Chapter Thirty-Eight

Apollo hesitated as he heard the familiar, "Enter." He wasn't sure how his father would take the news, but his report was past due, and despite his determination that he would support Sheba through her latest family tragedy, Adama needed to know about Baltar.

The door slid open, and Apollo passed into the antechamber of his father's quarters. Adama, of course, was still in uniform, despite the late centar. He looked up expectantly from his computer screen, rising to his feet to embrace his son.

For an instant, Adama simply held him. As a father, Apollo had learned what it was like to hold his own son, having wondered only centars before if he would ever see him again. He relaxed into Adama's embrace, savouring the moment, as they seemed to be few and far between.

"You look tired." Adama commented as he held Apollo at arms length, looking at him critically.

At least Apollo had had the opportunity to get cleaned up, shave, and change his uniform after escorting Sheba to the Life Station, to begin another vigil over Cain. Dr. Salik had reminded the captain that he needed to return for a proper physical due to his recently sustained injuries on Planet 'P', but had conceded that it could wait until everybody had had some rest, including the exhausted medical team.

"It's been a long few days," Apollo agreed, glancing towards the open door in the inner chamber and trying to remember the schedule that was etched into his brain. It was the last duty period on a Sixth Day, but Athena would have been detained on the Bridge due to the battle, which usually meant Alma would watch Boxey, except she was caring for an ailing mother, and so Berenice would have stepped in . . . unless she still had her grandchildren staying with her . . . in which case it would be . . . Charis? Except . . . she had told him she had something planned for her sister's sealing celebrations and wouldn't be available until after the secton-end. Lords! "Is Boxey . . .?"

"Yes." Adama nodded with a grandfatherly smile. "I thought it would be easier just to let him sleep here while I was working."

"I'm surprised he didn't insist on waiting up for me."

"Well . . ." Adama shrugged, his smile slipping.

"Ah." Apollo sighed, remembering a recent bedtime where he had felt as though the boy was holding him hostage as Boxey alternated between refusing to let his father 'tuck him in', and then wailing like a tormented soul because Apollo hadn't kissed him goodnight. "He's mad at me again."

"He's only seven-yahrens-old, Apollo."

Apollo sighed, hearing the words that his father was thinking, but knew better than to say. The boy needs a mother . . . "I'm just going to look in on him." He crossed the room, pausing at the door, and pushing it open further, watching as the light fell on his sleeping son. Boxey had managed to occupy the entire bed, as only a child could, stretched out diagonally across it, the covers in total disarray, as he twitched and flexed in some dream. Muffit's familiar whrrrrr obliterated his son's soft snore. "Shh Muffit." Obediently, the drone slumped onto the floor at the bedside once again. Apollo withdrew, quietly closing the door.

"Before you know it, you'll be waiting up for him." Adama commented wryly from across the room.

"It does fly by," Apollo agreed, crossing to the chair his father motioned him towards, and handing his datapad to his commander. "This is my complete report. But before we even get started, I need to let you know that someone else came back with us from the planet."

Adama paused, glancing from the datapad back to his son. His brow furrowed. "Someone else? Who?"

"Baltar."

"Baltar?"

Adama looked as though he'd been struck. His head shook ever so slightly in disbelief, then his knees seemed to buckle and he sat down heavily in his chair, needing the sudden support. He paused for a long moment, looking into space, before he finally looked up at his son and asked, "Where is he now?"

"The Pegasus Brig."

Adama stood, hesitating for a moment before rising, and beginning to pace. "How did Baltar . . . ?" Then he turned suddenly to face Apollo, realization hitting him. "He was on the Base Ship!"

"Yes, sir. So he says." Apollo nodded. His father had been so overwhelmed that Baltar had resurfaced, it had taken him a moment to put together the obvious.

Adama let out a breath of frustration, raised a hand helplessly. "Then the Cylons did find him. Picked him up. I had hoped . . . "

"Never to see him again," Apollo finished. "We all hoped for that, father." He watched for a few microns as Adama continued to pace like a caged animal, his hands clenched at his sides. "There's more, Commander. Baltar saved Starbuck."

Adama reared like a startled equine as he turned to regard Apollo in fascinated horror. "What?" Then he snorted. "Oh, this is going from bad to worse!"

Apollo paused, watching his father's eyes dart about the room as he tried to reconcile the news. "He pulled him out of the surf, saved him from drowning. Later, when the two of them tried to send a distress signal from Baltar's submerged Raider, Starbuck got trapped inside when the tide came in. That's about when I arrived. If Baltar hadn't told me then that Starbuck was down there, trapped under the water . . ." He couldn't quite believe he was admitting to this, and from the sceptical visage on Adama, neither could the commander. "Starbuck would have drowned. I managed to get Starbuck out of the Raider, father, even though by then he'd stopped breathing. Then we were trapped in the undertow, and Baltar came after us and pulled us both out. He even started chest compressions on Starbuck when I couldn't."

"Apollo . . ." Adama swallowed convulsively. He drew a hand slowly over his face, clenching his jaw.

"He claims that he was a prisoner on the Base Ship. He says he managed to escape as their patrol was launched to destroy the shuttles. He insists that he intervened to stop his own crew from destroying Boomer's shuttle, which is why it was only winged and ended up crash landing."

Adama huffed in incredulity, turning away, raising a hand, gesticulating as he ranted, "Yes, I could see that . . . that it would be to Baltar's advantage to say all of those things." He turned sharply and snapped, "I don't believe them for a centon."

"Ama does," Apollo added softly, while Adama seemed to hold his breath "Additionally, from Captain Dorado's report, Commander Lucifer, not Baltar, was identified as the Hades Base Ship's commanding officer. And not only were Baltar's clothes thin and tattered, but initial blood scans—done because he ended up donating blood to save Starbuck—indicates he was malnourished and borderline anaemic." Adama seemed frozen to the spot. "There's more."

Adama closed his eyes briefly, letting out a slow breath, seeming to deflate before his son's eyes. He moved once again to his chair, sluggishly lowering himself into it. He rubbed his face with both hands, his weariness enshrouding him, making him look yahrens older than he had only centons before.

"What is it?" A whisper as he cradled his head in his splayed fingers, his elbow propped on the arm of his chair.

"When you bargained with Baltar for his freedom, and marooned him, you effectively granted him amnesty from his previous crimes against the State under Colonial Law." Apollo watched his father listen impassively, not a bit surprised. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

Adama nodded briefly, unable to meet his son's eyes. "I didn't expect that . . ."

"But there was a chance," Apollo returned, his tone a little harsher than he intended.

"Yes . . . there was a chance than he could be rescued." Adama agreed. "But not in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine he'd reappear in the Fleet, claiming to be a prisoner of war."

"So what do we do now?"

"We convene Council . . . and keep it quiet that he's back. At least for now."

xxxxxxxxxx

Dayton was in his element.

Cassie sighed knowingly as she watched the Earth astronaut sitting in the Pegasus' OC, debriefing with his men. There was a familiar sparkle in his eyes, and an unmistakeable energy about him, both doubtlessly derived from their successful mission. She'd seen that 'post-mission high' more than once in other warriors, and though Dayton claimed to be semi-retired, she knew that he was as much of a warrior as Cain or Starbuck. He would never be a man who could just sit back in front of a cosy fire, and watch as others put their lives in danger. No, he'd far rather plunge headlong in himself, shoving them aside to do it if necessary.

Now who does that remind you of?

"Cassie!" Ryan shouted out, spotting her first. He beckoned her over, waving a hand towards her, his easy smile and friendly way erasing any hesitation she'd first felt about possibly intruding on a private moment. Like one, the group of men climbed to their feet, demonstrating that quaint Earth chivalry that endeared each and every one of them to her.

Dayton alone crossed the room to meet her, pulling her into a tight embrace and holding her for a moment before asking, "What's the word, Cassiopeia? Did the kid make it through?"

"He did." Cassie returned as he pulled back to study her features, his concern about Starbuck evident. "He's stable now, and on his way to the Galactica's Life Station."

"Thank God," Dayton breathed, his eyes searching hers. "Have you nabbed any shut-eye? You must be exhausted."

"Aren't we all?" she replied, tucking her arm into his and steering him towards the table. One by one, the Earthmen took turns embracing her, kissing her cheek, and making her feel like a part of their family.

"Well, unlike the rest of us, you don't look it," Ryan remarked as pulled out a chair for her. "You were really something, by the way, the way you took care of Starbuck. I can tell that Dr. Paye really trusts you, and it's obviously well deserved."

She smiled. "Thank you, Paddy. But I was just doing my job."

"You do it well, Cassiopeia," Porter added, inclining his head towards the door. Baker nodded, patting Ryan on the shoulder and getting his attention. "We'll let you two lovebirds get caught up.

"I need to track down Dietra, anyhow," Ryan added. "She promised us a ride back home if we behaved, and rumour has it the Council of Twelve will be meeting tomorrow, and the Earth Liaison Officer has to put in his first appearance."

"Dietra knows you too well, Paddy," Cassie smiled.

"Ain't that the truth," he chuckled. "The surprising thing is that it hasn't scared her off yet. Must be something in the water." He slapped Dayton on the shoulder, reciting, "First comes love, second comes . . ."

"Get out of here!" Dayton interrupted him with a chuckle, giving his friend a not so gentle nudge towards the door.

Cassie smiled in amusement watching them go, taking Dayton's hand and entwining their fingers. Despite their cheery façades, Dickins had to have weighed heavily into their conversation. "How are you all holding up?"

He sighed, then kissed her fingertips. "We're going to miss Dick, and spend a lot of time wondering if he made it home." He glanced out the viewport for a moment, then back into her vivid blue eyes. "I wish there was some way we could find out if he's alive or not, at least . . . I wish . . ."

"You wish you had gone with him," she replied quietly, dropping his gaze for a moment as she remembered his outrage back in the cave that Dickins would be going through the wormhole, and not him. He'd been running on pure emotion when he raged against the plan, feeling it was his right to be reunited with his daughter on Earth, and that nobody—not even the Guardians of the Ship of Lights—should be preventing that.

"Cassie, that really doesn't reflect on you and I at all. After all, Earth is home to me, and it's been a long time." He tried to convince her. She raised her eyebrows, waiting for something more. "Believe me, I do love you."

She squeezed his hand, nodding. "I know that, Mark, and I love you too. But given a choice, you would have walked away from us. That does make an impression on a girl." Especially after Starbuck and Cain . . .

He took a moment before responding, "For my kids, Cassiopeia. It's hard to describe the . . . depth of the feelings, to anyone who isn't a parent. I guess I'd do just about anything to see Jess and Lauren again." He held her gaze. "And Yvonne too. I'm not going to lie to you about that."

"I appreciate your honesty, Mark." She smiled gently. "And most parents put their children first, within reason. I certainly wouldn't hold that against you. It's commendable, in fact."

"I . . . I'm relieved you feel that way. A lot of women wouldn't."

"And Yvonne is your wife. The woman you married and chose to make a life with. I'm not asking you to deny that, or to try and forget her. You should honour their memories."

"It's suddenly feeling kind of crowded in this relationship," he joked, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

"Suddenly?" she asked with a laugh and a glance at the door where Ryan was chatting with the barkeep as Porter and Baker waited. A seventy-yahren old man living with his three friends in the same quarters, however spacious. It didn't exactly afford them much privacy.

"Uh . . . I see what you mean." He winced slightly. "I guess I come with a full set of baggage Cassiopeia."

"I knew that going in," she replied. She'd never forget the devotion Dayton showed to his friend, Dickins, in the Life Station in those early days when they hit the Fleet, as well as the allegiance and friendship that had surprisingly grown between him and Starbuck. It hadn't taken long before she'd realized that many of the qualities she had loved about Starbuck were replicated in Dayton, only with a slightly more sagacious and polished finish, more reminiscent of Cain. "You're not the first man I've met who has carried some emotional millstones around with him. Remember, our worlds were destroyed. You'd be hard pressed not to find a man who hasn't been effected by that in some way. Doubly so in a warrior."

"So . . . where does that leave us?" he asked, looking on edge, and at a bit of a loss as to what she was getting at.

She leaned towards him, "Together . . . in a very crowded relationship."

"You want me to get a place of my own?" he asked hesitantly, his eyes darting towards the entrance guiltily.

She almost laughed aloud at the panic that lit his eyes. "No," she murmured in reassurance.

"What then?"

"I don't want you to change a thing. I just want you to know that I understand, and that I'm content to carry on the way we're going for now."

"You are?" he asked, his grey eyes searching hers. "I thought maybe you were looking for. . . for more of a commitment?" It sounded like a suggestion. "You know, more like a . . ."

Why was it that men always seemed to think that a woman's ultimate goal was marriage? "I think you're as committed as you can be, Mark . . ."

"Oh hoh! I'm not sure I like the sound of that!" he replied in alarm. "Look, I'm not Starbuck. I'm a mature man who knows what he wants!"

"Until the rules all change," she pointed out again, not bothering to mention that Starbuck was now sealed after a meagre four sectars in a relationship. It wasn't so much that the younger warrior hadn't known what he wanted, he just hadn't met the woman he wanted. Until Luana. "Let's leave Starbuck out of this. I'm not comparing you." It occurred to her she had once said something similar to Cain about Starbuck.

"I apologized for that." He reminded her.

"Yes, you did. But it does raise the point that given the option, this is not the relationship you'd choose. I don't want to be second best, Mark. I deserve better than that."

"I don't know what to say." He admitted, dropping her gaze.

She stroked his cheek with her fingertips, smiling when he looked at her curiously. "When I said you're as committed as you can be, I meant for now. And realistically, I need some time to think about all this too." It was true. While relationships gave spark and spice to life, the emotional upheavals and partings could be as enervating as a haemorrhage. Ultimately, she found herself drawn to heroes, courageous men who were willing to risk everything—even their relationships—to save their friends, damsels in distress, and Humanity in general. They insisted on understanding and devotion, while they filled her heart with uncertainty and fear, leaving her frequently wondering if she would ever see them again. She'd thought it would be different with Dayton. Now, she wasn't so sure. A conversation they'd had days ago when he'd volunteered to take the Endeavour down to the planet came to mind.

"And this mission?" She had asked him.

"My one and only, I hope to God. Frankly, I don't see them needing the Endeavour more than this once. My last hurrah, as it were."

"You are a rare woman, Cassiopeia," he told her, drawing her back to the present. "Beautiful, intelligent, capable, and wise beyond your years. Yahrens." Dayton said, his appreciation for her clear. He leaned over and pulled her to her feet, then kissed her softly. "I love you very much, and I'll spend as much time proving that to you as is necessary."

"Sounds promising." She smiled up at him. Yes, she'd thought she had found the man of her dreams. All of the qualities that attracted her, yet semi-retired, and not even qualified for Colonial Warrior duty. They had seemed to be the perfect fit. Typically, like other men who would remain unmentioned, he had managed to surprise her, throwing himself into the line of fire, risking it all for 'the team', and helping to save the day, coming away with honourable mentions and accolades despite his purely bureaucratic designation.

"Hey, I'm back to being Earth Liaison Officer now. Other than helping those personifications of wisdom on the Council decide what to do with Baltar, there isn't much on my plate for the next secton or so. How about a romantic dinner on the Rising Star for starters? I hear the tomatoes, onions, and corn are growing well."

"Right now, I'd be happy with a turbo wash and a good night's sleep," she replied tiredly. "Maybe a good secton's sleep."

"I could wash your back . . . turn down your covers . . ." He grinned, kissing the back of her hand.

"Kiss me 'goodnight'?" she asked suggestively.

"And 'good morning' too." He smiled.

XXXXXXXXXX

An abrupt shift, signifying his transfer from a hoverstretcher to a biobed, pulled him out of his anaesthetic bliss. Starbuck opened his eyes groggily, gradually realizing he was still alive, and that he probably owed the Goddess Triquetra a big one, if his foggy memory was at all accurate.

"You're in the Galactica's Life Station, Lieutenant." A familiar female voice told him as she leaned across him, connecting monitors and sorting out tubes. "How are you feeling?"

"Not sure . . ." he remarked with a thick tongue, trying to gauge that. Various areas of his body burned with discomfort, the exception being his right hand which tingled, but it was all actually tolerable at this point. The nausea that had overwhelmed him earlier was only an unpleasant memory. Mostly, he felt drugged to the teeth, and as weak as Aquarian Ale.

"Let me know when you are." Med tech Giselle replied lightly, before saying to someone else, "Tell the ensign and Chameleon they can come in."

"Luana. Her name's Luana." He murmured, before lapsing into a harsh cough. He knew for a fact that Giselle knew his wife's name, but as a good friend of Cassiopeia's, she still harboured some resentment toward the couple. Now, considering that both he and Cassie had moved on, it didn't make much sense. Then again, like the lupus, women ran together in packs. Cross one, and they'd make you pay for it as a group for as long as possible.

"That's it. Cough it up." Giselle replied. "It's good for your lungs, and your last scan showed some pulmonary infiltrates."

"Are we mounting a counterattack?" he asked ruefully, coughing again, feeling a thick wad of something disgusting collect in his mouth.

She paused in her work, momentarily looking down at him to thrust a tissue into his hand. Amusement lurked in her eyes. He'd always been able to wrap her around his little finger with a little boyish charm and wit. "You just did, Lieutenant."

Then she stood back as another cough wracked him, and he expelled more thick, foul sputum. His chest burned with discomfort and he splinted it instinctively.

"You had some fractured ribs, but we mended them." Giselle told him informatively.

"Fwack . . ." he muttered around the mouthful, knowing that though the mender made quick work of broken bones, the surrounding tissue damage took longer to heal. Suddenly, a small container was thrust into his hand. He looked at her in question.

"Spit into that. I think we should get a culture." She replied, her finely arched brows knit in concern. "Here they are," she added, standing back and motioning towards Lu and his father as they crossed the Life Station behind her.

For the first time Starbuck noticed Sheba sitting at the next biobed. Giselle had blocked his view as she went about her duties. A quick glance later, he realized that Commander Cain was also a patient, which confused him because he was sure he had heard at some point that the Juggernaut had pulled through his brain surgery. Hadn't he? Word via Jolly on the planet? Sheba looked tired and haggard. Worse than Cain actually. She glanced at him wearily, giving him a soft smile that wasn't very convincing.

"Hey Hot Shot." Sheba murmured as Starbuck handed the med tech the specimen and Giselle moved towards the main station, pausing to talk quietly with Lu and his father on the way.

"What happened to your father?" he replied, glancing at Cain. "I thought he was doing well."

Sheba blinked back tears, and for a moment Starbuck wondered where Apollo was. He even glanced around the Life Station expecting the strike captain to suddenly appear.

"Father collapsed." Sheba told him. "They're still trying to figure out why exactly. It's either a faulty implant or another stroke. Maybe both."

Starbuck sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "Sorry to hear that, Sheba . . ." To finally find her father only to have him first requiring major brain surgery and then collapsing as a result of it, life hadn't been very kind to Cain's daughter as of late. "How does it look?"

"They really don't know, Starbuck."

"Hey, if anybody can beat the odds, it's your father." He smiled slightly. "I'll bet he's regrouping and plotting his retaliation as we speak."

"Thank you." She murmured, rising and crossing to him. She leaned down, kissing him on the cheek. "I heard about what you did for Apollo down there. Pushing him out of the way, and taking a hit. You may have saved his life . . . again. Thank you for that too."

"Well, getting hit wasn't really part of the plan . . . besides, I owe him a few." Starbuck shrugged, wincing as his shoulder screamed at him. Exhaustion seemed to sweep over him with the pain and the effort of focussing on a conversation. "We look out for each other. You know that. You were there for us too, the way I hear it." His eyes closed briefly . . . or maybe for a few microns . . . before he felt the gentle pressure of sweet lips on his own. He smiled, "Lu . . ." He opened his eyes to see her leaning over him, Sheba now back at her father's side. Apparently, he'd dozed off for a couple moments. Luana had turbo washed and changed, her hair damp and fresh smelling. He smiled lazily at her. "Did you arrange us couple's quarters yet?"

She laughed, shaking her head at him. "I haven't quite had a chance, Innamorato."

"Slacker," he murmured, breathing in her sweetness as she embraced him carefully, as though she might harm him in some way. "I'm okay."

"Sure you are." Her voice was tremulous, then she glanced over at Giselle who was looking at them pointedly. "We can only stay a few centons, Starbuck." She glanced at Chameleon on her husband's other side.

"We've been told in no uncertain terms that we need to let you get some rest." Chameleon added, leaning down and kissing his son on the forehead. "Your friends send their best. Boomer said to tell you he's working on a Sealing Reception that will go down in history."

"Good old Boomer," he replied with a sleepy sigh. "What about Baltar? What's happening with him?"

Luana put a finger to her lips, whispering, "We've been sworn to secrecy. They're going to convene Council in the morning and decide what to do with him."

"And Mal?"

"Who?" Chameleon asked.

"Malus. The IL we found on the planet." Starbuck explained. "He wanted to join the Fleet."

"They're talking about incorporating the Abaddon into the Fleet, Starbuck. Again, it will be raised at the Council meeting." Sheba told him. "Malus will stay on in an advisory capacity."

"How did he do?" he asked, fighting against eyelids that were insisting on closing.

"Dorado couldn't say enough about him, but he's still a Cylon. We can't trust him."

"Funny that he doesn't seem to feel that way about us . . ." Starbuck murmured, losing his fight with the blanketing blackness pulling him back into a deep sleep.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Captain Dorado, might I ask you a question?" Malus asked the warrior as they both watched Dr. Wilker wandering around the Control Centre, running one of the Colonial scanners over what appeared to be a miniscule circuit board of some sort, purportedly an exact duplicate of the implant in Cain's brain.

"Sure, Malus," Dorado replied, his brow wrinkled in concentration as he looked over the latest diagnostic reports on the Solarus, preparing his final report and recommendations for Commander Adama before the Council meeting.

"Why would the implant on Commander Cain be sensitive to outside signals or frequencies? Isn't that functionally inappropriate, especially for a man in charge of a Battlestar?"

"Huh?" Dorado asked, pulled away from his data. He looked at the IL as if he'd been asked about mushies.

"If indeed the implant was reacting to a frequency from this ship, isn't it poor planning to design an neurological device sensitive to external stimuli of any kind?"

"Exactly," Dr. Wilker agreed. "But scientists specializing in medicine designed this, not those in the military. It responds to an external frequency because it connects with a diagnostic unit that monitors and records the effects of the stimulatory wavelons on the subject's central nervous system. That way, they can adjust settings as needed. This isn't about security, it's about convenience. It was never perfected, and Commander Cain was the first test case."

"He must be a very brave, or very trusting man, to allow an untried technology such as this to be inserted into him," Malus observed.

"Or a little desperate," Dorado hazarded, rolling his eyes as Wilker and then Bojay frowned at him. "I'm a bit surprised that you would view it that way, Malus. After all, don't Cylons occasionally receive implants of one kind or another into their circuit matrices? Things to maintain or augment their capabilities?"

"Of course," replied the IL, who almost reflexively ran an internal diagnostic. According to the results, some of the diodes on his left side could use replacing. "But then we are designed and programmed for such procedures. Parts wear out, or systems get upgraded, damage can be repaired. It just seems so odd, however, in a Human. I would have thought you would try it out on somebody more expendable first."

"Well, we didn't have a lot of volunteers, and Commander Cain didn't have much to lose by trying, Malus. He would have lost command of the Pegasus if he couldn't overcome his disabilities. Most of us who know him, realize that command is his life." He sighed, glancing at Bojay. "I heard Starbuck might not be able to return to flying. He'll be the same. I can't imagine Starbuck not in a cockpit." Bojay nodded soberly.

"Starbuck? That is a shame." Malus intoned. "I do hope to see him again. I would be most pleased to do so in any capacity. I would like to thank him for giving me an opportunity to join your Fleet, and I would like to continue to make a study of him to develop my own sense of humour and pleasure seeking." Then he changed the topic, as the three Humans stared at him like he was a light bulb short of an IL . . . hmm . . . "I would have thought that Humans were more adaptable."

"Some are." Dorado shrugged. "Don't get me wrong, if Cain had no chance of commanding a Battlestar again, I suppose he'd find some other way of getting on with his life. But if offered just one chance in a million of getting back to command, he'd take the risk."

"Will any of you be staying on if this ship officially becomes part of your Fleet?" Malus asked.

"I hope to." Dorado mused. "The Solarus will be one of a kind, part battleship, part passenger ship. In the event of enemy contact, she's already proven herself to be an effective decoy. If we get the okay to refit her, she could make an impressive additional warship."

"The Council will never agree to it. Besides, who are you going to get to man her, never mind civilians who would agree to live on her? There aren't going to be many people who'll want a Cylon vessel as a base ship." Bojay refuted.

"Then you're not going to volunteer, Bo?" Dorado asked him, almost grinning.

"Hades, no. I'm transferring back to the Pegasus." He glanced at Malus, his thoughts about working with Cylons conveyed without words, even after Malus availing himself. "Sheba will need the support."

"Doesn't have anything to do with a certain ebony-haired lieutenant?" Dorado teased him. "You could end up with a command position here. On the Pegasus, Sheba's already been promoted above you."

"I'll wait my turn. I'm not in any hurry." Then he shrugged, and smiled ruefully. "And Roz might have a little something to do with it, yeah."

"Good for you." Dorado grinned. "You do have a point about the civilians though. Not many people would voluntarily give up berth on a Colonial freighter for this."

"I'm actually curious what Commander Adama will do now with Cain out of commission." Bojay added. "Rumour has it that Tigh might end up taking over the Pegasus."

"What about Sheba?" Dorado poised.

"You don't seriously think that Adama will promote someone to commanding officer who up until three days ago was a lowly lieutenant, do you?" Bojay shook his head. "She doesn't have the experience."

"And she's a woman." Wilker added. Both men stared at him. They didn't disagree with him, they merely stared at him. "Well, somebody had to say it." He went back to his work, pausing as the scanner began beeping. "Aha!"

"Are the females of your species considered to be inferior?" Malus asked.

"Depends on the female in question," Bojay chuckled. "Women have come a long way, but we haven't had one command a Battlestar, or become President of the Council of the Twelve. There's a general assumption that those roles will go to men."

"Why?"

"Well, in relative terms, women haven't been in battle all that long. Traditionally, they took support roles and/or were bearing children. So, I suppose it's going to be a while before we see a total turnaround of those ideas. At least a few generations from when they first started serving with men in the military, I would expect," Dorado replied, before looking back to the other warrior. "So, you foresee Colonel Tigh commanding the Pegasus?" Bojay nodded. "What about here, Bo?"

"I see them eventually scrapping the Abaddon project because of a shortage of appropriate officers to man her properly. As simple as that." Bojay replied. "It would take work, innovation, and some totally unconventional ideas to make this ship work. Not to mention a guy who could sell the Imperious Leader a set of eye glasses."

"Hmm. You know, I think I have an idea about that. I need to shuttle over to the Galactica and see a man about a job." Dorado told them.

"I hate to tell you, buddy, but it's not going to be up to you." Bojay returned.

"The way I see it is the Council of the Twelve meets tomorrow, and the more ideas I have to give Commander Adama, the more likely I am to convince him that rebuilding the Solarus is the right decision." Dorado returned.

"Good luck." Bojay told him. "You're going to need it."

"Lieutenant Bojay?" asked Malus. The warrior turned to him. "What is. . .'luck'?"

"I'll leave Starbuck to field that one. It's his specialty, after all."

"He has many specialties, doesn't he?" Malus asked almost dreamily, his lights brightening.

"He's quite the guy . . . just ask him."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Starbuck . . ."

She smiled tantalisingly at him from the doorway, crooking a finger at him, encouraging him down the dimly lit corridor. Lu had never looked so beautiful, her long brown hair glossy and cascading over her shoulders, her eyes dancing with happiness, wearing a sheer little number that left little to the imagination, which was saying a lot for him. His breath caught in his throat and his heart rate sped up as his circulatory system rerouted blood flow to the more vital areas that would soon need it. Lords, but he'd waited for this for a long time.

"Starbuck . . ."

He pulled impatiently at his tunic, not wanting to waste any time as she disappeared within the chamber. Then a bare shapely leg peeked past the doorjamb, and he sucked in a breath as she extended it outward slightly, flexing it at the knee and pointing her graceful bare foot downward. He could almost feel her silky skin beneath his fingertips, those legs entwined in his own, as he picked up the pace, her delightful laughter enticing him into an alluring trap of her own design . . .

"Starbuck!"

The warrior opened his eyes to gaze into soft brown pools of concern . . . covered by heavy dark eyebrows, a swarthy complexion, and a full days growth of beard. "Ohhhhh! You just ruined the best dream, Dorado . . ." he groaned.

"Shh! Keep your voice down, Bucko." The other warrior whispered, pulling up a chair to his bedside. "How are you doing?"

Starbuck glanced around the softly lit Life Station, glancing across at Cain and detecting blue eyes briefly looking back at him before they closed. In a quick survey, he made out Med Tech Waheeb sitting at the main station, frowning in Dorado's direction. "How did you even get in here? They ran Lu and Sheba off centars ago."

"I told Waheeb it was a matter of Fleet Security." Dorado replied quietly. "Is it true about you losing your wings? No more high-G launches?"

Starbuck winced. "You kinda like to hit a fella over the head with it, don't you?" He wiggled the fingers of his right hand as he felt another onset of what he had come to think of as 'nerve storm'. The pins and needles sensation seemed to rush down his arm, settling into his fingertips in a sort of intense frenzy before it would again finally recede. He touched the fingers, and they seemed colder than his other hand, but he had been assured that his circulation was perfectly normal. "Dr. Salik and Paye both say I can't fly a Viper again." He sighed, finding it difficult to look his friend in the eye. He wasn't quite ready to contemplate what that would mean to his career, or his life. "How's Mal?" Finally, the pins and needles began to dissipate.

"You know, if he wasn't a Cylon, I'd think he was sweet on you," Dorado told him ruefully. "What the Hades Hole is it with you, anyway?"

"Women, daggits, cyborgs, they all love me," he replied by rote, and then shook his head as his old Academy-mate chuckled in reply. "Hey, he's not such a bad guy . . . for a Cylon. Sheba said he did okay on the Abaddon."

"The Solarus." Dorado corrected him.

"Come again?"

"We have to rename her. Malus suggested the Solarus, and Commander Adama approved. And yes, he did great on the Solarus. He was a big help."

"Malus named. . .?" Starbuck murmured, finally remembering that he had used Solarus as the fictitious name of a Colonial research vessel when the IL had first interrogated him in the cave. He smirked, wishing he could be there to see Apollo's face when he found out.

"Yeah, he's going to stay on as an advisor if the Council votes to refit the old Base Ship."

"Why does the Council even get a say? Isn't this a military decision?" Starbuck asked, running a hand wearily over his face.

"Because the only way we can refit the Solarus, as well as have some leftover scrap for other crucial Fleet repairs, is if we salvage the Aptian Freighter."

"That old clunker? All that's holding her together is corrosion and the rotten paper and fabric that's congealed in the corners. Should be an easy call."

"If you and I were on Council, I'm sure it would be, but we both know that they don't think the same way as us. After all, those displaced by the salvage operation on the Aptian would have to be housed within the Fleet. Now, you must know there isn't that much spare room, and considering there are about fifteen hundred civilians on the Aptian, we need a place to put them."

"Ah." He frowned. "I see. But isn't it better to have civilians housed on a Battleship, than to not have a Battleship?" Starbuck asked, reaching for a sip of water as his throat began to tickle. The cup was just beyond his reach. He frowned, swallowing down foul saliva that seemed to want to crawl back up his throat.

"Not bad." Dorado pulled out his datapad, jotting something down. "I think I'll use it."

"And we should think about transferring the seniors to the . . . Solarus. And the families on board the Aptian to the old Senior Ship."

"What are you thinking, Bucko?" Dorado leaned forward, engaging him.

"It's the generational difference." He rubbed a hand over his face as the thought about Chameleon and endless others aboard that ship. "A bunch of seniors would be happy to switch ships if it meant that the Fleet was stronger for doing it. They have that same sense of responsibility and duty that us warriors do, which seems to have skipped a lot of civilians of our generation who spend more time demanding that their civil rights be upheld while we're wandering across the galaxy trying to find the basic necessities for two hundred and twenty ships." He closed his eyes, spent by his rant.

"Ah, I knew there was a reason I thought of you. Unconventional thinking, I believe Bojay called it."

"Hmm. Why are we having this conversation again?" Starbuck rubbed his eyes and glanced at a chrono on his biomonitor. "At 0200 centars?"

"What would you think about joining the Solarus' crew?"

"Leaving the Galactica?" He sat up, abruptly overwhelmed by a harsh, wet cough. It felt as though his chest was trying to expel everything between his throat and his toes. He gasped for air, as his body convulsed, sending jabs of pain through his chest, abdomen and shoulder. Finally, it eased and he dropped boneless back onto the stretcher covered in sweat.

"Was that a 'no'?" Dorado asked quietly deadpan.

"Don't ask me to repeat myself, for Sagan's sake," he panted.

Dorado squeezed his shoulder. "You okay?"

Starbuck nodded.

"Hey, it's a good opportunity. If we're going to do this, we'll need some volunteers. I can see that a lot of warriors, regardless of speciality, would be reluctant to throw their lot in with a refitted Cylon Base Ship. I've even given some thought to rebuilding some Raiders to form our own squadrons. Possibly even refitting some of their engines to Viper spaceframes alternatively. Combining Colonial and Cylon technologies. No high-G launches, Bucko."

He straightened up ever so slightly, his eyes shining with excitement at the thought of flying again. "They launch from the landing bays . . ."

"Yep. Easier on the body."

He nodded. "Who's taking command?"

"Well, initially it was going to be Colonel Tigh, but the word is that he'll be reassigned to the Pegasus as executive officer acting as commanding officer while Cain's recovering." He glanced over at Cain, shaking his head slightly before returning his glance to Starbuck.

"What are the odds on Tigh . . .?" he smiled.

"Oh, if only there was time, Bucko." Dorado commiserated.

"Seems to me you're losing your perspective, buddy," Starbuck chastised him. "Surely to God someone is collecting bets on this. If I know Giles, he's already got a fistful of notes.

There's a bundle to be made . . ."

"Sorry, pal. I've let you down."

"You don't look too broken up about it."

"Well, I am trying to reinvent your career, and put you back into a fighter." He waited a beat. "Where you belong."

Starbuck sighed. "There is that." Then he smiled softly, an unspoken thanks on his features.

Dorado squeezed his arm again, before asking, "What about Dayton?"

Dorado and his wingman, Lieutenant Rooke, had spent sectars on the Pirate Asteroid with Dayton and his men before Starbuck had shown up. If anybody knew how tenacious, dedicated and military savvy the Earthman was, it was Dorado.

"You know that a 'commander' on Earth doesn't hold the same military distinction as it does here?" Starbuck asked.

"No, I didn't." He paused. "Do you think that matters?"

"Not a bit." Starbuck smiled. "Just as long as the Council doesn't know."

Dorado sniffed in amusement. "Do you think Dayton would be interested?"

"Reluctantly, of course, but he'd do it, and in the space of a centar he'd be moved aboard and ordering everybody around." Starbuck chuckled. "But he's not up to speed about Colonial or Cylon technology, not to mention how our military works. And he's not a Colonial citizen. We'd have to work something out about that."

"Well, the Solarus isn't exactly a registered Colonial battleship either." Dorado reminded him. "At least not yet. And we're short of officers. Everybody knows that."

"Some sort of new command structure? To take all of that into account." Starbuck shrugged.

"Sounds interesting. What are you thinking?"

"Well . . ."

XXXXXXXXXX

What a fool he'd been! He'd been certain that he'd held the capstone! He thought that Colonial Justice would vindicate him in an ironic turn of events that would see Baltar—the convicted Betrayer of the Twelve Worlds—as a free man. Hadn't he saved Starbuck? Apollo too? Hadn't he prevented an entire shuttle of Colonials from being incinerated in a blaze of Cylon laser fire?

Surely that would be enough to make Adama—a man of moral conviction and fortitude—feel some regret or guilt, or at least have some second thoughts about such a sham of justice, as a trial in absentia devoid of most of the facts and all opportunity for Baltar's self-defence. Instead Baltar had been cast into the Pegasus' Brig, left wondering if Adama and the other ten members of the Council of Twelve even knew he existed. Had Apollo and his tightly knit band of Baltar Bashers decided to let him languish in solitude until he perished, leaving the rest of the Fleet unaware of not only his presence, but also his redemption?

After all, he had not seen a protector, an opposer, or even a med tech since he was left in the suspiciously empty Brig. Empty except for the surly guard that would just as soon shoot him as grant him his legal rights of representation. So far he hadn't even been formerly charged of any wrongdoing, so the fact that they were holding him here against his will additionally defied Colonial Law. Any centon now he expected bricklayers to seal up his cell for all of eternity, leaving nothing but a rotting corpse and a bad smell.

A sudden cough seized him, and he swung his legs over the side of his bunk, sitting upright, as every last milli-letron of foul, toxic, gelatinous fluid was squeezed from his lungs. Sweat broke out all over a body that was already drenched from his last similar episode. His frame convulsed for several more centons and he heaved and struggled for a breath, tears streaming down his face and his nose running in sympathy. He wiped it all on a small towel, the only additional luxury they had afforded him besides a blanket.

Baltar shuddered as he choked and then spat out a disgusting wad of something that he suspected had to be a piece of lung tissue rather than anything as simple or benign as sputum. It sure as Hades Hole wasn't food. Resting his sweaty head in his trembling hands, he looked down between his knees at the gruesome, thick puddle of awfulness on the floor. Spittle trailed down his chin, and a tenacious stream of it dangled from his chin. Weakly, he wiped it away, his eyes narrowing slightly as he noticed something on the floor . . .

Wiggling.

"GUARD!!"

XXXXXXXXXX

The Life Station was eerily quiet in the early centars, long before the average duty shift began, which was why Adama had chosen now to visit. That, and the fact that Baltar's reappearance had prevented him from closing his eyes for more than five continuous centons. Then there was the Council meeting later this morning, followed by a command meeting to redistribute his senior officers. All in all, it would be a gruelling day.

He noticed straight away that Sheba and Luana had evidently both been run off by the medical staff, which bespoke an improvement in patient condition. A med tech sat quietly at the central station, inputting data. Adama sighed, looking between the two biobeds positioned closely together. Cain and Starbuck. Two men who would probably not be in the mess they were right now, if they had only followed physician's orders.

"How are they?" Adama asked Salik, his voice seeming intrusive with the quiet hum of medical equipment in the background as the physician crossed the room to join him.

"Commander Cain regained consciousness last night. He has complete paralysis to his right arm and leg, Commander. He can still talk though." Salik smiled. "He had a few choice words for Sobek about the 'short-circuiting electronic felgercarb we crammed into his brain'."

Adama couldn't help but smile. Leave it to Cain to berate a man for something he had insisted on participating in. "His words, I take it."

"Oh, yes," Salik agreed. "Slightly sanitized. Now, neural scans didn't show any clots, so the damage had to be primarily related to the implant." He motioned Adama to a monitor. There a 3-D internal scan of the brain was displayed, complete with implant. "Right now we're theorizing that it over-stimulated the neurons it was targeting for normal synaptic transmission, instead causing all the symptoms and after effects of a cerebral vascular incident. We're expecting some improvement, but the long and the short of it is, he wants to try another implant. This time he swears he'll stick with the regimen, and not go exploring Cylon Base Ships with his friends." He raised his eyebrows at the 'friend' in question.

"Uh . . . yes." Adama replied a little uncomfortably. "But, what's to prevent the same thing from happening? Why did the implant malfunction?"

"Good question." Salik sighed. "I gave Dr. Wilker the evacuated implant that failed, as well as an identical copy to take to the Base Ship as a test case. Sobek is wondering if some kind of specific Cylon signal on that ship triggered the glitch. It certainly seemed to function normally on the Galactica. I'm hoping to hear back from him this morning."

"Doctor, this sounds like some kind of a field test to me. That doesn't exactly fill me with confidence, especially since you're putting it into the commander of the Pegasus!"

"It's experimental, Commander. You knew that going in." Salik reminded him. "So did he." He nodded towards Cain.

"How is Cain going to command . . .?"

"He won't be returning to active duty until I'm one hundred percent certain that he's not going to collapse on the Bridge in combat because of a Cylon frequency that is inadvertently received by the Pegasus."

"How long are we talking about?" Adama asked quietly.

"It could be six sectars to a yahren. And certainly no less, if he doesn't follow orders!"

"I see." It was about what he thought. He let out a slow breath, glancing over at Starbuck. "What about Starbuck?"

"You can't put that boy back in a Viper, Adama," Salik replied insistently after a long contemplative moment. "We can't keep patching him up. Putting him back together again. I've already told him. He lost his spleen, his kidneys are compromised, if I printed out his medical file, I could use it to wallpaper the Galactica from end to end."

"Surely you're not suggesting a medical discharge?" Adama replied, completely astounded. "Is it that serious?"

"No." Salik shook his head, glancing over at the young man who stirred in his sleep, a harsh cough shaking his frame. "I know he's one of your best and most qualified warriors, but just the G-force of him blasting out of a launch tube will stress and compromise every synthetic repair in his body, putting him at risk. Not to mention what the repetitive action will do to his pain." He frowned. "He's going to feel the effects of these repeated and accumulative injuries, Adama. Regeneration treatments do a wonderful job on epithelialization and surface appearance, but they don't erase the pain or eliminate the scarring of deeper tissue. That is beyond even our medical science."

Adama raised an eyebrow in question.

"I'm talking about chronic pain." Salik replied. "His right shoulder and back had significant muscle and deep tissue damage. It's going to take extensive therapy for him to regain the full range of motion and strength. He's reporting tingling in his right hand, which could disappear as his inflammation decreases, or it might be permanent nerve damage. Only time will tell. Sagan, it's going to take days of regeneration treatments just to regranulate the tissue on his shoulder and back enough to cover the wound."

"Is that it?"

"Without a spleen, he's going to be more susceptible to infections of any kind. When he gets sick, he'll get sick fast. It won't be something that can wait for a shuttle, or a med tech. I'm talking about no more missions to alien planets, making sure his vaccinations are up to date, taking care of his health without exception. We both know that Starbuck would be more inclined to disobey every medical order I've issued until I'm blue in the face, than to look after his own health."

Adama closed his eyes, knowing Salik was right.

Then a gruff, familiar voice came from his right, "A man cut from the same cloth as me. Sounds like he'd make the Solarus a fine strike captain."