Adama sat quietly at his desk, his arms resting on the surface, and his hands loosely clasped. It was difficult to believe that the lieutenant who had been briefing him for the last fifteen centons on his coordinated efforts with Colonial Security to remove a suspected criminal from operating openly in the Fleet, primarily from the Rising Star, was the same man who just a day before had appeared exhausted, dispirited and deflated as the Commander took him to task for breaking most of the known rules and regulations in the Colonial Service Handbook. Well, the boy certainly bounced back with a vengeance. Ah, to be young again! Adama glanced down at his datapad, startled for a moment to see his identity card at the edge of his desk. Strange, I don't recall putting that there. He slipped it back into place upon his person as he nodded slowly at Starbuck.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, Lieutenant Starbuck, but there seems to be a large part of what you're doing that Colonial Security is completely unaware of."
"Yes, sir. I didn't want to involve Security directly in some of this, in case the evidence should turn out to not be admissible in Tribunal." He paced before the desk, seemingly incapable of standing still, or sitting, as Adama had first suggested.
"Which is what occurred with Borka's hearing, I understand," Adama noted.
"Yes, Commander." Starbuck nodded sharply, his jaw tight. "I don't want to take any chances this time around." Starbuck was the first to realize that he didn't know the finer points of the Criminal Code of Colonial Justice, although he knew his way around the legal underbrush of evidence and such, gleaned from a life spent in any number of Civil Security Stations and petty juvenile courts. The last thing he wanted to do was to jeopardize any chance they might have at nailing Fausto of anything that might translate into an extended visit on the infamous Prison Barge.
"Borka admitted to trying to kill Luana, but since there was evidence of his being beaten during his interrogation, that confession was inadmissible." Apollo clarified with a slight shrug and a sigh, while sitting on the edge of his father's desk. "Not that it seems to have done him much good according to Reece and Willem." He looked dubiously at Starbuck who merely shook his head as though in protest of his innocence. It had just about knocked the lieutenant on his astrum when he had found out that he had been on the Maxidex Freighter at roughly the same time as Borka had missed reporting in to Colonial Security, and had then left before the brutalized body of the former sanitation tech was discovered. The Life Station was awaiting the lieutenant's visit for the collection of a DNA sample that would conclusively eradicate any thought of Starbuck as a suspect. They hoped.
"Originally conceived to protect the innocent men and women who during history have been coerced into admitting to crimes that they didn't commit while under duress," Adama pointed out to both young men as he recognized with some concern their apparent disrespect, or even contempt, of the law.
"Yeah, well, in those days, usually those guys were burned at the stake, thrown to the leos, lynched, or shot down by a firing squad before the Chief Opposer showed up," Starbuck pointed out with an insouciant shrug and a fleeting smile. "If they even had Opposers in those days."
"Then it was fortunate you were accused of willful termination in a friendlier and more contemporary time, Lieutenant," Adama reminded him.
"Ortega?" Starbuck murmured, a little uncomfortable under his commanding officer's poignant reminder. "I understand what you're saying, Commander, but I honestly think I'd be more likely to get lynched because sports fans thought I cheated at triad."
"The popularity of a man doesn't always determine his worth, Starbuck," Adama added, with a hint of admonishment.
"Then again . . . " Starbuck grinned, indicating himself, then reversed thrusters under the full force of Adama's glower. He raised a hand defensively. "Just . . . trying to lighten the mood, Sir."
"Hmm." Adama shook his head, but sadly realized that there was some truth in the young man's words. "And as I understand it, in this case Borka's . . . confession facilitated Colonial Security finding Luana in time to save her life."
Starbuck nodded tersely, his jovial banter of the moment before gone. The hard, unspoken truth in the young man's eyes revealing plainly that he believed that Borka got what he had coming—even if it hadn't come from Starbuck.
"And what of the triad scandal?"
"I expect you know about the death of the electronics shop keeper on the Malocchio?" Starbuck asked, continuing when Adama nodded. "Ama was actually going to see Myrddin because she thought one of his inventions might have had something to do with us losing our games."
"But of course, someone else got to Myrddin first," Apollo pointed out. "With a vengeance. Colonial Security scoured his shop and found a box containing altered triad balls and a tiny remote control unit. Dr. Wilker hasn't had a chance to examine it with any detail since he's fairly well tied up with the Earth Shuttle, but Technician Hummer did say he found a tiny circuit board sewn into the liner of the balls, and that when he throws the ball, the remote can slightly shift the vector of its path. It's almost undetectable to the naked eye unless you're looking for it."
"Thereby, making the shot miss its mark, ostensibly in play. So, this Myrddin was behind the triad scandal?" Adama asked.
"Possibly. Or at least partially. He certainly had the ability to develop the technology. Also, the sports betting records from the Rising Star show Myrddin winning heavily at all of the games Starbuck and I played and lost. And strangely, in my opinion, it was just at our games he placed bets, at least according to the records. I guess the questions are, was he actually acting on his own to reap his own financial reward, or was he doing it for Fausto?" Apollo continued. "And why target us?"
"Us?" Starbuck asked ruefully.
"You think he was doing it for Fausto," Adama stated.
"Security found faint traces of old blood stains in Myrddin's shop on the underside of the anti-static mat. DNA says it's Oriana's blood. It looks as though that is where Oriana was shot."
"Terminated," Starbuck corrected him.
"We don't know that for sure." Adama inserted.
"But we have a damn good idea about it." Starbuck added. "Sir."
"But it was Kaden who terminated Oriana." Adama inserted.
"Tying Kaden and Borka in with Myrddin," Starbuck nodded. "And we all know that Borka admitted that they were working for Fausto. Giving Fausto even more reason to shut Borka's mouth for good."
"And linking the triad scandal tenuously to Fausto as well," Adama concluded.
"Yes, sir. We're still awaiting the final results of Dr. Salik's post-mortem on Myrddin, but I get the idea that Fausto didn't want the scandal traced back to him," the lieutenant replied.
"He terminated Myrddin to stop him from talking?" Adama asked.
"Looks that way from the preliminary results, Commander. Or, more likely, he had someone else do it for him. Dr. Salik and Dr. Paye have both been overwhelmed with the influx of refugees from the pirate asteroid, so a conclusive answer might take a while." Starbuck told him. "It's the same for the reports on Borka's post-mortem."
"With that in mind, Starbuck, I understand to a certain extent why you're situating both the Earthmen and Chameleon to gather intelligence for this mission, but have you considered that you're putting them at risk as well?" Adama pointed out. "Fausto sounds like a man that doesn't like to be crossed . . . or implicated. Frankly, both of you, I think we've had enough murders in the Fleet. And I don't want either of you to join the list."
"Believe me, sir, that's one list I'm not volunteering for," Starbuck glanced at Apollo. "But Chameleon knows that all they're supposed to do is watch Fausto and Aquila, gather information, and be the chief attraction at the Party of the Yahren that Aquila will throw to welcome the Earth Astronuts and introduce some of their culture. They're essentially setting the stage for the sting. They're not actually going to be involved in infiltrating Fausto's office that night. In fact, if things go the way I plan, Aquila will believe that they merely tolerate me as their pain-in-the-astrum Liaison Officer. There's already a rumour going around about the run-in that Dayton . . . Commander Dayton and I had on the Bridge."
"Which is why you set up Chameleon as their front man, instead of yourself." Adama added.
"Yes, sir. He seemed a natural choice, and the only man I know who could manipulate the situation with suitable results. Besides, this part's really all legitimate." He reminded himself, and them. "They could get a decent payoff from this. All of them."
"What about the affiliation between you and Chameleon?" Adama asked, surprised, not for the first time, that Starbuck hadn't ended up as a career criminal.
"Well, quite a few people know that he conned me into getting him off the Rising Star, Commander . . ." he shrugged, turning away from Adama's penetrating gaze and a host of humiliating memories. He shrugged it off before turning back. "We haven't really kept in touch for some time. I think that there's enough distance between us to keep it believable."
"And they're all aware of the risks?" Adama asked.
"Yes, sir," Starbuck reassured him.
"Another thing . . . "
"Sir?"
"There was an announcement supposedly released to the IFB on behalf of the Council of Twelve this morning that did not actually have Council clearance."
Starbuck winced, sucking his breath in through his teeth. "Sorry, sir . . . a strategic necessity. Chameleon was meeting with Aquila then. We needed the advantage."
"And whose idea was that, Lieutenant?" Adama asked, as he folded his arms across his chest, gaze withering.
"Uh, well . . . actually . . . it was a collaborative decision, sir." He replied vaguely.
"Well, perhaps as Official Liaison Officer to the Earthmen, you can ensure that their Public Relations Man understands that it's not to happen again." Adama stressed, his brows raised.
"Yes, Commander." A faint smile. "That will actually help give the negative impression that I was hoping to create, at least in public."
"I thought so too." Adama nodded. "Sire Dracus will be liaising with you as representative for the Council." He couldn't help but smile when Starbuck winced as though he had just been struck."
"Dracus!" he groaned. "Lords of Kobol . . ." He shook his head, pacing the room.
"Sire Dracus, Lieutenant," Adama reminded him with a small measure of amusement. The very man who had publicly accused Starbuck of throwing triad games for financial recompense.
"Sir . . ."
"That's something you probably should realize about the bureaucratic nature of your position, Starbuck, you don't always get to chose your bedfellows."
"Bedfellows, sir?" His eyebrows shot up, as did his hands in protest. "I . . ."
Apollo chuckled behind him. "Sounds like you're qualified in more than one area for this job, Bucko."
Starbuck considered the captain for a moment. "I will get you for that, Apollo. Rest assured, you are doomed! But I'm going to save it for another day so you don't see it coming."
Apollo chuckled. "We'll see about that. Commander, we do need your permission to use the Galactica's main computer for Corporal Komma's PAPP download."
"Of course. Corporal Komma's program sounds promising, but I'm sure I don't have to tell you it must remain top secret. Not a word is to be breathed about this Penetration and Pinch Program he's come up with." The Commander's face wrinkled at the words. "I admit, it raises some concerns as to its possible implications on military and fleet security."
"Of course, Commander." Apollo agreed, noting Starbuck nod in his direction.
"Finally, have you considered that if Security publicly pointed the finger at Myrddin for the triad scandal on the IFB, backed up by the electronic paraphernalia that they found, that Fausto may be satisfied that he was off the hook. It might make him less guarded. Less careful."
Starbuck nodded eagerly. "He probably set Myrddin up to take the blame anyhow. If it hadn't been for Ama, they would have just signed him off as a heart attack, and think he'd succumbed to the stress. If we make Fausto think that his plan worked, he'll be less suspicious of what's happening right under his nose. Buoy up that egocentric sense of confidence that he has."
"Who has?" Apollo remarked dryly.
"Hey, with a plan like this, how can we go wrong?" Starbuck grinned ruefully as he mentally calculated the innumerable things that could screw up when so many people were involved. He looked over at the Commander's chrono. "We better move if we're going to hook up with Boomer and Baker."
"Sire Dracus will send you an itinerary of approved Council appointments that we expect our guests to attend. I'm certain he'll want to meet with you as well. As you may well imagine, the Council are very eager to meet with the Earthmen, Starbuck."
Starbuck paused, nodding solemnly. "I'll keep my eyes peeled for that, Commander."
"I expect that you will," Adama held his gaze for a moment, then turned his attention to Apollo who was patting himself down in confusion. "Lose something, Apollo?"
"My datapad." Apollo replied.
"Is this yours?" Starbuck asked, offering one over from the other side of the Commander's desk.
"Uh . . . yeah. Thanks." His brow furrowed.
"Don't mention it. Thanks for your time, Commander." He smartly saluted, Apollo standing and following suit.
Adama responded in kind, "Dismissed . . . oh, and Starbuck. Apparently you're overdue for a treatment in the Life Station, not to mention that sample that Security requested. Dr. Salik asked me to mention it."
"Fra . . . uh . . . thank you, Sir."
----------
The suite of rooms on the Rising Star, that Chameleon had somehow managed to acquire for them, in contrast to the Spartan nature of the Galactica,was a little overwhelming. Here the opulence was almost garish, a kind of culture shock, especially after living in a clay hut for thirty years and gnawing on 'rotting root' for sustenance.
Opulence? How about sybaritic decadence?
Dayton shook his head, once again blinking his eyes at the gold and white wallpaper in a busy geographical pattern, reminding him of the 'Y' shaped symbol for peace without the enclosing circle. He reasoned it was the sole reason for the bright orange velvet-looking cushions that were arranged on the dark, oversized furniture of the sitting room. After all, they drew the eye. And if the eye wasn't pulled away from the wallpaper sooner or later, the occupants of the room would surely go blind.
"Whoa! Where are my shades, Paddy?"
"Snob quarters on the Rising Star," Ryan remarked with a chuckle, following their PR man around the dining area, the central sitting room, and finally the three bedrooms—one with a king-sized bed, the others with two doubles each. "Not quite what I had in mind, I have to admit." He looked at Dayton. "Hell, you'd think I was a Senator, or Donald Trump, or something."
"Not to your tastes, Dr. Ryan?" Chameleon asked in surprise. He had thought that the men would be falling all over themselves to thank him for getting them off the Battlestar. But then he knew virtually nothing about Earth culture.
"Call me Paddy . . . or just Ryan if it's easier to remember. Well, let's just say I feel like I'm trapped in an episode of Three's Company, and I can't get out. God, does this decor have a volume control?" Ryan grinned at the other's perplexed visage. "And to think my wife was upset about the pastel furniture and white textured ceiling in our old family room." He shook his head, a sad smile on his face, as he looked around. "She'd be tearing her hair out if she could see this."
Dayton squeezed his friend's shoulder before turning to Chameleon. "It's just fine, Chameleon, especially for our purposes. We're just a tad overwhelmed after years of living in that cesspit of a base. Really, it's all about location and ability to get around. And we couldn't do that on a secured vessel like your Battlestar. How far is it to the casino . . . uh . . . gambling chancery?"
"Two levels up." Chameleon replied, pointing his thumb towards the ceiling. "I've arranged for us to meet with Aquila and his team in a centar, so I'll show you how to find your way around here. There will be an office specifically for our use in the back of the chancery." His eyes sparkled with pride at his carefully maneuvered achievement. "Coincidentally, it's right across from Aquila's and two down from Fausto's." He glanced at his chrono.
"That will be handy." Ryan nodded, knowing that it would be much easier to get valuable information for Starbuck if they could keep a close watch on Fausto's office and any security that the lieutenant might not be aware of. "Aquila's team of what?" he asked.
"Well, we need to design these playing cards you've described, not to mention learn how to play the games you've suggested and outline all the rules. We're even thinking of doing an short introductory spot for the IFB, just five to ten centons, that will be playing on the transport shuttles in the Fleet. That way people already have an idea of how to play when we debut . . . ah, yes . . . poker and blackjack at your introduction party. It will be less intimidating if they see how easy it is beforehand."
Dayton nodded. "An info-mercial. Good idea. And our . . . financial arrangement with the Rising Star?"
"It's a straight twenty percent of the take on the tables dedicated to Earth games." Chameleon admitted proudly. "Of course, my take comes off that, which we still have to negotiate," the conman pointed out.
Ryan let out a low whistle. "How much money are we talking? Cubits, I mean. Cubits are new to us after all."
"I see. What do you use on Earth?"
"Dollars," replied Dayton, deciding that now was not the time for a discussion of comparative economics. He looked at one of the Colonial coins. While the symbols on it meant nothing to him, the material it was made of did. "Gold," he said, looking to Ryan. "At least someone still believes in the Gold Standard."
"How much are these worth individually?" asked Ryan, taking the coin from Dayton and biting it dramatically.
"Enough that you'll be living very comfortably with little effort beyond the initial investment of time and energy. Of course, the more we maintain an interest in Earth—keep the momentum going, so to speak—the more it opens up future opportunities to expand our little section in the chancery and increase our profit."
"And the more we maintain that interest in Earth, the easier it will be for Commander Adama to convince your people and this Council of Twelve that without a doubt, Earth is your best option."
Chameleon nodded. "That is true as well, Commander Dayton."
"Hmm. Call me Mark . . . " He glanced at Ryan, "or just Dayton if it's easier to remember."
"Now, let me ask you, Dayton, Ryan, if any of you have culinary abilities?" Chameleon enquired.
"You mean cooking? Yeah, Porter can make a mean meatloaf." Dayton chuckled.
"Sorry?" Chameleon asked, glancing at the languatron for a translation. The hostile but edible flesh of animals passing their time idly. It seemed that the rare time he needed to use the device with these two, who admittedly had an excellent grasp on Colonial Standard—unlike their cohorts—it still failed him completely. "Uhhh..."
"A meal of ground protein, seasoned and held together with . . . other stuff." Dayton shrugged, realizing that he really didn't want to admit to any cooking skills that would relegate him to a Colonial kitchen while all the action was going on elsewhere.
"Aquila is also toying with the idea of coming up with some Earth-like delicacies to serve at the soiree." Chameleon told them. "He said it would be helpful if one of you could meet with the chief steward, Zeibert, and discuss possibilities."
"Porter." Dayton and Ryan said as one, then grinned at one another.
"All right. I hope Porter appreciates you volunteering him," Chameleon murmured, knowing that the man was keeping Dickins company in the Life Station. If all went as expected, then Dickins would be discharged from the Life Station within the next couple days and the man that Starbuck had described as a 'berserker'—according to Captain Dorado of the Pegasus—would be joining their team.
"And when is our Liaison Officer going to come crawling out from under his rock?" Dayton asked for the benefit of any bugs that Chameleon had warned them could very well be planted within the suite. Personally, he was looking forward to the lieutenant arriving and sweeping the place so they could be reasonably certain they weren't being overheard. Hell, he'd do it himself if he had any idea what the heck he was looking for. At least his men could still communicate with sign language, but Chameleon was pretty much out of the loop in that regard.
Starbuck had told him straight out that he was using them to get closer to Fausto. They were, in effect, his undercover team. In return, he was offering them a future that they would have some say in, which was a lot better than being the lackeys and political props of the Council of Twelve. The governing body sounded to Dayton a hell of a lot like the political hacks back home . . .
Hells bells! Get sucked halfway across the galaxy, and the paper-pushing, rubber stamp bunch are just the same! Why me? Huh? Why me?
It had been Starbuck's idea that he and Dayton would build upon the tension that already existed between them, effectively distancing any blatant affiliation with the Colonial Service, and thereby decreasing any possible suspicion that might be directed at them by Fausto. It would give them the freedom to roam through the backrooms of the Rising Star and observe the goings on aboard ship. While Dayton appreciated the lieutenant's caution regarding his men, he didn't appreciate being treated like a precious flower himself. Then again, he still had the bruises that proved that the Colonial Warrior knew he could take his punches as well as the next guy. And give them.
"I'm sure Lieutenant Starbuck will catch up to us soon. Remember, he is supposed to be getting treatments in the Life Station. Besides, the Council Liaison will be asking for an explanation as to their . . . unanticipated IFB announcement of your existence within the Fleet." Chameleon smiled mischievously, glad that Starbuck would be taking the heat on that one—after all, it was his son's idea . . . well, for the most part. "In the meantime, let me give you a tour of the ship. There's a lot that goes on here that you should find of interest. It might even give you some ideas as to other future endeavours in our . . . Earth Enterprises." His eyes gleamed, his brain processing all the facts, plans, and subtleties that he needed to keep in mind to not only financially set up the Earthmen, and himself, but to help Starbuck get his man. Lords of Kobol, it was good to be back in the game.
----------
Lieutenant Starbuck, report to the Life Station. Lieutenant Starbuck, report to the Life Station.
"What now?" Starbuck groaned only steps away from Wilker's Science Lab.
"It could be that they want you for the treatment you were supposed to be getting several centars ago." Apollo suggested. "You know, injured person gets medical treatment? I think that there's a time sensitivity with antibiotic therapy to maintain therapeutic levels in your body."
"I don't have time for . . . " Starbuck murmured, shaking his head, and looking down the corridor, torn between checking in with Boomer, and returning for his treatment. Lords, what if something happened with Lu . . . ?
"Hey, you're taking on too much with all this. Remember, it was just yesterday that you were having surgery to remove that Obediator thing from your gut. You're supposed to be on light duty, buddy" Apollo reminded him. "Instead, you're trying to bring down a crime boss while you're shuffling your roles as Liaison Officer and concerned fiancée. You can't do it all, Starbuck."
Starbuck turned, shrugging nonchalantly. "So what's your point?" He smiled abruptly at Apollo's look of consternation, shaking his head at his sudden need to be in control of every last facet of this plan. Lords, I'm turning into a control freak. He'd obviously been hanging out with Apollo too long.
"I'll meet with Boomer and Baker. You go get your treatment done and check in on Luana." Apollo glanced at his chrono. "I suggest you check your messages while you're at it. Chameleon should have Dayton and his men firmly ensconced on the Rising Star by now. You're going to need to put in an appearance as Liaison Officer sooner or later, to keep it looking good."
"We need to touch base with Reece and Willem too. The Commander was right, if they release the news of Myrddin's death with the connection to the triad scandal, Fausto will probably relax his guard."
"And Borka's death has every indication of being blamed on one of the drug addicts on the Maxidex . . . at least once you provide that sample so they can rule you out as a suspect." Apollo reminded him, hesitating when Starbuck sucked in a breath, a look of unease crossing his features. "What?"
Starbuck shook his head. "It's nothing . . ." He shifted his weight, pushing his hair from his eyes.
"Tell me." Apollo encouraged him.
"Hey, I just remember the last time I was in this position. I didn't do it then either, but the next thing I knew I was being tried for Ortega's termination. It doesn't exactly fill a guy with confidence."
"You didn't do it." Apollo stepped forward, grasping his shoulder. "The sooner you get the sample taken, the sooner you'll be cleared. Unless you're trying to tell me that someone robbed you of DNA samples during the night so they could set you up."
"Very funny." Starbuck returned shaking off Apollo's grip, then paused, staring at his friend for a moment in a ludicrous moment of paranoia. "Could they do that?"
Apollo let out a breath, shaking his head at the other. "Just go get it done. I'll talk to Reece and get them to release a statement to the IFB about Myrddin."
"Well, at least by the time I make it to the Rising Star, I should be cleared of throwing our games."
"You know, for a guy who purports to not caring about what other people think of him, I get the idea that this mattered a lot more than you let on." Apollo suggested.
Starbuck shrugged. "Maybe. I haven't given it much thought. I've been too busy dodging slanderous remarks from Regus, Dracus and the IFB." He feinted dramatically for a moment as though in a triad game. "Almost makes a guy glad he was stuck on a pirate base for a day. Hey, they didn't like me, but at least they didn't defame my character."
"From what I saw, those bilge rats didn't know what character is."
"Yeah, I guess."
"Go!" Apollo pointed back to the Life Station. "I'll handle this."
Starbuck nodded, pausing as he turned to go. "Thanks, buddy."
"Anytime, Starbuck. Anytime."
----------
Dr. Wilker's lab looked more like a junkyard than a science lab, with piles of unidentified artifacts from the Earth shuttle strewn about the room. As Apollo entered, he could see one of Baltar's captured Cylons helping Wilker stack various items on shelves along the freshly repainted back bulkhead. Repairs to the lab had been slow, after it was trashed in the battle with the Cylon Base Ship he and Starbuck had penetrated several sectars back. He turned to see Dayton's man, Baker, sitting at a workbench fiddling with a rectangular silver-coloured box, tools and parts scattered about him. He had just turned his head to look for Boomer when a loud cry rang out and a triad ball hit him squarely in the forehead.
"Apollo! Are you okay?"
Somehow he had come to be sitting on his astrum, leaning up against the wall, his hand on his throbbing forehead. "Frack . . . " he muttered as his hand was pulled away.
"How many fingers am I holding up?" the lieutenant asked him, peering at him in concern as he squatted beside his friend.
"Three. I see three . . . Base Ships. Dancing . . ." he murmured as the Battlestar seemed to right itself and his world stopped spinning.
"Apollo!"
Apollo peered at the blurry hand and then shook his head to clear his vision. At least that was the hope. He pushed Boomer's hand away, "What in Hades Hole were you doing?"
"Sorry, Captain." Technician Hummer said from his other side, kneeling down. "We were taking a little break and I was just demonstrating to Lieutenant Boomer the trajectory shift of the triad ball under the influence of the circuit board we found hidden inside it."
"Frack . . ." Apollo muttered again, struggling to his feet, Boomer and Hummer's hands on his arms to support him. He shrugged them off as he rubbed his head once again. "I guess that's why we wear helmets." He paused as they looked at him uncertainly, much like two small boys who were just caught throwing a ball through the window of a place of worship. He smiled sheepishly. "That was quite a throw, Hummer. Have you considered signing up for the League?"
"Don't let Starbuck hear you say that," Boomer smiled in relief. "He'll think you're looking for a new partner."
"Hardly." Apollo denied. "Besides, I have the feeling that his game is about to pick up."
"Why was Myrddin just targeting Starbuck anyway?" Boomer asked.
"I have no idea," Apollo replied. "One of the missing pieces to this whole dizzy affair, and I suspect that the answer might have died with Myrddin."
"Perhaps it had something to do with the Gold Team always winning. After all, with the odds heavily stacked in your favour, those that bet against you would rake in some considerable profits. That and the fact that Lieutenant Starbuck almost died after that mission on Alrin, not to mention his extended medical leave after the Planet Empyrean. It would justify to a certain extent his play being affected, at least on the surface," Hummer opined. "Sir."
Boomer nodded. "You have to admit, Apollo, none of us gave it all that much thought. We thought he was just off his game."
"True." Apollo shrugged, then looked from him to Baker. "What do you have there?"
"Check this out, Captain." Hummer enthused, striding to Baker's station. "This is a portable holovid player. Or rather a primitive version of one. The images and sound are stored on these digital vid discs . . ." he held one up for demonstration purposes. ". . . they're an archaic optical data storage and retrieval medium that uses an extremely low-power modulated laser to . . ."
Apollo nodded as Hummer rambled on, describing everything with far too much technical detail as far as he was concerned. Baker nodded at the captain, but continued to tinker with the silver box, shaking his head in frustration as he tried to make the archaic technology of early twenty-first century Earth interface with tribunal-rigged Colonial era replacement parts.
The captain noticed a languatron flashing at Baker's side. Baker briefly looked at Hummer in bemusement, his fingers briefly covering his right ear, before returning to his project.
"Hummer rigged up a short range transceiver with a noise limiting circuit that Baker can wear in his ear canal." Boomer explained. "That way everything we say is constantly being translated for him, and the extraneous noises don't interfere. He also recalibrated the languatron again."
"Good idea. Some of the stuff we were getting earlier was hideous. To be kind. How's that going, Baker? The translating," Apollo asked the Earthman.
Baker nodded as he picked up another languatron. "Much better, Captain. Humuhumunukunukuapua'a is a bright kid." He nodded at Hummer. "I'm actually beginning to believe we'll get this old DVD player up and running shortly. Lieutenant Boomer found a stack of discs, so it'll be a kick to see what still works after being tossed around the hangar and the shuttle for thirty years." He sighed testily, as he slid a ribbon cable into place at the back of the device, then inserted probe tips. "It's a bloody shame really. We took a fantastic collection of stuff up there to add to the Space Station's library. A case with, oh . . . fifty different titles in it. So far, only about sixteen intact discs have been recovered, and what's salvageable from them, we're not sure yet."
"What sort of things, Baker? These disks." Apollo picked one up and looked it over. One side was printed with images and lettering, none of which meant a thing to him. There were numerous scratches on the printing, and the face of the person depicted on the label was almost completely obscured.
"A real cross-section of stuff, Captain, if I remember. Movies. Docu . . ."
"Uhh . . . what was that? 'Move eez'?"
" 'Movies.' Old term in my native language for 'moving pictures'. Our version of what your Doctor Wilker called 'holovids'. Ah, bloody hell!" he swore, as the reading on the tester seemingly did not agree with him. He pulled a component out of the device, and soldered another one in its place. "There. Now where . . . oh, right. Yeah, there were movies. Tons of great ones too. Old classics from way back. Documentaries. Technical journals for the ISS' library. Some great old TV shows . . . and some bad ones too." He grinned in memory. "Along with what was already there, of course." He sighed angrily. "All toast, now." He set the tool down, and began testing again. He apparently liked the results this time, for the scowl turned to a smile. He picked up a jumper, linked two points, then plugged in another cable. At once, the unit began to hum, a light blinking on its front. A tray slid out, and Baker set it down.
"Alright! Gotcha, ya little piece of . . ." He reached over, and activated a small monitor. It showed a raster, and he picked up a disk, placing it into the device. It slid shut, and they all waited.
"Well?"
"We shall see in a moment, Humuhumunukunukuapua'a. Provided I haven't screwed up, and it fries its innards."
"Uh . . . maybe you need to tweak the languatron again, Hummer." Boomer suggested, as the 'name' that had indicated the young technician echoed through his brain like a war chant of old. Something about a gluttonous fish . . .? And then there was something about the player possibly 'cooking its internal bodily organs over direct heat in the esters of glycerol and fatty acids'. He shook his head. Starbuck was right. Electronic felgercarb.
"Actually, that is my name, Lieutenant. I merely shorten it to 'Hummer' out of consideration to others . . . and the occasional shortness of breath." The technician grinned, then turned to the monitor.
"Wow!" said Baker. "Cool!" He chuckled aloud.
Images flashed across the screen, jerky and torn, with no sound. Swearing softly under his breath, Baker made some adjustments. After a few moments, the progression of images smoothed out, adding sound to movement. Music, and a voice speaking far too quickly to make any sense of it—lending it the comedic aspect that was amusing the Earthman—wafted from the speaker, and the pictures continued in rapid speed. Apollo leaned closer as a avian-eye view of a trip down a lazy, winding river was sporadically interrupted by flashes of powerful waterfalls, seemingly impenetrable gorges, strange aquatic reptiles with tapered jaws and vicious teeth, and dangerous rapids. He sucked in his breath as he glimpsed enormous statues, strange beasts of burden with humps on their backs, vast expanses of sand, a tribe of people in strange and colourful robes in a sunken temple of stone, and breathtaking scenery. Then abruptly one image came on screen and he could feel a shiver running down his back. Structures, eerily like the pyramids at Kobol, loomed in a desert background.
"What the . . . can you freeze that?" said Boomer, pointing at the frame.
Baker complied, the stream of images halting abruptly.
"Lords of Kobol . . ." Apollo muttered. "Boomer . . ."
"I know." While he hadn't had the benefit of visiting Kobol, being sick as a daggit at the time from some alien bug, the descriptions of his fellow warriors and that of Commander Adama had vividly painted an image in Boomer's mind. And that image was now frozen before him and apparently replicated on the planet Earth.
"That was the Nile River." Baker explained through the languatron. "It's the longest river on Earth. I remember seeing this in the theatre. This group of explorers took something like three or four months to journey by raft and kayak from the source of the Blue Nile—Lake Tana in Ethiopia—right back to the Mediterranean Sea. That was over three thousand miles." He paused as they looked blankly at him, the captain mouthing miles questioningly. "Yeah? Well, now you know how I feel most of the time around you guys." He grinned. "I don't know how to translate 'miles', but a fit guy can run one in about six minutes."
"The Blue Nile?" Apollo asked, noticing the differentiation. "There are colours?"
"Well, I think it has something to do with the purity of the water. Or maybe it was more relevant years ago." He shrugged. "As you can see by the video, it still looks brown and murky to me. Anyhow, there are two main tributaries for the Nile River." Baker grabbed a piece of paper, and sketched a rough map of Egypt and the surrounding area. "Okay, this is the Nile River proper. These two rivers join here, to form a single stream. The Blue and the White—also brown and murky as you can see." His face crinkled in amusement. "For years, before satellite imaging technology, or even airplanes, we thought that the source of the Nile—the place that most of the water came from—was the White Nile." He ran a finger along the sketch. "It's actually the longer of the two. But, in fact, at the height of the rainy season, the Blue Nile provides up to two-thirds of the water to the Nile Valley."
"Tell us about the pyramids," Boomer asked. His voice was tense. Whip tight.
"You know, you should really ask Dayton. His father was an Egyptologist—he studied the civilizations of ancient Egypt." He pointed to the frozen screen. "That's where these pyramids are. It's part of the mystique of the Nile to those of us from Earth. You see, thousands of years before our time, the annual Nile floods contributed to the fertility of the Nile Valley and the consequent rise of ancient Egyptian civilization and Egyptian Mythology. Dayton could give you the skinny on all of that."
"Uhhh . . . the extreme thinness of information?" asked Hummer, scowling at the languatron.
"Accurate information," Baker amended. Inside he smiled. Nice to know these guys aren't perfect. Their stuff screws up too.
"How many thousands of yahren?" Apollo asked, entranced. "I mean years. In your time."
"Five, since Egyptian civilization was unified. Give or take. But it goes even further back than that. Again, Dayton's your man," Baker insisted. "All I remember about it is what I learned in school, and from stuff on TV."
"So, the Thirteenth Tribe would have already been on Earth for at least a couple thousand yahren when these pyramids were built . . ." He looked at Boomer, shaking his head in awe.
"Rumour has it." Baker agreed.
"Bridge?" called Apollo into the comm unit. "Commander, can you come to Doctor Wilker's lab?"
----------
"All caught up now?" Starbuck murmured to Luana as he nudged her over gently, but insistently, and climbed up on the biostretcher beside her. He had quietly filled her in on his general plan as he completed another round of treatments, after they had done DNA testing. Security, of course, would hear the results before he would . . . which wasn't encouraging in the least.
"Starbuck!" Luana laughed, but let out a sigh of contentment as his arms enveloped her and he pulled her back against the length of his body. "Mm. That's nice. But don't let Dr. Salik catch you, or he'll have a fit." The privacy factor of a closed curtain didn't seem like much of a barrier to the rest of the Life Station.
"I feel a bit . . . faint." He chuckled. "Hmm. . . actually, maybe some mouth to mouth is in order. Hmm?" He grinned lasciviously as she squirmed against him, rolling over, until she faced him.
"I wish I was out of here . . . " she pouted, running a finger along his bottom lip. "I want to help. Not lie around, doing nothing."
"Believe me, Sweetheart," he breathed, "you are helping." He plucked at the neckline of her Life Station gown.
She grinned, grabbing his hand and leaning in for a teasing kiss. Once again, his arms encircled her and Starbuck pulled her close, until it seemed they were melded together as one. His hand slowly and sensuously caressed her bare back, and then possessively gripped her astrum, pulling her even closer. She sighed, her hand clenched in his hair as their kiss intensified. She subtly gyrated her hips against his, a little surprised by the sudden onslaught of passion that seemed to overwhelm them both. Lords, it seemed like sectons since she had made love to Starbuck, and her body didn't hesitate to communicate her need . . . her desire . . . to her lover. Nor did his.
"Ah hem!"
A heavy hand clamped down on Starbuck's shoulder and Salik's voice barked in his ear, "Lieutenant!"
Starbuck pulled back a milli-metron, drawing a deep breath and letting it out as he willed his body back under control. "I think . . . " he drew another breath, "I'm feeling better now." His eyes twinkled at he smiled at Luana. "Thanks."