WARPED 

A crossover story for Battlestar Galactica and Streets Of San Francisco
Written by: Ann Rivers  ann.rivers@virgin.net

Summary:   Apollo ends up in 1970's San Francisco. No prizes for guessing
who he meets there...

Disclaimer: All characters belong to their respective owners, times and
dimensions.

       I'm not making any profit from their use here - as if
       anyone would pay me for this...  :o)

Feedback: Yes please! I've heard it's excellent therapy...

This story is dedicated to a certain Mr Hatch - thank you, Richard, for
making my teenage years just that little bit more bearable...

     That was the trouble with space. Oh sure, it was pretty enough, with
all those shiny stars and planets.  But for a chronically bored time
warp, space was just one big, empty, mind numbingly dull place.  A subtle
shift in the cosmic rhythm caught its attention - and gave it the chance
for a little playtime.
     "Galactica, this is Blue Leader... recon patrol clear... I'm on my
way home, be there in a centar...  So tell Boxey I'll be home to read him
his bedtime story after all..."
     Aha !! The gallant and stoic Captain Apollo...! the warp thought,
setting itself on an intercept course.  So you think you'll be home in a
centar, do you...? Think again, flyboy...!!
     Breaking the connection, Apollo sighed - as he often did when he
spoke the name Galactica.  Oh, he loved her, of course. How could you not
love such an awesome, majestic ship ?  Besides, this was his home -
albeit a temporary, often threatened one. His home in the stars.  But it
wasn't home home... it wasn't Earth...
     "I wonder what Earth is like..." Apollo murmured dreamily, allowing
himself a wistful smile.  "I wonder if it has oceans as blue as the ones
on Caprica, or if the people are as warm and friendly..."
     Awwwww, so you wanna see what Earth's like, do you, Cap'n...? the
warp thought gleefully, setting its backtravel destination and year with
even more mischievous pleasure than usual.  I hear San Francisco's a real
nice place to visit... 
     Seconds later, a mischievous time warp with way too much spare time
on its hands rippled, unseen and unfelt, undetected by any of his
sensors, through Apollo's Viper.  Job done, it then zipped merrily
onwards, homing in on another unsuspecting victim...
     Apollo blinked. Then he rubbed his eyes. When that failed to work,
he pinched himself on the cheek.  "Ow...!" he yelped, ruefully massaging
said cheek while telling himself never to do that again.  Then he
frowned, wondering how else he could prove to himself that he wasn't
seeing things.  Try using the sensors, dummy... his cynical inner voice
suggested in lay-it-on-with-a-trowel sarcasm.  Promising himself a stern
chat with his inner voice at some stage, Apollo flipped his sensors
-staring in puzzled surprise at the results which flashed up on his
screen.  No, he wasn't going crazy. Having some discipline problems with
his inner voice, maybe, but no...  Captain Apollo, brave and unflappable,
fearless leader of Blue Squadron, was not going crazy.  He wasn't
imagining things either. It was still there, right in front of him. A
shining blue and green marbled planet, which he knew instinctively was
called...
     "Earth...!!" Apollo breathed, grinning from ear to ear as he let out
a most un-captain like yell.  "Yahooooo !!! I've found it...! I've found
it...!"
     Promising himself a discreet check up with Salik when he got back,
Apollo clicked on his radio. - his moment of glory somewhat rained on by
the mocking hiss of static.
     "Oh, frack...!" he muttered, giving the offending console a
frustrated whack with his hand. Deciding that whacking metal consoles
with your hand was about as sensible as pinching your cheek, he popped
stinging fingers into his mouth while trying to decide what to do next.
     A plaintive rumble from his stomach, loud enough to make him jump,
made the decision for him. Setting the Viper on a landing course for a
prettily named city called San Francisco, Apollo frowned.  He could see
views of it on his sensors now. San Francisco - as beautiful as its name
suggested.  Hilly place, though - criss crossed by hundreds of... now,
what was the term he'd once heard...?
     Aah, yes... streets...
     San Francisco... streets... now why did that sound so familiar...?
     Settling on an empty bench in Golden Gate Park, Dan Robbins studied
his lunch in happy anticipation.  His partner, Mike Stone, teased him
mercilessly over it, but there was a lot to be said for health food.
     It kept you fit.
     It gave you loads of energy.
     It helped you stay slim. 
     It gave your hair a lovely glossy sheen.
     It also made you see grey spaceships fly over your head and land
less than fifty feet away from you.  Which, when Dan thought carefully
enough about it, might - just might - be seen as a downside...
     Dan blinked. Then he rubbed his eyes. When that failed to work, he
pinched himself on the cheek.  "Ow...!" he yelped, wondering what on
earth had just possessed him to do such a stupid thing.  The pinch back
to reality hadn't worked. That sleek grey spaceship was still there...
     Casting a suspicious glare at his allegedly healthy lunch, Dan then
tossed it into a nearby trashbin.  "That does it..." he muttered,
squaring his shoulders before setting boldly off to investigate.  "To
hell with health food... from now on, it's pizza, burgers and hot
dogs..."
     Within a few seconds of his arrival, one of Galactica's finest was
causing quite a stir.
     Golden Gate Park suddenly became the place to be - which was good
news for them, of course.  Bad news, though, for San Francisco's other
attractions, who all suffered a mass exodus of visitors.  Watching the
rapidly growing crowd watching him, watching them, watching him, Apollo
frowned.  He'd already been mobbed once in his life, and he really didn't
feel like a repeat performance.  Besides, he'd just gotten his flight
jacket laundered, and it would be an awful shame to get it dirty.
     Eventually his eyes came to rest on a tall, dark haired figure who,
it seemed, appeared to be in charge.  Well, he was giving orders to
several men in uniform, so this was clearly the person to head for.
     Opening the canopy, Apollo clambered out onto the Viper's fuselage
and climbed down its footholds - idly wondering why his actions provoked
a loud chorus of female voiced cheers and two tone whistles.  Assuming
this was a traditional greeting, Apollo was all ready to cheer and
whistle in return - then thought this was hardly the most dignified way
to make his first contact with the Thirteenth Tribe.  Besides, he was
hopeless at whistling. A dab hand at blasting Cylons, sure, but hopeless
at whistling.  So instead he turned away to make first contact with
humanity with his widest, friendliest smile - only to find the first line
of that humanity kneeling on the ground, pointing some very big guns at
him.
     "Oh, frack...!" he muttered, worriedly surveying a line of
suspicious, unsmiling faces.
     This wasn't exactly the reception committee from the Thirteenth
Tribe that he'd been expecting.  Getting his uniform dirty was bad
enough, but blood too...? No, he didn't like the idea of that at all. 
The launderers on the Galactica would have his hide for that - assuming
there was anything left of it.  Ruefully shelving the big speech he'd
prepared for this landmark moment, Apollo took a deep breath.
     Okay, Apollo... he thought. Keep your cool here... just keep it nice
and short and dignified...
     "Um, hi...?" 
     Oh, way to go, Captain... his ever helpful inner voice chimed in.
"Um, hi..."... yeah, real dignified...  
     Gearing up to give his inner voice a really stern talking to, Apollo
then frowned in puzzlement.  Said inner voice was still sarcastically
mocking him - so who did that other voice belong to...?  The voice which
had uncannily shouted the same words he'd been frantically thinking...?
     "Wait...! Don't shoot...! He's human...! Hold your fire...!"
     Finally realizing it had been another voice that had spoken, Apollo
looked up - and stared in shock.  Eyes as startlingly green as his looked
curiously back at him, out of a face identical to his own.  The hair was
rather shorter (and glossier, he thought in silent envy...), but...
frack, it was him...!  The dark haired figure he'd seen earlier was his
exact double, right down to the ladykiller smile...
     "Y - Y - You're me...!" Apollo finally stammered, silently telling
his inner voice to shut the frack up.  "I - I mean, I'm you, only...
well, kinda older, and... and... you're - you're me, and... and..."
     "I'm you...? Oh, I don't think so..." the lookalike argued, turning
critical eyes towards Apollo's head.  "For one thing, there's no way I'd
let my hair get that long... not to mention untidy...!"
     Self consciously finger combing his fringe back into place, Apollo
opened his mouth to reply - then just as self consciously closed it again
as he realized he hadn't yet thought of anything to say.  Even if he
could say anything, Apollo seriously doubted whether he'd make much
sense.  Fortunately his double took care of that, wiping his fingers on a
napkin before extending a hand.
     "Dan Robbins... how ya doing...?"
     As Apollo continued to gape at him, Dan then smiled slightly,
leaning in to confidentially whisper, "Hey, guess you overshot the White
House lawn, huh...?"
     "The White where what...?" Apollo stuttered after him, now totally
and thoroughly confused.  He was starting to get a headache - no doubt
from the weight of all that hair pressing down in it.  Keeping that
thought wisely to himself, he took a deep breath then, as calmly as he
could, tried again.  "So... I - I mean... um..."
     "Dan..." Dan supplied with a helpful smile, enjoying another bite of
an especially ketchup hot dog.
     "Dan..." Apollo nodded distractedly, still trying to get to grips
with this utterly surreal experience.  This first encounter with Earth,
he now ruefully reflected, wasn't quite turning out as he'd planned.  
Oh, this Dan Robbins was friendly enough - he'd certainly come in handy
with controlling that mob.  Yet Apollo was getting the distinct
impression that he wasn't being taken completely seriously.
     "Hey, this is some prototype...!" Dan went on, running a hand along
the Viper's fuselage.  Sheepishly wiping off a long smear of ketchup, he
then turned back to the puzzled Apollo and smiled.
     "Ooops... sorry about that... so where are you based... um...?"
     "What...? Oh, yes... Apollo, Captain Apollo of the..."
     "Captain, huh...? Guess you kinda outrank me then, I only made
sergeant..." Dan interrupted, not giving Apollo the chance to reply as he
flicked an amused, curious glance over Apollo's uniform.  "Hey, nice
threads...! Guess the military's cutting back on everything now, even
clothing budgets...I mean, my pants were never that tight when I was in
the army...!"
     Glancing downwards, Apollo had to admit that his earthly
doppelganger had a point.  It certainly explained why his voice always
raised a few octaves after an especially long patrol - and why, even on
emergency scramble, he and his squadron climbed into their Vipers very
carefully.
     Before Apollo could reply, though, or do anything to stop it, Dan's
curiosity got the better of him.  "Hey, mind if I look around...?" he
asked, already climbing up the footholds towards the cockpit - prompting
another chorus of wolf whistles, cheers, and several fainting spells in
the female masses.  Suddenly wishing his pants were a lot looser, Apollo
climbed, very carefully, up to join him.  He'd no idea what the approving
yells of 'cute buns' meant, but he could make a fairly accurate guess. 
Thank God he wasn't wearing his Triad gear, otherwise he'd have sparked
off a riot.
     Right now, though, his main concern was that this overly curious
human didn't cause any...
     "Hey, what does this button do...?" Dan asked, reaching towards an
especially tempting switch.
     "Holy frack, no...! That's the...!"
     *ZAP*
     ...damage.
     Too late.
     Apollo stared at Dan. 
     Dan stared at Apollo. 
     Then both turned to stare at the chaos they'd caused.
     It had been growing, happily unthreatened and undisturbed, for the
last two thousand years.  Now Golden Gate Park's oldest redwood had been
reduced to the world's largest pile of firewood.
     "Oh, frack...!" Apollo said at last, letting his head drop into his
hands as terrible realization dawned.  Blowing Cylons to smithereens was
fine, but zapping a defenceless tree...? Definite no-no.  "My father's
gonna have me thrown in with Baltar for this...!"
     "Hey, you think you've got problems...?!?" Dan shot back, faced with
his own daunting challenge.  "I've got to try and explain all this to my
lieutenant...!"
     "Yeah, but you don't know my father...!" Apollo groaned, carefully
climbing down to the ground.
     "You don't know my lieutenant..." Dan muttered in equal dread,
jumping down beside him.
     "So what now...?" Apollo asked, rather sorry that his own lieutenant
wasn't there to face the flak.  This just wasn't fair, he thought
peevishly. Usually it was Starbuck who got into messes like this.  Even
if he didn't, Apollo could always use the privilege of rank to convince
everyone otherwise.
     "Simple..." Dan replied, grabbing Apollo's sleeve while nervously
eyeing the approaching crowds.  Many of them were carrying the remains of
said tree - and none of them looked especially friendly.  "As of right
now, we both go AWOL... now, run...!!!!"

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

     "Richard...??!!? Richard...! Hey, c'mon, buddy, wake up...! They're
ready for us on set...!"
    Coming to with one almighty start, Richard Hatch stared up into the
amused face of his trailer-mate.  "Dirk...?!!?" he finally mumbled, still
half way between reality and the mayhem of his dreams.  "Dirk, is -
is...? I - I mean, is that you...?"
     "I was the last time I looked..." Dirk Benedict chuckled, unable to
resist teasing his addled friend.  "Can't swear to it, though... I mean,
you have been calling me Dan for the last two minutes..."
     Thoroughly enjoying the acute embarrassment on his co-star's face,
he then added innocently,
     "So how was your return trip to San Francisco...? It sure sounded
interesting..."
     "Don't ask..." Richard groaned, not daring to give Dirk any more
ammunition than he had already.  Double taking that reverse flying Viper
had been bad enough, but if word leaked out about this.  If word got
round that he, Richard Hatch, had gotten spaced out on his beloved carrot
juice - well, it would leave Anne Lockhart's wedgie standing in the
embarrassment stakes.  That swine Benedict knew it too - a broad grin
spreading across his face as he tutted in disapproval.
     "Hey, buddy, I keep telling ya...you gotta cut down on this stuff,
it just ain't good for you...!"
     "But it's a health food drink...!" Richard protested, nodding
towards a tellingly bulging pocket.  "Besides, you've been drinking it
too...!"
     "Hey, how did you know that...?" Dirk protested, all wounded
Starbuck-ish innocence.
     Rolling his eyes, Richard stood up and, shaking his head, casually
reached into his friend's jacket.  "I think the evidence speaks for
itself..." he sighed, drawing out a shanghai'd, half emptied bottle. 
Slipping effortlessly back into the shoes of Inspector Dan Robbins, he
then grinned and added sweetly, "Care to explain...? Or do I need to cuff
you and read you your rights...?!!??"
     As Dirk remained conveniently - not to mention sulkily - silent,
Richard sighed and gave up.  Some attempts to get your own back, he
thought peevishly, were more trouble than they were worth.  Once sure
that his friend wasn't looking, and with the most peculiar feeling of
deja vu, he then surreptitiously opened his fridge and dumped the
remaining bottles into his trashbin.  From now on, Richard now fervently
decided, I'm sticking to water.
     Exiting their trailer, Dirk thought for a moment, then turned to his
friend, a puzzled frown on his face.  "Hey, Richard...?"
     "Yes, Dirk...?"
     Another pause, followed by another puzzled question.
     "You ever heard of a screwball outfit called the A Team...?!?!?"

The End