Starbuck paced a three metron length of floor back and forth, over and over, as Apollo filled him in on the transceiver, Dayton's involvement in the plan, and all they had learned of the dicholorionmethane poisoning. He was finally free of all invasive tubes, feeling considerably better, and was determined to be out of Life Station that day . . . which would leave him twenty-four centars to get ready for the Journey to Earth party.
"It took Willem a couple centars, but the sanitation tech, Gaspra, that planted the bucket by your bio-stretcher broke down and admitted that a guy whose description matches Guidobaldo threatened his family if he didn't do as he was told. He has a wife and little girl, and Fausto's goon showed him video scans of her leaving instructional period. He had no idea what was in the bucket, or that it could kill anybody, he just thought it would make you sick like it had him. He figured Guidobaldo was trying to give you some kind of message," Apollo told him, arms crossed as he watched the other pace relentlessly.
"I think I got it," Starbuck replied, turning to do another lap. "This Fausto is even more of a boray slime than I thought."
"Would you slow down?" Apollo suggested. "I know you want to get released, but wearing yourself out isn't going to help."
"I just feel kind of . . . pent up." Starbuck shrugged helplessly, before attempting to stand still. He succeeded for a brief moment, as thoughts of Chameleon, Luana, Dayton and his men, security schematics, access codes, which side Fausto had his ID card on, Sire Regus, and even Sire Dracus ran through his mind, then he began to pace anew. "Did you get much from the transceiver?"
"There's a problem," Apollo admitted.
"With the transceiver?" Starbuck stopped again to ask.
"No, it's working fine. But . . .it seems that Fausto uses a password to access his computer. We haven't got it yet."
"I was prepared for that," Starbuck admitted, running a hand through his hair. "Cepheus gave me an access code, but he didn't know if it was current."
Apollo studied him for a moment. "What were you going to do if it wasn't current?"
"Try the next one," Starbuck replied logically. "Can't hurt."
"Come again?"
"Seems Fausto has a thing about . . . dragons." Starbuck said quietly. "Probably has something to do with the Dragon's Eye Chancery he used to work for. Apparently, in his private quarters he has a series of paintings based on eleven mythological dragons from Skorpian folklore. Cepheus told me that at least three of Fausto's passwords were based on these same mythological dragons. Most people use passwords that are familiar to them, but obscure to anyone else."
"Mythological dragons?" Apollo repeated. "Yeah, I'd say that's obscure."
"Well, I memorized all eleven dragons. I was going to start with Baleur and Herensuge, then work my way up to Y Ddraig Goch, Zilant, Zomok, and Zmaj." Starbuck grinned as Apollo's eyes glazed over before him.
"Frack. When I thought I was going to have to take your place, I wasn't figuring on memorizing the names of dragons."
"I'm irreplaceable," Starbuck returned matter-of-factly with a cocky grin.
"Reprehensible maybe," Apollo replied with a smile. "All the same, I'm coming with you. Admittedly, you're the right guy to access the office and computer, but you'll still need someone backing you up."
"Fine," Starbuck replied casually. With two abdominal surgeries and a poisoning attempt behind him, it wouldn't hurt to have Apollo watching his back. Especially when he wasn't at his best, not that that ever stopped any Colonial Warrior from doing his job. Besides, he had promised something along that line to Luana. "What does Hummer have in the way of a communicator that's a little more surreptitious?"
"He's working on it. Just like he was trying to figure out the password. I also want a transceiver on you. He had an idea about something that would be virtually undetectable."
"I'm not going to have to swallow something, am I?" Starbuck asked distastefully. "I've had enough of electronic felgercarb being put inside of me!" He shuddered, recalling the hideous Obediator.
"Lords, I hope not. I admit I don't have your experience, but I can't say I'm crazy about the idea either." Apollo added wryly thinking about future incidences where he might have to carry a transceiver. "Guess we'll find out later today."
----------
Chilled to the bone, Sheba paced the length of the pit they were trapped in, reaching the middle of it where the ambient light of dawn filtered down from above. The trap reminded her of something used for wild animals, camouflaged like the forest floor, yet covering a fine mesh that easily collapsed, dropping the four down to the cavern below. The bars that had separated their cozy little pit from the rest of the cavern left them with no doubt that they were prisoners. The problem being, their 'captors' had not yet appeared to have taken notice of them.
Of course the large hole in the middle of those bars had been blasted through by Bojay, not long after he had come to from the knock on his head he had received during his landing. A brilliant escape plan, but perhaps a trifle premature due to the two injured and immobile ensigns lying side by side on the cold, damp ground.
It had taken over a centar to try and determine the extent of everyone's injuries and patch them up the best they could, and it was with crystalline clear hindsight that Sheba recalled Lia's extensive pack of survival supplies that she had taken on Alrin, even convincing Starbuck to take Luana's along with him on that rescue mission. Lords, what Sheba wouldn't do now for a decent medical kit, an illuminator, and some rations. Of course, they did have those things . . .
Back in the Vipers, where they weren't doing a lot of good right now, she sniffed derisively. Yeah, the usual languatron, laser blaster and communicator just weren't going to cut it this time. While you're dreaming, a hover-stretcher wouldn't go unappreciated right now either, Lieutenant. Especially considering Drina's broken ankle and Varick's twisted knee.
"I think I hear someone coming this way," Bojay whispered, his hand hovering over his laser.
"Or something," Sheba added, standing at his side, her hand also resting lightly on her weapon..
"Something wouldn't be carrying light." Bojay mentioned, as he saw the ambient glow in the distance.
"Or speak Standard." Sheba agreed, hearing accompanying voices that sounded eerily familiar to the pirates she had skirmished with in the asteroid field.
"Captain, how do we . . ." Drina began.
"Follow our lead, Ensign. They'll know from the job I did on the bars that we're not exactly helpless." Bojay told her, watching her pull herself up the uneven surface of the cave wall, and stepping over to assist her. "Keep in mind, that we're here as a peace envoy to return their own people, as well as to offer to cede custody of the pirates so they can deal with them under their justice system . . . assuming we're on the right planet." He slipped an arm around her and easily pulled her upright, waiting until she maintained her balance attempting to keep her splinted ankle from bearing weight.
"Thanks." Drina nodded with a grimace, the blood rushing to her foot and the resulting pain excruciating.
"I hope to God this is the right planet," Varick added, also wincing as he found his footing. "But keeping in mind that the only time these people have had others landing on their planet has been when they've been attacked, well . . . I suppose I can see why they maintain a defensive perimeter."
"And if we weren't so busy enjoying the fresh air, we might have noticed it," Sheba added. "Here they come . . ."
The approaching torches gave them a better idea of their numbers before they could make out the distinct forms of the approaching Humans. There was almost a dozen of them, dressed in crude garments of cloth and leather, and the ones not carrying torches were carrying weapons. Crossbows by the looks of it.
"Bloody hell, look at the bars!"
"Spread out and surround 'em."
"We don't mean you any harm." Bojay assured them. "We've come to organize the return of some of your people that we picked up on an asteroid pirate base. What is your planet called?" he asked them, his hand never leaving his weapon as they entered the cell and surrounded the warriors. Sheba turned so they were back to back, keeping the ensigns close to them and an eye on their captors. "Is it Axius?"
"Axius, aye," answered a burly greying man stepped forth. "Who are ya?"
"I'm . . . Bojay. This is Sheba, Drina and Varick. We're travelers passing through your solar system." He declined mentioning ranks and Battlestars, letting them believe they were from a smaller ship, and therefore were less of a perceived threat. "We rescued some women and children and took into custody a group of pirates when we rescued some of our own men from their base. Liadan, Ciaren and Skeff described your planet to us. They, and some others, want to return to their home and their people. We . . . just want to help facilitate that."
"My Liadan? She's alive then?" the man asked disbelievingly, lowering his crossbow a little and staring at them for a moment.
"Yes. She is well," Bojay replied, glad that he'd taken the time to look over Colonel Tigh's report and familiarize himself with the refugees' names. "And anxious to get back home."
"And the vermin that took 'em? What of them?" he asked.
"Our Council of Twelve suggest you might want to deal with them within your own justice system. After all, it has been your people they have been wronging for yahrens on end, not ours," Bojay explained.
"Ah, if what you say is the truth, it be a tidy way to wash yer own hands of the matter," the man replied gruffly. "But I can't help thinking if you were pirates that this would make a nice tale to be telling us so we'd simply let you go." He raised his bushy brows and considered them, hand tightening on his weapon as he targeted them with the crossbow.
"Check out our craft. You'll see they're single-man ships, not meant for carrying any abducted people or even cargo. We're a reconnaissance party meant to contact you and organize delivery of your people," Bojay replied. "You have no radio, so we had to come in person to speak with you."
The greying man approached him cautiously, every Axian weapon in the cavern trained on them. He raised his head mere metrons from Bojay and sniffed loudly. "He doesn't smell like one of them, that's for sure."
The others laughed heartily.
"I'm Finn." His features crinkled with amusement. "Come with us and tell us more of this pirate base and our people and we can sort out truth from fabrication." He turned to another after considering Drina. "Get a gurney, Cabhan. We'll take them back to town."
"Could you make that two gurneys?" Varick asked quietly before the other turned to go.
Finn grinned looking at the young warrior, noticing his splinted knee for the first time. "Aye, lad. Two gurneys, Cabhan. Iollan, give him a hand."
----------
Sire Dracus looked more like an angry thundercloud than the usual unaffected bureautician he usually portrayed as he stormed into the Security Office and then into Reece's inner office, catching the officer in front of his computer reviewing the last centon plans for taking down Fausto. Reece had an uncomfortable moment of déjà vu, when he recalled how the major focus of his job had at one time been exclusively doing Council's bidding before Colonial Security had taken on the additional responsibilities for all civil security within the Fleet. However, old habits died hard and he automatically rose to his feet, a little quicker than he would have liked, coming smartly to attention behind his desk.
"Sire Dracus, sir. How can I help you?" Reece asked, he stole a hopeful look in the direction of Chief Brogan's office, but knew that there would be no help in that quarter. The Chief had left the office with Willlem to follow up on the Guidobaldo trail.
Abruptly, Koradon and Timeus appeared, looking slightly embarrassed as they trailed behind the man they were supposed to be protecting. Apparently, this assignment was about as coveted as the one where a guy had to sit in Life Station and inhale toxic fumes while watching Starbuck sleep.
"Officer Reece, I protest this ridiculous . . . escort. I'm a busy man who must be free to do my duties on behalf of the Colonial people, and that is truly impossible when I have two watch daggits following my every move . . . " He spared a brief look at the two. "However good intentioned. There is a certain measure of privacy required to speak with other dignitaries in confidence. I might as well go into hiding for all the work I'm getting done. I demand to speak with Chief Brogan." His eyes flashed angrily.
"I'm sorry, Sire. Chief Brogan is out of the office right now."
"Then have him return at once!" Dracus ordered him.
Reece bristled at the man's attitude. "I don't give Chief Brogan orders, sir. And neither do you."
"Actually, you are mistaken, Officer. Chief Brogan was appointed by the Council. And he can just as easily be replaced by the Council." Dracus snapped.
"Well, I believe that would take a majority vote, not a vote of one," Reece replied, swallowing down the apprehension as Dracus' eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. "Which would also require a full Council meeting, for such a vote." As much as he knew that the Councilman couldn't affect his career directly as long as Brogan was in charge, he couldn't help but think how easily that could change if Dracus pushed for a new Chief of Security. One more likely to listen to Council's 'recommendations'. "Sire, we're simply trying to protect you. This escort won't last long," he reassured the angry bureautician.
"I take that to mean you're closing in on finally arresting Fausto?" Dracus asked. "I would have thought that blackmail alone was enough to arrest the man. I don't understand what's taking you so long to get him and his assassins into custody." His tone was bordering on disdainful.
"Blackmail would get him a slap on the wrist compared with what we could potentially charge him with if we do it right," Reece explained, trying to appease the man for Brogan's sake, and his own. He reminded himself that Fausto had been harassing the bureautician for sectars trying to coerce him into cooperating with threats of exposing his deceased daughter's drug dependency. "I think you're aware that Fausto is guilty of a lot more than illegal sports betting and blackmail. We must have enough unimpeachable, irrefutable evidence to bury him. Period."
"How long?" Dracus asked with a sigh, looking over his shoulder at Timeus and Koradon. "How long must I . . . put up with this absurdity?"
"I can't be that specific, Sire . . ." He winced as the man glared at him again. "There is a plan in place to bust open Fausto's entire syndicate. We'll have enough to put him away on the prison barge for the rest of his life. A couple days at the most. Less if it all works out as planned."
"And his associates?" Dracus asked, somewhat mollified.
"We'll have every name of everyone Fausto has ever targeted, or had working for him, and the related information that should convict them. All his records."
"Well, then, it sounds as though you're going to need every man at your disposal tomorrow night," Dracus looked pointedly at his escort.
"No, we have sufficient . . ." he paused as Dracus' all too perceptive deductive reasoning hit him. "Tomorrow night, sir?"
"Yes, I imagine if a raid of this magnitude is taking place, you'll need every available man. I'd be happy to return my . . . honour guard to assist you. Especially if it will aid in convicting Fausto and making the Fleet a safer place for each man, woman and child in it. I'm not concerned for my personal safety, especially in relation to apprehending that . . . louse." Dracus took a couple steps and joined Reece behind his desk, gripping his hand and shaking it. "I apologize for my behavior, Officer Reece. As you can imagine, just knowing that one of the most notorious criminals in Colonial history is about to be brought down makes my burden easier to bear." He looked at the others for a moment. "Of course, I mean my personal burden, not just your men's presence." He lowered his voice conspiratorially and maintained his grip on Reece's hand. "It has been a difficult time for me both personally and professionally and I realize I should be thanking God that we have men of your ability and cunning that are willing to sacrifice themselves, working long arduous centars, to protect the civilian population. Bless you, Officer Reece." He unexpectedly embraced the man tightly. "Bless you."
"Uh . . ." Reece patted the other on the back tentatively feeling entirely uncomfortable with the effusive embrace. And a bit suspicious about his abrupt change in behavior, even knowing the history between the Fausto and Dracus. If Dracus thought he was going to pull his guards simply because of a conveniently timed pat on the back . . . He breathed a sigh of relief when the Councilman abruptly released him. "Thanks . . . but Chief Brogan's orders stand. Officers Koradon and Timeus . . ." He noticed the officers were grinning at him in amusement. He frowned at them in return. Yep, this was going to be all over the office by the end of the shift. "They'll remain on duty to ensure your safety, Sire."
"Well, if you . . . feel it is necessary." Dracus shrugged grudgingly. "I've made your job difficult enough today, I know when to stop beating a dead equus, Officer Reece." He turned to his escort. "Are we ready to let this man get back to the job at hand, gentlemen?" And with that he swept out of the office, his impeccable robes swirling around him as the other two hurried to keep up.
Reece sighed again, watching him go, wondering belatedly if he had revealed too much. He settled into his chair again, his attention returning to his computer screen, his guts automatically twisting as he realized their general game plan was still on screen, though admittedly not in detail. . . however Starbuck's name figured prominently. His gaze fell back on the doorway as he began to weigh his options, wondering vaguely if Dracus had even noticed it . . . or . . . if he had carefully positioned himself to take a glance. After all, embracing Security Officers and telling them what a wonderful job they were doing didn't seem to be high on the Council's list of priorities before now. Lords, talk about needing to know exactly what was going on with Fausto, whether they wanted him to or not. Typical bureautician; a complete control freak. Frack, it was a good thing Starbuck was still in the Life Station . . . or the Colonial Warrior just might kill him.
----------
Starbuck could feel Chameleon's eyes on him, following his every move as he pulled on his boots preparing to leave the Life Station. Finally. The old man hadn't seem pleased when he heard the news of his son's discharge.
"Are you sure you're up to it, Starbuck? You still look a bit pale to me. You're moving a little slower too. Guarding your stomach." Chameleon pointed out, seeing his son's frown of annoyance that his attempt to hide his discomfort was unsuccessful under the watchful eyes of the old conman.
Frowns just the same as when he was little. Tell him no, and there it is.
"Look . . ." Starbuck paused, suddenly unsure what he should be calling the other. 'Chameleon' just rolled off the tongue, but this man was his father. Yet, somehow 'father' just wouldn't pass his lips. It seemed so . . . staid. So . . . formal. He winced slightly realizing in all the yahrens he had imagined finding his parents, it had never occurred to him to be wondering what to call them. "You spend a day hurling up everything in your guts, especially when your guts have nothing to hurl up, and you'll probably find your stomach's a bit sore too."
Chameleon sighed at him. How could he find the words to tell his son, the warrior, that he was worried about him rushing headlong into an encounter that had taken on new implications since he realized what a cold-blooded killer Fausto was. "I'd feel better if you'd at least let me do the lift, son. I promise, I'd make you proud."
"No." Starbuck replied, straightening up and meeting his father's eyes. "I don't want you directly involved."
"I've already infiltrated Aquila and Fausto's offices by getting the Journey to Earth organized and I've even helped Dayton plant the transceiver. I hardly see how lifting an ID card would implicate or endanger me any further," Chameleon protested.
"It's not necessary, Chameleon. I can do it," Starbuck returned, sitting on the biobed to do up his boots. He stopped for a moment looking up at the other. "Unless you're telling me I'm not good enough." Sure, he had lifted everything from datapads to ID cards to some of Hinnus' medical equipment which had been set down for a centon in the space of a few days. He had done it purely for practice . . . and maybe to drive the med tech a little crazy, since he certainly deserved it after the catheter fiasco. As far as he could tell, each liberation had gone smoothly, and each mark was unaware of what had happened. All the same, he was still cognizant that he was out of practice, but he balanced that with being more aware of his environment and slightly more cautious than when he had been picking pockets as a teen.
Chameleon rubbed his chin with one hand as he considered his reply. "If I told you that, would you let me do the lift?"
"If you meant it," Starbuck nodded as he waited for the reply.
"Then you're not good enough."
Starbuck's eyes narrowed doubtfully, but he said nothing.
Chameleon took a step closer to the young man, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Fausto has been trying to kill you, son. You know as well as anyone that the secret of a good lift is the element of surprise. The mark can't suspect a thing. Must never even come close to it. There's no possible way that you can approach Fausto at the party without all of his alarm bells going off. You need someone he won't suspect. Someone like . . . a harmless old man." He smiled. "Don't get me wrong, you're technique is superb. You're a natural . . . just like your father." He stepped back awaiting his son's reaction.
"Well, as long as you're not criticizing my God-given talents," Starbuck smiled ruefully, before taking a deep breath and thinking about Chameleon's words. He reminded himself that the reason he had originally asked Chameleon to help him out was for the man's expertise and experience. He had to trust that Chameleon wouldn't mislead him simply because he was also a concerned father. But that whole trust issue with the man who had waited until the final centar to even admit that they were father and son was admittedly a sore point with him. "I don't like it, but I know you're . . . probably right."
"Then it's settled." Chameleon nodded, satisfied. He turned as Starbuck's gaze was drawn to the door.
"You ready, Starbuck?" Apollo asked as he strode across the health center.
"Just about. Did Hummer come up with anything new?" Starbuck asked.
"We're heading to the Science Lab next to find out first hand." Apollo replied, handing Starbuck's weapon to him. "Chameleon, how did it go?"
"His betrothal must be mellowing him. He conceded my point. I'm doing the lift." The conman replied with a faint smile.
Apollo nodded in evident relief as he watched Starbuck eyebrows raise suspiciously while the lieutenant strapped his weapon in place. "Good." He and Chameleon had discussed at some length the older man's concerns a centar or so before the older man was due to see Starbuck in the Life Station. There had been a tentativeness to the conman that Apollo hadn't seen since the entire 'Captain Dimitri and the Borellian Nomen' incident had been unveiled so many sectars before. Basically, Chameleon had wanted to be assured that his concerns were justified beyond that of concerned . . . father.
Apollo had just about fallen off the chair he was precariously balancing on, leaning back with his feet up on the desk in the duty office when Chameleon had admitted that Starbuck was really his son. Most of all, when he looked back on it, Apollo was surprised that Starbuck hadn't yet apprised him of the situation. Sagan, Starbuck told him everything. Often, much more than he wanted to know.
"Sounds like a conspiracy." Starbuck muttered.
"Your father raised a good point." Apollo told him. Starbuck's nodded when he realized that Apollo knew the truth about their relationship . . . as well as that the captain and the conman had been colluding behind his back. "Fausto would suspect you. There's no reason Chameleon can't just give you the ID card."
"Right." Starbuck returned briefly.
"So, I take it that since the Science Lab is your next stop, that you're going to have a transceiver on you when you go to Fausto's office?" Chameleon asked.
"Yeah, just playing it safe." Starbuck agreed, seeing the relief watch over his father's features. "Relax, Chameleon, this should be straight forward. Five to ten centons in Fausto's office is all I need." He shrugged. "Actually, to start the PAP program, I really only need thirty microns, as long as Corporal Komma is ready to go. After that, it's all downhill."
"That's what I'm afraid of. . . a steep decline." Chameleon returned dubiously. "And after that, assuming it goes smoothly, you'll return to the party?"
"That's the plan. Security will move in to make any arrests once we have a chance to go through the data on the Galactica, assuming it's incriminating." Starbuck replied.
"What if Fausto catches you? Or makes a move in the meantime?" Chameleon retorted.
"Then we won't need to examine his data files to charge him," the lieutenant replied immediately. "The transceiver will transmit everything that happens, and that could very well be enough evidence to bring him in."
"It might be Guidobaldo, not Fausto." Apollo mentioned pointedly.
"Rumour has it nobody but Fausto goes into his inner office."
Chameleon studied his son for a moment. "I admit, I'm concerned that you've obviously given that some thought. It's almost like you're making yourself a target to get Fausto in the brig as soon as possible."
Starbuck shrugged indifferently. "Hardly, that's not my style. 'Keep your head down and stay alive' is my motto." He noticed that his father looked at him doubtfully, and Apollo knowingly. "I'm just considering all the possibilities. You're right. He's already tried to kill me once . . . maybe twice . . . but we'll be ready for him if he tries again. That's why I have backup." He nodded towards Apollo.
"Guidobaldo is a hired killer," Chameleon pointed out. "I've . . . asked around a bit, and I know the type. He's a first-rate button man."
"Technically, so are we," Starbuck returned with a shrug. "The difference is we get benefits and a pension plan . . . providing we retire, that is."
"Ever think of helping with the new recruitment adds on the IFB?" Apollo asked him. "You make it sound so . . . enticing as a career choice."
"I'd be perfect as a poster boy," Starbuck agreed with a grin. "They'd be signing up in droves. Let me call Zed."
Chameleon smiled wanly at their banter. "Well, I guess I should get back to my charges. There's still a list of details we have to take care of before Aquila will be satisfied that everything is ready. I'll see you both tomorrow night."
"All right . . . and . . . er . . . thanks for coming by." Starbuck said hesitantly, suddenly feeling strangely awkward in his father's presence again. Especially with Apollo watching them like they were some kind of new and interesting bugs.
"I'll stand by my promise, Starbuck. You'll see," Chameleon vowed, stepping forward to grip his son's hand firmly with one hand and place a hand on his shoulder with the other.
Starbuck simply nodded, returning the grip, unsure if Chameleon was referring to the upcoming lift, or his avowal that he wouldn't desert his son again. He hadn't really noticed before, but the conman seemed to hand out promises like their illustrious Strike Captain did long-range patrols. He couldn't help but wonder if that was solely for his benefit, or from a lifetime of trying to get what he wanted. "See that you do," Starbuck murmured, his uncertainty plain. He softened the words with a hesitant smile.
The comprehension in his father's blue eyes and the resultant tightening of the old man's grip made Starbuck want to believe the latter. The eternal optimist, he suspected that Chameleon was laying it all on the line, and not just so the plan would go smoothly. The conman was doing it to prove himself to his son.
----------
"Just like riding the bus," Dayton mused aloud as they debarked the shuttle arriving on Agro Ship One. "I think I'm catching on."
"Really? Where's the sign saying 'Exact Change Only?'"
"Back on Earth, I hope."
"Ah, Earth," sighed Ryan. "So, what about the transit map?" he asked looking around the docking lounge in confusion. "And where's our Liaison Officer? I thought he was supposed to be taking us around from place to place. It's a wonder we didn't end up on the refuse ship," he griped trying to maintain the façade that Starbuck was truly no friend of theirs . . . just in case.
Dayton just smiled in return, waiting for Dickins, Porter and Baker to catch up to them. "I heard from Chameleon that he's getting released from Life Station today. Then Cup of Joe will be back on duty." He shook his head, smiling. Chameleon. Sounds like a lizard that changes colour! Who the hell would name their kid after a lizard? Then again, apparently the 'lizard' named his son 'Starbuck', so perhaps it was only Dayton's own perception that was askew. In a pig's eye.
"Chameleon went to see him, I take it?" Ryan asked, switching to English, aware now that the father had just revealed his relationship to the son.
"Yeah. He wants to keep on eye on the kid." Dayton replied in kind. "Who can blame him? The lieutenant has a bit of a propensity for getting into trouble."
"Really? No kidding?" They both chuckled.
"So does the old man from what I've heard," Porter added.
"Hmm. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Baker grinned.
"Neither does the nut," Ryan quipped.
Dayton grinned, glad to have his team back together as they walked through the corridors of the Agro Ship, carefully following directions that the head botanist, Tuija, had provided them. Elevator doors at the end of the corridor opened and a powerfully built woman with grey-streaked hair tied back casually off her face stood waiting for them.
"Tuija?" Dayton asked as he approached. Behind him he could sense Porter, Baker and Dickins pulling out their languatrons and plugging in their earphones.
"Commander Dayton?" Tuija smiled holding out a hand and firmly shaking his hand in greeting. Her fine wrinkles bespoke of a lifetime spent outdoors . . . until the Destruction.
"Yes. Let me introduce the rest of my team." He paused, deciding to dispense with ranks and keep it as simple as possible. "Ryan, Baker, Porter, Dickins."
Tuija shook each man's hand in turn trying out the strange names as she stood before each man. "This is a real honour, gentlemen. I always wondered if I'd live to see an Earthman."
"It's our hope that we'll all be saying that about Earth one day," Dayton smiled at her.
She gestured them into the lift. "I understand that we still don't know how far away it is. Is that true?"
"Yes, we went through a kind of space anomaly that we call a wormhole," Dayton replied. "Before we could do anything, the pirates who captured us stripped all the equipment out of our ship. Our computers, recorders, back-up tapes. Everything. All our data was gone. So we have no idea how far away home is."
"And you brought some seeds with you." Tuija's eyes glinted with excitement. "Dr. Wilker sent them over from the Science Lab . . . thank the Lords of Kobol. I thought he was going to wire them up to a generator to see if he could force them from hibernation."
"Then they're viable?" Dayton asked.
"Many of them are," Tuija replied, "according to all the tests so far. Under the right conditions, seeds from certain species can remain in a dormant state for thousands of yahrens. Fortunately, the asteroid base seems to have been a good environment for about forty percent of your supply since the hangar was cold and the storage container was dark. We have them in our lab which is where I'm taking you now."
"Are they still labeled?" Ryan asked, recalling how each and every group of seeds had been identified by numbers as well as the Latin names of each plant, in preparation for the newest hydroponics section of the ISS that they had brought up on a previous flight.
"Most seem to be. We've tried to keep the documentation with each seed pod in the hope that you could help us identify exactly what kind of plant life we have. Whether it's edible or otherwise useful, approximate size and conditions it would prefer. I don't suppose we have any botanists in the group, do we?" she asked hopefully.
Porter shrugged. "I don't claim to be a botanist, but I had a mean veggie garden back home."
Tuija looked quizzically at Dayton as the languatron nearest her translated the words from English, but she was none the wiser as to the meaning . . . other than the fact that he denied being a botanist. "What did he say?"
"He can help." Dayton smiled.
"Yeah, you might not be able to understand him, but he can help," Ryan chuckled at the irony. "Actually, Porter was going to be assisting with some of the hydroponics experiments on the Space Station that these seeds were slated for, so he's definitely your man."
The doors opened and they followed Tuija down the corridor to the Agro lab, stepping inside and pausing as everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at the Earthmen.
And stared . . .
Ryan grinned, stepping forward and fanning open both arms getting everyone's attention. "Step right up and see the Earthmen first hand!" He gave them his best Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey's Circus big top voice. "Notice the same amount of limbs in all the right places. Lords of Bokol, you'd think we were related!"
"I think that's 'Kobol', Paddy." Dayton chuckled as the wonder and reverence on the botanists faces eased to a more relaxed amusement.
"Excuse them, gentlemen. Just a little overwhelmed, I think. You have to remember, we've been looking for Earth for so long that, well, to a lot of us, meeting an Earthman is almost like meeting God Almighty Himself," Tuija explained apologetically.
"Wow," Ryan murmured, before adding. "I hope your expectations aren't the same."
"Not quite," she reassured him with a smile as she began introducing them around the lab finally leading them to the seeds.
"Now, normally we would gradually warm the seeds and introduce them to light to get them to germinate. But we wanted to see how many you could identify and see what kind of conditions would be best before we proceed."
"Understood," said Porter, setting himself on a lab stool, and getting his first look at the container since it was loaded on the shuttle so many years ago. The case had been opened of course, when the pirates had ransacked the Endeavour, but finding only seeds sealed in transparent material, they had tossed the cases aside, deeming them of no use.
Idiots! We could have had some real food all these years, instead of that damned rotting root!
"According to our scans, the germination enzymes in these are still active," said Tuija, indicating a number of seeds in what looked like a Petri dish. "This is the package we removed them from."
Porter looked at it. Lycopersicum esculentum. He struggled to remember his Latin designations . . . and then flipped it over to see 'Omatotay' scrawled on the back in his own handwriting. He'd always done better at Pig Latin after all. He grinned, turning it over again. Below the scientific name was a code number, indicating the variety of hybrid this was. "Ah, tomatoes," he said. "Man, have I missed these!"
"Me too," added Dayton. "Can't find a decent BLT around here anywhere!"
"Maybe we should check out the livestock ship next, and make sure they have something resembling pork." Dickins suggested, licking his lips. "Bacon . . . yum, yum, yum."
BLT? Tuija decided to wait on that one. She explained to Porter about their method of force-germinating their main vegetable staples, due mostly to their current predicament. Once they had gotten over a few hurdles of language, Porter explained how tomatoes, in his experience, ideally preferred moderately warm temperatures and well-drained slightly acidic soil. Once understood, Tuija made the appropriate adjustments to her equipment and materials, making entries in her data pad as they spoke, and one of the precious seeds was placed in the container and immersed in the nutrient bath.
"Now we wait," said Porter.
"And look around for some lettuce," added Baker with a grin.
----------
"When did Chameleon tell you?"
Starbuck had been waiting for it. They only had a few more levels before they reached the Science Lab, and as soon as they had entered the quiet lift, he had a feeling Apollo would start asking questions. The captain did not disappoint him.
"Yesterday . . . no . . . the day before." The lieutenant shook his head, feeling as though he had lost a day somewhere. "Sorry, been in a kind of vortex lately. When did he tell you?"
"Just before he came to see you today," Apollo replied, watching his friend fidget in his discomfort. "You kept it kind of . . . quiet, buddy." He still recalled Starbuck's uncontained exuberance the first time around when he had thought Chameleon might be his father. He'd been like a kid on his natal day. Then again, it wasn't like Starbuck had celebrated a natal day since he was a tot. This more subdued Starbuck was almost a little disheartening to behold.
"Things on my mind," Starbuck murmured, glancing at his chrono and then pushing his hair from his eyes. He smiled slightly. "Busy tossing my mushies mostly. In between being kidnapped, put to slave labour, and having my gut sliced open, twice, I haven't had a lot of time."
"Right." Apollo replied with a sniff and a shake of his head, almost forgetting the lieutenant hadn't exactly been at his best despite how fit he appeared now. "If you want to talk about it . . . "
"No . . . " Starbuck looked around the lift, his eyes finally settling on Apollo's. There was far too much compassion in his searching look, as the captain tried to draw him out. "We're working it out. We'll get there."
"Where?" Apollo asked quietly.
"I'm not sure." Starbuck admitted. "Find out when I was born . . . my original given name . . ." He shrugged, as though it could all wait for now.
Apollo nodded and then looked thoughtful before he asked, "Would you change your name?"
Starbuck sniffed in amusement. "Hadn't really thought about it." Then he grimaced. "What if it's worse than 'Starbuck'?"
"Looking on the bright side, there can't be too many names out there that are worse than 'Starbuck'." Apollo gibed him as the lift door opened.
"Well, we can't all be named after Earth gods," Starbuck returned, preceding him from the lift.
"What?" Apollo asked, following him to the Lab, surprised that Starbuck was aware of the coincidence. "Did Dayton tell you that? That 'Apollo' was a god in some ancient Earth culture?" He recalled the Earthman telling the Council the same, but hadn't had the opportunity to find out more. "Some bunch called the . . . uh, Geeks." His brow furrowed in concentration. "Or maybe Greeks. Something like that."
"Ryan told me actually. 'The God of the Dance', I think he said." Starbuck grinned back at his friend, trying to equate the captain with two left feet as being God of the Dance. It would make one Hades of a humorous musical, especially starring Apollo. "Oh, and the God of the Plague too." He added for good measure as he entered the Lab.
"You're full of felger," Apollo muttered tolerantly, whacking the other's arm, but not quite sure . . .
"On my honour," Starbuck averred, hand over heart. "There could have been some more . . . intellectual aspects of his Godliness, but I can't remember them right now. Must be the aftereffects of the dicholorionmethane toxicity," he grinned.
"Yeah, Dr. Salik mentioned there might be some aftereffects," Apollo nodded with a mischievous glint in his eyes, squeezing his friend's arm. "Like your sudden memory lapse. But not to worry, he said your sexual function would return within a sectar, and after your hair fell out, it had a fifty-fifty chance of growing back in again."
"God of Lies . . ." Starbuck chuckled, pulling free.
"Captain Apollo, Lieutenant Starbuck, I'm all ready for you, sirs." Hummer beamed from his work station.
"Hey, Hummer, what did you come up with?" Starbuck asked striding to the work station.
"I think you'll be pleased with the result." Between thumb and forefinger the technician held up a tiny, round, silver cell about a quarter the size of a cubit. "It has a marker beacon as well as a microphone, so not only can we hear everything that's going on, we can also trace your every movement, Lieutenant." Hummer grinned. He put it down, picking up a small flesh-coloured device and turning towards Apollo. "This is the receiver. We can mold it to fit perfectly in your ear canal, Captain. The range is approximately four hundred metrons."
"Where do you suggest we put the transceiver?" Apollo picked up the tiny cell. "Fausto's clever."
"It's implantable." Hummer smiled ear to ear.
"Come again?" Starbuck muttered with a frown.
"Implantable." Hummer confirmed. "That way, if you were discovered, it would never be found. Just a tiny slit in the hairline which we immediately laser mend after insertion." He tapped behind his own ear to illustrate the desired location and then pointed at the laser mender at his work station.
"And it won't be affected by blood or serous fluids?" Apollo asked, clearly impressed.
"That's the expectation, but I admit, I'd like to implant it today and test it out." Hummer looked eagerly from captain to lieutenant and back again. Starbuck was looking at him as though he had started sprouting strange and uniquely coloured foliage from all visible orifices. "What?" he asked the warrior.
"You want to cut me open and put that thing in me?" Starbuck asked in disbelief, instinctively raising a hand to the side of his neck. He looked at Apollo a little desperately, "Is this some kind of joke?"
Apollo raised his hands innocently. "It could be a benefit. If you did get discovered, at least we would know what was going on, and they'd never find the transceiver by frisking you." He paused, looking back to Hummer. "What if they used a detection device like they do in Fausto's office?"
"Well, the scanner we planted in Commander Dayton's old coin has told us that Fausto's people do two rather foolish things. One, they scan the rooms using a set array of frequencies. Always the same ones, and always at the same intensities. That, and they scan the place on a regular basis every two days, like chronowork. Lieutenant Starbuck can infiltrate the target area just after one of those scans, so he will be less likely to trip anything. If he is discovered, the implanted device can detect an attempted scan, and go into passive mode until the scan is done. The chances of the implanted scanner being discovered without a physical search is remote at best."
"Let's hope Fausto's thugs don't decide to shave my head, eh?" Starbuck quipped.
"If your hair falls out on schedule, they won't have to." Apollo rejoined with a smile before again addressing the tech. This time his concern was evident. "So, Hummer, you're saying we'll lose Starbuck's signal if the transceiver goes into passive mode?"
"For the few microns it would take to do the scan is all." Hummer nodded. "How about it, Lieutenant? Are you up for a test run?" The technician held up a laser scalpel.
"Just a centon . . . " Starbuck murmured, holding up his hands in self-defense and starring in horror at the scalpel. He took a step back. Shaking his head at the mere thought of some technician lacking any medical designation cutting him open and inserting anything, he tried to come up with something that might preclude the procedure. Immediately, he thought ahead to his romantic rendezvous with a certain beautiful ensign in the Celestial Dome. Yep, time to move up from Fitness Center equipment closets now that they were betrothed. "Look, Hummer, I have plans tonight that really wouldn't be conducive to an audience."
"Sir?" Hummer shook his head in confusion, waiting for an explanation.
Starbuck looked at him in incredulity. The tech was a wiz in electronics, but a bit deficient in understanding personal relationships. "I have a date."
"Oh, well, that's really not a problem, Lieutenant. I'm more interested in actual signal disruptions than specifically what's being said. That's what I'll be monitoring." Hummer reassured him nodding energetically.
"Look, kid, I'm hoping the signals I'm going to be sending aren't going to register on your monitor," Starbuck grinned, shooting a glance at Apollo who was watching Hummer sympathetically . . . or so it appeared.
"It's very sensitive, Lieutenant, I can assure you . . . " Hummer paused, and his face began to glow red to the tips of his ears. "Uh . . . I think I understand now, sir."
"I think maybe you do," Starbuck nodded, wondering if they should hose the scarlet tech off with some boraton. "At least I hope so. I'll drop by tomorrow. We can do a test flight then."
"Uh . . . well . . . I guess that will have to do," Hummer murmured. "The earlier the better, sir."
"Yep." Starbuck agreed. "Believe me, if it wasn't for my date, I'm gladly let you cut my throat and stuff it with electronic felgercarb." He waved a hand helplessly. "Anything in the name of duty."
Hummer, to his credit, looked as though he didn't quite believe the lieutenant's words.
"Apollo mentioned you were trying to figure out Fausto's password. Any luck?"
"I wouldn't call it luck, sir." Hummer sniffed with a smile. "But yes, it seems the current password is 'Vere Celen'. It's some kind of mythological dragon, strangely enough."
Apollo looked to Starbuck who looked both surprised and pleased. "Good work, Hummer. How did you figure it out?" the captain asked.
"From the transceiver feed in his office. As you know, we didn't have a visual on his computer, just on the desk. But I realized that the screen and keyboard on Fausto's computer were actually reflected in the face of the chrono on his wall behind his desk. I zoomed in with a digital video enhancer and then flipped the image." Hummer explained.
"Perfect. Now I won't be fumbling to input the password. Great job," Starbuck congratulated him. "Did you get anything else on what he was inputting?"
"As you can imagine, it's tedious at best trying to figure it out that way. Mostly he was going through receipts for his ledgers." Hummer admitted. "Generally, he focused on mundane office stuff today, the odd time that I checked. I'm afraid I just don't have the extra time to dedicate to this . . . especially in view of the fact that you'll have his data base tomorrow."
"Fair enough," Apollo nodded. "So, I guess that's it. We're ready to go."