At times like this, when there seemed to be more questions than answers, and reassurance was only to be found in prayer—as she had suggested to Starbuck—Ama knew it was time to stop bumbling about aimlessly at her goddaughter's side and seek solace. As far as she was concerned, there was only one place on the Galactica that she could do that.

Starbuck had brought her to the Celestial Dome some sectars ago. Strangely the young man—who seemed to spend so little time on his own spiritual development as if it was of little consequence to him—had known that the Empyrean Necromancer who had worshipped in the open air and beneath the stars of her home world for over eighty yahrens would consider the chamber a sacred place.

Still it was with a slightly jaundiced eye that she considered the electronic equipment that allowed her to open up the dome to the infiniteness of the heavens, which each and every time made her feel like a tiny bud, nurtured by the special glow of omnipresence until she bloomed into her own spiritual fulfillment.

Standing erect with arms outreached, and her face tilted upwards, she basked in the light of divinity, forgetting where she was and no longer even hearing the noise from the monitoring station that Starbuck had once shown her. Her mind emptied of her troubles even as her spirit was replenished, and the healing force crept into every cell of her physical being, making her both swell with transcendent energy and simultaneously recognize that she was a mere speck of insignificance within the dominion of the Almighty.

Her skin seemed to tingle as if every fiber of her being was alive and she was but a conduit of the eternal beauty, power and presence that both surrounded her and flowed through her. It was pure rapture, but was also recognized and treasured as a precious gift

Then she gasped as the glow of Elysium was abruptly snuffed out, like the fragile flame of a candle. A shiver passed through her, as a coldness infiltrated her spirit, freezing it within an immuring wall of evil. A malevolent presence seemed intent on crushing her from within and she cried aloud at the suddenness of the attack, collapsing to her knees.

"NO!" she howled, her arms again outstretched and her spirit seeking guidance and strength against this force of enmity. She gasped for breath, as she steeled herself against the malignant energy that swelled outward as if it could infuse and then eclipse her own self, and possess her very soul.

Her breathing ceased, choked off by the numbing presence, but she refused to succumb. Instead she reached outward from her core of existence, surrendering to her faith and love, secure in the knowledge that she was in Hand of God.

A mere flicker from within slowly grew into a triumphant burst of light, again suffusing her physically and spiritually. And as abruptly as it had appeared, the vile presence was gone.

----------

"Ignite, damn you, ignite!" growled Boomer, as he pressed the button on the control console for the main reactor. The laser array around the reactor vessel flickered, hummed, and then fitfully flared to life. He held his thumb in it for a few extra millicentons as the indicators rose, then cautiously let go. The lasers continued to fire, and the vessel began to glow. He held his breath a few more moments, but it seemed that the reactor would stay on-line this time.

"Got it!" said Volk, next to him, and the two grinned victoriously as their ongoing efforts finally paid off.

"We're ready to go on this end," Boomer told the captain as Apollo entered the control room of the pirate's base. "Volk has been able to stabilize the main reactor by slowing down the fuel injection rate, to more precisely match the laser pulses and magnetic field pulse rate. I doubt this piece of junk's been in this good a shape for yahrens. That and we sealed several weak spots in the cooling system as well. That should prevent the meltdown that we were concerned about."

"Should?" Apollo asked.

"Usually, the inner shell for the reactor would only spend about three yahrens inside of it and then get replaced. The old one would be moved to a special pool to essentially 'cool' off so it could be recycled for further usage. In this case, the slackers just left the old shell in place, never replacing it. It's part of the reason for the reactor's decreasing stability. They tried to suck every bit of use out of it, instead of following a safety policy of making sure the shell is replaced, and then allowed to become radioactively cool enough to handle before reprocessing it." Volk explained. "Talk about taking your life in your hands!" He shook his head.

"Sounds like a ticking time bomb." Apollo replied.

"It very well could be, Captain. Early fusion reactors like this often were, without exacting maintenance. It's ironic that we arrived when we did, because I'm certain that the Life Support systems failing would have meant certain death for these people—our officers, all the prisoners, and those women and children included—unless the pirates are able to work miracles with this . . ." he turned his nose up at the control panel, " eolith . . . which I doubt." Volk paused. "The rest of this pile of junk had . . . oh, maybe a yahren left in it. I'm actually surprised it didn't blow ages ago. Sir, you might want to reconsider taking the extra time to remotely rig this baby so we can blow her away from our Base Ship."

"How long would that take?"

Volk sighed. "Another day." He could see the captain's frown of disappointment as the words left his mouth. "It's just so damn archaic! I've had to tribunal rig almost everything we've done to her so far, sir. Half these instruments are out of my equipment bag. A remote system would be the same. I'd have to build it circuit by circuit to interface with this superannuated piece of felgercarb that they used to power this place. It's on its last legs, sir, and they're spindly, tired and fractured."

"We just don't have the time. The last of the shuttles is preparing to leave. Volk, you need to be on it. Boomer, you go with him and make sure the Galactica knows we're ready to destroy the Dynamos. We never did establish a strong enough signal to transmit from the control room."

"Believe it or not, it has a high density metal shielding it, almost acting like a blast shelter around this place." Boomer told him.

"Cozy." Apollo smiled weakly. "I want everyone off this base before I trigger the Dynamos.

"Except you and I." The lieutenant reminded him with a frown. "I'll be back to give you the final word from the Commander."

"I'm still not blowing the Dynamos and setting the main reactor on overload until you're safely out of here, buddy." Apollo informed him.

"You should have back up." Boomer argued. "Just in case something goes wrong."

"Hades Hole, Boomer, you're starting to sound like Sheba . . ." he grimaced, not meaning to say the words aloud. He rubbed his eyes wearily and shook his head at his indiscretion.

Boomer regarded him for a moment. "Well, then that's a sure sign you should listen more carefully to the lady," he returned with the shadow of a smile. "Because we're both right. And I'd just like to point out that I'm neither distracted by a family member's unexpected reappearance nor affected by a sectarly hormonal fluctuation."

"Boomer . . ." Apollo somehow managed to inflect the same tone into his voice which he used with Boxey, just before he entered "you've pushed me too far" parent-mode. Actually, now that he thought about it, he was known to use that tone with Starbuck as well on occasion.

Not that it ever did much good.

"I'll just see off Volk and make sure everyone else is evacuated." Boomer raised his hands innocently, backing towards the doorway, and putting an abrupt end to his poignant but brief defense of Sheba. "See you shortly." The lieutenant concluded, considering the weary captain with a certain amount of concern as he turned to follow the technician to the hangar.

"Right." Apollo breathed, settling into the high back chair that looked as though it had been pulled from the cockpit of some scavenged space craft, possibly even the Earth Shuttle. He could feel his body meld with the split fabric as he sunk into the deep padding and awaited the final orders. He closed his eyes, letting his exhausted body and mind shut down for a glorious few centons.

It had been a grueling couple days. He felt like a taut wire about to snap as his mind replayed the series of events since the Empyrean Conflict had occurred. Lords, it seemed ages ago, but it was only—he glanced at his chronometer—Starbuck had disappeared the day before, so the Conflict was the night before that . . . He sighed, realizing just how long it had been since he had had some sleep. Apollo drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to ease some of the tension that had gathered behind his left shoulder blade and had wound its way up into his neck. He kneaded his neck, again trying to relax the tightened muscles, knowing he should once again look over Volk's calculations, but his relaxed frame refused to move towards the datapad which he knew lay abandoned on the console.

A strange urge to just press the damned button and end the whole episode suddenly entered his mind.It had gone on way too long already. Just get it over with and get back to the Galactica. Forget the fracking 'procedure' and get your astrum into your bunk.

He startled, sitting erect and cautiously looking about. A strange sense of impending doom had settled around him, as though the 'cozy' walls of the control room were closing in on him and his only escape was the hastily rigged red button in front of him.

He jumped to his feet, pacing around the room and shaking off the almost claustrophobic sensation as he walked back to the console and retrieved the datapad. He needed to get back to the job at hand and recheck the calculations and modifications that Volk had made. Lords, but he wished this day was over.

----------

They had regeneration treatments to hyper-stimulate the natural granulation of the human tissue, they had bone menders to accelerate the normal healing of human bone, so why—why in Hades Hole, did they not have snooze enhancers to make it feel as though one or two centars of sleep was as good as a solid eight or nine?

Yep, that was all he was lacking. And that had to be why Starbuck's bones seemed to creak and his muscles to ache while he pulled on his clean uniform as he prepared to leave the Life Station. Nope, can't have anything to do with the human meat tenderizer that Bex and Torg put you through down on the asteroid base.

"Starbuck?"

Her voice was subdued and he almost felt guilty as he stepped out of the cubicle, still pulling on his tunic, and strode to Luana's side. "You're awake." The words were redundant he knew, but he still wasn't expecting her to rouse before he left.

"I have been . . . for quite a while." She replied, her eyes locked on his.

He wasn't certain if she was still struggling with her words, or if she was merely taking her time to formulate the sentence. Every treatment brought such miraculous improvements that he was completely overwhelmed by her progress. "I've been discharged. I have to report to the Commander."

"I heard you talking with Reece. Don't do anything stupid."

He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, assuming an innocent air. "Me? Stupid?"

She raised herself on her elbow and grabbed his tunic, pulling him close. "I know that there's a lot I can't remember, and I know there's a lot more that you haven't told me—like why you look like several depths of Hades Hole after coming back from your patrol, for instance—but don't treat me like I'm deranged or demented just because I took a knock on my head."

Her strength surprised him as he rocked forward on the balls of his feet, his uniform firmly in her grip, and then abruptly stumbled back as she released him. Starbuck regained his balance in an instant, and studied her for a moment before grabbing a chair and pulling it up to her biobed. He straddled it and sat so that they were almost nose to nose. "Is that what you think I'm doing?"

She nodded, holding his gaze unflinchingly.

Starbuck sighed, gently cupping her chin as he lightly stroked her cheek with his thumb. "I just want you to focus on getting better. I don't want you worrying about me."

"Equus mong."

"Lu . . ." he started, but she grabbed him behind the neck and cut off his words with a tender kiss. He closed his eyes briefly as an array of tangled emotions hit him and he tried to gather his thoughts. This time it was her hand cupping his chin and coaxing it up to look at her. He met her gaze, her brown eyes looking into his as though she could see right through him and knew every façade he had ever worn. He blinked.

"I'm going to tell you this because I don't want you to think you're fooling me, Starbuck. I may be inexperienced with men and relationships, but I know you better than I know myself." She paused for effect, her features alight with mischief. "After all, there's a group of women that meet every secton-end to discuss your character flaws."

"Cute," he returned, a wan smile on his face as he leaned back from her touch. Between Cassiopeia, Sheba, Athena, Ama and even Luana, he'd been sufficiently and repeatedly debriefed enough times on his shortcomings in the last few sectars to almost believe they'd formed a club for their own amusement.

"I know Borka is going to get off without a sentence. I also know that you're going to go after him, and whoever he's working for. It's not worth it, Starbuck. Just let it go."

Starbuck nodded at her words, simply because he'd expected them. Lords, she was probably scared to death that he too would get himself in trouble. The difference was, he'd met men far worse than Borka and Kaden, and far more dangerous. Heck, the matron in his orphanage packed a more powerful wallop than either goon, though he wasn't about to explain all that to the young woman before him.

Luana sniffed, blinking a few times while she studied his bruised and battered features. He leaned back in the chair attempting to hide his thoughts from her, but as usual she could read them as clearly as her sister's, she knew him so well. "I also know that you're going to ignore everything I just said, and go ahead and do it anyway," she whispered quietly. "Because you think you need to avenge me . . . as well as your own pride to a certain extent."

"This has nothing to do with pride, Lu," he protested, affronted that she would think so.

"Of course it does, Starbuck," she replied, a knowing smile on her face. "I think I know what motivates you by now."

The wicked grin that crossed her face immediately brought him back to a couple recent trysts in the Fitness Center Equipment Room. He couldn't help but return the smile, feeling a bit like her quarry . . . though admittedly he was far more willing. "Then you're not . . . ?"

"Angry?" she asked.

He shrugged in reply, knowing that agreeing could be perilous . . . at least it had been in the past.

"As I said before, I want you to know that I realize what you're up to. You can't dupe me, Starbuck."

"I wasn't trying to dupe . . ."

"Not intentionally. No." She shrugged, rubbing her eyes wearily. As much as she hated to let him see it, the effort of the conversation was showing. "You're used to running your own show and not checking with anyone else about what you intend to do next. It doesn't even occur to you."

His lips tightened slightly. "I have a feeling Commander Adama is about to say the same thing to me."

"He's debriefing you now?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. I think so. All I know is I was ordered to the Bridge on my release from the Life Station. I kind of thought I'd have a bit more of a reprieve before he dressed me down."

"For?"

He checked his chronometer. "Not waiting for orders." He looked up at her again. "I, uh . . . I'm not sure what you're trying to say. You said you're not angry, but . . ."

"I'm not. But you had better not keep me out of this, or I will be. After all, the more we discuss the events, the more likely my memory is to return. Dr. Paye told you so. Right?"

He nodded reluctantly. Part of him wished he could keep her protected from it all, and as convenient as it would be for her to simply remember everything that had happened, he was also aware that the mental barriers that were keeping the memories from her could be very well doing it for a damn good reason. "Right."

"Don't shut me out, Starbuck," she warned him, her temper flaring at his monotone answer. "I don't need to be protected. I need to get through this, and if you're going after Borka and his boss, then part of my therapy is going to be seeing this through to the end."

"Damn, Lu. You're not up for that!" he returned, his own ire raised at her porcine-headedness. He jumped to his feet in frustration, his hands briefly resting on his waist before one brushed his hair back from his eyes.

"Yeah, well, you don't exactly look like the Warrior of the Centar yourself," she returned, but her voice softened as a slight wince crossed his face, his body betraying what her flippant words had so blatantly pointed out. She reached out for his hand. "Come here."

He let out a breath, and crossed to her side, taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips. "The doctors said you need to rest, Lu. And therapy."

"They said the same to you," she pointed out.

He shook his head, a slight smile on his face. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Listen to me. Trust me. Love me."

He realized then that despite all the considerable thinking he had done about it, that he had never actually said the words to her. "I already do, Lu. I already do."

On the other hand, it wasn't good to rush into these things.

----------

"This is impossible . . ." Dayton murmured as he shook his head in denial and closed his eyes, stepping back from the man who had evaded his memory each time he had subsequently remembered that childhood incident. What he had never forgotten was an almost intangible and inexplicable feeling of lightness and security in that moment that he had gazed on the mysterious man who, in his mind's eye, had faded and evolved to a shimmering light over the years. But now that fleeting and elusive retrospection seemed to sharpen around the edges, almost like an out-of-focus camera that had been finely adjusted, until the blur of his remembrance took substantial shape before him once again.

"I assure you," the same voice said, "this is real. Just open your eyes and see for yourself."

Dayton felt slightly abashed as he complied with the request. "Who are you?" he asked, taking a step forward and reaching out, but then pulling back his hand, feeling suddenly disrespectful. "What are you?"

"In your heart, I believe you already know." The man replied with a smile. "For the sake of expediency, you can call me John."

"John?" Dayton asked. "Just . . . John?"

"Yes, 'John' will do nicely." He replied calmly. "Now we haven't much time." He paused and looked towards the ceiling, frowning slightly, "Why must it always come down to the last few moments? You'd think we could do better?"

"Uh . . ." Dayton followed his glance, at once taken back to the character of Clarence in the old Jimmy Stewart classic, It's a Wonderful Life. "This can't be happening . . ."

"But it is." John assured him again. "Now I'd hate to think we've brought you all this way for you to just simply blow them all to Smithereens. Your friend is right. You're not exactly thinking rationally. You know that, don't you?" John asked him sternly, yet somehow never losing his avuncular smile.

"How could you know . . .?" Dayton sputtered out, but then realized that if this man was what he truly thought, he would know . . . everything. He shook his head again, absolutely shaken to the core that he could be standing in the presence of this ethereal being, and rooted to the spot as if stricken dumb by his mere presence.

"I must say, for an even more primitive being, you're much easier to get my point across to than your Colonial bothers." John told him with an encouraging smile. No sarcastic remarks, no threats to 'walk right through' him. It was a welcome change really.

"Brothers?" Dayton asked, still feeling a bit like someone should put him on a stool in a corner and stick a dunce cap on his head.

"We are all brothers, Mark. Surely you understand that?" John asked.

Dayton nodded dumbly, cursing himself for his seeming inability to pull it all together at this most awe inspiring moment. "You said . . . you brought me all this way . . .? You mean from Earth?"

John sighed, "Well, perhaps I should say I meant it more figuratively than physically. Actually, we are not permitted to interfere." He wrinkled his nose in distaste at that, again looking upward.

"I don't understand." Dayton mumbled, trying to put it all together. "But . . . wasn't it you who prevented me from being killed that day . . .?" Again, his mind was swept back to Lake Shore Drive in Chicago and that damn hockey card. "I always thought that someone was looking out for me then . . . but if you can't interfere . . ."

"Well, there are guidelines about these things. They are, as a matter of fact, terribly complicated, and you wouldn't understand them all. No, I do not mean you lack the intelligence. I'm just not certain I have the time to explain, or if I could even make myself understood completely within the limited knowledge base of your people." Again John looked upward. "Well, alright," he glanced back at Dayton, "but I'll have to be brief."

Dayton nodded.

"You were destined to be here, Mark. You and your men. You will be the perfect choice as an envoy to Earth when the Colonials finally arrive. There is one who has tried to twist that fate to manipulate your chosen path. When the forces of darkness and evil intervene, so may we."

"You're saying . . . that some evil force made me chase that hockey card into traffic?" Dayton mused, his mind racing, though it seemed like something crazy out of a comic book plot.

"Exactly." John looked grim for a moment. "As . . . melodramatic as it may sound, Mark, that is the case. He will stop at nothing to use his powers to destroy Mankind. And I do mean nothing. Were it not for the limits to his actions put upon him by powers ever greater than we, he would long ago have annihilated your planet, and all life upon it, down to the lowliest bacteria. As he has sought to do to the Colonials."

"The Devil?" Dayton asked. Try as he might, he could not help but conjure an image of someone in a red suit with a pitchfork and pointy beard.

"That is certainly one of his identities." John agreed. "He is known throughout the universe by many names."

"But I thought the Devil was . . . of our world . . ."

"Unfortunately, evil is universal, as is goodness and truth."

Dayton nodded, thinking of the Hell that was the pirate base. If any place exemplified the evil that intelligent beings were capable of . . .

"Exactly." John nodded.

"And now?" Dayton asked, certain that this gentrified stranger was reading his mind. "You're saying I'm being influenced by a force of darkness now?"

"Not exactly. Certainly not in person, though the thoughts he has from time to time planted in your mind, like seeds, produce a crop. I'm saying your experiences over the last thirty years at the hand of Torg and Bex has influenced you in that direction, something he has striven for. We had hoped that you could transcend that with the support of your friends."

Dayton closed his eyes in shame, feeling as though he had just disappointed God Almighty himself. "Jesus Chr. . ." he bit his lip, wincing apologetically at his slip, "sorry."

"No harm done. Yet." John reassured him.

"Wait!" His heart felt as though it was about to leap out of his chest. "Are you saying it's true? That the Colonials are meant . . . destined to find Earth? That wasn't just a load of horse . . . ?"

John paused for a moment, as if hesitating to answer. He squared his jaw almost rebelliously and replied, "It's true. There is much your people can still learn from them. The thirteenth tribe certainly made an impact, at a crucial point, but there is still so much more . . ."

"Then the pyramids we saw . . . the people who left . . . uh, Kobol . . . they did make it to Earth? It wasn't a coincidence?"

John simply smiled. "I'm afraid we're running out of time, Mark. You must make a decision. If you don't get yourself to the Bridge to stop them from over-energizing the Dynamos, then the Galactica will be destroyed in the subsequent blast. That may very well portent the destruction of all humanity."

"Can't you stop the Dynamos? Turn them off, somehow?"

John seemed to consider him for a moment with a mixture of sympathy and extreme patience, such as one spares for a thick-headed child who repeatedly misses the point of a lesson. "I told you. What I, what we, may do is circumscribed in various and complex ways. This is something which Mark Dayton and only Mark Dayton can do. It is why you are here. You have to make this decision and set things right. Otherwise, the flight of these people from their Colonies will all have been for nothing, and your own people will suffer as a result."

"How? How could destroying this Race of Man affect Earth? That doesn't make sense to me, in fact, I see it the other way around. If they lead these Cylons to Earth, that could spell the end for my people."

John shook his head, replying briskly, "These people have already stopped the Destruction of a world called Terra. . ." he paused, as if interrupted, "I know, I know," he spoke aside.

Again some of Ryan's words came back to Dayton. "You know, with the state of things when we left, the people of Earth might very well have blown themselves to Smithereens." Then again, perhaps they hadn't yet, but were still going to. Maybe that's what these Colonials through the guidance of these ethereal beings were going to prevent. Is that why John mentioned this incident with a world so similarly named?

"Now, Mark. You have to go now if you're going to stop this madness." John directed him.

Dayton nodded, turning towards the nearest elevator, hoping he could remember his way back to the Bridge. He paused as he got his bearings. "One more thing, do you think you could stop by the Officer's Club and visit Paddy Ryan? I'd love to see his face when you. . . "

"What makes you think I haven't already done so in his lifetime?" John replied with a curious smile, before raising a hand and disappearing into thin, recycled air.

----------

"Commander, Lieutenant Boomer on the commlink, Sir." Omega informed him.

"Put him through."

"Commander, the main reactor is stable for the moment, the base is evacuated save Captain Apollo and myself, and we're ready to overenergize and blow the Dynamos."

Adama couldn't really explain it, but a bad feeling was looming over this operation that he just couldn't make sense of. "What's the situation with the Life Support Systems, Boomer?"

"The air is getting a bit thin and foul, Sir . . . but now with the reactor up and running again, not to mention stable, it's actually warming up a bit. Of course, the smell, well, the difference is barely detectable from when the original occupants were here. The temperature had really dropped too, but aside from that, we still have enough time to complete our mission."

"Make sure you bring Life Masks when you return to the control room."

"Yes, Sir."

"And Boomer . . ."

"Sir?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell him to stick with his wing leader, but when his men were in the field, he knew how important it was for the Strike Captain to have the final word. "Stay alert."

A slight hesitation as the warrior weighed the unexpected words, barely detecting his commanding officer's underlying anxiety. That, more than anything else, put his body and mind on Red Alert. "Yes, Sir, I will. Lieutenant Boomer out."