Chapter Fourteen

Apollo caught up with Starbuck just short of the first sensor module. If it wasn't for the minute glow at the end of his fumarello, and the dappled moonlight shining down on him, he might have missed him entirely, his friend was standing so still. The captain paused for a moment from a distance, taking a deep breath and drawing in the fresh air, instead of the pungent pollutant he had been steadily puffing on, in an all out attempt to repel the attack of blood-sucking insectons. Admittedly, it did seem to be working, certainly better than any repellent he'd ever used. He cocked his head to the side, watching Starbuck for a moment. Contrary to his claim, the lieutenant hadn't even looked at Dr. Wilker's electronic perimeter guard, at least not that he was aware of. He simply stared across a dark field, where the wind gently blew tall grasses that they could hear better than see beneath a dull lunar glow. Apollo shifted a centon later, beginning to feel as though he was spying on the other, yet somehow reluctant to interrupt his solitude.

Instinctively, Starbuck pivoted, his weapon abruptly in his hand. "Who's there?"

The captain raised his illuminator, increasing its beam and shining it on himself. "Just me." He moved forward slowly as Starbuck lowered his laser, and re-holstered it. "I thought you might want some company."

Starbuck merely nodded, turning back towards whatever it was he was studying so intently, his gaze fanning the landscape lazily. Apollo stopped beside him, extinguishing his light, and he scanned the area for potential points of tactical weakness and strength for both them, and the enemy. For a moment he wondered if he would ever be able to face nature so pristine, and not have to think about where the next Cylon was hiding. If he could ever just run carelessly through a field such as this one, holding his son's hand, or maybe Sheba's, and not have to think about survival, fate, the enemy, or where danger was most likely to be lurking. Finally, he simply took another breath of cool, crisp air, redolent with both familiar and unfamiliar scents. "What are you looking for?"

"Peace."

Well, he wasn't sure what he expected, but that definitely wasn't it. "Did you find it?"

Starbuck sniffed humourlessly. "You know, I finally realized . . . I don't think I'd recognize it." His blue eyes looked up to the stars. He nodded slowly and the hint of a smile settled on his lips as he tilted his head back. For a long moment, they just looked at the vast, glowing splash of stars that arced like some impossible canopy across the sky. "I guess up there is the closest I've come, really. I wonder how close freedom is to peace?"

"You find freedom up there?"

It took him almost a full centon to respond as he appeared to consider it. "Yeah."

Apollo nodded slowly. "Me too."

There was something almost intoxicating about being in space. One man, alone in his ship, and in every other direction, every which way . . . infinity. Of coarse, just when you had fooled yourself into believing and enjoying that, then the static of your comm unit stirred you from your reverie as your wingman, and your computer, warned you of targets on the scanner array. All on their way to kill you.

"She doesn't want to get sealed." It was a whisper, barely audible above the wind through the grass, or the distant sound of a lazily burbling stream. "She just . . .doesn't want to get sealed."

Apollo nodded, watching Starbuck's eyes continue to rake the night sky. They looked unusually bright, until he blinked several times and let out a long, haggard breath. Then he closed his eyes tightly, his hands curled into fists.

"You do," Apollo stated softly.

Starbuck slowly nodded, turning his head the other way and casually rubbing his eyes before he answered. "Pretty frackin' funny, huh? Considering."

Apollo reached over and squeezed his shoulder. Never before had he seen such naked vulnerability displayed so openly from this man, other than when he had found out that Apollo was running a background check on Chameleon. Then his feelings had been masked by an uncharacteristic rage. "She just needs time."

Starbuck raked his fingers back through his hair. "Yeah. Time."

"What are you going to do?" Apollo asked, dropping his hand and waiting patiently for his friend to think about it.

"What can I do?" He shook his head faintly and shrugged. "Give her time, I guess."

"And in the meantime everybody in the Fleet is going to be giving you grief about this," Apollo mentioned, bemused by the irony, but impressed that Starbuck had finally grown up, or so it appeared.

"Believe me, some have already started," Starbuck shrugged again, then looked searchingly at his friend. "So. What do you think it would take to get us couple's quarters?"

Apollo groaned. "You know that Adama won't approve."

"Ah, c'mon. People lived together all over the Colonies without being sealed. It's not exactly a new idea."

"But not in military funded quarters," Apollo frowned. "You know there's a code of ethics closely affiliated with the Regulation Manual . . . or maybe you missed that." Starbuck's lips narrowed at the words ethics and regulations. They had a nasty habit of getting in the way of a man's desires. "Lords, Starbuck, it was even worse when my father was sealed with my mother. He had to apply and wait for permission from the Service, and he had to have a certain amount of cubits in his personal account, not to mention his military pension account, just to prove he could take care of her financially."

"I know, I know . . . it's just so fracking Kobollian . . ." Then he frowned almost apologetically. "I mean, dated."

"You mean Kobollian." Apollo nodded soberly. "And you're right. Actually, I knew of a few couples that shared private military quarters. . . they just didn't let the Service in on it." He leaned back against a tree, and crossed his arms.

Starbuck paused, considering Apollo's words carefully, "Is that a suggestion?"

"You have the seniority, Starbuck. And you're an officer. As long as Luana retains a bunk in the billet, officially, you're not living together."

Starbuck turned to look at the captain. "Thanks. I really wasn't expecting . . ." His words trailed off as he dropped his gaze, looking over at the sensor array instead.

"I know." Apollo shrugged. "Lately, I seem to spend more time coming across as your commanding officer than your friend." After all, between Chameleon, Ama, and Dayton, Starbuck had enough people ministering to his conscience. He didn't need one more. "I'm working on it. I'm working on a few things." Sheba immediately came to mind.

Starbuck smiled at him and nodded once. He'd evidently noticed.

"However, it could have something to do with the amount of times you've been in Life Station since we were in orbit over Empyrean, buddy." Apollo raised a hand, glancing at the fumarello in it. He took a puff, watching Starbuck's lips curl up at the image of the straight laced captain smoking. "I'm seriously considering Boomer's idea of wrapping you in bubble wrap and taking out insurance."

"Just a run of good luck," Starbuck grinned, taking a drag on his own smoke. "You know me."

"Good luck?" Apollo asked in disbelief.

"There are only two ways to get out of Life Station, buddy." He pointed out logically. "And I'm still standing."

Apollo smiled. A decidedly Starbuckian point of view, but valid nonetheless. "Point conceded," he shrugged. He pointed to the scanner. "Did you ever . . .?"

"Yeah, it's fine." Starbuck shrugged. "I just needed to get away for a few centons."

"Fair enough." He pushed himself away from the tree. "C'mon, while we're out here, we'll patrol the perimeter. You know, actual warrior work. Maybe by the time we get back to camp, dinner will be ready."

"Black-Backed Bobak. I wonder what kind of nectar goes best with that?"

"We'll have to consult a Sommelier." Apollo returned with a laugh as he headed off.

"A what?" Starbuck chuckled, rotating his fumarello as he puffed on it. "So . . . what are the odds that we'll find one doing the perimeter check?"

"Well, if we can find Earthmen, and you're actually thinking about settling down and living with someone, then I truly believe that anything's possible." He ducked, as Starbuck directed a half-hearted swat in his direction.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Okay Lia, I'm picking up the Dynamos on my scanner," reported Jolly, studying his instruments. The flight into the system had been uneventful, the two of them following the Endeavour's ion trail. Now, the planet was coming into visual range, and it was down to business. "Do you have them?"

"Aye, Jolly. I have them. Altitude and orbits read as unchanged since we launched." She couldn't help but look out through her canopy, still expecting to see the objects as they appeared on the scanner. "How are we going to do this? Release them both, or one at a time?"

"Dr. Wilker would have my hide if we lost both of his precious units for no good reason. One at a time, the second only if necessary, and I'm going first."

"Yes, sir," Lia replied, looking over at his fighter. Sure enough the PMU, mounted to one of the Viper's torpedo launchers and looking like a lump stuck to her nose, seemed to float off the ship, as the automated locking mechanisms were released.

"Engaging." The tiny thruster on the PMU flared to life, and the machine accelerated away from the now nearly-stationary Vipers. "On course. ETA with Dynamo orbit. . .nineteen centons, four microns. . .now."

Lia glanced at the unit that had been hastily rigged into her control panel, which was currently dark. She sighed, frustrated with being in a holding pattern again while the diminutive unit headed to its target of the migrating Dynamos.

"Patience, Lia." Jolly reminded her.

"Hmm," she replied, already feeling the itch of impatience taking hold. Sagan's socks, but she wanted results now. "Are we safe to scan the planet's atmosphere? I'm curious to see if the movement of the Dynamos has left any obvious openings that we could squeeze through."

"Better wait to see how they react to the probes," Jolly replied after a moment's consideration. "We don't want to inadvertently activate that defence system again, do we? Not without more data than we already have."

"Of course not," she muttered, checking her chrono and verifying it with her Viper's computer. "Eighteen centons, huh?"

"It'll depend on whether or not the Dynamos alter their velocity in reaction to the PMU's." Jolly replied. "Doctor Wilker was muttering something about these Dynamos seeming to react to everything we try, as though they have their own artificial intelligence systems."

Lia felt a shiver run down her spine. "That's sounds eerily like the Cylons."

"Well, they're still not convinced that these things are out to get us. I wish they'd been able to find out something more useful from the Dynamos we retrieved at the pirate asteroid."

"What did they find out?" Lia asked.

"Nothing. They couldn't figure out how to take it apart. And with the danger of that unknown internal energy source, Wilker didn't want to risk breaking it open. No sense blowing up the Galactica and half the Fleet, and do the Cylons' job for them."

"Thank Triquetra that he realized that."

"Amen."

xxxxxxxxxx

Ryan paused at the entrance to the Empyrean Necromancer's quarters on the Malocchio Freighter. He held his hand up over the entry chime, hesitating as he prepared himself for an encounter with a woman that challenged beliefs that were ingrained in him after a life time. There was something about this woman that he just couldn't figure out, and wasn't really sure that he wanted to when it came right down to it.

The hatch slid open, and he jumped back reflexively, unnerved as he looked for some security device that would have foretold his arrival . . . and didn't find it.

With their tech, I might not have even seen it. That's it. Just technology.

"Come in, Paddy-Ryan." Ama's voice seemed to float out from the inner chamber much like light glittering on water, as though it was a life force all of its own.

He bit his lip and crossed the threshold, trying to remind himself that this woman, who, while unusual to say the least, had been nothing but kind and supportive to the Earthmen . . . in a weird hocus-pocus sort of way.

"Nice place." Ryan attempted, moving further into the candle lit chamber until he saw Ama sitting on a couch, patting the seat beside her. Succulent and tempting aromas wafted past him, and he saw that a table laden with delicacies awaiting him. He took his indicated place, glancing at the food and realizing it had been some time since he had eaten. His stomach growled loudly, as if in agreement.

"Thank you for coming, Paddy-Ryan." Ama smiled, leaning forward to pour him a tankard of dark brew. "How is Dick-Dickins doing?"

"Physically fine." Ryan nodded his thanks, waiting for the Empyrean woman to pour herself an equal measure of the ale and raise her tankard to him before he took a sip. It had a rich flavour all its own, hearkening him back to a certain microbrewery he used to frequent back home. "Lordy Ama, but that's good."

"My newest brew. Fortunately, this one seems to have been a success." Then she frowned as she asked, "Physically fine?" She fanned a hand over the table, indicating he help himself to the food.

"The doc said there isn't any permanent brain or tissue damage that they can detect, but he's still damn depressed. He's supposed to see a shrink for a psychological evaluation." He frowned.

"A shrink?" Ama asked with a bemused smile.

"Sorry, another Earth term." He picked up a round, golden brown tidbit, covered in luscious sauce, and popped it into his mouth, groaning in pleasure at the unique and utterly unfamiliar taste. "Derived from headshrinker. Headhunters were savages that used to dry and shrink the heads of their enemies as trophies, like a medal of honour to your people or mine. It was supposed to paralyse the soul of the victim so he couldn't make it to the afterlife and take revenge on his murderer's ancestors, or exact revenge on his murderer in this life. It was specific to a tribe of Ecuadorians called the Jivaro Indians, whose very name at one time was synonymous with violent death and all manner of other disagreeable traditions."

"Recent in your history?" Ama raised her eyebrows.

"Well, it's all relative, Ama. They weren't exactly what my people would refer to as civilized. Running around half-naked in the jungle, and living in huts."

"So, your own society didn't approve?" Ama asked.

"My society made it worse." Ryan admitted. "Keep in mind that this was a good eighty or so years before we launched the Endeavour, and at that time, there were still many parts of our planet that were virtually inaccessible to what we would have considered 'civilised man'. Air travel was in its infancy, and some places could be reached only by dugout canoe, or foot. So when this tribe and their trophies were first discovered, our people had a horrible fascination with the novelty of the practice. As a result, so-called civilised people started trading weapons for shrunken heads. They became curios, as well as filling museums and even private collections. And since the Jivaro wanted weapons to make war on their tribal neighbours to acquire additional territory, they happily met the demand. Finally, that country's government had to step in, but not to prevent the practice of shrinking heads, as you or I might assume, but to stop the trade of the same."

"Are you trying to shock me, Paddy-Ryan?" Ama asked, taking a deep drink from her tankard, and swallowing a full third of its contents, as was customary. She looked at him over the rim, eyebrow raised.

"Like the Colonials, we have a violent history. But for us it was man against man, not man against machine. There's no counting the people who have died in all our stupid wars."

"It you looked back far enough in Colonial history, you would likely find the same. Unfortunately, much ancient recorded history was lost in the Destruction. I'm not certain that any Pre-Kobollian history has survived. We'd far rather discuss our intellectual and social development, than any unpalatable past." She smiled, passing him a plate of breaded ovinian bites delicately seasoned with fresh herbs. "I notice Commander Dayton seems to avoid such tales."

"He probably thinks you'll hold it against us," Ryan shrugged. "Come to Earth, land of the Javaro Indian. We have lots of headspace." He waggled his eyebrows and then crossed his eyes before helping himself to another bite. "In answer to your original question, psycho-therapy has always been looked on with some level of scepticism as an actual science, thus the reason we refer to them as shrinks."

"The Human mind is complex and mysterious, indeed. We are still far from realizing our full potential in many areas."

"I get the idea you've progressed a little further than the average bear." He grinned at her look of enquiry, thinking back to Yogi Bear and his pick-a-nic basket. "Never mind. Now, what was it you wanted to see me about?"

"I sense that you need to get Dickins down to the planet."

Ryan paused in delivering another morsel to his mouth. "Say again?"

"Did you not understand it the first time?" Her tone suggested he was either a little dense, or deaf.

"C'mon lady, 'I sense that you need to get Dickins down to the planet'!" He tried to mimic her. "How about explaining why?"

"It came to me in a vision." She replied.

"What were you drinking?"

She laughed. "Now that sounds like something Starbuck would ask. I have no need to fall into an alcoholic stupor to allow my spirit to rise beyond my body."

"You're losing me, lady," Ryan replied gruffly, tipping his tankard to his lips and downing half of the contents. Mystical twaddle! He should have let Porter come.

"You'd prefer not to explore the possibilities. You're not comfortable with something you can't understand or explain. Something that is not a mathematical equation, or a chemical formula. Faith is the ability to push aside doubt, and embrace the unknown, Paddy-Ryan."

"Faith is a weakness, Ama. Faith is blaming everything that goes wrong on some supposedly omnipotent force, because you don't have the strength, the character, or the guts to take responsibility for it yourself." Venom seemed to drip from his words.

"And how was it your fault that the Endeavour was sucked into a vortex, which you and the others had the power neither to create nor negate, and then delivered to another star system? That you ended up as the prisoner of murderous and cruel space pirates for thirty yahrens?" She asked quietly, continuing when he dropped her gaze and lapsed into stony silence. "Was it merely coincidence that brought the Galactica to your very doorstep?" She shook her head, exactly the way his second grade teacher used to do when pointing out a flaw in his logic. "Out of the unthinkably vast expanse of the universe, is it but chance that you should encounter beings of the same species as your own, headed for your very planet of birth?" She shook her head again. "No. It was predestined that our paths should cross, Paddy-Ryan."

He shook his head, refusing to believe her.

"The what is fate?" she whispered.

"A crock," he replied flatly. "There's no rhyme or reason to any of this, Ama. The world just keeps turning . . ." He fell silent again, realizing a parallel to his home planet may not be appropriate on a space ship. Curiously, she waited, allowing him to gather his thoughts. "I refuse to believe I'm just some . . . a pawn on a gigantic game board, fulfilling a role someone else has written for me, until I've served my purpose. Then I croak."

"Yet the game of life is the reason we're all here. Playing is so much more gratifying than sitting on the sidelines and observing."

"Lady, you talk in riddles. I feel like I just stepped into Wonderland, and I'm having tea with Alice and Company."

"If everybody minded their own business, the world would go around a great deal faster than it does." She replied with an enigmatic smile. "Is that it?"

He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, recognizing her words as coming from that particular story. "How could you possibly know . . .?" He considered her suspiciously, for a moment feeling a little afraid.

"I know many things. Some of them even useful." She leaned back against the cushion and considered him. "I know that more than anything else, Dick-Dickins needs hope. A solid and meaningful reason to go on. Perhaps you do as well."

"Stop playing with me, Ama," he growled. "If you have something to say, just say it."

"I already did. Dick-Dickins needs to get down to that planet. You . . ."she pointed a finger at him, "need to figure out how."

"Based on?"

"Based on my vision, dear heart."

He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. One, two, three. . . Then another. "And what was this vision you had?" He took another drink of his ale.

"That Dick-Dickins was going home."

"Home?" Ryan asked, almost choking on his ale.

"To Earth."

xxxxxxxxxx

Considering how many men Adama had seen tragically or mortally injured during his yahrens of military service, it was surprisingly difficult for him to behold the transformation of Cain since the injuries he had received a couple sectars previously. As far back as Adama could remember, Cain had been unrelenting, and the very epitome of strength and conviction in the war against the Cylons. To see him limp heavily through the corridors of the Galactica, dragging his affected leg behind him while his walking stick clicked on the deck, his right hand contracted, his face slack on the same side . . . it was more dispiriting than he had expected

He realized that despite knowing Cain's faults firsthand, he had still come to believe in his indomitable legend. A man who had risen through the ranks, by sheer guts and single-minded determination, with a record and a reputation for achieving the impossible, and getting his people to do the same. A tactician of unequalled brilliance who had a gift for recognizing and predicting the enemy's strategy, and always being at least one or two moves ahead of them. A survivor against all odds, even in the thick of seemingly hopeless battle.

"Adama, I get the idea that no matter what you do, these Dynamos are going to be one step ahead of you." Cain told him, leaning heavily on his cane as he turned from the viewport, after listening to the latest report from Colonel Tigh on the inexplicable spheres that the Galactica had tangled with twice now. He glanced at Sheba, who was uncharacteristically silent, perhaps out of deference for the three senior officers before her. Then he turned back to his old friend. "I think we need to take a chance. It sounds like whatever defensive pattern they were taking is changing. Now that could be good or bad." He lifted his cane slightly, tapping it on the floor once before resting on it once again. "I suggest we send two of my fighters in there to test the waters. If Dr. Wilker's hypothesis about the Dynamos being some kind of energy source or conduit for planetary engineering specifically for Humans is correct, then Vipers should be able to penetrate the atmosphere through this hole in the grid that is opening up." He again lifted his cane, using it as a pointer stick to indicate the now unoccupied position on the War Room's navigation board that had formally been covered by a Dynamo, which was currently converging with the others on a position where they had first detected Starbuck's emergency beacon.

"Your fighters?" Adama asked in surprise, glancing at Tigh. It took him aback. Then again, Cain had a history of offering up his own people for missions that he couldn't gain support for. It had intimidated and even shamed more than one military leader into following his lead, with victory as the usual result. "Cain, according to the report that Captain Sheba sent, you only have two."

For a micron, the other looked uncertain, his gaze once again falling upon his new Strike Captain, then his lips twitched ever so slightly. Sheba opened her mouth, as if to intervene, but Cain carried on. "Actually, I have four. You don't think I was going to return Sheba and Bojay's Vipers, when most of Silver Spar is still seconded to you, do you?" It seemed the Juggernaut half-smiled for a moment. Or perhaps it was scowl he couldn't quite manage. "After all, when the time is right, we'll have to redistribute the squadrons to weight our forces appropriately."

"You mean evenly." Adama clarified.

"I mean appropriately, Adama." Cain returned. "But that's another topic altogether that I think we should broach after we decide how we're going to take out this Cylon Base and find out what in Hades Hole is going on down there."

"Then you agree we need to investigate the possible connection to Earth further?" Adama asked.

"Truthfully, Adama, I don't give a rat's astrum about the connection to Earth." He shrugged indifferently, in a micron making it clear that the quest for Earth wasn't necessarily one he was enamoured with. "I care about defeating the Cylons. I want to know what a Cylon Base is doing out here this far from the Homeworld. Does it mean they penetrated the galaxy further along than we ever suspected? Instead of us assuming we're out in front of them, perhaps we should consider that a Cylon attack is just as likely to come from ahead of us, as behind us." Cain suggested.

Adama drew in a breath. "I never considered that the Cylons could have found Earth before us." He exchanged glances with Tigh and Sheba.

"It's possible that another war, much like the one fought in our Colonies, could be happening in Earth's solar system." Cain mused. "Even as we speak."

"All the more reason to go and offer our support."

"That could take generations, Adama. You don't know how close you are to Earth. Don't you think that our people should have more to live for than an endless journey across the galaxy, ending in yet another war?" Cain asked vehemently.

"As long as the Cylons are pursuing us, Cain, then we have to keep going. Every time we've thought we've lost them, they've found us again, no matter where we've headed. My greatest hope, has always been to find the military support to finally defeat them amongst our brothers on Earth." As much as Dayton had insisted time and time again, that they needed to either decisively defeat the Cylons, or lose them, it simply hadn't seemed to be a viable option as yet. Then again that was before the Pegasus—and her illustrious Commander—both limped back into their quadrant. Perhaps . . .

"Heck of a way to treat a brother, Adama. It's like showing up uninvited for dinner with a enemy squadron riding in on your tail vapours." He smiled his crooked half-smile again. "Besides, from what you've told me of these Earthmen you picked up, and their ship, their people are comparatively primitive in their technology. If the Cylons do manage to find Earth before us, then that planet will probably go the way of the Delphian Empire. It will be just another Cylon stronghold."

Adama glanced at Sheba and Tigh. who appeared shaken at that thought. He knew exactly how they felt. "From everything that we understand, these men travelled through some kind of wormhole, Cain. It's possible that the Earth we eventually find, is vastly different in its technology than the Earth they left."

"It's possible, but I prefer to deal in the probable. The probabilities are that the Cylons have penetrated the galaxy further than we ever thought, and that Earth as a Human colony has, like our own homeworlds, ceased to exist."

"Based on a small outpost that we don't know anything about?" Adama replied sceptically. "I'd say your probability is based more on your desire to destroy the Cylons and alter our current course, than on any hard data, Cain."

"Well . . . you may have something there." Cain smiled slightly, looking at Sheba. She shook her head at him ever so slightly. He frowned, and turned back to Adama. "This can wait for another time. Have you considered that the Cylons are behind this Dynamo technology? That it's a trap? For all we know, there could be a Cylon task force on its way right now to finish us all off."

Adama hesitated. Cain seemed to be unusually random in his thoughts, presenting various scenarios simply to get his point across. However, they seemed contradictory, something quite unlike the Cain he knew. "You're suggesting?"

"That we get down there and get to the bottom of this." Cain returned, again lifting his cane to accent his point. "The answers are on that planet, Adama. Yet we sit here afraid of what might happen because we don't understand the technology. Well, learning about it isn't going to happen here." He fanned a hand across the War Room. "If there's truly a planetary control centre that the Dynamos are communicating with, then the answers will be there. We start from there, and build on what we do understand, and know for a fact, or can reasonably deduce. Sometimes you have to take a chance, old friend."

Adama sighed. As random and convoluted as Cain's arguments seemed, he did have some valid points. And the answers that they needed did lie planetside. "Tigh, do we have a prediction of when we think we can safely penetrate the atmosphere?"

"Roughly three centars, Commander." Tigh replied. "Lieutenant Jolly's patrol is awaiting orders."

Risking two more Viper pilots when his gut instinct was telling him not to, just wasn't sitting well with Adama. When Starbuck's patrol had made contact, it had sent an inexplicable series of events into place, apparently being driven by the Dynamos, or whatever power controlled them. He couldn't take a chance that another contact would make these dangerous weapons react in a way that would endanger the Fleet. There was too many unknowns. Cain waited expectantly, assuming Adama would bend to his will. The Juggernaut leaned heavily against a wall, glancing at a chair, then frowning and steadfastly looking away. His indomitable will aside, it seemed his physical limits were nearing their peak.

"Still no sign of any Base Ships that are supporting this base?" Adama turned to Tigh. "Other than the wreck adrift?"

"Nothing on the scanner." Tigh confirmed with a frown. "Giles' patrol is due back in comm range in . . ." he checked his chrono . . . "six centons." Of course they all knew that the current tactical situation could change in a heartbeat. But the Cylons had known of their presence for centars, and if support ships were coming, then they could have certainly have dropped screaming out of lightspeed by now.

"Then instruct Jolly's patrol to return to the Galactica."

Cain let out a deep, weary breath. "I think you're making a mistake, Adama."

"It's mine to make," he reminded the other. "And my responsibility if I'm wrong. Now, you look as though you could use some rest, my old friend."

"Dr. Salik is expecting us in the Life Station." Sheba smoothly inserted.

"At this centar?" Cain protested.

"Father, you've gone without proper medical care for long enough," Sheba returned, her concern for her father evident.

"Sheba's right, Cain." Adama nodded. "After such an injury, protocol dictates that . . ."

"Blast, Adama! I've been commanding the Pegasus for two sectars since that injury." He stood upright, straightening his back, his chin held high. For a moment, he looked more like his old self. Strong and indomitable. The intrepid Juggernaut. "This is a waste of precious time."

"Still, it is dictum." Adama returned calmly. "It would be no different if it were me. You know that."

Cain let out a harsh breath. "If you insist." It was clear he wasn't happy about it.

"I'm afraid I do."

Cain nodded, and muttering something about gollmonging snitradious regulations, he was accompanied by his daughter out of the room. Sheba turned, and mouthed a silent Thank-you to Adama. He nodded in return. Once they were gone, he turned to the Colonel.

"I want to talk to Giles as soon as his patrol lands, Tigh. And, depending on what they report, I'm going to take a risk."

"The Dynamos, sir?"

"No, not yet. If we get the all-clear, I'm going to send a salvage team to the derelict Base Ship. I read Sheba's recommendations. I agree we need to get started as soon as possible."

"Now, Sir? When we've lost communications with Apollo's team, and we still don't know the strength of the Cylon base?"

"Yes, now. We're going to take her, Tigh. From Sheba and Bojay's scans, she's still partly intact, and her bunkers are still mostly full of fuel. We need to take advantage of every resource possible." He sighed. "One way or the other, if we're going to have two functioning battlestars, and any chance of ever losing the Cylons . . . or defeating them . . ."

"Then you are still considering it?" Tigh asked hesitantly, allowing some hope to creep into his voice.

Adama sighed. "Yes. Commander Dayton has made some valid points. So did Cain."

"According to Sheba's reports on the Pegasus' battle damage, we'll need a lot of scrap to even begin repairs on her." Tigh paused, raising his eyebrows. "There may be usable data in her computers as well, telling us what she was doing out here, and whether she was part of a larger task force that continued on after establishing this base."

"Precisely. Is there a chance that they've found Earth before us? We need information, as well as firepower, if we are to survive. This may be just the Godsend we've been hoping for."

"Yes, sir," said Tigh, feeling his CO's excitement. "I'll get on it at once."

"Very well."

"Bridge to Commander," came Athena's voice.

"Adama here."

"Lieutenant Giles' patrol now back in comm range, Commander."

"Excellent. Have them report to me as soon as they land. Launch the next patrol on the roster at once."

"Sir."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Eighteen centons, huh?"

Jolly frowned. What should have taken eighteen centons—as a dispirited Lia had just pointed out—was stretching out closer to a centar, especially because once the Portable Mobilization Unit had come within fifty metrons of the Dynamos, the mysterious spheres had suddenly increased velocity, reaching a speed that the PMU's couldn't attain.

That had, of course, required them to retrieve PMU-1 and use a magnetic lock to reattach it to Jolly's ship. Then they pursued at a considerable distance, monitoring the progress and speed of the elusive spheres. The lieutenant shook his head, as he realized the now steady velocity of the Dynamos was such that Wilker's toys would be useless. It was as if they had somehow analysed the PMU, and had decided how to best neutralize it.

"Patience, Lia," Jolly told her, trying to come across far calmer than he felt. The truth was, he was just as anxious as she was. Boomer and Starbuck were like kinsmen to him, after all these yahrens of flying together. Apollo was something slightly more than that. He had never quite been able to put into words how he felt about his Strike Captain. Like the others, he cared for him like a kinsman, but he held Apollo in such high esteem, that he couldn't even imagine the blow it would be if something happened to their skipper. For all of them, he had to find a way through the Dynamos.

Now they were holding position, awaiting orders. He had briefed the Commander on the situation, but Adama needed Wilker's input, wondering if the power could somehow be boosted, or it was as limited as first described.

"If I had as many names as those Earthlings, then patience would be one of them." Lia replied lightly.

Atta, girl! He smiled, knowing she was lying through her perfectly straight white and dainty teeth that lit up a room when she smiled . . . uh . . . Lia was a breed unto herself. Born to an Imperial Family that didn't behave like any Royalty that he had ever heard of, she was a mixture of fierce independence, old-world etiquette, and intelligence. All wrapped up in one of the prettiest packages he had ever seen.

"Galactica to Viper Five, come in Lieutenant Jolly." Colonel Tigh's familiar voice.

"I read you, Colonel." Jolly replied. "Go ahead."

"Lieutenant, according to our scans, the Dynamos are continuing to alter their position, and it appears as though a . . . a possible hole in the defensive network may be opening up."

"Do you want us to check that out, Colonel?"

"Negative. Return to the Galactica."

"Sir?"

"For us to be reasonably sure the Dynamos are out of range, I don't want anyone in that quadrant for at least another three centars."

Jolly nodded, realizing that Command was finally willing to take a chance. . . even if it seemed a long way off They were out of options. "Sir, I'd like to volunteer to take that assignment when you deem it appropriate to send out that patrol."

"Acknowledged, Lieutenant."

"Excuse me, Colonel," Lia inserted, "I'd also like to volunteer."

A short pause. "Consider yourselves on the roster. Now return to base."

"Aye, sir!"

Slowly, using only their manoeuvring thrusters at minimum power, both Vipers turned around, careful to avoid any energy outputs from their main power plants that might trigger a Dynamo attack. Equally slowly, they pushed away from the planet till they were reasonably certain they were out of range, and the planet was the size of a thumbnail. Then, kicking in turbos, they were gone.