It had been some time since Starbuck had been on the Senior Ship. Probably too long, he reflected. However, despite the strange connection and almost eerie similarities between himself and Chameleon, he simply didn't have a lot of spare time to spend with the aging conman.
It was Chameleon, he realized, that had time and time again made the effort to contact him. And on occasion, they had met up on the Rising Star for a night of gambling, comparing and dissecting various and sundry 'systems' with which to beat the House. The older man took a serious interest in Starbuck's life—a little too serious at times, in the lieutenant's opinion, since they were only friends—and at times the probing questions about career goals and marriage plans had almost seemed intrusive, causing Starbuck to remark on one occasion, "Chameleon, you're not my father, so do me a favour and stop acting like you are."
That was probably the real reason he had found himself increasingly reluctant to give up his precious and rare spare time in favour of spending it with Chameleon. That occasional probing, which made Starbuck realize he wasn't really getting any further ahead—usually in regard to his relationship with Cassiopeia—just wasn't something he equated with a good time out with a friend, and he'd just as soon pass altogether. As a result, as time elapsed, he was more likely to decline the conman's suggestions of get-togethers. Then, after the Imperial Empyreans had joined the Fleet, and his duties had expanded to include cadet training—not to mention his ventures with Empyrean Ale and Tobacconists, as well as triad—well, his spare time had virtually ceased to exist.
He hit the entry chime, waiting patiently for the door to slide open to reveal Siress Blassie. As always, the woman was elegance personified, her gown utterly impeccable and of the latest style—in the old-lady circles anyhow—and not a hair out of place. She seemed to carefully control her features before drawing in a breath and smiling in welcome.
"Lieutenant Starbuck, how delightful to see you." She stood aside and with a grand waft of fabric, motioned for him to enter.
"Good to see you too, Siress." Starbuck smiled, looking around the small quarters noticing immediately that those few personal touches—those that she had reluctantly allowed Chameleon when they, or rather she, had decided to cohabitate—seemed to be conspicuously absent. Where the heck is the 'Daggits Playing Pyramid' painting? A real work of art. He sighed. Not a good sign. "Uh . . . do you happen to know where Chameleon is?"
"Well . . ." she smiled again, though her lips tightened slightly. "I believe he's found new quarters once again. Gamma Deck, Room Thirty-Six. You'd be more likely to find him in the Center though."
"I'm . . . sorry to hear that , Siress Blassie." He paused, noting the proud tilt of her chin. "The Center? You don't mean the Life Center, do you?" He felt a sudden rush of anxiety.
Blassie, seeming to sense his unease, shook her head, "No. He's fine, at least health-wise." A rueful smile, that reflected a lesson hard learned. "I meant the Senior's Center. He's turned it into quite the social hotspot, at least for Seniors. But, I suppose, at least it's keeping him out of trouble. Real trouble anyways." She smiled once again, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Ahh . . ." He really didn't want to know. He moved towards the door, speaking as he went. "Thanks for your help, Siress. I'm sorry . . . things didn't work out."
"Well, I suppose it's true what they say about old daggits and new tricks," she smiled wanly as he disappeared into the corridor.
Chameleon and Blassie. The Lady and the Scoundrel. Starbuck grinned as he headed down the hallway. Chameleon's eviction wasn't all that surprising, and when Blassie had told him the story of how the two had met on the shuttle to the Rising Star, the very same night Starbuck had made the man's acquaintance, he couldn't help but wonder if there was something the older man was after from the Siress, other than her still considerable charms.
Not that Chameleon didn't pride himself on making his own way through life. He had never asked for Blassie's financial support. Ever. Not one red quantum. But her status, and connections throughout the Fleet, had probably paved the way for several other ventures that the conman had taken on, or so Starbuck had heard via the rumour mill. Yeah, Adama could threaten the conman all he wanted, it had only made him downscale his cons to a level where they wouldn't draw the Commander's attention.
The first thing that Starbuck noticed as he walked into the Senior's Center was the missing Daggit painting centered over the card table, tucked away into a corner of the room, near the bar. The second was Chameleon, right below the painting, raking in a pile of cubits surrounded by a group of gentlemen of his own generation.
"It appears the Goddess Fortuna was with me yet again, gentlemen," Chameleon murmured, almost apologetically as he began sweeping the cubits into his pouch.
"She usually is, Chameleon," one of them belly-ached good naturedly as they rose from their chairs and moved towards the bar. "I sometimes suspect her of getting kickbacks from you."
"Or maybe she's your mother," chuckled another. "After all, you look like you're about the right age to be her spawn."
"Jealous!" smiled Chameleon, cinching up the pouch.
"No, just poor," laughed the first.
"This round's on me, Velius." Chameleon added to the barkeep, his gaze swinging towards the young warrior who was striding his way, even as his circle of friends chuckled their appreciation for his gesture and javas were poured all around in accordance with the early centar of the day. The old conman's features lit up with delight as he climbed to his feet. "Starbuck, well . . . what a wonderful surprise. You're looking . . . abused." His eyes raked the younger man curiously. "Rough assignment?"
"A little trouble on a mission. It's nothing really." Starbuck assured him as he clasped hands with the man. "I stopped by Siress Blassie's quarters. She told me I'd find you here."
"Ah." Chameleon almost seemed to squirm in discomfort for a moment as a myriad of facial expressions crossed his features before he again took a seat. "Yes, well, unfortunately I do have to check in with her, since she's still . . . in charge of my . . . rehabilitation." He raised his eyebrows.
"Yeah, and . . . uh . . . how's that going?" Starbuck smiled ruefully, grabbing a still-warm chair, and sitting across from him. "Rehab."
"Well, the Senior's Center is the culmination of my efforts." Chameleon indicated the room proudly. "Cards, dancing, raffles, theme parties—the lady's auxiliary is starting up an arts and crafts centar twice a week . . ." He shrugged suddenly, "I'm sure it probably sounds more than a little dull to a warrior of your distinction."
"No, not at all. It all helps the morale of the Fleet. That's as important as any Viper patrol." Starbuck assured him, recognizing the sudden look on the conman's face and just waiting . . .
"Well, I'm not sure whether to congratulate you on your sudden betrothal to this Empyrean Princess, or to ask you why you're being accused of accepting bribes in triad." Chameleon smiled lightly, though his underlying concern was evident. He noted Starbuck's raised brow and intake of breath, then changed tack. "Hey, this is the Senior Ship, not the 'Senile' Ship. We still hear things . . . even without hearing aides." With a wry smile, he gestured to the monitor over the bar, the IFB now the focus of his card group, and nodded at Starbuck to continue.
Starbuck sniffed, his sudden annoyance at Chameleon's judgmental tone diminished by the conman's humour. "It's a long story, but . . . " he paused, sighing, "that's actually why I'm here. I was hoping to. . . well . . ." He shrugged slightly and cleared his throat. "I . . . uh, need some help, Chameleon. And a man of your . . . talents would really come in handy."
Chameleon smiled, strangely pleased. "Anything you need, Starbuck."
Starbuck hesitated, just a little uncomfortable that though so much time had elapsed since they had last seen each other, that the other was so eager to help. "Uh . . . don't you want to know what I'm after before you agree to help?"
"My boy, whatever you need, whenever you need it, I'll always be here for you. That's what a . . . friends are for." Chameleon told him, his expression solemn for a brief moment, then he smiled, a gleam of excitement coming into his old eyes, as he leaned forward. "Now having said that, tell me just what we're up against."
----------
It was like being back in Miniature World as a child with his face pressed up against the glass, as Dayton peered through the porthole of Dickins' isolation room in the Galactica's Life Station. He just couldn't fathom that the couple hundred or so ships of all shapes, sizes and designations housed the remains of the twelve Colonies of man from another solar system so far from his own. They looked more like the usual badly fabricated models that Hollywood once used to film the cheesy science fiction TV series of old, than actual space vehicles capable of carrying the survivors of the Cylon genocide all the way to Earth.
Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!
"Did you hear me?"
Dayton nodded ever so slightly, shaking his head as his gaze flickered from ship to ship. "Doesn't this astound you? Doesn't it make you want to just stand back for a minute and take it all in? I mean, how are they powered? Their flight control systems. What kind of propulsion do they have? What's their maximum speed? Hell, they have engines that can exceed the speed of light, Paddy. For crying out loud, Einstein must be turning over in his grave. I mean. . ."
A sharp clap on the shoulder startled him and he turned to see Ryan regarding him impatiently. "What?"
"What do you have against Starbuck? He saved your miserable hide twice. You owe him." Ryan told him, his features tense, his tone short.
"He doesn't trust me. Why would he want my help?" Dayton asked after a moment, rubbing burning, tired eyes. The NASA Commander had catnapped throughout the 'night' as he kept watch over Dickins. The captain had awakened three times in varying degrees of panic and confusion, but each time had settled increasingly easier with a familiar face and voice at his side. The word from the Doc was that Dickins was going to pull through. So was Rooke. Even Baker and Porter were recovered from their brief episode of gastric upset. "Are you sure he's not trying to set us up somehow?"
Ryan looked out the door at the med tech passing by. "Excuse me, miss?" He waved her down. "Do you have any pills for 'stupid'?" he asked in exasperation, jerking a thumb in Dayton's direction. She paused to consider his words, a bewildered expression on her features. He gave her a departing wink, gently closing the door, then turned back to his friend. "Yeah, he's trying to set us up financially so we aren't slaves to the Colonials for our next thirty years. Didn't that ever enter your mind? From one servitude to another. We're kind of at their mercy right now, in case you hadn't noticed."
"Why do you trust him?" Dayton asked almost feeling a little betrayed that his best friend was going to bat for the young warrior. "What is it about him, Paddy?"
Ryan sniffed. "I would have thought it was obvious. He's a dead ringer for you when I first met you." Dayton opened his mouth, but Paddy waved him silent. "Admit it, Mark Same attitude. Same insufferable ego. Same ox-brained determination. You two are like peas in a pod." He moved over to stand beside the sedated Dickins. "Besides, Starbuck told me what happened to his lady." He shook his head in silence a moment. "Hell, I'd be doing the same if I was in his place. This Borka guy, or whatever, sounds like he needs to have his head stuffed and hung on a wall somewhere. An understudy from the Bex school of charm."
"Why didn't he ask his friends then? Huh?" Dayton asked, crossing his arms over his chest, once again looking out to space at the immense Fleet. "I mean, he's spent his whole career serving with them. Surely they would be more likely to see it his way."
"Who cares? He asked us. I said 'yes'." Ryan spoke softly, but clearly. "You owe him. We all do."
"I know."
"Damned right you know. If it weren't for him, we'd all still be Bex's playthings, wondering from minute to minute whether the Obediator was going to get a workout because he'd had a bad day again. We owe Starbuck. Let's show him what the Earth branch of the family is made of, eh?"
Dayton sighed, turning to his friend, nodding. "I'm in."
----------
While the Rising Star had the reputation for housing the elite of the elite, the Maxidex Freighter was just as well known for sheltering the opposite; the downtrodden, delinquent, and just plain criminal, making it the next obvious stop on Starbuck's travels. He slung his pack over his shoulder which carried his uniform, knowing that that the anonymity of the black pants and tunic he was now wearing, as well as his wetted down and slicked back hair, would be appreciated by his childhood friend.
He wrinkled his nose at the offensive smell of ammonium, along with other, even less pleasing aromas permeating the corridor, and then paused as he sensed, rather than saw, the listless body curled on the deck at the side of the corridor, the lack of lighting in this section almost causing him to miss it. He moved closer and nudged the form with his boot, asking, "You alive?"
No response. He gave the body another nudge, this time a little harder, but the lump before him simply flopped back into place when he removed his boot.
Guess you're going to have to touch him. He sighed, kneeling down and covering his mouth and nose as the aroma of vomit, urine and fecal matter overwhelmed him, making his eyes water. He squinted, despite the dim light. Just don't be dead, pal. If you're dead, then I'm going to have to report it, and then everyone is going to want to know just what the new Liaison Officer is doing on the Maxidex.
He shook his head, wondering if his lack of concern at the stranger's condition was a reflexive reaction to feeling as though he had been sucked back through a vortex, back to a time when he had spent sectars on the streets of Caprica City as a teen. Lords, how many bodies had he stepped over back then? Overdoses and suicides were common. Terminations were too. A guy would kill you for a warm jacket and a pair of waterproof shoes, or the latest fashion cool sunglasses you happened to be wearing. He shook off the fetid memories, palpating the carotid pulse that was racing, but present.
"Just keep breathing, kid." Starbuck murmured, turning the body onto its back to stare at the face of a man, not much younger than himself. He screwed up his face in revulsion as he checked the thin arms for hypo marks, then picked up the surprisingly light form, throwing it over his shoulder, and headed to the closest shelter. He'd drop the kid off and then go see Cepheus.
----------
"I now call to order this meeting of the Council of Twelve," Adama raised his voice above the din that had already occupied the chamber the centon before when he had entered. The noise invariably settled to a more polite buzz as he took his seat. "I trust you've all had the opportunity to view Captain Dorado's debriefing scans?"
He'd barely had time himself. After dealing with the events surrounding the pirate asteroid mission and finally lying down for a scant few centars sleep during the night, he felt as old as Lord Sagan himself. But lack of sleep was not new to the Commander, and after a career that at times seemed to be based on sleep deprivation, he prided himself on being able to function for days on end on a goodly supply of grit and java.
"Yes, Adama." Sire Dracus returned, bowing his head in agreement, a smile upon his face. "The discovery of the Pegasus' survival—not to mention that of the great Commander Cain—couldn't have come at a better time to lift the spirits of our people."
"Not downplaying the significant morale boost provided by the upcoming Empyrean Imperial Wedding of Princess Luana and Lieutenant Starbuck, of course." Domra returned with a snide grin, his eyes searching out Siress Tinia.
"Perhaps you are unaware, Sire Domra, that Ensign Luana was almost killed in an incident which resulted in the death of one woman, and saw a man sent to the Prison Barge for willful termination." Adama interjected sternly.
"Uh . . . I . . . wasn't informed apparently," Domra stammered, indignation in his voice. He rattled his fingertips on the table top in obvious ire.
"The information, as well as official Tribunal records, were both forwarded to all Council members, since it could certainly have an effect on the recent Empyrean Conflict, the wedding being a symbol of hope to the Empyrean people." She held Domra's gaze for a few microns. "Fortunately, although the Ensign is looking at a prolonged recovery period, Doctor Salik informs me that she is doing better than expected." Tinia informed them, nodding at Adama for his support.
"And the ceremony will be going ahead?" Sire Dracus asked, the doubt in his voice clear as he looked down distractedly over his datapad.
"Of course. After the proper betrothal period of a yahren." Tinia smiled. "You cannot plan an event of this magnitude in a sectar."
"Perhaps the Lieutenant and Princess would see fit to move the date forward, considering the boost it would provide to her people, on a more . . . cultural level." Dracus recommended, though it seemed more of a dare than a legitimate suggestion.
"The Empyreans are a very traditional people, Sire Dracus. I believe that even your good friend, Sire Regus—of the recently dissolved Empyrean Quorum—would tell you that they hold their ancient traditions above all else. The ceremony will occur a yahren to the day of the announcement. It is their way." Tinia explained patiently, a glint in her eye that Dracus' supporter had lost his stronghold within Empyrean Society.
"Sire Regus and I are merely acquaintances." Dracus clarified with a sniff. "Fellow travelers in the arena of public service, Siress Tinia."
"I see." Tinia returned in monotone. "As are we all, Sire."
"Not to demean the importance of Empyrean frippery," Sire Geller said in a tone that managed to do just that. "But I believe the focus of this meeting was the survival of the Pegasus and just what that means to the Fleet."
"Well, Captain Dorado was quite clear when he said that Commander Cain has appointed himself the protector of the Colonial people—from a distance—and that he had no plans to reunite with the Galactica, preferring instead to continue to attack and provoke the Cylons, hit and run style, whenever possible leading them away from the Fleet." Adama reiterated.
"A sound plan, since we have indeed not seen the Cylons for some sectars." Sire Feo reminded them.
"For which I believe we should all be thankful," said Sire Montrose. "The Lords continue to watch over us."
"Yes, though not knowing that Cain was out there, has caused a certain amount of complacency . . . " Adama paused, "at least in bureaucratic circles. I believe that there has even been a proposal of once again settling on a habitable planet, in the mistaken belief that we have left the Cylons behind for good."
"Well, Commander Adama, you must understand that it is a challenge to the best of men, not to mention the commoners, to continue on a path towards a destination that is in fact largely legend." Sire Feo inserted, all of them aware that his own pre-election platform suggested 're-examining the issue of possible settlement to those courageous enough in nature to embark on such a pioneering adventure'. "And now with the Pegasus . . ."
"Sire Feo, you know as well as the rest of us that we have several indications that Earth is as real as the Twelve Worlds." Tinia interrupted. "It is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a myth."
"But perhaps just as inhospitable." Domra inserted. "As I suspect Sire Feo was about to say, with the Pegasus out there misleading the Cylons and essentially being our guardian angels, the time is perfect to consider resettlement. With the Galactica as a primary defense, and the Pegasus and Cain guarding our backyard, so to speak, the timing couldn't be better."
"Sire Domra, as long as the Cylons are pursuing us, we must keep moving. The decision to settle on any planet . . ." He paused thinking of Dayton's words, and then the Earthman's subsequent threatening actions and his own suspicions surrounding the events, also partially based on Starbuck's attack on Dayton. He sighed, ". . . perhaps even including Earth, could mean possible suicide. Knowing that the Pegasus is out there is an inspiration to us all certainly, but it also confirms that we have not left our enemy behind. I now believe we either need to destroy the Cylons, or confirm beyond doubt that we have truly left them behind forever."
"Adama, we could argue this back and forth, and at the end of the day we would be no further ahead." Sire Anton inserted with a rueful smile. "My old friend, the truth is that our people will make that decision next sectar when we have our first general election."
Murmurs of agreement filled the Council Chamber.
"I have another announcement of great importance, which I believe might settle this matter." Adama proclaimed, feeling a bit like a gambler holding the capstone. "As you know, on the recent mission where our warriors liberated Captain Dorado and Lieutenant Rooke of the Pegasus, as well as some twenty women and children, in the company of almost as many pirates, we also liberated five Human men who, along with the Pegasus warriors, were prisoners there." He paused for effect. "As it turns out, these five men are from Earth."
For a brief moment there was a stunned silence. Then the chambers exploded with clamorous deliberation.
----------
"It'll be tough to catch Fausto. He covers his astrum well." Cepheus told Starbuck, sipping on one of the many Empyrean Ales that the other had pulled out of his pack on arrival. "But you're right, Fausto has his fingers in so many pies, he should be running a Pasterion, if you get my meaning."
"What's his weakness?" asked Starbuck flatly.
Cepheus grinned, the smirk that spread across his features making it clear that Starbuck was asking the right questions. It was hard to believe that over fifteen yahrens had passed since they were both running wild on the streets of Caprica City, picking pockets and struggling to survive. "Weakness? What makes you think he has one?"
"Because when I contacted you last night and asked what you knew about him, you told me to come in person and bring cubits." Starbuck replied, waving off the proffered bottle of ale. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a heavy pouch, tossing it in the air and catching it again, the weight and value of the contents thus demonstrated. "C'mon, I know you used to work for Aquila before he caught you out of the office and bottom dealing at one of his gaming tables. Now, the average boss would fire your astrum and hand you over to Security, but for some reason he just let you go. That tells me that you had something on him. And by association, I'll bet you have something on Fausto. Tell me what I need to know."
While Fausto mainly handled the official 'gaming' end of the Rising Star, Aquila managed the Chancery itself. Between them, they ran the Rising Star's business ventures with an enormous staff of underlings that took care of the mundane and menial everyday tasks while they made the big decisions. And raked in the cubits.
"So, how much have you got in there?" Cepheus asked, eying the pouch. He ran a hand through thick black hair that almost covered equally dark eyes.
Starbuck grinned, "This pouch is magical. The amount inside all depends on the quality of the information."
"Ten thousand."
"Go ahead." Starbuck agreed, for the first time glad that his crazy schedule for the last few days had translated into the fact that he still had Ama's cubits in his personal account, which she had given to him as a dowry. And since he was now 'officially betrothed' to Luana, he had decided they were legitimately his.
"For the record, what I have on Aquila is of a personal nature." Cepheus leered. "Only his wife would care. That's why he didn't turn me in. Generally, he's straight ahead, and as you know, I was working for him before the Destruction. I know him well. Fausto is the shady character of the two. He came in after the Destruction, since Aquila needed a new partner."
"The previous partner didn't make it to the evac ship. Died in the attack on Virgon. Not worth ten grand, but duly noted. And?"
"The thing about Fausto is he keeps impeccable records, or so I've heard." He shrugged noncommittally. "But you'd have to crack them."
Starbuck's eyes narrowed. "Where's the information kept?"
"Twenty."
"Eighteen."
"Done." Cepheus nodded. "In his office on his computer system. Security's tighter than Cylon HQ, but once you're in, you're in. No one else is permitted in his office."
"Nobody? Not even his wife, or the ship's Captain?"
"Nope. And I wouldn't want to be the guy caught there."
"Oh?"
"Most of it's rumour, but I believe it. He's a nasty operator."
Starbuck nodded slowly. He believed it too. "And his security setup?"
"Hey, for twenty-five, I can give you it all. Schematics, access codes—though some of them have undoubtedly changed since last sectar—manpower and security roster, the works."
Starbuck grimaced. "It better be the works. Twenty-five is all I can do."
"I know that." Cepheus nodded. "It was on the IFB this morning. 'Twenty-five thousand cubits now reported to be traditional dowry from the Empyrean Necromancer, and not a bribe for games thrown in triad, as had been first reported by unrevealed sources.'" He mimicked Zed, laughing aloud at Starbuck's look of outrage.
"You bastard!" Starbuck groused, realizing now it was a done deal before he even arrived. He grinned at his old friend's tactics, beaten by the frackin' IFB. Ultimately, it would be cubits well spent.
----------
The women sitting before Colonel Tigh were not exactly what the Galactica's XO had expected. All reports had been of ill-kempt and ill-mannered tarts who were inclined, after an initial introduction, to offer their sexual services as barter for food and shelter. Here, instead, were two bathed, scrubbed, neatly groomed women that sat quietly and respectfully with their arms folded protectively before them, occasionally looking to Cassiopeia—the only other person present at this interview—for her support.
"So you were taken from your homes by force?" Tigh probed gently, learning early on that both women startled from sudden movements or loud voices—most notably male—indicative of yahrens of mistreatment. From their scrawny, almost spindly frames—more notably that of the older woman—that mistreatment had been severe indeed.
"Aye, Sir," the one on the left, named Liadan confirmed. "That we were. And if it's all the same to ya good people, we'd very much like to return there." Much to her surprise, the treatment promised by the two warriors when they had been first discovered hidden in their makeshift bunker on the asteroid was exactly what they had been given. They were treated with a respect and caring that she truly hadn't experienced since she had been torn from her home world, Axius, so many years before.
"Show me on the navigational chart where you think your home planet is." Tigh asked, indicating the star chart.
Ciaren, the other and slightly younger woman, rose from her seat to carefully study the chart. "I'm afraid star charts were never me strong suit," she murmured as she looked at the array of dots that meant absolutely nothing to her. "Liadan?"
"I was raised for birthin' children and keepin' a home, not blastin' through the stars," Liadan admitted, smiling as the Colonel averted his head to cover his reaction to her words as he stared long and hard at the chart.
"Skeff could tell you, Colonel Tigh." Ciaren suggested, looking back at Cassiopeia once again.
"Skeff?"
"That's Ciaren's husband, Colonel. He's also from this planet, Axius." The med tech explained. "I believe he's being held with the other men."
"They took your entire family from Axius?" Tigh asked, nonplussed. From what he had gathered, on the technological scale, Axius sat about half way between Terra and the more primitive Empyrean. Though they had evolved beyond manual labour to a society that relied on industry and machinery, they were not even close to space travel.
"Oh, no, Sir. Skeff was taken many seasons before me. I actually didn't know him. He came from another village and was used as a slave in their tunnels for years before they offered him an opportunity to join the settlement. I was fortunate enough to be chosen by him when I arrived on the asteroid base. He's a good man, really. Not like their lot. He nay had much choice in the matter."
"I see."
"Apparently, there are other men who would be equally welcomed back by their families once we find Axius, Colonel." Cassiopeia mentioned. She had personally taken the time to badger every woman she knew, looking for spare clothing for the Axius women and their children, trying to make them appear more respectable as she pitched her idea of giving them temporary residence on the Orphan Ship so they would have a safe place to recover while they awaited transport to their homes.
"All right. I'll speak with your husband, Ciaren. In the meantime, and since the Director of the Orphan Ship has readily agreed, we'll arrange to transport you and your fellow refugees to temporary quarters there." If what these ladies said was true, they could drop off the refugees along with the pirates on Axius, when and if they located it, and the Axians would gladly sort out the victims from the victimizers and deal with them according to their own standards of justice.
"Thank you, Sir."
"No, thank you." Tigh smiled gently.
----------
This just in . . .The IFB has now learned that the events surrounding the death of a sanitation technician on the Malocchio Freighter, and the near death of Ensign Luana on the Scrap Ship, Hephaestus, are related.
In accordance with Colonial jurisprudence, Kaden, yet another sanitation technician from the Galactica, was tried and convicted of the willful termination of Oriana and the attempted termination of Ensign Luana. Kaden has been given a life sentence and has been transferred to the Prison Barge.
The facts surrounding the attacks on these two women remain elusive, and the only person who might be able to shed some light on the matter is in stable condition in the Life Station of the Galactica. Ensign Luana, the Princess second in succession for the monarchy of the Empyrean people, and recently announced betrothed to the infamous Lieutenant Starbuck of Blue Squadron, was seriously injured and in fact has little memory of what happened. This IFB reporter briefly spoke with Ama, the Imperial Empyrean Necromancer, and was told that physicians hold out little hope for a complete recovery for the young ensign. Our prayers go out to her family and her betrothed.
"What the frack!" Luana spat out, bolting upright on the biobed and grabbing her sister by the arm. "Hey, what's going on?"
"Easy, Lu," Lia reassured her. "You know that's not true. Dr. Paye thinks it's only a matter of time before you get your memory back."
"Then why in Hades Hole is the old crone reporting otherwise?" Lu complained, blinking as her head spun in reaction to her sudden vertical climb. She steadied herself, refusing to give in to the vertigo that seemed to be her latest obstacle in the recovery of her health.
"You'd have to ask her," Lia returned.
"Well, where is she? And where's Starbuck for that matter?" She could feel tears welling up in her eyes and sighed in frustration at her emotional fragility. She had briefly seen Starbuck when he dropped in for his treatments earlier in the morning. She knew he was up to something, and had suspected that he had purposely stopped in when he knew she'd still be under the effects of the sedation they had forced on her the night before.
He had looked as though he was still running on adrenaline from the days before, but he had insisted that he had actually crashed on his bunk and had finally caught up on some much needed sleep. He had finally told her about his mission and then his debriefing, as he sat straddling a chair beside her biobed, holding her hand and stroking her hair, the reassuring sound of his voice, and the feeling of security he invoked, eventually lulling her back to sleep.
"Starbuck's the Liaison Officer to the Earthmen." Lia reminded her. "He's back on light duty as of this morning. I'm sure he has a lot on his mind trying to get them settled into the Fleet."
"Really? Well, the last I looked, all five of the Earthmen were hanging out in that isolation room right here in the Life Station." Luana gestured towards the closed door. "Something's going on, Lia. What's he up to?" She held up a hand as Lia shook her head. "And don't try to tell me you don't know. If Ama is making up stories about my condition, then she's in on it too. And if she's in on it, so are you. Don't lie to me. You know I can see right through you."
Lia smiled faintly. "Well, so much for the effect of the drugs muddling your senses."
"Oh? Whose theory was that? Starbuck's?" When Lu had awakened to find him gone, the endless list of questions she had for him not even addressed, she had decided that she'd refuse any more medications that weren't necessary. As a result, she was feeling much clearer mentally . . . but more stiff, sore and emotional . . .
"Look, Starbuck and Ama are both worried that . . . whoever ordered the terminations, will decide he needs to . . ." she hesitated, seeing the stubborn set to her sister's jaw as she awaited her answer, "finish the job."
"Oh." Luana muttered, feeling her chest tighten as she realized she might still be in danger. "And if I don't know what happened, I'll be less of a threat to . . . whoever it is." She studied her sister's features. "Who is it?"
Lia's expression was almost pained, then her gaze suddenly shifted to the entrance. "Thank the Lords," she muttered.
Starbuck strode towards them, a spring to his step and a smile on his face. "Ladies," he greeted them, winking at Lia and stepping up to Luana, leaning forward to kiss her, but stopping as his internal klaxon—set to self-preservation, as always—screamed in his head. "What?"
"I thought we already talked about this. I didn't think I'd have to do it again." Luana grabbed his flight jacket with both hands and pulled him closer. "You know who Borka's boss is, don't you?"
Starbuck's eyebrows rose in query, his gaze flickering to Lia.
"She saw the IFB report." Lia explained.
He looked like a man who had been caught with a card up his sleeve. Or more likely a whole deck. He let out a sigh, resting his hands atop hers. "Fausto," he breathed.
Fausto. It seemed familiar, yet once again, just beyond the reach of her memory. . . such as it was. Luana closed her eyes, trying to force herself to recall the name and the associated information that she knew was locked away within her mind. She could feel it. Hades, she could taste it. It was there, but refused to reveal itself. Frack!
She could feel his hand leave hers, and then tilt her chin up gently. She opened her eyes to see patience and concern etched into his features. She shook her head mutely.
"Fausto's in charge of handling sports betting on the Rising Star. Both legal and otherwise . . . " Starbuck began to tell her, and as he filled her in, it all seemed so familiar. As though he was reminding her of what she already knew. She could envision her mind as an enormous puzzle, the pieces beginning to fall in place, but she was painfully aware that many parts of the evolving picture were still missing, and the fear that they were lost forever just wouldn't go away.
"What do you have on him so far?" Luana asked when he was done. "Other than the fact that he was Borka's boss and his possible affiliation with rigging games on Skorpia."
"Lu, this will take time to set up. And no little finesse. We need people on the inside."
"Who?" she asked.
"Sweet lady, I really don't want to . . . "
"Don't you 'sweet lady' me, Starbuck! I can see right through that flyboy charm of yours. I already told you, I want to be part of this, in whatever capacity I can manage."
He studied her features, and she could tell by his searching gaze that every fiber of his being was telling him to find a med tech and get her sedated her into next secton. Hades, if their places were reversed, she might be thinking the same thing. He even glanced over at Hinnus, as if weighing the man as a possible option.
"Don't even think about it," she told him, almost laughing aloud at the sudden surprise in his expression. "I mean it. If you don't let me in, I'll find myself a hoverchair and follow you around like a lupus on the hunt."
He slowly shook his head while the image of a hungry lupus stalking him transformed into a crazed young woman in a hoverchair who soared down the corridors of the Rising Star, full turbos,with crossbow in hand. "I've never met a woman more stubborn than you."
"And you likely never will." Luana agreed. "You're just afraid you've met your match."
Starbuck smiled slightly and leaned forward, stroking her face gently. "I was afraid days ago. I've moved on. Now I'm bloody terrified."
"Just wait for the betrothal party," Lia quipped from behind them, laughing at their shared wince, neither of them being fond of pomp or circumstance—unless the ale was free, in Starbuck's case.
"Besides, if we had to, you could always set me up as bait and see if Fausto bites." Luana added. "After all, a helpless woman in a hoverchair would be easy pickings."
"Definitely not!" He lurched upright, his body tense, and his face flushing with anger. "Don't you understand, Lu? Fausto won't show up to do this himself, he'll send a couple more goons. And I have it on good authority that he's into a lot more than just setting the odds for the Triad League. If we can get into his office and hack into his computer system, we'll have all the evidence we need to send him to the Prison Barge."
"So that's the plan?" Lia asked.
"Roughly," he agreed. "We need to get Dayton and Ryan in place first."
"How are you going to hack into his system?" Lia asked.
Starbuck paused, "I admit there are still a few holes in the plan. Hey, if I have to, I'll pick up the damn thing and carry it out whole." He shrugged, noting that neither of them were impressed. "Okay, I have an idea about who can help us." He smiled at them both. "I might have to sacrifice Lia though to bring him on board."
"Go ahead," Luana offered, grinning at her sister. "You can have her."
"Thanks a lot," Lia grunted, no longer amused.
"My pleasure. After all, what is family for?"
----------
Ama stood before Myrddin's electronics workshop, noting the 'closed' shingle hanging before her. She pushed against the door, quite surprised to see a chain stop her progress, and prevent the door from opening further. It was almost unheard of to lock doors on the Malocchio, which acted to incense her only further. "Myrddin! Are you in there, you sniveling coward!" she shouted.
And the ensuing silence didn't exactly improve her disposition.
With a deep breath and an iron will, she calmed herself in a milli-centon, refocusing her anger and letting her energy flow through her as she looked at the meager chain lock. She concentrated on one link, her mind embracing each unit of energy that gave it form, the density shifting, the shape bending to her will . . . then she pushed against the door once again, the chain dropping uselessly to the floor.
"Your choice, Myrddin. Come out and face me like a true Empyrean, or cower like the milquetoasty recreant that you really are." She snarled as she swept into the room, now back in her usual garb of Empyrean pants and long tunic, with her hair finger-combed back into its usual disarray.
A harsh odour infused the shop, reminding her of the vile substance that they cleaned the Life Station with. It was stifling, and, in reaction, she covered her nose. She slowly turned in a circle, looking over the immaculate shelves, every item neatly stored and labeled which was typical of the fastidious shop keeper.
"Myrddin!" she hollered again, heading towards his living quarters at the rear of the shop. This time the door opened easily, and she entered the room with the authority of someone who had every right to be there.
Unfortunately, the grand entrance was lost on the dead man within.