Chapter 9 - Tuesday, 31 July 1979

The last couple of months had been both strange, exciting, and a bit frustrating for Dr. Pyotr Baranovich. He, and his wife, Natalia, had been assigned to lead the technical effort for developing a new Soviet fighter/interceptor, the MiG31, as the chief project scientist. Yet that project had been suddenly set aside for a new one, to understand the technologies comprising a completely alien, albeit human, highly advanced aerospace fighter now sitting in the maximum security hanger at the Bilyarsk Air Base.

The first few weeks had him just visually inspecting and measuring the craft and noting down any defining features it had. Many photographs were taken and the ground servicing ports, presumably for fuel, power, and other consumables were identified. Photos were also taken of the cockpit area noting the craft's controls and pilot fittings. Obviously removable items were retrieved such as the craft's survival kit. The damage from where the Sary Shagan laser had struck the craft was inspected and material samples of the craft's hull in the damaged section were obtained for analysis. It was hoped that the damage could be repaired using terrestrially sourced materials. Translation assistance then started to come in. Slowly, as the ship's onboard computer was at last accessed, operations and maintenance manuals were outlined for the craft which he was later told was called a gadyuka, or Viper.

Then, yesterday he had sat in a hanger with his wife and coworkers to hear the pilot of the Viper tell his tale of a human civilization that once existed far across the galaxy and of their defeat, following a long and exhausting war, by a race of intelligent, malevolent machines. Then it was announced that a new, secret organization had been authorized by the Politburo for defending the Earth, and the Soviet State, from the machines. He had spent most of the previous evening discussing these events with his wife.

The surprises continued this morning as he had been called to see Colonel Kontarsky at his office. There he learned that Starbuck practiced a faith very similar to Judaism, particularly the prohibition against eating pork. The KBG Chairman himself had requested that he be introduced to the Baranoviches. He and his wife were to begin hosting Starbuck for Sabbath evening dinners and to provide him meals at other times "as convenient". This was in an effort to make him feel more welcome and more cooperative with the work being done to understand Starbuck and his vehicle. Though such "suggestions" from the State Security apparachick were to be thought of as more than suggestions. It was acceptable for him to be introduced to Dr. Semelovsky too since all of them had been working on the MiG and had passed the security screening, despite their tendency toward being dissidents because they wanted to freely observe their Jewish faith. From the beginning of their participation in the MiG project the KGB had kept a close eye on them. This had caused a bit of resentment from the otherwise loyal Baranoviches. Pyotr had hope that Kontarsky's message from the Chairman was a signal that the KGB surveillance would be eased.

The Eternal is not a liar, Baranovich thought regarding Starbuck's reported faith. He is consistent in His message to mankind, either here or across to the galaxy. The message of His salvation is the same. Praise the Eternal One.

A set of keys, very old keys, lay on Baranovich's desk. He had placed them there when he had returned to his office. Bilyarsk once had a small Jewish community and a synagogue. With the advent of Communism the facility was closed and its contents impounded or destroyed. Baranovich was completely surprised when Kontarsky had presented the keys of the Bilyarsk Synagogue to him after giving him his instructions regarding Starbuck. He could sense Kontarsky's reluctance, but reverently had accepted the keys. Baranovich contemplated the keys for a moment, then picked them up and walked from his office to his wife's.

"Privet, milaya", he announced while stepping into her office. "Hi, honey,"

"For what do I owe this visit?" she asked with an impish grin.

"For Sabbath, we shall have a guest for dinner. A very unusual guest."

"Okay…" Natalia replied with some confusion and curiosity.

"Lieutenant Starbuck will be our guest," he said after a pregnant pause. "And look at this," he said while showing her the keys in his hand. Her eyes about popped out of her head when she realized what the keys were for.

"How? Why?" she stammered, taking them from his hand. "And Anastasia will be home for the weekend from University."

"I know. Chairman Andropov, himself, has ordered this." Pyotr said. "Our Torah is being returned along with the other impounded things."

"Praise the Eternal One," Natalia said, still stunned by the suddenness of Pyotr's announcements. "When do we tell the Rabbi?"

"Later, after we go home."

"Okay," she said.

0

Friday, 3 August 1979

It was late in the afternoon, after work hours, when Kontarsky stopped his Moskvitch in front of a small house in the Bilyarsk Air Base housing area. Starbuck looked around the area and saw small, modest houses with well-kept yards. Trees, shrubs, and flowers decorated the lawns in tasteful manners.

"Here we are," Kontarsky announced while shutting off the car's engine and opening his door. The two men stepped up to the house's front door. The door opened after Kontarsky knocked on it.

"Dobryy vecher, tovarishchi," Pyotr Baranovich said pleasantly. "Good evening, Comrades. Please come in."

"Spasiba," both guests replied. They stopped just inside where Starbuck saw that several pairs of shoes and slippers were sitting on the floor next to a small bench. One pair of slippers looked new and were set apart from the others.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant," Baranovich said while extending his hand.

"Likewise," Starbuck replied while giving him a firm handshake and a smile.

"Comrade Doctor," Kontarsky began. "Thank you for allowing Lieutenant Starbuck to visit with you this evening." He left out saying that the meeting is per the KGB Chairman's orders as they had already discussed.

"The pleasure is ours," Baranovich replied while picking up the new slippers. "You can use these while you are here." Understanding, Starbuck took the slippers and sat on the bench to remove his boots.

"I must return home to dine with my family," Kontarsky told Starbuck. "So, when you are ready to return to your apartment please call the base security duty desk."

'Okay," Starbuck replied. "Thanks for driving me over." He had gotten to know the KGB officer fairly well since arriving at Bilyarsk, and Kontarsky had earned his grudging respect over that time. Starbuck had learned that the Soviet Union was not the Eastern Alliance, despite their external similarities. They were not devoted to fanatical theories about race and purity. He'd learned about the hardships the Eastern Slavic peoples had suffered throughout their collective history: from the steppe nomads such as the Petchenegs, Turks, Mongols, and Tartars; invading Arabs; the Teutonic Knights of the "Middle Ages", as they were reckoned; the French under Napoleon, and the Germans in World Wars I and II. They were a people that had suffered and overcame many external threats.

Not unlike the Colonies.

Starbuck did not agree with the ideology of Communism; their intense obsession with social collectivism, economic and otherwise, and especially their oppression of political dissent. His respect for Kontarsky also flowed from learning how the Soviets and the West were in a constant low level struggle, and how the KGB, or Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti, the Committee for State Security, was tasked to protect the Soviet State and society from encroaches from "The West". Kontarsky couched his work, given the history of the Slavic peoples, as an effort to make their own way in the world without outside interference, though he had heard quiet rumors that their methods oftentimes resembled those the Cylons might employ. Starbuck stood after changing his flight boots for the provided slippers.

"Yest' khoroshiy vecher, Starbuck. Have a good evening," Kontarsky said before returning to his car.

"Please follow me," Pyotr said. Starbuck followed him, and his nose, further into the house to the dining area. In the adjacent kitchen, he saw two women preparing food. Starbuck assumed the older lady to be Madam Baranovichova, the other appeared to be their daughter. Madam Baranovichnova stopped what she was doing and smiled at Starbuck.

"This is my wife, Natalia," Pyotr explained, "and my daughter, Anastasia. We have a son, Pyotr, who is away serving his two year service in the Red Army."

"Mne priyatno s vami poznakomit'sya," Starbuck greeted politely, hoping his Russian didn't sound like an upchucking Borellian Nomen. "I am pleased to meet you." He was briefly taken aback by Anastasia's appearance. She was average height for a woman in the Colonies, but her slender build, long black hair, currently in a ponytail, oval face, and kind eyes strongly reminded him of Commander Adama's daughter, Athena.

"I hope you enjoy your evening here," Madam Baranovichova replied. "We are looking forward to getting to know you." She and her daughter returned to preparing their evening meal.

"Chicken Kiev!" added Anastasia, tossing him a look over her shoulder.

"Please have a seat." Starbuck saw that some appetizers had been laid out on table. A bottle, shot glass tumblers, and glasses of water sat next to them. Pyotr opened the bottle and poured the two tumblers full.

"Vashe zdorov'ye. To your health," he said before downing his drink in one swallow.

"To your health," Starbuck replied, also downing his drink. Baranovich immediately refilled the tumblers.

After Starbuck's release from confinement, in addition to being assigned bachelor officer's quarters, he was provided a salary commensurate with his rank. He had spent some of his money at the base's officer's club. He had initially drunk alone, but over time, particularly after his big speech, the base's resident fighter pilots had warmed up to him. They had bought each other drinks and taught Starbuck several drinking songs. He had learned that Vodka was the quintessential Russian drink, but they also enjoyed their wine, Cognac, and beer.

Hades Hole, they loved their alcohol, he had then thought, and needed scant excuse to consume it!

He noted that the drink most like Ambrosia was the Cognac, though the carbonization was missing, while beer was quite similar to grog. Starbuck also wore his Warrior's uniform this evening, really almost everywhere he went on the base. He had not yet purchased a formal suit and few other clothes, though he planned to do so in the future. He did purchase an exercise outfit so he could participate in the daily calisthenics with the Soviet pilots.

Baranovich had though hard for the last few days about what to talk about with Starbuck. He didn't want to offend his guest, but he did want to get to know him, to find out what he liked and disliked, to see what kind of man he was. When he had thought about Starbuck's profession, space-fighter pilot, inspiration had struck him.

"Starbuck," he began. "What's it like out there? The cosmonauts get to go to space on their Soyuz rockets, but none have left Earth orbit. They go to the Salyut and conduct their experiments. The Americans have been to the Moon a few times, but you have…how do I say this?"

He took another sip at his vodka. Out of words because since he was small he had wondered about the cosmos. He had read the words of Tsiolkovsky, Oberth, Goddard, and even the fascist Von Braun. Because he was a Jew, and chose to practice his faith, he was excluded from participating in the Soviet space efforts. That, and the fact that his father had, for unexplained reason, run afoul of the State and been sent to and died in the Gulag during the Stalin Purges, had left the family with the taint of political unreliability. Still, he followed the exploits of the program. The wonder of space travel excited him like he was still a little boy. He had since proven himself, hence his current involvement in the Mig-31 program.

"What's it like to be alone in deep space in a miniature starship?" he finally asked. "That's what your Viper is, isn't it? A fusion powered miniature starship?"

Understanding showed on Starbuck's face. He was sitting across from a man that had the same feelings Apollo had about space exploration. A feeling he also shared, just not as strongly. "In short, it's wonderful," Starbuck replied with his trademark grin. "That's one of the reasons why I joined the Fleet as soon as I could after I left my orphanage."

"You're an orphan?"

"Yeah," sadness briefly spread itself over Starbuck's face. "My family was killed during a Cylon attack on Caprica when I was a young boy. Our small community, an agro settlement called Umbra, was wiped out, and I was one of the survivors. I was barely five yahrens…uh, years old. That's the other reason I joined the Fleet."

"So you could fight back."

"That's right." Starbuck finished his second tumbler of vodka in a gulp. It was immediately refilled. "Make the Cylons pay."

"What was life like in the Colonies?" Natalia asked from the kitchen. Starbuck turned in his chair so he could address all three. "Just like life here, I guess. We had agro stat...uh, farms, factories, universities, businesses, news and entertainment broadcasts, government…We're Human, with Human needs and wants. Caprica was in fact a lot like Earth, with similar climate and population."

"And in the Fleet?" Pyotr asked.

"Life was pretty tough during the evacuation. Most people literally escaped with just the clothes on their backs, many in ships so old and dilapidated they should never have been flying. I was part of the several teams of Warriors that surveyed the surviving ships, stores, and passengers." Starbuck felt like having another drink with the memories he was dredging up, but resisted. It wouldn't due to become intoxicated during his first visit with a friendly family. "The constant Cylon attacks didn't help matters. Eventually, life among the passengers settled down. Jobs were established for most, food supplies and other resources were secured, and personal spaces were created. Still, life is pretty hard for most. Many are crammed into ships that are completely unsuitable for passenger travel."

"What sort of ships?" asked Pyotr.

"Old freighters, some tankers, mining ships. One old warship that was about to be scrapped. Even a few luxury yachts. Pretty much the whole lot."

"So sad," Natalia commented from the kitchen. Pyotr decided to change the subject as it was getting quite depressing.

"Are there entertainments in the Fleet?" he asked. Starbuck brightened at the question.

"Sure are," we have what you would call a television network, Inter-Fleet Broadcasting, sports competitions, and other accommodations on the Rising Star. That's a former luxury cruise liner. I played on the Blue Squadron Triad team," he said proudly.

"What's that?" Anastasia asked from the kitchen.

Starbuck thought for a moment about the sports he had seen on the officer's club television set. "It's like your basketball played physically like your hockey."

"That sounds like a tough sport," Pyotr commented.

"It is, but Apollo and I were the champion Warrior team, the best in the Fleet," he said brightly. He decided to leave out reminisces of the late Ortega and his own trial for murder.

"Who's Apollo?" Pyotr asked.

"He's, he was, my squadron leader on the Galactica. Blue Squadron, Commander Adama's Strike force." Starbuck again thought wistfully about being back in the Fleet with his friends and colleagues. He picked up his tumbler and downed his third shot of the evening. Pyotr noticed that Starbuck had again become morose so he paused at asking questions and mirrored Starbuck by drinking from his own tumbler. A quick look at the clock showed that sunset was approaching.

"Starbuck," Pyotr began, "Colonel Kontarsky told me that the reason the Chairman wanted you to meet us was because you and we hold similar religious beliefs. What can you tell us about your faith?"

Starbuck sipped at his water to collect his thoughts. So this is why I was brought here. I thought that atheism was the official policy of the Soviet Union. He sat his glass down.

"I already mentioned that I was raised in an orphanage. Well, that particular orphanage was run by the Lord's Children's Homes."

"Lords?" asked Natalia.

"The ancient Lords of Kobol. The rulers of our people, before the founding of the Colonies, on the ancient mother world of Kobol. We worship the Creator God, but the Lords are a centerpiece of almost every religious offshoot or sect in the Colonies. Kind of like..." he thought a moment. "Like your ancient Hebrew Judges or Prophets." Starbuck had been provided with a Bible soon after his arrival. Like many things, this was per Andropov's orders. He had been reading it, both to learn of ancient Earth history, and to improve his Russian language skills. He had also been reviewing history books in the base's small library. "They were the political and religious leadership, in one person. After the Colonies were settled, each developed in its own way." He explained. "Naming it 'Lords' is not unlike how your churches are named for, uh...saints."

"Was it hard?"

"Most of the time," replied Starbuck, again bad memories flooded to the fore of his mind. "I really didn't pay much attention to the lessons the proctors tried to give us," Starbuck went on, "I was young. Life in the Colonial Fleet really didn't allow much religious observance. We were too busy fighting the Cylons. I'm sure military life here is much the same."

"The Soviet Union is officially atheist, but faith persists, even so," Pyotr said disapprovingly before he took a quick look at a clock. "It is time."

"We're done here," Natalia announced. Starbuck sat slightly bewildered. All the faiths in the Colonies observed the seventh day rest, but each had slight, or barely any, rituals associated with the beginning of the rest day. He also was surprised to know that the seventh day on Earth corresponded almost exactly with the Standard Colonial Calendar's seventh day. He was curious what his hosts would do next.

Pyotr retrieved a bottle of wine. Natalia brought two small loaves of bread, covered with a white cloth to the table while Anastasia brought four wine glasses and two candles. Natalia then lit one candle while her daughter lit the second. Starbuck stood as his hosts remained standing around the table. The two women covered their eyes with their hands and Natalia then began to pray. It was, he noticed, in a language other than Russian. Hebrew, they had called it.

"Barukh atah Adonai, Elohaynu melekh…Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who sanctifies us with his commandments, and commands us to light the candles of Shabbat."

Pyotr then opened the wine bottle and filled each of the glasses. Then he began to speak.

"And there was evening and there was morning, a sixth day," Pyotr began. "The heavens and the earth were finished, the whole host of them And on the seventh day God ended his work which he had made and he rested on the seventh day from all his work which he had made And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it because in it he had rested from all his work which God created and done.

Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who creates the fruit of the vine."

"Amen," his hosts replied.

"Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who sanctifies us with his commandments, and has been pleased with us. You have lovingly and willingly given us Your holy Shabbat as an inheritance, in memory of creation. The Shabbat is the first among our holy days, and a remembrance of our exodus from Egypt. Indeed, You have chosen us and made us holy among all peoples and have willingly and lovingly given us Your holy Shabbat for an inheritance. Blessed are You, who sanctifies the Shabbat."

"Amen," his hosts replied again. "Now we wash," Pyotr said before moving to the kitchen sinks to wash his hands. The others followed him. After that Pyotr uncovered the bread loaves and cut a piece for each.

"Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who brings forth bread from the earth."

"Amen," they all replied, Starbuck too, the ceremony taking him back to his days in the orphanage. There the beginning of the seventh day had been observed, but not like this. Commander Adama might like this, he thought as the women then brought the first course, Kabachi, marinated zuchinni and Borscht to the table.

Conversation remained light around the table as the family and guests ate their meal. After the first course the women brought the main course, the Chicken Kiev, rice, and cucumber salad. A desert of fresh fruit ended the meal.

"Now, let me ask you a question," Starbuck began while patting his very full belly. The copious wine with the meal after the earlier vodka filled him with a warm glow. "Obviously you are participating in the new organization Chairman Andropov announced a few days ago. Do you know what your role will be?

"Well," Pyotr said before a moment's thought. "Natalia and I were the chief project scientists for the MiG31 project. As you heard, all that work has been diverted toward the new effort."

"What's the MiG31?" Starbuck asked.

"It was to be a state of the art fighter-interceptor for the Soviet Air Force," Pyotr explained. "Before the MiG31 project Natalia and I worked on other aircraft development programs. We met at the Moscow State Institute of Physics and Technology."

"We were both students," Natalia added. "Pyotr was studying cybernetics and I was studying aerospace engineering."

As her parents continued to discuss their courtship, Anastasia picked up the table and took the leftover food and the dirty dishes to the kitchen. The poor guy, she thought as she stole another glance at their dinner guest. Several times during the evening she has seen the pained look on Starbuck's face. He's so far away from everything he has ever known. It's no wonder he feels lost. He probably had a girl back in his fleet too. She had also noticed his first glance at her earlier, a brief sense of recognition then pain. She must have looked like me, she pondered. As her parents further described their romance, she could see that the curiosity on Starbuck's face began to be clouded with loss. Don't they see how he is feeling? She quickly made a decision, refilled her wine glass, and moved to sit next to next to Starbuck at the table. Then she gave her parents a quick glare.

"Starbuck," she began. "It's a lovely evening. Let me show you around the house and yard."

Before he could object Anastasia had pulled him up by the arm and, hooked her arm around his, and led him out the back door of the house to the back yard.

"Let me see," she said while looking up at a nearly cloudless sky. It was a typical Russian summer evening. The temperature had just dipped below 18 C (65 F). "There, that's Sagittarius," while pointing toward the constellation. "My parents told me a little about you and your mission. They said that your former worlds and Fleet lie in that direction. Will they really arrive here in twenty years?" She didn't mention that a KGB officer had spoken to her before she had boarded the bus from Moscow to Bilyarsk.

"That's right. I just hope we can be ready to help my people when they get here." Starbuck was so lost in his emotions that he failed to notice that she was still holding him by the arm. The two continued to look up at the sky for a few minutes before Anastasia took him back into the house.