Title: Faoi Dheireadh
Part: 51
Rating: PG, maybe PG-13 later
Pairing: A/R
Summary: The survivors of the Holocaust have finally reached Earth, but they find out that's not the end of their problems
Beta: Mariel
Note: I do want to thank Vi, Marta, Axelrajr, Moggie, Rap541, and AlbertG for their expertise. Without their input this story would not be what it is today. Be warned, this takes place sometime near the end of season two. Anything after Epiphanies are conjectures from the author's warped mind. . .

Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica and its characters are creations of Glen Larson and copywrited by Universal Studios. I make no money off of this.

Colonial speech: " "
English speech: ' '

Chapter Fifty-one (interlude 1)

"This is not good," Cavil looked down at the console before him. There was plenty of room for the other models to gather.

"Of course it's not good!" a Three hissed. "Not only have we lost the fleet, but we've lost several models. Look!" She projected images from the skirmish that had just taken place. Being outmaneuvered by an unknown race was a bitter pill to swallow.

"Anything?" Cavil turned to one of the Eights.

"I told you, she disconnected herself. I have no way of reaching her."

It had taken several hours of intense work to get rid of the computer virus that had been sent during that particular skirmish. "Whatever they sent, it knew how to get into our systems," a Doral model spoke.

"Let's not get in over our heads. First things first. Do we know who these people are?"

"No," several spoke at the same time.

"Finding out who they are should be our first goal. Next, we need to find out why the humans are with them."

"How?" Three asked.

"By this," Cavil focused the image on a group of ships. "These look like they could be for supplies. They're relatively unprotected, so it should be fairly simple to take them out."

"But not before we get much needed information from them, like who they are," Three added.

"True, true."

"It is God's will," Six spoke for the first time. "Therefore, we will succeed."


Felix woke with a start, covered in sweat and breathing hard. "It was only a dream," he muttered as he rubbed his face. "Gods, please only a dream." His cabin was dark, except for the runner lights along the floor against the bulkheads. Sitting up, he ran a hand through his short hair. What was worse was that he could do nothing about it. At least the Admiral would have told him if anything had changed.

It was only after he managed to get his breathing under control that he even began to think about what he could do to help. He was only allowed to go down to visit once a week, which wasn't enough in his estimation. If it had been his choice, he'd be there every day, but it wasn't. The Admiral needed him on board, more so now with his skills in speaking English. Without thinking, he twisted around and turned on the small lamp. The small bulb splashed enough light throughout the cabin to prevent anyone from tripping over anything. The lamp was situated between two items, his small clock and a somewhat nondescript box. It was the box he reached for this time.

Setting it on his lap, he looked at it for several long moments. Like many others, he did believe in the gods of his youth. Sometimes they were all he had to hold onto. President Roslin, though, took it a bit far by saying she was a prophet. Opening it revealed the rich velvet material that enveloped the idols tucked in its soft folds. He had received the box and idols during the traditional coming of age ceremony. The ring was forever lost back on Leonis. He had had it replaced as soon as it was humanly possible. Over the years he had changed out the traditional senior idols for the ones he felt more of a connection with. There were two from the original set he held onto, and that was Athena, his patron, and Apollo. Athena knew next to nothing about healing, but he knew he could easily offend her if he didn't start with her.

Dipping his hand into the box, he slowly removed the material and unfolded it to reveal his personal idols. He rarely had time anymore to make even a quick stop at any of the ship shrines; no one had the time anymore. Felix took the two small idols and gently held them while closing the box. The bed before him was flat enough so he could make an altar with the box and material. Once properly situated, he gently placed the two icons on the expensive material, and looked at them for a moment to gather his thoughts. "Athena, patron of wisdom, hear my prayers," he started the traditional chant. "I call on you to bless Angela for she has chosen the path of the warrior woman. I also call on you to give her the skill to make war, and wisdom to know when not to. Apollo, god of healing, hear my prayer. I call on you for your healing power for her healing. I also call on you to look after Margaret and her healing." Feeling like he was finished he leaned back and sighed. Just as he was reaching for the idols he remembered that Angela had her own belief system. The problem was, he had no idea who she believed in.

Thinking it would be very bad, and offend her god if he forgot to include him or her, he closed his eyes to think for a moment. "I do not know who you are, but I do know she has her own beliefs. . ." he hesitated for a moment, not quite sure how to continue, "I call on your healing power to restore her health."


'Sir, Ambassador Garcia's office has finally sent over the initial offer,' Lieutenant Commander Kimberly Erbe stepped into Orbach's office and handed him a small case.

'Thank you, Commander,' he glanced at her and what she handed over. Not much of a proposal. Once she was dismissed, he opened it up. Garcia wasn't the kind of person to have any type of document coming from his office to be unprofessional looking. This one looked like it had been hastily drawn up. It looked good, but didn't have the professional quality his documents normally had. 'This is interesting,' he muttered as he looked at it a little bit more carefully. The Spaniard might not have had the time to get everything perfect, he mused. Then again, he had read worse quality proposals before.

As he worked his way through the single document his eyes began to narrow. Eventually he shoved it away. He did not. . .

He deliberately closed his eyes and took a deep calming breath. Yelling at the officers under him might make him feel better, but not anyone else. Once he felt sufficiently calmed down he called his chief-of-staff, 'Logan, I want you to contact Prime Minister Hamilton and Admiral Jackson. I'd like to have a meeting with them about their new visitors and what can be done to help both sides.'

TBC...