The corridors of the Rising Star's chancery inner offices were strangely empty. Starbuck couldn't help but think that if Fausto had really been expecting them to make some kind of move during the party that his people would be swarming the area, keeping it secure. As it was, the lieutenant had detected a notable presence in the actual chancery, although Guidobaldo was still conspicuously absent. It was one thing to have a strong suspicion that the Colonial Warrior was out to nail his hide to the first transport heading to the Prison Barge, and quite another to actually know what Starbuck was up to, and that his efforts were all going to come to fruition this night after infiltrating the chancery head's office and computer system.
Or end up down the turbo flush.
Yeah, it just seemed a little too easy. He was at Fausto's office within less than a centon, and the appropriated ID card had him inside the private domain milli-centons later. He stood just inside the door, still as a rock, quietly assessing the room, trying to remember every break in he ever committed as a kid, and letting his eyes adjust to the relative darkness. The only light was that of a screen saver on Fausto's computer. The target.
He quietly closed the door, and skulked across the room, feeling a little ridiculous, since it was obviously empty. Circling around the desk and leaning over the keyboard, he knew he was now in the range of Hummer's transceiver, and he restrained himself from waving cheerfully. He stared at the gangster's screensaver a moment. Somehow, he would never have expected someone like Fausto to have images of wildflowers, animals, or his parents, on the saver. Assuming those two were his parents. Then again, they didn't look much like a long forgotten small time beauty queen and scum sucking career criminal. He probably just borrowed the likenesses from somewhere, preferring the respectable images over his actual parents'. Sounded like something an orphan would do. Oh well, we're all Human, Starbuck shrugged, hitting the keys. It immediately prompted him for the password.
It also began a ten micron countdown, and he fleetingly wondered if the system would self-destruct if he failed to enter the proper entry code in time. Or perhaps there was an alarm system he was unaware of rigged up to the chancery's security office. His respect for Fausto's security setup increased. Yeah, the crime boss was good, but Starbuck was better.
He hit the keys again, entering each letter in succession. V-e-r-e C-e-l-e-n. He entered the code with four microns to spare.
Leave it to a guy who ran a gambling chancery for a living to have his screen light up, and digital sounds like that of winning a jackpot to ring out across the room. . . keeping it in mind it was likely the least lucrative part of Fausto's income, most of his cubits coming from an array of other sidelines that would be revealed shortly when every file of the man's computer system exposing his wide array of criminal activities was transferred to the Galactica's main computer. It sounded deafening in the quiet office space and he winced involuntarily, before quickly looking over the main screen and accessing the messaging system.
Now the only sound he could hear was the tap tap tap as his fingers flitted across the keyboard and he sent his message to Corporal Komma. Not so much a message as just a trail to follow so Komma could send the PAP program straight back. Now Starbuck just had to receive it, open it, and the program would do the rest. If everything went smoothly, he'd be out of there in about five centons after deleting any trace of the transmission, and they could hand it all over to Colonial Security and the Chief Opposer's office. He looked over the office, the desk he sat behind situated at the back of the room, in full view of everything or anyone that might come through the door. The gunfighter's favorite position, he noted with an amused smile. He glanced at his chrono as he waited. Just over a centon. Not bad, Bucko. Not bad at all.
A beep indicated a message received. He nodded in satisfaction, recognizing Komma's predetermined code, 'Capstone'. He opened the message and sat back, knowing that though he couldn't detect that anything was happening for the moment, the program was now infiltrating the system. He checked the 'out' file and sure enough, file after file was already being forwarded to the massive main computer on the Galactica at blinding speed.
"Don't move."
The voice was low and the hair at the back of his neck stood up at the close proximity of the sound. The man was behind him. But how in Hades . . .?
The turbo flush.
The one place he hadn't considered. Someone lurking in the flusher. How the Hades Hole could he have overlooked something so obvious? He shook his head mutely as his hand moved slowly towards his blaster, beneath the camouflaging presence of his dress cape. The constipated criminal creeper. Just his luck.
"If I can't see both hands in a milli-centon, I'm going to blow the back of your fracking head off," the man informed him.
He had to be about thirty centimetrons away by the sound of his voice. Too far away for the warrior to attack. Also too far to see what was happening on screen.
"You do, and you won't have anything to tell your boss," replied Starbuck, trying to come up with a plan and simultaneously distract the man.
"Leave that to me!" rasped the other, with a hint of a laugh. "Hands over your head, or you ain't gonna have no head to put your hands over."
"I got to tell you, I still think it's a bad idea. So much you want to know. . . so little the incinerated head can tell you."
The other just shoved his weapon deeper into the warrior's skin, not appreciating his constructive criticism. Starbuck let out a breath, tediously raising his hands as directed, even though his heart was racing. His eyes were glued to the screen where the extraction process continued. He wasn't sure if this man would be aware of what was happening as files were copied and immediately extricated. He tapped a couple keys quickly, exiting that screen as his right hand passed the keyboard on the way up.
The blaster dug into the base of his skull. "What did you do?" The voice angry and accusative.
"Nothin'" Starbuck murmured, hands all the way up in surrender now, but head turning slightly to try and catch a glimpse of just who the aggressor was. He caught a hint of a reflection in the polished desk-top, but it was too dark to see . . .
"No, you don't!"
With that declaration, the back of Starbuck's head did explode. A faint groan escaped his lips as his world faded to blackness.
----------
"Where did he come from?" Boomer murmured as he listened to the exchange. He spoke into his communicator. "Apollo?"
"I hear you. He didn't pass by here, Boomer. He had to be in there already." The captain's voice assured him from his position. Between the two of them, they had both entrances covered to the inner offices and Apollo had the office in view.
"What's the word from Komma? Is it done?" Best case scenario; the download would be completed before they moved in. Too much depended on the information getting received for them to bust down doors and potentially destroy the information source. Starbuck would do all he could to ensure the information conduit was secured, even at his own expense.
"One centon."
One centon was too much time. Boomer heard the brief groan pass Starbuck's lips before that damned distortion hit the line again. If this guy had a blaster on Starbuck, ten to one that his friend had just been clobbered with it. Hades, after all the warrior had been through recently, how much more could his friend take? He started walking towards Fausto's office. "Apollo!" he pressed his communicator again.
"Just heard from Komma. Transfer is complete." Apollo returned. "Moving in now. I'll see you there."
----------
Dayton wasn't sure just what it was that drew his eye to the Councilman at that moment, but for some reason he looked up from giving Cassiopeia her first private lesson at Texas Hold 'Em. Dracus was listening attentively to one of his aides off to the side. Dayton recognized the withered old man from the Council meeting he had attended.
Dracus' eyes then searched the room, settling on Fausto for a long moment. His look was one of pure hatred, the proverbial if looks could kill. Then, after a long moment, he scanned the room again. Dayton smiled down at the lovely Cassiopeia, feeling that penetrating gaze brush over him like some kind of radar, keeping an eye on him and his men . . . and constantly checking for some sign of the disappearing Lieutenant Starbuck.
Dracus had approached him personally, asking if Starbuck would be returning. The politician had seemed most insistent that Colonial Warrior was being irresponsible about abandoning his 'post' in favour of his betrothed who had been stricken with some inexplicable malady. Actually, Dracus had seemed irrationally agitated about the situation, and Dayton had decided there and then that the Councilman bore watching. And so he watched and waited, feigning a patience he didn't feel as the minutes passed by, while within Fausto's private office the plan unfolded. He glanced at his chrono wondering how it was going.
"Commander Dayton. Cassiopeia."
Dayton blinked. He had to look twice to see beyond the formal blue gown that accented her eyes, the carefully coiffed hair, the subtle but effective makeup that transformed the older woman into a regal vision of elegance.
"Ama?" he asked.
"Well, of course, dear heart." Ama returned with a demure smile, her gapped teeth concealed beneath delicately coloured lips.
"You look . . . "
"Different?" Ama asked, a fine brow arched in mockery. "Surely you can do better than that, Commander?"
"Enchanting." Dayton substituted smoothly. "Quite enchanting."
Ama chuckled. "I haven't been told that for a very long time. Longer than I care to remember." Her eyes sparkled, lighting up her features with a vitality that she always seemed to embody, no matter her costume. She looked around the room. "A shame there's no one here to . . . ah!"
Dayton followed her gaze to Chameleon. "Starbuck's old man? You have designs on him, Ama?"
"Ama!" Cassiopeia interjected, a wide smile of surprise on her face. She muffled a giggle. Finally, a woman who could keep the con man in line. Oh, she hoped she would be around to see this play out!
"I admit to finding the man . . . intriguing." It wasn't really surprising. She was always drawn to the son . . . but while she appreciated Starbuck's youthful exuberance and good looks, he was more like a son to her than anything else. But the father . . . A finely polished variation on the son, with an added twist of larceny. What questionably respectable Empyrean Necromancer could possibly resist him?
Chameleon turned at that point to find the enchanting woman studying him. Her gaze swept over him, finally meeting his eyes with a frankness that was both disturbing and refreshing. There was a warmth about her that had him crossing the room, drawing him like a moth to a flame. Careful, old man, this one might singe your wings. Who was she?
"Chameleon, how nice to see you again." Ama remarked as the father faltered, obviously not recognizing her from the Life Station.
"I'm terribly sorry. It seems you have me at a . . . disadvantage." Chameleon inserted smoothly, automatically taking the hand that was held out to him. He raised it to his lips, brushing the back of her hand with a kiss.
"Chameleon, surely you remember meeting Ama." Cassiopeia reminded him. "Remember? In the Life Station."
"Ama?" His memory of the woman was drastically different than the lovely creature before him now, who was regarding him with a mixture of amusement and appreciation. Then again, Siress Blassie in the morning before two cups of java and the careful application of full facial armour was also a jolt to the geriatric system. Like electric shock therapy actually. "Of course, Cassiopeia," he replied, in his best 'charming the dealer' voice. "My dear lady," he said, turning to the other, "I find myself wondering who the true Ama really is. The vision of loveliness before me now, or the unrestrained maternal spirit of confidence and goodwill and that I first met in the Life Station."
"Surely by now, you've come to realize that a woman of my . . . experience, is like a fine ambrosa. At first glance, you may think you know what to expect, but once you taste my finer qualities, you will be not only surprised, but appreciative of the refined characteristics that come with maturity." Ama purred.
Chameleon smiled, nodding in consideration. "But alas, ambrosa has a habit of sneaking up on a man, often making a fool of him."
Ama sniffed, "You're thinking of that cheap swill that they make one yahren and serve the next. A fine libation doesn't make a fool of a man . . . truth be known, the man can usually do that for himself." Ama squeezed Chameleon's hand, her eyes twinkling in merriment.
"Ah, but too much of a good thing is often detrimental as well." Chameleon returned with a laugh, reluctant to let go of her hand.
"I agree, Chameleon." Ama sighed, a touch theatrically. "At this point in life, it is often more about randomly tasting and appreciating what life has to offer, than trying to hold on to it, or keep it to ourselves."
"You are a rare woman, Ama." Chameleon murmured speculatively.
"I know my own mind, if that's what you mean." Ama shrugged. "I'm too far along to change my ways, or to expect anyone of my generation to do the same."
"I think I should be afraid." Chameleon suggested.
"Very afraid." Ama agreed with a grin, displaying the gapped tooth smile that was hers alone. She winked at him. "But fear can also have a peculiar way of buoying the spirits. It can be both exhilarating and debilitating, depending on the individual."
"And the situation." Chameleon nodded, looking to the gaming tables.
"Precisely."
"Oh?" Chameleon looked at her with renewed interest. "Are you a gambler, Ama?"
"I've been a gambler my entire life, Chameleon. But, I admit, most Colonial card games are a bit of a mystery to me . . . and certainly Earth games." She spared a brief look at Dayton.
"I would consider it an honour if you would permit me to . . . introduce you to some of the finer aspects of the game." Chameleon waved a hand towards the poker tables. "Its subtleties are most . . . intriguing, dear lady."
"Then by all means . . ." she took the arm he offered and accompanied him towards the gaming tables. Her favourite game was life, and she suspected it was about to get more interesting now that Chameleon had entered hers.
As they watched the gaming action and Chameleon explained the rules, she couldn't help but notice that Commander Dayton was continuing to keep an eye on Fausto and Sire Dracus. Having come close enough to envelop herself in the aura of each man, the thought was somewhat comforting. She watched as Dayton left Cassiopeia's side, taking a moment to speak with a couple of his men.
Then, as if on cue, Fausto, who had been conferring with one of his men, left the room in the direction of his office. Abruptly, Dracus departed in the opposite direction, also heading for an exit, but that to the rest of the ship. Ama nodded in satisfaction as the Commander followed the Councilman, while Ryan and Baker turned to trail Fausto. Dayton briefly looked back in her and Chameleon's direction. He paused hesitantly.
"Chameleon, I hate to postpone our frivolities, but I believe Commander Dayton needs you." Ama nodded towards the Earthman.
"If you'll excuse me, Ama," Chameleon squeezed her hand and crossed the room, joining the Earthman. They left together.
The instantaneous reaction on the conman's part made Ama realize that despite his steady ramblings about poker, that he had been watching too. And waiting.
----------
Boomer picked up the pace as he raced around the corner to Fausto's office to see Apollo already there, and kicking the door in. He caught up with the captain, weapon drawn, and they hugged the doorjambs for a brief instant before Apollo pivoted into the room, his weapon fanning the area. Boomer followed a split micron later.
"Where the frack are they?" the captain asked, on the move again as he crossed quickly to the open turbo flush door, glancing back at Boomer momentarily to establish he had cover. Again, looking inside.
Again, the room was empty.
"They're on the move." Boomer yelled, looking at his tracer and hearing the steady beep of Starbuck's transceiver.
"How did they get past us?" Apollo asked, looking over his shoulder before glancing at his tracer. He followed the signal, trying to pinpoint it.
"They're below us . . . " Boomer joined him. "And still going down."
"A lift? But . . . how did they get there? I had a clear view of the corridor the whole time. I didn't see anyone leave."
"Captain!"
The sharp voice of Technician Hummer from his communicator startled Apollo as he pulled it off his belt. "Go ahead, Hummer."
"The transceiver in Dayton's coin didn't get it all, but wherever Guidobaldo appeared from—behind the desk, incidentally—he dragged Starbuck back in there, after knocking him out by the looks of it, sir." The technician reported from the Galactica's Science Lab.
"Knocked him out? How? Did he shoot him, Hummer?"
"No, Captain. He hit the lieutenant on the head, with a gun-butt I think. Pretty damn hard from what I could see. Then he carried him into the back room, out of range of the holo-scanner."
"I have them approximately three decks down and sitting still now," Boomer added.
"A trap door?" Apollo muttered, entering the turbo flush and beginning to knock on walls, listening for changes in tone. Guidobaldo? The mere thought that the killer had an unconscious Starbuck at his mercy made the Strike Captain's stomach churn.
And his temper rise.
"An escape route." Boomer inserted, joining his friend in the executive sized turbo flush. He shook his head at the polished wood paneling, full turbo wash, auric and crystal fixtures, and art work on the walls. It was almost half the size of Fausto's office. . . with lots of reading material available. "Makes a lot of sense for a crime boss actually."
The dull thud of a hollow wall, directly behind the jet-tub, stopped Apollo short. "But how . . .?" He looked for a trigger of some sort to open it. The wall was covered with shelves and garish 'art', much of it dragons. Where in Hades Hole was the trigger mechanism?
"How about this?" Boomer asked, holding up his blaster.
Apollo hastily stood back nodding.
One blast and the escape route was revealed with a thud, as chunks of wall fell outwards onto the floor. Apollo quickly pulled back stray pieces of paneling obstructing their way, then entered a short tunnel, Boomer on his heels. Within microns they were looking in wonder at carefully constructed scaffolding revealing ladderwells and passageways going in all directions. He'd have to pull the plans for the ship and study them for God knew how long before he'd have a clue as to what went where. A labyrinth of internal passageways leading to unknown places. A small turbo lift was conspicuous by its absence, an old-fashioned gate blocking the way to the shaft. He tried to get a glimpse down the shaft, searching for a sign of Starbuck. Nothing. He looked down at his tracer once again. "Frack!"
"What?"
"We've lost the signal! Move!" Rapidly they began the descent down ladders and across scaffolding, alarmingly aware that the sound of Colonial boots on metal was like a klaxon sounding, warning Guidobaldo of their presence . . . and imminent arrival.
However, they had no choice.
----------
"Now what?" Dayton asked as he and Chameleon approached the elevator that Sire Dracus had just disappeared into.
Chameleon pointed at the levels lighting up in descending order.
"Great, but by the time we catch the . . . uh, turbo lift down there, he could be long gone and the trail stone-cold," Dayton groused. "He ain't gonna be leaving bread crumbs."
Chameleon hit the lift button. "I don't think it will matter, Commander. Of course, I could be wrong . . ."
"Sorry?" Dayton replied watching the light stop on Delta Deck.
"Luxury class quarters are on Delta Deck," Chameleon told the other. "Whatever Dracus is up to—and it must be important for him to leave the Journey to Earth party that he's partially responsible for as Council Liaison—I suspect he's returning to his own quarters to deal with it."
"He's been behaving strangely ever since Starbuck left the party with Luana," Dayton commented, watching Chameleon nod his agreement.
"I noticed as well. He looks more nervous than Fausto actually. In your Earth slang, something big's going down."
It was true. Fausto had circulated through the party, acting as co-host to Aquila, and trying his hand at Texas Hold 'Em as though he hadn't a care in the universe. Meanwhile, Dracus grew more and more anxious, checking his chrono and setting himself apart from the festivities as he appeared to monitor the situation.
"His quarters are on Delta Deck?" Dayton confirmed.
"Yes, and his quarters are as good a place to start as any. In fact, his ID card seems to have miraculously found its way into my pocket . . ." he smiled at the other, holding up the Councilman's identification. "I really should make it a priority to return it."
Dayton chuckled, slapping the conman on the shoulder. "Damn, Chameleon, I'm glad we're on the same side." The elevator door slid open. "I'd hate to run into you on a Friday back home."
"Friday?"
"Our pay day. Okay. Let's go."
----------
The first thing Starbuck detected as he rose through the murky warmth of oblivion to find his way back to consciousness, was the thudding in the back of his skull. That, and an abrupt change of position as he seemed to miraculously flip over in the air before roughly hitting the deck. He couldn't see a fracking thing, and became aware of a blindfold and gag firmly in place.
Then hands were frisking him roughly—big, meaty hands—searching his body for any potential transceiver. He gagged as his cape and dress medallion were ripped from his neck from behind, acting like a instantaneous tourniquet before they broke free. He tried to fight, but his hands were already secured behind him. It didn't stop him landing a sharp knee to his assailant's head though. At least he thought it was his head.
Pain exploded in his chest as someone delivered a sharp kick to his ribs, knocking the breath out of him. He defensively rolled the other way, but was jerked back into position, a body settling across his thighs, keeping his legs immobile. Vaguely, he realized that the cold, hard surface briefly below his cheek wasn't the plush carpeting of Fausto's office. Where the frack . . .? Another rip, as his tunic was pulled open and hands were once again searching him. He abruptly lurched upwards, trying to head butt his assailant and stop the assault, but an answering blow to his jaw slammed him back down, the back of his skull impacting with the deck. He lay there stunned for a centon, watching stars go supernova.
"He must be wired." The voice familiar, coming from above him.
"The scanner isn't picking up anything either." The man who had discovered him. "All clear."
"He has to be wired. There is no way he'd pull something like this without a link to someone else." Insistent.
"I can't find anything. Nothing. Zip."
"Then look again! You shouldn't have even brought him here until you were absolutely certain he was clean!"
The hands were everywhere and he couldn't do a damn thing about it! It appeared to be the one blatant fault with Hummer's technology. Who'd of thought? Next time he was definitely opting out of the implantable transceiver option, despite the fact that it was likely buying him time, delaying whatever they had in store for him. He'd much rather they just found the gollmonging thing than have to undergo this! Frankly, things were getting a bit too personal as they flipped him over, a knee pressed into the small of his back, searching seams, pockets and even his boots. They began combing through his hair, their fingers coming close—too frackin' close—to the actual transceiver. They continued going over every centimetron of him more slowly this time, more thoroughly. Too frackin' thoroughly. Starbuck struggled futilely, his head spinning as he tried to suck in air through the wad of whatever was jammed in his mouth, the gag holding it securely in place. He heard a brief laugh as he sputtered ineffectively. Sagan, he'd better be getting danger pay for this!
Where in Hades hole were Apollo and Boomer?