It was time to face the Commander.

Oh, he knew it was inevitable, and it had lurked at the back of his mind since he had made the rash decision to find out just who or what had disabled Apollo's ship, and had then proceeded to leave communications range before waiting for orders from Commander Adama. Bad decision! Though in retrospect, he'd probably do it again. But even though Starbuck was a man who had once inferred that delaying the inevitable was against his nature, he was sorely tempted to push each and every button in the ascending row that he was eying in the lift, as it took him closer and closer to his fate on the Bridge.

Or his doom.

His finger hovered above the buttons, lightly touching the controls, a quirky smile on his face, as he contemplated taking the scenic route. Fleetingly, he recalled the controls in the elevator on Carillon. The Commander would never know. No harm done.

Then inexplicably, the lift lurched forward and he threw his hands in front of him reflexively as he stumbled, hitting the control panel, a myriad of buttons lighting up in response.

"What the frack . . . ?" He steadied himself with a hand on the doors, his stance broadening to stabilize himself against the next jolt. An attack? Hades Hole! They found us? Those Cylon . . .

But instead, the lift opened on the next level, revealing a skirmish in the corridor. Before he could get an idea of what was happening, the back of a man was flying towards him, and he instinctively caught the victim beneath the arms, staggering back beneath the force.

Wild, incoherent yells filled the corridor from one of the other two combatants, and Starbuck realized in a milli-centon that the man was Dayton. He abruptly dropped the Blackshirt he was supporting and leapt forward as Dayton straddled the other Security Officer, looking as though he was going to pummel him. From the red stains on his fingers, and the Blackshirt's face, it seemed as if he'd already gotten started.

But what Dayton didn't see was the Colonial Blaster being drawn from his victim's holster and pointed at him. Starbuck threw himself toward the NASA Commander, knocking him off the Blackshirt a milli-centon before the weapon discharged, and landing on top of him.

The Earthman was out of control.

A growl of fury spewed from Dayton as he pushed himself up from the deck. Starbuck could feel the weight beneath him shift slightly and then suddenly the man had a hold of his hair and was attempting to jerk it out by the roots. The yelp of pain that spontaneously cleared his lips sounded pathetic even to him.

He reflexively clawed at the hand, his neck wrenching painfully as he was pulled forward, and then flipped onto his back, knocking the breath from him. He gazed up into crazed, grey eyes that glared balefully at him for a moment before suddenly widening in recognition.

"Starbuck . . .?" Dayton sputtered.

----------

Ama brushed past Med Tech Hinnus as she hurried into the Life Station. Her eyes quickly scanned the room as she approached her Goddaughter. Luana appeared about to drop off to sleep. "Where's Starbuck?"

The abrupt question startled the young woman awake. "Huh? Starbuck?" she asked, blearily looking about her for a micron before focusing on the Imperial Necromancer.

"Yes, dear girl. Starbuck. Where is he?" Ama asked her again as she gripped her hand, quickly assessing the ensign visually and otherwise, and noting with satisfaction that she could detect less confusion and anxiety clouding Luana's thoughts, despite her bleary state.

"He went to the Bridge." She ran her hands over her face, and blinked several times. "The . . . ah, the Commander needed to debrief him."

"Adama summoned him?" Ama asked.

"Yes." Luana replied, sitting erect as she noticed her Godmother fingering her Empyrean Talisman. "What's going on?"

"I wish I knew for certain, girl." For some tenuous reason, Adama sending for Starbuck at this moment reassured her. "I sensed an evil presence, much stronger than I have ever detected before. Vile. Malignant beyond words."

"Ama . . ." Luana growled as that familiar sense of discomfort hit her when people talked of strange happenings of the spiritual realm that she couldn't relate to, never mind actually believe. She twisted automatically, feeling the familiar presence of her sister as she hurried into the Life Station. "Lia, what are you . . .?"

"Ama, I was in the chapel and I felt . . ." The words tapered off and a lump formed in her throat as she recognized that certain look in the old woman's eyes. It had hit her like a thunderbolt. One moment lost in prayer, and the next overcome by a sensation of evil like she had never known.

"You felt it too." Ama nodded, not surprised by Lia's admission. She had always known the successor to the Empyrean throne was blessed with certain talents. If only she had chosen to nurture them instead of focusing on becoming a statesman in her earlier life, and a Colonial Warrior more recently.

"Where's Starbuck?" Lia asked in agitation, looking around. "I thought we agreed we wouldn't leave Lu alone."

"I believe that our savior has a higher calling right now." Ama put a comforting hand on the young woman's shoulder.

"What are you saying, Ama?" Luana asked, looking between the Necromancer and her sister, both holding tightly to their amulets.

"Not only did I sense an evil presence, but another one as well. It was one of overwhelming beauty and light. Ultimately, they will do battle here again today as they have for all of eternity. I believe we all have our part to play and that only fate knows the outcome. Still, we must do all we can to help." She pulled out her small Empyrean blade, meant for the ritualistic spilling of blood to give strength to their prayers and to please the Empyreans' historical protector, the Goddess Triquetra.

Luana watched Ama knick her finger, a tiny drop of blood falling onto the necromancer's sacred Empyrean Talisman. The ensign wished she could rely on her skills as a warrior, her blaster strapped to her thigh and her man at her side, instead of falling back on the somewhat questionable and nebulous traditions of her Godmother. She quietly, but wryly, murmured, "Lords, give us strength."

"Exactly," Ama nodded at the young woman, either not detecting the note of skepticism or refusing to acknowledge it, and took Luana and Lia's hand in her own. She nodded her approval as Lia took her sister's hand, completing the triune. Ama drew in a deep breath, feeling the mana flow through her body as the unification of three Empyrean Talismans invoked and fortified the great powers of the Goddess Triquetra; maiden, mother and crone to the Empyrean People. "Oh, Mother . . ."

----------

"It's a go." Boomer told Apollo as he entered the control room of the asteroid base.

The captain nodded from where he sat. "Good. You head back to your ship. I'm giving you ten centons to launch and then I'll overload the Dynamos."

"Or we could just do it now," Boomer replied, tossing his friend a life mask. "Blow the Dynamos, then set the main reactor to over-energize and self-destruct, blowing this place to Hades Hole. We could be back on the Galactica in ten centons and heading for the Rejuvenation Center. Remember, you and Boxey owe me a rematch at Seven-Eleven. I need to regain my place as rightful holder of the Mushie Cup."

Apollo hesitated, liking the sound of that. His son had been on his mind since he had sat alone while waiting for the final word from the Commander. He pulled the life mask on over his head, letting it dangle against his chest. "Boomer, I don't really have a good reason, but I think . . ." He shrugged. "I need to do this alone."

Boomer considered him for a moment, slowly walking around the confined space. "You and Boxey are far to attached to that trophy, if you ask me," Apollo looked up at him. "Okay. Sorry. Something about this just doesn't feel right, does it? Even the Commander seemed . . . I don't know . . . on edge."

Apollo looked up at that. "He did?"

"Yeah. He told me to stay alert. Me."

Apollo smiled faintly. "I see what you mean."

"I'm serious. I just have this feeling that we're being led down the garden path . . ."

"Right into the mong heap."

"Exactly. Are we missing something?"

Apollo picked up Volk's datapad once again. "I've checked these figures over twice. I even uplinked with the computer in the shuttle earlier, and had it crunch the numbers. It all seems to come out right."

"And?" Boomer reached out, and took the pad. He perused the calculations on the screen once again, having looked them over repeatedly while helping Volk. "Looks okay."

"It seems okay, yeah, but it's almost like there's an unknown entity at work here that we just don't understand."

"Entity, eh? Interesting choice of words."

"Yeah, well . . ." Apollo trailed off, unable or unwilling to put into words the sensation that was hanging over him. "I can't really explain it."

"So where does that leave us?" Boomer asked, handing his CO the pad back.

"With you heading back to the hangar to launch." Apollo replied. "The sooner we get this over with . . ."

Boomer nodded. ". . . the better. Alright. Ten centons?" He checked his chronometer.

"Ten centons on my mark. Now."

The lieutenant paused, and then turned to his friend, holding out his hand. The captain rose out of the old chair, taking a step forward and gripped his arm.

"It feels like Starbuck should be here with us." Apollo mentioned quietly.

"I know." Boomer nodded, turning for the exit. "At least he would have found a way to lighten the mood." He could hear Apollo's answering snort of agreement as he strode down the corridor, his pace increasing with every step. He broke into a jog as he rounded a corner, his sense of urgency growing as each micron brought them closer to 'zero centar'.

----------

Why, for Sagan's Sake, did these things always happen to him? Why couldn't Giles, or Jolly, or Cree ever end up . . .

One centon he's innocently riding in the lift, and the next he's somehow interrupted a fight between Dayton and two Blackshirts, narrowly preventing Dayton from being shot. Starbuck wasn't sure if it was because of the searing, inexplicable pain in his left shoulder, or the tufts of light brown hair that were gripped in Dayton's hand, but instinctively he pulled back his fist and let the Earthman have it.

As Starbuck's blow impacted with his chin, Dayton's head snapped back and his eyes rolled up in his head like a one-armed bandit at a gaming chancery. He drooped backwards, collapsing to the deck, still partially covering the lieutenant.

Starbuck lay numbly on the deck for a moment before realizing that someone was dragging Dayton off of him. Further to that, someone else was talking to him.

". . . thing you came along when you did, Lieutenant."

"What . . . what happened?" He asked the others as he slowly sat up, his hand gingerly touching his scalp, vaguely wondering if he had any hair left in that particular patch.

"We caught him trying to leave the crew deck." Officer Koradon piped up, his weapon now also drawn and covering his partner who was rolling the Earthman over and pulling his arms behind him. "They'd already been warned that they had to stay put. Hades Hole, he was going to take the lift to the Bridge!"

"The Bridge? What for?" Starbuck asked, slowly rolling to his knees, flinching as he put his weight on his left arm and a burning pain hit him again. He reflexively covered it with his hand as he climbed to his feet.

"He said he needed to see the Commander." Timeus explained. "At least that was what it sounded like. Kind of hard to tell with that accent of his. We told him he just couldn't pop in and see the military leader of the Fleet and the President of the Council of Twelve when his little heart desired."

"Yeah, then he went crazy on us. Started yelling at us in his language and pushing his way to the lift." Koradon added, moving closer as Dayton groaned, rousing. "We had to subdue him."

"Yeah. Nice job on that," Starbuck quipped, any opportunity to get a gibe in at the Security Officers just too strong to resist. He glanced at his shoulder, the telltale singe mark of a laser blast on his flight jacket. Luckily, the heavy material had taken the brunt of it. Someone had been looking out for him. About damn time after the last couple of days.

"Hades Hole, he's a lot stronger than he looks." Koradon returned. "He looks like someone's Grandfather."

"But fights like a wild man ." Timeus added, his head tilted in silent enquiry at the lieutenant's singed shoulder.

"Never underestimate an opponent, guys," said Starbuck, shrugging off the incidental injury. "Remember that."

"Yeah, no kidding," said Timeus, massaging his elbow.

"What the hell . . . hit me?" Dayton moaned, stiffening as he felt a body straddling him and his arms wrenched behind him. "Hey! Get off!"

"There he goes again!" Koradon muttered at the unfamiliar words. "Can't understand a word he's saying!"

"People tend to revert to their native tongue when they're upset . . . or coldcocked," Starbuck mentioned, striding towards the man. Lords, he'd had more than his share of angry foreign words hurled at him in the early days of the Fleet when he'd gone from ship to ship on various inspection duties. In fact, he could swear fluently in six languages now. "Dayton! In Standard! What in Hades were you doing?"

Dayton twisted his head around, as he felt a restraint snap onto his wrist. "Starbuck? I've got to see the Commander!" He yelled in Standard. "I have to stop them! They'll blow up your ship! Get this idiot off me!"

Starbuck was down on a knee beside him in an instant. "What are you talking about?" He placed a hand over the Blackshirt's, halting his attempt to secure Dayton completely. "Wait a centon, Koradon." He grabbed Dayton's shoulder, pushing the man onto his back, his sore arm forgotten for the moment. "What's going on?"

The Colonial Blaster aimed for Dayton's head distracted the Earthman momentarily as a Security Officer stood just behind Starbuck, his weapon aimed with deadly accuracy at short range. The NASA Commander hesitated until a he received a rough shake from the Colonial Warrior.

"What's happening?" The lieutenant demanded again, his eyes blazing into the commander's, as he leaned over Dayton, for the second time blocking a possible shot.

"The Dynamos! John's right. I was wrong. Totally wrong. If Captain Apollo overloads the Dynamos, the Galactica will get it too!" He took a few deep breaths, seeing both Security Officers flank them, both weapons aimed at his head. He looked up at Starbuck. "You have to stop Apollo, Starbuck. John was right."

"John? Who the Hade's . . ." Lords, Dayton was talking in riddles. It made him want to thump the man again! Suddenly, it clicked and his jaw dropped, his mouth gaping for a micron. "John? The Ship of Lights? That John?"

Dayton scowled at the younger man in frustration, grabbing him by the tunic and giving him a shake in return. "Ship? How the hell should I know what ship he's from? He wasn't on a bloody ship! The angel guy. Calls himself John. I know it sounds crazy, but he once saved my stupid ass when I was a kid. He knew, Starbuck. He knew I . . . " He paused, an innate sense of self-preservation halting his incriminating words. "He knew I was wrong about the Dynamos when I told Commander Adama they were safe to blow simultaneously. A blast of that magnitude will wipe out half the asteroid field, the Galactica included."

"Holy frack." Starbuck muttered, loosening his grip on the NASA Commander, as he briefly wondered why John couldn't have just popped in on Apollo on the base to tell the strike captain himself. It could never be easy with John. He turned to the guards. "I'm taking him to the Bridge, guys."

"But, what's a Dynamo . . .?"

"Starbuck, we can't . . ."

"Come with us, then!" He raised a hand, cutting off their questions. "But he's right. He's got to get to the Commander. Now!"