CHAPTER ONE
Leonis Wine

Colonial One
On approach toward Jupiter
Four months earlier

They did it. They actually frakking did it.

William Adama watched a giant gas planet grow steadily larger through a window of the Colonial One conference room, a small glass of Leonis wine in one hand and a data printout in the other. The entire fleet was celebrating, and they had every right to: the clues encountered in their long, difficult journey matched the observations made by the scout Raptor that had performed a survey of the system a few days earlier. Eight planets. A yellow star. A massive disk of rocky objects around the outside of the system, along with a similar, but smaller one in the interior, between the smaller terrestrial planets and larger gaseous ones. A blue-green planet with a single moon, the third one in the system, whose initial spectral analysis indicated the capability to supporting life.

Earth.

Home.

The planet outside, nearly big enough to be a star itself, was entirely covered in bands of clouds that were various shades of brown, with one giant red storm in its southern hemisphere breaking the pattern. Four large satellites and numerous smaller ones were in orbit around it, and in the distance, the system's star twinkled like a beacon to guide them to their new home. And somewhere, somewhere in between here and that star, was the place where their long journey would finally come to an end.

"Admiral?"

Tom Zarek's voice brought Adama's mind back to the moment. A half-turn brought the stoic admiral face-to-face with the smiling vice-president, and Zarek clasped him on the shoulder. "Come on, Admiral," the politician continued. "Enjoy yourself for five minutes. You've earned it."

In as civil a manner as he could muster in Zarek's presence, the gravelly-voiced admiral replied, "There's still a lot of work that needs to be done." Indicating the papers in his hand, he said, "I'll need to speak to the president-"

"In due time," Zarek interrupted.

Taking a discreet, but firm hold on Adama's forearm, the vice-president steered the fleet's military leader across the narrow room to the other key members of the Colonial government. President Laura Roslin, their eloquent head of state, greeted the two men with a polite smile and raised her own glass. "Gentlemen."

"Madam President," Adama said.

Roslin's gaze shifted to directly meet Adama's, and her smile widened. He found himself returning the nod to the deeper connection they shared. For a moment, he even forgot Zarek. What a long way the two of them had come. If someone had come up to him before the destruction of the colonies and told him this woman was going to be his best friend and closest confidant, he would have laughed in their face. Now, though, the joke was on him, because just the thought of going a day without Laura Roslin made him ache, especially with all the suffering that led up to this point. She was his hope, and he was her strength; together, they formed the heart and soul of what remained of humanity.

"I was just trying to remind the admiral that it's all right to sit back and relax, but he seems incapable of separating business and pleasure," said Zarek, drawing the attention of the other two back to himself. "Maybe he'll listen to you, Laura."

"Thank you, Tom," Roslin returned, her eyes never leaving Adama. "Admiral, I was thinking of getting more wine; would you care to join me?"

"Absolutely."

He offered his arm; she accepted, and together, they walked to a long table at the far end of the room, at one end of which stood a bucket of ice containing a bottle of vintage Leonis. Such a high-quality wine was a rare commodity. It was Tom Zarek who ultimately procured it, though he would not disclose the means; when questioned, he mentioned something about "friends in low places" and changed the subject. Though his efforts may have been off the record, they certainly did not go unappreciated. The Quorum delegates and the select others making up this party of Colonial leaders were not wine connoisseurs by any means, but it was the drink in and of itself that made it matter.

The wine was not there to quench their thirst, but to remind them of the way of life they were trying so hard to preserve. It represented comfort, familiarity, and other such luxuries that were often lost to those facing war and hardship. The distinct tang, silky flow, and smooth, full-bodied scent of richness that came from the drink did not make them forget what had been lost, but it did make those whose taste buds it was now entertaining remember to give thanks for what still remained.

Roslin uncorked the bottle and tipped a small amount of its contents into her glass. A pool of gold appeared at the bottom. This particular wine was noted for its unique golden color; there were whiskeys, beers, and other amber liquids out there that came close, but this wine was as gold as the ring Bill Adama still wore on his left hand a quarter-century after his divorce. Vintage Leonis had another name, one that was certainly believable to any who saw and tasted it: nectar of the gods.

The president held the bottle out to the admiral in an unspoken gesture of offering; he declined with a slight shake of his head, and she returned it to its resting place among the ice. "We had a bottle of this at Richard Adar's inauguration," Roslin reminisced, tilting the glass upward and allowing the liquid to barely touch her lips. A little bit of Leonis went a long way. "I never thought I'd see another occasion where it seemed appropriate."

"I think the celebration is a bit premature," Adama said, casting a look in the direction of Tom Zarek.

Roslin smirked. "I didn't say this was that occasion, but I still wouldn't turn down this wine." With her free hand, she tapped the papers he'd been holding since he arrived. "Are those the charts you mentioned earlier?"

"What, these?" he asked, and gave the papers a rustle. "No, it's fan mail."

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Adama permitted himself to grin at the joke. Roslin chuckled through her smile and took his arm. "What can you tell me about the planet?" she asked as they walked to the other end of the table.

Adama was pleased to see the president seemed about as interested in heralding the discovery with frivolity as he was. "We'll need to do another recon mission or two before we attempt to move the fleet in, but Athena's first run was promising," he said, and set the papers down on the table.

"And people? Is it populated?"

"Very much so." He pushed the top paper aside, and pointed to some figures near the middle of the second sheet. "They appear to be an advanced, industrialized society; not quite on the level of, say, Caprica or Virgon, but probably comparable to Tauron. The population is nonuniformly distributed over the land, with the largest concentrations near the oceans."

"When are you sending the next Raptor?"

"First thing in the morning. The team on Galactica is working out a trajectory. The main objective is to find a place where we can make contact."

Adama tipped a few more drops of wine into his mouth and allowed the flavor to settle. Proper occasion or not, Laura was right; vintage Leonis was not something to be refused.

The president nodded in approval; that objective preceded all others. She hoped they would be able to communicate with them. There was no telling how the Earth humans would react when the Colonial fleet jumped into orbit. Hopefully, time had not made them forget their true origins, and they would welcome their brothers and sisters from Kobol with open arms. Now that one war was over, the last thing Laura Roslin wanted was another.

"I wonder if they'll have anything like this," Roslin wondered aloud, examining the contents of her glass.

"Right now I'd settle for a cup of coffee that doesn't taste like it was processed in the tylium refinery."

She chuckled. "So say we all."

The president allowed herself another taste of Leonis, and studied the admiral while savoring the godly nectar. She could hardly believe this was the same gruff, no-nonsense man she'd bumped heads with at what was supposed to be Galactica's decommissioning ceremony all those years ago. Laura Roslin's intentions that day were to do the job that had been asked of her and then get back to the bigger fish she had to fry on Caprica, without giving a second thought to the man called William Adama for the rest of her days. How quickly the end of the world brought about change. She could never have done her job without him, and she dreaded the idea of going their separate ways when all of this was said and done. That was something that could be dealt with later, though; for now, as he would say, they had a mission to complete.

"When do you think the data from tomorrow's run can be analyzed?" Roslin asked, getting back to business.

"It should be fully assessed by tomorrow evening," Adama said. "I'll keep you posted."

"When it's finished, I'd like it to be brought before the Quorum, so we can discuss a plan of action," said Roslin. "You and Major Agathon should probably attend as well. Should I put you on the agenda for the day after tomorrow?"

"I'll let Helo know. He's asked to go along on the recon. I think I'll let him."

"Good. It would be good to have someone with a first-hand account present, while still keeping the meeting as small as possible." Roslin took a step closer to the admiral, and said in a slightly softer tone, "We need to move this along quickly. The people are restless, and it's going to take at least a week to get some sort of system in place. I know you're the last person I would ever need to emphasize this point with, but the thing is, I – we – this government needs you, Bill, just as much now as when we were at war. That won't end when this fleet lands. We have to maintain order, and you are a pillar of that order."

"Don't worry, Laura, I'm not going anywhere," he assured her, "except maybe back to my ship for some rack time. Something tells me we won't be getting much of that for a while."

Roslin had a feeling that she, too, would be desiring coffee that didn't taste like tylium over Leonis wine as the next few days played out. The diloxin had successfully beaten her cancer into remission, but the battleground of her body was left severely weakened. She was prone to exhaustion, and was expecting the time leading up to settling on Earth to take its toll on her. Whatever sleep they did get was bound to be fitful. The ends would justify whatever physical discomfort they had to endure in order to get their people to a place they could call home.

"Regardless..." She let her voice wander, and glanced around the room. Tom Zarek was the only thing on which her eyes rested for more than a heartbeat. Giving her attention back to Adama, she smiled and raised her glass. "The war is over, and Earth is literally on the horizon. The hard part is behind us, Bill."

"I hope you're right, Laura. Who knows what we'll find down there." He raised his glass as well, and touched it to hers. "But it won't be anything we can't handle, with you leading the way."

In unison, they emptied the golden liquid from their glasses in a toast to their fleet, their new home, and to each other.


NASA Headquarters
Washington, DC

The man called Dinakar Tempas had a place in history carved by hard work and a brilliant mind. While these traits aided his ascent to the enviable position of administrator of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, Tempas was first and foremost a scientist: driven by curiosity and a passion for knowledge, the foundation of the scientific body he led. And, as a scientist, he was both intrigued and terrified by the images with the facsimile Classified stamp sitting before him. He'd spent an hour looking at them before coming in here to make this call. He knew it was something big as soon as he'd received them; his colleagues at the Ames Research Center knew how valuable his time was, and would not waste it with something they believed to be a hoax.

There could be no doubt of the authenticity of the photos. It had come from one of their own probes; the Palenque, which was in orbit around Jupiter and studying the Galilean moons, looking for signs of water. What they found instead carried far heavier consequences for humanity. Its controllers turned it in another direction a few hours earlier when a strange object had appeared in the corner of an image of Ganymede, and then proceeded to take the remainder of the images Ames' director had sent to Tempas an hour earlier. He trusted the director, but had not been able to believe his story until the images had printed from his fax machine, and he was staring at them clear as day.

Tempas picked up the phone. "This is Dinakar Tempas. Get me the President." He took another, long look at the photos, in particular at a large, menacing-looking craft. He could only describe it as a cross between a submarine and an aircraft carrier. He rolled his eyes in self-mockery; even in his head, it sounded stupid. Regardless, there was no telling what this discovery could mean, other than completely altering the course of humanity.

Clearing his throat, Tempas added, "And the Secretary of Defense."