Chapter 31 - The Calm
Battlestar Galactica, Unknown System - November, 2249

"Atten-tion!" the Marine Sergeant commanding the deck security detail barked, as Admiral William Adama stepped onto the deck, "Admiral on deck!" Despite the controlled chaos of the hangar deck, every member of his crew within earshot snapped to attention.

Calling out, "At ease," Adama headed immediately towards the knot of Earth Alliance Marines guarding a single nearby officer.

Commodore John Sheridan moved to greet him. "Good to see you, Sir. Though not surprising, given who's coming aboard." He nodded towards the line of Raptors coming in to land. The first few had already touched down, and were deplaning the rescued hostages. Sheridan drew Adama's attention to one of the Raptors, where Commander Lee Adama was just disembarking.

Spotting them, the young officer trotted over and gave a sharp salute. "Permission to come aboard, Sir?"

"Permission granted. Good to see you back in one piece...mostly," he added, nodding to a scorched and torn portion of Apollo's jacket. His gaze slid to where President Roslin was also debarking, followed by Colonel Tigh.

Lee, noting the gaze, replied, "The Centurions blindsided us just as we were exfiltrating. It got pretty dicey for a bit. We managed to get most of the VIPs and hostages off, but took a fair number of casualties, and there are still some missing...a couple of Cylon Council members, former Vice President Baltar, Chief Tyrol, Major Shaw, and Captain Thrace...and Lieutenant Ivanova."

Sheridan frowned at that news. He had become quite fond of the young Lieutenant. "We've got a full Brigade of GroPos heading in to sweep that ship. We'll get them back. We need to do it soon," he added ominously.

Adama picked up on the tone, though he needn't have. He'd been planning on staying in the CIC to further coordinate the ongoing battle aboard the Basestar, but about the time the rescue Raptors had been halfway home, Sheridan had commed an urgent request for a face to face. Bill jerked his head to the side, indicating they should take the conversation to a more private setting. The three of them retired to a less crowded corner of the deck, and Bill's glare ensured the Maintenance techs kept a wide berth. "Alright John, what's the emergency?"

"One of Locarno's Cutters just came in through the jump gate. We've got a massive Minbari fleet just three systems behind us."

Bill tamped down his alarm, and asked calmly, "Headed this way?"

"They're doing a full reconnoiter of the system. It won't be long though. Three or four days at best. Based on prior patterns...there's a good chance that's not the only fleet. They're probably working their way through a number of systems on a broad front, looking to cut us off."

"Damn."

"It gets worse. I dispatched the rest of the Cutters to check out the other paths currently open to us. Only one has checked back in so far...to report a similar Minbari fleet four systems away. Performing a similar system recon."

Bill exhaled sharply. "So we're probably already surrounded."

"Seems that way. It's not too surprising. This...lost network we're on; it's shockingly large, but it still doesn't compare to the main gate network. There's just a lot fewer places to hide, and we still haven't found any great settlement candidates."

"We might just have to make do with whatever's available. I'd consider New Caprica...but at this point the Minbari have already cut us off from that system. Still...we've picked up Biers. We might be able to get some options out of her.

Apollo nodded and cut in. "Your Colonel Garibaldi was talking about getting information out of her...without asking questions. I assume that means telepathy."

Sheridan grimaced. "Things have gotten worse than I thought if Michael is threatening to use telepaths for interrogation. It might be necessary though. If you're right about this Cylon Earth...it could be just what we need."

"Hopefully," Adama agreed. "I've got to prepare my people to run. And we need to finish this mess on the Basestar immediately. We certainly can't afford to let the One make off with that vessel."

"Agreed. In the meantime, I'm going to have Gideon start his exploration procedure again. Try to find us another escape route."

"What are the odds that there's another hidden network just waiting for you to find it?" Apollo asked rhetorically.

Sheridan chose to answer. "Not great. But even if he just finds a system that we can settle, that the Minbari can't find…" Scowling pensively, he felt the need to raise some further concerns. "They found this network when we thought they wouldn't. If they're this dogged...they might find us, wherever we go next. Worse...what if we don't find anything? It was a long shot last time, and we're still damned close to the Rim."

Adama's scowl deepened. He was just way outside of his comfort zone with this hyperspace business. It'd be so much easier simply to jump away...but that'd mean abandoning the Earth fleet, and all of the hope and friendship...and resources...they had brought to his ragtag fleet. He wasn't anywhere near prepared to consider that. Not yet, anyway. "Do you have a plan?"

"We'll give Gideon a couple of days. If he comes up dry, we'll reposition to another system and repeat there, until the Minbari are on top of us. Then we'll repeat Z'ha'dum if necessary, with the civilian fleet hanging well off the beacon in Hyper, and the combat vessels creating a distraction. At least if it comes to that, they won't be left completely alone. I'll transfer Gideon to your command. The Galactica and Pegasus wouldn't be much help against the Minbari anyway. They shouldn't get involved in that fight."

"I'm guessing the President would agree with you," Bill noted sourly. His feelings for the woman were powerful and complex...but at times her bullheadedness drove him crazy.

"All the more reason to plan on them escaping with our civilian fleet. I'll get Gideon started right away. I've also got science teams coming aboard. We're going to need to discuss options. Or the lack thereof. We should have the experts involved."

"The one thing Baltar would be useful for, and the pain in the ass manages to end up missing."

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Rebel Cylon Flagship, Unknown System - November, 2249

Lieutenant Susan Ivanova sighed and, fighting back the pain, climbed unsteadily to her feet. "Ok, let's not panic."

"Who's panicking?" Starbuck asked, grabbing her nearby Auricon Heavy PPG up from the floor and swinging it unsteadily back and forth between the two identical pairs of Baltars and Capricas. "Gaius Baltar is a frakking Cylon. Time to die."

Russki shuffled unsteadily over and clamped her hand down over the end of the rifle, pushing the barrel down to point at the floor. "She says out loud to a room full of armed Cylons," she reminded her boss. Russki spared a glance for the mirrored Baltars, one looking absolutely terrified, the other appearing aloof...and altogether too interested in what was going on around him. In the people he seemed to find interesting in the way one might find the antics of poorly behaved pets interesting. That smug self satisfied look that would be equally at home on the face of either Baltar. Susan almost pulled Starbuck's rifle back up. Not that it would have done any good against such a being.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Chief Tyrol, having turned from the door to check on the commotion behind him, "take it easy Starbuck. We've all been through a lot, but there's no way Baltar can be a Cylon. All of the models are spoken for."

"Then how the frak do you explain that?" she snapped, swinging up her weapon again to gesticulate.

"Explain what?" he asked in confusion.

Franklin wasn't pleased. "Captain Thrace, sit down! You've already reopened your wound."

"Starbuck's losing it," Boomer leaned over to murmur in Tyrol's ear. Unfortunately the acoustics of the room were such that the comment carried clearly to everyone in the room.

"Bitch…" Statbuck began, turning on the Cylon.

Susan grabbed her shoulder forcefully. "They can't see them. The extras. Only you, Major Shaw, and I can. And Baltar and Caprica, apparently."

"Oh, bullshit!" Kendra snapped. "I don't believe in ghosts or boogeymen under the bed. Now I want some frakkin' answers!"

And now Razor was the one receiving appraising looks from Tyrol, Boomer, and Franklin. Susan could tell they were far more likely to try cramming her into a straight-jacket than to accept what was actually happening.

"How tiresome," notBaltar drolled. "It would be better if we didn't need these children."

"And yet we do," notCaprica noted. "Time is short, and this confusion serves us not at all."

Susan didn't sense anything change, but suddenly Tyrol and Boomer cursed, bringing up their weapons and aiming at the pair of...whoever and whatever they were. Franklin bolted upright. It must have been a disconcerting sight for the two Cylons and the Doctor...notBaltar in his perfectly fitted and tailored suit and notCaprica in her slinky red dress, the two of them appearing out of thin air as though they had just come from some swank gathering.

Sighing, Susan once more put her hand on the Auricon, which Starbuck had pointed roughly at the two beings, just above the pistol grip and the Captain's right hand. Adjusting the Captain's aim, Susan squeezed down on her trigger finger, causing the PPG to discharge. A glowing bolt of plasma sailed across the room, passing cleanly through notBaltar's chest and scorching the far wall. His legs collapsing beneath him in shock, the real Baltar fell on his ass with a squeal, shuffling backward as quickly as his scrambling legs would take him. Caprica kept a much better poker face. But she also took a couple of large steps backwards on those long legs.

"Might as well put away your weapons," Susan noted calmly, "or at least point them at the door again. They won't do any good against...them."

"Was that really necessary?" not Baltar asked, evincing some slight irritation.

"Just showing them what they're dealing with. Now, maybe it's finally time for you to explain who. While we still have time."

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Battlestar Galactica, Unknown System - November, 2249

"That's it. That's all she knows about One's plans," Commander Alfred Bester advised.

"Are you sure she hasn't managed to conceal anything?" Garibaldi asked, staring intently at the Three. D'Anna Biers was slumped down in her seat, exhaustion evident. "You said it was more difficult to scan her than a regular human."

"And it was. But I've dug deep. If there's anything else, it's hidden deep in her subconscious, where she herself wouldn't even be aware of its existence. I'd have to do a deep scan to get at it, which would take several hours we don't have. Beside, any information hidden in such a way is highly unlikely to be tactically relevant to the current emergency. If necessary, we can perform the deep scan after the current emergency has passed." Despite his confident, self assured tone, the Commander was clearly exhausted from his efforts.

President Laura Roslin had been watching the telepathic interrogation in fascination. No, this wasn't an interrogation. They only asked questions to get her thinking about a topic, so they could literally rip the information right from her head. That made it more like some kind of nonconsensual invasive surgery. Which placed it firmly in the torture column, as far as she was concerned. It would have been horrifying if the subject hadn't been nothing but a damned toaster. You couldn't torture a machine that wasn't truly alive. Even if you ripped out a few gears. Of course, the Earthers just having this capability was horrifying.

Then again, the situation itself wasn't much better. She looked around disconsolately at the others in the room. This interrogation should have been carried out by Colonial security forces, with only herself and the Admiral otherwise in attendance. Instead, it was Earthforce personnel who were collecting the data, and there were more than a few of them in attendance. Worse, Commodore Sheridan had just barged in without so much as a 'by your leave.' Even worse...the fool had brought a few members of the Cylon Council and Final Five with him. Apparently he wanted their 'perspective.'

"That's not a lot to go on," Sheridan was saying now, pensively. "We're going to have to simply overwhelm the Centurions with numbers and firepower, no matter how much collateral damage it causes to the Basestar."

"I'm sending the last few Marine squads I can spare," Adama replied.

"I can send in quite a few more GroPos and Marines," Sheridan offered. "If you have no objections."

"Gentlemen," Roslin cut in, standing, "I'm sure I can leave this in your capable hands. But if this interrogation is over, then there is no more use for the prisoner, and no need to put up with the continued threat she represents." Without waiting for their reply, she turned and called out. "Marines! Drag this trash to the nearest airlock and toss her out of it."

The Commodore looked up in surprise, but Bill seemed to have been expecting this. As had Colonel Garibaldi, who opened his mouth, whether to agree or to object, she wouldn't find out. The Six named Natalie beat him to the punch.

Lurching to her feet she implored, "Wait!" Taking a deep breath to collect herself, she continued, "Madame President...she made a mistake...a terrible one. I don't defend what she did. But...she's the last of her kind. The last Three in existence. Please, you can't just end that." Behind her, several other Cylons nodded their support.

Roslin glared at the Six in irritation. "D'Anna was more than willing to slaughter every last one of you in order to get what she wanted. She lied to and betrayed each of you. You think she won't do that again at her very next opportunity?

Tory Foster stepped forward hesitantly. "Then lock her up. Punish her. Lock her away. But if we're going to work with the Cylons, we need to show some mercy."

Roslin swung her glare on her former Chief of Staff without a hint of remorse. "If we're going to work with the Cylons. Need I remind you that you are a Cylon? And your status is nebulous enough as it is right now, Ms. Foster. I wouldn't go making waves, if I were you."

"Now hold on right there," Tigh snapped, finally speaking up. "Foster volunteered to be bait on that mission, just like Tyrol and I did. You don't need to be tossing threats." He turned to his Admiral, despite the fact that Bill wouldn't make eye contact with him. Wouldn't even look at him. "Bill, maybe we can find a way to ensure she's not a danger. I guess maybe I'm supposed to be responsible for these Cylons in some kind of way. I don't know. But let's at least figure out our options before we go airlocking anyone."

Adama paused, then finally looked at his old friend. "Looks like the President's made up her mind, Saul."

Natalie looked around desperately. "D'Anna," she urged, "say something!"

"What's the point? Just get it over with already."

Refusing to give up, Natalie saw one last line of hope. "Commodore! Commodore, please. Give D'Anna asylum! Your forces were primarily responsible for this rescue. Surely that makes her your prisoner."

Sheridan gave the woman a thoughtful look, the sight of which caused Roslin to explode. "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me! Commodore, setting aside the fact that this...woman...is my prisoner and not yours; you can't possibly be considering letting her get away with this mutiny! It's one thing to take the Cylons as a whole at their word that they wish to join us. D'Anna, has proven that she has no intention of doing so, and proven herself more than capable of causing chaos and subverting Cylon systems. The Centurions, both models, are now all fully under the control of the enemy Cylons. How many lives have been lost because of her? You'd give that a pass?"

Sheridan grimaced. There was little love lost between himself and the President. However, he was well aware that this was a delicate topic. So he turned and addressed Natalie. "I'm sorry. I have to agree with the President on nearly every point. D'Anna is clearly guilty. She cannot be trusted. Moreover, she is a clear and present danger to both the fleet, and to the integration of the Cylon populace into that fleet. That is unacceptable. A threat that must be removed. I'm sorry," he repeated, sounding quite sincere.

Losing hope, Natalie grasped desperately at any possibility. "You said nearly every point, Commodore. Where do you disagree with the President?"

"Is this really necessary?" Roslin snapped. "There are still enemy Cylons and Centurions running all over that Basestar. Shouldn't we be focusing on eliminating the Cylon threat?" .

Sheridan hesitated, but then nodded. "You're right, Madame President. This isn't the time."

"But if they're going to kill her, there won't be another time," Natalie continued to argue. "That's what we've learned, becoming more human. Time is fleeting, and can't be regained once lost. Please...you must disagree with the President on something."

He sighed but gave a kind smile. "Only in that death is the only option. There are other, perhaps kinder, options. I very nearly made that mistake myself not too long ago. But this isn't my decision to make. It's hers, and she's already decided."

Natalie whipped back towards Roslin. "Madame President. Whatever the other options are, please consider them!"

"This is not up for discussion," Roslin snapped. "There are no other options that don't leave her a threat to…"

While she was speaking, Alfred Bester suddenly stepped forward and placed his hand on the back of D'Anna's neck. She screamed and crumpled to the floor, the surprised Marines not bothering to catch her. She looked up at the Commander in shock and horror. "What...what happened? What did you do?"

Sheridan gave them both a thoughtful look, then turned back to the President and others. Their eyes demand answers. "I was actually going to suggest the Death of Personality. It's a procedure we reserve for our worst criminals. Their memories and personality are entirely wiped away, and a new one written in their place. It would have destroyed D'Anna...but left her Three body...and consequently her line...intact. But that's not what Commander Bester did." He cast a troubled look at his subordinate. "Unless I am mistaken, what the commander did was reach into her mind and establish the lot of us as authority figures...then burn out the part of her mind capable of ignoring or refusing to obey commands of authority." He paused. "I didn't authorize that, Commander."

Bester nodded in acquiescence. "It felt like you wanted to. I apologize if I misinterpreted...or overstepped my bounds."

"That's...horrifying," Roslin muttered. Natalie nodded. For once, it seemed they were in complete agreement.

"It's better than death. At least, I think so. And since the procedure was done to me not so long ago...I do speak with some authority."

That revelation shocked Roslin to her core...terrified her more than a little. She may have completely misunderstood the nature of the Earthers. As for D'Anna… "Fine. Commodore, you want her alive? You keep her. I don't want her anywhere near my fleet. Not the civilian ships, not the Battlestars...not even the Basestars. As soon as she is off this vessel, she is officially banished." She rounded on Natalie. "Will that be sufficient?"

"Yes, Madame President."

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Rebel Cylon Flagship, Unknown System - November, 2249

Lieutenant Susan Ivanova waited for a response, but the two strange beings wearing the bodies of Gaius Baltar and Caprica Six were simply looking intently, somberly at each other. Russki would have assumed they were having some telepathic conversation, but she wasn't picking up on a thing.

Finally, notCaprica languidly shifted her head to lock eyes with Russki. "Sorry dear. His question was for me. And yes, I do think it's necessary. There's no time left for hiding in the subconscious or working through the chosen. When that door breaches and the One seizes this ship...everything will have been lost. The work of millenia, gone in the mad tantrum of a child. Work that must not be lost. It is all we have left."

"Who are you?" Chief Tyrol asked in no little trepidation. "What are you? Some sort of pure data Cylon?"

Doctor Franklin joined in. "A new alien species, maybe? Are we making first contact? What do you want?"

NotBaltar had been gazing at each of them in turn, as one might gaze at ants. At Franklin's last question though, he shot the man a dark glare. Instead he turned back to Tyrol. "Who are you?"

"I'm...Galen. Galen Tyrol. Senior Chief Petty Officer in the Colonial Fleet, assigned to the Battl…. Actually, I guess I'm a Cylon. A Cylon from Earth."

The air of superiority was so ingrained into the Baltar countenance this being was wearing, no one could really tell what he...it...thought of the Chief's answer. But apparently his counterpart wearing Caprica's face wasn't particularly interested. "We have no time for philosophy. When that door fails, so do we."

"But who, or what, are you?" the real Caprica wanted to know. "And why have you been haunting me," she glanced over a Gaius in realization, "...us...all this time?"

"It's what we do. Our charge and our meaning. It is all that remains," notCaprica replied.

"Who are you?" Baltar repeated the others in confusion.

"Who are we?" not Baltar snapped in a sudden flare of anger. "We are gods and ghosts and angels. We are that which your limited minds cannot possibly fathom. You speak of time," he sneered, rounding on Caprica. "You have no grasp of the meaning of the word. Of how long we have endured or what." Turning back to Baltar, he continued with a snarl, "Perhaps you want a name, as though the silly labels you slap on yourselves have true meaning. Well, take your pick. Baltar and Baoskirk, Jove and Ulkesh, take your pick. I've had thousands."

"Jove?" Shaw squeaked from where she sat.

"I don't believe any of that crap," Starbuck snarled. "Gods or ghosts, which is it? Even your lies don't make any sense. But if you don't start giving us some answers, right damned now, I'm going to find a way to put you down."

Fire flashed in the other woman's eyes. But when she began to speak, it erupted in a torrent, as though the words had been long bottled, finally finding release. "If there were time I would let you try. You can't kill what is already dead, and we died a very, very long time ago. And have endured more than you can possibly imagine since. We are but pale shadows of what we once were. Whispered echoes on the epochs of time. You want to know who we are? We are your guardian angels. Your guides through the galactic wilderness. We were once many, and beloved of your people. But then a war further back than the greatest stretches of your legend and mythology killed us. Killed all of us, severed us from our home, and killed nearly all of your people as well. We waited, in vain, for help and succor which would never come."

The thing wearing Baltar's face took over the tale. "And so we made the maddening choice to remain. By pure willpower we kept ourselves intact. To guide your survivors, and remain through them. To take them to safety in new homes, on new worlds. You cannot fathom the pain...the effort of will. We were once many, but over the years and centuries and millennia, the others went mad. Slowly disincorporated. For the last century there have only been we two...and one other, she that danced on the precipice of madness."

"But Hestia is gone now," not Caprica cut back in. "Disincorporated, not through weakness or madness, but by vile technology. But in doing so...perhaps she showed us the way...the way to save you all."

The Baltar thing rounded on her. "Madness! You cannot be serious."

"'I'm tired," she said, turning to smile fondly at him. "Playing with the little thing whose face you wear has kept me energized for these last years, but I don't think I would survive all that much longer. There are so few people now to watch over. Our failure is nearly complete. And when that door fails, when these people in this room die, so do we. So does our charge and our hopes and long effort. They are the last hope, not us. But now...we can pass the candle. Let them carry the burden. Let them keep hope alive. I want to rest."

NotBaltar looked around the room, at humans and Cylons alike, as though seeing them in a new light. Then he looked over at the door, where the pounding continued, and the pinpoints of melted metal had become long streaks, outlining the frame. Boomer had apparently gotten a monitor working, showing the corridor beyond the door, and the hundreds of Centurions stacked up there, trying to break their way in. He sighed and nodded. "Then let it be done. We must hurry. You, medicine man," he said, gesturing towards Franklin, "bring out your infernal machine."

"What," Stephen asked in surprise. "What do you mean?"

Susan's head snapped to him, then back to the...aliens? Stargods?...realization dawning in her eyes. "Oh frak. You can't be serious."

"It is the only way my dear," notCaprica said to her kindly. "We have no power to affect the situation. But soon, you will have enough. Perhaps, just enough."

In a daze, Russki turned back to Franklin. "Doc, you need to get out that machine. The one you used to heal Major Shaw."

"I've already treated everyone's wounds. There's no need. And I will thank you to let me decide which medical tools I will use as I see fit."

"Doc...it may be the only way to get us out of here alive."

"You require a patient to heal?" notBaltar asked. Then you shall have one." He stepped directly across the Hybrid's pool, his feet landing in mid air as though the floor continued straight and level, rather than dropping away into the tub from which the Hybrid controlled the vessel. He strode up to the real Caprica and, extending an arm, touched her gently between the eyes. Eyes which rolled up as she slumped bonelessly to the floor.

"Frak me!" the real Baltar squealed, his knees buckling, dropping him onto his ass. Hands and feet scrabbled against the floor as he pushed himself towards the nearest bulkhead as rapidly as he could.

"You have your patient, medicine man. Now hurry. She has little time."

"Oh frak," Russki snapped. "Doc! Hurry!"

Without further hesitation, Franklin shot forward across the room to check on Caprica. But he made no move to withdraw the machine. "She's not breathing," he barked, inspecting her. He pulled out a syringe and injected her. I don't see anything wrong. He began to perform CPR.

"Futile," not Baltar sneered. "You know what you must do."

"Doc," Susan said, walking up behind him to lay a hand gently on his shoulder. "I'm pretty sure that's not gonna work. They're only going to let one thing save her. You have to hook up the machine."

"But there's nothing physically wrong with her!" Franklin argued. "It doesn't make any sense."

"It doesn't matter. That...person," she said, gesturing to notBaltar, "is strangling her. There's only one way to save her. Maybe to save all of us. You've got to hook up the machine."

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I, but Caprica doesn't have much time. Maybe none of us do," she added, glancing over at the failing door.

With a hesitant nod, Franklin removed his backpack and took out the strange, alien looking device. He began hooking it up to Caprica. "I'll need a donor. It can't be me. I'm running the thing, and since I have no idea what is going on, I can't risk passing out."

"I'll do it," Susan replied, preparing to sit down.

"No," notBaltar cut in. "Not you. It must be her," he said, pointing to Starbuck. "And one other, who has not received the gift."

"Gift?" Franklin asked. "What are you talking about?"

"Starbuck!" Susan gestured urgently. "We need you! Just get Caprica and Captain Thrace hooked up, Doc. And we need one more, just like when you were healing Major Shaw. And it can't be her or me." She looked over at Baltar.

"Not him," notCaprica said calmly. "He will be your next patient."

"What?" Baltar squeaked pathetically.

"Frak, I'll do it," Boomer said, running over. "She's my friend. I'm not going to stand by and watch her die." She knelt down next to Starbuck, who looked far more hesitant. "Eventually though, somebody better tell me what the frak is going on."

"Me too," Starbuck muttered. Franklin was urging them both to lay down.

As they prepared, notBaltar approached notCaprica and took her hand. "I do not do this for them. I do it for you. For what we have shared for so long. And because I, too, am tired."

"We're ready here," Franklin said, looking up at him in uncertainty.

"Then finish it," notBaltar said in finality. Franklin activated the machine. A moment later, Caprica, Starbuck, and Boomer all lurched upwards with a gasp. Simultaneously, the creature wearing the image of Baltar vanished without a trace. Susan felt the awakening of power, coming from both Caprica and Boomer, though they themselves hadn't yet felt the changes wrought within them.

"It is almost done," not Caprica said, a lone tear sliding down her face. She looked at Starbuck and Russki with a sad smile. "Take care of the people. They are mine as much as yours. And use the other one next," she added, glancing over at Shaw. Then, between one heartbeat and the next, she vanished, reappearing on her haunches next to Baltar where he huddled in the corner between floor and wall. He screamed, and tried to crawl away from her. "I really have enjoyed playing with you, Gaius. Don't worry, this won't hurt...much." She reached out and wrapped her fingers through his hair before he had finished crawling away. Unlike before, he didn't simply lose consciousness. Instead, she smashed his face viciously into the floor. Then, looking over at Franklin, she offered, "all yours Doctor."

"This is insane," Franklin replied, a shell shocked look in his eyes.

"Hurry, Doc," Susan snapped, all but dragging Shaw over. The woman already seemed to grasp the need, though reluctance dragged at her steps. Susan looked around. "Chief, we need you!"

"What?" he asked in surprise, then realization dawned on what she was asking. "Oh, no frakkin' way am I lettin' you hook that thing up to me!"

"It's got to be you Chief!" Susan begged. It can't be me or Starbuck, or Boomer or Caprica. We've all already got the... gift."

"Whatever gift you're offering, I don't frakkin' want it!" he snapped.

"Nobody's getting forced into this shit!" Kendra snarled, and Starbuck nodded viciously.

"Your time slips away," Caprica noted softly, and indeed, a single glance at the door showed it was moments from failing.

Susan turned to Franklin desperately. "Doc?"

"I'm with the Chief. I may be willing to oversee this...science experiment of yours. But there's no way I'll be a participant. Sorry Lieutenant."

Susan's mind scrabbled hopelessly for options, until a lone, peaceful voice echoed out. "Mists of dreams drip along the nascent echo and love no more. Cleave the murk and unshackle the hidden Seven. End of line."

The room went silent, save for the continued banging upon the door. It was the Chief who finally spoke. "Did she just say 'the hidden Seven?"

"Yeah," Boomer nodded. "What does that mean?"

"It means her. She's the hidden Seven."

"What? Galen, that doesn't make any sense."

"At all," Caprica agreed. "The Seven's were male. The Daniel model."

"That's just what One wants you to think," Tyrol replied softly, drawing confused looks from the pair of Cylons. He turned to Franklin. "Could that….thing...help her?"

Franklin looked more confused than ever. "Help her with what?"

"Who cares?" Susan snapped. "We've got no time. Looks like she's our only option anyway. Hook her up!"

"She hasn't...she can't give consent!" he argued.

"That line...what she said…." Tyrol interjected, lifting a trembling hand, "about being unshackled. That was her consent. She was asking for help."

Boomer was asking more questions, but Franklin had apparently given up, and was already leaning over the tub to hook up the recumbent Hybrid. "You made the correct choice," notCaprica assured him in the final moment before he activated the machine and she vanished forever.

In that moment, something changed within the Hybrid. As Baltar screamed and leaped to his feet, she lurched upward with a scream of her own, before falling backwards into the tank. She emerged again, choking and spitting on the goo, arms flailing ineffectually. Chief Tyrol darted in and grabbed onto her shoulder, holding her upright to keep her from drowning in her own tank. No more pronouncements dropped from her lips. For now it was just a single question, almost a squeak. "Wh...wh….what?"

With a screech, the door began to give way. Susan acted on instinct. "Captain, Major, Caprica, Baltar! Get over here and join hands. You too, Boomer! Chief, help the Hybrid join in!" She repeated the command telepathically, which got all of their attention.

"Join hands?" Tyrol asked incredulously. "You planning on singing a song?" Nevertheless, at her rushed and demanding wave, he stretched out the strange, naked woman's hand.

Boomer leaned down and grasped it, and then they were all of them, all of the gifted in that room, joined together in a line, with Russki at the center. Susan felt the energy flowing through all of them. And as the door finally began to peel backwards under the pounding to metal fists, and Centurions on the far side took aim at the group, Susan gathered up every possible scrap of their energy and their strength, reached out and pushed.

The door which had held out the press of Centurions beyond for so long massed easily three or four metric tons. In a heartbeat it was sent tumbling down the hallway, fired like a stone from a sling; the massed Centurions in the hall torn and shredded like so much refuse and scrap. Over a hundred meters the door flew before banging and rattling to a halt. It left a path of devastation in its wake, with not a single Centurion remaining in one piece.

Within the room, the entire line of enhanced tumbled to the floor, drained and semiconscious. Some moaned unintelligibly. Boomer, still gripping the Hybrid's hand, tumbled into the vat with her, and they both submerged beneath the surface of the viscous fluid. Tyrol jumped into the vat to retrieve them, and Franklin rushed to the edge to assist him.

A single shot barked, and Franklin cried out once, before pitching over to lay at the edge of the vat, his blood dripping down to mix with the liquid below. The Chief, doing his best to juggle both Boomer and the Hybrid and keep them from drowning, whipped his head around to locate the source of the new danger.

It wasn't hard to find. A One, peeking his head around the edge of the shredded door frame, revolver in hand. Saved by the slight alcove which held the door controls. He looked around, shock evident on his face. "What the frak just happened?!" he demanded. "Did you set off a bomb?! Why aren't you all dead?" He took a shaky breath, attempting to steady himself. "It doesn't matter. Climb out of that pool, Chief. We're getting out of here."

"Frak you."

"I'll shoot you and drag you if I have to. But first I'll kill Boomer there. You're still hoping to frak her, right? No resurrection for her."

Somehow, Tyrol managed to shove Boomer up out of the vat one handed, juggling the Hybrid in his other arm. "You're frakked, Cavil. The Hybrid's incoherent, you can't use her to jump the ship."

"Oh, I don't need the ship. Just you. I'd have preferred getting my hands on all of the Final Five, but you'll have to do. You're gonna fix Resurrection for me."

"I don't know how! Even if I did, there's no way I could do it on my own. You need the others."

"Oh, you'll do it, or I'll spend the rest of my life cutting up you...and Boomer...piece by piece. The Centurions figured out some really ingenious torture methods in the last war. Now get out of that frakking tub!"

A weak chuckle sounded from below Galen. He looked down to see the Hybrid's eyes open and focused on the One. "Poor little John. Still such a pathetic child. Throwing tantrums and breaking your toys when you don't get your way. The flawed, broken prototype." She chuckled again.

Cavil's eyebrows tried to climb into his hairline. "Allison?!" he asked in shock. Then he smiled. "Oh this is perfect. Maybe I'll actually start believing in our God. This is quite the gift He's given. Welcome back. I'm really going to enjoy saying goodbye." He cocked his pistol and took aim between her eyes.

And, with a single thunderous shot echoing through the room, his head burst into pulp and scarlet mist. The remains of his body slumped forward onto the floor, revealing the single Colonial Marine standing behind him, holding a large sniper rifle. "Damn. Been waiting to do that for a long time."

"Daniel?" the Hybrid called out, in shock.

"Allison!?" The Marine Sergeant darted forward to assist Chief Tyrol in getting the woman out of the vat. He took one look at Franklin and began calling for a medic.

And the Marines stormed the room.

.
EAS Nova, Unknown System - November, 2249

The group which gathered on the Nova was made up of the movers and shakers of three fleets. Not necessarily by rank or political standing, the Quorum was very much not invited, but by influence. As such, certain junior and non-commissioned officers were present, as well those without any official standing at all. Given the nature of the conversation, senior scientific advisors were mandatory. That included Baltar, and despite his recent ordeal, his penchant for complaining and whining had changed not one iota. Though given the report Sheridan had just received from Lieutenant Ivanova, he had made certain to bring Bester to the meeting, to keep a telepathic eye on the man...amongst others.

They had gathered in one of the larger briefing rooms, with rows of seating in semi circles surrounding a central podium and desk with presentation screens behind. Each row slightly elevated above the one in front of it. The participants were scattered haphazardly around the room, though Adama, Roslin, and Sheridan sat in the front row, with their senior officers in close proximity. Sinclair, the last to arrive despite being Captain of this very vessel, hurried in and sat directly behind his Commodore, though he looked a bit distracted.

Roslin made no bones about her immediate concern. "Commodore, am I to understand that there are Minbari fleets advancing on us along every route of your hyperspace network?"

"Not my hyperspace network, Madame President. But yes, that is indeed correct. That's the point of this meeting. To discuss our options, and what we are currently doing about it."

"Then allow me to be very clear, Commodore. If you don't find a way out, I will instruct Admiral Adama and all of our ships to jump away. We can take on some small number of your people...more if you give us additional supplies...but we will not be slaughtered out of a sense of loyalty or honor. We didn't when we fled "the Colonies, and we won't now. My job is to save as much of the human race as possible, and I will carry out that sacred duty."

"I threw away my own sacred honor, as did all of my officers, fleeing from Earth as she burned, Madame President. If it comes down to that, then I would expect nothing less. And I would wish you well, and provide what resources I can." His response seemed to take the President entirely by surprise, and for once she gave him a thoughtful look, and then a respectful nod.

Sonja Six, flanked by Caprica and Natalie, chose that moment to stand. "I don't think it will be so easy. Or rather...there are other dangers to consider. I don't know anything about the Minbari, but I do know One. That attack we just weathered proves both that he knows exactly where we are...and that he's desperate. The next attack...he's going to come in real force. He has to. Even if we bring the Pegasus, Galactica, and all of our Basestars back up to full combat capability...he may still swamp us in numbers. We need the Earth Alliance firepower to be sure of surviving."

"We've fled the Cylons before. Successfully, for months," Colonel Tigh cut in. "We can do it again."

"Saul...I mean, Colonel," she said, showing a good deal more deference than she had towards the President, Admiral, or Commodore, "I'm starting to believe that One was toying with you. That he knew the Final Five were here. It would explain a great many oddities in our search methods, and the choices which were made in how to deal with your Fleet. I don't mean to minimize your accomplishments over that time...but when One comes at us next...I don't think any of the old restrictions will be in place."

"Which brings us back to the core purpose of this meeting," Sheridan cut back in. "To discuss our options, and what we can and should be doing to get out of this mess. Captain," he said, gesturing to Sinclair to provide a brief report."

Sinclair stood and activated the largest screen. The ochre and crimson swirls of hyperspace showed, dotted with dozens of ships. "As you know, Captain Gideon took the Eratosthenes and a large percentage of our ships into hyperspace. They have spent the last day performing hyperspace exploration using the method that he pioneered. So far, they have eliminated nearly a dozen potential routes, and are beginning to run out of options. Some of what is left is rather promising though, so the possibility of escaping this way is still very real. Unfortunately, it would take us to an unknown location, with no way of being certain it would contain a habitable world, or a route onward to continue hunting for a habitable world. The odds of us finding yet another hyperspace network seem vanishingly small. Worse, given the Minbari were able to follow us into this network...there is at least a significant possibility they will be able to eventually find whatever route Captain Gideon uncovers. However, this still seems to be the only viable conventional route available to us that would allow all three fleets to survive. Trying to sneak or, worse, fight our way past the Minbari is the very definition of suicide."

As Jeff sat down, Sheridan stood once more. "Which is yet again why we are meeting. To get all possible ideas on the table. However unconventional they may be. To see if we have any additional options. As I understand it, there may be one or more additional possibilities. I'm told the Cylons have a suggestion."

Surprisingly, it was Sam Anders who stood up, looking a bit uncomfortable. "I can't take credit for this," he said, looking around. "Actually, it was Starbuck who had the idea."

"What?" Starbuck asked in surprise, "when?"

"It was just before we went over to the Basestar for the second time, when you found what you found…"

"We'll get to Lieutenant Starbuck and President Roslin's suggestion momentarily," Sheridan cut in. "For now, we want to cover all relevant possibilities, and I would like to discuss the Cylon data."

"Of course," Anders nodded. "Well, Kara had this idea that the Final Five must have come from the Cylon Earth...which I have confirmed…"

"No need to go into those details here, Mr. Anders," Adama cut in. "The people who need to know the specifics regarding the Final Five and a certain Marine Sergeant have already been advised."

"Right. Well, Kara thought that if the Five came from Earth...the Cylon Earth that is," he added, nodding to the Earth Alliance officers, "and if they worked with the Cylons from Cyrannus to build the new generation of Cylons...then all of their knowledge and data might still be in the Cylon computers. That, since the Cylons had been programmed not to think about or notice the Five...that might apply to their data as well. That information about Earth might just be sitting around on the Basestars, just waiting for someone to notice it. And...well...it was. After Kara found...what she did...I realized we hadn't actually looked for Earth. So I asked Athena to help me look for information specifically about Earth."

"I wasn't finding anything," Athena offered, "But then Sam kept asking, 'What's that then,' and I'd go back and notice something that I had just...sort of missed before. Between the two of us, we were able to pull up quite a bit of information about Earth, as it was when the Five left it. Including its location. If I may?" She waited for Sheridan's nod, then approached the screen and terminal Sinclair had used, and brought up a series of displays.

The information was astonishing. Images of a beautiful blue marble from high orbit. Schematics and data on the local star and layout of the planets. And the ultimate treasure...a location and course that would take them to that world. A course through real space that thus relied, unfortunately, on Colonial or Cylon jump drives.

"We thought that maybe once we had shared the location with you," Athena stated directly to Sheridan, "that maybe you could find a way to get there via your hyperspace engines."

Sheridan and Sinclair, along with everyone else in the room, studied the data intently, and considered the possibilities. It was a long way away in real space, though not too far by Colonial FTL. Maybe, if Gideon' search pays off, Sheridan thought to himself, we could use the time to ferry our people and gear over to that world. That other Earth. The Minbari couldn't follow us then. And if we can use the Battlestars to transfer our Starfuries and Cutters as well, we might even have a chance against the Cylons. That's...a real possibility.

"Don't bother," a voice cut through the silence like a peal of thunder.

All eyes shifted to the back of the room, where Max Eilerson sat looking particularly unhappy. "What do you mean, 'don't bother'?" Sinclair demanded.

"Just that. This Cylon Earth won't...can't be a refuge for us. I recognize this data. That system. I've been there. It's a dead world, still highly radioactive."

"What do you mean, you've 'been there'!?" Baltar demanded imperiously. He seemed almost offended. "Don't be ridiculous! We've already established that your Earth and the Cylon Earth aren't one and the same." His pompous tone set everyone on edge, and yet most people in the room seemed to be in agreement with him.

"I have, though," Eilerson insisted. "One of my first field missions with IPX. Our long range exploration craft had found a dead system way out on the ass end of nowhere. Rimward of the Torta and the Kor-Lyan Kingdoms. About as far out as we'd ever been. Which is exactly why IPX funded the expedition. They were hoping that far out we'd find something new and shiny. But the world was as decayed as it was inhospitable. All we found were the slagged remnants of cities and radioactive cesspools which used to be oceans. And there had clearly been other, alien, expeditions before ours. They'd picked the place clean. No useful technology whatsoever. We couldn't even determine what the inhabitants had looked like...all organic material had decomposed and degraded under the onslaughts of radiation and time. Oh, we were pretty sure they were humanoid, based on the appearance of a handful of robots we found. We assumed they were used as servants or soldiers. But again, any interesting technology in their frames had been completely destroyed. Only the shell and chassis remained...and the materials there weren't terribly interesting. Not even worth the mass penalty of bringing them back. The whole thing was a complete bust."

"I don't believe it," Anders muttered quietly to himself. It was more self denial than actual argument.

Eilerson chose to answer anyway. "Believe it. We brought the entire IPX library with us. The expedition records are there. I can show them to you, if necessary."

Caprica spoke up, grasping for any hope. "I understand you brought along Kobolforming equipment….that you were prepared to settle less hospitable worlds. Could...could our Earth be revived? Could we settle there anyway?"

Eilerson looked thoughtful for a moment. "Yes, I think so. But that's not the real problem."

"If IPX was at your Earth," Sheridan cut in to explain, "then that means the Cylon Earth is accessible by the primary jumpgate network. If we went there, it wouldn't be long before we were noticed by someone. The Minbari wouldn't be far behind. I'm afraid your Earth isn't a refuge. It's a death trap."

A feeling of despair seemed to descend, but strangely it left several untouched. Or perhaps not so strangely, Sheridan thought. He knew those people had a suggestion of their own.

Roslin broached the topic. "There may be another option. Something...someone...was guiding Starbuck. I believe that she has found a place that is meant to be our refuge. I came to this meeting intent on hearing all possibilities. But I am already strongly inclined to take the Colonial and Cylon fleets and head there immediately. My only reluctance is that I do not wish to leave the people of Earth behind." She turned to look at Kara. "Alright Captain, time to show us what you found."

Starbuck stood up nervously and approached the podium. She inserted a data crystal Russki had acquired for her and showed her how to use. They had then downloaded the relevant files from the Cylon mainframe with Boomer's assistance. Starbuck displayed those images on the main screen now.

"I still don't entirely understand it myself, but this is where we are meant to go. You have to believe me. This is where we will be safe. This is home." Despite her lead up, the image she displayed on the screen wasn't terribly detailed or exciting. The display held a dozen multicolored lights, shimmering as though seen through a haze. Five glimmered brighter than the rest, the remaining stars almost difficult to make out. "It's only one jump away using Cylon technology. It's surrounded by nebular gasses, making looking inside more or less impossible. Hopefully that will keep the Minbari from spotting us. And while the Cylons surveyed the system...from very long range...they've already written it off as somewhere we won't go."

"For good reason!" Baltar blurted out, wearing an appalled expression. "Twelve stars?! That system will almost certainly be awash in extreme radiation. The stellar and planetary orbits aren't very likely to be stable. The chances of planets even forming is low! If the system is hidden behind a nebula, why would you even think there's any place to land, much less anywhere habitable?" he demanded.

"Because of this!" Starbuck shot back. She changed the screen to an image of the system from another direction. From this angle the brightest stars lined up in a different pattern, vaguely reminiscent of the letter W. However, rather than being the Pyramid slam she had been hoping for, the new image brought her only looks of confusion, doubt, and in some few cases pity. Looking around the room, fear and uncertainty in her eyes, she begged, "Please, you have to believe me!"

Muttering broke out amongst those in attendance, but Sheridan stamped down on it ruthlessly. "I am aware of what is driving your conviction, Captain. And you of all people should be as well, Dr. Baltar," he admonished. "But, I'm afraid Starbuck, that given the source of your...non-native insights...I'm really not much more inclined to trust them than when we thought you might be off your rocker. Baltar's concerns are entirely reasonable and relevant. And while being someplace the Cylons wouldn't think to go looking for us is helpful, we still have the problem that the Cylons are tracking your Tylium refinery. So even if we found our way there, the Cylons would just follow along."

"They can't track it while it's not in operation," Starbuck objected. "So we could just shut it down. Or leave it behind."

"Either option leading to your fleet running out of Tylium," Sinclair replied negatively. "Besides, a simple gas cloud won't prevent the Minbari from finding us, if they choose to come looking."

"They wouldn't though," a voice spoke up. "They couldn't. And neither could we. Even if we wanted to go to this system, there's no way we can get there. Not through hyperspace anyway," he advised.

All heads turned to look at the speaker. The pasty young man was unknown to most of them. So Sinclair chose to introduce him. "This is Samuel Drake. He's one of our experts on hyperspace and hyperspace engines, and a hell of an engineer to boot. Mr. Drake, I assume you mean that there's no jumpgate or hyperspace beacon there, that we know of anyway. And no idea of a route even if there was one. The same problem with getting to the Cylon Earth. And I agree that…"

"Sorry, Captain," Drake interrupted, "but that's not what I mean. I mean we literally can not get there via hyperspace. The Minbari either."

"Explain please," Sinclair asked, choosing not to become irritated at the man cutting him off.

"That system has twelve stars. That's an amazing density. It's well known that concentrations of mass in real space have an impact on hyperspace topography. Frequently referred to as a 'mass shadow'. The larger the mass, the greater the impact, and that 'shadow' scales geometrically. What is less well known, though easily inferred, is that the movements of those masses through real space also impact hyperspace." Drake smiled, eyes taking on a far away look as he warmed to his topic. "Have you ever noticed that nearly all systems with jump gates, or to which we have managed to explore, are single star systems? The public generally assumes this is because most stellar systems in the galaxy possess only one star, but this is far from the case. A first year astronomy student, or even hobbyist, could tell you that. Roughly half of the star systems out there are multi stellar configurations. But because our jump gates almost always lead us to single star systems, we commonly assume otherwise. It's a type of Hasty Generalization or Unrepresentative Sample Fallacy, you see, and…"

"The point, Mr. Drake," Sheridan snapped.

"Err...yes. Well...current hyperspace theory is that the interaction of the mass shadows of multiple stars will churn up hyperspace such as to make it impassible. Exploring around Alpha Centauri and even travelling the known routes is notably more difficult than in other locations. And that's just a loose binary system with another star in relatively close proximity. Though there are some proponents of it being a very loose trinary system, with some scientific basis in those arguments. Academic consensus is still up for grabs with passionate supporters on both sides. There are some fascinating papers…" he trailed off under the weight of Sheridan's glare. "Right. Sorry." He took a deep breath. "During the war, one theory that was heard from several of the LONAW races was that the Minbari home system houses a tight binary star. That having to learn to navigate from that system is what made them so good at navigating through hyperspace. Whatever the case, a loose trinary or tight binary is already challenging enough to navigate. I can't even imagine what kind of impact a dodecanary star system would have on hyperspace. It would be impassable...hell, to the Vorlons probably. If we, or even the Minbari, got anywhere near there in hyperspace, we'd be instantly torn apart by grav-sheers and hyperspace riptides and who knows what else. I'm sorry Captain Thrace," he added, "but we just can't go there."

"Are you sure about this, Mr. Drake?" Sinclair asked with odd intensity.

"It's...mostly a theory at this point. But it is scientifically sound, and backed by all of the observational data...however limited that may be."

"But…." Kara said thoughtfully, "that doesn't prevent us from going there by jump drive."

"More importantly," Roslin cut in, "what Mr. Drake has just told us is that not only is this system both hidden from the Cylons and discounted by them…but it is also completely secure from Minbari aggression. Is that not correct, Mr. Drake?"

"Umm...yes. I suppose so."

Ever practical, Saul broke in, "We still don't know if that place is liveable. If we jump there...leave behind the Tylium refinery and the Earth ships...even if we take as many of the people as possible," he added, to mollify those who began to object to the idea, "we'd have to leave behind the kobolforming gear. We can't pack that onto the Baseships or Battlestars. Not in the time we have, anyway. So you don't just need a planet there. You need a habitable one. It's a hell of a risk. Far too risky, if you ask me."

"Colonel," Starbuck said vehemently, "that system is the only way we're going to survive."

"I know what was driving that belief, Starbuck," he replied. "I don't trust it anymore than the Commodore does."

Sinclair looked over at Sheridan "Sir...I just received some additional data which...is entirely relevant. May I?" He gestured at the podium, and receiving a nod, stood once more. "There is something more you need to be aware of," he said, addressing everyone. "Something which was just brought to me. The final image Captain Thrace showed us was provided by the Hubble, one of our deep space astronomy vessels, operated by IPX. Captain Thrace had Lieutenant Ivanova contact me and request that I have them retask the vessel to focus in on this system. What the Lieutenant failed to do was ever advise me they were done." At this statement, both Russki and Starbuck colored slightly. "As the Hubble was still observing the system, they captured this image about two hours ago."

This image which appeared on the screen was grainy and blurry. It had clearly been enhanced as much as the available technology would allow. Despite all that, it was immediately comprehensible. An orb, in the fuzzy blues, greens, and whites of a living world. A few people gasped, but mostly the room went completely silent. "What you are looking at," Sinclair continued, "isn't nearly so shocking as what you are looking through. That's no part in a fog bank or hole in the clouds. That system is obscured by a stellar cloud of dust and gasses dozens if not hundreds of AUs thick. That kind of nebula doesn't just part or develop holes. Physics doesn't work that way. I'm told by the astronomers that the odds of such an aperture forming are best expressed in scientific notation...with a very significant exponent. For it to happen at exactly the right time, in exactly the right place, and with exactly the right axis for light to reflect off of that planet, pass through the opening, and reach us here dozens of light years away, with a telescope that just 'happened' to be observing in exactly the right direction… Well. Our astronomers are speaking of miracles and acts of God with absolutely no irony or exaggeration. I will tell you with very nearly one hundred percent certainty...someone meant for us to see this."

There was a very long pause, the silence almost deafening. "All of that having been said," Sheridan finally spoke up, "I'm still not certain that system is our best option." As Starbuck began to protest, he held up his hand to stop her. "However, it is beginning to look more and more like our only option." He took a deep breath and stood, facing the now silent group. "My hope is that Captain Gideon will find us an escape from this system. Then we can take the time that buys us and use the Colonial and Cylon fleets to ferry as many people, gear, and supplies as possible over to that system, abandoning only our ships and gear too large to be transferred. My fear is that no such escape exists, and the Colonials and Cylons will be forced to cut and run with whatever small quantity of people and supplies we can shove over to them. And the longer we take in determining that there is no hyperspace route out, the lower those numbers will be. It'll be my call when to give up Gideon's search. The Minbari could be on us in hours...another day or two at the most. I suppose we could also have a fair number of Basestars showing up at any point, though I am less concerned about that. But it seems more and more likely that Earthforce will make its final stand here. But unless anybody else has any bright ideas...I think we have a course of action, and a lot of preparations to make. Thank you for your time. It's been an honor serving with all of you."

Silence ensued, and people began standing to leave. There was indeed a lot of work to be done. But then a voice spoke up uncertainly. The voice of one of the Five. "Commodore? I...I might have an idea. An outline of one. But I need some time to figure it out."

"Time is one commodity that we don't have, Chief Tyrol," Sheridan replied somberly. They didn't have time to flesh out half considered ideas. Still, if there was some additional hope to be had…

"Please Commodore, Admiral," he added, turning to Adama, eyes shining forthrightly, "just give me four hours." When Sheridan looked reluctant he amended, "Three hours! Just give me three hours, and let me work with the Cylons and Mr. Drake."

Sheridan still hesitated, so Adama spoke up. "If Chief Tyrol's distracted, and the Cylons as well, it'll probably slow down our preparations to leave, and to take on some of your refugees for that matter. But… not by much. I'm willing if you are, Commodore."

Finally making his decision, Sheridan nodded. "Alright Chief. You've got three hours. I hope whatever you're cooking pans out. In the meantime people," he said, raising his voice, "we've all got work to do. Let's move like we have a purpose!"