Author's Note: Greetings. Two things. I am sorry for the delay in this. It was longer than I intended. I hope this is to your satisfaction, and trust that you will notify my otherwise. I cannot promise weekly updates, because things are as they are, but I shall do my best.

Secondly, I was reading Dickens when I began this chapter. Great Expectations to be exact. Fabulous book. Pick it up sometime. I only think to mention this because it often happens that what I read finds its way into what I write, stylistically, more often than not. I don't know why I felt compelled to offer explanation, but if you find Dickens in my writing anywhere, well that's why.

Oh, and I lied. There are three things. I am very AU at this point. While I was working on Seek Ye First, Pegasus happened. Those of you who have spoiled yourselves for the second half of season two will know that the canon story arch is going very far away from mine. I will incorporate such elements of the canon as I can, but I can hardly go back in time, and I've decided to press on with the story as it is. I hope you will enjoy it anyway. Anyway, enough of me. On with the show.

"If it were done, when tis done, twere best it be done quickly."

MacBeth

You have come back to us, gentle reader, from a place of great sorrow. For true we have all come from there. Gods know we followed with you, and with all our faculties, with every sense keen to us, met with such an end as we cannot here describe.

But please, dear readers, be at peace. Let it be known that never has there been a death that did not carry life along with it. The proof will follow after, for we, your humbly obedient tellers, know that there are many who have said "with every end, a beginning," and have not believed it, have said because you wish to hear it, or because others say so.

They were named as they should have been. That cannot be said, you know, of everything named, but these were, and that is something. Because they had not been born in any particular order, they were ordered according to the sequence in which they had drawn their first breaths. The four surviving pups were then named in the order they were given: Caprica, Geminon, Aeirlon, Scorpio.

Our tale begins, or the continuation of our tale proceeds, some time from our last meeting. It follows that the Galactica landing party, their Resistance counterparts, and their various wards returned as planned to the Delphi Union High School. Having made an unspoken resolution to simply part ways with what was left to them, the Galactica crew loaded the people and things that would return to the fleet, and took their leave. It was a simple ending to their time there, and most unsettlingly quiet. Those who would speak of it later would say that, above all, it was the quiet they most remembered.

And though it is quiet that stands most in the hearts of men, after their hearts and minds have just been met with a terrible and harrowing noise, it is not quiet that makes for good story telling. We can find little words for a time without words, but that the leave-taking was painful, and slow. No one man or woman knew what to say to any other. They touched hands, and eyes, and arms. They nodded perfunctorily to one another. They offered, and accepted (or spurned), wordless apology. They realized with varying degrees of certainty and regret that they would never meet again, that those who departed would never stand here again.

And that nothing would change in their absence.

They did not fight any longer. That we can say with certainty. Perhaps they would have, if they had not been so exhausted, or if fighting could have somehow returned all that had been taken from them. But it could not. If there exists in this universe a force that can, we have not met it.

William Adama, Commander, father, warrior, sat with a quiet assurance and noble air. He was very much at ease here, although the office was not the most comfortably appointed room he had ever been in. That it was an office at all was owed solely to a kind of desperate ingenuity and creative economy the necessity of which he had been fortunate enough to escape. That big liners like the Cloud Nine had been converted to support permanent populations was amazing enough, but that short-range vessels like Colonial One had been so effectively transformed into apartments and offices was a testament to the remarkable works men are capable of in impossible situations.

The Commander sat with his hands folded, waiting for the President to conclude her phone call. She had been trying to disengage herself from the conversation ever since he had arrived, but whatever government official had hold of her seemed reluctant to let her go. Adama was not bothered. The Fleet had made a series of jumps over the last several hours which, he sincerely hoped, would bring them some peace from cylon attack, at least for a time.

President Roslin cast an apologetic look in his direction. He smiled just slightly in response.

"I'm sorry about that, Commander," she said as she hung up the phone.

"Not a problem, Madam President." And it wasn't. Adama was in no hurry to return to the pressures of command, though he would never admit what a relief his visits to Colonial One could be.

"Once again I want to tell you how happy I am that the Caprica relief team returned safely and successfully. It truly is a blessing."

"They didn't all come back," he said gruffly. "But they completed their mission."

Whether the cost had been worth the gains was a question he had been arguing with himself since he had first seen his son step off that Raider. He had not been able to get Lee to talk about what happened on Caprica in any greater depth than that of a captain's report to his commander. Starbuck had likewise been tightlipped. He had resolved to talk to them both again, after they had time to settle back into ship life. The Marines that had been lost on Caprica had been fine men, and they would be missed.

"Yes, they did. I hope I never become too accustomed to the fine work your men and women do, Commander. I would never want to take them for granted." Adama simply nodded. "And the school supplies they brought back! An unexpected gift."

"Corporal Walker's idea as I understand it. The Resistance made its base at the Delphi Union High School. Our men raided the library there."

"Corporal Walker is to be commended. The parents and teachers in the Fleet will be grateful."

Adama did not say that he hoped they would have been regardless. He did not say that he would have rather seen Faustus, Marcel, Tallys, and Gavin brought back than a thousand books. He did not say it, because the President knew it, and because it was not his place.

"Now, if you don't mind I would like to discuss the children your people brought back with them. Several families have come forward volunteering to take the girls in." She shuffled through the pile of papers on her desk, glancing over them quickly before turning her eyes back to the Commander. "I think it's best we get these girls into family situations as soon as possible, to help them recover after all they've been through."

"I couldn't agree with you more Madam President."

"But…" She smiled slyly at him. "There was a 'but' at the end of that sentence Commander."

The Commander favored her with a shadowy half-smile, and a soft exhalation that might have been a laugh.

"But I would like to keep several of the older girls onboard Galactica for the time being." In response to a skeptically arched brow, he pressed on. "Some of them have expressed an interest in staying on Galactica to learn from my crew."

"Learn what, exactly?"

"Abrianna is interested in communications. Gwyn and Layla have hardly left the hanger deck since they were brought on board…"

"Commander the hanger deck is not what I would call the safest place for a child."

"I agree Madam President. But between you and me, if there is any man on Galactica I would trust to be a teacher and a baby-sitter, it's the Chief."

"Commander…"

"Madam President," he said, cutting her off with a raised hand. "I understand your concerns. But the reality is we're going to need these children someday. No one knows how long it will be before we find Earth, if we find it. If these girls want to stay on my ship and learn the trade, then they're welcome, because not one of my people is going to live forever." He smiled again, softer than before, and with more affection, and sorrow. President Roslin thought she detected a hint of pride. "Besides, we've already got Boxey onboard, and my future CAG should have people his own age around."

"A Battlestar is a dangerous place for children."

"If you can name one place in the Fleet that isn't dangerous, I'll send them there immediately."

Laura sighed. He had her there. And she knew that he was right, about needing to train the children. It ate at her, knowing that all the children born in the Fleet were probably destined to serve in its defense. What they would need most were mechanics, pilots, navigators, specialists, and electricians, and the skills for these professions had to be cultivated in their children. She knew that. And she was lucky; she had at her disposal the most experienced people left in the universe, to teach them.

"There's one other thing," she said. "These dogs. I'm not sure it's wise with our supplies so limited to…"

"The dogs stay."

The finality in his voice surprised her. On this Commander William Adama was adamant, though the reasons why were lost to her. She did not ask him, but held a steady, questioning eye on him, silently pressing him to answer the unspoken.

"I'm still piecing together the details, but the reports I've received indicate that the pups' mother could detect and subdue cylons." Roslin's eyes widened in astonishment, but she held her tongue and let him go on. "Our cylon prisoner thinks it probably has something to do with body chemistry. We can't see the difference, but the dogs can smell it. If this is true, then those puppies could prove vital to the security of the Fleet. We would have actual, reliable cylon detectors, a weapon the cylons would know nothing about and be completely unprepared for."

"That's an interesting proposition," Roslin mused, folding her hands under her chin. "There are four puppies as I understand it."

"That's right."

"And can I presume they will be distributed throughout the Fleet?"

"No."

"When people hear about this they won't be happy about the Galactica crew hording such a precious resource."

"I don't intend to let people hear about it." Again the arched brow, the unspoken question. "According to Apollo and the others, the mother of these puppies was close to one hundred and fifty pounds and could rip the throat out of a cylon with one good tug. But as of right now they are blind, squirming babies being carried around my ship in knapsacks, fed condensed milk and pureed chip beef. I do not intend to announce their presence and their potential value as guardians of the Fleet until they are at least big enough to defend themselves."

And besides, after all his people had gone through, he would not deprive them of one of the only sources of solace they had found.

"Very well, Commander. It is a security matter and I trust your judgment."

"Thank you, Madam President."

"I do expect to be kept informed of any efforts being made to train them."

"Of course."

"Cylon detectors are one thing, Attack dogs are something else entirely."

Ten Weeks Later

Cloud Nine was the biggest security threat in the Fleet.

Everyone who had a mind for things like security threats knew it, but they were relatively few, and quite alone in any concern. People were inclined to overlook what they regarded as minor failings when the offender was also the most luxurious ship in the Fleet. So the fact that so many people, when gathered in such concentrations, were a terrorist's dream was lost on them. That anyone could say anything about anything they liked and not be heard over the din of hundreds of voices all raised over the din of hundreds of voices was hardly a matter worthy of consideration. There were more important matters to pay attention to after all, such as the inadequacy and despotism of the military, the tyranny the government, Roslin's progressively poor health, and so on.

For this reason, if for no other, Simon loved Cloud Nine. He spent most of his time here these days. Very few of the humans knew anything of him, and those who did were easily avoided on the few occasions they took shore leave here. He especially liked sitting the lounge, sipping at some intoxicating beverage or other, just listening to them. There was no need to go to any effort in espionage; people would talk about anything, and they would talk about it loudly. It did not matter that the people doing the talking were often the people who had no reason to know anything. What people think they know is what really matters anyway. That's what one uses.

But Simon was not alone today. Nor was he in what he would have considered the best company. It was a fault he was sure arose from their human-mimicry programming; each one of them thought at least one of the others was unworthy in some respect. It was no surprise really, that the ones the most of them disapproved of were the ones programmed to most closely imitate humans, the ones that spent the most time with them. For Simon, no matter how many times he reminded himself that God is love, and that to love one another was one of His commandments, it was impossible to love Daniel.

The young-looking cylon man with the red hair and flippant manner sat across from Simon, with his ankle crossed over his knee, and one arm slung casually over the back of the booth. His attention seemed focused everywhere but on the one to whom he was reporting, and he made no apologies for it. He had made some joking comment about the weather (the fabricated weather), and about how everyone's definition of morning activities was different, then ordered himself some ambrosia and coolly awaited his debriefing. He had awaited it in such a way that Simon was sure Daniel would not have minded if he sat there waiting forever.

"Sharon is still confined?" Simon need not have asked, but he was looking to draw Daniel back to the conversation, and Sharon was always the best way to accomplish such an end.

"Back in the second they got back from Caprica. They have furnished the place a little nicer." He offered up his finest lop-sided grin. "Because nothing says 'thanks for saving our collective ass' like an ottoman."

"And the child?"

"Yeah, she's still confined too."

"Daniel."

"The pregnancy is progressing normally. She sees the doctor every couple of weeks. From what I hear they even have her on a multi-vitamin."

That was pleasing news. It had surprised them all when the humans had kept Sharon, rather than putting her out the airlock as they had when they had discovered Leoben. With every day that passed with Sharon in good health, their spirits lifted. Now it looked as though the humans would allow her to carry the child to term. She was into her second trimester already. God was with them. Still, the idea of entrusting something so precious to the humans unsettled him.

"It will be time for the next phase soon," he murmured, more to himself than to Daniel.

"Early for that isn't it?"

"We can't waste any time. Too much is at stake."

"She'll resist you."

Simon examined Daniel curiously, piqued by the casual assurance in his tone, as if it were a foregone conclusion.

"Why would you think that? Sharon knows her place in God's plan, the same as the rest of us."

"Yeah well, in my experience, knowing your part and playing it are two different things. It's a matter of priorities and you, sir, are not one of hers."

"It's not about me."

"Of course it is. It's about you, me, Leoden, Aaron… At the end of the day it matters less what we represent and more what we do. And she knows what we're going to do."

"What we do is irrelevant."

"If you say so."

Daniel sipped at his drink. Though he had not seemed to pay much attention to Simon before, he did not take his eyes off of him now. What wheels were turning in that fool head? Simon could not know. Or would not have expected to know, until Daniel set his drink down abruptly and spoke.

"You wouldn't be able to get to her now anyway."

"Why's that?"

"You're going in the wrong order. You shouldn't even think about getting to Sharon until the other issue is resolved."

"That's not our concern," he said dismissively. "Baggage from Caprica." From their comrades who could not handle their problems in a timely fashion. Of course that was false too. Everything that had happened was in accordance with God's plan, which meant that, just as Sharon had been delivered into their hands from Caprica with a purpose, so too had Apollo.

"Wrong," was all that Daniel said.

"And you have some suggestions?"

"Some." The mischief was back in his eye now, and Simon wanted, in the very worst way, to pluck it out.

"Well see to it then, and stop wasting time. Too much…"

"Is at stake. I know. Don't rush to your fate, Simon. All things in God's time. And you're not Him. By a long shot."

Daniel finished his drink and pushed up from the table with one fluid motion. He did not even glance at Simon again as he walked away, weaving expertly through the crowds. A way was made for him. Even in their self-absorbed clamor and carelessness, they registered him as his passed, peripherally noted the uniform he wore, and yielded to it.

Simon smiled.

Two things can be said with certainty of the Galactica Viper Pilot. First, he is never clean shaven (neither is she, though that would be less noticeable to anyone adhering to military regulations as he should). Second, he is never well rested.

It had become a point of pride for the men and women of the Galactica Viper squadrons. Even with the lately obtained Pegasus fliers to supplement their ranks, they did not press themselves any less. The scruffy, ragged look they had to them was as much part of their uniform in these days as the actual garment, and they were by far the best functioning tired people in the Fleet, bar none.

Well…bar a very few of them, very occasionally, and never long-term.

And so the senior officers' duty locker had become a shrine, of sorts, a temple dedicated to all things lethargic and laconic. Here, the finest exemplars of dogged fatigue took their ease, always at least half dressed, half-awake, and half-intoxicated…or rather, wishing they were half intoxicated to offset the strain of being half-awake. We say the senior officers' locker, because all others fell under its purview, and so were modeled after it; were it not for the example set by the senior officers, the junior grade officers and enlisted men and women might have more often been found napping.

Hardly anyone was sleeping in the senior officers' duty locker now. That in itself was not unusual. This was the time of morning when the graveyard pilots were just coming off rotation, and others were preparing to take their places. In the bustle of activity that accompanied any shift change, it was all but impossible to maintain even a pretense of sleep. That was not, however, the case on this morning.

"Pass the word to Captain Adama and Lieutenant Thrace. Captain Adama and Lieutenant Thrace to the CO's quarters."

Starbuck and Apollo stood at their lockers, one stripping half out of her flight suit, the other climbing half into his. Without discussing it, they both understood that the urge to put on their cleanest grays had to be overcome in the interest of discretion. They were not supposed to know what this meeting was about…or at least they hadn't been told outright. Of course, the Commander probably expected them to know. Rumors and speculation had been flying around the ship for days now. Everyone knew that the ten week mark had come and gone, and since then it had only been a matter of waiting for this day. Still, Starbuck made as if she had just come off rotation when the word was passed to her (which she had), and Apollo gave every appearance of just going on (which he was). As for the other pilots in the senior pilots' locker, they had their own part to play; each of them pretended not to be watching as Starbuck and Apollo turned to the box at the back of the room.

No one really understood why they even had a box, all padded with old towels and tucked in an out of the way corner. The pups were never in there. When they weren't being carried around in their haversacks by one pilot or other, they were sleeping in Starbuck or Apollo's rack. If someone were hunting around the ship for evidence of dog, the last place that person would look was in one of the boxes! Of course, the haversacks had long since been outgrown and the puppies, with thanks to their one hundred and fifty pound dam, were now the size of small spaniels. They ranged in weight from twenty-four to twenty-eight pounds, a fact in which the landing party found some vindications, since no one had quite believed them when they had described the late Seek's size. Needless to say, when the pups decided they did want to spend a little time in the box after all, they barely fit.

The pilots had kept and raised two of Seek's four surviving puppies, a black and tan female and a rust colored male with black points. It was often joked that those two were the same dog, with coloring and gender flipped. The male was called Geminon, and the female was called Caprica. Regardless of the fact that all the pilots had had a hand in rearing the puppies, there could be no doubt that they were Starbuck and Apollo's dogs. As the two had grown into themselves they had made their preference known, and it was as clear now as it had ever been.

"Come on Gem," Starbuck said lightly, hefting the pup in her arms. "Inspection time my prince." It was difficult to scratch under the studded leather collar she had outfitted him with and fend off his playful licks.

"Pass the word to Chief Tyrol. Chief Tyrol to the CO's quarters."

"The Old Man's not wasting any time is he?" Starbuck asked, with as light a tone as she could muster. "Palladino hand me that rope will you?"

"We should get moving," was Lee's clipped reply.

Walking towards the Commander's quarters with Apollo alongside her, time seemed to slow. There was an ease between them, which she only noticed in the brief lulls between crises. Since their return from Caprica their conversations had been concise and tense, often angry, or sardonic, or accusatory. Lee had erected a barrier between them, bricked with military formality and mortared with righteous indignation. They hardly ever talked civilly anymore. Still, even with the guilt and resentment that hung between them, there were not two people on Galactica that walked more naturally alongside one another.

They were not surprised when they encountered the Chief coming the other way. There were faster routes to the Commander's quarters from the hanger deck, but it was clear that Tyrol had no desire to face the proverbial firing squad alone. He, too, looked as though he had just come off a shift, outfitted in his orange jump suit and smudged with grease. Tucked under his arm was Aeirlon, the male runt of Seek's surviving pups. It was Aeirlon that added credence to the rumor that the pups were bred from wolf stock; he had a decidedly wolfish look about him, and behaved with a cagey reserve unlike any of the others. No one could decide if the pup was grey with black hairs, or black with grey hairs.

Tyrol nodded at the pilot as they met, letting his eyes flick to the pups at their feet. Clearly he had not been the only one to assume this call was about their furry charges.

"Ready for this?" Lee asked. Known as he was for riding the Chief's ass mercilessly, it was strange to hear him sound so kind hearted.

"No sir. You?"

"No," Starbuck and Apollo said at once.

With various expressions of reluctance and unease, they finished the walk to the Commander's quarters together.

Commander Adama was waiting for them, standing beside his desk looking over some reports Dualla had brought him. Dualla was still there, in fact, looking for all the world like a dutiful Petty Officer waiting for her reports to be signed so she could get back to work. That was a sham, however. Dualla was here representing the CIC, her cover well and truly blown by the blue-eyed puppy cavorting around her feet. Little Scorpio was a black and white female, independent and adventurous. Like Geminon and Caprica belonged to the pilots, and Aeirlon belonged to the deck gang, Scorpio had taken up with the men and women of CIC. There had been no need to call for Dee, because it had been Dee doing the calling, but they were not surprised to see her here.

"Thank you all for coming," the Commander intoned. "Please, have a seat."

None of them commented on the fact that they had had no choice in coming, obviously, but he could read it in their eyes as they cast about for places to sit. None of them felt comfortable sitting down. He noticed that too. It was as if they felt that if they got comfortable, they would be giving in. Or perhaps they only wanted to be in positions where they could fight, or run. Adama took his seat behind his desk, practically forcing them to sit as well. He was not looking forward to this conversation. He had been expressly not looking forward to this conversation for weeks now.

"Let's get right down to it. For ten weeks now the men and women of this ship have been devoting a lot of time, and a lot of energy to raising these dogs. You've done it despite everything else being asked of you, and you have not let it interfere with your jobs. You're to be commended. I'm proud of you. You've brought a little bit of life, a little bit of family to this boat." He paused then, pulling off his reading glasses and setting them on his desk so to better see their faces. "By all reports, the four of you are the ones to talk to about the future of these animals. Up until now, very few people have been made aware of their security potential, or that they will be raised as guardians of the Fleet." The Chief and Dualla nodded absently, both setting records for the hundred yard stare. Lee and Kara did not move, or speak. So far they had not heard anything they had not expected.

Adama inhaled, and continued with more force than before. "It's been ten weeks. I allowed the dogs onboard because I was told they might be of some use detecting cylons in Fleet. They are old enough now to be trained. Colonel Tigh will be accepting applications from Marines wishing to take up duty as canine handlers, and we have found a dog trainer in the Fleet who has agreed to come on board and work with them."

Dualla was no more aware of the tears welling in her eyes than Lee was of holding Caprica a little tighter, or Kara was of the vice grip she had on the arms of her chair. Tyrol was still staring, though at what, no one could say.

"Sir," Lee ventured. "I'm not sure…" Pause. Collect thoughts. Try again. "That may not be the best course of action sir."

"No? Why not, Captain?"

"It's just that raising the dogs with the general crew could be beneficial…"

Starbuck picked up readily where Apollo trailed off. "If the dogs were loyal to the crew, or humans in general, they would be more protective of humans, not just their handlers. Sir."

"And if everyone could handle the dogs that would free us up a lot. We could give them free range on Galactica, and then when we need to send them out into the Fleet anyone available can go." Dee had startled herself with her boldness, and glanced away.

"You've obviously conferred about this," the Commander observed.

"No sir," they said in unison.

"If there is a cylon agent on this ship, and the dogs are raised as much with him as with humans, they might not be any use to us at all."

"Giving them to Marine handlers doesn't solve that problem sir," Tyrol said, breaking his silence. "Anyone could be a cylon, even one of them."

"And if one of them is a cylon, we would be giving them the secret along with the dog."

"The same can be said for any person on this ship. We cannot train them as cylon detectors without someone realizing what we're doing." The Commander had expected some resistance, but the arguments being flung his way were giving them pause.

"I believe we can," Lee insisted. "Commander… Morale on this ship has never been higher, not since the attack. I think that…that to take something everyone loves away and give it to a select few would breed resentment, anger. It's been a long time since people felt this way about anything, and no one expected to feel this way again. Now we have the girls to take care of and the dogs…they make all of this easier somehow, better. I really think that changing that would be a mistake."

Commander Adama turned his eyes to his desktop, showing Tyrol how the professionals do it, as he considered what he had heard. None of the points that had been made were unreasonable. What none of them had mentioned was how efficiency had increased with morale, shipwide. No dereliction of duty reports had come across his desk in weeks. He had seen the change in CIC as well. People seemed more relaxed, more settled into their jobs, as if there really wasn't anywhere else they would have rather been. Still, the concern remained that there might well be cylon agents on the Galactica crew, and that if the pups grew up accustomed to cylons they would not differentiate between cylons and humans. Adama did not know how to solve that one, anymore than he knew how to solve the problem of a potential Marine handler being a cylon. Theoretically, Gaius Baltar's cylon detector should have weeded them out, but Adama had not yet forgotten that Baltar missed Sharon, and Sharon had not missed Adama.

Thoughts of Sharon gave him an idea. There might yet be a way to solve this to everyone's satisfaction.

"I want you to take the puppies, one at a time, to the cylon's holding cell." The pups had been carefully kept away from that area since they were brought on board. "See if they react to her, and report back to me. If they do, I think it would be safe to assume they have not been living in close proximity to any other cylon. I will leave the training to the crew on a trial basis, and I expect weekly reports on their progress. No one person is to be alone with those dogs at any time, excluding only the people in this room. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir," was their reply. It was more than any of them had dared to hope for.

"Dismissed."