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    Battlestar Galactica
 Rebellion by Richard Hatch
                           Chapter One
   FOR A man who lived almost all his life in space, Apollo had a
planet-bound dream. Imagine a planet tearing itself apart; a glowing rock
heart melting and bursting from continent-sized cracks. All that was,
sinking.

  Volcanoes exploding. Molten magma running brilliant red down black
mountains.

   Apollo dreamt this. The lava licked at his heels as he ran. If he paused
for a micron, it would swallow him whole.

   He'd wake, covered in sweat, breathing hard, legs cramping. How could
a man run so hard in his sleep? Why would a space-flown man dream of
what destroys great planets? You'd think a battlestar, or a Viper or a Cylon
basestar, better still.

  But it was planet-bound, not flying, but running. Feet, not a Viper's
magic wings.

   Every time Apollo woke from this dream, he felt like he'd escaped that
danger as if it were real. He'd outrun the volcano, something no man could
ever do outside of a dream. And as the frantic, desperate need to run
faded, Apollo would take a deep breath, feeling the sweet, real air filling
his lungs, and hold it for microns. Then let it out, and feel his heart
expanding with relief. You made it this time, he'd think. And then came
the joy: You're alive.

  The planet was Kobol. And the destruction was real. Iblis meant to
make Hades real and take his revenge; out of their hope for the future,
he'd trapped them all. But this one time, they were all dreaming together
in that potential moment of complete destruction; the Cylons were blasted
into oblivion, and victory had been snatched in the last moments of
desperate struggle.

    The Light Ship had risen from Kobol's ashes like a phoenix. But the
dream remained; the nightmare was over. Apollo was running; they were
all running, because they were men and women, not immortal birds or
beings of light. Their ships were made of metal worked by their own
hands.

   They were free, because their hearts had led them to this place. And the
same as Apollo felt free when he woke from that dream, the survivors of
the Battle of Kobol gathered on the bridge of the Galactica in freedom and
celebration.

   A real battle, the greatest they had ever fought. Part of it was won in a
dream. Because Apollo reached out, and found he was not alone. Athena
was there, and like a miracle, she heard the coordinates that led the fleet
free.

   It was beyond any one man's thoughts; maybe this dream was the way
that Apollo could make sense of it. Not all of time and space, but just one
planet. Not every human who ever lived, but just him. Just his feet,
carrying him as fast as he could go.

  But they were all safe.

  In that moment.

   "To Apollo!" Tigh cried, raising a glass of ambrosa, his dark eyes
shining.

  Apollo shook his head. They were celebrating! Escape—victory! He
wasn't in his quarters, and he wasn't on Kobol, and he wasn't…

  "I'm back now," he told everyone.

   The glory of victory still shone like the Light Ship, but there were spots
of darkness in it still. They had lost so much. There were faces that should
have been around that table that would never be seen again. One face, one
heroic soul—maybe he sat there in spirit, Apollo thought. Cain. You ran
fast because someone helped you, Apollo thought. Someone who gave his
life and his battlestar, and all of the others on the Pegasus. Cain, never
thinking twice, rammed the Pegasus straight down the Cylons' throats.

   That was a meal that Iblis' had never planned on eating; and maybe
Cain had bought them all time and bought them all a real chance at a
future.

  "I'm running," Apollo said.

   "What?" Starbuck asked, taking Apollo's arm. "Have a drink! Are you
crazier than you look? We did it!"

   Apollo shook his head. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was lucky.
He hadn't outrun the danger; somebody else had taken it for him. Cain.
Nothing comes without a price, Apollo thought. But the truth was, he
thought as he looked over at Athena, her hair and face shining in joy,
neither he nor Athena had really paid the price.

   But nobody else thought that. The joy was real. The love was real.
Suddenly, Apollo felt his eyes stinging. There was Bojay, telling a joke,
then Sheba running toward him, grabbing his waist and whispering
something in his ear. The look on Bojay's face was worth surviving the
battle.

  "Now we can go on!" Tigh cried, raising his glass again.

   We can go faster, Apollo thought. But as Starbuck said, you got what
you paid for. And what a price it had been. Kobol lost. Cain and the
Pegasus: gone. But thanks to what they had found on Kobol, they had
learned to use the QSE technology and they knew that their journey had
hope. They knew where to go. They could outrun the devastation. His feet
were still moving. They were all running together.

   You're not alone, Apollo. You're the least lonely man who ever lived, he
told himself.

   Nobody ever had better friends, he thought. Tigh was even starting to
sing. If that wasn't joy, Apollo didn't know what was. Starbuck grabbed
Apollo's shoulder.
   "We're free," Starbuck said. He moved his furaarello to the other side of
his mouth.

   Apollo looked into his friend's face and thought, "You'll never know the
nightmares I have, buddy," but what he said was, "Yeah. We did!" Then he
put his arm around Starbuck's shoulder and they both began to grin and
then laugh.

   "Wait! Wait!" Tigh said, interrupting his song. Suddenly Tigh's
expression changed. His eyes grew serious, and he waved his arms to get
everyone's attention.

   Apollo saw Cassi in a brief flash, her lovely eyes focused on Tigh. Athena
joined in, moving close to Tigh, and linking her arm with his. She gestured
toward Sheba and Bojay with her free hand. Bojay looked confused, but
Apollo saw that Sheba realized what Tigh and Athena meant to do, and
who they didn't want to forget.

  Tigh raised his glass. "We can't forget," he said. "To Cain!"

   The uproar faded. Sheba drew her hand through her hair, and the wild
joy that had been on her face faded. Apollo saw a flash of Cain in her
feminine features; she wouldn't cry—not Sheba. But she reached up and
snatched Tigh's glass from his hand with her warrior-quick reflexes.

   Then in a flash, she turned, hurling it across the room, where it crashed
at Dalton's and Troy's feet. Dalton's eyes went wide, and then she turned
to Troy and laughed out loud, kicking at the shards of glass.

  "To my father!" Sheba cried.

  "To Cain! Cain!" everyone cried.

   No matter how they cheered, they could never bring him back, Apollo
thought.

  But he raised his glass, too. "He did not die in vain," Apollo said.

  "We're free!" Starbuck cried.

   And the uproar began again. Sheba, her face a mixture of grief and
pride. Bojay, grinning, amazed at his luck that Sheba had chosen him.
Apollo saw her look at him for the briefest moment, but he didn't
understand the expression on her face. Starbuck, looking at Athena like
she was more desirable than vast stacks of cubits. Cassi, her hair shining,
face full of wonder and joy. Apollo saw the strangest, most fleeting look of
worry darken her soft features, but he thought, she's just remembering
Cain; they were very close. Troy, hugging Dalton, then lifting her into the
air as she laughed. Trays, knocking back something dangerous-looking in
a narrow flask, reaching for a fumarello sticking out of Boomer's pocket.
Boomer, slapping Trays' hand away with an ominous expression on his
face.

  You're the luckiest man in the world, Apollo thought. These are the best
people in the world. The Lords let you survive. They gave you a…

  The lights flickered.

  Then, for a micron, they went out. When they came again, they were
dim.

   Boomer's voice was loud enough under normal circumstances, but
everyone stood in confused silence, so his voice echoed when he said,
"That's not right."

   Apollo turned instantly to the Galactica's readout banks. And
everything shrank to a pinpoint.

  "That can't be," he said.

  "What in Hades?" Starbuck said, leaning over.

   Soon, Tigh and Athena were there. "Every Tylium reactor in the fleet,"
Tigh said slowly.

   After a micron, Athena said the word they were all thinking. "Dead,"
she said.

  "No fracking way," Starbuck said. But his eyes were wide with alarm
and disbelief.

   How are you going to outrun anything now, Apollo thought, even as he
sprang into action.
   Tylium ran the engines that moved the fleet across and through and
beyond the stars, the life support that let them breathe and thrive, and it
powered the matter rearranges that fed and clothed them all. The fleet
was already pushed beyond its limits—food, manpower, fuel—the Tylium
was their last source of renewal. And all the celebrating aside, Apollo knew
that they had to regroup and renew food, supplies, material—every single
thing after they'd foiled Iblis' plans and escaped the destruction of Kobol.

  "Engineering! Get those Tylium reactors back online! Do it now!"

  Athena touched his shoulder. "Look out the forward port. See for
yourself."

   He looked up and to his left, saw the majestic and imposing spacescape
before them. His lips moved. He looked back at Athena. Her eyes were
narrow. Everyone began to gather around.

   The stars were gone. Space wasn't black. It was white and… well, almost
like milk. "Where in the halls of Hades are we?" Apollo asked.

  Athena couldn't answer. Nobody could.

   Whatever it was, it had caught Apollo's heels. It had cut off his legs!
They'd faced down the Cylon and Chitain fleets. They'd escaped the
destruction of Kobol; Iblis hadn't won. They had the QSE technology. The
Light Beings had shown them the way. There was hope.

  But where were they?

   The milky stuff before them looked like clouds of space dust, debris,
and primordial plasm. Apollo realized that they were completely dead in
this… whatever it was. Some unknown force had stolen their inertia; at the
same time it had stopped the Tylium fire that drove the fleet's engines.

   If it had not, the fleet would have foundered in the clouds exactly the
way a fleet of wooden sailing ships might founder on an unexpected shoal
of rocks at sea.

  The audio comm crackled.

   "Bridge, this is maintenance. I'm in the Galactica's main Tylium
reactor—it's stone cold dead, Apollo. The reactors haven't shut down, or
even failed in any ordinary sense: The Tylium reaction has just stopped."

   "We'll be right down," he said, his heart pounding. He looked over at
Starbuck—he didn't have to ask to have Starbuck follow.

   Athena and Tigh remained on the bridge to calm the others and keep
watch over the fleet. Before they left, Athena turned and said, "Daedalus
too." Everything in the fleet. Wherever they were, they were all dead
together.

   The power core aboard the Galactica is a series of subdivided
chambers, arranged in a chain so that they can only be accessed in
sequence. This is mostly a function of security design: It would be
unfortunate to have civilians—or even inappropriate engineering
staff—wander into the control terminal array, much less the power cabling
clusters. And stars forefend anyone accidentally finding themselves in the
Tylium reactor bays: Tylium is a safe, clean fuel, producing no excesses of
radiation, but all the same the raw gigajoules of energy that course
through a Tylium reactor are enough to vaporize anyone unwary enough
to stick a finger into the wrong socket.

   Under ordinary circumstances, getting to the ultimate door that opens
onto the Tylium reactor bays can take half a centar, or more. The doors
are set to give long and interesting safety lectures to one and all before
opening—command personnel not excepted.

   The chief engineers can bypass the threshold homily in the event of a
serious emergency, but doing so causes a shrill alarm to sound on the
bridge.

   All of that because the Tylium reactors run mostly without servicing;
they have no moving parts and rarely need the attention of an engineer.
The reactor bays are designed specifically to discourage unnecessary
access.

  And that is why, when Apollo reached the ultimate door in engineering
and found it propped open by a chair, he couldn't believe it.

  "What's going on?" he demanded.

  Starbuck, at Apollo's side, went more directly to the point. "Are you
people trying to kill yourselves? Or set off a chain reaction?"
   The senior engineer, Nilsen, snorted at him.

   "Not a chance, Starbuck," he said. He was kneeling beside the reactor.
He had the shielded and armored door open, and was looking into the
reaction chamber—the chamber that should have been siphoning the raw
light and force of the Tylium's controlled explosion down into energy
transducers that powered the Galactica —its engines, its life support,
everything aboard the ship came ultimately from Tylium.

  "See for yourself. It's gone cold. No reaction. It's almost as though
something's transmuted the Tylium into lead."

   "'Transmuted'?" Starbuck asked. "Alchemy? Be serious."

   Nilsen shrugged. "I'm no scientist," he said. "Just an engineer. I'm not
the one to explain it, but I can tell you what's happening: not a damn
thing." He reached in and tapped the Tylium sphere with his thumb.
"Stone cold—the transducers have siphoned them down to room
temperature. We're in a universe of trouble."

    He chuckled at the little joke he'd made—strictly speaking, the place
between a starship's jump coordinates was another universe—think of it
as an Ur universe, a river under time. In most contexts it's irrelevant, and
little thought of. For the most part, a starship will spend only a few
nano-microns at a time in that place between jumps.

   Nilsen was still laughing.

   "It's not funny," said a familiar voice—it was Lorrins, the physicist,
standing in the doorway. "This can't happen. If there's Tylium in there, the
reaction should still be hot, even with the door open. I'd close that door if I
were you. If it can stop for no reason, it can start for no reason, too."

   Apollo closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He reached into his
heart, and deeper than that, into the commanding light of the universe
that guided him and his family in moments that made demands upon
them.

   Something . . . someone . . . who?

   "Tell me more," Apollo said. "I need to know everything—consequences,
prospects, options. We're still in subspace, right? Transitioning between
our former coordinates and our destination? Can we get out without
Tylium power?"

  The engineer shook his head.

   "Not a chance. We're going to have a hard time with life support in a
few centons if I don't switch us over to battery reserve power we'd used to
maintain orbit in drydock."

  Starbuck chimed in. "Who cares if we can't breathe! If we can't move…"

   Apollo had to smile, even in the crisis. Starbuck… who needed to
breathe as long as you could fly?

   Nilsen blinked. He was as scared as anyone else. "If we can't get the
reactors working, well, we could die here," he said.

  Lorrins, the physicist, didn't contradict him.

   Something from that sense of the universe and time and space told
Apollo that the engineer was right. They wouldn't be able to fix the Tylium
reactors in this place. The fleet was falling apart. The civilian ships had
already been pushed to the edge and beyond; most of them were nearly
out of fuel.

  He reached deeper into his intuition. There, that was the insight, the
image of a countenance shrouded in a chiaroscuro of the soul. Baltar!

  Was this Baltar's doing? Some evil scheme he'd put into play, a plot
only now come to fruition?

   No. This is no plot. It is Baltar who can lead us through this
wilderness.

   And that was the most amazing thing—not just the impossibility of the
moment that had come upon them, not just the broken shape and nature
of an unknown place in the universe that could puzzle a brilliant physicist
like Lorrins. What was amazing was the whole notion that a blackguard
like Baltar could lead them from this disaster.

   "Get me options," Apollo said. He was starting for the door, his feet on
the move, running again—half in a dream and half out—heading for a
place he did not yet fully and consciously realize.

  "Switch over to reserve power. Then get me an understanding of what's
gone wrong, and what we can do about it."

  It was an order issued more for the benefit of the crew than it was for
Apollo himself. He already knew their circumstance in his heart: It was his
family's gift to come to communion with the infinite. His father, Adama,
possessed that gift, and his grandfather before him; it ran through
generations of grandfathers back into the dawn of memory.

  And now that gift, in this place beyond anything they'd ever known, was
coming to full flower in Apollo.

   In that moment, Apollo knew in his heart where they were and why
they were there. There was no safe, easy way out of this situation. In their
moment of victory, bought at such great cost, they had all been thrown
into something much worse.

    And in his heart, though he never could have voiced it, in his heart he
knew with a foreboding that passes certainty that there was a revolution
coming. He had the sense that people had been pushed beyond their
endurance, and it wasn't a situation where speeches or pretty words would
help. People would die. The thin shred of hope that they'd somehow made
it safe beyond the Cylon menace was all totally changed. And… Baltar!
Baltar, the answer? How could it be?

   "Come with me, Starbuck," he said. "We need to find Athena and pay a
visit to an old… friend."

   Starbuck looked quizzically up at Apollo. "Who?" he asked. "Apollo, do
you really think now is the time for visiting?" Apollo's stern expression
told him that he'd better follow, and there'd be time for questions and
answers later.

   They met Athena in the hall outside engineering. Apollo was still in his
haze, moving at the direction of things unknowable, unthinkable,
powerful, and strange. He saw her and he said, "Athena, come," and she
looked at him like he was out of his mind. "Come with us to see Baltar," he
said.

   She said angry words he did not hear.
   "We must get Lorrins, too," Apollo said. "This is a matter that he can
help interpret."

  Frowning, Athena fell in behind Starbuck, and after they retrieved a
confused Lorrins, they went together to the brig.
                                    ***

  "Baltar," Apollo told the sentries who stood watch outside the brig.
"We've come for him."

  That was not a command they would obey, of course. It could not be.
Baltar was only too capable of creating an illusion in the mind of a jailer,
and therefore there were deep hypnotic controls on all the brig sentries.

   The sentries stood impassive, awaiting the codes that would trigger the
posthypnotic suggestion to obey. Athena sighed impatiently, gave the high
sign with her left fist, and said the seven secret words and syllables that
would give them passage.

   All the sentries stood down, and let them pass. Somewhere in the
recesses of his mind, Apollo meant to thank her. But it was not clear to
him whether he said the words or not.

   At the far end of the corridor was Baltar's cell; the force screen that
sealed its doorway admitted Apollo, Starbuck, Athena and the physicist
Lorrins automatically. Baltar was sitting in a chair that faced out his
window, watching the Ur clouds and energy vortexes that surrounded
them with a quiet fascination.

  "Apollo, Starbuck, Athena," he said, "I've been expecting you."

   Starbuck swore an oath under his breath. Athena pushed past Apollo in
high dudgeon. "This is your doing, isn't it,, Baltar? Gods help you, you old
fool, you're going to rue the sectare…"

   Starbuck cut her off. "She's right, isn't she, Baltar? You're the one who's
trapped us here, the engine, you—and it's you who's put Apollo into this
fugue, isn't it?"

  "I'm going to kill him, don't try to stop me."

  And then Apollo spoke.
  "Starbuck, no," he said. "Baltar isn't why we're here. He could be our
way out."

   Baltar grinned up at them. Something about his expression changed
the very feeling in the room. They all sensed it. Apollo gasped, and
shuddered, and fell out of his trance entirely.

   "What?" he was breathless, trying not to fall to his knees. Something
deep in his soul ached with dread, but much of the vision, much of what
he'd known during the vision, had already begun to fade.

   "Terrible things coming," he said aloud, trying to force the
dream—memory of the vision to take root in his conscious mind.

    Starbuck shook his head, confused to see Apollo's condition. He
wondered if it was some kind of joke—maybe something Baltar was trying
to pull. But Baltar was a prisoner and they were all there at Apollo's side.
He grinned as he helped Apollo to his feet. "Like hell," he said. "The old
villain's playing mind tricks on you, Apollo. Don't let him rattle you. He
knows the Galactica and the rest of the fleet are in trouble, and he's trying
to make use of it."

  Baltar straightened his shoulders, staring hard at Starbuck and Athena.
There was fear in his old eyes, but only a little. "You're wrong," he said.
"You could not be more wrong."

   Apollo was breathing steadily now, almost fully recovered. Starbuck
grabbed Baltar's collar, his other fist drawn back to strike.

   Apollo jumped forward. "No, Starbuck," he said. "The two of you, listen.
Baltar's right this time—that was a true seeing, maybe the most profound
vision I've had in my life, in fact. And it is true: Baltar is the key to the pit
we've fallen into—and it's a deeper pit can you can imagine. We've never
been in this sort of trouble before, not even when we watched Kobol
implode and faced the total destruction of the fleet. More than our
mission, it's the very nature of the universe that's at stake. Without the
Tylium reactors, we've got no hope of going on. We have had a terrible,
terrible accident, and if we don't extract ourselves very carefully, reality as
we know it may collapse. Chaos will follow."

  Starbuck rolled his eyes. "What are you talking about, Apollo? You
sound to me like a man who's had too much ale."
   But Athena… Athena was staring at Apollo like maybe she had a sense
of it, too—just the slightest sense. "What did you see?" she asked. "Where
are we, Apollo?"

   He nodded at Baltar. "Tell us, Baltar," he said. "Tell us what the hell is
going on."

   Baltar looked away uneasily.

   "Your sister will want to accuse me of this," he said. "That may be fair.
But it is not true. The possibility of this is a legend in Cylon lore—they
bragged about being able to travel beyond the universe that we
understand. I have never heard of it as a reality, never."

  Starbuck grabbed him by the collar again. "What did you do, you
Muskvynian ferret?"

   Baltar grasped Starbuck's hand and carefully, firmly pried his fingers
from his collar. "We had to get away. I helped the Galactica implement
Chitain-Cylon wormhole technology, you immature hothead," he said. "I
can't pretend I know exactly how it worked, but in that last moment of the
battle, I knew that Apollo would access those coordinates. And if you want
my help dealing with this disaster you will kindly stop manhandling me."

   Apollo had a hand on Starbuck's shoulder. "Enough, old friend," he
said, calming Starbuck's rage, buying time for Baltar to speak.

   For a moment the cell was eerily silent. Baltar finally broke the spell.

   "You sound like your father, Apollo," Baltar said. "For a moment I
thought I'd heard his voice when you were speaking."

   Athena was seldom nervous, but she gave a nervous laugh.

   "I heard it, too," she said. "Is it possible… ?"

  Apollo smiled at his sister. "Of course it's possible," he said, "but that
was me, not Father. I grow more like him as I age."

   "You do, Apollo," said Baltar. "It's unsettling."

  Apollo smiled. "I'm sure it must be. Now tell me, old friend, and old foe,
what do you know? Why did my vision point me in your direction in this
moment of need?"

   Baltar frowned.

   "When a ship passes through a jump point," he said, "it passes
momentarily through some… other place. An Ur place, not of our universe.
The physics are complicated, and in practical terms at the moment not of
particular consequence. From the point of view of the command and crew
of a starship, one moment we are here; the next we are there.

   "But strictly speaking, that's not the case. There is a mathematically
complicated transition between here and there; adjustments in context
that have to do with time and space and velocity."

   At that moment, Lorrins interrupted. "Yes!" he cried. "I've heard of
this. When we captured some of the Cylon databanks, I reviewed this.
Baltar's right; it seemed like bragging to me. But they told about a place
like this, an Ur universe that existed outside the normal confines of time
and space. I couldn't tell if they truly knew that it existed, or were merely
theorizing."

  "It's real," Baltar said. "Look! See for yourself." he gestured at the
window behind him. "This is what it does look like."

   Starbuck groaned, shaking his head. Baltar ignored him. "The Cylons
believed that every moment that ships and creatures from the universe
that we know spent in this place threatened the universe without," Baltar
said. "I don't pretend to understand the theory, but it was a place that
upset even the order that their twisted minds could understand. They
called this a place where patterns reflect on our world, a time under time
where a ripple in the current of space flux can shape vast destinies in the
material universe. Think of it as undertime, the one ultimately causal
place in a causal universe."

   "That's ridiculous," Starbuck said.

   Dr. Lorrins, excited again, interrupted. "Starbuck, listen," he said,
"Imagine for a moment that you went back in time and murdered your
mother. Would you suddenly cease to exist? No; the universe doesn't keep
tabs. You would exist in a loop of time, and forward from that loop. That's
causality. It's the reason space and time are always in flux. Ultimately, we
live in a universe where causes do and do not obtain. Some things we see
simply are as they are, and the things that brought them into being may
never have happened."

  "I don't get it," Starbuck said. "There are always reasons that things
happen."

    "Oh, there usually are, I'll grant you that," Baltar said, leaning forward
and running his hand through his still-dark hair. "But always? I think not.
Have you ever used a starship to travel back into the ultimate moment of
creation? Have you seen the ranks of thousands who've traveled there to
bear witness? To see the unseen hand? I have gone a dozen times,
Starbuck. I can tell you that there was no hand to see; for all that I can
observe there may've been no Maker, for the big bang appeared to set
itself into motion, entirely. But I can also tell you that that moment was
deliberate, and carefully considered. The slightest changes in any aspect of
it in the least way would have made a universe where no life was possible,
where breath would not avail and the chemicals that let us live could not
react with one another. The Maker made our universe with love, and
consideration for our lives—he made the world to save us all, and ensure
our posterity.

   "But I have gone to watch him, and I have seen no hand of God, my
friends," Baltar said, his face lined with exhaustion and eyes dark and
knowing.

   "You lie, old man," Starbuck growled. But even Starbuck could hear in
his own voice how wrong he was. Even Dr. Lorrins had stood back, no
longer excited to talk about the physics, and watched Baltar in wonder
and fear.

  Apollo's hand found Athena's.

   "This place… this place is the tabulation underneath the
unaccountable, uncountable universe," Baltar said. "If it were safe and I
could travel here maliciously and with forethought, how I would love to
watch creation from this vantage! But it must not be. This is where the
flotsam and jetsam of the universe truly exist; if you cease to exist here,
you do cease. It is like a living metaphor, in its way: in the universe
without you could murder your grandmother and survive, but if someone
killed your shadow here, you truly and spontaneously would cease to exist.

  "This is a perilous place. We must leave as quickly as we are able."
  "I could have told you that," said Athena.

   Apollo held up a hand to silence his sister. "How did we get here?" he
asked. "How do we get out?"

   Lorrins chimed in once more. "The most likely thing to cause this is a
bad transition through subspace—probably by dragging along too much
dead mass from the warring Chitain and Cylon fleets as we made the
transition. But it could just as well have been that we made the transition
through an anomaly in space, or too close to the surface of a planet. Who
knows how you bring about a circumstance that's never before been
recorded?"

  "What does it mean?"

   "Instead of passing through a wormhole in a timeless moment we could
not even see, we're trapped in a… a… think of it as a null-space—a tiny
place inside space and time, and outside them, too. A place where many of
the rules of physics that govern the universe simply don't apply," Lorrins
said. "Baltar here has a sense of it. I can't pretend to understand why
we've gotten into this predicament. Although he…" and Lorrins paused,
his eyes wide. "He may not be able to understand or tell you the exact
math, but I see that he understands the dangers far better than I do."

  "The Tylium reactors," said Athena, "that's what's wrong with them.
They can't work here."

   "Yes," said Lorrins, as Baltar looked on, his dark brows lowered over his
thoughtful eyes. "We have left the place where the physics that allows the
Tylium reactors to run the fleet's vast resources of life support applies.
And the fleet literally depends on these not just for interstellar power, but
for sustenance."

   Starbuck brought a hand to his forehead. "Tylium runs the matter
transmutation systems."

  Baltar nodded. "There is a mind in there beneath the hive of raging
hormones, isn't there, Starbuck?"

  Starbuck eyed him coldly.

  Baltar continued. "You do understand. It is only the vast energy
resources of the Tylium reactors that allow the fleet's effluvia to become
clean food, water, air, and consumer products. Without Tylium reactors
it's an open question whether we will first die of starvation or of strangling
on our own waste."

   Starbuck threw up his hands. "You ever had to take those emergency
rations? They aren't like food. You don't eat them. I'd rather eat dirt,
honestly. People take these for a couple yahrens in escape pods, and their
stomachs can atrophy. At least if you were eating dirt, your stomach
would get full."

  "Bitter pills indeed," Baltar said. "But that's not the real problem, is it?"

   "No," Apollo said. He looked at Athena, whose eyes went wide. "We are
in Hades, and I do not yet know the way out of it. The only choices we have
are bad ones."

  Baltar studied Apollo carefully a moment. "Your father's son indeed,
young Apollo."

  "How do we get out of here?" Apollo asked.

  Baltar looked really worried.

  "We don't," he said.

   That was all any of them could get out of Baltar. He faced the wall,
crossed his arms, hung his head, and lapsed into silence.

  "He's lying, Apollo," Athena said as they left the brig. "I know it in my
bones."

   Apollo nodded. "I know he was lying," he said. "But I also know it
wasn't because he was trying to hurt us. He knows that if we die, he dies,
too."

  Starbuck rolled his eyes. "Apollo, you need… something. Another drink!
Baltar never had a sectare when he didn't wake up evil."

   Apollo laughed. "Maybe so, Starbuck. But nothing's normal here in this
place. I'm sensing a lot of things from Baltar. There's… he's ashamed."

  "You're out of your mind, Apollo," said Starbuck.
   Athena pointed at Starbuck, waggling her finger. "No, he's right,
Starbuck. Baltar is ashamed."

  "Impossible!"

  "I know. But I saw it in him, just as Apollo did."

  "We really are trapped somewhere where the rules don't apply, aren't
we?" Starbuck said as they continued down the corridor.

  "Yeah," Apollo said.

   There was this much Baltar will not admit to: He knew this possibility
was waiting when he taught the fleet the Cylon-derived technology it used
to move distances that can be as great as the intergalactic void. He was no
engineer, nor even a theoretical scientist, but he was an apt student of the
physical sciences, and in his long life he'd been exposed to disciplines of
physics that no one else aboard the Galactica had ever imagined.

   Their current circumstance was a remote possibility in a chapter of
theoretical physics that the Cylons had bragged about, as if they could
control the universe or travel beyond time and space. But the odds that
anything would ever come of it were slim to none, and he knew damned
well that men like Starbuck and Apollo had no patience for his interest in
the remotest possibilities.

   It is so rare that anything unlikely ever comes to happen; it is unlikely,
after all.

  And yet it seemed to Baltar that if he admitted to having foreseen the
possibility, he'd be blamed for it—unfairly, perhaps.

  He was almost certainly right about that.

   And so he did not tell Apollo everything he knew, because it would seem
to incriminate him. And at the end of Baltar's life, the last thing he wanted
was more accusations and guilt—there was enough of that for the crimes
he really had committed.

   The things he didn't tell were very important. First, the mass necessary
to throw them all into this cloud beyond space and time was vast indeed,
perhaps as vast as the mass of the combined Cylon and Chitain fleets;
perhaps, indeed, the mass of a small planetoid, and the energy released by
its annihilation. It was almost certainly true that they are not alone in this
place—any survivors of the interplanetary cataclysm that destroyed the
Cylon and Chitain armadas were in here with them. And Baltar knew
Cylon bragging for what it was. No matter what they thought, they
couldn't control the situation any more than Galactica could. Iblis hadn't
caused this. That final cataclysm proved there was some hand there
greater than Iblis' hand. Something beyond Baltar's sight, of that he was
certain.

   The other thing he could not say was that the peculiar properties of this
place allowed Iblis to employ his ansibles to observe everything that
happened here, and in intimate detail. They were being spied upon, even if
the spy couldn't get to them.

   Part of Baltar really wanted to tell Apollo, but he was there with
Athena, and Starbuck. Neither of them could be trusted; Starbuck would
throttle Baltar in an eyeblink.

   Baltar was free. That should have been told. Was there any escape from
Iblis' grasp? Yes. But they didn't know. And even Apollo wouldn't believe
him if he told. That would have been a particularly obvious Iblis trick,
pretending that Baltar was free of his influence, making Baltar seem like
everyone's newfound friend.

   Saying nothing was the only way that Baltar saw that he could keep his
freedom. This Ur cloud—beyond time and space—was 99% a deathtrap,
but it also decreased Iblis' capacity for mind thrall. At the same time, it
was enhancing Apollo's communion with the infinite and his knowledge of
things to come. This was a strange place, wonderful and terrible, a place
where the best and worst angels of nature came as naturally as a flower.

   So, even though a lot of Baltar wanted to be forthcoming with
Apollo—even with Athena and Starbuck—Baltar was still the man he'd
always been.

   There was a moral weakness in him, true. He was a self-centered
egomaniacal traitor and a coward, but he was also born to greatness as
the best of us; and here in the Ur place the best angels of his nature felt an
overwhelming need to make their peace with his own kind before his end.
And here, now, in this place the Maker never meant for anyone to be, his
weaknesses were entirely his own.
   Baltar's real problem was that he was responsible for himself in a way
he hadn't been for yahrens. Couldn't blame Iblis. Couldn't blame…

   He didn't want to remember, but he did all the same. The same
situation, only now Baltar's people were at the end.

   This was the end. This wasn't the original Cylon fleet. They were stuck
in a deathtrap, facing total destruction. Brother was going to kill brother.
Father and son would be torn apart; husband and wife, perhaps. Baltar
saw days ahead that even his destructive imagination couldn't picture, felt
them in his bones. Then felt rage, seeping into him, bleeding into his
mind. This time, he swore to himself, it would not be Baltar's decision that
led to the destruction of humanity, or all that remained of it.

   He was not a great man, nor even a good one; he was not a decent man,
but there was within him the possibility of decency, and even more, here
in hell at the end of his sectares, he wanted… something for himself. Didn't
want to be alone.

   Wasn't that the lot of most people? Only the smallest portion were
people of character; rather most people were good and bad mixed
together.

   Baltar was a bad man, in the end. But judge him as carefully as you
would be judged—his lot is more our own than we would prefer to admit.
He knew if he spoke up too soon, he would not be believed, and he would
seal his own fate. The only chance lay in stealth, and in waiting and
hoping that Apollo would figure things out on his own.

  That was Baltar's plan, and nobody but Baltar could ever have
understood it.

   As they reached the bridge, Apollo saw that they'd come nowhere, that
the problems that confronted them were still as they'd been when he'd left,
and that it was time to bring command to the sort of consensus that
would allow for action.

   "Starbuck," he said. "I want a meeting: conference room eight, twenty
centons. Key players from engineering, science, and command. If we can't
know what to do, we're going to have to guess. But I want the best minds
we have doing the guessing. Make it happen."
  "Yes sir!"

  Starbuck was as uncomfortable as he had ever been in all his yahrens.

  Very uncomfortable.

  Very, VERY uncomfortable.

   What got to him wasn't just being stuck on the underside of the
universe like spilled mushies stuck to the sole of the Maker's shoe. It
wasn't just Apollo acting so much like his father, Adama, that he seemed
like a trance channeler in the bazaar on Galfrax Nine. It wasn't Athena on
the verge of hysteria—calm, resolute Athena, hysterical! It wasn't just the
engineers and scientists, all of them droning on cluelessly for a meeting
that stretched on the ninety centons, somehow managing (with their
unwillingness to admit that they knew nothing and their need to posture)
to turn a circumstance that almost certainly meant the end of the fleet
into an occasion for boredom.

  All of that—well, Starbuck wasn't born yestersectare.

  He knew the fleet, its people, and its crew; he'd looked at death before,
and lost many whom he'd loved. None of that was new.

  No. What really unsettled Starbuck was Baltar.

  Baltar!

    Starbuck had known Baltar almost as long as he'd known Apollo, and in
all that time he'd never sensed any decency in him. Oh, Starbuck wasn't
any Adama, or even Athena or Apollo; he didn't see into people by
communing with the infinite. But he had good people sense, and he knew
what was in that blackguard's heart.

   Baltar was an Alturian slime vermin, the kind that infests the produce
on Alturia Four. Starbuck still hated thinking about getting those damned
slime worms out of the ventilation system after the Galactica had picked
up a case… the things eat dust, quite efficiently, and leave in its place a
stinking slime that never dries___

  Starbuck shuddered, remembering. All that slick gooey stinking slime!
  That was Baltar—a slime that never dries.

   And the most unsettling thing Starbuck could imagine was seeing a
glimmer of decency in that man. It was unnatural. That alone made
Starbuck think that something worse was on the way, a whole lot worse.

  "Starbuck! Starbuck, are you dozing with your eyes open?"

   Starbuck felt himself blush. "Sorry, Apollo. I guess I was. Did I miss
something important?" He looked around the room, fighting the impulse
to make a sarcastic comment. And failing. "I'm lost in the doubletalk and
butt-covering. Sorry."

  A titter of giggles went around the room. Athena cleared her throat.

   "Cute, Starbuck," she said angrily. And then she looked around the
room. "But he's not wrong. There's nobody in this room who has a clue
where or why we are, or how we've ended up here."

   Apollo nodded. "He is," he said. "Starbuck, I need you to get Baltar up
here. He, at least, had some understanding of this place." And Baltar had a
sense of the choices Apollo was going to have to make, also.

  It wasn't a whole lot different from the choice Baltar had made all those
yahrens before that had sent the ragtag fleet on its long journey. Baltar
had sold out all the tribes save his own; the Cylons had hardly kept their
bargain.

   It was only Starbuck's loyalty to Apollo that sent him on his journey to
the brig. Anybody else, he thought. Anybody else, but Apollo…

   "Baltar," he said, accessing the old monster's cell. "They want you up in
the command council meeting."

  Baltar was waiting for him, ready. "Yes," the old man said. "I've been
expecting you."

  Starbuck rolled his eyes; inwardly, imperceptibly, he shuddered.

  "Good. They're stumped up there."

  "I'm sure they are," Baltar said, grinning at Starbuck.
   "I'm going to shackle you," Starbuck snarled.

   Baltar nodded. "I understand."

   Shaking his head, searching Baltar's face for some answer to the
mystery, Starbuck snapped the cuffs on the old villain's wrists. The old
criminal thanked him and smiled; that was the worst part of all of
it—Baltar, polite!

  Baltar entered the conference room like a conquering hero, a
conquering hero in cuffs. He carried himself with the regal air of one who
commands and all who saw him sensed that something had changed in
him, although only Apollo reacted with anything but disgust. There was
something wise about the old snake. Unmistakably wise.

  Everyone turned. Baltar chose to take their astonished looks as
admiration.

   Maybe that was even a smile on Athena's face! "Baltar," she said. Baltar
took that as a friendly greeting, but he did not smile at her. "You clearly
knew a lot about what has happened. Tell us what we can do."

   Now they needed him. Now! After all those years.

   Baltar couldn't help himself. He laughed ominously and watched all of
their expressions change. Tigh, Athena, Starbuck, even Apollo. "You want
to try blasting your way out, Athena? It might work, you know—an atomic
demolition munition in the right place, and this capsule of null-space
could become a worm-hole again."

   "Well, frack! Let's do it!" Starbuck cried, reaching for his comm,
starting to issue orders to the weapons control officer on the bridge.

   "No!" Baltar cried. He rushed forward. So much for the regal entrance.
"Starbuck, you idiot!"

   "What?" Starbuck said, dropping his hand.

   Apollo stood and went to Starbuck's side, shaking his head.

   "Don't you know when a man's trying to be ironic?" Baltar asked,
looking at all of the puzzled, alarmed, confused faces. "If this battlestar
tries to blast its way out, we could destroy whole quadrants of space with
an atom blast in here, even, conceivably, alter the physics of our universe."

   Starbuck swore. His face went pale. "You'd better not be trying to…" he
growled.

  Apollo touched Starbuck's shoulder, shaking his head.

   "I understand," he told Baltar. He looked around at the others. Athena,
Tigh, and all the rest. They were trying to understand. The danger was
clear, but Apollo realized that even Athena didn't realize… everything.
Athena had to get back to the Daedalus. But even with the two
battlestars…

  "I'm going to say something that doesn't leave this room," Apollo said.

  "Of course," everyone said. Everyone except Baltar.

  "That includes you," Apollo said to Baltar. Baltar nodded.

  "You can't trust him," Starbuck cried.

   "We don't have any choice," Apollo said in a low voice. To Baltar, he
said, "Maybe you already know. We don't have the power to blast out of
here no matter what. Our resources were critical before this happened."

  Starbuck thought for a moment that Athena was going to challenge
Apollo, because she stood and leaned on the table. She was some woman!

   "Apollo's right," Athena said in her strong, clear voice. "Baltar, we don't
have many options. What can we do?" She swayed the others a little; she
and Apollo were a team, and even Starbuck began to question his
assumptions about Baltar. Good, bad? What was he?

   "Send out small teams in Vipers, have them explore the cloud forms
that surround us. If they can find a way out hidden in there, we could use
this as a wormhole after all."

  "Fuel's at critical," Tigh said. "We've got…"

  Apollo nodded at the president, still his best command officer in
addition to Athena.
  "Our resources are very limited for… exploration… What else can we
do?"

  "Pray," Baltar said.

  "Oh, frack!" Starbuck said, unable to keep quiet any longer. "You can
count yourself out on that, Baltar."

  Apollo didn't even smile. "What else, Baltar? What other alternatives?"

  "Accept our fate," Baltar said, "and die with honor."

   Starbuck jumped toward Baltar, but Apollo held him back; the tension
in the room was like lightning sparking in a summer storm.

  "What do you know about that?" Starbuck cried.

  "Starbuck," Apollo kept saying. Baltar grinned and drew his cloak close.
When he caught Athena's eye, he winked.

   Starbuck and Sheba organized the Vipers. The long-range patrol
prepared to set out. Starbuck didn't bother Apollo with the details. There
was a problem with the fuel right off; Apollo just said, "take what you
need." Starbuck assumed there'd be more… somewhere. So he "borrowed"
enough for Troy, Dalton and Trays to penetrate deep into the Ur cloud. It
wasn't hard to do that if he promised the civilian ships that it would be
paid back.

   And of course they would be paid back. Troy, Dalton and Trays would
find the way out. If they had problems, Boomer and Bojay were right along
with them.

   Sheba approved; in fact, she got even more fuel from one of the
agri-ships.

   It wasn't as easy as it seemed. Ever since they'd landed in this cloud and
the Tylium reactors went dark, the bad situation they'd had at the battle
of Kobol had gotten a lot worse. The Vipers had to use their slow,
conventional engines—engines they'd ordinarily use for fine docking
adjustments in close quarters. And once those fuel cells were gone, they
were gone.
   Even so, Starbuck didn't see a problem with "borrowing" and offering
to pay back later.

  Troy found out about it as they were launching. "Starbuck," he said,
"Why did you promise the Ceres and the Astrogator that you'd pay them
back? We don't know…"

   "You're going to find the way out, buddy," Starbuck said. "Once we
blow this cloud, we'll find a decent planet and rebuild. The reactors will be
back online, and it'll all be okay."

  Dalton came running up behind Troy. As soon as she saw Starbuck and
Troy talking, she stopped. Her whole expression changed.

  "Hey," she said to Starbuck.

  "Hey," he said back.

   Troy looked between the two of them. Nothing was ever easy between
Starbuck and Dalton. Troy knew a lot of Dalton's complicated feelings
toward her father. Somehow, the nagging question about the borrowed
fuel didn't seem so important right then.

  "Listen," Starbuck said, hesitating and shifting around awkwardly from
one foot to the other. "Dalton, take care of yourself out there."

   "Yeah," she said. And with a brief smile, she leaned close and kissed
Starbuck's cheek. "Don't worry," she whispered. "I'll take care of Troy,
too."

   Troy didn't hear what she said. Who knows what he would have said to
that? He punched Starbuck's arm and said, "I'll take care of her."

   "Yeah," Starbuck said. Then he started to retreat. It was obvious that
he didn't know what to say. They were going out into totally unknown
territory. The regular fuel cells seemed to work fine, even if the Vipers
were slow—right near Galactica and Daedalus. That might not hold the
farther out the patrols went.

   "Starbuck," Troy called. "What if we don't find anything out there? You
just took the total reserves for those two ships. By the time Sheba's
finished, they can't…"
   "Don't worry!" Starbuck said. "It's Apollo's orders. He knows what he's
doing."

   "Okay," Troy said. Then Trays came running up and Troy definitely
didn't want to get into any small talk with him around. Not any more than
he had to. He turned to say something to Dalton, but Trays had grabbed
Dalton's hand and was dragging her toward their Vipers, pointing at
something.

  Troy felt his eyes narrowing and his heart start pounding.

   Not now, he told himself. Don't get into anything with him. The fleet
was counting on them. But Trays! That tracking immature, aggravating…
he was already out of sight behind the fuselage of the Viper with Dalton.
That couldn't last, not with Troy there. He ran after them.

  Athena returned to the Daedalus, organizing more patrols there.

  That left Apollo heading for the bridge. On the way, he saw Tigh,
heading the other way toward the Council chambers.

   "Hey," Apollo said, smiling, but feeling like he wanted to… well, maybe
do something like Starbuck always did, to blow off steam—game of triad,
Pyramid—there weren't any centons for that.

   Tigh's forehead was lined; it was obvious he had a lot on his mind, and
the telltale deep lines on each side of his mouth were tight with worry.

   Things had been getting bad all over the Galactica, because people
were scared. Really scared. But the corridor was the same pristine, calm,
orderly place it had always been. Apollo's heart and mind were anything
but calm. The fleet's status was… critical in every way. There wasn't
enough fuel, no matter what Apollo did, and the food stores were… Apollo
suddenly reached over and put his hand on Tigh's shoulder.

  "It will work," Tigh said. "Let me handle the Council."

   Apollo tried to nod, but he couldn't. All at once he turned away. He
missed Athena already, and she'd only been back on the Daedalus a few
centons.

  It was like Athena had said. They had no choice. The Vipers had to have
the fuel. The pilots and the warriors had to have enough rations. And…

  Tigh and Apollo both knew. There was no point in hashing it over
again. There were only so many food rations left, and only so much fuel.

   "Why did we get those coordinates! Why did Athena hear that?" Apollo
asked in a low, desperate voice.

  "It will work, Apollo," Tigh said, his military calm keeping his
expression steady and his voice from rising into desperation.

  "I told Starbuck to take what was needed," Apollo said. "Do…"

   "There's no choice," Tigh said. "Not any. It's not like I believe Baltar,
but I can see for myself. There's no planet here that our scanners can find.
Dead astrolons, that's about it. If we don't send out those patrols, we're
all…"

  "I know," Apollo interrupted. He shook Tigh's hand. "Explain this to the
Council. They won't understand unless you explain everything."

  "I will," Tigh said in his deep voice. "The Vipers will find a way out.
Then, this crisis will pass," he said.

   That was nothing like Apollo's vision, but he couldn't tell Tigh. He
couldn't send him off to the council like that. Even though Apollo still felt
the warmth of his deep connection with Athena, he had never felt so alone.
He watched Tigh's cloak swirling as the president left on his errand, and
turned back to the bridge.

  There were a lot of questions for Apollo. How shall we feed our people?
What shall we do when our fuel reserves run out?

  "Wait" was not the right answer, but it was the only one that Apollo
had. That, and whatever Baltar knew that he wasn't telling.

  If anybody had told Apollo that he'd be seriously considering relying on
Baltar for anything a few centons before, he would have laughed out loud.
But now…
                                    ***

  On the bridge of the Daedalus, Athena had her own problems.
  "Athena," Flight Officer Omega said. It was good that Athena had his
experience available on the Daedalus. "We've got more trouble."

  Athena couldn't believe that there was even more "trouble." Things had
gone so crazy, but she knew that Omega wouldn't overstate a thing.

  "The Hestia is breaking up; they're breached in three spots," he said.

  The Hestia was not the largest of the civilian ships, but there were
more than two hundred men, women and children on her.

   . "Can we launch a—" Athena hoped that they could send over a repair
team, perhaps fix Hestia quickly.

   Omega shook his head. "No, we're completely overextended. The best
we can do is send a transport, evacuate them—there's room on the Rising
Star."

   "How long do we have?" Athena asked. Then her heart went cold. She
knew people on the Hestia. Protea, and her children. Protea had grown up
with Athena. She hadn't talked recently to her, but she was positive that
was Protea's ship. There were more children than adults on the ship. This
was unbelievable!

  "Unknown," Omega said. "It's the fuel diversion, too. They might have
been able to do more repairs if…" He left the rest of the sentence unsaid.

   "Get a rescue ship over to them," Athena ordered. Omega nodded and
executed the command.

  "This is the Hestia!" came a desperate female voice over the comm.
"We've got to…"

  "Hestia," Athena said, breaking in, "we're sending a rescue barge.
You've got to evacuate as soon as possible. We have no resources to repair
you; we're going to salvage the ship and get you to the Rising Star."

  "But this is our home!" the woman cried. It wasn't Protea.

  Athena knew. She said things of comfort, but the words sounded so
empty. There were two hundred desperate lives on that ship, and two
hundred people who did not want to leave the only home they'd known for
twenty years. Protea was a talented teacher; the last time Athena had seen
her, silver was threading through her long, dark hair. But her face had still
looked young, and she had been happy about the education program on
the Hestia; even cheerful despite their cramped quarters.

  Another ship lost; the fleet was collapsing upon itself like Kobol had
under Iblis' demonic onslaught.

  "Salvage! We don't want to lose our…"

  "Hestia, we can't repair you. Prepare your people for evacuation,"
Athena said, cutting Hestia's transmission off mid-sentence.

  Omega looked over at Athena, his eyes wide. But he didn't say anything.

  "We don't have any choice," Athena said. "This is the only option."

   Omega nodded; he was sending out the barge that none of those people
were going to want to board. The Rising Star was overcrowded as it was.
Nobody would be happy to welcome another two hundred homeless
refugees.

   "It's getting to the point where we can't juggle all of this," Omega said,
clearing his throat. He wouldn't meet Athena's eyes. "My brother is, uh…"

  "Your brother?" Athena asked.

   "He's already on the Rising Star. He had the light cruiser, remember?
Just four families. They had zero fuel left after we jumped into this…
place," Omega said. "They were counting on the Tylium to regenerate. I
didn't want to ask. He asked me, and I didn't want to ask."

   Athena looked into Omega's eyes. She saw the worry there, and the
shame. He couldn't even help his own family.

  "You could have had them come here," Athena said.

   Omega shook his head. "No," he said. "We're stacking bodies as it is.
And how would that look if an officer of the bridge gave that type of
special treatment to…"

  "This might not be the worst we have to face," Athena told him.
  Omega's eyes went wide, but he didn't say anything for a long moment.

  "The barge is on its way," he said. "They'll get those people off the
Hestia in time."

  All Athena could do was nod.

  "I've got to think about this," she said, and headed for her quarters.

  "Lords of Kobol," Omega said under his breath. "If it could get worse, I
don't know what that would be." He hadn't been entirely truthful with
Athena; he had sent some extra food rations to his brother. The food
wasn't as bad as the fuel. Nobody would notice that. And no, he hadn't
shown favoritism. But what man could see his own family starve when he
could do something about it?

   Athena started to contact Apollo; she had a terrible sense that he was
going through almost the same thing that she was going through—this
incredible fear and worry. Then she thought for a moment about
Starbuck. No, not that. Now wasn't the time for thinking about Starbuck.
There'd be time later.

  But as soon as she sat at her private console, it warned her that
someone had been trying to get hold of her on her private channel.

  Ten attempts!

  Athena opened the channel; it was the Hestia. Protea!

  "Protea," she said. "I'm so…"

  "Athena, thank the Lords," Protea said. At least, the voice sounded like
Athena's old friend. But her face, her face!

   The hair that Athena remembered as being dark, threaded with silver,
was now dull, steel gray. Protea looked like she could be her own
grandmother.

  "Oh, Protea," Athena said. Her heart jumped. She reached for the
comm and began to call Omega. She'd get Protea over to the Daedalus.

  "We're starving, Athena," Protea said. "I know that if I tell you directly,
you'll help. We've been trying to get messages through for centons, but we
get passed around. We can't…"

   "Food is very short," Athena told her. "Protea, let me…" Again, Athena
reached to call Omega, but Protea interrupted.

   "We've been friends many yahrens," Protea said. Then, she smiled, and
for a moment, the old Protea, the laughing, quick, lithe girl that Athena
remembered always in her heart, came back.

   "Yes," Athena said. "Protea, let me help you!"

  Protea looked over her shoulder. "They're coming," she said. She must
have meant the warriors, to evacuate everyone on Protea's ship.

   "Please, you can come here to the Daedalus. We'll find room for you."

  "If it was just me, I'd consider that," Protea said. "I'm…" and she
paused, sighing. "I'm tired. But it's not just me, Athena. I have my
daughter, yes, but there are thirty others."

   "Your group of children," Athena said. The program Protea had fought
so hard to get going.

   "I can't go anywhere without them," she said. "We'll evacuate. Perhaps
there will be more food on the Rising Star."

   Athena nodded. "Yes," she said. "Apollo has ordered that it be stocked
with sufficient rations."

  "Thank the Lords," Protea said. "Perhaps…" Again, she looked
anxiously over her shoulder.

   "Yes?" Athena asked.

   "I must go," Protea said. "Athena, I've got to tell you. It's not just that
we've been suffering. Some people don't want to…" but she stopped, and a
look of total desperation came over her careworn face.

   "Some people don't want to what?" Athena asked.

   She heard commotion behind Protea.

   "I've got to go. Be well, Athena. I'll probably never see you again."
   "Protea!" Athena cried.

   But the screen went dark.

   ###

   "Tigh, you're amazing!" Apollo cried. Somehow, Tigh had worked out a
plan for both food and fuel rationing. For the time being, it seemed as
though things were stabilizing.

   "Thank you," Tigh said. Apollo grinned at him, and reached out to take
his hand. But both of them turned to face the comm when a red light
flashed.

   It was Sheba.

  "Apollo," Sheba said in her no-nonsense way. "You need to know right
now. We've lost contact with the Viper patrols."

   "Boomer and Bojay?" Apollo asked.

   "Boomer, Bojay, Dalton, Trays and Troy," Sheba said. "We've launched
the other patrols in a search pattern, but so far, there's nothing."

   "Launch second patrols," Apollo said. Tigh immediately went to his
station, glancing only briefly at Apollo in alarm. Apollo turned his
attention back to Sheba. "How? When?"

   "Not long ago. It's this cloud," Sheba said. "It's like flying through
soup."

   "Lords of Kobol," Apollo whispered. He thought of Baltar down in the
brig. Baltar probably knew that this would happen. This had to be one of
the little tidbits that Apollo sensed the old villain was keeping to himself.

   "We've got to be careful, Apollo," Sheba said.

   Apollo thought about that a moment. It was hardly a typical comment
for Sheba to make. "I know," he said.

  "We can only take the Vipers so far. The cloud interferes with
communications, and it's not reliable. There's no way to tell."
  "Apollo," Tigh said, looking over at him, "That plan."

  "Yes?" Apollo said, turning back toward the straight-backed president,
who was still at his most useful on the bridge no matter how hard he
worked with the Council.

   "One launch of an extra patrol of Vipers and there goes our fuel
reserves."

  "Lords," Apollo said under his breath, considering an oath, but the
whole situation was beyond an oath at this point.

   "I know," Apollo said so that Tigh could hear him. "But we haven't got
any choice. Launch the extra patrols. If we don't find those five long-range
Vipers, we'll never find…"

   "Understood," Tigh said. In one micron, Tigh reallocated the fuel
reserves of six civilian ships; in a few centons, their air scrubbers would
stop working. And even the carefully rationed food pellets wouldn't be able
to get to them. There wouldn't be enough fuel for that.

  Wordlessly, Tigh nodded at Apollo.

  Apollo prayed silently, but it felt so empty. And then a wave of pain
came over him. Athena! She was calling, from inside.

  "I have to go," he told Tigh. Somehow he knew that it wouldn't be good
news from the Daedalus, either.

   Starbuck had been harboring hopes of a triad game, but that was kind
of like wishing he'd wake up and find out that he was King of the Universe.
There wasn't too much fun going on anywhere, and Athena was even back
on the Daedalus. Starbuck wasn't quite sure why that bothered him; he
should be more bothered about Dalton out there on that patrol.

   Frack! This cloud was a disaster. He knew that Dalton was okay. It
hadn't been that long since they were out of contact. And Starbuck had
flown in that cloud enough himself to know how crazy it was out there. It
wouldn't be the first time Vipers had lost contact, only to come back
perfectly fine.

  He was telling himself these things, kind of doing a little pep talk to
cheer himself up on the way to the Viper bay when he saw a bunch of
skinny, dirty teenaged girls running in a pack straight toward him.

  "Hey, easy!" he said. But they ignored him, rushing past.

   Shaking his head, Starbuck went on farther. Then he saw the reason
they were running. And figured out why they were whooping and
hollering.

   An old lady was slumped in the corridor. Blood stained her wild white
hair and ran down her face.

  "Oh, frack!" Starbuck said, kneeling beside her.

   "Help me," the old lady said. Starbuck put his arm around her. He
struggled to understand. How? Why?

   "Girls!" he called after the fleeing crowd. "Stop!" The old lady really
needed help. Torn for a moment, unable to decide, he lost valuable
microns. By the time he stood and got out his laser pistol, looking at it
with wide eyes—the whole idea of discharging it after a bunch of teenage
criminals on the Galactica was totally insane—the girls had disappeared,
giggling and bloody-handed, before he could reach them.

  "Thank you," the old lady said, and she started to cry.

  "Oh, frack," Starbuck said, feeling as out of place and helpless as he
would have felt if she had been a baby. How was he supposed to help her?
Carry her to sickbay—that was it?

  She didn't weigh much; Starbuck was glad about that.

  "You're a hero," she said.

   Normally, Starbuck blossomed with any type of praise, but he felt
horrible. He hadn't realized anything was wrong; it wasn't like you saw
teenaged girls running around acting crazy on the Galactica, but then,
Starbuck had seen and heard a lot of weird things since the fleet had been
thrown into this disaster.

   Now they were at the door to sickbay, but Cassiopeia was nowhere to
be seen.
   Dr. Salik's clerk didn't act much like Starbuck was a hero. Things were
just too…

    Starbuck suddenly took in the whole scene. You're about as smart as a
daggit, he said to himself. Starbuck, what type of fantasy world were you
living in while all this was going on? Not like you didn't get really familiar
with the whole sickbay routine, but…

   It crossed Starbuck's mind that maybe the old lady would have been
better off back in the corridor.

   "Ma'am, we'll get you some help," he told her, but he felt like a liar. The
clerk was still glaring furiously at him. The uproar was deafening. Sick
and injured people huddled on the floor, every bed was filled, and
Starbuck spotted one medtech who he'd always thought was good-looking
hunched over a crying child, stroking her hair and saying, "I know your
head hurts. We'll get you some more medicine soon."

   The medtech turned, noticing Starbuck, meeting his eyes. Starbuck
realized from her expression that there wasn't more medicine for the
crying kid. Where was Cassiopeia? Doctor Salik? The medtech wasn't
good-looking at all right then. Her hair hung limply and her tunic was
stained with blood and other fluids Starbuck didn't want to know about.
She said nothing.

   "Another one?" the clerk asked in a cold tone. "By Kobol, not another."

  "Some girls," Starbuck said. "They attacked her and robbed her. I tried
to—"

   "There's no more room in the brig than there is here," the clerk
snapped.

    "I guess not," Starbuck said, smiling. This time, his smile didn't work at
all. But the medtech who used to be a nice-looking woman wasn't dead at
heart. Soon, she was at the old lady's side, and even found a place for her,
far in the back where Starbuck carried the old lady and laid her down.

   Starbuck stayed, and did what he could to help. With no training and
no medicine and no more beds, there wasn't much he could do. Wasn't
much any of them could do.
   "Baltar understands," Apollo told Athena. "I don't know why, but he's
got the answers that we need."

  "He's evil," Athena said, simply.

  "I'm going to let him out of the brig," Apollo told her.

  Then, Athena told Apollo about the Hestia and her friend Protea.

   "She was about to tell me something, Apollo. They were starving, she
said. But there was more to it."

  "Tigh and I worked it out," Apollo told Athena. "You've got things
squared away on the Daedalus. We've rationed everything down to the last
ounce of fuel, and the last…"

   "I know," Athena said. "But we're at bare minimum. Everybody is.
Apollo, I'm not sure what she was trying to say. It was almost like she
thought she was going to her death!"

   "Everyone's under stress," Apollo said. "We've had to…" He told Athena
of Tigh's orders; how the search for the lost patrol had destroyed the
delicate balance of food and fuel.

  "No matter how bad it gets, I can't believe that Baltar's the answer,
Apollo," Athena said. "He's evil through and through."

  "Not any more," Apollo said. Athena's eyes went completely wide.

  "Apollo, I trust you," she said. "It's Baltar that I can never trust."

   The leadership of the Galactica and the fleet was a responsibility Apollo
had aspired to all his life; a responsibility that Baltar had wanted so
desperately and bitterly that the overwhelming need for it had driven him
to evil; a responsibility that Athena was fit for, and one she would have
taken in an instant if ever it had fallen to her.

  "I'm going to release him under my supervision,""Apollo said.

  "Don't do it, Apollo," Athena told him. "Baltar will only make things
worse."

  "My heart is telling me this is right," Apollo said. "Baltar knows
something. He'll never tell sitting there in the brig."

   At that moment, Starbuck burst in. He'd heard quite a bit.

   "Do what?" Starbuck asked, eyes blazing. "Maybe he'll rob an old lady,
too." Starbuck was still burning from the incident with the old woman.

  "Apollo, how could Baltar help?" Athena said. "He's always torn people
apart, never brought them together."

   "Listen to your sister," Starbuck said.

   Apollo stood, turning away from the screen with Athena's face, and
from Starbuck. He thought, long and hard. He was going to have to make
more choices, choices none of them would like.

  "I'll put a tracking and security shackle on his ankle," Apollo told
Athena, turning back.

   "Oh, so then you can be his nursemaid while he goes around sabotaging
the Galactica!" Starbuck cried.

   Athena felt Apollo's mind at that moment. The understanding that had
grown so deep between them flickered. Athena had never thought, not for
a micron, that Baltar could be trusted, but she saw into Apollo's heart at
that moment. She could never trust Baltar, but she knew Apollo's every
fiber, and some of the vision that he had—that he couldn't explain, but
knew in his heart—came into her heart.

   Starbuck continued complaining, but Athena said, "Starbuck!" in a
loud, firm voice. One glance at her expression, and Starbuck fell silent.

   "Hey," he said, shrugging. "I don't get it, but you two are in charge."

  "I'm going to see Baltar," Apollo announced. Athena nodded. After
Apollo left, she kept the connection open. She missed Starbuck. It was so
hard, with her on the Daedalus, and Starbuck on the Galactica.

  "I don't understand all of it," she told Starbuck. "But we've got to trust
Apollo. Baltar is some type of key, even if we would both love to carve him
up and jettison the bits out to freeze in this cursed cloud."

   "Yeah," Starbuck said, trying to smile. "Maybe Apollo will see the error
of his ways and we'll get to chop Baltar into daggit food after all."

  Suddenly, an alarm went off. Starbuck looked around; Athena turned
back to work.

   "Got to go," she said.

   "Me, too," he told her. That was all they had time for.

   It was the refugees from the Hestia on the barge, in transit to the
Rising Star. It was unbelievable, but they were signaling that they were
out of fuel. Adrift, helpless, on battery power, with the air growing bad. It
was impossible!

   "Starbuck, get your Vipers out there. They're…"

   "I'm gone!" he cried, running out at full speed.

    "I can't understand it," Athena said softly. "How could the barge be out
of fuel?"

  They were closer to the Galactica than to Daedalus. Now, the only hope
was that the Vipers could reach them with extra fuel before the barge's air
went bad. They were still centons from the Rising Star. She prayed to the
Lords of Kobol that Starbuck would be fast enough.

  Protea's words echoed. She'd been so sad; she said that she wouldn't see
Athena again. Athena's heart shuddered. She hoped it wouldn't be true.
How could it?

   Baltar knew how it felt to have eyes cast upon him in hatred.

   "How does it feel?" he asked Apollo as Apollo knelt and fastened the
security device around Baltar's ankle. It was cold and dark; that was
because Baltar was right where he was supposed to be, and Apollo was
right there with him.

   "What do you mean?" Apollo asked, looking up into Baltar's dark,
brooding face.

   "To have people hate you," Baltar said.

   "Hate me?" Apollo asked. But he felt a sudden quick jolt of fear. Not
anger—fear.

  "People blamed me for the destruction of Caprica," Baltar said.

   Apollo almost laughed. If there was any older news, Apollo didn't know
what it would be. Baltar was still hashing over his treachery all those years
ago!

   "Do their eyes burn into you when you walk past, Apollo? Can you feel
their resentment like a… shroud?"

   Apollo snapped the device closed. He was rougher than he should have
been, but now he was angry with Baltar. There wasn't time for game
playing or Baltar's usual lies. They had to…

  "People hate you, Apollo. For what you've done."

  "What?" Apollo asked. "What are you talking about?"

   "You don't need me to advise you on what's happening," Baltar said. "A
blind man could see."

  "We're having a lot of problems," Apollo said.

  Baltar smiled.

  "I never knew you to be good at understatement before," he said.

  "You're enjoying this!" Apollo cried, springing away from Baltar. "I
should never have…"

  "No," Baltar said in a gentle voice. His expression looked almost… wise.

  Apollo struggled to understand, struggled to see into Baltar's
mysterious expression and into his twisted, obsessed heart.

   "I won't enjoy walking to my quarters with you, Apollo," Baltar said. "I
am grateful for your trust, and that you have released me. And I will take
no pleasure in feeling the hatred of the people-directed at your back,
friend, and not at mine. For once, not at mine."

   Apollo tried to answer, but the old villain had completely struck him
silent. What could anybody say to something like that?
  Especially since it was true.
                          Chapter Two
   WE'VE GOT a problem down here," Starbuck barked to Tigh on the
bridge.

  "I see that, Colonel," Tigh snapped back. "You should have reserves in
Bay Three. Load that. Get over to the…"

   "I'm in Bay Three," Starbuck said, feeling his temples throbbing.
"There's nothing here. They said it's been gone a long time. They can't
even remember…"

   "Starbuck, I was standing right there when Apollo ordered two dozen
fuel cells allocated to Bay Three as reserves. Now, you've been known to
make…"

  "I'm telling you, there's…" Starbuck thought his head really would
explode. Was Tigh really turning into a real bureaucrat? "Maybe it's Bay
Four," Starbuck said.

   "It's Bay Three," Tigh said, his voice ragged with exhaustion and sharp
with irritation.

  "Tigh, I'm down here and…"

  Apollo rushed onto the bridge at that moment and stepped beside Tigh.

   "Starbuck, why haven't you launched the Vipers to get that fuel over to
the barge?" he demanded.

   "I've been trying to explain to Tigh here that these reserves just aren't
here. There's a bunch of empty cells and that's it. I can't dump what we've
got in the Vipers, can I? It'll…"

  Apollo broke in. "Starbuck, I know you're not blind. There are two
dozen reserve fuel cells in Bay Three. I had them personally…"

  "Apollo, listen!" Starbuck cried. "There's nothing here."

  "I gave that order," Apollo said.
    Starbuck tried to think of the right thing to say. He was staring straight
at an empty bay, with a few old cells lying on their sides, and a bunch of
engineers and part-time Viper pilots shifting from foot to foot and looking
like they'd rather be anywhere but in that bay with Colonel Starbuck,
listening to that conversation.

   "Commander Apollo wants to know where those cells are!" Starbuck
cried. He didn't want to look at the time. He knew in his blood that time
was running out for those refugees. And the air, too.

  "We don't know," said one of the engineers. "We never had two dozen to
begin with. Not in the reserve. We put what we had in…"

  The patrol's out looking for Dalton, Troy and Trays, Starbuck realized.
You couldn't split yourself in two and be in two places at once, he thought.
Just like you couldn't fuel a Viper with the last cell you had, and then fuel
a…

  "Frack!" he cried. "Did you hear…"

  "I heard," Apollo said. The silence hung between them.

  "I'm taking the Vipers out anyway," Starbuck said. "Maybe we can…"

  "Kill yourselves and everyone on that barge, too?" Apollo asked.

  "We can. I don't know, Apollo. Maybe between all of the Vipers, we can
work something out. We can use inertia, slingshot off each other to get
back. The Daedalus is…"

   "Athena's sending Vipers, too," Apollo said. "But since we're using the
sub-light speeds, there's no way they can reach them. They're much closer
to us. Starbuck, where's that fuel?"

   Starbuck looked around the bay; it was so empty that he felt like his
ragged breaths were echoing. The others backed away from him. They
might have lost track of the reserve fuel cells for some reason that nobody
was willing to admit, but none of them were stupid. Anybody could have
figured out that Starbuck was ready to explode.

  "Starbuck, they've got about thirty centons!" Apollo said.
  "I'm launching the Vipers," Starbuck said, breaking the connection.

  "Starbuck!" Apollo cried, but he was already gone.

  Apollo looked at Tigh, who looked back, his face full of apprehension.

   . "Starbuck can buy them a few centons," Tigh said in a disheartened
voice.

   "Apollo," Athena's voice broke in from the bridge of the Daedalus. "I've
got Vipers headed toward the barge, but their ETA is one centar, thirty
centons."

  "Okay, Athena," Apollo said. Again, he and Tigh looked at each other.
Even if Starbuck got there and somehow transferred the Vipers' fuel to the
barge. It was still half a centar too late.

   Starbuck had never felt old before. It wasn't so much that he felt old
right then, but his legs weren't moving right. Like his feet had gravity
boots on them. Only there was nothing on them except his regular boots,
the ones he wore every day.

   It had been bad enough having to tell Athena that the fuel wasn't even
close to enough to save that barge.

  His mind couldn't deal with it. He knew what had happened. He saw it.
He was there. He sat there and listened to the whole thing.

  First there were cheers.

  Then there was a lot of confusion.

  Then there were curses, when it was obvious that the Vipers couldn't
buy the barge more than a few centons of air.

  It just didn't make any sense. Fuel leak, they said. The barge had been
checked out before it set off from the Daedalus to that ship, Hestia. They
hadn't gone off course; in fact, they'd gotten a few lucky breaks along the
way, gotten there faster than they'd expected.

  Twenty crew, the captain, the first officer, and two hundred from the
Hestia.
  Athena's friend was on that ship. Athena wanted to know right away.
And they sat there and they all listened while the barge died.

  The worst of it had been someone banging on the hull. The comm went
down, thank the Lords of Kobol, before the last of the air went, but there
was banging. Clang! Clang! Clang!

   And after a few centons, even that went away.

   Athena never cried. Starbuck sat there and ripped off his comm so she
wouldn't hear him swearing. She didn't need that. He listened to her cry
when the last of the clangs stopped and no more came. It was her friend;
she said she was angry, but Starbuck knew that she was grieving, too.
After all they'd been through, to have those people go like that…

   Apollo wanted to talk to Starbuck. Starbuck didn't know how he felt
right then. He just knew that his legs weren't moving right and he had a
blank spot in his chest. It was a little bit hard to breathe.

   Tigh and Apollo were on the bridge. Starbuck thought that Apollo
looked about as bad as Starbuck felt.

   He went up to his friend. They both stood there, facing each other.
What could somebody say after something like that? Some heroes,
Starbuck thought. There wasn't anything much less heroic than what had
just happened.

   "I'm sorry," Apollo said. He put his hand on Starbuck's shoulder.
Starbuck looked into Apollo's eyes.

  "No, I'm sorry," Starbuck said. "I should have been able to save them.
We should have been able to…"

   "It's not your fault," Apollo said. "I gave those orders for those reserves
to be put in Bay Three. I don't know what went wrong," he said.

   Starbuck shook his head. "I don't, either. I swear, none of those guys
down there had any clue. That really was the first they'd heard of it. I'd
stake a month's pay on it."

   Apollo shook his head. They stepped apart. It seemed
disrespectful—wrong, even—to be talking about something like this in the
wake of that kind of disaster.

   They both walked to the comm.

   "It's Athena," Tigh said.

   Athena's face appeared; she looked calm, but Apollo knew right away
what she had suffered from the look in her eyes. He glanced over at
Starbuck, wondering if Starbuck realized.

   "This doesn't make any sense," Athena said. "I've checked the manifests
for that barge. They were fully-operational and fully-fueled before they left
for the Hestia."

    "They said, before…" Starbuck cleared his throat. "The captain said
that the monitors were showing them at 6O°/o fuel when they just
stopped. He had them check manually and they were bone dry. Nothing
left."

   "That's insane," Athena said. "That's just about impossible."

   "I agree," Tigh said. "Unless the crew was totally incompetent or out of
their minds. Who could misread fuel like that?"

   "I take responsibility. They launched from Daedalus," Athena said.

   "No," Apollo said. "It's all my responsibility. I gave the orders for those
reserves to be held. They should have been there. If they were, we could
have solved the problem, no matter what the cause."

   "Apollo, it was a horrible accident," Tigh said.

   "We've got to investigate," Apollo told Tigh. "This makes no sense at all
no matter how we look at it. Those people died for…"

   "Indeed!" came a voice, low, cultured and modulated.

   Apollo, Tigh and Starbuck turned to see an infrequent visitor to the
bridge. Sire Aron, the most powerful of the civilians on the Council of
Twelve. Aron had been on the Council since the earliest days after the
fleet's escape from the destruction of Caprica, but it was only since
Adama's death that he had become more influential.
   "This is a horrible tragedy," Aron said. "Two hundred men, women and
children, plus the crew."

   "Yes," Apollo said. "We'll discover the cause."

  "I hope so," Aron said. "I hope that you will come to the Council, Apollo.
We would like to speak with you."

  "Of course," Apollo said. Tigh looked over at him, his eyes flashing
warnings, but Apollo nodded toward the council member.

   "I'll investigate and report," Tigh said, stepping forward.

   "I know that you will, President Tigh," Sire Aron said, smiling in a sad,
forlorn way. "But at this point, the Council would like to speak with
Commander Apollo."

   "We have information from the Daedalus," Athena said, breaking in.
The connection was still open, and she could see and hear everything.
Aron's white eyebrows raised in surprise; apparently, he hadn't realized
that they were speaking with her from the bridge of the Daedalus.

  "Oh, of course," Aron said. "Thank you. I have heard that you knew
some of the people on that barge… the evacuees."

   "Yes," Athena said. "I'm sure others lost friends as well. My first officer
here also lost people."

   "Ah," Aron said. "This is a great tragedy."

  "Yes," Athena said. "It is. Now, if you excuse me, I have a ship to run."
She broke her transmission.

  Briefly shaking everyone's hand, Aron turned and left as quickly as he
came. As soon as the doors slid shut, Starbuck turned to Apollo.

   "I don't like that guy," he said.

   Apollo shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "He and my father never
got along, but he's got a certain dignity. I think he's genuinely concerned."

   "Apollo, let me deal with the Council," Tigh said.
  "No," Apollo said, smiling gently at Tigh. "The Council needs to
understand our full situation. And I need to be the one to tell them."

  As soon as Apollo started off the bridge, another alarm went off.

   "Frack!" Starbuck said. He was standing beside Tigh; Tigh had
muttered something about the reserve fuel cells having to be somewhere,
and Starbuck was burning to find out where they'd gotten off to, and
thinking about what he'd do to the idiot who'd misplaced them.

   It was the head of the security team on the Rising Star, and he was in
the middle of a firefight.

   "They've taken six of our guards prisoner. They're holding them in the
casino and threatening to execute them if we don't release a secton's
worth of food. They say we have real food on the Galactica, too—they don't
believe it's just pellets."

  Apollo ran back, standing beside Tigh and Starbuck.

  "Can you hold your position, Lieutenant?" Apollo asked.

   "Yeah," the man said. Then he seemed to realize whom he was talking
to and said, "I mean yes, sir."

  "Lieutenant, who is 'they'?" Apollo asked.

   "Rebels, sir. They're everywhere. They're organized. The leader's
called…" And then the transmission broke up.

   Apollo waited, pounding his fist on the comm. "Come on!" he said. As if
on cue, the transmission returned.

   "They call him Jinkrat… plenty of weapons and they're holed up in the
casino, but they're raiding… through the ship. We knew there were a lot of
problems, but we never…" The transmission didn't break up, but the man
stopped, and Tigh, Apollo and Starbuck listened to the whine of laser fire.
Then, the Lieutenant was back.

  "We can hold, sir, but I've got to go. Report back in… centons."

   "Thank you," Apollo said. But the transmission went out with a fierce
crackle.
   "Well, that's just great," Starbuck said. "Jinkrat! What kind of name is
that? I suppose they'll want some Pyramid decks to restock the casino,
some dancing girls and…"

  "Starbuck!" Apollo cried. He couldn't help but grin; although there
wasn't anything to laugh about at all.

  "Has anyone ever told you that your sense of humor is hardly
appropriate, Starbuck?" Tigh growled.

  "Don't get your pants in a knot just because you got President tagged
onto your name," Starbuck shot back.

   Apollo watched in astonishment as Tigh's brows lowered, his dark eyes
flashed, and his fists balled at his side. "Starbuck," Tigh growled.

  "Tigh," Starbuck said, dragging out Tigh's name and grinning.

  Then Tigh suddenly laughed, short and sharp. "I should break your
nose," he said.

  "You could try," Starbuck replied.

   Apollo grabbed both of his friends' arms and brought their hands
together.

   "I need you both right now," he said. "I'd rather face fifty squadrons of
battle-crazed Cylons than that Council," he said.

  "We have rebels, too," Tigh said.

  Apollo nodded. "I know," he said. "But let's see what we can do with the
Council first."

  Then, Athena was back, calling them all back.

  "That was quick!" Starbuck said.

  "I didn't want to keep talking with Council member Aron there,"
Athena said.

  Apollo felt waves of anxiety coming from his sister's face. "What do you
mean?" he said.
   "I'm probably just thrown off because of everything that's happened,"
she said. "I just didn't have a good feeling when he was there. And Omega
had some more news about the barge."

   "What's that?" Apollo asked.

   "They triple-checked," Athena said. "Triple-checked the fuel before they
left. I've got the records right here."

   "It's just impossible," Tigh said.

   "You're telling me," Athena said. "Omega's on it, though. We got the
transmission from the Rising Star, too. Let me take a team over there and
get this calmed down while you see to the Council. I think that Dr. Salik
can spare Cassi, too, so we'll meet her from the Galactica on the way.
There are already injured."

  "Good," Apollo said. At least this way some people would get some help.
He was still reeling from the loss of those refugees.

   "Hey," Starbuck said. "Athena, are you…"

   "Starbuck, don't tell me what I can and cannot do," Athena snapped.

   "I didn't mean that," Starbuck said.

   "Well, what did you mean?" Athena demanded.

   "We can't fight," Apollo broke in. "Starbuck, cut it out. Tigh, let's get
going."

   "Apollo, do well," Athena told him.

  Starbuck lingered, looking at her image for a moment, then he turned
and followed Tigh and Apollo from the bridge.

   Don't tell Athena what to do! As if he would, even if he could!

   "Apollo, is it my imagination, or is Athena more on edge than usual
lately?" Starbuck asked Apollo as the trio headed toward the Council
chambers.

   "Starbuck," Apollo said, shaking his head. Even Tigh laughed.
  "I would rather fight you than Athena," Tigh said in a deadpan voice.

   "I don't know about me," Starbuck snapped back, "But I'm not
surprised to hear that you're scared to fight a woman."

   "Cut it out!" Apollo cried. They were all three somewhat composed as
they entered the Council chambers.

   "You know, Apollo," Starbuck said as he entered. "I was thinking. That
barge. There's no way any crew could be that confused. They had to have
set out with a lot less fuel than they thought they had. They would have
noticed any leak a lot sooner. I don't think there was a leak; we didn't get
anything off the sensors. It's like a… plot. One of Baltar's plots."

  "Baltar's under control," Apollo said. The doors were opening to the
council chamber.

  "Apollo," Starbuck said, but Apollo quieted him with a brief gesture.

   "We can't worry about Baltar now," Apollo said. He thought of Baltar's
dark, twisted face and deep, frightening eyes. Maybe Baltar was
responsible, in some way. Maybe Apollo had been wrong to let Baltar out
with just that security device around his ankle. A little premonition of
danger and betrayal played up and down Apollo's spine. It wasn't like
Baltar had been of any help so far—not with anything.

  Maybe he should be back in the brig, chained, where not even his
guards could speak to him. Talking too much to Baltar just wasn't safe.

   But Apollo had freed him. The intuition that had prompted him to do
that had been a sure one, a powerful conviction. But he still had doubts
about it. Now that he wasn't looking straight at Baltar, Apollo wondered
how he could have imagined that Baltar was anything but a poisonous
snake.

   As they entered the sumptuous chambers, Apollo thought about the
Council, and how they'd never done anything but make trouble for
Galactica and the fleet. If they had their way, they would have talked and
talked until not a single ship would have escaped the Cylons back when
Caprica was being destroyed, much less the carnage they'd survived since.

  But the Council existed, and just like his father before him, Apollo had
to shoulder the responsibility of dealing with these so-called friends who'd
never acted like anything but enemies in their midst.

   "Apollo!" Sire Aron cried, walking toward the three of them, smiling,
his arms open wide in an expansive, gracious greeting.

   Athena arrived on the Rising Star with the best squadron of warriors
from the Daedalus. She wondered briefly how Apollo was faring with the
Council. Cassiopeia had met the Daedalus transport halfway and she was
right beside Athena, carrying her medkit.

   As they entered the Rising Star, the stink was the first thing that
Athena noticed. The dirty air, poorly scrubbed, the whole system under
the stress of the hundreds of refugees that had been taken to the formerly
beautiful recreation ship. The very walls had been torn apart, as if their
formerly rich coverings had been cannibalized. It smelled of fire, sweat,
and human waste. A body slumped in the docking bay; it stank so badly
that there was no telling how long it had been there. It was a man, of
middle age, wearing the short jacket of an agriculturalist. His dead hand
clutched at the ruined deck.

  They had a long way to go to reach the existing security team, two
decks away, not far from the rebel's base in the casino.

  Cassi put her hand to her mouth and started toward the man, but she
paused, looking up at Athena, her eyes wide. The man had been reaching
toward something at the moment of his death. Not a weapon, but
something that Athena at once recognized: a soft toy daggit. A child's toy,
now torn and blackened from laser fire. When he had died, the man had
been carrying it, or had been trying to get it. Where was his child now?
What had happened on this ship?

  The stench was so strong that they all covered their faces.

   Seeing Cassi's fear and grief-filled eyes, Athena wondered what Cassi
thought about her and Starbuck—the whole thing—maybe she ought to
say something to Cassi. Death was real, all around them, and maybe she'd
never get another chance to talk to Cassi, tell her that she didn't resent
Cassi's relationship with Starbuck, and she hoped that Cassi wouldn't, but
those thoughts were forgotten in a micron.

  They were under attack!
   Cassi ducked, her soft blond hair falling like wings over her face.
Athena crouched beside the half-open docking bay doors, firing down the
corridor in the direction of the blinding laser flashes, using all her
experience and training. Instinctively, she protected Cassi with her body.
The others, even exhausted and drained as they were, both men and
women, old and young, had spread out, immediately laying down heavy
fire without Athena issuing an order.

   Perhaps the dead man had been killed when the guards had been
captured. And those guards had not gone without a fight. Athena
remembered the last time she'd visited the Rising Star, the luxurious
docking bay had been filled with happy, smiling people, visiting for some
badly needed R&R. Now she was fighting for her life in a burned-out
wreck, the beautiful walls pitted by laser blasts, blackened and destroyed.

  "Put down your weapons!" she cried.

  The only answer was another barrage of laser fire.

   They had no lack of firepower. Arming the civilians had been a
necessity as the battles with the Cylons and Chitain had raged. Now, those
same weapons were being turned against Athena and the Colonial
Warriors. But the opposing fire became sporadic, with long breaks
between bluefire blasts. She motioned silently for the others to advance; if
they weren't going to respond at all, the rebels would have to be taken out.

  "Run for it!" she heard someone cry. It wasn't on their side—the voice
came from down the hall, barely audible over the whining blasts.

   All at once, it was just Athena's force from Galactica firing. Athena
raised her hand to stop the fire. She listened; there were footsteps echoing
down the hall.

   "After them!" she cried. With a brief look at Cassi, she told the medtech
to stay put. Athena led the charge down the corridor.

   Soon, she saw the back of one of the rebels. It looked like a boy, hardly
more than twelve yahrens, and he wasn't running very fast. As his long
gray cloak swirled, she saw the reason why: He'd been hit.

  The boy stumbled, then went down on one knee, crying out in pain.
  "Don't kill me!" he said, his voice full of fear. As Athena reached him
and knelt down, he drew something out of his cloak.

  A Battlestar-issued laser pistol, aimed right at her face.

   His face was thin and pale, but streaked with smoke and dirt. His hand
trembled.

  "Don't touch me!" he cried.

  "Give me that," Athena said. She didn't think that she sounded hard or
mean, but she saw his eyes widen and his jaw harden.

  "I mean it!" he said. His hand was shaking like he was piloting an
out-of-control Viper.

    The others gathered around; the boy was covered. He was desperate,
but not stupid. He pointed the pistol at her one final time, then his arm
fell limply to his side, and his fingers released its grip—Athena took the
weapon. As soon as she touched it, he tried to scramble away, once more
crying out.

   "Cassi come quick!" Athena cried. "This boy has been hurt." Athena
moved aside to let Cassi look at the boy. He was badly hurt, Athena
realized, but tough. He wasn't crying, even though "the enemy"
surrounded him. What kind of people, she wondered, would send a boy
out like that to fight Colonial Warriors?

   "What's your name?" Cassi asked, kneeling by him and gently
examining his wounded leg. It was badly burned, but with Athena's long
experience, she knew he'd be all right with the proper treatment, a few
sectars' rest, and the proper food. But even with the team there, it wasn't
likely he'd get any of that.

  "I won't tell," he said, closing his eyes and shuddering from the pain as
Cassi probed his wound.

  "We're here to help everyone," Athena said. "This trouble won't get
anybody anywhere, and people will only get hurt."

  "I don't believe you," the boy said.
   Then his face twisted and he almost snarled at Athena. "You killed my
brother!" he cried, struggling. For a brief moment, Athena wondered if
he'd been one of the kids on the Hestia, but that was impossible; Protea
and all the others had suffocated, only centars before.

   Cassi put out her hand, trying to gently calm the boy, but he pulled his
shoulders away from her. She looked up at Athena, her eyes confused and
full of trepidation.

  "I can't have killed your brother," Athena said. "I don't even know him.
We've come…"

   "No!" the boy cried. Again, he tried to struggle to his feet, but the pain
held him down as effectively as if the other warriors had gathered around
to restrain him. Some of them looked like they wanted to, but Athena
didn't know what to make of the boy, and would not see him handled
roughly. With a single gesture, she held them all back.

   "My brother died because there wasn't any medicine. There was the big
battle, and we all prayed for a healer," the boy said.

  "I'm a healer," Cassi said. "I'm here now."

  "We've brought her," Athena said. "We want to…"

  "Ow!" the boy cried as Cassi probed the grievous wound on his leg as
gently as she could.

   "I'm sorry," Cassi said, stroking the dark hair away from his face. The
boy's eyes opened and he looked up at Cassi. Athena realized once more
how Cassi had the healing gift, because a small smile crossed the boy's
face, and he tried to be brave once more.

   "Just let me take care of him," Cassi said, looking up at Athena. "I can
get him stabilized; there'll be time for questions later."

  "We don't have time for that," Athena said.

   Cassi's large, bright eyes flashed. She was gentle most of the time, but
even Athena had to grant that Cassiopeia had a temper when someone
came between her and a patient. And right now, as usual, Athena was
acting like a cold-blooded, unsympathetic person.
  "We came here to take care of people," Cassi said.

   "We didn't exactly get the welcome committee," Athena said
stubbornly. But she turned and ordered two of the warriors to stay with
Cassi and the boy.

  "Get him stable," she told Cassi, trying not to sound too harsh.

  "And you, boy," Athena said, kneeling close to the stubborn child,
"You'll talk later. We're going after this rebel Jinkrat."

  The boy's eyes widened. "No!" he cried.

  "What?" Athena asked.

   "You can't," the boy said. "He's my—" and then the boy fell silent. "I
don't trust you," he said after a micron. "You killed my brother. I was right
there. I saw it."

   "What are you talking about?" Athena demanded, not caring right then
that she'd pushed Cassi aside and interrupted her examination.

   The reconnaissance team was all ears, too, but Athena didn't have time
to worry about any of the niceties.

   "My—Jinkrat—says you have all the food. He's going to get the Council
to get us what's ours, and forget about the warriors and the Galactica."

  "He says that, does he?" Athena turned to face the warriors. She
nodded. Now this rebel Jinkrat was in real trouble.

   "Yeah," the boy said. "When…" and again the boy paused, seeming to
think for a moment, "When Jinkrat talks, people listen. We don't have
anything to eat, and there's no healers." He leaned back against Cassi, his
face suddenly white with pain.

  "Does this Jinkrat know who he's dealing with?" Athena asked.

   The boy looked up at her, nodding. "I know who you are," he said. "I've
seen your picture."

  "You do?" Athena asked, sitting back and putting her hands on her
knees. This really was some kid.
   "You're Commander Apollo's sister. Commander of the Daedalus!
My—Jinkrat—says Apollo's history. He got us into this trouble and he's
been taking all the food for himself. He made those people die on that
ship—they were on their way here. And Apollo killed my brother. As sure
as he put a laser blast into him. And you did, too!"

   "Is that what everyone thinks?" Athena asked.

  "Let him be," Cassi said. "He's becoming unstable with all these
questions." She showed Athena the flashing medical analyzer.

  "Cassi, we can't sit around on our astrums chatting. I need information,
now!"

   "Athena!" Cassi cried.

   Looking back down at the boy, Athena could hardly believe what she
saw. His eyes were closed tight, and it looked like, after everything that
had happened, he'd reached the end of his self-control. He was going to
break down. He didn't cry, but he opened his eyes wide and reached up
toward Athena with a trembling arm.

   "Wait!" he cried. "My name's Koren," he said. "My dad, my dad's a
good man. He doesn't want nobody to get hurt. He doesn't want nobody
else to die."

    "Lie still, Koren," Cassi said, comforting the boy. "I'm sure your father's
a fine man."

    Athena felt rage building up inside. How dare this rebel Jinkrat send a
boy like this out to fight? And these lies about Apollo? Convincing the boy
that Apollo was responsible for his brother's death—killing the refugees!
That was a tragedy—unavoidable—and what was this about stealing food?
It reminded her of Baltar—that was something he'd pull.

  Only now it sounded like they had a new enemy to deal with, and he
was ruthless, just like Baltar.

  Cassi held Koren close to her and stroked his hair, whispering words of
comfort in his ear.

   "You can't do any more, Koren," Athena told him. "None of those things
you said are true, but it's not your fault. You've been very brave. I'm proud
of you," she said. Koren looked over Cassi's shoulder at Athena. She saw
the uncertainty in his tear-filled eyes. He was taking a chance—he didn't
know that he could trust Athena—a terrible chance. Looking at his thin
face, she wondered how long it had been since he'd had any rations. The
whole thing was so twisted, stupid, and evil she had to believe that it was
somehow Baltar's doing.

  Apollo should never have let Baltar free.

   "Get a message back to the Galactica and Daedalus about what we've
found," Athena ordered one of her team.

  "Please, listen," Koren said.

  Athena turned back.

   "My dad doesn't know I was fighting," he said. "He'll be… he'll be
grateful that you helped me."

  "I'm sure he will," Cassi said, continuing to stabilize and treat the boy.

  "Koren, you're only eleven yahrens," Athena said. "Of course your father
wouldn't…"

  "I'm twelve!" Koren exclaimed.

  Athena had to force herself not to laugh. This boy reminded her of
Boxey! So proud, so heedless of danger, so impulsive.

  "You have to promise not to tell my dad," Koren said.

   "I can't promise to lie, Koren. But we'll get you back to the Galactica for
treatment, and have you back here with your dad. By that time, this
rebellion will be stopped," Athena said.

  "No!" Koren cried.

   Athena turned to Cassiopeia. "Cassi, get the boy back to the shuttle,"
she told the medtech. "See that he's comfortable and get him something to
eat."

  Koren's face changed in an instant at the thought of having something
to eat.

   Athena didn't have much more time to think of him as she gathered the
warriors to go after the rebel, Jinkrat. She didn't know what they'd find.
The welcoming committee had robbed her team of the element of
surprise, but she didn't know any group of ragtag colonists who could
stand up to them.

   "Come on," she said to the others. "Let's go find this Jinkrat and put a
stop to this."

   The warriors looked between each other.

   "You should call him first," Koren said.

   "What?" Athena said, turning.

   "I can give you the frequency," Koren said.

  "You can?" Athena asked, again fighting back laughter and shaking her
head at the boy's naive, but bold, nature.

  "Sure," Koren said. "Jinkrat's my—Jinkrat's my dad!" he blurted. "But
you have to promise not tell him that I was fighting. Please?" the boy
begged. Athena walked back to the boy, her head spinning.

   "Your… father?" she said slowly.

   "That's right," Koren said. "My dad's a hero. And besides, when he
talks, people listen. So you should talk to him!"

   Athena watched the rebel leader as he approached, surrounded by
grim-faced and ragged—but heavily armed—men and women.

   His face was worn, heavily lined. A fresh scar snaked across his right
cheek. He was tall, but not as tall as Apollo, and slightly more heavily built.
She found it hard to judge the man's age, but guessed that he'd been very
young when the fleet had fled the Cylon destruction of the twelve colonies.
Like the dead man whose hand had been reaching for the toy daggit,
Jinkrat wore the fitted jacket of the agriculturalist, but pockets had been
added for munitions. Jinkrat bristled with weapons, but he did not wear
them as a man who was either comfortable or used to them.
  He wasn't smiling.

   As he approached, the Colonial Warriors stood ready, rifles and pistols
aimed at rebel heads and chests.

  The rebels in turn looked ready to fire at a micron's notice.

   "So, you wish to take another son of mine," Jinkrat said. That was his
greeting. There was little anger in his voice, more of grief and sadness.

   "No," Athena said. "We came to talk. Cassiopeia is a healer; she has
already been…"

   Jinkrat regarded Cassiopeia, and a brief smile crossed his face. "You
are of Gemoni," he said to her.

  Cassi's lovely face showed a frown, and then she smiled. "Yes, and you?"

  Jinkrat nodded. "I was an agriculturalist. Before—the trouble," he said.

  "I was not always a healer," Cassi said, but that was all she said. Athena
watched as a kind of silent communication passed between the two.

   "I see," Jinkrat said, his voice heavy with sadness and exhaustion. "You
do not come exclusively to murder."

   "No!" Athena said. "We wanted to talk. You have hostages. We've got
to…"

  "I'll take my boy," Jinkrat said, seemingly uninterested in a word
Athena had to offer.

  "He's hurt," Cassi said, stepping forward. "You can see how seriously.
We must take him back to the Galactica for treatment. I can't treat him
here. This is for Dr. Salik to…"

  "Yes," Jinkrat said curtly. "I see he's in need of a doctor."

   Then he went to Koren's side, brushing through his armed rebels as if
they were children, ignoring the hard looks of the Colonial Warriors and
their deadly rifles and pistols, kneeling by Koren with not a trace of fear or
apprehension.
   "Koren, you have not been honest," Jinkrat said. Koren's face curled up
like a burning leaf. His eyes grew damp and his cheeks flared. "No," he
said.

  "But…"

  "Butts are what you sit on, Koren," Jinkrat said, and Athena— in no
mood for laughter—watched in amazement as a genuine smile crossed the
hard-bitten rebel's face and Koren's eyes went wide.

  "I'm sorry, Dad," Koren said.

   Athena started to step forward. Suddenly she was filled with desire to
speak up for the boy, who had been brave, and who had told the truth. An
honest, good boy—even if he did have a mouth on him. And Athena was
burning to discover why this man blamed Apollo and her for the death of
his son. Where could this have come from? She had no sense that Jinkrat,
even as hard as he seemed, was dishonest or greedy. He had to…

   "I know," Jinkrat said. "I can't punish you now. I must send you with
them." Then, he looked up at Athena, his eyes narrowing.

  "Reluctant as I am to trust," he said, voice filled with bitter anger.

  "Koren said something about…" Athena said, but Jinkrat interrupted
her by standing and straightening his shoulders.

   As if he was a military commander—as imperious as Cain had ever
been—he pointed at Athena and said sternly, "You may take my son to the
doctor on the Galactica. But I want him returned safely within three days.
If not, you will lose your hostages, madam. I promise you that. And you
will never reach your security team. They live because I allow it. They are
as much my prisoners as the others."

  "Wait," Athena said.

  "No," Jinkrat said. "It is you who must wait. I will tell you now, because
you need to understand you are at my mercy: We have planted a bomb
aboard the Galactica. In three sectares it will detonate, crippling the
Galactica and destroying all that you highborn in command hold dear. Do
you understand me? My son must be healed. I place him in the custody of
my fellow Gemonese, this healer."
  And he looked toward Cassi, whose eyes were wide, astonished.

   "You don't understand—we've had no choice. We've had to ration food,
redirect all fuel to the Viper patrols," Athena said, her heart pounding. A
bomb!

   "I know of your 'redirection' of fuel. It cost more than two hundred
lives, madam!"

   Athena felt her face grow cold. "I had a dear friend on that ship," she
said. "You don't know what you're talking about."

    Jinkrat's face softened, but only a moment. "You will search for the
bomb I have planted," he said, his eyes dark and veiled. "You will not find
it. You will deliver my son to me, healed; you will meet the demands I have
put upon you. You will no longer starve my people. No more will die in
space, choking for air. Are we clear, Commander?"

   "You have made a terrible mistake, Jinkrat. We're not your enemy.
We're doing everything humanly possible, but there really is no food to
give you." As Athena looked at the rebel leader, she realized that although
he had great self-control, he was nearly trembling with rage and
hatred—aimed at her!

   But Jinkrat had said all that he was going to say to Athena. "Koren," he
said, looking toward his son. "Stay strong. Be well. I wait for the moment
that we meet again."

    Athena made to follow the rebel leader as he strode back to his group of
fighters. The colonials and the rebels glared at each other. Athena stayed
the hands of the warriors who were restless, eager to fight. She could tell
from the expressions on the rebels that they, too, would have liked to fight
it out there in the docking bay. But the force with Jinkrat was already far
larger than Athena could have ever pictured. There were hundreds of
them, all crowded around.

  There was nothing she could do for the security team. Not right now.
And that bomb!

  "Dad," Koren said softly, but Jinkrat was already too far away to hear
him.
   Athena looked at the boy, torn, and she came to her choice, issuing her
orders. "Back to the Galactica, then Daedalus," she told them. "We can do
no more here."

  "Apollo, we grieve," Sire Aron said as Apollo and Starbuck watched the
Council of Twelve file into their richly appointed chamber.

  "As do I," Apollo said.

  "These deaths weigh heavily," Aron said, turning toward the other
council members.

   "You need to know the truth," Apollo said to Aron, surveying the rest of
the Council. How many of them could understand? He started to explain
the nature of the Ur cloud, how the Tylium reactors couldn't be repaired,
how the Viper patrols were the only way out.

  "We understand," Aron said in a soft voice. "But we have… other
questions for you."

   "Anything," Apollo said, nodding at the graying council member. Aron
and Adama had never gotten along, but he remembered Adama speaking
of the old council member with grudging respect.

  "We are considering grounding all of the Viper patrols and other…
unnecessary… procedures," Aron said, looking around at the Council.

  Apollo realized that he was asking for their support; wordlessly. There
was a different type of command. You're no politician, Apollo, he
reminded himself. They weren't all cowards, he thought, looking at the
mostly old faces that represented the civilian factions of the fleet.

   Why would someone do that? Become a council member? Baltar had
been a member of the Council of Twelve; the high-water mark for his
career, he seemed to think. In fact, nearly everything Baltar had ever done
had been motivated by his desire for recognition and respect from others.

   The faces of the council—Apollo looked into the eyes of each of them.
Yes, some were greedy. Others selfish. Some were even stupid. But others;
well, a few truly seemed to care, to want to serve. And still others were
there because it was what they were born to do. Sit in a closed room and
argue about things that didn't really matter.
   But when a man faced death, he had to fight. You couldn't talk it out
with a Cylon; Iblis wasn't some… thing… that could be negotiated with.
And talk didn't make food, or fuel.

  So, that was what Apollo said.

  "Apollo," Aron said. "We have other questions. We understand the
danger, I assure you. But what happened to the fuel on that barge?"

  "We're investigating," Apollo said.

  "Two hundred men, women and children died. An entire crew! Apollo,
we have information that someone… took their fuel," Aron said.

  "What information?" Apollo demanded. "Why haven't you
immediately…"

   "There is already rebellion," Aron said, nodding toward the other
council members. They were scared, most of them, Apollo realized. He felt
his eyes narrowing. They were afraid… of him!

  "What are you saying?" Apollo asked Aron.

   "I am very sorrowful at this… development," Aron said. "But we have
reliable information that Starbuck could have saved that ship if he'd had
the reserve fuel available."

  "That's true!" Starbuck burst out. "We…"

   "You're a good man, Starbuck," Aron said. "I know that you did
everything under your control."

  "We are still investigating the cause of the tragedy," Apollo said.

   "Well," Aron said, sighing and looking as though he'd rather be
anywhere but in that chamber. "I'm afraid that the question that needs to
be answered is, 'where did you hide those extra fuel cells and what
happened to the fuel that should have been on that rescue barge?'"

   "We don't know! I ordered it to be… " Apollo couldn't believe it. Now
the whole council was in an uproar, many of them demanding to know
"why?" and "where?"
  "Hide those fuel cells?" Starbuck cried. Apollo had.to grab Starbuck's
arm to hold him back.

   "Perhaps you are as unaware of the mood in the rest of the fleet as you
are of where your fuel is and where the food rations are."

   "A new leader has arisen," Aron said. "One who must be dealt with
diplomatically, not with violence and destruction. We have had enough of
that."

   Apollo waited for the Council Leader to continue. A glance at Starbuck
showed Apollo that his friend looked like he'd rather be facing Iblis and
the Cylon fleet single-handed than standing in the Council chambers.

  "What a fracking piece of felgercarb," Starbuck said under his breath.
"Diplomatically!"

  "Just hold on," Apollo whispered back, looking toward the rest of the
Council.

  "I'm not a mind reader," Starbuck said, loudly enough that Apollo
wondered if Aron had heard him, but the old man showed no reaction.

   "We have the situation under control," Sire Aron announced. "The rebel
leader has some… demands," he said. "The Council is ordering you to see
to it that those demands are met."

   "What demands?" Apollo asked. It went without saying that these
rebels shouldn't be negotiated with, but it looked like Aron and the
Council had already done a lot of that.

   "They want one sectar's worth of food, delivered directly to their
leader," Aron said, "plus additional fuel and a team of med-techs and
medicine."

  "What?" Starbuck cried. Apollo silenced him with a nudge—a
movement that he hoped the council members wouldn't see.

   "You know as well as I do that we have only three or four sectares of
food left," Apollo said. "Our reserves of fuel are very low."

  "Are you quite certain?" Aron asked.
   "Yes," Apollo said. "I have…"

   "Where is the fuel that was to be held in reserve in Bay Three?" Aron
asked. His voice was mild. He looked like he regretted every word.

   "I—we don't know," Apollo said.

  Aron sighed. "Under the circumstances, Apollo, the Council has no
choice but to take command. You have proven that you have no control
over what is happening in the fleet. We have… many questions."

   "What are you trying to get at, Aron?" Starbuck cried. "What type of—"

   "Well, if the fuel was there, where did it go, Starbuck?" Aron asked
Starbuck, not Apollo.

   Starbuck shrugged. "Nobody knew," he said. "They were completely…"

  Apollo silenced Starbuck with a quick, angry look. "We will discover
what is happening," Apollo said. "Allow us to complete the investigation
and I promise the Council a full report in…"

   "Apollo," Aron said. "I am sorry to have to say this. You must believe
me. But we are fully convinced that you have allocated the extra fuel
reserves for your own use and that… that you knew that ship would never
make it to the Rising Star. You knew that those people were already
desperate and starving."

   "No!" Apollo cried.

   "Then, what other explanation is there? Who controls the fuel and the
food but you?"

  "I…" Apollo said. This was beyond belief. Now he looked at the Council
members again, and back at Starbuck, who was staring, openmouthed,
unable to believe what was being said. And Aron was so sad; it was
obvious that he believed that every word was true.

   "I control it," Apollo said. "I take full responsibility for the tragedy. I am
responsible for the rationing. We are—"

   "We are taking control," Aron said. "The Council must institute its
civilian authority. Lives are at stake, Apollo. You alone cannot choose who
will live and who will die."

   "But I…" Apollo said.

   "I have already spoken with the rebel leader. Perhaps you are unaware
of the support that he already has," Aron said.

  Apollo thought of Athena and her mission to the Rising Star, but now
was hardly the time to bring that up. And Aron, negotiating behind
Apollo's back—behind Tigh's back? What was happening?

   "As I said, we have completed our negotiations with the rebel leader
and his faction on the Rising Star," Aron continued. "Fortunately for all of
us, cooler heads have prevailed and this man Jinkrat wants only food and
medical care immediately, and no further violence."

  "Listen," Apollo said. "Have you been to the sick bay? We have no
additional medtechs. Dr. Salik is overwhelmed. Even…"

   "Considering our situation, we cannot accept this internal fighting,"
Aron said. The entire council nodded. Apollo began to realize how Aron
had swayed the other council members to his side. They weren't
fighters—they never had been. Some of them were hardened politicians
and these Apollo knew couldn't be trusted under any circumstances. But
just as Sire Adar and all the others had swayed the council against Adama
on many occasions, they were permanent civilians one and all. They didn't
understand military or security necessities. They never could. It was
simply beyond them.

   Why hadn't he seen this coming? But how could he have seen it? People
were dying; decisions had to be made every micron. There had been no
time to worry about the Council.

   No time.

  And where had that fuel gone? Apollo wracked his brain one more time.
Somebody… it had to have been stolen. But who?

   Aron looked deeply worried. The Council was arguing about the rebels.
That had to be it, Apollo thought. The rebel leader—this Jinkrat—he'd
already taken over the Rising Star, or close to it. Greed: that was it.
Jinkrat was greedily trying to take everything. This "negotiation" with the
Council—Jinkrat was another junior Baltar rising up.

  "We can't trust these rebels!" Apollo cried, slamming his fist on the
council table.

   "Apollo," Aron said softly, leaning close to him. "I'm afraid that it's not
the rebels we're afraid of."

   Apollo just looked at the old man, unable to say anything. He didn't
need special insight to read the expression on Aron's face, and the deep
suspicion that was growing in his eyes.

   "It is you we do not trust."

  "I…" Apollo said, but he realized that there was nothing he could say.
He had no answers.

   "Ground all Viper patrols and collect all of the remaining food and fuel
into central locations on Galactica and Daedalus," Aron said, his voice
suddenly full of firm command.

   "Those are the Council's orders. Disobey them on peril of… treason,"
Aron said. And then, as though he was grieving, he drew the hood of his
cloak up and bowed his head.

   Apollo left the Council Chambers, stunned. But he was soon back into
action.

   "Let's get going," he told Starbuck. "I've got to make sure Tigh knows
what to do. And we've got to warn Athena. We can't risk their lives on the
Rising Star. It's obvious there's a lot more to this rebellion than we
thought. That rebel has gotten hold of the fuel; there probably are spies on
the Galactica, and Daedalus, too. That's where the barge launched from."

   "What do you have in mind, Apollo?" Starbuck asked, his eyes wide.

   "You'll see," Apollo said enigmatically.

  "Why don't we just go over to the Rising Star and blast all those rebels?
Get that so-called… what—Rat?" Starbuck asked.

  "Jinkrat," Apollo said, looking over at Starbuck's furious face. Starbuck
would never understand politics. But Apollo was grateful for that;
Starbuck could be counted on in a crisis and whatever he said was what
he meant.

 "Whatever," Starbuck said. "I'd like to get some time alone with him.
What—rat? Bilgerat!"

   Apollo couldn't help but smile as he gave Starbuck a friendly shove in
the direction of Blue Squadron's bays. "Get going," Apollo told him. "Just
get those Vipers up and I'll keep you posted."

  "Vipers!" Starbuck said. "But…"

   "I know," Apollo said. "But I can't let the Council ground the fleet no
matter what they think they're trying to accomplish. We've got big
problems with this rebellion right now, but if we don't find a way out of
this cloud, this is just the beginning."

  Starbuck nodded, then a grin flashed over his face. "I get it!" he said. "If
we're in the air, we—"

  "Can just stay there and buy us some time."

  "Good thinking," Starbuck said.

  Apollo almost made a wisecrack back, but he didn't feel much like it.
Lords of Kobol—how could things get worse?

   He left Starbuck and went on to meet Tigh on the bridge. President
Tigh; well, the Council had just done a huge end run around him. Apollo
knew that Tigh would be furious, but right now, maybe it was better that
he was on the bridge, instead of back there struggling with the Council,
trying to answer questions that didn't have any answers.

   Apollo desperately wanted to warn Athena that there was more on the
Rising Star than they'd bargained for, and hoped that Starbuck could get
those Vipers—Blue Squadron and the others—in flight, and keep them
there.

   Jinkrat's face was grim as he tried for the third time to reach Council
Leader Aron. Aron was the only one of the highborn who seemed to take
an interest in his people's plight, something that the Colonial Warriors
and Apollo never had.
  Finally, the old man's face appeared on Jinkrat's jerry-rigged comm.

  "Friend," Sire Aron said, smiling broadly.

  Jinkrat didn't return the smile.

  "The Colonials attempted to board Rising Star," Jinkrat informed Sire
Aron.

  "What?" Aron cried, his smile disappearing in an instant.

  "Yes, led by Apollo's sister, Athena," Jinkrat said.

  "A tragedy!" Aron cried. "How… how?"

   "No one died," Jinkrat said. "They did not press beyond the docking
bay. But…" Jinkrat wrestled with what he would say about Koren to Aron,
the only one on Galactica who cared and who had any power. Jinkrat
thought a moment, then decided to risk his trust with the old council
member.

  "They took my son. He was injured. Athena and a woman of Gemoni, a
healer. They are bringing him to Galactica," he said.

  "Lords," Aron whispered, his face full of concern. "You must have…"

   "I did not trust Athena," Jinkrat said. "I warned her. I must…" Jinkrat
debated long and hard whether or not to tell Aron about the bomb. At last,
he made his choice. Aron had family, too. Jinkrat could not assume that
there were only guilty, violent, greedy warriors aboard the Galactica. And,
Koren's life was at risk, no matter what. They would probably kill Koren
immediately if Jinkrat was forced to detonate the explosive. He had to
have a…

  "What is it?" Aron asked.

  "My people have planted an… explosive… aboard Galactica."

  "A bomb!" Aron cried, his white eyebrows shooting up in shock.

   "I had no choice," Jinkrat said, shaking his head. "We have no Vipers.
We can defend hand-to-hand only. You know as well as I that they'll
simply starve us out if we don't… take action. I had to do this, Sire."
Reluctantly, Jinkrat used the older man's title of honor. After all that had
happened, with the death of his son during the battle for Kobol, with the
years and years of suffering and hopelessness, Jinkrat's respect for the
ruling order had fled. But, this man seemed to be their only hope. He'd
promised much… perhaps, with the extra insurance of the bomb, and
some luck, Jinkrat's people would survive. Perhaps they would all survive.

   Aron drew a breath; the sound wasn't quite a gasp. "The bomb," he
said, shaking his head. "What… where have you planted it?"

   "I cannot say," Jinkrat said. "You must understand—when Athena
returns, they'll immediately begin searching. And if you know of its
location—well, their tactics are well-known." Jinkrat meant torture. He
was absolutely convinced that Apollo would go to any lengths to get what
he wanted. He had already starved thousands, and even taken the air from
that barge, and the lives of its crew and all the people.

  "Oh!" Aron said, very surprised. "Yes, I see. I understand."

  "But there is hope," Aron said.

  "Hope," Jinkrat said. "A word I have almost forgotten."

  "The Council has ordered all Vipers grounded, and food, fuel, healers
and medicine sent to you on the Rising Star. You should have—"

  "Praise the Lords of Kobol!" Jinkrat cried.

   "Yes!" Aron said enthusiastically. "We must work together. Perhaps a
cease-fire is the next step."

   Jinkrat looked at the Council member. "No," he said. "Not yet. We have
no food yet, and have seen nothing of this fuel you promise. After it is
delivered, then—"

  "I understand," Aron said. "You have suffered much."

  Jinkrat thought of his son, burning with fever, dying in his arms. "I
have suffered beyond telling," he said.

  "I… I know," Aron said.

  "So, let us both pray that we receive the supplies as promised. I do not
trust Apollo," Jinkrat said. "He may renege. He may not… Aron, my son
comes to the Galactica. I want your word as a… as a friend, that you will
watch over him."

  "You have my word of honor, by the Lords of Kobol," Aron said.
"Farewell." And then he broke the communication.

  Jinkrat took a deep breath and held it. And prayed that it would all
come true.

   Praying was hard for Jinkrat. He prayed that Koren would be safe and
he had judged right. Jinkrat was grief-stricken father. He'd never touched
a rifle or a laser pistol until the last battle before their descent into this
horrible place. He'd never thought he'd ever kill a man, either in battle or
in anger. Now he had done both. A man crossed bridges, Jinkrat thought.
And he had no control of what the Lords of Kobol had in store for him.

   Only he stood between his people and certain death. Even Koren—could
Jinkrat save him? Had he sent him, all unknowing, into even worse
danger? Even this one remaining son of his, whom he loved more than he
loved life itself?

   His fate hung on the word of a man he didn't trust; his boy in the hands
of strangers. May the Lords of Kobol protect him.

   If any harm came to Koren, Jinkrat swore softly to himself, Apollo and
the warriors and even his sister Athena would see such rage as no man
had ever seen. This, Jinkrat swore to himself. And no man would stand in
his way.
                         Chapter Three
   WITH A word and a nod from President Tigh, Apollo at last went to his
sanctuary. Tigh was collecting the food, fuel and non-existent medical
supplies that had been demanded. It would be a while before anyone
realized they had no way to meet the demand; as Tigh assured Apollo,
those pellets were small and likely to be very time consuming to gather
and package for shipment. And even more time consuming to account.
With all the work they'd done to gather the fuel in the first place, that
would take time to account for as well.

   Athena was on her way back with Cassi and the team, and their
captured rebel, a young boy named Koren. And, even stranger, this boy
was the son of the chief rebel himself— Jinkrat!

   Apollo's thoughts were clouded as he strode down the corridor. Anyone
who saw him as he passed would have wondered at the dark expression on
his normally clear, calm, reasonable face.

   But Athena was already back! As soon as Apollo saw Athena, he knew
that something was wrong—really wrong.

  "Apollo," she said. Her alarm ran through Apollo like a hot knife.

  "What is it?" Apollo asked.

  "The rebel, Jinkrat," she said, "he's planted a bomb on the Galactica. If
we don't meet his demands, he'll detonate it. He says we'll never find it."

  "A bomb!" Apollo cried.

  Athena nodded. "He's angry, Apollo. He hates us—hates the whole
command. We brought his son back, a boy named Koren. But Jinkrat had
another child who died. During the last battle for Kobol."

  "Fighting?" Apollo asked, feeling a cold chill run through his body.

  "Oh, no," Athena said, shaking her head. "Just a child, six yahrens. He
had a fever."

  "And there was no medical help," Apollo said, understanding
immediately.

  "He blames us," Athena said. "He's filled with rage."

   "And so he's willing to destroy the whole fleet to get revenge," Apollo
said.

  Athena looked at Apollo, biting her lip. "I don't know, Apollo. There's so
much anger in him, I couldn't read him. I honestly don't know."

  "Do you think this bomb is a ruse?" Apollo asked.

   "No!" Athena said, eyes widening. "It's real. I felt that in him. He's
willing to go to any extent to get what he wants. He truly believes that
we're holding back everything from the refugees on the Rising Star and
the rest of the fleet. Food, fuel, medicine—hoarding it for ourselves."

  Apollo shook his head. "Athena, the Council thinks the same thing.
They blame me for the disaster with the refugees. They, they're…" Apollo
couldn't go on. He knew he hadn't done any of those things, but he also
had no rational explanation for the disappearance of the fuel; and also
couldn't understand how people had begun to starve so quickly when he
and Tigh had so carefully rationed out the food they had available.

   He couldn't keep turning it over and over in his mind. They'd find out
the answers—sooner or later.

   Right now, there was a bomb to be found. "Athena, assemble three
dozen men from security. Maybe there are some civilians who are familiar
with explosives. Start searching the ship. We can't divert any energy to
scanning. They'll have to search compartment by compartment. Find that
bomb!"

  With a brief embrace, Athena left to carry out the search.

   After Athena left, Apollo thought about Jinkrat. A man who seemed
willing to go to any length to achieve his goals. What would Adama have
done? Apollo could picture his father's desperation if it had been Apollo or
Athena who had died, or if one of them had gone off fighting as this man's
older son had done, the one who Athena had brought back to the
Galactica. What would Apollo have done if that had been Boxey?
Boxey—now Troy.

   But it just didn't make sense. If Jinkrat had been diverting the fuel and
food somehow—if he was behind that tragedy—why was he now
demanding food through hostages? Why had he planted this bomb as
some type of terrorist threat?

   Athena had made it clear. The people on the Rising Star had gone
without food for sectares.

   They were starving and desperate, easily manipulated into believing
that the warriors were hoarding the food, fuel and medical care that no
one had any longer.

  "Lords of Kobol, help me now," Apollo said as he entered his quarters.
He had to have answers. Athena and Cassi were safe for the moment, Tigh
was playing for time, and Starbuck had gotten all the Vipers off safely—at
least for the moment.

  But they still had only sectares of food, Doctor Salik was overwhelmed,
and the fuel reserves could probably be put into an ambrosa glass. And
now this bomb!

   Apollo could barely think about the search for a way out of the deadly
cloud, and the patrol was still lost. Troy—his adopted son—and Boomer
and Bojay, dear, longtime friends. And Trays and Dalton.

   Apollo thought about what Starbuck must be going through. It was his
own daughter out there, missing, but Starbuck was in the cockpit at that
very moment, piloting his Viper with the rest of the patrol on Apollo's
orders, not flying out in search of Dalton. Because Apollo needed him right
where he was.

  Apollo knew that it was tearing Starbuck up inside, but Starbuck
hadn't said a thing. He'd spoken to Apollo with his eyes, asking the
question without words: When will I get a chance to go after Dalton?

    What if Starbuck went out and came back to find Galactica a
burnt-out hulk from this rebel bomb? They had to find it—and fast.
Thanks to that rebel leader, Jinkrat, everything that was most precious to
all of them was hanging by a thin thread. Everything was hanging on those
lost Vipers. The only way out: rebuild, restore the fleet, and heal and feed
the people in peace and freedom.

   Sighing, Apollo tried to clear his mind and focus. Deep in his sanctuary,
the lights were dim. It was a perfect place; if only he could stretch his
mind out, see deeply, like Adama had done. Apollo thought for a moment,
trying to untangle the threads: Aron—the Council full of suspicion and
mistrust, the mysterious Jinkrat. And a sudden picture of Baltar sitting
under house arrest, offering no new insights or help of any kind.

   But nothing came to him. Then he heard the slightest sound, and
turned, hand on his pistol. Someone was there!

  "Who is it?" he called, ready to fire.

  "Friend," came a deep, rough voice. "I have been waiting for you."
  "Gar'Tokk!" Apollo cried.

   Out of the shadows stepped the tall, bearded Borellian Noman,
throwing back his long, rough cloak.

   Gar'Tokk was well—Apollo could see that for himself, and as usual, he
revealed nothing of his mood or intentions in any way, staring impassively
at Apollo.

  "I was hoping for some time to meditate," Apollo told the Noman.

   "I see," Gar'Tokk replied. Talkative as usual, Apollo thought. Now that
he knew who the intruder was, Apollo's alarm faded.

  Gar'Tokk would never be rushed. Apollo waited.

  "I desired to speak with you," Gar'Tokk went on.

  "I gathered that," Apollo responded cautiously.

   The Noman threw back his hood, staring hard at Apollo. Neither spoke
or moved for microns, Apollo not breaking from Gar'Tokk's intimidating
gaze.

  "There is something I must say," Gar'Tokk said at last.

   "And I must also say something," Apollo told him. "I am grateful for all
that you did. You saved all of us. And I am thankful that you live, and are
well."

  It was Gar'Tokk who looked away first.

  "I am free from my bond to you," Gar'Tokk said.

   Apollo thought that the Noman was taking his leave. Apollo wasn't sure
how he felt. It was hard to talk to any Noman, but even with their uneasy
friendship, Gar'Tokk was the hardest of any Apollo had ever known. Why
had he picked now, of all times? Apollo had so much to handle; this
rebellion—who knew what lay in store? But Apollo owed him so much. He
had been through so much with Gar'Tokk.

   "I am free from my bond," Gar'Tokk said once more, but this time very
softly, looking down at his rough, warrior's hands. Then he looked back up
and once again met Apollo's eyes with his piercing gaze. "I came to tell you
that though my bond is broken, and I may go where I wish, I wish to
remain here." And Gar'Tokk paused again, straightening his shoulders.
"By your side," he added.

  Now it was Apollo's turn to be speechless for microns. "I am grateful,
Gar'Tokk." Then he held out his hand. After a moment, Gar'Tokk took
Apollo's hand in his and bore down with his vice-like grip.

  "I name you friend," Gar'Tokk said. "You are a man of honor, as am I."

  Apollo was moved beyond any words he could say. He nodded, and
Gar'Tokk returned the gesture. Then he released Gar'Tokk's hand.

  "GarTokk," Apollo said. "You spoke of honor."

  The Noman nodded.

   "I've had to make choices that I don't think have anything to do with
honor. I'm bound to defend the life of every man, woman and child on this
fleet, but I've had to choose some lives over others. There have been…"

  "That is not dishonorable," GarTokk said. "A man does what he must."

   Then, as silently as GarTokk had emerged from the shadows, he
retreated.

   "GarTokk!" Apollo called, but the Noman was gone, leaving Apollo
alone with his turbulent thoughts.

   "I guess we should be grateful that we can still talk to each other,"
Boomer sent to Troy over the comm. It had been far too long since they'd
had contact with the Galactica, but the five pilots had decided to continue
searching for a way out of the star cloud instead of returning. These clouds
interfered with communications like crazy, and they were so thick it was
like flying through soup. Potentially deadly soup, Boomer thought, because
there were astrolons and hazards that popped up out of nowhere. More
squads were sure to follow, and they'd eventually hear their chatter over
the comm. That had been Boomer's theory, anyway.

  But after all that time, Boomer was getting worried, and they were all
exhausted, nerves on edge. They hadn't found a sign of any break in the
cloud. By Boomer's coordinates, they'd gotten farther than anyone else had
so far; maybe if they pushed on a little farther they could…

   "As rough as it is out here, we're doing pretty good," Troy replied. "I'm
getting pretty sick of dodging astrolons, though."

  Boomer chuckled. He was getting sick of it, too.

  "We're low on fuel," Trays told Boomer. "Maybe you can figure out
something," he snapped to Bojay.

  "Maybe you should try," Bojay snapped back.

  "You're the ace. I thought you could fly on your own power."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Trays demanded.

  "Now, wait a micron," Boomer said.

  "A guy as full of hot air as you oughta be able to cruise for parsecs,"
Bojay said, chuckling.

   "Shut up, you two," Boomer replied. "What are you seeing up ahead?"
he asked Troy and Dalton. The lead paired Vipers were only ten thousand
metrons ahead, but in the star cloud, they might as well have been a
parsec distant.

  "It looks like some kind of a break," Troy said.

  "We're low on fuel," Boomer replied. "Advise we turn back. We've seen
some breaks in these clouds before, Troy. But there's always more of the
same where they came from."

  "No," Troy said, pausing a micron. "This looks different. There's a real
change. I can feel it."

  "How's that?" Trays asked, his voice full of sarcasm.

  "We're okay on fuel for now," Dalton chimed in quickly before Troy
could respond. "Why don't you two head back? We'll continue on."

  "Negative," Boomer said. "We don't split up."
   "Hey, we are getting pretty low," Bojay said.

   "We're already split up," Dalton replied. "Or can you see us? You—" Her
transmission broke for a micron of static. Boomer watched the other three
Vipers' signals flicker on his heads-up display.

   "We're losing you," Boomer said. Then he whacked his helmet and the
signal came in clearly once more.

   So much for high technology, he thought.

   "Did you use the high-tech approach?" Bojay asked Boomer.

   "Yeah, man," Boomer said, smiling to himself.

    "Every time you do that, it takes my ear off," Bojay said. "Sure isn't like
it used to be."

   "No, it isn't," Boomer said. There were years of fighting in his voice,
and the knowledge of what Bojay had done over the years to keep the
Vipers going.

   Seemed like the old days when they could rest and repair were like
some kind of wild dream, so far away that Boomer sometimes wondered if
they were ever real in the first place.

  Boomer's comm crackled again. "Boomer, I think we've got something
here," Troy said. "It could be what we've been looking for."

   "Fuel's real low," Bojay warned Boomer.

   "We want to go ahead," Troy said.

   "We don't split up," Boomer said again.

   "You should just go back," Trays said, his voice excited. "Even if Bojay
there can coast on his own fumes, we're okay on fuel right now."

   "Thanks, Trays," Bojay said. "I'll remember that the next time I see a
bilgerat and his face reminds me of you."

  "Ooooh," Boomer said. "That's gotta hurt." The two old friends laughed
quietly together.
  "You got a smart mouth for an old man," Trays called back at Bojay.

   "That's right," Bojay said in an astonished voice. "I do! They say age
makes the wits grow stronger, if not the body. Too bad I left my cane back
on the Galactica."

   "Trays, cut it out," Troy said. Dalton was quiet, as usual, trapped
between the two feuding men, not to mention Bojay and Boomer.

  "This ain't your fight," Trays told Troy.

  "We shouldn't be fighting at all," Troy said.

  "That's right," Dalton broke in.

   Trays's comm cracked. "Bojay, you're getting senile. What do you mean,
cane, old man?"

  "The cane I've been saving for when I tell you to bend over and stick it
where the sun don't shine, Trays," Bojay said.

  Boomer could hardly contain his laughter.

  "Cut it out, Trays!" Troy cried.

  "I didn't say it—you heard him," Trays protested.

   "Trays, don't fight with him," Dalton said. "We're the only ones who can
find a way out."

   Boomer waved over at Bojay in the cockpit beside him. No words were
needed between the two old friends. He considered his options the way he
always did, and he made his decision.

  "We're staying with you," he told Troy, Dalton and Trays.

   It didn't matter that the fuel was almost gone. They had to stick
together.

  "Whoo-hoo!" Troy cried in enthusiasm. "Let's—" and then the comm
went out with a huge crackle.

  "I don't have anything," Bojay said to Boomer.
   "Me neither," Boomer said. They searched on for what seemed like an
eternity. Bojay tried everything he could. High-tech and low-tech.

   "Frack!" Bojay finally said.

   "They're gone," Boomer said. Again, the two pilots looked at each other.

   After a while, Bojay said, "We've got to head back, Boom. Our fuel's
almost gone."

   "I know, man," Boomer said.

   Together, they turned back to the Galactica, hearts heavy.

   "Well, maybe they'll have some warm rations saved up," Bojay said
after a while.

   "I don't think there are any left, buddy," Boomer replied. He tried to
cover the worry he felt with a laugh. "If there's a way out, they'll find it," he
told Bojay.

  "Yeah," Bojay said. "They will. Unless that fracking idiot Trays does
something."

   "That's enough joking," Boomer said. "They're okay, even if we did lose
them. It's up to them now."

   "Yeah," Bojay said, sighing. "I guess you're right. And it's no joke about
the fuel anymore, Boom. We're on real fumes right now."

   "Well, let's just take it easy," Boomer said.

   "Like a couple of old guys," Bojay replied.

   "Don't you put me there yet—you and your cane!" Boomer said,
laughing as much in remorse as in humor.

   "I don't have a cane," Bojay said after a micron.

   "I know you don't," Boomer said. "Where'd you…"

   "I just wish I had one to give Trays a crack with it! Right up his—"
  "Bojay!" Boomer cried, cutting his friend off.

  "What?" Bojay demanded.

  "Three o'clock, over there," Boomer said.

  Bojay's head snapped around. "What's that?" he asked.

  "It looks like—couldn't be," Boomer said in a soft voice.

   They had both seen the flash of a silver crescent in the cloudy mass of
the Ur cloud. But now it was gone. Pondering the strange sight, Boomer
and Bojay were on their way back to the Galactica. Boomer could only
hope and pray to the Lords of Kobol that Dalton, Troy and hothead Trays
would find the way that they were all so desperately seeking. And, he
thought darkly, that their friends back on the Galactica were all right as
well.

   In his meditation, Apollo found few clear answers. But he thought of
the captured boy from the Rising Star—Jinkrat's son Koren. The boy was
in sickbay being tended by Cassiopeia. So, after a few more moments in
his sanctuary, Apollo decided that he should spare some microns to speak
with the boy.

   When Apollo reached sickbay, he found Cassiopeia sitting by the pale
child, holding his hand and laughing. Cassiopeia looked up at Apollo and
her whole manner changed in an instant. A cloud came over her wide blue
eyes. She looked for a moment like she had something important to tell
Apollo, but then she seemed to change her mind, and she glanced quickly
away.

  Apollo put his hand on Cassi's shoulder and smiled at the bedridden
boy.

  "I hear you are very brave," Apollo said.

  The boy didn't speak, but he nodded, his eyes serious.

   "Athena told me that your name was Koren," Apollo said. He waited for
the boy to reply.

  "I'm Koren," the boy said. "And I know who you are," he said to Apollo,
his young voice full of anger and confusion.

   "I'm sorry you were hurt," Apollo said. "Athena went to the Rising Star
to speak with your father. She brought Cassi to help."

   "I know," Koren said, looking up at Cassi. "My Dad trusted Cassi, but
that doesn't change things."

  "What things, Koren?" Apollo asked.

  "I guess you kill so many people, you don't even know," Koren said.

  Shocked, Apollo sprang back.

  Cassi gave Apollo a warning look, but he didn't understand what she
was trying to get across.

  "What are you talking about, Koren?" Apollo asked. "I've killed a lot
of…" Apollo was about to say "Cylons" when Koren interrupted.

   "You killed my brother!" Koren cried, struggling to free himself from
Cassi's arms. Cassi held tight. Apollo saw that she was murmuring things
to the boy and stroking his hair, trying to calm him.

  "Koren, I don't know your brother. I've never—"

  "He died!" Koren cried. "I was right there. He was all covered in sweat
and he had a big fever. We didn't have good water to give him. There
wasn't no healers," he said, looking up at Cassi before he turned back to
Apollo, his brown eyes blazing.

  "When did he die?" Apollo asked in a gentle voice.

   Koren's eyes narrowed. "In that battle with the Cylons. We was calling
for help but somebody said, there's no help now for anybody by the order
of Commander Apollo."

  "I never ordered that," Apollo said, his eyes wide.

  Cassi interrupted, looking up at Apollo. "Yes, you did," she said. "We
have been under such orders since Kobol," Cassi said. "There aren't
enough of us to go around—you see what sickbay's like," she added.
   Apollo surveyed the scene, registering the chaos for the first time. He'd
grown so accustomed to it that he hadn't even thought about it when he
went to see the boy. There were groaning patients on every bed and even
emergency gurneys. Some were settled in chairs that seemed better than
others. The other medtechs were rushing around; angry, hurt, and sick
voices cried out.

   There was a big difference between making that choice, and seeing the
results, Apollo thought. His heart shrank.

   Apollo took a deep breath. He turned to Koren. "I had no choice," he
said.

  "I don't understand," Koren said. "He was only six yahrens. He was my
best friend." Koren's eyes filled with tears. "And he just took a deep breath
and then he died!"

  "I'm so sorry," Apollo said. He thought he should touch the boy,
comfort him somehow, but he didn't know what to do or how to do it.

  "He just died," Koren said, now sobbing.

   Impulsively, Apollo took the boy's hand. "Listen, Koren," Apollo said.
"I—we—none of us wanted anybody to die. Not your brother, not anybody
else. But we were in the middle of the battle and we didn't have enough
doctors or healers like Cassi to treat the people who were wounded. It also
wasn't safe for people to go from ship to ship. If we took a chance like that,
we could lose the healers we have."

  Sniffing, Koren looked up at Apollo. "We prayed for a healer," he said.
"But nobody came."

  "I'm sorry," Apollo said, feeling the regret deep in his heart. "That must
have been horrible for your father. And for you."

  "He needs his rest," Cassi said, looking up at Apollo.

  Apollo nodded. "Koren, I know you need to rest, but I'd like to ask you
some questions."

   "My dad says you don't care about anybody but yourself," Koren
replied.
  "Apollo does," Cassi said, squeezing Koren's hand.

  "You trust me, don't you, Koren?"

  The boy nodded.

   "Apollo would never do anything wrong," Cassi continued, looking up at
Apollo again. Apollo felt the irony of the statement, although there was no
irony in Cassi's voice. He had the feeling once more that there was
something that Cassi wanted to say to him—something that she was
holding back. She looked back down at the injured boy and stroked his
forehead gently. "You should tell Apollo the truth. He's my friend, and he's
your friend, too."

   "Okay," Koren said, his voice full of uncertainty and his face darkened
by fear.

   Apollo's heart went out to the child. He was so young. Lords of Kobol,
these were the people Apollo was sworn to defend and protect!

  "Koren," Apollo said, making his voice as gentle as possible, "What does
your father say? Why is he rebelling against the Galactica? And why,
Koren, why would he plant a bomb?"

  "He just wants food and medicine," Koren said. "Doctors. He doesn't
want anybody else to die."

   "But if that bomb goes off, a lot of innocent people will die," Apollo
said.

  Koren grimaced. "He doesn't want that. He just doesn't trust you,
because of…"

  "Your brother dying?" Apollo asked.

  Koren nodded. Then his face hardened. "My dad says that you highborn
people don't care nothing about anybody else."

  "I do care," Apollo said.

   "My dad's got a lot of men, and guns! A ship came with them," Koren
said, crossing his arms. "You can't beat us."
   Apollo watched the boy move his lips as he figured silently. He seemed
very bright, but without much education. What had the fleet come to?

  "Two hundred guns!" Koren said.

  "That's a lot," Apollo said.

   So, they were short on food; none of the food that Apollo had ordered to
be given to them had gotten there. And missing fuel, too—but there were
guns?

  "What does your father intend to do with these guns?"

  Koren shrugged. "He gave some away and put the others someplace. He
doesn't like guns," he added.

   "He doesn't?" Apollo was amazed. The rebel leader who could terrorize
with a bomb, but who didn't like guns?

   "No," Koren said. "He says we need food and medicine, not guns. But he
also said," and Koren looked hard at Apollo, "that if we don't get it, we'll
have to do whatever's necessary." The little warlike face glared up at
Apollo.

  Apollo nodded. "I've heard this type of thinking before," he said.
Everything was filtered through the loving eyes of this rebel's son.

  "I was fighting!" Koren said proudly. "I'm not afraid of you."

   . "I know," Apollo said. Athena had told him of the boy's boldness, and
also told him how Jinkrat hadn't approved of Koren's military adventure.

  "The others ran away. They won't the next time," Koren said.

  "But you stayed," Apollo said. "That means you are brave."

   Suddenly Koren grinned. "You think so?" he asked. As tough as he was,
he was still a child.

  Apollo nodded. "Yes, I know so," he told the boy. Koren suddenly
shuddered in pain and his face grew pale.

  "He needs to rest now," Cassi said. "There'll be time for more questions
later."

  Cassi was right, Apollo realized. The boy could barely keep his eyes
open. It was understandable, after being wounded, and going without food
and probably decent rest the way he had.

  "You're right," Apollo told Cassi. "Rest and be strong," he told Koren,
putting his hand briefly on the boy's shoulder and smiling down at him.
"That way you'll be at full strength to return to your father. Don't worry,
Koren. Everything will work out."

   Apollo said a silent prayer in the hope that he spoke the truth.

   "Just sleep now," Cassi said. Both she and Apollo could see that Koren
was past hearing them. His eyes were shut and his thin, pale face was
relaxed in a child's contented sleep.

   Apollo smiled at Cassi. "You always had a gift with children,"' he told
her.

   But instead of smiling back, she turned away.

   Apollo couldn't dream of what was the matter with Cassi. She was
always cheerful; nothing seemed to bother her.

   "We need to talk," she said, turning back to him.

   There was no doubt that something was really wrong now.

   "All right," Apollo said, and for some reason that he didn't understand,
his heart began to pound.

   "Let's go outside," Cassi said. "I don't want to disturb him," she said
looking back at the sleeping Koren.

  Apollo reached for Cassi's hand, but she drew away, walking in front of
him, her shoulders stiff, as if she carried a heavy, but invisible burden
beneath her medtech uniform.

   "Do you want to go somewhere?" Apollo asked her, thinking that maybe
a few moments of the little refreshment they still had available would be
welcome.
  "No!" she said sharply.

  "Cassi, what's the matter?" Apollo asked. He'd never seen her like this.

   "I know that…" she started to say. She paused a micron and looked up
at him, brushing her soft golden hair from her eyes. Apollo saw that they
were damp and wide with emotion. "I know that everything's falling apart
right now," she went on. "And you don't need more on your shoulders, but
I've got to…"

  "Got to what, Cassi?" Apollo asked.

   Was it something with Starbuck? Something with Starbuck and
Athena—that was it. Or the boy, Koren? Had he said something else to
her? Cassi knew something and was torn to pieces over it. He put his hand
on Cassi's shoulder, and almost couldn't believe it when she touched his
hand and moved it gently away.

  "There's no other way for me to say it," she said.

  As much as he liked Cassi, Apollo was at his wit's end with this strange
conversation. "It"—what was it?

  "I'm pregnant, Apollo," she said.

   Immediately, he looked down at her stomach, but it was perfectly
slender and flat, as far as he could see.

   He mentally thrashed himself—women like Cassi probably kept their
figures a long time when they were pregnant. Who knew how far she was
along?

   "Cassi," he said, starting to stammer. And who could be the father?
Starbuck and Cassi had finally parted after so many years. Now Starbuck
was getting closer to Athena, but if he somehow had done it—Apollo's
temper flared again. "If Starbuck…" he started to say.

  "No," she said, holding up her hand and fighting back tears. "No,
Apollo. I'm going to have your baby."

   "If Starbuck…" Apollo repeated. The corridor seemed to spin around as
her words finally sank in.
  "My baby?" he said.

  Cassi nodded. "That night we were together," she said softly.

   "It wasn't…" Apollo said. And immediately wished he could have
laser-sealed his lips together. The truth was, he couldn't remember doing
anything with Cassi. But she obviously thought that he had.

   Cassi's eyes widened. "I haven't been with anyone else in yahrens," she
said. "It's you and only you, Apollo." She looked down at her flat stomach
and Apollo wished that he could,— have fallen through the floor.

  "Cassi," he said, holding out his hand awkwardly to her.

  She looked back at him, eyes blazing and face filled with pride.

   "I guess I'm just… surprised," he said. "I need some time. This is all so…
unexpected." Apollo—how could you sound like such a fool? But he didn't
remember a thing. They had both had too much to drink. Apollo's head
was spinning. Cassi was going to have a baby. And he—Apollo—was the
father!

   "I understand," Cassi said quietly. "I care about you, Apollo. I've done a
lot of thinking. This child needs two loving parents. Even though I don't
know if we'll make it out of here or not, I think that I could… have feelings
for you," she said softly.

   "I care about you too," Apollo blurted. "But I just need some time to
think." Suddenly, Apollo felt more awkward and immature than the boy
who lay on the bed in sickbay.

  "It's okay," Cassi said. "I don't expect you to say anything right away."
She tried to smile bravely at him, but there wasn't much joy in her face.

   All at once, Apollo could only think of getting away. He had to somehow
work this out in his mind. In just a few words, Cassi had swept all the
troubles of the Galactica from his mind, even the bomb search, and all he
could think of was that simple phrase: "I'm going to have a baby. Your
baby."

  Now, he was going to be a father—a real one this time.
   "I need some time to think," he repeated. He found himself retreating
down the corridor. Cassi took a few steps after him, then she seemed to
realize that there wasn't anything more she could say, and nothing else for
her to do but wait. He hoped that she didn't hate him. How did he know
what she felt? He didn't know anything, and it was like the whole world
had suddenly turned upside down. He had the burden of the whole fleet on
his shoulders—and now a baby!

   He had to talk this over with someone. Suddenly he had a glimpse of
Starbuck's feelings toward his daughter Dalton. Cassi's feelings. Of course
Apollo loved Boxey—now all grown up and called Troy—but it just wasn't
the same. Cassi—pregnant! And with Apollo's baby!

   Who could Apollo turn to? Someone who cared, and who'd listen
without judging.

   As he stumbled away from Cassi and the sick bay, it came to him.
Sheba. She'd understand. She'd know what was best, and even tell him
how he could talk to Cassi. Apollo set out in search of Sheba, hoping that
she wasn't out with the other Vipers on patrol. Maybe, Lords of Kobol
willing, Sheba would be on rest cycle. And Apollo could find her.

  Sheba had just returned from patrol, searching for the lost Vipers.
Apollo met her in the corridor near the launch bay.

   He walked along beside her without saying much at first. Soon, they
reached Sheba's quarters.

  Sheba seemed subdued, but didn't act surprised when Apollo told her
Cassiopeia's news.

   "What are you going to do?" she asked Apollo, her slender, lovely face
almost without expression.

  "I don't know, Sheba," Apollo said. And that was the truth.

   "Well," Sheba said quietly. "You know what your duty is. You have
other concerns now as well, Apollo."

  "I've had enough of duty!" Apollo cried. He immediately regretted it.

  "That's a choice you made a long time ago," Sheba said, putting her
hand on his.

  Apollo thought that he detected tension in her voice, but he decided it
was just because Sheba was anxious for him.

  "I mean, I have feelings for Cassi. But I'm just not sure," Apollo
continued.

  "What kind of feelings?" Sheba asked. "Duty? You like her?"

  "Yes, I like her," Apollo replied. "Maybe, maybe more than like. I just
never thought that anything could develop. I mean, since Serina…"

  "Since Serina," Sheba said in a low, angry tone, and Apollo couldn't
mistake the expression on her face then for friendly concern and support.
Sheba was acting angry—and jealous. Jealous of both Serina and Cassi.

   He almost slapped his forehead, he was so angry at himself. How could
he have taken it for granted that Sheba was just his friend? She wasn't
acting like "just a friend." Not at all.

  "Sheba, you're one of my closest friends," Apollo said. "I thought…"

   "What did you think?" Sheba said, still keeping her voice low, but it
dripped with anger all the same. "Did you think the same way as you did
that night, when you slept with Cassi?"

   Apollo felt himself sinking down into a black hole—a bottomless pit
from which he could never escape.

   First Cassi, now Sheba. He was having the worst sectare of his life.
Why, with all the disaster the Galactica was facing, was he putting his
foot in his mouth? Over and over again.

  "I just don't know what to do," Apollo said. Sheba's face softened. Well,
maybe he was doing a little better, he told himself.

  "I guess I can understand," Sheba said. "You weren't expecting this."

  Apollo shook his head.

   Sheba turned away for a moment, and Apollo saw her run her hand
through her long, silky hair. She threw her head back and sighed, then
turned back.

   "I wasn't expecting that my father would have to ram the Pegasus into
that basestar," she said. "I'm not the right person for you to ask, Apollo,"
she said. And her voice wasn't angry any more, but it was still full of
emotion.

  "I'm sorry," Apollo told her. "I should have realized."

   "And so should I," Sheba said. "I'm not the person for you to ask,
Apollo. I can never be." And there were tears in her wide eyes—those
warrior eyes that had seen so many battles and so much blood spilled,
even to that of her father's blood, Commander Cain.

  "Sheba."

   "I don't know anything about babies, Apollo," she added as she stood to
leave, fighting back the tears. "You won't ever hear about something like
that from me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a Viper to pilot." And with
that, Sheba left, leaving Apollo alone in her own quarters with his
confusion and doubt, feeling like something Boxey's daggit would have
chewed on during the old sectares.

   The old sectares. Well, there was no going back now, not for Cassi, not
for Sheba, not for Starbuck, and especially not for Apollo.

   He thought about following Sheba, but he knew from long experience
that there was nothing he could say to her. And once again, wondered how
he could be such a damned fool.

   Everything could change in a micron! Cassi's baby—Sheba had spoken
of duty. Apollo didn't know if he could save a single person in the fleet any
longer, least of all this tiny new life.

   Apollo forced himself to leave. There'd been enough reflection and talk.
All he could do was turn this trouble over to the Lords of Kobol. Right
now, everybody else needed him, and his own troubles would have to wait.

   Suddenly, he realized what he had to do. The boy, Koren—he'd said that
a ship had arrived carrying weapons for the rebels. And there was only one
place that ship could have come from: the Galactica itself.
  Felgercarb! They had to find out who the spy was on Galactica. Jinkrat
couldn't have done all of that on his own. Apollo ran for the bridge.

  President Tigh's face was bright with one of his rare, genuine smiles. "I
have the best news of all for you, Apollo," he said with true pleasure.

   "What?" Apollo said, almost laughing along with Tigh's clear
enjoyment.

  "We have detected a transport barge—and it seems to be carrying
some… interesting cargo."

  "What?" Apollo asked.

  "A great deal of excess fuel, and… food."

  "That's where the fuel went! Whose barge is—"

   "It's one of ours," Tigh said, shaking his head. "Believe me, we gave no
such orders. It's rogue."

  "Launch Vipers. Bring that ship back with an escort!" Apollo
commanded.

   Now they'd find all the answers. That crew could be questioned, and the
fuel and food retrieved. Thank the Lords of Kobol!

  "Sheba's already on it," Tigh said.

   "Fantastic!" Apollo said, his heart filling with hope again. "We're not
finished yet," he told Tigh, clapping him on the shoulder, grinning.
"Inform me as soon as Sheba's patrol arrives from Battlestar Galactica its
escort duty. I want to speak with that crew before we go to the Council
and let them know the truth."

  "My pleasure," Tigh said. And from the set of his strong jaw, Apollo
could tell that Tigh really meant it.

   Striding down the hall near the launch bay, it was a different scene. For
once, Starbuck didn't have much to say. Athena, matching his strides
easily, struggled to keep up some kind of conversation with much less
ease. She had stayed on Galactica for a few centons. And she wanted to
talk to Starbuck.
   "This is the first good news we've had in a while," Athena said, smiling.
"It could even give us the lead we need to find those explosives. That'll put
a stop to this rebellion."

  "Yeah," Starbuck said, his face turned away.

  Athena didn't have to see Starbuck's face to know what kind of
expression was on it.

   "This will put a stop to everything," she said. "So much for those
rebels."

  "Yeah," Starbuck said again.

  Athena waited, counting to ten, then she tried one more time to get
more than a single syllable out of Starbuck.

  "You're worried about Dalton, aren't you?" she said.

  "Yeah," Starbuck said. Microns passed. She heard him breathing.

   "She's a big girl, Starbuck," Athena said. "She can take care of herself."
She held her breath, bracing herself for another depressed-sounding
"Yeah."

   "I know, Athena," Starbuck said quietly. Once again, she wondered
about the complex personality that lay beneath Starbuck's thick head of
hair. She knew that he wanted to shoot his Viper off into the Ur cloud in
search of Dalton, and she also knew that something held him back. She
wasn't quite sure what that something was. She couldn't believe that it
was she. Not yet, at any rate. There were sparks between the two of
them—real and bright ones—but underneath Starbuck's roguish outside,
he was a solid, caring father on the inside. Something about Dalton, being
her father, taking on that responsibility, had deepened Starbuck. Or
maybe it was just everything they'd been through together. Maybe it was
dying and coming back to life—Starbuck wouldn't talk about that.

   He was still a hothead, he still drank too much, and those crazy
schemes of his still came up all the time, but there was something more to
him, too. The old Starbuck would have given up everything to chase
Dalton's exhaust trail through the star cloud, and if anyone could find
Dalton by instinct, Starbuck could.
   But this wasn't the old Starbuck.

  Starbuck's experience with whatever lay beyond, and the Light Beings
had changed him. The last battles had changed everyone. They had even,
Athena thought, changed her. So many had lost their lives, Commander
Cain, so many others. And now, well, even Athena was beginning to
wonder if they'd find a way out.

   "Apollo needs me," Starbuck said suddenly.

  Now it was Athena's turn to be tongue-tied. Finally, she said, "I guess
you're right, Starbuck."

   "I can't just take off with those wolves at his back. You weren't there,
Athena. You didn't see that Council. Apollo couldn't say anything. These
rebels are out of control. It doesn't look good, Athena. It looks like it is
Apollo's fault."

   "But everything's all right now," Athena said. "There won't be any more
disasters. We've got the missing food and fuel—we're escorting it back to
the Galactica."

   "Yeah," Starbuck said again. "I guess you're right."

   But there wasn't much conviction in his voice.

   "Starbuck, what do you mean, I wasn't there?"

   "Athena," Starbuck said, his voice growing passionate, more like the
old Starbuck that she knew. "They were like—I don't know. They don't
trust Apollo."

   "Apollo says everything will be all right," Athena said.

   "I'm not sure this is going to help, is all I'm saying," Starbuck said.

  "Look, let Apollo deal with the politics. I saw the rebel Jinkrat with my
own eyes. He's not crazy, Starbuck. You can deal with the…"

  "Yeah," Starbuck said, interrupting her. "You're right. I don't know
what I'm talking about. I guess my mind is just on other things."

   Other things, like Dalton missing. This time, Athena didn't say any
more, and as they strode down the gleaming corridors of the Galactica,
Athena thought that this, her original battlestar, had never looked so
bright, nor so beautiful.

  "The Rebellion can be stopped," Apollo told a stunned Council.

  "Apollo!" Sire Aron cried. "What has happened?"

   "There are still issues—the rebel commander issued a bomb threat for
the Galactica, and we have been unable to locate any device aboard
Battlestar—but we have intercepted a transport barge," Apollo said. "It
contains the missing food and fuel."

  "Praise the Lords!" cried one of the council members.

   "Yes," Aron said. "I am thrilled that you found this. Tell us, who
launched this barge? Where was it heading?"

  Apollo cleared his throat. "It was from Galactica," he said.

  "Galactica!" Aron said, astonished. "But—"

    "We will be questioning the crew. Tigh and I believe that the source of
all of the trouble are… elements… here that are working with the rebel
leader. Probably they—"

  "What do you mean, elements?" Aron asked.

  "Well, it was one of our own ships," Apollo said. "Now that we've—"

   "Apollo," Aron said, his brow creased with worry. "What are you
saying? That Colonial Warriors themselves took this food and fuel? That
they were responsible?"

  Again, the council chamber exploded with murmurings and questions.

   Aron held up his hands to quiet the group. "This is very serious!" he
said.

  "I agree," Apollo said. "But surely, once we question—"

   "Apollo," Aron said, looking extremely concerned. "Surely you must
realize how this appears to us. You come here to tell us the rebellion is
stopped. It's all very… convenient."

  "But we've—" Apollo said.

   "Yes!" cried another council member. "It is convenient, Apollo. If you
were hiding that fuel for your own use, and the food, it would be easy to
just 'discover' it like this."

   "Tigh discovered the traces and the unauthorized launch. I assure you
that—"

  "We must await the questioning of this crew. But I'm afraid that it
should be done under Council auspices, Apollo."

  "Sheba is—"

  "We have no lack of trust for Sheba," Council Member Aron said. His
words hung in the air for microns.

   "In addition," Aron continued, "We ordered that all Vipers be
grounded. So in that case, we must also ask—why was Sheba's patrol out
there at all?"

  All Apollo could do was stare.

   With heavy feet, Apollo left the Council Chamber. As soon as he was in
the corridor, he reached his cabin, he felt the tracking alarm vibrating in
his tunic pocket. Baltar! The old villain was on the loose. With everything
breaking loose, Apollo couldn't believe it. Silently cursing Baltar, Apollo
checked the display to find Baltar's glowing red signal moving through
Beta Deck. It looked like Baltar was heading for… the Forward Bar. Not
that anybody was in the bar, but Apollo wasn't sure that Baltar would care
about that.

   Apollo quickly warned Tigh and Athena that Baltar was on the loose;
surely his ankle would be burning from the tracking device. As far as he'd
gotten from his house-arrest quarters, he had to be in agony!

   Despite his exhaustion, Apollo sprinted to Beta Deck. Once he entered
the darkened lounge, he squinted as his eyes adjusted to the change in
lighting, and to his disgust, saw Baltar relaxing in a booth.
   "Why did you leave your quarters?" Apollo demanded as he steamed up
to the booth. Lazily, Baltar barely acknowledged Apollo. He had a
greenish, poisonous-looking drink in his hand. Where had he come up
with that?

   "Oh, Apollo, always such a stickler," Baltar said. He was trying to
capture some of his old nastiness, but it wasn't working. Apollo saw right
through his bravado. Baltar was getting old, Apollo realized. Even though
Baltar was of the same blood as Adama, a son of Kobol, the yahrens had
not been kind to him. Where Adama had never bowed to age, remaining
strong and vigorous all his yahrens, there was a weakness in Baltar's
movements, an uncertainty that might not have been the result of old age
alone. Perhaps the weakness also came from inside of Baltar's soul. A lot of
the old fury and vigor had left the once-tireless villain. And try as he might
to hate Baltar, to hurl insults at him, Apollo couldn't.

  "Sit down, Apollo. Have a drink with me," Baltar said, smiling his nasty
smile that always reminded Apollo of a large, cruel feline after a satisfying
meal.

   "I think I'll pass," Apollo said. He didn't want to know where Baltar had
found that contraband liquor. "You never answered. What are you doing
out of your quarters?" Apollo glanced at Baltar's crossed legs. The tracking
device was glowing like a Cylon's eye! Yet Baltar showed no reaction to the
pain.

  "Been a long time since I've had a drink," Baltar looked around the
empty bar with his dark, veiled eyes.

  "So you thought you'd just walk down here. You could have had that in
your quarters. I took responsibility for you, Baltar! Is this how you repay
me?" Apollo said, guarding his expression carefully.

   Apollo knew the care that he had to take. Baltar had sight into men,
even a man as strong-minded as Apollo. He gave commands with his mind
as easily as he breathed, and the weak-minded and unwary were ever his
prey. Not that Apollo was either weak-minded or unwary, and he wasn't
even slightly afraid of Baltar, but he didn't want to give Baltar even a
glimpse of a chink where he might worm his way into Apollo's mind.

  "What's a deck or two, more or less?" Baltar, said chuckling. Apollo
could not believe that he'd actually trusted Baltar to the point where he
believed he'd stay under house arrest and obey the warnings from the
tracking device strapped around his gnarled old ankle.

   Baltar cleared his throat, then spoke again. "So it seems once again
that the Council causes trouble for the family of Adama," he said.

  "So it seems," Apollo said.

   "I wonder," Baltar said, leaning conspiratorially across the table, "if
they might want to reinstate an old member fallen on hard times."

  "I doubt that," Apollo said, chuckling.

  A lightning flash of Baltar's imperious temper blazed across his face.
His brows darkened and his eyes glittered dangerously. "Don't doubt me,
Apollo. Never make that mistake."

   "No," Apollo said. "I don't doubt you, Baltar. But you've officially gone
insane if you think the Council would ever agree to let you back again."

   "Once they were proud to have me," Baltar said, staring into his drink.
"I don't suppose you believe that, do you?" he asked Apollo, a belligerent
and self-pitying tone in his deep voice.

  "You weren't always evil, Baltar," Apollo said.

   Baltar didn't respond for microns. He took a sip of his drink, then
gulped half of it down at once. Wiping his mouth with the back of his
hand, he replied, "There's no such thing as evil or good, young Apollo.
That's something your fool of a father believed in, not me. There are only…
choices."

  Apollo was speechless.

  Finally, he said, "No good man would ever make the choices you've
made, Baltar."

   "And no good man," Baltar growled, "would ever have lived my life or
seen the things I've seen. I've known freedom, Apollo. Real freedom."

  "You were prisoner to the Cylons for yahrens," Apollo said. "That's not
what I'd call freedom."
   "I don't mean that," Baltar said. "I mean now. Look at me—I'm a free
man!" Baltar smiled his crooked smile that really wasn't much of a smile
at all. Apollo had never seen a smile quite like it. Baltar's eyes glittered like
cruel black stars while his teeth shone brightly.

   "You're my prisoner, Baltar. Do you want me to call Tigh and have him
escort you back to the brig in chains?" Apollo asked. "You were supposed
to help, not wander off to the empty bar for a stolen drink! Lords of
Kobol—the rebels have got a bomb on the Galactica."

   "Choices," Baltar said obstinately. "There are always choices."

   "I don't think that's why you ran off," he said after a micron. "Just what
were you looking for? You can't escape from the Galactica —and I know
you, Baltar. You're not enduring that tracking bracelet's punishment just
to have a drink."

   "No," Baltar said. "That's not why. You wanted me to help you. I
escaped in order to help."

   Apollo nearly choked on his ambrosa. "In the bar that's been closed for
centares?"

  "Funny, is it? I watched the Council's pronouncements, and I've done
some thinking about this rebel, Jinkrat. This is a dangerous situation,
Apollo."

   "We're well in control of that," Apollo said.

   "Well, yes," Baltar said, clearing his throat. "Perhaps. But tell me, have
you found that bomb? Have those missing Vipers come back? With the
boy—Boxey—I hear he goes by Troy now. And who else—that stubborn
pilot Boomer?"

   "No, we haven't found any of it yet," Apollo said.

  "Out there searching," Baltar said, his eyes growing hazy and vague.
"Out in that Ur cloud," he said, waving his hand over the table.

   "Get to the point, Baltar," Apollo said.

   At once, Baltar's eyes became the sharp, predatory eyes of a hawk, the
eyes that Apollo remembered from all the yahrens of war and strife. He
gazed at Apollo from under his thick, still-dark brows and said, "There's a
hole out there, you know. A way out."

  "Where?" Apollo demanded.

   Baltar continued staring at Apollo, and then his face broke into that
crooked grin once more. And he drained his drink in one final gulp, and
then he began to laugh, his terrible, mirthless laugh. "If I knew that,
Apollo, I wouldn't be here making small talk with you, would I? Now, I
think I'll return to my quarters. And imprisonment."

  And with that, Baltar drew his old man's tunic up carefully and left,
holding his head high as if he was some kind of uncrowned king.

   Suddenly, he paused and turned, no longer smiling. "Oh, Apollo," he
said, "I forgot. You find friends and enemies in the strangest places. Those
pilots could find the way out in a micron, you know. Just a single, lucky
micron."

   Apollo's heart leapt. Had Baltar been inside his head? How could he
have known what Apollo had been thinking? Did Baltar somehow know
that the Vipers were okay? Still searching? All those twists of fate—those
lucky and unlucky chances of the last sectare? The very thoughts and
words that Apollo had felt himself.

   Apollo watched the homing display. It showed that Baltar was heading
back to his house-arrest quarters. Even so, it couldn't take away the
feeling of dread that Baltar had left in his wake. What had he meant?
What did Baltar know that he wasn't telling?

   If he was somehow "helping," and was willing to undergo the pain he
had just to lead Apollo on that chase to the bar, why wasn't he making any
sense? And what was he doing poking around in Apollo's head?

   Or even, Apollo wondered, had Baltar been inside his head—or was it
just a lucky guess?
                          Chapter Four
   FULL OF unease, Apollo returned to sickbay. The chances were slim
that Koren would talk, but maybe he knew something—about the bomb, or
the traitors aboard Galactica.

  Once again, Cassi was in the crowded sickbay, tending the boy, who
had made a lot of improvement in a short time.

   There had been no time to think. Not after that terrible conversation
with Sheba. That had been worse than no help at all. Apollo felt guilty. But
his hands had been full—with the council, the betrayals, and the bomb and
the rebels.

   And of course, to make matters worse, Apollo was responsible for a
half-mad wandering Baltar.

  "Hey," Apollo said, smiling and touching Cassi's cheek as she stood
quietly watching Koren. Apollo realized that he might never see her again.
She could be torn away at any micron, things were so unstable.

   Koren, now able to walk on his own, refused to say a word to Apollo. He
just got up and went to watch some of the other children who were in
sickbay who'd gotten a game going in a far corner.

  "Hey," Cassi said back. Apollo did feel something.

   He was excited, standing near her. Maybe he shouldn't have wasted his
time trying to say anything to Koren, but why hadn't he noticed how lovely
her hair was before—really noticed? It shone like brushed gold threads.
And her face—Cassi was an honest person; she always had been. There was
no pretense to her. She didn't pretend to feel things, she felt them. Her
emotions were written plainly on her features. Apollo's thoughts turned
back to Serina almost before he realized what was happening.

   Serina was a great beauty, feminine, but dedicated to her job, with an
inner core of pure, hard diamond. There was nothing hard about Cassi,
although she did shine and glitter, Apollo thought. And then he realized,
as he watched her gentle expression as she smiled at the children,
suddenly free and safe on Galactica to be children, did he really know
Cassi? She'd been through so much— they all had. Maybe there was a
harder, diamond-like part to Cassi that he hadn't discovered.

  "Cassi, I was wondering," Apollo said.

  "I told you I'd give you all the time you needed," Cassi said. She didn't
look up at him, keeping her eyes on Koren and the other children as they
played.

   "Look!" she said suddenly, pointing at Koren, who was laughing. "He's
getting around well. He'll be able to go back in a few sectares."

  "What kind of future will he have on the Rising Star?"

   Apollo asked Cassi. The refugee ship was a nightmare from all he'd
heard. He knew there were dozens, even hundreds more like Koren on the
ship, but surely there was something that could be done. Koren had a
father, though, Apollo reminded himself. A father who cared about him.
The rebel—Jinkrat.

   "I have friends," Cassi said, winking at him. "They might be willing to
look after Koren if his father would accept it."

   "Friends?" Apollo asked. As soon he spoke, he wished he hadn't said it.
It didn't sound anything like what he meant.

   Cassi's eyes flashed. "You think I don't have friends, Apollo? That I'd
just sit, lonely, and wait for Starbuck all those yahrens, washing my hair?"

  "No, no," Apollo said. "I didn't mean that."

   "I'm Gemonese," Cassi said softly. "We make friends for life, and keep
them."

  "I didn't mean that, Cassi. I just—"

  "I know," she said, smiling once more.

   "Hey, Koren," Apollo called to the boy. Koren broke away from the other
children and limped toward Apollo and Cassi.

  "When all this is over, what would you say about going to school on the
Galactica, maybe living with some friends of Cassi's?"

  Koren's eyebrows lowered. He shook his head. "No," he said. "My dad
needs me."

   "But your father would want the best for you," Cassi said, leaning close
to him.
  "I know," Koren said. "I'll have time for school later. Right now, my dad
needs me."

   Then he turned and went back to the other children to play. Apollo
stared after him. How bad could Jinkrat be if he inspired this kind of
loyalty in his son? A son—Apollo had raised Boxey, but now there was
Cassi, and the future, if any of them had one.

   "Why don't we, um, go for a walk?" Apollo suggested to Cassi. Why was
he so nervous? He'd known Cassi for yahrens. She was the easiest person
on the Galactica to talk to.

   "Where?" Cassi asked.

    "There's a place," Apollo said. "As long as we've known each other, I
don't think that I've ever told you." There was nothing more to be done on
the bridge right now; maybe if he meddled further, he'd make things
worse. Apollo was thinking of the Celestial Chamber. He'd spent so many
centars there, restoring it and watching the stars through its ancient,
beautiful transparent surface. Once there had been three more such
domes on Galactica, but over the yahrens, only this one, oldest of them,
remained. The old astronavigators had used it to check their star paths
against the navigational computers. Apollo hadn't been there since they
had been trapped in the Ur cloud. He wondered what the cloud would look
like from up there; whether it would be frightening, or wonderful or
illuminating.

   "You won't tell me where it is?" Cassi asked.

   "No," Apollo said, taking her small, slender hand in his. He smiled, and
he could tell from the warmth in her face that she was as eager as he was
to get away for a few moments, and glad to be going with him. "It's a
surprise."

  "Let's go," Cassi said. "It's been a long time since I've had a surprise.
Even if you had one recently!"

   Apollo laughed one of his rare, true, long laughs. "You're right, Cassi!
One turn deserves another, although I don't think this will be so
star-shattering."

   Athena found Starbuck right outside of Bay Three playing pyramid. She
had maybe a centon before she had to get back to the Daedalus and
maybe she was crazy—she wanted to spend it with Starbuck.

    Nobody knew how long things would hold together—literally,
considering the bomb. And Athena knew better than anybody how little
fuel they really had left. But nobody's problems would matter much longer
if they didn't have any air to breathe. When the fuel went, so went the air
scrubbers. What happened to Protea's ship is what could happen to
everyone.

   Starbuck did a double take when he saw her, and she could tell by his
face that he was surprised to see her.

   "Got you," she said as she approached the group. The other, younger
pilots who were playing with Starbuck smiled up at her. They were
obviously young cubs, completely ignorant of what they'd gotten
themselves into.

   "I—I'm sorry, Athena," Starbuck mumbled—it was obvious he'd
forgotten all about their plans. He tried, unsuccessfully, to hide his hand
from her.

   Athena rolled her eyes and shook her head, watching the other players'
reactions. One of them immediately threw down two more cubits, and the
others soon followed.

  "Oh, Starbuck," she said in a downcast tone.

  He looked up at her, completely confused. She had seen his hand: he
was one card short of a perfect pyramid.

   One of the other pilots actually chuckled as he upped his ante one more
time with another golden cubit.

  Starbuck put his ante in and nodded a single time for just one card.

  Athena actually groaned this time.

  "Athena!" Starbuck exclaimed. Turning to the others, he said, "She
doesn't know a thing about cards, gentlemen. You know these women."

  The others laughed and nodded. They laughed even more when Athena
punched Starbuck's shoulder, right in the deltoid where she knew it would
hurt the most.

  Starbuck cried out, and looked up at her, completely astonished and
hurt.

  " 'These women,'" Athena said under her breath. "You'll pay for that." It
was always an adventure with Starbuck. Athena watched eagerly as she
watched the others fold their hands. Terrible hands! Starbuck looked up at
Athena again, and as the others shook their heads and said, "I'm out," it
began to dawn on him what she had done.

   "One card short of a perfect pyramid," Starbuck said, throwing down
his hand and raking the pile of golden cubits toward him.

  "Tracking cards!" one of the young pilots cried. "That's it for me."

  "Me too," a second one said. Soon the other three were gone as well.

  "Were you trying to spoil my game?" Starbuck asked in a hurt tone.

  Athena knelt by Starbuck, gathering up the cards the others had left.
She looked at Starbuck, wondering if he'd finally acknowledge that she'd
made that sacrifice, staying just to see him.

   "I was hoping we could spend some time together," she said, after
letting him twist for a suitable period.

   "Oh!" he said, slapping his forehead. "The guys were getting a game
together and—"

   "I understand," Athena said, though she really didn't. That wasn't
exactly true, she thought. She did understand. Starbuck was just never
going to grow up. Sure, he was worried about Dalton, but he'd probably
given no more than a micron's thought to the bigger problems they all
faced. His life was cards, drinking, and the ever-present schemes that he
was always positive were going to make him the richest man in the fleet.
But Athena had decided that she liked him just the way he was.

   She remembered what her father Adama had said. The fruit didn't fall
far from the tree, and Starbuck's father had been a hustler. A charming
man, always changing, but still a hustler, restless and always on the move.
That was why they called him Chameleon. Starbuck wasn't like his
father—in fact, sparks had flown whenever they'd met. But he did have
something of his father's restlessness. Athena had quietly watched
Starbuck's wild relationship with Cassi for yahrens.

   Cassi was too gentle for Starbuck. Too trusting, and too nice. It was
always so easy for Starbuck to… forget her. Cassi never pushed Starbuck.

   Athena knew that Starbuck would never forget her. Athena and Apollo
were alike in more ways than one. Like their beloved father Adama, they
chose not dozens or hundreds of friends like casual Starbuck, but a few
careful, select, special companions. Athena let Starbuck into her life, not
the other way around, although Starbuck acted like he considered Athena
his greatest conquest.

   No one conquered Athena. But maybe, with a little time and careful
planning, Athena could not just conquer Starbuck, they could become real
partners. Maybe even… be sealed.

  Meanwhile, Athena's quarry, Starbuck, was happily stowing his cubits
away. "Hey," he said. "You convinced those guys I had daggit food for a
hand. You—"

  "That's right," Athena said. "And I expect you put those winnings to
good use."

  Starbuck, who thought of cubits like a chubby child thinks of candy,
opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. As far as he was
concerned, "good use" was right there in his pocket.

  "I want flowers and ambrosa," Athena prompted.

  Starbuck frowned, and considering a moment. "Yes, of course," he said
somewhat reluctantly. "Flowers and ambrosa. Why didn't I think of it?"

   "You're learning," Athena said, rising slowly and turning so that
Starbuck could get a good look at how well she filled out her uniform.
"Flowers and ambrosa cover a multitude of sins."

  Starbuck laughed. "Where are we supposed to get flowers and
ambrosa?" he asked.
  "You'll see," she said.

   She'd already seen it by Bay Four. They'd found flowers on that
captured barge. The traitors had been taking a lot of unnecessary items
over to the Rising Star. Turning and smiling over her shoulder, she said,
"Come on, Starbuck. Time's a wasting. I want to make this a night you'll
never forget."

  "I already won forty-three cubits," Starbuck said as he followed. "I'm
not about to forget that!"

   "They're selling the extras to the highest bidder," Athena said. The
proceeds would go toward the families of the people who had died in the
terrible accident.

   But before they left the "charity sale," he was wishing he could forget:
the flowers alone—beautifully lavender Dnigibian orchids in stasis—the
flowers alone cost forty cubits. The magnum of real Protean
ambrosa—none of that synthesized stuff tonight—the magnum of ambrosa
cost thirty.

  It was good that there was enough of it to dull the ache where his
winnings had been.

   Silently, Cassi moved close to Apollo as they stood beneath the perfect,
clear dome of the Celestial Chamber. Up here, above Galactica's great
engines, now silent because the Tylium had all gone dark, Apollo thought
it was as though they stood on the horizon of the world, and all the
heavens spun above them. It was so quiet that all Apollo could hear was
his own breathing.

   Apollo wondered if this was the last time he'd get the chance to come to
this precious place in his heart. The fate of the Galactica itself was in
doubt. But if he was spending his last moments in this wondrous place, he
was glad that Cassi was at his side. Cassi, delicate and feminine, made no
noise, but he could feel her warmth beside him.

   Without thinking, Apollo put his arm around her shoulders and drew
her close, gazing up at the Ur cloud, flashes of brilliant purple, orange,
blue, and pink like lightning among planet-bound clouds. But these were
no ordinary clouds. They were like the birth of matter at the beginning of
time. Maybe this was what it looked like when the universe began, Apollo
thought. So many times he had come here by himself, to work, to gather
his thoughts. Deep values were in Apollo like veins of gold. Like his father
before him, Apollo believed in a higher power, in the Lords of Kobol, and
in the lore of their people. Apollo knew the difference between good and
evil. He knew that he would always choose good, because that was his
place.

   If it hadn't been for people like his father, none of the fleet would have
survived. All of the colonies would have fallen to the arrogant, cruel and
wanton destruction of Iblis, the demon leader of the Cylons. And perhaps,
to Baltar.

   There was order in the universe, Apollo knew. Good outbalanced evil.
But now Adama was gone. Even though it seemed there was no way out of
this trap in which the fleet struggled, and the people themselves seemed
no longer to believe in their journey, Apollo stood with Cassi beneath the
Celestial Chamber dome, looking up at the heavens gone mad.

  "It's beautiful," Cassi said.

   "You should see the real stars," Apollo said. "The way it looks when
we're—" Apollo stopped. Would the Galactica ever find a way out of this
trap? Fly once more between the stars in search of home?

  Cassi seemed to read his thoughts. "We'll find a way out," she said
suddenly, with great passion. "The teams will find that bomb. We'll figure
out how to help the people, too."

   "Cassi," Apollo said, drawing her close and putting his face in her soft,
fragrant hair.

   "You'll find the way out, Apollo," Cassi said, drawing her arms around
his waist. "I know. I trust you."

   "Cassi," he said again, raising her face to kiss her, hearing her name
catch with emotion in the back of his throat. She was so beautiful, like an
innocent young girl, although Apollo knew that she had seen so much.
Maybe it wasn't what people had experienced, but what stayed with
them—what they chose to let stay—that made someone either hardened
and bitter, like Baltar, or innocent, sweet and loving like Cassi.

  How had Apollo taken Cassi for granted for so long?
  She was the most beautiful woman on Galactica. Her lips were the
warmest lips he had ever kissed. Her body was like warm water in his
hands.

   Only love could make order of the world, he thought, as he gently
lowered her to the deck. He pushed his tools aside. It was no romantic
bed, but Cassi didn't seem to care, and neither did Apollo. He wanted her
more than he had ever wanted any woman, even Serina. And now, as he
gently kissed Cassi and ran his hands up and down her slender but lovely
body, so warm, so yielding, hard in unexpected places, muscled here and
there, soft in other places, he made love to her like he'd never made love
before.

   And Cassi responded, setting Apollo's body on fire. Every muscle in his
body was tense, then relaxed, and it was like the energy of the universe
flowed through the two of them, joining them. There wasn't much talk,
just their names, murmured over and over. Sometimes, Cassi said, "Yes!"
in a joyful cry. Suddenly Apollo realized what Starbuck had held in his
hands all those yahrens, and thrown away, in his carefree way.

  "You're a treasure," he said suddenly.

   Her face turned to him and there were tears in her glowing eyes. She
said nothing; her body spoke for her.

   "Oh, Starbuck! These are the same flowers that my father always
loved!" Athena cried. They had drunk enough of the ambrosa on the way
to the viper pod that maintenance had refused to issue one. To Starbuck
and Athena!

  The nerve of them!

   Oh well. Something to be embarrassed about when they were sober.
Just now all Athena could think of was the way her father Adama had
loved the lavender orchids and how they'd made him think of Athena's
mother.

  Athena loved flowers, she decided. She'd keep these flowers forever.

   And Starbuck, too. Starbuck was the handsomest man she had ever
seen. Handsomer than her own brother, and to tell the truth, Athena had
always thought Apollo was just about perfect. Well, Starbuck was, too.
And the flowers were perfect. Her mind went back to the sectare that
Adama had told Athena and Apollo about the flowers. She remembered
smelling them, how sweet they were, how beautiful the unique, curved
white blossoms were, with a hint of pink on the inside.

   "Real pretty," Starbuck said, joining her beside the flowers. Then he
grabbed her and kissed her deeply. Athena felt electric warmth fire up and
down her body. Suddenly she wanted Starbuck. Badly. But there were also
the flowers. The corridor outside the viper pod spun a little around her.

   But first, they'd take the bouquet to Apollo's quarters. She had to show
them off to him. So beautiful!

   She told Starbuck that Apollo was still on the bridge with Tigh. As far
as she knew, that was the truth. But if they found Apollo at home, it
wouldn't matter.

   He'd be glad about the flowers, and remember right away Adama's
story about their mother.

  Even if the night had started badly, it was finishing brilliantly.

   "Starbuck!" she said, pulling away from his greedy lips, "Let's take
these flowers to Apollo's. We can say hello, then—"

   "Yeah," Starbuck said, grinning. "Then—" He winked at her and
pinched her rear. It was crude, but fun. Just like Starbuck!

  Soon, they were singing and laughing down the corridor to Apollo's
quarters.

  Athena put in the entry code; the door slid open. "Apollo!" she called.
There was no answer. "He's not home," she said, turning to Starbuck,
suddenly feeling very sad.

   "Don't cry," Starbuck said, kissing her again, and brushing a tear away
from the corner of her eye.

  "Apollo?" Athena called, half-heartedly.

  "Come on," Starbuck said, laughing. He pulled her farther into Apollo's
quarters.
   "Starbuck," she said, but even to her inebriated ears, it sounded like
she had really said, "Yes."

  "Come on," he replied, more serious this time.

  "It's Apollo's bed!" she cried, sounding as amazed as if she'd seen the
bed materializing unexpectedly on the bridge.

   "Well, he doesn't use it much," Starbuck said in a practical tone. Soon
they were both together on the bed, Athena laughing and Starbuck
working hard to peel the uniform off Athena's body.

   Romance was supposed to be serious, Athena thought. She almost felt
like there was a tiny Athena perched on her shoulder, telling her that she
shouldn't be romping with Starbuck on Apollo's bed. She looked around
the room at Apollo's spare, carefully chosen things. Always so orderly and
so careful. Starbuck threw her jacket away, and Athena watched it hit
Galactica's seal and hang, right from the top point of the star.

  "Starbuck!" she cried, wriggling to free herself. He followed her glance
and saw the jacket hanging.

  "I've never seen a better place to hang a jacket," Starbuck said.

  "Starbuck, it's Galactica's symbol!" she cried.

  "It's very nice," Starbuck said, his voice muffled as he kissed her neck.
"Not as nice as you."

  "Starbuck," she said, her voice changing. "Starbuck, stop!"

  "What?" he said, laughing.

  Athena crossed her arms and scooted away from him.

  "I'm just some girl to you," she said.

  "No," Starbuck protested.

  "I don't care what you say, Starbuck," Athena said, her head clearing. "I
don't know why I was doing this—what got into me."

  Starbuck's brow wrinkled. "The ambrosa?" he suggested.
   "A joke!" she cried. "Starbuck, I don't know—maybe you'll never be able
to really make a commitment. But I know that—"

  "Hey," Starbuck said. "Don't get so…"

  "So what, Starbuck? Serious?"

  "Well, yeah," he said, sitting back. He tried again to kiss her and she
brushed him back.

   "Real love is serious, Starbuck," Athena said. She reached for her
jacket, but it hung just beyond her fingers. Suddenly her body went
ice-cold, recognizing danger before her mind did. She saw Starbuck
turning, noticing for the first time that he had somehow removed his
jacket, and she heard a voice, calling Apollo's name.

  A deep, unpleasant voice.

  "Apollo?" the man called. "The door to your quarters was open."

  Starbuck was off the bed as fast as a snake striking, hurling the covers
over Athena and crouching to face the intruder.

  "Apollo's not here," Starbuck said, his voice low and full of danger.
Athena saw his laser pistol in his hand.

  "I see," the voice said. Then Baltar stepped into Apollo's sleeping
quarters, his wicked face grinning.

  "I should have killed you when I had the chance," Starbuck snarled.

  "Lucky you, Starbuck," Baltar said, staring at Athena. Then he
chuckled. "Are you sure you can handle her?"

  "Handle me!" Athena cried.

  "You know what I mean," Baltar told her.

   Starbuck aimed the laser at Baltar, and he nearly fired, but then his
face changed—he grew uncertain.

  Athena watched all the different emotions battling on Starbuck's face,
and finally with a groan, he slapped his forehead in frustration, and sat on
the bed, hanging his head and muttering, "Apollo would kill me. I want to
blast him, but Apollo would just kill me."

   "Is this the behavior I'd expect from a daughter of Adama?" Baltar
asked. "The fleet in peril, a rebellion in full swing, and this is what you
choose to do?"

    "No," Athena said coldly. "It is not." And she gathered her jacket and
left.

   Starbuck jumped up and ran after her, but it was far too late. Neither
of them saw the way Baltar was grinning as he settled back on Apollo's
rumpled bed.

   In sickbay, Koren lay on his bed, wondering when he'd be well enough
to go back home. His dad was bound to be worried.

    Cassi was gone; she'd gone off with Apollo. Koren didn't trust Apollo at
all. He wondered if he was going to do something bad to Cassi.

   As he lay there with his arms crossed behind his head, he was surprised
to see someone approach. At first, he thought it was Doctor Salik, but
when he sat up and really focused, he realized it was somebody else.

   An old man, very important. He knew the man's face even though he'd
only seen him on a comm screen before. This was the same guy his dad
always talked to. He was the one who…

   "Hello, Koren!" said Sire Aron in a cheerful voice.

   "Hi," Koren said.

   "Listen, your father has asked me to bring you back. Would you like to
go home now?"

   "Yeah!" Koren said, jumping off the bed despite his bad leg.

   The doctor wasn't around, and Koren felt bad about leaving without
saying goodbye to Cassi, but he was really glad he was going to see his dad
again.

   He followed the old man out of sickbay. How did old guys like that get
around in those big robes, he wondered.
  Man, the Galactica was a big ship. Koren's leg was really aching. They
walked a long, long way.

  Apollo lay in peaceful bliss, Cassi cradled in his arms, looking up and
wondering at the star cloud shining and flashing overhead through the
Celestial Chamber dome. He had never felt so at peace. Even with all the
danger around them, and Galactica's uncertain fate, somehow, Apollo
knew that they would find a way out.

   "You're wonderful," Cassi murmured. "I'm glad I waited."

   "Me too," Apollo said, turning and gently stroking her golden hair away
from her face.

   Then Cassi suddenly cried out and jumped away.

   Apollo heard an aggravating buzz and saw a red flash through the
fabric of his tunic. Cassi had been using it as a pillow, and the noise and
vibration had alarmed her.

   "It's all right," Apollo said, seeing that it was no new major problem,
just Baltar wandering once more. "It's just... Baltar." His voice sank in
despair.

   "Baltar!" she cried, even more frightened.

   "He's on the loose again," Apollo said, getting to his feet. "Gods—there's
a bomb ticking somewhere on the Battlestar, and now Baltar is loose.
What next? I've got to find him."

   "Oh, Apollo," Cassi said, her face full of fear and worry.

  "This won't take long," Apollo said. "Why don't you get dressed, and
wait for me in my quarters?" he asked.

   Cassi thought for a moment, then shook her head.

   "I should check on Koren," she said. "I'll come later."

   "Are you sure?" Apollo asked. After what they had just shared, Apollo
was reluctant to let her out of his sight for a centon. Of all times for Baltar
to go wandering—he had to give the old man credit. If Baltar's goal was to
make Apollo's life a Hades hole, he was succeeding.
  "Yes, it's all right," Cassi said. "Go take care of Baltar. Make sure he
doesn't cause any trouble."

  Smiling, Apollo embraced Cassi gently. She buttoned his tunic for him,
and he kissed her for one last time.

  "Be careful," she said softly. "Baltar is dangerous."

  "I can handle Baltar," Apollo said. But he wished that he didn't have to.
Not with everything else. Not even if nothing else was falling apart.

   At once, he felt deep guilt for taking the few moments with Cassi. With
everything going crazy the way it was, he couldn't believe that he'd
thought that was right. But it was too late now.

   With a deep breath, Apollo left the Celestial Chamber and traced
Baltar's glowing red signal through the Galactica. With each step, Apollo
became more convinced that there was something very odd about this new
escape hijinks. At first, Apollo had thought that Baltar was headed right
back to the bar for some more stolen libations, but then Baltar's direction
changed. Apollo followed the signal resolutely all the while thinking about
the choice curses he'd apply to the old villain to repay him for interrupting
his tryst with Cassiopeia.

   When the signal finally stopped blinking and became solid red, a harsh
tone buzzing from the alarm, Apollo stopped short and looked up, only to
find himself at the door to his own quarters.

  "What?" he said. The door was partially open.

  Apollo entered, ready for anything.

  "Baltar!" Apollo called, his fists already clenched.

  Apollo searched everywhere, finally looking into his sleeping quarters.

   And there he found Baltar, reclining in the reading chair beside the
bed, arms crossed behind his head, whistling an old Colonial tune. Baltar's
legs were crossed at the ankle, and something about his position made the
tracking device look almost merry with its bright red gleam.

  He was smoking one of Starbuck's fumarellos.
   "This is the life, Apollo," he said. "Have I told you how I envy you?"

   As before, Baltar didn't seem to be affected by the severe pain the
device caused, pain that would have hobbled an ordinary man in an
instant. In fact, Apollo thought, Baltar looked… happy.

   "Found your bomb yet?" Baltar asked.

  Apollo ignored the question. Of course he ignored it! He was too busy
noticing that the covers of his bed were thrown all over the room.

   "Have you been sleeping in my bed?" Apollo demanded.

   Slowly, Baltar faced Apollo, not moving his legs an inch and barely
adjusting his arms. "Ah, Apollo," he said. "Me, sleep here? No, not at all."

   Apollo, always tidy, noticed that the symbol of the Galactica that hung
on the wall beside his bed was off-center.

   "Baltar, what are you, were you, doing in here?" Apollo asked as he
straightened the six-pointed polished metal star.

   "I had nothing to do with that, if that's what you mean," Baltar said,
looking at the symbol.

   "I'm supposed to believe that you just 'happened' to come in and find
things in this condition?" Apollo glared at Baltar, who was still making
himself extremely comfortable. It had taken a while; suddenly the whole
impact of Baltar, reclining in Apollo's private, personal… his own lounging
in Apollo's favorite chair… sank in.

   "Baltar, would you get out of my chair!" Apollo cried in disgust and
frustration.

   "Oh, all right," Baltar grumbled. He pushed out of the chair and stood.
"I'm not the first person to use this place this evening," he added under his
breath.

  "What?" Apollo demanded, ready to leap at the glowering form that
hunched on his bed and strangle him.

   "I said," Baltar repeated in a louder tone. "I'm not the first person to
use your quarters this evening."
   At his wit's end, Apollo grabbed some of his bed covers and began
twisting them. "Now, what is that supposed to mean?" If anybody else was
"using" his bed, it would be Cassiopeia, and Apollo knew exactly where she
and he had both been for the previous couple of centars.

   "Oh, a little bird named… Athena," Baltar said, putting his finger to his
forehead in a mockery of thought.

   "Athena!" Apollo cried. "Baltar, you've gone insane. What would Athena
be doing in here destroying my bedroom?"

  "She wasn't alone, you know," Baltar continued.

   This was far too much for Apollo. He strode up to Baltar and grabbed
the old villain's collar and lifted him halfway from the bed.

   "Enough riddles," Apollo said. "Say what you mean, or I'll…" Apollo let
his clenched fist show Baltar the rest of the message.

  For the first time, Baltar's dark eyes showed a glimmer of fear.

  "Athena was here with Starbuck," Baltar said. "I came in by chance,
and I found them."

  "What do you mean?" Apollo said. "Here, with Starbuck? Were they
waiting for me?"

  "Uh, not exactly," Baltar said with a nervous smile.

  "Were they ill? Arguing? Playing a joke?"

  Baltar shook his head.

  "What were they doing in my sleeping quarters?" Apollo demanded.

  "What all young people in love do," Baltar said.

  "You're not saying…" Baltar nodded, his face solemn.

   "You walked in on my sister and Starbuck—" Apollo gave a brief cry,
and threw Baltar away from him across the bed, as if the old villain was
made of hot coals. "No!" Apollo said, staggering away, and covering his
face in shock and shame. From the sheer stress of this revelation, Apollo
began to laugh.

   When he looked back at Baltar, he laughed even harder, because he saw
an expression that he'd never, in all his yahrens, seen on Baltar's evil face.
Baltar was blushing!

  "I didn't mean any disrespect to your sister," Baltar said.

   "My sister?" Apollo asked between laughs. "You didn't mean…
disrespect… to Athena?"

  "I'd like to know what's so funny," Baltar said, crossing his arms,
suddenly petulant.

  "Your face," Apollo said, pointing at Baltar. "You were blushing."

  "No!" Baltar cried, and his hand went instinctively to his cheek.

  "You were. You were embarrassed!"

  "Me?" Baltar asked. The old, imperious scowl came over his face.
"Never!" he cried.

   "You stay here," Apollo commanded. "Don't you move an inch until I
get back."

  Baltar began to protest as Apollo left. Apollo paused, turning.

  "Wait," Apollo said. "You can move an inch, but there's no reason for
you not to make yourself useful while I'm gone. Clean up this mess!" he
added, gesturing around his sleeping quarters.

  "Apollo, wait," Baltar said, but it was too late.

   Apollo was off to find Starbuck as fast as his long legs could carry him,
and he had a good idea where he'd find him. Lords of Kobol! He should be
doing something about the rebellion! Finding the bomb or dealing with
the Council. Finding a way out of this cloud.

    But, Apollo, he reminded himself—you're not out there in a Viper. Troy
is, with Dalton, Trays, Boomer and Bojay. And all the rest. They've got to
do their jobs. No one man can find a way out of this, he reminded himself.
  Right now, Starbuck was going to suffer.
                           Chapter Five
   APOLLO SPOTTED Starbuck's golden blond head in the Viper bay
corridor, right where Athena found him earlier. Only he wasn't playing
pyramid. He was sitting on the floor, his head was hanging down, his chin
almost resting on his arms that fenced a flask. The whole effect was like a
daggit jealously guarding a meal he had no intention of eating. This wasn't
the first time Apollo had spotted Starbuck in this condition. It was
probably the thousandth time, but as Apollo looked at his friend and
noticed the three long red scratches on Starbuck's cheek, he didn't feel one
ounce of pity, and that was a different feeling.

   This time, all Apollo felt looking at Starbuck was anger.
Starbuck—incapable of taking anything seriously.

  "I hope that was a good drink," Apollo said, storming up to Starbuck.

  Bleary-eyed, Starbuck raised his head and said, "Oh, it's you, Apollo.
Have a seat."

  "Sure," Apollo said, but he didn't sound friendly.

   "It's been a hell of a night," Starbuck said, raising the flask. He rubbed
the scratches on his cheek, wincing. It couldn't have been as bad for
Starbuck as it had been for Apollo, but it would be hard for Starbuck to
see or care about that.

   "Who gave you those?" Apollo could guess, but he wanted to hear it
straight from Starbuck.

  Ashamed, Starbuck looked away. "Athena," he said, grimacing.

  "We've been friends a long time, haven't we?" Apollo asked Starbuck.

  Starbuck laughed. "Are you nuts? We've been friends forever."

   Apollo didn't respond, and a confused look came over Starbuck's
chiseled face, marred by the lurid scratches.

  "Apollo, is there something you're not telling me?" Starbuck said,
hesitating.
   "Maybe there's something you need to tell me, old friend," Apollo said.
He never thought he could speak so coldly to Starbuck. Why, he loved
Starbuck like a brother. More than a brother. But Athena was his sister,
and more than that, she was Adama's daughter.

    It was the whole situation that angered him. There were lines that you
just didn't cross, but Starbuck didn't seem to know what those lines were.
It was bad enough that Starbuck had taken Cassiopeia for granted all
those yahrens, but now he was starting in with Athena, and starting in at
a time when they were facing destruction from all sides. Athena! Beautiful,
virtuous daughter of Adama, fearless and proud. Apollo didn't know whom
he was angrier about. Cassi, gorgeous, sweet, loving Cassi, or Athena.

   Had the Galactica just fought so long that they were forgetting
everything? What happened to being tough, being honorable? Everything
was falling apart, and Apollo didn't know where to turn.

   All he knew was that he'd tolerated Starbuck's foibles for yahrens.
Apollo couldn't believe that he'd always laughed at Starbuck. Because it
wasn't him—Apollo would never even consider treating a woman the way
Starbuck did.

   But now Apollo knew firsthand the other side of things. Starbuck was a
fool, using Cassi the way he had. He had thrown away… pure gold. But this
thing with Athena was totally different.

   "Apollo, what's got into you?" Starbuck said, laughing. "Come on, have
a drink. I've had a rough night."

  "It's about to get rougher," Apollo said in a low, dangerous voice.

  "Hey," Starbuck said, trying again to laugh things off. "Look, Athena
and I just had a little… disagreement."

  "Would that… disagreement… have had anything to do with Baltar?"

  Starbuck winced again, and Apollo could see the guilt in his eyes.

  "You weren't going to say a thing, were you?" Apollo said.

  "Well, uh," Starbuck said.
  "You thought you could just march right into my private sleeping
quarters and have a…" Apollo paused, realizing that there were other
people in the corridor, and they had started to stare.

  "Let's move along," he said to Starbuck in a menacing voice. Apollo
gave Starbuck a strong shove in the middle of his back to help him on his
way.

  "I can explain, Apollo," Starbuck said.

   "I've heard your explanations before," Apollo said. "I don't want to hear
them any more."

  "Apollo!" Starbuck said.

   "This is the last time," Apollo said. "I trusted you. Counted on you. All
you can think of is having a good time! If you don't even have any respect
for my quarters, or my sister—or Cassiopeia—then I'm going to do my
talking with my fists."

   "Apollo, please," Starbuck pleaded, but now they were far down the
corridor and there was no one else around.

  Starbuck turned to face Apollo.

   "No more," Apollo said. "You're not going to treat Athena the way you
always treat…"

  Starbuck had never been a coward. Apollo watched Starbuck's
expression change from concern and worry to a fighting scowl.

  "If you want to go," Starbuck said, raising his fists, "Let's go."

   Somewhere inside, Apollo knew that this was the exact wrong thing to
do, but he didn't care any longer. Fighting adrenaline surged through
Apollo's veins as he feinted and easily avoided Starbuck's swing. Ducking
low, he powered into Starbuck, doubling him over and landing two or
three good blows in Starbuck's mid-section.

  Apollo heard Starbuck grunt in pain; it sounded fantastic.

  Swiveling quickly, he threw Starbuck to the deck. Now that Starbuck
was down, Apollo really had the advantage, and he delivered a thundering
right to Starbuck's face, breaking a cut above Starbuck's eye.

   "Ow!" Starbuck cried.

   "There's more where that came from," Apollo heard himself saying.
Had he said that? That sounded like something Starbuck would say
during a fight. Apollo was usually a silent fighter. He was far too angry to
realize that Starbuck was drunk and not up to his usual excellent reaction
times.

   He slammed Starbuck in his gut with another bone jarring punch.

   "Apollo!" cried a woman's voice.

   "Stop!" It was yet another woman.

  Apollo's eyes were filmed with red. He turned to see Cassi and Athena
running toward them from the end of the corridor.

   "Oh, no," he said. But whatever else he was going to say was cut short
by Starbuck, who wasn't too drunk to take advantage of Apollo's
distraction. A fist that seemed to fly out of nowhere connected with
Apollo's nose.

   Suddenly stars flashed in front of Apollo's eyes, and he reeled back. Now
he was the one who was down, and a bleeding Starbuck was straddling
him, his right fist raised, ready to strike again.

   "Stop right now, you two!" Athena cried.

   Cassi hesitated a moment, but Athena bent down and grabbed
Starbuck's shoulders.

  "That's enough," she cried. "You two are going to kill each other. Don't
we have trouble enough without this?"

   "Please, Apollo," Cassi said. "Stop."

  At the sight of her worried, lovely face, all of Apollo's rage bled out of
him and his face began to burn.

   Starbuck looked shamefaced, too, as he struggled feebly a moment
longer, then lowered his fist and climbed off Apollo.
  "Help him up," Athena ordered Starbuck.

  Starbuck looked at her as if she had just asked him to fly a recon
mission in only his helmet and pajamas and no Viper.

  "You heard me," she said.

  "All right," he grumbled. Reluctantly, he offered his hand to Apollo.

   After a moment, and a long, encouraging smile from Cassi, Apollo took
Starbuck's hand and let him help him up.

   Athena, outraged, began to lecture both of them at once. With relief,
Apollo saw that Cassi showed no signs of wanting to join in. But his heart
twisted with unaccustomed jealousy as he saw her approach Starbuck and
look at the cut over his eye and the scratches on his cheek with great
concern. A mouse was already rising over Starbuck's brow, and blood was
streaming over his eye like clown's paint.

  "We'd better get you to sickbay," Cassi said to Starbuck.

  "I'm fine," he growled, trying to shake her away. He wouldn't meet
Athena's eyes.

   Apollo gingerly touched his nose and thought, "What about me?" But
there was no way he was going to say anything in front of Starbuck, even
though Apollo could hear the cartilage on the inside of his nose squeaking
as he touched it. He'd never give Starbuck the privilege of knowing that
he'd hurt him.

   "I can't believe you two," Athena said. Then, she turned her fury back to
Starbuck.

  "I should have expected this from you," she said in a disgusted voice.
And she turned and stalked off. "I'm going back to work."

   "Athena!" Starbuck cried. He broke away from Cassi, but stopped
short.

  Apollo wasn't about to give him any sympathy. But he felt proud of
Athena.

  Except—she hadn't said goodbye. That hurt.
   "Don't try to smile or laugh," Cassi told Starbuck, back in sickbay. "It
will just hurt more. You know that!"

  "Cassi," Starbuck said, grimacing with the pain.

  "What did you think you were accomplishing?" she asked him.

  Starbuck shrugged. Cassi could see what lay behind his attitude. She
knew him backward and forward.

  "It's not just your face that's hurt, is it," she said.

  He shook his head.

  Athena, Cassi thought. Athena didn't go along with him. She didn't…

  "It's no big deal," Starbuck said. But it was a big deal. Cassi saw how
hurt he was. He was questioning, thinking deep inside.

  Starbuck winced as she washed the big cut over his eye and applied her
medi-probe to the swelling bruise, a bulge that really was the size and
shape of a mouse, soon to be turning a vivid dark blue-purple.

  "He started it," Starbuck said.

   Cassi almost laughed. He seemed about as mature as that boy, Koren.
She looked around—it was strange. Koren hadn't been there when she'd
gotten back on duty. Where could he have gone? Things were so busy, she
hadn't had a chance to ask Doctor Salik. Maybe the boy had gone to see an
education center. Probably.

   Starbuck relaxed as Cassi's skilled hands soothed and healed his
wounds. Turning, he groaned a little in pain. "I think he… did something…
he weighs as much as a Viper," Starbuck said.

  Cassi lifted Starbuck's tunic and felt along his ribs.

  "How many does that make it?" she asked him, looking at him
questioningly with her wide blue eyes.

  "How many of what?" Starbuck asked.

  "Ribs," Cassi said, applying her med-probe. "As in… broken."
   "Oh, no," Starbuck said, leaning back on the exam table in resignation
to the pain. "Not another one."

   "We have to stop meeting like this," Cassi told Starbuck, smiling.
Starbuck smiled weakly at her and tried to relax, allowing her to treat
him.

   Starbuck wasn't thinking. He was just feeling. As Cassi bent over him,
her blond hair brushing his face like a bird's wings, he just found himself
reaching up and drawing her to him, kissing her deeply. It had been a long
time, but this kiss was as long and delicious as any they'd shared in their
yahrens together.

  A few moments later completely lost in his moment of intimacy with
Cassi, Starbuck opened his right eye.

  It was the last person he expected to see.

   "Great," Apollo said in a low voice, dead and awful. "I should have
realized."

   "Apollo, it's not…" Cassi cried, but Apollo was already turning away, his
face darkened with hurt and betrayal. She had just enough time to break
away from Starbuck and run after Apollo's retreating back.

  Apollo turned, but even Cassi stopped and stood back to see the
expression on his face.

  "I came for the boy," he said. "His father wishes to speak to him."

  Cassi turned and looked around. "Apollo, he's not here. He wasn't here
when—"

  Apollo's eyes flew open.

  "Koren—he's not here?"

  "No!" Cassi cried. "Apollo, I—"

  "I've got to get to the bridge," Apollo cried.

   Starbuck was still rubbing his head on the treatment table. He looked
at Cassi, and she looked back at him.
  "I'll never forgive you for this, Starbuck!" she said.

   "I don't suppose it would help if I said sorry?" Starbuck asked, forcing a
sheepish grin.

  "No!" Cassi cried. "It wouldn't. And if I wasn't a sworn healer.

   … I swear… I'd rebreak that rib!" She picked up one of Doctor Salik's
beakers and hurled it at Starbuck in fury. Starbuck cringed and dodged
the beaker. It smashed into the wall beyond his exam table with a burst of
bright blue liquid and glass.

  Doctor Salik came running in from the back. "What? What's going on?"

  "Doctor, Koren's missing," Cassi said. "What happened?" The doctor
shook his head. "I… don't know," he said. "He was just here a micron ago."

  "You're sure the boy is missing?" President Tigh asked Apollo.

   "Certain," Apollo said. "I was just in sickbay." Hoping to have Cassi see
to my nose, he thought. Never hoping that he'd find her with… he couldn't
think about it. His nose felt like a Cylon had been examining it with its
"loving, gentle" touch. It wasn't that

  swollen, he thought, and only slightly discolored.

   Apollo suddenly noticed that Tigh was paying more attention to him
than usual, looking curiously over at him from his bridge console. "What
happened to your nose?" he asked suddenly.

  "My—uh-oh, I had an… accident," Apollo mumbled.

    "Hmm," Tigh said in a reflective tone. "Well, what shall we do? Jinkrat
is saying he's coming here to get Koren."

  Apollo winced. "Put me through to him on the Rising Star."

  "Done," Tigh said, indicating the comm.

  "Jinkrat," Apollo said as soon as the screen became clear.

  "Where is my son?" Jinkrat demanded.
   Apollo took a deep breath. "We—we don't know," he said.

   He watched Jinkrat's face change from a tense, stern look to complete
disbelief.

   "I have lived all these yahrens," Jinkrat said slowly. "All these yahrens,
and I never imagined that—" He paused, turning. When he turned back,
his eyes were blazing in fury.

   "You, Apollo!" he cried.

  "Jinkrat, we'll find him," Apollo said quickly. "I swear to you—he was
under no guard. Perhaps he just wandered—"

   "Perhaps! I am to believe you, as I am to believe you did not murder
those hundreds on that rescue ship?"

   "I'm telling you the truth," Apollo said. "I was just in sickbay myself."

   "I wish to speak to the Gemonese woman," Jinkrat said, each word
clipped and precise.

   "Cassi?" Apollo said.

   "I placed my son in her care. She will answer to me if—"

   "Jinkrat, Cassiopeia was with me when Koren seems to have—"

  "So," Jinkrat said, nodding. "You have also done something with her as
well."

   "No!" Apollo cried. This was infuriating. Why wouldn't the man just…

  "You will return my son to me in twenty centons," Jinkrat said.
"Otherwise, I will detonate that bomb because I know that my son will
be…" He let the last word go unsaid.

   "I give you my word he'll be found safe," Apollo said.

   Tigh looked over at Apollo, his eyes incredibly wide.

   "Apollo," Tigh said.
  Jinkrat closed the communication. The screen went black.

  "Tigh, we don't have any choice. Find that bomb—and find that boy!"

   Ten centons, and there was still no word of Koren—or the bomb. Apollo
slammed his fist on the console.

  "Apollo," Tigh said. "I have a communication. It's from Council
Member Aron."

  "We have been waiting for word about the supplies on that barge,"
Aron said, smiling.

  Apollo's nose was on fire again. He nodded. He turned to Tigh, who
checked his databanks. Tigh's fingers moved rapidly. He repeated the
motion, cleared his throat, and then looked back at Apollo with an
expression of total dismay.

  "It's not there," he said softly.

  "What?" Apollo said.

   "So, we can expect a launch to the Rising Star momentarily?" Aron
asked politely.

  "Yes," Apollo told him.

  "Is there something the matter?" Aron asked.

   "No, no," Apollo said. "Nothing's the matter. We'll be launching the
supplies immediately. They've already been transferred from the original
vessel."

  Then, he broke the connection.

  Tigh grabbed Apollo's arm. "Apollo, that whole barge is gone. There's
not a thing in Bay Four."

   "But they already took everything off," Apollo said. "We were selling
things to put funds aside for the families of the—" Apollo meant the
flowers, of course, that had led to so much trouble with Starbuck and
Athena, although Apollo didn't know that whole story.
   "Just the luxury items," Tigh said. "The main part of the fuel and the
food was still on the barge. And Apollo—it's gone."

   "Lords of Kobol," Apollo said.

   "They had nothing to do with it," Tigh said darkly.

   "Let's find it!" Apollo cried. And he leapt away, running from the
bridge. Running again. The only trouble was, he had no idea where he was
going.

   Back to sickbay. Maybe Koren had wandered off. Maybe he had.

   "I'm going to prescribe a brief furlon for you," Doctor Salik told Apollo.

  "No!" Apollo cried. Then, he forced himself to regain his composure.
"Where could the boy have gotten to? Salik, how could you—"

   "You see the way things are here," the doctor said, gesturing around at
the madhouse that was the sickbay.

  "I—I know," Apollo said. There was no Koren here. His heart was
pounding. How could this have happened. Who? How could the rebels
have penetrated so deeply into the Galactica?

   "I need to treat your injury," Doctor Salik said.

   "There's no time!" Apollo cried.

   "This will only take a moment," Salik said, and he was right. Almost
instantly, he'd applied a huge white plasteen bandage to Apollo's nose. It
felt like it covered half his face.

   "This is important, Apollo," the doctor said firmly. "Otherwise, your
breathing could be impaired by the cartilage healing improperly."

  Apollo cringed to hear the nasal whine in his voice. "Does it have to be
so—large?"

   "It's just a tiny plasteen bandage. I can make it flesh colored if you
wish," the Doctor said, chuckling.

   The only thing that Apollo was grateful for was that Cassiopeia was on
rest period and he did not have to see her in the sickbay. All at once,
Apollo's world had become a world of total betrayal and danger. The very
fate of the Galactica, at the mercy of the relentless Jinkrat.

    Apollo felt like his heart was going to explode if he thought about any of
it any longer.

  "Doctor, I've got to go," Apollo said.

  But no sooner had he started to leave than Sheba arrived, limping.

  "Sheba!" Apollo cried.

  Doctor Salik rushed toward her.

  "It's nothing," she said.

   The doctor knelt. "Get over here," he ordered. She balked, but followed
his instructions. He led her to the same table where he'd put the bandage
on Apollo's nose. Apollo tried to help, but Sheba was Sheba: She didn't
want any extra assistance.

  "What happened?" Apollo asked.

  "She's got a bad sprain," Doctor Salik said, probing her ankle.

  "I was getting down from my Viper," Sheba said. "I just—"

  "Sheba," Apollo said. "You're pushing yourself too hard."

  Ordinarily, Sheba would have never made a mistake like that.

   "I was searching for that missing barge," Sheba said. "It doesn't make
any sense, Apollo. It's got to be there, but it's like it's disappeared into
this… cloud!" She waved her arms.

  "Sit still!" Doctor Salik commanded. The normally mild-mannered
doctor was in command in sickbay. Sheba bristled, but kept still.

   Apollo shook his head. "No," he said. "Someone took it. There's a
traitor—more than one. They've got inside information. There's somebody
turning on us from inside," he said.
   "Traitor!" Sheba cried. "I'll give them the full measure of justice when I
find them."

   Apollo knew that was true; the problem was, could anyone find them in
time? He held Sheba's leg steady for the doctor to treat her.

   "Apollo," Sheba said. "Let me go. Let me get back out there."

   "You're not going anywhere right this centon," Doctor Salik told her.
"These tissues aren't going to be ready to hold your full weight for at least
a sectare."

   "I'll be the judge of that!" Sheba cried.

  "Look," Apollo told the doctor. "I'll take care of Sheba. I'll take her to
my quarters."

  The doctor muttered to himself, then looked around the sickbay.
"You're right," he said. "She doesn't need to be here, and she can recover
well in your quarters."

   Apollo nodded. To Sheba, he said, "Let's talk this over. Maybe—" Apollo
thought of Tigh, and Athena. They had to be certain of what they were
dealing with in this situation. The bomb, the traitors, now even
Koren—missing. There was no way he could find everything on his own.
He wanted to put his head together with Sheba, and then they would
bring the others on board.

   Even with Sheba's outburst when he told her of Cassiopeia's pregnancy,
he still knew that he could trust her—maybe more than anybody else. And
she was a brilliant strategist, truly the daughter of Commander Cain. And,
Apollo thought, Sheba was always his friend. She always had been, and she
always would be.

  Soon, Sheba was ready to walk, although she was limping, and she and
Apollo thanked Doctor Salik for his treatment.

  "Thank the Lords for small favors," Apollo muttered to himself as he
and Sheba entered his quarters. The fumarello smoke was gone. Baltar
was gone.

   "Not again," Apollo muttered. But checking his alarm, it looked like
Baltar had retreated to his house-arrest warren, no longer wandering and
making trouble.

   "What was that?" Sheba asked as she followed Apollo inside.

   "Nothing important," Apollo told her. A quick glance inside his sleeping
quarters showed Apollo that Baltar had even made his bed. And neatly,
too!

   They sat beside each other on Apollo's simple, yet comfortable bench.
Sheba immediately relaxed, putting her injured foot on the low table in
front of them, careful not to jar the simple artifacts and mementos that
Apollo had placed on the table for decoration and to remind himself of the
long yahrens of their journey, as well as their lost home, Caprica.

   "Someone's playing us all off each other," Apollo said.

   "Every time I think of this mess, I get furious. It's like everything we
fought for, my father's death—the loss of the Pegasus and Kobol—it means
nothing!"

   Apollo nodded. "Yes, I understand," he said. "But the question is, why?"

   "I'm no psychologist," Sheba said. "Someone's a thief! A liar! A
kidnapper! It's this Jinkrat. I say just go on IFB and tell the truth. People
will listen. And that will make an end of this!"

   "Sheba, Jinkrat wouldn't kidnap his own son. He's a rebel, but he's not
crazy."

   "I say go over and blast them all!" Sheba said.

   Apollo suddenly took Sheba's hand, his heart full of warmth. That was
about all the strategy he'd get out of her. Sheba was no plotter. Now that
he was sitting beside her, he realized. Sheba! She had never lied to him.
He couldn't believe how easily fooled he had been by Cassiopeia's seeming
faithfulness. Why, she was as changeable as Starbuck. They were
matched—slaves to their emotions, unable to stick to anything for long.

   But Sheba? She was rock-steady. No, she had never lied to him. Now,
looking at her beautiful, fiery face, he knew that she never would.
  "Sheba," he said. "There's something else I wanted to talk to you
about."

  Her hazel eyes widened. "Not more news, Apollo," she said. "Don't tell
me Cassiopeia's having twins!" she blurted.

  "No," he said, shaking his head ruefully. "Nothing like that. It's just—"

   Sheba squeezed his hand, nodding sympathetically. "Go ahead, Apollo,"
she said.

   "I'm just confused, Sheba. You trust people all your life. And then they
go and just…" Apollo fell silent. It was Starbuck—and Cassi. People just
went and betrayed you in a micron. The traitor was as yet a stranger. But
Starbuck—Starbuck was his oldest, closest friend. And he really thought
that he'd begun to have feelings for Cassi. Those moments had been
special. Or so he thought.

  Sheba nodded again. "I understand," she said, her voice full of emotion.

   "I have a duty," Apollo said after a while. "But the thing that really
hurts—I was starting to feel like I could… love… Cassiopeia. I never cared
about anyone like that. Not after Serina. Losing her was…" Apollo couldn't
continue. The memories were too painful, and too deep. All at once, the
unfairness of it all struck him. Serina, the one woman he truly, deeply
loved, torn from him by this war.

  "We've all suffered losses," Sheba said. "My father—"

   "I know," Apollo said. Sheba was looking at him like she expected him
to say something more, but Apollo wasn't sure what that might be. "Your
father was a grave loss to us all. I know how you loved him, Sheba. He was
a great man."

  "As was your father, Apollo. They were both great men." Her voice was
deep with emotion.

   Thoughtfully, Apollo nodded. Adama and Cain—what would they do
without them? Not for the first time since this crisis began, Apollo felt the
heavy burden that was on his shoulders. A burden that Adama carried
with such ease and grace. Could Apollo ever achieve that level of
greatness? First, they'd all have to survive.
   "Apollo," Sheba said suddenly, leaning forward. "Have you ever thought
that there's something different—about both of us?"

   "Different?" Apollo asked, puzzled by the sudden change in Sheba's
tone.

  "Yes!" she said, her face glowing. "Apollo, I've waited a long time to tell
you this."

   Apollo held her hand tightly and looked into her fierce, beautiful eyes.
Sheba—the fighter—full of fire and passion and courage. "Tell me what?"
he asked.

   "We are both the children of great warriors," she said.

   "The pride of our people. Your father, and mine, guided us out of the
great disaster. They had the vision—they knew," she said.

  Apollo nodded. "Thinking about that," he said, "It just makes me
angrier about this rebellion. We are all that stands between the people and
complete annihilation. But my father always told me that to lead, one
must stand alone. That was what he always said."

  "Not always alone," Sheba replied, looking up at Apollo with an
expression that he couldn't understand. Clearly, she was overcome by
emotion. But Sheba had always been a very emotional person, quick to
anger, not spending a lot of time in thought, but choosing action, just as
her father had. It was strange, Apollo thought. Why would Sheba have
waited such a long time to tell him that she thought they had a lot in
common? Everyone knew that already.

  "I know you're by my side now, Sheba," Apollo said, reassuring her.
"We'll overcome this crisis. You'll—" But he was cut short by Sheba's
sudden embrace.

   Her mouth sought his eagerly. Eyes wide, Apollo felt her kiss, and he
leapt back, astonished.

   "Sheba!" he cried.

    Her face showed signs of hurt because he had pulled away, but hope
still shone in her eyes. "That's what I've been wanting to tell you, Apollo. I
love you. I always have."

  "Sheba, I," he managed to stutter.

  "No, Apollo," she said, touching his lips to quiet him. "Don't say
anything right now."

   Apollo did as Sheba commanded, because his mind was reeling and he
truly couldn't think of anything he could possibly say.

  Sheba appeared to gather her composure and make some kind of
decision as Apollo watched her, speechless.

   She stood, smoothing her uniform. "Don't say a word," she ordered
Apollo. "Just meditate about what I've said." She paused, her face taking
on the determined expression that Apollo knew so well. "I have thought
about this," she said. "You are the son of Adama. I am the daughter of
Cain. What could be more appropriate? Meditate on the blood that we
both share—blood of the greatest warriors our people have ever known. Go
to your sanctuary, Apollo. After a time, it will all become clear."

  Then, she threw her cloak back dramatically and strode off.

  Pausing at the door, she turned back. "Apollo, I have made up my
mind," she said. "Now you must make up yours."

  Sheba had always thrown caution to the wind. In the strangest way,
Sheba was right.

   Somehow, in all of his confused seeking of answers, Apollo had
forgotten the most important thing about Sheba. She might have been
slender, feminine, almost delicate in appearance, but she was the
toughest, most willful, stubborn, infuriating woman he had ever known.
His nose began to throb painfully, and all he could think of to do as Sheba
left was to reach up and rip Doctor Salik's plasteen bandage off and hurl it
to the floor.

  That was gone, and so was the rest of Apollo's uncertainty.

  He had to understand Jinkrat's unholy rage. That was the key.
Understanding where this rebellion was coming from would take all of the
depth that Apollo was beginning to develop inside.
                                    ***

   Wild emotions played through Apollo as he sat, trying to meditate and
see the way out. He saw images—of his father, Adama. Somehow, he
thought that if Adama had been there to observe Sheba's proud
declaration of love, Adama would have laughed. But also, with his wise,
firm way, he would have reminded Apollo that there was truth in what
Sheba had said—at least about the two of them sharing a heritage, and a
deep loyalty to Galactica's desperate mission to save their people and find
a home at last.

  Then his reverie was interrupted. Athena was contacting him from the
Daedalus.

    "Apollo," she said. He sighed. How could he have thought he could do it
all by himself?

   "Athena, some sectares, don't you just wish you were…" he said, leaving
the last thing unsaid.

   "I know, Apollo," she replied. "I came to tell you that I'm sorry. About
the thing with Starbuck. We shouldn't have—"

  "It's not your fault, Athena," Apollo said. "Starbuck's a—"

   "No," she said, interrupting him. "It was my idea. I convinced Starbuck
to come to your quarters. We both had too much ambrosa."

   "Athena, there's a traitor on the Galactica. We can't find Koren, and we
can't even find that bomb. I can't cover the whole ship myself; I thought if
I meditated, that I could find some answers. I have a feeling…" he said,
thinking hard. "I have an instinct that Jinkrat is no ordinary rebel. He's
been used—lied to. Yes, he's got reason to be angry. But there was no way
to avoid this, Athena. We had no choice. With all the fleet's been through,
some people were bound to die."

   Athena shook her head. "Why doesn't he understand—we're all
suffering! How can he believe it's personal, that we're against him? We
helped his son. We had no idea that… Apollo, we don't even know if he's
been kidnapped. That boy's independent enough to wander off on his
own."
   "Considering what happened in the Council, I doubt that anyone but
Jinkrat himself can stop this madness. I have to speak to him directly,
Athena," Apollo said.

  "Apollo!" Athena cried. "You're putting your life in the hands of a man
who's got a bomb on the Galactica —right now!"

   "He's full of rage, Athena," Apollo said. "But he's not a liar. I sense a
great evil. And it's not him. Somebody's using him. Somebody's
manipulating us, everything."

   "Baltar," Athena said. "I wish I could—"

   "No," Apollo said. "Baltar's back in his quarters. He still knows
something, but this isn't Baltar. I don't know if it's anybody. I just can't
see clearly. We're tearing ourselves apart from within. Help me, Athena."
Across the distances, brother and sister communicated without words.

   Athena's eyes went wide. "Iblis," she whispered.

   Apollo saw her vision, too. "Exactly," Apollo said. "There are so many
lies. We've had to make tough choices, but somebody or something is
turning everything inside out. Everything!"

   "This is definitely like Iblis, Apollo," Athena said. Then, her tone
changed. "We're still searching for that barge, Apollo. And Tigh hasn't
found any sign of the boy."

   "Or the bomb," Apollo said.

   Athena shook her head.

   "Join with me," Apollo asked her.

   And together, they joined across space in meditation. At once, a force
that neither of them understood linked brother and sister. Apollo saw the
fleet in flames, and images of people battling without hope, vicious
murdering and killing—blue bolts of laser fire cutting through dozens of
helpless, shrieking women and children.

  As long as they searched, as hard as they sought illumination, there was
nothing but destruction, disaster, and mayhem. Desperate, Apollo turned
his mind from the fleet outward, seeking in the Ur cloud itself.

   He and Athena, joined as one, traveled through the strange cloud
seeking the missing patrols, and seeking a way out of the cloud. But
wherever they turned, there was nothing.

   A strange, cruel voice laughed, but said nothing. Apollo thought that he
recognized the voice, but with nothing more than a single laugh, he could
not identify it, and linked as he was with Athena, he knew that she was
puzzled as well.

  Exhausted, brother and sister finally broke free of their searching. This
was not like the Battle of Kobol. No answers were coming to them at all.
There were no magical, mysterious coordinates to save them this time.

   "Why can we find no answers?" Apollo asked Athena.

  "I don't know," she said. "But we must have hope. The Lords of Kobol
would not abandon us," she said.

   "All I saw was death," Apollo said, "death and destruction."

   "Apollo," she said, her voice full of feeling. "Don't lose hope. We
conquered the Cylons, and the Chitain. We are trapped here, but not
forever. I know there's a way out. Apollo—remember Baltar. Baltar knows
something. He has the key. We must get it out of him!"

   "That voice," Apollo said. "You heard it laughing, too."

  Athena nodded. "It reminded me of Baltar," she said. "That's what
made me think of him, more than Iblis."

  "He is not telling all he knows," Apollo said. "It's the strangest thing. I
don't trust Baltar—who could ever trust him? But he's changed, Athena.
He's not the same Baltar we knew and hated all these yahrens."

   "Has he said nothing since you released him?" Athena asked.

  Apollo shook his head. "It seems like he's trying," he said. "He's been
wandering—driving me crazy. And talking in riddles."

   "That's Baltar," Athena said. "I can't believe he walked in on me and
Starbuck!"
  "That's how I found out about you and Starbuck."

   "Oh," Athena said, and her face darkened in anger. "That rotten,
stinking, lying, spying—"

  "He made himself perfectly at home," Apollo said. "But he did as I told
him. He even made the bed."

    Athena thought a moment, then she laughed. "I suppose we should be
grateful for anything that Baltar does that's not destructive," she said. "In
its own way, it's a miracle."

  But Apollo didn't reply because there was another voice at his door.
"May I enter?" It was Tigh.

   "Of course," Apollo said. He turned away from Athena's image to greet
Tigh. Tigh's normally stoic face was full of worry.

  "Apollo," Tigh said, nodding to Athena. "We still haven't found the
bomb or Koren. But there's more news."

  "What?" Apollo and Athena said in unison. "What next?"

   "Jinkrat is on his way to the Galactica. According to Sire Aron, he's
willing to talk to the Council before he detonates the bomb." . "That puts
him in our hands!" Apollo cried. "I can't believe it. Are you sure?"

   Tigh shook his head. "No, Apollo. Sire Aron has… Apollo, the Council
has removed you from command. That was Jinkrat's requirement. If
Koren is not there to greet him when he arrives, he will detonate the bomb
from his transport."

  "Lords of Kobol," Apollo said. "I can't—"

   "I'm afraid it's true," Tigh said. "I was unprepared for the commands
that came in from them. If I'd known," he said, shaking his head in regret.
"I would have seen to it that transmissions were suffering an interruption
due to this Ur cloud. I would have ignored it, Apollo."

  "You can't foresee everything," Apollo said, but he looked around wildly.

   "Sire Aron is very regretful, but the Council has put him in charge of
the Galactica," Tigh declared.
   "He's an old man!" Apollo cried. "What's gotten into them? Do they
think they'll defend against the rebels with words? How can they—"

   "The Council said they've seen the light," Tigh said, his voice and face
full of disgust.

  "The light!" Athena cried. "They're saying they've had a vision from the
Beings of Light?"

  Tigh shook his head, then shrugged. "No, but they've… Apollo, there's
one more thing."

  "What's that?" Apollo asked. "They want the Viper pilots to sing and
dance?"

  "They're organizing a tribunal," Tigh said, "to try you for crimes
against the people and the fleet."

  "Tigh!" Athena cried. She'd heard the whole thing.

   "I did manage to cut the transmission short," Tigh said. "I'm really not
sure when they scheduled it, or who's responsible to deliver you up to
them," he told Apollo.

   Despite the disaster, Apollo couldn't help but smile at faithful President
Tigh, standing proud in his immaculate uniform.

  "Well," he said, looking at Athena's image and back to Tigh. "What
would you suggest that we do?"

  "Tell the Council where they can stick it!" Tigh exclaimed.

  Athena grinned. "Tigh's right," she told Apollo. "We have no time to
negotiate with them, and they've proven they're out of their minds."

   "By my orders, the Council is to disband until I have met personally
with the rebel Jinkrat and negotiated a peace," Apollo commanded. "Sire
Aron can't do this. He hasn't got the authority. Tigh, transmit that
command on every channel, throughout the fleet. The fleet is now under
martial law and my word is the final one on every matter."

  "Yes, sir!" Tigh said, saluting Apollo.
  "I'll join you on the bridge momentarily," Apollo told Tigh. "There's one
more thing for me to do before that."

  Athena broke the transmission, but not before she told Apollo that
Daedalus would launch more Vipers in search of the missing barge.
                             Chapter Six
   APOLLO BELIEVED that he knew where Koren was. It was only a
matter of traveling two decks to find out if his instincts were true, but the
cursed alarm began to signal him as soon as he left his quarters.

   Baltar. Escaped again!

  Swearing under his breath, Apollo stood, turning to see his bane
heading straight toward him.

   "Baltar, I don't have time for this," Apollo said. "I've got a lost boy to
find, not to mention a bomb, and a rebellion in full swing."

   "Bad news, Apollo?" Baltar asked.

  "As if you care! You've been less helpful than a three-legged daggit,"
Apollo growled, shouldering his way past the older, smaller man.

   "You've had visions," Baltar said. "So have I."

   "Baltar!" Apollo cried in frustration. "I don't have the time. This rebel
and the Council have gone mad. We've got traitors in our midst. I've had
to declare—"

   "Yourself as the sole dictator of the fleet," Baltar said, smiling. "Isn't
that what you've always wanted, Apollo? Just like Adama. No politics, no
pesky civilians mucking about in the all-important affairs of command?"

  "You're the one obsessed with power, Baltar. Don't charge me with your
own failings."

   "We are each mirrors," Baltar said softly. "And none of us so different
as we would imagine."

   "Baltar, in five million yahrens, you and I could never have a single
thing in common," Apollo said. The very thought of it was beyond Apollo.
Baltar was greed and selfishness personified. If there was any kind of
mirror reflecting them, it was reversed; if Apollo was matter, then Baltar
was anti-matter. Baltar wouldn't know honor and duty if it presented itself
to him as an opportunity to be the richest dictator in the universe, ruling
over Cylons and people alike. Baltar was so twisted that he'd somehow find
a way to evade even the duty he so desired, the terrible urge for
domination and power and respect that had driven him to destroy his life,
and the lives of countless others, on Caprica, Gemoni, and the other ten
colonies.

   Respect had to be earned, Apollo thought. As his father Adama had
earned it. And Baltar had so foolishly, blindly thrown away what little he
had earned.

  "Things are not always as they seem," Baltar said. "Choose your
enemies wisely, Apollo."

    "Baltar, what are you talking about?" Apollo asked. "We're in full
rebellion. I'm going to deal with it personally." It was no vision that he'd
had—it was pure instinct. There was no way that Jinkrat would have
spirited his own son away. The man's anger was real. And that left…
Apollo couldn't believe it, but there was only one way to know for certain.
If only Baltar would—Apollo paused, suddenly wondering how Baltar had
gotten his news, since Tigh and Athena had left only microns earlier. "How
did you know of this?" he asked.

  "I have my sources," Baltar said, cryptically.

  "Spying!" Apollo cried.

  "No," Baltar said. "Do you think you are the only individual on
Galactica with any type of insight?"

  Apollo gestured in complete frustration. "Baltar, look," he said.

   "Either you help, or you don't. It's as simple as that. And talking in
riddles at a moment like this—it's no help."

   "The people believe in miracles," Baltar said. "There are stranger things
in this Ur cloud than you imagine. Don't forget—we have a lost
battlestar—"
   "Baltar, I've got to go," Apollo said, fed up with Baltar's riddles. "For the
time being, you stay here in my quarters. If that security tracker doesn't
bother you, you might as well make yourself at home—again!"

   Apollo turned to go.

  Baltar merely smiled. "Remember what I've said, Apollo. Miracles can
happen, and people believe in them," Baltar reminded Apollo. "And also
remember that people are seldom who they seem."

   With a last, frustrated cry, Apollo started on his mission. He hated the
thought of it. But he had to go. Whatever the truth was, he'd find out, no
matter how it hurt. The traitor would be unveiled, and the rebel Jinkrat
had to be stopped—once and for all.

   Koren was bored in Sire Aron's quarters. There wasn't much that an old
man would have lying around that would interest a boy of twelve yahrens.
A bunch of old, boring books that were too hard to read. How long was he
supposed to stick around? And where was his dad? The old guy had said
he was going to be right there.

   Centons ago!

   And Koren especially didn't like the ugly bald guy that just sat there
and stared at him. He didn't like his black uniform, and he didn't like his
ugly little eyes that were way too close together.

   Maybe he thought he was better than Koren just because he worked for
the high and mighty Council of Twelve. His dad belonged on that Council!
In fact, the old man had said something like that, which made Koren feel
proud, but he wasn't sure he trusted the guy even so.

   Koren didn't trust anybody but himself and his dad. It was about time
to figure out exactly what was going on, and maybe to get out of this
boring place and find his dad.

   So, Koren sat cross-legged on the floor across from the ugly guy and
stared at him.

   It didn't take very long.

   "What is it you want, boy?" the guy finally said. Koren could tell he was
getting angry.

  So, Koren didn't say a thing.

   "What? Why are you staring! I'll put you in—" The guy retrieved a pair
of restraints from his belt.

  Koren still didn't say anything.

  "Kid, you better go sit over there and quit bugging me," the man said.
"Don't you know who I am?"

  Koren had an idea of something that he could say, but he thought it
would be better to keep his mouth shut.

  Now the guy was on his feet, charging at Koren.

  "What's that in your hand?" Koren asked.

   Now the guy stopped short. "What do you mean?" He looked at the
restraints. "Oh, it's something we use for—" Then he looked suspiciously at
Koren. "You know what these are. What kind of game are you playing?"

   "Nuh-huh," Koren said. "I never seen anything like that before. What
are they for?"

   The guy laughed. "I guess you are pretty isolated over there with all
those refugees," he said.

  "Yeah," Koren said. "Can I see those?"

  "Wait a second," the guy said, kneeling beside Koren.

  Koren still kept his arms crossed. He didn't want the guy to think…

   "They work like this," the man said. He opened the restraints by
pressing a button on their side. Then he pressed a code and the restraints
snapped open. They'd fit right over somebody's wrists.

   "Wow," Koren said, acting like he was incredibly fascinated. "Can you
close them up again?"

  "Yeah," the guy said. "Like this. You have to know the code to get them
to open and close."

  Koren knew the code.

  "So, put them on me," Koren said.

   Laughing a nasty laugh, the man told Koren to scoot around and put
his hands behind his back. Koren felt the restraints snap shut around his
wrists.

   He pretended to struggle for a bit, then he looked up into the man's
ugly face. "You can take them off now," he said.

  "No way," the man said, his eyes narrow and mean.

   "Please!" Koren said. "I know how they work now. So, you can take
them off."

   "You wanted me to put them on," the ugly man replied. "So, if anybody
asks, that's their answer."

  "Where's my dad?" Koren asked, acting scared.

  "He's coming," the man said.

  Koren didn't believe him.

   The funny thing about the restraints was that Koren could slip them off
in a micron; not to mention the fact that he knew the code now. Maybe it
worked for all of them.

   "Let me go!" Koren started screaming. He kicked out with his legs and
started thrashing.

  "Hey!" the guy cried. "Easy! Calm down." He looked around nervously.
Koren figured that his guesses were right. He wasn't supposed to be here,
and this was all some kind of weird secret.

  He screamed and thrashed some more.

  "Stop that! You'll—"

  Get other people to come in here, Koren thought. So he really screamed
now.

  The man threw himself on Koren, and tried to put his hand over
Koren's mouth.

  That was all the time Koren needed to slip his hands free. He
remembered what his dad had shown him. And drove the heel of his palm
up hard, right into the guy's big, ugly nose.

   Koren felt something give when he did that. And the guy's eyes rolled
up in his head, right in that micron. Blood gushed all over. The guy was
half-conscious, and really heavy. Koren had to slide his body away,
wriggling like a fish, but he got free.

   As quickly as he could, he punched in that code he remembered, and
the restraints snapped open. The guy was groaning, but there wasn't any
strength in his big, heavy arms. Koren grabbed one hand, then the other,
and got both hairy wrists into those restraints.

  Snick!

  They were shut. That was one big, ugly guy who'd be in a lot of trouble
when he came to his senses.

  And in another micron, Koren was on his feet, running toward that
outer door as fast as his feet could go.

   As Koren was running down the corridor, trying to remember all the
landmarks he'd passed on that long walk with Sire Aron, and Apollo was
headed on his mission, Starbuck was in the launch pod readying his Viper
for another patrol.

  Sheba arrived, ready to leave on her own mission. "What did you say to
Athena, Starbuck?" Sheba asked, eyeing Starbuck's bruises and cuts.

  "She just scratched me," Starbuck said, in no mood for Sheba's teasing.

  Sheba laughed. "Right," she said. "Just a scratch or two."

  "Hey," Starbuck said. "Cut it out. There's something coming over the
comm."

  "What?" Sheba asked, checking her Viper's laser cannons.
  "Two Vipers, incoming," Starbuck said.

  "We don't have—" Sheba said.

   "You're right, we don't," Starbuck replied. "It's two of the missing
Vipers!"

  "The patrol!" Sheba cried.

  Sheba and Starbuck took off at a dead run, heading for the landing bay.

   When they got there, Starbuck's excitement faded, because it wasn't
Dalton. He could tell by the markings right away that the Vipers belonged
to Boomer and Bojay. But at least they'd have some word.

   Starbuck pushed his way through the crowd of rejoicing pilots and
mechanics to find Boomer, who was removing his helmet, looking totally
drained.

  "Boomer!" he cried, embracing his long-time wingman and friend.

  At the same time, Bojay greeted Sheba with another enthusiastic bear
hug.

   "What happened?" Starbuck demanded of Boomer. He didn't have to
say anything about Dalton.

  Boomer answered right away. "She's still out there, man. They had
more fuel. We lost them in this fracking cloud—we had no choice."

  "But she's all right?" Starbuck asked.

   "Yeah," Boomer assured him. "As far as I know, they're fine. We just
can't get anything through that mess out there. But we went out,
Starbuck—way out."

   "Why didn't you and Bojay make them come back?" Starbuck asked,
his face marked by frustration.

   "We couldn't, man. We were really low on fuel, and we just—lost them.
Visual, comm, everything," Boomer said. "They were doing something
different, using inertia to carry themselves farther. But they were okay,
Starbuck. Dalton said if anybody found the way out, it was going to be her,
Trays and Troy."

   "Boomer, do you realize how long we've been looking for you? We were
almost convinced you were—"

  Suddenly Boomer's honest face changed as he realized what had
happened.

   "I never realized," he said. "We thought you'd just think we were on
patrol. I never—"

  "We were getting to the point where we figured we'd never see you
again," Starbuck said.

  Boomer shook his head. "I didn't know," he said. "You must have—"

  "Yeah," Starbuck said. "I was pretty worried about Dalton. And you too,
man." He embraced Boomer one more time.

   Meanwhile, Sheba told Bojay that she had to get Apollo right
away—briefly sharing everything that had happened—at least as much as
she could.

  "A bomb!" Bojay cried.

   "That's right," Sheba said. "But Apollo's got a plan. Tigh and Athena
are on it. Bojay—I have to go," she said, tearing away from Bojay and
heading off to find Apollo. "Apollo's going to get that boy back, and we'll
find that bomb."

  For once, Bojay had no quick retort as Sheba took off.

    Turning to Starbuck, he said, "You would have thought she would have
at least kissed me!"

   Starbuck grinned, and Bojay joined Boomer and Starbuck in sharing
their own thoughts about the Ur cloud and the trouble that lay out there.

   "I don't know if there is a way out," Boomer said. "I mean, Dalton was
pretty positive, but I don't know. It's like a ship's graveyard or something.
I never saw anything like it."

  Amid all the cheering and rejoicing, Starbuck and the other pilots
sensed something change. People began to fall silent, and soon the crowd
parted. A tall, gaunt form broke through the crowd, coming right up to
the four friends.

   "You have survived a great journey," the newcomer said in his deep,
sonorous voice.

   It was Gar'Tokk—the Noman. Starbuck wondered where Gar'Tokk had
been lurking. He hadn't seen him in sectares or even heard about him
since the victory celebration, and that seemed like another lifetime ago.

   "You sure have a way with being the life of the party," Starbuck
wisecracked.

  The Noman's heavy brows lowered over his deep-set eyes.

   Somehow, Starbuck knew, that expression wasn't a noman's version of
a smile.

  "I come to speak of serious matters," the noman said.

    Bojay and Boomer looked at one another, wondering what the noman
wanted with Starbuck, of all people. Gar'Tokk was known for not speaking
with anyone except Apollo, and in fact, he had always acted like he was
within a hair's width of putting out a blood hunt for Starbuck, just like his
fellow nomen had with Starbuck's father, Chameleon. Nomen simply had
no sense of humor at all.

   "Hey, we've got something to celebrate," Starbuck said, grinning and
clapping Gar'Tokk on his shoulder. The slow, dour double take that
Gar'Tokk did quickly dampened Starbuck's enthusiasm, and Starbuck
rocked back on his heels and put both his hands in his pocket.

   "I forgot," Starbuck said sheepishly. "Never touch a Noman without his
permission."

   Bojay raised his hand to his mouth and snickered, stopping only when
Starbuck shot him an enraged look of warning.

  "Come with me," Gar'Tokk said in his low, menacing voice. His rough
hand emerged from his cloak, beckoning to Starbuck.
   "Hey, guys, I'll catch up with you later," Starbuck told them. He looked
pleadingly at them for help, but Bojay and Boomer's expressions told him
that this Noman problem was Starbuck's and Starbuck's alone to solve.

  "Just my luck," Starbuck said under his breath, thinking that Gar'Tokk
couldn't hear him.

   "There is no such thing as luck," the noman growled as he led Starbuck
through the crowd to an unknown destination.

   "All right," Starbuck said in total irritation, after Gar'Tokk had led him
through a seemingly endless series of twists and turns to a tiny
engineering relay room hidden in a little-visited corner tucked away
behind Galactica's starboard launch bay.

  "This room is shielded," Gar'Tokk said.

  "What do you mean?" Starbuck asked. He blew dust from the
untouched wires and looked around. "Who'd shield this? Nobody's been
here in yahrens." Starbuck began to cough. "Hundreds of yahrens!" he
added.

  "There are eyes that see," Gar'Tokk said enigmatically. "But they do not
watch this place."

  "What… eyes?" Starbuck asked.

  "You cannot understand," Gar'Tokk said. "You are a foolish man, but
you are—friend—to Apollo."

  "I don't know about that," Starbuck said. He touched the huge bruise
over his eye and shuddered. It still hurt.

   "Yes," Gar'Tokk said. "Nomen fight as well. But true-friends-brothers…
are always one."

   "I don't think Apollo's eager to be my friend right about now," Starbuck
said.

  "That is of no matter!" Gar'Tokk said, glowering.

  "Yeah, right," Starbuck said, gesturing to calm down the suddenly
angry Noman, who towered over him.
  Starbuck knew that the Noman could twist him into a knot and break
him over his knee in a micron. "Anything you say, Gar'Tokk."

   "Apollo has need of his true friends right now," Gar'Tokk said. "There
are those who plot against him. Dangerous ones."

  "You got that right," Starbuck said. "The rebels and Baltar," he added.

  "No," Gar'Tokk said. "The rebels are but a veil. And Baltar is not
Apollo's enemy."

  "Gar'Tokk, I'd love to stay and chat," Starbuck said, thinking only of
how quickly he could get back to Boomer and find out some idea of where
Dalton, Trays and Troy had been heading. "But I really have to run."

   "Stay," Gar'Tokk said, enforcing his request with an iron grip on
Starbuck's shoulder, pulling him back into the alcove.

  Starbuck nodded, looking fearfully into the Noman's impassive face.

   "Apollo fights the enemy within," Gar'Tokk said. "And the enemy with a
false face."

   Starbuck nodded. "Yeah," he said, even though he didn't understand a
syllable. Starbuck just hoped to calm the Noman, who seemed like he was
about to break into an insane fury at any moment.

   Suddenly a dagger glittered in Gar'Tokk's hand. Starbuck cried out and
struggled, but the Noman whirled Starbuck around and grabbed his other
hand as easily as if Starbuck was a child.

  "Hey, easy," Starbuck said.

   But before he could say anything more, the dagger slashed across
Starbuck's palm and Starbuck cried out, not so much in pain, because it
had been so quick, but in shock.

   Then the Noman released him, and Starbuck, holding his hand,
watched in stunned silence as the noman raised the dagger once more,
this time to make an identical slash across his own palm.

  "We join in blood to protect Apollo," Gar'Tokk said.
  Eyes wide, Starbuck stood frozen as the Noman grasped Starbuck's arm
and brought Starbuck's palm together with his own.

   "Our blood is mingled. We will not rest while Apollo is in danger. Our
lives are forfeit if harm comes to him."

   For once, Starbuck had nothing to say. He wondered if the Noman's
blood mingling with his would turn him into some kind of seven-foot tall
bearded monster—loathed and feared by all women—and worst of all—too
scary to even consider playing triad with, and with no sense of humor.

  "It is done," Gar'Tokk said. He released Starbuck, pushing him away,
but not roughly.

  "Listen," Starbuck said. "I don't know—"

  "All that needed to happen has happened," the Noman said.

  "What happened?" Starbuck asked. Who could understand a Noman?

  "I sense that you want to go," Gar'Tokk said.

  "No, really?" Starbuck said sarcastically.

  "Do not mock this," the Noman growled. "But I understand more than
you know, Starbuck."

  All Starbuck could do was stare at Gar'Tokk in amazement.

  "I know that you wish to find your daughter, blood of your body. This, a
Noman understands."

  "Dalton!" Starbuck cried. "What do you know about Dalton?" he asked.

  "I do not see into this cloud," Gar'Tokk said. "But your friends have
some knowledge. You may go to them. For the time being, I will carry the
burden of protecting Apollo. For all the danger we face, the greatest
danger is not yet here."

  "What do you mean, 'greatest danger?'" Starbuck asked.

  "You will learn. You may go to find your daughter if you wish. But do
not take too long, Starbuck. The bond will call you back, in any case."
   "Yeah," Starbuck said. "I can imagine," he added, though he really
couldn't.

   With that, Gar'Tokk drew his hood close to his bearded face, and
Starbuck took off, racing back to catch up with Boomer and Bojay. At
least the Noman had said one thing that made sense. Boomer and Bojay
would be able to put Starbuck on Dalton's trail. And Starbuck was sick of
waiting, and sick of fighting, and really sick of insane conversations and
getting cut to shreds by crazy nomen in closets.

  Dalton was out there, lost in the Ur cloud, and she needed him. Maybe
now more than ever.

  Apollo was at a full run, nearly at his destination.

   He reached Sire Aron's quarters to find the door wide open, and a very
strange sight within. He'd been preparing himself for a confrontation;
accusations—maybe even a fight. Because there was one common element
to everything that had happened. A common element with a wise, elderly
and friendly face.

  But that common element was nowhere to be seen. Apollo's eyes
narrowed as he spotted a council security guard curled on the floor, his
wrists shackled behind his back, blood pouring out of his nose. Apollo
knelt beside the man, checking to see how badly he was injured.

  "The kid," the man muttered, half-conscious. "He took off."

  There was only one kid who'd be taking off. And of course he'd run
away, Apollo thought. But how by the Lords of Kobol had a boy of twelve
yahrens overcome a fully armed Council Security guard?

  He didn't want to think the rest of what he was thinking, but the pieces
were beginning to come together in his mind. Ugly ones.

  "Why are you here?" Apollo asked the man.

   "Gotta get the kid," the man said again. He was clearly not thinking
straight, and maybe his eyesight was bad, because he didn't seem to
recognize Apollo.

  Thank the Lords of Kobol for that.
  Torn as to what to do, Apollo contacted sickbay.

   "There's an injured man in Sire Aron's quarters," he said. They'd be on
their way.

   Badly injured, Apollo realized. Koren! The boy was some fighter. Apollo
marveled at his resourcefulness, even as he wished he could get his hands
on him and put a stop to this insanity.

  "Tigh!" Apollo said next. "Tigh, I'm in Sire Aron's quarters. Where is
he?"

  From the bridge, Tigh answered. "He's… they're in the Council
Chambers right now. The rebel has arrived on board Galactica."

  Time was so short.

  "Tigh," the Council Guard muttered. "Damn him!"

  Well, out of the mouths of… how many of these guards were traitors,
Apollo wondered.

   Apollo knelt close to the guard. "Yeah," he said, trying to make his voice
sound hard and cruel. "Damn that Tigh and Apollo." This was hardly in
character for Apollo, but the man was out of it. Maybe he could get some
information out of him like this. He surely didn't recognize Apollo at all!

  "Apollo's finished," the man muttered.

  "About time," Apollo said.

   "Yeah." The man blinked, and for a micron, Apollo thought that he
recognized him, but he thrashed around instead and said, "Kid ran out.
Gotta get him or we're all dead men."

  Dead men! But Apollo asked, "Just over a kid?"

   But that was all the information Apollo was going to get. The man's
eyes rolled up again and he lost consciousness.

   Under any other circumstances, Apollo would have stayed to help. He
might have even carried the man to sickbay, even though he looked
incredibly heavy. But these weren't just any circumstances.
  Apollo's vision hadn't shown him this. A guard in Sire Aron's quarters
and a "runaway kid." Find him! Or we're all dead men. True for everybody,
Apollo guessed.

   Out in the corridor, Apollo paused for a micron before recontacting
Tigh on the bridge.

  "Tigh, Koren was in Sire Aron's quarters. Get as many search teams as
you can down on this deck. He can't be that far; he doesn't know the ship."

  "Apollo," Tigh said. "We're overextended. Everyone's with Sheba right
now, heading for sickbay. They think they've located the bomb."

  "I'll meet them there," Apollo said. And he was running—again.

   Sheba was rushing to find Apollo, her hurt ankle throbbing, when she
caught one of the security teams in the corridor.

  "We've checked the entire ship," one of the men told her. "And you
haven't found a thing?" Sheba asked. "Look harder!"

  "Just one place left to check," another team member said.

  "Sickbay. Never thought to try—"

  "That's where I'm headed," Sheba said. "Apollo's—" She paused, but
only for a micron.

  "Let's go!" she cried. "Everyone there's in danger!"

  At a full run, the whole group set off, men and women, led by Sheba,
who'd forgotten every bit of pain in her ankle.

  They burst into sickbay. Cassi saw them first, turning, her eyes wide.
Doctor Salik came from the lab, pointing at them and saying something
about sick people needing peace and quiet.

   The team immediately fanned out, scanning sickbay for signs of
explosives.

  Then Apollo rushed in, heading straight for Sheba.

  "This is the only place we haven't checked," Sheba told him. "But
there's something else—" she said, out of breath.

   "What's going on?" Apollo asked. He was out of breath, too.

   Sheba said, "Boomer and Bojay are back."

   "Sheba!" Apollo cried. "That's incredible news! Have they—"

   "They're fine," she said. "But we've got to find that bomb!"

   "Lords of Kobol," Apollo said. "Doctor Salik, we've got to evacuate
everyone!"

  "I got something," a security guard called. He was by the door, where a
medtech's jacket lay carelessly thrown over a bench.

   "That's my jacket," Cassi said slowly. As if time had frozen, Apollo
looked over at her, realizing how the bomb had been planted.

   "Okay, we've got to disarm it—I'm taking it our of sickbay, away from
the patients. Bomb disposal teams One and Two, you know the drill."

   He tore open the jacket, and the bomb—so small that bomb, how could
so tiny a device threaten a battlestar like the Galactica? —he tore open the
jacket and the bomb fell into his hand.

  "Get it into the corridor! Three, four, clear the corridor of civilians,
keep the area clear!"

   The security team moved out of sickbay into the hall; when they were
far enough to be just barely in earshot, the one who'd torn Cassi's jacket
set the device carefully on the floor and two of this compatriots set to work
disarming the thing.

  "Look at it!" said the officer who'd been referred to as One. "A
damnable Gemonese toy!"

   "A trinket! A bloody jury-rigged Gemonese trinket, nothing to worry
over."

   "We've been searching the whole damned Galactica for a toy?!"

   "Spare me these damned Gemonese!"
   Sheba pushed past the security men who were trying to block the door
to sickbay. She was walking toward the disposal team, stalking slowly but
angrily.

    "You!" she said. "One, Two—stop talking like a couple of fools and take
your work seriously! The folks who made that bomb are sharper than you
want to think. If you don't pay close attention, you're going to get us all
killed."

   Two laughed. "Be serious, Colonel," she said. "It's just a toy! All I have
to do is sever the timing wire, here, and it's dead."

   He did not give her time to order him to stop before he cut the wire.

   And blew the whole damned corridor to kingdom come.

   The Galactica was designed to survive serious damage, of course.

   The loss of thirty meters of the hull, of the corridor itself—that wasn't
fatal. If sickbay had been deep in the center of the structure, or close to
the Tylium core, and the core had been functional— that might have been
a crippling blow. But in a very real sense the Galactica was already
crippled; in this place, the loss of a large stretch of corridor was only an
inconvenience.

   The ship was designed as a matrix of chambers that seal on rupture;
the moment that the blast began the safeties triggered, and doors all over
the Galactica began to close. By the time Sheba was thrown into sickbay
by the blast, the door had nearly sealed itself.

   And then the blowback started; while the door was still sealing, the
corridor had opened out to space, and it was sucking air out into the void,
sucking both of the security men into the void—Sheba felt herself being
sucked out, and she screamed.

   And then a hand clasped around her wrist. And slowed her momentum
just long enough for the door to finish sealing.

  She fell to the floor, and looked up to see Apollo—she owed her life to
Apollo.

   And then the universe went black around her.
   Apollo staggered, his ears ringing, eyes stinging and burning. He could
sense the groans and cries all around him, but really couldn't hear them.
The smoke began to clear a little. Sheba lay crumpled on the floor;
through the portal on the sickbay door he could see the void of space.

   Desperately, he issued commands, then knelt beside Sheba.

   She wasn't moving. Her body was covered in blood and burns. Half of
her beautiful hair was gone. A white-faced Doctor Salik came trotting up,
a medkit in his arms.

   "Sheba!" Apollo cried.

   But there was no response.

   Dalton was cruising through the Ur cloud beside Troy and Trays, and
to tell the truth, maybe she was just sectaredreaming, because it seemed
like they'd been out in this blindness forever. She could hardly remember
what they were doing out there for a moment.

   Maybe she had drifted off, just briefly, because all at once she was
thinking of sharing a kiss with Troy, just long and slow, and his arms were
around her and—

   "Dalton!" came Trays' voice. "You asleep at the comm?"

   "No," she said, shaking her head free of the wild, crazy dreams, feeling
suddenly guilty because she'd been thinking about Troy that way, and
there was Trays, calling after her.

   "Dalton, Trays, we've got to turn back. The fuel's at critical," Troy said,
and that wasn't very romantic, either. Don't think about either of them
that way, Dalton told herself.

   "No!" she said. "Troy, we're at the edge of the cloud. I know it!"

   "It's the same as it's always been," Troy said. "I know that we thought
there was some change, but it's so crazy out here—"

  "Maybe it was just a dream," she said. And all of a sudden she heard
her father's voice. Starbuck's voice, like he was sitting in the cockpit with
her. "Dalton, be strong," he said. "Don't give up."
   That hurt. Because it was just Dalton wishing that Starbuck had said
that. She was always chasing something. If she could only be the best pilot,
prove to her father that she was…

   "Yeah," Troy said. "Look, Boomer and Bojay are sure to be back by now.
I know we're the only ones who've made it this far, but there's always
another sectare. We've got to turn back. We can get back, retool, and—"

   "Troy," Dalton said, shaking herself out of the sad feelings and the
regret, forcing herself to be ready for anything. "They were almost out of
food when we left. We don't know what's happened since we've been out of
touch. We're their only hope. If we don't find a way out—"

   "Yeah, don't wimp out," Trays said. "You afraid something bad's going
to happen? Don't worry—I'm right here."

   "I'm trying to use common sense, Trays," Troy snapped. Then he spoke
to Dalton. "Look, sometimes we can't do everything," he told her. "The
fuel's critical. Besides," he said, pausing for a micron. "Dalton!" he said,
his voice full of alarm.

  "What?" she asked.

  "I can't get any readings here. There's… everything's gone crazy."

   Dalton quickly checked her directionals. Troy was right. Soon, Trays
joined in, having the same problem. One micron, the instruments told her
that they were at the Galactica's coordinates, almost home, and the next,
they were at the opposite side of the Ur cloud, parsecs beyond where
they'd started.

  "We're lost," she said.

   "Boomer and Bojay know where we lost them," Troy said confidently.
"All we have to do is wait."

  "I wouldn't wait on them," Trays growled.

   "Trays, stop it," Dalton said, remembering what her partner must have
forgotten in his excitement. "We've been coasting more than we've been
using our drives. There's no ion trail for them to follow. Not any more."
  "Oh, frack," Trays said. She heard him breathing heavily through the
comm. "You're right. Now, what are we going to do?" he asked.

   She thought of the words of Starbuck that she thought she'd heard: Be
strong. Don't give up.

   After a micron, she repeated the words to Troy. "We'll keep going," she
said. "The Lords of Kobol wouldn't let us fail now."

  "I hope you're right," Troy said. "I really hope that you're right."

  "I'll trust in myself, if you don't mind," Trays said. But neither Dalton
nor Troy paid much attention to him.

   Starbuck caught up with Boomer and Bojay just as they were leaving
the launch bay.

  "Hey," he said, out of breath.

  All three of them stopped and looked at Starbuck like he had just
announced he was going to seal himself with Baltar and live forever as a
happy couple.

  Starbuck finally realized that his hand was coated in bright red blood,
and he looked at them disarmingly. "Gar'Tokk," he said, trying to explain.

   This still didn't have the desired effect. "Starbuck, you're dripping
blood," Boomer said. "What in the stars happened?"

  Starbuck wiped his hand on his leg, which only made things worse,
because now his uniform was streaked with blood.

   "I can't explain now," he said. "I'm not sure I could—I mean—some kind
of crazy Noman ritual."

  "Man!" Boomer exclaimed. "I knew we should have followed you."

   "No," Starbuck said, shaking his head. Bojay pulled a bright pink strip
of cloth from his pocket and handed it to Starbuck, who wrapped it
around his hand.

  "Thanks," Starbuck said. Then, pausing, he looked at the cloth, then
back at Bojay. It was obviously from a woman's outfit, or at least—part of
an outfit. "Where'd you get this?"

  Bojay shrugged. "You're not the only one who gets around, Starbuck."

   Compared to the crazy noman and Starbuck's bleeding hand, it
sounded so ridiculous. Starbuck laughed, and in a moment all three of
them were laughing.

  When the laughter faded, Starbuck put his unhurt hand on Boomer's
shoulder and looked into his friend's face.

  "Boomer," he said. "I need you to give me every trace you had of Dalton,
Troy and Trays. I'm going to go after them."

  "Okay," Boomer said. "I'm ready when you are."

  "Right now," Starbuck said.

  "I'm going with you," Bojay said, pushing his way past Boomer.

  Starbuck shook his head. "Not this time, buddy," he said. "If something
happens, we can't afford to lose another of our best pilots."

  "Starbuck, you can't go out there—"

   "You just watch me," Starbuck said. "I'm going to find Dalton, if it's the
last thing I do."

  "Frack!" Tigh swore at his position at the bridge.

  "What now?" Athena asked from the Daedalus.

   "Sire Aron's on his way. He says that he argued and argued, but the
Council is convinced that Apollo deliberately put Sheba in the way of that
blast."

  "Lords of Kobol," Athena said under her breath.

  "Apollo's looking for the boy," Tigh told her.

   "Thank the Lords—at least maybe he can find him before Jinkrat gets
to the Galactica and discovers—"
   "Discovers what, Athena?" A kindly voice echoed through the bridge.
Sire Aron had arrived, backed by a squadron of black-shirted council
security goons, twins to the one Koren had conquered with the help of
those restraint cuffs.

   "I let them through without announcing them. I'm sorry," a warrior
said, who had been posted at the entry to the bridge.

  "We welcome our Council member," Tigh said, thinking quickly.

  A strange, uncertain look passed over Aron's face, but then he smiled.

   "Where is Apollo?" Aron asked. "He has much to answer for. I have it
on the authority of the security personnel that he is responsible for the
damage to the ship, and Sheba's injuries."

   "You do?" Athena asked from her screen, silencing a furious Tigh with
a quick look of warning.

   "What do you plan to do about Jinkrat's demands now?" Tigh
interrupted. "The explosive was detonated and his son is still missing."

   "We are still negotiating," Aron said. Then he shook his head, seeming
to be full of grief. "This is a tragedy. But Apollo has led us into even more
danger. I fear that the boy may be—"

   He cut himself short, but even from her screen, Athena could see that
he was implying that Koren could be dead.

   "There's something not right about this," Tigh muttered under his
breath to Athena.

  "What was that, Tigh?" Aron asked.

  "I said, we don't know where Apollo is," Tigh responded.

   "Truly unfortunate," Aron said. "He must be found before Jinkrat
arrives. I'm afraid I won't have good news for him, yet if Apollo can be
questioned—"

   "I'm not sure Apollo is the one who should be questioned," Tigh said
cautiously.
   Aron's brows raised, and he said, "Whatever do you mean, President
Tigh?"

  Athena surveyed the guards that she could see onscreen. A dozen, all
heavily armed. And it was only Tigh, and the single warrior who'd been
guarding the bridge.

  Aron had begun to wander curiously around, touching control panels,
making little satisfied noises to himself.

  "Tigh," she whispered when Aron went out of sight.

  "Yes, Athena?" he asked.

  "We may be able to find Apollo," she said. "Perhaps he's with Baltar."

  "Baltar!" Aron cried. "Of course!"

  Immediately, he turned, sending half the security force away.

  "But then again," Athena said.

   Aron interrupted her. "It is of no matter. We will find him. And my
security forces will quell this rebellion, which Apollo has been unable to
control."

   "I thought you were—friendly—with the rebel Jinkrat," Tigh said,
stepping forward.

   Aron smiled. "Of course!" he said. "I am dedicated to serving the
people, and Jinkrat's people have been grievously injured by Apollo's
selfish actions."

  Tigh's face darkened. "Selfish?" he asked.

   Athena broke in. "What do you mean about the rebellion?" she asked,
her heart cold and full of apprehension, but trying to smile and convince
the Council member that she was considering his qualifications as a
leader.

  "Apollo allowed this rebellion to occur," Aron said.

  "By hoarding food, fuel and everything he could get his hands on.
And—he's responsible for this violent attack, Sheba's injuries— and
frankly, we have no way of knowing whether or not he kidnapped the boy."

  "That's not true," Athena said quietly. "We've been doing—"

   "I know what you've been doing," Aron said, interrupting her. Then, his
expression suddenly changed, softening. He came close to the screen.
Fighting back a shudder, she forced herself to look into the old man's eyes.

  "Aron," she said.

   He smiled at her, and Athena sensed something horrible behind his
kindly face. Looking in his eyes, she had a premonition of evil that she
could hardly believe. She forced herself to smile back. Causing problems at
this point would only destroy all chances of Apollo finding Koren and
speaking one-on-one with the rebel leader, putting a stop to the rebellion
himself.

    "Athena, I'm so sorry," Aron said. And all of a sudden, he was the
kindly, older Council Leader again. "I can't see any other option. The fleet
is in the worst situation it's ever been in. Apollo's days as a leader are
over."

   "When the truth comes out, you'll see things differently," Athena said.
It was almost impossible to believe what she was hearing.

  "We have learned many facts," Aron said. "All point to Apollo's
complete abdication of leadership."

  "Apollo would never—" Athena said.

   "Please understand," Aron said. "Neither I nor the council blames you
at all. In fact, we plan to name you as interim leader, — in command of
both the Galactica and the Daedalus."

  Athena bit her lip. "I am satisfied with my command."

   "I can offer you much more opportunity than Apollo ever would," Aron
said. "Well I remember how Adama always gave Apollo the lead. But you
have proven yourself capable, Athena."

  Athena shut her eyes, then opened them. "I know that I'm capable, Sire
Aron," she said. "And so does Apollo."

  Tigh looked on, his dark eyes wide with astonishment and disgust.

  "Just think, Athena," Aron went on. "Two battlestars under your
command."

  Athena looked into his blue eyes, still shining bright in his aged face.
How could this have happened?

  "What about Jinkrat?" she asked. "Doesn't he have some—interests?"

  "Well, of course," Aron said. "But he's just an unsophisticated… farmer.
We will work with him, of course. However, that may not be possible if
what I fear has happened and his son is dead. He's already—" But then
Aron pulled himself short, smiling at Athena.

  "I've said too much," he said.

   Then, he turned to Tigh. "Please ground all Vipers as you were ordered
centars ago. I am aware that patrols are still flying."

   Tigh turned. Athena could see that he was issuing nothing more than a
command to perform a routine systems check. But, she saw from looking
over at Aron that his unfamiliarity with the bridge would help—at least for
the time being.

  "Would you like me to find Apollo?" she asked. "I believe I could track
my brother down."

  Aron turned back to her, smiling once more. "What a good idea,
Athena! Yes, of course!"

  And with that, he drew his cloak about his body and left, striding
imperiously from the bridge, but leaving six security guards behind in his
wake.

  Athena and Tigh looked at each other. Now what would they do?
                         Chapter Seven
   APOLLO COULDN'T get the image of Sheba, battered and torn, out of
his mind. But he had to search even so. Jinkrat was within centons of
reaching Galactica, and if he came and found that Koren was still
missing, there was no telling what would happen.

   Apollo ran through all the options. How many traitors were there, and
traitors to whom?

  Boomer and Bojay were looking for the boy, too. And everyone who had
been on the bomb search squad. They'd find him, sooner or later.

  Then Baltar's alarm went off.

  By now, Apollo was getting used to it. But he had no time at all right
now. He was searching the engineering deck. The blasted alarm! He
checked it again—it was almost beyond belief. Baltar was headed for
Apollo's special place: the Celestial Chamber.

  "Boom," Apollo said over his comm. "Any sign around Bay Three?"

  "Negative," came Boomer's voice. "We're still looking."

  "He's little and tough," Apollo said. He took a deep breath. "And really
smart. He could be anywhere."

  "Gotcha, Commander," Boomer said. "I may not be little, but I'm not
dumb."

  "Me neither," came Bojay's wisecracking voice.

  Apollo couldn't help but grin.

   "You know you're a wanted man, right?" Boomer said. "We're supposed
to track you down, too."

  "Yeah," Apollo said in a heavy voice. "I know. Wanted—"

  "Dead or alive!" Bojay said.

  Boomer laughed, but Apollo didn't think it was all that funny.

  "How's Sheba?" Bojay asked, his voice more serious.

  "Don't know, Bojay. The doctor says she's hurt very badly."
   "Track," Bojay said.

  "Look, I've got to go," Apollo said. "Check in if you find anything, and I
mean anything. Boom, if that transport comes in with Jinkrat, stall it. Do
anything. Create a diversion."

   "My specialty," Boomer said.

  Apollo hoped that Boomer was right. He'd just about run out of ideas,
and Baltar's alarm was practically flying out of his pocket.

   Torn, Apollo stood not far from the totally dead, black Tylium banks,
looking around for any sign of Koren.

  "Frack!" he swore, and set off in the direction of the Celestial Chamber.
He had no idea where to look next, and he might as well search along the
way to find Baltar and get him back under control.

   "Do you know who I am?" the small man in the worn, dark blue cloak
asked Koren.

   Koren shook his head.

   "You don't like Apollo much, do you?" the man asked.

   Koren kept his distance. He was sure nobody would find him in this
place up above Galactica's engines. It was like a big dome, right up there
in space, almost like there was nothing between Koren and the out there.
It was all white and milky-looking, nothing like what Koren imagined
being right under the stars would be like.

   He couldn't believe it, but the guy just walked right in like he owned the
place, and he knew Koren was there. And Koren had been really sneaky.
Nobody had seen him running away from the old man's quarters. He
doubted that anybody had even found that guard, yet.

   Every time he thought about it, he almost laughed. It had been so easy
to trick him!

   The only problem was, Koren had no idea where he really was on the
Galactica, or how to work any of the equipment in this place—there was a
lot of stuff there that looked like controls and dials and all kinds of things.
He had to get a message to his dad, or get back home, somehow.

  "Apollo killed my brother," Koren said.

   "Yes," the newcomer said. He was about as old as that Sire Aron, but
his hair was still pretty dark. His whole face was dark, and he had a
weird-looking beard. Koren sized him up. He wasn't rich, that was for
sure. His cloak was almost worn out. He looked like a refugee. And… he
was in some kind of trouble, too. He had a security device around his
ankle.

   "Hey," Koren said, pointing at the man's ankle. "If you come over here, I
can get that off of you."

  The guy started laughing. "You can?" he asked.

  "Sure! I just got out of Colonial restraints in about half a micron."

   "Son, you're a boy after my own heart," the man said. He walked up to
where Koren sat on a tall set of delicate metal stairs that went almost
straight to the top of the chamber dome.

   He stepped forward and offered his ankle. Koren set to work, tinkering
with the restraint. It was really simple. From everything he'd heard, the
Colonial Warriors were so high and mighty and so far ahead of all the
civilians. But they just had bigger, fancier ships as far as Koren could see.
Lasers were the same—maybe in a little better shape, maybe a little more
powerful. But a baby could get out of these restraints they used!

   Soon, the thing snapped off and lay on the floor, glowing red and
making a high-pitched whine. Koren grimaced and leapt down from the
stairs and smashed the thing with his boot.

  "There!" Koren said. "It won't bother you any more. Who'd you rip off,
anyway?"

  "What?" the man asked.

  "Who'd you steal from? What did you take?" Koren asked.

  "Steal?" the man said.

  Koren thought for a moment. "Yeah. You escaped, just like me. I can
tell you don't have any money and you're no Colonial Warrior. So I figured
that—"

  "I didn't steal," the man said.

  Koren drew in a sharp breath. "Did you… kill somebody?"

  "Yes," the man said, his eyes glittering dangerously.

  Koren backed off. "Wow," he said. "I hope it was a Cylon. But then if
you killed a—"

  "They wouldn't put me in jail for that, would they?" the man said,
keeping up his scary expression.

    Koren gave the man another long look. He was scary, but he looked sad,
too. He was putting on an act, pretending to be dangerous. And he wasn't
all that young, either. Koren could outrun him in a micron.

  Koren leaned against one of the old-fashioned control banks and the
man sat on the stairs, right where Koren had been microns before.

  "No," Koren said. "They wouldn't put you in jail for that. What's your
name?" he asked.

  "What's yours?" the man countered.

  "You tell first," Koren said.

  The man smiled, but it wasn't very friendly. "Do you really want to
know?"

   "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't!" Koren said. Now he was getting
irritated.

  "Count Baltar, formerly of the—"

  "Oh, frack!" Koren cried, scrambling to his feet.

   Only to find an amazingly strong arm grabbing him before he could get
to the relative safety of one of the giant consoles. Koren thrashed as he was
whipped around and he saw those shining, deep set dark eyes up close.
   "Frightened now, young man?" Baltar asked. "As well you should be.
Now go over there where you were and sit and wait. I'm expecting a
visitor—right about—"

  Apollo burst into the Celestial Chamber.

  "Now," Baltar said.

   "Koren!" Apollo said, running to the boy. He didn't notice Baltar's
security device lying useless on the floor.

   "Leave me alone!" Koren cried, trying to scramble away. But he was
caught between Baltar and Apollo, and no matter how he squirmed, he
couldn't get away.

   "Calm down," Apollo said. "It's all right. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm
here to—"

  Apollo yelled as Koren bit down on his hand.

  He sprang back, and Baltar took over, grabbing the boy's shoulders.

  "He's telling the truth, Koren," Baltar said. "We just want to help you."

  Koren looked at Baltar like he was insane.

  Apollo held his injured hand and looked at the boy, torn between relief
and total frustration.

   "I'm going to take you to your father," Apollo said. "He's probably
already here."

   "My dad!" Koren said. Baltar held him tight, looking steadily in Apollo's
eyes.

  "Baltar, how did you know he'd be here? How did you know that—"

  "I have my ways," Baltar said enigmatically.

  "Well if you knew," Apollo said, "Why didn't you contact me, Tigh,
Athena… anybody?"

  "And I suppose prisoners are allowed communicators?" Baltar said in a
petulant tone.

   Apollo threw up his hands. "Baltar!"

  Baltar grinned his wolf-like grin. "I did have a very reliable device to
communicate with you, Apollo." He held up his now-bare ankle.

   "Where did—"

   Baltar looked toward the broken tracking anklet, then back at Koren.

   "Koren," Apollo said. "Did you do that?"

   Baltar answered for the boy. "He most certainly did, Apollo. He is a very
talented child."

   Shaking his head, Apollo approached Koren with caution. "Koren," he
said. "I found that guard in Sire Aron's quarters. You have to tell me what
happened."

   Koren shook his head, his lips closed in a thin line.

   "I mean it," Apollo said, frustration boiling over. "You've got to tell the
truth. Your dad's on the way here, and a lot of people are going to die if
the truth doesn't come out. What happened back there? How did you get
out of sickbay and how did you come here?"

   Koren looked at Apollo, his eyes narrow and full of suspicion.

   "I'll tell what happened after I see my dad," he said.

   And that was all he would say. Even fierce looks from Baltar couldn't
get any more information out of him.

  "So now we walk together again, Apollo," Baltar said. "But I fear it is
you who is branded traitor this time, not me."

  "Baltar," Apollo growled. He led both of them toward the Council
Chambers at the end of his laser pistol. Koren could bolt at any moment.
And so could Baltar!

  As the grim trio approached the Council Chambers, Iblis watched. He
had been watching the rebellion against cursed Apollo by means of his
ansible as it proceeded with unbelievable swiftness.

   Iblis could hardly contain his glee when he saw Sheba fall. He was even
more pleased when the Council turned on Apollo, and when Jinkrat's
forces grew.

   And it was as if the real traitor was Iblis' own son, although Iblis had
other plans—for that. It made everything so much easier—so much
simpler.

   As Apollo, the boy and Baltar neared the Council Chamber, and Jinkrat
broke through Boomer's hopeless "diversion," heading on his collision
course with them, Iblis rubbed his imaginary hands together and snorted.

   And laughed.

   The rebel Jinkrat had no idea how his high ideas were being used to
serve Iblis' needs. Apollo leading that sniveling brat and that weak, foolish
liar Baltar!

   Few had seen Iblis before he had lost his natural form, and fewer still
had lived to tell of it. Iblis had nearly killed Apollo, only foiled at the last
micron by the cursed humans uniting. Of the humans, few had seen his
true appearance, and one was Sheba, curse her—she had fallen away from
his grasp before he could destroy her as well. But now—well, now this
rebellion had done it for him!

   And then there was Baltar to consider, Iblis thought. That cowardly,
traitorous, selfish, greedy, foolish mortal—a creature who could not be any
more after Iblis' own black heart than if he was the demon's own son.

   Baltar! Because of the peculiar nature of this place, Iblis had no direct
control over any other living mind. And Baltar, out of reach of Iblis's
tentacles of thought for the first time in yahrens, had almost immediately
gone weak and soft. Iblis would deal with him when the time came, and in
his own very special way. Whatever his foolish plans were, they'd come to
nothing. Baltar was a nothing. His life was done.

   As for now, Baltar was as yet only dimly aware of Iblis' plans, like a
child vaguely comprehends when he's in trouble, but isn't quite sure what
he did wrong, or what his parents intended to mete out as punishment.
   The blasted Chitain had forced Iblis into the Ur cloud, cutting off Iblis's
direct influence on his living minions, like Baltar. But the humans were
tearing themselves apart, with Iblis required to do nothing but sit back,
watch, and enjoy the show.

  Iblis, looking through his ansible at a hangdog Baltar, walking at the
end of Apollo's laser, laughed long and loud.

  "You're afraid, aren't you?" he said, even though Baltar could not hear
him or answer. "If you knew what I had planned, you'd wish you'd never
been born."

   Of course, Iblis being what he was—an inhuman, evil, inscrutable
demon with no conscience and no soul—couldn't know that what he said
was absolutely true. Baltar was sorry that he had ever been born. He was
sorry for a lot of things. And full of deep remorse and bitter regret. For all
his evil, Baltar was a man, and that meant he could never forsake the
heritage of his birth: the good and the bad that dwells in every human
heart.

   And this, Iblis would never comprehend. And so, in all his evil plotting,
he was happy the way ignorant children are happy, because despite his
vast, cosmic powers, Iblis had no soul. When he ceased to exist, he would
truly be no more. And that, perhaps, is why Iblis was so very, very angry.
                          Chapter Eight
   IT WASN'T leading Baltar and Koren toward the Council Chambers
that so bothered Apollo. It was the faces—the filthy, haggard faces of the
refugees crammed into the Galactica that were so bad. Koren looked
around, and he'd started to cry.

   "Koren, we're almost there," Apollo said.

   Baltar even had a few kind words for the boy.

   It looked like Hades. This was what had become Of the people of the
fleet. Clothes ragged, some people wandering around as though they'd lost
their minds.

   All of them looking at Apollo with pure hate in their eyes. Blaming him
for their pain and their suffering. Maybe they were right, Apollo thought.
   But Apollo hadn't planted that bomb. Jinkrat had. Apollo hadn't
kidnapped Koren, either.

   They were almost there. But there were so many people crowding
around. They were hoping to speak to the Council, Apollo realized. They
wanted food, medicine—anything.

   "So, come to take your punishment!" an old woman cried. "Now it's
time for you to suffer, Apollo!"

  Everyone cheered.

  Apollo grimaced and pushed forward. Baltar glared around, and his
hard looks silenced many.

  They entered the Council Chambers.

  Where a sad-faced Sire Aron greeted them.

  "Koren!" he cried. "I was so worried about you."

  Koren stood silent.

  Apollo looked sharply at the boy, then back at Sire Aron.

  "We were all worried," Apollo said. "I have to ask you right now. There
was a guard in—"

  "Yes, rebel activity is everywhere," Aron said quickly. "But Apollo, the
boy's father approaches. We have just had—"

  The Council doors opened again, and in strode Jinkrat and a small
party of his men, hard-faced and raggedly clothed, but heavily armed.

  "Dad!" Koren cried, running to his father.

  For the first time, Apollo set eyes on his enemy, the rebel leader Jinkrat.

   Though Apollo knew that the man could not be any older than he was,
Jinkrat looked far older than his yahrens. The care of untold trouble
marked his face. A scar on his cheek twisted vivid red. The man's eyes
burned brightly. With rage and hatred, Apollo saw. Well—Apollo had
something for Jinkrat, too. Something for the sake of Sheba.
  Koren buried his face in Jinkrat's tunic. "Dad! Dad!" he cried.

   Even though Koren was a boy that Apollo had known only for a short
time, his enthusiastic reaction stabbed into Apollo with a brief,
unexpected pain. It didn't make sense, Apollo thought. Why should it
bother him so much that the boy would run to his father like that? Koren
wasn't a colonial warrior. He was no part of Apollo's world or family. Even
so—it hurt. Then Apollo realized. Boxey was full-grown now. And even
Dalton, who Apollo had practically raised, even Dalton thought of
Starbuck first. No matter what Apollo had and how much Jinkrat lacked,
he still had this. His son.

   Jinkrat looked beyond his son's shoulders, stroking the boy's head. He
said nothing to Apollo, instead looking toward his armed rebel guards.

  "Don't leave," he told them.

  They formed ranks behind Jinkrat, who turned to Council Member
Aron. "I must thank you for this, fulfilling your promise," he said.

   "You are welcome," Aron said. "You will see that all the words we speak
in the Council are true."

  Apollo stared at Aron in amazement.

  Then Baltar stepped forward.

   "You do not know me," he said to Jinkrat, "But Apollo is the one who
found your son. Or, rather—I did."

  "Baltar, you are unwanted in these chambers," Aron said, his voice
suddenly full of command. "Your very presence soils them."

  Apollo watched Baltar's eyes narrow dangerously, but Baltar said
nothing.

   "Baltar," Apollo said quickly. "I know I'm a fool to trust you, but find
Tigh. Tell him what's—"

  "You must speak openly here in the Council, Apollo. You are brought
here on very serious charges," Sire Aron said.

  Apollo turned to face the council.
  "In fact, you must give your weapon to the guards," Aron continued.

   Apollo noticed Baltar slipping out, but it didn't seem as though anyone
else paid any attention. Reluctantly, he turned his laser over to one of the
black-shirted guards. Then he looked once more at Jinkrat.

   With a single nod, Jinkrat commanded all of his guards to silence and
they ordered themselves in a tight array. This was the right of command,
Apollo realized.

   A man who earned such loyalty from his men was not a man to be
treated lightly. He had similar loyalty from Koren, Apollo saw, as the boy
reached up and began to speak quickly to his father.

  "Dad, please listen," Koren said.

   "You have been prisoner of this man," Jinkrat said, still holding Apollo
in an implacable, cold gaze.

  "No, Dad," Koren said. "Apollo brought me here. Please, Dad—"

   Apollo watched. The boy had been honest. He hadn't spoken a word
before, but now he was talking.

   "Wait!" Aron cried, stepping forward. "The boy must be seen to—look,
there's blood on his face."

   And there was blood. Apollo knew that Koren was uninjured, but as he
stepped forward Jinkrat's guards closed ranks and he couldn't get any
closer.

  "He's unharmed," Apollo said.

  "We'll let the doctor be the judge of that," Aron said.

  Jinkrat leaned close to his son, putting his finger under his chin.

  "Are you all right?" he asked.

  Koren nodded.

   "He can be treated later. Now, we must talk of this… situation," Jinkrat
said.
   "I do not agree," Aron said. "I believe the boy should be taken directly
to sickbay."

   So you could kidnap him again, Apollo thought. But he waited for
Jinkrat to answer.

   Jinkrat's face changed, softening as he looked down at his son. "Koren,
you're still a boy. You don't understand how men can lie and betray each
other. I'd rather you—"

  "I want to stay, dad," Koren said. "I'm not too young to understand."

   "Koren, please step aside," Jinkrat said. "Wait for this man and I to say
what must be said between us." Jinkrat took Koren's shoulder and led him
to a chair on the side of the room. "Stay there," he commanded.

   Apollo watched the conflicting emotions play over Koren's pale, freckled
face, and watched respect for his father emerge, victorious. Koren sat,
pulling up his legs and looking on with an agonized expression, his hands
balled tight, gripping the arms of the chair.

   Jinkrat turned back to face Apollo. Apollo sensed that the man was like
a spring, compressed to its tightest point, coiled and ready to break loose
at any micron.

  "So," Jinkrat said. "You uphold this one small part of your bargain. Did
you hope to kill me while my son looked on, Apollo?"

  "No!" Apollo cried. "What were you trying to accomplish with that
bomb? In sickbay? How many innocents would have been killed then, if
not for—"

  "What lies are these?" Jinkrat asked. "Sickbay? I planted no—"

   "Sheba is lying near death right now. Dozens more could have died if
not for her bravery," Apollo said, feeling the blood rushing to his head.
Jinkrat was not a big man—not physically large. Apollo knew that he could
take him in a micron. If he had to.

  "I know who Sheba is," Jinkrat said. "Daughter of Cain, the great
warrior. A warrior herself, high above me. She risked her life willingly. I
have no—"
   "Of course not," Apollo cried. "You only care about yourself, about your
selfish need for revenge. Koren told me about your son." Then, Apollo
caught himself short, reminding himself—thinking his rage was not so
very different from Jinkrat's own deep anger. They had both lost people
they cared about, deeply. There had been so many who had died. So many
years of war and blood and pain.

   "Is my son of any less worth than your high born people, Apollo?"
Jinkrat asked. But his voice was no longer angry. It was cold, full of
bitterness and resentment.

  "Listen," Apollo said. "We've all had to sacrifice—more than anybody
could ever have imagined. But you don't understand, Jinkrat."

   Neither of the two noticed that Sire Aron had moved far away across
the chamber. In their rage, the room had shrunk to a tiny space that only
the two of them inhabited. The Council Members stared, struck in awe
and fear.

  The rebellion had come to them.

   "You did," Jinkrat said. "You've told your lies for years, Apollo. You and
your father before you. Everything for the good of the fleet, for the sake of
your precious mission. Meanwhile, all the others there behind you
mattered nothing. We could give up everything so you could be
comfortable, not hungry, warm, have fuel for your Vipers while children
starved and mothers watched their children die!"

   "No!" Apollo cried. But he remembered all those choices—the ships he'd
ordered scuttled. The refugees, dying without any air. Even Starbuck
couldn't have saved them. He had chosen the warriors over the ordinary
civilians. But he'd had no choice!

   "You would never have even known my name if I hadn't stepped
forward," Jinkrat said. "You were too busy to even talk to me."

  "What?" Apollo said, rushing forward.

    "Yes," Jinkrat said. "I didn't want to say this with my son here to hear
it, but he might as well hear the truth now. I can see that Koren has been
affected by the excitement and the power held on the Galactica. You're
not poor, simple people like we are."
   Apollo had heard enough. "There's no one better than any other person
on the fleet," he said, feeling his fists clenching and blood rushing to his
cheeks.

  "Dad, stop!" Koren cried, starting to climb out of his seat.

  Jinkrat hushed Koren with a single stern glance. "Koren, I don't want
you to be hurt by this, but I must tell this man what he's done. Make him
understand."

  "Understand what, Jinkrat?" Apollo demanded. "That you want to take
control—take over by force?"

   "Understand," Jinkrat said, "How we feel. The faceless ones, out here on
these ships, crowded, dirty, starving and dying. There's no communion
with the Lords of Kobol and the great mysteries for us. We lost our homes
when the Cylons invaded—we followed because we had to follow. Koren
needs to understand what a boy like him means to a great man like you.
Commander Apollo, son of Adama. Koren needs to know the face that lies
beneath the mask!"

   "Jinkrat!" Apollo cried, leaping forward. Koren was on his feet then,
and he put his small body between the two enraged men. That was all that
kept Apollo from tearing Jinkrat to pieces at that moment, and it was a
very small thing, only twelve yahrens old, his head barely up to Apollo's
chest.

   "I'm not a great man like you," Jinkrat said, his voice suddenly heavy
with emotion. "I have no great name. I am heir to no great house. Koren is
my son and my heir. Thanks to you, he's all that I'll ever have, and I'll do
anything to keep him from harm. But if not for fate, Apollo, you would
never have even known my boy's name. He would have just been another
of the faceless, the nameless, dying and suffering in service of your endless
wars and destruction!"

  "What was Sheba to you, then, when you put that bomb in the
Galactica sickbay?" Apollo countered.

  "Enough of your lies!" Jinkrat cried. "I can see there's no hope!"

  Koren desperately tried to keep the two men apart, but he was far too
small. With a cry, Koren fell to the floor and Apollo leapt over him, his
hands clutching at Jinkrat's worn tunic.

  The Chamber was in an uproar, but neither man heard it. Jinkrat's
guards leapt forward, but he snarled at them to keep back.

   "We fight man to man!" he cried.

   They closed. Jinkrat threw a glancing blow that hit Apollo's cheek, but
Apollo barely felt it. Apollo crouched and landed a crushing right in
Jinkrat's midsection, feeling his fist sink satisfyingly into the rebel's flesh.
That was for Sheba! Apollo, as fast as a laser, brought up his knee into
Jinkrat's chin, and the rebel groaned. All that was keeping Jinkrat on his
feet now was Apollo, who had Jinkrat's collar twisted in his left hand and
began pounding Jinkrat's head with rapid, sharp blows, feeling the flesh
pulp under each blow, as sharp, stinging hot pain lanced into his knuckles,
but again, Apollo was in a red-filmed rage and couldn't register the
damage he was doing to himself, much less how much he was doing to
Jinkrat other than giving him a blow for each betrayal he'd endured with
this rebellion. It wasn't just the bomb, it wasn't the trouble, it was the way
everything was falling apart. Athena and Starbuck, acting like fools. And
Cassi. Cassi and Starbuck. Like she didn't care for a moment about Apollo.
And Sheba—Apollo's one true friend—Apollo didn't even know if she'd live
or die.

   "That's for Sheba!" Apollo cried, with one great, thundering blow that
splintered the bridge of Jinkrat's nose. Blood spurted out, brilliant red and
shining.

   As if from a far distance, Apollo heard a small voice crying, "Stop!
Stop!" Then something grabbed his shoulders and he felt a weight on his
back.

   He turned, yelling, and raised his fist. His knuckles were split and
bloody, a bare inch from Koren's tearstained face.

   "Apollo, stop! You're killing my dad!"

   Like he was being sucked backward down a Viper launch tube, Apollo's
vision came to a pinpoint, and the anger left him as quickly as it came.
Stunned, he let go of Jinkrat's collar and watched the man slump to the
floor.
   "Dad!" Koren cried, bending close to his father. Jinkrat groaned, and
turned his head.

   Apollo could see that he hadn't killed him, but the beating made what
he'd done to Starbuck look like a few mild love pats. He'd beaten Jinkrat
badly—the man would need medical care, and fast.

   "Koren," Jinkrat said, his mouth full of blood. His arm jerked out,
drawing the boy close.

  "Oh, Lords of Kobol," Apollo said, staggering back. "Koren, I'm—"

   "Dad!" Koren cried, struggling with his sleeve to wipe some of the blood
from Jinkrat's face.

   Jinkrat struggled to sit up, then with Koren's help, was on his feet
again. Battered and bloody, his eyes still burned. Apollo could barely look
at him, and he couldn't look at Koren at all, whose face was red with fear
and hurt, streaked with tears and now with his father's own blood.

   "Now, see what kind of man Apollo is!" Sire Aron cried, stepping
forward.

  "Get back," Jinkrat said, waving his arm. "Let us settle this."

   Apollo looked down at the beaten rebel, and at Koren. No matter what
had happened, there was no way that Jinkrat was the traitor. He was full
of rage and fury, but… would Apollo have felt any different?

  "You're just trying to save your people," Apollo said slowly. "So am I."

  "You've got a hell of a way of showing it," Jinkrat said.

   Apollo looked up into the faces of the guards, who were about to kill
him. He was weaponless. All that stood between him and them was
Jinkrat. Aron hovered nearby, his face full of alarm and concern.

  "Stop!" he cried. The Council Members huddled, pointing and
muttering, like frightened birds.

   Jinkrat was on his feet, facing Apollo. "I did not put that bomb in the
sickbay," Jinkrat said. "I ordered that it be placed above the engine
chamber, where it would disable the Galactica, but injure no people, save
for an accidental mishap."

   Apollo looked at the injured rebel leader. "It was in sickbay," he said.
"In Cassiopeia's jacket. Surely you remember her. She was the one—"

   "Yes," Jinkrat said. "I remember her. I entrusted Koren to her. I would
never have put her in such danger! Nor the people in your sickbay. I knew
that was where she would take Koren. Surely, even with your prejudiced
eyes, you could see that I would not put the bomb where my own son was!"

  Apollo drew in a quick breath. "No," he said. "I don't think that you
would."

   The Council exploded with questions. Aron went back to them, trying
to calm them.

   "My goal was not for more people to die," Jinkrat said. "I want
everyone—high and low—to live."

   "That is my goal too, Jinkrat," Apollo said. He thought again of those
choices he made. A man sometimes has to make terrible choices. What
had Gar'Tokk said in that conversation that had seemed like yahrens
before, even though it was only a short time before? There is no dishonor
in that. Even Baltar had spoken of choices.

   "I think I—understand—why you made some of the choices you did,
Apollo," Jinkrat said, slowly. "I cannot say what I would have done in your
place. Even in the battle, Apollo. I understand why no medical help could
be sent for my son. We prayed. It was all we could do."

   "That has been all any of us could do at times," Apollo said. The anger
seemed to have left Jinkrat as well, and the man's eyes were full of grief.

   "But I still don't understand," Jinkrat said. "Why did you take the food
and fuel that Council member Aron was sending to us? This was why I
issued that ultimatum. Why I—"

  "I did not," Apollo said. "We don't know where the barge has gone.
There are traitors in our midst, everywhere."

  "Aron said that you were holding it. For your own use, and that of the
warriors," Jinkrat said, but the suspicion in his voice was almost gone.
  "Never," Apollo said in a firm voice. "You have been betrayed, Jinkrat,
but not by me."

  Jinkrat nodded. "I fear that you have been betrayed as well, Apollo."

  The Chamber was now almost totally silent. All eyes were on Jinkrat
and Apollo.

  Jinkrat was the one who moved first, stepping haltingly toward Apollo
and offering his hand.

  "We may not be friends, Apollo, but I believe that you are an honest
man," he said.

  Apollo extended his hand and took the hand of the rebel leader.

   "Dad!" Koren cried. Stiffly, Jinkrat accepted Apollo's brief embrace. As
he did, he looked down at Koren, shaking his head.

   "Maybe we should have let you speak first, Koren," Apollo said. "You
promised that you'd tell what happened to you once you saw your dad."

  "I may only be twelve yahrens, but I'm not dumb!" Koren cried.

   Jinkrat and Apollo laughed. Apollo reached over and ruffled Koren's
hair.

  Then, the two men parted.

  Neither of them saw Aron moving away from the Council Members.
Apollo was not looking at the array of guards behind Jinkrat.

   "We must talk, Apollo," Jinkrat said. "Our needs are still unmet. Even
though there is a traitor—"

   Then, Jinkrat's brow wrinkled and he turned, as if he heard something
that the others could not hear. Apollo watched his face change, grow
suddenly alarmed.

  Apollo couldn't understand what he was looking at. One of Jinkrat's
men had a laser rifle, and it was pointed at…

  "No!" Apollo cried.
  Black-shirted Council guards rushed forward, but they were too slow.
Apollo was too slow.

   He felt Koren's small body hitting his.

   He watched Jinkrat crumple. And fall.

   Apollo grabbed Koren, trying to protect him.

   The guards' lasers flashed. The assassin fell. Then it was pandemonium,
Jinkrat's remaining guards struggling with the black-shirts.

   "He's dead!" someone cried.

   Not Koren, Apollo thought. Please let it not be Koren.

   "Jinkrat's dead!" came another voice.

   Apollo's heart sank.

   He felt arms shoving him. Koren was ripped from his arms.

   "You murdered him!" someone yelled.

   He watched the form of Jinkrat being carried away. "Space junk!" one
of his men cried. "That's all Jinkrat ever was to any of them."

   Apollo heard someone say that Koren was still breathing.

   "Get him to sickbay!" Apollo cried.

   But six blackshirted guards grabbed him and held him back. One of
them rammed the butt of a rifle hard into Apollo's back and he fell to his
knees.

   He looked up into the face of Sire Aron.

   "Apollo, I cannot believe this," Aron said.

   "Neither can I," Apollo said through his pain.

  "I was so afraid that something might happen. But the guards were
unable to stop this treachery. Too late," he said in a grief-stricken voice,
turning to the other council members. "We are so sadly, too late."

  "I was too late," Apollo said, in shock. Jinkrat was dead. Koren, maybe
mortally wounded.

   "You must be taken to the brig," Aron said. "Guards, escort Apollo to a
holding cell. The Council will reconvene in two centons to try Apollo—"

  "For what?" Apollo said.

  "For the murder of Jinkrat," Aron said softly. "And may the Lords of
Kobol have mercy on your soul. For the people will have none."

  All Apollo could do was stare in stunned silence.

  "I'm sorry," Aron said, as the guards shoved Apollo out of the Council
Chambers.

   As Apollo exited the Council Chambers guarded by a dozen
blackshirted council guards, Baltar emerged from the shadows.

  "Apollo, how did this happen?" Baltar asked.

  "I—don't know—" Apollo said. His head was still reeling.

  Baltar looked sadly back at the chamber and the remnants of Jinkrat's
guards, who were lingering, as much in shock as Apollo was. "There's
more to be seen here than meets the eye," he said.

   "But I'm afraid there's not much time to discuss it. Some people are on
the way, and they're rather angry."

   He looked over at the doors, and barely had enough time to get his back
to the wall as the mob burst into the corridor.

  "We saw it all!" cried a man in the lead.

  "It was on IFB—we saw Apollo's traitor kill Jinkrat!"

   And they rushed forward, waving bent pipes and chair legs, heading
straight for Apollo and Baltar. The Council guards sidled away. With the
mob in the mood they were in, the Council troops weren't any safer than
Apollo and Baltar.
  "Kill Apollo!" one of them cried.

   Then another figure stepped from the shadows. Gar'Tokk! He moved in
front of Apollo and Baltar, ignoring the cowardly guards, and spread his
arms wide. "No!" he cried, in a voice so loud that it filled even the
sound-muffled bay.

  "He killed Jinkrat," someone whined.

  "You have laws," the Noman intoned. "You must obey them."

   "That's right," Sire Aron said, choosing this moment to make a
dramatic entry. "We already planned a tribunal for Apollo's betrayals of
the fleet. It will continue. With the charge of murder added!"

  Apollo put his hand to his head. Suddenly it was aching and throbbing,
and the corridor was spinning.

   Baltar caught him under the shoulders and held him steady. "Apollo, I
can't give you up like this," Baltar whispered.

  "You've got to," Apollo told Baltar, amazed that the old traitor had
suddenly turned into Apollo's last friend, save Gar'Tokk. "I don't know
what came over me, but—"

   "You will be tried for crimes against the Galactica. Treason—and now,
even murder!" Sire Aron's face was grim, his words hung in the air.

  The mob rustled and shifted.

   "All right," someone said at last. "The Noman's right. We got laws. We
got to obey them."

  "Yeah," someone else said.

   The Council security guards, filled with new courage, pushed their way
forward through the crowd.

   "Take Apollo to the brig," Sire Aron ordered them. "Hold him until we
call him to come before us again and stand trial."

  Without resisting, Apollo went with them, hanging his head in shock
and shame. Baltar looked at him with an expression of sympathy.
Somehow, that only made Apollo feel worse.

   Even if he had said anything, no one could have heard it, because the
crowd's roar had reached a deafening pitch.

   As the Security guards forced their way through the crowd, with
Gar'Tokk and Baltar allowed to walk by Apollo's side, it seemed to Apollo
that every civilian on board the Galactica had found something to wield,
from chair legs to lengths of shining metal pipe to pieces of brass railing
that Apollo recognized—only centars earlier they had adorned the Forward
bar. In their varied clothing, from richly decorated cloaks to simple, rough
brown tunics, from elderly wives to scantily-clothed socialators, every man
and woman on the Galactica seemed to be crowded around, eager to kill
him. And they were all screaming.

   Apollo couldn't breathe for a micron. The faces of the mob were
gasping, panting, and shrieking, some pale and others bright red from the
exertion, and each had glazed, unseeing eyes that seemed almost blind,
although Apollo knew that was impossible. Somewhere, behind the front
group, Apollo knew that others must be getting crushed, pushed, and
trampled, but he couldn't see that. He could only see the few leaders
clearly, and they were bearing down on the guards and Apollo with the
speed and singlemindness of a Cylon fighter wing going in for the kill.

   One of the Security guards fired his laser, a brief burst of bright blue
that exploded over the heads of the leaders. Sparks flew down harmlessly
from the ceiling, but like an animal at bay, the mob paused, then stopped
a moment.

   Apollo watched, amazed, as the leaders slid forward, not walked, but
slid, as they were pushed by the sheer momentum of the numbers behind
them.

   There were still shrieks and groans, but this time, they weren't of mob
rage, but of pain and fear, both from the laser discharge, and from the
pressure of that many bodies crammed into the narrow space of the
corridor.

  There had to be hundreds of them! Thousands!

  "There's only a few of them!" cried one of the men in front. "Come
on—they can't hold out long."
  "They've got lasers," another man cried. "Don't be a fool!"

  Aron, bringing up the rear, called out, "Stop! Let us pass!"

   The groans and cries continued from within the mob. "Somebody's
already hurt," a woman's voice said.

  "I'm hurt!" said another voice, perhaps that of a young man or boy.

  "Listen to me," Apollo said. "This is no way to act. Go back to your
quarters. Go back to the—"

   "Why should we listen to you?" came a voice from the mob. Soon,
others echoed the complaint.

  "It's not safe," Apollo said. "You'll be injured."

  "We're taking him through!" one of the guards bellowed.

  "He'll be put on trial," came Sire Aron's elderly voice.

   "I am sworn to protect him," Gar'Tokk cried at last, holding out his
long, strong arms. "Now, go back to your quarters and disburse. Unless
you care to face me!"

  No one cared to face the Noman. At last, the mob parted.

   Keeping his expression neutral, Apollo controlled his breathing and
even tried to smile at the mob as the people parted to allow them through.
And they did part. As he passed, Apollo noticed that many people had no
weapons at all. They were just there, following.

   Some seemed confused, in fact. A few people smiled at him, but most
faces were hostile and furious, full of hatred and resentment.

  "You'll be put to death," a woman said in a voice dripping with poison.

   Apollo didn't respond, but her words and the cruel expression on her
face struck him in the heart. He began to wonder if the Galactica had
become a lunatic asylum, with all the inmates on the loose.

  Somehow, in the press of bodies, Baltar moved close.
  Apollo could not believe that Baltar was there, risking that kind of
danger, all to walk at Apollo's side. He looked over at Baltar, stunned.

   "Remember what I said," Baltar told Apollo in a low voice, his dark face
scanning the crowd constantly. Apollo couldn't stop, because if he did,
that would break the spell that Gar'Tokk had precariously woven that was
holding the crowd back. The small Security force wouldn't hold them for a
second. Hearing Aron's rough breathing, he could tell that the old man
was even afraid. Another brief glance at Baltar was all Apollo could afford.

    Baltar's face was easy to read, and Apollo realized in sudden alarm
what should have been obvious to him from the start. They could all die at
any moment. But that was just one of the many differences between Baltar
and Apollo. While Apollo had never entertained this particular fear in his
life, Baltar had feared a knife in the back for yahrens upon yahrens.

    All at once, Apollo was suddenly grateful that Baltar was at his side, for
all of his glowering, brooding looks and baleful presence. Baltar was ever
suspicious, and there wasn't a better person to watch Apollo's back in the
middle of the confused, but still enraged mob of Colonial civilians.

   Finally, they were nearing the end of the crowd, and Apollo's heart sank
to see that here in the back were the oldest, the slowest, and the youngest.
Yes, there were children, some from families so poor that they had only
the thinnest of tunics to wear, and flimsy sandals on their feet. There were
dirty faces and wrinkled ones. Bent backs and white heads surrounded
him. When he looked into their eyes Apollo did not see hatred; he saw
fear.

   But also, among both young and old, among these last stragglers, he
saw something that strengthened his resolve. On the faces of these, the
least of the people of Galactica, he saw glimmers of hope. There had been
no knife in Apollo's back. But Baltar hadn't been wrong to be so fearful.
Apollo had seen more than a few faces darkened in a killing rage.

   "Take care, Apollo," said a very old man who leaned on a cane, standing
at the very end of the mob, almost as if he'd hobbled along so far behind
that he had only just reached the dreadful scene.

  "Thank you, Father," Apollo said, using the old-fashioned form of
address.
   The old man's smile carried Apollo all the way to the brig.

  "Remember," Baltar said. And then he touched his chest. Apollo
paused, staring at Baltar in wonder. Baltar didn't have anything in there
but a piece of withered, evil coal. What was he pointing at?

  His false, lying, evil heart? Shaking his head, Apollo turned away, and
went on to face his fate in the brig.

   Apollo sat on the cot in his cell, staring at the four walls, wondering
how Baltar had stood it all those yahrens. The many prisoners the cell had
held had left their marks. Names, here and there—Starjumper, Orgon, and
a really prolific artist named Michelangelo who covered the walls with
pictures of winged creatures and Vipers in flight pursued by Cylon
fighters.

  One of the guards opened the tiny window in the cell door. "Visitor," he
announced.

  The door opened. Shadowed in the light, Apollo saw a lovely form. It
was Athena.

   She ran to him and they embraced. Apollo held his sister tightly,
grateful to see her, glad for the small contact with her. It might be the last
time, he thought, but as she drew away, he saw that she was deeply
troubled, and there were many feelings playing over her beautiful face.

   "Apollo, I'm so glad you're all right," she said. He led her to the cot, and
they sat next to each other.

   "Athena," he said again, overcome by emotion.

  Then she sighed, and touched his cheek gently. "Apollo," she said. "I
saw the tape."

  Apollo looked away. "I don't know what happened," he said. "He made
me so angry. I couldn't stop hitting him. It was the most insane thing."

  "But Apollo, he was greeting you—offering peace! How could you attack
him?" she asked.

   Apollo turned back, his eyes wide. "Greeting me?" he said.
   "Apollo! Koren was right there—you two shook hands. Then, you
attacked him, and suddenly you crouched. As if you knew that man was
going to assassinate him! Why, Apollo?"

   "Athena, that's not what happened," Apollo said. "I shouldn't have
beaten him like that, but he wasn't greeting me—he accused me of terrible
things. He said I didn't care about the people. Said that I was taking the
fuel and food and lying—"

  Athena shook her head. "Apollo, I saw it all—they broadcast a tape."

   "Athena," Apollo said, taking her hands. "I know this is going to sound
crazy, but that's not what happened. It wasn't what he said, and it wasn't
what happened."

  Athena looked completely torn between what she had seen and what
Apollo was telling her. "I don't know," she said in an uncertain voice.
"That tape—Koren was right there and you let that man fire. A child,
Apollo!"

   Apollo shook his head. He was still stunned after all that had happened.
And it was like his mind was drifting away. He couldn't concentrate.
Maybe Jinkrat had been right—the first time. Maybe Apollo really didn't
care about anyone. Where had his caring gotten everybody? They were
starving, ships falling apart, people suffocating—

  He leaned back on the cot and felt his mind drifting away.

  "That's not what happened, Athena."

  "They're saying that only you could have done it, Apollo," Athena said.
"You were there—you let that man shoot Jinkrat."

  "We… we had to fight, Athena," Apollo said. "Man to man. I did make
peace with Jinkrat, but not the way you seem to have seen. Aron must
have—"

   "How could someone doctor the tape?" Athena asked. "Maybe—Baltar!"
she cried.

  Apollo shook his head. "Baltar walked the mob with me. He watched
my back. With GarTokk."
   "Gar'Tokk!" Athena cried. "He's been missing for a long time. People
are suspicious. There are rumors it was he who guided the assassin, and
who helped you. That he kidnapped Koren. Gar'Tokk was missing for a
long time."

   Apollo shook his head, then he raised himself up with great effort.
Apollo finally asked the question that he'd been wondering about all those
centars in the cell.

  If he had just had more insight, realized the danger, perhaps Jinkrat
would still be alive. Koren would be fine—healthy.

   "Athena—am I responsible?"

   "Nobody knows," Athena said. "Apollo—I just don't know what to
believe."

    Apollo searched his sister's face, wondering what he would think or do
if it had been Athena in the cell, and Athena he'd seen beating Jinkrat—a
man not nearly strong enough to defend himself against Apollo's wrath.
With his son looking on, crying hysterically for Apollo to stop.

   "Athena," he said, taking her hands. "Find Gar'Tokk. Find Baltar. He
knows a lot more than he's telling. They'll be able to prove I didn't do it.
Jinkrat was betrayed. That was his own man that shot him."

  "All right," Athena said, embracing Apollo once again. They were cut
short by the guard, who returned, announcing that her time was up.

    "Goodbye," Apollo whispered in Athena's ear. As she left, he wondered
if he would ever see her again.

   "I guess second best is better than nothing," Athena said in a low voice
as she escorted Baltar to the bridge. Baltar laughed.

  "What do you mean by that?" he asked. "I would have thought I'd be
much lower down on your list than that."

   "I—" Athena stopped, holding herself back. Apollo was in trouble, and
the fate of the Galactica rested on the information she could pull out of
Baltar. "I didn't mean it, Baltar," she finally said in frustration. "I was just
hoping to find Gar'Tokk first."
  "Nomen don't much care for human women," Baltar said.

  Athena noticed in horror that Baltar was leering at her. She'd wondered
about his "interest" when he'd interrupted her and Starbuck in Apollo's
quarters. It seemed like that had been centurons before, even though it
was only a few sectares.

   Baltar took Athena's lack of response for encouragement, and we went
on. "Yes," he said, tracing a woman's figure in the air with his hands as he
struggled to keep up with Athena's longer strides on the way to the bridge.
"Human women are soft, shapely, lovely. Borellian Nomen prefer to mate
with women who are—"

  Baltar moved both his hands in parallel lines, straight up and down.
"And they have sharp teeth."

  "Baltar! Would you be serious?"

   "I am serious," he said, looking at her with wide, innocent
eyes—ridiculous on his world-weary features.

   Athena couldn't help but laugh. "Baltar, Tigh is waiting," she said. "We
can't waste time. Apollo needs us."

   "Apollo, Apollo, Apollo," Baltar said. "I suppose he knows how it feels to
be locked up now."

  "He didn't—" Athena stopped herself. She didn't really know what
Apollo had or hadn't done.

  "I was there, Athena," Baltar said.

  "That's why you're coming with me and not back down in the brig
yourself, you criminal," she said.

    Soon, they were at the bridge. Tigh turned, and his normally calm face
was full of worry and exhaustion. "I don't know how much longer we can
hold on," he told Athena. "Since the… incident… people are out of control.
It's the strangest thing," he said. "I've heard a different story from
everyone. Every single person who saw that thing on tape saw something
different!"
   "Have you never heard of the tradition of witnessing?" Baltar said,
stepping forward. Athena had the strangest view of him then. For the first
time, in his manner and face, he looked almost like what he had once
been, a proud Lord of the Council, a leader—a man who held respect in his
hand as her father had done.

   "No," Tigh said sharply. Obviously, he hadn't glimpsed anything but the
old, dangerous, wily enemy standing before him.

    "It is a very old tradition, and a wise one," Baltar said. "Of those who
witness any event, there will be a different story from each. He who sits in
judgment must use the sight of his heart, not just of his eyes. And he must
listen with his soul, not with his ears."

  "Well, a pretty story," Tigh said, turning back to his console. "Too bad
you don't have a heart or a soul, Baltar."

   Athena thought that a trace of hurt flitted over Baltar's face, but it was
soon replaced by his usual deep, disdainful scowl.

   "Names," Baltar snarled. "You don't bother me, Tigh. You're just a
stupid man with no imagination."

   Tigh whirled, taking a step toward Baltar in anger before he regained
his military composure and stopped. "If you can't make yourself useful, I'll
escort you down to the brig myself," Tigh said stiffly.

   Athena stepped between the two men. "Baltar," she said. "I brought you
here to tell me what, exactly, you know about the assassination of
Jinkrat."

   "I saw Apollo attacking Jinkrat," Baltar said. "Not without provocation,
I might add."

  "We all saw that!" Athena cried.

   Baltar waited, drawing the moment out as long as he could. Then he
shook his head. "Look to Council Member Aron. Note how quickly he
stepped away from Apollo and Jinkrat. The Council Members were
terrified, but he seemed to—well, it's certainly what I would have done. If I
were he."
  "Aron," Tigh said in disgust. "Our new leader."

  "Is he fully in power?" Baltar asked.

   Tigh shook his head. "The Council has sent a new communication. He
will be soon enough. He's preparing to take command at any moment."

  "Great," Athena said, rubbing her head. "What are we supposed to do?"

  "The wise man waits," Baltar said. "And watches."

   "Enough of the philosophy," Tigh cried. "I should lock you in the
library!"

   "Now it's time to wait, and watch," Baltar said, turning before the other
two realized what was happening. The bridge doors slid open and a
phalanx of Council guards entered, followed by a Council Leader Aron in a
brand-new, awful looking black and red uniform. Athena's eyes widened.

  He stepped right up to her and Tigh, ignoring Baltar, and smiled.

   "Good to see you!" Aron exclaimed. "And it's great to be on the bridge
of my battlestar once again."

   This was not the same Aron. He even seemed yahrens younger, and full
of energy.

  Tigh's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Athena noticed that he did
not salute—and also that Aron didn't respond to this. He knew none of the
command formalities, except, apparently, putting on a hastily made
uniform.

   "I'm in command now," Aron announced, surveying the bridge. He was
no longer very kindly.

  Then he turned to Athena. "The lovely Athena," he said. "I imagine
you're quite worried about your brother."

   "Apollo's fine," Athena said, nearly adding, "No thanks to you." But she
held her tongue.

  "Well," Baltar said, sidling close. "It's nice to be so… wanted."
  They all turned to look at him, and he raised his chin stubbornly.
"What?" Baltar said. "Why are you all staring at me?"

    "Baltar," Aron said, finally acknowledging him. "Why were you there to
escort Apollo to the Chambers and the brig? Have you finally found a…
friend?"

   "Perhaps," Baltar said. Athena watched Baltar's eyes narrow to
suspicious slits as he scanned Aron's face. Aron didn't seem to notice the
quick expression of disgust.

  Aron seemed to lose interest in Baltar, and he turned back to the
controls of the Galactica.

   "Tigh," he said. "I am aware of your tricks and delays. You will at last
ground all Vipers."

  Tigh's eyes widened. "We're still—"

  "You heard me," Aron snarled.

  Athena recoiled. There was no longer even a shred of elderly kindness or
concern.

   Tigh made some movements at the console. Athena, accustomed to
bridge procedures, realized that he'd done nothing but authorize a routine
system check.

   Amazingly—Aron didn't seem to realize that Tigh had disobeyed his
order.

   "Oh, uh—Aron," Baltar said, stepping closer. "Haven't you thought to
give a speech to the people?"

  Aron whirled around, his face a mask of rage. He raised his fist, and
Baltar quailed.

  "Don't tell me what to do, little man," he cried. Athena stepped back in
shock. This was pure evil, irrational and wild.

   Then she looked over at Tigh. His expression showed that he was
thinking the same thing. Tigh appeared to think for a moment, then he
spoke.
   "Athena, would you come here and check to see all the patrols are
grounded." Then he smiled a smarmy grin at Aron—Athena couldn't
believe that honest, hard-charging Tigh was capable of that type of
expression—but then again, who knew what people were capable of under
pressure?

   Athena approached, knowing the request was ridiculous, and Tigh said
softly, "Boomer and Bojay are coming in from patrol. I signaled them to
come to the bridge as soon as they land. Code Red-One, Green-Three."

   "Ugh," Athena said, squeezing the Colonel's shoulder. Red-One-highest
alert. Green-Three-watch your back-covert operation. Right then, she
could have kissed him, but she knew that would arouse Aron's suspicions,
even if nothing else had so far. A brief glance at Baltar showed that look on
his face again. Now that things had quieted down a little, he was loitering
behind Aron… and leering.

   In sickbay, Sheba woke, calling out warnings. In her unconscious mind,
the bomb was still exploding. But the only response that she heard was a
cruel, cold voice saying, "Take her to the brig!"

  She thought that she saw the boy, Koren, being carried in, but she
could hardly be certain of anything.

  And everything went black.
                          Chapter Nine
  APOLLO COULDN'T believe it when they threw a bleeding,
unconscious Sheba into his cell.

   He went to her side, carefully examining her. "Oh, Sheba," he said. His
heart filled with cold rage and his body suddenly ached with worry. He'd
seen a lot of wounds, and this one was in a very bad place, deep in the left
side of her body. She was breathing slowly and steadily, but Apollo could
see that Doctor Salik hadn't gotten very far with her treatment.

    "Why did they do this?" he asked in a whisper. Gently, he carried Sheba
to his cot and laid her on it, smoothing the hair gently away from the
wound. After a moment, he went to the cell door and started banging on
it.
  "Hey! We need a doctor! Get a doctor in here!" he cried. But no one
answered. No one came.

   Out at the edge of the Ur cloud, Dalton, Troy and Trays were sailing,
coasting free on their own inertia.

   "We're almost out of fuel," Troy told Dalton. He tried to sound
professional, but they all knew what would happen when the last of the
fuel was gone. The batteries wouldn't last more than a few centars. Then
the air would go, but before that, the heat would go, and they'd be at the
exact temperature of space.

   Troy remembered Starbuck's joke about what happened to Cylons
stranded out in space. "Only one good thing about those tin cans,"
Starbuck said, chewing his fumarello. "They're metal, so they'll never turn
into corpsicles."

  It had seemed really funny at the time.

  The comm crackled. "Troy," came Dalton's voice. She sounded so little
and small, just like a little girl.

   All at once, Troy wanted to hold her close. He wanted to kiss her and
just hold her, form his body around hers and hug her tight.

  It was so fracking unfair!

  Dalton, so pretty, so young and full of life and hope.

   And so infuriatingly stubborn, pig-headed and strong willed. He
remembered what she'd said: they were Galactica's last hope. They had to
find the way out of this cloud. Only Troy and Dalton, two together against
the universe. Well, Troy thought, except for Trays. A sudden burst of anger
went through him that they were out there, and Trays was there, too.

   But he couldn't be mad at Trays. It was the universe he was mad at. If
there was just something he could do—anything. He wracked his brains,
tried to think. If only they could—

  "Troy," she said again.

  "Yeah, Dalton," he said.
  "Troy, I was thinking."

  "Dalton, stick to what you're good at," Trays shot back.

  Fury raged through Troy.

  "Shut up for once, will you?" Troy yelled.

  "Hey—I can tease her if I want. Dalton understands." There was silence
over the comm for a micron.

  "No, I don't understand, Trays. Are you trying to tell me you think I'm
dumb?"

  "No," Trays said. "Dalton, I was just teasing."

   Troy couldn't believe how immature Trays sounded. How could Dalton
have ever even been vaguely interested in the guy? She couldn't have been
thinking. He bit his lip. Now he was in danger of starting in on her, and
that was the last thing he wanted.

   The situation couldn't be worse. Here they were, lost in the middle of
some crazy place beyond time and space where there weren't even any
stars or planets, and Galactica was probably a million parsecs away—or
maybe ten thousand metrons. Lords of Kobol only knew. They were lost,
running out of fuel, their instruments crazy and wild. That would be
funny, Troy thought. Lost within a few metrons of home.

  But he just said, "Let's think about other stuff. What else can we talk
about?"

  "Remember that time we played triad and I won?" she said.

  "Yeah," Troy said.

  "You don't remember any of the times I beat your ass," Trays growled.

   Dalton didn't respond. "You looked so funny!" she said to Troy. Then,
she laughed.

  She was so incredibly infuriating. So beautiful. So young…

  "Dalton, you're a poor sport," he said.
   "What do you mean?" she asked in an innocent voice.

  "I mean, when you win, you're not supposed to gloat. You're not
supposed to keep… reminding the other person."

   "Gloating is good," Trays offered.

   "Trays!" she said, frustrated. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant
that I really liked playing with you, Troy."

   Troy remembered running after her, the way she tossed her long, silky
hair. Sometimes she was so playful, like a little kid. She reminded him…
suddenly he laughed out loud… sometimes she reminded him of his
daggit, Muffit. Muffit had been stubborn, too, and a real pain in the butt.
Poor daggit. Did daggits go to… Troy laughed.

   "What's so funny, Troy?" she asked, her voice suddenly angry.

   "Nothing," he said.

  "Yeah!" Trays asked. He was determined to get into this conversation.
"What's so funny, Troy?"

   "Tell me!" she demanded.

  "Oh, Dalton," Troy said, sighing. "I was just thinking of old times.
Muffit."

   "Your daggit," Dalton said. "Starbuck told me about him."

  "Daggit! You baby, Troy! Your daggit—some good he'll do us out here.
Troy's got a daggit…" Trays mocked.

   "Trays, cut it out," Dalton said. But she was giggling.

   Troy fought back the sudden flash of anger. He wouldn't have expected
much more from Trays, but sometimes Dalton was so self-centered. But
she was young, he told himself. A lot of young people were like that. She'd
grow out of it. She had time… he corrected himself. Before, she'd had time.
He checked the air gauges; and watched the fuel gauge quit flashing red
before his eyes, going all the way to red.

   He'd never seen that! He really didn't know how much longer they had.
Maybe only microns more of fuel.

  "Dalton," Troy said, intending to warn her about the fuel.

  "I love you, Troy!" she said. Then he heard small sobs coming over the
comm.

  "Dalton!" Trays cried. Troy heard muffled cursing over the comm then
Trays' signal went blank. On purpose.

  "Trays!" Troy cried. But it was too late—Dalton had done it.

   "Trays, don't!" Dalton said. "Come back!" But Trays had cut both of
them off.

   Troy had no idea what to say, wishing he could somehow do something
about his rapidly dwindling vocabulary. The air couldn't be running out
that fast, but Troy was having a really hard time breathing.

   "I said I love you, Troy," she repeated. "Don't you have anything to say
to me? Are you going deaf?"

   "No," he said, suddenly frightened by the way his eyes felt, and the way
he could hardly breathe at all.

  He checked the air—it was fine. He realized that his heart was
pounding so fast that he was starting to hyperventilate.

   "Troy, are you okay?" Dalton asked. "You sound funny. Is your air
getting—"

   "No, I'm fine, Dalton." You big idiot, Troy! You're dumber than a Cylon!
Tell her you—

  "Well, I understand if you don't feel the same way," Dalton went on. "I
mean, everybody likes you, Troy. You're really handsome… and brave…
and your father's Commander Apollo and maybe somesectare you'll be in
command of the Galactica ... that's when we, uh… I mean I understand if
you don't—"

  "Dalton, shut up!" Troy cried. "I love you too!"

  "I mean, all the girls really like you, Troy. It's like—"
  "Dalton!" Troy said again in a firm voice. "Did you hear me? I… love…
you."

    There came a long silence. The comm crackled again. "Oh," Dalton said
at last.

   They coasted for a while longer and Troy stared out at the blank Ur
cloud.

   Then, after a moment, he laughed. "This is pretty funny," he told
Dalton. "We're out here, our fuel's almost gone, the air's going to run out
soon, there's no way back, we're totally lost—"

   "And we finally found each other," Dalton said, for once, finishing his
sentence for him with exactly the words that he meant.

   "I can't believe this," Troy said.

   "I can't believe I said that with Trays right here," Dalton said.

  Troy shook his head. "Poor Trays. He'd walk on Borellian glass for you,
Dalton. I think he—"

   "Let's try to get Trays back," Dalton said. "We can't let him just drift off
like this."

   "Trays!" Troy called over the comm. There was no reply.

   Dalton banked her Viper so that she was in direct sight of Trays' wing.
Looking over, Troy could see her gesturing wildly. She was
crazy—completely nuts. Here they had about a micron of fuel left, and she
was wasting it trying to get Trays' attention when he obviously had
nothing left to say to either of them.

   Then, to Troy's astonishment, he saw Trays' comm light blink back on.
Still, Trays didn't say anything.

   "I just have one thing to say," Trays said at last.

   Dalton's joyous whoop came over the comm. "Trays! You're back!" she
cried.

   "I just have one thing to add to this little love fest," Trays continued in
a deadpan voice. Troy, though his relationship with Trays had always been
rocky, was certain of the hurt that he heard in Trays' voice right then. The
hotshot pilot was giving it everything he had not to let Dalton know how
much her impulsive declaration hurt.

   "What's that, buddy?" Troy asked, feeling magnanimous.

  He couldn't believe it. His heart felt like it was about to come out of his
chest. He'd won! He'd won! Dalton loved him! Troy!

   "You two are sure going to have some ugly kids. I just hope I won't have
to be around to see the end result of this pairing."

   "Trays!" Dalton cried. "We weren't talking about—"

  "Trays," Troy said, suddenly losing all the generosity he had before.
"That's not—"

   "They'll get your looks, Troy," Trays continued in a drawl. "And
Dalton—they'll be just as sharp as you are. I think they'll have to start a
special school for them. Why—"

    "Trays!" Dalton shouted. "I can't believe that I came around and used
all my fuel for you! You're incorrigible!"

   The comm went silent again for more long microns.

   "Just teasing," Trays said.

   "Trays!" Dalton and Troy cried in unison.

   Trays cleared his throat. "I just really wanted to say. Well—"

   Troy and Dalton both waited.

   "I wanted to say you're a lucky guy, Troy."

   Suddenly, Troy's throat felt like it was swelling up. "Trays—thanks," he
said.

   Then he checked the air display. His stomach sank—it was beginning to
flutter. He'd never seen that before, either.
   "Dalton, Trays," he said, meaning to warn them, but he cut himself
short. He peered out of his cockpit. He thought he'd seen a flash, far in the
distance, but he couldn't be certain. Troy held his breath and waited for a
moment, scanning the quadrant where he'd seen the flash. His eyes were
exhausted from all that whiteness—the stuff they'd been flying through for
sectons—he could be having some type of effect from the air running low.
Hypoxia— oxygen deprivation—people saw all kinds of stuff under those
circumstances.

  He saw another flash.

  "Guys!" he said in excitement. "Look! Starboard—two o'clock sharp."

  "I see it!" Dalton said. "There's something there."

  "Me, too," came Trays' voice. "It's silver—like a crescent."

  "Well, we can't move toward it—the fuel's too low. But it looks like it's
coming toward us," Troy said.

   At first, Troy was hoping it was a Viper team, but in moments— the
thing was headed in fast—he realized that it was far too large.

   A few moments later, all three of them could see it clearly. Something
was coming at them—something huge and gleaming silver. It was the
strangest thing!

  "Dalton, doesn't that look like—" Trays said.

   "Yeah," Dalton said. "I see. That looks like Valor!" Valor of the Sky, the
great sentient ship who had fought to save the Galactica during the battle
with the Cylons and the Chitain. But how could Valor be there, coming
toward them?

  Troy decided that it didn't matter how it happened. All that mattered
was that their savior was fast approaching.

   It was Valor! It could be no other ship. Troy recognized those markings,
that unique shape. The great ship hovered silently over the three Vipers,
dwarfing them. Each of their ships shuddered as the huge ship locked on
them with a tow beam, and began to carry them back in the direction it
had come.
  "Where's he taking us?" Dalton asked.

  "I don't know," Trays said. "But it's under his power, so I'm willing to
wait."

   They traveled swiftly through the Ur cloud until things began to
change. Troy spotted more flashes, and huge, twisted pieces of metal
floating silently in the cloud.

  "This place gives me the chills," Dalton said.

   "Yeah," Troy said as they silently traveled through the scraps that
floated like some kind of man-made asteroid field. Troy had seen things
like that before, but never so many, all in one place. This was the remains
of a great space battle—a graveyard in the midst of the Ur cloud.

  "How did all this get here?" Dalton asked.

  "I guess it's from the battle. That looks like part of a Cylon battlestar
over there," Troy said. "Mark that, Trays. It could have something in it we
could use."

  "Marked," Trays responded.

   "I don't get it," Dalton said. "I mean, whatever happened, we got pulled
through, but how could these ships still be here?"

   "Something that happened as we made the transition must have pulled
these ships with us," Troy said.

   "There's a Viper over there," Trays said. His voice was low and
respectful—a tone that Troy had seldom heard from him. It was not a
whole Viper; it was a shell, its pilot long gone.

  "Yeah," Troy said. "I see it."

  "Look!" Dalton cried. "Beyond Valor," she said.

   Troy peered through the cockpit. He spotted a familiar shape, and
white, shining metal, marred here and there, and twisted and torn. It was
large—a huge piece—then he spotted the telltale markings of a Colonial
battlestar.
  "It's the engine section and part of one of the bays," Troy said.

  "Pegasus," Dalton said in an awed whisper. "That's what's left."

  "Valor wanted us to see this," Troy said. "He didn't bring us here for
nothing."

  "Oh, right, buddy. Whoo-whoo!" Trays said.

   "No," Dalton said, snapping at Trays. "Troy's right. Valor brought us
here on purpose."

   Above them, Valor's lights shone, flashing in the direction of the hulk of
the Pegasus.

  "Well, whatever's going on, we can take our Vipers down there. There's
enough left of that bay that I know we can get in there," Trays said.

  "You sure?" Troy asked.

  "Sure as I am of my own name," Trays countered.

   Troy thought a moment. "Okay," he said. "Trays, you and Dalton take
your Vipers down to the Pegasus. Check it out, do some recon, and get
whatever you can find that's useful onto your Vipers. Fuel, food—anything
the Galactica can use."

  "Where are you going?" Dalton asked. "You mean you—"

  "You and Trays will be fine," he said.

  "She's in good hands," Trays called.

  "I'm sure," Troy said. "Don't forget that she's mine now, Trays."

  Trays coughed into the comm sarcastically.

   "I'm going to head back to that Cylon battlestar. I can't help but think
that Valor wanted us to know about that, too."

  "What's worth anything on a Cylon piece of felgercarb?" Trays
demanded.
  "Don't know, Trays," Troy said. "But out here, nothing's normal. We
can't afford to miss any chance. Not with the fleet in the shape it's in."

   "Troy's right," Dalton told Trays. "We'll check out the Pegasus."

   Dalton's and Trays' Vipers trembled again as Valor released them from
his tow beam. He hovered overhead as if he was waiting for them to do
something. Dalton whispered a prayer to the Lords of Kobol that they had
enough fuel to reach the remains of Pegasus's landing bay. She was glad
she'd prayed, too, because her engine began to cut out just as she and
Trays carefully slid their Vipers through the torn wreckage into the bay.

  There was the inner door, open, as it should have been during battle,
and they landed their Vipers just as it started to slide down.

   "Could there be somebody here?" Dalton asked in alarm.

   Looking back over her shoulder, she watched Valor's form
receding—the ship was towing Troy back toward the Cylon ship!

   "No," Trays said. "That's not it. It's automatic. It sensed us coming in;
that's what it's supposed to do. Haven't you heard how ship controls keep
going long after the crew is gone when the ship's torn apart? That means
there's still some power, Dalton. Cylons blasted the power core off; all the
crew areas gone, and the bridge—everything else is what's left."

   "Thank the Lords of Kobol," she whispered.

  "So we'll find fuel," Trays said. "Don't know about the food, but at least
we know we've got a chance to get back home."

   "I can't believe it," Dalton said as they waited for the bay to pressurize.
"It's like a miracle."

   Soon, Dalton and Trays found the fuel cells. A lot were damaged and
destroyed, but enough remained to carry them back to the Galactica, and
there were even extra to restore the fleet's badly-depleted stores, even
though neither Dalton nor Trays had any idea just how badly those stores
had become depleted. And, even better, they found crates and crates of
food pills. The gravity was completely gone, so getting around on the
inside of the destroyed ship was a real adventure.
  But it was an adventure that soon turned to grief and deep sadness.
Even Trays' cocky attitude became subdued as they saw the real face of
war.

   Dalton's face closed up like a box. Her eyes were downcast. Trays tried
talking to her, but it seemed like nothing could break her out of the black
mood that had come over her.

   "They're just dead guys," Trays said, and even he realized how shallow
he sounded.

  "These were our friends," Dalton said. "Look! Don't you have eyes?"

   Bodies, blasted beyond all recognition, floated in the null gravity. The
eyes of some were closed. If Dalton tried to pretend, she could imagine
that they were swimming, floating in some kind of giant pool. But not the
ones with eyes open, frozen, with their mouths wide in their final screams.
And then there were the ones who… didn't have eyes at all.

   Pegasus, the proud battlestar that had escaped the battle of Caprica,
that had fought so long and so hard against the Cylons. Cain's ship!
Sheba's father—the great Commander Cain.

   They had all lost so much. So very much. Dalton had never really
thought about it before. How lucky she was—to even be alive. That could
have been her there. She spotted a woman in a medtech's uniform,
floating away from Pegasus former sickbay. That could have been Dalton's
own mother! The Cylons didn't care. They just destroyed, over and over
again.

  She was moving away from Trays now, lost in her own painful
memories.

    "Trays," she called. "Look—it's their—" It was the Pegasus pilot's
lounge. The scene in there was beyond words that Dalton knew to describe
it. It was like Hades, she thought. Only a Hades worse than she'd ever
imagined.

  "I don't think they had a chance," she whispered.

  "Dalton!" came Trays' voice.
   She turned, feeling like she was swimming in the waters of grief herself.

   "Dalton, I think this could be something important."

   Turning away from the horror of all those brave, dead warriors—trying
not to remember the names of the ones who had been her friends—Dalton
forced herself to move back toward Trays' voice.

   Trays was standing by yet another body, but it was anchored to the
torn and twisted bulkhead somehow.

   As Dalton got closer, she saw why the body was held in place. Its cloak
had caught against a jagged shard of metal and it was held fast. It had
probably been there ever since the ship had been pulled through into the
Ur cloud after the battle.

   The cloak was blue, of rich, deep fabric. A gold medallion floated above
the man's neck, fluttering slowly in the gravity-free air.

  Dalton recognized the form immediately. The sharp features, and thick
white brows. The hair, usually so neat, waved about his face. It was
Sheba's father, Commander Cain.

   "Cain!" she cried, running to Trays' side.

   "I guess it really is him," Trays said, not a trace of mockery in his voice,
only respect.

   "Oh, Commander Cain," Sheba said, touching the still face of the
former great commander of the Pegasus.

   "It looks like he was trying to do something here," Trays said.

   Dalton nodded.

   "This looks like it probably led to the Viper bays before the attack,"
Trays said. The metal was twisted and wracked beyond all recognition, but
Dalton thought that Trays had guess right. Cain had probably been about
to get into a Viper himself when the final blow had come. But he'd never
made it.

   Silently, she touched Cain's cheek where it was stained and mottled
with blood, and thought a prayer to herself. For the great Commander,
and for all the many others on the Pegasus.

  "We'd better go," Trays said. He started away.

   Dalton lingered, unwilling to leave Cain's side. It seemed… disrespectful
to just leave him there like that. Again, she lowered her head to pray. And
as she did, she thought that she saw Cain move.

   Not the weird floating of all the dead bodies, but a quick movement, of
his eyebrows.

  She leaned closer. His eyelids were trembling! Then, all at once, the
body shuddered, and Cain took a long, deep breath, rasping into his chest.

  "Trays!" Dalton cried. "He's not dead—Commander Cain is alive!"

   "Tracking holy felgercarb!" Trays yelled, running toward her. "It
can't—"

  "It can be, Trays," Dalton said. "He's breathing!"

   And though Commander Cain's eyes were still shut tight, and with the
huge wounds all along his body, and it seemed absolutely impossible,
Trays and Dalton both saw his chest rising and falling, and heard his
breath rasping. Together, they freed his cloak from the twisted metal and
carried him back to their Vipers, hearts pounding. As soon as Trays and
Dalton got Cain's body back to their Vipers, they saw the shimmering
flash of a Viper.

   Troy was back, and he slipped into the bay, leaping out and running
toward them.

   "I've got fuel cells!" he cried. "It was on the Cylon ship. There was tons
of it left. I'm not sure how much it's good for, but maybe there's some use
to it. It was all still active—not like our Tylium reactors. Maybe that's the
ticket out of here, although it wasn't any use to them any more. Man, I
never saw so many dead Cylons!"

  "Troy," Dalton said quietly. But Troy had already fallen silent, his
expression completely changed.

  "Cain," he said. "You want to bring his body back."
  Dalton shook her head. "Troy—" she started to say.

  "The old man's still alive," Trays said, his voice full of excitement.

   "Lords of Kobol," Troy said in a stunned whisper. "That's impossible.
No one could have survived for that long. And look at him—he's torn to
pieces."

  "I know, Troy," Dalton said, "But it's true all the same."

  Troy looked around the half-ruined bay of the Pegasus, his eyes wide. "I
don't know," he said. "You two, you've got your Vipers full. I'll—I'll take
him."

  Dalton nodded.

  "Well, of course, you do the honors," Trays said sarcastically.

   "Stop it, Trays," Dalton warned. Troy watched the other young pilot's
face flush. But Trays didn't say anything more.

   Soon, the barely living body of Commander Cain was put on Troy's
Viper and the three pilots, refueled and laden, left the sad wreckage of the
Pegasus. As the three pilots left, they didn't look back, but instead looked
forward, searching the graveyard of torn hulks for Valor of the Sky. But
neither of them saw anything.

  He was gone, as quickly and mysteriously as he'd come.

  "Troy, it's almost like we imagined him," Dalton said.

  "We didn't," Troy said. "He was real. That tow beam was real."

  "But he's just gone—just like that," Dalton mused.

  "I know, Dalton—maybe we'll see him again."

  "I don't know," she said thoughtfully. "He was like a ghost."

  "There's no such thing as ghosts!" Trays cried. Even so, he was glad he
was in his own cockpit, so the other two couldn't see him shiver.

  Centars had passed while Apollo sat watching Sheba, waiting to see if
she would show signs of recovering.

   She had grown no worse, but Apollo, completely exhausted, had fallen
asleep beside the cot, his body curled on the cold deck of the brig.

   He woke, startled, and heard something at the cell door. Leaping to his
feet, he prepared himself to fight. Maybe they were coming to take him
away—then, he thought—maybe they'd relented and were sending some
help for Sheba. Curse Aron for throwing her in sickbay! He wondered
why—why would Aron be so needlessly cruel? All he could think of was
that Sheba was the one who'd physically carried the bomb out of sickbay.
Maybe Aron thought she had seen something—noticed something—and if
she recovered, could speak against him. As daughter of Cain, and
heretofore blameless, people would listen to her. Maybe Aron just couldn't
afford to have her around after he got rid of Apollo.

   After all, Sheba would never bow to Aron if she survived. Not for a
second. He waited in a crouch, and the door opened with a creak.

   A cloaked figure entered, followed by three others. There was hardly
room to move in the tiny cell. Not with Apollo, Sheba unconscious on the
bed, and Gar'Tokk and three other equally imposing battle-ready Nomen.

  "Gar'Tokk!" Apollo cried, grabbing the Noman's arms.

   Apollo was the only Galactican who could have done that; no other
human had free permission to touch a Noman. The other three didn't
seem to like it much, growling in their way, but they made no other
complaints.

   "Be silent, Apollo," GarTokk said. Apollo hadn't realized before how
stealthy and silent the huge Noman could be, or how soft and quiet he
could make his voice when he desired it.

   GarTokk leaned down. "We have very little time," he said. Then he
looked over to see Sheba on the cot.

   "Your friend, the fighting woman," GarTokk said softly. "Naga can
carry her." He turned to one of his three companions, who nodded and
went to the cot, lifting Sheba like she weighed as much as an infant.

  Then GarTokk, looking cautiously for trouble, led them out of the cell
and into the brig corridor.

   As they moved through the brig, Apollo noticed one of the guards at a
table with a glass of ale and some pyramid cards. He still had a card in his
hand. It looked like he was asleep, but Apollo took a second look.

  Nobody slept with his head at that type of angle. He wondered if it had
been GarTokk or one of the other Nomen—this one had joined the
Security Council guard in testing a Noman's strength.

  Suddenly, three guards appeared in front of them.

  "Sound the alarm!" one of them cried.

   GarTokk and the two Nomen pushed forward, grappling with the
guards. The struggle was brief, but fierce. Apollo cried out to warn
GarTokk, but the last of the guards escaped, scrambling away to sound the
alarm. GarTokk paused to reflect on their work, lying crumpled on the
floor.

  "That one should not have escaped," he told his mates.

  "We are not familiar with this place," one of the other Nomen said.

   "Nomen do not make excuses," GarTokk said ominously. Then, turning
to Apollo, he nodded.

   No more words were needed. Soon there'd be more guards than even
the Nomen could handle. They began to run.

   Apollo could barely breathe as he ran beside Gar'Tokk. "Wait," he said,
resting and putting his hands on his knees. All that time rotting in the cell,
and the exhaustion was catching up with him.

  Gar'Tokk halted. The other three stopped as well, and Naga, holding
Sheba in his arms, was almost comical as he tried to balance the extra
weight.

   "Can he take her to sickbay?" Apollo asked Gar'Tokk. "She's got to get
help—right away. She's bleeding inside."

  Gar'Tokk's brows lowered. "Yes," he said. "I understand, Apollo. Naga
does not speak your language. I will explain to him."
   He turned to Naga and spoke a few words in the guttural Borellian
tongue. The Noman carrying Sheba turned and headed in the opposite
direction.

   "We go to find friends," Gar'Tokk told Apollo. "Have you rested
sufficiently?"

   Apollo hadn't, but he nodded to the Noman, gritted his teeth, and
followed the trio down the corridor. Soon he realized they were heading
for one of the launch pods.

   When they reached the pod, there was a lot of activity, although it
looked like every Viper was grounded.

   Apollo searched for signs of Boomer, Bojay, or even Starbuck —hoping
that Starbuck had changed his mind, not flying out after Dalton after all.
Or maybe Starbuck found her! Mechanics and pilots stared to see the
three strange Nomen in their territory, and they also stared at Apollo. But
these were Colonial Warriors and loyal men and women. For the moment,
Apollo was safe from the Council Security guards, and from dealing with
Aron—the murderous traitor.

  Finally, Apollo spotted Boomer, and called out his name.

  "Apollo!" Boomer cried upon seeing him. "How did you—" Boomer cut
himself short seeing the Nomen.

  "Hey," he said, smiling. "It's nice to have friends."

  "Yeah," Apollo said, as they embraced.

   Now, there were at least a few moments to talk. Cautiously, Apollo
looked around and led the small group to a corner covered from view by a
grounded Viper that was being fueled.

   "Gar'Tokk," Apollo said as soon as they were out of plain sight. "How
did you get these men? How did you manage to—"

  "Nomen have their ways," Gar'Tokk said inscrutably.

  "Just the facts, Gar'Tokk," Apollo said. "There were no Nomen on
Galactica. They were all on the transport ships."
   "I do not like these tiny Vipers," Gar'Tokk said. "They do not
accommodate my legs."

  "You were in a Viper?" Boomer broke in, astonished.

  "Yes, small man," Gar'Tokk said. Apollo almost burst out laughing—he
was pretty sure this was the one and only time anyone had ever called
Boomer a "small man."

   "Gar'Tokk, how did you manage to get hold of a Viper?" Apollo asked,
although he already had a pretty good idea.

  "Humans are not attentive to details," Gar'Tokk said. "They did not
notice how short the trousers were, and how I could not buckle the boots.
Nor did they notice how badly the helmet fit."

  Boomer and Apollo burst out laughing.

  "I see no humor," Gar'Tokk said.

  Apollo slapped his leg, he was laughing so hard. "It's all right,
Gar'Tokk," he said between chuckles. "I'm really grateful."

  Looking up at the other two Nomen, he saw them with completely
puzzled expressions on their rough, bearded faces.

   "No more laughter," Gar'Tokk said. Boomer and Apollo struggled to
compose themselves. "I must tell you what has happened. Athena sent me
a message. That is why I undertook the mission in your… inadequate…
ship to retrieve these men. They are among our most valiant fighters."
Gar'Tokk turned to the other two Nomen and said more words in the
Borellian language. They nodded, the confused expressions suddenly
changing to pride and confidence.

  "What message from Athena?" Apollo asked.

   "This… Aron," Gar'Tokk said, making a disgusted expression. "He has
taken control not only of the Council, but he believes he has control of the
Galactica itself."

   "No!" Apollo cried. He had prepared himself for some kind of show
trial, but he knew in his heart that the truth would come out. It just wasn't
possible that the bumbling, council fools and Aron were in charge of their
fates. Of their lives!

   "Athena and Tigh are on the bridge with him at all times," GarTokk
said. "That is how they got the message through."

   GarTokk leaned close to Apollo and put his enormous hand on Apollo's
shoulder, looking into Apollo's eyes for a long moment. "They have
managed to deceive this man for the time being. But he has given an order
that fuel reserves be gathered, and this will cut off all air to the crew and
civilian areas of the Galactica."

  "But—that's insane!" Apollo cried. "How can anyone—"

  "Everyone will die," GarTokk intoned.

  "We've got to stop him," Apollo said. He started to move, but GarTokk
pulled him back.

   "Listen, Apollo," GarTokk said. "The warriors are in disarray. Many are
being held under guard. Athena and Tigh are pretending to obey Aron's
orders, but Tigh has told me that it's only a matter of time before the
murderer understands what is happening and destroys them—as he tried
to do to your female friend."

  "Sheba!" Apollo said.

  "Yes," GarTokk said. "He wished her to die in that cell with you."

  "Lords of Kobol," Apollo whispered. "And what about the boy, Koren?"

   "I am told that he is still unconscious. The healer does not know if he
will recover."

  "Like Sheba," Apollo said. "We've got to get Aron, GarTokk."

  "Yes," GarTokk said. "But we must have a plan."

   Apollo started to say something else, but an alarm sounded throughout
the pod.

  "Incoming!" someone cried.
  More Vipers were on the way.

  "It's the other patrol," they heard a voice crying.

  "They're back!"

   "Troy!" Boomer cried. "And Dalton and Trays!" The Nomen stayed in
the shadows as Boomer and Apollo rushed out to greet their long-lost
pilots—Apollo his very own son, Dalton, Starbuck's daughter, and
hotheaded Trays, all three returning to a very changed Galactica and a
fleet in full rebellion.

   Apollo pushed his way through the clamoring warriors and mechanics
to see Troy—a really exhausted, pale and disheveled Troy—climbing out of
his Viper.

   "Apollo!" Troy yelled. He was leaping down from the cockpit despite his
exhaustion. They embraced, and Apollo held Troy close, whispering a
silent prayer that the Lords had brought Troy home safe. Everything could
change, Apollo thought—in the beat of a heart, in a single breath, in a
single eyeblink.

  "We've got fuel," Troy said breathlessly. Apollo looked over to see
Dalton greeted like a heroine by Boomer and another group of pilots.
"We've got more food."

  "Troy," Apollo said—he didn't know what else to say. This had been the
worst sectare of his life, but now Troy, his boy, was back, and it was like
some kind of miracle that Apollo didn't understand, but that he wasn't
about to question.

  "And something else, Apollo—it's a miracle," Troy said.

  Bojay came running up, and he and Boomer climbed up to Troy's Viper.
Bojay let out a great whoop. Apollo looked at Troy, unable to understand
why Bojay was so excited.

  "Apollo, get up here!" Bojay yelled.

  Apollo climbed up to stand beside Bojay on the wing of the Viper.
Looking down into the cockpit, Apollo could hardly believe what he saw.
He blinked—his eyes weren't focusing properly.
   Then Bojay turned and yelled out into the crowd, "It's Cain! Troy Boy
found Cain! Out there in the middle of nowhere!"

  Bojay was right. A huge cheer went up.

  "Cain! Cain!"

   Troy had climbed up beside Apollo. Together, Apollo, Bojay, Boomer
and Troy lifted Cain from the Viper—he wasn't moving at all—but Apollo
heard him breathing. He'd never seen such wounds. How could Cain be
alive? After so long?

  "He's alive!" Bojay cried.

  "Step aside," Boomer said in his calm voice. "Let us through."

   The pilots had crowded close, but now when they saw Cain, torn and
battered, they moved back with respectful nods and prayers.

  "He's alive!" people cried. "Cain is alive! It's a miracle!"

   It was a miracle, Apollo thought. Beyond his hope, or understanding. A
gift from the Lords of Kobol, from the deities themselves. Now, he
remembered what Baltar had said. About people believing in miracles.
The three young pilots were back, bringing treasure—Dalton and Trays'
Vipers were loaded with food and fuel from the Pegasus ... and the
greatest miracle of all… Cain!

   Dalton and Trays joined the group, and began to talk excitedly of what
had happened. Apollo understood within a few words that the three young
pilots had been within moments of death—they'd gone out to the edge and
beyond. Out of fuel, out of air, they'd been floating toward oblivion when a
miraculous ship appeared out of nowhere.

   "It was incredible," Dalton said. "We thought we were gone for sure,
and then here it came, right overhead. It towed us into this weird
place—there were parts and pieces of ships everywhere."

  Troy found a moment to squeeze in some words of his own. "We found
Cain on the Pegasus," he said. "What was left of her."

  "How could he have survived?" Apollo asked, although his eyes told him
that it didn't really matter how—all that it mattered was that he was alive.

   "The wreck must have been pulled into this cloud along with us
somehow. I don't know. But there was enough of the engineering section
left, and a landing bay that was still running down on the batteries, that
Dalton and Trays pulled their Vipers in. They loaded up with all the fuel
and food they could find. Then—"

   "We found Commander Cain," Dalton said, her face flushed with
excitement.

  "Troy here found a Cylon hulk," Trays drawled.

  "Half of one of their basestars," Troy said firmly.

  "He brought back some of their fuel cells. There wasn't much left on
Pegasus after Dalton and I finished, so—"

  "I thought they could be of some use," Troy said. "They were working.
Their drive was half-ruined, but still active."

   "Troy, good work," Apollo said, embracing his son once more, feeling
pride surge through his heart.

   "What are you talking about—a ship that led you," Boomer said. "What
other kind of ship is out there?"

  "We saw something on the way back too," Bojay said.

   "It was Valor," Dalton said. "The sentient ship of the Sky that fought
alongside of us."

  Boomer looked confused. "Valor?" he asked.

   "Yeah," Dalton said. "He came right up to us, flashed his lights, and
towed us straight to the Pegasus. He knew exactly where he was going. He
saved our lives!"

  "That can't be," Boomer said. "Valor died in the battle. I saw it with my
own eyes. Bojay and I thought we saw something, but—"

   "But he was—" Dalton paused, looking over at Troy, her eyes suddenly
very wide.
  "I can't explain it," Troy said. "He was just there."

  "That's impossible," Boomer said. "Valor is really, truly gone."

   "Boomer," Apollo said gently. "Maybe it's about time for all of us to
start believing in miracles. Anything is possible." He squeezed Troy's
shoulders, and Boomer slowly started to smile, trying to understand.

  "For right now, we've got to get Cain to sickbay and then go deal with
Aron. Tigh and Athena need our help!"

  Troy, Dalton and Trays looked at each other, completely baffled.

   "I'll explain later," Apollo said. "Right now, we've got to get some more
of our friends. We've got an important date—with the biggest liar I ever
saw in my life."

  "Baltar?" Boomer asked.

  "No, man," Apollo said. "I'd take Baltar over Aron any sectare. Baltar's
been a pretty good man of late."

  "Now that's a miracle," Bojay said.

   "Bojay," Boomer said, shaking his head, as they carried Cain's body
together, but everyone still laughed.

  "I guess you did all right, hotshot," Bojay said to Trays as they left the
bay together.

  Trays glared over at Bojay, who suddenly grinned.

  "I guess I won't be needing that cane after all," he said.

   Boomer, despite himself, almost let go of Cain's shoulder, he started to
laugh so hard.

  "Some things never change," Apollo said. And he was right.
                           Chapter Ten
   TIGH LOOKED over at Athena, silently questioning with his wide, dark
eyes. "What should we do?" he mouthed. Aron was turned away, studying
one of the command consoles.

   Athena shook her head. Gar'Tokk had done it—he'd freed Apollo and
they were on the way to the bridge. And it was like some kind of incredible
miracle—praise the Lords of Kobol!—Dalton, Troy and Trays were back!
And, beyond miracles—they had a cargo more precious than the fuel and
food they'd found on the destroyed hulk of the Pegasus: Cain, alive, being
carried in their arms to sickbay. The food and fuel would buy them
precious time.

  If Aron didn't get his way.

   By some miracle, the Pegasus had been found. No one could have
survived that disaster—it was a mausoleum, not a battlestar any longer.
The remains of the ship had somehow been pulled into this Ur cloud,
along with the wrecks of many other vessels destroyed in the last great
battle. How could Cain have survived?

  Not after all that destruction. Athena thought for the thousandth time,
how could this be?

   She looked over at Aron in silent fury. The destruction he'd caused—it
was beyond all imagining. He was no battlestar commander, that was
certain. He wasn't right in the head, either. He didn't act like anyone she'd
ever known—not even crazy, vicious, Janus-headed Baltar. Why was he
such a clever plotter and manipulator, and so stupid about many other
things?

  For example, he was just letting Baltar wander around unwatched,
poking and prodding everything on the bridge. Anybody who'd turn his
back on Baltar couldn't have an operating brain cell.

  Athena groaned in disgust when Baltar caught her eye—and winked!

    The thing was, Aron had something he called his "security policy." A
little communicator with a big red button. He wouldn't say any more
about it, even though Athena had tried batting her eyes at him to get
more information.

   And even though Gar'Tokk had two more Nomen with him, and Apollo
was free, it was just the four of them. Apollo had insisted on leaving the
others behind—Boomer, Bojay, Trays and the rest, responsible to see Cain
safely to sickbay. He said they were his rear guard.

   She held her breath and waited.

   "They're almost here," Tigh whispered.

   In a moment, Apollo burst onto the bridge, aiming a laser pistol
straight at Aron's face. Gar'Tokk and the other two Nomen stood behind
him, towering over him and glowering at the interloper.

   "Aron!" Apollo cried. "It's over."

   Slowly, Aron turned. Athena and Tigh went to Apollo's side. Jinkrat had
taken their side arms, so they couldn't do much other than lend moral
support.

  "Oh, Apollo," Aron said calmly. "I've been expecting you. Glad to see
you brought your friend." He looked over at Gar'Tokk and grinned.

  "Your time is at an end," Apollo said, cautiously approaching the
two-faced Council member.

  "I doubt that," Aron said. "But I should thank you for bringing this
Noman. He evaded our capture—not very nice of him."

  "Aron," Apollo said. "Give it up. Everything's changed. The pilots are
back, and your time is over. Come with us."

   Aron shrugged. "Where?" he asked.

   "Back to the brig—you'll get the cell this time," Apollo said. "You'll
stand trial for—"

   "Apollo!" Tigh cried, turning and grabbing Apollo's arm.

    The small group whirled to see the bridge doors opening once more and
a flood of black-shirted Council Security guards streaming in. Dozens of
them, their rifles all aimed at Apollo, Gar'Tokk, Athena, Tigh, and the two
silent Nomen fighters.

   It was sixty on six, at the very least.

   The Nomen growled and got into a fighting posture, but Apollo stayed
them.

   "We can't fight these odds," he said. "They're heavily armed."

   "So, who's going to the brig now?" Aron asked, laughing long and hard.

   He held up the communicator with the red button, turning it from side
to side. "Now you know what it's for," he told Athena. The guards rushed
forward, disarming the entire group, stripping the laser boles from the
Nomen's belts, everyone's pistols, even finding the Nomen's hidden knives
in microns.

  She glanced behind him, where Baltar lurked behind one of the
consoles. She watched Baltar look suspiciously at the guards, cringing in
apprehension. She could see the conflict on Baltar's face. Should he join
Apollo and the others, or should he stay with Aron?

   Baltar slowly stood, gathering his cloak. "Ahem," he said, clearing his
throat. "If I could be so bold," he told Aron, "I could have told you this was
coming."

  Aron appeared to notice Baltar for the first time in centars. "You could
have—" he said, a puzzled expression on his face.

  "Yes," Baltar said. "Of course. Very handy that you were able to call the
guards so quickly. I admire a careful planner."

   "Oh," Aron said, smiling. "Yes, I always plan ahead."

   "In fact," Baltar said, sidling around the console, a smarmy smile on his
dark face, "I haven't seen that kind of strategy in a long time. Letting them
escape like that, then reeling them back in? Aron, it's masterful!"

  Athena's brows knit. Baltar! Turning tail again! Well, who would have
expected anything different? She looked over at Apollo, who was staring at
Baltar, his mouth open.

  "I am a master," Aron said, proudly raising his chin over his thin,
wrinkled neck, face full of shining arrogance.

   "Yes, now their fate will really hurt. Their only consolation is that they'll
be destroyed together," Baltar said.
   "Of course!" Sire Aron cried triumphantly. Then uncertainty crossed
his face. "How did you know?" he asked Baltar.

  "I have my ways," Baltar said. "Don't forget my yahrens of experience."

   "Ah," Aron said, then he appeared to think a moment. "Look," he said
to Baltar. "I need someone to assist me here for the time being. I could
reward you—" he added.

  Baltar grinned. "Precisely what I had in mind. I must thank you
heartily," he said. "I've been waiting to see Apollo… and Athena… in this
position for many long yahrens."

  Aron put his head back and laughed once more. "Baltar!" Apollo cried.

  With a cruel chuckle, Baltar strode to Apollo's side.

  Apollo stared at Baltar, stunned.

  Baltar leaned close and Apollo nearly spit in his face, but Baltar said,
"Do not, Apollo," and looked deeply in his eyes.

   Apollo couldn't believe Baltar's treachery—but then again, yes he could.
It was his own foolish trust that he couldn't believe. Letting Baltar out like
that, with only the tracking device on his ankle. Letting Baltar do whatever
he wished. He should have had him in the brig the entire time, under
dozens of guards with mind-shields to protect them from Baltar's evil
influence.

   Apollo looked over at the others. They were glaring furiously at Baltar.
Tigh struggled with the guards who held him, crying, "Baltar! I'll kill you!"

    Baltar merely smiled at Tigh. "Apollo," he whispered again. "How does
it feel?"

  Apollo couldn't believe that Baltar had done it: again.

   "Yes, I'll laugh when you meet your doom, Apollo!" Baltar cried. Then
he gave his best maniacal, insane, vicious laugh, looking at all the guards,
glaring with his glittering eyes.

  Again, loudly, Baltar announced, "A sectare of rejoicing has come!"
Then he drew his arm back and drove his fist deep into Apollo's
mid-section.

   Grunting, Apollo doubled over as every ounce of breath left him and his
eyes watered from the pain. "Baltar!" he said—in agony. Baltar snatched
his laser as Apollo doubled over.

   Baltar didn't respond at all, turning back to the traitorous Council
leader. "Hail Sire Aron! Victory is yours!" Baltar cried. He raised his fist in
a crude salute. Apollo looked up through his pain-hazed eyes and saw that
Baltar had one arm hidden in his cloak, and he was certain that hidden
hand held the laser.

   The guards led the group away to the brig, and even as they left, Baltar
stood waving farewell, the pistol secreted somewhere in his robes,
grinning evilly. Why had Baltar pretended to be Apollo's friend? Just to
escape the brig?

  Probably. And now it looked like he was well on' his way to making
another try for control of the Galactica.

   Now it was Aron who was going to have to watch his back.

  In sickbay, Cassi and Doctor Salik struggled to save Sheba, brought
back by Gar'Tokk's Noman companion.

   "Her body has suffered incredible trauma," the Doctor told Cassi. "I've
eased it somewhat, but we have no more tissue regenerators. She should
have received treatment right away. All those centars in that cell—"

   Cassi looked at the Doctor, fully aware that Sheba's life hung in the
balance. They had done all that anyone could do. All that was left was to
wait to see if Sheba's body could heal itself.

  The Noman who had brought Sheba stood impassively by the door.
Then he seemed to hear something that neither Cassi nor the Doctor could
hear.

   "Gar'Tokk calls!" he exclaimed. They looked at him in alarm. His
terrifying, remorseless face completely changed, suddenly filling with
remorse and traces of fear.

   "Ohhhhh," the Noman said. "I must go."
   "Very good," the Doctor said, shaking his head. He turned to Cassi,
raising his brows. "Having him around here isn't helping things, standing
there like some brooding lunatic," he told her.

   "I know," Cassi said in a low voice. "I know he's here to help, but he's
really—scary."

    "Gar'Tokk! The Call!" the Noman said in the common speech, although
it sounded as though the words were unfamiliar to him.

   Then he turned, his cloak swirling, and strode purposefully from the
sickbay.

  "Well, that's that," the Doctor said. He grabbed Cassi's hand and
squeezed it. "Why don't you get some rest? You've been here for centars.
You've got to take care of—" and he looked down at her stomach.

  "I know," Cassi said. "But Sheba—" she said, looking down at Sheba,
who was now in a deep form of stasis, beyond all sight and hearing.

  "Take care, Cassi," the Doctor said. "I'll watch her."

   Cassi started to leave, but turned back to Doctor Salik. "I just can't
believe it," she said. "I know that Sheba has… feelings… for Apollo. That's
obvious to anyone."

   The Doctor crossed his arms, nodding kindly. "Yes," he told Cassi. "But
think of it this way. We all love Apollo."

  Cassi's wide eyes filled with tears. "I know," she said.

   "We all do. And what are we going to do now? I wish I could help him,"
she held her hands out in a helpless gesture. "I can't fight them all by
myself."

   "Nor can I," Doctor Salik said. "But Cassi, we're healers, not warriors.
Let the warriors—"

  "Sire Aron has all our warriors under guard! He's going to kill Apollo,
and Athena and Tigh and—"

   "Cassi, there's always hope," Doctor Salik said. "I have seen more than a
few miracles in my time."
   "I hope you're right," she said. "But I've got a hard time believing in
them right now."

  "I know," Doctor Salik said. "But think of Dalton!"

   And at once, Dalton's face appeared in the sickbay entry. "Mom!" she
cried, running toward Cassi.

   "Dalton!" Cassi cried in return, running to her daughter and holding
her close. Cassi was so overwhelmed that at first she didn't fully register
the group who was bringing Commander Cain's body into sickbay.

   Truly, it was a miracle. Dalton was back safe, whole and sound. Then,
Cassi's eyes came to rest upon the larger miracle. Boomer, Bojay, Trays
and Troy all carried a limp, badly wounded man into sick bay. A man
Cassi knew well—in fact, she had always loved Cain, and had a special spot
in her heart for him. A great warrior, and a powerful, masterful, deeply
loving—

  "Dalton!" Cassi cried. "How—what—?"

  "We found him on the Pegasus," Dalton said. "That's how far we went
out, mother. To the edge of the universe and back."

  Eyes wide, Cassi grabbed Dalton's hand and ran to Cain's side.

  "Lords of Kobol," she said, recognizing the many wounds that tore
Cain's body. Each of them—potentially fatal.

  "Cain," Doctor Salik said. "But how?"

   Troy and Trays told the doctor of their discovery, and Dalton added
how she had been there when Cain had taken a breath, and they'd realized
that he was not dead and preserved, but alive. They had brought him
back.

  "You're heroes!" Cassi cried. Troy and Trays grinned.

  "We're not bad either," Bojay said.

  Cassi rolled her eyes, but there wasn't time for more.

  She bent over Cain, realizing with a sudden sharp breath that here lay
father and daughter, right beside each other, each fighting for life. Or
were they? It hardly seemed as though Cain was alive—in fact, it seemed
impossible that his chest moved, and that air came between his parted
lips. Those wounds!

   "He's—I've never seen anything like it," Doctor Salik said. "Yes, he's
breathing. But he seems to be in some kind of stasis."

  "That's how he survived out there for all this time," Cassi said, voice
quiet with wonder.

   The Doctor looked up at her. She read his expression from long years of
experience. The Doctor did not believe that Cain would survive for much
longer.

   Lowering her eyes, she said a brief prayer to herself, then she looked
over at Dalton once more, checking for any injuries, making sure that
Dalton was really back whole and well. And said another prayer of thanks
that Dalton was not the one on that table. Oh, Lords of Kobol—Cassi
looked over at Sheba once more.

   Sheba and Cain were laying side by side. And only the Gods knew if
either of them would make it.

  She looked past Dalton for the first time since the pilots had brought
Cain into sickbay. There were Troy and Trays, home safe. And Boomer and
Bojay, standing by. They were all together, all her favorite pilots.

  Except for one. Right now, she couldn't bear to think of Apollo—she just
had to pray that he would be safe. And Starbuck.

   She and Doctor Salik had worked together for a long time. He seemed
to read her expression, and said, "Don't worry about Starbuck, either. I'm
sure he's on his way back. There's no way two who are so dear to you could
get lost in that cloud."

   "You're right," Cassi said, as she bent over Cain again. "But I was never
really worried about Starbuck. He can take care of himself."

  "The rest of you!" Salik cried. "Out! Can't you see we've got work to do?"

  With hasty farewells, Dalton, Boomer, Trays and Bojay retreated.
   But Starbuck was lost. He followed Boomer's ion trail as far as he could
into the Ur cloud, but they only led so far. Soon, everything faded away
and Starbuck was piloting his Viper through nothing but blind whiteness.

  He swore, slamming his fist on the controls.

  "Dalton!" he cried. "Where are you?"

  The words echoed out into nothing.

  Then, looking at his directional display, he shook his head and blinked.
Every micron, it changed. One moment, it looked like he'd barely left the
Galactica, and the next, it told him he was at the very edge of the
universe, wildly switching back and forth before his astonished eyes.

  "You are completely screwed," he told himself.

  And his fuel was running low.

  He wracked his brain for ideas. "Come on, Starbuck," he told himself.
"You know how you can find her. Just…"

   "Starbuck," came a deep, echoing voice. Starbuck hit his helmet. Who
in the stars was out here, chatting it up over the comm?

  That sure wasn't Troy's voice, he thought.

  "The blood calls you," the voice said.

  Starbuck swore under his breath because he knew the voice then.

  "Gar'Tokk!" he cried, slapping his helmet once more. "How'd you—"

  "Come back," the voice said, suddenly fading.

   "Yeah, right," Starbuck said. Not only had he seen no sign of Dalton or
Troy, not only was he lost in the middle of nowhere, running low on fuel,
he had no clue as to where "back" was right then. This Gar'Tokk sure knew
how to throw a party, Starbuck thought.

   Come back! Maybe Starbuck could sprout wings out of his ass, ditch his
Viper, and fly back like a birdie.
  Then, out of nowhere, a huge ship came storming at Starbuck's Viper,
buzzing him like he and Apollo had done in the old sectares, to see who'd
pee his pants first.

  "Holy—" Starbuck swore, ducking.

   The ship banked and turned back as Starbuck craned his neck to see it.
Then it came to a stop, hovering and flashing its lights. He knew that ship.
It was Valor of the Sky, and it was telling him to turn around. Starbuck
thought that ship had been lost when the Pegasus went down, but he
guessed he was wrong.

   Starbuck did turn around whistling to himself. That thing took off like
a shot and Starbuck hit his burners, flaming after it with everything he
had.

   "I don't know where you came from, buddy," he said. "But I always
figured, don't look a gift Boray in the mouth."

   As Starbuck did what he knew best, piloting his Viper following the
trail of the giant, sentient ship, banking and turning in its path, he said,
"that Boray'll take off your fingers." Before he knew it, the Galactica hove
into sight, and the image of Valor faded right before his eyes.

   Starbuck didn't understand it at all, and he still was torn up with worry
over Dalton, but he guided his Viper into the landing bay, praying silently
that'd see be all right, and ready to find that Noman and send his ugly face
straight to the halls of Hades.

   Things weren't right, Starbuck thought as he struggled to find a bay for
his Viper. It looked like every squadron was grounded. Had they found a
way out while he'd been out looking for Dalton, Troy and that hothead
Trays? Why were the patrols all down?

   He climbed from his Viper, shaking his head, and Bojay came running
up.

  "Starbuck!" Bojay cried. "Get your ass down here!"

  "Thanks for the friendly greeting," Starbuck told Bojay.

  "Dalton's back," Bojay said.
  Starbuck's anger fled in a micron. Grinning, he slapped Bojay's back.
"That's the best news I've heard in yahrens," he said. "What happened?"

   "She's okay," Bojay said, meaning Dalton. "But Starbuck, the three of
them found what's left of the Pegasus! And Starbuck, you're not going to
believe this—they found Commander Cain!"

  "Cain?" Starbuck asked, his blue eyes flying wide.

  "His body—out there?"

  "He's still alive, Starbuck. He's in sickbay."

  "Frack!" Starbuck cried. "Sheba—is she—"

  "She's right there too. We were just there."

  "The two of them. Do you think—"

  "Don't know, buddy. Nobody knows."

   Starbuck thought about this a moment. "Come on, let's find Dalton—"
he said, grabbing Bojay's shoulder and turning him around.

  But Bojay stayed where he was. "Starbuck," he said. "We're in deep
daggit crap."

  "What? Dalton's—"

   "No, not that. While you were out there burning fuel, everything's gone
crazy," Bojay said.

  "What else is new?" Starbuck asked, grinning. "I mean, besides the
miraculous return of my daughter, some fresh food and fuel for a chance
and—"

   "I mean, deep daggit—" Bojay said, and he looked over his shoulder,
saying, "Oh-oh."

  Starbuck turned, and he said the exact same thing.

   Because a full squadron of Council Security blackshirts was storming
into the pod, rifles raised, hard looks on their faces, and they were headed
straight for Starbuck and Bojay. They didn't look very happy to see them,
either, and as Starbuck raised his hands while they grabbed his pistol, he
thought, Bojay couldn't have been more right. Deep daggit crap, and
getting deeper by the micron.

  "Thanks for the warning," he said to Bojay as they were marched off.

  "Sorry, man," Bojay said. "I tried to tell you!"

   One of the guards slammed Bojay in the small of his back for that
comment, so both of them remained sullen and silent all the way to the
brig.

   They threw Starbuck and Bojay in the cell and slammed the door.
Starbuck stumbled in first, and Bojay hit him in a micron, throwing both
of them to the floor.

  "Get off me!" Starbuck cried. He got to his knees and got his bearings.

   "Just one big happy family," he said, looking around the cell. Apollo
was standing there, acting like he wanted to help or something, and
behind him stood Gar'Tokk and two of the biggest, ugliest Nomen
Starbuck had ever seen.

   Tigh and Athena crouched in the far corner of the cell. Starbuck
immediately realized why. There wasn't enough room for the group to
begin with, and Starbuck and Bojay were definitely uncomfortable party
crashers.

   "I guess we can flip a cubit to see who gets the cot," Starbuck
wisecracked. "I take heads."

   "Starbuck!" Apollo cried in frustration. "Can't you be serious for a
centon?" But his face showed joy at seeing his oldest, best friend.

   Briefly, Tigh and Athena explained what had happened since
Starbuck's flight into the Ur cloud. "Baltar put his tail between his legs
and licked Aron's hand," Tigh said in disgust. "He was celebrating because
they're going to shoot us all in a few centars."

  Starbuck shook his head. "That's just great," he said. "The way I always
wanted to go—lined up in a firing squad with Baltar pulling the trigger."
   Then Gar'Tokk stepped forward, squeezing everyone aside. He grabbed
Starbuck's shoulder in his vice-like hand.

  "You heard the call," he said in his deep voice.

  "Yeah," Starbuck said. "I heard it."

  "Good," the Noman growled. "I am glad you are not deaf, Starbuck."
Then he ordered Apollo and Starbuck to sit on the cot along with Athena,
and arranged everyone else around the tiny cell, each in turn.

   "Nomen are used to fitting into small spaces. All these yahrens in
human ships—" he said after he was finished. Then he seated himself in
the center of the cell, closed his eyes, and appeared to begin to meditate,
humming to himself in a low, rumbling voice.

   Starbuck scooted as far away from Apollo as he could without making
Athena uncomfortable. Apollo, on his part, did the same, glaring at
Starbuck.

  They sat there for a long time, neither saying a word.

  "I'm glad Dalton's okay," Apollo said at last.

   "Yeah," Starbuck said. "Those blackshirts didn't give me a chance to
see her."

  "You heard about Cain," Apollo said.

  "Yeah, I heard," Starbuck said, looking over at Bojay and nodding.
"Bojay spilled it."

   "They found the Pegasus out there," Apollo said. "It was some kind
of—"

  "Bojay said," Starbuck said, crossing his arms. Again, there was a long,
uncomfortable silence.

   Starbuck broke first. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice reluctant but
sincere.

   Apollo didn't respond for a long while. Slowly, he reached over and
touched Starbuck's arms, and looked in his eyes.
   "You look better," Apollo said. He pointed at Starbuck's eyebrow, where
the bruise he'd given Starbuck had shrunk to the size of a crawlon.
Unfortunately, it had turned the color of a crawlon, too: blackish-purple.

   "So do you," Starbuck said. Then he started to grin. "Not really," he
said. "Your nose still looks like a triad ball!"

  "Starbuck!" Apollo cried, punching him in the arm.

   "Ow!" Starbuck said, rubbing his muscles and looking back at Apollo in
irritation.

   "I always said we'd be happiest if we went out together in a blaze of
glory," Apollo said.

  Despite himself, Starbuck grinned—he never did like jokes when real
death was involved—and slapped Apollo's back. Hard.

   Athena watched the whole scene in amazement. Nothing would ever
keep those two apart. But, she thought grimly, if Aron got his way, and it
was hard to see how he wouldn't, the way things were, it looked like soon
they'd all be spending a lot of time together. In eternity.

   Their cell door opened. "All right," the guard said in a vicious tone. He
looked like he was thrilled at the idea that Apollo, Gar'Tokk, Athena,
Starbuck, Tigh and the others were under his control.

  "You're all going to fry," he added as he marched them out of the cell,
one by one.

   "Let's make a break for it," Starbuck whispered to Apollo. But his face
changed as he bent down and raised as he left the cell, looking around to
see what looked like every single Council Security blackshirt who'd ever
lived lining the corridor.

  "I don't think that would work," Apollo shot back. Gar'Tokk growled as
one of the blackshirts jammed his rifle in the Noman's side.

  "You'll pay," the Noman warned.

  "Right," the guard said. "Maybe you can bite my ankles after they blow
your stinking ugly head off your body."
  All up and down the hall, the guards laughed, viciously.

   Apollo saw the looks they gave him, and he understood a little more
about why these men could follow the cruel, evil orders of Sire Aron so
willingly. They resented Apollo. Some even hated him.

   They were like small, petty men everywhere, Apollo thought. The only
things they cared about were cubits, and loyalty was just a word that
could be bought with shining metal.

   Right now, Sire Aron was paying them—Apollo guessed he was paying
them pretty well—and they had dreams of power and glory.

  They didn't like the hard life aboard the Galactica, all the sacrifice and
hardship.

   They probably didn't understand much about the mission, or if they
did, maybe they just couldn't see that far ahead. As far as they were
concerned, their loyalty meant to the people who promised them cubits,
women, food and drink. And maybe a case of fumarellos.

   They weren't bad men, Apollo thought, but they weren't good. He
thought about things in a slightly different way as they were marched
down the hall.

  Someone leaned forward and spat right in Apollo's face. Proudly, Apollo
wiped the disgusting slime away with his sleeve.

  "Fracking bastard!" Starbuck cried, leaping at the offender.

  Starbuck was driven back with blows on his back and harsh words.

   "I'll pay that one back," Starbuck muttered, even though he was now
limping in pain.

   It seemed like they would never run the gauntlet, but at last they were
out, being marched along, completely surrounded on their way to the
Council Chambers. Apollo found his mind strangely clear, even though he
knew that it wasn't possible for Troy, Trays, Boomer and Dalton to break
them out of this situation—not just the four of them.

  "Be brave," he said, turning to his friends.
  "Nomen are always brave," Gar'Tokk responded. "We go like men of
honor!"

  Somehow, this lifted Apollo's heart, and he smiled.

   A warrior never gave in, Apollo thought. He was never a coward; he
didn't shrink in the face of danger and death. That was the only kind of
man—or woman—who could defend Galactica and lead them to the fabled
planet Earth.

  "By the Lords of Kobol," Apollo said, turning to his companions as they
were shoved into the Council Chambers. "We know who we are, and what
we stand for."

  "To Galactica!" Athena cried. Soon, Tigh and Bojay joined her.

   Starbuck raised his fist, and they walked in to face their enemies, heads
held high.

   Sire Aron didn't look so high and mighty, Apollo thought. In fact, it
looked almost like he was unsure of himself. His eyes darted from the face
of Council member to Council member, as if he was looking for something.

   And Apollo, becoming a better reader of men's faces by the centar, saw
that not every Council member was happy about this development and
these proceedings.

   Some muttered between themselves. There was no point in looking to
any of them for support, Apollo told himself. There never had been. He
looked at his friends and his heart filled with warmth and love for them.

   Well, maybe he and Starbuck were going to out together after all.
Neither one of them had ever pictured it like this. But what man chose the
centar and time of death for himself anyway? The only ones who ever did
were flat-out cowards. Or heroes, like the real Commander Cain. And
Cain—Cain was still alive!

  So which are you, Apollo? he asked himself. He already knew the
answer. Hadn't Adama always told him to avoid pointless rhetorical
questions?

  You'll see Adama soon enough, Apollo, and know for certain if the
mission will succeed without you. At least there was Troy to carry on.
Apollo silently prayed that he would be ready: he knew that he was.

  "You stand here under sentence of death," Sire Aron intoned.

  "We do not recognize that sentence," Apollo said.

   "I fail to see what you're going to do about it!" Aron cried, indicating
the dozens of Council troops with their weapons bristling at the prisoners.

   "You can murder us, Aron," Apollo said. "But who'll look at you and see
a leader? Jinkrat was a leader. An honest man. Not you."

   Sire Aron appeared to be taken aback at this, and he said, "I never said
I was—"

   "Actions speak louder than words," Apollo said. "And appearances
lie—just like you, Aron!"

   The Council members shifted and turned to each other, beginning to
argue and dispute. But Apollo knew that it wouldn't matter. All of the
guards were in Sire Aron's pay, following his orders. As always the Council
were behind the curve, not even realizing their own danger. Aron could
turn on them in a micron. This was the man who'd manipulated and
betrayed Jinkrat, who'd thrown Sheba in the brig to die, and who'd
planned to cut off Galactica's air supply.

  What did the Council think he intended to do with them? What need
had he of them after Apollo and the others were murdered?

  It was all for show, to maintain order among the people for the
moments that Sire Aron needed to complete his evil plan—whatever it
was.

    For a micron, Apollo considered not saying anything more. Why not get
it over with? But then he thought again—he remembered Valor of the Sky,
out of nowhere, saving Troy, Dalton and Trays from certain death, leading
them to the Pegasus and the Cylon ship.

   Then, he remembered the greatest miracle of all, clinging to the barest
shred of life down in sickbay. Cain.
  Cain couldn't have been found for no purpose. There had to be a reason.
The hands of the Gods were plain to be seen. He looked over at Gar'Tokk,
who was examining his large, pointed fingernails as if he could not be
more bored by Sire Aron and his pronouncements.

   Then, Gar'Tokk raised his huge, bearded face and growled, "Why not
just kill us now. Enough talk!"

   "You'll get your wish soon enough, Noman," Aron said. "For now, we
must obey the laws." He turned to the Council and said, "I will now read
the charges against these criminals."

   He withdrew a data pad from his robes and squinted at it, and began to
read.

  "Apollo," he said. "For countless crimes against the Galactica and its
people, and above all, for the murder of Jinkrat, you are sentenced to die."

  "Very original," Starbuck said behind his hand, leaning close to Apollo.
Apollo couldn't help but laugh.

   "Athena! You, too, are sentenced to die, for conspiring with your
brother to take food and resources from the people of Galactica, and for
the killing of innocent guards who were assigned to look after Apollo, the
prisoner."

  "Oh, brother," Starbuck said. "What's next?"

   "Tigh! You are sentenced to die for plotting with the others to destroy
the Galactica."

  "You could have fooled me," Tigh grumbled. "When will this travesty be
over with?"

    "Gar'Tokk," Aron went on, looking up briefly at the Noman, whose
teeth were bared. The Noman surveyed the room in disgust, then drew his
hood over his head, veiling his bearded face. "You are an alien, and thus
not subject to the laws of our people, but you have murdered, stolen, and
in all other ways aided these traitors in their rebellion against the people
of the Galactica. You and your barbarian companions will die."

  "Rebellion!" Starbuck cried. "What would you call this mess?"
  "Starbuck!" Aron cried. "Remain silent."

   Starbuck crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "I'll die of old age before
he finishes," he said under his breath.

  "Bojay," Aron continued. "You have forfeited your rights as a Colonial
Warrior by assisting these traitors. You, too, are sentenced to die."

   "You can kiss my—" Bojay said, rushing forward, but he was silenced by
a vicious blow to his head, sinking to the floor. Starbuck and Apollo
immediately knelt by his side.

    "You stinking, lousy—" Starbuck cried, but he fell silent as dozens of
rifles came within inches of his head.

  "Now," Aron said, lowering his head and glaring at them, "You will
approach the dais and submit to your sentences."

   "No last words?" Starbuck asked. "I always wanted to make a touching
speech."

   "No!" Aron interrupted, stepping forward. "Bring them—now. Let's get
this over with."

   "More pressing matters?" Starbuck continued. "Like combing your
hair? Arranging—"

   "Silence!" Sire Aron cried. "Step forward, prisoners, and meet your
fate."

   Reluctantly, all of them fighting and struggling, the group was marched
to the dais. Starbuck looked over at Apollo in alarm. Apollo, alone, seemed
calm and undisturbed. Even GarTokk and the other Nomen were growling
and snarling at their tormentors.

   The firing squad assembled. Everyone looked down at them. Apollo
took Athena and Starbuck's hands. Even the Nomen looked between each
other. Apollo heard them saying a few simple words in their guttural
tongue.

  "Perhaps I have failed in my oath," GarTokk said to Apollo.

  The firing squad raised their rifles.
  "Ready," Sire Aron said. He was smiling.

  "No," Apollo told GarTokk. "You are faithful. You have—"

  "Aim," Aron said.

  But before he could say another word, the doors to the Council
Chambers burst open.

  "Aron!" cried an old, very familiar voice.

   Baltar, laden with weapons, a laser pistol in each hand. Troy, Dalton,
Boomer and Trays were behind them, and half a dozen other pilots, all
ready for action.

   Baltar! And he clearly hadn't come to make small talk or to massage
Aron's bloated ego. He'd chosen this moment to take command from
Aron, but the warriors were with him. How? why? And there was a small
figure beside Baltar. A large white bandage wrapped the boy's head, but
Apollo would have recognized those freckles anywhere. Koren! Awake and
alive!

  "Give them up, Aron," Baltar demanded. There was nothing of the old,
cowardly Baltar here.

   Apollo stared at the dark man. Baltar had changed—again. That
betrayal on the bridge. Baltar lied again, but he'd lied… thank the Lords of
Kobol. For once in his life, he'd lied in the service of good, not of evil.
Baltar's face suddenly shone with courage. He looked like a true member
of the Council—he looked like the great Lord he could once have been.

   The Council immediately turned to each other, all talking at once. The
Security Guards appeared to not know what to do. Sire Aron stood, frozen,
for a bare micron.

  He leapt forward, crying, "Kill the intruders!"

  But Baltar was quicker. Rushing to the dais, he pulled Koren by the
hand and raised the boy's arm high.

  "Listen!" he cried. "Listen to this child—do not listen to me."

  Then, the picture of kindness, Baltar knelt beside the boy, nodding.
Apollo saw Baltar's lips move. Koren smiled up at Baltar, and in a small,
thin voice, started to speak.

  "Apollo didn't kill my father," Koren said. "My dad died to save me and
Apollo."

  The Council was immediately abuzz.

  Baltar stood, imperiously, and hushed them. The guards hesitated.

  "Wait!" Baltar ordered them. And they did.

   "Apollo and my dad made peace. Sure, they had a big fight. But when
that guy shot my dad, my dad jumped in front of him. I saw it, right
before—well, I don't remember after that."

  "Koren!" Apollo cried, but he wasn't able to move farther than a step.
The guards' rifles were still trained on all of them, able to fire at any
moment.

  Murmurs rippled through the crowd like a stone thrown into water.

   "He's confused!" Aron cried. "He's been injured—why, who'd take a boy
out of sickbay like that? Are you going to trust this old liar, Baltar? Our
greatest enemy? Responsible for the destruction of Caprica? Friend of
the—"

   "I'm not lying now, Aron," Baltar bellowed. "I am telling the truth! Go
on," he said to Koren.

  Koren took a deep breath. "Well, when I was in sickbay, this guy came
and got me." He pointed straight at Aron. "He said he was bringing me to
my dad."

   "Koren, I was just trying to help," Aron said. He looked around,
gesturing for people to understand.

  "The truth!" Apollo cried. "Tell the truth!"

  But Aron didn't. No longer able to contain himself, he rushed at Baltar,
pushing Koren roughly aside, and grappling with the smaller man. Soon,
Aron had Baltar off balance, and had grabbed one of his laser pistols.
Shoving Baltar viciously in the ribs, Aron whirled to face the prisoners.
  "You die now, Apollo!" he cried, aiming the pistol at Apollo's body.

   Troy, Dalton, Trays, Boomer and the other warriors rushed forward.
Baltar, recovering, was up and grappling with Aron, forcing the laser blast
astray. It hit the Council's seal, splitting it into two neat halves that
crashed to the floor.

   A few guards rushed forward to defend Aron, but more guards stood
aside, their rifles lowered. In the confusion, Apollo nodded to the others,
and he and Gar'Tokk ran, leading them off the dais. Apollo guided Koren
to what seemed like the best place, behind one of the large, sturdy Council
seats. Then, Apollo and Gar'Tokk grappled with some guards who were
hesitating, disarming them in moments. Now armed, the former prisoners
turned to face the melee.

  Baltar was struggling with Aron, who had grabbed Baltar from behind.

   "Come on!" Apollo cried. At the last possible moment, Apollo reached
the struggling group and deflected a guard's rifle, aimed straight at Baltar.

   Soon the chamber was filled with blue laser blasts, smoke, and the
sound of screaming fighters.

   Koren ran from his hiding place to. Apollo grabbed Baltar's arm, Koren
took the other, and they both led him toward the door. A brief glance back
showed that Gar'Tokk, the other Nomen, Athena, Tigh, Boomer and Bojay
had formed an offensive wedge, backs together with Dalton, Troy and
Trays, and they had were moving the wedge slowly forward, laying down
heavy fire, slowly, but surely, making their way through the crowd.

   They were within yards of the door—Apollo could see it. "Come on," he
said again to a limping Baltar.

  "We can make it!" Koren cried.

   Baltar smiled at the boy, then looked at Apollo. His dark eyes met
Apollo's, growing wide. There was no time for words, but for the first time,
Apollo really trusted Baltar. All of Baltar's terrible anger, his resentment,
and his selfish greed were gone. It was as if Baltar had been purified, in
some unknowable way, and all the yahrens of plotting and betrayal had
been washed away. Baltar's face was no longer dark and brooding. It shone
as if it was lit within, with the goodness that lay within him, though it had
been buried deep, for so many long yahrens.

   "Apollo—" Baltar said, but they were all stopped short. Aron stood in
their way, backed by half a dozen guards.

  "You die now!" Aron said.

  "No!" Koren cried. He rushed forward.

   As if he was in a dream, Apollo raised his pistol, but too slowly. He saw
Baltar stepping in front of Koren, saw Aron firing, and instinctively closed
his eyes against the blast that was about to come, but it never came.
Instead, he felt a body hitting him, and as he opened his eyes, realized that
it was Baltar who was slumping back.

   Koren cried out again. With a wild yell, Starbuck jumped in front of
them and decked Sire Aron with a single, huge blow to his face that
landed in a spray of blood.

  Apollo supported Baltar under his arms. When Aron fell, the guards
behind him lost their courage and turned around, running for the door.

   At once, the firing lessened and the immediate danger past, Apollo
lowered Baltar gently to the floor.

  Koren knelt, tears dripping from his nose, shaking his head and saying,
"No, no."

   There was no doubting the meaning of the huge, burned wound in
Baltar's chest, but Baltar's eyes were still open, and his mouth moved,
although no words came out.

   Apollo, tears suddenly in his eyes, bent close to the old traitor, former
great Lord of the Council of Twelve.

  "Baltar," Apollo said.

   Baltar tried to raise himself, but sank back into Apollo's arms. He
smiled at Koren, then a cough wracked his torn body. Everyone gathered
around. For once, Starbuck had nothing to say. Apollo glanced up at him,
and Starbuck's face was filled with wonder and sadness. Athena leaned
close, as did Tigh, and even Gar'Tokk and the other Nomen, standing
behind the kneeling boy, Koren.

  "I did—" Baltar said, haltingly.

  "You did," Apollo said.

   Looking down, Apollo saw that Baltar still clutched the laser pistol he'd
stolen from Apollo on the bridge—it seemed like yahrens before. He
touched Baltar's hand, and closed the fingers gently around the pistol.

  "You keep it, Baltar," Apollo said. "It's a warrior's weapon."

   "Do you think they'll choose me as the new member of the Council?"
Baltar said, his eyes shining as if he saw right through Apollo and the
others to something that lay far beyond, deep in space.

  "Sure," Apollo said. "I can't think of a better choice."

  Baltar's eyes fluttered shut. His lips curled upward in a peaceful smile.
"Good," he said in a whisper. "It feels… wonderful."

  And with a final breath, his head fell gently against Apollo's arm.

   But not a soul who stood near rejoiced. Not even Tigh. Not even
Starbuck, who knelt respectfully beside Apollo as they all linked hands and
joined in prayer as Koren wept, softly, touching Baltar's face and hair.

   None would forget that moment. Nor did any of them notice the
skulking form that crept from the Council chambers, like a fleeing
bilgerat: Aron.
                        Chapter Eleven
  THE FRIENDS marched as one to the bridge to retake control of the
Galactica and the fleet.

   When they arrived, they found the bridge in disarray. Starbuck took a
look around, whistling under his breath.

   "That Aron was a real Boray," he muttered. There were scraps of cloth,
pieces of destroyed equipment, and shards of metal everywhere.

  "Looks like he had a tantrum," Tigh commented.
  Apollo nodded, wondering what could have caused the incident.

   But Sire Aron wasn't there. Apollo hoped that the warriors had found
him and thrown him in the brig—the same cell where they'd all suffered.
The Council members had regained their senses at last, offering to
marshal the Council troops and do a full reconnaissance of those who
remained loyal after the rebellion, sending them out on a cleanup mission
to find Aron's few remaining supporters in their hiding places and
crannies.

   "There's something flashing on the console," Athena said, pointing at
Tigh's usual station.

  "It's a recording," Tigh said.

  Apollo leaned close, his eyes narrowing.

  "It may tell us what happened," he said. "Play it."

  The screen flashed blue, and Baltar's face appeared.

   "I must be brief," he said. "Sire Aron is… otherwise occupied." Baltar
looked over his shoulder. In the background came sounds of rage. Briefly,
they gathered that Sire Aron had encountered some token resistance to
Apollo's impending execution from a council member—they heard a
tremulous, elderly voice begging for reconsideration.

  "So that was what did it—" Tigh said.

  "It's all over now," Apollo said. He gathered the others to listen to
Baltar's final message.

   "If you are hearing this," Baltar said quickly, "That means we
succeeded, but I am no longer… among us."

   Apollo took Athena's hand and squeezed it tight. Brother and sister
looked at each other, quiet respect and grief passing between them.
Grief—for Baltar! No one could believe it, but that was what each one felt
in their hearts.

   "Apollo, now I will warn you," Baltar said, his face darkening. "In these
last few centars, I have seen more clearly than in yahrens. There is much
you must know, but it is for your ears—Apollo. Your ears alone."

   Tigh stopped the recording instantly. Apollo looked at the others.

   "I suppose," he said. "I suppose we should respect his wishes."

   Each of them nodded, and in respect, they turned their backs, and
moved far enough from the console so that Apollo could stand alone, and
they would not hear.

   Apollo hesitated a moment, then began the recording again.

   "You believe that you are going to have a child," Baltar said. "This is
untrue. Cassiopeia carries no child born of man. She has been…
impregnated… but by no human. It is Iblis' child that she bears in her
body. Protect her, Apollo. Help save her from the dark forces that threaten
to consume her without her knowledge."

  Apollo's heart jumped in his chest. "Cassi's baby!" he said in an
agonized whisper.

   He leaned closer to the console, staring at the last reflection of Baltar,
the ancient enemy and the fast friend, in wonder.

  "Apollo, there is more," Baltar said, once again looking over his
shoulder. "I must be brief. This time of respite is fast approaching its
end." The yelling in the background was reaching a crescendo, the crashes
and sounds of tearing and shredding came to a peak, then slowed.

   "The traitor, Aron," Baltar said. "He is no minion of the Cylons. Iblis
is… aware of him. He approves."

   Baltar scowled. "But he is none of Iblis' doing. His crude manipulations
are nothing but the hallmark of a greedy, evil man. I won't even give him
the credit that I'd give to myself. He cares only for cubits and luxury and
his own needs. Destroy him, Apollo! If you have not already."

  Apollo nodded. He remembered Jinkrat then—those few brief moments
where they'd stood as one.

  All gone—Koren an orphan and the fleet in disarray because of one
man's greed and manipulation. But Apollo was not like Baltar. He would
not destroy Aron. He would put him on trial—with Koren as the
unanswerable accusing witness.

  "And Apollo—I know of the Cylon fuel cells that Troy brought back.
Have a care with them. They will be of value. Not to your reactors, but
perhaps you may find a way out of this trap with them. They are—quite
powerful."

   Baltar's eyes went wide. "I'm free now, Apollo," he said. "Free at last,
after so many yahrens. I'll give you one piece of advice," he said.

   Apollo waited. A shadow of Baltar's former darkness crossed his face.

    "Don't treat your soul as I treated mine. I was a lonely man, Apollo. I let
it consume me. I let the darkness eat me alive. I never meant—" and
Baltar's voice became thick with emotion. The corners of his mouth
lowered in a deep scowl. "I never meant for any of this to happen. But now
I go to meet my fate. In honor, Apollo.

  For the Lords of Kobol, I go to meet what fate the Gods have in store for
me."

   "You died bravely, Baltar," Apollo whispered.

   Then Baltar grimaced one last time, looking back on his shoulder. All at
once, he spoke in a rapid burst, very low. "But your fate approaches too,
Apollo. You must meet it with every ounce of courage that you have. Your
father never faced such a challenge. The Cylons are coming, Apollo.
Coming in all their might. And I know better than any man how weak the
fleet is now. May the Light of the Lords of Kobol shine on you. I will see
you no—" And then the screen went black.

   In shock, Apollo stood there a moment, digesting what Baltar had said.
Cassi's baby! It belonged to Iblis? How? why? What had brought this
terrible thing in their midst. Hadn't there been enough death—enough
madness?

   Then Tigh's voice broke Apollo from his reverie. "We've got a ship,
incoming," he said.

   Apollo whirled to face the screen, seeing a small shuttle marking an
erratic path toward the Galactica.
   "We've got its registry," Tigh said. "It's the long-lost barge. And Aron's
on it."

  "Aron!" Athena cried. "Hasn't he made enough trouble?"

   "It's just the barge," Tigh said. "Let's tow him in and put paid to his
account."

  "I don't think that'll work just now," Starbuck said, pointing at the
heads-up display to Tigh's side. "He's brought some friends with him."

  "Cylons!" Athena cried.

   Baltar's warning echoed in Apollo's ears. The Cylons are coming in all
their might. But there was no time to tell the others. Now that the Cylons
were here there was no need to tell.

  Like vicious red Cylon eyes, the markings of dozens, soon hundreds, of
Cylon fighters blinked on the screen in phalanx after phalanx.

  "Launch all Vipers!" Apollo cried. Tigh snapped to his station, issuing
commands immediately throughout the Galactica and the fleet.

  "Let's go!" Starbuck yelled, grabbing Dalton's arm. Starbuck, Dalton,
Troy, Trays, Bojay and Boomer, Galactica's best, took off at full speed,
headed for their Vipers.

  "Blue Squadron, Yellow Squadron," Tigh called. Then he grew quiet,
and a shadow went over his face.

  He looked over at Apollo, his face a mask of alarm. "I've never seen
anything like this, Commander," he said.

  Apollo saw it for himself. Beyond the Cylon advance force blinked
darker, larger red lights. Two, then three, in strict formation. Three Cylon
basestars, and everything they had, was headed — straight for the
Galactica.

  "How did they get through into this Ur cloud?" Tigh wondered.

   "Lords of Kobol only know," Apollo said. "Maybe they've been here with
us all along."
   Apollo could just imagine Iblis's utterly evil, maniacal laugh. Baltar had
known! Yet he had said he was free-free at last. So, he had managed to
escape the Imperious Leader's grasp, the old demon's clawlike hand that
reached into his mind like evil, cancerous tentacles.

   Then Aron's small craft that had led the enemy to the Galactica seemed
to hesitate, and shudder in space. A message came through on the comm.
"Galactica, help!" cried a desperate voice. It was none other than the
traitor, Sire Aron.

    Tigh quickly ordered Galactica's big guns to lay down covering fire,
and bolts of heavy laser blasts boomed from Galactica's weapons array,
firing up the sky beyond the small ship like glowing swords.

   Apollo and Tigh watched as the small ship tried to desperately
maneuver closer to the Galactica and freedom, but it was cut off by a
group of evil-looking Cylon fighters, glittering like silver thumbnails
against the Ur cloud.

  "No!" Sire Aron cried, but that was the last thing he said.

   Tigh and Apollo shuddered as the ship was strafed by Cylon fire, and it
began to break up, its hull torn in a dozen places. One of the shots hit its
fuel cells, and Aron's craft went up in a huge ball of fire.

  "I guess we'll never know if he found them out there and was running
away, or he led them here on purpose," Tigh said.

   "It doesn't matter," Apollo said, shaking his head, wondering at the
last, desperate end of what had once been a leader of their Council. What
had his reasons been? Cubits? Power? The chance to make Apollo crawl?
To take revenge for years of perceived slights at the hand of Adama? There
was no way to know any longer. Aron had told his last lie.

   Although, Apollo thought, considering what Baltar had told him, that
Aron was no creature of Iblis', the old man had probably just been seeking
a way out of the Ur cloud himself, or he'd been hiding in the wrong place
at the wrong time when the Cylons did whatever they had to make it out of
normal space to pursue the Galactica into the Ur cloud.

  In their state, how could they fight this Cylon assault?
   He had never seen so many of them. It had to be their entire fleet—and
somehow—some way, they'd blasted themselves into the Ur cloud. But,
Apollo thought, if they'd found a way in, there had to be a way out. All
Apollo knew was that, as weakened as they were, the Vipers had to launch,
from Galactica and Daedalus. They had to try. One final time.

   "I've got to get out there," Apollo told Tigh. "You stay. Athena—" he
said, turning to his sister and taking her hand. "I know you want to get
back to Daedalus, but I need you. I've got to get out there with the other
pilots."

   "I know," Athena said. Tears in her eyes, she kissed Apollo's cheek, and
he ran off with the scent of her hair in his nostrils, wondering if he'd ever
see her again. But the time for wondering was over. Now was the time for
fighting.

  Like they'd never fought before.

   Galactica's pilots were the bravest and the best who ever flew and ever
fought. They formed a line—the Vipers had flown—a thin, glittering
barrier like a strand of pearls that was all that stood between the
Galactica and the hundreds of Cylon fighters descending on them, evil
crescents shining in the night in their massive assault phalanxes.

  On and on they fought, flying like as though they were guided by the
Beings of Light, on raw instinct, at the ragged edge of reactions and
endurance.

  Starbuck targeted a Cylon fighter coming in with a second at his wing.
Banking fast, Starbuck feinted, throwing the Cylon off for a micron—just
enough time for Starbuck to lock on and blast the Cylon out of the strange
white Ur cloud. Stabilizers knocked out by the blast, the other Cylon craft
spun out of control.

  It wasn't worth going after that one, Starbuck decided.

   A whole new group was forming on his screen in the micron it took
Starbuck to make that decision.

  "On your tail!" came a voice in Starbuck's comm. It was Apollo!

  Starbuck barely had enough time to look over his shoulder to see the
laser cannon blasts ripping past his wings. He banked, running on pure
instinct, and saw the brilliant golden blasts of a Viper's cannons
screaming by from the opposite direction. In a flash, Apollo's Viper
streaked past, and a brilliant flash signaled that he'd gotten this Cylon and
put paid to that tin-can's account.

   "Just like old times," Starbuck said.

   "You got that, buddy," Apollo said.

   "Let's go kick some more Cylon ass!" Starbuck cried, blood streaking
through his veins, feeling like he and his Viper were a single, linked killing
machine.

   Wing to wing, they banked into the Cylon masses, wreaking havoc as
they went. Pieces of destroyed Cylon fighters soon littered the space
around the Galactica like so many pieces of hot metal confetti.

   But there were so many of them. Even Starbuck and Apollo were
growing exhausted. It was only a matter of time before they started
making mistakes.

   And soon enough, they made one, along with the other Vipers.

   There was just too much going on; they didn't see the Cylon war cruiser
as it slipped past—a special kind of war cruiser, meant to lock onto a
battlestar in space, bore a hole in its side, and discharge hordes of waiting
Cylon commandos.

   The cruiser slid right through the melee, hovering close to Galactica,
making it past the big guns easily. Those were trained on the masses of
fighters—fighters intended to accomplish exactly what they did: distract
the Viper squadrons and draw them away from the real trouble. Galactica
was about to be breached.

   And boarded.

   Tigh looked over at Athena in horror. "We're being breached," he said.

   "That's impossible," she cried, watching the battle unfold in front of
her. There were so many Cylons.
   The guns were about to melt into Galactica's hull, they were firing so
rapidly. Without the Tylium, their reserves were dwindling with every
breath she took. But even so—she could see it—the Viper line was holding.

   How had anything slipped through? It was useless to wonder about it.
It didn't really matter.

   Something had slipped through. A Cylon boarding warship, tearing its
way through Galactica's hull right that micron. Like the monsters they
were, they'd spotted the wound in Galactica's hull made by the bomb that
Jinkrat had never intended to explode in such a dangerous, vulnerable
spot.

  "This is critical!" Athena cried. "Our only defense is those Council
guards."

  Tigh looked at her, his face a mask of disgust and worry. "We might as
well send old women and children down to face those Cylons," he said.

   "They're all we've got," she said. "The Vipers can't pull back. They'll be
picked off like flies if they turn now."

   Tigh nodded. He issued the orders to the Council guards—some fighters
they were. Koren the boy could do better than them, Tigh thought darkly.
The guards would probably run and cower behind the Council's dais, along
with all the other sniveling baby men and trembling old women.

   "Boarded!" came a voice over the comm, full of desperation. Athena
turned, hearing the voice even from where she stood on the bridge.

  "How many do you have?" Tigh said quickly, ignoring the Council
guard's alarm.

   "I don't know," the Council guard said slowly. "Seventy, maybe eighty."

  "Go!" Tigh said. "They're breaching on Beta Deck, right where the
bomb went off."

   "That means they'll come out right at the—" the guard said, pausing for
long microns. "The bar!" he said, showing an unexpected knowledge of
Galactica's engineering layout.
  "Get whoever you've got, with as many weapons they have," Tigh
commanded. "The Cylons must not be allowed to board Galactica."

  "I will, President Tigh," the guard said. Then his image faded to black.

  "Lords of Kobol," Tigh muttered. "Old men, women, babies, and
cowards standing against the Cylons!"

   Athena looked back at Tigh. Then she reached down to check her
sidearm.

  "We'd better be prepared for anything," she said.

  Tigh also checked his pistol, nodding at her, but saying nothing. There
was really nothing to be said.

  Darkly, Tigh wondered how many tin cans he could take down before—

   But there were more communications coming in, and before he thought
too much more about the inevitable, he was back to directing the Viper
battle in space. All that lay between the people of Galactica and the
fracking Cylons—a bunch of sniveling, whining, yellow-bellied baby men
dolled up in fancy black uniforms that didn't mean a thing. A bunch of
cowards who'd run crying and whining at the sight of Baltar, who
answered to that traitor Aron for a few cubits.

   Tigh would rather have had some of those refugees from Jinkrat's rebel
forces than this crowd. What would they do faced with Cylon centurions?
Tigh had a pretty good idea, and it wasn't something he wanted to think
much about.

   Tigh's hand itched to get his pistol. He wanted nothing more than to
leap down to Beta Deck and "greet" the Cylons the way they deserved.

   But even the great warrior that Tigh was, this was one fray he couldn't
join right away. He and Athena were bound to the bridge as long as it
lasted, he thought, sighing.

   The Cylons poured out of their ship like deadly insects fleeing their
nest. Jumping into the bar, they encountered no one, their red eyes
scanning for danger, or for prey. They had their orders. They were to take
these soft, ugly humans and destroy them, keeping only a few left that
their leader commanded. But then again… in their small, limited minds,
there were more than a few confused tin-cans among them. The orders
weren't coming through very clearly. Nothing had come through clearly
since they got to this accursed place. And none of the Cylons liked very
much what had been done to get them here.

   Cylons didn't question orders, but there wasn't one of them—not that
they thought too much about anything in any case, but they did have
opinions, if anyone cared to ask, which no one ever did, including other
Cylons—and if they had to sacrifice a whole Cylon battlestar just to blast a
hole into this accursed corner of space or time, or whatever it was, well,
most of the Cylons didn't think that seemed right. But who were they to
question? A Cylon was to do and die. A Cylon seldom wondered why. If he
wondered too much, the Imperious Leader would just have him
decommissioned and melted down into slag.

  No Cylon wanted to be slag.

   So they poured onto the Galactica in their hundreds. Besides, it made
them happy to be hunting humans.

   Most of them were very excited, circuits popping and eye-beams
scanning, as they poured into this strange ship. In fact, most of them had
never even seen humans, but a Cylon knew a human when he saw
one—that was never much of a problem. Shoot anything that looked soft
and didn't shine: that was the rule.

   So, the lead troops were quite happy to see soft, moving things as soon
as they left the first area where they had landed.

   They were happy right up until the time blue laser bolts slashed out and
blasted them back into the bar, the lead troops smashing back into the
others with the force of the fire.

   "Humans!" one of them cried. He was having issues firing back,
because his arm seemed to be missing. It was even worse when, in a rage,
the centurion behind him grabbed his other arm and ripped it off, right
where it was joined to his shining silver torso, tossing it back, where it
landed on a whole new crowd of boarding troops, casting them all into
confusion and disarray.

  The ragtag defense squadron in the hall paused and cheered when the
Cylons who emerged from the bar entrance fell back, wailing and
squealing at their wounds.

  The security guard moved his hand to caution the defenders arrayed
behind him.

  "This is just the first wave," he said.

  "But we beat them!" one of the men cried.

   "Cylons are slow," the guard said, showing unexpected insight. "But
they don't really know fear. They'll be back. That ship that's breached our
hull holds hundreds of them."

   The motley defenders seemed to understand their situation for the first
time.

  "We could seal the corridor," one of them said. "I've got charges. We
could toss them in and—"

   "A temporary solution at best," the guard said. "They've got borers, and
unlimited manpower compared to us. They'll just send in more centurions
and workers. They don't care about those at all. We've got to stand and
fight. It's our only chance." Grimly, he surveyed the group.

  "Let's do it," one of the others said.

  Soon, all were joining in a cheer.

   "We've got nowhere to run," the guard told the squadron as they
crouched in fighting position.

  "Neither do the Cylons, sir!"

   For the first time in centars, the guard smiled—and then he began to
laugh, even though the menace was right there, a few yards away down the
corridor. And they had only microns before the Cylons were back—smarter
this time, expecting resistance, and fully prepared.
                        Chapter Twelve
   LORDS OF Kobol!" Doctor Salik cried as the two men carried the prone
form into sickbay. Baltar's body had arrived.
   The men laid the body on an exam table. They were both wild-eyed;
Doctor Salik thought that he recognized them from engineering. The
events of the last sectare had carried them far from their usual duties, he
thought, but there seemed little to say.

   He gestured for Cassi to come assist in the examination—she had
returned, unable to find Starbuck—but she seemed distracted, leaning
over Sheba with a strange look on her face.

  "We've gotta get going," the men told Doctor Salik. He nodded to them.

  "Fracking Cylons!" one of them said. They turned to leave.

  "Wait!" Doctor Salik cried. "What do you mean?"

  "Didn't you hear?" one of the men said, breathless. "They got into the
Galactica—they're headed for the bridge."

   "Yeah, they're getting hold of everyone they see. Lords only know what
they're—"

  "We gotta go!" the second man cried, tugging on his partner's arm.
"Come on!"

   There seemed no point in Doctor Salik complaining about another
patient to join the horde that had long before overwhelmed him and the
rest of the sickbay staff. He looked at the awful wound in B altar's chest.

   Salik had never really hated Baltar, their old enemy—not like other
people had. Half-heartedly, he moved his med-probe over Baltar's body,
and thought about the old man's life. A very sad life and a lonely one, the
Doctor thought. He didn't think that Baltar had ever really had a friend.
Maybe things would have gone differently for Baltar—for all of them—if
Baltar had been able to accept Adama's friendship. Friends meant
everything, Salik thought. He glanced over at Cain's body. Some friends
would be lost, soon, he thought.

  "Cassi," he said. "Come here, look at this. Most curious." Salik had
never seen that sort of readings. Not from a dead man, anyway.

  "Give me a moment," Cassi said. "I'm checking Sheba—she's growing
unstable, Doctor." In fact, it was a miracle that Sheba was still alive.
"Can't stop just now—"

  And just like that, Cassiopeia collapsed.

   Maybe it was stress, or more likely it was a combination of hunger and
pregnancy and stress, the request for a moment of her attention being the
final straw on the daggit's back. Whatever it was, one moment Salik had a
dead man on his hands, forcing himself to at least give a cursory look—and
the next moment he had four critical problems, Sheba, Cain, Baltar, and
now Cassi!— As Salik struggled, a small figure entered sickbay. Salik
looked over his shoulder and saw the boy, Koren.

  "Cassi!" Koren cried, immediately sensing danger.

  "What's the matter?"

  "She's fainted, Koren. Make sure she's all right, and I'll finish her work."

  When Salik got a look at Sheba, he nearly fainted himself. She was
completely critical! The bleeding was so profound. In fact, she should have
been dead.

   But she was clinging to life. He cursed the situation they were in. They
had been forced to use traditional transfusions, but Sheba's blood was
almost unique. There was nothing left—he couldn't give her his blood.
That would kill her. Ordinarily, his stem-cell enhancers would take care of
this. Sheba could build her own blood back up, with the help of plasma.
But those were long-gone, used up even before that last awful battle.

  Salik shook his head, and then he looked over at Cain.

  Cain was still in some kind of stasis beyond life and death.

   "That's it!" Salik cried, running for the transfusion equipment. Cain's
blood!

  As he exposed Cain's pale, lifeless arm, he whispered a brief prayer.

  Salik was a doctor, and not very religious, but he knew that Cain had
been found and brought back for a reason. To save Sheba's life!

   As he worked, Koren came up. "Cassi's breathing fine, Dr. Salik," he
said.
  "Thanks, son. I'll get her a cold compress, and she'll be fine soon
enough."

   As her father's blood entered her body, Sheba's eyes flickered. "What…
?" she asked, and then suddenly her eyes went wide. "No!"

  Sheba, coming awake, was pointing at the door.

  A Cylon centurion strode arrogantly into sickbay. His red eye scanned,
and he immediately started toward Cassi's limp form.

  "I come for the woman," he said in his horrible, mechanical voice.

   "Oh no you won't!" Koren cried. He had a gun in his hand— for the life
of him Dr. Salik could not have imagined where it'd come from (through
the truth was that Koren had taken it surreptitiously only a moment
before from Baltar's hand—the very pistol Apollo had gently closed Baltar's
fingers around after the Council chamber melee). Koren aimed the pistol
at the Cylon, and before the creature could even begin to react, he had
blown the Cylon away.

  And that was how Koren shot his first Cylon and became a real warrior.

   The mob that had gathered on deck six to lynch Apollo not a centon
before was still milling about, hoping to scent blood, when the Cylons
stormed that section of the Galactica.

  They got to smell blood, all right.

  Their own blood.

  Seven Cylon warriors burst into the corridor, armed and battle-hungry,
shouting commands.

  "Surrender or die!" shouted the Cylon commander.

   "Clasp your hands behind your head and form a line in the center of the
corridor!"

  "We're going to die," whispered an old man—the same old man who'd
whispered to Apollo as he'd been dragged before the Council.

  "Do as they say! Are you trying to get us all killed?"
  The old man whacked a Cylon with his cane—unfortunately, Bojay
wasn't there to see the senior citizen making good use of his cane. The old
man got a Cylon beating for his valiance.

  "Stupid human animals," said the Cylon who'd taken the cane blow and
administered the beating.

  "You will all become slaves!"

  "Never," said the old man in a bare whisper.

   As the Cylon commander instructed two of his troops to march the
civilians to the boarding ship, where they'd begin their life of slavery.

  And took his remaining troops to the bridge.

  "I can't make sense of this," Tigh told Athena.

   "What?" she said, struggling to keep track of the battle. The Vipers had
split into two wings. This was incredibly dangerous; the Cylons could go
through the weak center and drive straight toward the Galactica.

   "They've broken through at the hull breach," Tigh said. "We're hearing
from the defense squadron—the Security Guards are in retreat." Then
Tigh's face changed.

   "Athena," he said more slowly, looking at her in horror. "The guard we
talked to is alive, but barely. He's trying to make it to sickbay."

  "Tigh," she said. "What are you—"

   "He said he had seventy men with him down there. The Cylons came in
wave after wave. They killed… at least a hundred Cylons… he says. But
there were too many. They were overwhelmed. He's only got ten men left.
Those who can are headed here."

  "Lords of Kobol," Athena whispered.

  "I don't think they can make it in time," Tigh said.

  "The Cylons are headed here, and fast."

  "All right," Athena said, checking her weapons belt. "That's it."
  Tigh nodded. "Just you and me."

  Pistols at the ready, Tigh and Athena waited.

  On the battle screens, the Vipers fought on, but it seemed utterly
hopeless.

  Microns later, the bridge alarms sounded. The Cylons were at the
doors, guns blazing.

  Athena and Tigh crouched behind the console, firing in unison at the
Cylon intruders.

  Dozens of silver centurions fell in the huge firefight—wave on wave on
wave of them, fearless and bloodthirsty. In moments parts of the bridge
were in smoking ruins.

  Then all at once, the Cylons retreated.

  "They're regrouping," Tigh told Athena. "Be ready for anything."

   "This is the bridge," Athena said. "They won't destroy it. Galactica will
be useless to them if they do that."

   Tigh shook his head, and then his pistol. It was red-hot. "That's
assuming they know what they're doing," he said. "I wouldn't ever credit a
Cylon for knowing that."

  Suddenly, everything fell silent.

    Something was flashing on the console. Cautiously, Tigh rose and went
to look.

   "Athena!" he cried. "There's something new—it's—" But Tigh was halted
by a blast from a Cylon centurion who'd barreled into the bridge. The bolt
struck him in the thigh and Tigh fell, groaning and firing back at the
intruder.

   With a great cry, Athena came out, blazing at the Cylons. She took off
the head of the one who'd shot Tigh, and the others paused a moment.
Then they slunk back behind the bridge doors. Panting, Athena went to
Tigh's side.
  "I'll be okay," he told her. "Go! Get them!"

   Athena rushed forward, and saw, to her complete shock, that a new
fleet had joined the battle in progress. These ships were massed behind
the Cylons, and they were bearing down fast upon the three battlestars.

   The Chitain! They had come, and this time, they weren't fighting
alongside the Cylons, they were giving them everything they had—like they
were fighting their last stand.

  "Don't look a gift Boray in the mouth," Athena said in a low voice.

   She watched the Cylon fighters pause. Vipers harried them as the
attack halted. The Viper line joined once more—that was it!

   Now they were giving the Cylons heavy fire as the Cylon fighter cover
turned to protect their rear. And a Chitain wing was coming up on their
flank.

  "Tigh! It's the Chitain—only they're giving Hades to the Cylons!"

  Tigh, groaning, struggled to his feet.

  "Tell the Vipers to turn back. It's our only chance."

   "Right," Athena said, immediately realizing the opportunity that the
Lords of Kobol had given them. It was the barest chance, thinner than any
hair on her head, but if the warriors could get back to Galactica, they
might just manage to get these Cylons off the battlestar and regroup.

  "The Chitain," Tigh said. "I wonder what made them decide to—"

  But there was no more time for talk. The Cylons at the door were
coming in again.

   Athena and Tigh crouched together, firing wildly. But their weapons
had faith and strength on their side, and once more, the tin cans were
driven back.

  Still in the thick of the battle, Troy and Trays flew wing to wing.

  "I can't believe how many there are," Troy said over the comm.
  "More to give my loving attention to!" Trays cried, peeling off and
banking, firing on a pair of Cylon fighters.

   "Hotshot," Troy grumbled, following his partner. Then his eyes
refocused. A whole wing of Cylons was coming at them—it was eight to
two.

   "Trays!" Troy cried. "Heads up—eleven o'clock." The evil,
crescent-shaped Cylons whizzed by, intersecting Troy and Trays'
trajectory.

  "Frack!" Trays yelled. Troy grimaced as he saw a Cylon bolt glance off
Trays' wing. At these speeds, the least thing would cause instability.

   Trays spun wildly, his Viper totally out of control. Like vicious flies
going for rotten mushies, the Cylons were gathering.

   Heart pounding, Troy banked and tried to get behind the Cylons.

  "Don't fail me now," he said, as he targeted each of the Cylons in turn.
They were stupid, he told himself. They just saw Trays, and they didn't see
him. He hoped.

   "Fracking Cylons!" Trays cried.

   Troy watched as Trays finally gained control of his Viper, but too late. A
pair of Cylons were right on him, their lasers intersecting wildly, the
deadly, brilliant bolts coming within microns of Trays' wings.

   "I'm coming!" Troy called. And he pulled his Viper around, pulling
untold G's with the force of it, and from above, flew down on the Cylon
pair, blasting them both away, one right after the other.

   Troy's comm crackled, but he couldn't make out any words from Trays,
just ragged breathing.

   "They're gone," Trays said after a moment.

   "Yeah," Troy said. He didn't expect Trays to say anything else.

   But after a moment, Trays did.

   "You saved my life," Trays said. "I owe you… Troy… I owe you a lot."
And tough, arrogant Trays' voice was full of real emotion.

   "Just remember that the next time—" Troy said, about to say, "the next
time you think about messing with Dalton," but he was cut short by an
unbelievable sight.

   Ship after ship, massing behind the Cylon line. Converging on the Cylon
battlestars.

   "Chitain!" Trays cried.

   "You got that right," Troy said. "Only this time, it doesn't look like it's
the Galactica they're interested in."

   Apollo couldn't believe what he saw. An armada of Chitain war vessels,
bearing down on them. No, not bearing down on the Viper line, but on the
Cylons!

   "Starbuck!" he cried. "Look at that!"

   "I see," Starbuck said. "Those bastards—"

   "The Cylons are turning," Apollo said. He was right.

   As one, the Cylon fighters stopped, hovered a moment, then took
tremendous fire as they showed their fleeing, unarmed rear to the Colonial
Warriors.

  The Colonials wasted no opportunity to pick off as many Cylons as
possible before turning for home.

   "Tigh and Athena are in big trouble," Apollo told Starbuck. "Let's roll."

    The Vipers turned. They were on their way home. A lesser force, but
still very great, they saw the ugly Cylon boarding ship attached to
Galactica's shining white skin like some sort of malformed mechanical
leech.

   "Let's waste some tin-heads," Starbuck cried as he climbed out of his
Viper.

  But the boarding ship detached itself and joined the retreat before they
could destroy it.
   In the launch bay, Apollo and Starbuck quickly grouped the Viper pilots
and Colonial Warriors. Apollo didn't need to count heads to see how many
had been lost in the battle with the Cylons in the Ur cloud. He didn't want
to count heads. There'd be time enough for that later.

   Troy came running, then Boomer, Bojay, Trays, and Dalton. At least
they were there, and two dozen others, all exhausted, all breathing hard,
but ready to fight.

   "Athena and Tigh are trapped on the bridge," Apollo told them. "It's
just us now. The Council Security troops fought—fought hard—"

   There were murmurings from the warriors at this, and a few looks of
surprise.

  Apollo quickly put a stop to that.

   "The Cylons are on Galactica now," Apollo told them. "Everything that
happened, we need to forget. Right now, we've got to clear a way to the
bridge, and take control."

  "Uh, Apollo," Starbuck said, pointing toward the gantry.

   An entire squadron of Cylons was assembling, their rifles at the ready.
Their red eyes shone, surveying the launch bay with evil precision. But as
always, they were slow—for all of their mechanical accuracy.

   Starbuck fired first, taking down their leader with a lucky blast. The
bolt struck the Cylon in the chest, hurling him back into the others. In
disarray, the Cylons started firing wildly, which gave the warriors valuable
time to regroup. A few mechanics remaining in the bay yelled and dove for
cover, but one of them, braver than the rest, leapt from behind the empty
fuel cell where they were hiding and grabbed one of the Cylon weapons,
tossed aside in the first firefight.

  "Tracking Cylons!" he screamed, and started firing into the Cylon
squadron. Half a dozen Cylons fell before one of their red beams cut the
engineer's brave assault short.

   "Come on!" Apollo said, seeing that the Cylons appeared confused.
"Let's go!"
  Waving his arm, directing the warriors, they charged from the Vipers,
headlong into the Cylon array.

  Soon the bay was filled with smoke and the weird metallic whine of
wounded Cylons. A few of the warriors cried out in pain, also, but in the
melee, Apollo couldn't be sure who was hurt, or how badly.

   The warriors drove into the center of the Cylon force, splitting it. The
battle turned to hand-to-hand fighting in such close quarters.

   Gar'Tokk the Noman might have thought Boomer was a "small man,"
but Boomer was more than a match for any Cylon centurion—at least the
average type, and there were none of the advanced centurions among this
group. They were the plain silver Cylons, the ones Starbuck called "laser
fodder."

   Boomer grabbed one Cylon's rifle, ripping it from his metal grasp, and
drove its butt into another Cylon who was charging at them. With an
awful squeal, the Cylon crumpled on himself in a shower of sparks, filling
the air with a choking smoke that smelled like burning plastic.

   Starbuck got another Cylon by the arm, and stared in amazement as
the robot twisted and pulled, but was wedged between one of his mates
and Starbuck. Finally, it pulled itself free—but at the cost of his arm.
Starbuck stared at the limb for a micron, then whirled and crowned
another Cylon with it. That Cylon reeled away blindly, his red eye
temporarily out of commission.

   Despite himself, Starbuck had to laugh. But no sooner did he laugh
than another Cylon grabbed his shoulders from behind. Starbuck
struggled as one of the menacing centurions came at him, wielding a
length of metal that he picked up in the fight.

  "What, no rifle?" Starbuck wisecracked. "Why don't you pick on a guy
your own size?"

  Boomer leapt forward just in time, hitting the Cylon with his shoulder
and throwing it off balance.

  Then Starbuck got his pistol arm free and blew the staggering Cylon
away.
   The fight was nearing its end—the remaining Cylons, cut off and
without support, were no match for the Colonial warriors. Cornered by
half a dozen warriors with drawn pistols and grim faces, the few Cylons
that remained surrendered, dropping their rifles. They looked almost
ridiculous, with their metal arms in the air, red eyes darting back and
forth aimlessly.

   Starbuck, grinning at the easy victory, turned to look for Apollo. He
found him, but Apollo wasn't celebrating.

   He was kneeling by an injured Troy, who was groaning in pain,
slumped against an empty fuel cell.

  Troy had taken a brutal shot to his lower leg. His boot was blackened
and smoking.

   "Troy!" Starbuck cried, running toward them. Dalton was soon there,
too, leaning over Troy with an agonized look on her face.

  "Oh, Troy," she said. "How could you have let them do this?"

   "Let them?" Troy asked through his pain. She really was the most
infuriating—

  "Can you walk?" Apollo asked.

   Troy gritted his teeth, and with Starbuck and Dalton's help, he got to
his feet.

   "Yeah," he said, but it was obvious that he needed help. He couldn't put
any weight on his left leg at all. Apollo turned to the other warriors.
"Starbuck and I will get Troy to sickbay," he told them. "The rest of you,
regroup—for now, Boomer's in command. Get to the bridge. Starbuck and
I will meet you there as soon as we can."

   Boomer stepped forward, and with a nod, took command of the last
remaining squadron of Galactica's Colonial warriors. "Yes, sir," he said,
saluting with great respect.

  "But I want to go—" Dalton said, hanging back, looking at Troy with
misery in her face.
   "I know," Apollo said.

   "I'll be all right," Troy said. "It's just a scratch." Starbuck looked at his
daughter, smiling. Then he stepped close to her and gave her a quick kiss
on the cheek.

   "Go on," Starbuck told her. "Boomer needs you. I'll take care of Troy."

   "All right," she said slowly. Then her pretty face got a hard, determined
look to it, and she trotted after Boomer, Trays and the others, checking
her pistol as she ran.

   Apollo and Starbuck stood on either side of Troy, supporting him
carefully, and began to make their own slow way to sick bay.

  Centons later, they were at their destination. Starbuck grimaced as he
had to kick aside a fallen Cylon centurion in the entrance, jamming the
door half open.

   "Can't these tin cans clean up their own junk?" Starbuck grumbled.

   Despite his pain, Troy laughed. "Starbuck, you can find something
funny in anything," he said.

   Apollo kept Troy on his feet as Starbuck, grumbling, bent to grab the
Cylon's metal boots and drag the carcass out of the way. That job done, he
turned and they limped into sickbay to be greeted by an agitated Doctor
Salik.

   "Apollo! Starbuck!" the Doctor cried. "We were—"

   "We're back," Apollo said. "But we can't stay long." The Doctor looked
quickly at Troy's ankle. Suddenly all business, he ordered Apollo and
Starbuck to get Troy to an exam table immediately.

  "This is not good," the Doctor said. "Let me have a look." He
immediately began to examine Troy's wound, humming and mumbling to
himself.

   Apollo spotted Sheba on her couch, and with a cry, ran to her, realizing
that she was conscious. Cassi came out, now recovered from the
mysterious illness that had struck her when the Cylon had arrived in
sickbay, going to help Doctor Salik.

  "Cassi!" Starbuck cried, going to her side. "You don't look good—what
happened?"

   Cassi said nothing, only looking ominously toward the fallen Cylon that
Starbuck had so recently hauled out of the way.

  At that moment, Koren ran out of the corner where he'd been laying in
wait for more Cylons with his pistol.

  "Starbuck!" he cried. "And Apollo!"

  Apollo got Sheba to her feet and helped her over to the table where they
were all now gathered.

   "Could a healer have some room?" Doctor Salik said in an irritated
tone.

  Starbuck and Apollo looked at each other and burst into laughter. Even
Troy, in his pain, saw the humor and chuckled.

   Apollo looked down at Koren, who was holding the pistol awkwardly
against his chest. "Where'd you get that?" he asked Koren. Koren didn't
say anything. He pointed at Baltar's body, lying across the bay on a bare
exam table.

  "Wow!" Apollo said, echoing one of Koren's expressions.

  He realized it was the same pistol he'd left in Baltar's hand, and again
wondered about fate, and miracles.

   "He shot the Cylon," Doctor Salik said in a matter-of-fact tone. "The
creature was coming in, menacing Cassi, and this boy just picked up that
pistol and—boom!"

  "Koren!" Apollo and Starbuck said in unison. The boy blushed and
hung his head.

  Apollo grabbed the boy's shoulder and drew him close. Looking down at
him and smiling gently, Apollo touched his cheek.

  "Don't be ashamed, Koren, be proud. You were very brave," Apollo told
him. "Somesectare you'll make a fine warrior."

   "Shooting tin cans is the number one qualification," Starbuck said.
Then, he glanced briefly at Apollo, and decided not to add the wisecrack
he'd been planning. Still blushing, but no longer hanging his head, Koren
looked up into each of their faces, his young face shining with pride.

  "You were great," Sheba told him. "My father will be proud of you, too,
when he's better."

   Doctor Salik looked sharply at Sheba, but kept his mouth shut. Apollo
didn't miss the doctor's expression, however, and looked over at Cain's
body.

   Doctor Salik shook his head, then he took Apollo aside. Quietly, he said,
"I had to use Cain's blood to save Sheba. Cain would not have lived in any
case. There's still some shadow of life in him, but—"

  Apollo nodded. And again thought of fate and the Gods. Trays and
Dalton had found Cain; he was there for a reason. And that reason was
Sheba—her life.

   Koren hugged Sheba around the waist, and she bent down, stroking his
hair.

  "Are you all right?" Apollo asked her.

  A look of pain crossed Sheba's face, but she smiled a wan smile and
nodded. "I'll be fine," she said. "I'm just weak."

  "You must rest!" Doctor Salik snapped. Sheba bridled, but the sickbay
was his bridge, and here he was the absolute commander.

  "Well, have you visited enough? Sheba needs her rest, and so will Troy
when I've finished with him."

  "But—" Troy said.

  "No buts," Doctor Salik interrupted. "Your ankle was severely injured.
You won't be going anywhere—not right now, anyway."

  Troy struggled to get off the exam table, but the pain was too much.
Reluctantly, he nodded at the doctor, telling him to continue with his
examination.

   "The doctor's right," Apollo said. "We'd better go. They'll need all the
help they can get if we're going to break through to Tigh and Athena."
Athena! Apollo could barely think about her trapped on the bridge.

   And Tigh… Tigh had already been injured. What if it was just Athena
there, by herself, with hundreds of Cylons?

   "I want to go," Sheba said. She looked longingly at the pistol that Koren
held. It was obvious that she didn't understand, or perhaps didn't want to
accept that her father would not recover.

  "Me, too!" Koren said.

  "Oh, no you don't," Cassi said, gesturing protectively toward the boy.

   Koren's face darkened, but then Cassi added, "We need you here. What
if more Cylons come?"

   Koren's face brightened once more. "Wow!" he cried. "Cassi, you're
right!" And he trotted to his corner where he had already set up his little
surveillance station.

   Doctor Salik wagged his finger at Sheba. "You'll die if you try to run out
of here. I suggest you go back to your bed!"

   Apollo calmed her with a few quiet words and a kiss on the cheek. Then
he and Starbuck said their farewells to Cassi, Troy, Sheba and Doctor
Salik. Side by side, they strode off, heading for the bridge and their
postponed date with the main force of the Cylon boarding party.
                       Chapter Thirteen
  IBLIS WAS enraged. Enraged! Not only has the Chitain attack taken
him by surprise, but their very presence in this place is a shock to him.
How dare they hide themselves from him? How could they?

   He is unspeakably, unspeakably angry—how dare the Chitain attack his
fleet? They would pay for their insolence, for their presumption—the
Chitain armada will not leave this place. He will exterminate their power
and enslave the survivors!
   He knows the Chitain. Of course he knows them!

    They have been his allies for sectars, and it is in Iblis's nature to study
allies and plan for the sectare he must turn against them.

   A minor adjustment in plans, in priorities—nothing more.

  Iblis issues commands to his fleet, his battlestars, and his individual
and collective minions.

   And smiles to himself.

   The human weaklings will be destroyed in any case. It would be
impossible for them to resist Iblis' force, and soon they would turn on each
other again, just as they had before.

   For a moment, he reflects upon the great pleasure of destroying the
human Aron, who had hoped foolishly for some kind of mercy, and reflects
further upon the humans' foolish joy at receiving the dead hulk of their
idiotic warrior, Cain, who had died for such little purpose.
Or—well—nearly died. He might as well have been dead.

   Iblis laughs.

   He will take physical form again, and soon. Poached Chitain is a
renowned delicacy, and he has never partaken of it.

   At the limits of their endurance, Starbuck and Apollo, running full
speed, reached the warriors at the bridge.

   "How bad is it?" Apollo asked Boomer, quickly taking command.

   "There's a lot of them," Boomer said in his practical way. "We've got
them pinned down, but Athena says they're really pushing to get into the
bridge now. I can kind of understand their motive."

   Half a dozen warriors had made a makeshift breastworks with
furniture dragged from one of the officers' lounges near the bridge, and
they were laying down steady, heavy fire in the direction of the gleaming
Cylon ranks.

   The Cylons had fallen on the warriors' side of the Galactica, making a
breastwork of their own crumpled and smoking ruined bodies. So, it had
become a standoff of sorts. From a distance, neither force could do much,
although Cylon heads peaked up over their own fallen comrades from time
to time, their gleaming chrome domes and glittering eyes making simple
targets for the warrior sharpshooters.

  "How many?" Apollo asked Boomer.

  "There's least a hundred left," Boomer said grimly.

   "They're hunkered down. And I don't think they really know that it's
just Tigh and Athena there on the bridge, and their lasers are just
about—"

  "Don't think that way," Apollo said. He knelt, resting his hands on his
knees, breathing steadily and gathering his thoughts. There had to be a
way through. The Cylons were effectively trapped—as long as Tigh and
Athena held—but that was an uncertain amount of time.

   All of a sudden, Apollo stood. "Hold your fire!" he told the warriors at
the breastworks. The others gathered around him.

  "Be still," he told everyone. "Don't do anything."

   "Apollo!" Starbuck said, pointing desperately at the Cylons. "They'll
realize we've stopped firing and come charging out at us."

  All Apollo did was nod.

  Suddenly, Starbuck grinned. With no more words, he joined the other
warriors at the breastworks and waited.

   It didn't take long. The Cylons moved the bodies of their fallen aside
with grim precision. Soon troops of them came marching through the
opening, searching with their metal eyes.

  "Hold your fire," Apollo said so softly that the warriors could barely
hear him.

  The Cylons advanced. They were only metrons away now.

  "Hold your fire," Apollo said once more.

  Then he raised his arm, and lowered it.
   The breastworks exploded in a withering web of bright laser blasts, and
every Cylon that had advanced was cut down in that single volley.

  "It pays to study old military records," Apollo said, as the few
remaining Cylons fired wildly in disarray.

  "Charge of the Borellian Nomen. Not a single one survived."

  "Not this time," came a thundering voice. Apollo turned to see
Gar'Tokk and his Nomen companions striding four abreast to the
warriors' position.

  "Gar'Tokk!" Starbuck cried.

  "Your oath is being fulfilled," Gar'Tokk told him. "Join us, Starbuck."

   Starbuck looked wildly between Apollo and Boomer, raising his hands
in a helpless gesture.

  "Join you in what?" Starbuck asked.

  "Hunting the metal creatures, Cylons," Gar'Tokk snarled.

   Then he and the three Nomen threw back their cloaks to reveal their
laser boles.

  "This will not take long," Gar'Tokk said.

   The warriors watched, astonished, as the Nomen sprang into action.
Apollo couldn't believe how fast they moved, despite their enormous
height and size.

   There were upon the piles of Cylon bodies, and, crouching behind the
remains of their enemies, they swung their boles around their heads once,
twice, thrice, and released them into the Cylon camp.

   The explosions were deafening. The concussion threw the warriors at
the breastworks back metrons.

   Apollo shrank and covered his ears. None of it seemed to bother the
Nomen. No sooner had the smoke begun to clear than they let go another
bole volley, with even deadlier precision.
   There was no doubting the whines, squeals, and other sounds and signs
of vast Cylon destruction.

    "That is good," Gar'Tokk intoned, and then he threw back his hood and
let out a bone-chilling cry that made the hair on every warrior's neck
stand out straight.

  Starbuck, seeming to consider something, took off running toward the
Nomen. Armed only with his pistol, he crouched and fired into the
smoking wreckage of the Cylon assault group.

   After a few microns, a form emerged from the cloud of smoke. A single
Cylon centurion. Only this centurion wasn't silver, it was made of shining
gold. A super-centurion; wily, fast, and the most dangerous enemy ever
produced by the Cylon Empire.

    He was clearly their leader, but no other Cylon followed. He raised his
rifle, and this Cylon's aim was clear.

  Laser fire flashed, and one of the Nomen fell, silently.

   With another great roar, Gar'Tokk charged. The Cylon fired again
before Gar'Tokk could release his boles. With a cry, Gar'Tokk grabbed his
arm. But Starbuck was there, in front of Gar'Tokk, protecting him with
covering fire.

    The Centurion feinted, started again toward them, and without
thinking, Starbuck leapt into the corridor, pushing the hulk of a Cylon
body into the centurion's way, and rolling twice, getting to his feet and
firing into the centurion's mid-section.

  The centurion was not destroyed, only slowed. It made a terrible,
whining noise, but continued on.

  Reaching GarTokk, it grabbed the Noman's injured arm and lifted him.

  GarTokk struggled. Starbuck leapt on the centurion's back, but it threw
him off as if he was the size of Koren.

  The other Nomen leapt forward.

  With a great roar, GarTokk twisted his body, and with his free hand,
grasped the Cylon's metal jaw.

   Gar'Tokk's fingers held tight, and with one violent twist, he ripped the
centurion's head right off his shoulders. Both centurion and GarTokk
landed on the deck with a crash, barely missing Starbuck.

  Despite his injured arm, GarTokk stood, lifting his trophy high.

   "These creatures aren't much. I have taken men's heads with much
greater difficulty," GarTokk said.

  Microns passed.

   No more Cylons came. Starbuck peered into the gradually clearing
smoke. No more Cylons were likely to come. As far as Starbuck could see,
there were only sparks, heaps of twisted metal that had once been whole
tin cans, and blackened, pitted walls—death and destruction. But as far as
Starbuck could see, the remains were one hundred percent Cylon.

  It was done. The warriors and the Nomen had won the battle for
Galactica's bridge.

  Together, they rushed through the remains of the Cylon attack force,
and pushed through the massive pile of smoking, wrecked metal at the
door.

  "Apollo!" Athena cried.

   She and a wounded Tigh came out from behind the main console to
greet all the warriors.

  Apollo's heart was ready to explode as he gathered his sister in his arms
and held her tight. Tears stung the corners of his eyes as he surveyed
Galactica's bridge.

  It was horribly damaged—a disaster area—but it was still the bridge.
And it was theirs once more.

   Warrior and Noman alike stood, celebrating, on the now-free bridge of
the great Battlestar Galactica.

  "Athena," Apollo said, stroking her hair.
  "I didn't think I'd ever see you again," she said.

  "I know," he said. "But the Gods would not allow that."

  They joined together, hand in hand, and Apollo turned, holding
Athena's arm high.

   "Once more, the Galactica is free!" he cried. He found it hard to
breathe. As he looked from face to face—all the friends he held so dear—he
thought that he should say something. After all they had survived, all
they'd endured together.

  Although the battle still hung in the balance, for this one moment,
Galactica was its own ship again, and they were all free.

  As Apollo began to speak, Doctor Salik arrived on the bridge, holding
Koren's hand.

  "I have to tell you," the Doctor said. At once, everyone turned to stare at
him.

  "Tell us what?" Apollo asked.

  "Commander Cain—what little life signs I could find—they're fading."

   "No!" Apollo cried. Agonized looks went between the friends. So Sheba
could live, Apollo thought with sudden clarity. It was the same as it had
ever been. Cain had given them precious moments of freedom. And given
his daughter a second chance at life.

  Still, the doctor waited, but it was Koren who spoke.

  "The man who saved you, Apollo—Baltar—he's beginning to wake up."

  "Yes," Salik said. "That was my other news. Baltar may recover. He's
showing strong signs."

   Apollo's eyes grew wide. Cain was gone, but Baltar lived? It made no
sense; he couldn't fathom it.

  "Lords of Kobol!" Tigh cried. "The old wretch is hard to kill."

  Despite themselves, there were more than a few smiles and chuckles
around the bridge.

  "This is sad news about Cain, Doctor," Apollo said. "But I am glad to
hear about Baltar."

  Koren looked up at the doctor and tugged his sleeve. The doctor looked
down at the boy, distracted, then suddenly addressed the crew once more.
"Oh, yes!" he said. "The other reason I came. Koren would like to stay with
you for a time."

   "He should—" Tigh started to say, but Apollo looked quickly over at
Tigh, quieting him.

   "Yes, of course," Apollo said. And he knelt, holding out his hands. Koren
ran into Apollo's arms.

   "Koren's father was a brave man," Apollo said, standing and putting his
hand on Koren's shoulder. "We fought. We did not agree. But one thing he
said, I want us all to remember."

  Everyone listened, leaning forward.

   "He believed that every life has worth," Apollo said. "And this is true.
Let there be no more nameless, faceless ones among us. No matter what
happens, let us remember Jinkrat, and what he stood for. An honorable
enemy, and for too short a time—a great friend."

   They raised their hands in salute to Jinkrat. Koren put his head against
Apollo. Apollo heard the boy struggling to hold back his tears, ashamed to
cry in front of Galactica's command. Starbuck came close and punched
Koren lightly in the arm, making him smile.

  "It's okay," Starbuck said. "We're all one big family."

  Apollo started to say more, but the radiation alarms began to scream.
"Apollo," Tigh shouted, "someone out there just set off an atomic
weapon!"

   As Apollo turned to face the prow-port just in time to see the blast of
light erupt from the smallest of the Cylon battlestars.

  "Gods!" said Athena, "are the Chitain mad? Do they know what they're
doing?"

  "They're Chitain," said Starbuck. "Don't care about much but number
one, you know."

  "Iblis had them cornered," said Tigh. "You don't want to corner the
Chitain."

  As they watched, the majestic Cylon battlestar began to drift into the
Ur cloud, the fireball that consumed it growing, growing——

   "Look," said Boomer, "the Cylons are no longer working in
concert—either Iblis was on that thing, or the explosion has taken out his
ability to command."

  It was true: the Cylon fighters were moving utterly without
coordination—the Chitain were chewing them up.

   In a micron, Apollo remembered Troy's cargo, retrieved from the Cylon
battlestar, and Baltar's words.

   "Trays! Dalton! Get those Cylon fuel cells launched as far as you can
into the Chitain sector," Apollo ordered.

  Trays and Dalton sprang into action, running from the bridge.

   Breathless, they all watched as the Chitain continued their attack, but
the tide of the battle turned once again. Iblis once more seemed to hold
sway.

  Cornered, the Chitain began to mass.

  "What are they doing?" Tigh asked Apollo.

   Apollo grimaced. "I think they'd rather destroy themselves than allow
the Cylons to prevail."

  Tigh shook his head.

   "I can't believe it," Athena said. Gar'Tokk drew closer. Apollo held
Koren's shoulders as they watched the Chitain ships shrink into a smaller
and smaller mass until now they looked like a single star, forming from a
cloud of glowing dust.
  "Come on," Apollo said. "Come on, Trays. Come on, Dalton."

  In a micron, Trays' excited voice came over the comm. "It's done,
Commander!" he called.

  "Get back—now!" Apollo cried.

   "Apollo, we have no idea of the force of the blast—if those Jinkrat,
formerly of the Rising Star, a ship of hopeless, hapless refugees. Baltar
thought about the boy, Koren. He rather liked him. There was an edge of
anger and resentment in the child, despite his youth, that Baltar found
appealing. Baltar knew what Apollo saw in the child, but Apollo was as yet
young, compared to Baltar's years. He didn't have Baltar's sight.

   Baltar didn't suppose he was about to be reelected to the Council of
Twelve any time soon. He supposed that if he did recover, he would be
sent back to the brig, or worse, put to some "constructive" task. That
would be about Apollo's speed.

   He wondered if anyone had even cared to say, "Thank you, Baltar, for
saving us." Perhaps the boy had.

  It was a brave new world, with no place for old men like Baltar in it.

  How would he be remembered? As the man who betrayed all of
humanity, the man who walked with Cylons? Breathed their air?
Communed with them?

   How would the people of the Galactica remember Baltar? As a hero?
Baltar laughed, the pain wracking him. As a villain? Perhaps. Or perhaps,
he thought, looking over at Cain, they wouldn't remember him at all.

   Did you do all you could, Baltar? He wondered. Wondered until the
pain took him again and the dreams returned. Dreams of a new, strange
place, and fields to wander. Alone. With not a soul by his side.
                           EPILOGUE
  They found berth in the orbiting drydocks of Paradis, and in those
docks they had the fleet remade.

  It took sectars—sectars! But in the end, they were sectars well spent.
   While the fleet renewed itself, the imam of a local sect called upon
Apollo and Athena—there was an ancient book of writings, and it bore the
seal of the Galactica.

  Someone anciently ago left this book for them to read.

  Gar'Tokk—who had grown in some unknowable way—told them what it
was before they opened it.

   It was written in an ancient script they couldn't decipher, but Gar'Tokk
knew what it said. "I can teach you to read it if you wish," he said. "Or I
can tell you what it says."

  Apollo wanted to know what he meant.

   "The book is meant for us. It is from the thirteenth tribe. Coordinates
that will show us where next we must go. And with those coordinates is
knowledge we will need to cope with the challenges that await us there."

   Doctor Salik had discovered that bare traces of something that might
and might not be life remained in Cain's body. He was neither dead nor
alive, but the imam religious leader said this was in the prophecy, too.

   They made plans not to bury Cain in space in the traditional Galactica
ceremony, but to bring him here to this planet, where the imam and his
people have prepared a place.

  Baltar, hooded, watched as they laid Cain's body to rest.

  That day, he had thought to find the boy Koren, perhaps teach him
some of the lore of Caprica, but Koren was playing—with other children.

  This was a new world, whether brave or not, Baltar did not know.

  Apollo asked Baltar to be a teacher.

  Baltar had not yet given Apollo his answer. It seemed there was no
chance for Baltar to be considered for the Council. It seemed that there
was no place for Baltar—at all.

   He wished that he could join Cain where he rested. But that was for the
future. For the time being, Baltar must wander, and ponder his fate.
   In their time on the paradise, Cassi found a midwife whose company
she adored.

  She was a fine local woman—very wise, it seemed to Cassi.

   When the moment came for her to give birth, the midwife helped Cassi
to deliver the baby—but in the midst of the birth Cassi blacked out.

  When she woke, the midwife and the baby were gone.