Ryan waited but a minute after Starbuck left their luxurious quarters on the Rising Star, before approaching Dayton apart from the others. He gripped his friend's arm. "So, Fabio, who are you planning to ask to the soiree anyhow?"

Dayton grinned, "I bet you'd like to know." He knew the other considered him competition for the affections of Lieutenant Dietra.

"I'm serious." And for a change, he looked it.

Dayton turned his head slightly to the side, curious as to what would follow. "The med tech, Cassiopeia. If, of course, she wants to be seen with someone nearly old enough to be her grandfather. Why?"

"Ahh! I thought so." Ryan draped a fatherly arm around the other's shoulders, guiding him to the door. "You see, Grandpa, Starbuck and Cassiopeia just recently split up, so I think it would be a . . . considerate thought if you asked our fair-haired, shining star . . . buck, if he would mind you forcing your affections on his not-so-recent love interest. After all the kid's done for us," he looked around the garish suite with a grin. "Really, we're going to be taken care of fairly well here. I'm sure some of it he thought he owed us for helping him get off that asteroid, but truthfully, we both know that his people would have freed him anyway, with or without our help."

The door slid open as Ryan blathered, and Dayton turned his head sharply, looking down the corridor. "Did you hear that?"

"What?" Ryan asked, shaking his head in the negative.

Dayton paused, cocking his head, listening intently. "I thought I heard something. A yell."

"That was your own guilt screaming at you to pay attention to me," Ryan deadpanned. "Seriously, Mark, I think it would go a long way to mending your relationship with the kid. Just show him a little regard instead of 'grinding his beans' all the time. After all, he is very well connected around here, and if he gets too pissed, he just might . . ."

"Shh!" Every sense was attuned to his environment, his Air Force Special Operations Command training kicking in. The drone of the ships engines, the slight sound of Chameleon and Porter moving around within the suite through the open door, and the soft sound of Ryan's breathing beside him.

"What is it?" Ryan whispered, seeing that familiar intensity in his Commander from the earlier days on the pirate asteroid when they had to be ready for anything—not knowing where, or from whom, the next assault would come from. He looked up and down the corridor, seeing nothing and hearing less. Excruciatingly long seconds passed quietly. Dayton's body was tense, his knees slightly bent, as if he could spring into action at any moment in any direction. Unconsciously, he had even begun to reach for the weapon that he had not worn in decades. "Mark?"

"Not sure," Dayton muttered, but he had a feeling . . . "Something's not . . ."

Then the abrupt sound of laser fire cut through the silence.

"Come on!" Dayton hollered, loudly enough for the two men in the suite to be alerted, as he tore down the corridor like a man a third his age, with Ryan on his heels. In less than a minute they could see Starbuck at a distance stretched out horizontally on the deck, supporting himself on one wobbly elbow, his blaster dropping from his hand as he collapsed. A couple of feet away, another man leaning against the wall, hunched over, wheezing like a torn bellows.

"Bloody hell . . ." Dayton gasped, quickening his pace, his lungs protesting the sudden need to sprint distances after lumbering around in a tunnel, harvesting koivee for thirty years. He could see the swath of blood on the warrior's tunic as he reached him. He dropped down beside the younger man, quickly checking for a pulse, as Ryan raced past to the second man.

"Jaysus!" Ryan rasped, dropping down next to Regus. "He's still got the friggin' knife in him!" He shook his head as he realized the man had done this himself, his hands still rapped around the hilt as blood and other putrid fluids poured out of the gaping wound. "You alive?" he asked rhetorically. Or so he thought. "What is this, some kind of goddamned hara-kiri thing?"

To his infinite surprise, the man raised his chin a fraction, hoarsely replying, "Behold. . . the Emperor. . ." He coughed, blood spewing from clenched teeth, his face the hideous mask of a smiling maniac as he gloated in Starbuck's direction. Then he dropped limply forward. Ryan checked for a pulse. He was gone.

"Ryan, call a medic!" Dayton roared. Starbuck's pulse was weak and thready, his heart pumping like staccato gunfire beneath his fingers, but at least it was there. Glazed eyes opened to stare blankly at the ceiling, as he gasped in pain, starting to hyperventilate. The kid seemed to be slipping into shock.

Ryan climbed to his feet again, looking around for the intercom. What do they look like . . ."I'm too freakin' old for this shit!" he spat, as he raced towards the nearest comm unit, hoping he could figure out how to use it.

"Starbuck!" Chameleon dropped down beside his son, his heart in his throat, looking to Dayton. "Is he going to be . . .?" his voice broke, as he abruptly realized he might be too late to tell his boy the truth. "Lord . . ." he clenched Starbuck's bloody hand tightly in his own, holding it against his chest. Curious onlookers began to appear in the corridor, peeking through half shut doorways, then pulling them closed again when the saw the horror beyond.

"SOMEONE CALL A DOCTOR!" Ryan shouted at the retreating faces.

"I don't know, Chameleon," Dayton replied honestly, pulling off his jacket and rolling it into a thick pad. "We need to slow the bleeding down." He placed it on Starbuck's abdomen and leaned on it, grimacing at the answering moan of pain, as the younger man reflexively tried to push at hands that wouldn't budge, pulling free from his father's grip. Porter moved into position, gripping the warrior's lower legs and draping them over his shoulder, keeping them elevated.

Meanwhile, Ryan banged at the comm unit, the various markings on the switches meaning nothing to him. "Hello! Hello!" he yelled desperate to make contact with somebody. Anybody.

"Aphrodite's Esthetics." The thick, nasal voice replied. "Don't like your bod? We can play God. How can I help . . .?"

"I need the Life Station!"

"Sorry, you have the wrong comm link." The voice replied briskly, sounding as though she was signing off.

"Help me! A man's dying!" Ryan howled.

"Then you should call the Life Station."

"But I don't know the num . . ." The line went dead.

"Chameleon! I need your help!" Ryan shouted to the conman, banging a fist on the unit in frustration.

Chameleon shook his head. "I'm not leaving him again!" He glanced up at Dayton, tears in his old eyes. "I can't . . . leave him. Not like this. Not again! Not again!" He pushed Starbuck's hair back from his clammy forehead, his heart breaking at the effort it was costing his son just to keep breathing. "Please, Starbuck . . ."

"Chameleon," Dayton barked at him. "He needs medical attention. He could die if we don't get it!"

"You don't understand," Chameleon hesitated, his chest tight with emotion. "He's . . . my son. I already let him down once." He grimaced. "Twice. Not again! I . . ."

The old man was right; he didn't understand. But Dayton was willing to wing it. He took a deep breath, slipping back into his old 'kick-their-asses-till-they-can't-shit superior officer mode' "Then act like a father, and get him the help he needs!" he snapped. "Now!"

Chameleon hesitated a further micron, looking between his son's face, twisted in agony, and the comm unit further down the hall. Ryan was furiously punching buttons and hitting switches. He looked more likely to destroy the unit, then get it functioning. "Hold on, son," Chameleon murmured, taking a milli-centon to place a kiss on Starbuck's forehead, before climbing to his feet and running to join Ryan.

----------

"How is he?" Apollo asked without preamble as he rushed into the Galactica's Life Station, Boomer right behind him. Dayton and Ryan were pacing restlessly in the waiting room, Chameleon sat, staring vacantly at the deck. All the captain knew was that Starbuck had been stabbed on the Rising Star and was in critical condition.

"Still in surgery." Dayton replied. "It took them a while to get him stabilized enough on the Rising Star to transfer him over here for the operation."

It had literally taken centons once Chameleon had alerted the Life Station for an emergency med team to arrive and begin life sustaining procedures that had probably saved Starbuck's life. By then, the lieutenant was unconscious, which was almost a blessing considering how he had been suffering before then—and all of them with him.

Colonial Security had then met with the men in the Rising Star's Life Station, taking down all the relevant information—most of it vague or assumptive—as the Health Team treated the warrior. Chameleon had writhed his hands in guilt and fear, visibly close to collapse, as he awaited any word on Starbuck's condition. It was with an all too audible sigh of relief by the attending physician that they were informed that the patient was stable enough to transport to the Trauma Center on the Galactica. It left them all with the impression that the smaller Life Station was more accustomed to dealing with constipation and viruses.

"Does Luana know?" Apollo asked. "Did anyone call her?"

"Yes," Chameleon replied quietly. "I . . . called her, Captain. From the shuttle on the way over here." He had taken care of it personally, had felt it was his responsibility, and it had been a little awkward since he had never had the dubious pleasure of meeting the young woman whom Starbuck had become abruptly betrothed to after breaking off his relationship with the lovely Cassiopeia. "She's . . . she's waiting in the main ward to hear."

"Hear what?" Ama asked, entering the room like a force of nature. She seemed to fill the remaining space, as a wind fills a canyon, and she whirled around the room, looking at everyone, most familiar, one not, and demanded. "How is he?"

"We don't know yet," Apollo replied. "He's still in surgery."

"What happened?" Boomer asked. "We just heard that they were both injured and that Sire Regus died of his wounds."

"All I can tell you, is that they both had stab wounds, and the knife wasn't Starbuck's," Dayton replied, recalling seeing the ornate hilt still sticking out of the bureautician.

"Starbuck doesn't normally carry a knife . . . " Chameleon stated, then paused, asking, "does he?" He looked at the other warriors questioningly.

"Actually, yes, he does." Boomer nodded. "He started carrying one in his boot, like Luana and Lia do, shortly before the Alrin mission. It came about from an expanded self-defense course that Starbuck started for the new class of warrior cadets, and Luana assumed as a leadership project later."

"It was a tradition on our planet. As a tool and a weapon, a knife is very handy, as you can imagine." Ama added, curiously eying Chameleon. She moved closer to the old man who seemed so very distraught, gazing distractedly around the room, lost in his own thoughts.

Ryan nodded. "Yeah, it was Starbuck's knife that we used to cut that Obediator out of him on the asteroid base. It definitely came in handy. But all the same, he didn't stab himself in the gut, and that ornate thing that was sticking out of Sire Regus wouldn't fit in a boot."

"Sounds like the one they found on Rogane's body." Apollo mused. "Which would make sense if Rogane stole it from his father. But how in Hades Hole does an middle-aged bureautician with a knife get the advantage over a trained warrior with a laser?" The captain shook his head trying to imagine Starbuck dropping his guard on Sire Regus, knowing how much the bureautician despised him . . . Still, no one would have ever laid odds on Regus trying to kill the lieutenant. What would motivate him? Especially since Starbuck had nothing to do with Rogane's death.

"Element of surprise?" Dayton suggested. "Starbuck had his blaster in his hand when we got there, and there was a big hole in the wall next to Regus. Obviously, he pulled it after he'd been attacked."

"Sire Regus said something just before he died," Ryan began, feeling all eyes on him. He shrugged apologetically, "I actually forgot all about it until now. Trying to figure out that damned intercom threw me off. Something about the . . . Emperor." He concentrated, trying to envision Regus' horrific rictus just before he collapsed. "'Behold, the Emperor.'" Ryan shook off the bone chilling memory as he looked at Apollo. "I'm sure he was looking right at Starbuck. Like it was some kind of message."

"That doesn't make sense. Starbuck never had any intention of becoming Emperor." Boomer's facial expression suggested it was the furthest thing from anyone's mind. "Everyone in barracks knew that. He didn't even believe in the role of the monarchy, and thought it was outdated and purely figurative."

"Huh?" Dayton asked, totally lost. "Emperor? Emperor of what?"

"Starbuck's betrothed is second in line for the Empyrean throne. Lia, her older sister, has formally abdicated her place in the scheme of succession." Apollo explained.

"At this point it might be worth mentioning that so did Luana," Ama added. "But according to tradition, any children that Lia or Luana might have are still potential successors to the throne, and his or her parents could be required to act as Regents in such an event."

Apollo looked at the necromancer in surprise. "Does Starbuck know that?"

"I very much doubt it." Ama grinned. "Luana tends to think of things in black and white. Sound like anyone else you know?" She smiled at Starbuck's friends, who nodded in agreement. "Luana feels that since both she and Lia abdicated, that that's the end of the Imperial Line, and the Monarchy itself. End of story. In reality though, unless the newly elected Empyrean Quorum officially ends the Monarchy's rule of the Empyreans, then someone could be appointed to act as Regent until the rightful heir reaches the age of majority."

"Sounds convoluted." Dayton told her. "So you're suggesting that not only did Regus not want Starbuck as Regent, but he also didn't want any heir of his to occupy the throne?"

"I suspected that Regus was trying to discredit Starbuck in front of our people. He couldn't bear the fact that we confirmed him as our Savior through the Prophesy. That was why I initially contacted Oriana to research that triad ruse." She watched Apollo's eyebrows arch up into his hairline in surprise. Of course, none of them had known she had initiated Oriana's investigation. Except possibly Luana, and the poor girl had apparently forgotten everything she had learned from the journalist . . . at least for now. "The boy is the best triad player in the Fleet," her gapping smile flashed with the tiniest trace of satisfaction as she saw Apollo and Boomer bristle at her words. She winked at them. "Humour me lads, he's like a son to me. I realized that, since he was manifestly neither injured nor ill, there was no way on Empyrean that he was really playing that badly. There had to be trickery at work." Besides that, she had thrice hesitated to bet on him, not understanding her reluctance at the time, and had then shaken it off and barreled ahead laying her bet anyway. So there was a certain amount of pride involved here. What kind of necromancer couldn't even predict the outcome of a silly game? If the Archimage Society heard about it, she'd never live it down. "All the same, I still find it difficult to believe that Sire Regus would be driven to kill him. And by his own hand, as well. He would have to be at the end of his rope for that to happen. He's a . . . was, I should say, a shrewd bureautician. There are certainly other routes open to destroying a man without taking his life."

"I don't know," Ryan disputed. "I really got the idea that Regus thought Starbuck intended to become your Emperor. You should have seen the look in his eyes. That man was running on pure hatred."

"Hell's Bells, this all sounds like a really bad Dynasty episode," said Dayton to Ryan, shaking his head. "Good God, I . . ."

"By the Lillium Moons!" Chameleon interjected in frustration, rising to his feet. He was having difficulty following so much that he was unfamiliar with in his agitated state. And it hit home even more how out of touch he was with his own son. "None of this even matters if Starbuck dies!"

All heads turned towards him, surprised by the unexpected outburst. Ama touched him lightly on the arm.

"I feel as though I should know you, Sir, but I'm just as certain that we've never met." Her voice was soothing, almost like a balm, as if she was speaking to a child.

"You don't know Starbuck's . . .?" Dayton started in astonishment, but was cut off with a quick look from the conman as Chameleon took Ama's hand, and offered her a small smile and a bow.

"Chameleon." The charm that was usually turned on at will sounded forced, even to his own ears.

"Oh." Ama nodded slowly, turning his hand over in hers and tracing his palm. "I believe that Starbuck has . . . mentioned you to me, Sir. But I didn't realize . . ." She retained his hand, pressing it gently between her thumb and index finger, but looked deeply into the other's eyes, seeing the pain and regret that was there. "I'm Ama. I've adopted your . . . young friend, unofficially. He's as kin to me, and so I share your pain, Chameleon. And I apologize for speaking so tediously while we wait to hear about Starbuck's condition."

Something about the woman's presence was strangely comforting, and Chameleon found himself unquestionably following her as she led him back to his chair, and then sat beside him. She continued to hold his hand, in almost a motherly fashion, which was odd since they were about the same age, he imagined.

"He has a strong spirit and an indomitable will, our boy. No doubt inherited from his ancestors. I'm sure Starbuck will be just fine." Ama reassured him, sensing something so familiar in the other's aura that she had to live in it a while longer just to be certain . . . "Besides, I understand he's attending the 'Party of the Yahren' next secton, and we all know how he hates to miss a good party."

"You've got that right," Boomer agreed with a smile, trying to dispel the mood. He barely caught himself before saying Starbuck wouldn't miss his own wake.

Hades Hole, you're starting to sound like him, Boom-Boom.

"I'm . . . sorry," Chameleon looked at the others, having trouble meeting anybody's eyes. "I just . . . hate . . . not knowing."

More often than not, life just had a way of dealing Chameleon an iffy hand. As a young man, he had quickly figured out that it was wise to carry a capstone up his sleeve to hedge his bets. Both sleeves, actually. You could never have too many capstones. Some people were born advantaged, but Chameleon came to learn that he could carefully manipulate his own luck, relying on a quick wit, resourcefulness, and intestinal fortitude to set up a scam and carry it out to its end. Whether that be something as minor as his next free meal, or as elaborate as a multi-thousand cubit sting, the excitement was more or less the same. And he had learned from the best. His own father was the consummate free spirit, intent on living life to the fullest, seeing every place his heart desired, and exerting as little energy as possible in the process as he shared his philosophies, his adventures, and his passions with his son. At least until his early tragic death, the circumstances suspicious, but never investigated considering the victim's reputation. Chameleon was then temporarily placed under the 'wing' of an uncle, until the young man realized he would rather strike out on his own then be dictated to by a staid, uptight, righteous man whose idea of a good time was making it to Holy Worship more than just once per secton.

At one time, the careful set up, the on-the-spot decisions, and the ultimate payoff gave Chameleon a thrill unlike anything he had ever known, save those all too brief yahrens when a beautiful young woman named Gabrielle had won his heart and given his life a new and more fulfilling meaning. In the blink of an eye, it was all destroyed, lost in the fiery destruction of a Cylon raid. And now that Starbuck's life hung in the balance, capstones, cons and his entire way of life, the good and the bad, seemed so empty and meaningless. He was just a lonely old man who had never amounted to anything. He realized that his single most valuable contribution to society, probably his only contribution, was his son. Despite his gene pool, Starbuck had turned into a man who selflessly risked life and limb, though he would be the first to deny it, to protect and defend his people against any threat.

His mother's blood. Has to be.

At that moment, Dr. Salik walked into the small room, looking utterly exhausted, and slowly nodded at those waiting. As usual, the Chief Medical Officer wasted little time getting to the point. "Lieutenant Starbuck's in stable condition." He smiled at the immediate release of tension, as the small group clasped hands and grinned at one another in relief. "He's still sedated from the surgery and the med techs are just cleaning him up, but I can allow two people to see him for a short visit." He held up two fingers.

"Only two?" Ama asked, surveying the others as to point out the obvious to the physician.

"Correct, and I suspect that Ensign Luana should be one of them, since she is his betrothed." Salik replied.

Boomer looked at the captain. "You go, Apollo. I'll let everyone back in barracks know." He headed towards the hatch.

"Thanks, Boomer."

Ama cleared her throat loudly. "Perhaps Chameleon should go."

"Chameleon?" Apollo asked.

The old conman held up his hands. "No, no. Captain Apollo should go. I'll see Starbuck later . . . when he's more awake." He nodded, as if trying to convince himself as well that this was the best idea. "But do send him my best."

"But . . ." Dayton murmured, looking from Chameleon, back to Ama, then over to Apollo. He shook his head in confusion as he silently considered the conman. Send him your best? Don't you want to see with your own eyes that your son's alive? I don't get it.

"Really." Chameleon smiled. "I'm just . . . relieved to know he's okay." And so said, he left the room. The rest looked at each other in surprise or confusion. All but Ama. With a barely perceptible smile, she slipped out of the room herself. As she moved down the corridor, she paused just short of the junction. She stopped, listening.

To the sound of weeping.

----------

It was warm and . . . ticklish. And almost annoyingly impersonal and efficient. Starbuck was somewhere between consciousness and that place just beyond it where you could force your eyes to open and engage the world, or just continue to . . . drift.

Drifting was nice.

"I just want to get him cleaned up . . . for the others."

His eyelids flickered at the familiar tone, as he felt the warm washcloth travel down his body and back up again repeatedly, the cool air leaving raised flesh behind. The pervading smells of soap and disinfectant assailed his senses as a crisp towel dried him gently. He could feel his body draped modestly with another towel as the sponge bath continued, this time on both sides simultaneously, ridding him of the sweat and stickiness that clung to him like the muck and mire of the Attila swamp.

"Let's roll him over and finish him off."

Now if that had come from anyone else, it might not have had the same connotation, but again his eyelids flickered at the sound of Cassiopeia's voice. Abruptly, he was shifted onto his side, and the resultant pain in his abdomen had him sucking his breath in past his teeth. If they did it again, he damn well knew he'd suck his teeth in past his gums! His eyes shot open and he groaned.

Loudly.

"Should we increase the analgesia? He sounds like he's in pain."

Do you think?

The other voice. Also familiar, but he couldn't quite put a name to the face that flickered through his memories as he gazed blearily at the uniform of a med tech at about waist level. He cleared his throat, feeling as though there was something in it, and he reached slowly towards his face, only to have his hand seized in a gentle grip.

"It's okay, Starbuck. You're fine. There's a tube in your nose which you need to leave alone. Okay?"

"Cass?" he croaked. Or at least tried to. It actually sounded something like "Caddth?"

"How are you feeling?" Cassiopeia asked, her tone purely professional, yet with the same compassion she showed all her patients as she released his hand.

He could hear her reprogram the biomonitor while the other tech . . . Giselle, that was it . . . began dutifully washing his back, paying an inordinate amount of attention to his astrum, as far as he was concerned. It was . . . distracting, but not altogether unpleasant, or unflattering, and he found he couldn't quite recall Cassiopeia's question as his mind wandered and he grinned languidly. Two beautiful medics washing his body from head to toe. It could be another raunchy episode of 'Misbehaving Med Techs' from the Bennion Hillion Show. If only life could imitate art . . . then again, there was that time at the Academy Infirmary when . . .

"Almost done." The other med tech murmured soothingly. "You're covered in antiseptic, Lieutenant."

"Take your time," he returned sleepily and sighed, as the extra narcotic finally began to take effect. "Can't have that."

Giselle paused in her task, meeting Cassie's knowing smile and quietly chuckling before briskly drying him, allaying any possible thoughts that he might have that this was anything but a professional necessity.

"Is he awake?" The voice male, and familiar.

"Definitely." Cassie returned wryly. "Come in, Apollo. Luana." The blanket was pulled up, covering him as she spoke. "You have visitors, Starbuck. He's still sedated, Apollo. He might not make much sense right now."

"What do you mean by 'right now?'" Apollo returned with a faint smile, a supportive hand on Luana's arm. He paused to squeeze Cassiopeia's hand, miming a 'thank-you', knowing this couldn't be easy for her and she smiled gratefully in return. Then he followed Lu to the bio-stretcher, one on either side as the med techs diplomatically disappeared behind curtains. "That was a close one, buddy. How are you feeling?"

"Like I got rammed in the guts by a Base Ship," Starbuck mumbled, his hand protectively covering his stomach, as he pushed a button, and was slowly and carefully rotated onto his back so he could see them both.

"Do you remember what happened?" Luana asked, gripping his hand and lightly kissing it as she took in the sleepy features. He was pale, but then Dr. Salik had said that he'd lost a lot of blood. Almost too much. Fortunately, more warriors lined up to donate blood for their fellow pilot than any one man could need, and soon his veins were full once more. One thick tube that came out of his nose was draining a bilious green, and it competed for space with the oxygen prongs in both nares. An intravenous pumped fluids into his system, via an access on his upper arm, and another tube draining light amber fluid peeked out from beneath the sheet halfway down his body, leaving little doubt as to what it was draining. She brushed his hair back from his forehead with her fingers, just needing to touch him. Lords, it had scared her half to death when she had heard what had happened.

Her words seemed to kick start his brain . . . for the first time since he had awakened. Must be some damned good drugs, Bucko. Images of Sire Regus collapsing in the corridor, fleeting thoughts that the man was having a heart attack, the sudden screaming pain in his gut. "Sire
. . . Regus . . ."

Apollo nodded slowly. "What happened?"

His lids drooped as he tried to put it all together, finally making enough sense of it in his mind to recount the story aloud. He licked lips that were dry, interrupting the telling of his tale several times, before finally stopping mid sentence. He had a vague recollection of a very distressed Chameleon at his side, holding his hand and tenderly kissing his forehead, his words indistinct as light, sound and awareness gradually disintegrated to nothingness. "I . . . I don't remember anything else after that."

"I wonder if Regus was faking it, luring you to him, or if he really did have a heart attack," Apollo mused. He didn't even know if they were planning to do a post-mortem on the man who had dissected the main artery in his abdomen as he gutted himself in a traditional 'honourable' suicide. The cause of death was, after all, obvious.

"You think he was . . . waiting to try and kill me?" Starbuck asked, his brow furrowed, trying to make sense of it. "Why?"

"I'm not sure if I have it all straight." Apollo admitted. "Look, we didn't have time to tell you, but Rogane was found dead."

"What? Regus' son? How?"

"Overdosed. Apparently, he's had an Elysium addiction for some time."

Starbuck's eyes widened in shock. "This is just getting too fracking weird!"

"Further to that, they found the termination weapon that killed Myrddin on Rogane. An archaic knife. Hundreds of yahrens old by the look of it. If he didn't kill Myrddin himself, he was involved."

"Holy frack . . . " Archaic knife. Images of staring down in horror at the knife firmly embedded in his abdomen, the ornate hilt grasped in Regus' hands, his eyes full of burning hatred. And another room full of ancient weapons . . .

A light touch on his shoulder. "Are you okay?" Apollo's green eyes, full of concern, gazed into his intently.

"Uh . . . yeah . . . I just . . ." He shook his head, squeezing Luana's hand, before nodding at Apollo. "Go ahead."

"You're sure? I can come back later." Apollo reassured him.

"No, I'm sure. What else?"

"We talked to Siress Rea. Seems there's a connection between Regus and Fausto. Reece actually has a holoptic from a security vid feed that had Rogane talking with Guidobaldo. He's apparently Fausto's number two man. And Siress Rea said that Guidobaldo had been to see Sire Regus at least twice that she's aware of. The last time Sire Regus threw him out of their suites. Literally. Apparently that was just before Myrddin's death."

Starbuck groaned, cursing his haze of narcotic-induced stupidity, "I think my head is officially spinning." The facts zipped about his brain like a Cylon pinwheel attack, and every time he tried to add up two and two, he got three and a third.

Apollo briefly squeezed his shoulder in sympathy, smiling across at Luana. "And. . ."

Starbuck looked at him, "There's more?"

He nodded, "Dracus gave Regus the knife that killed Myrddin as a gift some time ago. Apparently, they met when both their kids were going through drug rehabilitation."

"Are they trying to set up Sire Dracus?" He blinked at Apollo. "After all, he was also going after Fausto when he called for an end to all open sports betting."

"It's definitely a possibility. Either that or . . ."

"Dracus is involved too," Starbuck finished. "I saw him . . . earlier today, I think." He hesitated, suddenly unsure of the time or even the day. Luana nodded at him to continue. "He collects long swords. Knives. Anything bladed and old. For some reason that surprised me." That whole exchange with Dracus replayed in his mind. "I'm not sure about him. I don't know how to read him exactly. I thought he was going to be . . . pretentious and uptight, but . . . he was surprisingly easy to talk to, even witty. He also apologized about his insinuations on the IFB."

"Sounds like you actually liked him." Apollo returned curiously.

"Now, I wouldn't go that far . . ." Starbuck smiled, not forgetting the subtle warning that Dracus had sent his way, if indeed he had interpreted that correctly. Was it the warning of an enemy, or a concerned ally? He just wasn't sure. "I . . .uh. . . I might have been a bit hasty when I was thinking of him as simply a fanatic puritan gone supernova."

"Well, you've never been one to jump to conclusions, buddy," Apollo smiled ruefully before adding, "Ryan said that Regus' last words were, 'Behold the Emperor'. Do you remember that? Does it mean anything to you specifically?"

"You know that I don't want anything to do with the Empyrean throne," Starbuck told him abruptly, hastily adding to Luana, "Unless we're talking about the abdicated princesses."

Her answering smile was radiant.

Then just as abruptly, he added, "Uh . . . just a centon." An elusive memory of a smart astrum quip came back to him. "I might have told Dracus . . . actually . . ." Starbuck tried to remember the words of his flippant remark. "I . . . uh . . ."

"What did you say?" Apollo asked, his voice low and serious. There was something about the look on Starbuck's face that just screamed, "oops!".

"Something like . . . 'Emperor Starbuck, it has a nice ring to it'." He smiled wanly, but Apollo was looking at him like he was a green cadet who had just suggested hitting his reverse thrusters to go back up the launch tube. "I was just joking," he explained. "Just . . .getting a rise out of him."

Luana gripped his hand tightly. "Starbuck, if Sires Regus and Dracus were friends, and Dracus repeated that little off-the-cuff remark to Regus, even inadvertently, well . . ." She shook her head at him as if to say . . . then she changed her mind and just said it, "Are you crazy? That's like poking an angry putrid with a stick at close range! No bloody wonder Regus wanted you dead! Especially if he was about to have a heart attack and drop on the spot anyway. Of course, he'd want to take you with him, making sure you didn't defile his precious idealisms of the Empyrean Monarchy." She blew out an angry breath. "Knowing Regus, he probably thought he was doing something honourable."

He frowned at her outburst, letting out a breath. They were both staring at him with that 'what have you done?' look. "I think I'm going to be sick." His tube gurgled in sympathy and globs of thick, greenish bile were sucked away.

"And so you should be." Luana responded, not the least bit sympathetic. "How many times have people told you that that mouth of yours was going to get you into trouble one day?"

He paused, screwing up his face in concentration. Fleetingly, being told essentially the same thing by the IL Cylon, Lucifer, flitted through his head. "Twice?"

She smacked him in the arm. "That was probably just today."

"Luana's right, Starbuck." Apollo sighed, folding his arms across his chest. "But now I'm wondering if Dracus told him as a concerned friend, or with the intention that he knew Regus might be irrational enough to do something about it."

"I forget. Why does Dracus want me dead again? Did we go over this?" Starbuck rubbed his face wearily. So, now Apollo and Luana were telling him it was his own ignorant remark to Dracus that motivated Sire Regus to try and kill him, and also to commit suicide. And now Dracus possibly wanted him dead? "Last time I checked, not getting the Earthmen to the Council meeting on time wasn't cause for termination. Unless that's changed?"

"No. It hasn't." Apollo agreed. "I'm just exploring all the possibilities. Was this Regus' personal vendetta, or does someone else want you dead?" His lips tightened into a straight line. "The Commander was right. The bodies are adding up, and you just about joined the pile, Starbuck. And we thought we were being careful." None of them had even imagined an attack on Starbuck on the Rising Star during the day, where anybody could have seen it. Their foremost concern was the night of the party, and not implicating Chameleon and the Earthmen while gathering the information necessary to pull off their plan. "Thank the Lords that Dayton heard something, if he hadn't . . ."

"I don't even want to think about it." Luana whispered.

"You don't want to think about it," Starbuck deadpanned, then looked to Apollo. "How long am I supposed to be here?"

"It depends. Dr. Salik thought you could be out in a few days, as long as there are no complications."

"Plenty of time." Starbuck nodded, satisfied that he could still make the party. He squeezed Luana's hand, "Hey Roomie, wanna race hoverchairs?"

She grinned in return. "I'll let you know. Maybe once a few of those tubes are out. I wouldn't want to injure you by accidentally running over your catheter bag."

He winced.

"In the meantime, Starbuck, I'm going to have talk with Reece about having some Security presence here in the Life Station." Apollo told him. "If someone else out there wants you dead, they just might try again."

"Just how many people do you think are standing in line to kill me, Apollo?" Starbuck asked indignantly. "I can . . . sort of understand Regus. After all, we have some history there . . . but I still say he . . . overreacted." He looked at them both in turn, almost expecting them to say otherwise.

"I don't want to take any chances." Apollo told him. "Besides, if there is another assassin, it puts all of the patients and medical staff here at risk. Right?"

Starbuck nodded, conceding, "Right."

"And one more thing." Apollo tapped his forehead. "Think before you talk."

Starbuck stared at him long and hard.

"What?" Apollo stared right back, daring him to argue the point.

Starbuck raised his eyebrows ruefully before muttering, "Well, I've thought about it . . . and I've decided not to say it."

Apollo shook his head slowly, considering the other. "Well, then, we've made some progress." His lips quirked, but then he lost complete control of them, and he grinned as he saw Starbuck's simultaneous smirk.

"Stop it, you two." Luana chuckled at them.

"Seriously, Starbuck. That scared the felgercarb out of me. We didn't see it coming, and that probably means we're up against something more than we're imagining." Apollo squeezed the other's shoulder shaking his head slightly at the thought of losing his best friend and wingman, especially due to negligence or freak mishap. "Besides . . .I've got a pile of long-range patrols coming up, and I need you around to torment with them."

Starbuck rolled his eyes dramatically, then smiled and more seriously replied, "I'm not going anywhere, buddy."

"Better not, or I'll have this place wall-to-wall with warriors guarding your recumbent astrum. Hades Hole, Jolly and Cree practically wanted to camp out in the corridor when they heard the news." Once again, he squeezed Starbuck's shoulder and held his gaze, as though reluctant to let him go. "I'd better let you get some rest." He turned to leave, then paused, turning back. "I almost forgot, Chameleon was here waiting with the rest of us. He said to give you his best."

"Thanks," he nodded.

"He . . . he was really upset, Starbuck." He shook his head at the memory of the conman exploding at them all. "Distraught."

"Yeah, well . . ." Starbuck winced, studying Luana's fingers entwined in his own. "He gets all . . . fatherly sometimes."

"You make it sound like that's a bad thing." Luana remarked. "He came and spoke with me in the Life Station after they took you into surgery. He tried to console me, though he actually looked like he needed it as much as I did. He was very sweet. You'll have to tell me exactly who he is when you're feeling up to it."

Starbuck nodded, "It's a long story."

"The best ones usually are." She replied, leaning down to gently kiss him. "I love you. Get some rest." She planted another lingering kiss on his lips, and then turned quickly to go, but was stopped by him grabbing the back of her Life Station gown. "Hey!" she sputtered as she felt the back half of the gown coming apart and a definite rush of cold air on her astrum. She froze in place, facing Apollo uncomfortably as she tried to reach behind her and retrieve the two ends of the gown . . . the one Starbuck was holding onto stubbornly refusing to conjoin with the other.

"I'm . . . going now." Apollo nodded at them and deked out through the privacy curtains with the speed and agility of the top notch triad player that he was, calling back as he went, "Try to be an upstanding moral example to others, Starbuck. If you know how."

"Does that work lying down?" Starbuck retorted before the curtains began to swish closed.

Luana sighed and thanked her lucky stars that Apollo was a gentleman . . . unlike the rogue behind her. With a mighty jerk, she grabbed her gown and turned around to see that cheeky grin in place that she had come to know only too well. "Something you wanted?" she asked, unable to resist his smile when hand over hand he began pulling her closer.

"You seem to be in an awful hurry to get out of here all of a sudden, Lu." It was somewhere between a statement and a question.

She shrugged for lack of an answer that she was willing to admit to, but leaned down in a natural response to her pulling her against him. "You . . . you must be tired."

"Daggit tired," he murmured and kissed her, wrinkling his nose when the oxygen tube in his nose slipped and transferred itself magically to his mouth. "Bloody things. . ." he tugged at it in frustration.

"Then get some rest and stop sexually assaulting the other patients," she replied ruefully, amused that he could even be thinking that way with tubes coming out of so many orifices. Then again, he was Starbuck.

"Hey, that hurts! I haven't sexually assaulted anyone . . . well, since the last time I was here." He grinned devilishly, his eyes devouring her. "How could you even think such a thing?"

"Oh, you . . .!" She leaned over, and gave him a kiss, withdrawing again to smile at him, and whisper throatily, "I'm just so relieved that you're alright."

He caressed her cheek with his fingers, his touch so light, it was barely perceptible. He smiled when she pressed his hand against her face, closing her eyes as if reveling in his touch. "I didn't want you to go without . . ." he sighed, as if he was having trouble finding the words . . . or just saying them.

"What?" she asked expectantly, but then reined herself in, not daring to hope.

He smiled at her then, a tender smile that reflected in his eyes, and came from the heart. "I love you, Luana."

Her eyes misted up, and she bit her lip, thinking how close she had come to losing him, having never heard those words. She kissed him tenderly once again and smiled mischievously in return. "Me too, Starbuck. Me too."