See disclaimers and Notes in Part One.

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA

THE LONG ROAD HOME

Book II: The Summit of Pisgah

The following takes place concurrently with the events in Book I

Commander's Quarters

Five Hours and Twenty Minutes since Contact

The hours that followed that first conference crawled past for Tigh.

He'd been more than happy to parcel off Rice and Starbuck onto Helo while Rice's men worked with Ishnay collecting blood samples from the crew. He'd left Kelly on as the Officer of the Watch and tasked Athena to chase down a radiation leak that was just starting to register. Busy work all of it, something to keep their minds occupied while he figured out their next move.

So he retreated to his cabin, intent upon doing exactly that. As soon as the hatch clicked close behind him, the Commander moved to his Spartan desk and pulled out a bottle of the Chief's 'special brew'. It had been a private gift from Tyrol to mark his promotion to Commander, kind of a hollow joke between the two of them. He'd been dry as a Picon desert since the Nebula and that godsbedamned music, limiting his intake strictly to coffee and water.

Tigh quickly opened the bottle and poured a single shot, but made no move to pick it up. He instead stared at it for hours on end, still as a statue. One could be forgiven thinking he was in some meditative trance. Or simply asleep.

The plain truth of it all was he, Saul Tigh, was scared out of his wits. So much so, he was quite literally paralyzed by the enormity of the situation now confronting him.

If it had simply been Starbuck returning from the dead, it was likely he could have dealt with that. That would have been a situation he could actually understand and deal with.

However, she hadn't just returned from the dead alone, had she? What in the names of the Twelve Lords was he supposed to do now? Tigh found himself, perhaps uncharitably, hoping that Rice's men would find something dangerous in his people's blood that would force them to forgo full contact.

Tigh stared at the shot of liquor before him. He knew, as surely as he would never again summon the courage to pick up that glass, that Rice's people wouldn't find anything that would lead to such a decision. He had no idea how he knew such a thing to begin with. The certainty of it all was there all the same.

So where did that leave him and his people? To frak with that. Where did that leave Starbuck?

Tigh dearly wished he could just call the Old Man over the wireless and inform him of...everything. He'd happily hand the whole mess off to Adama right now, save for that tiny smidgen of doubt that seemed to creep into his every thought these days. What if, that damned voice whispered, What if that's what you've been programmed to do, you miserable frak-up drunk of a toaster?

Only the fact they hadn't encountered any Cylons in nearly a year since first coming across the Nemesis, only that small fact had kept him from loading an explosive round into his sidearm and putting it to his neck. If not for the fact Apollo was, once again, on the outs with his father...well, whatever else he might be, Saul Tigh was not about to abandon his oldest friend. At least not before he was damned good and certain his leaving wouldn't put Bill Adama in too rough a spot.

If however what Tigh was starting to suspect was true, soon it might become a moot issue. Which also meant he'd have to put his metaphorical cubits where his damned mouth was and...

The wall-phone chimed softly. Tigh didn't hesitate in standing and answering it. "Yeah?"

It was Helo. "Sir? Lieutenant Ishnay says we should meet him and the Terrans in Life Station ASAP."

"He say what for?"

"Just that it was urgent all senior officers, Colonial and Terran, be present."

"You still with the Terran Admiral and Starbuck?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Very well. Get them there. Athena and I will meet you there. Tigh clear." He cut the connection, and then dialed up the CIC. "Kelly, pass the word that Captain Agathon is to meet me… and our visitors in Life Station ASAP." He hung up the phone. As straightened his uniform jacket, his single eye wasdrawn back toward his desk...and the shot glass.

Tigh picked it up and carried it to his small head, where he promptly poured it down drain. He regretted the decision a moment later as he caught sight of his reflection; he should have put that poison to good use and just thrown it at the mirror instead.

He marched out of quarters after that and resolved not to make the same mistake twice.

The aide's healing and resurrection was, amazingly, not immediately noticed. It was clear to all at the time that she was gone, and there was no telling if more Sadeim were going to attempt another assassination. In such a cauldron of suspicion and panic, who in their right mind worried over a bloody corpse?

Yet rise she did, as much to her own surprise as any others (had they been present). She was quick to exit the morgue and sneak her way into the arms of her fellow and occasional lover. He greeted with equal parts horror and surprise, then quickly and wordlessly spirited her off to a supply closet somewhere in the bowels of the Battlestar. Once they were hidden from easy sight, he pulled her into his arms and did not seem even remotely inclined to ever let her go.

In time they did separate, and the full danger facing them came crashing upon them both. A human could not have survived the wounds inflicted upon her, never mind healed so quickly. Was this what separated the four of them from their supposed brethren? Was this meant to be a blessing, or a final curse?

When they did part, it was with the firm understanding she remain hidden until he could bring the others up to speed with this newest development. She swore before Athena and Artemis she would, the vow almost comical in the face of the blasphemy that was their existence.

It was days before matters calmed enough where he could communicate with the others. During that time, he had managed to sneak small rations to his lover, who complained neither of her confinement nor of hunger. Unsurprisingly, her only concern was the safety of the President and the Fleet. He offered what assurances he could, which were meager in the extreme.

A full week passed. Paranoia slowly ebbed to suspicion and caution. Finally, the athlete-turned-soldier felt he could risk approaching the others with his news. He had passed subtle messages to the two to meet him at a late hour under the cover of ordinary work.

However, The Four Fates, if indeed it was their work, saw fit to intervene on that same day. An unfortunate and unnoticed aftermath of the Sadeim's attack had been that some more routine and commonsense maintenance had been temporarily forgotten. Among them, ensuring certain heavy chemical cleaners were properly secured.

There was no one

Life Station, Basestar Nemesis

Five Hours and twenty-five minutes since contact

Two things hit Tigh as he stared into the display screen the Terrans directed everyone's attention to. First was that he didn't feel his normal sense of revulsion at stepping into Life Station; it was only natural given what happened shortly after the Sadeim Nomen's attempt on Roslin's life. He had actually gone to great lengths to keep physical examinations to a minimum.

The second and far more worrisome one was the Terran's alphabet. The more he saw of it the more it became understandable to him. He felt chills as he unconsciously began to organize the strangely shaped symbols into logic chains and begin seeking similarities with his own language; all of this happening entirely independently of his conscious control.

Aloud he said "Please tell me my people are in danger from...all that." The sheer number of red notations across the screen, which he intuitively concluded were names of diseases or viruses or gods-knew-what. Silently he prayed to those same gods that it was precisely as he said and, however reluctantly, the Fleet would have to bypass this system entirely.

He could feel himself choke as Terran operating the scanner explained quite the opposite was the case. Fortunately, everyone's attention was so focused upon the machinery itself that they failed to notice how close Tigh was to outright fainting from the news. "What? How?"

"Got me there, Sir," the Terran Marine shrugged. "Every sample I've run shows them coming up negative against everything from the common cold to Marburg Influenza. Hell, even Mannheim-Tariq Strains B and D are projected at a zero-point-five percent rate of infection."

This didn't mean a thing to Tigh or his officers, although the Terrans were apparently impressed going by their murmurs at this news. Tigh gritted his teeth and tried a different track. "How about the other way around? Are you in any danger from us?"

The Terran shrugged again. "I'm finding nothing unidentifiable or even vaguely threatening besides a vague analogous to Chicken Pox It looks so weak a couple of aspirin could probably lick it."

"Chick-ken Poch?" Tigh tried out the unfamiliar words, unable to help the sour look that resulted.

He turned to Starbuck for a proper translation. "Coryn's Fever, Commander. He doesn't find anything more serious than that." Tigh could only stare at his former subordinate and career-headache, wondering if she wasn't making a joke. Going by her tense stance, it wasn't, which led the Commander to turn to his CMO for confirmation.

"But, uh, what they're saying does make sense," Ishnay was saying, prompting to Tigh to demand he elaborate. "Sir, when was the last time we had an actual health crisis in the Fleet?"

Tigh felt himself go faint again as the possibilities played themselves out in his mind like a Viper at full throttle and all safeties off-line. Ever since Tyrol had found the Eye of Jupiter and they had gone on an all-algae diet, actual sickness and malnutrition had virtually disappeared from their daily lives. The occasional outbreak of feversweats or other small ailments had occurred, but often were so isolated and quickly done with they barely registered any longer. Even the Sagittarians appeared as healthy as the rest of them, and they still refused modern medications.

So many things suddenly seemed to fall into place with this news it left Tigh feeling almost dizzy. A crazy laugh threatened to bubble up at all these sudden insights. It was nearly too much to take in.

Tigh needed only think of finding Tory and Anders in their holding cell nineteen months ago and all laughter left him. He refocused just in time to see Starbuck and the Terrans in yet another huddle, speaking in their strange dialect between themselves. Far from being annoyed this time, Tigh it and strained to make out their words. To his relief, he still couldn't make heads or tails of it; at least no consciously. Lords knew what his preprogrammed subconscious was making of what little he could hear.

The Admiral turned back to face him directly and, to Tigh's well-concealed if fast-mounting panic, began to undo the seals of his biohazard suit he wore. The Colonial Officer that was Saul Tigh watched him do so dispassionately, while Saul Tigh the Cylon-loathing man beneath the Officer wanted to scream Stop! Don't do this! You can't trust me! You can't trust us! You can't invite us in or your people will die!

Admiral Rice did not pause his movements, and began removing his visored hood even as Tigh continued to silently implore him Be monsters, I beg you. Be so hideous we'll want nothing to do with you! Make us scream and fear you! It's the only way your people will survive!

Commander Saul Tigh forced himself to remain perfectly still as he gazed upon the dark, sweat-soaked human face of Admiral Theodore Rice, not entirely listening to him as he spoke some official sounding greeting. It took him a few more seconds to realize Rice had extended his hand forward. Instinct took over from there.

He leaned over and grasped it firmly as he dared. All he could coherently choke out was "Before we continue…"

"Yes?"

"May I offer you the use of our showers?" He was equal parts relieved and dismayed at the audible chuckles that followed this. "No, Sir," he continued seriously. "I'm quite serious here."

The Admiral cast a look back to his men and then over to Starbuck, herself pulling free of her own suit now. None of them looked especially presentable under the circumstances. "I think we'll take you up on that offer, Commander." Tigh managed, barely, not to flinch at how alike this stranger was to Bill Adama in both voice and manner. It perversely proved both reassuring and frightening.

Fortunately, the next hour afforded the Commander little time to dwell upon his personal discomfort or demons. Instead, he was hissing out orders and subtly directing Athena to segregate Starbuck from the others, both of them coming out of the chemical shower looking none the worse for wear for it. After that, he sat tensely as they listened to Ishnay assuring them all thatThrace was indeed the Kara Thrace, topping it all off with Starbuck herself vehemently denying she appeared to Apollo in the Nebula.

None of this was a surprise, although he couldn't for the life of him explain why he believed her from the first. He didn't dare voice such thoughts and instead spat, "And we're just supposed to take your word on this, Colonel?"

The next thing he knew, Tigh was looking at Starbuck's sidearm as it slid across the table toward him. "There's a live round in that," she stated by way of explanation. "If my word is so worthless to you, one of you go ahead, pick that weapon up, and shoot me."

Tigh paled at the memories the words invoked. Athena somehow stuttered a confused "What's…?"

Thrace cut off all protest by slamming both fists into the table top, knuckles first. The result was a dull 'thud' that nevertheless cut through the room like a cannon. "I said shoot, not talk." Her next words were addressed directly to the Commander. "Wus' the matter? No guts? Don't got a pair?" She leaned forward, both fists planted on the table, nostrils flaring.

Ishnay looked like he wanted to quit the room entirely and Athena actually began looking uncomfortable at the mood of the room. Tigh simply stared at the gun before him, face as blank as a professional card sharp, his whole attention focused upon divining the workings of the gun now sitting before him.

The Admiral muttered something unintelligible to Major Taylor, who carefully placed both his hands on the table before him.

"You're a frakkin' coward," Starbuck was stating, as loudly and clearly as if she were reciting a poem. "I've got enough things to...to worry over without some one-eyed drunk thinking he can sit in judgment over me, questioning my frakkin' word."

Tigh wasn't actually listening to this short tirade. He instead decided to put a small theory to the test. He stood and picked up the weapon. He made no other move for several long beats as he weighed it in one hand.

"Well?" Starbuck prompted.

The Commander waited another moment, all the while careful not to point the muzzle directly towards anyone present and finger well away from the trigger. Tightening his grip, he then pulled the slide back and ejected the round from the chamber and, with a flick of his thumb, successfully ejected the magazine. The entire room seemed breath a collective sigh as the plastic casing clattered noisily onto the tabletop. This done, Tigh laid the pistol back down and slid it back to its owner with a familiar growl saying, "Just so you know, I've been dry for two years now. The next time you draw a weapon on my officers or me, Colonel, you'd be damned ready to fire it. Understand me?"

For emphasis, he slid the magazine over next with a slightly more vicious shove. Starbuck caught it before it slid completely off the edge.

"Perfectly. Sir." She slid the clip back into the casing and reset the safety, then settled it back into its holster. "You're still a bastard, Sir."

"And you're still a professional frak-up." The words were tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. "But damn it is...good to see you again, Captain."

"Likewise," Starbuck replied with her trademark grin. She added as an afterthought, "Colonel."

Tigh found himself no longer caring about her blatant disrespect of him or his rank. He only wanted one final assurance from her. "Tell me it wasn't you out there."

"It wasn't me. I swear before the Lords of Kobol, Sir, it wasn't me."

"Okay. I believe you." Tigh retook his seat; Starbuck following suit. The rest of the room immediately breathed another, more audible sigh of relief.

Admiral Rice sat forward. "If that's all settled, perhaps we can get back to discussing more immediate issues? Anyone have any objections?"

"Agreed, Admiral." Tigh looked between his officers, as if daring any of them to say him nay. None did, though he didn't doubt they wouldn't hesitate to speak their minds if some did occur to them. Given no one on either side was jumping to speak up, Tigh again took the initiative. "Would you care to take the lead here, Sir?"

Rice gave him an indulgent smile at the diplomatic dodge. "I'll confess I'm operating a bit in the dark here myself, Commander," he confessed frankly.

"Even with the arrival of Cap...Colonel Thrace here?"

"The Colonel's arrival caused us to...discard a sizable number of assumptions we'd been holding concerning non-terrestrial life. Not to mention her scaring the collective spit out of our leadership once we got over the language difficulties."

Athena chose that moment to speak up. "So this isn't your native language, Admiral?"

"No, Captain. It isn't."

Tigh sounded sufficiently impressed saying, "Then my compliments on your fluency. I'd have taken you as a native of any of the Twelve Colonies."

"My thanks there, Sir. Our fleet has made it a point to ensure as many officers as possible have some command of your language." Rice shared a quick look with Starbuck, something subtle being communicated between them. The Admiral cleared his throat and came to a decision. "Perhaps we should discuss what we might expect next when my superiors give the all-clear for your fleet to jump in-system."

"You expect such a decision soon, Admiral?" Tigh felt himself unconsciously tense at the prospect.

"I do."

"Hmph. I haven't checked with our President recently, but I'd put our current population at just under 40,000." Tigh gave Athena a quick glance of his own. Her short nod was all the confirmation he needed.

Rice gave a nod of his own and thought a moment. "I see. Any medical issues you are aware of?"

"Ishnay?"

The ship's CMO gave a nervous sound of his own and said, "As I noted earlier, Sirs, we've been remarkably lucky in that respect. I'm sure there will be issues of nutritional needs and the like, but we haven't had any major illnesses break out in some time."

"We expected as much since...excuse me a moment, Commander." Rice pulled a small earpiece and attached mike from his jacket's pocket and placed it to his ear. He nodded and spoke quickly but softly into it. Starbuck followed suit a moment later and both listened intently.

Tigh took the time to reflect upon how closely the Terran's uniforms so closely resembled those he and his officers wore. Beyond small things such as their headgear and different colored piping on their sleeves, they all could have been mistaken for Colonials. Tigh found this considerably reassuring.

Whatever message was being transmitted had the Admiral muttering again in his native tongue as he removed his earpiece and sharing another look with Starbuck. This one though seemed to run the gamut of resignation, relief and more than a little real excitement.

"Admiral?" Tigh called over to them, trying hard not to sound either irritated or aggrieved.

"My apologies, Commander. We were just notified of a transmission from our…home base, as it were."

"Anything you can share?"

Rice gave another glance toward Starbuck, who simply stared straight ahead. In the wake of her tense silence he said, "I…we have been informed a senior diplomatic team is en route. We are to prepare for their arrival."

"Meaning what precisely?"

The phone mounted on the wall behind them chimed softly. Athena was up and answering it before the second chime could finish.

Rice fixed him with a look that could be read any number of ways. "Do I have your word you harbor no aggressive intentions against us?"

Before Tigh could answer, Athena calmly stepped over to him and whispered into his ear. "There's a concentrated radiation source aboard their shuttle. Looks like a small nuke." Tigh kept his expression as blank as possible and merely nodded for her to retake her seat.

He then leaned forward and asked, "Do I have your word that you aren't going to detonate the nuclear weapon you have aboard your shuttle?"

The only response this garnered was a shared and audible sigh of relief from both Starbuck and Rice, followed by the former uncrossing her arms and pulling a small object from inside her sleeve. It was a slender metallic tube with a conspicuously red button at one end.

Athena's eyebrows climbed, while Tigh sputtered with mock outrage. "You gave her the trigger to a nuclear weapon?"

The Admiral shrugged. "She knows your people better than we do," he stated without a hint of apology. "How did you, er, detect it?"

"Uh, one of my Marines overheard your men talking. We may not get your native language yet, but she could make out something with a nuke symbol painted on it." Tigh smirked a bit. "Plus, our internal sensor sweep picked up a low-grade radiation signature on your ship. Didn't think anything of it until Sergeant Matthias reported what she saw."

"Hope we haven't offended."

Tigh nearly laughed, feeling genuinely relieved by this turn of events. "I'd be more offended if you weren't taking precautions," he said with all sincerity, then sobered to his more habitual scowl. "But with all due respect, Admiral. You gave the trigger to...her?" Tigh was as surprised as anyone at how he didn't sound either irritated or shocked or even angry. If anything, he actually felt...proud...of his former headache and subordinate.

"As I said, she knows your people better than we do. Besides, she claimed Blood Rites on any toasters who jumped into this system. I don't need to elaborate, do I?"

"No. Not at all." This wasn't much of a surprise to him either, though it did cause him to go quiet a few moments as he gathered his thoughts. "So, Admiral, where do you suggest we go from here?"

"I have a couple suggestions, if you'd be amenable that is," Rice replied after a quiet moment's thought of his own. "Would you be...amenable...to an exchange of officers while I await my superiors to arrive?"

"A good idea, Sir," Tigh nodded. "I'm sure Major Taylor..."

Admiral Rice quickly interrupted. "I was actually thinking of myself remaining aboard, Commander."

No one moved or even breathed after this for a single, long breath.

Starbuck was the first to break the silence with a yell of, "You want to do...what?"

This mirrored Tigh's own thoughts perfectly. He could only wonder, not for the first time and certainly not likely to be the last, whether the Four Fates were having some sick laugh at his expense. Anders and Foster came to mind, causing him to visibly shudder.

He felt Starbuck's eyes on him right then, given him even more incentive to focus upon Rice and seek a way to end the hubbub filling the air.

Despite all caution and professionalism on the part of the Battlestar's deck crews, accidents were inevitable. Some were mundane and damaged nothing but a crewmember's pride; others proved more...catastrophic.

A single barrel of refined heavy cleansers, normally used to clear air and recycling systems of waste build-ups, coming loose and rolling over the deck was the sort of error that would normally involve much yelling but little damage even if it cracked open slightly and spread some of its caustic contents upon the deck.

But who could have predicted the barrel in question impacting with sufficient force that its lid would come completely free, or that its contents were under unusual pressure and would come spraying out as if it were fresh-shaken champagne?

Such was the disaster that befell the Galactica's crew that day. By some small nod of chance, the only ones who would have been in danger were the Chief Petty Officer of the deck and a newly commissioned pilot who was seeking to have a quiet word with him. The latter managed to shove the former away just an instant before the barrel of cleanser hit, leaving the younger man to be sprayed with foul-smelling acids.

His screams nearly drowned out the other cries that came from this, his entire upper half burning off before the crew's eyes. He lingered long enough for the ship's surgeon to reach his side, by which time he looked like some manner of nightmare come alive rather than a champion Pyramid player.

All that could be done for him right then was to wait for his passage to Charon and his body bagged away. All present were certain his cries of pain would echo on the flight deck for years to come.

How strange then that he would emerge from the black bag he'd been place into just two hours later, fully healed and coherent.

But, unlike the President's aide, there were witnesses this time.

TBC...

The author seez: I'm in the midst of a major relocation of myself and my family, so I likely won't be able to update for a few weeks. Sorry, guys. Promise I'll make it up to you.