Apollo felt just about half-awake and almost a little battered, as if it was him who had been physically beaten by pirates, after the events of the previous few days. Lords of Kobol, how many times had he awakened in the night after reliving in his dreams that defining moment when he had been so tempted just to lean forward and push that button in the control room of the pirate base? All that had stopped him was the mysterious voice of the Empyrean Necromancer as she inscrutably penetrated his mind and ordered him to stop. Of course, he hadn't seen her since, and wouldn't even know how to broach the topic as to whether or not she had really played a part in the enigmatic occurrence, or if it had all been a trick of his mind. Part of him wasn't altogether sure that he truly wanted to know, for it reminded him eerily of his former metaphysical dealings with Count Iblis.
Instead, he had fallen back on his established routine, the predictability grounding him in the aftermath of the mission. As usual, for that time of the morning, he was in the duty office and sifting through his messages—after dropping Boxey off at instructional period and then stopping off at the woman's billet and inviting Sheba out for dinner in an attempt to make amends for their confrontation during the mission.
The amount of information that electronically made its way to a Strike Captain's office was immense, and his index finger hovered over the 'delete' button as he scrolled through, wondering just why the ship's supply officer considered it crucial that he know that the current life span of a Colonial Uniform—obviously barring laser blasts—was approximately four yahrens, which meant the current supply, warrior losses notwithstanding, would need to be replaced in one yahren, nine sectars, and two-and-a-half sectons.
He sighed, assigning the information to the great virtual trash bin, before taking another sip of his java, and then opening a preliminary Security Report that Chief Brogan had forwarded to him. His finger hovered over his favourite button of destruction as he scanned through the words, reporting the apparent death by heart attack of a shop keeper on the Malocchio. He was poised to send it to the repository of eradication when he noticed the body was discovered by Ama.
Apollo's eyes narrowed, and he climbed to his feet, grabbing his flight jacket. It was just a niggling thought. Probably nothing really. All the same, he had every intention of stopping by the Security Office to find out just what the Empyrean Necromancer had been doing visiting a shopkeeper as soon as the Battlestar had returned to the Fleet, while her Goddaughter was still undergoing intensive Rehabilitative Therapy here on the Galactica.
Come to think of it, Starbuck hadn't been around to gripe about his role as Liaison Officer to the Earthmen, or to rave about Borka's reduced sentence, after the goon had testified against Kaden. Instead, his wingman appeared to be accepting his less than palatable assignment, and the equally hard to swallow result of Colonial Justice, with unusual grace and aplomb.
Something just didn't add up.
----------
Chameleon had spent the last several sectars trying to avert his natural inclination towards the nefarious. While Commander Adama's blatant warning about curtailing his activities—after the Borellian Nomen had almost killed Starbuck during a Blood Hunt—indeed had some bearing on his 'rehabilitation', the main reason was that one day he intended to tell Starbuck that they were father and son, and he had hoped that there would be at least a measure of respect in the eyes of the young man who was a decorated and honoured officer in the Colonial Service—at least once the inevitable fury, roughly equivalent to that of a rampaging Base Ship, had abated.
Truthfully, as the lieutenant came around less and less, he had thought he had lost the opportunity to admit to his son that not only had he convinced Cassiopeia to lie about the results of the genetics scan, but also that he had convinced himself that Starbuck's overeager and impulsive words about leaving the Service were true. Now, Chameleon realized, it was really his own fear of responsibility . . . of actually belonging . . . of having a real purpose . . . something more worthwhile than just the next meal ticket, the next mark, the next scam. Survival, with a flair that was all his own. Still, it had been enough. Once.
How many times had Blassie said it to him? A panthera never changes its spots. There was something so utterly satisfying about pulling off the perfect con. Besting the other man. Pitting his skill, intelligence, finesse, and creativity against someone else, and triumphing. It was an addiction that was hard to kick. It made his heart race. It made him feel alive. Vitally alive in a way he hadn't felt since Starbuck's mother. . .
But in his quieter moments, when his own ego failed to keep him company, the guilt that he kept buried deep inside would resume its remorseless attack, gnawing away at him, threatening to consume him. He wondered how the same man whose heart had been rent into pieces, and then ground into the dusts of Umbra, when he had believed his wife and young son to be incinerated by a Cylon Raider's strafing run, could now watch from a distance as his son went through the motions of life, not knowing about the wonderful woman that was his mother, and still believing himself an orphan.
You can watch him because he is who he is. Gabriela's boy. And you're damned proud of the man he's become . . .without any help from you.
And now Chameleon had been given a second chance. The fates—that had conspired to taunt him, making him believe he could still have his son's love under the guise of friendship, only to then slowly lure the younger man back to his established life and friends aboard the Battlestar—had brought them together once again, and Starbuck had approached him this time well knowing his propensity for the dubious, in fact, because of it. At least the Viper pilot was coming to him, and not vice versa.
What was a conman to do? Or a father?
----------
"So you want to access a computer system, copying all the data files, without the owner even knowing you've ever been there. And it's time sensitive. Is that about right?" Corporal Komma asked the lieutenant, his arms folded across his chest as he sat at his usual station before the Galactica's massive data banks.
"I just want to know if it's possible," Starbuck replied evasively, glancing at the chrono onscreen. Two centons.
Komma sniffed. "Well, that would depend on whether or not you could gain access to wherever this . . . theoretical system was, without tripping any internal safeguards, and being detected."
"That's the least of our worries. Is it possible?" Starbuck asked again, sitting on the edge of a console.
"Is it legal?" Komma returned.
"With the blessing of Chief Brogan of Colonial Security himself."
Komma chuckled, "So, what's a Viper pilot doing here picking my brain, instead of a Blackshirt?"
"Well, let's just say I thought that you might be more agreeable to helping out one of our own, than if Reece had walked in that door."
"Oh, well . . . " Komma nodded thoughtfully, before grinning. "You might have a point, Lieutenant."
"So?"
"Logistically, it would take too long. If you were able to get to the system, and then assuming you could get past any additional security features within the system, then it would still take centars to copy the files while wading through them." Komma explained briefly. "Depending of course on the size and number of the files in question."
Starbuck shook his head. "I'm not looking for the textbook answer here, Corporal. There has to be something else that would work. Something new. Cutting edge."
Komma rolled his eyes. "Just look around here, Lieutenant. Does this old bird look cutting edge to you? The private sectar is yahrens ahead of the military in technology, thanks to the quantum crunchers, or at least they used to be before the Destruction."
"C'mon, Komma. Our technological capabilities are purely based on the talent and imagination of our people. That means you, my friend. There's no longer a committee approving or denying funding for technological advancements. It all comes down to what we need now. I need a solution and I need it yesterday. And I think you're the man who can find it for me." He paused, assessing the other for a moment, "Unless you're telling me I've overestimated your abilities?"
Komma held the intense gaze, apparently thinking it over. "Who will be accessing the system?"
"Me," Starbuck replied.
Komma's eyebrows raised suspiciously and he nodded slowly. "I thought that back at the Academy if it didn't have a control stick, you didn't bother," he reminded Starbuck of their encounter in the Central Computer Room just before the mission to Arcta. He had wondered ever since about the unlikely coincidence of the lieutenant's name mysteriously appearing on the task force list after the brief centons Starbuck had been left alone with the data banks—especially after the warrior had professed his total ineptitude with computer systems any bigger than a hand-held data pad, unless it had a laser generator.
"Uh, well, I've updated some of my skills since." Starbuck answered smoothly. "Kind of had to when I started teaching cadets."
"Hmm. So, there's no class of female Viper pilots in the Armaments Room this time around?" Komma continued to probe, letting the lieutenant know that it wouldn't be so easy to manipulate him again. Of course, he did get a date out of that encounter, so on further consideration, Starbuck's chicanery had actually worked out in both their favours the previous time . . .
"Well, no," Starbuck shrugged, "but . . . Ensign Lia should be joining me any moment. Have you met?"
Komma paused. "Ensign Lia? The Empyrean princess?" He perked up with interest. He had seen enough coverage on the IFB about the beautiful young warrior to almost feel as if he knew her. But she probably wouldn't be all that interested in a portly techo-geek.
Starbuck nodded, "The one and the same. She's a nice kid. A bit lonely since leaving some of her people behind on Empyrean, but really sweet."
"Lonely?" Komma repeated in disbelief. "She must have every single male warrior on the Galactica after her."
"Ah . . . well . . ." Starbuck sighed. "She's a bit too . . . cerebral for the average guy." He shrugged, almost sadly. "A real shame too. But you know how some guys are intimidated by intelligent women." He shook his head, as if relaying that he couldn't understand it himself, then he glanced at his chrono to hide his amusement as Komma appeared as though he would start to jump up and down in excitement. "Actually, she should be here any micron . . ."
On cue, the main door hissed, sliding open and both their heads swung to the entrance expecting a vision of loveliness to sweep into the room. Instead . . .
"Apollo!"
----------
. . .breaking news from the Council of Twelve that along with Captain Dorado and Lieutenant Rooke of the Battlestar Pegasus—finally confirming the amazing survival of the Juggernaut and the Pegasus—that five men from Earth were retrieved in a recent reconnaissance-turned-rescue mission. These men, self-described as astronuts which is a designation within Earth's space program—yes, ladies and gentlemen, Earth does indeed have a space program!—are in excellent to stable condition. Official Liaison Officer, Lieutenant Starbuck reassures us that when Commander Dayton, Lieutenant Colonel Baker, Captain Dickins, Dr. Ryan, and Dr. Porter have recovered sufficiently from their ordeal, that the people of the Fleet will have their curiosity satisfied. Indeed, the IFB is currently negotiating with the Earth astronuts'" 'public relations' man—another Earth designation, evidently—for an exclusive series featuring the story of these men and their home planet, Earth.
"Your timing is . . . impeccable, Chameleon," Aquila smiled as he glanced across his desk at the distinguished looking gentlemen that he had seen many times as a customer in the gambling chancery, usually winning. Aquila had been assured that his sudden and unexpected meeting with this man, whose shrewdness and business savvy were evidenced by his arrangement of the news release to coordinate with their discussion, would be financially beneficial to both parties. He lifted his feet from the desk, sat up straight, and reached for a bottle of something interesting-looking. "Now, tell me about your . . . inspiration."
"My pleasure," Chameleon smiled, leaning forward to take the proffered glass, and engage the other. "Now, the way I see it is . . ."
----------
"At ease, Corporal," Apollo nodded at Komma as he entered the Galactica's Central Computer Room, then he turned his gaze to Starbuck. "Sorry, I'm late. I got tied up with Chief Brogan in the Life Station."
Starbuck blinked, then shut his mouth when he realized it was still gaping open at the unexpected appearance of the captain. He shifted thrusters, overcoming his initial surprise to digest Apollo's words. "The Life Station? What happened?"
"Ama found Myrddin in his quarters this morning. Dead. There was every indication that he had a heart attack. Dr. Salik just finished the preliminary post-mortem report."
"And?" Starbuck asked. He had been waiting for Ama to re-emerge from her sudden disappearance when they had returned to the Fleet. Little did he know that she was already, and very obviously following up on how the Empyrean, Myrddin, was involved with Fausto. . . which had evidently turned into a dead end. Literally.
"Salik found toxic levels of potassium chloride in Myrddin's system. Enough to stop his heart and make it appear as though he had had a heart attack at first glance. If Ama hadn't insisted that 'skullduggery' was at work, the med techs on the Malocchio probably wouldn't have pursued it beyond that." Apollo continued. "So they did a full tox screen on his blood. They're doing a microscopic epidermal analysis to see if they can find a point of entry for the toxic dose. Dr. Salik said there was no logical reason for such elevated levels to occur naturally."
"Termination?" Starbuck asked.
"Looks that way." Apollo nodded. "How are things coming here? Can Corporal Komma help us out?"
Starbuck let out a breath thinking about the possible deadly complications that he hadn't even considered yet, suddenly glad that his friend had jumped on board for this latest adventure. "Well, we were just discussing that. We actually thought you might be . . . Ensign Lia."
Apollo smiled, shaking his head at the lieutenant. "Sorry to disappoint you. Actually, I was just talking to Lia and Luana in the Life Station. It was very . . . enlightening."
"Oh." Starbuck sighed, knowing they would be having further words once Corporal Komma was out of the picture. Oh, and the mong would really hit the rotaries when the Commander and Council discovered the unscheduled announcement to the Fleet by the IFB that Chameleon released on their behalf. "So, you're all caught up, eh?"
"I'm sure you'll clear up any holes later on. Hmm?" Apollo patted Starbuck's shoulder. "So, Corporal Komma, any thoughts about all this?"
"Uh . . ." Well, so much for sweetening the pot with the suggestion that a date with Ensign Lia might be his reward. He glanced at Starbuck who shrugged helplessly, as if it was up to him, Lia would be with them now, and not the captain. Somehow, Komma had to respect that. And, there was still the possibility that the lieutenant could come through for him . . . "I do have an idea. It's really more of a compelling problem that I encountered before the Destruction that I've been working on from a curiosity perspective more than anything else, Captain."
"Sounds interesting," Apollo commented, bluffing his way through the conversation since he wasn't privy to anything that had been said before he walked in the door.
"It's a Penetration and Pinch Program . . ."Komma started.
Apollo took one look at Starbuck, the schoolboy devilry written on his face, and hastily reached over and grabbed the lieutenant's arm as he opened his mouth to speak, "Don't say it," the captain warned him half-heartedly, barely able to contain his own smirk.
"Well, I can still think it," Starbuck chuckled, nodding at Komma. "Go on."
Komma grinned at the exchange. "It infected the high-technology industry not long before we shipped out for the Armistice. It was used to penetrate a major technology company's computer system, download their data base—including research and development files—back to whoever was running the operation, and nobody at the targeted company realized it had happened until it was too late."
"Hey, I think I remember that." Starbuck nodded. "Someone basically stole the plans for a revolutionary new system in security just before Caprican Techco was ready to start developing it. I can't remember the name of the small company that suddenly came on the scene, but they had a patent and had released the ground breaking technology which was supposed to be virtually the same system that Caprican Techco claimed they were ready to release only days later. They had spent millions developing it only to be beaten out of the gate."
Apollo nodded. "I remember too. Caprican Techco claimed that their security system had to have been breached—which was ironic considering they specialized in security—and the plans stolen, but the Destruction occurred before Colonial Law could decide the case."
"Exactly." Komma nodded eagerly. "Technology junkies have been discussing the actualization of such a program ever since. A lot of them thought that the technology was simply stolen the old fashioned way, but there was a core group of us who believed such a program could be created. Of course, it would be . . . highly illegal, so it could only be realized on a theoretical level." Komma shifted, his face thoughtful as he awaited a response.
"Yeah, I've said that about more than a few pyramid systems I've come up with," Starbuck murmured, his eyes twinkling as Apollo shot him a glance. "C'mon Komma, what did you put together?"
"I think I have the program you need." He smiled as he hopped into his chair, and rolled to a work station. He slid a data disk into a slot, and flipped a switch. "Now, downloading a data base of any considerable size could take centars, but if we use the Galactica's main computer, which has a significantly faster processor array than your average personal unit, it could be done in a matter of centons, once again depending on the size of the files. With Command's approval, of course." He nodded to the captain.
"How do we access the computer?" Apollo asked, glancing at Starbuck.
"Physically, that's my role," Starbuck returned. "But once I'm in there, by computer link. . ." he looked to Komma searchingly.
"All you need to do is send me a message from the computer that you want accessed. I send a reply, the receiver—Lieutenant Starbuck in this case—opens it up and the Penetration and Pinch Program does the rest. It automatically comes back to the Galactica on a secured channel. We get everything on his system from accounting to family holoptics."
"Without a trace?" Apollo asked.
"Yes. The freq used is Fleet Commline Alpha. I can tell the main comm system to ignore the signal, so it won't even flip a light on Lieutenant Athena's board when it routes it here. Since no one else even monitors that freq, no one will be able to trace the signal, either way. Of course, Starbuck still needs to delete the record of the transmission being sent from the target system, as well as that of the original link."
"So he needs to stay for the duration," Apollo murmured.
"Centons, Captain. Just centons." Komma reminded him. "Also, I'm willing to bet that since we haven't seen a PAPP since before the Holocaust, and since its existence and actual usage was never proven, that the security features that would detect it, never mind repel it, don't exist." Komma posed. "Of course, I could be wrong."
"Have you tried it out?" Starbuck asked. "On a smaller scale? Just so we know it works."
"Well, I do admit to penetrating my father's system. I ended up with a backlog of family holoptics and about fifty variations of how to play Solitarian." Komma shrugged. "Almost reassuring in a small way. However, as far as the security feature goes, it's difficult to say. He probably wouldn't notice if I turned over his quarters, as long as his favourite chair was still there and he could still tune in Triad on the IFB."
"Fleet Commline," said Apollo, scratching his chin. "You sure it won't be noticed?"
"Absolutely, Captain."
"Sounds promising. We'll let you know, Corporal. Thanks for your help." Apollo patted the man's arm, turning to the lieutenant. "Let's go Starbuck."
"Thanks Komma. Great job." Starbuck grinned at him, hastily following his captain. "I'll see what I can do to hook you up with Lia."
"My pleasure, Lieutenant." Komma stood as they disappeared through the door.
Starbuck caught up to Apollo, and then his arm was seized in an tylinium grip. Apollo stopped them short in the corridor, drawing in a deep breath as he studied the lieutenant.
"If you needed help, you should have asked. That's what friends are for." Apollo insisted, dropping his grip from Starbuck's arm.
"Yeah, well . . ." Starbuck ran a hand back through his hair, shaking his head. "Look, we haven't exactly been seeing eye to eye the last few days." Silence. "Okay, sectons. I just thought you could use a little space . . . to catch up with Boxey. Sheba. Finish adding black marks to my personal file." He shrugged. "Besides, I didn't think you'd exactly approve of what I was doing."
"I have a feeling that I still don't know even half of what that actually is, Starbuck." Apollo muttered. He sighed, placing a hand on the other's shoulder. "Look, I realize that I've been . . . a little hard on you the last few days." In just about every memory of every exchange that they had had, he seemed to be dressing Starbuck down for breaking regs or telling him off for dating Luana. No wonder Starbuck had kept this to himself. "But. . . you're still my best friend. I respect your opinions, although I admit I don't always understand your decisions . . . But if you've committed yourself to taking down Fausto because of what he ultimately did to Luana, then I want to help you. I think the Commander will support us too, once I brief him. I can't believe we have a criminal like Fausto operating so openly in the Fleet."
"You really did talk to Brogan." Starbuck murmured, surprised at how much the Chief of Security knew about his plan. Reece had known his Chief would support the innovative plan to take down the man who had covered his tracks so well.
"Brogan keeps close tabs on his men, in this case Willem and Reece. Something I should probably pay more attention to." Apollo replied with a wry smile as he released his grip. "But Brogan insinuated that there might be another part of this that Security is unaware of and that you intended it to stay that way. I assume that has something to do with how you're going to break into Fausto's office on the Rising Star?"
Starbuck nodded slowly. "Yep. I can't really have Council Security involved in breaking and entering now, can I? Actually Chameleon is helping me out on that angle."
"I heard. Public Relations Man to the Earthmen." He shook his head, but his lips quirked into a smile. "The Council of Twelve isn't going to like the fact that Commander Dayton and his men have found someone else to represent them."
Starbuck grinned in satisfaction. "I know. Isn't it beautiful? Still, it's important that someone is looking out for them while they get to know the ins and outs of Colonial life."
"But Chameleon?" Apollo asked ruefully.
"I think he'll do a good job." Starbuck replied with a smile. "And . . . he's in his element."
Apollo nodded in agreement. "You better fill me in on the rest, so I can explain to the Commander why the rehabilitating conman is hanging out on the Rising Star posing as a public relations man to the Earthmen before he arrests him."
"Welcome aboard, buddy." Starbuck grinned.
"I've always been aboard, Starbuck." Apollo shrugged. "At least as long as I can remember. And I always will be."
Starbuck smiled and gripped his friend's hand warmly, "You've really got to get out more, Apollo."
----------
"Oh, bloody Hades Hole! When did they find him?" Reece asked his partner from the doorway.
"He was due to check in with the local Security Officer at 1000 centars as per his probationary agreement. He didn't. A couple centars later they went looking for him." Willem returned, leaning over the bloodied body of Borka, slumped just within the doorway of his quarters on the Maxidex Freighter. With all the damage to his face, the man was almost unrecognizable.
"I hate to even ask, but where was Starbuck when this happened?" Reece murmured as he snapped on gloves and shoe covers, following his partner's lead, and began looking around. The few meager belongings that the former sanitation technician had transferred from his former position on the Galactica were still in the containers. Only a few scant items had been unpacked.
"I checked transport records already." Willem admitted, clearly not liking it. "I have Lieutenant Starbuck arriving on a shuttle to the Maxidex this morning. Just before 1000. The shuttle was two centons early, as a matter of fact. Coincidentally, just before the scheduled time that Borka didn't show up to check in."
"Frack."
"Yeah. I thought so too."
"Local Security didn't touch anything?" Reece asked.
"Seems they were tied up with another stiff that they found in a shelter this morning. An overdose. They basically opened the door, found Borka dead, and decided to call us, since it was us who escorted him off the Galactica first thing this morning when we returned to the Fleet."
"Considerate of them," drawled Reece.
"Wasn't it though?" Willem snorted, as he lifted Borka's blood stained tunic. "Looks like an old fashioned knife wound. Messy. Not a tidy Colonial Laser by any means. He got it in the face a couple of times. Hands too. Must have put up a fight." He frisked the man. "His cubits and ID are gone."
"That doesn't sound like Starbuck." Reece mentioned. "And the killer must have had blood all over him after an attack like this. Okay, let's see what we can get in the way of genetic material and try and do a DNA match."
"With Starbuck, you mean? Do you think it was him? He's a smart guy. He wouldn't be sloppy like this killer was. He'd cover his tracks well."
Reece let out a short breath. "No. I don't think he'd do it. Maybe . . .I don't know. Maybe if Borka had killed his lady, then maybe he'd be driven to it. But not this way. He was as committed to nailing Fausto as we were." He slammed a fist into the wall. "Coincidence or not, this could screw up our plans if he can't hold up his end of the bargain because he's in the frackin' brig."
"You're getting ahead of yourself, Reece. First, we need to transport Borka's body to the Galactica's Life Station for a post-mortem and get some genetic samples off of him. Second, we need to find the termination weapon, in this case a knife. Third, we need to get down to the local Security Office and see who might have rolled Borka—and perhaps terminated him—for his cash. Then, we can bring in Starbuck and have him explain just why he was over here around the same time that Borka was meeting his maker. I agree with you. I think it's a coincidence. He's just too damned smart not to cover his tracks if premeditated termination was truly on his mind."
"First Myrddin, now Borka. It could be Fausto pulling the strings here." Reece suggested.
"If he's going to these extremes he must be trying very hard to hide something."
"Or he's scared. I'll bet he didn't count on two of his men getting pinched, and then Kaden being tried and convicted away from his realm of influence."
"Now that I think of it, Borka being left like this might not be sloppiness after all. I think he was brutalized, and left like this as a message. This sends a damn clear message to anyone working for Fausto not to cross him." Willem remarked.
"And to anybody thinking of arresting him too." Reece mentioned with a sidelong look. "Don't you think?"
"Hey, we're Security, Reece. We don't think," Willem quipped.