, considering that you
just escorted a perfect stranger into a classified area.  That's not the
sort of thing a good commander, whether it's him or your father, would
understand."
     Sheba stopped and stiffened at the harshness of his remark, "He
wanted me to---"
     "Do you always do everything somebody wants you to do?"
     "Apollo!"
     "You know what I mean," Apollo calmed down slightly.  "Look, we
agreed no prejudging of him before we had more information, but I don't
think giving him free rein aboard the Galactica amounts to playing things
by the book.
     "Look," Sheba said, trying to make him understand, "I know it's a
little hard to explain, but...it wasn't so much what he said as what I
felt."
     "Felt?" there was a mixture of concern and dubiousness in Apollo's
response.
     "He needed to feel that there was order and security," she wnet on,
"so I took him where I thought the environment would help to settle him
down.  And it worked.  He's feeling much better now."
     Apollo stared at her for a moment.  Something simply did not make
sense.  He felt that he was missing something.
     "You've been acting like this ever since we found Morbus," he said. 
"Or he found us," the level of concern in Apo-llo's voice increased,
which Starbuck found hard not to notice in light of his earlier talk with
Athena.  "All that stuff on the planet, and while we were flying back to
the Galactica.  What makes him so important to you?  You don't even know
who he is!  None of us do!"
     Sheba's eyes then blazed at him with a defiant fury reminiscent of
her father, Commander Cain.   "I know the most important thing about him;
he cares."
     "Cares? About who?  About what?" the question seemed to impu-lsively
come out of Apollo's mouth.
     "About me.  About you.  About all of us.  And if I have to explain
that to you, then I guess I've been misjudging you for the last sectar. 
Maybe you're not as sensitive as I thought you were."
     She walked away from them, obviously annoyed.  Apollo shook his head
in bewilderment.
     "She thinks I'm insensitive," he said, trying to run through it
again and make some sort of sense out of it.  He wasn't succeeding.
     "She thinks you're insensity?" Starbuck mused aloud as he watched
her disappear down the corridor, "Where the frack does that leave me,
then?"
     He then turned around and saw the look on Apollo's face.  Feeling
concerned, Starbuck cautiously came over to his friend and put a hand on
his friend's shoulder.  "Apollo--"
     Abruptly, Apollo pushed him away.  "I don't want to talk about it,
Starbuck," he said quietly.  "Not now.  Maybe my father will find out
something better to tell us when he gets through with him."
     An uneasy silence filled the air as the two of them resumed walking
toward the Officer's Club.

*****

     As soon as they'd been left alone, Adama had summoned all of the
training in diplomacy he'd received over the yahrens to the forefront,
acting with cautious courtesy, as he offered Mr. Morbus an ambrosa.  The
stranger gratefully accepted it.
     "As you probably realize, we are in a constant state of emergency,"
Adama said, "However, I trust you will find your quarters here to be
suitably comfortable."
     "Thank you, Commander, for your kind hospitality," Morbus smiled as
the two of them raised their glasses and drank.  Once they had finished,
Morbus set his glass down, "And for giving me sanctuary from my enemies."
     Adama carefully set his glass down and moved back toward his desk. 
"I'd like to know all about these... enemies," he said.
     An almost mystic, dark expres-sion came over Mr. Morbus' face as he
suddenly shifted his gaze toward the stars shining through the porthole.
"I can describe them in three words:  infinite, everywhere and
relentless." 
     Adama nodded.  "I know a little about that kind of enemy myself," he
said.  "But their name...What are they called?  Where are they from?"
     Morbus looked back at him, and the charming smile abruptly returned
to his face as if it had been switched on.     "I'm sorry, Adama.  My
passion seems to have gotten the better of me," he said.  "I feel as
though I can't really communicate with you.  Unfortunately, those are
things which you might not understand."
     "Mr. Morbus," the commander said patiently, "I've been told that I'm
a fairly bright chap when given a chance."
     Morbus smiled.
     "Yes, yes.  Of course you are.  A generous chap, too, to stop for
one more survivor.  That's why I wouldn't feel right about burdening  you
good people with my war."
     "I don't mean to infer that we can take on any more enemies than we
have now," Adama said, "but perhaps we're already fighting a common foe."
     "If you mean the Cylons..."
     "If not them, who?"
     The stranger's expression darkened and grew pointedly cold. "Agents
of a greater and more infinitely dangerous power than the Cylons and all
their allies combined."
     Adama refused to be impressed.  "Then you do know of the Cylon
Empire and our plight."
     "I've got infinite knowledge in matters like this," Morbus said.  
"So let me use that to bring you a more optim-istic epistle."
     "For instance?"
     Morbus looked him in the eye.  "You're searching for a planet called
Earth."
     The commander didn't bat an eyelash.  "Did my son tell you that?" 
     "No, he didn't," Morbus replied.  "But I know all about you Adama. 
I know that you're of the House of Kobol.  Your tribes are scattered. 
The thirteenth jou-rneyed to Earth several millenniums ago."
     For the first time, Adama seemed impressed with Morbus.  "Am I to
under-stand that you know what became of them when they settled?"
     "I do indeed," Morbus said.
     Adama felt a cautious air of optimism fill him.  He was hearing
things he had not been prepared to hear.  Had it not been for Morbus' use
of terminology regarding Kobol and the 13th Tribe, he might have been
more inclined to write the stranger off as a madman.  But now he was
determined to hear him out completely.
     "Can you tell me about their civilization?"
     "Over the course of the centuries, great empires have risen and
fallen there," he replied cryptically.
     It still seemed impossible to Adama that one man alone could know so
much about the things he had placed the survival of the human race on. 
"Who are you?"  the commander demanded calmly.  "How can you know such
things?"
     Morbus's silence indicated he wasn't going to get an immediate
answer to that question.
     Adama decided to change tactics again.  "Is their civilization
strong enough to help us defeat the Cylons?"
     "Under my leadership, your people will be safe," Morbus said.
     Once again, Adama found his mind racing as he tried to come to terms
with the enigma of this man and the things he was saying.
     "Mr. Morbus," he decided to retain the initiative, "I don't believe
that's answering the question I put to you.  My question was, is the
civilization of Earth, which you claim to know about, strong enough to
help us defeat the Cylons?"
     "Adama, unless you're willing to  place yourself under my protection
and leadership, I won't be able to answer your question," said Morbus. 
"I've been having a lot of trouble figuring out why I'm here, what role
I'm supposed to play in your life.  And the answer has just now come to
me----I'm here to prepare your way to Earth!"

*****

From the Adama Journals:     

     Three days have passed since the arrival of the mysterious stranger
called Mr. Morbus.  Despite the magnitude of his revela-tions to me, I
have chosen to remain caution in imple-menting my next moves.  I have
only shared the full details of my conversation with Morbus only with
Tigh,and then Apollo and Starbuck, while keeping the details to a bare
minimum with the members of the Council of Twelve.  At the moment, I
don't dare run the risk of what one of my political opponents like Sire
Domra, or the young Sire Antipas might do if the full level of what
Morbus has said were made public.
     Yet, despite my attempts to keep word of Mr. Morbus kept to a
minimum, I have failed to prevent rumors from starting throughout every
corner of the Fleet.  Whether it has come from a Council security guard
listening in on one of my conversations, or an enthusiastic remark from
Sheba to another warrior who in turn has told another person, the word
has managed to get around that a remarkable man has arrived who
conceivably could help us solve all of our major problems.
     For the most part, Mr. Morbus seems to have acce-pted my reluctance
to press too far ahead in trusting him completely.  No sooner had Morbus
finished his revelation about preparing our way to Earth, when he had
also commented on how past experiences were dictating my desire for
caution, and I can appreciate that.
     "I can see you've been betrayed before by a charl-atan who promised
you hope and delived only death and destruction," Morbus had said to me. 
"You don't have to worry about such a repetition by placing your trust in
me.  If that's not clear to you now, I promise it soon will be."
     Despite this dialogue, I'm left with grave doubts about the
integrity of his mind or his ability to deliver on his promises.  
     One more heartbreak n the lives of our poor, beleaguered survivors
might spell the end of our journey, or my ability to maintain law and
order.  Still, we can't dismiss the possibility of hope so lightly.
     Many questions still remain.  Who is Morbus, if that is truly his
name?  What is he?  He seems, to all external appearances, to be human,
as human as you and I, yet how is it possible for one human being to
possess infinite knowledge of the universe, as he claims to have?  What
is this place called Lyre and where is it?  What is the nature of the
enemy that pursues him?  Who are they?  What is the basis of their
conflict?  Morbus remains a puzzle, a strange enigma.
     On the one hand, it would seem a fairly simple matter to insist that
my questions be answered.  I could demand that he submit to examination,
that he cease giving evasive, enigmatic answers to all my queries.  I
could force him.  Yet that possibility brings up yet another question.
     What if he can do all that he claims he can?  What if he actually
delivers what he promises?
     If Morbus can, indeed, bring us to Earth, it would be the answer to
all our prayers.  We've been searching, blindly, following an ancient
trail, not even sure that our path is the correct one.  Must I risk the
future of every man, woman and child in the fleet simply because I have
my doubts about Morbus?  Have all these yahrens of fighting and running
made me overly distrustful and suspicious?
     And then there's the possibility that Morbus could be suspicious of
us.  He claims to be from Lyre, another world in another time.  From his
words, it would seem that he is from a culture more advanced than ours. 
Would not such a culture suspect barbarian primitives, as we would seem
to them?  He has told me that the fleet would be safe under his
leadership.  Part of me regards that as an arrogant threat, yet another
part of me admits another, much more astonishing possibility.
     Mr. Morbus says that he knows where Earth is.  Suppose, just
suppose, that the world he calls "Lyre" is actually another word for
Earth.  Could it not be possible, if their culture is far ahead of ours,
that they would have some means of probing across vast distances of
space, of learning of our presence?  Could they not possess ships vastly
superior to our own?
     What if they sent Morbus ahead as an advance scout, to feel us out,
to find out what our intent-ions are, what kind of people we are?  We
never did find any trace of the recon patrol commanded by Spock.  There
is, of course, the sad possibility that they've met their fate.  There is
an even more incredible possibility that a ship from Earth captured them,
that they are being studied at this very moment.
     What am I saying?  I'm becoming carried away by wild flights of
fancy.  But it could be possible.  I cannot dismiss even the wildest
speculation in this case.
     If Morbus were to be examined, it would prove conclusively if he
were our kind.  But Morbus will not allow it.  And I cannot insist.  At
this point, I don't dare.  Never before has the weight of my
responsibility lain as heavily upon my shoulders.  For the present, I
feel helpless.  I think that I am helpless!  All I can do is watch and
wait.  But I can't help but wonder---
     Who is he?  And what are his intentions?

*****

Chapter Three:  Weird, Weirder, And Weirdest

     At this point, three days later, the one piece of information Adama
wanted most was a full medical scan of Mr. Morbus.  After another meeting
with Apollo and Starbuck, he had literally order them to do what they
could to insure that such a scan be taken.
     Apollo and Starbuck entered the Life Station, to see if the latest
attempt to get that important information had finally paid off.  As soon
as he saw the two warriors arrive, Dr. Salik let out a dismal groan and
started to walk away from them.
     "Doctor, wait," Apollo called after him.
     "I know what you want, Apollo," the chief medical officer refused to
turn around, "And I'm sorry, but I still don't have it."
     "Come on," Apollo finally caught up to him.  "Even if he still
refuses to come in himself for a full testing, there are all kinds of
portable scanners.  Surely you can get close enough to him to get a
simple respiratory probe."
     Salik spun around.  "I tried that, Apollo.  I sent two of my best
technicians to get close to him.  They both came back with broken
scanners."
     "You've got to be kidding," Apollo shook his head in disbelief.
     "I'm not," the middle-aged doctor said.  "I even sent Cassiopeia. 
If you want to see how she failed----"
     "We're interested," Starbuck spoke up.
     "Very well," Salik said and led them over to the other side of the
Life Station where Cassiopeia was busy with the scanning equipment. 
"Cassiopeia, suppose you explain how your attempt with Mr. Morbus went."
     The blonde med-tech looked up at them and smiled faintly.  "When all
of our latest technology fails, we still resort to blatant feminine
wiles."
     "Hmmm," Starbuck injected a note of mock jealousy into his tone,
"And what happened?"
     "For one thing, I feel like I've just met the most charming man in
the universe," she said.
     "The most charming?" Starbuck smirked at his girlfriend.  "You mean
I've been displaced?"
     "Starbuck," Apollo impatiently jabbed his friend in the side, "leave
the small talk for later."
     "The charming part was all on the outside," Cassopiea resumed.  "But
I can't tell a thing about what's going on behind that beautiful
mustache."
     "Probably because you weren't  close enough to get a good scan on
him," Apollo offered.
     Cassiopeia chuckled.  "Apollo, do you mind if we discuss his without
Starbuck around?  Not unless you want to hear more inevitable side
remarks."
     "Aw, c'mon!' said Starbuck, "it was all in the line of duty, wasn't
it?"
     She then let out another chuckle.  "I'd be lying if I told you that
I wasn't impressed by him.  There's something unbelievably compelling
about Mr. Morbus.  I was absolutely charmed.  But the bottom line is that
I still came back with an empty tape.  Let me show you."
     The med-tech placed a thin silver strip into one of the machines on
the table and activated it..
     "Empty my foot!" Starbuck glared slightly at the rhythmic dancing
line on the bottom of the screen.  "That heart rate is dancing around
like a Cylon scanner!"
     "You're looking at the wrong line," Cassiopeia said, "That's my
pulse rate, she said.  "This is his."  She used a thin silver stylus to
indicate the appro-priate track, which was a continuous straight line
with no indication of any movement.
     "Flatline!" Starbuck smirked at her.  "Guess you've lost your touch,
Cass, to have that kind of effect on him.  Of course, that would tend to
make Morbus less advanced if he can't have any reaction to you."
     "It's not Cassiopeia's fault, gentlemen," Salik re-entered the
conversation, "It's the equipment.  Now, either it's defective, or he's
operating on some other wave-length.  I don't know. I've never seen
anything like it."
     "Or he has some way of deliberately jamming us," Apollo said with a
slightly ominous air.  This latest piece of information about Mr. Morbus
only made him feel even more nervous about he man.
     "It's possible," Salik conceded, "Although I've yet to see any kind
of of species, human or otherwise, with that kind of capability."
     "Doctor," Apollo ventured, "Is it possible that this man...however
suave and debonair," he added with an arch glance at Cassiopeia, "is
there any chance that he could be a droid?"
     "A droid?" the chief medical officer rubbed his chin, "A droid
designed to look in every way like a man and programmed for certain
response mechanisms?"
     "Exactly," Apollo nodded.
     "Conceivably programmed as a special project by some other
mach-ines?" Starbuck inquired casually, to see if he understood where
Apollo was going.  "Is that what you're thinking, Apollo?  That Morbus
may be a Cylon underneath that exterior?"
     "Let's just say it's a possibility that urgently needs
consideration," Apollo said.
     "Our bio-robotics institutes were well advanced in that science
before the Holocaust," Salike said. "But I'm not the one you should be
talking to.  Doctor Wilker would be your best expert on that subject.  He
might know if the Cylons had developed the same capacity.  I think he's
back here on the Galactica now."
     "Then I guess a trip to Droid-Mant-4 is in order," said Apollo. 
"Thanks for the help, Dr. Salik."
     "I'm with you," Starbuck said.  "Let's go."

*****

     Sheba felt relieved to finally shed her uniform for the first time
in many days.  Since she had been unable to bring over any personal
effects from the Pegasus, Cassiopeia and Athena had helped her select a
complete civilian wardrobe from some of the new shops that had been set
up aboard one of the recreational ships in the Fleet, but she had had
little opportunity to omake use of them.  Now, she had received a
twenty-four centar furlong, and had decided to spend it in the one place
she'd been frequenting most often since her arrival aboard the Galactica
one sectar ago, whenever she decided she needed to be alone and collect
her thoughts.
     As she left her quarters, she was pleasantly surprised to see the
smiling form of Mr. Morbus standing in the corridor, as though he'd been
waiting for her.
     "Hello Sheba," he said.  "You look absolutely ravishing, my dear."
     Instantly, she felt herself blushing.  She had selected a
sophisticated gown made of plain maroon silk, worn with a orange shawl
and a trailing skirt.  
     "Thank you," she managed to say.
     "Are you going somewhere?"
     "Yes," she kept her gaze on him.  "I was planning a visit to the
agro-ship.  It's one of the few lovely spots in the Fleet."
     "I'd be honored if you'd show it to me," Morbus kept smiling.  "That
is, if it wouldn't be too much trouble."
     As she continued to look at him, she knew right away that only one
answer was possible.
     "It wouldn't be," Sheba said.  "Come with me."
     They rode a shuttle out to the nearby ship that served the critical
function of growing and supplying all agricultural foodstuffs to the
Fleet and served as  avast greenhouse for all known species of Colonial
plant life that had been salvaged from the wreckage of the colonies.  In
reality, the Agro Ship was an old supply tanker so decrepit that no one
even remembered its name.  When it had been commandeered during the
exodus from Caprica, the refugees were in no situation to pick and
choose.  No one had been able to read either its name or numerical
designation, so worn was its hull.  Its logbook was gone and the spacers
who refitted it en-route as best they could from whatever parts they
could find and from whatever they could cobble together, as many of their
breed, superstitious about renaming a ship, hence the descriptive name.
     In some sections of the ship, there were trees that towered high
towards the tops of the clear glass domes that dotted the length of the
ship, which to many a visitor, created the illusion of walking through a
vast forest.
     That very daydream was why Sheba enjoyed coming to the agro ship. 
She could still remember how as a child, she had enjoyed taking long
walks through the great Forest of Hope on  Caprica, where her mind always
felt at its freest, and where her sense of imagin-ation could run wild. 
Coming here to ease her mind from the trauma of losing everything that
had been dear to her had done a lot to help her adjust to her new life
aboard the Galactica.
     Not that the people aboard the Galactica  hadn't been doing their
share to help as well.  She had appreciated it from the very outset that
Adama had promised to make her part of his extended family, and she had
seen plenty of kindness from people like Cassiopeia, Athena,
Starbuck....and Apollo.
     As the shuttle drew closer to the agro ship, she found herself
thinking of Apollo.  The more she thought of him, the more she felt that
he was more of an enigma to her than Mr. Morbus was.  After a sectar, she
had received too many signals from him that only seemed confusing.  There
were many occasions when she wondered if he was expressing some kind of
special interest in her.  But if that were true, it seemed much too
tentative and restrained to be anything other than ordinary warrior's
camaraderie.  He could be sensitive and gentle on one occasion, yet on
other occasions he struck her as being too arrogantly sure of himself. 
That he alone, was the only person capable of doing any kind of difficult
job, or that his instincts alone about people were all that mattered, and
that anyone else's opinion paled before his.
     "Ah, we've arrived," Mr. Morbus' voice snapped her chain of thought
in two.
     "So we have," Sheba smiled.  "Let me show you.  It's really quite
beautiful."
     Several centons later, she was leading him through the forest
underneath the first dome of the ship. All around them was a wide variety
of plant life from each of the twelve worlds.  Tall Caprican oaks, mixed
with fragrant Sagitarian spruces, and dotted along the bottom by the
exotic colored flowers from Scorpia and Aeries.  A first-time visitor
always took note of the somewhat diametrically opposed biodiversity, but
once he or she began to walk through the area, they inevitably found
themselves overwhelmed by the beauty of the scenery.
     "Was I right?" she asked.  "Isn't it lovely here?"
     "Lovely?  It's absolutely stunning," Morbus noted.
     "We brought a few of everything from the Colonies that was possible
in the time there was before this whole journey across the stars began,"
Sheba said.  "After all, we have no idea what we can expect to find on
Earth."
     Morbus moved up to a tree and leaned against it, staring up at the
dome, through which the stars were visible.
     "What can we expect to find on Earth?" said Sheba, looking at him
with total trust.
     "That's up to you," said Morbus, smiling.  "What do you want to
find?"
     "The thing all of us desire the most," she said.  "A mighty
civilization with the power to fight back and defeat the Cylons," she
said.
     "Actually, what I meant was ...." he looked her in the eye again and
faintly shook his head, "what do you want to find?"
     "I just told you," she said protesting.  "I want what everyone else
in the fleet wants.  What makes you think I'm different?"
     "I don't think you're different," his voice suddenly grew softer and
his gaze grew more intense and piercing,  "I know you're different.  I
can feel the desires that truly burn closest to your heart.  At this
moment, I'm closer to your soul than any man you've known has ever been." 
His eyes took on that strange red-hot color as he gazed at her. 
Something deep within them seemed to burn.  "Apollo's in your thoughts,"
he said, "but there's something...no...someone else even more important
to you."
     He reached out and took Sheba's hands, pulling her gently closer to
him.  She looked confused.
     "You're not like anyone I've ever met," she said.
     "Quiet, Sheba," said Morbus.  "Be quiet and---think. Think with your
soul and I'll tell you your heart's desire."
     There was a mixture of confusion and awe on Sheba's face.  Still,
she kept her gaze locked on him.  She found that even if she'd wanted to
turn away from him, she wouldn't have the strength to do so.
     "You've got so many thoughts going through you right now," Morbus
said.  "You're concerned for your friend Spock, and, and whether he's
still alive and well.  But..." Morbus's eyes seemed to narrow in
understanding.  "Oh yes.  Yes.  It should've have occurred to me before." 

     And then, Morbus suddenly smiled reassuringly, "Don't worry, Sheba. 
You'll be seeing him again very soon."
     "Uh, I don't know who you know mean."
     "Yes you do.  Your father, Commander Cain, the living legend, the
Juggernaut who roams the stars in his mighty battlestar Pegasus." His
wide smile seemed to deepen.  "You'll be seeing him again very soon.  The
Battle of Gomoray isn't his first battle and it won't be his last."
     "How could you possibly know what I'm feeling?" Sheba said, her
voice little more than a whisper.
     His eyes blazed.  With the moustache and goatee, the effect was
almost demonic.
     "All people are capable of feeling one another's thoughts," he said. 
"It only takes a little time and practice.  Trust in me."  He grabbed
Sheba's shoulders tightly, almost as if he wanted to hurt her.  She
wanted to scream but the power he held over her wiped her fear away. 
"Trust only in me and anything you want to happen will.  I promise you."
     He suddenly pulled her close to him and gently kissed her on the
lips.  Sheba didn't even bother trying to resist.  She only felt a
sensation of awe that for the first time, someone was offering everything
she'd always desired.  A promise of hope for the future. And a promise to
see her father again.  For the first time after a long month of
loneliness since being parted from the Pegasus, it seemed as if all the
things she'd only been able to think of dreams could become a reality.
All because of this one man.
     You are so wrong Apollo, her mind blissfully whispered to herself. 
So wrong.
     Too numb to respond herself to Morbus's touch, though she felt
herself dearly wishing that she could, she simply allowed herself to go
limp as she relaxed in his embrace.
     An old farmer who worked the Agro Ship entered the small clearing
where they stood.  They didn't notice him.  He watched them for a moment,
smiled, thought briefly about his youth, then disappeared once again into
the trees, not wishing to intrude upon the couple.

*****

     Droid Mant-4, Dr. Wilker's main computer lab aboard the Galactica,
was cluttered with a large amount of disassembled machinery when Apollo
and Starbuck entered.  Once they explained their reasons for coming
through, the scientist was all too happy to put his work aside to talk
with them.  Long ago, Apollo had come to realize that one of Wilker's
most distinctive traits was that he seemed to enjoy talking about his
work even more than actually doing it.
     "Ah yes, droid technology," Wilker's eyes seemed to light up. 
"There were so many projects that we were on the verge of unveiling at
the time of the Holocaust.  It's such a pity that we were unable to
salvage the blueprints for any of them, or else I might have been able to
resume them here aboard the Galactica."
     "For what purposes?" Starbuck casually inquired.  The way Wilker
talked so lovingly about them made him feel a trifle uneasy.  But then
again, Starbuck always felt that Wilker was a trifle odd in his devotion
to technology.
     "More than I could name right now," Wilker said.  "Factory drone
workers for one.  And the military even commissioned a feasibility study
on the use of droids to replace viper pilots---"
     "Wait a micron, Doc," Starbuck suddenly interrupted.  "Now there are
some things that I'd definitely draw the line at, and giving up my job to
a robot---
     "If you let me finish, Lieutenant, I was about to say to replace
viper pilots for missions that carried the risk of being one-way in
nature."
     "Care to amend yourself, Starbuck?" Apollo grinned.
     "I guess I should," the brash lieutenant blushed slightly in
embarrassment.  "Doc, that's the most brilliant idea I ever heard of, and
I'll gladly contribute two sectars pay to help you restart that project."
     "The day you contribute two sectars' pay to anything but yourself is
the day I see Baltar waltz over from his baseship and meekly surrender to
the Council," Apollo turned back to Wilker.  "Did Colonial Intelligence
every give you any briefings on how far the Cylons had advanced in
artificial human technology?"
     "We never had any indications that they were trying such an
experiment at all, Captain," Wilker said.  "The whole idea of the Cylon
robot as we know it is to emulate human form only in terms of general
bipedal structure, certainly not to emulate human appearance in any
specific sense.  The hatred they possess of humans is so great, that the
best guess from Intelligence was that they were too racially predjudiced
to even think of such a project, even though it would have been an
ingenious way of carrying out covert intelligence projects of their own."
     "Essentially, what you're saying is that even though you don't know
of any specific projects, it's still theoretically possible to construct
a human droid that can blend in among real humans without being
detected?"
     "Absolutley," the scientist nodded.  "It is possible.  But there are
subtle ways for an expert to tell the difference.  For instance----"
     Before Wilker could go any further, the Red Alert klaxon began to
sound.
     "Not now, Doc," said Apollo.  He started running for the door. 
"We'll be right back," he called over his shoulder.
     "At least we hope so," Starbuck added, as he and Apollo dashed out
of the lab.

*****

     Adama was already on his way to the bridge for a routine inspection
when he heard the klaxon.  He promptly picked up his pace and arrived
somewhat out of breath, expecting to see columns of attacking Cylon
fighters on the main viewing screen.
     When he arrived, though, his mouth fell open in amazement when he
saw the alert was not the result of Cylons, but by something else
entirely.
     Strange, mysterious flashes of white light zoomed past the main
viewing port.  They raced past the ship in multiple waves, then around
it, swirling like a tornado of supernovas.
     "What is it?" Adama demanded.
     A bewildered Tigh turned around. "We can't identify them, sir," he
said.  "According to our scanners, they aren't even there."
     "Nothing at all?"
     "Not a blessed thing!"
     "That's not entirely accurate, Colonel," Athena called up from her
station.  "They're here, but they're just not here long enough for us to
get a reading."
     "They must be traveling at speeds beyond...beyond..."  Tigh looked
back out at the scene in amazement.
     "I believe what you're trying to say is..." Adama said, staring out
the massive observation port at the white objects flashing across space
and curling back around the Galactica, "...they're traveling at speeds
beyond our comprehension."
     "Commander," Omega said with alarm, "we're recieiving distress calls
from every ship in the Fleet. People are panicking."
     "Put me on Unicom," Adam gritted his teeth slightly.  Omega
activated the switch and the commander's voice was now able to fill every
corridor of each ship throughout the Fleet.
     "People of the Fleet," Adama summoned all the reassurance he was
capable of mustering to his voice.  "This is Commander Adama.  Please
maintain communications silence.  There is no reason for alarm.  The
ships...or manifestations, that we are encountering do not appear to be
in any way hostile.  Only by keeping the com-lines free of random signals
can we hope to utilize the full potential of our scanners.  Thank you."
     Adama removed his headset and assumed an authoritive posture. 
"Launch Red Squadron for a precautionary intercept.  They are not to open
fire without my authorization."
     "Red Squadron launching," Rigel reported back.  "Lieutenant
Greenbean leading four ships in to intercept."
     Adama moved over to the railing of the upper level and shook his
head in amazement at the sight of the white lights.
     "What do you think?" Tigh asked, unable to venture any opinion of
his own.
     "I don't' know," the commander shook his head, "And yet somehow, I
suspect that our guest Mr. Morbus might be able to tell us."

*****

     Aboard the agro ship, the white lights shot over the clear dome
above where Morbus and Sheba were standing.  He promptly released her
from the kiss they'd been sharing and looked up with concern.
     "What is it?" Sheba asked with alarm, staring up through the dome at
the swirling ghost-lights that moved with unheard-of speed.  "What are
they?"
     "Don't be frightened."  Morbus protectively tightened his hold of
her.  "They won't hurt you as long as you're with me."
     "The lights?" she whispered, hypnotized by their white-hot glow. 
"But they're so beautiful---"
     "Don't be fooled," his voice dropped to a whisper.  "They'll torture
you with a glow that conceals everlasting darkness. Don't look at them,
please!"
     She instincftively buried her head against his chest.
     "How horrible."
     "In their true form, they are horrible, more horrible than your
worst nightmares," said Morbus. "I'm the thing they fear most, Sheba.  So
long as you're with me, they can't touch you."  He continued to look up
at the lights with an almost defiant air.  "You are safe with me."

*****

     The four vipers from Red Squadron, under Greenbean's command, wasted
little time in catching up to where an entire column of lights seemed to
be moving in a steady procession.
     "Giles, Brie, do you see them?" Greenbean radioed to the two vipers
on his right flank.
     "Got them in my sights," Giles said, "Lords of Kobol, look at those
things move."
     "I don't see how in the world we can keep up with them," Brie shook
her head in wide-eyed amazment.  The willowy blonde female pilot, who'd
first been pressed into service when so many warriors had been struck ill
by a mysterious space disease prior to the Battle of Kobol, almost found
herself hoping that they couldn't keep up with them.  She wasn't sure
that this was something she wanted to learn more about.
     "We're gonna do our frackin' best to stay with those rotten
crasodies," Greenbean retorted.  "Do we all understand each other?"
     "Unfortunately, yes," Brie whispered.
     "Easy Brie," Dietra chimed in from the fourth viper in the echelon. 
Like Brie, she too was a veteran of the "Kobol Unit" of female pilots,
"There's no indication they're hostile."
     "All vipers, activate main turbos and pursue at full power!" 
Greenbean barked.
     The four vipers instantly went to their maximum speed and at first,
appeared to close in on the lead column of lights.  Then, without any
wanring, the lights disappeared completely in the blink of an eye.
     "Where'd they go?" Brie's bewilderment deepened.  "They just
vanished."
     "No," Greenbean shook his head.  "They just left us virtually
standing still, compared to their speed."
     "What kind of thing would be capable of that?" Giles spoke up. 
"We're going fast enough to be halfway across the stars in a few centars. 
Whatever those suckers are, I'm not sure I'd want to know what kind of
weaponry they possess."
     "So what do we do then?" Brie persisted.  "Pursue or turn back?"
     "Pursue what?"  Greenbean said with an edge of exasperation. 
"There's nothing on my scanner.  Except a---"
     Greenbean suddenly broke off when he first saw the magnitude of what
was registering on his scanner.  And then, he felt his eyes almost
blinded by something intense flashing from behind.
     "Greenbean!" Giles blurted.  "Do you see it?  Do you see it?"
     Red Leader slowly turned around and his mouth dropped open in horror
at the massive white craft that filled his entire width of vision.
     "Holy frack!" he whispered as he suddenly heard a piercing deafening
hum that caused him to cover his ears.
     "I'm losing all power, Greenbean!'  Dietra's voice rose in futility. 
"Can't outrun that thing, whatever it is!"
     "That sound!" Brie moaned, "That sound!  Oh Lords, make it stop!"
     And then, there was no further sound from any of the four pilots in
Red Squadron, as they all felt unconsciousness overtake them.

*****

     "Stand by to launch Blue Squad-ron," Adama said.  "Give Captain
Apollo the present coordinates to Red Squadron so they can rendezvous."
     Athena was staring at her console in horror.
     "Athena?" Adama looked odwn at his daughter with concern.
     "Father," she whispered, oblivious to her breach in military
protocol.  "We don't have the coordinates of Red Squadron.  They've
disappeared completely from the scanners."
     "Disappeared?" Adama mounted the steps up to her console.  "What do
you mean?"
     "There's no indication they were attacked," Athena said.  "They were
there just one micron, and then they were goine.  As if they were
snatched from the face of the universe."
     Tigh seemed to deflate in despair.  "Just like what happened to
Silver Spar Squadron."
     "Damn!" Adama slowly shook his head and clenched his fist tightly,
feeling fury, frustration and resentment. "Damn!" he repeated, wondering
how he could hope to fight something beyond even his understanding.
     "Commander?" said Tigh.  "Do we proceed with the launch of Blue
Squadron?" 
     "We do not," the commander warily looked up at the executive
officer.  "Cancel the launch order and Red Alert, please."

*****

     "I don't understand this," an infuriated Starbuck said as he stepped
out of his viper and dropped to the tarmac.  "Four viper just disappear
and the Commander cancels the Red Alert?  What the frack's goin' on?"
     "It doesn't make any sense," Apollo said, joining him.  "Did the
Cylons just come and go or something?"
     The groundgrew CWO Jenny, who'd been attending to Starbuck's viper,
suddenly turned to them.  "Cylons had nothing to do with it, Captain."
     "What?" Apollo frowned.
     "I was talking to the Bridge a few centons ago when they told us to
get your vipers ready.  They said it was something else.  Giant white
lights zooming through space."
     "White lights?" Starbuck frowned.  "What do you mean?"
     "I wish I knew," Jenny shook his head.  "They said it was the
damndest sight ever."
     Apollo suddenly went pale as something came back to him.
     "Oh Lord," he whispered.  "Oh Lord!"
     "Uh-oh," Starbuck frowned.  "You know what he's talking about, don't
you Apollo?"
     "Yeah, I do," Apollo said quietly.  "We'd better tell the Commander
immediately."
     "Tell him about what?"
     "I'll fill you in on the way over."

*****

     Ten centons later, Apollo met Adama in his quarters, and wasted no
words telling him about the same phenomena  of white lights that he and
Sheba had witnessed on the surface of the planet after they'd met Mr.
Morbus.
     Adama was furious with his son.  "I should reduce you in rank for
not saying something about those lights before!" He slammed his fist down
onto the surface of his desk.  "Why didn't you report them?"
     "At first we thought were caught in a meteor shower," Apollo said,
feeling white hot with embarrassment.  "And frankly, this Mr. Morbus
pretty much had our full attention."
     "Oh he did, did he?" Adama raised his voice.  "You took notice of
the fact that he was unaffected by the noise those lights emanated, and
yet even that wasn't important when you made your report to me?"
     Apollo hadn't heard such fury from his father directed at him since
he was a child, when he'd often had to fear the prospect of having a
leather belt rapped over his rear as punishment for his sins.  He was
literally too ashamed to admit the truth that the reason why he hadn't
remembered reporting that detail about Morbus was because he'd been
letting Sheba's preoccupation with the flamboyant stranger cloud over his
better judgment.
     "Apollo," Starbuck said, thinking back to what had happened when
they saw the lights, "On the way over here, you said Morbus mentioned
something about those lights being after him."
     "That's right.  He did." Apollo admitted, knowing that only made the
situation worse.
     "That too was significant, Apollo," Adama thundered.  "I deeply
resent the fact that you didn't think these things vital enough to bring
to my attention." 
     Apollo flushed an ever deeper shade of red.  But he was determined
to not acknowledge the real reason for his failure no matter what. 
"Father," he said, "I thought he was as mad as a burned out droid. 
Nothing he said seemed to make any sense at the time.  I just assumed he
was in shock."
     "You may well have assumed wrong." Adama folded his arms.  "If
recent events are anything to go by, it would appear he was telling the
truth, that those lights are precisely what he claims...beings that are
pursuing him."
     Apollo nervously exhaled, and then seized on the opportunity to
change the subject to something else.  "I'm so damn confused, Father. 
We've lost eight ships without a trace.  I don't think we stand any kind
of a chance against these beings, or whatever they are."
     "I'll tell you one thing," said Starbuck.  "I think it's past time
to take off the velvet gloves of diplomacy.  If Morbus, or whoever the
hell he is, is letting us to send in fighters to be killed without a
chance, then I for one don't think much of him, not to put too fine a
point on it.  We've got a right to know just what the hell is going on.  
He owes us an explanation."
     "I think you're right, Starbuck."  Adama nodded and turned back to
Apollo.  "We're fighting an unknown foe.  And that's about to change. 
Apollo, I want Mr. Morbus brought here at once."
     
*****

     After leaving the agro ship, Sheba had taken Morbus over to the
Rising Star, where she led him to the deserted emptiness of the Triad
court.
     "Your people play their games here?" said Morbus, looking around at
the three-sided court.
     "Triad," she said as they walked about.  "The oldest competitive
contact sport in Colonial history.  It's a lot more than just a game to
those of us who can't lay it.  It's a crucial component of the mental
comfort of our people.  It gives them a diversion, something to cheer on
and a chance to win and feel like part of a greater whole.  A time to be
absent from the war and being caged up inside these tiny metal ships."
     "There's no need to convince me, Sheba," Morbus said as they came to
a stop underneath the scoring circle.  "I believe in distraction."  He
turned to her and flashed another smile.  "Even plea-sure."
     "What kind of games do they play on Lyre?" Sheba smiled back.
     "It would be easier said than done for me to describe our games to
you, but I can tell you that they're not for the faint of heart," he
said, a mystic quality entering his voice.  "They're mostly competitions
where the stakes are life and death."
     "Games of life and death?" Sheba whispered, almost in half in shock.
A look of unease came over her face.  "Why that's..."
     "Horrible?  Oh, not at all," said Morbus.  "Centuries ago my people
learned that there is no real death; merely a transition to a higher
state of consciousness."
     "You have a very dark side to you," she said carefully, not wishing
to make it sound like a criticism.  "In some ways, you remind me of my
father.  You seem to love war and conflict very much as he did."
     Morbus smiled again.  "Why Sheba, I had no idea you were so
perceptibly observant."
     "Maybe that's why..." she started awkwardly then stopped.  "Maybe
that's why I think..."
     "That's why you think I'm so impressive, right?" he finished her
though.  "You see so much of the one you love the most."
     Sheba felt herself blushing again.
     "Don't trouble yourself trying to answer my question, Sheba," he
said gently.  "The answer is already clear to me."
     She slowly regained her bearings.  "And what about the answer?" she
said.    "Is this war you fight one of your choosing?" she said.
     "That's something I'm sure Commander Adama would be very interested
in knowing."
     They both looked up and saw that Apollo and Starbuck had entered the
court standing at one end, watching them.  There was a firmness in
Apollo's bearing and voice, as he tried with all his strength to mask all
of the other emotions he felt. "If you'll follow us..."
     "Your commander obviously needs to learn to mind his own bus-iness,"
Morbus said coolly as he glared at Apollo.  "The conversation was between
me and Sheba."
     Apollo bit his lip slightly but refused to let his voice crack. 
"Mr. Morbus, you will accompany me to the Galactica as my father's guest,
or as my prisoner.  It's up to you."
     Morbus' eyes turned into murder-ous blazing red orbs as he stared at
Apollo.
     "Apollo!" said Sheba, astonished at his actions.  "You're being
unforgivably rude.  Of course Mr. Morbus will go to see Adama if that is
his wish.  Won't you?"
     Morbus smiled at her.  The chilling look he had given Apollo had
disappeared as quickly as it had flashed across his features. "As milady
desires."     He casually walked across the court and out into the
corridor without giving either of the two warriors a second glance. 
Before Sheba could follow him out, Apollo impulsively grabbed her by the
shoulder, restraining her.
     "Sheba," his voice was stilllevel, but if she'd looked carefully
into his eyes, she might have seen an emotion bordering on genuine fear. 
For at that moment, Apollo felt genuinely frightened for her with an
intensity that he would not have felt if it had been any person other
than Sheba.  "Are you feeling all right?"
     She was too angry with him inside to notice his eyes.  "I don't know
what you're talking about."
     "I'm talking about you. You haven't been yourself lately," he said,
wishing she would take the hint he was dropping to her.
     "How would you know?" her voice almost sounded taunting. "You never
really knew me."
     Her gaze then shifted toward Morbus, who was still standing in the
doorway to the corridor.  Apollo almost felt his heart sink into the pit
of the stomach when he saw an almost adoring expression come over her.
     "This is the only man who truly knows me," Sheba said in a tone that
matched her expression.  And then, with an insolent air, she shook
herself loose from Apollo and walked out into the corridor.
     Before Apollo could emotionally recover himself from what she'd
said, he saw Morbus step back from the doorway onto the court, so he
stood only inches from the warrior.
     "I suggest you take to heart what I'm about to say, Apollo." Morbus'
voice was low, but had taken on a distinct edge of ominous malice.  "I
have the power to extinguish your life with one simple gesture and, if
you ever threaten me that way again, I won't think twice about using it!"
     He walked past him and followed Sheba down the corridor.  Starbuck
bolted from his position next to Apollo as though he were ready to charge
after the mystery man and challenge him to a fistfight.
     "Forget it, Starbuck," Apollo said quietly, as he grabbed him by the
arm.  "There'll be a better time.  Besides," for the first time, his
composure came back,   "I think our guest just revealed a hint of his
true colors."

*****

     Adama was waiting for them in the empty conference room where the
determined Council of Twelve usually met for their meetings.  As if he
was to show his authority to its fullest, he had settled in the
President's chair at the head of the long Council table, waitng to
confront the mysterious man who had asked Adama to surrender all of his
authority to him alone. Athena sat beside him, ready to record the
meeting.
     He finally saw the door slide open and saw Morbus enter, his scarlet
tunic sparkling in the room's subdued light.  Behind him, Apollo,
Starbuck  and Sheba filed their way in.
     "Be seated," Adama gestured coldly.
     "Of course." Morbus took a place at the far end of the table,
opposite Adama.
     "We have lost eight good warriors in the last several days."  Adama
refused to let up.  "I wish an explanation for it."
     Morbus threw him a disarming look.  "I haven't one to give you.  I
only know that I can, and want to, give you protection."
     "How will you do that?" Adama knew what was coming anyway, but
decided to let him say it again in the presence of others.
     "If you only follow me," Morbus said pointedly.  "I can lead you all
to safety."
     "We refuse to be led to safety without knowing who it is that will
do the leading," the commander's eyes blazed angrily.
     "Hadn't I already made that clear?  I'm Morbus of Lyre, a level of
being developed far in advance of your own."
     "I demand verification of that!"  Adama grew impatient with these
answers that were not answers.
     "Very well.  Prepare three tests for me." Morbus leaned back in his
chair. "Now, if you will all please focus your attention at the crystal
centerpiece of this table..." 
     Morbus remained motionless in his seat and stared intently at the
ornamental crystal formation standing in the center of the table.  And
then, to the stunned amazement of those present, the object slowly slid
across the table from the center towards the far edge where Morbus sat.
     "If I can will that object to move, then, obviously, I have the
power to deliver your people."
     Adama refused to let what had happened shake the anger from his
visage.  "I grow tired of asking you this, so I hope it will be the last
time," he said.  "Who are you, and where is this Lyre located?"
     Morbus rose from his chair and walked toward them.  "I'm an example
of how Man has reached many levels in his evolutionary development," said
Morbus, "some far greater than others."
     "If you will not tell me who you are," said Adama, once again
struggling to keep his temper in check, "then tell me about Lyre.  What
is it?  Where is it?"
     "Lyre is not a world in the conventional sense of the word.  It's
actually a plane of existence where man's ability to think, comprehend
and will is in its highest degree of accomplishment.  We've learned to
use the tools and opportunities of the mind to create what you deem to be
miracles."
     "For what purposes do you use these powers?"
     Morbus's expression grew ice cold.  "Adama, I'm speaking with you
exclusively out of courteousness.  I know your questions before you ask
them.  I know your doubts, suspicions and grievances.  The man or right
immediate right for instance, Lieutenant Starbuck.  He's thinking quickly
of the pilots you lost, especially two from the first group.  I believe
that he feels a sense of responsibility for one of them.  A young warrior
by the name of Charlex, right?"
     Starbuck stiffened in amazment at how Morbus had tapped into exactly
what he was thinking at that particular moment.
     "And your son," Morbus continued, "is thinking of the pilots as
well.  Although," he looked at Apollo directly and smiled wryly at him,
"Although that is not the only thing that preoccupies his mind at the
moment with regard to me.  Something of greater concern burns within him,
but I'm too modest to say precisely what that is."
     Apollo's face reddened as he knew right away what Morbus referred
to.  He shot a glance at Sheba, and almost felt relieved that her
attention was still on the scarlet-clad aristocrat, although his
expression was noticed and instantly understood by both Athena and
Starbuck.
     "Permit me to make one thing absolutely clear." Morbus turned back
to Adama.  "I'm not the one responsible for the disappearance of your
men.  They were beyond my dominion.  I'm able to alter that, yes, but
only if you agree to follow me."
     "To Earth?" Adama pressed.  "You said to me at our first meeting
that you believe you're here to prepare our way to Earth."
     "I can do that, yes."
     "But it is of no importance to you where we go?"
     "If you really believe that Earth is your manifest destiny, then
let's begin the journey now.  I've got all the knowledge necessary to
lead you to that elusive thirteenth tribe of the House of Kobol."
     Starbuck cautiously stepped forward, "If you can lead us to Earth,
Mr. Morbus," he said, " you can damn well get our pilots back."
     "Actually, it's not quite as simple as that," Morbus said.
     Apollo brushed aside the thoughts about Sheba that had been crowding
his mind as he stepped forward. "Even if we were to include it in the
three tests you will grant us in exchange for your leadership?"     "I'm
afraid your wishes will have to extend from this point in time for-ward,"
Morbus's tone was emphatic. "In order to honor a request like that, I
would have to turn back the wheels of time and that's one thing not even
we of Lyre can do." 
     Adama slowly exhaled.  Much of the anger had disippated from his
face by this point, but he was still determined to not show any signs of
unconditionally surrendering on the spur of the moment.  "You will have
our decision," he said, rising from his chair.
     "Soon, I hope," said Morbus.  "My enemies will return again and
again... until you're under my protection."
     Adama refused to turn around and look back at Morbus as he quietly
stalked out of the room.  Athena and Starbuck were next to leave.  Before
Apollo turned to go, he looked across to the other side of the room where
Sheba was still standing.
     "Coming, Sheba?" he quietly called over to her.
     "Later," she didn't look at him.  But there was an air of finality
in her voice that indicated that she woudnl't respond to any protest he
made over that.
     Apollo slowly felt his fingers knotting up as he turned and left the
room, leaving Sheba alone with Morbus.
     "I hope at least you're convinced, Sheba," the mystery man said.
     "Don't worry, I am," she said.  "Soon they should realize the only
course of action that must be taken."
     "I certainly hope so, for your sake and for the sake of all the
people in this Fleet," Morbus drew closer to her.  "But, on the outside
chance that Adama makes the wrong decision, it might be a good idea for
me to have had a chance to gauge the feelings of the people, and how they
might react to the prospect of my leadership."
     Again she found it impossible to take her eyes off him.  "Do you
wish to see them now?"
     "Yes," he said.  "Perhaps a tour of one of those decrepit freighters
I'm seeing out this porthole.  I suspect that's where the greatest
suffering is going on."

*****

From the Adama Journals:     

     Questions, questions and more questions.  Never any answers.  But at
least there is one less question in my mind.  Lyre is not Earth.  Morbus
did not say as much, but I have no doubt in my mind.
     He must know that all it would take for him to achieve everything he
seems to want would be to allow word to spread that he had just come from
Earth, to meet us and to bring us home.  That one act would be like a
piece of food to a starving man to all the people in the fleet.  It would
tell them everything they ever wanted to know.  It would convince even
the most skeptical among them that Earth is not a legend, not a loose
fragment from some long forgotten legend that we are all pursuing.  It
would say that Earth that it truly exists, that there was a way to get
there and that they were ready and waiting for us, to help us in our
battle against the Cylon Empire.  It would accomplish all of that, and
yet, Morbus isn't doing that.  He could, of course, lie.  Perhaps he is
lying, but the one lie he isn't telling is the one that would give him
complete control of the Galactica, command over the fleet, Why?
     Why this charade of the three tests?  He plays the role of some
auditioning magician and it  makes no sense to me.  I am prepared to
badger him with questions until hell freezes over, to force the answers
out of him, but no.  Something tells me that course could be dangerous.
     He has powers we don't even suspect.  That must is true.  He told us
so by moving that heavy crystal with his mind.  It was not an elaborate
demonstration, but it was an effective one.  It could be that his only
power is telekinesis, which means that he cannot do much more than he has
already shown us.  It could all be a colossal hoax.
     But then, if it is a hoax, why the three tests?  The demonstration
of the crystal was to tease us.  To show us that there were things he was
capable of doing that we could not do.  These three tests will, no doubt,
will be further demonstration of his alleged powers.  But again, why?
     If he can, indeed, do all the things he promised, if his is our
superior in both powers and intelligence, why prove anything to us?
     Why not simply take whatever it is he wants?
     To all outward appearances, Morbus (is that really his name?) is
only one man.  Yet, I fear him.

*****

Chapter Four:  The First Test

     Far away in another quadrant of space, a lone Cylon basestar
traveled through the stars in a cautious, silent pursuit of the Galactica
and her fleet of 220 ships.  If it had been up to the commander of the
basestar, he would have gladly ended the frustrating game of discreetly
tracking the Galactica and carried out the task of destroying her once
and for all.  But the events of the past month had dictated otherwise.
     The pursuit was a relentless one; it was unthinkable that the chase
should be abandoned, for so long as even one human remained alive, the
Alliance was threatened.  The Imperious Leader of the Cylon Alliance had
decreed that the life form known as Man was to be exter-minated.  The
command was for total annihilation, and that meant to the last man, woman
and child.  The reasoning was simple:  if the humans were able to reach
some sort of haven, a world where they could begin anew, they would begin
to multiply and flourish, their numbers growing greater until once again
they became a dire threat to the perfect order of the universe.
     The Imperious Leader had determined that the squad would chase the
human's fleet until the end of time, if need they must, but the human
vermin would be found and expunged.  He would not go down in the history
of the Alliance as the leader who had almost wiped out the human peril. 
He would complete the task.
     It pleased the Imperious Leader that the job of wiping out the
humans was being facilitated by one of their own race.  It was through
the treachery of the human called Baltar that the holocaust that had
destroyed the Twelve Colonies of Man had been so effortlessly
accomplished.  Posing as an emissary of peace, a mediator, the human
traitor had lulled the Quorum of the Twelve into a false sense of
security so that when the attack came, the humans were completely
unprepared.  That should have been the conclusion of the war, but a
paltry group of survivors had escape to flee across space.  It was a
miracle that there should have been survivors at all.  It was yet another
example of the stubborn nature of the human parasite, all the more reason
to hunt the survivors down.  It should have happened a long time ago, but
for the human commander Adama and his battlestar, the Galactica.  
     Of all the humans left alive, Adama was the deadliest of his
species.  The Imperious Leader had underestimated him before and he would
never make that mistake again.  The Cylon potentate knew that simply
because humans were inferior, that did not mean that they were not
complex.  More than any Cylon in the history of the Empire, the Imperious
Leader understood the workings of the human mind, but still it wasn't
enough.  Cylons could not think as humans did and it was just common
military sense that if one is to successfully hunt down and destroy an
enemy, one must think as he thinks.
     In an unprecedented move, the Imperious Leader had turned over the
command of a Cylon base ship to a human, the human named Baltar.  If
anyone had reason to see Adama perish, then Baltar was that man.  He
despised the commander of the battlestar Galactica with every fiber of
his being.  Two things would drive him to see the task through to its
conclusion----his hatred of Adama and his fierce desire to prove himself
useful to the Cylon Alliance.  The Imperious Leader knew that Baltar
would not give up until the job was done.  And then he'd be disposed of.
Baltar didn't know that, but it was of no consequence.  The mere fact
that the human race could produce creatures capable of turning against
their own kind was argument enough for their extermination.  The
Imperious Leader had vowed to purge the human race down to the last man. 
That last man would be Baltar.
     It was still impossible for Baltar to believe that only a sectar
ago, he had Adama exactly where he wanted him.  He had finally caught up
to his hated enemy with the power of three basestars at his disposal. 
Much more than enough to dispose of the last Colonial battlestar with
ease.  As he had boldly declared to Lucifer, he would insure that a rout
and a massacre would take place.  One that would elevate him to a level
of prestige and power unmatched in the Cylon Empire, and vindicate for
eternity his decision to betray the human race.
     And then those plans had been upset by the unexpected arrival of the
Battlestar Pegasus.  The sudden intrusion of the second battlestar had
wrecked all of Baltar's plans for finishing off Adama.  When the dust had
finally settled, Balar had seen his two additional basestars destroyed,
and serious damage inflicted on the outer capital of Gomoray, while the
Pegasus had disappeared before he'd had a chance to confirm its
destruction.
     Desperate to salvage something from the disaster of the Battle of
Gomoray, Baltar had played one last gamble two days later by having all
of his remaining fighters loaded with the deadly chemical solonite, for
the purpose of making suicide hits on the Galactica.  Hopefully, the
damage inflicted from only a handful of fighters would be so massive that
the Galactica would be destroyed without the need of a sustained battle.
     The last gamble had backfired.  He had inflicted massive damage to
the Galactica (and without knowing it, had almost killed Adama in the
process), but the great battlestar had definitely survived.  And in the
process, Baltar had lost all of his remaining fighter strength.  He no
longer had any kind of effective fighting force for a meaningful attack
on the Galactica.  And because the destruction of his other two basestars
had left his own ship as the only Cylon warship in the region, he had
been forced to resume the pursuit of Adama with only a handful of
reinforcements from Gomoray, lest the Galactica be permitted to get
completely away.
     For a sectar, he had played the game of watching from afar and
waiting.  Wondering when the day was going to come when reinforcement
from the Cylon home planet would finally arrive, and he could resumed the
chase with renewed vigor and determination.
     His mind was still focused on the subject when Lucifer entered his
throne room.  "By your command."
     "Speak."  With each passing day, it seemed as though Baltar's tone
had grown more quiet and less boastful than it had once been.
     "We appear to have sailed into the middle of some kind of paranormal
phenomenon."
     "What are you babbling about?" the  human traitor frowned.
     "It would be easier for me to explain if you will come to the
command center."
     Baltar calmly stepped off his pedestal and followed the IL Cylon
over into the next room, where the main command center was located.
     "Observe the main external monitor," Lucifer motioned.
     Baltar moved up to stare at the scanners and his frown deepened. 
What he saw were enormous flashes of white, zooming around the basestar
at speeds far faster than he could comprehend.
     "What in hellfire are those things?" There was an air of
bewilderment in the human traitor's voice.
     "Unknown," said Lucifer.  "Our interceptors are reporting a large
number of flying objects moving at incalculable speeds.  They are all
around us, yet they are not.  They move away too quickly for any precise
registering on our mon-itors."
     "This, my friend, has Adama written all over it," Baltar said.  "He
has scientists aboard the Galactica.  Maybe they've made a technological
breakthrough of some kind."
     "I hope so," said Lucifer.
     The human traitor turned tohis second-in-command in amazement.   
"Luckily, you are addressing me and not Imperious Leader.  He would have
you dismantled for hoping that our enemies have made so radically
advanced a breakthrough."
     "He would have me dismantled for suggesting the alternative as
well," said Lucifer.
     "Which would be?"
     "That we have encountered a new and more powerful force in the
universe than our own."
     Baltar allowed the implications of the IL's remark and began to
absently chew his thumbnail.  If what Lucifer said was true, then he now
faced a prospect that only seemed frightening to him.
     He took another look at the monitor at the eerie parade of lights
zooming past.  The longer he looked at them, the more he felt some
strange sensation come over him.  Something pushing him to consider ideas
that he would have laughed at only a sectar ago.  Yet, coming at a time
when his troop strength was severely depleted, seemed much easier for him
to consider.
     "Launch our remaining interceptors," he drew himself up to a more
firm posture.  "See if they can track them to wherever those... things
have come from."
     "By your command."

*****

     After stopping at her quarters to change back into her uniform,
Sheba was once again taking Mr. Morbus to one of the ships in the fleet. 
This time, however, it was not to a place of quiet beauty like the agro
ship, or of high-class luxury like the Rising Star.  This time, it was to
one of the Fleet's three main passenger freighters, the Trader Kite,
which had once been a medium-sized luxury cruiser for short-range
inter-planetary travel, designed to carry only 500 people.  As a result
of the Holocaust, though, the Trader Kite had been overhauled into
something radically different.  A long-range space freighter with most of
its luxury fittings stripped to accommodate a maximum load of 3000
people.  The overcrowding of the ship had led to cubicles were stacked on
top of cubicles, creating cliff-dwellings of metal one after another in
row upon row upon row.  It was a ghetto city built inside a ship, a city
that was physical proof of the hardship of the journey.  People were
forced to live in confined spaces no bigger than a warrior's bunk, where
luxuries like privacy were a rarity indeed.   It was almost impossible to
maintain proper standards of cleanliness in such areas, with the result
that the lower levels of the Trader's Kite had taken on the quality of
the kind of urban slum that had not existed in any of the Colonies, save
Scorpia, for more than a hundred years before the Holocaust.  They had
been scathingly christened the "slum corridors."
     The denizens of the slum corridors were for the most part too poor
to afford the privilege of gaining access to other areas of the Trader's
Kite, let alone the other ships in the Fleet.  They could only sit in
their cramped confines, conducting business amongst each other, where
negotiating for an extra crum of food or clean clothes was considered the
most important business activity.
     When they saw the thick dun-geon-like door of the corridor swing
open and saw the sight of a warrior followed by an elegantly dressed man
in scarlet enter, the denizens of the slum corridor immediately took
notice, their voices  dropping from rude shouts to feeble whispers.
     As they passed, a frail-looking old woman in a green tattered dress
peered out from behind a cloth partition that gave some semblance of
privacy to her pathetic cubicle.
     "The people in these large spaceships have fashioned dwellings for
themselves as best they could," Sheba was saying, "but there is a
constant shortage of materials and first priority must, unfortunately, go
not to the living quarters but to the maintenance of ships and life
support systems."
     Morbus looked down at what appeared to be a pile of human excrement
on the catwalk, moving carefully to avoid stepping in it.  "It's
positively disgusting, Sheba.  Your commander ought to be ashamed of
himself."
     "I don't remember anybody askin' you, fella," the old woman shouted
at him, her open mouth revealing that her lower teeth were missing due to
lack of treatement.
     "Please," said Sheba, looking at her with a kind, sympathic
expression, "don't be rude.  This man is our friend."
     "Is that a fact?" the old woman countered, her voice thick with
resent-ment.  "And where is Mr. Morbus  stay-ing?  Did Adama arrange a
suite for him in the Rising Star's Club Elite?  Does he spend all his
time watching Triad matches as he guzzles down bottle after bottle of
SidraCola?"
     A small cluster of people, equally tattered and bedraggled as the
old woman, but representing a wide cross-section of ages, suddenly
emerged from their own cubicles at the end of the corridor and had begun
to listen in. 
     "How did you know who----" Sheba began, but she was cut off by one
of them men who had detached himself from the group they had passed.
     "Everyone has heard of the man who has come to us and spoken of
miracles," one of the men who'd emerged spoke up in a challenging tone. 
He was in the later stages of middle-age, and was dressed in what was
once an elegantly cut brow Caprican-style leisure suit that had become
shabby and worn to shreds over time.  He had the look of someone who had
once been part of the Colonial middle-class during the days before the
Holocause, enjoying a lifestyle where concerns about food, cleanliness
and health were totally unthinkable.  "Tell us, Mr. Morbus, what do you
do besides take up space and use up rations?"
     "Damn right!" the old woman shouted.  "Show us a miracle now:  take
my meager rations and make them bigger!"
     Morbus seemed half-amused by her request.  "That's all you want me
to do?"
     "When you have but a single raffialettuce plant to last a secton,"
the old woman said bitterly, "two such plants would be miracle enough!"
     "Then two raffialettuce plants it shall be," said Morbus.  "You'll
all have two multiplied by all the ships in the fleet.  Let that be the
first test of my powers."  He looked back at Sheba.  "If that's all right
with Adama, of course."
     "Just the kind of answer to our prayers we should've expected," said
one of the men acidly.  "We ask for food, a sign to lead us to Earth,
safety from the Cylons and fate gives us this bearded screwball."
     A crowd had gathered around them, which was growing by the moment.
     Morbus looked down at him and held up his hand in an offer of
reassur-ance.  "Come on old man," he said.  "Have a little faith.  I'll
appease your hunger, and I promise to assure you your safety and
destiny."
     "How can you promise that when you're as trapped as we are?"
     "I'm not here by a strange twist of fate," said Morbus.  "Follow me
and I'll lead you to---"
     "I'm sorry but we already have a leader.  His name is Adama."
     Sheba and Morbus looked up and saw a determined Apollo coming down
from the opposite direction, Starbuck trailing behind him.
     "You seem to be most interested in keeping track of my whereabouts,
Captain," Morbus said mockingly and then raised his voice loud enough for
all of the people to hear.  "If he's really your leader, then where's his
compassion?" Morbus said in a voice loud enough for all to hear.  "I
mean, look at these people.  They're living like caged animals."  He made
his point by reaching his hand into the pile of human waste behind him,
scooping up a handful and flinging it at Apollo.
     Apollo made no hostile move at Morbus, only looked down at the stain
the offensive matter made on his flight jacket.  "My father doesn't
promise what no man can deliver." He held his ground.  "The only thing he
ever promised was survival and escape from the Cylons following the
Holocaust.  And I don't think he needs you to lecture him about
compassion, since if were not for him, all of these people would be dying
in the wreckage of the Colonies waiting for the Cylon occupation forces
to arrive!"
     "That was yesterday, Captain Apollo!" the man spoke up sharply. 
"What about the troubles we've got now? And tomorrow?  Can he guarantee a
bright future for our children?"
     "Damn well said, old man!" Morbus smiled.  "Adama's past greatness
shouldn't be slighted.  But a leader can only maintain respect by
concentrating on what he does for you in the here and now."  He turned
back to Apollo.  "I can give these people all the comforts and food they
want; all he has to do is ask. The trouble is, when faced with the
obvious choice, he hesitates."
     "Then to hellfire with Adama," shouted the old woman.  "We'll follow
you.  If you can fill our cauldrons with food, if you can give us more
heat, and if you can deliver us to Earth or anyplace else where we can
live in peace."
     "If I do all this for you," Morbus said, "will you follow me?"
     "Everyone will follow you," a man shouted, "even if you are a little
crazy!"
     Morbus turned to Apollo, smiling.  "It looks like I just won the
point, Captain," he said above the din that continued to shout in
approval for him.
     "Mr. Morbus," said Sheba, "how will you deliver what you promise?"
     He remained silent for a long moment.
     "Go to the Agro Ship and see for yourself," he said.  "In the
meantime, Sheba, I think you should accompany me back to the Galactcica,
as it won't be long before Adama is forced to convene the Council of
Twelve and make his decision."
     She nodded then followed him back down the corridor to the rear
exit.  It took Apollo a moment to collect himself before he uneasily
turned back to Starbuck.  "Let's go."
     As they headed down the corridor, the taunts from the crowd aimed at
Apollo only increased, and seemed as deafening to him as the noise he'd
heard from those white lights.

*****

     When Apollo and Starbuck arrived on the agro ship, they found than
an amazed Dr. Wilker was already there, holding several enormous pieces
of exotic fruits in his hand.
     "What in Hades is going on here?" Apollo remarked.
     The scientist motioned to the agro-ship's chief operations officer,
Jotridus, a gangly man with close-set grey-blue eyes and lustrous
blue-black hair set in a long ponytail who had once been the Executive
Agricultural Planner of the Gemonese civil government.
     "Believe me, I don't pretend to understand this," Jotridus pointed
first to the fruit-bearing Chinblue trees that lined the walkways, his
normally-pleasant speech tones marred by a slight shudder  "Forty yahrens
as a farmer, and I've never seen the like before.  This species takes
three sectons to bear even the smallest pieces of fruit, in fact it was
only yesterday that they were in the hibernal phase.  And now there are
clusters and bunches growing to twice the size they're supposed to be."
     Apollo and Starbuck watched as Doctor Wilker moved up to one of the
fruiting trees with a sensor device.
     "It doesn't make sense Apollo," Starbuck looked at the Chinblues in
bewilderment.  He could remember spending part of his childhood in
Caprica's farm belt and he knew right away that this was totally
unexpected.
     Wilker came over to where the three of them were standing.  "I want
to bring samples of all these fruits and plants back with me to the
Galactica for immediate study.  There are some microbiologists on my team
who'd love to have a look at these things."
     "Have it your way, doc," Jotridus nodded.
     "Let me know what your people find," Apollo turned to Wilker, and
Starbuck noticed how an almost desperate edge seemed to enter his
friend's voice.  "There has to be some logical explanation for this. 
There has to be," Apollo said.
     "Don't look at me to give you one," said Wilker.  "Something
extraordinary has happened here."
     "You better believe it, Wilker" Jotridus said reverently.  "It's a
bloomin' miracle, that's what it is.  A bloomin' miracle that's going to
take care of half our food supply woes in no time at all."
     Apollo almost seemed deflated by Jotridus's remark, particularly the
emphasis he'd placed upon the word "miracle."  If that were true beyond
all  doubt, it only left him more deeply disturbed and troubled than
ever.
     "Okay," he said quietly. "Starbuck, let's head back to the
Galactica."

*****

     All throughout the journey back to the battlestar, Starbuck had
noticed the air of quiet glum in his pal's expression.  In all the
yahrens that he'd known Apollo, he literally could not remember a time
other than the immediate period following Serina's death where Apollo
seemed so depressed.
     "It's a frackin' madhouse!" Apollo whispered under his breath as he
gazed out the porthole of the shuttle.  "The inmates have broken out of
the madhouse and are taking over now."
     "Look at the bright side," Starbuck said.  "I agree with you
completely on the need to show caution with Morbus.  But if the man
delievers on what he promises, then what's left for us to object to?  We
get more food, we get a guarantee of safety and a guarantee that we can
be led to Earth.  The way you carry one, you almost seem to wish that
Morbus really does turn out to be a Cylon plant."
     "To be honest, Bucko, I think he's something worse."  There was an
ominous edge in Apollo's voice as he shifted his gaze forward.  "An agent
of evil deadlier to us than any Cylon trap.  If I'm scaring you, good
buddy, I mean to.  My warrior's instincts tell me not to trust him, and
I'm going to obey them.  There's something wrong with Morbus and I can
feel it."
     Starbuck rolled his eyes.  "Sounds to me like it's got more to do
with the liking Sheba's taken to him."
     As soon as the words rolled off his tongue, Starbuck realized he'd
made an awful mistake broaching the subject of Apollo's interest in
Sheba.  Not simply because of what Athena had told him earlier, but he
could still recall a sectar ago, just before the Cylon suicide bombings,
how Apollo had grown conspicuously furious with him when he'd jokingly
suggested that his friend was getting a crush on Sheba.
     He visibly forced himself to glance at Apollo.  His friend had
stiffened visibly, and from the way the veins in his neck were throbbing,
he seemed on the verge of blowing up in naked rage.  Which only told
Starbuck that his hunch about Sheba was absolutely correct, but Apollo
found it too private to discuss with anyone.
     Apollo deeply sucked in his breath and rose from his seat.  "I'm
afraid you and I have nothing more to talk about."
     "Now hold on a micron." Starbuck pulled him back down.  "I'm sorry,
I should've known better than that.  It's just that...well sometimes we
feel things we don't even realize.  I mean, we're all human."
     Apollo threw him another cold stare.  "I can think of one that
isn't," he said as he got up again. "I'll talk to you later, Starbuck."
     As Apollo moved over to another part of the shuttle, Starbuck shook
his head in amazement, and silently vowed never to raise the subject of
Sheba again.  It was clear that was something Apollo could only work out
in his own mind.

*****

     As soon as the shuttle had completed its docking maneuvers, Apollo
went straight to his father's quarters, where he found Adama in a more
philosophical mood than he'd been prior to the last time Apollo had seen
him.
     "Father," said Apollo, "you've got to do something.  Morbus has
everyone convinced that he has supernatural powers."
     "I know," Adama nodded as he sipped a glass of ambrosa. "It's been
on my mind a great deal."
     "And?"
     Adama looked up from his desk. "Actually, I think he does have
super-natural powers."
     "You can't mean that."  Apollo lowered his head and almost felt his
despair increase.  If it had come to the point where even his father had
started to believe in Morbus, then there was no hope left at all.
     Adama slowly got up and moved to the star window.  He stood silent
for a moment, gazing out.
     "Apollo," he said, "according to the Book of the Word, the humans of
Kobol were visited in the remote past by a race of Angels, winged figures
garbed in white, haloes shining brightly about their heads, who not only
gave them the beginnings of their science, but also handed down to them
the Word of God, the very words by which we live."
     "I hope you're not trying to say Mr. Morbus is an angel, Father,"
said Apollo.
     "By no means," Adama replied.  "But then, we're not alone in the
universe.  And now that we've left all of charted space as we know it
behind us, should it surprise us that we may have encountered another
kind of lifeform altogether?  Who knows what manner of life exists out
there?"
     Apollo still didn't look up at him.  "All very interesting, but---"
     "Can you assure me the Angels, of whom the Book of the Word speaks,
or perhaps even the very Lords of Kobol themselves from which our
civilization desceneded, did not themselves come from some race which
continued to evolve and advance at a far greater speed than our own?"
     "Father," his son finally looked at him, "I don't think that
interpretation of our origins is explicity stated in the Book of the
Word.  At least, I don't recall you mentioning that in all the yahrens of
religious training you drilled into me and Athena and Zac."
     "Perhaps not," Adama smiled thinly and set his glass down. 
"Although it is a favorite theory of many of our leading theologians down
through the meillenia.  The Book of the Word is a marvelous guide of
instruction in how we live our daily lives, Apollo.  And yet it contains
enough wonderful ambuiguities that have had scholars, believers and
skeptics arguing for thousands of yahrens.  Who's to say that the theory
I mentioned is not correct?"
     "Although I find myself willing to accept your premise," Apollo
said, "I'm wondering why haven't we heard from this advanced race,
this...offshoot of our own stem, since the Great Exodus from Kobol? Why
haven't they re-established contact?"
     Adama glanced at him.  "They may already have."
     "Morbus?" said Apollo.
     "He could be our generation's first contact with the ancient
forefathers," said Adama.
     Apollo's eyes widened in disbelief.  "If that were true, Father,
well...it'd be more frightening a prospect than the Cylons finishing us
off," he then abruptly turned away.
     "Why do you say that?" said Adama.
     Apollo's frustration only increased with every word as he spoke. 
"We'd be powerless to control our own destinies from this point forward."
     "Perhaps not," Adama noted.  "Now think about it Apollo; Morbus has
asked us to follow him.  Not ordered, not demanded---asked."
     "That'll be his next move, Father," said Apollo flatly.
     "It's possible, but I think it's unlikely," Adama shook his head.
     Apollo frowned.  "You mean---he has no power over us unless we
submit to him of our own free will?"
     "I think so," his father said.  "The Book of the Word is very clear
that when it comes to matters of faith, and of choosing right or wrong,
we are all as individuals given a direct choice in the matter.  Unlike
puppets with some hidden master pulling our strings, deciding for us what
we will and will not do, human beings are endowed with the power of
self-governance.  The idea that faith and salvation in God is only
reserved for a predestined elect is an old heretical doctrine that was
damned by our wiser clerics eons ago."
     "You make Mr. Morbus sound like some sort of god, Father."
     Adama nodded, considering his son's words.  "In a real sense, he is
a god.  Reflect now, if you can, upon how we ourselves would appear to a
far more primitive race.  Would they perceive us to be gods?  Probably
so.  Our guest may be no more than a man, but a man from another time,
with great powers and strengths.  But," he held up an emphatic figure,
"also governed by the same rules that are universal in nature, the laws
that require lesser beings to ask for his help, not force them to submit
to his will."
     Apollo decided it was time to get back to the matter at hand.  "What
are you going to do? The people are ready to go along with him, god,
man----or devil."
     "He asked me to prepare three tests of his powers," sighed Adama. 
"And that's exactly what I'm going to do at tonight's Council meeting."
     "What sort of tests?"
     "I've already had a preliminary talk with all of the members of the
Council," his father said.  "The first two were relatively easy to come
up with.  You'll find out what they are tonight."
     "And if he delivers on them?" Apollo sounded as though he was afraid
to know the answer.
     Adama put a reassuring hand on his son's shoulder.  "Apollo," he
said, "we've survived more than a yahren of treacherous flight across the
stars not just because we've been able to bring our resources together at
a crucial time, but because I firmly believe there has been an ultimate
purpose at work behind our survival.  Planned by someone Whose face has
never been seen by any mortal, and Who is ultimately in control of all
things that happen in this universe.  If it turns out that placing our
trust in Morbus's leadership fits in with that plan, then I have no right
to question it.  That's the kind of faith we need to rely on at a
critical time such as this.  The very kind of faith I used to teach many
an evening to you about.  Derive your inner strength from that, Apollo. 
It will work, trust me."
     Apollo took a breath and then smiled.  "I keep telling Boxey every
night how he has to keep saying his prayers before he goes to bed.  I
guess I'll have to rediscover the power of prayer for myself."
     "Go spend some time with him, Apollo," Adama said.  "Take your mind
off this whole thing for now."
     "I think I'll do just that." For the first time in a long while,
Apollo seemed more at ease.  "I'll be at the meeting tonigh. And I...wish
you all the best."  

*****

     That evening, a subdued Adama called the meeting of the Council of
Twelve to order.
     "We are gathered here this evening," Adama began, "so that we may
answer the request put forth to us by our guest Mr. Morbus, a man who
claims to posses remarkable powers, that, if put to proper use, could
provide great assistance to the needs of our people.
     The members all had their eyes trained in fascination on Morbus, who
stood at the far end of the table, looking straight at Adama and waiting
with anticipation to hear what the mysterious man in scarlet had to say
to them.
     "Mr. Morbus, in the interest of dispensing with all further
preliminaries, I turn the floor over to you," Adama motioned politely.
     Morbus smiled and began to pace up and down the length of the
Council table.     
     "You've agreed on three tests of my strength," he said, addressing
them all.  "The first is to deliver your enemy, the second is to
accurately plot your course to Earth.  The third...the third you can't
agree on.  Some of you wish to know who I am and about my home planet,
Lyre.  Others are satisfied to accept me on the strength of my works and
follow blindly provided I guarantee your safety."
     The members of the council were shocked and astonished. All except
for Adama, who was staring pensively as though he had already anticipated
it.
     "How is it possible that he could have known?" Sire Gant was the
first who found the strength to speak, though there was no disguising the
astonishment in his voice.  He was one of the oldest members of the
Council, and one of only two who had served on the body prior to the
Holocaust, as the representative from Cancera for more than fifteen
yahrens. He had retired to private life three yahrens before the
Holocaust, but when eleven of the twelve sitting members (all save Adama)
had been killed in the destruction of the Battlestar Atlantia, Gant had
willingly come out of retirement to serve on the body again.  "Our
decisions were made in private, and all of us pledged not to speak of it
until...," he trailed off.
     "Has one among us violated that pledge?" another elderly voice, this
one more skeptical, spoke up.  It was Sire Dexterity, one-time chief aide
to the late President Adar, who had also come out of retirement to serve
on the new Council.  In the early days of the Galactica's flight from the
Colonies, Adama had seen Dexterity as a potential adversary, especially
since Dexterity had been one of those who'd willingly lent support to
Sire Uri's near-disastrous proposal to settle on Carillon and destroy all
of the Fleet's weapons of defense. In the wake of what had happened on
Carillon, though, which had caused Uri to vacate his seat in disgrace,
Dexterity had become one of Adama's most stalwart allies on the Council.
     Morbus turned to Dexterity and smiled at him.  "None of your
colleagues  did any such thing, Sire Dexterity.  It's just that I know
everthing that's going to be said before it's said.  For instance,
although you and I haven't met before this evening, I know that you are
the most skeptical of this entire panel, with the possible exception of
Commander Adama and his son, who accompanied me here."
     Dexterity's genial eyes narrowed in disbelief.
     "As proof of my goodwill," Morbus resumed walking up and down the
length of the table and his voice rose,  "I'm going to grant your first
wish before you decide on the third.  I'm going to deliver your enemy to
you----tonight!"
     An anxious stir went up around the table.
     Dexterity slowly rose from his chair.  "We deliberately implied our
request in vague, nonspecific terms, Mr. Morbus," he said.  "This was
necessary in order for us to properly gauge your intentions.  And we
desire to know exactly what your idea of delivering our enemy is."
     "That, Sire Dexterity," Morbus grinned, "will be revealed to you
soon enough." He then shifted his attention to Adama.  "I think,
Commander, that you should adjourn this meeting for now and go back to
your quarters.  And then, you'll see the currents of history move forward
as I command them to."
     And then, the crimson micro-sequins of his tunic flashing like an
exploding sun in the chamber's lights, he turned to leave.

*****

     As Lucifer approached Baltar's throne chair, it struck him that the
human traitor was acting most odd.  Ever since he'd first made the report
to him of the mysterious light, a morose, withdrawn aura had come over
Baltar, which was totally unlike him.  After nearly a yahren of watching
and studying the human, he had virtually come to take him for granted and
seeing him act this way was a new experience for the IL.  If Baltar were
truly frightened by these new developments, then a hasty panic filled
with frenetic activity on his part was was Lucifer would've expected. 
Certainly not this silent brooding.
     "Any further news of these machines?" Baltar didn't even bother to
look Lucifer in the eye, which further astonished the IL Cylon.  "These
ghosts or manifestations or whatever in Kobol's name they are?"
     "Our attack craft are unable to pursue them," Lucifer said. 
"Whatever they may be, they are too swift for us."
     Baltar suddenly felt sleepy.  He closed his eyes, and then opened
them, feeling different, as though he was being robbed of his free will. 

     "I---I--want you to prepare my personal craft and crew." 
     If Lucifer were capable of doing so, he would have frowned. "May I
ask why?"
     "Send out a long-range signal, unidirectional, to the Galactica,
wherever she is," Baltar went on, his voice strangely distant.  "I have
Adama's private frequency.  I used it to conduct business with him many
yahrens ago.  Use it. And notify him that I wish to rendezvous with his
ship.  They may send out Viper interceptors to make sure that I come
alone under the universal signal of truce."
     The IL Cylon stood there and wondered if his hearing circuits were
malfunctioning.
     "Do I understand you correctly, Baltar?"
     "It is so ordered, Lucifer," the human traitor still didn't look at
him, and his voice remained strangely hollow.
     "Baltar," Lucifer wondered if he was seeing the first signs of what
humans referred to as lunacy.  "What business do you intend to conduct on
behalf of the Empire in such a meeting?"
     "To make them aware of the weightiness of what we both face this
very moment," a despondent quality now entered his voice.  "If they are
not responsible for those apparitions, then, perhaps, they might hold the
key for dealing with them."
     If Lucifer needed any further convincing that Baltar had crossed the
line of sanity into insanity, he now had it.  He knew in an instant that
the ideal thing was for him to say nothing and carry out the order,
because Lucifer knew that if Baltar indeed acted on this mad idea he was
proclaiming, then the IL Cylon would finally be able to secure for
himself the one thing he felt he should have rightfully received a long
time ago; a command of his own.
     And yet, Lucifer still found himself unable to keep silent, simply
because seeing Baltar act this way went against everything he knew about
the man.  It seemed as if something else was controlling Baltar, forcing
him to do things that were utterly absurd in nature.
     "With all due respect, I cannot see how your proposal can possibly
succeed," he said.  "You actually expect to be treated under the
principles of universal law when you are the one who betrayed your
species and led them into the annihilation of the Colonies?"
     For the first time, Baltar looked at his assistant.  But it was only
a fleeting glance, and then he went back to his slouched posture of
looking off into the distance at nothing in particular.  "My life is my
own to risk," said Baltar.  "Do as you're told."
     Lucifer decided to cease arguing the matter.  As far as he was
concerned, his own self-interest dictated that he act immediately.
     "By your command." He bowed and retreated from the chamber.
     As he left Baltar alone, the IL Cylon almost felt a sensation of
delight coursing through his circuitry.  For he was convinced that he was
never going to have to say those unbearable words to Baltar ever again.

*****

     After watching the proceedings of the Council meeting, Apollo had
stopped by the Rejuvenation Center to spend a centar playing more games
with his son, Boxey.  After deliberately letting Boxey win two games of
three-dimensional Triad, he allowed Athena to take the little boy back to
his quarters so she could tuck him into bed.  From there, Apollo had
decided to go to the bridge and pass some time wating to see if word
would come through with regard to the promise he had heard Mr. Morbus
utter.
     He and Starbuck were idling by the communications banks when he saw
his father enter the Bridge, walking at a fast and brisk pace.
     "Omega," the commander barked,"bring the fleet to full alert."    
"Yes, sir." The bridge officer scrambled back to his console to carry out
the order.  Apollo, Starbuck and Colonel Tigh all promptly converged on
Adama.
     "What's happening, Father?" there was an anxious edge in Apollo's
voice. "What's the big emergency?"
     Adama had his hands clasped behind his back, shaking his head in
amazement.  "Believe it or not, we've just received a direct communiqu‚
over my personal videocom frequency from Baltar," said Adama.
     "What?" Tigh blurted in shock.  "How could---"
     "He remembered my old access code from when he and I conducted
business as fellow members of the Council."  Adama sounded as if he could
scarcely believe it himself, even though he'd been the one who'd gone
through the experience.  "He's asked to come aboard the Galactica under
the universal sign of truce, and is already on his way in his personal
craft, alone and unescorted."
     "It has to some kind of perverted joke." Apollo felt as if he'd
stepped into an unreal netherworld.  "What reason does he have to want to
come aboard when he knows that it means the end of him?"
     "That's an interesting question, isn't it?" Adama nodded his head. 
"Especially in light of the first task Morbus has pledged to fulfill this
night?"
     "You don't think---" Apollo began then stopped himself, unable to
complete the question.
     "No one can say at this point," Adama kept his tone firm.  "At this
point, I think the appropriate step is to launch Blue Squadron
immediately to escort Baltar in."
     Apollo and Starbuck were both off the bridge in a matter of microns.
     "Colonel," Adama drew in his breath, "notify the Council
immediately.
     A centar later, Adama was in his quarters, making a hasty entry into
his journal as he awaited further word on the situation.

*****

From the Adama Journals:

     This is an event unlike anything we've experienced since the
destruction of our civilization.  Baltar's ship is reaching our sector
and is being intercepted by an elite squadron, which will escort the
treasonous architect of our Holocaust directly into our hands.
     As soon as the Council was notified of this development, it was only
a matter of microns before one of our members leaked the story to the
IFB, who have no broadcast the news to our people. The word spread like a
sunburst in every corner of the Fleet, with a jubilation that is 
unprecedented as they know that Baltar is to be brought before the
Council of Twelve and answer for his crime against all humanity.
     All is happening then, just as Mr. Morbus had promised.  Our enemy
has been delivered unto us. For myself, the thought that the man who
bears responsibility for the death of my wife, my son, and so many other
things I once cherished, will at last be brought to justice should give
me cause to celebrate more than anyone else I know.
     And yet strangely enough, I still find myself wondering if the fears
and suspicions felt by Apollo are true. If what is happening to us on
this day is conceivably something that is designed only to lull us into
thinking that our doubts about Morbus can be set aside, when in fact
there remain too many potential dangers to consider.

*****

Chapter Five:  The Cure For The Common Cylon

     Adama suddenly heard his intercom chime.  He set down the microphone
of his voice recorder and answered it.  "Yes?"
     "Commander," Tigh found it almost impossible to keep his voice
businesslike, "Baltar's fighter has landed.  He's being escorted to the
Council Chamber right now."
     I'm on my way."  Adama rose and left his quarters as fast as his
legs could carry him.

*****

     Throughout the journey from his baseship to the Galactica, Baltar
had carefully considered the remarks he would be making to the body he
had once been a member of for more than five yahrens, as the delegate
from Piscera to the Council of Twelve.  At not time did the thought that
he would be greeted with scorn, contempt and hatred ever enter his mind. 
He was convinced in his own mind that he would be treated with courtesy
under the rules of engagement, which clearly said that the universal sign
of truce was to be honored as a solemn time for adversaries to
communicate with each other over matters of importance.
     Surely they would recognize that if he were making such a bold step,
they would see in an instant that he had something of great importance to
tell them!  Something that was of concern to both humanity and the Cylon
Empire.  And when he was finished, they would surely be grateful that he
had taken such a bold and daring risk!
     As he stood at the head of the table before the assembled Council of
the Twelve he could seem some faces that were familiar to him.  Sire Gant
had served on the Council at the same time he had, before the Canceran
delgate's initial retirement. There was also Sire Dexterity, whom he had
conducted much business with before in the former's capacity as President
Adar's chief aide.  He could also see others whom he had interacted with
many times before over the yahrens in his capacity as the most
pre-eminent merchant in all fo the Colonies.  Sire Domra. Sire Geller. 
Siress Sybilla.  The only face he initially had trouble with was the
young, bearded visgage of Sire Dissothy, whose father had been the Libran
delegate at the time of the Holocaust, and who like Adar and the other
members of the Council Baltar had sat on, had been killed in the
Atlantia's destruction.
     As he looked them all over, and prepared to step forward to make his
initial remarkes, Baltar scarcely seemed to comprehend the burning hatred
in their faces.    Not simply from the members of the Council, but from
the crowd of spectators who had filled the rear of the chamber to get a
look at the proceedings.
     About the only two people in the room who did not have such an
expression as they stared at Baltar were Adama, whose expression was
strangely neutral, and Mr. Morbus, who stood off to one side with a faint
smile.
     Before Baltar could open his mouth, Adama nodded his head and Sire
Gant rose from his seat, with a look of intense hatred and fury.  Adama
had specifically chosen Gant to perform the honor of formally sentencing
Baltar since the elderly Canceran had more of a sense of personal
responsibility in the matter. Six yahrens earlier, when the Piscean seat
had become vacant on the Council, the planet's civil government had been
unable to successfully elect a new member.  It had come down to three
candidates submitted to the Council as a whole, with the winer to be
determined by a majority vote.  Gant, more than any other member, had
been instrumental in securing the seat for Baltar because of the
outstanding business relationships they had enjoyed in negotiating trade
agreements between Cancera and Piscera.  Now, as the elderly buritician
stood and looked Baltar in the eye, he felt a sense that at long last he
was about to perform restitution for the worst mistake of his life.
     "Baltar," he said, struggling vainly to keep his voice level in
accordance with judicial protocol, "you have been found guilty of treason
against the state and in violation of every code of moral and ethical
conduct of mankind.  It frightens me when I think of what I, personally,
would like to do to you, but our hands are tied by the limits of our
coveted laws.  The worst punishments I can mete out to you are, in my
opinion, too lenient, but, nevertheless, I will follow the spirit and
letter of our laws.  You are sentenced to spend the remainder of your
life in confinement aboard the prison barge."
     "No!" said Baltar, the color draining from his cheeks. "No, I say,
you can't do this to me!  I came to you under a sign of truce!"
     "A truce, Baltar?" young Sire Dissothy spoke up with a sarcastic
looked.  "Do you mean the same kind of truce you offered to this body and
our civilization one yahren ago, when you claimed that the Cylons were
suing for peace?  And for which men like my father paid the price of his
life because he trusted you then?"
     "And for which the name of my dear friend Adar became stained for
all eternity because you ruthlessly took advantage of his desire to be
remembered as a man of peace?" Sire Gant joined the chorus.  "How dare
you presume that you are entitled to any courtesies under the principles
of universal law!"
     "Hear me out!" Baltar placed his hands on the table as he struggled
desperately to regain an initiative. "This time you need me! We need each
other.  There is a power greater than yours, greater than the Alliance! 
It will destroy us if we do not unite! You must listen!" his voice rose
to a frantic level.
     "What are you offering this time, Baltar?" Sire Dissothy continued
to mock.  "First it was an offer that the Cylons would let us alone in
peace.  And now it is an offer to work together?  I believe we can do
without  your offers."
     "You don't understand!" Baltar thrust his arms out, not
understanding why this was happening.  "Listen!"
     "May I address the Council?" said Morbus.  After Sire Gant nodded,
he rose to his feet and moved to stand in front of Baltar, looking like a
hybrid of demon and angel as his jumpsuit glimmered in the subdued light
of the council chamber.  "Listen to me, Baltar, there's nothing that you
or your Cylon friends can do to combat the powers you're talking about."
     "What do you know of these powers?" Baltar said.  "They defy
description!" 
     Morbus smiled.  "I know these powers as well as I know you, Baltar."
     The traitor frowned. His voice dropped to a whisper.  "You do not
know me.  Who are you?"
     "I am Morbus of Lyre," he smiled with an almost triumphant air, "and
I've come to lead these people from your ruthless pursuit."
     The human traitor suddenly froze as if he had gone into a state of
shock.
     "That voice!" Baltar gasped.  "I don't know you, and yet there
something in that voice.  I've heard it before!"
     Morbus's triumphant star only intensified.  "It's the voice of
truth, the voice that's going to lead these people just as it's led you
to surrender to their justice."
     "That can't be. I came here of my own free will." A measured
determination returned to Baltar's face as he summoned one last effort to
regain the initiative. 
     "No you didn't.  I led you here.  And now, I'm going to force you to
your knees and order you to accept their punishment," said Morbus, gazing
directly at Baltar with eyes that turned red and smoldered.
     All of those present in the chamber watched in stunned fascination
as Baltar's face suddenly twisted and contored with a tide of raging
emotions that seemed to suggest a mixture of sorrowful obedience and
horrified fear.  The traitor's hands clawed at the air as if he were
trying to somehow summon some measure of resistance against the strange
force raging inside him.  It proved to be futil though as he began to
shiver, as if he'd been doused with a bucket of ice-cold water, then his
knees began to buckle.  Morbus stood before him, smiling demonically. 
Baltar's face erupted in a torrent of sweat as he battled to defy a power
beyond his ken.  Tears began to copiously flow from his eyes as he sank
to his knees against his will and bowed his head in submission.
     "A...dam...a," Baltar's voice cracked through his sobs,
"Who...is...this man?"
     The commander had decided that he'd seen enough.  He calmly gestured
to Sergeant Silence and another Colonial Security guard who had escorted
Baltar to the chamber.
     "Get this damn dirty animal out of my sight!" ordered Adama.
     As the two guards dragged Baltar out, an air of near-reverent awe
seemed to fill the chamber as Iblis stood triumphantly at the head of the
table. The way in which he towered above Adama's seated form almost
suggested to many in the room that the change in leadership had already
taken place from a practical, if not legal standpoint.
     "There were two more prerequisites to our bargain," said Morbus,
turning to face the Council.  
     "Not yet!"
     A startled hush went through the crowd that Morbus had been
interrupted in his moment of glory.  He raised an eyebrow in amusement as
he directed his gaze toward the source of the voice.
     "Is there a problem, Sire Gant?"
     "Yes, there is," the elderly Council member rose from his seat and
Adama found himself frowning in amazement.  Gant was a man known for his
soft-spoken, gentle demeanor.  But this time, the former Presidential
aide was glaring at Morbus with even more cold skepticism than he'd shown
before.
     "I would like to say at this time," Gant began forcefully, "that
while I stand with all of those present in gratitude that the traitor has
at last been brought to our justice, I refuse to regard it as sufficient
to consider you in fulfillment of the first task you have promised to us,
Mr. Morbus."
     "My dear Gant!" Sire Domra suddenly shot to his feet, "Your
incivility in this centon of glory is  inexcusable!"
     "This is no centon of glory, my dear Domra!" Gant wheeled around and
glared coldly at him.  "How, precisely does our rejoicing in the capture
of Baltar and administering of justice to him lessen the plight of
endless pursuit by the Cylons that has plagued us from the micron we left
the Colonies behind us forever?  It doesn't.  For one thing, the baseship
Baltar came from knows exactly where we are.  Even with their commander
captured they have the capacity to continue their pursuit of us whenver
they so choose."
     Adama felt as if an offering from the Lords of Kobol had suddenly
been presented to him in the form of Gant.  He too had been worried about
the exact same things that Gant was bringing out into the open, but he
had felt that raising them himself would not be able to sway the Council. 
Now that another member had taken the initiative, he knew that he had a
chance.
     "Members of the Council," Adama quietly spoke up.  "I believe that
Sire Gant raises a valid point.  The task of delivering our enemy unto us
can surely not end with Baltar alone."
     "I believe that Mr. Morbus has sufficiently demonstrated that we can
be safe from any further harm from the Cylons," Domra said angrily.
     "I would prefer a more definite sign, if you don't mind," Gant
acidly retorted and then turned back to Morbus.  "If you desire my full
trust in your abilities, Mr. Morbus, you will demonstrate to us through a
clear sign that the danger of pursuit from the Cylons is over, and that
we may resume this journey across the stars with no more fear.  Only
then, will I regard you in fulfillment of your promise that our enemy has
been delivered to us in total."
     Morbus looked at him with amusement for almost a full centon.  The
sight of the good-looking, bearded man locked in a seeming contest of
wills with the elderly buritician struck all of the onlookers as a
hopeless mismatch.  Many of the onlookers half-expected to see Morbus
force Gant to his knees in the same way that he had done with Baltar.
     But when Morbus finally spoke, it was in a tone of gentle
acceptance.  "I enjoy a good intellectual challenge," he said with
admiration.  "Your reasoning is quite impeccable, Sire Gant, and you're
right.  The basestar from which Baltar came does know where you are and
is capable of continuing to monitor the movements of this Fleet.  It's
time for that nuisance that has caused you to live in perpetual danger
for nearly a yahren to end at last."
     Morbus came back to the head of the table and looked out to the
members of the Council.  "I couldn't lead you without any sense of unity
in your commitment," he said.  "While I'm grateful for the trust that
some of you are willing to place in me now, the objections of those like
Sire Gant must be considered.  Accordingly, you'll see a further sign
from me in the immediate future that should erase all trace of doubt from
your minds," he emphasized, "that the danger of Cylon pursuit is past
forever.  And that you'll be able to look back on them as no more than a
distant bad memory."
     "Mr. Morbus," Sire Geller rose with concern, "if you deliver this
additional sign to us, will  you be counting that against us as the third
and final task?"
     "Not at all," Morbus smiled reassuringly.  "As Sire Gant so
eloquently argued, this is to be considered further confirmation that the
first task has been fulfilled. I'll leave the third task open to you for
future deliberation."  He then paused.  "It's best that we adjourn once
agin until that additional sign has been presented to you. And then, the
matters of what lies next can finally be discussed."
     Morbus turned and, with the air of a conquering hero, left the
chamber.  No one dared to immediately follow him out.
     Finally, Adama broke the silence. "If there is no more business to
conduct, he said, "The Council of Twelve stands adjourned."
     As the members and spectators slowly filed out, Adama soon found
himself alone with the man who had dared to openly challenge Morbus in
his moment of triumph.
     "Just out of curiosity, Sire Gant," Adama said quietly, "Why?"
     "Why?" Gant smiled.  "Penance, old friend.  Penance for my imprudent
support of Uri at Carillon and my constant desire never to be fooled
again by anyone who claims to have found the ultimate solution to all of
our problems."
     "If Morbus does follow through, will you then willingly accept his
leadership?" Adama asked.
     "Perhaps," Gant conceded.  "Will you?"
     Adama sighed.  "That remains to be seen, I'm afraid."
     "In that case, let us hope the outcome is favorable for all
concerned," Gant rose from his chiar.  "Good night, Adama."
     "Good night."
     Adama remained alone in the darkened chamber in silent contemplation
for several centons before he finally found the strength to rise from his
seat and leave the room.

*****
     
     For endless centars, Lucifer found himself refusing to budge from
Baltar's throne chair.   Ever since the traitor had left on his fool's
errand, the IL Cylon had wasted little time in assuming the command
position and reveling in it.  At last, he finally had what should have
been his long ago.
     So deep were the waves of pleasure inside his second computer brain
that he didn't instantly notice the gold-plated command centurion enter
the throne room.
     "By your command," the lower-toned voice of the command centurion
spoke.
     Oh how good it felt to hear someone else use that phrase, and to
hear it directed to him!   Lucifer found himself savoring it so much that
the centurion was forced to repeat it to get his attention.
     "Speak!" Lucifer finally acknowledge him.
     "There is an urgent dispatch from Gomoray.  The base commander
insists that he speak with you immediately."
     "That damnable Spektor!" Lucifer said with a sarcastic air.  "What
could that inferior model possibly want?"
     "He says it is of the highest level of urgency."
     "Very well then," Lucifer sighed and reluctantly stepped out of the
throne chair.  "I will indulge him.  I wonder what his future will be
like now that his benefactor has disappeared forever."
     Lucifer followed the command centurion into the main communications
center.  He stopped in front of one of the monitors while another
centurion activated it.
     An instant later, the face of an older IL Cylon filled the screen.
     "An honor to communicate with you, Spektor," Lucifer bowed slightly. 
"It has been so long since I last had the pleasure."
     The recently appointed commander and administrator of the Cylon
outer capital refused to reciprocate the pleasantries.  "What have you to
report on Baltar?"
     Spektor's question hit Lucifer like a bomb.  He had been looking
forward to telling Spektor with relish that he was now in command and
that Baltar had mysteriously disappeared for reasons unknown.  But the
manner in which the older IL asked the question clearly indicated that
Spektor already knew what had happened.
     "Why do you ask me that, Spektor?" the newer IL kept his tone blas‚.

     "Before he embarked on his most unsual mission to rendezvous with
the Galactica, Baltar saw fit to send me a communiqu‚ explaining his
actions," Spektor said.  "It seemed that he wanted the Imperious Leader
to understand the reasons for why he had so decided."
     Lucifer found himself wondering if some kind of joke had been played
on him.  The last thing he would have expected was to discover that
Baltar had left behind a discernable record that would require an
explanation on his part.  Once Baltar's fighter had disappeared, he had
been prepared to keep the reasons secret forever.  And now, that option
had already been stolen away from him.
     "I'm waiting, Lucifer," an edge of coldness entered Spektor's voice. 
"What have you to report on Baltar's status?  And have those mysterious
lights that concerned him so much returned?"
     "Fortunately not," Lucifer was emphatic.  "We are hopeful that
whatever those unknown apparitions were, they will not trouble us any
longer."
     "That still does not answer my question about Baltar." Spektor
refused to let up.
     Lucifer found himself wishing he had a human face that was capable
of showing a look of disgust.  You really need Baltar in order to have
any hope of advancing further in your career, don't you?  First your
fawning devotion in those dispatches from Atilla gets him to recommend
your name for the Gomoray garrison, yet you no doubt counted on him for
more.
     "I'm not answering your question for the simple reason that I have
no answer to give you," Lucifer finally spoke.  "I can only assume that
whatever Baltar had in mind ended in failure.  Whether it was at the
hands of the strange lights or the Galactica will probably remain
unlearned."
     "How do you plan to respond if it be the latter?"
     "Respond?" Lucifer coldly retorted.  "My dear Spektor, I now find
myself in command of but one basestar that possesses only two squadrons
of fighters that you scrounged up for us before we left the Gomoray
quadrant a sectar ago.  Sufficient for monitoring the Galactica, but
thoroughly inadequate for mounting any kind of attack."
     "Were I in your position, Lucifer, I would reconsider your line of
thinking," the older IL's voice grew grave.  "I do not believe the
Imperious Leader will look upon your actions favorably if you choose to
take no appropriate steps in response to Baltar's disappearance, or
possible apprehension."
     "I fail to understand your confidence that the Imperious Leader
would even take an interest in such a matter."  The newer IL stood his
ground.  "Have you been in touch with him since his return to the home
planet?"
     "In the time while he was still on Gomoray, I had a chance to learn
that he still valued Baltar in overall command of the pursuit," Spektor
said.  "He certainly left no indication with me that he was willing to
entrust such responsibilities to you.  Particularly since your deliberate
usurpation of authority at the Battle of Kobol, when your ill-considered
attack disrupted Baltar's plan for capturing the Galactica has still not
been forgotten by him."
     Lucifer almost felt his circuitry freeze-up in shock by the older
IL's revelation.  If Spektor was telling the truth, then he now
understood completely why Imperious Leader had forced him to remain in a
subordinate position to Baltar after all this time.
     "If it is true that there is no hope of recovering Baltar," Spektor
went on, "then I would think that some proper initiative on your part
would be the only thing to insure that the Imperious Leader will have no
objections to giving you permanent command."
     The newer IL Cylon realized with disgust that he'd been backed into
a corner.  As distasteful as it was for his advanced brain to admit, his
older counterpart had reasoned the situation perfectly.  He had no
choice.
     "Well, Lucifer?" a hint of taunting entered Spektor's voice.
     Lucifer carefully drew himself up.  "You may inform the Imperious
Leader that a response will be under way shortly."
     "Good," Spektor said as the taunting hint became one of satisfied
triumph.  "I wish you all success."
     And then, the transmission from Gomoray abruptly terminated, leaving
Lucifer wishing he could smash the monitor with all his fury.
     He quickly allowed his rage to pass and then assumed a posture of
authority.
     "Centurion," he commanded.  "Order the helm to proceed to the
Galactica's position at full battle speed.  Launch all available fighters
ahead of us to engage her first.  If it comes down to having to use our
missile banks in a head-to-head clash, though, we shall do so."

*****

     "Scanners still report all clear, Commander," Tigh reported as Adama
entered the bridge for morning inspection.  "No sign of activity.  The
only trouble I've been getting are a load of complaints from warriors who
want to take part in all the celebrations going on elsewhere in the
Fleet."
     Adama's expression grew stern.  "Colonel, the next time that
happens, you let them know this:  if a single warrior leaves his or her
post for so much as even a micron while this alert remains in force, that
person will spend a full sectar in the brig."
     "Don't you think your men deserve more compassion than that, Adama?"
     Adama and Tigh spun round and saw Morbus enter.  Immediately, Adama
found himself frowning at how the aristocratic stranger could have
possibly arrived so soon after his own arrival.  He certainly should have
noticed him in the corridor if Morbus had been on his way to the bridge
as well.
     "Mr. Morbus," Adama said patiently, "the only sureness I can deal
with as a result of your promise before the Council last night, is that I
can expect to see a Cylon presence soon.  I refuse to  neglect my
obligations as Fleet Commander by not having my warriors stand ready to
repel them."
     "For a man who prides himself on the intensity of his own religious
faith, your lack of faith in me is most disappointing," Morbus said. 
"What makes you think that I would allow any harm to come to this ship or
to your men once the insignificant force the Cylons throw at you decides
to make itself known?"
     "Forgive me, Mr. Morbus," Adama was determined to be firm without
being antagonistic, "but the last person who insisted that I had no
reason to go out and clash with an attacking Cylon battle group was the
man you brought to us last night.  The micron I see something, I am going
to take appropriate action.  If you intend to carry out your planned
'demonstration' during that time, do so with all my blessing. But I will
not lower my defenses beforehand merely because you say that it is all
right to do so."
     "I admire your dedication to the doctrines of thorough military
tactics, Adama," Morbus said.  "But in the long-run, it could lead to
your undoing."
     Tigh found himself gripping the handrail as he tried to keep the
rising tide of anger he was feeling bottled up.  The commander's
expression remained unchanged, as he folded his arms and continued to
stare firmly into Morbus's jet-black eyes.
     "Is that some kind of a threat, Mr. Morbus?" Adama's response was
low and pointed.
     "Abosultely not."  Morbus was matter-of-fact.  "Threats are the
weapons of children.  I'm only stating the obvious.  Once the Cylon
threat is taken care of, the Council's ratification of my leadership will
be a predetermined conclusion.  If your hostility and lack of faith
continues beyond that point, they may see fit to take certain matters
into their own hands regarding your future role in Fleet affairs.  That's
something you really need to think about."
     He turned and then departed the bridge with a flourish that had
become typical of him.
     "Adama," Tigh angrily said as soon as the bearded man was gone. 
"What does he think he can do about---?"
     His old friend held up a hand and cut him off.  "I'm not sure," he
said quietly.  "Except that I know for certain that if Morbus succeeds in
this, he will still not have my trust.  And..." he trailed off and seemed
to go into an almost trancelike posture of deep contemplation.
     "Adama?"
     The commander didn't respond at first.  Instead, he moved past him
to the railing and began to stare out the viewing screen at the infinite
number of stars that filled his line of vision.
     "Adama?" the executive officer repeated with an edge of concern.
     "I wonder," Adama said aloud as he continued to stare out into
space.  "I wonder if there is a new possibility about Morbus to be
considered.  Something I may have been blinding myself to all this time."
     "What do you mean?"
     He turned around and smiled at his old friend.  "Not yet, Tigh.  Not
yet.  For now, we must let events take their course.  And perhaps soon,
we'll finally know."

*****

     Apollo had gone to sleep the night before in the hopes that the
sense of depression he'd been feeling might be gone when he woke up.  But
when he did wake up, he wasn't surprised to feel that same sensation
coursing through his body more than ever.  
     Simple apprehension about Count Iblis and his motives could not have
accounted alone for Apollo's feelings at that moment.  If that had been
his only concern, then his only emotions would have been ones of caution
mixed with fear, yet overpowered by a determination to get to the truth
and do what had to be done if he had to take some kind of physical action
against Morbus.
     But the depression was being caused by something else.  Something
that he didn't want to admit to himself, let alone to other people, but
which he knew was there nonetheless.
     Apollo glanced at the video monitor on the wall next to his bed. 
The alert standby signal was still flashing, indicating that he had to
get to his duty station as soon as possible.  With almost sad
resignation, he got out of bed and dressed as hurriedly as possible.
     He crossed the threshold into the next room where Boxey was fast
asleep.  His son's beloved robot daggit Muffit was lying next to the bed,
as if standing guard over the boy. 
     "C'mon, Muffit," Apollo gently nudged the daggit on to the bed. 
"Time to wake him up."  The tan-haired robot leapt onto the bed and began
to nudge the sleeping child with its nose until Boxey stirred and came
awake.
     "Stop Muffit," Boxey gently pushed at his pet as he opened his eyes. 
"That's enough."
     "Good morning Boxey," Apollo smiled at his son.  "Gotta get yourself
up and ready for primary classes."
     "Can't I please skip them today?" his son sighed as he sat up in bed
and rubbed his eyes.
     "Only if you feel like going without mushies and trips to the
Rejuvenation Center for the next sectar," his father said.
     As if needing no further prompting, Boxey threw back the covers and
stepped out of his bed.
     "Hey," Apollo laughed and impulsively picked him up.  "Do I have to
use bribery all the time with you?  You'll end up more like Starbuck that
way."
     "That's not so bad, is it?"
     He gently kissed his son on the cheek and set him down.  "You can be
just like Starbuck when it comes to being a great warrior and playing
Triad. The rest of him is to be shunned at all costs."
     Boxey went over to the closet and pulled out his favorite blue tunic
with the white stripes that ran up the sides.  "Dad?" he asked as he took
of his pajamas and started to dress.  "Can I ask you something?"
     He knelt down and helped zip up Boxey's tunic.  "Sure, son, go
ahead."
     "Do you like Mr. Morbus?"
     Apollo was taken aback that Boxey was familiar with Morbus's name.
     "Who told you about him?" he asked.
     "The kids talk about him in school," Boxey said.  "They say he's a
great man who's going to solve all our problems better than grandfather
can."
     "Don't believe everything your friends tell you, Boxey," Apollo said
gently.  "Mr. Morbus is an interesting person, but he hasn't proved any
of that yet."
     "Do you think he can?"
     His father sighed.  "That's not for me to say, kiddo."
     "Do you like him?"
     Apollo looked boxey in the eye and slowly shook his head. "No I
don't, Boxey.  I don't."
     "Why?"
     He suddenly got to his feet and turned away from him.  "I can't tell
you the reason son," he said quietly.  "You're too little to understand
why."
     Apollo then turned back to Boxey and brightened his expression. 
"Now you do all your work in instructional period today, and if the alert
standby is over, I promise to take you on in computer Triad again."
     "Okay," Boxey grinned.  "But don't let me win this time."
     "I won't," he returned it.  "Now get going."
     Boxey then picked up his thick, black schoolwork folder and left the
room.  It took a moment for Apollo to pull himself together before he
finally summoned the strength to leave as well.
     As soon as Apollo stepped out into the corridor, the lights overhead
suddenly went red and the high-tone of the klaxon sounded.  In an
instant, his professional instincts kicked in and all of his troubled
thoughts were temporarily forgotten as he dashed off in the direction of
the launch bay.

*****

     "Our fighters will soon be engaging the Galactica's vipers," the
command centurion reported.  "Contact range between us and the Galactica:
three hundred microns and closing.  All missile banks now on line."
     Lucifer stared at the scanner with an air of cautious tension.  If
all went well, he would earn the acclaim that Baltar had so arrogantly
been sizing himself up for only a sectar ago.  But if it failed, the
repercussions were sure to be mammoth.

*****

     On the Galactica bridge, the pressure was on as Adama and Tigh
looked at Omega's scanner.
     "Two attacking phalanxes of fighters, plus a baseship," Tigh grimly
noted.  "This looks like everything they can possibly toss at us."
     "Definitely not a mismatch, but just enough to do the job of
finishing us, if they can get in a good strike," Adama said, equally
grim.  "That baseship is on a course heading that means only one thing: 
direct ship-to-ship engagement."
     The commander then rose and barked out with all the authority he
could summon:  "Launch all available squadrons to intercept!"
     "Launching all fighters!" Omega replied.
     "Bring all batteries to full readiness.  Initiate online sequence
for port and starboard missile banks!"
     "Enemy fighters, one hundred microns and closing," Rigel reported.
     "Commander," Athena looked up from her console, "we're getting some
urgent messages from some of the other ships.  They want to know where
Mr. Morbus is."
     "That's an interesting question, isn't it?" Adama said with a
sarcastic air. "Where has he gone off to, now that the time has come for
him to fulfill the conditions of his promise?"

*****

     At the precise instant that Adama had posed his angry question, the
enigma that was Mr. Morbus was standing alone in the deserted chamber of
the Council of Twelve, staring out at the main observation screen that
lined the full width of the Council table.
     If anyone had seen him at that particular moment, they would have
been greeted to a sight that made Morbus's dramatic display of power to
Baltar pale in comparison.
     They would have seen his gaze at its most penetrating, his eyes at
their most fiery and his entire bearing more intimidating than ever.
     "By Iclor-mamem! By Ymunesse! By The Ten Cenotaphs Of Do'ppustr! Let
now the forces of the Cylon Empire hear these mighty words!"  He raised
both his hands into the air, and, from out of nowhere, a flaming
pentagram appeared above his head.  "You are mine to command as I wish. 
All that I will shall happen but in the blink of an eye.  And my will
shall be done."  
     He willed the flaming pentacle above his head to vanish.  He then
placed one hand behind his back, and when he withdrew it to plain sight,
it was filled with a medium-sized toy like effigy of a Cylon base star. 
Placing it between both hands, he slowly and methodically began to crush
it while uttering the words of an unspeakable arcane language that was
ancient when the great pyramids of Kobol were still in the earth.
     "Athudhot!  Shub-caisc! Mm'cyogtekek! T'orac! T'orac! T'orac!"
     And within a micron, the effigy of the Cylon base ship crumbled into
a fine dust between his hands.
     After a centon passed, his dark ritual completed, he smiled
triumphantly, turned and left the empty Council chamber.

*****

     The Galactica's entire viper force had wasted no time in taking off
to engage the first wave of Cylon fighters that were approaching.  As
senior strike leader, Apollo took his viper into the lead position.
     "Prepare to intercept," Apollo radioed.  "It won't be long now."
     The lead column of fighters then came into their field of vision. 
Apollo sized up the lead Cylon on his attack computer and saw the image
blink, indicating that it was locked in his sights.
     Suddenly, the bliking image disappeared from his attack computer. 
Before he'd had a chance to press the fire button on his joystick...
     "What the...?"
     "Apollo!"  Starbuck's voice shouted in the most stunned tone he had
ever heard from his friend.  "They've all vanished!"
     Apollo's eyes darted forward through his cockpit. Only a micron ago,
he'd seen a large attack formation of Cylon fighters.  Now there was only
the peaceful darkness of space.
     "Can't anybody pick 'em up on the scanners?" Apollo shouted in
bewilderment.
     "I sure as hellfire can't," Boomer spoke up.  "My readings say
they're all gone!"
     "That just can't be!" Apollo refused to believe it.  "What about the
baseship?"
     "It's gone too!" Starbuck said.  "But hey, who's complaining?  I'm
not."
     "How in the name of Kobol does an entire phalanx of Cylon fighters
and a baseship just vanish into nothing?"
     "I know."
     Right away, Apollo recognized Sheba's voice through his helmet.  And
right away, he found the calm, collected tone of her voice frightening.
     "Mr. Morbus," she said with near-reverence.  "He's made it possible. 
He's ended the Cylon pursuit."

*****

     The startled bewilderment felt by all of the viper pilots was also
felt on the Galactica bridge.
     Adama and Tigh were both too stunned to speak as they continued to
stare at the scanners.  What they had just seen far exceeded anything
they had themselves prepared for.
     "I hope all of our fighters are accounted for," Adama finally
managed to force some words out.
     "They are," Omega nodded in amazement.  "From all indications, only
the Cylon fighters and the baseship have disappeared."
     "But how?" Tigh demanded.  "It doesn't make any sense."
     "It does if you're willing to look beyond the childish knowledge of
your time, Colonel."
     They turned around and again saw Morbus standing on the other side
of the bridge.
     "Well, don't everybody thank me at once," the scarlet-clad stranger
taunted.
     "Thank you?" Tigh demanded.  "What in the name of Kobol for?"
     "For fulfilling the first task in its entirety," Morbus smirked. 
"Oh, yes,  you want to know what I did.  I thrust the baseship and the
fighters clear across the stars from where they were only a few centons
ago, Colonel Tigh.  As to how I made that possible...well, there are
things that you can never be prepared to know.  But what should be of
greater concern to you is the fact that the danger of the Cylon pursuit
is now over.  Your people are now free to go anwhere you choose in the
universe, and by the time any other Cylon is able to reach this vicinity
of space again, they will never be able to have any precise idea of where
it is you've gone."
     All of the bridge personnel were staring at Morbus in wide-eyed
wonder and awe.  It was clear than none of them needed any further
convincing.
     Adama, though, refused to let himself look weak.  He contined to
stare at Morbus with the most implacable expression he was capable of.
     Morbus's gaze shifted to Adama and his smile only increased.  "You'd
better get the Council summoned immediately, Adama."
     As the man in scarlet turned to go, one bridge crewman abruptly
started to applaud.  Soon, others found themselves joining in as well. 
It finally reached a point where Adama, Tigh and Athena were the only
ones on the bridge who declined to join in the impromptu revelry.
     Morbus turned back and bowed in acknowledgement of the accolades.
     "I'm touched by your kindness," he said in a voice loud enough for
all of them to hear.  "And I'm pleased to inform you all that the
triumphs of the last day represent only the beginning of a new day for
the human race!"
     As the ovation continued even after Morbus had gone, Tigh slowly
shook his head and said quietly, "It's fortunate that I haven't eaten
anything right now.  I doubt very seriously I'd be able to keep it down."
     Athena came over from her console and took the commander by the arm. 
"Father?" she asked with concern.
     Adama remained silent.  He continued to stare at where Morbus had
disappeared with iron-faced determination.
     Finally, without saying anything else, he left the bridge as well.

*****

     "Would you repeat that again?" there was no mistaking the shock in
Lucifer's voice.
     "The star charts confirm it," the command centurion said.  "We have
been hurtled halfway across the galaxy to the star system of our home
planet, Cylon."
     If ever there was a time Lucifer wished that centurions didn't speak
in that unemotional monotonous drone, this was it.  The centurion had
made the stunning announcement in the same fashion that he would for a
simple maintenance inspection.
     "How can this be?" Lucifer demanded.  "What force in the universe
can do this to a Cylon battle group?"
     "Insufficient data."
     The IL Cylon glided back to his throne chair and sat down, trying to
make some kind of sense of what had happened.
     Those lights, he thought.  It could only have been those mysterious
lights that caused it.
     Already, his mind was racing ahead, trying to come up with an
explanation that he would be able to present to the Imperious Leader,
especially since it was now made possible for him to do so in person.
     One thing was certain, though, Lucifer vowed.  He wasn't about to
let the ImperiousLeader have the satisfaction of making him a scapegoat
for the fact that the Galactica's trail had been lost.  If there was one
positive lesson he could take from his experience with Baltar, it was his
ability to understand the traitor's fascinating capacity to persistently
survive no matter what.  And he intended to put that knowledge he'd
acquired into effect.

*****

     Adama was not at all surprised to see the prolonged applause that
the bridge personnel had given Morbus be repeated by the members of the
Council as soon as the mystery man made his entrance.  Some of it was
wildly enthusiastic from those like Sire Domra, while Sire Gant remained
only quietly polite remained only quietly polite, but there was no
mistaking its general unanimity.
     Adama had already decided that insisting on standard etiquette for
the meeting was an exercise in futility, so he simply allowed the
applause to continue and didn't bother exercising his perogative as
President of the Council to formally recognize Morbus prior to permitting
him to speak.  He already knew that any explicity signs of dissent would
hold no weight at all.
     "I've done it," Morbus began.  "The objections raised last night by
Sire Gant have been answered.  As I commanded Baltar to come here and
give himself up, so also have I banished the Cylon pursuit force from
this region of space.  The ability of the Empire to track you and harass
you is no more."
     "You have our thanks, Mr. Morbus," Domra spoke up, which produced
several choruses of "hear, hear" from some of the other members.
     "And now we can all consider the first task I promised as
fulfilled," Morbus went on.  "However, in case you have all forgotten,
there were two more prerequisites to our bargain before you would agree
to follow me.  One, that I would lead you to Earth.  The other, to be
decided among you.  I would like to hear your decision now."
     Sire Dexterity rose from his seat.  "Mr. Morbus, what has transpired
here in the last day has been an inspiration for us all.  I speak for all
of us in asking that you give us more time to deliberate upon that which
we will propose."
     "I believe that I've already proven myself worthy of your trust." 
Morbus was slightly amazed by Dexterity's remark.  "Will this
deliberation take long?"
     "It will not, Mr. Morbus," Dexterity said reassuringly.  "Not long
at all.  It is not that we are ungrateful.  We simply wish to come to an
accord on what would be most beneficial from our standpoint."
     "Very well," his tone grew pointed. "But may I remind you that the
people are expectant.  Today, they'll rejoice in the fall of Baltar and
the end of the Cylon pursuit.  Tomorrow they'll likely demand that the
journey to Earth begin, and as long as I'm kept in the dark as to the
conditions of my third task, it cannot yet happen."
     A low murmur went up from some of the more impatient members of the
Council.
     "When you finally come to an agreement on the third task, you'll
find me in celebration amongst the people," Morbus bowed respectfully. 
"Good day."
     The reverential hush that greeted Mr. Morbus as he departed almost
seemed more admiring to Adama than the applause that had greeted the man
in scarlet during his entrance.
     "I believe we should all join the celebration ourselves," Sire Domra
broke the silence. "Furthermore, I see no reason to delay electing Mr.
Morbus to the Presidency of our Quorum."
     "I second that motion!" Sire Dexterity spoke up.
     Another silence fell over the chamber as many of the members began
directing their attention on the man who already held the office of
President.  But Adama was thoroughly placid and unemotional, as though he
were waiting for another opportunity.  He had talked to no other member
beforehand and had no way of knowing if any of them would speak up
themselves.  If that turned out to be the case, he knew then that he
would be forced to continue from the helpless standpoint of standing
alone.
     But to his relief, Sire Gant was still with him.
     "Are you asking us to elect him President before he's had a chance
to fulfill the other two tasks, Domra?" the ex-Presidential aide
interjected.  "Are you askin us to accelerate the timetable ahead of the
guidelines he himself has put to us?"
     "Really, Sire Gant, your objections at this point hold no more
weight than they did when we last met," Domra said sourly.  "You give one
the impression of grasping at straws."
     "I resent that, Sire Domra," Gant had reached a point where he
simply wouldn't back down.  "If it is to be our destiny that Mr. Morbus
is to become our ruler in whom we place all our trust, then I only think
it appropriate that the compact we agreed on before be fully honored. 
That includes fulfillment of both the second task and the undetermined
third task, and not simply a further clarification of the first task,
spectacular as that clarification is."
     "Mr. President," Siress Sybilla suddenly entered the discussion,
directing her full attention on Adama.  "We do you an injustice by not
hearing your own feelings on this matter before any decision is made.  I
for one, am most interested in your opinion."
     "Thank you, Siress Sybilla," Adama smiled thinly and then came
forward in his presidential seat.  "Before I begin, I would like to
preface my remarks with the solemn assurance that what I say is not
motivated by any personal considerations---"
     "Your integrity is appreciated by all of us, Adama," Dexterity
interrupted with a reassuring emphasis that he knew would only make Sire
Domra look small if he objected.
     "Thank you, Sire Dexterity," Adama bowed his head in gratitude and
then took on the vigorous, calculated tenor that he always held in
reserve for when he found himself locked in another dispute with the
Council.
     "My brothers," he began with the parliamentary term that all of the
female members of the Council knew was not a sexist slur against them,
"it is true that Mr. Morbus has done exactly as promised with regard to
the first task.  And I confess to being no less amazed by the
demonstration of force that was evidently exercised against the Cylon
attack force, than the rest of you are.  These gestures are, as Sire
Dexterity noted earlier, inspirational to us.  However," his voice grew
more firm, "there are still questions that remain as yet unanswered.  I
confess that I still find Mr. Morbus's explanation of the disappearance
of our missing eight warriors to be insufficient for my purposes, as well
as his reluctance to explain the nature of these so-called 'powers' that
he claims are responsible for their disappearance.  While I believe that
all of us can look upon the events of this day as sufficient cause for
realizing that we do not face the danger of a sudden betrayal of the
Cylons, I somehow find myself more disturbed that the potential perils
that exist now touch on matters that are conceivable beyond anything our
human minds are able to understand.  I believe that more data, and more
caution is still required before we dare proceed any further.  Acting now
before we put the third task to Morbus would simply be against our best
interest, as I see it."
     Adama allowed his remarks to hang in the air, waiting for the
reaction to them.
     Sire Ophys, one of the few buriticians left who had known Adama for
many yahrens as a fellow Council member in the pre-Holocaust period, and
who had always admired the commander's eloquence, was no less admiring on
this occasion.
     "Perhaps we are all too overcome by the jubilation we feel over the
surrender of a traitor, and the stunning defeat of our enemy," Ophys
sighed as if he were gently reprimanding himself.  "Since the Cylon
danger has passed, we can afford to exercise patience for the short-term. 
I am willing to go along with Commander Adama's line of thinking."
     "What does 'short term' mean?" Domra sourly interjected.  "When do
we finally come to a decision on the third task?"
     Adama looked at his most vocal Council opponent and refused to allow
a note of disrespect to enter his voice.  "I propose a delay of
forty-eight centars," he said, "if Sire Domra has no objections, of
course.  That would give all of us sufficient time to partake in the
celebrations that have been happening since last night, and which are now
entering a new phase of excitement.  When we meet again, we should all be
in a more relaxed frame of mind to arrive at a decision."
     "I second the motion," Gant Said.
     Domra looked at Adama and then seemed to reluctantly nod in
agreement.
     "Then, if it is acceptable to my brothers," Adama tapped his gavel,
"the Council of Twelve stands adjourned."
     But as the members filed out, Adama knew that he could not take much
satisfaction in a minor victory.  The most he had done was buy some time
and, unless events took an unexpected turn in that limited span, he knew
that he would no longer be able to stave off the inevitable coronation of
Iblis as the unchallenged supreme leader of the Fleet.

*****

     Far away in the Imperial Palace of the home planet Cylon, the last
thing the Imperious Leader had expected to see that day was the sight of
an IL Cylon who was supposed to be many sectans of flight time across the
reaches of the galaxy.
     "How do you account for your presence here, Lucifer," the Leader
didn't bother to conceal his astonishment.
     "I do not, Your Eminence," Lucifer kept his bulbous head bowed in
reverence.  "And yet somehow, the same phenomenon that induced Baltar to
seek out the Galactica must somehow have been responsible for hurtling
our baseship all the way back to Cylon in the wink of an eye."
     "If it is indeed so that there is such a power capable of that, I
suppose it would not be fair for me to hold Baltar accountable for his
actions," the Cylon ruler mused.  "If this...power were to return and
harass us further, I scarcely know how we could think of dealing with
such an unexpected menace."
     Lucifer decided it was time for him to seize the initiative.
     "May I say, Your Eminence, that from our standpoint the best thing
we can do his hope that whatever this phenomena was, it will not return
to trouble us again with such a dramatic display of its powers.  Since we
know that we would be impotent if it chose to act against us in full
force, we should turn our attention back to the matter that is of greater
importance to us, and is one that we can deal with.  And that is resuming
the search for the Galactica."
     "Which will not be an easy task, Lucifer," Imperious Leader pointed
out gravely.  "Your baseship was the only one within ten star systems of
being able to track her.  It would take another basestar almost a sectar
of flight time at top speed to reach the last position you were in, and
by the time they arrived, the Galactica could have gone across the stars
in any one of an inestimable number of directions."
     "The logical conclusion, unfortunately."
     The Cylon ruler settled back in his throne chair, and seemed to be
summoning the power of the special third computer brain, that he alone
possessed among all other Cylon robots.
     "There is only one option left to us, the Leader finally spoke. 
"Our entire fleet of basestars must be dispersed across the full
perimiter of the known galaxy in the hopes that somehow one of them will
be able to lie in wait and intercept the Galactica at some point.  Only
then will we be able to at long last deliver the final blow against
humanity."
     "I concur with your reasoning," Lucifer bowed further.  "I am
prepared to lead my ship back out in compliance with your order."
     "I grant you leave to do so," Imperious Leader said.  "Barring the
unlikely return of Baltar, command is now yours."
     Lucifer felt a slight edge of disappointment that he'd heard the
leader issue that qualification about Baltar.  But he decided that it
would be virtual suicide for him to say anything about that.  He knew
that an inferior thinking Cylon would not have been as fortunate to
emerge as unscathed from the entire debacle as he was.
     "We shall begin our journey immediately," the IL Cylon bowed and
then left the chamber.
     Alone, the Imperious Leader's sense of bafflement over the turn of
events continued to rage through his vast three computer brains.
     "What has become of you, Baltar?" he absently mused aloud.
 
*****

Chapter Six:  Triad By Proxy

     Baltar paced like a caged animal in the holding cell aboard the
Prison Barge, that place where all the criminals in the Fleet were kept
to live in lonely isolation.  
     His blood boiled and his bloodlust rose.  Only a day ago, he had the
security and power of his baseship and his command.  Now, he'd been
reduce to this.  To the same sort of pathetic existence a common criminal
would be used to.  And one thing he never saw himself as was a common
criminal.
     What manner of being could force him to throw himself at the mercy
of these weakling colonials?  Who could be powerful enough to force him
to his knees against his will?  
     No matter.  He would find a way out of here and destroy him.
     "Quit pacing, Baltar!" demanded a voice that came from outside the
door to the holding cell.  "Don't waste your idle time!  Sit down!"
     He turned his head in the direc-tion of the voice.  There, staring
at him through the holes in the titaniplastic door of the cell was the
mysterious bearded man whom the councilmen had called Mr. Morbus.
     "You!"  snarled Baltar, vowing to choke the life out of the man when
the opportunity presented it. "Whorespawn!"
     "There's no need for profanity.  Just sit down...my friend." Morbus
said, his tone of voice friendlier now.
     Baltar came up to the cell door and glared at him with angry
defiance.  "I will not!" he snarled. "And you cannot ever again force me
to do anything against my will.  I know you.  I remember that voice. A
voice I have cowered in front of before and a voice that I have spoken
with many times since.  I know it well."
     A faint smile curled around the corners of  Morbus's lips.  "Is that
so? Who else has a voice like mine?" 
     "The Cylon Imperious Leader,"  Baltar said pointedly, as if he were
proud of his deductions.  "The Leader who sentenced me to death, and his
successor who spared me."
     "You've got to be either deluded or joking, Baltar," Morbus said
simply.  "The Cylons are nothing but stupid machines, animated pieces of
metal.  Everybody knows that."
     "Now they are, yes," said Baltar.  "But once they were a race of
beings who allowed themselves to be overcome by their own technology, and
saw their own machine creations turn on them and destroy them, resulting
in their extinction as a species."
     Morbus smiled.  "I had no idea you were so knowledgeable.  When did
this happen?"
     "A thousand yahrens ago, at the onset of the Thousand Yahren War
against the Humans," a smug edge entered the traitor's voice.
     "Do your realize what you're saying, Baltar?" Morbus smirked.  "Not
only would I have to have been a living reptilian Cylon at one time
myself, but in order for my voice to be that of the Imperious Leader, it
would have had to have been transcribed and implanted into the memory
banks of the first machine Leader a thousand yahrens ago!"
     Baltar froze as the full implications suddenly hit him.  He'd been
so stubbornly proud of his initial deductions that the full weight of
what Morbus ws saying to him had not occurred to him.
     "That would make me...let's see now...a thousand yahrens old!"
     The human traitor's bravado appeared to shatter as he helplessly
turned away from him and went back to the other end of his cell.  His
shoulders warily sagged as if he felt there was nothing left for him to
say, think, or do.
     Was it possible?  The Cylon Imperious Leader...Morbus...one in the
same?  And a thousand yahrens old as well?  This is no man, Baltar
thought. He's either a god...or a devil!
     Unseen by Baltar, Morbus body became transparent, ghost-like,
appearing to lose its substance.  Then, in the manner of a ghost, Morbus
stepped through the cell door as if it weren't even there.  His body
turning opaque again, Morbus strutted over to the bereaved Baltar, sat
down beside him on his bunk, and patted him on the shoulder.  "Don't
worry.  It's not over for you.  I promise you that," he whispered into
the traitor's ear.
     As if being forced out a trance, Baltar snapped back into alertness. 
He'd heard, he was certain, Morbus whis-pering a message of hope into his
right ear.  When he looked up, there was no one sitting beside him.  He
looked around the cell, but there was no sign of Mr. Morbus.  He seemed
to have vanished, as if never having been there to begin with.

 *****
     
     Six centars had passed since the end of the Council meeting, and
Adama had spent almost the entire time in lonely isolation in his
quarters, spending the entire time reading the Book of the Word and
several works in philosophy and theology that he maintained in his
personal library.  Wondering if he could find some small thin tht would
provide event he faintest of clues that could shed more light on the
nature of Mr. Morbus.
     So far, Adama had only found some imprecise leads to consider.  None
of them concrete enough to feel comfortable expressing aloud to anyone. 
He couldn't see any way to prevent the Council from giving the leadership
of the fleet to Mr. Morbus and he knew that it was wrong.  He felt it in
his bones.  
     He was certain that there was something about Mr. Morbus that none
of them were seeing, but he just didn't know how to prevent it.  How was
it possible to fight against a man who seemed to have godlike
powers---if, indeed, he was a man.
     Athena entered.
     "Father?"
     "Hello, Athena," he set his book down.  "I thought you'd be over on
the Rising Star taking part in all the merriment that's erupted."
     "Come with me," she said.  "I want you to attend the games."
     "I'm sorry, Athena," said Adama grumpily.  "I can't think of going
to the games at a time like this."
     "That's just what Apollo said, Father," she said.  "He's decided not
to play tonight.  It's almost started a riot within the ships.  He's
going to be splitting the most popular team."
     "But still, what is the problem?"
     "Father, I don't think you understand how much these games have come
to mean to everyone," Athena said.  "At least you have command to occupy
your thoughts.  Some of these people have nothing but the games to look
forward to."
     "I can believe that," said Adama.  "Security has even informed me
that rival gambling pools are causing trouble all over the fleet."
     "That's what makes tonight's game so special, Father.  It's a
championship.  If Apollo doesn't play..."
     Adama rubbed his chin.  "Has he explained to you his refusal to
participate in tonight's game?"
     "I stopped by his quarters but couldn't get a word out of him," his
daughter sighed.  "All he said was that he didn't feel like celebrating."
     "I can vouch for that," Adama leaned back in his chair.  "Apollo has
his doubts about Mr. Morbus, and so do I."
     "I have them too, Father," her voice suddenly went up.  "I'm one of
those people who stopped believing in miracles and magic a long time ago,
and I think it's terrible the way all these people are suddenly willing
to forget all that you've done for them and go over to that man, no
matter what kind of spectacular stunts he's pulled off.  But there's
something else that's bothering Apollo, and it isn't just the fact that
Morbus has virtually taken over."
     "Do you know what that is?" Adama asked with curiosity.
     Athena lowered her eyes slightly as if she were embarrassed to be
mentioning the subject.  "The other night wen Mr. Morbus was...reading
our minds, so to speak, he said something about how there was one thing
of greater concern than the missing pilots. It took me only a micron to
realize that he was talking about Sheba."
     Her father seemed slightly taken aback by her comment.
     "I was too wrapped up in Morbus to really pay close attention to
what he meant there," he said.  "Do you mean that Apollo is concerned
because of the way Sheba's so willingly accepted Morbus."
     "Concerned would be understating the matter," she looked up at him. 
"Apollo is insanely jealous because he...I don't know how to put this
exactly, because I'm not sure how strong I can say it, but he has some
kind of...interest in Sheba.  He's had it almost since the micron she
joined us."
     Adama skipped a beat and then a flicker of understanding came over
his face.  "Ah yes," he nodded.  "Now I realize whe he got too distracted
by Morbus to mention those details about the lights in his initial
report.  At last it all makes sense."  He looked back at Athena.  "So
he's basically upset because of the way Sheba and Morbus have almost
become...attached?"
     "There is no other explanation, Father," she said.  "If it were any
other warrior he felt close to on another level, he wouldn't be acting
this way.  He'd be like an uncaged animal trying to take some kind of
initiative and do something about it.  But because it's Sheba..." her
voice trailed off.
     "Is that why you want me there?" Adama began to drum his fingers on
the table.  "To talk to him about it?"
     "You must talk to him about it, Father," she said.  "Not seeing him
play, especially during a time of celebration as this is, could end up
sending all the wrong kinds of signals."
     Adama nodded.  "I see what you mean.  Already Sire Domra has been
spending the last six centars telling every IFB reporter in sight that I
and Sire Gant have been acting as unnecessary impediments to seeing the
journey to Earth begin under Mr. Morbus's leadership.  Apollo not playing
could be taken the wrong way and make things even worse from my
standpoint," he rose from his chair.  "Very well.  I'll do it."
     "Thank you, Father," Athena sounded relieved.  "But when you talk to
him, it's important that you don't mention Sheba's name, or even imply
openly that Apollo has some kind of interest in her."
     "Why not?" he frowned.
     "Father..." she seemed to be fighting to get her words out.  "I
don't know how I can explain this in a way that makes sense.  All I can
tell you is that on the one hand, Apollo is upset because he's jealous of
Sheba, yet at the same time he doesn't want to admit to anyone, not even
himself, that he has feeling that deep for her. Starbuck told me that
when he accidentally raised the subject once, Apollo was ready to tear
his head off."
     Adama's eyes widened when he heard that revelation.
     "Apollo has deluded himself into thinking that he'll be disgracing
Serina's memory if he ever shows any interest in another woman," Athena
continued.  "That's why he's trying to keep all his feelings about Sheba
bottled up from not only her, but from you and me and everyone else close
to him.  Mentioning it directly to him is only going to make him retreat
even more into his shell, even if it came from you.  You've got to
convince him why it's important to play tonight without bringing her name
up."
     "You're putting me in an extre-mely  difficult position, young
lady," her father smiled with little mirth.  "I can't force him to
compete, but I will speak to him."
     "I'm glad to hear that," she said.  "Let me know how things turn
out."  
     As soon as his daughter was gone, Adama found himself sadly shaking
his head.
     Athena, he said to himself, how is it possible that you are so full
of gifted insight about the people you love, and  never show enough
insight when it comes to yourself?  You've still been brooding in your
heart about letting Starbuck get away for sectans, and yet you've never
wanted to talk to me about it.
     And then, he walked out and began walking down the corridor that led
to Apollo's quarters.

*****

     Starbuck sat on a bench near his locker, wrapping his hands in
polymesh tape as Boomer came in and sat beside him to change for the
game.
     "Without Apollo," Boomer said, "I do believe I'm about to win my
first championship."
     "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Boomer," Starbuck said, "but I
can take you even with a substitute."
     "You're taking this pretty well for a guy about to lose a
championship over some petty jealousy," said Boomer.
     "Apollo isn't playing because of Mr. Morbus and Sheba," Starbuck
said.  "I don't feel any better about playing this game than Apollo. 
Eight of our best men have disappeared without a trace, we're about to
turn over the command of the fleet to some stranger we don't know
anything about, all because of some magic tricks he's performed that
pulled the wool over the eyes of everyone in the Council except Adama and
Sire Gant----and here we are, wagering, laughing, shouting......Yeah, I
kinda agree with him.  This isn't right."
     "And yet, you're gonna go through with it," said Boomer.
     "Yeah, well, you and I get out of these metal coffins once in a
while.  It keeps us from going stark raving mad.  What about the rest of
the people in the fleet?  Some of them have nothing else in their lives
except the little entertainment the games provide."
     He finished wrapping his hands, then slipped the gloves on.
     "Besides," Starbuck added, "it helps me blow of some steam.  So look
out."
     The spectators were beginning to file into the stadium as Starbuck
walked out onto the court.  Doc Briame, a young, bearded med-tech, waited
for him nervously.  
     "What do you say, Doc?" said Starbuck.  "Ready to rumble with the
big boys?"
     Briame didn't look very happy.  He shook his head sadly and glanced
up at the stands nervously.
     "I dunno, Starbuck," he said.  "Maybe you'd be better off playing
with someone else."
     Starbuck frowned.  "That doesn't sound like the Briame I know."
     Briame once again looked up at the rapidly filling stands.  He saw
that some people were staring back down at him, puzzled.
     "Apollo's your teammate," Hansen said.  "These folks are waiting to
see you and Apollo play."
     "Unfortunately, Apollo isn't feeling up to it tonight," said
Starbuck.  "There's not much I can do about that.  You'll just have to do
the best you can, that's all."
     "That's not what worries me," said Briame.  "When these folks find
out that I'm going to be your partner instead of Apollo, I'm gonna be
tarred, feathered and shoved out the airlock."
     "Hmmm," said Starbuck.  "I hadn't thought of that."
     "What do you want me to do?" said Briame, growing more upset by the
moment.
     "Try shaving off your beard and walkin' around like you've got a
broomstick up your astrum," said Starbuck.  "That oughtta fool 'em."

*****

     Apollo was lying on his bunk in his quarters, totally lost in the
tortures of his innermost thoughts.  For most of the time, his arms had
been folded behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling.  The rest of
the time, he'd been absently fondling the holopicture he kept on the
table next to his bed, staring intently at the image of Serina.
     He heard the clank of Muffit's robot legs entering the next room and
abruptly set the holopicture down.  He got up into a sitting position and
saw a dejected Boxey enter his father's room, with Muffit trailing
behind.
     "Heyyy Boxey!" Apollo reached out and gave his son a hug,  "I've
been lookin' all over for you.  Where've you been?"
     "They let us out of primary classes early because of all the
celebrating," the little boy's voice was downcast.  'We all went over to
the Goddess for a couple of centars."
     "Wow!  I'll bet that was fun," Apollo said brightly as he ran a hand
through his son's hair.  "I've heard they've been doing a lot of things
on that recreation ship.  They must have things a lot more fun than what
we've got in the Rejuvenation Center."
     "Yeah."  Boxey didn't look at him.
     Concern came over Apollo as he tilted his son's head so that Boxey
was now looking at him.  "What's bothering you?  You didn't even give me
a hug back."
     Boxey looked down at the floor, halfway to tears.  "My friends all
say you're a coward," the boy said in a small voice.
     "A coward?  Boxey, are you serious?  Now why would they say a mean
thing like that?"
     "We were watching the video-come and we heard them say you're not
playing in the games tonight," his son turned away from him again.  'And
then all the other kids said it could only be because you're afraid of
losing."
     "Afraid?  Me?"  he tried to inject a note of reassurance into his
voice but it was clear that it wasn't having any effect.    "Boxey,
you've been watching me play every game we've done since the whole Triad
league was started.  You know that Starbuck and I are on the best team in
the fleet.  We can beat anybody."
     "Mr. Morbus says that Boomer's team is going to win."
     Apollo had to struggle to keep his face from contorting into
disbelief.  "Where did you hear him say that?"
     "He stopped by the Goddess after we saw the video-com," Boxey
shuffled his feet as he kept his gaze locked on the floor.  "All the
other kids were happy to see him and they started talking with him.  But
you said you didn't like him, so I stayed away."
     Apollo felt himself letting out a sad sigh.  Now Mr. Morbus is
ruining my son's life too.
     "And that's when they started getting on you?" he gently asked.
     "Yeah," Boxey still didn't look up.
     "They're saying that you're afraid that if you lose, it'll prove
that Mr. Morbus is smarter than grandfather.  That he should be our new
leader.  I don't want my father to be a coward," Boxey said.
     "Boxey," Apollo took him by the shoulders.  "Take a look at me."
     The gentle commanding edge in his father's voice finally made Boxey
look up at him.
     "I know it's a little complicated for a young boy to understand," he
said,  "but my not playing in the games has nothing to do with
grandfather.  It has to do with wasting my time and laughing and carrying
on like nothing's wrong while friends of mine----people whose lives I'm
responsible for----may be out there dying someplace.  People like Giles
and Greenbean and Jolly, who are your friends too.  You can understand
that can't you?"
     Boxey lowered his head.  "I...I guess so." It seemed more like he
was only saying it just to please his father.
     "Glad to hear it," said Apollo.  "Now you go and tell your friends
that I said it doesn't matter who wins the games.  They're there to be
enjoyed.  And I'd be just as happy to see Boomer win for a change."
     For the first time, his son seemed to look slightly reassured. 
Boxey impulsively threw his arms around his father and they shared a
quiet hug for nearly a centon before they let go.
     "Go have some fun in the Rejuvenation Center," Apollo smiled at him. 
"They way things are going now, there probably won't be any primary
classes for another sectan.  Enjoy it."
     Boxey nodded and turned to go.  At that moment his daggit droid
began to growl.  The boy glanced up to see Adama standing in the doorway. 
As he stepped into the light, the droid's visual sensors recognized him
and the daggit, approximately responding to programming, barked and
wagged its tail.
     "He didn't mean to growl at you, Commander," Boxey said,
apologetically.  "He didn't recognize you at first.  He's a good daggit,
honest."
     Adama chuckled. "The best daggit in the fleet."  He kneeled down and
the droid waddled over to him, nudging his chest and making artificial
panting noises.  "There, boy, ha-ha, there you go," said Adama, laughing
and pummling the droid.  "You're a good daggit, aren't you, boy?  A good
old droid."  He rose.  "Now you run along and do as your father said."
     "Yessir," said Boxey.  "Come on, Muffy."
     The little droid scurried after the boy.  Adama glanced up at Apollo
and smiled.  
     "How long were you there?" his son asked.
     "Long enough to hear the general gist," Adama said and let out a
wistful sigh of reminiscence. "Those kinds of talks are never easy are
they?  Watching you with Boxey reminded me of the time I had to console
you when you were six.  You came home one afternoon from primary classes
in tears because some kids taunted you over the fact that I didn't have
as many combat ribbons as Cain."
     Apollo shut his eyes and let out a tiny, embarrassed chuckle as the
memory came back.  "I remember." He then looked up at his father again. 
"Did I do as good with Boxey as you did with me?"
     "Better, actually."  Adama came up to the foot of his bed.  "You
were...as honest as you could be."
     His son frowned.  "As I could be?"
     "Apollo," Adama said as delicately as he could, "you've been in the
Service nearly ten yahrens.  You've seen plenty of friends of yours die
before your eyes in more than hundreds of combat engagements, before and
after the Holocaust.  And not once did you ever let yourself brood in
despair the way you say that these missing eight are making you do now."
     Apollo's gaze went back to the ceiling.  "Well, ah...the
circumstances this time aren't exactly the same."
     "Apollo," the tiniest hint of a blunt edge now entered his father's
voice, "I'm not going to deny that you are concerned about them.  But
I've just had a long talk with your sister.  Now, I'm not going to repeat
her conversation with me, but we both know that there's another reason
for why you're sitting here alone in your quarters brooding, and the
missing pilots have nothing to do with it."
     Apollo's outward expression didn't change but Adama noticed how the
muscles in his face seemed to tighten.
     "I'm not going to presume that I can give you any advice on how you
should handle that...concern of yours," Adama went on.  "But what I can
do is give my honest opinion that the best thing you can do, is to do
something other than just lie in here and stare at the ceiling."
     "You, of all people, think that I should play?" Apollo said flatly
as he kept avoiding his stare.
     Adama sighed and put a hand on Apollo's shoulder.  "Son," he said
tenderly, "don't make it more difficult for me.  And don't leave me with
two-hundred-twenty ships of celebrating people who end up outraged that
on the day we scored our first clear victory over the Cylons since we
fled the Colonies, you aren't willing to do something as simple as play
in a Triad match they've all been looking forward to.  It would only
further serve Mr. Morbus's cause."
     "Would it?" Apollo whispered forlornly.
     "You must admit that he's become...quite popular," his father
gradually went on. "I think more than  half the fleet is already willing
to dispense with all further preliminaries and start following him
blindly for eternity.  The only way I've been able to keep the Council in
check up to this point, and win a delay for another forty centars, is
because I've been keeping my objections couched in moderation.  Any
brazen act of dissent at this point, even in something symbolic as your
presence at a Triad match, can easily cause events to move forward more
rapidly than they should.
     Apollo slowly shook his head and let out a long, slow exhale.  "I
almost feel like I've gone through a complete role reversal from a few
centons ago," his son said with irony.  "Only now, I've become Boxey." 
He finally looked up at his father.  "Well, if my not playing in the
games is going to shift the balance in his  favor," said Apollo, "then
I've got to play."
     "You won't be doing our missing warriors a disservice, or for that
matter, any other people who might be on your mind," said Adama.  
     Apollo stood up and nodded and this time nodded in acceptance.  
     "As a matter of fact," his father said as he took his son in his
arms, "You might end up helping all of them."  
     "I've got one condition, though," Apollo said. "You'll have to watch
the games."
     "I'll accept that with thanks," said Adama.

*****

     A very-relieved Briame fled back to the locker room when Apollo
walked out onto the court to a standing ovation.  As soon as the crowd
had realized that Briame would be taking Apollo's place, they'd booed him
and empty cans of sweetshot had rained down upon him.  He had lost his
temper and called them a bunch of bocrachicks with nictitating membranes
and it had only resulted in more garbage being thrown. When Apollo
arrived, Briame was only too glad to leave the court.
     "I knew it was too good to be true," Boomer said, seeing Apollo walk
out on the court.
     "Come on Boomer," Apollo said, forcing himself to sound
lighthearted.  "Remember the old Aquarian proverb about the thrill of the
competitive atmosphere of the game being more important than the final
resolution?"
     "I burned all my Aquarian proverb books the day I graduated primary
school," the dark-skinned warrior retorted.  "My response to the one
you're thinking of was as follows: 'Winning is not but a part of the
glorious competition, but is in fact its entirety.'"
     Apollo laughed at his friend's satirical parody of the Aquarian
writing style.
     Sheba and Morbus sat in the first tier just behind and above him. 
Morbus leaned down.
     "Well, this is a bit of surprise," he said.  "I didn't expect that
he would show up."
     "He has shown up, and based on the crowd reaction alone, I might as
well just forget it," said Boomer aloud.
     "Come on Boomer," Sheba tried to cheer him up. "Don't give up before
you even begin.  "You're good."
     "I am good," he let out a sigh. "Against Barton and Quano, or any of
the other ten teams in our league, I am great.  But against Apollo and
Starbuck, I am only respectable against the ones who are better. And in
this game, respectable doesn't mean felgercarb."  His gave shifted back
out to the court where the other players were deep into their warm-up
session. "I love those two guys like they were my own brothers.  But when
it comes to this game, I'd give anything to beat them just once."
     "If that's the way you really feel, friend Boomer," Mr. Morbus spoke
up for the first time and smiled at the black warrior, "perhaps I can
help you."  
     Boomer looked at the bearded man in scarlet and frowned slightly. 
"I've yet to see anything that can beat skill, Mr. Morbus."
     "The commander's son is a bit too sure of himself." Morbus seemed to
be goading Boomer. "And that can be used against him."
     The dark-skinned warrior blinked slightly, and then said with an
amused air, "Well, obviously you've never played Triad against Starbuck
and Apollo."
     Mr. Morbus smiled.  "I can play," he said.  "Through you."
     Boomer's frown intensified.  "What do mean?"
     "Don't question me if you want to win this game," Morbus said
pointedly as he suddenly gave Boomer a piercing gaze.  His eyes locked
directly on the warrior's and he began whispering strange words beneath
his breath:  "B'cthonarnong...Bhit-lat...Iha'lom..."
     Boomer found himself unable to tune out Morbus's bizarre words and
break away from his piercing expression.  The only sensation he felt at
that instant was an unbelievable surge of energy and adrenalin going
through his body that he'd never felt the likes of before.
     "Don't keep your partner waiting," Morbus motioned his head toward
the court.  "Go now."
     As if he were in a half-comprehending daze, Boomer barely nodded and
stepped out onto the court.
     Morbus smiled with satisfaction as he watched Boomer for a brief
instant and then turned back to Sheba.
     "My princess," he said warmly, "what you are about to see will be
unlike anything these spectators have ever witnessed before."

*****

     The claxon sounded the ready call and the two teams moved to take
their positions.
     Adama entered the stadium and sat down in the first tier, opposite
Mr. Morbus.  The two men looked across at each other.  There was
determination in Adama's face.  He stared at Morbus with an unwavering
glare.  Something in Morbus' eyes seemed to glitter.
     A hush settled down over the spectator's gallery as the players on
the traid court took their positions.  Boomer and Apollo were in the
forward positions, facing each other across the starting line.  Starbuck
was playing back.  Apollo glanced at Boomer's teammate.  Boomer had
chosen to play with none other than the youngest council member, Sire
Dissothy.  Of course, Boomer had to play with a substitute.  His regular
partner, Greenbean was...
     Dissothy looked a little nervous.  Still, the junior council member
had never been one to put on any great show of emotions.  He was
steadfast and level-headed, liked by everyone in the fleet.  More than
once, his dry sense of humor had scored points on Starbuck and Apollo,
who had seemed to him to be a bit on the flamboyant side.  Nevertheless,
what he undertook to do, he did to his utmost and although he had never
played in a championship Triad game before, Apollo knew that he would go
all out.  Apollo saw him standing on the far side of the court, his legs
slightly spread, eyes alert, his long hair held by a magricargium clasp
at the nape of his neck.  It would be an interesting match, Apollo
thought, with Dissothy pitted against Starbuck.  The two were completely
opposite in every way.  Dissothy would be a competitive player, Apollo
though, but his chief concern would be with Boomer.  Boomer was good and
Boomer wanted desperately to win.  Apollo wanted to let him.  He realized
how much it would mean to Boomer, but he also knew that Boomer was a good
enough player to realize if he were being given in to.  No, Apollo would
have to play all out.  Besides, it was the only way he knew how to play. 

     The two forwards squared off against each other.  It was completely
silent in the stadium.
     The claxon sounded the start of the game.
     Almost at the same instant that the claxon sounded, Boomer lashed
out with a swift and brutal kick directly into Apollo's solar plexus.  So
quickly had Boomer moved, Apollo had been taken completely by surprise. 
It seemed to him that Boomer jumped the gun, but there was no time to
speculate on that.  Even through the polymesh protective vest he wore,
Apollo felt the incredible force of the kick.  Momentarily winded, he
doubled over, and as he did so, Boomer came down on him with a savage
overhead blow that landed on Apollo's  titanferrium helmet.  The helmet
protected Apollo from injury, but even so, it felt like a huge bell had
rung inside his head.  For a moment, he saw stars and then fell to the
floor.  Boomer was by him in an instant, moving on the offensive.  The
only thing standing between him and the ball was Starbuck.
     "Kobol, Boomer was a little rough there, wasn't he?" Athena said as
she winced at the blow she'd watched him deal to Apollo.  "He didn't need
to hit him again, he could've gotten by him after the first blow."
     "Boomer did say he wanted to win," said Sheba.  "I guess he decided
to pull out all the stops."
     Mr. Morbus sat perfectly still, leaning forward, staring down at the
court with a wild intensity.  If those who sat near him hadn't been so
absorbed in the game, they might've been started by the primeval savagery
of his expression.  His eyes blazed with an unholy light.  He was
whispering even more of those strange, unholy words: 
"Z'aarakinyoki...I'eiarubotep...L'uarnotigyot..."
     Starbuck had been shocked at the fury of Boomer's assault on his
teammate and the speed with which it had been executed.  Still, it was a
rough game and Starbuck knew that winning the championship meant
everything to Boomer.  The spectators had erupted into wild shouting when
Apollo went down.  Boomer charged across the line.  Apollo remained
stunned.  Starbuck prepared himself for the confrontation, knowing that
with Apollo still out of the game, he was the only thing that stood
between Boomer and Dissothy making the first score.
     The moment that Boomer touched the ball, Starbuck moved like greased
lightning, hurtling across the court at Boomer.
     Dissothy was moving as well, getting into position to take a pass
from Boomer and make a shot.
     The circles upon the walls started flashing.
     Boomer saw Starbuck coming at him hard.  He cocked his right arm and
hurled the titanferrium ball with all his might, directly at Starbuck's
exposed face.
     Starbuck sensed, rather than saw, what was coming.  Yahrens of
training and experience as a crack Viper pilot had given him
lightning-quick reactions.  As he ran, unable to slow his momentum, he
felt the ball coming at him and he planed out into a forward dive,
passing only inches beneath the ball.  If he hadn't flattened out into
the dive, the titanferrium ball would've struck him right in the face,
rupturing flesh, shattering bone, and perhaps killing him outright if it
hit in the right spot.
     The ball passed over him and slammed into the wall, rebounding
crazily.  Dissothy leaped for it, caught it in his polymesh gloves and
spun around; flinging it at a lit five circle.  The ball struck on target
and the bell sounded, announcing the score.  The crowd cheered, but there
were a few dissenting voices expressing their disapproval of Boomer's
overtly brutal tactics.
     Dissothy ran, jumped, and snatched up his own rebound.
     Apollo rose to his feet, shook his head like a stunned bull, and
tried to clear his blurry vision.
     Starbuck got up off the floor.
     "Boomer!"  he said.  "What the hell are you doing?"
     The ball was still in play.
     Dissothy passed to Boomer.
     Boomer caught the ball and turned, continuing the same motion, using
the hand holding the ball to knock Starbuck off his feet again even as he
spoke.
     Starbuck felt the blow of titanferrium against the side of his
helmet and rolled with it, taking some of the sting out of its impact. 
Boomer's gone crazy, he thought as he went down.
     Boomer jumped up and shot the ball with both hands at an empty
section of the wall.  To the crowd, it appeared as though he was simply
throwing the ball away, but just before it hit the wall, a ten circle
flashed on and the ball struck home.  The bell sounded and Boomer's team
had gained a fifteen-point lead over Apollo's.  The crowd went wild.
     "Oh Lord, Sheba!  Did you see that?" said Athena.  "It's as if he
knew the ten would flash on at just that moment.  Somehow, he anticipated
the computer! Weird!"
     "Nothing weird about luck," Sheba shrugged.
     Morbus smiled slowly.
     Adama frowned.  The Triad games had always been pretty rough, but
this was getting out of hand.  Boomer was completely carried away and he
was playing way beyond the margin of safety.  He wanted to stop the game,
but to do so would surely cause a riot.  He sat back in his seat to set
his teeth.  He watched his son, who had finally recovered enough to get
back into the game.
     Apollo had taken the rebound, putting at lot of effort into it
despite the fact that he was still a little lightheaded.  What in the
name of Kobol had gotten into Boomer?  This was getting serious, he
thought.  The first chance he got, he'd try to tell Boomer to relax,
loosen up, and remember that it's just a game.  This was going too far.
The crowd was becoming dangerously agitated.
     Dissothy took position to cover Starbuck, trying to prevent a pass
from Apollo.  They jockeyed for position.  Starbuck was trying to fake
him out and get clear, Dissothy trying to stay with him.
     Boomer was bearing down on Apollo.
     "Boomer," said Apollo, "you're playing a damn good game, but would
you..." his voice trailed off.
     There was a completely blank expression on Boomer's face, as if he
were in some sort of shock, moving like some somnambulistic juggernaut.
     Boomer slammed into Apollo at top speed, smashing them both into the
wall.  Apollo clutched the ball with all his might, almost dropping it,
just the same, so hard had Boomer hit him.
     Wrenching to the side, Apollo jerked the ball away with both hands,
then pivoted sharply, slamming the ball into Boomer's side.
     Boomer went down.
     And started getting up almost immediately!
     The force with which Apollo hit him should've put him out of action
for at least several microns, but he was getting up!  It was as if the
blow had no effect at all.
     Apollo quickly passed to Starbuck.
     "Boomer!   Snap out of it!  What's wrong with you?"
     Dissothy intercepted the pass.
     The crowd was making a noise louder than the whine of a Viper
engine.
     Starbuck was on Dissothy, not giving him a clear opportunity to try
a scoring shot.
     Boomer looked at Apollo.  No, not at Apollo----through him!
     "Boomer?"
     Dissothy snapped a pass into the wall.  It hit, bounced, and then
came spinning toward Boomer and Apollo.
     Apollo jumped for it.
     Boomer reached out and grabbed Apollo by the hips and yanked him
down, smashing him viciously to the floor.  He intercepted the ball.
     The claxon sounded, signaling the end of the period.  The game was
half-over and Boomer and Dissothy were leading----fifteen points to zero!
     Starbuck ran over to Apollo, who had hit the floor on his knees.  He
was grimacing with pain.  Starbuck reached out and helped him to his
feet.  The crowd was screaming.
     "Is Boomer insane?" Starbuck shouted at Apollo, so that his teammate
could hear him over the din of the crowd.
     "I don't know," Apollo shouted back, gasping with pain.  "He's
playing like a man under some kind of foreign influence.  He looks
completely out of it."
     "Out of it?  What do you mean?"
     "I don't know.  I've never seen him like this.  Something strange is
happening."
     "Tell me about it," Starbuck shouted back.  "We're getting killed
here."
     Apollo managed a weak grin.  "Funny you should put it that way."
     On the other side of the court, Dissothy approached Boomer with an
expression of concern on his face.
     "Boomer, I think you should talk to Dr. Salik when this game's
over," he shouted, barely making himself heard, "you are moving way out
of line, friend."
     Boomer turned a blank expression to him.  His eyes fluttered, then
he shook his head.  He looked puzzled and confused.  The ready call
sounded to begin the final period.  Looking dazed, Boomer moved off to
take the rear position for the second half.  Frowning slightly, Dissothy
walked to center court to face off against Starbuck.
     The claxon sounded to begin the play.
     This time Dissothy and Boomer were the defensive team.  Starbuck had
to get Dissothy in order to put the ball into play.  There was no time to
waste, they were fifteen points behind.
     Starbuck feinted to one side and when Dissothy moved to block him,
Starbuck slipped by him easily.  The crowd commended his athletic poise. 
He ran across the court and snatched up the ball, spinning around to pass
it off the wall to Apollo.  Dissothy was blocking him.
     Starbuck through the ball over Dissothy's head, coming very close to
sending it sailing into the spectator stands.  It hit the wall near its
top rim, bounced off and shot across the court to Apollo.
     Apollo saw that Boomer was positioned behind him, ready to slam into
him the moment he tried for the ball.  He flexed his legs, as if to jump,
and the moment he felt Boomer's hands upon him, he swiveled around and
flipped Boomer over his hip.  The tactic, however, caused him to miss the
ball.  It flew into the wall behind him and rebounded again.  Dissothy
recovered it.  He turned and shot.
     The bell rang, score on a four circle.  Nineteen to zero.
     Starbuck got the rebound.  The ball was still in lay.  There was
bedlam in the stands.  The crowd was witnessing an upset.  Starbuck tried
a shot and scored.
     Nineteen to five.
     Boomer had the ball. Apollo saw the same, blank unfocused stare on
Boomer's face.  He moved forward to block whatever Boomer attempted, be
it a shot or pass.  Boomer threw the ball at him.
     Apollo jerked his head away just in the nick of time.  He felt the
breeze as the ball passed a fraction of an inch away from his cheekbone. 
The ball hit the wall behind him and bounced back hard, slamming into his
back.  He was knocked off his feet by the impact.  As he looked up at
Boomer, the adrenalin rush hit and everything seemed to shift into slow
motion.
     Adama saw the ball hit his son and he sat up straight, on the edge
of his seat.  What was Boomer thinking of?  What demons possessed him?
     Apollo saw Boomer retrieve the ball.  Everything seemed to be
happening very slowly.  Boomer looked like he was moving through some
kind of thick, invisible soup.  The roar of the crowd sounded very far
away.  He saw the ball float out of Boomer's hands, sailing his
direction.  He had all the time in the world.  Slowly, he raised his
gloved hand and batted the ball away before it could strike him.
     "Come on, Apollo," Athena urged from the stands, "get up!  Get up!"
     As if somehow able to hear his sister, Apollo started rising to his
feet.
     Adama was leaning forward, on the edge of his seat.  He looked
across the court, at the stands on the other side and his eyes locked
onto Mr. Morbus, who was seated directly across from him in the first
tier of seats on the opposite side of the gallery.  The mysterious man in
scarlet was an odd picture of total calm amidst the seat of frentic
applause and excitement from all the spectators surrounding him.  Not
once did he ever applaud or rise from his seat.  Not once did he even
seem to move any other muscle of his body except his mouth, which moved
slowly up and down, as though he were speaking, but to whom?
     An inkling of what was truly transpiring beneath thtme started to
enter the commander's mind. He thought back again to the passages from
the Book of the Word he had been reading in his quarters earlier in the
day, as well as those in the numerous philosophical tracts, and a more
precise image of what he'd been considering about Morbus began to enter
his mind.  An image that he found deeply disturbing.
     Everything shifted back into perspective for Apollo.  The noise of
the crowd suddenly grew tremendously in volume and the thick, invisible
soup was gone.
     Starbuck had recovered the ball, outmaneuvering Dissothy.  He shot. 
The ball struck and eight circle and the bell ran, although the crowd at
this point was so lound that no one heard its chime.  The scoreboard
registered the hit, nineteen to thirteen.
     Apollo caught the rebound.  Boomer stood in front of him, swaying
slightly, eyes fluttering.  He looked disoriented.  Apollo brushed by him
and tried to pass to Starbuck but he was being effectively blocked by
Dissothy.
     Apollo tried a shot.
     The three circle lit up.
     Apollo threw.
     The ball hit dead on target, bring the score up, nineteen to
sixteen.
     The claxon sounded, ending the game.  Boomer's team had won.  The
crowd erupted in a large, frenzied delight that they had witnessed
something they'd never expected to see.  The total humiliation of Apollo
and Starbuck on the Triad court.
     Apollo and Starbuck both shook their heads in incredulous disbelief
as they tried to let the impact of what had happened on the court sink
in.  At the other side, they saw a jubilant Sire Dissothy congratulating
his partner with a triumphant embrace. But to the amazement of Dissothy,
Boomer didn't reciprocate.
     "Apollo," Starbuck looked over with concern, "would you look at him? 
That's not what he always said he'd do if he ever beat us."
     Apollo nodded as they saw the hollow, glassy-eyed expression linger
on Boomer's face as Dissothy shrugged, pushing him aside as he left the
court.
     "He was like that all through the game," Apollo said as he and
Starbuck headed for the exit.  "Come to think of it, I don't think he was
normal during the game."
     "Normal?" Starbuck snorted.  "I thought I was up against a
superhuman maniac.  No one I know is capable of the stuff he did out
there."
     As Apollo reached the exit, he cast a glance up at the gallery where
Mr. Morbus was sitting, looking down with his usual triumphant air.
     "Maybe no one is, Starbuck," Apollo said quietly as he continued to
stare at Morbus.  "Maybe no one is."

*****

Chapter Six:  Celebration

     After they'd showered in the turbowash, Apollo and Starbuck changed
into their dress uniforms and went up several decks to the Rising Star's
Astral Lounge.  It was a scene of celebration.  As was usual following a
Triad match, the luxury liner was crowded to capacity as everyone who did
not have other pressing duties to attend to came to party.  The bar was
doing a brisk business, especially since the new yield in the Agro Ship
enabled the crew of the Rising Star to augment its usual meager selection
of wines and sweetshot.  Boomer was enjoying the full fruits of his
victory, basking in the attention paid him by the Triad fans.  In a
corner, as if holding court over the dancing, drinking couples, Mr.
Morbus was seated comfortably with Sheba curled up beside him.  Two more
women reclined at his feet, completing the Dionysian scene.
     It was not unusual for their to be mirth and merriment in the
lounges of the Rising Star, especially following a Triad championship,
but there was something in the atmosphere in the lounge that gave the
revelry an altogether different sort of zest on this occasion.  The
spirit of the partygoers was almost orgiastic.  They were drinking
heavily, their voices becoming loud and their language increasingly
spicy.  Their dance moves ranged from raunchy to downright obscene.
     Mr. Morbus was pleased with the way things were turning out.  He
reached out and stroked Sheba's hair absently, but his hand hesitated
when he saw Starbuck and Apollo standing in the entrance to the lounge. 
There was something untamed about the expression on his face.  
     "Look at this place, willya?" Starbuck said in amazement as he took
his fumarello cigar out of his mouth.  "This makes the Caprica City Red
Light District seem like an Otori Sect temple be comparison."
     Apollo turned his head away in disgust at the sight of a
well-proportioned female partygoer, who was dancing nude from the waist
up.  "I sure don't remember anyone being this happy when we won. 
Including---me," he said.
     Standing next to him, Starbuck could feel a tension erupt in the air
as though it had been fired out of a pulsar cannon.
     Morbus rose from his chair and extended his hand warmly to the two
warriors.  "Ah, Starbuck and Apollo," he said cheerily. "I bid you
welcome to our celebration."
     "This 'celebration,' as you call it reeks of debauchery and sin,"
said Apollo, as he noted a naked man a voluptuous blonde woman brazenly
making love on the stage where the regular dance troupes would normally
be performing.
     "Awww, don't be so serious, my two young friends," said Morbus. 
"Rejoice.  Be happy.  Join in the fun.  There's a new air of optimism
now, and the games will be a fading memory before the night is over."
     Apollo refused to be moved by Morbus' obviously exaggerated
friendliness.  "Just how long is this party going to last?" he said with
a touch of concern.  "It looks like they're gearing up to go on for
centons.  Most of these people are in critical jobs."
     Mr. Morbus smiled.  "I'm the only one who has to worry about this
fleet now, my boy.   All you and yours have to do from this moment on is
live life to its fullest!"
     "What's left of it, anyway," Starbuck found himself unable to resist
smirking.
     Sheba shook her head in exasperation.  "Apollo, Starbuck, you guys
just don't seem to be getting the point," she said.  "Everything's going
to be all right!  We're saved!  She spoke to them as if she were
addressing two preschoolers who were slow to understand what was being
explained to them.  "Mr. Morbus is going to help us.  Now relax.  Come
on, Apollo, let's dance."
     "Hmm...not a bad idea," said Morbus.  "Do it Apollo.  Get into the
spirit of the occasion."
     Apollo could almost feel his heart pounding beneath his uniform to
the point where he felt it would explode.  There was so much he wanted to
say to Sheba at that moment about so many different things. About his
concern for her.  And even about the feelings for her that had been
tearing him apart for days now.  But now that the opportunity was being
forced upon him, he had no idea where he could possibly begin.
     Still, he had no intention of refusing her offer as she took him by
the arm and led him onto the dance floor.
     "Now that's what I'd call a cute couple," Morbus sounded pleased.
     Starbuck cocked an eyebrow at him.
     "How nice of you to notice," he said.  "I thought you wanted Sheba
all to yourself, though."
     "Rubbish!" Morubus's smile seemed to be a perpetual part of his
visage. "She shouldn't be limited to just one man---any more than you or
I should be limited to just one woman."
     Starbuck took an amused puff on his cigar.  "Lyre is beginning to
sound more and more like my kinda place.  I just can't wait to pay it a
visit."
     "In your case it would certainly solve all of your problems
surrounding Lieutenant Athena and the charming Cassiopeia."
     The amused expression still didn't fade from the brash lieutenant's
face.  "I didn't know I still had a problem."
     "True, you have been favoring Cassiopeia more recently," Morbus
conceded.  "But, if you'd only follow my suggestion, you might feel much
better."
     Starbuck took another drag.  "I guess you really do know how to read
minds, Morbus." 
     "Have a drink with me, my friend."
     "Well, who am I to offend a guest?" said Starbuck.
     "I like your style Starbuck," said Mr. Morbus.  "Tell you what: 
Whenever you finally make it to Lyre, I'm going to personally recommend
you for an ebony transfiguration."
     Starbuck was about to ask  what an "ebony transfiguration" was, but
shrugged and decided to let it go.  After all, what difference did it
really make? Why should he question Morbus about anything, as long as he
could produce results?  Most of the people in the fleet seemed convinced
of the fact that Mr. Morbus could lead them to Earth.  If that were true,
then they had every right to celebrate.  And why should he have doubts
that Morbus could do it?
     Mr. Morbus had done a lot of things that no one could explain.  If
he was half as powerful as he claimed to be, there was no reason in the
world why he couldn't simply take control of the Galactica and the fleet
by force. Yet he had not.  He was content to let the people choose for
themselves.  And if they chose to make him their leader, well, that was
their decision.
     Starbuck felt that he should be a lot more worried about Mr. Morbus
than he was.  Apollo clearly didn't trust the man, if he was a man, that
is.  How could a mere man will the trees in the Agro Ship to suddenly
bear fruit that was twice normal size and at least twice the normal
yield?  And how had he done it?  Yes, he claimed to come from a race of
beings far advanced beyond them.  Starbuck knew that any technology that
was sufficiently advanced would be indistinguishable from magic to the
less-developed culture.  If Mr. Morbus had such things to show them, to
teach them, did he not have the right to become their king if that was
what the people wished?
     He recalled how he had felt the first time he had seen the wreckage
of the ship in which Mr. Morbus had traveled.  It was improbably huge,
clearly created by a technology that put that of his people to shame.  If
only they'd been able to salvage its workings...
     It was hard to think rationally in the presence of Mr. Morbus.  The
man seemed to change from moment to moment.  He could be warm, gracious,
charming, his infectious smile able to set anyone at ease.  Yet, Starbuck
had also seen Mr. Morbus' egotism, his intolerance and from these had
concluded that he could be a formidable enemy.  That was the key.  Mr.
Morbus was an enemy.  Any man who could have an effect on others as
strongly as did Morbus was an enemy.
     Starbuck accompanied Mr. Morbus to the bar.  Two scantily clad women
came up and attached themselves to Morbus, who graciously "offered" one
of them to Starbuck.  She came around and took Starbuck's arm.  The pilot
noticed that her eyes were unfocused, indicating that she was severely
inebriated.  
     Starbuck wondered if Morbus could get drunk.  It was a good time to
find out.  There wasn't anyone in the fleet who was capable of drinking
Starbuck under the table.  Perhaps, thought Starbuck, the time had
finally come to get some answers from Mr. Morbus.  His way.
     Starbuck smiled and raised his first glass in a toast.

*****

     On the dance floor, Sheba couldn't help but think in amusement how
awkward Apollo seemed as he tried to keep up with the rhythmic movements
of the dance.  Fortunately for him, it was one of the less vulgar
varieties that involved no direct contact between the partners but had
more to do with maintaining tempo with the music.
     "Come on Apollo," she said, trying to pep him up as she increased
her own tempo.  "Show some spirit.  You dance as though your ten yahrens
out-of-practice."
     'Yeah, well, ah," Apollo found that his thoughts were too crowded to
concentrate on where his feet were landing.  "I guess I'm still surpised
you didn't ask Morbus to dance."
     "Apollo," Sheba laughed teasingly, "You almost sound like you're
jealous."
     Apollo suddenly stopped his half-hearted attempt at dancing and
impusively grabbed her by the arm.  She was stunned to see a harsh look
come over his face.
     "Jealous?" he whispered angrily.  "Do you really think in the time
you've known me that I'd let something as petty as jealousy interfere
with my judgement when the lives of every man, woman and child could be
at stake?  Is that what you think?  Well you're wrong.  You're dead
wrong."
     Sheba shook herself loose from him and glared at him with a mixture
of sadness and hurt.
     "I really misjudged you," she said quietly. "There were microns you
fooled me into thinking you..." she shook her head again.  "I can see
that my unfavorable first impression of you aboard the Pegasus was
probably correct after all."
     And before Apollo could say anything else, she stormed away and left
him standing alone and stunned on the dance floor.
     "Oh frack," he whispered under his breath as he slowly collected
himself and walked off the dance floor.
     What's with you, Apollo?  he kept saying to himself.  Even if she
raises the subject in fun, your first instinct is to angrily deny it. 
Even when it comes from her.  You seem more frightened of admitting that
to yourself than you are of Morbus.
     Feeling too embarrassed to stay, he walked out of the lounge as fast
as he could go, determined to get back to the Galactica and away from the
celebrating.

*****

Chapter Seven: The White Lights Again

     The next morning, Apollo awoke with a fierce determination to push
all of his concerns about Sheba from his mind for the time being, and
concentrate instead on the enigma of Mr. Morbus himself.
     I can't let this get me down, he said to himself.  I can't let it be
my first concern.  If I think hard about Morbus only and what he is, then
all of the other problems should take care of themselves.
     He finished dressing and started to go through the copy of the Book
of the Word that Adama had given him on his fifth birthday, and which he
had always cherished through the yahrens.  Especially the handwritten
inscription his father had written:  "To my son Apollo.  As you grow
older in wisdom, may you always know when to look to the teachings of
this holy book for inspiration, wisdom and guidance."
     After almost a centar of reading, and seeing things that made him
begin to think more clearly about the riddle of Morbus and who he might
be, his concentration was shattered by the sound of the red alert claxon
blaring over the ship's p.a. system.  
     What the----? Apollo put down the Book in surprise.  Have the Cylons
come back again?  Is Morbus finally sprining his trap at long last?
     He dashed into the corridor and was more surprised to find it
deserted.  The sound of a Red Alert claxon always meant a flurry of
activity from people dashing toward their duty stations and other pilots
sprinting for the turbo lifts to the launch bays.  But not on this
occasion.  The Galactica's corridors seemed more like that of a ghost
ship.
     He went over to one of the automatic telecoms on the wall.  "Bridge,
this is Captain Apollo.  What's happening?"
     "It's those white lights again, Apollo."  He heard Colonel Tigh's
voice, which surprised him since he was on a frequency that should have
been manned by a low-level crewman.  "They've come back again."
     Apollo froze.  His initial hunch had been thankfully wrong, but he
realized that this could be even more dangerous.  For thse were the
strange manifestations that Morbus claimed to fear, and that these were
supposedly responsible for the disappearance of the eight pilots.
     "Have we got a squadron ready to intercept them?" he asked, and then
heard the executive officer let out a snort of disgust.
     "Apollo, right now you're the first pilot I know of who seems to be
aware that there's an alert going one.  No one else has responded."
     "What?" Apollo blurted in disbelief.  "Has everyone on this ship
lost their mind?"
     "I've been wondering the same thing," Tigh said.  "Apollo, get down
to the warriors' barracks and find out what's going on."
     "I'm on my way over there now."  Apollo shut off the telecom and
began sprinting back the other way to the barracks.

*****

     Tigh continued to gaze at the glowing spheres speeding in front of
the bridge viewing screen in fascination, when he heard Adama's footsteps
dashing on to the bridge and up the stairs to the upper level.
     "What have we got, Tigh?" The commander looked out at the screen
with concern.
     "More of those U.F.Os observing us," said Tigh.  "Or setting us up
for whatever..."
     "Still nothing on our scanners?" Adama kept looking at the
incredible sight.
     "Not on my scanner, that's for sure?" Tigh said, wryly.
     Adama's gaze then shifted to all of the work stations on the bridge
and a dark cloud instantly came over his face. Barely one-fourth of them
were manned at that moment, and some of the few who were there were
slouched over their consoles instead of working.
     "What's going on here?" the commander angrily raised his voice. 
"Where's Omega?  Rigel?  What's happened to all our personnel?"  Adama
said, looking around at all the empty seats.  "I hope you have a damn
good explanation for this, Colonel."
     "A great many of our personnel are either not back from their
furlongs, or have suddenly checked into the Life Station to receive
medical treatment," Tigh said with brutal frankness.
     "Has Dr. Salik been notified?"
     "Unfortunately, he was among the first stricken," Tigh said.
     "What?!" Adama's voice rose even higher.  "What's happened?  A
plague?  Some kind of food poisoning?"
     "No sir," Tigh shook his head.  "It's the result of a massive
overdose of pleasure, to put it bluntly."
     "You can't be serious!" Adama looked on the verge of exploding with
a fury Tigh had never seen before.   "What about the curfew for duty
officers?"
     Tigh shrugged.  "Apparently some leeway has been granted."
     "By whom?" Adama demanded.
     "Who do you think?" Tigh smiled mirthlessly.  "Mr. Morbus." 
     Adama looked out the massive observation window at the mysterious
ships streaking past in all directions.  It looked like the Galactica was
caught in the midst of some strange energy storm.  Adama's face became
grim.  "As if I had to wonder," he said.  "Launch a security screen at
once.  And have Mr. Morbus sent to my quarters immediately."
     "Commander," Tigh stopped him, "so far, Apollo is the only pilot
who's responded to the alert.  He's checking the out the barracks to see
what's wrong."
     Adama was stunned.  He turned to Tigh, an expression of shock and
disbelief upon his face.

*****

     When Apollo entered the barracks, the sound of the alert continued
to toll its high wail, but it seemed as though none of the pilots in the
room noticed.  They were all slouched on their beds, many still wearing
their clothes from the previous nigh. The ones that weren't out cold from
sleep or uncosciousness, were all moaning in agony.  The clear sign of
far too much glugging down of ambrosia and even stronger drinks.
     "Come on, come on, what is this?"  He shouted, whish caused some of
the awake pilots, including Starbuck, to moan even louder.  "Can't you
hear that? We've got a red alert!"
     "Aw, c'mon Cap'n," the warrior slurred heavily as Apollo smelled the
heavy amount of what could only be Sagitarian brandy on his breath. 
"Whass 'de problem?  Ain't the frackin' Cylons come back.  We know dat. 
Dey're gone."
     Apollo shoved the drunken warrior back into his seat and went over
to the bunks where Boomer and Starbuck lay.
     "Starbuck?"  He noticed his friend sitting unsteadily on his bunk,
rubbing the sleep dust out of his eyes.  "Starbuck, come on, what's with
you?  You okay, buddy?"
     Starbuck stared at Apollo and tried to remember how to make his
mouth work.  He couldn't seem to get any words out at all, as if someone
had stuffed a gag into his mouth.
     "For Sagan's sake...." Apollo leaned forward, peering intently into
Starbuck' face.  "Boomer..."
     At the sound of his name, Boomer jerked slightly and crashed to the
floor, his equilibrium all but nonexistent. He opened his eyes and looked
up at Apollo with a silly grin.  "Hey...Apollo," his words had only a
slightly less slurry quality than the other warrior had, but had a weird
sing-song rhythm.  "They tell me I actually beat you last night.  But I
couldn't remember a frackin' thing.  That's why I couldn't help myself at
the bar.  Too upset that I played the best game of my life and slept
through it."
     "Boomer!  Can't you hear the red alert? Get up, dammit!"
     The din of the claxon finally penetrated Boomer's consciousness and
he groaned, trying to stuff both fists into his ears in an effort to
block out the sound.
     "Starbuck," said Apollo, "where is everybody?"
     "Oh..." Starbuck moaned as he forced himself out of his bunk and
clutched his head which was throbbing massively.  "I guess not everybody
got back to the Galactica." He shook his head to try and clear it of the
pain and fog that filled it.  "Boy, that was some party."
     "Mother of God, this isn't hap-pening!"  Apollo grabbed Starbuck by
his shirtfront and dragged him forcibly out of the bunk.  Starbuck's
knees hit the floor with a loud thunk and the pain did a little to help
bring him back to reality.  Then Apollo bent down and grabbed Boomer,
shaking him.
     A red alert, he thought furiously, and half the squadron is
unaccounted for.  And the one's who are----are unaccounted for as well.  
     Starbuck was struggling to don his flight suit when all of a sudden
the loud noise of firm footsteps caught their attention.  They turned
around and saw an angry Mr. Morbus glaring at them with contempt.
     "Gentlemen, this is awful!" he said.  "Absolutely inexcusable!  The
alert is fully twelve centons along and not a single ship has launched. 
"All of you are disgraceful, crazy, absent-minded..."     
     At that moment, a hatred of Morubs filled Apollo as never before. 
His hatred of Morbus for causing one problem after another from the very
beginning would have been enough to make him only consider charging him
with rage.  The added factor of his concern over Sheba only made his
hatred even more intense, and made his next move a foregone conclusion.
     Apollo suddenly launched himself at Mr. Morbus, slamming into him
and pinning him to the wall.  "Leave my squadron alone, you bloody
bastard!" he growled.
     "Release me or die!" Morbus shouted as Apollo continued to hold him
with mad fury.
     "Apollo!" There was another shout as Adama dashed into the barracks
and came up to them.  "Have you taken complete leave of your senses? 
Release him!"
     Apollo slackened his grip but was reluctant to let go of the man in
scarlet, as he continued to seethe with hatred.  Adama finally had to
push the two of them apart.  Slowly, Apollo staggered back toward where
Starbuck and Boomer stood in shock.  The sight they had witnessed had
done a lot to partially sober the both of them up.
     Morbus continued to glare at Apollo.  "You just saved your son's
life," Morbus said with contempt to Adama.  The instant the words rolled
of his tongue, the commander's expression took on an aura of controlled
anger and hatred that almost matched Apollo's.
     "Now, if this is how you run your ship, Adama," Morbus coldly turned
to him,  "then we've got more to take up with the Council than just my
assuming the presidency.  I may be forced to relieve you of command as
military leader as well."
     He turned and walked rapidly toward the door, then hesitated and
then angrily turned back to face the three warriors once again.
     "It may not be of any interest to you young men," he said, "but the
fleet is under attack.  You, and you, and you..." he said, pointing to
Apollo, Starbuck and Boomer, "had better respond to the claxon or I'll
have you all arrested!"
     He then stormed out of the barracks with a wild flourish.
     Adama didn't exchange any words with the three warriors, but instead
followed Morbus out.  As soon as he was in the corridor and saw Morbus's
retreating form, he summoned all the anger to his voice.
     "Morbus!"
     Mr. Morbus stopped in his tracks and turned around as the commander
came up to him so that they were only inches apart.
     "Who was attacking us?" Adama demanded.  "What are they? For that
matter, what are you?"
     Mr. Morbus stared at the commander coldly.
     "I've told you enough, perhaps more than I should have," he said
with a stubborn defiant air. 
     "For a man of such remarkable powers that he can make an entire
Cylon task force simply disappear," Adama went on, refusing to give up
the offensive, "you show very grave concern for those lifeforces that are
observing us so closely."
     "They too are from Lyre," Morbus admitted.  "A different foe
entirely from your Cylons.  That's why what I did yesterday can't be done
with them."
     "Is that why you're afraid of them?" Adama refused to let up.
     "I'm not afraid of anything," the defiance increased in Morbus's
voice.  "No man.  No creature."
     "Not even God?" Adama raised his voice, and saw Morbus shake his
head contemptuously.
     "Now what do you primitive children know about whom you call God?"
Morbus's words dripped with contempt, particularly on the last one.
     "Only that which has been taught to us through the millennia of time
from the beginning of creation," Adama refused to be intimidated by the
blasphemy he'd heard.  "That we have been given laws that cannot be
broken by any man or creature," he placed a strong accent on the last
word himself.
     The smirk suddenly returned to Morbus's face.  "Those so-called laws
would hardly apply to a being like me," he shook his head.
     "I wonder," Adama kept looking him in the eye.
     "You won't have much longer for that," Morbus said.  "In twenty-four
centars, the Council will confirm me as your new leader.  And everyone
will have to get used to a new set of laws to live by."
     He turned away from Adama and resumed his walk down the corridor,
his scarlet outfit glistening in the light.
     Adama found himself slowly nodding in understanding.  The indefinite
theories he'd been forming about Morbus had suddenly drawn closer to the
area of total certainty.

*****

     Apollo gave up trying to rouse any more of the pilots once it was
clear he'd forced Starbuck and Boomer to get themselves prepared for
duty.  Of the two of them, Starbuck's faculties seemed to be coming back
more quickly, while Boomer was clearly having more trouble shaking off
the remaining effects of his hangover.
     Small wonder, Apollo thought to himself.  Starbuck is more
experienced at shaking these things off.
     He also found himself thinking of what had happened when he'd looked
with fury into Morbus's face.  He had seen a look of pure evil on the
stranger's face that all but confirmed in his mind the theory of his own
that he'd been developing during his reading of the Book of the Word.
     As he locked the canopy of his viper into place, he suddenly
recalled the uneasy feeling he'd felt when he'd seen Morbus bathed in the
red glow of the planet they'd found him on, and another part of the
puzzle seemed to click in Apollo's mind.
     He decided those feelings would have to wait until later.  A more
important matter was seeing if, at last, some information could be
learned about the strange manifestations of light.
     The three vipers came to life and promptly launched on a heading
that would take them to where the lights had been reported.
     Suddenly, Boomer broke from the formation and went to his main
turbos.
     They belonged to someone else.  
     "Boomer, where in Hades' Hole do you think you're going?" Apollo
barked.
     "Got me a bandit here at right center," there was still a slurred
quality in Boomer's voice as his viper closed in on one of the lights.
"I've had it up to my eyeballs with these frakkin' things.  I'm going to
get one of those white lights and make me a fireball."
     "Boomer---!"
     Apollo heard the laser blasts eminate from Boomer's viper.  From a
distance, he could see them streak across and seemingland right on top of
the one he'd been chasing.  But it clearly had no effect, as the light
then proceeded at even greater speed, seeming to disappear.
     "Wow!"  Boomer sounded triumphant, if a tad incoherent.  "I blew the
poggies outta that bad guy.  He's nothing but space dust now!"
     "I hate to tell you this, Boomer," Starbuck gently retorted, "but
that ship left you standing still.
     "Boomer, take your finger off the fire control before you short out
your laser generator!" Apollo angrily shouted.  "Now, unless your brain's
gone as soft as a mushie, maybe you can remember that those things just
might start attacking the Fleet with whatever weaponry they've got
themselves if you keep firing at them!"
     "Sorry, Captain, sorry," Boomer mumbled as he banged the sides of
his helmet.  He could have sworn that the ringing in his ears from his
hangover had increased.
     But it took him a micron to realize that it wasn't his hangover that
was causing the ringing.
     "Boomer, where are you going?" Starbuck's voice crackled with
concern.  "You're almost off my scanner."
     "Ah, Starbuck, Apollo, do you read me?" he raised his voice as the
noise level increased.  "I think something's coming up behind me."  He
clutched his head even tighter, wishing he could rip his helmet off. 
"Frack...damn noise...so loud, I can't stand it!"
     He couldn't see a single thing.  His eyes were wide open, but
everything around him was flooded with an intensely bright white light. 
Only once before had he experienced a similar phenomenon, back when he'd
been a cadet on furlong, mega-speed snowboarding down the slopes of Mt.
Jaboput on Caprica.  He'd gone snow blind.  Only this was worse, much
worse.  The damn light was actually burning his corneas.  Tears streamed
from his eyes and his head began to ache worse than it had before.
     He managed to turn his head around, and the last thing he saw before
he passed out was an enormous white ship of lights dwarfing his field of
vision.

*****

     "Apollo!"  Starbuck looked at his scanner in horror.  "He's gone!"
     "What happened to him?" Apollo demanded.
     "I don't know," his friend shook his head as the reality of the
situation hit him.  "One micron he was on my scanner, and the
next...poof...he was gone."
     "You said he was about to move out of range."
     "Apollo," Starbuck interrupted, and it was impossible to tell that
he'd been drunk just mere centons earlier.  "I didn't say he moved off
the scanner and out of range, I said he disappeared from it!"
     Apollo let out a sigh of reluctance.  "Then let's get back ans ee if
our Viper scans came up with anything about those lights."
     "Back?" Starbuck protested. "What about Boomer?  We can't just leave
him out here!"
     "Starbuck," Apollo said calmly as he turned his viper on a slow roll
that would take it back to the battlestar.  "If I'm right, he's not out
here.  He's someplace else, someplace...where we can't reach him."
     "Like where Spock and Jolly and Charlex and all the others are?" his
friend bitterly retorted.
     "Could be," his voice grew quiet in contemplation as the Galactica
drew near.  "Could be."

*****

Chapter Nine:  "The One Major Weapon In Mr. Morbus' Arsenal
Is...Ourselves."
     
     "Don't blame yourself, Apollo," Starbuck said softly.  "I'm the one
who lost him."
     Apollo shook his head.  "No, I'm responsible.  Starbuck was in no
condition to...we'll that's beside the point.  I was the commanding
officer.  I never should have sent the two of them home."
     "Stop it, both of you!" Adama thundered.
     Both men fell silent.  They were in Adama's quarters and the
commander of the battlestar Galactica leaned wearily against his desk,
somehow looking older than his yahrens.  Apollo was shocked at the strain
that was evident in his father's face, to say nothing of his entire
bearing.  Adama sighed.
     "Technically speaking, son, no one was in command," he said.  "Just
as no one is in command of this ship.  Except Mr. Morbus."
     "You really think he has something to do with Boomer's
disappearance?" said Apollo.
     "I think he has a lot to do with everything," Adama said.  "What is
he really doing?  Making miracles or taking unfair advantage of a race of
beings he knows to be scrutinizing us?"
     "He's got to be one of them," Starbuck said. "Or at least working
for them."
     "I don't know," Adama said.  "From what little we can come up with
from our indications here, it's still possible that they're not
necessarily hostile."
     "Not necessarily hostile?" Starbuck responded with incredulity, no
longer caring about any possible breaches in protocol. "Nine pilots have
disappeared.  If that's not a hostile move, I don't know what is."
     "We cannot prove that there is a connection," said Adama.  "You've
seen what they're capable of doing.  Flying so fast that not even our
tracking devices can pick up on them; surely they could've taken direct
action against the ship by now if that was their intent.  We seem to
present no threat to them at all.  We don't know for certain that there's
a connection between our missing fighters and those strange ships.  If
there is, how does Mr. Morbus figure in and why?"
     Apollo stared at his father.  He'd never seen Adama so indecisive
before, so helpless.  Ever since Mr. Morbus had come aboard, it seemed
that Adama had grown more and more frustrated in his efforts to maintain
command.  He'd been growing----Apollo hated to admit it---weaker.  How
was it possible for one man to have such an effect upon them all?
     "If you want my advice, I say we dump him back on the planet we foun
dhim on," Starbuck's emphatic tone increased."  Whatever's happening,
he's at the heart of it."
     "I second that motion, buddy," Apollo said.  "All our troubles began
when we brought him aboard!"
     Adama slowly shook his head.  "Suppose I agreed with you?" he said. 
"Suppose I did turn us back and do exactly what you just suggested?  How
long do you think it would be before I'd have a riot on my hands from all
the people in the Fleet who support Morbus?  How long do you think Sire
Domra and the rest of my opponents would wait before they strip me of my
authority as surely as Morbus wants to?  What sort of explanation would I
have to give to explain such treatment of th eman who makes Cylon
baseships disappear?"
     Both Starbuck and Apollo lowered their heads as the reality of the
situation hit them.
     "I have less than twenty centars now, before the Council will make
him President," Adama went on.  "Even my friends on the Council like Sire
Gant tell me they don't see how they can stand in the way.  The members
are still incapable of deciding on a third task for Morbus, but they are
determined to not let that stop them any longer when it comes to
anointing him as our new leader."
     "We have to prevent that from happening, Father!"
     "How?" Adama asked.  "Morbus gives our people everything they want. 
Hope.  Food.  And what is he looking for in return?  What price do we
pay? And what's his connection with them?"
     Apollo frowned slightly, as did Starbuck.
     "Father, the way you say that, it almost sounds like you have an
idea."
     "Perhaps I do," Adama said.  "Perhaps I do."

*****

     The two pilots walked quickly down the corridor, heading toward the
shuttle bay.
     "So what do we do now?" Starbuck threw up his arms in exasperation.
     "I don't know," Apollo shook his head.  "But maybe he'll soon have
something viable to consider." 
     "I think it only fair to remind you," Starbuck said, "this guy may
not exactly warm the cockles of our hearts, but he seems to have one mean
bag of tricks up his sleeve."
     "A bag of tricks?" said Apollo.  "Or merely a set of peculiar
coincidences?"
     "What are you trying to say?"
     "I'm not exactly sure, yet," said Apollo, "but something's been
bothering me about Mr. Morbus.  It's been eating away at me and I just
can't seem to put my finger on it.  One things seems crystal clear,
though, and it's taken long enough for me to realize it, by God."
     "What's that?" said Starbuck.
     "The fact that the one major weapon in Mr. Morbus' arsenal
is....ourselves."
     "I don't understand."
     "You will, Starbuck," Apollo said grimly.  "I could be wrong, but
this thing isn't over yet."

*****

     Four men walked slowly through the rows of trees on the Agro Ship.
Jotridus moved lightly and kept up a steady stream of conversation as he
led Starbuck, Apollo, and Doctor Wilker through his domain.  He couldn't
get over the change in his orchard. He stared with wonder at each tree
they passed, reaching out to touch the ripening fruit as if he couldn't
believe that they were for real.
     "It's just like you see," he said, "bumper crops.  Every single tree
is producing like nothing I've ever seen before.  I'm telling you it's a
miracle.  I just can't find any other word for it."
     "Apparently that tree over there missed out on that 'miracle,'" said
Dr. Wilker, indicating a small tree in the center of the clearing.  "It
doesn't seem to be doing very well at all."
     They approached it.
     "Say, I never noticed that one until just a little while ago,"
Jotridus said.  "That is strange."
     "What happened to it?" asked Wilker, examining the tree more
closely.
     "You tell me, Doc," Jotridus said in a puzzled voice.  "It's a
mystery to me.  It was as healthy as it could be a while ago.  Last
ship's day, it was doing fine.  Not as well as the others, I'll admit,
but still..."
     "Not as well as the others?" said Wilker.  "Jotridus, this tree's
completely dead.  And in so short a time.  It doesn't make much sense."
     "I'll tell you who might know," Jotridus said.  "That miracle
worker, Mr. Morbus.  Why don't you ask him?"
     "What does he have to do with it?" Apollo said.
     Jotridus shrugged.  "He must've seen that there was something wrong
with it even before I did.  He was standing right next to it, standing on
the same spot where you are now."
     "He was?" said Apollo.  "What was he doing?"
     "Did he touch it in any way?" said Starbuck.
     "Look, I didn't want to be nosey, what with him and the girl
carrying on and all, but yes, I think I remember seeing him pull a leaf
off of one of the branches.  Sure enough, he did, right about there," the
old man pointed.
     Wilker shook his head.  "That hardly seems like enough to make your
orchard this prolific," he said.  "I'd like to get back to the lab and
conduct some more tests on this, if it's all right with you, Captain."
     "After you," said Apollo.
     They arrived at the lab to find that Doctor Wilker had been
examining several samples of all the fruits and vegetables grown in the
Agro Ship.  They waited patiently, looking on as Wilker compared some of
his previous findings to his observations of that day.
     "You're looking at a sample of the fruit I've collected from the
Agro Ship," said Wilker, indicating a pile on one of his lab tables, "and
samples of other varieties we're growing in our hydroponic grower
modules, here."
     "I don't see any difference between them," said Starbuck.
     "Yes, unusually large," said Wilker.  "There's no question that
they've all responded to some extraordinary stimulus."
     "What kind of stimulus? Any theories as to what it could have been?"
said Apollo.
     "One theory," Wilker said.  "Come over here."
     Apollo and Starbuck followed Wilker to the other side of the lab
where a large number of monitors and charts were set up.
     "Take a look right here," he said.  "Our normal seismic scanning and
cosmic monitoring went as crazy as a supernova yesterday and today," the
scientist pointed to one set of readings.  "According to calculations
from the bridge, those occurrences coincided precisely with the presence
of the unidentified ships, or flight of lights that encircled our fleet."
     For the first time, Apollo felt a glimmer of hope.
     "In other words, those ships might be made of a material beyond
anything Colonial technology can produce; a sheathing that can give off
heat, light and radiation, just like a little roving sun."
     "Yes, Apollo.  Precisely what I was thinking," said Wilker.  
"Sunlight plays a much larger role in our sustenance than we may expect:
all the food we eat is a product of photo-synthesis, which is the process
that converts energy in sunlight to chemical forms of energy  for use by
biological systems.  It's only a theory, of course, and a half-baked one
at that, but we don't know what sort of energy those white lights
possessed.  It's simply a matter of correlating two inexplicable
phenomena.  The timing's right."
     "Then you think it was those little white ships, rather than Mr.
Morbus, that caused those plants to go berserk and grow like this?" said
Starbuck
     "Did you miss the part where I said it was only a theory?" said
Wilker.
     "I must say I prefer it to the alternative," Apollo said.  "Thanks a
lot, Doctor, stay on it."
     They turned and left the lab together.
     "Apollo," said Starbuck, "that look on your face... What are you
thinking now?"
     "I'm not sure," he said.  "I think I'll take a centar or two alone
to try and put a few more pieces together.   Why don't you relax in the
Club for a while?  I'll try to join you later."
     "Okay," Starbuck nodded.  "By the way, thanks."
     "For what?" Apollo frowned.
     "For not bringing up that thing you mentioned a few days back about
the day Baltar peacefully surrendered would as be the day you saw me give
two sectars pay to one of his projects," his friend smirked.
     "You have no idea how tempted I was to remind him of it," Apollo
grinned.  "After all you indulged in last night, your pay voucher should
go to something like that."
     As Apollo disappeared down the corridor, Starbuck idly wondered if
matters regarding Mr. Morbus were about to enter a final stage.

*****

     When Apollo entered his father's quarters, he was taken aback by
what he saw.  Adama was seated behind his desk, his hands on the table,
and his eyes fixated with intense concentration on the small ornamental
eagle symbolizing the House of Kobol.  It almost seemed as though he were
trying to will it to do something.
     A chill went down Apollo's spine as he heard his father whisper a
strange invocation:
     "By Xymneg, it shall move toward me...now!" 
     And then, Apollo's jaw fell open when he saw the eagle slowly glide
across the desk toward Adama, in the same way that he had seen Mr. Morbus
cause the ornamental crystal on the Council table to move.
     "Lords of Kobol, Father, what are you doing?" he whispered.
     Adama slowly rubbed his eyes as he shook himself out of his
trancelike state.  "It's impolite not to make your presence known."
     "Father, I'm sorry, but---" Apollo was almost at a loss for words,
"I thought I'd finally figured out how Morbus was starting to pull off
these miracles of his, and then I see you...What was that I heard coming
out of your mouth?"
     "A  metaphysical invocation, Apollo," Adama shook his head and
continued.  "It's derived from an ancient pre-human tongue that is not so
much a language as it is a tool to give mind mastery over matter."
     "That sounds almost...arcane," Apollo said.  "Father, God is clear
in the Book of the Word that any practice of arcane arts is an
'abomination' to him.  He doesn't distinguish between 'light' and 'dark'
powers since they both originate from the same source." 
     "I haven't forgotten that, son.  What you have just seen goes back
to an old, special research program at the Colonial Military Academy many
yahrens ago, when I was a cadet."
     "I don't remember any such research program," Apollo said, still
stunned.
     "It was disbanded over forty yahrens ago," Adama leaned back in his
chair.  "All through history, military leaders have often pondered the
use of occult and paranormal powers to achieve victory, and the Thousand
Yahren war with the Cylons was no exception.  I joined the program mostly
out of curiousity and, like all the other participating cadets, I
schooled myself from texts that Caprican clerics had kept hidden from the
outside world for centuries.
     "They designated the program  The Secret Doctrine, and it became
less of a program and more like a gathering of those youths considered
the most receptive to unknown forces.  It was believed that if Mankind
were to entrust such a power into an eclectic collection of well-trained
mentalists, the Colonies would have a secret weapon that the
sophisticated technology of the Alliance could not stop."
     "Arcane arts in the space age?" Apollo let the words rest on his
tongue.  "I can't believe intelligent people went in for that
felgercarb."
     "There were skeptics, yes, but even the scientific community had to
understand that no stone could be left unturned in our efforts to defeat
the Cylons."
     "Since it apparently works, why was the program disbanded?"
     "A lot of people thought, and perhaps not unjustly, that instruction
in arcane powers carried far too many dangerous risks.  Threats to the
spiritual, mental, and emotional well-being of the trainee; invitation of
potentially dangerous alien presences to control his or her intellect and
body and the danger of violence to oneself and others.  But the chief
complaint was that it was all too easy to think of the potential for
abusing this kind of wild paranormal power as opposed to using it for
practical military purposes.  So they shut down the program and placed
all the research data in a classified file."
     His father let out a wistful sigh and rubbed his eyes again.  "I can
still remember how I used to drive your mother mad when she'd come hom
from her work at the Institute of the Legendary Arts and catch me
practicing what I'd learned by bending eating utensils.  She finally
forced me to stop the practice.  I think this is the first time I've
tried it out since then."
     "How come I never knew anything about this?" Apollo's amazement was
ceaseless.
     "Oh, it was long before you were born, Apollo," Adama went on.  "And
I was under strict orders to be silent about The Secret Doctrine after it
was disbanded.  Ila was the only one I ever broke that rule with."
     "But what does it mean?"
     "I've pondered that question for many yahrens, Apollo," Adama said
thoughtfully and then looked up at him.  "Our life expectancy, Cylons
notwithstanding, is well over a hundred yahrens now.  And we only possess
the ability to harness our minds for something as insignificant as what I
was just able to accomplish.  I don't know if our species is capable of
going any further, especially given our penchant for destroying ourselves
as has so often been the case in our history."
     He then rose from the chair and went over to the porthole.  "But
suppose there was another race from a more advanced line, with lifespans
measured by the thousands, or perhaps in terms that were infinite," his
voice grew slightly mystical.  "Such a race would surely be able to have
harnessed the full abilities of the mind and the universe to perform what
we would consider to be miraculous."
     "And that's what you think we're dealing with?"  Apollo asked with
interest.  "With Mr. Morbus and...these strange lights?"
     "I don't think lights is the right term," Adama looked back at his
son.  "After all the reading I've been doing in the Book of the Word, I
have a theory about them.  That those 'lights' could easily be what the
first inhabitants of Kobol, our ancient homeworld, referred to in their
own primitive way as angels."
     "Angels?" Apollo's awed fascination increased.
     "Yes," Adama said with near-excitement.  "Think of them
as...custodians of the universe.  Instruments of the God we worship who
carry out His will on a higher plane from our own, but slightly lower
than His.  And all of them held together by a mandate that their powers
are never to be abused by any one of their own kind."
     "And they're watching him?" Apollo realized.
     "Yes," Adama nodded.  "They haven't moved against him so far,
because the things he's evidently done himself, such as getting Baltar to
surrender and causing a Cylon taskforce to disappear is not an abuse by
their standards.  Especially since at this point, they've been done in
the name of our own good.  But what they're undoubtedly interested in, is
what happens later.  When he plans on doing things that will mean a far
less hopeful outcome for ourselves. I am certain that what they need to
know is if Morbus ends up accomplishing that by operating within some
kind of law that even he is still bound by."
     "So that means he's one of them, or----" Apollo abruptly stopped as
his mind fit the last piece of the puzzle together.
     "Or he was," his father finished for him.
     The room was silent for nearly a centon before Apollo resumed
speaking.
     "Father," Apollo said quietly.  "Do you realize that the
implications go beyond even that?"
     "Indeed they do," Adama nodded again.  "It is a frightening thing to
consider, but one that I believe is very likely.  And the key to
confirming that may lie in the ship that crashed on the planet where you
discovered Morbus.  It's still in range of us, since we haven't done
anything while waiting for Morbus to inform us that the journey to Earth
has begun."
     "That's exactly what I was thinking."
     "Now, you said he wouldn't let you get close to it because of
proteon levels."
     "Yes, but with special equipment---"
     "By all means take it with you," Adama touched his shoulder and
lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone.  "Though I have a feeling you
won't be needing it.  Go back there in a shuttle.  Alone.  You mustn't
tell anyone of this, and you must forget this conversation.  Morbus will
be able to pick out your thoughts as easily as listening to a claxon."
     "I know," Apollo nodded, trying to be as calm as he possibly could. 
"And I understand."
     "I hope so," there was a quiet urgency in Adama.  "This could be the
most important mission of your life."
     Apollo calmly sucked in his breath.  "How will you deal with him? 
If you run into Morbus, he'll know where I've gone."
     "I'll crowd my mind with other thoughts," his father said.  "That
was another thing The Secret Doctrine taught us:  using chaotic thought
patterns to outmaneuver an opponent with similar skills.  It's been so
long since I've put this training into effect, but I'm sure I can do it."
     Apollo let out another sigh of awed amazment.  "How is it after all
this time, I'm still learning things about you?"
     Adama smiled back.  "How is it after all this time, that I'm still
learning things about my first-born son?"
     Apollo could literally feel the emotional bond between them surging
to a level of strength he'd never experienced before.  Yet because they
both knew that total professionalism was called for in the forthcoming
task, they refused to show it outwardly.  Only a simple, strong handshake
passed between them before Apollo turned and left the room.
     "The Lords of Kobol be with you," Adama whispered aloud.  "My
beloved son."

*****

Chapter Ten: Mr. Morbus Unmasked


     It was dark and lonely down in the launch bay.  The ground crews had
gone off duty and only the sound of the force-field generators broke the
stillness of the cavernous chamber.  The sound of the generators plus the
soft hissing of the elevator as it arrived at the landing bay deck.  The
elevator door opened and, for a brief moment, a solitary figure was
silhouetted in the light from inside.  Then the door shut once again and
the bay was once more plunged into darkness, with only the slight glow of
several banks of red working light giving a tiny amount of illumination.
     Starbuck looked around, waiting a moment for his eyes to become
accustomed to the absence of light.  Clutching a small pouch to his
chest, he quickly sprinted across the bay, heading for a shuttle.  He
reached the shuttle hatch, stopped, looked around again and softly called
out, "Apollo?"
     Apollo stuck his head outside the shuttle hatch, saw Starbuck and
quickly looked behind him, seeing if he was alone.
     The captain's expression was tight lipped.  "What are you doing
here, Starbuck?"
     "I'm coming with you," Starbuck said bluntly.  "Wherever that is, I
know you're up to something regarding Morbus that just may result in
turning the tables on him."
     "Starbuck," Apollo kept his voice at a low whisper.  "I'd love to
have you with me, but I gave my word that I wouldn't tell anyone about
this mission."
     "Well," his friend nonchalantly shrugged.  "That's one promise you
already broke."
     "Look, I've got to go," the urgency rose in Apollo's whisper.  "This
could mean life or death for the whole human race."
     "Well in that case, buddy, I've got a stake in it and I'm coming
along."
     Apollo grabbed his wrist.  "This is between me and Morbus," he said
emphatically.
     "Oh?" an edge of sarcasm almost came over Starbuck.  "It's a
personal thing, eh?  Hand-to-hand combat with the fate of the Fleet
hanging in the balance?  You know Apollo, I thought I'd seen everything
last sectar when you tried to put out all those fires from the Cylon
suicide attacks all by yourself, but this is really taking the
'whole-burden-on-my-shoulders' biz a shade overboard."
     "Starbuck," Apollo said patiently.  "I don't think you understand."
     "More than you think," he retorted.
     "The success of this mission relies on its secrecy."
     "Secrecy?  With someone aboard the Galactica who's in the nasty
habit of picking up thoughtwaves?" Starbuck casually pointed out.  "What
if I bump into him?  Do you trust me that much?"
     Apollo rolled his eyes in a mixture of exasperation and amusement. 
"Not in a million years, you crazy madacca."
     "Thanks for the vote of confidence," he smiled.
     "Anytime, buddy," Apollo motioned him into the shuttle.  "Let's go."

*****

     A short time later, on the bridge, a puzzled Colonel Tigh turned to
Adama.
     "Sir?  A shuttle is requesting clearance for launch.  I don't seem
to have any missions scheduled and there haven't been any advance
requests for interfleet shuttles.  Captain Apollo said to check with
you."
     "Damn!" Adama swore.  "It's my fault, Tigh.  I neglected to check
with you when I gave them clearance.  One of the passenger ships
requested some first-hand instruction in Triad for some of the children. 
Apollo thought it would be wise to have some experienced players conduct
the lessons, since it could be somewhat dangerous, even with the modified
rules for the juvenile teams.  Besides, I thought that it would impress
the children to have some real champions come out to teach them."
     "A nice idea," said Tigh. "Is that all?"
     "Yes," Adama smiled and nodded, then turned to leave the bridge.  He
hesitated for a moment.  "Oh, by the way, he said to Tigh, "you wouldn't
happen to know the whereabouts of Mr. Morbus at this time, would you,
Colonel."
     "Yes," said Tigh, "I believe he's visiting the Agro Ship.  With
Sheba, if I'm not mistaken.  I remember giving clearance to the shuttle."
     "Ah, if he should ask to see me, would you convey my apologies?  I'm
bone weary and I must take a sleep period."
     "For how long, sir?"
     "Until further notice.  Can you handle things up here?"
     "I sure can.  Have a good rest, Commander."
     Adama left the bridge, en route to his private quarters.  Tigh went
back to his post, checked the scanners and frowned slightly.
     "Athena," he said, "the shuttle just launched.  Have they
communicated their docking instructions with one of the passenger ships?"
     "Passenger ships?" said Athena, checking her monitor.  "I don't'
think I follow you, Colonel.  This doesn't seem to be an interfleet
flight.  Shuttle Alpha just headed off away from the fleet."
     "Did you say away from the fleet?"
     "Yes, Colonel.  Is something wrong?" Athena said.
     "Of course not.  I mean, what could be wrong?  I must have
misunderstood..."
     Tigh thought for a moment.  He was certain that the commander had
told him that Apollo was going on a short interfleet hop, but then if the
shuttle was heading away from the fleet...He shrugged.  Apollo knew what
he was doing.  If there were any trouble, he most assuredly would've
communicated with the bridge.  The commander's son was a stickler for
doing things exactly by the book.  Perhaps he was using the flight as an
opportunity to check himself out on when the strange lights might appear 
once again.  There was no point in facing an unknown enemy in an unarmed
vehicle.  A good pilot made damn sure that he was always in practice,
able to execute complicated evasive maneuvers and such.  Of course, that
had to be it.  Apollo would want to put the shuttle through its paces
well away from the fleet.  It was just like him to kill two birds with
one stone, combining a routine flight with a practice flight.  Tigh
decided to wash his hands of the matter.

*****

     Sheba stretched out on the ground amidst the lush gardens under the
forward dome, and nestled her head against Morbus's chest, while he held
her in his arms.  She felta sense of contenment in her heart that she
hadn't known at any time since she'd been parted from the Pegasus. 
     What a fool I'd been, she said to herself.  I gave Apollo his chance
last night, and he basically said he didn't care one felgercarb. I
should've known better.  What a self-centered fool he is.  Thinking he
alone knows and understands everything better than anyone else.
     The more she reflected on it, the more she felt that if Apollo ever
had any kind of interest in her, it was only of the silly, awkward
physical kind that she'd seen from more warriors aboard the Pegasus than
she cared to remember.  So many of her fellow flyers in Silver Spar
Squadron like the warrior-surgeon Lyme and Lance-Corporal Benther had
intense crushes on her, but none of them ever summoned the nerve to try
and ask Sheba out for any kind of quiet get-together aboard the Pegasus. 
All of them struck her as either being too intimidated by her presence as
an outstanding warrior, superior in most ways to them, or too fearful of
incurring the wrath of her father if they made too bold an advance.
     When she'd first sensed a subtle hint from Apollo that maybe he too
had an intense interest in her, she felt willing to give him more time to
openly express himself than she would have for someone else aboard the
Pegasus for two reasons.  The first was that the absence of her father
from the scene removed a potential obstacle for Apollo to act, and the
second was that Sheba felt a slight attraction to him as well, and dearly
wished in her hear that Apollo would soon find the strength to open up.
     But the moment had not come after more than a sectar. And after
seeing him react as he'd done the previous night aboard the Rising Star,
she was convinced that all she'd suspected about Apollo had been wrong. 
He'd seemed to angry to even consider the possibility that there was an
interest in her on his part.  And that, in her mind, made Apollo worse
than all the shy warriors she'd known aboard the Pegasus.
     As she continued to relax in Morbus's hold amidst the beauty of the
agro ship, she couldn't help but think of how different the mysterious
man was.  With Morbus, she had the sense of being with someone who she
felt truly cared for her, and wasn't afraid to express it. A far cry from
the lack of openness she'd seen for too long from other men.
     "It's beautiful here," she said softly.
     "It's a garden," Morbus commented as he gently stroked her hair.  "A
veritable paradise."
     "It's the only place that comes close to what the Cylons destroyed,"
said Sheba.  "Even if it's adrift in space, it's still alive.   You can
feel the life."
     Morbus suddenly stiffened, the smile on his face suddenly replaced
by a look of murderous fury.  He sat up quickly, dislodging Sheba.
     "What is it?" she said.
     Mr. Morbus stared up at the dome, out at the stars.
     "What are you up to?" he suddenly whispered with venom in his voice.
     "What?" said Sheba.  "I didn't do anything!"
     Mr. Morbus rolled to his feet and quickly hurried away from her,
moving toward the shuttle bay.
     "Come back!" said Sheba, starting after him, a confused expression
on her face.  "Where are you going?  What's the matter?"
     Sheba found that she was too shocked by his sudden departure to
instantly follow him.  When she finally did summon the strength to get
up, she dashed towards the doorway leading into the garden.
     When she entered the main corridor of the agro ship that led back to
the reception area, she looked about in vain for Morbus  but only saw
Jotridus standing off to one side consulting a clipboard.
     "Where did he go?" she came up to the operations officer and shook
him.  "Where did he go?"
     Jotridus frowned in puzzlement.  "I don't know who you mean, Sheba."
     "Mr. Morbus!" Sheba demanded.
     "I thought I saw him with you."
     "He came out this way!" she pressed.  "You must have seen him!"
     "I haven't seen anyone come around here," the operations officer was
thoroughly baffled.  "Are you feeling all right, Lieutenant?"
     Sheba then pushed him aside and sprinted back to the reception area.

*****

     On the bridge, Tigh was sitting in his chair on the upper deck going
over routine matters.
     "Athena, what's the current status of Shuttle Alpha?" he said.
     "It's just now leaving scanner range, Colonel," she said.
     "Why in Hades are they doing that?  It simply doesn't make sense. 
Can you tell me where they're going?"
     "Its present trajectory is taking it toward the planet where----"
     "Where my ship crashed, naturally," said Mr. Morbus, coldly.
     Tigh swiveled around in his chair and saw Morbus standin in front of
him with a look of anger, contempt and hatred on his face.  The executive
officer was startled since there had been no sound at all to indicate
that he'd been approaching.
     Come to think of it, he thought further, there had been no
indication that any shuttle from the agro ship bringing him back had
arrived either.
     "Mr. Morbus!  Where did you come from?" Tigh said, trying to keep
his bewilderment hidden.  "I didn't hear you walk---"
     "Who's in that shuttle?"  Morbus demanded sharply.
     "I've no idea," the executive officer said warily.  "They won't
identi---
     "Captain Apollo," said Morbus, his eyes blazing.  "I should've
known.  Who's with him?"
     "I just got through saying I didn't-
     "Where's Adama?" Morbus's eyes blazed with fury.
     "He left instructions with me that he wasn't to be dis----"
     "Thank you, Colonel."
     Morbus turned and left the bridge.  Tigh hurried over to his
communicator.  Microns later, Commander Adama's face appeared on the
screen.
     "Yes, Colonel?  What is it?" said Adama.
     "Something wicked seems to be coming your way, sir.  Mr. Morbus. 
And I believe he's upset about that shuttle you cleared for launch."
     Adama stiffened.  "Thank you, Colonel.  I'll handle it."
     No sooner had Tigh's image disappeared off the screen than the door
to Adama's cabin opened and Mr. Morbus burst in like a Cylon
stormtrooper.
     "I left orders that I wasn't to be disturbed," Adama said coldly.
     Morbus ignored the remark.  "Is this how you follow me?" he said. 
"By conspiring against me when I'm not looking?"
     "What sort of conspiracy do you believe me to be part of, Mr.
Morbus?"
     "You sent your son to find out who I am," Morbus's tone was a
hundred times colder.
     Adama met his stare.
     "I thought you'd already told us who you are, Mr. Morbus," he said
with contempt.
     "Don't play the fool with me, Adama," said Morbus, the venom
returning to his voice.   "When a mortal breaks a bargain with me, he
pays a very high price."
     Adama drew himself up to his full bearing and looked him in the eye. 
"I don't believe in you, Mr. Morbus," he said with even greater contempt. 
"Unlike those poor souls who were destroyed in your ship on the planet. 
They followed you, and they paid the price."
     "And even as you and I are talking, they continue to pay for their
obedience," a malevolent smile came over him.  "Just as you will be
forced to pay a price for your impudence.  Or rather, someone very close
to you will pay the price for your impudence."
     Mr. Morbus spun around and walked out the door.  Adama paled when he
realized just what the malevolent entity had in mind.  And suddenly he
knew without a shadow of a doubt, that Mr. Morbus could----and most
likely would---do as he proposed.
     "No!" Adama whispered in anguish as he dashed after him. 
     He rushed out into the corridor, looking both ways.  Mr. Morbus was
simply not to be found.  Adama sagged against the bulkhead.  Sheba came
running down the corridor, trying to catch Mr. Morbus.  She stopped when
she saw Adama, who appeared to be on the very of tears.
     "Adama!  What is it?"
     "We've sold our souls to the Devil himself," said Adama in a broken
voice.
     "What are you talking about?"
     "Mr. Morbus," Adama said, just barely coherent.  "At first I thought
him to be a sly alien trickster, or a lesser demon.  But---I was wrong;
he's much worse than any of those.  If only I could've have seen through
his disguise earlier...."
     Sheba smiled.  "Why can't you understand?" she said.  "He only wants
what's best for us.  Why don't you trust him?  He's the answer to all our
prayers!  Our deliverer..."
     "Our 'deliverer' is about to take my only living son away from me,"
Adama said.  "Starbuck, too."
     Sheba stared at him, not understanding.  
     "Why?" she said.  "What have they done? Where are they?"
     "I sent them to expose Mr. Mor-bus for the fraud he truly is," Adama
said.  "God forgive me!"
     "Commander!' Tigh came running down the hall from the opposite side. 
"Are you all right?"
     "Did you tell Mr. Morbus where Starbuck and Apollo went?" Adama
said.
     "I didn't tell him anything about the shuttle, Commander," Tigh
said, "but he knew all the same."
     "Did you pass him in the cor-ridor?" Adama said, already knowing,
fearing what the answer would be.
     "No."
     "Is he still on board?"
     "So far as I know," said Tigh.  "Nothing else has launched toward
that planet where we found his ship."
     "So that's where they've gone!" said Sheba.  "Those fools!  All of
you, fools! Don't you know what you've done?  We gave him our word!"
     "Sheba, you don't see what he---"
     "I only see that you've ruined everything!' she shouted.  "All he
ever wanted to do was help us!  And now you've...you've..."
     She couldn't finish.  With a look of hatred, she turned and ran back
down the corridor, heading for the launch bay. 
     "Sheba!" Tigh started after her, but Adama held him back.
     "Let her go," Adama said.  "She's too blinded by Mr. Morbus to
listen to reason.  Quickly, Tigh, we've got to find him, we've got to
stop him, somehow."
     "I don't think I understand," said Tigh.
     "That's because it's almost incomprehensible," Adama said.
     They ran to the bridge together.  Once there, every scanner, every
communicator was used in an effort to track down Mr. Morbus, but Adama
was almost certain they wouldn't find him.  They communicated with each
and every deck of the battlestar, quickly organized search parties, but
it was to no avail.  It was as if Morbus had disappeared without a trace.
     "No sign of Mr. Morbus on any of the decks, Commander," Tigh said,
checking with the search parties throughout the battlestar.
     "And nothing from any of the other ships in the fleet," said Rigel. 
"Nobody's seen him, nobody at all.  How can that be?"
     "If he were anywhere on the Galactica, or on any of the ships within
the fleet, we'd know it," Tigh said.
     "There's one possibility," Athena said.  "A single Viper launched
without clearance just a little while ago."
     "Sorry," Tigh said.  "That was Sheba."
     "Sheba?" said Adama.  "Then she's gone after them."
     Tigh nodded.  "I have confirmation from Foreman Jenny, down in the
launch bay.  He tried to stop her, but..."  His voice trailed off and he
spread his arms out from his sides in a gesture of resignation. 
"Apparently, she actually pulled her laser pistol on them and told them
not to make a move.  They all backed off and let her go."
     "So she went after the shuttle," a look of horror came over his face
as he shot a glance at Athena.
     The same look was on his daughter's face, and she nodded I nsilent
understanding of what her father was thinking.  They both knew that
Sheba's actions now added another dangerous element of uncertainty to
whatever was going on now.
     "Father," said Athena, looking up from her console, "you're going to
have to make some sort of statement.  Our search is the only thing the
IFB and every other communications band in the Fleet is talking about. 
The entire population must know by now."
     "Including the members of the Council," Adama noted with distaste as
he saw the white-robed figure of one of the members suddenly emerge with
an angry expression.
     "Adama!" Sire Domra demanded coldly as he entered the bridge and
came up to the commander's post.  "What have you to report on this
disappearance of Mr. Morbus?"
     "Nothing at this time, Sire Domra."  Adama refused to show any
civility toward his most vocal opponent on the Council.  "Mr. Morbus, for
reasons known only to himself, has chosen to disappear."
     "He can't do that!" the buritician wailed.  "The other tasks!  The
promises-he made--"
     "All of which I doubt very seriously matter to him now," Adama cut
him off shaprly.  "Sire Domra, as you are no doubt aware, it is standard
procedure for me to transcribe all conversations in my quarters on a
private video-com recorder.  At tomorrow's meeting of the Council, I
intend to show you exactly what transpired the last time I spoke to Mr.
Morbus, and when you see it, I think you will discover once and for all
the folly you and the rest of your like-minded colleagues have been
pursuing for the pat half-sectan."
     Domra stiffened and his face grew visibly red.  Unable to say
anything else, he turned and left the bridge.
     "That was impressive, Adama," Tigh said.  "But what if Morbus shows
up?"
     "He won't, Tigh." Adama gently cut him off as he shook his head and
looked out at the starry expanse of the viewing screen.  "He's not here. 
He's down there.  With them.  Whatever happens from this point forward is
all in their hands."
     The commander let out an almost forlorn sigh and then began to pray
to the God he'd honored all his life with more intensity than he'd ever
expressed before.

*****

     Throughout the shuttle journey back to the planet, Apollo and
Starbuck were both uncharacteristically silent with each other.  They had
both reached a point where they realized that there was nothing left for
them to say to each other, until they reached the mystery that was the
wrecked ship of the equally mysterious Mr. Morbus.
     As they set the shuttle down in the same reddish tinged meadow
they'd found they'd landed their vipers in when they first arrived, they
both found themselves taking slow, measured steps toward the giant crater
and gully in the distance, where the red tinge of the planet ended and
the scorched earth that restored normal color to the sky began.
     When they reached the top of the gully and looked down, they both
found themselves staring in fascination at the twisted wreckage for what
almost seemed like an eternity.
     "That's where we'll find our answers." Apollo took a breath and
finally broke the silence.  "If there are answers."
     Starbuck smiled weakly.  "I just wish I understood the questions."
     They started to slowly descend into the gully and drew steaily
closer to the blackened hull.  Starbuck took out his portable scanner and
began to look at the readings.
     "Nothing," Starbuck said.
     "That's what I figured," said Apollo.  "The proteon radiation danger
was a myth.  Morbus manipulated our readings somehow."
     "That just doesn't seem possible," said Starbuck.  "I mean,
paranormal super powers are one thing, but....
     "Mr. Morbus himself doesn't seem possible," Apollo said.  "He did
it, that's all that concerns me right now."
     "Let's go have a look at her crew."
     They were halfway between the top of the hillside and the wreckage
when their attention was suddenly distracted by the sound of a viper
flying overhead.  The craft's landing gears was extended and was on a
final approach towared the meadow where the shuttle had set down.
     "What the frack?" Starbuck looked up in surprise.  "Did somebody
follow us?"
     He glanced at Apollo and saw his friend take an anguished breath.
     "Apollo?" Starbuck reached over with concern.
     "Got to be Sheba," he whispered.  "She's come after us."
     "Great!" Starbuck raged, kicking the dirt.  "That's all we need
right now.  If she warns Morbus---"
     "I know," he almost sighed.  "I swear, Starbuck, it feels like I
don't know her anymore."
     "Do we wait for her?"
     Apollo then shook off whatever it was he was thinking and summoned
all his professionalism back to the forefront.  "No," he said with
determination.  "We find out the truth now."
     They resumed walking toward the wreckage.  Both Apollo and Starbuck
were shaking their heads in amazement at the enormity of the site, as
well as the extent of the damage.
     Apollo climbed over the wreckage of a toppled bank of instruments. 
Everything inside the ship, or what was left of it, was apparently
designed and scaled for beings that stood taller than a human.
     "It's all pretty well vaporized," he said, shaking his head with
wonder.  "God, whatever zapped this thing must have had the power of a
sun!  
     "Apollo came over to what looked like the remains of a door that led
into some kind of passageway within one large, broken section of the
ship.  There were only several large chunks of the door still in place,
and Apollo delicately pulled at them.  The blackened, brittle metal
snapped off with the delicateness of a twig beaking in his hands, and now
the doorway was open, offering an unobstructed view of what lay inside.
     "I can't even begin to imagine what---"
     He froze in horror as he saw a sight that in many ways he'd almost
been expecting to see, ever since he'd come to his conclusions about Mr.
Morbus.  But the fact that he'd prepared himself to see something like it
in no way minimized the terror and disgust induced by actually seeing it
with his own eyes.
     "Starbuuuuuck!"
     His friend had been focused on some of the wreckage further aft and
promptly dashed up to him.  The blonde lieutenant stood alongside him and
also peered in.
     There was something pinned beneath a giant piece of metal, part the
bulkhead that had collapsed.  It was a corpse, the only visible part of
which was the lower leg, sticking out from underneath the wreckage.
     The leg ended in a hideous three-toed foot with long, sharp,
dagger-like toenails.
     "By the Lords of...." For the first time in his life, Starbuck truly
felt at a loss for words.
     "The good Lords had nothing to do with this thing, I'm sure," said
Apollo.  "I'm about to find out just what it is.  But unless my
imagination is running away with me, I'm afraid that I already have a
pretty good idea."
     He bent over and grasped the slab of metal, trying to lift it.  It
was too heavy.  Starbuck slipped on a pair of gauntlet and lent him aid. 
Together, they strained and managed, tossing it aside.
     The body underneath was shattered and burned; yet its form was
recognizable.  It was huge, twice the size of a human.  It had a head,
two arms, and two legs, but there any resemblance to human form ended. 
Its torso, despite being flattened by the piece of metal that had fallen
on it, was unusually muscular, the pectorals unbelievably wide.  Spikes
protruded from its shoulders and joints.  The fingers, like the
three-toed feet, ended in talons with long fingernails. There were
leathery wings on its back and wide, steer-like horns, sprouting from
just above the eyes, which insects had eaten away.  The body was in an
advanced state of decomposition and the stench was overpowering.  In
spite of it, both men were rooted to the spot.  A long, barbed tail
protruded from the demon's buttocks like a long winding snake.
     "Starbuck!  Apollo!  What are you doing?"
     Sheba stood just inside the shattered hull of the ship.  She started
to move toward them.
     "Sheba, stay back!" Starbuck held out his hand as he turned away
from the horrible sight.
     "I will not stay back!" she angrily retorted as she drew closer. 
"Not after what you've been doing.   What did you find?"
     Apollo grabbed her and started to push her away, trying to force her
back outside.  She struggled against him.
     "Let me go!  Let me go!"
     "Trust me, Sheba," Apollo said, pointing to the wreckage, "that's
the last place you want to go into."
     "Let me see it, damn you! What else are you trying to hide from me?"
her anger increased.  "More evidence that finally proves how wrong you
are about Morbus?   Apollo, when are you finally going to learn?"
     "Apollo," Starbuck said softly, "remember your scriptures:  'Ye
shall know the truth...'"
     Sheba stopped struggling.
     " '....and the truth shall set ye free,'" Apollo said, letting her
go.  "Maybe you should see what we've found."
     "I don't know what you're trying to prove here," Sheba said, "but I
want you to know that nothing will change my mind about Mr. Morbus."
     "Really?  Then go take a look," Apollo said.
     She looked at him defiantly.  "All right, I will."
     She had only moved several steps toward the opening when they
suddenly heard a loud piercing voice howling through the gully.
     "Get out of there!"
     Through the rupture in the ship's hull, they could see Mr. Morbus
standing on the crest of the hill, his scarlet jumpsuit seeming to blend
in with the blood-red sky behind him.  He stretched forth his hands and
energy crackled.  He threw up his hands and lightning shot down from the
sky and bathed him in a fiery electrical glow.  There was a deafening
roar of thunder.
     "I won't allow it!  You hear me?"
     His voice sounded almost as loud as the thunder.  Starbuck and
Apollo both reached for their sidearms, resting their hands on the butts
of their laser pistols. He didn't simply walk down the slope of the gully
to the bottom.  It almost seemed to them as if he stepped off the side of
the ridge and floated down to the bottom.  Once Morbus had reached the
ground he resumed walking until he came to within ten feet of where the
three of them were standing.
     Morbus beckoned to Sheba.
     "Come to me, Sheba.  Get away from them," he said.
     Apollo glanced at Sheba.  She was staring up at Mr. Morbus.  Her
eyes were wide and glazed.  Her lips were trembling.  There was a vacant
look upon her face----the same look he had seen on Boomer's face during
the Triad match!
     Apollo reached out and grasped Sheba's arm.  "Don't listen to him,
Sheba.  Don't look at him.  Turn around and take a look at what Starbuck
and I found.  You said you wanted to see, didn't you?  Well, look, Sheba! 
Go see for yourself!  It's what you wanted!"
     "Don't let them turn you against me, princess," Morbus called down
to her.  "You're my disciple.   Come.  Be with me and you'll know and
experience power and glory beyond your wildest dreams."
     Slowly, Sheba began to move forward.  Apollo tried to hold her back,
but she shook her arm off.
     "Sheba!' Starbuck shouted.  "Sheba, turn around!"
     Apollo lunged for her.
     "Don't touch her!"  Morbus said.  "The young lady has given herself
to me of her own free will, therefore I have the right to claim her."
     Apollo grabbed her and spun her around.  She looked right through
him.
     "Sheba!  Snap out of it, for Sagan's sake!  Listen to me..."
     "Take your filthy paws off her," Morbus said.  "That's an order!"
     "But I don't have to obey it." Apollo looked back at him with
contempt.  "You have no power over those who do not willingly give you
dominion.  You have no power over me, as it is written in the Book of the
Word."
     "Congratulations, Apollo," Mr. Morbus said.  "You've done what no
mortal has ever done before.   You've seen through my disguise."
     "Yes, I did."  Apollo angrily gritted his teeth.  "You aren't just a
mere outcast, Mr. Morbus.  You represent a lot more than that!"
     He turned his attention back to Sheba and tightened his hold of her. 
As he tried to speak to her, he realized to his horror that it had almost
seemed easier for him to maintain his composure to Morbus than it did
with her.
     "Sheba, listen to me," he had to swallow hard to keep his voice from
breaking.  "Think, Sheba!  Think back to the sacred scriptures, the Book
of The Word---"
     "I can't," she said, cutting him off.  "Apollo, you don't
understand, you're wrong about him.  Mr. Morbus----"
     "That's not his name, Sheba," said Apollo.  "He has many names. 
Some call him the Morning Star, the Ancient One, the Keeper of Hades, the
King of Lies, Diabolos, Morbius---but he's best known as Satan, the ruler
of all that is evil in our dominion!"
     Her expression remained blank and vacant.
     "Listen to me!" he shouted with a rising level of fear.  "Give
yourself to him and you end up like those victims back there in that
ship!  Your soul in eternal bondage to his will!"
     "I warned you not to interfere,"  Morbus yelled.  "Step away from
her or I'll strike her dead.  Either way, she'll be mine.  You had your
chnce to communicate your feelings to her, Captain, and you failed.  Why
do you think she so willingly gave herself to me?"
     As soon as the words came out of Morbus, Apollo's rage literally
exploded.  He let go of of Sheba, raised his laser pistol and fired
directly at Morbus. 
     The energy beam lanced out at him and bathed him in a wash of light.
It had no effect on him other than to radically alter his features.  Mr.
Morbus wasn't standing upon the crest any more.  It was another sort of
creature, like a hideous fusion of man and crocodile.  Satan, the former
Mr. Morbus, laughed, unhurt.
     Apollo and Starbuck were both shocked by the sight and they found
themselves retreating several steps back from him.  Leaving Sheba exposed
in his direct line of sight.
     "You've brought her death, Apollo," he said, his true voice deep and
raspy, akin to what the ancient dinosaurs would've sounded like if only
they'd had the gift of speech.  "I Invoke The Plague-ridden Legions Of
Caruseae to strike my victim dead!"
     In the brief instant of time that passed, Apollo found his mind
racing back to another time and place barely a yahren ago on the sands of
the mother planet Kobol. To a horrible moment frozen in time when a lone
Cylon centurion had suddenly emerged from behind the columns of one of
the ancient ruins and opened with a barrage of laser fire that had caught
Apollo's wife Serina squarely in the back, mortally wounding her.  It had
all happened just several feet from where Apollo had been standing next
to her, and ever since that day, Apollo's tortured heart had always
wished that he could have been alert enough to step into the line of fire
himself, and spare the life of the only woman he had ever admitted to
loving.
     Now, in this same instant, he sensed that something more powerful
than a laser blast would be thrust squarely at a woman he knew in his
heart he felt some kind of strong emotion for that he had not felt since
Serina.  And like before, it would all happen only a few feet from where
he stood in front of his eyes.
     He knew that he could never live with himself again if he allowed
himself to experience that horror for a second time.  He knew that he had
to prevent it, no matter what.
     The air crackled with electricity and lightning crashed down on the
crest.  Satan put his terrible claws into the air to draw power from it. 
Apollo jumped in front of Sheba, throwing her to one side.  In so doing,
he caught the full force of the energy blast thrown by Satan.  He
stiffened as the brilliant aura surrounded him, and then slowly fell to
the ground in a lifeless pile.
     Starbuck watched with stunned disbelief as his friend crumpled to
the ground.  It happened so fast that he hadn't even had a chance to
move.  The sight of Apollo sheathed in that deadly halo of energy stunned
him momentarily. His best friend----dead!  It just couldn't be happening!
     "Apollo!"  he screamed in horror as he dashed up to his friend and
desperately felt his neck for a pulse.  He felt nothing.  His hand
frantically moved down to the chest and felt no heartbeat.
     "Oh my God!" Starbuck said as he felt tears forming in his eyes. 
"He's dead.  Apollo's dead!" He got to his feet and looked at Satan with
indescribably hatred and rage.  "You killed him, you son of a bitch!  You
killed him!"
     Starbuck aimed his laser pistol at Satan and fired again and again,
barely giving the weapon an opportunity to recycle.  Satan stood upon the
crest of the ridge, laughing as the bolts of energy struck him
repeatedly, with no effect.  Starbuck lowered his weapon, feeling an
impotent, helpless rage.  His best friend had been slain by the Ancient
One  himself.  It occurred to him that he would undoubtedly be next, but
he didn't care.
     Starbuck finally stopped, knowing that it was a futile gesture on
his part.  He didn't bother holding his emotion back as he almost felt
like crying in helpless frustration.
     Throughout the exchange, Sheba's glazed expression seemed to slowly
fade.  She slowly shook her head as though she were trying to come out of
her stupor and then looked down.  Where she suddenly saw Apollo's limp
and motionless form.
     No sound emitted from her at first, as her mouth fell open slightly
and she dropped to her knees, holding Apollo's body up for a brief
instant.  She seemed to be in a state of shock as the realization slowly
dawned on her for the first time.
     Satan beckoned to Sheba with his tail.  
     "Come, Sheba," he said.
     She got up slowly from the ground, staring at Satan and seeing his
true nature for the first time.  As if in a trance, she advanced toward
Starbuck, kneeling by the fallen body of Apollo.
     "Sheba!"
     She stared up at Satan with loathing.
     "No," she sobbed as she shook her head.  "I hate you!"
     "Sheba," Satan repeated tenderly.  "You want to come."
     "Not after what you've done!" she shouted.  "I can never follow you
again!  Apollo!  What have I done? What have I done to you?"
     She began to cry hysterically, despite her warrior's discipline. 
Starbuck stood up and took her in his arms, attempting to calm her. 
There was nothing he could do.  What could he do?  There was no weapon in
the arsenal of Man powerful enough to strike down the Ancient One.  His
fate was no longer of concern to him.  The Keeper of Hades had to kill
them now.  It didn't matter.  Or did it?  What if they showed him that
they were not afraid?
     "It wasn't your fault, Sheba," Starbuck kept his attention on Satan. 
"You didn't do it.  He did it!  He did everything!"
     He looked up at the creature standing on the ridge.
     "It's over isn't it?  Your power over us is finished.  You can't
force us to follow you.  We had to be willing."
     "You're absolutely right about that, Starbuck," Satan hissed through
his razor-sharp teeth.  "I can't force you to obey me.  But I can still
destroy you!"
     Just then, a strange, high-pitched whining sound filled the sky. 
Satan looked up, startled.  Countless bolts of white-hot light screamed
across the sky above them.  If it was possible for a reptile to turn
pale, Satan did.  He stared up at the sky, apparently fearful.
     The strange white ships were back.  They came down in formation,
flying low over the ground, but so fast that it was impossible for Sheba
and Starbuck to make out any details of their manufacture.  Like laser
beams, they shot by overhead with astonishing speed.
     "What is it, Satan?" called Starbuck over the keening wail of the
ships passing overhead.  "Is something wrong?"
     "Certainly not!" Satan screamed back, furiously, his self-confidence
and arrogance gone.
     "Then why are you worried?" Starbuck didn't let up.  "You're the
King of Lies aren't you?  But then, even kings have a set of rules, a
code, if you will, to live by.  Which rule did you break, Satan?"
     "The time has come for me to leave."
     "Why?" Starbuck raised his voice.  "Ah-ha!  The rules allow you to
strike down a follower, a soul given to you freely, but not an innocent?"
his voice became a shout.  "You're not permitted to take the life of a
soul against his will!"
     "I'm the master of evil!" Satan raged with defiance, yet with a
panicked edge in his voice that was still noticeable.  "No rules govern
me!  No one controls me!"
     "Are you sure about that?" Sheba looked at him with hatred as she
continued to cradle Apollo's head in her arms. "Even the universe has a
system of checks and balances.  Rules, even for an advanced race, a
greater law."
     The white lights swept back over them again.  There seemed to be
more of them than there were on their first pass.
     Satan's gaze suddenly returned to her, and he began swishing his
tail back and forth, signifying that he was gathering his strength for
one last time."
     "I'm not finished with you mortals," he said pointedly.   "We'll
meet again, my dear Sheba.  In another time and place where it will be
least expected by you.   I Call Upon The Two Portals Of Choelaeu to
remove me from this place!"
     He threw his arms out to his sides and the air around him came alive
with energy, then the sky over the ridge became filled with light, a
bright, glowing light like that of a star going nova.  Starbuck and Sheba
turned away, shielding their eyes against the blinding flash.  An
explosion shook the air around them, tumbling them to the earth.  When
they looked up, Satan was gone.  The sky was clear and there was no sign
of the mysterious white ships.  Everything was still around them.
     Sheba scanned the ridge, searching for any sign of Satan.  There was
none, except that the spot upon which he once stood was now a circular
patch of scorched earth, a set of three numerals smoldering white-hot in
its middle.  Starbuck came up beside her and bent down to look at the
demon's calling card.
     "Six-six-six," muttered Starbuck.  "The Number of the Beast.  He
obviously doesn't want us to forget him."
     "Everything seems to be as it was when we first saw him," Sheba
said.
     "All except one thing," Starbuck said softly, looking down at the
inert form of Apollo.  "Apollo's still dead. Let's take him home.  I'll
put him in the shuttle and you can follow."
     "No!" she blurted as she clasped his body to her.  "I won't leave
him!  I'll leave my viper but I won't leave him.
     "Okay," Starbuck nodded in understanding as he impulsively picked up
Apollo's laser pistol and placed it back in the holster of his friend's
body.  "I understand."

*****

From The Adama Journals:


     There have been many times during my life when I've felt raw fear. 
He who does not allow himself to feel fear is either insane or a fool. 
I've known fear in times of combat, both when I was young and
inexperienced in the ways of combat and when I was a senior officer, my
rank making me responsible for the lives of those warriors under my
command.  The latter is the greater fear by far, for it is an easy thing
to lay one's own life upon the line.  Even a man who is an abject coward
can experience a moment when life and death seem to become irrelevant. 
We all have our limits of endurance and when those limits are reached, we
all react in different ways.
     Believe me when I say that there's nothing "heroic" about a hero.  I
cannot count the times that I have seen glory-hungry warriors throw away
their lives in foolish actions they perceived as being heroic.  Heroes
are neither born nor made; most often, the origin of a hero is
accidental.
     Such was the case with me.  As I child, I had dreams of glory.  Such
dreams persisted through my adolescence and stayed with me through my
training at the Academy.  My people were at war with a murderous empire
dedicated to the complete annihilation of the Human race.  I hated the
Cylons and it was easy for me to picture myself as a Viper pilot,
defending the Colonies from the alien menace.  I set a goal for myself. 
I decided I wouldn't just be a mere warrior, more than just a Viper
pilot.  I would be an avenging angel, killing more Cylons than any other
warrior, winning recognition as a warrior who would take any risk to save
his people from.  I would be a hero.  A super-warrior.  How foolish I
was.  Thank the Lords of Kobol those dreams evaporated when fate
introduced me to the reality of combat.
     I still remember, as though it happened only yesterday, my first
launch into combat with the Cylons.  I was ready.  I was filled with a
self-righteous rage.  I couldn't wait to get my first Cylon fighter in my
sights and blow my enemies to space dust.  And the first time it
happened, it was easy.  It took no great skill on my part, just luck.  I
fired my lasers and scored my first kill in my very first time out in
combat.  I felt exhilarated, proud, and indestructible.  And microns
later, I felt the icy grip of fear squeezing my insides as I was caught
in a Cylon pinwheel attack.
     In one moment, all my dreams of glory were washed out.  Only one
thing mattered:  staying alive.  In that one moment, I was brought
face-to-face with my own mortality in the most drastic way possible.  The
enemy hemmed me in and they were trying to kill me.  I was not a hero
then.  I wept with fear.  The other members of my squadron saved me from
what seemed to be a certain death, and from that time on, the war was not
the same to me.  I realized then, for the firs time, that I was not a
hero, not an avenging angel.  The career goal of a true warrior is to
stay alive in situations where it's not all that easy.  It was only then
that I finally under what the war, and what life, was all about.
     Survival.
     I stopped taking chances, stopped gambling with my life.  I had
found out just how much it meant to me.  I became the most cautious and
conservative of pilots, not out of any sense of wisdom, but out of fear. 
It was quite simple.  I knew I had to fight, but I did not want to die.
     It sounds absurd.  Of course, no sane person wants to die.  But life
takes on a different aspect when every day is lived with just one goal in
mind---avoiding death.
     For a long time, I thought myself a coward.  I kept to myself,
avoiding the company of my fellow pilots.  They thought me aloof, but in
fact, I did not consider myself worthy of their friendship.  I was scared
to die and it was our job to face death.  I began to do everything "by
the book."  I avoided taking risks as much as possible.  And every time
my Scarab-class Viper hurtled down the launch tube.  I prayed to God to
let me live.  I felt ashamed of what I was.  And then, something happened
that changed my life forever.  I was, of course, an accident.
     It happened during the Battle of the Twenty-One Thousand Moons.  Our
forces were caught in a Cylon ambush and were severely outnumbered.  In
those days, I was assigned to the Babylon Squadron of the battlestar
Paladin.  My wingmates were Lieutenant Cain, who was later to command the
Pegasus, and Lieutenant Apollo.  Yahrens later, when my son was born, I
named him in honor of my friend.
     Lieutenant Apollo was little more than a boy.  Seventeen yahrens
old, he had graduated from the Academy at the tender age of sixteen, the
youngest cadet ever to win his commission.  He was a brilliant lad; he'd
breezed through the academy in only two yahrens.  The youngest to be
admitted and the youngest to graduate.  Only Cain, who graduated at the
head of his class, scored higher marks.  Apollo graduated number two and
I was number three.  We became inseparable and it was only fitting that
we'd be assigned to the same squadron in the Paladin, the ship we'd
requested.
     Apollo was loved by everyone.  His charm and ready wit won him
friends wherever he went.  He was an incorruptible innocent whose lust
for life infected those around him.  He was the only one in whom I could
confide, though he was younger than I.  Not even Cain knew of my fear, my
inner cowardice.  I'm glad.  He would never have understood.
     Cain was, in very many ways, like Starbuck.  Even then, we knew that
Cain was destined for command, for heroism.  Cain was what many people
called a "war lover."  It's a term used by those who simply can't
understand.  Most often, those who use it have no combat experience.  It
wasn't that Cain loved war, killing or taking risks, rather it was that
Cain only lived when he was on the razor's edge.  He was aware of the
danger, and, because he understood it so well, was able to thrive upon
it.
     In contrast, Apollo never seemed to understand it.  The fantasy that
left me when I fist went into combat stayed with him.  Apollo arrogantly
fancied himself invincible.  He had a hopelessly naive, yet charming
belief that he would prevail simply because right was on his side.  We
would talk late into the night, he trying to help me see that my fear was
what was ruling me and barring me from true happiness, I trying to
convince him that his willingness to take foolhardy risks would one day
lead to his death.  Neither of us ever convinced the other.
     He saved my life during the Battle of the Twenty-One Thousand Moons. 
I became separated from my squadron and suddenly found myself with three
Cylon fighters tailing me.  I was unable to elude them, and I knew that
if I didn't I would surely die.  Apollo came out of nowhere, having left
the safety of the squadron formation to save my hide. He accounted for
two of the fighters on my tail, but as I continued to elude the third,
Apollo found himself caught in a devastating Cylon pinwheel attack.  I
could not break away to help him.  The other pilots in the squadron were
too busy fighting for their own survival.  There was no one to save him,
as he had saved me.
     I can still remember his last words to me as his voice came over my
helmet comcircuit.  I can still hear the surprise in his voice as he
realized that he was mortal after all, in spite of the fact that right
was on his side.
     "My God, I'm dead," he said.  "Remember me, Adama."
     Then there was a blinding flash of light and Apollo was dead.
     Since that time, again and again I've wondered what came over me. 
At the time I did not know.  Looking back now, with the wisdom I've
gained over the yahrens, I can understand what happened.  It was an
accident, the kind that gives birth to heroes.
     Before Apollo came to my assistance, I had resigned myself to the
fact that I was going to die. I couldn't shake those Cylon fighters on my
tail.  I was using everything I knew to maintain evasive action, knowing
that it would only be a matter of microns before one of the searing beams
of light that kept flashing by my ship would score a direct hit and snuff
out my life, incinerating me in a blazing fireball.  I realized that it
would happen quickly, so quickly that I wouldn't feel anything, and
certainly too quickly for me to even realize that it had happened.  I
realized all that and my fear just melted away.  It simply didn't matter
any more.  A strange calm came over me, and, with it, an acceptance of my
fate.
     Only, it was not to be.  The fate that had been intended for me
instead became Apollo's.  He died in my place.  I'd prepared myself to
meet death and suddenly was confronted with the fact that I would live,
at least for a little while longer.  The fear didn't return, because, in
a way, I had already died.  What purpose does it serve to be afraid of
something that has already happened?
     The rest of what happened during the battle is not clear in my
memory.  I recall somehow disposing of the Cylon Raider on my tail and
single-handedly dispatching the ships that had destroyed Apollo. It was
the action of a lunatic, perhaps, or the final struggles of a corpse that
had forgotten he was supposed to stop moving.  I remember Cain taking up
position on my wing as we ploughed straight through the Cylon formation,
two ships heading alone directly for the Cylon base ship.   I don't
remember very much of what happened after that.
     The squadrons rallied round us and the tide was turned.  Cain and I
were heroes.  Both of us won our promotions, becoming captains.  Both of
us were placed on the paths that would lead to command of our own
battlestars. Cain would command the Pegasus and I, the newly commissioned
Galactica.  But that was in the future.  At the celebration following the
battle, in the officer's lounge aboard the Paladin, there was much
drinking and much laughter and much talk of bravery, of Cain's and mine. 
I didn't disillusion them.  There wasn't any point to it and, besides, I
didn't know how to tell them what had really happened.  Yet, I remember
the way Cain looked at me during the feast.  He knew.  He never mentioned
it, to me or anybody else, but he knew.
     As I speak these words, here alone in my private quarters, I wonder
how Cain would look at me right now.  I wonder what he would have done
and I think back to the time when the man---a very young man, but a man
nevertheless---for whom my son was named was still alive.
     How different they are, the two Apollos.  My friend and my son. 
Lieutenant Apollo was rash, impetuous, playful and full of energy.  My
son is far more reserved, cool; some think him cold, though I know
better, always in control.  Yet, there is one thing that my son has in
common with his namesake:  the belief that right and goodness will always
prevail despite the odds.  It was that belief which killed my friend, and
now, I fear, may claim the life of my son as well.
     Am I still a coward then?  Was I wrong not to take on Mr. Morbus
from the beginning?  Did I dispatch my first-born son to his death when I
gave him and Starbuck my approval to go on their mission?  Why didn't I
act when I had the chance?  Then again, what difference would it have
made?
     A clever man, Mr. Morbus.  No, It's wrong to call him a man.  He was
the Devil himself, come among us masquerading as a brother Human.  He
played on our fears, our insecurities, and our hopes and dreams.  Could I
have stopped him?  I have to doubt it.  He was too strong.  Nothing I
could have done would have prevented him from accomplishing his goal.
Still, would it truly have done any harm to have at least tried to do
something?
     My people await me.  I am the commander, therefore it is my duty to
provide them with the answers they want, the leadership they need.  Yet,
I have no answers and I have not the heart to lead.  Mr. Morbus has
disappeared and everyone in the fleet is claiming to know where he has
gone.  They're afraid that they've lost their savior, the man who shows
them miracles and will lead them to Earth.  What do I say to them?
     I know what I'd like to say to them:  Have no fear, your savior will
return---after he has slain my son.

*****

Chapter Eleven:  The Light Of Truth And Goodness

     Together, they slowly carried his body away from the wreckage of the
ship and its evil contents.  Back up to the top of the hill, where they
stumbled brieflyl along the ridge leading to the meadow, causing Apollo's
laser pistol to tumble out.  They didn't stop to retrieve it this time. 
They had now reached the part of th eplanet where the red glow had
resumed its domination of the landscape, and it only fueled their desire
to leave this evil planet as fast as they possibly could.
     As soon as they were inside, they gently lay him down across several
of the seats in the back and strapped his body into place.  Starbuck
slowly went back to the front of the shuttle to pilot the craft for its
long, sad journey back to the Galactica.
     For several centons after the shuttle took off, Sheba refused to
leave Apollo's side.  Over and over, she kept stroking his hair and face
and sobbing uncontrollably.
     "Forgive me," she whimpered over and over.  "I finally understand
what you were doing.  Oh God, Apollo, forgive me."
     She then kissed him on the forehead and tenderly whispered the words
she'd been wanting to say for a while:  "I love you, Apollo."
     And then, as if she felt she were incapable of doing anything else,
she slowly made her way up to the front and settled into the other
cockpit next to Starbuck.
     The blonde lieutenant sat at the controls of the shuttle, staring
straight ahead.  He seemed to be almost in a fugue state, there was
lifelessness about him, his emotions mechanical.  Sheba sat beside him,
in tears. 
     "I should have known better," Sheba seemed as if she were ready to
break down again.  "If only Apollo had...or if only I'd understood him
better before..." She trailed off.
     Starbuck knew right away what she was thinking.  "Sheba," he said. 
"I don't think you should be hard on yourself.  The way Apollo acted
toward you for the last sectar, I don't blame you for being confused by
the signals he was sending you.  What you were seeing was a man who was
too ashamed to admit he cared a lot for you."
     "Why?" Sheba turned to him and wiped another tear from her eye. 
"Why?"
     Starbuck let out a sigh.  "When we get back, talk to Athena.  She
has...a lot of insight about the whole thing."
     "Tell me, Starbuck," she almost pleaded. "I want to know now."
     "Okay," he said quietly.  "I'll tell you."
     For the next five centons, he told her about Apollo's marriage to
Serina and the tragic result of that marriage, as well as Apollo's
subsequent obsession with her memory.
     "My God," Sheba whispered.  "If I'd only known.  If I'd only
bothered to find out.  I would've understood him. I would've listened to
him.  I wouldn't have been so foolishly looking for someone else."
     Starbuck wondered if he'd only made things worse by telling her,
"Look, Sheba.  All I'm trying to say is that it's not your fault the way
you're making it out to be.  That's all.  I know that's what he would
have wanted you to think."
     "Do you?" she sniffed and turned away from him.
     "Yeah, Sheba, I know," Starbuck whispered and glanced back for a
brief instant at Apollo's body, "I know."
     If there was one thing Starbuck was sure he knew best about Apollo,
it was his friend's total sense of selflessness.  He'd know that as far
back as their first mission together as pilots aboard the Galacitca,
nearly eight yahrens ago.  He and Apollo had been forced together by the
previous commander of Blue Squadron to be wingmates even though there'd
been a bit of coolness in their relations going back to their Academy
days, where Apollo had been in the class two yahrens ahead of him.  But
by the end of that mission, when they'd found themselves attempting to
locate Boomer and Jolly after thy'd disappeared while on an intelligence
gathering patrol, the two of them had been able to establish a bond with
each other that resulted in the closest camaraderie Starbuck had ever
experienced.  "No," said Starbuck.  His voice was flat, dull and devoid
of emotion.
     How ironic, Starbuck thought as he spent several centons recalling
the details of that first mission.  Our first mission together started
with a patrol disappearing...and so did our last one.
     Sheba suddenly broke the silence that had settled over the shuttle.
"Do we radio the Galactica?" she whispered forlornly.
     "We'll be in range in a few centons," Starbuck sighed.  "Oh, frack,
what do I tell the Commander?  God, I'd gladly trade my life to have him
back."
     As if in response to Starbuck's words, something flashed by their
shuttle, traveling at an astonishing speed.
     "Starbuck?" her voice rose.
     "I saw 'em, all right."
     The swarm of lights hurtled past their shuttle as if it was hanging
dead in space.  They sped out in front of them, then, still grouped
together, arced back and came toward them once again.  They came at the
shuttle with blinding speed, flashed past then, and then came back again.
     "Great!" Starbuck shook his head wondering when this ordeal would
finally be allowed to end.  "Here we go again.  As if we haven't been
through enough already."
     Sheba reached out and took his hand, holding onto him with
desperation.
     "What are they, Starbuck?  What do they mean?  What do they want
from us?"
     Starbuck shook his head.  "I don't know.  Whatever they are, we're
powerless against them.  The shuttle isn't armed, and we can't maneuver
like a Viper.  And even a Viper is no match for their speed.
     "I wish I hadn't abandoned my fighter back on that planet," Sheba
said, "I could've---"
     "You could've done nothing," Starbuck told her.  "I've tried chasing
those things in a Viper myself.  It's impossible.  Whatever they are,
they're just too damned fast.  Besides, you're in no shape to fly.  We'll
send someone back for your Viper.  That is, of course, if we get back."
     The lights flew by them once again, moving so quickly that they
seemed to trail streamers of dazzling brilliance behind them like the
tails of comets.  Starbuck's hands tensed on the shuttle's controls. 
Once again, the swarm of white lights sped out a distance ahead of them,
and then arced back, up and out of sight.  Starbuck and Sheba sat for a
while in tense silence.  The lights did not come back.  Starbuck sighed,
visibly relieved.
     "Whatever it means, whatever they are, they're gone," he said.  "At
least for the time being.  See if you can compute the range back to the
fleet."
     Sheba nodded and bent forward over the control console of the
shuttle.  She had difficulty seeing the screen.  It seemed much too
bright.  The entire cockpit of the shuttle was suddenly bathed in a wash
of blinding light. It grew brighter and brighter until she could no
longer see.  She squinted, eyes watering from the glare.
     "Starbuck, what is it?" Sheba's hands suddenly went to her ears. 
"What's happening, where is it coming from?"
     "I don't know what it is," said Starbuck, attempting to shield his
eyes from the glare with one hand.  "It's coming from above and behind
us.  See if you can get a look at----"
     Starbuck's head jerked back and his hands left the control panels to
clutch at the sides of his head.
     "Arrrgghh!" Sheba cried.  "Starbuck, do something!  I can't stand
the pain!"
     Fighting back the pain, Starbuck forced his hands back down onto the
controls of the shuttle.  They were under some kind of attack, but from
what, neither of them knew.  All Starbuck felt was the agony of an
incredible pressure on his skull, as though something was trying to crush
it.  He craned his neck to try and see behind them.  It was impossible to
read the scanner, but even if they could, it would have been no help.  It
was malfunctioning.  Then Starbuck saw it.
     A gargantuan ship, a dazzling mass of light moved up behind them and
took position directly overhead.  Starbuck had never seen anything so
large in his entire life.  It looked like a city   moving under its own
power.  The pressure became greater.
     "The controls are freezing up," Starbuck shouted, vainly, trying to
get the shuttle to respond.  "See if you can hit manual override!  Sheba! 
Sheba!"
     She had collapsed in her seat.  Her body slumped forward over the
control console.    Grimacing with pain, Starbuck reached out and tried
to shake her back into consciousness, but could get no response from her. 
The pain became unbearable.  Starbuck released the useless controls and
wrapped his arms around his head, as if trying to block off whatever the
huge flying city was attacking them with.  He opened his mouth to scream,
but no sound came forth.  His eyes rolled up and collapsed into
blackness.

*****
 
     There was a vast expanse of ceiling overhead, made up of irregular
crystalline chips that pulsed with a brilliant glow, like some sort of
bioluminescent deep-sea creature.  Starbuck blinked against the light. 
It was very silent, whatever this place was.  He stiffened as several
faces drifted into view.  They were tall and thin. Several of them were
leaning over him, gazing down at him.  He seemed to be lying flat on his
back on some kind of examination table.
     There was nothing restraining him that he could see or feel, but he
found himself unable to move.
     Starbuck squinted at the faces of the beings looking down at him. 
They seemed to give off a light, or to reflect it.  They were very white
and their features were impossible to discern.  All Starbuck could see
were startlingly blue eyes located where human eyes should be, except
those eyes glowed and were all blue, no white, no pupils.
     Starbuck licked his lips.  They felt very dry.  He opened his mouth
to speak, but found that he couldn't get any words out.  The first few
sounds he made where croaks and wheezes.
     "What...what is this? " he finally managed to say.  "Who are you
people?"
     "Please don't try to talk them right now, Starbuck," said an eerily
familiar voice from behind him.  "Just know that you're safe here."
     Coming up beside the table where Starbuck lay was a slender,
well-formed young woman with long, auburn-brown hair and green eyes.  She
was wearing shimmering, silvery-white flowing robes, similar to those the
strange beings around him wore.   He couldn't pay any more attention to
his surroundings, unfortunately, because he was looking into the eyes of
a woman long gone.
     "Serina!"  he blurted out,  "But...how?"
     "No buts right now, Starbuck," Serina said.
     "And no further questions, if you please," this from one of the
strange beings.
     He thought, at first, that one of the strange beings had spoken to
him, but then he realized that he had heard no sound.    The "voice" came
to him in his mind like a thought.  Unlike Serina's voice, the ghostly
being's voice had neither sound nor tone to it, nothing Starbuck could
discern about it that could identify the speaker as being male or female,
if indeed such identification applied to these people.    It was simply
awareness.  The most intimate form of communication he had ever
experienced.  He found it gentle and soothing.
     He started to sit up, struggling against whatever unseen force held
him down.  It was like moving through water.  He seemed to float rather
than sit up, with an effort.  He realized that his uniform had turned
white and that his laser pistol was missing from its holster.
     "Sheba----"
     One of the beings reached out and Starbuck felt it touch his
forehead.  It was not a human touch. Starbuck did not feel flesh against
his skin.  The touch of the bright being was like gentle warmth against
his skin.  All the tension left his muscles and he found himself sinking
back down onto the surface of the "table" he was lying upon, although he
did not feel as though he was lying on a hard surface.
     "His restons are normal and responding to balcon infusion, Serina."
     Again, Starbuck was aware of the communication. The "words"
manifested themselves in his mind, though he did not understand them. 
The terms were meaningless to him.
     "Good," said Serina to the being.  "Allow him to rise."
     He was now hearing different "voices."  The beings were conversing
with each other and Starbuck was aware of their conversation, but he was
able to identify the different voices only because they felt somehow
different in his mind.  He could not tell which of the voices belonged to
which of the beings surrounding Serina and him.  As he gazed at them,
trying to ignore the brightness of them, one of them reached out and once
again Starbuck felt the touch as pleasant warmth upon his skin.  Serina
herself motioned Starbuck to rise and the pilot found that he could do so
with no difficulty.  He tried to look around him, to see what sore of
place he was in, but the light was devastating.  It was like trying to
stare directly at a sun going nova.  He had to keep shutting his eyes.
     "Serina, you've got to tell me who these people are," Starbuck said. 
"Tell me what they are, while you're at it.  Where's Sheba?"
     "She will join you as soon as she is able," Serina replied.
     Starbuck stood up and took several steps.  None of them tried to
stop him.  There was something underneath his feet, some sort of floor,
but he could feel no hard surface.
     "What do you mean as soon as she is able?" he said.  "What have they
done to her?"
     "Please be patient," she said.  "Your systems are not in phase with
their environment.  They are attempting to equalize the forces to a level
your body can tolerate."
     "Where are we?" Starbuck took a look at his uniform and was startled
to see that it had turned completely white.
     "Welcome to the Dimension Beyond," Serina replied.
     "But I can see you and your---friends," Starbuck said.  "And I can
hear you---well, I can't exactly hear them, but..."
     "Only because they permit you to," she said.
     "Really?"  Starbuck said, "Well, I'm sure I can----"
     He swept his arm out at the nearest of the tall bright beings
flanking him and Serina and felt heat upon his skin as his hand passed
right through the being's body.  Starbuck stepped back and stared at his
apparently uninjured hand.
     "I couldn't feel---my hand passed right through him!"
     A "door" seemed to open somewhere.  An area to his right grew
brighter and he could see a figure appear, as if out of nowhere.  He
squinted, trying to see.
     "Starbuck?"
     "Sheba!"
     She ran to him and came into his arms.  Her uniform, too, had turned
white.  She felt warm, warmer than normal body temperature, but there was
no perspiration upon her.  She seemed to be unhurt.
     "Who's that with you?" Sheba said, looking first at Serina, then at
Starbuck.
     "Sheba, meet Serina, Apollo's first wife."
     Sheba was taken aback.  "You're Serina?  But Starbuck told me you
were ..."
     "That was my body, Sheba," Serina said coolly.  "They saved my life
essence from oblivion, and now I am what you might call their ambassador
of goodwill."     
     They shared a friendly embrace of thanks.  "Are you all right?"
Starbuck asked with concern.
     "I...I don't know," she looked about with confusion. "Starbuck, I...
think maybe we're dead."
     Starbuck considered the possibility.  Serina was here with them, and
she was, herself, dead.  The place they were in was like nothing he'd
ever seen or heard of. Serina had called this place "The Dimension
Beyond."  He remembered being in the shuttle, being under some sort of
attack, feeling an indescribable agony and then...what?  Dying?  He did
not remember dying.  But what did it feel like to die?  The Book of the
World spoke of an afterlife, of bright, shimmering beings from another
dimension.  Starbuck felt afraid.
     "Serina, is that right?"  he turned back to face the auburn-haired
woman with a mixture of confusion and apprehension. "Is it true?  We're
dead and these guys are...angels?"
     Serina exchanged looks with two of the beings.
     "Oddly enough," came her reply, "there is some truth to your
speculation.  It is time.  If you will please follow these Custodians..."
She indicated the glowing beings flanking her, who now beckoned to the
two warriors.
     "What do we do?" said Sheba.
     Starbuck suspected that there was nothing they could do except as
they were told.  "Sweet lady," he said to Sheba, "there aren't many
places I've been during my lifetime where I didn't feel like I was in
complete control, but this..." he shook his head slowly from side to
side, "this is an exception."
     They walked slowly; following the two glowing creatures that Serina
had called Custodians down what seemed like a vast passageway.  Their
eyes no longer hurt quite so much from the brilliance of their mysterious
environment.  Evidently, the creatures had, as Serina had said, done
something to "equalize the forces to a level they could tolerate, but it
was still difficult for them to see clearly.  Everything around them
shimmered with an opalescent glow.  They could discern no shadows and the
dimensions of the chambers they were in, if such they were, could not be
assessed.  It was like walking on the floor of some vast milky ocean with
the visibility limited to several feet, and that not clearly.
     "Have you noticed?" Sheba said.  "There's absolutely no sound in
this place at all.  No footsteps, no engines or cooling fans, nothing."
     "Yeah, that's kinda weird," replied Starbuck.  "I can't even hear
myself breathe."
     He found that particularly unnerving because part of his cadet
training at the Academy had required that he spend periods of time in
sensory deprivation.  A pilot in a disabled Viper fighter drifting
through space would easily be subjected to a similar state, a state that
would be even more closely related to the training should some injury or
other occurrence either blind the pilot or affect visibility.  Starbuck
had not liked the sensory deprivation training, no pilot had. 
Inevitably, it resulted in hallucinations and dissociation.  The total
absence of sound manifested itself as a "heard" phenomenon, a sort of
distant roaring echo that could become maddening.  When he and Sheba had
just now spoken to each other, something about their environment gave
their words a diffuse, brittle sound that was so surreal that they
hesitated to speak needlessly.  Their voices did not sound like their own
voices.  It was, to say the least, an unsettling experience.
     "I wonder if we really are dead," said Starbuck.  "Everything around
us has a mystifying, dreamlike quality to it."
     Before them, once again, the perceived an aperture of some sort that
looked like an even brighter wash of light amid an already blindingly
brilliant glow.  It was as if, staring at a sun, a thin vertical line of
greater intensity grew into a quickly expanding ellipsoid.  The
phenomenon occurred a short distance in front of them and, as before,
Starbuck saw a figure silhouetted in the greater brightness.  This
figure, unlike Sheba's when she had appeared, was not standing.  It was a
humanoid shape that appeared to be floating motionless in midair,
horizontally.
     Starbuck heard the dry, brittle sound of Sheba's voice as she
uttered an exclamation of surprise.  Then there was the curious sensation
of warmth upon their backs, the gentle touch of the strange beings urging
them forward.  They walked through the portal of light, approaching the
horizontal figure.
     "Apollo!" cried Sheba upon recognizing the supine figure.
     His body was not suspended in midair, as had at first appeared, but
lying upon a pedestal that blended in, as did everything else around
them, their altered uniforms included, with the white glowing background.
     "Oh, Starbuck!  I'd hoped that it was all some horrible, awful
dream," Sheba cried out and then started to sob again as she collapsed
into Starbuck's arms.  "But it's true!  We lived it all!"
     "What are you doing with him?"  Starbuck angrily demanded of the
Custodians that surrounded the pedestal where Apollo lay even as he
fought back tears.  "Can't you leave him alone?  He's of no possible use
to you!"
     "Precisely the opposite," said a voice within their minds.  "He is
of great value to us."
     "What?" Starbuck's face contorted slightly.
     "He, and those like Serina and our other recruits, who have shown
the courage to grow beyond the limitations of their flesh."
     "Starbuck, what are they saying?" Sheba buried her head in his
shoulder.
     "You're asking me?" He found it hard not to fall back on the only
safeguard he felt he had left, in the form of his wit.
     "Starbuck, you have a most promising spirit.  A trifle unrestrained,
but perhaps with Apollo's continued fellowship---"
     "Oh, please!" Sheba looked up and interrupted with anguish.  "I've
already lived through his death once before.   Don't keep reminding me of
that."
     "Apollo was not meant to die, Sheba.  It was you that Mr. Morbus
meant to destroy."
     "That really helps a lot now," Starbuck said, trying to get some
kind of sense where this was all going.  "What difference does it make? 
Do you expect us to feel better about Apollo's death knowing that it was
an accident?"
     "It was not an accident, Starbuck.  Apollo sacrificed his mortal
body to save Sheba's spirt from falling.  Though he never at any time
wanted to acknowledge the feelings he held for her, they were nonetheless
strong enough in his heart that they made him act and engage in such an
act of self-sacrifice."
     Sheba suddenly stopped crying and a look of deep contemplation and
understanding began to come over her.
     "Are you willing, now, to perform a similar act of self-sacrifice in
order to bring him back?"
     "Look," said Starbuck, "you tell Serina, or whoever's in charge
around here, that we've been through enough today.  Whatever you're going
to do to us, get it over with," Starbuck suddenly snapped angrily.
     "No, Starbuck, wait." Sheba let go of him and slowly made her way
towards the beings that stood in front of the pedestal Apollo lay on. 
"Maybe these...maybe these people aren't so unlike us."
     "Are you losin' it, Sheba?"  
     "No, I mean it.  She looked at them with awe and a dawning sense of
understanding.  "They know who we are----and what we are."
     "Yes," Starbuck said skeptically. "And that gives them a pretty big
advantage----especially if they've got other humans besides Serina
working for them like he said."
     "But I think..." She slowly moved forward and then looked up at the
beings with firm determination.  "Yes," she said as strongly as she
could, "If it's possible, I will trade my life for Apollo's.  Knowing
what I do...how could I not be so willing?"
     "Sheba," Starbuck said, looking at her dumbfoundedly, "you don't
know " what you're saying.  These creatures could----"
     She ignored Starbuck's warning. "Is it possible?"  
     "All things are possible.  And you, Starbuck?  Did you not say
inside your ship that you would gladly trade places with Apollo?"
     "How?" he felt the nervous apprehension return to him. "How could
you know that?"
     "Step away from the pedestal, please."
     They were urged back from Apollo's body by gentle warmth from an
unseen source.  As they watched, a fine mist seemed to envelop Apollo's
body.  It emanated from below and above him, gradually cloaking his body
and growing thicker.  It had a stark purple hue, in contrast to
everything else around them.  The tiny particles washed over Apollo's
body, moving with great speed until Apollo was completely hidden from
view.  There was no sound.
     Gradually, the mist began to ebb and fade, falling away from him
like the last remnants of a brief summer cloudburst.  Apollo's eyelids
fluttered.  His chest began to rise and fall.
     Starbuck and Sheba stared with disbelief as he began to regain
con-sciousness.  Slowly, he began to rise up to a sitting position.  He
did not seem to be puzzled by his surroundings.  Star-buck thought the
expression on his face was one of complete tranquility.  He looked
serene.
     "Apollo!" Sheba instantly dashed up to where he lay and threw her
arms around him tightly.  "You're alive.  It's a miracle."
     "Sheba," Apollo whispered in a daze as he felt her embrace.  He
instantly reciprocated and hugged her back.
     The two of them looked at each other for what almost seemed like an
eternity.  Too stunned and moved to say anything to each other.
     "Apollo," she whispered as she refused to let go of him, "Forgive
me."
     "No, Sheba," he said.  "Forgive me for not having been honest enough
with you."
     Watching from the other end of the room, a stunned Starbuck suddenly
discovered there were tears streaming down his face in both gratitude and
joy.  "It must be all this light," he said.
     The two men embraced, holding each other tightly as if to assure
each other that they were real.
     "I don't think I've ever felt anything like this before in my entire
life," said Starbuck.
     "I know what you mean," Apollo said, smiling.  "It's like love. 
Pure love.  And we've been in its presence."
     "Who's going to believe this?" Sheba said.
     Starbuck began to laugh.  Sheba and Apollo joined in, feeling
uncontrol-lably giddy and overcome with joy.
     Starbuck turned to the shining aliens.
     "I don't know who you are." His voice cracked.  "But I'll say this: 
"I feel like an idiot talking to you.  It's like a droid in the presence
of its owner.  You're playing with us.  We're like toys to you."
     "No.  You are wrong.
     "It doesn't matter, anyway," Starbuck said, wiping away his tears. 
"Whatever you want from me, you can have."
     "We want nothing from you."
     "Then----why are you doing all this?"
     "Because we fight a common foe.  The forces of darkness and evil
through-out the stars."
     "But why are you bothering with us?" Starbuck looked at one of the
beings with incredulity.  "We come from a simple handful of human
survivors."
     "Because as you are now, we once were.  As we are now, you may
become."
     "How?" Starbuck looked at the being.
     "Only so long as faith in God remains an crucial part of your lives
and your society.  All of those who remain faithful to those principles
will always find themselves welcome to take part in this endless battle
that we are now engaged in."
     "Meaning our civilization will continue and survive?" Starbuck chose
his words carefully.
     "It has the potential to do so and we feel it will ultimately
flourish anew."
     You mean," Starbuck said, "on Earth?"
     "Perhaps."
     "Will you show us the way?" 
     "Perhaps we can give you a beginning in order that your journey may
move forward."
     "What was Mr. Morbus?" Starbuck turned back to the being.  "Is
he...was he...one of you?"
     "Yes.  He is a fallen Custodian who now uses his powers to corrupt
and lead others away from truth."  The voice suddenly became grave. 
"Ill-fated souls such as the victims of the ship you found.  People who
belonged to an alien race and who trusted him to the end.  What you saw
in the wreckage was not the remains of what they truly once were.  It was
only what they became after they gave themselves to him, and in which
form they continue to exist in the bondage of their souls.  Such a
similar fate also befell the original race of Cylons."
     "What?" Starbuck's eyes widened, as did those of Sheba and Apollo
who were still gingerly making their way toward him.  "Morbus was tied up
in that?"
     "We tell you this, only because you will not retain this knowledge
beyond this chamber," the voice continued.  "A thousand yahrens ago, as
you know time, the Cylon people were separated into factions by a great
planetary civil conflict.  Morbus took the form of a living Cylon and
through his powers gave one faction the technology needed to win the war
by developing the forerunner to the modern Cylon automaton.  In so doing,
he laid the seeds of the race's very destruction.  His accomplishments
are venerated to this day by the Empire, for it is his transcribed speech
patterns that is used for all the Imperious Leaders."
     "And that's why he had the ability to cause that...disappearance of
the Cylon pursuit force?"
     "Correct.  Morbus has the power of total control over the Cylon
Empire, as it is, in essence, his very creation.  But seldom does he make
use of it anymore for the simple reason that he has grown bored with
them.   That is why he turns his efforts to other races, in the hopes of
finding more souls to incorporate into the Kingdom of Hades." 
     "But if all this is so," Sheba said, "why can't you stop him?". 
     "It is forbidden for us to interfere with his, yours, or anyone's
freedom of choice.  We cannot even interfere with  those who choose the
foolish path of following him."
     "But you interfered in the greatest of all choices: life or death,"
Apollo said.  "Why?"
     "You were only dead by primitive measures, Apollo, and Morbus had no
right to take your life.  We will now extract a payment of our choosing
from him."
     "How?" Apollo asked.
      "That is not for you to know.  But beware of the legions he
continues to command.  The danger of those who act in his name is no less
great as it is from himself.  You must keep that knowledge,  for it is
now time for you to return to your people."
     "One last concern," said Apollo.  "There were other warriors who
dis-appeared.  Were you responsible for that?"
     "Regrettably, it was necessary to take your comrades into the
protection of the Dimension Beyond at critical points in time.  They will
return with reasonable explanations.  And now it is time for you to be
returned."
     "Wait!"  Apollo held up a hand.  "Are we to forget this experience
and all the knowledge you've revealed to us?"
     "You will remember that which we deem necessary for the immediate
future.  Someday, our paths will cross once again, if circumstances
necessitate it."
     Apollo, Starbuck and Sheba felt the light around them grow even
brighter until it reached the point where they could no longer see the
beings or make out any features in the rooms.  And then, they all felt
their surroundings go dark as they passed out.  This time, fortunately,
there were no deafening noises preceding their lapse into
unconsciousness.

*****

     When they came to, they found themselves back in the shuttle, with
looks of absolute confusion on their faces.  And memories that were
largely blank.
     "Apollo?" Starbuck looked around the shuttle and saw his friend
sitting on the passenger seat.  "Do you have any idea why or what----?"
     "No," Apollo shook his head, "I don't think I have the slightest
idea how or why..." his voice trailed off.
     Sheba carefully removed her headset and came back from the cockpit
area to where he was sitting.
     "Apollo," she looked at him with concern.  "Are you all right?"
     "I'm not sure," he managed to smile.  "Physically, I've never felt
better.  I sure do wish I could say the same about my brain."
     "I'm feeling kind of the same way," she said.  "I'm not sure I know
what happened.  Do you...remember anything?"
     Apollo looked into her face for a moment.  A tiny recollection was
starting to come back to him.  A recollection of concern and fear for her
well being.  A recollection of...feelings for her.  Feelings that he was
now willing to admit to himself existed and ran deep, all the way to his
heart.  But also ones that he still felt a sense of discomfort about
openly expressing at this micron.
     Apart from that, there was next to nothing that he could recall at
that moment.
     "I'm not sure," he said finally.  "Thanks for caring, though.  What
about you?"
     "I'm pretty much the same," she said as she kept looking at him.
     A recollection was forming in Sheba's mind.  A recollection that was
but a simple realization in her heart.  A realization that she was in
love with Apollo.
     Yet, with that recollection, also came another.  A recollection of
some story she seemed to remember Starbuck telling her about.  A story
that made it easy for her to understand why she needed to be patient with
Apollo for the time being, and not act impulsively until future events
dictated otherwise.
     "Apollo?" Sheba?" Starubck called back to them.  "Something's
happening with the scanner.  I'm getting contacts registering just ahead
of us, traveling in the same direction of the Fleet."
     The two of them came back to the front with concern.  "Can you
identify them?" Apollo asked.
     "Just a micron," Starbuck hit some switches and his eyes suddenly
lit up.  "Lords of Kobol, I'm counting nine vipers!"
     "Can you raise them?" Sheba felt herself crossing her fingers.
     "I sure can," Starbuck flicked a switch.  "This is Alpha Shuttle to
viper craft.  Alpha Shuttle to viper craft, please respond."
     "This is Silver Spar leader," a familiar voice piped through.  "Glad
to know you're out there with us too, Starbuck!"
     "Spock?" Starbuck grinned while expressions of joy came over Apollo
and Sheba.  "Spock, is your group all accounted for?"
     "The whole gang's here," Spock said. "My group, Greenbean's. Boomer,
too.  We're all here together.  Don't ask me how or why, 'cause I'll be
damned if I know how it's possible."
     "We'll try to make sense of it later, Spock," Starbuck kept
grinning.  "In the meantime, we're following you guys in to home."
     "That big hunk of metal in the stars never looked better," Spock
matched Starbuck's tone.  "Someone on board owes us a free drink."
     The air of festive banter between the shuttle and the viper pilots
continued all the way back to the Galactica, overshadowing completely any
puzzling questions in their minds over what had happened to them.

*****

     For several centars after the return of the shuttle and the vipers,
there was only jubilation aboard the Galactica, as the happy reunion with
the missing warriors more than offset any of the concerns some had been
having over Mr. Morbus's disappearance.  They found that while none of
the missing nine could come up with any precise explanation of what had
happened, they all seemed unanimous in declaring that it had been some
sort of deception pulled off by Morbus, but that whatever unknown plot
he'd been conspiring in, had somehow gone awry, and they'd been able to
make their escape, even though none of them were sure just where it was
they had escaped from.
     It was enough for Adama to seize the opportunity to make a public
video broadcast to the people of the Fleet, in which he played the
recording of his final conversation with Morbus, and presented it with
interpretation that whatever Morbus was, he had been preparing some kind
of monstrous trap for the people of the Fleet, and his open threat
against the life of Captain Apollo was only confirmation of Morbus's
unknown true intentions.  The unanimous declarations of the missing
pilots that they regarded Morbus as responsible for what had happened to
them, appeared to reinforce that interpretation.
     To Adama's relief, the broadcast seemed to make a genuine impact on
the public reaction to Mr. Morbus's disappearance, and helped to ease the
sense of panic that had set in.  Even though Adama knew that what he had
presented to the people could not have been the full and accurate truth
of what had truly transpired.
     As a result, when Adama gathered Apollo, Starbuck, Sheba and Boomer
to join him, Cassiopeia and Athena in his quarters for dinner, the
jubilation they'd felt had now been replaced by a deep, burning curiosity
to try and find out more information.
     "According to Doctor Salik in the life station," Adama said to
Apollo as he decided to gently break the ice, "you experienced some kind
of physical duress, or so that's what his examination of you revealed."
     "Well," Apollo said in a more quiet tone. "It's kind of odd, Father. 
I really feel find and yet at the same time I've got this feeling that
something really incredible happened to me."
     "Do you know what?" he gently prodded.
     "That's the strangest part of it, Father, I can't tell you," he
shook his head.  "It was like being swept up into some kind of whirlwind. 
Like those ships of light that come and go in the wink of an eye."
     "There's one thing about it that's really puzzling me," Boomer spoke
up, as he too was still trying to put events into some kind of
perspective, since his mind was still a jumble about a lot of things,
too.  "You took the shuttle to the planet.  Now that's where the nine of
us suddenly came to after...whatever it was that happened to us, and we
all took our vipers back to the Galactica.  But if the three of you left
for the Fleet before we did, how did we did we get here before you?"
     "I think something...happened down on that planet," Starbuck said
slowly.  He tried to remember, but it wasn't clear.  The memory seemed to
hover somewhere on the edge of his consciousness, but he couldn't dredge
it up.  "Something happened and I just can't explain it," he finished
lamely, wondering why in Hades he couldn't remember.
     Adama looked to his son.  "Apollo?"
     "I don't think any of us know," Apollo said, still in that slightly
distant tone.  "I can't remember anything after challenging Mr. Morbus."
     "You challenged him?" Adama said, slightly alarmed upon hearing that
revelation.  
     His son nodded faintly.
     "You challenged him---and you won?" Adama could thing of nothing
else he could say.
     "No, Adama," Sheba said quietly.  "Apollo challenged him and lost."
     The amazed, incredulous looks on the others at the table only
increased.
     "Lost?" Cassopeia couldn't believe it.  "That's impossible. 
Apollo's here and Morbus isn't."
     "This is what I remember," Starbuck said delicately as he tried to
pierce through the clouds of fog swirling in his mind.  "Mr. Morbus tried
to kill Sheba and Apollo got in his way."
     "Is that all you remember?" Athena gently prodded.
     "No," Starbuck admitted.  "I remember a little more.  I remember...
Sheba and I taking Apollo's...body.   And...putting it aboard the shuttle
and leaving the planet."
     "His body?" Adama leaned back in his chair in astonishment.
     "Yeah," Starbuck's voice trailed off.
     "Well," Boomer ventured.  "You came back to the Galactica, and
Apollo was merely stunned for a bit, not too badly and...you three
frightened Mr. Morbus away."
     "Yeah..." Starbuck absently nodded.  "I guess that...must be it."
     "It has to be," Sheba admitted.
     Starbuck suddenly got up from his chair and started moving toward
the large porthole directly behind Adama's chair.
     "There was one thing," his gaze was focused on the window, looking
out into space.  "A light...A sound...It was beautiful."
     "Yes," Sheba said.  "It was."
     Apollo found himself getting up and going over to where Starbuck
was.   "It was as if...there was something good...and pure...and caring
out there."
     Sheba also got up from her chair and joined them.   The three of
them were all gazing out at the stars with a transfixed sense of awe and
wonder.
     Adama finally broke the silence that had come over the others at the
table.  "There are very few who have had the opportunity to experience
the light of good and truth...firsthand."
     Sheba turned around and looked at him.  "You mean that's what
happened to us?  We got...caught in the conflict between good and evil."
     "Oh, but we've always been caught between good and evil throughout
our history," Adama mused philosophically.  "That will continue even if
we were to find Earth."
     "Earth," Apollo suddenly found himself saying aloud.  "Quadrant
Alpha, nineteen million sectars by----"
     "By epsilon vector twenty-two,"  Starbuck also found himself saying,
and not knowing how or why he could be saying it.  "On a circular
reckoning course of zero-zero-zero, point...nine."
     And to her amazement, Sheba found herself adding, "In a star system
containing nine planets...and one sun."
     "What is this?" said Adama.  "How do you know these coordinates, all
three of you, practically in unison?"
     They looked at him and he saw that they were as mystified about what
they had said as he was.
     "I don't know, Father," said Apollo.  "I have no idea."  He absently
returned his gaze to the stars outside...and the things that lay beyond.

*****

From the Adama Journals:     

     I want answers and all have are questions.
     I want to know what sort of creature it was we took on board our
ship.  It was not human, of that I'm certain.  However, knowing human
nature as I do, I must admit that I have to consider the possibility that
Mr. Morbus wasn't human, then I'm sure he was at least related to our
species somehow.  That is not a thought that sits well with me.  That
thing, whatever it was, knew us and knew us well.  I have no doubt that
it had spent time on Earth.  It is within range of my hopes that the
people on Earth were stronger, better able to deal with it than we were.
     But who and what was he?  I believe the answer lies in the tome of
our faith, The Book of the Word. 
     The War between Good and Evil is the central theme of the Book of
the Word.  Simple stories dramatize the central ethical conflicts of life
in terms even the youngest child can understand.  But these tales all
have hidden complexities that have intrigued, delighted, and guided even
the most profound ethicists of humankind.  They also frighten as well,
for they tell of a fallen Angel, known variously as Morbuis or Satan, who
repeatedly attempts to lead humans astray, but is bested always by the
intervention of the benevolent spirits of the stars.  There are also
later folk tales, quite apart from the sacred texts of the Book of the
Word, in which Satan degenerates into a comic prankster, half man and
half dragon.
     And what of Earth?  How did Sheba, Starbuck and Apollo learn of its
location?  That question, more than any other, troubles me.  Something
happened out there, something that affected my three warriors in a way
that has changed them profoundly.  There is a greater degree of
introspection in them now.  Even in Starbuck, there is less manic
intensity.  They share more silences together and I sometimes see them
exchanging looks that speak of things I'm not sure I would understand.
     I had resigned myself to losing my son, to losing all of them.  I
had violated my oath, an oath that dates back to the destruction of
Caprica and the other colony worlds, never to abandon hope.  I'm not
ashamed to admit, it's what happened and I must take responsibility for
it.  I allowed my own fears to stand between my beliefs and me.  When
Morbus said that he would punish me by taking Apollo's life, I had
offered up my own, selfishly.  And it was a selfish action.
     In my earlier entry, I had spoken of heroism.  There was no heroism
in my offering my life in exchange for Apollo's.  Had it been Starbuck or
Sheba or Boomer making the offer, the action would have been heroic, but
had my offer been accepted, it would have been an act of cowardice.  What
makes me different is that I acted out of fear.
     I had lost my wife, my home, indeed, my world.  I could not bear to
also lose my only living son.  To die in Apollo's place would have been
easier for me than to live with the fact of his death, knowing that I
might have prevented it.  And I had to live, because of my
responsibility.  My duty to the fleet came first, but in that moment, I
had forgotten it and would've forsaken everything, my life included to
save my son.  To save myself from spending my remaining years plagued
with grief and guilt.  I could make it easier on myself and say that I
did it out of love.  It would be true, since I do love my son, but it
would not be the whole truth.  My duty may force me to lie to the people
in the fleet about what happened to Mr. Morbus, since they need to have
their heroes, but I will not lie to myself.
     In the absence of data and in the presence of overwhelming
questions, it is only natural for the mind to seek answers in the most
frenetic way, often overlooking vital facts.  I wanted desperately to
believe that Mr. Morbus was a charlatan, and that he had duped us all,
because to believe otherwise would have been too frightening.  I wanted
to believe that my son had bested him back on that burned out red planet. 
Yet, Starbuck and Sheba were witness to the fact that he did not and I,
even with the fait I have in Apollo's abilities, knew that it was true. 
Apollo would've been no match for Mr. Morbus.
     Yet, Apollo had returned.
     Starbuck and Sheba remembered, although they remembered little else,
they claimed, seeing him fall.  I wish to God I knew what really
happened.  Because I am certain that someone or something intervened.
     Questions. Questions lacking answers.  But everything does seem to
have one common denominator.
     The mysterious white lights.
     We all saw them. They swarmed around the Galactica like insects,
moving with impossible speed.  Mr. Morbus seemed to be afraid of them. 
And each of our pilots remembered seeing an incredibly bright light
before they disappeared.  And between the time we lost them and the time
we started to receive their distress signals, they could not account for
what had happened to them.  I can speculate about what they may mean, but
it would merely be an endless circle.  I may never know for sure.  I do,
however, have my suspicions.  The story would've ended there save for one
grace note.
     The night Starbuck, Sheba and Apollo returned to us, there was a
feast in my private quarters.  It was a small, intimate gathering.  My
two children were there, Athena and Apollo, along with my adopted
children, Starbuck and Sheba.  Boomer was there and later, when she got
off duty, Cassiopeia came to join us, bringing young Boxey with here.  We
all sat around the table and I was anxious to hear their story.
     Except they had no story to tell.
     I could read it in their faces.  They wanted to tell me what had
happened, but it was as if the memory of it all were taken from them
somehow, blocked off.  At first, I thought it was shock.  The experience
had been a traumatic one and they were not quite ready to deal with it
yet.  In time, it would become easier for them and they would tell me. 
It seemed a simple, logical answer.  It satisfied me until they told me
the way to Earth.  There was no possible way they could have known that. 
Some sort of psychosis as a result of what they had been through
together?  Possibly.
     We sat together for a long time that night, much of it in silence. 
It just felt good for all of us to be there.  By ones and twos, they
eventually drifted off to their own quarters and to their own thoughts,
leaving me with my own.  I was weary and wanted nothing so much as sleep.
     That night, I had a dream.
     The Galactica was once again surrounded by the swarming lights.   
They darted around the ship, hurtled through the fleet like some ghostly
meteor shower.  I knew that they were there, but I was powerless to act. 
I heard Colonel Tigh calling me from the bridge, but I could not open my
eyes, much less get out of bed.  Powerless to move, I heard the red alert
claxon reverberating through the ship.  I heard the pilots rushing by
outside my door, running to the launch tubes, but by the time they were
ready to launch, the white lights were gone.  They did not come back.  I
was never to see them again.  
     Sometime during that surreal vision, I heard a voice.  At first, I
thought someone was speaking to me, but then I realized that the voice I
was hearing was in my mind.  I wasn't hearing anything at all.  It was
though I was thinking someone else's thoughts.
     The voice spoke of human fallibility.  It spoke of revenge and of
how not even the avenger is immune from that which he exacts.  It spoke
of making a bad bargain, of owing something to force, which did not
forget debts that were incurred.  And it spoke of order and of balance. 
I do not recall the words it used if, indeed, it did use words.  I only
know that after I experienced having that presence in my mind, I fell
into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The End