Battlestar Galactica 2003 is a copyright of the Sci Fi Channel. Battlestar Galactica is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. Ron Moore re-imagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way intended to challenge or infringe upon any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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Author's Notes: This story is a sequel to my earlier Battlestar Galactica fic, The Dark at the End of the Tunnel. It is rather necessary to read that story before reading this.

This story is the second part in a trilogy. The trilogy was planned and started in the Sci-Fi Channel's break between Episodes 2.10 (Pegasus) and 2.11 (Resurrection Ship, Part 1). At that point, I had no problems deluding myself into believing that I could stay close to canon until I went my own way in the third story. Sadly, that didn't happen. I'm going to try to get closer to canon, though the process will take some time. Events that are integral to the positioning of characters within canon may still take place within this story, though in a different manner than that presented within the series. If that's unclear, please refer to the relevant page on my website, which I don't seem to be able to link to here because of pain-in-the-ass formatting issues on this site. If anyone can give me the proper html code so I can put the link in my profile, please PM me and I'll do that. Thanks.

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Adrift in the Acheron
by
Nevermore

I – Survivors and Scavengers

So say we all. The words kept dancing around in Admiral William Adama's mind, defying his every attempt to drive them from his head. He had heard the words countless times before, at innumerable celebrations and memorials. Births. Marriages. Funerals. Another funeral, he reflected, surprised at how little of Laura Roslin's memorial service he actually remembered. The more he thought about it, the more he was forced to admit that he had spent most of the time taking a mental stroll down memory lane, recalling all of the highs and lows in their short relationship.

He glanced over to his bookcase and wondered which book President Roslin might have borrowed next if she had lived just a little bit longer. Don't forget it was only going to be a little bit, no matter what happened at Chiron, he reminded himself. President Roslin had proven so strong, so willful, that it was almost as impossible to imagine her dying of cancer as it was to recall a time when she was not a dominant figure in his life, regardless of how short a time he and she had actually known each other.

Adama knew that people across the fleet were grieving for their lost leader. Some mourned because Roslin's passing meant that the religious icon named by Pythia had died, as had been foretold; others held the more pragmatic concern of worrying over what would happen to their own lives as a result of the change in the fleet's leadership; a shockingly small number – no more than a handful of people, actually – shed heartfelt tears at the loss of a woman who was no mere prophet or president, but a dear friend.

The admiral could not truly decide when it was that Laura Roslin had stopped being a busybody politician he would like to strangle and instead became a friend and confidant, and he found it really didn't matter. The admiral leaned back in his chair and began to address the questions he had spent most of his time putting off facing.

What now? That was the biggest question, really, the one that gave rise to all of the others. Concerns about how Baltar would fare as president, what Zarek would do to gain power, and how an increasingly religious populace would react to Roslin's death, those were all specific forms of the same question. What now?

"One step at a time," Adama mumbled, hoping the sound of his own voice would help him concentrate. As always, the first thing to address is security. All of the other problems immediately become irrelevant if we find ourselves subject to a cylon surprise attack and we're unable to defend ourselves. He starting jotting down some notes on adjustments in duty rosters, but he stopped after only a few moments.

For the umpteenth time, he tried to chase away memories of his lost friend, wondering at his inability to concentrate on tasks he had been performing for years. I haven't been this distracted since… No, he told himself, exerting his will against his subconscious desire to spend some time thinking about Zak.

"Focus," he growled at his empty, silent surroundings. "One step at a time." It would be easier if something – anything – would go right. But everywhere I look it's one frakking disaster after another…

A soft, hesitant knock at the door elicited a satisfied sigh from the admiral. Finally, something tangible to focus on. When he opened the door, he saw the last person he would have expected.

"Something wrong, Dee?" he asked, surprised at his own informality in addressing her by her nickname.

"No. I mean, so sir," she answered awkwardly. "I just wanted to, I mean, Billy and I…"

"I heard congratulations are in order," Adama interrupted.

"Thank you, sir."

"Why don't you come in?" Adama offered, desperate for a few moments respite from his own inner demons.

"Sir?"

"You're not due on the bridge, are you?"

"No sir."

"Then take a couple of minutes to humor your admiral's nosiness," Adama said with a smile, trying to banish the uncertainty and anxiety he saw on Dee's face. He had felt over the months that the crew was becoming more like family than shipmates, but it was clear that some lines of protocol and formality were not easily erased. And they probably shouldn't be, either, Adama acknowledged, knowing that in many ways it would be irresponsible to let the crew realize he was just a man and not the all-knowing, all-powerful commander – no, I'm an admiral now, he reminded himself – that many still saw him as being. But just a few minutes isn't going to hurt anything, he assured himself.

"So you and Billy are getting married," Adama commented as Dee followed him into his quarters. He poured two cups of coffee and handed her one, not bothering to offer sugar or powdered cream; they'd spent enough time on the bridge together for him to know that she never added anything to her coffee. Brave girl, he decided with a slight grin. Fleet coffee all but screams out for heaps of sugar. "Have you two set a date?" Adama asked.

Dee gave him an uncertain look, and he suddenly realized how strange his question actually was. There're no churches to reserve, no reception halls to select, no invitations to send out, no more family or best friends to ask to be in a wedding party. Even our traditions have been destroyed by the cylons. "On second thought, I guess it doesn't take as much planning as it used to," he admitted, suddenly looking at his coffee mug, not wanting to know what Dee's reaction to that reality might be.

"Well, there's a little planning," Dee admitted. "For instance, I have to find a priest," she said.

"Well, when you've done that, let me know," Adama said. "We'll find you a place on Galactica for the ceremony."

"Thank you, sir, but I.… umm…"

"What is it, Dee?"

"There's an old tradition that doesn't really exist anymore," she said. "It's from centuries ago, before priests were assigned to every ship and it sometimes took months to travel from one planet to another."

"What is it?"

"In ancient times, it was traditional for a ship captain to marry people, since a priest might not always be available."

"I remember reading about that."

"And I was wondering if you'd be willing to marry Billy and me," Dee said quickly, clearly hoping to spit the words out before she said something awkward in front of her commanding officer.

"Dee…"

"It's still legal," she said. "Billy looked it up in the few records of Colonial law we have left. It's rare and generally unnecessary, since priests are almost always available, but you still have the authority to marry someone. Just like judges do."

"I'd be honored," Adama said, incapable of mustering anything else. "You give me a day and time, and I'll be there, Dee."

"Thank you," she said, absolutely glowing with relief and joy. "Thank you, sir."

"I suppose you have to go find Billy now," Adama said.

"Yes sir."

"Then get going," he told her. She practically raced out of his quarters, and he could hear her running down the hallway outside.

"One step at a time," Adama told himself, this time with a smile on his face. It occurred to him that Laura would have liked to see Dee and Billy get married, but he resolved to do his best to make the day as perfect for the two as Laura would have wanted.

The admiral turned back to his work, surprised at how much easier it all seemed now that something had finally gone well.

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"There are several issues that we feel need to be attended to immediately," Saffiya Sanne said.

"I'm willing to address all of your concerns," Baltar assured Picon's representative on the Quorum of Twelve.

"Well, to be blunt, many of us think that it would be appropriate for you to resign your office as the president," Sanne explained. "You were one of humanity's preeminent scientists even before the cylon attack; with the losses we've taken, I don't think there can be any doubt that you're the finest human mind alive."

"Thank you," Baltar said. But… he added silently, expecting that to be the next word out of Sanne's mouth.

"But adding the duties of the office of the president is too great a burden, even for one as gifted as you," Sanne said, not surprising Baltar with the direction of the conversation. Several other representatives nodded their heads, though most – including Tom Zarek – remained as still as statues.

Baltar was surprised by Zarek's opening salvo; he had expected Marshall Bagot to be the first one to come right out and question his position. But then again, Tom Zarek used Bagot as his front man last time he made a push for power. He doesn't seem the type to try the same tactic twice, especially when it failed the first time. Besides, from what Gray said, Bagot has grown fairly influential in his own right. He might even be Zarek's vice-president once the two of them get me out of the way.

"They won't get you out of the way, Gaius," Six chided on his left, leaning against the wall, cutting an impressive figure in a green silk dress with a gold dragon embroidered down the right side. "Just stick to our plan, and everything will be fine."

Sure, just stick to the plan, Baltar thought, hoping no one in the room noticed how badly he was starting to sweat.

"While the position of president is demanding, there are others in the fleet who can competently negotiate the demands of the office," Sanne said. "However, there is no one else in the fleet who can possibly duplicate what you're able to do for us in the lab."

"Fascinating," Six commented. "I never knew how capable humans were of flattering while they stabbed each other in the back."

Baltar grinned at Six's remark, and he noticed that a couple of the representatives smiled back, all of them seeming to assume that he had been smiling at them. Or smiling in the face of a concerted effort to start moving me out the door, he decided. Six was right – the vast majority of this is how I look. As long as I appear confident and unconcerned by my enemies, I'll have the battle half-won.

"Well, I'd be lying if I said that resigning isn't something I've already considered," Baltar said, "but I can't see how that could be anything but disastrous at this juncture, no matter how pragmatic a decision it may be."

"How so, Mr. President?" Sanne asked. Baltar noted that Zarek's lips had spread ever so slightly into a thin smile. He seemed to know exactly what Baltar was going to say.

"President Roslin's death was inevitable, of course," Baltar explained. "From the moment she openly admitted that she had terminal cancer, the people of the fleet have been emotionally preparing themselves for the loss of a woman who guided us all through mankind's darkest hour. But then she was killed even sooner than we expected; it ended up being quite a shock, despite the fact that we'd all known what was coming."

"Good, Gaius," Six purred. "You have them right where you want them now."

Baltar was unsure what she meant – he was literally making up his little speech as he went – but he plunged ahead, nonetheless.

"The people need stability, they need to feel safe," Baltar continued. "A large part of that comes from some level of familiarity with leaders, and part comes from knowing that their leaders are equal to the challenges facing them. I refuse to cause panic or a loss of confidence in the government by running away as soon as my life gets difficult."

Sanne's smooth voice interrupted. "Mr. President, no one is suggesting--"

"Yes, you are," Baltar retorted coldly, not even needing to hear another word from the representative. "I'll be the first one to admit that my efforts might best be utilized in the lab, but President Roslin chose me to fill a position she, I, and all of you knew full well would result in me becoming president when she died, whether it was at the hands of cylons or the result of cancer. There has to be an orderly and controlled transition of power. That means we'll first name a new vice-president. Then we'll finally schedule some elections."

"Elections," Sanne said with a nod. "That is long overdue."

"Given we're still completing a census that'll let us know who the eligible voters are, it would have been impossible to do it any sooner," Baltar retorted. "The vaccinations for the Trojan Flu are winding down; Doctor Cottle assures me that the medical crisis will be alleviated within days. Once we can be sure that inter-ship travel no longer poses a health risk, we'll resume our census. When that's done – and only when that's done – we'll commence a process for people to register as voters and, if they wish, as candidates."

"But Mr. President," Sanne began to object.

"Yes?" Baltar demanded, hearing in his own voice a sharp, commanding edge that had never been there before. To his amazement, Sanne was immediately cowed.

"Yes, Mr. President," Sanne said with a nod. Baltar suspected the member of the Quorum of Twelve had planned to point out that Baltar's plans would take months to complete.

"It's good to be the president," Six commented. Baltar could only smile in reply as Tom Zarek failed in his attempt to stare him down from the opposite end of the table.

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Dr. Noah Drake sighed when Sharon refused to answer his question, and Helo simply shrugged his shoulders when Drake looked to him for assistance. The doc might have gotten me to go along with his question-and-answer sessions, but that doesn't mean I'm about to help him out.

"How about we turn back to cylon navigation capabilities?" Drake asked, leaving behind for the time being the questions about Sharon's child.

"Fine," Sharon snapped.

"We know cylon raiders are capable of much farther FTL jumps than anything the Colonies have," Drake began, seeming to choose his words with his characteristic precision. "Just how far can they go in a single jump?"

"That depends," Sharon answered. "As long as there are detailed maps of the starting point, the destination, and all points in between, our ships could theoretically cover the distance from here to Caprica in a single jump. In reality, the maps are never precise enough to take the chance, though; there are always previously unmapped comets and asteroids, a sun that's just gone nova, an unexpected solar storm putting out disrupting radiation, or something else that's out of the ordinary. So while a cylon ship could theoretically make it in one jump, in reality it would probably take between five and eight. But the simple answer, I guess, is that I'm not aware of the cylons having reached their maximum FTL jump range."

"So the only real limits are due to a lack of astrogation data."

"Yes."

"And that's why the cylons haven't been able to get ahead of us," Drake said. "They have to map out the space ahead of us, just as we do."

"Yes."

"So the cylons haven't been in this area of space before."

"That's correct."

"How did the cylons develop their technology?" Drake asked. He'd been on a roll with the last few questions, but his momentum came to a screeching halt as Sharon simply stared at him.

"I don't understand the question," she told him.

"Cylon FTL technology is superior to that of the Colonies," Drake explained. "The cylons have clearly refined the technology in some way."

"Refined?"

"Our captured raider shows that cylon technology is based on human technology, but in this case the cylon version is superior."

Drake scrutinized Sharon closely, and Helo was left to wonder whether Drake was looking for any indication that Sharon was lying. He knew that it was possible to detect lies in a person's body language, that special techniques were taught to military intelligence interrogators, but he had no idea whether Drake had learned any of those techniques. Or if they'd even be of any use, he decided. Couldn't a cylon be programmed to behave deceptively? Couldn't she make it look like she was lying when she was telling the truth, and vice versa? He shuddered when he realized that he had been thinking of Sharon as a machine and not as a woman. He hated when Drake's questions made him do that.

"Maybe we should take a quick break," Helo suggested.

"No," Drake said.

"I'm fine," Sharon assured Helo. She turned back to Drake and added, "I'm sure there was some type of modification made, but I have no idea what it was."

"Or where it came from?"

"What do you mean?"

"You may not know specifics about FTL development, but surely you know enough about cylon society to have an idea of how technological breakthroughs are brought about."

"I don't understand what you're getting at."

"When I was a child, I knew nothing about invention," Drake explained. "But I did know that there was such a thing as engineers. I knew there were men whose lives were devoted to creating new things and making improvements to those things that already existed. What's the cylon equivalent? For that matter, is there a cylon equivalent? You can't expect me to believe that you have no knowledge of this."

"Cylon society isn't arranged like that," Sharon answered. "We're interconnected in a way that humans aren't, so one cylon is capable of a plethora of what you refer to as vocations. There is no single best use for any individual cylon model or personality, although some of the older ones seemed to be developing preferences. I was sent in with a specific purpose, but this body could have served just as well as a bodyguard, an assassin, a Viper pilot, a doctor, or pyramid player."

"So there was no specific reason you were sent here?"

"No."

"So any cylon of your particular model might have been sent to join up with Helo on Caprica? Any willing cylon wearing that familiar shell could have been briefed on your relationship with Helo and achieved your mission objective?"

"That's enough," Helo interjected. His own thoughts had drifted down this road several times, and he did not like where it led.

"Must I remind you, Lieutenant, that you're present merely as a courtesy? If you decide to interfere, or if you're incapable of controlling yourself during an uncomfortable line of questioning, you'll have to leave."

"I'm not leaving."

"I have my orders," Drake said. "I'm to get valuable tactical information from Ms. Valerii. She seems to appreciate having you in the room, and I am certainly not blind to how I can benefit by having you tacitly supporting my efforts rather than attempting to subvert me. But if this arrangement becomes problematic, I'll have you removed and I'll engage in alternative methods of interrogation. Am I making myself understood?"

Helo was surprised by the glare in Drake's eye. "Yes," Helo answered defiantly, leveling a glare of his own. "I understand."

"Excellent. However, you've succeeded in making me lose my train of thought. How about this, Ms. Valerii?" he prompted, paging through his notes. "I was speaking with Chief Tyrol, and he mentioned that you made some sort of comment about cylon raiders being like animals."

"Yes," Sharon replied, bringing a grimace to Helo's face. Every time Tyrol's name was mentioned, he inevitably remembered the time Sharon and Tyrol had spent together not long ago, even while he thought he'd been with Sharon on Caprica. He absolutely despised remembering that Sharon had existed within a separate body; such reminders made it impossible to forget that he was in love with a machine. And not just a machine, he told himself. This is a machine that replaced the one I was initially in love with. The cylons sent me a fake version of the fake human I loved, and I never knew the frakking difference.

He chased away his thoughts and tried to focus on the conversation, hoping against hope that Drake would stick to topics that did nothing to remind him of the farce he felt his life was becoming.

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"You know, this is the first chance we've really had to talk since we got back from Chiron," Starbuck commented over the wireless.

"Guess so," Ares agreed, holding his position on her wing as they proceeded through their umpteenth uneventful CAP. "Had a lot going on, though. I've spent the past week standing around at various memorial services, sweating my ass off in a dress uniform that's snug in the shoulders and too loose in the waist. I don't know who that thing used to belong to, but the guy was built like a pear."

"You have my condolences," Starbuck replied, trying not to chase away the guilt that always haunted her when she remembered the losses their team took at Chiron. If only I'd come around a little faster, she thought again, just as she always did when she replayed the cylon attack in her mind. I could have brought that last heavy raider into range and taken it out before the centurions boarded the station. As always, she ignored the fact that doing so would have brought her right into the sights of three other raiders and likely gotten her killed before the attack was twenty seconds old.

"Condolences are nice, but I'd prefer some extra personal time," Ares shot back. "Captain Hard-Ass is your buddy; how 'bout you put in a good word or two for me?"

"No promises, though I definitely owe you," Starbuck said. "You did great out there."

"Be careful – that almost sounded like a compliment, Starbuck. Though I still didn't have as many kills as you did, though," Ares groused. "And I had three sets of guns to work with. Apollo kept telling me you're good, but damn…"

"You covered for me when I was on the wireless, coordinating with Tigh," Starbuck reminded him. "We might have lost Joker, too, if you hadn't stepped up like that."

"And here I was afraid that I'd get in trouble for overstepping my authority."

"Not this time."

"It's not like you were exactly trusting before the op," Ares reminded her. "I seem to remember you practically accusing me of deliberately inciting battles in the past."

"Let's not get all warm and fuzzy, Ares – you still have a little to prove to me."

"Yeah, I know. Trust is earned, not freely given away, and all that stuff…"

"But you earned the benefit of the doubt, at least," Starbuck admitted.

"Is that all I earned?"

"Were you hoping for something else?" Starbuck asked.

"Well, I help you out in a firefight, maybe even save one of your pilots, and all I get is the benefit of the doubt? Couldn't you at least take me to dinner, too? I eat light."

"Dinner?"

"That meal that comes after lunch and before sleep," Ares clarified sarcastically. "I don't think it's asking so much."

"And boy, wouldn't it be fun to start those kinds of rumors circulating."

"What rumors are those?" Ares asked in a tone that told Starbuck he knew full well what she meant, but he wanted to hear her say it.

Jackass, Starbuck thought angrily. "You know what I mean," Starbuck said. "Male and female pilots have dinner, everyone's gonna assume that something's going on."

"No!" Ares gasped, doing his best to sound scandalized at the idea.

Starbuck could only laugh at his response.

"But you and Apollo have dinner all the time," Ares pointed out. A barely audible chuckle punctuated his point, and Starbuck thought better of pursuing that topic.

"About Apollo," Starbuck said, deciding this was an outstanding opportunity to ask some of the questions she'd had on her mind. "What was he like back at the Academy?"

"I don't know that he'd want me talking about that," Ares responded. "You know how he gets, wanting to be all prim and proper."

"So he wasn't prim and proper back then?"

"Not so much, no."

"So then what was he like?"

"He was… I don't know. He was more alive, I guess is the best way to put it," Ares finally said. "He was less responsible, more impulsive, more fun, and a real kick-ass pilot. More like you, in a way."

"You know, that's one of those things that sorta sounds like a compliment, but isn't really if you think about it," Starbuck said with a grin.

"Hey, you're the one who asked. Don't go shooting the messenger."

"So he was more like me, the poor boy."

"Never would have thought he'd end up like he did," Ares said. "In fact, I never thought he would have stayed with the service as long as he did, no matter what his actual status was at the time of the attack. I figured he would have gone all civvie on us years ago."

"Yeah, well, he won't admit it, but he loves flying Vipers," Starbuck pointed out. "It's a hard thing to give up."

"And now Apollo won't have to, though I guess being CAG means he'll stay a big stick in the mud. Too bad, too," Ares said. "If things hadn't gone wrong at the Academy, he probably would have ended up just like you."

"Now that's hard to imagine."

"Well, without the breasts," Ares quickly added. "Does that help out the mental image?"

"Yeah, much better," Starbuck laughed.

"Maybe his crap responsibilities are why he likes you as much as he does," Ares said. "He's probably living vicariously through you. Besides, you've got to remind him of Athena."

"Athena?" Starbuck asked. She knew full well that Athena was a friend of Apollo's at flight school who had been killed in an accident. And I don't think I'm even supposed to know that much, she reminded herself, making certain she didn't give anything away. "She an old girlfriend?"

"Of a sort," Ares replied evasively. "In a way, she and Apollo were total opposites – he was the mostly-well-mannered son of a Colonial flag officer, she was from a working class family and well on her way to being a rock star before she gave that up and enlisted."

"A rock star," Starbuck repeated skeptically. This definitely seemed like another Ares Tall Tale to her.

"Well, maybe not a star," he admitted. "But she had a recording contract and everything. In fact, Athena was her stage name; she was in a rock band called The Goddesses."

"Never heard of them."

"Not really important for the purposes of this story," Ares countered. "One of the other pilots in our class had heard of her, and that's how Athena's stage name became her callsign. The joke was that since she hung around me and Lee all the time, that we must be gods, too."

"So you got callsigns to match."

"Yeah. The true story really isn't as interesting as some of the fairy-tale rumors I've heard over the years," Ares said. "In fact, one time a nugget in the class behind us said that he heard Athena, Apollo, and I all got named after gods because a Sibyl came to the flight school and claimed that we were the gods' avatars come down from on high, or somethin'."

"Sure, that'd be the day," Starbuck joked.

"I assume you're referring to Apollo and Athena," Ares quipped. "I mean, I've always thought myself rather godly."

"Of course you have, Ares," Starbuck laughed.

"Anyway, yeah… Athena was a musician. Not that she ever really talked about that; in fact, as close as we were, I didn't know that much about her past. Just like another pilot I can think of."

"And?" Starbuck said, making certain the conversation remained focused on Apollo and Athena rather than on her.

"And she and Apollo somehow ended up like two peas in a pod at flight school. She was the type that always wanted to fly faster, always closer to the edge, who didn't think it was a worthwhile dogfight until she was up against five-to-one odds, and who played fast and loose with the rules because she knew most rules existed for pilot safety, and she was good enough not to have to worry about that like the rest of us mere mortals. You know the type."

"I suppose," Starbuck said, not missing Ares' meaning.

"Anyway, a woman like that has a way of charming most men, especially a guy like Apollo. Poor sap was helpless against her charms."

"Hard to imagine Apollo ever swooning for a woman."

"You think so?" Ares asked. "For some reason I thought you'd be able to picture that quite easily."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Starbuck asked, a liberal mix of suspicion, anger, and embarrassment in her voice.

"Only that you know him better than most, of course," Ares answered, again with a barely audible chuckle. "What did you think I meant?"

"Nothing," Starbuck said, chasing away embarrassing memories involving a dark hall, far too much ambrosia, and a loose tongue that had revealed far more than she'd wanted to.

To be continued………………………………