CHAPTER TEN

 

 

Adama kept a constant surveillance of the Carillon work activities. Shuttles from the agricultural project hastened toward the Galactica and other ships, with a harvest beyond original predictions of yield. The last request for a new Tylium load had been met with the usual Ovion polite phrasings that more would be sent soon, after they had corrected a malfunction in their processing machinery. Tigh, angry, complained that a number of tankers sat on the surface. Scanners showed them filled with Tylium in its volatile liquid form. Adama told his negotiators to keep trying. He was pleased to learn that one of the tankers had been dispatched, and he personally oversaw the meticulous landing of the battered-looking ship on one of the Galactica’s decks. An officer reported the successful boarding of the food stores, and Adama ordered all agricultural personnel to be shuttled off the planet. With the livery and agricultural workers returned, that left only the people collected in the casino for the awards ceremony still on the planet. His sense of timing suggested he wait a few moments before sending out a recall order. He would have liked to bring up Apollo immediately, but that was impossible. However, he put Tigh on alert, reacting to the Colonel’s report that a group of Ovions in the casino were acting strangely.

Athena, who had been manning the scanners directed planetside, reported an unusual number of aircraft and a lot of ground movement on Carillon. The exceptional darkness of the planet made it difficult to specify, she said, exactly what was going on. At least one aircraft appeared to have emerged from the cloud cover now hanging over a large portion of the night hemisphere. The trajectory seemed to indicate the rather large aircraft had emerged from the dense center of the minefield.

“Is that possible?” she asked her father.

“Yes, if—”

“If what?”

“If they are in possession of information allowing them to pass through the minefield with safety.”

“But such a large ship.”

“Were you able to get a good outline of it for scanning?”

“Afraid not. The darkness and the cloud cover and the gathering precipitation—”

“Yes, I see. Very good, Athena.”

“You have a suspicion about the ship, don’t you, Father?”

Adama considered whether there was any danger in telling her. The time seemed to have arrived to employ Athena’s strategic acumen.

“I think it just might be a troop carrier.”

It took a moment for the information to sink in, then Athena said, “Cylons?”

“Possibly.”

She returned to her duty. On the scanner screens, movements which had seemed strange to her previously now began to take on a military aspect.

A bridge officer turned away from a scanner console, and reported.

“Picking up a large body of objects closing toward us rapidly. They seem to have come out of nowhere.”

“From behind an ambush screen, no doubt,” Adama muttered.

“What was that, Sir?”

“Nothing. Scan the objects for life forms.”

“Aye aye, Sir.”

Adama glanced away from the console, into his daughter’s concerned eyes. Obviously she had heard his muttering.

 

Before her father had alerted her to danger, Athena had been wallowing in self-pity about being left behind aboard the Galactica. Her mind had been filled with pictures of Starbuck chasing after that socialator. She wished she had not reacted so rashly, throwing the key down like that. If she had had any sense, she would have lured Starbuck to the guest quarters, used all her abilities to make him forget the Gemonese woman. It did not seem to her that men developed permanent relationships with socialators, and that comforted her for a while, until she recalled that Cassiopeia could not really be considered a socialator anymore. She was an ex-socialator, able to use her considerable training within new social systems.

Now, however, there was no room for jealousy. If her growing suspicions were correct, and what was happening on the planet below and space above was another Cylon secret assault, then there was no time for petty emotions. Why didn’t her father order up the troops, instead of leaving them in the casino? The odds were already against them, and the time wasted in lifting the warriors off Carillon might make all the difference between defeat and victory. She was not used to her father being hesitant in his command role. On the other hand, she had not been prepared for his resignation from the council, an act that seemed to indicate emotional disturbance. Was it possible that her father was cracking up, that under that tough surface, pressure was building toward an explosion of madness? She shook her head, not wanting to even consider that.

Switching on the comline to Tigh, who had left his transponder open, she asked him for a report.

“The Ovions’re collecting in droves,” he said. “We might have to make a move very soon. If we can get this stupid crowd moving—”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re buying every word Uri says. How can they? Listen, I’ll turn up the transmitter, and you can hear….”

Uri was speaking.

“…to use this occasion to invoke in each of us a rebirth. A wiping the slate clean of animosities and prejudices against any living brother, whether a former friend or foe….”

The cheer that went up almost deafened Athena. The man’s speech was effective, all right. How could their people be so gullible? She remembered her father saying once, panaceas were a cubit a dozen, but solutions cost much, much more.

“Athena?” Tigh came back on the line.

“Yes?”

“Tell your father I can’t keep the lid on here much longer.”

“Righto, whatever that means.”

“You’ll know soon enough.”

Athena’s fright seemed to have doubled as she turned away from the scanning console.

 

For the moment Starbuck and Apollo had outdistanced their Cylon pursuers. Cylons were not known for ground speed. Unfortunately their last turn had led them into a dead end.

“How do we get out of here?” Starbuck asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Am I correct in assuming that, in addition to finding ourselves in a cul-de-sac, we are also hopelessly lost?”

“That’s correct, Lieutenant.”

“Well, I always like to know the odds. Especially when they’re a thousand to one against me.”

“You can’t always measure life in gambling odds, Starbuck.”

“Is that right? Do you suggest an alternative measurement?”

“Starbuck, those Cylons’ll locate us at any minute. This is no time to—”

“I agree. But what do we do? Go shoulder to shoulder, run out there blasting away like we did that minefield? And what about Boxey and that barking growling machine of his, what about—”

“Muffy’s no machine!” Boxey protested.

Muffit perhaps felt the insult, too, for he started barking.

“Quiet, you daggit!” Boxey said.

The daggit started running away from them. He ran a few steps, then ran back.

“What’s he doing?” Starbuck said.

“He wants us to follow him,” Boxey said. “C’mon—”

“Boxey, I don’t think now’s the time to—” Apollo said, but before he could finish Boxey had leaped out of his arms and begun to follow the running daggit back up the corridor.

Apollo and Starbuck rushed after them. When they had almost caught up with the boy, the daggit turned into a dark area in the wall that looked like a shadow. Boxey followed him into it. Starbuck and Apollo exchanged glances. Closer examination showed the dark shadow to be a small tunnel that ran between the corridor and what proved to be, when the two men had crawled through the tunnel, a large cavern. At first Apollo thought it was just one of the mining areas until he looked closely at the ground.

“What’re those?” he said to Starbuck.

“Looks like some sort of vegetable patch to me, but—”

“My God!”

They simultaneously perceived the humans inside the pods. Starbuck crouched down by a nearby pod and touched the plumpish young woman bound inside it.

“I think—I think I was playing hi-lo with this woman that first day I found the casino. Her name was—was—God, I forgot it already.”

“Is she alive?” Apollo said.

“She’s breathing. She’s got a pulse. Let me see if I can—oh, God!”

“What is it?”

“Her body. It’s stuck here. Not only stuck. It’s becoming part of the pod, blending with the leaves. Underneath, she’s—Apollo, the back of her head and shoulders, they’re breaking up into matter, into—”

“We can’t stay here. C’mon.”

“But this woman. The others. We can’t just leave them, we—”

“And we can’t sort out who’s salvageable. We’ll send a team back. Right now there’s the Cylons. C’mon. Follow Muffit, he seems to know where he’s going.”

They crossed the chamber, carefully stepping over the pods, trying not to look at their contents.

Ahead of them, a group of Ovions entered the cavern, carrying four new pods. Apollo grabbed Muffy and crouched behind the nearest pod. Starbuck and Boxey fell to the ground beside Apollo.

“What’s going on there?” Starbuck whispered.

“I think they’ve been siphoning off people from the casino, bringing them down here. That’s the reason for the casino, the reason they keep everybody winning and happy and fat.”

“But why? Why are they wrapping them in these pods and—”

“I’m not sure. Perhaps we’re a source of food for the Ovions, maybe—”

“Food? Do you mean the casino is a foodlot? The Ovions are a race of cannibals?”

“No, Starbuck, that’s not—”

“What do you mean, it’s not—”

“Cannibals are species that eat of their own species. Ovions aren’t eating Ovions here, they’re—”

“You choose a fine time to nit-pick. You mean they’re just fattening us up, like cattle, like—”

“That may be it. Those first pods they just brought in, the men in them look familiar.”

Starbuck squinted at the pods, which were being delicately held up horizontally while Ovions attached tubing to them.

“They’re the three men we were looking for!” Starbuck said.

“I thought so. Even from here the uniforms look like bad fits.”

“And the other one—my God! It’s Cassiopeia!”

Starbuck had stood up and begun to run before Apollo could stop him. He rushed toward the pod carriers like a competitive runner, leaping over the pods underfoot as if they were hurdles. With a last running jump Starbuck hurled himself on one of the Ovions who had just propped up the pod containing Cassiopeia for the attachment of its tubing.

Starbuck’s move seemed to activate Muffit Two, who ran after him. Naturally, Boxey followed the daggit. Apollo, still crouching behind the pod, muttered, “Damn!” then started crawling toward Starbuck, around and over the pods.

 

Seetol, alerted to the disturbance by a messenger, rushed into the pod chamber. From another entranceway came Lotay, accompanied by the tall Cylon spy.

One of the humans, the brash young man Starbuck, was struggling in the grip of two Ovion warriors. As Seetol approached, she heard him say:

“You bastards! You can’t turn her into—into food!”

“Not food precisely, Sir,” Seetol said. “Although your nutrient substances are part of what is absorbed. They are diluted, in fact, into a liquid used to feed our babies at the time they hatch from the eggs.”

Starbuck appeared to be sick.

“Ovion bitch!” he said. “You’re lower than—” He saw the Cylon approaching. “Lower than a Cylon!”

Seetol showed no reaction to his insult as she continued.

“Within these pods we are able to extract all that is best in your race. And other races, for that matter. Minerals, life-giving liquids, bones for building materials. We can even extract knowledge from your brains, information from your bodily cells. You might say, we use every bit of you usefully.”

The Cylon centurion laughed harshly.

“Impossible to see a piece of human vermin as useful,” he said.

Barking and yelling distracted Seetol’s attention. The young human boy was pulling at the uniform on the leg of one of her warriors, while his detestable pet was biting at the Ovion’s leg. The queen, clearly amused by the situation, walked to the scene, and with her long arms pulled the boy away from the soldier.

“I have special plans for this child,” she said to the warrior, who had drawn a weapon. “He’s mine. But, if you wish, you may dispose of the animal.”

The Ovion coolly pointed the weapon at Muffit Two, who was now leaping in anger. Squeezing one of its two triggers, she shot the daggit at the high point of a leap. Sparks flew from Muffit’s hide as it fell to the ground in a crumpled, inert heap.

“Muffy! Muffy!” Boxey shouted.

“Why, you—” Starbuck shouted. Twisting his body violently, he pulled out of the eight-armed grasp of the two Ovion guards. Leaping up suddenly to Seetol’s left, Apollo fired at the Ovion who had shot the daggit, sending a killing beam through her neck. Starbuck, in reaction, rolled to his left and came up shooting. His aim was true, as he sliced the Cylon’s helmet in two. Suddenly the two men were blasting away, and an Ovion warrior seemed to fall with each shot.

Seetol ran recklessly through the fire toward Lotay, to protect her. Lotay held the child, who was now crying fiercely as he looked down at his fallen pet, tightly in her arms.

The firing behind her stopped. Looking back, she saw that all of her warriors had been killed by the two humans. Starbuck was now advancing toward her and Lotay.

“Stop right there, you ugly insect bitch!” he cried.

Seetol moved sideways, placing herself deliberately between the two men’s weapons and her queen. Whatever else happened, Lotay must be protected. It would be final proof of Seetol’s love of her queen to die for her.

“Starbuck, stop!” Apollo shouted.

“I want to kill both of them. We haven’t got time to—”

“You might kill Boxey, too.”

Apollo’s cautionary message seemed to make Lotay hold the boy all the more tightly.

“Disarm them, Seetol!” Lotay screamed, her voice shrill. Conditioned to respond automatically to an order from her queen, Seetol jumped at Starbuck. The man, surprised at the Ovion’s lunge, nevertheless got off a shot at her which burned through one of her left arms. She finished her leap and knocked Starbuck off balance. Seetol grabbed at his arm to try to wrest the man’s sidearm from his fingers. The move jostled his arm, made him accidentally fire the weapon. A high-pitched scream behind her ended in a gurgle. She turned to see Lotay falling, her head half-severed from her neck by the chance shot. Seetol’s scream took up where Lotay’s left off, and she ran to her fallen queen. Boxey, having been released from Lotay’s arms as they went limp, ran to Muffit. Starbuck aimed his weapon toward Seetol’s head.

“No, Starbuck,” Apollo shouted. “We’ve done enough. Take care of Cassiopeia.”

Starbuck ran to the pod containing Cassiopeia as Apollo rushed to the sobbing boy.

As soon as Cassiopeia had been released from the pod, she fell into Starbuck’s arms, drugged, half-conscious, but alive. He hugged her to him briefly, then set her down while he released the three men in the Galactican uniforms. He was about to interrogate them, but he could tell from their glazed eyes they were in no state to produce any explanations at that moment.

At first Apollo did not know what to do about Boxey. He figured that the crumpled daggit-droid’s body must remind Boxey of the death of the real daggit back on Caprica. Only this time nobody had shielded the boy from his pet’s fallen form. Would the boy be able to get over such a loss again? Or did it have to be a loss? Perhaps not.

“We’ve got to go, Boxey. We can’t stay here.”

“I won’t leave Muffy.”

“I know what you’re thinking, but are you a Starfleet trainee officer or not?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then get moving, young man. I’ll bring Muffy, I promise you that. Now let’s go or I’ll have you keelhauled.”

Boxey, responding to the authority in Apollo’s voice, sprang to his feet. Gently Apollo picked up the daggit-droid. A few wires inside it hung out, frayed and burned. Ordering Boxey to start moving, they collected Starbuck, along with Cassiopeia and the three uniformed men, all of whom could respond to orders in a robot fashion. They made, Apollo thought, an odd-looking platoon as they trudged toward the entranceway of the chamber. Starbuck brought up the rear, looking back with his weapon raised at the mourning Seetol. He took aim at her, but Apollo said to leave her in her sorrow. She was no threat now.

Seetol, aware of their departure, made no move to follow them. There seemed no point. Lotay was dead. As in all deaths of Ovion queens, the tiny sharp points on the skin of her body had faded to a dull, nearly whitish, yellow. Soon they would retract into the skin.

Without her queen, Seetol was without function. There was nothing she could do to assuage her misery. Wounded by Starbuck’s shot, she could only sit and allow the life to drain out of her body. For a long while she bent over the dead queen and muttered prolonged, high-pitched sounds that were the Ovion version of keening. Eventually, unconsciousness relieved her misery and she fell forward across Lotay’s body.

 

“I think I’ve got my bearings now,” Starbuck announced, after they had traveled some distance from the pod chamber. “The elevator’s that way.”

“So’s that bunch of centurions,” Apollo shouted.

“Oh, damn!”

Pushing the dazed men in uniform against a wall and forcing one of them to hold the inert form of Muffit Two, Apollo and Starbuck took cover behind a pair of jutting wall-rocks as the Cylons opened fire. Laser fire blasted chunks of rock from the wall. Starbuck and Apollo returned the fire, and two centurions fell.

“Do you have another weapon?” Cassiopeia, who had crawled up to Starbuck, said blearily. “I can handle a laser pistol. One of my many—”

Starbuck started to tell her to get back, she was still too drugged. Instead, he said, “See if one of those zombies has a pistol in his holster.”

He pointed to the three uniformed men, then turned and shot at the centurions blocking the corridor that led to the elevator. His and Apollo’s shots kept finding targets, and soon there was a pile of Cylons with nobody fighting back.

“Damn!” Cassiopeia said, unsteadily pointing the pistol she’d liberated down the corridor. “It’s a fake. These guys are carrying fake pistols!”

“I’m not surprised. Let’s get out of here. That shootout’s got to draw some curious intruders.”

Before he waved the group on, he touched the wall beside him. It was illuminated with a dim, but increasing, glow.

“Apollo!” Starbuck said. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yeah. With all this Tylium starting to burn, this could grow into a fire that could turn this whole bloody planet into a bomb.”

“Um, let’s tiptoe out of here, huh? This way, c’mon.”

“Are you sure?”

“This is no time for a vote. Let’s move.”

A lone Cylon leaped out at them from behind the pile of corpses. He released one shot toward Starbuck which ignited more rock. Starbuck reacted quickly and killed the ambushing alien.

Maneuvering around the corpses, they traveled down another short corridor and into the lobby containing the elevator bank.

“What’d I tell ya, Captain. We’re saved.”

The door to the elevator that Apollo and Starbuck had tampered with opened suddenly, and a bemused-looking Boomer stepped out. He smiled broadly when he saw that Starbuck and Apollo were standing across the lobby from him.

“Hey, guys,” he said. “What’s going on? You guys hotwire this elevator? I looked all over—”

He was interrupted by laser fire emerging from the darkness of a corridor to his left. His weapon was immediately drawn and he went into a crouch as he fired at the source of the attack. Boomer’s fire proved a cover by which Apollo and Starbuck could lead Cassiopeia, Boxey, and the three men across the open area. When they reached the elevator and herded their people in, Starbuck shouted, “We might get trapped in that thing!”

“Does it matter?” Apollo shouted back. “If those fires combine and spread and explode the Tylium, it doesn’t matter where we are. Get in. C’mon, Boomer!”

Starbuck joined Boomer to allow him extra firepower in backing into the elevator. As Starbuck leaped into the elevator between the leading edges of the closing doors, a centurion appeared just in front of the car and took dead aim on the young lieutenant. The doors closed just in time but flamed briefly as the centurion’s shot hit them dead center.

 

Serina had searched throughout the whole room for Boxey, and was rapidly becoming frantic. She tried to obtain Colonel Tigh’s help but the commander’s aide, intent on a small electronic device concealed in his hand, waved her away. She didn’t know what to do. If Apollo would only return, she thought, he would know what to do.

On the podium Uri had brought the crowd to several cheers and a couple of ovations. He had reached the main point of his speech.

“And so I implore you all to join with me in the spirit of this great communion and put your faith in me and go to the Cylons. For I tell you that this night will be remembered as the foundation upon which the floor of peace was laid, to last for eternity. I give you the hope that—”

His speech was stopped abruptly by the charging of Apollo, Starbuck, and Boomer from the elevator. Apollo pointed his gun toward the ceiling and fired. Everyone in the room turned toward him.

“Everyone begin to move quickly and orderly towards the exits. That is an order.”

“Stand where you are,” Uri shouted from the podium. “I am in charge here.”

Before Apollo could respond, a group of Centurions had joined the Ovions at the entranceway and begun firing. Everyone began scrambling for cover.

“Listen to Apollo!” Uri hollered. “Do what he says. He’s in charge here.”

Boomer and Starbuck wiped out the entire contingent of guards at one doorway, and Uri was the first to hightail it through to the outside. The rest of Red squadron had produced weapons and laser fire crisscrossed in all directions. Voices screamed and lights, hit by random shots, began to sizzle and go out.

Serina dodged around tables and fallen chairs toward the elevator bank.

“Boxey! Boxey!” she hollered.

She discovered the boy cowering behind Apollo. She picked him up in her arms.

“Over that way!” Apollo cried. “That entrance is clear now!”

He led Serina and Boxey through the archway. Outside, rain stung their faces. Beams from Cylon helmets cut through the darkness. Apollo took Serina and Boxey to cover behind the grog fountain.

All around and inside the casino the battle raged.

“We haven’t enough firepower,” Apollo said to Serina. “There were too many fake guns among that fake Blue squadron.”

“What fake Blue squadron?”

Apollo explained about the strange imposters in the squadron’s uniforms.

“I don’t know what was in my father’s mind when—”

Over the hill near the fountain, a landram appeared, with Lieutenant Jolly mounted on a gun turret. The fat lieutenant started blasting away, and a group of centurions began to fall. Jolly had zeroed in on them by the light of their helmet beams.

Telling Serina to stay under cover, Apollo ran to the landram on which Jolly sat. Another two landrams had appeared, and their gunners were firing at centurions and Ovions.

“Assemble squadron!!” Apollo cried, as he reached the landram and scrambled aboard.

“Where in all that’s holy did you come from, Jolly?”

“We’re here courtesy of Commander Adama, Captain.”

“But why—”

“He sent the landrams to cover for you guys in case any fighting broke out in the casino. Clairvoyant your father is, Captain. He also ordered us to collect Red squadron and shuttle them back to the Galactica. He’s expecting a fight, he says.”

“Red? Why just Red?”

Jolly smiled as he fired off another round, dropping several of the helmeted aliens.

“Blue squadron didn’t get to go to the party, sir. Except for Boomer and Starbuck, who had to play hero with you down here at the councilor’s little celebration. Guess all three of you had to go so Uri wouldn’t get wise he didn’t have all the military personnel at the party.”

“Well, if the Blues didn’t go the party, who were those oddballs wearing their uniforms?”

“Anybody the commander could find up in the fleet to fill the uniforms. You shoulda seen the guy who got mine.”

“I think I did, Jolly.”

The shooting suddenly stopped. The Ovions were scattering, while the centurions were beating a retreat away from the casino.

“What are those damn Cylons up to now?” Apollo said.

“I’m not sure. Just before hell broke loose, I received a report that air activity had been tracked by scanner on the Galactica. They thought it might be Cylon fighters. Those guys might be returning to their ships.”

“Then we better get to ours and damn fast!”

Apollo jumped off the landram. From the main entranceway, the rest of the guests—civilians, warriors, and civilians in warrior uniforms—scrambled out toward the landrams. The authentic warriors were being assembled by Starbuck and Boomer. Apollo joined them, explained as succinctly as he could what Jolly had told him.

“Red Squadron’s got to go on ahead in the first landram. We may not have much time. Starbuck, you and Boomer take care of the civilians. Round them up and get them to the shuttles.”

“But Captain,” Starbuck complained, “I want to get to my ship, too.”

“Do what you’re ordered, bucko. Get up there fast enough and I’ll see if I can save you a couple of Cylon stragglers for target practice.”

“Thanks a bunch, Captain.”

Apollo gestured for the Red Squadron to follow him to the first landram. Boomer and Starbuck began, with Cassiopeia’s help, to calm the panicking civilians and get them organized. Tigh joined Red Squadron. He was holding his left arm, which hung limp at his side.

“Are you all right?” Apollo asked. “A Cylon stray shot?”

“Yeah, but I got at least five of them first.”

Serina, Boxey at her side, waited by the landram.

“They’ll take you to the shuttles,” Apollo said. “I’m sorry but—”

“We’ll be fine,” Serina said. “Get going.”

 

Athena had noticed that the token force left on the bridge had grown to a full crew since the alert had gone out, but she had been too busy to wonder about it.

“Form scan positive,” she announced as the information came up on her screen. “Multiple three-passenger vehicles.”

“Centurion attack craft then,” Adama said. Athena nodded.

“So they spring their trap. Recall all our personnel from Carillon.”

“Evacuation activity has already begun,” said a communications officer. “I just received a report. They had some kind of set-to down there, and Plan R is in effect.” He listened for a moment longer. “Tigh reports that Red squadron has reached the shuttle and taken off.”

“Good.”

Athena, puzzled, looked toward her father.

“You knew the Cylon attack craft would be here?” she asked.

“Yes. Call General Quarters.”

The claxon sounded immediately, as if an officer’s finger had been placed on the alarm button awaiting the order. The screen showing the pilot’s ready room switched on, showing countless warriors scrambling away from card games, reading, and sleeping.

“Father,” Athena cried, amazed. “Where are all the warriors coming from? A full squadron is answering the call. There aren’t that many pilots left on board.”

“There are. I couldn’t let you in on it, couldn’t tell anyone who was not integral to the plan. Sorry, Athena.”

On the launch board, squares of light flashed on, indicating each ship warming up in launch cribs. When all the lights had flashed on, Adama bellowed, “Launch when ready!”

“I see,” Athena said. “You kept some pilots back. An entire squadron?”

“Yes.”

“Exactly what I would have done!”

Adama smiled affectionately.

“I’m sure,” he said.

They watched the launch through the starfield. The vipers, flying in pre-battle formation, were an awesome sight, and Adama felt confidence rise up in him. Each of the vipers peeled off and, as ordered, flew through the flight corridor the three heroes had formed with their exploit, and went out single file to confront the approaching enemy. A bridge officer reported that the Cylon task force was overwhelming, three entire flights.

“Our squadron won’t stand a chance,” Athena protested.

“They won’t be alone for long,” Adama said. “The others are on their way and, using the contingency battle plan, they’ll be joining the first squadron.”

“It may be too late. Where the hell are they?”

“Shuttle approaching landing deck,” a bridge officer said.

“That soon enough for you, Athena?” Adama remarked.

But Athena was too busy staring at the screens showing the launching bay, and the pilots getting into battle gear on the run, to listen closely to what her father had said.

 

The rain was falling harder in the fields where the shuttles sat. Boomer and Starbuck hustled the panicky people off the land rams and up the gangways to each ready ship. A cold breeze drove the rain uncomfortably into their faces.

“I hate milk runs,” Starbuck shouted.

“Look,” Boomer cautioned, “each job’s important, okay?”

“Ah, that sounds like one of the commander’s lectures.”

Cassiopeia, who had been helping people off the last landram, reported that everybody was off the vehicles. Her eyes showed she was alert now. Starbuck hollered at the last stragglers to get a move on.

“Boomer,” he said, “soon as we dock these shuttles, we head for the launch cribs. I want a piece of the action.”

The rain lessened abruptly and Starbuck’s attention was caught by a ship sitting on the slope of a nearby hill.

“What’s that?” he said, pointing toward the ship.

Boomer looked.

“That’s one of the Ovion Tylium freighters. It was supposed to be sent to—”

“Is it carrying a full load?”

“Well, yeah, must be. Why?”

“I’m taking it up.”

“But that stuff’s lethal. One attack and they could blow you out of the sky.”

“Great. That’s the way I always wanted to go. You take care of the shuttles, I’ll—”

“I want to go with you.”

“You’ve got your job, Boomer. Do it.”

“But what do you know about flying an Ovion ship?”

“I can fly anything, Boom-Boom.”

“You can fly your head into the clouds, that’s what you can do.”

“Goodbye, Boomer.”

Starbuck started toward the tanker. Suddenly he was aware of Cassiopeia running beside him.

“What in hell are you doing?” he roared.

“I’m going with you.”

“But—”

“You can use me. I’ll explain later.”

 

Everybody on the bridge tensed as Athena announced, “First defense wing about to make contact with the attack force.”

As the defense wing was revealed on the main console screen, Adama was struck by how pitifully small they looked against the wall of the Cylon armada.

“By all that’s holy….” one of the wing’s pilots yelled over his com.

One of the lead Cylon ships went into a roll and fired as it flew by a viper. The viper took the hit full on, and exploded. Almost concurrently two more viper ships were wiped out by Cylons. Greenbean’s voice resounded through the bridge.

“There’re too many of them. Roll out, hit ’em from the sides!”

The Colonial vipers peeled off, but they looked too thinly spread to do much damage.

“Where’s the damn Red squadron?” Greenbean hollered.

Turning back to the screen, he saw two more vipers exploding.

“So much for trying to hit ’em from the sides,” he shouted angrily.

“Where are they?” Adama said.

Then his son’s voice came through the comline.

“Revved and ready for takeoff.”

The launch lights came on.

“Your wing ready, Jolly?” Apollo said.

“Ready, sir.”

“Let’s go.”

Apollo’s Red squadron streaked across the sky and into the minefield corridor.

“The shuttles are arriving, sir,” a bridge officer said. “Reports show other ships rising up from the surface of Carillon.”

“More Cylons?” Athena said.

“Running visual idents now.”

On the comline Greenbean shouted, “Yaahoooo,” as he observed the arrival of Apollo’s squadron.

 

In the freighter’s pilot compartment, Cassiopeia made Starbuck’s jaw drop open. The tall young socialator obviously knew the ropes when it came to the bizarre technology of an Ovion tanker. Devices that seemed meaningless to Starbuck were duck soup for her. She started throwing levers and pressing buttons before she even settled herself in the copilot’s seat.

“You been on one of these before, Cassie?” Starbuck asked.

“My dad, for the brief times I was allowed to see him, piloted a freighter. And you call me Cassie again and I’ll see to it personally this ship blows up.”

The ship began to rumble all around them.

“You want to take us up?” Starbuck said. “You seem to—”

“I’d do it, but I’m afraid I’ll have to admit reluctantly that your instincts would serve us better just now.”

Starbuck strapped himself into the pilot’s seat and tried to get the feel of the strange ship from its rattling vibrations.

“Okay to lift off?” he asked Cassiopeia.

She smiled and raised an eyebrow. Studying the equipment, she replied.

“Okay. Lift off.”

Cassiopeia had done her part of the job so well that they took flight just behind the shuttles. But the tanker was slower and too weighted down. It could not keep up. Starbuck watched the shuttles disappear through the clouds, leaving a brief red glow on their ominous black surfaces. It was a product of his imagination, he knew, but he thought he could sense the volatile liquid Tylium sloshing against the sides of its heavy containers. One good jarring shock and it was goodbye, bucko. Starbuck would be happy to deposit this payload upon the deck of the Galactica where experts could tenderly transport it to safe cargoholds.

“Scanner shows Cylon craft approaching us just below the level of the cloud cover,” Starbuck said.

“Are the shuttles in trouble?” Cassiopeia asked.

“Nope. They seemed to have gotten off in time, or else the Cylons don’t give a hoot about a pair of surface-to-air shuttlecrafts.”

“They seem to give a hoot about us.”

“I’ll have to try evasion tactics. Hold on!”

Starbuck leveled off the tanker and headed it north, over the Ovion casino and Tylium mine and underneath the Cylon ships revealed by the scanner. The Cylons did not alter their direction, but instead started up through the clouds. Starbuck looked below. Some Ovions had emerged from the ground and were running around frantically. Starbuck wondered what their running amok was all about, when he heard a deep rumble from the ground area. It came through loud and clear over the rattle of the tanker.

“What’s that?” Cassiopeia said.

“An explosion! In the mine. Something’s setting Tylium off. We have to get the blazes out of here!”

“Oh, my God!” Cassiopeia shrieked.

Starbuck knew exactly what was going through her mind. If the tremors from the underground explosion rocked the tanker, the Tylium in its holds would—he didn’t want to think about it. The planet itself could go up. He headed the tanker toward the clouds again. If he got away from Carillon, if he got away from the perimeters of the mine explosions, if he successfully avoided pursuers, if he didn’t encounter the attacking Cylon Star Force, if he could get through any fighters attacking Galactica, if he could execute the extremely difficult landing of a tanker full of volatile fuel upon the deck of a besieged battlestar—if he could do all that, everything else was easy. All he had to do then was climb in his viper and go off and join his buddies in the suicidal battle against the Cylons. Not to worry, he told himself, everything was just hunky-dory.

A second, more powerful explosion rocked the tanker.

“Oh, no!” Cassiopeia yelled, looking out the side window. Starbuck could see fire reflections on the glass and he knew immediately that something down on the Carillon surface, perhaps the mine itself, was on fire, and perhaps setting off chain reactions all along the surface of the planet. He aimed the tanker for a particularly dark cloud. As he went into it, he passed a Cylon warship coming out. He could sense it swinging around to follow, even though he now could see nothing but cloud outside any portal.

 

Apollo sliced a Cylon ship into ragged, burning fragments. Glancing to his left, he saw Jolly’s plane in trouble.

“Look out on your wing, Jolly,” he cried.

“Which one,” Jolly responded. “They’re coming in from all over the place. They’re—”

Jolly was interrupted by a hit on his tail. His fighter started rocking from side to side.

“There’s too many of ’em, Skipper,” Greenbean shouted.

“What do you mean, too many?” Jolly said. “I’m here, aren’t I? Watch out at three o’clock, Skipper.”

Apollo evaded the Cylon with a sweep left, a quarter turn and a spin to the right. Coming out of the spin, he opened fire, cleaving his attacker across the middle. Both pieces started to go out of control and fall toward Carillon. Another Cylon fighter started tracking his wake and firing, and he put his viper into a reverse loop, coming down on the Cylon from above and running a line of fire along the top of the entire aircraft. A sudden explosion and the Cylon ship had been instantly transfigured to debris.

In the distance he could see one of the fighters of the Blue squadron shattering under the fire of eight Cylon attackers.

“Don’t think we can hold out much longer, Captain,” Jolly shouted. “Monk just bought it.”

“Do your best.”

“I’m doing miracles, sir, but it’s not—”

Jolly’s sentence got cut off by a trio of swooping Cylons. Apollo couldn’t wait around to see the outcome of the attack, because he was abruptly faced by a dozen of the enemy trying to make him the spoke of their pinwheel attack.

 

A bridge officer reported to Adama that four of the Cylon ships that had sneaked onto the surface of Carillon were now emerging from the cloud cover, apparently to join the alien armada and attack the Galactica’s squadron from behind. However, they did not count on the artillery on the Galactica and the luxury liner Rising Star. Catching the Cylon craft as they attempted a flyby, both large ships opened fire with long-range beams. The four ships exploded almost simultaneously. The crews on the Galactica bridge cheered.

“Another unidentified vessel approaching,” Tigh said. “Looks like, yes, it’s one of those Ovion freighters. Could they be launching an attack? Might be trouble. Should I order it fired on?”

“NO!” screamed Athena from the communications console. “It’s Starbuck. He just radioed. He’s bringing a Tylium load.”

“A Tylium load. Here? In the middle of combat?” Tigh said, incredulous.

Adama laughed, a bizarre sound to the crew around him, who had not heard him laugh so heartily for some time.

“That’s Starbuck. Prepare the landing deck. Well, prepare it!”

The bridge crew sprang into action.

“Oh, no!” Athena screamed, as she stared at the scanner screen.

Just beyond the tanker a Cylon fighter had broken from the Carillon cloud cover, heading directly for Starbuck’s ship.

“No, he can’t be killed!” Athena yelled.

From another corner of the screen a viper, just launched from the Galactica, appeared.

“That’s Boomer’s ship,” Tigh cried.

Boomer’s viper raced on a course to intercept the Cylon that was zeroing in on Starbuck. On the Galactica’s bridge, everybody held their breaths simultaneously. Just as it seemed the Cylon fighter would open fire on the tanker. Boomer guided his ship to a position in between the Cylon and the tanker, and opened fire. In a second the Cylon ship was a collection of specks that looked like momentary jamming interference on the viewing screen. Another cheer went up from the bridge crew.

“Look at that, will you, Tigh?” Adama said, pointing to the screen. Then he gestured toward other screens showing Cylon aircraft being hit by the smaller but more maneuverable Colonial Fleet vipers. “We’re doing it. This ship, it’s, I don’t know, it’s—”

“Coming back to life,” Athena said, coming up beside her father.

“That’s exactly it, it’s as if the Galactica’s been sick, tainted by running away from the battle. Now we’re proving ourselves again, we’re—”

“Wait!” Tigh said. “Listen!”

He turned up a volume switch. Boomer’s voice literally boomed throughout the bridge.

“Hey you guys, move over. Let me have some of this.”

“Boomer!” Apollo said. “Where you been?”

“You know darn well where I’ve been. On your lousy milk run.”

On the screen Boomer’s viper started blasting at a trio of Cylon ships, all of which seemed to explode at the same time.

“Boom… boom… boom,” Boomer said.

“Hey Boomer,” Apollo said. “Welcome home.”

Apollo’s ship streaked into the picture. His and Boomer’s craft seemed to touch wings as they headed toward a line of Cylon fighters.

“Hey guys,” Jolly shouted, “we’ve got a fighting chance.”

“You know it!” Boomer shouted. “In a minute we’re gonna be filling this sky with fire!”

Adama turned toward Tigh.

“Jolly’s right,” he said. “We’ve got more than a chance. Are all our people back on board?”

“When Starbuck gets here with the fuel freighter, that oughta be everybody. Nobody else reporting in from Carillon. Things are bad down there anyway. Explosions.” Tigh paused. “God, we lost a lot of people down there.”

Adama nodded.

“Yep,” he said, “and all that I can think of to say is, we’ve seen worse. Not very comforting. But we’re turning it around now. I can feel it. We’ll get those slimy—the Galactica’s alive again, do you understand, Tigh, do you?”

Tight looked at his commander as if he thought him on the verge of madness, but he nodded agreement anyway.

On the screens Cylon ships were blowing up all over the sky, as the human pests inside their vipers slipped in and out of the enemy’s traps.

Concentrating their attention on a separate screen, Adama and Athena watched Starbuck’s approach to the landing deck.

“Easy, boy,” Adama muttered.

“Don’t blow it now, bucko, please, please don’t blow it now,” Athena whispered.

The tanker seemed too large, too bulky for a smooth landing, especially under the present battle conditions.

“He’s got to make it, Dad!” Athena cried.

“You’re right there. If he doesn’t, there’ll be a hole in the side of this battlestar big enough to send it out of commission for a good long time, maybe forever. Watch it, Starbuck. That’s right. Good. Easy, now.”

One miscue, one bad bounce on the Galactica’s deck, and the tanker was sure to explode. And Starbuck was already notorious for flashy landings. Just before the ship made contact with the deck, both Adama and Athena inhaled sharply and audibly.

“C’mon, bucko,” Tigh whispered.

Starbuck eased the tanker onto the deck so smoothly, so delicately, the fuel ship appeared weightless. When it gently glided to a stop, another unanimous cheer went up from the bridge crew. Adama could not help smiling.

“Precision flying?” Athena said to him.

“Exactly!” Adama shouted.

Starbuck ran down the gangway as the crew began unloading the tanker, rapidly but delicately. Athena’s jubilant mood was momentarily diminished when she saw the tall socialator, looking quite self-satisfied, follow Starbuck down the gangway. But her anger was brief. At least Starbuck was alive. That was what counted.

 

* * *

 

Starbuck joined the battle by paying back Boomer his favor. One after the other he wiped out four Cylon ships that had Boomer caught in a pinwheel attack.

“Anybody want to fly over and touch me for luck?” Starbuck yelled.

“Starbuck….” Apollo said.

“Yo!”

“On your tail.”

He looked over his shoulder. A Cylon fighter coming in from each side.

“Nothing to worry about,” he said. But a Cylon laser torpedo came too close and the explosion sent Starbuck’s ship rocking. He banked it over and away from the pair of Cylons, who continued pursuit.

“Boomer,” Apollo said, “you give him a hand?”

“Again? Well, I’m trying.”

Boomer swung over and began firing.

“Don’t take too long, Boomer,” Starbuck said.

Another explosion shook Starbuck’s ship. Boomer got the attacker in his sights and pulled the trigger with a vengeance. The Cylon fighter made a thousand beautiful little pieces.

“C’mon, Starbuck, Boomer,” Apollo yelled. “Let’s triple-team ’em.”

The three fighters quickly formed a triangular formation much like the one they’d used in blazing the path through the mine field, and they swept down together on the wall of Cylon ships, shooting left and right, up and down. Cracks seemed to form in the Cylons ranks. A series of explosions joined many of the close-flying craft. Apollo, Starbuck, and Boomer all together went into a tight turn and fled the counterattack.

“That’s a few for the Atlantia,” Starbuck said.

“And for Zac,” Apollo said.

Other vipers from the Red and Blue squadrons came together and blasted away at the Cylon spacecraft. The wall of menace was quickly becoming a wall of fire and shattered fighters, Starbuck thought, as he swooped down on still another sitting duck target.

 

* * *

 

On the bridge the reports came in so fast that they were difficult to assimilate. Adama felt at the center of a vast network of communications.

“Commander! Scanner shows a series of mammoth explosions on the surface of Carillon. Half the planet is blowing up, looks like!”

A screen displayed the large fires on the planet’s surface. Another one showed many explosions occurring in the sky above the mine.

“What’re those?” Adama asked.

“Not sure, but we think it’s the rest of the Cylon war party that sneak-attacked us down there. Appears they all didn’t take off before the mine explosions started.”

“Commander,” Tigh report, “the Cylon Supreme Star Force seems to be retreating, at least for the moment. Should we give pursuit? All our pilots are begging to pursue.”

Adama wanted to give the order to pursue, but it was too dangerous to let the vipers get too far away from the main fleet.

“No,” he said, “we must conserve our resources. There’s too much to do yet.”

“Should I order the vipers to return to base?”

“No, we better go out and meet them. Contact the Rising Star and the other ships. Tell them we’re all heading through the minefield corridor. We’ve got to get out of this trap, then set all ships for the hyperspace jump back. I don’t know for sure what’s going on down on Carillon, but we can’t afford to take chances—we’ve got to get moving in case the whole planet blows up. It gets any worse down there and, what with a working minefield on one side and an exploding planet on the other, we’d be between the devil and the deep blue.”

“Yes, sir,” Tigh said. “I’m on it.”

Adama raced around the bridge as they set their course for the minefield corridor. He barked orders, directing the assembling of the fleet, the tricky flight through the minefield, and the subsequent landing of the flight squadrons.

 

The new crisis developed almost as soon as all the ships were outside the minefield. The Cylons had reassembled, rebuilt their attacking wall, and were heading back toward the fleet.

Adama turned to Apollo.

“All right, Captain,” he said, “what’s our potential? Can we give them a good fight, Apollo?”

Apollo punched out the information on the board below the main scanner, examined the data that came up on the screen.

“I’m afraid not, sir. There’s still too many of them. In the long run, they’d wear us down. If we hadn’t just been through a fight, we might be able to do something, but just now—”

“All right, all right. After the last time, I hate like hell to retreat from another battle. I don’t want the military record of the Galactica to be tainted again.”

“Sir, it’s hardly taint when we’re saving what’s left of the human race.”

“That’s what I said the first time.”

“You have the knack of always being right.”

Apollo and Adama exchanged smiles. Adama saw, over his son’s shoulders, that his daughter endorsed Apollo’s words.

“And anyway,” Starbuck interjected, “you know the old maxim: we’re not retreating, we’re just advancing in another direction.”

“All right then, we’ll make the hyperspace jump in—”

“Sir, there isn’t time,” Tigh said. “The Cylons’ll close in on us before we can all make the jump. We have to set up a diversionary action.”

“The Red squadron’ll take care of that,” Apollo said, then waited for Adama’s response. After a brief moment, the commander nodded agreement.

“All right,” he said, “but the Galactica’ll be the last ship to make the jump. Rest of the fleet’ll go first. Apollo, you take your squadron out there and stall them, then get back here in time for the jump. Those are your orders.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Apollo began running to the elevators leading to the bridge, shouting back to Starbuck at the communications console, “Assemble Red!”

“Jolly and Greenbean’re gonna love this,” muttered Starbuck as he set the alert claxon ringing.

There was a moment of quiet on the bridge as everybody watched the pilots scrambling toward their launch cribs, and the fighters, now refueled and made ready by the Galactica’s efficient flight crews, starting down the tubes.

Suddenly, as if to add insult to injury, Tigh shouted out, “Oh, my God!”

“What is it, Tigh?”

“This is terrible. I just sent a message back through the secret transmission channel to the rest of the fleet, the ships we left behind. They sent back this.” He waved the report under Adama’s nose. “An attack against them has just commenced. A group of Cylon warships’re surrounding them and’ve begun firing.”

“Have they any chance?”

“If they can hold off until we make the jump back there.”

Adama turned toward Starbuck.

“Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Assemble the Blue Squadron. I want it ready for a fight as soon as we make the jump.”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

Starbuck, waving back at Athena, made his run to the elevators.

For the next few minutes, as the fleet made preparations for the hyperspace jump, and Apollo’s squadron blasted away at the Cylon attackers, and the Blue squadron made ready then settled themselves into gee-couches for the hyperspace jump, the bridge of the Galactica was ablaze with activity.

The timing had to be exact, and it was. As Apollo’s squadron returned to the Galactica after their hit-and-run assault, the initial prejump mechanisms were set. After the returning pilots were safely ensconced in gee-couches, the jump was made.

A long moment passed, then suddenly the Galactica found itself in the middle of the Cylon attack on the rest of the fleet ships. Starbuck and his squadron raced to their launch cribs, boarded their ships, and catapulted themselves into the battle. The Cylons, so adept at ambush, seemed surprised at finding themselves under sudden and unexpected fire.

 

If the Cylon’s Imperious Leader could have viewed the battle activity aboard the Galactica, he would have been struck by the contrast on his own ship. Even the messages along his communication network had dwindled since the humans had begun fighting back, and winning. The losses on the Cylon side had no correspondence with any defeats in their previous history. Since his third-brain had more time than usual to contemplate the nature of his defeat, he could trace his mistakes quite far back. It occurred to him that his supreme mistake seemed to be dealing with humans in the first place. However he tried to interpret the meaning of the defeat, his mind returned to the havoc wrought by the human pest.

The universe had been in order until the humans had started asserting themselves. Even then, the Cylons had avoided actual encounters for some time. When they had tried to convince the humans to leave those areas in space they had usurped, the humans had not listened to reason. There had been no solution but war. Although the Cylons had made the first attack, it was in fact the humans who had precipitated the war by their stubborn interference in Cylon affairs and their refusal to give up their colonies and go back to whatever sector of the universe they came from.

The leader tapped the memories of previous leaders and examined every dealing the Cylons had had with the enemy. They were like a disease, these humans. Once they had infected an area with their presence, there was no cure; the disease spread until it touched all life forms. In that way they had infected the Cylons and brought them to this low point in their history.

The defeat of both Cylon task forces by the small contingent of human fighters had shocked the leader, especially the way his ships had fallen prey to the diversionary action of Captain Apollo and his crew. Embarrassing. The leader felt a pang of anger when he thought of Apollo—the man was, after all, the son of the hated Commander Adama, the prime source of all the human victories. Who would have expected, for example, that he would return to his near-derelict ships traveling slowly through space and ambush the Cylon attackers—the final horrendous defeat that Imperious Leader now had to consider. The whole campaign might have been salvaged if it had not been for those two men, Apollo and Adama. It was the leader’s keenest desire now to rid space of these two reckless humans. He would experience great pleasure if he could personally torture the two men, father and son.

Well, he still had a chance at killing Apollo and Adama.

But, no, it was wrong to think such hateful, vengeful thoughts. It was unworthy of the possessor of a third-brain. He should not be brooding over the series of defeats, he should be planning the new strategies of attack.

Gradually, the truth of his position dawned on him. Any other Imperious Leader, realizing the import of the defeats he had suffered, would have resigned the position immediately and ordered his own death. It was the only logical thing to do. His death should be the price for allowing the humans to survive when their annihilation had been certain. But he could not do that. No, he must survive. It was essential. He must pursue the hateful Adama and Apollo, and the rest of their verminous race, to whatever part of the universe they would now travel to, with their renewed strength and their supplies of new fuel. All reports indicated that, after the defeat of the Cylons, they had taken their hyperspace and hyperspace-converted craft and vanished from their formerly camouflaged pocket of space. They had not been located since. Well, he would locate them. And he would go after them again. And he would slaughter them. He could not die until that final annihilation had taken place. He could not allow himself the questionable privilege of suicide as a historical failure.

It occurred to him that other leaders would not have had these qualms about giving up the position and dying. They would not have hated, they would not have desired revenge so obsessively. Why was he driven so, he wondered. And suddenly he knew why. He had been dealing with the humans so long, thinking like a human so long, that he had become like a human. His desire for revenge was quite humanlike. That was the final defeat, perhaps, that he had become like his enemy. Well, so be it. He would destroy what had become human within him by destroying the humans themselves. Adama, he would kill personally. For now he must wait.

 

Adama raised his silver goblet to signal a toast. All around the table that formed a circle in the middle of the bridge, the crew, civilians, and council became quiet. He took a moment to gaze at them, then past the gathering at the starfield portal beyond them. It seemed as if the stars in this part of space glittered more than any he had ever seen. He felt optimistic, hopeful.

“I toast our victories and the achievement of our goals,” he began.

“Hear, hear,” said Councilor Anton, who was sitting to Adama’s right.

“And I ask you to remember for a moment the various men and women who died in the Cylon invasion of the twelve worlds and the subsequent events in which the members of the Galactica fleet acted so valiantly.”

During the moment of silence many of the assemblage bowed their heads in prayer. Adama resumed his speech.

“I hope that out of this—all this tragedy—will come some good. I am sure we have not seen the end of treachery, either human like Count Baltar or alien like the Cylons.”

He glanced toward Sire Uri, who slid down a bit in his seat, secretly glad not to be included on the commander’s list of villains. Perhaps his resignation from the council had soothed Adama’s anger toward him.

“I wish to take this occasion,” Adama continued, “to officially announce my acceptance of the job as president of the council, and thank you for electing me.”

“We didn’t elect you,” Councilor Anton interjected. “We merely took back and tore up your resignation.”

“Be that as it may, I thank you. Now we go seeking a place for our race, a place to settle and people in peace. A place in the universe where we can test our potentials again. Perhaps we may find it on the planet our mythology calls Earth. I see no one scoffs when I mention Earth this time. Perhaps now you believe that our little ragtag fleet can do it, can perform this lonely quest as we flee from Cylon tyranny, discover anew the shining planet Earth. Ladies and gentlemen, as a toast I give you… hope.”

They all drank and the meal, a simple feast prepared from food grown in their agricultural project during their brief stay on Carillon, commenced. Many in the company marveled at how much better this simpler fare was than the exotic delicacies fed them by the Ovions. The councilors, especially, agreed. Paye, through blood analysis, had established that Lotay had drugged the councilor’s foods, making them susceptible to ideas they would not otherwise have entertained.

Serina, seated two places away from Adama, leaned his way and spoke.

“You really do believe we can find this place, this Earth, don’t you, Commander?”

“Yes, I do. I realize what you’re implying with your journalistic question, Serina—that we are chasing a dream. Sometimes dreams are worth the chasing. Along the way, who can say what we may find, what we may learn.”

“Don’t mistake me, Commander. I am on your side.”

“I appreciate your saying that. There have been times recently when I was not entirely sure who was on my side, including some who were quite close to me.”

Athena put a consoling hand on her father’s arm, and Apollo nodded.

“But let’s not, while everything is tranquil and our needs are being adequately supplied, dwell on such matters. It is a time for joy.”

“I’m all for that,” Starbuck said.

“Yes, aren’t you?” Athena said, with a meaningful glance toward Cassiopeia, who was seated across from her.

“I am at peace with you,” Cassiopeia said.

“See that you stay that way.”

“No.”

Athena glared at her, then broke out laughing.

“Okay,” she said, “you’re on.”

“You sound like me,” Starbuck said.

“Ten to one I don’t,” Athena said.

“Hey Starbuck,” Boomer called from a seat farther down the table, “when you going to pay me off for saving your life out there?”

“But I saved your life right after that.”

“And I saved your life again right after that, bucko.”

“Swallow your fuel line, Boom-Boom.”

Starbuck and Boomer’s performance added to the party’s festive air.

Apollo leaned toward Serina and whispered, “This is supposed to be a celebration. You look a bit down in the mouth.”

“Does it show?”

“Yes, it does, and you’re too pretty to look sad.”

“Drop the military strategy, please. You know I’m receptive to you without it.”

“Sorry, can’t easily get rid of my military instincts.”

“Try.”

Apollo smiled. Serina could barely resist that smile.

“Sure,” he said. “But you haven’t explained the sad look, Serina.”

She looked down at her plate of food, swirled an asparagus stalk around with her fork.

“Well, it’s—it’s Boxey. You know how close I am to him, and, well, I just can’t be happy with him so miserable.”

“I noticed he didn’t look so cheerful out in the hallway not long ago. What’s wrong?”

“It’s Muffit Two. Boxey’s moping about losing him.”

Apollo hit his forehead with the palm of his hand.

“I forgot! How could I? I promised him I would—”

Serina touched Apollo’s arm.

“You couldn’t be expected to do anything about it, not with battles going and—”

“But I did do something. Where’s Wilker? Wilker? Where are you?”

From far down the table the doctor yelled back, and stood up.

“Did you bring it?” Apollo asked.

“Of course,” Wilker hollered back. “Just waiting for you to tell me what to do with it.”

Wilker held up a large leather case.

“All right,” Apollo said, and turned back to Serina. “Where’s Boxey now?”

“I’ll get him.”

Serina was gone only a short time. She came back, dragging the obviously reluctant boy by the arm. Boxey appeared very downcast.

“Hey trainee,” Apollo said, “what’s got you down?”

As he addressed the boy, he signalled Wilker to come down the table.

“I’m okay. I wanta go back to my cubicle,” Boxey said.

“But you’re invited to our victory feast,” Apollo said.

“Don’t want anything to eat. I’m not hungry.”

“Okay, we’ll let Muffy take your place.”

“Apollo!” Serina hollered.

“Doctor Wilker, you got the goods?”

“Right here.”

“Open the case.”

The doctor opened the case, and Muffit Two hopped out, right onto a plate of mashed potatoes. Extricating his paws from the food, he leaped into Boxey’s waiting arms. The boy’s face was completely transformed; his eyes glowed with happiness.

“You were saying?” Apollo asked Serina.

“What did you do?”

“Easy. Muffy’s a droid, after all. All Doctor Wilker here had to do was straighten out a few wires, replace a few parts, patch on a new bit of fur here and there… right, doc?”

“It’s a fairly easy repair job.”

“Yes, and the doctor here has a Humpty-Dumpty complex. He makes sure everything gets put back together. The doctor’s better than all the king’s men and all the—”

“Oh shut up, Apollo, and let me hug you,” Serina said.

Boxey, still holding Muffy, squeezed in at the table between Serina and Apollo. He managed to shovel quite a few spoonsful of food into his mouth. Serina raised a glass to Apollo and her mouth formed the words, thank you, my love.

Adama smiled at the happy Serina. She raised her glass again and addressed the commander.

“To Earth,” she said.

 

 

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