Best Laid Schemes: An Empyrean Story

by L Zaza

Fourth in the Empyrean Series. While on patrol, Starbuck and Luana scan a planet, eerily similar to Earth. Have they finally reached their destination? Or is the beauty of the blue and white planet merely a smokescreen for something more nefarious?

36. Chapter 36

Chapter Thirty-Six

Cassiopeia was Lu's gauge.

Dr. Paye had a knack of throwing out medical vernacular as though 'rib fractures', 'hypothermia', 'atelectasis', 'hypoxemia','arrhythmia', 'asphyxia', 'hypovolemia', 'haemorrhage', and 'blown graft' were all commonplace in his universe, and no need for concern.While inserting tubes, he rambled irritably to an unresponsive Starbuck all about bedrest not officially including diving into submerged fightercraft to transmit distress signals, but other than expressing a certain amount of frustration with his noncompliant patient, he went about treating the stricken warrior with an otherwise emotional detachedness that left her feeling cold.

With Cassie it was different.

Luana had a knack for reading people, thanks to both her blood, and her Empyrean tutelage, and she could see the concern not only on Cassiopeia's features, but in her hasty movements and the way she kept studying her biomonitor. The shuttle was in danger of being hit by some rogue wave that could pound it into scrap, and the med tech was clearly more worried about Starbuck.

It spoke volumes, and left Luana wanting to scream out her pain, releasing the emotional maelstrom that was choking her. Instead, she sucked in a steadying breath, and asked, "How bad is it?"

"Touch and go," Cassie replied, holding the younger woman's gaze and reaching out to squeeze her hand briefly. "Starbuck needs surgery, and we can't do that until we get to either the Galactica or the Pegasus." She glanced at a scowling Paye, obviously remembering the state of the second Battlestar's Life Station as last reported. "We're going to have to remove his spleen. His splenic graft repair perforated, and he's been bleeding internally. His peritoneal cavity is one big blood clot, and the pressure's building up. To complicate matters, his lungs are in no condition for an anaesthetic after drowning." She swallowed, briefly checking results once again. She glanced at Paye. He nodded soberly at her to continue. "His prognosis isn't very good, Luana."

"What are his odds?" Luana asked, by rote, watching Starbuck's life mask mist up with each shallow breath. His eyelids flickered, as if he was subconsciously absorbing their words. Somehow numbers would make it more real for her.Less nebulous. She needed a clear picture to mentally prepare herself . . . if that was possible.

"Odds?" Paye snorted. "Luana, if he survives this, there's no way in Hades Hole he'll be cleared for active duty as a Viper pilot again." Paye inserted, trying to communicate the seriousness of the situation. "In addition to everything else, his renal function is back in the turbo flush."

Starbuck stirred, his eyes flickering open. He groaned quietly, and his bride instantly leaned down to caress his cheek lightly with her lips, murmuring something quietly in his ear and touching his hand. He tried to speak, but it was more of a rasp. She stroked his hair, willing a calmness she didn't feel into her touch, hoping it would give him strength and reassurance. "I'm here, Innamorato." With a chesty cough and short sigh, he closed his eyes again, his fingers curling around hers.

Cassie shook her head, her eyes tearing up for a micron until she blinked determinedly.Then she looked over at Ryan, almost desperate for another task she could focus on. "Are they a match?"

Ryan nodded, glancing down at the blood sample in the medical analyser. "Yeah. Same weird-ass factor that Starbuck and Chameleon have. How many units do you want?"

"One." Cassie replied. "He'll need blood post-op, and I don't want to lose that option unless I have no choice."

"I could squeeze more than one . . ." Ryan waggled his eyebrows at her. "Good till the last drop, as they say back home."

"One, Ryan."

Luana noticed that the traitor—a man she had only heard about—was gazing out the port at the eerily empty beach, occasionally glancing in apprehension at a still insensate Ama, even as Ryan pulled up Baltar's sleeve, preparing to drain his blood. At a glance, he didn't look like a man capable of betraying a nation of people, then again she wasn't sure why she had imagined Baltar would be fearful at a glance. Instead, he had a soft physique, was greying at the temples, and his clothes were thin and threadbare in spots. If it wasn't for the tales she had heard of him, she could almost find it in her to feel a little sorry for him, as everybody glared at him, and Ryan interjected the occasional death threat. Baltar had muttered something about the 'witch', when he had first spotted Ama, and seemed to be waiting for her to rear her head and cast incantations in his direction. Ironically, it wasn't all that unlikely with Ama.

However, Luana was concerned about her godmother, and her prolonged trancelike state. Lia and Chameleon stood watch over her while keeping an eye on Starbuck. Their little family—which was finally official with the wedding—was once again being threatened, this time on more than one front.

Dr. Paye appeared almost relieved to be dealing again with a patient with typical symptoms and textbook diagnoses, as he continued to concentrate on Starbuck. Still, he glanced at the monitor he had attached to the Councilwoman every once in a while, as if to assure himself that against all probabilities, she was still with them. Meanwhile, Apollo was closing the back hatch and hollering forward for them to take off.

"Everybody get strapped in. We're taking off." Apollo told the passengers, as he ran through to take a seat beside Boomer, just behind the pilots. They could see Dietra in the Viper already lifting off, and heading out over the sea, not hampered by needing to organize the wounded, and load multiple people. She circled around, the wind buffeting the small fighter. Through the main viewport, an incoming wall of water— not all that high at a glance, but deadly and powerful—was flooding the beach at an unbelievable speed, encroaching upon their position.

"Makita . . ." Apollo murmured tersely at the Flight Sergeant.

Then the shuttle's engines roared, and with a jolt, they became airborne. They could relax for exactly the micron it took before medical alarms started sounding, and Dr. Paye yelled out, "What the frack . . .!"

XXXXXXXXXX

Setting foot onto a Cylon Base Ship, even an old clunker like this long-derelict Abaddon-class, was a little unsettling, Adama decided. Centurions, in various states of dismemberment, littered the bay, and even inert, they still instilled him with a sense of dread, especially considering their numbers. Adama had to remind himself that this ship had recently helped them gain the upper hand in the battle against a top-of-the-line Hades-class Base Star. Still, the sight of Malus there in the landing bay awaiting them—flanked by Dorado and Wilker—almost made him want to draw a sidearm that he no longer wore, and shoot the IL Cylon down.

"I don't believe this," Cain murmured from beside him."Imagine, two old war daggits like you and I, setting foot . . ."

"I can hardly believe it myself, Cain. It's like everything turned upside down."

While Adama decidedly remembered sending the Juggernaut back to the Life Station, somehow he hadn't been surprised to find Cain waiting aboard his shuttle, fully expecting to join him in boarding the Abaddon and congratulating her temporary crew on their contribution to the victory. Cain was once again dressed in his uniform, wearing the familiar gold brocade with his swagger stick in hand. Only a weary countenance and that blasted wires dangling from the back of his skull denoted the recent surgery. His old friend seemed to be pushing himself, testing his limitations, in all probability against Doctors orders.

And Adama's.

Adama smiled grimly. Salik and Sobek would probably kill them, if they caught up to them. "Necessity is the mother of invention, Cain."

"Necessity has nothing on her uglier sister, Desperation," the Juggernaut countered with a quirked eyebrow as he looked around at the damage. Whatever had originally torn through here had been as effective as a Battlestar's broadside.

"Commander . . . forgive me. Commanders." Malus apologized for the slip as he stepped forward, and affected a slight bow. "Welcome aboard the Harrower."

Adama found himself trying to paste a smile on his face politely, as if this machine would be sensitive to it. "Thank you, Commander Malus. This is Commander Cain of the Battlestar Pegasus."

"I understand you to be a man of note in Colonial Society, Commander Cain." Malus inclined his upper torso assembly courteously once again.

"And I understand you to be a Cylon," Cain snapped back, ignoring the restraining hand Adama put on his arm.

"Technically, no," Malus replied, unfazed."True Cylons were actually organic Beings, although they are now extinct, insofar as I am aware. I am merely a cybernetic Being, curiously created more in the likeness of a Human, a fact which I have always found intriguing, if not a little bit ironic, considering our nations' long-standing hostility towards one another. Don't you agree?" His lights flickered for a moment."Now I prefer to think of myself as a displaced unit., belonging to no nation, and in search of a new calling, and more importantly perhaps, a new home."

Cain blinked at the IL, then glanced at Adama. "If I listen to one more micron of this felgercarb, I'll either have to go back to Life Station, or scrap the thing myself. It's all yours, Adama. I'll see you on the Bridge." With that, he slapped Dorado on the shoulder, pulling him along, and headed towards the Central Core. "Show me the Control Centre, Captain. You did a fine job, son.Damn fine.You should be proud, especially having to work under these conditions."

Adama paused as Cain walked away.

"Did I say something to offend him, Commander?" Malus asked.

"Malus, I'm afraid there's little you could say that wouldn't offend Commander Cain, or most of our ilk. After a thousand standard yahrens of constant war . . . " He nodded at Wilker.

"I see." Malus replied, letting a moment pass as Adama congratulated the scientist. Then he added, "I had been hoping that by offering my allegiance, I would be given a fair chance to prove my loyalty."

"One instance of allegiance isn't going to change a millennia of hatred and distrust," Adama offered honestly.

"Then, I'm of no use to you," Malus returned, a measure of disappointment audible in his tone.

"I wouldn't go that far," Adama began hesitantly, frowning even as he contemplated saying the words aloud. "We're considering keeping and refitting this ship, rather than scrapping her, Commander Malus. . . what did you call her? The Harrower? We certainly can't call her that." He cringed at the thought.

"May I suggest the Solarus, then?" Malus put forth. "It was the name that Lieutenant Starbuck first used when he told me that your 'starcruiser' was but a single exploration vessel. It was rather cheeky of him, don't you think?"

"Quite." Adama responded in bemusement. Cheeky?

"Well, it's certainly more optimistic than Harrower." Wilker added with a sniff.

"Very well.The Solarus it is." Adama nodded. "I was considering you staying on here, Malus. Working with the Commander of this vessel as an . . . aide."

"Then you aren't going to scrap me?" Malus asked, somewhat surprised. One of the lights in Malus' head flashed a bit faster. Somehow, Adama had the fleeting image of a daggit, wagging its tail.

"No."

"I'm pleased." Malus paused. "I think."

"Malus has been very helpful, Commander," Wilker informed him. "His knowledge of this ship and her systems is quite extensive, and he can actually hardwire himself into her database, detecting and correcting minor problems." He pointed to Malus' hand, and explained the digital interface the IL had used during the battle.

"And a fewmajor ones," Malus added pointedly to the man who had unwittingly set off an electro-identification beacon that the IL had disabled.

Wilker cleared his throat.

"Who will be commanding the vessel, Commander, if I may be so bold as to enquire?" Malus returned his attention to the military man. Somehow, he found himself . . . liking this Human Warrior. Albeit, not as much as Starbuck.

"Colonel Tigh. He's a fine officer," Adama added. "He is my Executive Officer on the Galactica, as a matter of fact. He'll be an effective CO for her."

"Commander, might I ask something?"

"Surely."

"A warship is a machine, not a living being. Why do Humans call ships she? After all, it possesses no reproductive . . ." he stopped, noticing Adama's expression, when Wilker's communicator crackled to life

"Doctor! This is Captain Dorado! Have the shuttle ready to return to the Galactica! Commander Cain has collapsed! We'll have him in the launch bay in two centons!" Then, "Do you read?" His tone rose with an element of desperation.

Adama grabbed the communicator, dispensing with formalities, "We read you, Dorado. We'll be ready!"

XXXXXXXXXX

Ama had gone from a supine, trancelike state, to sitting upright, her wild, white hair billowing out behind her as though windblown, and her grey eyes opened wide as she pointed an accusing gnarled finger at Ryan, like an accusing banshee. Beside her, medical monitors that had briefly alarmed and then sparked and died, now reeked of burnt circuitry.

"Ama!" Lia and Luana cried, as others looked on in bewilderment at the ruined medical equipment that had been monitoring her.

"Dear Lord . . ." Baltar gasped, burrowing into his seat, as the crone rose from the near-dead. He began to sweat in fear.

"Holy Mother of God . . .!" Ryan exclaimed, his mouth agape. It was as though Ama had short-circuited or blown the monitors somehow.

"Not quite, Paddy-Ryan. Even I'm not that old," she returned in a mixture of amusement and thundering doom, then lowered her finger to point to the blood being collected. "Tell me you were going to sanctify that . . . adulteration."

Ryan raised a finger to his chest, looking at her dumbfounded. "Me?"

"I thought not. Though the spilling of blood is a gift that pleases the Gods, I believe that this particular donation requires some act of purification." Ama returned with a distasteful glance at Baltar.

"After all I've done for him," he pointed towards Starbuck. "You . . . you dare to insinuate my that blood is . . .impure!" Baltar spat, instantly insulted well past his intimidation of her. "I pulled him from the ocean, and saved him from drowning! I warmed him by a fire, until he recovered! I . . ."

Ama smiled her gapped-tooth grin. "Until he punched you in the nose." She looked from the traitor, to Starbuck. "I do so love that boy."

"How could you know that?" Baltar sneered, though his tone was uncertain. His fingers brushed his nose instinctively, and he winced slightly at the still-tender flesh and slight bump.

"Each decision you made to help him, was arrived at, Baltar, through some selfish motivation on your own part." Ama returned. "You're a warped, greedy, mendacious, selfish and confused man who has, yes,contemplated changing, but I personally believe that it is quite simply beyond your egocentric, vainglorious tendencies."

The traitor opened his mouth, his expression hurt and wounded. "You're wrong," he replied haltingly.

"Oh, just accept it. It would be so mush less complicated for everyone involved." she countered, leaning forward, and waving a hand over the donated blood mystically. "May our sweet Triquetra sanctify this gift of life."

"My gift," Baltar pointed out, voice and expression aggrieved. Heturned to the others, finally settling his gaze on Apollo. "Don't listen to her. I'm a changed man! Sectars in exile to consider one's mistakes, followed by imprisonment by the Cylons . . ."

"Imprisonment? Prisoners are usually in the Brig, not planetside." Apollo scoffed.Try as he might, he couldn't keep the acid out of his voice, as fleeting images of Zac and his mother flitted across his memory."Your sentence was up, was it? You were released?"

"Released for good behaviour." Ryan added sceptically, as he disconnected Baltar from the collection line. "That's my bet, Captain."

"I managed to convince them . . ."

"To shoot us down!" Luana inserted, glancing at the traitor as she leaned protectively over Starbuck. The stranger might look harmless enough, but she detected a malignance beneath the surface. If ignored long enough, it would grow and destroy them all. "One of those Raiders shot us down. I'm willing to bet it was on your order."

"Their Commander had ordered them to destroy you." Baltar returned. "Shooting you down seemed a better option at the time." He smiled ever so slightly. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"What are you after, Baltar?" Apollo snarled. He couldn't keep his fingers from curling, white-knuckled, imagining them wrapped around the vile man's throat. "Commander Adama gave you your life, and there are no more Colonies to betray."

"Yeah, Balmy," shot Ryan venomously. "For once in your life, try telling the truth."

"I don't recognize your accent." Baltar narrowed his eyes at Ryan. "I've travelled the Twelve Worlds extensively, but can't place you."

"Direct from Hell . . ." Ryan announced with a million cubit smile as though he was hosting an IFB program. "You may not be able to place me, but I'm well acquainted with your kind. And let me tell you, where I come from, we know how to deal with treasonous little snivelling bastards like you, who sell out their own people to the enemy." Ryan had to take a deep breath, unprepared for the sudden rage enveloping him. "You make despots like Hitler and Stalin look like a couple of Flower Children on pot!"

"I have no idea what in the Colonies you are babbling about." Baltar replied, trying to hide his uncertainty and fear. He could see the unpredictability in the stranger. He was far more dangerous than any reserved and controlled man with power or influence, such as Apollo or Adama. If the time ever came that they were alone, Baltar knew that inexplicably and irrationally, Ryan would kill him. And he'd never know why. "Captain?" Baltar looked at the officer a little desperately.

"Be glad you don't," spat Ryan, eyes cold as death as he looked at Baltar. Baltars wallowed hard as his gaze reluctantly returned to the man. "Be very glad, Ballcock."

Baltar's mouth opened a couple times, before he found his voice. "I only seek to . . . to rejoin my people, and to make amends however I can. Sectars alone—without any Human contact—can change a man." Baltar opened his hands palm upward, waving them laterally. "You were there, Captain. You know that I didn't hesitate to inform you that Starbuck was trapped in that Raider. Then I pulled you both from the surf when you could have drowned, and he was already . . ." He paused as the young woman leaning over Starbuck winced. "I breathed life back into him. Tell them, Apollo. I saved Starbuck. I saved you both. The Lords used me to save this man!" He glanced at Ama accusingly. "Tell them!"

Apollo jumped in. "Do you honestly believe that we'll just forgive you, Baltar? You condemned an entire civilization when you betrayed the Colonies, you signed the death warrants of billions of Human Beings, in . . ." His voice caught a moment, then he exploded, "Including my brother! My mother! Damn you!" He stopped, fighting for control as his frame shook in rage. "And now . . . and now you think that by dragging Starbuck and I out of an undertow, that all is forgiven? How naïve . . . stupid, do you think we are?" Apollo asked in disbelief, quieter now, but his tone still biting.

"I was tried in absentia! Unable to offer anything in my own defence! Condemned, but never asked for an explanation!" Baltar returned in outrage. "I did my time."

"Really," said Ryan drolly. "Depends on your interpretation of a 'life' sentence, I suppose."

Baltar ignored him. "Adama freed me from my sentence in exchange for the intelligence you needed to disable the scanners on that Base Ship. To destroy it!" He shook his head. "The slate is clear, Captain. Freedom, your father granted me, which is his power under the Colonial Charter. No laws were broken. It was all legal. I was granted amnesty."

"Hello! You were just colluding with the enemy!" Ryan reminded him poignantly. "Or maybe you were just visiting these Cylons and having tea, when they decided to drop by and kill us?"

"I was their prisoner!" Baltar replied, pulling at his thin, damp tunic, the fabric tearing, revealing pasty white flesh. "Look at these rags! The same ones you last saw me in on that blasted planet, Apollo! Do you think that an ally of the Cylons wouldn't be afforded a change of garments? A decent diet?" He rubbed his considerably leaner waistline, knowing that while he was not exactly emaciated, he had certainly lost more than a few kilons. "I languished in their Brig right up until an archaic Base Ship started launching Colonial Vipers at them. Only then did Lucifer call on me for help. Then I saw my opportunity for escape, and knew if I could mislead them, I would give you the edge . . ."

"Are you insinuating that you were trying to help?" Apollo scoffed. He was so consumed by anger, it was difficult to think straight.

"I did help! I diverted their forces to this planet. Had them looking for settlements that didn't exist. I prevented the destruction of your shuttle! I distracted them long enough . . ." Baltar hesitated. "You did destroy them, didn't you? The Base Star?"

The captain nodded. "We did." He did not elaborate about the wormhole.

Baltar nodded, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. Images of the ever-antagonistic Lucifer being blasted into oblivion flittered joyously through his mind. "Then victory is ours!" He cleared his throat as they all looked at him distrustfully. He let out a breath, pointing at the old woman. "Ask the crone if you don't believe me! I don't understand how she knows . . . but she does!" His voice rose an octave, and Ama cackled in obvious delight as his discomfiture. Baltar paused, collecting himself. Then, in a voice low and tremulous, he asked, "Who are you? What do you want from me?"

"I am Ama, born of Arion and Annica of the Empyrean Imperial House. I am the Empyrean Necromancer, and I also proudly sit on the recently elected Council of the Twelve."

"They elected a . . . a witch?" Baltar roared.Then, he swallowed hard as she set a penetrating stare on him that seemed to see right through to his soul. His voice was almost a whimper when he continued,"They'd insult such an esteemed office . . ."

"Oh hoh, now look at who's calling the cauldron black!" Ama laughed, before taking a deep breath, and pointing an gnarled finger his way. Her voice, throaty and menacing, seemed to resonate eerily when she spoke again. "I know you, Baltar. And yes," she glanced at Apollo. "He speaks the truth. Or a variation of it, in any case. He was a prisoner of the Cylons, and he has considered both repentance and redemption, but his motives, alas, are not altogether altruistic. His heart is as indecisive, as his soul is black."

"Well, as the only present member of the Council of the Twelve, what would you have us do with him, Ama?" Ryan asked, nodding towards the jump tube while simultaneously grabbing the man roughly by the arm. "My mother always told me that one should keep a clean house. Personally, I'm all for putting out the trash on Garbage Day."

Baltar jumped to his feet, shaking off Ryan, accusing eyes all around him. "I was innocent! I believed in the Armistice, just as President Adar did! I never believed for one micron that the Cylons would ambush us at Cimtar!"

"Which of course explains why you suddenly had to get off the Atlantia, just before the attack," Boomer yelled back. "You're timing was interesting."

"Lieutenant, I . . ."

"If you're telling the truth, then how did you come to be in charge of a Cylon Base Ship at Kobol?" Apollo growled.

"Under the pretence that I would betray you to the Cylons!" Baltar replied desperately, his hands clenched beseechingly before him. "I came close to losing my head when the new Imperious Leader summoned me after the Destruction, offering leniency to our people, and peace."

"You believed him?" Apollo asked in disgust. "You for one micron actually . . . believed anything that a Cylon said?"

"Of course not!" Baltar replied. "But pretending to believe him and playing along was my only chance to meet with your father, telling him of the chaos in the Cylon Empire when the previous Imperious Leader was killed in the destruction of Carillon. It was his chance to destroy their capital. They had never been so fragile as they were then. My Base Ship, in orbit over Kobol at the time, had been directed to wait for my orders before doing anything."

"But they attacked instead," Apollo reminded him flatly, the memories still hauntingly vivid of that first strike on Kobol, and the ensuing events that were indelibly etched in his mind for all of eternity. Serina . . .

"I admit I might have been . . . overconfident in my absolute control over the Base Ship." Baltar admitted. "But my intentions were good."

"No wonder the road to Hell has such good paving," sneered Ryan.

"You're lying, Baltar!" His features flushed, Apollo jumped angrily to his feet at the same time as Ryan.

"Wait a minute, Apollo," Ryan put a hand on the captain's chest, holding him back.For a man of his age, he was surprisingly strong . . . or determined. "Look, we're the only ones in the Fleet that know Ball-Boy here is still alive, and in the building." An enigmatic smile twisted his lips for a moment. "What say we take a little vote to drop this loser out the jump tube, and save your father and the other eleven Councillors the bother?"

Apollo seemed to hold his breath, obviously considering it.

XXXXXXXXXX

Dayton walked onto the Pegasus' Bridge like a man with a mission, his jaw set stubbornly. He paused, looking around, and then headed directly for Sheba. She was standing next to the main scanners, and turned to acknowledge him.

"No word, Commander Dayton," she told him, fanning a hand towards the scanners before them. Not surprisingly, he came to join her, standing over Raetic's shoulder and looking for himself. His eyes narrowed as he searched the screen for some sign of his friends. Some indication that the shuttle had survived. "There's still a lot of electromagnetic interference from the comet's impact. The planet's magnetic field is fluctuating wildly, and our communications are still in the turbo flush"

"Must be a living hell down there." He grunted briefly, looking wistfully through the viewport towards Planet 'P', then back down at the scanners. He let out a long sigh, shaking his head mutely.

The story the scanners told was horrible. The site of the comet's impact was now some two hundred and thirty kilometrons directly below them. Once the foothills of a rugged range of mountains, it was now a boiling cauldron right out of Hell itself. As the computer shifted through the various spectral bands, he could see the gargantuan crater, left by the comet. Where once forest and idyllic mountain valleys teeming with vast and complex ecosystemshad held sway, now the sea, formerly over a hundred kilometrons away, was pouring into the massive gouge in the crust, sending huge furious clouds of steam and volcanic ash high into the abused atmosphere. Long, spidery cracks spread out from the impact site, devouring lakes and rivers and ice, with huge gushing fountains of newly released magma blasting thousands of metrons into the sky. Angry clouds, like some mindless tormented Titan,boiled with lightning, and the sea was rent by blast after blast as cold water met boiling red rock shooting up out of Hell's bullet hole. Vicious shockwaves spread out, cracking stone and sending tsunami after tsunami to roar across the oceans, to obliterate whatever yet stood upon the other side. A massive black smear, destined to block the sun, was already being spread across the hemisphere.

"Yes," said Sheba, watching with fixated horror, as Planet 'P' continued to reel from the devastation. According to the scans, even the planet's rate of rotation had been altered. 'Thank God nobody lived down there. Human or otherwise."

"I once met a Black-Backed Bobak . . ." Dayton returned humourlessly and broke off, shaking his head, as the ship's orbit carried her past the site.

"You wish you had gone. You wonder if you could have made a difference." Sheba stated. He nodded briefly in agreement. She lightly placed a hand on his arm, confiding, "Me too."

"You did well," said Dayton, patting her hand in return.

She hesitated, looking him in the eye before asking, "You think so?"

"Yes. No question." Dayton nodded. "I know you're worried about Apollo. Your friends. And your father. Who wouldn't be? I want Apollo, Starbuck and Boomer to come back as much as you, Sheba. Your people need them. They need their heroes, and those three men are some of your finest. But, as a famous warrior on my world once said, 'War is cruel, and you cannot refine it.' We can only do what needs to be done, and you did. By your actions, you not only helped save the Endeavour, but also the Fleet. But that doesn't stop us from hurting. Wondering if we might have done better."

"Lords, you read me like a scan, Dayton. But . . . how do you know? You were on the planet for most of this."

He shrugged, smiling slightly. "Well, I met a certain young flight officer in the OC who filled me in on everything I missed."

"Raetic." Sheba smiled.

"He's damn proud of his CO."

"Acting CO," she corrected him. "I'm not sure Commander Adama will be as proud. After all, I was supposed to stay with the Fleet."

"And why didn't you?"

"Because that Base Ship had two likely escape routes, and directly towards the Fleet was one of them." Her eyes sparkled with intensity. "I had to put the Pegasus between the Cylons and the Fleet. As a threat we were impressive, but in combat, defending the Fleet, we wouldn't have had much of a chance."

"Then you did the right thing."

She looked at the scanners, then back to him. "Who?"

"Excuse me?"

"Who was the warrior you quoted?"

"Oh. General Sherman, back during my country's Civil War."

"Civil war? You fought amongst yourself?" She asked, her confusion on that point clear.

"Well, we were running out of enemies . . ." He lapsed off, smiling wryly. "I'll tell you another time. It's kind of complicated."

"He sounds wise, this Sherman."

"Or experienced. When you think about it, the face of war has never really changed. Regardless of the technology with which you fight, it's still a cruel, ugly business." Sheba just nodded. "You know, I think you deserve a medal, Captain."

"Me?"

"Yes." He raised a hand as she was about to object. "No, you do. Look, you took a ship that is barely sea . . . I mean space-worthy from the standpoint of battle, and you managed to get her where she was most needed, and probably did as much as anyone to save the Abaddon and Endeavour and send those Cylon bastards to Hell."

"Well, it wasn't much of a plan, really," she demurred. "I just did . . ."

"What any good soldier does. Sees what needs to be done, and does it to the limit of their strength. Another famous warrior of ours, General Patton, put it like this: 'An imperfect plan, implemented immediately and violently, will always succeed better than a perfect plan.'"

"Sounds like something my father would say," smiled Sheba.

"Some things are constant, I suspect," replied Dayton.

"What else did he say? This genberal . . . Patton?"

"Well . . ." said Dayton, half-smiling as he recalled the crusty general's famously acidic vocabulary. "He once said 'May God have mercy upon my enemies, because I won't.'"

"I think you and my father will get along very well," Sheba smiled.

"The way I hear it, we just need to find a room big enough to hold both our egos."

"I hear the Empyrean Ballroom is free . . ."

"Well then, in that case, I'll buy the first round."

XXXXXXXXXX

The small Raider shook and groaned as though she would be torn apart by the tumultuous vortex that they were hurtling through at speeds that Lucifer couldn't believe. One surprising, pervading fact permeated his data banks. He was still operative.

"Are our scanners functional, Centurion? Can you pick up either the Colonials or our Base Ship?"

"Negative. All-instrumentation-is-malfunctioning," the centurion replied. "Controls-are-not-responding."

Through the port, Lucifer could see and endlessly swirling maelstrom of colour and radiation. It almost overwhelmed his optical sensors, and like the fighter's instruments, he could see no sign of any vessel, Cylon or otherwise.

The fighter had launched from the Base Ship when it threatened to break up,and had immediately been propelled on a raging, whirling flight path that had separated them almost at once. Even with his internal data banks telling him that a mere two centars had passed, it seemed as though they had been on this ride for eternity. Of course, the company might have something to do with that. Still, the questions remained, would they survive, and if they did, where would they end up?

XXXXXXXXXXX

Baltar started to back away from Ryan, putting as much distance between him and the other man as he could. His eyes were glued to Apollo, awaiting an impromptu sentence. The young captain was obviously struggling with the moral dilemma.

"It would be cold-blooded termination." Baltar told Apollo, his voice tremulous. "Could you live with that the rest of your life, Captain?"

"An eye for an eye, Baldric." Ryan sneered, an ugly smile twisting his features as he slowly advanced on the traitor, with an intent to slowly stalk and terrorize the man. "After all, you seem to have adjusted fairly well to having betrayed billions of Human beings. An entire race of people, your own people,to a bunch of supercharged Terminators. Really, it won't be as bad as it should be. A minute of so of gasping for breath when we drop you out of the tube, and then nothing. Oh, maybe your eyes will pop out of your head and your tongue swell up, before you freeze solid, but you won't even feel it. You'll lose consciousness from hypoxia before anything else befalls you. Honestly, it's probably too good for you. Much better than what would happen to you back in the Fleet." He glanced at Apollo, adding as an afterthought, "You wouldn't have to get your hands dirty, Apollo. I'd be happy to play the Grim Reaper for you."

"Paddy . . ." Porter muttered quietly, urgently. He moved to his friend's side, taking him firmly by the arms, and locking eyes with him. "Look buddy, this isn't our fight. This guy didn't do anything to us personally. Let Apollo handle it. He's in charge here."

"Back off, Jimmy." Ryan replied, his body tense.

"Look, Canucklehead," Porter whispered in concern, lapsing back into English. "You're starting to act as crazy as Dickins. Dayton's not here, but I'm more than willing to clock you, if that's what it's going to take to simmer you down."

"Dayton would help me, and you know it." Ryan hissed, glaring at Baltar. "That bastard is . . . "

"He's the epitome of everything foul and disgusting in their society, but I'm not going to let you kill a man. Thou shall not kill. Even if you don't give a damn about your immortal soul, I do." Porter gave him a shake, his fists clenching the other's shirt and not letting go. "We're not eating Rotting Root anymore, Paddy. Torg and Bex are keeping the Devil company. It's over. Deal with it." He paused to let that sink in. "There are rules and laws again, ethical and legal. Get that through your thick skull before these people have to lockyou up."

Baltar held his breath, sensing a reprieve, though the guttural words meant nothing to him. The incensed man seemed to deflate a little.

"It's a slippery, downward spiral to moral degradation, Paddy-Ryan." Ama added, her voice firm, yet subdued, offering guidance, yet not insisting. She glanced at Apollo, reminding him, "Honour and duty, Captain." She looked back at Ryan. Slowly, and with obvious distaste, he moved away from Baltar, and sat down.

Apollo let out a rasping breath. Vigilante Justice. Quick, decisive, and certainly more than justified in the case of Baltar. He could just imagine the impact on the Fleet were they to bring the traitor back with them. Not to mention the direct repercussions on his father.Adama had granted Baltar amnesty for his crimes against the Colonial State in exchange for intelligence with which they could destroy a Cylon Base Ship. He would be made to look like a fool, if Baltar was to suddenly and unexpectedly reappear. And now Apollo knew that Baltar had been a prisoner of the Cylons, and didn't truly deserve to be retried for further crimes against the Colonial nation, yet that would be the predictable course of events. He would be tried and convicted despite a lack of evidence, simply because he was the Betrayer of the Twelve Colonies of Man. Lynch Law versus Justice.

"You're the voice of State here, Ama." Apollo swallowed. He would be saving his father from humiliation if they did push Baltar out the jump tube. Oh, it was entirely too easy to rationalize that it might be kinder to murder a man that had actually saved him and Starbuck, rather than consign him to a prejudiced tribunal that would have convicted him long before it was convened.

"Surely you're not asking me to be the voice of reason?" Ama replied with an amused smile.

"You're on the Council." Apollo replied, not missing the irony that he was asking a Councilwoman to take the lead in a situation where he was in charge.

"Choose, Apollo. But remember, there is much more at stake here than Baltar's fate." Ama replied.

"One more thing . . ." Paye inserted solemnly from where he leaned over Starbuck. "You shove Baltar out that jump tube, Starbuck will have one less donor for blood that he desperately needs." He glanced at his biomonitor, then back at the captain. "I'm sitting here wondering when—not if—his heart is going to stop again. Your friend is bleeding to death, Apollo. If you execute Baltar, you could be signing Starbuck's death warrant as well."